Mirrors of the Divine: Late Ancient Christianity and the Vision of God 2022040724, 2022040725, 9780197663370, 0197663370

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Mirrors of the Divine

Mirrors of the Divine Late Ancient Christianity and the Vision of God E M I LY R . C A I N

Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2023 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Cain, Emily, author. Title: Mirrors of the divine : late ancient Christianity and the vision of God / Emily R. Cain. Description: New York, NY, United States of America : Oxford University Press, [2023] | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022040724 (print) | LCCN 2022040725 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197663370 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197663394 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: God—Biblical teaching. | Image of God—Biblical teaching. | Theological anthropology. | Mirrors—Religious aspects. | Eyes—Religious aspects. Classification: LCC BT103 .C345 2023 (print) | LCC BT103 (ebook) | DDC 233/.5—dc23/eng/20221207 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022040724 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022040725 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

Contents Preface and Acknowledgments 

Introduction 

vii

1

1. “Now We See”: Scientific and Scriptural Sight 

16

2. Tertullian of Carthage: A Visual Hierarchy of Beards and Veils 

44

3. Clement of Alexandria: Seeing God Through a Cataract Darkly 

66

4. “Through a Mirror”: (Im)moral, Magical, and Metaphorical Mirrors 

85

5. Gregory of Nyssa: Perpetual Perception 

106

6. Augustine of Hippo: The Paradox of Perception 

131

7. “In an Enigma”: Reflections on Reflection 

163

Conclusion 

191

Subject Index  Ancient Writings Index 

195 203

Preface and Acknowledgments The idea for this book began with a passing observation during the first year of my doctoral program at Fordham: after reading Augustine’s de Trinitate and Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses, I noticed that both authors used the same metaphor of seeing God through a mirror, darkly in related, but inverted ways. From this seemingly simple observation, I formed an enduring question: why? While we may never answer questions of motivation, I began my own foray into the what and the how of this difference, studying ancient theories of sight and the history of mirrors and reflection. As my explorations led me earlier and earlier, I realized that writing on vision was more intricate than I first supposed. Metaphors, of course, mean different things to different people and in different contexts, and metaphors of vision and mirrors are especially complex. They connect the body and the mind, the human and the divine, the self and the other. They open into new worlds, and they connect to ideas of morality, knowledge, and self-​identity. Yet the part that stood out to me the most was the idea that each of us sees the world differently. My ideas surrounding vision and mirrors have been sharpened by excellent conversations and feedback at a variety of conferences: the North American Patristics Society, the Oxford Patristics Conference, and the International Colloquium on Gregory of Nyssa. Both anonymous reviewers of the manuscript offered insightful feedback, which helped me to draw out my significance and framing more clearly. Earlier versions of some chapters have been published as journal articles. Some of the examples of Chapter 2 appeared in “Tertullian’s Precarious Panopticon: A Performance of Visual Piety,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 27, no. 4 (Winter 2019): 611–​33. Some of the medical section of Chapter 3 appeared as “Medically Modified Eyes: A Baptismal Cataract Surgery in Clement of Alexandria,” Studies in Late Antiquity 2, no. 4 (Winter 2018): 491–​511. And some of the philosophical sections of Chapter 3 appeared as “Perfected Perception: Modes of Knowing God in Clement of Alexandria,” in Studia Patristica CX, vol. 7, ed. Markus Vinzent

viii  Preface and Acknowledgments et al. (Leuven: Peeters, 2021), 167–​75. I am grateful to these publishers for permission to reuse parts of those articles. My time at Fordham was especially formative, and I benefitted from the guidance of George Demacopoulos, Maureen Tilley, Larry Welborn, Robert Davis, Benjamin Dunning, and Sarit Kattan-​Gribetz. My chapter on Clement of Alexandria developed in conversation with colleagues for a special issue, and I am grateful for the helpful feedback of Kristi Upson-​Saia, Jessica Wright, Jared Secord, and John Penniman. I rewrote the project entirely during my time at Loyola, and this was only possible with support from excellent friends and colleagues, especially Kristen Irwin, Tisha Rajendra, Sandra Sullivan-​Dunbar, Teresa Calpino, Lauren O’Connell, Aana Vigen, Xueying Wang, and Thomas Wetzel. I am especially grateful, as well, to those friends and colleagues who read and offered feedback on various drafts: Devorah Schoenfeld, Mara Brecht, Mark Lester, Olivia Stewart Lester, Josefrayn Sánchez-​Perry, Ashley Purpura, Matthew Briel, Adam Ployd, and Lindsey Mercer. This book is immensely stronger for the input of each, and all errors left are my own. Finally, this book wouldn’t have been possible without the constant support of my husband, Ben. Thank you.

Introduction There has long been a curious fascination with eyes and mirrors, as evidenced throughout art, film, and literature. From fantastical characters who shoot lasers from their eyes to those whose memories are altered visually, the way in which a story portrays the function of the eyes demonstrates the way the storyteller imagines the character’s relationship to the world. Is the character powerful or powerless? Does she impact her world, or is she impacted by that world? The storyteller’s portrayal of vision answers those questions and reveals deeper assumptions about the individual and her ability to move within and to know her world. While eyes are associated with interacting with this world, mirrors are distinctly associated with interacting with some other world.1 Mirrors function as portals to other worlds—​windows that glimpse an alternate reality or harmful traps that hide sinister intentions.2 How an author portrays eyes reveals how she understands the world, while how she portrays mirrors reveals how she imagines the unknown. Eyes and mirrors function not only as symbols within stories, but they also serve as frequent metaphors in language. Modern English regularly pairs sight with knowledge, such as “I see what you mean” or “Do you see what I’m saying?” Mirror metaphors are associated with imitation, of course, but also with reflection or self-​knowledge. These rhetorical links are so common today that they have become inert metaphors, mere remnants of a scientific belief long since gone.3 In the world of Late Antiquity, however, such visual metaphors were living, tied closely to a material understanding of the 1 For more on mirrors in Roman art, see Rabun M. Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 2 See, for instance, the “Mirror of Erised” that reveals a person’s deepest desire in J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (New York: Scholastic, 1998); Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-​Glass; and classic fairy tales such as Snow White. 3 Alive/​living metaphors tend to surprise the reader by their unexpected pairing. Dead/​inert metaphors have become so pervasive that they have lost the ability to surprise. For more, see Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor: The Creation of Meaning in Language, trans. Robert Czerny (London: Routledge, 2008), 111. For a helpful description of inert Christian metaphors, see Janet Martin Soskice, The Kindness of God: Metaphor, Gender, and Religious Language (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 3.

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0001

2 Introduction world and a correspondingly tactile nature of sight.4 What might seem to be mere science fiction today has its roots in ancient science, with different assumptions about the science of sight and mirrors. These differing assumptions impact vision far beyond the basic mechanics of sight. In his fragmented text On Love from near the end of the first century CE, Plutarch noted that if all people were to see the same things in the same ways, then everyone would fall in love with the same person. The diversity of loves, he argued, demonstrates that the eyes are not impartial; they can be trained by art or developed by nature.5 Plutarch’s comments illustrate a deeper point that we all know but often forget: each of us sees the world differently.6 Jaś Elsner locates this difference in what he calls conceptual frameworks, ways that we interpret what is seen to make it meaningful, and he notes that these frameworks can lead to “varying and even contradictory responses and meanings” when applied to the same image by different people or even by the same person, but at different times.7 Helen Morales notes that these conceptual frameworks are determined by one’s ethnicity, race, gender, education, sexuality, religion, and social location.8 And yet these subjective ways of seeing are not merely descriptive; they are also prescriptive. That is, they not only indicate one’s social role, but they also serve to produce and to define it.9 Not everyone sees the world in the same way—​some see it partially 4 Roland Betancourt has argued against a haptic understanding of sight in antiquity, arguing that the metaphors of touch should be read not as relating to sight itself, but rather as metaphors for the mental and cognitive processes of perception. Roland Betancourt, Sight, Touch, and Imagination in Byzantium (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 5–​6. For more on the material understanding of the ancient world, and what is commonly termed “The Material Turn,” see Patricia Cox Miller, The Corporeal Imagination: Signifying the Holy in Late Ancient Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 3ff; David Fredrick, The Roman Gaze: Vision, Power, and the Body (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002); Susan Ashbrook Harvey, Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006); and Jennifer Glancy, Corporal Knowledge: Early Christian Bodies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). For more on tactility and sight in early Christianity, see Shadi Bartsch, The Mirror of the Self: Sexuality, Self-​Knowledge, and the Gaze in the Early Roman Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), 58–​67. For a similar exploration of the tactile nature of sight in the New Testament, see J. M. F. Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety: The Metamorphosis of the Beholder (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). 5 On Love, Menander, frg. 568 =​K-​A 791. 6 Georgia Frank makes a similar point about ancient pilgrims, “that pilgrims did not necessarily see the way we see,” in Georgia Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 103. 7 Jaś Elsner, Art and the Roman Viewer: The Transformation of Art from the Pagan World to Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 2–​3. 8 Helen Morales, Vision and Narrative in Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 21. 9 See also Morales, who is building on Teresa De Lauretis, Technologies of Gender: Essays on Theory, Film, and Fiction (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987); Helen Morales, Vision and Narrative in Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 23.

Introduction  3 or not at all—​and the presence or absence of sight becomes a productive place to think about what it means to be human: revealing assumptions about who you are, what you can know, and how you can act. The world looks different when one sees differently, and when we take sight for granted in these ancient texts, we miss fundamental assumptions about the subjective experiences of humanity. How we understand perception shapes what and how we see and also our broader senses of self, and to miss how sight worked for these late ancient authors, therefore, is to look past some of the most self-​conscious ways that late ancient Christians thought of themselves, their worlds, and their God. How do I know and interact with the world? What does it mean to see God? Can one see God in this life? If so, how and to what extent? And how is one impacted by sight? This book asks precisely those questions, seeking to bring into focus how four influential late ancient authors—​Tertullian of Carthage, Clement of Alexandria, Gregory of Nyssa, and Augustine of Hippo—​employ language of vision and of mirrors in their discursive struggles to construct Christian agency, identity, and epistemology. These authors span from the second through fourth centuries CE in both Eastern and Western Christianity, and I analyze their theological writings on vision and knowledge of God to explore how they pieced together rival and contradictory theories of sight to shape their cosmologies, theologies, subjectivities, genders, and discursive worlds. The different theories of vision partly answered the question of how we see; but more, the differences around vision and mirrors offer a keyhole into questions of the relationships between heaven and earth, body and soul, men and women, and beyond. Each early Christian author describes the vision of God through the Pauline verse “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face,” and each ties this metaphor of a flawed vision of God to an understanding of a distinctly flawed human body.10 Yet each author also interprets or applies this verse differently based on a diverse set of assumptions about how they understand seeing and mirrors to function: does vision occur by something leaving or entering the eye, is one impacted by seeing or by being seen, and do mirrors offer trustworthy knowledge? This book brings to light the significance of those different assumptions. How an author portrays eyes reveals how they envision one’s relationship to the world, while how they portray mirrors reveals how they imagine the unknown, and both have

10 1 Corinthians 13:12 NRSV.

4 Introduction dramatic impacts on how one interprets what it means to see God through a mirror, dimly.

Context and Framing Many ancient thinkers were fascinated with sensory perception. Some senses needed only simple explanations, such as taste and touch that occur through direct contact. Other senses demanded greater thought, such as smell and hearing, both of which require proximity, leading to proposed theories of vapors drifting to the nose or noises drifting to the ears.11 Vision, however, posed the greatest challenge. Taste and touch require direct contact, while smell and sound require some amount of proximity, but vision can occur over vast distances, to the sun and stars, seemingly instantaneously, yet with no effort. If all other senses can be explained through a kind of touch, how then does vision function? Theorists debated whether the eye contained its own fire,12 whether the eye emitted a ray or visual pneuma,13 how far such a ray or pneuma extended,14 whether that ray or pneuma takes up space,15 whether the objects seen emitted particles to the eye,16 and whether a medium between eye and object, for example air, was required to see.17 Through it all, each author also described one’s role and ability in the visual process. Was the seer active or passive, impacting the world or being impacted by the world? In addressing these questions, vision became deeply tied to agency in describing one’s relationship to the world.18

11 I expand on ancient theories of perception in Chapter 1. For another excellent overview of ancient understanding of sensory perception, see Philip Thibodeau, “Ancient Optics: Theories and Problems of Vision,” in A Companion to Science, Technology, and Medicine in Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. Georgia L. Irby, vol. 1 (Oxford: John Wiley & Sons, 2016), 130–​44. See also David C. Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-​Kindi to Kepler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976). 12 Empedocles and Parmenides first suggested that the eye contained a fire, but Plato popularized this belief in Timeaus. See especially Ti. 45b–​d. 13 Galen, De Symptomatum Causis 1.2 (v22 pp88–​89k). 14 See Galen on Herophilus, De Symptomatum Causis 1.2 (v22 pp88–​ 89k); Alexander of Aphrodisias, On the Soul. 15 See Galen, De placitis 7 and Euclid, Optica 1–​3. 16 This is usually classified as intromission, though Plato thought that both the objects and the eye emitted particles in Timeaus. See especially Ti. 45b–​d. See also Diogenes Laertius in Lives of Eminent Philosophers Life of Epicurus x.46; Lucretius in De Rerum Natura 4.30–​40. 17 Theophrastus, De Sensu 50–​55; Democritus (known through Theophrastus’ De Sensu). 18 See Chapter 1 for more on the ancient theories of vision.

Introduction  5 Though the authors debated the role of agency in vision, each theorist agreed on linking vision to knowledge and defending the nature of that knowledge against the threats posed by optical illusions such as a straight oar appearing bent in water.19 Optical illusions became prime examples that illustrate the subjectivity of sight as visual objects that appear differently from different perspectives, and they also raised doubt about the reliability of visual knowledge. Visual theorists sought to show the rationality of vision despite such illusions: perhaps the particles were damaged by the air or water,20 maybe the rays grew weary across vast distances,21 or possibly some aspects of the object simply fell between multiple visual rays.22 While their explanations for these illusions differed, this discourse demonstrates that writing about vision was also deeply wrapped up in debates about epistemology. And these debates about epistemology, in turn, rest upon a fundamental assumption about the subjectivity of vision: if the world looked identical to all people at all times, there would be no need to defend the nature of visual knowledge. While scientific discussions of visual perception became intertwined with debates about agency and epistemology of the world, mirrors garnered their own associations, as they were perceived to split the gaze between the self and other-​worldly knowledge.23 Most ancient mirrors were simple polished metal discs that provided only dim or distorted reflections.24 Ancient mirrors, like optical illusions, showed the world as other than it is, becoming associated with a world of possibility: mirrors could be a means of self-​ reflection and self-​improvement, or they could be a means of self-​corruption and destruction; mirrors could offer glimpses into the other-​world, or they could become lethal traps. The discussion that swirled around mirrors demonstrated that reflection was never merely neutral, but it was fraught with magical or mystical connotations, wrapped up in debates over morality and spirituality.25 19 Ancient Skeptics had employed such optical illusions to cast doubt upon the very nature of knowledge itself. See Sextus Empiricus, P. 100–​117; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. Ph. 9.87; Aristotle, Pr. 15.6.911b.19–​21; Plutarch, Adversus Colotem 1121a–​b. 20 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.353–​363. 21 Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta (hereafter SVF), ed. Hans Friedrich August von Arnim, 4 vols. (Stuttgart: Stutgardiae in aedibus B.G. Tuebneri, 1903), 863. 22 Euclid, Optica 9. 23 Morris R. Cohen and I. E. Drabkin, A Source Book in Greek Science, 1st ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1948), 263–​64. 24 Willard McCarty, “The Shape of the Mirror: Metaphorical Catoptrics in Classical Literature,” Arethusa 22, no. 2 (1989): 161–​95, 167. 25 See Chapter 4 for more on mirrors.

6 Introduction This discourse gained theological significance through the scriptures, which link vision and mirrors to spiritual health, visual piety, and transformative knowledge of God.26 Discussions of visual perception were prime locations for philosophical speculation about epistemology and cosmology as well as theological speculation about mystical theology and theological anthropology. Late ancient authors sought to define the nature of humanity, its similarity to and difference from the world and the divine, its ability to act or to be acted on, and its ability to know the world and the divine. In this book, I focus on a selection of theological discussions on vision and mirrors, and I argue that these philosophical and theological speculations of vision of God are also the very location for important discursive struggles over claims of Christian identity, Christian agency, and Christian epistemology. This frame of identity, agency, and epistemology describes precisely what each author argues through their depictions of vision, but I also analyze how each author does this through a second linguistic frame of discourse, rhetoric, and metaphor, which helps to examine how language shapes and is shaped by its environment. While we cannot access the world behind the texts, this linguistic frame reveals aspects of the way that these texts participate in constructing and revealing new meaning, particularly when comparing the texts with one another, as I do in Chapter 7. The term discourse has been applied in many ways, but I find it particularly useful to think along the lines of Michel Foucault’s description of discourse as linguistic practices that shape what they describe.27 By participating in a discourse about Christian identity, for example, a text does not merely describe the nature of that identity, but it also serves to produce that identity by constructing a particular vision of the world and then seeking to convince its reader of the power of that vision.28 Epistemological debates not only define knowledge, but they also define who has access to that knowledge and to what extent. Historically, such discursive struggles were wrapped up in debates over power and authority, defining Christian identity as distinct from the world or limiting spiritual epistemology to a specific community. Thus, these threads of Christian agency, identity, and epistemology were deeply intertwined with one another, tying together debates about epistemology to 26 Matthew 6:22, Romans 1:20, 1 Corinthians 13:12, and 2 Corinthians 3:18. 27 See especially Michel Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge and the Discourse on Language, trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith (New York: Pantheon, 1972), 49. 28 Laura Nasrallah’s model has been particularly helpful to me in thinking about the way that discourse functions. See especially Laura Nasrallah, An Ecstasy of Folly: Prophecy and Authority in Early Christianity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Divinity School, 2004), 5.

Introduction  7 distinct identities or abilities. These texts do not offer clear views into historical realities; rather, they offer a glance into the rhetorically constructed worlds of their authors, and these rhetorical worlds assert their definitions of Christian identity against other communities or offer their unique claims on knowledge. Tied to this definition of discourse is an understanding of rhetoric as a key to social power but a social power that is a dynamic two-​way process between both a text and its reception.29 Not only does discourse help to shape its society, forming a community and ascribing authority, but such discourse is also profoundly shaped in return. Christian rhetoric is deeply embedded in its environment; and, as that environment shifts, whether geographically or chronologically, so also does the nature of that rhetoric. I am not seeking to reiterate here the excellent work that others have done in describing the role of discourse in the rise of Christianity.30 Rather, I explore the ways that late ancient Christian authors engaged in discourses of vision and mirrors to evoke particular understandings of the spiritual journey and community for their readers. Such rhetoric shifted over time and across geographies, and what begins as rhetoric of literal vision gradually gives way to metaphorical vision. Metaphor theory has shifted over the years from treating metaphor as a simple substitution of meaning from A to B to a more complicated comparison of similarities between two things.31 George Lakoff, however, redefined the field of metaphor theory in the late 1980s with his argument 29 See especially Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 4. 30 There are a number of excellent studies that trace the relation between discourse and the rise of Christianity. See especially Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991) and Judith Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (New York: Routledge, 1995). 31 Metaphor as substitution is typically seen as the classical view, but most contemporary theorists reject this interpretation of metaphor. Some attribute metaphor as substitution to Aristotle in Poetics 1458a, but Janet Martin Soskice argues that it is not from Aristotle, but from Locke. See Janet Martin Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), 1–​14. For attribution to Aristotle, see Max Black, “More about Metaphor,” in Metaphor and Thought, ed. Andrew Ortony, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 22. For scholarship on metaphor as a comparison of secondary meanings, see John Seale, “Metaphor,” in Expression and Meaning: Studies in the Theory of Speech Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 76–​116; Murray Knowles and Rosamund Moon, Introducing Metaphor (New York: Routledge, 2006), 66. See also Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), particularly pages 52–​53 for a discussion of the role of comparison (especially exaggeration and difference) in how things might be conceived and described in Late Antiquity. For an anti-​comparison view, see Donald Davidson, “What Metaphors Mean,” Critical Inquiry 5, no. 1 (1978): 31–​47; Max Black, Models and Metaphors: Studies in Language and Philosophy, 1st ed. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1962), 37.

8 Introduction that metaphor is not only a matter of words but also of concepts.32 He used the common metaphor love is a journey to demonstrate how a larger concept groups together a number of smaller metaphors: we’re stuck, we’re at a crossroads, we’ve hit a speed bump, and so on.33 He argued that these are not separate linguistic metaphors, but rather all stem from the larger cognitive source domain of journey and apply to the target domain of love in which the lovers are the travelers, love is the vehicle, and the mutual goals are the destination. Analyzing an ancient metaphor, then, must begin with the potential strands that make up their cognitive maps in order to understand how the metaphor functions. One critique of Lakoff ’s theory is that he does not distinguish between different types of metaphors, particularly between active/​alive metaphors and inert/​dead metaphors. Dead or inert metaphors are metaphors so pervasive that people have become unaware of them, and Janet Martin Soskice describes such inert Christian metaphors “worn smooth, like an old marble staircase . . . until their original figurative potency was lost.”34 Paul Ricoeur explains that one’s use of living metaphors surprises the hearer (or reader) by combining “non-​sensical” elements in an unexpected context.35 In Lakoff ’s theory, one’s metaphorical statement simply transfers meaning from one domain to another, but in Ricoeur’s theory, a living metaphorical statement creates new meaning. It is precisely this new meaning that I explore in this project by examining the metaphorical ways that late ancient authors combine disparate theories of vision to describe their complicated views of humanity and of God. It is precisely through paradoxical constructions of visual theories that these authors construct new theological meaning and reimagine what it means to see differently. One type of metaphor that Lakoff highlights is the ontological metaphor: these are metaphors that draw from physical entities or substances and enable a person to conceive of and to describe abstract things such as events, emotions, ideas, and so on in terms of such physical entities or substances.36 Lakoff suggests that the main source domain typically comes from our own 32 George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 244. 33 George Lakoff, “The Contemporary Theory of Metaphor,” in Metaphor and Thought, ed. Andrew Ortony, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 206–​11. 34 Janet Martin Soskice, The Kindness of God: Metaphor, Gender, and Religious Language (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 3. 35 Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor: The Creation of Meaning in Language, trans. Robert Czerny (London: Routledge, 2008), 111. 36 Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 25.

Introduction  9 experiences, particularly that of our own bodies, to describe the abstract.37 Yet late ancient authors did not necessarily conceive of their bodies and experiences in the same way that we do today; or, for that matter, even with one another. Because of this disparity, metaphors may have opened conceptual possibilities for late ancient authors that are drastically different than the possibilities available to us today, and my purpose in this project is to explore how the optical metaphor that links sight to the divine functioned in the context of Late Antiquity in order to gain a new understanding of early Christian epistemologies and theological anthropologies. It is through their writings on vision that we can glimpse an author’s portrayal of their embodied relationship to their worlds, and it is through their writings on mirrors that we can begin to tease out their construction of new meaning as applied to the divine. Throughout the chapters that follow, I move back and forth between the what and the how, examining what each author portrays in terms of identity, agency, and epistemology, and I do so by examining how each author engages discourse, rhetoric, and metaphor. Vision itself is a vast topic, crossing multiple disciplinary boundaries. In antiquity, the exploration of vision spanned across the subfields of philosophy, geometry, medicine, and as I argue here, theology; while today, vision spans the disciplinary boundaries from physics to psychology and biology, but also history, classics, philosophy, art history, and theology, among others. A topic as vast as vision, in other words, requires a prismatic approach. My own approach brings three facets of that prism together, examining writings on philosophical, medical, and theological rhetoric about vision. By focusing on these writings, I uncover some of the most self-​conscious ways that late ancient authors thought of themselves, their worlds, and their God, offering a key insight into their theological visions of the late ancient world. Analyzing rhetoric on vision and mirrors uncovers both individual assumptions and broader cultural patterns and shifts. This offers us a way forward in conversations about mysticism, so often separated from conversations about the body, as evidenced by some contemporary discussions of the spiritual senses as divorced from bodily senses. Vision, however, functions as the very juncture between questions of esoteric epistemology and mystical theology and deeply grounded embodiment. Vision is the point of contact between the body and the world; yet, through cognition,

37 Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 25.

10 Introduction it is also the avenue for rich imaginings of the divine. As such, this examination of rhetoric serves to ground late ancient authors’ understanding of the vision of God in a deeply embodied and subjective understanding of the world. These writings about vision were grounded in philosophical, mathematical, medical, and scriptural traditions about vision, but they were also connected to contemporary visual practices. It is my claim that it is this intersection between the historical traditions and their contemporary practices that reveals not just the embodied nature of late ancient Christianities but also how they embodied their Christianities. In other words, it is not simply that the body matters in their theologies, but rather the kind of body they emphasize; and, in each case, it is a distinctly flawed body that is elevated. Sometimes those flaws are envisioned as something to be overcome, as in Clement’s and in Augustine’s texts; but, other times, those flaws are reimagined as the very basis for one’s connection to God, as in Tertullian’s and in Gregory of Nyssa’s writings. This study, then, offers a window into conversations about embodied mystical theologies but also into discussions of health and disability. Examining this rhetoric on vision and mirrors shows us how these early Christian authors embodied both their theological anthropologies and their mystical theologies in bodies that are envisioned as porous, diseased, mutable, or blind. This rhetoric illustrates flawed bodies reimagined as prime locations for one’s connection to God. More broadly, this book is also for scholars of the late ancient world, as it demonstrates the connections among philosophical, theological, and medical ideas. Theological anthropologies are deeply tied to cosmologies, while mystical theologies are tied to epistemologies. As I will show, the paradoxes and contradictions found within the authors’ writings demonstrate not a lack of knowledge of philosophical and medical traditions, but rather a deep and enduring engagement with those very traditions in ways that attempt to push back, develop, or enact those philosophies, medical understandings, and theologies. In other words, the philosophies and medical theories may help us to better understand the theologies, but the reverse is also true, and we only discover the connections when such disciplinary lines are crossed. As I have argued, a topic as large as vision requires a prismatic approach, as I undertake in this book. I have chosen to focus on some of the textual facets of that prism, which refract the rich intricacies of these theoretical and rhetorical worlds with all their contradictions and complexities, and I focus on the subjective nature of vision. Of course, other facets on vision are

Introduction  11 needed as well, those that examine art history, material culture, and novels, and studies on vision’s relationship to affect, memory, sexuality, psychology, cultural critiques, mystic viewing, and more.38 When taken together, these varied approaches and projects reveal the rich variety of the broader prism of vision. It is my hope that this book will be read alongside these others, offering a conversation partner that reveals the subjective ways that late ancient authors thought of themselves, their worlds, and their God, tying together rhetoric of science and theology.

Thesis and Outline In this book, I dive into the ancient Mediterranean world, with its proliferating discussions on vision and knowledge. I primarily examine the rhetoric of four late ancient authors: Tertullian of Carthage, Clement of Alexandria, Gregory of Nyssa, and Augustine of Hippo. I have selected these authors partly for their prominence, both in written records and in tradition, but also for their breadth across geographies and time. These authors span geographically and chronologically across Eastern and Western Christianity 38 Jaś Elsner explores what he calls the realist and the symbolic to show the link between vision and subjectivity in Art and the Roman Viewer: The Transformation of Art from the Pagan World to Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). Roland Betancourt has reexamined ancient vision to argue that sight is not touch in Sight, Touch, and Imagination in Byzantium (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). Maia Kotrosits focuses on the role of affect in vision in Maia Kotrosits, Rethinking Early Christian Identity: Affect, Violence, and Belonging (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015), and she draws together the linguistic and the material in Maia Kotrosits, The Lives of Objects: Material Culture, Experience, and the Real in the History of Early Christianity, 1st ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2020). Robin Jensen focuses on the power of images, and particularly portraits, in early Christian teaching in Robin M. Jensen, Face to Face: Portraits of the Divine in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2004). Georgia Frank identifies the role of vision and memory in pilgrimage in The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). J. M. F. Heath tears down the false dichotomy of material versus spiritual senses, showing instead the complex frameworks from which early Christians might draw in Paul’s Visual Piety: The Metamorphosis of the Beholder (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). Shadi Bartsch turns to the mirror, with an emphasis on vision and mirrors in constructions of the self in antiquity in Shadi Bartsch, The Mirror of the Self: Sexuality, Self-​Knowledge, and the Gaze in the Early Roman Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006). David Fredrick’s edited volume contains a collection of essays that show the diverse forms of visuality and sexuality in Rome in The Roman Gaze: Vision, Power, and the Body (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002). Rachel Neis offers a study on viewing problematic visuals in Jewish culture in Rachel Neis, Sense of Sight in Rabbinic Culture: Jewish Ways of Seeing in Late Antiquity (West Nyack, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2013); Rachel Neis, “Eyeing Idols: Rabbinic Viewing Practices in Late Antiquity,” Jewish Quarterly Review 102, no. 4 (Fall 2012): 533–​60. David Morgan has highlighted the ways in which images impact the viewer in David Morgan, Images at Work: The Material Culture of Enchantment (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018).

12 Introduction and from the second through the fourth centuries CE, and they have each been key resources in the development of theological speculation about knowledge of God. All four wrestle with some aspect of theology through the discourse of vision and of mirrors, and I approach these texts with a particular interest in their uses of rhetoric to construct Christian agency, Christian identity, and Christian epistemology. While I approach each author with the same questions, I have varied my scope in relation to each author, focusing on a few key texts for Gregory and Augustine, while engaging a broader corpus for Tertullian and Clement. Some of this is logistical, as Gregory and Augustine have much larger bodies of work than do Tertullian and Clement, but some of it is also intentional. Gregory and Augustine each have sustained discussions on vision and mirrors in particular texts, warranting extended analysis, while Tertullian and Clement intersperse references across their various texts. As such, I have followed suit, piecing together the writings in Tertullian and Clement while diving more deeply into a few key places in Gregory and Augustine. Through it all, I argue that the writing of the late ancient Christian authors functions not descriptively, but prescriptively to construct an author’s theological vision of the world in an attempt to persuade the readers of its power. Each author offers a distinctly Christian training of the eyes, a prescription for looking that reveals deeper assumptions about their cosmologies, genders, and statuses both in relation to the world and in relation to God. It is precisely because mirrors seem so common today that it is easy to forget that this was not always the case. Asking fundamental questions about how people with a different set of assumptions understood vision and mirrors to function can lead to surprising insights about their applications. As I have already noted, in the ancient Mediterranean societies, speculation about vision and mirrors cut across a variety of disciplinary fields, and these diverse discussions of vision and mirrors were locations for conjecture on topics ranging from the connection between the human and the world to the connection between the human and the divine. Arguments about the phenomenon of visual perception are situated in contexts of broader debates about agency and epistemology, while discussions of mirrors focus on the morality or immorality of reflection, linking to broader debates about identity. Such visions of the world serve to manufacture boundaries to knowledge, through discussions of gender and baptismal status, or to encourage or discourage the possibility of that knowledge through discussions of human

Introduction  13 agency. They define what can be known and what must remain unknown, and they identify particular fields and sources of knowledge as legitimate. Ancient writing on vision and mirrors ties together philosophical goals with theological ones, as discussions of cosmology and the makeup of the world lead to discussions of theological anthropology and the theological understanding of the human within that world. Discussions of epistemology and the nature of knowledge give way to discourses on mystical theology and the nature of the knowledge of God in this life. Scientific theories shape theologies, and vice versa, and questions about agency, whether I am in control or controlled by vision, lead to questions of epistemology, whether and what I can know, which lead to larger questions of identity, who I think I am. Authors differ in their foci, yet underneath these different emphases is a greater similarity: their writing on vision and mirrors grounds their theologies in subjective understandings of the human in flawed bodies as the prime location of the spiritual encounter. I argue that we must explore the scientific underpinnings of each author’s writing on physical vision in order to understand the subjective and embodied nature of their writing on the vision of God. I show that seemingly subtle differences in ancient scientific theories of vision and mirrors lead to dramatically different theological outcomes about theological anthropology, mystical theology, and epistemology. I argue that these philosophical and theological speculations of vision of God are also the very locations for important discursive struggles over claims of Christian identity, Christian authority, and Christian epistemology. The book is structured broadly chronologically, interspersed with two contextual chapters to offer further background on vision and mirrors. My final chapter takes a step back to place the authors in conversation with one another, teasing out the discursive threads to draw to the fore the ways in which these texts shifted over time and across geographies as they both shape and are shaped by their respective locations. I have written this book in such a way that chapters can largely stand alone or in conversation with one another, so that readers may dip in and out, focusing on relevant figures and sections. Each author offers a different prescription for Christian vision, but it is only when all the chapters are read together that we discover what difference those differences make. Each author grounds the spiritual vision in deeply flawed human bodies, and the cumulative effect of this rhetoric reveals the impact of the subjective nature of vision and its relation to agency,

14 Introduction epistemology, and identity: how and whether I can see ties to what I think I can know, which ultimately reveals who I think I am. In Chapter 1, I trace the historical background of vision through early philosophical, medical, mathematical, and scriptural texts, showing that ancient writing about vision is tied to early epistemological debates about the nature of knowledge and agency, and the earliest roots of the scriptural tradition tie vision to spiritual identity, offering a link between vision and one’s relationship to the divine. In Chapter 2, I turn to Tertullian of Carthage, demonstrating that Tertullian uses the Stoic and Epicurean theories of vision to construct a hierarchy in terms of bodily intactness and penetrability: God sees with Stoic rays and remains intact against harmful sights, while humans see by means of Epicurean intromission and are penetrated and transformed by harmful sights. I argue that Tertullian proposes a prescription for Christian vision that is grounded in embodied difference along his understanding of gendered bodies. In Chapter 3, I move my analysis to the East to analyze Clement of Alexandria’s metaphor that baptism is like cataract surgery (Paedagogus 1.6.28) that enables the recipient to see God, and I argue that Clement uses visual perception to describe the transformation and new identity of the baptized Christian. Like Tertullian, Clement uses visual perception to define Christian identity as different from the world, but he ties that identity to an exclusive form of spiritual epistemology only available to the baptized. In Chapter 4, I take another step back to trace the development of the mirror as metaphor, through philosophical, medical, mathematical, and scriptural texts to demonstrate that mirrors and reflection are fraught with meaning, tied to debates about morality and focus. I trace the twin paths of positive and negative associations through science, through literature, through scripture, and finally through Plotinus to show the development of this metaphorical mirror as it becomes the basis for the contemplative vision of God. In Chapter 5, I analyze Gregory’s writing on the vision of God, and I argue that he uses visual perception to describe a synergistic relationship between the human and the divine in which both are active participants. In doing so, Gregory departs from Greek tradition to portray the mirror not only as an ontological divide between God and humanity, but also as the very pathway for one’s perpetual progress toward the vision of God.

Introduction  15 In Chapter 6, I return to the West with Augustine of Hippo to analyze the collection of optical metaphors in his de Trinitate, revealing the way in which he uses visual perception to support his paradoxical relationship between human free will and divine grace. I demonstrate that Augustine combines the seemingly contradictory Platonic and Stoic theories of visual perception to emphasize the paradox of the human: one who is active yet acted upon by vision, one who can see the world reliably yet is unable to have a clear vision of God, and one who has free will yet stands in need of divine grace. In the final chapter, Chapter 7, I take another step back to trace the patterns that have emerged from my study to reveal both the shared and the diverging assumptions about one’s relationship to the world and to God through vision’s link to the intersecting threads of agency, identity, and epistemology. I show that each author enters this discourse from a unique context and with a particular set of assumptions to describe the human in relation to the world and to the divine, but each engages the shared project of a discursive struggle over claims of Christian identity, authority, and epistemology through philosophical and theological speculations of vision of God. In the Conclusion, I return to the significance of visual perception today and in antiquity, and to metaphor theory and vision’s link to discursive struggles over claims of Christian identity, Christian authority, and Christian epistemology. I reiterate the importance of visual perception in grounding late ancient authors’ understanding of the vision of God in an embodied understanding of the world. In the pages that follow, we shall dive into the world of antiquity, where discourse on vision and mirrors functions to set epistemological boundaries, construct identity, and assert authority in subjective and embodied ways.

1 “Now We See” Scientific and Scriptural Sight

Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made.1

Introduction Late ancient Christian authors drew from a variety of sources in their writings on visual perception, merging their understandings of the scientific and scriptural traditions in their discourses about Christian agency, identity, and epistemology. In doing so, these late ancient authors incorporated texts that had participated in their own debates centuries before, and they often engaged with those same debates in their projects on vision. In this chapter, I explore those previous discussions of vision to show that writing on vision has long been involved with discursive struggles about agency, identity, and epistemology, even before these late ancient authors were writing, and that each of these threads is grounded in vision’s subjectivity. It is precisely because we all see the world differently that vision became a locus for epistemological debate, and it is also this subjective nature of vision that, in turn, becomes a way to describe the subjective experience of the divine. I have identified three primary resources that serve as background for the late ancient authors. The first is the body of writing on the ancient science of sight, including philosophical, medical, and mathematical treatises. These works focus on how sight functions in the broader world or in the individual as well as the knowledge offered by that sight. They tie together vision with epistemology and agency, and the late ancient authors drew from these 1 Romans 1:20, NRSV.

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0002

“Now We See”  17 theories to describe the function and impact of sight. The second resource is the Hebrew Bible, which takes the epistemological connection of vision and ties it together with one’s spiritual identity through divinely aided or unaided eyes. This offers a basis for using bodily eyes to describe one’s subjective relationship to the divine. The third resource is the New Testament, which furthers the connection between bodily eyes and spiritual health, but it also provides a foundation for visual piety. This offers the later authors a foundation to offer their own unique interpretations for how to engage the world through the eyes: a Christian prescription for looking. Taken together, these resources tie together visual knowledge with spiritual knowledge, and spiritual identity with visual piety, all founded on the subjective nature of vision. In the first section, I engage the scientific writings on visual perception to show that vision is intimately tied to questions of knowledge and of agency. Philosophical, medical, and mathematical authors approach this topic from different perspectives and with different emphases, but they all agree that a defense of vision is a defense of epistemology. In defending that knowledge, they also point to vision’s subjectivity: after all, if we all saw the same things in the same ways, there would be no need to debate the nature of visual knowledge. In the second section, I turn to the Hebrew Bible, which demonstrates an early link between vision and one’s relationship to the divine. Here, vision is something that impacts the viewer in deep and significant ways, and yet it does not impact all viewers in the same ways. Some eyes are aided by God, receiving life-​saving sights, while other eyes are unaided by God, remaining blind to certain aspects of the world. Vision’s subjectivity, then, becomes intimately tied to one’s relationship to God, and whether and how one sees indicates aspects of one’s spiritual identity. In my third section, I examine two New Testament examples that solidify the link between vision and one’s spiritual health and spiritual epistemology from the Hebrew Bible, but they also combine to point toward a new visual praxis. The first is a logion in Matthew that inscribes spiritual health onto bodily eyes, and the second is a passage from Romans that moves from the visible world to the invisible God and back again. It is this impetus of looking for the invisible through the visible that becomes the foundation for prescribing how to look at the visible world, offering a foundation for a Christian prescription for looking. The scientific writings link vision to knowledge and agency, while the Hebrew Bible links vision to spiritual identity and transformation. The New

18  Mirrors of the Divine Testament texts merge both traditions to reflect a visual praxis in the visible world. I show that vision was intimately intertwined with debates about agency, identity, and epistemology long before the writings of the late ancient Christian authors, and that the late ancient authors engaged various aspects of each of these earlier debates in their own later depictions of vision of the world and vision of God. Underlying each of these aspects is the subjective nature of vision as well as vision’s unique connection between the body and the world, but also between the body and the divine. The eyes, at once, are individual and communal, bodily and spiritual, active and passive. In short, the eyes’ subjectivity is what allows the perspective to shift from self to God and back to the world.

Philosophers of Perception Many ancient thinkers were fascinated with sensory perception, and they began their inquiries into sensation by proposing a connection between each sensory organ and its corresponding object of sensation. Some senses needed only simple explanations, such as taste and touch that occur through direct contact. Other senses demanded greater thought, such as smell and hearing, both of which require some amount of proximity to the source, leading to proposed theories of vapors drifting to the nose or sounds drifting to the ears.2 Vision, however, posed the greatest challenge, and therefore garnered the greatest attention. Unlike taste and touch, which require direct contact, or smell and hearing, which require some amount of proximity, vision occurs seemingly instantaneously and over vast distances, even to the sun and stars. While the other senses could be explained in terms of proximity and touch, vision could not. A further visual oddity is its lack of observable agency. Taste and touch typically require an act by the perceiver, bringing something to the tongue or pressing an object with a finger. Hearing and smell require sensory objects to act, releasing a noise or an odor. Yet sight eludes such straightforward category of agency. If all other senses can be explained through a kind

2 For an excellent overview of ancient understanding of sensory perception, see David C. Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-​Kindi to Kepler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976), and Philip Thibodeau, “Ancient Optics: Theories and Problems of Vision,” in A Companion to Science, Technology, and Medicine in Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. Georgia L. Irby, vol. 1, 2 vols. (Oxford: John Wiley & Sons, 2016), 130–​44.

“Now We See”  19 of touch, with primary agency attributed either to the object or to the perceiver, how then does vision function? Today, scientists divide their foray into visual perception into two separate but related fields: physics and the intersection of psychology and biology.3 Optics, a subfield of physics, encompasses everything that occurs outside the eye, while neuroscience and cognitive psychology move inward to explore nerve signals, brain processing, and perception. The ancients lacked such modern distinctions in their studies into sight, but they had their own subfields and specialties, namely natural philosophy, geometry, and medicine. Natural philosophers focused on situating visual perception within a broader framework of how they understood the world to function and the individual’s location within that framework. They argued over agency and impact: does vision occur by something leaving or entering the eye, and is one impacted by seeing or by being seen? Geometers, on the other hand, used geometrical reasoning to describe the lines and angles of light, reflection, and refraction but typically left out a broader attention to physical theory.4 They were less concerned with the impact on the viewer and more concerned with the rationality of the way in which one sees, and they focused on explanations of various optical illusions and mirrored reflections. Medical writers focused less on external sight and more on the internal human anatomy and the eyes’ connection to the brain or to the heart. Each subfield, with sometimes overlapping interests, approached sight with its respective emphases and perspectives, often leading to conflict and debate, but they all agreed on vision’s link to knowledge and defending the nature of that knowledge, whether philosophically, mathematically, or medically. It is precisely because things look different from different perspectives that there is an epistemological debate, so these very debates about the reliability of visual knowledge reveal the foundational nature of the subjectivity of vision. The late ancient Christian authors of this project had varying degrees of familiarity with each subfield on visual perception, and the classifications tended to break down as later authors merged one theory with another in their quests for a cohesive whole. My goal here is to show that the debates about visual perception were deeply intertwined with broader debates about philosophy and epistemology, even before being merged with religious

3 Thibodeau, “Ancient Optics: Theories and Problems of Vision,” 130–​31. 4 Thibodeau, “Ancient Optics: Theories and Problems of Vision,” 131.

20  Mirrors of the Divine debates about mystical theology and theological anthropology, and that all of these debates are tied to vision’s subjectivity. I offer here the key debates common in ancient Mediterranean optical theory with an eye toward their connection to later debates about Christian identity, epistemology, and agency. I have chosen the authors below partly for breadth, showing the range of perspectives regarding visual perception, and partly for prominence in written records. These sources offer a picture of the kinds of questions that shaped society as each author wrestled with their subjective relationship to the world, and such sources also offer a backdrop against which to compare the similar endeavors found in early Christian writings to describe and to prescribe the self in relation to the divine through similar visual metaphors.

Visual Rays and Extramission One group of visual theories begins with the premise that vision occurs when something leaves the eye and reaches out toward the object of sight. This is sometimes referred to as a visual ray theory or extramission,5 and many proponents of the visual ray theory maintain a theory of intromission for other senses. One such figure is Heracleides, who describes why we see lightning before hearing its thunder through this very distinction: our vision is sent out to meet the light, while our hearing waits for the sound.6 The earliest roots of the visual ray theory have been linked to the worshippers of the sun god Ra around 1500 BCE.7 These worshipers apparently believed that light was literally Ra’s sight, such that things exist only because Ra sees them. Slowly, this idea seems to have shifted from gods emitting visual light to humans emitting visual rays by the fifth century BCE and the Pythagorean school of thought.8 Whatever its origins, the visual ray 5 Though our knowledge of the atomists comes largely filtered through Theophrastus and Aristotle, our knowledge of the theories of extramission is, in some ways, even more removed, coming largely from modern reconstructions. Though the culmination of this view can be found in Ptolemy’s Optics, that text is preserved only from a Latin translation of an Arabic translation of the original, with the first book completely lost. See David E. Hahm, “Early Hellenistic Theories of Vision and the Perception of Color,” in Studies in Perception: Interrelations in the History of Philosophy and Science, ed. Peter K. Machamer and Robert G. Turnbull (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1978), 60. 6 Democritus A 126 a =​489 Luria; on Heracleides; Walter Burkert, Lore and Science in Ancient Pythagoreanism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), 380f. 7 Simon Ings, A Natural History of Seeing: The Art and Science of Vision (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2008), 158. 8 Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-​Kindi to Kepler, 3.

“Now We See”  21 theory is fully developed by the time of its most famous proponent: Plato (c. 427–​347 BCE). Plato’s theory is often misunderstood, even from as early as Theophrastus in the third century BCE who wrote that Plato conceived of vision occurring through two emanations: one from the eye and the other from the object.9 In fact, Plato’s theory also requires a third emanation: fire from the sun, which coalesces with the fire from the eye to form a “single homogeneous body.”10 This homogenized ray acts as an instrument of visual power and serves as an intercessor between the object and the eye, coming in contact with an emanation from the visible object and then transmitting the information back to the viewer.11 Because this theory proposes that vision occurs away from the body, it is not typically associated with impacting the viewer. Roland Betancourt argues that the theory of extramission should not be associated with touch and that any metaphor of touch refers instead to cognition, or the mind’s grasp rather than the eye’s grasp.12 Still, though he does not offer a physical explanation, Plato frequently describes the power of beauty to capture the gaze.13 More often, the visual ray theory is associated with an impact on the object seen, and the roots of this can be found in Plato’s theory of color, in which seeing an object gives birth to its color.14 More significantly, the visual ray theory provides the basis for the concept of the evil eye, the belief that one can cast a curse by means of a look, impacting the person or thing seen.15 9 Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-​Kindi to Kepler, 5. 10 Timaeus 45b–​ d, trans. Francis MacDonald Cornford, Plato’s Cosmology: The Timaeus of Plato (New York: Routledge, 2014), 152–​53. For English translations of all of Plato’s works, see Plato: Complete Works, trans. John M. Cooper and D. S. Hutchinson (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1997). 11 Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-​Kindi to Kepler, 5. The speed of the particles from the sensory object corresponds to the relative brightness perceived, and their size corresponds to the color. Olivier Darrigol, “The Analogy between Light and Sound in the History of Optics from the Ancient Greeks to Isaac Newton. Part 1,” Centaurus 52, no. 2 (May 1, 2010): 124. 12 See Roland Betancourt, Sight, Touch, and Imagination in Byzantium (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 13 See, for example, Lysis 206E9–​207A3. Charm 154B–​155D. Meno 76A8–​C2. Texts in Platonis Opera, vol 3, ed. John Burnet (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1903). 14 “On the other side, the brood of things perceived always comes to birth at the same moment with one or another of these—​with instances of seeing, colors of corresponding variety . . . As soon, then, as an eye and something else whose structure is adjusted to the eye come within range and give birth to the whiteness together with its cognate perception things that would never have come into existence if either of the two had approached anything else—​then it is that, as the vision from the eye and the whiteness from the thing that joins in giving birth to the colour pass in the space between, the eye becomes filled with vision and now sees, and becomes not vision, but a seeing eye; while the other parent of the colour is saturated with whiteness and becomes, on its side, not whiteness, but a white thing.” Theaet 155b–​156e, trans. Cornford, Plato’s Cosmology, 47. 15 For more on evil eye and its link to ocular pathologies, see especially Antón Alvar Nuño, “Ocular Pathologies and the Evil Eye in the Early Roman Principate,” Numen 59, no. 4 (2012): 295–​321.

22  Mirrors of the Divine The geometrical tradition of vision, including Euclid, Hero, and Ptolemy, draws from the Platonic tradition of the visual ray and focuses on providing geometric proofs for precise angle measurements of the visual ray(s). One common thread that runs throughout these descriptions of visual perception is vision’s link to knowledge and the question of whether such knowledge is trustworthy. Euclid enters this discussion through his description of optical illusions, addressing the problem of why rectangular objects may appear rounded from a distance.16 Euclid’s epistemological detour in an otherwise geometric treatise suggests that he may have been proposing an answer to skeptical worries about the nature of knowledge.17 As early as the sixth century BCE, Parmenides declared the senses unreliable, a pronouncement that sparked an epistemological debate that would rage for centuries: do senses provide reliable information about the world around us?18 Ancient Skeptics, whose two main forms were Academic and Pyrrhonian, employed optical illusions to cast doubt upon the very nature of knowledge itself. Two of their most famous skeptical questions were why does a square tower appear round from a distance and why does a straight oar appear bent in water?19 These questions illustrate that we see objects differently at different times or in different locations, and they became prime examples used to raise doubt about one’s ability to know anything, including the world. As ancient authors debated their theories of vision, natural philosophers, geometers, and medical writers sought to defend the senses and its related knowledge against such worries. Consider now Euclid’s understanding of visual perception and his solution to these skeptical worries. Although often interpreted as the projection of a visual ray, Euclidian optics actually proposes a cone-​shaped array of straight lines stemming from the center of the eye and falling onto objects

16 Optica 9. Text available in “The Optics of Euclid,” trans. H. E. Burton, Journal of the Optical Society of America 35 (1945): 357–​72. 17 For more, see Sylvia Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic: A Paper on Vision, Doubt, Geometry, Light and Drunkenness,” Phronesis 43, no. 2 (1998): 178. 18 Fragment 28 B7 DK records Parmenides declaring the senses unreliable. See “Perception, theories of,” in Brill’s New Pauly, antiquity volumes ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider, Brill Online, 2014, Fordham University Library, http://​ref​eren​cewo​rks.bril​lonl​ine.com/​entr​ies/​ brill-​s-​new-​pauly/​per​cept​ion-​theor​ies-​of-​e12208​640. First appeared online in 2006; first print edition: 9789004122598, 20110510. 19 See Sextus Empiricus, P. 100–​117; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. Ph. 9.87; Aristotle, Pr. 15.6.911b.19–​ 21; Plutarch, Adversus Colotem 1121a–​b. It is clear that later Skeptics used these optical illusions in their debates, though there is still a question regarding the role of such debates among the early Skeptics. See Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic,” 178n4; R. J. Hankinson, The Sceptics (New York: Routledge, 1998).

“Now We See”  23 in their path. The number of lines, however, is finite and some part of the object will always fall in the space between the visual rays: the further away an object, the larger the space between the lines and the more indeterminate the image.20 Euclid’s solution offers a simple explanation to the epistemological worry, rendering optical illusions mere objects of mathematics rather than reasons for doubt.21 In fact, Euclid’s explanation of the Skeptics’ round tower puzzle was so convincing that it became the primary theory among the Peripatetics, and his detour into epistemology demonstrated a shared concern between math and philosophy about the subjective nature of sight and knowledge.22 While Euclid’s answer to the round tower problem solved one epistemological issue of the popular theories of extramission, these theories were not without other critiques. One such critique relates to the amount of visual ray material that would be needed to see distant objects.23 Vision’s main difference from the other senses is that it can sense across vast distances, to the moon and stars, yet a visual ray of this nature would require an equally ample substance. Alexander of Aphrodisias raises this very question, wondering how the material is not used up before reaching its object or diverted by a simple breeze.24 A second critique relates to the reliability of visual knowledge, as the theories propose that it is not an image that is transferred to the viewer, but merely information.25 Thus, it is up to the individual to reconstruct the object from that information, leaving open the possibility of error. In this way, Strato of Lampsacus could declare that seeing is no more the simple reception of images than reading is merely looking at letters.26 Both involve the action of the mind and, presumably, a learning process, leaving open the role of error and giving room for skeptical doubt. While such critiques raise questions about both the possibility and the reliability of visual knowledge, they also demonstrate that early epistemological debates were deeply tied to an understanding of vision’s subjectivity. Vision, in the theories of extramission, requires reconstructing an image from information, a deeply subjective task that can be taught and learned, and it relies 20 Optica 1–​3, 9. 21 Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic,” 183. 22 Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic,” 186. 23 Thibodeau, “Ancient Optics: Theories and Problems of Vision,” 132. 24 On Aristotle’s On Sensation, 28. 25 Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic,” 193. 26 Plutarch De soll III 961a =​fr. 112 Wehrli. Text available in Plutarch: Volume XII, trans. Harold Cherniss, Loeb Classical Library 406 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957).

24  Mirrors of the Divine on visual rays that may vary in power and ability. Just as an oar may appear different in water or in air, so also may it look differently to different people or at different times. In other words, the very theories of extramission are founded on the assumption that vision itself is subjective. After all, if everyone saw the same things in the same way, there would be no room for debate. These visual ray theories have the advantage of effectively distinguishing between sight and the other senses, and they also offer the most convincing explanation for optical illusions. Despite these advantages, however, they raise more questions than they answer, regarding both the visual ray’s ability and its reliability to provide knowledge. This has led others to propose theories that begin not with the premise that something leaves the eye, but rather that something comes from the object to the eye.

Atomism and Intromission The next main collection of visual theories, often called intromission, revolves around the idea that particles stream from an object toward the viewer, and this remained the predominant belief for some five hundred years, with each theorist debating the finer points. Most intromissionists fall within the Atomist school of thought, popularized in the fifth century BCE, which suggests that the world is made up of atoms and void. The earliest recorded account is found in fragments of Leucippus (c. 450 BCE), who lived in the fifth century BCE.27 In these fragments, Leucippus separates visual perception from other sensory perceptions, explaining that other sensory perceptions (smell, taste, touch, hearing) offer only a mere inference of a presence, and it is only through visual perception that one can perceive a thing directly, by means of a continuous flow of particles or films, εἴδωλα, streaming from an object.28 Empedocles (c. 490–​430 BCE) was roughly a contemporary of Leucippus, and he likely drew his theories of visual perception from of Alcmaeon

27 Theophrastus and Aetius both ascribe the theory to Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus. Aet. 4, 13, I =​67 A 29 =​469 Luria. Fragments in Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, ed. Hans Friedrich August von Arnim, 3 vols. (Stuttgart: Stutgardiae In aedibus B. G. Tuebneri, 1903). Hereafter abbreviated SVF. References are to text numbers unless otherwise indicated. 28 Simon Ings, A Natural History of Seeing: The Art and Science of Vision (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2008), 157.

“Now We See”  25 of Croton, who is said to have been a pupil of Pythagoras.29 Some have grouped Empedocles as an atomist or a quasi-​atomist,30 though he did not separate the world simply into atoms and void as did Leucippus.31 Instead, Empedocles explains that every object in the world is made up of the four elements of fire, water, earth, and air that are guided by the two powers of strife (the principle of separation) and love (the principle of union).32 From Alcmaeon, Empedocles seems to have appropriated the idea that the body is made up of pores (πόροι) that serve as channels that transmit sensation to the brain.33 Every object emits effluences (ἀπόρροια, which are analogous to Leucippus’ εἴδωλα) that enter into pores for sense perception.34 Empedocles’ key contribution to the theory is his description of the principle of symmetry (συμμετρία), based on his theory of the four elements. The principle of symmetry holds that when the viewer receives the effluence of an object, it is perceived by the corresponding pore: dark by means of watery pores, bright by means of fiery pores, and so on.35 This principle of symmetry

29 Alcmaeon’s dates are uncertain. Aristotle links Alcmaeon to Pythagoras’ elder years (Metaphysics, 1, v, 30, 986a), while Diogenes Laertius places him as a disciple of Pythagoras (viii, 83). For Aristotle’s texts, see Complete Works of Aristotle, Volume 1: The Revised Oxford Translation, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014) and Complete Works of Aristotle, Volume 2: The Revised Oxford Translation, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014). 30 Empedocles’ lantern analogy of Fragment 84 has led some to propose that Empedocles promotes a theory of extramission, while others suggest that it represents an active mental acknowledgment of received effluences. For more, see John Beare, Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alcmaeon to Aristotle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906), 17. A. E. Taylor separates Empedocles’ doctrine of sight from his doctrine of color. A. E Taylor, A Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1928), 280–​81. Van Hoorn argues that the eye is active because Empedocles describes the eye like a lantern (Fr. 84). Willem van Hoorn, As Images Unwind: Ancient and Modern Theories of Visual Perception (Amsterdam: University Press Amsterdam, 1973), 45. W. J. Verdenius, “Empedocles’ Doctrine of Sight,” in Studia Varia Carolo Guilielmo Vollgaff a Disipulis Oblata (Amsterdam: North-​ Holland, 1948), 162. 31 See Aristotle, Gen. et. Corr., A 8, 325 b, 5; de cael l 6, 305 a, I; Galen in Hippocr. In On the Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato, trans. Phillip De Lacy, Corpus Medicorum Graecorum V 4, 1, 2 (Berlin: Akademie-​Verlag, 1981); and De Nat. Hom., I, 2 (k. xv, 32) in In Hippocratis De natura hominis: In Hippocratis De victu acutorum: De diaeta Hippocratis in morbis acutis, ed. Johannes Mewald, Georg Helmreich, and Johannes Westenberger, Corpus Medicorum Graecorum V 9, 1 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1914). 32 A. A. Long, “Thinking and Sense-​Perception in Empedocles: Mysticism or Materialism?,” The Classical Quarterly 16, no. 2 (November 1, 1966): 160. 33 Clara Elizabeth Millerd, On the Interpretation of Empedocles, Ancient Philosophy 19 (New York: Garland, 1980), 77. 34 Diels thinks Empedocles borrowed the doctrine of pores and effluences from Leucippus because it requires a doctrine of empty space, which Empedocles denied. (Hermann Diels, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1957), Emp. u. Gorg. loc. cit; also Leucippus u. Dem. Plato generally associated the doctrine to Empedocles (see Meno, 76C). 35 W. J. Verdenius, “Empedocles’ Doctrine of Sight,” in Studia Varia Carolo Guilielmo Vollgaff a Disipulis Oblata (Amsterdam: North-​Holland, 1948), 155.

