Reaching for Perfection: Studies on the Means and Goals of Ascetical Practices in an Interreligious Perspective (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 329) 9789042949973, 9789042949980, 904294997X

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REACHING FOR PERFECTION STUDIES ON THE MEANS AND GOALS OF ASCETICAL PRACTICES IN AN INTERRELIGIOUS PERSPECTIVE JOSEPH VERHEYDEN – GEERT ROSKAM ANN HEIRMAN – JOHAN LEEMANS

REACHING FOR PERFECTION STUDIES ON THE MEANS AND GOALS OF ASCETICAL PRACTICES IN AN INTERRELIGIOUS PERSPECTIVE

BIBLIOTHECA EPHEMERIDUM THEOLOGICARUM LOVANIENSIUM EDITED BY THE BOARD OF EPHEMERIDES THEOLOGICAE LOVANIENSES

Louis-Léon Christians – Henri Derroitte – Wim François – Éric Gaziaux Joris Geldhof – Arnaud Join-Lambert – Johan Leemans Olivier Riaudel (secretary) – Matthieu Richelle Joseph Verheyden (general editor)

EDITORIAL STAFF

Rita Corstjens – Claire Timmermans

Université catholique de Louvain KU Leuven Louvain-la-Neuve Leuven

BIBLIOTHECA EPHEMERIDUM THEOLOGICARUM LOVANIENSIUM CCCXXIX

REACHING FOR PERFECTION STUDIES ON THE MEANS AND GOALS OF ASCETICAL PRACTICES IN AN INTERRELIGIOUS PERSPECTIVE

EDITED BY

JOSEPH VERHEYDEN – GEERT ROSKAM ANN HEIRMAN – JOHAN LEEMANS

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT

2022

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN 978-90-429-4997-3 eISBN 978-90-429-4998-0 D/2022/0602/110 All rights reserved. Except in those cases expressly determined by law, no part of this publication may be multiplied, saved in an automated data file or made public in any way whatsoever without the express prior written consent of the publishers. © 2022 – Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven (Belgium)

TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Kurt Lampe (Bristol University) The Spiritual Dimension of Stoic Ascesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Dominic J. O’Meara (Université de Fribourg) .Pagan Philosophical Asceticism in Late Antiquity as a Way of Perfection. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Thomas Valgaeren (KU Leuven) God as a Role Model: Practical Homoiosis Theoi in the Works of Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nyssa. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Maxim Venetskov (KU Leuven) Food for Ascetics and Excessive Fasting in the Ladder of John Climacus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony (Hebrew University, Jerusalem) Perfection in Late Antique Syriac Christianity: From Commandments and Stillness to Wonder. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Rob Faesen (KU Leuven) “Be Perfect as Your Heavenly Father Is Perfect”: Asceticism and Perfection in Medieval Christian Mysticism. . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Patrick Benjamin Koch (Universität Hamburg) “There Is Neither Food Nor Drink in the World to Come”: Fasting as Ascetic Practice in Elijah de Vidas’s Reshit Ḥokhmah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 Niki Kasumi Clements (Rice University, Houston TX) The τέλος of Asceticism in Michel Foucault and John Cassian.143 Dylan Esler (CERES, Ruhr-Universität Bochum) Perfection beyond Technique: The Notion of Effortless Spontaneity in Tibetan Dzogchen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .167 James A. Benn (McMaster University, Hamilton ONT) Is Buddhist Self-Immolation a Form of Asceticism?. . . . . . . . . 179 Index of Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 Index of Sources. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215

INTRODUCTION This volume contains the proceedings of an international conference on the relation between asceticism and aspirations to reach out for perfection held at the University of Leuven 21-23 October 2019 and organised in the framework of Kosmoi, an association founded in 2015 to bring together Leuven colleagues from various disciplines working in the field of religious studies. The desire to improve oneself – in whatever respect – is a key feature in human life. Religion has played into this, claiming to be able to fulfil such aspirations in a unique way and to offer the necessary tools to realise them. Perhaps before anything else, religion is about reaching out for nothing less than becoming “perfect”, however this may be understood and formulated: to become a better person, maybe even a saint; to be transformed or saved; to meet or unite with the divine… One of the major tools to reach such goals, so it seems, is to practice a form of ascetic lifestyle – to give up on things, to start living differently, to change oneself. Asceticism is about struggle and reward, about hoping for success and coping with failure, about persistence and transformation, about guidance and guiding. The way may be long or short, but it is always in one sense or another “adventurous”. All of these and many other aspects related to ascetic lifestyles have been studied at length in various religious cultures and traditions and from various perspectives and approaches. The additional value of this book lies in the comparative perspective across religious traditions or within a particular tradition. This should bring to the fore the major differences and similarities that exist in various religious systems. Contributors were asked to integrate in their essay (aspects of) one of the following four basic topics: (1) the goal and purpose of living an ascetic life (obtaining “salvation”, being transformed or purified, meeting with the divine, …); (2) the means, both material and immaterial, available for reaching this goal (physical and mental exercises, prayer, diets, practising virtue, …); (3) the place of asceticism within the whole of religious practices in a particular religious tradition (an occasional or a recurrent event, a mass event or a more elitist one, “professional” ascetics, …); and (4) the challenges and dangers of adopting such a lifestyle (disillusion, failure, pride, …). These topics are addressed in various religious traditions, with a focus on Christian tradition – Western

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and Eastern –, and through various approaches – historical, anthropologi­ cal, and more philosophical. Of the papers that were presented at the colloquium, ten have been selected for publication. The essays cover a wide variety of topics, in line with the intention of Kosmoi and of the meeting itself. The first two papers deal with Graeco-Roman philosophical tradition and its handling of asceticism. Kurt Lampe explores the notion of Stoic spirituality from the commonly accepted assumption that Hellenistic philosophy was as much about promoting a lifestyle than about developing theoretical studies. Lampe adds a new aspect to it by also looking into current literature on cognitive-behavioural psychotherapy that opens up an interesting perspective on an in se old question. He combines with it insights taken from R. Otto and M. Eliade about the fundamental otherness of experiencing the holy, which he designates with the notion of the “radical stranger”. Exemplifying his insights from Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, he argues that both have stimulated their readers to look for experiences of radical estrangement. A crucial category in this respect is that of imagination – the effective and embodied way of “seeing” reality in a different way. Put this way, Stoicism is not just an ancient way of practicing philosophy, but one that can also still be exercised in a post-modern context. Dominic J. O’Meara focuses on Neo-Platonic tradition and how it has picked up the notion of “assimilation to god” that is found already in Plato. He studies in particular how this concept is put at work in biographies of Neo-Platonic philosophers. Defining perfection as “sharing in the life of a transcendent divine Intellect” (29), it means, in Platonic tradition, returning to one’s true origins. This road to perfection is laid out and at the same time also complicated by creating or assuming multiple levels between the earthly and the divine, to the point that reaching for perfection becomes a continuous journey and one that only very few can bring to an end. That is why Neo-Platonism puts so much weight on describing the lives of its heroes, of those who went before us and reached levels the average adept can only dream of. Plotinus is of course a key figure in this project, but so are Proclus and Isidorus, and the old Pythagoras himself; all of them made the subject of a biography. Neo-Platonism lives from the (self-created) tension between human aspiration and (constructed) reality. Three essays are dedicated to reflections on ascetic practice as met in ancient Eastern Christianity. Thomas Valgaeren studies the way how God is presented as the ultimate role model for aspiring ascetics in the works of Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nyssa. Taking their cue from Plato’s notion of “assimilation with the divine”, the two Cappadocians develop



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the notion not only in a philosophical but also in a more metaphorical way. A key-passage in Basil’s reflection on the concept is Gen 1,26. In his interpretation he focuses on the notion of reason, absent from the biblical verse, as what distinguishes human beings from animals and likens them to God. In addition, Basil also refers to Mt 5,48 which he interprets as the confirmation that human beings can aspire at a form of unity with the divine. Gregory of Nyssa in turn puts more emphasis on how this aspiration can be realised through living a virtuous life, in line with the context in which he develops his views when commenting on the Beatitudes. Maxim Venetskov approaches the question from a more practical level when dealing with the prescription and admonitions on excessive fasting found in the Ladder of John Climacus. The author of one of the most popular ascetic and spiritual treatises in Eastern-Christian tradition, Climacus also repeatedly warns practitioners for the dangers of over-doing their case. Venetskov shows from many examples how important this concern was in monastic literature. In this way, fasting is looked upon as both the path to be taken and the one to be trodden carefully in order to avoid misconduct, false pride, and ultimately, failure. Fasting is the way to beat off other temptations, but can itself become a temptation if practised in an unreasonable way. The concerns about excessive fasting are one more example of how monastic tradition always kept alert against the dangers of its own practices. Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony turns to Syriac monastic and spiritual tradition, surveying the most important authors that have reflected on the notion of perfection, including, in this order, Dadisho’ Qatraya, the anonymous author of the Book of Steps, John of Apamea, and Philoxenus of Mabbug, and such later authors as Yoḥannan bar Kaldun. She also discusses the technical vocabulary used in these works and the important role played by Evagrius Ponticus in shaping this tradition, especially the thought of Dadisho’. She also points out the importance given to the constant remembrance of God in the solitude of the monastic cell of the perfecti and the interest among these authors in developing and polishing a rhetoric and a discourse on perfection in combination with or as the result of their ascetic lifestyle. This goal was in part realised at the expense of the social aspect of monastic life and developed through the creation of new forms of prayer and introspective discourse. Rob Faesen studies the relation between perfection and asceticism in Medieval Christian mystical literature, citing abundantly from the major characters of that tradition, starting with Bernard of Clairvaux. Faesen in particular discusses two aspects of the relationality between the mystic

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and the divine – the notion of gratuitous love and the constant interest in pointing out the similarity with Jesus’ relation to the Father. He then illustrates how these two aspects shape and guide the ascetical practices of the mystic – cultivating material and spiritual forms of poverty, preparing oneself to surrender to God, exercising a life of solitude and silence. He ends with briefly listing the dangers that threaten the life of the mystic ascetic and once more emphasising the relational aspect of the practices mentioned against the background of Gen 1,26. Patrick Benjamin Koch contributes an essay on the in broader circles probably less known kabbalist Elijah de Vidas (d. ca. 1593), author of a voluminous mystico-moral treatise entitled The Beginnings of Wisdom. He focuses on de Vidas’s teaching on fasting which is promoted as a most viable way to prepare one’s spirit for higher aspirations. Fasting is even considered a form of divine imitation. In the same line, the ascetic longs for spiritual food, food that brings him closer to God and makes it possible to overcome human physical needs. Indeed, longing for that kind of food is actually not a form of fasting but of focusing oneself on what is truly important. Koch shows on several occasions how this teaching goes against the common opinion in rabbinic tradition that questioned the benefits of fasting. It is a purifying practice that prepares the soul to receive divine knowledge, hence also carries with it an aspect of penitential ritual. Koch not only deals with Elijah de Vidas, but also cites more widely from contemporary kabbalistic works and authors, which all praise the benefit of fasting in combination with studying Torah and praying as a means to trigger an audio-visual experience of that other world. Niki Kasumi Clements, a specialist of Michel Foucault, studies the latter’s views on the thought of John Cassian in the framework of his interest in delineating ways for expressing and recognising the truth about one’s personality. Taking as her starting point Foucault’s first lecture in a series of seven held at the Université catholique de Louvain in April 1981, Clements shows how Foucault in these later years of his life was above all interested in technologies of domination at work in Christian, and later on Catholic, confessional literature and practices. Foucault saw this in Cassian’s descriptions of how monks were required to confess their inner state to elders, but as Clements rightly points out, he seems to have missed the obviously positive and formative goal and intention of these talks as part of the monk’s continuous travail to reach out for a more perfect way of life. Foucault and Cassian have a common interest in technologies of the self, but their goal differs, for the latter is not so much oriented towards developing forms of self-renunciation as to cultivate a purity of heart as the ultimate goal of ascetic practice.



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The last two essays bring us in a completely different tradition. Dylan Esler studies the notion of effortless spontaneity in Tibetan Dzogchen tradition, which in a sense inverts “the order of things” by holding that perfection is not the end one is supposed to work to, but rather the primeval innate state of every individual. It is not something that is to be reconquered, but to be discovered again. In Dzogchen a person is not urged to “look” for ways to reach perfection, but to let things happen, to reach a state of effortlessness that leads to self-liberation. The Buddha Samantabhadra, not a personal guide, let alone a divine being, even if prayed to, but rather a principle, acts as the model for the adept of how to reach a state of enlightenment and completeness. The ascetic component there doubtless does not exist in exercising fasting or the like, but in cultivating this innate spontaneity. James A. Benn returns to a topic he had dealt with in previous studies but which he here presents in a revised format when asking about the relationship between ascetic practice and self-immolation. He starts by defining what he sees as ascetic practice and self-immolation in Chinese Buddhist tradition, then gives a survey of literary attestations and evidence for the practice questioning the view that this, as a rule, is an act of asceticism and arguing that self-immolation should rather be seen as a gift of the body. In Benn’s view, defining self-immolation in terms of radical asceticism misses the point, as the goal is not to master the body in favour of the soul or the spirit, but to undergo a process of transformation of the body from a mortal to an immortal level. The body is not an impediment for this transformation, but the means by which the process takes form and is realised, or as Benn calls it, “the mode seems to have been more heroic than ascetic” (208). More than 75 years ago, Martin Foss published a little booklet entitled The Idea of Perfection in the Western World (Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1946). Foss focused on both philosophical and religious tradition to end with a chapter on the “perfect” over against the “sublime” in art. Even if Foss at times pushes the distinction between Greek philosophy and Christian philosophy to its limits, he has seen right that the search for perfection ultimately has to do with defining the place given to ratio and to awe for the mystery. “And so the course of European philosophy is marked by a permanent struggle between a rational philosophy and a desire to understand the position of man in the universe” (3). Philosophy and religion both aim for perfection, but both also realise that this is an endless search, one that can only be completed if a person transcends him or herself. I am not sure one can summarise that

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quest in terms of finding “a compromise between the Greek hypostasis of perfection and the Christian idea of the living God” (7), but it is obvious that both look for an answer beyond and outside of human limitedness. As a matter of fact, the quest involves not two, but three factors – the human, the perfect, and the absolute. The second and third term can coincide, but do not necessarily have to, as the second term can be used, mutatis mutandis, in a purely human context and on a purely human level; but then there always also is “the beyond”. Human perfection remains a relative perfection, “because it is related to the human intellect” (31). Beyond this is the realm of divine perfection, of the absolute spirit, of the living God. This tension between different meanings of the term “perfection” has been seen by many as a challenge to transcend the human level, and this is where ascetic practice comes in. Ascetic practice, contemplation, and deification or union with the divine are key notions in Christian mystic tradition, and perhaps nowhere to the same extent as in Eastern Christian tradition. In a recent book entitled Human Perfection in Byzantine Theology: Attaining the Fullness of Christ (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2020), Alexis Torrance surveys Byzantine theological thought from Maximus Confessor to Gregory Palamas on the notion of perfection, more specifically, on the role given to Jesus Christ in human endeavours to reach out for perfection. As a human being, Jesus acts as a role model in this quest, but in so far as his divine nature is put in the picture the situation may become more critical and indeed dangerous as can be seen, perhaps most strikingly, in the anathema added in 1170 to the Synodikon of Orthodoxy, itself promulgated already in 843, when readers are warned for two dangers – Docetism and Theo­ paschitism. But besides the Christological dimension, Torrance also duly pays attention to the role given to an ascetic lifestyle in the authors he is reviewing. This is perhaps most clearly formulated in the chapter on Maximus Confessor and his interest in the motif of “reaching the Sabbath”. Maximus grasps back to it on more than one occasion, but develops it at length in his Theological and Economical Chapters. In Maximus’ spiritual interpretation of the concept, Sabbath signifies “the condition of dispassion and peace according to virtue in both soul and body, that is to say, an unchanging state” (2.65, cited in Torrance, p. 62). It is about abandoning passions, about reaching “a rest from slavery to the passions” (ibid.). Many centuries later, Palamas will defend the place of ascetic practice in the monk’s quest for perfection in his disputes with Barlaam and the latter’s “rationalism”. Torrance comments, “for ­Barlaam this form of illumination through Christian ascetic practice comes across as something both separate from, and inferior to, the subsequent p­ urification from



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i­ntellectual ignorance that needs to occur through the life of reason, a position which for Palamas is simultaneously an unacceptable elevation of the role of intellectual life for human destiny, and a radical deprecation of the worth and content of the Gospel” (158). Ascetic practices have always played a role in human ambitions about aspiring to or reaching for perfection. The present volume has focused on this one factor and offered some illustrations, out of many more that could be studied, of how such practices were conceived and thought about in partly similar but at times also different ways in different traditions. Joseph Verheyden Geert Roskam Ann Heirman Johan Leemans

THE SPIRITUAL DIMENSION OF STOIC ASCESIS I. Introduction: The Problem of Stoic Spirituality The topic of this chapter is how exercises of self-perfection in ancient Stoic philosophy were related to what I will loosely call “spiritual experience”. Among scholars who study ancient philosophy, it is now widely acknowledged that Stoicism can be approached both as an evolving system of theories and as an evolving system of practices. That system of practices can be articulated as training oneself, taking care of oneself, returning to oneself, befriending oneself, becoming content with oneself, and so on. In his seminal works on this topic, Pierre Hadot referred to these practices as “spiritual exercises” (exercices spirituels)1. However, the term “spiritual” has been avoided or contested by other interpreters of the same material, such as Michel Foucault, Martha Nussbaum, John Sellars, and John Cooper2. This is not particularly surprising: as I have argued elsewhere with regard to Socrates, historians of ancient philosophy are often at pains to “save” their subjects from their own spirituality3. Typically this is motivated by preconceptions about an opposition between rationality on the one hand, which is associated with autonomy and discursive evidence-based evaluation, and spirituality on the other, which is associated with heteronomy, faith, dogma, and superstition. These ingrained dichotomies appear even in some of the best scholarship on Stoicism. For instance, Anthony Long voices the concern – though he does not entirely share it – that “Epictetus, in his ubiquitous appeals to God, [has] ­ succumbed to 1. P. Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed. with introd. A.I. Davidson, Oxford, Blackwell, 1995, pp. 81-125; Id., What Is Ancient Philosophy?, trans. M. Chase, Cambridge, MA, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2002, pp. 172-233. 2. M. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1994; M. Foucault, The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the Collège de France 1981-1982, ed. F. Gross, trans. G. Burchell, New York, Palgrave MacMillan, 2005, passim, e.g., pp. 46-51; J. Sellars, The Art of Living: The Stoics on the Nature and Function of Philosophy, Aldershot, Ashgate, 2003, pp. 107-166; J. Cooper, Pursuits of Wisdom: Six Ways of Life in Ancient Philosophy from Socrates to Plotinus, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2013, pp. 17-23. 3. K. Lampe, Rationality, Eros, and Daemonic Influence in the Platonic Theages and the Academy of Polemo and Crates, in The American Journal of Philology 134 (2013) 383-424.

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­religiosity”4. Similarly, Jordi Pià Comella worries that Posidonius’ approach to cosmic sympathy and divination “doesn’t appear to provide a solid rampart against the excesses of superstition” (ne semble pas offrir un rempart solide contre les dérives de la superstition)5. What is missing here is a suitably nuanced articulation of what “religiosity” or “superstition” involve, and in what ways they might relate to discursive evidence-based reasoning, both in ancient Stoicism in particular and in general. This leads me to the motivation for this contribution. There are two modern contexts that influence the way the theme of “spiritual exercises” in Stoicism will be approached. The first is the explosion of interest among both continental philosophers and the general public in ancient Stoic ethics of self-cultivation. The continental philosophers are exemplified not only by older authorities like Hadot and Foucault, but also by contemporary thinkers such as Michael Ure, Andrew Benjamin, Katrina Mitcheson, and Janae Sholtz6. Despite the so-called “religious turn” in continental philosophy, they have taken little interest in Stoic spirituality – unless I count myself7. As for modern Stoicism, it is represented by dozens of books, countless social media sites, a network of events, and above all the Modern Stoicism website8. Contributors to the website have explicitly debated

4. A.A. Long, Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life, Oxford, Clarendon, 2002, p. 181. It must be noted that Long is well aware that “religiosity, with its implicit slur, is a historically crude term” (ibid.). 5. J.P. Comella, Une piété de la raison: philosophie et religion dans le stoïcisme impérial. Des Lettres à Lucilius de Sénèque aux Pensées de Marc Aurèle (Philosophie hellénistique et romaine, 3), Turnhout, Brepols, 2014, p. 70. Cf. p. 63: “On peut, pourtant, se demander si une pareille démarche qui fonde la valeur épistémologique de cette pratique en invoquant sa diffusion universelle peut de manière efficace éradiquer la superstition”. 6.  Good starting points are M. Dennis – S. Werkhoven, The Ethics of Self-Cultivation: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, London, Routledge, 2018; K. Lampe – J. Sholtz (eds.), French and Italian Stoicisms: From Sartre to Agamben, London, Bloomsbury Academic, 2021; K. Lampe – A. Benjamin (eds.), German Stoicisms: From Hegel to Sloterdijk, London, Bloomsbury Academic, 2021. 7. I have touched on Stoicism’s spiritual dimension in K. Lampe, Stoic Theology between Myth and Masochism, in V. Zajko – E. O’Gorman (eds.), Classical Myth and Psychoanalysis: Ancient and Modern Stories of the Self, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2013, 183-198; Id., Kristeva, Stoicism, and the “True Ethics of Interpretation”, in SubStance 45/1 (2016) 22-43, pp. 30-37; Id., Philosophy, Psychology, and the Gods in Seneca’s Hercules Furens, in Philosophia: Yearbook of the Research Centre for Greek Philosophy at the University of Athens 48 (2018) 233-252; and Id., Hans Blumenberg and the Anthropology of Stoicism, in Id. – Benjamin (eds.), German Stoicisms (n. 6), 205-228. But none of those chapters or articles focus specifically on the topic. Andrew Benjamin has also shared with me an unpublished paper on Gods, Humans, and the Rational Order: The Place of Logos in Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus. 8. https://modernstoicism.com.



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whether one “needs god to be a Stoic”9. Let me make my own position clear: I consider it obvious that both ancient and modern Stoics have differed widely in both their beliefs and feelings about the divine. It would be wrong-headed to argue that Stoic practice should be spiritual or lacks “authenticity” if it is not so. That being said, the role of spirituality in ancient Stoicism remains poorly understood, and even its exponents in modern Stoicism struggle to articulate what it is and how it matters. Another context helps to illuminate one of the ways in which spirituality matters. Given that cognitive-behavioral psychotherapists have played an important role in the Modern Stoicism movement, it is noteworthy that the last fifteen years have seen an explosion of interest in spirituality among anglophone mental health practitioners. In the United Kingdom, the most prominent example is the Spirituality and Psychiatry Special Interest Group of the Royal College of Psychiatry, whose website hosts an archive of papers by clinicians of diverse theoretical backgrounds10. In their excellent first publication, which appeared in 2009, some of this group’s leading authorities describe in capacious terms what they mean by “spirituality”: it is a matter of the highest values, the purpose of life, the meaningfulness of the world, or integration with deep, transpersonal, or transcendent reality11. There is now a large body of research exploring the relations between spirituality, therapeutic approaches, and mental wellbeing around the world12. Inasmuch as Stoic exercises are presented as taking care of oneself, befriending oneself, becoming satisfied with oneself, and returning to oneself, all of which are obviously related to mental wellbeing, this research gives us a good reason to take its spiritual dimension seriously. 9. T. Vernon – M. Lebon, Do You Need God to Be a Stoic? (2014), in Modern Stoicism; https://modernstoicism.com/the-debate-do-you-need-god-to-be-a-stoic/ (accessed 12.02.2019). 10. https://www.rcpsych.ac.uk/members/special-interest-groups/spirituality. 11. A. Sims – C.C.H. Cook, Spirituality in Psychiatry, in C.C.H. Cook – A. Powell – A. Sims (eds.), Spirituality and Psychiatry, London, Royal College of Psychiatrists, 2009, 1-15, pp. 4-5; cf. A. Powell – C. MacKenna, Psychotherapy, ibid., 101-121, pp. 101-105. 12.  Some starting points: K. Loewenthal, Spirituality and Cultural Psychiatry, in D. Bhugra – K. Bhui (eds.), Textbook of Cultural Psychiatry, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 59-71; M. Hadzic, Spirituality and Mental Health: Current Research and Future Directions, in Journal of Spirituality in Mental Health 13/4 (2011) 223-235; C. Vieten – S. Scammell – R. Pilato – I. Ammondsen – K.I. Pargamont – D. Lukoff, Spiritual and Religious Competences for Psychologists, in Psychology of Religion and Spirituality 5/3 (2013) 129-144; T.M. Luhrmann – R. Padmavati – H. Tharoor – A. Osei, Differences in Voice-Hearing Experiences of People with Psychosis in the USA, India and Ghana: Interview-Based Study, in The British Journal of Psychiatry 206/1 (2015) 41-44; and the books collected at https://www.rcpsych.ac.uk/members/special-­ interest-groups/spirituality/publications-archive/recommended-book-list.

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But how, precisely, can we go about taking Stoic spirituality seriously? The outline definition of spirituality I have just sketched is a good start, but it will not provide a sufficiently detailed framework for analyzing ancient texts. In order to pinpoint what I mean by the spiritual dimension of Stoic exercises and explain how it operates, I will instead turn to recent philosophy and anthropology of so-called “post-secular” religion. I am thinking particularly of authors such as Julia Kristeva, John Caputo, Richard Kearney, Sabina Magliocco, and Jeff Kripal. These authors address what Caputo pithily calls “the death of the death of god”13: in other words, the emergence of forms of spirituality that recognize and move past the last several centuries’ critiques of organized religions. I want to acknowledge from the outset that many parts of this debate, like most academic philosophy of religion, is slanted by western, liberal, Abrahamic, and specifically Christian preconceptions14. Nevertheless, I think it promises to be a useful heuristic for the ancient Stoics’ rationalist, panentheistic spirituality. In the remainder of this paper, I will try to fulfill that promise by using this recent theoretical work in order to illuminate the significance of several patterns in Stoic thinking. II. The Radical Stranger I will begin with an issue that is fundamental, which I will designate with the phrase “the radical stranger”. Philosophers and comparative historians of religion going back to Rudolf Otto and Mircea Eliade have tried to identify a sui generis category of experience called “the holy” or “the sacred”. This is supposedly an experience of something “ganz andere” (entirely different), urgently soliciting cognitive and emotional reactions, yet always overflowing them15. It is noteworthy that similar ideas feature prominently in post-secular philosophies of religion. For instance, Kearney and Kripal both use the figures of “the stranger” and

13. J.D. Caputo, On Religion, London, Routledge, 2001, pp. 56-66. 14.  See S. Sikka, Rescuing Religion from Faith, in P. Draper – J.L. Schellenberg (eds.), Renewing Philosophy of Religion: Exploratory Essays, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2017, 15-32. It should however be noted that Kripal’s background was originally in Hinduism, while Magliocco’s focus is on contemporary witchcraft. 15. R. Otto, The Idea of the Holy, trans. J.W. Harvey, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1959; M. Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion, trans. W.R. Trask, Orlando, FL – Austin, TX – New York, Harcourt, 1987.



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“the uninvited guest” as manifestations of the sacred16. By “the stranger” they mean someone or something that we cannot accommodate within our existing cognitive and emotional frameworks; in order to welcome the stranger as she is, we have to accept a kind of “self-dispossession from the familiar, habituated ego”17. This strange dispossession reminds us that we are more than “familiar, habituated egos”; in some way, as Kristeva puts it, our selves are also constituted by an “immanent transcendence” in which we participate18. Accepting and embracing alterity thus changes our understanding and feeling of what we are, what the world is, and how we relate to the world. Let us set aside the claim that all and only experiences of the “radical stranger” are genuinely sacred. There are undoubtedly other enlightening ways to approach spirituality. For the purpose of this chapter, I only need the premise that this is one illuminating way to understand some spiritual experiences. In particular, I will argue that it helps us to recognize and describe with greater precision some experiences being described in ancient Stoic texts. Before diving into those texts, it will be useful to revise a few key doctrines. The Stoics maintain that Zeus is a material, living, rational force immanent in all parts of the cosmos. He is both the natural and fateful cause of all events and the providential reason why those events should happen19. They furthermore believe that humans are essentially rational beings, whose rationality is identical in kind to that of Zeus, though inferior in power (Seneca, Moral Letters 92.27). While we often say that the goal of Stoic exercises of self-perfection is to live naturally, to live reasonably, and to live virtuously, another common way to put this is that the goal of all human endeavor should be to align your volition with that of Zeus20. In other words, you should strive to participate 16. R. Kearney, Anatheism: Returning to God after God, New York, Columbia University Press, 2011, passim, esp. pp. 17-39; J. Kripal, Secret Body: Erotic and Esoteric Currents in the History of Religions, Chicago, IL, Chicago University Press, 2017, esp. pp. 6-7, 103-118. 17.  Kearney, Anatheism (n. 16), p. 48. Cf. Caputo, On Religion (n. 13), p. 27. 18. J. Kristeva, This Incredible Need to Believe, trans. B.B. Brahic, New York, Columbia University Press, 2009, p. 25. 19. A.A. Long – D.N. Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1987, 46A, 54A-B, 55N. 20. Epictetus, Discourses 1.12.5, 1.30.4, 4.7.20, cited by Long, Epictetus (n. 4), p. 186; Seneca, Moral Letters 74.20, Natural Questions 3.pref.12, cited by Lampe, Philosophy, Psychology, and the Gods in Seneca’s Hercules Furens (n. 7), p. 240; Long – Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers (n. 19), 63C = Diogenes Laertius 7.87-89. See also the unsurpassed discussion of V. Goldschmidt, Le système stoïcien et l’idée de temps, Paris, Vrin, 1953, pp. 77-123.

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emotionally and practically in the providential immanent reason that unfolds through worldly events. It is this doctrinal equivalence of reason, nature, fate, and Zeus that underpins the religious dimension of many Stoic texts. For instance, Seneca frequently tropes physics as initiation into sacred mysteries: Some sacred things are not transmitted all at once. Eleusis reserves something for those who return a second time; nature does not transmit its sacred things all at once (rerum natura sacra sua non semel tradit). We consider ourselves initiated, but we’re only in the entry-way (Natural Questions 7.30.6)21.

Passages like this lead Aldo Setaioli to speak of Seneca’s “strong instinctual religious sensitivity” and his “soul’s irrational urge toward the divine”22. By contrast, Jordi Comella assures us that In no case does this image make philosophy a mystical practice. Rather, it expresses the tendency for imperial Stoics to maintain not divine mystery, since god is immanent in the world, but rather the difficulty for the non-sage of clearly understanding nature23.

The problem with both Setaioli’s insistence on Seneca’s “religious sensitivity” and “irrational urge” and Comella’s repudiation of “mystical practice” (pratique mystérique) is that they do not define their terms. Both imply that the attitudes they so vaguely designate are incompatible with rationality. But we should not accept either this presupposition or the vague terms in which it is couched. The concept of the “radical stranger” can help us to describe such passages with greater clarity and evaluate their compatibility with rationality more insightfully. In order to ground this assertion I will focus on two specific recurring patterns. The first is best exemplified by what the Stoic Balbus in Cicero’s dialogue On the Nature of the Gods calls arguments for the existence of the gods “from our sense of wonder at celestial and terrestrial phenomena” (ex admiratione rerum caelestium atque terrestrium) (2.75). It is the sense of wonder that interests me here, not theological doctrine. Balbus offers three vignettes to clarify his meaning, of which I will report only the most concise: Let us imagine darkness as deep as that by which the neighboring regions are said to have been hidden by the eruption of Mount Aetna, so that for two days one person couldn’t recognize another, but when the sun shone through on 21.  Cited by Comella, Une piété de la raison (n. 5), p. 144. 22. A. Setaioli, Seneca and the Divine: Stoic Tradition and Personal Developments, in International Journal of the Classical Tradition 13 (2007) 333-368, pp. 334-335. 23.  Comella, Une piété de la raison (n. 5), p. 144.



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the third day, then they felt they had returned to life. What then if the same thing happened following perpetual darkness, that suddenly we saw the light? How would the sky appear to us? (On the Nature of the Gods 2.96).

Balbus’ thought experiment attempts to communicate the effect the natural world should have on the Stoic practitioner. At some moment that student should wake up from her dull quotidian consciousness and become astonished by the world’s order, regularity, and beauty. The point I wish to emphasize is not that she should understand cosmic regularities, compare them with human artefacts, and therefore infer that the cosmos has a designer. To the contrary, I wish to emphasize the importance of incomprehension: “by no thought of our own”, Balbus later says, “can we follow by how great a thought these things are administered” (quae quanto consilio gerantur nullo consilio adsequi possumus) (2.97). Theoretical constructions like the argument from design are posterior to this experience of wonder; for those whose mind’s eye has not been dulled by over-familiarity, the world is inexhaustibly amazing24. The study of nature, which Hadot rightly calls a “spiritual exercise”25, is therefore supposed to give its practitioner the feeling that there is more meaning in nature than she can possibly grasp. A number of passages in Seneca’s Natural Questions express a similar sentiment. How many things besides these [i.e., comets] follow secret paths, and never emerge into human sight? For God didn’t make everything for humankind! What fraction of this immense work has been committed to us? (Quam multa praeter hos per secretum eunt numquam humanis oculis orientia! Neque enim omnia deus homini fecit. Quota pars operis tanti nobis committitur?) (7.30.3). The observations of the Chaldaeans have recognized the powers of the five planets. What? Do you think so many thousands of stars shine in vain? […] They don’t lack rights or dominion over us […] but it’s no easier to know their powers than to doubt they have them (non extra ius dominiumque nostri sunt. […] non magis autem facile est scire quid possint, quam dubitare an possint) (2.32.7-8). I return to those lightning bolts which indeed signify something, but something that doesn’t concern us […] like those that are scattered over the vast ocean or empty deserts: either they signify nothing, or their signification perishes (quorum significatio uel nulla est uel perit) (2.51). 24.  This obviously recalls Aristotle’s famous claim that “wonder” (thauma) is the starting point for philosophy in general and especially metaphysics (Metaphysics 1.982b-983a), but Balbus’ emphasis on the ongoing experience of wonder is novel. 25.  Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy? (n. 1), pp. 207-211; P. Hadot, The Veil of Isis: An Essay on the History of the Idea of Nature, trans. M. Chase, Cambridge, MA, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005, pp. 182-189.

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I shall return to the Stoics’ commitment to celestial influences in the next section. For the moment, I want to suggest that these visions of comets pursuing paths we can never witness, divinatory signs that no one can read, and innumerable stars influencing our lives hint at an experience of dispossession from Seneca’s everyday self and its everyday world26. This “estrangement” helps to explain in what sense physics is “initiatory”. I turn now to the second pattern, which takes us from cosmic estrangement to the daemonic other within human beings. Consider first the following passage from Seneca’s Moral Letters 115, in which he warns Lucilius against excessive concern for literary style. Polishing your words, he suggests, is like wearing make-up and scrupulously styling your hair and beard: it suggests neglect of inner content. What really demands care is the soul, which also has the greatest capacity for beauty. Seneca expresses this in a surprisingly complicated manner: If it were possible to look into the soul of a good man, what a beautiful and holy vision we would see, how it would shine with grandeur and tranquility! […] If you could see this vision, loftier and more resplendent than usually appears in the human world, wouldn’t you be stupefied, stop, and silently pray that your act of looking did not transgress heaven’s law, as if you’d met a god? Then, summoned by the beneficence of that face, wouldn’t you adore and beseech it? […] And after that, in reverent fear and astonishment, wouldn’t you utter those Vergilian words: O what shall I call you, virgin? For neither does your face look nor your voice sound mortal. Bring us luck, whoever you are, and please lighten our labor! She will assist us and relieve you, if you’re willing to worship her27.

Rather than advising Lucilius to focus on the state of his own soul, Seneca imagines him beholding the beauty of someone else’s soul. Moreover, he compares this vision to an encounter with a god. This encounter is described in terms of overpowering and complex emotions: the viewer is “stupefied” (obstupefactus); he is in a state of “reverent fear and astonishment” (verens et attonitus). Note also how Seneca imagines someone reacting to this vision of a virtuous soul. He does not speak of emulation and learning; rather, he suggests the viewer “would silently pray that his act of looking did not transgress heaven’s law” (ut fas sit

26.  I discuss these passages at greater length in my chapter on Hans Blumenberg’s reading of Stoicism (Lampe, Hans Blumenberg and the Anthropology of Stoicism [n. 7], pp. 217-222). 27.  With my discussion of this quotation compare Comella, Une piété de la raison (n. 5), pp. 176-181, who also comments on Seneca’s use of Virgil and Plato.



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vidisse tacitus precetur)28, and he “would adore and beseech” (adoret et supplicet) the divine apparition. The entire passage lends itself to interpretation in terms of the “uninvited guest”, which overflows our capacities to receive it. This becomes even clearer if we briefly consider the texts to which Seneca most obviously alludes. First, the verses he has quoted come from Virgil’s Aeneid. There Aeneas addresses his mother, the goddess Venus, who has disguised herself as a mortal. The effects of this meeting are complicated: Aeneas is reassured about his destiny, summoned to display virtue in pursuing it, and yet overwhelmed by this superhuman burden. As Venus departs, he is left in a state of anguished yearning29. The other obvious intertext comes from Plato’s Phaedrus. There Socrates vividly describes how, when the lover sees the beloved, the recollection of otherworldly beings thrills, pains, and “maddens” him30. Plato’s lover and Virgil’s hero have different emotional reactions, but both understand that they have experienced an epiphany that touches deeply on their place in the human and more-than-human world. Aeneas must stop complaining, accept his deep suffering, and simply follow Venus’ advice. Some day this will lead his band of exiles – those who survive, anyway – to a glorious future in Italy. Plato’s lover must pursue, sustain, and discipline the passion inspired by his beloved, which will eventually renew his philosophical communion with Being and the gods. This recalls another aspect of the radical stranger, which is that it elicits a “commitment”. “We are speaking here”, Kearney writes, of a moment of truth – as troth – where we do not know the truth but do the truth. […] Commitment, in this sense of betrothal, is the movement […] that makes truth primarily – though not exclusively – a matter of existential transformation31.

Seneca summons his reader to just such a commitment, promising “she will assist and relieve us, if we’re willing to worship her”. He immediately explains that this worship of the soul’s goodness is ­accomplished 28.  Word-by-word, we might translate “that it was lawful to have looked”, but such a translation (a) is barely English and (b) fails to capture the religious connotations of fas. Seneca is obviously alluding to the intuition that it is often forbidden – and therefore disastrous – for a mortal to look upon a god. 29.  The quotation is from Aeneid 1.326-330, though Seneca leaves out several words. At the end of the conversation Venus reveals her identity, at which point Aeneas bitterly exclaims, “Why do you so often and cruelly delude your son with deceitful visions, just like the others? Why can’t we join hands and exchange genuine words?” (Aeneid 1.407-409). 30.  See especially Phaedrus 251a-252b; see also the pseudo-Platonic First Alcibiades 133c, which lacks Phaedrus’ “manic” tone. 31.  Kearney, Anatheism (n. 16), p. 44; cf. Caputo, On Religion (n. 13), p. 28.

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“not by slaughtering the fat bodies of bulls […] but with reverent and correct volition”. In other words, it is part of the project of Stoic philosophy, which aims at the rectification of volition through understanding what is genuinely good and bad. This project obviously revolves around the acquisition of concepts and arguments and their application to daily life. That is where emulation and learning are involved. But for spiritually inclined Stoics like Seneca, it also includes a sense of connectivity that is experienced as a call for commitment and self-transformation. Stoics also write frequently about the daemonic element within their own souls. Let me admit from the outset that this inner daemon never appears to be so unsettling as the divine other in the passage we have just seen. Nevertheless, it is worth noting subtler expressions of estrangement. For instance, Marcus Aurelius exhorts himself, Live with the gods. That man lives with the gods who continuously shows that his soul is satisfied with what has been allotted to it, and does what the daemon wants, which Zeus has given to each of us as a guardian and guide, a particle of himself. And this daemon is each person’s intellect and reason (Συζῆν θεοῖς. συζῇ δὲ θεοῖς ὁ συνεχῶς δεικνὺς αὐτοῖς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ψυχὴν ἀρεσκομένην μὲν τοῖς ἀπονεμομένοις, ποιοῦσαν δὲ ὅσα βούλεται ὁ δαίμων, ὃν ἑκάστῳ προστάτην καὶ ἡγεμόνα ὁ Ζεὺς ἔδωκεν, ἀπόσπασμα ἑαυτοῦ. οὗτος δέ ἐστιν ὁ ἑκάστου νοῦς καὶ λόγος)32.

Here A.S.L. Farquharson, following Erwin Rohde, comments that Marcus combines “mystical primitive belief with pantheistic rationalism”33. But what is “mystical” about this passage? I suggest that Farquharson is trying to capture a paradox inherent in it. On the one hand, Marcus says here that the inner daemon, which is a particle of Zeus, is identical with each person’s intellect and reason. On the other hand, he idealizes doing what this daemonic intellect and reason want. This suggests that the agency which thinks, desires, and takes action is something other than the inner daemon; otherwise there could be no question about doing what the daemon wants, since every person would do so automatically. Yet Stoic psychology maintains that each person’s thought, desire, and action depend exclusively on her intellect and reason. They do not acknowledge any other sources of desire or action. It should not therefore be possible to do anything other than what the daemon wants. What does Marcus

32.  Marcus Aurelius 5.27. Cf. 2.13, 2.17, 3.6, 3.7, 3.12, 3.16; Epictetus, Discourses 2.8. 33. A.S.L. Farquharson, The Meditations of the Emperor Marcus Antoninus. Vol. 1: Text and Translation, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1944; https://www.oxfordscholarlyeditions.com/view/10.1093/actrade/9780198814276.book.1/actrade-9780198814276div2-241 (accessed 14.10.2019).



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mean, then? Must we simply ascribe his expression to “mystical primitive belief”? One way to resolve this conundrum is to interpret Marcus’ daemon as a (not quite so) radical stranger. Like Seneca, Marcus’ aim is to rectify his everyday judgments about what is good and bad or worthy of choice or avoidance. That is why he idealizes the soul that “is satisfied with whatever is allotted to it”. It makes sense to frame this by reference to Zeus, since having correct beliefs about what is good and bad entails aligning yourself with correct cosmic reason, which is the law of nature and the will of Zeus. Yet no Stoic manages to align herself completely with Zeus’ divine will: although it is theoretically possible to achieve wisdom, by unbreakable convention no Stoic ever claims to have done so34. Thus when Marcus speaks about “what the daemon wants”, he is proposing that his innermost self has a different, purer volition than the one he actually encounters in his everyday consciousness. This is facilitated by representing his own “intellect and reason”, not as the core of his own selfhood, but as an internal other – a particle of the king of the gods, through which he can “live with the gods”. He is trying to discover in himself another Self with very different sensations, thoughts, and feelings than he actually has – a Self who could acquiesce to everything that happens, because It is in tune with the providential reason why it happens. By searching for this stranger in himself, he strives to change and perfect himself. To recapitulate, in this section I have argued that several patterns in Stoic texts both express and attempt to stimulate experiences of radical estrangement. Such experiences disturb our everyday consciousness of ourselves and our position in the world, and solicit an affective and active response. When I say that Stoic exercises of self-perfection are spiritual, one way I would justify that assertion is by reference to the role the radical stranger plays in them. III.  Imagination The other way I would justify this assertion is by reference to what I will call the Stoics’ spiritual “imagination”. In recent studies of ancient Greek and Roman religion, Jaś Elsner and Georgia Petridou have spoken about “ritual-centered visuality” as a mode of sensory experience in 34.  I address this paradox further in Kristeva, Stoicism, and the “True Ethics of Interpretation” (n. 7), pp. 33-37.

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which the sacred can be immediately perceived35. This is more or less what Richard Kearney means when he says that the imagination is crucial to the experience of the radical stranger. By “imagination” he means affective, embodied, situated, interpretive “seeing as”36. To return to the examples we have just explored, a Stoic cannot encounter the radical stranger in the study of comets or soul of a virtuous person unless, given an appropriate context, she can immediately apprehend in those comets and that soul an urgent and enigmatic provocation. Sabina Magliocco employs the same term in her ethnography of North American neo-­ pagans. Writing of neo-pagans’ experience of principles like cosmic sympathy, contagion, and synchronicity, she argues that it does not suffice to analyze these in terms of “interpretive drift” produced by shared narratives in the religious community37. Such a focus on what Uffe Schjødt and Jeppe Jensen have more recently called “pathways to shared metacognition” implicitly frames the spiritual imagination as the result of the inhibition of predictive coding, error signaling, and correction of models of reality38. In other words, this approach condescendingly assumes that spirituality is a cognitive failure requiring diagnosis. While acknowledging the explanatory power and political importance of such analyses, Magliocco emphasizes that we should also recognize how these practitioners have deliberately acquired this imaginative capacity through extended training. To put a finer point on it, this means that Magliocco does not look at the connections neo-pagans perceive and act upon as a “lapse” into superstition or irrationality; rather, she views them as what I would call acquired spiritual competences. The idea of imagination as a spiritual competence, which practitioners must acquire through extended training, could illuminate many recurring patterns in ancient Stoic texts. For reasons of space I will focus on just a single complex example. This is the way Stoics imagine the heavenly bodies eating earthly substances. We will see that the Stoics developed 35. G. Petridou, “Blessed Is He, Who Has Seen”: The Power of Ritual Viewing at Eleusis”, in Helios 40/1-2 (2013) 309-341, pp. 310-316, citing J. Elsner, Roman Eyes: Visuality and Subjectivity in Art and Text, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2007, p. 25. 36.  Kearney, Anatheism (n. 16), pp. 40-42. 37. S. Magliocco, Witching Culture: Folklore and Neo-Paganism in America, Philadelphia, PA, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007, pp. 95-121. Magliocco explicitly criticizes the analysis by T. Luhrmann, Persuasions of the Witch’s Craft: Ritual Magic in Contemporary England, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1989, which nevertheless deserves careful study. 38. U. Schjødt – J.S. Jensen, Depletion and Deprivation: Shared Pathways to Shared Metacognition, in J. Proust – M. Fortier (eds.), Metacognitive Diversity: An Interdisciplinary Approach, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018, 319-341.



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this fantasy with remarkable persistence and creativity across an array of contexts. Let us first lay out the theoretical foundation for this feat of imagination. The most important doctrine is the one that holds that the sun, the moon, the planets, and all the stars are intelligent, living, divine beings, which are nourished by “exhalations” from the earth and its waters. More specifically, Zeno [the founder of the Stoa] says that the sun and the moon and each of the other stars is intelligent and wise, fiery with a craftmanslike fire. There are two kinds of fire: the first is not craftsmanlike, and converts its nourishment into itself, while the second is craftsmanlike, and is the cause of growth and preservation, such as plants and animals, being their nature and their soul. Such a fire is the essence of the stars39.

A series of passages by Cleomedes and Seneca dwells on the superabundant nourishing capacity of the earth. For instance, Seneca writes, The entire heaven, which is enclosed by fiery aether, the world’s highest part, all the stars, whose number can’t be tallied, all this concourse of heavenly bodies, and to omit the rest, the sun that orbits so close to us, and is several times larger than the earth – all these things derive and share their nourishment from the earth, and are in fact sustained by nothing other than the lands’ exhalation (nec ullo alio scilicet quam halitu terrarum sustinentur): this is their nourishment and their pasturage40.

We also need to mention a series of closely related teachings. First, note that Stoics account for the movements of the heavenly bodies in the sky partly by reference to their need to follow their food: as the terrestrial exhalations move, the Stoics say that the sun, moon, planets, and stars follow them. This can become very detailed, as in the Stoic Cleanthes’ debate with Aristarchus about how to account mathematically for the observed motions of the sun. For Cleanthes, it seems that the sun’s need to feed on terrestrial exhalations was an important constraint41. Second, the Stoics believe in celestial influence over events here on earth42. Cleanthes claims that the sun, which is at the center of this 39.  Long – Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers (n. 19), 46D. 40. Seneca, Natural Questions 6.16.2; cf. 2.5.1-2, Cleomedes 1.8.79 (Cleomedis Caelestia (Meteōra), ed. and trans. R.B. Todd, Leipzig, Teubner, 1990, pp. 91-92). 41. H. von Arnim, Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta (SVF), 4 vols., Leipzig, Teubner, 1903-1905, vol. 1, nos. 501, 504; vol. 2, nos. 658, 661. See T. Bénatouïl, Cléanthe contre Aristarque: Stoïcisme et astronomie à l’époque hellénistique, in Archives de philosophie 68 (2005) 207-222 for a brilliant reconstruction of Cleanthes’ debate with Aristarchus. 42. Seneca, Natural Questions 2.32.6-8; cf. Posidonius, F111-112 (Posidonius. Vol. 3: The Translation of the Fragments, ed. and trans. I.G. Kidd, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999).

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dynamic system of combustion and exhalation, is also the mind of the universe43. As we have already seen, Seneca tells a more complex story; he speaks of all those “thousands of stars” exerting their “dominion” over us. Either way, the movements of the heavenly bodies, as they follow and consume the abundant exhalations of the earth, orchestrate the providential unfolding of the very events we witness and undergo. Third, although the heavenly bodies are made of “craftsmanlike fire”, nevertheless they gradually burn up what they consume: the Stoics maintain that eventually the earth itself will expire in a great conflagration, after which it will be reborn and the cosmic cycle will repeat itself. This conflagration occurs whenever, across the long duration of the cosmic cycle, all the heavenly bodies return to the same zodiacal positions at which they began44. Now let me attempt to elucidate the imagination at work in this nexus of doctrines. At its foundation is the everyday observation of rising smoke and evaporating water. Thus the Stoic Cleomedes, in answering how the earth can nourish all the heavenly bodies, explains that The Earth, while minuscule in volume, comprises most of the universe’s matter. So if we imagined it totally reduced to smoke or air, it would become much larger than the circumference of the cosmos. […] We can, for example, see that even wooden objects that disintegrate into smoke expand almost without limit, as does vaporized incense, and every other solid body that is reduced to vapor45.

Here we can see how the doctrine that earthly exhalations feed heavenly bodies is connected in Cleomedes’ mind with visions of smoke rising from burning wood and incense. So too numerous Stoic texts report that heavenly bodies are specifically fed by evaporation and sublimation of moisture. For example, The air bordering the ocean is carried upward by its lightness, but spreads itself in every direction. In this way it is bound and connected to the ocean and also carried to the sky. Rarefied and warmed by that sky, it provides the creatures which live there with the breath of life and health. […] The stars are fiery by nature, and thus are nourished by the vapors from the earth, the ocean, and the other waters. These vapors are lifted from the fields and waters when they grow warm (Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 2.116-118).

43.  Diogenes Laertius 7.139. 44.  Long – Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers (n. 19), 52C, which also refers to Seneca, Natural Questions 3.29.1. 45.  Cleomedes 1.79 (ed. Todd [n. 40], p. 91).



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More specifically, the sun is repeatedly defined as “a fiery kindling from the exhalation of the sea” (ἄναμμα νοερὸν ἐκ τοῦ θαλάσσης ἀναθυμιάματος), whereas the moon is said to be fed by fresh water evaporation46. What these passages suggest is that their authors imagine rising smoke and water vapor as manifestations of a divine cosmic ecosystem. In other words, through the sensory perception of these vapors, a Stoic imaginatively experiences both the extraordinary fecundity of the divine earth and its organic connectivity with the hungry heavenly bodies. Obviously this imaginal perception is systematically connected to others, such as seeing the gods’ elegant and purposeful thought in the complex motions of the night sky. Granted that smoke and water vapor thus become objects of the spiritual imagination, the question may next be asked how this relates to exercises of self-cultivation and self-perfection. The core of my answer is that this and other competences of the imagination can only be acquired through training. As this training extends into many exercises of theoretical and practical reasoning, it expands and enriches the imagination. It is in this sense that we can meaningfully refer to research, discussion, and writing about astronomy, meteorology, and other topics as “spiritual exercises”, because they contribute to the training of the imagination, which results in the capacity to see everyday phenomena as divine, sacred, profound, powerful, and so on. Most of my quotations so far have been taken from Stoic physics, which is obviously important to this imagination of smoke and water vapor. I would like to turn away from physics now in order to show how this imaginative topos ramifies into other areas of activity. For example, consider next a passage from practical ethics, namely Musonius Rufus’ advice about diet. I’ll quote this vivid passage at some length: He said that nourishment from plants of the earth is suited to humankind […] like ripe fruits, some vegetables, milk, cheese, and honeycombs. […] But he declared that nourishment by meat is rather bestial and better for wild animals. Furthermore, he used to say that meat is heavier and impedes intellectual perception and reasoning, because the exhalation from it is muddier and darkens the soul (τὴν γὰρ ἀναθυμίασιν τὴν ἀπ᾿ αὐτῆς θολωδέστεραν οὖσαν ἐπισκοτεῖν τὴν ψυχήν). […] And since human beings are the most akin to the gods of earthly animals, we should be nourished in a manner most similar to the gods. Well, the gods are satisfied with the breath that rises from the land and the water. He said the nourishment

46.  SVF (n. 41), vol. 1, nos. 121-122, 501, 541; vol. 2, nos. 652, 655-656, 658, 662; vol. 3, III. Antipater Tarsensis, no. 46; Posidonius, F110 (ed. Kidd [n. 42]).

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that is very light and pure, because it is most similar to that breath, would be good for human beings47.

The effort to choose, cook, and consume food in a natural and virtuous way occupies a significant place in Stoic exercises of self-cultivation. Our source tells us that Musonius “used to speak frequently and very intensely about nourishment”48. His dietary advice in this passage is clearly influenced by various types of considerations. What is remarkable for our purposes is how the imagination of celestial gods feeding on “breath” from the land and sea colors his alimentary advice and, presumably, the behavior it guides. Let me be clear: my point is not that Musonius’ deliberations about food are influenced by theories of divine nourishment and human kinship with the gods. Rather, I want to focus on Musonius’ embodied experience of eating those foods. More specifically, I speculate that in the feeling, scent, and flavor of fruit, vegetables, cheese, and honeycombs, Musonius experiences those “very light and pure” exhalations that will sustain his mind – usually assumed by Stoics to be in the heart, not in the brain – just like earthly vapors sustain the celestial gods. Eating thus becomes a spiritual exercise, bringing the Stoic into closer alignment with the operations of the immanent divine management of the cosmos. The capacity to experience eating in this way is another spiritual competence achieved through the training of the imagination. My second series of examples comes from another domain of Stoic practice, namely allegorical exegesis of traditional Greek and Roman cult and poetry and art about the gods. The Stoics’ deep investment in this activity has invited puzzlement and ridicule from readers ever since antiquity. In past publications, I have experimented with explaining this from several psychoanalytic perspectives49. My suggestion today is that the effort devoted to allegorical interpretation gives the Stoic practitioner new ways of imaginative “seeing as”, expanding the network of associations between observable phenomena and the gods and heroes. I will illustrate this suggestion by focusing specifically on allegories associated with the sun’s consumption of exhalations from the ocean. Let 47.  Musonius Rufus, F18a (Musonii Rufi Reliquiae, ed. O. Hense, Leipzig, Teubner, 1905, pp. 94-96). 48.  Ibid. (ed. Hense, p. 94); cf. F18b. I have discussed this passage from a slightly different angle in Kristeva, Stoicism, and the “True Ethics of Interpretation” (n. 7), pp. 34-35. 49.  I have discussed this elsewhere in Stoic Theology between Myth and Masochism (n. 7) and Kristeva, Stoicism, and the “True Ethics of Interpretation” (n. 7), pp. 35-37. See also Comella, Une piété de la raison (n. 5), pp. 187-264.



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me begin with a family of etymologies that personify this process. The first tells us that “the physicists tell us that the sun consumes the water of the sea […]. The name ‘Poseidaon’ comes from this, from ‘sending drink up to the shining one’ (τὴν πόσιν ἀναπέμπειν τῷ δάει), i.e., to the sun”50. Here an etymological revery discovers in Poseidaōn, the Ηοmeric name for the god of the sea, a hidden allusion to the phrase posin […] tōi daei, which means “drink for the shining one”. This interpretation personifies the ocean as beneficent nourisher of the sun. It is worth noting that most of our allegorical testimonies on this topic frame the personification quite differently. For example, one source reports that the Stoic “Cleanthes writes that Apollo is called ‘wolflike’ because, just as wolves snatch livestock, so the sun snatches liquid with its rays” (veluti lupi pecora rapiunt, ita ipse quoque humorem rapit radiis)51. So now we are looking at the sun as a voracious predator and the ocean as its prey. Two further allegories follow the interpretive line established by Cleanthes. The first concerns several lines in Hesiod’s epic poem about the birth of the gods, which mentions the three Gorgon sisters: Medusa, who was decapitated by Perseus, and her immortal sisters Stheino and Euryale. Our Stoic reader comments, By “Stheino and Euryale” Hesiod means the mighty and vast deeps of the ocean, while Medusa is the finest substance (Μέδουσαν δὲ τὴν λεπτοτάτην οὐσίαν). Hesiod calls the sun “Perseus” (Περσέα) from “violently shake” or agitate (παρὰ τὸ περισσῶς σεύειν τουτέστιν ὁρμᾶν), because it draws the vapor toward itself as if cutting it off. And he says that as the sun moves along its heavenly orbit it does not kill, i.e., does not eat, Stheino and Euryale, i.e., the mighty and vast deep of the ocean; but since Medusa is mortal, he kills her, meaning that in its motion the sun consumes the most regal and subtlest part52.

The author of this passage has employed a considerable amount of creative energy in order to discover in the etymologies of the characters’ names an allusion to the sun’s nourishment. Any Greek would see that the name Euryale simply means “broad” or “vast” and the name Stheino is related to a word for might (sthenos). The connection between the name Perseus and perissōs seuein, meaning “violently shake”, is more fanciful, based entirely on the sound of the lexemes involved. The same logic governs this author’s interpretation of “Medusa” as “the finest 50.  SVF (n. 41), vol. 1, no. 121. The first part of this testimonium is certainly of Stoic derivation. Given the Stoics’ predilection for allegory, it is probable – but not certain – that the second part is also. 51.  Ibid., vol. 1, no. 541. 52.  Ibid., vol. 2, no. 662.

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substance”: undoubtedly he reads Medousa with mēd’ ousa (“not even being”), though the vowel qualities and musical accents are different (Μέδουσα versus μηδ’ οὖσα). However, what is remarkable here is not the individual etymologies, but rather how the author manages to coordinate them so that an imaginative gestalt suddenly appears: thus Hesiod’s simple summary of the myth of Medusa and Perseus becomes a personifying lens for viewing the interaction of the sun with the ocean. In other words, the allegorist can now perceive the sunlit ocean as a scene of cosmic heroism, in which he vicariously participates. Our last example is similar. Commenting on the myth in which the sun god Apollo slays the serpent Python, our source reports, According to the Stoic Antipater […] the exhalation from the still damp earth (terrae adhuc umidae exhalatio) rose and coiled swiftly to the higher regions, then, after it had been warmed, rolled back down like a serpent. It infected everything with the pestilence that only comes from warmth and moisture, and seemed, by hiding the very sun with its dense miasma, to extinguish its light. But at last this exhalation was thinned out, desiccated, and killed by the divine heat of the sun’s rays like arrows falling upon it. And this led to the story of the dragon killed by Apollo53.

In this last example there is no etymology, only pure allegory. The Stoic Antipater claims that early humans mythologized their experience of the sun’s rays dissipating pestiferous damp exhalations by inventing the story of Apollo and Python. But of course it is Antipater himself who invents this connection between Stoic doctrines about the sun and the story of Apollo’s arrival at Delphi. Delphi was an extremely important cultic center in the Hellenic world, and the story of Apollo and the Python was connected to both an important festival and many other myths of Apollo’s violence54. Thus seeing the sun as Apollo slaying the serpent makes possible many mythical and ritual associations. All of this gives us a new solution to the puzzle of Stoic allegory. One might object that Stoic allegories do nothing to explain the meaningfulness of myths, since they merely reduce myths to doctrines already known from physics. Myths therefore appear superfluous, since we can understand their content much more rigorously by studying philosophy. We can now reply that, on the one hand, of course this is true: the Stoics recognize no independent significance in myths. On the other hand, this 53.  Ibid., vol. 3, III. Antipater Tarsensis, no. 46. 54. The festival in question is the Stepterion. See W. Burkert, Homo Necans: The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth, trans. P. Bing, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1983, pp. 116-130; M. Detienne, Apollon le couteau à la main: une approche expérimentale du polythéisme grec, Paris, Gallimard, 1989, pp. 197-199.



