Platonism and Christianity in Late Ancient Cosmology

Platonism and Christianity in Late Ancient Cosmology
Ancient Philosophy & Religion
Edited by
George Boys-Stones (University of Toronto)

George van Kooten (University of Cambridge)
Advisory Board
Gábor Betegh (Cambridge)

Troels Engberg-Pedersen (Copenhagen)
Reinhard Feldmeier (Göttingen)
Matyáš Havrda (Prague)
Philippe Hoffmann (É cole Pratique des Hautes É tudes, Paris)
George Karamanolis (Vienna)
Anders Klostergaard Petersen (Aarhus)
David Konstan (New York University)
Winrich Löhr (Heidelberg)
John Magee (Toronto)
Maren Niehoff (Hebrew University of Jerusalem)
Ilaria Ramelli (Milan)
Gretchen Reydams-Schils (Notre Dame, USA)
Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta (Groningen)
Gregory E. Sterling (Yale)
Ilinca Tanaseanu-Döbler (Göttingen)
Shaul Tor (King’s College London)
Robbert van den Berg (Leiden)
Peter Van Nuffelen (Ghent)
Volume 9
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/aphr

Platonism and Christianity
in Late Ancient Cosmology
God, Soul, Matter
Edited by
Ana Schiavoni-Palanciuc
Johannes Zachhuber
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Contents
Acknowledgements vii
Abbreviations ix
Notes on Contributors x
Introduction 1
Ana Schiavoni-Palanciuc and Johannes Zachhuber
Lineage Trouble
Some Considerations on Plato as a Genealogist in the Timaeus 18
Marwan Rashed
The World Soul in Early Christian Thought 46

Johannes Zachhuber
Matter in the Dialogue of Adamantius

Origen’s Heritage and Hylomorphism 74
Ilaria L.E. Ramelli
Microcosme et image de Dieu

Deux approches de l’homme dans le De hominis opificio de Grégoire de
Nysse 125
Laurent Lavaud
L’héliocentrisme dans la cosmologie de Proclus 147

Frédéric Berland
L’immutabilité et l’inengendrement de la matière première du monde en

question
Les soubassements métaphysiques d’un cas d’École : Philopon versus
Proclus 168
Pascal Mueller-Jourdan
The Christian Rejection of Ptolemean Cosmography in (Late) Antiquity

Motives, Modalities, and Backgrounds 184
Benjamin Gleede
vi Contents
« Le Seigneur des Puissances »

Une image de l’Ascension chez Denys l’Aréopagite 205
Radu Marasescu
The Creation of Man and His Constitution According to Anastasius Sinaïta

Sermones duo in constitutionem hominis secundum imaginem Dei 229
Carlo Dell’Osso
Un kaléidoscope byzantin sur les six jours de la création 247

Peter Van Deun
Index of Ancient Authors 265

Index of Modern Authors 269
General Index 272
Acknowledgements
The texts gathered in this volume investigate the ancient sources of cosmo-
logical developments at the end of antiquity and the particular relationship
between philosophy and Christian theology in the first millennium. The strong
interest throughout this period in Platonic cosmology and, at the same time,
the renewed attention to the Aristotelian corpus as interpreted by the com-
mentary tradition, had a powerful impact on the understanding and expres-
sion of Christian cosmology. The confluence of philosophy and theology in
Byzantine writings is not just a matter of borrowing argumentative models; it
always took place in two directions. As much as theological formulations were
reflected in the history of philosophy, philosophical writings influenced theo-
logical debates. Aristotelian commentaries and Neoplatonic writings strongly
and lastingly inspired late antique exegetical methods. We thus face textual
sources that exist in a structural relationship with multiple traditions, Pla-
tonic, Aristotelian, Stoic, Gnostic, and Patristic. The texts collected in this
volume contribute substantially to this problematic, establishing the range of
questions addressed and exploring the manner in which these texts should be
approached.
While the Aristotelian commentaries provided a framework to Late Antique
exegesis, they were never perceived as monolithic. Aristotelian and Platonic
traditions were themselves subject to internal tensions, some of which find
their expression in the distinctly Athenian and Alexandrian Neoplatonisms
of the fifth and sixth centuries. These tensions produced a sense of erudite
excitement in later readers, but more importantly, they sharpened issues by
setting interpretative standards, being transmitted by Proclus, Simplicius or
Philoponus to Maximus the Confessor, Anastasius of Sinai or Photius. Among
the topics these authors analysed, we find the relationship of divine freedom
and providence, the doctrine of substance and the universals as well as ques-
tions about time and divine causality.
The texts composing the present volume investigate the terms in which
these questions were framed at the end of antiquity cross-examining the rela-
tionships between ritual practices, the importance of the exegetical tradition
of Timaeus, the Aristotelian commentaries and Gnostic debates in late ancient
cosmologies.
This volume owes everything to its authors. Many of them accompanied us
from the beginning of the project, but some kindly agreed to add their contri-
butions at a later stage. It is a privilege to thank them all for their confidence
and patience over the years. We are grateful to Profs. George Boys-Stones and
viii Acknowledgements
George van Kooten for accepting the book into their series. We would also like
to thank Nathan Wallace and Jonathan Young for their editorial work on the
manuscript, and the Brill editors, in particular Marjolein van Zuylen, for their
interest in this volume and their constant encouragement of its preparation.
Ana Schiavoni-Palanciuc, Johannes Zachhuber

Paris/Oxford, January 2022
Abbreviations
ANF The Ante-Nicene Fathers: The Writings of the Fathers down to A.D. 325.
Edited by A. Roberts and J. Donaldson. 10 vols. Edinburgh: T&T Clark,
1867–1885.
CAG Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca
CAG suppl. Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca, Supplementum Aristotelicum
CCCM Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis
CCSG Corpus Christianorum Series Graeca
CCSA Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum
CCSL Corpus Christianorum Series Latina
Coll. Coisl. Collectio Coisliniana
CSCO Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium
DHGE Dictionnaire d‘histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques. Edited by A. Bau-
drillart and others. Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1912–2005; Turnhout: Bre-
pols, 2005 ff.
GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten [drei] Jahrhunderte
GCS, NF Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte, Neue
Folge
GNO Gregorii Nysseni Opera
OCA Orientalia Christiana Analecta
PG Patrologia Graeca
PL Patrologia Latina
PLP Prosopographisches Lexikon der Palaiologenzeit. Edited by E. Trapp and
others. I, 1–12, Add. 1–2. Vienna: Verlag der österreichischen Akademie
der Wissenschaften, 1976–1995.
PTS Patristische Texte und Studien
PO Patrologia Orientalis
RE Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Edited
by G. Wissowa and others. 83 vols. Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler, 1893–1978.
SC Sources Chrétiennes
SVF Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta. Edited by H. von Arnim. 4 vols. Leipzig:
Teubner, 1903–1905.
TEG Traditio Exegetica Graeca
TLG Thesaurus Linguae Graecae
Notes on Contributors
Frédéric Berland
is Doctor of Philosophy from the University Paris 8 (Saint-Denis). His work
focuses on non-Aristotelian logic in Neoplatonism, medieval philosophy and
contemporary logic. He published a book on the Neoplatonism influence on
Descartes, papers on Dietrich of Freiberg, and he translated into French sev-
eral works by Graham Priest on paraconsistent logic.
Benjamin Gleede
Dr. theol. 2008, Dr. theol. habil. 2014, currently holds a Heienberg position at
the University of Tübingen. His research specialisation is Greek patristics and
its relationship with ancient philosophy and science. Main publications in-
clude Platon und Aristoteles in der Kosmologie des Proklos. Ein Kommentar zu
den 18 Argumenten für die Ewigkeit der Welt bei Johannes Philoponos (Tübingen
2009), The development of the term ἐνυπόστατος from Origen to John of Damas-
cus (Leiden 2012), and Parabiblica latina. Studien zu den griechisch-lateinischen
Übersetzungen parabiblischer Literatur unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der
apostolischen Väter (Leiden 2016).
Carlo dell’Osso
is Professor of Patristics and Church History at the Pontifical Institute of Chris-
tian Archaeology in Rome. He obtained his Laurea with a thesis on Ps.-Justin
and earned a Doctor of Theology and Patristic Studies at the Augustinianum
with a dissertation on the Christology of Leontius of Byzantium. He has pub-
lished widely on the Greek and Latin fathers. Recent books include Cristo
e Logos: Il calcedonismo del VI secolo in oriente (Rome 2010) and Monoener-
giti/monoteliti del VII secolo in Oriente (Rome 2017).
Laurent Lavaud
is Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the École Normale Supérieure de Lyon.
He specialises in the history of Neoplatonism, especially Plotinus and Proclus.
He has also worked on the influence of Greek philosophy on patristic thought
(Augustine, Marius Victorinus, Gregory of Nyssa) and is engaged in the transla-
tion of the complete works of Plotinus for the Flammarion editions. He is the
author of L’Image (Paris, Flammarion, 1999), D’une métaphysique à l’autre. Fig-
ures de l’altérité dans la philosophie de Plotin (Paris, Vrin, 2008) and Mystique et
monde (Paris, Cerf, 2015).
Notes on Contributors xi
Radu Marasescu
earned a doctorate in philosophy from the École Pratique des Hautes Études
(2010) with a thesis entitled Le symbolisme de l’entrée au sanctuaire selon les
rites orientaux. L’exemple de la Prière du Voile dans la Liturgie de saint Jacques.
He is the author of various articles and studies on biblical exegesis and
hermeneutics, anthropology and the history of religions.
Full Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the Faculty of Theology of the Catholic
University of the West (Angers, France) has published several studies in late
antique philosophy and theology. Among them are numerous articles on
prime matter, space and time, the souls of animals and more recently on light
as an energy in Philoponus’ commentary on the De anima of Aristotle.
Ilaria Ramelli
FRHistS, holds two MAs, a PhD, a Postdoc, and various Habilitations to Or-
dinarius. She has been Professor of Roman History, Senior Visiting Profes-
sor (Harvard; Boston U.; Columbia; Erfurt), Full Professor of Theology and
Endowed Chair (Angelicum), and Senior Fellow (Durham, twice; Princeton,
2017–; Sacred Heart U., 1998–; Corpus Christi; Christ Church, Oxford). She is
also Professor of Theology and of Patristics (Durham, hon.; KUL) and Senior
Fellow and Member (MWK; Bonn U. elect; Cambridge U.). Recent books in-
clude Apokatastasis (Brill 2013), Social Justice (OUP 2016), Eriugena’s Christian
Neoplatonism (Peeters 2021), Patterns of Women’s Leadership (ed., OUP 2021),
and Lovers of the Soul (ed., Harvard 2022).
Marwan Rashed
is Professor of History of Greek and Arabic Philosophy, Sorbonne University
(Paris), and Assistant Director of the Léon-Robin Center (CNRS, UMR 8061).
He has dedicated several works to Aristotle and his ancient commentators and
is also interested in the philosophical doctrines of classical Islam, studying in
particular the interactions between Arab philosophy in the Greek tradition
and rational theology. He is the author of a critical edition with commentary
of Aristotle’s treatise On Generation and Corruption, of two books on Alexan-
der of Aphrodisias and has recently discovered and edited the manuscript
of a work by al-Hasan Musa al-Nawbakhti (ca 850–ca 920). He is currently
working on the Platonic and Aristotelian traditions, focusing on the mathe-
matical ontology of the Timaeus, of which he is preparing a critical edition for
Les Belles Lettres and a book for Oxford University Press. In the Aristotelian
field, Marwan Rashed is working, in collaboration with Oliver Primavesi (LMU
xii Notes on Contributors
München), on a new critical edition of Aristotle’s Metaphysics for the Oxford

Classical Texts collection.
Ana Schiavoni-Palanciuc
is Professor of History of Art and Philosophy at the University Paris VII. She
has published on the history of Byzantine Art, Patristic, Ancient and Medieval
Philosophy, and translated into French the Ambigua of Maximus the Confes-
sor. Research topics and publications: Ancient traditions of natural philoso-
phy; World-systems of Late Antiquity; Aristotelian, Neoplatonic and Gnostic
sources, and their influence in Byzantine texts (4th–9th c.). She is the author
of a forthcoming book, The Reversed Perspective. Mathematical Structures in
Byzantine Art and Thought.
Peter Van Deun

Full Professor of Byzantine Studies, Leuven University (Belgium); President
of the Belgian Association of Byzantine Studies; Editor-in-chief of the Series
Graeca of the Corpus Christianorum; Editor-in-chief of Orientalia Lovanien-
sia Analecta (and subseries Bibliothèque de Byzantion); Editor-in-chief of
the international journal Byzantion. Research topics and publications: Byzan-
tine anthological literature; Byzantine capita literature; critical text editions
of Greek Patristic and Byzantine authors; Maximus the Confessor (580–662);
Metrophanes of Smyrna (9–10th c.); Nilus Doxapatrès (12th c.); Mark the Monk
(13th c.).
Johannes Zachhuber
is Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at the University of Oxford.
His research is focussed on ancient Christianity and the modern history of
Christian ideas since the Reformation. Publications include Human Nature
in Gregory of Nyssa (2000); Theology as Science in Nineteenth Century Ger-
many (2013); The Rise of Christian Theology and the End of Ancient Metaphysics
(2020). He is also general editor of The Oxford History of Modern Germany The-
ology.
Introduction
Ana Schiavoni-Palanciuc and Johannes Zachhuber
1 Cosmology in Late Ancient Thought
Research on late ancient cosmology has become an urgent demand as new

sources are being discovered and extant texts are more thoroughly studied.
A full understanding of this literature is important for our grasp of the trans-
mission of classical and Hellenistic texts, but it will also permit a reconsid-
eration of the place of natural philosophy in the late antique commentary
tradition. In the ancient introductory courses, physics assumed an impor-
tant place in the study of philosophy. Furthermore, the development of new
philosophical forms often arose through the engagement with contemporary
scientific insights and thus, in late antiquity, within a cosmological framework.
If interest in cosmology was thus rife in late antiquity and the early Byzan-
tine world, the coincidence of such a concern among pagan and Christian
authors during those centuries is equally significant. The confluence of ideas
is never accidental, and the confrontation of cosmological theories is also a
confrontation of their underlying philosophies. All late ancient authors drew
on a long tradition of philosophical writing, most famously represented by
Plato’s Timaeus.1 For Christian authors, inevitably perhaps, the Book of Gen-
esis became the foundational cosmological text, but since the Hellenistic
period, conventions developed permitting to read this Hebrew text in the
Greek translation of the Septuagint as a philosophical text and often on more
or less explicitly Platonic presupposition.2
Scholarship for a long time has shown little interest in this remarkable part
of intellectual history. Late antiquity was generally shunned by historians of
philosophy, and those theologians whose profession required them to deal
with the writings of the Church Fathers were primarily drawn to those texts
that were most pertinent for the understanding of Christianity’s doctrinal
development. Compared to the rich scholarly literature on early trinitarian-
ism or Christology, therefore, works on the doctrine of creation are still far
and few between even though important research has been published over
the past century.3
1 Leinkauf and Steel 2005, especially the studies collected in part one: “Spätantike.”
2 Runia 1986; Köckert 2009.
3 Pépin 1964; Scholten 1996; van Winden 1997; Köckert 2009; Karamanolis 2021, ch. 2.
2 Schiavoni-Palanciuc and Zachhuber
More recently, however, things are beginning to change. Late antiquity has
generally been recognised as one of the most momentous transformational
periods in Western intellectual history, a crucible of philosophical and reli-
gious ideas with far-reaching influence on later developments in Byzantium,
the Arab world, and the Latin West.4 The considerable remnants of its literary
output – exceeding many times that of the classical and Hellenistic periods –
have been made more accessible through their nearly complete digitisation
in the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG) project and an increasing number of
translations into modern Western languages.5 Growing parts of Patristic lit-
erature have become accessible in English, French, German, and Italian.6 For
the philosophical tradition, the most remarkable project surely is the nearly
complete English translation of the huge corpus of late ancient commentaries
on Aristotle, overseen by Richard Sorabji, but other major translations deserve
recognition as well.7
This overall re-examination and reassessment of late ancient thought, how-
ever, has not yet been fully applied to cosmology. While a number of excel-
lent studies have considered individual contributions, attempts to elucidate
the bigger picture have so far proved elusive. In particular, developments in
“pagan” and Christian thought have only rarely been investigated in parallel
although Patristic cosmology has often been considered in its dependency on
the philosophical tradition.
In this situation, the present volume offers a sustained reflection on the
character and the significance of cosmology throughout the whole of late
antiquity. Ensuing questions include the following: what were the choices
involved in reaching philosophical views of the cosmos at the end of antiq-
uity, beginning with the choice between a universe that has always existed
and one that has been created? How can a theory describe the creative act, the
process by which the cosmogony was accomplished? How should the cosmos
be introduced as an object of creation and of scientific knowledge? How to
determine initial conditions or limits when these notions imply that the things
to describe, understand or predict must first be located in a given space-time
environment, or conjectured by a hypothesis? Also, understanding the human
4 Brown 1971; Stroumsa 2005.

5 Online at: http://stephanus.tlg.uci.edu. Accessed on 24 August 2021.
6 With series such as the Sources Chrétiennes (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1942 ff.); Fathers of the
Church (Washington, DC.: Catholic University of America Press, 1947 ff.); Fontes Christiani
(Freiburg, i. Br.: Herder, 1988 ff.). An Italian version of the Sources Chrétiennes has been
launched in 2006, published by the Edizioni Studio Dominica.
7 Sorabji 1987.
Introduction 3
condition in a certain philosophical context corresponds to an extent with a

specific representation of the cosmos. How can human agency be correlated
with the agency of the universe? Finally, what is the relationship between the
universe, as understood in late antiquity, and the laws of nature?
From the diversity of these questions, it follows that cosmology in late
antiquity was an extraordinarily multifaceted discourse as closely linked with
astronomical or psychological problems as with some of the most controver-
sial religious and theological issues. At the same time, cosmological topics
were, for many of these discussants, inextricably interwoven with their most
fundamental metaphysical assumptions. Late ancient cosmology, therefore,
opens a fascinating view on late ancient intellectual life in its entirety; it can
function as a lens through which various important dimensions of late ancient
culture come into focus.
In what follows, we shall concentrate on one dimension of this complex
reality, an axis on and around which all the contributions to this volume can be
placed. Most of late ancient cosmology was done through engagement with by
then classical texts, notably Plato’s Timaeus and the Book of Genesis although
Aristotle’s Physics had its role to play as well.8 In this, it is typical for a liter-
ary culture steeped in learning, both inspired and constrained by the weight
of the insight and wisdom passed down the generations. The traditional ver-
dict against late ancient intellectual culture as lacking in originality was partly
based on this very feature, and while this value judgement is now rightly
dismissed, it remains the case that late ancient thought, whether “pagan” or
Christian, cannot be understood apart from its constant interaction with the
textual tradition of the past.
2 Late Ancient Cosmology and the Interpretation of the Timaeus
Late ancient cosmology was in large part conducted through explicit or

implicit engagement with Plato’s Timaeus.9 Its extraordinary reception history
began in the first generation of Platonic philosophers, for whom the dialogue
was of pivotal significance; it did not abate throughout the remainder of antiq-
uity although the interpretative frameworks that were applied to it underwent
considerable transformations.
8 Cf. Loessl and Watt 2011.

9 On the Timaeus see Cornford 1937; Wright et al. 2000; Broadie 2011; Sattler and Mohr 2010,
and the chapter by Marwan Rashed in this book.
While formally presented as a dialogue, the Timaeus in fact gives to its

eponymous protagonist uninterrupted space for a lengthy account of the ori-
gins of the visible world. With its fundamental distinction between that which
“is always and has no becoming” and that which “is always becoming and
is never real” (27d5–28a1),10 the Timaeus follows the main contours of the
ontology familiar from Plato’s so-called Middle Period dialogues. Had Plato
stipulated the existence of a kosmos noētos in those texts, the Timaeus seems
to respond to a line of questioning that ensued from this metaphysical prin-
ciple: how can sensible reality be understood as a product of the intelligible
realm, and what precisely constituted it as sensible reality?
Timaeus’ account seeks to address these problems through a mythical
account describing the origin of the physical world as the activity of a divine
Craftsman, the Demiurge,11 forming pre-existing elements into the ordered kos-
mos familiar to us. The demiurgic activity is patterned on eternal paradigms
(29a4–7), clearly the forms of the middle period dialogues. The world he cre-
ates is purposeful and harmonious; like a “living being” it is composed of body
and soul (30b4–c1). This world soul, one of the most consequential conceptual
innovations of the Timaeus, is created by the Craftsman by forging into a unity
divisible and indivisible Nature; Sameness, and Difference (each of the latter
also mixed from the divisible and the indivisible) (35a).12 The world soul is an
intermediate entity endowed with the goodness of eternal being but made to
exist in close proximity to the material kosmos.
In a later part of the dialogue, this account is complicated by the intro-
duction of further elements, notably the principle of Necessity (anagkē:
47d3–69a5) and the so-called Receptacle in which material bodies are created.
The latter was in late antiquity usually aligned with Aristotelian and Stoic
conceptions of matter although it is significant that Plato’s account empha-
sises the spatial dimension of this cosmological principle.13 Plato’s cosmogony
seeks to hold in the balance an affirmation of the goodness and beauty of the
world with an explanation of its evident imperfections. It is purposeful and
good insofar as it has been made by a divine Craftsman whose eyes were fixed
on the eternal perfection of the Forms, but realities beyond the Demiurge’s
control, nonetheless, severely limited the degree of perfection that he could
accomplish in his work. Plato is careful to emphasise the resistance to the
10 English text: Cornford 1937, 22.

11 On the interpretation of this figure as the “mythical equivalent of nous,” cf. Hackforth
1936; Menn 1995.
12 Cf. Cornford 1937, 60–61.
13 Sattler 2012.
Introduction 5
operation of the intellect who has to “persuade” Necessity in order to achieve

his goals (48a2–5).
In the present volume, Marwan Rashed shows that the Timaeus in its
entirety can be read as presenting a genealogy of reality, from the Ideal Num-
bers to the sensible, passing through the numerical ratios, geometrical surfaces
and the solids of stereometry. Plato insisted already in the Prologue on the dif-
ficulty of genealogy, but in the context of Timaeus, as Rashed points out, Plato’s
allusions aim to show that the true genealogist is the philosopher, in particu-
lar regarding the difficult question of the universe’s origin. In this connection,
Rashed’s contribution exhumes an ignored but extremely valuable text, lost in
Greek although preserved in Arabic, of the Middle Platonist Theon of Smyrna
(second century AD), mentioned in the twelfth-century Arabic biographer and
bibliographer al-Qifṭī.
Aristotle roundly dismissed the cosmology of the Timaeus in his Physics
on the grounds that its premise made no sense: neither the kosmos nor time
had a beginning but were, as such, eternal (251b14–26). This has led to the
controversy, undecided even in contemporary scholarship, over whether the
Timaeus’ cosmogony should be understood literally as an account of the begin-
ning of the universe or, rather, as a symbolic representation of the world’s
principal dependence on the creative and ordering work of an intelligible
and intellectual agent.14 The majority of ancient Platonists, although not all
of them, opted against a temporal interpretation of the dialogue’s cosmogony
while maintaining that the Platonic text presented a cosmogony.15
Of crucial importance was the particular way Timaeus introduced a variety
of principles (archai).16 In fact, it is arguable that the history of cosmological
principles to a considerable extent coincides with the history of the reception
of this dialogue. The nature of cosmological principles, as well as their num-
ber, were central problems in the subsequent history of ancient Platonism,
especially in its confrontation with Stoicism and the Peripatetic school. The
Craftsman, we are told in the Timaeus, is the main “principle of generation”
(28b6; 29e4) while the four elements out of which he creates are “principles
of everything” (48b7–8). The Ideas or Forms, which the Demiurge uses as par-
adigms for his formation of the kosmos are also described in terms of their
causal role (28a7), and so is anagkē (Necessity: 46c7). It is clear that the prob-
lem of “principles” was at the centre of the debates about Plato’s philosophy
14 Broadie 2011, 243–277.

15 For an enumeration of those holding the two opposing views in antiquity see Sedley
2007, 107 with note 30.
16 Cf. for what follows: Karamanolis 2021, 56–57.
from the Old Academy onwards, partly perhaps because of the prominence
of this question in Plato’s lectures On the Good about which we only know
from indirect testimony. In the ensuing development, ontological and cosmo-
logical concerns were not always clearly separated. The “principles” discussed
by Timaeus were evidently cosmological, but subsequent generations of Pla-
tonists treated them as tantamount to metaphysical ones. Consequently, it
became important to determine how the demiurge of the cosmological dia-
logue was related to the Idea of the Good in the Republic or the One of the
unwritten doctrines.
The result of this process can be seen in the Middle Platonic Didaskalikos,
ascribed to a certain Alcinous in the two extant manuscripts of this text, where
Plato is said to have taught three principles: God, the Demiurge, the Ideas or
paradigms, and matter.17 It is also immediately evident that this reading of the
Timaeus paved the way for its adaptation to the very different concerns and
needs of Jewish and Christian readers beginning with Philo. We shall come
back to this.
Platonists were not, however, the only ones interested in the Timaeus. Of
equal significance for subsequent philosophical history was the fascination
Stoic thinkers had for this particular part of Plato’s oeuvre.18 There is no doubt
that Stoic cosmology offers one of the most momentous transformations of the
doctrines of the Timaeus. The ambiguous nature of this relationship can per-
haps most impressively be gleaned from the way the Stoics used the metaphor
of the universe as a living being, which was taken straight from the Timaeus.19
Both Plato and the Stoics associate here the duality of body and soul and, con-
sequently, embrace the idea of a soul of the world, which Aristotle had point-
edly rejected. Yet whereas for Plato this duality exemplified the dichotomy of
sensible and intelligible reality, the Stoics found here their two principles, the
active and the passive, both of which, for them, were bodies.
The Platonic ontology of the Timaeus thus got “flattened” in Stoicism; the
philosophical intention of cosmology was no longer to explain the perfection
of the visible kosmos from its intelligible origin but to conceive the material
world as perfect in its quasi-organic unity and universal cohesion. Ultimately,
these were two incompatible worldviews, one based on the ontological duality
of the material and the immaterial, the other on the unity and homogeneity
of all being. Nevertheless, their interaction brought about the specific flavour
of late ancient Platonic cosmology in which the language of cosmic harmony
17 Alcinous, Didaskalikos. VIII–X.

18 Reydams-Schils 1999; Sedley 2007, 225–30.
19 Cf. SVF 2, 633–634.
Introduction 7
and “sympathy,” the notions of cosmic “seeds,” and of a universal logos was
universally used and accepted. Much of this integration was undoubtedly facil-
itated by the Timaeus whose terminology later Platonists could legitimately
find echoed in Stoic texts whatever other objections to their metaphysics they
may have harboured.
These different trajectories converged to shape late ancient readings of the
dialogue. For the Middle Platonists, Timaeus was of central importance.20
Their speculation about metaphysical principles was conducted in a cosmo-
logical key throughout. Major questions posed by these philosophers and
disagreements between them can in many cases be explained against this
background. Controversies turned on the number of principles, the role of the
world soul, the status of matter, and the question of whether the world had a
temporal origin.21
In many ways, the Middle Platonists continued the interpretation of the
Timaeus begun in the Old Academy. Plato’s Demiurge was generally identified
with the first metaphysical principle, whether or not this was considered the
same as the Idea of the Good “beyond being.”22 Ideas were often understood
as “thoughts of God” – a clear indication of the cosmological cast of their
Platonism. They were first of all the model on which God’s creation of the
universe was based. As such, they were inevitably compared to the ideas in the
mind of an architect that pre-existed the construction of a building. It is hardly
surprising that this line of reasoning was gratefully picked up by authors keen
to find points of contact between Plato and the Genesis account of creation,
notably Philo of Alexandria.23
Other elements of Middle Platonic doctrine were bound, however, to be less
palatable to the advocates of a theistic worldview.24 First of all, Middle Platon-
ists generally found in the Timaeus justification for a multiplicity of principles;
even if they discovered ways to subordinate the Platonic realm of ideas to the
divine creator, they maintained that “matter” (hyle) had to be thought of as a
metaphysical principle outside and independent of the demiurgic God. Such a
principle, admittedly, was posited by Stoics and Peripatetics as well and could
thus appear as simply a universally shared assumption among philosophers of
the age, but the inherent dualism built into the Platonic distinction of sensible
and intelligible, added weight to this assumption and created new problems.
20 Dillon 1996, 8.
21 Cf. Alt 1993.
22 On this complicated question see Whittaker 1969.
23 Philo, De opificio mundi 20.
24 Karamanolis 2021, 59–61.
Middle Platonic matter was not simply the Stoic “passive principle” or the
“ex hou” of Peripatetic doctrine. In fact, it was not either in any obvious way
identical with the “receptacle” Plato had stipulated in the Timaeus. Instead, it
represented the dark, chaotic, and potentially evil aspect of the kosmos and
was responsible for its propensity to perdition and overall lack of perfection.
While Middle Platonists were careful not to move away from the Plato’s affir-
mation in the Timaeus that the kosmos was beautiful, the Gnostics who drew
on some of their ideas were not entirely unjustified in doing so.
The Middle Platonic flirtation with ontological dualism was reflected in
their treatment of the world soul. Overall, Platonic interest in a cosmic soul
during this period was at its strongest solidly testifying to the pivotal impact
of the Timaeus at the time.25 Yet one of the most intriguing interpretations of
the Platonic dialogue was also, arguably, idiosyncratic. Plutarch, in his treatise
On the Creation of the Soul in the Timaeus argued that the making of the world
soul as described in Plato’s dialogue ought to be understood as the imposition
of divine order on a precosmic soul in analogy evidently to the imposition of
order on matter in the act of the creation of the world.26 Plutarch was also
one of the few, as far as we know, who interpreted the Timaeus as describing a
creation in time.27 In this temporal – or perhaps proto-temporal – event, then,
the Demiurge brought into being an orderly kosmos from pre-existing, chaotic,
disorderly, and potentially evil components one of which was soul or soul-like.
This residual dualism all but disappeared in Neoplatonism. Despite differ-
ences in detail, philosophers beginning with Plotinus insisted that the intellec-
tual universe as a whole could be explained from a single and simple principle,
the One.28 A corollary of this shift was that cosmological interests became less
pronounced than they had been for previous generations of Platonists. At the
centre of philosophical interest was the explanation of metaphysical structure
and hierarchy of the world rather than its origin. Among Plato’s dialogues, it
was consequently the Parmenides rather than Timaeus that took centre stage
in the final phase of ancient Platonism.
This shift did not mean that cosmological concerns or indeed attention to
the Timaeus died away or became redundant, but they had to be adapted
to overriding metaphysical concerns. Chief among them, as already men-
tioned, was the tendency towards a monistic ontology. While no Neoplatonist
categorically denied pre-existing matter, they no longer considered it as an
25 Deuse 1983; Zachhuber 2004.

26 Plutarch, De anima procreatione in Timaeo 6 (1014 D–E). Dillon 1996, 206–8.
27 Plutarch, De anima procreatione in Timaeo 9 (1016 C). Köckert 2009, 16.
28 Greig 2020, 2–3.
Introduction 9
independent principle interacting with the power of the demiurgic God in

the generation of the world. Rather, Neoplatonists explained creation as the
gradual emanation of lower levels of being from higher ones. This principle
of procession and return, once again, was not peculiar to their cosmology
stricte dictu but rather, in their view, characteristic of the dynamic structure of
the world throughout its existence. Nevertheless, it was also and particularly
applied to their interpretation of earlier cosmologies, notably the Timaeus.29
Two further features of Neoplatonic cosmology must be mentioned in this
connection. First, Neoplatonists after Plotinus became increasingly scrupu-
lous exegetes. Second, their view of earlier philosophy was inclusive. They
are famous – and to some notorious – for their view that Plato and Aristotle
were in principal agreement on most doctrines.30 Any account of late ancient
cosmology, therefore, has to reckon with the fact that the interpretation of
Plato was interspersed with Aristotelian ideas despite the complete survival
of the Timaeus. The interpretation of Plato’s main concepts in this dialogue
often betrays a strong influence of Aristotelian principles. “Aristotelianism”
and “Neoplatonism” thus cannot be considered as mutually exclusive forms of
reasoning for this period, and certainly not in the context of cosmology where
late ancient debates inherited and developed the conclusions and argumenta-
tions of earlier philosophers regardless of their school affiliation.
The most important single text from this part of the Timaeus’ reception
history undoubtedly is Proclus’ extensive Commentary.31 In the present vol-
ume, Frédéric Berland proposes a re-reading of its cosmographic ideas
paying close attention to the interaction between cosmology, ontology, and
theology to argue for a qualified “heliocentrism” in the thought of the fifth-
century Platonist. Pascal Mueller-Jourdan’s chapter also deals with Pro-
clus’ contribution to the late ancient reception history of the Timaeus. In his
On the Eternity of the World, Proclus defended the majority view according
to which Plato’s cosmogony should not be taken “literally” thus aligning the
teaching of the Timaeus with Aristotelian cosmology in this regard. This, how-
ever, drew the strong rebuke of John Philoponus who, several generations later,
attempted a philosophical justification of a cosmic origin in time.32 Philo-
ponus’ anti-Aristotelian position was not, however, inspired by his Platonist
credentials but by his adherence to a Christian concept of creation. As such
29 Rist 1967, 26–7.

30 Karamanolis 2006.
31 Proclus, Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus, ed. Harold Tarrant.
32 Philoponus, De aeternitate mundi contra Proclum, ed. Rabe. English translation: Share and
Wilberding.
it became attractive for later readers who shared the principal contours of his
outlook whether in the context of Islamic or early modern Western natural
philosophy.
3 Cosmology and the Interpretation of Genesis
It has already become apparent that a strict separation of Platonist and Chris-
tian interests in cosmology is artificial. Important aspects of the Timaeus were
formative for early Christian cosmology; Christian readings of this dialogue
should, therefore, be seen as part of the text’s reception history not only in
the medieval and modern period, but already in late antiquity. Nevertheless,
there are good reasons for dealing with this dimension of the problematic
of the present book in a separate section of this introduction. Whatever they
learned from the Timaeus, Christian authors ultimately were beholden in their
cosmologies to a set of assumptions clearly distinct from those that governed
the dialogue’s interpretation by its “pagan” readers whether Platonists, Stoics,
or Aristotelians. These differences can partly be attributed to the significance
of other, more normative texts, notably the Book of Genesis. Ultimately, how-
ever, they stem from a commitment to a more dichotomous understanding of
God and world which required a rather different approach to the concept of
creation than was prevalent among their peers and competitors during this
period.
Yet these evident differences must not occlude the remarkable fact that
both sides concurred in their interest in cosmology. From the second century,
Christian authors are found to have discussed questions rather similar to those
at the centre of contemporaneous Stoic or Platonic endeavours. What does
it mean for God to create? How do the attributes of the divine being map
on to that of physical reality? Specifically, how can the goodness of God be
reconciled with the imperfect nature of the creation?
We might be inclined to think that this interest is easily explained given the
evident identification of the biblical God as the “creator of heaven and earth”
in the Nicene Creed. Yet interest in creation and cosmology is notable mostly
for its absence from New Testament writings, and even in the Old Testament
the topic is arguably less central than its prominent place at the beginning
of the first book of this collection of writings might suggest. It is therefore
not unlikely that Christian authors of the early centuries of the Common Era
developed a fascination for cosmological topics for the same or similar reasons
as did other philosophers of the period. The evolution of a Christian cosmol-
ogy certainly occurred in tandem with that of contemporaneous Platonism.
Introduction 11
No account of early Christian cosmology can be given, however, without

reference to Philo of Alexandria.33 It was this first-century Jewish philoso-
pher who pioneered a Platonic interpretation of the creation accounts in the
Book of Genesis more than one hundred years prior to the earliest Christian
approaches to the topic. The hermeneutical principles Philo introduced were
fully shared by his later Christian students.34 Moses was a philosopher who, in
Genesis 1 and 2, presented a cosmogony in line with the overall contours of his
religion. His mythological account therefore has to be understood as contain-
ing symbolical hints towards such a theory. For example, Philo considered the
creation through God’s word in Genesis 1 as indicating a divine Logos contain-
ing the world’s paradigms.35 These paradigms are, of course, Platonic Forms
understood here as in other Middle Platonic authors as thoughts in the divine
mind. Further, the duality of references to God’s creation of the human being
in Genesis 1:26 and 2:7 suggests, according to Philo, the distinction between
the intelligible form of man and their material realisation.36
The first conceptual innovation introduced by Christian thinkers into the
cosmological debate was the notion that God created the world “from noth-
ing” (ex nihilo).37 This doctrine seems to have been universally accepted by
Christian writers from the late second century setting up a major faultline
between Christian and “pagan” cosmologies. It would be difficult to claim that
all or indeed any of the Christian authors of the period fully understood the
conceptual implications of this decision. This does not, however, make their
emphatic endorsement of this doctrine meaningless. What they rightly intu-
ited was that the conceptual force of theistic thought made it unconscionable
that the creator God “needed” anything in order to go about his demiurgic
work.
The creatio ex nihilo inevitably raised the question of the status of matter in
a Christian account of creation. This problem is discussed in detail in Ilaria
Ramelli’s contribution to the present volume. As she shows, matter was uni-
versally rejected as an ontological principle by Christian authors at the turn
of the third century to leave no room for doubt regarding the sovereignty of
God. Yet if this meant a metaphysical demotion of matter, which could merely
be part of God’s creation, there was also a countervailing tendency when Ori-
gen and some others insisted that only God was truly immaterial while all
created beings had to partake of matter in some sense. Despite the charges
33 Niehoff 2018.
34 Runia 1995.
37 May 1994.
frequently levelled against Origen, Ramelli shows how his philosophy influ-
enced fourth-century figures Gregory of Nyssa and Evagrius of Pontus as well
as other, later thinkers.
Matter was not the only cosmological principle, however, that caused prob-
lems for Christian philosophers. The notion of a world soul too was both
attractive and problematic for Christian thinkers. Johannes Zachhuber
shows in his contribution how this Platonic idea found its way into Christian
cosmology without ever being explicitly endorsed. It was integrated into the
cosmological dimension ascribed to the pre-existent Christ for which, obvi-
ously, there was no direct precedent. More intriguingly, perhaps, it was also
connected with Christ’s incarnate state based on an identification of the celes-
tial X of Timaeus 36b–e with the cross – perhaps the earliest evidence of a
literal echo of Plato’s dialogue in Christian thought.
It is evident, then, that Christian authors grappled with the multiplicity of
principles in the Timaeus which they sought to adapt to their own theistic
framework. In this regard, their effort was not so far removed from the anal-
ogous attempts by Neoplatonists who equally had to integrate the different
principles of earlier Platonism into a monistic hierarchy. This parallel obtains
also in the case of the intelligible paradigms for created reality as envisaged
in the Timaeus. We have already seen that Philo acknowledged them in the
account of Genesis 1 which, he thought, focussed on God’s methodical plan
for material creation, pre-existent in his mind. These ideas, then, are not God’s
creation but somehow part of his own, eternal existence. Nevertheless, there
are indications that the place of these ideas could be an ontological mediator,
the Logos of God, which could address the aporia of how an utterly transcen-
dent God could bring the material world into being.
This concept is found in characteristically Christian transformation in Ori-
gen of Alexandria who identifies the pre-existent Christ as Logos and Sophia
and argues that in him the world existed before all eternity “the beginnings
and the reasons and the species of the entire creation.”38 Origen skilfully harks
back here to the New Testament where it is said of Christ that “in him all things
in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether
thrones or dominions or rulers or powers – all things have been created
through him and for him” (Colossians 1:16). Christ, the Logos, thus contains the
principles, seeds, and paradigmatic forms of all individual being, but he does
so as a separate “hypostasis” as Origen explicitly says. While inseparable from
God, he is not simply an aspect or a manifestation of the Father. In a specific
38 Origen, De principiis I 2, 2.
Introduction 13
way, Christ constitutes another reality. For Origen, this difference consisted
partly in a slight but decisive ontological subordination; it was this subordina-
tion which made Christ’s special relationship with creation plausible.
This ingenious conception came under sustained attack in the early fourth
century. Put simply, the question was this: should Christ in this sense be seen
as part of creation or not? Neither solution seemed ideal; Origen and those
who followed him therefore sought to keep the answer in the balance empha-
sising Christ’s uniquely close union with the Father but permitting that in
some sense he could also be spoken of as created. As the controversy pro-
gressed, however, the latter possibility was ultimately condemned.
The wide-ranging consequences this had can be seen in Gregory of Nyssa.
Here, any notion of pre-existent created being is eliminated. There are no
forms or paradigms from which or through which God creates. Instead, Gre-
gory introduced a theory of physis containing the seeds (logoi) of all created
reality and, as such, created by God “in the beginning.”39 This concept of cre-
ation not through a divine Logos as in Origen but through logoi was later
adopted and modified by Maximus the Confessor and John Scotus Eriugena.40
Gregory’s theory of simultaneous creation influenced his account of the cre-
ation of human nature in his On the Making of Humanity. In the present
volume, Laurent Lavaud’s chapter deals with this text which is as fasci-
nating as it is difficult. In his reading, Gregory’s debt to Stoic thought is shown
to be of paramount importance shaping his interpretation of the celebrated
words about the human being as the “image of God” in Genesis 1:26.
These speculations continued throughout the Patristic period, as Carlo
Dell’Osso demonstrates in his contribution. In the seventh century, Anas-
tasius of Sinai draws on a long tradition of Christian interpretations in his
attempt to offer a plausible account of the same verse. In the little-known
text to which this chapter draws attention, it is specifically the interrelation
of the cosmological interest with other aspects of Christian theology that is
remarkable: Anastasius aligns the creation of humankind to the doctrine of
the Trinity but also, specifically, to Christology. As three centuries earlier, in
Gregory of Nyssa, it is therefore the creation of humanity that provides the key
to the full theological significance of God’s creation.
Despite their differences, all these Christian thinkers utilised the Book of
Genesis based on the hermeneutical assumption, inherited from Philo, that in
a philosophical reading it revealed a cosmogony. Yet this decision was itself
not uncontroversial. In response, it appears, to some more daring interpreta-
39 Zachhuber 1999, 148–9.

40 For Maximus cf. Dalmais 1952; Larchet 1996, 112–124. For Eriugena: Guiu 2013.
tive hypotheses advanced by Origen, calls grew for a more literal interpretation
of the biblical text. While they were initially focussed on questions such as the
corporeality of the first creation,41 a more radical backlash took shape from
the late fourth century. Now some Christian authors, apparently for the first
time, demanded that the cosmological claims expressed by or underlying the
various biblical accounts had to be taken at face value by Christian readers.
This story, which remains little known, is recounted in detail in the present
volume by Benjamin Gleede. He shows the Antiochene provenance of the
main protagonists in the fourth century and follows the subsequent history in
Greek and Syriac sources to the notorious Cosmas Indicopleustes whose Chris-
tian Topography was specifically targeted in John Philoponus’ On the Creation
of the World.
Attention to the text of Genesis, to be sure, was always central of Christ-
ian cosmology. A fascinating example of this is provided here by Peter van
Deun’s edition of a Byzantine text offering “etymologies” for major terms used
in the biblical account of the six days of creation.
This last text discussed in the present collection was written more than
a millennium after the Timaeus. During these centuries, ancient cosmology
underwent major transformations, not least on account of the confrontation
between “pagan” and Christian conceptions of the origin of the world. The
present volume overall emphasises common threads running through this
entire development. To this it might be objected that approaching cosmol-
ogy as a continuous tradition neglects the vast discontinuities that come into
view by considering the context of each individual author, the specific views
against which they argue, their sources as well as other information available
to them. The editors and contributors, however, do not deny the need to be
discerning in their treatment of individual writers and their texts. They would
insist, however, that the very identification of an author’s individuality relies
on an awareness of continuities in thought to be appropriately contextualised.
Ultimately, the papers collected in this volume seek to contribute to the
philosophical investigation of texts in a perspective combining historical,
philological, and epistemological dimensions as defined in the various intel-
lectual trajectories encountered in late antiquity. The fruitful reconciliation
of these trajectories permits the unprejudiced analysis of the principles, con-
cepts, laws, theories, and methods in ancient cosmologies in order to iden-
tify the assumptions and the philosophical options which served as their
foundations.
41 Dechow 1988.
Introduction 15
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Lineage Trouble
Some Considerations on Plato as a Genealogist in the Timaeus
Marwan Rashed
Readers of Plato know well that the prologues of the dialogues often contain,
in allusive and playful form, some important indications on the philosoph-
ical theme of the work.1 In the present paper, I shall argue for reading the
Timaeus as an essentially genealogical reflection: Plato, through the mouth
of the Italic philosopher Timaeus of Locri, proposes a genealogy of reality or
what we might call the hyper-world, that is, of the structure that goes from the
Ideal Numbers to the sensible, passing through the three levels of intermedi-
ate entities, namely numerical ratios, geometrical surfaces and the solids of
stereometry.2 It is under this condition that the domain of the sensible can be
part of the same world of the intelligible, that the sensible can be “saved”, that
truth can be of this world, that the sophist can be refuted and that Socrates
may have been right not to escape from prison. In this hermeneutical frame-
work, which underlies my interpretation of the Timaeus, genealogy becomes
the very condition of theodicy.
It is, therefore, necessary to try to understand whether a careful reading of
the prologue, sensitive to the Platonic subtexts, can corroborate such a reading
hypothesis. The project is challenging, because the prologue of the Timaeus is
certainly one of the richest and most elaborate among Plato’s dialogues. There
we find Socrates and three interlocutors: the Athenian Critias and two Italic
statesmen, Timaeus of Locri, who will be entrusted with the description of the
world, and Hermocrates, a Syracusan general who will be, a few years later, the
main architect of the defeat of the Athenian expedition in Sicily.
In the prologue, the protagonist is Critias. It is Critias who recounts, appar-
ently without much connection to Timaeus’ later cosmological discourse, a
story that he takes from Solon, who learned of it from the priests of the
Egyptian city of Sais in Lower Egypt. This story, undoubtedly more famous
than Timaeus’ cosmological discourse that will come later, is that of Atlantis.
According to the account of the priest of Neith, an Atlantean power invaded
the Mediterranean basin several thousand years earlier. Only Athens, under
1 Von den Steinen 1949, Burnyeat 1997.

2 Rashed 2013.
Lineage Trouble 19
the leadership of the goddess Neith-Athena, resisted and managed to defeat

the invader.
No one has ever related the story of Atlantis to a genealogical theme. When
scholars do not see in this story a pure and simple invention, they interpret
it in one of two ways. Sometimes they propose a political reading of it, in the
form of an inversion: in telling the story of a defeated imperialism, Plato would
warn the imperialist Athens of his time.3 Another reading, which meets more
of my favor, goes back to Neoplatonism. The story of Atlantis would prefigure
a central thesis of the cosmology that follows: the victory of order over chaos,
that is, of mathematical structures over the lack of form of the sensible world,
in which forms and numbers are absent.4 But in the absence of specifications,
all this tells us little.
In the following pages, I will study a series of narratological allusions point-
ing to such an interpretation of the Timaeus. I will try to show that in this
dialogue, Plato is devoted to the problem, difficult among all, of the geneal-
ogy of the sensible world. To this effect, I will consider the possibility that the
theme of genealogy animates the entire prologue of the Timaeus, and, in par-
ticular, that it may be intertwined with the question of Plato’s maternal and – a
fact that has remained concealed since Antiquity – paternal genealogy. More-
over, I shall try to show that the Egyptian prologue of the Timaeus, and its focus
on the role of the goddess Neith of Saïs, is part and parcel of Plato’s genealogi-
cal concern – i.e., of the possibility of drawing a true genealogy of the sensible
world.
1 Plato’s Maternal Lineage
1.1 The Fictional Date of the Setting of the Timaeus: July 421
Is it possible to determine the fictional date in which Plato sets our dialogue?
The question is perhaps meaningless, since this is literary fiction. However,
some political clues might point to July 421. The invited guests meet, Plato
tells us, during the Panathenaea, which were held every year in the month
of Hecatombaeon, which corresponds roughly to July. It is possible, then, to
advance the hypothesis that the group of Italics – Timaeus, Hermocrates and
the absent sick – was in Athens during the Small Panathenae. If it had been the
Great Panathenae, Plato would probably have specified, as he does in the Par-
menides. If so, the date of 422 is to be excluded, because in that year the Great
3 See Gill 2017.

4 See Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria I, ed. Diehl, vol. 1, 75, 30–81, 19.
20 Rashed
Panathenaea were held and not the Small ones. The action, however, cannot
have had place before such a date. In 427, the Athenians captured five Locrian
ships;5 in the autumn of 426, they reported a new victory over Locri,6 which
took its revenge at the beginning of 425 and that, during the summer of 425,7
crushed Reggio, an allied city of Athens, traditionally held in the grip of Syra-
cuse and Locri.8 To imagine that, in this period, a Locrian politician could be
peacefully in Athens without being held hostage is simply absurd. The picture
described by Plato presumes a period of relative political tranquillity, even if
the shadow of Athenian imperialism looms over the entire prologue. The year
422 is a year of truce, after the defeats suffered by both sides, a truce that will
result in the so-called peace of Nicias in 421. Even more suggestive – and it is
strange that no one, as far as I know, has ever mentioned this aspect – is the
fact that while Athens concluded a truce with some enemy cities of Magna
Graecia already in 424, it is only in 422 that Locri joins the negotiations.9 This
situation would naturally explain the presence in Athens among the negotia-
tors of a Syracusan and a Locrian in that year or the following one. We are then
very little before or very little after 420, more likely in July 421, in a period of
relative lull in the Peloponnesian War, before it came to the final act of that
war, fatal for Athens. Socrates was about fifty years old; Hermocrates, who a
few years later routed the Athenians without appeal, was a man in his prime.
As for Critias, the question of his age remains tied to that of his genealogical
identity. If he is, as I think, Plato’s uncle, the future leader of the Thirty, born in
460, he must have been just under forty at the time of the meeting.
1.2 The Genealogy of Critias

In order to solve the genealogical riddle of Critias, it is necessary to cross three
types of information: what is said in the Timaeus, what is said in the Charmides
and some historical information from other sources. Let us list the many pieces
of data at our disposal.10
– Data provided by the Timaeus:
(a) The Critias character of the Timaeus has a grandfather (πάππος),
also named Critias, whose father, a certain Dropides, is his “great-
grandfather” (πρόπαπππος) (20d–e);
(b) Critias son of Dropides was “about ninety years old” when the narrator
Critias could have been at most ten years old (21a–b);
5 Diodorus Siculus XII, 54, 4.

6 Thucydides III, 103, 3.
7 Thucydides III, 115, 6.
8 Thucydides IV, 1. Cf. III, 86, 2.
9 Thucydides V, 5, 1–3. Cf. Oldfather 1927, 1332.
10 See Nails 2002, 244.
Lineage Trouble 21
(c) This Dropides is “ìntimate” (οἰκεῖος) and “very friendly” (σφόδρα φίλος)
to Solon (20d–e);
– Data provided by the Charmides:
(d) The tyrant Critias and Charmides are related to Solon by “kinship”
(συγγένεια) (155a).
(e) This family is that of “Critias son of Dropides” (157e).
(f) The lineage (οἰκία) of Critias son of Dropides was sung by Solon,
Anacreon and other poets (157e).
– Data from other sources:
(g) A certain Dropides was eponymous archon in 645/4.
(h) A certain Critias was eponymous archon in 600.
(i) A certain Dropides was eponymous archon in 593/2.
(j) Solon was born around 630 and was eponymous archon in 594/3.
(k) A certain Critias son of Leaides was the subject of an ostracism proce-
dure around 480.
(l) A certain Critias was loved by Anacreon, born around 527.
(m) The tyrant Critias is the son of Callaischrus; the latter is the brother of
Glaucon, father of Charmides, and Perictione, mother of Plato.
(n) The tyrant Critias was born around 460 and died in 403.
These data allow us to reconstruct in a fairly secure way the lower part of
the family tree of Critias the tyrant. He is the son of Callaischrus (m), grand-
son of the Critias who was exposed to a procedure of ostracism around 480
(k). Assuming that the latter was old enough to worry his fellow citizens, and
young enough for his energy still constitute a danger, his date of birth is prob-
ably around 530–510. This leads us to place the birth of Leaides, his father,
around 560–540. If the Dropides of the Timaeus is about the same age as Solon
(which is confirmed by the contiguous dates of the archontates, cf. [i] and [j]),
everything fits perfectly. The character designated as “Critias the Elder” and
son of Dropides in the Timaeus would be none other than the father of Leaides
and would have been born around 590.
It is now clear that “Critias the Elder,” born around 590, cannot be the grand-
father (πάππος, cf. a) of Critias the Tyrant, born around 460 (= Critias IV, cf.
[n]). So, of two things: either Plato has made a mistake, or the interlocutor of
the Timaeus is not Critias IV, but his grandfather (= Critias III). This would be
the Critias who, from non-Platonic historical sources, we know to have been
the object of love by the poet Anacreon (born around 550, died around 465)
and threatened with ostracism around 480.
Let us admit that Plato has not committed a genealogical mistake. The inter-
locutor of the Timaeus must then necessarily be Critias III and not Critias IV.
Critias III was born no later than 510, more likely around 520. In July 421, there-
fore, he would have been about 100 years old. If not from a biological point of
22 Rashed
view, this figure seems impossible from a narrative point of view, because Plato
would not have failed to make an allusion to his venerable age. He would not
have attributed to his words an almost youthful impetuosity, evident in every
sentence he utters. His interlocutors would not have asked him to tell Socrates
a long story that he had already told the day before, in the street, without find-
ing an excuse that justified too great an effort for an old man.11 It will suffice to
recall, for confirmation, the way Plato describes the old Parmenides – who in
the dialogue of the same name is only “about sixty-five years old” – and how
he complains about the effort required of him, citing his advanced age.12
The contradiction is obvious. Critias IV has, in 421, the date of the fictional
meeting with Timaeus, an age consistent with the character of the dialogue
(about 40 years), but the genealogy that he exposes is wrong. Critias III, on the
other hand, is really Dropides’s grandson, but he was born too early to be the
character depicted in the Timaeus.
I will leave out some of the difficulties involved in reconstructing the upper
part of Critias’s family tree. Whatever solution is chosen, from Dropides II
onward the family tree presents no difficulties. Plato has simply deleted two
generations from his family tree, Leaides and Critias III. Here is how:
DROPIDES II (arch. 593) … SOLON (arch. 594)

|
CRITIAS II (born ca 600)
|
LEAIDES (born ca 560–550)
|
CRITIAS III (born ca 520)
|
| |
CALLAESCHRUS (born ca 490) GLAUCON
| |
| | |
CRITIAS IV (460–403) PERICTIONE CHARMIDES
|
PLATO
11 Cf. Plato, Timaeus 20c–d.

12 Cf. Plato, Parmenides 127b. Parmenides, already at this age, is described as “really very
old,” εὖ μάλα ἤδη πρεσβύτην. Cf. 130e and especially the whole of the passage 136d–137b.
Lineage Trouble 23
It is not enough to note the presence of a contradiction in Plato’s text. It is also

important to realize that Plato, by providing us with much chronological infor-
mation, has done everything possible to allow us to detect this contradiction.
Anyone who knows Solon’s age can deduce that, on a purely chronological
level, Dropides’s great-grandson could not have been Critias IV, the only one
with whom it is possible to identify, in July 421, the Critias of the Timaeus. The
conclusion seems to be obvious: Plato has deliberately confused Critias III and
Critias IV. He created, if one can say so, a hybrid being, with characteristics
belonging to each of these two individuals.
A clarification is necessary. For the sake of the coherence of the character,
it is less unfortunate that this character ignores his own genealogy, as in the
case of Critias IV, than that it is of a different age from his own, as it would be
the case of Critias III. Rather than speak of a hybrid character, it is better to
say, with the ancient sources, that the Critias of the Timaeus is indeed Critias
IV;13 but that, which they had not noticed, Plato lent him the genealogy of
Critias III. At a first analysis, we can suggest two interpretations, which we will
call strong and weak hypothesis. The weak hypothesis is purely chronological:
Plato would have used a ploy in an attempt to bring Critias IV chronologi-
cally closer to Solon. We can, however, oppose to this hypothesis an objection.
For what reason would Plato, while wishing to eliminate a segment of this
genealogy, have been so scrupulous in pointing out the temporal relationships
underlying it?
We must therefore look at the strong hypothesis, which postulates a delib-
erate game in the reconstruction of the family tree of Critias IV. Plato would
not so much have wanted to “rig” the genealogy of Critias IV as to make this
trick obvious. The difficult thing is to understand why he did it.
Again, two possible explanations. Either Plato deliberately made Critias IV
lie (this is W. Welliver’s interpretation)14 so that it would be clear to us, from
the beginning, that Critias IV does not tell, and therefore would not tell even
later, the truth. Or, as I think, behind this genealogical omission it is necessary
to see an intrusion of Plato into his own work. It would serve to foreshadow
an important philosophical lesson present in the Timaeus – the difficulty of all
genealogy.
13 See Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria I, ed. Diehl, vol. 1, 70, 24: ἐτυράννευσε δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς
εἷς τῶν τριάκοντα γενόμενος.
14 Except that he believes Plato’s chosen character is Critias III, who would have been about
ninety years old. See Welliver 1977.
24 Rashed
1.3 A Confirmation: The Genealogy of the Traditional Gods

Now, I could be objected to resorting to circular reasoning: my interpretation
of the genealogical error underlies the interpretation of certain cosmological
models in the dialogue, but at the same time it is dependent on it. It is there-
fore necessary to show that this circularity is only apparent, by showing how
the genealogical error is recurrent in the Timaeus. To do this, let us turn to
the second genealogy of the dialogue, that of the traditional gods, the daily
bread of learned and obtuse genealogists – which, of course, an aristocratic-
philosopher like Plato cannot but despise. The text is as follows:15
To speak of the other gods and to know their origin is beyond our ability,
and therefore we must give credit to those who have spoken of them at
an earlier time, since they were, as they said, descendants of the gods,
and knew their ancestors perfectly well: it is therefore impossible not
to give credit to the children of the gods, even if they speak without
probable and necessary arguments, but, since they say that they expound
things concerning their family, we must, following tradition, give credit
to them. So then, according to what they say, let the genealogy of these
gods be this, and let it be manifested: from Gaea and Uranus were born
the children Oceanus and Thetis, and from these, Phorcys, Cronus, and
Rhea and all those who were born with them; from Cronus and Rhea,
Zeus and Hera and all those we know who are called their brothers, and
the others, the children of these.
The initial reference to those who “spoke at an earlier time” of the gods is
a clear indication that Plato is here referring to an Orphic cosmogony that
he mentions on two other occasions, Cratylus 402b–c and Philebus 66c. The
Cratylus quotes two verses:
Orpheus says:
“Oceanus of the beautiful current, first began the union he who took
to wife his sister Thetys, daughter of the same mother.”
The Philebus informs us that the poem alluded to stopped at the sixth genera-
tion of gods. In fact, Socrates ends Protarchus’ speech in this way:
“At the sixth generation,” says Orpheus, “let the order of song cease.” It
may well be that our speech also ceased at the sixth sentence!
15 Plato, Timaeus 40d–41a.

Lineage Trouble 25
In the fifth century, Syrianus and his students had access to this Rhapsody,
or at least to a text that resembles it. Syrianus provides some elements of its
content, along with some literal quotations. Here is what Proclus transmits:16
Orpheus taught us that the kings of the gods who preside over all things,
according to the perfect number, are Phanes, Night, Uranus, Cronus,
Zeus, Dionysus. Fanes is in fact the first to wield the scepter:
“First reigned Erikepaius, very illustrious.”
Second comes Night, who received the scepter from her father. Uranus
received it third from his mother, Cronus fourth, when, as is said, he did
violence to his father, Zeus fifth, when he made himself master of his
father, and after him, sixth, Dionysus.
Timaeus mentions the four lower degrees, but does not mention the first two,
Phanes and Night. There is no error, but pure and simple omission. On the
other hand, as Proclus noted, Plato introduces a real distortion by duplicating
the third level in two layers. Indeed, the mythological tradition is unanimous
in regarding Oceanus and Thetys as the brother and sister of Cronus:17
But since we want to relate this group also to Intellectual Causes as we

did for the previously named classes, and that, in these classes, Oceanus
and Tethys are said to be brothers of Kronos and Rhea, and not their
parents – because Cronus and Rhea were also born from Uranus and
Gaia, and likewise the whole class of Titans came from them – let us
examine why Plato gave birth here to Phorcys, Cronus and Rhea from
Oceanus and Thetys. It would indeed seem that, when he speaks thus, he
is not in agreement with the traditions on the origins.
Proclus took the trouble to explain this in great detail. To this end, he intro-
duces a hierarchy between the brothers and justifies the fact that Oceanus is
called the “father” of Cronus by virtue of his hierarchical pre-eminence, based
on primogeniture, against him who, in the proper sense, is nothing but his
brother:18
Here is what to answer. Since it is assumed in advance by us that this

Oceanus and that Tethys are above Cronus and Rhea, as intermediaries
16 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria V, ed. Diehl, vol. 3, 168, 17–25.

17 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria V, ed. Diehl, vol. 3, 183, 26–184, 2.
18 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria V, ed. Diehl, vol. 3, 184, 17–23.
26 Rashed
between these gods and their ancestors (i.e. Uranus and Gaia) and as
“keepers of the boundaries” between these two couples, according to
the name we usually sing about them, since it is therefore well estab-
lished, we must respond to the difficulty by saying that there is nothing
surprising about this, namely that the same be named “brothers” of cer-
tain others and at the same time, because of their preeminent dignity,
“fathers” of these others.
This desperate solution, however, has the merit of drawing the reader’s atten-
tion to the problem: namely, the presence of a second genealogical error in the
first pages of the Timaeus. Plato has introduced into the succession of the gods
an incongruity at least equal to that which burdened his maternal genealogy.
We can therefore conclude that Plato subverts from within the two explicit
genealogies of the Timaeus. What is more, he does so by giving us the opportu-
nity to verify the falsity of his claims. The line of descent that he outlines of the
traditional divinities is in contradiction with the evident lesson of the Orphic
cosmogony, still known almost a thousand years later. And the one of Critias
described by him, therefore the one of his own maternal lineage, is marked
by such an evident inconsistency that it will be enough to know Solon’s date
of birth to unmask it. It is therefore the genealogical scheme itself to be the
target in the Timaeus of a real attack.
2 Plato’s Paternal Lineage
The surprises, however, do not end there. If the theme of Plato’s maternal line
of ancestry is ubiquitous in the prologue of the Timaeus, what about his pater-
nal one? Of course, there was nothing obliging Plato to mention his paternal
ancestry merely because he described his maternal one by setting the stage for
Critias. But the stakes from the genealogical point of view are so high from the
very beginning of the Timaeus that the question at least deserves to be asked,
all the more so since with this question we are touching on an obscure area
of the Academy’s history. So begins the Life of Plato by the ancient biographer
Diogenes Laertius (III 1–2):
Plato, son of Ariston and Perictione, or Potone, an Athenian.

His mother by lineage descended from Solon. In fact, Solon was
the brother of Dropides, from whom descended in succession Critias,
Callaischrus, Critias – who was one of the Thirty – and Glaucon,
Charmides and Perictione, who begat Plato with Ariston, in the sixth
Lineage Trouble 27
generation after Solon. Solon, in turn, traced his lineage back to Neleus
and Poseidon. They say, on the other hand, that Plato’s father descended
from Codrus, son of Melanthus, who is said, according to Thrasyllus, to
have descended from Poseidon.
Speusippus, in his work entitled Funeral Banquet of Plato, Clearchus,
in his Praise of Plato, and Anaxilaïdes, in the second book of his work
On the Philosophers, tell a story that circulated in Athens. Ariston would
have wanted to rape Perictione, who was in the prime of life, but he did
not succeed; when he had desisted from his attempts at violence, he had
a vision of Apollo. From then on he refrained from consummating the
marriage until after Perictione had given birth.
We note first of all how Plato’s maternal line is reported in the truncated ver-
sion also presented in the Timaeus: Leaides and Critias III have been deleted
from Diogenes’ source. Diogenes also mistakenly introduces Solon as the
brother, and not just a close friend, of Dropides. And since Solon “traced his
lineage back to Neleus and Poseidon”, Diogenes (or his source) erroneously
deduces that Plato’s maternal family is descended from the sea god Poseidon.
Nothing noteworthy so far. Plato belongs to the ancient aristocracy of
Athens. Things get stranger, however, when we turn to Plato’s paternal ances-
try. We learn that the family of Ariston, Plato’s father, claimed to be descended
from Codrus, the last legendary king of Athens.19 It would be, therefore, an
ancestry at least as illustrious as that of Perictione, the mother of Plato. One
wonders, therefore, why Plato shows himself to be so shy in relation to this
part of his family, while he has no hesitation in expounding on his maternal
genealogy.
The mystery thickens if we consider the anecdote reported by Plato’s mater-
nal nephew, and his successor at the head of the Academy, Speusippus. From
what is reported in his Funeral Banquet of Plato emerges that Plato would not
actually be the son of his human father Ariston, but of the god Apollo himself,
who is said to have joined Perictione, first cousin of Critias IV. What seems
remarkable about this story is the fact that it is not a legend spread by an
obscure Hellenistic biographer, but the somewhat official position of Plato’s
early followers – Speusippus being none other than his nephew – about Plato’s
paternal origins. Although we have no proof of this, we can therefore assume
that Speusippus’ account was based on a belief, or at least a theme, not wholly
foreign to Plato himself, regardless of whether he had spread it or not. Element,
19 On Ariston, see Nails 2002, 53–54.

28 Rashed
this, which is confirmed in the dialogues that, again, never mention the pater-
nal family of the author.
But why would Plato have hidden his paternal ancestry, or even encour-
aged the myth of his Apollonian ancestry? The most probable explanation –
if we do not want to find answers in psychoanalysis – lies in the fact that the
paternal family of the philosopher descended from Poseidon, tutelary deity of
Attica. It was, however, the wrong divinity: the history of Attica is marked by
the rivalry between Poseidon and Athena. It is quite obvious that Plato, in this
conflict, favors the goddess of wisdom – celebrated by him in the Timaeus –
against the god of the sea.
Let us briefly dwell on this point. Plato, to begin with, misses no opportunity
to degrade the sea element. In the geographical myth of the Phaedo (cf. 110a),
the sea is the lowest and most degraded cosmic zone. It is well known that in
Plato’s political vision, the sea is the place of foreign influence, of diversion.
The sea is the very embodiment of the sensible, in its dimension of instability,
of lability, of continuous flow.
Moreover, Poseidon, as we have just mentioned, apart from his questionable
prerogative (the marine element), is in opposition to Athena, the goddess of
wisdom, for the possession of Attica. The conflict between the two divinities
becomes a founding myth in the history of Athens, so much so that Phidias
immortalized it on the western pediment of the Parthenon.20
Finally, this conflict between Athena (wisdom) and Poseidon (the sensi-
ble world) constitutes the almost explicit plot of the tale of Atlantis in the
prologue of the Timaeus. The Egyptian priest tells how under the auspices
of Athena – which he identifies with the goddess Neith of Sais – the brave
Athenians of the past have resisted the attacks of the Atlantean invaders, who
came from an island beyond the Pillars of Hercules to conquer the Mediter-
ranean basin. In the Timaeus account, Poseidon does not appear at all. Plato, in
fact, could not have staged, even through an intermediary, a conflict between
gods.21 For Plato, there can be no god of the sea for the simple reason that
there can be no god of the sensible realm as such.
The exclusion made by Plato of the paternal family from his genealogy, as
well as that of Poseidon from the founding myth of Athens in the Timaeus,
are to be read as a whole. Plato would have banished a divinity of which, for
philosophical reasons, he could not admit the existence.
20 For a presentation of the issue of the Western pediment, see Queyrel 2008, 62–7.
21 However, in the tale of the Critias, which I think is not by Plato (on this, see Rashed and
Auffret 2017), Poseidon is named—another indication, among others, that the author was
not able to rise to the level of his model.
Lineage Trouble 29
An absence, it will be said, is not an exclusion. Let us assume that the

absence of Poseidon derives from Plato’s embarrassment; one would be wrong,
however, to think that the absence of allusions to Plato’s paternal ancestry
counts as an exclusion. The Timaeus’ silence on this point is not objectively
significant.
However, let us pay attention to the next passage in the Timaeus (21a–b).
Critias IV recalls an episode from his childhood, when he was asked to recite
some verses in front of his grandfather, Critias III:
I will tell you then this ancient story as I heard it from a man no longer
young. Critias, as he said, was then nearing ninety years of age, while I
was scarcely ten years old: for us it was Cureotis day of the Apaturia.
In a fiction – where, by definition, nothing is left to chance – it will be neces-

sary to dwell on this reference to the Apaturia. This is the genealogical feast
par excellence: it is on this occasion, on the day of Kουρεῶτις, that three- and
four-year-old children were registered in the tribes of the city.
This festival assumes, however, for Plato’s genealogy an even greater value.
Hellenistic scholars knew of two etymologies for the term ἀπατούρια. The first,
which appears only in an old scholium on Aristophanes (Acharnians, v. 146),
is the only correct one: the first alpha of the term ἀπατούρια is copulative, as if
saying ὁμοπατόρια, that is, the feast “where the fathers stand together:”22
Others say that because fathers (paterôn) gathered in the same place
(homou) to register their children, the feast was called homo-patoria.
Likewise, we call a-lochos those who “sleep in the same bed” (homokoiton)
and a-koitin; the same is true of homo-patoria, a-patoria.
The second etymology, a scholarly invention that has only become widespread
since the genealogist Hellanicus of Lesbos (fifth century BC), is artificial. Hel-
lanicus derives the name ἀπατούρια from the noun ἀπάτη, “deception,” or
“cunning,” based on this story: the Athenians and the Boeotians were fight-
ing over a neighboring territory, when they decided to entrust the outcome of
the conflict to a duel between their kings, Timetes (a descendant of Theseus)
22 οἱ δέ φασιν ὅτι τῶν πατέρων ὁποίῳ ὁμοῦ συνερχομένων διὰ τὰς τῶν παίδων ἐγγραφὰς
οἷον λέγεσθαι τὴν ἑορτήν: ὁποίῳ τρόπῳ λέγομεν ἄλοχον τὴν ὁμόκοιτον ἄκοιτιν, οὕτω καὶ
ὁμοπατόρια, Ἀπατόρια. See Aristophanes, Comœdiæ, ed. Dindorf, vol. IV/2, 346, 16–19. See
also Aristophanes, Comœdiæ, ed. Bekker, vol. 2, 6–7. See also Suidae Lexicon, ed. Adler, s.
v. Ἀπατουρία (A 2940): 266, 8–11.
30 Rashed
and Xanthus, king of Thebes. Timetes was afraid to face his opponent and,
so, offered his throne to whoever would replace him in the duel. Melanthus
volunteered. He was a descendant of Poseidon, through his father Neleus.
The duel called for the two combatants to appear alone. Melanthus devised
a plan: he ordered a man dressed in black goatskin to stand behind Xanthus.
Having challenged his opponent, Melanthus began to accuse him of not hav-
ing respected the rules established for the fight. Xanthus turned to see what
Melanthus was accusing him of, and Melanthus fatally struck him in the back.
Melanthus was succeeded by his son Codrus. This is the line of descent
(Poseidon → Melanthus → Codrus) that, according to the erudite Thrasyllus
(who was the astrologer of Tiberius), Ariston, the father of Plato, claimed as
his own. Thus, in the midst of the presentation of his maternal ancestry, Plato
refers to the genealogical festival of the Apaturia, whose legend centered on
his paternal ancestor Melanthus.
One may wonder why neither Proclus nor any modern scholar seems to
have suspected such a thing. Here, for example, is an excerpt from Proclus’
commentary:23
The Apatouria was a festival in honor of Dionysus on the occasion of the

singular combat of Melanthus and the Boeotian Xanthus and the victory,
by deception, of Melanthus in the war between Boeotians and Athenians
for Oinoe. The festival lasted three days, etc.…
On the fact that Melanthus was an ancestor of Plato, not a word. Similarly,
Proclus addresses the question of deception by adducing foggy metaphysical
considerations:24
Moreover, deception is appropriate to the Forms that enter the Cosmos,

which thus leave their nature as undivided and immaterial principles
and become mere appearances instead of being the true entities.
However, one ancient commentator was sensitive to this genealogical prob-

lem. He has remained ignored by the modern tradition of Timaeus exegesis
because his text, lost in Greek, has been preserved only in Arabic. This com-
mentator is the Middle Platonist Theon of Smyrna (second century AD), one of
the best connoisseurs of Plato in Antiquity. One of his works is mentioned in
the twelfth-century Arabic biographer and bibliographer al-Qifṭī.25 I translate:
23 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria I, ed. Diehl, vol. 1, 88, 12–14.

24 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria I, ed. Diehl, vol. 1, 89, 10–13.
25 See al-Qifṭī, Kitāb ta’rīḫ al-ḥukamā’, ed. Lippert, 18, 14–19, 15.
Lineage Trouble 31
Theon said:
Plato was the son of Aristocles, an Athenian, and his mother was Peric-
tione the daughter of Glaucon. His ancestors were nobles on both sides.
The mother to whom we have referred belonged to the line of Solon,
who instituted the laws for the people of Athens, and who restored to
them the city of Salamis, after the inhabitants of Megara had taken it
away. Solon had a brother named Dropides, of whom Plato speaks often
in his works. Dropides had a son named Critias. Plato mentions him in
the Timaeus, along with the son of Critias, Callaeschrus, and the son of
Callaeschrus, Glaucon, and the son of Glaucon, Charmides, and the sis-
ter of Charmides, Perictione (also called Potone), of whom Plato is a son.
Plato is, therefore, the sixth from Solon.
As for his father Ariston’s family, his lineage goes back to Codrus,
son of Melanthus, whose ancestor was Poseidon. His ancestor Melan-
thus was brave, valiant, determined and cunning. When the people of
Boeotia attacked the people of Athens because of a disagreement that
had occurred between them, afterwards, when the war between them
had been going on for a long time and fighters on both sides had been
killed, everyone was tired of the situation they were in. And at that time
Xanthus was in charge of the kingdom of Boeotia, while Timetes was
in charge of Athens. Xanthus asked Timetes for a duel. Timetes was
cowardly and refused to fight, thus demonstrating his cowardice. Then
Melanthus, Plato’s ancestor, came out of Athens and said, “I will face him
in a duel, provided that, if I defeat him, I become king!”. Timetes agreed.
Xanthus, the king of Boeotia, passed the border and Melanthus, Plato’s
ancestor, challenged him to a duel. When they were close, Melanthus
said, “Go away and then come back to me!”. So, when Xanthus turned
around, Melanthus cunningly struck him from behind and killed him.
From that time on, there was a festival among the people of Athens. It
was called the “Feast of Cunning”. At that time, it was called in Greek
Apatenoria and now it is called Apaturia.
It is from this that this festival was born. As for his son Codrus, he gave
himself up to the enemy to free the people of his city. He agreed to wear
rags and die for them.
From an old scholium on the Symposium (On Plato, Symposium 208d1) we

learn that Theon draws his mythological information from Hellanicus of Les-
bos.26 The orientalist Julius Lippert had already noted this more than a cen-
26 See Hellanicus of Lesbos, fr. 10 (Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum, vol. 1, 47).

32 Rashed
tury ago in a note dedicated to this text (and since forgotten);27 Wilamowitz
writes that there are good reasons to believe that it was Hellanicus who intro-
duced the theme of the stratagem; for, says Wilamowitz, in a “patrician State”
(Geschlechterstaat) such as Athens, it is unthinkable that the correct etymol-
ogy of the name of the feast would be forgotten, much less replaced by an
explanation referring to cunning.28 It will be noted, then, that the etymol-
ogy Ἀπατηνόρια → Ἀπατούρια appears, apart from in the Arabic text, only
in the scholium on the Symposium (ὅθεν τοῖς Ἀθηναίοις κρατήσασι τῆς χώρας
ἔδοξεν ἑορτὴν ἄγειν, ἣν πάλαι ὕστερον γενομένης Ἀπατούρια ἐκάλουν ὡς ἀπὸ τῆς
γενομένης ἀπάτης), which suggests Theon’s mediation between Hellanicus and
the late Neoplatonic scholarly production from which the scholia originated.
The scholium on the Symposium contains another noteworthy fact. Without
referring to Plato, it attributes to Hellanicus a list of Codrus’ ancestors. The
latter would descend, through his father Melanthus, from Deucalion. Is it a
coincidence that Deucalion is mentioned in the same genealogical context by
Plato a few lines down in the Timaeus? Solon describes to the Egyptian priest
the ancient Athens (Timaeus 21e–22b) in the following way:
Solon said that on his arrival there he was received with great honors by
them, and that having once questioned the most knowledgeable priests
about such matters, he found that neither he himself nor any other Greek
was so to speak privy to such facts. And then wishing to urge them into
discourse concerning ancient events he began to speak of those facts
which are here thought to be the most ancient, and told of Phoroneus
who was called the “first,” and of Niobe, and after the flood, how Deu-
calion and Pyrrha spent their lives, and made the genealogy of their
descendants, and remembering the times tried to calculate in what years
the events of which he spoke had occurred.
“Making the genealogy” (γενεαλογεῖν) of the descendants of Deucalion and

Pyrrha is exactly what Hellanicus was doing in his History of Attica (Atthis)
several decades before Plato wrote the Timaeus. For the sake of clarity, here
is a translation of the incipit of the scholium on the Symposium already men-
tioned:
Codrus was descended from Deucalion, as Hellanicus says. From Deu-

calion and Pyrrha (but, according to some, from Zeus and Pyrrha) was
27 See Lippert 1894a and Lippert 1894b, 45–50, especially 47–48.

28 Cf. von Wilamowitz-Möllendorff, 1886, 112, n. 2.
Lineage Trouble 33
born Hellen; from Hellen and Othreis were born Xutus, Aeolus, Dorus,
Xenopatra; from Aeolus and Iphis, the daughter of Peneus, Salmoneus;
from Salmoneus and Alcidice, Tiro; from this last one and Poseidon,
Neleus; from Neleus and Chloris, Periclimenus; from Periclimenus and
Peisidike, Borus; from Borus and Lysidike, Penthilus; from Penthilus and
Anchiroe, Andropompus; from Andropompus and Enioche, daughter of
Armenius, son of Zeuxippus, son of Eumeles, son of Admetus, Melan-
thus. The latter, during the offensive of the Heraclides, moved from
Messene to Athens and had Codrus as a son.
At this point, one should no longer hesitate to attribute to Plato a conscious

play concerning his paternal genealogy, in the form of an allusion, admittedly
ironic, to the genealogical erudition of Hellanicus. It is unlikely that in his
days, in that Geschlechterstaat which was still Athens at the time, the memory
of the correct etymology of the term Ἀπατούρια = ὁμοπατούρια was forgotten.
After all, if this etymology was still known, at least a century after Plato, to an
Alexandrian commentator on Aristophanes, it could only be clear to the old
oligarch Plato. But it is equally clear that Plato is tacitly playing with the legend
of Melanthus’ stratagem. The mention of the Apaturia is also an allusion to the
founding event of his paternal line, an ambiguous event to say the least, which
gave him and his descendants kingship in Athens.29
Moreover, the struggle of Melanthus, “the black,” against Xanthus, “the
blond,” carries on itself a symbolic tension too strong not to be also theolog-
ical. In any case, modern philologists have had no difficulty in reading in the
legend of Melanthus and Xanthus an original opposition between Poseidon
(the black) and Apollo (the blond).30 We thus witness the deployment, subtle
and thought out, of a game of exclusion against Poseidon. Here are the three
central features:
(1) Plato recounts the clash between the Atlanteans and Athens, evoking
Athena very often, but being silent about Poseidon;
29 Scholars often wonder whether the designation of Glaucon and Adeimantus, Plato’s
paternal half-brothers, in Resp. II, 368a1–2, as “sons of that man” (παῖδες ἐκείνου τοῦ
ἀνδρός), refers to Ariston, their biological father, or to Thrasymachus, author of the thesis
they defend to allow Socrates to better refute it (for the issue at stake, see Burnyeat 2004).
This problem, if the present analyses are correct, is badly posed: this phrase is nothing but
a literary game where Plato draws the reader’s attention to the Thrasymachean character
of his paternal lineage: that of kings who owe their kingship to an unjust initial violence.
It is in this light that exegetes of the Republic will have to read the two other references to
a “son of Ariston” (respectively in Resp. IV, 427c6–d1 and in Resp. IX, 580b9).
30 Cf. Toepffer 1894, 2674.
34 Rashed
(2) He describes the festival of the Apatouria as a celebration of lineage,

γένος, by means of poetry, the prerogative of Apollo. In other words, there
is no allusion to the legend of Melanthus, descendant of Poseidon.31
(3) This invisible legend is in turn the ground on which an opposition
between Poseidon (“the black”) and Apollo (“the blond”) is played out.
In short, in the Timaeus we witness a triple mechanism of exclusion of Posei-
don, which carries with it that of Plato’s paternal lineage. And this triple exclu-
sion is consistent with the biographical legend of Plato himself, as reported
by his nephew Speusippus: the opposition between Ariston, husband of his
mother Perictione and descendant of Poseidon, and Apollo, his true progeni-
tor.
3 The Hidden Egyptian Genealogy of the Timaeus or: What Did Plato
See on the Walls of Saïs?32
By Ammon our god!

Theodorus of Cyrene ap. Plato, Politicus 257b5–6
The Timaeus is placed under the sign of the Egyptian goddess of Saïs, Neith,
the equivalent of Athena (Timaeus 21e5). We may wonder if Plato’s reasons
for this were more than just his desire to seduce with a touch of romanticism.
Might it be possible that he had seen some reference to the themes treated in
the Timaeus on the walls of the temple of Neith? He would then, through the
medium of Solon, have endowed the prologue of the work with teachings that
meant a lot to him.33
Although the temple of Neith at Saïs is today no longer extant, we can
obtain an idea of the theological content of the texts inscribed on its walls,
thanks to the temple preserved at Esna in Upper Egypt, which refers to the the-
ological teaching in Saïs devoting a good deal of space to Neith.34 She appears
as the indigenous, founding goddess. Though feminine, she combines mas-
culinity and femininity, by reason of her utterly primordial nature. A text that
is of decisive importance for our subject describes her as follows: “Neith, the
great, the mother of God, the Sovereign lady of the land <of Esna>, father of
fathers, and divine mother of mothers, N–T, who was at the beginning.” The
31 For “Melanthus” as a name for Poseidon, see Toepffer 1894, 2674.

32 I thank Elsa O. for her expertise in Egyptian matters.
33 For the historicity of Plato’s travels in Egypt, see Mathieu 1987.
34 Cf. Sauneron 1962.
Lineage Trouble 35
epigraphic inscription (which is read from top to bottom and from right to
left) appears thus:35
Here we must pay attention to the form in which the Egyptian text is written.
The vulture hieroglyph designates the mother. Equipped with a flail (at the top
of the left-hand column) she is the Mother-Goddess, Mout. On the other hand,
lower down, in the third line of the left-hand column, this same sign, following
later practice, is used to represent the sound [t], while the scarab in front of
it (to its right), which normally symbolizes primordial generation, here rep-
resents the sound [n]. The juxtaposition of the letters N and T, as Horapollo
already suspected, is the alphabetic way of writing Neith’s name.36 This play
with writing enabled the theologian who invented it to associate Neith both
with Khepri, the rising sun, and with Mout, the Mother-Goddess. Through
these associations, the name of Neith combines the idea of solar generation
that typifies Ra with that of childbirth characteristic of the maternity symbol-
ized by the vulture. Guided by the Egyptian priest at Saïs, Solon-Plato could
then, just as we can, look at an inscription in which Neith-Athene resulted
from the fusion of a masculine principle and a feminine principle, and a pri-
mordial Father and a primordial Mother into one single entity.37
35 I borrowed this illustration from Brugsch 1884, 698.