26  Mirrors of the Divine is often described more simply as seeing “like by like.”36 Though Empedocles does not offer an extended defense of the reliability of vision, he does offer a brief explanation for potential illusions. He explains that good vision occurs when the four elements are perfectly balanced, whereas bad vision results from an imbalance: too much fire dazzles the eye, while too much water dims the vision.37 Any visual fault, then, is blamed on the imbalance of the viewer. Democritus’ (430–​370 BCE) writings are not well preserved, and most of our information about his theory comes filtered through Aristotle and Theophrastus, who provide seemingly contradictory accounts.38 Both concur that Democritus’ theory involves particles that leave an object and stream toward the viewer, but they disagree on the role played by air.39 According to Theophrastus’ account, Democritus explains that the particles from objects compress the intervening air between the pupil and the object, impressing or molding the air, which creates an air imprint that is then reflected in the eye.40 In this portrayal, air is essential to the process of seeing. Aristotle, however, cites Democritus as explaining that one could see an ant on the vault of the heavens if only there were a void between the two, suggesting that air is not only unnecessary, but also that it hinders the process of vision.41 Democritus’ theory of the air imprint or pupillary image is founded on the observation that if one closely examines another person’s eye, one can see an image reflected on that eye, but he is clear that the image is not located within the eye. Instead, he suggests that the eye pushes back against the press of air,42 forming the image43 in the air either midway between the eye and the visual object44 or very close to the surface of the 36 Cf. Theophrastus (DK A 86, 2). See also W. K. C Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy (Cambridge: University Press, 1962), 209; Verdenius, “Empedocles’ Doctrine of Sight,” 155n2. 37 D. O’Brien, “The Effect of a Simile: Empedocles’ Theories of Seeing and Breathing,” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 90 (1970): 141. 38 On the problems of using Theophrastus as a source for the opinions of Pre-​Socratic philosophers, see John B. McDiarmid, “Theophrastus on the Presocratic Causes,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 61 (1953): 85–​87. On the similar problems of using Aristotle, see Harold F. Cherniss, Aristotle’s Criticism of Presocratic Philosophy (New York: Octagon Books, 1983). 39 Some have argued that Democritus had two contradictory theories of vision. See Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, 442–​43. Some have just listed the contraction without comment; Beare, Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alcmaeon to Aristotle, 26–​27. Others have tried to reconcile the accounts; Richard W. Baldes, “Democritus on Visual Perception: Two Theories or One?,” Phronesis 20, no. 2 (1975): 99. 40 Theophrastus, De Sensibus, 50. 41 Aristotle, de An, I.7, 419a 15–​17. 42 It is unclear if Democritus is positing a kind of visual ray or merely the effluences streaming off the eye. 43 ἔμφᾰσις. 44 Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, 443.

“Now We See”  27 eye,45 but never in the actual eye. In his theory, it is this air imprint, rather than the particles from the object, that enters the eyes. Democritus’ theory of air imprints demonstrates a departure from the previous atomists who had described the actual particles of visual objects entering the eye. For Leucippus and Empedocles, the body is porous, taking in the sights of the world through those pores. For Democritus, however, there is a firm divide between the viewer and the external world, such that the external world does not enter the body. Vision, in his theory, no longer offers direct knowledge of the world, but it is mediated through the air imprint. Indeed, sensory knowledge, according to Democritus, is blurry or incorrect and must constantly be analyzed by the intellect.46 Thus, for Democritus, it is possible to acquire some knowledge of the world, but only to a certain extent and within certain limits.47 Of all the intromissionist theories, his offers the least defense of visual epistemology but the strongest assertion of vision’s subjectivity. Epicurus (341–​270 BCE) returns to the more traditional atomist assessment that the world is made up of matter (recognized by the senses) and void (in which matter moves) with no medium.48 Like Leucippus, Epicurus describes particles or films (εἴδωλα) that stream off objects toward the viewer,49 and Epicurus emphasizes that visual perception occurs from the repeated striking of a stream of particles creating an image (φαντασίαν) of the object.50 Key to Epicurus’ description of visual perception is his theory of sympathy (συμπάθεια). Unlike Empedocles’ theory of symmetry, Epicurus’ theory of sympathy does not suggest a sympathetic link between the particles and the pores of the eye, but instead between the particles and the original object. Proper sight only occurs when these particles retain the same interrelation they had in (or on) the original object.51 Distance, for example, may

45 Walter Burkert, “Air-​Imprints or Eidola: Democritus’ Aetiology of Vision,” Illinois Classical Studies, no. 2 (1977): 99. 46 Kurt von Fritz, “Democritus’ Theory of Vision,” in Science, Medicine and History: Essays on the Evolution of Scientific Thought and Medical Practice Written in Honour of Charles Singer, ed. E. A. Underwood (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1953), 83. 47 von Fritz, “Democritus’ Theory of Vision,” 85. 48 Epicurus, Ep. Hdt. §40–​ 42, in Epicurus: The Extant Remains, trans. Cyril B. Bailey (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1926). 49 Epicurus, Ep. Hdt. §46. 50 Edward N. Lee, “The Sense of an Object: Epicurus on Seeing and Hearing,” in Studies in Perception: Interrelations in the History of Philosophy and Science, ed. Peter K. Machamer and Robert G. Turnbull (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1978), 29. See also Epicurus, Letter to Herodotus, §49.6–​§50.4. 51 Ep. Hdt. §46.1 and Lee, “The Sense of an Object,” 29.

28  Mirrors of the Divine cause some particles to collide, which will distort the arrangement and offer an inexact representation of the original object, explaining why a square tower may appear round from a distance. Thus, an image is a direct result of particles, but the particles may not necessarily directly represent the objects that produced them.52 This explains Epicurus’ famous saying that all images are true in that they truly represent the particles, but not every image offers a truth claim about the external world.53 If the particles have lost their sympathetic link to the original object, due to dense air or water, one can still judge correctly by comparing sight to the information received by the other senses.54 For example, if the sight portrays a bent oar in water, it can simply be corrected by the sense of touch, which reveals the oar to be straight.55 Not only must the particles maintain the proper arrangement in order to produce an accurate image, but they must also be received by a person who is sane, sober, awake, and attentive who can make a correct judgment.56 Epicurus, like Democritus, shows that visual perception does not necessarily offer valid knowledge of the world, but he offers a series of explanations for such distortions and a system of tests to enable the viewer to decide whether the image offers a valid truth claim about the world. In this way, Epicurean vision is a remarkably active process—​one in which the viewer must be constantly engaged—​and it is also a subjective process. While all may receive the same particles or films streaming from visual objects, the arrangement of those particles changes and requires particular processing from particular locations. Seeing, in the theories of intromission, is remarkably subjective. Epicurus also proposes a further unique insight into visual perception by emphasizing that particles enter not only into the eyes but also directly into the minds. Epicurus writes, “and whatever picture (φαντασίαν) we may receive thus instantaneously through the mind or senses.”57 Similarly, in Herodotus 49, Epicurus describes the stream of particles entering either the eyes or the mind according to size.58 Like Empedocles who suggested that 52 A. A. Long, “Aisthesis, Prolepsis and Linguistic Theory in Epicurus,” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 18, no. 1 (December 1, 1971): 117. 53 Long, “Aisthesis, Prolepsis and Linguistic Theory in Epicurus,” 118. 54 Ep. Hdt. §51. 55 Monica Gale, “Introduction,” in De Rerum Natura, Aris and Phillips Classical Texts (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2009), 7. 56 Norman DeWitt, “Epicurus, Περι Φαντασιασ,” in Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association, vol. 70 (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1939), 414. 57 Ep. Hdt. §50 as translated in DeWitt, “Epicurus, Περι Φαντασιασ,” 415. Emphasis my own. 58 Ep. Hdt. §49. κατὰ τὸ ἐναρμόττον μέγεθος εἰς τὴν ὄψιν ἢ τὴν διάνοιαν.

“Now We See”  29 certain particles were the right size to enter the nose while other particles were the right size to enter the eyes, Epicurus posits dianoetic particles that are smaller and can directly enter the mind. This concept is crucial to understand that seeing with the mind is not always a metaphor. Indeed, Epicurus uses this concept of dianoetic particles to describe a kind of vision of the gods. Like all objects, the gods are made of atoms, so the gods also emit particles that travel through the void toward humans. In Fragment U353, Sextus Empiricus explains that Epicurus thinks these particles come to a person while she sleeps and allow her to form an idea of divine.59 Indeed, for Epicurus, seeing with the mind follows exactly the same process as seeing with the eye: particles of visible bodies enter into the eyes while particles of invisible bodies enter into the eyes. Both are physical/​material, so the distinction here is not between physical and spiritual vision, but between visible and invisible particles. Though Epicurus posits remarkable agency in the visual process, these dianoetic particles remove some sense of control, because the viewers can do nothing to stop the particles from entering into their bodies. His theory of vision proposes an individual who is passive to the reception and impact of images, but nevertheless active in the processing of that visual information, a paradox that later authors will emulate. Epicurus’ legacy was developed further by Lucretius (99–​55 BCE) in his famous poem De Rerum Natura. This poem’s six complete books were rediscovered in the Middle Ages,60 and they describe his goal as a poet: to free humanity from its desolate state by means of Epicurean science, rendering obsolete any recourse to the supernatural by providing a natural (i.e., materialistic/​atomistic) explanation for everything.61 It is this theme of avoiding superstition that provides the basis for his writing on sensory perception and illusion in book four. Writing in Latin, Lucretius names the particles emitted 59 Fragment 353. Sextus Empiricus, “Against the Physicists I.25,” in Sextus Empiricus Volume III, trans. R. G. Bury, Loeb Classical Library 311 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1936). 60 Stephen Greenblatt, The Swerve: How the World Became Modern, reprint edition (London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2012). For various commentaries on each of the books, see Don Fowler, Lucretius on Atomic Motion: A Commentary on De Rerum Natura, Book Two, Lines 1–​332 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); P. Michael Brown, Lucretius: De Rerum Natura III (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1997); Robert D. Brown, Lucretius on Love and Sex: A Commentary on De Rerum Natura IV, 1030–​1287 with Prolegomena, Text, and Translation, Columbia Studies in the Classical Tradition, vol. 15 (New York: E. J. Brill, 1987); Gordon Lindsay Campbell, Lucretius on Creation and Evolution: A Commentary on De Rerum Natura, Book Five, Lines 772–​1104 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003); Monica Gale, De Rerum Natura V, Aris & Phillips Classical Texts (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2009). 61 Brown, Lucretius on Love and Sex, 20, 47.

30  Mirrors of the Divine by objects simulacra, and he echoes Epicurus’ explanation that the particles strike the eye, causing sight (4.239–​4.260). Also like Epicurus, Lucretius proposes finer dianoetic particles that can enter into the mind (4.30–​40). These dianoetic particles cause dreams, but they are also the basis for imagination: one can simply combine such particles of horses and men to imagine a centaur (4.735–​740). Dreams and imagination, then, are entirely rational as long as one does not attribute a false interpretation to such images.62 Dreams and imagination are also incredibly subjective, drawing together the particles according to the fancies of the individual. More than previous authors, Lucretius emphasizes the effect of sight on the viewer: the particles contain very real remnants of the original object, and such remnants can have a profound impact on an individual. The sun blinds the eyes, because its particles burn the viewer’s eyes (4.324–​337), or particles of beautiful women can enter the mind to stir up the blood of men, causing erections and wet dreams (4.1030–​57). In both cases, the impact is automatic: the individual can neither prevent the burn nor the sexual response, but Lucretius’ goal remains the same: to prove that such things are simply the atomistic nature of things. In addition to dreams and visions, Lucretius also offers an atomistic solution to optical illusions that otherwise would lead to anxiety and superstition. Lucretius lists various illusions: frightening dreams and visions (4.33–​41), mirror illusions/​distortions (4.269–​323), how one can see from darkness into light, but not from light back into darkness (4.338–​350), why a square tower may appear round from a distance (4.353–​63), and why a shadow imitates movement of a body (4.364–​78). However, Lucretius is adamant that the eyes are not deceived in any of these illusions (4.379) because the eyes cannot understand the nature of things (4.385), so a sensory deception is the fault of the mind, not the eyes (4.386). Thus, illusions stem not from the fallibility of the senses but from the mind’s imposition of false opinion upon accurate perceptual images. Unlike Epicurus, Lucretius does not propose correcting one sense by means of another, as each has its own power (3.489–​3.498), but rather he argues that the idea of truth (notitiem veri) is created from the senses (4.475), and senses cannot be disproved. Reason, therefore, arises from sense perception (4.484). His theory, much like Epicurus’ before him, emphasizes the rationality of vision, particularly in the face of illusions. This rationality is a response to superstitious belief, revealing again the subjective nature of

62 Brown, Lucretius on Love and Sex, 28.

“Now We See”  31 vision. Some sights cause harm, other sights cause arousal, and others still instill fear, sparking superstitious explanations for such phenomena. Lucretius’ defense that vision is rational, then, is an attempt to rationalize the subjective experience of vision. While the theories of the intromissionists each share the underlying belief that particles stream from objects toward the eye, they vary quite a bit in terms of the nuances within that theory. Each theorist emphasizes a particular point as it relates to agency and knowledge. Leucippus directly links seeing to knowing, such that only visual perception offers direct knowledge of the world. Empedocles explains that one can only see “like by like” such that a person must have a corresponding element already within. Democritus disagrees with Leucippus’ assertion of direct knowledge, suggesting instead an intermediary air imprint that enters the eye. Epicurus posits dianoetic particles that could enter one’s mind offering visions of gods, and Lucretius focuses on how seeing something dramatically impacts the viewer. From this variety, a few common threads emerge. First, seeing is described as a mostly passive and automatic process by which one receives images from the world, even if one is then active in response to those stimuli. Second, the viewer is penetrated by those images, becoming intimately impacted by sights. Third, the distinction between physical and spiritual collapses and is replaced by a divide between visible and invisible objects, those seen by the eye of the body and those seen by the eye of the mind. Finally, each defense of visual knowledge is a response to the subjective nature of vision in its attempt to explain why some things appear differently to different people or at different times. Though the theories of intromission were quite popular, they were not without critique. The chief complaint was that no intromissionist theory offers a clear explanation for how the particles from objects might shrink enough to fit into the eye. How, for example, could the image of a massive mountain become small enough to enter the eye? Without an adequate explanation for a physical visual ray or a physical description of shrinking images, some authors turned instead to non-​material descriptions of vision.

Non-​Material Theories Writing in the fourth century BCE, Aristotle (384–​322 BCE) departs most from the theories of his predecessors. He rejects the atomists’ idea of particles

32  Mirrors of the Divine entering the eye, interpreting the image that can be seen in the eye instead as a mere reflection.63 However, he also rejects the extramissionists’ theory of visual rays, arguing that such rays could not possibly reach as far as the remote stars.64 Instead, Aristotle proposes that four things are necessary for vision: a potentially seeing eye, a potentially transparent medium, a potentially visible object, and illumination.65 If all four conditions are met, then vision occurs instantaneously: the potentially seeing eye becomes an actually seeing eye, the potentially visible object becomes actually seen, and the potentially transparent medium becomes actually transparent, transmitting the color.66 According to this theory, no material is moved, which solves both the critiques of intromission and of extramission. Even more than previous theories, Aristotle’s theory emphasizes the subjective nature of vision, with each act of vision happening anew. Yet its emphasis on vision as a change, from potential to actual, and its lack of a depiction of the mechanics of sight raised more questions than it answered. Indeed, scholars today still debate what Aristotle thought was actually changed in this process: the eye, the soul, or both.67 With these ambiguities, the late ancient authors of this project drew less from Aristotle’s theories than from the other theories that focus more on the mechanics of sight. Another theory of vision that does not fit the prior categories is that of the Stoics; and, depending on which aspect is emphasized, the Stoic theory could be grouped with extramission, with intromission, or with Aristotle. As proposed by Chrysippus, the Stoic theory proposes that pneuma pervades everything, and part of this visual pneuma flows from the viewer to pierce the air, causing it to tense into a cone with its tip either at the pupil68 or the ruling principle69 and its base on the visible object. This cone of air stretches to touch the object, like a cane or a staff, and it transmits an image back to the viewer, where the viewer judges whether the impression is true or not.70 Like the geometers’ visual ray, the cone extends from the eye, like the intromissionists’ particles, an image of the object comes to the viewer, 63 Darrigol, “The Analogy between Light and Sound,” 126. 64 Aristotle, Sens 437a–​438a. 65 A potentially visible object means that it must have color. 66 Aristotle likens the instantaneous nature to a lake freezing over all at once. Sense and Sensibilia 447a. On the Soul 418a–​419a. 67 See, for example, Thomas J. Slakey, “Aristotle on Sense Perception,” Philosophical Review 70, no. 4 (1961): 473–​74. 68 According to Alexander Aphrodisias in SVF II 864. 69 Robert B. Todd, “Synentasis and the Stoic Theory of Perception,” Grazer Beiträge 2 (1974): 251. 70 SVF II 864.

“Now We See”  33 and like Aristotle’s theory, it is the medium that is activated. Yet, unlike the geometers’ rays, this cone pours its own light onto the object, illuminating it.71 Unlike intromission, no particles enter the eye, and unlike Aristotle’s theory, the medium turns into a kind of physical optic nerve. Galen (130–​200 CE) later describes a version of the Stoic theory, focusing more on the role of anatomy, suggesting that the pneuma extends through the hollow tubes of the optic nerve only slightly to the air.72 Pneuma emerges from the eyes and “is united at the first impact with the surrounding air and alters the air to its own peculiar nature but does not itself extend out very far.”73 In this way, the air itself becomes sensing and serves as an instrument for the eye.74 Because the Stoic theories emphasize the individual processing the visual information, they also emphasize the subjective nature of vision: different people or even the same people at different times may process that information differently. Though the Stoic theories themselves may not fit neatly into any of the prior categories, later authors will merge various components of this theory with other theories in an attempt to craft a cohesive whole, linking the Stoic theories either to a visual ray theory or to a receptive theory such as intromission. Though both are correct, to a certain degree, they are both also incomplete accounts, yet they both also emphasize the subjective nature of vision.

Summary Early speculation on vision was intimately intertwined with debates about epistemology: how do we know the world around us? Vision confers knowledge not simply about the color of an object but also about its size, its contour, and its distance. Material explanations linked vision to a kind of touch,75 offering an explanation for each category of knowledge, whereas non-​material explanations focused instead on the connection between object, medium,

71 Peter K. Machamer, Studies in Perception: Interrelations in the History of Philosophy and Science, ed. Robert G. Turnbull, 1st ed. (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1978), 65. 72 Rudolph E. Siegel, Galen on Sense Perception: His Doctrines, Observations and Experiments on Vision, Hearing, Smell, Taste, Touch and Pain, and Their Historical Sources (New York: S. Karger, 1970), 6. 73 De placitis 7.4, trans. DeLacy; cf. Opera Omnia, ed. Kühn 5:617. 74 Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-​Kindi to Kepler, 10. 75 This is true even if the touch is metaphorical, as Betancourt argues. Roland Betancourt, Sight, Touch, and Imagination in Byzantium (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018).

34  Mirrors of the Divine and viewer. Yet each theory sought to offer a rational explanation or defense of some component of sight and its related knowledge. After about the year 300 BCE, theorists began to center their defenses of visual epistemology around optical illusions, which offer concise examples of objects that appear differently from various perspectives. The atomists described damage to the particles across the air,76 the Stoics blamed the degradation of the pneumatic cone across vast distances,77 Aristotle blamed sickness,78 and Euclid blamed the empty space between visual rays.79 While their explanations differed, each still demonstrates the way in which a defense of vision is intimately intertwined with a defense of knowledge, not merely offering a description of how one sees but also offering a justification for the trustworthy nature of the related knowledge. Optical illusions represent the fundamental point that things look differently to different people or at different times, and a justification for optical illusions becomes a kind of shorthand for defending visual knowledge in the face of that subjectivity. After all, if we all saw the same things in the same way, there would be no need to guard the nature of visual knowledge. Debates about vision, whether philosophical, mathematical, or medical, were also tied to debates about one’s interaction with the world. Can I know the world reliably? Do I impact the world around me? Or am I being impacted by that world? Such questions are wrapped up in broader epistemological debates, but they also transformed into debates about one’s interaction with God, primarily through the scriptural traditions.

Scriptural Seeing in the Hebrew Bible Late ancient authors drew from a variety of philosophical, medical, and scientific theories of visual perception, and they each merged their various understandings of the science of visual perception with their interpretations of their scriptural traditions. Though each author may not have approached these scriptural texts in the same way that they did the scientific explanations for vision, they nevertheless merge elements from each in an attempt to provide a cohesive perspective of the vision of God. In this brief overview, I turn

76 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.353–​363. 77 SVF 863.

78 Meteorology 373b. 79 Optica 9.

“Now We See”  35 to those scriptural traditions, exploring the ways that each text portrays visual perception, particularly through its connection to the world and to the divine. I explore the scriptural passages on reflection and mirrors in Chapter 4, and I focus here on those passages that played the most crucial role in late ancient interpretation of vision. I start with a few passages from the Hebrew Bible, examining especially what it means both to see and to be seen. While the scientific texts reveal the early link between vision and agency and epistemology, as grounded in subjectivity, the Hebrew Bible begins to connect those same debates to one’s spiritual agency and epistemology. It also adds the thread of linking one’s vision to one’s spiritual identity, found in one’s relation to God. While it may be obvious that our own contemporary assumptions about visual perception differ dramatically from those of the late ancient authors, it may be less clear that there is an equally vast divide between the assumptions of the late ancient authors and those found within the texts of the Hebrew Bible. My goal in this section is to highlight a few of those differences that provided the late ancient interpreters a rich resource for their metaphorical depictions of sight. These differences help to complicate their visual metaphors by offering examples that potentially compete with those observed in the world; but, more significantly, they also provide a foundation to link material vision to God beyond a direct description of the spiritual vision of God. Thus, while the scientific theories link vision to epistemology and to agency, the texts of the Hebrew Bible offer a link between vision and religious identity, and both engage vision’s subjectivity. Today, we likely think of sensory perceptions as abilities—​the eye has the ability to see, the ear has the ability to hear—​and this concept of sensory abilities and disabilities will provide the late ancient authors a rich ground for envisioning a connection to God through distinctly disabled bodies. Yet this understanding of sensory perception as an ability does not appear until the Apocrypha. In the Hebrew Bible, the senses are instead represented as discrete categories of experiencing the world through specific bodily organs.80 Understanding the senses as experiences rather than abilities divides the body into distinct experiential organs (eye, ear, nose, mouth, hand, foot),

80 Yael Avrahami, The Senses of Scripture: Sensory Perception in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2011), 127.

36  Mirrors of the Divine such that the organ itself may stand in, semantically, for perception: the eye for sight or the ear for hearing. While the ancient philosophers and scientists hail vision as the queen of the senses, the texts of the Hebrew Bible suggest no such hierarchy of perception. Rather, Yael Avrahami argues that visual perception functions as a central rather than as a preeminent metaphor from which other sensory vocabulary draws.81 The distinction here may seem subtle, but the outcome is that visual metaphors are often paired synonymously with other sensory metaphors, most commonly with auditory metaphors.82 The eyes and ears are often found in parallel, and the frequency of this coupling allows the metaphors to bleed from one to the other:83 for example, the eyes can metaphorically receive prayers,84 or the ears can metaphorically open or close.85 This parallel between eyes and ears is almost exclusively epistemological, representing an understanding or thought process.86 Though parallel, the eyes and ears offer distinctly different kinds of knowledge, whether direct or indirect, and they impact the perceiver differently. In the Hebrew Bible, seeing metaphors typically relate to direct or first-​ hand knowledge, often through phrases such as “your own eyes” or “before the eyes of . . .”87 On the other hand, hearing metaphors represent second-​or even third-​hand knowledge, removed from the original: “When the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon . . .”88 This distinction between visual/​ direct and aural/​indirect knowledge is also linked to its reliability. Consider especially 1 Kings 10:7: The report was true that I heard in my own land of your accomplishments and of your wisdom, but I did not believe the reports until I came and my own eyes had seen it. Not even half had been told me; your wisdom and prosperity far surpass the report that I had heard.89 (NRSV) 81 Avrahami, The Senses of Scripture, 224. 82 See, for example, Job 13:1: “My eye has seen . . . my ear has heard” (NRSV). See also Leviticus 19:14. 83 Adele Berlin, “Parallel Word Pairs: A Linguistic Explanation,” Ugarit-​Forschungen 15 (1983): 8. 84 1 Kings 8:29, 52; Nehemiah 1:6. 85 See, for example, Job 33:16 and 36:10. 86 Carasik suggests that eyes and ears were the primary vehicles of knowledge between the mind and the world, while other sensory perceptions played merely a minor role. Michael Carasik, Theologies of the Mind in Biblical Israel (New York: Peter Lang, 2005), 219. 87 See Genesis 42:24, 44:21, 47:15, 47:19; Exodus 40:38; Numbers 20:8, 20:12; Deuterotomy 1:30, 3:21, 4:9, 4:34; Ezekiel 18:12, 18:15, 20:7, 20:24, 33:25. 88 1 Kings 10:1 (NRSV). 89 I Kings 10:6–​7. See also 2 Chronicles 9:5–​6.

“Now We See”  37 Not only is visual knowledge first-​hand, but it also provides proof to the more questionable auditory knowledge. However, though sight provides direct and trustworthy knowledge, it is not equated with experiencing the thing itself, as evidenced in Deuteronomy 34:4: “I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there” (NRSV).90 Thus, while sight represents direct knowledge, it does not necessarily represent direct experience. Visual and auditory metaphors also differ in their impact on the perceiver, such that sight impacts a person in a way that hearing does not.91 Sight provides proof in the form of visual covenants and harm in the form of punishment, and it impacts the viewer in both positive and negative ways. One of the clearest examples of this impact occurs through a physical transformation in Genesis 30:37–​43. In this story, Jacob places speckled, spotted, or striped rods in front of his flocks’ eyes, and the flocks subsequently produce offspring that are speckled, spotted, or striped, respectively. Another example is Lot’s wife, who is turned into a pillar of salt when she looks back to Sodom and Gomorrah.92 While the impact can be physical and extreme, as in the cases of the flocks and Lot’s wife, it can also be subtler by affecting one’s actions or emotions as in Potiphar’s wife, who becomes obsessed with Joseph after she “cast her eyes on Joseph.”93 All such transformations are automatic and immediate. The impact can also serve to intensify, such as in a punishment that occurs “before your very eyes.”94 This emphasizes the pain one will experience through visual perception, and a person can even be driven mad by such sights.95 Similarly, a person can be protected from such visual pain: “you shall be gathered to your grave in peace; your eyes shall not see all the disaster that I will bring on this place.”96 Sight impacts the perceiver in ways that hearing does not, but it is not always negative, as in the visual proof offered for covenants.97 Though vision and its transformation happen relatively passively, the individual retains an active component in the choice of where to direct the eyes: to the Lord’s steadfast love,98 to God’s ways,99 directly

90 See also 2 Kings 7:2, 19.

91 See also Avrahami, The Senses of Scripture, 187. 92 Genesis 19:26.

93 Genesis 39:6–​18 NRSV.

94 2 Samuel 12:11: I will take your wives before your eyes and give them to your neighbor (NRSV). 95 Deuterotomy 28:34.

96 2 Kings 22:20 and 2 Chronicles 34:28. 97 See Genesis 9, 13, 15, and 17. 98 Psalms 26:3.

99 Psalms 119:15.

38  Mirrors of the Divine forward,100 away from vanities and toward God’s ways,101 toward God,102 or toward the heavens.103 Thus, people are transformed by what they see, though they have some choice in where to turn the gaze. While vision in the Hebrew Bible deeply impacts the viewer, connecting the individual to the world, vision also serves to connect the individual to God through divinely aided or unaided eyes. Human vision routinely fails when it is unaided by the divine, as those whose gazes are unaided will simply fail to see, to recognize, or to understand.104 While the unaided human gaze leads to false knowledge and troubling consequences, the divinely aided human gaze leads to true and often life-​saving knowledge.105 In each case, the success of human sight is aided by God, while the failure of human sight is attributed to humans acting alone. Vision’s subjectivity, then, serves to reveal one’s spiritual identity in God. People see differently because they are aided or unaided by God. Exploring visual metaphors through the Hebrew Bible demonstrates several significant differences from the late ancient authors, but it also provides rich fodder for linking visual perception to one’s relationship to the divine, even beyond a direct vision of God. Though visual and auditory metaphors are often paired, and even bleed into one another, visual metaphors are unique, representing trustworthy and transformative knowledge. Such knowledge can be harmful, when left to humanity, or it can be beneficial, when aided by God. Thus, in the Hebrew Bible, as in the scientific theories, sight is intimately linked to epistemology, to agency, and to subjective identity. Not all experience the world in the same way or even at the same time, and vision here becomes a central metaphor for describing one’s subjective relationship to God. 100 Proverbs 4:25. 101 Psalms 119:37. 102 Psalms 141:8. 103 Daniel 4:34. 104 Consider Deuteronomy 29:2–​4: “You have seen all that the Lord did before your eyes in the land of Egypt . . . But to this day the Lord has not given you a mind to understand, or eyes to see, or ears to hear” (NRSV). Aided only by the serpent, Eve sees the fruit and eats it (Genesis 3) and aided by false knowledge, Pharaoh does not recognize Sarai as Abram’s wife (Genesis 12). Acting alone, Lot looks over the land to choose Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 13). 105 After hearing the voice of her son, God opened Hagar’s eyes so that she could see a well of water (Genesis 21:15–​19). After taking his son Isaac up the mountain to sacrifice him, Abraham sees a ram provided by God to sacrifice instead (Genesis 22:9–​14). Joseph earns freedom from jail by interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams (Genesis 41) and recognizes the same family that did not recognize him in return (Genesis 42). God directs the Israelites as a visible pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night (Exodus 13:21). God shows Moses a piece of wood to make the bitter water sweet (Exodus 15:25).

“Now We See”  39 While the late ancient authors of this project may directly mine the scientific resources to make their epistemological arguments, they approach the texts of the Hebrew Bible for a different purpose. The texts of the philosophers, mathematicians, and medical writers offer a framework for understanding how one interacts with the world, while the texts of the Hebrew Bible, as well as the texts of the New Testament, offer a framework for describing how one interacts with the divine. It will be through weaving these threads together, even with their diverging assumptions, that the late ancient authors construct their tapestries of the vision of God.

Perception in the New Testament The most significant transition in visual perception from the Hebrew Bible to the New Testament is in the prevalence and significance of mirror metaphors, which I explore in Chapter 4. Here, I focus on just two passages that demonstrate further developments in visual perception: offering a link between the eyes and spiritual health and proposing a link between spiritual visual epistemology and praxis. The link between the eyes and one’s spiritual health is most notable in a particular parable found in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6:22–​23; Luke 11:34–​36),106 which Adolf Jülicher describes as the most difficult to interpret in the entire gospel tradition.107 In Matthew, the logion is deceptively simple, containing only four lines:

106 See also the Coptic Gospel of Thomas, logion 24. For more on sensory perception in the Gospels, particularly the themes of vision and blindness, see Donald Senior, “Sense and Stigma in the Gospels: Depictions of Sensory-​Disabled Characters,” The Journal of Theological Studies 65, no. 2 (October 2014): 694–​97; Walter T. Wilson, “Perception, Discipleship, and Revelation in the Gospel of Matthew,” Journal of Religion, Disability & Health 19, no. 1 (January 2015): 66–​84; Louise Joy Lawrence, “Exploring the Sense-​Scape of the Gospel of Mark,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 33, no. 4 (June 2011): 387–​97; Brian Glenney and John T Noble, “Perception and Prosopagnosia in Mark 8.22–​26,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament (Online) 37, no. 1 (September 2014): 71–​85; Dorothy A. Lee, “The Gospel of John and the Five Senses,” Journal of Biblical Literature 129, no. 1 (2010): 115–​27. For more on visual rhetoric in the New Testament in general, see Edith McEwan Humphrey, And I Turned to See the Voice: The Rhetoric of Vision in the New Testament, Studies in Theological Interpretation (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2007). 107 Adolf Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 3rd ed., vol. II (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [P. Siebeck], 1910), 98. For a more complete survey of the scholarship, see Erik Sjöberg, “Das Licht in Dir. Zur Deutung von Matth. 6,22 F Par,” Studia Theologica—​Nordic Journal of Theology 5, no. 2 (January 1, 1951): 89–​105.

40  Mirrors of the Divine “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!”108

The reference to the eye as the lamp of the body could be interpreted through the theory of intromission to suggest that the eye allows light to enter the body, but it could equally be interpreted through the Platonic or even Stoic theories to suggest that the eye serves as the lamp, allowing the internal light to be emitted out through the eye.109 Whichever theory the original author intended, however, the key significance of this passage for the late ancient authors is its connection between the eye and one’s spiritual health. Indeed, the ambiguity of the Greek110 could lead to a physiological interpretation (healthy vs. sick eyes) or an ethical one (sincere vs. wicked eyes), and this ambiguity between the physical and the ethical also offers a similar blurring of the lines between bodily health and spiritual health. This continues the trend begun in the Hebrew Bible that ties together the bodily eyes to one’s relationship to the divine, now inscribed onto the function of the physical eye.111 This logion suggests that the bodily eyes are intertwined with one’s inner spiritual health. Bodily eyes, then, are not merely associated with epistemology but also with one’s subjective identity as it is tied to one’s spirituality. The link between the bodily and the spiritual becomes more pronounced in Paul’s letter to the Romans. There has been a trend in scholarship to interpret Paul through a Platonic lens to the exclusion of other historical frameworks.112 It has only been in more recent years that scholars have begun to explore alternate approaches by embracing a more complex 108 Matthew 6:22–​23 NRSV. 109 Viljoen argues for the latter, though he describes intromission as a modern theory, portraying extramission as the only historical option. Francois P. Viljoen, “A Contextualised Reading of Matthew 6:22–​23: ‘Your Eye Is the Lamp of Your Body,’” Hervormde Teologiese Studies 65, no. 1 (December 2009): 166–​70. Hans Dieter-​Betz explains that the logion prompts concern about how to make darkness into light again, though it does not offer a solution, leaving the hearer “alone and restless, and this open-​ended situation seems to be the paraenetical goal of the passage.” Hans Dieter-​Betz, “Matt. 6:22–​23 and Ancient Greek Theories of Vision,” in Synoptische Studien (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [P. Siebeck], 1992), 140–​54, 154. 110 ἁπλοῦς and πονηρός. 111 Antón Alvar Nuño has written about the evil eye as a type of ocular pathology absorbed into physiognomics, “that is, theories systematizing the claim that individual (moral) character is indexed by somatic signs.” Antón Alvar Nuño, “Ocular Pathologies and the Evil Eye in the Early Roman Principate,” Numen 59, no. 4 (2012): 295–​321, 298. 112 J. M. F. Heath notes that Augustine popularized, if not began, this tradition by merging his distinctions of “inner and outer” and “flesh and spirit” onto the Platonic distinction of “invisible and visible.” Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety, 16.

“Now We See”  41 cultural framework.113 One such project is J. M. F. Heath’s book, Paul’s Visual Piety: The Metamorphosis of the Beholder, in which she reclaims Paul from such a Platonizing tradition, a tradition that, she argues, has led to the problematic reading that Paul was critical of “this-​worldly visual piety.”114 She seeks to recover an understanding of Paul that highlights rather than denigrates Paul’s visual piety, and one such passage can be found at the beginning of Romans. The beginning of Romans (1:18–​32) has inspired a scholarly debate regarding what is commonly termed “natural theology”: whether and to what extent God can be known through creation, and particularly whether such knowledge can be salvific.115 The key verse at play is Romans 1:20: “Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible (ἀόρατα) though they are, have been understood and seen (νοούμενα καθορᾶται) through the things he has made. So they are without excuse” (NRSV). Scholars have interpreted this verse in many different ways, from downplaying its visuality by Ernst Käsemann and R. A. Austen116 to highlighting the same by Heath.117 Heath argues that though the language is not overtly visual (καθορᾶται is usually translated as perceive rather than see), the diction nevertheless evokes a visuality that draws the eye repeatedly to creation, which is the boundary between the seen and the unseen, offering both an opportunity for a sacred gaze of the divine and a deflection of that gaze.118 This balancing act of seeing yet not seeing God in the world is precisely what offers the opportunity to 113 For scholarship that explores Paul in a broader and more complex cultural context, see Troels Engberg-​Pedersen, Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011); L. L. Welborn, Paul, the Fool of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians 1–​4 in the Comic-​Philosophic Tradition, Early Christianity in Context (New York: T and T Clark International, 2005); Bruce W. Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002); Daniel Boyarin, A Radical Jew: Paul and the Politics of Identity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997); Benjamin H. Dunning, Specters of Paul: Sexual Difference in Early Christian Thought (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011); Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety. 114 Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety, 19. 115 Ernst Käsemann and Geoffrey William Bromiley, Commentary on Romans (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1980), 39. 116 Käsemann and Bromiley, Commentary on Romans, 40–​41. Ralph Austen, A Treatise of Fruit-​ Trees Shewing the Manner of Grafting, Setting, Pruning, and Ordering of Them in All Respects . . . Also Discovering Some Dangerous . . . of Ye Art of Planting Fruit-​Trees (EEBO Editions, ProQuest, 2010, unpaginated). Quoted in William A. Dyrness, Reformed Theology and Visual Culture: The Protestant Imagination from Calvin to Edwards (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 264. For more on imagery language in Paul, see Roger David Aus, Imagery of Triumph and Rebellion in 2 Corinthians 2:14–​17 and Elsewhere in the Epistle: An Example of the Combination of Greco-​Roman and Judaic Traditions in the Apostle Paul, Studies in Judaism (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2005). 117 Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety, 152. 118 Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety, 152.

42  Mirrors of the Divine link one’s bodily visual practice to one’s spiritual understanding. By urging his readers to look for this invisible God within the visible world, Paul sets a foundation for a distinctly Christian way of looking at the world. It is not a call to some other-​worldly piety, but rather a dramatic link to this-​worldly visual piety: a Christian prescription for how to look at the material world. In this way, Romans 1:20 is not merely epistemological, though it is that, but it is also the basis for visual piety in the visible world. Both the logion of Matthew and the verse in Romans continue the visual ties to epistemology from the ancient science as well as the visual ties to spiritual identity from the Hebrew Bible, yet they also begin to merge those threads to visual praxis. It is here that we see the beginnings of the tapestry of vision, merging these threads of agency, identity, and epistemology. It is the very subjective experience of the world that leads to a subjective depiction of the divine, and this subjective spiritual identity now leads back to a particular prescription for seeing, which offers a foundation for a visual piety within the world.

Conclusion Writing about vision has been linked to broader discourses long before the late ancient Christian authors. The earliest philosophical, medical, and mathematical writing about vision shows that vision is intimately linked to how we know and interact with the world. Can I know the world reliably? Do I impact, or am I impacted by the world? It is precisely because we see things differently that visual knowledge is so debated, and this demonstrates that early epistemological debates about the nature of visual knowledge and agency are grounded in the subjective experience of the world. The Hebrew Bible draws a connection between vision and one’s experience of the world as well as one’s spiritual identity through divinely aided or unaided eyes. It makes the claim that vision both intimately connects a viewer to the world in deep and impactful ways, but also that vision intimately connects a viewer to God through divinely aided or unaided eyes. As with epistemology, it is precisely because people have different experiences, of seeing or not seeing, that the eyes came to signify one’s subjective relationship to God. The eyes, then, become the liminal space, connecting the physical to the spiritual (or the visible to the invisible). Their aid, or absence of aid, reveals one’s connection to God in this world.

“Now We See”  43 The New Testament merges both traditions to inscribe one’s spiritual health onto the eyes and to propose a distinctly Christian prescription for looking for the invisible through the visible world. Like the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament proposes the eyes as the location of one’s spiritual health. Yet in its call to look for the invisible God within the visible world, it also redirects the gaze back to the visible world to offer a distinct visual piety: a Christian prescription for looking at the world. This prescription of visual piety will change from author to author, but each prescription is founded on the subjective experience of the world and of the divine. This chapter has shown that writing about vision has long been linked to broader debates about agency, identity, and epistemology, staking claims about one’s subjective relationship to the world and to God, and reflecting back to propose a particular prescription for looking at the world. It is the subjective nature of vision, as well as vision’s link between the material and the spiritual and between the visible and the invisible, that sets the stage for later authors to incorporate these debates into their mystical theologies and theological anthropologies in their own discursive claims about Christian agency, identity, and epistemology.

2 Tertullian of Carthage A Visual Hierarchy of Beards and Veils

Their very variety enhances the glory of God . . . they differ according to their varying modes of perception1

Introduction Not much is known with certainty about Tertullian of Carthage, who was born around 155 CE and likely died around 230 to 240 CE.2 He was an influential, if controversial, figure in Latin Christianity, and he offers us one of the earliest examples of a Christian author engaging vision’s subjectivity in order to prescribe his vision of visual piety. In de Anima 8, Tertullian explains that corporeal beings have different modes of perception and writes of this difference, “Their very variety enhances the glory of God.”3 This statement serves as the guide for this chapter, and I argue that Tertullian describes different modes of visual perception among God, men, and women in order to distinguish the unique and subjective ways that he understands each to interact with the world and with each other. In doing so, Tertullian lays out a cosmological hierarchy of embodied vision and penetration/​intactness that maps on to 1 Corinthians 11:3: “But I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the husband is the head of his wife, and God is the head of Christ.”4 Though Tertullian’s views may have shifted throughout his life on some topics, his writing on vision and theological anthropology 1 Tert., An. 8., in Tertullian: Apologetical Works and Minucius Felix Octavius, trans. Rudolph Arbesmann, Sister Emily Joseph Daly, and Edwin A. Quain, FC 10 (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1950), 194–​95. 2 Timothy David Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), 1–​2. 3 Tert., An. 8 (FC 10:194). 4 1 Corinthians 11:3, NRSV.

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0003

Tertullian of Carthage  45 remains largely consistent throughout his corpus.5 Consequently, I place his writing on visual perception in de Anima in conversation with the full spectrum of his texts. Tertullian’s impact on Western Christianity is significant, yet he is not without controversy: most notably his supposed lapse into New Prophecy,6 his statement that women are the devil’s gateway,7 and his famous question “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?”8 Each of these could be taken at face value, yet scholars have recently begun to point to more complex understandings of each. Laura Nasrallah, for example, has suggested that New Prophecy was simply “one of many forms of Christianity available in Carthage at his time,” raising the question about the supposed boundary between the two.9 While the relationship between New Prophecy and Christianity may be debated, Tertullian’s engagement with prophetic experiences is not. Nasrallah has helpfully analyzed these texts, and she argues that Tertullian’s anti-​philosophical sentiment is a rhetorical move that Tertullian engages to construct his Christian epistemology and identity as one that is unified and simple “against the diversity of philosophical or heretical beliefs.”10 Indeed, Tertullian readily employs or eschews philosophy as it suits his theological purpose. Athens has much to do with Jerusalem when it is in support of Tertullian’s theology, and I will show that his theological writing is deeply grounded in both the questions and the answers of philosophical writings on vision. Tertullian’s writing on women has also been reexamined, and scholars have ranged in their assessments from labeling him misogynistic,11 to merely androcentric,12 to better than most of his contemporaries.13 Indeed, the complication arises between Tertullian’s harmful statement that women 5 M. C. Steenberg similarly argues, “the anthropological convictions of Tertullian’s later works bear little categorical difference to those of his earliest writings.” M. C. Steenberg, Of God and Man: Theology as Anthropology from Irenaeus to Athanasius (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 58. 6 Jerome, On Illustrious Men, 53. See also Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian, The Early Church Fathers (New York: Routledge, 2004), 2. 7 Tert., Cult. Fem. 1.1. 8 Tert., De prae. 7. 9 Laura Nasrallah, An Ecstasy of Folly: Prophecy and Authority in Early Christianity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Divinity School, 2004), 100. 10 Nasrallah, An Ecstasy of Folly: Prophecy and Authority in Early Christianity, 106. 11 Nonna Verna Harrison, “Eve, The Mother of God, and Other Women,” Ecumenical Review 60, no. 1/​2 (2008): 71–​81 (72). 12 Barbara Finlay, “Was Tertullian a Misogynist? A Reconsideration,” Journal of The Historical Society 3, no. 3–​4 (June 1, 2003): 503–​25. 13 Jordan H. Edwards, “Tertullian’s Views on Women,” Evangelical Quarterly 90, no. 4 (2019): 317–​25.

46  Mirrors of the Divine are the devil’s gateway and his seemingly contradictory association with New Prophecy, a movement that raises women to roles of responsibility.14 Carly Daniel-​Hughes provides one helpful analysis in her examination of Tertullian’s writing on men’s and women’s dress, and she links Tertullian’s writing on dress to an embodiment of his soteriology.15 She argues that though Tertullian portrays men’s and women’s bodies as both in need of salvation, his emphasis on women’s veils is tied to his view that women’s bodies are more deeply stained by sin such that Tertullian understands men and women in an embodied hierarchy that is inscribed onto their very flesh. Benjamin Dunning has extended Daniel-​Hughes’s work on Tertullian’s embodied hierarchy to focus on the ways in which intact and penetrable bodies function for Tertullian along the Pauline typological categories of Adam/​Christ and Eve/​ Mary.16 In his evaluation, only Christ emerges intact in this representation of humanity. In my analysis of Tertullian’s writing on vision, I engage with and build on each of these works, focusing particularly on vision as it relates to Christian agency, identity, and epistemology. Where Nasrallah examines prophetic vision, I turn to Tertullian’s writing on physical vision to make the related point that Tertullian uses his writing on physical vision to help construct not simply a Christian identity but also an entire Christian cosmology. Like Daniel-​Hughes and Dunning, I examine the ways in which women’s bodies, for Tertullian, are more deeply stained by sin in ways that make them more penetrable. Yet I also move beyond these works to argue that Tertullian employs his writing on visual perception to construct a cosmological hierarchy that functions as a matrix of balanced opposites between God and humanity and between men and women.17 I have divided this chapter into four sections. In the first section, I explore Tertullian’s writing on optical illusions and his defense of the senses. Here, Tertullian proposes two opposing theories of sensory perception, a modified version of the Stoic theory and the Epicurean theory. Though these theories contradict one another, Tertullian employs both for his theological purpose

14 Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian, The Early Church Fathers (New York: Routledge, 2004), 4. 15 Carly Daniel-​Hughes, The Salvation of the Flesh in Tertullian of Carthage: Dressing for the Resurrection (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). 16 Benjamin H. Dunning, Specters of Paul: Sexual Difference in Early Christian Thought (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 124–​50. 17 Eric Osborn has pointed to a salient feature of Tertullian’s thought, that “two sides of a balance must be opposite if a just balance is to be achieved.” Eric Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 60.

Tertullian of Carthage  47 of shifting the responsibility for optical illusions away from sensory perception and on to the medium. In my second section, I explore the ways in which Tertullian uses these same philosophical theories to construct a cosmological hierarchy through visual differences, drawing lines of distinction between God and humanity, and between men and women. The further up the hierarchy, the more intact and ray-​like, but the further down the hierarchy, the more porous and penetrable. In my third section, I turn to Tertullian’s prescription of vision that is needed to uphold his hierarchy through the gendered enactment of beards and veils. In my fourth section, I examine the categories as they function in pairs of balanced opposites along the lines of 1 Corinthians 11:3: God and humanity, men and women, and ultimately God and women. Tertullian’s hierarchy is problematic in a number of ways, merging inconsistent visual theories and relying on a portrayal of sinful bodies of women. Yet it also reimagines flawed bodies not as something to be overcome, but rather as the very pathways for connection to God, and its use of inconsistent philosophical theories also points to an attempt to capture vision’s subjectivity. We see differently, and Tertullian offers a rationale, however problematically, that attempts to define that difference along lines of gender by offering his prescription of vision modeled after 1 Corinthians 11:3. His prescription for beards and veils ultimately fails, relegating his visual hierarchy to the world of rhetoric, but it nevertheless offers a window into his attempt to construct his vision of Christian identity, agency, and epistemology through visual perception, and his attempt to capture vision’s subjectivity.

Visual Difference and Optical Illusions De anima is Tertullian’s treatise on the soul in which he sometimes employs or condemns philosophy in his defense of his Christian theology. Nestled in the midst of this meandering treatise, De anima 17 offers an excursus about the senses and optical illusions. It is here that Tertullian offers his clearest depiction of sensory perception, identifying the Epicurean theory and the Stoic theory of sensory perception as the best resources to defend the senses. These theories are fundamentally different in their depictions of sensory perception: the Epicurean theory posits that objects emit particles that come to the eye, while Tertullian’s version of the Stoic theory suggests a kind of ray

48  Mirrors of the Divine extending from the eye to the object.18 Yet both theories propose the same solution to optical illusions by shifting the blame from the senses to the intervening medium. In combining these disparate theories, Tertullian is not attempting to construct a coherent philosophical theory of sensory perception. Rather, he is using two contradictory theories that combine to help him make his theological points about the goodness of creation and humanity’s ability to interact with that creation. Here, I tease out these two theories that Tertullian finds most useful in his defense of the senses before turning to the broader theological implications of those theories. De anima 17 is Tertullian’s most detailed depiction of sensory perception and optical illusions. Today, we may think of optical illusions as merely interesting phenomena: a simple trick of the eye soon rectified by a new perspective. The Skeptics, however, had used optical illusions to cast doubt upon the very nature of knowledge. In order to demonstrate our inability to know the world around us, ancient Skeptics asked questions such as why does a square tower appear round from a distance or why does a straight oar appear bent in water?19 The discrepancy of such optical illusions failing to match reality was offered as a reason to suspend judgment or assent, and these examples became a kind of shorthand to refer to the bigger issue that visual objects appear differently to different people or at different times. In other words, optical illusions illustrate that we see differently, raising doubts over the reliability of vision. In An. 17, Tertullian addresses these optical illusions, offering three reasons to defend the senses against this doubt. The first reason he offers is that questioning sensory perception “would destroy the normal conduct of human life and the very order of nature.”20 Without trustworthy senses, how could humans interact with the world? Tertullian here turns the skeptical position of withholding assent back on itself, arguing that the Skeptics surely could not have gleaned enough knowledge to form an Academy without the aid of trustworthy information from sensory perception.21

18 This is a much-​abbreviated version of the Stoic theory that is founded on a pneumatic visual cone. 19 See Sextus Empiricus, P. 100–​117; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. Ph. 9.87; Aristotle, Pr. 15.6.911b.19–​ 21; Plutarch, Adversus Colotem 1121a–​b. It is clear that later Skeptics used these optical illusions in their debates, though there is still a question regarding the role of such debates among the early Skeptics. See Sylvia Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic: A Paper on Vision, Doubt, Geometry, Light and Drunkenness,” Phronesis 43, no. 2 (1998): 178n4; R. J. Hankinson, The Sceptics (London: Routledge, 1998). 20 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:217). 21 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:217).

Tertullian of Carthage  49 In short, trustworthy senses are necessary for interacting with the world and for gaining knowledge from that world. The second reason Tertullian offers for his defense of the senses is that he believes that questioning sensory perception would lead one to doubt or to blame God. If we could not reliably interact with the world, then there would be some flaw in creation itself. Tertullian asserts that everything God created is good,22 so how could the senses themselves be at fault for optical illusions without also attributing some blame to God? And if the senses are untrustworthy, then how could one trust Jesus’ own bodily experiences: We cannot, I insist, impugn the validity of the senses, for thus we will be denying that Christ really saw Satan cast down from heaven; that He ever heard His Father’s voice testifying to Him; that He only thought He touched Peter’s mother-​in-​law; that He never smelled the fragrance of the ointment given Him in preparation for His burials or of the wine He consecrated in memory of His Blood.23

To question one’s own embodied experience is to question the goodness of God’s creation and to question Jesus’ embodied experience as well. The final reason Tertullian offers is that questioning the senses could lead one into heresy: “On this pernicious principle, Marcion denied that Christ had a real body and was but a phantom or a ghost.”24 If sensory perception is not trustworthy, then people could claim that the disciples were mistaken when they saw, heard, and touched Jesus. Tertullian here rejects any position that questions the senses, the body, and embodied knowledge. Tertullian’s defense of the senses, then, is primarily theological: it is a defense of human ability, a defense of God’s goodness in creation and in Jesus, and a defense against what Tertullian views as heretical belief. Yet, despite his theological motivation, Tertullian finds the best support of the senses from philosophical arguments, most notably those of the Epicureans and the Stoics. In De Anima 17, Tertullian lists the Skeptics’ optical illusions and visual discrepancies: 22 Tert., Spect. 2.1. Though creation was created good, Tertullian will explain that it has become tainted through misuse and being filled by the devil and his angels. Though Tertullian will explain that senses can be misused, he still maintains that humans must be able to interact with their world reliably. 23 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:218). 24 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:218).

50  Mirrors of the Divine Our eyes deceive us, he says, in showing us oars under water as bent or broken in spite of our assurance that they are straight; thus, again, from a distance a square tower appears to be circular and on looking down a long corridor we seem to see the walls meeting at a point. Besides, we normally see on the horizon the meeting of the sea and the sky which is really high above it.25

After listing the optical illusions, Tertullian then sifts through the various theories of sensory perception, rejecting those he deems unhelpful to his task of defending the senses. He denounces the theories of Heraclitus, Diocles, Empedocles, and even Plato: “Plato in the Phaedrus goes so far in disparaging the senses that he makes Socrates deny that he can know himself, which the Delphic Oracle had commanded him to do . . . yet in spite of that, still alive, he continues the search for wisdom.”26 None of these theories, Tertullian explains, adequately defends the senses against the skeptical worries of optical illusions. Tertullian then turns to those theories that he finds most helpful in his advocacy of the senses: those of the Stoics and of the Epicureans. The Stoics offer some assistance against skeptical worries, he writes, because the Stoics “are somewhat more moderate in that they do not always impugn the validity of all the senses.”27 However, he explains, it is the Epicureans who demonstrate “complete consistency” in defense of the senses.28 Though Tertullian overtly discards some of the Epicurean theory of perception, particularly its focus on the relationship between the soul, opinion, and senses, he employs much of it to fortify the senses against optical illusions. The Epicurean theory is often called intromission, and our best knowledge of its physics comes from the first-​century BCE Roman poet Lucretius in his De rerum natura.29 It is unclear whether Tertullian read Epicurus, but he does show familiarity with Lucretius’ writing, directly quoting a Lucretian verse in two places.30 Whatever the source of his Epicurean knowledge, 25 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:214). 26 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:217–​18). See Phaedrus 229E. 27 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:215). 28 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:215). 29 See Chapter 1 for a more complete account of the theories of visual perception. 30 Tertullian quotes Lucretius, Rer. nat. 1.304 in An. 5.6 and Marc. IV.8.3. Marc. text in Quinti Septimi Florentis Tertulliani Opera, ed. Emil Kroymann, CSEL 47.290–​650 (Vienna: Tempsky, 1906). David Butterfield notes that this is Tertullian’s only direct quotation of Lucretius, though the reference is also found in both Seneca the Younger (Epp. 106.8) and Gellius (V.15.4), so it is likely to be an indirect quote. David Butterfield, The Early Textual History of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 57. Jan Hendrik Waszink also suggests that the

Tertullian of Carthage  51 Tertullian proposes a version of Epicurean visual perception to counter the Skeptics’ optical illusions. As I outline in Chapter 1, Epicurus had described a traditional atomist perspective of the world, in which the world is made up of matter and void through which the matter moves, though later authors would debate whether that void was truly empty or rather made up of some sort of medium.31 According to his theory of perception, tiny particles, εἴδωλα or simulacra, fly through the air from the object to the viewer creating an image, or φαντασία, in the mind. Larger particles enter the eye (sometimes called eye of the body), while smaller dianoetic particles directly enter the mind (sometimes called eye of the mind).32 Most crucial for Tertullian’s point, the Epicurean theory posits that accurate vision only occurs when these particles retain the same relationship, or sympathetic link, to one another and to the original object.33 This link can be broken when the particles collide, as may happen when they travel over a long distance or pass through a dense medium. With the sympathetic link broken, the stream of particles will create an image that may not accurately represent the original object, as in an optical illusion.34 This is how Epicurus could state that all images are true, as they truly represent the stream of particles, but not every image will offer a truth claim about the external world, as the stream of particles may have lost its arrangement along the way.35 All images, then, should be judged and confirmed by other senses and through reason to determine if the image accurately represents the world. One can simply touch an oar to verify that it is straight or use reason to understand that mist may cloud the edges of a square tower. This theory offers Tertullian his best solution to the potential problems caused by several of the optical illusions. He explains, “there is something which causes the senses to report things otherwise than they really are.”36 Epicurean descriptions of sensory perception may have been contained in Soranus as refutations against the Skeptics. Jan Hendrik Waszink, Quinti Septimi Florentis Tertulliani De Anima, vol. 100, Supplements to VC (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 239. 31 Epicurus, Ep. Hdt. §40–​42, in Epicurus: The Extant Remains, trans. Cyril B. Bailey (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1926), 22–​23. 32 Ep. Hdt. §49, Epicurus: The Extant Remains, 28. 33 Ep. Hdt. §46.1, Epicurus: The Extant Remains, 26–​27. Lee, “The Sense of an Object: Epicurus on Seeing and Hearing,” 29. 34 A. A. Long, “Aisthesis, Prolepsis and Linguistic Theory in Epicurus,” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 18, no. 1 (December 1, 1971): 117. 35 Long, “Aisthesis, Prolepsis and Linguistic Theory in Epicurus,” 118. 36 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:215).