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misses the point. The accomplishment of allegory is to appropriate the power of myths and share it with lived experience in a manner that harmonizes with the Stoic philosophical project. In this way, through the exercise of creating allegorical interpretations of Homer, Hesiod, and other important sources of myth, the Stoic practitioner enriches her imaginative experience of the sun and the ocean. On the one hand, she experiences mist or evaporation as peaceful visions of divine order, according to which the sun harmonizes the cosmos, the planets and stars display that cosmos’ beautiful destiny, and the ocean willingly sends nourishment to these celestial gods. On the other hand, she also incorporates some of the more violent and turbulent events and feelings of traditional mythology. Now the sun god, the highest paradigm of providential reasoning and activity, is revealed as a masculine hero: his cosmogonic influence is not only perceived as harmonization and ordination, but rather as decapitating Medusa and shooting Python. In other words, the Stoic imaginatively sees the activity of reasoning through the traditional mythical pattern of imposing order by courageously and violently eliminating anti-cosmic monsters. When we combine these allegories with Musonius’ fantasy of eating like a god and the numerous passages in astronomy and theology discussing the heavenly bodies’ nourishment, we begin to appreciate how invested the Stoics were in this imaginal nexus. IV. Conclusion In this chapter I have used the anthropology and philosophy of post-dogmatic religion to justify the intuition that Stoic philosophizing is often a “spiritual” project. By way of conclusion, I would like to pull together and expand upon my remarks about how this spiritual dimension of Stoic practice relates to the goals of self-transformation and self-perfection. This will also give me an opportunity to clarify how Stoic spirituality relates to Stoic rationalism. Let us begin with the radical stranger. One of the advantages of applying new concepts to an ancient system is that they cut across both the system’s own categories and those of existing modern scholarship. In section II, we drew together passages from theology, astronomy, meteorology, practical ethics, and an exercise in self-cultivation. What these had in common was an expression of estrangement in the face of something emotionally and cognitively overwhelming. This estrangement was troped as “initiation” because it opens the practitioner’s eyes to cosmic meaningfulness, which summons her to commit herself. What she

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c­ ommits herself to is not dogma or heteronomy in any crude sense, but the intuition that her individual purposes exist within a larger universe of meaning and value. As we saw with Marcus Aurelius, she then sets out to harmonize her own mind with universal, divine meaning – in other words, to perfect or complete herself. This aim is approached through the familiar apparatus of Stoic rationalism: memorization and training in concepts, arguments, and applied ethics. It is a little harder to see how the material in the second section contributes to rational self-transformation, but the foregoing gives us a good foundation for doing so. Section III focused on the doctrine that the sun and moon are living animals, which eat terrestrial exhalations. To the best of my knowledge, no one has remarked how often this fabulous doctrine arises, or in what heterogenous domains. My suggestion is that it exemplifies a much broader pattern, namely systematic training for the imagination – the affective, embodied, situated ability to perceive everyday phenomena as manifestations of universal meaning and purpose. This training is continuous with Stoic reasoning; as we saw, it both emerges from doctrine and feeds back into arguments about several subfields of physics, food ethics, and the interpretation of traditional myths. We may not think those arguments are sound, but that is not because they are “superstitious”. Rather, it is because they rest on false premises about the solar system, human physiology, and the origins of stories about gods and heroes. Modern Stoic practitioners usually jettison these specific doctrines, but that does not mean they cannot find room for training the spiritual imagination55. The key takeaway is that spirituality is neither a superfluous ornament nor a threat to Stoic practitioners’ efforts to make progress toward wisdom and virtue. Rather, at least for some, it forms an important part of the comprehensive project of transforming themselves into better, more reasonable, and more integrated participants in what they conceive and experience to be a cosmic and divine polity. Bristol University Rm 1.2 36 Tyndall’s Park Road Bristol BS8 1UJ UK [email protected]

Kurt Lampe

55. Cf. Lampe, Kristeva, Stoicism, and the “True Ethics of Interpretation” (n. 7), pp. 37-38.

PAGAN PHILOSOPHICAL ASCETICISM IN LATE ANTIQUITY AS A WAY OF PERFECTION In this paper I would like first to sketch (section I) some features of the ideal of philosophical perfection as this was understood in the pagan Platonist schools of late antiquity, in particular as represented in four biographies reflecting this ideal. The ideal can be expressed in the phrase “assimilation to god” (ὁμοίωσις θεῷ). The biographies I will use are Porphyry’s Vita Plotini (composed at the beginning of the fourth century ad), Iamblichus’ De vita Pythagorica (composed probably in about the same period), Marinus’ Vita Procli (a commemorative speech written probably a year after Proclus’ death in 485) and Damascius’ Vita Isidori (a collective biography dating to the earlier part of the sixth century ad). I would like then to describe in greater detail (section II) the methods which were thought to be conducive to achieving this ideal of perfection, as these methods are illustrated in the four biographies and as they form part of the late antique Platonic theory of a scale of virtues. I.  The Ideal of Philosophical Perfection What is the supreme good, the final goal sought by humans, the reaching of which might be identified as happiness? In Ennead I.4 Plotinus described this goal as being the highest perfection attainable by humans: human rational soul sharing in the life of a transcendent divine Intellect (νοῦς). This Intellect is absolute knowledge, in which the knowing subject and its object(s) are one. Human soul derives from this Intellect and so can return to it. In sharing in the life of Intellect, soul shares in the vision Intellect has of its immediate origin, the ineffable One, the absolute Good, from which all reality derives and towards which it strives. The Platonists of late antiquity also described the final goal as “assimilation to god”1, words which they took from Plato’s Theaetetus (176ab), 1. Plotinus, Ennead I.4.16.10-13 (Plotinus, Enneads. Greek text and English translation by A.H. Armstrong, Plotinus, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1966-1988); and in general H. Merki, Ὁμοίωσις θεῷ: Von der platonischen Angleichung an Gott zur Gott­ ähnlichkeit bei Gregor von Nyssa (Paradosis, 7), Freiburg/CH, Paulusverlag, 1952; I. Männ­ lein-Robert, Tugend, Flucht und Ekstase: Zur ὁμοίωσις θεῷ in Kaiserzeit und Spätantike, in C. Pietsch (ed.), Ethik des antiken Platonismus, Stuttgart, Steiner, 2013, 99-111.

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where Socrates speaks of a “flight from this world”, of assimilation to god “as far as possible”, involving being virtuous (i.e., being just, pious, wise). For Plotinus, assimilation to god is sharing in the life of divine Intellect. Thus the supreme good, the highest perfection, happiness, assimilation to god: all describe the same ideal for humans. However, in late antique Platonism, the divine (or “god”) has many levels, reaching from the heavenly bodies, the world-soul, its intellect, the hypostasis soul and transcendent Intellect up to ineffable first principles beyond Intellect, in particular the ultimate first principle, the One. Plotinus already mentions the idea that assimilation to god might be thought to be assimilation to the intellect of the world-soul. But he prefers to bring assimilation up to a higher level of the divine, as being participation in the life of transcendent Intellect2. Thus assimilation to god can involve a sliding scale, going from imitating celestial divinities to becoming Intellect and perhaps going even beyond Intellect. After Plotinus, the increasing differentiation introduced in late antique Platonism between levels of transcendent beings and causes meant that many more levels of the divine were identified, a consequence of which was a multiplication of possible levels of assimilation to the divine. Another consequence of this multiplication of the levels of the divine was that the highest levels became ever more remote and perhaps even unattainable and more modest levels of assimilation might be seen to be more within reach. For example, Iamblichus describes Pythagoras as being assimilated to the celestial bodies (which does not mean that Pythagoras could not assimilate also to higher levels of divinity)3 and Hierocles identifies the object of assimilation as the demiurge of the universe4. Exceptional philosophers could of course rise higher in the scale of assimilation, as in the case of Plotinus as reported by Porphyry: [The oracle] says too that he sleeplessly kept his soul pure and ever strove towards the divine which he loved with all his soul, and did everything to be delivered and “escape from the bitter wave of blood-drinking life here”. So to this god-like man above all, who often raised himself in thought, 2. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.1.6-15, with my commentary on the passage in D. O’Meara, Plotin Traité 19 sur les vertus, Paris, Vrin, 2019. 3. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 15.66. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica. Greek text and German translation, with essays, in M. von Albrecht et al., Jamblich Pythagoras: Legende-Lehre-Lebensgestaltung, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002; English translation by G. Clark, Iamblichus: On the Pythagorean Life, Liverpool, ­Liverpool University Press, 1989. See Plato, Timaeus 90ad. 4. Hierocles, In Aureum Pythagoreorum Carmen commentarius, ed. F. Köhler, ­Stuttgart, Teubner, 1974, pp. 120:27–121:11.



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according to the ways Plato teaches in the Symposium, to the first and transcendent god, that god appeared who has neither shape nor any intelligible form, but is throned above Intellect and all the intelligible5.

A further point is worth noting in respect to the concept of the ideal of perfection as assimilation to the divine: sharing in divine life means sharing in the activities proper to the god to whom one is assimilated. In the case of assimilation to transcendent Intellect, this means not only living the cognitive life of Intellect, but also sharing in Intellect’s creative causality with respect to the lower levels which derive from it. More generally, assimilating to the divine also means sharing in the providential function proper to divinity. Damascius expresses this idea very succinctly, indicating what providential activities might be involved in being assimilated to divinity: To sum it all up in a word, his [Isidore’s] actions were a clear illustration of the manner in which Pythagoras conceived of man as most resembling god: eagerness to do good and generosity extended to all, especially by the raising of souls above the varied vices which weigh them down; secondly, the saving of bodies from unjust or impious suffering; thirdly, care of external affairs, to the extent of one’s power6.

Pythagoras, according to Iamblichus, had also expressed the idea of assimilation to god in the saying: “follow God”7. II. Methods: The Way of Perfection “Assimilation to god”, as advocated in the passage from Plato’s ­ heaetetus noted above means being virtuous (just, pious and wise). But T if the god to whom one is assimilating oneself is above virtue, how, in being virtuous, can one become like this god? This is the question which Plotinus addresses in Ennead I.2. The god in question, for Plotinus, is divine transcendent Intellect. This god is above virtue in the sense that virtue is a disposition which can be had or can be lost by soul, whereas 5. Porphyry, Vita Plotini 23.3-12 (Porphyry, Life of Plotinus, ed. and trans. ­Armstrong, Plotinus [n. 1]). 6. Damascius, Vita Isidori, fragment number 26B in the edition by P. Athanassiadi: Damascius, Vita Isidori. Greek text and English translation by P. Athanassiadi, Damas­ cius, The Philosophical History, Athens, Apamea, 1999. I quote Athanassiadi’s English translation, which I modify, and also give in brackets the Zintzen fragment number (here: F24; C. Zintzen, Damascii Vitae Isidori Reliquiae, Hildesheim, Olms, 1967). 7. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 18.86; 28.137; Protrepticus 112.11-17. Protrepti­ cus, ed. H. Pistelli, Stuttgart, Teubner, 1967.

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divine Intellect is such, in its ontological perfection, that it neither acquires nor loses dispositions8. But if this god is “beyond” virtue, how can one become like it by being virtuous? Plotinus’ approach to this problem includes various elements9, among which is a distinction between two kinds or levels of virtue: what he calls “political” virtues and the “higher” virtues. The “political” virtues correspond to the four cardinal virtues which Plato had defined in the Republic, Book 4, which Plotinus interprets as being the imposition of order and measure by rational soul on passions (πάθη), including spirit (θυμός) and carnal desire (ἐπιθυμία), whose seat are in the living body, not in the nature of soul itself. These virtues can make us good persons and make our lives to some extent an image of the divine10. True assimilation to the divine, however, comes with the “higher” virtues, when soul, purifying itself, turns itself away from bodily concerns and contemplates Intellect, thus sharing in Intellect’s life. These higher virtues make us gods11. In his adaptation of Plotinus’ scale of virtues in the Sentences (ch. 32), Porphyry added two more levels to the two-level Plotinian scheme: “purificatory” virtues, which come between the “political” and the “higher”, contemplative virtues (however Plotinus did not think that purification as a process was a virtue); and “paradigmatic” virtues which are above the contemplative virtues (Plotinus had conceded that there were “models” of the virtues in divine Intellect, but did not think that they were virtues properly speaking)12. In later Neoplatonism, probably at the initiative of Iamblichus, three additional levels were added to the Porphyrian four-level scale of virtues: below the “political” virtues were added the “natural” virtues (the natural qualities which we have from birth) and the “ethical” virtues (good moral qualities we acquire as children through training), and, above the “paradigmatic” virtues, “hieratic” or “theurgic” virtues which corresponded to the increasingly diversified levels of divinity distinguished in late antique Platonism and the need felt for additional means to reach them13. In the following I would like to 8. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.3.22-32; 6.15-16, with my commentary, Plotin Traité 19 (n. 2), p. 87. 9.  See my Plotin Traité 19 (n. 2), pp. 14-19 (a summary). 10. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.2.13-26. 11. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.7.21-30. 12.  On Porphyry’s adaptation of Plotinus, see G. Catapano, Alle origini della dottrina dei gradi di virtù: il trattato 19 di Plotino (enn. I, 2), in Medioevo 31 (2006) 9-28. 13.  For a survey see H.D. Saffrey – A. Segonds, Marinus. Proclus ou sur le Bonheur (Collections des universités de France. Série grecque. Collection Budé, 414), Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 2001, pp. lxix-xcviii; Greek text and German translation, with essays, in I. Männlein-Robert (ed.), Über das Glück. Marinus, Das Leben des Proklos (Scripta



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discuss in more detail this scale of the virtues, as a path for reaching perfection, beginning with Plotinian “political” virtues and then moving to higher levels of virtue. This scale of virtues has frequently been presented in modern studies14 and I will confine myself here to drawing attention to some aspects which are not so often noted. 1.  Political Virtue At the outset it is relevant, I believe, to make a distinction, as regards Plotinian “political” virtue, between the control of the passions before soul has reached “higher” virtue, and the sort of control which can be exercised by a soul already in possession of higher virtue. “Political” virtue without “higher” virtue is incomplete, since it is higher virtue, in particular the wisdom that comes with contemplating divine Intellect which provides the premises required for action on the level of political virtue15. Higher virtue, in Plotinus, means freeing rational soul from the influence of the passions of the living body, restoring it to its proper nature and autonomy by bringing it to self-knowledge and knowledge of divine Intellect16. Enjoying the sovereignty and autonomy reached through higher virtue, in possession of wisdom, soul will be in position to control the passions of the living body with serenity. It is this serene control, free of conflict, which Plotinus describes in a comparison between the soul as a sage and the living body as the sage’s neighbour: Just as a man living next door to a sage would profit by the sage’s neighbourhood, either by becoming like him or by regarding him with such respect as not to dare to do anything of which the good man would not approve. So there will be no conflict [in the good man]: the presence of reason will be enough; the worst part will so respect it […]17.

Full political virtue, we might say, presupposes the possession of higher virtue; and political virtue in the absence of higher virtue must be weaker, leaving the soul more exposed to the sorts of moral conflicts which Plato had described, for example in the Republic and Phaedrus. Another distinction we might make as regards the control of the passions concerns the range of degrees in this control, a range suggested by Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam REligionemque pertinentia, 34), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2019; English translation by M. Edwards, Neoplatonic Saints: The Lives of Plotinus and Proclus by Their Students, Liverpool, Liverpool University Press, 2000. 14.  See previous note. 15.  See my Plotin Traité 19 (n. 2), pp. 119-123. 16. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.3.10-19; 6.11-27. 17. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.5.25-28.

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the words “as far as possible” in the passage in Plato’s Theaetetus concerning assimilation to god. The range of control can go from a rational management of the satisfaction of bodily desires, giving them measure, to an increasingly strict subordination of them, minimising their place and suppressing them as far as possible18. Thus, for example, Iamblichus reports Pythagoras as following a moderate diet and cultivating a balanced regime: He [Pythagoras] had renounced wine, meat, and (even earlier) large meals, and had adjusted to light and digestible food. So he needed little sleep and achieved alertness, purity of soul, and perfect and unshakable health of body19.

A higher degree of control is described by Porphyry in the case of Plotinus: In this way he was present at once to himself and to others, and he never relaxed his self-turned attention except in sleep: even sleep he reduced by taking very little food, often not even a piece of bread, and by his continuous turning in contemplation to his intellect20.

Proclus, when a young and (over?) enthusiastic pupil in the school at Athens, went too far in his dietary discipline and was advised by his teacher Plutarch to moderate his radical vegetarianism: the body, the instrument of the soul, should after all remain in a state so as to be of service to the soul21. The range of degrees, going from moderate satisfaction of bodily desires to exaggerated suppression of them can be found in the lives recounted in Damascius’ Vita Isidori, Olympus being an example of dietary moderation22, Sarapio an example of extreme renunciation23. The range can also be found with respect to sexual desire. 18. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.5.1-6, 11. 19. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 3.13, English translation by Clark, Iamblichus On the Pythagorean Life (n. 3), slightly modified; see also 21.97-98; 24.106-107. For a comparison with Epicurean dietary moderation see my Ancient Biographies of Pythagoras and Epicurus as Models of the Philosophical Life, in Philosophie antique 19 (2019) 151165, pp. 155-157. 20. Porphyry, Vita Plotini 8.20-23. Pythagoras also advises a higher degree of dietary rigour to more advanced philosophers in Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 24.107. 21. Marinus, Vita Procli 12.19-21 (I use the edition cited above n. 13). On the body as instrument of the soul (an idea taken from Ps.-Plato, First Alcibiades 129e-130c), see for example Plotinus, Ennead I.1.3.3. However, Proclus continued, according to Marinus, to be extreme in his ascetic diet, to the point of deteriorating his health (26.36-42; 30.1921). There may be some exaggeration here by the biographer who wishes to show how far superior his hero is to others such as Plotinus. 22. Damascius, Vita Isidori 42D (= E50, F98). 23. Damascius, Vita Isidori 111 (= E167).



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­ lotinus speaks of a rational treatment of natural loves, but he clearly P prefers the suppression of these desires24. Some of the Platonist philosophers of late antiquity married and had children, others, such as Plotinus and Proclus, going higher on the scale of perfection, remained celibate. Another point that might be noted concerns the scope of what might be meant by “political” when speaking of “political” virtue. In reformulating Plotinus’ account of “political” virtue in the Sentences, Porphyry describes them as concerning not only the “inner republic” of the soul (in its relation to the passions), but also the outer world of relations with others in a group or community25. We can read in Porphyry’s Vita Plotini and in Marinus’ Vita Procli chapters describing how their heroes practiced the political virtues in the domains of household ethics (“economics”) and politics26. The pagan Platonist philosophers of late antiquity generally lived in urban centres, in large households; they did not remove themselves from society, taking refuge as hermits in the desert27. An interesting case is provided by Iamblichus in his De vita Pythagorica. As he describes them, the ancient Pythagoreans lived in closely linked communities28. However, political persecution destroyed their way of living and forced them into abandoning it: [On the Pythagoreans who had survived the extermination of their communities] These people, isolated and exceedingly dejected by what had happened, dispersed and could not bear to share their doctrine with any human being. They lived alone in desert places found by chance, shutting themselves in, each one best pleased with his own company29.

To live isolated in desert places was the consequence of the destruction of the Pythagorean way of life. Another case of living alone can be found in Damascius’ Vita Isidori. Damascius is describing the life of Sarapio, one of the most extreme figures in his gallery of heroic individuals, extreme in his separation from bodily affairs and in his reaching the 24. Plotinus, Ennead I.2.5.18-21 (with my commentary, Plotin Traité 19 [n. 2], pp. 104-105); see Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 31.210. 25. Porphyry, Sentences 32, p. 23:4-8. Porphyry, Sentences. Greek text with French and English translations in Porphyre Sentences, ed. L. Brisson, Paris, Vrin, 2005. 26.  See my study Philosophos oikonomos: Haushaltsethik in Porphyrios’ Vita Plotini und in Marinos’ Vita Procli, in Männlein-Robert (ed.), Über das Glück. Marinus, Das Leben des Proklos (n. 13), 315-329. 27.  See Julian the Emperor’s criticism of Christian hermits (who seek deserts and are misanthropes driven by evil demons) in Epistula 89b (Bidez), 288bc. Julian the Emperor, Epistulae: L’Empereur Julian Œuvres Complètes, ed. J. Bidez, vol. 1/2, Lettres et frag­ ments (Collections des universités de France. Série grecque. Collection Budé, 71), Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1972. 28. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 6.29-30; 21.96-100. 29. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 35.253.

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highest levels of the gods. Damascius portrays Sarapio as living alone when old in a small house, however receiving Isidore as a “family ­member” (οἰκεῖος) and designating him as his heir: political virtue in the household reduced to an absolute minimum30! On this subject p­ erhaps the most important point is that made by Plotinus. If Plato, in the ­Theaetetus, in speaking of assimilation to god by virtue, calls us to “flight” from this world where evils will never cease, the flight in question is not spatial, but moral and intellectual31. We should not flee to another place (a desert, perhaps), but should withdraw from, “flee”, immorality and ignorance32. 2.  Higher Virtue The transition from “political” virtue to higher virtue is described by Marinus in his Vita Procli as follows: For if the principal task assigned to the latter [the political virtues] is to purify the soul in some way and to enable it as far as possible to take care (προνοεῖν) of human affairs without attachment (ἀσχέτως), so that it has that likeness to god which is its highest goal, nevertheless not all souls separate in the same way, but some more and some less. The “political virtues”33 are indeed also “purifications” of a sort, which “order and ameliorate their possessors” even while they remain in the present world, “giving bounds and measure” to their spirit and “desires, and completely removing their passions and false opinions”; but the purificatory virtues, superior to these, separate and liberate them from the truly “leaden world of generation”34.

What was essential in “political” virtue was its function in preventing bodily desires creating obstacles to the free activity of the soul as rational. This activity, of thinking and knowing, is proper to the nature of soul as such. 30. Damascius, Vita Isidori 111 (= F34). On Porphyry’s extreme position on this in the De abstinentia see G. Clark, Philosophic Lives and the Philosophic Life: Porphyry and Iamblichus, in T. Hägg – P. Rousseau (eds.), Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 2000, 29-51, p. 40. 31. Plotinus, Ennead I.8.6.9-13; see I.6.8.16-27. See already Marcus Aurelius 4.3.1. 32. The ἀναχώρησις which Porphyry mentions (Vita Plotini 12.9) as being undertaken by Plotinus is not a withdrawal from social life, a flight from it (a “Flucht”: Männ­ lein-Robert, Tugend, Flucht und Exstase [n. 1], p. 109, n. 53), but a withdrawal from the given situation in Rome to a hopefully good community to be founded in Campania, Platonopolis. On different kinds of “withdrawal” see A. Meredith, Asceticism – Christian and Greek, in Journal of Theological Studies 27 (1976) 313-332, p. 316. 33.  In this passage Marinus uses words taken from Plotinus, Ennead I.2. 34. Marinus, Vita Procli 18.5-20. I quote with modifications the English translation by Edwards, Neoplatonic Saints (n. 13).



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Developing the activity proper to the nature of soul is the function of “higher” virtue. It involves philosophical training, at first at least under the guidance of a teacher and with the support of books. To practice philosophical arguments, repeating them and varying them, gives soul the means to strengthen its rational activity. Arguments, Plotinus says, are “a leading up”, bringing soul to self-knowledge and a return to the source of this knowledge in transcendent divine Intellect35. In two passages which I have quoted above36, Porphyry describes how Plotinus cultivated the life of intellect, even going further, beyond divine Intellect and the intelligible, to the god above. In his biography of Proclus, ­Marinus shows how Proclus, in the successive stages of his life, ascended the scale of virtues and how, on the level of the contemplative and higher virtues (chs. 22–25), he consecrated himself to reading, teaching and writing, as forms of rational exercises which lead to contemplating divine Intellect and first principles and communicating this knowledge37. The books he read would have been those recognised by the Platonists of late antiquity as sources of knowledge about the gods, Plato’s Parmenides in particular and the Chaldaean Oracles. To reach this knowledge was to live at a supreme degree of human perfection. In Marinus’ account the very highest level of virtue, “hieratic” virtue, also involved reading books (the Chaldaean Oracles and Orphica) and writing, together with the practice of certain rites38. The scale of virtues, at its different levels, also structures the biographies Damascius composed in his Vita Isidori39. The highest level, a truly divine life, was reached by very few, by Sarapio and, it seems, by Isidore: He [Isidore?] used to say that when the soul is in holy prayer facing the mighty ocean of the divine, at first, disengaged from the body, it concentrates on itself; then it departs from its own habits, withdrawing from discursive into intellective thinking; finally, at a third stage, it is possessed by the divine and drifts into an extraordinary serenity befitting gods rather than men40. 35. Plotinus, Ennead I.3.1.5-6; see VI.9.4.12-16. The theme of philosophy as a “spiritual exercise” has of course been shown in all its importance by P. Hadot, Exercices spirituels et philosophie antique (Bibliothèque de l’Évolution de l’Humanité, 41), Paris, Études augustiniennes, 21987. 36.  At notes 5, 20. 37. Marinus, Vita Procli 22.15-23. On reading and commentary as “spiritual exercises” see P. Hoffmann, What Was Commentary in Late Antiquity? The Example of the Neoplatonic Commentators, in M.L. Gill – P. Pellegrin (eds.), A Companion to Ancient Philosophy, Oxford, Blackwell, 2006, 597-622, pp. 599-602 and 615-616. 38. Marinus, Vita Procli 26–28. 39.  See my article Patterns of Perfection in Damascius’ Life of Isidore, in Phronesis 51 (2006) 74-90. 40. Damascius, Vita Isidori 22 (= F40, perhaps Sarapio); 111 (= F34).

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III. Conclusions It might be useful in conclusion to list some general characteristics of the ideal of perfection which was current in the pagan Platonist schools of late antiquity, as well as some elements of the methods which they advocated for attaining this ideal, as this may serve in a possible comparison, for example, with Christian ideals and ascetic practices of the same period41. The ideal of perfection was the divine, to which human soul could seek to assimilate itself as far as possible. The divine ranged over many levels, going from the universe up through higher divinities to the ultimate first cause of all reality. A divine life could already be led by soul in its existence in the body, making its life an image of the divine. But taken in itself, soul as a rational nature could assimilate itself to the life of transcendent rational divinities, in particular the life of divine Intellect. Some philosophers were thought to have ascended the scale of perfection even higher and to have attained a supra-rational union with the absolute first cause, the “Good” or “One”. Assimilating to god involved practicing a corresponding kind of virtue. At the beginning of the scale, “political” virtue allowed soul to master the passions arising from life in the body. This mastery permitted the rational management of the body’s needs, limiting carnal desires and preventing them from becoming obstacles to the thinking activity of soul. The control of bodily affairs could mean having a moderate, healthy and balanced life-style. As the instrument of the soul, the body requires appropriate care. Or, at a higher degree, the control could become more ascetical, minimising bodily desires and even suppressing them in the case of sexuality. “Political” virtue concerned not only the individual, but also relations with others in the household and in the city. The philosopher lived in a household, in an urban centre, and practiced “political” virtue in the domestic and political domains, assuming “providential” functions in the image of the providential activity of the divine. The philosopher did not flee the company of others, escaping to the desert, but fled immorality and ignorance. Freed from subjection to the body, while practicing “political” virtue, the philosopher cultivates “higher” virtue, strengthening the activity of soul as rational and its autonomy by philosophising, by reasoning, reading, writing, all intellectual exercises involving a guiding teacher (at first at least) and appropriate books. Even when ascending higher in the scale of perfection, the philosopher will 41.  On this see for example, Meredith, Asceticism – Christian and Greek (n. 32).



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continue reading and writing, while carrying out certain religious rites such as had been introduced by Iamblichus and observed after him in the philosophical schools. Dominic J. O’Meara Université de Fribourg [email protected]

GOD AS A ROLE MODEL PRACTICAL HOMOIOSIS THEOI IN THE WORKS OF BASIL OF CAESAREA AND GREGORY OF NYSSA

I.  Introduction For Basil of Caesarea (330-379) and Gregory of Nyssa (335-395)1, the process of perfecting the soul through asceticism is closely connected to the concept of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, becoming like God. Multiple studies explore the theoretical implications of this concept, and some pay attention to how authors use it to win theological debates, such as the debates against the Arians and the Eunomians2. In addition, the concept has important consequences for practical ethics in early Christian traditions. While some general statements can be made as to how ὁμοίωσις θεῷ affects daily Christian life, the narrative that the Cappadocians constructed in order to promote a practical perspective on the concept merits investigation. The existence and relevance of ancient thought about ὁμοίωσις θεῷ has been elaborately discussed by Merki, who identifies static-ontological and dynamic-ethical interpretations of the concept in the works of Gregory of Nyssa3. For our purposes, what Merki refers to as static-ontological interpretations amounts to highbrow theology, while the dynamic-ethical interpretations are practically oriented and adapted to a wider target audience. The practical aspect of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ will be the subject of this paper. To understand the practical aspect of 1.  Often referred to as the Cappadocian Fathers, alongside Gregory Nazianzen (329390). 2. See H. Merki, Ὁμοίωσις θεῷ: Von der platonischen Angleichung an Gott zur Gott­ ähnlichkeit bei Gregor von Nyssa (Paradosis, 7), Freiburg/CH, Paulusverlag, 1952; D.F. Winslow, The Dynamics of Salvation: A Study in Gregory of Nazianzus (Patristic Monograph Series, 7), Cambridge, MA, The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1979; N. Russell, The Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004; V. Kharlamov, Rhetorical Application of Theosis in Greek Patristic Thought, in M.J. Christensen – J.A.  Wittung (eds.), Partakers of the Divine Nature: The History and Development of Deification in the Christian Traditions, Grand Rapids, MI, Baker, 2007, 115-131; B.  Maslov, The Limits of Platonism: Gregory of Nazianzus and the Invention of Theosis, in Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 440-468; D.A. Giulea, Basil of Caesarea’s Authorship of Epistle 361 and His Relation­ ship with the Homoiousians Reconsidered, in Vigiliae Christianae 72 (2018) 41-70. 3.  Merki, Ὁμοίωσις θεῷ (n. 2), p. 124.

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the ­concept, however, its development and origin in pre-Christian traditions should be taken into account. The process of striving to become like God was an important topic from early through late Platonism. In several of his works, Plato gives various definitions of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, ranging from abstract philosophical to practical ethical ones4. The most famous example of the former can be found in the Theaetetus, where the process of becoming like God is portrayed as an otherworldly escape to “over there” (ἐκεῖσε)5. The Phaedo, which develops a similar idea of true virtue as an escape from the material world, describes dying as the soul’s separation from the body6. Plato takes quite a different approach in the Republic, where he describes ὁμοίωσις θεῷ in practical terms as attaining a high measure of virtue and righteousness: “For, by the gods, that man will never be neglected who is willing and eager to be just, and by the practice of virtue to be likened to God so far as that is possible for man”7. The notion of likeness “as far as possible” (εἰς ὅσον δυνατόν) is a recurring feature in Plato’s discussions of this concept and will be shown to have left interesting traces in the works of early Christian authors. The conceptual elasticity created by the different interpretations of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, in the Theaetetus and the Phaedo on the one hand, and in the Republic on the other, was addressed by Neoplatonists such as Plotinus. He argued that the incompatibility of the two kinds of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ can be resolved by regarding them as different levels on the road to perfection, in which likeness to God is seen as a higher path, an escape from everyday life8. Both types of likeness became embedded in a 4.  J. Annas, Becoming Like God: Ethics, Human Nature, and the Divine, in Ead. (ed.), Plato’s Ethics, Old and New, New York, Cornell University Press, 1999, 52-71, pp. 63-64. See also J.-F. Pradeau, L’assimilation au dieu, in J. Laurent (ed.), Les dieux de Platon: Actes du colloque organisé à l’Université de Caen Basse-Normandie les 24, 25 et 26 janvier 2002, Caen, Presses Universitaires de Caen, 2003, 41-52 and G.  Van Riel, Plato’s Gods (Ashgate Studies in the History of Philosophical Theology), Aldershot, Ashgate, 2013 as reference studies on the topic. 5. Plato, Theaetetus 176a8-b2; trans. M.R. Levett – M.F. Burnyeat, The Theaetetus of Plato, Indianapolis, IN, Hackett, 1990: “That is why a man should make all haste to escape from earth to heaven, and escape means becoming as like God as possible; and a man becomes like God when he becomes just and pure, with understanding” (διὸ καὶ πειρᾶσθαι χρὴ ἐνθένδε ἐκεῖσε φεύγειν ὅτι τάχιστα. φυγὴ δὲ ὁμοίωσις θεῷ κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν· ὁμοίωσις δὲ δίκαιον καὶ ὅσιον μετὰ φρονήσεως γενέσθαι). 6.  Annas, Becoming Like God (n. 4), p. 62. 7. Plato, Republic 613a; trans. J. Dillon, Alcinous: The Handbook of Platonism (Clarendon Library of Later Philosophy), Oxford, Clarendon, 1993, p. 37 (οὐ γὰρ δὴ ὑπό γε θεῶν ποτε ἀμελεῖται ὃς ἂν προθυμεῖσθαι ἐθέλῃ δίκαιος γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἐπιτηδεύων ἀρετὴν εἰς ὅσον δυνατὸν ἀνθρώπῳ ὁμοιοῦσθαι θεῷ). 8.  Annas, Becoming Like God (n. 4), p. 71.



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f­ramework of gradual progression towards perfection in virtue, in addition to enabling the “practicability of that ideal as a goal of an anagogic process leading to separation from the world”9. Asceticism per se is not addressed in this context, but it is integrated in the Christian representation of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, which draws much inspiration from Plato’s take on this ideal. Early Christian authors brought together the practical and otherworldly interpretations into a coherent framework, facilitated by the ethical similarities between the Platonist and Christian traditions: “Both from a Platonic and a Pauline perspective, the process of assimilation to God is marked by the virtues of righteousness and holiness”10. Since Paul used it on multiple occasions, it is no surprise that early Christian authors such as Origen and the Cappadocians were happy to adopt this Platonist terminology and apply it to their discourse about participation in God11. The analyses that form the core of this article corroborate this statement. The process of becoming like God is closely related to deification (θέωσις), and the notion of people becoming divine through ὁμοίωσις θεῷ is never far away in the works of the Cappadocians. In the fourth century, not only is ὁμοίωσις θεῷ inseparably connected to θέωσις, but the two ideals also tend to overlap; a partial explanation for this overlap is that the Cappadocians did not clearly define the boundaries of θέωσις, which was not regarded as a technical concept until the sixth century12. Nevertheless, θέωσις will not be further discussed here, for two reasons. First, in discourse about the relationship between humanity and God, the notions of image, likeness, and form are part of the same conceptual-­ linguistic field13. Θέωσις is quite different, as it refers to the act of becoming one with God, as opposed to striving for likeness to his image. Second, the language of ὁμοίωσις removes the boundaries between the human and the divine, while the language of θέωσις keeps these boundaries intact. Because of this, ὁμοίωσις θεῷ lends itself more to practical applications, as it enables a practical-ethical discourse alongside the 9.  M.-É. Zovko, Worldly and Otherworldly Virtue: Likeness to God as Educational Ideal in Plato, Plotinus, and Today, in Educational Philosophy and Theory 50 (2018) 586-596, p. 588. 10.  G.H. Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context: The Image of God, Assimi­ lation to God, and Tripartite Man in Ancient Judaism, Ancient Philosophy and Early Christianity (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 232), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2008, p. 216. 11.  Ὁμοίωσις θεῷ was popular not only in Christian literature; Philo of Alexandria also combined elements from older Jewish traditions with Platonism to develop his own understanding of the topic. See Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context (n. 10), p. 218. 12.  Russell, Doctrine of Deification (n. 2), p. 1. Cf. Kharlamov, Rhetorical Appli­ cation of Theosis (n. 2), pp. 115-116. 13.  Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context (n. 10), p. 215.

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­theological one14. The lack of such practical-ethical attainability in the case of deification makes that concept less relevant here. This is also why Gregory Nazianzen is less interesting regarding ὁμοίωσις θεῷ: unlike Basil and Gregory of Nyssa, he seldom refers explicitly to becoming like God, but he is far more than his peers a crucial source for early reflections on θέωσις. Several monographs and articles have already been dedicated to θέωσις in the Nazianzen’s works, and these studies show that he seldom explains it as a practical concept15. Basil and Gregory of Nyssa use ὁμοίωσις θεῷ metaphorically in a multitude of ways. One of these metaphorical interpretations invokes practical ethics and can be described as “the attainment of likeness to God through ascetical and philosophical endeavor”16. Claiming that Basil and Gregory develop a narrative about the practical attainment of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, this paper examines the rhetoric of that narrative as a powerful means of inducing the pursuit of perfection, if not promising its achievement in this life. Achieving likeness to God is not an easy task, since the notion that God is an imitable role model was probably quite daunting for the general public. In what follows, a selection of texts from Basil and Gregory in which likeness to God is connected to practical ethics will be analysed, in order to demonstrate how these two authors try to convince their audience that ὁμοίωσις θεῷ is worth pursuing. It will be argued that the authors carefully thought through how to present this notion as part of their strategy to promote progress in virtue. This strategy is reflected in the meaning of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as found in the following corpus of texts: Basil’s homily On the Origin of Humanity I, supplemented with some comments from On the Holy Spirit, as well as Gregory’s homily On the Beatitudes I and his letters To Call Oneself a Christian and On Perfection. II.  Homoiosis Theoi in Basil of Caesarea Basil’s homily On the Origin of Humanity I [OH], on Gen 1,26, is often seen as the tenth homily of the Hexaemeron, Basil’s series of 14.  Similar to Plato, Basil and Gregory of Nyssa sometimes use the phrase “as far as possible” to indicate the impracticability of becoming like God and to differentiate it from θέωσις; see Zovko, Worldly and Otherworldly Virtue (n. 9), p. 589. 15.  Winslow, The Dynamics of Salvation (n. 2); Russell, Doctrine of Deification (n. 2); Kharlamov, Rhetorical Application of Theosis (n. 2); Maslov, The Limits of Platonism (n. 2). This generalisation does not mean that practical implications of θέωσις are entirely absent from Gregory’s works; see Kharlamov, Rhetorical Application of Theosis, p. 125. 16.  Russell, Doctrine of Deification (n. 2), p. 2.



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h­ omilies on Genesis17. He systematically discusses different sections of the verse and starts by linking the formulation “Let us make” to a Trinitarian framework in chapters 3 and 4. More interesting for the current topic is Basil’s interpretation, from chapter 5 to 7, of the expression “in our image”. He asks what it means to be made in God’s image and likeness, first describing how humans differ from God, and then showing how they are like Him18. The homiletic genre allows Basil to slowly develop his argument by posing additional questions that illustrate the complexity of the issue at hand, without resorting to complex and abstract theological discussions. When thinking about God, Basil warns, “Do not imagine a shape in regard to Him”19 and also “nothing is with God as it is with us”20. God is incomprehensible, different from humans and without physical shape. Basil is adamant about this. In chapter 6, he once again stresses that “we do not have that which is according to the image in our bodily shape”21. Then, in chapter 7, Basil discusses the importance of reason and how it differentiates humans from animals. Reason is the one thing humans have in common with God: “Let us make the human being according to our image, that is, let us give him the superiority of reason”22. Basil acknowledges that the word “reason” is not mentioned in the biblical text, but he circumvents this problem by invoking two modes of being human: “one the sense-perceptible, and one hidden under the sense-perceptible, invisible, the inner human”23. It is this inner human, our soul and reason, that is like God. Basil strengthens his argument by citing Paul, who writes in 2 Cor 4,16 that “although our outer human being is perishing, the inner

17.  Scholars disagree on whether to attribute the homily to Basil or Gregory. 18.  Basil of Caesarea, On the Origin of Humanity I (Basile de Césarée, Sur l’origine de l’homme. Homélies X-XI de l’Hexaéméron, ed. A. Smets – M. Van Esbroeck [Sources Chrétiennes, 160], Paris, Cerf, 1970, p. 161. The Sources Chrétiennes edition divides the work into twenty chapters). 19. Basil, OH 5.12, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 176: μὴ φαντασθῇς μορφὴν περὶ αὐτόν; trans. N.V. Harrison, St. Basil the Great: On the Human Condition (Popular Patristics Series), New York, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2005, p. 34. 20. Basil, OH 5.23-24, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 178: οὐδέν ἐστι περὶ θεὸν οἷον περὶ ἡμᾶς; trans. Harrison (n. 19), p. 34. 21. Basil, OH 6.4, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 178: οὐκ ἔχομεν τὸ κατ’ εἰκόνα ἐν μορφῇ σώματος; trans. Harrison (n. 19), pp. 34-35. 22. Basil, OH 7.17-18, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 182: “Ποιήσωμεν ἄνθρωπον κατ’ εἰκόνα ἡμετέραν”, τουτέστι δώσομεν αὐτῷ λόγου περιουσίαν; trans. Harrison (n. 19), p. 36. 23. Basil, OH 7.9-10, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 182: δύο γνωρίζω ἀνθρώπους, ἕνα τὸν φαινόμενον καὶ ἕνα τὸν κεκρυμμένον τῷ φαινομένῳ ἀόρατον, τὸν ἔσω ἄνθρωπον; trans. Harrison (n. 19), p. 36.

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is renewed day by day”24. This citation introduces the opposition between passion (body) and reason (soul). Reason enables ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, which highlights the superiority of reason over passion, an important theme in Basil’s theology25. In a paragraph reminiscent of the Socratic method, Basil poses questions, proposes answers, discards some of them, retains others, and eventually comes to what he depicts as the only possible conclusion, namely, that being made in God’s image means having the superiority of reason. The following chapters (8–14) focus on the ruling power of humankind and the physics of growing up. The topic of likeness is picked up again in chapter 15. While Gen 1,26 considers humankind to be made according to God’s image and likeness, Gen 1,27 speaks only of making them “according to [God’s] image” and omits any mention of likeness. In Basil’s opinion, this omission is not a mistake, but a deliberate and meaningful choice. Being made according to God’s image means that humans are granted the power of reason as an innate human capacity. Likeness to God, however, can only be achieved by our free choice. The two verses illustrate a crucial difference between image and likeness: no action is needed for the first, but the second requires effort. This argument is developed in chapter 16 with the following metaphor of the painter: In giving us the power to become like God, he let us be artisans of the likeness to God, so that the reward for the work would be ours. Thus we would not be like images made by a painter, lying inertly, lest our likeness should bring praise to another. For when you see an image exactly shaped like the prototype, you do not praise the image, but you marvel at the painter26.

Effort is needed to become a praiseworthy individual. Basil gives the audience a choice: they can simply “lie inertly” and enjoy the very fact that they have been given the gift of reason, which would bring praise to God and God alone, or they could actively pursue likeness to God. 24. Basil, OH 7.5-7, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 182: ἄκουε τοῦ ἀποστόλου λέγοντος· Εἰ καὶ ὁ ἔξω ἡμῶν ἄνθρωπος φθείρεται, ἀλλ’ ὁ ἔσω ἀνακαινοῦται ἡμέρᾳ καὶ ἡμέρᾳ; trans. Harrison (n. 19), p. 36. See Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context (n. 10), p. 271 on the relation between ὁμοίωσις θεῷ and the notions of the inner/ heavenly versus the outer/earthly. 25.  Russell, Doctrine of Deification (n. 2), p. 212. 26. Basil, OH 16.11-18, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 208: Δύναμιν δὲ δοὺς πρὸς τὸ ὁμοιοῦσθαι θεῷ, ἀφῆκεν ἡμᾶς ἐργάτας εἶναι τῆς πρὸς θεὸν ὁμοιώσεως, ἵνα ἡμέτερος ᾖ τῆς ἐργασίας ὁ μισθός, ἵνα μὴ ὥσπερ εἰκόνες ὦμεν παρὰ ζωγράφου γενόμεναι, εἰκῆ κείμεναι, ἵνα μὴ τὰ τῆς ἡμετέρας ὁμοιώσεως ἄλλῳ ἔπαινον φέρῃ. ὅταν γὰρ τὴν εἰκόνα ἴδῃς ἀκριβῶς μεμορφωμένην πρὸς τὸ πρωτότυπον, οὐ τὴν εἰκόνα ἐπαινεῖς, ἀλλὰ τὸν ζωγράφον θαυμάζεις; trans. Harrison (n. 19), p. 44.



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This effort would then result in a perfect painting with two creators: God, who created humans in his image, and humans themselves, who use God’s gift of reason to aspire to his likeness. It is clear which of the options should be preferred, but presenting them by means of a metaphor mitigates the reality that the audience does not really have a choice if they want to improve themselves. Basil never states explicitly that they must make an effort, but instead gently coaxes his audience into taking action. Chapter 17 of the homily foregoes all indirectness. Basil cites Mt 5,48, “Become perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect”, as an introduction to summarise the necessary qualities of becoming like God: If you become a hater of evil, free of rancor, not remembering yesterday’s enmity; if you become brother-loving and compassionate, you are like God. If you forgive your enemy from your heart, you are like God. If as God is toward you, the sinner, you become the same toward the brother who has wronged you, by your good will from your heart toward your neighbor, you are like God. As you have that which is according to the image through your being rational, you come to be according to the likeness by undertaking kindness. Take on yourself “a heart of compassion, kindness”, that you may put on Christ27.

Typical Christian values and virtues are promoted here. Since Basil has already established the connection between likeness to God and virtuous behaviour, this statement would be easier for the audience to accept at this point in the homily. For that reason, indirectness is no longer needed. Nearing the end of this crucial part of the text, Basil defines Christianity as an attempt to achieve “likeness to God as far as possible for human nature”28. Such a statement further facilitates the audience’s acceptance of the message of the text, as actually attaining likeness to God is not even required; all that is required is the sincere attempt to do what is possible. Basil acknowledges the limits of human nature so as not to dispirit his audience. Furthermore, the language he uses is highly similar to Plato’s notion of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ “as far as possible” (κατὰ τὸ 27. Basil, OH 17.4-13, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), pp. 208-210: ἐὰν γένῃ μισοπόνηρος, ἀμνησίκακος, μὴ μεμνημένος τῆς χθιζῆς ἔχθρας, ἐὰν γένῃ φιλάδελφος, συμπαθής, ὡμοιώθης θεῷ. ἐὰν ἀφῇς τῷ ἐχθρῷ ἀπὸ καρδίας, ὡμοιώθης θεῷ. ἐὰν οἷός ἐστιν ἐπὶ σὲ τὸν ἁμαρτωλὸν ὁ θεός, τοιοῦτος γένῃ ἐπὶ τὸν εἰς σὲ πεπλημμεληκότα ἀδελφόν, τῇ πρὸς τὸν πλησίον εὐσπλαγχνίᾳ ὡμοιώθης θεῷ. ὥστε τὸ Κατ’ εἰκόνα μὲν ἔχεις ἐκ τοῦ λογικὸς εἶναι, Καθ’ ὁμοίωσιν δὲ γίνῃ ἐκ τοῦ χρηστότητα ἀναλαβεῖν. ἀνάλαβε “Σπλάγχνα οἰκτιρμοῦ, χρηστότητα”, ἵνα ἐνδύσῃ Χριστόν; trans. Harrison (n. 19), p. 44. 28. Basil, OH 17.27, ed. Smets – Van Esbroeck (n. 18), p. 210: θεοῦ ὁμοίωσις κατὰ τὸ ἐνδεχόμενον ἀνθρώπου φύσει; trans. Harrison (n. 19), p. 45.

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δυνατόν), in the Theaetetus29. Not only would this language engage a part of the audience that might have been acquainted with Plato’s œuvre, but the language also claims this “pagan” philosophical idea for use within a Christian framework. On the Origin of Humanity I is well designed and well-structured from a rhetorical perspective. The text moves from the abstract notions of image and likeness to God to the more concrete: becoming like God means becoming a Christian. This movement from the abstract to the concrete is even more evident when Basil states that becoming a Christian implies adherence to specific values and virtues, most prominently love and gentleness. The structure reflects a double movement from up to down and down to up, as God (up) makes humans in his image (down) and by using the power of free choice He gave them (down), humans can become like Him (up). The homily is built around this notion of upward movement towards God, an ascetic and gradual process that in itself is more important than reaching its end30. The emphasis on process is an additional implication of the painting metaphor, where the focus shifts from the painting to the painter: a shift, that is, from the result to the process. Finally, the first half of the homily mainly gives information. It defines the notion of “being made in his image”, it explains what it means to have reason and the power to rule, and it throws light on the process of growing up. Chapter 17, however, is reserved for a call to action and lists 29. See Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context (n. 10), p. 382 and supra. Variations on the phrase can be found in the Phaedo, among other texts. 30.  The notion of gradually becoming like God through reason and goodness is also briefly addressed in the homily Be Attentive to Yourself: “Is this not enough to be reasonable grounds for the most exalted joy, that you have been entirely formed by the very hands of God who has made all things? That since you have come into being according to the image of the Creator you can ascend quickly toward equality of honor with the angels through good conduct?” (Basil of Caesarea, Homily on the Words “Be Attentive to Yourself” 6.6-10 (L’homélie de Basile de Césarée sur le mot “Observe-toi Toi-même”, ed. S.Y. Rudberg [Studia Graeca Stockholmiensia, 2], Stockholm, Almqvist & Wiksell, 1962, p. 33: Ἆρ’ οὐκ ἐξαρκεῖ τοῦτο σωφρόνως λογιζομένῳ πρὸς εὐθυμίαν τὴν ἀνωτάτω, τὸ ὑπ’ αὐτῶν τῶν χειρῶν τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ τὰ πάντα συστησαμένου διαπλασθῆναι; ἔπειθ’ ὅτι κατ’ εἰκόνα γεγενημένος τοῦ κτίσαντος, δύνασαι πρὸς τὴν τῶν ἀγγέλων ὁμοτιμίαν δι’ ἀγαθῆς πολιτείας ἀναδραμεῖν; trans. Harrison [n. 19], p. 101). The verb δύνασαι shows that one’s own choice will eventually determine one’s status in the eyes of God. In addition, Basil talks about perfection as “equality of honour with the angels”, but he never says that humans can achieve perfection. Instead, they move upwards (ἀναδραμεῖν) towards (πρός) this goal, without necessarily reaching it. The accusative case for “equality of honour” (ὁμοτιμίαν) further indicates that the process is more about moving in a certain direction than about reaching the goal. It seems that becoming perfect like the angels is a gradual process in which reaching the final stage is less important than striving, by one’s own will, to be a good Christian. For Basil, likeness to the divine is the result of gradual progress.



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the specific actions that must be taken in order to be a good Christian and become like God. The position of this call to action in one of the final chapters of the homily makes this part easy to remember. It makes sense to put the most crucial information, i.e., what Basil wants his audience to do, right there. In his treatise On the Holy Spirit, Basil is less specific as to how ὁμοίωσις θεῷ can be achieved. As in OH, Basil states in the introductory chapter that one should strive to achieve likeness to God, “as far as possible for human nature”31. In chapter 15, Basil observes that Christians can imitate Christ by kindness and humility, but also by baptism: “in order to live the perfect life, it is necessary to imitate Christ, not just by the examples of gentleness, humility and steadfastness he set through his life, but also by his own death”32. The notion of baptism as a form of dying can be related to Plato’s Phaedo and Phaedrus. In the Christian understanding, the separation of the soul from the body in death represents the true ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as perfection in the afterlife33. For his part, Plato describes how teachers imitate the god to guide their students towards ὁμοίωσις θεῷ. Baptism, then, is a Christian ritual performed in imitation of Christ, which is one aspect of the process of becoming like God34. In addition, the statement in On the Holy Spirit is a reprise of Rom 6,5 and would therefore have the same connotations as the original Pauline statement35. Through baptism, the mind is revamped, and a better understanding of true faith is acquired; the sacrament and the better understanding “converge in the definition of true religion as a rational form of worshipping God, which takes place through the renewal of one’s mind and becomes tangible in a reflective rational-ethical examination of what is good and acceptable and perfect”36. The above analysis suggests that On the Holy Spirit was aimed at an educated audience with excellent knowledge of the biblical texts. When 31.  Basil of Caesarea, On the Holy Spirit 1.2.11-12 (Basile de Césarée, Sur le Saint Esprit, ed. B. Pruche [Sources Chrétiennes, 17bis], Paris, Cerf, 2013, p. 252: κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν ἀνθρώπου φύσει). 32. Basil, On the Holy Spirit 15.35.8-11, ed. Pruche (n. 31), pp. 364-366: Ἀναγκαία τοίνυν ἐστὶ πρὸς τελείωσιν ζωῆς, ἡ Χριστοῦ μίμησις, οὐ μόνον ἐν τοῖς κατὰ τὸν βίον ὑποδείγμασιν ἀοργησίας καὶ ταπεινοφροσύνης καὶ μακροθυμίας, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ θανάτου. Becoming like God and becoming like Christ are often presented as nearly synonymous concepts. 33.  Annas, Becoming Like God (n. 4), p. 60. 34.  Van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context (n. 10), p. 357. For this reason, Van Kooten states that “Plato’s Phaedrus offers the best religious-historical background to the notion of assimilation to Christ”. 35.  Ibid., p. 207. 36.  Ibid., p. 392.

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Basil refers to becoming like God by imitating the death and resurrection of Christ, this reference inevitably calls to mind Rom 6,537. To an audience that shares this knowledge, this passage of On the Holy Spirit can be read as an exhortation to follow not only in Christ’s footsteps, but in Paul’s as well. The passage thus fits perfectly in the discourse of continuous progress and ὁμοίωσις θεῷ. Finally, Basil emphasises that the imitation of Christ is achieved through the practice of virtue and that a moral effort is needed, in addition to the sacraments38. III.  Homoiosis Theoi in Gregory of Nyssa In several of his writings aimed at a wide audience, Gregory of Nyssa promotes the concept of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as attainable through a virtuous life39. This is certainly evident in his series of homilies On the Beati­ tudes (Mt 5,3-12), in which he reinterprets the beatitudes as divine characteristics in a way that makes them not only comprehensible, but also achievable virtues that ultimately lead to likeness to God and even divinisation40. This achievement is quite an accomplishment since the odds are against humanity in this matter, due to the incomprehensible nature of God and the inherent impurity of humans41. In this series of eight homilies, the first (Blessed are the poor of spirit) offers an accessible exegesis of Mt 5,3: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of the heavens”. Because it refers quite explicitly to the imitation of a divine model and to likeness to God, we will discuss this homily in some detail. Chapter 1 introduces the metaphor of climbing a mountain on which God’s house stands42. Gregory invites his audience to climb along with him, the homiletic genre being perfectly fit for such an inclusive m ­ essage. 37.  Ibid., p. 208. 38.  Russell, Doctrine of Deification (n. 2), p. 211. One must follow Christ’s example by means of practical virtue and symbolically through baptism. 39.  Merki, Ὁμοίωσις θεῷ (n. 2), pp. 124-125. Merki studies the philosophical aspects of this interpretation of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ and mentions the texts in which it is apparent, but he does not dwell on its practical implications. 40.  J. Gavin, Ascending the Mountain with Christ: Divine Accommodation in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Beatitudinibus, in The Downside Review 130 (2012) 27-39, p. 36. 41.  H. Boersma, Becoming Human in the Face of God: Gregory of Nyssa’s Unending Search for the Beatific Vision, in International Journal of Systematic Theology 17 (2015) 131-51, p. 135. 42.  Gregory of Nyssa, On the Beatitudes I; De Oratione dominica, De Beatitudinibus, ed. J.F. Callahan (Gregorii Nysseni Opera [GNO], VII/2), Leiden, Brill, 1992, pp. 77.1– 78.24.



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He is not merely a coach, but climbs the mountain together with his audience. This extra motivation is not superfluous, because the metaphor also illustrates the difficulties of aspiring to the divine: required is not some gentle hovering toward bliss, but a steep climb. Gregory, however, will do his best to guide the audience to the summit. Chapter 2 presents blessedness as “everything good”, and everything miserable as its opposite. Before he discusses what constitutes blessedness, Gregory expounds its opposite: “The one who is poor in temperance, or is found to be wanting, destitute and poor in the valuable properties of justice, wisdom, prudence or any other priceless treasure, is wretched for his penury and pitiful for his lack of precious things”43. This statement implicitly reveals the properties that are most likely to be relevant for a state of blessedness, such as temperance, justice, wisdom, and prudence. In chapter 4, Gregory positively explains beatitude, albeit indirectly: “The goal of the virtuous life is likeness to the divine”44. This statement soon turns out to be problematic, since Gregory next explains that the perfection of the Divinity cannot be reached by human beings. Christians may all climb the mountain together, but reaching the summit is a different matter. Gregory argues that the divine cannot be imitated as such, because human nature is tainted by passion: But if the Divinity ‘alone’ is ‘blessed’, as the Apostle puts it (1 Tim 6,15), and sharing in beatitude belongs to human beings through their likeness to the Divinity, and imitation is not possible, then blessedness is for human life unattainable. Nevertheless, there are some features of godhead which those who wish to may take as models to imitate. What are they? The Word seems to me to be using the words ‘poor in spirit’ to mean ‘voluntary humility’45. 43. Gregory, Beatitudes I, ed. Callahan (n. 42), p. 82.9-13: Ὁ μὲν οὖν σωφροσύνης πτωχεύων ἢ τοῦ τιμίου κτήματος τῆς δικαιοσύνης ἢ τῆς σοφίας ἢ τῆς φρονήσεως ἢ ἄλλου τινὸς τῶν πολυτελῶν κειμηλίων πένης τε καὶ ἀκτήμων καὶ πτωχὸς εὑρισκόμενος, ἄθλιος τῆς πενίας καὶ ἐλεεινὸς τῆς τῶν τιμίων ἀκτημοσύνης; trans. S.G. Hall, Greg­ ory of Nyssa, On the Beatitudes, in H.R. Drobner – A. Viciano (eds.), Gregory of Nyssa: Homilies on the Beatitudes. An English Version with Commentary and Supporting Studies. Proceedings of the Eighth International Colloquium on Gregory of Nyssa (Paderborn, 14-18 September 1998) (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, 52), Leiden, Brill, 2000, 21-90, p. 26. 44. Gregory, Beatitudes I, ed. Callahan (n. 42), p. 82.24-25: τέλος τοῦ κατ’ ἀρετὴν βίου ἐστὶν ἡ πρὸς τὸ θεῖον ὁμοίωσις; trans. Hall (n. 43), p. 26. 45. Gregory, Beatitudes I, ed. Callahan (n. 42), pp. 82.28–83.7: Εἰ οὖν μόνον τὸ θεῖον μακάριον, καθὼς ὁ ἀπόστολος ὀνομάζει, ἡ δὲ τοῦ μακαρισμοῦ κοινωνία τοῖς ἀνθρώποις διὰ τῆς πρὸς τὸν θεόν ἐστιν ὁμοιώσεως, ἡ δὲ μίμησις ἄπορος, ἄρα ἀνέφικτός ἐστιν ἡ μακαριότης τῇ ἀνθρωπίνῃ ζωῇ. Ἀλλ’ ἔστιν ἃ τῆς θεότητος δυνατὰ πρόκειται τοῖς βουλομένοις εἰς μίμησιν. Τίνα οὖν ἐστι ταῦτα; δοκεῖ μοι πτωχείαν πνεύματος, τὴν ἑκούσιον ταπεινοφροσύνην ὀνομάζειν ὁ λόγος; trans. Hall (n. 43), p. 26.

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After raising the suspense and the expectations of the audience – perhaps they had hoped that Gregory was about to explain what they needed to do in order to become blessed – there follows quite an anti-climax. He argues that blessedness is simply unachievable for humans46. However, Gregory does not give up hope, and this is a crucial message to his audience: while humans cannot reach the summit, or attain perfection, it is still possible to take action and pursue a virtuous life. The key virtue is humility, and being humble is an achievable goal. The final chapter considers more guidelines for the virtuous life. For example, even a ruler can be blessed if he is humble: Even that person, therefore, if he becomes poor in spirit, looking to the one who willingly became poor because of us, and observing the equal respect we owe to members of our race, will not inflict injury on those who share his origin as a result of that mistaken masquerade of government, but is truly blessed by having exchanged temporary humility for the kingdom of the h­ eavens47.

The virtue of humility is described as a mindset that accepts all people as equal, in addition to adopting the ideal of poverty in mind and matter. Material poverty is addressed directly only in this final chapter, when Gregory differentiates between being poor in spirit as a humble state of mind and material poverty48. He argues that the combination would be ideal, but his previous statements show that being poor in spirit would in itself be a positive progression. This is an important point: Gregory does not press his audience to give up material wealth, which plays only a rather small role at the end of the homily. Nevertheless, the combination of imitation through suffering and imitation through baptism and virtue is a recurring feature in Gregory’s discourse on perfection and ἄσκησις49. This view of imitation may be the reason why the homily makes extensive use of the interplay between material and mental possessions. Vocabulary that 46.  Gregory argues that true blessedness is unattainable, since it is reserved solely for God. Nevertheless, it is possible to become blessed through participation in the divine nature. It is quite difficult to pin down Gregory’s systematic ideas, since he is rarely explicit about them in his individual works; that said, it can be shown that his statements throughout his works are quite consistent (D.L. Balás, Μετουσία Θεοῦ: Man’s Participa­ tion in God’s Perfections according to Saint Gregory of Nyssa [Studia Anselmiana, 55], Roma, Pontificium Institutum S. Anselmi, 1966, pp. 153 and 163). The same is true for his ideas about the relationship between blessedness and participation in God. 47. Gregory, Beatitudes I, ed. Callahan (n. 42), p. 88.12-17: Καὶ οὗτος τοίνυν εἰ πτωχεύει τῷ πνεύματι, πρὸς τὸν δι’ ἡμᾶς πτωχεύσαντα ἑκουσίως βλέπων, πρὸς τὸ τῆς φύσεως ὁμότιμον καθορῶν, μηδὲν ἐκ τῆς ἠπατημένης ἐκείνης περὶ ἀρχὴν τραγῳδίας εἰς τὸ ὁμογενὲς ἐξυβρίζοι, μακαριστὸς ἀληθῶς τῆς ταπεινοφροσύνης τῆς προσκαίρου, τὴν τῶν οὐρανῶν βασιλείαν ἀνταλλαξάμενος; trans. Hall (n. 43), p. 30. 48. Gregory, Beatitudes I, ed. Callahan (n. 42), p. 88.21-22. 49.  Russell, Doctrine of Deification (n. 2), pp. 232-234.