36 Cf. Horapollo, Hieroglyphica I 12, ed. Sbordone, 34–35. Fournet 2021 has shown that the
author of the Hieroglyphica transmitted to us cannot be one of the two Horapollos of
late antiquity (the grandfather or the grandson, see Maspero 1914), but is most likely
a Byzantine who drew, for the best-informed part of his work, on an ancient source,
probably Chaeremon’s own Hieroglyphica, which were still known to John Tzetzes in the
twelfth century.
37 See von Lieven 2014, 19–22. On the notion of fatherhood in Ancient Egypt, see Assmann
2003.
36 Rashed
At four places on the walls of Esna, this idiosyncratic Neith, made up of two
antithetical parts, one masculine, one feminine is described like this: “two-
thirds of her are masculine, one third of her is feminine.”38 Egyptologists offer no
specific explanation of this recurrent description apart from associating it with
the androgynous nature of primordial divinity. But the arithmetical character
of the form it takes deserves our undivided attention.
In Laws VII, 819a8–c7, Plato describes how the Egyptian children are intro-
duced to the art of calculation (λογισμοί). In the Laws, this training is the
immediate prelude to the important passage in which mention is made of
a knowledge of irrationals. It seems then, indeed, that what we have here is an
ironic description of Plato’s conception of logistic, ironic because presented
from a pedagogical point of view. The text is however too allusive for it to be
possible to decide how much of this logistic is Greek and modern and how
much Plato considers as archaic and Egyptian.
What exactly did these educational games that the Egyptian teachers had
devised for their pupils consist of? The first element mentioned by Plato is
clear and, in the light of our previous reflections, sets the tone, since it involves
identifying the divisors of a given number:39
In which case, what we should say is that free people need to learn as
much of any of these subjects as the whole great mass of children in
Egypt learns along with its abc. Starting with arithmetic while they are
still, literally, children, lessons have been devised for them which com-
bine learning with play and enjoyment – dividing up apples, or garlands
of flowers, so that the same quantities are equally distributed between a
greater or smaller number of people.
Pupils are asked to divide the same number of objects (‘apples’ or ‘garlands’)
into greater or smaller lots. For example, they will be able to divide six apples
into two lots of three or three lots of two. In this way children are introduced
to the decomposition of a number into its divisors.
Plato then goes on to refer to a more obscure situation:40
or selecting boxers and wrestlers to sit out or be paired together, in turn

and in order, and as the sequences naturally come about.
38 Cf. Sauneron 1961, 242–244. See also Hallof 2007, 130.

39 Plato, Laws VII, 819a8–b5. Here, I am quoting the translation from Plato, Laws (ed.
Schofield and trans. Griffith, 284).
40 Plato, Laws VII, 819b6–7.
Lineage Trouble 37
As commentators have pointed out, we can no doubt throw light on this

passage with the help of a passage in Lucian.41 The main relevance of Lucian’s
account for understanding what Plato is describing lies in its emphasis on
the treatment of odd and even numbers of competitors. Suppose that on
each occasion the cards are reshuffled. The children will then understand that
certain numbers are pure powers of two – just as in present-day sporting com-
petitions, elimination progresses from the last 32 step by step to the final –,
that other numbers are even with factors that are odd, and finally that yet oth-
ers are odd numbers. In short, the situation described enables the illustration
of the tripartition of even numbers in the manner stated in propositions IX
32–34 of Euclid’s Elements:
A = {2(2k + 1)}
B = {2n (2k + 1)} (n > 1)
C = {2n } (n > 1)
We can now proceed to the third section of the Laws passage, how they use
drinking bowls filled with tokens made of different materials:42
Or, in a playful way, they mix together bowls containing gold, bronze, and
silver and other such materials and the other people teach43 them almost
every useful property belonging to the necessary numbers – by, as I said,
combining this with children’s play – so as to help those who learn both
when it comes to deploying an army for battle, or on the march, or for
a whole campaign, and also, again, in running a household. The result is
men who are altogether more self-reliant and more alert.
The association of arithmetic with military matters draws our attention to

the parallel in the Republic,44 and so to the importance in Plato’s eyes of the
present considerations. The example of the bowls is too loosely determined
for us to be able to reconstruct with full certainty what Plato exactly means.
41 Lucian, Hermotimus 39–40.

42 Plato, Laws VII, 819b7–c7 (my translation; see following note).
43 At Plato, Laws VII, 819c2, I adopt a conjecture suggested to me orally by Thomas Auf-
fret (whom I thank for this and for our discussion on this passage as a whole) and read
διδάσκοντες instead of διαδίδοντες in the manuscripts and the modern editions. This, in
turn, allows to make ὅλας going with χρήσεις and not with φιάλας. The transmitted text
makes no sense and the conjecture, besides restoring Plato’s train of thought, is excellent
also from a palaeographical point of view.
44 Cf. Plato, Republic VII, 522e.
38 Rashed
Most likely, it is an exercise of the following type: the children were given three
bowls, filled with x gold tokens, y silver tokens, and z bronze tokens, respec-
tively. To these tokens, s tokens of another metal were added. The children
were then invited to mix all the S tokens together. Then they were told that
the bowl of gold tokens contained S/p tokens, the one for silver tokens S/q, the
one for bronze tokens S/r. They were finally asked to determine x, y and z. This
exercise was supposed to train the children, here again, to familiarize them-
selves with the questions of divisibility and the lowest common denominator,
therefore with the notion of numbers prime to one another. For from
S S S
S= + + +s
p q r
It follows that
s
S= (1 1 1
)
1− + +
p q r
In order to find S, then, the children had to calculate the smallest common
denominator of 1/p + 1/q + 1/r, hence to determine whether p, q, and r are
prime to one another. Therefore, it is tempting to recognize, in the mysterious
ἀναγκαῖοι ἀριθμοί mentioned by Plato, rather than a vague description of the
banausic aspect of applied arithmetic, a playful allusion to the divine necessity
of prime numbers in the intelligible realm.45 Just before addressing the issue of
the irrationals (Plato, Laws VII, 819c7 ff.), Plato wanted to bring us back again
to an essential feature of his mathematical doctrine.
There are undeniable echoes in this passage of Plato of the kind of pro-
cedure we see at work in the Rhind papyrus.46 This deals in particular with
the calculations needed to express the double of an elementary fraction 1/n,
for the odd numbers n = 3, 5, 7, …, 101. The procedure is massively dependent
on the use of congruencies. What the Egyptian schoolboy actually has to do
is to choose a number N such that 2N > n. He will then be able to reduce
the expression at will by simplifying the fractions. Here are some examples of
this sort of procedure. The first of these (n = 3), which we will return to in a
moment, is the very one that constitutes the tripartite androgyny of Neith:
45 On this kind of superior necessity, see some lines above, Plato, Laws VII, 818a7–b6.
46 Bruins 1957 had already tried to connect Plato’s passage with the table 2/n in the Rhind
papyrus. His argument, however, remains unsatisfactory, as rightly stated by Schöpsdau
2003, 608.
Lineage Trouble 39
– n=3
⊛ ⊛ ⊛
oo oo oo → N = 2
2 3 1
= ⊛ ⊛ / ⊛ ⊛⊛ = oo.oo/oo.oo.oo = (ooo/ooo.ooo) + (o/ooo.ooo) = +
3 6 6
thus
2 1 1
= +
3 2 6
– n=5
⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛
ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo → N = 3
2
= ⊛ ⊛ / ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛⊛ = ooo.ooo/ooo.ooo.ooo.ooo.ooo
5
5 1
= (ooooo/ooooo.ooooo.ooooo) + (o/ooo.ooo.ooo.ooo.ooo) = +
15 15
thus
2 1 1
= +
5 3 15
In the same way, for n = 7, N = 4 will be chosen, for n = 11, N = 6 will be

chosen. For n = 13, N = 7 can be chosen, or again (as in the Rhind papyrus)
N = 8. That will give:
2 1 1
= +
7 4 28
2 1 1
= +
11 6 66
2 1 1
= + (with N = 7)
13 7 91
2 1 1 1
= + + (with N = 8)
13 8 52 104
40 Rashed
The Plato passage is thus rather close in spirit to the 2/n table in the Rhind
papyrus. We can take Plato’s knowledge of Egyptian mathematics for granted,
and, in particular, his familiarity with the importance the Egyptians attached
to doubling and halving (duplication, i.e. multiplication by 2 and dimidiation,
i.e. division by 2).
The Egyptian priest who gave Solon-Plato an explanation of the meaning of
the inscription about Neith on the wall of the temple of Saïs must assuredly
have had lessons in arithmetic in his youth. He had been taught binary calcu-
lation and the manipulation of the congruencies employed in the treatment
of the 2/n table. Now, all historians of Egyptian mathematics have stressed the
paramount importance, in this context, of the equation 2/3 = 1/2 + 1/6.47 Thus,
what the Egyptian priest would have understood by the reference to 2/3 could
quite naturally be represented as shown below:
Neith
1/1
Father of Fathers Divine Mother of Mothers
1/2 1/2
Masculine Masculine Feminine
1/2 1/6 1/3
1/6 1/6 1/6 1/6 1/6 1/6
If the priest was of a philosophical turn of mind,48 he could not avoid the con-
clusion that the numbers in this table and therefore numbers in general were
the supreme realities. He might also have thought that Neith was the numbers,
that Neith’s efficiency merged with theirs and that the world stemmed without
47 To quote but a few scholars: Neugebauer 1931, 351 and 358–361; Veselovskij 1948, 461; Bru-
ins 1957, 256; Bruins 1975, 249; van der Waerden 1980, 265.
48 All the more so, since it is indisputable that the (2/n) table betrays its author’s great skill
in dealing with factorisations. This has been highlighted by the Soviet scholar Veselovskij
1948, 479 (quoted with approval by Bruins 1957, 257): ‘по всяком случае категорическое
утверждение ван-дер Вардена о том, что “Teilbarkeitsbetrachtungen sind dem ägyptis-
chen Denken fremd”, должно быть сдано в архив’ (‘in any case, van der Waerden’s cat-
egorical assertion that “Teilbarkeitsbetrachtungen sind dem ägyptischen Denken fremd”
must be archived’). Veselovskij’s general interpretation of the table, namely his concern
with the question of time reckoning, which in turn implies the handling of non-dyadic
divisibility (see Veselovskij 1948, 439–442, and 488), is appealing (especially for read-
ers of the Timaeus … cf. 38c6, εἰς διορισμὸν καὶ φυλακὴν ἀριθμῶν χρόνου – see also, on
the relation between reckoning and astronomy, Plato, Timaeus 46e7–47e2 and Epinomis
978b7–979b3.
Lineage Trouble 41
distinction both from her and from them. If in this context he focused on the
smallest unit required by the congruencies (1/6), that bit was masculine, and
the feminine part (1/3) constituted double that unit. Behind the phenomenon
of the duplication of the Father with respect to the Mother, there was, then,
at a deeper level, in the framing of the Two between the One and the Three,
the association of the One and the Three with the Father and the Two with the
Mother:
1 1 1 1 1 1
3 1 2
3 3
6
To put it another way, the succession consisting of the first three natural inte-
gers, the sum of which is six, yielded the alternating series of the masculine
and the feminine:
1 2 3
Masculine Feminine Masculine
Therein, no doubt, lies the ultimate secret of the cosmology of Neith at Saïs,
founded on Egyptian arithmetic, and Plato knew it so well that he drew on it
for the first three words of the Timaeus:49
εἷς, δύο, τρεῖς.
4 Conclusion
We can now conclude, highlighting four results of our study.

– Let us first note, in general terms, the importance of the question of geneal-
ogy. I would not hesitate to say that the Timaeus main theme is genealogy,
namely Construction and Becoming in their relation to Being.50 Genealogy
is omnipresent in the Timaeus, of which it constitutes an important fea-
ture of the Prologue. But that is too little to say: Plato insists, above all, on
49 Plato, Timaeus, 17a1. I am aware, of course, that other concerns are also encrypted in
this opening line. For illuminating thoughts, see now Sedley 2019, 45, and Burnyeat 1997,
15–16.
50 For interesting remarks on genealogy in the Timaeus, see Ruben 2021.
42 Rashed
the difficulty of genealogy, on the permanent threat, which hangs over the
enterprise of the genealogist, of error. Genealogy, he seems to say, is too seri-
ous matter to be left to the vulgar genealogist. Or, in other words: the only
true genealogist is the philosopher. That is why, of the three genealogies we
have just studied, two are faulty and the third is hidden in the depths of
textual allusions.
– I thus suggest interpreting this situation as a warning, uttered by Plato
before embarking on the actual cosmological exposition, pointing out the
difficulty of any genealogy, and in particular of the most difficult of all, that
of the universe which will constitute the object of Timaeus’ Monologue. The
difficulty lies in the ease with which we can unduly redouble one genealog-
ical level, or erase another. If I am right, it would be, in the very context of
the Timaeus, a question of drawing the reader’s attention, from the outset,
to the inexistence of a domain of geometrical lines between that of arith-
metical numbers and that of geometrical surfaces.51
– Obviously, the exclusion of Poseidon is part and parcel of the genealogical
issue. There is a point of convergence and a point of divergence regarding
Empedocles here.52 In Empedocles, Plato takes up the diffuse association of
Poseidon with Hate, identified with the lability of the sensible world. Plato
nevertheless departs from his predecessor and target by ruling out any pos-
sibility of a double lineage. The only deity you have to admit is Athena. In
this way, Empedoclean dualism is immediately refuted, in accordance with
Plato’s strategy in the Timaeus, where the play of allusions aims, perma-
nently, to show the inconsistency of Hate, as opposed to Love, identified in
general with the Intelligible and, more specifically, with World Soul.
– Timaeus’ monologue is devoted, in its entirety, to arithmetical numbers, to
figures, and to solids, but nothing is ever said about the One or the indef-
inite Dyad – at least, not using those very words. Unless we are mistaken,
these genealogical principles were the implicit object of the Egyptian pro-
logue. For those primed to hear it, Plato is recalling the philosophical idea
that the figure of Neith was hinting at: the combining of Father and Mother,
of the One and the Dyad – in short, the looming presence in all cosmolog-
ical discourse of the numbers, the exclusive preserve of Neith-Athena, the
androgynous principle of cosmic Life.
51 See Rashed 2013, cit., and Auffret 2015.

52 See Picot forthcoming.
Lineage Trouble 43
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The World Soul in Early Christian Thought
Johannes Zachhuber
Writing about the world soul in early Patristic thought means entering into a
controversy. As direct and unequivocal references to this philosophical notion
are rare in Christian authors, eminent scholars have opined that Christian the-
ology had no use for the idea of a world soul and that the Church Fathers
consciously omitted it from their intellectual enterprise.1 The argument goes
like this. The world soul in Ancient thought was inextricably tied to the notion
of a divine cosmos. One of the most fundamental ways, however, in which
Christian (and, for that matter, Jewish and Islamic) thought broke away from
earlier philosophy was on precisely that point: the world is God’s creation and
thus, whatever else it is, is not divine. Conversely, earlier Greek cosmology,
whether Platonic or Stoic, would have been one of those philosophical areas
in which its religious dimension and thus, nolens volens, its paganism was most
distinct.
If in this paper I sound a note of dissent from this view, it is not because I
could point to new or hitherto unknown documents containing evidence for
an alternative position. Rather, I shall suggest reading well-known texts in a
way that makes some influence of philosophical, specifically as we shall see
Platonic and Stoic, theories of a world soul more evident and at the same time
helps elucidate one particular dimension of nascent Christian theology.
In undertaking this task, I hope the result will not appear as a merely mar-
ginal correction of a scholarly consensus. Discerning the roots of Byzantine
cosmological ideas is a complicated task, at least where they were received
in the context of Christian theology which was originally shaped in con-
scious opposition to prevailing forms of intellectual discourse. Investigating
ideas about the world soul in early Christian thought can therefore serve as
a case study highlighting important aspects of the Christian reception and
transformation of philosophical ideas defying traditional categories such as
“Hellenization” or “Biblicism.” Christian authors took over conceptual tools
developed in the Stoic and Platonic traditions but put them in the service of
1 Notably Dörrie 1987, 32, who deduced from the alleged absence of a world soul in Christ-
ian authors that no such thing as Christian Platonism existed in late antiquity. Markschies
2009, 9–24, has more recently re-examined the question and essentially confirmed Dörrie’s
assessment.
an intellectual system that in many ways was very different from earlier Greek
thought.
My main contention will be that, beginning in the second century, we can
trace a trajectory of Christological reflection inscribing the logos and its Incar-
nation into a framework that is at least in part inspired by Plato’s references to
the world soul in the Timaeus albeit modified by other, notably Stoic, influ-
ences. The specifically theological interest driving Christian adaptations of
the world soul is thus the notion of a second divine principle whose being
is geared towards mediation between God and world, the intelligible and the
sensible, the spiritual and the material.2 This Christological interest in the
world soul, I believe, sets the Patristic and early Byzantine period apart from
later, medieval speculation seeking to link the world soul with the third per-
son of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit.3 Such an identification can occasionally be
found in Patristic authors as well, but only in formulaic phrases.4
Given the precarious textual basis for this enquiry, I shall proceed in a
somewhat oblique way. After an initial sketch of the major strands of ancient
philosophical reflections about the world soul, I shall first offer an analysis of
what arguably is the most straightforward reference to the world soul in Patris-
tic literature, its treatment in Origen’s De principiis (On First Principles) and its
background in contemporaneous philosophy. This first step of my investiga-
tion will already offer important hints for the specific character of Patristic
interest in the world soul and its challenges. On this basis, I shall then pro-
ceed to a reconstruction of an earlier, rather different interest in the world
soul involving Gnostic and other second-century Christian writers, including
Justin Martyr and Irenaeus of Lyons. The alternative between the second- and
early third century positions will facilitate an understanding of fourth-century
developments, which I shall sketch briefly in a final section.
2 This is perceptively noted by Markschies 2009, 16 who takes it, however, as evidence that
Christian authors were uninterested in the world soul. The otherwise excellent study by
Ziebritzki 1994 is marred, in my view, by its attempt to align philosophical debates about the
world soul with Patristic pneumatology.
3 Peter Abelard, Theologia “Scholarium” 123–156, PL 178, 1012C–1021C; Willliam of Conches,
Philosophia mundi I, PL 90, 1130 C–D. Their source was Macrobius, Commentarii in somnium
Scipionis I 6,7–9, ed. Willis, 19, 24–20, 11. In 1140, the Synod of Sens, under the influence of
Bernard of Clairveaux condemned the proposition “Quod spiritus sanctus sit anima mundi.”
Cf. Bernard, Epistula 190 = Tractatus de erroribus Abaelardi, PL 182, 1062 B–C.
4 Eusebius of Caesarea, Praeparatio evangelica XI 20, 3, ed. Mras (GCS 43/1–2), 2:46, 17–18.
48 Zachhuber
1 Philosophical Origins
There is no room, and no need, to give a full account of philosophical dis-

cussion about a soul of the world in classical and Hellenistic philosophies.5
Roughly speaking it can be said that ancient philosophy produced two charac-
teristically different theories or types of theory. One is Platonic and goes back
to the Timaeus where the demiurge is said to create the world soul as “a third,
intermediate form of being,” a mean between the indivisible and the divisible,
the immutable and the changeable. It comes into being as “a mixture of the
Same, and then one of the Different.6 Because of this constitution and its eter-
nal motion, the world soul enables knowledge in its various degrees.7 As the
soul of the individual, the world soul is meant to rule its body, the world.8 In
the Laws, Plato additionally explains that the world soul as perpetually self-
moving is the cause of all motion.9
For the Stoics, on the other hand, world soul was just another designation
for the reality that could equally be termed God, Pneuma, Physis, Providence
or simply the active principle. All these names, it appears, were used to indi-
cate the various ways in which this being contributed to the functioning of the
world – by synthetically bringing its diverse parts into an organic unity, mak-
ing them cohere and mutually influence each other. The Stoic world soul, then,
does not mediate being. Rather, it seeks to express one particular way in which
God relates to the world that is analogous to the way the soul relates to the
body: he animates and sustains it in its unity; first and foremost he constitutes
it as a body as opposed to amorphous matter.
In some ways the difference between these two theories is a matter of
nuance. Both use the idea of a world soul to express that the world is some-
how like an animal10 and as such composed of body and soul. According to
the Timaeus, the demiurge in order “to produce a piece of work that would be
as excellent and supreme as its nature would allow” “put intelligence in soul
and soul in body” and so “brought our world into being as a truly living thing,
endowed with soul and intelligence.”11 Similarly, Chrysippus, Apollodorus, and
Poseidonius all agree, according to Diogenes Laertius, that “the world is a ratio-
nal, ensouled, and intelligent animal”: “for an animal is better than what is not
5 For an overview cf. Moreau 1939; Deuse 1983; Zachhuber 2004.

6 Plato, Timaeus 35a. English text: Cooper, 1239.
7 Plato, Timaeus 37 a–c.
8 Plato, Timaeus 34 c; cf. Phaedrus 246 b–c.
9 Plato, Laws X, 896 a.
10 Cf. Plato, Timaeus 37 c–d; Marcus Aurelius, Ad se ipsum IV,40.
11 Plato, Timaeus 30 b. English text: Cooper, 1236.
an animal, and nothing is better than the world.”12 Platonists and Stoics alike
thus drew on observations about cosmic harmony, structure, beauty, and uni-
versal interaction. Yet while for the Stoics this relationship was, we might say,
systemic and immanent, for the Platonists it required a transcendent intelligi-
ble substance, which appeared in the material world without being identical
with it.
2 Origen on the anima mundi
The most explicit and, at least prima facie, most significant reference to the
world soul in early Christian theology is to be found in Origen of Alexandria.13
Writing at the beginning of the third century, the uniquely prolific Origen laid
the groundwork for practically the entire subsequent theological development
although some of his ideas soon became controversial. Critics focussed in par-
ticular on his four-book treatise On First Principles, a work without real parallel
in the whole of Christian antiquity in its deeply probing investigation of the
entirety of the Christian doctrine of faith. Its open and discursive style, in
particular, permitted ill-meaning readers to tie Origen to various “heretical”
positions he presented for discussion. In response to such attempts by Jerome
and others, Rufinus of Aquileia translated the whole De principiis into Latin at
the turn of the fifth century. Today, this Latin translation is the only complete
version of the treatise that is extant. Due to Rufinus’ apologetic purpose, suspi-
cions about the accuracy of this Latin version have never abated but it may be
fair to say that more recently the worst detractors of Rufinus have been on the
retreat.14 Rufinus clearly did not aim at a literal rendition of the Greek original
as is evident from those texts of which we have both the original and his trans-
lation, and he himself freely acknowledged as much.15 Yet the only justification
for a general hermeneutics of suspicion towards his translations, as has often
been practised, is the explicit acceptance of later heresiological assumptions
about Origen’s thought. The following reconstruction, by contrast, will largely
rely on Rufinus’ translation where no Greek text is extant.
12 SVF II 633.
13 For a brief but insightful discussion of Origen’s treatment of this topic cf. Köckert 2009,
245–247; Markschies 2009, 18–20.
14 Cf. Pace 1990. The most notorious academic result of a fundamental skepticism regarding
Rufinus’ translation is Koetschau’s edition of the De principiis for the GCS series of the
Berlin Academy which in large parts offers a speculatively reconstructed text on the basis
of a variety of ancient sources. Cf. Edwards 2002, 5.
15 Origen, De principiis I praefatio Rufini 2, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 4, 16–24.
50 Zachhuber
The significant section is to be found at the beginning of On First Princi-

ples II. In this book, Origen dealt with the created world; its title, according
to Photius, was “On the world and its creatures” (περὶ τοῦ κόσμου καὶ τῶν ἐν
αὐτῷ κτισμάτων).16 While we need to return later to some of the more spe-
cific points Origen made here, it is important for the moment to note that for
him the starting point of his discussion was the observation that the world
is “manifold” (varius ac diversus).17 This clearly was meant to contrast with
his treatment of divinity in the previous book. It is this heterogeneity that
needs explaining. Characteristically, Origen stated that the only conceivable
reason for this is the variety in which God’s creatures exercised their free will.
The exact wording of the crucial passage is controversial, but the fundamental
point Origen wished to make is not:
[…] what other cause, as we have said, can we imagine for the great diver-
sity of this world, except the diversity and variety in the movements and
declensions of those who fell away from that original unity and harmony
in which they were first created by God.18
It is not difficult to see why such a solution appeared attractive to Origen –

whatever objections later guardians of orthodoxy might have against it. He
adduced the freely willed movements of God’s creatures as an alternative to
either a duality in God himself or to the pre-existence of a second, evil prin-
ciple. The current state of the world, then, which in so many ways seems
different from God’s good creation, is entirely due to acts freely chosen by
God’s rational creatures. God is neither the origin of evil nor is the “fallen
world” the result of divine punishment – quite the contrary; as far as God’s
influence is concerned this is perceived precisely in the continued providen-
tial preservation of the world even in its current state.
For this is Origen’s second major point about the created world: the freedom
of will (αὐτεξούσιον), which God has given to his fallible creatures, is balanced
by his guidance of the world through his Wisdom. So the creatures which,
on account of their own diversity, remove themselves from their place in the
proximity of God are at the same time directed in such a way that an overall
harmonious structure of the world is created and maintained:
16 Photius, Bibliotheca, codex 8, ed. René Henry, 1:4a 5.

17 Origen, De principiis II 1,1, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 106, 14.
18 Origen, De principiis II 1,1, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 107, 11–15: quam aliam, ut diximus,
causam putabimus tantae huius mundi diversitatis motuum atque prolapsuum eorum qui
ab illa initii unitate atque concordia, in qua a deo primitus procreati sunt. English Text:
Behr, 1:145–147.
But God, by the ineffable art of his wisdom, transforming and restor-
ing all things, in whatever state they are, to some useful purpose, and to
the common advantage of all, recalls those very creatures which differed
from each other in the variety of so many souls, into one unanimity of
work and endeavour, so that, although the motions of the souls may be
diverse, they nevertheless bring to completion the fullness and perfec-
tion of one world, and the very variety of intellects tends to one end of
perfection.19
It is this harmony-in-diversity or rather harmony in spite of diversity, which in

the next section is compared to the unity produced by a soul:
Although arranged into diverse functions, the condition of the whole

world is nevertheless not to be thought of as being dissonant or dis-
cordant; but just as “our one body is fitted with many members” (cf. 1
Corinthians 12:12), and is held together by one soul, so also, I think, the
whole world ought to be regarded as some immense and enormous ani-
mal, which is held together by the Power and Reason of God as by one
soul.20
This, as I said earlier, is arguably the clearest reference to the world soul in
early Christian literature; and yet it is striking how vague and non-committal a
reference it is. The world is kept together “as by one soul” (quasi ab una anima);
the phrasing hardly allows us to infer that Origen was strongly committed to a
theory of world soul.21 Yet it would also be wrong, I believe, to see his reference
as merely metaphorical. There is “something” that functions as the rational
power holding together in unity the diverse elements of the world.
19 Origen, De principiis II 1, 2, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 107, 21–25: Deus vero per ineffabilem
sapientiae suae artem omnia, quae quoquomodo fiunt, ad utile aliquid et ad communem
omnium transformans ac reparans profectum, has ipsas creaturas, quae a semet ipsis in
tantum animorum varietate distabant, in unum quondam revocat operas studiisque consen-
sum, ut diversis licet motibus animorum, unius tamen mundi plenitudinem perfectionemque
consumment, atque ad unum perfectionis finem varietas ipsa mentium tendat. ET: Behr,
1:147.
20 Origen, De principiis II 1, 3, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 108, 11–16: Quamvis ergo in diversis
officiis ordinatus, non tamen dissonans atque a se discrepans mundi totius intellegendus
est status; sed “sicut corpus nostrum unum ex multis membris” aptatum est et ab una
anima continetur, ita et universum mundum velut velut animal quodam inmensum adque
inmane opinandum puto, quod quasi ab una anima virtute dei ac ratione teneatur. ET: Behr,
1:147–149.
21 Cf. Markschies 2009, 19, who senses “lack of enthusiasm” in this phrase.
52 Zachhuber
What is this reality by means of which God holds the cosmos together “as
by one soul”? Origen again is not fully explicit in the present passage but his
use of the terms “wisdom” (sapientia = σοφία), “power” (virtus = δύναμις), and
“reason” (ratio = λόγος) clearly points towards Christology. For it is Jesus Christ
who is said to be God’s wisdom and power by Paul (1 Corinthians 1, 24) as well
as, of course, his Word (λόγος) at the beginning of the Gospel of John.
We know from elsewhere, notably from his extensive commentary on the
Gospel of John, that Origen read these passages in the light of Old Testament
texts about Wisdom, mainly Proverbs 8, 22 (κύριος ἔκτισέν με ἀρχὴν ὁδῶν αὐτοῦ
εἰς ἔργα αὐτοῦ) and Book of Wisdom 7, 25–6 (ἀτμὶς γάρ ἐστιν τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ
δυνάμεως καὶ ἀπόρροια τῆς τοῦ παντοκράτορος δόξης εἰλικρινής […] ἀπαύγασμα
γάρ ἐστιν φωτὸς ἀιδίου καὶ ἔσοπτρον ἀκηλίδωτον τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ ἐνεργείας καὶ εἰκὼν
τῆς ἀγαθότητος αὐτοῦ). In fact, the speculative interpretation of those verses
in the service of a theological understanding of the relationship between God
the Father and Christ, the eternal Logos, was one of the most enduring albeit
admittedly most controversial theological contributions of the Alexandrine
thinker.
Without being able to enter in detail here into what is a complex and
extremely subtle issue, we need a few outlines in order to see how this theory
stands behind Origen’s more strictly cosmological discussion in On First Prin-
ciples II 1. In his extensive exegesis of John 1:1 (Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν
πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος) Origen insisted that in order to understand
that verse properly one has to pay attention to all Christological attributes.22
Their multitude indicates that the second Person of the Trinity is no longer
“one” in the absolute sense in which this is said of the Father. This, on the one
hand, is due to his soteriological concern for humanity (and in that sense he
becomes many),23 but the latter would not be possible were it not for the fact
that in his origin he is already the first mediator between the absolutely simple
God and the world of multiplicity.24
For Origen it is therefore important to maintain the balance between the
close, Trinitarian union of Father and Son on the one hand, and a clear onto-
logical separation between them on the other. To say that Christ is God’s
Wisdom, he writes, must not lead us to think of this wisdom as of something
without separate existence (“insubstantivum” = ἀνυπόστατον) as if we were
22 Origen, Commentarii in Ioannem I 21, 125–131, ed. Preuschen (GCS 10), 25, 21–26, 27.
23 Origen, Contra Celsum II 64, ed. Koetschau (GCS 2–3), 1:185, 26: Ὁ Ἰησοῦς εἷς ὢν πλείονα τῇ
ἐπινοίᾳ ἦν.
24 Origen, In Ioannem I 20, 119, ed. Preuschen (GCS 10), 24, 23–26.
simply saying that God is a wise being.25 Christ then is, as the famous phrase
has it, a separate hypostasis. This second divine being was always with God –
Origen speaks of “eternal generation” (aeterna ac sempiterna generatio)26 – but
in a way that permits not only his function as a mediator of creation (cf. John
1:3) but already foreshadows his later descent in the Incarnation. Within this
framework, Origen is able to integrate ideas previously found in Philo of divine
Wisdom as the intelligible container of the seeds of the created world.27 Thus,
when Wisdom says of herself that “God created me in the beginning of his
ways” (Proverbs 8:22) she indicates that her own origin is at the same time the
foundation of creation:
Regarding these very created things, which had been as it were out-
lined and prefigured in Wisdom herself, Wisdom herself says through
Solomon, that she was “created the beginning of the ways” of God
(Proverbs 8:22), that is, containing within herself the beginning and the
reasons and the species of the entire creation.28
So the fact that Wisdom is created as the ἀρχή of God’s creative act is here
taken to mean that she contains the beginnings (initia = ἀρχαί), the principles
(rationes = λόγοι), and the species (species = εἴδη) of created being within
herself.
This theory is by no means unique to Origen; in fact, it would not be dif-
ficult to point to broadly similar arguments in various philosophers from the
imperial period.29
Things, however, become more interesting once we recall the passages I
analysed earlier. In the second book of On First Principles, Origen had argued
that the only reason for the transition from the completely harmonious unity-
in-multiplicity which, we must understand, would have been the ideal state
of Wisdom, pregnant with the seeds of creation, to our own actual situation
of a much more diverse and heterogeneous world, was the creatures’ exercise
of free will. And it is only on the basis of this equation that eternal Wisdom
25 Origen, De principiis I 2, 2, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 28, 13ff.

26 Origen, De principiis I 2, 4, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 33, 1.
27 Cf. Philo, De opificio mundi 4, 17–5, 20. Cf. Köckert 2009, 245.
28 Origen, De principiis I 2, 2, ed. Koetschau (GCS 22), 30, 6–8: Pro his ipsis, quae in ipsa
sapientia velut descripta ac praefigurata fuerant creaturis, se ipsam per Salomonem dicit
“creatam esse” sapientiam “initium viarum dei”, continens scilicet in semet ipsa universae
creaturae vel initia vel rationes vel species. ET: Behr, 1:43.
29 Cf. Armstrong 1957.
54 Zachhuber
is also and at the same time providence and, we may say, world soul. We can
here begin to see the specifically Christian contours of Origen’s appropriation
of the world soul tradition.
Christ’s existence as the world soul is further removed from the one God
than his being Word and Wisdom. While the proximity to the physical world
was seen as typical for the world soul in Platonism too, Origen’s point is less
one about ontological gradation than about soteriology. Christ as the world
soul is already fulfilling a role that only became necessary because of the fall
and that hence is in continuity with his later Incarnation. The problem from
the point of view of Christian orthodoxy is that Origen inscribed the narra-
tive of fall and salvation into the Platonic opposition of unity and plurality. If
multiplicity and diversity as such are a sign of the fallen world, is not then cre-
ation itself bad? It is not clear that Origen had one thought-through solution
to this problem,30 but on the basis of the passages I have focussed on here it
might not be far-fetched to argue that the beginning of the actual world for
him would have coincided with the “fall,” that is the ontological differentiation
caused by the different exercise of free will on the part of the creatures.
So what we perceive, I think, in Origen’s theory is a vision of a second
divine principle that encompasses God’s benevolence towards his creatures
both in his gift of free will and in his providential care for a world which is
partly formed by the abuse of the former. It is specifically for the latter of these
aspects that he allows the idea of world soul to stand.31 This concept for him
encapsulates the unity of the world with God as well as its internal coher-
ence and integrity, mediated through God’s presence in the world. It finds its
expression in the providential identity of his power, rationality, and goodness
and is displayed in the teleological harmony of the diverse elements making
up the cosmos.
3 Philosophical Background
How can this view be related to philosophical ideas about the world soul? At
first sight, Origen’s doctrine seems closest to the Platonic model as the world
30 Cf. Origen, De principiis I 4, 4 where he confesses himself baffled at this paradoxical

situation.
31 For a similar conclusion cf. Köckert 2009, 246–247: “Es zeigt sich, dass Origenes das
philosophische Konzept einer Weltseele als Verstehensmodell heranzieht, um Christus
als schöpferische Weisheit und Verwalter des Kosmos anschaulich zu machen und ihn
damit als instrumentale und paradigmatische Ursache des Kosmos zu präsentieren.”
soul mediates between God’s simplicity and the world’s multiplicity. For Ori-
gen as for the Platonists, the transition from the immutable first principle to
heterogeneity and transience of the physical world is the central ontological
problem, and we have seen that his allusion to the world soul, however vague
it may be, serves precisely this purpose as it represents divine unity, harmony,
and cohesion within the created and fallen cosmos.
Upon closer inspection, however, differences abound between Origen’s
account and the theory of the Timaeus. Origen may have had fewer problems
than later Christian orthodoxy with the mere assertion that the world soul was
“made” or “created” and yet divine, but the way he identified it with Wisdom
and thus the second Person of the Trinity certainly minimised the hierarchi-
cal element. While there clearly is an element of subordination in Origen’s
account of the relationship between God and Christ, this nevertheless seems
far removed from the logic of the Platonic dialogue in which the demiurge
brings the world soul into being by mixing “with force” (βίᾳ) indivisible and
divisible substance. We shall see later that there were Christian authors who
were attracted by these very features of the Timaeus, but Origen evidently is
not one of them. For him, world soul is one way of speaking about Christ, the
second divine principle, variously called Wisdom, Power or Logos, who out of
love condescends to save the world.
This tendency to align the world soul with the one God reminds of Stoic
doctrine. Stoic influence is certainly suggested by Origen’s identification of
world soul and providence32 even though this parallel does not commit the
Alexandrian theologian to any form of dogmatic Stoicism.33 As a matter of
fact, perhaps the earliest identification of the two, in the treatise (probably
written by Philo) On the Eternity of the World, was polemically directed against
certain Stoic views.34 Origen clearly does not share the fundamental principles
of Stoic cosmology but a comparison with the Timaeus throws into sharp relief
the presence of Stoic ideas in the On First Principles as modifiers of the original
Platonic conception.
32 There is, however, a Platonic tradition connecting creation and providence. This is evi-
dent in Atticus, but traces are to be found long before him. This view could be (and
perhaps was) seen as adumbrated in the Timaeus; after all, according to that text, “the
world became a living creature truly endowed with soul and intelligence by the provi-
dence of God” (30b–c; English translation: Cooper, 1236). Plutarch apparently identified
providence and demiurge.
33 The slightly older Alexandrian theologian Clement sharply rejected the identification of
God and world soul which he mistakenly identified as Aristotelian: Protrepticus V 66, 4,
ed. Marcovich, 100–101; cf. Markschies 2009, 16–17.
34 Philo (?), De aeternitate mundi 47.
56 Zachhuber
Such an amalgamation of Platonic and Stoic ideas, however, was by no

means unique with Origen. On the contrary, it was a common feature of the
philosophy of Middle Platonism. It is therefore unsurprising that we find what
arguably is the closest parallel to Origen’s conception in a fragment Euse-
bius of Caesarea attributes to the Middle Platonist Atticus.35 Atticus wrote
as a defender of Plato’s cosmology against its Aristotelian critics. This may be
one reason why he rhetorically sought to portray Plato’s doctrine as part of a
general consensus against which Aristotle’s attacks would inevitably appear
idiosyncratic and implausible.36 This “general consensus” in spite of Atti-
cus’ self-declared loyalties is often more Stoic than Platonic in character. The
present fragment seems a rather extreme example of this practice. As Char-
lotte Köckert has observed, its implicit identification of Platonic soul and Stoic
nature contradicts Atticus’ own position elsewhere in his known fragments.37
Be this however as it may, the passage nevertheless is of great importance in
the present context because it shows an amalgamation of Platonic and Stoic
ideas about the world soul that is reminiscent of Origen’s position penned in
all likelihood only a few decades later.
Atticus sought to argue that Aristotle’s rejection of a world soul was tan-
tamount to a rejection of providence and thus to a wholesale denial of an
orderly, structured and beautiful cosmos. Such a unifying principle is as neces-
sary for the world as a whole as it is for a city which, likewise, could “never be
well maintained without unity:”
For if there would not exist one ensouled power extending through the
all, holding all things together and sustaining them, the all could not be
governed with reason and goodness.38
The world soul is here equated with dynamic nature, a power that extends
throughout the whole world (unlike Aristotle’s hierarchy of powers operating
in the different spheres)39 and is responsible for its internal unity, its order,
structure, functionality, and beauty. As in Origen, soul is seen in parallel with
35 Atticus, fr. 8, ed. Des Places = Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica XV 12. On Atticus more
generally see Dillon 1996, 247–257; Moreschini 1987.
36 For a full discussion of Atticus’ position cf. Köckert 2009, 74–78.
37 Ibid., 76.
38 Atticus, fr. 8, 3, ed. Des Places: εἰ γὰρ μὴ μία τις εἴη δύναμις ἔμψυχος διήκουσα διὰ τοῦ παντὸς
καὶ πάντα συνδοῦσα καὶ συνέχουσα, οὔτ’ ἂν εὐλόγως τὸ πᾶν οὔτε καλῶς διοικούμενον εἶναι
δύναιτο.
39 Atticus, fr. 8, 2, ed. Des Places.
intellect (Origen says wisdom), rationality (or logos in Origen), and power
(δύναμις).
Atticus’ account up to this point is largely drawing on Stoic vocabulary and
ideas.40 Yet it soon becomes clear that in spite of his use of Stoic terms and
concepts, his overall framework remains Platonic:
[It would be a sign of blindness] … to think that the all could be main-
tained so thoroughly and truly beautiful as it appears to us, had he [sc.
the Demiurge] not tied it together and connected its parts through par-
ticipation in a single principle similar to himself.41
So while Atticus treated world soul, [divine] power, providence, and intellect
as different expressions for the same thing, he did not identify this reality with
the physical world. Rather, the world soul for him represents intelligible real-
ity within the physical world. The visible cosmos partakes of such a unifying
principle to some limited extent as is evidenced by its structure, order, and
beauty.
Atticus’ view is not simply identical with Origen’s. His overall aim, to defend
the plausibility of Plato’s cosmology in the Timaeus against Aristotle, is clearly
different from Origen’s commitment to Christian notions of creation, fall, and
the preservation of the world due to God’s abiding love for his creatures. The
value of comparing Atticus’ ideas is not, therefore, a categorisation of Origen
as a “Middle Platonist” but a contextualisation of his identification of Christ
as Wisdom and as saviour with the providential soul of the world within the
broader reception of classical theories in the philosophy of the Imperial age.
The parallel between the two authors helps us understand how the theory of
the world soul could be steered into a direction more compatible with the
theological intentions of a Christian author.
…
Or does it? In some ways, one may argue that the similarity between Origen’s
and Atticus’ understanding of the world soul makes it all the harder to under-
stand its appropriation by the Christian author. I observed at the outset of
my chapter that those scholars who suggested that there was no place for the
40 Detailed parallels are noted by Köckert 2009, 75.

41 Atticus, fr. 8, 3, ed. Des Places: τῆς δ’ αὐτῆς ἦν ἄρ’ ἀβλεψίας […] καὶ τὸ πᾶν τόδε ἡγήσασθαι
πάγκαλον τῷ λόγῳ διαφυλάξειν, οἷόν περ φαίνεται, μὴ συνδήσαντα καὶ συναρμόσαντα ἑνός
τινος ὁμοίου κοινωνίᾳ.
58 Zachhuber
world soul in Christian thought did so because they felt the idea of the world
soul was part and parcel of the notion of the cosmos’ divinity. How does Ori-
gen’s use of the world soul relate to this argument?
The answer, I think, reveals a considerable amount of ambiguity. On the
one hand, Origen’s concept of divine Wisdom as the soul of the world is set
apart from Platonic models when viewed in its Trinitarian context. The world
soul is not, as such, a middle being standing halfway between God and the
physical universe but one way of speaking about Christ, the second Person of
the Trinity. For this reason also the distance between the world’s current state
and its original and intended goodness cannot be explained by reference to
the ontological ambivalence of the world soul (Atticus in fact, like Plutarch,
went so far as to postulate an evil world soul)42 but has to be ascribed to the
free will of God’s intelligible creatures.
This notwithstanding, however, the mere fact of Origen’s use of (or allusion
to) the world soul does indicate that his distinction between God and world
for him is not categorical. The world, according to his account, is held together
as by one soul: this suggests the ultimate identity of the cosmological principle
of unity and harmony with God’s Wisdom and Power. Considered in this way,
the world soul achieves for Origen what it achieved for Atticus: it signifies the
providential presence of God in the world thereby indicating that the world
where it is good, beautiful, purposeful, and whole, displays divine attributes.
Origen seems content to leave his readers with these two conflicting or at
least tensional readings. It is therefore unsurprising that his ambiguity paved
the way towards radically different interpretations that were to emerge in the
early fourth century. These rival theories would insist on a decision: either
Christ had to be identified as belonging to creation, albeit as its highest and
most unique part, or he was eternally united with the Father and of one being
with him. In the latter case, his connection with creation inevitably became
more tenuous and could ultimately only be explained by his Incarnation.
This parting of the ways is well known in general terms. I would suggest,
however, that it had consequences for the theological adaptation of the world
soul too: the former school – usually called “Arians” – had few qualms likening
Christ to the world soul in some way, while the latter group – let us call them
Nicenes – would inscribe those elements Origen associated with the world
soul into the theory of Christ’s descent into his incarnate state.
Before proceeding to an examination of some fourth-century texts in order
to test this hypothesis, however, it is necessary to move back chronologically
into the second century where we find a considerable and rather heteroge-
42 Atticus, fr. 11, ed. Des Places. Cf. Plutarch, De anima procreatione in Timaeo 6, ed. Hubert,
1014 D–E.
neous group of Christian authors preparing precisely such an incarnational

use of the world soul.
4 The World Soul in Second-Century Theologians
Allusions to Plato’s theory of the world soul in a variety of second-century

authors were registered at the beginning of the twentieth century in a classical
paper by Wilhelm Bousset.43 In what follows I largely rely on the impressive
range of sources the German New Testament scholar supplied in his article. Yet
Bousset, a major figure in the history of religions school, was interested in the
origin of curious and seemingly idiosyncratic texts more than in the history
of philosophical and theological ideas. He entitled his essay Plato’s World Soul
and the Cross of Christ but none of the authors he cited mentioned the world
soul. They did, however, make use of the very passage in the Timaeus in which
the creation of the soul of the world is described, and it is the primary merit
of Bousset’s article to have established the literary use of this text in second-
century theology.
The reference to Plato is most explicit in Justin Martyr44 who claimed that
the Timaeus contained a “physiological discussion” about the Son of God,
lifted from the Old Testament. Justin identified this reference in the words
“He placed him crosswise in the all” (ἐχίασεν αὐτὸν ἐν τῷ παντί),45 which while
not a quotation evidently refers to Timaeus 36 b where the world soul was
identified with the celestial X (chi) formed by the solar ecliptic path and the
celestial equator. The Old Testament passage Justin considered the origin of
Plato’s account is Moses’ erection of the brass serpent in Numbers 21; accord-
ing to the Gospel of John, Jesus himself saw his crucifixion prefigured in that
story (John 3, 14).
It is admittedly hard to see how Justin could have thought that Plato mis-
read this biblical story in such a way that could explain his own account in
the Timaeus. The more substantial as well as tantalizing point, however, is that
for the Christian apologist Plato offers evidence for a cosmology connecting a
hierarchy of three divine principles,46 of which the second (“the power next to
43 Bousset 1913.
44 Justin Martyr, Apologia I 60. Cf. Markschies 2009, 16. For the more general discussion
about Justin’s intellectual background cf. Andresen 1952–53; Edwards 1995.
45 Justin, Apologia I 60,1, English Text: ANF, 183.
46 Markschies 2009, 16, thinks that Justin’s identification of the world soul with Christ shows
his lack of interest in the more complex ontological hierarchy of the Platonists. There is
no doubt that Justin’s reading of Plato and other philosophical authors was idiosyncratic.
60 Zachhuber
the first God”) is both Logos and world soul, with the cross.47 While the iden-
tification of the world soul with Christ is reminiscent of Origen’s theory, the
further appeal to the cross and thus to Christ’s Incarnation and the doctrine
of salvation seems to take the Christian adaptation of the Platonic idea into a
potentially very different direction.
It has to be admitted that Justin has little to say about the significance of
the cross in this context. He is content to postulate a link between Christ as
Logos and Power of God and Plato’s (supposedly) second divine principle, the
world soul, not unlike Origen albeit without the Stoic overtones. Yet his explicit
acknowledgement of a “Christological” interpretation of Timaeus 38 b sheds
light on a considerable number of further texts from the same century, which
otherwise would be difficult to interpret.
Irenaeus of Lyons, writing a few decades after Justin, remarked in one place
that Christ
[…] himself is the Word of the almighty God, which in its immediate
presence extends through us all and therefore also encompasses the
whole world, its breadth, its length, its height, its depth, for through the
Word of God all things are maintained in their proper order, and the Son
of God is crucified in them by being inscribed into them all in the shape
of the cross.48
Irenaeus was not a philosophically minded writer and hence this text is largely
free of the jargon one encounters in authors such as Justin or Origen, but it
is difficult not to be reminded by these lines of both Justin’s reference to the
X in Timaeus 36 b and of Origen’s Platonic-Stoic understanding of Christ as
Wisdom extending through all things and holding them together. Whereas Ori-
gen’s speculation, however, was explicitly restricted to the pre-existing Logos,
Irenaeus’ reference to the crucifixion connects the divine dimension of Christ
with his incarnate reality.
Due to the absence of explicit references, it is impossible to establish the
link between Irenaeus’ argument and the tradition of the world soul with
In the present passage, however, he ascribes to Plato a doctrine of three divine principles
of which the second is identified with both the Christian Logos and the world soul while
the third is prefigured in Spirit of Genesis 1:2 (cf. Justin, Apologia I 60, 6).
47 Justin, Apologia I 60, 5: ἃ [sc. Numbers 21] ἀναγνοὺς Πλάτων καὶ μὴ ἀκριβῶς ἐπιστάμενος,
μηδὲ νοήσας τύπον εἶναι σταυροῦ ἀλλὰ χίασμα νοήσας, τὴν μετὰ τὸν πρῶτον θεὸν δύναμιν
κεχιάσθαι ἐν τῷ παντὶ εἶπε.
48 Irenaeus, Apodeixis 34. English Text: Robinson, 101. The Apodeixis is extant only in an
Armenian version which was edited by Ter-Mekerttschian and Ter-Minassiantz in 1907.
absolute certainty. With this caveat, however, the glimpse it provides of a

Christian appropriation of Plato’s account is utterly fascinating. Origen’s ref-
erence to the world soul ignored the ambivalent character of Plato’s original
concept with its heterogeneous elements which have to be brought together
“by force” in order to bestow order and stability on the cosmos as a whole. In
this, the Alexandrian’s theory was more Stoic than Platonic. By contrast, Ire-
naeus’ emphasis on the crucifixion and thus his shift from Christ, the second
divine principle, to the mystery of the Incarnation, corresponded to the ten-
sional aspect inherent in Plato’s theory. This chimes well with Irenaeus’ overall
theology for which the idea of the Incarnation as an almost paradoxical union
of opposite ontological principles is central. Writes Irenaeus in Book V of his
major work, Adversus Haereses (Against Heresies):
For the creator of the world truly is the Word of God. In its invisibility it
contains all that is made and is inherent in the entire creation because
the Word of God governs and arranges all things. And therefore he came
in his visibility and was made flesh and hung upon a tree so that he might
recapitulate all things in himself.49
For Irenaeus, then, Christ is the world soul in his unity-in-duality which is visi-
bly summed up in his Incarnation and, supremely, his crucifixion. Its symbol is
the cross which is both the earthly instrument of Jesus’ death and the celestial
sign of his universal, sustaining and providential role. Irenaeus uses “crucify”
for the presence of Christ as the celestial cross thus hinting at the tensional
character of his cosmic role as well.
Irenaeus’ thought was apparently forged in opposition to a group of the-
ologians who are collectively known as Gnostics, a generalisation that is not
least due to the Bishop of Lyon himself.50 For this reason, Irenaeus’ ideas often
have close parallels in Gnostic texts even though he would seek to give to them
radically different interpretations. This is certainly the case with allusions to
the celestial X and its identification with the cross. Bousset drew attention to
a considerable number of those of which only the most important one can be
discussed here.51
49 Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses V 18, 3: Mundi enim factor vere Verbum Dei est … et secundum
invisibilitatem continet quae facta sunt omnia et in universa conditione infixus, quoniam
Verbum Dei gubernans et disponens omnia. Et proper hoc in sua visibiliter venit et caro
factum est, et pependit super lignum, ut universa in semetipsum recapituletur. English Text:
ANF, 546–547.
50 Cf. Markschies 2003, 9–11.
51 Bousset 1913, 275–281.
62 Zachhuber
This is a passage in the Acts of John.52 It is set at the time of the crucifixion,
after Jesus had danced with his disciples. The favourite disciple has flown from
the scene and, while he is hiding on the Mount of Olives, the Lord appears to
him. John then becomes the sole recipient of a special revelation: the cross
on Golgotha is only there for the crowd; the real cross is a “cross of light”
in the sky. John perceives Jesus above that cross; he has no shape but only a
voice.
This cross is then identified with all the Christological titles known from the
fourth gospel: Word, Mind, Jesus, Christ, door, way and so forth. These names
are however characterised as exoteric; “in truth, as conceived of in itself and
spoken to us” the cross is
[…] the marking-off of all things, and the firm uplifting of things fixed
out of things unstable, and the harmony of wisdom and indeed wisdom
in harmony.53
In striking contrast to Irenaeus, the upshot of the secret revelation to John is

that the true, cosmic cross, “which by the word (λόγῳ) fixed all things together
and separated the things that are from those below,” is not identical with the
wooden cross below on which Jesus seemed to be crucified in the eyes of the
multitude.
The Gnostic, cosmic cross functions as a major ontological as well as sote-
riological divide. Those who are outside it make up the chaotic mass of “lower
nature” whereas those within the cross are on their way towards perfection
even though they are not yet of one form because “not every part of them has
been assumed.” Earlier in the text “John” had actually called what was within
the cross “one form and likeness.” So the cross establishes order and harmony
in the world by separating the higher from the lower while also marking out
the contrast between the part of human nature that was destined for damna-
tion and the group of the elect.
One might say that where Irenaeus represents a form of theology that is
excessively reluctant to own up to its philosophical background, the author of
this apocryphal text does the reverse by throwing in all the bits of education
he possesses to concoct a rather fantastic mix of myth, philosophy and Gnostic
theology. Overall, the reference to the Timaeus seems to me to be indubitable
52 Acts of John 98–100, eds. Junod and Kaestli (CCSA). Text: 1:209–213; notes: 2:656–671.
53 Acts of John 98: ὃ δὲ ὄντως ἐστίν, αὐτὸς πρὸς αὐτὸν νοούμενος καὶ εἰς ἡμᾶς λεγόμενος,
διορισμὸς πάντων ἐστίν· καὶ τὸν πεπηγμένον ἐξ ἀνεδράστων ἀνάγγη βιάβα καὶ ἁρμονία σοφίας·
σοφία δὲ οὖσα ἐν ἁρμονίᾳ. English Text: James 1993, 320.
even though the term “world soul” once again is not mentioned.54 The descrip-
tion of the cross of light as the ordering principle of chaotic heterogeneity,
however, and the reference to the “force” needed to achieve this, makes this
interpretation likely – all the more so since there is so little reason, prima facie,
to associate a cross with all these things. Whether our anonymous author knew
Plato is, of course, an entirely different question, and one might be inclined to
assume that he drew his inspiration from another text that had already made
such a connection. After all, it appears by now that the specific identification
of the world soul as celestial Chi with the cross of Christ was a common theme
in mid-second century Christian literature, which could be used by authors as
different as the Gnostic writer of the Acts of John, Justin Martyr and Irenaeus
to express Christ’s cosmological and at the same time soteriological function.
The reference to Plato’s cosmic X appears to have served a specifically Christ-
ian interest in tying together the pre-existent role of Christ as a sustaining and
ordering cosmic principle with his role in human salvation.55
Quite how these two are connected was, however, controversial. Justin did
not directly refer to the Incarnation; Plato’s X for him indicated Christ’s cos-
mological role. Only his additional reference to Numbers 21 gestured at the
soteriological dimension. The Gnostic author of the Acts of John specifically
discarded the “wooden” cross in favour of the “true” cross of light. Only Ire-
naeus had his eyes firmly set on the earthly cross and suggested seeing Christ’s
cosmological role in the light of his incarnate existence.
The second-century type of Christian theories of the world soul, then, was
as ambiguous as Origen’s teaching in the third century. Both drew on the
Timaeus in the interest of speaking of Christ as a second divine principle with-
out being entirely clear about its implications: does reference to the world soul
make Christ part of creation? Does it suggest the world partakes of the divine?
Or is it merely a way of developing a fuller, specifically Christian language
about God? These questions became pressing in the fourth century, and it will
be the task of the final part of this chapter to pursue some of the lines that can
be drawn from our previous observations to the cosmological debates in that
period.
54 Cf. the judgment by Junod/Kaestli, Acta Johannis (1983), 2:657: “L’enracinement

philosophique des speculations chrétiennes (orthodoxies ou gnostiques) sur la croix cos-
mique, notamment leur rapports avec la doctrine platonicienne de l’âme du monde […]
est considéré comme démontré depuis l’étude de Bousset.”
55 On the general significance of this theme in early Christianity see further: Daniélou 1963;
Daniélou 1958, 303–315; Rahner 1966, 73–100.
64 Zachhuber
5 Echoes of the World Soul in Fourth-Century Theology
References to a soul of the world are practically absent from fourth-century

theology. It is however possible to find traces of earlier Christian reception of
this philosophical notion in the Christian thinkers from that period. What will
become apparent is that Christian authors in that age incorporated and devel-
oped further those ideas that second- and third-century authors had expressed
with the help of the world soul tradition. Let us look at a number of develop-
ments separately:
First, we have seen how in all previous authors ideas about Christ as the
world soul were ambivalent on one central point: while they sought to express
the dual insight that Christ somehow is truly divine and also part of the cre-
ated world, they lacked the conceptual apparatus to give expression to this
intuition. Origen had compared the Son in his providential function to the
soul of the world, but it was unclear whether this committed him to a strictly
theistic perspective or whether the implication was allowed that the cosmos
through participation in God’s Wisdom was itself divine. Likewise, Justin and
Irenaeus affirmed the identity between the earthly cross and the cosmic cross
of the Timaeus but did not explain quite what kind of unity this was.
One of the most distinctive theological positions of the early fourth cen-
tury was characterised by the attempt to remove this ambiguity through the
introduction of two Wisdoms and two Powers of God. Asterius the Sophist is
quoted as saying that
[…] there are many powers; one of which is God’s own by nature and
eternal; but Christ, on the other hand, is not the true power of God; but,
as others, one of the so-called powers.56
In a similar vein, Arius of Alexandria argued
[…] there are two “Wisdoms,” one of which is proper to God and exists
together with him, and (the other) the Son who has been brought into
this Wisdom; only by participating in this Wisdom is the Son called Wis-
dom and Word.57
56 Athanasius, Contra Arianos I 5, 7: πολλαὶ δυνάμεις εἰσί· καὶ ἡ μὲν μία τοῦ θεοῦ ἐστιν ἰδία φύσει
καὶ ἀίδιος· ὁ δὲ Χριστὸς πάλιν οὐκ ἔστιν ἀληθινὴ δύναμις τοῦ θεοῦ, ἀλλὰ μία τῶν λεγομένων
δυνάμεών ἐστι καὶ αὐτός. = Asterius, fr. 67, 1–4, ed. Vinzent, 128.
57 Athanasius, Contra Arianos I 5, 5: δύο γοῦν σοφίας φησὶν εἶναι, μίαν μὲν τὴν ἰδίαν καὶ
συνυπάρχουσαν τῷ θεῷ, τὸν δὲ υἱὸν ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ σοφίᾳ γεγενῆσθαι ταύτης τε μετέχοντα
Neither of the two uses “soul” but we have seen in earlier authors how under
the influence of Stoicism world soul was treated as synonymous with Wisdom,
Power, and Word (Logos).
The ambiguity to be found in Origen (but also in different ways in Justin and
Irenaeus) is no longer present in these thinkers. God’s providential wisdom
and power, which sustains and governs the universe, is itself part of creation.
This chimes better, one might think, with the monotheistic character of Chris-
tianity, and this certainly was what the proponents of this theory themselves
believed.58 Its drawback, however, was its theological implication that Christ
was a creature. While Christian authors throughout the first three centuries
had never totally objected to this idea (it seemed supported by the important
biblical proof text Proverbs 8, 22), Arius’ own acumination aroused contro-
versy and was condemned at the Council of Nicaea in 325. The theory never
recovered from that stroke.
Second, the obvious alternative to the Arian position would be to take
earlier views about divine providential power and wisdom in the world but
detach them from their Christological overtones. This happens in striking
fashion in Gregory of Nyssa’s cosmology. Gregory, writing in the 380s, does
not speak about the world soul either; his preferred term is “nature.”59 It is,
however, clear that this physis, which is the principal object of God’s creation,
functions in many ways like the Stoic-Platonic world soul in Atticus or Origen.
It has been shown in previous research how close Gregory is in his vocabulary
to the tradition of Stoic, “dynamic” cosmology: nature is seminally present at
the beginning of the world and develops in an ordered progression into the
full, actualised perfection of the cosmos.60 In spite of these Stoic leanings,
however, Gregory’s physis is intelligible being and for this reason universally
present throughout the world even though it also partakes of spatial and tem-
poral development.61
Characteristically, where Gregory speaks about the soul of an individual
person, he uses language and concepts that in many ways are identical with
those he employed in his cosmology. The soul, too, is present in the human
ὠνομάσθαι μόνον σοφίαν καὶ λόγον. ἡ σοφία γάρ, φησί, τῇ σοφίᾳ ὑπῆρξε σοφοῦ θεοῦ θελήσει.
For the problem of attributing these fragments to Arius and for their reconstruction cf.
Williams 1987, 98–105; Hanson 1988, 10–15.
58 From his profession of faith to Alexander of Alexandria, it seems clear that Arius put
a strong emphasis on the uniqueness of the one God: Arius, Professio fidei, ed. Opitz,
no. 6, 2.
59 Zachhuber 2010.
60 Gregory of Nyssa, Apologia in Hexaëmeron, ed. Drobner (GNO IV/1), 18, 1–19, 15.
61 Zachhuber 2000, 150–151; Köckert 2009, 442–443.
66 Zachhuber
sperm in only potential perfection;62 it is closely tied to the body through-

out human life. In fact, in his most sustained speculation about the soul’s
immortality Gregory supports at best a qualified Platonism as he consistently
emphasises how soul and body form a close unity.63 While the soul survives
the person’s death, it is largely dysfunctional until the resurrection when it
regains proper life once it is reunited with its own body.
It might thus appear that a world soul as a created equivalent to the individ-
ual soul is implied in Gregory of Nyssa’s cosmology. And yet Gregory seemed
bent to avoid any such semblance. This becomes abundantly clear from his
use of the microcosm-macrocosm analogy, of which he was fond. Wherever he
employed it, he took it to suggest that the world as a whole points towards God
in the way the human organism points towards the existence of a soul. In the
context of Gregory’s theology this interpretation is, however, counterintuitive.
The soul is not the human being’s “God”: it does not “create” the body; it does
not pre-exist (Gregory sharply insists on this point against Origen);64 in fact,
as I have argued above, the soul is closely tied to its body and hence needs the
body to exist in eternal bliss according to Christian eschatology. The soul thus
is to the human body, what the world soul (or physis) is to the world!
In Gregory then we encounter a set of ideas that seems to correspond to
traditional notions of the world soul. This notion is set apart from pre-Nicene
speculations by the absence of any identification of the world soul with the
second Person of the Trinity. At the same time, Gregory seems utterly reluctant
to admit even the remotest debt to the philosophical or earlier theological tra-
dition. At best we can therefore ascribe to him an implicit or unacknowledged
doctrine of the world soul.
Third, a final development that is worthy of our attention in the present
paper follows from the Incarnational applications of the Timaeus in the sec-
ond century. No trace exists in the fourth century of the association of Plato’s
cosmic X with the cross of Christ (this idea will be taken up again in the Mid-
dle Ages).65 It is possible, however, to perceive echoes of the second-century
world soul tradition in fourth-century writings about the Incarnation. Athana-
sius, writing probably in the 320s, is very clear that Christ has always been
present and active throughout the world. Introducing the idea of the Incarna-
tion, he writes:
62 Gregory of Nyssa, De hominis opificio 29, PG 44, 236 B–D.

63 Zachhuber 2018.
64 Gregory of Nyssa, De hominis opificio 28, PG 44, 229 B–233 C.
65 Peter Abelard, Theologia Christiana II 16, ed. Buytaert (CCCM 12), 140, 257–265. For Dante’s
use of the image cf. Freccero 1986, 240–243.
The incorporeal and incorruptible and immaterial Word of God came to

our realm; not that he was previously distant, for no part of creation is
left deprived of him, but he fills the universe, being in union with the
Father. But in his benevolence towards us he condescended to come and
be made manifest.66
To explain the effect of Christ’s coming into a body, Athanasius (like Atticus)67
invoked the Stoic analogy of the city:
As when a great king has entered some great city and dwelled in one of
the houses in it, such a city is then greatly honoured, and no longer does
any enemy or bandit come against it, but it is rather treated with regard
because of the king who has taken up residence in one of its houses;
so also is the case with the King of all. For since he has come to our
realm and has dwelt in a body similar to ours, now every machination of
the enemy against men has ceased and the corruption of death, which
formerly had power over them, has been destroyed.68
To be sure, the primary effect of the Incarnation according to Athanasius

concerns the human race: human nature, not the world, is the city the King
transforms through his presence. Yet the second-century texts we examined all
oscillated between a cosmological and a soteriological narrative. Justin, while
ascribing to Plato a cosmological reference to Christ, introduced the theme
66 Athanasius, De incarnatione 8, 1, ed. Thomson, 150: Τούτου δὴ ἕνεκεν ὁ ἀσώματος καὶ

ἄφθαρτος καὶ ἄϋλος τοῦ Θεοῦ Λόγος παραγίνεται εἰς τὴν ἡμετέραν χώραν, οὔτι γε μακρὰν
ὢν πρότερον. Οὐδὲν γὰρ αὐτοῦ κενὸν ὑπολέλειπται τῆς κτίσεως μέρος· πάντα δὲ διὰ πάντων
επλήρωκεν αὐτὸς συνὼν τῷ ἑαυτοῦ Πατρί. Ἀλλὰ παραγίνεται υγκαταβαίνων τῇ εἰς ἡμᾶς αὐτοῦ
φιλανθρωπίᾳ καὶ ἐπιφανείᾳ. English Text: ibid.
67 Atticus, fr. 8, 3 ed. Des Places. Cf. Köckert 2009, 76, n. 117 for the Stoic background. The par-
allel between Atticus and Athanasius is not, of course, exact: Athanasius’ king visits the
city and restores order and peace. As in Origen, philosophical ideas originally signifying
beauty and stability of the cosmos are transformed to underwrite the Christian notion
of salvation history with its much stronger emphasis on the contrast between ideal and
fallen state.
68 Athanasius, De incarnatione 9, 3–4, ed. Thomson, 154: Καὶ ὥσπερ μεγάλου βασιλέως
εἰσελθόντος εἴς τινα πόλιν μεγάλην καὶ οἰκήσαντος εἰς μίαν τῶν ἐν αὐτῇ οἰκιῶν, πάντως ἡ
τοιαύτη πόλις τιμῆς πολλῆς καταξιοῦται, καὶ οὐκέτι τις ἐχθρὸς αὐτὴν οὔτε λῃστὴς ἐπιβαίνων
καταστρέφει, πάσης δὲ μᾶλλον ἐπιμελείας ἀξιοῦται διὰ τὸν εἰς μίαν αὐτῆς οἰκίαν οἰκήσαντα
βασιλέα· οὕτως καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ πάντων βασιλέως γέγονεν. Ἐλθόντος γὰρ αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τὴν ἡμετέραν
χώραν, καὶ οἰκήσαντος εἰς ἓν τῶν ὁμοίων σῶμα, λοιπὸν πᾶσα ἡ κατὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων παρὰ τῶν
ἐχθρῶν ἐπιβουλὴ πέπαυται, καὶ ἡ τοῦ ανάτου ἠφάνισται φθορὰ ἡ πάλαι κατ’ αὐτῶν ἰσχύουσα.
English Text: ibid., 155.
68 Zachhuber
of human salvation by his use of Numbers 21 and (implicitly) John 3, 14. In

both Irenaeus and the Gnostic authors, the link was even more prominent as
the Acts of John inscribed into the cosmological speculation about the cross of
light the distinction between the condemned and the elect.
Athanasius evidently drew on the earlier Christian tradition. While affirm-
ing Christ’s cosmological role as the ordering and sustaining principle of the
universe, he emphasised that the Word’s incarnational entry into the world of
men took this precise role to a new and higher level. Evil and corruption will
be overcome due to the presence in a body of truly divine being. The body, it
is true, now unequivocally is that of an individual human person. This is why
Athanasius needs a further theory to explain how the Incarnation affected the
whole of humankind (and ultimately the whole world as well): “the incorrupt-
ible God was united to all men by his body similar to theirs” (ὡς συνὼν δὲ διὰ
τοῦ ὁμοίου τοῖς πᾶσιν ὁ ἄφθαρτος τοῦ Θεοῦ Υἱὸς).69 Yet with this proviso, it is evi-
dent how Athanasius’ understanding of the Incarnation is a further inflection
of earlier Christian receptions of Plato’s idea that the world soul was a mixture
of intelligible and sensible being.
Second-century speculations about the cosmic dimension of the cross are
taken up, once again, by Gregory of Nyssa.70 While stopping short of acknowl-
edging the origin of this speculation in the Timaeus, Gregory goes out of his
way to explain the universal significance of the cross in language reminiscent
of his Stoic-Platonic cosmology:
[Paul] with the figure of the Cross describes to the Ephesians (cf. Eph-
esians 3, 18–19) the power that governs and maintains all things, and
wills them to be elevated to the knowledge of the preeminent glory of
this power, calling it “height, breadth, depth, and length” (Ephesians 3,
18) and referring himself with appropriate names to each of the arms
that can be observed in the figure of the Cross. Thus he says “height” of
the superior part, “depth” of the part which is found under the crossing
of the arms, and indicates with the name of “length” and “breadth” each
of the transversal arms, so that the great mystery be manifested that all
heavenly and otherworldly realities and all the extremes of all that exists
are governed and maintained together by Him who in the figure of the
Cross maintains his great and ineffable power.71
69 Athanasius, De Incarnatione 9, 2, ed. Thomson, 154. English Text: ibid., 155.

70 Cf. Maspero 2010, 191–195.
71 Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Eunomium III/3, 40, ed. Jaeger (GNO), 121, 21–122, 5: Ἐφεσίοις
δὲ τὴν τὸ πᾶν διακρατοῦσάν τε καὶ συνέχουσαν δύναμιν τῷ σχήματι τοῦ σταυροῦ καταγράφει,
The text not only evokes Irenaeus’ language about the cosmic significance
of Christ’s cross; it is also saturated with technical terms Gregory himself
employed in his cosmology. Clearly, the one who is crucified is the same who
by means of his all-pervading power holds together the universe, orders and
sustains it.
6 Conclusion
It should by now be clear that it is at the least an oversimplification to say that

Christian authors in late antiquity on principle had no use for the idea of a
world soul. It is true that direct acknowledgment of the use of this philosoph-
ical tradition is rare, but this is equally the case for many or most specifically
Platonic or Stoic theories. Early Christian theology, especially in the East, was
developed in opposition to prevailing pagan patterns of thought. The vast
majority of direct references to philosophical doctrines therefore is critical
or even hostile. With this caveat, however, it is equally evident that ideas
developed in the philosophical tradition about the world soul were received,
adapted and “baptised” by Christian authors in a way similar to their use of
other, comparable philosophical concepts.
Evidence for such an adaptation goes back to the second century. Various
Christian authors from very different theological schools drew on Plato’s iden-
tification of the world soul with the cosmic X (the cross formed by the solar
ecliptic path and the celestial equator) to argue for a cosmological dimension
of Christ’s cross. While none of them mentioned the world soul, the words
and concepts they used in this context are similar to specifically late ancient,
Platonic-Stoic modifications of Plato’s original theory.
In the early third century, Origen offered what appears to be the most dis-
tinct theological reference to the world soul. Without making explicit any
philosophical sources, his description of Christ as providence and world soul
owes much to the contemporary eclecticism present in Middle Platonism.
ἐν οἷς βούλεται αὐτοὺς ὑψωθέντας γνῶναι τὴν ὑπερβάλλουσαν δόξαν τῆς δυνάμεως ταύτης,
ὕψος καὶ πλάτος καὶ βάθος καὶ μῆκος κατονομάζων, ἑκάστην κεραίαν τῶν κατὰ τὸ σχῆμα τοῦ
σταυροῦ θεωρουμένων ἰδίοις προσαγορεύων ὀνόμασιν, ὡς τὸ μὲν ἄνω μέρος ὕψος εἰπεῖν, βάθος
δὲ τὸ μετὰ τὴν συμβολὴν ὑποκείμενον, τὴν δὲ ἐγκάρσιον καθ’ἑκάτερον κεραίαν τῷ τοῦ μήκους
τε καὶ πλάτους ὀνόματι διασημαίνων, ὡς ἂν διὰ τούτου φανερωθείη τὸ μέγα μυστήριον, ὅτι καὶ
τὰ οὐράνια καὶ τὰ καταχθόνια καὶ πάντα τῶν ὄντων τὰ πέρατα διακρατεῖται καὶ συνέχεται
παρὰ τοῦ τὴν ἀπόρρητον καὶ μεγάλην ταύτην δύναμιν ἐν τῷ τύπῳ τοῦ σταυροῦ παραδείξαντος.
English Text: Maspero 2010, 191–192.
70 Zachhuber
Origen’s interest in the world soul is different from those in second-century

authors in that he does not connect it with the Incarnation at all. It is for him
a cosmological theory with limited soteriological implications. Still, he agreed
with the earlier authors in tying the idea of the world soul to Christ and not, as
occasionally in later Christian thought, to the Holy Spirit.
By the fourth century these adaptations have taken on a life of their own
within Christian thought. From the few examples that could be given for
fourth-century developments it has become evident that these authors drew
mainly on earlier Christian authors – accepting or rejecting them – in cosmol-
ogy and Christology.
In this way, apparently, ideas about the world soul entered Christian Byzan-
tine cosmological discussions: they were received and transformed at an early
stage of theological history into forms of Christian philosophy that would
betray their ancestry only to the careful eye of the student of intellectual his-
tory.
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Matter in the Dialogue of Adamantius
Origen’s Heritage and Hylomorphism
Ilaria L.E. Ramelli
1 The Background: Matter in So-called Middle Platonism and in

Origen
The standard ‘Middle-Platonist’ account of Plato’s three first principles (ἀρχαί)

identified them with God, matter, and the Ideas or paradigms of all reality, that
is, God’s thoughts,1 as in Apuleius, Albinus, Alcinous, Maximus of Tyre, and the
early-third-century Refutation of All Heresies or Philosophical Thoughts (Elen-
chos/Philosophoumena) ascribed to Origen (θεός, ὕλη, παράδειγμα).2 Matter,
deemed Plato’s receptacle/place (ὑποδοχή, χώρα, Timaeus 49A–53A), coeternal
with God, was often considered to be the principle of evil, by “pagan” Middle
Platonists such as Numenius but also Christians such as Hermogenes, known
from Tertullian’s Against Hermogenes.3
Origen, a Christian Platonist, identifies the three ἀρχαί with the hypostases
of God-Trinity,4 and matter as God’s creature, which qua talis cannot be
evil (theodicy is, as ever, pivotal in Origen’s thought) or coeternal with God.
Indeed, Origen declares that “whoever affirms that matter is coeternal with
God is in disagreement with us.”5 The ideal models of all are absorbed in
God’s Mind, the Son-Logos-Wisdom, as noetic world.6 This was also how Gre-
gory Nazianzen understood the three ἀρχαί: he opened his Arcane Theological
Poems (Poemata arcana) with a piece On First Principles (Περὶ ἀρχῶν) reminis-
cent of Origen, in which he identifies the three ἀρχαί with the hypostases of
the Trinity7 – like Origen. Origen’s possible antecedent may be Irenaeus, who
1 E.g., Michalewski 2014, 69–96; Boys-Stones 2018, Ch. 4.

2 Apuleius, De Platone et eius dogmate I 5; Albinus, Isagoge 5; Maximus of Tyre, Dissertationes
XI 9; Hippolytus [Origen], Refutatio omnium haeresium I 19, 1.
3 Tertullian, Adversus Hermogenem V 1 (erat, inquis, quasi semper fuerit, scilicet innata et infecta
et idcirco materia credenda), VI 1 (erit enim et materia qualis deus, infecta, innata, initium non
habens nec finem), and VII 3: innata et infecta et aeterna.
4 As argued by Ramelli 2012a and further 2015a.
5 Origen, Homiliae in Genesim XIV 3: Dissidet vero a nobis cum Deo dicit esse materiam coaeter-
nam.
6 Analysis in Ramelli 2021c.
7 Gregory of Nazianzus, Poemata arcana 1, ed. Moreschini, trans. Sykes, 2–5.
Matter in the Dialogue of Adamantius 75
identified the ἀρχαί of the Gospel as one God creator of all, announced by the
prophets, giver of the Law, Father of Christ,8 although Irenaeus did not identify
three ἀρχαί as three hypostases. Origen is obviously the source of Nazianzen.
In Origen’s First Principles (De principiis) I 1, 6, the divine οὐσία (consisting
in the three hypostases elucidated in the first chapters of Book I) is described
as “the ἀρχή of all,” principium omnium. This is not Rufinus’ own formulation,
since in Greek too Origen describes God as ἀρχή: ‘The principle [ἀρχή] of the
Son is the Father; the principle [ἀρχή] of creatures is the Creator [δημιουργός],
and in sum the principle [ἀρχή] of beings is God’ (Commentary on John [Com-
mentarii in Iohannem] I 17, 102). This derives from Plato’s description of the
Good – identified by Origen with God – with the ἀρχή of all.9
Thus, unlike “pagan” Middle Platonists, Origen does not count matter
among the first principles, since the latter are the hypostases of the Trinity,
while matter is created by God. It is the stuff of bodies and in Origen seems to
pertain to all creatures apart from God. Origen remarks more than once that
rational creatures always need some kind of body.10 There are not only mortal
bodies, but also spiritual bodies: the “soul’s body” cannot be seen by physical
eyes, being intermediate between the solid mortal body and the disembodied
soul.11
As long as rational creatures exist, there has been and there will be mat-
ter, for them to make use of the ‘corporeal garment/tunic’ they need.12 They
need it because they are mutable from their very creation: their goodness or
evilness are not substantial but accidental; ‘owing to this mutability and con-
vertibility, the rational nature necessarily had to use a corporeal garment of
different kind, having this or that quality according to the deserts of rational
creatures’.13 Only God, being immutable, does not need such a garment that
changes qualities. Therefore, rational creatures were endowed with a body
from the beginning of their substantial existence (not as paradigms in God’s
mind), when God created both them and matter – in a creatio ex nihilo main-
8 Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses III 11, 7.

9 Plato, Republic 533C8–D1.
10 Full argument in Ramelli 2018e, 245–266.
11 Origen, Contra Celsum II 61–62.
12 Corporeal matter tamdiu necesse est permanere quamdiu permanent ea, quae eius indigent
indumento. Semper autem erunt rationabiles naturae, quae indigeant indumento corporeo;
semper ergo erit et natura corporea, cuius indumentis uti necesse est rationabiles creat-
uras (Origen, De principiis IV 4, 8). In Commentarii in Iohannem I 17, 97, 2 Origen observes
that it must be determined whether the saints live a totally immaterial and incorporeal
life (ἄϋλον πάντη καὶ ἀσώματον); he is not stating that they will.
13 Origen, De principiis IV 4, 8.
76 Ramelli
tained also in Against Celsus (Contra Celsum) IV 60 – the latter potentially

ready for all kinds of transformations, depending on the spiritual advance-
ment of rational creatures:
The intelligible nature must necessarily use bodies, because, in that it

is created, it is subject to movement and alteration.14 For what was not
and began to exist is for this very reason mutable by nature and does not
possess good or evil substantially, but accidentally… The rational nature
was liable to movement and alteration, so that, according to its deserts,
it could be endowed with a different body, of this or that quality. This is
why God, who knew in advance which the different conditions of souls
or spiritual powers might be, created the corporeal nature as well, which,
according to the Creator’s will, could be transformed, changing qualities,
as required by the situation.15
Matter was created by God, at the same time as rational creatures: “When
Scripture states that God created all ‘by number and measure,’ we shall be
correct to refer ‘number’ to rational creatures or intellects … and ‘measure’ to
bodily matter… These are the things we must believe were created by God in
the beginning, before anything else.”16
Origen, unlike Plato and Plotinus, but like Proclus, thought that the ratio-
nal soul always exists with a body;17 the body that impedes contemplation
is only the mortal body, not the spiritual, immortal body. No creature can
be conceived to be completely disembodied. Only the Trinity, the Creator, is
absolutely18 incorporeal, while all creatures need a body, spiritual or mortal, to
live; bodies cannot be actually separated from rational creatures:
If it is absolutely impossible to claim that any other nature besides

the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit can live without a body, the
argument’s coherence compels to understand that rational beings were
created as the principal, main creation [principaliter], but the material
substance can be separated from them – and thus appear to be created
before or after them – only theoretically and mentally, because they can
never have lived, or live, without matter [numquam sine ipsa eas vel vixisse
14 In Origen’s terminology, movement is mainly a movement of will, a choice.

16 Origen, De principiis II 9, 1.
17 Ramelli 2015c; review by Arthur 2016.
18 I use “absolutely” because Origen often uses “corporeal/incorporeal” and “material/imma-
terial” in a relative way.
vel vivere]. For only the Trinity can be correctly thought to exist without
a body [incorporea vita]. Therefore…the material substance, which by
nature is capable of being transformed from all into all, when dragged
to inferior creatures, is formed into a dense and solid body … but when it
serves more perfect and blessed creatures, it shines forth in the splen-
dour of heavenly bodies and adorns with a spiritual body both God’s
angels and the resurrected.19
Souls are incorporeal but, unlike God, are always found in bodies of various
kinds. Alexander of Aphrodisias, who was probably known to Origen,20 like-
wise maintained that the soul, albeit being no body, only exists in a body,
though not as in a subject,21 and consists of faculties,22 as Aristotle indicated
in On the Soul (De anima). Thus, according to Origen, the soul is incorporeal
in itself,23 but never exists without a body: Aristotle and Alexander too con-
ceived souls as incorporeal, but never existing without bodies. Even between
the death of the earthly body and the resurrection, the soul, incorporeal in
its essence (τὴν οὐσίαν τῆς ψυχῆς ἀσώματον), is wrapped in a body, and, “albeit
incorporeal [ἀσώματος], will not be punished without body [χωρὶς σώματος].”24
2 Hylomorphism and Matter: Origen and Alexander of Aphrodisias,

Numenius, Plotinus, and Porphyry
The concepts of ὕλη/ὑποκείμενον (material substratum, in constant flux) and

͂ (metaphysical form) in Origen,25 applied especially to his doctrine of the
εἰδος
20 As I argued in Ramelli 2014a; arguments reinforced in Ramelli 2021a.
21 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De anima libri cum Mantissa, in Alexandri Aphrodisiensis
praeter commentaria scripta minora, ed. Bruns (CAG), 140, 4–8.
22 Ibid., 106, 30–31.
23 Origen often maintains this, like Plato and Aristotle: see, e.g., Exhortatio ad Martyrium
47: the soul is a rational essence/substance that has something akin to God (οὐσίας
λογικῆς ψυχῆς ὡς ἐχούσης τι συγγενὲς θεῷ); for intellectual things (νοερά) are invisible and
incorporeal (ἀσώματα); Commentarii in Iohannem I 25, 164, 2 the intellect is incorporeal;
Fragmenta in Lucam 186, 26: ‘in itself, the soul is invisible and incorporeal’ (τῷ ἰδίῳ λόγῳ
οὔσης ἀοράτου καὶ ἀσωμάτου), having been created as the image of the invisible God; Frag-
menta ex commentariis in epistulam ad Ephesios 9, 29: the hegemonic has an incorporeal
nature.
24 Origen, De resurrectione (fragmenta), PG 11, 96, 18: Σῶμα περιέκειτο; cf. Origen (?), Selecta
in Psalmos, PG 12, 1097, 11.
25 On which see Ramelli 2020b.
78 Ramelli
body and its resurrection,26 are influenced by Aristotle and probably Alexan-
der of Aphrodisias. Indeed, the definition of ὕλη as ὑποκείμενον as opposed
to the metaphysical form (εἰδος)͂ is one of the two main definitions of matter
͂
in Aristotle,27 and the εἰδος vs. ὕλη/ὑποκείμενον binary was pivotal in Alexan-
der’s oeuvre. Both the presentation and the refutation of Stoic determinism
and of the Stoic doctrine of apokatastasis as contravening freewill, and the
Aristotelian use of κατ ̓ ἀριθμόν are very similar in Alexander28 and in Origen’s
criticism of Stoic29 and Gnostic determinism. Bardaisan of Edessa, a Chris-
tian ‘Middle Platonist’ known to Origen and his school and Porphyry,30 also
countered astrological determinism in On Fate (De Fato), resorting to a weak
concept of Fate that appeared again in Hierocles, an admirer of Origen.31
It is also notable that the doctrine of God as Intellect and the whole char-
acterization of God in Alexander, including being unmixed with matter, is
similar to Origen’s. Alexander identified Aristotle’s agent Intellect (νοῦς) with
God and the first principle – the “external” intellect (νοῦς θύραθεν).32 Origen
refers to Aristotle’s notion of “external intellect” in Against Celsus,33 dealt
with by Alexander in On the Soul, Supplement (De anima libri Mantissa).34
Alexander was the first who identified νοῦς with the first cause35 and God,36
since the agent Intellect is impassible, being unmixed with matter, qua act
͂
and metaphysical Form (ἐνέργεια, εἰδος).37 Origen also deemed God totally
unmixed with matter,38 perpetually active39 and thereby incorruptible, impas-
sible, metaphysical form (una sola deitatis species)40 and first cause (omnium
26 Analysis in Ramelli 2021b.