52  Mirrors of the Divine That something, he clarifies, is simply the medium between the eye and the object that causes the particles to lose their sympathetic link. Tertullian writes This fact ought surely be recognized. The water is the cause of making the oar appear bent or broken, because out of the water it is perfectly straight. Water is so delicate a medium that, when under the light of day it becomes a mirror, the slightest motion of the water will distort the image and appear to bend a straight line. We mistake the true shape of a tower because of the nature of the medium that lies between it and ourselves, for the uniform density of the surrounding air blurs the angles and dulls its sharp outlines.37

His explanation here is quite simple: the medium, whether water or dense air, causes the particles to collide such that they lose the sympathetic links to the original objects. This is easily confirmed by moving the oar out of the water or coming closer to the tower. His solution, then, is simply to change the medium. Though Tertullian draws from the Epicurean theory of intromission to explain most of the Skeptics’ optical illusions, he uses a different theory to explain two others: “The equal sides of a corridor appear to come to a point in the distance because our vision is contracted within the enclosed space, thins out, and so seems to extend indefinitely. So, sea and sky meet when the power of our vision has been exhausted, for, as long as it could, the eye kept the two apart.”38 Tertullian’s underlying solution in these illusions is the same as in the previous, that the medium is the cause of the distortion, but the science behind that explanation is quite different. Rather than an Epicurean theory that describes particles coming from an object to an eye, Tertullian here describes vision as extending outward from the eye and then weakening with distance. The most popular version of a visual ray theory is described by Plato in his Timeaus,39 though Tertullian rejects that theory outright. However, when listing the theories that aided his defense of the senses, Tertullian cites both the Epicurean and the Stoic theories. While the Epicurean theory explained most of the optical illusions above, it is the Stoic theory that best explains why the power of vision might weaken over distance.



37 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:215–​16). 38 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:216). 39 Ti. 45b–​d.

Tertullian of Carthage  53 As I describe in Chapter 1, the Stoic theory of visual perception presupposes an understanding of the world in which a single substance, pneuma, pervades everything. According to this theory, the difference between any two things, like a rock and water, is simply a difference of pneumatic tension rather than of substance. Within this worldview, sensory perception is a function of that same pneuma: a visual pneuma flows from mind to prick the air, causing the air to stretch into a cone with its tip at the pupil and the base on the object seen.40 Once the medium is pricked, external objects form impressions (phantasiai), like those left by a ring pressed into wax, in the ruling part of the soul. Once an impression is received, the viewer then takes an active role to judge whether the impression is true or not. Tertullian’s description that a corridor appears to come to a point mimics a visual ray theory, like a version of the Stoic theory. The rays simply run out of substance across the distance and converge into a single point, like the tip of a cone. The Stoic theory offers a very similar solution to that of the Epicurean theory, even to the creation of an image that can be distorted because of a medium. The key difference is whether objects emit particles that enter into the eyes or whether eyes emit rays that extend to the objects.41 In terms of optical illusions, Tertullian is unconcerned with the direction, object to eyes or eyes to object, as long as the theory offers a strong defense against the skeptical worries of optical illusions. In both cases, Tertullian neatly shifts the blame for the optical illusion from the senses to the medium, making it clear that the senses themselves are not at fault.42 He then quickly clarifies that though the medium is responsible for the distortion, it is not likewise culpable, as the medium is merely performing its natural function.43 If anything, Tertullian writes, the very fact that optical illusions exist is proof that the medium is doing its job. In a very Lucretian way, then, Tertullian explains that optical illusions are simply following the nature of things.44 40 Robert B. Todd, “Synentasis and the Stoic Theory of Perception,” Grazer Beiträge 2 (1974): 251. 41 The Stoic theory itself places the emphasis on an activated medium, and later authors will read (or misread) this theory to suggest a more active viewer (as in Tertullian), or a passive viewer (as in Augustine), or a synergy (as in Gregory of Nyssa). 42 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:216). “So, you see, there is always a cause when our senses are mistaken. Now, if this cause deceives the senses and they in turn our opinions, then the error should not be imputed either to the senses which follow the cause or our opinions which are dependent on the data of our senses.” 43 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:216–​17). “Further still, the blame for these errors is not to be imputed to these ‘causes’ either. For, although these things happen for specific reasons, reason should not be blamed for the mistake.” 44 See Titus Lucretius Carus, Lucretius, de rerum natura (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959).

54  Mirrors of the Divine By employing two opposing theories for sensory perception, Tertullian is not attempting to construct a coherent philosophical system of sensory perception. Rather, he selects those theories that best support his larger theological point related to defending the senses. By absolving the medium and the senses from blame, Tertullian maintains that all creation is good, including the senses, the medium, and even optical illusions. Whatever the theory of vision, whether a Stoic-​like visual ray or an Epicurean version of intromission, Tertullian emphasizes that there is a simple explanation for optical illusions. Seeing differently is simply a natural part of the human existence. Yet this visual difference is not relegated merely to optical illusions; rather, it also underlies Tertullian’s descriptions of cosmology and of theological anthropology.

Visual Difference and Cosmology As I noted in Chapter 1, the New Testament offers a link between vision and visual piety through Romans 1:20, with its emphasis on looking for the invisible God through the visible world and redirecting the attention to this-​ worldly piety. Similarly, Tertullian’s portrayal of a Stoic-​Epicurean theory of sensory perception highlights the body rather than the mind as the locus of knowledge, which turns the attention to embodied action rather than abstract belief. The Stoic worldview focuses on aligning human action and opinion with the divine reason,45 while the Epicurean worldview seeks to form the individual into the Epicurean pattern found within Epicurean images.46 The Epicurean and Stoic theories are, of course, at odds with one another in many ways, but both serve to refocus attention to the present, to the body, and to embodied knowledge. Tertullian uses both theories not only to defend the nature of knowledge from the doubts of optical illusions but also to prescribe his understanding of how Christians should act within the world, offering his prescription for a Christian vision within the world. In An. 8, Tertullian explains that material beings have different modes of perception and states that the function of this variety is to enhance the glory 45 Nasrallah, An Ecstasy of Folly, 103. 46 Heath writes, “The images draw on iconographic assumptions to convey particular dispositions that Epicureans teach are good for human beings to have; they are not biographical portraits of heroes, but philosophical models akin to statues of gods.” J. M. F. Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety: The Metamorphosis of the Beholder (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 84.

Tertullian of Carthage  55 of God.47 As I have already shown, he uses different modes of perception, namely versions of the Stoic and Epicurean theories of perception, to explain why we see optical illusions differently; and, in doing so, he highlights the glory of God through defending the goodness of creation. Yet these differences are not merely epistemological; they also provide a framework for Tertullian rhetorically to construct a cosmological hierarchy of God, men, and women defined through different modes of perception. Tertullian defines each category in terms of visual perception and prescribes different modes of enactment for each; yet all the pieces work together in pairs of balanced opposites to emphasize his larger point that different modes of perception work together to enhance the glory of God. The Epicurean theory, in which particles leave an object and enter the eyes, suggests a relatively passive viewer who stands back and is acted upon rather than one who acts. It is also the theory most associated with a material transformation of the viewer. Unlike the Epicurean theory of intromission, Tertullian’s version of Stoic perception suggests an active viewer, one who sends a ray out to an object. Because this vision occurs externally, it also contains no transformative element for the viewer. By mixing a passive, transformative particle theory with an active, non-​transformative visual ray theory, Tertullian portrays very different modes of perception, and he uses these varied modes to draw two key distinctions: first between God and humans and then between men and women. He then uses these distinctions to define how humanity more broadly, and men and women more specifically, should act. In De spectaculis, a text in which Tertullian argues that Christians should avoid the gladiatorial games, Tertullian uses visual perception to draw a distinction between God and humans. After making his point that Christians should avoid the games entirely, he addresses the counterargument that if God can see the games and remain pure, humans should also be able to watch the games without a problem. In response, Tertullian draws a strict line of demarcation between God and humans with a visual analogy: God is the Judge because God sees (videt), but the human is a criminal because the human is seen (videtur).48 Tertullian here uses the active (videt) and passive (videtur) verbs to delineate a fundamental difference between the divine

47 Tert., An. 8 (FC 10:194). 48 Tert., Spect. 20.4. Text found in Quinti Septimi Florentis Tertulliani Opera, ed. A. Feifferscheid and G. Wissowa, CSEL 20.1–​29 (Vienna: Tempsky, 1890), 21.

56  Mirrors of the Divine and the human in terms of active and passive sight in a pair of balanced opposites: God sees, but humans are seen. Building on this active nature of divine sight, Tertullian proposes a sun analogy to explain that God is not defiled by seeing sinful sights, just as the sun is not polluted by sending its rays into the sewer.49 This analogy likens God’s eyes to the rays of the sun, mimicking the visual ray theory in which vision occurs away from the body. The rays reach out to touch the object, and the objects of sight do not enter to defile the body, as they would according to the theory of intromission. Because God sees with active visual rays, God can watch the games without being defiled by them.50 Expanding on the passive nature of human sight, Tertullian utilizes a correspondingly passive and penetrative analogy of sight: when humans watch something evil, that evil enters the soul through the eyes, just as food enters the belly through the mouth.51 This analogy echoes the Epicurean theory of vision, in which particles that contain very real remnants of the object seen enter the eyes and impact the viewer. By witnessing something evil, one takes in that evil and might even become penetrable to evil spirits like the woman Tertullian describes who watched the games only to return home possessed by a demon.52 Unlike God, when humans see, they passively take in those sights and are transformed by them. Tertullian uses these visual distinctions to construct the beginnings of his cosmological hierarchy: God and humans are fundamentally different in a pair of balanced opposites. God sees with active visual rays, so God can look upon the sins of the world and remain intact, unpenetrated, and untainted. Humans, however, see with passive receptive eyes and are transformed by the things they see. Human penetrability is the inverse of God’s impermeability. As in the optical illusions, Tertullian maintains the fundamental goodness of God who remains pure in the face of evil, while humans are responsible for taking on the sins of the world. As I will show, however, Tertullian’s cosmological visual hierarchy does not place the blame evenly upon men and women. Many have written about Tertullian’s negative view of women, most notably in response to his statement that women are the devil’s gateway.53 I am 49 Tert., Spect. 20.2, CSEL 20:21. 50 This most echoes the Platonic visual ray theory, but Tertullian rejects that theory in his writing on optical illusions, preferring instead an extramissive form of Stoic perception. 51 Tert., Spect. 13.5 and 17.5. 52 Tert., Spect. 26.1. 53 Tert., Cult. Fem. 1.1. See Mary Rose D’Angelo, “Veils, Virgins, and the Tongues of Men and Angels: Women’s Heads in Early Christianity,” in Off with Her Head!: The Denial of Women’s Identity in Myth, Religion, and Culture, ed. Wendy Doniger (Berkeley: University of California

Tertullian of Carthage  57 not seeking to condemn or to redeem Tertullian’s view of women. Rather, I show that Tertullian’s writing on vision enables us to see how his understanding of embodied difference requires men and women to enact their Christianity in interconnected, but problematically hierarchical ways. Carly Daniel-​Hughes has eloquently articulated how Tertullian’s understanding of sexual difference applies to both the body and to the soul (An. 36.1–​2), and she has noted that, for Tertullian, this difference begins at the moment of creation and will continue through the resurrected state.54 Markers of sexual difference, both physical and psychic markers, signify Tertullian’s hierarchical view that women’s bodies are more deeply stained by mortality than men’s bodies are, with the implication that the sordidness of women’s fleshly bodies must be contained through modest dress.55 Building on Daniel-​Hughes’s work, Benjamin Dunning has examined Tertullian’s “complicated interweaving of theology and gendered bodily practice.”56 Dunning helpfully argues that Tertullian places sexual difference into a Pauline schema through Tertullian’s understanding of bodily penetration and virginity and the Pauline typological categories of Adam/​ Christ and Eve/​Mary.57 Drawing from each of these scholars, but also placing things in the context of Tertullian’s writing on vision, I argue that Tertullian’s portrayal of embodied difference calls for different but related Christian embodied enactments. These embodied enactments balance one another through Tertullian’s inverse portrayal of men’s and women’s bodies and how he understands visual embodied intactness or penetrability to function differently for each. In De Cultu Feminarum, Tertullian writes about the dangers of women in much the same way that he writes about the dangers of the games: just as seeing the games can stir up a frenzy in the viewer, so also can seeing a Press, 1995); Daniel-​Hughes, The Salvation of the Flesh; Daniel-​Hughes, “Wear the Armor of Your Shame!”; Benjamin H. Dunning, Specters of Paul: Sexual Difference in Early Christian Thought (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 124ff; Barbara Finlay, “Was Tertullian a Misogynist? A Reconsideration,” Journal of The Historical Society 3, no. 3–​4 (June 1, 2003): 503–​25; Margaret Miles, “Patriarchy as Political Theology: The Establishment of North African Christianity,” in Civil Religion and Political Theology, ed. Leroy S. Rouner (South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1986), 169–​86; Emilien Lamirande, “Tertullien Misogyne? Pour Une Relecture Du ‘De Cultu Feminarum,’” Science et Esprit 39, no. 1 (1987): 5–​25. 54 Carly Daniel-​Hughes, The Salvation of the Flesh in Tertullian of Carthage: Dressing for the Resurrection (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 67–​68. 55 Daniel-​Hughes, The Salvation of the Flesh in Tertullian of Carthage, 64–​66. 56 Benjamin H. Dunning, Specters of Paul: Sexual Difference in Early Christian Thought (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 127. 57 Dunning, Specters of Paul, 129.

58  Mirrors of the Divine woman’s beauty stir up a sexual frenzy in men.58 With the games, Tertullian had used the metaphor of food entering the body through the mouth to describe how the particles of the games can enter the body through the eye.59 With women, Tertullian uses a similarly penetrative metaphor to suggest that the particles of beautiful women act like a sword, piercing into the eyes of men, causing their desire.60 This description of male sexual arousal echoes that of Lucretius who explained that just as sun particles contain very real fire from the sun that burn the eyes, so also women’s particles contain very real elements from women that cause men to burn with passion.61 According to his theory, male sexual desire is the body’s uncontrollable response to particles from attractive women: it is simply the nature of things.62 Lucretius’ theory renders the men entirely passive in the physical process, describing sexual arousal as something that happens to them. Despite the passive nature of the process, Lucretius attributes no morality of guilt or blame except only to caution men not to mistake their lust for love.63 Tertullian portrays a remarkably similar description of male sexual attraction, though he attaches a less neutral response to the process. Like Lucretius, Tertullian posits that male sexual arousal is caused by particles flying off the bodies of women, and these particles pierce the eyes of men, stirring up their desire.64 Rather than calling this a natural process, however, Tertullian asserts that holy women must veil themselves to block the particles and to save the men from such carnal appetites.65 As in Lucretius’ theory, Tertullian’s theory portrays men as passive against the particles of beautiful women that pierce their eyes, stir up their blood, and cause their passion to grow and their self-​ control to diminish.66 However, rather than the neutral Lucretian response that this is simply the nature of things, Tertullian instead points to what he sees as the dangers. 58 Tert., Cult. Fem. 2.1, 2.2, 26. 59 Tert., Spect. 13.5 and 17.5. 60 Tert., Cult. Fem. 2.2. 61 For more on Lucretius and sexuality, see Robert D. Brown, Lucretius on Love and Sex: A Commentary on De Rerum Natura IV, 1030–​1287 with Prolegomena, Text, and Translation, Columbia Studies in the Classical Tradition, vol. 15 (New York: E. J. Brill, 1987), especially 36ff. 62 Lucretius does not address female sexual desire. 63 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.1037–​287. 64 Tert., Virg. 7.3. Latin from Quinti Septimi Florentis Tertulliani Opera, ed. V. Bulhart, CSEL 76.79-​ 103 (Vienna: Tempsky, 1957). For an English translation, see Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian, The Early Church Fathers (New York: Routledge, 2004), 96–​115. 65 Tert., Cult. Fem. 2.3. 66 Tert., Virg. 7.3.

Tertullian of Carthage  59 Just like the woman at the games who became demon-​possessed after the evil entered her eyes, so also these men become sex-​obsessed after the women’s beauty enters their eyes. Once men’s eyes are penetrated by the images of beautiful women, their passions are stirred up and they sexually desire women in return: “In fact, the eyes that will desire a virgin once seen, are the same kind as a virgin has who will desire to be seen.”67 In this schema, men would not desire women had women not first desired men. It is not simply the nature of things; rather, it is the result of women’s desire. Though Tertullian portrays men as having passive receptive eyes that receive the particles of women, he also describes men as having an active visual ray. Once male desire is initiated, this desire transforms the male gaze into a sexualized gaze that returns to penetrate the unveiled women. Tertullian accuses women who wish to remove their veils of licentiousness, recklessly seeking out this sexual penetration. He refers to unveiled women as being raped by the eyes of men, and he even goes so far as to accuse unveiled virgins of bearing and hiding bastard children conceived by means of the penetrating gazes of various men.68 Tertullian here depicts a kind of closed loop of desire that begins and ends with women, transferring the responsibility from men to women. In his description of optical illusions, Tertullian shifts the responsibility for the distortion from vision to the medium, before quickly absolving the medium from any blame. After all, the medium is simply operating according to the nature of things. With male sexual arousal, Tertullian similarly moves the responsibility from men to women, yet he does not likewise absolve women from blame because they are not, according to Tertullian, functioning according to the divine nature of things in his cosmological hierarchy. Rather, their bodies demonstrate a flaw found in creation. Yet, as he does throughout, Tertullian ensures that God remains free from responsibility for sin by shifting the burden onto the women themselves through sin.

Visual Difference and Embodied Enactments Carly Daniel-​Hughes has pointed to one valuable piece of Tertullian’s theological puzzle by linking his writing on women’s veils and men’s beards to

67 Tert., Virg. 2.4, trans. Dunn, Tertullian, 102. Emphasis mine. 68 Tert., Virg. 14.8.

60  Mirrors of the Divine gendered performances of modesty within Tertullian’s soteriological vision.69 Building on her analysis, I turn my focus to another facet of this gendered performance, that of an enactment of bodily intactness. I argue that beards and veils coexist, for Tertullian, in a pair of balanced opposites both as visual markers of embodied difference and as Tertullian’s solutions to the precarity of his cosmological hierarchy. Craig Williams has written about the perceived hierarchy of penetration, in which the penetrative act is linked to manliness and superiority, while the receptive act is linked to a loss of dignity and subordination.70 I argue that Tertullian maps this hierarchy onto male and female desire in visual terms: women desire to be seen, while men desire to see;71 in other words, women desire to be penetrated by the male gaze, while men desire to penetrate with that gaze. Tertullian might consider this the natural way of things if not for one crucial flaw in his portrayal: Tertullian uses the Epicurean theory of intromission to describe women’s bodies, but not men’s bodies, as uncontained and uncontrolled, constantly leaking their sexualized images into the eyes of men.72 This places women into the penetrator role and forces men into the receptive penetrated role, essentially flipping Tertullian’s desired hierarchy.73 The Epicurean theory of intromission that so aided Tertullian’s explanation of optical illusions here points to his hierarchy’s very precarity: it cannot withstand his portrayal of the sin-​stained unveiled bodies of women. Tertullian casts the existence of unveiled women as typological Eves who reproduce the fall through their uncontained bodies. Every woman is an Eve, every woman is the devil’s gateway, and every woman destroys God’s image, man.74 She does this by means of her flawed body whose images fly from her head to pierce the eyes of men. The fall, then, is not some singular moment in the past. Rather, Tertullian portrays it as the ongoing status of every woman. 69 See Carly Daniel-​Hughes, “‘Wear the Armor of Your Shame!’: Debating Veiling and the Salvation of the Flesh in Tertullian of Carthage,” Studies in Religion/​Sciences Religieuses 39, no. 2 (2010): 191, and Carly Daniel-​Hughes, The Salvation of the Flesh in Tertullian of Carthage: Dressing for the Resurrection (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 52–​53. 70 Craig Williams, Roman Homosexuality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), xiv. Williams, Roman Homosexuality, 7. 71 Tert., Virg. 2.4, trans. Dunn, 102–​3. 72 Tert., Cult. Fem. 2.2. For an excellent examination of the medical and gendered dynamics of leaky bodies in the Gospels, see Candida Moss, “The Man with the Flow of Power: Porous Bodies in Mark 5:25–​34,” Journal of Biblical Literature 129, no. 3 (2010): 507–​19. 73 For an excellent chapter on the varieties of language associated with sexually penetrated men, see Craig Williams, “The Language of Gender: Lexical Semantics and the Latin Vocabulary of Unmanly Men,” in Sex in Antiquity: Exploring Gender and Sexuality in the Ancient World, ed. Mark Masterson, Nancy Sorkin Rabinowitz, and James Robson (New York: Routledge, 2014), 461–​81. 74 Tert., Cult. Fem. 1.1.

Tertullian of Carthage  61 By remaining unveiled, women repeat the fall and destroy the very Image of God, which is found in men alone. The only solution, Tertullian proposes, is for women to wear a veil both as a marker of their shame and as a temporary containment of their uncontrolled bodies, which helps to restore Tertullian’s hierarchy by preventing women’s particles from penetrating the eyes of men. Refusing to wear veils, in this portrayal, is tantamount to repeating the sin of Eve and destroying Tertullian’s hierarchy. While women protect Tertullian’s hierarchy by means of their veils, men protect it by means of their beards, in a related, but inverted way. In De Pallio 4.1.3, Tertullian suggests a link between plucking one’s beard and a desire for penetration: “Whence is it that with hairy and hirsute men the resin is so rapacious at the arse, the tweezers are so ravenous at the chin?”75 Williams notes that the link between a man’s hairless face and a desire for penetration was common fodder for jokes in Roman texts, pointing out the crude association: “boys are capable of being sexually penetrated (pati) only as long as their buttocks are hairless.”76 Tertullian’s comments on beards, then, serve the same purpose as his comments on veils: a man’s beard is a signal of his impenetrable body. With both the veil and the beard, he links one’s head, and particularly the hairs on one’s head, to one’s sexual organs.77 Just as an unveiled woman signals her desire for penetration, so also a beard-​plucked man signals his desire to be penetrated by other men. Just as women must wear a veil to contain their bodies, so also must men wear beards to shore up theirs. The veil and the beard, then, both serve the same purpose of restoring Tertullian’s cosmological hierarchy of intactness. It is worth noting a key difference in this gendered enactment. While Tertullian calls for women to act by wearing a veil, he calls for men not to act by not plucking their beards. This is a further signal that women reside at the nadir of Tertullian’s cosmological hierarchy. Only their sin is inscribed onto the nature of their now-​uncontrolled bodies such that their natural

75 Tert., Pall. 4.1.3, in Tertullian, De Pallio, a commentary by Vincent Hunink (Amsterdam: Brill, 2005). 76 Craig Williams notes the link between a lack of male facial and body hair and sexual penetration in Williams, Roman Homosexuality, 24. 77 In Tert., Virg. 12.1, Tertullian argues that covering a woman’s “upper parts” with a veil is as important as covering her “lower parts” internally. Carly Daniel-​Hughes similarly notes the link between a woman’s head and her sexual parts: “both Tertullian and the unveiled virgins about whom he writes build their arguments on the ancient notion that a woman’s head metonymically indicates her genitalia,” in Carly Daniel-​Hughes, “‘Wear the Armor of Your Shame!’: Debating Veiling and the Salvation of the Flesh in Tertullian of Carthage,” Studies in Religion/​Sciences Religieuses 39, no. 2 (2010): 191.

62  Mirrors of the Divine state ruptures the very order of nature, while men only disrupt the hierarchy when they depart from their natural state. Tertullian’s men exist in a liminal space: they possess a god-​like visual ray, yet they are not immune to the sights of the world. Their bodies are penetrable by the sights of the games and by the images of unveiled beautiful women.

Visual Difference and Balanced Opposites Tertullian uses visual difference to draw lines of distinction between God and humanity and between men and women, and these categories map onto 1 Corinthians 11:3: “But I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the husband is the head of his wife, and God is the head of Christ.”78 Following the pattern of this verse, Tertullian constructs his hierarchy as a matrix of balanced opposites in terms of his two theories of visual perception and their related association of bodily intactness or porosity. In Adversus Praxean 14, Tertullian distinguishes between the Father and the Son in visual terms. He wrestles with the contradiction between Exodus 33:20’s assertion that no one can see God’s face and live and the accounts that many have seen God without dying. He proposes the solution that God the Father is invisible. while God the Son is visible, so all prophetic visions must be of the Son. Tertullian then invokes 1 Corinthians 13:12 to explain that one can only see the Son through a mirror enigmatically, which Tertullian defines as in an imaginary (imaginaria) form as in a dream or a vision.79 In this way, the Father remains unseen, balanced by the Son who is seen. By proposing that all vision of God is in an imaginary form, Tertullian also suggests that the Pauline mirror serves as an ontological divide between humanity and God. Tertullian further solidifies this line in visual terms in De spectaculis by linking divine sight with an active visual ray theory and human sight with a passive receptive theory. God’s impermeability is balanced in contrast to human porosity and mutability. God can actively look upon sights without effect, though humans are transformed by the things they see. In Cult. Fem. and Vir., Tertullian constructs his idealized hierarchy between men and women, though he also portrays that hierarchy as broken. In his idealized hierarchy, women’s bodies are penetrable, while men’s bodies

78 1 Corinthians 11:3, NRSV.

79 1 Corinthians 13:12. Tert., Ad Prax 14.

Tertullian of Carthage  63 are not. In his portrayal of women’s bodies as flawed bodies, however, their images penetrate the eyes of men, causing a cycle of sexual desire. His solution, then, is that women must wear veils to contain their uncontrolled bodies and men must wear beards to keep theirs from becoming porous, restoring his ideal hierarchy. Tertullian’s cosmological hierarchy envisions a matrix of balanced opposites in which the Father’s invisibility is contrasted with the Son’s visibility; God’s intactness is contrasted with humanity’s permeability; and male penetration is contrasted with female reception. The further down the hierarchy, the more Epicurean with receptive and penetrable eyes and porous and flawed bodies; the higher up the hierarchy, the more Stoic with ray-​like vision and intact and impermeable bodies. There is one final pair of balanced opposites within this matrix in which Tertullian links the bottom of his hierarchy to the top relating to prophetic experiences. Tertullian undoubtedly aligned himself with the “new prophets” (see Pud. 21.7), and notes that “the majority of [hu]mankind get their knowledge of God from dreams.”80 While Jerome and some later scholars sometimes refer to Tertullian’s “lapse” into so-​called Montanism,81 Laura Nasrallah offers the competing suggestion that New Prophecy was simply “one of many forms of Christianity available in Carthage at his time.”82 Whatever label we might wish to ascribe to him or not, Tertullian does raise up women in prophetic experiences, and in Ad uxorem 1.8, Tertullian asserts that the virgin will have the nearest vision of the face of God.83 It might be surprising that Tertullian raises up women after placing them so low within his hierarchy, but perhaps it is less surprising in the context of his balance of opposites. God sees with the ultimate divine ray and women are both permeable, as humans, and penetrable, as women. Veiled women block the gazes of men and are best situated to receive the divine rays of God. In their penetrability and porosity, their flaw becomes their strength when directed toward the divine. Tertullian himself noted that the reason for the variety of modes of perception is to enhance the glory of God.84 In this context, his cosmological 80 Tert., An. 47 (FC 10:285). 81 See Jerome, Vir. ill., On Illustrious Men, trans. Thomas P. Halton, FC 100 (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 1999), 74. 82 Nasrallah, An Ecstasy of Folly, 100. 83 Elsewhere he places the male “voluntary eunuch” (the celibate male) alongside virgins in status. See De Patientia 13 and De Resurrectione 27. This suggests that castration may serve a similar function to the veil, though he does not likewise link castration to the vision of God. 84 Tert., An 8 (FC 10:194).

64  Mirrors of the Divine hierarchy serves to shift responsibility for sin further and further away from God, first onto humanity, and then finally onto women. Though the burden ultimately lies on the bodies of women, he also gives women the most power of the veil: if they veil themselves, they can stop being like Eve and can have the nearest vision of God.

Conclusion Using the Stoic and Epicurean theories of visual perception, Tertullian has rhetorically constructed a cosmological hierarchy of intactness and penetrability that maps on to 1 Corinthians 11:3. By using contrasting theories of visual perception, Tertullian proposes a philosophically inconsistent view of the world in such a way that crafts a theologically consistent one in a matrix of balanced opposites. The Stoic theory of visual perception, with its associated visual ray and bodily intactness, comes to represent divine perfection, while the Epicurean theory of visual perception, with its associated porous bodies and penetrable eyes, comes to represent human sinfulness. These two theories allow Tertullian to construct his cosmological hierarchy in such a way that its variety enhances the glory of God while simultaneously pointing to human sinfulness.85 The higher up one is on the hierarchy, the more Stoic, the more intact, and the more pure. The lower one is on the hierarchy, the more Epicurean, the more porous, and the more sinful. Tertullian has portrayed women as the lowest point of his hierarchy: they are the devil’s gateway such that their sinful bodies leak into the world and penetrate the eyes of men. Tertullian portrays the very existence of women, in their natural and unveiled state, as an aberration, a rupture of his hierarchy that damages not only themselves but also the men around them. Yet it is this very porosity that makes the veiled virgins the most suited to receive the divine gaze and have the nearest vision of God. Their penetrable flesh is at once a detriment in their relationships to the world and an ally in their relationships to God. Not much is appealing about a hierarchy that is grounded on a portrayal of women’s bodies as deeply stained by sin, and it seems that even Tertullian’s contemporaries were not persuaded by this rhetoric. Christian women’s



85 Tert., An 8 (FC 10:194).

Tertullian of Carthage  65 enactment of veils never took hold in Carthage,86 and Christian men’s enactment of beards was somewhat debated.87 Indeed, Tertullian’s prescription for vision is one that, for good reason, remained relegated to the world of rhetoric. Tertullian is, and will remain, a controversial figure as one who both writes about and embodies the concept of balanced opposites. His rhetorical stance may be anti-​philosophical, even while his writing is deeply engaged with Stoic and Epicurean theories. He calls women the devil’s gateway with sinfulness inscribed on their very bodies, yet he raises those same women to the nearest vision of the face of God. Yet what appears contradictory from first glance becomes coherent when placed into his larger rhetorically constructed cosmological hierarchy. In doing so, Tertullian engages in the discursive struggle to define and produce a particular kind of Christian identity that demands embodied practice: avoiding the games, wearing beards, and wearing veils. These embodied practices mark Christians as distinctly different from society, and he links this identity to epistemology, as only those who practice this visual piety have access to vision and knowledge of God. His system may be philosophically inconsistent in trying to blend the Epicurean and Stoic theories of vision, yet this very inconsistency is his attempt to capture and explain vision’s subjectivity. We see the world differently, and through these visual theories, Tertullian offers his rationale for that difference as well as his prescription for visual piety.

86 Everett Ferguson writes, “Indeed, Tertullian apparently failed to persuade even the church in Carthage. When Cyprian, bishop of Carthage in the mid-​third century, wrote a treatise On the Dress of Virgins, he made no mention of a veil.” Everett Ferguson, “Of Veils and Virgins: Greek, Roman, Jewish, and Early Christian Practice,” Restoration Quarterly 56, no. 4 (2014): 226. 87 For an excellent overview, see A. Edward Siecienski, “Holy Hair: Beards in the Patristic Tradition,” St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 51, no. 1 (2014): 41–​68.

3 Clement of Alexandria Seeing God Through a Cataract Darkly

those who are baptized . . . acquire a spiritual sight which is clear and unimpeded and lightsome, the sort of sight which alone enables us to behold divinity.1

Introduction Clement of Alexandria (150–​215 CE) was likely born and educated in Athens, but he spent most of his life teaching and writing in Alexandria.2 Persecution drove him to Palestine in 202 or possibly in 206 where he died in 215.3 Within his corpus, he writes often of his three key aims: to convert Greeks, to prepare baptismal candidates, and to produce spiritual teachers.4 I argue that the metaphor that underlies and unites each of these goals is that of spiritual vision, particularly through its link to the medical metaphor of baptism as cataract surgery, and its connection to agency, identity, and especially epistemology. Like Tertullian, Clement uses vision as the prime metaphor to describe human nature and its ability to know God. However, while Tertullian divided visual difference along gender lines, Clement draws his visual distinction in terms of baptismal status. In Clement’s portrayal, only the baptized have had their spiritual cataracts removed and their spiritual vision restored.5 1 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, trans. Simon P. Wood, Fathers of the Church Patristic Series (Baltimore: Catholic University of America Press, 2008), 27–​28. Paed. 1.6.28. SC 1:162. 2 Eric Osborn, Clement of Alexandria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 21. 3 Osborn, Clement of Alexandria, 1. 4 Osborn, Clement of Alexandria, 21. 5 I have previously explored the medical component in Emily R. Cain, “Medically Modified Eyes: A Baptismal Cataract Surgery in Clement of Alexandria,” Studies in Late Antiquity 2, no. 4 (December 1, 2018): 491–​511, and I have examined the philosophical side of the metaphor in Emily Cain, “Perfected Perception: Modes of Knowing God in Clement of Alexandria,” in Studia Patristica, CX

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0004

Clement of Alexandria  67 Throughout Paedagogus, Clement explains that each person is ill and in need of a doctor (1.9.83), is blind (1.9.83), and cannot learn until she has been cured (1.1.3). The Word is that doctor who heals and counsels (1.1.1), cures passions (1.1.1), and offers the nourishing medicine of His counsel (1.1.3, 1.2.6). In Protrepticus 1.8.2, Clement writes, “The Logos is like a good doctor who covers some sick bodies with plaster, scrapes or bathes others, opens them by iron, burns them, sometimes amputates with the saw when it is still possible to cure the subject, at least in part, and in one of his members.”6 In Paedagogus 1.8.62, Clement explains that the Word is the surgeon who must cut out the disease of the passions from the soul. It is this last metaphor, that of the divine surgeon, that I examine more fully in what follows. More specifically, I explore Clement’s metaphor of baptism as cataract surgery that enables the recipient to see and to know God.7 I argue that the ways that Clement describes sight, both physical and spiritual, demonstrates an embodied shift in identity and epistemology available through baptism, which he links to the medical metaphor of cataract surgery. Baptism unites the agency of the individual to undergo the physical baptism with the spiritual cataract surgery performed by the divine ophthalmologist to transform the individual from a state of spiritual blindness to one of clear sight. In doing so, Clement’s depiction of spiritual vision ties together conversion, baptism, and growth with the threads of agency, identity, and epistemology. Light and dark have been metaphors for knowledge and ignorance at least as far back as the pre-​Socratic philosopher Parmenides in the first century BCE,8 and Clement follows this tradition, further linking these metaphors vol. 7, ed. Markus Vinzent et al. (Lueven: Peeters, 2021), 167–​75. This chapter merges elements from both articles in order to make a new argument. 6 Clement of Alexandria, Clement of Alexandria: The Exhortation to the Greeks. The Rich Man’s Salvation. To the Newly Baptized, trans. G. W. Butterworth, Loeb Classical Library 92 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919), 21. Prot. 1.8.2. Greek text is from Clément D’Alexandrie, Le Protreptique, trans. Claude Mondésert, Sources Chretiennes 32 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1949), 62. 7 For another example of the link between baptism and blindness, see Acts 9:1–​19, in which Saul first recovered his sight and then was baptized. There are also numerous stories in which Jesus heals the blind, though they lack a reference to baptism. See, for example, Mark 8:22–​26, Luke 18:35–​43, and John 9:1–​12. 8 H. Diels and W. Kranz, eds., Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 6th ed. (Berlin: Weidman, 1952), 28, A46 (I, 226, 10ff), B4 (I, 232, 7), B7 (I, 235, 1). See also 2 Corinthians 4:6: “For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (NRSV). Jane Heath examines the metaphorical relationship between sight and insight in the Gospels in Jane Heath, “Sight and Christianity: Early Christian Attitudes to Seeing,” in Sight and the Ancient Senses (New York: Routledge, 2015), 220–​36.

68  Mirrors of the Divine to sin and to sight: “Ignorance is darkness, for it makes us fall into sin and lose the ability to see the truth clearly. But knowledge is light, for it dispels the darkness of ignorance and endows us with keenness of vision.”9 I find it significant, however, that Clement flips the expected and common pattern. In his rendition, it is not sight that provides knowledge, but rather knowledge that provides sight: ignorance makes one dim-​sighted, while knowledge makes one clear-​sighted.10 Indeed, this reversal previews the very pattern that Clement describes for spiritual transformation in baptism, first from ignorance to knowledge from the divine light, and only then from blindness to spiritual sight. In Clement’s writings, these metaphors of light and dark, sight and blindness, are not merely physical metaphors, describing the link between the eyes of the body and knowledge of the world, but they are also spiritual metaphors, describing the connection between the eyes of the soul and knowledge of God. Clement describes the function of bodily eyes and spiritual eyes similarly, drawing from the same atomist and Platonic theories to describe the function of each. Yet the physical and the spiritual are not identical. While bodily eyes require physical objects, spiritual eyes require mental objects:11 “but in our view the image of God is not an object of sense made from matter perceived by the senses, but a mental object. God, that is, the only true God, is perceived not by the senses but by the mind.”12 Further, Clement cautions that bodily eyes tie the viewer to the material world, risking an entrapment like that of Narcissus,13 and he offers the cautionary tales of those who trusted their bodily eyes only to end up worshiping the physical sun and moon,14 or others who were so beguiled by art that they sought intercourse with marble statues.15 Spiritual eyes, at least when properly functioning, can lead one away from these material entrapments and toward contemplation of the divine light.16

9 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 29 amended. Paed. 1.6.29. SC 1:164. 10 ἀμβλυωποῦντες (dim-​sighted) vs. διορατικὸν (clear-​sighted). 11 Clement here distinguishes between αἰσθητός (a sensory perceptible object) and νοητός (a mental object). 12 Clement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Greeks, 117. Prot. 4.51.6. SC 1:113. 13 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 208. Paed. 3.2.11. SC 1:32. 14 Prot. 2.26.1–​3. SC 1:80–​81. 15 Prot. 4.57.3. SC 1:121. 16 Prot. 10.92.5. SC 1:161. For an interesting parallel in Plotinus, see Plotinus, En. I.6.8.15–​16, I.6.8.26–​28. Plotinus, Enneads, trans. A. H. Armstrong, Loeb Classical Library 440 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1966), 257–​59.

Clement of Alexandria  69 Though they are separate, physical eyes and spiritual eyes are united for Clement in his description of baptism, and he describes its dual physical and spiritual nature in Excerpta Ex Theodoto, “Thus the heavenly fire is dual in its nature, belonging partly to the mind, partly to the senses. By analogy, therefore, baptism is also dual in its nature, the sensible part works through water which extinguishes the sensible fire, but the intellectual through Spirit, a defense against the intellectual fire.”17 Baptism, then, is a unique instance that blends the physical and the spiritual, and Clement further links this dual nature to sight in Paedagogus 1.6.28, referring to baptism as a kind of cataract surgery for spiritual eyes: It is just like men who shake off sleep and then are wide-​awake interiorly; or, better, like those suffering from some blinding eye-​disease who meanwhile receive no light from the outside and have none themselves, but must first remove the impediment from their eyes before they can have clear vision. In the same way, those who are baptized are cleansed of the sins which like a mist overcloud their divine spirit, and then acquire a spiritual sight which is clear and unimpeded and lightsome, the sort of sight which alone enables us to behold divinity, with the help of the Holy Spirit who is poured forth from heaven upon us. This is an admixture of eternal sunlight, giving us the power to see the eternal light. Like indeed attracts like; so it is that what is holy attracts Him who is the source of holiness, who properly speaking is called Light.18

It is this dual nature of baptism, and its relationship to spiritual sight, that I examine here, particularly as it is intertwined with agency, identity, and epistemology. I begin the chapter with Clement’s portrayal of two problems of spiritual eyes of the pre-​baptized, blocked intromission and impotent extramission, before exploring the knowledge Clement portrays as available to these cloudy eyes in the form of preconception and faith. I then examine the cataract surgery of baptism to suggest that this surgery was considered dangerous and uncommon, linking Clement’s Christian identity to one that is likewise relatively dangerous and uncommon. Finally, I examine the changes Clement describes for those who are baptized, both the nature of 17 Exc. Thdot. 4.81. This is the English text of the Greek-​English version of the Excerpta Ex Theodoto prepared by Robert Pierce Casey, The Excerpta ex Theodoto of Clement of Alexandria (Studies and Documents 1; London: Christophers, 1934), 40–​91. 18 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator 27–​8. Paed. 1.6.28. SC 1:160–​62.

70  Mirrors of the Divine their spiritual sight and their ability to perceive God, that mark his understanding of Christian identity and epistemology as unique and separate from his world. It is my contention that Clement engages this metaphor of baptism as cataract surgery in order to stake his claims about a particular kind of Christian identity, especially as it is tied to epistemology. In doing so, he accomplishes a number of things. First, Clement links baptism directly to knowledge of God through the removal of the cataract of the spiritual eye. Using the atomist and Platonic theories of vision, he describes how the pre-​baptized19 can have only dim-​sighted glimpses of divine knowledge, while those who have been baptized have direct and clear vision of that knowledge. Second, Clement links Christian identity to this baptismal cataract surgery: only those who have been baptized have had the impediment removed, allowing the divine light in and transforming their eyes into deified eyes. Finally, Clement grants agency to the individual, who initiates the process by choosing to undergo the baptismal cataract surgery, gaining the light by which to see God. This enables Clement to describe the baptized Christian as part of an elite group linked through baptism to perfection and to gnosis.20 Through it all, Clement grounds his interpretation on the subjective nature of sight, arguing that baptized Christians see differently than the rest of the world.

Impotent Rays and Blocked Atoms Clement uses two theories of physical vision to describe spiritual vision and knowledge of God, and the clearest example of both is found in his portrayal of the faulty vision of the pre-​baptized in Paedagogus 1.6.28: “[It is] like those suffering from some blinding eye-​disease who meanwhile receive no light 19 I use the phrase “pre-​baptized” to indicate Clement’s goals of conversion and baptism. 20 John Behr, Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 153. For more on Clement and the spiritual elite, see John J. Herrmann, Jr. and Annewies van den Hoek, “Clement of Alexandria, Acrobats, and the Elite,” in Pottery, Pavements, and Paradise (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 175–​201; Robert G. T. Edwards, “Clement of Alexandria’s Gnostic Exposition of the Decalogue,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 23, no. 4 (Winter 2015): 501; Judith L. Kovacs, “Divine Pedagogy and the Gnostic Teacher According to Clement of Alexandria,” Journal of Early Christian Studies, no. 1 (2001): 3; Kathleen Gibbons, The Moral Psychology of Clement of Alexandria: Mosaic Philosophy, Routledge Studies in Philosophy and Theology in Late Antiquity (New York: Routledge, 2016); Jonathan L. Zecher, “Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection,” The Journal of Theological Studies 61, no. 1 (April 2010): 328–​30; Judith L. Kovacs, Clement of Alexandria and the Valentinian Gnostics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978).

Clement of Alexandria  71 from the outside and have none themselves.”21 This brief depiction alludes to the dual problems of pre-​baptized spiritual sight: one can receive no external light and also contains no internal light, so one exists in a state of spiritual blindness. These two problems, possessing and receiving no light, are grounded in two different understandings of physical visual perception: the Platonic theory and the atomist theories of vision. The first theory of vision is found in Clement’s reference to a lack of internal light, which echoes the Platonic theory of vision, often called extramission, as described in Timaeus 45b–​d. According to Plato’s theory, visual perception requires a fiery projection from the eye to merge with the fiery projection from the sun. These two then intersect with a projection from a visual object to transmit information back to the viewer. Yet, according to Clement, the pre-​baptized individual lacks this internal light, and, without such an internal light, cannot send forth a visual ray. Platonic spiritual vision is rendered impotent without this light, and the pre-​baptized individual exists in a state of spiritual blindness. The second theory of vision is found in Clement’s reference to an impediment that blocks external light from entering the viewer, and this depiction is most consistent with the visual theories of the atomists, often called intromission.22 In this collection of theories, every object emits tiny particles or films23 that enter into the viewer’s eyes or sometimes also into their minds, depending on the size of the particle.24 Clement further echoes this theory in Paedagogus 3.11.70, where he cites Matthew 6:22, which reads: “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light” (NRSV).25 This Matthean verse is often interpreted to suggest a theory

21 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 27. Paed.1.6.28. 22 While this might seem a surprising source for Clement, given Epicureanism’s low reputation in Christianity, Ferguson writes: “Epicureanism was somewhat disreputable, and therefore the extent of Epicurean influence has been underestimated. In fact, the second century CE was the great period of Epicureanism. Clement grew up in a world of Epicurean missionary endeavor.” John Ferguson, Clement of Alexandria, Twayne’s World Authors Series, 289 Greece (New York: Twayne, 1974), 36. 23 εἴδωλα, ἀπόρροια, or simulacra. 24 In Herodotus 49, Epicurus describes dianoetic εἴδωλα as a stream of εἴδωλα that enters both the eyes and the mind according to size: κατὰ τὸ ἐναρμόττον μέγεθος εἰς τὴν ὄψιν ἢ τὴν διάνοιαν. Ep. Hdt. §49. LCL 1:578. 25 Adolf Jülicher has described this verse as the most difficult to interpret in the entire gospel tradition. Adolf Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 3rd ed., vol. II (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [P. Siebeck], 1910), 98. For a more complete survey of the scholarship, see Erik Sjöberg, “Das Licht in Dir. Zur Deutung von Matth. 6,22 f Par,” Studia Theologica—​Nordic Journal of Theology 5, no. 2 (January 1, 1951): 89–​105; Hans Dieter-​Betz, “Matt. 6:22–​23 and Ancient Greek Theories of Vision,” in Synoptische Studien (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [P. Siebeck], 1992), 140–​54.

72  Mirrors of the Divine of extramission, interpreting the lamp as a Platonic internal light.26 Clement, however, inverts the process, describing instead the eye functioning like a window to allow light into the body: “what is inside is illuminated and made visible by the light that shines through it.”27 In the pre-​baptized state, however, this window of the spiritual eye is blocked, “like those suffering from some blinding eye-​disease who . . . must first remove the impediment from their eyes before they can have clear vision.”28 Yet, unlike the spiritual Platonic vision that lacks light entirely and remains in a state of complete blindness, spiritual atomist vision is only partially blocked, resulting in only partial blindness. In fact, in his description of the disease in the eye, Clement uses the very same phrase that Galen uses to describe cataracts.29 Cataracts cloud the internal lens of the eye, blocking light; and, while they can progress to full blindness, most cataracts allow some light and some vision to remain. This cloudy cataract, “which like a mist overcloud their divine spirit”30 is what allows Clement to describe the state of pre-​baptized vision as dim-​ sighted rather than fully blind. The identity of the pre-​baptized is one that lacks a Platonic spiritual visual ray yet remains open to receive partial truths through the cloudy cataract-​filled spiritual eyes. The pre-​baptized can only see God through a cataract darkly.

A Preconception Through the Cataract In describing the knowledge available to the cataracted eyes of the pre-​ baptized, Clement explains that God shines divine light onto all of humanity: “Let truth, sending forth her rays of light into the farthest distance, shine everywhere upon those who are wallowing in darkness.”31 As God 26 Dieter-​Betz argues that the logion suggests that if one’s lumen internum shines, then the eye is indeed the lamp of the body and qualifies the eye as ἁπλοῦς. If, however, the internal light is darkness, the logion will provoke the concern about how to make the darkness into light again, though it does not answer the question, leaving the hearer “alone and restless, and this open-​ended situation seems to be the paraenetical goal of the passage.” Dieter-​Betz, “Matt. 6:22–​23 and Ancient Greek Theories of Vision,” 154. 27 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 253. Paed. 3.11.70. Clément D’Alexandrie, Le Pédagogue, ed. Henri-​Irénée Marrou, trans. Claude Mondésert, vol. 3, Sources Chrétiennes 158 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1970), 140. 28 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 27. Paed. 1.6.28. SC 1:162. 29 τὸ ὑπόχυμα τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν; Galen, De methodus medendi 14.19. Galen, Method of Medicine, trans. Ian Johnston and G. H. R. Horsley, vol. 3, Loeb Classical Library 518 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011), 534. 30 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 27. Paed.1.6.28. SC 1:160–​62. 31 Cement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Greeks, 7. Prot. 1.2.3. SC 1:54.

Clement of Alexandria  73 shines light onto all who are wallowing in darkness, some of this light makes its way through the cataracts of the pre-​baptized. Clement also more directly links this divine light to the theory of the atomists through his frequent metaphor of the shower.32 This metaphor is so prevalent in Clement’s writing that Salvatore Lilla has traced Clement’s use of the picture of the shower by which “God inspired the philosophers by dropping particles of the Logos into their minds.”33 Consider Clement’s praise for the partial truth found in Plato: “Well done, Plato, you have hit the truth. But do not give up. Join me in the search for the good. For there is a certain divine effluence instilled into all men without exception, but especially into those who spend their lives in thought.”34 The term Clement uses here, effluence, is the same as that used by Empedocles, a fifth-​century BCE philosopher, for the particles that every object emits that enter the corresponding pores of the body in his version of intromission.35 Some label Empedocles a quasi-​atomist, though he did not separate the world simply into atoms and void, as did the traditional atomists like Leucippus.36 Instead, Empedocles explained that every body in the world was made up of the four elements of fire, water, earth, and air, as well as the two powers of strife (the principle of separation) and love (the principle of union).37 Thus, when Clement refers to the world as filled spiritually with the seed of salvation,38 he is drawing from a physical process from the world of atomism to describe the spiritual vision available to the pre-​baptized.

32 See Protr. 68.2 (i.52.2–​4), 74.7 (i.57.8–​9), Strom. i.37.I (ii.24.8ff), etc. 33 Salvatore R. C. Lilla, Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 17–​18. Lilla offers the following examples: Prot. 68.2 (I. 52. 2–​4), 74.7 (I. 57.8-​9), Str. i. 27. i (ii.24.8ff), Str. i. 27.2–​3, vol. ii. 24. 16–​23, Str. i. 37.2, vol. ii. 24. 17–​19; cf. Paed. I.41.3, vol. i. 115. 7–​8. He also suggests that Clement likely read Justin Martyr and is adopting his doctrine of logos spermatikos, though Clement never mentions him directly. Lilla, Clement of Alexandria, 26–​27. 34 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 155, emphasis my own. Prot. 6.68.2–​3. Εὖ γε, ὦ Πλάτων, ἐπαφᾶσαι τῆς ἀληθείας· ἀλλὰ μὴ ἀποκάμῃς· ξύν μοι λαβοῦ τῆς ζητήσεως τἀγαθοῦ πέρι· πᾶσιν γὰρ ἁπαξαπλῶς ἀνθρώποις, μάλιστα δὲ τοῖς περὶ λόγους ἐνδιατρίβουσιν ἐνέστακταί τις ἀπόρροια θεϊκή. SC 1:133. 35 ἀπόρροια θεϊκή. Diels thinks Empedocles borrowed the doctrine of pores and effluences from Leucippus because it requires a doctrine of empty space, which Empedocles denied. (Diels, Emp. u. Gorg. also Leucippus u. Dem.) Plato generally associated the doctrine with Empedocles (see Men. 76C). Lilla connects Clement’s divine effluence to Justin’s logos spermatikos. Lilla, Clement of Alexandria, 26. 36 See Aristotle, GC, A 8, 325 b, 5; Cael. l 6, 305 a, I. 37 A. A. Long, “Thinking and Sense-​Perception in Empedocles: Mysticism or Materialism?” The Classical Quarterly 16, no. 2 (November 1, 1966): 160. 38 τὴν γῆν σωτηρίου σπέρματος. Prot. 10.110.1. SC 1:178.

74  Mirrors of the Divine One receives these divine effluences not with the eyes of the body, but rather with the eye of the soul, a phrase that is common in Clement’s texts39 and also in Plato’s.40 The pre-​baptized Platonic ray is impotent, but atomism contains a similar concept of the eye of the mind. Epicurus had posited that larger particles of visible bodies enter the eye of the body, but smaller particles41 of invisible bodies enter the eye of the mind, a sensory organ that functions in parallel to the eye of the body. This eye of the mind receives the invisible particles of the gods while the person sleeps, and this allows her to form an idea of the divine.42 Based on his use of atomist sensory perception for the pre-​baptized, it follows that Clement’s eye of the soul functions as a sensory organ to receive the divine effluence much like Epicurus’ eye of the mind that receives invisible particles. Clement ties this Empedoclean shower of particles to another atomist theory: the Epicurean idea of preconception. According to Epicurus, repeated exposure to a certain class of things creates the ability to recognize elements of that class, and this occurs through direct contact with films that fly from that object.43 Clement draws a connection between this atomist concept of preconception to that of faith.44 Prior to baptism, some particles of God can make their way through the cataract, enabling the person to form a preconception of God, developing faith in God, even if they are not yet able to see God.

39 ὄψις ψυχῆς in paed. 1.9.77. SC 1.248. τοῦ ὁρατικοῦ τῆς ψυχῆς in str. 1.28.178. Clément D’Alexandrie, Les Stromates, trans. Claude Mondésert, vol. 1, Sources Chrétiennes 30 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1951), 274. τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ὄμμα in Paed. 2.1.1 SC 2:10, Paed. 2.9.81 SC 2:160, Str. 1.1.10 SC 1:50, Prot. 6.68.4 SC 1:132. Prot. 11.113.2 uses a very similar version: τὰ φωσφόρα τῆς ψυχῆς ὄμματα SC 1:181. 40 See R. 519a and 533d in Plato, Platonis Respublica, trans. S. R. Slings, Oxford Classical Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 265, 285. See also Sph. 254a in Plato, Platonis Opera, trans. J. Burnet, 3rd ed., vol. 1, Oxford Classical Texts (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 447. He also uses the phrase “eye of the mind.” See Smp. 219a. Plato, Platonis Opera, trans. J. Burnet, 2nd ed., vol. 2, Oxford Classical Texts (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1922), 215. 41 Dianoetic εἴδωλα. 42 See Fragment U353, Sextus Empiricus, Against the Physicists, I 25. Sextus Empiricus, Against the Physicists, trans. Robert Gregg Bury, Loeb Classical Library 311 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1936), 14–​15. 43 This is known as the concept of πρόληψις. Leen Spruit, Species Intelligbilis: From Perception to Knowledge: Classical Roots and Medieval Discussions, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 48 (New York: Brill, 1997), 51–​53. 44 Stromata ii.16.3. Salvatore R. C. Lilla acknowledges how unexpected it might be to find an overt acceptance of an Epicurean concept by Clement, but posits, “there can be only one reason why Clement accepts the Epicurean doctrine of πρόληψις: he found it in agreement with his own epistemological views which . . . he had inherited from the school-​teaching deriving from Antiochus.” Lilla, Clement of Alexandria, 130.

Clement of Alexandria  75 An atomistic process for knowledge of God helps to explain Clement’s writing in the Stromateis: “Hence, the apostle says, ‘Now we see as through a mirror, but then face to face’ by those sole, pure, and incorporeal contacts of the intellect.”45 Raoul Mortley points out that this phrase, “incorporeal contacts of the intellect,”46 is a technical phrase of Epicurean epistemology found in Diogenes Laertius to describe a criterion of certainty.47 Thus, Clement describes knowledge of God in Epicurean terms in which the eye of the soul tangibly encounters the divine.48 While one can have these incorporeal contacts with the seed of salvation and the divine effluence, the pre-​baptized can apprehend the truth only partially or dimly. In fact, the term Clement uses means dim or faint, relating to impressions of the eye.49 So, while every person can receive the seed of salvation and the divine effluence, the innate cataracts block the particles, and the pre-​baptized receive the impressions only through a cataract darkly, resulting in a partial picture, or preconception of the divine.

Baptism as Cataract Surgery While the state of the pre-​baptized is one of blindness, one gains spiritual sight during baptism as the divine ophthalmologist performs a spiritual cataract surgery. In Paedagogus 1.6.29, Clement writes, “The quickest way to loose those bonds [of ignorance] is to make use of man’s faith, and God’s grace, for sins are forgiven through the one divine remedy, baptism in the Word.”50 This divine remedy51 of baptism is the medicine that can take a person from a state of ignorance to a state of knowledge, which moves a person from a state of dim-​sightedness to a state of clear vision. Baptism

45 Str. 5.11.74.1. Translation my own. ἐντεῦθεν ὁ ἀπόστολος βλέπομεν νῦν ὡς δι’ ἐσόπτρου φησί, τότε δὲ πρόσωπον πρὸς πρόσωπον, κατὰ μόνας ἐκείνας τὰς ἀκραιφνεῖς καὶ ἀσωμάτους τῆς διανοίας ἐπιβολάς. Greek from L. Früchtel, O. Stählin, and U. Treu, Clemens Alexandrinus, vol. 2, 3rd ed. and vol. 3, 2nd ed. [Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller 52(15), 17. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2:1960; 3:1970]: 375. 46 τῆς διανοίας ἐπιβολάς. 47 Raoul Mortley, “Mirror and I Cor 13:12 in the Epistemology of Clement of Alexandria,” Vigiliae Christianae 30, no. 2 (June 1, 1976): 109–​20, 119. 48 For an examination of vision and the resurrected Christ, see Jane Heath, “Sight and Christianity: Early Christian Attitudes to Seeing,” in Sight and the Ancient Senses (New York: Routledge, 2015), 220–​36. 49 ἀμυδρός; Stromata 1.16.80.5. 50 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 29–​30. Paed. 1.6.29. SC 1:166. 51 παιωνίῳ φαρμάκῳ.