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is generally used for material objects, including words such as “poor”, “treasures”, “properties”, and “valuables”, is here used for virtues and qualities50. For example, Gregory says that someone focused on material possessions will be lacking in virtues, which are described as treasures and valuables. Perhaps this is a final rhetorical trick that Gregory plays: while he never states that material poverty is crucial for leading a virtuous life, his vocabulary constantly confronts his audience with the intertwining of the material and the immaterial, thereby indirectly promoting an ascetic life in both mind and matter51. In conclusion, humility is a crucial virtue for achieving ὁμοίωσις θεῷ. For Gregory, humility is closely connected with adhering to the virtues of temperance, justice, wisdom and prudence as a means to attaining a state of blessedness. For Merki, On the Beatitudes is a prime example of a text that represents a dynamic-ethical interpretation of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ: for Christians, reaching perfection and becoming like God are the final goal of a process that is activated by, generally speaking, doing good52. This infinite and progressive movement towards God is the most we can hope for when it comes to achieving perfection, but Gregory shows that unending progress is not a bad thing. True virtue or perfection is unachievable even for the most proficient biblical models, but virtuous behaviour allows a person to reach his or her destiny of becoming like God as a dynamic process. To strive for perfection is a type of perfection in itself53. Christ makes this (theoretical) deification possible through his relationship with God and humankind, as 50.  See Gregory, Beatitudes I, ed. Callahan (n. 42), pp. 88.21–89.19. 51.  Gregory explains the nuances of his ideal of poverty in the homily On Love for the Poor 1: On Good Works. Although material poverty is not a goal in itself, giving to those in need is a way to imitate God. In the text, Gregory complains that “we monopolize all for our own pleasure […], in that we accumulate it in capital for our heirs” and he praises charity: “Mercy and good deeds are works God loves; they divinize those who practice them and impress [or, stamp] them into the likeness of goodness, that they may become the image of the Primordial Being”. Gregory of Nyssa, On Love for the Poor 1: On Good Works (Sermones, ed. G. Heil – A. Van Heck – E. Gebhardt – A. Spira [GNO, IX/1], Leiden, Brill, 1967, p. 103.5-12; trans. S.R. Holman, The Hungry Are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia, New York, Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 197). Humans become like God by sharing their wealth. In addition, Gregory enumerates some specific perks of living up to that ideal: sharing wealth with those in need gives one the expectation of joy in the current life and provides an immaculately blessed afterlife. Stressing these benefits strengthens the persuasive character of the argument. 52.  Merki, Ὁμοίωσις θεῷ (n. 2), p. 137. Cf. R. Eklund, Blessed Are the Image-Bear­ ers: Gregory of Nyssa and the Beatitudes, in Anglican Theological Review 99 (2017) 729-740, p. 734: “By taking on the virtues represented by the beatitudes (mercy, humility, purity of heart, and so on) the soul takes on the moral likeness of God”. 53.  S. Leuenberger-Wenger, Ethik und christliche Identität bei Gregor von Nyssa (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum, 49), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2008, p. 353.

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Gregory points out in his more theoretical works54. Even though blessedness as a divine state is unattainable, some aspects of that state can be imitated in the ascetic process55. This process is twofold: while the mental aspect is clearly prevalent for Gregory, he subtly promotes the ideal of material poverty as well. The letter To Call Oneself a Christian contains a similar message about imitating the divine. Gregory explains to a certain Harmonius what it means to be a Christian. The text consists of two main parts: Gregory first elaborates on the nature of Christ and then discusses what it means to be a Christian and to put on Christ56. In general, being a Christian means reaching for likeness to the divine, ὁμοίωσις θεῷ. The entire second part of the homily is concerned with the process of becoming like God, and the discussion culminates in the following citation, in which Gregory first raises a possible objection, put in the mouth of an (uneducated) listener who might doubt the attainability of likeness to God, and then provides a solution: Then you will ask me: “How could it come about that human lowliness could be extended to the blessedness seen in God, since the implausibility in the command is immediately evident? How could it be possible for the earthly to be like the One in heaven, the very difference in nature proving the unattainableness of the imitation?” […] But the explanation of this is clear. The Gospel does not order nature to be compounded with nature, I mean the human with the divine, but it does order the good actions to be imitated in our life as much as possible. But what actions of ours are like the actions of God? Those that are free from all evil, purifying themselves as far as possible57 in deed and word and thought from all vileness. This is truly the imitation of the divine and the perfection connected with the God of heaven58. 54.  G. Maspero, Deification, Relation (Schesis) and Ontology in Gregory of Nyssa, in J. Arblaster – R. Faesen (eds.), Theosis/Deification: Christian Doctrines of Diviniza­ tion, East and West (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 294), Leuven – Paris – Bristol, CT, Peeters, 2018, 19-34, pp. 33-34. 55. Cf. Gavin, Ascending the Mountain with Christ (n. 40), p. 30: While some aspects of humility are reserved for the divine, people can practice others in order to walk a path similar to God’s. 56.  Gregory of Nyssa, To Call Oneself a Christian; in Opera ascetica, ed. W. Jaeger – J.P. Cavarnos – V.W. Callahan (GNO, VIII/1), Leiden, Brill, 1952, p. 135.22 (the start of the second part). 57.  Cf. the notion of likeness to God “as far as possible” in Basil and Plato, discussed above. 58. Gregory, To Call Oneself a Christian, ed. Jaeger – Cavarnos – Callahan (n. 56), p. 138.6-23: ἐρεῖς οὖν μοι· καὶ πῶς ἂν γένοιτο ἀνθρωπίνην ταπεινότητα πρὸς τὴν ἐν τῷ θεῷ καθορωμένην μακαριότητα ἐπεκτείνεσθαι, ὡς αὐτόθεν ἐν τῷ προστάγματι τῆς ἀμηχανίας προφαινομένης; πῶς γὰρ ἂν γένοιτο δυνατὸν πρὸς τὸν ἐν οὐρανοῖς ὁμοιωθῆναι τὸν γήϊνον, αὐτῆς τῆς κατὰ τὴν φύσιν διαφορᾶς δεικνυούσης τὸ ἀνέφικτον



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The content of the discussion is similar to On the Beatitudes I, but the structure of the argument is tailored to the epistolary genre. Gregory puts himself in the place of the addressee by asking a series of questions. He explicitly states that the answers are quite simple, after which he presents them in three parts. First, Gregory says that likeness to God is not the same as becoming one with the nature of God, which would be a kind of deification. Second, Gregory explains that becoming like God means imitating good actions of the divinity. Third, Gregory further specifies these good actions as deeds devoid of evil. His final statement provides closure to the question: the mindset of doing good is an imitation of the divine. The genre of the public letter allows Gregory to establish a personal teacher-student relationship with his audience, which helps to solve their theological questions in a practical way. The letter explains that ὁμοίωσις θεῷ is achieved by good actions free from evil and that virtuous behaviour is crucial in this regard59. Gregory’s letter On Perfection is often seen as a sequel of To Call Oneself a Christian, since it considers the imitation of the divine in greater detail and focuses on the nature of virtues that help to achieve ὁμοίωσις θεῷ60. Halfway through the letter, in order to illustrate human agency, by which an individual controls how good or bad his imitation of Christ will be, Gregory envisions the potential ascetic as a painter61. Since it is possible [to imitate the Prototype], one must prepare the pure colors of the virtues, mixing them with each other according to some a­ rtistic τῆς μιμήσεως; […] ἀλλὰ σαφὴς ὁ περὶ τούτου λόγος, ὅτι οὐ τῇ φύσει τὴν φύσιν, τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην λέγω τῇ θείᾳ, συγκρίνεσθαι κελεύει τὸ εὐαγγέλιον, ἀλλὰ τὰς ἀγαθὰς ἐνεργείας, καθὼς ἂν ᾖ δυνατόν, μιμεῖσθαι τῷ βίῳ. τίνες οὖν εἰσιν αἱ παρ’ ἡμῶν ἐνέργειαι πρὸς τὰς τοῦ θεοῦ ἐνεργείας ὁμοίως ἔχουσαι; τὸ πάσης κακίας ἀλλοτριοῦσθαι, καθὼς ἂν ᾖ δυνατὸν, ἔργῳ τε καὶ λόγῳ καὶ διανοίᾳ τῶν παρ’ αὐτῆς μολυσμῶν καθαρεύοντας, τοῦτο μίμησίς ἐστιν ὡς ἀληθῶς τῆς θείας τε καὶ τῆς περὶ τὸν οὐράνιον θεὸν τελειότητος; trans. V.W. Callahan, Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Ascet­ ical Works (The Fathers of the Church: A New Translation, 58), Washington, DC, The Catholic University of America Press, 1967, pp. 86-87. 59.  Balás, Μετουσία Θεοῦ (n. 46), p. 153. In addition to being an important aspect of his systematic framework for the human relationship with the divine, Gregory’s understanding of Christianity is central to his ideas about participation in Christ. 60.  Callahan, Saint Gregory of Nyssa (n. 58), pp. 93-94. On Perfection provides valuable insights into Gregory’s Christology, and the model of perfection provided in that work is built around the figure of Christ. 61. See M.E. Keenan, De Professione Christiana and De Perfectione: A Study of the Ascetical Doctrine of Saint Gregory of Nyssa, in Dumbarton Oaks Papers 5 (1950) 167207, p. 179. Gregory also uses the painting metaphor in To Call Oneself a Christian in order to explain the difference between Christianity as an imitation of God and Christianity as enabling one to achieve likeness to God (Gregory, To Call Oneself a Christian, ed. Jaeger – Cavarnos – Callahan [n. 56], p. 137.3-15). Note that in OH, as discussed supra, Basil also uses a painting metaphor to discuss the value of imitation. Even if this

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formula for the imitation of goodness, so that we become an image of an image, having achieved the goodness of the Prototype through activity as a kind of imitation62.

Gregory often stresses that God is incomprehensible for us humans, and therefore God’s image is the most we can perceive through careful observation and reflection63. It is this image of the goodness of the Prototype that can be imitated. Combining certain virtues results in a daily imitation of this image of goodness and thus in an imitation of the image of God. While specific virtues may be distinguishable, Gregory remains vague on which virtues to combine and which are more important than others (κατά τινα τεχνικὴν συγκεκραμένα, “according to a certain artistic mixture”). This vagueness is perhaps unavoidable, since imitation is by definition imperfect for the Cappadocians: Gregory speaks of an “image of an image” and of actions as “a kind of imitation”. There is no general set of rules for the best mix of virtues, since this mix will always be a situational construction dependent on the context, hence the focus on specific “activity” (ἐνεργοῦς), as opposed to abstract ideas. For the reader, this conclusion is both a bane and a blessing. Gregory points out the thinking process and mindset one should adopt to understand how to imitate God, but how to translate this mindset into action is a problem left for the readers to solve, because the translation depends on their specific situation. At the same time, Gregory allows quite some room for interpretation and freedom. Instead of giving instructions for specific problems, Gregory writes his letter almost as a flowchart for the reader to follow in order to decide which action to take: What, then, is it necessary to do to be worthy of the name of Christ? What else than to distinguish in one’s self the proper thoughts and words and deeds, asking whether they look to Christ or are at odds with Christ. Making the distinction is very easy. For whatever is done or thought or said through passion has no agreement with Christ, but bears the character of the adversary64. homily might have been written by Gregory (cf. n. 17), a handful of contextually similar occurrences of this painting metaphor in Basil’s writings show that he was at least familiar with it. 62. Gregory of Nyssa, On Perfection (Opera ascetica, ed. Jaeger – Cavarnos – ­ allahan [n. 56], p. 196.9-14: ὥς ἐστι δυνατόν, καθαρὰ τῶν ἀρετῶν τὰ χρώματα C κατά τινα τεχνικὴν μίξιν πρὸς ἄλληλα συγκεκραμένα πρὸς τὴν τοῦ κάλλους μίμησιν παραλαμβάνειν, ὥστε γενέσθαι ἡμᾶς τῆς εἰκόνος εἰκόνα, δι’ ἐνεργοῦς ὡς οἷόν τε μιμήσεως ἐκμαξαμένους τὸ πρωτότυπον κάλλος; trans. Callahan [n. 58], pp. 110-111, with minor adjustments). 63.  Cf. Gregory’s Vita Moysis, among others. 64. Gregory, On Perfection, ed. Jaeger – Cavarnos – Callahan (n. 62), pp. 211.18– 212.2: Tί οὖν χρὴ πράττειν τὸν τῆς μεγάλης τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐπωνυμίας ἀξιωθέντα; τί



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This qualification coincides with the previous quotation, but also clarifies how to distinguish and discard harmful options. When one of the possible courses of action is regarded “through passion” (διὰ πάθους), it is not the right one. While Gregory previously focused on good deeds, he twice states that deeds, words, and thoughts should all be according to Christ. When freedom from sin is taken as a prerequisite for participation in Christ65, this has consequences not only for the actions one should take, but also for what is said and even for what is thought by those who aspire to ὁμοίωσις θεῷ. This ideal is described as more than just choosing the proper actions at the right time; it is a mindset focused on striving for divinity. Near the end of the letter, Gregory describes ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as a process: “In fact, the fairest product of change is the increase of goods, the change to the better always changing what is nobly changed into something more divine”66. The goal of a Christian practitioner may be to achieve ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, but Gregory explains that what is achieved is positive growth. Systematic growth results in a movement towards a more divine state than before (ἐπὶ τὸ θειότερον). Gregory argues that life is a sequence of changes and, as he stated before, humans have the choice as to whether these changes are good or bad. The effect of multiple good decisions is cumulative, since each good change increases one’s divinity67. This depiction of growth and change aligns with Gregory’s notion of

ἄλλο ἢ διὰ παντὸς φυλοκρινεῖν ἐν ἑαυτῷ τὰ νοήματά τε καὶ ῥήματα καὶ τὰ ἔργα, εἴτε πρὸς Χριστὸν ἕκαστον τούτων βλέπει εἴτε τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἠλλοτρίωται· πολλὴ δὲ τῆς διακρίσεως τῶν τοιούτων ἐστὶν ἡ εὐκολία. ὃ γὰρ διὰ πάθους τινὸς ἢ ἐνεργεῖται ἢ νοεῖται ἢ λέγεται, τοῦτο οὐδεμίαν ἔχει πρὸς τὸν Χριστὸν συμφωνίαν, ἀλλὰ τὸν χαρακτῆρα τοῦ ἀντικειμένου φέρει; trans. Callahan (n. 58), pp. 120-121. 65.  Balás, Μετουσία Θεοῦ (n. 46), p. 153. 66. Gregory, On Perfection, ed. Jaeger – Cavarnos – Callahan (n. 62), p. 213.1720: νυνὶ δὲ τὸ κάλλιστον τῆς τροπῆς ἔργον ἡ ἐν τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς ἐστιν αὔξησις, πάντοτε τῆς πρὸς τὸ κρεῖττον ἀλλοιώσεως ἐπὶ τὸ θειότερον μεταποιούσης τὸν καλῶς ἀλλοιούμενον; trans. Callahan (n. 58), p. 122. 67. See Keenan, De Professione Christiana and De Perfectione (n. 61), p. 207. The importance of a step-by-step progression towards the divine is a theme in many of Gregory’s ascetical works. Aside from the ones discussed here, the treatise On the Christian Mode of Life is notable. Near the end of that text, Gregory specifically talks about how every person can be saved as long as they try their best to improve: “God never enjoins upon his servants what is impossible, but shows the love and goodness of his Godhead […] so that he furnishes to each person according to his will the ability to do something good, and none of those eager to be saved is lacking in this ability”. Gregory of Nyssa, On the Christian Mode of Life (Opera ascetica, ed. Jaeger – Cavarnos – Callahan [n. 56], pp. 87.21–88.4; trans. Callahan [n. 58], p. 157).

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ἐπέκτασις, the constant and upward striving after God68. In this letter, ἐπέκτασις is described as a process with many distinguishable steps. Gregory implies that humans cannot simply achieve divinity, but that every single positive change brings one closer to that goal. IV. Conclusion: Practical Homoiosis Theoi as an Ascetic Goal and Attitude Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nyssa not only discuss ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as a highbrow theological concept, they also promote it as a practical goal of daily Christian life, a goal that can be achieved through an ascetic disposition. Their writings communicate this outlook by discussing what humans can do to become like God, and their rhetorical strategies are tailored to facilitating this message. Both authors stress the opposition between passion and reason; only the latter leads to ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, and one should carefully contemplate how to follow the path of reason in any given situation. Furthermore, specific positive actions are crucial, since every good deed makes a Christian more like the divine. Basil and ­Gregory also discuss many virtues that must be practiced, love and humility prominent among them. In addition, Basil promotes the sacraments as prerequisites, and Gregory subtly frames material poverty as a strong catalyst for the goal of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ. The rhetoric of the texts may be even more important than their specific instructions. First, the homilies and letters are structured to communicate the implications of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as efficiently as possible. The homily On the Origin of Humanity I effectively delivers its call to action at the end of the text in order to ensure that the audience would remember its most important, practical elements. This homily entices the listeners to use the gift of reason to its fullest potential, admits that it is only natural that humans cannot achieve theoretical perfection, and encourages them to do their best, “as far as possible for human nature”, which is a statement that both authors repeat numerous times. Gregory’s homily On the Beatitudes I presents multiple facets of poverty and humility in well-structured arguments. His hearers are left to decide how far they want to go in adopting the ideal of poverty. The structure of the text keeps the audience’s attention and heightens suspense by playing with 68. See L.F. Mateo-Seco, Epektasis, in G. Maspero – L.F. Mateo-Seco (eds.), The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, trans. S. Cherney (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, 99), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2010, 263-268.



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the (un)attainability of the ideals Gregory presents. Closely related to the structure is the great understanding displayed by both authors for the potential of the genres in which they write: the homilies often have a conversational and reflective tone that presents the author as compassionate, yet superior in knowledge, and Gregory’s letters retain a personal tone by asking specific questions and taking the perspective of the reader into account. Aside from structure and genre, metaphors are another crucial tool employed by Basil and Gregory to promote ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as a practical ideal. The metaphor of painting appears in many texts and conveys the same message. In On the Origin of Humanity I, the metaphor communicates the message that humans should be active in shaping themselves in God’s likeness, and in the letter On Perfection, the same message encourages them to prepare the correct “mix” of virtues according to their personal situation. The metaphor makes the abstract concept of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ more comprehensible and thus bridges the gap between its theological and practical implications. The final rhetorical strategy by which ὁμοίωσις θεῷ is presented as an achievable process consists of the Cappadocians’ mitigating tone and nuancing remarks. Next to repeatedly stating that humans should imitate the divine nature “as far as possible”, both authors talk about ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as a gradual process that is more important than its result. Moreover, Gregory avoids being too concrete in his advice, and instead provides his audience with a framework they can use to make correct, virtuous choices. Basil and Gregory present a practical interpretation of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ that encourages their audience to practice virtue on a daily basis. The two acknowledge that perfect imitation of the divine is quite impossible, but small ascetic exercises and a mind that is set on virtue allow Christians to gradually make progress in the right direction so as to become like God, in so far as that is possible for human beings. KU Leuven Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies St.-Michielsstraat 4/3101 BE-3000 Leuven Belgium [email protected] [email protected]

Thomas Valgaeren

FOOD FOR ASCETICS AND EXCESSIVE FASTING IN THE LADDER OF JOHN CLIMACUS* Eating is an indispensable part of daily life. For that reason eating is carefully regulated in various religious traditions1. According to biblical tradition, tasting fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, and consequently transgressing the command of abstinence prescribed by the Creator, caused the fall of humankind and was the beginning of sinful life2. This is why, in certain Christian traditions, sin that pertains to food is considered the starting point for all the other passions that draw one away from God. In the Byzantine monastic milieu, various practices related to fasting raised many questions about its purpose and format3. Prominent among such questions were whether excessive fasting ultimately leads to p­ erfection, or * I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer for his careful reading of the manuscript and for valuable remarks that improved the presentation of this paper. 1.  See for example D.T. Bradford, The Spiritual Tradition in Eastern Christianity: Ascetic Psychology, Mystical Experience, and Physical Practices, Leuven – Paris – Bristol, CT, Peeters, 2016, pp. 237-246 (chapter 11: “Gluttony”); E. Diamond, Holy Men and Hunger Artists: Fasting and Asceticism in Rabbinic Culture, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004, pp. 93-120 (chapter 4: “The Asceticism of Fasting”); F. Ollivry-Dumairieh, Choisir l’absence de repas: le jeûne: implications théologiques d’une pratique dans le judaïsme, le christianisme et l’islam, in Théologiques 23 (2015) 107-137. 2.  Gen 2,16-17; 3,1-7. In the Byzantine liturgy (cf. Lenten Triodion), the Sunday immediately preceding the start of Lent is dedicated to Adam’s expulsion from Paradise. Lent (from the Old English lencten – spring), which is the most important fast of the liturgical year, symbolises the forty days that Christ spent in the desert (Mt 4,1-2; Mk 1,12-13; Lk 4,1-2); the six weeks of Lent are extended by Holy Week, which ends with the Feast of Easter, the Resurrection of Christ. 3.  On food culture in the Byzantine world, see the monograph by B. Caseau, Nourritures terrestres, nourritures célestes: la culture alimentaire à Byzance (Centre de recherche d’histoire et civilisation de Byzance. Monographies, 46), Paris, Association des amis du Centre d’histoire et civilisation de Byzance, 2015 (different diets of monks: pp. 245-302). The problems of excessive fasting are discussed in several articles: H. Musurillo, The Problem of Ascetical Fasting in the Greek Patristic Writers, in Traditio 12 (1956) 1-64; V. Déroche, Quand l’ascèse devient péché: les excès dans le monachisme byzantin d’après les témoignages contemporains, in Kentron 23 (2007) 167178; B. Caseau, Monastères et banquets à Byzance, in J. Leclant – A. Vauchez – M. Sartre (eds.), Pratiques et discours alimentaires en Méditerranée de l’Antiquité à la Renaissance: Actes (Cahiers de la Villa “Kérylos”, 19), Paris, Boccard, 2008, 233-269; B. Moulet, Gourmandise et excès alimentaires à Byzance, in O. Delouis – S. Métivier – P. Pagès (eds.), Le saint, le moine et le paysan: mélanges d’histoire byzantine offerts à Michel Kaplan (Byzantina Sorbonensia, 29), Paris, Sorbonne, 2016, 523-536.

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takes the ascetic off the path to divine salvation4, and whether the same dietary rules should apply to a coenobitic and to a solitary lifestyle. This article focuses on fasting practices as presented in one of the major works of Byzantine ascetic literature, the Ladder of Divine Ascent, composed in the sixth-seventh century by John, hegumen of Sinai, also known as John Climacus. I shall first survey the vocabulary used for fasting, the passions of the belly, and the food of ascetics, as such vocabulary is met with in the Ladder. Then I shall discuss John’s views about excessive fasting, the tricks played by demons to lure the monk into adopting extreme forms of abstinence, and the diets that apply to beginners as opposed to the more advanced. Finally, I shall analyse what John has to say about gluttony as one among other passions and about the value of fasting compared to other virtues in the ascetic’s spiritual ascent. According to John5, in line with the tradition of Eastern and Byzantine asceticism, the rules of food consumption are of special relevance for the spiritual ascent to the celestial world since such rules are central to acquiring virtue and fighting vice6. For the ascetic on the path to perfection, the importance of exercising self-control over food is shown by a fresco in the narthex of the katholikon in the Vatopedi monastery on Mount Athos; the fresco of the Ladder of Divine Ascent is developed by a detailed 4.  A similar question has already been asked by Vincent Déroche: “L’ascèse étant par nature dépassement de la norme humaine, pouvait-il y avoir une mesure de l’ascèse, et donc un risque de démesure  ?” (Quand l’ascèse devient péché [n. 3], p. 168). 5.  The middle part of Climacus’ work (step 14 among the thirty steps which constitute the Ladder) deals with the fight of the cenobitic monk against gluttony and all sin that is related to food. The recapitulatio, in which the author summarises the themes of his treatise (gradus 26.3; Patrologia Graeca [PG] 88, 1084C:1sqq.), begins with the four stages of ascetic life, as described in steps 1-4 of the Ladder (renunciation, detachment, exile, and obedience), that are immediately followed by self-control (ἐγκράτεια) and fasting (νηστεία); in other words, John Climacus mentions these virtues not in accordance with their order in the steps of the Ladder, but rather in accordance with their priority; see PG 88, 1084C:9-11.13. 6.  The sacro-profane and theological-ascetic Byzantine florilegia also reserve specific sections for ascetic practices related to food and drink: these sections concern either the vices of the stomach (incontinence, gluttony, drunkenness) or fasting and self-control. See the rubrics in the Loci communes (recensio genuina; MaxI): Περὶ ἀκρασίας καὶ γαστριμαργίας and Περὶ μέθης (S. Ihm, Ps.-Maximus Confessor. Erste kritische Edition einer Redaktion des sacro-profanen Florilegiums Loci communes, nebst einer vollständigen Kollation einer zweiten Redaktion und weiterem Material [Palingenesia, 3], Stuttgart, Steiner, 2001, c. 27: pp. 587-607; c. 30: pp. 625-638); and the section in the Sacra Parallela (CPG 8056; FlorPMLb): Περὶ νηστείας καὶ ἐγκρατείας (J.H. Declerck, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, VIII/6-7, Iohannis monachi (VII saeculo ineunte) Sacra olim Iohanni Damasceno attributa. Liber II. De rerum humanarum natura et statu. Zweite Rezension (Patristische Texte und Studien, 76-77), Berlin – Boston, MA, De Gruyter, 2018 (*II22010/R cap. N 8, 1 – *II22025/R cap. N 8, 16: pp. 886-893).



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r­ epresentation of a banquet: of all the vices that threaten the ascetic on the spiritual ladder, only the passion of the belly has been highlighted7. I.  The Vocabulary of Fasting, Gluttony, in John Climacus

and

Food

The common term used to refer to fasting, understood as the refusal or the restriction of food, is νηστεία8. Deprivation or limitation of meals is prescribed in order to narrow the stomach as well as the will of the ascetic9. The virtue of “self-control” (ἐγκράτεια) is another term often used in opposition to gluttony and the abundance of food10. The practice of fasting is also described as a want of appetite (ἀνορεξία11); bodily melting (κατάτηξις12); lack (ἔνδεια) of bread or delicacy13; oppression (θλίψις) of the stomach14; 7.  The frescoes in the narthex date from 1312, but they were completely repainted in 1760. See Ε.Ν. Tsigaridas, Τά ψηφιδωτά καί οἱ βυζαντινές τοιχογραφίες, in ῾Ιερὰ Μεγίστη Μονὴ Βατοπαιδίου. Παράδοση, ἱστορία, τέχνη, Mount Athos, Holy Monastery of Vatopedi, 1996, vol. 1, pp. 220-284. 8.  Of the many occurrences in the text of the Ladder, see in particular gradus 1 of the Scala (PG 88, 636D:2); gradus 14 (PG 88, 869A:12); recapitulatio (PG 88, 1085D:12). 9.  See the expression τῆς στενῆς καὶ τεθλιμμένης νηστείας (recapitulatio / gradus 26.3; PG 88, 1085A:13), as well as a scholium on this last passage (Coisl. 262, XI-XII, fol. 127r, sch. 5 ἄλλο): στενὴ ἡ ὁδὸς καὶ τεθλιμμένη ἐστὶν ἡ τῶν ἰδίων θελημάτων ἐγκατάλειψις (allusion to Mt 7,14). 10.  See for example gradus 18.17 of the Scala (PG 88, 932C:10-11) and gradus 29 (PG 88, 1149A:4-7). According to Mark the Ascetic’s expression, self-control pertains to sleep, food, and physical relaxing (De his qui putant se ex operibus justificari 197:2-4; Marc le Moine, Traités 1, ed. G.-M. de Durand [Sources Chrétiennes, 445], Paris, Cerf, 1999, p. 190). 11.  Gradus 27.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 1108B:3): γαστριμαργίας ἀνορεξία. 12.  Gradus 26.1 of the Scala (PG 88, 1033C:7). In the Commentary of Elias of Crete (XII c.), this term is developed by the expression ἐγκράτεια καὶ κατάτηξις σωματική (Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., fol. 259r). For the Commentary of Elias of Crete, here and in the rest of the article I refer either to its oldest witness, Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., or, for a developed recensio of the Commentary, to Hierosol. Sepul. 26, XIII c. I am currently preparing a critical edition of Elias’ Commentary. The similar term τῆξις has been used to formulate a definition of fasting in the Byzantine collection Ὅροι καὶ ὑπογραφαί: νηστεία ἐστὶ τῆξις σώματος διὰ πίστιν εἰς τρυφὴν αἰώνιον ὁδηγοῦσα (ed. C. Furrer-Pilliod, Collections alphabétiques de définitions profanes et sacrées, Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 2000, coll. A, p. 156, no. 56; coll. C, p. 254, no. 5). The editor draws a parallel with a quote from John Damascene’s treatise De sacris jejuniis (PG 95, 69B). The term τῆξις, however, does not appear there; on the other hand, the expression τῆξις σώματος is found in the Sermo pro iis qui saeculo renuntiarunt attributed to Athanasius of Alexandria (PG 28, 1413A:6-7). 13.  Gradus 2 of the Scala (PG 88, 656D:13): ἄρτου ἔνδεια; gradus 14 (PG 88, 864C:7): κεκορεσμένη γὰρ οὖσα ἔνδειαν ἀναβοᾷ; gradus 26.2 (PG 88, 1065B:4): τρυφῆς ἔνδεια. 14.  Gradus 2 of the Scala (PG 88, 656D:12); gradus 5 (PG 88, 764C:4); gradus 14 (PG 88, 864C:14-15): θλίψις κοιλίας or γαστρός.

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cutting out (περιτομή, ἐκτομή, ἐκκοπή) the pleasure of the larynx, the burning (i.e., of lust), and bad thoughts15. Some verbs describe the need to wither (καταμαραίνω16 or ξηραίνω17) and exhaust the ascetic’s body. The term δίαιτα can be used in two senses: in general, as the monastic way of life; or more specific, as a prescribed diet18. Several other terms that refer to fasting according to lexica and other ascetic treatises do not appear in the Ladder: among these, note especially ἀπαστία, ἀσιτία19, ἀφαγία, and ἀδηφαγία20. The passions related to food and meals are described in various ways: gluttony (γαστριμαργία21); gluttonous (λίχνοι22); delicacy (τρυφή23);

15.  Gradus 14 of the Scala (PG 88, 869A:12-14): περιτομὴ ἡδύτητος λάρυγγος, πυρώσεως ἐκτομή, πονηρῶν ἐννοιῶν ἐκκοπή. 16. See the homily Ad pastorem (PG 88, 1201A:10): σφριγῶντας καὶ νέους καταμαραίνειν καὶ δαμάζειν [add. in Ath. Meg. Laur. B 30, XII c.; Paris. gr. 1072, XIII c.; Petrop. RNB gr. 207, XII c.; Sinai. gr. 420, XII c.; Vat. gr. 394, XI c.; add. mg. post. Ath. Batop. 365, a. 1300: διὰ νηστείας καὶ ἀγρυπνίας καὶ κόπου σωματικοῦ καὶ σκυλμοῦ] μὴ ἐλεήσῃς. 17.  Gradus 14 of the Scala (PG 88, 868A:2-3): κοιλίας κόρος ἐξήρανε πηγάς· αὕτη δὲ ξηρανθεῖσα ἐγέννησεν ὕδατα. 18.  Gradus 25 of the Scala (PG 88, 1001C:13): προσαιτῶν δίαιτα; Ad pastorem (PG 88, 1200D:1-3): ἐπὶ τῆς τροφῆς τὴν οἰκείαν τάξιν ἑκάστῳ ὁ μέγας ἀπένειμεν· ἦν γὰρ ἡ δίαιτα πάντων οὐ μία, οὐδὲ ὁμοία. 19.  For the use of these two words (ἀπαστία, ἀσιτία) by ascetic Fathers and in secular literature, see: Théodoret de Cyr, Histoire des moines de Syrie, Histoire Philothée (I-XIII), ed.  P. Canivet – A. Leroy-Molinghen, vol. 1 (Sources Chrétiennes, 234), Paris, Cerf, 1977, p. 155, n. 2 (on Prol. 5.10). 20.  A search in the TLG database yields many occurrences of these words in the works of ascetic authors (for example, Basil of Caesarea, Macarius-Symeon, Evagrius Ponticus, Ephrem the Syrian/Ephraem Graecus) and in various dictionaries (the Lexica of Hesychius of Alexandria and Photius of Constantinople, Etymologicum magnum genuinum, Etymologicum parvum, and others). 21.  Many occurrences in the text of Climacus, especially in step 14 of the Ladder. Walter Völker analyses the description of gluttony as presented by John Climacus in relation to other ascetic treatises and writers, including the Apophthegmata Patrum, Evagrius Ponticus, Dorotheus, Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, as well as John Cassian (Scala Paradisi: Eine Studie zu Johannes Climacus und zugleich eine Vorstudie zu Symeon dem Neuen Theologen, Wiesbaden, Steiner, 1968, pp. 97-108). 22.  The variant λίχνους is present in many codices, including the most ancient: Ath. Koutloum. 18, X c. (eras. post.); Ath. S. Demetr. 15, X c.; Lond. Add. 17471, X c.; Mosq. Sinod. gr. 145, a. 899; Paris. gr. 1069, X c.; Petrop. RNB gr. 86, X c. (λιχνώδους); and Vat. Chis. gr. 7, X-XI c. Another variant, λίχνους τὲ καὶ λάγνους, is attested in Ath. Meg. Laur. B 30, XII c.; Monac. gr. 114, XIV c.; Mosq. Sinod. gr. 479, XIIIXIV c.; Petrop. RNB gr. 207, XII c.; Sinai. gr. 420, XII c.; but it is omitted in the majority of other manuscripts as well in the edition of M. Rader (PG 88, 708B:1-2: the variant λίχνους occurs between the words ἀκάρπους and καὶ περὶ τὴν προσευχὴν ὀκνηροτέρους). 23.  This word and its derivatives (τρυφήσεις, τρυφῶντας) appear many times in the Ladder.



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fury of the belly (κοιλιομανία24); profligacy (ἀσωτία25); unsatisfied satiety and ravenous stomach (κόρος ἀκόρεστος, γαστὴρ ἀχόρταστος26); the belly’s insatiate desire (κοιλίας ἀπληστία27); demons as dung-loving tyrants of the stomach (οἱ φιλόκοπροι καὶ τύραννοι τῆς γαστρός28). Several other terms of the ascetic lexicon which specify nuances of the passion of the belly do not occur in the Ladder: eating a lot (πολυσιτία, πολυφαγία29) and consuming food that delights the palate (λαιμαργία30). In addition to specific terminology, John also uses a number of general terms: food (βρώματα31, βρῶσις32); belly (γαστήρ33); edibles (ἐδέσματα34); paunch (κοιλία35); upper part of the windpipe (λάρυγξ36); stomach (στόμαχος37); nourishment (τροφή38); throat or gullet (φάρυγξ39). 24.  Gradus 4 of the Scala (PG 88, 725B:3); gradus 26.1 and 26.2 (PG 88, 1028C:4; 1072D:2-3). 25.  Gradus 26.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 1068D:10): εἰλήφαμεν ἔφεσιν τροφῆς, οὐ μέντοι ἀσωτίας. 26.  Gradus 1 of the Scala (PG 88, 636D:6-7); see also γαστρὸς κόρος in gradus 7 (PG 88, 813B:2); κοιλίας κόρος in gradus 14 (PG 88, 868A:2); and κόρος in gradus 18.17 (PG 88, 933C:14) and gradus 28 (PG 88, 1136A:13). 27.  Gradus 27.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 1108D:4). 28.  Gradus 27.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 1112C:4-5): this sentence is presented by John Climacus as a quotation of the elder George Arsilaites. 29.  See several occurrences of these terms in the TLG database, in the works of the ascetic authors cited above (n. 20). 30.  Dorotheus of Gaza explicitly distinguishes the passion of λαιμαργία from that of γαστριμαργία by explaining the construction and origin of these complex words (Doctrin. 15.161.20-27; Dorothée de Gaza, Œuvres spirituelles, ed. L. Regnault – J. de Préville [Sources Chrétiennes, 92], Paris, Cerf, 1963, p. 450). 31.  Gradus 3.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 669B:4); gradus 6 (PG 88, 795B:1); gradus 14 (PG 88, 864D:5); and many other passages in that work. 32.  Gradus 4 of the Scala (PG 88, 704A:14; 705D:4); gradus 26.2 (PG 88, 1069B:2); and several other passages; gradus 5 (PG 88, 768C:15): λογικὴ βρῶσις. 33.  See previous references which mention this term; in particular, those in step 14, on gluttony (notes 14, 26, 28). 34.  Gradus 14 of the Scala (PG 88, 864D:4). 35.  See the previous references that mention this term (notes 14, 17, 26, 27). 36.  Gradus 3.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 669B:4); gradus 5 (PG 88, 768D:8-9); gradus 14 (PG 88, 869A:13). 37.  Gradus 14 of the Scala (PG 88, 868C:2). 38.  Among the many occurrences of the physical sense of this word, see, for example, gradus 1 of the Scala (PG 88, 636D:8); gradus 2 (PG 88, 657C:2); and gradus 4 (PG 88, 688A:9). For the metaphorical sense, see in particular two definitions of prayer: ἀσωμάτων πάντων τροφή, τροφὴ ψυχῆς (gradus 28; PG 88, 1129B:1-2.4). 39.  This variant is present in only a few witnesses: for example, Ath. Batop. 375, XIV c. (fol. 142r); Paris. Coisl. 262, XI-XII c. (fol. 128r); the variant is also added, using a different ink and in a different hand, in the space between the lines of the lemma text in Elias of Crete’s Commentary in Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., fol. 283r. The manuscript tradition of the Scala transmitted in this place another variant, namely, σφοδρῶς (recapi­ tulatio, PG  88, 1088A:9: ὥσπερ ἃ ὀφθαλμὸς οὐκ εἶδεν, οὐδὲ σφοδρῶς ἐξ ἀκοῆς ἐπιθυμεῖ γεύσασθαι); among the ancient codices, see also Mosq. Sinod. gr. 145, a. 899,

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In some instances the food lexicon is not related to fasting practices, but is to be understood allegorically: bread refers to the Eucharist, itself used in the proper context to describe the ascetic life: “to eat the bread of renunciation with bitterness and drink the chalice with tears”40. In another passage “food” (βρώματα) and “milk” (γάλα) stand for different levels of spiritual doctrine which must be taught according to the abilities of the ascetic41. II. Only Bread and Water,

or

Something Else?

Led by a spiritual guide, the monastic community is required to follow the rhythm of life and avoid any personal practices which could provoke excess. In step 14 of the Ladder, dealing with “the clamorous42 and ­malicious master – the stomach”, John Climacus criticises Evagrius fol. 184r and Vat. gr. 2059, X c., fol. 143v. The word σφοδρῶς was probably confused with φάρυγξ in the model of Paris. Coisl. 262. The Russian translation combined the two variants σφοδρῶς and φάρυγξ (Преподобного отца аввы Иоанна, игумена Синайской горы, Лествица, в русском переводе, с алфавитным указателем, печатается по 7-му изданию 1908 года Козельской Введенской Оптиной Пустыни [Reverend Father Abba John, hegumen of Mount Sinai, Ladder, in Russian translation, with an alphabetical index, printed according to the 7th edition of 1908 of the Kozelskaya Vvedenskaya Optina Pustyn], Moscow, 2011, p. 215). 40.  Gradus 1 of the Scala (PG 88, 636C:8-12): δοκιμαζέτω δὲ ἕκαστος ἑαυτὸν καὶ εἶθ’ οὕτως ἐκ τοῦ ἄρτου αὐτῆς [i.e., ἀποταγῆς] τοῦ μετὰ πικρίδων, καὶ ἐκ τοῦ ποτηρίου αὐτῆς τοῦ μετὰ δακρύων ἐσθιέτω καὶ πινέτω, ἵνα μὴ εἰς κρίμα ἑαυτῷ στρατεύσηται (allusion to 1 Cor 11,27). 41.  See the passage in Ad pastorem (PG 88, 1189A:1-4): τοῖς μὲν (ἐν) τῷ δρόμῳ νεανιευομένοις, εὖ μάλα ἀρίστως τὰ ἐν ἀμείνῳ καὶ ὑπέρτερα παράβαλε βρώματα (add. mg. PG: παρασκεύαζε βρώματα)· τοῖς δὲ κατόπιν ἢ τρόποις ἢ γνώμῃ διακειμένοις, γάλα ὡς νηπιάζουσι (allusion to Heb 5,12). Nikephoros Kallistos Xanthopoulos (XIIIXIV c.) interprets this passage in his Commentary as referring to teaching and not to bodily food; some are capable of receiving the higher instruction of hesychia, prayer, perfect love, and perhaps theology, but others can only entertain soft education, which resembles milk and is easy to digest: τροφὴν παραινεῖ παρατιθέναι ὁ μέγας τοῖς λαμπρῶς καὶ εὐτόνως τὴν κατὰ Θεὸν τρέχουσι καὶ μετὰ προθυμίας ὁδόν, οὐχὶ σωματικὴν πάντως καὶ φθειρομένην, ἀλλὰ τὴν διδασκαλίαν λέγει· ἀμείνω δὲ τῶν ἄλλων καὶ ὑπέρτερα οἶμαι εἶναι οἱ περὶ ἡσυχίας καὶ εὐχῆς καὶ ἀγάπης τελείας λόγοι, ἢ ἴσως λέγοι ἂν καὶ τοὺς περὶ θεολογίας· τοῖς δὲ ἧττον προβαίνουσιν ἢ ἀπὸ τῆς οἰκείας γνώμης ὡς ῥᾳθύμοις, ἢ ἀπὸ πονηρίας ὀκνηροῖς τυγχάνουσιν ὡς ἔτι κατὰ νήπιον χαμαὶ βαίνουσι καὶ μὴ μετεωρισθεῖσι τὸν νοῦν, ἁπαλήν τινα πάρεχε διδασκαλίαν γαλακτώδη καὶ εὔπεπτον, οἵαν ἀνύσαι δύνανται (editio princeps; I quote the passage following the unique codex of the Commentary of Nikephoros Xanthopoulos: Vat. Chis. gr. 38 [R.VII.47], XIV c., fol. 236r). 42.  At this place in the title of gradus 14, the variant παμφήμου is found in many ancient manuscripts (for example, Mosq. Sinod. gr. 145, a. 899, fol. 62v; Sinai. gr. 417, X c., fol. 105r; Vat. gr. 2059, X c., fol. 75v); another variant παμφίλου (“beloved of all”) is given in the edition of M. Rader (PG 88, 864C:1) and in some codices, such as Monac. gr. 25, ca. a. 1550, fol. 439r/253r and Monac. gr. 297, XIII c., fol. 123r.



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­ onticus, who advised practicing a severe (but not absolute) fast by “conP fining the soul to bread and water” (ἐν ἄρτῳ στενούσθω καὶ ὕδατι)43. Climacus quotes from the Practicus44, but takes it out of context; Evagrius had originally prescribed this restricted diet in order to do not overeat various sorts of food (κόρος ποικίλων ἐδεσμάτων) without specifying whether the diet was addressed to a beginner or an experienced ascetic45. For Climacus, who as we know from his biographer “ate very little but all kinds of food irreproachably allowed by the monastic profession”46, a diet solely consisting of bread and water would be impossible to follow, just as it is impossible “for a child to go up the whole ladder in one stride” (τῷ παιδὶ ἐν ἑνὶ βήματι πᾶσαν ἀνελθεῖν τὴν κλίμακα)47. So, the graduated nature of the ladder is also applied to fasting, which is seen as a measured and moderate process in the ascetic life. This passage criticising the severity of Evagrius was effaced by readers or copyists of the most ancient Syriac manuscripts of the Ladder48. 43.  See the complete citation: ἐδόκησεν ὁ θεήλατος Εὐάγριος τῶν σοφῶν σοφώτερος τῇ τε προφορᾷ καὶ τοῖς νοήμασι γενέσθαι· ἀλλ’ ἐψεύσθη ὁ δείλαιος τῶν ἀφρόνων φανεὶς ἀφρονέστερος, ἐν πολλοῖς μὲν πλὴν καὶ ἐν τούτῳ· φησὶ γάρ· Ὁπηνίκα διαφόρων βρωμάτων ἐπιθυμεῖ ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχή, ἐν ἄρτῳ στενούσθω καὶ ὕδατι (gradus 14 of the Scala; PG 88, 865A:12-B:3). “Pernicious Evagrius imagined himself to be the wisest of the wise both in thought and expression, but he was deceived, poor man, and proved to be the most foolish of fools in this among other things, for he says: When our soul desires different foods, then confine it to bread and water”. Here and in the rest of this article, the English translation of the Ladder reproduces, with adaptations, that published by Archimandrite Lazarus Moore, The Ladder of Divine Ascent, London, Faber and Faber, 1959. 44.  Évagre le Pontique, Traité Pratique ou le Moine, vol. 2, ed. A. Guillaumont – C. Guillaumont (Sources Chrétiennes, 171), Paris, Cerf, 1971, ch. 16, Greek text: p. 540 (French translation and editor’s comments: pp. 540-542). 45.  Ibid., ch. 16, p. 540 (the editor states that the Evagrian recommendation is here intended for a monk who has already reached a high degree of asceticism: p. 542). In the Practicus, Evagrius gives an example of an even more rigorous diet: he himself visited the holy Father Macarius (probably Macarius the Alexandrian), who for twenty years neither overate (κόρος) bread nor drank too much water, but had instead a measured diet, even to the point of weighing the bread (ch. 94, Greek text: p. 698, French translation and editor’s comments: pp. 699-700). The practice of weighing bread is also attested in the narrative of Theodoret of Cyrrhus about the diet of abba Markianos, Hist. 3.3; Histoire Philothée (n. 19), Greek text: p. 250 (French translation and editor’s note: p. 251). 46.  See the Vita of John Climacus by Daniel of Raithu: ἤσθιε μὲν ἅπαντα, ἃ ἀμέμπτως ἐφεῖται τῷ ἐπαγγέλματι· βραχὺ δὲ λίαν (PG 88, 600A:7-9; new edition: M. Venetskov, La rédaction des pièces-annexes de l’Échelle de Jean du Sinaï: de la Lettre de Jean de Raïthou à la Table rétrograde, in Medioevo Greco. Rivista di Storia e Filologia Bizantina 19 (2019) 221-258, p. 249:15). 47.  See the sentence which follows the passage of the Ladder cited above (gradus 14; PG 88, 865B:3-4). 48.  In the codex Brit. Libr. Syr. Add. 14.593 (Wright 704), dated to the year 817 and copied in Edessa, there is a lacuna between fol. 80 and fol. 81; in another manuscript, Brit. Libr. Syr. Add. 12.169 (Wright 703), datable to the late eighth or early ninth century, this passage was first erased, later reinstated in the body of the text, and repeated in the

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A scholium preserved in a few Greek manuscripts indicates that Climacus rightly turned away from Evagrius who erred in many other doctrines. The scholiast explains, however, that John was not criticising a fast that consists of eating only bread, as practiced by the holy Fathers, but he was criticising the authority of Evagrius. Climacus thus presents himself as a father to cenobitic monks and to beginners, as distinct from the perfect hermits who follow a more severe fast49. Another principle is formulated by Elias of Crete, the Ladder’s twelfth-century commentator, who does not define fasting as a restriction, but as giving “to the body dry and liquid food (ξηρᾶς καὶ ὑγρᾶς τροφῆς) just as is needed to avoid exhaustion”50. Dry and liquid can mean bread and water, but also other kinds of food; anyway, in Elias’ opinion, fasting means partaking of sufficient food to avoid physical exhaustion. After this criticism of a severe fast, Climacus prescribes that cenobitic monks, who ought to eat something beside bread and water, should avoid fatty products (τὰ λιπαίνοντα) or food that excites (τὰ ἐκκαίοντα) and gives pleasure (τὰ ἡδύνοντα), and should instead consume meals that are nourishing and easy to digest (ἐμπιπλῶσαν καὶ εὔπεπτον)51. A scholium in the margin of this passage in two codices of the Ladder52 explains this recommendation with a very precise menu. margin (fol. 72v). For a description of these two codices, see W. Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum, part II, London, Longmans & Co., 1871, pp. 589, 590. 49.  See the text of this exegetical scholium in margins of the codices Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.3, X-XI c. (fol. 144v) and Ath. Batop. 372, XII c. (fol. 63r-v): ὀρθῶς τὸν Εὐάγριον ὁ πατὴρ ἀποστρέφεται, ἵνα μὴ ὡς ἐκ τοῦ δόξαι καλῶς εἰπεῖν τινὰ τὸν Εὐάγριον καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις αὐτοῦ περιτυγχάνων, ὁ δέ γε καὶ τοῦ στενοῦσθαι ἐν ἄρτῳ σκοπὸς δοκεῖ πῶς ἀληθὴς εἶναι, ὃν οὐχ ὡς Εὐαγρίου, ἀλλ’ ὡς τῶν πατέρων κρατήσωμεν· οἱ γὰρ ἅγιοι ἀσκηταὶ ἄρτῳ καὶ μόνῳ ὡς ἐπὶ πᾶν ἀρκούμενοι, πρὸς ἔτι τῇ ἐλλείψει τούτου τὴν περὶ ἄλλα ἐξέκοπτον ἔφεσιν Πλὴν καὶ ἅγιος οὗτος πατὴρ τὸ εἰπεῖν ἐστι προστέταχε τῷ παιδὶ καὶ τὰ ἑξῆς, δείκνυται ὡς πρὸς κοινοβιακοὺς καὶ νέους τὴν σπουδὴν ποιεῖσθαι, διὸ καὶ διαιρεῖ αὐτοῖς εὐμηχάνως τὲ καὶ πατρικώτερον καὶ οὐχ ὡς τελείοις καὶ ἐρημικοῖς τὰ τελεώτερον καὶ σκληρότερον (editio princeps; on the basis of Ath. Batop. 372 where the text of the scholium is more complete; Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.3 non hab. πλὴν καὶ ἅγιος οὗτος πατὴρ – τελεώτερον καὶ σκληρότερον). 50.  Elias formulated this definition of the word νηστεία in gradus 1 of the Scala (PG 88, 636D:2): νηστεία δὲ ἐστὶ τὸ τοσοῦτον διδόναι τῷ σώματι τῆς ξηρᾶς καὶ ὑγρᾶς τροφῆς, ὅσον ἀναπληροῦν δύναται τὸ ὑπορρεῦσαν (Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., fol. 20v). The same expression of dry and liquid food is found in the Ethica Nicomachea where Aristotle deals with temperance and natural appetites: πᾶς γὰρ ἐπιθυμεῖ ὁ ἐνδεὴς ξηρᾶς ἢ ὑγρᾶς τροφῆς (Aristoteles, Ethica Nicomachea 3.3; ed. I.  Bekker, Berlin, Reimer, 1861, p. 1118b:10). 51.  See the quotation in gradus 14 of the Scala (PG 88, 865B:11-13). 52.  Paris. gr. 1064 (siglum A), XI c., fol. 110r; Paris. gr. 1068 (siglum B), a. 1044, fol. 92v.



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I give here the editio princeps of the passage based on the two manuscripts (itacisms are not reported): – – – –

λιπαίνοντα53· ἰχθύας, τυρούς54, ᾠᾶ (καὶ55) ἔλαιον ἐκκαίοντα56· οἶνον κονδύτον57 καὶ τὰς λοιπὰς ἀρτυσίας ἡδύνοντα58· γλυκάσματα καὶ πλακούντας59 καὶ ὀπώρων τὰ ἐνήδονα εὔπεπτος τροφή60· οἶμαι, λάχανα καὶ πίστον (sic)61 καὶ τὸ λεγόμενον παρὰ τοῖς Ἁγιοπολίταις χασός62· ἔστι δὲ ἄρτος ξηρὸς ἐψόμενος63.

– fatty [foods]: fish, cheese, eggs, and oil – food that excites: spicy wine and other seasonings – food that gives pleasure: sweets, biscuits, and certain sweet fruits – food easy to digest: I think, vegetables, some drink (?)64 and what the inhabitants of the Holy City call hasos: that is a dry baked bread65.

The Arabic term hasos and the reference to Jerusalem point to Palestine as the origin of the note. By comparing this scholium with the prescriptions of the typikon of the Holy Lavra of Saint Sabbas, one may conclude that the diet commented on by the scholiast, namely, bread and vegetables without oil, must be followed on the weekdays of Lent and on several days of other annual fasts. Indeed, the typikon prescribes eating dry food without oil once a day, on Monday through Friday during Lent, and on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday during the fasts of the Nativity and of the Apostles; during the first four days of Lent, if possible, the monks are to be deprived of any food at all; wine and oil are permitted on Saturday, Sunday, and during several celebrations66. 53.  λιπαίνοντα B] non hab. A. 54.  τυρούς A] τύρους B. 55.  καί B] non hab. A. 56.  ἐκκαίοντα B] non hab. A. 57.  κονδύτον B] κονδύτους A. 58.  ἡδύνοντα B] non hab. A. 59.  πλακούντας B] πλακοῦνδας A. 60.  εὔπεπτος τροφή B] εὔπεπτον A. 61.  πίστον A] πίστος B. 62.  τὸ […] χασός B] τὸν […] χασόν A. 63.  ἐψόμενος A] ὀψούμενος B. 64.  Instead of the variants πίστον and πίστος, we can probably read πότον/ς. Alternatively this word could refer to a not-yet-identified aliment. 65.  This understanding of χασός (from Arabic) as a baked bread is mentioned along with other possibilities (in particular, grilled fish and meat) in A. de Biberstein Kazimirski (ed.), Dictionnaire arabe-français, Paris, Barrois, 1846, pp. 422-423. 66.  See various prescriptions of diets during fasts in this Palestinian typikon, which is titled Τυπικὸν τῆς ἐκκλησιαστικῆς ἀκολουθίας τῆς ἐν Ἱεροσολύμοις ἁγίας Λαύρας τοῦ ὁσίου καὶ θεοφόρου πατρὸς ἡμῶν Σάββα. Αὕτη δὲ ἡ ἀκολουθία γίνεται καὶ ἐν ταῖς λοιπαῖς τῶν ἐν Ἱεροσολύμοις μονῶν, ἔτι δὲ καὶ ἐν ταῖς κατὰ τόπον ἁγίαις τοῦ Θεοῦ Ἐκκλησίαις (first edition in Venice, 1545, pp. 51, 172, 180). In periods outside the fasts of the liturgical year, monks were allowed to eat fish, cheese, and eggs; but meat was strictly excluded from the

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An exceptional case is the monastic community called “Prison” where the food of penitent ascetics was limited to bread and a few vegetables throughout the year, as reported by Climacus in describing various rigorous practices67. Elias of Crete does not explain what the three forbidden kinds of food (fatty, spicy, and sweet) precisely mean, but he does explain the expression “easily digestible meal” as a meal composed of spelt and very digestible fish (ἡ ζειὰ καὶ τῶν ἰχθύων ὅσοι λεπτότατοι)68. Because fish is excluded during fasts, except on some festive days, Elias probably thinks that Climacus prescribed this diet outside of fasting. Elias does not mention other kinds of food which are also allowed to the monks according to the different typika, in particular, cheese and eggs69. Thus, the same gastronomic prescription was understood in two ways. The scholium specifies a menu for severe fasts: some drink, bread, and vegetables; Elias, who probably wrote in Constantinople70, gives a menu for when one is not fasting: spelt and thin fish. An anonymous fifteenth-century commentator on the Ladder points out that the advice of Climacus to consume “nourishing and easy-to-digest” food ­ onastic diet (ibid., p. 153; see also, in the Apophthegmata Patrum 4.15, the example m reported by Epiphanius of Salamis about abba Hilarion, who did not eat meat: Les Apophtegmes des pères: collection systématique, chapitres I-IX, ed. J.-C. Guy [Sources Chrétiennes, 387], Paris, Cerf, 1993, p. 192). 67.  See the description of this diet in gradus 4 of the Scala (PG 88, 704A:13-15): οὐκ ἦν ἐκεῖσε πώποτε καπνὸν ὀφθῆναι, οὐκ οἶνον, οὐκ ἔλαιον εἰς βρῶσιν, οὐχ ἕτερόν τι ἄλλο, ἢ ἄρτον καὶ λεπτὰ λάχανα (“There was neither smoke [that is to say from the oven], nor wine, nor oil in the food, nor anything else could ever be seen but only bread and light vegetables”). 68.  See the text of Elias’ Commentary in Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., fol. 149v. The same terms, εὔπεπτος employed by Climacus and λεπτός employed by Elias, are used in a treatise on the various foods attributed to Hippocrates where the perch is considered a fish that is easy to digest, succulent, and contains very thin blood: ὁ λάβραξ εὔχυμος ὑπάρχει καὶ εὔπεπτος· αἵματος γὰρ λεπτοτέρου ἐστὶ γεννητικός (Ps.-Hippocrates, Περὶ διαφορᾶς τροφῶν πρὸς Πτολεμαῖον. Περὶ ἰχθύων, ed. A. Delatte, Anecdota Atheniensia et alia, vol. 2, Paris, Droz, 1939, p. 485:6-7). 69.  See for example the Acta Monasterii Studii (IX c.): χρώμεθα δὲ καὶ ἰχθύων καὶ τυροῦ καὶ ὠοῦ (Ὑποτύπωσις καταστάσεως τῆς μονῆς τῶν Στουδίου, A. Dmitrievsky, Typika [Opisanie liturgicheskikh rykopisei I (1)], Kiev, 1895, p. 234:8-9). 70.  Before becoming the metropolitan of a prestigious diocese of Crete, Elias could hypothetically serve in the diaconate in Constantinople. We also notice that in his Commentary Elias copied many scholia, some of which are attributed to Photius, patriarch of Constantinople. Moreover, the attention of the exegete Elias to identifying in the Ladder allusions to the Psalms, the Gospels, and the Epistles of the apostle Paul could echo the teachings given in the Patriarchal School of Constantinople under Emperor Alexis I Komnenos. See A. Tihon, L’enseignement à Constantinople (IVe-XIIe siècle), in E. Vallet – S. Aube – T. Kouamé (eds.), Lumières de la sagesse: Écoles médiévales d’Orient et d’Occident (Paris, Institut du Monde Arabe, 25 sept. 2013 – 4 janv. 2014), Paris, Sorbonne, 2013, 43-49, p. 48.



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is not valid during “the most needed fast” (νηστείας ἀναγκαιοτάτης) or when the monk is deprived of any food on the order of his spiritual father71. III. Fasting for Some Time or All the Time? The demon attacks the fasting monk by psychological tricks in order to drive him to excess. According to the same step 14 of the Ladder, on gluttony, cenobitic monks “must laugh at the demon who, after dinner, suggests to make excesses (ὑπερθεσίμους)72, for the next day at the ninth hour [i.e., between 3 and 6 pm] he will change the arrangements of the previous day”73. According to Elias, the demon’s trick has two different meanings: either the demon insists on postponing the hours of fasting and so prolonging the refusal of food74; or it incites the monk to take an abundant meal 71.  See the text of this anonymous commentary, for example, in the codex Ath. Dionysiou 193 / mon. 81, XV c., fols. 193v-194r: πλὴν εἴπερ οὐκ ἔστι καιρὸς βαρυτάτου πολέμου ἢ τιμωριῶν ἁμαρτίας, ἤγουν ἢ νηστείας ἀναγκαιοτάτης κατεπειγούσης, ἢ πνευματικοῦ πατρὸς ἐντολῆς κωλυούσης τὴν χρήσιν τῆς βρώσεως. 72.  The term ὑπερθέσιμος, which I translate as “excess”, is rare: it is found only in Evagrius Scholasticus, to characterise the practices of ascetics who remained without meals for two, three, or even five days: οἳ πολλάκις μὲν καὶ τὰς καλουμένας ὑπερθεσίμους πράττουσι διήμεροι καὶ τριήμεροι τὰς νηστείας ἐκτελοῦντες, εἰσὶ δὲ οἳ καὶ πεμπταῖοι (The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius with the Scholia, ed. J. Bidez – L. Parmentier, London, Methuen, 1898, p. 30:6-9); after John Climacus, Theodore the Studite also uses this expression, saying that one ascetic abstains from food throughout the season of Lent, another for a week, the third for an extended period, yet another for three days: ὅλον τὸν τῆς τεσσαρακοστῆς χρόνον ἄσιτος· ὁ δὲ, ἑβδοματιαῖον· ἄλλος ὑπερθέσιμον· ἕτερος τριήμερον (S. Patris Nostri Theodori Studitae, Magnae Cate­ cheseos Sermones 1–77, ed. J. Cozza-Luzi [Nova Patrum Bibliotheca, 9/2], Roma, Biblio­ theca Vaticana, 1888, Catech. Magn. 2, p. 5:12-14). Theodoret of Cyrrhus reports rigorous fasting practices: the ascetics Marana and Cyra, who on three separate occasions, imitating Moses, did not eat for forty days; and on three other separate occasions they also imitated the prophet Daniel by not taking a meal for three weeks; moreover, while wayfaring to Jerusalem, they ate nothing for about twenty days (Théodoret de Cyr, Histoire des moines de Syrie, Histoire Philothée (XIV-XXX), Traité sur la charité (XXXI), ed. P. Canivet – A. Leroy-Molinghen, vol. 2 (Sources Chrétiennes, 257), Paris, Cerf, 1979: Hist. 29.7, Greek text: p. 238 (French translation: p. 239). 73.  Gradus 14 of the Scala (PG 88, 865C:3-6): γέλα ἐπὶ τῷ δαίμονι τῷ μετὰ τὸ δεῖπνον ὑπερθεσίμους σε ποιεῖν ὑποτιθεμένῳ· τῆς γὰρ ἐννάτης τῇ ἑξῆς καταλαβούσης, ἠρνήσατο τὴν συνταγὴν τῆς προλαβούσης. 74.  The modern language translations of this passage have retained only this meaning: “that you should take your meal later in the future” (Moore, The Ladder of Divine Ascent [n. 43], p. 54); “de différer plus tard que de coutûme à prendre votre repas” (R. Arnauld D’Andilly, edition of 1688, p. 136); “prolonger désormais ton jeûne” (archim. Placide Deseille, 1978, p. 183); “che tu tardi la refezione del corpo” (Antonio Ceruti, 1874, p. 89); “prolungare i tuoi digiuni” (Luigi d’Ayala Valva, 2005, p. 246). The translation into ­modern Greek in the Philocalia of the Neptic Fathers does not rely on the original text of the Ladder: “μεταθέσεις τὸν κανόνα τῆς προσευχῆς” (vol. 16, E.G. Mepetaki, 1996, p. 263).