27 Aristotle, Metaphysics Z 3, 1029a2–3.
28 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De fato; De anima libri Mantissa, ed. Bruns, 179, 24–186, 31,
summarising his De fato; Quaestiones 2, 2–5; Commentaria in de generatione et corruption
ed. Gannagé, 314, 13–15 (from the Arabic, the Greek being lost). See Sharples 1994; Serra
1997. Cf. also Alexander’s Commentarium in Aristotelis analyticorum priorum librum I, ed.
Wallies, 180–181.
29 Origen, De oratione 6, 2; Contra Celsum IV 12; IV 67–68; V 20; De principiis II 3, 4, etc.
30 Argument in Ramelli 2009a–2019.
31 See Ramelli 2014a.
32 Aristotle, De generatione animalium II 3.
33 Origen, Contra Celsum III 80.
34 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De anima, ed. Bruns, 108.
35 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De anima, ed. Bruns, 89, 9–19.
36 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De Intellectu, ed. Schroeder and Todd, 109, 23–110, 3. On this
work see Opsomer and Sharples 2000.
37 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De anima, ed. Bruns, 89, 16–17.
38 Origen, De principiis I 1, 6; I 6, 4; II 2,2; IV 3, 15; Homiliae in Exodum VI 5.
39 Origen, De principiis I 4, 4; I 1, 6, and passim.
initium, ipsum principium),41 and identified the νοῦς with God, the first princi-
ple/ἀρχή.42
The doctrine of the soul’s existence in a body and that of the Ideas also
reveal impressive parallels in Alexander and Origen. Matter cannot be the
source of evil, due to theodicy; otherwise God would be responsible for evil.
Origen here disagreed with Numenius, who identified matter with Plato’s
indefinite dyad,43 necessity, and evil world-soul, attributing to it the origin
of evil: matter is autrix et patrona of the part of the human soul subject to
passions.44 According to Origen, bodies (although not mortal ones) were cre-
ated together with rational creatures to serve them in their movements, as
vehicles.45 God alone does not need any bodily vehicle, being free from any
alteration: the Godhead cannot change from Good to evil or vice versa, since
it is the supreme Good and has no evil at all in itself.
A striking parallel can be drawn between Origen’s and Porphyry’s positions.
Origen claimed that only the three ἀρχαί of the Trinity – to whom he devotes
the first three chapters of First Principles I46 – are incorporeal, as I have shown.
Likewise, Porphyry too, who knew Origen’s ideas and met him, besides being
the disciple of Plotinus, maintained that only the three ἀρχαί – Plotinus’ Triad:
One, Intellect, and Soul47 – are incorporeal.48 All other beings have bodies:
gods possess ethereal bodies, daemons aerial bodies, and souls earthly bodies.
Plotinus may have linked matter to evil – a lack of Good49 – to some
extent,50 and referred to the traditional concept of matter as “so-called ὕλη.”51
Origen, as seen above, could not attribute evil to matter, for reasons of theod-
icy: not matter, but each person’s mind is responsible for evil. Freewill is
41 Ibid.
42 Origen, De principiis I 1, 6, although in Contra Celsum VII 38 he describes God as νοῦς but
also ἐπέκεινα νοῦ. Discussion of biblical and Platonic reasons in Ramelli forthcoming (b).
43 Attested by Aristotle Metaphysica A 6, 987a–988a; cf. Physica Δ 2, 209b on Plato’s ἄγραφα
δόγματα.
44 Numenius, fr. 43, ed. E. des Places, Paris 1974, 49, 52.
45 See Ramelli 2021g.
46 Οrigen calls the Trinity ἀρχική (De principiis I 4, 3), the Father the ἀρχή of the Son, the
Creator the ἀρχή of creatures, and God the ἀρχή of all things (Origen, Commentarii in
Iohannem I 17, 102), and identifies God’s Son, after the Father itself, as ἀρχή of the beings
(ibid. I 19, 116).
47 On the identification of the three ἀρχαί in Origen and in Plotinus/Porphyry and the pos-
sible influence of Origen on Porphyry see Ramelli 2012a.
48 Porphyry, Epistula ad Anebonem 3.
49 Plotinus, Enneads I 8, 3, 7–18; I 8, 4, 23; I 8, 5, 1.
50 This is debatable. O’Brien 1996, thinks Plotinus did; vs. Van Riel 2001.
51 Plotinus, Enneads II 4.
80 Ramelli
therefore the source of evil, and not matter.52 Origen, indeed, relied on Plato’s
definition of virtue as ἀδέσποτον, “without master,” and God as not responsi-
ble for evil in Republic X, 617e, already cited by the Middle Platonists and so
important to his follower Nyssen’s theology of freedom.53
3 Bodies’ Changes and Spiritual Progress
In Against Celsus VII 32, Origen claims that the soul, incorporeal in itself,
always needs a body that is suited to the place/state in which it happens to
be, according to its spiritual progress,54 so that
[…] now it puts off [ἀπεκδυσαμένη] a body that was necessary before,55
but is presently useless for its new state, and it goes on to wear another;
now it assumes [ἐπενδυσαμένη] another body over/after the one it had
before, needing a better covering [κρείττονος ἐνδύματος], suited to the
purer, ethereal, heavenly places [εἰς τοὺς καθαρωτέρους καὶ αἰθερίους καὶ
οὐρανίους τόπους].
Souls, indeed, must always use a body, even after death.56 Risen bodies will be
assigned by God “according to each one’s merits.”57
Souls have bodies adapted to their spiritual progress. This is declared by
Origen in a number of other passages, for instance: “A soul that inhabits cor-
poreal places must necessarily make use of such bodies that are suited to the
places [corporibus talibus quae apta sint his locis] in which it dwells;” “the soul,
when in a material place, needs a body suited to its nature […] we need a body
because we are in a material place; therefore, it must be of the same nature
as the nature of the material place, whatever this is […] but to know God we
need no body.”58 Thus, for a sojourn in “the dwelling place of the blessed,” the
52 Origen, Contra Celsum III 42; IV 65–66, in which Origen specifically focuses on demons’
and the devil’s free choice, while they are rational creatures like the others.
53 On Gregory’s theology of freedom and its dependence on Origen, see Ramelli 2016, Chs
4–5. Alcinous too described soul as ἀδέσποτον (Didaskalikos XXVI 179, 10).
54 Origen, Contra Celsum VII 32: ἡ τῇ ἑαυτῆς φύσει ἀσώματος καὶ ἀόρατος ψυχὴ ἐν παντὶ
σωματικῷ τόπῳ τυγχάνουσα δέεται σώματος οἰκείου τῇ φύσει τῷ τόπῳ ἐκείνῳ.
55 This may refer to the spiritual body, which, after the fall, turns into a heavier, mortal body.
56 Kαὶ ἐν τῇ ἀπαλλαγῇ σώματι χρῆται ἡ ψυχή (Origen ap. Methodius De resurrectione, ap.
Photius Bibliotheca, codex 234, 301a).
57 Origen, Contra Celsum V 19.
58 Origen, Commentarius in Psalmos 1 ap. Pamphilus, Apologia pro Origene 141; Origen, Con-
tra Celsum VII 32–33.
soul will possess a luminous body; for a sojourn in postmortem torments, it

will have a body adapted to suffering.59
Souls can become thicker or finer, depending on their moral choices:
[T]he soul who sins becomes thicker… just as sin thickens a soul, so
virtue, on the contrary, makes a soul subtle… The sinner’s soul will
thicken, and, so to say, will become fleshly… Scripture no doubt calls
“flesh” the souls that are thicker and sinners. If, then, a soul thickens
to the point of becoming flesh, God’s work is to have it consume, and to
destroy all that which is made of thicker matter and wraps up the soul, so
as to erode and erase the fleshly way of thinking, and thus finally recall
the soul to the subtle intelligence of the heavenly and invisible things
[…] We, who have embodied and thickened our own soul […] should exit
flesh.60
“So to say” indicates some level of allegory, reminiscent also of the Pauline
equation flesh = sin, and similar to the “death of the soul” that for Origen
is moral and not a substantialis interitus:61 the soul, an incorruptible sub-
stance, dies by sinning, but its death is not “utter dissolution and annihilation”,
παντελὴς διάλυσις καὶ ἐξαφανισμός.62
Origen attributed to “experts” (δεινοί) the theory that at resurrection
“the material part remains, while qualities change into incorruption” (τῶν
ποιοτήτων μεταβαλλουσῶν εἰς ἀφθαρσίαν): this will be the Dialogue of Adaman-
tius’ (Dialogus) and Nyssen’s position. Though Origen slightly corrects this
formulation: mortal, corruptible nature does not “change” (μεταβαλλούσης)
into incorruptible, but, with Pauline lexicon, “puts on” incorruptibility
(ἐνδυομένης).63 He thereby reinforces the Platonic divide between mortal-
corruptible and immortal-incorruptible: these cannot change into one another
(unless by grace). But the change of qualities fits Origen’s view, pointed out
above, that matter changes qualities according to the place and the subject’s
moral state.
59 Origen, De resurrectione 2, ap. Pamphilus, Apologia pro Origene 134: qui beatius hic uixerit,
corpus eius in resurrectione diuiniore splendore fulgebit, et apta ei mansio beatorum tribue-
tur locorum; hic uero qui in malitia consumpsit tempus sibi uitae praesentis indultum, tale
dabitur corpus quod sufferre et perdurare tantum modo possit in poenis.
60 Origen, Homiliae in Psalmos 38, II 8.
61 Origen, Homiliae in Psalmos 38, II 12.
62 Origen, Comentarii in Iohannem XIII 61, 429.
63 Origen, Comentarii in Iohannem XIII 61, 430.
82 Ramelli
For Origen, matter enables changes in rational creatures and the world. Ori-
gen remarks that the cause, not of the world itself, but of diversity in it, is “the
variety and difference of movements and falls of those who have abandoned
the initial unity.”64 Before the diversification, the world may have already
existed, but in unity,65 composed of rational creatures, whose wills were all ini-
tially oriented towards God-the Good, and their immortal bodies. Matter had
already been created, for rational creatures to be equipped with their vehicles
from the beginning of their existence as substances.
Precisely the existence of matter for their bodies enabled rational creatures’
movements and diversification of wills. Indeed, Origen is clear that “there can-
not be diversity without bodies.”66 The world became varied when the logika
began to diversify their wills, detaching them from the only Good: “the Creator
of the universe, receiving all those germs and causes of variety and diver-
sity, according to the diversity of the intellects [mentes], i.e. rational creatures
[rationabiles creaturae] […], rendered the world varied and diversified.”67 God
transformed the world according to rational creatures’ transformations. Ori-
gen sometimes suggests that only some logika, those who became demons and
humans, fell, at other times seems to imply that all intellects detached them-
selves from the Good to various degrees: “every intellectual being, neglecting
the Good to a greater or lesser extent due to its own movements, was dragged
to the opposite of the Good, that is, evil.”68
Consequently, rational creatures had their bodies changed in proportion to
their detachment from God–the Good. On the contrary, the absolute incorpo-
reality of God alone, the absolute, unchangeable Good, is repeatedly asserted
in several other passages, including Against Celsus VI 17, preserved in Greek:
he criticises the Stoic tenet that the ἀρχαί are corporeal, including the highest
God and God’s Logos, identified as “material spirit.” Origen replies that God,
God’s Logos, and “rational souls” (not rational creatures) are immaterial. This
also explains apophatic theology: God, the Son-Logos-Wisdom, and the Spirit
are “difficult to perceive” because of their transcendence.69 Again,
65 See Ramelli 2013a.
68 Origen, De principiis II 9, 2. Cf. II 8, 4: “We should not deem the fall and degradation of
the intelligence the same for all, but that some more and some less were transformed
into souls, and some retained something of their original capacity, others nothing or very
little.”
69 Origen, Contra Celsum VI 69–70.
I cannot understand how so many substances could live and subsist with-
out a body, whereas it is a prerogative of God alone, Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit, to live without material substance and any union with corporeal
elements. Therefore, one may say that in the end every corporeal sub-
stance will be so purified as to be understood as ethereal and endowed
with heavenly purity and integrity.70
In the same passage Origen, on the basis of 1 Cor. 7:31 and Isa. 65:17, argues
again that there will be “not a total destruction or annihilation of the material
substance, but a certain change of quality and transformation of habit,” the
transformation of bodies from mortal into spiritual.71 Origen through a syllo-
gism argues that it is impossible for any creature to live without a body: if any
can, then all will be able to do so, but in that case corporeal substance would
be useless; therefore, it would not exist – which is not the case.72
To the possibility for a creature to live without a body, Origen opposes an
argument based on 1 Corinthians 15:53: “This corruptible being must necessar-
ily put on incorruptibility; this mortal being must put on immortality”:
The expressions “this corruptible being” and “this mortal being,” said
with the deictic tone of one who touches and indicates, what else do they
fit, if not corporeal matter? This same corporeal matter, which is now cor-
ruptible, will put on incorruptibility, when the perfect soul, instructed on
the incorruptible truths, begins to make use of the body […] When this
body, which one day we shall have glorious, will participate in life, then
it will attain what is immortal, and therefore will also become incorrupt-
ible […] What else will incorruptibility and immortality be if not God’s
Wisdom, Logos, and Justice, which will inform the soul, wrap and adorn
it?73
The objection that Origen puts forward comes from people who – like most
“pagan” Neoplatonists and some “Gnostics” – thought that rational creatures
can live without any body: “However, those who believe that rational creatures
can live without a body may here observe…” Origen repeatedly denied this by
asserting that only God can live incorporeally: “No one is invisible, incorporeal,
71 Origen, De principiis I 6, 4: Non omnimodis exterminatio vel perditio substantiae materialis
sed immutatio quaedam qualitatis atque habitus transformatio.
73 Origen, De principiis II 3, 2–3.
84 Ramelli
immutable, beginningless and endless […] but the Father with the Son and the
Holy Spirit.”74 “The Trinity’s substance […] is neither corporeal nor endowed
with body, but it is wholly incorporeal.”75
According to Plotinus, who, like Origen, admitted of various degrees of
materiality, demons participate in matter (ὕλη), but not corporeal matter
(σωματικὴ ὕλη), so they are not sense-perceptible. They take on bodies of air
or fire (ἀέρινα ἢ πύρινα), but prior to that (πρότερον), being pure, they had no
bodies. The remark that follows immediately in Enneads III 5 [50] 6, 40–42
may be Plotinus’ criticism of Origen (perhaps the author of a treatise Περὶ τῶν
δαιμόνων):76 “Though it is the opinion of many that the substance of the spirit
qua spirit implies some body, either of air or of fire” (καίτοι πολλοῖς δοκεῖ ἡ
οὐσία τοῦ δαίμονος καθ’ ὅσον δαίμων μετά τινος σώματος ἢ ἀέρος ἢ πυρὸς εἶναι).
Origen too deemed rational creatures equipped with a subtle and luminous
body, which may or may not be transformed into heavy and mortal, or into
cold and dark, on account of their sin. There is also a textual correspondence,
since Origen too designated the subtle and spiritual body of rational crea-
tures as both αὐγοειδές and an ὄχημα (as is revealed by ἐποχεῖσθαι in Procopius,
Commentary on Genesis [Commentarii in Genesim] 3, 21, which reflects Origen’s
ideas).
Origen’s depiction of the spiritual body-vehicle as αὐγοειδές is further con-
firmed by the sixth-century theologian Gobar, who reports this same adjective
in this connection.77 Gobar was well acquainted with Origen’s and his follow-
ers’ ideas and often reports Origen’s true thought. His account presupposes,
not the preexistence of bare souls, but logika endowed with a form of ‘light’
corporeality, which again agrees with Origen’s tenet that God alone is free of
bodily matter.78 Rational creatures were created before the sense-perceptible
world and are equipped with bodies.79
74 Origen, Homiliae in Exodum VI 5, 21–24: Nullus inuisibilis, nullus incorporeus, nullus

immutabilis, nullus sine initio et sine fine … nisi Pater cum Filio et Spiritu sancto.
76 If he is identified with the Origen of whom Plotinus and Longinus speak as a disciple of
Ammonius Saccas and as author of two treatises, based on the doctrines of Ammonius,
which is possible. I do not enter the debate here or cite bibliography, which is abundant
and growing.
77 Ap. Photius Bibliotheca, codex 232, 288a; see the whole passage at 287b–291b.
78 Ibid., 288a.
79 Ibid., 289ab.
4 Origen, Bardaisan, and Plotinus: A Common Metaphor and Matter
Bardaisan and Origen use the unique image of the paradigms of all creation
as decorations on Christ-Wisdom’s body;80 this convergence is one of the most
striking, and there are many other parallels in thought. Origen posited para-
digms (Ideas/Forms/λόγοι) of creatures that at the beginning were decorations
on the body of Christ-Logos-Wisdom,81 the creator of this cosmos, as his “intel-
ligible Beauty with many decorations” (πολυποίκιλον νοητὸν κάλλος). There is
a reminiscence of Ephesians 3:10 (God’s πολυποίκιλος Wisdom:82 the world as
ποίκιλον συμπόσιον), and an interesting parallel with Plotinus, who also located
Beauty at the level of the Nous, God’s Mind, which is Christ-Logos-Wisdom in
Origen’s view.83 In Plotinus, Enneads V 8, the Treatise entitled On the Intelligi-
ble/Noetic Beauty, the νοητὸν κάλλος of which Origen also spoke, as just seen,
appears to be located in Nous, since Beauty appears when Forms appear – yet,
Nous and Forms ultimately depend on the One.
I suspect that Plotinus may have known Bardaisan’s image (known to Por-
phyry), and/or Origen’s identical one. This hypothesis is reinforced by the
consideration that Plotinus might have reversed this image in his description
of matter, the last entity in the cosmic scale topped by the One, as “deco-
rated corpse” (νεκρὸν κεκοσμημένον).84 The image of the body of Christ-Logos-
Wisdom covered with decorations that are the paradigms of all creatures is
identical in Origen and in Bardaisan, and seems absent from other anterior or
contemporary authors, and then appears in Plotinus reversed, applied not to
Christ-Wisdom-Logos as noetic world, as living and decorated by Ideas on its
surface, but to matter, a corpse decorated on its surface.
Origen might have read Bardaisan’s treatise, composed during his own life,
33–35 years before his own death. This would have been of interest to him,
given its Christianised reading of Plato’s Timaeus and Middle Platonism. Since,
for the same reasons, Porphyry and perhaps Plotinus’ school were acquainted
with Bardaisan’s treatise, it is certainly possible that Origen read it, before
255–6 CE, in the same Greek translation, or redaction, that was available to
them around 250–80 CE. Alternatively, Bardaisan and Origen may depend on
an unknown common source. This, or both of them, might have been inspired
80 As I argued in Ramelli 2009a–2019, 107–24, and further Ramelli 2018a.

81 Origen, Commentarii in Iohannem XIX 22, 147.
82 Origen, Homiliae in Psalmos 76 IV 1, ed. Perrone (GCS, NF 19), 341, 22–23.
83 On Plotinus’ notion of beauty (not only intelligible) see Smith 2016; on Plotinus’ intelligi-
ble beauty see Darras-Worms 2018.
84 Plotinus, Enneades II 4, 5, 18.
86 Ramelli
by Genesis 37, in which Joseph, the favorite son of Jacob, received from his
father a “decorated tunic” (χιτῶνα ποικίλον) which may be echoed in Origen’s
πολυποίκιλον νοητὸν κάλλος, given that Jacob was a type of Christ in the Syriac
and the Greek tradition,85 and his tunic was related to Jesus’ body: both Jacob’s
tunic and Christ’s body are decorated. The body of Christ is decorated by the
paradigms of all creatures, while all the shapes of material beings decorate
matter in Plotinus’ image.
5 Degrees of Materiality in Origen and the Relative Use of

(In)corporeal and (Im)material
In conformity with his notion of degrees of corporeality and materiality, Ori-

gen employed the adjectives “corporeal/incorporeal” and “immaterial” in a rel-
ative sense. So much so that he speaks, metaphorically, of the corporeality of
the souls of sinners, as seen above: such a soul “thickens and becomes corpo-
real” (παχύνεται καὶ σαρκοῦται), while virtue “refines and melts down [λεπτύνει,
ἐκτήκει] the soul and – to force the language [βιασάμενος] – annihilates all that
is corporeal in it [πᾶν τὸ σωματικὸν αὐτῆς ἐξαφανίζει], and renders it purely
incorporeal [καθαρῶς ἀσώματον].”86 Here, incorporeality is more moral than
metaphysical.
The relative use of “incorporeal” already appears in Aristotle, who for
instance described fire as “the most incorporeal of elements” (μάλιστα
ἀσώματον) and “more incorporeal” than water (ἀσωματώτερον),87 and in a num-
ber of Platonists, “pagan” and Christian alike, including Clement, Proclus, and
Caesarius. What can be called incorporeal with respect to earthly bodies, can
be in fact not incorporeal in an absolute sense. Only God is absolutely incor-
poreal and existing without a body, as First Principles II 2, 2 makes clear – but
besides this and other Latin passages (famously First Principles I 1, 1–5), God’s
absolute incorporeality is stressed by Origen also in works preserved in Greek,
such as his refutation of Celsus and Commentary on John.
In Commentary on John XX 18, 159, in a polemic against a materialistic
view of God, common to First Principles I 1, 1–5, Origen describes Being in
the proper and principal sense (κυρίως οὐσίαν), God, as absolutely incorporeal
85 In the Greek tradition, Cyril of Alexandria’s exegesis (Glaphyra in Genesim, PG 69, 14–385)
depended precisely on Origen; for the Syriac tradition see Heal 2002.
86 Origen, Fragmenta in Psalmos 38, 11–12, whose paternity is confirmed by the exact parallel
in Homiliae in Psalmos 38, II 8 seen above.
87 Aristotle, De anima A 2, 405a; Physica Δ 8, 215b.
(φύσιν ἀόρατον καὶ ἀσώματον), as Plato did according to Diogenes Laertius III
77, Apuleius, Plato and His Doctrine (De Platone et eius dogmate) I 5, and the
Philosophoumena attributed to Origen, I 19, 3. Later, in On Prayer (De Oratione)
27, 8 Origen sides again with the philosophers (once again, the Platonists) who
identify the κυρίως οὐσία as absolutely incorporeal:
Ousia in its primary sense [κυρίως οὐσία] is deemed to be incorporeal

by the philosophers who regard as permanent reality that of incorporeal
beings [τῶν ἀσωμάτων ὑπόστασιν], which has an unalterable existence
without increase or decrease; for omitting of increase or decrease is typi-
cal of corporeal realities, liable to change.
Origen argues here against those philosophers who deemed the κυρίως οὐσία
corporeal (Stoics: Origen, indeed, reports ideas of Chrysippus and Posidonius).
Origen’s tenet may be influenced by Aristotle’s principle that eternal things
cannot have matter as an element of their substance. In Against Celsus VI 64,
complaining that “the theory of Being is large and extremely difficult” (πολὺς
δ’ ὁ περὶ τῆς οὐσίας λόγος καὶ δυσθεώρητος καὶ μάλιστα), Origen speaks again of
κυρίως οὐσία as permanent and incorporeal (ἐὰν ἡ κυρίως οὐσία ἡ ἑστῶσα καὶ
ἀσώματος ᾖ), adding that God may transcend Being (ἐπέκεινα οὐσίας) or may
be Being but incorporeal (οὐσία … ἀσώματος).88 Matter has nothing to do with
the substance of God, but it is a creature of God, brought into being when, at
the beginning, God created everything ex nihilo.
6 Creatio ex nihilo: Ammonius, Origen, and Porphyry: Links with the

Dialogue of Adamantius
All creatures, including rational creatures and matter, were created while they
did not exist, ex nihilo, as is clear for instance from First Principles II 9, 2
and Eusebius Preparation for the Gospel (Praeparatio Evangelica) VII 20, with
a doctrine going back to Ammonius Saccas and Pantaenus,89 and supported
already by 2 Maccabees 7: 28, Basilides, Tatian, Theophilus, and Irenaeus.90
88 Discussion in Ramelli forthcoming (c).

89 Argument in Ramelli 2017a.
90 May 2004; May 2006; Batut 2009, esp. Ch. 2, on creatio ex nihilo from Scripture to
Theophilus of Antioch. Blowers 2012, my review, Ramelli 2015d; Anderson and Bock-
muehl 2018; O’Neill 2002; Edwards 2013; in Philo, see Ramelli forthcoming (a); in Origen,
further work is in progress.
88 Ramelli
Interestingly, Marcion, well known to Origen, may have been among the first
to elaborate a notion of creatio ex nihilo.91 Origen was inspired by Ammonius’
and Pantaenus’ doctrine that creation is the result of God’s will without any
preexistent matter.92 Eusebius (probably coming from Origen’s commentary
on Genesis) reports Origen’s argument: “Listen to Origen’s arguments!” (τῶν
Ὠριγένους).93 Here, Origen criticized those who thought that God could not
create without pre-existent matter (χωρὶς ὕλης ἀγενήτου ὑποκειμένης). But they
do not consider the power of God (ζητητέων περὶ δυνάμεως Θεοῦ), since God
creates through his will, which is sufficient for the creation of everything with-
out preexistent matter: ἱκανή ἐστιν αὐτοῦ ἡ βούλησις ποιῆσαι γενέσθαι. Origen
argues that the preexistence of matter is absurd (ἄλογον)94 on philosophical
grounds showing that it contradicts Plato’s Timaeus with its characterisation
of God as “demiurge, Father, benefactor, and good.”95 Origen claims thereby to
be the one who best interpreted Plato (as he does on many other occasions,
including in his polemic with Celsus). Origen differentiates between God, who
can create all without pre-existent matter, and an artisan (τεχνίτης), who can-
not do so. This argument was already used to the same end – the denial of
the preexistence of matter in God’s creation – by Athenagoras of Athens: God
created everything since, according to Plato, God is unoriginated, while “mat-
ter needs an artisan, and an artisan needs matter.”96 Clearly, Athenagoras was
already endeavouring to argue that his doctrine is in accord with Plato. Origen
concludes:
With respect to this problem, it is necessary to make an investigation into

the power of God [ζητητέον περὶ δυνάμεως θεοῦ], whether the Godhead,
wanting to found whatever it likes [θελήσας ὑποστήσαι ὅτι βούλεται], if
its will is not aporetic or enfeebled, cannot found whatever it wants [οὐ
δύναται ὑποστῆσαι ὃ βούλεται].97
The full argument follows, for the rest of the nine subchapters.98
91 See May 2006, 441.

92 Doctrine thoroughly examined in Ramelli 2017a.
93 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica VII 20, 1–9, ed. Mras (GCS 43), 402, 6–403, 17 = Origen,
Commentarii in Genesim, fr. D3, ed. Metzler, 62–6.
94 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica VII 20, 8–9.
95 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica VII 20, 3.
96 Athenagoras of Athens, Legatio 19, 2.
97 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica VII 20, 1.
98 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica VII 20, 1–9.
Ammonius noted that Plato posited the Demiurge/Creator as preexis-

tent (δημιουργὸν θεὸν προϋφίστησιν) and as presiding over the constitution
of the whole cosmos, visible and invisible (ἐφεστῶτα πάσης ἐμφανοῦς τε
καὶ ἀφανοῦς διακοσμήσεως), without any pre-existing substratum (ἐκ μηδενὸς
προϋποκειμένου γεγενημένης). All beings were created by God’s will, without
any preexistent matter (ἐκ μηδενὸς προϋποκειμένου).99 This position of his own
master was clearly appreciated by Origen, qua supporter of creatio ex nihilo,
and even by Porphyry, who knew Origen and Ammonius, and likewise pos-
tulated no pre-existent matter: “the demiurgic Logos [δημιουργικὸς λόγος] can
produce all because it needs no matter for the sake of existence [μηδὲν εἰς τὸ
εἶναι τῆς ὕλης δεηθείς];”100 it “creates perceptible realities just by thinking [αὐτῷ
τῷ νοεῖν], generating the material immaterially.”101 This idea will be developed
later by Gregory of Nyssa in order to explain how God, being immaterial, cre-
ated matter: God created intelligible qualities, which gave rise to matter.102
Being created by God, matter cannot be evil: Origen agreed, although Porphyry
cited the Chaldaean Oracles – a source of revelation in “pagan” Neoplaton-
ism103 – instead of Genesis to support his view.104 Interestingly, it is Eusebius
who reports the ideas of “Maximus”–Adamantius–Origen concerning matter
and qualities, and also records Porphyry’s position,105 which comes remark-
ably close to that of Gregory: material entities are bundles of qualities that
come into being as a result of the flow of divine thoughts, which work like
seminal reasons.
The “Middle Platonist” Celsus, remembering Plato’s Timaeus, attached the
creation of intelligible beings to the superior God, and that of bodies, by the
ordering of pre-existent matter, to inferior deities.106 Origen, who might have
written a treatise The King Is the Only Creator,107 and in any case interpreted
the creation in Genesis as the work of God (albeit in three Hypostases), argued
that God created everything, including matter (creatio ex nihilo). Atticus, who
likely impacted Origen in other respects and posited one God-Creator and
99 Ammonius’ ideas are reported by Hierocles of Alexandria, ap. Photius, Bibliotheca, codex
251, 461b and 462b.
100 Porphyry, In Platonis Timaeum commentaria II, ed. Sodano, fr. 55.
101 Porphyry, In Platonis Timaeum commentaria II, ed. Sodano, fr. 51.
102 On Gregory’s theory see Arruzza 2007; Ramelli 2012b and 2013c; Marmodoro 2015; Van
Riel and Wauters 2020. Porphyry’s antecedent was noted by Sorabji 1988, 55.
103 Argument in Ramelli forthcoming (c).
104 Chaldean Oracles, ed. Des Places, fr. 34.
105 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica III 9, 3.
106 Origen, Contra Celsum IV 52; See Ramelli 2018b.
107 The other of the two ‘Ammonian’ treatises. See above n. 68; a full discussion is in prepa-
ration.
90 Ramelli
creation “from nonbeing,” may have inspired the treatise, The King Is the Only
Creator. Atticus, indeed, posited God as “supreme King and excellent Creator”
(παμβασιλεὺς καὶ ἀριστοτέχνης), in reference to God’s Providence and creation
respectively.108
Origen, unlike his Christian predecessors, argued philosophically for the
creation of matter by God. Christ-Wisdom is the creator of matter, “that from
which something originates as underlying matter;” “God created things that
are from that which does/did not exist.”109 First Principles I 3, 3 clearly denies
the preexistence of matter, which is created by God, as well as the theory that
souls are unbegotten and therefore coeternal with God, since they are cre-
ated as matter is. Rational creatures began to exist only at a certain point,
although not in the time measured by heavenly bodies. Therefore, they are
not coeternal with God: that they preexisted as projects in God’s Logos and
only subsequently were created as substances out of nothing is also stated
in a Greek passage:110 all things were made according to the logoi of future
beings contained in Wisdom, which transmitted the structure, forms (εἴδη),
and substances (οὐσίαι), from the archetypes-logoi to beings and matter. God’s
Wisdom, Christ, has contained the ideal paradigms of all beings from eternity,
before their creation as independent substances. These do not subsist eter-
nally qua creatures. Only the Son and the Spirit, being God, are coeternal with
the Father, because God alone is eternal.111
Origen is clear in many other passages (besides Commentary on John I 17,
103 and First Principles I 3, 3), including in his “simpler” homilies, that God cre-
ated everything, including matter, “from nothing;” every creature is ex nihilo:
“Whatever creature, however big, is nothing, being from nothing; what is really
is the One who is and always is,” God.112
7 Origen Inspiring the Dialogue of Adamantius on Matter
First Principles II 4, 3 offers an interesting link with the Dialogue of Adaman-

tius concerning matter, which is at the center of this investigation. This pas-
sage, indeed, presents exactly the same objections and dialectic alternatives
concerning the creation or uncreatedness of matter as in the Dialogue of
108 Atticus, ed. Baudry, fr. 6, 12, 7–8.

109 Origen, Commentarii in Iohannem I 17, 103.
110 Origen, Commentarii in Iohannem I 19, 114–115. See Ramelli 2011a.
111 Ramelli 2013b, 137–215.
112 Origen, Homiliae in Psalmos 38, I 10; Ramelli 2021e.
Adamantius.113 This is Origen’s passage, almost the same as the dichotomies

of the Dialogue on matter:
Let us ask them: Is matter created or non-generated, i.e. uncreated? And

if some affirm that it is uncreated… we shall ask them whether a part
of matter is God and a part the world. Now, if they respond that matter
was created, they will have necessarily to affirm, as a consequence, that
the one whom they identify as God was created – something that neither
their way of reasoning nor ours can admit of […]114
This is one of the very many factors that induce me to suspect that the Dia-
logue reproduces Origen’s ideas. The Dialogue also demonstrates that matter
was created ex nihilo, as Origen did.
Moreover, the Dialogue, like Origen, rejects the Aristotelian fifth element in
matter. Origen did so especially in Against Celsus IV 56: Aristotle and the Peri-
patetics ‘maintain that aether is immaterial, and is of a fifth substance besides
that of the other four elements; against this theory the Platonists and the Stoics
adduced noteworthy arguments’. In his Commentary on John,115 he accepts the
four elements. Origen’s rejection of the fifth element was in line with that of
some Middle Platonists. Atticus, for instance, criticised Aristotle for deviating
from Plato, who admitted of only four elements.116 Taurus also seems to have
rejected the fifth element.117 Plotinus certainly did, as is clear from Enneads II
1, 2, and Porphyry hammered home that Plato’s doctrine contemplated only
four elements.
8 Matter in the Dialogue of Adamantius: The Heritage of Origen and

Hylomorphism
The Dialogue of Adamantius raises many philological and literary issues con-
cerning its author, its date of composition, its double redaction, and its
113 Analysis in Ramelli 2010.

114 Origen, De principiis II 4, 3: Interrogabimus eos: materia facta est aut ingenita, id est
infecta? Et si quidem dixerint quia infecta est … requiremus ab eis si materiae pars qui-
dem aliqua deus, pars autem mundus est. Si uero responderint de materia quia facta est,
sine dubio consequetur ut eum, quem deum dicunt, factum esse fateantur, quod utique nec
ipsorum nec nostra ratio admittit.
115 Origen, Commentarii in Iohannem XIII 40, 266.
116 Atticus, fr. 5 Des Places.
117 Karamanolis 2006, 185.
92 Ramelli
relations to Origen, a certain “Maximus,” Eusebius, Methodius, the Philocalists,

and Rufinus. A systematic study of it is a substantial desideratum. Contrary
to what has often been maintained, Adamantius’ doctrines, his way of argu-
ing, his Scriptural quotations and exegesis, and many other points correspond
to Origen’s authentic ideas and methodologies.118 Hence the identification
of Adamantius with Origen, supported by the Cappadocians and Rufinus,
who read the original Greek. The Dialogue may have been composed on the
basis of Origen’s dialogues and especially his ideas. Origen is recorded to
have had many public debates against other Christians on doctrine, on the
basis of Scripture and argument: one with Heraclides, preserved in a Toura
papyrus probably based on Pamphilus’ and Eusebius’ edition, and others,
now lost, with Candidus the Valentinian; with Beryllus in Bostra; with some
heretic Arabs;119 with Jewish rabbis; and other public διαλέξεις.120 One of these
might have been a debate subsequently reworked in our Dialogue – or peo-
ple well conversant with Origen’s ideas may have framed them within our
Dialogue. Peculiar to our Dialogue is that the arbiter is a pagan philosopher,
Eutropius, who functions as an expression of pure λόγος, who twice, at the
end of Book 2 and of the whole work, proclaims the victory of Adamantius
(Origen). The same happens in the case of real dialogues of Origen, written
down or reported by sources: the Dialogue with Heraclides and the disputa-
tions with Beryllus and with the Arabians ended with Origen’s victory. Also,
both in the Dialogue of Adamantius and in that with Heraclides, Adaman-
tius’ and Origen’s parts respectively are much ampler than those of the other
characters.
Assessing the reliability of Rufinus’ translation is crucial from both the
literary and even the doctrinal viewpoint, since Rufinus’ Latin includes pas-
sages on universal restoration (ἀποκατάστασις) that are absent from the extant
Greek. I argue for the anteriority of Rufinus’ version to the extant Greek on the
basis of many philological points and arguments from content, and point out
parallels with another late-antique text translated by Rufinus, and other late
antique parallels (also within the complex interplay of translations, not only
from Greek into Latin, but also from Latin into Greek).121
As in many other cases, the treatment of matter in the Dialogue reflects
that of Origen. A passage in the Dialogue resembles one from Methodius’ De
autexusio (On Free Will), but Eusebius ascribes this excerpt to On Matter by
118 Arguments in Ramelli 2012b; 2013b.

119 Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica VI 37.
120 Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica VI 36.
121 Discussion in Ramelli 2020a.
a certain “Maximus,”122 who lived much earlier than Methodius, under Com-
modus and Septimius Severus.123 Although it is impossible to prove it with
certainty, it has been hypothesized with sound reasons that Eusebius’ Max-
imus, the author of the same discussions, and discussion topics, as in the
Dialogue, may have been Maximus of Tyre, whose ideas on matter, God, evil,
and theodicy were known to Origen.124 Convergences in names, dates, con-
tents, arguments, procedures of thought, notions, comparisons, similes and
imagery, and revealing linguistic details and quotations point to a connection
between Eusebius’ Maximus and Maximus of Tyre, both concerned with the
issue of matter, as Origen and the Dialogue of Adamantius are. This hypothesis
is also confirmed by Origen’s knowledge of Maximus of Tyre.125
Philocalia 24 quotes the Dialogue’s section on matter, evil, and God – from
the Greek Vorlage available to Rufinus as well – that is also excerpted by
Eusebius, Preparation for the Gospel VII 22. The Philocalists ascribe it to Ori-
gen, Eusebius to ‘Maximus’. The Philocalists noticed this contradiction in 24,
8 and call the Dialogue of Adamantius “Dialogue of Origen” (as do Anasta-
sius Sinaita, Questions and Answers [Quaestiones et responsiones] 48, and the
anonymous, fifth-century Latin The Predestined [Praedestinatus] 21): “Origen’s
διάλογος (or διάλεκτος) with Marcionites and other heretics.” Adamantius’ dis-
cussion with the Valentinians on creation, matter, evil, and freewill in the
fourth Book of the Dialogue reveals significant derivations from Origen. To
save theodicy, Droserius, a Valentinian, in order to free God from the accu-
sation of being responsible for evil, and therefore for a question of theodicy,
which was paramount for Origen himself, claims that evil derives from mat-
ter, which he regards as coeternal with God and uncreated.126 Adamantius’
refutation of this thesis (842C–D), that matter was created by God like every-
122 Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica VII 22.

123 Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica V 26, 1.
124 Ramelli 2010. Edwards 2013, esp. 578, agrees with my supposition that Eusebius’s ‘Max-
imus’ – whether Maximus of Tyre or another Maximus, who also lived under Com-
modus – was known to Origen, and surmises that Origen may have had him in mind
when in De principiis IV 4, 7 he speaks of thinkers who led a profound investigation into
matter and found that if one removes qualities from matter, there remains no quality-less
material substratum, a position that Gregory of Nyssa later seems to have furthered in his
theory of matter as bundle of intelligible qualities.
125 Argument in Ramelli 2010.
126 Dialogue of Adamantius, ed. van de Sande Bakhuyen (GCS) = PG 11, 841B–B; 844A. In what
follows, page numbers in the text refer to PG 11 (which uses de la Rue’s edition, 1733–1759),
since Bakhuyzen’s edition is keyed to the PG pages. But the text I use is Bakhuyzen’s
edition, not the Patrologia.
94 Ramelli
thing else, is the selfsame as that of Origen,127 including Adamantius’ rejection

of the Valentinian interpretation of the phrase terra autem erat inuisibilis et
incomposita, from Genesis 1. Adamantius’ rejection corresponds to First Prin-
ciples IV 4, 6, where Origen declares these words to be evidence of matter’s
original lack of form, not of its coeternity with God.
The same concern for theodicy in relation to matter as cause of evil is dis-
played by Droserius in 844a: “Valentinus, in order to show that God is not
the cause of evil, for this reason attributes evil to matter, so that evil may
appear to come not from God, but from matter.”128 Adamantius’ refutation
is the selfsame as Origen’s. Indeed, just as Adamantius in 842cd bases himself
on Genesis 1:1–2 to affirm that God created everything and there exists nothing
that is said by Scripture not to have been created by God, in the same way Ori-
gen in his Homilies on Genesis, at the very beginning (I 1) remarks that Genesis
1:1 (in principium fecit deus caelum et terram) proves that God is the principle
of all, principium omnium, so that it is utterly excluded that there is another
principle coeternal with God and independent of God. This concurs with his
exegesis of Genesis 1:1 in Commentary on John I 39, 292, where he identifies the
principium – ἀρχή in which God created with Christ-Wisdom (ἐν ἀρχῇ τῇ Σοφίᾳ
τὴν ὑπόστασιν ἔχων).129
The words that Adamantius’ opponent in the Dialogue takes as a proof of
the existence of an uncreated matter (‘terra autem erat inuisibilis et incom-
posita’) and that Adamantius demonstrates not to prove this thesis, are the
very same that Origen in First Principles IV 4, 6 declares to be evidence of mat-
ter’s original lack of form and order, and not of its coeternity with God.130
Clearly, Origen’s argument is exactly the same as Adamantius’ in the Dialogue.
In First Principles I 3, 3, which I mentioned above and here it is necessary to
report at least in its principal argument, Origen also rejects the hypothesis of
the coeternity of matter with God, precisely within an argument that aims at
demonstrating that God created all, just as Adamantius does in the Dialogue:
“On the basis of many passages in all of Scripture, it is proved that all beings
have been created by God and there is no substance that did not receive its
127 Origen, Homiliae in Genesim I 1; De principiis I 3, 3; II 1, 4; II 4, 3; Commentarii in Iohannem

I 17 (IV 22, 14); Rufinus, Apologia ad Anastasium 6.
128 Adamantius, Dialogus, ed. van de Sande Bakhuyzen (GCS) = PG 11, 844A: Ualentinus, ut
ostenderet deum non esse mali causam, propterea materiae ascribit mala, ut non ex deo sed
ex materia esse uiderentur.
129 See also Origen, Commentarii in Iohannem VI 38, 188.
130 Origen, De principiis IV 4, 6: Inuisibilem namque et incompositam terram: non aliud eis
Moyses quam informem materiam uisus est indicare … abnuimus ingenitam uel infectam
dici debere materiam secundum haec quae in prioribus prout potuimus ostendimus.
being from God; we reject and repel the ideas which are falsely supported by
some, concerning the coeternity of matter with God and the souls as never
generated.”131
Origen’s argument and Adamantius’ argument in the Dialogue are the same.
And I have already pointed out the exact parallel between Origen’s ‘zetetic’
argument on matter in First Principles II 4, 3, in order to demonstrate that mat-
ter was created by God, and the Dialogue of Adamantius. That Origen main-
tained that God created all realities, including matter, from nothing (omnia
deus creauerit ex nihilo) is also attested by Rufinus in his Apology to Anasta-
sius 6, and is clearly proved by a Greek text of Origen himself: Commentary
on John I 17, where he polemicizes against those thinkers (among Christians,
mainly Gnostics and Marcionites,132 the same as Adamantius opposes in the
homonymous Dialogue) who considered matter to be uncreated (ἀγένητον)
and maintained that God “created everything from non-being” ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων τὰ
ὄντα ἐποίησεν). Similarly, in First Principles II 1, 4, Origen attacks those Gnos-
tics who assumed the coeternity of matter with God: he admires their mind,
but rejects their doctrine: “I don’t know why so many and great thinkers have
considered matter non-generated, that is, not created by God himself, but
have declared its nature and power to be fortuitous…, affirming that matter
is non-generated and coeternal with God, who is non-generated.”133 Origen’s
refutation is linear: “How should it seem not impious to declare non-generated
what, if believed to be created by God, will undoubtedly result the same as is
what is said to be non-generated?”134
Likewise, in 844B Adamantius claims that it is not by making matter coeter-
nal with God and the cause of evil that one can liberate God from the charge –
central in theodicy from Plato onwards – of being responsible for evil (“Please
consider that it is not by positing matter apparently as the cause of evil that
131 Origen, De principiis I 3, 3: Quod autem a deo uniuersa creata sint nec sit ulla substantia
quae non ab eo hoc ipso ut esset acceperit, ex multis totius scripturae adsertionibus conpro-
batur, repudiatis atque depulsis his, quae a quibusdam falso perhibentur, uel de materia deo
coaeterna uel de ingenitis animabus.
132 A contemporary of Origen, Tertullian, attests this for Marcion in Adversus Marcionem I 15:
Mundum ex aliqua materia subiacente molitus est, innata et infecta et contemporali Deo.
133 Origen, De principiis II 1, 4: Nescio quomodo tanti et tales uiri ingenita [materiam], id est
non ab ipso Deo factam conditore omnium, putauerunt, sed fortuitam quandam eius nat-
uram uirtutemque dixerunt … ingenitam dicentes esse materiam deoque ingenito coaeter-
nam.
134 Ibid.: Quomodo ergo non uidebitur impium id ingenitum dicere quod, si factum a deo cre-
datur, tale sine dubio inuenitur quale et illud est quod ingenitum dicitur?
96 Ramelli
God is demonstrated not to be the cause of evil”).135 Adamantius argues that,

even if God has not created matter as a substance, he has certainly created its
qualities, and the problem of God’s responsibility for evil remains.
Now, regarding matter and its qualities, Adamantius and Origen share the
defence of the creation of both matter and its qualities by God.136 In the Dia-
logue, the debate over matter’s qualities depends on the larger question of
creation, just as in Origen’s extant Greek works.137 Discussion of philosophical
views of matter, qualities, and their transformation in On Prayer 4, 27 confirms
the centrality of this issue already in Origen, whose discussion is picked up
closely in the Dialogue of Adamantius. It is no accident that the Philocalists
excerpted this section in a passage that corresponds to Eusebius’ excerpt from
“Maximus,” which in turn, as mentioned, corresponds to the debate on matter,
evil, and God in the Dialogue of Adamantius.
The problem of the creation of matter’s qualities by God is treated by Ori-
gen at length in First Principles II 1, 4. Exactly as Adamantius in the Dialogue,
Origen here maintains that God created both matter and its qualities: “Now,
matter is so great and such as to be sufficient to constitute all bodies of the
world which God wanted to exist, receiving in itself the qualities that God
wanted to impose on it.”138 And in IV 4, 7 Origen states that no substance can
ever exist without qualities: “A substance can never subsist without its quali-
ties, but it is only theoretically, by means of one’s intellect, that one can discern
matter, which is the substrate of bodies and can be the receptacle of quali-
ties.”139 This is pivotal in relation to Origen’s argument concerning the creation
of matter ex nihilo, against the hypothesis of its pre-existence without quali-
ties. Indeed, Origen criticizes those who maintain that matter is uncreated
while qualities were created by God, but at the same time assert that matter
exclusively consists in qualities: “It can be found that, according to all those
who support the uncreatedness of matter, but deem qualities created by God,
for this very reason matter itself cannot be uncreated, if it is true that qualities
135 Adamantius, Dialogus, ed. van de Sande Bakhuyzen (GCS) = PG 11, 844B: Et uide quia non
ex hoc ostenditur deus malorum causa non esse, quod materia subicitur quae mali posse
causam suscipere uideatur.
136 Origen, De principiis II 1, 4; IV 4, 7–8.
137 Origen, Contra Celsum III 41–42; IV 56–57; VI 77.
138 Origen, De principiis II 1, 4: Hanc ergo materiam, quae tanta et talis est ut et sufficere ad
omnia mundi corpora quae esse deus uoluit queat recipiens in se qualitates quas ipse uoluis-
set imponere.
139 Origen, De principiis IV 4, 7: Numquam substantia sine qualitate subsistit, sed intellectu
solo discernitur hoc quod subiacet corporibus et capax est qualitatis esse materia.
are everything.”140 This point will be taken over by Gregory of Nyssa, according
to whom matter consists in the union of intelligible qualities, which explains
how God created it while being totally immaterial and intelligible, and rules
out the pre-existence of a material substratum without qualities.141
Origen, thus, refutes those who thought that a pre-existent matter was
subsequently given qualities: “qualities added from outside to a matter that
functions as a substratum.”142 But matter without qualities can only be con-
templated by the intellect, as argued in IV 4, 7 (above), and in IV 4, 8 Origen
adduces examples, such as Psalm 138:16 and Enoch 21:1, where he envisages a
reference to this kind of contemplation, by which matter is separated from
qualities only theoretically and mentally (sensu solo ac ratione).
His conclusion makes it clear that Origen, just as Adamantius in the Dia-
logue, engages in the discussion of qualities in relation to matter in order to
support the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo by denying the pre-existence of uncre-
ated matter (“All the existing beings were created by God, and there is nothing
which has not been made besides the nature of the Father, the Son, and the
Holy Spirit”).143
Soon after, in Dialogue of Adamantius (844D), Valens appears to propose an
alternative theory concerning matter and qualities, which Adamantius has to
refute: “It seems to me that matter has coeternal qualities always with itself;
indeed, I affirm that evil derives from such qualities, that the cause of evil may
in no way be attributed to God, but all to matter.”144 Clearly, the core prob-
lem is again theodicy: it is necessary to rule out that God is responsible for
evil. Adamantius’ refutation is simple: to affirm that both matter and its qual-
ities have existed ab aeterno together with God is tantamount to maintaining
that God created nothing (“You call God ‘Creator’ [conditor, δημιουργός] sim-
ply verbally”).145 The Greek correspondent of conditor (in Rufinus’ Latin) is
140 Ibid., Omnes qui materiam infectam dicunt, qualitates a deo factas esse confitentur, inu-
eniatur per hoc etiam secundum ipsos nec materia esse infecta, siquidem qualitates sint
omnia.
141 See above and n. 92.
142 Origen, De principiis IV 4, 7: Subiacenti cuidam materiae additas extrinsecus qualitates.
143 Origen, De principiis IV 4, 8: Omnia quae sunt a Deo facta esse, et nihil esse quod factum
non sit praeter naturam Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
144 Adamantius, Dialogus, ed. van de Sande Bakhuyzen (GCS) = PG 11, 844D: Mihi ita uidetur
quod materia qualitates secum habeat coaeternas; ideo namque et mala ex ipsismanasse
dico, ut uere in nullo malo malorum causa deo ascribatur, sed totum materiae.
145 Adamantius, Dialogus, ed. van de Sande Bakhuyzen (GCS) = PG 11, 844D: Tantum uerbo
deum conditorem dicis. These words in Rufinus’ version are attributed to Adamantius,
whereas in the extant Greek they are ascribed to Eutropius. In both, then, it is Eutropius
98 Ramelli
δημιουργός, the same noun that designates the Demiurge in Plato’s Timaeus:
indeed the whole of Valens’ defense is inspired by Plato’s and most Platonists’
conception of “creation” as “ordination.” For Valens contends that God is cre-
ator insofar as he changed matter’s qualities into a better order: “the substance
endured, but there was a mutation of qualities, through which its seems that
the structure of this world was ordered and adorned by God” (845C).146 This
argument reveals its weakness, again, when it comes to theodicy, through a
dichotomic reasoning (frequent in the Dialogue as well as in Origen): if God’s
transformation of these qualities was a change into better, the origin of evil
remains obscure, and if God took only good qualities for creation, leaving the
bad aside, it would seem that God could not, or did not want to, eliminate evil
(845C–E).
In the Dialogue, the debate over matter’s qualities entirely depends on
the larger question of creation. In this connection, a deep similarity is to be
found with Origen’s extant Greek works. Just as Adamantius in the Dialogue
of Adamantius (against Christian “heretics”), so has Origen in Against Celsus
(against a “pagan” Middle Platonist) to face the doctrine of the eternity of pre-
existent matter deprived of qualities and subsequently endowed with them
by the demiurge. In Against Celsus III 41–42, he refers to the Greek philoso-
phers’ teaching on this issue. The same doctrine of the demiurge providing
matter with qualities is mentioned again in Against Celsus IV 57, but without
the pre-existence of matter, in which way it is acceptable to the Christians,
too.
In Against Celsus IV 56 the polemic focuses again upon matter’s reception
of qualities from God: Origen observes that, if Celsus is not willing to concede
that God created anything corruptible, he cannot explain from whom matter
received its qualities, and in IV 57 he opposes Celsus’ view that the (purported)
spontaneous generation of insects from other animals proves that God is not
the creator of all things. Origen demolishes this argument by having recourse,
again, to qualities, whose transformations require an ordering mind. That mat-
ter receives its qualities from the creator/demiurge is repeated by Origen in
Against Celsus VI 77.
Plato in the time of Origen and the Dialogue of Adamantius was attributed
the view that matter, along with shapes and qualities, constitutes a body. An
who explains (845A): Si coaeterna erat materia deo et qualitates nihilominus coaeternae
materiae, superfluum est quod dicis, esse conditorem mundi deum.
146 Adamantius, Dialogus, ed. van de Sande Bakhuyzen (GCS) = PG 11, 845C: Permanente sub-
stantia, conuersionem quandam fecisse qualitatum [= τροπήν τινα τῶν ποιοτήτων], ex qua
uidetur huius mundi a deo machina perornata.
older contemporary of Origen, the anonymous early-third-century Christian

author of the Refutation of All Heresies or Philosophoumena ascribed to Ori-
gen in the manuscript tradition, in his outline of Plato’s philosophy deeply
informed by Middle Platonism, states that according to Plato
[…] matter [ὕλη] is a body [σῶμα] in potentiality, but not yet in actuality,
since it has neither shape nor qualities [ἄποιον]. Βut when it receives
shapes and qualities [σχήματα καὶ ποιότητας], it becomes a body. Matter,
therefore, is a first principle [ἀρχή], coeval with God.147
What Origen and the Dialogue of Adamantius disagreed with here was not the
discourse about matter and qualities, but the coeternity of matter with God,
since both conceived of matter as a creature of God.
In the Dialogue, one of the alternatives put forward in a “zetetic” (and typ-
ically Origenian) reasoning concerning matter and its being created by God is
the following argument at 843C: if matter was the place in which God was
at the beginning, given that matter was in disorder, then “once there was
a time/state [ἦν ποτε ὅτε…ἦν] when God was among disordered things” (ἐν
ἀκοσμίοις, in Rufinus’s version: erat aliquando quando erat deus in rebus incom-
positis et inconditis). It is remarkable that here τhe expression ἦν ποτε ὅτε…ἦν
is used by Adamantius: this was also used by Origen in at least two passages
among his writings that are extant in Greek. One is a fragment from First Prin-
ciples contained in Athanasius who quotes Origen ad verbum and is a reliable
and not hostile source.148 The other occurrence of this crucial phrase in Ori-
gen is found in Philocalia 24, 1, which, as I have mentioned, is a quotation from
Eusebius’ Preparation for the Gospel VII 22, but is ascribed by the excerptors
to Origen’s dialogue, the original Greek version of the Dialogue of Adaman-
tius. Thus, ἦν ποτε ὅτε (οὐκ) ἦν was a typical expression of Origen, and I have
argued extensively elsewhere,149 on the basis of a wealth of evidence, that
he “imported” it from technical philosophical language (the closest form I
pointed out is in Alexander of Aphrodisias) into Christian language, where
it became a kind of “Arian” (in the positive form) and anti-“Arian” (in the nega-
tive) catchphrase in reference to the Son: “There was a time when the Son did
not exist” (“Arian” version) vs “There was no time when the Son did not exist”
(anti-“Arian” version). This formula was absent from Christian literature before
147 Hippolytus, Refutatio omnium haeresium I 19, 3–4.

148 Origen, De principiis, fr. 33, ap. Athanasius, De decretis Nicaenae synodi 27, 1–2, ed. Opitz,
23, 17–30. I have analyzed this passage in Ramelli 2009b.
149 Ramelli 2014a.
100 Ramelli
Origen, and, apart from Origen, it remained practically unemployed until the
outbreak of the “Arian” controversy. Its presence in the Dialogue of Adaman-
tius, within the ‘zetetic’ investigation concerning matter’s creaturely nature,
further suggests that this dialogue contains Origen’s genuine thought.
Even closer are the convergences between Adamantius (from 846D) and
Origen (First Principles III 1) on freewill and the non-substantial origin of evil:
both, against the Valentinian link of evil with matter, maintain that evil arises
from freewill, a gift of God to humans (Dialogue 848C), in order for them to
choose Good voluntarily (First Principles IV 4, 8) – and not from matter. Like
the Dialogue, Origen, as seen in the section above, did not admit of the pre-
existence of matter and its coeternity with God. He underlines the difference,
in this respect, between his Christian thought and Greek philosophy on this
score in Homilies on Genesis XIV 3: “The doctrines of moral philosophy and of
the so-called physical philosophy are almost all the same as ours; they differ
from ours, however, in the claim that matter is coeternal with God.”150 But even
in his philosophical masterpiece, Origen engages in a reductio ad absurdum
of the hypothesis that matter is uncreated and coeternal with God.151 Origen
must have treated this question extensively in his lost Commentary on Gen-
esis, which was likely known to the redactor of the Dialogue of Adamantius.
From that commentary, very probably, a long fragment of Origen’s preserved
by Eusebius comes,152 in which Origen opposes again to his adversaries the
argument of the omnipotence of God:
If one mistakenly maintains, because of human craftsmen, that it is

impossible to admit that God created the existing beings without the
substratum of uncreated matter, since neither a sculptor can even begin
his own work without bronze, nor a carpenter without pieces of wood,
nor a builder without stones, well, to object to this person it is necessary
to conduct a research into the power of God…. God’s will is sufficient to
call to existence the substance he needs…. It is equally absurd that mat-
ter may subsist without being created (τὴν ὕλην…ὑφεστηκέναι ἀγενήτως),
given that it is so much, so great, and so capable of God’s creative Logos
(τοσαύτην καὶ τοιαύτην καὶ τοιούτως ἑκτικὴν τῷ Λόγῳ Θεοῦ).
150 Origen, Homiliae in Genesim XIV 3: Moralis vero et physica quae dicitur philosophia paene
omnia quae nostra sunt sentit; dissidet vero a nobis cum Deo dicit esse materiam coaeter-
nam.
152 Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica VII 20, briefly referred to above.
Not only with regard to the creation of matter by God, but also with regard
to the matter of earthly and risen bodies (and the relation between matter
and qualities), the Dialogue agrees with Origen’s ideas. Origen supported the
notion that the risen body will be the same as each one’s mortal body in
its metaphysical substance or form, but with different qualities (he will be
followed closely by Nyssen in this respect), while the same matter under-
lies all bodies if considered without qualities and form.153 The qualities of
the risen body seem to be similar to those of the light, immortal body with
which rational creatures were initially equipped. What guarantees the con-
tinuity of a body’s individual identity through transformations, both during
the present life and after death, is an immutable metaphysical form or εἶδος
(the metaphysical form within Origen’s hylomorphic conception): “each body
is endowed with its individual form.”154 The risen body’s individual identity is
the same as the mortal body’s, but the former will have much better qualities:
The same metaphysical form [speciem = εἶδος] endures in us from child-

hood to old age […] and it will remain the same also in the future [ipsam
permansuram etiam in futuro], though there will be an enormous change
into a better and more glorious body [plurima immutatione in melius
et gloriosius] […] However, the metaphysical form [species] will not be
destroyed, although it will turn into something more glorious.155
This is an idea that Gregory of Nyssa will appropriate and develop.156 Note
that, unlike Plato and other Platonists, Origen and Plotinus share the con-
cept of individual forms or a form for each individual. Indeed, the notion of
the λόγος/εἶδος of a single individual may find a striking parallel in Plotinus:
Enneads V 7, 1, 16–23, which speaks of different logoi for different individuals,
has induced scholars such as Kalligas to postulate that he posited a Form for
each individual, possibly identifiable with its soul.157 Albinus remarked that
individual forms were rejected by Socrates, Plato, and most Platonists,158 but
Origen and Plotinus – at least in Treatise V 7 –, after Albinus, supported it.159
For Origen, these forms are ab aeterno in God’s Mind, Christ-Logos-Wisdom.
153 Origen, Contra Celsum IV 56–57 and elsewhere. See Ramelli 2018e.
154 Origen, De principiis II 10, 2; Origen on the form of the body that is kept: Epiphanius,
Adversus haereses 64, 14, 1–6; cf. 64, 17, 1–10.
155 Origen, Commentarius in Psalmos 1 (= Pamphilus, Apologia pro Origene 141).
156 See Ramelli 2018c.
157 Kalligas 1997.
158 Albinus, Didaskalikos 9, 2.
159 On individual forms in Aristotle and possible influence on Origen, see Ramelli 2020b.
102 Ramelli
Against the “base and mean” idea of a resurrection of the body with-
out its transformation, Origen maintains that in the body there is a prin-
ciple (ratio, λόγος) containing the body’s substance/essence (substantia,
οὐσία/ὑπόστασις/εἶδος?), which will restore the body (ratio reparandi), trans-
forming it from psychic to spiritual.160 As Origen was aware, Paul taught the
spiritual (πνευματικόν) body’s resurrection.
The same is maintained by Adamantius in the Dialogue. After 865E,
Adamantius resumes the distinction between substance and qualities that was
offered much earlier in the Dialogue in relation to matter, and applies it to the
body, in particular to the relation between the earthly and the resurrected
body. The risen body, he argues, will keep the same substance as the earthly
body has, but it will change its qualities into better (this clarification, too, will
be taken over in On the Soul and the Resurrection by Gregory of Nyssa, who
read it not only in Origen but also in the Dialogue, which he considered to be
Origen’s – and in a sense he was not wrong, in that the Dialogue does seem
to reproduce Origen’s thought): “Saying ‘body’ he indicates the substance; say-
ing ‘animal’ or ‘spiritual’ he speaks of qualities […]: the substance will remain
the same, the quality alone will change into something better and more glori-
ous.”161
The Bardaisanite Marinus, represented as a Gnosticizing thinker, in a fur-
ther section that, as in many other cases,162 has no parallel in the extant Greek,
proclaims that he will only be convinced by Scripture, and he opposes again
to Adamantius Paul’s declaration in 1 Corinthians 11: 50, “flesh and blood will
not inherit the Kingdom of God.”163 This objection, as Adamantius himself
observes, was already raised earlier,164 and was already refuted by Adamantius
through a moral interpretation of “flesh and blood” in the sense of “sin,” which

161 Adamantius, Dialogus, GCS = PG 11, after 865E (but missing in Greek and present only in
Latin, V 25): Cum dicat ‘corpus’, substantiam designat; cum uero dicat ‘animale’ uel ‘spir-
itale’ de qualitatibus loquitur … eadem perdurante substantiam, sola qualitas in melius et
gloriosius immutabitur. For the Latin, I use the edition by Vinzenz Buchheit. A new edi-
tion and study are in the works.
162 I indicated the most significant in Ramelli 2012b; 2013b.
163 Adamantius, Dialogus, ed. van de Sande Bakhuyzen (GCS) = PG 11, after 865E (but missing
in Greek and present only in Latin, V 26): Argumentis non opus est, sicut ab initio placuit.
Scripturae auctoritati omnes cedamus. Dele de apostolo quia ‘caro et sanguis regnum dei
non possidebunt’. Hoc lucidius nihil est. Resurgere non potest quod a regno dei pronuntiatur
alienum.
in Greek and present only in Latin, V 26): Hoc in superioribus exposuimus. Sed si illud non
sufficit, iterum respondebimus.
was common in Origen’s work as well: he remembered the Pauline meaning of

“flesh” as “sinful flesh” and “sin.” In an oral debate, in fact, it is characteristic
to return more than once upon the same point. The style itself, with brief and
paratactical sentences in Marinus’ objection, is characteristic of spoken lan-
guage. Rufinus in his version has preserved the account of a dispute, whether
a real one involving Origen or a reconstructed one.
Marinus rejects Adamantius’ first interpretation of “flesh and blood” as sin;
therefore, Adamantius offers an alternative exegesis (in accordance with the
manifold hermeneutics of Scripture typical of Origen).165 He remarks that Paul
does speak of bodies in the resurrection, when human body will no more be
“flesh,” just as it was not yet flesh when it was still clay.166 But it will be the very
same body, only with different qualities (the position shared by Origen, the
Dialogue, and Eriugena). Therefore, when Paul says, “This corruptible [body]
will put on immortality” (corruptibile hoc induet immortalitatem), he means
this earthly body, hoc being a deictic pronoun.167 Consequently, “This is the
flesh that will be resurrected, not another one instead of this.”168 That Paul
was using a deictic when stating, “This corruptible [body] will put on immor-
tality,” was supported already by Origen, and exactly in the framework of an
argument on the individual identity between the earthly body and the risen
one. Adamantius’ argument is the very same as that of Origen, up to the tiniest
details.
Indeed, in First Principles II 3, 2, Origen is contemplating the hypothesis
that the corporeal substance will disappear in the next world.169 But he imme-
diately refutes this hypothesis by having recourse to 1 Corinthians 15: 53–56,
165 Ramelli 2006; Ramelli 2011b; new arguments in Ramelli 2021d, main lecture at the Con-
ference, The Bible: Its Translations and Interpretations in the Patristic Time, John Paul II
Catholic University, 16–17 October 2019.
in Greek and present only in Latin, V 26): Sicut ab initio deus, assumens limum terrae,
uertit in carnem, et eo iam proprie non tam terra quam caro nominatur … ita et in futuro,
cum naturam carnis huius deus in corpus resuscitauerit spiritale, iam non dicetur caro,
quia haec quae erant propria carnis abiecit, id est quia neque esuriet neque sitiet … aut
concupiscentiis stimulabitur.
in Greek and present only in Latin, V 26): Uelut manu continentis et demonstrantis apostoli
uox uidetur.
in Greek and present only in Latin, V 26): Haec est caro quae resurget, et non alia pro hac
erit.
169 Origen, De principiis II 3, 2: Si autem omnia possunt carere corporibus, sine dubio non erit
substantia corporalis.
104 Ramelli
and comments: “What Paul says, ‘this corruptible [body]’ and ‘this mortal
[body],’ as touching and showing the body, what this refers to, if not corpo-
real matter? Thus, the matter of the body, which now is corruptible, ‘will put
on incorruptibility,’ when the soul, made perfect and instructed in the teach-
ings of incorruptibility, will begin to use it.”170 Origen’s argument, quotation,
and interpretation, including the detail of the deictic pronoun, are the very
same as those of Adamantius in the Dialogue. As Eutropius summarises in his
remarks between two long speeches of Adamantius,171 the substance (natura
uel substantia) of the present body will endure, whereas its quality (qualitas)
will change. This is what Adamantius has briefly anticipated earlier, and now
it is on this substance and its characterisation as a metaphysical principle that
Adamantius’ argument focuses:
When humans die, the quality of their bodies change, from flesh to some-
thing else: it becomes, indeed, earth or dust. But its ratio substantialis
endures, without failing or damage… since the ratio substantiae remains
safe and sound, while its qualities, which already often had been changed
by God’s will, will be transformed again into better and more glorious.
Nor is it to be believed that substantiae ueritatis ratio has perished.172
170 Ibid.: Quod enim ait, ‘corruptibile hoc’ et ‘mortale hoc’ uelut tangentis et ostendentis
affectu, cui alii conuenit nisi materiae corporali? Haec ergo materia corporis, quae nunc
corruptibilis est, ‘induet incorruptionem’ cum perfecta anima et dogmatibus incorruptionis
instructa uti eo coeperit.
171 Eutropius’ words, which begin on p. 233, 18 in the GCS edition seem to me to end at
l. 23 (= 97, 29 in Buchheit’s edition of the Latin text), just after manente substantia qual-
itas immutata est. The following words, Permanere etenim in eo deus ipse pronuntiat, and
the whole following speech, with the theorization concerning the metaphysical principle
called ratio substantialis, belong, I think, to Adamantius, and not to Eutropius, to whom
van de Sande Bakhuyzen erroneously ascribes them (the same attribution is in the edi-
tion by Buchheit, 97). I argue that this is the case on the basis, not only of the contents
of this metaphysical treatment and the inclusion in it of the Genesis quotation terra es et
in terram ibis, but also of the parallel with the extant Greek, which, as I have mentioned,
is missing for this section: when it resumes (ed. van de Sande Bakhuyzen (GCS), 234, 1 =
PG 11, 864F), it is Adamantius who is still speaking, not Eutropius. For this section it is
impossible to cite from PG 11 = GCS Greek, because this section is lacking in Greek and
present only in Latin.
in Greek and present only in Latin, V 26): Morientibus hominibus iterum qualitas corporis
immutatur ex carne. Etenim efficitur terra uel puluis. Permanet tamen indefecta et incolumis
ratio substantialis … permanente integra ratione substantiae, qualitates eius, quae iam
frequenter dei uoluntate mutatae sunt, rursum … in melius et gloriosius commutentur, nec
tamen substantiae ueritatis ratio interisse credatur.
Manifestly, the permanent principle in the body, which earlier was called
substantia or natura, as opposed to changing qualities, is now called ratio
substantialis, ratio substantiae, substantiae ueritatis ratio, which may be the
translation of λόγος τῆς οὐσίας, an originally Aristotelian expression taken over
by Origen, or εἶδος = “form” in the sense of “substance,” “substantial form” in
Aristotle’s vocabulary, which also was adopted by Origen, precisely in refer-
ence to the permanent principle of the body, εἶδος as metaphysical principle,
essence, substance, determining the being of a reality. Now, εἶδος in this mean-
ing is very well attested in Origen’s extant Greek works; οὐσίας λόγος is attested
twice in Origen, in Against Celsus VI 64, where Origen is discussing the prob-
lem of God’s οὐσία, and is saying that God does not participate in οὐσία, but is
rather participated in by those who have God’s spirit; Origen observes that the
philosophical investigation concerning the essence (τῆς οὐσίας λόγος = ratio
substantiae, ratio substantialis) is very difficult but also pivotal; and above all
in Homilies on Jeremiah (Homiliae in Ieremiam) XX 1, where it bears the mean-
ing of “substance” in its metaphysical value: “two things are homonyms when
they have only the name in common, but their respective substance [οὐσίας
λόγος] is conceptually different.” Origen is again using Aristotle’s vocabulary,
as is clear from Aristotle’s repeated use of οὐσίας λόγος in Metaphysics Z 11,
1037a24, where it is related to the metaphysical principle; Θ 1, 1045b29–31,
where it is defined as being in its primary sense, while qualities are secondary
to it, just as in Adamantius’ and Origen’s arguments.173
9 Origen’s Theory and the Dialogue Grasped and Continued by

Gregory of Nyssa
Gregory of Nyssa was one of the most insightful followers of Origen and knew
the Dialogue of Adamantius, with which the Philocalists, according to tradi-
tion Gregory Nazianzen and Basil, the other two Cappadocians, were also
acquainted. Nyssen had Origen’s theory in mind in his own version of hylomor-
phism,174 including when stating that the mortal body changes continuously,
but its εἶδος remains unaltered, ἀμετάβλητον:175 the intellectual soul, which
only is in the image of God, is not joined by nature to the material ὑποκείμενον,
which is always in flux, as Origen already maintained, but to the metaphysical
173 See also Metaphysics K 7, 1064a22; De partibus animalium 695b18.

174 On which see Ramelli 2020b.
175 Gregory of Nyssa, De hominis opificio XXVII 3.
106 Ramelli
form or εἶδος, which is “stable and always identical to itself.” Origen identi-
fied God’s image with “the rational soul, which has the capacity for virtue.”176
Indeed, Gregory qualifies the union of soul and body in the human being as
the union of the intellectual soul, the only bearer of the divine image, and the
substantial form (εἶδος) of the body, as opposed to its material ever-changeable
substratum (ὑποκείμενον, the very same term used for matter by Origen and by
Plotinus, Enneads II 4: Gregory was familiar with both of them). Gregory is
adopting Origen’s concepts and terminology. Both characterized the material
substratum as always in flux. Origen also in Commentary on John XIII 33, 204
and later in On Prayer 27, 8 called bodies ῥευστά – this is why he denounced
that some people, “either from poverty of intellect or from lack of instruction,”
maintained that the earthly flesh will rise again.177 It would be unworthy of
God – a principle that runs throughout Origen’s theology and exegesis – if
“those long dead will rise up from the earth and live in the same bodies with-
out undergoing any change for the better.”178 The resurrection will change our
body into something “more spiritual.”179
Both Origen and Nyssen used the body’s εἶδος to account for the individ-
ual identity between the mortal and the risen body. This principle, which
remained unaltered, is also called by Origen λόγος οr λόγος σπέρματος,180 which
seems to echo the Stoic λόγος σπερματικός. For Origen “at the resurrection,
the saints’ bodies will be far more glorious than those which they had in the
present life, but they will not be other bodies than these.”181 What rises is “this
same body which is left dead,” hoc corpus quod mortuum relinquitur.182
In reference to the relation between the earthly and the risen body, Ori-
gen resumes the simile of the wheat grain and joins the Stoic conception of
seminal λόγοι to the Aristotelian “substantial form,” by making the former the
bearers of the latter, which embraces matter, constituted by the four elements,
gives it its own form, and determines its qualities: this is how the seed (or the
corpse) is changed into a crop (or a risen body) while changing its qualities but
keeping its substantial form (1097C–D). One’s body will be no more “flesh,” but
spiritual, and yet it will be one’s body, and not another body, nor something
176 Origen, Contra Celsum VII 66.

178 Origen, Contra Celsum V 18.
179 Origen, Dialogus cum Heraclide 10–11, 16–24.
180 Origen, Contra Celsum V 23: the body’s logos is indestructible and from it the earthly body
will be raised in incorruption; VII 32: there is a λόγος σπέρματος in the body. See also
Chadwick 1948.
181 Origen, Fragmenta in Lucam, fr. 140 on Luke 9: 28.
182 Origen, De resurrectione II, ap. Pamphilus, Apologia pro Origene 132.
that is not a body. It is obvious that Adamantius expounds the selfsame views
in the Dialogue.
Origen does admit of the resurrection of the body, but also takes it in a
spiritual sense, as is clear in his Commentary on the Psalms, in a passage that
can be reconstructed thanks to Methodius, On the Resurrection I 20–4, and
Epiphanius, Against Heresies 64, 10–12, who quotes Methodius verbatim, who
in turn quoted Origen. Here, Origen
1) criticizes those “too simple among the Christians,” who believe that the
resurrection will involve “the bodies that surround us,” in “the whole of
their (material) substance.” Origen shows the absurdity of this hypothe-
sis: the resurrected body should include, for example, the blood or hair
or nails lost during all of one’s earthly life; the ownership of a body would
even become uncertain, since one’s body can be eaten by animals which
are eaten in turn by other animals or people. The “simple,” against these
aporetic results, take refuge in divine omnipotence. This solution does
not satisfy Origen, because the absurdities that have arisen are “a chat-
ter of poor thoughts [πτοχῶν νοημάτων], impossible [ἀδυνάτων] and at
the same time unworthy of God [θεῷ ἀναξίων],” the latter a real Leitmotif
in Origen’s thought, taken over by the Dialogue of Adamantius, Gregory
of Nyssa, Rufinus, and other followers of Origen. Origen’s “simple” oppo-
nents offend both reason and God’s greatness. Origen, instead, argues
that, since “the nature of the body is changeable” (τρεπτήν), its resur-
rection will not involve the material substrate of the body (ὑποκείμενον),
which, unlike the substance of the soul, continually changes, like a river.
The material ὑποκείμενον will not be the same in the resurrection, but
there are no two days in which it is the same already on earth. Origen
invokes 1 Corinthians 15: 50, “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom
of God,” and interprets these words just as Adamantius does in the Dia-
logue the second time: Paul does not mean that the body will not rise,
but that what will be kept in the resurrection is one’s body’s εἶδος, which
is the metaphysical principium individuationis of the body’s corporeal
matter and characterizes it as the body of one given person (τὸ εἶδος τὸ
χαρακτηρίζον τὸ σῶμα ταὐτὸν εἶναι). At the resurrection, the body will be
“transformed into something better” ἐπὶ τὸ κρεῖττον μεταβάλλον), as the
Dialogue of Adamantius and Gregory of Nyssa will repeat. “Even if the
substance of the body flows away – Origen clarifies – the metaphysical
form that characterises the body remains the same […] This metaphysi-
cal form of the body, according to which Peter and Paul are respectively
informed, in the resurrection is again put on by the soul and changes into
better.” The body’s εἶδος remains the same throughout one’s life, and will
108 Ramelli
remain the same in the resurrection, too, with the difference that there
will be a dramatic transformation into a greater beauty (again something
repeated by Gregory of Nyssa in On the Soul and the Resurrection). As
Origen puts it in chapter 22, “the form of the former body will not van-
ish, although its style changes to become more glorious.” Moreover, it
will greatly improve in beauty when humans shall receive their spiritual
bodies.183 In the Methodius excerpt, Origen makes it clear, like Adaman-
tius, that the transformation between one’s earthly and one’s resurrected
body will be only of its qualities, which change in accord with the place
in which the body is found: to stay on earth, the body will have earthly
characteristics; in the Kingdom of heaven it will have spiritual character-
istics, but, Origen insists, “the former εἶδος will not vanish;” there will be
no longer flesh, but the same principle of individuation that the meta-
physical form provided in the flesh will be provided by it in the spiritual
body, so that the latter will be the same body as the fleshly body.
2) Origen also interprets the resurrection, as prophesied in Ezekiel 37, in a
clearly spiritual way (just as he does also in Commentary on John XXVIII
7, 54): not a resurrection of bones, skin, and nerves, as it would be on the
literal level, but a resurrection from the death caused by sin, the death
that hands humans to their enemies, the powers of evil, because of their
sins. This is why Jesus calls the sinners “sepulchers” in Matthew 23:27;
now, Origen says, “it becomes God to open the sepulcher of each of us,
and bring us out of the sepulcher, alive again, just as the Savior pulled
out Lazarus.” This is the spiritual resurrection, a liberation from sin.
According to Origen, the bodily and spiritual interpretations of death and res-
urrection do not exclude each other at all, but coexist, like the literal and the
spiritual sense(s) of Scripture in Origen’s hermeneutics (this constitutes one
of the main differences between Origen’s hermeneutical method applied to
Scripture and “pagan” Platonist exegesis applied to myths, which never hap-
pened but were seen as allegories of eternal truths).184 Indeed, both in his
Dialogue with Heraclides and in his exegesis of 1 Corinthians, Origen explicitly
rejects the position of the “heretics,” as he calls them, who deny the resurrec-
tion of the body: “Only the Church, against all heresies that deny the resurrec-
tion, professes the resurrection of the dead body.”185 He repeats that heretics,
183 This is explained in Origen, Selecta in Psalmos, PG 12, 1093, 18–33: this passage seems to
reflect Origen’s ideas, as a comparison with Nyssen’s work and the Dialogue of Adaman-
tius support Origen’s paternity.
184 As pointed out in Ramelli 2011b; Ramelli 2014c.
185 Origen, Dialogus cum Heraclide 5, 12.
and not he, deny the resurrection: “the heretics in fact eliminate [ἀθετοῦσιν]
the resurrection, although they do not do so in words.”186 In particular, Ori-
gen accuses them of interpreting the resurrection exclusively in an allegorical
sense – unlike himself, who, as mentioned, interpreted it at both the literal and
the spiritual level – and thus denying the reality and historicity of the Savior’s
resurrection. Origen remarks that, if these heterodox thinkers (οἱ ἑτερόδοξοι)
interpret human resurrection merely in an allegorical sense (ἀλληγορεῖν), they
should do so also in respect to the Saviour’s resurrection.187 For, as Origen
makes clear both in this work and in the Dialogue with Heraclides, our resurrec-
tion will be analogous to that of Christ (ὁμογενής).188 The modality of Christ’s
resurrection illuminates humans’ future resurrection. Jesus’ body, once resur-
rected, was of a better substance, melioris substantiae corpus.189 It is the same
body, made finer and better in its texture thanks to a change of qualities – a
position that, as pointed out, was shared by Origen, the Dialogue of Adaman-
tius, and Gregory of Nyssa.
Like Adamantius in the Dialogue, Origen, in spite of the accusations lev-
elled against him,190 taught that one’s resurrected body will be the same (hoc
idem) as one’s earthly body, and not a different one (non aliud), but without
all of its frailties (abiectis his infirmitatibus), powerful (in uirtute), and trans-
formed into glory (in gloriam), as a spiritual body (spiritale effectum), which
will always endure without change (semper et immutabiliter).191 It is again
“heretics” who denied the resurrection of the body as professed by the Church
and felt offended by it (offenduntur quidam in ecclesiastica fide) that Origen
refutes in First Principles II 10, 1–2. Here, he takes up some arguments already
developed in his older treatise On the Resurrection (De resurrectione).192 He
186 Origen, Fragmenta ex commentariis in epistulam I ad Corinthios 84, ed. Jenkins, 45–46.
187 Ibid. 81, ed. Jenkins, 44.
188 Ibid. 84, ed. Jenkins, 45–46.
189 Origen, Homiliae in Lucam 17: Quomodo resurrexerit, utrum ipse et talis qualis mortuus est,
an certe in melioris substantiae corpus resurrexerit.
190 Such accusations are reflected, for instance, in Epiphanius, Adversus haereses 64, 10–12,
who supports the thesis that the present body is the same as the resurrected one, and,
like Origen, grounds his argument in Christ’s resurrected body, but presents Origen as
denying the identity of the dead and the resurrected body: Sixth-century Byzantine the-
ologian Gobar’s remark that Epiphanius completely misrepresented Origen’s thought (ap.
Photius Bibliotheca, codex 232, 291b) is particularly applicable in this case. In Anacepha-
laeosis IV 4, 72,1–9, Epiphanius joins Origen and the Origenists in the same accusation
and levels against the former the charge, that will become customary, of being exces-
sively influenced by Greek culture.
191 Origen, De principiis III 6, 6.
192 Origen, De principiis II 10, 1: De quo et in aliis quidem libris, quos de resurrectione scrip-
simus, plenius disputavimus … pauca inde repetere non videtur absurdum.
110 Ramelli
argues that it is necessarily the body that will be resurrected, since only what
has fallen and is dead can be resurrected.193 Then he hammers home that the
body that each one will have at resurrection will be one’s own and not another
one (non in aliis quam in nostris corporibus), but transformed into a spiritual
body, incorrupted and immortal (abiecta corruptione et deposita mortalitate).
Lastly, Origen clarifies in what sense these spiritual bodies will be different
from one another, depending on the degrees of spiritual advancement of
human beings, according to the differences listed by Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:
39–42.
10 Origen’s (and Nyssen’s) Ideas on Matter Developed by Evagrius

Ponticus
Evagrius relied heavily on both Origen and Gregory of Nyssa.194 Like Origen, he
maintained that God is characterised by unity and is the only absolutely imma-
terial being; creatures are characterized by multiplicity and matter, identified
with the four elements.195 The knowledge of material entities is the knowledge
of the (immaterial) νοήματα of (material) creatures; the knowledge of God,
the entirely immaterial One, is the knowledge of the only true Being. Gregory
of Nyssa described Christ-Logos-Wisdom as the seat of all νοήματα of reali-
ties before the creation of the world,196 in turn relying on Origen.197 Through
God’s dynamis, that is, Christ-Logos – dynamis was one of the epinoiai of Christ
already in Origen – these intellections became creatures, works of God: ἔργα
τὰ νοήματα γίνεται. Origen had stated that they became substances, οὐσίαι.198
Τhe causes of all things are their logoi or intellections in the mind of God. Like
Evagrius after him, Origen maintained that an important factor of the eschato-
logical blessedness will be the knowledge of these causes.199 In First Principles
I 1, 7, Origen dovetails the knowledge of the causes or principles of all things
193 Ibid.: Si confitentur etiam ipsi quia resurrectio sit mortuorum, respondeant nobis: quid est
quod mortuum est nisi corpus? Corporis ergo resurrectio fiet … non enim proprie resurgere
dicitur nisi id quod ante ceciderit.
194 See Ramelli 2015b, vii–lxxxiv; systematic argumentation in Ramelli 2017b.
195 Evagrius, Kephalaia gnostica I 19: ‘The knowledge that is in the four is the knowledge of
the intellections of creatures, but the knowledge of the One is the knowledge of that who
only Is’ (unless otherwise stated, translations are my own).
196 Gregory of Nyssa, De perfectione, PG 46, 260B = ed. Jaeger (GNO VIII/1), 182.
197 On Origen’s notion see Ramelli 2021c.
198 Origen, Commentarii in Iohannem I 19, 114–115. See Ramelli 2017a.
199 Ramelli 2013b, 137–215; 461–512.
and the knowledge of God, because the causes or logoi of all things, which are
also their intellections, are and were in the mind of God. Evagrius will follow
along this line, and later Eriugena also will.
Like body soul and intellect, which, as will be pointed out below, will be
subsumed, the inferior into the superior, intellections will also become loftier
and loftier, from the intellections of creatures to the intellections of God. In
the final perfection, when all that which has come to existence by accident
has disappeared, only the relevant intellections will remain in us, and only the
knowledge of God will subsist, containing all intellections and being knowl-
edge of the One who never passes away: “When only the intellections of all
those things that have come to existence by accident will remain in us, then
only the One who is known will be known, only this, by the subject who
knows” (Propositions on Knowledge [Kephalaia gnostica] I 20). In the telos,
rational creatures will know only God primarily, and know everything in God
through the intellections of all. This is Evagrius’ gnoseological interpretation
of 1 Cor. 15: 28, “God will be all in all,” a passage largely deployed by Nyssen, too,
in reference to apokatastasis. As God will be all goods for each logikon, accord-
ing to Origen’s and Nyssen’s interpretation of this passage,200 so will God be
the one object of knowledge of all logika, and this one will subsume in itself all
objects of knowledge, just as God, the supreme Good, subsumes all goods.201
According to Evagrius, bοth corporeal and incorporeal creatures are divisi-
ble, bodies into matter (ὕλη) and form (εἶδος) – the hylomorphic, Aristotelian
division already absorbed by Origen and Gregory Nyssen – and incorporeal
creatures into common contemplation and substance liable to opposition,
but the Trinity is absolutely simple, indivisible, and not susceptible of opposi-
tion.202 Therefore, as said, it is also immaterial.
Like Origen, the Dialogue of Adamantius, and Nyssen, Evagrius reflects on
the continuity and differences between the earthly and the risen body. In
Propositions on Knowledge III 25, “The spiritual body and that which is oppo-
site to it will not be made of our limbs or our parts, but will be an (immortal)
body.”203 Nyssen, an admirer of Origen, in On the Soul and the Resurrection
200 See Ramelli 2007a, 313–356; Ramelli 2018c.