76  Mirrors of the Divine unites human faith, which developed by means of atomist vision, and God’s grace to grant spiritual vision. This baptism is not simply a medical ointment; rather, it is a surgical transformation:52 It is just like men who shake off sleep and then are wide-​awake interiorly; or, better, like those suffering from some blinding eye-​disease (τὸ ὑπόχυμα τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν) who meanwhile receive no light from the outside and have none themselves, but must first remove the impediment from their eyes before they can have clear vision. In the same way, those who are baptized are cleansed of the sins which like a mist overcloud their divine spirit.53

The phrase Clement uses to describe the eye disease of the impediment is the very same phrase that Galen uses to describe a cataract of the eye.54 Although the term cataract (cataracta, καταρράκτης) was not recorded until 1070 CE,55 the disease and its attempted cures had been well documented long before.56 Celsus describes the formation of cataracts: “a humour forms . . . as it gradually hardens is an obstacle to the visual power within.”57 Pedanius Dioscorides lists twenty-​ six potential remedies for 52 In Paedagogus 1.8.62, Clement explains that the Word is the surgeon who must cut out the disease of the passions from the soul. 53 Clement of Alexandria, 27, emphasis my own. Paed.1.6.28. SC 1:160–​62. 54 τὸ ὑπόχυμα τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν; Galen, De methodus medendi 14.19. Galen, Method of Medicine, trans. Ian Johnston and G. H. R. Horsley, vol. 3, Loeb Classical Library 518 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011), 534. 55 This is recorded in Constantinus as a translation from the Arabic. See footnote b in Celsus, De Medicina, trans. W. G. Spencer, vol. 2, Loeb Classical Library 304 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1938), 222. 56 H. T. Swan argues that the Book of Tobit records an ancient description of a cataract and a type of surgery for its removal. H. T. Swan, “An Ancient Record of ‘Couching’ for Cataract,” Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine 88, no. 4 (1995): 208–​11; for more on couching as cataract surgery, see A. Renouvin, P. Fournié, and V. Soler, “Les évolutions dans le traitement de la cataracte,” NPG Neurologie—​Psychiatrie—​Gériatrie 16, no. 92 (April 1, 2016): 64–​72; C. T. Leffler et al., “The Early History of Glaucoma: The Glaucous Eye (800 BC to 1050 AD),” Clinical Ophthalmology (2015): 207–​ 15; Claudia Florida Costea et al., “A Brief Account of the Long History of Cataract Surgery,” Romanian Journal of Functional & Clinical, Macro-​& Microscopical Anatomy & of Anthropology /​Revista română de anatomie funcţională şi clinică, macro-​şi microscopică şi de antropologie 15, no. 1 (January 2016): 46–​52; Harry H. Mark, “Aqueous Humor Dynamics in Historical Perspective,” Survey of Ophthalmology 55, no. 1 (2010): 89–​100. For other treatments of cataracts in antiquity, see Hasan Basri Çakmak and Arif Hüdai Köken, “Medical Therapies for Cataracts in Dioscorides’ De Materia Medica,” Eä—​Journal of Medical Humanities & Social Studies of Science and Technology 8, no. 1 (June 2016): 119–​31. For a description of a hollow needle found in Montbellet (France) and Viladamat (Spain) dating between the first and third centuries CE, suggesting the possibility of cataract extraction in antiquity, see Rafael J. Pérez-​Cambrodí et al., “Hollow Needle Cataract Aspiration in Antiquity,” Acta Ophthalmologica 93, no. 8 (December 2015): 782–​84. 57 Celsus, De Medicina VII.7.14. Celsus, De Medicina, trans. W. G. Spencer, vol. 3, Loeb Classical Library 336 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1938), 351.

Clement of Alexandria  77 cataracts in De Materia Medica, ranging from eighteen different herbal remedies to a mixture of fried mussels and honey.58 By far, the most commonly described solution for cataracts is a type of surgery usually termed couching from the French word coucher, which means “to lie down.”59 In couching, one uses a needle to move the cataract out of the way of vision, allowing gravity to pull the cataract down in the eye as if it were lying (coucher). Galen describes this method, explaining that the full removal of cataracts was impossible; however, one might change the position of the cataract,60 preventing it from blocking a person’s vision.61 Aelian points to the behavior of goats as the source of knowledge for this surgery in humans: “When the Goat perceives that its sight has become clouded it goes to a bramble and applies its eye to a thorn. The thorn pricks it and the fluid is discharged, but the pupil remains unharmed and the Goat regains its sight without any need of man’s skill and manipulation.”62 Whatever the method’s original source, Celsus offers the best description of this surgery required for “long established” cataracts in De Medicina.63 After some preoperative care, the patient is seated facing the light while restrained by an assistant.64 Celsus writes, Thereupon a needle is to be taken pointed enough to penetrate, yet not too fine; and this is to be inserted straight through . . . a spot intermediate between the pupil of the eye and the angle adjacent to the temple, away from the middle of the cataract. . . . When the spot is reached, the needle is to be sloped against the suffusion itself and should gently rotate there and little by little guide it below the region of the pupil; when the cataract has passed below the pupil it is pressed upon more firmly in order that it may settle below. If it sticks there, the cure is accomplished; if it returns to some extent, it is to be cut up with the same needle and separated into several

58 Çakmak and Köken, “Medical Therapies for Cataracts in Dioscorides’ De Materia Medica.” 59 Costea et al., “A Brief Account of the Long History of Cataract Surgery,” 48. 60 Galen, Ars medica 35.6. Galen, On the Constitution of the Art of Medicine. The Art of Medicine. A Method of Medicine to Glaucon, trans. Ian Johnston, Loeb Classical Library 523 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016), 299. 61 Galen, De method medendi 14.13. Galen, Method of Medicine, 3:486–​87. 62 Aelian, On Animals 7.14. Aelian, On Animals, trans. A. F. Scholfield, vol. 2, Loeb Classical Library 448 (London: Harvard University Press, 1959), 120–​21. 63 Celsus, De Medicina VI.6.35. These “long-​established” cataracts are presumably harder and easier to move or break apart. LCL 2:223. 64 Celsus, De Medicina VII.7.14. LCL 3:351.

78  Mirrors of the Divine pieces, which can be the more easily stowed away singly, and form smaller obstacles to vision.65

As is likely no surprise, such a delicate surgery performed in antiquity was not always successful nor without its dangers.66 This is why Celsus recommends waiting for a “long established” cataract, though he cautions that “old age is not favorable for treatment,” and that “vision can be destroyed permanently by a slight movement.”67 Indeed, couching was neither a common nor a safe procedure. Lisa Trentin writes, “This was perhaps the most delicate and dangerous of eye operations in antiquity, since it involved penetration of the interior of the eye.”68 Trentin goes on to catalogue the medical and non-​medical sources that report accidental eye loss from a botched eye surgery.69 Thus, although visual impairment was common in ancient Greek70 and Roman71 society, the number of people who satisfy Celsus’ requirements for cataract surgery—​not too old, but with a long-​established cataract—​and who also would be willing to risk blindness was relatively small. Despite the risks associated with it, cataract surgery is precisely the metaphor Clement engages to describe baptism: “like those suffering from some blinding eye-​disease who . . . must first remove the impediment from their eyes before they can have clear vision.”72 Clement accomplishes several things with the rhetoric of this metaphor. First, the visual rhetoric allows Clement to link the baptism ritual to knowledge of God, such that only those who have had the impediment removed from their eyes may see and know God. Second, the medical rhetoric enables Clement to blur the spiritual and the physical, bringing together the whole creature: body and soul. The physical act of baptism corresponds to the 65 Celsus, De Medicina VII.7.14. LCL 3:351. 66 In fact, couching posed such risks that it was replaced by suction or extraction methods as early as the ninth century CE. Costea, “A Brief Account,” 48. 67 Celsus, De Medicina VII.7.14. LCL 3:351. 68 Lisa Trentin, “Exploring Visual Impairment in Ancient Rome,” in Disabilities in Roman Antiquity: Disparate Bodies A Capite Ad Calcem, ed. Christian Laes, C. F. Goodey, and M. Lynn Rose (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 96. 69 Trentin, “Exploring Visual Impairment,” 96–​97. 70 See, for example, Martha L. Rose, The Staff of Oedipus: Transforming Disability in Ancient Greece, Corporealities (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2003). 71 See, for example, Trentin, “Exploring Visual Impairment in Ancient Rome.” 72 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 27. Paed. 1.6.28. Ὥσπερ οὖν οἱ τὸν ὕπνον ἀποσεισάμενοι εὐθέως ἔνδοθεν ἐγρηγόρασιν, μᾶλλον δὲ καθάπερ οἱ τὸ ὑπόχυμα τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν κατάγειν πειρώμενοι οὐ τὸ φῶς αὑτοῖς ἔξωθεν χορηγοῦσιν, ὃ οὐκ ἔχουσιν, τὸ δὲ ἐμπόδιον ταῖς ὄψεσι καταβιβάζοντες ἐλευθέραν ἀπολείπουσι τὴν κόρην. SC 1:160–​162.

Clement of Alexandria  79 spiritual surgery for the eye of the soul. Third, by joining the physical and the spiritual, Clement also merges human and divine agency. The human chooses to undergo physical baptism and the divine performs the corresponding spiritual cataract surgery. Lastly, by utilizing a metaphor of an uncommon and potentially dangerous surgery, Clement is describing a process that not many people undertake: only those who are young enough, whose cataract is long established, and who are willing to risk blindness.73 The danger of the metaphorical surgery corresponds to the danger of being a Christian in a society that persecutes Christians. Elsewhere, Clement invites Greeks to “desert to God’s side and to enjoy the danger of change.”74 This danger was not an attempt to scare one away from baptism and change. Quite the opposite. Clement embraces the sweetness of this danger as part of the appeal of his Christian identity.75 Part of Clement’s Christian identity is an identity of one who suffers persecution, and this becomes inscribed onto the individual in the act of baptism.76 By utilizing a metaphor of an uncommon and dangerous surgery, Clement is rhetorically constructing Christian identity in terms of difference: Christians have been fundamentally and materially transformed through the cataract surgery of baptism.

Perfected Perception This baptismal cataract surgery describes not merely an ocular difference but also a shift in spiritual ability and epistemology. Indeed, Clement writes, “This is one grace of enlightenment, that we no longer are in the same state as before we were cleansed.”77 The state changes from one of darkness to one of light, and thereby from one of blindness to one of sight. Removing the cataract shifts one from a dim and partial image to a bright and complete image in full atomistic vision. However, it also grants light to the spiritual Platonic ray, and an internal light by which to understand the external light, adding 73 Celsus, De Medicina VII.7.14. LCL 3:351. 74 Osborn, Clement of Alexandria, 1. See Prot. 10.93.2. 75 See, for instance, “The Sweet Danger of Decision” in Osborn, Clement of Alexandria, 31–​37. 76 Judith Perkins has traced the concept of Christian self-​identification as the suffering self and its connection to the growth of Christianity in Judith Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (New York: Routledge, 1995). Similarly, Candida Moss has traced this rhetoric and its formation not just of a self-​identity but also of an enemy other in Candida Moss, The Myth of Persecution: How Early Christians Invented a Story of Martyrdom (New York: HarperOne, 2013). 77 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 30. Paed. 1.6.30. SC 1:166.

80  Mirrors of the Divine a spiritual visual ray and an internal ability by which to perceive God. The baptized individual gains access to a new kind of spiritual sight and epistemology altogether. When the spiritual cataract is removed in baptism, the divine light enters, unimpeded, and transforms the nature of vision. It dispels the darkness of ignorance, and it also grants the percipient the power needed to see the divine light: In the same way, those who are baptized are cleansed of the sins which like a mist overcloud their divine spirit, and then acquire a spiritual sight which is clear and unimpeded and lightsome, the sort of sight which alone enables us to behold divinity, with the help of the Holy Spirit who is poured forth from heaven upon us. This is an admixture of eternal sunlight, giving us the power to see the eternal light. Like indeed attracts like; so it is that what is holy attracts Him who is the source of holiness, who properly speaking is called Light.78

This process removes the cataract, fixing both problems of pre-​baptized sight, the lack of internal light and the inability to receive light. Removing the cataract allows the baptized individual to fully receive the divine light, thereby also granting the individual an internal light. Atomistic sight is no longer impeded and Platonic sight is no longer impotent. The baptized eyes are now lightsome, and Clement describes this spiritual sight even more in his Protrepticus: “How can we help desiring Him who has made clear the mind that lay buried in darkness, and sharpened the light-​bearing eyes. . . . Let us admit the light, that we may admit God. Let us admit the light, and become disciples of the Lord.”79 The term “light-​bearing” eyes (φωσφόρα) is a term used by Plato to describe extramissive eyes with a visual ray. The Platonic ray is no longer impotent, but is now powerful, with the ability to see God. Intromissive vision has been merged with the extramissive rays of the divine light though the admixture of eternal sunlight. The very nature of vision is changed in baptism, and the individual gains deified eyes; with this shift in perception comes a shift in knowledge.80 78 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 27–​28. Paed. 1.6.28. SC 1:162. Emphasis my own. 79 Clement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Greeks, 241. Prot. 11.113.2–​4. SC 1:181. 80 For more on deification in Clement, see M. David Litwa, “You Are Gods: Deification in the Naassene Writer and Clement of Alexandria,” Harvard Theological Review, no. 1 (2017): 125; Anita Strezova, “Apophaticism and Deification in the Alexandrian and Antiochene Tradition,” Philotheos 14 (2014): 83–​101; Henny Fiskå Hägg, “Deification in Clement of Alexandria with a Special Reference to His Use of Theaetetus 176B,” Studia Patristica XLVI, no. 12 (2010): 169–​73; Arkadi Choufrine,

Clement of Alexandria  81 In describing the enlightenment that occurs when one removes the impediment from the eye, Clement writes, “This is an admixture of eternal sunlight, giving us the power to see the eternal light. Like indeed attracts like; so it is that what is holy attracts Him who is the source of holiness, who properly speaking is called Light.”81 The second half of this quote, “Like indeed attracts like” echoes the Empedoclean expression like by like, which indicates that one can only see something external by means of the corresponding internal element. The key here is the Empedoclean principle of συμμετρία: every object, as well as every viewer, is a mixture of the four elements, so when an object’s effluence enters a person’s pores, that effluence is perceived by the corresponding pore: dark by means of watery pores, bright by means of fiery pores, and so on.82 This principle is most often described by the shorthand popularized by Theophrastus: “like by like,” meaning that one can only see something external by means of the corresponding element already contained within.83 In the context of this passage, Clement’s phrase like attracts like refers to “what is holy attracts Him who is the source of holiness, who properly speaking is called Light.”84 One can only perceive the divine light after being filled by the divine light: perceiving the external holy light by means of the internal holy light. Only once the cataract is removed can one be filled, gaining the internal light by which to understand the external light. For Clement, baptism is literally “bathing the mind in light,” giving it the light by which it can see and know the divine.85 Only the baptized can contemplate God by means of the divine light now contained within: “So, let us who are the sons of the true light not shut out that light, but, turning within into ourselves, casting light upon the vision of the inner man, let us contemplate truth itself, welcome its rays and discover with clarity and insight what is the truth of dreams.”86

Gnosis, Theophany, Theosis: Studies in Clement of Alexandria’s Appropriation of His Background, Patristic Studies 5 (New York: Peter Lang, 2002). 81 Clement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Greeks, 28. Paed. 1.6.28. SC 1:162. Emphasis my own. 82 W. J. Verdenius, “Empedocles’ Doctrine of Sight,” in Studia Varia Carolo Guilielmo Vollgaff a Disipulis Oblata (Amsterdam: North-​Holland, 1948), 155–​64, 155. 83 Cf. Theophrastus (DK A 86, 2). See also W. K. C. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962), i. 209; Verdenius, “Empedocles’ Doctrine of Sight,” 155n2. 84 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 28. Paed.1.6.28. 85 Clement of Alexandria, Christ the Educator, 30. Paed. 1.6.30. SC 1:166. 86 Paed. 2.9.80. SC 2:160.

82  Mirrors of the Divine The fact that Clement uses the eyes to describe this deified transformation of baptism is significant beyond its link to epistemology. Antón Alvar Nuño has traced the physiognomical tradition and its relationship to the saying “the eyes are the mirror of the soul.”87 He explains that the evil eye is often associated with a kind of double pupil, so physiognomists claimed to determine a person’s character by looking at the eyes: “[This] ocular irregularity is used as a device for social exclusion.”88 In other words, the physiognomists used the eyes to mark a person as other. In a similar but inverted fashion, Clement also uses an ocular irregularity (light-​bearing eyes, φωσφόρα) to describe the baptized Christian as other. However, Clement used this otherness not as a tool of social exclusion, but as an identifier of deified inclusion. The baptized Christian is no longer like the rest of society but is now physically transformed through the light-​bearing eyes. The baptized individual is now included in an elite and deified group of baptized and transformed Christians, indicating an identity as one whose suffering is inscribed onto the spiritual eyes. Thus, for Clement, baptism is not a return to the initial state of communion with God but is instead a transformation to a radically different state: a shift from being cut off from the divine light to communion and admixture with that light. Unlike amputation metaphors that may cut a person away from the Christian body,89 Clement here describes a kind of surgical procedure necessary to join the Christian body: the removal of a cataract that enables the person to see and to know God.90

Conclusion Medical metaphors, in general, allow authors to blur the lines between the corporeal and the spiritual, describing a process that brings together both the body and the soul. By combining the medical with the visual, Clement joins 87 Antón Alvar Nuño, “Ocular Pathologies and the Evil Eye in the Early Roman Principate,” Numen 59, no. 4 (2012): 303–​4. 88 Nuño, “Ocular Pathologies,” 304–​5. 89 For an exploration of amputation metaphors and exile, see Éric Fournier, “Amputation Metaphors and the Rhetoric of Exile: Purity and Pollution in Late Antique Christianity,” in Clerical Exile in Late Antiquity, Early Christianity in the Context of Antiquity 17 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2016), 231–​49. 90 In a technical sense, couching is not truly a removal or amputation, but a shifting of the cataract out of the line of sight. However, some ancient authors seemed to imply that breaking the cataract could cause it to drain from the eye. See, for example, Aelian, On Animals 7.14.

Clement of Alexandria  83 together the physical with the spiritual to describe vision and knowledge of God that is transformed through baptism. Through the visual component of this metaphor, Clement links baptism to knowledge of God. Through the medical component, Clement describes the natural state of a person as one of blindness because the eye of the soul is innately covered by a cataract. Clement describes knowledge as the perfection of faith,91 and this can be understood more fully in his depiction of spiritual vision. In Clement’s baptismal metaphor, the pre-​baptized individual begins in a state of darkness, with no internal light and an impediment that blocks the external divine light. While the spiritual Platonic visual ray is impotent prior to baptism, the cataract remains partially open. In this state, the pre-​baptized individual has access to some knowledge through the cataract. While they have no internal light of their own, they can receive the divine effluence and seed of salvation to form a preconception of the divine, thereby developing faith. This faith, however, is based only on a partial and dim image, formed only by what comes through the cataract darkly. Baptism unites the faith and agency of the individual with the spiritual cataract surgery of the Divine Ophthalmologist who removes the cataract so that divine light enters, bathing the mind in light. This bath of light grants the individual the internal element by which to see the divine, like by means of like, and it also mingles with the individual’s own sight, granting the power to see with extramissive eyes. With that transformation, the mode of knowing the divine is also shifted: from receiving only bits through the cataract darkly to reaching out with the visual ray, from no internal element by which to perceive the divine to being filled, deified, and able to perceive God, like by like, by means of the divine light now within. In Clement’s writing, knowledge truly is the perfection of faith. Clement utilizes atomistic intromission while simultaneously demonstrating its limits. Atomism is available to all, though it is limited by the cataract. Atomistic vision and epistemology can offer but a dim and partial image and knowledge of the divine, but it cannot offer true and full knowledge. True vision and knowledge come only through deified Platonic epistemology, which is available only through baptism. Baptism, thus, is not a simple removal of a cataract to offer full vision, but rather it initiates the percipient into a radically transformed and deified state. Baptism is a shift from being cut off from 91 Henny Fiskå Hägg, Clement of Alexandria and the Beginnings of Christian Apophaticism, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 211.

84  Mirrors of the Divine the divine light to communion and admixture with that light. The pre-​baptized state of cataracts, blindness, and darkness becomes a metaphor for those stuck in Plato’s cave with access to nothing but a dim and partial knowledge available through shadows. Baptism as the removal of the cataract becomes the metaphor of moving one out of the cave and bathing the mind in light. By using vision’s subjectivity, Clement is engaging in discourse to describe and define Christians in terms of their medically modified eyes, and his prescription for vision is a baptismal prescription. Baptized Christians, in Clement’s portrayal, see differently than the rest of the world. Only the baptized Christian has had the cataract removed, allowing the divine light to enter, and only the baptized Christian can fully use this modified vision to see and to know God. In this first section, we have entered rhetorical worlds with proliferating theories about the subjective nature of vision. Both Tertullian and Clement rely on two theories of vision to capture its subjectivity: Tertullian merges forms of the Stoic and Epicurean theories, and Clement merges forms of the Platonic and atomist theories. In Tertullian’s writing, however, the theories are static, divided in terms of hierarchy and gender, but in Clement’s writing, the theories are more malleable, divided in terms of before and after baptism as one undergoes a shift from one to the other. In Tertullian’s texts, flawed bodies are the source of one’s ability to see and to know God, with his portrayal of women’s sinful and porous bodies reimagined as receptive to the divine ray. In Clement’s writings, however, these flawed bodies are not imagined as a pathway to God, but rather as a hindrance, blocking the divine light from entering. Clement’s flawed bodies must be healed in order to see God, and his flawed cataract becomes the location for an encounter with the divine surgeon. Underlying these differences is a greater similarity: both authors engage rhetoric of direct and unmediated vision to describe their theological anthropologies and their prescriptions for how to engage the world visually. The biggest change in writing on vision between the second and fourth centuries is the rise of the mirror as metaphor, largely inaugurated by Plotinus’ writing in the third century. With this newly popular metaphor, writing on vision shifts from direct and unmediated vision to indirect and mediated vision. Thus, in my next chapter, I take another step back to offer some background on the mirror, both its history and its associations, before turning to the ways in which Gregory of Nyssa and Augustine of Hippo engage vision of God through a mirror darkly.

4 “Through a Mirror” (Im)moral, Magical, and Metaphorical Mirrors

like something in a mirror which really exists in one place but is reflected in another; it seems to be filled, and holds nothing; it is all seeming.1

Introduction In the first half of this book, I examined the ways in which early authors engage the rhetoric of visual perception as they describe the relationship between the self, the world, and the divine. Tertullian and Clement largely utilize this rhetoric of vision in direct terms, describing bodily vision, and this direct rhetoric remained the dominant expression through roughly the late second century CE. It is only in the third century and beyond that this pattern begins to transform to include more indirect rhetoric of vision, primarily through reflective or mirror metaphors, until the mirror metaphor becomes the primary visual metaphor to describe the relationship between the human and the divine. I explore here the development of the mirror as metaphor, from its ancient scientific theories to its moral associations to its Pauline iteration and ultimately to Plotinus’ metaphor of the mirror world of creation. I show that mirrors and reflection are fraught with meaning, splitting the gaze between the self and the other, and that reflection is never neutral. On the positive side, mirrors reveal hidden things, filter images that are too strong, serve as a means of self-​reflection and self-​improvement, and offer a glimpse or a path into the other world. On the negative side, they offer distorted knowledge, serve as a means of self-​corruption, function as weapons, and can even be 1 Plotinus, Enneads, III.6.7.17–​27. Plotinus, Enneads, trans. A. H. Armstrong, Loeb Classical Library 440 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1966), 257–​59.

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0005

86  Mirrors of the Divine traps. I follow these twin paths through science, through literature, through scripture, and finally through Plotinus to show the development of this metaphorical mirror as it becomes the basis for the contemplative vision of God.

History of Mirrors Though there are many theories about how vision itself functions, as I summarized in Chapter 1, there is considerably less variety among theories of reflection for a number of reasons. First, there are fewer texts about the function of mirrors from this time, whether fewer authors wrote about mirrors or whether those resources are now lost to us. Second, many of the differences among visual theories have little import on the function of mirrors, so some authors may not have seen the need to address reflection.2 Last, reflection of ancient mirrors offered mostly dim or distorted images, unlike the clear reflection of modern mirrors. Reflective, still bodies of water were rare near urban settings,3 and the common bronze or copper mirrors were small and usually convex, functioning much like a shadowy wide-​angle lens to reflect a larger picture. Reflection in the ancient world functioned more like an optical illusion than an exact replica of the world. Greek, Roman, and Etruscan mirrors were all essentially the same: mostly “grave goods” found in women’s graves and made of polished bronze or copper with wooden or ivory handles. While the fronts were polished, the backs were usually intricately carved reliefs with figural and ornamental themes of love, deities, or toiletry. While there were a few standing mirrors made of silver and glass, these were significantly less common.4 Transparent glass was invented in Syria at the beginning of the first century BCE, and this ushered in a trend of tiny, diameters as small as 2.5 centimeters, convex glass mirrored discs with metallic backings.5 Though certainly popular, such 2 The question of where the image is formed and whether or not there is a medium does not play a role in one’s understanding of the mirror, though the major differences between intromission and extramission do play a role. 3 Willard McCarty, “The Shape of the Mirror: Metaphorical Catoptrics in Classical Literature,” Arethusa, no. 22 (1989): 161–​95, 167. 4 Rolf Hurschmann (Hamburg), Friedhelm Prayon (Tübingen), and Volker Pingel (Bochum), “Mirror,” in Brill’s New Pauly, antiquity volumes ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider, Brill Online, 2016, Fordham University Library, April 7, 2016, http://​ref​eren​cewo​rks.bril​lonl​ine.com/​entr​ ies/​brill-​s-​new-​pauly/​mir​ror-​e1119​220. First appeared online in 2006. See also Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 9–​10. 5 Mark Pendergrast, Mirror Mirror: A History of the Human Love Affair with Reflection (New York: Basic Books, 2003), 15.

“Through a Mirror”  87 mirrors were considered humble when compared to their more prestigious counterparts.6 The more prestigious mirrors, identified by their popularity in artwork, include the classic grip mirror, the lid mirror, and the box mirror.7 Grip mirrors were simple mirrors with handles, which gradually gave way to mirrors on stands, while lid and box mirrors were the precursor to the modern-​day compact. Thus, most common mirrors were small, reflecting only a small portion of the viewer at a time, and the images they displayed were usually flawed in some way, whether warped to reflect a larger surface or dim or tinted due to the metal backing. Ancient mirrors, then, represented the world other than it was, leading to magical, moral, and scientific fascination with the nature of reflection.

The Science of Reflection The scientists who wrote about mirrors focused on the rational component of reflection, and they often treated mirrored images as a type of optical illusion. Like optical illusions, mirrored images distorted the world, pointing to the subjective nature of vision and threatening perception as the foundation of knowledge. Of the many theories of vision, the atomists and the geometers discussed the nature of mirrors in the most depth, and among those groups, the descriptions by Lucretius and Ptolemy are the fullest available to us today. Lucretius situates mirrors within his atomistic framework, identifying their distortions as simply due to the nature of the flaws of the surfaces of mirrors. Ptolemy, on the other hand, describes the reflection of mirrors through geometric visual rays, and he situates such distortions not with the flaws of the mirror’s surface, but with the very nature of reflection itself. In De Rerum Natura, Lucretius expands his atomist theory to explain that the particles that stream from objects pass easily through clear objects such as glass and water but break when they strike rough surfaces such as solid wood.8 A mirror, however, is neither clear nor rough, but is smooth, allowing the particles to bounce off its surface and be flung back toward the eyes.9 No mirror is perfectly polished and smooth, however, so some particles will hit 6 Rabun M. Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 9. 7 Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 10. 8 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.145–​60. 9 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.145–​60.

88  Mirrors of the Divine rough spots, breaking as they would against wood. The reason that mirrors provide distorted images, then, is quite simple: some particles get lost or broken along the way. In this way, mirrors provide very real, albeit partial, knowledge about the original object, and they can provide better knowledge if the mirror’s surface is polished or smoothed. Lucretius describes another phenomenon of mirrors: their images appear smaller, as if withdrawn and seen through a doorway.10 The reason such images are smaller, Lucretius explains, is that the particles pass through two stretches of air: one from the object to the mirror, and another from the mirror to the eye.11 In the same passage, Lucretius describes the usefulness of mirrors, which can be set up in a series to bring images of hidden objects along a “long tortuous passage.”12 The particles will be flung back by each successive mirror until eventually reaching the viewer. Lucretius here focuses both on the rational nature of reflection, attributing any distortion to surface flaws, and on the usefulness of mirrors to bring hidden objects to light. In this atomist depiction, mirrors are portrayed in strikingly positive terms: they can reveal hidden objects; and their images, though imperfect, can be improved. Mirrors, according to the theory of extramission, are still rational but are portrayed in less positive terms. Living in Alexandria in the second century CE, Claudius Ptolemy (c. 100 CE–​c. 170 CE) wrote a detailed account of a geometric visual ray theory similar to that of Euclid. In addition to his account of visual perception, Ptolemy also developed a theory of reflection and refraction, both considered anomalies in geometric visual perception.13 Ptolemy explains that both anomalies are caused by a break in the visual ray: reflection occurs from a fully broken visual ray, while refraction results from a partially broken visual ray. In both instances, the viewer does not receive an accurate image of the world, but rather a displaced image or an illusion.14 Ptolemy dedicates Book 3 of his Optics to the illusion caused by reflection, focusing mostly on its geometric angles. In 2.22, however, Ptolemy describes something that becomes influential in the understanding of mirrors: when the visual ray breaks through reflection, it is weakened

10 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.269–​323. 11 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.269–​323. 12 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.269–​323. 13 A. Mark Smith, “Introduction,” in Ptolemy’s Theory of Visual Perception: An English Translation of the Optics (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1996), 19. 14 Smith, “Introduction,” 20.

“Through a Mirror”  89 and transmits dimmer images than when objects are seen directly without reflection.15 In his introduction to the translation, A. Mark Smith explains that the idea that mirrors naturally weaken the visual ray predominated thought for the next fourteen centuries until the late Renaissance with the advent of better mirrors.16 Ptolemy describes objects seen through mirrors as illusions because the person will feel neither the breaking of the visual ray nor the surface of the mirror and the visual faculty becomes deluded into thinking that the object appears to lie below the mirror’s surface.17 Though the less common flat mirrors will provide an accurate, albeit dimmer, image, the more common convex mirrors inherently provide a distorted image.18 Compared to the revealing mirrors of intromission, the mirrors of extramission are extremely negative—​providing untrustworthy and mangled knowledge: they always distort the image, whether offering a wrong location, a dim image, or a flawed image. This distorted knowledge is insurmountable, linked not to the mirror’s surface, but to the broken visual ray itself. In this way, mirrors as described by extramission are inherently more negative than those described by intromission. The science of reflection reveals the beginning stages of the idea that mirrors in antiquity were never entirely neutral. In both intromission and in extramission, the mirror is relatively passive, merely flinging back the particles of an object or the visual ray; however, the function of that reflection differs dramatically. According to Lucretius, mirrors fling back very real and actual particles from the original object, offering real and trustworthy knowledge, and such knowledge can be increased further by polishing the mirror’s surface. Further, such mirrors can reveal objects normally hidden from view, and it is easy to see how this could serve as the basis for a positive metaphor of seeing the divine through a mirror. According to Ptolemy, however, mirrors break the visual ray, so mirrors will always portray images that are too big, too small, or somehow distorted, and polishing this surface can never make up for the distorting effect of the nature of reflection itself. This theory of mirrors, when applied to a metaphorical mirror of God, will offer a correspondingly inaccurate or untrustworthy knowledge of the divine as well. 15 Ptolemy, Ptolemy’s Theory of Visual Perception: An English Translation of the Optics, ed. A. Mark Smith (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1996), 140. 16 Smith, “Introduction,” 37n98. 17 Ptolemy, Ptolemy’s Theory of Visual Perception, III.16, 138. 18 Ptolemy, Ptolemy’s Theory of Visual Perception, III.68–​130, 154–​71.

90  Mirrors of the Divine

Moral and Immoral Mirrors While the science of mirrors reveals atomistic positive associations and extramissive negative associations, the concept of reflection in art and in stories often takes on a kind of mystical quality similarly imbued with moral meaning. In his book The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, Rabun Taylor argues that there is no such thing as a casual reflection in Roman art because “reflection was heavily freighted with moral meaning and haunted by half-​remembered ghosts of very ancient magico-​religious beliefs.”19 These half-​remembered ghosts are never neutral; so, aside from one painting of a goat drinking water, ancient paintings almost never portrayed a reflective liquid surface because the very act of reflectivity imposes profound significance.20 I now turn to the moral and magical associations of reflection and mirrors, which can largely be classified as philosopher’s mirrors or mirrors of vanity. Mirrors as objects were culturally gendered objects, found mostly in women’s graves, and writing about mirrors often linked them to women, such as Aristotle’s writing of red mirrors.21 In book 2 of his treatise On Dreams, Aristotle describes the supposed fact that the gaze of a menstruating woman will stain a mirror red with such a force that it is difficult to remove.22 Pliny recounts a similar tale, explaining that the mirror will become blind in the presence of a menstruating woman unless she is carrying a mullus.23 These brief asides demonstrate a perceived association between mirrors and women, while men found with mirrors were objects of derision. Consider the charge against Apuleius of Madaurus: “He owns a mirror, the philosopher actually owns a mirror!”24 Apuleius was accused of being a sorcerer, and the mirror was proof of his dedication to the life of the flesh rather than to the life of the mind. The evidence brought against him was his long and apparently luscious locks of hair, his love poems to young boys, and the most

19 Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 1. 20 Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 1. 21 Hurschmann et al., “Mirror.” See also Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 9–​10. 22 Rosamond Kent Sprague argues that this aside is meant to offer an analogy for persistence, with the mirror representing the eye. Rosamond Kent Sprague, “Aristotle on Red Mirrors (On Dreams II 459b24–​460a23),” Phronesis 30, no. 3 (1985): 323–​25. 23 Pliny HN 28,82. 24 Apologia 1.13. Text in Apulei Platonici Madaurensis pro se de magia liber (Apologia), ed. Rudolf Wilhelm Oskar Helm (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1905); and Apuleius of Madauros, Pro Se De Magia (Apologia): Text and commentary, trans. Vincent Hunink (Amsterdam: Brill Academic, 1997).

“Through a Mirror”  91 critical charge against him: a mirror in his possession.25 His defense was to reinterpret these items: his hair was simply a mess, his love poems were in the same vein as poems by Plato and Solon, and his mirror was not a vain mirror of self-​indulgence, but it was instead a philosopher’s mirror, meant for moral improvement.26 Apuleius here refers back to Socrates himself to show that mirrors can be mirrors of self-​reflection, self-​knowledge, and self-​ improvement. His defense lays out a clear distinction: mirrors of vanity are harmful and worthy of derision, while mirrors of philosophy are beneficial and worthy of praise. Perhaps the most famous example of this philosopher’s mirror comes from Alcibiades I, in which Plato explains that the best way to know oneself is to see oneself in the mirror of another person’s eyes.27 Similarly, Seneca suggests that mirrors were first invented for the purpose of self-​reflection and wisdom.28 He offers an example in de Ira by explaining that an angry man will see the evil contortions of his face in a mirror and be brought back to reason.29 The most common use of this metaphor is to refer to a text or history that functions as a mirror to reveal the truth to oneself for self-​ improvement.30 In this way, the mirror functions to provide self-​knowledge with the goal of self-​improvement. Underlying this metaphor of reflection is the concept that the revealed knowledge is trustworthy and accurate. For instance, Lucian describes the ideal historian as a mirror, displaying the shapes of things “free from distortion, false colouring, or misrepresentation.”31 Thus, the philosopher’s mirror is a positive representation that offers clear truth. Similarly, the positive association of mirrors also hinges on the idea that mirrors can reveal hidden objects. Klearchos (330–​270 BCE) was a student of Aristotle, and he describes the face in the moon as a mirrored likeness. He explains vision as rays that extend from the eyes, bouncing off the moon’s

25 Shadi Bartsch, The Mirror of the Self: Sexuality, Self-​Knowledge, and the Gaze in the Early Roman Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), 18. 26 Apologia 15.8–​15. 27 Plato, Alcibiades I.132C–​33C. Text in Platonis Opera, vol. 2, ed. John Burnet (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1901). 28 Seneca, Q Nat 17, 4. 29 Seneca, Ira 2.36.1–​3. Text in Seneca Moral Essays: Volume I, ed. John W. Basore, Loeb Classical Library 214 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1928). 30 Seneca Cl 1.1. 31 Lucian, Hist. conscr. 51. Μάλιστα δὲ κατόπτρῳ ἐοικυῖαν παρασχέσθω τὴν γνώμην ἀθόλῳ καὶ στιλπνῷ καὶ ἀκριβεῖ τὸ κέντρον καὶ ὁποίας ἂν δέξηται τὰς μορφὰς τῶν ἔργων τοιαῦτα καὶ δεικνύτω αὐτά, διάστροφον δὲ ἢ παράχρουν ἢ ἑτερόσχημον μηδέν. Text in Lucian VI, ed. K. Kilburn, Loeb Classical Library, 430 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959).

92  Mirrors of the Divine mirrored surface to reach the outer oceans of earth.32 In this way, the mirror of the moon reveals oceans that would be otherwise hidden from our sight. Mirrors also serve to filter vision of something too powerful to view with the naked eye. This aspect comes up in stories like that of Medusa, in which a mirror allows one to see, with diminished force, something (or someone) that would be too intense otherwise.33 Here, the mirror reduces the power, but still provides accurate knowledge of the Gorgon. The mirror serves as a filter or limit to the power, and this function can apply equally to monsters or to deities. In this way, early Christians can apply the metaphor to the divine: seeing the divine filtered through a mirror, even when one cannot look directly at the divine.34 Other times, the filtering function of the mirror helps the viewer to see beyond the things of this world and to glimpse into another world. For instance, Hero of Alexandria describes mirrors in line with the theory of extramission. He explains that the surface of a mirror is never entirely smooth, so pores on the surface of the mirror will allow part of the visual ray to pass through while another part will break, just as water will allow some rays to pass through and others to bounce back, resulting in a kind of double image.35 This is why, he explains, that one can look into water and see both the sky’s reflection and the objects in the water. Similarly, in the mid-​second century CE, Pausanias describes a mirror on the wall of the temple of Demeter and Kore and Lycosura in Arcadia that deleted the reflections of all the people in front of it and only displayed the images of the cult statues.36 This mirror filtered out the earthly elements, showing only the divine. Along the same lines, the mirror can also be an ocular window into the future, according to the third or fourth century CE Egyptian alchemist Zosimus.37 Such mirrors, reportedly, could even show a person his or her death.38 In this way, mirrors are associated with oracular or other-​worldly knowledge.

32 Georgia L. Irby-​Massie and Paul T. Keyser, Greek Science of the Hellenistic Era: A Sourcebook (London: Routledge, 2013), 53. 33 Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 2. 34 See 1 Corinthians 13:12. 35 Morris R. Cohen and I. E. Drabkin, A Source Book in Greek Science, 1st ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1948), 263–​64. 36 Pausanius, Descriptions of Greece, 8.37.7. Pausanius, Description of Greece, Volume IV: Books 8.22–​10, trans. W. H. S. Jones, Loeb Classical Library 297 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1935). 37 Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 3. 38 Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 3.

“Through a Mirror”  93 Thus, when mirrors take on a positive association, it is always in terms of the philosopher’s mirror of knowledge. Mirrors can provide accurate knowledge that can be used for self-​improvement, or they can reveal secret knowledge that would otherwise be hidden. They can filter knowledge that would be too strong or reveal other-​worldly knowledge. The philosopher’s mirror opens two paths of knowledge: knowledge directed toward the self for self-​ improvement and knowledge directed outward toward the mystical other world. These two paths can intertwine, like a doubled image, to offer both a glimpse into another world and a reflection back onto oneself. While the philosopher’s mirror is distinctly associated with self-​ improvement based on trustworthy knowledge, the mirror of vanity is associated with self-​corruption based on distorted knowledge. This problem is described by Hero of Alexandria (10–​70 CE) who tells us that mirrors are contrary to nature and show us what is opposite. They can show us “deranged” images of ourselves inverted, having three eyes and two noses, or expressions as in mourning.39 Such mirrored knowledge is distorted and inaccurate and may lead away from self-​improvement. Mirrors may, in fact, lead to a trick or a trap. Hero of Alexandria describes those who used mirrors to perform a trick to make a cult statue appear above its position.40 Such tricks can become traps, as in the example found in an Orphic myth in which Dionysus is deceived by a child’s mirror laid as a trap and was then ripped apart and eaten by Titans.41 Perhaps the most famous mirrored trap is found in the story of Narcissus.42 The dominant version is found in book 3 of Ovid’s Metamorphoses.43 According to the story, Narcissus was born of the river god Cephisus and the nymph Liriope. He was brought to Tiresias, who predicted that the boy would have a long life only if he would never know/​recognize (noverit) himself.44 Narcissus happens upon a silent spring and spies his reflection in the still water. Inflamed by his own beauty, he becomes obsessed with his reflection, driven to madness, and remains on the banks of the Styx until his death. 39 Catoptrica (De Speculis) 11–​12. 40 Catoptrica (De Speculis) 18. 41 Nonnus, Dion. 6.169–​73. In Dionysiaca, trans. W. H. D. Rouse, Loeb Classical Library, 344, 354, 356 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1940). 42 For much more on the story of Narcissus and the representations in art, see Chapter 2 of Taylor, The Moral Mirror of Roman Art, 56–​89. 43 Met. 3.339–​512. See Ovid: Metamorphoses Volume I: Books 1–​8, ed. Frank Justus Miller, Loeb Classical Library, 42 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1916) and Ovid: Metamorphoses, trans. A. D. Melville, Oxford World’s Classics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). 44 Met. 3.348.

94  Mirrors of the Divine In Conon’s version, Narcissus dies by suicide upon encountering his reflection.45 Pausanias adds that Narcissus did not recognize the reflection as his own, and he instead falls in love with his twin and finds comfort in the reflection after her death.46 In both versions, the end result is the same: a lethal mirror resulting in death. Another element underlying the story of Narcissus is the erotic nature of the mirror. This comes to the fore in Seneca’s account of Hostius Quadra, who lusted after both men and women and used a magnifying mirror during sex to watch his partner’s movement and to delight in his own illusory enlarged image.47 According to Seneca, while mirrors were initially created to provide knowledge, particularly self-​knowledge, they came to be misused toward vanity and vice.48 Though the philosopher’s mirror can lead toward self-​improvement, the mirror of vanity leads instead to self-​corruption. Just as in the scientific background of mirrors, the magical and metaphorical associations of mirrors are never neutral. Mirrors can be incredibly useful and positive, and such positive associations are linked to trustworthy knowledge. Mirrors offer knowledge that can be used for self-​ improvement, or knowledge of things that cannot be seen with the naked eye: filtering the power of monsters or of deities or directing the gaze to the mystical other world. When such mirrors are applied to the divine, they provide positive knowledge of something that cannot be seen directly. Mirrors, however, can also be misused, turning them into traps that draw the viewer into material pleasures or even death. This dual stream of positive and negative associations runs through both the scientific descriptions of mirrors and their metaphorical and magical depictions found in art and in stories. Though later Christians will apply the metaphorical mirror to vision of God, these opposing associations lead to contrasting and, at times, conflicting uses for the mirrored vision of God. In both cases, mirrors can aid one’s journey to the divine or they can harm that journey, but they are never neutral.

45 Conon Narr. 24 ap. Phot. Bibl. 134b28–​135a3; full text of the Conon version is available in Greek with English translation in Louise Vinge, The Narcissus Theme in Western European Literature up to the Early 19th Century, 1st ed. (Lund: Gleerups, 1967), 19–​20. 46 Paus. 9.31.7–​9. 47 Seneca, Q Nat (book 1, formerly book 7) 16.1–​2. 48 Seneca Q Nat (book 1, formerly book 7), 17.4–​10.

“Through a Mirror”  95

Scriptural Mirrors Mirrors show some religious significance in both the Hebrew Bible and in the New Testament, though their references are relatively rare in both cases. The Hebrew Bible continues the mirror’s associative link between the dual role of self-​reflection and a glimpse into the other world, here through a link to both sin and to the divine. The New Testament further solidifies that link to knowledge of God, transformation of the self, and praxis. The first reference to mirrors in the Hebrew Bible is found in Exodus 38:8, in which Moses makes a basin out of the bronze mirrors from the women who served at the entrance to the tent of meeting. Moses repurposes these mirrors to serve a spiritual function, though no longer as mirrors. The second reference to a mirror can be found in Job 27:18 in the middle of Elihu’s speech to Job about God: “Can you, like him, spread out the skies, hard as a molten mirror” (NRSV). The mirror here is a metaphor, though not yet for its reflective properties, but rather for its strength. While both examples do, in fact, link mirrors to the divine, neither one yet deals with the reflective nature of mirrors. The first example of the mirror as a reflective metaphor comes in Wisdom 7:26: “For she is a reflection of eternal light, a spotless mirror of the working of God, and an image of his goodness” (NRSV). This offers an early example of a changeable mirror reflecting the unchangeable image, an idea that becomes more fully developed with Plotinus and Gregory of Nyssa. Yet this mirror is not yet the mirror of the soul, referring to a person, but instead refers to Wisdom herself. Still, it provides an overt epistemological connection between the reflective nature of a mirror and spiritual or eternal Wisdom. The reflective metaphor shifts from the divine to the human in Sirach 12:10–​11: “Never trust your enemy, for like corrosion in copper, so is his wickedness. Even if he humbles himself and walks bowed down, take care to be on your guard against him. Be to him like one who polishes a mirror, to be sure it does not become completely tarnished.” Here, the impurities found on the surface of the mirror metaphorically represent human sin, though not yet personal sin. Polished and reflective mirrors are directly connected to purity, while tarnished mirrors are linked to sinfulness. This sinfulness points to a person’s enemies, and Sirach warns: “Do not put him next to you.”49 Putting an enemy next to oneself, presumably, would allow him to reflect in one’s

49 Sirach 12:12a.

96  Mirrors of the Divine mirror, yet the text does not warn that a person would become like the enemy he is reflecting. Instead, the enemy becomes corrosion on the surface of one’s own mirror, preventing one’s ability to reflect. Even in these sparse examples, mirrors and reflection show an associative link to both the divine and to self-​ reflection. Such mirrors are the positive mirrors, such as the philosopher’s mirror, providing trustworthy knowledge and self-​improvement. Mirror metaphors in the New Testament are still not yet prevalent, though its three examples have proven to be significant in later discourse as these examples merge mirrors with knowledge of God, transformation, and praxis. The first example is found in 1 Corinthians 13:12 to describe one’s knowledge of God: “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known” (NRSV). This verse compares one’s present partial knowledge of God to a dim (enigmatic) mirrored image and one’s future full knowledge of God to direct vision. Scholars often connect the epistemological bent of this first verse to the transformative aspect of the second mirrored example in 2 Corinthians 3:18: “But we all, with unveiled face beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are transformed into the same image from glory to glory, even as from the Lord the Spirit” (NRSV). Jane Heath has compiled an excellent overview of the history of scholarship, particularly on the second of the two verses.50 In short, those scholars who focus on the visual component of the verses tend to connect the mirrors to magical mirrors,51 to the mirror of Christ,52 or to the mirrors of

50 J. M. F. Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety: The Metamorphosis of the Beholder (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 176–​87. 51 At the end of the twentieth century, Richard Reitzenstein compared this Pauline mirror to the mirror of divination in Zosimus’ text. These magical mirrors were made of a special mix of gold and silver and could deflect lightning, protect a person from demons, and even transform the image of the viewer. Richard Reitzenstein, Historia Monachorum und Historia Lausiaca: Eine Studie zur Geschichte des Mönchtums und der frühchristlichen Begriffe Gnostiker und Pneumatiker (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1916), 247–​48. Hans Achelis turned to another kind of magical mirror, focusing on catoptromantic rituals and the magic mirror that would reveal the future. Hans Achelis and Gottlieb Nathanael Bonwetsch, eds., “Katoptromancie Bei Paulus,” in Theologische Festschrift Für G. Nathanael Bonwetsch Zu Seinem Siebzigsten Geburtstage (Leipzig: A. Deichertsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1918), 62–​63. Later, Christian Wagner compared the Pauline mirror to a scene from the Great Frieze of Pompeii’s Villa of the Mysteries in which a satyr looks into a reflecting bowl. Wagner posits that the scene represents a Dionysian initiate being transformed into the image of the mask that Wagner identifies as the “great Bacchus.” C. Wagner, “Gotteserkenntnis Im Spiegel Und Gottesliebe in Den Beiden Korintherbriefen,” Bijdragen 19, no. 4 (January 1, 1958): 370–​81. 52 Margaret Thrall tied the Pauline mirror to Wisdom 7:25–​26, suggesting that Christ is the revelatory mirror to which Christians can look to behold the glory of God. Margaret Thrall, II Corinthians 1–​7: Volume 1, 1st ed. (New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2004), 293.

“Through a Mirror”  97 Perseus and Narcissus.53 Other scholars downplay the visual component, highlighting instead the epistemological element through the parallel of seeing and knowing.54 The majority of scholars link mirror metaphors to indirect knowledge of God through signs or images as contrasted with the direct knowledge available to Moses in Numbers 12:6–​8.55 Though seeing through a mirror certainly contrasts with direct vision, the second half is equally important, found in the phrase ἐν αἰνίγματι, which is often translated dimly, darkly, or simply through its cognate in an enigma.56 This enigmatic vision has been tied to Numbers 12:8, “With [Moses] I speak face to face—​clearly, not in riddles; and he beholds the form of the LORD” (NRSV).57 Yet enigma can have a positive or negative connotation, an underlying truth clothed in imagery or a riddling saying that baffles.58 Like the contrasting positive and negative streams of mirrored associations, enigma offers its own competing streams, which I explore more in Chapter 7. A final example of New Testament mirrors is found in James 1:23–​ 24: “For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on

53 Annette Weissenrieder connects the Pauline mirror to the myths of Perseus and Narcissus, and she is also one of the few scholars to explore the scientific background of visual perception in conjunction with Paul. Weissenrieder seems to assume a unified theory of visual perception in antiquity, suggesting that both the object and the eye project an emanation (dass sowohl von dem Gegenstand als auch von dem Auge eine Strahlung ausgeht). This appears to be the theory following Plato, but then Weissenrieder goes on to describe compressing pneuma (eine Verdichtung des dazwischen liegenden πνευμα) as in the theory of the Stoics. See Annette Weissenrieder, “Der Blick in Den Spiegel: II Kor 3,18 Vor Dem Hintergrund Antiker Spiegeltheorien Und Ikonographischer Abbildungen,” in Picturing the New Testament: Studies in Ancient Visual Images, ed. Friederike Wendt and Petra von Gemünden (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 315, 326. David Litwa criticizes Weissenrieder for placing the transformation on human visual perception rather than divine power. M. David Litwa, “Transformation through a Mirror: Moses in 2 Cor. 3.18,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 34, no. 3 (March 1, 2012): 287n6. 54 Harm W. Hollander, “Seeing God ‘in a Riddle’ or ‘Face to Face’: An Analysis of 1 Corinthians 13.12,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 32, no. 4 (June 2010): 397. 55 And he said, “Hear my words: When there are prophets among you, I the LORD make myself known to them in visions; I speak to them in dreams. Not so with my servant Moses; he is entrusted with all my house. With him I speak face to face—​clearly, not in riddles; and he beholds the form of the LORD” (NRSV). See also G. D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (NICNT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1987), 648; W. Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther. 3, Teilband I Kor 11, 17–​14, 40 (EKK, 7/​3; Zurich: Benziger Verlag, 1999), 311–​12; A. Lindemann, Der erste Korintherbrief (HNT, 9/​ I, Tubingen Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 291; Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (NIGTC; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), 1068–​69. 56 See NRSV and ASV, among others. 57 D. J. Behm, “Das Bildwort von Spiegel I Korinther 13, 12,” in the Rheinhold Seeburg Festschrift (Leipzig, 1929) I, 315–​42, 325 “in Form eines Rätsels,” that is, “als ein Rätsel.” 58 Samuel. E. Basset, 1928 “1 Cor. 13.12, βλέπμέν γαρ αρτ δ’έσπτρυ έν ανγματ,” Journal of Biblical Literature 47, no. 3–​4: 232–​36.

98  Mirrors of the Divine going away, immediately forget what they were like” (NRSV).59 The mirror in James does not appear to suggest a magical mirror, but it portrays a clear example of the philosopher’s mirror presented in Plato for self-​knowledge and in Seneca for self-​improvement.60 In Alcibiades I, Socrates suggests that the best way to “Know thyself ” is given by the analogy of an eye seeing itself reflected in the pupil of another eye, so also a human soul can know itself best if it knows how it is known by God.61 The caution here is against forgetting what one sees in the mirror (here the mirror of the perfect law). Rather, as in 2 Corinthians, one should be transformed by looking into the divine mirror. These three mirrors, taken together, offer associative links to knowledge of the divine, to the transformation of the beholder, and to self-​reflection and praxis. These mirrors serve as the juncture between the human and the divine, both connecting and separating the two. Like magical mirrors, they become the pathway to glimpse another world and an image of the divine while simultaneously reflecting back on oneself. Like moral and immoral mirrors, they can be used as the philosopher’s mirror for self-​reflection and transformation, or they can be used as the mirrors of vanity, trapping one in vice or death. Mirrors, like enigmas, are never neutral, but they are agents to be used in discourse about epistemology, agency, and identity. As I will show, Gregory of Nyssa and Augustine of Hippo will employ these metaphors, but they will attach them to different theories of vision with different associations about the nature of seeing through a mirror darkly.

Plotinus One final significant development in the metaphorical interpretation of mirrors is found in Plotinus, who popularized the mirror as the metaphor for creation, which remained a dominant metaphor through the Middle Ages. Plotinus may have been born in Lycopolis, Egypt, in 204 or 205 CE, but he could have been either a Greek or a Hellenized Egyptian.62 He studied 59 See Luke Timothy Johnson, “The Mirror of Remembrance (James 1:22–​25),” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (October 1988): 632–​45; Nicholas Denyer, “Mirrors in James 1:22–​25 and Plato, Alcibiades 132c–​133c,” Tyndale Bulletin 50, no. 2 (1999): 237–​40. 60 See Luke Johnson for a list of mirrors for self-​improvement and their relation to James. Luke Timothy Johnson, “The Mirror of Remembrance (James 1:22–​25),” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (October 1988): 632–​45. 61 132c–​133c. 62 Lloyd P. Gerson, The Cambridge Companion to Plotinus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 2.

“Through a Mirror”  99 in Alexandria, taught in Rome, and his writings were compiled into the Enneads by Porphyry and circulated among his students. Plotinus’ Enneads are typically regarded as “unusually difficult to read,” due, in part, to the fact that they were written for his students and not for publication.63 Plotinus is not a systematic writer, so much of his portrayal of sensory perception must be inferred from his text. In what follows, I focus on Plotinus and the conflicting scholarship on his understanding of visual perception. I then turn to his description of the mirror world of creation. It is this idea that gained traction in the third and fourth centuries, shifting the emphasis in Christian writers from direct non-​metaphorical rhetoric of vision to indirect visual metaphor for the relationship between the human and the divine. Because Plotinus was not a systematic writer, his theory of sensory perception must be pieced together, leading to a disagreement among contemporary scholars. On one side, Eyjólfur Emilsson suggests that Plotinus held a direct realist theory, such that one perceives sensible objects directly and as they are.64 Sara Magrin, alternatively, suggests that Plotinus is not a realist, but rather a representationist: the soul does not receive the direct objects themselves, but rather merely representations of sensible objects.65 The key question is whether sensible qualities are objective features of the world or whether they are merely relative to the perceiver.66 In either case, Plotinus describes sensory perception as an act of the soul taking the impression of the forms (ἔιδη) of objects.67 Plotinus rejects the role of the medium for visual perception, arguing that one would either see the air itself or the form within the air.68

63 Eyjólfur Kjalar Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception: A Philosophical Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 1. 64 Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 79. 65 Sara Magrin, Sensation and Scepticism in Plotinus, vol. 39, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 282–​84; see also Dominic J. O’Meara, “Scepticism and Ineffability in Plotinus,” Phronesis, 45, no. 3 (2000): 240–​51. 66 Riccardo Chiaradonna, “Plotinus’ Account of the Cognitive Powers of the Soul: Sense Perception and Discursive Thought,” Topoi 31, no. 2 (October 2012): 191. 67 Plotinus, Enneads, trans. A. H. Armstrong, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1966), iv.4.23. This is similar to Aristotle’s perspective. There is a similar question in Plotinus and in Aristotle regarding how to understand the reception of the form. Does the sense organ become assimilated to the object (taking on the form), or does the object exist in the percipient? 68 Plotinus acknowledges that a medium may exist, in the sense that something may exist between an object and the eye, but he denies that it mediates anything in the process of visual transmission. Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 38–​39.