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today and to begin fasting tomorrow. In the first case, the danger for the ascetic is to spend hours in vain and to remain inactive (διακενῆς) because of the excessive abstinence and lack of food; this cunning advice breaks the discipline that regulates the agenda of the cenobitic monk (ἑκάστης ὥρας τὰ ἴδια ἐν αὐτῇ). In the second interpretation, the one preferred by Elias, the ascetic falls into the trap of excessive eating (ὑπέρθεσις)75. In the sense of avoiding excess, the ascetic author Isaiah of Gaza (fifth century) advised that the monk should regulate his own diet: “take a certain habit in eating” or “give your body what it needs”76. Likewise, in the early sixth century, the great ascetic John of Gaza, corresponding with the elder Barsanuphius of Gaza, thought that “using food moderately as needed is not gluttony”77. The rigorous schedule in the monastic community regularises meal times: Climacus uses the term καιρός78. To follow a flexible rule of fasting is the exception: giving food “before the established meal time” (‫ )ܩܕܡ ܫܥܬܐ ܠܡܛܥܡ‬is permissible only for spiritual brothers “wearied by labour” (‫)�ܠܐܝܢ‬, so Isaiah of Gaza79. John of Gaza writes to 75.  See the text of the Commentary of Elias of Crete (developed recensio: Hierosol. Sepul. 26, XIII c., fol. 132v): Γέλα, φησίν, ἐπὶ τῷ δαίμονι τῷ μετὰ τὸ δεῖπνον ὑποτιθεμένῳ σοι ὑπερθεσίμους ὥρας ποιεῖν καὶ παρατρέχειν ταύτας διακενῆς· μετὰ γὰρ τὸν τοῦ δείπνου καιρόν, τῇ ἑξῆς, φησίν, ὥρα[ς] τῆς ἐννάτης καταλαβούσης, ἠρνήσατο τὴν συμφωνίαν ὁ δαίμων τῆς προλαβούσης ὥρας. Ποῦ γὰρ ὑπερτιθέναι δυνήσεται, τῆς ἐννάτης καταλαβούσης καὶ τὰ ἐν αὐτῇ ἐπιτελεῖσθαι ἀπαιτούσης, καὶ ἑκάστης ὥρας τὰ ἴδια ἐν αὐτῇ ἡμᾶς ποιεῖσθαι ἀναγκαζούσης; […] Ἔστι δὲ καθ’ ἑτέραν ἐκδοχὴν τὸ ῥητὸν ἐκλαβέσθαι, ἣν καὶ μᾶλλον ἐγὼ τίθεμαι· καταγέλα, φησί, τοῦ δαίμονος τοῦ σήμερον μὲν πρὸς γαστριμαργίαν σε συνωθοῦντος καὶ πλησμονὴν βρωμάτων, μετὰ δὲ τὸ οὕτως ἀπλήστως διατεθῆναί σε τὴν σήμερον, τὴν αὔριον νηστείαν σοι ὑποτιθεμένου καὶ τῆς τηνικαῦτα τροφῆς τὴν ὑπέρθεσιν… (editio princeps). R. Arnauld d’Andilly paraphrased this passage from Elias’ Commentary in the final volume, entitled Éclaircissements, of his translation of the Ladder: L’Échelle sainte, ou les degrez pour monter au ciel, composez par S. Jean Climaque, abbé du monastère du Mont Sinai & Père de l’Église Grecque. Traduits du grec en François, Paris, Pierre le Petit, 1658 (21670; 31688). 76.  See the Greek translation of the Syriac text: τύπωσον σεαυτὸν ἐν τῷ ἐσθίειν / δὸς τὴν χρείαν τῷ σώματί σου (Isaias Gazaeus, Logos 11.40: Les cinq recensions de l’Ascéticon syriaque d’Abba Isaïe, ed. R. Draguet [Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 293; Scriptores Syri, 122], Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1968, p. 166). 77.  See the Letter 161: εὐτάκτως κέχρησαι τῇ τροφῇ διὰ τὴν χρείαν, οὐκ ἔστι τοῦτο γαστριμαργία (Barsanuphe et Jean de Gaza, Correspondance, ed. F. Neyt – P. de Angelis-Noah [Sources Chrétiennes, 426/451], Paris, Cerf, 1997, vol. 1/2, p. 558; French translation: p. 559). In Letter 503, the same abba John gave a brother the following recommendation concerning diet: “Keep what is sufficient for your body, and even if you eat three times, it will not be harmful for you” (σὺ τὸ ἀρκετὸν τοῦ σώματος φύλαξον, κἂν φάγῃς τρίτον, οὐ βλάπτῃ; Correspondance, vol. 2, t. 2, p. 626; French translation: p. 627). 78.  The expression used in gradus 26.1 of the Scala (PG 88, 1032B:10): καιρὸς νηστείας, καὶ καιρὸς μεταλήψεως. 79.  See Isaias Gazaeus, Logos 12.42: Les cinq recensions de l’Ascéticon syriaque d’Abba Isaïe, ed. R. Draguet (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 289;



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Barsanuphius that one sign of the passion of gluttony is “wanting to eat before the hour”80. The discipline of fasting is mostly regulated by the cycle of the liturgical year81. In this context, Climacus describes the temptations that arise from a strict fast: during Lent, the greedy monk counts the days before Easter and thinks only about Saturday and Sunday, when he can satiate his belly82. Criticism of an unbalanced diet during Lent had already been formulated in the fourth century by Amma Syncletica of Alexandria, who imposed on the ascetic a single rule of fasting (ἅπας σοι ὁ χρόνος εἷς κανὼν νηστείας ὑπαρχέτω): “Do not fast for four or five days yet dissipate your strength on another day by an abundance of food, on account of your enervation”83. The rule does not specify, however, what kinds of food, how much, and when the monk must eat during a constant and measured fast. Another narrative from the section about self-control (περὶ ἐγκρατείας) in the Apophthegmata Patrum testifies to an even more persistent fast – one that is not limited in time – when recalling how a great elder from Scetis was astonished by the announcement of the beginning of Lent, since he claimed to fast all the time (ὅλος ὁ χρόνος μου νηστεία ἐστίν)84. On the one hand, this abba expressed a rule of continual self-control in fasting, and on the other, this practise of continual fasting does not apply to all the monks of the community who are obliged to ­ criptores Syri, 120), Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1968, p. 172 (this passage is preS served only in Syriac); CSCO 293 (n. 76), p. 214 (French translation). 80. See Letter 163: πρὸ τῆς ὥρας θέλειν τραφῆναι (Correspondance [n. 77], vol. 1, t. 2, p. 560; French translation: p. 561). 81. The Ladder’s statement that “what serves as a medicine for one is poison for another” (ἔστιν ὅτε τὸ ἑτέρου φάρμακον, ἑτέρου δηλητήριον γίνεται: gradus 26.1; PG 88, 1020B:10-11) is interpreted as a fast that purifies the passions yet during feast days and in a period of celebration becomes poison that corrupts in different ways: ἡ νηστεία φάρμακόν ἐστι παθῶν καθαρτήριον […] ἀλλ’ ἐν συνελεύσεσι καὶ πανηγύρεσι δηλητήριον διαφθεῖρον πολυτρόπως τῷ κεχρημένῳ καθίσταται (scholium attributed to Photius of Constantinople: PG 88, 1041A:6-13). 82.  Gradus 14 of the Scala (PG 88, 864D:2-5): χαίρει Ἰουδαῖος Σαββάτῳ καὶ ἑορτῇ· μοναχὸς γαστρίμαργος Σαββάτῳ καὶ Κυριακῇ· πρὸ χρόνου τὸ Πάσχα ψηφίζει, καὶ πρὸ ἡμερῶν τὰ ἐδέσματα εὐτρεπίζει. 83.  See the quotation in the Vita S. Syncleticae (BHG 1694): μὴ τέσσαρας ἢ πέντε νηστεύσῃς, καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἐν πλήθει τροφῶν καταλύσῃς τὴν δύναμιν vel διὰ τὴν ἀτονίαν (The Life of Saint Syncletica. Introduction-Critical Text-Commentary, ed. L. Abelarga [Byzantine Texts and Studies, 31], Thessalonica, Centre for Byzantine Research 2002, lines 1044-1046 – variant: τὴν δύναμιν); Apophthegmata Patrum 10.105 (Les apophtegmes des pères: collection systématique, chapitres X-XVI, ed. J.-C. Guy [Sources Chrétiennes, 474], Paris, Cerf, 2003, Greek text: p. 84 [French translation: p. 85] – variant: διὰ τὴν ἀτονίαν instead of τὴν δύναμιν). 84.  Apophthegmata Patrum 4.104; ed. Guy (n. 66), Greek text: p. 238 (French translation: p. 239).

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submit to the discipline of the liturgical calendar, but exclusively to the most experienced and the greatest ascetics. IV. A Variety of Diets and “Celestial Fire” for the Perfect The conditions of ascetic life depend on the age of the monks, as seen in the Ladder: it is advisable “out of love to comfort and allow a little respite to old men who practice and exhausted their bodies in asceticism”, but it is necessary “to compel to abstinence young men who have exhausted their souls with sins”85. For an anonymous scholiast, this phrase means that different types of meals must be given to old and to young ascetics86. In the homily Ad pastorem (To the Shepherd), which follows the thirty steps of the Ladder, Climacus once more draws the attention of the leaders of the community to applying different types of meal, as required by abba John the Sabaite. The latter prescribed diverse diets (ἡ δίαιτα πάντων οὐ μία) to his disciples according to their rank and condition (τάξις and κατάστασις): some were to receive a more austere and drier meal (ξηροτέρα), others a “higher” one (ἀνετωτέρα), although as early as the eleventh century this term was corrected in the textual tradition to ἁδροτέρα, which means a more abundant meal87. The fourteenth-century commentator on the Ladder Nikephoros Kallistos Xanthopoulos, retaining the variant ἁδροτέρα, explained the passage in the following way: the food must 85.  See the gradus 26.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 1073A:2-7): παρακάλει ἐξ ἀγάπης γέροντας πρακτικοὺς οἵτινες κατέτριψαν τὰ σώματα αὐτῶν ἐν ἀσκήσει, μικρὰν ἀνάπαυσιν αὐτοῖς παρεχόμενος· ἀνάγκαζε νέους ἐγκρατεύεσθαι, οἵτινες κατέτριψαν τὰς ψυχὰς αὐτῶν ἐν ἁμαρτίαις, μνήμην κολάσεως αὐτοῖς διηγούμενος. 86.  Scholium edited by M. Rader (PG 88, 1084A:6-8): χρὴ παραμυθεῖσθαι βρώμασι τοὺς προασκήσαντας γέροντας, τοὺς δὲ νέους μᾶλλον καὶ ἀναγκάζειν ἐγκρατεύεσθαι διὰ παραινέσεων. 87.  See this passage in the homily Ad pastorem (PG 88, 1200D:1-5). The editor Matthew Rader (PG) gives the variant ἀνετωτέραν and in margins another, ἁδροτέραν. The majority of manuscripts contains here the variant ἀνετωτέραν, while some codices transmit another variant: ἀνωτέραν (Ath. Batop. 357, XIV c.; Flor. Laur. Plut. 8.18, XIV c.; Paris. gr. 2643, XII c.; Sinai. gr. 417, X c.; Sinai. gr. 421, X c.). Many other codices from the eleventh century present the variant ἁδροτέραν (for example, Leim. 201, XIII c.; Lond. Add. 28826, XII c.; Paris. IFEB 45, XIII-XIV c.; Prin. Garrett MS 11, a. 1081; Vat. gr. 1754, XI c. (add. mg. γρ[άφεται] ἀνετωτέραν); and the witnesses to the eleventh-century recensio of the Ladder: Ath. Batop. 360, XII c.; Ath. Batop. 367, a. 1267; Ath. Iber. 416 / mon. 37, XIV c.; Ath. Karakall. 33 / mon. 144, XIII c.; Ath. Meg. Laur. B 72, XI c.; Oxon. Barocci 138, XII c.; Paris. Coisl. 264, XIV  c.; Paris. gr. 1158, XII c.; Sinai. gr. 425, XIII-XIV c.; Vat. gr. 392, XII c.; and many others); there are still rare variants: ἀβροτέραν (Oxon. Barocci 141, XIV c.) and ἀμυδροτέραν (Vat. gr. 451, XIV c.; Vat. gr. 509, a. 1313).



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c­ orrespond to the age, progress, and state of each person’s spiritual labour. Referring to the rules of Pachomius’ Lavra, Nikephoros paraphrases Climacus’ words that John the Sabaite gave young people a drier meal (the same adjective in the Ladder: ξηροτέρα), but to elderly and sick monks more liquid (ὑγροτέρα) and fattier food (λιπαρωτέρα), as well as wine (οἰνηρά)88. The Ladder also contains a remarkable model of the variable degrees of fasts89. Climacus tells a story about a Sinaitic monk named Stephanus who “was adorned” (κατακεκοσμημένος) with tears and fasting for quite a long time (χρόνους ἱκανούς) during his solitary life; but it was not enough for him to reach the rank of “beauty”, so he isolated himself in a hermit’s place called Siddim and hardened his diet (στενοτάτη) for a few more years (χρόνους τινάς)90. An example of an extraordinary state of asceticism, including extreme fasting, is found in the narrative about Hesychius Xorebites91. After a serious illness and near-death experience, this hermit ate only bread and water (ἄρτου καὶ ὕδατος ἀπογευόμενος), went out of himself in ecstasy (ἐν τῇ ἐκστάσει ἐξηστηκώς), lost his reason (ἔκνους), and concentrated his thoughts on the memory of death. In this case, John does not criticise the rigorous fasting, but rather admires it as a component of the virtuous man’s perfection. For the experienced hermit it becomes possible to remain untouched by the passion of the belly, even while eating. A surprising example is provided in a story about a hesychast whose astuteness deceived the 88.  See the passage of the Commentary of Nikephoros Xanthopoulos in the unique codex Vat. Chis. gr. 38, XIV c. (fol. 241v): […] ἦν γὰρ ἡ τροφὴ πάντων οὐ μία καὶ ἑαυτή, ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ ὁμοία, ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ ἡ δίαιτα καὶ ἡ καταγωγή, ἀλλὰ κατάλληλος ἑκάστῳ τροφὴ ἐδίδοτο πρὸς τὴν ἡλικίαν αὐτοῦ καὶ τὴν ἀγωγὴν καὶ κατάστασιν τῆς πνευματικῆς ἐργασίας αὐτοῦ· ὡς καὶ ἐν τῇ τοῦ ἁγίου Παχωμίου Λαύρᾳ ὁ μέγας ἐκεῖνος ἐνομοθέτησεν· ἐπεὶ γὰρ ἦσαν καὶ γέροντες καὶ μέσοι καὶ νέοι καὶ ἀσθενεῖς, ἢ καὶ ἄλλως ἐκ συνηθείας ἀδύνατοι· τοῖς μὲν νέοις τὴν ξηροτέραν ἐδίδου, τοῖς δὲ γέρουσι καὶ ἀσθενέσι τὴν ὑγροτέραν καὶ λιπαρωτέραν καὶ οἰνηράν (editio princeps). 89. To compare with the pagan world, in the De cohibenda ira 464b of Plutarch (Mora­lia [Loeb Classical Library], Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1939, vol. 4, p. 157:5-10) one also finds progressive phases in asceticism: citing the expression of Empedocles, “to fast from evil” (νηστεῦσαι κακότητος), Plutarch tells us to practice abstinence from sex and wine for one year (ἐνιαυτόν) and then to avoid lies for a certain period (χρόνον ὡρισμένον). 90.  I quote this narrative, with some variants found in manuscripts, from gradus 7 of the Scala (PG 88, 812A:12-B:9): Στέφανός τις οἰκῶν ἐνταῦθα, τὸν ἐρημικὸν (ἡρεμικόν: Paris. gr. 1068, Athen. EBE 302) καὶ ἡσύχιον ἀσπαζόμενος βίον χρόνους τε ἱκανοὺς ἐν μοναδικῇ διατρίψας (διαπρέψας: Paris. gr. 1068, Sinai. gr. 420, Vat. Reg. gr. 22) παλαίστρᾳ, νηστείαις τε μάλιστα καὶ δάκρυσι κατακεκοσμημένος κατείληφε […] τὸν τόπον τῶν ἀναχωρητῶν τὸν καλούμενον Σίδδην, πεποιηκώς τε ἐκεῖσε ἐν στενοτάτῃ καὶ ἐπιτεταμένῃ (PG: ἐπιτεταγμένῃ) διαίτῃ χρόνους τινάς. 91.  See this story in gradus 6 of the Scala (PG 88, 796D:7–797A:4).

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demon concerning the sin of gluttony: the experienced ascetic, very early in the morning, ate a bunch of grapes with the semblance of gobbling them up (to please the devil), but “without appetite” (ἀνορέκτως)92. As described in step 30 of the Ladder, those who reach a state similar to that of angels often forget bodily food, according to the words of the prophet David (Ps 101,5) or accept their meal “without any pleasure” (μηδὲ μεθ’ ἡδύτητος); it is “a celestial fire which nourishes their soul” (ψυχὴν πῦρ οὐρανίον τρέφειν πέφυκεν93). It seems that Climacus goes even further than a diet of bread and water alone, as recommended by Evagrius. Climacus emphasises, however, that while the souls of these monks obtain mystical food from heaven, their physical bodies receive what is necessary (he gives no details of their diet). In step 27, which deals with hesychia, Climacus indicates the paradoxical state of perfect hermits who are “the immaterial materials” (οἱ ἔνυλοι ἄϋλοι): these ascetics are in a metamorphosed and deified state while remaining in the physical body and will not care (οὐ φροντίσουσι) anymore about food94. V. Fasting as a Means of Conquering Gluttony on the Way to Perfection Excessive fasting is caused by an innate passion of the belly, which is considered the starting point of all other passions, “the root of all evils”95. 92.  This story of this unknown spiritual athlete is reported in gradus 26.2 of the Scala (PG  88, 1064C:12-16): Τίνι πάλιν τῶν ἡσυχαζόντων βότρυν τις προσκεκόμικε πρωῒ λίαν· ὁ δὲ μετὰ τὴν τοῦ προσαγηοχότος ἄφιξιν ὀξείᾳ ὁρμῇ τινι ἀνορέκτως τοῦτον βέβρωκε, τοῖς δαίμοσι γαστρίμαργον ἑαυτὸν ἐμφανίζων. 93.  See the whole passage: PG 88, 1157B:8-C:1. References to spiritual and celestial food are common in ascetic literature: see for example the Spiritual Homilies of the Syrian monk Macarius-Symeon (Die 50 geistlichen Homilien des Makarios, ed. H. Dörries – E. Klostermann – M. Krüger [Patristische Texte und Studien, 4], Berlin, De Gruyter, 1964, coll. H, hom. 5, 10:436-437, p. 62; hom. 12, 14:186, p. 114). 94.  See the complete sentence (PG 88, 1101A:8-10): οὐ φροντίσουσι περὶ ὕλης οἱ ἄϋλοι, οὐδὲ περὶ τροφῆς οἱ ἔνυλοι ἄϋλοι. Elias of Crete in his Commentary interprets “immaterial materials” as those who live incorporeally in bodies (Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., fol. 293v) ὡς ἐν σώμασι ἀσωμάτως ζῶντες (the last word is διάγοντες in the developed recensio of the Commentary: Hierosol. Sepul. 26, XIII c., fol. 264v). An example of impassibility in taking food, as well as in fasting (μὴ πάθει φαγόντα, μὴ πάθει νηστεύσαντα) is narrated by Palladius of Helenopolis in the Lausiac History (cap. 71.1: testo critico e commento a cura di G.J.M. Bartelink, Verona, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, 1974, p. 288). 95. See gradus 26.1 of the Scala (PG 88, 1028C:8-10): παρὰ μὲν τοῖς ἐν κόσμῳ ῥίζα πάντων τῶν κακῶν ἡ φιλαργυρία, παρὰ δὲ μοναχοῖς ἡ γαστριμαργία. Dorotheus of Gaza refers to the “Fathers” the statement that “carelessness in food gives birth to all evil for man”: ἡ γὰρ ἀδιαφορία τῶν βρωμάτων, καθὼς λέγουσιν οἱ Πατέρες, γεννᾷ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ πᾶν κακόν (Doctrin. 15.161; ed. Regnault – de Préville [n. 30], p. 450). For



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Human beings need to take food, but at the same time the ascetic must maintain his state of humility, impassibility, and love. Summarising the various passages in which Climacus draws a complex genealogy of gluttony96, I propose below a diagram which shows that the passion of the belly gives birth to all other capital vices, except for love of money and vainglory (level 1); gluttony also causes many other passions that threaten the ascetic (level 2); and finally, it provokes many sins and impure thoughts (level 3): γαστριµαργία (gluttony) τρυφή (delicacy) κόρος (over-eating) πλῆθος βρωµάτων

(a lot of foods)

πορνεία

λύπη

ὀργή

ἀκηδία

(lust)

(sorrow)

(anger)

(languor)

γέλως ὁ ἄκαιρος

ὕπνος ὁ πολύς

(untimely jesting)

(excessive sleep) (talkativeness)

πλῆθος πτωµάτων

(a lot of falls)

πολυλογία

σκληροκαρδία

προσπάθεια

(hardness of heart)

(attachment)

πλῆθος πονηρῶν λογισµῶν

(a lot of evil thoughts)

abba Isaiah of Gaza, it is “the abundance of wine that sets in motion all the passions in man”: φυλάξαι ἑαυτὸν ἀπὸ πολυοινίας· αὐτὸ γὰρ κινεῖ/ἀνακαινίζει πάντα τὰ πάθη ἐν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ (Logos 15.116a: Les cinq recensions de l’Ascéticon syriaque d’Abba Isaïe, ed.  R. Draguet [Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 294; Scriptores Syri, 123], Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1968, p. 315). 96. See the passages from gradus 26.1 and the recapitulatio: PG  88, 1021C:101024A:14; 1028C:4; 1087D:13-14. For the idea that “gluttony is the mother of lust”, see also the Apophthegmata Patrum 4.80 (ed. Guy [n. 66], p. 226) and Evagrius Ponticus (sub nomine Nili Ancyrani, De vitiis quae opposita sunt virtutibus, cap. 2; De octo spiritibus malitiae, cap. 4; PG 79, 1141A:13; 1148C:12-D:1).

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This diagram is focused on the genealogical development of gluttony leading to numerous other passions, which in turn are linked among each other in a complex way “like multiple mothers and daughters”, according to the expression of Climacus. Although vainglory is not a “daughter” of gluttony, there is a special relationship between these two most important passions of the soul in those who are beginning their monastic life: “gluttony conquers vainglory”97 and “the failure of gluttony gives birth to vainglory”98; in other words, if the younger monk indulges in the passion of the belly, he cannot boast; and on the contrary, the one who fasts risks being vainglorious. Moreover, so malicious and cunning is the passion of food that it can even mix with the virtuous practices of the ascetic: in particular, gluttony is “entangled with hospitality”99; and Climacus is surprised at “how eating delicacies and to satiety we keep vigil with sobriety” or “how drinking wine we are cheerful and we easily come to compunction”100. The cure for “the malicious stomach” is formulated as “fasting which is difficult to acquire” (δύσκτιστος νηστεία101) in the so-called Tabula retrograda, which, at the end of the Ladder, brings victory over all passions. Even if Climacus does not provide a genealogy of fasting in relation to the other virtues, by analogy with gluttony fasting would prevent all these other vices from springing up. If gluttony, abundance of food, and desire for delicacies constitute the beginning of evil, then fasting, on the contrary, is a basic practise in ascetic progress. Climacus explains that as the child learns the letters of the alphabet in order to read, the beginner must know the alphabet of the twenty-four spiritual virtues102, in which fasting constitutes the second 97. See gradus 26.1 of the Scala (PG 88, 1028C:5-7): ἔγνων ἐγὼ τὸν τῆς γαστριμαργίας δαίμονα πολλάκις τὸν τῆς κενοδοξίας νικήσαντα ἐν τοῖς νέοις. 98. See gradus 26.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 1073A:10-12): ἧττα γὰρ γαστριμαργίας κενοδοξίαν, τοῖς εἰσαγωγικοῖς λέγω, ἀποτίκτει. 99. See gradus 26.1 of the Scala (PG 88, 1025B:7): τῇ ξενοδοξίᾳ ἡ γαστριμαργία συμπέπλεκται. The interpretation given by Elias of Crete (Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., fol. 251r): ὁ γὰρ ξενοδοχεῖν σπουδάζων, εἰ μὴ καλῶς προσέχοι, ῥαδίως ἂν εἰς γαστριμαργίαν ἐκκυλισθείῃ (“whoever endeavours to be hospitable, if he does not pay attention as he should, easily indulges in gluttony”). 100.  See these questions asked by Climacus in gradus 26.2 of the Scala: πῶς δὲ τρυφῶντες καὶ κορεννύμενοι ἀγρυπνοῦμεν νηφόντως (PG 88, 1061A:9-10); ἐν οἰνοποσίᾳ δὲ ἱλαροὶ καὶ εὐκατάνυκτοι (PG 88, 1061B:2-3). 101. See this rubric in the edition of the Table: Venetskov, La rédaction des pièces-annexes de l’Échelle de Jean du Sinaï (n. 46), p. 258:2. 102.  For an analysis of this alphabet, see R.M. Parrinello, Alfabeti dal Sinai e dintorni: tradizione monastica e parenesi attraverso gli alfabeti (4o-12o secolo), in Revue des études byzantines 69 (2011) 146-149.



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item, after obedience and before wearing sackcloth103. Fasting, with guilelessness and temperance, is a “good foundation of three layers and three pillars” (καλὸς τρίδομος καὶ τρίστυλος θεμέλιος) for “all babies in Christ” (πάντες οἱ ἐν Χριστῷ νήπιοι)104. The idea that fasting is a foundation for other virtues and especially the origin of chastity is well known in Christian literature before Climacus105. Fasting has its models: its “teacher and giver” are Christ and the prophet Moses, according to an interpretation by an anonymous scholiast commenting on the Ladder106. But how far should these ideal models be imitated? Elias of Crete states that Christ and the prophets Moses and Elijah were deprived of food for forty days only once (ἅπαξ), but otherwise they nourished their body so that it could remain active (ἐνεργὸν σῶμα)107. The ascetic may wonder whether it would be better to observe an absolute fast once in a lifetime, or rather once a year, so as to keep one’s body ἐνεργόν, in order to achieve perfection. In any case, a fast without any meal for forty days is beyond human power, except by changing the body and becoming similar to angels, which is the definition of an ideal monk. Fasting, understood only as abstention from food, is not in itself an ascetic goal. If fasting were nothing more than not eating, the devil would be the model of perfection; after all he is known as one who

103.  See the beginning of this alphabet given in gradus 26.1 of the Scala (PG 88, 1017A:10-11): ἀρίστη πᾶσιν ἀλφάβητος αὕτη· Α΄ ὑπακοή, Β΄ νηστεία, Γ΄ σάκκος […] 104.  See these expressions in gradus 1 of the Scala (PG 88, 636D:1-3). 105.  For example, see the following sentences: νηστεία θεμέλιος ἀρετῆς (Gregory of Nyssa, De beneficentia, ed. A. van Heck [Gregorii Nysseni Opera, IX/1], Leiden, Brill, 1967, p. 95:17-18); ἀρχὴ σωφροσύνης νηστεία, τουτέστι θεμέλιος καὶ σύστημα (Ioh. Chrys., In Ep. II ad Thess. Hom. 1.2; PG 62, 470:43-44); ῥίζα καὶ θεμέλιος τῶν εὐσεβῶν ἡ κατὰ θεὸν νηστεία, ἡ μετὰ εὐλαβείας καὶ ἁγίων εὐχῶν καὶ ἐλεημοσυνῶν ἐπιτελουμένη (Hesychius of Jerusalem, Hom. de jejunio (hom. 15 e cod. Sinai. gr. 491), Les homélies festales d’Hésychius de Jérusalem, ed. M. Aubineau, vol. 1 [Subsidia hagio– graphica, 59], Brussels, Société des Bollandistes, 1978, p. 583). 106.  See the scholium: τῆς νηστείας Μωσῆς καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ Κύριος (PG 88, 1049B:67), which explains the passage in gradus 26 of the Scala about the various sources of the virtues: τούτων τῶν μὲν ἄνθρωποι, τῶν δὲ ἄγγελοι, τῶν δὲ αὐτὸς ὁ Θεὸς Λόγος καθέστηκε διδάσκαλος καὶ δοτήρ. 107.  Commentary of Elias of Crete (Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11, XII c., fol. 36r) on the words of John Climacus “hate one’s own flesh” (μισήσας ἔτι δὲ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ σάρκα: gradus 2 of the Scala; PG 88, 653C:7-8): εἰ γὰρ καὶ ὁ Κύριος ἀσιτίαν ἐπιτεταμένην διήνεγκε, καὶ Μωσῆς δὲ οὐδὲν ἧττον, καὶ Ἠλίας ὁ προφήτης, ἀλλ’ ἅπαξ μόνον τοῦτο πεποιήκασι, τὸν δὲ λοιπὸν χρόνον ἅπαντα ἐν τάξει τῇ προσηκούσῃ διακυβερνῶντες (Hierosol. Sepul. 26, fol. 36r: διακυβερνῶντες and in Flor. Laur. Plut. 9.11: διακυβερνῶν supra l. -ι) τὸ σῶμα καὶ ἐνεργὸν τοῦτο παρέχοντες, πόνοις τε καὶ κόποις προσομιλοῦντες ἀεί (editio princeps).

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never eats anything, but he does not possess humility108. Moreover, physical fasts and hunger can induce vices: in the first place, sleep or drowsiness and sometimes gloominess, the incapacity of compunction109 and, as we have seen above, vainglory in beginners. To practice fasting in accordance with its ascetic purpose, it must be placed among the other ascetic virtues on the way to perfection, as we read in the Ladder: “fasting, vigil, alms, services” or “chastity, freedom from anger, humility, prayer, fasting, vigil, and constant compunction”110. From these two lists of virtues, it clearly appears that the practices of physical fasting have a spiritual meaning. Indeed, fasting is not only the refusal of “bread, meat, water, wine and all kinds of food and drink”, but it also has spiritual “gain” (κέρδος), which is abstinence from bad thoughts and actions, “from malicious and harmful listening and talking, from anger, jealousy, jesting”, according to the Christian ascetic tradition111. 108.  The devil met abba Macarius and told him: σὺ νηστεύεις, κἀγὼ δὲ ὅλως οὐ τρώγω (Apophthegmata Patrum 15.40; ed. Guy [n. 83], Greek text: p. 314, French translation: p. 315). 109.  See passages from gradus 26.1 and 26.2 of the Scala: ὕπνος ὁ πολὺς ποτὲ μὲν ἐκ τρυφῆς, ποτὲ δὲ ἐκ νηστείας, ὅταν οἱ νηστεύοντες ἐπαίρωνται (PG 88, 1024A:34); νηστεύοντες δὲ καὶ ταλαιπωροῦντες τῷ ὕπνῳ ἐλεεινῶς καταφερόμεθα· λιμώττοντες καθ’ ὕπνους πειραζόμεθα, καὶ ἐμφορούμενοι ἀπείραστοι διαμένομεν· ἐν ἐνδείᾳ σκοτεινοί τινες καὶ ἀκατάνυκτοι γιγνόμεθα (PG 88, 1061A:11-Β:2); πρόσχωμεν μήπως τὴν τῆς τρυφῆς ἔνδειαν διὰ πολυϋπνίας ἀναπληρῶμεν (PG  88, 1065B:3-4). 110.  See these lists of virtues in gradus 26.1 of the Scala: αὗται αἱ τῶν γεωργῶν τοῦ σπόρου προσηγορίαι· νηστεία, ἀγρυπνία, ἐλεημοσύνη, διακονίαι, καὶ τὰ ὅμοια (PG 88, 1025A:14-16); ὑπὲρ φύσιν ἁγνεία, ἀοργησία, ταπεινοφροσύνη, προσευχή, ἀγρυπνία, νηστεία, κατάνυξις διηνεκής (PG 88, 1028B:5-7). In the Spiritual Homilies of Macarius-Symeon, fasting is mentioned among other ascetic practices, such as prayer and vigils (Pseudo-Macaire, Œuvres spirituelles I. Homélies propres à la Collection III, ed. V. Desprez [Sources Chrétiennes, 250], Paris, Cerf, 1980, hom. 6.3.5, p. 112); hunger and thirst are mentioned with labour in the soul and tears (hom. 10.2.4, p. 158); fasting is placed between poverty, psalmody, and vigils (hom. 21.2.1, p. 248; Macarius/Symeon, Reden und Briefe. Die Sammlung I des Vaticanus graecus 694 (B), vols. 1-2, ed. H. Berthold [Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte, 55-56], Berlin, Akademie-Verlag, 1973, coll. B, hom. 3, 1:18, vol. 1, p. 120). 111.  See for example the following quotes: κόρος μὲν γὰρ εἰς γαστέρα τὴν χάριν ἵστησι· νηστεία δὲ πρὸς ψυχὴν ἀναβιβάζει τὸ κέρδος (Basilius Caesariensis, Hom. de jejunio 1.1; PG 31, 164B:6–165A:1); νήστευε δὲ μὴ μόνον ἀπὸ ἄρτου καὶ οἴνου καὶ κρεῶν, καὶ ἄλλων τινῶν βρωμάτων ἢ πομάτων, ἀλλὰ πολὺ πλέον ἀπὸ τῶν λογισμῶν, ἀπὸ ἀκροάσεως καὶ ἀπὸ λαλιᾶς πονηρᾶς καὶ βλαβερᾶς, ἀπὸ θυμοῦ καὶ βασκανίας καὶ γελοίων, καὶ τῶν ἑξῆς ἀτοπημάτων (Nilus Ancyranus, Liber 4, epistula 3; PG 79, 552C:1-6); οὐ γὰρ ἀποχὴν ἄρτου καὶ ὕδατος βούλεται ὁ θεός, ἀλλ’ ἀποχὴν πράξεων πονηρῶν (Hesychius of Jerusalem, Hom. de jejunio, ed. Aubineau [n. 105], p. 583).



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Conclusion Fasting is one of the most important themes in the Ladder. In the reception of the book, the food and diet of the ascetic have received specific attention from scholiasts and commentators. John Climacus describes in a very lively way the passion of the belly which the ascetic combats throughout life112. Fasting, the cure for greediness, is a practice that differs according to the state of the ascetic: in the cenobitic life, a good and measured rule of fasting is regulated by the rhythm of the monastery (nevertheless, severe fasts can be prescribed for young monks); in eremitic life, the perfect hesychasts practice fasting constantly, without any desire for food, and are preoccupied only with the spiritual food for their souls. In both cases, the perfection of the ascetic is reached by the union of virtues, among which fasting is fundamental. The long definition of fasting given by John Climacus (in fact, a sequence of twenty definitions)113 shows how this practice occupies an important, systemic place on the path of the ascetic: paradoxically, fasting is both “violence (βία) against nature” and the “health (ὑγεία) of the body”114; this virtue is set in relation to prayer, obedience, and impassibility, which together lead to the remission of sins and the “delight (τρυφή) of Paradise”. As Adam was expelled from the Garden of Eden 112.  Notably, Climacus warns the ascetic in the following way: “Know that often a devil settles in the belly and does not let the man be satisfied even though he has devoured a whole Egypt and drunk a river Nile” (γίνωσκε, ὅτιπερ πολλάκις ὁ δαίμων τῷ στομάχῳ καθέζεται, καὶ μὴ κορέννυσθαι τὸν ἄνθρωπον παρασκευάζει, κἂν πᾶσαν τὴν Αἴγυπτον φάγῃ καὶ τὸν Νεῖλον ποταμὸν πίῃ: PG 88, 868C:1-4). 113. See gradus 14 of the Scala: νηστεία ἐστὶ βία φύσεως, καὶ περιτομὴ ἡδύτητος λάρυγγος, πυρώσεως ἐκτομή, πονηρῶν ἐννοιῶν ἐκκοπή, ἐνυπνιασμῶν ἐλευθερία, προσευχῆς καθαρότης· ψυχῆς φωστήρ, νοὸς φυλακή· πωρώσεως λῦσις, κατανύξεως θύρα, στεναγμὸς ταπεινός, συντριμμὸς ἱλαρός, πολυλογίας ἀργία, ἡσυχίας ἀφορμή, ὑπακοῆς φύλαξ, ὕπνου κουφισμός, ὑγεία σώματος, ἀπαθείας πρόξενος, ἁμαρτημάτων ἄφεσις· παραδείσου θύρα καὶ τρυφή (PG 88, 869A:12-B:6). English translation by Archimandrite Lazarus Moore (The Ladder of Divine Ascent [n. 43]): “Fasting is the coercion of nature and the cutting out of everything that delights the palate, the prevention of lust, the uprooting of bad thoughts, deliverance from dreams, purity of prayer, the light of the soul, the guarding of the mind, deliverance from blindness, the door of compunction, humble sighing, glad contrition, a lull in chatter, a means to silence, a guard of obedience, lightening of sleep, health of body, agent of dispassion, remission of sins, the gate of Paradise and its delight”. In several manuscripts, this passage is indicated by the marginal rubric: ὅροι νηστείας (for example, Ath. Batop. 365, a. 1300, fol. 115v). 114.  The set of definitions of fasting proposed by John Climacus can be compared with those given in a Byzantine collection that has already been cited: in particular, the term for the health that determines fasting (Ladder: ὑγεία σώματος) is also present in the definition of fasting according to this collection: ὑγείας μήτηρ (see Ὅροι καὶ ὑπογραφαί, ed. Furrer-Pilliod [n. 12], coll. A, p. 152, no. 2).

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after eating from the forbidden fruit, fasting brings the ascetic to the gate of Paradise to take part in the mystical Eucharist, receiving the “loaves of the heavenly wheat of spiritual labour” or “of spiritual food”115. KU Leuven Greek Studies Blijde Inkomststraat 21/3309 BE-3000 Leuven Belgium [email protected] [email protected]

Maxim Venetskov

115. Cf. gradus 27.2 of the Scala (PG 88, 1116A:11-12): οἱ ἄρτοι τῆς πνευματικῆς τοῦ οὐρανίου σίτου ἐργασίας (the variant ἐργασίας was corrected in τροφῆς in the recensio of the eleventh century; for example, in the codex Ath. Meg. Laur. B 72, a. 1004/1005, fol. 232v).

PERFECTION IN LATE ANTIQUE SYRIAC CHRISTIANITY FROM COMMANDMENTS AND STILLNESS TO WONDER

Though the idea of perfection is already mentioned in the New Testament, and the quest for the virtuous life became an imperative in late antique ascetic circles, there is no Christian work entitled On Perfection, similar, for example, to On Virginity, nor any work dedicated to that concept per se, that can be traced until the early fifth century1. Influential thinkers of the ascetic and monastic culture from the late fourth century, for instance, Evagrius Ponticus and Pseudo-Macarius, developed their theories and teachings on spiritual progress without employing the category of perfection2. Sebastian Brock, who discussed the topic in the past, took as the starting point of his investigation passages in Mt 5,48 (“Do you therefore be perfect [τελείος – teleios /‫ – ܓܡܝܪܐ‬gmirā], as your Father who is in heaven is perfect”), and Mt 19,21 (“If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you shall have treasure in heaven; and follow me”), in which the term τελείος – teleios/ ‫ – ܓܡܝܪܐ‬gmirā sporadically occurred, as well as in 1 Cor 14,20 and in Heb 5,12-14 and Heb 6,1. Brock’s terminological analysis clarified that although the terms “perfect” and “perfection” occurred in the Old and the New Testaments, these were not common concepts for designating a virtuous Christian life in ancient Christianity. Neither the letter written by Philoxenus of Mabbug in the early fifth century – Letter of Exhortation Sent to Someone Who Left Judaism and Came to the Life of Perfection3 – nor the work of the early seventh-century monastic author 1.  As Sebastian Brock has observed in Some Paths to Perfection in the Syriac Fathers, in Studia Patristica 51 (2011) 78-94. 2. B. Bitton-Ashkelony, Personal Religion and Self-Exposure: From Pseudo-Maca­ rius to Symeon the New Theologian, in Ead. – L. Perrone (eds.), Between Personal and Institutional Religion: Self, Doctrine and Practice in Late Antique Eastern Christianity (Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, 15), Turnhout, Brepols, 2013, 99-128; Ead., Perfection, Imperfection and Stillness in Late Antique Syriac Christianity, in J. Patrich – O. Peleg-Barkat – E. Ben-Yosef (eds.), Arise, Walk through the Land: Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Land of Israel in Memory of Yizhar Hirschfeld on the Tenth Anniversary of His Demise, Jerusalem, The Israel Exploration Society, 2016, 227-234. 3.  The title of the letter is: ‫ ܠܘܬ ܐܢܫ ܕܐܬܬܠܡܕ‬.‫ ܕܐܫܬܕܪܬ‬.‫ܐܓܪܬܐ ܕܡܪܬܝܢܘܬܐ‬ ‫ ܘܐܬܐ ܠܥܘܡܪܐ ܕܓܡܝܪܘܬܐ‬.‫ ܡܢ ܝܗܘܕܝܘܬܐ‬For the Syriac text with English translation and introduction, see B. Bitton-Ashkelony – S. Minov, A Person of Silence: Philoxenos of Mabbug, Letter of Exhortation Sent to Someone Who Left Judaism and Came

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Sahdonā, entitled by its modern editor the Book of Perfection, can be considered as treatises on perfection4. Only in the first half of the fifth century did such a treatise appear when Theodore of Mopsuestia wrote a work on perfection, which now survives only in small fragments. The seventh-century Syriac author Dadisho’ Qatraya mentioned this work as ̈ The Book of the Perfection of Disciplines (‫)ܟܬܒܐ ܕܓܡܝܪܘܬ ܕܘܒܪܐ‬ in his discussion on perfection, stillness, and charity5. It is worth mentioning that Theodore’s work on perfection is also mentioned in the Garshuni version of Dadisho’ Qatraya’s Compendious Commentary on the Paradise of the Egyptian Fathers6. In addition, Joseph Paramelle identified a small fragment in Arabic translation from Theodore’s book7. This paucity of information about treatises on perfection reflects the difficulty that Christian thinkers experienced in shaping a theology of perfection without falling into pride and vainglory. Nevertheless, the idea of perfection was not totally neglected in late antique Syriac ascetic discourse. As scholars have noted, the anonymous Syriac author of the Book of Steps, who wrote probably at the end of the fourth century, provided a clear concept of perfection as a social and spiritual category8. To a certain to the Life of Perfection, in Orientalia Christiana Periodica 82 (2016) 101-125. See also, M. Albert, Une lettre inédite de Philoxène de Mabboug à un Juif converti, engagé dans la vie parfaite, in L’Orient Syrien 6 (1961) 41-50; S. Chialà, Filosseno di Mabbug. I sensi dello Spirito: Lettera a un suo discepolo, Lettera parenetica a un ebreo diventato discepolo (Testi dei Padri della Chiesa, 48), Monastero di Bose, Qiqajon, 2000, pp. 23-30. 4.  Its original title is lost. Sahdonā, The Book of Perfection; Martyrius (Sahdona), Œuvres spirituelles. Vol. 3: Livre de la perfection, 2me partie (ch. 8-14), ed. and trans. A. de Halleux (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 252-253; Scriptores Syri, 110-111), Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1965. 5.  Dadisho’ Qatraya, On Stillness I.17; Los cinco tratados sobre la quietud (šelyā) de Dāḏišō’ Qaṭrāyā, ed. F. del Río Sánchez (Aula Orientalis Supplementa, 18), Barcelona, Aula, 2001, p. 80; Treatise on Solitude and Prayer by Dadisho’ Katraya, in Early Christian Mystics, ed. and trans. A. Mingana (Woodbrooke Studies, 7), Cambridge, Heffer, 1934, 201-247 [Syr.], 76-143 [trans.], pp. 225 [Syr.], 109-110 [trans.]; Dadisho’ Qatraya, Commentary on the Asceticon of Abba Isaiah; Commentaire du livre d’Abba Isaïe (logoi I–XV) par Dadišo Qatraya (VIIe s.), ed. R. Draguet (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 326-327; Scriptores Syri, 144-145), Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1972, pp. 25 [Syr.], 19 [trans.]. 6.  Dadisho’ Qatraya’s Compendious Commentary on the Paradise of the Egyptian Fathers in Garshuni, ed. and trans. M. Kozah – A. Abu-Husayn – S. Mourad (Texts from Christian Late Antiquity, 43), Piscataway, NJ, Gorgias, 2016, pp. 48-49. 7. F. Graffin, Une page retrouvée de Théodore de Mopsueste, in R.H. Fischer (ed.), A Tribute to Arthur Vööbus: Studies in Early Christian Literature and Its Environment, Primarily in the Syrian East, Chicago, IL, The Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, 1977, 29-34. 8.  The Book of Steps, ed. M. Kmosko (with Latin trans.), Liber Graduum (Patrologia Syriaca, 1/3), Paris, Firmin Didot, 1926. English translation by R.A. Kitchen – M.F.G. Parmentier, The Book of Steps: The Syriac Liber Graduum (Cistercian Studies Series, 196), Kalamazoo, MI, Cistercian Publications, 2004.



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extent, the theory of the Book of Steps proved to be influential among Syriac monastic authors in later periods. Moreover, we can detect a change in the concept of perfection in later Syriac ascetic writings, synthesized with the ideology of stillness, which reshaped Syriac spirituality in the monastic milieu. The Book of Steps’ audience was not monastic per se, but rather, it aimed at the broader pietistic Christian society of the day. Assuming that not all Christians are gifted to follow the same standard of virtuous life, the author of the Book of Steps distinguishes between two types of people, and therefore two Christian lifestyles, based on ̈ one’s level of virtuous life: the “Upright” (‫ܟܐܢܐ‬ – kē’nē), who only ̈ follow the minor commandments, and the “Perfect” (‫ –ܓܡܝܪܐ‬gmirē), who adhere to the major commandments (e.g., Mēmrā 11)9. Accordingly, the treatise pivots on the differences peculiar to perfection, on the one hand, and uprightness, on the other (e.g., Mēmrā 14), and the commandments associated with each. The author opens his exposition with an inquiry into these two distinct levels of Christian life, and, after listing the characteristics of each, he cites as an example that when the Upright practiced virginity, they improved themselves greatly, but they were not perfected (Mēmrā 15.13). Perfection in the Book of Steps consists of ascetic behavior, renunciation of marriage and possessions, daily fasting, continuous prayer, humility, and “becoming a stranger to the world” (Mēmrā 3.7). The Perfect refrain from involvement in any kind of work and have no contact whatsoever with things visible. Instead, they eradicate all their faults and conquer their evil thoughts, persisting in petitioning until they have won. Then, they depart from this world and “through the Spirit have a spiritual ministry, which consists of keeping the major commandments” (Mēmrā 3.4). Among the major commandments that the Perfect follow, are, for example, turning the other cheek (Lk 6,29; Mt 5,39), forgiving one’s brother (Mt 5,23), avoiding judging the other (Lk 6,37), and loving one another (Mēmrā 2.1-6). The Upright for their part follow the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule. Additionally, the author draws a clear line between the social obligations of the Upright and those of the Perfect (Mēmrā 13). 9.  On Perfection in the Book of Steps, see Brock, Some Paths to Perfection (n. 1), pp. 79-83; Kitchen – Parmentier, Book of Steps (n. 8), Introduction, xxxiii-xlix; P.  Argárate, The Perfect and Perfection in the Book of Steps, in K.S. Heal – R.A. Kitchen (eds.), Breaking the Mind: New Studies in the Syriac “Book of Steps”, Washington, DC, The Catholic University of America Press, 2014, 156-172. Several aspects of the peculiar religious thought found in the Book of Steps are discussed by P. Bettiolo, Testimoni dell’eschaton: monaci siro-orientali in un’età di torbidi, Bologna, Il Mulino, 2019, pp. 215-276.

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For example, while the Upright are obligated to feed the poor (Mēmrā 8 and 13), the Perfect are exempt from this duty due to their other obligations. As Brock has remarked, “a basic practical difference between the two lifestyles concerns their respective occupations: whereas the Upright work and earn a living, the role of the Perfect, who do not work but live on charity, is to teach and to pray for all people”10. Nevertheless, the author envisions a new and revolutionary model of Christian society that abandons the popular sources of salvation and therapy, such as magic, consulting oracles, whispering incantations, and constructing amulets (Mēmrā 7.3; 13.4), and adopts a model that is grounded in Scripture and imitation of Christ. In this social and religious model, there is no room for saints and holy men as patrons and as sources of personal salvation. Instead, it draws on the teaching and prayer of the Perfect and on the individual choice and capacity of self-transformation. The new model is a dynamic one in which it is always possible for an Upright to become a Perfect. “The only thing necessary is a deliberate effort of the will to empty and lower oneself, and then one can reach the highest level of perfection” (Mēmrā 3.16). The idea of self-emptying (‫ – ܡܣܪܩܘܬܐ‬msarqutā) goes back to a passage in the New Testament, in Phil 2,7 that states, “Christ emptied himself, taking the form of a servant”11. The Perfect engages in self-­ emptying in two realms: in the world at large by detaching from it and stripping off worldly possessions and internally by stripping off the self. In the language of the Book of Steps, “Their hearts should be emptied out of all the hateful thoughts of sin, become sanctified, and they should imitate our Lord, lifting up his cross and following him, and becoming perfect through his love” (Mēmrā 30.25). Elsewhere, the author explains: “If he desires to become Perfect, he [must] empty himself, become ­celibate, and abandon everything and become attached to our Lord” (Mēmrā 13.5). This notion of self-emptying proved to be one of the ­inspiring elements of Syriac spirituality for many generations of ascetics12. The Book of Steps reflects a proto-monastic reality in which the Perfect are described as advanced pious Christians who renounce society, but not as a monastic or mystical elite who confine themselves to a specific type 10.  Brock, Some Paths to Perfection (n. 1), p. 81. 11.  For the ascetic ideal of “self-emptying”, see also Book of Steps Mēmrā 12.1; 13.9; 14.2. 12. S.P. Brock, Radical Renunciation: The Ideal of msarrqûtâ, in R.D. Young – M.J. Blanchard (eds.), To Train His Soul in Books: Syriac Asceticism in Early Christianity (CUA Studies in Early Christianity), Washington, DC, The Catholic University of America Press, 2011, 122-133.



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of dwelling, whether anchoritic or coenobitic or living under the authority of a monastic abbot. This reality had changed radically in many regions of the Byzantine and Sasanian empires by the fifth century13. Yet the terminology and theory of the Book of Steps, which featured biblical thought, continued to exert a certain impact on later generations in Syriac Christianity. In the first half of the fifth century, a resonance of the Book of Steps’ bipartite theory of Perfection and Uprightness echoes in the influential writings of John the Solitary (known also as John of Apamea), about whom we know very little. John probably wrote before the Council of Chalcedon (451)14, and as a tenth-century source indicated, he lived in a monastery near Nikertai in the region of Apamea, where Theodoret of Cyr lived15. In his treatises On Prayer and Dialogue on the Soul, John abandons the social aspect inherent in the dichotomy of the Upright and Perfect, but he uses those categories for conceptualizing the dynamic aspect of the spiritual journey, which seems to be at the heart of his concept of silent prayer16. His theory of prayer rests on the distinction between the “Just” (‫ – ܙܕܝܩܐ‬zadiqā) and the “Spiritual Being” (‫ܖܘܚܢܐ‬ – ruḥānā), synonyms for the Upright and the Perfect in the distinctive bipartite theory featured in the Book of Steps17. In John’s view, one who 13. Florence Jullien has provided a recent bibliographical orientation to Syriac monasticism in Forms of the Religious Life and Syriac Monasticism, in D. King (ed.), The Syriac World, London – New York, Routledge, 2019, 88-104, and in the important volume she edited: Le monachisme syriaque (Études syriaques, 7), Paris, Geuthner, 2010. See also, S. Chialà, Dall’ascesi eremitica alla misericordia infinita: ricerche su Isacco di Ninive e la sua fortuna (Biblioteca della Rivista di storia e letteratura religiosa. Studi, 14), Firenze, Olschki, 2002; Id., Abramo di Kashkar e la sua comunità: la rinascita del monachesimo siro-orientale, Monastero di Bose, Qiqajon, 2005; V. Berti, Il monachesimo siriaco, in G. Filoramo (ed.), Monachesimo orientale: un’introduzione (Storia, 40), ­Brescia, Morcelliana, 2010, 139-192. 14. A. de Halleux, La Christologie de Jean le Solitaire, in Le Muséon 94 (1981) 5-36; Id., Le milieu historique de Jean le Solitaire: une hypothèse, in R. Lavenant (ed.), III Symposium Syriacum 1980 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta, 221), Roma, Pontificium Institutum Studiorium Orientalium1983, 299-305. 15.  Lexicon Syriacum auctore Hassano bar Bahlule, ed. R. Duval, Paris, Leroux, 1888-1901, col. 1275. On John the Solitary, see Brock, Some Paths to Perfection (n. 1), pp. 78-80; M.T. Hansbury’s translation of John the Solitary on the Soul (Texts from Christian Late Antiquity, 32), Piscataway, NJ, Gorgias, 2013, pp. vii-xxv. 16. B. Bitton-Ashkelony, “More Interior Than the Lips and the Tongue”: John of Apamea and Silent Prayer in Late Antiquity, in Journal of Early Christian Studies 20 (2012) 303-331; Ead., “The Ladder of Prayer and the Ship of Stirrings”: The Praying Self in Late Antique East Syrian Christianity (Late Antique History and Religion, 22), Leuven – Paris – Bristol, CT, Peeters, 2019, pp. 53-78. 17.  On Prayer 3; John the Solitary, On Prayer, ed. and trans. S.P. Brock, in Journal of Theological Studies 30 (1979) 84-101, pp. 89-90 [Syr.], 98 [trans.]. For the terms zadiqa and kina as synonyms, see John of Apamea, Dialogue 3, Dialogues on the Soul; Johannes von Lykopolis. Ein Dialog über die Seele und die Affekte des Menschen, ed. S. Dedering

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prays and sings, using the tongue and body, and perseveres in this worship both day and night, is one of the Just. But the person who has been deemed worthy to enter deeper than this, singing with mind and spirit (1 Cor 14,15), is a Spiritual Being. For John, a Spiritual Being is more exalted than a Just, one attaining the state of a Spiritual Being only after having mastered being a Just18. John describes in detail the Just stage, which consists of all of the well-known components of ascetic life, such as fasting, chanting psalms vocally, long periods kneeling, constant vigils, supplication, abstinence, limited food, humility, and remembrance of God19. Upon perfecting all of these, one will arrive at singing as a Spiritual Being and uttering the “Holy” in silence. A few decades after the Book of Steps and John of Apamea, Philoxenus, bishop of Mabbug in West Syria (ca. 440-523), uses in his remarkable Discourses the term “to become fulfilled” (‫ – ܡܫܡܠܝܘܬܐ‬mšamlyutā), a Syriac synonym for perfection, as well as the peculiar distinction ̈ ̈ of the levels of the Upright (‫ܟܐܢܐ‬ – kē’nē) and Perfect (‫– ܓܡܝܪܐ‬ gmirē)20. Unlike the author of the Book of Steps, who sought to develop a social model for Christian society as a whole, Philoxenus directs his Discourses to monks as a lifestyle guide for them. Accordingly, he singles out celibacy and renunciation of wealth, as well as withdrawing from the visible into the inner world, as a clear boundary line between the two orders of Christian life21. Notably, Philoxenus only partially endorses the model of the Book of Steps, and he leaves aside the categorization of the major and minor commandments. Aiming to educate the monks rather than draw social boundaries, he extolls the notions of faith, simplicity of Christ, fear of God, renunciation, asceticism, and celibacy. Moreover, he expands the category of the Perfect and nuances the stages of the Upright. As Robert Kitchen has noted, Philoxenus transformed the institution of (Arbeten utgivna med understöd av Vilhelm Ekmans Universitetsfond, Uppsala, 43), Uppsala, Almqvist & Wiksell, 1936, pp. 59, 61; John the Solitary, trans. Hansbury (n. 15), pp. 122-123, 126-129. 18.  On Prayer 3; ed. Brock (n. 17), pp. 89-90 [Syr.], 98 [trans.]. 19.  Ibid. 20.  For the influence of the Book of Steps on Philoxenus’ ascetic theory, see, for example, Philoxenus, Discourses 8; The Discourses of Philoxenus Bishop of Mabbôgh, A.D. 485-519, ed. and trans. E.A.W. Budge, 2 vols., London, Asher & Co., 1983-1894, vol. 1, pp. 222-224, 237-238. New English translation by R.A. Kitchen, The Discourses of Philoxenos of Mabbug (Cistercian Studies Series, 235), Kalamazoo, MI, Cistercian Publications, 2013, pp. 176-178, 188; and also Bitton-Ashkelony – Minov, A Person of Silence (n. 3), pp. 107-108. 21.  See, for example, Discourses 8; ed. Budge (n. 20), pp. 222-256 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), pp. 176-202; Discourses 9.27; ed. Budge, pp. 292-293 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen, p. 229.



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the Upright and Perfect of the Book of Steps “from almost mutually exclusive ways of life into an open-ended continuum”22. Naturally, as Philoxenus and the author of the Book of Steps lived in different historical and political periods, and their œuvres emerged in different sociological and religious environments23, their respective works display different approaches. According to Philoxenus’ Discourses, perfection is attainable only within the walls of the monastery or in the wilderness of the desert, as exemplified by John the Baptist, who “was raised up in the desert”24. The Discourses charts a sharp departure from the social model of the Book of Steps, an elitist shift that reflects the changes in Eastern Christian societies and attests to the increasing role and prestige of the monastic movement at that period. Philoxenus sees the Perfect as spiritual beings who yet live in the earthly world “because they are stirred up spiritually, work spiritually, and have already been transformed from physical [life] to spiritual [life] while they are in this visible world”25. While he sees no paradox in his concept, he feels the need to explain the hybrid existence of the perfect person: Just as an angel does not look to have its [own] spiritual nature as a reward or to be sent to serve the wills of Essence, because it is [already] in [the Essence] and serves it naturally, so also the perfect [person] does not look to have a reward in spiritual transformation, and his movement is exactly like the heavenly hosts, and his entire way of life is in their imitation26.

Philoxenus goes on to attribute to the Perfect one of the most characteristic activities of the heavenly hosts, namely, the chanting of the Trisa­ gion (Isa 6,3). “Like them, he chants the ‘Holy’ [Trisagion] spiritually and sings [the Psalms] spiritually, and serves God in spirit and in truth” (Jn 4,24). “God is spirit”, he continues, “and the work of the perfect is spiritual […] they work in a godly manner and have been elevated also from the order of the spiritual so that they might also work in imitation of God with an authority and a freedom that is not subservient, which is higher than the laws and the commandments in imitation of God”27. It appears that the distance between the orders of the Perfect and the Upright in Philoxenus’ scheme is much greater than that found in the 22.  Kitchen, Discourses (n. 20), Introduction, p. li. 23.  Ibid., p. lv. 24.  Discourses 9.35-37; ed. Budge (n. 20), pp. 301-305 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), pp. 235-238. 25.  Discourses 9.73; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 350 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), p. 273. 26.  Discourses 9.73; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 351 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), p. 273. 27.  Discourses 9.73; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 351 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), pp. 273274.

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dynamic model of the Book of Steps. In fact, Philoxenus employs the terminology of the Book of Steps and uses its model as the basis for his more expanded model of the Upright and Perfect scheme, turning it into a tripartite model: the Upright, the Perfect in a transitory stage, namely, those who have renounced involvement in the world and have shed their possessions, and the Perfect who have become spiritual beings while living in the world. The Perfect, according to Philoxenus, exist in another mode of living, which could be categorized as mystical. Indeed, Philoxenus emphasizes, because their experience is beyond definition, those Perfect cannot adequately be described within the ordinary bounds of language. For even if they desire to describe their living movements and their godly work, they are not capable because this work is not physical, so that one might speak with a physical tongue, but they are sensing him only and are working in a godly manner in their inner person, while neither their work, nor their movements, nor their sensation, nor their continual contemplation, nor the visions and revelations that [come] to them can be described28.