201 In Ramelli 2021c I argue that this notion in Origen and Nyssen derives from the (essen-
tially Middle Platonic) idea of Christ-Logos ὡς πάντα ἕν, already deployed by Clement.
202 Evagrius, Kephalia gnostica V 62; see also I 1.
203 Evagrius here seems to call “spiritual body” (Syriac gwšm’, which includes immortal bod-
ies, and not pgr’, which would indicate only mortal bodies) that of the blessed, and “that
which is opposite to it” that of the wicked, who will have to undergo purification and thus
will be immortal, but not yet glorious. Rather, they will represent the wicked characters
112 Ramelli
maintained that it is not the case that death is a change from (given) limbs
into (other) limbs, from one body to another, but one from exactly the same
body to the same body – only, transformed. As both Origen and the Dialogue
of Adamantius argue, the resurrected body will be the same as the dead body,
with the same matter, but transformed in its quality and texture, so as to result
in a fine, incorruptible, glorious body, “more beautiful and worthier of love.”204
Evagrius likewise states that the transformation of the body from death to res-
urrection is not a passage from the limbs of the mortal body to other limbs
of another, resurrected body, but it will be a change in mixture and texture of
elements within the same body.
In Propositions on Knowledge VI 58, Evagrius invites readers to investigate
philosophically – as Origen did – the question of resurrection: “Among bodies,
those which will have been re-established by the transformation are said to
result in spiritual bodies. However, whether it is from the matter or from the
organs that were at the end that this will take place, you too, please, investi-
gate this in truth.” This is what Nyssen did in On the Soul and the Resurrection,
inspired in turn by Origen’s On the Resurrection: he endeavored to present the
Christian doctrine of the resurrection in a philosophically sustainable way.
Evagrius, with his inquiry into the threefold resurrection (of the body, to life;
the soul, to apatheia, and the nous or intellect to knowledge),205 did much the
same. Moreover, Evagrius, describing the resurrection as the ‘reestablishment’
of mortal bodies through their transformation into spiritual bodies, adheres
to Nyssen’s line, who in On the Soul and the Resurrection described the resur-
rection as a “reestablishment” of a dead body as a spiritual body, within the
complex allegoresis of the feast of the Tabernacles.206
Evagrius agrees with Origen, Adamantius in the Dialogue, and Nyssen that
matter, and consequently the body, being created by God, cannot be evil,
for reasons of theodicy. That Evagrius thinks of the mortal body alone as
ὀργανικόν – exactly as in Gregory’s definition of soul, with a clear Aristotelian
echo207 – is evident from Propositions on Knowledge VI 72, where he distin-
guishes this from the spiritual body, which is not ὀργανικόν (surely because it is
not “endowed with organs of sense perception,” and possibly also because it is
not “instrumental”). Here, the intellection of matter is distinguished from the
of their owners. The difference depends on each logikon’s spiritual progress. This picture
does not describe the ultimate stage, which will come after the purification of all sinners.
204 Gregory of Nyssa, De anima et resurrectione, PG 46, 108 = ed. Spira (GNO III/3), 79,16–17.
205 Analysis of the threefold resurrection in Ramelli 2017b.
206 Commentary in Ramelli 2007b, 258–264.
207 Examined in Ramelli 2018c.
intellection of the mixtures that compose matter and give rise to its qualities.
Nyssen, as I mentioned, reduced matter to its qualities, so as to explain how
the immaterial God created matter, and Evagrius appears to have received his
ideas.208 Matter is made up of mixtures of the various sense-perceptible ele-
ments that compose it and that are mentioned in the following sentences;
these correspond to qualities. Different mixtures/qualities constitute different
bodies.209 The spiritual body is contrasted with the human mortal body, the
σῶμα ὀργανικόν, which is an ὄργανον of the soul and is equipped with ὄργανα of
sense-perception. This is the way Nyssen also had depicted it.
Evagrius too, like Origen and Nyssen, supports creatio ex nihilo, which,
according to him, denotes God’s goodness, power, and wisdom: “The mir-
ror of God’s goodness, and power, and wisdom, is those that were originally
brought into being, something from nonbeing”; “The Holy Trinity is uniquely
worthy of worship because of itself, from it, at a certain point, the incorpo-
real nature and the corporeal one, from the beginning, from nothing became
something.”210 Origen argued that Genesis 1:1 proves that God is principium
omnium, so that it is excluded that there is another principle coeternal with,
and independent of, God, such as matter or the Ideas (the three principles
according to Middle Platonism, as seen at the beginning to his essay).211 Origen
declared that matter originally lacked form and order, and was not coeternal
with God (First Principles IV 4, 6) and rejected the hypothesis of the coeternity
of matter with God precisely within an argument that aims at demonstrating
that God created all things.212 Origen also adduced another argumentation to
demonstrate that matter was created by God.213 What is more, Origen’s creatio
ex nihilo theory is proved by a Greek text, Commentary on John I 17, exam-
ined above in the section on Origen and the Dialogue, where he polemicised
against those who considered matter to be ἀγένητος – “pagan” philosophers
but also Christians, mainly “Gnostics” and Marcionites.214 Accordingly, Origen
208 In my Syriac edition, I corrected the singular “mixture” in the ms. into the plural “mix-
tures” (which merely entails the addition of a diacritical mark, easily lost in the ms.
tradition), because “their inside” or “their inner part” seems to refer to “mixtures.” If “mix-
ture” were singular, there would be no plural to which “their” could refer.
209 See also Kephalia gnostica VI 78 and the commentary in Ramelli 2015b, ad loc.
210 Evagrius, Kephalaia gnostica II 1 and V 50.
211 Origen, Homiliae in Genesim I 1. This point is likely to have been developed to a greater
extent in the lost Commentary on Genesis.
212 Origen, De principiis I 3, 3, quoted above in the treatment of Origen and the Dialogue of
Adamantius.
213 Origen, De principiis II 4, 3. That Origen maintained that God created all realities, includ-
ing matter, is also attested by Rufinus, Apologia ad Anastasium 6.
214 Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem I 15.
114 Ramelli
attacked those “Gnostics” who assumed the coeternity of matter with God,215
but Justin also had referred to a creation ἐξ ἀμόρφου ὕλης.216 Origen contended
that “God created all beings from non-beings:” ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων τὰ ὄντα ἐποίησεν
ὁ Θεός. Consistently with his refutation, Origen held that God created both
matter and its qualities,217 and claimed that no substance can exist without
qualities.218 This was crucial to his argument concerning the creation of mat-
ter ex nihilo against the thesis of its pre-existence without qualities.219 Origen
goes on to refute those who think that a preexistent matter was subsequently
given qualities. Matter without qualities can only be contemplated “hypothet-
ically and merely mentally,”220 as seen above. Gregory of Nyssa also ruled out
the pre-existence of a material substratum without qualities.
Now, Evagrius seems to reflect Nyssen’s solution that God created imma-
terial, intelligible qualities, and these constituted matter: “Just as it is not fire
itself that is in our bodies, but rather its quality has been constituted in them
[by God], so in the bodies of demons is it not earth itself, or water itself, but
their qualities that the Creator has inserted in them.”221 Evagrius, like Nyssen,
insists that God has not created the elements themselves as constitutive of
human and demonic bodies, but rather has created their qualities, or “mix-
tures” of them: the Syriac word for “mixture” also means “quality.”
One core doctrine of Evagrius regarding matter and bodies is that of pro-
gressive subsumption of lower into higher realities. This changes the picture
of current scholarship: Evagrius does not advocate a real destruction of mat-
ter in the end, as though it were evil, but a subsumption of it into the loftier.
Within his ideal of unity,222 he postulates that bodies will be subsumed into
souls, souls into intellects, and intellects will become fully pure in turn and
will be immersed in divine life and knowledge:
And there will be a time when the body, the soul, and the intellect will
cease to be separate from one another, with their names and their plural-
ity, since the body and the soul will be elevated to the rank of intellects.
This conclusion can be drawn from the words, “That they may be one in

216 Justin, Apologia 10, 2. See also ibid. 50, 9.
219 See Ramelli 2010; Ramelli 2012b; 2013b.
221 Evagrius, Kephalaia gnostica VI 26.
222 This ideal and its links with the Platonic tradition, I have examined in Ramelli 2013a.
us, just as You and I are One.” Thus, there will be a time when the Father,
Son, and Spirit, and their rational creation, which constitutes their body,
will cease to be separate, with their names and their plurality. And this
conclusion can be drawn from the words, “God will be all in all.”223
Like Origen and Nyssen, Evagrius corroborates every argument by means of

Scripture. Both the scriptural quotations used here were among the favourite
of Origen and Nyssen in reference to the telos: John 17: 22 for the final ἕνωσις,
and 1 Corinthians 15: 28 for unity in apokatastasis.224
The Origenian Eriugena, the last Patristic Platonist in the West, interest-
ingly traced this core doctrine of Evagrius back to Nyssen, thus pointing to
Evagrius’ indebtedness to Gregory. And it seems that he was correct in doing
so. Evagrius’ notion of the eschatological transformation of body into soul
and soul into intellect, and this finally into God at the stage of θέωσις and
unity,225 according to Eriugena – who made the most of it – comes straight
from Nyssen, Evagrius’ teacher. Eriugena significantly chose to cite Nyssen’s
theory, taken over by Evagrius, in reference to the eventual deification, which
for Nyssen will be universal, like the resurrection-restoration: “In a similar way,
Gregory without hesitation argues that at the time of resurrection the body
will turn into soul, the soul into intellect, and the intellect into God.”226 This
is indeed an important element of inspiration provided by Nyssen to Evagrius.
This idea of the subsumption of what is inferior into what is superior with
a view to unification, which is so clear in Evagrius and came from Nyssen,
became prominent in Maximus the Confessor, who was profoundly influenced
by Nyssen in turn, and in Eriugena himself, who followed both Nyssen and
Maximus closely.
Nyssen, indeed, inspired Evagrius with the concept of unified soul as nous:
“When the soul becomes simple [ἁπλῆ], unitary [μονοειδής], and perfectly sim-
ilar to God [θεοείκελος], it will find the truly simple and immaterial Good.”227
This is exactly Evagrius’ view as well, and within this concept of the unified
nous it is necessary to read Gregory’s and Evagrius’ notion of the subsumption
of body into soul into nous. Gregory’s notion that the superior component
223 Evagrius, Letter to Melania 22.

224 Documentation on both in Ramelli 2013b, 137–215 and 372–440; further in Ramelli 2021b.
225 Evagrius, Letter to Melania 22; Kephalaia gnostica II 17; III 66; III 68; III 15; I 65.
226 Eriugena, Periphyseon V 36, PL 122, 987C: Gregorius similiter et incunctanter astruit muta-
tionem corporis tempore resurrectionis in animam, animae in intellectum, intellectus in
Deum.
227 Gregory of Nyssa, De anima et resurrectione, PG 46, 93C = ed. Spira (GNO III/3), 69, 16–18.
116 Ramelli
assimilates the inferior to itself (so does intellect with soul and soul with
body) was already embraced by Origen:228 within the human being, the infe-
rior nature must assimilate itself to the superior, which is in the image of God.
This idea will return prominently in Evagrius and later in Eriugena, in connec-
tion with apokatastasis.229 For Nyssen, too, the assimilation of human nature
to the divine will take place at apokatastasis: “The two must become one,
and the conjunction will consist in a transformation into the better nature [τὸ
κρεῖττον].”230 Nyssen’s idea of unified soul as nous, which impacted Evagrius,
must be read against the backdrop of Origen’s notion of souls as a result of the
decadence of intellects and their future return to the level of intellects.231 This
theory is taken over by Evagrius very clearly.
Nyssen likely inspired Evagrius’ concept of the subsumption of body into
soul and soul into nous, i.e. the subsumption of the inferior into the superior,
also from another perspective: namely, with his theory of the subsumption
of the (inferior) human nature into the (superior, infinite) divine nature in
Christ.232 In Nyssen as in Evagrius, the superior element undergoes no change
or diminution; only the inferior changes by its elevation to the superior level.
This is the same concept that we find in Evagrius’ scheme of the subsumption
of body into soul into intellect.
The subsumption of the body into the soul and into the nous is its elevation
and transformation with a view to unification, not its destruction. The cur-
rent interpretation of Evagrius’ radically dualistic anthropology, in my view,
should be nuanced. A more positive evaluation of the body in Evagrius is in
order, which is supported by many arguments,233 and does not surprise in a
follower of Nyssen. Thus, Eriugena was right to trace Evagrius’ doctrine of the
subsumption of body into soul and soul into intellect back to Nyssen.
This further indicates that matter for these Christian Platonists – Origen,
the Dialogue of Adamantius, Gregory of Nyssa, and Evagrius – was not the
cause of evil, in that it was created by God. This is an argument from theodicy
that sets them apart from some ‘pagan’ Platonist and ‘Gnostic’ ascriptions of
evil to matter.
228 Origen, Dialagus cum Heraclide 12 and passim.

229 See Ramelli 2021h, my lecture within the Oxford workshop, Eriugena’s Christian Neopla-
tonism and its Sources in Patristic Philosophy and Ancient Philosophy, dir. Ilaria Ramelli,
Oxford University, August 2019.
230 Gregory of Nyssa, De beatitudinibus VII, ed. Callahan (GNO VII/2), 160, 20.
231 Origen, De principiis II 8, 2–3.
232 Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Eunonium III/3, 68, ed. Jaeger (GNO II), 132–133; see also his
Letter to Theophilus, ed. Mueller (GNO III/1); Ramelli 2021f.
233 I adduced some in Ramelli 2014b.
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Microcosme et image de Dieu
Deux approches de l’homme dans le De hominis opificio de Grégoire de Nysse
Laurent Lavaud
L’anthropologie du De hominis opificio (La création de l’homme) de Grégoire

de Nysse subit l’influence de deux visions de l’homme et de sa place dans
le cosmos : la vision stoïcienne de l’homme (et sans doute, plus précisément
la conception du statut de l’homme dans le monde propre à Posidonius)1 et
le récit de la Création de l’homme dans la Genèse. Ces deux approches de
l’homme, en première analyse, n’apparaissent pas totalement antithétiques :
Basile, comme Grégoire, pouvait déceler certaines analogies entre les visions
stoïcienne et biblique de l’homme, en particulier un certain anthropocen-
trisme qui fait de l’homme le cœur de l’univers, vers quoi toutes les choses
sont téléologiquement orientées (stoïciens) ou à qui toutes les choses sont
soumises (tradition biblique). Cependant, derrière ces analogies mises en re-
lief dans un premier temps, Grégoire repère une discordance profonde : le
point central qui révèle cette discordance est la définition de l’homme comme
« microcosme », familière à toute une tradition philosophique qui entrelace
stoïcisme et platonisme. Au chapitre 16 du De hominis opificio, Grégoire rejette
cette définition avec la plus grande vigueur et lui substitue l’idée biblique de
« l’image de Dieu ».
Plusieurs questions, qui seront examinées dans la présente étude, se posent
à partir de là : pourquoi Grégoire, qui semble à certains moments de son
œuvre adopter la thèse philosophique du macroscosme, la rejette ici aussi
radicalement et avec une telle sévérité envers les philosophes « venus de l’ex-
térieur » qui la professent ? Y a-t-il une telle incompatibilité entre l’idée du
microcosme et celle de l’image de Dieu ?2 Pour répondre à ces questions, il me
1 C’est Gronau 1912 qui a le premier insisté sur l’influence de Posidonius sur l’Hexaéméron
de Basile. Le Père Daniélou, dans les notes qu’il consacre à la traduction du De hominis
opificio, se situe dans la continuité de cette intuition, en l’appliquant au texte de Grégoire,
voir Laplace 1944. Il insiste en particulier sur certaines analogies avec le De natura deorum :
on sait en effet que Cicéron se serait lui-même inspiré de la cosmologie de Posidonius. Sur
ce point, voir l’introduction de Mayor (dans Mayor et Swanson 1883, XVI). Pour les rapports
entre le De hominis opificio de Grégoire de Nysse et le De natura deorum de Cicéron, on
trouvera des indications précieuses chez von Ivánka 1935 ; von Ivánka 1936.
2 Dans un article remarquable, Corsini 1972 souligne déjà combien, au sein du De hominis opi-
ficio, le chapitre 16 représente une « vraie révolution dans l’anthropologie de Grégoire » qui le
126 Lavaud
faudra cerner au plus près la manière spécifique dont Grégoire interprète cette
expression dans le De hominis opificio. On verra que c’est sans doute l’idée de
la liberté humaine qui en constitue le pivot central et qui précipite la rup-
ture avec la vision stoïcienne de l’homme impliquée par l’idée du microcosme.
L’enjeu d’une telle interrogation est décisif puisqu’il s’agit de situer l’une par
rapport à l’autre ces trois coordonnées constitutives de toute métaphysique
que sont l’homme, le monde et le divin.
Le microcosme d’inspiration stoïcienne tisse une continuité entre ces trois
termes : le monde, saisi comme un tout, s’identifie au divin, et l’homme est
une partie de cette totalité. Dans la vision stoïcienne, c’est l’articulation de la
partie et du tout qui est donc centrale : le logos divin n’est pas extérieur au
cosmos, mais il est le principe qui en organise et constitue la totalité. L’homme
est un fragment de ce logos : la voie de la sagesse consiste à s’assimiler au divin
en tentant de saisir sa propre place et son propre rôle au sein de la totalité
cosmique. L’idée du « microcosme » ne dessine pas ainsi un « empire dans un
empire », par lequel l’homme, du fait de sa dimension rationnelle constituerait
une rupture avec l’ordre cosmique. Tout au contraire, le microcosme humain
est l’expression d’une reprise et d’une synthèse de toutes les dimensions maté-
rielles et physiques qui sont déjà présentes dans le cosmos, mais qui sont por-
tées à leur parachèvement par l’usage du logos. La vision chrétienne du rapport
des trois coordonnées mondaine, humaine et divine, instaure quant à elle une
double rupture. Dieu est, en premier lieu, radicalement transcendant par rap-
port au monde et Grégoire insiste avec force sur la distance qui sépare l’immu-
tabilité propre au Créateur de la mutabilité de tout l’ordre créé. C’est de ce pre-
mier constat qu’il faut partir pour interpréter avec justesse l’« image de Dieu » :
l’homme reçoit de Dieu l’héritage de cette position de surplomb par rapport
au monde. Il ne se laisse pas réduire à une dimension mondaine, mais une
part de son identité transcende l’ordre du cosmos. Ici l’écart entre le paradigme
stoïcien de la « partie » du monde et celui, chrétien, de l’image de Dieu devra
être clairement marqué. Pourtant, et c’est là la tension fondamentale que l’on
ne pourra ignorer dans l’anthropologie de Grégoire, l’homme en tant qu’être
créé est tout entier traversé et constitué par les éléments cosmiques (c’est
conduit à nier énergiquement la thèse de l’homme microcosme, à l’encontre de ce qu’il peut

soutenir par ailleurs (Corsini 1972, 461). L’auteur souligne en particulier que Grégoire aban-
donne dans ce chapitre, avec l’idée de l’homme microcosme, celle de l’harmonie cosmique
comme mélange des contraires, au profit d’une approche anthropologique centrée sur le
concept de methórios, de « frontière » intermédiaire entre des mondes distincts, celui de la
« vie dépourvue de logos et propre à la brute » et celui de la « nature divine et incorporelle ».
Le présent article, dans la continuité des intuitions centrales de Corsini 1972, a pour but de
mettre en lumière l’importance décisive de l’idée de liberté au cœur de cette « révolution »
anthropologique.
Microcosme et image de Dieu 127
notamment cette vision de l’homme comme couronnement qui parachève la

création qu’explorent les premiers chapitres du De hominis opificio). Comment
peut dès lors s’opérer l’équilibre en l’homme entre sa condition de créature,
qui le situe en continuité avec la totalité mondaine, et sa vocation d’image de
Dieu, qui le pousse d’une façon ou d’une autre, à transcender le monde ?
1 Anthropocentrisme et domination de l’homme sur le créé
Partons du constat que les analogies ne manquent pas entre la détermination

de la place de l’homme dans le cosmos par la sagesse stoïcienne et le récit
biblique de la création de l’homme. C’est ici le De natura deorum (De la na-
ture des dieux) de Cicéron qui peut nous servir de fil directeur. Pour Balbus
(le porte-parole du stoïcisme dans l’ouvrage de Cicéron), il est clair que tout
ce qui existe dans le cosmos est téléologiquement orienté vers l’existence de
l’homme :
Dès le début, le monde lui-même a été fait en vue du dieu et des hommes,
et ce qu’il contient a été arrangé et imaginé au profit des hommes. Le
monde est en effet comme la demeure commune des hommes et des
dieux, la cité des uns et des autres3.
Le finalisme anthropocentrique ici exprimé par Balbus est radical : l’ensemble

du cosmos a pour finalité l’existence de l’homme4. Ce qui explique un tel fi-
nalisme est la présence du logos en l’homme : il est le seul de tous les vivants
à être rationnel, et à être par là en communauté avec la raison divine. On a
donc le schéma suivant : le logos divin est la causalité efficiente qui organise
et unifie la totalité du cosmos ; mais cette organisation a pour cause finale le
logos humain qui doit faire le meilleur usage du cosmos. Ici une difficulté se
présente quant à la conception stoïcienne de la causalité. En toute rigueur,
la seule causalité réelle dans le stoïcisme est la causalité efficiente, celle du
logos agissant qu’est le principe divin. Sénèque le rappelle en toute clarté :
« Vous voulez savoir ce qu’il faut entendre par cause ? C’est la raison qui agit,
3 Cicéron, De natura deorum II 154, trad. E. Bréhier, légèrement modifiée.

4 Dans sa note ad locum, Mayor (dans Mayor et Swanson 1883) donne un certain nombre de
parallèles à cette idée de l’hominum causa. D’abord chez Cicéron lui-même : De legibus II 15 ;
De finibus III 67, mais aussi chez Sénèque, De beneficiis VI 23, § 3 ; Pline, Naturalis Historia
VII prooem. ; Lactance, De ira Dei 13, Hirzel, p. 197 foll, Schwenke, p. 158. Sur l’originalité de
l’anthropocentrisme stoïcien tel qu’il est exprimé dans ce passage du De natura deorum, et
sur ce qui les différencie des autres conceptions grecques de l’anthropologie, voir Bénatouïl
2006, 46–50.
128 Lavaud
c’est-à-dire Dieu. Tout ce que vous venez d’énumérer <matière, modèle, fin> ne
constitue pas de multiples causes particulières, mais procède d’une seule : de
la cause qui agit »5. Comment comprendre dès lors l’affirmation cicéronienne
selon laquelle tout dans l’univers a été organisé « pour les hommes » ? No-
tons tout d’abord, qu’un peu plus haut dans le même livre, Cicéron souligne
que « l’univers seul est parfait et sa propre fin » (II 37). Dès lors, dire que le
dieu organise le monde en vue de l’homme, c’est traduire dans la représen-
tation, en termes disjoints, cette autre vérité : le monde, qui n’est autre que
le divin, s’auto-organise en vue de lui-même (puisque l’homme n’est qu’un
fragment de la raison divine). Autrement dit, il ne faut pas durcir le rapport
de finalité tel qu’il apparaît en II 154 : il n’y a pas d’un côté, un ensemble de
moyens, la totalité du monde naturel, qui serait produit en vue, d’un autre
côté, d’une fin externe, l’existence des « dieux et des hommes », seuls êtres ra-
tionnels. Mais l’homme en tant que partie de la totalité cosmique est intégré
dans l’auto-finalité du monde. Plus précisément, le monde existe en vue de sa
propre perfection, c’est-à-dire en vue du déploiement de sa propre rationalité :
l’homme dans l’« usage » qu’il fait, par son logos, des autres êtres de la nature,
participe de ce déploiement rationnel de l’univers.
Or Grégoire développe, dans sa vision de l’univers, un finalisme à première
vue tout à fait comparable à ce qui apparaît dans le stoïcisme :
Et toute la création dans sa richesse, sur terre et sur mer était prête ; mais
celui dont elle est le partage (μετέχων) n’était pas là6.
Et il enchaîne dans les lignes qui ouvrent le chapitre 2 :
Cette grande et précieuse chose qu’est l’homme n’avait pas encore trouvé
place dans la création. II n’était pas naturel que le chef fît son apparition
avant ses sujets, mais ce n’était qu’après la préparation de son royaume
5 Sénèque, Epistula 65, 12, trad. Goldschmidt 1989, 92. Goldschmidt 1989, 93, résume ainsi son
interprétation de ces lignes de Sénèque : « le stoïcisme attribue l’origine de toutes choses
à la seule cause motrice et <c’est> dans le détail des faits précisément que cette cause se
manifeste sous forme de finalité ».
6 Grégoire de Nysse, De hominis opificio 1, PG 44, 132, 33–34, trad. J. Laplace. Je citerai au cours
de cet article le De hominis opificio dans cette traduction (Laplace 1944) en particulier parce
que c’est cette traduction qui est accompagnée des notes précieuses de J. Daniélou. Dans
sa note ad locum, J. Daniélou renvoie à Cicéron, De natura deorum II 133. Il établit aussi
un parallèle avec Méthode d’Olympe : « Lorsque Dieu eut disposé l’univers dans un ordre
parfait, il y introduisit l’homme » (De Resurrectione I 34) et avec Grégoire de Nazianze, Oratio
44, PG 36, 612B.
que devait logiquement être révélé le roi, lorsque le Créateur de l’univers

eut pour ainsi dire préparé le trône de celui qui devait régner7.
Grégoire se situe ici au moment précis de l’apparition de l’homme, après avoir

évoqué, au long du chapitre 1, la création du cosmos. Les métaphores utilisées
dans ce chapitre 2 insistent sur la suprématie de l’homme vis à vis de la totalité
de l’univers : le monde est un royaume préparé pour son roi qui est l’homme ;
il est un banquet dont l’homme est l’invité. Cette dernière image est assez
proche de celle qui, chez Cicéron, fait du monde « la demeure commune des
hommes et des dieux »8. Mais l’image du banquet apparaît aussi chez Epic-
tète : « souviens-toi que tu dois te conduire comme dans un banquet »9. Chez
le philosophe stoïcien, c’est la providence qui organise la saveur et l’ordre des
plats. Il s’agit de bien se tenir à sa table pour devenir « un jour le digne com-
mensal des dieux ».
La proximité du texte du De hominis opificio avec certains thèmes et méta-
phores stoïciens est indéniable. Grégoire a clairement opéré l’entrecroisement
de l’anthropocentrisme stoïcien, notamment tel qu’il apparaît dans le De na-
tura deorum (La nature des dieux), et de l’idée biblique de la suprématie de
l’homme sur l’ensemble de la création (Genèse 1: 26).
On ne peut cependant pas s’en tenir à ce constat d’affinités thématiques
et de proximités métaphoriques. La question reste de savoir si l’affirmation
stoïcienne de la position de l’homme comme fin du cosmos peut être rabat-
tue sur la suprématie de l’homme sur le créé, présentée dans le récit biblique.
Or, si l’on examine un peu en profondeur l’une et l’autre approche, des points
de rupture apparaissent. On l’a dit, l’idée stoïcienne que l’homme est le telos
vers lequel est orienté l’ensemble des êtres naturels, puisqu’il peut en faire un
usage rationnel, doit être saisi au sein d’une auto-finalité globale du cosmos.
Dès lors, en définitive, l’homme est inférieur, non certes aux différents ani-
maux et végétaux qui peuplent la nature, mais bien au monde saisi dans sa
totalité, qui s’identifie au divin. Cicéron le dit très clairement : « Le monde en-
tier doit avoir plus de valeur qu’une partie quelconque du tout. S’il en est ainsi,
il est nécessaire que le monde soit sage. S’il ne l’était pas, l’homme, qui est une
partie du monde devrait, puisqu’il a sa part à la raison, être d’un plus haut prix
que le monde entier »10. Deux assertions stoïciennes que Grégoire ne saurait
entériner : que le monde, saisi dans sa totalité, soit dieu ; et que, par consé-
7 Grégoire de Nysse, De hominis opificio 2, PG 44, 132, 37–43.

8 Cicéron, De natura deorum II 154.
9 Epictète, Manuel XV.
10 Cicéron, De natura deorum II 32.
130 Lavaud
quent, le monde ait une valeur supérieure à celle de l’homme qui n’est qu’un
fragment (mundi pars). Dans la logique du récit biblique, reprise par Grégoire,
Dieu transcende infiniment le monde et l’homme hérite de cette transcen-
dance : l’homme ne peut être réduit à être un fragment ou une partie de la
totalité cosmique, une part de son identité échappe radicalement à l’ordre du
monde. Par conséquent, la métaphore cicéronienne qui présente les hommes
habitant le monde comme les citoyens d’une cité et la métaphore grégorienne
de la royauté de l’homme ne peuvent, en définitive, être confondues11. Dans
le modèle de la cité (et Cicéron prend pour exemple des démocraties comme
Athènes ou Sparte), la collectivité l’emporte sur l’individualité. Les citoyens
font corps avec la cité, ils en sont les membres constitutifs. Le roi, en revanche,
dans la métaphore de Grégoire, s’excepte du corps qu’il domine. Il est à cet
égard caractéristique que l’image de la royauté soit explicitée quelques pages
plus loin dans les termes suivants :
Ce caractère royal, en effet, qui l’élève bien au-dessus des conditions pri-
vées, l’âme spontanément le manifeste, par son autonomie (αὐτεξούσιον)
et son indépendance (ἀδέσποτον) et par ce fait que, dans sa conduite, elle
est maîtresse de son propre vouloir (ἰδίοις θελήμασιν αὐτοκρατορικῶς). De
quoi cela est-il le propre sinon d’un roi ?12
La royauté de l’homme signifie qu’il se trouve « séparé » (κεχωρισμένον) de la

condition de ses sujets (à savoir, selon la logique de la métaphore, des autres
êtres de la nature). Or, et c’est dans notre perspective de la plus haute impor-
tance, c’est l’autonomie du vouloir humain qui se trouve mise en avant comme
critère distinctif de cette royauté : à la différence des animaux, l’homme pos-
sède une volonté autocrate. De même que le roi décide souverainement, de
même l’être humain dispose librement de lui-même. Nulle trace, dans le texte
de Cicéron, d’une telle autonomie de la volonté humaine : c’est le seul usage
de la raison (ratione utentes) qui rend les hommes participants de la divinité.
Une fois encore, les deux métaphores divergent. Dans la métaphore cicéro-
nienne, le juste usage que font les citoyens de la raison leur permet d’obéir à
la loi collective de la cité et au droit institué en elle (jure ac lege) : cela signifie
que les hommes peuvent rationnellement adhérer à l’ordre du monde, et c’est
ce qui les rend divins ; dans le modèle grégorien, la souveraineté de la volonté
royale traduit la liberté de l’homme par rapport à la nécessité naturelle. Sous
les analogies apparentes, des lignes de faille profondes quant à la conception
de l’homme commencent à apparaître.
11 Cicéron, De natura deorum II 154 ; Grégoire de Nysse, De hominis opificio 4.

2 Cosmogenèse nécessaire et libre création
Grégoire cependant ne se contente pas de quelques emprunts de surface à

l’anthropocentrisme stoïcien. Il se livre, plus fondamentalement, à une relec-
ture du récit de la Genèse relatif à la création de l’homme, à partir de doctrines
philosophiques qui lui étaient familières. C’est à ce niveau que l’idée du micro-
cosme va jouer un rôle central : l’être humain est vu comme la récapitulation
et le parachèvement de l’ensemble de l’ordre cosmique. La cosmogenèse stoï-
cienne va être utilisée comme clé de lecture du récit biblique par Grégoire.
Ainsi, au chapitre VIII du De hominis opificio, Grégoire présente l’homme
comme l’être qui contient en effet en lui toutes les dimensions de la vie : la
faculté de se nourrir et de croître, qu’il partage avec l’ordre végétal ; la faculté
de percevoir, qui est commune à tous les animaux ; enfin, la puissance ration-
nelle, qui représente « la perfection de la vie rationnelle »13. Notons toute la
subtilité de l’analyse de la vie physique proposée ici par Grégoire : le logos n’est
pas seulement une faculté séparée et distincte du corps, mais la possession de
la faculté rationnelle détermine et organise l’ensemble de la vie corporelle (ici
Grégoire est proche d’Aristote14, mais aussi de Cicéron ; c’est ainsi que ce der-
nier conclut sa réflexion sur l’organisation corporelle de l’homme : « on doit
en déduire que la forme et la disposition des organes de l’homme, pas plus
qu’une pareille forme d’esprit et d’intelligence n’est le fruit du hasard »15). Ain-
si, c’est du fait de la raison que l’homme se tient debout et peut faire usage de
ses mains : à un dualisme tranché entre le corps et la raison, Grégoire oppose
une inscription de la vie rationnelle dans l’organisation globale du corps. Mais
surtout, cette tripartition des formes de vie, qui progresse en s’élevant jusqu’à
la raison, est très certainement un héritage stoïcien16. La description de la hié-
rarchie et de l’enchaînement de ces types de vie évoque en effet la tripartition
stoïcienne entre la « nature » (phúsis) partagée par tous les végétaux ; « l’âme »
(psuché) qui est commune à tous les animaux ; et l’intellect (noûs) ou raison
13 Grégoire de Nysse, De hominis opificio 7, PG 44, 145, 6.

14 Aristote, Parties des animaux, 687b.
15 Cicéron, De natura deorum II 150–153.
16 Corsini 1972, 460, souligne que dans ce chapitre VIII, Grégoire « frôle de près les côtés
monistiques et vitalistes que l’anthropologie <grecque> avait à ses débuts lointains, qu’ils
fussent posidoniens, platoniciens ou pythagoriciens ». Selon cet auteur cependant, au
cours du De hominis opificio, cette conception de l’homme-microcosme est peu à peu
supplantée par une autre, propre à Grégoire, qui voit dans l’homme le methorios, la
« frontière » entre deux ordres, sensible et intelligible, entre lesquels il est capable d’op-
ter librement. Corsini 1972 renvoie sur ce point à l’analyse éclairante de Daniélou 1970,
118 : « si l’homme est méthorios entre l’ordre sensible et intelligible, ce n’est pas tant qu’il
représente de l’un à l’autre une transition ; c’est en tant qu’il en représente des caractères
opposés et que sa liberté peut choisir entre les deux ».
132 Lavaud
(lógos), apanage des hommes et des dieux. On retrouve chez Cicéron une hié-
rarchisation des êtres assez proche. Il distingue en effet une progression entre
les êtres selon quatre niveaux hiérarchisés : les êtres qui subsistent grâce à
la « nature » qui ont la puissance de se nourrir et de croître ; les « bêtes » qui
ont « en plus la sensation et le mouvement » ; l’homme qui a reçu en partage la
raison qui « gouverne les inclinations de l’âme » ; enfin, les dieux « nés naturel-
lement bons et sages »17. Grégoire s’empare donc d’une telle vision organisée
et hiérarchisée des êtres du monde et il en fait la grille de lecture du récit de la
Genèse :
Si donc l’Écriture fait venir l’homme en dernier (τελευταῖον) après tout

vivant, c’est que Moïse veut donner un enseignement sur l’âme et, dans
la suite nécessaire de l’ordre des êtres, il voit la perfection (τέλειον) dans
les derniers venus. En effet dans l’être doué de raison sont compris tous
les autres ; dans l’être doué de sens, tout l’ordre « naturel » est présent et
celui-ci n’est attribué qu’à la pure matière. Ainsi la nature, par les pro-
priétés de la vie qui sont comme des degrés, paraît faire sa route en avant
de l‘inférieur au plus parfait18.
L’homme n’est pas seulement le « dernier », celui qui arrive après toutes les
autres créatures, il est aussi la « fin » de la Création, au double sens où il en est
la finalité et ce qui en constitue le point d’achèvement et de perfection (Gré-
goire joue dans ces lignes sur le rapport entre ce qui est τελευταῖον, qui arrive
à la fin, en dernier, et ce qui est τέλειον, parfait, achevé). Une telle téléolo-
gie « dynamique », qui suppose le déploiement successif des différents ordres,
végétal, animal et rationnel, implique en outre une vision de l’homme qui
récapitule dans son être la totalité des formes de vie, en les portant à leur achè-
vement. Une fois encore, il ne s’agit pas de juxtaposer en l’homme des identités
distinctes en quelque sorte imperméables les unes aux autres ; mais son iden-
tité rationnelle irrigue tous les autres niveaux du vivant en leur donnant une
forme déterminée, orientée vers l’activité du logos. C’est là très précisément la
signification du « microcosme » : l’homme est un « petit monde » dans la me-
sure où en lui la totalité des formes de vie se trouve reprise et téléologiquement
organisée, comme c’est déjà le cas à l’échelle de l’unité du cosmos19.
Il est possible que Grégoire ait puisé dans Posidonius la source d’inspira-
tion d’une telle téléologie dynamique. Posidonius, fidèle en cela au stoïcisme
17 Cicéron, De natura deorum 33–34.

19 Pease 1958, 594, retrace le cheminement de cette idée du « microcosme » au sein de la
philosophie grecque, dans une note à De natura deorum II 18. La première référence la
ancien, concevait en effet une cosmogenèse à partir d’une transformation pro-

gressive du feu, principe de tout le déploiement ultérieur. Grégoire ne reprend
certes pas point par point cette théorie. Mais il a pu en tirer le modèle d’un
déploiement nécessaire et ordonné du cosmos, qui aboutit à l’émergence des
êtres les plus complexes et les plus achevés à partir de principes simples. Voici
comment l’Apologie de l’Hexaéméron décrit un tel déploiement :
Dire que le monde a été créé en résumé signifie que Dieu a constitué
en un instant collectivement les principes, les puissances, et les causes
des êtres et que, dès le premier mouvement de sa volonté (ἐν τῇ πρώτῃ
τοῦ θελήματος ὁρμῇ), l’existence des êtres a été suscitée. Mais avec la
puissance et la sagesse qui leur étaient conférées, un enchaînement né-
cessaire s’est déployé de façon ordonnée pour conduire à sa perfection
chaque partie du cosmos. Chaque chose est apparue à son tour comme
la suite nécessaire de la précédente, selon la nécessité de la nature ar-
tiste, et ceci pour toute la suite de l’enchaînement (τῆς κατὰ τὸ ἐφεξῆς
ἀκολουθίας). C’est cet enchaînement que la Genèse présente sous la forme
d’un récit de créations successives20.
Que Grégoire de Nysse subisse ici l’influence de la cosmologie stoïcienne est

attesté par l’expression « nature artiste » (ἡ τεχνικὴ φύσις) : cette expression
vient de Zénon, comme en témoigne le De natura deorum, II 57 qui, à la fois,
évoque le « feu artiste » et souligne que « toute nature est artiste »21. Pour J. Da-
niélou, c’est bien dans cette théorie stoïcienne de la « nature artiste » que la
pensée grégorienne de l’akolouthia, c’est-à-dire de l’enchaînement ordonné des
différentes étapes du cosmos, a puisé l’une de ses sources principales d’inspi-
ration22.
Il reste que la cosmogenèse stoïcienne et la création chrétienne diffèrent
sur un point majeur, qui apparaît dans le texte que l’on vient de citer : c’est
par un « mouvement de la volonté divine » que le monde a été créé. La créa-
tion du monde trouve sa source première dans une liberté absolue qui trans-
cende l’enchaînement nécessaire des causes et des effets, résumé dans l’idée
plus sûre à cette théorie est selon lui Aristote, Physique VIII, 252b 24–27. Dans ce passage
cependant, l’idée du « microcosme » ne s’applique pas particulièrement à l’homme mais
à un « vivant » en général. Pour les stoïciens, il mentionne Epictète, Entretiens III 13, 15 et
Marc-Aurèle, Pensées IV 4.
20 Grégoire de Nysse, Appologie de l’Hexaéméron, PG 44, 72, 19–42, trad. J. Daniélou. Je cite
ici la traduction que donne Daniélou 1970, 27, de ce passage.
21 Pour une recension détaillée des occurrences de cette expression dans la littérature stoï-
cienne, voir là encore Pease 1958, 683–684.
22 Daniélou 1970, 46.
134 Lavaud
de l’akolouthia. Soulignons bien que la « nécessité de la nature artiste » ici

évoquée par Grégoire n’est pas celle de Dieu, mais celle de la puissance qu’il
confère aux principes immanents au monde. L’ensemble du passage est ainsi
clairement structuré par l’opposition entre cette volonté divine transcendante,
et la nécessité naturelle immanente. Or, il n’y a nulle trace, dans le stoïcisme,
d’une telle volonté originaire et transcendante : le divin n’est lui-même rien
d’autre que l’enchaînement nécessaire des causes et des effets. Pour le dire
autrement, le système stoïcien du monde et la nécessité qui le gouverne sont
subsumés par Grégoire sous une origine purement libre et extérieure au cos-
mos. Ce geste théologique, qui pose la liberté infinie de Dieu à toute distance
de l’akolouthia cosmique, aura, comme on va le voir, des répercussions déci-
sives sur la définition de l’homme.
3 Microcosme et image de Dieu
Ce n’est cependant qu’au chapitre 16 du De hominis opificio que Grégoire prend

explicitement ses distances avec la vision stoïcienne de l’homme. Comme le
note E. Corsini23, il y a là comme une « crise » au cœur de l’anthropologie gré-
gorienne : alors que les chapitres qui précédaient semblaient viser plutôt une
interprétation du récit biblique concernant la création de l’homme à travers
les concepts mis à disposition par la philosophie, soudainement un brusque
congé est donné à la tradition « extérieure » :
Certains « philosophes de l’extérieur » ont eu sur l’homme des idées

vraiment mesquines et indignes de sa noblesse. Ils ont cru glorifier l’hu-
manité en la comparant à ce monde-ci. Ils appellent l’homme un « mi-
crocosme », composé des mêmes éléments que l’univers. Par ce nom
pompeux, ils ont voulu faire l’éloge de notre nature, mais ils n’ont pas
vu que ce qui faisait pour eux la grandeur de l’homme appartenait aussi
bien aux cousins et aux souris. Ceux-ci sont composés des quatre élé-
ments, comme absolument tous les êtres animés, à un degré plus ou
moins grand, en sont formés, car sans eux aucun être sensible ne peut
subsister. Quelle grandeur y a-t-il pour l’homme à être l’empreinte et la
ressemblance de l’univers ? Ce ciel qui tourne, cette terre qui change, ces
êtres qui y sont enfermés passent avec ce qui les entoure24.
23 Corsini 1972, 461, qui, plus précisément, parle à propos de ce chapitre 16, de « coupure »
et de « révolution ».
24 Grégoire de Nysse, De hominis opificio 16, PG 44, 177, 47–180, 11.
Comment, tout d’abord, interpréter cette « extériorité » des philosophes

(τῶν ἔξωθεν) ? Les philosophes en question ne désignent sans doute pas une
école précisément localisée. Il s’agit de la philosophie païenne saisie dans
sa globalité, en tant qu’elle est extérieure à la Révélation biblique. Grégoire
pointe ici un certain usage de la raison philosophique qui refuse de se mettre
à l’écoute de la parole biblique. Cette extériorité à la Révélation peut aussi, par
ricochet, être lue comme une extériorité à l’Église : quelques lignes plus loin,
Grégoire évoque la « pensée de l’Église » relative à la grandeur de l’homme25.
Notons pourtant que les tenants de la définition de l’homme comme « mi-
crocosme » ne se tiennent pas exclusivement à l’extérieur de la Révélation bi-
blique ou de l’Église. L’auteur des sermons Sur l’origine de l’homme, qu’il s’agisse
ou non de Basile, se prononce clairement en faveur d’une telle approche : ain-
si définit-il l’homme comme un « microcosme » et il précise : « c’est d’après de
justes remarques qu’on lui a donné ce titre »26. Plus étonnant encore : cette
thématique du microcosme apparaît à diverses reprises dans l’œuvre de Gré-
goire lui-même. Ainsi, par exemple, dans le traité Sur les titres des psaumes et
dans le Dialogue sur l’âme et sur la résurrection27. Et, on l’a vu, les chapitres
précédents du De hominis opificio, mettent clairement en scène une vision de
l’homme où celui-ci synthétise en lui l’ensemble de l’ordre cosmique (même si
l’expression μικρὸς κόσμος n’y apparaît pas explicitement).
Pourquoi, dès lors un si brusque revirement, et une condamnation si tran-
chée de la thèse du microcosme ? L’enjeu est tout d’abord de faire place nette
à la définition biblique de l’homme comme « image de Dieu ». Jusque-là, le
récit de la Création pouvait être explicité et traduit dans les termes cosmolo-
25 Grégoire de Nysse, De hominis opificio 16, PG 44, 180, 12–13. Vasiliu 2010, 116, souligne que
l’important n’est pas tant de localiser l’origine stoïcienne des adversaires que vise ici Gré-
goire, que de faire le partage entre un « pensée extérieure, celle de la physique (ou de la
cosmologie matérielle) » et « la doctrine métaphysique d’une “anthropologie iconique”
qui se constitue comme pensée propre à la théologie ». Selon elle, l’enjeu central est d’op-
poser une approche de l’homme par l’analogie, celle de la philosophie, et une approche
par l’image, celle de la théologie.
26 [Grégoire de Nysse], De creatione hominis sermo alter, éd. Hörner (GNO, suppl.), 65, 13–15.
27 Grégoire de Nysse, In inscriptiones psalmorum, éd. McDonough (GNO V), 30, 24–31 et 32,
16–33, 1 ; Dialogus de anima et resurrectione, PG 46, 28, 24. Corsini 1972, 459, remarque
que les occurrences de la thèse du microcosme, aussi bien dans Sur les titres des psaumes
que dans le Dialogue sur l’âme et sur la résurrection sont à chaque fois liées à une autre
thèse fondamentale de la cosmologie de Grégoire, celle du monde comme harmonie
des contraires, « l’harmonie du monde ». Par ailleurs d’autres penseurs chrétiens quasi-
contemporains de Grégoire insistent eux aussi sur l’homme-macrocosme : entre autres
exemples, Nemesius, Sur la nature de l’homme I, 423–427. Édouard Jeauneau souligne que
la tradition ultérieure de l’Occident latin se ralliera à la thèse de l’homme-microcosme,
dans le sillage de Macrobe, à l’exception notable de Jean Scot Erigène qui reste fidèle à la
résistance manifestée par Grégoire dans le De hominis opificio (Jeauneau 1969, 37).
136 Lavaud
giques de la philosophie. L’« image de Dieu » pouvait dès lors être interprétée
en passant par le détour du monde : la position éminente de l’homme au sein
du cosmos, et son usage exclusif de la rationalité suffisait à le situer en position
de domination, de « royauté » par rapport à l’ensemble du créé. Mais Grégoire
change désormais de perspective herméneutique : c’est une chose de récapitu-
ler en soi l’ensemble de l’ordre cosmique et de le couronner téléologiquement
par la possession du logos, c’en est une autre de transcender radicalement l’en-
semble du créé. C’est dans la perspective de cette transcendance absolue de
la liberté divine par rapport à la nécessité naturelle que Grégoire réoriente
désormais sa lecture de l’εἰκὼν τοῦ θεοῦ.
Aussi insiste-t-il, dans le passage cité, sur l’inanité d’interpréter l’idée de
l’image de Dieu à partir de la thèse de l’homme microcosme. En définitive, le
microcosme suppose une parfaite homogénéité entre l’homme et le cosmos :
tous les éléments cosmiques se trouvent rassemblés et réorganisés dans l’orga-
nisme humain. Mais c’est là un fait que l’homme partage avec l’ensemble du
règne animal (« les cousins et les souris »). La « ressemblance avec le monde
créé » (ἐν τῇ πρὸς τὸν κτιστὸν κόσμον ὁμοιότητι : 180, 13–14) non seulement ne
suffit pas à rendre raison de l’image de Dieu (ἐν τῷ κατ᾽ εἰκόνα, 180, 14–15), mais
plus profondément en obscurcit la visibilité. Il y a concurrence des similitudes,
entre Dieu et le monde28. Notons cependant que Grégoire prend ici bien soin
de gommer tout le dispositif téléologique qu’il avait lui-même construit dans
les chapitres précédents : l’idée du microcosme ne consistait pas seulement à
insister sur l’homogénéité de l’homme avec le cosmos, mais bien à marquer,
en l’homme, la réorientation de toute la corporéité en vue du privilège de la
rationalité.
Réinterpréter l’image de Dieu suppose désormais de marquer la distance
ontologique absolue qui sépare le Créateur et la créature. Ce qui caractérise
l’ordre créé est l’impermanence et le changement : « ce ciel qui tourne, cette
terre qui change, ces êtres qui y sont créés passent avec ce qui les entoure »29.
Le contraste est plus nettement marqué encore dans les lignes suivantes :
Comment, dira-t-on, l’incorporel est-il semblable aux corps ? Comment

ce qui est soumis au temps est-il semblable à l’éternel ? Ce qui se modifie
à ce qui ne change pas ? À ce qui est libre et incorruptible ce qui est
soumis aux passions et à la mort ? À ce qui ne connaît pas le vice ce qui
28 Ou peut-être faut-il, comme le fait Vasiliu 2010, 117, en interprétant ce passage, distinguer
deux fonctionnements de la similitude : l’une qui procède par analogie (c’est le macro-
cosme), l’autre par image (c’est l’image de Dieu). L’enjeu serait pour Grégoire de purifier
l’eikōn des « proximités avec l’analogie qui perturbent sa démarche ».
en tout temps habite et grandit avec lui ? Il y a une grande différence

entre le modèle et ce qui est « à l’image »30.
Grégoire pose avec la plus grande acuité possible le paradoxe de l’image. La

différence entre les natures, humaine et divine, est tellement abyssale, et se
modalise à travers un si grand nombre de contrastes, qu’en première analyse,
la thèse de la création à l’image semble poser des difficultés insurmontables.
Une solution, inspirée d’un certain platonisme, aurait été de réserver l’image à
ce qui, en l’homme, ne relève absolument pas du monde. Le divin en l’homme
serait alors ce qui en lui passe l’homme, la dimension de son âme pure de tout
rapport avec la corporéité (c’est-à-dire, dans la perspective du néoplatonisme
avec ce qui est l’élément indissociable du corps, la matière, principe de tous
les maux). Est-ce là cependant l’option choisie par Grégoire ? Suffit-il de limi-
ter l’image à ce qui, en l’âme, est homogène au divin à savoir sa dimension
purement spirituelle, et d’exclure ainsi toute la dimension corporelle ?
Il ne le semble pas31. La corporéité est la marque de la créature, par opposi-
tion à l’infinité du Créateur. Si donc l’homme est créé à l’image de Dieu, toutes
les dimensions de son être créé sont ressaisies dans le κατ᾽εἰκόνα θεοῦ :
En effet, nécessairement, rien n’est indéterminé pour Dieu dans les êtres
qui tiennent de lui leur origine, mais chacun a sa limite et sa mesure, cir-
conscrites par la sagesse de son Auteur. De même que tel homme particu-
lier est délimité par la grandeur de son corps et que son existence est me-
surée par la grandeur répondant exactement à la surface de son corps, de
même, je pense, l’ensemble de l’humanité est tenu comme dans un seul
corps, grâce à la « puissance presciente » que Dieu a sur toutes choses.
C’est ce que veut dire l’Écriture lorsqu’elle dit que « Dieu créa l’homme et
qu’il le fit à l’image de Dieu ». Car ce n’est pas dans une partie de la nature
30 Grégoire de Nysse. De hominis opificio 16, PG 44, 180, 16–23.

31 Les commentateurs, néanmoins, ont des positions contrastées sur la question. Pour ne
citer que les commentateurs les plus récents : Smith 2006, 211, par exemple, souligne l’ac-
cent mis sur l’âme rationnelle dans le De hominis opificio : « the psychosomatic unity of
the person proves central to Nyssen’s anthropology. Yet in De hominis opificio, he empha-
sizes the rational soul, which bears the image of God ». Boersema 2013, 104, de façon plus
tranchée : « although the body indirectly displays divine beauty, it emphatically is not
part of the image of God. This is precisely why St. Gregory rejects here the notion of man
as “miniature cosmos” ». En revanche, Corrigan 2009, 133 : « on the one hand, a holistic
first creation must include humanity – body and soul » ; et Corrigan 2009, 137 : « Gregory
asserts the holistic immediacy of the human being made directly the image of God » ; et
Behr 1999, 228 : « all the previous levels of life or soul, without losing any of their own
characteristics, find their true existence, their rationale, in humankind’s existence as the
image of God ».
138 Lavaud
que se trouve l’image, pas plus que la beauté ne réside dans une qualité
particulière d’un être, mais c’est sur toute la race que s’étend également
cette propriété de l’image. La preuve, c’est que l’esprit habite semblable-
ment chez tous et que tous peuvent exercer leur pensée, leurs décisions
ou ces autres activités par lesquelles la nature divine est représentée chez
celui qui est à son image. Il n’y a pas de différence entre l’homme qui est
apparu lors du premier établissement du monde et celui qui naîtra lors
de l’achèvement du tout : tous portent également l’image divine32.
Notons tout d’abord que Grégoire, lorsqu’il commente ce qu’il appelle la pre-
mière création de l’homme, y voit non pas la création d’un homme particulier,
tel Adam, mais bien la création d’un « homme universel » (ὁ καθόλου, 185,
21), expression qui a été diversement interprétée33. Je n’ai pas ici pour inten-
tion de proposer une lecture nouvelle ou originale de cette création première
du plérôme humain. Je penche pour l’interprétation de cette idée proposée
par K. Corrigan, qui y voit « la réalité totale et concrète de toute l’humani-
té, première par rapport à tous les êtres individuels, mais habitant en eux tous,
esprit/âme/corps inclus »34. Le point fort de la lecture de Corrigan est qu’elle
permet d’interpréter la nature humaine comme une réalité substantielle et
une qui se distribue dans tous les individus qui y participent. C’est dans cette
humanité première qui « habite » chaque individu que réside la possibilité
d’une existence iconique par rapport au modèle divin. Interrogeons à par-
tir de là le statut que prend le corps au sein de cet homme total. Grégoire
établit une analogie entre le corps de l’homme individuel et la mesure et la
limite inhérentes au corps de l’homme total. Il semble plausible que la cor-

33 Pour les références aux diverses interprétations de cette création du plérôme humain,
voir Corrigan 2009, 133, note 1. Quelques pages plus loin, il résume les différentes in-
terprétations auxquelles il s’oppose : cette création première ne saurait être « pure-
ment conceptuelle » (Meredith) ou un « concept universel aristotélicien » (Hubner) ni
la somme de tous les êtres humains (von Balthasar, Zachhuber), ni même une forme pla-
tonicienne ou une substance seconde aristotélicienne ; pour Corrigan 2009, 136, il s’agit
d’une « first created substance or real concrete nature in a Christian sense that includes
all individuals and reaches right through them ». Cette lecture est assez proche de celle
proposée par de Lubac 1952, 7 : « L’Homme selon l’image, objet d’une création directe et
intemporelle, qui est en chacun de nous et qui nous fait si profondément un que, pas plus
qu’on ne parle de trois dieux, on ne devrait jamais parler d’hommes au pluriel ». Comme
de Lubac 1952, Corrigan 2009, 135–138, établit une analogie entre la Trinité et la théorie
de l’homme total : dans les deux cas il s’agit d’articuler l’unité d’une nature et la diversité
des personnes.
34 Corrigan 2009, 137.
poréité en jeu dans la création originelle ne soit pas matérielle ou physique :

lorsqu’il crée l’homme total premier, Dieu ne lui donne pas une réalité phy-
sique qualitativement et quantitativement déterminée. On peut cependant
risquer ici l’hypothèse d’une corporéité originaire, caractérisée par la mesure
et la limite (πέρας καὶ μέτρον, 185, 27). L’homme total est bien une créature
précisément parce qu’il est limité et qu’il ne saurait être indéfini (ἀόριστον,
185, 25). En elles-mêmes (et sur ce point, Grégoire reste fidèle à la tradition
grecque) mesure et limite ne sont pas le signe négatif de la finitude, mais la
marque d’une définition positive de l’être. La limite dans l’ontologie grecque
signifie en effet la perfection et l’achèvement. Le corps physique et matériel
des individus représente l’héritage concret, propre à chaque homme, de cette
délimitation primitive de la nature humaine. Dès lors, il n’est pas en lui-même
la marque d’une chute ou d’une déchéance : le corps inscrit dans la chair in-
dividuelle la limite qui est déjà la marque propre de l’homme total créé « à
l’image ». Les autres traits caractéristiques de cet homme total sont la pensée
et la capacité de prendre des « décisions », c’est-à-dire la liberté (διανοεῖσθαι καὶ
προβουλεύειν, 185, 41) : l’homme est créé rationnel et libre, qualités auxquelles
peuvent prendre part tous les individus. Là encore, on peut faire l’analogie
entre corporéité originaire totale et corporéité physique individuée : de même
que dans l’homme total, il y a une modalité de la raison et de la liberté qui as-
sume la limite humaine, et qui est capable de se déployer à la mesure du créé,
de même dans l’homme individuel, il y a un usage de la pensée et de la volonté
qui, tout en restant fidèle à sa vocation d’image du divin, s’inscrit dans la limite
physique du corps. Autrement dit, ce n’est pas parce qu’elle s’incarne dans le
fini (qu’il s’agisse de la limite de l’homme total ou de la finitude de l’homme
individuel) que la liberté est fautive.
Ce lien interne entre ce que j’ai appelé corporéité originaire et corporéi-
té individuée, se retrouve si, comme le fait Grégoire, on pose la question du
statut eschatologique du corps, au niveau de « l’homme qui naîtra lors de
l’achèvement du tout » (185, 45). Grégoire dit explicitement que cet homme
à venir, lors de l’achèvement final du cosmos, ne diffère en rien de celui « ap-
paru lors du premier établissement du monde ». Comment le comprendre ?
J. Daniélou, à la suite d’U. von Balthasar, voit dans cet homme à venir « la col-
lectivité humaine dans son achèvement, le Christ total tel qu’il sera réalisé à
la fin du temps. Tel est le but poursuivi par Dieu dès le premier instant de
la Création »35. De fait, il y a dans l’idée du plérôme humain, une ambiguï-
té fondamentale : l’homme total est, semble-t-il, à la fois la nature humaine
35 Jean Daniélou, dans Laplace 1944, note 14 du chapitre XVI ; voir aussi, sur ce point, von
Balthasar 1988, 52, note 5.
140 Lavaud
qui rassemble en elle tous les traits distinctifs de l’homme et qui est présente
dans chaque individu, et la somme totale des individus humains à travers l’his-
toire. Mais ces deux dimensions tendent à se confondre dans la projection
eschatologique : l’ensemble de l’humanité, à la fin de son parcours historique,
tendra à s’identifier avec la nature humaine originaire, purifiée de tout rapport
aux péchés et aux passions. L’histoire doit ainsi être lue comme le processus
d’adéquation progressive de l’humanité à l’homme-image, tel qu’il a été éla-
boré dans le projet de Dieu. Il y a donc certes identité entre l’homme-total
de l’origine et l’homme qui « naîtra lors de l’achèvement du tout », mais cette
identité est progressivement élaborée dans et par l’histoire : l’homme originel
est l’idéal encore potentiel qui préexiste dans l’esprit divin, l’homme à venir
est l’homme dont la figure a progressivement été réalisée par la pérégrination
des individus humains dans l’histoire36.
Cette ambiguïté de l’homme total, à la fois figure originelle et idéale de
l’homme et unité rassemblée de l’humanité pose cependant une difficulté
quant à l’interprétation que j’ai proposée de la « mesure » et de la « limite »
propre à l’homme ὁ καθόλου. Ne s’agit-il pas simplement, selon Grégoire, de
délimiter les contours à venir de l’humanité historique, du plérôme de tous les
hommes ? Le corps du « plérôme » humain ne saurait cependant être réduit
au rassemblement total de l’humanité37. Lorsque Grégoire parle de la limite
et de la mesure des « êtres qui tiennent de Dieu leur origine »38, il se réfère
bien au paradigme idéal que Dieu constitue dans son projet créateur. Dans
cette perspective, on peut légitimement interpréter l’expression : « l’ensemble
de l’humanité est tenue comme dans un seul corps » comme signifiant le corps
idéal et paradigmatique de l’Homme, et pas seulement le rassemblement uni-
fié des hommes individués.
Ce qui confirme cette lecture de la corporéité originaire est la question
du corps ressuscité. La résurrection est lue par Grégoire comme la « restau-
ration » (ἀποκατάστασις) de l’état originaire du corps, tel qu’elle a été établie
dans le plan premier de Dieu : « la résurrection n’est rien d’autre que la restau-
ration dans l’état originaire »39. Entre le corps de chair individuel et le corps
36 Maspero 2007, 7, note à fort juste titre que la création première de l’homme total ne doit
pas être confondue avec une simple Forme néoplatonicienne puisque Dieu a la « pres-
cience » de tout ce qui doit advenir à l’homme ainsi élaboré : l’histoire est ainsi partie
intégrante de l’idée originelle de l’homme, ce qui n’est absolument pas le cas dans la
tradition néoplatonicienne.
37 Notons que le terme grec de πλήρωμα ne signifie pas seulement la somme ou la totalité,
mais aussi l’achèvement d’une réalité.
39 Grégoire de Nysse, Homélies sur l’Ecclésiaste, éd. Alexander (GNO V), 296, 16–18.
originaire du paradigme humain, celui de l’homme total, le lien n’est jamais to-
talement rompu : il se trouve intégralement « restauré » lors de la résurrection
du corps. Si ma lecture est exacte, le rapport de l’homme à son propre corps est
intégralement inclus dans l’image de Dieu. Il n’en va pas de même cependant
dès lors qu’on se tourne, non plus vers la corporéité originaire, celle qui sera
restaurée à la résurrection, mais vers la différence sexuée, qui se trouve exclue
par Grégoire de la création première de l’homme.
4 Le dangereux privilège de la liberté
On l’a dit, dès la création première, la liberté est déjà présente comme l’un
des traits les plus saillants de l’homme total, du paradigme de la nature hu-
maine : il est capable de « délibérer par avance », si l’on traduit littéralement
προβουλεύειν. Ce privilège de la liberté accordé à la seule créature humaine
est aussi cependant ce qui occasionne sa chute : étant libre, l’homme de-
vient capable de choisir sa propre nature, c’est-à-dire qu’il peut opter soit pour
l’image divine, soit pour les passions qui le ravalent à la bestialité. À ce niveau
intervient la fameuse thèse, qui a donné lieu à tant de controverses interpréta-
tives40, selon laquelle c’est en prévision de la chute, et donc d’un choix dévoyé
de la liberté, que Dieu a engendré, en l’homme, la différenciation sexuelle :
Par suite celui qui connaît les êtres, comme le dit la Prophétie, avant
leur apparition, comme il a tout suivi de près ou mieux, comme il a vu à
l’avance, dans sa « puissance presciente », la pente que prendra, en pleine
possession de soi-même, le mouvement de la liberté humaine (κατὰ τὸ
αὐτοκρατές τε καὶ αὐτεξούσιον τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης προαιρέσεως ἡ κίνησις), dans
sa connaissance de l’avenir, il établit dans son image la division en mâle
40 Dans les vingt dernières années, ce débat a pris un certain relief à partir des thèses avan-
cées par Behr 1999. L’idée centrale de Behr 1999, 234, est que, contrairement à ce que
soutiennent la plupart des autres commentateurs, la création sexuée, telle qu’elle est pré-
sentée dans le De hominis opificio, doit être intégrée dans la dignité originaire de l’homme
et pas seulement référée à la chute et au péché : « while the male/female distinction has
no reference to the divine Archetype, but belong to our created nature, this in itself does
not detract from the dignity of God’s creation ». À l’encontre de cette lecture, Smith 2006,
209, soutient pour sa part que la création sexuée doit exclusivement être référée à la
chute à venir : « I shall argue that Nyssen views the division of humanity into male and
female, not as a part of God’s original intention for humanity, but merely as the result of
God’s anticipation of the Fall ». Voir aussi Boersma 2013, 10, qui lie la lecture de Behr à une
perspective contemporaine centrée sur le statut du corps, perspective selon lui étrangère
à l’intention de Grégoire.
142 Lavaud
et femelle, division qui ne regarde plus vers le modèle divin, mais, comme
il a été dit, nous range dans la famille des êtres sans raison41.
La différence sexuelle ne saurait donc relever du mode de corporéité que j’ai

appelé plus haut la « corporéité originaire », celle inscrite dans l’homme to-
tal de la première création, et qui se caractérisait par la limite et la mesure
propre à la créature. Avec la différence sexuelle apparaît une modalité du
corps, comme le dit Grégoire « surajoutée après coup au modelage primitif »
(16, PG 44, 185, 54). Je n’ai pas ici pour objet de commenter la portée anthropo-
logique et morale d’une telle conception de la sexualité comme « surajoutée »
à l’identité de l’homme. Le point sur lequel j’entends focaliser mon attention
est celui de la fonction de la liberté dans un tel dispositif anthropologique.
Le paradoxe est le suivant : ce sont très précisément les mêmes termes qui
permettaient, au chapitre IV, de décrire la « royauté » de l’homme, seul être
indépendant parmi les créatures de la nature, et de repérer, dans ce chapitre
XVI, comment s’enclenche la chute à partir de la puissance de la liberté : dans
les deux cas, la volonté humaine est décrite comme αὐτοκρατές et αὐτεξούσιον,
ayant « pouvoir sur soi » et « autorité sur soi ». C’est la marque de la royauté
de l’homme qui est aussi la source de sa misère et de son esclavage. Il est im-
portant de le souligner : ce n’est pas la nature sexuée en tant que telle qui est
mauvaise ou la source du mal. L’origine du mal réside dans ce qui fait aussi,
et indissolublement, la noblesse de l’homme, le pouvoir absolu que sa vo-
lonté a sur elle-même. À partir de ce fait anthropologique fondamental, la
nature sexuée n’est que l’objet que Dieu prévoit de donner au désir dévoyé
de l’homme : à une liberté qui s’est détournée de Dieu doit correspondre une
modalité irrationnelle de la corporéité.
Mais il faut encore creuser le statut anthropologique de la liberté pour que
l’intuition grégorienne de la création « à l’image » puisse apparaître dans tout
son relief. Lorsqu’il évoque, dans ce même chapitre XVI, les bienfaits que le
Créateur prodigue à sa créature, c’est sur l’idée de la liberté que Grégoire insiste
immédiatement : « un de ces biens consiste à être libre de tout déterminisme,
à n’être soumis à aucun pouvoir physique, mais à avoir, dans ses décisions,
une volonté indépendante (αὐτεξούσιον) »42. La liberté, indéniablement, est le
signe de la générosité du Créateur, elle est l’un de ses plus éclatants bienfaits.
Mieux, dans le Discours sur ceux qui se sont endormis dans la mort, Grégoire
soutient que c’est par sa liberté que l’homme est « déiforme (θεοειδής), car le
pouvoir sur soi (αὐτοκρατές) et l’indépendance (ἀδέσποτον) sont le propre de
41 Grégoire de Nysse, De hominis opificio 16, PG 44, 184, 57–185, 9.

la béatitude divine »43. La fine pointe de l’image est ainsi à situer dans cette
volonté absolument autocrate et disposant souverainement d’elle-même. Ici
cependant, une tension peut apparaître. Dans d’autres passages du traité De
hominis opificio, Grégoire insiste avec force sur le logos comme signe distinc-
tif de l’humain au sein du monde naturel. Ainsi, dans ce même chapitre XVI :
« de la Divinité, il a la raison et l’intelligence qui n’admettent pas en elles la
division en mâle et femelle ; de l’irrationnel, il tient sa constitution corporelle
et la division du sexe »44. On peut dès lors poser la question suivante : est-ce
la raison ou la liberté qui constitue en définitive le pôle central à partir duquel
comprendre l’image de Dieu ?
Cette question permet de revenir à la problématique du rapport au stoï-
cisme, et plus largement à la philosophie grecque, posée au début de cette
étude. On l’a vu, les stoïciens voient dans le logos ce qui permet à l’homme
d’être intégré dans la communauté des dieux. C’est cette idée qui est au cœur
de la logique du microcosme : l’individu humain est tout entier auto-organisé
de sorte à pouvoir au mieux exercer sa faculté rationnelle, de la même fa-
çon que le cosmos dans son entier se trouve irrigué et façonné par le logos
divin. L’affirmation selon laquelle l’homme tient de la divinité « la raison et
l’intelligence » pourrait ainsi être un héritage direct du stoïcisme. Mais il se-
rait fallacieux de s’en tenir là. Car, dans la logique du stoïcisme, le rapport de
l’homme et du divin est tout entier articulé à partir de la relation entre la par-
tie et le tout (ainsi dans le De natura deorum, l’homme est-il présenté comme
un « fragment » ou une « partie du monde » (mundi pars), II 32, c’est-à-dire en
fait comme une partie du dieu immanent au monde). Si l’homme est un frag-
ment du dieu, son existence est tout entière gouvernée par la nécessité divine,
ce qui veut dire qu’elle est tout entière ordonnée par le logos. Dès lors cepen-
dant que ce n’est plus la logique de la partie, mais celle de l’image, qui permet
de poser le rapport de l’homme et du divin, une distance s’instaure entre le
premier et le second. C’est précisément cette distance qui est la condition de
la liberté, inexistante ou illusoire dans le stoïcisme. Parce qu’un abîme sépare
le Créateur de sa créature, l’autonomie de celle-ci devient possible, c’est-à-dire
la puissance de se gouverner soi-même en s’arrachant à la nécessité de la na-
ture. Sans l’écart qu’instaure l’image par rapport au paradigme, nulle liberté
humaine ne saurait s’épanouir. La vocation de l’homme n’est pas alors seule-
ment de vivre rationnellement, ou, pour user d’un langage stoïcien, de vivre
« en conformité avec la nature » rationnelle. La grandeur de l’homme consiste
bien plutôt à pouvoir faire le choix d’une telle existence orientée par la rai-
son héritée du divin. Certes, la raison reste centrale dans la compréhension de
43 Grégoire de Nysse, De mortuis non esse dolendum, éd. Heil (GNO IX/1), 54, 2–4.
144 Lavaud
l’image, mais elle n’en est pas le principe ultime : en amont de la rationalité se
situe la liberté, qui est la profondeur même de la vie selon l’image.
En ce sens, la nature humaine n’est pas seulement donnée, mais elle est
choisie : l’homme est auto-créateur de sa propre nature, en fonction du choix
de la liberté, qui l’oriente soit vers la bestialité passionnelle, soit vers l’existence
comme icône du divin :
Dans le monde du devenir, on ne trouve pas d’êtres toujours semblables

à eux-mêmes. Mais ici la naissance ne vient pas d’une intervention étran-
gère, comme c’est le cas pour les êtres corporels qui engendrent au
hasard. Elle est le résultat d’un libre choix et nous sommes en un sens
nos propres parents, nous créant nous-mêmes tels que nous voulons être
et par notre volonté nous façonnant selon le modèle que nous choisis-
sons45.
On peut, en partant de ce « libre choix » de soi-même, ouvrir une ultime pers-

pective sur l’image de Dieu. Le caractère iconique de l’homme peut être saisi à
partir de la puissance créatrice de Dieu : de même que Dieu crée le monde et
l’ordonne selon une nécessité qui se déploie dans le temps, de même l’homme
« se crée lui-même tel qu’il veut être », il façonne sa propre nature. La logique
du microcosme enfermait l’homme dans une nature nécessairement déter-
minée, ancrée dans la solidarité avec l’ensemble du cosmos. La perspective
ouverte par l’image de Dieu est celle d’une nature indéterminée, modelable
en fonction des options prises par la liberté. Cette puissance auto-créatrice
de la liberté est cependant redoutablement ambiguë quant à l’εἰκὼν τοῦ θεοῦ :
si la liberté se vit dans la distance entre le Créateur et la créature, la puis-
sance iconique de l’image est respectée ; mais si l’homme, parce qu’il se crée
lui-même, tend à usurper la souveraineté divine, et à casser la distance, l’eikōn
n’est plus image qui manifeste, mais simulacre qui usurpe. Une nouvelle fois,
le respect de la distance signifiée par l’image permet à la volonté d’être libre
selon un mode proprement humain, qui fait l’épreuve de la mesure et de la li-
mite créées. C’est seulement en assumant cette finitude que la liberté humaine
peut manifester en vérité la liberté souveraine et infinie de l’être divin.
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L’héliocentrisme dans la cosmologie de Proclus
Frédéric Berland
1 Introduction : la forteresse de Zeus
Si aucune des cosmologies antiques ne peut se réduire à de simples observa-

tions astronomiques, mais implique des dimensions à la fois théologiques, ma-
thématiques et harmoniques, nulle part ailleurs que dans l’œuvre de Proclus
la multiplicité des rapports entre ces différents domaines ne semble plus ex-
plicite en ce qu’ils sont à chaque fois englobés au sein de l’unicité d’une même
structure. C’est dans la perspective d’un tel « structuralisme proclusien »1 que
nous souhaiterions mettre en évidence quelques problèmes relatifs au géocen-
trisme et au géostatisme, deux hypothèses classiques qui ne semblent jamais
exclusives pour Proclus des hypothèses contraires. Quoique discrètes, les hy-
pothèses d’un héliocentrisme et, si ce n’est d’un mouvement, du moins d’un
« écoulement » de la Terre, nous semblent ainsi fondamentales pour com-
prendre la cosmologie néoplatonicienne. Elles expriment en effet un même
motif dialectique au sein de différents niveaux hiérarchiques qui mène au
déploiement de toute une série d’hypothèses qui n’entrent en conflit que lors-
qu’est oubliée la proposition cruciale des Éléments de théologie selon laquelle
πάντα ἐν πᾶσιν, οἰκείως δὲ ἐν ἑκάστῳ (« tout est en tout, mais en chacun selon
son mode propre »)2. C’est à la manière dont ces différents modes se hiérar-
chisent et s’intégrent au sein d’une même cosmologie que nous consacrerons
cette étude.
Cependant, afin de ne pas sembler soutenir que Proclus refuserait de ce fait
purement et simplement le géocentrisme et le géostatisme qui dominent la
cosmologie de son époque, nous pouvons commencer par citer un passage du
livre IV du Commentaire sur le Timée, en grande partie consacré à la question
des astres, où ceux-ci sont affirmés avec force :
Quant à nous pourtant, nous accorderons sans doute qu’il y a dans la

masse terrestre des défectuosités telles que ceux-là disent, mais nous
leur demanderons de voir aussi les bonnes qualités de la Terre, grâce
auxquelles elle l’emporte sur les autres éléments, la fixité, la puissance
1 Breton 1969, 140.

2 Proclus, Éléments de théologie, 103.
148 Berland
générative, l’accord avec le Ciel, la position au centre du Tout : car le

centre a grand pouvoir dans le Tout, en tant qu’il maintient ensemble
toute la circonférence. C’est pourquoi les pythagoriciens nommaient le
centre ‘Forteresse de Zeus’, dans la pensée qu’il y a en lui un ‘poste de
garde’ démiurgique3.
Comme souvent dans l’œuvre de Proclus, c’est au moment où est soutenue

sans l’ombre d’un doute une position classique que se glisse pourtant une ex-
pression ésotérique dont nous allons voir qu’elle a pour fonction d’en modifier
considérablement le sens, non pas en le renversant, mais en l’englobant au sein
d’un domaine plus vaste de signification. Le premier élément significatif à pro-
pos de la « Forteresse de Zeus » est que celle-ci est liée, dans le Commentaire
sur les éléments d’Euclide, à une autre expression cryptique, celle du « sceau de
Rhéa » :
Les pythagoriciens trouvaient bon d’appeler le pôle ‘Sceau de Rhéa’ (ju-

geant qu’à travers lui la divinité qui donne la vie déploie dans l’Univers
une puissance indicible et active) et le centre ‘Forteresse de Zeus’4.
Avant de nous interroger sur la place de cette remarque au sein du commen-

taire d’un traité de géométrie, nous pouvons tout de suite en apprécier le lien
avec le problème cosmologique du Commentaire sur le Timée. En effet, nous
verrons que Rhéa joue par rapport à Gê (la Terre) un rôle homologue à celui
que joue Kronos vis-à-vis d’Ouranos (le Ciel). Issue de la Gê hypercosmique ou
éternelle, Rhéa est en effet médiatrice entre celle-ci et la Gê encosmique ou
temporelle. Déesse nourricière associée à la terre, elle occupe également une
place intermédiaire entre cette « masse terrestre » qu’est la Gê encosmique et
Déméter, la terre cultivée. Comme le souligne N. Vinel5, Rhéa est le nom py-
thagoricien de la dyade et l’image du sceau renvoie en ce sens à la marque
et à la limite. Ainsi, Rhéa exprime la rhusis qui, depuis le centre de l’univers,
« s’écoule dans deux sens opposés et se trouve limitée par les deux pôles »6.
Un premier problème consiste ici à bien saisir la distinction entre la notion
de rhusis et celle de kinesis, afin d’envisager le problème du géostatisme dans
toute la complexité qui semble avoir été la sienne à l’époque de Proclus.
3 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 141, 5–14. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4, 180.
4 Proclus, In primum Euclidis elementorum librum commentarii, éd. Friedlein, 90, 14–18 ; trad.
Vinel 2010, 114.
5 Vinel 2010.
6 Vinel 2010, 114.
L’origine des discussions remonte à la phrase célèbre du Timée où Platon

écrit que « la terre, notre nourrice, enroulée (ἰλλομένην) autour de l’axe qui
traverse le tout, le dieu l’a établie pour être gardienne et démiurge de la nuit et
du jour, elle est la première et la plus ancienne de toutes les divinités qui sont
nées à l’intérieur du ciel »7. La question critique est alors la signification de
« ἰλλομένην » que Festugière traduit par « se pelotonner ». Proclus commence
par noter que cela signifie que la terre est « fortement tenue et comprimée
autour de l’axe de l’Univers » :
Car l’axe est un polos, et à présent il est ainsi dit polos parce que l’Univers
tourne autour de lui. Mais parce que le ‘pôle’ est indivisible, et que l’axe
est un ‘pôle’ comportant de l’extension, comme si l’on appelait la ligne
‘un point qui a coulé’, le ‘pôle’ est dit s’être étendu de part en part, en tant
que passant droit au travers du centre de la Terre8.
La relation de l’axe à ses pôles confirme bien ici la relation de la « forteresse

de Zeus » au « sceau de Rhéa » dont l’écoulement se fait sans mouvement dans
la mesure où Rhéa, en tant que « déesse qui maintient et garde les souffles
fluents (ῥεόντων) »9, est « une dyade qui invite à agir les puissances incluses en
Kronos »10. En effet, le commentaire d’Euclide précise bien que l’écoulement
est antérieur à tout mouvement dans la mesure où, comme nous le verrons
plus loin, il se fait en dehors de l’espace dont il participe à la constitution :
La définition <de la ligne> comme ‘écoulement du point’ semble dési-

gner la ligne à partir de la cause génératrice et ne concerne pas toute
ligne, mais la ligne immatérielle : c’est celle-ci que fait naître le point, qui
se trouve dépourvu de parties. L’écoulement désigne la procession et la
puissance génératrice, qui s’avance dans toutes les dimensions sans être
diminuée, en restant elle-même11.
L’idée d’une « puissance génératrice » désigne l’intensité de la ligne qui

s’écoule donc sans mouvement dans un lieu sans extension. Aussi étrange que
7 Platon, Timée, 40b8–c3 ; trad. Brisson 1999, 132.