100  Mirrors of the Divine To describe the process of vision, Plotinus turns to the doctrine of sympatheia, συμπάθεια.69 Plotinus does not offer a clear description of this doctrine, so I am deeply indebted to Emilsson for an analysis of the Plotinian corpus on this point.70 The basic concept of Plotinian sympatheia is that similar things maintain a sympathetic relation to one another and may impact or affect the other.71 Emilsson writes, “Presumably he conceives of the word sympatheia as follows: Suppose a given thing is affected in a certain way, has a certain pathos; then another (distant) thing may be affected along with it or come to share in its pathos; then there is sympatheia between these two things.”72 This is similar to the Empedoclean principle that one sees like by like, but the Plotinian principle of sympatheia includes a further layer: that the similar quality impacts the viewer. Much like Plato in Timeaus 45b, Plotinus posits that the eye contains an internal light, seen when one presses her finger against her own closed eyelid.73 Unlike Plato, however, Plotinus does not develop this into a visual ray theory for visual perception. Instead, this serves as the basis for his principle of sympatheia. For Plotinus, something must pass from the object to the eye, though he does not describe this as the atomist’s particles, but rather as forms (ἔιδη or less often μορφή or τύπος).74 Emilsson points out that Plotinus uses the terms form and color interchangeably in II.8.[35], so he argues that the Plotinian forms that leave an object and enter the eye are, in fact, the colors of the object.75 This fits with Plotinus’ theory of sympatheia because colors, for Plotinus, are “light-​like” in nature (II.4.5, 10–​11; v.3.8, 20), and they are produced when an external light falls on bodies.76 The eye, with its internal light, now by means of sympatheia can be affected by the external light of colors through visual transmission, and this is consistent with Plotinus’ description that sensory perception is of qualities of bodies rather than of essences (IV.4.2.3 1–​4 and II.6.2, 17). Like particles, these forms or colors leave the object in every direction and move in straight lines, and though a medium is not necessary for this transmission, intermediate things can hinder or weaken the sympatheia.77 Thus, Plotinus posits a kind

69 Plotinus, Enneads, IV.5.1–​4. See also Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 38ff. 70 Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 47–​62.

71 Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 48. See Plotinus, Enneads, IV.5.1.35–​38. 72 Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 50. 73 Plotinus, Enneads, V.5.7, 28–​29.

74 Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 50–​51. 75 Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 52. 76 Emilsson, Plotinus on Sense-​Perception, 53. 77 Plotinus, Enneads, IV.5.2, 23–​26.

“Through a Mirror”  101 of intromission theory of visual perception, but one that avoids particles and direct touch. Perhaps more important than Plotinus’ theory of visual perception in the history of the contemplative tradition is Plotinus’ popularization of the mirror as metaphor for creation. Plotinus describes the sensible world of matter as a mirror that reflects the world of forms: It always presents opposite appearances on its surface, small and great, less and more, deficient and superabundant, a phantom which does not remain and cannot get away either, . . . Whatever announcement it makes, therefore, is a lie, and if it appears great, it is small, if more, it is less; its apparent being is not real, but a sort of fleeting frivolity; hence the things which seem to come to be in it are frivolities, nothing but phantoms in a phantom, like something in a mirror which really exists in one place but is reflected in another; it seems to be filled, and holds nothing; it is all seeming.78

Plotinus’ description of the world as a mirror is important, as described here, because the world exists in one place (the world of forms) but is reflected in another (the world of sensible objects). Further, while vision affects the percipient, through sympatheia, the forms in the mirror do not impact the mirror of the world: the mirror seems to be filled but actually holds nothing. It is nothing but a phantom in a phantom. It is significant, however, that the world is a mirror and not a painting. As Plotinus describes, a painting may exist when cut off from the original, but this is not in the strict and proper sense the making of likeness and image as it occurs in pools and mirrors, or in shadows—​here the image has its existence in the strict and proper sense from the prior original, and comes to be from it, and it is not possible for what has come to be to exist cut off from it.79

In other words, the world of senses is totally dependent upon the world of forms, like a mirror rather than a painting. Armstrong notes, “What his preference for the mirror-​reflection rather than the picture enables him to bring forward and stress is, first, the intimacy and immediacy of the relationship of

78 Plotinus, Enneads, III.6.7.17–​27.

79 Plotinus, Enneads, IV.4.10.12–​15.

102  Mirrors of the Divine all below it to the eternal, and, second the direct spontaneity of the eternal’s creative self-​diffusion.”80 In other words, the mirror analogy suggests both an intimate link between the world of forms and the world of senses as well as an immediate link between the two. This distance and immediacy will be important concepts for both Gregory of Nyssa and Augustine of Hippo, though they will differ in their interpretations of one’s agency and ability to ascend through that mirror. Plotinus does not despise the mirror world of senses but instead finds it beautiful.81 The problem comes, for Plotinus, in making too much of the reflections found in the mirror: “But, as it is, the producers of the appearances are different from the things seen in matter, and we can learn from this the falsity of the affection, since what is seen in matter is false and has no sort of likeness to what produced it.”82 The forms that are seen in the sensible world are a lie if they are mistaken for the intelligible: such forms have no similarity to true beings because they are non-​being.83 This causes the mirror of beauty to turn into the mirror of entrapment. Yet this mirror can also aid one to see the “inconceivable beauty” if properly used. Plotinus asks of this beauty, “But how shall we find the way? What method can we devise? How can one see the ‘inconceivable beauty’ which stays within the holy sanctuary and does not come out where the profane may see it?”84 His response is to encourage his readers to leave “the sight of his eyes,” to avoid bodily splendors, to remember that such beauty in bodies is merely an image, trace, and shadow, and to encourage his readers to run after what it is that these images reflect.85 Those who mistakenly direct their attention to the body, he asserts, will tarnish their mirrors, preventing awareness of spiritual life. These people are like Narcissus, and they will “stay blind in Hades, consorting with shadows there and here.”86 Against this, Plotinus encourages his readers to be like Ulysses, who discovers that the body is a mere reflection of prior light to which one must return.87 Plotinus famously asks his readers to “Shut your 80 A Hilary Armstrong, “Platonic Mirrors,” in Spiegelung in Mensch Und Kosmos (Frankfurt am Maim: Insel Verlag, 1988), 155. 81 John Deck, Nature, Contemplation, and the One (Burdett: Larson Publications, 1991), 96. 82 Plotinus, Enneads, 37–​39. 83 Deck, Nature, Contemplation, and the One, 96. 84 Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.8.1–​4. 85 Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.8.8–​10. 86 Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.8.15–​16. 87 Pierre Hadot, Plotinus or the Simplicity of Vision, trans. Michael Chase, reprint edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 31.

“Through a Mirror”  103 eyes, and change to and wake another way of seeing, which everyone has but few use.”88 This other way of seeing, for Plotinus, appears to be more metaphorical than in earlier authors, largely due to his complicated theory of bodily visual perception. Since bodily visual perception does not occur through touch, but rather though sympatheia and color, there is not a parallel process for mental visual perception. Still, Plotinus relies heavily on the metaphor of vision to describe the relationship between the human and the divine. When one awakens this inner sight, one can train her soul to look at the beautiful ways of life, then to beautiful acts, then to beautiful souls. Plotinus encourages his readers to turn inward, toward one’s own soul. If it is not already beautiful, then one must carve it as one would carve a statue: just as someone making a statue which has to be beautiful cuts away here and polishes there and makes one part smooth and clears another till he has given his statue a beautiful face, so you too must cut away excess and straighten the crooked and clear the dark and make it bright, and never stop “working on your statue” till the divine glory of virtue shines out on you.89

When a person succeeds in this, she will become transformed into sight itself (ἴδοις) and then will gain the ability to concentrate her gaze and see (ἀτενίσας ἴδε) the great beauty. One must purify the mirror, carving away at the statue, before attempting to see, however. Plotinus explains that those who are bleary-​eyed (λημῶν) with wickedness will see nothing, even if someone tries to show what is possible to see. Instead, Plotinus writes, “For one must come to the sight with a seeing power made akin and like to what is seen. No eye ever saw the sun without becoming sun-​like, nor can a soul see beauty without becoming beautiful. You must become first all godlike and all beautiful if you intend to see God and beauty.”90 This is remarkably similar to Clement’s description of the Divine Ophthalmologist, though transformed here from direct non-​ metaphorical vision to indirect and largely metaphorical vision of the divine. A second key difference is that the transformation comes from human hands in Plotinus’ texts, but it came from divine sight in Clement’s.



88 Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.8.26–​28.

89 Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.9.10–​15. 90 Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.9.23–​34.

104  Mirrors of the Divine In Plotinus, when the person succeeds in conforming the inner statue into the sculptor’s vision, then the sculptor and statue become united. Pierre Hadot writes of this, “soon the statue is nothing other than vision itself, and beauty is nothing more than a state of complete simplicity and pure light.”91 As portrayed earlier, Plotinus describes visual perception in terms of a doctrine of συμπάθεια between inner light and external light. When that vision becomes spiritual, there is no longer a distinction between the inner light and outer light, but rather a unity of vision and light.92 Mirrors, in Plotinus as in the rest of the tradition, are never neutral, yet his description develops the metaphor in several ways. Mirrors now serve not only as the location for a glimpse into the other world, but they also function as the very pathway to that world. They are not merely a means of knowledge, but they are also a means of a kind of philosophical transport. Further, the philosopher’s mirror and the mirror of vanity are no longer separate mirrors, but they are now one and the same: the mirror of creation can be the pathway to the divine or it can serve as the trap of Narcissus. This moves the onus of morality away from the type of mirror itself and onto the person using that mirror. Whether later authors read Plotinus directly or merely picked up the metaphor indirectly, one thing becomes clear: the mirror of creation becomes the primary metaphor for vision and knowledge of the divine.

Conclusion As this chapter demonstrates, the philosophical, mythological, and scriptural writings of mirrors are incredibly diverse in their application, but they all converge around one central point: mirrors are never neutral objects. Mirrors in intromission are largely positive objects, offering real and true knowledge, and they are often linked to revealing hidden knowledge. Mirrors in extramission, however, are largely negative objects, distorting the image and hindering knowledge. Similarly, mythological mirrors may reveal knowledge of other worlds, or they might offer knowledge of the self for self-​improvement. Or, conversely, mirrors may function as a deception or a trap, luring one into sexual acts or even into death. Biblical mirrors reflect the inner purity or sinfulness of the person; they also reveal knowledge of

91 Hadot, Plotinus or the Simplicity of Vision, 21. 92 Hadot, Plotinus or the Simplicity of Vision, 62.

“Through a Mirror”  105 the divine, transform the viewer, and lead to praxis. In Plotinus, these dual strands come together in the single metaphorical mirror of creation, which simultaneously serves as the location for self-​improvement and the path to the divine or as a means of corruption and death. The next two chapters will pick up this trajectory with two authors in this same metaphorical tradition, yet they will draw from competing strands to describe seeing God through a mirror, darkly in contrasting ways.

5 Gregory of Nyssa Perpetual Perception

Since, then, her purified eye has received the imprint of the dove, she is also capable of beholding the beauty of the Bridegroom.1

Introduction Gregory of Nyssa (c. 335–​395 CE) was born in Cappadocia to a large, wealthy, Christian family. Educated by his family, Gregory displays great knowledge of classical literature, rhetoric, philosophy, and medicine, each of which he weaves throughout his theological and mystical writings.2 Of these many writings, his In Canticum Canticorum (Homilies on the Song of Songs) written near the end of his life, represents the culmination of his teachings.3 This text allegorically interprets the Song of Songs as the love between God and humanity and offers a rich collection of metaphors to illustrate the love and desire that draw the human to the divine.4 Within this collection of metaphors, I argue that the one that best illustrates Gregory’s depiction of the mystical ascent and union with God is that of visual perception in general, and the mirror more specifically, following Gregory’s interpretation of 1 Corinthians 13:12, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.”5 1 Cant 4. English translations and Greek text are from Gregory of Nyssa: Homilies on the Song of Songs, trans. Richard A. Norris, Writings from the Greco-​Roman World 13 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013), 117. 2 For more, see Pierre Maraval, “Biography,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-​Seco and Giulio Maspero (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 103–​16. 3 For more on the date and the setting of the work, see J. B. Cahill, “The Date and Setting of Gregory of Nyssa’s Commentary on the Song of Songs,” The Journal of Theological Studies 32, no. 2 (1981): 447–​60. 4 See also Richard A. Norris, “Introduction,” in Gregory of Nyssa: Homilies on the Song of Songs, trans. Richard A. Norris, Writings from the Greco-​Roman World 13 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013), xxxvii–​xxxviii. 5 1 Corinthians 13:12a, NRSV.

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0006

Gregory of Nyssa  107 It is precisely vision’s subjectivity that allows it to become the prime metaphor for human mutability, and it is the enigmatic nature of this Pauline mirror that points to divine incomprehensibility, both of which merge to offer a foundation for Gregory’s doctrine of perpetual progress. I focus my analysis on these visual metaphors to show the ways that Gregory breaks from Greek tradition to describe the shared relationship between human and divine through the synergy of sight. In doing so, Gregory breaks from the other authors of this project to reimagine vision’s subjectivity, along with human mutability, as the very foundation for growth and progress. Gregory is well known for his use of oxymoronic language throughout his writings, such as his common descriptions of sober drunkenness or luminous darkness. These phrases, along with his paradoxical assertions that one sees God by not seeing, are typically attributed to his apophatic ascent that begins with descriptions of letting go before culminating in oxymorons.6 Such language points to the incomprehensibility of God and language’s inability to capture that mystery. Yet, despite this incomprehensibility, Gregory proposes that the individual can make perpetual progress on the mystical ascent to God. I argue here that Gregory’s use of the mirror as a metaphor for the relationship between the human and the divine functions within this framework of paradox to reveal the enigmatic nature of the mirrored vision of God. In doing so, Gregory draws from the visual theories of the atomists to describe the active role of the divine and the receptive and transformative aspect of human nature. Yet he merges these receptive and transformative features with the active nature of the human through a kind of synergy, like that found in the Stoic theory of vision. Gregory combines these theories, like his oxymorons, in such a way that surprises his readers and constructs new meaning to provide an alternative to the Platonic Greek tradition. He reinterprets vision’s subjectivity to point to a new understanding of human mutability, no longer as a flaw of humanity, but now as the very basis for progress. He merges this new understanding of visual subjectivity with a similarly unique understanding of the enigmatic mirror, which now allows for progress into the divine incomprehensibility. Gregory reimagines what it means to “see God through a mirror, darkly” by offering novel interpretations of both sight and of enigmatic mirrors, tying together both his theological anthropology and his mystical theology.7 6 GNO VII/​I, 87, 7–​13. See also Martin Laird, “Darkness,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Giulio Maspero (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 203–​5, 203. 7 1 Corinthians 13:12.

108  Mirrors of the Divine Following the pattern of 1 Corinthians 13:12, I have similarly structured this chapter around sight and mirrors. In the first part, I focus on Gregory’s depiction of sight, starting with the contemporary debates about his use of spiritual senses before transitioning to Gregory’s own depiction of the physical senses more broadly and finally moving to his portrayal of visual perception in particular. I show that Gregory mimics a theory of atomism, which highlights the reception and transformation of the viewer, but he merges that with a version of the Stoic theory that emphasizes the agency of the viewer. By merging a receptive atomist theory with an active Stoic theory, Gregory highlights the synergy of vision. In the second part of the chapter, I explore his depiction of enigmatic mirrors to show that these same atomist and Stoic theories provide points of departure from the Platonic tradition of incomprehensibility of the divine. The atomist theory suggests the partial nature of the enigma, while the Stoic theory allows for the possibility for perpetual progress. Finally, I return to Gregory’s depiction of the viewer to examine the transformation of this viewer, from gaining the ability to see the beauty of God, to beaming that beauty to others, and finally to becoming artists of one’s own Image. In the end, I argue that Gregory’s use of the mirror metaphor draws together the physical and the spiritual to ground his mystical ascent in an embodied understanding of the human. This understanding is founded on a reimagination of human mutability, vision’s subjectivity, and enigmatic mirrors, all of which merge to portray human difference not as a flaw or a hindrance, but as the very possibility for progress on the mystical ascent.

Now We See Through Senses and Sight In his writing about the quest for the vision of God, Gregory alternates between references to the eyes of the body and the eyes of the soul, explaining that there is “a certain analogy between the sense organs of the body and the operations of the soul,”8 and that spiritual eyes function “after a likeness of our bodily eyes.”9 This has led to an analysis of what scholars refer to as the spiritual senses in Gregory, popularized by French patristic scholar Jean Daniélou in his famous wartime monograph Platonisme et théologie

8 Cant 1, 35–​37. 9 Cant 7, 229.

Gregory of Nyssa  109 mystique.10 More recently, Sarah Coakley has offered a reconsideration of the concept of spiritual senses in Gregory, suggesting a corrective to the tradition set by Daniélou.11 She asserts that Daniélou created a false modern dichotomy between spirituality and epistemology: it is a modern reading which has rent philosophy (in this case, epistemology) and “spirituality” apart in Gregory, by a one-​sided emphasis on what Daniélou calls “the spiritual life” (“la vie spirituelle”) and “mystical experience” (“l’expérience mystique”), and this leads to a partial and misleading reading of Gregory on the theme of spiritual sensation.12

In short, she argues that Daniélou has problematically divorced the spiritual senses from their physical counterparts. Rather than divorcing the spiritual from the physical, Coakley analyzes Gregory’s writing on the spiritual senses and finds a development in his thought that trends toward placing greater value on the body, which culminates in viewing the senses as “the precious and indispensable bridge between soul and body.”13 As such, she calls for a reexamination of Gregory’s writing on the spiritual senses that brings together his spirituality and his epistemology. Where Coakley begins her analysis with the spiritual senses, Susan Wessel, on the other hand, begins her analysis from the opposite pole: with the physical senses. Wessel has offered a detailed analysis of the Greek science in Gregory’s De hominis opificio, and she suggests that Gregory’s theory of sensory perception remains undeveloped, but that “he worked assiduously to carve out a middle position between the Platonism that he knew from reading Plotinus and Origen, and the materialism that he acquired from his acquaintance with Galen and the medical writers.”14 She suggests that Gregory’s depiction of the mind’s activity in sensation echoes that of Stoic thought, and particularly that of Galen’s reception of the theory and his emphasis on the centrality of the brain.15 10 J. Daniélou, Platonisme et théologie mystique: Essai sur la doctrine spirituelle de saint Grégoire de Nysse (Paris: Aubier, 1944; 2nd ed., 1953). 11 Sarah Coakley, “Gregory of Nyssa,” in The Spiritual Senses: Perceiving God in Western Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 36–​55. This interpretive tradition flows through J. Daniélou and H. Musurillo (eds.), From Glory to Glory: Texts from Gregory of Nyssa’s Mystical Writings (New York: Scribner, 1961), Introduction, 3–​78; and A. Louth, Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition from Plato to Denys (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 91–​94. 12 Coakley, “Gregory of Nyssa,” 37. 13 Coakley, “Gregory of Nyssa,” 49. 14 Susan Wessel, “The Reception of Greek Science in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Hominis Opificio,” Vigiliae Christianae 63, no. 1 (January 1, 2009): 26. 15 Wessel, “The Reception of Greek Science in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Hominis Opificio,” 30.

110  Mirrors of the Divine Perhaps the most salient feature of Wessel’s analysis is her description of the role of the senses in human rationality, stemming from Gregory’s portrayal that the senses are not merely tools for acquiring knowledge, but that they are also tools for expressing that knowledge through speech. Referring to the senses as the body’s instrument, Gregory writes: “The operation of the instrument, however, is twofold; one for the production of sound, the other for the reception of concepts from without.”16 In other words, the rational mind, in some sense, depends upon the body both to receive the information through the sensory organs and then to express that knowledge through speech. In this way, the body, and particularly the sensory organs, can be seen as the very means by which the human is rendered a rational being.17 Not only do the senses render the human rational, but this human rationality is also “an image of the perfect rationality of the incorporeal, intelligible mind of the deity.”18 In Wessel’s analysis, then, the senses play a crucial role in Gregory’s understanding of humanity and of the Image of God.19 I agree with both Coakley’s and Wessel’s analyses, and I situate my own work as a kind of bridge between the two. Like Wessel, I begin my analysis with Gregory’s writing on physical senses; and, like Coakley, I argue that the physical and the spiritual must be read together in Gregory’s corpus. Gregory’s writing on sensory perception reveals aspects of his theological anthropology, particularly one’s agency and identity in the world, but it also reveals elements of his mystical theology, particularly one’s agency and ability to progress in the mystical ascent to God. In this dual role, the senses ground Gregory’s mystical theology in an embodied understanding of human mutability, captured by vision’s subjectivity.

16 Gregory of Nyssa, Op hom 10.2 (PG 44:125–​256, 152c); translations are drawn from Philip Schaff, ed. NPNF 5 (repr. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1954), 395. Anthony Meredith writes, “The dependence of the mind upon sense for perception and for self-​expression may also be gathered from [Op hom] 9 and 10 . . . Even so, Gregory insists in ­chapter 11 [of Op hom] despite the mind’s need for senses as the means of knowledge and the vehicle of expression, it is not identical with them, stands in judgment upon them and is itself in the image of God (156a).” Anthony Meredith, “The Concept of Mind in Gregory of Nyssa and the Neoplatonists,” Studia patristica 22, ed. E A. Livingstone (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 35–​51, at 44. 17 See Wessel, “The Reception of Greek Science in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Hominis Opificio,” 42–​43. 18 Wessel adds the caveat, “That the human mind shared this capacity to apprehend with the infinitely greater capacity of the divine rationality did not suggest, however, that Gregory conceived of the mode of divine reasoning as analogous to human reasoning.” Wessel, “The Reception of Greek Science in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Hominis Opificio,” 32. 19 This is not to suggest that Gregory identifies the Image of God solely in rationality, but merely that rationality plays a role in that Image as a reflection of the divine rationality.

Gregory of Nyssa  111 The clearest place in which Gregory describes his understanding of vision is found in the fourth homily of his Homilies on the Song of Songs where Gregory addresses the praise of the Bride’s eyes, which are likened to doves:20 We see faces in the clear pupils of eyes that are focused on someone (for people who can give the scientific explanations of such things say that the eye activates its vision by receiving the impressions of the images [τῶν εἰδώλων ἐμπτώσεις] given off by visible bodies), and for this reason it becomes a commendation of the eyes’ form that the shape of a dove shows in their pupils. For people receive in themselves the likeness of whatever they gaze upon intently.21

Gregory here references the scientific explanations of vision, though he does not name those scientists or theories.22 He does, however, offer us a clue through his reference to receiving the impressions of images (τῶν εἰδώλων ἐμπτώσεις), a common phrase used by or about the atomists. It is used both by Alexander of Aphrodisias23 and by Euclid to denounce atomism,24 and it is also used by Democritus and Epicurus to promote atomism.25 Thus, while 20 See Song 4:1. 21 Cant 4, 117. 22 H. Langerbeck (GNO VI 104f. ad loc.) suggests that the source is Theophrastus, who is refuting Democritus’ theory in De sensu 52–​53 (ed. G. M. Stratton, Theophrastus and the Greek Physiological Psychology before Aristotle [London, 1917], 110–​12). F. Dünzl (FC 16/​1, 254f., note 10 ad loc.) likewise suggests Alexander of Aphrodisias, In De sensu 2 (CAG 3/​1, 24,14–​22). Lenka Karfíková suggests that the passage echoes Aristotle’s imprint of images (though Aristotle’s theory requires no touch, as it does in Gregory), but she acknowledges that the terminology itself echoes that of the atomists. Lenka Karfíkova, “The Metaphor of the Mirror in Platonic Tradition and Gregory’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” in Gregory of Nyssa: In Canticum Canticorum. Analytical and Supporting Studies, ed. Giulio Maspero, Miguel Brugarolas, and Ilaria Vigorelli, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 150 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 279–​80. 23 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De anima libri mantissa, 134, line 28. Πρὸς τοὺς διὰ τῆς τῶν εἰδώλων ἐμπτώσεως τὸ ὁρᾶν λέγοντας γίνεσθαι (emphasis my own). Against those who say that seeing comes about through the entry of images. 24 Euclid, Opticorum recensio Theonis, 148–​50: εἰ ἦν κατ’ εἰδώλων ἔμπτωσιν τὸ ὁρατικὸν πάθος, καὶ ἀπὸ παντὸς σώματος διηνεκῶς εἴδωλα ἀπέρρεεν, ἃ κινεῖ ἡμῶν τὴν αἴσθησιν, τίς ἡ αἰτία γίγνεται, δι’ ἣν οὐχ ὁρᾷ ὅ τε ζητῶν τὴν βελόνην καὶ ὁ τῷ βιβλίῳ ἀτενίζων πάντα τὰ γράμματα; πότερόν ποτε διὰ τὸ μετεωρίζεσθαι τῇ διανοίᾳ; ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν ἧττον ἐπιλογιζόμενοι ζητοῦσι καὶ ὁλοσχερῶς οὐχ εὑρίσκουσι, πολλάκις δὲ ὁμιλοῦντες ἑτέροις καὶ περισπώμενοι τῇ διανοίᾳ εὑρίσκουσι θᾶττον. English translation: If the act of seeing were caused by the emission of images—​and from all bodies images were being emitted perpetually, which would excite our sense of vision—​how is that he who searches for a needle, or peruses a page of a book, does not see all of a sudden the needle or all the letters? Is it perhaps because he is not concentrating? No, since while someone searching carefully may not find a thing at once, often others, while talking, and therefore not concentrating on the task at hand, find the object more quickly (Translated in Vasco Ronchi, The Nature of Light: An Historical Survey (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970), 16). 25 Democritus, Testimonia. Fragment 1, line 105. The same quote is also found in Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum 9.4.44: ὁρᾶν δ’ ἡμᾶς κατ’ εἰδώλων ἐμπτώσεις. English translation my own: We see by virtue of the impact of images upon our eyes. Epicurus, Gnomologium Vaticanum

112  Mirrors of the Divine it is not entirely clear which atomist Gregory intends, it is at least clear that he is referencing the atomist perspective.26 Atomism rests upon the assumption that the world is made up of atoms and void, and objects emit tiny particles that fly from an object to a viewer, entering the eye.27 Key for this theory is the understanding that it is actual particles from objects that enter the eyes, not some secondary or intermediate image that is formed. Visual knowledge, according to the atomist perspective, is direct and unmediated from object to eye, and this direct contact has another crucial element: it impacts and transforms the viewer. In the atomist theories, the viewer is literally filled by particles from what is seen, which is the explanation behind why, for example, looking at the sun burns one’s eyes: the eyes are being filled with literal burning sun particles.28 Indeed, Gregory not only references the atomist terminology, but he also describes this resultant transformation: “for since the images of all visible things, when they make contact with a pure pupil [of the eye], bring about vision, it is necessary that one assume the form of that toward which one looks, receiving through the eye, in the fashion of a mirror, the form of the visible thing.”29 Atomism provides a scientific explanation for Gregory to link sight to direct transformative knowledge of God. The metaphorical dove in the Bride’s eye is proof that she has received divine particles and been transformed by them. Yet Gregory also departs from the typical atomist theory in one crucial way: the atomist transformation is fairly automatic, with little to no participation from the viewer, yet Gregory offers significantly more agency to his viewer. He links the transformation of the viewer directly to the viewer’s choice: “Since, then, our choice is so constituted that we are disposed to take on the shape of whatever we want.”30 Gregory’s transformation is not purely a passive automatic transformation, as in atomism, nor is it a purely active transformation caused solely by the viewer. Rather, this transformation requires a kind of teamwork from both a viewer’s choice and from an object of sight:

Epicureum. Fragment 24: Ἐνύπνια οὐκ ἔλαχε φύσιν θείαν οὐδὲ μαντικὴν δύναμιν, ἀλλὰ γίνεται κατὰ ἔμπτωσιν εἰδώλων. Translation my own: Dreams have neither a divine nature nor a prophetic power; but instead they come from the impact of images.

26 For more on the varieties of atomism, see Chapter 1. 27 Ep. Hdt. §49. Epicurus: The Extant Remains, 28. 28 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.324–​37. 29 Cant 7, 229–​31. 30 Cant 4, 115.

Gregory of Nyssa  113 For in that it is transformed in accordance with the reflections of its choices, the human person is rightly likened to a mirror. If it looks upon gold, gold it appears, and by way of reflection it gives off the beams of that substance; and if it has the look of some hateful thing, it is imitating that ugliness through a likeness, playing, in its own appearance, the part of a frog or a toad or a millipede or some other unpleasant sight—​whichever of them it reflects.31

It is here, in this union of viewer and object, that I see the greatest connection between Gregory’s theory of sight and that of the Stoics. While Gregory does echo Galen and the role of the brain, he does not echo the broader theory of a psychic pneuma, a rod-​liked cone, or an activated medium. However, he does echo, in some sense, the synergistic component of the Stoic theory. When describing the physics of perception, most theories portray either a largely active viewer who sends forth rays to passive objects or a largely passive viewer who awaits and receives images from objects. The Stoic theory, however, locates this active nature not fully on the object or the viewer, but rather on an activated medium instead.32 According to Chrysippus, the pneuma flows from the eye to prick the air, activating it and causing the air to form a cone with its tip at the eye, and its base on the visible object, and this cone transmits an image of the object back to the viewer.33 This proposal of an activated medium, however, has proven tricky for later interpreters. Some authors, such as Tertullian, focus on the initiation of the viewer, portraying this theory more like a kind of pneumatic version of the visual ray theory. Other authors, such as Augustine, focus instead on the aspect of the theory that proposes a receptive viewer who receives and forms images of objects. Both are, in some sense, correct in the aspects they have highlighted, but both are also incomplete, engaging with only half the theory. While Gregory echoes neither the pneumatic cone nor the activated medium of the Stoic theory, he nevertheless captures the combined effort by emphasizing the active component of both the viewer and the object seen. This can be seen in the way that Gregory sometimes refers to the body receiving images through the senses34 and other times describes the mind

31 Cant 4, 115. 32 Philip Thibodeau, “Ancient Optics: Theories and Problems of Vision,” in A Companion to Science, Technology, and Medicine in Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. Georgia L. Irby, vol. 1, 2 vols. (Oxford: John Wiley & Sons, 2016), 136. 33 According to Alexander Aphrodisias in SVF II 864. 34 Op hom 9, PG 44, 152 c/​d.

114  Mirrors of the Divine reaching through each sensory organ to grasp the things beyond.35 The Stoic theory affirms, in some ways, that both are true, and it also helps to capture the synergy of the choice-​filled transformation of Gregory’s viewer. In Gregory’s depiction, the viewer is transformed by what is seen, but the viewer also chooses where to look. This choice is intimately tied to the ability to change, to the mutability of humans. Prior to Gregory, human mutability had been deemed a flaw of human nature.36 Contrasted with the perfect immutability of God, human mutability was a sign of decay and sin. Yet this changeable nature that was previously portrayed as a flaw of humanity now becomes Gregory’s greatest ally.37 It is mutability that signals the soul’s agency and control, and it is mutability that points to the very possibility of growth. The soul can choose to be transformed into a frog or toad, but it can also choose to be transformed into the image of God, with the dove reflected in the Bride’s eyes as proof that she has chosen to gaze upon the divine.38 In Gregory’s writings, mutability truly is the human ally, allowing one to take an active role in one’s life and in one’s transformation, and it will become the very basis for progress on his mystical ascent. It is vision’s subjectivity that best captures this mutability, and the notion that we all see differently, in Gregory’s texts, becomes no cause for alarm, but rather a sentiment to celebrate. Rather than listing a defense of optical illusions, as do Tertullian and Augustine, Gregory instead embraces the mirror as the central metaphor to capture human mutability and vision’s subjectivity, for what is a mirror except an image that can change. Using this changeable mirror to describe the soul, Gregory raises up human mutability as the foundation of progress on the mystical ascent.

Now We See Through Mirrors and Enigmas The mutable mirror of the soul is Gregory’s primary metaphor for his vision of God, and this stems from a particular interpretation of 1 Corinthians 13:12, 35 Wessel notes of Gregory, “Perception took place when an object had been drawn to the mind (through psychic pneuma), had made an image in the wax-​like substance (of the sense organs), and then had been apprehended by the mind so as to sub scribe to its accuracy.” Wessel, “The Reception of Greek Science in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Hominis Opificio,” 30. 36 See, for example, Norris, “Introduction.” 37 See, for instance, Cant 8, 265. 38 Cant 4, 117. “For this reason it becomes a commendation of the eyes’ form that the shape of a dove shows in their pupils. For people receive in themselves the likeness of whatever they gaze upon intently.”

Gregory of Nyssa  115 “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.”39 Gregory identifies the soul as the location for the enigmatic mirrored vision of God, and he draws from various schools of philosophy to offer a unique interpretation of that enigmatic mirror. Gregory’s Platonic backdrop points to divine incomprehensibility, but it is the visual theories of atomism and Stoicism that offer moments of rupture from this tradition. Aspects of the atomist theories serve to redefine that incomprehensibility to partial or incomplete knowledge, while features of the Stoic theory offer a foundation for perpetual progress into that knowledge. Together, these theories merge to offer a reinterpretation of divine incomprehensibility that allows for human progress on the mystical ascent.40 To explain why one cannot look directly upon the face of God, Gregory uses the sun as a metaphor, explaining that the sun’s rays are too bright and must be shaded by the eyelashes to protect the eyes.41 In the same way, Gregory explains that the radiance of the divine must also be shaded. He notes that this divine radiance was first moderated by Jesus’ body during his life,42 and it is now mediated through the mirror found within: “he does not have it in him to look intently upon the divine Word itself any more than upon the disc of the sun. Nevertheless, he sees the sun within himself as in a mirror.”43 This mirrored image of God, however, is not only mediated or shaded, but it is also dim or enigmatic, and it is Gregory’s unique philosophical interpretation of the enigmatic nature of this mirror that allows him to break from Greek tradition to offer a foundation for spiritual progress. Gregory’s association with Neoplatonism is well-​studied, and it is in this vein that Lenka Karfíková has traced the similarities and differences that she finds between Gregory’s use of the metaphorical mirror and that of Plato and Plotinus.44 However, after a detailed exploration of mirror references in both Plato and in Plotinus, she finds only a few thematic similarities between

39 1 Corinthians 13:12, NRSV. 40 David Bentley Hart convincingly argues that Gregory’s argument for human possibility for mirroring God is founded on his Trinitarian theology: “We can mirror the infinite because the infinite, within itself, is entirely mirroring of itself.” David Bentley Hart, “The Mirror of the Infinite: Gregory of Nyssa on the Vestigia Trinitatis,” Modern Theology 18, no. 4 (October 2002): 541–​ 61, 552. 41 Infant 1, GNO 68.11. 42 Cant 4, 119. 43 Cant 3, 101. 44 Karfíkova, “The Metaphor of the Mirror in Platonic Tradition and Gregory’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” 265–​87.

116  Mirrors of the Divine Gregory’s mirror and the Platonic and Neoplatonic mirrors, suggesting that while Gregory echoes the Platonic mirroring of a face in the pupil of an eye, he does not likewise echo the deeper theme of knowing oneself in the eye of another.45 Indeed, even Gregory’s reference to this face found in the pupil of the eye might not be Platonic, as the atomists also describe a pupillary image of seeing one’s image reflecting on another’s eye.46 Karfíková also connects Gregory’s mirror to the Plotinian theme of a soul that can turn upward to the Intellect or downward to matter;47 yet Plotinus does not, as Gregory does, refer to this soul as a mirror.48 Karfíková suggests that though Gregory certainly echoes a few of the Platonic and Neoplatonic motifs, he tends to use the metaphor of a mirror to make his own unique points, which she identifies as the ontological dependence of the soul’s beauty upon God, the distance between the soul and God, the incomprehensibility of the divine, and the free choice of the soul in where to direct the mirror.49 I agree with Karfíkova’s findings that Gregory’s mirror shares little detail in common with the Platonic mirror. In fact, Gregory nowhere affirms a Platonic theory of visual perception, so a Platonic mirror would be at odds in his otherwise atomist-​Stoic visual account. Yet, as Karfíkova helpfully points out, both Plato and Plotinus provide much of the background against which Gregory situates his own position. Indeed, it is through these intersecting traditions of Plato, Plotinus, and Paul that Gregory identifies the mirror as providing knowledge of God. Even more significantly, however, the enigmatic nature of that mirror echoes a Platonic emphasis on the incomprehensibility of God.50 Gregory weaves these traditions together in Homily 3 to explain that the divine Nature transcends the mind such that any thought of 45 Alcibiades I 132d–​ 133c. Karfíkova links this text to the Platonic tradition, though she acknowledges that the author may not have been Plato. Karfíkova, “The Metaphor of the Mirror in Platonic Tradition and Gregory’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” 272. 46 Democritus’ theory of the pupillary image is founded on the observation that if one closely examines another person’s eye, one can see an image reflected on that eye, though he locates this image in the air rather than on the surface of the eye itself. For more on this so-​called air imprint, see Walter Burkert, “Air-​Imprints or Eidola: Democritus’ Aetiology of Vision,” Illinois Classical Studies, no. 2 (1977): 97–​109. 47 Karfíkova, “The Metaphor of the Mirror in Platonic Tradition and Gregory’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” 275. 48 He refers to the world as a mirror of the divine in Plotinus, Enneads, III.6.7.17–​27. Karfíkova, “The Metaphor of the Mirror in Platonic Tradition and Gregory’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” 274. 49 Karfíkova, “The Metaphor of the Mirror in Platonic Tradition and Gregory’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” 283–​84. 50 Deirdre Carabine has traced the concept of God as incomprehensible and unknowable from Plato through Philo of Alexandria to Clement and Origen and into Gregory of Nyssa. Deirdre Carabine, “Gregory of Nyssa on the Incomprehensibility of God,” in Relationship between Neoplatonism and Christianity (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1992), 79–​99.

Gregory of Nyssa  117 God is a mere image that cannot capture the divine form: “Rather, it sketches darkly, in a mirror and in an enigma, a reflection of what we seek that comes to birth in our souls on the basis of some conjecture.”51 Gregory merges traditions to reinterpret the mirror and enigma of Paul’s verse to point to the incomprehensibility of God. And yet, as steeped as he was in the Neoplatonic tradition, Gregory also departs from that tradition on a very crucial and related point: he does not view this incomprehensibility as a hindrance, but rather as the very basis for human progress.52 In other words, this enigmatic incomprehensibility of the mirror is not some unbridgeable divide between God and humanity, but rather it is the very basis for the journey toward human perfection and participation in the divine. This departure from his philosophical forbears is, arguably, one of Gregory’s most significant contributions, and it is his Stoic-​ atomistic theories of visual perception that offer him the very means of this rupture. Indeed, while the Platonic theme of the incomprehensibility of God may underlie Gregory’s enigmatic mirror, it is the theories that he uses to describe visual perception that reveal the ways that Gregory envisions this enigmatic mirror to function. Karfíkova suggests that Gregory’s theory of visual perception seems to be added “in a slightly inorganic way” to a more Platonic or Plotinian development of the mirror motif.53 While I agree that his theory of visual perception would be an inorganic addition to an otherwise Platonic or Neoplatonic system, I argue that instead, these theories of visual perception offer Gregory precisely his justification for his rupture from those traditions. The atomist theory will point to a more positive view of the enigma as partial, yet real, while the Stoic theory will point to the progress one can have on the mystical ascent. Together, these theories enable Gregory to reimagine mutability not as a flaw, but as the very basis for progress on the mystical ascent. As described above, Gregory depicts an atomist-​Stoic blend of visual perception to describe spiritual sight, and he applies the same theories to the nature of his metaphorical mirror. I begin first with the atomist theories, which describe particles flying from objects into the viewers’ eyes, transforming the

51 Cant 3, 97. 52 Richard Norris notes in the introduction to his translation of Gregory’s Homilies: “He does not share the Platonist distaste for that which is unlimited and therefore indefinable. . . . Hence he does not perceive mutability or finitude simply as the source of evil.” Norris, “Introduction,” xxxvii–​xxxviii. 53 Karfíkova, “The Metaphor of the Mirror in Platonic Tradition and Gregory’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” 279.

118  Mirrors of the Divine viewers in the process. When applied to mirrors, the transformative element remains, but with an added emphasis on distance. For Gregory, the mirrored vision of God is simultaneously distant, yet revealed. Because humanity cannot look directly upon the light of God, it is filtered both through Christ and through the mirror of the soul.54 Miguel Brugarolas writes, “The understanding of Christ as Mediator is the axis on which two of Gregory’s essential affirmations turn: the transcendence of God and his absolute distance with respect to creatures; and the possibility of a true knowledge of God and an authentic contact, or ‘union,’ of man with God.”55 I argue that this same axis of distance and possibility of true knowledge applies not only to the mediating Christ but also to Gregory’s depiction of the mediating mirror: If a person . . . should become perfect in all respects, he does not have it in him to look intently upon the divine Word itself any more than upon the disc of the sun. Nevertheless, he sees the sun within himself as in a mirror. For the rays of that true and divine Virtue shine upon the purified life through the inward peace that flows from them, and they make the Invisible visible for us and the Incomprehensible comprehensible, because they portray the Sun in the mirror that we are.56

Gregory shows here that though no one, even a potentially perfect individual, can gaze directly upon God, the mirror of the self serves to mediate the Image of God. Like the axis Brugarolas applies to Christ, this mirrored image holds together the tension of the transcendence and absolute distance of God with the revealed contact of God and true knowledge available in this life. This mirrored Image serves to make the Invisible visible and the Incomprehensible comprehensible. The atomists’ theories of mirrors reflect these same themes of distant yet revealed knowledge found in Lucretius’ account of mirrors in his De Rerum Natura, where he explains that particles that fly from objects can pass through clear items, such as glass and water, but they will break when they strike 54 Cant 4, 119. 55 Miguel Brugarolas, “The Incarnate Logos: Gregory of Nyssa’s In Canticum Canticorum Christological Core,” in Gregory of Nyssa: In Canticum Canticorum. Analytical and Supporting Studies. Proceedings of the 13th International Colloquium on Gregory of Nyssa (Rome, September 17–​20, 2014), ed. Giulio Maspero, Miguel Brugarolas, and Ilaria Vigorelli, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 150 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 200–​232, 208. 56 Cant 3, 101.

Gregory of Nyssa  119 rough surfaces such as solid wood.57 A mirror, however, is neither clear nor rough, so its smooth surface allows the particles to bounce back toward the eyes.58 Ancient mirrors were typically polished metal, which provided dim or distorted images,59 and the atomists’ explanation for such distortions were simple: no mirror is perfectly polished, so some particles will hit rough spots, breaking as they would against wood.60 In addressing why mirrored images appear shrunken, as if withdrawn and seen through a doorway, Lucretius explains this diminution by focusing on the distance: particles from objects must pass through two stretches of air to reach the eye, one from the object to the mirror, and another from the mirror to the eye.61 Though objects seen in mirrors may be far away, mirrors can help bring hidden objects to light, by a “long tortuous passage” of a series of mirrors.62 In his explanation, the particles of hidden objects will be flung back by each successive mirror until eventually reaching the viewer, so an object can be distant and hidden, yet also revealed through the series of mirrors. The object’s image is mediated through the mirror, yet the particles are still real particles from the original object. Likewise, Gregory’s mirror of the self serves to bring the distant Image of God near, revealing a God who would otherwise be hidden and passing on real, divine, transformative particles. A key difference between the atomist theories of mirrors and a Platonic theory of mirrors is the nature of mirrored distortions, or the enigmatic nature of mirrors. In the Platonic theory, mirrored distortions were blamed on the nature of reflection, which required visual rays to break, so such distortions would be considered inherent and insurmountable, such that a Platonic enigmatic mirror would never provide clear knowledge. In the atomist theories, however, any distortion is blamed not on the nature of reflection, but on the imperfections on the surface of the mirror, creating two insights into the atomists’ enigmatic mirrors. First, the mirrored image may be dim or distorted, but it still passes real particles of the original object to the viewer, so the image is trustworthy, albeit incomplete. Second, because the distortions are caused by imperfections on the surface of the mirror, one can polish the mirror to improve the clarity of the image. The atomists’ enigma, 57 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.145–​60. 58 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.145–​60. 59 Willard McCarty, “The Shape of the Mirror: Metaphorical Catoptrics in Classical Literature,” Arethusa, 22, no. 2 (1989): 161–​95, 167. 60 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.145–​60. 61 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.269–​323. 62 Lucr., Rer. nat. 4.269–​323.

120  Mirrors of the Divine then, is not an insurmountable divide, but rather an invitation for the viewer to participate in making the image clearer through polishing the mirrored surface. Like the atomists’ theories, Gregory makes clear that one can metaphorically polish the mirror: “By their agency souls that have been purified are prepared for the reception of the divine.”63 This purifying occurs through ascetic practices to polish and remove the “haze of vice” and the “haze of passion” by many pools of water: “One such wellspring of purifying waters is temperance; others are humility, truth and justice, and courage, and desire for the good, and alienation from evil.”64 Indeed, Gregory finds it significant that the eyes are praised as a pair, rather than singly, in order to include “the phenomenal as well as the noumenal.”65 It is not merely the internal spiritual eye that is praised but also the eye “outside your veil.”66 For Gregory, the vision of God is not merely a spiritual vision, but it requires an embodied component as well, his prescription for visual piety. The ability to polish the surface of the mirror to clarify the enigma suggests a rupture from Plato’s depiction of God as incomprehensible, with the atomists’ description of mirrors as the foundation. The incomprehensibility of Gregory’s enigmatic mirror is not a strict absence of knowledge; rather, it points to the partial nature of that knowledge. Indeed, Gregory repeatedly emphasizes the partial nature of this knowledge, “Now by door we signify that intuitive understanding of things inexpressible through which the object of our search is brought into our home. So it is that Truth, which stands outside of our nature because our knowledge is ‘partial,’ as the apostle says (cf. 1 Cor 13:9), knocks at the door of our understanding by way of certain hints and enigmas.”67 As in the atomists’ theories of vision, in which particles fly from objects to the viewer, this divine truth comes to humanity rather than humanity reaching out to grasp it. While the finite nature of humanity cannot possibly take in the infinite nature of divinity, Gregory affirms that humanity admits “only as much as the eye is capable of taking in.”68 While humanity cannot receive the infinite torrent or deluge of divine knowledge, Gregory affirms that humanity can grasp the drizzle of Truth that comes through these mirrors.69 Referencing

63 Cant 3, 79.

64 Cant 13, 417. 65 Cant 7, 229. 66 Cant 7, 229.

67 Cant 11, 343. 68 Cant 8, 259.

69 Cant 11, 345.

Gregory of Nyssa  121 Matthew 5:8, Gregory writes, “For according to the Master’s true statement, the person who is pure in heart sees God (cf. Matt 5:8), ever grasping in the mind as much as he is able to take in, in proportion to his capacity. Nevertheless, the infinity and incomprehensibility of the Godhead remains beyond all direct apprehension.”70 It is through these atomist theories, then, that the mirror of the soul serves not as some ontological divide, as it does in Augustine, but rather as the very pathway by which one sees, knows, and is literally filled by the divine. As in physical vision, this spiritual mirrored vision is transformative. In Homily 7, Gregory describes the Bridegroom’s praise of the Bride’s eyes as doves, and he interprets that as proof of her transformation: for since the images of all visible things, when they make contact with a pure pupil [of the eye], bring about vision, it is necessary that one assume the form of that toward which one looks, receiving through the eye, in the fashion of a mirror, the form of the visible thing. When therefore one who has received this eyelike authority over the church gazes upon nothing material and corporeal, the spiritual and immaterial life is established within him. Hence the most perfect praise of eyes is that the form of their life is shaped in conformity with the grace of the Holy Spirit, for the Holy Spirit is a dove.71

By gazing upon the divine, one literally receives the particles of the divine and is filled and transformed such that the eyes metaphorically reflect that transformation in the form of a dove. Gregory departs from the Neoplatonic tradition of viewing incomprehensibility as a negative thing, and the atomist theories offer him one justification. Atomist mirrors represent distant yet revealed knowledge in which mirrors bring an image that would otherwise remain hidden. In doing so, the mirrors pass on real particles offering true knowledge. To see God through a mirror in an enigma, from an atomistic understanding, then, is to truly see God in this mediating mirror, yet it is neither direct nor full vision. Rather, it is mediated according to one’s capacity, and it transforms the viewer in the process. This viewer is not passive but can actively polish the surface of the



70 Cant 8, 259.

71 Cant 7, 229–​31.

122  Mirrors of the Divine mirror to form an ever-​clearer picture of the divine, and this active nature is highlighted even more in the Stoic aspect of the mirror. As described above, Gregory’s theory of visual perception is not merely atomist, but it is also merged with a Stoic synergy, emphasizing both the active nature of the object and of the viewer. Unlike atomist and Platonic mirrors, however, not much is written on the physics of mirrors in Stoic thought.72 Rather, Gregory applies the same synergy of Stoic sight to the surface of the mirror of the soul, calling this mirror both life-​endued and choice-​endowed.73 Though it is transformed by receiving divine particles, as in atomism, that receptive nature is merged synergistically with the mirror’s choice: “For in that it is transformed in accordance with the reflections of its choices, the human person is rightly likened to a mirror.”74 Not only can one polish the surface of the mirror, but one also has the agency to turn the mirror toward or away from God. Beyond applying the synergy of sight to the mirror, however, Stoic thought also offers Gregory another avenue of departure from the Neoplatonic tradition as it relates to the enigma and the incomprehensibility of God. The atomist theories of vision point to the real, but partial nature of that enigmatic vision, while the Stoic theory points to the infinite nature of that enigma merged with an active nature of humanity that combines to provide a scientific rationale for Gregory’s theory of epektasis, or perpetual progress. Gregory uses the word epektasis to refer to the soul’s unending ascent toward God that continues into heaven itself, and it is founded on Gregory’s theology of God’s infinitude merged with his theological anthropology of humanity’s capacity for change to suggest that the human can progress perpetually toward the divine. Gregory’s theory of epektasis is central to his mystical theology, in general, and to his homilies on the Song of Songs, in particular. In fact, Giulio Maspero calls epektasis the very hermeneutical key to Gregory’s exegesis of the Song,75 and J. Warren Smith identifies the anthropological implications 72 Seneca discusses the distorting power of mirrors that can be used to magnify body parts during sexual acts (NQ 16.1–​6), but not the physics of how the mirror functions. 73 Cant 14, 467. 74 Emphasis mine. Cant 4, 115. 75 “Thus the epektasis, which springs from the correspondence between the transcendence of God and the unknowability of His nature, is revealed as the true hermeneutic key of the reading of Gregory’s interpretation of the Song, characteristic of his maturity, as is also seen in the definition of perfection contained in De Vita Moysis.” Giulio Maspero, “The In Canticum in Gregory’s Theology: Introduction and Gliederung,” in Gregory of Nyssa: In Canticum Canticorum. Analytical and Supporting Studies, ed. Giulio Maspero, Miguel Brugarolas, and Ilaria Vigorelli, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 150 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 3–​52, 50.

Gregory of Nyssa  123 of epektasis as Gregory’s “central task of his mystagogical analysis of the Song.”76 Not only is epektasis central to Gregory’s thought, but its emphasis on conceiving human perfection not as immobility, but rather as perpetual progress also represents a vast departure from the Greek thought.77 Richard Norris writes of Gregory’s rupture with tradition in the introduction to his translation of the text: He does not share the Platonist distaste for that which is unlimited and therefore indefinable. . . . Hence he does not perceive mutability or finitude simply as the source of evil. He clearly sees—​or wants to see—​human perfection to consist in this unending change in the direction of a Good that has no limit, and this idea is one of the themes that is built into his version of the skopos of the Song.78

Epektasis, so fundamental to Gregory’s mystical theology, is one of Gregory’s most unique contributions to theology; and, while this doctrine does represent a drastic departure from the Neoplatonic tradition, I argue that it is entirely consistent with a Stoic synergy of sight, which merges the active nature of the object seen with the active nature of the viewer. I have already shown how the active nature of the object echoes the atomist theory of vision, but Gregory also attributes a strikingly active role to the nature of the mirror: The same thing comes about with a mirror when—​granted that it is put together with skill and in conformity with its function—​it displays in itself on its clear surface the exact imprint of the face it reflects. In just this way, the soul, when she has put herself together in a way suited to her function and cast off every material defilement, has graven into herself the pure look of the inviolate beauty. Hence the life-​endued and choice-​endowed mirror has this word to say: “Since I focus upon the face of my kinsman with my entire being, the entire beauty of his form is seen in me.”79 76 J. Warren Smith, “Becoming Men, Not Stones: Epektasis in Gregory of Nyssa’s Homilies on the Song of Songs,” in Gregory of Nyssa: In Canticum Canticorum. Analytical and Supporting Studies. Proceedings of the 13th International Colloquium on Gregory of Nyssa (Rome, September 17–​20, 2014), ed. Giulio Maspero, Miguel Brugarolas, and Ilaria Vigorelli, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 150 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 340–​59, 340. 77 Lucas Francisco Mateo-​Seco, “Epektasis,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Giulio Maspero (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 263. 78 Norris, “Introduction,” xxxvii–​xxxviii. 79 Cant 15, 467.

124  Mirrors of the Divine Though the mirror’s image comes from God, as in atomism, Gregory also praises the choice-​endowed mirror that has turned toward the divine and cast off material defilements. This is why Gregory commends the Bride for the dove in her eye. While the image comes from God, it also proves that she has chosen to gaze upon the divine and to make her mirror pure.80 This praise for human mutability and reflectivity is best illustrated in a metaphor Gregory uses in Homily 5 in which humanity becomes “frozen stiff by the chill of idolatry because the changeable nature of human beings had been altered to conform to that of unchangeable idols.”81 Their once reflective mirrors have been frozen stiff, losing the benefit of mutability. Gregory explains that it takes the Sun of Righteousness to restore the reflective nature of these mirrors: “Since, then, once it has been petrified by the worship of idols, human nature cannot be changed for the better because it is frozen stiff by the chill of idolatry, the Sun of Righteousness rises upon this harsh winter and brings the spring of the Spirit, which melts such ice and, as its rays rise up, warms everything that lies beneath it.”82 J. Warren Smith has analyzed this passage and has shown the ways that Gregory combines and reorders the similar tropes found in Athanasius’ and in Clement’s writings to make a unique point: “For Gregory, God paradoxically liberates humanity from sin by transforming the primary condition of humanity’s fall—​that is, creaturely instability and mutability—​into the means of our deliverance and perfection.”83 Indeed, it is this active and mutable nature of humanity merged synergistically with the active and infinite divine that is Gregory’s most unique contribution, and one that is best illustrated by the synergy of sight. While mutability is, unquestionably, a key component of epektasis, Gregory uses the non-​reflective analogy of milk to qualify that mutability. Gregory praises the Bride’s eyes not only for the reflected doves, which represent proof that she has been gazing upon the divine, but he also emphasizes that her eyes have been washed in milk.84 The significance, he notes, is that milk is the only fluid without a reflective property:



80 Cant 5, 163. Cant 1, 43. Cant 2, 53.

81 Cant 5, 159. 82 Cant 5, 159.

83 Smith, “Becoming Men, Not Stones,” 342. 84 Cant 13, 417.

Gregory of Nyssa  125 Fitting is the praise accorded such eyes as these, praise proclaiming that such a dove is made beautiful by being washed in milk. For it is truly observed of milk that of all fluids it alone has the property that in it no image or likeness appears. Things that are naturally liquid, as we know, behave like mirrors in that, because of their smooth surfaces, they cause the likenesses of those who look into them to be reflected back; only milk has no such capacity for imaging.85

This raises a potential contradiction in that Gregory here praises eyes that have been bathed in unreflective milk, yet earlier he condemned eyes that were frozen stiff by idolatry, losing their reflectivity. The difference Gregory describes is that eyes that are frozen by idols are stuck reflecting the material idol, while eyes that are bathed in milk are fixed upon the divine: “they do not mistakenly image anything unreal and counterfeit and empty that is contrary to what truly is but look upon what is in the full and proper sense of that word. They do not take in the deceitful sights and fantasies of the present life. For this reason, the perfect soul judges that it is the bath in milk that most surely purifies the eyes.”86 Milk-​washed eyes, for Gregory, represent a particular type of mutability. While the Bride could look away from God before her milk bath, once her eyes have been washed in milk, she has no desire to look elsewhere: “From this point, nothing else seems lovely to me, but I have turned away from all things that were thought noble before. My judgment of what is noble no longer errs so as to deem anything lovely besides you.”87 The divine image has been locked in by the milk bath, such that the Bride’s eyes will not turn away. Yet she still possesses the ability, in theory, to look away, and the ability, in practice, to increase in growth. She can still polish the surface of her mirror to reflect the image more clearly: For the Word wishes us, mutable as we are by nature, not to decline into evil by our changing, but through unending growth for the better to make change cooperate in our ascent toward higher things. In this way, by means of the very mutability of our nature, we will be confirmed in an incapacity for evil. . . . so that by turning away from evil we may be wholly unswerving



85 Cant 13, 417.

86 Cant 13, 417–​19. 87 Cant 4, 119.

126  Mirrors of the Divine and unchangeable in the good—​neither coming to a stop in our change for the better nor being altered for the worse.88

This is not a removal of human mutability, but a redefinition of it. The image can still change, but now only to become clearer as the Bride polishes the surface and grows closer to the divine. The result of this synergy between atomistic and Stoic sight is that the mirror of the soul is transformed through the synergy. Atomism offers a scientific justification for the receptive nature of humanity and its transformation, while Stoicism provides a basis for the active nature of the human in that process. The result of this process is that the soul is transformed and now able to see God, able to beam God’s rays to others, and made into an artist of her own mirrored Image. By choosing to look toward God and to purify the surface of the mirror, the Bride has been transformed, becoming beautiful like God: “You have drawn near to me as you have rejected the fellowship of evil, and in drawing near to the archetypal Beauty, you too have become beautiful, informed like a mirror by my appearance.”89 Once she has been transformed, taking on the divine beauty the way that a mirror takes on its image from the source, the Bride gains not only the beauty of the divine but also the ability to behold that divine beauty: “Since, then, her purified eye has received the imprint of the dove, she is also capable of beholding the beauty of the Bridegroom. For now for the first time, the virgin gazes upon the form of the Bridegroom, now, that is, that she has the dove in her eyes.”90 By becoming transformed more into the beautiful image of God, the Bride gains the ability to behold that beauty. Not only does this transformation grant her the ability to behold the beauty of God, but it is also makes her like God, with the ability to pass knowledge on to others. Gregory uses many metaphors to describe this aspect of the transformation: John drinks from the breasts of the Word, and then is transformed into a teat for the world (Cant 1); truth drizzles down knowledge, like dew, which passes through the prophets, evangelists, and apostles into the rest of humanity (Cant 11); the Bride is pierced by the arrow of God and is transformed into an arrow herself that simultaneously returns to God and reaches out to others (Cant 6). While each of these metaphors



88 Cant 8, 265–​67. 89 Cant 4, 115. 90 Cant 4, 117.

Gregory of Nyssa  127 captures an aspect of the transformation, it is perhaps the mirror that best encapsulates the dual nature of this transformation. Hero of Alexandria had described the dual role of mirrors, using the surface of water as his example, explaining that mirrors function to divide vision, simultaneously allowing one to see through the surface of the water and to see what is reflected on the water’s surface.91 Through a long tradition, described more in Chapter 4, mirrors became associated with dual understandings: reflecting back onto the self and seeing into the other world. Likewise, Gregory’s metaphor of the mirror serves a kind of threefold role: it simultaneously describes the Bride’s own never-​ending journey to God, her self-​reflection and progress, and her attention to those who are following her example. She reaches forward and back at the same time: After this, as she exhibits the beauty that is hers, she urges the young girls to become beautiful also—​speaking after the example of the great Paul, who said “Become as I am, for I too was as you” (Gal 4:12), and “Become imitators of me as I am of Christ” (1 Cor 11:1). Hence she does not permit the souls that are her disciples to dwell upon their past life and despair of becoming beautiful. Rather, they are to look upon her and from her example learn this: that the present, if it be without spot, covers over the past.92

Though one can never look directly at God, just as one cannot look directly at the sun, one can look into the mirror of the soul to see the Image of God. That can be an inward look, into the mirror of one’s own soul, or it can be an outward look, into the mirror of the church: “Just as those who cannot look upon the disc of the sun see it by means of the water’s gleaming, so too these powers look upon the Sun of Righteousness as in the clear mirror of the church, grasping it through its manifestation.”93 This triple function of mirrors, to self, to God, and to others, offers the background to Gregory’s depiction of the great chain of mirrors of creation by which divine beauty extends down through all.94 Each mirror both progresses forward and passes the Image back to those behind, serving the role of bettering self and aiding others while journeying together toward 91 Morris R. Cohen and I. E. Drabkin, A Source Book in Greek Science, 1st ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1948), 263–​64. 92 Cant 2, 51. 93 Cant 8, 269–​71. 94 Op hom XII.10.