As he does for the Perfect category, Philoxenus broadens the order of the Upright as well. He lists three levels of the Upright while taking pains to stress that “those who administer them are the upright and the righteous, but not the spiritual or perfect”29. The first of these three levels are those who avoid evil things; the second are those who act out of veneration for the law; and the third are those who cultivate virtues for reasons that transcend the fear of the law30. A further source of inspiration for Philoxenus, although a negligible one in the Discourses, were the ascetic theories of Evagrius Ponticus (345-399), which are imbedded in Greek philosophy and patristic thought. Despite Philoxenus’ use in the Discourses of several well-known Evä – ḥašē) and evil thoughts grian ascetic categories, such as passions (‫ܚܫܐ‬ ̈ (‫ – ܚܘܫܒܐ‬ḥušābē), and citations of Evagrius’ Practicus, the influence of Evagrius on the Discourses cannot be said to have been significant. In contrast, Evagrius’ ascetic theory in Philoxenus’ Letter to Patricius is substantial31. Nevertheless, as it is difficult to date the Discourses, though 28.  Discourses 9.74; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 351 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), p. 274. 29.  Discourses 9.58; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 335 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), p. 216. 30.  Discourses 9.58; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 334 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), p. 216. 31.  For the influence of Evagrius on Philoxenus, see, for example, P. Harb, L’attitude de Philoxène de Mabboug à l’égard de la spiritualité “savant” d’Évagre le Pontique, in F. Graffin (ed.), Mémorial G. Khouri-Sarkis 1898-1968, Leuven, Orientaliste, 1969, 135155; Kitchen, Discourses (n. 20), Introduction, pp. lxxi-lxxix; R.D. Young, The Influence of Evagrius of Pontus, in Ead. – Blanchard (eds.), To Train His Soul in Books



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it is agreed that he wrote them during his episcopate between the years 485 and 519, we cannot necessarily argue here for a change in Philoxenus’ attitude toward and appreciation of Evagrius’ ascetic theories32. Rather, we should recall that nowhere does Evagrius develop the notion of perfection, whether in his ascetic works or in his more speculative and contemplative works, such as the Kephalaia Gnostica. Therefore, when Philoxenus sets out to develop his perspective on Christian society and to distance it from the monastic elite, he turns to the available and conspicuous model of the Book of Steps. For Philoxenus, however, the binary model of the Book of Steps provides only the outline for his ascetic discourse, with the Bible supplying the basis for the substance of his theory. As he explains, “All those who had pursued perfection, whether in the New [Testament] or in the Old [Testament], had renounced wealth and then begun on the road of perfection”33. Throughout the Discourses, he reiterates his preference for biblical thought and ties his ascetic theory to biblical quotations and the ascetic exegesis of biblical models. Indeed, as Robert Kitchen has identified, there are over thirteen hundred biblical references in the Discourses34. In his discussion on perfection in the Discourses, Philoxenus emerges as a biblical scholar rather than as a student of Evagrius. Even more critical for the change of the theory of perfection in Syriac Christianity than the Book of Steps’ bipartite ascetic-social model and John of Apamea’s binary model of the Just and Spiritual Being was the latter’s tripartite scheme of spiritual progress leading to perfection: the level of the body (‫ – ܦܓܪܢܘܬܐ‬pagrānutā)35, the level of the soul (‫– ܢܦܫܢܘܬܐ‬ napšānutā), and the level of the spirit (‫ – ܪܘܚܢܘܬܐ‬ruhānutā). These three ̈ orders (‫ܛܟܣܐ‬ – ṭaksē), as he termed them, are based on Pauline anthropology (1 Thess 5,23)36, a scheme that blossomed across the East Syriac mystical school in the seventh-ninth centuries. This model entails a gradual process toward the state of perfection that is built on inner transformations ̈ (‫ܫܘܚܠܦܐ‬ – šuḥlāpē) and inner growth (‫ – ܬܪܒܝܬܐ ܓܘܝܬܐ‬tarbitā (n. 12), 157-175; D.A. Michelson, The Practical Christology of Philoxenus of Mabbug, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2014. 32.  A. de Halleux, Philoxène de Mabbog: sa vie, ses écrits, sa théologie (Dissertationes ad gradum magistri in Facultate Theologica consequendum conscriptae, 8), Leuven, Orientaliste, 1963, p. 287. 33.  Discourses 9.13; ed. Budge (n. 20), pp. 273-274 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), p. 215. 34.  Kitchen, Discourses (n. 20), Introduction, p. lvi. 35.  On the level of the body, see Dialogue 1. 36.  Dialogue 1; ed. Dedering (n. 17), p. 13; trans. Hansbury (n. 15), pp. 30-31.

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gawāytā)37, purity of mind, and liberation from passions )‫ – ̈ܚܫܐ‬ḥašē)38. It is a progression that is fueled by “self-emptying” (‫– ܡܣܪܩܘܬܐ‬ msarqutā), in imitation of Christ’s self-emptying (Phil 2,7)39, that eventually leads to the level (‫ – ܡܘܫܚܬܐ‬mušḥatā) of luminosity of the soul (‫ – ܫܦܝܘܬܐ ܕܢܦܫܐ‬šapyutā d-napšā). As John underscores, “Indeed, nowhere did the Old Testament call anyone ‘spiritual’. For human beings are not capable of being lifted above purity of mind (‫ܕܟܝܘܬܐ ܕܪܥܝܢܐ‬ – dakyutā d-re’yānā) in this life unless they have received a divine revelation”40. He develops at length the third stage (‫ – ܕܘܒܪܐ ܪܘܚܢܐ‬dubārā ruhānā), that is, the level of the spirit, which he believes is possible to attain only in the new life, after the Resurrection. According to John, this stage cannot be reached through good actions or virtues but only by a mind that partakes with God in the knowledge of His mysteries, a stage that only Christ was able to reach in this life41. Philoxenus, as we have observed, envisions a different model of perfection than that of John of Apamea, whereby one may reach perfection while remaining in this world. Perfection in Philoxenus’ theory entails participating in the spiritual mysteries42, “the type of the fulfillment of Christ through which all those who attain the stature of the knowledge of the fulfillment of Christ are perfected spiritually, as Paul has said” (Eph 4,13)43. The discourse on perfection in Syriac Christianity continued to transform in later generations, most obviously in the monastic milieu, all the while engaging the ascetic ideology of stillness (‫ – ܫܠܝܐ‬šelyā). The linkage of perfection and stillness appears during the seventh century, for example, in the writings of Sahdonā, Isaac of Nineveh and Dadisho’ 37.  Dialogue 1; ed. Dedering (n. 17), pp. 23-24; trans. Hansbury (n. 15), pp. 50-53. 38.  Dialogue 2; ed. Dedering (n. 17), pp. 28-46; trans. Hansbury (n. 15), pp. 60-98. The theory and classification of the passions are not the same as Evagrius’ theory, yet there are several similarities. For the probable familiarity of John the Solitary with Evagrius’ early Syriac translations, see P. Bettiolo, Lineamenti di Patrologia Siriaca, in A. Quacquarelli (ed.), Complementi interdisciplinari di Patrologia, Roma, Città Nuova, 1989, 503-603, pp. 544-547; S.P. Brock, Discerning the Evagrian in the Writings of Isaac of Nineveh: A Preliminary Investigation, in Adamantius 15 (2009) 60-72. According to Brock, John knew at least some of Evagrius’ writings, but “it cannot then be assumed that he already knew of Syriac translations of Evagrius’ works, since it is very probable that John was perfectly capable of reading Greek” (p. 68). 39.  See, for example, Letter 2 (Briefe von Johannes dem Einsiedler, ed. L.G. Rignell, Lund, Ohlssons, 1941, pp. 56*-62*). 40.  Dialogue 3; ed. Dedering (n. 17), p. 61; trans. Hansbury (n. 15), p. 126. 41.  Dialogue 3; ed. Dedering (n. 17), p. 64; trans. Hansbury (n. 15), p. 132. On the new life in the resurrection, see, for example, Letter 3.83-88. 42.  Discourses 9.25; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 289 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), pp. 226227. 43.  Discourses 9.69; ed. Budge (n. 20), p. 346 [Syr.]; trans. Kitchen (n. 20), p. 270.



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Qatraya. Here too, John of Apamea’s theory of stillness had great bearing and creative consequence. John identifies three modes of stillness that correspond with the three stages of spiritual progress: corporal stillness (‫ – ܫܠܝܐ ܦܓܪܢܐ‬šelyā pagrānā) which is the ceasing of speech; stillness of the soul (‫ – ܢܦܫܢܐ ܫܠܝܐ‬šelyā napšānā), which “is a mind which does not quarrel in its thought”; and spiritual stillness (‫ܫܠܝܐ ܪܘܚܢܐ‬ – šelyā ruhānā), which “is that a soul should not invent opinions”44. Such a synthesis, which merges perfection and stillness, is central to the Book of Perfection, written by the monastic author Sahdonā (first half of the seventh century) in the vicinity of Edessa45. This long and unique work is a remarkable biblical and ascetic exegesis that expounds on various monastic ways of life and traditions. It embodies a profound combination of Evagrius’ psychology and theories of evil thoughts and demons with biblical anthropology and spirituality that focuses on the heart, and is laced with biblical narratives and images as exempla for monastic life46. Although Sahdonā’s discourse is a kind of biblical exegesis, dotted with quotations from the New and Old Testaments, and not a systematic exposition on monastic life, it approaches the subject of perfection with the binary distinction presented in the Book of Steps. Sahdonā extolls a way of life that is superior to Justness/Uprightness (‫ – ܙܕܝܩܘܬܐ‬zadikutā) and describes the higher attainment of the life of perfection in stillness (‫ܕܘܒܪܐ ܓܡܝܪܐ‬ ‫ – ܕܒܫܠܝܐ‬dubārā gmirā da-b-šelyā)47. The binary model of the Book of Steps, however, plays only an illustrative role in Sahdonā’s work, and bears none of the social implications or new developments that are noticeable, for example, in Philoxenus’ theory of perfection. Instead, Sahdonā makes a clear distinction between two hierarchical stages in the monastic life ̈ peopled by two sorts of monks: the coenobitics (‫ – ܕܝܪܝܐ‬dayrāyē), on the ̈ lower level, and the solitaries (‫ܝܚܝܕܝܐ‬ – iḥidāyē), who can attain perfec48 tion . He perceives the coenobitic life as a preparatory stage for what he calls the sublime and noble way of life of solitary monks, underlining the ­ ahdonā explains, is “the art high esteem that the latter gain49. Perfection, S of the solitary life in union with God”, and the solitary life is considered 44.  Dialogue 4; ed. Dedering (n. 17), p. 90; trans. Hansbury (n. 15), p. 190. 45. Sahdonā, The Book of Perfection; Martyrius (Sahdona), Œuvres spirituelles. Vol. 1: Livre de la perfection, 2me partie, ed. and trans. A. de Halleux (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 200-201; Scriptores Syri, 86-87), Leuven, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1960. 46.  Book of Perfection I, 3.133; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 64 [Syr.], 65 [trans.]. 47.  Book of Perfection I, 4.4 and 7; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 75 [Syr.], 76 [trans.]. 48.  Book of Perfection I, 4.1, 3, 4, 5, 18, 21; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 117-118, 122 [Syr.], 119, 124-125 [trans.]. 49.  Book of Perfection I, 3.10.

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more elevated than the coenobitic, but only after the monk has prepared himself can he withdraw to solitude50. Sahdonā charts the way of life of solitude (‫ – ܕܘܒܪܐ ܕܝܚܝܕܝܘܬܐ‬dubārā d-iḥidāyutā), the labors and struggles of the virtuous solitary people, their degree of perfection in this world, and how the Holy Spirit acts within them and unites them with God51. He identifies the mingling of faith, hope and love as leading to perfection (1 Cor 13,13)52, and describes the greatness of the perfect way of life in stillness (‫ – ܕܘܒܪܐ ܓܡܝܪܐ ܕܒܫܠܝܐ‬dubārā gmirā da-b-šelyā), bringing examples from the prophets. In advocating solitude (‫ܫܠܝܐ‬ – šelyā), Sahdonā draws on biblical phrases that identify the desert as the setting in which numerous biblical figures, including Jesus himself, fulfilled their roles. He praises the desert and its tranquility, referring, for example, to Isaiah’s adulation for the desert and Mount Carmel (Isa 32,1518)53. It is the image of the desert, however, and not the earthly desert that drives Sahdonā’s discourse on perfection. Allegorically, he interprets the desert as a potential introvertive place of encounter with the divine for the solitary monk as he is “the citadel of virtue”. According to Sahdonā, in the solitary monk virginity (‫ – ܒܬܘܠܘܬܐ‬btulutā) is protected as by ramparts, his senses are closed up like in a tower, and sensation turns unto his heart, and in him all the interior senses are awakened for sensing the Lord54. He likens walking in the footsteps of the ancient fathers and entering into the profound desert to entering the heart. Moreover, Sahdonā clarified that if one does not have the privilege of dwelling in the desert, he should enter into his self, his interior desert. It should be emphasized that Sahdonā’s introvertive ascetic discourse reflects an understanding that perfection can be realized in this life. Likewise, at the end of the seventh century, Isaac of Nineveh, a towering thinker of late antique Syriac spirituality, linked stillness with perfection. For example, in a striking passage that was discovered in Teheran in 1990, he wrote55: This order of perfection [‫ – ܛܟܣܐ ܕܓܡܝܪܘܬܐ‬ṭaksā da-gmirutā] requires the aim of solitary life in stillness and solitary labour alone in the 50.  See, for example, Book of Perfection I, 4.14, 19, 21, 23, 25; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 121-124 [ Syr.], 122-127 [trans.]. 51.  Book of Perfection I, 3.1; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 29 [Syr.], 30 [trans.]. 52.  Book of Perfection I, 3.30-31; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 35 [Syr.], 35-36 [trans.]. 53.  He draws also on Paul 2 Thess 3,12. See, Book of Perfection I, 4.3; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 103 [Syr.], 105 [trans.]. 54.  Book of Perfection I, 4.3, 17-25; ed. de Halleux (n. 45), pp. 109-112 [Syr.], 110113 [trans.]. 55.  On this discovery by Sabino Chialà, published as Isaac of Nineveh’s third collection of discourses, see Isacco di Ninive. Terza collezione, ed. and trans. S. Chialà (Corpus



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cell. It a humbled body and a renewed mind; senses weakened and an elevated knowledge; enfeebled parts of the body but thoughts shining in their splendor56.

Isaac, however, underlines the mystical dimension of the experience of perfection more than earlier Syriac authors. For him, after the victorious silencing of the passions, the mind is enlightened, and from here it abounds in the vision of hidden things57. In Isaac’s words: ̈ The life of solitaries [‫ܝܚܝܕܝܐ‬ – iḥidāyē] is higher than this world, for their way of life is similar to that of the world to come, namely, they do not take wife or husband. Instead of this, face to face, they experience mingling [‫ – ܚܘܠܛܢܐ‬ḥulṭānā] with God. By means of the true icon of the world beyond, they always mingle [with God] in prayer58.

Isaac also deliberates on the notion of a sphere or place of perfection, which he comprehends as a sort of knowledge59, and elaborates on what this kind of knowledge means: By knowledge I do not intend a rational motion or what is of the cognitive part, but that perception which assuages the rational power with a certain pleasure of wonder and it brings to the sweetness of stillness, from the course of all thought. And by this mystery, we are prepared to be in the kingdom of heaven, if our way of life is worthy. This is the taste of the future perfection mystically foretold in this life, and also in a mystic way about the joy which is the taste of the pledge of the Kingdom; for those who are not capable to hear about the order of perfection [‫ܛܟܣܐ‬ ‫ – ܕܓܡܝܪܘܬܐ‬ṭaksā da-gmirutā], from the taste of this pledge they may understand about things which are above their measure60.

Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 637-638; Scriptores Syri, 246-247), Leuven, Peeters, 2011. Eng. translation by M.T. Hansbury, Isaac the Syrian: The Third Part, in M. Kozah et al. (eds.), An Anthology of Syriac Writers from Qatar in the Seventh Century (Gorgias Eastern Christianity Studies, 39), Piscataway, NJ, Gorgias, 2015, 281-423. French translation by A. Louf, Isaac le Syrien, Œuvres Spirituelles-III (Spiritualité Orientale, 88), Bégrolles-en-Mauges, Bellefontaine, 2009. 56.  Isaac of Nineveh, Discourses III, 2.7; ed. Chialà (n. 55), pp. 9 [Syr.], 16 [trans.]; trans. Hansbury (n. 55), p. 297 (adapted). 57.  For example, Isaac of Nineveh, Discourses III, 13.13. 58.  Isaac of Nineveh, Discourses III, 1.1; ed. Chialà (n. 55), p. 3 [Syr.], 4 [trans.]; trans. Hansbury (n. 55), p. 287 (adapted). 59.  Isaac of Nineveh, Discourses III, 13.1; ed. Chialà (n. 55), pp. 105 [Syr.], 145 [trans.] ‫ – ܐܬܪܐ ܕܓܡܝܪܘܬܐ ܝܕܥܬܐ ܗ̱ܝ‬atrā da-gmirutā ida‘tā (h)y. 60.  Isaac of Nineveh, Discourses III, 13.17; ed. Chialà (n. 55), p. 109 [Syr.]; trans. Hansbury (n. 55), p. 418. See also, Chapters on Knowledge, III 54 (fol. 69v), trans., p. 271. Also p. 274 a discussion on various sorts of knowledge in which Isaac draws on Evagrius’ contemplative system. He also mentions the idea of “perfect knowledge”. See, Part II 14.43, II 30.14: “Perfect knowledge which is to be found within the saints who have abandoned the world”. And also “perfect state of knowledge”, Part II 40.5.

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On one occasion, he lays out the progress of the sensation of the experience of perfection: For one may not immediately nor suddenly draw near to this perfection directly, nor to this fulfillment; but at the beginning the soul is illuminated in the mysteries which are beneath this . This amazement [‫ܬܗܪܐ‬ – tehrā] of thoughts begins to show itself in the mind from when the mind begins to be illuminated and to grow in hidden realities. So this partial amazement grows in it, and it proceeds to that perfection of the mind of Paul which is called by the Interpreter [Theodore of Mopsuestia], and by the solitary fathers, an “authentic revelation of God”61.

Hailing from the same region and sharing the same monastic environment as Isaac of Nineveh, his contemporary, Dadisho’ Qatraya, offers several illuminating insights on the development of the concept of perfection. It is noteworthy that Dadisho’ also uses the basic categorization of the Book of Steps, albeit not comprehensively, explaining that there are two basic Christian lifestyles: the way of the Upright and the way of the Perfect62. While he does not systematically explicate the categories of Upright and Perfect, in his writings he offers a commentary on the ascetic and monastic Egyptian and Syrian traditions, elucidating the major ascetic theories of the desert Fathers, mainly Abba Isaiah and Evagrius Ponticus. It is in this broad context of monastic exegesis that he presents the way to perfection. For him, a measure of perfection (‫ – ܡܫܘܚܬܐ ܕܓܡܝܪܘܬܐ‬mšuḥtā da-gmirutā) is given to the monk by divine grace once he has eradicated the passions and overcome Satan – but only if he dwells in solitude63. Like Sahdonā and Isaac of Nineveh, he laces perfection with stillness, but his work On Stillness is the sole treatise in that period that goes further and develops a detailed theory and ideology of stillness64. Above all, he stresses the performative aspect of prayer and liturgy to be practiced by the monk on Sundays and during the seven weeks while living in seclusion in a monastic cell. He also openly draws on the teachings of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s Book of Perfection and his Commentary on the Sacrament65. Unlike the monastic 61.  Isaac of Nineveh, Discourses III, 13.6; ed. Chialà (n. 55), p. 106 [Syr.]; trans. Hansbury (n. 55), p. 415 (adapted). 62.  Compendious Commentary, ed. and trans. Kozah – Abu-Husayn – Mourad (n. 6), p. 18. 63. Dadisho’ Qatraya, Commentary on the Asceticon of Abba Isaiah III.13-14; ed. Draguet (n. 5), pp. 77-79 [Syr.], 59-60 [trans.]. 64.  On Stillness; Los cinco tratados, ed. del Río Sánchez (n. 5); Treatise on Solitude and Prayer by Dadisho’ Katraya, ed. Mingana (n. 5). I quote the Syriac from Río Sánchez’s edition. 65.  On Stillness I.34; ed. del Río Sánchez (n. 5), p. 66 [Syr.].



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edification discourse of Sahdonā, Dadisho’ provides clear instructions for monks on how to exercise solitude and at the same time respect the service of the Seven Hours prescribed by “the Ecumenical Council of Nicea”66. Unlike Sahdonā, who discerns only two sorts of monastic life, namely, coenobitic and solitary, Dadisho’ deals with the multifaceted monastic society of his day and distinguishes sharply among several patterns of ascetic settlement67. There are monks who live in monasteries situated on public highways who work in the fields and receive guests, and there are others, solitaries, who live in remote monasteries. Among the latter, he discerns various distinct patterns of monastic life. There are novices who remain in the community at all times, monks who live in their cells all week and go out only on Saturday evenings; those who retreat into solitude for various periods of fasting during the Nestorian liturgical year; hermits who live alone (anchorites); and the wandering solitaries. Dadisho’’s portrayal of the patterns of monastic life is complex, reflecting different monastic experiences and ascetic practices. Yet his distinctions seem overly rigid, and one can easily imagine an overlapping of the many monastic models. To some extent, he seems to overlook the blending of the monastic life and the East Syriac schools, as well as the infiltration of ascetic piety and its values into eastern Syriac society as a whole68. In any event, chief among Dadisho’s aims in the discourse On Stillness is to encourage the ideal of a solitary life like that of John of Apamea and Isaac of Nineveh. In all likelihood, Dadisho’’s promotion of the solitary life is a reaction to the value placed by others in the second half of the seventh century on the coenobitic life and large central monasteries. On at least one occasion, Dadisho’ refers directly to the issue in a reply to the brothers, who asked him: “Why were there many solitaries at the outset of the preaching of Christianity, especially in Egypt, but now there are a few?”69. Dadisho’ responded, “Perfect stillness is the best way of life […] [it] is better because it is superior to human nature and this is the way of life of the virtuous, the solitaries, 66.  On Stillness V.8-9; ed. del Río Sánchez (n. 5), pp. 111-112 [Syr.]. 67.  For example, he recounts that Abba Isaiah addressed the solitaries who lived in a coenobium and taught them to live in solitude after a short period in the coenobium and to renounce their senses (Commentary I.13, pp. 19 [Syr.], 14-15 [trans.]). 68. A.H. Becker, Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and the Development of Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia, Philadelphia, PA, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006. 69.  Compendious Commentary, ed. and trans. Kozah – Abu-Husayn – Mourad (n. 6), p. 72.

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and the wandering itinerant [monks]”70. He argues that the Fathers did not allow the Perfect to leave their stillness even for purposes of profitable counsel, but rather they were to remain in their stillness until death, “Since, after becoming perfect in keeping the Commandments and in the love of the Lord, the divine graces are renewed for him as long as he remains in stillness which enriches him until the hour of his death”71. If he leaves his cell and stillness, his perfection would be diminished. Dadisho’ emphatically stresses that certain spiritual gifts, such as “visitation of the Holy Spirit”, are bestowed on the solitaries who live in seclusion, through solitude, prayer, eradication of passions, and obliteration of all memories and all remembrances. His extreme discourse on stillness led him to epitomize his approach in the following words: “All these gifts and benefits have never been given and will never be given outside the cell and solitude”72. Like Isaac of Nineveh, Dadisho’ admired Evagrius Ponticus. Much of his ascetic discourse is dominated by an interpretation of Evagrius’ theories of pure prayer and of the eight evil thoughts (logismoi), which provided the psychological framework for his teachings on stillness and the life of perfection. Dadisho’ draws on the basic understanding that “Had I not demolished my self I would not have been able to build my soul”73. The Perfect is free from the devil and evil thoughts and the recollection of sins74. Dadisho’ compares the struggles of the solitary monk to that of the monk in a monastery: The struggle of those living in stillness is harder, as Evagrius said: ‘Demons fight those who dwell in the stillness of solitary life directly and not through a medium. But they fight those in the monastery […]. There is a big difference between inner struggle through the inner senses and external struggle through the eye in the external senses’75.

Through the eventual victory in the struggle against passions and demons, the solitary monk attains purity of heart and then perfection76. Dadisho’, like Isaac, perceives an “order of Perfect” whose members have purified their hearts and banished evil thoughts, thus becoming 70.  Ibid., p. 20. 71.  Ibid., p. 156. 72.  On Stillness I.22; ed. del Río Sánchez (n. 5), p. 59 [Syr.]; trans. Mingana (n. 5), p. 87. 73.  Compendious Commentary, ed. and trans. Kozah – Abu-Husayn – Mourad (n. 6), p. 250. 74.  Ibid., p. 134. 75.  Ibid., p. 102. 76.  Ibid., p. 62.



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­ orthy to receive a vision of God’s manifestation77. Unceasing rememw brance of God in thought is a characteristic activity of those Perfect78. Dadisho’ vividly describes the Perfect in an ecstatic state: The Perfect become detached from their senses during their prayers and reading such that they forget about their bodily nourishment. Sometimes, their thought is snatched up by the wonders of God – a day, or two or three – such that they do not feel physical exhaustion79.

From this brief survey on perfection according to three seventh-­ century authors, Isaac of Nineveh, Dadisho’ and Sahdonā, we can conclude that the concept of perfection crystallized and played a clear role in the spiritual theories of those authors, who parlayed it into a distinct order within the monastic life with a more limited social component in comparison with the concept of perfection in the Book of Steps. ­Furthermore, the discourse on Perfection turned out to be centered on the introvertive life of solitaries and their mystical experience. Though none of the authors discussed here wrote a treatise on perfection, their legacy and the integration of various ascetic theories related to perfection and the trends that they inspired resonated through the generations of religious thought. In tenth-century Mosul, in an Islamic political and religious environment, Yoḥannan bar Kaldun offered an impressive example of this spiritual legacy in his long work on the life of his master, the Life of Yawswp Busnaya (d. 979). Though written in simple Syriac, this work reflects the erudition of the author and his deep adherence to and appreciation of the profound teachings of the eminent Greek and Syriac monastic authors, among them, Evagrius Ponticus, Abba Isaiah, Ephrem, John of Apamea, and Isaac of Nineveh. In chapter VIII of the Life of Yawswp Busnaya, Yoḥannan bar Kaldun elaborates on the various consecutive stages of the monastic life, from the novice stage in the monastery, the tonsure and the coenobitic life, to the culmination after three or four years, that is, the withdrawal to a cell in the monastery and the adoption of the life of reclusion. He provides much information about each stage, the liturgy of the hours, and numerous ascetic activities80. Clearly, Bar 77.  Ibid., p. 85. 78.  Ibid., pp. 134 and 180. 79.  Ibid., p. 110. 80.  Yoḥannan bar Kaldun, The Life of Ỵawswp Busnaya, chapter VIII. The Syriac manuscript is unedited and available in Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana Sir. 467, pp. 164v-207r. French translation by J.-B. Chabot, Vie du moine Rabban Youssef Bousnaya écrite par son disciple Jean bar Kaldoun, in Revue de l’Orient chrétien 4 (1899) 380-415; 5 (1900) 118-143, 182-200.

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Kaldun molds his teaching around the three stages of ascetic progress developed by John of Apamea’s theory, which figures prominently in Syriac spirituality, as well as on Evagrius’ system of struggle against demons and his sophisticated theory of contemplation81. Following John of Apamea, he links these three stages of spiritual progress to three modes of stillness that the monk needs to exercise. He perceives the progress from the exterior to the inner silence as a deep process of subjectivity and of scrutinizing the sinner-self. Bar Kaldun explains that after the solitary monk alters his conduct and becomes purified at the initial stage, he is transformed from the corporeal to the second stage of the soul (‫ – ܢܦܫܢܝܐ‬napšānāyā)82, a stage that he refers to as “the sea of stillness”83. At this stage, “the monk changes his entire way of life and he is entirely transformed into another person”84. It is remarkable that when the solitary monk experiences this elevated self-transformation from the corporeal to the second stage of the soul, his worship is also transformed. He takes leave of the exterior performance of the body and “changes the Office that he recites by the tongue and the lips”. Instead, silence reigns over him in his every course of action, and he therefore recites the Office and psalms in the mind (‫ – ܒܡܕܥܐ‬b-mad‘ā), and he accomplishes his reading of the Scripture in silence85. Evidently, Bar Kaldun is here drawing on John of Apamea’s theory of silent prayer, and on Isaac of Nineveh’s conception of prayer of the mind as well as on his teachings concerning the idea of an “incorporeal liturgy”86. But he takes a radical step further by idealizing the performance of the mind to the point of negating the traditional vocal performance of the liturgy. It seems plausible that he was conscious of his revolutionary approach, elucidating that silence operates in the monk’s mind in an unfamiliar manner that seems odd to many who have not experienced it. Indeed, Bar Kaldun assumes that the monk cannot read Scripture and participate in the Office in silence on a 81. See, for example, Life of Ỵawswp Busnaya VIII (n. 80); ms BAV (n. 80), pp. 193v-195r [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), pp. 118-122. 82.  Ibid., ms BAV (n. 80), p. 195v [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 120. 83.  Ibid., ms BAV (n. 80), 167r [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 383. On the image of the sea of stillness, see for example, Isaac of Nineveh, Discourses II, 34.5; Isaac of Nineveh (Isaac the Syrian): “The Second Part”, Chapters IV-XLI, ed. S. Brock (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 554-555; Scriptores Syri, 224-225), Leuven, Peeters, 1995, pp. 137 [Syr.], 148 [trans.]. 84.  Life of Ỵawswp Busnaya VIII; ms BAV (n. 80), p. 196r [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 121. 85.  Ibid., ms BAV (n. 80), p. 196v [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 122. 86.  On John of Apamea’s theory of silent prayer, see my article, “More Interior Than the Lips and the Tongue” (n. 16). On Isaac of Nineveh’s view on inner prayer and an incorporeal liturgy, see “The Ladder of Prayer and the Ship of Stirrings” (n. 16), pp. 79-103.



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regular basis but rather only briefly and occasionally. However, when the solitary monk perfects himself through the life of the mind (‫ܕܘܒܪܐܕܪܥܝܢܐ‬ – dubārā d-re‘yānā), the mind does not wander any more, the monk can fix his regard on God continually through his mind, and, by grace, he is able to remember God unceasingly in his mind. Thus, at this point, the mind no longer requires speech or voice in order to engage in meditation and prayer. According to Bar Kaldun, even the vocal performance of the liturgy is no longer necessary because the mind, which already dwells in God, does not need the words of the Office for stimulating the remembrance of God. On the contrary, he elucidates, the vocal speech perturbs the Office because the monk has already realized the words of the liturgy (“I am in my Father and my Father is in me”)87. In the citadel of the soul (‫ – ܩܪܝܬܐ ܕܢܦܫܐ‬qārytā d-napšā), Bar Kaldun clarifies, even the sleep of the monk is considered a perfect prayer because his thought does not cease communing with God88. Nevertheless, it seems that for Bar Kaldun this elevated stage is not a stage of Perfection because the solitary monk is still subjected to demonic attack, and takes this opportunity to digress and list the well-known monastic repertoire of demons89. It is only in the more interior citadel of the third stage, namely, the way of life of the spirit, characterized by Bar Kaldun as “an inexpungable citadel” for the enemies, that Satan and evil powers are no more. At that stage, the monk is no longer considered a recluse, a combatant, a layman, or a man of this world, but as spiritual being and a Perfect, a citizen of the divine city90. Bar Kaldun describes this stage in which the monk attains perfection with Evagrian contemplative terminology, designating it as an “incorporeal contemplation” (‫ – ܬܐܘܪܝܐ ܕ�ܠܐ ܓܫܘܡ‬tē᾿ōriyā d-lā gšum)91. He underscores that at the third stage, the entire way of life of the monk belongs to the new world, to the angelic realm, since he already enters this realm mystically, and he participates in the mystery, chanting and glorifying spiritually with the angels. Thus, all the practices of the body 87.  Life of Ỵawswp Busnaya VIII; ms BAV (n. 80), p. 197r [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 122. 88.  Ibid., ms BAV (n. 80), p. 197v [Syr.], trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 123. 89.  Ibid., ms BAV (n. 80), p. 198v-r [Syr.], trans. Chabot (n. 80), pp. 123-124. 90.  Ibid., ms BAV (n. 80), pp. 183v-184v [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), pp. 404-405. 91.  Ibid., ms BAV (n. 80), p. 198r [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 124. On Evagrius’ theory of contemplation, see Kephalaia Gnostica; Les six Centuries des “Kephalaia gnostica” d’Évagre le Pontique, ed. and trans. A. Guillaumont (Patrologia Orientalis, 28/1), Paris, Firmin Didot, 1958; with A. Guillaumont, Un philosophe au désert: Évagre le Pontique (Textes et Traditions, 8), Paris, Vrin, 2004, pp. 343-356; L. Dysinger, Psalmody and Prayer in the Writings of Evagrius Ponticus, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005, pp. 37-47; J.S. Konstantinovsky, Evagrius Ponticus: The Making of a Gnostic, Farnham, Ashgate, 2009, pp. 47-66.

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cease: the body becomes mystically subtle and replaces the soul, the soul replaces the mind, the mind replaces the spirit, and the spirit becomes God. This is a process of self-transformation and stillness of the entire self, in which the monk receives the contemplation of the Trinity. The monk’s cell at this stage of stillness and silence is no longer an arena of struggle with temptations and demons, but instead a harbor (‫�ܡܐܢܐ‬ – mē’nā) of tranquility and joy, namely, “Jerusalem of visions, Sinai of revelations and Sion of knowledge”92. Bar Kaldun’s work epitomizes the long Syriac monastic tradition and its cultural amalgam and implication of Evagrius’ legacy, all the while exemplifying the changes that the category of perfection underwent. We have come a long way from the binary social and ethical model of perfection advocated at the end of the fourth-century Book of Steps to the seventh-century “order of perfection” elaborated in the monastic and mystical milieu. Syriac Christianity shaped a new discourse on perfection through a continuous and profound ascetic and biblical hermeneutic process, characterized by a move from social emphases to a tremendously introvertive discourse on “the citadel of the soul” and the “sea of silence”. This change in the conception of perfection is closely related to the development of new modes of prayer, and to the intensification of the mystical discourse in Syriac Christianity, as succinctly stated by the eighth-century mystical author John of Dalyatha: Therefore perfection (‫ – ܫܘܡܠܝܐ‬šumlāyā) is wonder caused by God, as we have said, and not from the continued stirrings of prayer. The one who ̈ has entered the place of mysteries (‫ – ܐܬܪܐ ܕܪܐܙܐ‬atrā d-rā‘zē), dwells in the wonder (‫ – ܒܬܗܪܐ‬b-tehrā) which is in them, and this is the true prayer which opens the door of God’s treasures93.

Faculty of Humanities Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony Martin Buber Chair in Comparative Religion The Hebrew University of Jerusalem Mount Scopus, 91905 Jerusalem, Israel [email protected] 92.  Life of Ỵawswp Busnaya VIII; ms BAV (n. 80), p. 184v [Syr.]; trans. Chabot (n. 80), p. 405. 93.  John of Dalyatha, Letter 12.3; La collection des lettres de Jean de Dalyatha, ed.  and trans. R. Beulay (Patrologia Orientalis, 39/3), Turnhout, Brepols, 1978. Eng. trans. M.T. Hansbury, The Letters of John of Dalyatha (Texts from Christian Late Antiquity, 2), Piscataway, NJ, Gorgias, 2006, pp. 56-57.

“BE PERFECT AS YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER IS PERFECT” ASCETICISM AND PERFECTION IN MEDIEVAL CHRISTIAN MYSTICISM

Ascetism is an exercise, as its etymology indicates. The Greek term ἄσκησις means “training” or “exercise”, and evidently one exercises in order to reach a certain goal – a healthy body, the victory in the race, etc. Therefore, in the first part of this contribution, I will look at what the specific goal is for medieval Christian mystics. What is “perfection” from their perspective? In the second part, I will examine three major aspects of ascetic practice, that often recur throughout this tradition. In the third part, I will focus on the possible dangers and challenges of ascetical practices as they are presented in medieval Christian mystical texts. It is perhaps important to note from the outset that the reflections that follow specifically concern Christian mystical authors, and do not necessarily apply to all Christian authors in general. Indeed, the specificity of mystical literature is that it concerns the explicit consciousness of the presence of God1. I.  “Perfection” from the Perspective of Medieval Christian Mystical Literature To understand the inner logic and inner structure of ascetic practice in medieval Christian mysticism, we must discern its goal. What is the objective of these practices? This implies that we must inquire into their conception of perfection. When is a human person fully a human person? This question may appear to be simpler than it in fact is. A brief survey of various handbooks or reference works of Christian doctrine immediately reveals a broad variety of answers to this question2. I will present only one specific response to this question. This response is evidently debatable, but in my view, it is the best option because it 1. M. Huot de Longchamp, Mysticism, in J.-Y. Lacoste (ed.), Encyclopedia of Chris­ tian Theology, vol. 2, New York – London, Routledge, 2005, 1082-1088; R. Faesen, Mystical Texts, in E. Howells – M. McIntosh, The Oxford Handbook of Mystical The­ ology, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2020, 222-240. 2.  We may refer here to the copious and varied references from patristic literature in the classical Enchiridion Asceticum: Loci SS. Patrum et scriptorum ecclesiasticorum ad ascesim spectantes, ed. M.J. Rouët de Journel – J. Dutilleul, Freiburg i.Br., Herder, 1930.

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c­ overs the broadest range of the concerns expressed in the mystical tradition as well as their coherence. I am following here the insights of an outstanding specialist in Christian mystical literature, Albert Deblaere (1916-1994)3. In this tradition, the perfection of the human person is understood in line with a specific interpretation of Gen 1,26, namely that the human person is created in the image and likeness of God. While the original text probably understands “image” (imago) and “likeness” (similitudo) as synonyms, early Christian interpretation soon came to interpret these terms differently. The verse was then understood not to mean that the human person is created as an image of God, but that the human person is created unto the Image (ad imaginem), and in order to resemble that Image. The one Image is understood as Christ, the one visible Image of the invisible God, in line with Col 1,15 (qui est imago Dei invisibilis). Thus, in the third century, Origen (ca. 185-253/254) said: Therefore, “God made man, according to the image of God he made him”. We must see what that image of God is and inquire diligently in the likeness of what image man is made. For the text did not say “God made man according to the image or likeness”, but “according to the image of God he made him”. Therefore, what other image of God is there according to the likeness of whose image man is made, except our Savior […], about whom it is written that he is “the brightness of the eternal light and the press figure of God’s substance” (Heb 1,3)4.

Irenaeus of Lyon (ca. 140 – ca. 202) drew a similar conclusion, though he wrote in a very different context and with very different intellectual interlocutors5: For in times long past, it was said that man was created after the image of God, but it was not shown; for the Word was as yet invisible, after whose 3. See, e.g., his article Humanisme chrétien et vocation monastique, in R. Faesen (ed.), Albert Deblaere: Essays on Mystical Literature / Essais sur la littérature mystique / Saggi sulla letteratura mistica (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 177), Leuven, Leuven University Press – Peeters, 2004, 175-206. 4.  Fecit ergo Deus hominem, ad imaginem Dei fecit eum. Oportet nos videre quae est ista imago Dei, et perquirere ad cuius imaginis similitudinem homo factus est. Non enim dixit quia ‘fecit Deus hominem ad imaginem aut similitudinem suam’ sed ‘ad imaginem Dei fecit eum’. Quae est ergo alia imago Dei ad cuius imaginis similitudinem factus est homo, nisi Salvator noster, […] de quo scriptum est quia sit splendor aeterni luminis et figura expressa substantiae Dei (Homelia in Genesim 1.13); Origène, Homélies sur la Génèse, ed. and trans. L. Doutreleau (Sources Chrétiennes, 7bis), Paris, Cerf, 1976, p. 60; Origen, Homilies on Genesis and Exodus, trans. R.E. Heine (The Fathers of the Church: A New Translation, 71), Washington, DC, The Catholic University of America Press, 1982, p. 65. 5.  See A. Solignac, Image et Ressemblance, II: Pères de l’Église, in Dictionnaire de Spiritualité 7/2 (1971) 1406-1425; A. Orbe, Irenaeus, in Encyclopedia of the Early Church 2 (1992) 413-416.



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image man was created – wherefore also he did easily lose the similitude. When, however, the Word of God became flesh, He confirmed both these: for He both showed forth the image truly, since He became Himself what was His image; and He re-established the similitude after a sure manner, by assimilating man to the invisible Father through means of the visible Word6.

In other words, from this perspective, the perfection of the human person consists in establishing the closest possible similarity to Jesus Christ. The same Christological dimension appears in countless expositions of medieval Christian mystical literature7. But the interesting point is then: what is that similarity? How can a human person resemble Jesus Christ? The two authors from the patristic period whom I quoted, Origen and Irenaeus, are, perhaps surprisingly, in agreement on this question. The possible likeness with Jesus Christ does not concern physical aspects or psychological dispositions, but Jesus Christ’s being a person, which fundamentally consists in his relationship with the Father8. It is crucial in this respect that the relationship is one of complete mutual love: the Father and the Son love one another utterly (in the Holy Spirit), belong to one another utterly, and it is precisely in this respect that the Son is the perfect Image of the Father. It is for this complete relationality that the human person was created, according to Origen. Origen explained this by means of the example of the apostles, who had been transformed to the most complete human perfection: their relationship with God the Father is now exactly the same as that of Jesus Christ with God the Father: All therefore, who come to him and desire to become participants in the spiritual image by their progress “are renewed daily in the inner man” (cf. 2 Cor 4,16) according to the image of him who made them, so that they can be made “similar to the body of his glory” (Phil 3,21), but each one in 6.  In praeteritis enim temporibus, dicebatur quidem secundum imaginem Dei factum esse hominem, non autem ostendebatur: adhuc enim invisibile erat Verbum, cujus secun­ dum imaginem homo factus fuerat; propter hoc autem et similitudinem facile amisit. Quando autem caro Verbum Dei factum est, utraque confirmavit: et imaginem enim osten­ dit veram, ipse hoc fiens quod erat imago ejus, et similitudinem firmans restituit, consi­ milem faciens hominem invisibili Patri per visibile Verbum (Irenaeus of Lyon, Adversus Haereses 5.16.2); Irénée de Lyon, Contre les hérésies, Livre V, tome 2, ed. A. Rousseau – L. Doutreleau – C. Mercies (Sources Chrétiennes, 153), Paris, Cerf, 1969, p. 216. 7.  Abundant exemples in R. Javelet, Image et Ressemblance, III: Aux 11e et 12e siècles, in Dictionnaire de Spiritualité 7/2 (1971) 1425-1434; A. Solignac, Image et Ressemblance, IV: Chez le scholastiques du 13e siècle, ibid., 1434-1451 and R.-L. Oechslin, Image et Ressemblance, V: Des mystiques Rhénans au Carmel réformé, ibid., 1451-1463. 8.  This insight is already present in the works of Tertullian (ca. 160 – ca. 230) (Adver­ sus Praxean [Corpus Christianorum Series Latina, 2], Turnhout, Brepols, 1954, pp. 11591205); Augustine’s Christology develops this further; see T.J. Van Bavel, Recherches sur la christologie de saint Augustin, Fribourg, Éditions universitaires, 1954.

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proportion to his own powers. The apostles transformed themselves to his likeness to such an extent that he could say of them, “I go to my Father and to your Father, to my God and your God” (Jn 20,17)9.

We might perhaps expect the perfection of the human person to be a rational, moral, or social perfection. But what we see here is more fundamental: it concerns the foundation of the human person. Incidentally, it is perhaps worth mentioning that Bernard McGinn has argued that the Christian theological tradition has three main interpretations of Gen 1,26: one in which the similarity is understood on the level of the intellectual faculty of the human person, a second on the level of the will and a third as relationality with God10. In my understanding, the third one is the most fundamental, since the other two can be understood as secondary and relative to this most fundamental dimension. Indeed, what is shown here is an interpretation of the human person as fundamentally relational. The foundation of a human person is a relationship, namely with God the Father. It may be disturbed, but ideally it is a loving relationship, completely mutual and completely gratuitous. Also in the understanding of the later medieval Christian mystical tradition, this is realized in the person of Jesus Christ. Therefore, the accomplishment and perfection of every human person is a similarity on this level – to the fullest possible extent. It is perhaps useful to note that there is also a different anthropology in the Christian tradition, e.g., when the human person is understood as an individual – individua substantia rationalis naturae (Boethius)11 – whereby the relational dimension is less emphasized. Nevertheless, in my opinion, this fundamentally relational understanding – such as Bonaventure (1221-1274) affirmed when he said: persona est ad alium12 – explains the coherence of many aspects of medieval Christian mystical 9.  Quicumque ergo veniunt ad eum et rationabilis imaginis participes effici student, per profectum suum secundum interiorem hominem renovantur cotidie ad imaginem eius qui fecit eos, ita ut possint conformes corporis claritatis eius effici, sed unusquisque pro viribus suis. Apostoli se ad eius similitudinem reformarunt in tantum, ut ipse de iis diceret: ‘Vado ad Patrem meum et Patrem vestrum […]’; Homelia in Genesim 1.13, ed. Doutre­ leau (n. 4), p. 62, trans. Heine (n. 4), p. 66. 10. B. McGinn, The Human Person as Image of God, II: Western Christianity, in Id. – J. Meyendorff – J. Leclercq (eds.), Christian Spirituality: Origins to the Twelfth Century, London, Routledge, 1986, 312-330; see also J. Arblaster, The Image and Likeness of God, in Howells – McIntosh (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Mystical Theology (n. 1), 262-286. 11. Boethius, Liber contra Eutychen et Nestorium, in The Theological Tractates, ed. and trans. H.F. Steward – E.K. Rand (Loeb Latin Series), London, Heinemann; Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1918, p. 84. 12.  Sent. I, d. 9, art. un., q. 2, sol. 3 (Bonaventura, Commentaria in quattuor libros sententiarum magistri Petri Lombardi [Opera omnia, 1], Quarrachi, Collegium S. Bonaventurae, 1882, p. 183).



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literature. This issue had already become controversial by the twelfth century, as the example of the dispute between William of Saint-Thierry (ca. 1080-1148) and Peter Abelard (1079-1142) shows. The latter agreed with the conviction that the human person is fundamentally an individual, which according to William of Saint-Thierry (who defended a relational anthropology) was a great impoverishment13. Before we move to the second step, I must briefly point out two elements that are essential to this relational understanding of the similarity with Jesus Christ, two elements that are both related to the theological question of whether or not such a similarity is in principle possible. Indeed, is it possible for the relationship between a human person and the Father to be completely like the relationship between Christ and the Father – i.e., the eternal relationship in the Trinity? Is this not factually impossible? One might say that this point is articulated in a provocative manner by the Gospel injunction to “Be perfect as your heaveny Father is perfect” (Estote ergo vos perfecti sicut et Pater vester caelestis perfectus est, Mt 5,48). From a Christian perspective, this is certainly possible for Jesus Christ, the perfect image of the Father. But is this also possible for an ordinary human person? Medieval mystical authors themselves evidently raise this question. 1.  The first element is that this relationality needs to be completely gratuitous. It is a love which cannot have any other motive than only love itself. This is undoubtedly the case in the intratrinitarian love, and it consequently also applies to its likeness in the relationality between the human person and God. Obviously, the ideal of gratuitous love is not a theoretical invention; it is precisely inspired by the person of Jesus Christ. In other words, it is not a human construction, it is something which one receives. The Cistercian abbot Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153) formulated it thus, in his De diligendo Deo: You wish to hear from me why and how God ought to be loved. I answer: the cause of loving God, is God himself; the way to love him is without measure14. 13. T.M. Tomasic, William of Saint-Thierry against Peter Abaelard: A Dispute on the Meaning of Being a Person, in Analecta Cisterciensia 28 (1972) 3-76; R. Faesen, “Indi­ vidualization” and “Personalization” in Late Medieval Thought, in R. Hofman – C. Caspers – P. Nissen – M. van Dijk – J. Oosterman (eds.), Inwardness, Individualiza­ tion and Religious Agency in the Late Medieval Low Countries (Medieval Church Studies, 43), Turnhout, Brepols, 2020, 35-50. 14.  Vultis ergo a me audire quare et quo modo diligendus sit Deus. Et ego: causa diligendi Deum, Deus est; modus, sine modo diligere. Bernardus Claravallensis, De dili­ gendo Deo 1.1; Tractatus et opuscula, ed. J. Leclercq – H.M. Rochais (Opera omnia,

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And also: Love is sufficient for itself; it gives pleasure to itself, and for its own sake. It is its own merit and own reward. Love needs no cause beyond itself, nor does it demand fruits; it is its own purpose. I love because I love; I love that I may love. […] For when God loves, he desires nothing but to be loved, since he loves us for no other reason than to be loved, for he knows that those who love him are blessed in their very love15.

Incidentally, we may note that this point came up again in the seventeenth-century debates about the pure gift and “pur amour” (Fénelon), and later in the work of Jean-Luc Marion16. The origin of this debate may be sought, however, in the dispute between Peter Abelard on the one hand and Bernard of Clairvaux and William of Saint-Thierry on the other17. In the following centuries, this dimension is extensively explored by Middle Dutch mystical authors – who were profoundly influenced by Bernard, and even more by his friend William of Saint-Thierry18 – using the expression “love without a why” (minne sonder waeromme). The 3), Roma, Editiones cistercienses, 1963, p. 119. Bernard is particularly famous for defending this view, though it was present among earlier authors, such as Leo the Great (Diligenti Deum sufficit ei placere quem diligit, quia nulla maior expetenda est remuneratio, quam ipsa dilectio. Sic enim caritas ex Deo est, ut Deus ipse sit caritas, quo utique pius et castus animus ita gaudet impleri, ut nulla extra ipsum cupiat delectari (Sermo 92, De ieiuno septimi mensis 3); Leo Magnus, Tractatus septem en nonaginta, ed. A. Chavasse [Corpus Christianorum Series Latina, 138A], Turnhout, Brepols, 1973, p. 570). 15.  Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermon 83 on the Song of Songs; On the Song of Songs, vol. 4, trans. I. Edmonds, introd. J. Leclercq (Cistercian Fathers Series, 40), Kalamazoo, MI, Cistercian Publications, 1980, p. 184. 16. J.-L. Marion, The Reason of the Gift, in I. Leask – E. Cassidy (eds.), Given­ ness and God: Questions of Jean-Luc Marion, trans. S. Mackinlay – N. de Warren, New York, Fordham University Press, 2005, 101-134. The leading study on the question of “pur amour” continues to be the extended chapter that Henri Bremond devoted to it in his Histoire littéraire du sentiment religieux en France depuis la fin des guerres de religion jusqu’à nos jours. Vol. 11: Le procès des mystiques, Paris, Bloud et Gay, 1933. 17.  Peter Abelard attempted to formulate the point as precisely as possible (and it likewise returns in a comparable way in contemporary reflections), namely that the ideal of gratuitous love consists of loving God in such a way that one is even prepared to forsake the blessedness promised by God himself. Étienne Gilson writes the following in this regard: “Abélard a certainement exécuté un brillant exercice dialectique sur la notion d’amour pur […]. Il aboutit à cette doctrine où semble triompher le plus absolu des amours divins, mais que le premier théologien venu peut dégonfler d’un coup d’épingle: Quid autem est absurdius uniri Deo amore et non beatitudine? (G. de Saint-Thierry, De contemplando Deo VIII, 6; PL 184, 375D)”, É. Gilson, La théologie mystique de saint Bernard (Études de philosophie médiévale, 20), Paris, Vrin, 1934, p. 186. 18. P. Verdeyen, La théologie mystique de Guillaume de Saint-Thierry, Paris, FAC, 1990.



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first mystical author in Dutch, Beatrice of Nazareth (1200-1268), formulates it thus: Sometimes the soul has also another manner, that it sets itself the task to serve our Lord freely out of love alone, without any other motive and without any reward of grace or glory. As a noble maiden serves her lord out of great love and without remuneration, so to her it is enough that she serves him and that he allows her to serve him lovingly, without measure, beyond measure and beyond human sense and reason, faithfully performing every service19.

Almost all the texts of her contemporary, the thirteenth-century poet and visionary Hadewijch refer to this. The French author Marguerite Porete (1250-1310), relying on Beatrice and Hadewijch20, also developed this theme – amour sans nul pourquoy21 – and Meister Eckhart (ca. 1260 – ca. 1328) was later to inherit it from her. In one of his sermons, Eckhart offers an additional theological foundation for this view when commenting on Jn 2,13-16: Look! Those people are all businessmen who guard against serious sins, would like to be good people, and perform their good works for God’s glory, such as fasting, vigils, praying, and whatever good works there are. But they do them so that our Lord might give them something in return, or so that God might do something to please them. These are all businessmen. This can be seen to be something unrefined because they want to give one thing in return for another, and thus want to make a business deal with our Lord. But this business deal deludes them. For everything that they have and everything that they can accomplish – if they were to give all this for God’s sake and do it completely for God’s sake, God would still not be in the least obliged to give them anything or to do anything for them, if he did not want to do it willingly and freely. What they are, they are from God; and what they have, they have from God and not from themselves. 19.  Selcstont heeft si oec ene ander maniere van minnen, dat es datsi ondersteet onsen here te dienne te uergeues, allene met minnen sonder enich waeromme ende sonder eneghen loen van gratien ofte van glorien ende also gelijc alse .i. jonfrouwe die dient haren here van groter minnen ende sonder loen, ende hare dat genuecht datsi heme moge dienen ende dat hi dat gedoget datsi hem gediene, also begert si met minnen te dienne der minnen, sonder mate ende bouen mate, ende bouen menschelike sin ende redene, met allen dienste van trouwen. Beatrijs van Nazareth, Seven manieren van minne, ed. L. Reypens – J. Van Mierlo (Leuvense studiën en tekstuitgaven, 11), Leuven, De Vlaamsche Boeken­ halle, 1926, pp. 7-8. 20. J. Arblaster – R. Faesen, The Influence of Beatrice of Nazareth on Marguerite Porete: The ‘Seven Manners of Love’ Revised, in Cîteaux: Commentarii Cistercienses 64 (2013) 41-88. 21. Marguerite Porete, Le mirouer des simples ames anienties et qui seulement demourent en vouloir et desir d’amour (Speculum simplicium animarum), ed. R. Guar­ nieri – P. Verdeyen (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis, 69), Turnhout, ­Brepols, 1986, pp. 230-232.

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­ herefore, God is not at all indebted to them for their works or for their T giving, unless he freely and gratuitously wants to do something, but not because of their works or gifts because they are not giving what belongs to them nor are their works their own22.

In other words, the theological foundation that Eckhart indicates relates to the fact that no being exists of itself but is always in the last analysis a creature, and thus fundamentally comes from God and is connected to God – Eckhart calls this view of creation: creatio continua. When a human person gives something to God, it is never something separate from God. We thus see the fundamentally relational conception of the human person recur here. 2.  This brings me to the second aspect of the relational understanding of the similarity with Jesus Christ, which is correlated to the first, namely the awareness that one necessarily fails in this similarity. This is the wellknown theme of the defectus amoris. Every serious attempt of a human person to love God as gratuitously, as purely and as mutually as it is the case in the Trinity, must necessarily fail. In the homily which we already quoted, Bernard says: Although she may pour out her whole self in love, what is that compared to the inexhaustible fountain of his love? The stream of love does not flow equally from her who loves and from him who is love, the soul and the Word, the bride and the Bridegroom, the Creator and the creature – any more than a thirsty man can be compared to a fountain. Will the desire of her heart, her burning love, her affirmation of confidence, fail in their purpose because she has not the strength to keep pace with a giant, or rival honey in sweetness, the lamb in gentleness, or the lily in whiteness? 22.  Sehet, diz sint allez koufliute, die sich hütent vor groben sünden und wæren gerne guote liute und tuont ir guoten werk gote ze êren, als vasten, wachen, beten und swaz des ist, aller hande guotiu werk, und tuont sie doch dar umbe, daz in unser herre etwaz dar umbe gebe, oder daz in got iht dar umbe tuo, daz in liep sî: diz sint allez koufliute. Das ist grop ze verstânne, wan sie wellent daz eine umbe daz ander geben und wellent alsô koufen mit unserm herren. An disem koufe sint sie betrogen. Wan allez, daz sie hânt und allez, daz sie vermügen ze würkene, gæben sie daz allez durch got, daz sie hânt, und würkten sich zemâle ûz durch got, dar umbe enwære in got nihtes niht schuldic ze gebenne noch ze tuonne, er enwolte ez denne gerne vergebene tuon. Wan daz sie sint, daz sint sie von gote, und daz sie hânt, daz hânt sie von gote und niht von in selber. Dar umbe enist in got umbe iriu werk und ir geben nihtes niht schuldic, er enwellez denne gerne tuon von sîner gnâde und niht umbe iriu werk noch umbe ir gâbe, wan sie engebent von dem irn niht, sie enwürkent ouch von in selber niht […] Meister Eckhart, Predigt 1: Intravit Iesus in templum, in Deutsche Werke 1, ed. J. Quint, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1958, pp. 4-20, esp. 7-8; Meister Eckhart, Teacher and Preacher, ed. B. McGinn with the collaboration of F. Tobin – E. Borgstadt, pref. K. Northcott (Classics of Western Spirituality), New York, Paulist Press, 1986, pp. 239-242.



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Because she cannot equal the brightness of the sun, and the charity of him who is Charity23?

The answer that Bernard gives to this question, and most medieval mystical authors with him, is: “no!”. On the contrary, it is precisely this “failure” that shows that the human person cannot achieve this quality of relationality by himself or herself, and thus that it must be given. And this confirms ipso facto the relational foundation of the human person. The fourteenth-century Brabantine mystic John of Ruusbroec (12931381) drew an interesting conclusion from this, namely that the human person can come to the awareness that he or she lives completely in himself or herself, but at the same time also completely in God: Therefore we are poor in ourselves and rich in God […] And so we live completely in God, where we possess our bliss, and completely in ourselves, were we practice our love towards God. And even if we live completely in God and completely in ourselves, yet it is only one life. But it is contrary and twofold according to experience, for poor and rich, hungry and replete, working and at rest, those are contraries indeed. Yet in them resides our highest nobility, now and forever. For we cannot become God at all and lose our createdness: that is impossible. And if we remained in ourselves completely, separated from God, we would be desolate and miserable24.

In other words: we come across a discovery of the mutual indwelling of God and the human person, and a powerful affirmation of the fundamentally relational understanding of the human person. 23.  Nam et cum se totam effunderit in amorem, quantum est hoc ad illius fontis per­ enne profluvium? Non plane pari ubertate fluunt amans et Amor, anima et Verbum, sponsa et Sponsus, Creator et creatura, non magis quam sitiens et fons. Quid ergo? Peribit propter hoc, et ex toto evacuabitur nupturae votum, desiderium suspirantis, aman­ tis ardor, praesumentis fiducia, quia non valet ex aequo currere cum gigante, dulcedine cum melle contendere, lenitate cum agno, candore cum lilio, claritate cum sole, caritate cum eo qui caritas est? Non. Bernardus Claravallensis, Super Cantica Sermo 83.6, ed. J. Leclercq – C.H. Talbot – H.M. Rochais (Opera omnia, 2), Roma, Editiones cistercienses, 1958, p. 302. 24.  Ende hier omme sijn wij in ons selven arm ende in gode rike […] Ende aldus leven wij gheheel in gode, daer wij onse salicheit besitten; ende wij leven gheheel in ons selven, daer wij ons in minnen te gode oefenen. Ende al eest dat wij gheheel in gode leven ende gheheel in ons selven, dit en es doch maer een leven. Maer het es contrarie ende tweevul­ dich van ghevoelne: want arm ende rijcke, hongherich ende sat, werkende ende ledich, dese dinghe sijn te male contrarie. Nochtan gheleghet hier inne onse hoochste edelheit, nu ende eewelijc. Want wij en moghen te male niet god werden ende onse ghescapenheit verliesen; dat es ommoghelijc. Bleven wij oec te male in ons selven ghesondert van gode, soe moesten wij sijn elendich ende onsalich. Ende hier omme selen wij ons gheheel in gode ghevoelen ende gheheel in ons selven. Jan van Ruusbroec, Vanden blinkenden steen, ed. H. Noë (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis, 110; Opera omnia, 10), Turnhout, Brepols, 1991, p. 151.

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II. Ascetical Practices in This Perspective Now that we have explored the foundation and the goal to which ascetic practice is oriented, we can make a second step, by turning to concrete ascetic practices themselves, seen from this perspective. I choose three characteristic examples, that appear often in Christian medieval mystical literature. 1.  Poverty, Material and Spiritual A first, very well-known ascetic practice in medieval mystical literature is voluntary poverty, which consists in having as few personal possessions as possible. This practice is institutionalized in the religious vow of poverty, but it is obviously not limited to it. The topic is already present in early Christian spiritual literature, and for the medieval period we can think of the impressive poverty movements as they appear in the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries in the Latin West. Francis of Assisi (1181/2-1226) is doubtless the most famous, but there were countless other remarkable figures in this movement throughout the high middle ages; Robert d’Arbrissel (ca. 1047 – ca. 1117) is one of the first25. What is the significance of voluntary poverty in light of what we have seen? Concretely it means that the human person is so filled with and overwhelmed by the encounter with God that every material or immaterial possession is experienced as superfluous, and is given up. Relationality with God is so strong and has such an impact on the human person that possessions are experienced as unnecessary. The “exercise” does not want to obtain something which is not yet there, but it wants to enhance the quality of the response from the side of the human person. Two well-known examples are the vocation of Anthony (251-356), an outstanding inspiration for the entire medieval tradition, and that of Francis of Assisi. They both had a profound influence on medieval mystical literature.

25.  Cf. A. Mens, Oorsprong en betekenis van de Nederlandse Begijnen- en Begarden­ beweging (Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België), Antwerpen, Standaard Boekhandel, 1947, p. 17; J. Dalarun, Robert of Arbrissel: Sex, Sin and Salvation in the Middle Ages, trans. with an introd. and notes B.L. Venarde, Washington, DC, The Catholic University of America Press, 2006.



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In the case of Anthony – at least as Athanasius of Alexandria (ca. 296373) represents it – his life of poverty starts when he gives away his possessions explicitly as a consequence of his relationality with God: Six months had not passed since the death of his parents when, going to the Lord’s house as usual and gathering his thoughts, he considered while he walked how the apostles, forsaking everything, followed the savior, and how in the Acts [of the Apostles] some [others] sold what they possessed and took the proceeds and placed them at the feet of the Apostles for distribution among those in need, and what great hope is stored up for such people in heaven. He went into the church pondering these things, and just then it happened that the Gospel was being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man “if you want to be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give it to the poor, and you will have a treasure in heaven”. It was as if by God’s design he held the saints in his recollection, and if the passage was read on his account26.