8 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 136, 30–137, 4. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4,
175.
9 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 187, 30. Trad. Festugière, vol. 5, 45.
11 Proclus, In primum Euclidis elementorum librum commentarii, éd. Friedlein, 97, 9–17 ; trad.
Vinel 2010, 121.
150 Berland
sonne cette définition, elle est la seule rigoureuse et correspond exactement,

du point de vue géométrique, à la définition arithmétique du « Nombre-en-
soi » (αὐτοαϱιϑμός)12 qui occupe la première partie du livre IV du Commentaire
sur le Timée, consacrée à la question du Temps. Les questions cosmologiques
relatives aux astres semblent ainsi exprimer du point de vue de l’espace, ce
qui s’était déjà noué du point de vue du temps, notamment dans les impor-
tantes « considérations sur les nombres » de la partie du livre III consacrée
à l’harmonie que nous laisserons ici de côté. Nous nous contenterons, dans
notre dernière section, de souligner l’enjeu de l’opposition à la logique aris-
totélicienne à partir de laquelle le temps est considéré comme « le nombre
du mouvement »13. Cette opposition à Aristote, à partir de laquelle se déploie
toute l’originalité de la cosmologie néoplatonicienne, est d’ailleurs déjà sen-
sible au sein de l’opposition entre rhusis et kinesis qui caractérise la définition
de la ligne géométrique :
Pourquoi donc nous laisserons-nous encore terroriser par ceux des Péri-
patéticiens qui, faisant les malins, nous demandent quelle sorte de ligne
Platon a assumé ? La ligne physique ? C’est absurde : car elle est la limite
des corps. La ligne mathématique ? Mais celle-ci ne se meut pas par elle-
même (οὐϰ αὐτοϰίνητος) et elle n’est pas une essence : or nous disons que
l’Âme est une essence et qu’elle est séparée des corps. Nous répondrons
donc que cette question est vaine14.
Si Proclus semble donc assumer, à première vue, un modèle cosmologique

classique issu d’Aristote, les raisons qu’il donne pour justifier celui-ci sont
donc explicitement dirigées contre l’interprétation péripatéticienne de la dia-
lectique platonicienne en général et de la cosmologie du Timée en particulier :
‘Pelotonnée’ d’autre part signifie que la Terre est comprimée et fortement

tenue. Cela ne signifie pas, comme le pense Aristote, que la terre est mue.
Car Platon maintient de façon toute spéciale la Terre immobile…15
Dans le De Caelo, ce qu’affirme exactement Aristote c’est que, selon les py-
thagoriciens, « c’est le feu qui occupe le centre ; la Terre est seulement l’un
13 Aristote, Physique IV 11, 219b2.
289–290. Nous modifions légèrement la traduction de la partie en italique que Festugière
traduit par « celle-ci est immobile ».
des astres, et c’est elle qui, par son mouvement circulaire autour du centre,
produit le jour et la nuit »16. Il ajoute que cette théorie est liée à celle d’une
« Antiterre » qui n’est que le résultat d’une insuffisante familiarité avec les faits
observés. On reconnaît bien ici le même type de reproche que celui adressé
habituellement aux platoniciens qui préférent se fier à des théories en accord
avec des principes abstraits, même si celles-ci se retrouvent en contradiction
avec l’expérience sensible. Néanmoins, est-il bien certain qu’Aristote vise ici le
Timée comme le pense Proclus ? Cela n’est pas évident dans la mesure où le
Stagirite s’opposera explicitement au Timée dans le livre suivant en le nom-
mant cette fois alors qu’il décide de ne pas le faire ici. Quoiqu’il en soit, nous
pouvons néanmoins commencer par dégager trois positions distinctes :
a) Un héliocentrisme qu’Aristote affirme avoir été pythagoricien et dont
Proclus affirme qu’il sous-entend qu’il était aussi la position défendue
par Platon lorsque, dans le Timée, il décrit la terre comme productrice de
la nuit et du jour. L’idée d’un héliocentrisme platonicien défendu dans le
Timée n’est pas une hypothèse isolée puisqu’il est possible de la retrouver
également dans l’œuvre d’Érigène17. Jean Scot professe lui-même un tel
héliocentrisme pour les planètes du système solaire exceptée la terre.
b) Un géocentrisme aristotélicien qui semble correspondre dans sa plus
grande part au système qu’élaborera Ptolémée et qui se fonde, du moins
en partie, sur l’expérience sensible qui vient corroborer des arguments
métaphysiques.
c) Un géocentrisme non-ptoléméen que Proclus attribue à Platon et où la
Terre est douée d’une « immobilité toute spéciale ». Le problème que
nous souhaitons développer est celui que pose la signification d’une telle
immobilité qui ne serait plus inférée de l’observation sensible.
Pour faire comprendre la spécificité de cette cosmologie, nous suivrons Pro-
clus qui procède lui-même en deux temps : dans le chapitre du Livre IV du
Commentaire sur le Timée consacré à la Terre, il présente tout d’abord celle-
ci dans la série des processions en la liant d’abord à Hestia et Déméter, puis
aux divinités chthoniennes. Proclus évoque aussi de manière plus énigma-
tique Isis18, de même qu’il évoquait dans le Commentaire d’Euclide des divinités
chaldaïques pour spécifier ce que sont les dieux polaires et axiaux : « si je dois
ajouter ma propre opinion, les centres et les pôles de toutes les sphères symbo-
lisent les dieux jynginés (τῶν ἰυγγιϰῶν ϑεῶν), nom secret de ces dieux inconnus
16 Aristote, Traité du ciel II 13, 293a21–23 ; trad. Tricot 1998, 101.

17 Scot Érigène, Periphyseon III, PL 122, 698A. Sur ces points, cf. Eastwood 2001.
152 Berland
et de l’union mystérieuse »19. Ces ἰυγγιϰῶν ϑεῶν sont traduits par Ver Eecke, sui-
vant la traduction latine de Barocius, par « dieux conciliateurs » et par Morrow
« dieux torcols » (« Wry-necked gods »), ce dernier s’appuyant sur le lien avec
les oiseaux de la famille des jynginés, les jynx ou torcols dont le nom grec (ἴυγξ)
désigne aussi la nymphe Jynx sur laquelle très peu de choses sont connues
avec certitude. Il est fort probable que Proclus se réfère ici à des doctrines éso-
tériques liées aux oracles chaldaïques ou aux mystères orphiques qui ont une
grande importance dans le Commentaire sur le Timée, mais dont le sens reste
toujours aujourd’hui conjectural. Nous le soulignons ici car, s’il est possible
de soutenir que le géostatisme non-ptoléméen de Proclus est compatible avec
un héliocentrisme, c’est qu’à l’ordre ptoléméen des planètes, nous verrons que
Proclus oppose un « ordre chaldaïque » où la terre vient occuper la place du so-
leil. C’est cette dualité de la Terre et du Soleil qui sont considérés chacuns, tour
à tour, comme immobiles ou doués d’un certain mouvement, que nous tente-
rons ensuite de comprendre à partir du deuxième point explicité par Proclus
qui poursuit son commentaire en faisant cette fois de la Terre « la plus an-
cienne des divinités ». Ce deuxième point nous invite à nous diriger vers le
pôle opposé au premier en empruntant cette fois le chemin d’une conversion
où la « Terre véritable » sera distinguée du « lieu que nous habitons ». L’« im-
mobilité toute spéciale » de la Terre nous permettra alors de spécifier le lieu à
l’origine de la spatialité, à la manière dont le temps est l’ombre de l’éternité.
2 La procession en spirale
Si nous commençons par la première indication où Proclus introduit les fi-

gures d’Hestia et de Déméter, celle-ci nous permet de mieux comprendre la
deuxième évocation de Rhéa que contient le Commentaire d’Euclide. Les trois
déesses associées à la Terre sont appelées par Philolaos « l’angle du carré »20,
de même que Kronos, Hadès, Arès et Dionysos sont appelés « l’angle du tri-
angle »21. Or, le fait que quatre dieux soient associés à la figure à trois angles
et que trois déesses soient associées à celle qui en comprend quatre est un
point que Proclus juge important au sein de la doctrine pythagoricienne. Il
explique, selon lui, l’ordre entier de la génération que symbolise le nombre
douze « qui est leur produit, remontant vers la monade simple, la souveraineté
19 Proclus, In primum Euclidis elementorum librum commentarii, éd. Friedlein, 91, 1–4.
20 Proclus, In primum Euclidis elementorum librum commentarii, éd. Friedlein, 173, 13.
21 Proclus, In primum Euclidis elementorum librum commentarii, éd. Friedlein, 167, 1.
de Zeus » que Philolaos associe seul à l’angle du dodécagone. Cette génération

correspond à l’opération fondamentale susceptible d’être appliquée à tous les
systèmes symboliques construits par Proclus, qu’il soit théologique, mathéma-
tique, cosmologique ou harmonique. Dans le cas du Commentaire d’Euclide,
Proclus lie explicitement la génération du triangle isocèle à partir de deux
cercles, à celle de Rhéa à partir de Kronos qui la précède dans l’ordre théogo-
nique et Zeus qui lui succède22.
À la généalogie classique des dieux où ce sont Kronos et Rhéa qui en-
gendrent Zeus, correspond donc une opération dialectique où Rhéa est gé-
nérée par le rapport de Kronos à Zeus compris comme les deux pôles d’un axe
qui se fondent l’un dans l’autre lorsque celui-ci se boucle sur lui-même pour
engendrer un cercle. Rhéa est donc aussi bien générée par Zeus que Zeus est
engendré par Rhéa. L’opération dyadique ne présente pas seulement, de ce
point de vue, une simple division univoque « de haut en bas » comme dans
un arbre binaire, mais tout aussi bien un écoulement où ce qui est produit
est nécessaire à l’accomplissement de l’acte producteur, sur le modèle d’une
causalité circulaire.
Rhéa symbolise ainsi la première opération dont il est possible d’avoir une
pleine intuition. Même si elle n’est pas la première dyade, elle est exemplaire
du caractère intuitif de l’opération dyadique, du fait qu’elle se trouve à l’inter-
section de deux intellects, l’un visible : Zeus et l’autre invisible : Kronos. Elle
rend possible le passage de l’un à l’autre et est en ce sens la déesse des sché-
mas dont le premier, comme nous l’avons vu, est le triangle qui est la première
figure rectiligne à délimiter un espace. L’intuition de la dyade ne doit donc
pas être circonscrite à l’arithmétique, mais étendue à tous les niveaux de la
science.
Reste à voir la manière dont un tel schéma peut s’appliquer à la cosmologie.
Au sein de la description de la Terre comme puissance générative, à la fin du
Livre IV du Commentaire sur le Timée, Proclus souligne que celle-ci s’abaisse
jusqu’au sensible et qu’il est alors « impossible de passer en revue toutes les
puissances de la Terre » :
Car celles de ces puissances qui sont divines sont indescriptibles, et plus
nombreuses encore sont les classes d’anges et de démons qui leur font
suite, classes qui se sont partagé en cercle la terre entière et qui mènent
22 Comme le note Lernould 2010, 19 : « Rhéa, dont le triangle équilatéral est l’image, est en
effet contenue par les deux intellects que sont Kronos et Zeus ; or le cercle est l’image de
l’intellect » .
154 Berland
leur ronde autour de son unique déité, de son unique intellect et de son
unique âme23.
Le passage de la première série des dieux hypercosmiques à la deuxième sé-

rie de la démiurgie cosmique, puis aux dieux encosmiques et enfin aux dieux
chthoniens accompagnés de tout le cortège de la démonologie qui en procède,
se produit donc toujours par écoulement sous l’action de la dyade. Cependant,
loin de se perdre dans une infinie singularité, la « ronde » que décrit ici Proclus
manifeste bien plutôt cet « enroulement » autour d’un point fixe, ce centre cri-
tique que l’écoulement continu du Même vers l’Autre rencontre cycliquement
et que Proclus décrit comme « axe ».
C’est Hestia qui est alors dite la gardienne des pôles, l’Hestia hypercosmique
se retrouvant à l’opposé de l’Hestia chthonienne vis-à-vis d’un axe qui main-
tient entre elles des proportions égales. C’est cet axe qui est proprement « la
forteresse de Zeus » autour duquel se fait « la ronde de l’Univers »24. Si, en op-
position à ce que suggère l’idée d’écoulement, de rotation ou d’enroulement, la
Terre est néanmoins dite fixe, c’est uniquement du point de vue de cet axe dit
d’acier, inébranlable, adamantin et dont la puissance est celle qui maintient
ensemble les points cardinaux. Si la lecture des considérations procliennes sur
la cosmologie n’est pas aisée, il est néanmoins possible de constater que celles-
ci jouent le même rôle vis-à-vis de la dyade géométrique que les considérations
harmoniques vis-à-vis de la dyade arithmétique ; il est donc important de com-
prendre la raison des singularités qui apparaissent ici dont la première est,
dans tout ce passage, l’absence totale et surprenante de référence à Rhéa.
Lorsque Proclus commente l’idée que la terre est « la plus ancienne et la
toute première des divinités », il renforce cette absence de Rhéa en soulignant
que le rang éminent qui lui est donné est dû au fait qu’elle est le lieu qui abrite
la « forteresse de Zeus » tout en étant celui où « Kronos fait procession »25.
Nous retrouvons bien ici le schéma du Commentaire d’Euclide où Rhéa appa-
raît à la confluence de son aval et de son amont. Mais, plus étrange que cette
nouvelle absence, Proclus indique alors que la procession de Kronos se main-
tient jusque dans le Tartare, jusqu’ici décrit comme l’œuvre du Démiurge, à
savoir Zeus. La puissance de Kronos va même vers un lieu « inférieur encore
au Tartare » et de fait ce lieu-là est fortement tenu par les « dieux de des-
sous le Tartare ». Cette expression d’Homère désigne pour Proclus les Titans
23 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 140, 30–34. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4,
180.
dont Kronos fait partie. Ceux-ci ne se situent donc pas seulement en amont
de Zeus, mais aussi en aval de celui-ci. Plus nous nous éloignons de la cause
initiale, plus nous semblons donc nous rapprocher d’elle. Attention, Proclus
ne dit pas ici que la matière du monde sensible est aussi divine que la forme,
mais plus radicalement qu’il existe une infinité de niveaux de celles-ci et que
« les extrêmes (l’Un et la matière) se touchent par leur indétermination to-
tale »26.
C’est la même structure qu’il est possible de retrouver dans le Periphyseon
d’Érigène où le premier mode de la nature « non créée et créatrice » s’iden-
tifie au quatrième mode « non créée et non créatrice ». Nous y trouvons la
raison pour laquelle les séries de Proclus doivent s’interpréter à partir de leur
ambiguïté fondamentale qui oscille entre des schémas à première vue incom-
patibles : d’un côté un schéma scalaire où la polarisation implique un gradient
et donc possède un caractère dégressif et, de l’autre, un schéma rayonnant où
chaque série procède en conservant la même intensité en chacun de ses points
que celle qui procède en un sens opposé. L’intérêt de Proclus est de mainte-
nir de front ces deux schémas en cherchant à les intégrer dans ce que Jean
Trouillard nomme un « schéma monadologique »27. Il y a plusieurs moyens
pour se représenter un tel schéma. J. Trouillard donne la représentation sui-
vante :
« Ainsi, commente Trouillard dans un autre texte, la procession-conversion

ne saute pas de terme en terme mais glisse de sphères en sphères par une
sorte de marche hélicoïdale et elle rachète ses seuils par le fait qu’elle est toute
entière intérieure à chaque tout »28. Cette représentation « en spirale » est re-
prise avec plus de détail par Gerd Van Riel qui explique parfaitement pourquoi
l’idée d’une procession « en ligne droite » pose problème en ce qu’elle sur-
détermine les rapports hiérarchiques : « Ici, chaque rayon indique la relation
(σχέσις) entre l’hénade et l’être : il est la δύναμις de l’hénade. A l’autre extrémité
du rayon se trouvent différentes classes d’êtres. De la sorte, le point de départ
26 Trouillard 1972, 76. Cf. Éléments de théologie, proposition 59.

27 Trouillard 1972, 77.
28 Trouillard 1982, 67.
156 Berland
(hénade/πέϱαϛ), le rayon (la δύναμις/ἀπειϱία) et l’être (ὄν/μιϰτόν) constituent

une triade. La progression de la spirale indique la cumulation de détermina-
tions dans les êtres successifs. »29
La spirale logarithmique est un choix judicieux pour schématiser les pro-

priétés d’invariance de la cosmologie au sein de laquelle la description de la
démultiplication des sphères planétaires par Proclus implique que « dans cha-
cune de ces sphères, il y a une multiplicité correspondant à cette sphère […]
il a été manifestement juste de dire que chacune des sphères est un ‘monde’
[…] chacune des planètes aussi est ‘chef de troupeau’ des nombreux dieux
qui en remplissent la circonférence propre »30. Cette dernière image où, plus
nous nous rapprochons de la circonférence, plus les êtres pullulent au sein
d’un univers à la fois illimité dans son expansion et limité par l’axe de la
sphère où il s’inscrit peut d’ailleurs faire penser à une géométrie hyperbolique,
point d’aboutissement d’une procession où nous commençons à voir que les
discours sur les dieux et les planètes ne sont qu’une préparation à la compré-
hension de l’origine de la géométrie.
Si Rhéa n’est pas nommée, cela pourrait ainsi provenir du fait que ce n’est
pas d’elle seulement dont il est question ici. Lorsqu’il parle de la Terre, Proclus
ne parle pas en effet seulement d’une planète parmi les autres :
Je sais sans doute que parmi les exégètes, les uns ont entendu par Gê
cette terre solide d’ici-bas, d’autre la terre qui a été établie à l’avance, à
29 Van Riel 2001, 429–430.

30 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 2, 131–132. Trad. Festugière, vol. 3,
168–169.
titre de matière, comme fondement pour les êtres qui naissent, d’autre
la Matière Intelligible, d’autres une puissance de l’Intellect, d’autres la
Vie, d’autres une Forme incorporelle inséparable de la terre, et d’autres
supposent que c’est l’Âme, d’autres l’Intellect31.
Il nous semble que la spécificité du structuralisme proclien consiste précisé-

ment dans le fait de ne pas choisir de privilégier un sens au détriment des
autres, mais de les hiérarchiser afin de les englober au sein d’une même struc-
ture. Au niveau de la cosmologie, cela se traduit par une hiérarchisation des
sens de l’hénade Terre dont la citation précédente présente la série conversive,
depuis une arché-originaire qui ne se meut pas, vers une Terre hypercosmique
à laquelle appartient un écoulement qui est dit immobile de manière spéciale,
c’est-à-dire, non par privation de mouvement, mais par supernégation : parce
que l’écoulement engendre les dimensions et l’espace, il se situe par-delà l’es-
pace où le mouvement a lieu, en un lieu lui-même non-spatial.
3 Conversion et périchorèse
La Terre comme sphère est ainsi décrite dans le Commentaire sur le Timée
comme maintenant « non spatialement le spatial »32. C’est là, il nous semble,
la clé pour comprendre en quel sens Rhéa peut être comprise à la fois comme
cette arché-originaire qui ne se meut pas et comme l’origine de la géométrie.
C’est en effet en tant qu’elle permet le déploiement de dimensions, de la rhusis
du point dans la ligne, à l’écoulement de la ligne dans le plan et ainsi de suite,
que Rhéa est évoquée comme cette nourricière qui donne la vie. Seulement,
elle donne la vie et l’espace sur un mode non vital et non spatial. De même,
Okeanos exprime de son côté, non plus la ligne droite, mais le retour cyclique
(le flux et le reflux), la circularité dont hérite Kronos qui joint l’origine et la fin,
ce que la mythologie a conservé comme l’image du dieu qui reprend toujours
en lui tout ce qu’il produit ; mais à chaque fois, le déploiement de ces mo-
ments se fait sur un mode qui n’est pas encore un mode temporel. Le propre
des hénades est ainsi de donner ce qu’elles n’ont pas.
Ainsi, lorsque Proclos parle de « l’immobilité toute spéciale » de la Terre,
celle-ci pourrait bien correspondre, non à une immobilité comme mode du
mouvement, ce qui, à l’époque, n’aurait rien eu de spécial, mais bien plutôt à
31 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 173.8.12. Trad. Festugière, vol. 5, 30.
158 Berland
l’idée que la Terre connaisse un repos à partir duquel le mouvement et le re-

pos peuvent apparaître et être pensés comme tels33. Il en irait de ce processus
originaire comme de l’auto-constitution de la conscience34, dont la dimension
noétique est elle-même engendrée depuis une « immédiation hypernoétique »
au cœur de la subversion de la logique de l’être. L’activité prénoétique qu’elle
met en jeu est en effet ce qui guide la réflexion en direction d’une intuition
préontologique35. Sans pouvoir déployer, dans les limites de cet essai, toutes
les dimensions de cette dialectique, nous pouvons préciser la manière dont
elle traverse la cosmologie en commençant par nous assurer que c’est bien à
une telle arché-originaire que nous avons à faire au sein de la géologie pro-
clienne.
Le texte qui nous semble l’établir le plus clairement est celui que nous
avons déjà cité où Proclus soutient la thèse d’une immobilité de la Terre à
la fois contre Héraclite du Pont qui soutenait sa mobilité et contre Aristote qui
fondait son immobilité sur l’enseignement des sens. C’est à ce moment qu’il
rappelle la thèse pythagoricienne liée au symbole de la « forteresse de Zeus »,
à la suite de laquelle il affirme : « Sans doute le lieu que nous habitons est
creux, ténébreux et ‘rongé par une eau salée’36, mais autre est ‘la Terre véri-
table’. »37 La Terre immobile et au centre de l’univers n’est donc identifiable ni
à l’écorce terrestre baignée par les océans ni même à la terre sphérique dont
il est légitime de dire qu’elle est baignée par le ciel, « puisqu’elle est de tout
côté enveloppée par lui »38. La sphéricité de cette terre semble être la raison
pour laquelle elle est dite « creuse », ce qui, lié à son caractère ténébreux et
corruptible (elle est « rongée », c’est-à-dire traversée par le principe de corrup-
tion qu’est Okeanos) ne peut manquer d’évoquer la caverne de la République
qui symbolise le monde sensible.
Pourtant cette seule distinction resterait insuffisante s’il n’était pas possible
d’associer, par opposition à l’arché-originaire immobile, un mouvement à cette
terre sensible. Or, tout le propos de la première partie du livre IV du com-
mentaire sur le Timée qui porte sur le Temps et les astres, semble bien être
une gigantesque « machine » susceptible de fonder une telle réciprocité. Car, à
33 Cf. sur cette distinction J. Derrida, 1962, p. 81.

34 Cf. sur ce point l’article de J. Trouillard, « Théologie négative et autoconstitution psy-
chique chez les néoplatoniciens », repris in Raison et mystique, Paris, Cerf, 2014.
35 Cf. J. Trouillard, « Note sur προούσιος et πρόνοια chez Proclos », in Revue des Études
Grecques, 73, 344–346, 1960, p. 80–87.
36 Proclos cite ici Platon, Phédon, 110e3, puis 110a1.
cette dualité de la Terre correspond une dualité du Soleil : « nous devons donc
considérer le Soleil de deux façons, et comme l’un des sept et comme Chef de
tout l’Univers, et comme encosmique et comme hypercosmique »39, de même
qu’il est possible de concevoir le mouvement des astres de deux façons, aussi
bien pour leur corps que pour leur âme :
L’âme donc des astres se meut de deux façons. Quant au corps, d’une part
il tourne en rond autour de son centre, imitant le mouvement propre
de son âme ainsi que son intellect, d’autre part il est entraîné dans le
mouvement en avant de la sphère des fixes, imitant la manière dont son
âme agit conjointement au Tout auquel elle appartient et la manière dont
l’intellect qui est en elle est établi dans l’Intellect total40.
Si nous commençons par cette dernière dualité, la composition du mouve-

ment circulaire et rectiligne est à plusieurs reprises associée à un mouvement
hélicoïdal qui est dit « approprié aux astres errants »41, c’est-à-dire aux cinq
planètes que les astronomes grecs connaissaient de notre système solaire. Si le
Soleil et la Lune y sont associés pour former « les sept » dont il était question
à propos du Soleil, Proclus remarque néanmoins, premièrement, que « le So-
leil a une révolution plus exactement discernable que celle des cinq planètes,
puisqu’il est libre des motions directes et rétrogrades » et, deuxièmement, que
la Lune forme elle-même une classe à part puisqu’elle « accomplit toujours se-
lon les mêmes signes ses passages vers le Nord et vers le Sud »42. Le Soleil est
en ce sens « mesure des mesures » car « il fournit le moyen de distinguer aussi
les mesures des autres révolutions et les rapports qu’impliquent mutuellement
leurs vitesses respectives, et par la constante uniformité de son circuit, il imite
davantage la fixité de l’Éternel (αἰῶνος). C’est ainsi qu’il diffère des planètes »43.
En quel sens le Soleil peut-il être dit fixe tout en effectuant un circuit ? Que si-
gnifie cette dualité qui touche aussi bien la Terre et le Soleil que le mouvement
des planètes ?
Proclus l’affirme nettement à plusieurs reprises : il y a une révolution selon
le cercle du Même qui dépend de l’Éternel (Aion) et une révolution selon le
110.
43 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 81, 11–15. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4,
108–109.
160 Berland
cercle oblique de l’Autre qui dépend du Temps (Chronos). La Terre est la « gar-
dienne » du cercle du Même et c’est autour d’Elle que s’organise la « danse
chorale » (περιχώρησις) des hénades44. Aion est en effet, comme la Terre, asso-
cié à la dyade « puisqu’avec l’exister, elle implique le toujours »45. Mais le Soleil
est lui aussi dénommé « Gardien de l’Univers » car il administre celui-ci « en
menant éternellement sa ronde »46. Il est en ce sens au Temps ce que la Terre
est à l’Éternité et peut donc être dit centre du cercle oblique où les trajectoires
complexes des astres errants qui sont observées depuis la terre physique, se
simplifient en trajectoires circulaires. Le Temps (χϱόνος) est en effet appelé tel
d’après la « danse circulaire » (χοϱεία)47 que Proclus assimile à un « Intellect
dansant en rond » Choro-noos, parce qu’ajoute-t-il, le temps est « à la fois en
repos et dansant »48. En tant qu’Intellect il reste toujours en repos (manence)
et en tant qu’il danse en rond, il s’écoule et revient à son point de départ
(procession-conversion) : « le Temps a été créé en repos et en mouvement,
reproduisant l’image de l’Éternité par l’une de ses activités, se distinguant de
l’Éternité par l’autre »49.
S’il nous semble possible d’affirmer qu’il existe bel et bien un héliostatisme
et un héliocentrisme au sein de la cosmologie physique de Proclus qui, comme
nous allons le voir, s’oppose explicitement sur ce point à la cosmologie d’Aris-
tote et de Ptolémée, c’est dans la mesure où la ronde du soleil peut être dite
« imiter la fixité de l’Éternel », c’est-à-dire dans la mesure où le Temps lui-
même est une « image » (εἰϰών) de l’Éternel. Nous voyons donc, qu’au-delà de
l’origine de l’espace, la dyade géométrique nous invite à penser la génération
du Temps qui lui est intimement liée, ce que Proclus exprime par la locution :
« l’espace de la nuit et du jour » qui forme un intervalle à la fois spatial et tem-
porel mettant en jeu la réciprocité des rapports de la Terre et du Soleil, selon le
double point de vue de Aion et de Chronos, de l’intelligible et du sensible. S’il
est vrai que « le Soleil est plus cause du jour, la Terre plus cause de la nuit »50,
c’est dans la mesure où la « masse terrestre est par nature ténébreuse »51.
Nous retrouvons ici la terre associée aux ténèbres en relation à sa masse,
c’est-à-dire à sa matérialité physique qui vient s’interposer et priver de sa
44 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 2, 243, 15. Trad. Festugière, vol. 3, 287 ;
cf. Trouillard 1982, 162 et 165.
« participation à la lumière du Soleil » la Lune qui, en premier, reçoit cette

lumière52. L’idée du « cône d’ombre » généré par la terre n’est pas spéciale-
ment originale puisqu’elle se trouve déjà dans Les météores d’Aristote53 et
son application aux phases de la lune se trouve déjà chez Aristarque de Sa-
mos. Seulement, le génie de Proclus est de réussir à intégrer ce modèle, non
comme un point de vue abstrait qui violerait la représentation empirique que
nous nous faisons de la nature, mais au contraire comme l’image temporelle
d’un géostatisme qui reste garant d’un point de vue noétique devançant ainsi,
plus encore que la révolution copernicienne, l’enveloppement de celle-ci par
la phénoménologie transcendantale, voire même, l’enveloppement possible
d’une telle phénoménologie par une dialectique sérielle.
4 « L’ordre chaldaïque »
Pour saisir ce que nous entendons par ce double enveloppement nous pouvons
repartir de la critique d’Aristote et de Ptolémée où Proclus prend comme point
de départ la définition aristotélicienne du temps comme « nombre du mou-
vement »54. Le Temps se retrouve ainsi immédiatement lié au nombre comme
l’espace l’était à la figure. Proclus ajoute qu’Aristote avait alors « entendu par
nombre, non pas le nombrant, mais le nombré »55. Seulement, « si le Temps
est quelque chose de nombré, au nombré doit préexister le nombrant (…). Or
ce dernier <le nombrant en acte> est le temps réellement tel, qui est Nombre-
en-soi (αὐτοαϱιϑμός) »56. Proclus reprend ici la critique qu’adressait déjà Plotin
à la définition aristotélicienne du temps dans son traité « De l’Éternité et du
Temps » où il distinguait le nombre mesuré du nombre mesurant, le nombre
monadique se distinguant des choses nombrées comme « la dizaine qui me-
surerait à la fois des bœufs et des chevaux »57. Une étude précise du Traité
34 « Sur les nombres », ainsi que son influence sur la partie du Livre III du
Commentaire sur le Timée intitulée « considérations sur les nombres » serait
ici essentielle afin de saisir toute la portée de ces considérations sur le temps
ramené au mouvement physique de la kinesis et afin de dégager ainsi une nou-
velle dimension à partir de laquelle une toute autre structure cosmologique
52 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 84–85. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4, 112.
53 Aristote, Les météores A 8, 345b6.
54 Aristote, Physique IV 11, 219b2.
57 Plotin, Enneades III 7 [45], 9, 8–9 ; trad. Matthieu Guyot (Paris: Flammarion, 2009), 54.
162 Berland
devient possible. Nous renvoyons cette étude à un travail ultérieur en nous li-
mitant ici à poser la question cruciale qui résulte de ces analyses : qu’est-ce
qui pourrait tenir lieu de nombre monadique, c’est-à-dire : « … que sera ce qui
mesure ? »58
Nous retrouvons ici le dilemme fondamental de toute position philoso-
phique : si ce qui mesure est un nombre abstrait et intelligible, « comment ce
nombre pourra mesurer » ?59 Ce problème de la « participation » conduit Aris-
tote à envisager que l’essence n’est jamais séparée de ce dont elle est l’essence
et que le temps accompagne ainsi tout le temps le mouvement physique ; mais
alors le nouveau problème consiste à comprendre la cause de ce phénomène,
c’est-à-dire de remonter depuis cette expérience particulière du temps au prin-
cipe d’une science universelle. Ce problème est celui de la finitude de notre
expérience où la particularisation des connaissances échoue toujours à inté-
grer complètement les singularités.
Nous retrouvons en ce sens cette même opposition lors de la critique du
modèle de Ptolémée que Proclus oppose à « l’ordre chaldaïque »60. Alors que
Ptolémée place le Soleil « au milieu des sept »61, entre les deux astres qui
suivent sa ronde (Hermès et Aphrodite) et les trois astres qui ne le suivent
pas (Arès, le Démiurge et Kronos), l’ordre chaldaïque propose un « Monde
solaire »62 où le Soleil « contribue à toutes les mesures à cause de son rang hé-
gémonique »63. Si le Soleil devient « mesure des mesures », il semble alors que
la terre, en tant qu’elle est un instrument du temps (du fait qu’elle préside à l’al-
ternance du jour et de la nuit), et non plus en tant que Terre aïonique, prenne
la position médiane comme troisième masse à partir du Soleil, retrouvant la
place qu’elle occupe au sein de nos représentations actuelles du système so-
laire. Il n’est pas possible de nier que ce n’est jamais avec la même clarté que
celle avec laquelle il affirme le géocentrisme que Proclus soutient ce modèle.
Néanmoins, il ne nous semble pas douteux que la cosmologie proclienne est
58 Ibid., 55.
59 Ibid., 56.
60 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 62. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4, 85.
61 Ibid.
62 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 83, 15. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4, 111 :
« Oui, et de plus les discours les plus mystiques nous ont même fait connaître cette tota-
lité solaire qui se trouve chez les hypercosmiques : c’est là-bas en effet que sont le Monde
solaire et la Lumière totale, comme disent les oracles chaldéens et je m’accorde avec eux ».
Dans son Commentaire sur la République (éd. Kroll, vol. 2, 220, 4–5), Proclus reprendra
cette opposition du système de Ptolémée et du système héliocentrique des chaldéens où
il donne plus clairement encore sa préférence à l’ordre chaldaïque.
fondamentalement différente de celle de Ptolémée en ce qu’elle adopte, en

plus du géocentrisme, une forme très spéciale d’héliocentrisme. Comment ces
deux systèmes peuvent-ils cohabiter au sein d’une même cosmologie et quel
est le sens de cette dualité ? Proclus, nous semble l’indiquer clairement lors-
qu’il déclare :
C’est principalement l’ignorance touchant l’Éternité et le Temps qui pro-

duit ce monstre de confusion et de désordre. Y contribue aussi quelque
peu la ressemblance qu’il y a entre les deux ordres de choses …64
Si notre conception de la terre et du soleil est soumise à une dualité, il en

va de même du mouvement des autres astres et en particulier de Kronos :
« autre est le nombre invisible de Kronos, autre son nombre visible »65 dé-
clare en effet Proclus. Ce qui nous semble spécifique à la dualité de Kronos est
qu’elle dévoile un aspect profond de la cosmologie dont la structure globale
achève ici de se boucler sur elle-même. Au Kronos hypercosmique qui parti-
cipe à la production de l’acte du Démiurge66 et accomplit le premier cercle
noétique au sein de l’Éternité, correspond un Kronos encosmique (la planète
que nous nommons Saturne) qui est l’image du premier au sein de la créa-
tion démiurgique et qui est donc soumis à la temporalité dont il devient l’un
des « instruments » dans la mesure où tous les astres sont dits « instruments
du Temps », c’est-à-dire celui qui permet d’« ordonner la création »67. Chaque
astre découpe dans le Temps total la mesure qui lui convient et participe ainsi
au « striage » par le nombre de la dimension spatiale qui s’est ouverte.
Il existe ainsi un Kronos « entier » en amont de l’action démiurgique de
Zeus et un Kronos « coupé » en aval, ce que symbolise l’acte d’émasculation
de Kronos par Zeus, dont nous nous contenterons d’expliciter ici la significa-
tion cosmologique, sans entrer dans l’articulation qu’elle propose également
du symbolique, de l’imaginaire et du réel. La coupure intervient en effet pour
séparer le Kronos invisible du Kronos visible de la même manière que la di-
mension spatiale séparait le nombrant du nombré ou le lisse (le continu) du
strié (le discret). Proclus parle en ce sens d’un Kronos « zonal » qui dépend du
Nous modifions la traduction.
66 Il est difficile de dire en effet que ce Kronos « précède » l’action du Démiurge dans la
mesure où avant cette action, puisque le Temps n’existe pas encore, l’idée de précession
n’a pas de sens. Tout se déroule « simul et semel » (en même temps et en une seule fois),
selon l’expression fréquente chez Jean Scot Érigène.
164 Berland
mouvement des planètes et d’un Kronos « azonal », indépendant du mouve-

ment68. La spécificité du Kronos zonal est qu’il est le terme final de l’harmonie
des sphères et donc celui qui vient s’identifier au terme premier de cette sé-
rie : le Soleil. Il accomplit la figure du cercle le long de la ligne de procession
dans un mouvement « en spirale ». Le temps embrasse alors tous les êtres mus
en ligne droite et mus en cercle, « de même que la spirale embrasse sous une
seule et même forme le droit et le circulaire »69.
La spirale est donc le premier motif où viennent se croiser les générations
arithmétiques et géométriques, elle est la forme du temps accompli par le
striage de ses « instruments ». Cette remarque n’est pas exclusivement spé-
culative car par « instrument » Proclus entend également les machines qui
servent au tracé des « courbes mécaniques » capables de reproduire le « va-
gabondage » des astres errants dont les rétrogradations dessinent des courbes
trisectrices ou strophoïdes. En effet, même s’il reproche à plusieurs reprises
aux astronomes de son temps le caractère artificiel de ces constructions70, ces
deus ex machina gardent néanmoins un intérêt car :
Il n’y a pas non plus une totale vanité dans les hypothèses des épicycles
ou des excentriques (…). Tout se passe comme si, incapable de mesurer
une spirale autour d’un cylindre, ayant pris une droite mue autour du cy-
lindre et sur la droite un point, mesurant les mouvements de ces termes,
on découvre combien grand est le mouvement relatif à la spirale, et en
combien de temps.
C’est bien en tout cas à cela qu’ont regard et ceux qui usent des
sphères mues en sens contraire et ceux qui usent des épicycles et des
excentriques, pour aboutir aux mouvements simples grâce auxquels ils
découvrent les complexes71.
69 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 3, 21, 5 (4, 39) et vol. 3, 40, 23. Trad.
Festugière, vol. 4, 60.
70 « … grande est l’erreur de ceux qui osent rapporter l’errance aux dieux du Ciel, mé-
connaissant ainsi combien est ordonnée et harmonieuse leur danse cyclique, combien
uniforme est leur mouvement. L’anomalie qui paraît en eux est due seulement aux sens
contraires de leurs révolutions directes et rétrogrades, qu’on explique par les épicycles,
les cercles excentriques ou par d’autres causes. De fait, ces hypothèses même n’ont pas
de probabilité, mais les unes s’éloignent de la simplicité des êtres divins, les autres, celles
qu’ont inventées les plus récents, font du mouvement des corps célestes quelque chose d’aus-
si artificiel que l’apparition d’un dieu au théâtre » Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd.
Diehl, vol. 3, 56, 2034. Trad. Festugière, vol. 4, 79. Nous soulignons.
189–190.
Nous retrouvons ici une description précise du grand avantage que présente
le modèle géocentrique dans la mesure où il permet de retrouver dans le ciel
l’intégralité des classes de courbes depuis les simples jusqu’aux complexes, ce
que la simplification du modèle héliocentrique ne rend plus possible. Il nous
semble ainsi qu’il faut un sérieux aveuglement historique pour imaginer que
des astronomes et des géomètres capables de construire une lemniscate sphé-
rique afin de rendre compte de la trajectoire des astres errants, puis de penser
celle-ci comme l’intersection d’une sphère par un cylindre intérieur tangent
afin de l’intégrer dans une classification complète s’étendant aux sections
coniques et spiriques aient été incapables de concevoir un modèle héliocen-
trique où les courbes complexes auraient été ramenées à la circularité ou à un
système d’ellipses en changeant simplement de centre de référence.
Il nous semble au contraire que si le modèle héliocentrique est resté long-
temps secondaire ce n’est pas en dépit d’une simplicité restée inaperçue, mais
à cause précisément de cette simplicité qui était perçue comme un défaut,
comme le signe d’une trop grande abstraction, une abstraction idéaliste qui
demeurerait par la suite incapable de rendre compte de la complexité de la
réalité sensible. Proclus apparaît en ce sens d’une radicalité peu commune
lorsqu’il ramène la complexité des spiriques à n’être, quand elle est appliquée
à l’astronomie, qu’un simulacre. En effet, il ne signifie pas par là qu’elle serait
simplement inutile et trompeuse, mais plutôt qu’elle conduit à nous couper de
la simplicité du modèle qu’elle imite. Elle nous en éloigne à la manière dont
Aristote critique l’héliocentrisme, c’est-à-dire sans voir que ce système n’est lui-
même qu’une image d’un modèle noétique encore supérieur où se retrouve la
complexité que l’on croyait avoir perdue au sein d’un intelligible dont on ne
regardait que la trace hypothétique.
C’est la compréhension de la manière dont s’enveloppent ces trois niveaux
(le simulacre, le sensible et le noétique) qui permet d’en dégager un quatrième,
celui qui remonte jusqu’à l’Un. Nous le signalons ici, non pour l’expliquer déjà,
mais pour exprimer l’idée que ces niveaux ne forment pas une simple antino-
mie (sensible contre intelligible), ni même une trinité « d’hypostases » (être –
vie – pensée), mais qu’ils s’opposent deux à deux selon l’Éternel et le Tempo-
rel déployé au sein des cercles du Même et de l’Autre. C’est cette dialectique
sérielle de l’Éternité processive et du Temps qui fait retour, que Proclus juge lui-
même « remarquable dans l’exposé scientifique de Platon »72 où la fabrication
du Temps par le Démiurge est comprise comme une « heureuse invention »
(ἐπινοεῖ)73. Cette production du Temps à partir de l’Éternel permet en effet le
73 Platon, Timée, 37d4.
166 Berland
dédoublement de tous les objets de la conscience, du point de vue de leur

procession ou du point de vue de leur conversion. Elle est la manière dont le
Démiurge lui-même « machine » (μηχανᾶται)74 dans la mesure où « le Temps
est l’œuvre d’une machination vraiment divine et digne du Démiurge »75.
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Van Riel, Gerd. 2001. « Les hénades de Proclus sont-elles composées de limite et d’illi-
mité ? » Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 85, no. 3 : 417–432.
Vinel, Nicolas. 2010. « La rhusis mathématique. De l’ancien pythagorisme à Proclus. »
Dans Études sur le commentaire de Proclus au premier livre des Éléments d’Euclide,
édite par Alain Lernould, 111–124. Villeneuve d’Ascq : Presses universitaires du Sep-
tentrion.
L’immutabilité et l’inengendrement de la matière
première du monde en question
Les soubassements métaphysiques d’un cas d’École : Philopon versus Proclus
1 Introduction
La matière première, sa nature et son statut dans l’ordre des choses, figurent
parmi les sujets les plus délicats à traiter dans toute recherche portant sur la
cosmologie quelle que soit l’époque étudiée.
La materia prima fait l’objet d’une question disputée de façon quasi conti-
nue dans l’histoire de la philosophie, en raison notamment de la difficulté qu’il
y a à définir ce qu’elle est précisément, si tant est qu’elle soit quelque réalité
qui puisse faire l’objet d’une investigation. On sait, par exemple, que pour Pla-
ton, on ne peut la concevoir qu’au terme d’un raisonnement bâtard1. Et on
s’accorde en général depuis Aristote à lui concéder le statut de substrat im-
muable à tous les changements que connaît le monde sensible. Mais même
chez le Stagirite, sa nature paraît comme échapper à toute tentative de théori-
sation d’autant plus que celui-ci n’hésite pas à faire de la matière première un
inconnaissable par soi [ἡ δ’ὕλη ἄγνωστος καθ’αὑτήν]2, en raison notamment de
son indétermination foncière. En effet, comme le précise Aristote : « J’appelle
matière ce qui n’est par soi ni substance, ni quantité, ni aucune autre des ca-
tégories dont on dit qu’elles déterminent l’étant »3. C’est dire la difficulté, qui
pourrait être insurmontable, si on ne limitait pas strictement une telle enquête
à quelques éléments précis du débat concernant cette délicate question.
Parmi les pièces les plus significatives de cet immense dossier, on trouve
deux documents majeurs. L’un provient de Proclus de Lycie, diadoque de
l’École platonicienne d’Athènes au Ve siècle de notre Ère, l’autre de Jean Philo-
pon, grammairien chrétien qui a été le reportator et l’éditeur des cours d’Am-
monius d’Hermias à l’École platonicienne d’Alexandrie4. Les deux auteurs ne
1 Platon, Timaeus 52ab.

2 Aristote, Metaphysica Z, 1036a8–9.
3 Aristote, Metaphysica Z, 1029a20–21.
4 Par exemple : De Jean grammairien d’Alexandrie. Notes scolaires sur le premier livre des Pre-
miers Analytiques à partir des séminaires d’Ammonius d’Hermeias, éd. Wallies (CAG) ; Jean
d’Alexandrie. Notes scolaires à partir des séminaires d’Ammonius d’Hermeias, avec quelques ob-
L’immutabilité et l’inengendrement 169
sont donc pas de la même génération car Proclus décède en 485, alors que
Philopon, lui, serait né cinq ans plus tard, en 490. Leurs activités respectives
ne courent donc pas sur le même siècle et les problèmes que l’un et l’autre en-
tendent traiter ne présentent pas exactement les mêmes caractéristiques. Il est
toutefois plausible que Philopon ait été familiarisé à la pensée de Proclus par
la médiation de son propre maître, Ammonius, qui avait été l’élève de Proclus
à Athènes quelques décennies plus tôt. Ce fait explique sans doute pourquoi la
pensée du diadoque athénien a pu jouir d’une certaine autorité dans le milieu
platonicien alexandrin.
2 Les pièces du dossier
Le premier document ou dossier, issu de Proclus, est composé de dix-huit

arguments destinés à fonder en raison l’Éternité du Monde5 apparemment
contre les tenants du dogme chrétien qui en affirmeraient, au contraire, le
commencement absolu6. L’examen des arguments conduit toutefois à faire
l’hypothèse qu’il s’agirait plutôt d’un compendium cherchant à asseoir une
servations personnelles, sur le premier livre des Analytiques Postérieurs d’Aristote, éd. Wallies
(CAG) ; De Jean grammairien d’Alexandrie. Notes scolaires à partir des séminaires d’Ammonius
d’Hermeias, avec quelques observations personnelles, sur le premier des livres De la génération
et de la corruption d’Aristote, éd. Vitelli (CAG) ; De Jean d’Alexandrie. Sur le traité De l’âme
d’Aristote, notes scolaires à partir des séminaires d’Ammonius d’Hermeias, avec quelques ob-
servations personnelles, éd. Hayduck (CAG). Au regard de ce que nous dit Philopon de ses
observations personnelles qui constituent sans aucun doute des ajouts critiques qu’il pût
faire alors, la plus grande prudence s’impose lorsqu’il s’agit d’imputer à Ammonius ce qui
nous est rapporté des séminaires qu’il tenait à Alexandrie.
5 Nous préparons actuellement une traduction française inédite de ces arguments que nous
accompagnerons de notes et d’un bref commentaire.
6 L’affirmation d’un commencement absolu permettrait de dater ce cosmos-ci et de lui confé-
rer un âge. Ce qui ne serait évidemment pas possible si on considérait que ce même cosmos
n’a pas de commencement absolu mais résulte d’une opération causale éternelle. L’Antiqui-
té conférant à Aristote et à Platon une réelle autorité et soucieuse de chercher à accorder
leurs doctrines se trouva confronté à la difficulté de concilier le De Caelo d’Aristote et le Ti-
maeus de Platon. Le premier postulant l’éternité du mouvement circulaire, donc l’éternité du
mouvement céleste et du ciel, en vint à admettre l’éternité du monde fondée dans un Acte
éternel, cause première, non au sens temporel, mais au sens métaphysique. Le Timaeus en
revanche laissait ouverte la voie à une interprétation ‘créationniste’ du cosmos et à un pos-
sible engendrement de ce dernier à un certain moment. On aurait pu ainsi conférer un âge
au cosmos tel que nous le connaissons, laissant tout de même dans un certain flou le statut
de la matrice-réceptacle de ce cosmos-ci. En effet, ce réceptacle, chez Platon, précède l’avè-
nement du cosmos ordonné que nous connaissons. L’exégèse du Timaeus fut subordonnée à
la démonstration d’Aristote. Et le Timaeus fut reconsidéré à la hauteur de son genre littéraire,
170 Mueller-Jourdan
certaine orthodoxie exégétique de Platon et d’Aristote et moins vraisembla-

blement un traité destiné à réfuter la doctrine chrétienne de la création qui
n’est encore que très peu développée. On peut s’autoriser cette réserve car le
christianisme n’avait pas au Ve siècle de théories cosmologiques définitives, a
fortiori de dogmes officiels sur le substrat physique de l’Univers. Certes, il croit
en un Dieu Créateur du Ciel et de la Terre, de l’Univers visible et invisible et, af-
firme nettement que, fondamentalement le créé n’est pas l’incréé. Mais l’heure
est, parmi les élites chrétiennes du Ve siècle, davantage vouée aux débats sur
les deux natures du Christ dans l’hypostase du Fils unique et Verbe de Dieu7.
Le second document, celui de Philopon, apparaît comme un contre-
argument systématique destiné à démontrer la non nécessité logique des
arguments avancés par le diadoque athénien, et par voie de conséquence à
ouvrir la voie à une possible théorisation d’une origine absolue du monde,
conséquemment à une possible théorisation de la création ex nihilo.
Les dix-huit arguments de Proclus n’existent plus dans la forme qu’a sans
doute dû leur donner leur auteur. Ils ne nous sont parvenus, et c’est un peu
l’ironie du sort, qu’insérés dans le dossier qui prétendait les réfuter un à un,
dossier connu aujourd’hui sous le titre De Aeternitate Mundi (De l’éternité du
monde). Contra Proclum (Contre Proclus) et attribué à Jean Philopon.
Des dix-huit arguments de Proclus, le onzième est le seul qui porte expli-
citement sur la matière8. Il semble qu’il soit prudent de le traiter séparément
celui du mythe. Platon cherchait ainsi non à faire un descriptif physique des faits originels,
mais à indiquer symboliquement, par le jeu de la narration tous les facteurs explicatifs de ce
cosmos-ci, l’espacement où il se réalise, son statut d’image, la référence au modèle éternel,
expression de la pensée divine, la nature du corps du monde, le principe vital qui le traverse,
l’âme donc, les formes de vie et l’opération du dieu.
7 Nous ne voulons pas dire par là que les chrétiens ne se sont pas penchés très sérieusement
sur la question du statut de la matière et du soubassement physique du cosmos sensible, en
raison notamment d’une certaine expansion du manichéisme et de la séduction qu’il opérait
sur les esprits du fait de sa relative simplicité. On trouve un dossier expliquant de manière
argumentée que la matière n’est pas inengendrée chez Eusèbe de Césarée au IVe siècle. Selon
lui en effet, tenir la matière pour inengendrée revient à postuler deux inengendrés, Dieu et
la Matière. Ce qui conduit à terme à poser deux réalités premières et donc deux principes
sans principe. Pour le détail de ce dossier, voir : Eusèbe de Césarée, Praeparatio evangelica
VII 19–22. Voir également, Grégoire de Nysse, De opificio hominis 23, PG 44, 209B–212C. Dans
un souci pastoral en revanche, Basile de Césarée préférait que l’homme ne se livra pas à des
investigations de ce type qui ne servent pas à l’édification de l’Église. Voir, Basile de Césarée,
Homiliae in Hexaëmeron I 8–11, PG 29, 20C–28B. Pour un dossier envisageant en parallèle
le statut de la matière dans la tradition philosophique et celle qui ressortit à une concep-
tion chrétienne naissante de cette question, on tirera sans doute grand profit à consulter,
Théodoret de Cyr, Graecarum affectionum curatio IV : La matière et le cosmos.
8 Nous avons proposé une étude du Livre XI du Contra Proclum de Jean Philopon, dans :
Mueller-Jourdan 2011. Cette étude a fait l’objet d’une recension critique sévère par Golitsis
du contre-argument de son détracteur car les deux documents, bien qu’édités

ensemble, ne paraissent pas parfaitement s’emboîter. Autrement dit, le contre-
argument de Philopon pourrait s’adresser moins directement à Proclus qu’à
certains de ses contemporains, peut-être ses condisciples à l’École d’Ammo-
nius, qui semblent faire usage de l’autorité de Proclus pour défendre une vision
du monde que le Maître athénien n’aurait en aucun cas suivie, à savoir celle
d’une vision strictement dualiste du monde proche du manichéisme opposant
deux principes antagonistes inengendrés, Dieu et la Matière.
3 L’argument 11 de Proclus
3.1 Concomitance de la matière et de la génération

Le Onzième argument de Proclus est tenu par Philopon pour un raisonnement
logique cherchant à fonder l’éternité du monde sur une certaine conception
de la matière, notamment sur ce que Proclus nommera son caractère inengen-
dré. Il faut toutefois noter que cet argument ne se conclut pas stricto sensu
par l’affirmation de l’éternité du monde mais affirme avant tout le rapport de
concomitance qui lie matière et forme du monde et ce depuis toujours, autre-
ment dit coextensivement à l’infinité du temps9.
Il suffit de parcourir rapidement la démonstration raisonnée de Proclus
pour nous apercevoir que le mot matière n’a pas le sens que spontanément
nous lui donnons. Elle ne relève pas d’abord de tous les changements et de
toutes les transformations physiques qui peuvent s’observer dans le monde qui
nous entoure. Elle entre en premier lieu dans le rang des facteurs explicatifs
généraux de l’Univers sensible. Proclus ne la définit pas. Il semble même que,
de façon générale, il se soit contenté de la désigner au regard de la nécessité
de son postulat. La première chose que Proclus dit de la matière dans cet ar-
gument ne la définit nullement mais la situe dans un certain rapport logique.
Elle est un en vue de… Or le rapport métaphysique en vue de… convoque simul-
tanément son correspondant ce en vue de quoi. Il y a un rapport de réciprocité
2008, 89–90, qui relève à juste titre une maladresse du traducteur. Il faudrait corriger donc
notre traduction distraite du verbe ποιόω et de tous ses dérivés par les termes ‘créer’ et de ses
dérivés par la traduction correcte de ‘qualifier’ et tous ses dérivés (ligne 3 et 8 de la page 89 ;
lignes 8, 10, 11, 13, 14 et 17 de la page 90). Il est évident que cette correction (qui s’impose et
pour laquelle nous remercions sincèrement Pantelis Golitsis) contribue grandement à la cla-
rification du texte. Nous admettons donc volontiers notre entière responsabilité sur ce point
qui ne compromet pas l’ensemble de la traduction proposée, ni le commentaire analytique
qui l’accompagne.
9 Cf. Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 1, 281, 26–282, 22.
172 Mueller-Jourdan
logique et de concomitance nécessaire entre eux. En effet, dès les premières

lignes exposées de sa thèse le thème est énoncé : « La matière, dit-il, est en
vue de l’Univers [ἕνεκα τοῦ παντός] car elle est matrice-réceptacle de généra-
tion [ὑποδοχὴν … γενέσεως]10. Or, le ce en vue de quoi [τὸ … οὗ ἕνεκα]11 pour la
matière n’est pas autre chose que génération »12.
Après avoir rappelé le mot de Platon selon lequel la matière est matrice-
réceptacle de génération, Proclus précise que ce en vue de quoi il y a matière,
c’est la génération13. Matière et génération sont deux facteurs premiers expli-
catifs de l’Univers et de tout ce qui s’y produit en général et en particulier.
On peut préciser qu’il y a dans l’énoncé de Proclus une certaine identification
entre l’Univers en vue duquel la matière est, et la génération. L’Univers désigne
le cosmos dans sa totalité et la génération, autant le principe qui le régit, le fait
d’avoir son être dans le devenir, que la vie, ou le venir-à-l’être, continue qui le
traverse et qui le maintient continûment dans l’être.
La matière, précise Proclus, – c’est le rapport en vue de… qui est désigné –
ne relève pas du hasard mais provient d’une certaine cause [ἔκ τινος αἰτίας].
C’est dire autrement qu’elle a une raison d’être précisément déterminée. Et le
fait qu’elle ait une raison d’être, un ce à quoi elle est ordonnée, fonde le rapport
qui la lie de façon permanente et concomitante à la génération. Elle en est la
cause-condition. Autrement dit quand il y a matière, il y a génération et quand
il y a génération, nécessairement il y a matière. Et si on garde l’association
précédente entre Univers et génération, on peut dire que quand il y a matière,
il y a Univers, et quand il y a Univers, il y a matière.
10 Matrice ou réceptacle (Platon, Timaeus. 49a); voir également: Hermès Trismégiste, Cor-
pus Hermeticum, éd. Festugière vol. 3, fr. 9, 1–2 ; Plotin, Ennéades II 4 [12] 1, 1–2.
11 L’expression, comme on le sait, désigne la cause finale chez Aristote (τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα τέλος,
Metaphysica α 2, 994b9), soit le ce à dessein de quoi ou le ce pour quoi elle existe.
12 Proclus, Argument 11, dans : Jean Philopon, Contra Proclum. De Aeternitate Mundi, éd.
Rabe, 403, 15–18.
13 Génération [γένεσις] peut avoir deux sens, l’un désignant l’action et même le commen-
cement de l’action d’engendrer, l’autre signifiant le résultat de l’action, soit ce qui est
engendré. Il me semble nécessaire de les maintenir tous deux ici comme on le ferait pour
le mot création qui désigne aussi bien l’action que le résultat de l’action. On pourrait
d’ailleurs aussi bien traduire ce terme par le devenir, comme le fait Luc Brisson dans sa
traduction du Timée (dans Brisson et Patillon 1992), ou comme certains anglo-saxons le
proposent par l’expression the coming-to-be. A noter que la traduction de ce terme par
devenir induit de fait du mouvement, soit, en régime aristotélicien, un passage de la puis-
sance à l’acte. La matrice serait dans ce dernier cas non seulement le lieu où se produit le
passage à l’acte mais aussi ce qui fournit la matière à ce qui devient, autrement dit à ce
qui est engendré.
Ce rapport de réciprocité logique veut donc, selon Proclus, que si l’on pré-
dique l’éternité à la matière14, on doit de facto la prédiquer aussi à la génération
et en conséquence à l’Univers. Précisons qu’éternel a ici le sens de coextensif à
l’infinité du temps.
A ce stade de son argument, Proclus ne nous dit pas ce qui pourrait autori-
ser l’attribution de l’éternité à la matière ; sinon peut-être que la matière, à son
plus haut degré d’abstraction, est un des facteurs permanents de la substruc-
ture métaphysique du monde sensible. Dans leur sens le plus primitif, pour
Proclus, forme et matière15 sont les analogues intramondains de l’un et de la
dyade indéfinie.
Mais, sans doute, faut-il aussi fonder l’éternité de la matière par référence
à la permanence de l’action démiurgique à laquelle Proclus fait une brève al-
lusion dans ce Onzième argument. En fait la matière apparaissant comme le
lieu de l’action démiurgique, la matrice-réceptacle du devenir, postuler l’ac-
tion permanente d’un Démiurge toujours en acte, nécessite de poser toujours
un lieu d’exercice de son activité stable, parfaite et continue16.
De l’attribution de l’éternité à la matière découle l’attribution de l’éternité17
à la génération en raison de leur rapport de réciprocité et de simultanéité.
3.2 Caractère inengendré et immuable de la matière

La matière, pour Proclus, en tant que matière absolue [ἁπλῶς], n’a besoin de
rien pour être ce qu’elle est18 et ce à la différence des formes engendrées en
14 Nous devrions peut-être préciser que l’éternité prédiquée à la matière indique le caractère
immuable et permanent de son statut. La matière est avec le temps et dans le temps, mais
dans un temps duratif. Elle est coextensive au temps. Elle n’est pas hors du temps mais
hors de la mutabilité du mouvement.
15 On pourrait aussi bien dire détermination formelle et indétermination. La génération est
toujours génération de quelque chose et quelque chose d’engendrée est par nécessité
formellement déterminée. Quant à l’indétermination foncière, elle est nécessaire pour
que la forme engendrée ne soit pas contrariée dans son avènement.
16 Cf. l’argument de Proclus : Jean Philopon, Contra Proclum, éd. Rabe, 403, 20–21 : « Or,
des choses qui adviennent du fait du hasard, aucune n’est nécessaire, et en ce cas nous
ne dirions plus de la production démiurgique qu’elle possède une assise ferme ». Celui
qui a parcouru attentivement les arguments de Proclus qui précèdent, en particulier les
troisième et quatrième, sait que le démiurge en acte opère toujours (argument 3) et que
ce fait fonde l’éternelle production (argument 4) et mise en ordre de ce cosmos-ci.
17 Il est clair qu’éternelle pour la matière veut dire qu’elle est coextensive à l’infinité du
temps. C’est d’ailleurs ce que prend soin ensuite de préciser Proclus : « La matière en
même temps que la génération, comme un ce en vue de quoi et un en vue de quelque
chose, coexistent pour toute la durée du temps [τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον] », Jean Philopon, Contra
Proclum, éd. Rabe, 404, 4–6.
18 En affirmant cela, Proclus ne veut bien sûr pas dire qu’elle se donne l’être à elle-même. Il
vient d’ailleurs d’affirmer qu’elle n’était pas le fait du hasard mais provenait d’une certaine
cause [ἔκ τινος αἰτίας].
174 Mueller-Jourdan
elle, fût-elle la forme du monde considérée dans sa totalité et son intégrité19,

formes qui ont précisément besoin de substrat pour être engendrées. En cela,
Proclus honore un axiome aristotélicien fondamental, à savoir que tout en-
gendré a besoin de matière-substrat pour être engendré20. Or, pour Proclus, la
matière, existant sous un mode absolu et premier, n’a besoin de rien pour être
ce qu’elle est21.
Il découle du fait que la matière est dans le non-besoin d’un substrat pour
être ce qu’elle est, qu’elle ne saurait tomber sous la loi qui prévaut pour
la génération. N’étant pas logiquement concernée par la génération et son
corollaire, la corruption, elle doit être en conséquence tenue pour inengen-
drée [ἀγένητος]22. Elle n’est donc pas concernée par le principe de génération
[ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς γενέσεως] qui préside et régule les modalités de toute génération
dont celui que nous venons de rencontrer : le besoin d’une matière-substrat
pour que génération il y ait. Étant soustraite au principe de génération, elle peut
être dite inengendrée. Elle a donc un statut métaphysique qui doit être pensé
en dehors de tout processus de génération et de changement. En un mot, la
matière doit être tenue pour immuable. C’est d’ailleurs un point de doctrine
bien attesté chez les Commentateurs tardo-antiques de Platon et d’Aristote.
En effet, si elle avait été muable, rien n’aurait empêché qu’elle perde son statut
de cause-condition de génération, de cause-condition de l’Univers, du monde
ordonné, ouvrant la voie à une totale déstructuration de la réalité et à une in-
finité de mondes possibles au gré de ses propres mutations. Il résulte de ce qui
19 Dans ce seul cas, la forme unique du monde total serait engendrée toujours dans la
matière-réceptacle qui est sa cause-condition. En ce sens, le monde pourrait-être dit en-
gendré toujours, et toujours le même.
20 Cf., Aristote, Physica A 9, 192a26–32.
21 Cf. Jean Philopon, Contra Proclum, éd. Rabe, 404, 16–17.
22 Cette affirmation soulève de nombreuses difficultés car si elle est inengendrée, on court le
risque de lui prédiquer ce qui convient à Dieu seul. Nous aurions ainsi deux inengendrés
et serions enclins à admettre l’existence éternelle de deux principes (l’inengendrement de
la matière était une thèse manichéenne impliquant de facto deux principes antagonistes,
cf., Alexandre de Lycopolis, De placitis Manichaeorum, 4, 23–5, 8, éd. Brinkmann ; Gré-
goire de Nysse, De opificio hominis 23, PG 44, 212 B), à moins que nous ne maintenions
clairement la distinction entre être inengendré (= de ne pas connaître la génération)
et être sans principe, seul Dieu serait alors sans principe, la matière en dépendant au
contraire directement quand bien même elle est inengendrée. Le problème de cette at-
tribution et de sa traduction en langue moderne est discuté dans l’introduction de Lang,
Macro, et McGinnis 2001, 31–33, à leur édition de Proclus, On the Eternity of the World.
Notons enfin que pour Aristote, seul le composé de matière et de forme, soit le parti-
culier concret, est soumis à génération et à corruption ; cf. Aristote, Metaphysica H 1,
1042a29–30.
précède qu’il y a un rapport d’adéquation stricte entre les prédicats inengendré

et immuable. Inengendrée, elle ne tombe pas sous le principe de génération.
Hors facteur génération et changement, elle est immuable.
C’est ce dernier rapport d’adéquation entre immutabilité et inengendrement
qui va surtout poser problème à Philopon, comme on va tenter de le démon-
trer. Philopon, prenant prétexte du propos de Proclus, va l’entraîner sur un
terrain sur lequel le Lycien ne se serait jamais engagé.
Si la matière est inengendrée, elle ne saurait avoir, nous l’avons dit, prin-
cipe de génération [ἀρχὴ τῆς γενέσεως]. Car la génération qui est une espèce
du changement, outre qu’elle est ce en vue de quoi il y a matière-substrat, ne
saurait affecter la règle d’immutabilité qui régit la matière.
Philopon paraît en déduire que refuser un principe de génération à la ma-
tière revient à lui refuser purement et simplement un principe d’être [ἀρχὴ τοῦ
εἶναι], revient à terme à en faire une entité sans principe du tout. Or non seule-
ment Proclus ne dit rien de cela, au contraire, mais il ne saurait avoir admis
l’idée que la matière puisse être sans principe car pour le maître athénien, seul
le premier principe est de façon absolue sans principe [ἄναρχος]23.
3.3 Visée de l’argument de Proclus et éléments conclusifs

Un aussi bref survol de l’argument 11 de Proclus ne permet pas de résoudre
toutes les difficultés qu’il soulève. L’essentiel de l’argument vise à établir le rap-
port de concomitance qu’entretiennent matière et forme dans tous les secteurs
du monde sensible et jusque dans le monde conçu comme un tout qui, au re-
gard de sa forme, la forme monde, présente une immutabilité similaire à celle
23 Du moins cela ressort-il de façon explicite du Proclus, De Malorum Subsistentia : « Toute

réalité quelle qu’elle soit doit, en effet, ou être principe des touts ou procéder d’un prin-
cipe et la matière, si elle dérive d’un principe premier, doit, elle aussi, tenir du bien son
accès à l’être ; si, par contre, elle est elle-même principe, il nous faut admettre l’existence
de deux principes qui se combattent, le bien originaire et le mal originaire ; mais c’est
impossible, il ne peut y avoir deux principes premiers: car d’où dériverait leur total s’il
n’existait une monade ? Si, en effet, chacun d’eux est un, il faut que l’un existe avant eux
deux, l’un par lequel ils sont tous deux un et qui est leur principe unique », Proclus, De
malorum subsistentia, trad. Isaac, 31, 10–18. Quelques lignes plus bas, Proclus fait dériver
sa doctrine de Platon lui-même : « Dans le Philèbe, en faisant venir de l’un la matière elle-
même et toute la nature de l’infini (et materiam ipsam et omnem infiniti naturam ex uno
producens) et, d’une manière générale, en posant la cause divine comme antérieure à la
séparation du fini et de l’infini, il <Platon> reconnaît implicitement que dans la matière
il y a du divin (entheon [id est divinam] ipsam), qu’elle est un bien par sa participation à
Dieu et par son origine divine et qu’elle n’est à aucun titre un mal », Proclus, De malorum
subsistentia 34, 12–18.
176 Mueller-Jourdan
qui est imputée par Proclus, et en un sens même par Philopon, à la matière24.
Si cette hypothèse de lecture devait se révéler exacte, à savoir celle de la perma-
nente et immuable coexistence de la matière et de la génération, on pourrait
identifier les éventuels auteurs ou autorités visées par Proclus. Ils seraient plu-
tôt ceux qui récusent ce rapport de concomitance permanent entre matière et
génération que des chrétiens réfutant la thèse de l’éternité du monde25. Ce rap-
port de concomitance est d’ailleurs admis par Philopon lui-même, du moins
dans le cosmos présent. On apprend à la lecture du commentaire de Proclus
au Timaeum de Platon que ses principaux adversaires sont les héritiers de Plu-
tarque de Chéronée et d’Atticus26 qui, s’appuyant sur une lecture littérale de
Platon, récusent ce rapport de concomitance en séquençant les étapes de la
génération du monde au regard d’une action démiurgique soumise à la tem-
poralité :
(1) avant l’action : de la matière indéterminée puis du mouvement sans
concert et sans ordre (= inaction du démiurge)
(2) pendant l’action : la mise-en-ordre ou processus de génération d’un
ordre (= action progressive du démiurge)
(3) après l’action : ordre engendré et cosmos ordonné (= action en acte du
démiurge)
Ce séquençage, difficilement acceptable pour un platonicien, introduit non
seulement l’idée d’une imperfection/privation dans l’activité divine mais aussi
une préséance du désordre sur l’ordre. Ce modèle pouvait certes trouver un
allié de taille auprès de certains auteurs chrétiens qui pouvaient prendre appui
sur un modèle artisanal similaire inspiré d’une lecture littérale du livre de la
Genesis27.
24 Sur l’immutabilité du substrat premier, pour Philopon : la tridimensionnalité, voir : Jean

Philopon, Contra Proclum, éd. Rabe, 447, 22–448, 16.
25 Il nous paraît peu plausible que Proclus se soit attardé à rédiger un compendium complet
Contre les chrétiens. S’il est vrai qu’il considérait le christianisme comme une menace et,
peut-être même comme un drame des temps, c’est moins pour sa doctrine que pour sa
propension à porter la main sur les réalités sacrées en vue d’éradiquer l’antique héritage
hellène.
26 Pour les positions doctrinales de Plutarque et d’Atticus, voir : Proclus, In Timaeum com-
mentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 1, 381, 26–382, 12 ; pour celle d’Atticus, en particulier, qui fait
exister chronologiquement la matière (mue sans ordre par une âme irraisonnable) avant
le monde sensible, l’irrationnalité avant la raison et le désordre avant l’ordre, voir : Pro-
clus, In Timaeum commentaria, éd. Diehl, vol. 1, 391, 6–12.
27 À noter une restriction à ce rapprochement car Philopon qui prétend défendre la doc-
trine chrétienne de la création, tout en admettant le séquençage qu’il développera en
détail dans le De opificio mundi ne fera jamais de la matière un donné indépendant du
Dieu créateur comme on pourrait l’envisager dans une lecture littérale du Timaeum. En
4 La réfutation de Philopon : présupposés et destinataires
4.1 Position du problème

La réfutation du Onzième argument de Proclus comporte quinze chapitres.
Les huit premiers chapitres prennent prétexte de la question de la matière
soulevée par Proclus pour traiter un problème qui n’est pas comme tel posé
par le Lycien, du moins pas dans cet argument, à savoir celui du prédicat in-
corporel qui est par contre explicitement attribué à la matière dans le cercle
d’Ammonius à Alexandrie28. Proclus semble en effet comme absent de cette
discussion que pourtant son propos soulevait. Nous pouvons donc négliger ces
premiers chapitres dans le cadre de cette discussion car ils ne portent ni sur la
thèse de l’immutabilité de la matière, ni sur celle de son caractère inengendré.
Ce n’est qu’à partir du neuvième chapitre que Philopon s’intéresse à l’ar-
gument du Maître athénien. Philopon commence par récapituler le propos
argumenté de Proclus en se focalisant sur deux axiomes aristotéliciens sur les-
quels il paraît se fonder.
1) Tout engendré a besoin de matière-substrat pour être engendré29.
2.a) Tout ce qui est engendré est engendré à partir de quelque chose [ἐκ
τινος].
2.b) Il est impossible à quelque chose d’être engendrée à partir de rien [ἐκ
μηδενός].
Après ce résumé et ce rappel des axiomes physiques présupposés, Philo-
pon avoue être d’accord sur à peu près tout avec son contenu. Il n’énonce
qu’une seule réserve qui porte d’ailleurs sur un aspect du fondement axio-
matique sur lequel prend appui l’argument du Lycien. Sa réserve s’exprime
en ces termes : « Découle-t-il nécessairement du fait d’être engendrée et du
fait de disparaître que la matière elle-même a besoin d’une autre matière
car, ajoute Philopon, ce qui semble s’ensuivre est absurde ? »30. Il s’ensuivrait
en effet une nécessaire régression à l’infini. Philopon va engager son contre-
argument en discutant l’universalité de l’axiome aristotélicien tout engendré a
besoin de matière-substrat pour être engendré. S’il y souscrit à titre de loi phy-
effet chez Platon, le substrat premier, la matrice réceptacle, est là indépendamment du

Démiurge. Elle est donnée comme le ‘lieu’ ou l’espace de ses opérations. Pour une pre-
mière analyse du séquençage de l’opération divine dans la Genesis, on se reportera à notre
étude, Mueller-Jourdan 2017.
28 Ammonius, In Aristotelis categorias commentarius, éd. A. Busse (CAG), 54, 4–6 : « La
matière première, sans forme et incorporelle, accueille d’abord les trois dimensions, et
devient une entité à trois dimensions, ce qu’on appelle le second substrat ».
29 Cf., Aristote, Physica A 9, 192a26–32.
30 Jean Philopon, Contra Proclum, éd. Rabe, 446, 23–26.
178 Mueller-Jourdan
sique régissant le cas des êtres particuliers, il va tenter de soustraire la matière

première à la règle universelle du besoin de substrat-matière pour être en-
gendrée. Pour Philopon, il ressortirait de cela que la matière pourrait avoir un
principe de génération sans pour autant avoir besoin de substrat et sans pour
autant perdre son immutabilité. Elle serait alors un cas à part, un cas-limite,
qui ne saurait être engendrée de quelque chose. Il s’ensuivrait dès lors néces-
sairement qu’elle serait engendrée de rien [ἐκ μηδενός] ; ce qui n’empêcherait
nullement pour Philopon qu’elle soit engendrée à partir d’une certaine cause
[ἔκ τινος αἰτίας] rejoignant sur ce point, de façon quelque peu surprenante,
l’argument de Proclus que nous avons rencontré précédemment.
4.2 Avoir un principe de génération, avoir un principe d’être, ambiguïté

et confusion
Ce qui rend délicat à déchiffrer les propos de Philopon vient du fait qu’on
le croit argumenter contre le raisonnement de Proclus et ceci n’est pas sans
induire en erreur sur l’identification de ses véritables destinataires. Philopon
indique pourtant plusieurs problèmes qui relèvent de l’usage du prédicat in-
engendrée imputé à la matière. Si la matière est inengendrée, elle n’a pas de
principe de génération [ἀρχὴ τῆς γενέσεως].
Pour Proclus, cela veut dire qu’elle n’est pas commandée par les lois du de-
venir en raison de son immutabilité.
Pour Philopon, la chose est un peu plus complexe. Car affirmer qu’elle n’a
pas de principe de génération n’est pas pour lui sans conséquences métaphy-
siques. Philopon admet la nécessité pour la matière première de demeurer
immuable dans les changements qui s’opèrent dans le monde sensible auquel
elle tient lieu de substrat. Il admet également l’axiome selon lequel ce qui est
totalement immuable est exclu, sans l’ombre d’un doute, de la corruption et
de la génération31. Il refuse cependant à la matière l’immutabilité sur un seul
point, au moment où elle prend principe d’être [ἀρχὴ τοῦ εἶναι]32.
Cette affirmation voit Philopon subrepticement glisser de la formule avoir
un principe de génération à celle d’avoir un principe d’être. Il paraît identifier
les deux formules au point qu’il semble ressortir de son argument qu’avoir un
principe de génération, c’est prendre principe d’être dans le sens d’avoir un com-
mencement absolu de son être, dans tous les cas avoir un principe et n’être pas
sans principe [ἄναρχος]. C’est là le cœur du problème traité par Philopon et
dont Proclus pourrait n’être qu’un prétexte, encore que pas tout à fait. En ef-
fet, on pouvait, et sans doute certains l’ont-ils fait, détourner le propos, somme
31 Cf., Jean Philopon, Contra Proclum, éd. Rabe, 457, 14–16.