128  Mirrors of the Divine God. This makes Gregory’s mystical ascent distinctly communal in nature, as one can gaze into the mirror of others to see the Image of God. The final result of this transformation is tied intimately to Gregory’s emphasis of synergy and human agency: one becomes an artist, crafting the very Image of God onto one’s own mirror. In his text On Perfection, Gregory explains that each person is the painter of her own life such that one’s choice is the artist and virtues are the colors that form the image.95 One can achieve the beauty of the Prototype through imitation, and Christians are like apprentices to the Great Artist, from whom they are learning this skill of painting.96 In this way, one comes to know and to see God by mirroring God. Put another way, by becoming more like God, one can see God in oneself.97 The cleansing and polishing through asceticism forms the Image: “Rather must she so cleanse herself of every material concern and thought that she is entirely, in her whole being, transposed into the intelligible and immaterial realm and makes of herself a supremely vivid image of the prototypical Beauty.”98 She makes herself, synergistically, an Image, and “she has recovered her very own beauty, the primordial blessedness of the human race, that is, to be arrayed in a beauty that conforms to the image and likeness of the first, the sole, and the true beauty.”99 Humanity, then, is a microcosm, not of the universe, but of God as revealed through the metaphor of the mirror.100 The Stoic nature of the mirror emphasizes the synergy. The Image and transformation certainly comes from God, but Gregory’s humans are no passive receptors. Rather, they are intensely active, choosing to look to God, to purify the surface of their mirrors, and to become artists of their own Image. In doing so, their very mutability becomes their strongest ally in this never-​ ending ascent to become more like God. The result of this transformation into the Image of God is that humanity can see God in their mirrored Images, they can beam that Image to others, and they can ultimately become artists of their own Images.

95 Perf, GNO VIII/​1, 195,14–​196,9. 96 Giulio Maspero, “Anthropology,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Giulio Maspero (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 37–​47, 42. 97 See also Norris, Gregory of Nyssa, 101n23. 98 Cant 15, 467. 99 Cant 15, 467. 100 See Maspero, “Anthropology,” 37–​47, 39.

Gregory of Nyssa  129

Conclusion The mirror, as a metaphor, has a long and complicated history: it can be incredibly positive, such as the philosopher’s mirror, or it can be incredibly negative, such as the mirror of vanity. It is associated with intimate knowledge of self-​reflection, and it is associated with other-​worldly knowledge, offering a glimpse into the unknown. It can be a means of self-​improvement, or it can be the means of self-​corruption.101 Gregory’s metaphorical mirror of the soul embodies this paradox: it is receptive and transformed, as in atomism, but it is also choice-​filled and life-​endowed, as in Stoicism. It is simultaneously mirror, connected to the original divine Prototype, and artist’s image, painted by the apprentice, the self. Gregory’s mirror functions like his oxymorons, as an attempt to describe the indescribable through paradox. Gregory’s writing on mirrors and vision shows a deeply embodied Image that is founded on human mutability. He emphasizes the individual’s agency to reach out to God, to purify the surface of one’s own mirror, and to reach back to others on the communal ascent. His epistemology flows from the backdrop of Neoplatonic divine incomprehensibility, but atomism and Stoicism offer him points of rupture from that tradition. In doing so, he portrays the enigmatic vision of God as revealing real, if partial, knowledge of God and a positive assessment of human nature that can make perpetual progress into this infinite knowledge. Gregory’s use of the metaphorical mirror is not merely paradoxical, but it also reveals the tension between the transcendent and the immanent, between the action of God and of humanity, between the infinity of God and the finitude of humanity, and between the capacity for progress and the never-​ending quest into knowledge and vision of God. He ties together philosophy and theology in his discourse on Christian identity, agency, and epistemology to reveal his theological anthropology and mystical theology. For Gregory, the subjective nature of sight is not something that needs defending; and, unlike Tertullian and Augustine, he does not address the optical illusions of the Skeptics. While Tertullian locates visual difference on hierarchical gender lines, and Clement identifies the difference along baptismal lines, Gregory takes a new approach altogether. Rather than seeking to delineate the function of that difference in order to explain or to categorize it, he reimagines that difference itself. Difference is no longer a sign of

101

For more information, see Chapter 4.

130  Mirrors of the Divine brokenness or sin, but it now reveals human opportunity and agency. Vision’s subjectivity best captures this difference, and this very subjectivity becomes Gregory’s prime language for opportunity and progress. For Gregory, unlike the other authors of this project, the subjective nature of sight is something to be celebrated because it reveals the possibility of humanity to be artists of its own Image.

6 Augustine of Hippo The Paradox of Perception

What calls for all our efforts in this life is the healing of the eyes of our hearts, with which God is to be seen.1

Introduction In this chapter, I turn to a figure who is arguably the most complex author of this book and also the most prolific: Augustine of Hippo, 354 CE–​430 CE.2 As with each of the authors, Augustine’s writing on visual perception is embedded in broader debates about agency, identity, and epistemology, and Augustine employs optical metaphors to stake his claim about a particular kind of Christian identity tied to his theological anthropology in the context of human free will and divine grace. It is vision’s subjectivity that captures his paradoxical portrayal of the human who is responsible for being deformed by material sights, yet stands in needs of God’s grace to be reformed for the vision of God. Many have helpfully written about the tension between Augustine’s affirmation of human free will and his seemingly contradictory emphasis on God’s divine grace.3 I approach this ostensible paradox not directly, but rather indirectly; that is, not through Augustine’s content on the topic, but rather 1 Saint Augustine, Sermons 51–​94, trans. Edmund Hill, vol. III/​3, 11 vols., in The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century (Hyde Park: New City Press, 1992), 422. 2 For a detailed biography of his life and dating, see Peter Brown, Augustine of Hippo: A Biography, rev. ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). 3 See, for example, Sean Denny, “The Chains of Bondage and the Voice of a Child: Augustine’s ‘Reconciliation’ of Free Will and Grace in the Confessions,” Churchman 128, no. 3 (2014): 219–​29. Diana Stanciu, “Re-​Interpreting Augustine: Ralph Cudworth and Jacobus Arminius on Grace and Free Will,” Zeitschrift Für Antikes Christentum 11, no. 1 (2007): 96–​114. Han-​luen Kantzer Komline, Augustine on the Will: A Theological Account (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019). Han-​Luen Kantzer Komline, “Grace, Free Will, and the Lord’s Prayer: Cyprian’s Importance for the ‘Augustinian’ Doctrine of Grace,” Augustinian Studies 45, no. 2 (2014): 247–​79. Tianyue Wu, “Augustine on Initium Fidei: A Case Study of the Coexistence of Operative Grace and Free Decision of the Will,” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 79, no. 1 (2012): 1–​38.

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0007

132  Mirrors of the Divine through his method. I argue that an examination of Augustine’s writing on visual perception, particularly that found in his de Trinitate, reveals the way in which he constructs this complicated and paradoxical relationship though vision’s subjectivity, describing a human who is simultaneously active and responsible for harmful actions, yet passive against the resultant transformation; one who sees God poorly when seeing the world poorly; and one who, paradoxically, has free will, yet stands in need of God’s grace. Indeed, it is following his very model of faith seeking understanding that Augustine pulls together outwardly disparate theories of visual perception to describe vision’s subjectivity in his attempt to understand his faith. In his de Trinitate, Augustine outlines his quest to see and to know God, and this rhetoric is rife with optical metaphors. Examining this collection of metaphors reveals the complex interplay between Augustine’s philosophical theories of vision and his biblical interpretation such that it provides a window into his broader theology. I will show that he employs the Platonic theory of an active visual ray to emphasize the active nature of the human who has free will and is in control and responsible for their actions. Yet he turns to the Stoic theory’s proposal of the formation of internal images and its theory of emotions to describe the powerlessness of the human in the face of transformation. Both theories come together to prove the goodness of God and God’s creation while also demonstrating that it is the misuse of that creation that leads to sin. Vision’s subjectivity captures this paradox, as Augustine portrays subjectivity as both a hindrance and a source of aid on the spiritual quest for the vision of God. Augustine’s vision of humanity is one that is active yet acted upon, one that clearly sees the world, yet is blinded to God, and one that has free will, yet stands in need of divine grace. This grace, in Augustine’s portrayal, comes through the ears to aid the eyes on the quest to see and to know God. My core analysis is on the collection of optical metaphors found in Augustine’s de Trinitate, but I begin this chapter by examining Augustine’s writing on visual perception itself. Augustine’s vast corpus spans much of his life, and he unquestionably changed his perspective on a number of things, many of which are recorded in his own Retractions. Yet Margaret Miles has engaged a detailed analysis of Augustine’s writing on the body, and she has found little difference in his writings on sensory perception from his earliest to his latest works.4 Likewise, I have found little 4 She does note that he moves from an emphasis on hierarchical metaphors to an emphasis on the transitory metaphors. Margaret R. Miles, Augustine on the Body: (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2009), 30.

Augustine of Hippo  133 deviation in his writing on visual perception; so, in my first section, I will draw from his writing in various places to show that Augustine consistently combines the seemingly contradictory Platonic and Stoic theories of visual perception. I will show that merging these outwardly conflicting theories helps Augustine to make his discursive claim that emphasizes the paradox of his theological anthropology captured through vision’s subjectivity: one that holds humanity as active and responsible for sins, yet passive against the resultant transformation of that sin. Vision has been deformed through sin, yet it is also the source for the spiritual quest for the vision of God. After exploring these philosophical theories behind Augustine’s optical metaphors, I turn to his de Trinitate to describe the ways in which he portrays the quest for the vision of God by blending this collection of optical metaphors with his biblical interpretation. He reinterprets Genesis 1–​3 to define the Image of God, the Fall, and the current state of humanity in visual terms such that the eye of the body represents the sinful state of humanity, while the eye of the mind represents the possibility of the vision of God. This eye of the mind has been blinded, however, so faith must come through the ears to aid the eyes on their quest for a glimpse of the divine. Examining these metaphors reveals Augustine’s understanding of the relationship between faith and understanding through the corresponding senses of hearing and sight. Though one can only achieve a mere glimpse of God through a mirror darkly,5 Augustine uses these optical metaphors to offer hope, not despair to his readers, who can be transformed by the act of looking for God. Analyzing this collection of optical metaphors in Augustine’s de Trinitate reveals the intersecting ways that he incorporates philosophy and biblical interpretation to describe the spiritual quest for the vision of God. In doing so, the eye functions as the liminal space between the material world and the spiritual world, making Augustine’s optical metaphors fertile ground to reveal insights about his understanding of agency, identity, and epistemology. The eye may typically be thought of as the window to the soul, but here the eye also serves as the window into Augustine’s view of humanity, of God, and of the paradoxical relationship between the two as captured through the paradox of vision’s subjectivity.

5 1 Corinthians 13:12.

134  Mirrors of the Divine

Vision of the World Teasing out any ancient author’s theory of visual perception is no easy task, but Augustine, in particular, is decidedly more complex than most. In 1983, Margaret Miles argued that Augustine utilized a visual ray theory modeled after that of Plato.6 By 1990, Marcia Colish suggested that Augustine portrayed an “authentically Stoic” depiction of sensory perception in his De musica.7 More recently, Sarah Catherine Byers split the difference, arguing that Augustine held a Stoic-​Platonic synthesis of sensory perception.8 The range of these analyses demonstrates the difficulty of pinning down Augustine’s writing on visual perception, and one might assume that Augustine was simply inconsistent or changed his mind over the course of his writings. However, Miles’s detailed study helpfully demonstrates that Augustine is consistent throughout his writing on sensory perception, showing no development of fundamental ideas, but merely a shift from using spatial metaphors to temporal metaphors.9 Building on each of these scholars’ work, I argue that Augustine was consistently inconsistent in his writings about sensory perception, drawing from various theories to emphasize specific points about human nature. While these theories may appear superficially incompatible, it is precisely this very incompatibility that Augustine draws together to create new meaning in his paradox of the human who has free choice yet stands in need of grace. In what follows, I unpack Augustine’s writing on visual perception, pointing to the theories that resonate most closely with Augustine’s description. My goal here is not to draw a direct line between Augustine and 6 Margaret R. Miles, “Vision: The Eye of the Body and the Eye of the Mind in Saint Augustine’s De Trinitate and Confessions,” Journal of Religion 63, no. 2 (April 1, 1983): 125–​42. In her book, Miles examines the complexity more fully, though she still falls firmly on the side of arguing that Augustine portrays a Platonic visual ray theory that has been filtered through Plotinus while utilizing some Stoic terminology. Miles, Augustine on the Body. 7 Marcia Colish also notes, “One of Augustine’s most distinctive contributions to the history of the Stoic tradition is his reunification of the two aspects of the Stoic account of sense perception and his reconnection of them with the idea of a rarefied material pneuma that relates the subject to the sensory objects he knows in a world conceived as a material plenum. At the same time, it must be noted that Augustine never credits the Stoa expressly with this constellation of ideas. And, notwithstanding his discriminating reconstruction of Stoic epistemology, his own Neoplatonizing tendencies as well as the contexts in which he locates most of his discussions of sense perception lead him to emphasize heavily the extramissive side of the theory.” Marcia Colish, The Stoic Tradition from Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages: Stoicism in Classical Latin Literature, 2nd ed. (New York: Brill, 1990), 171. 8 Sarah Catherine Byers, Perception, Sensibility, and Moral Motivation in Augustine: A Stoic-​ Platonic Synthesis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 9 He moves from an emphasis on hierarchy to an emphasis on the transitory nature of things. Miles, Augustine on the Body, 30.

Augustine of Hippo  135 any particular author, but rather to bring to light the shared assumptions that each makes about the human in relation to the world. I will show that Augustine shares the Platonic emphasis of an active visual ray as well as an emphasis that vision occurs away from the body. With the Stoics, he shares the use of pneuma/​spiritus to both unite the body and the soul while simultaneously keeping the soul pure from being contaminated by bodily images, and he creatively echoes a Stoic rationale to shift the transformation from vision itself to the emotions. Though Augustine’s writings echo seemingly incompatible theories, I will show that this is not merely some crude inconsistency. Rather, by weaving disparate theories together, Augustine finds stronger support for his theological purposes than any single theory would offer to portray the paradox of his understanding of the human: one who is active yet transformed by vision, and one who can see the world reliably, yet is unable to have a clear vision of God.

Platonic-​Stoic Visual Perception and Theological Anthropology Perhaps the most straightforward place to begin my analysis is with Augustine’s description of visual perception in Book 9 of de Trinitate. Here, Augustine writes, “We see bodies with our bodily eyes because the rays (radii) which shoot out from them touch whatever we observe.”10 This depiction of rays shooting from the eyes echoes the visual ray theory popularized by Plato in Timaeus 45b–​d. According to Plato’s theory, visual perception requires three projections: one from the eye, one from the sun, and one from the object seen, all of which merge to transmit information back to the viewer. This theory is later simplified to a single visual ray theory, often called extramission, in which a ray shoots out from the eye to touch an object, as in Augustine’s portrayal above. Mirroring the Platonic theory, Augustine argues that vision is initiated by the viewer rather than by the object,11 and that vision occurs outside the body as the eye sends forth a ray to an object away from the body.12 The Platonic 10 Aug., de Trin. 9. Prologue 3.3. Translations from Saint Augustine, The Trinity, ed. John E. Rotelle, trans. Edmund Hill, 2nd ed. (Hyde Park: New City Press, 2012). 11 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.3. 12 Aug., Quant. an. 23.43.

136  Mirrors of the Divine visual ray theory describes a viewer who is remarkably active as one who initiates and controls the process of vision. As such, vision is more closely associated with the will than the other senses are, and Augustine highlights this active nature of the Platonic theory, emphasizing an individual’s choice of where to turn one’s attention, whether reaching out toward the world or toward God. Yet Augustine’s portrayal does not mimic the Platonic theory in every way. Unlike the incorporeal Platonic ray, Augustine describes a visual ray that is material and rod-​like13 that illuminates the object with its own light.14 While the Platonic theory suggests a viewer who remains unaffected by objects seen, Augustine instead highlights the transformation of the viewer that accompanies vision.15 Though these are departures from the Platonic theory of visual perception, they are each consistent with an aspect of the Stoic theory of perception, which Augustine further echoes by describing the soul moving pneuma (spiritus) through narrow tubes to start sensory perception.16 The Platonic and Stoic theories of visual perception are largely at odds with one another: the Platonic theory rests upon a divide between bodily and spiritual worlds, while the Stoic theory presupposes a material understanding of the world in which a single substance, pneuma, pervades everything.17 In the Stoic theory, vision occurs when the visual pneuma pricks the air to form a cone that stretches like a rod from the eye to the object, shining its light upon the object.18 Unlike the Platonic viewer, the Stoic viewer is largely passive, receiving impressions (phantasiai) from the external objects before taking a more active role to judge whether the impression is true or not.19 Because the eye serves as a juncture between the body and the soul, the Platonic theory suggests a kind of mingling between the material and spiritual worlds that occurs when the visual ray merges with the corporeal world. Augustine, however, rejects this mingling entirely.20 Instead, the 13 Aug., De gen. Ad litt. 4.34.54. 14 Aug., De quant. anim. 23.43. 15 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.5. 16 Aug., Gn. Litt. 7.18.24. 17 Robert O’Connell argues that Augustine brings together Stoic and Neoplatonic thought and “refused to view Stoicism and Neoplatonism as contradictories.” R. J. O’Connell, “De libero arbitrio: Stoicism Revisited,” Augustinian Studies 1 (1970): 50. 18 Robert B. Todd, “Synentasis and the Stoic Theory of Perception,” Grazer Beiträge 2 (1974): 251. 19 The Stoic theory relies upon an activated medium, but various authors later interpret or reinterpret this theory to portray the viewer as more active (as in Tertullian) or receptive (as in Augustine) or a synergy of the two (as in Gregory). 20 Aug., De mus. VI.5.8. Étienne Gilson bluntly notes, “Augustine does absolutely nothing to close the gap he has made between body and soul.” Étienne Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of

Augustine of Hippo  137 Stoic theory’s doctrine of pneuma/​spiritus serves as a kind of intermediary between the body and the soul, preventing the mingling that occurs in the Platonic visual ray theory.21 Augustine uses the Stoic term spiritus to name the part of the soul that forms and retains images of corporeal things in the act of vision.22 The spiritus creates these images out of its own substance, such that the external bodily image never comes in direct contact with the soul, effectively keeping the soul from being contaminated by the bodily image in the act of visual perception.23 Not only does the spiritus keep the body and the soul apart, but it also holds them together, serving as the intention or will that holds the bodily visual ray onto the object of sight.24 The spiritus, then, serves both to unify the body and the soul in the act of vision while also keeping the soul from being polluted by bodily objects. The spiritus is also where Augustine finds his transformative element of visual perception. In de Trin. 11.1.2.5, Augustine details several transformations by means of vision, moving through examples from nature, from scripture, and from reason. From nature, Augustine describes a chameleon changing color to match its environment by means of its eyes. From scripture, Augustine turns to Genesis 30:37–​39 to describe Jacob’s ewes, which produced offspring that matched the pattern on the rods that Jacob placed in their sight by their watering troughs. Finally, Augustine uses reason to describe the invisible transformation that occurs in human souls when people focus their eyes on the wrong things and their souls become misshapen and deformed. Through each of these examples, Augustine’s message is consistent: eyes have the power to transform, whether a chameleon’s skin, a mother’s fetus, or the viewer’s soul. The Stoic visual theory is not usually associated with a transformation of the viewer, but Augustine does something unique by shifting the transformation away from the process of vision and onto the emotion associated with St. Augustine (New York: Random House, 1960), 58. Miles disagrees. See Miles, Augustine on the Body, 18. 21 Miles notes with surprise that Augustine did not turn to Plotinus to solve this body/​soul dilemma, writing: “Perhaps Augustine was confused, as are many modern interpreters of Plotinus, by the exhortation to leave the realm of sensation, to ‘fly the body.’ ” Miles, Augustine on the Body, 20. 22 Aug., De gen. ad litt. XII.8.19. 23 Aug., de Trin. 10.2.5.7. 24 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.3. In his early writings, Augustine describes the function of spiritus as attentio, or attention, but in his later writings he shifts this terminology to intentio, or intention. See Miles, Augustine on the Body, 24–​26.

138  Mirrors of the Divine that vision, particularly the emotions of desire and fear.25 The ewe’s embryo, for example, does not take the form of everything that the mother sees, but only that which she “has greedily gaped at.”26 It is the desire, not the sight that transforms: So it is by fear as well as by desire that the senses are directed to sensible things, to be formed by them. The more vehement the fear or the desire, the deeper is the impression made on the attention, either by the body you perceive with the senses in the place near you, or by the image of the body you are thinking about which is contained in the memory.27

Looking is the means by which the transformation occurs, but it is the emotions of fear or desire that cause the transformation, and these emotions map on to the Stoic theory of emotions. Ordinary Stoic emotions are divided into two categories, good or evil, and applied to two parameters, present or prospective. Delight and distress are present emotions, while desire and fear are prospective emotions.28 Note that Augustine identifies the transformative emotions as fear and desire, which are both prospective emotions, meaning that they are emotions about things that have not yet occurred. One might desire to eat ice cream or fear an attack by a lion, for example, but both are hypothetical future events. Fear and desire are linked to the direction of one’s intention. In visual terms, to look with desire is to look in such a way that one wishes to be formed, by means of the spiritus, by that object. The transformation that results from looking with desire is only harmful when one directs that gaze toward the sensory. When directed toward the divine, looking with desire transforms one more into the Image of God.29 Thus, Augustine does not argue against desire as desire, but merely against misdirected desire. In this depiction of visual perception, Augustine draws together the Platonic and Stoic theories in such a way that it allows for a theological anthropology that emphasizes the goodness of creation: created vision is good, 25 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.5. 26 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.5. 27 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4.7. 28 Margaret Graver includes a chart of these emotions in Margaret Graver, Stoicism and Emotion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 54. 29 For an analysis of the role of desire in Augustine, see Sarah Coakley, God, Sexuality, and the Self: An Essay “On The Trinity” (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013).

Augustine of Hippo  139 created objects are good, and sin only occurs when desire is misdirected. The Platonic theory emphasizes the control of humanity: not only does one send forth a visual ray, but one’s will also holds that ray onto the object. The Stoic theory emphasizes that one is not corrupted by the act of looking, but one is still transformed by the emotion that accompanies one’s gaze. By rhetorically combining these theories, Augustine constructs a human who is strong, yet weak; in control, yet transformed; one whose soul is not contaminated by seeing sights, yet whose soul is also deeply transformed by looking. This allows Augustine to describe the human as active and at fault for one’s sin and choices, yet powerless against the transformation and now blind to the vision of God. The subjective nature of vision reveals humanity’s sin. Yet subjectivity also becomes a source of hope, as Augustine reinterprets optical illusions from subjective examples for doubt into subjective examples for hope.

Optical Illusions and Hope The Platonic and Stoic theories not only reveal the paradox of the human who is active, yet transformed, but they also combine to defend human epistemology against the threat of optical illusions, which risked the reliability and thus the goodness of the created senses. Sensory perception is how one acquires knowledge, so Augustine is keen to defend that source, explaining “It is through [the senses] that we have learnt about heaven and earth and all that is known to us in them, as far as their creator and ours has willed them to be known to us.”30 The created world is good, but the appearance of things other than they are threatens that belief, and the fact that we see objects differently at different times or from different locations points to the subjective nature of vision. While Gregory of Nyssa employed that subjective nature to open up the possibility for progress, Augustine returns to the more common pattern that links the subjective nature of vision to a flaw and to sin. Yet he reinterprets these flaws as opportunities for hope rather than for despair. Ancient Skepticism used optical illusions to cast doubt upon the nature of knowledge, asking questions such as why does a square tower appear round from a distance and why does a straight oar appear bent in water?31 In de Trin. 30 Aug., de Trin. 15.4.12.21. 31 See Sextus Empiricus, P. 100–​117; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. Ph. 9.87; Aristotle, Pr. 15.6.911b.19–​ 21; Plutarch, Adversus Colotem 1121a–​b. It is clear that later Skeptics used these optical illusions in their debates, though there is still a question regarding the role of such debates among the early Skeptics. See Sylvia Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic: A Paper on Vision, Doubt, Geometry,

140  Mirrors of the Divine 15, Augustine defines optical illusions using these very examples, explaining that optical illusions are “visible things that are externally presented in such a way that the eye is deceived, as it is deceived for example when an oar seems to be broken in the water, and when the lighthouse seems to those sailing past it to be moving, and a thousand and one other things that are not what they seem.”32 Though there is no evidence that Augustine was familiar with the Pyrrhonian tradition of Skepticism, he was intimately familiar with the Academic tradition, first becoming sympathetic to the tradition himself, as noted in Confessions, and later arguing against it in Against the Academics.33 Though Augustine spent relatively little time sympathetic to the Skeptics, he still portrays them as dangerous to the Christian life, as the skeptical position can lead to despair, threatening to derail one’s quest for God.34 Countering the skeptical optical illusions, then, is fundamental to defending Augustine’s quest for the vision of God. Though Augustine mentions the common Skeptics’ illusions in de Trin. 15, he turns to two different illusions of candles in de Trin. 11 to make his larger point about the reliability of vision and knowledge. The first optical illusion Augustine addresses relates to the after-​images of light that remain in one’s eyes after staring at a lit candle.35 Augustine’s explanation for these after-​images is simple: “We can understand them as being the remnants of that form which was produced in the sense while we were looking at the luminous body, which gradually change colors and little by little fade away.”36 In other words, the after-​image is simply the remains of the candlelight’s image that forms during visual perception. Augustine returns to the Stoic theory to offer his proof, explaining that the form of an image is first created in the soul from its own substance, and that image remains in the memory to inform the mind. Images, as Augustine describes them, are either phantasiae or phantasmata: real or imagined.37

Light and Drunkenness,” Phronesis 43, no. 2 (1998): 178n4; R. J. Hankinson, The Sceptics (New York: Routledge, 1998). 32 Aug., de Trin. 15.4.12.21. 33 For an analysis of Augustine’s engagement with the Academics, see Blake Dutton, Augustine and Academic Skepticism: A Philosophical Study (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2016). 34 Dutton, Augustine and Academic Skepticism, 5. 35 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4. 36 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4. 37 Gerard O’Daly distinguishes these terms as reproductive (phantasia) or creative (phantasmata) and suggests a possible Stoic adaptation. Gerard O’Daly, Augustine’s Philosophy of Mind, 1st ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 106–​7.

Augustine of Hippo  141 To illustrate the difference, Augustine offers the example of the real image of Carthage, a place that he has seen, as opposed to the imagined image of Alexandria, a place that he has not seen.38 These real and imagined images, however, cast doubt upon the nature of knowledge: how could one be certain that these images truly represent the world, especially when the image of a square tower can sometimes appear round? Seeing differently, for Augustine, is cause for concern. However, Augustine defends the reliability of these images. The fact that you were not aware of the image of the candle until you closed your eyes, Augustine explains, is proof that the image is identical to the object: “So that impression was there even while we were seeing; but it coincided so exactly with the form of the thing we were looking at that it simply could not be distinguished from it, and this is what our actual sight was.”39 When your eyes are open, the image and the candle appear as one. When you close your eyes, the remnant of the image remains, and Augustine uses this to defend the reliability of images. Yet this still does not completely solve the Skeptics’ illusions, so Augustine turns to his second example. Augustine continues to use a candle to explain his second optical illusion: “Again, sometimes the flame of a candle can seem to be doubled somehow or other.”40 In other words, how can knowledge be trustworthy when our eyes report two images of one object? To find his solution, Augustine returns to the visual ray theory, though his explanation here resonates less with Plato’s theory and more with the geometrical tradition of the visual ray theory.41 Because there are two eyes, Augustine explains, there are also two visual rays, and if these rays do not focus together, then the viewer simply sees two candle flames, one by each ray.42 In the tradition of the Skeptics, such visual impairments might be a reason to doubt knowledge; yet in Augustine’s geometric interpretation, this doubled vision becomes a new source of hope. Unlike Plato’s description of a single fire that emanates from the eye, the geometrical tradition, popularized by Euclid, proposes multiple visual rays that spread in the shape of a cone from the eyes. Nestled in the midst of his mathematical theorems about 38 Aug., de Trin. 8.4.6.9 and 9.6.10. 39 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4. 40 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4. 41 This tradition includes Euclid, Hero, and Ptolemy. For more, see Theo Meyering, Historical Roots of Cognitive Science: The Rise of a Cognitive Theory of Perception from Antiquity to the Nineteenth Century (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic, 1989). 42 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4.

142  Mirrors of the Divine angle measurements, Euclid directly addresses the Skeptics’ Round Tower Problem: the visual rays of the cone are finite, so there will always be features that fall between the lines that are not seen.43 The further away an object is, the further apart the visual rays of the cone will be and the more of an object will fall between the rays.44 Euclid’s solution is not simply an elegant answer to the Skeptics’ Round Tower Problem, but it also turned what could be deemed troubling phenomena into a matter of mere mathematics.45 In fact, Euclid’s solution to the Round Tower Problem was so convincing that it became the primary theory among the Peripatetics.46 Given the popularity of Euclid’s solution, it is no surprise that Augustine proposes a similar one for his doubled candle image. While Augustine suggests two rays, as opposed to Euclid’s cone of rays, his reasoning follows a similar mathematical logic: as the rays spread out from different eyes, they can diverge, causing the doubled images. The fact that there are two images, Augustine explains, is a matter of mere mathematics: two eyes cause two rays, which cause two images. Augustine, like Euclid before him, proposes a simple geometric solution to make a broader epistemological point that vision provides valid knowledge of the world. This visual flaw is really no flaw at all. The geometrical tradition provides an answer to certain kinds of doubt regarding sensory perception, about the doubling of images and the roundness of tower corners, but it also raises another kind of doubt. It proposes that only information is passed along the geometric rays, and this requires the viewer to process the information. For geometric visual perception, one must reconstruct the object while wondering how much of the object might be hidden between the rays, and this led some to propose that seeing is no more the simple reception of images than reading is merely looking at letters.47 Both involve the action of the mind, a learning process, and leave room for mistakes. This, however, is precisely where the first optical illusion comes to the rescue. As in his theological anthropology, Augustine blends the Stoic and Platonic theories of visual perception to craft a stronger answer together than either theory would alone: 43 Optica, Horoi 1–​3. 44 Optica 9. 45 Sylvia Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic: A Paper on Vision, Doubt, Geometry, Light and Drunkenness,” Phronesis 43, no. 2 (1998): 183. 46 Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic,” 186. 47 Plutarch, De sollertia animalium III 961a =​fr. 112 Wehrli.

Augustine of Hippo  143 All that matters for the question we have taken up is that unless some image exactly like the thing we are looking at were produced in our sense, the form of the flame would not be doubled according to the number of our eyes, when we adopt a certain mode of looking which makes it possible to separate the convergence of their rays.48

In other words, the after-​image of the candle proves that the image is trustworthy, by matching exactly the candle, while the doubled image proves the logic of the doubling by matching the number of eyes. Thus, even when things appear other than they are, the distortion follows a natural logic that can be untangled. Augustine here combines the Stoic formation of images with the Platonic geometric ray theory to argue that optical illusions are no reason to doubt the senses. In Augustine’s reinterpretation, common visual impairments are not bodily flaws but rather proof that the body is functioning exactly as it should within the world. Vision’s subjectivity, then, reveals an unexpected source of hope for one’s spiritual journey through the enigmatic and distorted mirror. In this description of optical illusions, I find it significant that Augustine demonstrates that he is intimately familiar with the common skeptical Round Tower Problem, yet he chooses a candle rather than a square tower to mount his defense. I believe that this choice reflects his portrayal of the eye as the liminal space between the material and the spiritual, between physical vision and spiritual vision. As the threshold between worlds, defending physical vision against optical illusions of candlelight also becomes a defense of the enigmatic vision of the divine light. Just as Augustine reinterprets vision’s subjectivity as a source of hope against the doubt of optical illusions, so also will it provide hope on the quest for a glimpse of the divine through a mirror darkly. It is this quest for the vision of that divine light that I take up in the next section through an exploration of his collection of optical metaphors in his de Trinitate.

Vision of God In the first part of this chapter, I focused primarily on physical visual perception and the ways that Augustine combines disparate philosophical theories

48 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4.

144  Mirrors of the Divine to construct the paradox of the human in relation to the world captured through vision’s subjectivity. Yet vision serves not only as a window into Augustine’s understanding of the human in relation to the world, but it also serves to reveal one’s relationship to the divine and the connection between worldly and spiritual vision. I now transition to the ways in which those same theories serve as the background to Augustine’s collection of optical metaphors he employs in de Trinitate on his quest for the vision of God. As I demonstrate below, Augustine reinterprets a number of biblical passages in visual terms to redefine Creation, the Fall, and the current state of humanity with the aid of his optical metaphors. These metaphors build on his description of physical visual perception from the first part of this chapter to offer hope to Augustine’s paradoxical human who is able to look for, yet not able fully to see, the vision of God. Vision’s subjectivity, so often tied to doubt, here illustrates the paradox: flawed vision is a hindrance to the quest for the vision of God, yet, like optical illusions, it is also a reason to hope for a glimpse through that mirror darkly.

Genesis 1: The Image of God as the Eye of the Mind Augustine turns from human nature more broadly to theological anthropology more specifically with the aid of Genesis 1, which asserts that only humankind out of all creation is made in the image and likeness of God.49 So, in order to identify that Image within humanity, Augustine differentiates between the inner and the outer person such that everything that humans share with animals belongs to the outer person, while only those things that are unique to humans belong to the inner person.50 As such, he determines that sensory perception and memory both belong to the outer person, while only the rational mind belongs to the inner person.51 This rational mind, then, is what Augustine identifies as the Image of God.52 Because the rational mind is the Image of God, it serves as the location for Augustine’s vision of God, but it also serves as the means by which one can have that vision. Augustine likens the rational mind to vision: just as the 49 Genesis 1:26–​27. 50 Aug., de Trin. 12.1.1.1. 51 Aug., de Trin. 12.1.2.2. 52 Augustine will further analyze the Image to find the Image of the Trinity in memory, understanding, and will on his quest to know and to see God.

Augustine of Hippo  145 purpose of the eye of the body is to gaze upon material things, so also the purpose of the eye of the mind is to gaze upon God.53 While their functions may be analogous, however, the eye of the body and the eye of the mind are not equal: “A mind without physical eyes is still human; physical eyes without mind are merely brutish. Who would not rather be a man, even physically blind, than a brute and able to see?”54 Core to being human, for Augustine, is possessing this eye of the mind, which differentiates humans from animals, serves as the location for the vision of God, and is also the very the ability to have that vision, at least when aided by God’s grace.

Genesis 2: The Adam-​Mind and the Eve-​Mind As he begins to examine that Image more closely, Augustine turns to the creation account of Genesis 2 to solve the interpretive dilemma between Genesis 1:27’s affirmation that both men and women are made in the Image of God and Paul’s assertion in 1 Corinthians 11:7 that limits this Image only to men.55 Augustine finds it significant that both Adam and Eve were distinct from animals, so he determines that Paul’s use of male and female must refer to two aspects of the inner human mind that is unique from that of animals. Therefore, Augustine concludes that Paul’s use of male and female must not refer to biological sex, but it must instead allegorically refer to something that can be found within each human: each person must have an allegorical Adam-​mind and an Eve-​mind.56 Just as Adam could not focus on God without neglecting creation, Augustine explains that the mind also cannot focus entirely on God without neglecting the body. So, reinterpreting God’s creation of Eve out of Adam,57 Augustine suggests that God created a part of the mind out of itself in order to focus on bodily and temporal things. In this light, Paul’s suggestion that women veil themselves is allegorically interpreted to mean that humans should veil or curb their rational activity in relation to the world while they unveil or encourage any rational activity that reaches toward the eternal.58 In 53 Aug., de Trin. 14.2.2.6. 54 Aug., de Trin. 14.4.14.19. 55 Genesis 1:27: “So God created humankind[c]‌in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them” (NRSV). 1 Corinthians 11:7: “For a man ought not to have his head veiled, since he is the image and reflection of God; but woman is the reflection of man” (NRSV). 56 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.12.19. 57 Genesis 2:20. 58 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.7.10.

146  Mirrors of the Divine Augustine’s interpretation, then, both men and women contain this Adam-​ mind, and this Image serves as the location for the vision of God and the rational ability to have that vision.

Genesis 3: The Visual Fall After identifying Adam and Eve as the parts of the mind that focus on eternal and temporal things, respectively, Augustine settles on the serpent as the allegorical representation of the senses.59 With his allegorical interpretation of the cast of characters established, Augustine takes up his reinterpretation of Genesis 3 to describe the Fall in these new sensory terms. In Genesis 3:1–​3, the serpent and the woman have a conversation about eating the fruit of the trees in the Garden, which, in Augustine’s sensory interpretation, takes place between the senses and the Eve-​mind that manages temporal affairs. And indeed, the passage continues with overtly sensory and visual cues: “So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise . . . Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked.”60 Reinterpreted through Augustine’s theory of visual perception, the Eve-​mind here actively directs the visual ray to reach out to touch the fruit, which leads immediately to desire and eating the fruit. In doing so, the Adam-​mind turns away from contemplating God to eat the corporeal fruit, which means that the part of the mind that should be focused on enjoying God is now dragged away from God and transformed by the desire for material fruit, thereby experiencing a kind of death.61 Augustine describes this transformation of the Adam-​mind: “For man’s true honor is God’s image and likeness in him, but it can only be preserved when facing him from whom its impression is received.”62 By turning away from God and toward sensory things, the Adam-​mind began to lose that divine impression, and by losing that impression, “the sight of eternal things is withdrawn” from the Adam-​mind, and the Adam-​mind has lost its vision of God.63 By looking at



59 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.13.20.

60 Genesis 3:6–​7a NRSV. Emphasis my own. 61 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.12.17. 62 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.11.16. 63 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.8.13.

Augustine of Hippo  147 the world poorly, enjoying what should be used, the eye of the mind has been struck blind to eternal and divine sight. Augustine is clear that the blame for this sin lies not with the serpent/​senses, but rather with the misdirected desire to eat the fruit, which transforms the entire mind.64 As in the example of Jacob’s flocks, one is transformed by means of looking, but by function of misdirected desiring: “It drags the deceptive semblances of bodily things inside, and plays about with them in idle meditation until it cannot even think of anything divine except as being such, and so in its private avarice it is loaded with error and in its private prodigality it is emptied of strength.”65 As in his depiction of visual perception, Augustine here reinterprets the Fall in sensory terms by drawing together the active visual ray theory and the transformation associated with the Stoic assessment of images and misdirected desire in order to portray the human as active and responsible, yet powerless against the transformation. Not only has the Adam-​mind lost sight of God after the Fall, but Augustine also asserts: “the light of his eyes is no longer with him.”66 Augustine had earlier depicted a Stoic version of vision that sheds its own light onto objects, enabling sight.67 Here, however, he portrays the Adam-​mind as losing that light, and therefore losing the ability for the vision of God. The Image is now obscured because the Adam-​mind is no longer facing the divine, and the mind’s eye has lost its light. The current state of humanity is one of blindness: lacking light and containing only a dim, faulty, and distorted Image.68 While humanity still actively chooses to look at things, it has lost the ability to choose to look at God; and, when Christians see God poorly, they also see the world poorly, becoming stuck in a cycle of poor vision.

Current State: Blinded by Glue Augustine portrays this visual Fall not merely as a singular event contained in Genesis 3, but rather as the ongoing state of humanity: once the Adam-​mind begins to look toward and desire the sensory, it continues to look toward and



64 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.12.17. 65 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.10.15. 66 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.8.13.

67 Aug., De quant. anim. 23.43. 68 Aug., de Trin. 14.2.2.6.

148  Mirrors of the Divine desire the sensory. Instead of seeking God, humanity is stuck in a loop of seeking, seeing, and desiring the sensory realm: Yet such is the force of love that when the mind has been thinking about things with love for a long time and has got stuck to them with the glue of care, it drags them along with itself even when it returns after a fashion to thinking about itself. Now these things are bodies which it has fallen in love with outside itself through the senses of the flesh and got involved with through a kind of long familiarity. But it cannot bring these bodies themselves back inside with it into the region, so to say, of its non-​bodily nature; so it wraps up their images and clutches them to itself, images made in itself out of itself. For it gives something of its own substance to their formation.69

The force of love acts like a glue that sticks to these sensory images in the mind.70 While these images are formed after the shape of external sensory objects, they are created out of the mind’s own substance, literally shaping the mind into the form of the bodily/​sensory. This deformation of the mind causes the mind to make a faulty judgment about itself: “But the mind is mistaken when it joins itself to these images with such extravagant love that it even comes to think it is itself something of the same sort. Thus it gets conformed to them in a certain fashion, not by being what they are but by thinking it is.”71 Looking at material objects with desire creates images out of the mind’s own substance, forming the mind into the shape of the bodily, and when the mind begins to look at itself, it begins to think of itself in terms of these bodily images. Vision’s subjectivity reveals the various ways that the mind has been deformed by looking at the world poorly. There are two key dilemmas that arise from this glue of love that sticks sight to bodily things. The first is that it prevents the Adam-​mind from seeing eternal things by focusing its attention and desire on earthly things. Augustine explains that humans are now like infants who could know themselves but are too easily distracted by such sensory things.72 The dirt of sin, which is the love of temporal things, weighs people down so that they cannot 69 Aug., de Trin. 10.2.5.7. 70 Lewis Ayres writes, “Augustine explains that all humanity attempts to imagine God, but only those who attempt to understand God through the intellect and as life itself are not simply mired in material imagery.” Lewis Ayres, Augustine and the Trinity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 185. 71 Aug., de Trin. 10.3.6.8. 72 Aug., de Trin. 14.2.2.7.

Augustine of Hippo  149 grasp eternal things,73 and when they drag deceptive semblances of bodily things inside, they cannot think of anything divine.74 They continue to look at the world poorly, enjoying the world rather than using it to direct one toward enjoying God.75 The second problem is that even if the Adam-​mind tries to contemplate God, it will now try to think of eternal things in bodily terms. The mind has been shaped in the image of bodily things, so when one looks at the mind for the Image of God, the mind cannot distinguish itself from those images. The problem, of course, is not simply that the mind thinks of itself in bodily terms, but worse still that in the quest to see God, one thinks of God in bodily terms as well, transferring bodily images to the incorporeal God.76 Looking at the world poorly leads to blindness to God. Humanity, then, is stuck in a state of spiritual blindness.77 Human effort can achieve only a temporary glimpse of truth through philosophy, but it cannot fix its gaze upon the divine light nor can it move toward that light.78 The eyes that have distorted the soul do not possess the ability to restore the soul. Yet the current state of humanity is not a hopeless one, and Augustine turns to faith and the metaphor of the ears to provide his hope through a reinterpretation of subjectivity.79 Vision has been deformed in various ways by the material world, but it can also now be reformed when aided by the grace of God.

For We Walk by Faith, Not by Sight; Faith Comes by Hearing Because humankind is now in a state of spiritual blindness, Augustine turns to 2 Corinthians 5:7 as the basis for his hope: “for we walk by faith, not by

73 Aug., de Trin. 4.4.18.24. 74 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.10.15. 75 For more on Augustine’s distinction between use and enjoyment, see Joachim Küpper, “Uti and Frui in Augustine and the Problem of Aesthetic Pleasure in the Western Tradition (Cervantes, Kant, Marx, Freud),” Comparative Literature Issue: De Theoria: Early Modern Essays in Memory of Eugene Vance MLN, 127, no. 5 (2012): S126–​S155. 76 Aug., de Trin. 1.1.1.1. 77 Aug., de Trin. 1.1.1.2. Augustine acknowledges that some have sought visual health by means of “do-​it-​yourself purification” and have been able to direct their gazes to attain “in however small a measure, the light of unchanging truth.” Aug., de Trin. 4.4.15.20. 78 Miles argues that Augustine’s understanding of eyes changed over time such that in his early writing, he suggests that there may be some few healthy eyes, but by the time of de Trinitate, there are no healthy and vigorous eyes. Miles, “Vision,” 131. 79 Aug., de Trin. 4.4.15.20.

150  Mirrors of the Divine sight” (NRSV). Augustine draws several distinctions between faith and sight, first suggesting a temporal difference: faith is a type of knowledge available now, while sight is knowledge available in the eschaton.80 Second, using John the Baptist as his example, Augustine differentiates between the kind of knowledge from each, such that faith offers indirect or inferred knowledge, while sight offers direct knowledge.81 Finally, not only does faith offer a different type of knowledge than sight, but it also has a different source. Augustine draws from Romans 10:17, “So faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Christ” (NRSV), to assert that faith comes by hearing.82 Just as sin comes by means of the eyes, but by function of the will and misdirected desire, so also faith comes by means of the ears, but by function of the rational mind comprehending the teaching of God.83 Augustine employs optical metaphors that emphasize the active nature of sight, mirroring an active Platonic visual ray, but his auditory metaphors echo a different science: ears passively wait for sounds to come from the objects heard.84 In these metaphors, Augustine combines an active theory of sight with a passive theory of hearing, a common pairing to describe why one sees lightning before hearing thunder.85 Augustine draws on this distinction to describe a spiritual difference as well: human effort is represented by the eyes reaching out, while divine aid is represented by the ears receiving in. 80 See Aug., de Trin. 8.3.4.6 and 13.1.1.2. Adam Ployd also notes: “Augustine is working with the distinction between faith and sight that separates the way we know God in this world from the way we will know God in the eschaton.” Adam Ployd, Augustine, the Trinity, and the Church: A Reading of the Anti-​Donatist Sermons, Oxford Studies in Historical Theology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 27. In note 21, Ployd writes, “For Augustine, however, both faith and sight are types of knowledge, even though the former is derivative and the latter is firsthand. This derivative knowledge of faith, though, is both legitimate and necessary because it is the only way someone in this life can come to the truth. See Augustine, util. cred. 8.20.” For more on Augustine’s distinction between knowledge and belief, see John M. Rist, Augustine: Ancient Thought Baptized (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 56–​73. 81 Aug., de Trin. 13.1.1.2. Augustine explains that a person has an image of what it means to be a man imprinted in the memory from sight, but the knowledge that John was sent by God must be believed by faith. 82 Aug., de Trin. 13.1.2.5. Though Augustine makes it clear that faith comes by hearing, he also clarifies that faith does not belong to hearing because faith itself is not a sound. 83 Aug., de Trin. 13.1.2.5. 84 For more on Augustine on hearing, see Marcia Colish, The Stoic Tradition from Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages: Stoicism in Classical Latin Literature, vol. 2, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill Academic, 1990), 172. 85 For example, Heracleides had explained that one sees lightning before hearing the thunder because vision is sent out to meet the light while hearing passively waits for the sound. Walter Burkert, Lore and Science in Ancient Pythagoreanism, trans. Edwin L. Minar, Jr. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972), 380f.

Augustine of Hippo  151 The distinction between the active and passive natures of the senses alludes to a different impact on the human as well. For example, in Confessions 6.8.13, Augustine describes the experience of Alypius, who attended the spectacle of the games against his will. Augustine reports that though Alypius kept his eyes closed against the sights, he could not similarly close his ears, with dangerous results: A great roar from the entire crowd struck him with such vehemence that he was overcome by curiosity. Supposing himself strong enough to despise whatever he saw and to conquer it, he opened his eyes. He was struck in the soul by a wound graver than the gladiator in his body, whose fall had caused the roar.86

Note here that the ears spark curiosity, but the eyes spark the wound. Alypius was passive against the sound, but it was his active choice to look that transforms him. Alypius’ transformation follows the pattern of Eve: he heard the crowd and asked what harm might come from opening one’s eyes to see and to touch the sights. As with Eve, Alypius saw, his soul was wounded, and he was transformed: As soon as he saw the blood, he at once drank in savagery and did not turn away. His eyes were riveted. He imbibed madness. Without any awareness of what was happening to him, he found delight in the murderous contest and was inebriated by bloodthirsty pleasure. He was not now the person who had come in, but just one of the crowd which he had joined, and a true member of the group which had brought him. He looked, he yelled, he was on fire, he took the madness home with him so that it urged him to return not only with those by whom he had originally been drawn there, but even more than them, taking others with him.87

Like Eve who saw, desired, ate, and gave to Adam who was with her, Alypius also saw, desired, imbibed, and brought others with him in his harmful transformation.

86 Aug., conf. 6.8.13. Translations from Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, trans. by Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). 87 Aug., conf. 6.8.13.

152  Mirrors of the Divine In both the stories of Eve and of Alypius, Augustine portrays the human as powerless once she or he sees, and this visual wound is transformative and immediate. Hearing, however, is not transformative, but it merely sparks curiosity, and one can choose whether to pursue that curiosity or not. Clearly, Alypius misjudged, “supposing himself strong enough to despise whatever he saw and to conquer it,” but nevertheless, he still retained the capacity to choose whether or not to open his eyes.88 Once he opened his eyes, however, the wound and its transformation were immediate. Augustine here offers his readers hope. While human spiritual eyes are blinded and glued to the material, unable to look at the world rightly, the spiritual ears remain open. They hear both the temptations of the serpent and the noise of the games, but they also remain open to hear God’s teaching. While hearing can spark curiosity toward harmful things, it can also initiate curiosity to know spiritual truths. To illustrate this point, Augustine offers the examples of love, beauty, and knowledge, noting that hearing of these will spark one’s curiosity to see and to know more.89 He then transitions to apply the same process to God: one can hear Scripture, gain curiosity to know more, and be moved by faith to try to see God.90 Though the spiritual eyes remain blind to God, hearing stays open to spark curiosity and faith, and Augustine’s method of faith seeking understanding can thus be understood in sensory terms: the passive ears receive the divine teaching, which sparks faith and a curiosity to know God.91 The eyes reach out to see only once the ears have received the teaching. Vision’s subjectivity, then, serves to reveal human sin in its deformation, but it also serves to reveal God’s grace through its reformation. Vision’s subjectivity captures the paradoxical state of humanity as responsible for sin, yet receptive to God’s grace.

88 Aug., conf. 6.8.13. 89 Aug., de Trin. 10.1.1.1–​2. Augustine gives the example of metheglin and the curiosity to know the thing behind the sign. 90 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.2. 91 Lewis Ayres writes, “ ‘Understanding’ here carries a sense that ties it closely to the progress of the Christian towards the final vision of God. Understanding grows as one learns to ‘see’ with increasing clarity in the truth which makes all true judgment possible.” Lewis Ayres, Augustine and the Trinity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 147.

Augustine of Hippo  153

Pure Will See God Once faith sparks the curiosity to see God, Augustine encourages his readers to begin the search for the vision of God with bodily vision.92 These bodily images, he explains, function like children’s toys, which entice one to continue the quest for the vision of God.93 However, he cautions: He must get accustomed to discovering the traces of spiritual things in bodies in such a way that when he turns upward from here and starts climbing with reason as his guide in order to reach the unchanging truth itself through which these things were made (Jn 1:3), he does not drag along with him to the top anything that he puts little value on at the bottom.94

The sensory realm was earlier part of the problem when one directs desire toward the sensory, but it here serves as part of the solution when one’s desire is directed toward God.95 As one climbs, however, one must leave behind the bodily realm. This describes the purity of Augustine’s use of Matthew 5:8, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God,” in de Trin. 8.3.46. Augustine describes this purity needed to see God not as some ascetic embodied purity, but rather a purity within the eye of the mind in which one’s mind is purified from the falsehood of thinking of God in bodily terms.96 If the pure in heart are those who rid themselves of bodily images, then the impure of heart are those who think of God in bodily terms, remaining stuck in the bodily realm and unable to see God.97 Those who see the world poorly also see God poorly. These bodily images, when combined with a purified mind, serve as a practice ground, allowing one to practice the mind’s gaze first on lower images, with the goal of moving from the illuminated creature to the illuminating light itself.98 As Augustine continues his quest for the vision of God, he 92 Cameron points to a parallel pattern in Augustine’s rhetorical approach to scripture. See Michael Cameron, Christ Meets Me Everywhere: Augustine’s Early Figurative Exegesis, Oxford Studies in Historical Theology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), especially 28–​30. 93 Aug., de Trin 1.1.1.2. 94 Aug., de Trin. 12.2.5.5. 95 For an analysis of Augustine’s writing on theophanies, see Hans Boersma, Seeing God: The Beatific Vision in Christian Tradition (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2018), 96–​126. 96 See Aug., de Trin. 1.1.1.2–​4. 97 Adam Ployd rightly points out that Augustine’s invocation of this verse “thus includes an implicit correlation: if the clean of heart will see God, then the unclean of heart will not see God.” Ployd, Augustine, the Trinity, and the Church, 28. 98 Aug., de Trin. 9.3.12.17.

154  Mirrors of the Divine gradually moves from the outer person to the inner person and ultimately to the Image of God within the rational mind.

Enigmatic and Mangled Mirrors The rational mind is both the source of the vision of God and the ability to have that vision, and as Augustine turns inward to explore the image, he merges Genesis 1:26 with 1 Corinthians 13:12.99 From Genesis 1:26, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness,” he draws out the distinction between image and likeness, and from 1 Corinthians 13:12, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face,” he highlights the mirror and dimly (or enigmatically). He combines the image of Genesis with the mirror of 1 Corinthians to argue that the rational mind is the location for the vision of God. Yet he further combines the likeness of Genesis with the enigma of 1 Corinthians to suggest that this Image of God is an obscure and enigmatic Image whose likeness reveals more of an unlikeness to God. This Image is so enigmatic that many do not even recognize that the mind is a mirrored Image of God, and those who do must still contend with the enigmatic nature of that image.100 Augustine draws some creative linguistic connections not available to his Greek counterparts by pairing the Latin word for looking (speculantes) with the Latin word for mirror (speculum) to suggest that the speculating mind speculate on the speculum.101 Yet the enigmatic nature obscures the Image, making it difficult to penetrate, revealing more about what God is not than who God is.102 This enigmatic mirror functions according to the science of mirrors within a visual ray theory. Augustine writes of mirrors, “We see bodies with our bodily eyes because the rays which shoot out from them touch whatever we observe; but we cannot snap off these rays and bend them back into our own eyes except when we look in a mirror.”103 He describes mirrors as breaking or snapping the rays to bend them back upon themselves, much like the visual

99 Genesis 1:26, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness.” NRSV 1 Corinthians 13:12, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.” NRSV. 100 Aug., de Trin. 15.6.23.44. 101 There is no such etymological link in the Greek. 102 Aug., de Trin. 15.3.9.15, Aug., de Trin. 8.1.2.3. 103 Aug., de Trin. 9.Prologue.3.3.