Francis of Assisi who, as is well-known, led a life of severe poverty after he returned all his possessions and inheritance back to his father, indicates the beginning of this life, namely in an autobiographical passage in his Testament, and he stresses that this is a consequence of God’s initiative: The Lord granted me, brother Francis, to begin to do penance in this way. While I was in sin, it seemed very bitter to me to see lepers. And the Lord himself led me among them, and I had mercy upon them. And when I left them that which seemed bitter to me was changed into sweetness of soul and body; and afterward I lingered a little and left the world27.

26.  Οὔπω δὲ μῆνες ἓξ παρῆλθον τοῦ θανάτου τῶν γονέων, καὶ κατὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς προερχόμεος εἰς τὸ κυριακόν, καὶ συνάγων ἑαυτοῦ τὴν διάνοιαν, ἐλογίζετο περὶ πάντων, πῶς οἱ μὲν ἀπόστολοι πάντα καταλιπόντες ἠκολούθησαν τῷ Σωτῆρι, οἱ δὲ ἐν ταῖς Πράξεσι πωλοῦντες τὰ ἑαυτῶν ἔφερον καὶ ἐτίθουν παρὰ τοὺς πόδας τῶν ἀποστόλων εἰς διάδοσιν τῶν χρείαν ἐχόντων, τίς τε καὶ πόση τούτοις ἐλπὶς ἐν οὐρανοῖς ἀπόκειται. Ταῦτα δὴ ἐνθυμούμενος εἰσῆλθεν εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν, καὶ συνέβη τότε τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ἀναγινωώκεσθαι καὶ ἤκουσε τοῦ Κυρίου λέγοντος τῷ πλουσίῳ· Εἰ θέλεις τέλειος εἶναι, ὕπαγε, πώλησον πάντα τὰ ὑπάρχοντά σου, καὶ δὸς πτωχοῖς, καὶ δεῦρο ἀποκούθει μοι, καὶ ἕξεις θησαυρὸν ἐν οὐρανοῖς. Ὁ δὲ Ἀντώνιος, ὥσπερ θεόθεν ἐσχηκὼς τὴν τῶν ἁγίων μνήμην καὶ ὡς δι᾽ αὐτὸν γενομένου τοῦ ἀναγνώσματος, ἐξελθὼν εὐθὺς ἐκ τοῦ κυριακοῦ τὰς μὲν κτήσεις ἃς εἶχεν ἐκ προγόνων […], ταύτας ἐχαρίσατο τοῖς ἀπὸ τῆς κώμης […]. Athanase d’Alexandrie, Vie d’Antoine, ed. G.J.M. Bartelink (Sources Chrétiennes, 400), Paris, Cerf, 1994, pp. 132-134. 27.  Dominus ita dedit mihi fratri Francisco incipere faciendi poenitentiam: quia cum essem in peccatis nimis mihi videbatur amarum videre leprosos. Et ipse Dominus conduxit me inter illos et feci misericordiam cum illis. Et recedente me ab ipsis, id quod videbatur mihi amarum, conversum fuit mihi in dulcedinem animi et corporis; et postea parum steti et exivi de saeculo. Franciscus Assisiensis, Testamentum, in Fontes Franciscani, ed. E. Menestò – S. Brufani, S. Maria degli Angeli, Edizioni Porziuncola, 1995, 227232, p. 227.

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In an anonymous thirteenth century Middle Dutch mystical poem, the topic of poverty is explicitly described as a form of entering more deeply into minne (love). This poem is part of an enigmatic cycle that was primarily known and circulated in Carthusian circles, and from which John of Ruusbroec occasionally quotes28. The following verses concisely summarize the anonymous author’s conception of the core of the poverty movements: Ic soude der minne noch gherne naerre dringen Constict van binnen wel toe bringhen. Maer si en moghen dit liedekijn met mi niet singhen, Die hen vele met creatueren minghen.

Eagerly, I would struggle closer to love If I could find the power within. But those who often mix with creatures Cannot sing this song with me.

De blote minne die niet en spaert In die weelde overvaert, Alse si alles toevals wordt ontpaert, Comt si in haren eenvoldeghen aert;

Pure love spares nothing In the wild crossing. When stripped of all accidentals, She comes into her simple nature.

In bloter minnen toeverlaet Moet sijn af der creaturen raet. Want si van hen alle vorme slaet Die si in hare simpelheyt ontfaet.

Abandon the counsel of creatures In the refuge of pure love. For she unmasks all their forms Received in her simplicity.

Daer werden si alle wisen quite Ende vervremdet van allen ghelike. De arme van gheeste in eerdrike Houden van rechte dese vite.

There she is freed from all modes And estranged from all compare. The poor in spirit on earth Justly live this life.

Het en es niet allene om verre gaen Noch om broet noch om ander goet ontfaen: Die arme van gheeste sijn sonder waen In die wide eenvoldicheit ontfaen,

It is not merely for a long journey’s sake Nor to receive bread or other goods: The poor in spirit are undoubtedly Received in the wide oneness.

Die en heeft inde noch beghin Noch vorme, noch wise, noch redene, noch sin Noch duncken, noch dincken, noch merken, no weten; Si es sonder cierkel wijt onghemeten.

It has neither end nor beginning, Nor form, nor mode, nor reason, nor sense, Nor impression, nor thought, nor notice, nor knowing; It is unencompassed, wide and immeasurable.

In dese weelde wide eenvuldicheit Wonen die arme van gheeste in enecheyt. Daer en vendense niet dan ledicheit Die altoes antwerdet der ewicheyt29.

In this wild, wide oneness The poor in spirit live united. There they find nothing but emptiness, Which answers always to eternity30.

The emphasis on the fact that poverty is a form of entering more deeply into love is striking. It suggests that this fundamentally concerns relationality with God. The poem also notes that attention to other 28.  Cf. J. Arblaster – R. Faesen, Mysticism in the Low Countries before Ruusbroec, in Iid. (eds.), A Companion to John of Ruusbroec (Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition, 51), Leiden, Brill, 2014, 5-46, esp. pp. 44-46. 29.  Edition in: Hadewijch, Mengeldichten, ed. J. Van Mierlo (Leuvense studiën en tekstuitgaven, 15), Antwerpen, Standaard, 1952, pp. 135-137. 30.  Trans. J. Arblaster, in Id. – Faesen (eds.), A Companion to Ruusbroec (n. 28), pp. 370-371.



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c­ reatures is a distraction from the depths of minne, given that these are “accidents”, and do not belong to the essence of relationality. This orientation to the depths of minne, so the poem sketches, is the spiritual core of the poverty movement. It does not merely concern material aspects, but also “forms”, reason, knowledge, etc. Indeed, that which is discovered is a fundamental ledicheit (“emptiness”, receptivity) which as such is a response to ewicheyt (“eternity”, i.e., the divine Other). 2.  Surrender A second ascetic practice in medieval mystical literature is voluntary surrender to God. The religious vow of obedience finds its origin herein. The relational dimension is even more obvious than in the first example. Indeed, it is not about giving up one’s own will as such, but surrendering to the will of God. There is likewise a very clear Christological dimension here. Many authors stress that it was proper to the identity of Jesus Christ to do the will of the Father, completely and without withholding anything, hence his fundamental relationality with the Father as the ground of his being a person (and an “image” of the unseen God). A spiritual person who has the same disposition, has the forma or disposition proper to Jesus Christ. Again, this exercise does not want to obtain something which is not yet there, but seeks to enhance the quality of the relationship with God. We find beautiful examples of this in the work of Richard of Saint-Victor (1110-1173) and that of John of Ruusbroec. Both describe the highest perfection of the human person as a complete surrender of the will to the Father, and both make fine Christological allusions in their descriptions. As to Richard: we find it as the climax of his treatise De quattuor gradibus violentae caritatis: And as liquefied metal runs down easily wherever a passage is opened, so the soul humbles herself spontaneously to be obedient in this way, and freely bows herself in all acts of humility according to the order of divine providence. In this state, the image of the will of Christ is set before the soul so that these words come to her: “Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: who being in the form of God, did not count equality with God as a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, and took upon him the form of a servant and was made in the likeness of man; he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even the death on the cross” (Phil 2,5-8). This is the form of the humility of Christ to which every man must conform himself, who desires to attain the highest degree of perfect charity. For greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends31. 31.  Sicut metallum liquefactum quocumque ei via aperitur facile ad inferiora currendo delabitur, sic anima in hoc esse ad omnem obedientiam se sponte humiliat et ad omnem

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And for Ruusbroec, it is the climax of his treatise The Sparkling Stone: The man who is sent down by God from these heights, into the world, is full of truth and rich in virtues. And he seeks nothing for himself but only the honor of the one who sent him, and therefore he is just and true in all his actions. And he has a rich, generous foundation which is grounded in the wealth of God, and therefore he must always flow into those who need him […]. And he is a living, willing instrument of God with which God does what he wants, the way he wants; and he does not claim this for himself, but gives the honor to God. And therefore he remains willing and ready to do all that God commands, and strong and courageous to suffer and bear all that God allows him to befall him32.

This issue has led to considerable debate. Indeed, some authors have used strong expressions such as that the human person in this highest stage “has no will any more”. Not surprisingly, this has caused strong reactions. Since free will pertains to the most precious and valuable qualities of the human person, annihilating one’s own will would reduce the human person to less-than-human, infrahuman dimensions. The answer to this objection is most clear in the thirteenth-century mystical author Marguerite Porete. She affirms that the authentic surrender of one’s own will to God implies the highest form of freedom of the human will33. In other words, humilitatem juxta divine dispositionis ordinem libenter inclinat. In hoc itaque statu anime ejusmodi proponitur forma humilitatis Christi, unde et dicitur ei: ‘Hoc sentite in vobis quod et in Christo Ihesu, qui cum in forma Dei esset, non rapinam arbitratus est esse se equalem Deo, sed semetipsum exinanivit, formam servi accipiens, in similitudinem hominum factus, et habitu inventus ut homo; humiliavit autem semetipsum, factus obediens usque ad mortem, mortem autem crucis’. Hec est forma humilitatis Christi ad quam conformare se debet quisquis supremum consummate caritatis gradum attingere volet (Richard of Saint-Victor, De iv gradibus violentae caritatis 42-43); Ives, Épitre à Séverin sur la charité; Richard de Saint-Victor, Les quatres degrés de la violente charité, ed. G. Dumeige (Textes philosophiques du Moyen Âge, 3), Paris, Vrin, 1955, p. 171. Richard of Saint-Victor, Selected Writings on Contemplation, trans., introd. and notes by C. Kirchberger (Classics of the Contemplative Life), London, Faber & Faber, 1952, pp. 223-231. 32.  Die mensche die ute deser hoocheit van gode neder ghesent wert inde werelt, hi es vol der waerheit ende rijcke van allen doechden. Ende hi en soeket sijns niet, maer des gheens eere diene ghesonden heeft; ende daer omme es hi gherecht ende warechtich in allen sinen dinghen. Ende hi heeft eenen rijcken melden gront die ghefondeert es inde rijcheit gods; ende daer omme moet hi altoes vloeyen in alle die ghene die sijns behoeven […]. Ende hi es een levende willich instrument gods, daer god mede werct wat hi wilt ende hoe hi wilt; ende des en dreecht hi hem niet ane, maer hi gheeft gode die eere. Ende daer omme blijft hi willich ende ghereet al te doene dat god ghebiedt, ende sterc ende ghenendich al te dogene ende te verdraghene dat god op hem ghestaedt. Ruusbroec, Vanden blinkenden steen, ed. Noë (n. 24), pp. 181-183. 33.  E.g., in chapter 103: “Now his (= God’s) goodness, out of pure goodness, has through goodness given me free will; in all that he has done for me, he has not given me more; all else above that he has loaned me in his noble graciousness, and if he takes it back again, he does me no wrong. But he has freely given me my will, and so he cannot have it back again, if that is not pleasing to my will. The superabundance of Love has in



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the “annihilation” is no ontological annihilation of the human person but is the highest perfection, namely when the human person is relationality with the divine Other, in the strongest sense of the word. Under the surface, an important theological issue is at stake: are the human and the divine in opposition or in competition with each other? Without outlining the history of the Christian reflection on this point, it may be sufficient to mention that in 451, at the Council of Chalcedon, the interpretation of such a competition or opposition was clearly rejected. The Tomus ad Flavianum of Pope Leo the Great (ca. 400-461) was an important inspiration34. And thus, even though Marguerite’s book was condemned by theologians of the university of Paris, Marguerite was in good company. 3.  Solitude – Silence A third ascetic practice in medieval mystical literature is that of solitude and silence, in order to attach oneself more closely to God, both exteriorly and interiorly. This has fascinated people throughout the centuries and continues to do so today, as is evident from the success of Philip Gröning’s film Die große Stille (2005), about the Carthusian monastery “La Grande Chartreuse”. Augustine refers to solitude and silence when he writes in the Confes­ sions: If the commotion of the flesh were to fall silent in a man, silent the images of the earth and the waters and the air, and silent the heavens, and the soul were silent to itself and by not thinking of itself would surpass itself, if all love given me out of his goodness such nobility, that never can the freedom of my will be taken from it, if I do not wish it”, […] Or m’a sa bonté, par pure bonté, franche vou­ lenté par bonté donnee; plus ne m’a il donné de quanqu’il a pour moy fait; le surplus il m’a presté de sa courtoisie: se il le reprend, il ne me fait nul tort. Mais ma voulenté m’a il franchement donnee, et pource ne la peut il ravoir, se il ne plaist a mon vouloir. Telle noblesse m’a le pardessus de l’Amour de sa bonté par amour donnee, que jamais ne me peut hors de luy tollir la franchise de mon vouloir, se je ne vueil, ed. Guarnieri – ­Verdeyen (n. 21), pp. 282-284; Margaret Porette, The Mirror of Simple Souls, foreword K. Emery, trans. E. Colledge – J.C. Marler – J. Grant (Notre Dame Texts in Medieval Culture, 6), Notre Dame, IN, University of Notre Dame, 1999, p. 127. 34.  Salva igitur proprietate utriusque naturae, et in unam coeunte personam, suscepta est a maiestate humilitas, a virtute infirmitas, ab aeternitate mortalitas […]. Proinde qui manens in forma Dei fecit hominem, idem in forma servi factus est homo. Tenet enim sine defectu proprietatem suam utraque natura; et sicut formam servi Dei forma non adimit, ita formam Dei servi forma non minuit (Leo Magnus, Tomus ad Flavianum 3); Leo Magnus, Tomus ad Flavianum (“Epistola ‘Lectis dilectionis tuae’ ad Flavianum episcopum Constantinopolitanum”), in H. Denzinger – A. Schönmetzer, Enchiridion Symbolorum, Freiburg i.Br., Herder, 361976, 102-104 (nos. 290-295), p. 103.

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dreams and imagery revelations were silent, and silent every tongue and every sign and all that exists only transiently, since if anyone could hear these things then this is what they all would say: ‘We did not make ourselves, but He who abides in eternity made us’. If having said this they fell silent, having led us to open our ears to Him who made these things and He alone would speak through Himself and not through them so that we would hear his Word […] whom in these things we love35.

And Meister Eckhart echoes Augustine: The [divine] Word remains hidden in the depth of the soul, in such a way that one does not know it nor hears it, unless every voice and all noise disappears, and a calm limpidity is present, a silence36.

Johannes Tauler (connecting to another homily of Meister Eckhart) says: “When all things were in the greatest silence, and the night was at the midst of its course, your almighty Word came down from heaven from your royal throne” (Wis 18,14-15). This was the eternal word of the fatherly heart. And in this nocturnal silence, in which all things remain hushed and in perfect stillness, then one will hear this Word in truth; for God to speak, you must be silent; for God to enter, all things must be cast out37.

At first sight, this might seem to imply a certain opposition between God and his creatures. But in fact, this need not be the case. Indeed, we are dealing here with something which is essentially relational, namely 35.  Si cui sileat tumultus carnis, sileant phantasiae terrae et aquarum et aeris, sileant et poli et ipsa sibi anima sileat et transeat se non se cogitando, sileat somnia et imagina­ riae revelationes, omnis lingua et omne signum et quidquid transeundo fit si cui sileat omnino – quoniam si quis audiat, dicunt haec omnia: non ipsa nos fecimus sed fecit nos qui manet in aeternum – his dictis si iam taceant, quoniam erexerunt aurem in eum, qui fecit ea, et loquatur ipse solus non per ea, sed per ipsum, ut audiamus verbum eius […] quem in his amamus (Augustine, Confessions 9.10); Saint Augustin, Confessions Livres IX-XIII, ed. P. de Labriolle, vol. 2 (Collections des universités de France. Série latine. Collection Budé, 30), Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1947, p. 229; Augustine, Confessions: A New Translation, trans. P. Constantine, New York, Liveright, 2018, pp. 182-183. 36.  Daz wort liget in der sêle verborgenlîche, daz man ez niht enweiz noch niht en hœret, im enwerde denn gerûmet in dem grunde des hœrennes, ê enwirt ez niht gehœret; mêr, alle stimme und alle lûte die müezen abe und muoz ein lûter stilnisse dâ sîn, ein stilleswîgen. Meister Eckhart, Predigt 19: Sta in porta domus domini et loquere verbum, in Deutsche Werke 1 (n. 22), 312-321, p. 312. 37.  Dum medium silencium fieret [… Sap 18,14-15], do daz mittel swigen wart und alle ding in dem hoͤhsten swigende worent und die naht iren louf vollebroht hatte, herre, do kam dine almehtige rede von dem kúniglichen stůle das waz daz ewige wort von dem vetterlichen hertzen. In disem mittel swigende, in disem do alle ding sint in dem hoͤhsten swigende und ein wor silencium ist, denne wurt man dis wort in der worheit hoͤrende; wan sol Got spechen, du můst swigen; sol Got ingon, alle ding můssent uzgon (Johannes Tauler, Von drien geburten); Die Predigten Taulers, ed. F. Vetter, Berlin, Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1910, pp. 11-12.



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“dialogue”, the dialogue of God and the human person. Precisely in order to value the mutuality of the dialogue, silence wants to guarantee that both God and the human person can speak and listen to each other. The same is true of solitude. In a classical treatise of medieval Christian mysticism by William of Saint-Thierry, the Letter to the Brothers of Mont-Dieu (often transmitted as the Golden Epistle, under the name of his friend Bernard of Clairvaux), William says about the monk in the solitude of his cell: The man who has God with him is never less alone than when he is alone. It is then he has undisturbed fruition of his joy. […] Accordingly, as your vocation demands dwelling in heaven rather than in cells, you have shut out the world, whole and entire, from yourselves and shut up yourselves, whole and entire, with God. For the cell (cella) and heaven (celum) are akin to one another: the resemblance between the words celum and cella is borne out by the devotion they both involve. For both celum and cella appear to be derived from celare, to hide, and the same thing is hidden in cells as in heaven, the same occupation characterizes both the one and the other. What is this? […] The enjoyment of God38.

This twelfth-century etymology would certainly not be accepted by linguists today, but the point that William wants to stress is that the solitude of the cell is in fact an intimacy with God, and a joy of being together with God. Here again, we see that the goal is not to obtain something which is not yet there, but to enhance the quality of the relationship. Two side remarks can be made here. First, the topic of silence is obviously closely related to the apophatic aspects of Christian theology. Speaking about God is best done in negations, and silence may even be best. Fundamentally, this is also a relational matter. The apophatic is an option which is not so much inspired by a lack of knowledge, but rather by an overwhelming abundance. And this is discovered in an encounter39.

38.  Cum quo enim Deus est, numquam minus est solus quam cum solus est. Tunc enim libere fruitur gaudio suo […] Propter hoc secundum formam propositi vestri, habitantes in caelis potius quam in cellis, excluso a vobis toto saeculo, totos vos inclusistis cum Deo. Cellae siquidem et caeli habitatio cognatae sunt; quia sicut caelum ac cella ad invicem videntur habere aliquam cognationem nominis, sic etiam pietatis. A celando enim et caelum et cella nomen habere videntur. Et quod celatur in caelis, hoc et in cellis, quod geritur in caelis, hoc et in cellis. Quidnam hoc est? Vacare Deo, frui Deo; Guillelmus a Sancto Theoderico, Epistola ad Fratres de Monte Dei, ed. P. Verdeyen (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis, 88), Turnhout, Brepols, 2003, p. 234. 39. R. Faesen, Relationality as the Hidden Side of the Apophatic: William of Saint-­ Thierry’s Appreciation and Critique of XIIth Century Apophatism, in Medieval Mystical Theology 25 (2016) 45-56.

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The highly influential Pseudo-Dionysius (fifth-sixth cent.) develops this beautifully in his Sixth Letter40. A second side remark: in the medieval mystical tradition, sexual abstinence as an ascetic practice is strongly related to solitude. It is sometimes suggested that, historically speaking, the origin of clerical celibacy is probably to be found in rules of ritual purity for celebrating the Eucharist41. Nevertheless, this historical origin does not necessarily explain the spiritual popularity of it in the Latin West, especially in monastic circles. The awareness of intimacy with God was certainly also part of it. III. What Are the Dangers? In a final step, I would like to look briefly at the dangers for these forms of ascetic life, as they are presented in medieval mystical literature. What are the threats that could deviate or undermine them? What these ascetical practices seek to achieve – from the perspective of medieval Christian mysticism –, the “perfection” to which they are oriented, is the relationality of the human person with God in the purest and fullest sense of the word, with the relationality of the Trinity as model: a complete and mutual self-gift. The more the human person resembles this model, the more he or she is a human person. The doctrine of the faith on the one hand and lived spirituality on the other hand are not in contrast; the one nourishes the other. This unconditional and essential relationality of Jesus Christ with the Father is the cornerstone of the doctrine of the Christian faith. If one wants to see what the “perfect human person” is, one needs to look at Jesus Christ. According to the medieval mystical tradition, ascetic practices have no other goal than to advance this. Thus, it is immediately clear what the greatest threat is for these ascetic practices. That which undermines them most is erosion, namely when the relationality disappears, and the practices become a goal in themselves, or serve another goal, such as a self-accomplishment or the acquisition of one’s own salvation. In the medieval mystical tradition, this is often described as a disastrous deviation. 40.  Corpus dionysiacum, vol. 2, ed. G. Heil – A.M. Ritter (Patristische Texte und Studien, 36), Berlin, De Gruyter, 1991, p. 164. 41.  E.g., D.G. Hunter, Marriage, Celibacy and Heresy in Ancient Christianity (Oxford Early Christian Studies), Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2007.



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Brabantine and Rhinelandish mystical authors often severely condemn this attitude. We have already seen an example in the text of Eckhart. The interesting paradox is of course that for Eckhart and many others these practices are not in and of themselves morally reprehensible – they are good practices – but that they have a disastrous effect. Ruusbroec formulates it thus: These people are joined to themselves in a disorderly manner and therefore they always remain alone with themselves, for they lack the true love that would unite them with God and with all his beloved. And even if these people seem to observe the law and the commandments of God and holy Church, they do not keep the law of love. […] And because they are inwardly unfaithful (onghetrouwe) they dare not trust in God (ghetrouwen), but all their life within is doubt and fear, labor and misery42.

A similar criticism is formulated by William of Saint-Thierry concerning those who choose the solitude of the cell but not out of love for God: If anyone among you does not possess this [= knowledge of God and love for God] in his heart, display it in his life, practices it in his cell, he is to be called not a solitary but a man who is alone, and his cell is not a cell for him but a prison in which he is immured43.

This last quote summarizes nicely the entire perspective on ascetic practices in mystical literature, namely that of communion with God and love, not of self-sufficiency. IV. Conclusion From the perspective of Christian mystical literature, the three examples of ascetic practice that we have analyzed – poverty, surrender to God, and solitude and silence – have a fundamentally relational character. According to Christian mystical authors, the objective of these practices is neither to construct the ideal constitution of the religious subject 42.  Dese menschen sijn tot hem selven ghevoecht onordelijcke. Ende hier omme bliven si altoes met hem selven alleene, want hem ghebreect gherechte minne diese vereenighen soude met gode ende met alle sinen gheminden. Ende al schinen dese menschen houdende die wet ende die ghebode gods ende der heiligher kercken, si en houden niet die wet der minnen. […] Ende omme dat si onghetrouwe sijn in haerre inwindicheit, soe en dorren si gode niet ghetrouwen; maer al haer inwindighe leven es twifel ende vaer, arbeit ende ellende. Ruusbroec, Vanden blinkenden steen, ed. Noë (n. 24), pp. 125-127. 43.  Hanc quicumque vestrum non habet in conscientia, non exhibet in vita, non exercet in cella, non solitarius sed solus dicendus est; nec cella ei cella, sed reclusio et carcer est. Epistola (n. 38), p. 234.

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nor methodically to strive for a temporary but still distant, elevated condition. It is thus no surprise that few systematic methods are presented to reach the desired objective. Indeed, John of Ruusbroec is explicit in this regard: “no one can teach others the contemplative life”44. These authors conceive of the practices we have surveyed as responses to God’s initiative to forge relationships with people, and these responses are intended to foster and nourish this relationship to the greatest extent. The specifically relational interpretation of Gen 1,26 (with the attendant underlying conviction that God is fundamentally relational) is a useful hermeneutical key in this regard. KU Leuven Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies St.-Michielsstraat 4/3101 BE-3000 Leuven Belgium [email protected]

Rob Faesen

44. […] scouwende leven en mach niemen anderen leeren; Ruusbroec, Vanden blin­ kenden steen, ed. Noë (n. 24), p. 113.

“THERE IS NEITHER FOOD NOR DRINK IN THE WORLD TO COME” FASTING AS ASCETIC PRACTICE IN ELIJAH DE VIDAS’S RESHIT ḤOKHMAH “Cherish your vitality as long as you have the strength and ability to fast and to receive mortifications, because it is better in this world than in the world to come”. Moshe Yonah, Kanfei Yonah

I. Introduction Elijah de Vidas (d. ca. 1593), a kabbalist who was active in the Galilean town of Safed during the second half of the sixteenth century, commences his mystico-moral treatise Reshit Ḥokhmah (“Beginning of Wisdom”)1 with the words: “Know the essence of truth, that the main principle of engagement in Torah is to turn it into practice”2. Drawing from earlier rabbinic sources, this trenchant statement stresses that the value of theoria lies in the realization of the knowledge conveyed through it3. The sources assembled by de Vidas do indeed offer the conceptual foundation for a way of life that leads to individual perfection, or shlemut 1. In the introduction to his book, de Vidas mentions that he completed Reshit Ḥokhmah on Adar 18, 5535 (March 10, 1575) in Safed. The first printed edition was published in Venice four years later, in 1579. Since then, numerous editions as well as various abbreviations followed. For a detailed study of Reshit Ḥokhmah and its abbreviations, see the important article by M. Pachter, The Book ‘Re’shit Hokhmah’ by Eliyahu de-Vidas and Its Epitomes [Hebrew], in Kirjath Sepher 47 (1972) 686-710. For an English introduction to Reshit Ḥokhmah and a partial translation of Jacob Poyetto’s abbreviation, Reshit Ḥokhmah ha-Qaṣar, see L. Fine, Safed Spirituality: Rules of Mystical Piety, The Beginning of Wisdom, New York, Paulist Press, 1984, pp. 83-156. 2.  Elijah de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah ha-Shalem, ed. Ḥ.Y. Waldmann, 3 vols., Jerusalem, Or ha-Musar, 1984, introduction, §1, 1:3. All translations of Reshit Ḥokhmah are mine. 3.  m. Avot 1,17. See also Bamidbar Rabbah 14,10. See also de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), introduction, §45, 1:2. Since this dictum is embedded between the statements “I have found nothing better for a person than silence” and “anyone who indulges in too many words brings about sin”, early modern commentors interpreted it as referring to hypocrites; namely, those who preach and do not follow their own words. In their opinion, it was better for such people to remain silent (see, e.g., Ovadia Bartenura on m. Avot 1,17).

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ha-adam, one that embarks on the quest to cultivate the adept’s external and internal qualities alike4. They attribute a particularly central function to conduct that scholars of religion commonly subsume under the term “asceticism” – both in the sense of the renunciation of pleasure and as a mode of self-transformation5. From this point of view, it seems unsurprising that de Vidas adopts a twofold approach that is strikingly similar to what Jean Leclercq characterizes as the main pillars of medieval Christian asceticism; namely, that of exercitium and disciplina, or “methodical instruction” and “consolidation of moral ideals”6. However, in contrast to its Christian counterpart – expressing a negative attitude towards corporeality that at times takes the form of extreme bodily mortifications that may even lead to death – de Vidas and some of his kabbalistic contemporaries in Safed chose a different path7. 4.  For a comprehensive discussion of strategies of perfection, particularly in kabbalistic moralistic writings, see P.B. Koch, Human Self-Perfection: A Re-Assessment of Kabbalistic Musar-Literature of Sixteenth-Century Safed, Los Angeles, CA, Cherub Press, 2015. Cf. also J. Dan, Hebrew Ethical Literature and Via Mystica, in P.B. Fenton – R. Goetschel (eds.), Expérience et écriture mystiques dans les religions du Livre (Études sur le judaïsme médiéval, 22), Leiden, Brill, 2000, 77-88, pp. 84-85, where Dan writes that “many of these works devote large sections – or even the major part of a treatise, to a person’s elevation from the abyss of sin, his rejection of worldly temptation, his overcoming his material essence, his subjugation of desires to the religious goal”. It should be added, however, that the ideal of adam shalem, particularly in Zoharic literature, also entails the formation of a perfect nuclear family unit that consists of husband, wife, son, and daughter. Temporary periods of sexual abstinence, however, are frequently mentioned in the context of ascetic practice. On sexual abstinence, see E.R. Wolfson, Language, Eros, Being: Kabbalistic Hermeneutics and Poetic Imagination, New York, Fordham University Press, 2005, 296-332 and 558-574: “Eunuchs Who Keep Sabbath: Erotic Asceticism / Ascetic Eroticism”. 5.  The Foucauldian distinction between asceticism and askēsis was pointed out by E. Wyschogrod, Crossover Queries: Dwelling with Negatives, Embodying Philosophy’s Others, New York, Fordham University Press, 2006, p. 95. See also M. Foucault, The History of Sexuality. Vol. 2: The Use of Pleasure, trans. R. Hurley, New York, Pantheon Books, 1985, p. 9; see also p. 95. 6.  See J. Leclercq, Askese: A. Christliche Askese, in R.-H. Baurtier (ed.), Lexikon des Mittelalters, vol. 1, München – Zürich, Artemis, 1980, 1112-1115, col. 1114. Cf. also G. Kerscher – G. Krieger, Askese im Mittelalter: Beiträge zu ihrer Praxis, Deutung und Wirkungsgeschichte – Zur Einführung, in Das Mittelalter 15 (2010) 3-10, p. 3. De Vidas was not the first to express this idea, as it can be found in early rabbinic sources. See, e.g., M.L. Satlow, “And on the Earth You Shall Sleep”: Talmud Torah and Rabbinic Ascet­ icism, in Journal of Religion 83 (2003) 204-225, especially p. 205, where he writes that “although their means differed, ancient rabbis, pagan philosophers, and church fathers were all engaged in a similar quest to perfect the individual through physical and mental discipline in order to bring him or her closer to the divine”. 7.  For some very vividly depicted examples of heroic asceticism read against the background of its neurophysiological dimension, see J. Kroll – B.S. Bachrach, The Mystic Mind: The Psychology of Medieval Mystics and Ascetics, New York – London, Routledge, 2005.



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Recently, Eugene Matanky has suggested reading works such as Reshit Ḥokhmah as active endorsements of a “materialistic” type of asceticism that differs from its dualistic counterpart insofar as “body and soul are not pitted against one another. […] [R]ather, [they] are on a continuous spectrum, of flesh-becoming-spirit and spirit-becoming-flesh”8. This view had earlier been expressed in a more specific way by Elliot Wolfson, who argues that separation from sensual matters is not [necessarily] seen as a way to obliterate the body – commitment to rabbinical ritual precluded such an unmitigated renunciation of the natural world – but as a means for the metamorphosis of the mortal body into an angelic body, a body whose limbs are constituted by the letters of the name, the anthropomorphic configuration of Torah9.

Elsewhere, I have shown how Moshe Cordovero’s (1522-1570) linguistic theory about the divine origin of the Hebrew language is based on the very same idea: that the spiritual bodies of the Hebrew letters progressively materialize the more they descend from the World of Emanation to the World of Making. Put differently, Cordovero conceives them as a continuum of the same matter that is manifested in different states of aggregation10. This concept also found expression in the writings of his student de Vidas, and in particular in the latter’s vision of asceticism, which assumes that the deity and the human being are structurally isomorphic and in constant mutual connection with one another. Although these observations are highly significant for our understanding of the place of asceticism in early modern Judaism, it would nevertheless be wrong to conclude that the Safedian kabbalists categorically neglected a way of life that is based on a rather negative attitude towards corporeality. On the contrary, their writings also include approaches of that type. It must therefore be emphasized that the materialistic and dualistic forms of asceticism are not necessarily mutually exclusive. This is especially the case in many of the Safedian writings, which suggested ideal types 8. E. Matanky, (Toward) a Reception History of Cordoverean Kabbalah through Elijah de Vidas’s Reshit Ḥokhmah (MA diss., Tel Aviv University, 2019), p. 32. Matanky bases his argument on Wyschogrod, Crossover Queries (n. 5), p. 135. 9.  Wolfson, Language, Eros, Being (n. 4), p. 255. 10. See Koch, Human Self-Perfection (n. 4), pp. 109-114. Cordovero uses the term of geshem ruḥani in order to describe the materialization of the spiritual form of the letters (see ibid., p. 110, and cf. E.R. Wolfson, From Sealed Book to Open Text: Time, Memory, and Narrativity in Kabbalistic Hermeneutics, in S. Kepnes [ed.], Interpreting Judaism in a Postmodern Age, New York, New York University Press, 1996, 145-178, p. 151). To be sure, this state of aggregation is determined by the dominance of one aspect over the other. Therefore, the aim is not to nullify the dyad of body and soul, but rather to aim at a ratio in which the soul governs over the body.

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of human behavior that combine seemingly contradictory approaches into a harmonious whole. The present study investigates the relationship between asceticism and perfection in Elijah de Vidas’s Reshit Ḥokhmah. It focuses on the practice of fasting and highlights its different purposes, for example as a means of self-subjugation, a tool for destroying demonic forces, a preparatory practice for attaining altered states of consciousness, a technique for gaining divine knowledge, a way of atoning for transgressive behavior, or a path towards spiritualization. These functionalities, which are often closely linked, ultimately serve the purpose of self-improvement and thus represent an integral part of a design for life that aims at perfection11. Following Walter O. Kaelber, who defines religious asceticism as “a voluntary, sustained, and at least partially systematic program of self-discipline and self-denial in which immediate, sensual, or profane gratifications are renounced in order to attain a higher spiritual state or a more thorough absorption in the sacred”12, I suggest that we read Reshit Ḥokhmah not only as a work of Jewish morality (musar), as is widely accepted in scholarship, but also as a manual for an ascetic way of life that at its core deals with questions of how the individual can transform his existence by means of habituation. Furthermore, the following discussion will pay due attention to de Vidas’s role as a compiler. His modus operandi of collecting and arranging materials dealing with topics such as the fear and love of God, repentance, holiness, and humility in fact represent a prime example of what Julia Kristeva calls “intertextuality”13. To that effect, it would be misleading to examine de Vidas’s ascetic 11.  From a gender perspective, it is important to mention that generally speaking, the positive attitude towards ascetic practice as reflected in Jewish literature applies virtually only to men. See, e.g., Wolfson, Language, Eros, Being (n. 4), p. 300. 12. W.O. Kaelber, Asceticism, in M. Eliade (ed.), The Encyclopaedia of Religion, New York, Macmillan,1987, vol. 1, 441-445, p. 441. Kaelber defines the varieties of asceticism in more detail, stating: “Viewed cross-culturally, the variety of ascetic forms is limited. Virtually universal are (1) fasting, (2) sexual continence, (3) poverty, under which may be included begging, (4) seclusion or isolation, and (5) self-inflicted pain, either physical (through such means as whipping, burning, or lacerating) or mental (e.g., contemplation of a judgement day, of existence in hell, or of the horrors associated with transmigration). More difficult to define, but perhaps also more significant, is what may be termed an ‘inner asceticism’, consisting essentially of spiritual rather than physical discipline. Such asceticism involves not detachment from or renunciation of any specific worldly pleasure but rather detachment from or renunciation of the world per se. It is reflected in the biblical attitude of being ‘in the world, but not of it’, or in the Bhagavadgītā’s ‘renunciation in action, rather than renunciation of action’” (ibid., p. 442). 13. J. Kristeva, Wort, Dialog und Roman bei Bachtin, in J. Ihwe (ed.), Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik: Ergebnisse und Perspektiven. Vol. 3: Zur linguistischen Basis der Literaturwissenschaft II, Frankfurt a.M., Athenäum, 1972, 345-375 (originally published in French as Bakhtine: le mot, le dialogue, et le roman, in Critique 239 [1967] 438-465).



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program without considering the former contexts of the materials that enter into dialogue in Reshit Ḥokhmah, something that is all the more significant when dealing with writings composed in the melting pot of Ottoman Palestine during the period under investigation. These texts exhibit not only a high degree of referentiality, but also an eclecticism that is furthermore reflected in the increasing popularity of the anthology as a literary ordering principle. At first glance, this approach may appear to be a celebration of multi-vocality. On closer inspection, however, it turns out that it constitutes a quest for coherency that bears witness to the way in which the compiler conveys his or her own ideological agenda through the adaptation of doctrines that are recognized by religious authorities. II. Subordinating the Body, Crushing the Shells: The Dualistic Tendencies of Fasting Reshit Ḥokhmah is considered a book of musar (conventionally rendered as “Jewish ethics”), but it is equally a kabbalistic treatise. Despite its size, Reshit Ḥokhmah was printed in various elaborately prepared editions in a period when book production was still a costly undertaking14, and several concise versions were published shortly after its first release in 1579. Some of these were later translated into Yiddish and Ladino15. Due to its wide dissemination, it had a lasting impact on the eighteenth-century Hasidic movement in Eastern Europe, particularly the theological writings composed during its formative years16. Its unbroken popularity is also reflected in the fact that it was among the first books printed after the Shoah in the Föhrenwald DP camp in Bavaria, when paper was a precious commodity17. However, scholarship has paid little attention to the work as a self-contained and independent composition, 14.  Three editions of the text had been published by the end of the sixteenth century (Venice [1579 and 1593] and Cracow [1593]). In 1708, a revised version was published in Amsterdam. This would become the new standard version, and it was reprinted a dozen times, including in the three-volume edition prepared by Ḥayyim Yosef Waldmann (n. 2). The Bibliography of the Hebrew Book lists a total of fifty-eight editions printed between 1579 and 1960. 15. See Pachter, The Book ‘Re’shit Ḥokhmah’ by R. Eliyahu de-Vidas (n. 1). 16. M. Pachter, Traces of the Influence of R. Elijah de Vidas’ Reshit Hokhma upon the Writings of R. Jacob Joseph of Pollonnye [Hebrew], in J. Dan – J. Hacker (eds.), Studies in Jewish Mysticism, Philosophy, and Ethical Literature: Presented to Isaiah Tishby on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, Jerusalem, Magnes Press, 1986, 569-591; B. Sack, The Influence of Reshit Hokhmah on the Teachings of the Maggid of Mezhirech, in A. Rapoport-Albert (ed.), Hasidism Re-Appraised, London – Portland, OR, Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1996, 251-257. 17.  The Föhrenwald edition of Reshit Ḥokhmah was published in 1947.

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but has rather exploited it as a sourcebook of sorts18. This is certainly one of the reasons why the obvious ascetic inclinations of Reshit Ḥokhmah have not yet been duly appreciated. A clear indicator of this tendency can already be seen in the ordering of the chapters, which simulates a gradual vertical ascent that ultimately leads to perfection19. One of the recurring themes throughout the work, and one that de Vidas also treats in great detail, is the practice of fasting. Fasting is firmly established in Judaism; it does not, however, represent an ascetic exercise per se. Perhaps the most prominent example of a fast whose function is not ascetic is the mandatory renunciation of food and drink on the Day of Atonement that was institutionalized in rabbinic times20. Also, fasting in biblical sources rather resembles a modern hunger strike – namely, an act that attracts attention as an expression of protest from the one who performs it – as suggested by David Lambert21. Beyond this, the stance in regard to the necessity and benefits of fasting also varies. The writings of the Talmudic era, for instance, have very divided opinions, to the extent that Eliezer Diamond concluded that “attitudes toward ascetic behavior generally and toward fasting specifically were much more negative in Babylonia than in Palestine”22. Sixteenth-century kabbalists made extensive use of the repertoire of biblical and rabbinic ideas. ­However, it is notable that they showed a clear preference for doctrines that attributed a positive value to ascetic practice in general.

18.  One exception are the important studies by M. Pachter, especially his Homiletic and Ethical Literature of Safed in the Sixteenth Century [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1976). 19.  Reshit Ḥokhmah is composed of five gates: the Gate of Awe, the Gate of Love, the Gate of Repentance, the Gate of Holiness, and the Gate of Humility. Those topics can be further equated with the Sefirot: awe and love parallel the tenth Sefirah of Malkhut, repentance correlates with the third Sefirah of Binah, holiness with the second Sefirah of Ḥokhmah, and finally humility with the supreme Sefirah of Keter. See also Mordechai Pachter, who emphasized that the function of Reshit Ḥokhmah was to impart to the reader the path of ethical-religious elevation in order to attain a high religious degree (Pachter, Homiletic and Ethical Literature [n. 18], p. 366 and see also Id., The Book ‘Re’shit Ḥokhmah’ by R. Eliyahu de-Vidas [n. 1], p. 688). 20.  m. Yoma 8,1. It is noteworthy that even though the terms are interchangeable, it is possible to distinguish between ṣom (‫ )צום‬and ta‘anit (‫)תענית‬. The former usually refers to fasting as a means to repent, while the latter refers to it as a means of humbling oneself before God. 21. D. Lambert, Fasting as a Penitential Rite: A Biblical Phenomenon?, in Harvard Theological Review 96 (2003) 477-451, p. 482. 22.  E. Diamond, Holy Men and Hunger Artists: Fasting and Asceticism in Rabbinic Culture, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004, p. 117.



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Arguably the most formative and most frequently quoted source for Reshit Ḥokhmah is the Zohar23. This pseudo-epigraphic medieval corpus of texts, which was printed in two different editions in Mantova and Cremona in the sixteenth century and which circulated in further textual clusters in Safed in manuscript form, is traditionally attributed to the second-century Tannaitic figure Shimon bar Yoḥai. Despite contemporary criticism regarding the ancient provenance of the Zohar, de Vidas appears to have treated it as a rabbinic text24. Large sections of this complex work are based on the concept of a dualism that exists between the Sefirotic system and the “Other Side” or siṭra aḥra. These competing realms are also considered to be the sources of the powers of holiness and the powers of impurity, which respectively either sustain the world or attempt to destroy it25. De Vidas adopted this binary model in several discussions in his anthology26. He argues, for example, that the human body stems from the demonic realm of the qelipot or “shells”. Consequently, weakening the body by means of fasting diminishes the impact that these forces have on the individual27. Following this logic, the renunciation of food has a ­cosmic effect, as it translates into a rejection of the impure food source that nourishes the human being’s corporeal aspect from on high. With reference to the concept that the shell acts like a separation shield between 23.  On the question of whether the Zohar constitutes what modern readers would consider a “book”, see D. Abrams, The Invention of the Zohar as a Book, in Id., Kabbalistic Manuscripts and Textual Theory: Methodologies of Textual Scholarship and Editorial Practice in the Study of Jewish Mysticism, Jerusalem, Magnes Press; Los Angeles, CA, Cherub Press, 2010, 224-428. 24.  On early modern criticism of the Zohar as an ancient text, see Y. Dweck, The Scandal of Kabbalah: Leon Modena, Jewish Mysticism, Early Modern Venice, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2011, pp. 59-100. See also I. Tishby (ed.), The Wisdom of the Zohar, trans. D. Goldstein, new ed., Oxford – Portland, OR, Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2002, vol. 1, pp. 13-96, esp. 55-87; B. Huss, The Zohar: Reception and Impact, trans. Y. Nave, Oxford – Portland, OR, Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2016, esp. pp. 239-258. 25.  On this dualism, see Tishby, Wisdom of the Zohar (n. 24), vol. 2, pp. 450-454 (on the binaries of body and soul, see also pp. 749-809). 26.  It is noteworthy that here, de Vidas follows his teacher Moshe Cordovero, who claims that divine creation in general, and the human creation in particular, is nourished either by the shells (qelipot) or by holiness (qedushah). See, e.g., M. Cordovero, Pardes Rimmonim, ed. M. Ṣuriel, Jerusalem, Yarid Ha-Sefarim, 2000, Gate 25, chapter 4, pp. 420-422, esp. 420. 27. Cf., e.g., de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Awe, chapter 12, §51, 1:239; chapter 15, §28, 1:309-310; Gate of Holiness, chapter 4, §24, 2:55. For a study of the concept of the qelipah in Lurianic Kabbalah, see I. Tishby, The Doctrine of Evil and the ‘Kelippah’ in Lurianic Kabbalism [Hebrew], Jerusalem, Schocken, 1942. On the symbol of the qelipah in medieval Kabbalah, see D. Abrams, Sexual Symbolism and Merkava Speculation in Medieval Germany: A Study of the Sod ha-Egoz Texts (Texts and Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Judaism, 13), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1997, pp. 69-73.

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God and Israel, which thickens each time Israel sins, de Vidas offers a strategy for destroying this screen. He writes: There will be no restoration [of the uninterrupted bond between God and Israel] until the qelipah is shattered by means of fasting and weeping […], in the [same] way that one breaks one’s spirit and one’s limbs before yhwh, as it is said: “And when a man breaks his spirit and all his limbs before yhwh”28. And there is no [other] way of breaking one’s limbs and spirit except by the mortification of the fast, through which one’s blood and fat – namely, the essence of the limbs – are diminished and suffer (mistagefim). Analogously, when eating and drinking, arrogance takes over, and it […] keeps the supreme light away from the soul. […] Torah scholars in particular need to fast in order to subdue their bodies, for the soul is only illuminated once the body and its powers are subdued29.

In contrast to the widespread rabbinic opinion that Torah scholars should preferably not fast since they would grow weak and would consequently jeopardize their ability to study30, de Vidas explicitly refers here to the benefits of bodily mortifications for the élite. Accordingly, the soul can only exploit its receptive power from the side of holiness to the full when the body is subdued31. It is, however, not only the body that needs to be held at bay, but also the “heart” – or what in more psychological terms can be described as the ego32. Commenting on a Zoharic interpretation of Ps 51,1933, de Vidas writes: When the sinner draws the [impure] spirit from the Other Side upon himself, then his heart will become arrogant, and the main sacrifice is a broken spirit; namely, [he needs] to crush this external spirit, just as one cracks the shells of nuts. […] How can this spirit be broken? By means of breaking the heart – namely, “not [being] arrogant and not revel[ing] in worldly delight”34 – and by means of fasting, one distances oneself from worldly delights, thus one breaks this external spirit35. 28.  Zohar 3,347a (Raya Meheimna). 29.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Repentance, chapter 4, §10, 1:755. 30. See, e.g., b. Ta‘anit 11b. 31.  It is noteworthy that the medieval kabbalist Ezra of Gerona formulated a different, yet similar strategy, stating that the purpose “of the commandments, devotional acts, prayers, and fasting, [is] to subdue the evil inclination so that it will be compliant to the good inclination, and so that the body, whose foundation is dust and whose nature is evil and descends below, will be drawn after the soul whose foundation is life and whose nature is entirely good and ascends above” (English translation in Wolfson, Language, Eros, Being [n. 4], p. 247). 32.  Interestingly, Sufi authors would usually identify the nafs (Hebrew equivalent nefesh) as the ego that needs to be conquered. 33.  Zohar 3,240a. For an English translation, see The Zohar: Pritzker Edition, vol. 9, trans. D.C. Matt, Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press, 2016, p. 604. 34.  Zohar 3,240a. 35.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Repentance, chapter 4, §6, 1:753. See also ibid., §17, 1:760: “Fasting is essential in order to lead the heart to subdual. And if



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The annihilation of the evil spirit is executed here by means of developing an indifference towards both external sensations and those that develop inside the mind. This example also shows how de Vidas modifies the Zoharic discussion by introducing the idea of fasting. In doing so, he offers his readers a practical solution that teaches them how to achieve such a state of consciousness. When read against the background of his intellectual environment, it appears that de Vidas adopted the idea of a liberation from external forces from his teacher Cordovero, whom he quotes elsewhere with reference to sufferings as a remedy that will purify the flesh from the outside36. In order to shed light on the concrete psychological mechanisms at play during a fast, de Vidas utilizes yet another passage, this time from Israel ibn al-Nakawa’s (d. 1391) ethical tract Menorat ha-Ma’or37. In a decidedly non-kabbalistic manner, al-­ Nakawa explains how fasting can serve as a remedy against arrogance, as it puts the individual into a state of acknowledging his inferiority in relation to the divine. Thus, when a person is hungry, he understands his self-deficiency and the insignificance of mankind, because when he lacks the sustenance of bread and a jug of water, his strength and limbs weaken, his eyes darken, and he can hardly stand on his feet. In that moment, he knows the perfection of the Holy One, exalted be He, who needs neither food nor drink, as it is said “Do I eat the flesh of bulls, etc.?” (Ps 50,13). And when a person is hungry, he will turn his eyes to the Holy One, exalted be He, and beg for his sustenance, and he [will] comprehend that his exalted Lord “gives food to all flesh” (Ps 136,25). […] Then he will have mercy towards the poor and will distance himself from pride, for coarse foods lead man to transgressions and guilt, as it is said: “So Jeshurun grew fat and kicked” (Deut 32,15)38.

By fasting, one recognizes the transience of one’s human existence. Acknowledging God’s perfection and omnipotence, the ascetic develops an awareness of being dependent on God. Furthermore, it is noteworthy that there is an identification between the potential dangers of eating and we sanctify ourselves from eating and drinking, which are the powers of the body, we will become attached to the Exalted One and his servants, for they are separated and sanctified from food and drink, and then He will answer us, for we will have become attached to Him. But by means of eating and drinking, we are separated from Him, except if eating is commanded, on the Sabbaths and holidays, at the beginning of the month, and the like”. 36.  See de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Holiness, chapter 17, §64, 2:536537. More specifically, Cordovero distinguishes between the Torah as a remedy that purifies the inner qelipah and sufferings as a remedy that purifies the flesh from the outside. 37.  Israel ibn al-Nakawa, Menorat ha-Ma’or, ed. H.G. Enelow, vol. 4, New York, Bloch, 1932, p. 234. Not to be confused with Menorat ha-Ma’or by his contemporary Isaac Aboab, to which reference is made below. 38.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Holiness, chapter 15, §29, 2:389.

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a state of pride and fasting as a means of acquiring humility. The realization that nourishment stems from a divine source saves one from human hubris. The backdrop of Menorat ha-Ma’or thus differs from the dualistic approach that de Vidas borrowed from the Zohar. In the former, material food stems from the divine, and human beings differ from God insofar as they need material sustenance to survive. In other words, al-Nakawa’s position stresses the great discrepancy between the divine and the human being and views the necessity of eating and drinking as an expression of inferiority; or, to put it differently, he sees fasting as a form of divine imitation while at the same time illustrating its clear limits that are determined by the human condition39. In the Zoharic examples, however, fasting is not considered an act of assuming and accepting a subordinate role. Rather, it is presented as an active fight against evil and as a mechanism based on a strongly anthropocentric world view. In order to reconcile these two divergent positions, de Vidas adopts yet another notion; namely, the idea of spiritual food40. III.  Flesh Becoming Spirit: The Concept of Spiritual Food The idea that the individual can potentially transcend his corporeal existence and hence overcome his physical needs when fully immersed in Scripture or in a state of closeness or union with the divine has already been articulated in the earliest kabbalistic writings. Thus, in an oft-quoted 39.  In contrast to this, see, e.g., Zohar 2,153a, in which fasting is an imitation of the divine as it constitutes a reversal of the human metabolism (see especially The Zohar: Pritzker Edition, vol. 5, trans. D.C. Matt, Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press, 2009, pp. 393-394, and esp. 393, n. 585 and 394, n. 586). The very same idea was articulated by de Vidas’s contemporary Ḥayyim Vital in Sha‘ar Ruaḥ ha-Qodesh, Jerusalem, Ahavat Shalom, 2017, p. 202, who writes: “On the day a person eats, his stomach sacrifices the food. And it ascends to the liver, and from the liver to the heart, and from the heart to the brain. On a fast day, however, he resembles the supreme form, because he draws down from his brain to his heart, and from the heart to the liver, and, as it is clarified in the Zohar [2,254b], when the spiritual things reach the upper Ḥokhmah, which is called ‘thought’ (maḥshavah), [he/it] takes the [food] and clarifies it and casts the refuse out. Thus, on the fast day, the fasting person pushes the qelipot to the outside by the power of his thought”. 40. The Zohar, in the name of Shimon bar Yoḥai, distinguishes between (a) ordinary food; namely, “food that comes from heaven and earth”; (b) more refined food “that comes from the higher source of judgement”, namely, maṣah deriving from Shekhinah; (c) food that stems from Tif’eret, “entering the soul most deeply”, associated with mannah; and (d) the “highest food of […] those engaging in Torah, who eat food of spirit and soul-breath – not eating food of the body at all”, which stems from Ḥokhmah (see Zohar 2,61b-62a and The Zohar: Pritzker Edition, vol. 4, trans. D.C. Matt, Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press, 2007, pp. 332-333 and nn. 476-478). De Vidas quotes this discussion elsewhere (see de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah [n. 2], Gate of Holiness, chapter 15, §52, 2:420).



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passage from his anti-philosophical polemic Meshiv Devraim Nekokhim, the thirteenth-century Geronese kabbalist Jacob ben Sheshet writes that any thoughtful person understands that when the soul is united with the Creator (be-hadbaqah ba-boreh) all bodily sensations are eliminated such that it has no need for food nor drink nor any other bodily needs. His limbs will be inactive and the food already in his stomach will be preserved so that he loses nothing because of the energy expended while he is united with Him to the extent that his intellect reaches in union with Him41.

As the bodily functions come to a halt, the digestive system also pauses. For ben Sheshet, the non-absorption of food is therefore no longer an act of renunciation, but rather a side effect. Following this theory, the body does not require an alternative food source while in a state of intellectual union. Besides this highly unusual explanation, however, kabbalists developed additional rationales which assume that the individual is provided with nourishment from a divine source when in a state of absolute devotion. Commenting on the biblical verse that “man may live on anything that the Lord decrees” (Deut 8,3), de Vidas explains: We see some penitents who fast for three days and three nights, and those who fast for four days and nights, and those who fast for six [days and nights] and do not die. Naturally, a doctor would say that a person who does this is endangering his life – and this also applies to the other types of mortifications that penitents perform – but they are healthy. This is all due to divine support. And it is possible that this is what King David, peace be upon him, intended when he said, “Who gives food to all the flesh, His steadfast love is eternal” (Ps 136,25), meaning that the Holy One, exalted be He, provides nourishment – which He calls bread – “to all flesh” according to the [spiritual] development [of the adept]42. 41.  Ya‘akov ben Sheshet, Meshiv Devraim Nekokhim, ed. Y.A. Vajda, Jerusalem, Ha-Akademia ha-Le’umit ha-Yisraelit le-Mada’im, 1969, p. 82. English translation in The Early Kabbalah, ed. J. Dan, trans. R.C. Kiener, New York – Mahwah, NJ, Paulist Press, 1986, p. 143. See also J. Garb, A History of Kabbalah: From the Early Modern Period to the Present Day, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2020, p. 12. For a general introduction to the writings of Jacob ben Sheshet, see J. Dan, History of Jewish Mysticism and Esotericism: The Middle Ages. Vol. 8: The Gerona Circle of Kabbalists [Hebrew], Jerusalem, Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 2012, pp. 28, 413-447 and 449-472. 42.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Love, chapter 6, §33, 1:469-470. It is noteworthy that already the ancient Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria had stated that “to some extent, in fact, food of the mind can replace physical food: Moses had no thought of food for forty days” (Satlow, “And on the Earth You Shall Sleep” [n. 6], p. 222, and cf. Philo, Moses 2.68 [translation in Philo, On Abraham. On Joseph. On Moses, trans. F.H. Colson, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1935, p. 483]). For a comprehensive discussion of the status of eating and the concept of spiritual food, see J. Hecker, Mystical Bodies, Mystical Meals: Eating and Embodiment in Medieval Kabbalah, Detroit, MI, Wayne State University Press, 2005. Cf. also the discussion in de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Holiness, chapter 15, §§59-60, 2:407.

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This passage expresses that a person who refrains from material nourishment for the right purpose and with the right intention is in actuality not really fasting. Rather, he is provided with substitute nourishment from a higher source43. It is very likely that this idea is modeled on the idealized type of Moses’s “asceticism” manifested in his abstention from food and drink while receiving God’s revelation at Mount Sinai. According to Eliezer Diamond, the biblical narrative suggests that “Moses is so engaged by the world of spirit that his bonds to the material world loosen and slip away of their own accord. […] It appears not to have been a decision taken consciously on his part but rather a natural result of his being in God’s presence”44. This reading is substantiated elsewhere, when de Vidas offers a similar explanation. In the penultimate part of his anthology, the Gate of Holiness, he identifies Torah study as the cause of the ability to survive without food. Expanding on the Zohar’s discussion of the commandment to study Torah45, he writes: When a person studies Torah according to the way [outlined in the Zohar; namely, to “engage in her every day – enhancing one’s soul and spirit”]46, it teaches [him] about his great desire for her. Then, the Holy One, exalted be He, pours a holy soul into him, and then he becomes like an angel, abstracted from matter (mufshat me-ha-ḥomer). […] Thus, the soul’s nourishment [is provided] through Torah, and consequently [Torah] is called bread, as it is said “Come, eat my bread” (Prov 9,5)47.

In this extraordinary account, de Vidas presents the scholar as someone who overcomes his human condition by means of divine support. The appropriate method of study grants those occupied in the study of Scripture with a sacred soul, and this additional soul enables the human being to be transformed into an angelic being48. De Vidas substantiates 43.  On the Zoharic typology of human beings, which is determined by their spiritual status, see also Tishby, Wisdom of the Zohar (n. 24), vol. 3, pp. 1429-1432 (esp. 1431 on the sources of nourishment). 44.  Diamond, Holy Men and Hunger Artists (n. 22), p. 95. 45. See Zohar 1,12b. 46. See ibid. 47.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Holiness, chapter 4, §30, 2:59. 48.  Cf. also de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), chapter 7, §61, 2:168: “And according to my opinion, for without doubt, a person who gets up at midnight will have the intention and desire to provide the Shekhinah with power through his love for her, like the matter of ‘O you, the Lord’s remembrancers, take no rest’ (Isa 62,6), as explained in the Zohar (2,30a), and power will be poured on his soul so that he will be able to fast, as it is stated in the Zohar (3,23b) ‘to make him a new creature’. Certainly, the power in his soul will be regenerated. And I have observed several of the penitents that get up at midnight and engage in Torah until dawn and fast. This is only possible by means of divine help, ‘for man does not live on bread alone’ (Deut 8,3). And if not, if he weakens the supreme power, the power of his soul will be weakened”. It is noteworthy that the thirteenth-­century



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this notion of transcending one’s own corporeality by repeatedly highlighting throughout Reshit Ḥokhmah that “there is neither food nor drink in the world to come”49 and that the perfected human will be nurtured by spiritual food. He thereby offers an implicit answer as to why he argues against the critical Talmudic voices that would regard fasting as a potential reason for the cessation of study50. According to de Vidas, the opposite is the case: he presents engagement in Torah as an ascetic practice and thus as one that renders eating superfluous. He would not, however, go so far as to argue, as the Zohar does, that Torah scholars outwardly appear weak, as they are exclusively nourished by food for the spirit rather than the body. Although he refers en passant to this radical stance in his anthology, he nevertheless relativizes it by mentioning that scholars must also consume conventional food in order to survive51. IV. Asceticism, Purification, and the Reception of Divine Knowledge Early modern kabbalistic writings frequently associate contact with the supernatural – such as angelic experiences, self-induced absorptions of a spirit, or ecstatic states during which the soul leaves the body and journeys to the upper worlds – with an ascetic regimen. One of the reasons why asceticism takes pride of place in these texts stems from the idea that revelatory experiences of any kind constitute a key medium for attaining divine knowledge and that the receptivity of these revelations k­ abbalist Moshe de León (considered by some scholars the author of the Zohar) explains the fast of Yom Kippur in his Sefer Mishkan Edut by saying that “there is no food or drink in the world to come” (Moshe de León, Sefer Mishkan Edut, ed. A. Bar-Asher, Los Angeles, CA, Cherub Press, 2013, p. 46). Unlike the rabbinic use of the term olam ha-ba or “world to come” – referring to either the afterlife or messianic times – the medieval and especially the kabbalistic use of the term depicts the heavenly realm that can be accessed by the mystic during his (or potentially also her) lifetime. For comprehensive discussions of the different perceptions of the two worlds, see L.J. Greenspoon (ed.), Olam Ha-Zeh V’Olam Ha-Ba: This World and the World to Come in Jewish Belief and Practice, West Lafayette, IN, Purdue University Press, 2017. 49.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Repentance, chapter 5, §23, 1:786. 50.  b. Ta‘anit 11b. In the broader discussion, one can find additional negative opinions about asceticism. Consider, for example, R. Shmuel, who said: “Whoever sits [in observance of] a fast is called a sinner”. With reference to the Nazirite, who abstains from drinking wine, this judgement is further amplified, stating that “with regard to one who distresses himself by abstaining from each and every matter of food and drink when he fasts, all the more so should he be considered a sinner” (b. Ta‘anit 11a). 51.  Zohar 2,61b, and see de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Holiness, chapter 15, §§54-55, 2:403-404.