32 L’argument détaillé de Philopon est exposé en Contra Proclum, éd. Rabe, 457, 11–458, 26.
toute assez sobre de Proclus, à savoir que la matière est inengendrée, autre-
ment dit non-soumise aux lois du devenir en raison de son immutabilité, à
d’autres fins que celles visées par le Lycien, rappelons-le, ancien Maître d’Am-
monius, lui-même, Maître de Philopon. La démonstration de Proclus a pu,
selon toute vraisemblance, servir à récuser à la matière un principe de généra-
tion (ce que Proclus aurait admis dans le sens déjà énoncé), par suite à récuser
à la matière le fait d’avoir un principe, en vue d’en faire une réalité sans prin-
cipe la plaçant de facto sur un pied d’égalité avec le divin, pour en conclure à
la coexistence de deux principes sans principe. Un tel raisonnement aurait, de
toute évidence, conforté la base théorique d’une cosmologie manichéenne et
l’on sait que, pour la doctrine manichéenne, seul est inengendré ce qui est sans
principe [ἄναρχος]33. Il est en effet vraisemblable que le manichéisme avait des
sympathisants jusque dans les milieux fréquentant l’École d’Alexandrie34.
5 La matière inengendrée : résumé des thèses en présence
Proclus, très simplement, fait de la matière un inengendré non soumis aux lois
du devenir qui affectent l’univers sensible, soit tout le champ de la physique.
Il le fait en raison de l’immutabilité du substrat-matière mais également pour
ne pas régresser à l’infini en lui imputant le fait d’être engendré et d’avoir donc
besoin d’une matière, laquelle, engendrée aurait eu besoin de matière etc. En
ce sens, Proclus respecte strictement l’axiome concernant le besoin de matière
pour tout engendré.
Philopon, craignant35 de voir la matière inengendrée de Proclus devenir un
principe sans principe, confortant des idées manichéennes qui devaient circu-
33 Sur la théorie des deux principes véhiculés à Alexandrie un peu plus de deux siècles avant
que Philopon n’alerte sur les dangers de cette doctrine, voir : Alexandre de Lycopolis,
De platiis Manichaeorum 4, 23–5, 15. Sur le caractère inengendré de la matière pour les
Manichéens : ibid. 11, 25ss.
34 Le manichéisme et sa doctrine simpliste se sont révélés particulièrement tenaces et me-
naçants pour tous les courants de pensée de l’Antiquité tardive qu’ils fussent chrétiens ou
païens. On mesure à peine la séduction que dut exercer jusque dans les écoles néopla-
toniciennes la doctrine de Mani. Fort peu de recherches contemporaines se consacrant
à l’exégèse néoplatonicienne de Platon et d’Aristote font état de cette question. Or, cette
carence fausse quelquefois la perspective et la perception de certaines problématiques
pourtant abordées dans le néoplatonisme. Sur le sujet, voir, van der Horst et Mansfeld
1974 ; Stroumsa 1992, 337–349 ; Hadot 1996, en particulier chap. V : La réfutation du mani-
chéisme, 114–144.
35 Sur ces craintes et projections de Philopon qui, par anticipation, portent sur des conclu-
sions qui n’ont peut-être pas été tenues par ses supposés destinataires, voir par exemple,
180 Mueller-Jourdan
ler encore à Alexandrie, conteste l’immutabilité de la matière sur un seul point,

sur le fait qu’elle a nécessairement un commencement absolu de son être.
Pour Proclus, ne pas avoir de principe de génération [ἀρχὴ τῆς γενέσεως] si-
gnifie être affranchi des lois du devenir, mais ne signifie pas être sans principe,
car la matière a un principe pour Proclus, l’Un, cause toute première.
Pour Philopon, ne pas avoir de principe de génération signifie comme pour
Proclus, être inengendré. Mais être inengendré signifie en plus dans ses propres
schèmes de pensée, être sans principe d’être donc être sans principe du tout
[ἄναρχος] confortant la base même d’un dualisme strict, d’un dualisme mani-
chéen posant deux principes sans principes. Ce n’est d’ailleurs pas un hasard
si Philopon mentionne explicitement les manichéens dès les premières pages
du Contra Proclum, chapitre 12 qui suit aussitôt le texte présenté ici36.
6 Conclusion
Pour Philopon, il y a nette adéquation entre le fait d’être inengendré et le fait

d’être sans principe. Ce qui n’est évidemment pas le cas pour Proclus qui fait
provenir la matière ici d’une certaine cause, et plus explicitement dans le De
Malorum Subsistentia de dieu même. Elle a à ce titre une origine divine et n’est
donc pas métaphysiquement principe37, ou absolument première. Toutefois,
si on lui concède le titre de principe, c’est à égalité avec la génération et/ou
la forme. Toutes deux sont donc au mieux co-principes présidant au devenir
d’un monde pérenne. Elles ne sont toutefois pas sans principe car elles pro-
cèdent de l’Un, seul principe sans principe, selon un mode antithétique que
Proclus avait exposé dans le commentaire qu’il a donné au Timaeum de Pla-
ton38. Il est une fois encore vraisemblable que Philopon polémique contre des
les premières lignes du traité De opificio mundi qui fait explicitement référence au Contra
Proclum : « J’ai mené une longue étude sur l’origine du monde dans plusieurs textes ; j’y
ai parcouru les labyrinthes variés et inextricables des syllogismes par lesquels les tenants
de la fière philosophie crurent démontrer que ce monde n’a pas été créé ; à tel point qu’ils
risquent d’en déduire que dieu n’est absolument pas son créateur, étant donné qu’il ne l’a
pas produit alors qu’il n’existait pas. Mais j’ai démontré aussi que ce monde a un principe
d’être, en multipliant pour cela les arguments syllogistiques », Jean Philopon, De opificio
mundi, éd. G. Reichardt, 1, 6–14 ; même crainte énoncée, ibid. 6, 9ss.
36 Cf., Jean Philopon, Contra Proclum XII, éd. Rabe, 470, 13–19.
37 Cf. Proclus, De malorum subsistentia 34, 12–18.
38 La coexistence de ces principes opposés, bien que coordonnés, constitue le soubasse-
ment de ce que Proclus appelle la nature antithétique du réel (Cf. In Timaeum commenta-
ria, ed. Diehl, vol. 1, 78, 6–8) découlant elle-même d’une procession antithétique (ibid., 130,
adversaires de tendance manichéenne. Peut-être s’agit-il simplement d’une

faction de l’École d’Ammonius, séduite par un strict dualisme métaphysique
détournant le propos de Proclus pour corroborer leur position philosophique
concernant l’Univers.
Rien dans le système de Proclus, qui a sa propre cohérence interne, ne
pouvait autoriser une telle réappropriation dualiste, d’autant plus que Proclus
lui-même, fidèle en cela au pythagorisme tardo-antique, récuse tout dualisme
strict en enracinant toute la réalité dans l’Un, source toute-première de toute
réalité, comme nous l’avons dit. On peut toutefois admettre que, dans un souci
évident de faire coïncider la physique d’Aristote et la métaphysique de Pla-
ton, Proclus se soit adonné à une refonte de l’hylémorphisme aristotélicien où
forme et matière, et ce à tous les degrés de l’univers, se font l’écho intramon-
dain de l’un et de la dyade indéfinie dans une formule originale : la nature
antithétique du réel. Reste ainsi le fait que pour Proclus seul est sans principe
le principe premier de tout ce qui existe, l’Un. En cela, les positions de Proclus
et de Philopon en viennent à converger sur de nombreux points sans que ce
dernier ne parvienne d’ailleurs à l’admettre ou ne soit en mesure de le recon-
naître. Que ce soit le dualisme médio-platonicien, potentiel destinataire du
propos de Proclus, que ce soit quelque forme de dualisme manichéen, comme
dans le cas de potentiels adversaires de Philopon, dans l’un et l’autre cas, une
certaine similarité des doctrines adverses a pu contribuer à la parenté des so-
lutions bien que pas sur tous les points. Car l’appartenance de Philopon au
christianisme semble lui avoir donné droit à certaines entorses aux axiomes
sur lesquels, pourtant, il entendait fonder, pour une part non négligeable, les
bases de sa propre physique. Ce n’est pas l’un des moindres paradoxes de Phi-
lopon, ancien secrétaire de l’élève de Proclus, Ammonius.
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The Christian Rejection of Ptolemean
Cosmography in (Late) Antiquity
Motives, Modalities, and Backgrounds
Benjamin Gleede
No, pal, whoever regards the earth as a flat disk, because a

thousand-year-old, confused chronicle wants it, is way beyond the
pale. Believing in the existence of an infallible storybook dictated
by God already draws the line. Nothing is infallible, least of all God:
the sad state of a world whose living creatures support themselves
by devouring each other can be called the masterpiece of combined
omnipotence, wisdom and goodness in a comic paper at best.1
∵
This statement put in the mouth of the pagan mathematician Lycophron by
Arno Schmidt in his 1955 novel Kosmas oder vom Berge des Nordens articulates
a very common prejudice against ancient and medieval Christianity: Justin-
ian’s closing of Plato’s Academy serves as proof for the anti-intellectual, anti-
scientific and anti-cultural character of Christianity as a whole, which had to
be overcome by the revival of ancient pagan science and culture in the Renais-
sance and its advancement and political application in the Enlightenment. In
the case of Schmidt, it is very impressive to see to what extent accurate his-
torical detail can be used in order to present a complete misconception of the
historical context as a whole: The setting of his novel is a Thracian country
estate in the Justinian era, where an exiled Byzantine official has his naïve
daughter educated by a decadent and empty-headed bishop, whose main task
is to discredit the merits of pagan science with his student and introduce her
1 Schmidt 1990, 33: “Nee mein Junge, wer die Erde als Scheibe ansieht, weil eine 1000 Jahre alte
verworrene Chronik das verlangt, mit dem gibt es keine Verständigungsmöglichkeit! Schon
daß man an das Vorhandensein eines von Gott diktierten unfehlbaren Schmökers glaubt,
zieht eben den Strich! Unfehlbar ist nichts, und Gott schon gleich gar nicht: die traurige
Beschaffenheit einer Welt, deren lebende Wesen dadurch bestehen, daß sie einander auf-
fressen, ist wohl nur im Witzblatt als das Meisterstück kombinierter Allmacht, - weisheit
und -güte zu bezeichnen.”
The Christian Rejection of Ptolemean Cosmography 185
to more than absurd alternative theories from the Christian side. The textbook
for this Christian science class is none other than the Topographia Christiana
(Christian Topography) of Cosmas Indicopleustes, where you not only get the
droll picture of the universe as a rectangular box hovering in a vacuum, but
also hear funny stories about miraculous water animals shooting poisonous
drops of liquid into the human eye and strange sucking fish which people in
India apparently put on a leash and go hunting with.2
That Cosmas’ work was in fact of at best marginal relevance during the
time, as his author was part of an oppressed minority, a pupil of the Nesto-
rian school of Nisibis, which apparently cultivated ancient Oriental wisdom
tradition beyond the borders of the Empire,3 is ignored by Schmidt. At a closer
look, however, this does not really hit the vein of his criticism. In fact, the
rejection of Ptolemean cosmography seems to have been quite fashionable
among Christian theologians from around 400 onwards and also among Syriac
“popular-scientific” writers of the sixth and seventh century. In what follows,
we are going to examine and contextualize both phenomena and examine the
relevant texts as to their seemingly anti-scientific attitude and its religious and
non-religious motivations.
1 The Rejection of Ptolemean Cosmography in Greek Christian

Theology: The “Antiochene” School
From the fourth century onwards, there were in fact more and more Chris-
tian theologians, who apparently – to use again the words of Schmidt’s
Lycophron – “checked with the Bible in their hands whether the earth still
looked right.”4 They realized that the cosmology presupposed by many pas-
sages of the Old Testament is fundamentally different from the one proposed
by Greek Astronomy and Philosophy, especially Ptolemy. A notorious exam-
ple is Lactantius mocking the spherical world-view because of the Antipodes,
the inhabitants of the lower hemisphere of an allegedly spherical earth, who
would have the heads below their feet, all the things hanging on the ceil-
ing which should be lying on the floor, trees and crop growing downwards
2 Schmidt 1990, 33, refers rather freely to the partly fantastic description of “Indian” animals in
Topographia Christiana XI.
3 On Cosmas and his relationship to the “Antiochene,” Nestorian school, cf. Wolska-Conus
1962, 37–145 and – more comprehensively – Gleede 2021, 134–154. A detailed new discussion
of the “Einleitungsfragen” can now be found in Uthemann 2005.
4 Schmidt 1990, 36.
186 Gleede
and rain and hail falling upwards.5 In the Pre-Nicene period, this statement is
rather isolated: Only Theophilus of Antioch seems to have launched a major
attack on the generally accepted picture,6 whereas his contemporaries like
Anaxagoras either just accepted it without question, or even tried to show its
compatibility with the Bible, like Origen a little later.7
Towards the end of the fourth century, this consensus was fundamentally
disturbed, maybe even inversed. Suddenly we find a host of more or less
prominent8 Christian theologians, e.g., Apollinaris of Laodicea9 and espe-
cially his archenemy Diodore of Tarsus, declaring the spherical world-view
as clearly incompatible with Old Testament statements like Isaiah 40:22 and
Psalm 103:2 (LXX), where God spreads the sky like a vault or tent over an
apparently flat earth serving as its floor. This is all the more remarkable, as
Origen and his followers had already pointed out quite convincingly that none
of those rather poetical statements as such have to be taken at cosmograph-
ical face value, but can easily be read as metaphorical descriptions of the
divine omnipotence, which can stretch the sky just as effortlessly as human
5 Lactantius, Divinae Institutiones III, 24,1, ed. Heck II, 289: aut est quisquam tam ineptus qui
credat esse homines quorum uestigia sint superiora quam capita? aut ibi quae aput nos iacent,
inuersa pendere, fruges et arbores deorsum uersus crescere, pluuias et niues et grandines sur-
sum uersus cadere in terram? et miratur aliquis hortos pensiles inter septem mira narrari, cum
philosophi et agros et urbes et maria et montes pensiles faciant? Cf. Kosmas, Topographia
Christiana IV,23–25, ed. Wolska-Conus (SC), 567–569.
6 Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum II,13. On Theophilus’ relevant afterlife, cf. Voicu 2006.
7 Cf. the surveys in Wolska 1978, 173–177; Krüger 2000; Inglebert 2001, 27–108. That Lactantius’
view did not have much of an impact on the Western tradition, but is mostly due to the
Eastern influence of Theophilus, has to be stressed especially against Ferrari 1996 who tries
to make a “flat-earther” of Augustine (cf. the detailed criticism of Nothaft 2011).
8 Cf. Ps-Athanasius, In Psalmos 103,2 (PG 27, 436BC), and the Catena fragment In Genesim 7,11,
ed. Petit (TEG), 129, in its more extensive presentation in Procopius, Eclogae in Genesim, ed.
Metzler (GCS), 203.
9 Apollinaris of Laodicea, In Psalmos 76,19 (fr. 123a, ed. Mühlenberg (PTS), 48: σφαιροειδῆ γὰρ
οὐρανὸν κατὰ τὸν Ἑλλήνων λόγον οὐκ ἔστιν ἐν τοῖς θείοις λογίοις εὑρεῖν, ἵν’ ὑπὲρ γῆς τε καὶ ὑπὸ γῆς
τὴν τροχοειδῆ περιφορὰν ἐννοήσωμεν. ὕδωρ γὰρ ὑπὸ γῆν, οὐκ οὐρανόν, αἱ θεῖαι γραφαὶ παριστᾶσι
καὶ ὑπὲρ οὐρανὸν δὲ ὕδατα τέλους δίκην ὑποκείμεναι. Ἐκτείνων γάρ φησι τὸν οὐρανὸν ὡσεὶ δέρριν ὁ
στεγάζων ἐν ὕδασι τὰ ὑπερῷα αὐτοῦ. ἀπ’ ἄκρου τε εἰς ἄκρον ἥλιον διαθεῖν, ἀπ’ ἀνατολῆς εἰς δύσιν,
λέγεται καὶ οὐχὶ μέρος ἐλάχιστον αὐτοῦ τῆς ἡμέρας ἐκ δύσεως ἀνατρέχειν· καὶ Ὁ στήσας φησὶν
οὐρανόν (οὐχ ὁ κύκλῳ περιάγων αὐτόν) καὶ διατείνας αὐτὸν ὡς σκηνὴν κατοικεῖν (οὐχ ὡς κύκλον
περιελίττεσθαι)· καὶ Ἀπ’ ἄκρου θεμελίου οὐρανοῦ φησιν Ἡσαΐας ἔρχεσθαι τοὺς ἐκ γῆς πόρρωθεν
ἐρχομένους, ὥστε τεθεμελιωμένου τοῦ οὐρανοῦ καὶ ἑστῶτος ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ κύκλῳ περιθέοντος. ἀλλὰ
ταῦτα μὲν βραχείας ὑπομνήσεως χάριν πρὸς τὸ μὴ ἐκφέρεσθαι ἡμᾶς πρὸς τὰ Ἑλλήνων πλάσματα
τῶν θείων ἀμελοῦντας γραφῶν. Cf. also fr. 173, ed. Mühlenberg (PTS), 70: Οὐ σφαιρηδὸν οὐρανὸς
τῷ παντὶ περίκειται καὶ περιθεῖ ἀλλὰ στεγάζει γῆν τεταμένος περὶ αὐτήν, μονίμῳ καὶ ἑδραίᾳ τῇ
στάσει στεγαζόμενος ἄνωθεν ὕδασιν.
beings put up a tent.10 Until these days, “vault” or “canopy” of heaven are stan-
dard metaphors taken from every-day experience without any cosmographical
implication.
That the aforementioned authors oppose the spherical conceptions appar-
ently on exegetical grounds can thus not have been primarily motivated by
the unambiguous wording of their canonical scriptures, which would have
forced them to call into question scientifically established facts and insights.
They must have had other reasons which probably emerge most clearly in
the author about whose “anti-scientific” cosmographical agenda we know the
most – despite the loss of the largest part of his Oeuvre. Diodore of Tarsus,
teacher of John Chrysostom and Theodore of Mopsuestia and leading theolo-
gian of the so-called Antiochene school,11 apparently launched a broad and
comprehensive attack against pagan cosmology and astronomy. According to
a catalogue of his works preserved in the Suda, he wrote about constellations
and planetary movement, about the sun and its power to heat, against Hip-
parch’s astronomical theories and Aristotle’s fifth element.12 Presumably, all
of this was supposed to defend a cosmographical framework we find docu-
mented not only in the scarce remnants of Diodore’s Genesis- and few pas-
sages from his Psalm-commentary,13 but also in a rather extensive summary
of his treatise On Fate fortunately left to us by Photius. According to those
sources, Diodore conceived of the universe as a two-story building: a flat earth,
hovering over nothing, is overarched by the tent- or vault-shaped first heaven.
The space between them is divided by the second heaven, the firmament, into
two habitats, a lower one for earthly, material creatures and an upper one
for heavenly spiritual ones.14 Unfortunately, the Byzantine counter-patriarch
10 Cf. Theodoretus, In Psalmos 103, 2, PG 80, 1696A: Τὴν τῆς δημιουργίας εὐκολίαν διὰ τούτων
ἐδίδαξεν. Ὡς γὰρ ἀνθρώπῳ ῥᾴδιον δέῤῥιν ἐκτεῖναι καὶ ποιῆσαι σκηνὴν, οὕτως ὁ τῶν ὅλων Θεὸς
τὰ μεγάλα τῶν οὐρανῶν διεπέτασε κήτη, λόγῳ μόνῳ χρησάμενος. On Isaiah 40:22 cf. Euse-
bius, In Isaiam II, 18, ed. Ziegler (GCS), 256: ὥσπερ δὲ γῦρον τὸ τῆς γῆς ὠνόμασε στοιχεῖον
φυσιολογήσας, οὕτω τὸ ὑπὲρ γῆς ἡμισφαίριον ἁψῖδι καμάρας ὡμοίωσε τὸ ἅπλωμα τοῦ οὐρανοῦ
παραβάλλων σκηνῇ διατεταμένῃ.
11 On the personal connection of those three cf. Socrates, Historia Ecclesiastica VI 3,4–6;
Theodoretus, Historia Ecclesiastica V, 42,1–2.
12 Suidae Lexicon, ed. Adler II, 103: Περὶ σφαίρας καὶ τῶν ζ′ ζωνῶν καὶ τῆς ἐναντίας τῶν ἀστέρων
πορείας, Περὶ τῆς ῾Ιππάρχου σφαίρας, Πῶς θερμὸς ὁ ἥλιος […] Κατὰ ᾿Αριστοτέλους περὶ
σώματος οὐρανίου. On the Suda’s source in this passage, cf. Gleede 2009, 7–10. On the
different catalogues of Diodore’s works cf. Abramowski 1960, 498–500.
13 Cf. esp. Diodore of Tarsus, In Genesim fr. 16, 43bis and 52bis, ed. Petit (CCSG), 17; 43; 51,
and In Psalmos 18, 7, ed. Olivier (CCSG), 112. The relevant comments on Psalms 103 and
148 are edited in Gleede 2021, 215–220.
14 Photius, Bibliotheca, Codex 223 220b5–19 (ed. Henry, vol. 4, 42–3): δύο μὲν οὐρανοὺς λέγει
γεγενῆσθαι, ἕνα μὲν τοῦ ὁρωμένου ἀνώτερον, ὃν καὶ συνυφεστάναι τῇ γῇ, θάτερον δὲ τὸν
188 Gleede
treats the cosmographical passages with great contempt, maybe even embar-
rassment. Photius is unwilling to inform us about a single argument advanced
by Diodore in favor of his cosmographical views and just dismisses them all
as unsubstantial.15 He is, however, rather clear and explicit on the general
intention of the work: Diodore does not want dismiss the spherical world-view
primarily because of its being at odds with the testimony of Holy Scripture, but
rather because of its intimate connection to pagan eternalism and fatalism,
i.e. the belief in an eternally rotating, divine heavenly sphere, the influence
of which subdues the entirety of human action to an unavoidable, predeter-
mined fate.16 Diodore seems to have clearly realized that both Greek philoso-
phy and astronomy – far from being nothing but objective science in pursuit
of ascertaining the facts – was heavily laden with religious and metaphysical
presuppositions, first of all the veneration for the sphere as perfect shape and
primary image of perfection as such. In order to attack those presuppositions,
Diodore obviously thought it best to call into question the phenomena, which
served as exemplifications and illustrations of those philosophical theories,
themselves. In doing so, however, he made the Christian belief in divine cre-
ation and resurrection depend on problematical alternative cosmographical
theories, which – as the history of reception up to Photius shows – could not
coherently be defended.
ὁρώμενον· δύο δὲ ὄντων τὸν μὲν ὀροφῆς ἐπέχειν λόγον, τὸν δὲ ὡς μὲν τὴν γῆν ὀροφῆς ὡσαύτως,
ἐδάφους δὲ καὶ βάσεως ὡς τὸν ὑπερέχοντα. Καὶ γῆν δὲ μίαν. Καὶ τὰ μὲν οὐράνια ταῖς κρείττοσιν
ἀπονενεμῆσθαι δυνάμεσι, τοῖς ὁρωμένοις δὲ τὰ ὑπουράνια. Μὴ σφαῖραν δὲ τὸν οὐρανὸν εἶναι,
ἀλλὰ σκηνῆς καὶ καμάρας διασῴζειν σχῆμα. Καὶ ταύτης τῆς ὑπολήψεως γραφικάς, ὡς οἴεται,
προβάλλει μαρτυρίας, οὐ μόνον περὶ τοῦ σχήματος, ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ δύσεως καὶ περὶ ἀνατολῆς
ἡλίου. Αἰτιολογεῖ δὲ καὶ τὴν τῶν ἡμερῶν καὶ νυκτῶν αὐξομείωσιν, καὶ ἄλλα τινὰ τοιαῦτα
πολυπραγμονεῖ, ὡς ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, τὸ ἀναγκαῖον οὐκ ἔχοντα, εἰ καὶ τοῖς ἱεροῖς λογίοις προσφύεται.
The scriptural testimony “on the setting and rising of the sun” must have been Psalm
18:6–7 and Ecclesiastes 1:5–6. That already Diodore conceived of his cosmos as hovering
over nothing according to Job 26:7 can be surmised from his rejection of a subterranean
sea in his commentary on Psalm 23:2, ed. Olivier (CCSG), 140. Neat summaries of “Anti-
ochene” cosmography and its biblical basis are given by Cosmas, Topographia Christiana
IV 4–6, ed. Wolska-Conus (SC), 539–540, and VII 83–86, ed. Wolska-Conus (SC), 147–151.
From the Ptolemean side, the validity of most of those biblical testimonies is questioned
by Philoponus, De opificio III 10.
15 Photius, Bibliotheca, Codex 223 210a41–b4, ed. Henry vol. 4, 13–14: ᾿Εν δὲ τῷ τρίτῳ πειρᾶται
μὲν διά τε τοῦ κα′ κεφαλαίου καὶ τοῦ κβ′, καὶ μὴν καὶ τοῦ γ′ καὶ κ′ καὶ δ′, ἐλέγχειν τοὺς τὸν
οὐρανὸν σφαιρικὸν ὑποτιθεμένους, οὐ μέντοι γε διὰ τῶν ἰσχὺν ἐχόντων οἱ ἔλεγχοι πρόεισι. Τὸ
σφαιρικὸν δὲ οὐ βούλεται συγχωρεῖν τῷ οὐρανῷ διότι νομίζει τὴν εἱμαρμένην ἐκ τῆς τοιαύτης
εἰσάγεσθαι θέσεως. Καίτοι οὐδεμία τοῦτο ἀπόδειξις ἐκβιάζεται.
16 Cf. the extensive analysis of Amand 1945, 469–479.
Not surprisingly, already the first generation of Diodore’s pupils seems to

have attached much less theological importance to this kind of cosmograph-
ical investments, with only one exception. Severian of Gabala, originally a
protégé of John Chrysostom’s, bases his Genesis-homilies held in 401 mainly on
Diodore’s commentaries, reproduces their overall conception of the universe
and stresses its fundamental theological significance.17 Severian even calls the
φυσιολογία, “doctrine about nature,” the most important foundation (κρηπίς)
of the Christian faith after theology, as only accurate knowledge about the
visible world presents the latter as accurate illustration of the invisible world
in accord with the Christian doctrine.18 That this is highly exaggerated and
very far-fetched becomes clear from the examples, he adduces from the New
Testament in order to prove that already Jesus and the Apostles were, next
to theologians, also physiologists. However, his examples, relatively arbitrary
illustrations or metaphors taken from the realm of nature, barely contribute
anything to confirming his thesis.19 Hence, neither Chrysostom nor Theodore
of Mopsuestia attached as much importance to cosmography as Diodore and
Severian, although both clearly uphold, occasionally defend and even develop
the cosmographical conception of their master. From the scattered remarks
in Chrysostom’s Homilies, especially on Hebrews,20 we learn that the arche-
type of the Exodus-tabernacle was probably adduced by Diodore already in
order to put his cosmography into theological perspective: If the upper and
lower habitat correspond to the outer and inner sanctum of the tabernacle
respectively, the curtain separating them has to correspond to the firmament
and Jesus’ crossing the curtain in order to pave the way into the inner sanc-
tum for us (Hebrews 6:19f; 9:24) can be cosmologically interpreted: Jesus’
ascension, his penetration of the firmament in bodily shape, thus becomes
17 Severian is the main authority Cosmas will have to refer to (Topographia Christiana X
20–38, ed. Wolska-Conus (SC), 259–277, as Diodore and Theodore will already be com-
promised by the Three chapters-controversy in his time.
18 Severian of Gabala, Homiliae in Creationem V 1, PG 56, 471: Ἤκουσά τινων ἐγκαλούντων,
ὅτι τίς χρεία ἦν εἰπεῖν περὶ πυρὸς καὶ ὕδατος, ὅτι τρίζει τὸ πῦρ ὕδατος ἐκβαλλομένου; Ἡμεῖς,
φασί, φυσιολογίαν οὐ θέλομεν μανθάνειν, ἀλλὰ θεολογίαν. Δεῖ δὲ εἰδέναι, ὅτι ταῦτα τὰ ῥήματα
ἀργῶν ἐστι καὶ ῥᾳθύμων. Μετὰ γὰρ τὴν θεολογίαν ἡ φυσιολογία κρηπῖδα παρέχει τῇ εὐσεβείᾳ.
Εἰ δὲ ἐκβάλλουσι φυσιολογίαν, ἐγκαλείσθωσαν τοῖς προφήταις, μεμφέσθωσαν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις.
Ὁ ἀπόστολος φυσιολογεῖ· Οὐ πᾶσα σὰρξ ἡ αὐτὴ σάρξ…
19 Ibid. 471–472; Severian of Gabala adduces 1 Corinthians 14:7–11; Job 4:10–1; Isaiah 31:4;
Mark 4:30–31.26–28; Matthew 16:2 – all simple illustrations of religious ideas from the
realm of nature without any real “physiological” bearing.
20 Cf. e.g., John Chrysostom, Homiliae in Hebraeos 14, 1, PG 63, 111: Ποῦ τοίνυν εἰσὶν οἱ λέγοντες
κινεῖσθαι τὸν οὐρανόν; ποῦ εἰσιν οἱ σφαιροειδῆ αὐτὸν εἶναι ἀποφαινόμενοι; ἀμφότερα γὰρ ταῦτα
ἀνῄρηται ἐνταῦθα.
190 Gleede
of soteriological relevance in that it literally creates an entrance for bodily

beings into the immaterial habitat between firmament and first heaven.21 The
crucial difference between Christians and pagan philosophers, however, has in
Chrysostom’s view quite little to do with their respective views on the shape
of the universe. It is rather the power of the human faculties of knowledge
as such, which the Patriarch of Constantinople evaluates highly skeptically.
Accordingly, he cannot assign a purifying effect to the pursuit of knowledge
analogous to the one it was supposed to have both in Platonic and Platonizing
Christian traditions.22 The basic Platonic tenet that the soul assimilates itself
to its objects in getting to know them and thus immortalizes itself by dealing
with immortal and unchangeable objects23 – a tenet which massively pro-
moted the study of mathematics and astronomy – was in a Christian context
21 Cf. John Chrysostom, In diem natalem 4, PG 49, 355: Καὶ ποιεῖται τὸν ναὸν πρὸς τὴν εἰκόνα
τοῦ κόσμου παντὸς, τοῦ τε αἰσθητοῦ καὶ νοητοῦ. Καθάπερ γάρ ἐστι γῆ καὶ οὐρανὸς, καὶ μέσον
διάφραγμα τὸ στερέωμα τοῦτο· οὕτω κἀκεῖνον ἐκέλευσε γενέσθαι. Καὶ εἰς δύο διατεμὼν τὸν ναὸν
τοῦτον, καὶ καταπέτασμα ἀφεὶς μέσον, τὸ μὲν ἔξω τοῦ καταπετάσματος πᾶσι συνεχώρησεν εἶναι
βατὸν, τὸ δὲ ἔνδον ἄβατον καὶ ἀθέατον πᾶσι, πλὴν τοῦ ἀρχιερέως μόνου. Καὶ ὅτι οὐχ ἡμέτερος
ταῦτα στοχασμὸς, ἀλλ’ ἐν τύπῳ τοῦ κόσμου παντὸς ὁ ναὸς κατεσκεύαστο, ἄκουσον τί φησιν
ὁ Παῦλος, περὶ τοῦ Χριστοῦ λέγων εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀναβάντος· Οὐ γὰρ εἰς χειροποίητα ἅγια
εἰσῆλθεν ὁ Χριστὸς, ἀντίτυπα τῶν ἀληθινῶν· δεικνὺς ὅτι τὰ ἐνταῦθα ἀντίτυπα ἦν τῶν ἀληθινῶν.
Ὅτι δὲ καὶ τὸ καταπέτασμα διεῖργε τὰ Ἅγια τῶν ἁγίων ἀπὸ τῶν ἁγίων τῶν ἔξω, καθάπερ οὗτος
ὁ οὐρανὸς τὰ ὑπὲρ αὐτὸν ἀποτειχίζει τούτων τῶν καθ’ ἡμᾶς ἁπάντων, ἄκουσον πῶς καὶ τοῦτο
ᾐνίξατο, τὸν οὐρανὸν καταπέτασμα καλέσας. Περὶ γὰρ τῆς ἐλπίδος λέγων, ὅτι ὡς ἄγκυραν
αὐτὴν ἔχομεν τῆς ψυχῆς ἀσφαλῆ τε καὶ βεβαίαν, ἐπήγαγε· Καὶ εἰσερχομένην εἰς τὸ ἐσώτερον
τοῦ καταπετάσματος, ὅπου πρόδρομος ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν εἰσῆλθεν Ἰησοῦς, ὑπὲρ τὸν οὐρανὸν ἄνω.
Ὁρᾷς πῶς καταπέτασμα τὸν οὐρανὸν ἐκάλεσεν.
22 Cf. John Chrysostom, De incomprehensibili Dei natura 2, 473–489, ed. Malingrey (SC),
154–155, or Homiliae in Romanos 28, 2, PG 60, 652: Κἂν περὶ οὐρανοῦ θέλῃς μαθεῖν, πότερον
μένει τοιοῦτος ἢ μεταβάλλεται, σαφῶς ἀποκρινεῖταί σοι καὶ ἐρεῖ, ὅτι Οἱ οὐρανοὶ ὡς ἱμάτιον
παλαιωθήσονται, καὶ ὡσεὶ περιβόλαιον ἑλίξεις αὐτοὺς, ὁ Θεὸς, καὶ ἀλλαγήσονται. Καὶ περὶ τοῦ
σχήματος ἂν θέλῃς ἀκοῦσαι, ἀκούσῃ πάλιν· ῾Ο ἐκτείνων τὸν οὐρανὸν ὡσεὶ δέῤῥιν. Κἂν περὶ τῶν
νώτων αὐτοῦ βουληθῇ τις πλέον εἰδέναι, ἐρεῖ σοι πάλιν· ῾Ο στεγάζων ἐν ὕδασι τὰ ὑπερῷα αὐτοῦ.
Καὶ οὐδὲ ἐνταῦθα ἵσταται, ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ τοῦ πλάτους καὶ τοῦ ὕψους σοι διαλέγεται, δεικνὺς
ταῦτα ἰσόμετρα ὄντα· Καθ’ ὅσον γὰρ, φησὶν, ἀπέχουσιν ἀνατολαὶ ἀπὸ δυσμῶν, ἐμάκρυνεν
ἀφ’ ἡμῶν τὰς ἀνομίας ἡμῶν. Κατὰ τὸ ὕψος τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς ἐκραταίωσε Κύριος τὸ
ἔλεος αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τοὺς φοβουμένους αὐτόν. Κἂν τῆς γῆς τὰ θεμέλια περιεργάσῃ, οὐδὲ ταῦτά σε
ἀποκρύψεται, ἀλλ’ ἀκούσῃ ψάλλοντος αὐτοῦ καὶ λέγοντος, ῞Οτι ἐπὶ θαλασσῶν ἐθεμελίωσεν
αὐτήν. Κἂν περὶ τῶν σεισμῶν ἐπιθυμήσῃς μαθεῖν πόθεν γίνονται, ἀπαλλάξει σε πάσης ἀπορίας,
οὕτω λέγων· ῾Ο ἐπιβλέπων ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν, καὶ ποιῶν αὐτὴν τρέμειν. Διὰ τί οὕτω μέγας ὁ οὐρανός;
Καὶ τοῦτο ἐρεῖ, ὅτι Οἱ οὐρανοὶ διηγοῦνται δόξαν Θεοῦ. Διὰ τί νὺξ καὶ ἡμέρα ἐγένετο; Οὐχ ἵνα
φαίνωσι καὶ ἀναπαύωσι μόνον, ἀλλ’ ἵνα καὶ παιδεύωσιν· Οὐ γάρ εἰσι λαλιαὶ οὐδὲ λόγοι, ὧν
οὐχὶ ἀκούονται αἱ φωναὶ αὐτῶν. Πῶς ἡ θάλασσα περίκειται τῇ γῇ; ῎Αβυσσος ὡς ἱμάτιον τὸ
περιβόλαιον αὐτῆς· οὕτω γὰρ τὸ ῾Εβραϊκὸν ἔχει.
23 Cf. Plato, Republic VII 521c–31c.
at least questionable. The tendency to replace this theoretical ascent with a

purely ethical one which has the soul purified exclusively by practical virtue
and the Holy Spirit, is manifest in Chrysostom, just as his indifference, if not
contempt for theoretical science as a whole – an indifference he shares with
the majority of his fellow theologians, to a certain extent also with Theodore
of Mopsuestia.
As far as we can see from the preserved catalogues of his writings, this most
important and inventive theologian of the so-called “Antiochene” school did
not engage in explicit conflict with pagan science or philosophy at all, and an
examination of the remnants of his oeuvre confirms this impression. The only
explicit testimony we have left on Theodore’s cosmography is a fragment from
the introduction to his Genesis-commentary preserved in Syriac translation24
and a doxographical report in Philoponus according to which he conceived
of the universe as a cylinder, i.e. a flat disk covered by the vault of heaven.25
However, if one carefully evaluates the usage made of his Genesis commentary
by later, especially Eastern Syriac authors, we gain a more differentiated pic-
ture. A comparison between Procopius of Caesarea’s Catena-Commentary on
Genesis,26 Isho’dad of Merv27 and Theodore bar Konai28 makes it possible to
assign a rather extensive passage on the creation of the firmament to Theodore
which contains virtually all the key concepts to be developed later in Cosmas’
Christian topography. According to this text, the entirety of creation encom-
passed by the first heaven and earth had to be divided into two realms by the
intermediate-ceiling of the firmament for three reasons:
Firstly, the removal of the upper waters from the earth was necessary to
uncover the dry land. Secondly, cooled by the upper waters, the firmament was
to serve as a seat for the hot, fiery stars. Thirdly, and most importantly: The
firmament was to separate the realm of change, the habitat of the material
24 Theodore of Mopsuestia, In Genesim prologue, ed. Sachau, 1–9. For a German translation
and further contextualization of the most relevant passage cf. Geus 2016.
25 Philoponus, De opificio III 10, ed. Reichardt, 132: ἥμισυ δὲ σφαίρας ὑπάρχει τὸ ὑπὲρ γῆν· οὔτε
δὲ κυλίνδρου, ὡς τοῖς Θεοδώρου δοκεῖ, οὔτε ᾠοειδοῦς ἐστιν ἥμισυ, οὔτε ἄλλου τινὸς σχήματος·
διχοτομουμένων γὰρ τούτων κατὰ μῆκος τὰ ἑκάστου διχοτομήματα περατοῦσιν εὐθεῖαι γραμμαὶ
καὶ τὸ μῆκος ἔχουσι τοῦ πλάτους μεῖζον. μέση δὲ πάντων ἡ γῆ δέδεικται τὸ κέντρον ἐπέχουσα
τοῦ παντὸς καὶ διὰ τοῦτο πρὸς οὐδὲν ἀποκλίνουσα, ἀλλ’ ἴσον τοῦ τε ἀνατολικοῦ σημείου καὶ τοῦ
δυτικοῦ, βορείου τε καὶ νοτίου διέστηκεν.
26 Procopius of Caesarea, Eclogae in Genesim 1,6, ed. Metzler (GCS), 30–32. One paragraph of
this text almost verbally corresponds to a quotation from a “passage on the firmament” by
Theodore quoted in Isaac of Nineveh’s spiritual homilies (Discorsi Spirituali, ed. Bettiolo,
55). For an extensive discussion cf. Gleede 2021, 83–94.
27 Isho’dad of Merv, In Genesim 1,6, eds. Vosté and van den Eynde (CSCO), 25–6/156,28.
28 Theodore bar Konai, Liber Scholiorum I, ed. Scher (CSCO), 31–32.
192 Gleede
creation subject to mutual affection and transformation, from the realm of

immutability, the habitat of God and those beings he liberated from change by
removing them from the realm of mutual affection.
Thus, the firmament becomes the cosmological presupposition for the
entire salvation-history, as Theodore understands it. His starting point is a
strict dichotomy between immutable creator and mutable creation: Unlike
Diodore,29 he also conceives of the immaterial creation, angels and souls, as
changeable qua created and locates them in the lower realm. For Theodore,
none of those spirits has any kind of original knowledge, they all have to learn
and develop themselves, just as already the angels learned from the words spo-
ken by the creator in Genesis 1. Learning, appropriating and realizing things
external to themselves, presupposes, however, experience and especially com-
parison.30 Therefore, it was impossible to create a finite spirit in original and
eternal bliss, as he never could have realized what bliss is and properly appro-
priated it without experiencing its opposite, which means: The finite spirit
needed a place for experiencing affection, change, lapse and guilt. However,
God also foresaw that the human spirit would be unable to turn his downfall
into a productive learning experience without a perfect teacher, a paradig-
matic human spirit with extraordinary divine support, a high priest who would
lead mankind through the curtain of the firmament into the inner sanctum –
the conception of Christ taken from the letter to the Hebrews we already
encountered in Diodore and Chrysostom.31
Accordingly, the world had to be conceived not as an ordinary school,
but as a holy school run by a high priest, a temple, which had to meet the
29 Cf. Diodore of Tarsus, In Genesim fr. 16, ed. Petit (CCSG), 17.
30 The idea is neatly summarized by Cosmas, Topographia Christiana VI 29, ed. Wolska-
Conus (SC), 45–46: ῞Απας οὖν ὁ σκοπὸς τῆς οἰκονομίας τοῦ Θεοῦ οὗτός ἐστι· δεῖ γὰρ ὡς ἐν
ἀνακεφαλαιώσει συντομώτερον αὐτὸν ἐξειπεῖν· ἠβουλήθη ἐξ ἀγαθότητος ἑτέροις μεταδοῦναι
τοῦ εἶναι, δυνάμεώς τε καὶ λόγου καὶ γνώσεως· ἐπειδὴ δὲ οἱ ἐκ μετοχῆς τούτων τυγχάνοντες
ἀδυνάτως ἔχουσιν ὑφ’ ἓν γνῶναι καὶ ἔχειν πάντα—ἐπείπερ τοῦτο μόνον ἴδιον Θεοῦ, τὸ δίχα
μαθήσεως καὶ πείρας ταῦτα πάντα εἰδέναι, αὐτόχρημα ὢν καὶ δύναμις καὶ λόγος καὶ γνῶσις,
γενητῶν δὲ τὸ ἐκ τοῦ πεποιηκότος μετέχειν τούτων ἁπάντων—, πεποίηκεν ἅμα τὰς δύο ταύτας
καταστάσεις, τὴν πρώτην μὲν θνητὴν καὶ τρεπτὴν πείρας ἕνεκα καὶ παιδεύσεως τῶν λογικῶν,
ἵνα τῇ ποικιλίᾳ τοῦ παντὸς καὶ τῇ παραθέσει τῶν ἐναντίων γυμναζόμενοι πειραθῶμεν ἡδέων καὶ
λυπηρῶν, τὴν δευτέραν δὲ ἀθάνατον καὶ ἄτρεπτον εἰς ἀπόλαυσιν τῆς χάριτος αὐτοῦ, πρὸς τὸ
διακριτικῇ ἕξει, λόγῳ καὶ πείρᾳ καὶ γνώσει, τῶν καλῶν παραθέσει, τῶν πρώτων τὴν μετουσίαν
δέξασθαι ἡμᾶς. For Theodore himself cf. In Romanos 11:15, ed. Staab 1933, 156–157 and
Wolska-Conus 1962, 54–61, who ignores, however, the Neoplatonic background of this
idea (cf. Plotinus, Enneades IV 8 [6],7,12–6). On the systematic connections to Theodore’s
angelology as developed e.g. in the introduction to the Genesis-commentary cf. Gleede
2022.
31 Cf. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Homiliae catecheticae XII 3, ed. Tonneau and Devreesse, 326;
Fragmenta in epistolam ad Hebraeos 7,3 et 9,1–2, ed. Staab, 207; 209, and n. 21 above.
requirements laid down for such an establishment in the description of the

Exodus-tabernacle. First of all, it needed two separate chambers, one where
the pupils could start their struggle for perfection and one where they could
finally enjoy it, and a separating device between them which could be over-
come only by the perfect teacher and its followers. Further details are beyond
the basic pedagogical conception and simply taken over from the broader tra-
dition of allegorizing the tabernacle cosmologically, which goes back at least
to Josephus and Philo.32 As the temple apparently needed seven lights to be
lit and extinguished according to the liturgical cycle of the year on the seven-
armed candelabra, the universe had to be equipped with seven planets signal-
ing the structure of weeks and years. The rectangular area to offer the fruit of
earth to God, the table of show breads, is realized on the cosmic level as the
inhabited earth itself, which offers field crop to its creator during the twelve
months of the year corresponding to the twelve breads on the showbread-
table. This table has to be placed north of the candelabra, as also the light of
the planets, specifically the sun, illuminates the earth from the south.33
With all of this, Theodore obviously aims at developing a cosmography with
a consequently teleological structure: Every element of creation has to reflect
God’s plan for mankind’s salvation in some way or another.34 His biblical inspi-
ration for such a procedure could have been Matthew 25:43, where the Son of
Man invites the elect ones into the kingdom which was prepared for them
in the very foundation of the cosmos. This act of preparation is identified by
Severian and Cosmas with the creation of the firmament, which was necessary
for establishing a proper place for the existence of eternally unchangeable, but
nevertheless locally defined bodies.35
Unlike in Cosmas, however, Theodore’s primary target in all this is not
pagan science, but Origenism, more exactly the incompatibility between some
Platonic premises uncritically accepted by Origen and his followers with
basic tenets of Christian protology and eschatology. In Theodore’s penetrat-
ing analysis, the crucial difference between Christian and pagan conception of
32 Cf. Philo, De vita Mosis II 74–108; Josephus, Antiquitates III 180–87 and Schäfer 1974,
122–133. Among the Christian exegetes, only Clement of Alexandria seems to reproduce
substantial elements of the cosmological exegesis, whereas Origen, Methodius, Gregory
of Nyssa or Cyril of Alexandria present a consequently ecclesiological or Christological
interpretation (cf. Holder 1993); Conway-Jones 2014, 35–46).
33 Cf. Coll. Coisl. 20–21, ed. Petit (TEG), 37–39. The crucial point of equating the curtain and
the firmament also occurs in some Jewish midrashim (cf. Laderman 2013, 261–267).
34 Cf. Procopius, Eclogae in Genesim 1,6, ed. Metzler (GCS), 31–2.
35 The aforesaid verse is probably the most quoted one in the entire Topography (cf. SC 197,
448). The crucial passage from Severian (PG 56, 467), is quoted Topographia Christiana X
37, ed. Wolska-Conus (SC), 277.
194 Gleede
the universe is not the spherical or non-spherical shape of the latter, but the
way of conceiving spiritual being and the beyond. Maintaining the creation
distinct from its creator means for him a strict reservation of transcendence
and essential immutability for God alone. As a consequence, even spiritual
beings cannot transcend the limits of space and time, first heaven and earth,
which were once and for all fixed at the first day of creation, and they cannot
per se be free from mutual affection and change. Thus, even immortal beings
develop within creational limitations, they need teaching, time and space in
order to achieve perfection.36 If the creator established a space-time at the
first day of creation and put all of his creatures therein, he will not abandon it
in the eschaton, but rather needs a proper place for them to enjoy their perfec-
tion which has to be localizable within this space-time.
Theoretically, Christian eschatology thus also for Theodore has to be cosmo-
graphically concrete, yet he apparently did not attach the same importance
to the exact way of this concretization as Cosmas and possibly Diodore. In
his Catechetical Homilies, he has a lot to say about Christ’s heavenly priest-
hood and the Christian’s citizenship in heaven without ever going into any
cosmographical detail.37 This is best to be explained, if Theodore sharply dis-
tinguished between elementary tenets of the Christian faith and theological
theories reflecting upon their possible presuppositions and consequences. If
he presented to his catechumens exclusively the former ones and reserved
the exploration of their presuppositions and consequences for his scientific
commentaries, he probably rejected both Severian’s insistence on “natural
teaching” as foundation of the Christian faith38 and Cosmas’ anathema against
any attempt of combining Ptolemean world-view and biblical teaching.39 His
concern seems to be exclusively with the theologians and their adoption of
36 Theodore of Mopsuestia, In Genesim, ed. Sachau 1869, 3–6/4–9. Cf. Theodore apud Philo-
ponum, De opificio I 16 (ed. Reichardt, 35–6): θαυμαστὸν μὲν οὖν ἔμοιγε φαίνεται τό τινας
οἴεσθαι πρὸ οὐρανοῦ τε καὶ γῆς τὰς ἀοράτους καὶ λογικὰς οὐσίας ὑπὸ θεοῦ γεγονέναι, ἃς ἔνδον
τε τούτων εἶναι καὶ περιγεγράφθαι ὑπ’ αὐτῶν διὰ πάσης παιδευόμεθα τῆς θείας γραφῆς. ποῖος
γὰρ δὴ παραδέξεται λόγος τὰ ἐντὸς πρὸ τῶν ἐκτὸς ὑπάρχειν καὶ πρὸ τῶν περιεχόντων εἶναι τὰ
περιεχόμενα; ἀνάγκη δὴ ἄρα κἀκεῖνο ζητεῖν ὅπου τότε ἦσαν αἱ νῦν τῷδε περιγεγραμμέναι τῷ
τόπῳ. For the Platonic counterarguments against conceiving of the body as “container” of
the soul cf. Plotinus, Enneades IV 3 (27), 20–4.
37 The extensive discussions about the Christians’ acquisition of heavenly citizenship in
baptism (Theodore of Mopsuestia Homiliae Catecheticae XII,12–21) or on the heavenly
priesthood of Christ (Homiliae Catecheticae XV,15–24) do not show the slightest sign of
cosmographical concretization, as they stand now.
38 Cf. n. 18 above.
39 Cf. Topographia Christiana prologue 4, ed. Wolska-Conus (SC), 265: Τινὲς χριστιανίζειν
νομιζόμενοι καὶ τὴν θείαν Γραφὴν μηδὲν λογιζόμενοι, ἀλλὰ περιφρονοῦντες καὶ ὑπερφρονοῦντες
metaphysical principles which in their consequence turn out to be irreconcil-

able with some of their own basic beliefs.
At any rate, in doing so, he seems to have had quite a lot of success, at least, if
we consider what we have preserved from the Genesis-exegesis in the fifth and
sixth century. Despite the fact, that his orthodoxy was so much debated during
this time with the well-known negative result of Justinian’s council, Procopius
states in his “readers digest” of all the Genesis commentaries available to him
that most exegetes regard the earth as flat because of Isaiah 40:22.40 The most
prominent reaction to this is John Philoponus’ De opificio mundi, who desper-
ately wants to get his Monophysite church in line with the Origenist tradition
of scientific Genesis-exegesis as represented by Basil and Gregory of Nyssa
and protect it against the naïve biblicistic world-view spread with Theodorian
inspiration by influential writers like Jacob of Sarug.41
2 The Rejection of Ptolemean Cosmography in Vernacular “Popular

Science”: The Orientalist Revival
Interestingly, most of the authors we dealt with by now came from an Anti-
ochene or at least Syriac background. That the ancient oriental picture of
the world also presupposed in the Old Testament survived there in some
κατὰ τοὺς ἔξωθεν φιλοσόφους, σφαιρικὸν εἶναι τὸ σχῆμα τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ὑπολαμβάνουσιν ἐκ τῶν
ἡλιακῶν καὶ σεληνιακῶν ἐκλείψεων πλανώμενοι. Πᾶσαν τοίνυν τῆς βίβλου τὴν ὑπόθεσιν εἰς
πέντε μέρη ἁρμοδίως διειλόμην. Πρῶτον πάντων πρὸς τοὺς εἰρημένους καὶ πλανωμένους ὁ
πρῶτος λόγος ἐγένετο, ὡς οὐ δυνατὸν τὸν χριστιανίζειν ἐθέλοντα ἀπάγεσθαι τῇ πιθανῇ τῶν
ἔξωθεν πλάνῃ, ἕτερα τῆς θείας Γραφῆς ὑποτιθεμένης· καὶ γὰρ ἐάν τις θελήσειε βασανίσαι
τὰς ἑλληνικὰς ὑποθέσεις, πλάσματα πάντως εὑρήσει καὶ μυθώδη σοφίσματα καὶ ἀδύνατα
παντελῶς.
40 Procopius, Eclogae in Genesim 1,1, ed. Metzler (GCS), 12–13: Θαυμαστὸν δέ, πῶς πρῶτον
«ἐποίησε τὸν οὐρανόν», εἶτα «τὴν γῆν», πρῶτον τὸν ὄροφον, εἶτα τὸ ἔδαφος. ἀλλ’ οὐ παράδοξον·
οὐ γὰρ ἀνάγκῃ φύσεως ὑπόκειται οὐδὲ ἀκολουθίᾳ τέχνης δουλεύει. τὸν δὲ τοσοῦτον οὐρανὸν τὸν
μέγαν τε καὶ φαιδρὸν καὶ διαρκῆ καὶ ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον ἑστηκότα χρόνον ὁ θεὸς ὡς ἂν εἰ παίζων τις
καλύβην ποιήσειεν, οὕτω μετ’ εὐκολίας ἐποίησε· καὶ τοῦτο ἐμφαίνων Ἡσαΐας ἔλεγεν· ὁ στήσας
τὸν οὐρανὸν ὡσεὶ καμάραν καὶ διατείνας αὐτὸν ὡς σκηνὴν ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς. ἐκ τούτου δὲ τοῦ ῥητοῦ
τινες, μᾶλλον δὲ οἱ πλείους, ἡμισφαίριον εἶναι τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀπεφήναντο ἄλλων αὐτὸν σφαῖραν
ὑποθεμένων. The last sentence is a comment of Procopius’ own which connects two quo-
tations from Chrysostom.
41 Cf. Gleede 2017. Although Jacob’s Hexaemeron homilies never reject the spherical shape
of earth and universe explicitly, they clearly present the universe as a two-story building
on “Antiochene” line (cf. e.g., II 231–250 [ed. Muraoka, 66]; III 239–243 [ed. Muraoka, 91])
and describe the sun as circulating above the earth and hiding (at night) in the north (IV
45–58 [ed. Muraoka, 100–1).
196 Gleede
form can be surmised from scattered remarks in the earliest Syriac literature,
especially Ephrem.42 The first important witness for an indigenous cosmo-
graphical school-tradition in this region is, however, Eznik of Kolb’s On God,
the earliest original work of the Armenian language from the middle of the
fifth century. Just as Diodore, he considers the conception of a spherical,
rotating heaven to be the basis for the entire pagan superstition concerning
the life-determining power of the stars.43 As the planets all move at differ-
ent speeds, there cannot be constantly rotating heavenly spheres,44 and the
earth cannot hover at some random place within the universe, as this con-
tradicts the natural movement of the elements.45 The exchange between day
and night thus cannot be explained by the sun surrounding the lower half
of the earth at night, but by a theory already ridiculed by Aristotle,46 a giant
northern mountain ridge covering the sun during its nightly journey above
the flat earth.47 Although some aspects of this cosmographical theory actually
can be explained by the influence of Diodore’s or Theodore’s commentaries,
especially when Eznik rejects the widespread ancient-oriental conception of
a subterranean sea (cf. Psalm 23:2; 135:6 LXX) and wants the earth to hang
over nothing (Job 26:7),48 many elements of it seem entirely foreign also to
the Christian Greek tradition. The best example for this is his explanation of
the phases of the moon by some kind of sheath successively covering and
uncovering it,49 which sounds like a quite primitive way of rejecting Greek
heliophotism and its cosmographical presuppositions.
A few decades later, probably in the first half of the sixth century, we
find two pseudonymous Syriac treatises questioning Greek cosmography
42 Cf. e.g., Ephrem, De paradiso II 6, ed. Beck (CSCO), 8. On the relevant material in Jewish
and Christian parabiblical texts, cf. Wright 2000, 117–38. A major flaw of Wright’s syn-
thesis is, however, his straightforward equation of the seven-heavens-scheme with an
adaption of the Ptolemean system (cf. Collins 1996, 21–54). On the cosmographical issues
in slightly later Rabbinic Judaism cf. Leicht 2013.
43 Cf. especially Eznik of Kolb, De deo 287–293, ed. Mariès and Mercier (PO 28), 496–498; tr.
Blanchard, 155–157).
44 Ibid. 268f, ed. Mariès and Mercier (PO 28), 491; tr. Blanchard, 147–148.
45 Ibid. 272–78, ed. Mariès and Mercier (PO 28), 492–494; tr. Blanchard, 149–151.
46 Cf. Aristotle, Meteorology II 1 354a27–32, This tradition is comprehensively analyzed by
Kiessling 2014.
47 Eznik of Kolb, De deo 270f, ed. Mariès and Mercier (PO 28), 491–492; tr. Blanchard, 149.
48 Eznik of Kolb, De deo 279–85, ed. Mariès and Mercier (PO 28), 494–496; tr. Blanchard,
152–154. Initially, the Armenian church was heavily influenced by “Antiochene” theolo-
gians, especially Theodore. After the council of Ephesus (431), however, there was a
thorough Cyrillian reorientation which diminished this influence considerably (cf. Van
Rompay 1984, 168–172). On the Antiochenes’ use of Job 26:7, cf. n. 14 above.
49 Eznik of Kolb, De deo 314, ed. Mariès and Mercier (PO 28), 503; tr. Blanchard, 165.
on similar lines, yet with quite different results and perspectives. Both Ps-
Dionysius and Ps-Berossos (Burzoe?) or Ps-Rufinus polemicize against Greek
science, yet not primarily as being pagan,50 but as recent and insufficient.51
Their actual cosmology, however, displays some crucial differences to the one
of the “Antiochene” theologians described above. First of all, they seem to
have absolutely no problem with a rotation of the (hemispherical) firmament
in order to account mostly for the rotation of the Zodiac,52 whereas for the
“Antiochenes” every movement of heaven or earth was inacceptable.53 Sec-
ondly, the subterranean waters rejected by the “Antiochenes” in the light of
Job 26:7 are absolutely crucial for the theory of seasons developed in the two
anonymous treatises, as those waters chill the earth from below in summer
and heat it up again in winter, when they are warmed up by the subterranean
fire (Ps-Dionysius)54 or the subterranean voyage of the sun (Ps-Berossos).55
The underlying conception of the cosmos is most amply described by Ps-
Dionysius: a flat earth is covered by a hemispherical, rotating firmament to
which the stars are attached, while sun and moon move freely in it driven by
the wind. It is resting upon different elementary layers, a layer of water, fire,
wind and darkness, and is surrounded by the Okeanos, which is shielded off (at
the Northern side) by the uninhabitable Northern mountains and on his part
shields off paradise beyond against any kind of intrusion from this world.56
50 Cf. esp. Ps-Dionysius, Computus 1, ed. Kugener, 172, who criticizes a tendency towards
dualism. In general, the edition and translation of Kugener 1907 is preferable to the later
one by Furlani 1917. Kugener establishes the early sixth-century date mostly based on his
early dating of the only surviving manuscript (Kugener 1907, 140).
51 Cf. Ps-Berossos, Doctrina, ed. Levi della Vida, 32, refers especially to Hermetic figures,
i.e. ancient Greek sages with strong connections to the East. The date of the treatise is
established ibid., 41–2 mostly on the grounds of a probable dependence of Ps-Dionysius
on Ps-Berossos, a view corroborated by Gleede 2021, 185–189. An Arabic version of the
material circulating under the names Rufinus and Stomathalassa, disciple of Apollonius
of Tyana, was also edited by Levi della Vida (1951, esp. 484–5; 536–40).
52 Ps-Dionysius, Computus 4, ed. Kugener, 181–182; Ps-Berossos, Doctrina, ed. Levi della Vida,
27–28.
53 Theodore’s pun about the delirious philosophers who have to be drunk or dreaming, i.e.
ethically very unstable, in order to get the impression of a rotating heaven and earth
(In Genesim, ed. Sachau, 13) is keenly repeated by Cosmas, Topographia Christiana II
100, ed. Wolska-Conus (SC), 421: ἀεὶ κατὰ τὴν αὐτῶν ὑποθήκην πλανώμενοι ἀστάτῳ φορᾷ
περιφέρονται σὺν τῇ ἑαυτῶν σφαίρᾳ, παῦλαν τούτων μὴ ἐλπίζοντες); V 248, ed. Wolska-Conus
(SC 159), 363: πλανώντων καὶ πλανωμένων, μετὰ τῆς ἑαυτῶν σφαίρας ἅμα κυλιόμενοι ταῖς
φρεσίν).
54 Ps-Dionysius, Computus 3, ed. Kugener, 177–179.
55 Ps-Berossos, Doctrina, ed. Levi della Vida, 26.
56 Ps-Dionysius, Computus 3, ed. Kugener, 177–181.
198 Gleede
Especially archaic, however, seems Ps-Berossos’ description of the subter-

ranean passage of the sun during nighttime, “where it travels like a ship on
the surface of the subterranean sea.”57 Although both treatises mention the
Northern mountains, none of them seems to assign to them the function of
hiding the sun during nighttime, another clear deviation from the “Antioch-
ene” model. The most fundamental difference between those treatises and
“Antiochene” exegesis and theology is, however, their explicit – and appar-
ently exclusively – scientific intention. In the texts as they are preserved, we
do not find a single reference to the Bible or other distinctly Christian theolog-
ical conceptions, but just the apparently purely scientific interest to explain
the changes of seasons and the course of the stars.
That these two obviously closely related texts are not an isolated phenome-
non, but part of a lager revival of ancient Oriental wisdom as superior to Greek
science, which must have gone hand in hand with the formation of (Western
and Eastern) Syriac, Armenian and Egyptian “ethno-confessional” identities
after Chalcedon,58 is corroborated by E. Villey’s recent research on early Syr-
iac astronomy. In a way reminiscent of Philoponus, also Sergius of Reshaina,
the most eminent among Western Syriac translators of Greek philosophy and
science, has to refute archaic astronomical conceptions in translating and
adapting Ptolemy, like the idea of a heavenly dragon called Atalya causing
solar eclipses by devouring it.59 Apparently, the two are facing the very same
ideological current – a current which of course also provides an important
context for explaining Cosmas’ extensive and radical venture.
While his cosmographical theory is mostly in line with what we gathered
up to now from the “Antiochenes,” especially one point remains puzzling: the
conception of the southbound inclination of the earth expounded in Christ-
ian Topography II 31–34. As Kiessling’s careful analysis shows, a theory about
an inclined earth-disk around which sun and moon are rotating is contami-
nated here with the “Northern mountains”-theory traditionally employed by
the “Antiochenes” to explain day and night.60 Yet, the Presocratic source he
supposes behind this seems rather hard to come by in Cosmas’ time. My
hypothesis would be that he is drawing on a piece of “popular science” instead,
57 Ps-Berossos, Doctrina, ed. Levi della Vida, 29.

58 On this process cf. ter Haar Romeny, et al. 2009.
59 Cf. Villey 2017. On the eclipse-dragon cf. also Pirtea 2017.
60 Kiessling 2014, 865–72. That this was, however, not the only theory entertained in “Anti-
ochene” circles is demonstrated by Ps-Justin, Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos
72, ed. Papadopulos-Kerameus, 70, according to whom during night-time the sun is just
too far away to be seen.
comparable to Ps-Dionysius or Ps-Berossos, where (reports on) more archaic,

orientalizing theories might well have been employed and brought to bear.
3 Conclusion
All of that being the case, however, we have to ask the question whether
Arno Schmidt was not partly correct in characterizing at least post-Theodosian
Christianity as narrow-minded and anti-scientific, even if this cannot be cor-
roborated by the work of Cosmas’ itself, but rather by its sources, especially
Theodore and his many recipients. Up to now, this presentation should have
already shown that we have to differentiate very carefully here.
First of all, one has to consider that biblical cosmography and cosmology
in general was far too implicit to just replace the findings of pagan astronomy
and geography by revealed biblical content. The primary target of the theolo-
gians were therefore never those findings as such, but rather the religious or
metaphysical premises and consequences of their interpretation, which were
in fact in many cases anything but logically necessary. In some cases, they were
obviously going too far with that and denied well established facts together
with their questionable interpretation. At that point, one has to keep in mind
that despite Ptolemy’s dominance in the Hellenistic realm late antique astron-
omy and geography was by no means as homogenous and uniform as one
might think. Especially the Syriac schools seem to have cultivated archaic
ancient-oriental traditions, thus distancing themselves intentionally from Hel-
lenic culture.
Yet, there were also renegades within Greek science itself: Epicurus, for
example, insisted on the accuracy of sense perception and therefore doubted
both the spherical shape of the earth and the usual astronomical estimates
concerning the size of the sun.61 He seems to have played with Presocratic
ideas about the sun being created anew every day from scattered portions of
fire62 and is thus an important witness to the survival of those ideas. The fourth
century Latin Geographer Rufus Avienus still commemorates an Epicurean
theory according to which the sun never vanishes under the earth, but circu-
lates above it being hidden at night by a mountain range dividing the earth
in the middle.63 For Christian theologians, we have to bear in mind that their
61 Cf. Sedley 2004, 78–85.

62 Cf. Lucretius, De natura rerum V 650–662.
63 Avienus, Ora maritima 652–673, ed. Stichtenoth, 48. For a possible filling of the unfortu-
nate lacuna cf. Kiessling 1914, 852–853.
200 Gleede
most important source regarding natural philosophy were the doxographers

who just reported on various kinds of philosophical ideas about the shape of
planets and universe without proper evaluation.64
In this light, the Christian opposition against one or the other scientific
theory cannot per se be called anti-scientific narrow-mindedness. The theolo-
gian’s primary targets were always the metaphysical and religious presuppo-
sitions,65 and in this course they exploited the aforesaid discrepancies in the
scientific evaluation of the phenomena for their own purpose. If Schmidt’s
mathematician Lycophron silences his theological opponent with the blunt
statement: “The world is governed by nothing but mathematics, my bliss-
ful friend”,66 he propagates a rather short-sighted reduction of the world to
nothing but “Newtonian” physics, nature predetermined by a mathematical
calculus. This entirely neglects especially the cultural aspect of the world
according to which it is constituted by human observation and operation. As
far as we can see, this operation is not governed by mathematics, but by a com-
plicated mixture of material needs and ideological forces. And as long as such
ideological forces are necessarily at play in any kind of more comprehensive
interpretations of the world and the society, it will be not only the right, but
the task of theology (and cognate disciplines) to analyze and criticize them.
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« Le Seigneur des Puissances »
Une image de l’Ascension chez Denys l’Aréopagite
Radu Marasescu
On peut se demander dans quelle mesure, en faisant tomber sa bien-connue

sentence à l’endroit du Pseudo-Denys (« plus platonisans quam christiani-
sans »1), Luther vise uniquement l’auteur du Corpus aréopagitique ou bien,
plus largement, comme le contexte le laisse entendre, à travers lui, tout un pan
de la spiritualité chrétienne. On serait en droit, du reste, de se demander au
nom de quel christianisme prétendument « à l’état pur » une telle sentence
peut-être prononcée ? Car la formulation est d’autant plus contestable que, à
regarder de plus près, par sa propre formation spirituelle, le père du protes-
tantisme n’est pas lui-même à l’abri d’un même reproche de « platonisme ».
Depuis Luther, la critique n’a guère résolu cette ambiguïté de la profession de
foi intellectuelle de l’auteur du Corpus2. Pour réelle qu’elle soit, elle est peut-
être précédée par une ambiguïté plus fondamentale qui est celle du lieu d’où
le critique parle lui-même. Car n’a-t-on pas affaire, aussi bien de la part des
tenants du christianisme de Denys que de la part de ceux de son platonisme,
à un grand écart idéologique qui nourrit lui-même ce débat, grand écart qui
est d’abord celui de vouloir opposer de manière trop irréductible platonisme,
d’une part, et doctrine chrétienne, d’autre part ? Et n’est-ce pas plutôt cette
séparation même qui constitue, en fin de compte, la teneur de ce débat ? Ou
alors, au-delà d’une distinction trop appuyée, ne conviendrait-il pas plutôt de
recentrer la discussion et de relire ici la comparaison que nous avons citée en
rendant (malgré Luther) à l’adverbe « plus » toute sa valeur et en concédant
ainsi qu’il s’agit peut-être moins d’un jugement sans nuance que d’une ques-
tion de « dosage » ?
1 Martin Luther, De la Captivité babylonienne de l’Église, trad. Esnault, chap. « De l’Ordre », 246.
2 Denys, La Hiérarchie céleste VII 3. Sauf exception, nous citerons en français La Hiérarchie
céleste, Introduction par René Roques, Traduction et notes par Maurice de Gandillac, Étude
et texte critiques par Günter Heil (Paris : Les Éditions du Cerf, 1970) et les Œuvres complètes
du Pseudo-Denys l’Aréopagite, Traduction, commentaires et notes par Maurice de Gandillac
(Paris : Aubier, 1943).
206 Marasescu
1 Incarnation et Ascension. L’étonnement des Anges
Pour sa part, Luther peinait à trouver chez l’Aréopagite une cristallisation de

ce « passage obligé » de la foi chrétienne que sont l’Incarnation et la Croix
du Christ. C’est là que se trouve depuis, pour la majorité des commentateurs
modernes, la crux interpretum et la raison pour laquelle la christologie s’est
posée en arbitre privilégié du débat que nous venons d’évoquer. Qu’il nous soit
permis de revisiter ici un passage de la Hiérarchie Céleste qui fait partie de
l’immense dossier sur la christologie dionysienne. Ce passage, que l’on trouve
dans La Hiérarchie céleste VII 3, porte essentiellement sur la transmission de la
connaissance par les hiérarchies supérieures aux inférieures. Denys affirme ici
l’humanité de Jésus en désignant le mystère de l’Incarnation par le terme de
theourgia, terme dont les résonances néoplatoniciennes sont manifestes. Mais
l’application de ce vocable à l’Incarnation est la marque de fabrique de De-
nys3. Ainsi comprise, la théurgie est l’objet de la connaissance des anges et la
matière de la transmission de cette connaissance. Le geste christique semble
pourtant faire irruption comme élément, voire comme principe nouveau sus-
ceptible de troubler l’ordre préétabli qui gouverne la chaîne cosmologique
de cette transmission4. Ainsi non seulement l’Incarnation est-elle à même
de court-circuiter la médiation angélique en posant désormais un lien direct
entre Dieu et l’homme, mais elle représente une économie qui ouvre sur une
connaissance que les plus hautes puissances angéliques ne semblaient guère
posséder5.
Il existe dans la littérature apocalyptique judéo-chrétienne, ensuite dans
l’exégèse typologique chrétienne, un lieu commun scripturaire que Denys
adopte et utilise à son tour pour illustrer le mystère de la descente et de la
montée du Christ6 ainsi que la connaissance, ou plutôt l’ignorance des anges
devant ce mystère : il s’agit du Psaume 23, 7–107 :
3 La « theourgia » dénote, dans le Corpus, comme l’a montré Louth 1986, non pas une pratique
rituelle en tant que telle, mais les « hauts faits » du Seigneur, les mirabilia Dei, auxquels le
culte répond par une attitude doxologique. Le haut fait par excellence de Dieu (proprement,
dans le texte, theourgia) n’est autre que l’Incarnation du Christ – elle-même, comme nous le
verrons plus loin, épine dorsale de tout sacrement liturgique.
4 Notons que ce passage est d’autant plus important qu’il semble être le seul où Denys lève le
voile sur le contenu même de la transmission hiérarchique.
5 Voir ici, sur cette « ignorance » des anges, Denys, La hiérarchie céleste, 113–114, n. 2.
6 De Gandillac 1970, 113, n. 1, ne place pas forcément Denys dans cette tradition exégétique.
Celle-ci nous semble pourtant difficile à ignorer étant donné que le motif est bien connu et
appartient à une structure de pensée très répandue dans l’Antiquité.
7 « Levez vos portes, princes, et élevez-vous, portes éternelles, et le Roi de gloire entrera. Qui
est ce Roi de gloire ? Le Seigneur fort et puissant, le Seigneur puissant dans le combat. Levez
« Le Seigneur des Puissances » 207
Ce qu’assurément les porte-parole de Dieu (oi theologoi) montrent de

façon claire, c’est, d’une part, que, parmi les dispositions que consti-
tuent les essences célestes, celles qui ont un rang inférieur apprennent
en bon ordre de celles qui ont un plus haut rang les sciences concer-
nant les opérations divines (tas theourgikas epistêmas), d’autre part, que
les plus élevées de toutes reçoivent de la Théarchie même, autant qu’il
leur est permis, des illuminations initiatrices. Ils nous montrent, en ef-
fet, certaines d’entre elles apprenant de celles qui les précèdent, par une
sainte initiation, que le Seigneur des Puissances célestes, le Roi de gloire
a été élevé jusqu’aux cieux sous forme humaine, tandis que d’autres, qui
ne savent que penser de Jésus lui-même, sont instruites dans la science
de l’opération divine qu’il accomplit pour nous (tês huper êmôn autou
theourgias tên epistêmên mathêtiôsas), et que Jésus en personne les initie
directement et, par un don primordial, leur révèle l’œuvre bienfaisante
qu’il accomplit par amour pour les hommes8.
Appliqué à l’Ascension, le Psaume 23, 7–10 se rattache à la conception cos-

mologique plus générale des cieux étagés parcourus successivement par un
voyageur céleste à travers des « portes » ou « douanes » gardées par des anges,
conception qui est commune à l’apocalyptique juive et judéo-chrétienne. L’As-
cension d’Isaïe va jusqu’à fournir une forme de « personnification » de la struc-
ture scalaire des firmaments, les êtres angéliques rencontrés par le visionnaire
décrivant à eux seuls, selon leur « gloire » et leur « louange » respectives, la
nature et le contenu de chaque ciel parcouru (voir chapitres 7–11). Préposés
à la garde des portes célestes, nous les rencontrons pourtant ici en tant que
cerbères lors de la descente du Christ – contrairement au schéma courant qui
veut qu’ils filtrent (souvent à l’aide d’un « mot de passe », comme dans As-
cension d’Isaïe X 24–25) le passage des voyageurs ou des âmes des défunts. Ils
tiennent le même rôle dans le traité du Physiologos, où notre psaume est men-
tionné expressément, ainsi que dans quelques textes gnostiques9. Mais ce sont
vos portes, princes, et élevez-vous, portes éternelles, et le Roi de gloire entrera. Qui est ce Roi
de gloire ? Le Seigneur des Puissances, c’est lui le Roi de gloire ». Le mérite d’avoir étudié de
très près ce dossier dans la tradition patristique revient à Daniélou 1951a, 407–428 ; Daniélou
1951b, 37–61 et Daniélou 1991, 263–273 et 295–326. Voir aussi Roze 1966, 453–478 et Roze 1981,
217–243.
8 Denys, La Hiérarchie céleste VII 3.
9 Voir l’inventaire établi par Daniélou 1991, 264–273. La question de la filiation entre le Physio-
logos et l’Ascension d’Isaïe ou de leur dépendance d’une source commune plus ancienne est
discutée ; voir l’article de Peterson 1954. Quant à la question de l’Incarnation, il est clair que
les textes gnostiques concernés la considèrent sous un angle docète. Contre Daniélou 1991,
270, Norelli 1993, 93, souligne la même tendance dans l’apocryphe judéo-chrétien.
208 Marasescu
là des cas particuliers de l’utilisation du Psaume 23, le courant principal de la

tradition chrétienne le réservant non pas à la descente mais à la montée aux
cieux. Parmi les premières mentions patristiques10 nous trouvons celle qui en
est faite par Justin dans sa controverse avec le judaïsme incarné par son per-
sonnage Tryphon. Justin fait allusion à l’exégèse rabbinique qui rapporte les
versets 7–10 à l’entrée de Salomon, avec l’Arche de l’Alliance, dans le Temple
bâti à Jérusalem11 et l’oppose à la lecture chrétienne des mêmes versets ; c’est
10 L’Apocalypse de Pierre, apocryphe datant de la première moitié du IIe siècle de l’ère chré-
tienne (connue, entre autres, par Théophile d’Antioche ou Clément d’Alexandrie) et très
populaire à l’époque (à l’instar de l’Apocalypse de Jean), semble être le plus ancien parmi
les textes qui appliquent le Psaume 23 à l’Ascension du Christ : « Un grand nuage, très
blanc, vint à la hauteur de nos têtes, et il emporta notre Seigneur, Moïse et Elie. Je me mis
à trembler et je fus terrifié. Nous regardâmes et vîmes les cieux ouverts […] Il y eut une
grande crainte et une grande terreur dans le ciel. Les anges se pressaient afin que fût ac-
complie la parole de l’Écriture qui a dit : ‘Ouvrez les portes, ô princes !’ Après cela, le ciel,
qui s’était ouvert, se ferma » (17, 2–3 et 5–6). Cette exégèse est fréquente chez les Pères de
l’Église. Hormis Justin, nous la rencontrons chez Irénée, Adversus haereses IV 33, 13, où les
catégories de Résurrection et d’Ascension ne sont pas encore décantées, et Demonstratio
84 ; chez Athanase, Expositiones in Psalmos, PG 27, 141 D et De incarnatione 25, 6 ; chez
Ambroise, De mysteriis 36 ; chez Grégoire de Nazianze, dans son dernier discours, Oratio
45, 25.
11 Albert-Gautier Hamman, annotateur de l’édition des Œuvres complètes de Justin, 2 : 153,
note 104, renvoie, pour un examen de cette interprétation dans le Talmud, à l’étude
d’Alexander Heinrich Goldfahn 1873. Mais nous rencontrons les mêmes versets du
Psaume 23 ailleurs, utilisés notamment par la liturgie juive de Kippour. Morgenstern
1929, 37, veut admettre leur usage dans la liturgie de Yom Kippour déjà, au Temple de
Jérusalem. Nous les retrouvons dans le texte reçu du rite séfarade ; voir le Rituel de Yom
Kippour, trad. Créhange, 100. Le même rituel fait état d’une antique prière pénitentielle,
bien connue sous le nom de Neïla, clôturant le Jour de Kippour, prière récitée au cré-
puscule et associée traditionnellement à la fermeture des portes du Temple. Hruby 1965,
434–436, rappelle l’étymologie du terme de ne‘ilah, « fermer » et en explique les diffé-
rents sens selon les interprètes. La fermeture des portes du Temple survient au déclin
du jour et correspond symboliquement, selon Abba bar Aybo (connu dans la tradition
rabbinique comme le premier et le plus grand des Amoraïm sous le surnom de « Rav »), à
la fermeture des portes du ciel, les dévots s’empressant d’ajouter cette supplication avant
la tombée du rideau céleste car, dans les termes de l’exégèse que Munk 2001, 363–370,
fait de cette prière, « ceci nous rappelle que les portes des Cieux sont encore ouvertes
pour quelque temps après la fermeture des portails du Sanctuaire » (Munk 2001, 364). Le
même auteur nous donne également une indication intéressante sur une pratique de dé-
voilement des rouleaux de la Torah pendant la récitation de cette prière, Munk 2001, 365 :
« Pendant la répétition de Neïla par l’officiant, il est d’usage de laisser l’Arche ouverte tout
le long, ou au moins durant la plus grande partie de l’office car Neïla est la plus impor-
tante prière de toute la journée. De cette manière, nous donnons une expression visible
à la prière fondamentale de Neïla : ‘Ouvre-nous les portes des Cieux au moment où les
portails se ferment’ ». Le psaume se rencontre plus fréquemment dans l’office synagogal
un premier exemple d’exégèse typologique du psaume 23 visant à prouver que

le Christ est « l’objet » des « prophéties » vétérotestamentaires :
Pour l’instant, tu me permettras de te rappeler d’abord ces prophéties que

j’ai en vue, pour te prouver que l’Esprit Saint, par une parabole, appelle le
Christ Dieu et Seigneur des Puissances, et encore Jacob ; vos interprètes,
comme Dieu le proclame, sont insensés de prétendre que ces paroles se
rapportent non au Christ, mais à Salomon lorsqu’il fit entrer la tente du
témoignage dans le temple qu’il avait bâti. Voici le Psaume de David : ‘[…]
Princes, levez vos portes, levez-vous portes éternelles, et le roi de gloire
s’avancera. Qui est ce roi de gloire ? C’est le Seigneur fort et puissant de
la guerre. Princes, levez vos portes, levez-vous portes éternelles, et le roi
de gloire s’avancera. Qui est ce roi de gloire ? Le Seigneur des puissances,
voilà le roi de la gloire.’ Or j’ai démontré que Salomon n’est pas Seigneur
des puissances ; c’est notre Christ : lorsqu’il ressuscita d’entre les morts et
monta au ciel, il fut ordonné aux princes établis par Dieu dans les cieux
d’ouvrir les portes des cieux, afin que celui qui est roi de la gloire entre
et monte ‘s’asseoir à la droite du père, jusqu’à ce qu’il fasse de ses enne-
mis l’escabeau de ses pieds’, comme il a été montré par l’autre psaume
(109, 1). Mais lorsque les princes des cieux le virent sans beauté, honneur,
ni gloire en son aspect, ils ne le reconnurent pas et ils demandaient : Qui
est ce roi de la gloire ? L’Esprit Saint alors leur répond soit au nom du
Père, soit en son propre nom : Le Seigneur des puissances, voilà le roi de
la gloire. Ce n’est pas en effet de Salomon, si glorieux fut-il en sa royau-
té, ni de la tente du témoignage que l’un de ceux qui se tiennent près des
portes du temple de Jérusalem aurait pu dire : ‘Qui est ce roi de la gloire ?’
N’importe qui en conviendra12.
Nous retrouvons la même lecture de l’accomplissement des prophéties dans

la Grande Apologie, à cette différence près que la citation que Justin y donne
du Psaume 23 comporte l’ajout explicatif : « Levez les portes des cieux » (51).
Le procédé, mis ici au service de la typologie dans la veine de la Lettre aux
de la lecture de la Torah les jours de Sabbat, les lundis et les jeudis (jours, notons-le en
passant, de jeûne). Il est cantillé à la fin de la lecture, lors de la procession qui ramène les
rouleaux du bêma, lieu de la proclamation de la Loi, derrière le rideau figurant le lieu de
l’Arche sainte. Le lieu théologique est ici le même que précédemment et Munk 2001, 210,
note que « la seconde moitié du psaume : ‘Levez vos portes, princes…’, fut chantée jadis
lors du transport au Temple de l’Arche sacrée ».
12 Justin, Dialogus cum Tryphone 36.
210 Marasescu
Hébreux et précisant le sens de l’Ascension, est « targoumique » et entend

s’écarter formellement des interprétations que la tradition juive donne du
psaume dans le contexte de la dédicace du Temple ou des processions qui
en découlent.
Nous trouvons chez Athanase d’Alexandrie un passage encore plus signifi-
catif dans la mesure où non seulement il évoque la même corrélation entre
notre psaume et l’Ascension, mais établit un lien direct entre la montée du
Christ à travers les douanes des cieux et la traversée du voile par sa chair en
Lettre aux Hébreux 10, 20. Notons également que le mystère de la mort sur la
Croix y est envisagé comme triomphe sur les puissances adverses qui exercent
leur pouvoir « dans les régions inférieures de l’air » et comme ouverture des
portes des cieux pour tous ceux que les démons empêchaient de monter :
Et cela, lui-même l’a dit, en indiquant par quelle mort il rachèterait tous
les hommes : ‘Quand je serai élevé, je les attirerai tous à moi’. De plus, si
l’ennemi de notre race, le diable, tombé du ciel, erre dans les régions in-
férieures de l’air, et s’il y exerce son empire sur les démons qui l’entourent
et qui lui ressemblent par la désobéissance, il produit par leur intermé-
diaire des fantômes pour ceux qui se laissent tromper et il empêche ceux
qui veulent monter – et l’Apôtre dit à ce sujet : ‘selon le Prince de l’empire
de l’air, celui qui poursuit maintenant son œuvre et ceux qui résistent’. Le
Seigneur est donc venu pour abattre le diable, purifier l’air, et nous ou-
vrir le chemin qui fait monter au ciel, comme le dit l’Apôtre : ‘à travers
le voile, c’est-à-dire sa chair’, et cela devait se faire par la mort ; mais par
quelle mort sinon celle arrivée dans les airs, je veux dire par la croix. Seul
meurt dans les airs celui qui meurt sur la croix. C’est donc avec raison
que le Seigneur a subi celle-là. Ainsi, élevé de terre, il a purifié l’air de
toutes les machinations du diable et des démons, en disant : ‘Je voyais
Satan tomber comme l’éclair’ ; mais il a recréé le chemin qui monte vers
les cieux, en frayant la route et disant encore : ‘Princes, levez vos portes,
élevez-vous portes éternelles’. Car le Verbe lui-même n’avait pas besoin
qu’on lui ouvrît les portes, lui qui est le Seigneur de tous ; aucune des
créatures n’était fermée pour leur créateur ; mais c’est nous qui en avions
besoin, nous qu’il a portés vers les hauteurs grâce à son propre corps. Car
de même qu’il l’a livré pour tous à la mort, de même il a frayé par lui la
route qui fait monter vers les cieux13.
13 Athanase d’Alexandrie, De incarnatione 25, 4–6.

Il n’y a pas dans la tradition patristique qui cite le Psaume 23 en rapport avec
l’Ascension parfaite convergence de vues quant aux représentations cosmolo-
giques ou à la dramaturgie de la traversée des douanes célestes. Chez Justin,
chez Irénée, chez le Pseudo-Hippolyte de Rome14, chez Origène15, chez Gré-
goire de Nazianze16, nous voyons les anges de la terre accompagner le Christ
dans sa montée et établir le dialogue des versets 7–10 avec les anges gardiens
des portes des cieux. Pour Athanase17, ce sont les mêmes anges qui l’escortent
aussi bien dans la descente que dans la remontée. D’autres auteurs, comme
Grégoire de Nysse18 ou, plus tard, Grégoire Palamas19, appliquent la première
partie du dialogue à la descente du Christ, voire, pour Palamas, à la descente
aux enfers (ce sont ici les anges du ciel qui l’accompagnent dans la descente
et ordonnent aux anges d’en bas d’ouvrir leurs portes), alors que la seconde
partie seulement rend compte de la scène de l’Ascension. En revanche, ce qui
fait l’unanimité dans toutes ces exégèses typologiques, c’est leur portée pro-
prement théologique. Si Athanase considère ici l’Ascension dans la chair selon
les catégories de la Lettre aux Hébreux – et c’est dans ce contexte qu’il place
l’interprétation du Psaume 23 –, les autres auteurs se limitent à un rapproche-
ment plus direct entre la traversée des cieux et la remontée du Christ paré de
la nature humaine. Ainsi, devenu « sans beauté, honneur, ni gloire en son as-
pect »20, il provoque doute et étonnement chez les gardiens des portes célestes
qui ne le reconnaissent pas (« Qui est ce roi de gloire ? »).
Un autre passage vétérotestamentaire vient s’aligner sur cette herméneu-
tique et nous le retrouvons – y compris chez Denys – aussi souvent que notre
psaume dans les circonstances précises de l’exégèse typologique de l’Ascen-
sion21 : il s’agit d’Isaïe 63 : 1 (« Qui est celui-ci, qui vient d’Édom, de Botsra, avec
des habits teints en rouge, celui-ci, qui est magnifique dans ses vêtements ? »),
14 Pseudo-Hippolyte de Rome, Homilia paschalis I 62, 2.