Augustine of Hippo  155 ray theory of Book 3 of Ptolemy’s Optics.104 Ptolemy writes of the Euclidean geometric properties that rays take as they leave the eye and are reflected by mirrors, explaining that when a visual ray strikes the surface of a mirror, it is broken and bent back to an object.105 This unfortunate breaking, Ptolemy writes, explains why mirror images are never accurate images, but are instead always too dark, too large, too small, or some other way distorted.106 Flawed mirror images, as was the case for the common mirrors of polished metal, are not merely the result of an imperfectly polished surface; rather, mirrors offer flawed images by their very nature of reflection and breaking the visual ray. This suggests for Augustine that the enigma of the mirrored Image of God is not something that can be polished away, but it is instead something innate and insurmountable by the nature of reflection. The mirror itself serves as an ontological divide between human and God, breaking the visual ray and distorting any attempt to see God while in this life, so the mirrored Image will always remain enigmatic and obscure.

From Optical Illusions to Enigmatic Mirrors: Hope, Not Despair The most one can achieve on this quest for the vision of God in this life is merely a temporary glimpse, but never an extended or permanent gaze. This distinction between glimpse and gaze allows Augustine to affirm that human desire can reach out to touch God, yet it also allows him to maintain that this vision of God is flawed, enigmatic, and not yet face to face.107 A glimpse is fleeting and incomplete; and yet, despite the impossibility of bridging the ontological mirrored divide, Augustine continues his quest to see God with hope, not despair. Much like his candle analogy, the enigmatic mirror should inspire hope to examine the Image more carefully rather than despair to abandon the quest entirely.

104 Ptolemy, Ptolemy’s Theory of Visual Perception: An English Translation of the Optics, ed. Mark A. Smith (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1996), 130–​72. 105 Aug., de Trin. 3.2.22, 140ff. 106 In his introduction to the translation, Mark Smith explains that the idea that mirrors naturally weaken the visual ray predominated thought for the next fourteen centuries until the late Renaissance with the advent of better mirrors. Mark A. Smith, “Introduction,” in Ptolemy’s Theory of Visual Perception: An English Translation of the Optics (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1996), 37n98. 107 Miles, “Vision,” 135–​36.

156  Mirrors of the Divine In the candle analogy, the image of the candle corresponded exactly with the candle itself and offered trustworthy knowledge, even when distorted by doubling. Though one may not be capable of comparing the internal mirrored Image to direct vision of God in this life, the encouragement of Augustine’s candle analogy combines with the faith that comes through the ears to offer hope on the spiritual quest. This hope is not that the enigmatic mirrored Image of God will be untangled or turn to an extended gaze in this life. Rather, it is the hope to continue to look, even if one cannot fully see: “Let this then be what we set our minds on, to know that a disposition to look for the truth is safer than one to presuppose that we know what is in fact unknown. Let us therefore so look as men who are going to find, and so find as men who are going to go on looking.”108 Vision’s subjectivity, then, is both a hindrance and an aid on the spiritual quest. Vision has been deformed through sin, yet it can also be aided by faith, and Augustine encourages his readers to continue to look for God with hope. As one looks with hope and properly directed desire turned toward the divine with the aid of God, one is transformed by the process, as in 2 Corinthians 3:18: “But we with face unveiled, looking at the glory of the Lord in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory as by the Spirit of the Lord.”109 In seeking the vision of God, one becomes transformed more into the Image of God, which, in turn, provides a clearer Image in which to see: “you should not give up the search as long as you are making progress in your inquiry into things incomprehensible, and because you become better and better by looking for so great a good which is both sought in order to be found and found in order to be sought?”110 Just as one is transformed by looking at bodily things with desire, creating an image out of one’s own soul, so also the soul is formed by looking to God with desire. This transformation is not into an image of a bodily image, but more into the Image of God: “Now the more it reaches out toward what is eternal, the more it is formed thereby to the image of God.”111 The goal, then, is to continue to look, but never fully to see, as to see would be to stop looking.112 This pattern echoes Augustine’s theory of visual perception that described the paradox of the human as active yet transformed. Here, the active visual 108 Aug., de Trin. 9.p.1.1. 109 1 Corinthians 3:18 NRSV. See Aug., de Trin. 15.3.8.14. 110 Aug., de Trin. 15.Prologue.(2)2. 111 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.7.10. 112 For a discussion of Augustine’s appropriation of Neoplatonic ascent framework, see Lewis Ayres, Augustine and the Trinity, 170–​97.

Augustine of Hippo  157 ray represents a reaching out toward the divine. It combines with the Stoic theory of transformation through prospective emotion: namely, desire for a future event of being united with God by an extended and permanent gaze. In doing so, Augustine’s theory of visual perception not only describes the paradox of the human in relation to the world but also the paradox of the human in relation to God. Vision’s subjectivity captures the tension between vision’s hindrance and aid: individuals will be at different points in the process of deformed or reformed spiritual sight, seeing both the world and God differently.

Augustine’s Visions of God in Confessions In analyzing the ways in which Augustine writes about vision, and particularly the ways in which he writes about the vision of God, I would be remiss if I did not include, at least briefly, Augustine’s own visions of God as recounted in his Confessions. Indeed, these visions follow the very pattern laid out in de Trinitate. In Book 7 of Confessions, Augustine details his first vision of God, writing that he was hindered, “unable to think any substance possible other than that which the eyes normally perceive.”113 His mind was not yet purified from thinking in bodily terms, so he could not yet move past the bodily images of God that he had created in his mind. He could, at times, disperse these images, but they would soon return “in the flash of an eye.”114 Despite his attempts, he could not raise his impure eyes that were stuck by the glue of love to the material world because God had not yet lightened his darkness.115 He was blind, and his eyes had not yet been aided by his ears. It was only once he focused on understanding what he was hearing, likely through Ambrose’s sermons, that he began to make progress in his quest.116 Ambrose’s teaching had instilled faith through his ears, which sparked a curiosity to continue his quest.117 He explains that when he understood something of the free choice of the will, he was able to lift his mind’s eyes somewhat, but he soon plunged back into the darkness of thinking of evil

113 Aug., conf. 7.1.1. 114

Aug., 1 Corinthians 15:12, conf. 7.1.1. Aug., Psalms 17:29, conf. 7.1.2. 116 Aug., conf. 7.3.5. 117 Aug., conf. 7.5.7. 115

158  Mirrors of the Divine as a substance. These bodily images clouded his eyes, blocking the mind’s eye: “All these things had grown out of my wound, for you had humbled this proud man with a wound. My swelling conceit separated me from you, and the gross swelling on my face closed my eyes.”118 Augustine found himself wounded with a swelling that shut his eyes, and only God could heal that swelling: “My swelling was reduced by your hidden healing hand, and my mind’s troubled and darkened eye, under the hot dressing119 of salutary sorrows, was from ‘day to day’ (Ps. 60: 9) brought back to health.”120 As in de Trinitate, Augustine describes faith, which comes from hearing God’s teaching to nurse the eyes on their quest. The teachings in particular that Augustine heard were from what he called the Platonic book of the Gospel of John. These allowed him to open his eyes and turn inward to the mirrored Image of God within: “I was admonished to return into myself. With you as my guide I entered into my innermost citadel, and was given power to do so because you had become my helper (Ps. 29: 11).”121 With his ears supporting his eyes, he examines that mirrored Image: “I entered and with my soul’s eye, such as it was, saw above that same eye of my soul the immutable light higher than my mind.”122 This experience wiped away all of Augustine’s doubt, discovering that he already loved God, not an imaginary image of God.123 However, his glimpse did not last, “But I was not stable in the enjoyment of my God. I was caught up to you by your beauty and quickly torn away from you by my weight. With a groan I crashed into inferior things.”124 Augustine writes of this vision: So in the flash of a trembling glance it attained to that which is. At that moment I saw your “invisible nature understood through the things which are made” (Rom. 1: 20). But I did not possess the strength to keep my vision fixed. My weakness reasserted itself, and I returned to my customary condition. I carried with me only a loving memory and a desire for that of which I had the aroma but which I had not yet the capacity to eat.125



118 Aug., conf. 7.7.11. 119

Collyrium, a medical term for “eye salve” that Augustine uses as a metaphor for Christ.

120 Aug., conf. 7.8.12.

121 Aug., conf. 7.10.16. 122 Aug., conf. 7.10.16. 123 Aug., conf. 7.17.23. 124 Aug., conf. 7.17.23. 125 Aug., conf. 7.17.23.

Augustine of Hippo  159 Despite this glimpse, Augustine’s vision alone did not have the power to transform him. As described in de Trinitate, the eyes have the power to deform, becoming stuck to the glue of materiality, but they do not have the power to reform. Bodily images had swelled his eyes shut to the vision of God, yet faith, which comes from hearing God’s teaching, had nursed his eyes enough to allow him to ascend, ever so briefly, to a glimpse of the vision of God. Yet this glimpse was but the merest flash, a glance into an enigmatic mirror, and it just as quickly slid away and back to earth. His ears again aid his transformation in Book 8, this time from a child’s voice calling out “take it and read, take it and read.”126 In response, Augustine notes that he had previously heard the story of Antony, had heard the Gospel, and now reads Paul’s message as if it were to Augustine himself. His transformation occurs here, his eyes to read aided by the faith from his ears, and he describes another vision with his mother Monica in Book 9 during their conversation about God: “Our minds were lifted up by an ardent affection towards eternal being itself. Step by step we climbed beyond all corporeal objects and the heaven itself, where sun, moon, and stars shed light on the earth. We ascended even further by internal reflection and dialogue and wonder at your works, and we entered into our own minds.”127 Augustine describes the experience after entering their own minds: And while we talked and panted after it, we touched it in some small degree by a moment of total concentration of the heart. And we sighed and left behind us “the first fruits of the Spirit” (Rom. 8:23) bound to that higher world, as we returned to the noise of our human speech where a sentence has both a beginning and an ending.128

Note that this second “vision” is described without reference to the eyes. As in de Trinitate, Augustine continues to look as if he would see, and he is indeed transformed, but not by his own sight, which only has the power to deform, but by hearing God’s teaching. His faith, which comes from God, initiated his desire to reach out to see God, and his ability to reach out by looking is the transformation, even if he does not have the ability to see.



126 Aug., conf. 8.12.28.

127 Aug., conf. 9.10.24. 128 Aug., conf. 9.10.24.

160  Mirrors of the Divine As in his de Trinitate, Augustine’s visions in Confessions affirm the possibility of a brief glimpse of the divine, but not an extended gaze.129 The glimpse is available now, a flash in the corner of the eye (8.1.2.3), mediated though an enigmatic mirror, but the gaze is available then, unmediated, direct, and face to face. The glimpse is a temporary “transitory thought about an intransitory thing,” while a future gaze will be abiding and permanent.130

Conclusion The way that Augustine writes about vision as vision gives us a glimpse into the way in which he understands the human in relation to the world, and the way that he writes about mirrors offers a glimpse into the way in which he understands the human in relation to the divine. Augustine’s writing on vision echoes the seemingly disparate theories of the Platonic visual ray theory and the Stoic theory of visual perception, yet he merges their apparent contradictions to portray a coherent picture of the paradox of human nature: one that is active yet acted upon and has trustworthy knowledge of the world, but not of God. It is precisely vision’s subjectivity that illustrates this paradox: we see differently because sight has been deformed by material images, blinding one to the vision of God. Yet this visual difference is also a source of hope, as the deformed vision can be aided by God to allow a transformative glimpse through a mirror darkly. Augustine employs a Platonic visual ray theory at times, describing rays that shoot out from the eyes to touch objects such that sight occurs at the location of the object, not in the eye itself. He uses this theory, in particular, to emphasize the active nature of visual perception as well as the external nature of vision: it occurs outside the body such that the act of visual perception does not pollute the body. However, he rejects the Platonic merging of the visual ray with the sun’s ray, the touch that occurs between body and soul, and also the Platonic emphasis that the viewer is unaffected by vision. Like the Stoic theory, Augustine describes a corporeal material ray that shines its own light onto objects, and he describes the creation of internal images from objects. He utilizes a pneuma/​spiritus/​will as the mediator between the body and the soul and follows a Stoic theory of emotions and

129

See also Miles, “Vision,” 136.

130 Aug., de Trin. 12.3.14.23.

Augustine of Hippo  161 assessment. The will unites the body and the soul while simultaneously keeping the soul untainted by the world. Likewise, the creation of images keeps the soul pure from the world, yet it also serves to prove the trustworthy nature of vision. One who sees with a Platonic visual ray should be unaffected by sights, but Augustine sidesteps this issue by shifting this transformation from visual perception to the will, which has made an incorrect assessment in deeming material objects worthy of desire. Both theories combine in his candle analogies to prove that subjective vision of the world is trustworthy, even when presented with optical illusions, and it is this hope that he carries over to the quest for the enigmatic vision of God. In de Trinitate, Augustine merges philosophy with biblical interpretation to retell Genesis 1–​3 in optical terms such that the eye of the mind is now blind to the vision of God. Though the eye of the mind is darkened and the mirrored image is dim and distorted, Augustine takes comfort in his view that knowledge, like sight, issues from both the knower and the thing known.131 Augustine offers his readers the hope that faith comes through the ears to nurse the eyes on their quest for the enigmatic vision of God. While one can achieve merely a glimpse of God through a mirror darkly, Augustine encourages his readers to be transformed by the act of looking even if they cannot fully see. Augustine’s prescription for Christian vision is to see the world rightly, using it to direct one to enjoy God. As is the case with each of the authors in this book, writing on vision is deeply intertwined with broader debates about agency, identity, and epistemology, and analyzing the ways in which Augustine writes about vision reveals the particular discursive claim that Augustine makes about the nature of the human as active and responsible, yet transformed and wounded by sin. His view of humanity is one that is blind to the vision of God yet open to receiving faith by means of the ears, and he constructs a relationship between the human and the divine such that the grace of faith offers a salve to the blinding glue of sin. Thus, through his writing on vision, he rhetorically constructs the relationship between the human and the divine that emphasizes the paradox of both the necessity for and the inability of human effort in the quest for the vision of God, grounded in the subjectivity of vision. Humans are simultaneously responsible for their deformed sight, yet incapable of reforming that sight without God’s aid. Augustine’s prescription



131 Aug., de Trin. 9.3.12.18.

162  Mirrors of the Divine for Christian vision, to look at the world rightly by directing one’s desire to God, becomes an impossible prescription without the aid of God’s grace. In this second section, the rhetorical worlds of the subjective nature of vision have shifted, no longer focusing on direct vision of the world, but now emphasizing indirect or mirrored vision of God. This mirrored vision is still founded on an understanding of vision’s subjectivity, but this subjectivity is now merged with a portrayal of mirrors as dark, distorted, and enigmatic. While the authors in the first half of this book explained subjectivity in terms of gender or baptismal status, the authors in this second half redefine subjectivity into opportunities for growth and the basis for hope. Gregory of Nyssa uses vision’s subjectivity as the prime metaphor for human mutability, reinterpreting this change as the basis for his doctrine of perpetual progress. In his depiction, mutable bodies and their subjective vision are not flaws; rather, they are reinterpreted to be the very possibility for spiritual growth. Augustine of Hippo uses vision’s subjectivity to illustrate the paradox of the human: both flawed by sin yet aided by God. In his telling, subjectivity is tied to flawed bodies, which points to sin, but it also becomes a source of hope. Though vision might be flawed and enigmatic, it can be aided by God to offer a glimpse of the vision of God. Both authors use the mirror as the primary metaphor to describe the vision of God, with Gregory identifying the soul as that mirror and Augustine identifying the mind as that mirror. Both mirrors are enigmatic, though Gregory stands out in making that enigmatic mirror the very pathway to God, while Augustine makes the mirror a divide between human and divine. In Gregory, the mirror reveals God, but in Augustine, the mirror hides God. Both offer their Christian prescriptions for looking by turning away from the world and toward God, though only Gregory offers humans the ability to do so.

7 “In an Enigma” Reflections on Reflection

For now we see through a mirror, in an enigma . . .1

Introduction In the previous chapters, I focused my analysis on a deeper dive into specific authors or topics, but in this final chapter, I take a step back to explore the connections and patterns that have emerged from my study of vision and mirrors in late ancient Christianity to uncover the ways in which the discourse shifted chronologically or geographically. Early Christian writing on visual perception contains the intersecting threads of agency, identity, and epistemology as grounded in vision’s subjectivity, though certain threads become more prominent in some authors, while fading to the background in other authors. In this chapter, I first offer the culmination of my findings, drawing from the threads of discourse around vision and mirrors and their philosophical and theological applications. The history of vision demonstrates that the earliest writings portray vision’s subjectivity as tied to debates about agency and epistemology, and the scriptural tradition ties those debates to spiritual epistemology, spiritual identity, and praxis. In each example, vision is grounded in an embodied understanding of a flawed human in relation to the world. Writing on the history of mirrors, meanwhile, draws a connection between self-​reflection and glimpses of the other world even while they divide between mirrors of self-​improvement and self-​ corruption. The discourse around mirrors ties together vision with debates about subjective identity and one’s morality or immorality.

1 1 Corinthians 13:12, translation my own.

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0008

164  Mirrors of the Divine I then move to examine how the late ancient Christian authors engage various strands of those debates with some shared and some diverging assumptions along chronological and geographical lines. They share an active divine ray, a transformed human, and a complicated portrayal of human visual perception through multiple visual theories, yet they differ in application and emphasis. While examining the differences among the authors, a few patterns emerge. The chronological patterns emphasize three pieces. First, the visual metaphor develops chronologically, starting with literal vision and moving to metaphorical vision before branching into a more complicated collection of visual metaphors. Second, along similar lines, writing about vision shifts from direct vision (i.e., How can Christians see God?) to indirect or mirrored vision (i.e., In what kinds of reflections can Christians glimpse God?). Third, writing on vision begins by emphasizing one’s difference from the world and then moves to describing one’s connection to God. In each case, writing about vision and mirrors reveals deeper assumptions about the subjective nature of one’s location in the world and one’s relationship to God. Finally, another pattern emerges geographically, across Eastern and Western authors, which maps on to diverging assumptions about the nature of enigma. Each author enters these debates from a unique context and with a particular set of assumptions to describe the human in relation to the world and to the divine, but each engages the shared project of a discursive struggle over claims of Christian identity, authority, and epistemology through philosophical and theological speculations of subjective vision of God.

Threads of Subjectivity: Agency, Identity, and Epistemology Before I explore the patterns that emerge among the figures of this project, I first want to draw out the particular threads of the discourse that show that writing about vision and mirrors was long intertwined with broader debates about agency, identity, and epistemology. The various perspectives of these debates reveal specific assumptions about the subjective ways in which one interacts with the world and with the divine: who has power and to what extent, how difference is ascribed, and whether and to what extent knowledge is possible. The earliest writing about vision was tied to broader debates about the subjective nature of sight. Ancient philosophical, medical, and mathematical texts link vision to agency and to epistemology, to one’s place in the

“In an Enigma”  165 world and to one’s ability for knowledge. In their deliberations about whether something leaves or enters the eye, these authors focus on the core question of whether one impacts the world or whether one is impacted by the world. The nuances within these debates, whether vision requires particles or air imprints, mediums or voids, single or multiple visual rays, sought to delineate the degree of that impact. Through these conversations, vision became central for describing one’s subjective relationship to the world and particularly one’s agency within that world. While authors differed in their assessments of one’s agency in and impact on or by the world, they largely agreed on vision’s link to epistemology and a need to defend visual knowledge. As authors cast critiques at one another, doubting the size of particles or the weakness of visual rays, they were critiquing those theories that left room to doubt the nature of visual knowledge. The Skeptics had raised doubt about this knowledge, most poignantly through the examples of optical illusions: why does a square tower appear round in the distance or why does an oar appear bent in water?2 Such illusions illustrate that we see the world differently from different locations or at different times. Each theory of vision sought to protect this knowledge through visual perception: explaining that dense air or water blocks particles3 or proposing that the visual rays spread too wide to catch the corners of the building.4 In offering such explanations, ancient philosophers, medical writers, and mathematicians tied vision to epistemology, seeking to defend the very nature of visual knowledge and to explain the subjective nature of sight. The Hebrew Bible likewise links vision to agency and to epistemology, defining visual knowledge as both trustworthy and impactful. Yet these writings also connect vision further to one’s subjective spiritual identity and to one’s relationship with the divine. These scriptures describe vision that can be aided by God, which leads to beneficial outcomes such as life-​saving sources of water or alternative sacrifices;5 but they also describe vision that can be unaided by God, leading to tragic consequences, or even to death.6 2 See Sextus Empiricus, P. 100–​117; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. Ph. 9.87; Aristotle, Pr. 15.6.911b.19–​21; Plutarch, Adversus Colotem 1121a–​b. See also Sylvia Berryman, “Euclid and the Sceptic: A Paper on Vision, Doubt, Geometry, Light and Drunkenness,” Phronesis 43, no. 2 (1998): 178n4; R. J. Hankinson, The Sceptics (New York: Routledge, 1998). 3 Lucretius, Rer. nat. 4.353–​63. 4 Euclid, Optica 1–​3, 9. 5 After hearing the voice of her son, God opened Hagar’s eyes so that she could see a well of water in Genesis 21:15–​19. After taking his son Isaac up the mountain to sacrifice him, Abraham sees a ram provided by God to sacrifice instead in Genesis 22:9–​14. 6 Lot’s wife turns to a pillar of salt when she looks back to Sodom and Gomorrah. Genesis 19:26.

166  Mirrors of the Divine Vision, in the Hebrew Bible, becomes the signifier of one’s subjective spiritual identity and connection to God. The New Testament further solidifies vision’s link to subjective spiritual identity, now through one’s spiritual health, recognized by the embodied marker of healthy/​sick eyes and the associated light-​filled/​dark bodies.7 Vision is also tied not merely to material epistemology but also now to spiritual epistemology, searching for the Invisible God through the visible created world, and also to praxis by offering a rationale for visual piety.8 In each of these examples, vision represents physical vision, tied to bodily eyes and an embodied understanding of the human in relationship to both the world and to the divine. It defines and inscribes subjective spiritual identity onto the embodied and subjective experience of the human in the world. Writing about vision was tied to debates about embodied agency, identity, and epistemology long before the late ancient Christian authors were writing, yet these later authors engaged various aspects of this discourse in their own projects as they turn to these debates to offer their own prescriptions for Christian identity, agency, and epistemology through the subjective nature of vision. Some of these debates continue to revolve around bodily vision, as in Tertullian of Carthage, while other debates begin to draw analogies to spiritual vision, as in Clement of Alexandria, though they still retain their link to an embodied understanding of the human. Tertullian of Carthage constructs a visual hierarchy of perception based on bodily intactness and penetrability. In doing so, he uses Stoic and Epicurean theories of visual perception to draw lines of distinction between God and humans and between men and women: God is intact and sees with a kind of Stoic visual ray, while humans are penetrable, receiving particles as in Epicureanism.9 Men, however, are partially intact, both sending rays and receiving particles, while women are completely porous, with leaky and penetrable bodies. In this depiction, Tertullian engages vision’s subjectivity to draw lines of difference along gender lines, marking one’s gendered identity through theories of visual perception and its related bodily intactness/​ penetrability. This visual difference, for Tertullian, requires discrete forms of visual piety: humans, penetrable to sights, must avoid the games; men, already marginally intact, must avoid plucking their beards; while women, 7 Matthew 6:22–​23. 8 Romans 1:20. Heath links this verse to visual piety and praxis in J. M. F. Heath, Paul’s Visual Piety: The Metamorphosis of the Beholder (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 152. 9 Tert., Spect. 20.4.

“In an Enigma”  167 who are both penetrable and leaky, must wear veils to prevent their particles from entering the eyes of men.10 Though humanity has a kind of agency in these visual performances of Christian identity, it is a distinctly restricted agency. Tertullian here describes and defines a gendered Christian identity that is tied to his understanding of embodied visuality, impacting both how one sees and also how one is seen. He creates intersecting categories of in-​ groups and out-​groups, Christians versus non-​Christians and men versus women, all of whose identities must be performed visually. Though identity is the primary thread for Tertullian, he also links vision to epistemology by addressing the Skeptics’ optical illusions and constructing a defense of vision using Stoic and Epicurean theories of visual perception.11 He connects this epistemological defense of physical vision to his theological debates, arguing that vision’s reliability is proof of God’s goodness, proof of the goodness of creation, and proof against heresies. Tertullian also merges his defense of visual perception to a defense of spiritual visions, weaving together philosophical and theological threads to define boundaries of who has access to epistemology. In doing so, he attaches this visual epistemology to Christian identity to argue that true epistemology is found in his particular kind of gendered Christian identity with its accompanying gendered performances. For Tertullian, then, vision becomes the primary locus for Christian identity, which encompasses restricted agency and Christian epistemology. It is vision’s subjectivity that helps him to make his point that the variety of perception “enhances the glory of God,”12 yet his prescription for Christian vision, to protect penetrable bodies, is applied inequitably along gender lines. Moving to the East, Clement of Alexandria uses visual perception to describe the transformation of the Christian that occurs through the cataract surgery of baptism. Like Tertullian, Clement weaves together his writing on vision with his understanding of Christian identity, here defined by one’s difference from the world. Unlike Tertullian, however, Clement does not propose an embodied visual performance, but rather the opening of one’s spiritual eyes that occurs in baptism.13 In doing so, his writing brings vision’s connection to epistemology to the fore, tied now to one’s spiritual 10 Tert., Cult. Fem. 2.1, 2.2, 26. 11 An. 17. 12 Tert., An. 8. Tertullian: Apologetical Works and Minucius Felix Octavius, trans. Rudolph Arbesmann, Sister Emily Joseph Daly, and Edwin A. Quain, FC 10 (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1950), 194–​95. 13 Paed 1.6.28.

168  Mirrors of the Divine epistemology found in his particular kind of Christian identity: only those who have been baptized can see and know God. This new Christian epistemology is marked by a change in identity, described by a new kind of vision, which is transformed from intromission to a deified extramission. Though the individual has the agency or choice to undergo baptism, the transformation occurs entirely by the divine ophthalmologist who removes the cataract, granting the recipient new deified eyes. Unlike Tertullian, Clement offers no defense of this epistemology, but he emphasizes instead the exclusive nature of this knowledge, available only to those who have baptized eyes. His prescription for Christian vision is a baptismal prescription, which inscribes difference along baptismal lines. Tertullian and Clement both use visual perception to describe their views of Christian identity, agency, and epistemology tied to embodied vision. Tertullian engages vision as physical vision to construct categories of difference and visual piety tied to gendered Christian identity. Clement, on the other hand, moves things inward to focus primarily on Christian epistemology tied to baptized Christian identity. Tertullian uses vision’s subjectivity to carve lines of difference along gender lines, while Clement uses vision’s subjectivity to draw lines of distinction along baptismal status. Both focus on vision, whether bodily eyes or spiritual eyes, as tied to embodied practice, whether beards, veils, or baptism. Yet neither uses physical or metaphorical mirrors as a major component in their discourses. The mirror as a metaphor for the vision of God gains prominence in the written record after the second century CE, yet the earliest writing about mirrors as objects demonstrates that mirrors and reflection were never entirely neutral. From the earliest sources, mirrors were wrapped up in debates about morality and focus. Mirrored surfaces of water split the gaze, showing a kind of double image: both a reflection of the self and a glimpse of the world through the water. Such distortions led to intrigue, linking the mirror to self-​ reflection and glimpses into the other world, and these dim and distorted images became intertwined with ideas of morality, magic, and metaphor. On the positive side, the mirror serves to reveal hidden objects or to filter images that would be harmful or too strong. These mirrors allow one to see things that could not be viewed directly with the naked eye. Positive mirrors can also serve as philosopher’s mirrors of self-​reflection, used for self-​ improvement, or they can function as magical mirrors that offer glimpses into other worlds. Positive mirrors are useful, enabling humans to become their best selves or even to transcend human capacity. On the negative side,

“In an Enigma”  169 the distortions of mirrors can serve not as a means of self-​improvement, but rather as a means of self-​corruption, tied to vanity and bodily defilement. The allure of such mirrors can be used as tricks or even weapons against others, or they can become deadly traps, even to oneself. Mirrors, both as objects and as metaphors, are fraught with meaning. While mirrors split the gaze between self and other, the Hebrew Bible begins to associate these dual strands with religion. Spots on the surface of one’s mirror represent sin,14 while Wisdom is a mirror of God.15 The New Testament texts solidify this link, still split between the self and God, offering both a glimpse of God through a mirror, darkly,16 and also transforming the individual into that mirrored image.17 The Hebrew Bible and New Testament texts tie metaphorical mirrors to one’s relationship to God, particularly through epistemology, self-​reflection, transformation, and praxis.18 The mirror as metaphor gained traction with Plotinus in the third century CE. Not only did his writings help to popularize the metaphor, but they also shifted its use. Prior to Plotinus, the positive and negative mirrors were largely separate categories: the philosopher’s mirror was associated with self-​ reflection and self-​improvement, while the mirror of vanity was viewed as a separate category, used for self-​corruption or danger to others. Mirrors could be beneficial or they could be harmful, but these were largely viewed as separate objects or categories: the philosopher’s mirror and the mirror of vanity were distinctly different mirrors. Plotinus, however, merged the two categories in his depiction of the mirror world of creation.19 This single metaphorical mirror of creation was not inherently positive or negative, as in the previous metaphors. Rather, the mirror world of creation could be positive or it could be negative based on its use. If used rightly, it could lead one to the divine, but if used wrongly, it would turn into a trap.20 Plotinus, then, brought together the threads of the prior mirrors such that a single metaphorical mirror became a much more complicated mirror. By shifting the morality (or immorality) away from the mirror and onto the viewer, the mirror now becomes an object of potentiality. It still splits the gaze between the self and other, now between the self and the divine, but it can become a

14

Sirach 12:10–​11.

15 Wisdom 7:26.

16 1 Corinthians 13:12. 17 2 Corinthians 3:18. 18

James 1:23–​24.

19 Plotinus, Enneads, III.6.7.17–​27, IV.4.10.12–​15.

20 Plotinus, Enneads, I.6.8.8–​16.

170  Mirrors of the Divine pathway to the divine or a trap of the created world. As a potential glimpse into the other world, the mirror had long been tied to the location seen, but now it is also tied to the use and intention of the viewer. The mirror, then, becomes the primary metaphor to describe the liminal space that connects the human and the divine. Gregory of Nyssa picks up this Plotinian mirror metaphor, but he shifts its location from creation to the soul, which serves as the mirror in which one can see the Image of God. Yet he departs from Plotinus and, in fact, from all prior Greek tradition by portraying vision’s subjectivity as the mutable mirror of humanity, now reimagined as a positive means of progress. In doing so, he blends the atomistic understanding of reception and transformation with the synergy of Stoicism to emphasize human activity.21 Gregory, then, uses visual perception to emphasize the thread of human agency in the mystical ascent. Through this agency, the Christian can purify the surface of the mirror to better reflect the divine, can choose to turn the mirror toward or away from the divine, can serve as an example to others on this spiritual journey, and ultimately, can even be an artist of one’s own Image. This agency is tied, somewhat, to Gregory’s portrayal of Christian identity, marked metaphorically by the dove in the eye of those who gaze upon the divine. However, this agency is tied even more explicitly to spiritual epistemology through Gregory’s reinterpretation of seeing God through a mirror, in an enigma. Gregory’s mirror of the soul serves as the bridge between human and divine, tying together God’s transcendence and incomprehension with God’s immanence and possibility for true knowledge. His mirror is a revealing mirror, bringing to light the hidden divine. While Gregory’s Platonic and Neoplatonic background suggests that the knowledge of God available through the mirrored Image of the soul is incomprehensible, the atomist component of vision suggests that the mirrored image is partial, but real, revealing true, if incomplete knowledge of God. The synergistic Stoic component of vision provides Gregory with the basis for human agency and perpetual progress into this infinite knowledge of God. In Gregory’s telling, then, the mirror is not merely an ontological divide that keeps the individual from God, but it is also the very path and means for progress into participation with God. Gregory weaves together strands from previous discourse on vision and mirrors to shift from philosophical epistemology to mystical theology, and to move from human agency to theological anthropology.

21 See especially Cant 14, 467.

“In an Enigma”  171 Gregory’s discourse is distinctly more theological than that of those before him, and he uses the metaphor of the mirror to create new meaning in his mystical theology by redefining subjectivity and mutability as possibilities for growth rather than as flaws. Returning to the West, Augustine of Hippo uses visual perception to describe the paradoxical relationship between human free will and divine grace. Like Gregory, he portrays a synergy of agency, now through a Platonic-​Stoic theory of perception to describe an individual who is active yet acted upon. Unlike Gregory, however, this agency comes not from the Stoic synergy, but from the Platonic visual ray. Augustine uses these same theories adamantly to defend visual perception against the optical illusions of doubled images or remnants of candles, arguing that such illusions are a means of hope rather than of despair.22 However, when this active Platonic ray meets the surface of a mirror, it bends and breaks, so that seeing God through a mirror, darkly, will always provide a dim, distorted, enigmatic Image of God.23 His spiritual epistemology, unlike Gregory’s, portrays the mirror as a hindrance or optical illusion, and his mirror is one that hides rather than reveals the divine. While he intends to provide hope, rather than despair, he nevertheless portrays the mirror as an unbridgeable ontological divide between the human and God. Thus, he defines Christian identity as one that sees God poorly when it looks at the world poorly, and his prescription for Christian vision, to look at the world to see God, becomes an impossible task without God’s aid. Through it all, each of the authors engages vision’s subjectivity. Tertullian uses subjectivity to explain why his rules of visual piety apply differently to different people, while Clement uses subjectivity to explain how Christians are distinct from the world, having access to unique spiritual knowledge. Gregory engages subjectivity to explain how individuals can make progress, while Augustine employs subjectivity to explain the paradoxical state of humanity as simultaneously responsible for their flaws, yet in need of God’s grace to turn to God. Tertullian and Clement engage subjectivity to explain difference among humans, along lines of gender or baptismal status, while Gregory and Augustine use subjectivity to describe the relationship between human and divine, whether joined or separated, potential or paradoxical. Thus, though each of the authors employs subjectivity for different reasons,



22 de Trin. 11.

23 See especially de. Trin. 9 and 15.

172  Mirrors of the Divine there are some patterns that emerge when comparing the authors to one another.

Patterns of Perception Tracing this discourse of vision and mirrors through philosophy, medicine, mathematics, scripture, and late ancient Christian authors brings to light that writing about vision and mirrors was always connected to broader conversations. Throughout this book, I have focused on the themes of agency, identity, and epistemology, and several related patterns have emerged from this study. Without collapsing the nuances and distinctions among each author, I want to draw out some of these shared assumptions that have arisen. Each author uses an active theory to describe God’s vision, whether explicitly defined as vision or more implicitly defined as God’s light or God’s role in forming the mirrored Image of God. Though each author does so for a different reason and for a different purpose, each shares the assumption that God is active in the process. Similarly, each author also portrays humanity as receptive and transformed, the inverse of God’s visual outpouring. They differ on the positive or negative role of that transformation, and they differ in one’s agency in the change, but they all share the assumption that humanity is transformed through visual perception. Relatedly, each author uses at least two theories of visual perception to describe the complex role of humanity in relation to the world and to the divine. They differ on which theories they combine, and they differ on whether those theories occur simultaneously or in different circumstances, but each author shares the assumption that vision is more complicated than could be captured in a single theory, and these dual theories help to describe vision’s subjectivity. I explore here these shared assumptions about the nature of vision and its relationship to agency, identity, and epistemology.

Divine Rays Ancient texts, from as early as those about the sun god Ra in 1500 BCE to the Hebrew Bible, consistently portray divine sight as active.24 In the Hebrew Bible, the divine gaze aids humanity, or the divine gaze can turn away from 24 Simon Ings, A Natural History of Seeing: The Art and Science of Vision (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2008), 158.

“In an Enigma”  173 humanity, withdrawing support.25 Though each of the late ancient Christian authors portrays human vision in different ways and for different purposes, one thing that remains consistent across the writings is a unified portrayal of the active nature of God. Tertullian describes this ray overtly, using the external nature of divine vision as one that keeps the harmful sights of sin from impacting God.26 This type of vision, and its related bodily intactness, is also used as a pair of balanced opposites against humanity’s penetrability. In this way, God’s divine ray both keeps God pure, and it also stands as a marker of difference between God and humanity. Clement similarly describes God’s sight in extramissive terms, as the divine light that shines forth. This divine light is what removes the cataract in baptism, and it is also the same light that mixes with human vision to grant an internal light by which to see God, like by means of like.27 It shifts human eyes from receptive intromissive eyes to deified extramissive eyes, transforming humanity and granting it the ability to see. Gregory of Nyssa also uses a kind of ray theory to emphasize the active nature of divine light in his portrayal of the synergy of sight, in which both humans and God are active. In atomism, particles flow from the object to the viewer and are flung back from the surface of the mirror. When humanity sees God in the mirror of its soul, it receives those particles, streaming from God.28 Yet because Gregory also emphasizes the active nature of the human, the mirror of the soul becomes a bridge between God and humanity through which both are moving toward one another. Though Augustine, like Gregory, uses a kind of synergy to describe human sight, he emphasizes even more the role of divine light. He describes his mirror in terms of extramission, which breaks the human visual ray, offering only a dim or distorted Image.29 Thus, any glimpse of the vision of God comes not from human effort, but from an outpouring of divine grace. The science of visual rays fits with this pattern, as the key critique of the visual ray theory was its inability to reach across vast distances. How could a human visual ray reach to the stars without losing strength or material? Likewise, does the visual ray theory leave room for doubt, since it requires reconstructing the image from received information? Such critiques fall

25 Cf. Deuteronomy 29; Genesis 3, 12, 13, 21, 22, and 41; and Exodus 13 and 15. 26 Tert., Spect. 20.2 CSEL 20:21.

27 Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.6.28. SC 1:160–​62. 28 Gregory of Nyssa, Cant 4, 117. 29 Aug., de Trin. 9.Prologue.3.3.

174  Mirrors of the Divine away when the ray’s source is infinite and perfect, so any critique about a faulty human visual ray would not apply to a divine visual ray. Presumably, an infinite divine visual ray suffers no optical illusion, but the same could not be said for the flaws of atomism, caused by particles losing their order in the wind or from disturbances. An infinite visual ray provides a stronger argument than that of atomism for perfect vision, as vision then rests on the infinite action of God reaching out rather than passively waiting for the world to enter in. A divine visual ray places God in charge of divine sight rather than God being impacted by the atoms of the world.

Human Transformation and Flawed Bodies Just as each author describes divine sight as active and reaching out, each author also describes human sight as transformative and rooted in flawed bodies. Whether they ascribe a kind of ray theory or a more receptive theory of atomism, each author describes the transformative impact of vision on the viewer. The Hebrew Bible describes the transformative nature of sight, from Jacob’s ewes to Lot’s wife, and this transformation takes on a distinctly spiritual component in the New Testament, with 2 Corinthians 3:18: “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit” (NRSV). Tertullian describes humans as the inverse of God: they are penetrable and transformed by sights. While other authors will describe the positive nature of such transformations, Tertullian focuses on the harm: all humans are harmed by seeing the games, and men are damaged by seeing unveiled women.30 He links this transformation directly to an atomistic and penetrable portrayal of humanity, and he uses this transformation as both the basis for his construction of difference and also for the visual performance required by that difference: all must avoid the games, but only women must veil themselves. For Tertullian, transformation is something to avoid, and he uses this as an aspect of his discourse about Christian identity: only Christians remain untransformed when they avoid the games and wear veils or beards. For Tertullian, penetrable bodies are flawed bodies in relation to the world, but this flaw of penetrability becomes a source of connection when properly

30 cf. Tert., Spect., Cult fem., and Virg.

“In an Enigma”  175 veiled and turned to God: the veiled virgin has the nearest vision of the face of God. Clement also focuses on visual transformation, but he moves it from the world to the internal spiritual change of the eyes in the divine cataract surgery of baptism.31 This metamorphosis, though described through a potentially dangerous cataract surgery, is a positive one: it grants new and lightsome eyes, the ability to see and to know God, and a kind of deified perfection. Flawed bodies, imagined through spiritually cataracted eyes, are the natural state of humanity, but they are also portrayed as the locations for spiritual transformation. This transformative aspect of humanity becomes the source of change and the ability to move from partial knowledge to perfect knowledge. It is also part of his discourse of Christian identity, but in this case, only the baptized Christian has been deified. Gregory of Nyssa, like Tertullian, describes vision through a form of atomism, and he likewise describes a visual transformation through the world. Unlike Tertullian, however, Gregory adds to it the possibility for a spiritual transformation: one can become ugly and frog-​like, or one can become beautiful like gold with the dove imprinted on the eye.32 He links this transformative ability to human mutability, which is best captured by his metaphor of the mirror. Unlike Tertullian’s theory, Gregory’s is not some passive transformation; rather, humans are active agents,33 directing the mirror, purifying its surface, and ultimately becoming artists of their own Images. Like Clement, this transformation is the basis for positive change, but even further, it becomes identified as perfection itself: perpetually transforming more into the Image of God. For Gregory, transformation is the key component of his discourse on human agency, and the so-​called flaw of mutability is no flaw at all. Augustine is the only author of the four to hold no theory of atomism, which is usually the basis for visual transformation. Instead, he links transformation to the prospective Stoic emotions of fear and desire, such that this transformation occurs not by means of vision, but by function of emotion. As in Gregory’s writing, this transformation can be positive or negative; it is both the basis for one’s transformation into the Image of God, but it is also the root of becoming trapped in sin. Yet Augustine focuses less on human effort and more on divine grace. Humans have the ability to deform

31 Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.6.28. SC 1:160–​62. 32 Gregory of Nyssa, Cant 4, 115. 33 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4.7.

176  Mirrors of the Divine themselves, but only God has the ability to reform them into the Image of God. Transformation, for Augustine, points to the precarity of humanity, and the flaws of vision point to one’s need for divine grace. Tied to this transformation, each author uses distinctly flawed bodies as the foundation for his writing on the vision of God. Tertullian locates the flaw on women’s porous bodies; Clement identifies it as unbaptized bodies; Augustine places this flaw on sinful bodies; yet Gregory reinterprets this flaw to be no flaw at all. In each case, however, this flaw is re-​envisioned as one’s connection to God. In Tertullian’s writing, women’s porosity opens them to God when they are properly veiled, and this flaw, which is so dangerous in the world, becomes the very source of one’s connection to God. In Clement’s texts, the flaw of the cataract is the natural state of humanity, yet the cataract itself becomes the location of transformation in baptism. Gregory redefines the flaw of mutability as the possibility for spiritual progress, and Augustine’s spiritual blindness becomes a source of hope. These flaws are sometimes overcome, as in Clement, and sometimes reimagined, as in Gregory, but each flaw becomes a point of contact between human and divine.

Dual Theories of Vision One of the more unexpected patterns that emerged from my analysis is that each of the four authors employs at least two theories to describe visual perception. They have selected different theories for different purposes, and even those who selected the same theories as another author did so to different ends. Yet each author employs multiple theories to describe the complexity of human visual perception and to describe the subjective nature of sight. Tertullian of Carthage is one of the clearest examples, because he both names his two theories and his reasons for selecting them. In De anima 17, Tertullian engages the Skeptics’ optical illusions and identifies a form of Stoic and Epicurean theories as those that can best counter their examples of doubt.34 He then goes on to apply his version of those theories rhetorically to construct difference between God and humanity and between men and women. In doing so, he ties each theory to its related bodily understanding: the Stoic theory to bodily intactness and the Epicurean theory to bodily penetrability. His visual hierarchy raises Stoic perception, and its

34 He identifies this theory as Stoic, but he applies a more ray-​like version of the theory.

“In an Enigma”  177 related intact bodies, as the prime example and lowers Epicurean perception, and its related penetrable bodies, to the lowest point of his hierarchy. Yet he does not denigrate Epicurean penetrability entirely, explaining that the penetrable bodies of virgins are most open, literally, to receive the vision of God. His dual theories, then, serve to define and categorize his portrayal of difference. It is vision’s subjectivity, then, that explains why his rules apply differently to different people. Men and women must act differently, for Tertullian, because each sees differently. Unlike Tertullian, Clement does not name his theories of perception, but he offers a few clues through his frequent metaphor of the shower35 and his description of divine effluence.36 Clement portrays humanity, prior to baptism, as seeing through a form of atomism, receiving particles and forming a preconception of God. When the Divine Ophthalmologist performs the cataract surgery of baptism, the cataract is removed, and the divine light enters to grant the recipient lightsome and light-​bearing eyes.37 Prior to baptism, then, humans can only see partially through atomistic vision, and it is only after baptism that humans are granted a form of deified extramission. Like Tertullian, Clement describes a hierarchy of vision with a visual ray at the top and a receptive intromission at the bottom. Unlike Tertullian, however, Clement portrays the option of moving from atomism to a visual ray through baptism, demonstrating that one’s identity is not static. His dual theories also ascribe difference but now only into two categories: those who have been baptized and those who have not. Vision’s subjectivity, for Clement, explains his rationale for specialized Christian knowledge: baptized Christians see differently than the rest of the world. Like Clement, Gregory of Nyssa does not directly name his theories of visual perception, but he echoes the terminology of the atomists38 and of the Stoics.39 Gregory here employs the very same theories that Tertullian uses, though he applies them for very different purposes. Where Tertullian warns against the harmful transformation that occurs through vision, Gregory raises up this transformative aspect as the very foundation of perfection: humanity can make perpetual progress toward God. While Tertullian limits the active role of Stoic vision to God and partially to men, Gregory grants this 35 See Protr. 68.2 (i.52.2–​4), 74.7 (i.57.8–​9), Strom. i.37.I (ii.24.8ff), etc. 36 Prot. 6.68.2–​3. 37 Paed. 1.6.28. Prot. 11.113.2–​4. 38 Cant 4, 117. 39 See especially Susan Wessel, “The Reception of Greek Science in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Hominis Opificio,” Vigiliae Christianae 63, no. 1 (January 1, 2009): 30.

178  Mirrors of the Divine active nature to all of humanity, even to the point of becoming artists of their own Images. Gregory’s dual theories, then, do not define difference. Rather, they describe the nature of one’s relationship to God and provide the very basis for and definition of progress on the mystical ascent. Vision’s subjectivity, then, describes the infinite possible locations one might be along the perpetual journey of the mystical ascent. Like Gregory, Augustine uses two theories to describe a kind of synergy between humanity and God, now through the Platonic and Stoic theories. However, Augustine emphasizes the active nature of the Platonic theory and the receptive nature of the Stoic theory to describe a human who is active yet acted upon; one who can see the world clearly but remains blind to the vision of God. These theories combine to support his paradoxical portrayal of the human who has free will but stands in need of divine grace. As in Gregory’s writing, these theories do not define difference from others, but rather serve to point to the complexity of one’s relationship to God. Vision’s subjectivity explains why some have glimpses of God, but others do not: each person sees God poorly when they look at the world poorly, and it is only God’s grace that allows the spiritual eyes to rise from the glue of material things. Each of the four authors uses at least two theories of visual perception to describe the human in relation to the world and to God, and I find it significant that no author relies on just a single theory. Rather, they combine theories that are at odds with one another or are founded on scientific assumptions that are fundamentally opposed to one another. They merge theories of extramission with theories of intromission, proposing both visual rays that leave the eyes and atomistic particles that enter the eyes. They combine theories based on pneumatic substances with theories based on atoms and void, or unite theories based on materialism with theories with no material contact. Merging such disparate theories of vision might lead one to assume that these theological authors were simply bad at science. Perhaps they did not understand the theories fully, merging half-​remembered teachings with their primary theological foci. Yet I find it significant that each author draws from such diverse conceptual maps, and I believe that it is the very incompatibility of these disparate theories that proves their greater purpose. Vision is subjective, and it is through combining disparate theories that each author emphasizes and defines this subjectivity, and they also merge these theories to create new meaning.

“In an Enigma”  179 Like metaphors that combine surprising elements to create new meaning, each author combines contradictory visual theories in his attempt to explain the unexplainable. Tertullian and Clement use competing theories to define difference from the world, while Gregory and Augustine use contrasting theories to describe the complex relationship between the human and the divine. It is the very ineffable nature of the divine, and of one’s relationship to that divine, that demands new combinations of ideas that create novel meaning. These authors, then, were grasping at the ungraspable in their attempts to describe the indescribable, and one way to capture that incomprehensibly is through merging the unmergeable theories of visual perception.

Chronological Patterns While I have just explored several shared assumptions across each of the authors, there are also some assumptions that shift over time. I have structured this book largely chronologically, moving from the historical and scriptural texts through the second century into the third and fourth centuries. Structuring the book in this way allows a few patterns to emerge over time. First, we are offered a glimpse into the development of a metaphor, moving from literal vision to a single visual metaphor to a full collection of optical metaphors. Second, not only do we see the development of a metaphor, but we also uncover the accompanying shift from direct vision to indirect or mirrored vision. Finally, we discover a change from defining one’s difference from the world to exploring one’s relationship to God. The chronological pattern moves from literal direct vision that defines difference from the world to metaphorical mirrored vision that explores one’s relationship to God. The first pattern that emerges across late ancient authors of this project is the development of vision as a metaphor. George Lakoff redefined the field of metaphor theory in the late 1980s to shift the focus on metaphor from words to concepts.40 He argued that a collection of metaphors, such as those I have analyzed in this project, are not separate linguistic metaphors, but rather they all stem from a larger cognitive source domain, in this case vision, and apply to a target domain, in my case one’s spiritual relationship to God.41 40 George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 244. 41 Kevin Hector, Theology without Metaphysics: God, Language, and the Spirit of Recognition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 114. See also Max Black, “More about Metaphor,” in Metaphor and Thought, ed. Andrew Ortony, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993),

180  Mirrors of the Divine Paul Ricoeur’s theory of metaphor distinguishes further between new active/​alive metaphors and inert/​dead metaphors, which are metaphors so pervasive that one has become unaware of the metaphor itself, such as the common I see what you mean.42 Ricoeur explains that one’s use of living metaphors surprises the hearer (or reader) by combining “non-​sensical” elements in an unexpected context, not merely transferring meaning, but ultimately creating new meaning.43 In my analysis of these late ancient Christian authors, I have discovered the importance of examining the roots of their cognitive maps in order to understand their metaphors. Their assumptions about the science of sight differ dramatically from our assumptions, and these ancient theories of vision reveal drastically different uses of vision as a metaphor for the relationship both to the world and to God. Further, what begins as literal vision as vision in the Hebrew Bible, the writings of the philosophers, the New Testament, and Tertullian’s texts gradually gives way to vision as a metaphor for spiritual knowledge in Clement’s, Gregory’s, and Augustine’s writings, showing the development of the metaphor over time. Tertullian focuses on literal vision, arguing that Christians should not see the harmful sights of the games and that men should avoid the sight of unveiled women. Likewise, he describes the visual performance of piety occurring literally before the eyes of others or the eyes of God. This constructed world of penetrable bodies may function rhetorically, to propose a defense of particular practices of visual piety, but it does not yet function metaphorically. At this early stage, then, the metaphor had not yet gained prominence. Writing at nearly the same time, however, Clement clearly engages a visual metaphor, describing baptism as a kind of cataract surgery that removes the cataract from the eyes and instills a deified vision by which to see God. This metaphor draws from the source domain of both optical and medical 19–​43; Mary Hesse, “The Cognitive Claims of Metaphor,” Journal of Speculative Philosophy 2, no. 1 (1988): 1–​16. Jean Pierre van Noppen, Metaphor and Religion: (Theolinguistics 2) (Brussels: Vrije Universiteit Brussels, 1983), 27–​45. Michael A. Arbib and Mary B. Hesse, The Construction of Reality (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 156–​57. Hesse, The Construction of Reality, 156–​57; Sallie McFague, Metaphorical Theology: Models of God in Religious Language (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1982), 23–​24, 37–​38. 42 Janet Martin Soskice, The Kindness of God: Metaphor, Gender, and Religious Language (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 3. 43 Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor: The Creation of Meaning in Language, trans. Robert Czerny (London: Routledge, 2008), 111.

“In an Enigma”  181 theory to describe the change that occurs during baptism. From optical theory, Clement connects baptism to a new spiritual knowledge that is available only to the baptized; and from medical theory, he describes a potentially dangerous transformation, describing both the relatively small and exclusive nature of the group and the potential danger one might face as a Christian in Alexandria. This visual metaphor functions to describe an otherwise internal and unseen shift in the baptized Christian, offering the beginning of a metaphor that links vision to one’s relationship to God. However, his single visual metaphor has not yet gained the prominence of a broader collection of metaphors. At this early stage, it functions for a singular purpose: to define the spiritual shift that occurs through baptism. Unlike Clement’s central metaphor of cataract surgery, Gregory of Nyssa engages a collection of optical metaphors to describe one’s relationship both to the world and to God. This collection of metaphors is so prevalent in his writings that he identifies spiritual senses that function in a one-​to-​ one correlation to their bodily counterparts: spiritual eyes to bodily eyes, and so forth. Yet much contemporary scholarship has divorced these spiritual senses from their physical counterparts, treating these metaphors as if they were inert, used so frequently that they have lost the ability to surprise. However, I argue that these metaphors in Gregory were very much alive, drawing from the source domains of atomism and Stoicism to spark new meaning, particularly in his attempt to depart from the Greek tradition before him. Drawing from the source domains of atomism and of Stoicism, Gregory used the enigmatic mirror to construct new meaning, developing his doctrine of perfection as perpetual progress through the mirror into knowledge of God. The prevalence of metaphors in his writing shows a rich cognitive map from which Gregory draws in his attempt to describe the indescribable and the ways that he creates new meaning by combining disparate visual theories. Finally, Augustine, like Gregory, uses a collection of optical metaphors to describe one’s relationship to God. His metaphors draw from the source domain of Platonic and Stoic theories of visual perception to describe the paradox of the human who is active and has free will yet stands in need of grace. Augustine uses these theories not necessarily to create a new doctrine, for he has certainly written about this elsewhere, but rather to construct a new method to defend that doctrine. It is through these complex optical metaphors that he offers a scientific justification for one’s active role in the deforming impact of sin and the need for God’s reforming grace.

182  Mirrors of the Divine Throughout these authors’ writings, optical metaphors develop from vision as literal vision to vision as a singular metaphor, and finally into vision as a rich collection of metaphors. In their simple form, visual metaphors serve to define and describe difference in the world by linking one to God. It is this very link to God that expands the metaphor to a full collection of complex optical metaphors to explain the unexplainable. It is their very complexity, merging disparate theories, that serves to point to the incomprehensibility of God. In addition to writing on vision moving from literal to metaphorical, there is also another change that occurs: writing about vision shifts from direct to indirect, from describing one’s relationship to the world to describing one’s relationship to God. Tertullian and Clement both use direct vision primarily to describe one’s relationship to the world and to describe and define one’s difference from that world, while Gregory and Augustine both use indirect or mirrored vision primarily to describe and define one’s relationship to God. As already summarized, Tertullian uses Stoic and Epicurean theories of vision to construct his visual hierarchy of intactness and penetrability. Though his hierarchy includes humanity in relation to God defined in terms of human porosity and God’s intactness, his key emphasis is defining Christians as other than their pagan counterparts: only Christians should avoid the games, visually marking their difference from society. In marking this difference, Tertullian asks his readers to prioritize their Christian identity over their Roman identity, advocating a hierarchical rather than lateral conception of identity.44 He wants his readers to identify themselves as Christians as their central identity, and his use of vision serves both to define this difference and to instruct one’s visual performance of this identity. Clement of Alexandria, likewise uses direct vision in his writing, using the metaphor of cataract surgery of the eye. Like Tertullian, Clement’s metaphor focuses on Christian identity as it functions in the world, and he carves out difference in terms of spiritual epistemology inscribed onto the eyes. Though his telling does not require the visual performance of Tertullian’s, he likewise focuses on danger. Where Tertullian identifies the danger with the world and the risks associated with watching the games, Clement shifts that danger onto Christianity itself: just as cataract surgery is risky and undertaken only

44 For more on hierarchical and lateral arrangements of identity, see Éric Rebillard, Christians and Their Many Identities in Late Antiquity, North Africa, 200–​450 CE (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2012), 4–​5.

“In an Enigma”  183 by a few who are the right candidates, so also baptism brings with it an initiation into a group that could undergo persecution or even martyrdom. Writing about vision changed after Plotinus’ metaphor of the mirror world of creation, and Gregory of Nyssa applies Stoic and atomistic theories of vision to the surface of the mirror of one’s soul. While he mentions the possible transformation that could occur if the mirror is turned toward creation, his emphasis is on the mirror’s relationship to God. Unlike Clement and Tertullian, Gregory does not use vision to emphasize one’s difference from the world, but rather he focuses on the mirror’s connection to God. Augustine similarly uses vision to describe one’s relationship both to the world and to God, but in doing so, his emphasis is on one’s relationship to God. When one turns to look at the world with desire, one is pulled away from God. When one turns inward to look at the mirror of the soul, one is directed upward to God. He does not use vision to identify difference from the world; rather, he uses vision to describe the common state of humanity as one that is blinded by sin and in need of divine grace. As writing on vision moved from direct to indirect, from vision to mirrors, it is perhaps no surprise that the meaning also changed from one’s relationship to the world to one’s connection to God. After all, the history of mirrors has shown that mirrors are commonly associated with other-​worldly knowledge. How authors portray eyes reveals how they understand the world, while how they portray mirrors reveals how they imagine the unknown. Yet this pattern also mimics a similar pattern uncovered by Susan Ashbrook Harvey in her work Scenting Salvation. After a detailed analysis of writings on smell, Harvey notes that Christians increasingly describe olfactory piety in a way that matches their increase in political and societal power in the world.45 In other words, as Christians gained power, the world became sweeter, and Christians began to describe their spiritual encounters in the physical world with increasingly positive sensory terms.46 Writing on vision is more self-​ conscious than writing on smell, but Harvey’s excellent and wide-​ranging analysis matches a parallel pattern in terms of vision: as Christians gained power and the world became sweeter, vision also shifted from marking one’s difference from that world to marking one’s connection to God. Once freed from the dangers of the world, Christians became free to conceive of connection to God. 45 Susan Ashbrook Harvey, Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 122. 46 Harvey, Scenting Salvation, 58.