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often depends upon exercises that can be characterized as ascetic. Complete understanding (hasaga gemurah) of the Godhead is one of the goals of a kabbalistic lifestyle, as it enables one to both appropriately navigate and impact the upper worlds52. It is therefore one of the important characteristics of human self-improvement. The preparations that enable the conception of divine knowledge are often ascribed an atoning function. These physical and mental actions subsumed under the term teshuvah also serve to purify oneself53. It should suffice to mention that the namesake of Lurianic Kabbalah, Isaac Luria Ashkenazi (1534-1572), allegedly said that “teshuvah is an acronym that hints at the various stages that one needs to accomplish as a penitent, which are fasting, [wearing] sackcloth, [covering oneself with] ashes, weeping, [and] eulogy”54. De Vidas – who is primarily known as a disciple of Cordovero, but who apparently also studied with Luria – refers to fasting as a penitential practice on different levels55. At times, he presents it as a theurgical process whose primary goal is to repair the damage caused to the divine realm by an individual’s transgressive behavior. In other instances, he characterizes it as a means of removing previously accumulated post-mortem punishments from the sinner’s record. On a more advanced level, however, it is part of a regimen intended to enable spiritual-intellectual conception from a supernatural source. Thus, already in the introduction to Reshit Ḥokhmah, de Vidas stresses that “anyone who [tries to] enter into the inner wisdom without [engaging in] repentance and good deeds will never [succeed]”56. The idea of achieving spiritual perfection through asceticism is certainly not a unique feature of kabbalistic writings. Rather, it marks a continuation of earlier traditions, especially those with an ethico-spiritual 52.  On the place of revelatory experience in early modern Kabbalah, see M. Idel, Revelation and the “Crisis of Tradition” in Kabbalah: 1475-1575, in A. Kilcher (ed.), Constructing Tradition: Means and Myths of Transmission in Western Esotericism (Aries Book Series, 11), Leiden, Brill, 2010, 253-292. 53.  For a more comprehensive discussion of teshuvah in sixteenth-century Safed, see Koch, Human Self-Perfection (n. 4), pp. 132-164. For the centrality of penance in a medieval kabbalistic context, see J.P. Brown, Distilling Depths from Darkness: Forgiveness and Repentance in Medieval Iberian Jewish Mysticism (PhD diss., New York University, 2015). 54.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Repentance, chapter 5, §23, 1:786. Cf., however, Vital, Sha‘ar Ruaḥ ha-Qodesh (n. 39), p. 153, who attributes this tradition to R. Avraham (ha-Levi Berukhim?). 55. See, e.g., de Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Love, chapter 7, § 34, 1:515, where de Vidas himself refers to Luria as his teacher. 56.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), introduction, §42, 1:21. The term “wisdom” further hints at the second Sefirah of Ḥokhmah.



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inclination57. For example, the treatise Menorat ha-Ma’or by the fourteenth-century Iberian Talmudist Isaac Aboab references an aggadic story in which the second-century sage R. Aqiva is portrayed as hearing a heavenly voice (bat qol) after a forty-day fast58. The biblical Moses, who did not eat for forty days during his ascent to Mount Sinai, can certainly be regarded as a literary model of this account59. As mentioned above, the ethico-kabbalistic compositions written in sixteenth-century Safed are completely imbued with such biblical, rabbinic, and medieval ideas. Unlike their predecessors, however, they take a more radical position in that they no longer simply write about past divine revelations, but rather propagate the possibility of attaining prophecy in their time60. To be sure, even though the Hebrew term nevu’ah can be found in kabbalistic writings of that period, their authors would still maintain, at least formally, that there is a certain difference between biblical and post-biblical prophecy. One of the most articulate examples thereof is Ḥayyim Vital’s short 57.  My intention here is particularly the corpus known as Hekhalot and Merkava literature, which at times shows striking parallels to traditions recorded in the Talmud. See, e.g., J.R. Davila, Descenders to the Chariot: The People behind the Hekhalot Literature (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, 70), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2001; G. Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism, and Talmudic Tradition, New York, Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1960, esp. p. 13. 58.  Isaac Aboab, Menorat ha-Ma’or, ed. Y.F. Ḥoreb – M.Ḥ. Katzenelenbogen, Jerusalem, Mossad Harav Kook, 1961, 1.1.2 [51]. For a parallel story, though one which lacks the section about fasting, see N.N. Coronel (ed.), Ḥamishah Quntresim: Masekhet Kallah, Vienna, 1864, fols. 4b-5a. See also Ma‘aseh Book: Book of Jewish Tales and Legends Translated from the Judeo-German, trans. M. Gaster, 2 vols., Philadelphia, PA, Jewish Publication Society of America, 1934, vol. 1, no. 146, pp. 286-289, esp. 288. 59. See Diamond, Holy Men and Hunger Artists (n. 22), p. 95. See also p. 182, n. 23, where he remarks that “interestingly, in the case of Elijah (1 Kings 19), whose experience in the desert is clearly modeled consciously after Moses’ experience at Sinai, God does not appear to him until after he has fasted for forty days”. Cf. also the reference to the Apocalypse of Abraham, ibid., p. 97, in which it is stated that Abraham was commanded by an angel to abstain “for forty days […] from every kind of food cooked by fire and from drinking of wine, and from anointing [himself] with oil” in preparation for his divine vision (Apocalypse of Abraham 9,7, trans. R. Rubinkiewicz, in J. Charlesworth [ed.], The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha [Garden City, NY, Doubleday, 1985], vol. 1, p. 693). 60.  Despite the rabbinic stance, which assumes that prophecy ceased to exist after Malachi (see, e.g., t. Sotah 3,3; b. Yoma 9b; b. Sanhedrin 11a), we can find approaches in medieval Jewish literature that utilize the prophetic model. Philosophers, such as, for example, the medieval thinker and physician Maimonides, re-interpreted prophecy allegorically as a marker of an extraordinarily highly cultivated intellect. See Maimonides, The Guide of the Perplexed, ed. and trans. S. Pines, 2 vols., Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press, 1963, especially Guide 2.32-48 on prophecy. On Maimonides and perfection, see, e.g., H. Kreisel, Maimonides’ View of Prophecy as the Overflowing Perfection of Man, in Daat 13 (1984) xxi-xxvi; Id., Intellectual Perfection and the Role of the Law in the Philosophy of Maimonides, in J. Neusner – E.S. Frerichs – N.M. Sarna (eds.), From Ancient Israel to Modern Judaism: Intellect in Quest of Understanding. Essays in Honor of Marvin Fox, Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press, 1989, vol. 3, 25-46.

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yet complex manual Sha‘arei Qedushah (“Gates of Holiness”)61. Vital himself states at the very beginning of Sha‘arei Qedushah that he intended to write a guidebook that would teach the path to attaining the holy spirit and prophecy62. In the opening section, Vital emphasizes the eminent rank of the biblical prophets, who had the potential to cause their souls to become permanently attached to their divine source. This connection between the soul and its divine root granted them uninterrupted access to divine revelations63. Vital further claims that by contrast, the following generation of early ascetics (perushim) were granted the level of the holy spirit by means of their hermetic lifestyle and the attachment of their thought to the supernal lights64. By ascribing the same effectiveness to the different strategies used by the prophets and the post-prophetic ascetics, Vital essentially argues that even though the method and duration of such experiences may differ, they are nevertheless alike in qualitative terms. The permanent commitment to a remorseful life and the need to develop a constant awareness of one’s own sinfulness as a prerequisite for prophetic states is articulated very clearly in Marpeh la-Nefesh, a short moralistic treatise attributed to a student of Isaac Luria65. The author writes accordingly that even if a person has repented, he shall nevertheless say, “I am ever conscious of my sin” (Ps 51,5) unto his death [in a permanent state of] penance (teshuvah) […]. Therefore, “hold fast to discipline, do not let go” (Prov 4,13) and you will be granted [a place in] the world to come and a long life, […] and thereby you will be granted [access to] the secrets of Torah and 61.  Ḥayyim Vital, Sha‘arei Qedushah, Jerusalem, Eshkol, 1985. If not indicated differently, all subsequent references will be based on this edition. For an additional version, which includes the formerly censored fourth part of the book, see Ḥayyim Vital, Sefer Sha‘arei Qedushah ha-Shalem, ed. A. Gross, Tel Aviv, Barnazi, 2005. See also A. BarAsher, “This Fourth Part Has Been Neither Copied Nor Printed”: On the Identification of the Last Part of Sha’are Qedusha [Hebrew], in Alei Sefer 23 (2013) 37-49, as well as the discussion in Koch, Human Self-Perfection (n. 4), pp. 37-39 and 67-76. 62. Vital, Sha‘arei Qedushah (n. 61), pp. 1-3. 63.  Ibid., p. 1: “Thus was the matter of the prophets, who were constantly attached to their Creator. And by means of this attachment (devequt), the holy spirit ruled over them [in order] to instruct them [on] which path the light dwells [in order] to illuminate their eyes with the secrets of Torah”. 64.  A different version of the text that can be found in some of the printed editions of Sha‘arei Qedushah states that the prophets did not reveal their secret path to the ascetics. Thus, the ascetics decided to imitate the conduct of the prophets reported in biblical literature. 65.  Marp’e la-Nefesh was first printed in Venice in 1595. It is therefore considered the earliest Lurianic work to appear in print. See also Y. Avivi, Kabbalah Luriana [Hebrew], Jerusalem, Ben-Zvi Institute, 2008, vol. 1, p. 263.



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will attain true prophecy (nevu’ah mamash), if a person guides himself in God’s favor all his days66.

Besides such instructive passages, which are particularly common in kabbalistic musar, additional sources testify that this kind of God-oriented way of life was implemented by the Safedian kabbalists. One vivid example can be found in Ḥayyim Vital’s self-representation in his mystical diary Sefer Ḥezionot, where he writes that his teacher Isaac Luria Ashkenazi “asked my soul and she told him that I must fast for forty days in a row in sackcloth and ashes, and that afterwards, I should always fast [twice a week] on Mondays [and] Thursdays […] for a period of two and a half years, and then I will attain complete understanding (hasaga gemura)”67. The spiritual development of Luria himself follows this pattern. Thus, one of the hagiographical accounts about this legendary figure reports that sometimes he would be told in a dream that he understands the Zohar […], but that there is another esoteric [layer] that is [even] deeper than this, […] and sometimes he would be told that in order to understand a particular passage, he would need further mortifications that were more severe than the previous ones. […] Due to these [and other] actions, he attained the holy spirit and Elijah was revealed to him, saying to him: “See, God sent me to tell you all the secrets of Torah”68.

These examples share the basic premise that asceticism serves as a means of purification and that purification is the conditio sine qua non for gaining true understanding, which is conveyed by means of revelatory experiences69. The most vivid instructions in Reshit Ḥokhmah that associate an ascetic regimen with the reception of divine knowledge are taken from 66.  Sefer Marp’e la-Nefesh, ed. N. Moshe ben Azriel Manṣor, Jerusalem, Shuvi Nafshi Institute, 2011, p. 22. 67.  Ḥayyim Vital, The Book of Visions: The Diary of Rabbi Ḥayyim Vital, ed. M. Faierstein [Hebrew], Jerusalem, Ben-Zvi Institute, 2005, p. 142. Cf. also Ḥayyim Vital, Sha‘ar ha-Gilgulim ‘im Perush Bnei Aharon, Jerusalem, Ḥemed, 1972, haqdamah 38, p. 328. 68.  Toledot ha-Ar”i, included in S. Shtober (ed.), Sefer Divre Yosef by Yosef Yizhak Sambari: Eleven Hundred Years of Jewish History under Muslim Rule, Jerusalem, Ben Zvi Institute, 1994, pp. 330-331. 69. Vital, Book of Visions (n. 67), p. 142. Vital continues that in order to attain the very same spiritual degree as Luria, “I must do teshuvah, particularly by fasting for forty days in a row […] and by wearing sackcloth to bed each night during this time, and then the awakening of the holy spirit will come to me”. On the importance of revelation in sixteenth-century Kabbalah, see J. Garb, Modern Kabbalah as an Autonomous Domain of Research [Hebrew], Los Angeles, CA, Cherub Press, 2016, pp. 10-28 (on the seventeenth century, see pp. 29-41); S. Shatil, The Doctrine of Secrets of “Emek ha-Melekh”, in Jewish Studies Quarterly 17 (2010) 358-395, esp. 360-362.

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the fourteenth-century Byzantine kabbalistic work Sefer ha-Qanah70. Despite the fundamentally critical attitude towards kabbalistic traditions that emerged in the post-Naḥmanidean era – oftentimes degraded as a product of human intellectual effort that has no divine origin – de Vidas openly quotes from this anonymous treatise71. In the Gate of Repentance, he reproduces the following detailed and systematic record that is worth quoting at length: A person who wants to do penance should give up on this world and not be engaged in this-worldly matters at all. He shall think in his heart that at any hour, the King may come [to visit] him to take stock of his iniquities. And he shall not eat meat or anything “in whose nostrils is a breath” (Isa 2,22), nor drink wine, and he shall hold a fast and study Torah day and night and fight sleep […]. He shall direct all his thoughts to the exalted God and regret everything that he has done [wrong]. If he is confronted with a [potential] transgression, he shall push it away and distance himself from it. The guiding principle of his diet shall be to [consume] meals that are just enough to maintain his vitality. And this is what he shall do [specifically]: He shall distance himself from society, from meat and wine, and from animals and animal products, as well as from all kinds of vegetables […] for forty days. Thenceforward, the Holy One, exalted be He, will support him. He shall [continue to] proceed [accordingly] for up to six years. Then there will be no doubt whatsoever that he is a son of the world to come, even if he were to [start] eating [again] after six years. […] My son, this is the most elevated and genuine [type of] teshuvah, for the Holy One, exalted be He, loves man to be subdued and humble before Him and to remember the day of death – while “coming in and going out” (Exod 28,35), while lying down and standing up, and while walking. And it is impossible [to do this] while eating, drinking, and dressing comfortably, as the Torah says: “So Jeshurun grew fat and kicked” (Deut 32,15)72.

The anonymous author of Sefer ha-Qanah outlines here, with exceptional clarity, a multitude of ascetic strategies that should be applied for a period of forty days. Those include mental practices, such as the cultivation of one’s attentiveness or the notion of memento mori, and physical ones, such as fasting or seclusion. Most relevant for our context, h­ owever, 70. On the authorship of Sefer ha-Qanah, see S. Bowman, Who Wrote “Sefer Ha-Kaneh” and “Sefer ha-Pliah”? [Hebrew], in Tarbiz 54 (1985) 150-152. See also T. Fishman, A Kabbalistic Perspective on Gender-Specific Commandments: On the Interplay of Symbols and Society, in AJS Review 17 (1992) 199-245. 71.  Many of the Safedian kabbalists regarded the medieval Sephardi figure Moshe ben Naḥman or Naḥmanides (1194-1270) as the last recipient and “guardian” of an orally transmitted kabbalistic tradition that stems entirely from a divine source. De Vidas’s extensive use of this work may stem from the fact that Sefer ha-Qanah was attributed to the second-century Tannaitic figure Neḥuniah ben ha-Qana. 72.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Repentance, chapter 5, §17, 1:782-783. See also Sefer ha-Qanah (Cracow, 1894), fols. 11-12a.



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is the combination of study and fasting, which in this case does not appear to be a complete renunciation of everything edible and drinkable, but rather presents itself as a strictly regulated diet. This interplay of physical abstinence and mental/intellectual stimulus becomes more apparent later in the text, in which the author claims that his guidelines are based on a personal method of trial and error. He thus writes: Behold, my son, what I have done: In my heart, I was pondering about doing penance, but I did not know [the exact order of things], so I fasted for 120 days73, […], and I did not eat anything else during this period except for the tiniest amount of bread steeped in water. Every day, I poured out my soul before the Lord in prayer and study. At the end of the 120 days74, Elijah, of blessed memory, appeared to me and said: “My son, do not suffer anymore (al tiṣṭa‘er beni yoter), for the Holy One, exalted be He, has accepted your penance”. Do, however, continue your procedure for another six years, as from now on, the God of Abraham will help you”. This is what I did, and I did not feel all those years pass by. Truly, from then on, I was not confronted with any sin or iniquity, for the Lord was protecting me, and “to shun evil is understanding” (Job 28,28)75.

What seems essential here is that long periods of fasting, intense study, and prayer ultimately triggered an audio-visual experience. It is no coincidence that it is the biblical prophet Elijah who appears to the author of Sefer ha-Qanah76. Already in Talmudic literature, R. Anan is said to have induced visitations from Elijah by means of fasting and prayer77. It was also Elijah who appeared to the second-century tanna Shimon bar Yoḥai and his son El‘azar in the twelve years that they were living in a cave in hiding from the Romans, during which time they engaged in constant study and survived exclusively on carob78. Last but not least, Isaac Luria “attained the holy spirit and Elijah was revealed to him” while he was studying in isolation and mortifying himself for a period of twelve years79. 73.  See, however, Sefer ha-Qanah, fol. 12a: 150 days. 74.  See previous note. 75.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Repentance, chapter 5, §18, 1:783. See also Isaiah Horowitz, Shnei Luḥot ha-Brit (Amsterdam, 1698), fols. 212b-213a, which quotes this passage from Reshit Ḥokhmah. 76.  It is important to mention that revelations of Elijah are commonly considered a low form of prophetic experience. However, this is not the place to discuss the different types of prophecy, since the focus of our discussion is on the relationship between ascetic practice and the attainment of an altered state of consciousness. 77.  b. Ketubot 106a. 78.  b. Shabbat 33b-34a. 79.  See above and cf. also with Y.M. Hillel (ed.), Shivḥei ha-Ar”i, Jerusalem, Ahavat Shalom, 2014, pp. 4-5.

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V. Concluding Remarks The above discussion has focused on the way in which de Vidas promoted the practice of fasting and how he integrated it into his vision of an ascetic lifestyle. The abundance and diversity of materials used in Reshit Ḥokhmah clearly shows that de Vidas combined sources that cover virtually the entire ideological and conceptual range of Jewish literature. This is arguably his greatest compilatory achievement, for he not only reconciles contradictions through supplementary explanations, but also manipulates texts and arranges them in such a way as to present his readers with a coherent overall picture. Accordingly, Reshit Ḥokhmah illustrates some very different functions of fasting: it can serve to subordinate the ego, as an expression of atonement, or as a way to purify body and soul. At times, it can constitute an imitation of the divine reality, and it also possesses the transformative power to turn a human being into an angelic one. Fasting has the potential to impact the demonic and divine realms, and it can also be a means of simulating the soul’s primordial condition. All these properties ultimately serve the purpose of transformation, restoration, and change towards an improved self. It is precisely these instrumental types of asceticism that are expressions of the strive for perfection. Indeed, de Vidas himself writes that “one who causes himself discomfort […] is called holy and pious, as it is written ‘the pious does good to his own soul (gomel nafsho)’ (Prov 11,17) […]. And my teacher [Moshe Cordovero] said that gomel is a derivative of ‘restitution’ (tagmul), since one is perfecting one’s soul for his Creator”80. University of Hamburg Patrick Benjamin Koch Institute for Jewish Philosophy and Religion Jungiusstraße 11 DE-20355 Hamburg Germany [email protected]

80.  De Vidas, Reshit Ḥokhmah (n. 2), Gate of Love, chapter 11, §77, 1:640-641.

THE ΤΈΛΟΣ OF ASCETICISM IN MICHEL FOUCAULT AND JOHN CASSIAN On April 2, 1981, Michel Foucault began his inaugural lecture of seven at the Université catholique de Louvain with the following anecdote: In a work on the moral treatment of madness published in 1840, a French psychiatrist by the name of Leuret explained the method he used to treat one of his patients. Treated and cured, he insisted. Mr. A. suffered from delirium of persecution and hallucinations. One morning Leuret led him to the lavatory and stood him under a shower. A lengthy exchange began, which I will summarize. The doctor asked the patient to recount in detail his delirium. Doctor Leuret: “There is not one word of truth in all of this. What you are saying is sheer madness, and it is because you are mad that we are keeping you at Bicêtre”. The patient: “I don’t think I’m mad. I know what I saw and heard”. The doctor: “If you want me to be happy with you, you must obey, because everything I am asking of you is reasonable. Will you promise never to think of your delusions and never to speak of them again?” The patient promised, with some hesitation. Doctor Leuret: “Up to now, you have been unable to keep your word. I cannot count on your promises. So, you will receive a shower until you avow that everything you have said is pure madness” [Vous allez recevoir la douche jusqu’à ce que vous fassiez l’aveu que toutes les choses que vous dites ne sont que des folies]. The ice-cold shower fell upon his head. The patient admitted that his imaginings were nothing more than madness and that he would make an effort. But he added: I am admitting it “because I am forced to” [puisqu’on m’y force]. Another ice-cold shower. “Yes sir, everything I told you was sheer madness”. “You were mad then?” asked the doctor. The patient hesitated: “I don’t think so”. A third freezing shower. “Were you mad?” The patient: “Is it madness to see and hear?” [C’est être fou que de voir et d’entendre?] “Yes”.

* The author would like to thank Joseph Verheyden, the organizers, and the participants of the intellectually generative Kosmoi conference. It was particularly fascinating to hear of Verheyden’s attendance at Foucault’s Louvain lectures, and the ongoing currents between the philosophical schools at Louvain and KU Leuven. Ongoing thanks are extended to the Foucault estate for access to the Foucault archives at the Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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So the patient finally stated: “There were no women who insulted me, and no men who persecuted me. All of it is madness” [Tout cela, c’est de la folie]1.

Foucault opens with this interaction between Dr. Leuret and Patient A in order to frame his Louvain lectures on the history of confession and its relation to subjectivity and truth2. Titled Mal faire, dire vrai (Wrong-Doing, Truth-Telling), these lectures treat the imperative to tell the truth about oneself in order to become an acceptable social subject. Patient A is compelled to speak the truth about himself as mad, and only as he confesses this truth does he become the mad subject requiring psychiatric intervention. The anecdote of Dr. Leuret’s water torture fascinates Foucault who opens his 1980 lectures at the University of California, Berkeley and Dartmouth College, “Subjectivity and Truth”, and at New York University, “Sexuality and Solitude”, with a nearly identical account3. He discusses Dr. Leuret in his lectures at the Collège de France even earlier, in Le pouvoir psychiatrique and Les anormaux4. In his 1961 Histoire de la 1. M. Foucault, Wrong-Doing, Truth-Telling: The Function of Avowal in Justice, ed. F. Brion – B.E. Harcourt, trans. S.W. Sawyer, Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press, 2014; Id., Mal faire, dire vrai: fonction de l’aveu en justice: cours de Louvain, 1981, ed. F. Brion – B.E. Harcourt, Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de L ­ ouvain, 2012. 2.  Fabienne Brion and Bernard E. Harcourt note that Foucault’s Louvain lectures (in April and May 1981) elaborate the relation between confession and torture set up in a footnote of Histoire de la sexualité. I: La volonté de savoir not included in the English translation: “Ces questions seront reprises dans le Pouvoir de la vérité [These questions will be taken up in The Power of Truth]” (M. Foucault, Histoire de la sexualité. I: La volonté de savoir, Paris, Gallimard, 1976, p. 79; Id., History of Sexuality. Vol. 1: An Introduction, trans. R. Hurley, New York, Vintage Books, 1990, p. 59). See ­Foucault, Wrong-Doing, Truth-Telling (n. 1), p. 271. 3. M. Foucault, About the Beginning of the Hermeneutics of the Self, Lectures at Dartmouth College, 1980, ed. H.-P. Fruchard – D. Lorenzini, trans. G. Burchell, Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press, 2016. This volume includes “Subjectivity and Truth” (17 November 1980), “Christianity and Confession” (24 November 1980), “Discussion of ‘Truth and Subjectivity’” (23 October 1980), and “Interview with Michel ­Foucault” (3 November 1980) from the Dartmouth lectures, yet the editors note differences in the lectures Foucault delivered at UC Berkeley in October 1980. See also: M. ­Foucault, About the Beginning of the Hermeneutics of the Self: Two Lectures at Dartmouth, in Political Theory 21/2 (May 1993) 198-227. “Sexuality and Solitude” is based upon Foucault’s seminars at NYU. The Foucault archives at the Bibliothèque nationale de France show how his manuscripts for the November 1980 lectures at NYU differ from the publication in London Review of Books in May 1981 (M. Foucault – R. Sennett, Sexuality and Solitude, in London Review of Books 3/9 [21 May 1981]). Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Les Fonds de Michel Foucault, NAF 28730, Dossier No. XL Berkeley et New York University 1980 Manuscrits autographes et tapuscrits; Chemise 6.1: “Anglais N.Y.U.” Manuscrit en partie autographé de 30 ff., Feuillet 29. 4. M. Foucault, Le pouvoir psychiatrique: Cours au Collège de France (1973-1974), Paris, Seuil, 2003, in lectures from 14 November, 5 December, 19 December 1973. ­Foucault cites from Leuret’s Fragments psychologiques sur la folie (Paris, 1834) and Du traitement moral de la folie (Paris, 1840), pp. 197-198, addressing Leuret’s treatment of



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folie, Foucault refers broadly to Leuret for “the infamous ‘moral ­treatment’ that used confinement as the major means of submission and repression”5. And Foucault unfolds this particular anecdote for the first time in his 1963 “L’eau et la folie”6. Foucault frames his interest in Leuret “as a point of departure for a more general reflection on this practice of confession and on the postulate, which is generally accepted in Western societies, that one needs for his own salvation to know as exactly as possible who he is and also, which is something rather different, that he needs to tell it as explicitly as possible to some other people”7. In addition to these published treatments, Foucault directly links his decades long project to Leuret’s anecdote in the archival manuscript for one of his 1980 NYU lectures: “Since I have read this passage of Leuret, twenty years ago, I kept in my mind the project of analyzing the form and the history of such a bizarre practice”8. His hand-written notes for Berkeley’s 1980 lectures further specify this anecdote’s problematics as not just “a progressive culpabilisation of madness” but “both a philosophical and an ethical pr[oblem], both an institutional and epistemological pr[oblem]: Why are we obliged to tell the truth about ourselves? Which truth?”9. Both the process and the goal of such tortuous formation interests Foucault – how Leuret exacts a precise confession and “truth act”. Avowing one’s status as “mad” concedes the doctor’s categorization and renders self-understanding possible only through the authority’s terms of analysis. What might fascinate historians and theorists alike is how a particular patient at length on 19 December 1973. Id, Les anormaux: cours au Collège de France (1974-1975), Paris, Seuil, 1999, with the lecture on 12 March 1975. 5. M. Foucault, Folie et déraison: histoire de la folie à l’âge classique, Paris, Plon, 1961; Id., History of Madness, trans. J. Murphy, New York, Routledge, 2006. Foucault mentions Leuret four times in History of Madness. 6. M. Foucault, L’eau et la folie, in Médecine et hygiène 21/613 (23 October 1963) 901-906. See also: Id., Dits et écrits (1954-1988). Vol. 1: 1954-1969, ed. D. Defert – F. Ewald avec la collaboration de J. Lagrange, Paris, Gallimard, 1994, pp. 270-271. 7.  Foucault, About the Beginning of the Hermeneutics of the Self, Lectures at Dartmouth College (n. 3), p.  20. He continues “The anecdote of Leuret is here only as an example of the strange and complex relationships developed in our societies between individuality, discourse, truth, and coercion” (ibid.). 8.  Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Les Fonds de Michel Foucault, NAF 28730, Dossier No. XL Berkeley et New York University 1980 Manuscrits autographes et tapuscrits; Chemise 6.1: “Anglais N.Y.U.” Manuscrit en partie autographé de 30 ff., Feuillets 3-4. 9.  Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Les Fonds de Michel Foucault, NAF 28730, Dossier No. XL Berkeley et New York University 1980 Manuscrits autographes et tapuscrits; Chemise 1, Berkeley. Première conférence, Texte en français daté de Paris, septembre 1980. Photocopie du tapuscrit. Texte en anglais daté Paris, 1980. Tapuscrit de 15 pp. avec corrections autographé de MF, Feuillet 1.

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­ oucault figures Patient A’s treatment as continuous with practices of F ascetic denial and self-renunciation. Foucault adores this anecdote because of its perverse construction of perfection: becoming the perfect subject is to be perfectly docile. Confessing the truth of oneself through medical taxonomies produces the subject who can be known, controlled, and treated as an object of knowledge. These dynamics construct the authority of the doctor and normalize the hierarchies and compulsory practices of institutional discipline. For Foucault, Patient A, Dr. Leuret, and psychiatry in 1840s France metonymize modern disciplinary power. Foucault delivers his Louvain lectures in a period when his interest in technologies of domination in early modern Catholic confession shifts to technologies of the self in ancient arts of living. As he analyzes the history of Catholic confession at the nexus of this shift, Foucault identifies the inaugurator of compulsory truth-telling in late ancient Christian ascetic John Cassian (ca. 360 – ca. 435). Foucault’s Louvain lectures foreground the role of self-decipherment and confession to elders in Cassian’s monastic texts10. However, Foucault’s interpretation of Cassian misses the dynamic orientation towards perfection in the daily practices of ascetic formation11. I therefore argue that Foucault’s and Cassian’s different conceptions of “perfect” formation shape their diametrically opposed readings of Cassian’s asceticism – one towards self-renunciation and the other towards transformation. Foucault’s anticipation of the confessional dynamics in Leuret over-inflects his reading of Cassian, and by extension Christianity, so is particularly important to address. At the same time, Foucault’s interest in the subversive power of asceticism and his analytic of technologies of self prove particularly useful for evaluating the strength of his reading of Cassian and his place in the genealogy of western subjectivity. I. Defining Τέλος in Foucault’s Technologies of the Self While his 1975 Surveiller et punir (Discipline and Punish) remains his most influential work, Foucault does not rest content with his work theorizing relations of power and knowledge12. Instead, between 1976 until his death in 1984, Foucault becomes increasingly interested in ethics, notably 10. Foucault, Wrong-Doing, Truth-Telling (n. 1), pp. 125-175. 11. N.K. Clements, Sites of the Ascetic Self: John Cassian and Christian Ethical Formation, Notre Dame, IN, Notre Dame University Press, 2020. 12. M. Foucault, Discipline and Punish, trans. R. Hurley, New York, Vintage Books, 1997; Id., Surveiller et punir: Naissance de la prison, Paris, Gallimard, 1993.



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vis-à-vis p­ ractices of subject formation13. Without negating the work of power and knowledge, he comes to see human experience as constituted through ethics as well, involving “not simply ‘self-awareness’ but self-formation as an ‘ethical subject’”14. Ethics, as he publicly articulates in 1982, involves “the mode of action that an individual exercises upon himself by means of the technologies of the self”15. Of these technologies of the self, Foucault identifies “forms of self-activity” analyzable through four orienting “points of consideration” [see Table 1]. First, the “object of moral practice” is the “ethical substance” or the site of ethical attention that is problematized. Second, the “mode of subjection” characterizes how one relates to regulative precepts for behavior. Third, the askēsis includes the rigorous practices by which one works on the ethical substance in the mode of subjection. Fourth, the telos or “goal” orients these other practices towards an end, such as a “mode of being” one works to attain. Table 1 la substance éthique (ethical substance)

object of moral practice (that which one seeks to modify)

mode d’assujettissement (mode of subjection)

regulative precepts for behavior (the precepts in relation to which one modifies)

ἄσκησις (askēsis)

ethical work (the means by which one modifies)

τέλος (telos)

goal (the goal of modification)

These four aspects fluidly inter-relate and are historically-specific techniques that “permit individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform 13. N.K. Clements, Foucault’s Christianities, in Journal of the American Academy of Religion 89/1 (2021) 1-40. 14.  Foucault, The Use of Pleasure (n. 5), p. 28; M. Foucault, Histoire de la sexualité. Vol. 2: L’usage des plaisirs, Paris, Gallimard, 1984, p. 40. 15. M. Foucault, Technologies of the Self, in Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954-1984. Vol. 1: Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth, ed. P. Rabinow, trans. R. Hurley et al., New York, New Press, 2000, 223-251, p. 225.

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t­ hemselves”16. Technologies of the self are, in short, techniques for shaping subjectivity alongside the influence of technologies of domination, signification, and production17. And we can appreciate the distinctions as well as interrelations between 1. the ethical substance (that which one seeks to modify), 2. the mode of subjectivation (the precepts in relation to which one modifies oneself), 3. the askēsis (the means by which one modifies), and 4. the telos (the goal or desired end of modification). Theorizing these possibilities, Foucault moves from concern for modern sexuality and technologies of domination in the 1976 History of Sexuality. Vol. 1: An Introduction (La volonté de savoir) to the 1984 volumes 2 and 3 on sexual ethics and the relation of self to self. The 1984 Vol. 2: The Use of Pleasure (L’usage des plaisirs), ties components of sexual ethics of ancient Greece to four forms of self-activity: the ethical substance is Ἀφροδίσια (aphrodisia) as pleasure, the mode of subjection is pleasure’s use (χρῆσις), the askēsis is the struggle for self-control (ἐγκράτεια), and the telos is σωφροσύνη as moderation notably of sensual desires18. Turning to imperial Rome in the 1984 Vol. 3: Care of the Self (Le souci de soi), Foucault indicates how the first centuries of the common era evince a “strengthening of austerity themes”, suggesting 1. aphrodisia, 2. cura sui, 3. self-examination, and 4. self-mastery as their respective four forms19 [see Table 2]. Foucault continues his genealogy through early Christianity in the incomplete fourth volume in the History of Sexuality. Vol. 4: Confessions of the Flesh (Les aveux de la chair), featuring second- through fifth-century texts20. In a 1983 interview, Foucault schematizes the shift of 16.  Foucault, About the Beginning of the Hermeneutics of the Self, Lectures at Dartmouth College (n. 3), p. 25. See also: L.H. Martin – H. Gutman – P.H. Hutton (eds.), Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel Foucault, Cambridge, MA, University of Massachusetts Press, 1988, p. 18. 17.  As Arnold Davidson notes, these technologies contribute both to forms in which human subjectivity is constituted and experienced as well as the means by which we govern our own thought and conduct (A.I. Davidson, Ethics as Ascetics: Foucault, the History of Ethics, and Ancient Thought, in G. Gutting [ed.], The Cambridge Companion to Foucault, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 22003, 123-148, p. 127). 18.  Foucault, The Use of Pleasure (n. 5), pp. 26-28, 37. 19. M. Foucault, History of Sexuality. Vol. 3: The Care of the Self, trans. R. Hurley, New York, Vintage Books, 1988, pp. 44-45, 94-95, 204. Of the many techniques detailed, Foucault foregrounds the epistolary writing style known as ὑπομνήματα (hupomnemata), with the objective of making “the recollection of the fragmentary logos transmitted by teaching, listening, or reading a means to establish as adequate and as perfect a relationship of oneself to oneself as possible” (M. Foucault, Self-Writing, in Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954-1984 [n. 15], 207-222, p. 219). 20. A crucial figure in Foucault’s engagement with early Christian texts is Peter Brown, as the two shared a conversation after Foucault’s Howison lecture at Berkeley on



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Table 2 L’usage des plaisirs (Vol. 2: The Use of Pleasure)

Le souci de soi (Vol. 3: The Care of the Self)

ethical substance

Ἀφροδίσια (pleasure)

aphrodisia

mode d’assujettissement

χρῆσις (use)

cura sui; ἐπιμελεία ἑαυτοῦ care of the self

askēsis

ἐγκράτεια (struggle for self-control)

self-examination & testing procedures

telos

σωφροσύνη (moderation) self-mastery & self-possession

t­echnologies of the self in Christian sexual ethics: 1. the ethical substance is not aphrodisia “but desire, concupiscence, flesh and so on”, 2. the mode of subjection is “divine law”, 3. the askēsis is now a “self-deciphering”, a hermeneutics of the subject, and 4. the telos is “immortality, purity, and so on”21 [see Table 3]. Of early Christianity, Foucault says in Aveux, “the flesh is understood as a mode of experience, that is to say, a mode of knowledge and transformation of the self by the self”22. Foucault generalizes a worldview of the monastic Christian, with a telos of immortality and purity notably via self-renunciation, an askēsis of October 21 where Foucault asked Brown questions about Cassian (Personal correspondence Brown and Clements, October 1, 2019). What I find striking is that after Foucault meets Brown, he turns to reading Augustine with rigor and this material populates his November 1980 NYU lectures as well as Les aveux de la chair. 21. M. Foucault, On the Genealogy of Ethics: An Overview of Work in Progress, in Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954-1984 (n. 15), 253-280, p. 268. 22. M. Foucault, Histoire de la sexualité. Vol. 4: Les aveux de la chair, ed. F. Gros, Paris, Gallimard, 2018, pp. 50-51: “La ‘chair’ est à comprendre comme un mode d’expérience, c’est-à-dire comme un mode de connaissance et de transformation de soi par soi, en fonction d’un certain rapport entre annulation du mal et manifestation de la vérité”. My translation. See also: Foucault, The Care of the Self (n. 19), pp. 239-240: “Those moral systems will define other modalities of the relation to self: a characterization of the ethical substance based on finitude, the Fall, and evil; a mode of subjection in the form of obedience to a general law that is at the same time the will of a personal god; a type of work on oneself that implies a decipherment of the soul and a purificatory hermeneutics of the desires; and a mode of ethical fulfillment that tends toward self-renunciation. The code elements that concern the economy of pleasures, conjugal fidelity, and relations between men may well remain analogous, but they will derive from a profoundly altered ethics and from a different way of constituting oneself as the ethical subject of one’s sexual behavior”.

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self-decipherment, a mode d’assujettisement of divine law, and an ethical substance forged over and against pleasure – problematizing instead, desire, concupiscence, and flesh. It is necessary to note that this is not Foucault’s final view of early Christianity, and he expresses in his final 1984 lecture at the Collège de France his desire to continue his inquiry23. As the History of Sexuality series as published does not represent his final views, this amplifies the need to assess the strength of the readings ­Foucault himself comes to rethink. Table 3 L’usage des plaisirs Le souci de soi (Vol. 2: The Use of (Vol. 3: The Care Pleasure) of the Self)

Les aveux de la chair (Vol. 4: Confessions of the Flesh)

ethical substance

Ἀφροδίσια (pleasure)

aphrodisia

desire, concupiscence, flesh

mode d’assujettissement

χρῆσις (use)

cura sui ἐπιμελεία ἑαυτοῦ care of the self

obedience to divine law

askēsis

ἐγκράτεια (struggle for self-control)

self-examination & testing procedures

self-decipherment and a purificatory hermeneutics of the desires

telos

σωφροσύνη (moderation)

self-mastery & self-possession

self-renunciation

II. Mistaken Goals in Foucault on Cassian In 1983, Foucault claims his draft of volume 4 “deals with Christian technologies of the self”, while volumes 2 and 3 on Greek and Roman sexual ethics treat “ancient, pagan technologies of the self”24. It is 23. M. Foucault, The Courage of Truth: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1983-1984, ed. F. Gros, trans. G. Burchell, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, p. 316: “Maybe I will try to pursue this history of the arts of living, of philosophy as form of life, of asceticism in its relation to the truth, precisely, after ancient philosophy, in Christianity”. 24.  Foucault, On the Genealogy of Ethics (n. 21), p. 255. The History of Sexuality, volumes 2 and 3 caused surprise when they were released in 1984 close to Foucault’s death: instead of the history of sexuality, here was an emphasis on the relations to the self



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t­herefore rather surprising how infrequently the terminology of “technologies” appears in Les aveux. It is here that we can see how Foucault comes to read Christianity’s technologies of the self largely through his reading of John Cassian. Of the ten uses of technologies in the text, six are concentrated in Foucault’s reading of Cassian in Part II.III. This selection on Cassian was published in 1982 as “The Battle for Chastity” as the only excerpt of Les aveux publicly available before 201825. And, as if from a different interpretive frame from the rest of Les aveux, Foucault foregrounds the interpretive and renunciatory practices of Cassian’s late ancient texts; here, we can see the technologies noted above, stressing flesh, divine law, self-hermeneutics, and self-renunciation. Foucault argues that nothing in Cassian can be understood “without reference to the technologies of the self by which he characterizes the monastic life and the spiritual combat which it navigates”26. The problem is that Foucault interprets Cassian’s goal as not involving relationships, notably sexual ones: The whole essence of the fight for chastity is that it aims at a target which has nothing to do with actions or relationships; it concerns a different reality than that of a sexual connection between two individuals27.

Objecting to Cassian’s goal, Foucault critiques Cassian’s suspension of “actual actions” and practices in favor of interiorized desires. Characterizing Cassian as “much more concerned with thought than with action”, Foucault identifies what he considers a particularly troublesome construction of subjectivity – first tied to the flesh and renounced, then reinstantiated as an interioriorized subject of thought (as opposed to action)28. The mechanisms of confession that Foucault finds so dangerous in Patient A are present here: the goal is to renounce one’s self by c­ onfessing one’s through the use of pleasure and the care of the self – notably as they informed relations to (1) the body, (2) women/the household, and (3) erotics/boys. 25.  Foucault, Les aveux de la chair (n. 22), pp. 230-245. M. Foucault, The Battle for Chastity, in Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954-1984 (n. 15), 185-197; M. Foucault, Le combat de la chasteté, in Id., Dits et écrits (1954-1988). Vol. 2: 1976-1988, ed. D. Defert – F. Ewald avec la collaboration de J. Lagrange, Paris, Gallimard, 2001. 26.  Foucault, Les aveux de la chair (n. 22), p. 243. 27.  Foucault, The Battle for Chastity (n. 25), p. 189. 28.  Foucault, Technologies of the Self (n. 15), p. 247. The third major type of self-examination is “the examination of self with respect to the relation between the hidden thought and an inner impurity. At this moment begins the Christian hermeneutics of the self with its deciphering of inner thoughts. It implies that there is something hidden in ourselves and that we are always in a self-illusion that hides the secret” (ibid.). The contrast is with Seneca’s stress on action (“self-examination with respect to the way our thoughts relate to rules”) as well as a Cartesian stress on “self-examination with respect to thoughts in correspondence to reality” (ibid.).

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status – be it as a lustful sinner who does not even have sex or as a madman who does not truly consider his delusions real. The history of confession links up with the history of sexuality here, as Foucault prioritizes constructions of subjectivity that foreground sexual actions or relationships. If Cassian focuses on thoughts over sexual actions or relationships, in Foucault’s reading, this involves the renunciation of one’s self as a sexual being. Foucault’s influential reading places Cassian as the fulcrum between ancient self-formation and modern disciplinary subjectivity, describing him in his 1982 Hermeneutics of the Subject lectures at the Collège as having inaugurated the western obsession with the “decipherment of interiority, the subject’s exegesis of himself”29. Cassian, in this reading, prescribes the self-interpreting hermeneutics that lead to a deepening interiority. He demands young monks root out the truth of their inner desires and confess them to their elders. Confession becomes, in the words of Daniel Boyarin and Elizabeth Castelli, “the heart of the new Christian subjectivity” as the “inward turn” is performed to excavate one’s hidden thoughts and unearth them for others to judge30. Foucault comes to see in Cassian’s texts intimations of the modern split where one confesses beliefs and interior desires and renounces the body and sexuality. Foucault stresses obedience, confession, and self-renunciation in Cassian, thereby linking the monastic institutionalization of subject formation to the mechanisms of modern disciplinary power. Cassian, in other words, creates the (epistemic, institutional, and psychological) conditions for Patient A.

29. M. Foucault, The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the Collège de France 1981-1982, ed. F. Gros, trans. G. Burchell, New York, Palgrave MacMillan, 2005, p. 300. 30. D. Boyarin – E. Castelli, Introduction: Foucault’s The History of Sexuality: The Fourth Volume, or, A Field Left Fallow for Others to Till, in Journal of the History of Sexuality 10 (2001) 357-374, 360. Foucault develops this dynamic: “The more we discover the truth about ourselves, the more we have to renounce ourselves; and the more we want to renounce ourselves the more we need to bring to light the reality of ourselves” (M. Foucault, Sexuality and Solitude, in J. Carrette [ed.], Religion and Culture, New York, Routledge, 1999, 182-187, p. 183). Michel Senellart draws from Peter Brown in connecting Foucault’s 1980 Collège lectures’ focus on monastic self-examination and discourses of sexuality in the NYU lectures, “It is against the background of Augustine’s ‘libidinisation of sex’ that the monastic activity of control of thoughts, analyzed in March 1980, finds its significance” (M. Senellart, Le cours de 1980, Du gouvernement des vivants, dans la perspective de l’Histoire de la sexualité, in D. Lorenzini – A. Revel – A. Sforzini [eds.], Michel Foucault: éthique et vérité: 1980-1984, Paris, Vrin, 2013, 31-52, p. 34).



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III. Cassian’s Ascetic Perfection As his Louvain lectures stress the role of self-decipherment, obedience, and confession in Cassian, we can see how Foucault’s great history of confession connects the work of Cassian and that of Leuret. Perfect formation is successful through the technologies of the self that renounce one’s sexual activity and render thoughts the primary locus of subjectivity. In a striking inversion, thoughts become the locus of subjectivity even as the subject becomes the object of institutional knowledge. The problem becomes not only who one is, but also the attitude one takes towards one’s being. From this perspective reminiscent of Nietzsche’s ascetic priest, Cassian’s view of perfection would feature docile obedience, submission, and self-renunciation. Cassian’s texts, however, reflect a different conception of perfection. In fact, Cassian writes an entire book that later editors name De perfectione (“On Perfection”) in his collection Conlationes Patrum in Scithico Eremo (Conferences)31. Conference 11, “On Perfection”, is valuable as one of the few treatments on perfection in late ancient Christian sources32. Cassian describes perfection (Lt. perfectio; Gk. τελειότης) not as an achieved state but as a way of evaluating one’s progress in the ascetic life. The desire for “a greater grace of perfection” (maiorem perfectionis […] gratiam) is what spurs the young Cassian and his companion Germanus from their cenobium in Syria to the elders in Egypt33. And this perfection involves both the restraint from vice and the forging of virtues central to the ascetic profession (professio). To this end, Cassian delineates three degrees of perfection34. The first degree is to pursue the ascetic professio out of a fear of punishment, notably in the afterlife35. The corollary virtue is faith, which leads the ascetic to believe in such future judgment. The second degree is to pursue the professio through the expectation of reward, again, in the afterlife36. The corollary virtue is hope which suspends present desires for future gains. The third degree is to pursue the professio as a f­ ollower 31.  Iohannes Cassianus, Conlationes XXIIII (Con.), ed. M. Petschenig (Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, 13), Wien, Geroldus, 1886; John Cassian, Conferences, trans. B. Ramsey (Ancient Christian Writers, 57), New York, Paulist Press, 1997; my translations modify Ramsey’s. 32. B. Bitton-Ashkelony, Perfection in Late Antique Syriac Christianity: From Commandments and Stillness to Wonder, in this volume, 83-102. 33.  Con. 11.1. 34.  Con. 11.6.1-3. 35.  Con. 11.6.1-2. 36.  Ibid.

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of God in the here-and-now as “a disposition for the good itself and a love of virtue” (affectus boni ipsius amorque uirtutum)37. The corollary virtue is love of Christ. As the ascetic progresses through these three stages, Cassian identifies their respective forms of freedom through social analogy. The first degree of perfection is good because fear motivates the ascetic’s progress in the ascetic life. Cassian likens this to the slave who takes only a passive relief from accomplishing good works38. The second degree of perfection is better, because the hope of reward motivates one, like the worker laboring for the promise of gain and the pleasure of doing good works39. The best degree of perfection, in Aristotelean fashion, differs from the first two degrees because the love of virtue itself motivates40. Cassian likens this to the son motivated not through fear of punishment nor hope for reward but through love as an end in itself and with absolute trust in his father’s generosity. Cassian orients his account around mitigating vice and cultivating virtue, for paired virtues and vices cannot coexist. For these three perfections, then, we can see the importance of three restraints from vice: fear, hope, desire/love41. These restraints are affective in nature, highlighting how the emotions and motivation are central (instead of inimical) to the ascetic professio. Indeed, Cassian foregrounds the role of “continual steadfastness in the good” (stabilitatem boni iugiter) in his account of perfection, warning against lukewarm asceticism42. Affection is vital because salubrious emotions help the ascetic endure conflict with vices and the battle with demons. Meanwhile, the ascetic is also protected from the disturbances of passions – which is different from negating the affective altogether in Cassian’s work43. Importantly, one’s advancement towards perfection is not a question of achievement but of attitude; one’s motivation in pursuing the life is crucial to this evaluation. And this attitude is not simply an interior process of reflection; instead, one’s attitude is expressed only through the disposition and practices to which one commits oneself. At the same time, one’s degree of perfection is not only a matter of outwardly observable behavior, for the motivation of an ascetic might correspond to any 37.  Ibid. 38.  Con. 39.  Ibid. 40.  Ibid. 41.  Con. 42.  Con. 43.  Con.

11.7.1; 11.9.1-2. 11.6.1-2; 11.7.4-5; 11.12.6-7. 11.8.3. 11.9.2; 11.8.4.



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of the three stages articulated by Cassian. Three ascetics could be performing the same p­ ractices and be perceived as comparably accomplished in the ascetic life, despite different levels of discord between the externally observed and internally motivating. Cassian thereby reflects on the importance of action and motivation in an integrated disposition towards behavior, emotion, and thought. Such a disposition is an affectus forged at the heart of the ascetic professio: “Therefore with perfect ardor of mind, we must diligently move from this fear to hope and from hope to the love of God and the love of virtue itself, so that we may attain a disposition for the good itself and hold firmly to the good to the extent possible for human nature”44. IV.  Puritas Cordis and Reclaiming the Imago Dei Cassian’s discussion of perfection occurs in Conference 11, dramatizing an encounter Cassian claims occurred when he and Germanus first arrived in Egypt from their initial monastic community in Bethlehem45. Conference 1, De monachi destinatione vel fine (“On the Goal and the End of the Monk”), begins later into the friends’ journey through ascetic settlements in northern Egypt. Originally conceived as a standalone set of ten conferences with desert elders from Scetis, Nitria, and Kellia, Cassian treats the heart and apex of the ascetic professio in Conferences 1 through 10. How does Cassian define the goal of the ascetic life? And how does it relate to perfection? Like every art and trade, Cassian says, the ascetic professio has a goal proper to it – that towards which one is oriented and towards which one works46. It is for this goal that one endures every pain and labor, it is for this goal that one strives each and every day, whether one is exhausted or despairing or joyful. This desired end defines the skills and aims of a given profession, whether a soldier or archer or 44.  Con. 11.7.6: quamobrem studendum nobis est, ut de hoc timore ad spem, de spe ad caritatem dei uel ipsarum uirtutum amorem perfecto mentis conscendamus ardore, ut transmigrantes in affectum boni ipsius inmobiliter, quantum humanae possibile est naturae, quod bonum est retentemus. See also: 11.6.3; 11.8.4; 11.13.7; 11.13.1. 45.  For a general introduction to Cassian and the framework of his and Germanus’ travels, see N.K. Clements, John Cassian, in Brill Encyclopedia of Early Christianity Online, ed. D.G. Hunter – P.J.J. van Geest – B.J. Lietaert Peerbolte. 46.  Con. 1.4.1: “in every art and discipline a certain scopos takes precedence. This is the soul’s goal and the mind’s constant intention, which cannot be maintained nor the final end of the longed-for fruit arrived at except by an encompassing diligence and perseverance” (in omni ut dixi arte ac disciplina praecedit quidam scopos, id est animae destinatio siue incessabilis mentis intentio. quam nisi quis omni studio perseuerantiaque serua­ uerit, nec ad finem desiderati fructus poterit peruenire).

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farmer. For Cassian, the goal for ascetics is to achieve puritas cordis, translated as “purity of heart”, although this does not capture the fullness of its lived experience. Adapted from Evagrius’ ἀπάθεια (apatheia), this modification of the Stoic ideal of passionlessness is an achievement both inaugurated and never complete47. Cassian describes puritas cordis as the proximate scopos and goal of the ascetic professio, with the hope that one is able to achieve the ultimate telos and end of the Christian life: regnum dei, the kingdom of God. The relation of perfection, the scopos, and the telos is not straightforward in Cassian’s text. For example, Cassian describes hope for reward as only the second degree of perfection in Conference 11, while noting the regnum dei is the ultimate telos of the Christian life in Conference 148. The future promise is too distant to maintain one’s motivation in the here-and-now; instead, one must act out of love and work to live in constant prayer. Conference 10 centers constant repetitive prayer on a single verse from Psalm 69(70): deus in adiutorium meum intende: domine ad adiuuandum mihi festina49. This cultivation of constant prayer enables an inauguration of the life of divine perfection. Motivation to persevere in the ascetic life comes neither from fear nor from hope for the future; rather, it comes from a constant commitment to present practices of asceticism and the living of a life in constant prayer. While much has been written on puritas cordis in Cassian and his debt to Evagrius’ apatheia, the presentation of perfection puts into perspective what the goal of the ascetic life looks like. Apatheia does not involve the cessation of emotions but rather the lack of conflict with them, for the ascetic’s disposition towards the good is secure50. Cassian’s description of perfection clarifies how the heart-centered asceticism of Cassian builds from Evagrian logikoi evincing a more integrated view of the human being: the mind becomes increasingly freed from fleshly passion and the heart’s attention fixes on the highest good, as one comes to pray without ceasing in every activity of the ascetic professio. As Abba Chaeremon closes Conference 11, “To continually learn and teach the disposition by 47. For the exemplary account of Cassian on monastic theology and prayer, see C. Stewart, Cassian the Monk, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1998. 48.  Con. 1.15. 49.  Maintaining focus of heart (cordis intentio) requires meditatio on a single verse of the Psalm 69(70): “God, come to my assistance; Lord, make haste to help me”. Stewart says of Cassian: “the constant repetition of the biblical ‘formula’ or the name of Jesus is not only a protection against demonic assault or other kind of distraction but also a means of unceasing prayer and a way to some kind of ‘higher prayer’” (Stewart, Cassian the Monk [n. 47], p. 111). 50.  Con. 11.8.4.



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which we cling to the Lord is the highest blessedness and of singular worth”51. This involves the cultivation of an affectus or disposition towards action, feeling, and thought in the daily practices of asceticism52. Cassian frames perfection most powerfully as “whoever attains by way of this love to the image and likeness of God will take delight in the good because of pleasure in the good itself”53. Picking up on the figuration of Gregory of Nyssa from the imago et similitudo of Gen 1,26, the imago dei remains in the postlapsarian state even as the likeness of God needs to be reclaimed54. With exemplarity as central to Cassian’s work, Cassian renders Christ the ideal exemplar and urges refashioning in the likeness of Christ55. Refashioned from earthly dullness into “the likeness of the spiritual and angelic”56, Cassian describes the effects of being “seized by purity” as the ascetic cultivates puritas cordis. With the Lord establishing the way of perfection and virtue, Cassian establishes Christ as the exemplar of ascetic excellence57. This Lordly man, dominicus homo, operates as an ideal that can be asymptotically approached yet never fully achieved58. Yet Cassian stresses how Christ enables such a reorientation of humanity in relation to divinity and acts as both a metaphysical healer and a moral exemplar for humans seeking right relation. Through daily practices and habituation of virtue (and its corollary rejection of vice), the ascetic reclaims the image and likeness of God in a dynamic process of refashioning body, heart, and soul59. And this refashioning relies on the reorienting away from the extreme desires of both the flesh and the spirit that Cassian discusses in Conference 4, De concupiscentia carnis ac spiritus (“On the Lust of the Flesh and the Spirit”). Instead, one fixes one’s attention on the highest good without ceasing. Clinging to the good, God, orients the ascetic towards the proximate scopos and ultimate telos of asceticism60. Understanding Christ as perfection, Cas51.  Con. 11.15: Summae quidem beatitudinis ac singularis est meriti ita istum per quem domino cohaeremus affectum uel discere iugiter uel docere. 52.  Clements, Sites of the Ascetic Self (n. 11), pp. 113-136. 53.  Con. 11.9.2: per hanc […] caritatem quisque ad imaginem dei similitudinemque peruenerit, bono iam propter boni ipsius delectabitur uoluptatem. 54.  Gregory of Nyssa, De Hominis opificio 5.1-2; 16.10, 17. 55.  Con. 11.13.8. 56.  Con. 9.6.5: ad spiritalem atque angelicam similitudinem. 57.  Con. 11.13.8. 58.  Con. 11.13.6; 11.3.8. Iohannes Cassianus, De incarnatione Domini contra Nestorium VII, ed. M. Petschenig (Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, 17), Wien, Tempsky, 1888, 5.5; 6.22; John Cassian, On the Incarnation of the Lord; Against Nestorius, trans. E.C.S. Gibson, Jackson, MI, Ex Fontibus Company, 22019. 59.  Con. 11.7.4; 11.14; 11.10; 11.4; 11.9.2, 3; 11.6.3. 60.  Con. 11.9.4.

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sian sees perfect love of God as the highest way towards the realization of the ascetic professio61. The highest degree of perfection thus comes through an orientation towards God and the ascetic professio not out of fear of punishment or desire for reward but out of love for God in daily practice. V. Reconceiving Cassian through Technologies of Self Cassian’s treatment of perfection makes sense only in the context of the broader practices of asceticism that we can see across his two monastic masterworks: Conferences and the Institutes. In Cassian’s texts, to understand perfection is impossible without living asceticism – and even though humans cannot achieve a perfected state even through advanced asceticism, there are degrees of dynamic progress that render the life both challenging and heartening62. Puritas cordis is not interiorizing or self-renunciatory – instead it is integrating and transformative63. First, as the frame for asceticism, we have seen how central the telos is to Cassian’s professio. Differentiating the proximate goal (scopos) from the ultimate end (telos), his first conference with Abba Moses details the goal (puritas cordis) and end (regnum dei) of the monastic professio “for which he calmly and gladly endures every labor and danger and expense”64. For Cassian, the professio entails both the practices that constitute it and the dispositions cultivated through its transformative praxis – developing skills, enduring difficult labor, and struggling to stay oriented towards one’s goal. Abba Isaac in Conference 10 intensifies this striving in relation to fiery prayer: “This, then, is the goal of the solitary, and this must be his whole intention – to deserve to possess the image of future blessedness in this 61.  Con. 11.13.4. 62.  On desire, authority from experience, and the importance of face-to-face learning in Conference 11, see Con. 11.2.2; 11.4.2, 3; 11.2.2. 63.  There is a textual need to address the role of the “interior” in Cassian, for his usage of the interior and exterior require each other, instead of negating each other. Concentrating the Institutes on cenobitic monasticism and the Conferences on anchoritic, Cassian exhorts in Conference preface 1.5: proinde ab exteriore ac uisibili monachorum cultu, quem prioribus digessimus libris, ad inuisibilem interioris hominis habitum transeamus, et de canonicarum orationum modo ad illius quam apostolus praecipit orationis perpetuae iugitatem ascendat eloquium (“Let us proceed from the external and visible life of the monks, which we have summarized in the previous books, to the invisible character of the inner man, and from the practice of the canonical prayer let our discourse arise to the unceasing nature of that perpetual prayer which the Apostle commands”). 64.  Con. 1.4.3; 1.14.1; 1.2.1. The full citation: Omnes, inquit, artes ac disciplinae scopon quemdam, id est destinationem, et telos, hoc est finem proprium habent, ad quem respiciens uniuscuiusque artis industrius adpetitor cunctos labores et pericula atque dispendia aequanimiter libenterque sustentat.



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body […] and that the mind purged of every carnal desire may daily be elevated to spiritual things, until one’s whole way of life and all the yearnings of one’s heart become a single and continuous prayer”65. The image of the regnum dei can be inaugurated in this body, heart, and mind; even though its likeness is deferred, self-renunciation is not the goal. The goal is, rather, shaping “one’s whole way of life” as “a single and continuous prayer”; a way of life that includes “all the yearnings of one’s heart”, “the mind purged”, and the body transformed. Second, Cassian’s focus on the scopos of puritas cordis also illuminates askēsis: Our profession also has a scopos proper to itself and its own end, for which we tirelessly and gladly devote all our labors. For its sake the hunger of fasting does not weary us, the exhaustion of keeping vigil delights us, and the continual reading and meditating on Scripture does not sate us. Even the unceasing labor, the being stripped and deprived of everything and the horror of this vast solitude do not deter us66.