15 Origène, Commentarii in Joannem VI 56.
16 Grégoire de Nazianze, Oratio 45, 25.
17 Athanase d’Alexandrie, Expositiones in Psalmos 141 D.
18 Grégoire de Nysse, In ascensionem Christi, PG 46, 693 A–C.
19 Grégoire Palamas, Triades II 3, 29.
20 Justin, Dialogus cum Tryphone 36.
21 Deux autres textes de l’Ancien Testament se retrouvent ordinairement dans l’exégèse
typologique de l’Ascension : Psaume 67 : 19 (« Tu es monté dans les hauteurs… »), relu
d’abord par Paul en Lettre aux Éphésiens 4 : 7–11, et Psaume 109 : 1 (« Le Seigneur a dit
à mon Seigneur : Assieds-toi à ma droite, jusqu’à ce que je fasse de tes ennemis l’esca-
beau de tes pieds »), image vouée à une fortune prodigieuse qui se retrouve couramment
dans le Nouveau Testament et qui trouvera sa place dans le Symbole de Foi de Nicée-
Constantinople. Sur le rôle de ce dernier verset dans la formation du vocabulaire de la
théologie chrétienne voir Daniélou 1951a, 414–420.
212 Marasescu
verset qui ajoute une note dramatique supplémentaire à la confusion des

anges n’arrivant pas à identifier le Christ revêtu d’un corps d’homme. Il évoque
le sacrifice sanglant de la Passion : c’est drapé du sang de la Passion que le
Christ remonte au ciel22. Mais ce que les anges perçoivent dans un premier
temps comme une hideur s’avère être le véritable éclat de la divinité : « Vante
alors la beauté des vêtements qui enveloppent le corps supplicié et sublimé
par sa souffrance, ce corps qui resplendit de l’éclat de la divinité en comparai-
son de laquelle rien n’est si aimable ni si beau », écrit Grégoire de Nazianze ;
ou encore : « Commande aux portes de s’élever plus hautes pour laisser passer
un Christ grandi par la passion »23.
Une seule et unique idée se dégage à la lecture de tous ces textes. Si l’on
laisse de côté l’utilisation du Psaume 23 par les apocryphes judéo-chrétiens ou
par la littérature gnostique, nous remarquons que toutes les représentations
cosmologiques qui sont mises en jeu pour décrire l’Ascension concourent à
affirmer la même réalité théologique de l’Incarnation. C’est ainsi qu’Irénée dit
de saint Paul : « Il ne connaît qu’un seul et même Jésus-Christ, pour qui les
portes du ciel se sont ouvertes à cause de son enlèvement dans la chair et qui,
dans cette même chair en laquelle il a souffert, viendra nous révéler la gloire
du Père »24. L’annexion du thème des vêtements teints de rouge – signe de la
Passion – à la description de la remontée du Christ insiste plus encore sur la
centralité de cette affirmation d’ordre théologique25. Les interlocuteurs angé-
liques gardiens des douanes célestes ont pour rôle de souligner ici, par leur
étonnement, l’absolue nouveauté de l’Ascension dans la chair venant chan-
ger la donne dans le monde spirituel. Comme le prouvent bien certains de
22 Sans référence directe au psaume ainsi interprété nous trouvons le même symbolisme,
appliqué à la Petite Entrée de la liturgie, chez Germain de Constantinople (Historia mys-
tica ecclesiae catholicae 24). Le contexte est celui, tardif, d’une lecture allégorique de la
Petite Entrée (avec l’Évangéliaire, symbole de l’Incarnation du Verbe et de la prédication
du Christ) en tant que venue du Fils de Dieu dans le monde : « L’entrée de l’Évangile
montre l’avènement du Fils de Dieu et son entrée dans ce monde, comme l’affirme
l’Apôtre : ‘Lorsqu’il – à savoir Dieu le Père – introduit dans le monde le premier-né, il
dit : Que tous les anges de Dieu l’adorent !’ (Lettre aux Hébreux 1 : 6). Conséquemment,
l’évêque manifeste par son vêtement le vêtement pourpre et ensanglanté de la chair du
Christ… ». Notons que le mot que nous traduisons ici par vêtement, stolê, reçoit lui-même
dans la tradition chrétienne les acceptions de « corps ou nature humaine du Christ » ; voir
les nombreux renvois de Lampe 1969, 1261–1262.
23 Grégoire de Nazianze, Oratio 45, 25.
24 Irénée, Adversus haereses III 16, 8.
25 Rappelons que la Passion et la glorification (Résurrection et Ascension) du Christ sont,
dans la tradition chrétienne, le prisme selon lequel les Écritures sont lues et interprétées
et le critère suprême de la vérité présidant aussi bien à la constitution du canon néotes-
tamentaire qu’à la formation de la théologie. Voir à ce sujet Behr 2001.
nos textes, l’exaltation du Christ dans son corps signifie, plus profondément,
l’exaltation de la nature humaine « au-dessus de toute Principauté, Puissance,
Vertu, Seigneurie », selon les termes de la Lettre aux Éphésiens (1, 21 ; voir aus-
si Lettre aux Hébreux 1 : 3–4) ; « Il est monté », dit Chrysostome, « y faisant
monter notre nature »26. Daniélou résume l’enjeu véritable du déploiement de
cet imaginaire dans la conscience de la théologie chrétienne de la manière
suivante : « La présentation cosmologique de la descente et de la montée ne
doit pas faire illusion. Le vrai mystère de la Nativité est l’abaissement de la
personne divine du Verbe, ‘un peu au-dessous des anges’ (Lettre aux Hébreux
2 : 7). Et le vrai mystère de l’Ascension est l’exaltation de la nature humaine
au-dessus des mondes angéliques. C’est de ce double mystère que la représen-
tation de la descente et de la montée au milieu des chœurs angéliques est la
représentation dramatique. Mais cette dramatourgia, comme le dit Grégoire
de Nazianze, ne doit pas nous masquer la réalité qu’elle recouvre. Elle repré-
sente un bouleversement de l’ordre naturel des choses qui est la révélation
d’une réalité absolument nouvelle et imprévisible. Et c’est pourquoi elle jette
les anges dans la stupeur »27.
Nous voyons que la manière dont le voyage céleste est accompli dépend du
degré de communication qu’un modèle ou un projet religieux ménage entre
les deux sphères opposées : le ciel et la terre28. Si les deux termes de l’opposi-
tion ciel-terre représentent universellement, selon la terminologie hellénique
qui nous est devenue si coutumière, le sensible et l’intelligible, c’est principa-
lement la valeur du sensible qui varie selon le rôle qu’il joue dans le voyage
accompli. L’issue du voyage est en effet une affaire de doctrine ou de cou-
rant de pensée et c’est elle qui en dicte les termes selon la finalité dogmatique
qu’elle poursuit. Il y a de la sorte, au sein des milieux chrétiens des premiers
siècles, tout un monde qui sépare le dogme orthodoxe de l’Incarnation et de
26 Chrysostome, Commentaria in Psalmos XLVI, 4 ; Il s’agit d’un autre psaume appliqué tra-
ditionnellement à l’Ascension ; voir aussi, pour son caractère suggestif, Chrysostome,
Commentaria in Psalmos CXVII, 6 : « …la terre a envahi le ciel, et les hommes indignes
de la terre ont paru dignes du royaume céleste, et les prémices de notre nature ont été
élevées au-dessus des cieux, et le paradis a été ouvert, et nous avons recouvré notre an-
cienne patrie ».
27 Voir aussi Daniélou 1951b, 59–60 : « Si nous avons insisté sur cette structure du cosmos
céleste, c’est qu’elle jouera un rôle important dans la dogmatique chrétienne. C’est en
effet en termes cosmologiques que les dogmes essentiels seront formulés. L’incarnation
apparaîtra comme une descente du Verbe à travers les sphères angéliques ; la passion
sera considérée comme le combat du Christ avec les anges de l’air ; elle sera suivie de
la descente aux enfers ; la résurrection sera une exaltation de l’humanité du Christ au-
dessus de toutes les sphères angéliques… ».
28 Daniélou 1991, 171 ; voir aussi ibid., 263.
214 Marasescu
l’Ascension dans la chair (le Verbe se fait chair et monte aux cieux dans son
corps) de la descente du Christ que présentent certains textes gnostiques ou
même l’apocryphe judéo-chrétien de l’Ascension d’Isaïe, où il s’agit simplement
d’une prise d’apparence humaine par le Christ afin de tromper les puissances
célestes gardiennes des douanes du ciel.
Pour ce qui est du Corpus aréopagitique, malgré le jugement sommaire de
Luther et malgré celui d’une bonne partie de la critique moderne à sa suite, on
ne saurait faire fi de la simple évidence qu’aussi bien Incarnation qu’Ascension
dans la chair y sont formellement attestées29. La suite de notre texte, citant
Isaïe. 63, 1, ne fait que le confirmer par le biais des mêmes représentations de
l’exégèse traditionnelle que nous avons évoquées plus haut :
Car ce n’est pas de leur propre mouvement qu’elles [les essences célestes]
demandent : Pourquoi te drapes-tu de rouge ? mais elles s’interrogent
d’abord elles-mêmes avec embarras, montrant ainsi qu’elles veulent bien
s’instruire et posséder la science des opérations divines [tês theourgikês
gnôseôs], sans se précipiter cependant au-devant de l’illumination qui
doit venir jusqu’à elles par un don divin30.
L’étonnement des anges n’est par ailleurs qu’une expression de ce que De-
nys scrute à maintes reprises comme le mustêrion de la « manifestation de
l’essence humaine » de Jésus (Lettres III)31. Reste pourtant à savoir si une chris-
tologie textuellement affirmée, une fois identifiée comme telle, suffit ici pour
préserver les lecteurs de l’Aréopagite contre la terrible menace brandie par
l’auteur de la Captivité babylonienne de l’Église, celle de « perdre » le Christ plu-
tôt que de le trouver32.
29 La question de l’hésitation de Denys à adopter une christologie expressément chalcédo-

nienne – de même que celle du « correctif christologique » appliqué à son œuvre par
certains de ses successeurs – est ici secondaire.
31 Denys mentionne ailleurs simplement la parfaite ignorance de anges au sujet de ce mys-
tère : « Il n’est pas jusqu’à la vérité la plus évidente de toute la théologie : l’acte de Jésus
façonnant sa divinité dans un moule humain, qui ne soit non plus inexprimable par
aucun raisonnement et inconnaissable à aucune intelligence, s’agit-il du plus élevé des
anges les plus anciens » (Denys, Les Noms divins II 9). Voir, pour les renvois les plus im-
portants aux textes de Denys, de Andia 1996, 440–444.
32 Luther, De la Captivité, 247 : « Mais dans sa Théologie mystique […] il est même très per-
nicieux, plus platonisant que christianisant, tellement que je voudrais qu’aucune âme
croyante ne s’occupât le moins du monde de ces livres. Tu n’y recevras pas la connais-
sance de Christ, au point même que si tu l’avais, tu l’y perdrais ».
2 Le site liturgique de l’ascension mystique
Se pose alors, légitimement, la question de l’expérience chrétienne dont font

état les écrits aréopagitiques33. Autrement dit, au-delà de toute revendication
de justesse christologique telle qu’elle peut être démontrée par les textes, reste
la question de savoir quelle est véritablement l’anthropologie que ces textes
procurent, anthropologie censée découler de la profession de foi dans l’In-
carnation et l’Ascension. Plus spécifiquement, il s’agirait de déterminer dans
quelle mesure l’Incarnation joue ici un rôle déterminant apte à contrebalancer
dans la pratique les transpositions néoplatoniciennes du système dionysien.
Dans quelle mesure les structures du réel du néoplatonisme dont Denys se
sert pour rendre compte de l’intelligence chrétienne du monde, de l’homme
et de Dieu ne pèsent-t-elles pas ici de tout leur poids sur cette intelligence
même en investissant l’idéal et l’expérience transmis par les Évangiles de leurs
propres valeurs. Dans quelle mesure donc la nouveauté de l’Incarnation se
traduit-elle ici, comme nous l’avons vu, par un réel changement dans la nature
de l’homme.
Dans cette perspective, le réflexe quasi unilatéral de déceler l’expérience
dont fait état le Corpus aréopagitique dans la seule ascension mystique peut
s’avérer insuffisant. Étant donné, en effet, l’influence éminente que la Théolo-
gie mystique a pu exercer sur la « mystique » chrétienne, tel a pu être le cas
d’un Denys lu par le prisme privilégié de ce traité. Il existe pourtant dans les
écrits aréopagitiques un autre type d’expérience, bien caractérisée et à part
entière, et une simple familiarité avec les liturgies orientales suffit pour aler-
ter le lecteur de son omniprésence. Cette expérience, à laquelle un Maxime
le Confesseur accordera toute l’attention qui lui est due, est celle que pro-
curent les rites sacramentels. Elle est décrite dans le traité de la Hiérarchie
ecclésiastique34. Au demeurant, c’est ici que l’on trouve – contrairement à la
Théologie mystique – les affirmations christologiques les plus appuyées. Aus-
si, selon Denys, la hiérarchie ecclésiastique ne saurait-elle se prévaloir et être
expliquée qu’à partir de ce critère intrinsèque qu’est « Jésus, principe et fin de
toute hiérarchie » (La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique I 2). En parcourant d’un bout
33 Il s’agit peut-être de la question la plus significative que nous pose l’ouvrage de Rorem
1984. Voir aussi Vanneste 1963.
34 Si le silence de Denys sur sa propre expérience est presque parfait, Golitzin 2007, 135,
relève pourtant que c’est dans un contexte liturgique (La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique III 1 sur
le rôle du baptême dans l’initiation à la contemplation du mystère) que nous pouvons
déceler une référence plus distincte à cette expérience personnelle. Mais nous pouvons
assumer que, de manière générale, Denys préfère se tenir en retrait par rapport à l’expé-
rience plus « objective » de la liturgie.
216 Marasescu
à l’autre les mystères de l’Église et les ordres angéliques, c’est bien la Hiérar-
chie ecclésiastique qui vient poser comme principe unificateur de cet ensemble
(les deux hiérarchies dionysiennes) le Dieu incarné, « principe et substance de
toute hiérarchie » (La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique I 1). Certes, le sommet de ce dé-
ploiement sur l’axe établi par le Christ est décrit dans le traité sur la Théologie
mystique. Mais pour ceux qui le lisent dans la même clé liturgique que la Hié-
rarchie ecclésiastique, cet opuscule, ordinairement perçu comme un traité de
mystique individuelle, prend sa juste place en tant que terme d’un enchaîne-
ment harmonieux, celui des ordres et des degrés spirituels gouvernés par un
même élan de nature doxologique.
Une telle lecture va à l’encontre de celles qui tiennent la Théologie mystique
pour le centre de gravité autour duquel les autres livres du Corpus ne sont que,
à l’autre extrémité de l’exégèse dionysienne, la version cosmétisée – par des
références chrétiennes circonstancielles – de la mystique néoplatonicienne.
On a donc essayé d’établir, en inversant cette perspective, que la Théologie
mystique – adressée par ailleurs à un hiérarque (Timothée) en guise de pré-
cis de liturgie – décrit la démarche du pontife pendant son office, son entrée
dans le Saints des saints et sa contemplation de la divinité35. C’est le rôle émi-
nent du hiérarque de dresser cette échelle qui relie l’homme à la source divine
(thearchia) et l’y fait participer par les sacrements : « La fin de tous les sacre-
ments et leur élément capital consistent toujours à faire participer celui qui
les reçoit aux mystères de la Théarchie » (La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique III 1).
Le hiérarque est l’initié qui voit d’un regard spirituel, qui a donc la faculté
de contempler les mirabilia Dei, dont en premier lieu l’Incarnation, consacre
ensuite le pain et le vin de l’eucharistie « et présente aux yeux de tous les mys-
tères qu’il vient d’accomplir sous les espèces symboliquement présentes » (La
Hiérarchie ecclésiastique III 12)36. Il réitère de la sorte la geste de l’Incarna-
tion pour assimiler les fidèles à Dieu, c’est-à-dire pour les « diviniser » par le
35 Voir ici le texte parallèle dans Denys, La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique III 2. Le livre de Louth
1989 montrant que le contexte de la théologie dionysienne est liturgique, nous semble à
ce titre lumineux d’équilibre et de justesse. Pour une démarche semblable, voir Golitzin
1994. Voir aussi, du même auteur, Golitzin 2003, 8–37.
36 Denys, La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique III 12 : « Dans sa bonté, dans sa philanthropie, l’Unité
simple et mystérieuse de Jésus, Verbe parfaitement théarchique, est devenue, en effet, par
les voies de l’Incarnation, sans subir aucune altération, une réalité composée et visible.
Généreusement, elle nous a admis à sa communion unifiante, liant notre bassesse à sa
stabilité infiniment divine, mais à condition pourtant que nous aussi nous adhérions à
elle comme les membres adhèrent au corps entier par la conformité divine d’une vie sans
péché […]. Si nous désirons participer à sa communion, il faut que nous fixions notre
regard sur la vie divine du Dieu incarné. »
mystère de la communion. Le rite et ses symboles offrent ainsi une « prise »

nécessaire pour que les fidèles soient attirés vers leur source transcendante :
De la même façon encore, s’il est vrai que, comme il sied à un homme
de Dieu, le divin grand prêtre, dans sa bienveillance, transmet à ses infé-
rieurs cette science unique de la hiérarchie qui lui appartient en propre
et qu’il use pour ce faire d’une multitude d’énigmes, bientôt on le voit re-
venir, libéré et affranchi de toute réalité inférieure, à son principe propre,
sans avoir subi aucune diminution. Pénétrant par l’intelligence jusqu’au
niveau de l’Un, il contemple alors d’un œil pur et dans leur unité primor-
diale les raisons d’être des rites sacrés. Se retournant plus divinement vers
les réalités premières, il arrête cette descente progressive vers les réalités
secondes que lui inspire sa philanthropie37.
L’essence de cette attraction est décrite dans la Théologie mystique à l’aide de la

figure de Moïse montant, dans le livre de l’Exode, sur la montagne de la théo-
phanie (19, 10 et 33, 20–23). Nous trouvons ce même rôle pontifiant de Moïse
pénétrant dans la ténèbre divine/entrant dans le sanctuaire céleste chez Gré-
goire de Nysse38. La thématique du dépouillement par une purification et de
l’entrée dans l’inconnaissable y est identique. L’on peut ainsi comparer l’aban-
don de toute apparence, « non seulement de ce que perçoivent les sens, mais
de ce que l’intelligence croit voir » chez Grégoire39 avec le dépassement « du
monde où l’on est vu et où l’on voit », « fermant les yeux à toute connais-
sance positive » chez Denys (La Théologie mystique I 3). Aussi discerne-t-on
entre la Hiérarchie ecclésiastique et la Théologie mystique un mouvement de
diastole et de systole où la Théologie mystique peut être considérée comme
aboutissement et dépassement de la hiérarchie dans le sens d’une intelligence
intérieure de la hiérarchie. Selon une telle lecture, mystiques individuelle et
sacramentaire n’ont plus lieu de s’opposer et la théologie négative de Denys
non seulement semble parfaire celle de Grégoire, mais lui offre un contrepoids
37 Denys, La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique III 3.

38 Grégoire de Nysse, De vita Mosis II 167 : « Passant de sommet en sommet dans son as-
cension vers les choses d’en haut, il s’élève toujours plus au-dessus de lui-même. Il a
commencé par laisser la base de la montagne, s’étant discerné de tous ceux qui man-
quaient de forces devant l’ascension ; puis, parvenu sur les hauteurs, ses oreilles ont perçu
le son des trompettes ; après quoi il a pénétré dans le sanctuaire caché et invisible de la
connaissance de Dieu. Mais, même là, il ne reste pas, mais il passe au tabernacle ‘qui n’est
pas fait de main d’homme’. Car c’est là enfin vraiment le terme auquel parvient celui qui
s’est élevé par de telles ascensions. » Voir Puech 1938.
39 Grégoire, De vita Mosis II 163.
218 Marasescu
logique, quoique rarissime dans l’histoire de la littérature mystique, par une

reconsidération dans un contexte liturgique40.
Une telle lecture est confortée par un détail qui ressort d’une mise en réso-
nance des pièces du Corpus, à savoir le fait que Denys attribue les expériences
contemplatives parallèles à celle du Moïse de la Théologie mystique à des
prêtres (ou à des hiérarques) et les place dans un contexte liturgique. Ainsi en
est-il de son maître Hiérothée (Les Noms divins II 9 et III 2), que Denys consi-
dère comme le plus grand parmi les grands prêtres, et de Carpos de Crète (dans
Lettres VIII 6), tous deux caractérisés, en tant que prêtres, par leur vision des
choses célestes. Dans les Noms divins, Denys met en scène une assemblée ima-
ginaire d’apôtres, dont Jacques, frère de Dieu, Pierre, Hiérothée et lui-même –
présent évidemment avec les apôtres en tant que disciple supposé de Paul
dans l’Aréopage – autour du corps de la Vierge à l’heure de son assomption41.
Il se sert ici des récits légendaires sur la Vierge véhiculés dans l’Église de Jéru-
salem et dont Jean Damascène donnera au VIIIe siècle un précieux aperçu42.
Ainsi, célébrant un mystère qui a toutes les apparences de la liturgie eucharis-
tique (où le célébrant « communie à ce qu’il célèbre »), Hiérothée le fait selon
toutes les particularités de la dépossession, de l’entrée dans la ténèbre divine
qu’expose la Théologie mystique et du pâtir au-delà de la participation volon-
taire qui caractérise chez lui le passage de la négation à la mystique. Il présente
également toutes les apparences d’un liturge céleste :
Oui, c’est bien lui qui l’emportait sur tous les autres saints initiateurs, lui
qui, totalement ravi, s’étant entièrement dépassé lui-même, participait
du dedans et de façon entière à l’objet même qu’il célébrait, apparaissant
40 Notons que cette coexistence n’est nullement étrangère aux préoccupations des grands
auteurs syriens précédant Denys, préoccupations essayant d’équilibrer cette tendance
autonomiste qui a pu affleurer dans l’ascétisme de Syrie par rapport aux institutions
ecclésiastiques et sacramentelles. Inversement, on pourrait reconnaître à une théolo-
gie mystique apophatique saisie au cœur même d’une théologie liturgique la vertu de
prémunir contre toute propension à l’idolâtrie rituelle.
41 Ce procédé qui brave l’anachronisme en réunissant plusieurs personnages ou scènes his-
toriques sur une même toile thématique sera courant non seulement dans la littérature,
mais surtout dans l’iconographie chrétienne. L’exemple le plus parlant est peut-être la
présence de Paul sur l’icône représentant la Descente de l’Esprit au-dessus des apôtres
le jour de la Pentecôte. Il s’agit, comme dans notre exemple, d’exégèses spirituelles qui
transcendent les contraintes de la linéarité du temps, d’autant plus là où une quelconque
affinité avec la liturgie céleste est transparente.
42 Voir Jean Damascène, Homilia in nativitatem Domini : « Deuxième discours sur l’illustre
Dormition de la Toute Sainte et Toujours Vierge Marie ». Voir, pour un commentaire de ce
passage des Noms divins et sur les expériences visionnaires chez Denys, Louth 1989, 102
et passim.
alors à tous ceux qui l’entendaient ou qui le voyaient, qu’ils le connussent

ou non, comme inspiré de Dieu et comme chantre divin des louanges
divines43.
Rendu parfait par l’« union mystique » avec les choses divines (Les Noms divins
II 9), Hiérothée sera ainsi comparé à un soleil qu’il est impossible au peuple de
regarder en face, image qui rappelle celle de Moïse descendant de la montagne
après son entretien avec Dieu (Les Noms divins III 3). Le liturge dionysien est
un voyant et c’est par la connaissance immédiate, acquise par la vision et la
participation des réalités célestes, qu’il célèbre les mystères. Il est celui « qui
a atteint au maximum de conformité avec Dieu », et c’est en vertu de cette
« sympathie » qu’il est lui-même un transmetteur (voir La Hiérarchie ecclésias-
tique V I, 4).
S’il nous faut résumer pour transposer cette idée à l’échelle d’un agence-
ment secret des parties du Corpus dionysien, dans la mesure où l’acteur de la
Théologie mystique présente les traits du hiérarque et où l’initiation du hié-
rarque lui-même est bien celle décrite par le même type de participation à
la divinité, l’expérience dont rend compte la Théologie mystique naît au cœur
de la célébration liturgique et représente le versant invisible, aussi nécessaire
qu’indissociable de cette dernière. Inversement, la célébration liturgique offre
un nécessaire contrepoint à l’apophatisme dionysien. La complémentarité des
méthodes théologiques dionysiennes – cataphatique et apophatique44 – rend
compte ainsi de ce que l’on a appelé (nonobstant les connotations néopla-
toniciennes) un « mouvement circulaire » fondamental entre le sensible et
l’intelligible, mouvement à travers lequel Dieu se rend participable45.
Quant à la présence et au rôle des anges dans les descriptions de la mon-
tée d’un voyageur céleste, nous savons qu’elle complète, traditionnellement,
le tableau de souche apocalyptique qui s’est transmis à la liturgie chrétienne.
Les opinions sont partagées quant à la fonction des anges dans le concert des
hiérarchies dionysiennes. Le fait que Denys soit un familier des traditions li-
turgiques que nous avons évoquées contribuera peut-être à éclaircir, dans le
miroir de cette théologie liturgique, les rapports souvent équivoques entre la
hiérarchie des hommes et celles des anges. Ainsi les anges sont-ils médiateurs
par excellence de l’entrée des liturges dans le sanctuaire céleste46 et de l’union
43 Denys, Les Noms divins III 2.

44 Voir Roques 1954a ; voir aussi, du même auteur, Roques 1962.
45 Von Balthasar 1968, 149–162.
46 Il faudrait peut-être ne pas perdre de vue le fait que la figure de Moïse, prototype mys-
tique du liturge dionysien, est également, dans la littérature apocalyptique (avec celle
220 Marasescu
de l’homme à la prière de glorification qui leur appartient en propre. Par le

terme suggestif de « concélébration » (sunleitourgia) avec les anges, une prière
comme celle de la Petite Entrée que l’on trouve dans les liturgies byzantines
exploite l’idée d’une nécessaire synergie entre les célébrants et le monde an-
gélique47. Notons que cette synergie est à la limite de l’angélomorphose du
célébrant48. Les qoumranites ou les voyageurs célestes des récits apocalyp-
tiques, s’emparant de l’image du Grand Prêtre pénétrant dans le Saint des
saints, avaient déjà revendiqué une telle transformation adaptant l’homme à
la réalité céleste. Mais la liturgie chrétienne elle-même l’évoque ici sans ambi-
guïté, notamment au moment charnière de la Grande Entrée49.
Attesté dès le VIe siècle, ajouté à la liturgie sous Justin II, l’Hymne des
Chérubins y est l’expression la plus connue de cette assimilation, traduite ici
par la formule « mustikôs eikonizô »50. Ce chant semble cependant – si l’on
se fie à la connaissance que nous avons des usages liturgiques des premiers
d’Hénoch, d’Elie, etc., à savoir les personnages bibliques tenus traditionnellement pour
être capables d’accomplir l’exploit de monter aux cieux et d’y recevoir une révélation),
le modèle du voyageur céleste qui réalise une ascension. La complicité entre liturgie et
apocalypse est bien ancienne et elle se traduit notamment par leur commun intérêt pour
le sanctuaire céleste.
47 Les témoignages sur la dynamique liturgique qui fait que les hommes se joignent aux
chœurs angéliques sont légion dans l’hymnographie orientale ; voir, pour une vue d’en-
semble et de nombreuses citations, Andronikof 1988, particulièrement le chapitre « Le
ciel et la terre », 205–222. Les plus significatifs sont à trouver au cœur des rites eucharis-
tiques, suivant la progression symbolique qui culmine dans l’entrée au sanctuaire et la
participation aux mystères qui s’y accomplissent. L’entrée au sanctuaire et tous les rites
préparatoires constituent ainsi la représentation matérielle de l’union de la liturgie des
hommes à la liturgie céleste des anges et suppose une forme de transformation ou de
conformation qui rend possible l’entrée des célébrants dans la sphère céleste.
48 Sur l’application par Denys du terme « ange » à l’évêque (La Hiérarchie céleste XII 1–2) en
vertu de sa connaissance participative et de son rôle de transmetteur à l’intérieur de sa
propre hiérarchie, voir Roques 1954, 152–153. Cette dynamique n’implique pas une ascen-
sion sur l’échelle hiérarchique dans la mesure où un passage de la hiérarchie des hommes
à celles des anges serait une simple transposition des processions-retours néoplatoni-
ciens.
49 Notons en outre que le texte reçu des livres liturgiques grecs prescrivent au prêtre de dire,
au moment où commence la procession d’accessus ad altare, le Psaume 46 : 6, psaume
que l’exégèse chrétienne rattache également à l’Ascension : « Dieu est monté dans la ju-
bilation, le Seigneur, à l’éclat du cor ».
50 Le sens de ce syntagme peut aller de « représenter », « symboliser », « typifier » à « imiter
la nature de… » ; on insiste parfois sur une traduction littérale qui fait de l’homme, « mys-
tiquement, l’icône des Chérubins » : « Nous qui mystiquement représentons (mustikôs
eikonizontes) les Chérubins et chantons l’hymne trois fois sainte à la vivifiante Trinité,
déposons maintenant tout souci du monde, pour recevoir le roi de toutes choses, invisi-
blement escorté par les ordres des anges. Alléluia, alléluia, alléluia ».
siècles chrétiens, ainsi qu’au témoignage plus direct d’Eutychès de Constanti-

nople51 – n’être qu’un simple refrain antiphonal d’une hymne psalmique. Or
cette hymne elle-même n’est autre que notre Psaume 2352. On peut ainsi sup-
poser que le passage de la Hiérarchie céleste qui nous a servi de point de départ
trahit un usage liturgique53 et y place la transmission des mystères.
La suite du texte le fait d’ailleurs de manière bien plus explicite. Car, outre
le Psaume 23, Denys achève son examen de la transmission des mystères sur
un lieu commun liturgique. Le contexte évoque l’expérience doxologique qui
représente, pour les deux hiérarchies, le sommet de l’illumination. L’hymne
qui traduit cette doxologie est le Trisagion d’Isaïe VI 3, dont on connaît l’im-
mense fortune liturgique (et apocalyptique). Il manifeste ici le contenu même
de connaissance transmise aux hommes :
La Parole de Dieu a transmis aux habitants de la terre certains hymnes

que chante cette première hiérarchie et dans lesquels se manifeste sain-
tement l’éminence de l’illumination, la plus haute de toutes, qui lui
appartient. Les uns, en effet, traduisant cette illumination en termes sen-
sibles, dans une clameur qui ressemble au ‘mugissement des grandes
eaux’ (Apocalypse 19, 6), s’écrient : ‘Bénie soit la gloire du Seigneur au lieu
de son séjour !’ (Ézéchiel 3 : 2) ; les autres annoncent cette très célèbre et
51 Eutychès de Constantinople, Sermo de Paschale, PG 86, 2401–2402 A.

52 Voir Taft 1984, 181–182, et Paprocki 1993, 273–274. Il serait pourtant aventureux de vouloir
reconnaître ici – à partir de la juxtaposition probable des versets psalmiques et de la
composition hymnographique connue par la transmission liturgique sous le nom de Che-
roubikon – un passage manifeste de la traversée des cieux, selon les représentations que
nous avons rappelées plus haut, à l’accession au statut angélique pour le liturge. Faute de
confirmation par les sources, nous nous contenterons de souligner l’éventuelle conver-
gence des deux thèmes en un schéma cohérent. La disparition des versets psalmiques
montre par ailleurs que le développement de la liturgie a renoncé à ces représentations.
Nous en retrouvons cependant la trace dans certains manuscrits slaves qui prescrivent
au prêtre accomplissant la Grande Entrée de réciter devant les portes royales le Psaume
23 : 9 (Paprocki 1993, 284, se référant à Orlov 1909, 141), ainsi que dans le rite hautement
symbolique de la consécration d’une église par l’évêque. Une première attestation dans
le contexte de la consécration d’une église est à trouver dans la Chronique de Théophane
le Confesseur qui décrit la seconde dédicace de la Sainte-Sophie, le 24 décembre 562,
par l’empereur Justinien et le patriarche Eutychès. Ce dernier entre dans le temple avec
l’Évangéliaire aux accords du chant du Psaume 23 : 7–10 par le peuple ; voir PG 108, 520.
Pour une traduction anglaise, voir Mango et Scott 1997.
53 Voire se trouve lui-même, ensemble avec la tonalité générale de la théologie dionysienne,
à l’origine de cet usage ; voir Golitzin 1994, 401, pour qui il est vraisemblable que l’œuvre
de Denys ait joué un rôle dans l’addition du Cheroubikon à la liturgie constantinopoli-
taine ; voir le renvoi à l’étude de Wellesz 1961, 165.
222 Marasescu
auguste Parole divine : ‘Saint, saint, saint est le Seigneur Sabaot, Sa gloire
remplit toute la terre’ (Isaïe 6 : 3). Mais ces sublimes chants de louange
des esprits supracélestes, nous les avons déjà expliqués dans la mesure de
nos forces en traitant des Hymnes divins, et nous avons, à cette occasion,
suffisamment parlé d’eux, selon nos moyens, en sorte qu’il suffit de rappe-
ler que la première disposition, illuminée quant à la science des mystères
divins autant qu’il lui est permis de l’être, par la bonté de la Théarchie,
a transmis ensuite aussi son savoir, à titre de hiérarchie déiforme, aux
êtres qui viennent après elle, leur ouvrant la voie vers cette vérité qu’on
peut résumer brièvement en disant qu’il est raisonnable et légitime que
la vénérable Théarchie elle-même, qui est au-dessus de toute louange et
mérite toute louange, soit connue et célébrée, dans la mesure du pos-
sible, par les esprits qui reçoivent Dieu…54
…
Le dévoilement de la strate liturgique de l’œuvre dionysienne représente sans
aucun doute une « révolution copernicienne » dans la recherche sur le Cor-
pus aréopagitique. Il s’agit bien, croyons-nous, de l’événement critique majeur
depuis les travaux de Koch et Stiglmayr, lesquels avaient prouvé de manière
décisive, vers la fin du XIXe siècle, la dépendance de Denys des sources néo-
platoniciennes. Pourtant, si l’épreuve par la liturgie est manifestement très
éclairante et a permis d’absoudre Denys de son statut de « météorite » néo-
platonicienne55 sur l’horizon de la tradition chrétienne, elle n’en dissipe pas
pour autant toutes les difficultés des écrits aréopagitiques. Des analyses aussi
pointilleuses que celles de Golitzin ou élégantes que celles de Louth – dé-
marches qui font une si grande place à la liturgie comme marque évidente
d’un enracinement traditionnel de la théologie du Corpus et comme foyer de
l’expérience mystique proprement chrétienne qui y est décrite – laissent ce-
pendant subsister des questions essentielles sur le « platonisme » de Denys. La
plus importante, qui se situe à la croisée même du platonisme et du christia-
nisme, reste peut-être la suivante : Denys se soucie-t-il réellement d’exploiter
toutes les conséquences du mystère de l’Incarnation ?
L’affirmation de l’Incarnation et de son corollaire, l’Ascension dans la chair,
est faite, nous l’avons vu, de la manière la plus sensible au sein de l’expérience
liturgique. L’« étonnement » des anges qui a retenu ici notre attention dans un

55 Le terme a été utilisé par Vanneste 1963, 288.
court passage de Denys, étonnement devant la geste du Christ devenu homme

et monté aux cieux sous forme humaine, fait partie des représentations tra-
ditionnelles que la célébration liturgique reprend à son compte pour dire le
cœur du mystère chrétien de l’Incarnation. Mais le mystère est également ex-
primé par Denys à travers des affirmations plus directes et absolues, comme
celles faisant de Jésus le « principe », la « substance » et la « fin/perfection » de
toute hiérarchie (La Hiérarchie ecclésiastique I 1–2). Bien que celles-ci restent
manifestement trop peu développées ou explicitées pour situer plus résolu-
ment l’Incarnation au cœur de l’édifice dionysien, il est indéniable qu’elles
tentent de refondre et de donner une cohérence nouvelle, à partir de l’Incar-
nation, au système des hiérarchies : c’est par Jésus que les sacrements sont
accomplis et c’est encore par la communion à lui que la hiérarchie céleste elle-
même contemple Dieu (C.H. VII 2).
On peut se demander cependant si l’affirmation de l’Incarnation a véritable-
ment la force de troubler le schéma et la visée d’ensemble qui gouvernent le
système dionysien et de produire de la sorte un réel retournement de perspec-
tive dans ce cadre donné, si scrupuleusement élaboré, des hiérarchies et de
la forma mentis qu’elles sous-tendent. Dans les termes qui ont été les nôtres
au cours de ces pages, l’« étonnement » des anges devant ce mystère nou-
veau vient-il vraiment bouleverser l’ordre préétabli des structures du réel sur
lesquelles s’ordonne l’univers dionysien ? Car bien que, de manière générale,
on ait pu récuser l’idée d’une cosmologie dionysienne de tradition purement
platonisante-émanantiste en insistant sur les passages qui étayent une cosmo-
logie plus distinctement créationniste56, il est bien plus difficile de discerner
dans le Corpus ce que l’on pourrait appeler une véritable « positivité » de la
création, positivité qui se trouverait, cela va de soi, réaffirmée et renouve-
lée par le mystère de l’Incarnation. La perfection théorique à laquelle tend
le système dionysien ne semble penser la création qu’en vue de son retour
à la source dont elle procède, création prisonnière de la sorte d’une vision
cosmologique qui obéit au tropisme d’une telle prédestination57. Autrement
dit, la création est-elle plus qu’une simple parenthèse temporaire servant de
56 Voir pour un tel argumentaire von Ivanka 1990, 251–269.

57 Une remarque de Dodds sur l’Éros platonicien pourrait s’appliquer ici, mutatis mutandis,
à l’Incarnation dionysienne. Elle indique l’embarras devant un élément singulier mais
ambivalent (l’Éros chez Platon, l’Incarnation chez Denys) qui risque de faire pièce au
dualisme constitutif d’une cosmologie « platonicienne », élément qui a donc le pouvoir
de faire basculer un tel système de pensée et qui, de ce fait, ne semble jamais s’y trouver
pleinement assimilé ; voir Dodds 1977, 216 : « Éros a une importance spéciale dans la pen-
sée de Platon, parce qu’il est le seul mode d’expérience qui réunisse les deux natures de
l’homme, le soi divin et l’animal entravé. Car Éros, dit-il, est franchement enraciné dans
224 Marasescu
« levier » à une ascension qui finit par s’en affranchir ?58 Lui accorde-t-on un
sens, un projet et un dynamisme propres (dont l’écho rejaillirait dans l’éterni-
té, étant donné que, en toute rigueur, la création – désormais « nouvelle » –
est incluse dans le mystère de l’Ascension du Christ) ? Certes, l’eschatologie
dionysienne ne saurait être un simple néoplatonisme déguisé. Il n’en reste pas
moins qu’une intelligence biblique de la création et de l’homme aurait porté
son regard, plus pédestrement, sur un homme capable d’écrire lui-même, de-
puis le monde où il vit, son histoire avec Dieu. Or, à l’intérieur de la grandiose
vision d’ensemble et finalité du système des hiérarchies que dépeint l’œuvre
de Denys, peu de marge de manœuvre est laissée à une telle « initiative » de
l’homme. En effet, la fascination « esthétique »59 que la vision cosmologique
exerce sur l’auteur du Corpus ne concède pas une grande place à l’élaboration
d’une anthropologie qui soit la conséquence immédiate, naturelle, de l’activi-
té théandrique du Dieu incarné60. Du moins tel n’est pas le souci premier de
Denys.
ce que l’homme partage avec les bêtes, l’impulsion physiologique de la sexualité […] ;
mais Éros fournit aussi l’impulsion dynamique qui pousse l’âme en avant dans sa quête
d’une satisfaction qui transcende l’expérience terrestre. Il embrasse ainsi tout le registre
de la personnalité humaine et constitue le seul point empirique entre l’homme tel qu’il
est et l’homme tel qu’il pourrait être. Platon, à vrai dire, vient très près ici du concept
freudien de libido et de sublimation. Mais il n’intégra jamais entièrement cette ligne de
pensée au reste de sa philosophie, me semble-t-il ; s’il l’avait fait, sa conception de l’in-
tellect comme entité suffisante et indépendante du corps aurait été en danger, et Platon
n’allait pas risquer cela ». On peut objecter ici que la dialectique de l’Eros dionysien, Eros
qui avant d’être cosmique est divin et qui est lui-même source de l’Incarnation, propose
une solution chrétienne à cette aporie du platonisme en devenant le lieu par excellence
de l’échange et de l’union entre Dieu et le cosmos créé.
58 On a pu soutenir cependant que l’absolue « négation » qui conclut la Théologie mystique
ne déborde pas elle-même la logique d’un tropisme ascensionnel on ne saurait plus chré-
tien : un tel « renoncement au domaine du créé pour accéder à l’incréé » se situe, en effet,
au cœur même de la démarche mystique la plus orthodoxe ; voir Lossky 2005, 35–36 et
passim.
59 Voir, pour le rapport entre la dimension « esthétique » – telle qu’elle a été mise en relief
par Balthasar – et la dimension anthropologique de l’œuvre dionysienne, McGinn 1991,
161.
60 Si Denys affirme bien qu’une telle « opération théandrique » ou « divino-humaine » fait
advenir, de par sa nature même, « quelque chose de nouveau » parmi nous (Lettres IV :
kainên tina tên theandrikên energeian êmin pepoliteumenos), on ne trouvera pas chez lui
la moindre réflexion sur les implications d’une telle activité nouvelle pour la nature hu-
maine. Voir, pour une analyse de la christologie de ce passage, Roques 1954b, 310–313.
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The Creation of Man and His Constitution
According to Anastasius Sinaïta
Sermones duo in constitutionem hominis secundum imaginem Dei
Carlo Dell’Osso
Three discourses are attributed to Anastasius Sinaita1 concerning the creation

of man, but only two of them treat the constitution of man ex professo, while
the third is numbered among the works against the Monothelites.2 According
to the most recent studies, it is probable that these three discourses – together
with the works Viae Dux (The Guide), 103 Quaestiones et Responsiones (103
Questions and Responses) and 42 Narrationes (42 Narrations)– were written by
one and the same author, named Anastasius, who was a monk and priest on
Mount Sinai. He lived in the seventh century and was still active after the year
701.3 Furthermore, it seems that the first two discourses, which can be read
in continuity and are the object of this contribution, were written before 701,
after which the third was composed.4 Therefore, the historical-geographical
context of this literary production refers to the end of the seventh century and
to the Palestinian monastic milieu, especially that of Sinai.
To be clear from the outset, it is not our intention to enter into the questions
which are related to the authenticity of the writings credited to Anastasius
Sinaita, much less in the diatriba de Anastasiis, an overview of and detailed ref-
erences to which one can find in recent studies and publications.5 We would
much rather demonstrate how, in the late Patristic era, some anthropological
conceptions had already become traditional since they were anchored to a
1 Cf. CPG 7747; 7748; 7749.

2 The following is the critical edition of the discourses: Anastasii Sinaitae, Sermones duo in
costitutionem hominis necnon opuscula adversus Monotheletas, ed. Uthemann (CCSG 12); cf.
the review by Baggarly 1988, 253–255.
3 Thus, Kuehn and Baggerly 2007, XXIII, write in the introduction to their edition and trans-
lation of the Hexaemeron; cf. Dell’Osso 2009. For some brief notes on the life of Anastasius
Sinaita, cf. Munitiz 2011, 10–11. Regarding the relationship between the Sermones in consti-
tutionem hominis to the Hexaemeron, cf. Kuehn and Baggerly 2007, XXI–XXII, where the
suggestions of Uthemann are summarized. Cf. also the entry “Anastasius of Sinai” in Sav-
vides and Hendrickx 2007, 220–221, where it is held that the Hexaemeron is not an authentic
work of Anastasius Sinaita.
4 Cf. Uthemann 1985, CXLIX.
5 A detailed presentation of the studies of Anastasius is found in Kuehn and Baggarly 2007,
XIII–XXIII; cf. Uthemann 2000.
230 Dell’Osso
“theological” vision of the cosmos which had been present in Patristic reflec-
tion for some time already. On this account, we intend to present the first two
sermons In constitutionem hominis secundum imaginem Dei (On the making
of man according to the image of God) in order to show the author’s vision of
man, in relation to himself and others or in relation to God. It will be useful
for this purpose to have before our eyes the works of the Fathers from whom
the author drew inspiration. Those who taught on the subject were: Basil of
Caesarea in his Hexaemeron, Gregory of Nyssa with the work On the Making of
Man (De hominis opificio) and Methodius of Olympus in the Symposium.6
The vision of man that emerges from the two sermons contains in itself
trinitarian, Christological and psychological implications, noting, after the
manner of a major premise, that for this author anthropology is essentially
“theological” because it is understood in light of the creation of the universe in
which man is perfectly integrated, being a kosmos which – in a certain sense –
is a mix of two kosmoi, the heavenly and the terrestrial.7 The biblical text key
in this optic is Genesis 1:26 wherein the relationship of man with the heavenly
world is affirmed, since he is placed at creation’s vertex: he is not its master,
however, but rather a beneficiary.8 To this concept from the Old Testament
should be adjoined the Pauline reflections on man as body, soul and spirit
(1 Thessalonians 5:23) and on the carnal and spiritual man, the first and the
second Adam/Christ (1 Corinthians 15:45–49; Romans 5:12–21), whence anthro-
pology is truly grafted in Christology.9
In Anastasius’ exegetical concentration, offered in the two sermones, the
most urgent questions come from that which we call today theological anthro-
pology,10 such as the soul-body relation, the origin of the soul, the formation of
6 In the critical edition’s apparatus, prepared by Uthemann (CCSG 12), one may find the
Patristic references almost exhaustively, as also in the index fontium, on pages 171–194.
Basil of Caesarea, Cyril of Alexandria and Ps.-Dionysius are recognized as the greatest
inspirers of the thought of Anastasius the Sinaite. Cf. “Anastasius of Sinai,” in Savvides
and Hendrickx 2007 220. There are many works regarding the anthropology of the Fathers
of the Church; for a synthetic vision we would reference the following entries: Prinzivalli
2007; Grossi 2006; Gahbauer 1991.
7 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 1, 24–26. Gregory of Nazianzus speaks of man as a “mixed cosmos”
in Oratio 38, PG 36, 324A and in Oratio 45, PG 36, 632AB.
8 One can have an idea of the Patristic commentaries on Genesis 1:26–27 in Louth 2001,
27–37; also, obviously, the relative sections of the Biblia Patristica. A good anthology is
found in Hamman 1998.
9 The biblical background of the anthropology they saw in Christ, the model for the perfect
man, was widespread in the thought of the Fathers, cf. Grossi 2006, 370–378; Karpp 1950;
Hamman 1998, 55–67.
10 Actually a systematic treatise on man is lacking in the Fathers; nevertheless it is undeni-
able that anthropological themes are frequent in their writings. This holds true also for
The Creation of Man and His Constitution 231
the body, obviously beyond the meaning and significance of man, made in the
image and likeness of God. One will immediately notice that the two sermones
in constitutionem hominis secundum imaginem Dei do not offer a truly original
contribution to the study of anthropology and patristic cosmology, neverthe-
less they show the stabilization of a theological and philosophical tradition11
that will give yield for a long time in Christian anthropology.12
1 Vestigia Trinitatis
According to the author, the make-up of the human being “is difficult to
interpret insofar as he hides different and concealed mysteries of God;”13 to
understand these mysteries, one must take into consideration the creation
of the universe after God had created the heavenly world and the invisible
powers, as well as the earthly and visible material. Then he created man –
in a certain sense – as a mixed kosmos, connatural with two kosmoi, having
been fitted with an incorporeal, immortal and incorruptible soul and with a
material and visible body, made of the four elements.14 The creation of man,
according to the biblical text of Genesis 1:26–27, occurred ‘after the image of
God’, which the author does not hesitate to make explicit: in the image of the
Father, of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.15 This trinity is explained with the
example of the first human family, made up of Adam, Eve and their own son –
and he writes:
[God] created Adam without origin and without generation; then, his
son, the second man, through generation; he mysteriously gave existence
to Eve, neither through generation nor without an origin, but being taken
[from Adam’s rib], or rather proceeding from Adam’s substance, which
the two Sermones in constitutionem hominis of Anastasius, although they are of an exeget-
ical and pastoral nature. They reveal different promptings for a reflection on the human
being, its make-up and destiny.
11 Regarding Greek philosophy, especially Platonic, Aristotelian and Stoic, it has been amply
noted that they exercised an influence on Christian anthropology, already in epochs and
authors prior to Anastasius; in his sermones, however, he prefers to entrust himself to the
notions of man which are derived from Scripture and the Fathers of the Church. For an
overview of the philosophical questions, cf. Tresmontant 1961; Hamman 1987; Kirchmeyer
1967.
12 The most recent study of the sermons is a doctoral dissertation at the Pontifical Univer-
sity of Santa Croce in Rome, from which an extract has been published: Rivas 2011.
13 Anastasius, Sermo I 1, 13–15.
14 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 1, 20–26.
232 Dell’Osso
is without origin. Did, perhaps these three persons, the ancestors of all
humanity, become the consubstantial hypostases – according to a cer-
tain image and in a figurative manner – of the Holy and Consubstantial
Trinity, as it seems to Methodius? As soon as Adam, in as much as he
was without origin or generation, possesses the image and the figuration
of God the Father All-mighty, without cause and cause of all; while his
generated son outlines the image of the Son and the Word of God gen-
erated; last, Eve who proceeds indicates the hypostasis that springs from
the procession of the Holy Spirit?16
Hence, Adam is the figure and image of the Father, his son is the image of the
Word, and Eve of the Holy Spirit, for in them it is possible to individuate the
hypostatic properties of the three divine persons: unbegotten being, gener-
ated being, and the one proceeding. Evidently Anastasius’ approach to the text
and to biblical figures is of theological/dogmatic nature, and it is there that
he shows himself to possess a “mature” trinitarian doctrine. But, we wish to
underline above all that even before the molding of the first man, the trinitar-
ian imprint can be recognized in the first human family, whence even before
Adam humanity itself is the image of the Triune God. The author perceives
that the source of this idea is Methodius of Olympus, from whom we have the
citation of a passage from the Fragmenta incerta (Uncertain fragments),17 to
which it seems impossible to add anything else.18
The text has consequences, as the author later writes, i.e., that no one can
any longer be like Adam, who was not begotten and without beginning, nei-
ther can one be as Eve, taken from Adam’s rib, and thus in a certain manner
of speaking, proceeding from him; hence only Adam’s son, whom they gener-
ated, can be similar to other men who have been, in turn, generated by their
respective parents. The son, then, was in his turn made according to the image
and likeness of Christ, who is precisely the generated Son.19 Thus, the concept
of image and likeness, for the author, brings us back to the Son of God, to the
second Person of the Trinity, in as much as he has the hypostatic properties
of generated being. In this optic, the author elaborates an adaptation of the
concept of image and likeness: from the entire first human family to the son

17 Cf. CPG 1826; Methodius, Fragmenta incerta, ed. Bonwetsch (GCS 27), 521, 2–9.
18 We could find a certain validation in Anastasius’ Viae Dux XVII, 33–34, where Adam is
called “unbegotten,” but the concepts do not correspond perfectly.
19 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 1, 83–91. This discourse on man, made according to the image of
the Incarnate Word, is developed further by Anastasius himself in his Sermo II, as we shall
see in what follows.
alone of Adam and Eve, as from the whole Trinity to the second Person alone
and, by consequence, from all humanity to the singular person – simply, in the
end, all the way to the soul, though without excluding a priori the body.
2 The Soul, Image of God in Man
The author has no doubts that the image and likeness20 with God must be
sought above all in the human soul,21 for it possesses the elements which liken
it to God, for whom it is in a certain sense connatural. In the first place, we
do not know its essence, but we know only that it rules the body, just like
God, whose nature remains mysterious, while His providential work in the
world is evident.22 Furthermore, the soul exists and operates throughout the
entire body, but we do not know where exactly it resides within the body, like
God whom we believe to be everywhere without knowing where he resides or
dwells.23 What is more, the nature of the soul is different from that of other
created things; and as it is impossible to speak of the reasons for the existence
20 We note that Anastasius does not dwell on the distinction between “image” and “likeness,”
as do Athanasius, Gregory of Nyssa and other authors; cf. the apparatus of Uthemann’s
edition of Anastasius, Sermones duo, 4–5, where the scholar also indicates other Chris-
tian authors who commented on the difference between the two terms, attributing to
the image man’s essential aspect and to the likeness the path of conformation to Christ
by means of faith, baptism and the exercise of the virtues, thus the results of spiritual
progress. We can say that of the two terms, the one regards the ontological and the
other the moral order. Cf. Kirchmeyer 1967, 812–822 (Greek Fathers); Solignac 1969 (Latin
Fathers); Crouzel 2007.
21 Gregory of Nyssa in the De hominis opificio clearly expressed the concept according to
which the image of God in man resides in his soul. Cf. the doctoral thesis of Arko 1999,
100–112. For a larger vision of the argument, cf. Bainvel 1930; also Dell’Osso 2007.
23 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 2, 16–20. A text with similar observations relative to the soul’s
non-localization, in the western sphere, is found in the De statu animae of Claudianus
Mamertus, wherein we read: “With an awe-inspiring and unsolvable syllogism one can
affirm that the soul is wherever it is and is not wherever it is not; as if we were to affirm
that the same is either everywhere or is not in any part. If it were everywhere, it would
be God; if it were not anywhere, it would be nothing. The soul, therefore, is not (found)
wholly in the whole world, but as God is throughout the entire universe, thus is the
soul whole throughout the body. Also, as God does fill a small part of the world with a
small part of Himself - nor is there anywhere a larger or smaller part of Himself, rather
- He is whole in the part and entire in the whole, so the soul is not partially in one part
or another. Neither does one part of the soul give sensation to the ear, while another
quickens the finger, but as it lives entirely in the eye and sees all through the eye, in that
manner does it live in the fingers and senses in whole through the fingers” (PL 53, 761B).
234 Dell’Osso
of God, thus do we not know how the soul comes into existence;24 this is
why different hypotheses have been thought of.25 Furthermore, the author,
giving credit again to Methodius of Olympus, highlights the noble grandeur
and beauty of the soul. This is owed precisely to the fact that it was made
according to the image of the Son, being such that it could attract simultane-
ously the love and the envy of the “adversary spirits.”26
With these premises, the author probes deeper in his investigation of the
soul, as traits arise which distinguish it from all the other creatures and bring
it closer to God; but even the vestigia Trinitatis, as they show a reflection of
God in the soul from the beginning, they wonderfully give proof of its unity
and its trinity:
It is evident that our soul exists, its intellectual reasoning and its mind,
which the Apostle has called “spirit,” when he exhorts us to be holy in
soul, body and spirit. Indeed, the soul is ungenerated and without cause,
in the image of God the Father, unbegotten and without cause, while his
rational intellect is not ungenerated – though it be ineffably, invisibly
and unexplainably begotten by it, without suffering. The mind, then, is
not without cause nor generated, but it arises by procession.27
Therefore, if we can individuate three dimensions in soul: the psyché, the

noeròs logos and the nous, and these three analogically possess the hyposta-
tic traits of the three Divine Persons, or precisely: unbegotten being, begotten
being, the one proceeding. This means that in the soul, there are traces of the
Trinity – the psyché is the image of the Father, the noeròs logos that of the
Son, and the nous of the Holy Spirit, wherefore the soul contains in itself the
impression of each Person of the Trinity.28 In this figurative sense – not in its
essence – we discover the soul as the image of the One and Triune God in the
human being: it is one in its essence, yet triple in its character(s).29
Even the wise non-Christians, who drew attention to three potencies in
the soul, the concupiscible, the rational/reasoning and the irascible, acknowl-

25 The author treats the different hypotheses on the soul’s origin in Anastasius, Sermo I 2,
27–44.
26 Cf. Methodius, Symposium VI 1, ed. Bonwetsch, 64, 8–65, 7; Anastasius, Sermo I, 2, 50–55.
28 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 3, 36–40. This trinitarian image of the soul is also found in the
Hexaemeron VI 4 3–5, attributed to Anastasius himself, who – among other things – notes
that he had already written about this in the two small works on the constitution of man.
edged this tripartite nature of the soul.30 Now, the concupiscible power can be
likened to the charity of God; the rational faculty to his knowledge and wis-
dom, and the irascible serves to oppose pernicious spirits.31 As is evident, in
these potencies, too, we see the three Persons of the Trinity adumbrated: the
love of the Father, the knowledge and wisdom of the Son and the work against
evil spirits, carried out by the Holy Spirit. Furthermore, these three faculties of
the soul are also reminiscent of God’s three-fold manner of acting in the world,
concerning heavenly realities, the earthly and those below the Earth, which He
rules by his creative power, his providence and his judgment. For the author,
besides, God’s creative power is reflected in the concupiscible potency of the
human soul; indeed, the cupiditas incites to action. Meanwhile, the rational
faculty evokes divine providence, and divine judgment is represented in the
soul by its irascible power, as he writes:
God in the Trinity administers and rules the three parts [of the universe]
in the three ways, and that is: the celestial realm, the terrestrial and that
of the underground, by means of his creative power, his providence and
his judgment. As a matter of fact, all that God carries out, he realizes
totally according to one of these three fashions, and that is: as creator,
as foreseer, as chastener. Here, the concupiscible potency of the soul is
patterned after the image of the creative power of God; truly, this eager-
ness pushes towards action; the rational faculty of the soul is, in its turn,
a symbol of the providence of God; finally, the irascible potency offers an
indication of the chastisement of God.32
Therefore, in order to understand in what sense man is after the image and
likeness of God, it is necessary to observe the constitution of the soul in its
oneness and in its tripartite-ness, or if you will, in what manner it is one and
triple at the same time, so that we may glimpse in man the footprints of the
One and Triune God. What is more, these aspects of the human soul, as we
have already seen, reveal a small glimmer on the work of God in the cosmos,
that is, concerning creation, providence and judgment, which are associated
and join man and the cosmos in the destiny.
In addition to the soul, the growth of the body also foreshadows a trinitarian
development. As a matter of fact, when people are born – although having a
30 These three faculties had been identified by Aristotle, cf. Aristotle, De anima III 9, 432a;
etc.
236 Dell’Osso
soul – they are not yet able to speak and to reason, but then while growing
acquire speech and finally, in adulthood, exercise. According to the author,
even these three paths of human development recall the Father, the Son, and
the Holy Spirit.33 Despite this last suggestion, which without a doubt suggests
the dignity of the body, for the author, it is the interior way that has pride of
place, which leads to the place of discovery of the image and the likeness of
God in man, as he so clearly affirms:
If you wish to deal with the image and likeness with God, discuss it in this
manner: not based on outside realities – but from those that are found
inside you – are you to identify the hidden God; from the trinity that is in
you, you recognize the Trinity by means of the realities that exist within
you: this is the strongest and most credible statement, above that of every
legal precept and of Scripture.34
This interior journey does not only assist in the understanding of the intimate
composition of man, but it also attempts to provide some indications concern-
ing the mystery of the Trinity, which remains in its complexity, as the author
expresses through a whole series of questions which surround the trinitarian
question.35 The mystery, indeed, is left incomprehensible if we do not find
some trace in man, i.e. in his soul. From this perspective, heretics, such as
Arius and Macedonius – who erred in their understanding of the Trinity – did
not truly understand the interior constitution of man, much less did they take
up their survey by an interior path.36
Returning to the image and to the likeness, the author now proposes the
method per appellationem, in the sense that, when the Father is mentioned,
this also suggests the Son because God cannot be the Father unless he has the
Son. The same thing occurs when we make mention of the Holy Spirit, as soon
as we re-evoke the Father and the Son, too, by implication. If we proceed in
this way with the human being, we shall note that by referencing “the rational
soul and the mind’s provision,” both the reason and the mind are mentioned; it
is after the same pattern when we speak of the mind: the soul, too, and reason
are implied:
33 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 4, 1–17. In regard to the trinitarian analogy in the human body, we
have offered a brief example of it in our contribution: Dell’Osso 2008.
Go, then, from this Holy Trinity to its image; I mean that trinity that is
inside us, and I would imagine its three appellations, which are them-
selves united and connected. In fact, if you say rational soul and the
provision of the mind, it is clear that you have meant the reason and
mind also; if, rather, you mention the reason, it is obvious that you meant
the rational soul, too, which it generated; similarly, if you speak of the
mind, you have pointed out in every way the soul and the reason. In fact,
whose would the mind be if not the soul’s and the reason’s?37
Beyond the ordinary term, the author shows that in the Trinity there is only
one “energy,” owing to the same divine essence, which makes it so that when
one of the three Persons operates, the other two also cooperate. The same
occurs within the soul, which always operates with the reason and the mind,
as much as the three dimensions have one and the same essence and the same
energy.38
For certain, the soul is the privileged model for a treatise on the mystery
of the Trinity, since it is in itself pervasively trinitarian and above all because
it is possible to individuate in it the hypostatic properties of the three Divine
Persons, that is, unbegotten being, generation, and procession.
3 After the Image of the Image
In the second Sermo in costitutionem hominis secundum imaginem Dei, the

author confronts the theme of the image and likeness of man with God on
the Christological level; as a matter of fact, man, made of a soul and a body,
beckons the hypostatic union of the two natures in the one person of the
Incarnate Word. Truly, the use of the anthropological model in Christology
came from afar, for it was already in use from the times of the Apollinarist and
then Monophysite controversies.39 In this text, the use of the anthropologi-
cal analogy is placed in an “orthodox” context, or in other words, in a context
wherein there remains a perfect equilibrium between the two natures.40 The
point of departure is the exaltation of the grandeur wisdom of God, which

39 Concerning this dispute, the contribution of Uthemann remains fundamental, cf. Uthe-
mann 1982. Cf. also the apparatus of the critical edition: Uthemann 1985, 35.
40 Regarding this subject, cf. Dell’Osso 2003.
238 Dell’Osso
remains inscrutable and mysterious to the eyes of men,41 having placed within
man two perspectives: the one visible and the other invisible; one mortal and
another immortal. It is with such a meaning that the immortal and rational
soul is the image of the divinity of Christ, while the body is the image of His
true humanity.42 This determination is located in a larger theological context;
in fact, the author sustains that God made man to have a soul and a body,
foreseeing the incarnation of the Son.
In this sermo, too, the author cites the same passage from the Symposium
of Methodius of Olympus, already mentioned in the first sermo,43 which dealt
with the beauty of the soul, made in the image of the Image. It is in such a
sense that the author attests that since the Son is the image of the Father, God
made man “according to the image of the Image,”44 or in other words, accord-
ing to the image of Christ, imprint of the substance of the Father.45 One must
make note, however, that Anastasius broadens the semantic importance of the
concept of image in sight of the entire person, and that is, he also includes the
body, while Methodius, when he discusses the image of the Image in the Sym-
posium, he is referring exclusively to the soul. Therefore, the concept of image
of the Image implies the whole person, even his body – which symbolizes a
humanity perfectly consubstantial to ours – which Christ assumed to Himself
when he became incarnate.
In the two-dimensional composition of man, it is possible to identify the
salvific plan of God, who did not create man of one single substance, like
the angels and the animals, but of two different substances, so that he could
become incarnate. Actually, God first created the human being terrestrial and
mortal, and then the celestial and immortal, in order that God might vivify
that which was mortal and to raise to the heavens that which was earthly.
For this man was not made of one essence only, as were the angels and
the animals, but from dissimilar realities and of a different essence, mate-
rial and immaterial, terrestrial and divine, corruptible and incorruptible.
It was on account of this that the first was made of matter and then the
41 The sermo takes its beginning from Psalm 138:6: “Such knowledge [of the Lord] is too
wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain it.”
42 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo II 1, 20–24.
43 Cf. Methodius, Symposium VI 1, ed. Bonwetsch, 64, 17–20. The passage is mentioned in the
Sermo I, cf. n. 26 above.
44 Already Philo of Alexandria had stated that only the Logos is the authentic image of God,
while man cannot be but an “image of the Image” cf. Philo, De opificio mundi 24–25;
Legum allegoriae III 96.
45 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo II 1, 63–68; he takes the quotation from Hebrews 1:3.
divine was embedded in the earthly, not so that we might dwell with
God, but so that God might dwell among us.46
Therefore, the creation of the flesh prefigures the future abode of the Word,
because the initiative is from God – and not of men – that He come to dwell in
the midst of men; in other terms, the flesh is the landing place of the process
of the kenosis of God, such that even human flesh participates in the salvific
mediation, for it was assumed by the Word. In this same perspective, then,
imitating chapter two of Genesis, the author maintains that God did not create
the body from water or from fire, but from the earth, because he wishes to unite
himself with the earth,47 or better, he wanted to infuse His divine life into the
world.48 In this case, too, we have a further indication in favour of the dignity
of the body and created matter.
After these considerations, the author returns to man’s composition, which
evokes for him the hypostatic union which is realized in Christ at the moment
of His conception in the womb of Mary, for even in the womb of a woman – in
an ineffable and unexplainable manner – the soul and the body unite for the
conception of the human being. The author continues along this Christologi-
cal path by saying:
Neither the body is created and assembled before the soul, neither is the
soul united to or preexisting the body, rather, that which is mortal and
that which is immortal – as if they were two heterogeneous essences –
come together by coexistence, in order to suggest the hypostatic union of
the two essences of Christ, His immortal divinity and His mortal human-
ity.49
Therefore, that which happens in man is exactly like what occurs in the Incar-
nate Word, for which reason, as the divinity and humanity converge in the
Word, thanks to the hypostatic union, thus do the soul and the body combine
in man at the moment of his conception and of his formation.50 Precisely in
this way does the author propose the exegesis of Genesis 3:22, where he dis-
cusses the condition of man after the fall and we read: “Behold: Adam has

49 Anastasius, Sermo II 2, 41–47.
50 This use of the anthropological analogy was already amply attested by centuries of theo-
logical reflection.
240 Dell’Osso
become as one of us.” The author proposes to understand the passage in corre-
lation with the incarnation, and that is: Adam is to be “like one of us” after the
fall, just as the Word became material and corruptible after the incarnation.
This exegesis does not warrant an ironic interpretation of the passage, as some
have submitted, because God’s word does not concur with the deception of
the serpent, as it said to the two protoplasts “You shall be like gods,” making
use of the plural and bringing to mind – in a certain sense – polytheism, while
God speaks in the singular; whence Adam “has become as one of us,” or in
other words, like one of the Holy Trinity. Thus, the mortal condition and cor-
ruptibility, having entered into man after the sin, in a certain sense, anticipates
the mystery of the Incarnation of the Word, which recaps in itself divinity and
humanity.
The author, then, taking inspiration from the reflections of Gregory of
Nazianzus and of Gregory of Nyssa,51 identifies certain elements regarding
other details of the creation account of man, which testify to the fact that the
first man was the image of the Word, such as Adam’s nudity, which is a figure
of the nudity of the Word that, in the Incarnation, takes on a tunic of human
skin, made of flesh and created.52 Adam, furthermore, being naked, incorrupt-
ible and immortal, clothed himself with a coat of skin that owed nothing to
the seed of man, exactly like the flesh assumed by the Word.53 Thus, the Gen-
esis account confirms in every detail that Adam was made after the image of
the Word; moreover, God the Father would not have had another image after
his likeness, from which he could create man, if not that same image, and
that is his Word. Having foreseen this, only the incarnate Word can be called
the image of God, while man was created “according to the image,” for which
reason we can say that he was made “according to the image of the image.”
In the final part of the sermo the author reiterates that God has created
only man according to his image and likeness; in fact, neither the angelic or
celestial creatures, much less those which are terrestrial and material, were
51 The references are to the Oratio 38, 12 of Gregory of Nazianzus, and those which are taken
from both the De anima and the De hominis opificio of Gregory of Nyssa.
52 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo II 3, 1–12. In Genesis 3:21, we read about “tunics of skin” which God
gave to Adam and Eve before casting them out of paradise; this passage occupied an
important place in the history of the anthropological speculations of Christian thinkers.
Among different interpretations of the passage, the most wide-spread was the allegorical
one, which identified the loincloths with the mortal and sexually differentiated bodies of
fallen humanity, cf. Beatrice 2008. Regarding sexual differentiation and the recovery of
the woman in the concept of the image of God, we have a number of studies which are
included in the collection Børresen 1991.
made according to the image and likeness of God; whence, it is precisely being
in the image and likeness of God that is the constitutive and distinctive ele-
ment of man, or better yet: it is the sign of man’s excellence with respect to all
the other created beings.54 As he had already said previously, especially in the
first sermo, to be in the image and likeness of God does not mean to exercise
dominion over the earth and over the elements, but it regards the soul which
was infused in man at the moment of creation.
4 Anthropology in the Light of Christology
If man is image of the Image, it is necessary to stress those elements of Chris-

tology which emerge from the two sermones and which cause the theological
thought of the author to surface;55 in particular, there are two Christological
concepts which recur often, i.e., the hypostatic union of the two natures which
occurs κατὰ σύνθεσιν and the formula of the Scythian monks, Unus de Trinitate
passus est carne. These two themes, which had such a career in the theology of
the sixth century, lent themselves to an “anthropological” application insofar
as they could draw to the fore, on the one hand, the “synthetic” union of soul
and body in man and, on the other hand, the oneness of the subject acting.
As for the hypostatic union and its interpretation as a “composite union” or
“according to the composite” one should remember that already the Council
of Constantinople in the year 553 had established that:
The union of the Word of God with the flesh animated by a rational and
intellectual soul came about by composition (κατὰ σύνθεσιν) – that is
according to the hypostasis, just as the Holy Fathers have taught.56
Thus, the union of the two natures in the Word was to be understood as a
synthesis that had occurred in the sole hypostasis, which did not beget a com-
posite nature in which the two original natures would be blended and mixed
up, but rather it preserved the integrality of the two natures in the composi-
tion. This view adapted itself well to the constitution of man, wherein the soul
and the body unite without being mixed together and they remained in their
proper spiritual and material essence; whence it is with reason that one could
54 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo II, 4, 1–30.

55 Børresen 1991, 188, also speaks of an interaction between anthropology and theology.
56 Acta conciliorum oecumenicorum, ed. Schwartz, vol. IV 1, 216.
242 Dell’Osso
say that man’s make-up reflected that of the incarnate Word, since both Adam
and Christ were ontologically bi-dimensional.
The same Constantinopolitan Council of the year 553 had, then, affirmed
that there exists only one hypostasis, “Our Lord Jesus Christ, one of the Holy
Trinity,”57 adopting the so-called theopaschite formula of the Scythian monks;
this assured the unicity of the subject who was truly the Second Person of the
Trinity, the Word of God, thus avoiding the Nestorian deviations which came
to be reproached against their defenders at the Council of Chalcedon, and of
the formula of the two natures.58 In this sense, it is evident that the unicity of
the divine person recalls the oneness of the human subject, which acts in the
soul and body.
In conclusion, the creation of man prefigures and anticipates the incarna-
tion of the Word Himself, justifying us to regard the incarnation itself as a
“new creation.” At the same time, however, we must note that man is made
according to the image of the “incarnate” Word, which is following a visible
image of the invisible God,59 for he was created according to the pattern of the
Word who had to become flesh, destined to be transfigured in the Resurrec-
tion thanks to the work of the Holy Spirit;60 in this way, Anastasius is in accord
with the prior theological tradition, according to which man is the image of
God thanks to the mediation of the Word incarnate.61
5 Concluding Reflections
The theme of the image and likeness of man with God, in light of the passage
from Genesis 1:26–27, is fundamental for the comprehension of the Christian
57 Ibid.
58 From the time of the Emperor Justinian, the formula Unus de Trinitate passus est carne
was retained as the code of Chalcedonian orthodoxy cf. Dell’Osso, 2010, 268–271.
59 Cf. Colossians 1:15ff.
60 This concept, moreover, was traditional, both in the West as well as in the East. Cf. Ham-
man 1987, 291–2; in particular the creation according to the image of the Word incarnate
is affirmed by Irenaeus, Adversus haereses V 16, 2, where we read: “When the Word of God
became flesh, this confirms both the properties: in fact, he showed that the image was
true, becoming himself that which was his own image, and he restored the likeness by
strengthening it, rendering man similar to the invisible Father by means of the visible
Word.”
61 Cf. Kirchmeyer 1967, 815. This concept launches the reflection upon the cosmic and
divinizing role of the Incarnate Word which will be developed in the theological reflec-
tions to follow, as in the case of Gregory Palamas († 1359) and Nicolas Cabasilas († 1371).
theological anthropology which comprises the trinitarian, the Christological

and the psychological dimensions of man. It is in this manner that the author
of the two sermones does not distance himself from the patristic theological
tradition which had made of these concepts interpretative key tools for read-
ing of man in his horizontal dimension, and that is in his relations with other
creatures; and in his vertical dimension, individuating a certain “kinship” of
man with his creator, the One and Triune God.
Having seen this, we are able to observe some features which character-
ize the sermones of Anastasius; in the first place it must be said that the
hinge of his discourses is the exegesis of Scripture, especially of the first two
chapters of Genesis together with some passages from the Pauline Epistles,
as well as a view toward the patristic tradition; he takes inspiration explicitly
from Methodius of Olympus62 and from Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory
of Nyssa.63 Thus does his vision of man insert itself in an exegetical con-
text aimed at presenting Revelation by means of recourse to Scripture, which
reveals man to man. Moreover, every time the Fathers, especially the Greek
Fathers, had treated man, they had anchored their reflection on the passage
from Genesis 1:26–27 in order to recount the origin of man, of the significance
of his history and of his destiny.64
In the second instance, one should recall that the reflections regarding
man – in patristic literature – functioned as a catalyzing agent for many other
subject matters, such as cosmogony and cosmology, trinitarian and Christo-
logical teaching, moral theology and spirituality; and so, also in the anthropo-
logical considerations which are contained in the sermones of Anastasius, it is
possible to glimpse the other horizons of the author’s speculation, especially
his theological formulation, which presents a strongly “orthodox” character-
istic, principally in relation to the Trinity and to Christology. As a matter of
fact, by proclaiming Christ “One of the Trinity” according to the formula of the
Scythian monks, he made manifest his traditionally neo-Chalcedonian back-
ground.65
We have, furthermore, brought to light in the section dedicated to the image
of the Image that the discourse about creation after the image and likeness
does not allow – from Anastasius’ view – a depreciation of corporeity, in favour
of the exaltation of the dignity of the soul alone, whose connaturality with the
divine was never up for discussion, because the corporeity of man symbolizes
62 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 1, 71; I 2, 51; II 1, 63–64.

63 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo II 3, 7.
64 Cf. Kirchmeyer 1967, 812.
65 Cf. Anastasius, Sermo I 1, 53–54; Sermo II 2, 28–29; 2, 52–53.
244 Dell’Osso
the humanity assumed by the Word. For this reason, too, corporeity is salvaged
within the anthropological/theological discourse, since it is binding to bring
to light the mystery of man in his totality. Moreover, the very assumption of
humanity on the part of the Word, who is the perfect image of the Father,
is the sign of the dignity recognized for corporeity itself. Even in this case,
Anastasius sustains and exalts a theological concept that remounts far beyond
him, all the way to the times of Ireneaus of Lyons.
Finally, in the discourses of Anastasius, one of the directive keys of Greek
patristic anthropology surfaces, and that is the discussion concerning the
“divinization” of man; not so much as the perfecting of the image of God, as
much as the seed placed by God in man from the very beginning of creation,
and at the same time, as ultimate end of the individual existence and outcome
of the spiritual progress in beatitude. In fact, the transition which goes from
simply reflecting the image of God to become like to God is the objective of
the spiritual journey of the believing man and this opens the matter to other
horizons reflection, such as the orienting of man towards the supernatural or
to the “natural” desire to see God, or also the cosmic and divinizing role of the
Word incarnate, motifs which will be the object of the theological reflections
of the following centuries.
In conclusion, though short and not exactly original, the two sermones in
constitutionem hominis secundum imaginem Dei offer a synthesis of the most
important problems of patristic anthropology regarding the origin and consti-
tution of man, and for this reason, they constitute anchor, going back to the
Seventh Century, in order to follow the itinerary of the development of the
Christian anthropological concepts toward the coming centuries.
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Un kaléidoscope byzantin sur les six jours de la
création
Peter Van Deun
Le récit des six jours de la création tel qu’on le lit dans les deux premiers cha-
pitres du livre de la Genèse, a fasciné un grand nombre d’artistes jusqu’à nos
jours ; on ne mentionnera ici que l’ensemble de mosaïques monumental qu’on
peut admirer à Monreale en Sicile. Et évidemment, tout patrologue connaît les
grands commentaires sur l’Hexaméron rédigés en grec à l’époque patristique
et byzantine, tels que ceux qui ont circulé sous le nom d’Eustathe d’Antioche
(dont une édition critique manque encore), de Basile de Césarée (avec son cé-
lèbre In Hexaemeron), de Grégoire de Nysse (le De opificio hominis, une œuvre
qui a connu un succès énorme dont témoignent les innombrables manuscrits,
les traductions anciennes et les nombreuses citations dans des florilèges), de
Sévérien de Gabala1 et d’Anastase le Sinaïte (pour laquelle l’editio maior est
attendue avec impatience).
Mais dans les manuscrits se cachent un bon nombre d’entreprises exégé-
tiques beaucoup plus modestes. Tel est le cas d’un opuscule, resté anonyme,
dont on trouvera l’édition ci-dessous. Ce texte ne semble être conservé que
dans deux témoins qu’on présentera ici tout brièvement.
Tout d’abord il y a le Monacensis gr. 230, un manuscrit papier très inté-
ressant (désigné dorénavant avec le sigle A) ; grâce au catalogue paru récem-
ment2, les détails de ce manuscrit sont assez bien connus. Le volume, qui
contient, entre autres, le Lexique de Cyrille (ff. 1–246), provient de la biblio-
thèque de la famille Fugger et date des années 1280–1290. Les ff. 1–12v et
291–311 reviennent à un certain Niphon, inconnu par ailleurs3. Notre texte
se trouve aux ff. 297v–303, précédé de la partie « étymologique » du Viae
Dux d’Anastase le Sinaïte (ff. 293v–296) et d’une série de scholies d’Évagre le
Pontique sur les Proverbes (ff. 296–297v)4, et suivi d’un opuscule traitant des
parties du corps humain (sous le titre περὶ στοιχείων ; ff. 303–304v).
1 Une édition critique de ces homélies In Hexaemeron est préparée par Annette von Stockhau-
sen, Benjamin Gleede et Peter Van Deun.
2 Voir la description très détaillée faite par Hajdù 2012, 267–274.
3 Voir PLP 20645.
4 Pour une édition de ces scholies, voir Géhin 1987, 482–489.
248 Van Deun
Le Mediolanensis, Ambrosianus C 69 sup. (dorénavant manuscrit B), étudié

en détail par Paul Géhin5, est un volume composite divisé en dix parties diffé-
rentes, dues à leur tour à six scribes ; avant d’entrer à l’Ambrosienne, le codex
a fait partie de la bibliothèque de l’humaniste de Padoue Gian Vincenzo Pinel-
li (1535–1601). C’est la septième partie qui nous intéresse ici (ff. 206–221) ; de
contenu très varié, cette section du manuscrit de Milan – notre texte se trouve
aux ff. 212v–215 – coïncide, pour une grande partie, avec les ff. 286v–311 du
manuscrit munichois. Il est clair que, pour cette partie, l’Ambrosianus est un
apographe du Monacensis. Des éléments vraiment décisifs permettant de dire
que la partie VII du manuscrit de Milan revient au scribe Bernardo Feliciano
(circa 1490 – après 1552) et que la copie a été faite à Venise, manquent.
Concentrons-nous maintenant sur notre texte, contenant l’explication de 95
mots qui sont rattachés aux six jours de la création : 11 notions pour le premier
jour, 4 pour le deuxième, 37 pour le troisième, 18 pour le jour suivant, 17 pour le
cinquième jour et 8 pour le sixième. Il n’est pas vrai que tous ces mots, comme
l’a dit P. Géhin6, se lisent dans le récit de la Genèse ; en effet, seuls 16 mots sont
empruntés à ce livre biblique.
Chacun de ces mots est suivi d’une explication étymologique populaire qui
n’a évidemment aucune valeur scientifique. Le compilateur, resté anonyme,
a largement puisé dans l’Etymologicum Gudianum (dorénavant EG). Des 95
étymologies que renferme notre opuscule, il y a en a 79 qui coïncident, com-
plètement ou partiellement, avec des explications qu’on lit dans l’EG ; pour
les autres 16 étymologies, nous n’avons trouvé aucune source directe, ce qui
donne une certaine valeur à notre texte. Mais une certaine prudence s’impose
ici : jusqu’au mot ζειαί, on dispose d’une édition assez fiable de l’EG, établie par
A. de Stefani7 ; pour le reste de la compilation, on n’a que l’édition de F. G. Stur-
zius8, très mauvaise.
Le dossier de l’EG est, on le sait, vraiment exceptionnel, puisque l’original de
cette collection monumentale nous est parvenu ; il s’agit du Vaticanus, Barbe-
rinianus gr. 70, qui date probablement du XIème siècle (seconde moitié ?) et a
toutes les chances d’être d’origine salentine ; malheureusement, l’identité des
trois scribes qui ont œuvré à ce manuscrit n’a pas encore pu être identifiée9.
5 Voir l’article de Géhin 2004.

6 Ibid., 270, n. 24.
7 Etymologicum Gudianum, éd. de Stefani, une édition utilisant des pages.
8 Etymologicum Graecae linguae Gudianum et alia Grammaticorum scripta, éd. Sturzius, une
édition utilisant des colonnes.
9 Il est évident que ce manuscrit vénérable a attiré l’attention des érudits ; on ne citera ici,
à titre d’exemples, que les publications suivantes : Reitzenstein 1897, 70–155 ; Cellerini 1988,
particulièrement 21–29 ; Maleci 1995.
Un kaléidoscope byzantin 249
De ce codex dépend toute la tradition manuscrite, abondante et fort compli-

quée ; dans les marges du Barberinianus sont introduites un grand nombre
de variantes, conservées dans la plupart des témoins postérieurs. On notera
encore que la partie étymologique qu’on trouve dans le Viae Dux d’Anastase
le Sinaïte (avec 110 explications étymologiques) – une section qu’on lit aussi
dans nos deux témoins, juste avant notre texte –, dépend également de l’EG, ce
qui permet de conclure que cette section du Viae Dux a postérieurement été
interpolée10.
Le fait que notre opuscule a pillé l’EG nous permet de conclure qu’il a été
compilé entre le XIème siècle (seconde moitié ?) – date du Barberinianus – et
les années 1280–1290 – date du Monacensis, le témoin le plus ancien de notre
texte. En lisant les notes accompagnant notre édition, on constatera que dans
nos deux témoins, les fautes fourmillent ; de cette constatation, il ressort clai-
rement que le manuscrit A, dont dépend le codex B semble-t-il11, ne constitue
pas la version originale de l’ouvrage.
Les mots expliqués ont été introduits de trois manières totalement diffé-
rentes : soit par la formule παρὰ τί (50 fois), soit par le mot πόθεν (5 fois), soit
sans aucune introduction (40 fois). Après la notion, suit l’exégèse qui, à son
tour, a été introduite de plusieurs manières. Dans la plupart des cas, il s’agit de
la formule παρὰ τὸ suivie d’un infinitif (une bonne soixantaine de fois) ou διὰ
τὸ avec un infinitif (une seule fois à l’occasion du mot ἄμπελος)12. Une quin-
zaine d’explications ont été introduites par παρ᾿ὅτι suivi d’un indicatif. Il y a
également quelques cas où les deux possibilités (παρὰ τὸ et παρ᾿ὅτι) ont été
combinées (par exemple pour les lemmes κόραξ et τρυγών). Deux fois (pour
δύσις et ἄρκτος), l’exégèse suit sans aucune introduction.
En voici l’édition critique du texte, en donnant, après chaque étymologie, la
source, si cela est possible évidemment.
10 À ce propos, voir l’article de Alpers 1984.

11 Il existe un bon nombre d’erreurs caractérisant A seul, mais celles-ci sont tellement évi-
dentes qu’elles ont été corrigées aisément par le scribe de B.
12 Citons quelques cas où παρὰ τὸ est curieusement suivi, la plupart du temps dans les
deux manuscrits, soit d’un nominatif d’un substantif (voir ἀστραπή), soit d’un nominatif
d’un participe (voir les lemmes συκέα, δαμασκηνόν, ainsi que le cas spécial de οἶνος et
les lemmes μέλισσα et γερανός [là, B a remplacé le participe par un infinitif]), soit d’un
indicatif (voir les lemmes κρομύδιν, κεράσιν [on notera ici que B a remplacé l’indicatif
par un infinitif], ainsi que la seconde partie du lemme λαγωός et le début de l’exégèse
d’ὀφθαλμός). Nous avons conservé ces leçons qui semblent témoigner d’un travail un peu
malheureux ou inachevé du compilateur, qui a inséré la version de sa source dans une
nouvelle construction grammaticale, sans toutefois faire l’adaptation qui s’imposait. Une
autre possibilité serait de corriger tous ces passages en les normalisant aux règles de la
grammaire classique.
250 Van Deun
1 ᾿Ετυμολογία τῆς ἑξαημέρου
Πόθεν πνεῦμα; Παρὰ τὸ παντὶ νεύειν, καὶ φυσῶν, ἤτοι πνέον13.

Pour πνεῦμα, voir la mention dans Genèse 1, 2.
Pour cette explication fantaisiste, nous n’avons pas trouvé de source qui
coïncide parfaitement ; mais l’étymologie est connue, en témoigne par
exemple un vers dodécasyllabique de Jean Mauropous, érudit bien connu
qui a œuvré à Constantinople au XIème siècle14.
Παρὰ τί ἀρχή; Παρὰ τὸ κατὰ φύσιν πάντων τῶν μετ᾿αὐτὴν15 ἄρχειν.
Pour ἀρχή, voir Genèse 1, 1.
EG, p. 209, 31 (ἀρχή, παρὰ τὸ κατὰ φύσιν πάντων τῶν μετ᾿αὐτὴν ἄρχειν).
Πόθεν οὐρανός; Παρὰ τὸ φέρειν τὸν νοῦν ἄνω, ἢ παρὰ τὸ ἄνω ὁρᾶσθαι τὸν νοῦν.
Pour οὐρανός, voir Genèse 1, 1 et 8.
EG, col. 442, 4–5 (οὐρανός, παρὰ τὸ ἄνω φέρειν τὸν νοῦν, ἢ παρὰ τὸ ἄνω ὁρᾶσθαι
τὸν νοῦν).
Πόθεν γῆ; Παρὰ τὸ παγεωθῆναι16, ἤγουν μὴ φέρεσθαι17, ἀλλ᾿ἀκίνητον ἔχειν τὴν
βάσιν.
Pour γῆ, voir Genèse 1, 1–2 et 10.
EG, p. 309, 21–22 (γῆ, παρὰ τὸ παγιωθῆναι, ἤγουν μὴ φέρεσθαι, ἀλλ᾿ἀκίνητον
ἔχων τὴν στάσιν).
Πόθεν ἀήρ; Παρὰ τὸ ἀραιὸν εἶναι αὐτὸν καὶ τοῖς πᾶσιν ἀναπνευστικόν.
EG, p. 30, 4 (ἀήρ, παρὰ τὸ ἀραιὸν εἶναι αὐτὸν καὶ τοῖς πᾶσιν ἀναπνευστικόν).
Πόθεν πῦρ; Παρὰ τὸ εἶναι ἀνωφερέστερον18 καὶ πρὸς τὰ ἄνω ἐπαίρεσθαι.
Malheureusement, nous n’avons pas trouvé la source exacte de cette expli-
cation, bien que la combinaison de πῦρ et de ἀνωφερής se lise fréquemment
dans la littérature grecque (mais pas dans l’EG).
13 Le manuscrit A a πνίων, une forme qui n’existe pas ; le scribe de B essaie de corriger, en
proposant πνέων, une leçon que nous avons corrigée en πνέον.
14 Cité par Reitzenstein 1897, 175, 80 (πάντῃ δὲ νεύει πνεῦμα πᾶν χύδην ῥέον).
15 Nous avons corrigé la leçon des manuscrits A B (μετ᾿αὐτῶν).
16 Nous avons conservé la leçon de A B (παγεωθῆναι), forme d’un verbe παγεόω qui n’est pas
attesté dans nos dictionnaires ; de Stefani, qui a fait imprimer παγιωθῆναι dans son texte
même, note toutefois (apparat à la page 309) que παγεωθῆναι se lit également dans les
marges du Vaticanus, Barberinianus gr. 70, le témoin principal de l’EG ; de plus, le TLG
nous révèle une seule autre attestation de παγεόω, plus particulièrement dans l’EG, Pi,
col. 445, 50 de l’édition de Sturzius (Παγεωθεῖσα). Il semble donc qu’à côté de παγιόω,
également παγεόω ait circulé dans les textes.
17 Nous avons dû corriger la leçon de A B (φαίνεσθαι), qui constitue une faute évidente.
18 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ἀναφαίρετον, un mot qui n’a aucun sens ici) ; il semble
qu’une correction en ἀνωφερέστερον ou ἀνωφερέστατον s’impose nettement ; voir égale-
ment ἀνωφερῆ ci-dessous, à l’occasion de l’exégèse du mot βοτάνη, ainsi que ἀνωφερεῖς et
κατωφερεῖς dans l’explication d’ὀφρύες.
῞Υδωρ, παρὰ τὸ ὕειν καὶ δύειν, ἤγουν διατρέχειν καὶ διαχεῖσθαι καὶ ῥέειν.
Pour ὕδωρ, voir Genèse 1, 2, 6–7 et 9.
Nous n’avons pas trouvé la source exacte de cette explication, mais une idée
similaire se lit par exemple dans un vers dodécasyllabique de Jean Mauro-
pous19.
Φῶς, παρὰ τὸ πόρρωθεν φαίνειν καὶ καθορᾶν τοὺς ἅπαντας.
Pour φῶς, voir Genèse 1, 3–5.
EG, col. 560, 46–47 (Φῶς, παρὰ τὸ πόρρωθεν φαίνειν καὶ καθορᾶν τοὺς πάντας).
Παρὰ τί λευκόν; Παρὰ τὸ τηρεῖσθαι20 τὸ εὖ, καλόν21, ἤγουν αὐτὸ τὸ φῶς.
EG, col. 366, 50–51 (λευκόν, παρὰ τὸ τηρεῖσθαι τὸ εὖ, ἤγουν τὸ καλόν, τοῦτ᾿ἔστι
τὸ φῶς αὐτό).
Σκότος, παρὰ τὸ ἐντὸς φωτὸς εἶναι σκιάν.
Pour σκότος, voir Genèse 1, 2 et 4–5.
EG, col. 504, 44 (Σκότος, παρὰ τὸ ἐντὸς φωτὸς εἶναι, σκιά [sic]).
Βυθός, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι βάθος, ἢ παρὰ τὸ δύειν τὸν δύντα λίθον22 ἐν αὐτῷ καὶ23 σίδηρον
καὶ μόλυβδον24, καὶ μὴ ὁρᾶσθαι.
Cette étymologie s’inspire clairement d’Exode 15, 5 (κατέδυσαν εἰς βυθὸν ὡσεὶ
λίθος) et 10 (ἔδυσαν ὡσεὶ μόλιβδος ἐν ὕδατι σφοδρῷ).
EG, p. 291, 2 (Βυθός, παρὰ τὸ βάθος) et p. 291, 12–13 (Βυθός, παρὰ τὸ δύειν τὸν
δύνοντα λίθον ἐν αὐτῷ, ἢ καὶ σίδηρον καὶ μόλυβδον καὶ μὴ ὁρᾶσθαι).
2 ῾Ημέρα δευτέρα (cf. Genèse 1, 8)
Παρὰ τί στερέωμα; Παρὰ τὸ εἶναι καθ᾿ὑπερβολὴν ἰσχυρόν· ἐπὶ25 γὰρ τῶν κατ᾿ἰσχὺν
ὑπερβαλλόντων τέτακται· διὰ γὰρ τὸ κραταιὸν καὶ ἀνένδοτον, στερέωμα εἴρηται.
Pour στερέωμα, voir Genèse 1, 6–8.
EG, col. 511, 8–10 (Στερέωμα, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι καθ᾿ὑπερβολὴν ἰσχυρόν· ἐπὶ γὰρ τῶν
κατ᾿ἰσχὺν ὑπερβαλλόντων τέταται· καὶ γὰρ τὸ κραταιὸν καὶ ἀνένδοτον στερέωμα
εἴρηται).
Νεφέλη, παρὰ τὸ ἀφελεῖν26 τὸ νάμα, ἤτοι ἀφέλκεσθαι27 τὸ ὕδωρ.
19 Signalé par Reitzenstein 1897, 175, 45 (ὕει δρόσον ῥέουσαν ὁ κρατῶν ὕδωρ).
20 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (εἰρῆσθαι) qui n’a pas beaucoup de sens.
21 Nous avons corrigé, par εὖ, καλόν, la leçon qui se lit tant en A qu’en B (εὔκολον).
22 Au lieu de λίθον, les manuscrits A B ont λοῦσαι, ce qui n’a ici aucun sens.
23 Les témoins A B ont mal compris la phrase et ont ajouté εἰς après καὶ.
24 μόλιβδον B.
25 ἐπεὶ A, une faute évidente corrigée en B.
26 ἀφέλειν A B, une faute que nous avons corrigée.
27 Nous avons préféré la leçon de B (ἀφέλκεσθαι, « tirer hors de ») à celle de A (ἐφέλκεσθαι,
« tirer dans la direction de »).
252 Van Deun
EG, col. 406, 39 (Νεφέλη, διάτι [sic] τὰ νάματα ἀφελεῖν). Pour les mots
ἀφέλκεσθαι τὸ ὕδωρ (en combinaison avec νεφέλη) nous n’avons pas trou-
vé de source.
Βροντή, παρὰ τὸ βιαίως τελεῖσθαι, ἤτοι ὑπερμεγίστως ἐκρήγνυσθαι τὸν αὐτῆς ψόφον
ἀπὸ πλείστων νεφῶν διακρούσεώς τε καὶ συγχύσεως.
EG, p. 288, 21–22 (Βροντή, διὰ τὸ βιαίως τελεῖσθαι, ἤτοι ὑπερμεγίστως
ἐκρήγνυσθαι τὸν ταύτης ψόφον ὑπὸ πλείστων νεφῶν διασχίσεώς τε καὶ
διακρούσεως).
᾿Αστραπή, παρὰ τὸ “ἀστεροπή”, ὡς28 ῞Ομηρος29 ἐκάλεσεν ἀντὶ ὀφθαλμοῦ
λάμποντος· ὦπα30 γὰρ οἱ ὀφθαλμοὶ λέγονται, παρὰ τὸ φαίνειν τὴν ἀστραπὴν ὡς
ὀφθαλμοὺς οὐρανίους, ἤτοι τοὺς ἀστέρας. Διὰ τοῦτο καὶ τὴν ὀνομασίαν ἔχει, ἤτοι
φῶς ἀπὸ ῥοῆς· συγκοπῆς γὰρ γενομένης τῶν νεφῶν, μετὰ τῶν ὑδάτων ἐν τῷ ἀέρι,
ἐκτελεῖται ἡ ἀστραπὴ ἅμα τῇ βροντῇ.
EG, p. 220, 18–22 (᾿Αστραπή, παρὰ τὸ στεροπή, ὡς31 ῞Ομηρος ἐκάλεσεν ἀντὶ
τοῦ ὀφθαλμοῦ λάμποντος· ὦπες γὰρ οἱ ὀφθαλμοὶ λέγονται, παρὰ τὸ φαίνειν
τὴν ἀστραπὴν ὡς ὀφθαλμοὺς οὐρανίους, ἤγουν τοὺς ἀστέρας. Διὰ τοῦτο καὶ τὴν
ὀνομασίαν ἔχει, ἤτοι φωτὸς ἀπορρώξ·32 συγκοπῆς γὰρ γινομένης τῶν νεφῶν, μετὰ
τοῦ ὕδατος ἐν τῷ ἀέρι ἀποτελεῖται ἡ ἀστραπὴ ἅμα τῇ βροντῇ).
3 ῾Ημέρα τρίτη (cf. Genèse 1, 13)
Παρὰ τί θάλασσα; Παρὰ τὸ33 εἰληφέναι ἐκ τοῦ “θα”34 τὸ τρέχειν, καὶ τοῦ “λα”35
28 Les manuscrits A et B ont καὶ au lieu de ὡς ; voir ci-dessous, n. 31.