184  Mirrors of the Divine Both Tertullian and Clement were writing during a time of persecution, however rare, and both emphasize one’s difference from the world in visual terms.47 For instance, Tertullian discusses martyrs such as Perpetua and Felicitas,48 describes the world as a dangerous place filled with Satan and his angels,49 posits an intervening medium that distorts our knowledge,50 and discusses the visual harm from the games and unveiled women. Clement, likewise, utilizes a metaphor of a dangerous cataract surgery and invites Greeks to “desert to God’s side and to enjoy the danger of change.”51 In both cases, this danger is not intended to discourage the readers; rather, each embraces the danger of suffering as part of the appeal of his Christian identity.52 Clement rhetorically inscribes this risk of suffering onto the eyes of those baptized, while Tertullian inscribes the danger onto the porous bodies of his readers. In both cases, vision functions as a primary metaphor that does not protect one from this danger, but rather finds meaning and identity in the risk. Éric Rebillard argues that this rhetoric of persecution serves to “mobilize Christians by emphasizing the communal hostility of the pagans.”53 Both authors find power in mobilizing this danger through their rhetoric of visuality to define Christian identity as one that is different from the world, and the possibility of suffering creates a united identity against a common enemy, real or perceived.54 Both Gregory and Augustine were writing after the legalization of Christianity, so instead of only tales of Christian martyrs, Gregory and 47 For a summary of persecution and execution of Christians during the time of Tertullian, see Rebillard, Christians and Their Many Identities, 34–​42. 48 For more on Tertullian and Perpetua, see Eliezer Gonzalez, “Anthropologies of Continuity: The Body and Soul in Tertullian, Perpetua, and Early Christianity,” JECS 21, no. 4 (2013): 479–​502; Robin Whelan, “The Fate of the Dead in Early Third Century North African Christianity: The ‘Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas’ and Tertullian,” JEH, no. 2 (2015): 389; Larissa Carina Seelbach, Perpetua und Tertullian: die Märtyrerin und der Kirchenvater (Jena: IKS Garamond, 2000); and Cecil M. Robeck, Prophecy in Carthage: Perpetua, Tertullian, and Cyprian (Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 1992); Eliezer Gonzalez, “The Afterlife in the Passion of Perpetua and in the Works of Tertullian: A Clash of Traditions,” SP (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 225–​38. 49 Spect. 8.9–​10. 50 An. 17. 51 Eric Osborn, Clement of Alexandria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 1. See Prot. 10.93.2. 52 Judith Perkins has traced the concept of Christian self-​identification as the suffering self and its connection to the growth of Christianity in Judith Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (New York: Routledge, 1995). Similarly, Candida Moss has traced this rhetoric and its formation not just of a self-​identity but also of an enemy other in Candida Moss, The Myth of Persecution: How Early Christians Invented a Story of Martyrdom (New York: HarperOne, 2013). 53 Rebillard, Christians and Their Many Identities, 43. 54 See especially Moss, The Myth of Persecution.

“In an Enigma”  185 Augustine also describe Christian exemplars. This is not to suggest that their worlds were entirely safe nor that the identity of the suffering had completely receded. Indeed, martyrdom casts a long shadow.55 Yet the possibility for danger had shifted as did the Christian social location in the world such that the world was not merely sweet smelling, but it was also a site of beauty. Though Augustine does depict the harms of the games and invokes the rhetoric of martyrdom, he also engages another kind of danger: one of complacency in a world of beauty. Both Gregory and Augustine utilize vision to describe the potential trap of that beauty by pointing to a greater Beauty that is found in the mirrored Image of God. No longer merely concerned with one’s difference from the world, they now focus on one’s connection to God. The legalization of Christianity altered the landscape, and we are offered a glimpse into that changing world through these writings on vision.

Geographical Patterns While it might be expected that writing about vision and mirrors would shift over time, a more unexpected pattern also emerged between the authors in the West and the authors in the East: the ability, extent for, and impact of visual and spiritual knowledge.56 Throughout this project, I have been using 1 Corinthians 13:12 as a model for my analysis, For now we see God through a mirror, in an enigma,57 and I have argued that how one understands both sight and mirrors has dramatic impacts on how one interprets or applies this verse. This builds to my third point that is equally as important: how one understands enigma to function. Is an enigma a flaw to overcome that prevents knowledge? Or is an enigma a pointer to ontological truths that cannot be grasped by words? One’s assumption about the nature of enigma dramatically impacts how one conceives of the enigmatic nature of the mirrored knowledge of God.

55 See especially Maureen Tilley, “The Ascetic Body and the (Un)Making of the World of the Martyr,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion LIX, no. 3 (January 1, 1991): 467–​79. 56 This is not to suggest an overly simplistic divide between the East and the West: allegory, of course, functions in both the Alexandrian East and in the Antiochene West. Rather, it is to suggest that the assumptions about that allegory may have functioned differently for these four authors in particular. For more on allegory in late ancient Christianity, see David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991); Everett Ferguson, Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, 2nd ed. (London: Routledge, 2013), 35. 57 1 Corinthians 13:12.

186  Mirrors of the Divine Enigma58 is a technical term of rhetoric with a detailed and complex tradition that Peter Struck has analyzed in his book Birth of the Symbol.59 Though he does not focus on the Pauline or early Christian usage, Struck traces the development of the concepts symbol60 and enigma in allegorical interpretation, and he finds evidence for two contrasting views of enigma: the overtly positive association that understands enigma as a pointer to greater or deeper truths and the distinctly negative connotation of enigma as a flaw in style creating murky nonsense. Struck labels the first poetics of the enigma and the second poetics of clarity.61 Struck argues that the positive connotation of the poetics of the enigma was primarily found in pre-​Aristotelian texts, though it maintained a strong following in some post-​Aristotelian texts as well. These positive usages link enigma to oracular speech, particularly to prophets, prophetic dreams, and natural dream language.62 Such “riddling” (αἴνἰττεται) concepts contain some hidden meaning that the reader must decode.63 These truths may be divine words, which require an intermediary between the suppliant and the gods, as in the Derveni papyrus, or they may be semantically dense language, which leads to esoteric philosophy or cultic practice.64 Each example Struck summarizes reveals the positive association that poetic enigmatic language can convey grand truths that discursive language cannot capture.65 The positive understanding of enigma suggests that wrestling with an enigma can reveal truths that cannot be expressed through mere words. Yet this positive interpretation of the poetics of the enigma is at odds with Aristotelian criticism. Rather than upholding enigma as the hallmark of poetry, Aristotle instead redefines enigma as the primary flaw that poets should avoid. Aristotle follows what Struck labels the poetics of clarity, against which an enigma’s lack of clarity is inherently at odds.66 Aristotle reclassifies enigma as a flaw in poetic craft counterbalanced by the flaw of ordinary speech.67 58 αἴνιγμα. 59 Peter T. Struck, Birth of the Symbol: Ancient Readers at the Limits of Their Texts (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004). 60 Σύμβολον. 61 Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 39, 63. 62 Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 177. 63 Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 23. 64 Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 32. See also frenzied utterances (labeled enigmas) of oracles in Plato, Tim. 72b. 65 Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 11–​12. 66 A skilled poet, according to Aristotle, would use clear language, characterized by a “straightforward mimesis of the world.” Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 50. 67 Struck, Birth of the Symbol, 64.

“In an Enigma”  187 While the prior stream of poetics of the enigma had linked enigma to epistemology, allowing the reader a glimpse at great or sacred truths, the poetics of clarity refigures enigma as merely stylistic, serving as a barrier between the audience and the poet’s point. This negative view of enigma suggests an enigma is a flaw or hindrance to understanding. Struck’s excellent project does not, by its nature and its scope, explore enigma in early Christian contexts, yet how one understands seeing God in a mirror, in an enigma, changes dramatically based on how one understands that enigma. Is it a pointer to ontological truths that cannot be captured in words, or is it a flaw and a hindrance to knowledge? I believe that Struck’s assessment of the dual streams of poetics of the enigma and poetics of clarity offers a useful frame through which to read these late ancient Christian authors. I note here that these dual streams of enigma map onto the distinction between Clement and Gregory of Nyssa on one side and Tertullian and Augustine on the other. Tertullian and Augustine both directly cite and address the skeptical worries of optical illusions.68 Tertullian addresses the examples of the square tower that appears round from a distance or the straight oar that appears bent in water, explaining that the medium disrupts the particles, as in the Epicurean theory, and the visual ray loses power over distance, as in his version of the Stoic theory.69 He proposes the need to defend against such optical illusions: to show the goodness of God, the goodness of creation, and to avoid heresy. Augustine, likewise, lists the skeptical worries of the bent oar and the round tower, but he shifts his defense to another set of optical illusions: candlelight’s after-​image in the eye and a candle’s sometimes doubled image.70 He explains that the remnants in the eye are merely proof of the Stoic images that form internally, and the doubled image is proof of the Platonic number of visual rays. In doing so, he argues that such illusions should not be cause for doubt, as in Skepticism, but rather a reason for hope: even when things appear other than they are, the distortions prove to be logical and rational. This provides a similar support of hope, rather than despair, for his similarly illusive enigmatic mirrored Image of God that provides more of an unlikeness than a likeness of God. In doing so, both authors demonstrate a desire to defend the nature of visual knowledge from perceived attacks, and they apply that knowledge to support a kind of vision

68 Aug., de Trin. 15.4.12.21.

69 Tert., An. 17 (FC 10:214). 70 Aug., de Trin. 11.1.2.4.

188  Mirrors of the Divine of God. Both authors also focus on the negative aspects of transformation. Tertullian cautions against the dangerous transformation by the games or by women, while Augustine emphasizes that humans can deform themselves by desiring the physical world through their eyes, but they cannot likewise reform themselves. Both authors also downplay the vision of God in their writing: Tertullian by focusing on physical vision and visual piety, Augustine by focusing on the enigmatic nature of the Image, the unlikeness of the Image, or the fleeting nature of the Image. Tertullian and Augustine both engage vision of God with an emphasis on the difficulty of that vision, which suggests that they are operating with what Struck terms the poetics of clarity. With this assumption, an enigma is a flaw of rhetoric that is inscribed onto their depictions of vision as part of their cognitive maps. Enigmatic vision is interpreted to be flawed vision. In other words, the enigmatic nature of the vision of God is a hindrance, something to be overcome and explained by defending the nature of vision. They both defend against the Skeptics’ optical illusions as a way to bolster their arguments against this presumed flaw, and they also both emphasize the difficulty of this vision by highlighting the harmful nature of the world, whether particles of women or the alluring beauty of its trap. To see God through a mirror, in an enigma, with the poetics of clarity, is to see God with difficulty or to see God not at all. On the other side, neither Clement nor Gregory of Nyssa addresses the Skeptics’ illusions specifically, or any optical illusions more generally. I certainly do not wish to make an argument from this absence, but it is notable in contrast to Tertullian and Augustine. Likewise, both Clement and Gregory describe strikingly successful visions of God in contrast to that found in Tertullian and Augustine. Clement notes, without qualification, that after the cataract surgery of baptism, the baptized individual gains new deified eyes by which to see God, perceiving the divine light by the new divine light now found within. Similarly, though Gregory certainly emphasizes God’s incomprehensibility, he also redefines that incomprehensibility to include real, if partial knowledge and proposes a real, if limited, vision of God. Both authors also emphasize a positive transformation of vision: Clement proposes new spiritual sight, while Gregory defines mutability as the basis for perpetual progress. The distinction here is subtle, perhaps more a matter of emphasis than of content, but Gregory and Clement demonstrate greater confidence in both visual knowledge and its related spiritual knowledge and transformation.

“In an Enigma”  189 They both highlight the possibility for progress and for the vision of God. This suggests that they are operating with what Struck terms the poetics of the enigma, viewing an enigma as a pointer to ontological truths. Enigmatic vision, in this interpretation, is not flawed vision, but it is instead the vision of a grand truth beyond language. It points to the ineffable God with no need to defend the nature of this vision through optical illusions. Such illusions would be no means for concern as the enigma itself is the puzzle to be decoded. Both authors emphasize the possibility of decoding this puzzle, whether through baptism or by becoming an artist of one’s own Image. To see God through a mirror, in an enigma, with the poetics of the enigma, is to see God in way that points to an ontological, but ineffable truth. This vision may be difficult, and it may be incomplete, but it is nevertheless a vision that draws one and points one to the ineffable God. More data points are needed to uncover whether this pattern extends beyond these four figures, but Tertullian and Augustine both demonstrate a desire to explain away murky distortions of enigmatic mirrors, while Clement and Gregory of Nyssa use those same enigmas as pointers to ontological truths. If an enigma is a pointer to ontological truths, then seeing God in an enigmatic mirror becomes a source of connection to God; but, if an enigma is a flaw or a hindrance, then seeing God in an enigmatic mirror becomes a difficult or an impossible task.

Conclusion Taking a step back to put each author in conversation with one another brings to the fore the broader discourse about agency, identity, and epistemology. These debates began with vision and its association to one’s agency in and epistemology of the world and developed into discussions of the mirror and its association to one’s identity and epistemology of the other world, and the scriptural tradition ties these debates to one’s spiritual identity and epistemology. The commonalities between each author reveal assumptions about the active nature of God and the complicated and transformative aspect of humanity, yet the differences between the authors also reveal some shared patterns. Chronological patterns point to shifting cognitive maps, from one’s social location in the world to one’s theology of the complicated relationship between human and divine. Geographic patterns map on to diverging views

190  Mirrors of the Divine about the nature of knowledge and the role of enigma as a pointer to ontological truths or as a flaw in style. Through it all, one thing remains clear: writing about vision and mirrors is deeply embedded in broader discursive claims about the subjective nature of sight. It reveals and inscribes arguments about one’s agency, identity, and epistemology, both in relation to the world and to the divine, and these discursive struggles ground spiritual writing about the vision of God in a variety of embodied understandings of the human.

Conclusion Eyes and mirrors have long played a significant role in our collective imaginings, functioning in art, stories, metaphors, and scientific debates. They are windows to the soul and portals to the other world. They are sources of power and strength, as well as points of weakness and potential traps. They are sites of speculation in science and in science fiction. They are tools in discourse of philosophy and of theology, connecting to the world and to God. Throughout their varied uses, the portrayal of eyes has come to represent how an author imagines one’s relationship to the world, while the portrayal of mirrors has come to represent how one imagines the unknown. In antiquity, writing about eyes and mirrors became a location for philosophical speculation about one’s relationship to the world and to the divine. Authors debated whether something enters or leaves the eye, whether an eye contains its own fire or pneuma, whether a person is impacted by seeing or by being seen, and whether and to what extent a person impacted the world through sight. They discussed whether mirrors break visual rays or pass on real particles, whether mirrors function for self-​improvement or for self-​ corruption, whether reflection was moral or immoral, and whether mirrors reveal the self or also the divine. Throughout such discussions, writing on eyes and mirrors participated in broader discourses about one’s agency, identity, and epistemology as grounded in subjectivity: what does it mean that we see the world differently? Such discourse gained theological significance first through the scriptural texts. The eyes revealed one’s relationship to the divine and one’s spiritual health, while mirrors became locations for the vision of God and one’s spiritual transformation. The late ancient Christian authors continued this speculation of eyes and mirrors for their own theological purposes, linking discussions of cosmology to theological anthropology and writing on epistemology to mystical theology. They engaged writing on vision to construct Christian identity in terms of difference from the world, drawing boundaries

Mirrors of the Divine. Emily R. Cain, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197663370.003.0009

192 Conclusion between God and humans, between men and women, between Christians and pagans, and between baptized and unbaptized. They connected such identity to epistemology, defining who has access to spiritual knowledge and to what extent. They employed metaphors of mirrors to describe not only spiritual knowledge but also the agency one has in accessing that knowledge. Theological writing on vision and mirrors became deeply embedded in discursive claims about Christian identity, Christian authority, and Christian epistemology. Such discourse both shaped and was shaped by its environment, shifting both geographically and chronologically. As Christians’ social locations changed, so also did their writing about vision and mirrors. In times of potential harm, writing on vision served to find meaning in danger by marking Christians as other than their pagan counterparts and connecting spiritual knowledge to that identity. When the world became safer, it also became more beautiful, and the risk now moved to one’s complacency and the need to remind the reader of the source of that beauty. As their assumptions about knowledge and the role of enigma varied, so also did their uses of these metaphors. If enigma is a flaw in style, then enigmatic vision of God provides only flawed vision, which carries the risk of harmful transformation. If, however, enigma is a pointer to ontological truths, then enigmatic vision of God opens possibilities that would otherwise remain closed, and the related transformation becomes a source of beauty and perfection, rather than of pain and suffering. These writings on vision and mirrors do not merely describe the theological aims of their authors, but they also serve to produce those aims, constructing their visions of the world and then seeking to convince their readers of the power of those visions. They manufacture boundaries, to knowledge and to communities. They define what can be known, to what extent, how, and by whom. They ascribe or restrict power and agency. It is through reading these texts with an eye to their rhetoric and discourse that reveals the deeper assumptions and discursive struggles with which they participate. When the texts shift from rhetoric of vision to metaphors of vision, they combine disparate theories that serve to surprise the reader, creating new meanings. They merge medical and optical theories to ground the spiritual transformation in an embodied understanding of the human to define spiritual difference as a kind of embodied difference. They merge paradoxical combinations in attempts to grasp the ungraspable and to describe the

Conclusion  193 indescribable. They describe the paradox of the human, who is both active and yet acted upon, powerful and yet powerless. The metaphors not only define but also construct meaning. My analysis on vision has answered a variety of questions, even some questions that I did not know to ask when I began this book; and yet what I uncovered here also raises a new set of questions. The eye, of course, connects the body and the mind, and these are the two primary directions that shape my questions that arose from this book: questions of ancient medicine, health, and disability, and questions of epistemology. By examining the rhetoric of these texts, I discovered that these authors’ epistemologies and mystical theologies were grounded in a deeply embodied understanding of the human. Yet it was not simply that each of the authors emphasized the body, but rather that they each described a distinctly flawed material body uniquely situated as a source of spiritual strength. Tertullian describes women’s bodies as penetrable, at risk in the world, yet particularly open to the vision of God; Clement portrays a cataract that causes spiritual blindness, yet that cataract becomes his locus for spiritual transformation; Gregory of Nyssa describes the mutable body, once seen as the harbinger of sin and decay, now re-​envisioned as the very basis for redefining perfection in terms of perpetual progress; and Augustine reimagines the flaws of visual perception, such as optical illusions, as the very source of one’s hope on the spiritual journey. This depiction of bodily weakness as a source of spiritual strength raises a set of questions around the rhetoric of health and disability. First, if the authors are grounding their visions of God in metaphors of physical vision, how does physical blindness impact the vision of God? Are blind persons left out of these rhetorical worlds, or is there room to imagine alternate modes of knowing God? Second, by engaging this rhetoric of bodily weakness as a source of spiritual strength, are the authors engaging problematic constructions of disability in which one side fetishizes pain, holding up the disabled body as one that is uniquely open to the experience of God, while the other side is deeply resentful and suspicious of sick persons, drawing a connection between disability and sin.1 In both cases, the person with disability is dehumanized, reduced to a constructed identity of disability. Yet these are 1 For an analysis of this kind of rhetoric in American Catholic texts, see Robert A. Orsi, “‘Mildred, Is It Fun to Be a Cripple?’ The Culture of Suffering in Mid-​Twentieth Century American Catholicism,” in Between Heaven and Earth: The Religious Worlds People Make and the Scholars Who Study Them (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2013), 19–​47.

194 Conclusion not the only two options available in antiquity or today, so a broader study that places these examples in conversation with other ancient conceptions of disability would bring this conversation of the vision of God more directly to the field of ancient medicine, health, and disability. Another pattern I uncovered among these four authors was that Tertullian and Augustine both align with the poetics of clarity, describing the enigmatic vision of God as difficult or impossible, while Clement and Gregory of Nyssa align with the poetics of the enigma, describing the enigmatic vision of God as transformative. Thus, I am left with a set of questions about the nature of enigma and spiritual epistemology: how do assumptions about the nature of enigma, as a flaw in style or as a pointer to ontological truths, function more broadly in late ancient Christianity? Does this pattern extend beyond these four authors? A broader examination would place this work more directly in conversation with the fields of mystical theology and philosophy, and it would help to ground an important aspect of epistemological assumptions. A topic as vast as vision requires a prismatic approach, and I have explored a few facets of that prism here, namely bringing together the philosophical, medical, and theological rhetoric of vision of God. In doing so, I have uncovered the connection between identity, agency, and epistemology: the subjective nature of vision points to who we think we are, how we think we should act, and what we think we can know. Vision can divide or connect; it can assert authority or confer authority; it can prevent knowledge or provide knowledge. It can portray the flaws of humanity, dividing the world along lines of gender or baptismal status, or it can focus on the beauty of humanity, as an opportunity to see God. Discussions of vision offer a self-​defining story, with all its complexities and paradoxes.

Subject Index For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Aelian, 77 air imprints, 26–​27 Alexander of Aphrodisias, 23 Apocrypha, 35–​36 Apuleius of Madaurus, 90–​91 Aristotle, 26, 31–​32, 90–​91, 186–​87 Armstrong, A. H., 101–​2 atomism Clement, 71–​72, 73, 74–​75, 83–​84 Epicurus, 27–​28, 51 Gregory of Nyssa, 108, 111–​12, 117–​18, 121–​22, 126 and intromission, 24–​31 mirrors, 87–​88, 118–​20, 121–​22 particles, 51, 112 passivity, 29, 112 Augustine of Hippo Adam and Eve, 145–​47, 151–​52 Alypius, 151–​52 Ambrose, 157–​58 biblical interpretation, 133, 143–​57 body, 132–​33, 136–​37, 144–​45, 159, 160–​61 candles, 140, 141, 142, 143, 156, 161 Confessiones, 157–​60 de Trinitate, 131–​33, 135 doubt, 142 ears, 149–​52 emotion, 137–​38 and Euclid, 141–​42 extramission, 135–​36, 141, 142, 154–​ 55, 160–​61 eyes, 133, 137, 143, 152 faith, 149–​52 fall, 146–​47 free will, 131–​32, 171 geometry, 141–​42

glue of love, 147–​49 God, 133, 135, 143–​46, 147, 153–​54, 155, 156, 157–​60 goodness of creation, 138–​39 hope, 144, 149, 152, 155–​57 humanity, 138–​39, 144, 147–​49, 161–​62 identity, 171 illusions, 139–​43, 187–​88 image of God, 144–​46, 149, 154 images, 140–​41, 143, 148 knowledge, 149–​50 metaphors, 132–​33, 150, 181 mind, 144–​46, 148–​49, 153–​54 mirrors, 154–​55 passivity, 150–​51 philosophy, 133 Platonism, 40n.112, 134–​39 pneuma, 136–​37 purity, 153 senses, 146–​47, 151 sensory perception, 131–​33, 134–​ 39, 142 sin, 138–​39, 146–​47 and Skeptics, 139–​40 soul, 137 spiritus, 136–​37 Stoicism, 134–​39, 140–​41, 160–​61 subjectivity of vision, 131–​32, 139, 152, 162 theological anthropology, 138–​39, 144 theories of vision, 132–​33, 135–​39, 142, 156–​57, 160–​61, 178 transformation, 137–​38, 156, 175–​76 vision, 135–​36, 137, 143–​44, 152, 160, 161–​62, 183 vision of God, 133, 135, 143–​60 and will, 135–​36

196  Subject Index baptism, 66–​67, 69–​70, 75–​79, 81–​82, 83–​ 84, 167–​68 beauty, 102, 103 Betancourt, Roland, 2n.4, 21 blindness, 67n.7 body ability, 35–​36 Augustine, 132–​33, 136–​37, 144–​45, 159, 160–​61 and God, 35–​36 and metaphor, 8–​9 Plotinus, 102–​3 and spiritual, 40–​41 Tertullian, 47, 54, 56–​57, 59–​60, 62–​ 63, 174–​75 and transformation, 174–​76 and vision, 3–​4, 10 weakness and strength, 193–​94 Brugarolas, Miguel, 118 Byers, Sarah Catherine, 134 cataracts. See under Clement of Alexandria Celsus, 76–​78 chronology, 179–​85 Chrysippus, 32–​33, 113 Clement of Alexandria and atomism, 71–​72, 73, 74–​75, 83–​84 baptism, 66–​67, 69–​70, 75–​79, 81–​ 82, 83–​84 cataracts, 69, 71–​80, 82 effluence, 73–​74 and Epicurus, 71n.22, 74 extramission, 71 eyes, 68–​69, 74, 80, 82, 84 faith, 74, 83 God, 68, 72–​73, 78–​79 holiness, 81 identity, 70, 79, 82, 167–​68 intromission, 71–​72, 83–​84 knowledge, 67–​68, 83 light, internal, 71–​72 light and darkness, 67–​68, 80, 81, 83 like by like, 81 metaphor, 66, 67–​68, 78–​79, 82–​83, 84 particles, 74 and Plato, 73 preconception, 74

subjectivity, 167–​68 surgery, 67, 69, 75–​79 theories of vision, 70–​72, 84, 177 transformation, 175 vision, 66, 67–​68, 70–​72, 80, 182–​83 the Word, 67 Coakley, Sarah, 108–​9 Colish, Marcia, 134 color, 21, 100–​1 conceptual frameworks, 2–​3 cone of air, 32–​33 couching, 76–​77, 78, 82n.90, See also Clement of Alexandria: cataracts creation, 41–​42, 98–​99, 101, 138–​39, 169–​ 70. See also world Daniel-​Hughes, Carly, 45–​46, 56–​57, 59–​ 60, 61n.77 Daniélou, Jean, 108–​9 Democritus, 26–​27, 116n.46 disability, 193–​94 discourse, 6–​7 distance, 23 distortions, 119–​20 dreams, 29–​30 Dunning, Benjamin, 45–​46, 57 ears, 36 effects of sight, 30 elements, 24–​26 Elsner, Jaś, 2–​3 Emilsson, Eyjólfur, 99–​101 Empedocles, 24–​26, 27, 73, 74 enemies, 95–​96 enigma, 97, 108, 114–​28, 154–​57, 162, 185–​88, 192 Enneads, 98–​99 Epicurus and Epicureans, 27–​29, 50–​51, 52, 54, 55, 60, 71n.22, 74 epistemology and identity, 6–​7 subjectivity, 23–​24 and theology, 13 and vision, 6, 23–​24, 33–​34 See also knowledge; philosophy eroticism, 94 Euclid, 22–​23, 141–​42 evil eye, 40n.111, 82

Subject Index  197 eyes assumptions, 3–​4 Augustine, 133, 137, 143, 152 and baptism, 69 Clement, 68–​69, 74, 80, 82, 84 Democritus, 26–​27 Epicurus, 27–​28, 29 Gregory of Nyssa, 111, 120 Hebrew Bible, 36 and illusions, 30–​31 images, 26–​27 and internal light, 72n.26 lamp of the body, 40 and language, 1–​2 and mirrors, 191–​92 Plotinus, 100–​1 of the soul, 74 spiritual, 68 and spiritual health, 40 subjectivity, 84 theories, ancient, 4 faith, 74, 83, 149–​52 filtering, 92 form, 100–​1 Foucault, Michel, 6–​7 Galen, 33, 76–​77 gender, 90–​91, 166–​67. See also women geography, 185–​89 geometry, 19, 22, 87, 88–​89, 141–​42 ghosts, 90 God and ability, 35–​36 Augustine, 133, 135, 143–​46, 147, 153–​ 54, 155, 156, 157–​60 beauty, 126–​27 and bodies, 35–​36 and Christ, 118 Clement, 68, 72–​73, 78–​79 Father and Son, 62 Gregory of Nyssa, 107, 114–​17, 118, 122, 124, 126–​28, 129 and humanity, 110, 114, 117, 124 image of, 144–​46, 154 incomprehensibility, 107, 116–​17, 120, 122 knowledge of, 96

light, 72–​73 and metaphor, 182 and mirrors, 94, 118, 128, 168–​69 radiance, 115 and sensory perception, 49 and soul, 115–​16 Tertullian, 49, 54–​56, 62 and vision, 38, 55–​56, 68, 118 vision of, 3–​4, 13, 94, 108–​9, 114–​15, 118, 120, 133, 135, and world, 41–​42, 143–​60, 168–​69 Gregory of Nyssa agency, 112, 123–​24, 170 artist, 128 atomism, 108, 111–​12, 117–​18, 121–​ 22, 126 bride, 121, 124, 125, 126, 127 Christ, 117–​18 difference, 129–​30 epektasis, 122–​23 eyes, 111, 120 God, 107, 114–​17, 118, 122, 124, 126–​ 28, 129 Homilies on the Song of Songs, 106–​ 7, 111 humanity, 110, 114, 117, 120–​21, 124, 129 Image, 118, 127–​28, 129 incomprehensibility, 107, 116–​17, 120, 121–​22 knowledge, 120 language, oxymoronic, 107 metaphors, 84, 126–​27, 129 milk, 124–​25 mirrors, 106–​7, 114–​28, 129, 170–​71 mutability, 114, 124–​26, 129 mystical theology, 122–​23 Neoplatonism, 115–​16, 117 physical senses, 109–​10 Platonism, 115–​17 radiance, divine, 115 rationality, 110 sensory perception, 110 soul, 108, 114–​16, 122 spiritual senses, 108–​10, 121 and Stoicism, 113, 122, 126 subjectivity, 107, 114, 129–​30, 170 synergy, 113–​14, 122, 126, 128

198  Subject Index Gregory of Nyssa (cont.) theories of vision, 107, 117, 177–​78 transformation, 175 viewer, 112–​13, 114 and vision, 106–​7, 111–​12, 114, 117–​18, 121, 183 Harvey, Susan Ashbrook, 183 Heath, Jane, 40–​42, 96–​97 Hebrew Bible hearing, 36 and identity, 16 knowledge, 37 and late antique authors, 35, 39 metaphors, 38 mirrors, 95–​96, 169 perception, 35–​36 senses, 35–​36 subjectivity, 165–​66 vision, 16–​17, 35, 36–​38, 42, 165–​66 and world, 42 Hero of Alexandria, 92, 93, 127 history of mirrors, 86–​87 Hostius Quadra, 94 humanity Augustine, 138–​39, 144–​46, 147–​ 49, 161–​62 blindness, 147, 149 Gregory of Nyssa, 110, 114, 117, 120–​ 21, 124, 129 and God, 110, 114, 117, 124 image of God, 144–​46, 149, 154 perception, 6 transformation, 174–​76 identity, 6–​7, 42, 70, 79, 82, 165–​68, 171 illusions, 5, 30–​31, 34, 47–​54, 89, 139–​ 43, 187–​88 imagination, 29–​30 Jacob, 37 Jesus Christ, 49, 118 Job, 95 Karfíková, Lenka, 115–​17 knowledge Augustine, 149–​50 Clement, 67–​68, 83

Democritus, 27 Epicurus, 28 and faith, 149–​50 of God, 96 Gregory of Nyssa, 120 and identity, 6–​7 intromission, 31 mirrors, 89, 91, 92–​93, 94 otherworldly, 92 partial, 120 and theories of vision, 165 and vision, 5, 33–​34, 67–​68 Lakoff, George, 7–​9, 179 Leucippus, 24, 27 Lilla, Salvatore, 73 Lucian, 91 Lucretius, 29–​31, 50–​51, 58, 87–​88, 89, 118–​19 magic, 94 Magrin, Sara, 99 martyrdom, 184–​85 matter, 27–​28 medicine, 9–​10, 19 medium, 51–​52, 53, 59, 113 Medusa, 92 metaphors Aristotle, 7n.31 attribution, 7n.31 Augustine, 132–​33, 150, 181 and bodies, 8–​9 Clement, 67–​68, 78–​79, 82–​83, 180–​81 and God, 182 Gregory of Nyssa, 126–​27, 129, 181 Hebrew Bible, 36, 38 Lakoff, 7–​9, 179 late ancient authors, 8–​9 light and darkness, 67–​68 living vs. dead, 8 and meaning, 8, 192–​93 medical, 82–​83 mirrors, 1–​2, 39, 84, 85–​86, 129, 169–​70 ontological, 8–​9 Plotinus, 102–​3, 169–​70 Ricoeur, 8, 180 Tertullian, 180 theory, 7–​8

Subject Index  199 vision, 83–​84, 102–​3, 182 Miles, Margaret, 132–​33, 134 mind Augustine, 144–​46, 148–​49, 153–​54 dianoetic particles, 28–​30 Epicurus, 28–​30 and illusions, 30–​31 moon, 91–​92 Morales, Helen, 2–​3 Mortley, Raoul, 75 Moses, 95 mysticism, 9–​10, 122–​23 Narcissus, 93–​94 Nasrallah, Laura, 45, 63 neutrality, 104–​5 New Testament health, spiritual, 43 and invisible, 43 mirrors, 39, 96–​98 subjectivity, 166 and vision, 16–​17, 43, 166 Norris, Richard, 122–​23 Nuño, Antón Alvar, 82 optical illusions. See illusions pain, 37–​38 painting, 101–​2 Parmenides, 22 particles atomism, 51, 112 Clement, 74 Democritus, 28–​30 intromission, 24, 26–​31 and mind, 28–​30 mirrors, 87–​88 Tertullian, 51–​52, 53, 58 Paul, apostle, 40–​42, 96n.51, 97n.53, 145 Pausanias, 92 Pedanius Dioscorides, 76–​77 perception ability, 35–​36 assumptions, 3 Christian authors, 19–​20 Euclid, 22–​23 Hebrew Bible, 35–​36 and humanity, 6

medium, 113 Tertullian, 47–​49, 54–​55 See also sensory perception; theories of vision persecution, 184 philosophy Augustine, 133 mirrors, 90–​91, 93, 97–​98 natural, 19 and Tertullian, 45, 47–​48 and theology, 13 and vision, 9–​10 See also epistemology Plato, 21–​22, 71, 73, 91, 115–​17, 135 Platonism, 40–​41, 115–​17, 119–​20, 134–​39 Pliny, 90–​91 Plotinus, 98–​104, 115–​17, 169–​70 Ployd, Adam, 150n.80 Plutarch, 2–​3 pneuma, 32–​33, 53, 136 poetics of clarity, 186–​87, 188, 194 prismatic approach, 9–​11, 194 Ptolemy, 20n.5, 88–​89, 154–​55 purification, 103 Ra, 20–​21 rationality, 30–​31, 110. See also mind realism, 99 Rebillard, Éric, 184 reflection, 87–​89 rhetoric, 7, 9–​10 Ricoeur, Paul, 8, 180 Romans, letter to, 40–​41 Round Tower Problem, 22–​23, 141–​ 42, 143 science, 13, 16–​17, 19, 87–​89 Seneca, 91 senses Gregory of Nyssa, 108–​10 Hebrew Bible, 35–​36 organs, 18–​19 passivity, 150–​51 physical, 109 Plotinus, 101–​2 and rationality, 110 spiritual, 108–​10 and vision, 4, 18–​19

200  Subject Index sensory perception Augustine, 134–​39, 142 and God, 49 Gregory of Nyssa, 110 Platonism, 135–​39 Plotinus, 99 Stoicism, 135–​39 Tertullian, 47–​49, 54–​55, 63–​64 and touch, 4 See also perception Sermon on the Mount, 39–​40 simulacra, 29–​30, 51 Skepticism, 17–​23, 47–​48, 49 smell, 183 Smith, J. Warren, 124 Smith, Mark, 89 Socrates, 90–​91 statues, 103, 104 Stoicism Augustine, 134–​39, 140–​41, 160–​61 Gregory of Nyssa, 113, 122, 126 senses, 135–​39 sensory perception, 135–​39 Tertullian, 50, 52–​53, 54, 55 theories of vision, 32–​33, 53, 54, 55, 113, 160–​61 Strato of Lampsacus, 23 Struck, Peter, 186–​87 subjectivity and agency, 164–​65 atomism, 131–​32, 139, 152, 162 Clement, 167–​68 epistemology, 23–​24 eyes, 84 and gender, 166–​67 Gregory of Nyssa, 107, 114, 129–​30, 170 Hebrew Bible, 165–​66 and identity, 165–​68 New Testament, 166 Tertullian, 84, 166–​67 and theories of vision, 84, 107, 172 and vision, 164–​69, 170–​72 superstition, 29–​30 symbol, 186 symmetry, 25–​26 sympathy/​sympatheia, 27–​28, 100, 104 Taylor, Rabun, 90

Tertullian of Carthage balanced opposites, 62–​64 beards, 59–​60, 61–​62 bodies, 47, 54, 56–​57, 59–​61, 62–​ 63, 174–​75 Christianity, 65 cosmology, 54–​59, 61–​62, 63 De anima, 44–​45, 47–​48 and doubt, 48–​49 dress, 45–​46 and Epicureans, 50–​51, 52, 54, 55, 60 Eve, 60–​61 Father and Son, 62, 63 gender, 166–​67 gladiator games, 55–​56, 57–​58 and God, 49, 54–​56, 62 the head, 61 hierarchy, 62–​63, 64–​65 identity, 166–​67 illusions, 47–​54, 59, 187–​88 and Jesus, 49 medium in illusions, 51–​52, 53, 59 men, 57–​60, 61–​63 metaphor, 84 and New Prophecy, 45–​46, 63 particles, 51–​52, 53, 58 passivity, 55–​56, 58, 59 penetration, 60, 61 and philosophy, 45, 47–​48 sensory perception, 47–​49, 54–​ 55, 63–​64 sexual arousal, male, 57–​59 and sexual difference, 56–​57 and Skeptics, 47–​48, 49 soteriology, 45–​46 and Stoics, 50, 52–​53, 54, 55 subjectivity, 84, 166–​67 and theology, 49, 54 theories of vision, 47–​48, 50, 52, 54, 55, 64, 84, 176–​77 veils, 59–​62, 63–​64 vision, 44–​45, 46, 55–​57, 60, 167, 182 visual ray, 53, 60–​61 and women, 45–​46, 56–​65 theology anthropology, 138–​39, 144 Augustine, 138–​39, 144 Gregory of Nyssa, 122–​23

Subject Index  201 mystical, 122–​23 natural, 41 and philosophy, 13 and science, 13 and senses, 49 Tertullian, 49, 54 and vision, 9–​10 Theophrastus, 26 theories of vision Augustine, 132–​33, 135–​39, 141, 142, 154–​55, 156–​57, 160–​61, 178 Christian, 3, 19–​20 Clement, 70–​72, 84, 177 doubt, 165 dual, 176–​79 Epicurean, 54, 55 extramission, 20–​24, 25n.30, 53, 71, 88–​89, 92, 135–​36, 141, 142, 154–​55, 160–​61, 172–​74 Gregory of Nyssa, 106–​7, 177–​78 Heracleides, 20 intromission, 24–​31, 50–​51, 60, 71–​72, 83–​84, 100–​1 and knowledge, 165 non-​material, 31–​33 Plato/​Platonism, 71, 135–​39 Stoic, 53, 54, 55, 113, 160–​61

subjectivity, 84, 107, 172 Tertullian, 47–​48, 50, 52, 54, 55, 60, 64, 84, 176–​77 touch, 4, 21 transformation Augustine, 137–​38, 156, 175–​76 the body, 174–​76 Clement, 175 Gregory of Nyssa, 175 humanity, 174–​76 and vision, 37–​38 traps, 93–​94 Trentin, Lisa, 78 vanity, 93, 94 visual perception. See sensory perception visual ray. See theories of vision: extramission void, 27–​28 Weissenrieder, Annette, 97n.53 Wessel, Susan, 109–​10 Williams, Craig, 60, 61 Wisdom, 95 women, 45–​46, 56–​65, 90–​91 world, 101–​2. See also creation

Ancient Writings Index For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. HEBREW BIBLE Genesis 1, 144 1–​3, 153–​54, 161 1:26, 154, 154n.99 1:26–​27, 144n.49 1:27, 145, 145n.55 2, 145 2:20, 145n.57 3, 38n.104, 146, 147–​48, 173n.25 3:1–​3, 146–​47 3:6–​7a, 146n.60 9, 37n.97 12, 38n.104, 173n.25 13, 37n.97, 38n.104, 173n.25 15, 37n.97 17, 37n.97 19:26, 37n.92, 165n.6 21, 173n.25 21:15–​19, 38n.105, 165n.5 22, 173n.25 22:9–​14, 38n.105, 165n.5 30:37–​43, 37 39:6–​18, 37n.93 41, 38n.105, 173n.25 42, 38n.105 42:24, 36n.87 44:21, 36n.87 47:15, 36n.87 47:19, 36n.87 Exodus 13, 173n.25 13:21, 38n.105 15, 173n.25 15:25, 38n.105

38:8, 95 40:38, 36n.87 Leviticus 19:14, 36n.82 Numbers 12:6–​8, 96–​97, 97n.55 12:8, 97 20:8, 36n.87 20:12, 36n.87 Deuteronomy 1:30, 36n.87 3:21, 36n.87 4:9, 36n.87 28:34, 37n.95 29, 173n.25 29:2–​4, 38n.104 34:4, 37 2 Samuel 12:11, 37n.94 1 Kings 8:29, 36n.84 10:1, 36n.88 10:6–​7, 36n.89 10:7, 36 2 Kings 7:2, 37n.90 7:19, 37n.90 22:20, 37n.96 2 Chronicles 34:28, 37n.96 Nehemiah 1:6, 36n.84

204  Ancient Writings Index Job 13:1, 36n.82 27:18, 95 33:16, 36n.85 36:10, 36n.85 Psalms 17:29, 157n.115 26:3, 37n.98 29:11, 158 60:9, 157–​58 119:15, 37n.99 119:37, 38n.101 141:8, 38n.102 Proverbs 4:25, 38n.100 Song of Songs 4:1, 111n.20 Ezekiel 18:12, 36n.87 18:15, 36n.87 20:7, 36n.87 20:24, 36n.87 33:25, 36n.87 Daniel 4:34, 38n.103 DEUTEROCANONICAL WORKS Wisdom 7:26, 95, 169n.15 Sirach 12:10–​11, 95–​96, 169n.14 12:12a, 95n.49 NEW TESTAMENT Matthew 5:8, 120–​21, 153 6:22, 6n.26, 49 6:22–​23, 39–​40, 40n.108, 166n.7 Mark 8:22–​26, 67n.7 Luke 11:34–​36, 39 18:35–​43, 67n.7 John 1:3, 153 9:1–​12, 67n.7 Acts 9:1–​19, 45n.7

Romans 1:18–​32, 41 1:20, 6n.26, 16n.1, 41–​42, 54, 166n.8 10:17, 149–​50 1 Corinthians 11:1, 127 11:3, 44–​45, 44n.4, 62, 62n.78, 64 11:7, 145, 145n.55 13:9, 120 13:12, 3n.10, 6n.26, 62, 62n.79, 92n.34, 96, 106–​7, 108, 114–​15, 115n.39, 154, 154n.99, 163, 163n.1, 169n.16, 185, 185n.57 13:12a, 106n.5 15:12, 157n.114 2 Corinthians 3:18, 6n.26, 96, 156, 156n.109, 169n.17, 174 4:6, 67n.8 5:7, 149–​50 Galatians 4:12, 127 James 1:23–​24, 97–​98, 169n.18 NEW TESTAMENT APOCRYPHA AND PSEUDEPIGRAPHA Coptic Gospel of Thomas logion 24, 39n.106 CLASSICAL WRITERS Aelian De natura animalium 7.14, 77n.62 Aetius 4, 12, I =​67 A 29 =​469 Luria, 24n.27 Alexander of Aphrodisias De anima libri mantissa 134, line 28, 111n.23 De sensu 2, 111n.22 Apuleius of Madaurus Apologia 1.13, 90n.24 15.8–​15, 91n.26 Aristotle De anima

Ancient Writings Index  205 418–​419a, 32n.66 I.7, 419a 15–​17, 26n.41 De caelo 16, 305 a, I, 25n.31, 51n.36 De generatione et coruptione A 8, 325 b, 5, 25n.31, 73n.36 De insomniis 2, 90–​91 Metaphysica 1, v, 30, 986a, 25n.29 Meteorologica 373b, 34n.78 Poetica 1458a, 7n.31 Problemata 15.6.911b.19–​21, 5n.19, 22n.19, 48n.19, 139–​40n.31, 165n.2 De sensu 437a–​438a, 32n.64 447a, 32n.66 Augustine of Hippo Confessiones 6.8.13, 151, 151n.86, 151n.87, 152n.88 7, 157 7.1.1, 157, 157​nn.113–​14 7.1.2, 157n.115 7.3.5, 157n.116 7.5.7, 157n.117 7.7.1.1, 157–​58, 158n.118 7.8.12, 157–​58, 158n.120 7.10.16, 158, 158​nn.121–​22 7.17.23, 158, 158​n n.123–​2 4, 158n.125 8, 159 8.1.2.3, 160 8.12.28, 159n.126 9.10.24, 159, 159n.127, 159n.128 De Genesis ad litteram 4.34.54, 136n.13 7.18.24, 136n.16 12.8.19, 137n.22 De musica 6.5.8, 136–​37n.20 De quantitate anime 23.43, 135n.12, 136n.14, 147n.67 De Trinitate 1.1.1.1, 149n.76

1.1.1.2, 149n.77, 153n.93 1.1.2.4, 153n.96 3.2.22, 155n.105 4.4.15.20, 149n.77, 149n.79 4.4.18.24, 149n.73 8.1.2.3, 154n.102 8.3.4.6, 150n.80, 153 8.4.6.9, 141n.38 9, 171n.23 9.Prologue.1.1, 156n.108 9.Prologue 3.3, 135, 135n.10, 154–​55, 154n.103, 173n.29 9.3.12.17, 153n.98 9.3.12.18, 161n.131 9.6.10, 141n.38 10.1.1.1–​2, 152n.89 10.2.5.7, 137n.23, 148, 148n.69 10.3.6.8, 148, 148n.71 11, 140, 171n.22 11.1.2.2, 152n.90 11.1.2.3, 135n.11, 137n.24 11.1.2.4, 140, 140nn.35–​36, 141, 141n.39, 141n.40, 141n.42, 143, 143n.48, 187n.70 11.1.2.4.7, 138, 138n.27, 175n.33 11.1.2.5, 136n.15, 138nn.25–​26 12.1.1.1, 144n.50 12.1.2.2, 144n.51 12.2.5.5, 153, 153n.94 12.3.7.10, 145n.58, 156, 156n.111 12.3.8.13, 146n.63, 147, 147n.66 12.3.10.15, 147, 147n.65, 149n.74 12.3.11.16, 146–​47, 146n.62 12.3.12.17, 146n.61, 147n.64 12.3.12.19, 145n.56 12.3.13.20, 146n.59 12.3.14.23, 160n.130 13.1.1.2, 150nn.80–​81 13.1.2.5, 150nn.82–​83 14.2.2.6, 145n.53, 147n.68 14.2.2.7, 148n.72 14.4.14.19, 145n.54, 149–​50 15, 139–​40, 171n.23 15.Prologue.(2).2, 156, 156n.110 15.3.9.15, 154n.102 15.4.12.21, 139, 139n.30, 140n.32, 187n.68 15.6.23.44, 154n.100

206  Ancient Writings Index Celsus De medicina 6.6.35, 77n.63 7.7.14, 76n.57, 77–​78, 77n.64, 78n.65, 78n.67, 79n.73 Clement of Alexandria Excerpta Ex Theodoto 4.81, 69n.17 Paedagogus 1.1.1, 67 1.1.3, 67 1.2.6, 67 1.6.28, 66n.1, 69, 69n.18, 70–​71, 71n.21, 72n.28, 72n.30, 76, 76n.53, 78n.72, 80, 80n.78, 81n.81, 81n.84, 167n.13, 173n.27, 175n.31, 177n.37 1.6.29, 68n.9, 75–​76, 75n.50 1.6.30, 79n.77, 81n.85 1.8.62, 76n.52 1.9.77, 74n.39 1.8.62, 67 1.9.77, 74n.39 1.9.83, 67 1.16.80.5, 75n.49 1.41.3 (i.115.7–​8), 73n.33 2.1.1, 74n.39 2.9.80, 81n.86 2.9.81, 74n.39 3.2.11, 68n.13 3.11.70, 71–​72, 72n.27 Protrepticus 1.2.3, 72n.31 1.8.2, 67, 67n.6 2.26.1–​3, 68n.14 4.51.6, 68n.12 4.57.3, 68n.15 6.68.2–​3, 51n.34, 177n.36 6.68.4, 74n.39 10.92.5, 68n.16 10.93.2, 79n.74, 184n.51 10.110.1, 73n.38 11.113.2, 74n.39 11.113.2–​4, 80n.79, 177n.37 68.2 (i.52.2–​4), 73nn.32–​33, 177n.35 74.7 (i.57.8–​9), 51n.32, 51n.33 Stromata 1.1.10, 74n.39

1.16.80.5, 75n.49 1.27.1 (ii.24.8ff), 73n.33 1.27.2–​3 (ii.24.16–​23), 73n.33 1.28.178, 74n.39 1.37.1 (ii.24.8ff), 73n.32 1.37.2 (ii.24.17–​19), 73n.33 2.16.3, 74n.44 5.11.74.1, 75n.45 Conon Diegeseis 24ap, 94n.45 Democritus Testimonia Fragment 1, line 105, 111–​12n.25 Diogenes Laertius Vitae Philosophorum 9.4.44, 111–​12n.25 9.87, 5n.19, 22n.19, 48n.19, 139–​ 40n.31, 165n.2 10.46, 4n.16 Empedocles Fragment 84, 25n.30 Epicurus Epistula ad Herodotum §40–​42, 27n.48, 51n.31 §46, 27n.49 §46.1, 27n.51, 51n.33 §49, 28n.58, 51n.32, 71n.24, 112n.27 §51, 28n.57 Gnomologium Vaticanum Epicureum Fragment 24, 111–​12n.25 Euclid Optica 1–​3, 4n.15, 23n.20, 142n.43, 165n.4 2.22, 88–​89 3, 88–​89 3.16, 89n.17 3.68–​130, 89n.18 3.157–​71, 89n.18 9, 5n.22, 22n.16, 23n.20, 34n.79, 139–​ 40n.31, 165n.4 Opticorum recensio Theonis 148–​50, 111n.24 Galen Ars medica 35.6, 77n.60 De methodus medendi 14.13, 77n.61

Ancient Writings Index  207 14.19, 72n.29, 76n.54 De Natura Hominis I, 2 (k. xv, 32), 25n.31 De placitis 7, 4n.15 7.4, 33n.73 8, 83, 25n.29 De Symptomatum Causis 1.2, 4n.13 Gellius V.15.4, 50–​51n.30 Gregory of Nyssa In canticum canticorum 1, 126–​27 1, 35–​37, 108n.8 1, 43, 124n.80 2, 51, 127, 127n.92 2, 53, 124n.80 3, 116–​17 3, 79, 120, 120n.63 3, 97, 117n.51 3, 101, 115n.43, 118, 118n.56 4, 106, 106n.1 4, 115, 112n.30, 113, 113n.31, 175n.32 4, 117, 111, 111n.21, 114n.38, 173n.28, 177n.38 4, 119, 115n.42, 118, 118n.54 5, 124 5, 159, 124, 124nn.81–​82 5, 163, 124n.80 6, 126–​27 7, 121 7, 229, 108n.9, 120, 120nn.65–​66 7, 229–​31, 112n.29, 121, 121n.71 8, 259, 120–​21, 120n.68, 121n.70 8, 265, 114n.37 8, 265–​67, 125–​26, 126n.88 8, 269–​71, 127, 127n.93 11, 126–​27 11, 343, 120, 120n.67 11, 345, 120n.69 13, 417, 120, 120n.64, 124n.84, 125, 125n.85 13, 417–​19, 125, 125n.86 14, 115, 122n.74, 126, 126n.89 14, 117, 126, 126n.90 14, 119, 125, 125n.87 14, 467, 122n.73, 170n.21

15, 467, 123, 123n.79, 128, 128nn.98–​99 De infantibus praemature abreptis 1, 106n.1 De opificio hominum 9, 113n.34 10.2, 110n.16 12.10, 127n.94 De perfectione 195, 14–​196, 9, 128n.95 Hero of Alexandria Catoptrica (De speculis) 11–​12, 93n.39 18, 93n.40 Jerome De viris illustribus 53, 45n.6 Lucian De historia conscribenda 51, 91n.31 Lucretius De Rerum Natura 1.304, 50–​51n.30 3.489–​98, 30–​31 4.30–​40, 4n.16, 29–​30 4.33–​41, 30–​31 4.145–​60, 87n.8, 87n.9, 88nn.10–​12, 119nn.57–​58, 119n.60 4.239–​60, 29–​30 4.269–​323, 30–​31, 119nn.61–​62 4.324–​37, 30, 112n.28 4.338–​50, 30–​31 4.353–​63, 5n.19, 30–​31, 34n.76, 165n.3 4.364–​78, 30–​31 4.379, 30–​31 4.385, 30–​31 4.386, 30–​31 4.475, 30–​31 4.484, 30–​31 4.735–​40, 29–​30 4.1030–​57, 30 4.1037–​287, 58n.63 Nonnus Dionysiaca 6.169–​73, 93n.41 Ovid Metamorphoses 3, 93–​94

208  Ancient Writings Index Ovid (cont.) 3.339–​512, 93n.43 3.348, 93n.44 Parmenides Fragment 28 B7 DK, 22n.18 Pausanius Graeciae description 8.37.7, 92n.36 9.31.7–​9, 94n.46 Photius Bibliotheca 134b28–​135a3, 94n.45 Plato Alcibiades 1.132C–​33C, 91, 91n.27, 97–​ 98, 98n.61 1.132D–​33C, 116n.45 Charmides 154B–​155D, 21n.13 Lysis 206E9–​207A3, 21n.13 Meno 76A8–​C2, 21n.13 76C, 25n.31, 73n.35 Respublica 519a, 74n.40 533d, 74n.40 Sophista 254a, 74n.40 Symposium 219a, 74n.40 Theaetetus 155b–​156e, 21n.14 Timaeus 45b, 100–​1 45b–​d, 4n.12, 4n.16, 21n.10, 52n.39, 71, 135 Pliny the Elder Naturalis historia 28, 82, 88n.13 Plotinus Enneades 1.6.8.1–​4, 102n.84 1.6.8.8–​10, 102n.85 1.6.8.8–​16, 169n.20 1.6.8.15–​16, 68n.16, 102n.86 1.6.8.26–​28, 68n.16, 103n.88 1.6.9.10–​15, 103, 103n.89

1.6.9.23–​34, 103, 103n.90 2.4.4, 100–​1 2.4.10–​11, 100–​1 2.6.2, 100–​1 2.6.17, 100–​1 2.8.35, 100–​1 3.6.7.17–​27, 85, 85n.1, 101, 101n.78, 169n.19 4.4.2.3, 100–​1 4.4.10.12–​15, 101, 101n.79, 169n.19 4.4.23, 99n.67 4.5.1–​4, 100n.69 4.5.2, 100n.77 4.5.23–​26, 100n.77 5.3.8, 100–​1 5.3.20, 100–​1 5.5.7, 100–​1 5.5.28–​29, 100–​1 Plutarch Adversus Colotem 1121a–​b, 5n.19, 22n.19, 48n.19, 139–​ 40n.31, 165n.2 De fraterno amore Menander, frg. 568 =​K-​A 791, 2n.5 De sollertia animalium III 961a =​fr. 112 Wehrli, 23n.26, 142n.47 Ptolemy Optica 3, 154–​55 Seneca the Younger Epistulae 106.8 50–​51n.30 De ira 2.36.1–​3, 91n.30 Quaestiones naturales 1.16.1–​2, 94n.47 1.17.4–​10, 94n.47 16.1–​6, 122n.72 17, 4, 91n.28 Sextus Empiricus Fragment 353/​Against the Physicists, 29n.59, 74n.42 Pyrrhoniae hypotyposes 100–​117, 5n.19, 22n.19, 48n.19, 139–​ 40n.31, 165n.2 Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta (SVF) 863, 34n.77

Ancient Writings Index  209 II 864, 32n.68, 32n.70, 113n.33 Tertullian De anima 5.6, 50–​51n.30 8, 44–​45, 44n.1, 44n.3, 54–​55, 55n.47, 63n.84, 64n.85, 167n.12 17, 47–​50, 48nn.20–​21, 49n.23, 49n.24, 50n.25, 50n.26, 50nn.27–​28, 52n.37, 52n.38, 53nn.42–​43, 167n.11, 176–​77, 184n.50, 187n.69 36.1–​2, 56–​57 47, 63n.80 De cultu feminarum 1.1, 45n.7, 56–​57n.53, 60n.74 2.1, 58n.58, 58n.60, 167n.10 2.2, 58n.58, 60n.72, 167n.10 2.3, 58n.65 2.26, 58n.58, 167n.10 Adversus Marcionem 4.8.3, 50–​51n.30 De pallio 4.1.3, 61–​62, 61n.75 De patientia 13, 63n.83 De praescriptione haereticorum

7, 45n.8 Adversus Praxean 14, 62, 62n.79 De pudicitia 21.7, 63 De resurrectione 27, 63n.83 De spectaculis 2.1, 49n.22 8.9–​10, 184n.49 13.5, 56nn.51–​52, 58n.59 17.5, 58n.59 20.2, 55n.48, 173n.26 20.4, 55n.48, 166n.9 Ad uxorem 63 De virginibus velandis 2.4, 59n.67, 60n.71 7.3, 58n.64, 58n.66 12.1, 61n.77 14.8, 59n.68 Theophrastus DK A 86, 2, 25n.31, 81n.83 De Sensibus 50–​55, 4n.17 50, 26n.40 52–​53, 111n.22