29 En effet, le mot στεροπή se lit souvent chez Homère (Ilias 10, 154 ; 11, 66 et 83 ; 19, 363 ;
Odyssea 4, 72 ; 14, 268 et 17, 437) ; la forme ἀστεροπή, conservée dans les deux témoins de
notre texte, se rencontre moins fréquemment chez le grand poète (Ilias 11, 184 ; 13, 242 et
14, 386).
30 Tant ὦπα que ὦπες sont attestés.
31 ὡς : il s’agit d’une conjecture de l’éditeur, de Stefani, une correction qui semble s’imposer ;
tous les manuscrits de l’EG, ainsi que les deux témoins de notre texte, ont καὶ au lieu de
ὡς (voir ci-dessus, n. 28).
32 φωτὸς ἀπορρώξ : une conjecture de l’éditeur de l’EG, de Stefani ; les manuscrits de l’EG
ont φωτὸς ἀπὸρρίδην ou φῶς ἀπόρρηξις ou φῶς ἀπορροῶς. La leçon φῶς ἀπὸ ῥοῆς (« de la
lumière venant comme d’un fleuve »), qui caractérise notre texte, pourrait bien être la
bonne.
33 Le manuscrit A a τοῦ ; la correction de B (τὸ) s’impose semble-t-il, car dans tout le reste
du texte, παρὰ est suivi de l’accusatif.
34 θαᾶ dans nos deux manuscrits, une forme que nous avons corrigée ; il s’agit d’une allusion
au verbe θῶ ou θέω, synonyme en effet de τρέχω.
35 λαᾶ en A B, forme que nous avons corrigée.
τὸ ἁλμυρόν, ἤγουν τὸ ἅλας36, ἐκ τοῦ “ασσα” τὸ37 τινάσσεσθαι38, τοῦτ᾿ἐστιν θεῖον

ἅλας39 τινασσόμενον· συναφθέντων οὖν τῶν κατὰ τὰ ἰδιώματα αὐτῆς λέξεων,
ἐκλήθη θάλασσα.
Pour θάλασσα, voir par exemple Genèse 1, 10.
EG, col. 253, 40–44 (Θάλασσα, παρὰ τὸ εἰληφέναι τὴν ὀνομασίαν ἐκ τοῦ θῶ, τοῦ
σημαίνοντος τὸ τρέχω, καὶ τοῦ λα τὸ ἁλμυρόν, ἤγουν τὸ ἅλας· ἐκ τοῦ ἄσσα τοῦ
τινάσσεσθαι, τοῦτ᾿ἐστιν θεὸν ἅλα τινασσόμενον· συναφθέντων οὖν τὸ [sic] κατὰ
ἰδίωμα λέξεων αὐτῆς ἐκλήθη θάλασσα).
Ποταμός, παρὰ τὸ ἔχειν αὐτὸν πότιμον ὕδωρ καὶ ἐπωφελές.
EG, col. 477, 18 (Ποταμός, παρὰ τὸ ποτιμὸν [sic] ὕδωρ ἔχειν).
Λιμήν, παρὰ τὸ λεῖον40 αὐτὸν διαμένειν, ἢ τὸ πραΰν41, καὶ μὴ πρὸς ἀτάκτους42 φορὰς
ῥευμάτων τὲ καὶ κυμάτων τὰ πολλὰ ἀντεγείρεσθαι.
EG, col. 370, 49–51 (Λιμήν, παρὰ τὸ λεῖον αὐτὸν διαμένειν, ἤγουν πραΰν, καὶ μὴ
πρὸς ἀτάκτους φορὰς ῥευμάτων καὶ κυμάτων τὰ πολλὰ ἀντεγείρεσθαι).
Ψάμμος, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὴν ὑψηλὴν καὶ ἄμικτον καὶ ἀδύνατον, μετὰ δὲ ἄλλης ὕλης
μίγνυσθαι καὶ κρατεῖσθαι.
EG, col. 573, 6–8 (Ψάμμος, διὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὴν ὑψηλὴν καὶ ἄμικτον καὶ ἀδύνατον,
μετὰ ἄλλης ὕλης μίγεσθαι καὶ κρατεῖσθαι).
Βοτάνη, παρὰ τὸ πρὸς τὰ ἄνω βαίνειν· τὰ γὰρ ἐκ γῆς φυόμενα ἀνωφερῆ πρὸς ἀέρα,
ἐστὶν χόρτος.
Pour βοτάνη, voir Genèse 1, 11–12.
EG, p. 280, 1–2 (Βοτάνη, παρὰ τὸ πρὸς τὰ ἄνω βαίνειν· τὰ γὰρ ἐκφυόμενα
ἀνωφερῆ πρὸς ἀέρα εἰσί).
Σπέρμα, παρὰ43 τὸ ἐν τῇ σπορίμῳ γῇ πεσεῖν, ἢ ἅμα γεγονέναι κατὰ τὰ τῆς γῆς ξύλα.
Pour σπέρμα, voir Genèse 1, 11–12.
EG, col. 508, 30–31 (Σπέρμα, παρὰ τὸ ἐν τῇ σπορίμῃ γῇ πεσεῖν, ἢ καὶ γεγονέναι
παρὰ τὴν γῆν).
῾Ρίζα, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὴν ἐν τῇ γῇ καὶ ζῆν·44 “ῥίζην”45 γὰρ ὁ ῞Ομηρος τὴν γῆν
λέγει·46 ἐξερχομένης δὲ αὐτῆς ἐκ τῆς γῆς, ἀποθνήσκει, ἤγουν ξηραίνεται.
36 Au lieu de τὸ ἅλας, on lit τοῦ ἅλα en A B, mais il est clair que le texte est totalement
corrompu.
37 Nous avons corrigé, en « ασσα » τὸ, la leçon ἀπάτου qui n’a aucun sens et qui se lit dans
nos deux témoins.
38 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (τίνασθαι, une forme qui n’existe pas).
39 Pour le sel, don divin, voir Homère, Ilias 9, 214 (ἁλὸς θείοιο).
40 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (λίαν).
41 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (πραέον).
42 ἄτακτους sic A.
43 παρὰ] λέγεται B.
44 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ζεῖν).
45 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ῥάζειν, forme qui n’a aucun sens).
46 Voir Homère, Odyssea 20, 304.
254 Van Deun
EG, col. 492, 50–52 (῾Ρίζα, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὴν ἐν τῇ γῇ καὶ ζῆν· ῥίζην γὰρ ὁ
῞Ομηρος τὴν ὑποκάτω γῆς λέγει· ἐξερχομένης γὰρ αὐτῆς ἐκ γῆς ἀποθνήσκει,
ἤγουν ξηραίνεται).
Στάχυς, παρὰ τὸ47 ἵστασθαι καὶ ἔχειν ἐν ἑαυτῷ48 τὸν σῖτον καὶ τὸν κρίθον49.
EG, col. 510, 6–7 (Σταχύς [sic], παρὰ τὸ ἵστασθαι καὶ ἔχειν ἐν ἑαυτῷ τὸν σῖτον ἢ
τὴν κριθήν).
Δένδρον, παρὰ τὸ ἁδρύνεσθαι.
EG, p. 345, 13 (Δένδρον, […] παρὰ τὸ ἁδρύνεσθαι).
Κλάδος, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι κλέος τοῦ εἴδους αὐτοῦ, τοῦτ᾿ἐστι τοῦ πρωτοτύπου· πρῶτον
γὰρ δένδρον, εἶθ᾿οὕτως κλάδος· δένδρον γὰρ χωρὶς κλάδων κάλαμος λέγεται.
EG, col. 325, 22–24 (Κλάδος, διὰ τὸ εἶναι κλέος τοῦ εἴδους αὐτοῦ, τοῦτ᾿ἔστι τοῦ
πρωτοτύπου· πρῶτον γὰρ δένδρον εἴθ᾿οὕτω κλάδος· δένδρον γὰρ χωρὶς κλάδων
κάλανος [sic] λέγεται).
Φύλλα, παρὰ τὸ φῦναι αὐτὰ ἐκ τῆς ὕλης τοῦ δένδρου· τὸ γὰρ ἄκρον τοῦ σώματος ἡ
κεφαλή, καὶ τοῦ δένδρου50 ἡ κεφαλὴ τὸ ἄκρον ἐστίν.
EG, col. 558, 52–53 (Φύλλα, παρὰ τὸ φυῆναι αὐτὰ ἐκ τῆς ὕλης τοῦ δένδρου) et
col. 300, 50–51 (τὸ γὰρ ἄκρον τοῦ σώματος ἡ κεφαλή, καὶ ἡ τοῦ δένδρου κεφαλὴ
τὸ ἄκρον ἐστίν).
Συκέα, παρὰ τὸ51 “συγχέουσά τις52 οὖσα καὶ τραχεῖα”53.
Pour l’explication du figuier, voir EG, col. 514, 20 (Συκῆ, συκέα, τὸ συγχέουσά
τις οὖσα, καὶ τραχέα [sic]).
Συκάμινον54 παρὰ τὸ55 συγκάμνεσθαι56 τὸν σκώληκα λέγεται· δίχα γὰρ τοῦ
σκώληκος οὐδέν ἐστιν.
Pour l’exégèse du mûrier, voir EG, col. 514, 18–19 (Συκάμινον, διὰ τὸ
συγκάμνεσθαι τὸν σκώληκα λέγεται· δίχα γὰρ τοῦ σκώληκος οὐδέν ἐστι).
47 τὸ] τὸ τὸ A.
48 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ἑαυτῇ), car στάχυς est toujours masculin.
49 Le fait que, dans le TLG, on trouve quelques attestations de κρῖθος, κρίθος ou de κριθός,
nous a permis de conserver la leçon κρίθον, qui se lit dans nos deux témoins A B ; évidem-
ment, la forme normale serait κριθήν, qu’on retrouve d’ailleurs dans l’édition imprimée de
l’EG.
50 δένδρου] om. A B (en A, cet accident s’est passé exactement à la tournure d’un verso à un
recto).
51 τὸ] τὸ τὸ A, om. B.
52 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (τι) qui n’a pas beaucoup de sens.
53 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (τραχία).
54 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (σικάμινον).
56 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (συγκάμνοντα).
Μετάξιν, παρὰ τὸ μεταξὺ ζώου57 καὶ δένδρου·58 ἔστι σπέρμα καὶ οὐ σπέρμα, ζῶον59,
ἑρπετόν, πτερωτόν, σπερματικόν.
EG, col. 388, 50–52 (Μετάξιν, διὰ τὸ μεταξὺ ζώου καὶ δένδρου· ἔστι δὲ σπέρμα
καὶ οὐ σπέρμα, ζῶον, ἑρπετόν, πτερωτόν, σπερματικόν).
Δαμασκηνόν60, παρὰ τὸ “θαυμαστῶς61 κινῶν”62.
Pour l’explication du prunier de Damas, voir EG, p. 333, 25 (Δαμασκηνόν, παρὰ
τὸ θαυμαστῶς κινεῖν).
Κεράσιν, παρὰ τὸ κειρόμενον αἴρεται63 σῶον.
Pour l’explication du cerisier, nous n’avons pas trouvé de source.
Κάρυον, παρὰ τὸ κάρα64 – κεφαλή ἐστιν –· τὸ “υον”65, ὅτι κεφαλῆς.
Pour le texte sur le noyer ou le palmier-dattier, nous n’avons pas trouvé de
source.
Σταφυλή, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι τὸ στέαρ αὐτῆς φιλητόν, τὸν οἶνον λέγω.
Pour l’explication de la grappe de raisin, nous n’avons pas trouvé de source.
Οἶνος, παρὰ τὸ66 “πολὺς πινόμενος”67 οἴειν68 τὸν νοῦν, τοῦτ᾿ἐστι φυσιοῖν69 καὶ
ἀμβλυωπεῖν, καὶ ἡμέραν διάγειν70 ὡς ἐν νυκτί.
EG, col. 422, 32–34 (Οἶνος, παρότι πινόμενος οἴει τὸν νοῦν, τοῦτ᾿ἔστι φυσιεῖ καὶ
ἀμβλυοπεῖ [sic], καὶ ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ὡς ἐν νυκτὶ διάγειν ποιεῖ).
῎Αμπελος, διὰ τὸ εἶναι πᾶσι φιλητήν71, ἢ διότι ἅμα αὐτῇ72 ἐστι πάλος, ἤγουν χάραξ.
EG, p. 117, 21–22 (῎Αμπελος, διὰ τὸ εἶναι πᾶσι φιλητή, ἢ διότι ἅμα αὐτῇ εἶναι ἐστι
πάλος, ἤγουν χάραξ).
57 Nous avons dû corriger la leçon de A B qui n’a aucun sens (κατὰ ξίνου au lieu de μεταξὺ
ζώου).
58 εἶναι est sous-entendu.
59 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ζώου).
60 Δαμασκινόν B.
61 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (θαυμαστῷ).
62 Nous avons conservé la leçon de A B, au lieu de corriger en κινεῖν, ce qui serait plus normal.
63 Nous avons conservé l’indicatif après παρὰ τὸ, ou faut-il corriger en αἴρεσθαι, comme l’a
fait le scribe de B (qui a, pour être tout à fait précis, αἵρεσθαι) ?
64 Nous avons corrigé l’accentuation qu’on lit en A B (καρά) ; εἶναι est sous-entendu.
65 Nous avons corrigé la faute en A B (οἷον).
67 Οἶνος … πολὺς πινόμενος : Sir. 31, 29. Nous avons conservé la leçon de A B (πολὺς πινόμενος),
ce qui pourrait suggérer que le compilateur n’a pas bien adapté le texte de sa source qui
se caractérise par une construction avec παρ᾿ὅτι + indicatif.
68 C’est la leçon de B qui a corrigé celle de A (οἵην).
69 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (φυσιεῖν).
70 Sous-entendu est ποιεῖν (voir l’édition imprimée de l’EG).
71 Nous avons corrigé la leçon des deux manuscrits (φιλητή).
72 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (αὐτῆς), qui se lit également dans les marges du Vati-
canus, Barberinianus gr. 70.
256 Van Deun
Εὔζωμον73, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι εὔσωμον.

EG, p. 555, 14 (Εὔζωμον, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι εὔσωμον).
Κράμβη, παρ᾿ὅτι ἄκρως βαίνει.
Pour cette explication du chou, nous n’avons pas trouvé de source exacte ;
voir toutefois EG, col. 342, 42–43 (Κράμβη … ἡ τῷ κόρῳ ἀντιβαίνει).
Κρομύδιν74, παρὰ τὸ τοῖς ἄκροις καίων μειδιᾷ75 ὁ ἄνθρωπος· ἄκων γὰρ καὶ μὴ θέλων
γελᾷ.
Pour le texte sur l’oignon nous n’avons pas trouvé de source.
Πράσον76, παρ᾿ὅτι πυρέσσειν77 ποιεῖ.
Pour l’explication du poireau, voir EG, col. 478, 28–29 (Πράσον, (…) παρὰ τὸ
ποιρέσσειν [sic] ποιεῖν).
Σέλινον78, παρ᾿ὅτι σέλει τὸν νοῦν.
Pour cette explication du céleri, qui n’a pas beaucoup de sens, nous n’avons
trouvé aucune source. Dans l’EG, inspiré de l’Iliade (2, 776 : ἐλεόθρεπτόν τε
σέλινον), on lit que le céleri pousse dans les bois sacrés : col. 498, 28 (Σέλινον,
διὰ τὸ ἐν ἕλει σεύεσθαι, ἤγουν ὁρμᾶν). Est-ce que σέλει79 qu’on lit dans nos
deux manuscrits, doit être corrigé en ἐν ἕλει ? Cela est bien probable, mais
dans ce cas, τὸν νοῦν reste encore un problème (κινούμενον ?).
Μολόχη80, παρὰ τὸ μάλα χέειν81.
Pour l’exégèse de la mauve, voir EG, col. 397, 10 (Μολόχη, διὰ τὸ μάλα χέειν
τὸν χυμόν).
Κάρδαμον, παρὰ τὸ τὴν καρδίαν μειοῖν.
Pour l’explication du cresson alénois, voir EG, col. 299, 17–18 (Κάρδαμον,
παρότι τὴν καρδίαν μειοῖ).
Μάλαθρον82, ῾Ρωμαῖοι λέγουσιν αὐτὸ φαινούκλουμ83, παρ᾿ὅτι φαῖνον84 ποιεῖ τὸν
ὄκλον, ἤγουν τὸν ὀφθαλμόν.
73 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de nos manuscrits A B (εὔζυμον), qui n’a aucun sens, mais qui
se lit également dans les marges du Vaticanus, Barberinianus gr. 70.
74 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (κρομίδην).
75 Nous avons corrigé la faute qui caractérise A B (μιδιᾶ), mais avons conservé l’indicatif ;
ou est-ce que nous devons corriger la leçon de A B (παρὰ τὸ) en παρ᾿ὅτι, car, dans cette
section du texte, le compilateur utilise partout παρ᾿ὅτι ?
76 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (πρᾶσσον).
77 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (πυράσσειν).
78 Nous avons corrigé la faute de A B (σέληνον).
79 D’après le TLG, le verbe σέλω est attesté quatre fois (Aristophane et les scholies sur Aris-
tophane) comme variante de θέλω.
80 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (μολόχην).
81 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B, qui n’a aucun sens (ἅμα λάχιν), en μάλα χέειν.
82 La forme μάλαθρον est moins fréquente que μάραθρον.
83 φαινοῦκλον B.
84 On lit une faute évidente en A B (φαίνων).
Sur le fenouil, voir EG, col. 380, 11–12 (Μάραθρον, ῾Ρωμαῖοι λέγουσιν αὐτὸ
φαινούκλουμ, παρ᾿ὅτι φαῖνον ποιεῖ τὸν ὄκλον, ἤγουν τὸν ὀφθαλμόν).
Παρὰ τί ἥλιος; Παρὰ τὸ ἰέναι85 λίαν, ἢ πορεύεσθαι· οἱ γὰρ παλαιοὶ διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ αὐτὸν
τρέχειν, “θέων” αὐτὸν ἔφασαν, ἤγουν “ὁ τρέχων”.
EG, col. 241, 3–5 (῞Ηλιος, διὰ τὸ ἴειν [sic] λίαν, ἤτοι πορεύεσθαι· οἱ γὰρ παλαιοὶ
διὰ τὸ περιέρχεσθαι θεὸν [sic] αὐτὸν ἐκάλουν, ἤγουν ὁ τρέχων).
Σελήνη, παρὰ τὸ φωτίζειν τὴν νύκτα.
Pour σελήνη, voir Genèse 1, 16 et 18.
Cf. EG, col. 498, 25 (Σελήνη, παρὰ τὸ ἐν νυκτὶ φαίνειν).
᾿Αστέρες, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτοὺς εἰς τὸν ἀέρα, καὶ οὐκ εἰς τὸ στερέωμα.
Pour ἀστέρες, voir Genèse 1, 16.
Pour cette explication, nous n’avons pas trouvé de source.
Παρὰ τί ἀνατολή; Παρὰ τὸ ἀνέρχεσθαι, ἤγουν τὸν ἥλιον ἀνατέλλειν ἐξ αὐτῆς.
EG, p. 135, 17 (᾿Ανατολή, διὰ τὸ ἀνατέλλειν, ἤγουν ἀνέρχεσθαι τὸν ἥλιον ἐξ
αὐτῆς86).
Δύσις, ἥλιος87 ἐν αὐτῇ δύνεται88.
EG, p. 383, 11 (Δύσις […], παρὰ τὸ δύνειν τὸν ἥλιον ἐν αὐτῇ).
῎Αρκτος, ἐκ τοῦ “ἄρκος”89 τὸ ζῶον, ἤτοι ἡ λεγομένη ἅμαξα τῶν ἀστέρων.
Cf. EG, p. 198, 12 et 14 (῎Αρκτος, τὸ ζῶον […], τὸ ἄρκος); l’ἄρκτος comme ἅμαξα
τῶν ἀστέρων est une idée bien connue ; voir, par exemple, Homère, Ilias 18,
487, et Odyssea 5, 273.
Μεσημβρία, παρὰ τὸ μέσον ὁδεύειν.
Cf. EG, col. 388, 15 (Μεσημβρία, παρὰ τὸ μέση καὶ τὸ ἡμέρα [sic] μεσημερία).
Παρὰ τί ὑψηλόν; Παρὰ τὸ εἶναι ἀόρατον· ἐὰν γὰρ ἔχει90 αὐτὸ τὸ σημαινόμενον σῶμα
κατὰ τὸν οὐρανὸν ὁ ἥλιος τῇ ἡμέρᾳ, καὶ οἱ ἀστέρες τῇ νυκτί· τὸ γὰρ ὑψηλόν, τὸ
ἄπειρον σημαίνει, τὸ δὲ “λόν”91, τὸ λίαν, ὅ ἐστι πολύ92.
EG, col. 546, 49–52 (῾Υψηλόν, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι ἄορον [sic]· ἐὰν γὰρ ἔχῃ αὐτὸ τὸ
σημαινόμενον σῶμα, ὡς τὸν οὐρανὸν ὁ ἥλιος τῇ ἡμέρᾳ, καὶ οἱ ἀστέρες τῇ νυκτί· τὸ
γὰρ ὕψη σημαίνει τὸ ἄπειρον, τὸ δὲ λον λίαν ὅ ἐστι πολύ).
Παρὰ τί φάρος93; Παρ᾿ὅτι φῶς ἐστιν θεωρούμενον.
85 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B, une forme qui n’existe pas (εἴην).
86 Dans la marge du Vaticanus, Barberinianus gr. 70, on lit le texte tel qu’il est conservé dans
notre opuscule.
87 Est-ce qu’on doit ajouter un παρ᾿ὅτι devant ἥλιος ?
88 δύνει B.
89 ἄρκτος sic B.
90 Nous avons gardé l’indicatif après ἐὰν, comme est souvent le cas du grec byzantin.
91 En A, il y a un ἤγουν, superflu, devant τὸ λίαν ; le scribe de B est un lecteur attentif et a
éliminé l’ἤγουν de son modèle ; de plus, dans l’EG on ne lit pas cet ἤγουν.
92 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (πολύν).
93 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (φάος).
258 Van Deun
EG, col. 548, 51 (Φάρος, παρὰ τὸ φῶς ἐστι θεωρούμενον).
4 ῾Ημέρα τετάρτη (cf. Genèse 1, 19)
Παρὰ τί ἰχθύς; Παρὰ τὸ ἐνσχεθῶς94 νήχεσθαι, τοῦτ᾿ἐστιν εἶναι αὐτὸν καὶ στέργειν
ἅμα τῷ ὕδατι, ἢ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ μὴ εἶναι· πάντων γὰρ ὠφέλιμος ὢν95 ὁ ἀήρ, τοῖς ἰχθύσι
πνιγώδης ἐστίν.
Pour ἰχθύς, voir Genèse 1, 26 et 28.
Cf. EG, col. 408, 33 (οὕτως δὲ λέγεται ὁ ἰχθύς, ἐκ τοῦ νήχεσθαι); la source du
reste de l’explication n’a pas pu être identifiée.
Παρὰ τί ὁ ψάρις; Παρ᾿ὅτι ψαύων96 αἴρεται, ἤτοι ἐγγίζων τῷ δελέατι.
EG, col. 445, 34 (Ὀψάριον, παρὰ τὸ ὄψον αἴρεσθαι ἐκ τῆς θαλάσσης, ἢ ὄψον τοῦ
ῥείθρου, ἤγουν βρῶσις ὕδατος· ἢ ὅτι ψαῦον αἴρεται, ἤτοι ἐγγίζον τῷ δελέατι).
Παρὰ τί πετεινόν; Παρ᾿ὅτι πετᾶται97 τεινόμενον.
Pour πετεινόν, voir Genèse 1, 20–21 et 22.
EG, col. 463, 50 (Πετεινόν, παρ᾿ὅτι πετᾶται τεινόμενον).
Παρὰ τί ἀλεκτρυών98; Παρ᾿ὅτι ἅλλεται καὶ σείεται καὶ τινάσσεται, καὶ δηλοῖ τὴν
ὥραν· τὸ γὰρ ἄλα99; ῾Ρωμαῖοι πτέρυγας100 λέγουσιν· κατάγων γὰρ καὶ ἀνάγων τὰς
πτέρυγας, λέγει· ἐστὶν ὥρα.
EG, p. 84, 23–24 (ἀλέκτωρ, διὰ τὸ ἅλλεσθαι καὶ τινάσσεσθαι καὶ δηλοῦν τὴν ὥραν·
τὸ γὰρ ἄλα ῾Ρωμαῖοι πτέρυγας λέγουσι· κατάγων καὶ ἀνάγων τὰς πτέρυγας λέγει
τὴν ὥραν).
Παρὰ τί ὄρνιθες; Παρ᾿ὅτι ταχέως ἐξεγείρονται· τὸ γὰρ ὄρνυσθαι101 ἐξεγείρεσθαί
ἐστιν, καὶ θοῶς102 ταχέως.
Cf. EG, col. 435, 52 (ὄρνιθος, παρὰ τὸ ὀρούειν καὶ ὀρνίσθαι [sic]).
94 ἐνσχεθῶς n’est pas attesté, ni dans nos dictionnaires, ni dans le TLG ; néanmoins, il est pos-
sible que ce mot soit un adverbe qui a été créé à partir du participe ἐνσχεθείς (ἐνέχομαι :
« s’enfoncer dans », « se plonger dans »), mais il est également possible qu’on doive corri-
ger ἐνσχεθῶς en ἐνσχεθεὶς, par analogie avec le nominatif du participe qu’on lit ci-dessus
dans l’exégèse de οἶνος (πολὺς πινόμενος). Je remercie Basile Markesinis pour toutes ces
suggestions.
95 ὢν] p. ὁ ἀήρ trsp. B.
96 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ψαῖον).
97 πετάται A, πέταται B.
98 Nous avons corrigé l’accentuation de A B (ἀλεκτρύων).
99 τὸ γὰρ ἄλα] τὰ γὰρ ἄλλα sic A.
100 Il y a une faute évidente en A (πτέρυγες).
101 Nous avons corrigé la leçon des deux témoins (ὄρνιθαι A, ὄρνισθαι B).
102 Nous avons corrigé les leçons de A (θάος) et de B (θάως).
Παρὰ τί ἱέραξ; Παρ᾿ὅτι ταχέως ὁρᾷ.

Pour l’explication du faucon, nous n’avons pas trouvé de source.
Παρὰ τί κόραξ; Παρ᾿ὅτι παντὸς ὀρνέου τὰς κόρας ξέει καὶ ἐσθίει, ἢ παρὰ τὸ εἶναι
μέλανα·103 κορὸν104 γὰρ τὸ μέλα105.
Pour l’exégèse du corbeau, voir EG, col. 339, 36–39 (Κόραξ, ὅτι κόρος ἐστὶ
χροιᾷ· κόρον δὲ τὸ μαῦρον εἴρηται, ἢ διὰ τὸ τῆς κοινῆς ῥέξαι, ἢ διὰ τὸ κόρας ξύειν
πάντος [sic] ὀρνέου καὶ ἐσθίειν, ἢ διὰ τὸ πολλὰ ἐσθίειν).
Παρὰ τί πέρδιξ; Παρὰ τὸ περισσῶς ἄδειν· ἐν γὰρ τῷ106 ἀπόλλειν107 τὰ οἰκεῖα ἔκγονα,
ἄδει καὶ ταῦτα συνάγει· ῥωμαϊστὶ108 γὰρ πέρδειν109 τὸ ἀπόλλειν110 λέγεται111.
EG, col. 461, 27–29 (Πέρδιξ, παρότι περισσῶς ᾄδει· ἐν τῷ γὰρ ἀπόλλειν τὰ ἴδια
τέκνα ᾄδει, καὶ ταῦτα συνάγει· ῥωμαϊστὶ γὰρ πέρδειν τὸ ἀπόλλειν λέγεται).
Παρὰ τί τρυγών; Παρ᾿ὅτι τρία γεννᾷ ὠά, καὶ τρίτον τὸν χρόνον, ἢ ἐκ τοῦ τὸ οἰκεῖον
γένος τηρεῖν112, μὴ διγαμοῦσαν ποτέ.
Cf. EG, col. 536, 41–42 (Τρυγών, τηριγών τις οὖσα, ὅτι τηρεῖ τὸ οἰκεῖον γένος, μὴ
διγαμοῦσα ποτέ, ἢ διὰ τὸ τρία ὠὰ γεννᾶν τὸν χρόνον); voir également Anastase
le Sinaïte, Viae Dux (Τρυγών, τηριγών, ὅτι τηρεῖ τὸ οἰκεῖον γένος μὴ διγαμοῦσά
ποτε)113.
Παρὰ τί περιστερά; Παρὰ τὸ στερρῶς πετᾶσθαι.
EG, col. 462, 34 (Περιστερά, ἢ διὰ τὸ πέτεσθαι στερρῶς); voir également Anas-
tase le Sinaïte, Viae Dux II 4, 146–147 (ἀπὸ γὰρ τοῦ πέτασθαι στερρὰ εἴρηται
περιστερά).
Παρὰ τί ἀηδών; Παρὰ τὸ ἀεὶ ἄδειν.
EG, p. 29, 19 (ἀηδών, διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ ἄδειν); voir également Anastase le Sinaïte, Viae
Dux II 4, 156 (ἀηδών, διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ ἄδειν).
Παρὰ τί χελιδών114; Παρὰ τὸ τὰ χείλη δονεῖν.
Voir par exemple Anastase le Sinaïte, Viae Dux II 4, 150 (χελιδὼν διὰ τὸ τὰ
χείλη δονεῖν ἐν τῷ λαλεῖν) et l’Etymologicum Magnum (χελιδὼν παρὰ τὸ τὰ
103 Nous avons suivi la leçon de B (μέλανα) ; en A, on lit μέλανος, probablement une faute,
sauf si on suppose que χρώματος est sous-entendu.
104 Nous avons corrigé l’accentuation de A B (κόρον).
105 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (μέλαν).
106 τὸ A.
107 Sur base de l’EG, nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ἀπολύειν), bien que la forme ἀπόλλειν
ne puisse pas être exclue complètement (dans le sens de « se séparer de »).
108 ῥωμαϊστὴ A.
109 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (πέρδιν).
110 ἀπώλειν A, ἀπωλεῖν B.
111 λέγεται] ἐστίν B.
112 τηρεῖν] om. A B ; l’insertion de l’infinitif est nécessaire.
113 Anastase le Sinaïte, Viae Dux II 4, 154–155, éd. Uthemann, 1981.
114 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (χεληδών).
260 Van Deun
χείλη δονεῖν); cette étymologie est absente de l’EG, mais il s’agit peut-être
d’une lacune dans l’édition de Sturzius115.
Παρὰ τί ἀετός; Παρὰ τὸ ἀεὶ ἔτος116, νέος ὤν.
EG, p. 28, 18 (ἀετός, ἀείετος, ὁ ἀεὶ νέος ὤν) ; Anastase le Sinaïte, Viae Dux II 4,
161 (ἀετός, ἀεὶ ἔτος).
Παρὰ τί μέλισσα; Παρὰ τὸ “τὰ μέλη ἄττουσα”.
Nous n’avons pas retrouvé cette explication de l’abeille.
Παρὰ τί πελαργός; Παρ᾿ὅτι τοῖς γονεῦσι παλαιουμένοις γίνεται ἀρχηγός, ἤτοι
βοηθός.
La source exacte de cette explication de la cigogne n’a pas pu être identifiée,
bien que la pensée soit connue.
Παρὰ τί χηνάριν117; Παρὰ τὸ χαίνειν118 τὰς ῥίνας.
Nous n’avons pas trouvé la source de cette explication de l’oie. Dans l’EG,
on lit : χηνάριον, διότι ἐν τοῖς νάμασι χαίρει (col. 564, 57) et χήν, καὶ χῆνα τὸ
χηνάριον παρὰ τὸ ἠχεῖν, ἢ παρὰ τὸ χαίρειν (…), διότι ἐν τοῖς νάμασι χαίρει (col.
563, 41–43).
Παρὰ τί νησάριν119; Παρ᾿ὅτι νήχεται καὶ ἐν τῷ ἀέρι αἴρεται.
EG, col. 409, 8–9 (Νησσάριον, παρότι νήχεται καὶ ἐν τῷ ἀέρι αἴρεται).
Παρὰ τί γερανός120; Παρὰ τὸ “ἐκ γῆς ἀεί τι ἐρανιζόμενος”121.
EG, p. 306, 16 (Γέρανος, παρ᾿ὅτι ἐκ γῆς ἀεί τι ἐρανιζόμενος συλλέγει).
5 ῾Ημέρα πέμπτη (cf. Genèse 1, 23)
Παρὰ τί λέων; Παρ᾿ὅτι τὸ πᾶν λύει καὶ συντρίβει122.

Nous n’avons pas trouvé la source de cette explication.
Παρὰ τί λύκος; Παρὰ τὸ123 λίαν ἠχεῖν124, ἢ παρὰ τὸ λύειν οἶκον125.
115 Etymologicum Magnum, éd. Gaisford, 808, 16.

116 εἶναι est sous-entendu.
117 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (χινάριν).
118 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (χένειν).
119 La forme avec double sigma est plus fréquente.
120 L’accentuation normale est γέρανος ; γερανός n’est attesté que quelques fois dans le TLG.
121 Nous avons corrigé les leçons de nos deux manuscrits (ῥανιζόμενος A, ῥανίζειν B), mais en
conservant, comme en A, la construction avec un participe au nominatif.
122 συντρίβη A.
123 τι sic A.
124 En A, on lit l’indicatif ἠχεῖ, corrigé en B, une correction qui semble s’imposer, parce que A
et B ont l’infinitif λύειν dans la seconde partie de la phrase.
125 οἴκους B.
Nous n’avons pas trouvé la source exacte de cette explication ; on citera

toutefois EG, col. 374, 31–32 (λύκος παρὰ τὸ λίαν κακός, ἢ λύειν τὴν ποίμνην ἢ
φαγεῖν πολλά).
Παρὰ τί δορά; Παρ᾿ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ θηρὸς ἐκδάρη·126 παντὸς γὰρ θηρίου τὸ ἔκδαρμα127,
δορὰ λέγεται.
EG, p. 374, 22–23 (Δορά, παρότι ἐκ τοῦ δέους τοῦ θηρὸς ἐκδάρη· παντὸς γὰρ
θηρίου τὸ ἔκδαρμα δορὰ λέγεται).
Παρὰ τί ἄρκτος128; Παρὰ τὸ ἀργὸν καὶ στραβόραχον129 εἶναι.
EG, p. 198, 10–11 (ἄρκτος, διὰ τὸ εἶναι ἀργή, (…) ἢ διὰ τὸ εἶναι στραβόραχος).
Παρὰ τί ἔλαφος; Παρ᾿ὅτι ἕλει130 τὸν ὄφιν.
EG, p. 450, 8 (ἔλαφος, παρὰ τὸ ἕλκειν131 τοὺς ὄφεις).
Παρὰ τί ὄφις; Παρ᾿ὅτι τῇ Εὔᾳ ἐλάλησεν.
EG, col. 444, 9 et 13 (ὄφις, […] ἐλάλησε γὰρ τῇ Εὔᾳ) ; Anastase le Sinaïte, Viae
Dux II 4, 151–152 (ὄφις τουτέστιν ὁ φὴς ἤγουν ὁ λαλήσας πρὸς τὴν Εὔαν ποτέ).
Παρὰ τί χοῖρος; Παρὰ τὸ τὸν χοῦν ὀρύγειν132.
Cf. EG, col. 568, 3–4 (Χοῖρος, […] ὁ τὸν χοῦν ἐρευνῶν).
Παρὰ τί βοῦς; Παρὰ τὸ133 βύζειν134 τὸ οὖς καὶ ἄδειν.
EG, p. 283, 26 (Βοῦς, παρὰ τὸ βύζειν τὸ οὖς καὶ ἄδειν).
Παρὰ τί ἀλώπηξ; Παρὰ τὸ ἀλλοιωποεῖν135 τὰς ἕξεις.
EG, p. 102, 22 (ἀλώπηξ, ὅτι ἀλλοιωποιεῖ τὰς ἕξεις).
Παρὰ τί πρόβατον; Παρ᾿ὅτι παντὸς ἐστὶν αἱρετὸν βρωτῶν, ἤγουν ἐπιθυμητὸν136 καὶ
βρώσιμον.
EG, col. 479, 54–55 (Πρόβατον, παρότι πάντ᾿ἔστιν αἱρετόν, καὶ βοτόν, ἤγουν
ἐπιθυμητικόν).
Παρὰ τί λαγωός; Παρὰ τὸ λίαν ἔχειν μέγα137 ὠτίον, ἢ παρὰ τὸ λίαν ἐστὶν γοργός138.
126 ἐκδάρη : selon le TLG, ce passage constitue la seule attestation de cette forme ; il est pos-
sible qu’on doive la corriger en ἐξεδάρη.
127 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ἔκδερμα, un mot qui n’est pas attesté) ; ἔκδαρμα est,
quant à lui, aussi un mot très rare (deux attestations dans le TLG).
128 Nous avons corrigé la faute évidente de A B (ἄρκος).
129 Nous avons suivi la leçon de B contre celle de A (ἀργὸς καὶ στραβόραχος).
130 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (ἕλῃ) ; le verbe rare ἕλω signifie « saisir ».
131 Dans la marge du Vaticanus, Barberinianus gr. 70, on lit ἑλεῖν.
132 ὠρύγειν A, ὀρύττειν B.
133 τὸ τὸ sic A.
134 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B qui n’a aucun sens (βρίζειν).
135 ἀλοιωποιεῖν A.
136 Nous avons corrigé la faute de A B (ἐπιθυμητικὸν, « capable à désirer », « qui désire », ce
qui n’a pas de sens ici) en ἐπιθυμητὸν (« désirable »).
137 μέγαν A.
138 γοργόν B. Nous avons conservé l’indicatif ἐστὶν qui se lit en A B.
262 Van Deun
Cf. EG, col. 360, 14–15 (Λαγωός, ὁ μεγάλα ὦτα ἔχων); pour παρὰ τὸ λίαν ἐστὶν
γοργός, nous n’avons pas trouvé de source.
Παρὰ τί ἐλέφας; Παρὰ τὸ εἰς ὕδωρ γεννᾶν καὶ λόφους.
Une idée similaire se lit dans EG, p. 455, 3–5 (ἐλέφας […] ἐπιβαίνει γὰρ τῇ
θηλείᾳ οὐκ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς διὰ τὸν ὄγκον, ἀλλ᾿ἐπὶ ὕδατος ἑλώδους, ὅπου νέμονται,
καὶ γίνεται εἰκότως κοῦφος), mais pour καὶ λόφους nous n’avons pas trouvé de
source.
Παρὰ τί πάρδος; Παρὰ τὸ ὀξέως τρέχειν.
EG, col. 452, 41 (Πάρδαλις, παρὰ τὸ ὀξέως τρέχειν).
Παρὰ τί γρύψ; Παρὰ τὸ γρύζειν ἰσχυρῶς ἐν τῷ ἁρπάζειν καὶ ἀνασπᾶν τὴν θήραν.
EG, p. 324, 14–15 (Γρύψ, παρὰ τὸ γρύζειν ἰσχυρῶς ἐν τῷ ἁρπάζειν καὶ ἀνασπᾶν
τὴν θήραν).
Παρὰ τί δορκάς; Παρὰ τὸ ὀξέως δέρκειν, ἤγουν ὁρᾶν.
EG, p. 375, 1 (Δορκάς, […] ἐκ τοῦ ὀξέως δέρκειν, ἤγουν ὁρᾶν); voir également
Anastase le Sinaïte, Viae Dux II 4, 158 (δορκάς, παρὰ τὸ ὀξέως δέρκειν καὶ
ὁρᾶν).
Παρὰ τί ἵππος; Παρὰ τὸ ἵπτασθαι τοῖς ποσίν, ἤτοι πετᾶσθαι.
EG, col. 281, 49 (ἵππος, παρὰ τὸ ἴεσθαι [sic] ἢ πέτεσθαι τοῖς ποσίν); voir aussi
Anastase le Sinaïte, Viae Dux II 4, 158 (ἵππος ἐκ τοῦ ἵπτασθαι ποσίν).
Παρὰ τί ὄνος; Παρ᾿ὅτι ὀνητόν ἐστιν, ἤτοι ὠφέλιμον ἐν τῷ βαστάζειν, ἢ διὰ τὸ νωθρὸν
ὑπάρχειν.
EG, col. 430, 30–31 (ὄνος, παρότι ὀνητόν, ἤτοι ὠφέλιμον ἐν τῷ βαστάζειν, ἢ διὰ
τὸ νωθρὸν ὑπάρχειν).
6 ῾Ημέρα ἕκτη (cf. Genèse 1, 31)
Παρὰ τί ἄνθρωπος; Παρὰ τὸ ἄνω ἀθρεῖν139 τὴν ὦπα140, ἤγουν βλέπειν, ἢ τὸ ὀρθῶς
περιπατεῖν· πάντων γὰρ τῶν κτηνῶν κάτω βλεπόντων, μόνος ὁ ἄνθρωπος ἄνω
βλέπει.
Pour l’ἄνθρωπος, voir Genèse 1, 26–27.
EG, p. 147, 8–10 (ἄνθρωπος, διὰ τὸ ἄνω <ἀ>θρεῖν τὴν ὦπα, ἤγουν ὁρᾶν· πάντων
γὰρ τῶν κτηνῶν κάτω βλεπόντων, μόνος ὁ ἄνθρωπος ἄνω βλέπει, ἢ διὰ τὸ ὀρθῶς
περιπατεῖν).
Παρὰ τί κεφαλή; Παρὰ τὸ κύειν αὐτῇ τὰ ὠφέλιμα, ἤγουν τὸ ἐν αὐτῇ ἔχειν τὰ
ὠφελοῦντα τὸν ἄνθρωπον αἰσθητήρια.
139 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (θρεῖν), une faute qui caractérise également toute la
tradition manuscrite de l’EG.
140 ὤπαν A.
EG, col. 317, 57–59 (Κεφαλή, παρὰ τὸ κύειν αὐτὴν τὰ ὠφέλιμα, ἤγουν τὸ ἐν αὐτῇ
ἔχειν τὰ ὠφελοῦντα τὸν ἄνθρωπον αἰσθητήρια).
Παρὰ τί ἐγκέφαλος; Παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὸν ἔσωθεν τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ ἅμα τῇ κεφαλῇ.
EG, p. 395, 12–13 (ἐγκέφαλος, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὸν ἔσωθεν τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ ἅμα
τῇ κεφαλῇ).
Παρὰ τί μέτωπον; Παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὸ141 ἐπάνω τῶν ὠπῶν142, ἤγουν τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν.
EG, col. 389, 37 (Μέτωπον, παρὰ τὸ ἄνω τῶν ὠπῶν ἵστασθαι).
Κρόταφος, παρὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὸν τάφον143 τοῦ ὀνόματος.
Cf. EG, col. 349, 28 (Κρόταφος, παρότι ἐστι τάφος τοῦ ὀφθαλμοῦ).
Παρὰ τί ὀφρύες; Παρὰ τὸ φέρεσθαι144 αὐτὰς καὶ ἀλλοιοῦσθαι, ἐπὶ μὲν145 γὰρ ὀργῇ
ἀνωφερεῖς146 τινας καὶ ἀγρίας καὶ κυρτουμένας ἐπὶ τὰ ἄνω, ἐπὶ δὲ ἱλαρότητι147
εὐθείας καὶ ἡπλωμένας καὶ κατωφερεῖς148.
Nous n’avons pas trouvé de source pour cette explication.
Παρὰ τί ὀφθαλμός; Παρὰ τὸ “ὄπτω”, τὸ “βλέπω”149, ἢ παρὰ τὸ ὦφθαι150 λίαν καὶ
τομῶς.
Cf. EG, col. 444, 7 (… ἢ παρὰ τὸ ὦφθαι λίαν καὶ τομῶς).
Παρὰ τί βλέφαρα; Παρὰ τὸ αἴρειν καὶ βλέπειν.
EG, p. 273, 4 (Βλέφαρον, παρὰ τὸ αἴρειν καὶ βλέπειν).
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142 ὤπων A.
143 Nous avons corrigé la leçon de A B (τάφος), sauf si on admet que l’emprunte à l’EG (avec
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Handschriften der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek München. Wiesbaden : Harrassowitz
Verlag.
Maleci, Stefano. 1995. Il codice Barberinianus Graecus 70 dell’Etymologicum Gudianum.
Supplemento 15 al Bollettino dei Classici. Rome : Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei,
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Reitzenstein, Richard. 1897. Geschichte der griechischen Etymologika. Ein Beitrag zur
Geschichte der Philologie in Alexandria und Byzanz. Leipzig : Druck und Verlag von
B. G. Teubner; second edition, Amsterdam : A. M. Hakkert, 1964.
Index of Ancient Authors
Adamantius V, 74–117 Aristotle VII, IX–XII, 2–6, 9–10, 16–17,

Dialogus 81, 87–100, 102–117 55n33, 56–57, 77–79, 86–87, 91, 101n159,
Albinus 74, 101, 117 105–106, 111–112, 117, 120–121, 123–124,
Isagoge 74n2 131, 138n33, 144, 150–151, 158, 160–162,
Didaskalikos 101n158 165–170, 174, 177, 179n34, 181–183, 187,
Alcinous 6, 15, 74, 80, 117 196, 197, 203, 231n11
Didaskalikos 6n17, 15, 80n53, 117 De anima XI, 86n87, 169n4, 235n30, 244
Alexander of Aphrodisias XI, 77–78, 99, 117, De caelo 151n16, 166–167, 169n4, 182
121, 123–124 Physica 2, 5, 86n87, 133n19, 150n13, 151,
De Fato 78n28, 117 161n54, 166, 174n20, 177n29, 182
De anima libri cum Mantissa 77n21, Metaphysica Z 78n27, 105, 105n173,
78n28, n34, n35, n37, 117 168n2, n3, 170n11, 174n22, 181
De Intellectu 78n36, 117, 121 De generatione animalium 78n32, 79n43
Commentaria in de generatione et De generatione et corruptione 169n4
corruptione 78n28, 117 De partibus animalium 105n173, 131n14
Alexander of Lycopolis 175, 179, 181, 183 Meteorologica 161n53, 166, 196n46
De placitis Manichaeorum 174n22, Analytica Posteriora 169n4
179n33, 181, 183 Aristophanes 29, 33, 43, 256n79
Ambrose of Milan 208, 225 Comœdiæ 29n22, 43
De mysteriis 208n10, 225 Asterius of Cappadocia 64, 70
Ammonius Hermias 168–169, 171, 177, 179, Athanasius of Alexandria 64, 66–68, 99,
181 186n8, 200, 233n20
In Aristotelis categorias commentarius Contra Arianos 64n56, 70
177n28, 181 De incarnatione 67n66, n68, 68n69, 70
Ammonius Saccas 84n76, 87–89 De decretis Nicaenae synodi 99n148
Anastasius of Sinaï VI–VII, 13, 93, 95, 117, Athenagoras of Athens 88
229–247, 249, 263 Legatio 88n96
Quaestiones et responsiones 93, 117 Atticus 55n32, 56–58, 65, 67, 70, 89–91, 117,
Sermones duo in costitutionem hominis 176
necnon opuscula adversus Avienus 199, 202
Monotheletas Hexaemeron VI, 229n2, Ora maritima 199n63, 202
n3, 230n7, 231n10–15, 232n16, n19,
233n20–23, 234n24–29, 235n30–32, Basil of Caesarea 16, 72, 105, 125, 135, 146,
236n33–36, 237n37–38, 238n42, n45, 170, 182, 195, 230, 247
239n46–49, 240n52–53, 241n54, 242, In Hexaemeron 105n1, 146, 170n7, 182,
243n62–65, 244–246 247
Viae Dux 232n18, 249–264 Bernard of Clairvaux 70
Al-Qifṭī 5, 30, 43 Epistula de erroribus Petri Abaelardi 70
Kitāb ta’rīḫ al-ḥukamā’ 30n25, 43
Apollinaris of Laodicea 186, 200, 237 Cicero 125n1, 127–132, 145–146
Fragmenta in Psalmos 186n9, 200 De natura deorum 125n1, 127n3, 128n6,
Apuleius 74, 87, 117 129n8, n10, 130n11, 131n15, 132n17,
De Platone et eius dogmate 74n2, 87, 117 145–146
Arius of Alexandria 64–65, 70, 73, 236 De legibus 127n4, 145
Professio fidei 64, 65n58, 70 De finibus 127n4, 145
266 Index of Ancient Authors
Clement of Alexandria 55n33, 70, 86, Apologia in Hexaemeron 65n60, 70,

111n201, 193n32, 208n10 133n20, 145
Protrepticus 55n33, 70 De hominis opificio 66n62, n64, 71,
Cyril of Alexandria 86n85, 118, 186n48, 105n175, 125, 128n6, 129n7, 130n11, n12,
193n32, 230n6 131n13, 132n18, 134n24, 135n25–27,
136n29, 137n30–31, 138n32, 140n38,
Diogenes Laertius 26, 43, 48, 87 142n41–42, 143n43–44, 145, 170, 174n22,
Diodorus Siculus 20n5, 43 183, 230, 233n21, 240n51, 247
De perfectione 110n196
Empedocles 42, 44 De anima et resurrectione 108, 112n204,
Epiphanius 15, 101n154, 107, 118 115n227, 135n27, 145
Adversus haereses 101n154, 107, 109n190, De beatitudinibus 116n230
118 Contra Eunonium 68n71, 70, 116n232, 118
Ephrem the Syrian 196, 201 In Ascensionem Christi 211n18, 225
De paradiso 196n42 In inscriptiones psalmorum 135n27
Eriugena XI, 13, 13n40, 16, 103, 111, 115, 118, In Ecclesiasten homiliae 140n39, 145
121, 123, 135n27, 151, 155, 163n66, 166 De vita Moysis 144n45, 145, 217n38
Periphyseon 16, 115n226, 118, 151n17, 155
Eusebius of Caesarea 47n4, 56, 70, 87–89, Hermes Trismegistus 172, 182
92–93, 96, 99–100, 118, 121, 170n7, 182, Corpus Hermeticum 172n10, 182
187n10, 201 Hippolytus 118, 123, 211, 226
Commentarius in Isaiam 187n10, 201 Refutatio omnium haeresium 74n2,
Praeparatio Evangelica 47n4, 56n35, 70, 99n147, 118
87–89, 88n93–95n97, n98, 89n105, Homilia paschalis 211n14, 226
93n122, 99, 100n152, 118, 121, 170n7, 182 Homerus 154, 252n29, 253n39, n46, 257, 264
Historia ecclesiastica 92n119, n120, Ilias 252n29, 253n39, 257, 264
93n123, 118 Odyssea 253n46, 264
Eutyches of Constantinople 221, 225 Horapollo 35, 43–44, 46
Sermo de Paschale 221n51, 225 Hieroglyphica 35n36, 43
Evagrius Ponticus 12, 110–116, 118, 121–123,
145, 247, 264 Irenaeus of Lyon 47, 60–65, 68–69, 71,
Kephalaia gnostica 110n195, 111n202, 112, 74–75, 87, 208, 211–212, 225, 228, 242,
113n210, 114n221, 115n225, 118, 122 245
Epistula ad Melaniam 115n223n224, 118 Adversus Haereses 61n49, 71, 75n8,
Eznik of Kolb 196, 196n43, 201, 204 208n10, 212n24, 225, 242n60, 245
De deo 196n43, n47, n48, n49, 201 Apodeixis 60n48, 71
Isaac of Nineveh 191, 201
Gregory of Nazianzus 74, 118, 145, 208, Discorsi Spirituali 191n26, 201
211–213, 225, 230, 240, 243 Isho’dad of Merv 191, 201
Poemata arcana 74n7, 118, 230n7 In Genesim 191n27, 201
Oratio 128n6, 145, 208n10, 211n16, 212n23,
225, 240n51 Jacob of Sarug 195, 201
Gregory of Nyssa V, X, XII, 12–13, 17, 65–66, Hexaemeron 195n41, 201
68, 70, 71, 73, 89, 93n124, 97, 101–102, John Chrysostom 187, 189–192, 195n40, 201,
105, 107–110, 112, 114–116, 118, 120–125, 213, 225
128–137, 140, 142–146, 170, 174, 182, Homiliae in Hebraeos 189n20, 201
193n32, 195, 202, 211, 213, 217, 230, De incomprehensibili Dei natura 190n22,
233n20, 240, 243, 245, 247 201
Index of Ancient Authors 267
In diem natalem 190n21, 201 106n177, 109n191, 113n212n213, 116n231,

Commentaria in Psalmos 213n26, 225 118, 214n215n217n218n220, 218
John of Damascus X, 218, 225 Commentarii in Iohannem 52n22, n24,
Homilia in nativitatem Domini 218n42, 75n12, 77n23, 79n46, 81n62–63, 85n81,
225 90n109–110, 91n115, 94n129, 110n198,
Josephus 193, 201 118, 211n15
Antiquitates 193n32, 201 Homiliae in Genesim 74n5, 94n127,
Justin Martyr 47, 59, 63, 71, 118, 226 110n150, 13n211, 118
Apologia prima 59n44–45, 71, 118 Contra Celsum 52n23, 75n11, 78n29, n33,
80n52, n54, n57–58, 82n69, 89n106,
Lactantius 127, 145, 185–186, 201 96n137, 101n153, 106n176n178n180
Divinae Institutiones 186n5n7, 201
De ira Dei 127n4, 145 Palamas 211, 225, 242n61, 255
Lucianus 37, 43 Triades 211n19
Hermotimus 37n41, 43 Pamphilus 80–81, 92, 101, 106, 119
Apologia pro Origene 80n58, 81n59,
Macrobius 47, 71, 135n27 101n155, 106n182, 119
Commentarii in somnium Scipionis 47n3, Peter Abelard 47, 66, 71
71 Theologia Theologia “Scholarium” 47n3,
Marcus Aurelius 48, 71, 133 71
Ad se ipsum 48n10, 71, 133n19 Theologia Christiana 66n65, 71
Maximus of Tyre 74, 93, 93n124, 118 Plotinus X, 8–9, 15–16, 72–73, 76–77, 79,
Dissertationes 74n2, 118 84–86, 91, 101, 106, 119–120, 124, 161, 166,
Methodius of Olympus 80n56, 92–93, 172, 182, 192, 194
107–108, 193n32, 230, 232–234, 238, 243, Enneades 79n47, n49, n51, 85n84, 106,
245 119, 124, 161n57, 172n10, 182, 192n30,
Symposium 234n26, 238n43, 245 194n36
Fragmenta incerta 232n17, 245 Philoponus V, VII, X–XI, 9, 14, 15, 17, 168–183,
188, 191, 194–195, 198, 201, 203
Origen V, X, 11–16, 47, 49–53, 49n13, 54n31, De opificio 14, 17, 180n35, 182–183, 188n14,
55–58, 60–61, 64–66, 67n67, 69–76, 191n25, 194n36, 195, 201, 203
74n2, 76n18, 77–124, 79n47, 80n53, n56, De aeternitate mundi contra Proclum
84n76, 109n190, 186, 193, 193n32, 195, 9n32, 15, 170n8, 172n12, 173n16–17,
211, 225 174n21, 176n24, n27, 177n30, 178n31–32,
Selecta in Psalmos 77n24, 85n82, 86n86, 180n36, 182
90n112, 101n155, 108n183, 119 Philo of Alexandria 6–7, 11, 15–17, 53, 71, 87,
Dialogus cum Heraclide 106n179, 124, 193, 201, 238, 245
108n185, 116n228, 119 De opificio mundi 7n23, 11n35, n36, 15,
Fragmenta ex commentariis 77n24, 53n27, 71, 238n44, 245
106n181, 110n186, 119 De vita Mosis 193n32, 201
De principiis 12n38, 15, 47, 49n15, Photius VII, 50, 71, 80, 84, 89, 109, 119,
50n17–18, 51n19–20, 53n25–26n28, 54, 187–188, 201
54n30, 71, 73, 75, 75n12–13, 76n15–16, Bibliotheca 50n16, 71, 80n56, 84n77,
77n19, 78n29, n38–40, 79n42, 82n64, 89n99, 109n190, 119, 187n14, 188n15, 201
n66–68, 83n70–73, 84n75, 91n114, Plutarch 8, 15, 55n32, 58, 71, 176, 200n64
93n124, 94, 94n130, 95n131n133, De anima procreatione in Timaeo
96n136n138–139, 97n142–142, 99n148, 8n26–27, 15, 58n42, 71
100n151, 101n154, 102n160, 103n169, Placita philosophorum 200n64
268 Index of Ancient Authors
Porphyry 16, 77–79, 85, 87, 89, 91, 119–120 Rufinus 48n50, 49, 73, 75, 92, 93, 97, 97n145,
Epistula ad Anebonem 79n48, 119 99, 103, 107, 113, 117, 119, 197
In Platonis Timaeum commentaria Apologia ad Anastasium 94n127, 95,
89n100–101, 119 113n213, 119
Procopius of Caesarea 84, 119, 186, 191, 193,
195, 201 Severian of Gabala 189, 193–194, 202, 247
Eclogae in Genesim 84, 119, 186n8, Homiliae in mundi creationem 189n18,
191n26, 193n34, 195n40, 201 n19, 193n35, 194n38, 202
Proclus V, VII, X, 9, 15–16, 19, 23, 25, 30, 43, Seneca 127–128, 145
76, 86, 119, 122–124, 147–183 De beneficiis 127n4, 145
In Timaeum commentaria 9n31, 15, 19, Epistulae Morales 128n5, 145
23n13, 25n16–18, 30n23–24, 148n2, Simplicius VII, 183
149n8–10, 150n12–15, 151n18, 152n19–21,
154n23–25, 156n30, 157n31–32, Tertullian 74, 95, 113, 119
158n37–38, 159n39–43, 160n44–51, Adversus Hermogenem 74n3, 119
161n52, n55–56, 162n60–63, Adversus Marcionem 95n132, 113n214, 119
164n64–65n67, 165n72, 171n9, 176n26, Theodore Bar Konai 191, 202
180n38 Liber scholiorum 191n28, 202
In primum Euclidis elementorum librum Theodore of Mopsuestia 187, 189, 191–192,
commentarii 148n4, 149n11, 152n19–21 194, 202, 204
De Malorum Subsistentia 175n23, 180n37 In Genesim 191n24, 194n36, 202
Ps-Berossos 197–199, 201 Homiliae Catecheticae 192n31, 194n37,
Doctrina 197n51–52n55, 198n57, 201 202
Ps-Dionysius Areopagite VI, 201, 203, Fragmenta in epistolam ad Hebraeos
205–207, 211, 214–224, 226–228, 230 192n31, 202
De Coelesti Hierarchia 205n2, 206n5, Theodoret of Cyrus 34, 170, 182, 187, 202
207n8, 214n30, 220n48, 221, 222n54, Graecarum affectionum curatio 170n7,
226 182
De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia 215n34, In Psalmos 187n10, 202
216n35, n36, 217n37, 223 Historia Ecclesiastica 187n11, 202
De Mystica Theologia 217 Theophilus 87, 87n90, 186, 202
De Divinis Nominibus 214n31, 219n43 Ad Autolycum 186n6, 202
Ps-Justin X, 47, 59, 60, 63–65, 67, 71–72, 114, Theon of Smyrna 5, 30–32
118, 198, 202, 208–209, 211, 225, 226 Thucydides 20n6–9, 43
Apologia 59n44–45, 60n46–47, 71, Historiae 20n6–9, 43
114n216, 118, 225
Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos Willliam of Conches 47, 71
198n60, 225 Philosophia mundi 47n3, 71
Dialogus cum Tryphone 209n12, 211n20,
225
Index of Modern Authors
Abramowski, Luise 187 Daniélou, Jean 63, 125, 128, 131, 133, 139
Alpers, Klaus 249 Darras-Worms, Anne-Lise 85
Alt, Karin 7 de Andia, Ysabel 214
Amand, David 188 de Gandillac, Maurice 205–6
Anderson, Gary A. 87 de Lubac, Henri 138
Andresen, Carl 59 Dechow, Jon F. 14
Andronikof, Constantin 220 Dell’Osso, Carlo 13, 233, 236, 237, 242
Arko, Alenka 233 Derrida, Jacques 158
Armstrong, Arthur Hilary 53 Deuse, Werner 8, 48
Arruzza, Cinzia 89 Dillon, John 7, 8, 56
Arthur, Rosemary 76 Dodds, Eric Robertson 223
Assmann, Jan 35 Dörrie, Heinrich 46
Atto, Naures 204
Auffret, Thomas 28, 42 Eastwood, Bruce Stansfield 151
Edwards, Mark 49, 59, 87, 93
Baggerly, John D. 229
Bainvel, Jean 233 Ferrari, Leo 186
Batut, Jean-Pierre 87 Fournet, Jean-Luc 35
Beatrice, Pier Franco 240 Freccero, John 66
Behr, John 50, 51, 53, 137, 141, 212
Bénatouïl, Thomas 127 Gahbauer, Ferdinand Reinhard 230
Blowers, Paul M. 87 Géhin, Paul 247–8
Bockmuehl, Markus 87 Geus, Klaus 191
Boersma, Hans 141 Gill, Christopher 19
Børresen, Kari Elisabeth 240–241 Gleede, Benjamin 14, 185, 187, 191, 192, 195,
Bousset, Wilhelm 59, 61, 63 197, 247
Boys-Stones, George 74 Goldfahn, Alexander Heinrich 208
Breton, Stanislas 147 Goldschmidt, Victor 128
Brisson, Luc 149, 172 Golitsis, Pantelis 170–171
Broadie, Sarah 3, 5 Golitzin, Alexander 215, 216, 221, 222
Brown, Peter 2 Greig, Jonathan 8
Brugsch, Heinrich 35 Gronau, Karl 125
Bruins, Evert M. 38, 40 Grossi, Vittorino 230
Burnyeat, Myles F. 18, 33, 41 Guiu, Adrian 13
Guyot, Matthieu 161
Cellerini, Alberto 248
Chadwick, Henry 106 Hackforth, R. 4
Collins, Yarbo Adele 196 Hadot, Ilsetraut 179
Conway-Jones, Ann 193 Hajdù, Kerstin 247
Cornford, Francis Macdonald 3, 4 Hallof, Jochen 36
Corrigan, Kevin 137–8 Hamman, Adalbert-Gautier 208, 230, 231
Corsini, Eugenio 125, 126, 131, 134–135 Hanson, Richard Patrick Crosland 65
Crouzel, Henri 233 Heal, Kristian S. 86
Hendrickx, Benjamin 229, 230
Dalmais, Irénée-Henri 13 Holder, Arthur 193
270 Index of Modern Authors
Hruby, Kurt 208 Moreau, Joseph 48

Moreschini, C. 56, 74
Inglebert, Hervé 186 Morgenstern, Julian 208
Mueller-Jourdan, Pascal 9, 170, 177
James, Montague Rhodes 62 Munitiz, Joseph A. 229
Jeauneau, Édouard 135 Munk, Elie 208, 209
Kalligas, Paul 101 Nails, Debra 20, 27

Karamanolis, George E. 1, 5, 7, 9, 91 Neugebauer, Otto E. 40
Karpp, Heinrich 230 Niehoff, Maren 11
Kiessling, A. 196, 198, 199 Norelli, Enrico 207
Kirchmeyer, Jean 231, 233, 243, 244 Nothaft, C. P. E. 186
Köckert, Charlotte 1, 8, 49, 53, 54, 56, 57, 65,
67 O’Brien, Denis 79
Krüger, Reinhard 186 O’Neill, J. C. 87
Kuehn, Clement A. 229 Oldfather, William A. 20
Kugener, Marc-Antoine 197 Opsomer, Jan 78
Orlov, M. I. 221
Laderman, Shulamit 193
Lampe, G. W. H. 212 Pace, Nicola 49
Lang, Helen S. 174 Paprocki, Henryk 221
Laplace, Jean 125, 128, 139 Pease, Arthur Stanley 132, 133
Larchet, Jean-Claude 13 Pépin, Jean 1
Leicht, Reimund 196 Peterson, Erik 207
Leinkauf, Thomas 1 Picot, Jean-Claude 42
Lernould, Alain 153 Popper, Karl 200
Lippert, Julius 30, 31, 32 Prinzivalli, Emanuela 230
Loessl, Josef 3 Puech, Henri-Charles 217
Lossky, Vladimir 224
Louth, Andrew 206, 216, 218, 222, 230 Queyrel, François 28
Macro, Anthony David 174 Rahner, Hugo 63

Maleci, Stefano 248 Ramelli, Ilaria L. E. 11–12, 74–80, 82, 85,
Mango, Cyril 221 87–93, 99, 101–103, 105, 108, 110–116
Mansfeld, Jaap 179 Rashed, Marwan 3, 5, 28, 42
Markschies, Christoph 46, 47, 49, 51, 55, 59, Reitzenstein, Richard 248, 250, 251
61 Reydams-Schils, Gretchen 6
Marmodoro, Anna 89 Rist, John 9
Maspero, Giulio 68, 69, 140 Rivas, Matías 231
Maspero, Jean 34 Roques, René 205, 219, 220, 224
Mathieu, Bernard 34 Rorem, Paul 215
May, Gerhard 11, 87, 88 Roze, André 207
Mayor, J. B. 125, 127 Ruben, Tanja 41
McGinn, Bernard 224 Runia, David T. 1, 11
McGinnis, Jon 174
Menn, Stephen 4 Sattler, Barbara Michaela 3, 4
Michalewski, Alexandra 74 Sauneron, Serge 34, 36
Mohr, Richard D. 3 Savvides, Aléxis G. K. 230
Index of Modern Authors 271
Schäfer, Peter 193, 203 Van Riel, Gerd 79, 89, 155–156
Schmidt, Arno 184–185, 199–200 Van Rompay, Lucas 196
Scholten, Clemens 1 van Winden, J. C. M. 1
Schöpsdau, Klaus 38 Vanneste, Jan 215, 222
Scott, Roger 221 Vasiliu, Anca 135, 136
Sedley, David 5, 6, 41, 199 [Veselovskij, I. N.] Веселовский, И. Н. 40
Serra, G. 78 Villey, Émilie 198
Sharples, R. W. 78 Vinel, Nicolas 148, 149
Smith, Andrew 85 Voicu, Sever 186
Smith, J. Warren 137, 141 von Balthasar, Hans Urs 138, 139, 219
Solignac, Aimé 233 von den Steinen, Helmut 18
Sorabji, Richard 2, 89 von Ivánka, Endre 223
Steel, Carlos 1 von Lieven, Alexandra 35
Stroumsa, Guy G. 2, 179 von Wilamowitz-Möllendorff, Ulrich 32
Swanson, J. H. 125, 127
Watt, John W. 3
Taft, Robert F. 221 Wauters, Thomas 89
ter Haar Romeny, Bas 198 Wellesz, Egon 221
Toepffer, Young J. 33, 34 Welliver, Warman 23
Tresmontant, Claude 231 Whittaker, John 7
Tricot, Jules 151 Williams, Rowan 65
Trouillard, Jean 155, 158, 160 Wolska-Conus, Wanda 185, 186, 188, 189,
192–194, 197
Uthemann, Karl-Heinz 185, 229, 230, 233, Wright, J. Edward 196
237, 259 Wright, M. R. 3
Van der Horst, Pieter W. 179 Zachhuber, Johannes 8, 12, 13, 65, 66, 138
van der Waerden, B. L. 40 Ziebritzki, Henning 47
General Index
Angelology 192 Critias18, 20–23, 26–29, 31, 44–45, 63, 72,

Anima mundi. See World soul 166, 182, 206, 210, 228
Anthropology XI, 116, 123, 125–127, 131, Cross 12, 59–66, 68–69, 73
134–135, 137, 215, 224, 230–231, 241,
243–244, 246 Difference 4, 8, 10, 13, 48, 55, 82, 100, 108,
Antiochene school 14, 185, 187–188, 191, 110–112, 130, 137–138, 141–142, 173,
195–198, 203–204, 208 190–191, 193, 197–198, 209, 233
ἀποκατάστασις XI, 78, 92, 111, 115–116, 121, 140, Divine VII, 4, 7–8, 10–11, 13, 15, 34, 38, 40,
183 45–47, 50, 53–54, 56–61, 63–65, 68, 75,
ἀρχή 17, 52–53, 75, 79, 79n46, 94, 99, 157–158, 89, 106–107, 114, 116, 120, 122, 126–128,
174–175, 178, 180, 250 133, 134, 136–138, 141, 143–144, 153, 155,
Ascension VI, 189, 205–208, 210–215, 166, 170, 175–177, 180, 186, 188, 192, 207,
217–220, 222, 224–228 213–214, 216–219, 222, 225, 232,
234–239, 242, 243
Celestial 12, 59, 61, 63, 69, 164, 169, 205–208, Divine will 116, 133–134
211–215, 217–223, 226–227, 235, 238, 240 Divisible/indivisible 4, 48, 55, 111, 149
Celestial X (chi) 12, 59, 61, 63 Dyad 40, 42, 79, 148–149, 153–154, 160, 173,
Chaldean cosmology 89, 152, 162 181
Chaos 19
Christian anthropology 231, 246 Earth 3, 10, 12, 61, 63, 64, 77, 79, 86, 101–104,
Christology X, 1, 13, 47, 52, 60, 62, 65, 70, 123, 106–109 111, 114, 123, 128, 134, 136, 147,
193, 206, 214–215, 224, 230, 237, 239, 241, 148–154, 156–163, 170, 184–187, 191,
243 193–200, 203, 210–11, 213, 220–222, 224,
Composition 4, 36, 159, 221, 236, 238–239, 230–231, 235, 238–241
241 εἴδη 53, 90
Constitution VI, 48, 89, 143, 149, 158, 212, Engenderment V, 168–169, 174–175
229–231, 234, 236, 241, 243–244 Essence 77, 102, 105, 150, 162, 207, 214, 217,
Conversion 72, 152, 155, 157, 160, 166 233, 234, 237, 238, 239, 241
Corruptible 81, 98, 103–104, 158, 238, 240 Eternity 9, 12, 15, 55, 90, 94–95, 98–100,
Cosmogony 2, 4–5, 9, 11, 13, 24, 26, 131, 133, 113–114, 152, 160–161, 163, 165, 169–171,
243 173–174, 176, 183, 224
Cosmography V, 184–185, 188–189, 191, 193, Etymologicum Gudianum 248, 264
195–196, 199, 202–203 Exegesis VII, XI, 30, 52, 86, 92, 94, 103, 106,
Cosmos 2–3, 30, 46, 52, 54–58, 61, 64–65, 67, 108, 123, 169, 179, 193, 195, 198, 203, 206,
85, 89, 125–127, 129, 132–134, 136–137, 208–209, 211, 214, 216, 218, 220,
139, 143, 169–170, 172–173, 175, 188, 193, 239–240, 243, 249–250, 254, 256,
197, 203, 213, 224, 230, 235 258–259
Creation VI, 1, 7–17, 46, 50, 53–55, 57–59, 61,
63, 65, 67, 71, 75–76, 85, 88–90, 93, 96, Firmament 187, 189, 190–193, 197, 207
98, 101, 110, 114–115, 120, 122, 124–125, Free will 50, 53, 54, 58, 82
127–129, 131–135, 137–142, 145–146, 163,
169, 170, 172, 176, 183, 188–189, 191–194, Genealogy 5, 18–20, 22–24, 26–29, 32–34,
202–203, 223–224, 229–231, 235, 41–42, 153
239–248 γένος 34, 259
Gnosis 72, 111, 214, 227
General Index 273
Gnostic VII, XII, 8, 47, 61–63, 68, 78, 83, 95, Nature XII, 3–6, 10, 13, 15, 17, 30, 34, 36, 48,
102, 110–111, 113–116, 118, 120, 183 56, 62, 64–65, 67, 73, 75–77, 80, 95, 87,
100, 105, 107, 113, 116, 123, 126–145, 155,
Heaven 10, 12, 108, 134, 136–144, 148–149, 151, 160–161, 168, 170, 175, 180–181, 189, 200,
158, 164–170, 187, 190–191, 194, 196–197, 207, 212–213, 215–216, 220, 223–224,
204, 207–214, 220 231–233, 235, 237, 241–242
Heliocentrism V, 9, 147–167 Necessity 4–5, 17, 38, 79, 130, 133–134, 136,
Hypostasis 12, 53, 73–75, 89, 121, 165, 170, 143–144, 170–171, 173, 178
232, 241–242 Neith 18, 19, 28, 34–36, 38, 40–42
noûs 4, 16, 85, 112, 115–116, 123, 131, 234
Image of God V, 13, 105, 116, 125–126,
137–144, 230–231, 233–234, 238, 240, One 6, 8, 16, 41–42, 48, 79, 85, 90, 110–111, 115,
242, 244–246 123, 155, 165, 180–181, 217, 234–235, 243
Immaterial 6, 11, 30, 67, 75–76, 82, 86, 89, 91, Origin 4–9, 14, 24–25, 27, 48, 50, 52–53, 79,
97, 110–111, 113–115, 120, 149, 190, 192, 238 88, 90, 98, 100, 120–121, 124, 128,
Immutability 175, 178–179, 192, 194 134–135, 137, 139–142, 152, 156–158, 160,
Incarnation 47, 53, 54, 58–61, 63, 66–68, 70, 166, 170, 175, 180, 192, 203, 230–232, 234,
206–208, 210, 212–216, 222–225, 238, 241, 243, 246
240, 242
Incorruptible 67–68, 78, 81, 83, 112, 136, 231, Perichoresis 157
238, 240 Physis 13, 48, 65–66, 73, 131
Indivisible 4, 48, 55, 111, 149 Poseidon 27–31, 33–34, 42, 48
Intelligible 4–7, 11, 12, 18, 38, 42, 47, 49, 53, Prime Matter V, XI, 168, 177–178
57–58, 65, 68, 72, 76, 85, 89, 93, 96, 114, Procession 9, 124, 149, 151–152, 154–156, 160,
120, 131, 157, 160, 161, 165, 213, 219 164, 166, 180, 209–210, 220, 232, 234, 237
Proclus V, VII, X, 9, 15–16, 19, 23, 25, 30, 43,
κίνησις. See Movement 76, 86, 119, 122–124, 147–183
kenosis 239 Providence 16, 48, 90
psyché 131, 234
Liturgy XI, 208, 212, 215–216, 218–222,
225–228 Receptacle 4, 8, 17, 74, 96, 169, 172–174, 177
logoi 13, 15, 90, 101, 110–111 Rhusis 148, 150, 157, 167
Logos X, 7, 11–13, 47, 52, 55, 57, 60, 65, 72, 74,
82–83, 85, 89–90, 100–101, 106, 110–111, Sameness 4, 134, 136, 163, 246
121–123, 126–128, 131–132, 136, 143, 234, Sensible 4–7, 18–19, 28, 42, 47, 68, 131, 134,
238, 245 150–151, 153, 155, 158, 160, 165, 168,
170–171, 173, 175–176, 178–179, 213, 219,
Macrocosm 66, 135–136 221–222
Material 4, 6, 11–12, 37, 47, 49, 76–77, 80–84, Stoicism 5, 6, 55, 65, 121, 123, 125, 127–128,
86, 89, 93, 97, 105–107, 110, 114, 126, 135, 133–134, 143, 145
139, 160, 187, 191, 196–197, 200, 220, 231, Substance VII, 49, 55, 76–77, 81–84, 87,
238, 240–241 90–91, 94, 96, 98, 100–105, 107, 109,
Mediation 32, 47, 158, 169, 206, 239, 242 110–111, 114, 138, 168, 216, 223, 231, 238
Microcosm V, 66, 125–146
Movement 50, 76, 79, 82, 132–133, 141, Terrestrial 230, 235, 238, 240
147–152, 157–164, 169, 172–173, 176, 187, Theodicy 18, 74, 79, 93–95, 97, 99, 112, 116
196–197, 214, 217, 219 Theurgy 206, 227
274 General Index
Time VII, XI, 1–3, 5, 8–9, 14, 19, 40, 90, 99, Universe 2–3, 5–8, 42, 51, 58, 65, 67–69, 82,
103, 114–115, 136–137, 139, 144, 146, 125, 128–129, 134, 148–149, 154, 156,
148–154, 157–158, 160–166, 171, 173, 176, 158–160, 170–174, 179, 181, 185, 187,
208, 218 189–191, 193–196, 200, 223, 227, 230–231,
Trinity 52, 55, 58, 66, 74–77, 79, 138, 165, 220 233, 235
Triune God 232, 234–235, 243 Upper waters 191
Unity 4, 6, 48, 50–51, 53–56, 58, 61, 64, 66, Vestigia Trinitatis 231, 234, 245
82, 110, 114–115, 123, 137, 234
Universals VII, 44 World soul V, 4, 7, 8, 12, 42, 46–51, 54–61,
63–66, 68–70, 73, 79

Platonism and Christianity in Late Ancient Cosmology

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Platonism and Christianity in Late Ancient Cosmology

Ancient Philosophy & Religion

George Boys-Stones (University of Toronto)

Gábor Betegh (Cambridge)

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/aphr

This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

The World Soul in Early Christian Thought 46

Matter in the Dialogue of Adamantius

Microcosme et image de Dieu

L’héliocentrisme dans la cosmologie de Proclus 147

L’immutabilité et l’inengendrement de la matière première du monde en

The Christian Rejection of Ptolemean Cosmography in (Late) Antiquity

« Le Seigneur des Puissances »

The Creation of Man and His Constitution According to Anastasius Sinaïta

Un kaléidoscope byzantin sur les six jours de la création 247

Index of Ancient Authors 265

Ana Schiavoni-Palanciuc, Johannes Zachhuber

München), on a new critical edition of Aristotle’s Metaphysics for the Oxford

Peter Van Deun

1 Cosmology in Late Ancient Thought

Research on late ancient cosmology has become an urgent demand as new

4 Brown 1971; Stroumsa 2005.

condition in a certain philosophical context corresponds to an extent with a

2 Late Ancient Cosmology and the Interpretation of the Timaeus

Late ancient cosmology was in large part conducted through explicit or

8 Cf. Loessl and Watt 2011.

While formally presented as a dialogue, the Timaeus in fact gives to its

10 English text: Cornford 1937, 22.

operation of the intellect who has to “persuade” Necessity in order to achieve

14 Broadie 2011, 243–277.

17 Alcinous, Didaskalikos. VIII–X.

25 Deuse 1983; Zachhuber 2004.

independent principle interacting with the power of the demiurgic God in

29 Rist 1967, 26–7.

3 Cosmology and the Interpretation of Genesis

No account of early Christian cosmology can be given, however, without

39 Zachhuber 1999, 148–9.

Deuse, Werner. 1983. Untersuchungen zur mittel- und neuplatonischen Seelenlehre.

1 Von den Steinen 1949, Burnyeat 1997.

the leadership of the goddess Neith-Athena, resisted and managed to defeat

1 Plato’s Maternal Lineage

3 See Gill 2017.

1.2 The Genealogy of Critias

5 Diodorus Siculus XII, 54, 4.

DROPIDES II (arch. 593) … SOLON (arch. 594)

11 Cf. Plato, Timaeus 20c–d.

It is not enough to note the presence of a contradiction in Plato’s text. It is also

1.3 A Confirmation: The Genealogy of the Traditional Gods

15 Plato, Timaeus 40d–41a.

But since we want to relate this group also to Intellectual Causes as we

Here is what to answer. Since it is assumed in advance by us that this

16 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria V, ed. Diehl, vol. 3, 168, 17–25.

2 Plato’s Paternal Lineage

Plato, son of Ariston and Perictione, or Potone, an Athenian.

19 On Ariston, see Nails 2002, 53–54.

An absence, it will be said, is not an exclusion. Let us assume that the

In a fiction – where, by definition, nothing is left to chance – it will be neces-

The Apatouria was a festival in honor of Dionysus on the occasion of the

Moreover, deception is appropriate to the Forms that enter the Cosmos,

However, one ancient commentator was sensitive to this genealogical prob-

23 Proclus, In Timaeum commentaria I, ed. Diehl, vol. 1, 88, 12–14.

From an old scholium on the Symposium (On Plato, Symposium 208d1) we

26 See Hellanicus of Lesbos, fr. 10 (Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum, vol. 1, 47).