Fasting, vigil, reading, scriptural meditatio, unceasing labor, solitude, and renouncing worldly goods are central practices in this professio – and these practices engage not only bodily but also reflective and affective sites of subjectivity (especially as one progresses and becomes exhausted, dispirited, or beset by acēdia). The integration of bodily practices, affective engagement, and reflective orientation is necessary in the formation of ascetic subjectivities. As Cassian notes of ascetic progress in the Institutes: What depends on what is by no means easy to discern, whether they ceaselessly practice manual labor thanks to their spiritual meditation or whether they make spiritual progress and acquire luminous knowledge thanks to their continuous labor67. 65.  Con. 10.7.3: Haec igitur destinatio solitarii, haec esse debet omnis intentio, ut imaginem futurae beatitudinis in hoc corpore possidere mereatur et quodammodo arram caelestis illius conuersationis et gloriae incipiat in hoc uasculo praegustare. Hic, inquam, finis totius perfectionis est, ut eo usque extenuata mens ab omni situ carnali ad spiritalia cotidie sublimetur, donec omnis eius conuersatio, omnis uolutatio cordis una et iugis efficiatur oratio. 66.  Con. 1.2.3: habet ergo et nostra professio scopon proprium ac finem suum, pro quo labores cunctos non solum infatigabiliter, uerum etiam gratanter inpendimus, ob quem nos ieiuniorum inedia non fatigat, uigiliarum lassitudo delectat, lectio ac meditatio scripturarum continuata non satiat, labor etiam incessabilis nuditasque et omnium rerum priuatio, horror quoque huius uastissimae solitudinis non deterret. ob quem uos ipsi procul dubio parentum spreuistis affectum et patrium solum ac delicias mundi tot pertransitis regionibus despexistis, ut ad nos homines rusticos et idiotas atque in hoc heremi squalore degentes peruenire possetis. 67.  Iohannes Cassianus, De institutis coenobiorum et de octo principalium vitiorum remediis libri XII (Inst.), ed. M. Petschenig (Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, 17), Wien, Tempsky, 1888, 2.14. ita ut quid ex quo pendeat, haud facile possit a

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Cassian reinforces the necessity of manual labor for the training of the monk, including farming and weaving baskets and the mats upon which these monks sit68. So too the affective labor in scriptural meditatio, which goal is to shape the disposition, or affectus, in “our heart” with each scriptural passage and Psalm as it is recited, taking in its “power” so fully that one becomes “like its author”69. Labor, sweat, and tears pervade the texts. Third: in the mode of subjection, we can both appreciate and challenge Foucault’s view of Cassian’s discrētiō as stressing both “constant self-examination” to observe all movements of mind and confession as the opening of “one’s soul to an other – to the director, to an elder”70. Foucault sees discrētiō in Cassian as a critical practice of reflection that, unlike the Stoics, “must not consist in the exercise of reason mastering the passions that agitate the body, but in the work of thought on itself expelling illusions and deceptions”71. Cassian’s Conference 2, pace Foucault, shows monks gone awry not because they failed to adequately introspect but because of ascetic excessiveness and lack of humility72. Heron, for example, flies to his death down a well convinced by the devil that his superlative fasting (on Easter’s communal celebration, no less!) has rendered him angelic73. Two brothers traveling the desert foolishly refuse all food not “given by God” – on the point of death, the one exercising discrētiō accepts bread from strangers while the other refuses this merely human help74. For Cassian, quoquam discerni, id est, utrum propter meditationem spiritalem incessabile manuum opus exerceant, an propter operis jugitatem tam praeclarum spiritus profectum, scientiaeque lumen acquirant. John Cassian, The Institutes, trans. B. Ramsey (Ancient Christian Writers, 58), New York, Paulist Press, 2000; my translations modify Ramsey’s. 68.  Inst. 10.22. Apophthegmata Patrum, Anthony 1. See D. Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 2002, esp. pp. 40-44. 69.  Con. 10.11.5: “When we have the same disposition in our heart with which each psalm was sung or written down, then we shall become like its author, grasping its significance beforehand rather than afterward. That is, we first take in the power of what is said, rather than the knowledge of it, recalling what has taken place or what does take place in us in daily assaults whenever we reflect on them” (eundem namque recipientes cordis affectum, quo quisque decantatus uel conscriptus est psalmus, uelut auctores eius facti praecedemus magis intellectum ipsius quam sequemur, id est ut prius dictorum uirtutem quam notitiam colligentes, quid in nobis gestum sit uel cotidianis geratur incursibus super­ ueniente eorum meditatione quodammodo recordemur). 70.  For example, Inst. 10.22: “measure the state of their heart and their progress in patience and humility by their eagerness to work” (actum cordis et profectum patientiae et humilitatis sedulitate operis metientes). 71.  Foucault, Les aveux de la chair (n. 22), p. 132. 72.  Con. 2.19. 73.  Con. 2.5. 74.  Con. 2.6.



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discrētiō is “the begetter, guardian, and moderator of all virtues”75. It is that which “avoids excess of any kind […] and does not let him be inflated by virtues on the right hand – that is, in an excess of fervor […] nor let him wander off to the vices on the left hand because of a weakness for pleasure”76. Each ascetic must adapt practices according to their own capacity, geography, and cultural milieu; regulating one’s humoral balance through diet and rejecting excessive fasting are both vital77. Furthermore, far from blind submission, Theonas says of fasting that one need “take into consideration not others’ judgments but our own conscience”78. Fourth, regarding the ethical substance, it is difficult to see la chair (the flesh) as Cassian’s preoccupation. Rather, it is the heart that seems to be the substance one works on and for and with. And this is a heart integrated with the body and thoughts, as we can see amplified in ecstatic prayer when the monk “experiences not the words of the Psalms, but the very ‘feeling of heart’ (cordis affectus) that generated them”79. The daily practices of askēsis integrate attention of body, heart, and mind, towards the goal of puritas cordis which is far from the renunciation of self that Foucault imagines of monastic confession and truth-telling. Foucault’s “technologies of the self” provide a fascinating and useful analytic for considering mechanisms of ethical formation through forms of self-relation, even in Cassian’s texts. In Cassian, we could read these four activities with (1) cor as ethical substance, (2) discrētiō as critical reflection, (3) askēsis as relational exercises embodied and affective, and (4) telos of puritas cordis oriented towards the kingdom of God together contour how the ascetic self participates in self-shaping through forms of attention, activity, and discipline in relation to others [see Table 4].

75.  Con. 2.4.3. Conference 2, on discrētiō, discusses these norms both directly and narratively and closes with the three engaging in this practice. 76.  Con. 2.2.4. 77.  Inst. 5.9; 6.23; Con. 21.23; 22.3.2. A central issue, of course, is the distance between this ideal of balance Cassian advocates and the extreme fasting practices which historians argue brought individuals to near starvation. See A. Rouselle, Porneia: On Desire and the Body in Antiquity, Oxford, Blackwell, 1993, pp. 175-178, and P. Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity, New York, Columbia University Press, 1988, pp. 218-224. What one eats constitutes one’s humoral makeup and if one tends towards excessively heavy foods or foods that do not agree with one’s constitution, an excess of one humor destabilizes the whole (T.M. Shaw, The Burden of the Flesh, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 1998, pp. 117-118). 78.  Con. 21.22.1: non aliorum judicia, sed nostram semper conscientiam consulamus. 79.  Stewart, Cassian the Monk (n. 47), p. 111; Con. 10.11.5.

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Table 4 Les aveux de la chair (Vol. 4: Confessions of the Flesh)

Cassian’s Conlationes and De Institutis

ethical substance

desire, concupiscence, flesh

cor (heart); cultivating cordis affectum

mode of subjection

obedience to divine law

discretio (critical reflection)

askēsis

self-decipherment and a purificatory hermeneutics of the desires

relational exercises, ­embodied and affective

telos

self-renunciation

puritas cordis (as proximate goal)

Cassian’s texts provide rich examples of how these technologies operate: when we suspend Foucault’s primary task of establishing when and how people became compelled to confess the truth about themselves, we also suspend the need to define the confessional practice as about obedience, subordination, and self-renunciation. Cassian’s ascetics cultivate extraordinary ways of life, not through the interiorization of subjectivity but through the integrating labor of body, heart, and mind. VI. An Ascetic Τέλος from Cassian to Foucault To conclude, let us return to that confessing animal, that subject normalized through water torture, and Foucault at Louvain in 1981. Foucault’s engagement with Leuret’s confessional procedures shapes his guiding questions from 1961 until 1984: “Why are we obliged to tell the truth about ourselves? Which truth?”. And his lectures at Louvain constitute an apex of his inquiry into his history of confession. Stuart Elden sees in the Louvain lectures Foucault’s last gasp of interest in Christianity “as if, realizing he had now embarked on a new historical period that would take his work in novel and challenging directions, he wanted to have one last chance at providing the history of confession he had promised for so long”80. Foucault’s reading of Cassian becomes a primary site in the history of confession, where the mechanisms of this truth-telling are set up 80. S. Elden, Foucault’s Last Decade, Cambridge, MA, Polity Press, 2016, p. 130.



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through the authority (i.e., the spiritual elder) and the patient (i.e., the novice monk), where the novice is compelled to speak the truth about themselves, as the first step in a long undertaking of renouncing that very truth. This is where the history of institutions and the hermeneutics of the subject come together for Foucault – for as this ascetic confession becomes institutionalized in the Catholic pastoral, the ethical self-relation becomes stripped out81. After the Fourth Lateran Council, confession becomes codified as the sacrament of penance, taking “a central role in the order of civil and religious powers” “for the production of truth”82. After the Council of Trent, Foucault notes in History of Sexuality. Vol. 1: An Introduction: “This scheme for transforming sex into discourse had been devised long before in an ascetic and monastic setting. The seventeenth century made it into a rule for everyone”83. Foucault reads Cassian as a bridge to modern disciplinary subjectivity. He reads Cassian in order to make sense of how we become confessing animals, claiming: “that relationship of subjectivity and of the truth regarding desire was formed that is so characteristic not only of Christianity but of our whole civilization and way of thinking”84. From Cassian the monk to Patient A, then, the relationship between subjectivity and truth is routed through the interiorization of human beings and the mechanisms of obedience, self-renunciation, and submission to authority that become regulative in disciplinary institutions – like that of the asylum (History of Madness), the medical clinic (Birth of the Clinic), the prison (Discipline & Punish), and psychiatry (History of Sexuality) – that produce modern subjects85. These questions thus guide Foucault’s work until his death in 1984, informing his analysis of sexuality, asceticism, monasticism, and truth-telling as a politico-ethical act. Even his late interest in παρρησία (parresia), as 81.  “The individualization of Western man throughout the long millennium of the Christian Pastorate was carried out at the price of subjectivity. To become individual one must become subject” (M. Foucault, Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1977-1978, trans. G. Burchell, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009, notably pp. 115-190; Id., Sécurité, territoire, population: cours au Collège de France: 1977-1978, Paris, Seuil, 2004). 82.  Foucault, History of Sexuality. Vol. 1: An Introduction (n. 2), p. 58. 83.  Ibid., p. 20. 84. M. Foucault, Subjectivity and Truth: Lectures at the Collège de France, 19801981, trans. G. Burchell, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2017, pp. 1-20; Id., Subjectivité et Vérité: Cours au Collège de France: 1980-1981, Paris, Seuil, 2014, p. 158. 85.  In his 1978 University of Tokyo lecture, Foucault notes: “It is not denying sexuality but introduces into sexuality a complex mechanism that is a question of the constitution of individuality, of subjectivity; in brief, of the manner in which we behave and in which we become conscious of ourselves” (M. Foucault, Sexuality and Power, in ­Carrette [ed.], Religion and Culture [n. 30], p. 129).

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speaking truth to power in word and deed, connects back to this question of avowal and truth-telling86. His opening with Leuret at Louvain not only connects twenty years of analysis – it also frames his final work. Foucault comes to address his own questions by situating this confessing animal – this subject normalized through water torture – in the history of confession: “In a scandalously schematic way we have passed from the Christian direction of souls to clinical psychiatry, then from this to psychoanalysis and its derivatives. The anecdote of Leuret forcing out confessions under the shower seems to be the point of change of direction in this multisecular curve”87. Foucault then situates the roots of the Christian direction of souls – foregrounding the procedures of confessing the truth about oneself – in Cassian. Cassian’s texts, however, open ways of articulating asceticism as shaping subjectivity beyond rote habituation or compulsion. Asceticism includes not just regulation and restriction of practices and pleasures but also the cultivation of self. Cassian’s texts pose another way to understand formation, where perfection requires critical discretion and active engagement in one’s formation – not only through forms of subjectivation that bolster the operations of ­institutional power but also forms of self-relation that challenge normalizing operations and what is considered “acceptable” or “normal” behavior. Through Foucault’s “technologies of the self”, we can gain insight into how asceticism produces forms of subjectivity through daily practices relying on the “­transformation of the self by the self”88. Indeed, they have been used 86.  Foucault engages παρρησία as libertas, free speech that “establishes a certain pact between the subject of enunciation and the subject of conduct. The subject who speaks commits himself. At the very moment he says ‘I speak the truth’, he commits himself to do what he says and to be the subject of conduct who conforms in every respect to the truth he expresses” (Foucault, The Hermeneutics of the Subject [n. 29], p. 406; M. Foucault, Herméneutique du sujet: cours au Collège de France: 1981-1982, Paris, Seuil, 2001). Foucault delivers an early lecture on παρρησία at the University of Grenoble in May 1982 and six conferences at the University of California, Berkeley in 1983. M. Foucault, Discours et vérité: Précédé de La parrêsia, ed. F. Gros – H.-P. Fruchaud – D. Lorenzini, Paris, Vrin, 2016. 87.  Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Les Fonds de Michel Foucault, NAF 28730, Dossier No. XL Berkeley et New York University 1980 Manuscrits autographes et tapuscrits; Berkeley. Première conférence, Texte en français daté de Paris, septembre 1980. Photocopie du tapuscrit. Texte en anglais daté Paris, 1980. Tapuscrit de 15 pp. avec corrections autographé de MF, Feuillet 7. We can see the repercussions of when the technologies of the self become situated within institutions of domination: “The history of psychiatry seems to me to offer an extremely rich example of these interactions; the practice of massive internment – a technique of pure domination – has widely used and absorbed the model and the processes of the Christian formation of the individual. But since a certain moment the process has been reversed. It is the technologies of the Self which have begun to gnaw away at the interior of institutions of internment”. 88.  Foucault, Les aveux de la chair (n. 22), pp. 50-51.



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for fifteen hundred years both to sustain the self-organization of intentional communities we call monasteries, and have carried the possibility of self-­ transformation beyond subjection alone. A proper examination of any asceticism attends not just to regulation and restriction of practices and pleasures but also the cultivation of self. And Cassian shows this in ways more continuous with not only ancient philosophers but also his fellow early Christian authors. * * * Using Foucault’s analytic of the technologies of the self, I have offered a compact historical-textual reading of Cassian, refusing assumptions of interiority, thoughts (at the expense of actions), and self-renunciation. The telos of Cassian’s asceticism is not the end Foucault proclaims, nor are the other three forms of self-relation in the technologies of self accurate. Cassian’s ascetic program invites its rereading through the technologies of the self – in a way that both affirms the utility of Foucault’s critical analytic and requires we more critically limit Foucault’s reading of Cassian’s texts and its vital role in the genealogy of subjectivity. Gleaning the mechanisms for modern disciplinary subjectivity in late ancient confessional practices, Foucault reads Cassian through these technologies as oriented towards self-renunciation and as inaugurating the modern subject (like Patient A) compelled to truth-tell their wrong-doing. Using the same technologies, I analyze Cassian as oriented not towards self-renunciation but the cultivation of puritas cordis as the goal of his asceticism – a goal worked towards through daily practices in dynamic progress. Isolating this contrast highlights the differences between two views of asceticism and the orienting goal of their respective inquiries, in a way that both affirms the utility of Foucault’s critical analytic and questions his assumptions of Cassian’s – amongst other Christian – texts. Perhaps, then, like Patient A, it might be madness “to see and hear”, and yet this capacity to see and hear differently is the precondition for contesting forms of authority – like Dr. Leuret – today. Rice University 232 Humanities Building 6100 S Main St Houston, TX 77005 USA [email protected]

Niki Kasumi Clements

PERFECTION BEYOND TECHNIQUE THE NOTION OF EFFORTLESS SPONTANEITY IN TIBETAN DZOGCHEN*

I.  Introduction Perfection in the religious sense is often understood as the result of an arduous process of striving and asceticism. Such an understanding contrasts quite sharply with the notion of perfection (or completeness) offered by the Tibetan tradition of Dzogchen (rDzogs chen), which is found in both the Nyingma school of Tibetan Buddhism and the indigenous Bon religion of Tibet. Here, perfection is no longer looked upon as an ideal to be attained after years (or even lifetimes) of strenuous religious practice but is rather seen to be the innate state of every individual. The deepest dimension of the mind is thus considered to be primordially pure and utterly perfect. According to this perspective, any attempt to improve, transform or control the mind is bound to spoil the game and vitiate this intrinsic perfection. Meditative practice is not the cultivation of something extrinsic or new but rather a process of letting be and of becoming accustomed to a mode of effortless spontaneity. In this paper, I will explore both the philosophical underpinnings of this notion of effortless spontaneity and its practical ramifications. I will do so by examining key terms used in Dzogchen to evoke this notion of effortless spontaneity, thereby providing a kaleidoscopic entry point into the subject. II.  Key Terms Relating to Spontaneity in Dzogchen 1.  Spontaneity The first of the terms to be explored is lhun grub; this can be translated as “spontaneity”, “spontaneous presence” or “spontaneous accomplishment”. What it hints at is that the state of enlightenment cannot be accomplished *   This article was written as part of the project “An Enquiry into the Development of the Dzogchen Tradition in the Commentaries of the Tibetan Scholar Nubchen Sangye Yeshe (10th Century)”, sponsored by the Federal Ministry of Education and Research (BMBF, Germany) and based at the Center for Religious Studies (CERES), Ruhr-Universität Bochum.

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through strenuous efforts, since it is already present as the true nature of the meditator’s own mind. Moreover, all the wonderful qualities of enlightenment, such as the awakened bodies (sku) and w ­ isdoms (ye shes) of a Buddha, are already present therein – not merely in the manner of a potential but rather as its natural fully fledged expression1. In this respect, Nubchen Sangye Yeshe (gNubs chen Sangs rgyas ye shes, 10th century), in his magnum opus, the bSam gtan mig sgron, compares spontaneity to the wish-granting gem (Skt. cintāmaṇi), which spontaneously fulfils the desires of its possessor, without it being possible to locate the things emanated from the gem within it2. Moreover, lest one were to ask why the perfection of enlightenment does not manifest presently, the answer is not that one first needs to uncover it so that it can shine forth in the future, since such an answer would be subject to thinking within the categories of temporal development (“the three times”). Clearly, spontaneity is beyond the three times and requires for its realization neither the forceful asceticism of one wilfully aiming for a goal nor the passive anticipation of one waiting expectantly for something to happen, since both these attitudes place the realization of the fruition in the future. What is rather called for is a shift in perspective, one that takes the meditator beyond time to timelessness, and this is not just a poetical metaphor but an opening to the present moment as a vertical axis of ecstatic intensity3. 2.  Alpha-Purity The notion of spontaneity can hardly be evoked without mentioning in the same breath the term of alpha-purity (ka dag), due to their intimate association in the pith instruction section (man ngag sde) of Dzogchen. Nonetheless, while both terms are found in the earliest Dzogchen texts, those constituting the mind section (sems sde) (some of which may go back to the early ninth, or even late eighth, century)4, they are not there juxtaposed as a pair5. 1. D. Germano, Poetic Thought, the Intelligent Universe, and the Mystery of Self: The Tantric Synthesis of rDzogs-chen in Fourteenth Century Tibet (PhD diss., Madison, WI, University of Wisconsin, 1992), pp. 836f. 2. D. Esler, The Lamp for the Eye of Contemplation, The bSam-gtan mig-sgron by gNubs-chen Sangs-rgyas ye-shes: Hermeneutical Study with English Translation and Critical Edition of a Tibetan Buddhist Text on Contemplation (PhD diss., Louvain-la-Neuve, Université catholique de Louvain, 2018), pp. 261f. 3. D.M. Levin, The Opening of Vision: Nihilism and the Postmodern Situation, London, Routledge, 1988, pp. 459, 465. 4.  Cf. S. van Schaik, The Early Days of the Great Perfection, in Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 27/1 (2004) 165-206, pp. 166, 201. 5. D. Esler, The Exposition of Atiyoga in gNubs-chen Sangs-rgyas ye-shes’ bSamgtan mig-sgron, in Revue d’études tibétaines 24 (October 2012) 81-136, p. 127.



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Taken etymologically, ka dag means “pure from the letter ka”, which in Tibetan is the first letter of the alphabet, hence “alpha-purity” or “primordial purity”. Alpha-purity is a term signifying the utter openness of intrinsic awareness, its diaphanous emptiness or no-thing-ness. If intrinsic awareness is spontaneously present, it is not so in the manner of a thing, or of a subject looking out at objects, but rather as a sheer open presence that is also an elusive absence. It cannot be reified in any way as being one thing or the other, as being “this” or “that”. Moreover, alpha-purity means that despite the various forms of suffering in cyclic existence, despite the seemingly endless knots caused by the afflictions (Skt. kleśa) and their imprints (Skt. vāsanā), and the heavy karmic consequences of negative deeds accumulated since time without beginning due to ignorance, the nature of mind is totally untouched by any of this. Alpha-purity is not just purity from the primordial word “go”, or from the beginning of time; rather, it is primordial in being prior to and beyond the reach of time, and it is purity in the here and now because the present moment is the only moment we have to access the time beyond time that is eternity6. 3.  Effortlessness This brings us to another important term related to Dzogchen, that of effortlessness (rtsol med), or non-effort (mi rtsol), which is also related to non-searching (ma btsal)7. Not only is intrinsic awareness spontaneously present and alpha-pure, but any attempt at applying effort in the context of meditative praxis in order to find it is bound to spoil the process. This is because searching is linked to the belief that perfection is elsewhere and needs to be arrived at, whereas in reality it is present now as the very mind of the meditator. It might be objected that even if the nature of mind is pure and perfect in itself, it is presently covered by adventitious obscurations, like clouds covering the sun, and that effort needs to be applied in order to remove these obscurations, either by relinquishing (spong ba) them, or by purifying (sbyong ba) them, or else by transforming (sgyur ba) them into their pure counterpart; it might be 6.  On the timeless (dus med) time of alpha-purity (ka dag gi dus) in Dzogchen, see M.T. Kapstein, The Tibetan Assimilation of Buddhism: Conversion, Contestation and Memory, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2000, p. 169. On the metaphysical relationship of the “now” to eternity, see A.K. Coomaraswamy, Time and Eternity, New Delhi, Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, 2008, p. 2. 7. J.-L. Achard, L’essence perlée du secret: recherches philologiques et historiques sur l’origine de la Grande Perfection dans la tradition rNying ma pa (Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études: section des sciences religieuses, 107), Turnhout, Brepols, 1999, p. 63, n. 6.

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noted that these various methodologies roughly correspond to the paths of the sūtras, of the outer tantras and of the inner tantras respectively. The Dzogchen answer to such an objection is quite subtle. It is quite legitimate to seek to get rid of the obscurations in the ways just described, and such methods are valid ways of spiritual development. They are not, however, the method corresponding to the path of Dzogchen, although a Dzogchen practitioner may feel free to turn towards them as ancillary means if he finds them helpful or necessary. The only method used in Dzogchen is that of self-liberation, the next term to be examined. 4.  Self-Liberation When the practitioner is able to recognize the true nature of his or her mind, and to abide within the continuity of that recognition, he or she is no longer distracted by the stream of thoughts and emotions that make up habitual consciousness. Rather than following after thoughts or anticipating them, thoughts simply self-liberate (rang grol), one after the other, in the light of that recognition8. The point is that any attempt at interfering with thoughts, such as trying to block them or to apply antidotes towards them, only reinforces their solidity and feeds the illness of hope and misgiving. By remaining in the abiding mode (gnas lugs) of awareness, thoughts self-liberate of their own accord, like a snake untying its knots9. Rather than the habitual experience of one thought following the next in a relentless flow of mental chatter, they disappear without leaving a trace, as when drawing pictures on water10. 5.  The Enlightened Mind What, we must now ask, is this intrinsic awareness (rang rig) we have been mentioning repeatedly? It refers to the fact that the ground of our being (kun gzhi) is aware, not in the sense of being aware of an object, nor reflexively in the sense of being aware of itself as an objectified subject (cf. the notion of reflexive awareness, Skt. svasaṃvedana), but 8.  See Longchen Rabjam’s statements to this effect in his Sems nyid rang grol, trans. in P. Cornu, La liberté naturelle de l’Esprit, Paris, Seuil, 1994, pp. 246f. 9.  Strictly speaking, this example is used by Jigme Lingpa to illustrate the second among three modes of liberation; see his Kun mkhyen zhal lung, in S. van Schaik, Approaching the Great Perfection: Simultaneous and Gradual Methods of Dzogchen Practice in the Longchen Nyingtig, Boston, MA, Wisdom Publications, 2004, pp. 210f. (English translation), 289f. (critical edition). 10.  Achard, L’essence perlée du secret (n. 7), p. 145.



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rather intrinsically, that is, as an inalienable and wakeful presence that is natural, immediate, and direct. In fact, intrinsic awareness might best be described as a vivid self-manifesting process of “awaring” that is intrinsic to the ground’s abiding mode, lacking any form of concreteness11. Awareness thus understood is inseparable from the field of its deployment, which is the open dimension of the ground’s luminous presencing and is prior to the bifurcation into subject and object. In order to better appreciate the Dzogchen position, we need to understand a central tenet of Dzogchen doctrine, which is that there is a fundamental distinction between our ordinary mind (sems) on the one hand, and its true nature (sems nyid), intrinsic awareness, on the other. From the point of view of intrinsic awareness, the ordinary mind, with its thoughts, emotions and ceaseless judgemental and conceptual activity, is basically but a derivative and parasitic epiphenomenon12, an epiphenomenon that can be reintegrated to its source as and when the ground of intrinsic awareness is recognized. As we have seen, awareness has two indivisible aspects, its alpha-pure emptiness and its spontaneously present clarity. These aspects are also evoked in the term “enlightened mind” (Skt. bodhicitta), a fundamental term of Mahāyāna soteriology13 which in the early texts of the Dzogchen mind section (sems sde) is reinterpreted as a synonym for intrinsic awareness14. Indeed, reflecting on the etymology of the Tibetan term used to translate the Sanskrit word bodhicitta, which translated into Tibetan literally means the “pellucid and consummate mind” (byang chub sems), allows us to glimpse the impact of Dzogchen thought on the labours of the Tibetan translators who developed the technical vocabulary used to render into Tibetan texts belonging to the wider Buddhist heritage. 6.  Non-Meditation In discussing such an approach as that of Dzogchen, one might wonder whether the above descriptions of primordial perfection are just a form 11. D. Higgins, The Philosophical Foundations of Classical rDzogs chen in Tibet: Investigating the Distinction between Dualistic Mind (sems) and Primordial Knowing (ye shes), Wien, Arbeitskreis für Tibetische und Buddhistische Studien Universität Wien, 2013, p. 98. 12.  Ibid., p. 141. Cf. Longchen Rabjam’s comments on this issue in his Theg mchog mdzod, ibid., pp. 306f. (English translation), 319 (critical edition). 13.  On the multivalence of the term bodhicitta, see D. Wangchuk, The Resolve to Become a Buddha: A Study of the Bodhicitta Concept in Indo-Tibetan Buddhism, Tokyo, The International Institute for Buddhist Studies, 2007, pp. 206-232. 14. N. Norbu – K. Lipman, Primordial Experience: An Introduction to rDzogs-chen Meditation by Mañjuśrīmitra, Boston, MA, Shambhala, 1987, pp. 9-11.

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of rhetorical flourish, or a mere metaphor, or whether, on the contrary, they have a concrete bearing on actual meditative praxis. The paradoxical nature of the denial of ritual and gradualist elements has been pointed out in the case of Chan, where this denial at once conceals and reinforces a practice totally defined by ritual: Chan meditation itself, so strongly surrounded by an anti-formalistic rhetoric, can in fact be seen as a ritual enactment of the awakening of the Buddha and a formal imitation of the Buddha icon15. In approaching this question in the case of Dzogchen meditation16, it may be helpful to distinguish between the context of the practice on the one hand, and its script (or text) on the other, while of course being aware that both aspects are deeply intertwined and influence each other. The context is one of prolonged engagement in contemplation, often in a retreat environment17, and usually involving, or at least being informed by, tantric forms of meditative practice, such as visualization of and identification with a tutelary deity (Skt. iṣṭadevatā), the ritual phases of propitiation (Skt. sevā) and evocation (Skt. sādhana), etc.18. On the other hand, the script of the practice is one that explicitly denies these formal elements and repeatedly beckons the meditator to let go of all striving. Indeed, the contemplative practices peculiar to ­Dzogchen are precisely designed in order to eschew wilful endeavour and goal-oriented effort19, even though this does not exclude more gradualist presentations if the latter are deemed better suited to the dispositions of particular individuals20. Early Dzogchen instructions on meditation are striking for the way they avoid focusing on meditation as a technique, or something that can be done, being rather concerned with poetically ­evoking the state of intrinsic awareness and eliciting a response to that state in the reader or listener21. 15. Cf. B. Faure, The Rhetoric of Immediacy: A Cultural Critique of Chan/Zen ­Buddhism, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1991, pp. 288f., 295f., 299. 16.  This issue is raised in G. Hillis, The Rhetoric of Naturalness: A Critical Study of the gNas lugs mdzod (PhD diss., Charlottesville, VA, University of Virginia, 2003), pp. 41-46, 154-162. 17.  Esler, The Exposition of Atiyoga in gNubs-chen Sangs-rgyas ye-shes’ bSam-gtan mig-sgron (n. 5), p. 112. 18.  On the close relationship between early Dzogchen and tantric practice, see S. van Schaik, The Sweet Sage and the Four Yogas: A Lost Mahāyoga Treatise from Dunhuang, in Journal of the International Association of Tibetan Studies 4 (December 2008) 1-67, pp. 20f. 19. See Esler, The Lamp for the Eye of Contemplation (n. 2), pp. 311-317 (translation), 662-667 (commentary). 20. See van Schaik, Approaching the Great Perfection (n. 9), pp. 93-96, 106, 116. 21. D. Germano, Architecture and Absence in the Secret Tantric History of the Great Perfection (rdzogs chen), in Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 17/2 (1994) 203-335, pp. 229, 240.



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This is why meditation (sgom pa), which in the Dzogchen context is not about cultivating particular virtuous states of mind but rather a process of repeated and prolonged familiarization (goms pa) with the recognition of intrinsic awareness, is often termed non-meditation (sgom med) since there is nothing on which to meditate in a transitive sense22. After the initial recognition of intrinsic awareness, which is triggered by the introduction (ngo sprod) to the nature of mind given by a master and is likened to encountering one’s own true face in a mirror for the first time23, the discipline of meditation is not an end in itself but merely serves to provide the embodied framework for this recognition to be prolonged, ideally indefinitely, and integrated to all the facets of daily life24. An important characteristic of meditation in the Dzogchen understanding of the term is that there is nothing to do – other than remain in the recognition of intrinsic awareness. That such non-tampering requires a disciplined framework of practice is implied, however, by the term “diligence of non-action” (bya ba med pa’i brtson ’grus), which Nubchen Sangye Yeshe uses to describe the process of learning not to react to the ordinary mind’s inveterate tendency to busy itself with something or other25 – be it something as noble as self-improvement! It is the discipline of letting be that allows the meditator to gradually prolong the initially fleeting glimpses of intrinsic awareness. So while Dzogchen meditation may at first sight appear to be quite contrary to an ascetic approach, the discipline of remaining undistractedly in the recognition of intrinsic awareness, without altering it in any way, can itself be seen as a form of ascetic practice. In this regard, looking at the lives of some of the masters of the tradition can be instructive – the cases of Longchen Rabjam (Klong chen rab ’byams, 1308-1364)26 and of Jigme Lingpa 22.  Cf. D. Higgins, A Reply to Questions concerning Mind and Primordial Knowing: An Annotated Translation and Critical Edition of Klong chen pa’s Sems dang ye shes kyi dri lan, in Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 34/1-2 (2011) 31-96, pp. 52-54. 23.  On the importance of transmission (even of an informal nature, and as exemplified by the introduction to awareness) in the Dzogchen context, cf. J. Gyatso, Apparitions of the Self: The Secret Autobiographies of a Tibetan Visionary, Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass, 2001, p. 198. For a very learned traditional presentation of the topic of the introduction to awareness, see Tülku Tsullo, Manuel de la transparution immédiate, trans. S. Arguillère, Paris, Cerf, 2016, pp. 247-253. 24.  It goes without saying that this integration is not as easy as it sounds. The problem is mentioned by Arguillère (n. 23), p. 478. 25.  Esler, The Lamp for the Eye of Contemplation (n. 2), p. 311. 26. S. Arguillère, Profusion de la Vaste Sphère: Klong-chen rab-’byams (Tibet, 1308-1364): sa vie, son œuvre, sa doctrine (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 167), ­Leuven, Peeters, 2007, pp. 85f., 94f.

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(’Jigs med gling pa, 1730-1798)27 are particularly well-known – for we read there of the extended periods of time they spent in contemplative retreat engaged in such meditative practices and of the difficulties they overcame in doing so. Prescriptions for an effortless mode of contemplation, moreover, are not limited to the formless meditations of the early mind section or of breakthrough (khregs chod) in the pith instruction section28 but also apply to the visionary practices taught in the context of crossover (thod rgal), the second rubric of the pith instruction section. For here too, even though the content of the visions may have a tantric background, one is quite far removed from the complex visualizations typical of tantric practices. By applying specific gazes and postures, the idea is rather to trigger the spontaneous emergence of visions that are seen to be the natural expression of the ground’s illumination (gzhi snang), and then, as the culmination of the practice, to allow these visions to resorb the entirety of one’s perceptual field back into its source, the ground29. 7.  Great Completeness Having looked at these various terms, it will be seen that effortless spontaneity is far from a peripheral concern in Dzogchen exegesis, being on the contrary absolutely central to the tradition’s self-understanding and to the way it presents itself as being distinct from and superior to other contemplative approaches, including that of tantric Mahāyoga30. 27.  Gyatso, Apparitions of the Self (n. 23), pp. 20, 40-42; and van Schaik, Approaching the Great Perfection (n. 9), pp. 23f., 102f. (regarding Jigme Lingpa’s daily retreat programme, which includes many practices that would not be styled Dzogchen per se). 28.  For a clear exposition of the practice of breakthrough, see Tülku Tsullo, Manuel de la transparution immédiate (n. 23), pp. 256-259. 29. See Achard, L’essence perlée du secret (n. 7), pp. 120-127; C. Hatchell, Naked Seeing: The Great Perfection, the Wheel of Time, and Visionary Buddhism in Renaissance Tibet, New York, Oxford University Press, 2014, pp. 59-63. 30.  On the hypothesis of the emergence of Dzogchen as a contemplative contextualization, including rhetorical negation, of Mahāyoga ritual praxis, see Germano, Architecture and Absence (n. 21), pp. 205-207, 209f.; and van Schaik, The Early Days of the Great Perfection (n. 4), pp. 194f. Note that an alternative, non-evolutionary, view regarding Dzogchen’s early history is presented in Achard, L’essence perlée du secret (n. 7), pp. 240-245; and J.-L. Achard, Zhang ston bKra shis rdo rje (1097-1167) et la Conti­ nuation des Essences Perlées (sNying thig) de la Grande Perfection, in C. Ramble – J. Sudbury (eds.), This World and the Next: Contributions on Tibetan Religion, Science and Society, PIATS: Tibetan Studies, Proceedings of the Eleventh Seminar of the International Association of Tibetan Studies, Andiast, Tibet Institut, 2012, 233-266, pp. 234-237, incl. n. 8. Achard makes the important point that the internal coherence and complexity of the texts of the early pith instruction section (man ngag sde) cannot easily be explained as the haphazard compilation of disparate elements stemming from heterogenous sources



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Moreover, our brief treatment of methods of Dzogchen meditation will have made it clear that the theme of spontaneity is not merely of theoretical concern, since it directly relates to the manner of practising meditation as presented in the instructions and guidelines that are the scripts for Dzogchen contemplation. The centrality of this theme is, moreover, evident from the term rdzogs chen itself, which means “great completeness” or “great perfection”. In the context of tantric Mahāyoga, from which this term was originally borrowed, it refers to the third of three phases of tantric practice, technically called the “generation phase”, the “completion phase” and the “great completion”, the latter being a formless mode of meditation that transcends and subsumes the former two31. In the context that concerns us here, the term is used both to refer to the specific approach of self-liberation explained above and the traditions that transmit it, and, more fundamentally, to the true nature of mind, whose perfection is great precisely because it needs no perfecting, being already complete in itself. 8.  The All Good This leads us quite naturally to what one might call the personification of Dzogchen, the primeval Buddha Samantabhadra, who is depicted as dark blue in colour, in union with his white consort Samantabhadrī (see Figure 1). Both are without any ornaments, completely naked, symbolizing the unfabricated and uncontrived state of the principial body (Skt. dharmakāya)32. Their union signifies the inseparability of intrinsic awareness and of the open dimension (dbyings rig), the field of its deployment. The name, which means the “All Good One”, refers to the total perfection of the ground. It must be emphasized that the primeval Buddha is not a teacher existing in some distant past, who might be at the source of the Dzogchen teachings, nor is he a divinity to whom one might address one’s prayers. Although he is in fact placed at the head of the Dzogchen lineage of masters, to whom liturgical prayers are addressed, he is not considered and inspired by gSar ma tantric practices, where the specifically Dzogchen-style visionary techniques are clearly lacking. For an overview of the problem, see also D. Esler, The Origins and Early History of rDzogs chen, in The Tibet Journal 30/3 (Autumn 2005) 33-62, pp. 43-47. 31.  Germano, Architecture and Absence (n. 21), p. 223; van Schaik, The Early Days of the Great Perfection (n. 4), pp. 167f. 32.  I have chosen to translate dharmakāya as “principial body” (derived from the French “principiel”) in recognition of the fact that dharma here signifies the absolute principle of phenomena, which is their emptiness.

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Figure 1: Samantabhadra with Samantabhadrī (Tibetan painting, 17th century) Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/ File:Adi-Buddha_Samantabhadra.jpg

as a person but rather as a principal, the principal that is at the fount of the Dzogchen approach, namely the instantaneous recognition of the ground of intrinsic awareness. The ground’s illumination (gzhi snang), as the radiance of intrinsic awareness, already contains within itself the potential of recognizing itself in the very act of its lighting up; such recognition is intrinsically liberating and referred to as the primordial Buddha Samantabhadra33. Nonetheless, this self-recognition is neither predetermined nor automatic, and so leaves 33.  See Longchen Rabjam’s elucidation of this process in his Theg mchog mdzod, translated in Cornu, La liberté naturelle de l’Esprit (n. 8), pp. 175-177.



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open the possibility of non-recognition; the ground’s illumination, forgetting its source as the universal ground (kun gzhi), is side-tracked by confusion (’khrul pa) and becomes congealed in the multiple pathways of cyclic errancy that characterize the experience of unenlightened beings34. However, it is important to recall that the enlightenment of Samantabhadra is not to be seen as a bygone event but rather as an ever-present gap within the intricate web of illusory appearances; it is the atemporal possibility of recognition, whereby confusion is liberated before in can take hold. An individual who recognizes the ground’s illumination for what it is remains in its inner clarity (nang gsal); in other words, Samantabhadra abides at the centre of the vortex of the ground’s illumination. This state is comparable to a crystal “containing” different lights with the potential to diffract them in an infinite variety of colours and rays35. Now, we might ask, if everything is so simple, why does it seem to be so complicated? To put it briefly, as hinted at above, it is a matter of recognition, or the lack thereof. The mind of enlightenment is already spontaneously present as the ground (kun gzhi) of our being. However, by failing to recognize it, its luminous display (gzhi snang) is mistaken for something concrete, and, instead of allowing awareness to rest in its spacious open dimensionality, one fragments it into the subject-object dichotomy and gets distracted by the endless proliferation of concepts that reinforce the illusion of concreteness and solidity36. This is how the appearances of cyclic existence (Skt. saṃsāra) become ever more complex, seemingly more real and solid, with every moment of non-recognition further precipitating us down the endless corridors of time… And yet, the icon of Samantabhadra might act as a beckoning reminder that timelessness is perhaps not so far away. III. Concluding Reflections By examining some of the ways in which the notion of effortless spontaneity is presented in the Dzogchen tradition, it has been possible to show that this approach to perfection is one emphasizing the t­ranscendence of 34.  Kapstein, The Tibetan Assimilation of Buddhism (n. 6), p. 169; Hatchell, Naked Seeing (n. 29), pp. 57-59; Achard, L’essence perlée du secret (n. 7), pp. 106-109. 35. J.-L. Achard, Le mode d’émergence du Réel: l’avènement des manifestations de la Base (gzhi snang) selon les conceptions de la Grande Perfection, in Revue d’études tibétaines 7 (April 2005) 64-96, p. 87. 36.  Technically, this process is referred to as the triune unfoldment of ignorance. See J.-L. Achard, L’irruption de la Nescience: la notion d’errance saṃsārique dans le rDzogs chen, in Revue d’études tibétaines 13 (February 2008) 75-108, p. 81.

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structured forms of practice and technologies of self-development. Nonetheless, if we are alert to the context of prolonged contemplative retreat and dedicated discipline that informs the scripts on which meditators model their actual practice, it can be seen that Dzogchen meditation (or non-meditation) is not without an ascetic component, one in which non-interference is learnt as part of a contemplative culture of spontaneity. CERESDylan Esler Ruhr-Universität Bochum Universitätsstr. 90a DE-44789 Bochum Germany [email protected]

IS BUDDHIST SELF-IMMOLATION A FORM OF ASCETICISM? I am grateful for this opportunity to revisit some issues that remain unresolved after my earlier publications on Buddhist self-immolation1. In Burning for the Buddha, which appeared in 2007, I wrote: I remain to be convinced that in China self-immolation was primarily an ascetic tradition. In the early accounts at least, the preparation of the body seems to emphasize its positive aspects: It was not something to be subdued but rather cultivated and transformed. Despite references to terms such as dhūta or kuxing (austerities) in the biographies, I have not found strong evidence of self-­ immolation as part of a larger and fully articulated program of asceticism2.

I do not think my position has changed fundamentally since I wrote that, but clearly there is more that could be said on the topic. In what follows, I will describe how traces of asceticism seem to haunt the practice of self-immolation but never quite coalesce into anything tangible, and I will go on to describe the affinities of self-immolation with broader traditions of self-cultivation and somatic transformation within East Asian religions. I will suggest that, in Chinese Buddhism at least, self-­ cultivation operates in a different register from asceticism. 1. J.A. Benn, Where Text Meets Flesh: Burning the Body as an ‘Apocryphal Practice’ in Chinese Buddhism, in History of Religions 37 (1998) 295-322; Written in Flames: Self-Immolation in Sixth-Century Sichuan, in T’oung Pao 92/4-5 (2006) 117-172; Burning for the Buddha: Self-Immolation in Chinese Buddhism (Kuroda Institute Studies in East Asian Buddhism), Honolulu, University of Hawai’i Press, 2007; Fire and the Sword: Some Connections between Self-Immolation and Religious Persecution in the History of Chinese Buddhism, in J. Stone – B. Cuevas (eds.), The Buddhist Dead: Practices, Discourses, Representations, Honolulu, University of Hawai’i Press, 2007, 234-265; Self-­ Immolation in the Context of War and Other Natural Disasters, in J.A. Benn – J. Chen (eds.), Buddhism and Peace: Issues of Violence, Wars and Self-Sacrifice, Hualien, Tzu Chi University Press, 2007, 51-83; Spontaneous Human Combustion: Some Remarks on a Phenomenon in Chinese Buddhism, in P. Granoff – K. Shinohara (eds.), Heroes and Saints: The Moment of Death in Cross-Cultural Perspectives, Newcastle, Cambridge Scholars Press, 2007, 101-133; The Lotus Sūtra and Self-Immolation, in J.I. Stone – S.F. Teiser (eds.), Readings of the Lotus Sūtra, New York, Columbia University Press, 2009, 107-131. I should also mention a chapter from Dr. C. Kleine that attempted to address this same issue some years ago: “The Epitome of the Ascetic Life”: The Controversy over Self-Mortification and Ritual Suicide as Ascetic Practices in East Asian Buddhism, in O. Freiberger (ed.), Asceticism and Its Critics: Historical Accounts and Comparative Perspectives, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2006, 157-177, and a more recent article by Dr. S. Vermeersch, Sacrifice in East Asian Buddhism, in International Journal of Buddhist Thought and Culture 27 (2017) 205-241. 2.  Benn, Burning for the Buddha (n. 1), p. 196.

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Let us begin with the earliest case of Buddhist self-immolation in China that we know about (it is from 396 ce) to give us a sense of the primary materials and the interpretive problems that we face. [The monk] Fayu 法羽 was from Jizhou 冀州3. At the age of fifteen, he left home, and became a disciple of Huishi 慧始 (d.u.). [Hui]shi established a practice of austerities and the cultivation of dhūta. [Fa]yu, being energetic and courageous, deeply comprehended this method. He constantly aspired to follow the traces of the Medicine King and to burn his body in homage [to the Buddha]. At that time, the illegitimate “Prince of Jin 晉” Yao Xu 姚緒 (fl. late fourth century) was occupying Puban 蒲坂. [Fa]yu informed Xu of his intention. Xu said: “There are many ways of entering the path, why do you choose only to burn your body? While I dare not firmly oppose it, I would be happier if you would think twice [lit. think thrice]”. But [Fa]yu’s intention was resolute. Next, he consumed incense and oil; he wrapped his body in cloth, and recited the “Chapter on Abandoning the Body” (sheshen pin 捨 身品). At its conclusion, he set fire to himself. The religious and laity who witnessed this were all full of grief and admiration. At the time he was forty-five years old4.

We will return later to Fayu’s ritualised re-enactment of the dramatic act of self-sacrifice from the Lotus Sūtra, which provided the scriptural precedent and model for auto-cremation in China. At first glance, there does not seem to be anything substantial in the passage that marks his act as an ascetic one. The hagiography does signal, though, that Fayu’s master, Huishi 慧始 (d.u.), was particularly diligent in the practice of austerities (jingku 精苦) and the cultivation of something called “dhūta” (toutuo 頭陀) in which he also trained his disciple. Dhūta (also written dhuta), which means “to cast off”, denotes specific disciplines approved for Buddhist monks such as eating only once a day, sleeping in the open, and not lying down to sleep – all of which were designed to free one from attachment to the body5. 3.  Jizhou was north-east of present-day Lucheng 潞城 county in Shanxi 山西. 4.  Gaoseng zhuan 12, Taishō Shinshū Daizōkyō 大正新脩大藏經, ed. Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順次郎 et al., Tōkyō, Taishō Issaikyō Kankōkai, 1924-1932, 100 vols. (henceforth abbreviated: T; full citations from the Taishō canon are given in the following fashion: title and fascicle number (where relevant), Taishō (T) text number, volume number, page, register (a, b or c), line number(s); here: T no. 2059, 50.404c11-18. Translation in Benn, Burning for the Buddha (n. 1), pp. 33-35. 5.  See J. Filliozat, La Mort volontaire par le feu, et la tradition bouddhique indienne, in Journal Asiatique 251 (1961) 21-51, p. 49, n. 52, for a rather caustic observation on Jacques Gernet’s rendering of the term in his Les suicides par le feu chez les bouddhistes chinois du Ve au Xe siècle, in Mélanges publiés par l’Institut des hautes études chinoises 2 (1960) 527-558, p. 531. On the specific practices of dhūta, for which a number of different lists are given in the sources, see the well-documented survey by R. Ray, Buddhist Saints in India: A Study in Buddhist Values and Orientations, New York, Oxford University Press, 1994, pp. 293-323.



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Hagiographies of Chinese self-immolators of the sixth century and earlier often label their subjects as having been trained in dhūta6. Another term which often appears in partnership with the word dhūta, sometimes apparently as a definition of the word, is kuxing 苦行 which I will translate as “arduous practices” (it could be understood as “painful” or “bitter” practices). This term has a number of referents. It can be used to denote the extreme acts that the Buddha, Śākyamuni, performed across many lifetimes as a bodhisattva on his way to buddhahood. But the term is often used to describe the extreme asceticism (tapas) of non-Buddhists in India. These two terms – dhūta and “arduous practices” – are technically distinct and in theory ought not to be conflated, but in Chinese texts they frequently are used interchangeably. This terminological imprecision suggests that the conceptual framework of asceticism and its relation to the practice of self-immolation is under-theorised by these practitioners and the interpretive community that wrote about them. Here is another example of auto-cremation from the late fifth century that shows the two terms used together: [Faguang 法光 (447-487)] performed arduous practices and dhūta (kuxing toutuo 苦行頭陀) and did not wear silk. He refrained from the five grains (jue wugu 絕五榖) and ate only pine needles. Later, he vowed to burn his body, and from then on he ate pine resin and drank oil for half a year. On Yongming 永明 5.10.20 of the Qi 齊 (November 21, 487), within Jicheng monastery 記城寺 in Longxi 隴西 [present-day Shaanxi], he piled up firewood to burn his body in fulfilment of his former vow. As the flames reached his eyes, the sound of his recitation could still be heard. When they reached his nose, it became indistinct. He passed away peacefully. He was forty-one7.

It is worth noting the specific practices mentioned here. Some strict monks in medieval China avoided wearing silk because it involved the killing of silkworms8. Avoidance of grain and the consumption of pine 6.  On auto-cremation as dhūta, see Lin Huisheng 林惠勝, Shaozhi fenshen–Zhongguo zhongshi Fahua xinyang zhi yi mianxiang 燒指焚身–中國中世法華信仰之一面向 (Burning the Fingers and Auto-Cremation: On One Aspect of Belief in the Lotus Sūtra in Medieval China), in Zongjiao yu wenhua xuebao 宗教與文化學報 1 (2001) 57-96, pp. 73-74. See J. Kieschnick, The Eminent Monk: Buddhist Ideals in Medieval Chinese Hagiography, Honolulu, University of Hawai’i Press, 1997, pp. 34-35, for a discussion of dhūta practitioners in Gaoseng zhuan literature as a whole. 7.  Gaoseng zhuan 12, T no. 2059, 50.405c12-17. Translation in Benn, Burning for the Buddha (n. 1), p. 41. 8. J. Kieschnick, The Symbolism of the Monk’s Robe in China, in Asia Major (Third Series) 12/1 (1999) 9-32; S.H. Young, For a Compassionate Killing: Chinese Buddhism, Sericulture, and the Silkworm God Aśvaghosa, in Journal of Chinese Religions 41/1 (2013) 25-58.

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needles, on the other hand, are not usually tagged as ascetic practices within the Buddhist tradition. These were, and still are, dietetic regimes, indigenous to the Chinese religious world and often associated with Daoism, that aimed at purifying the body from within in order to prepare it for transformation. We will return to these practices below. In short, then, the notion of asceticism or austerity practice appears at the periphery of accounts of self-immolation but is somehow not integral to them. The relationship of ascetic practice with self-immolation is not defined in hagiographical materials. Technical terms such as “arduous practices” and dhūta are seen there more as lexical tags than as interpretive categories for comprehending self-immolation. Before we can continue much further, we need to define two subjects in the context of Chinese Buddhism, 1) self-immolation, 2) asceticism. I.  Defining Self-Immolation “Self-immolation” is the term most often applied to a range of Buddhist bodily practices that often result in death. The term “self-­immolation” means simply “self-sacrifice” and is derived from the Latin molare “to make a sacrifice of grain”. It does not refer exclusively to voluntary death by fire, although the term is frequently used in that sense. Here, we will use “auto-cremation” for the act of burning one’s own body, and “self-immolation” for the broader range of actions which constituted “abandoning the body” in East Asian Buddhism. These modes of self-­ immolation might include drowning, death by starvation, feeding the body to animals or insects, etc. Chinese primary sources use three different but related terms for self-immolation: wangshen 亡身, meaning “to lose, or abandon the body”, or “to be oblivious (wang 忘) to the body”; yishen 遺身, meaning “to let go of, abandon, or be oblivious to the body”; and sheshen 捨身 “to relinquish, or abandon the body”. These three binomes are also used to translate terms found in Indian Buddhist texts such as ātmabhāva-parityāga, ātma-parityāga (abandoning the self) and svadeha-parityāga (abandoning one’s own body). The terminology of self-immolation provides an important clue that self-immolation was considered a particular expression of the fundamental goal of detachment from the notion of a self. Auto-cremation, on the other hand, is usually marked as shaoshen 燒身 (burning the body) and zifen 自焚 (self-­burning), but these terms are deployed for the most part only in description. In Chinese sources auto-cremation is understood to be a means of abandoning the self, but is not usually discussed as an ideal in its own right.



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It is important to note that self-killing or suicide is treated as a serious offence for male and female monastics. For monks, it is included in one of the four pārājika offences that entail expulsion from the full monastic status as a monk or a nun. This prohibition is often the crux of opposition to self-immolation within the Buddhist tradition itself. But for many Chinese Buddhist authors, the power of the precedents from the Mahāyāna literature, especially the Lotus Sūtra, simply outweighed the monastic regulations (Vinaya), and invalidated its proscription of suicide. II.  Defining Buddhist Asceticism Buddhists in India extolled a middle way that sought to distance themselves from the extreme body practices of ascetics around them. The Buddha, in his own journey to awakening, had famously experimented with self-denial but had rejected it as a dead-end that did not lead to awakening. The genesis of Buddhism in India strongly affected later attitudes towards somatic disciplinary practices aimed at transcending the bondage of ordinary existence. Buddhism arose at a time and within a milieu in which there were many practitioners of extreme asceticism. Most accounts of the Buddha Śākyamuni depict him engaging in those same disciplines between the time when he left his father’s house and his decision to sit beneath the bodhi tree. He is said to have lived in the wilderness, fasting for long periods, and dressing in minimal clothing. In some accounts, he wore only animal skins or bark clothing, and subsisted only on fruits and roots, or a single grain of rice or single jujube. Eventually, of course, the Buddha rejected the extremes of asceticism in favour of a middle way towards awakening. The Buddhist tradition thereafter tended to be suspicious of extreme ascetic practice because it was so associated with other non-Buddhist groups. Even in the writings of tenth-century Chinese Buddhists we can see an awareness that extreme body practices were the preserve of non-Buddhist ascetics. In the lived reality of Chinese religions, however, there was no strong non-Buddhist ascetic tradition and Buddhist practice tended to fill the resulting gap. In order to accommodate some ascetic practices for monastics, Indian Buddhist texts contain lists of twelve or thirteen recognised but optional items to be adopted by monks and nuns for short periods of time in order to foster restraint of the senses9. These are known by the term we met 9.  The thirteen authorised practices are (1) wearing patched robes made from discarded cloth rather than from cloth donated by lay people; (2) wearing only three robes; (3) going

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above: dhuta/dhūta in both Pali and Sanskrit, or dhutaṅga. [alt. dhūtaṅga] in Pali, or in Sanskrit, dhūtaguṇa. So, dhūta refers to only a narrow range of things that monastics could do with their bodies. The term kuxing “arduous practices”, can refer to more virtuoso actions undertaken by bodhisattvas on the path to buddhahood. III. A History of Chinese Buddhist Self-Immolation We do not know how many Buddhists in China undertook acts of self-immolation from late fourth century to the present. I have read several hundred accounts of monks, nuns and laypeople who offered up their own bodies for a variety of expressed motives. It was not primarily a form of political protest. Accounts come from across the spectrum of the Buddhist community: Chan masters, scholars, exegetes, proselytisers, wonder-workers, practitioners of dhūta and “arduous practices”. Auto-cremation was often performed as a spectacle in front of large and emotional crowds of onlookers. Government officials often attended the final moments, had the holy remains interred and composed eulogies that extolled self-immolators’ actions. The fluid concept of self-immolation was partly a historical accident – it was not consistently defined or explained in Buddhist canonical sources – but it was also a consequence of the ways in which self-immolation was inscribed in our sources. Most of our knowledge about self-immolation in China is presented in hagiographies. Compilers of collections of exemplary biographies thus became the gatekeepers of self-immolation as a practice. Compilers grouped together biographies of individuals in chapters under the rubric of “self-immolation” and so created the appearance of unity from a diversity of practices. When they reflected on this category, they were often reluctant to draw precise boundaries around the tradition they had created. What actions constituted self-immolation? What mental attitude was required? What was the goal of self-­immolation? These questions not only challenge us now, they also faced contemporary Buddhist authors. for alms; (4) not omitting any house while on the alms round, rather than begging only at those houses known to provide good food; (5) eating only what can be eaten in one sitting; (6) eating only food received in the alms bowl, rather than more elaborate meals presented to the saṃgha; (7) refusing more food after indicating one has eaten enough; (8) dwelling in the forest; (9) dwelling at the root of a tree; (10) dwelling in the open air, using only a tent made from one’s robes as shelter; (11) dwelling in a charnel ground; (12) satisfaction with whatever dwelling one has; and (13) sleeping in a sitting position without ever lying down. The comparable Mahāyāna list of twelve dhūtaguṇas is essentially the same, dropping the two practices involving eating (5, 6) and adding an additional rule on wearing only garments made of coarse hemp and wool.



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One dilemma for Chinese Buddhist authors was a constant issue: how could they justify collecting and transmitting biographies of self-immolators as accounts of eminent monks if the monastic regulations found in the Vinaya condemned suicide and self-harm? There was no simple answer to that question. Buddhist authors struggled to define and endorse self-immolation and were often preoccupied with other concerns that shaped their view of exemplary religious practice. The attitude of rulers toward the Buddhist community as a whole, or toward certain types of monastic behaviour; orthodoxy as defined in scripture and commentary; orthopraxy as reported by Chinese pilgrims to India: all these factors affected the opinions of those who wrote about self-immolators. Of all the forms of self-immolation, Chinese Buddhists took up with enthusiasm auto-cremation in particular. Although auto-cremation was known in India, as a Buddhist practice it was constructed on Chinese soil by drawing on a range of sources such as the Indian Buddhist scripture Saddharmapuṇḍarīka or Lotus Sūtra combined with indigenous themes, such as burning the body to bring rain. Auto-cremation was further endorsed in apocryphal Chinese Buddhist scriptures, and in the recording and collection of hagiographies of auto-cremators. These provided an increasing number and variety of precedents that further legitimated auto-cremation. In India, self-immolation was largely confined to the fringes of the Buddhist community, but in China, auto-cremation was made a mode of practice that was accessible to, and adopted by, Buddhists of all kinds. The cults of self-immolators were both local – celebrated by the erection of shrines, images, and stelae – and also made universal through biographies of eminent monks and collections which celebrated acts of devotion to the Lotus Sūtra and other scriptures. Self-immolation in Chinese Buddhism was largely not considered aberrant, heterodox, or anomalous, but as an endeavour to create bodhisattvas in the mundane world in imitation of models found in scripture. What do we know about the history of Buddhist self-immolation? Collections of the hagiographical genre known as Gaoseng zhuan 高僧 傳 (Biographies of Eminent Monks) provide much of our data. The biographies in these collections were based mostly on funerary inscriptions composed for their subjects by prominent men of letters. We can still find some of the original inscriptions in other collections or sometimes in the form of stelae. But in the individual biographies the ideal of self-immolation remains rather nebulous and undefined. In hagiographical collections, there was usually a separate section devoted to self-immolators. The compilers composed “critical evaluations” (lun 論) appended to these sections, but even there the discussion is rather circumspect.

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Compilers of the biographies of eminent monks determined what practices should constitute that model. Did they see self-immolation as primarily an ascetic practice aimed at subduing the body? Often their descriptions of the preparation of the body for burning seems to emphasise its positive aspects – it was not something to be subdued but rather cultivated and transformed. On the other hand, self-immolators were often presented like ascetic virtuosos who manifested distinctive material results. They changed the shape of the body by burning or cutting off fingers or arms; they etched the teachings into the skin by branding the torso, arm, or head. They produced relics, mummies, and indestructible tongues. Self-immolators affected the lives of the witnesses, as they saved the lives of humans and animals, cured diseases, or converted people to the vegetarian diet. Self-immolators were said to have preserved the saṃgha in times of persecution, or to have averted the disasters at the end of a kalpa (aeon), ended warfare, brought rain in times of drought, and turned back floods. Buddhist authors presented self-immolation as part of a wider project designed to remake ordinary humans into the heroic and benevolent bodhisattvas celebrated in the literature of the Mahāyāna. In China, while often controversial, self-immolation was always considered a valid Buddhist practice. Biographers often represented individual acts of self-immolation as if they derived unmediated from a literal reading of certain texts. Frequently cited are accounts of the former lives and deeds of the Buddha ­Śākyamuni (jātakas or avadānas) and the Lotus Sūtra which extols the devotion of an advanced bodhisattva called Medicine King who makes a fiery offering of his own body to the relics of a Buddha. Although the imitation of scriptural models might seem a simplistic way to consider Buddhist self-immolation, in context it was not particularly illogical. How else should medieval Chinese practitioners have understood these heroic tales from scripture, other than literally? The scriptures of Mahāyāna B ­ uddhism presented their Chinese readers with detailed accounts of the careers of bodhisattvas, who represented the goal of Buddhist practice. They declared repeatedly and explicitly that acts of extreme and selfless generosity (or charity, dāna) were a necessary part of that process. For example, one of the most influential Mahāyāna texts known to medieval ­Chinese, Dazhidu lun 大智度論 (Great Perfection of Wisdom Treatise) which was attributed to the great Indian thinker Nāgārjuna, says: What is to be understood by the fulfilment of the perfection of generosity appertaining to the body which is born from the bonds and karma? Without gaining the dharmakāya (dharma-body) and without destroying the fetters the bodhisattva is able to give away without reservation all his precious



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possessions, his head, his eyes, his marrow, his skin, his kingdom, his wealth, his wife, his children and his possessions both inner and outer; all this without experiencing any emotions10.

In other words, the bodhisattva must dispassionately surrender his own body and even his loved ones long before he reaches awakening. The passage continues by recounting a succession of canonical accounts of extreme generosity from the previous lives of the Buddha: Prince Viśvantara who gave away his wife and children, King Sarvada who lost his kingdom to a usurper and then surrendered himself to a poor brahman so that he could collect a reward from the new king, and Prince Candraprabha who gave his blood and marrow to cure a leper. These mythic heroes are presented as paradigms and exemplars of true generosity, but not as ascetics. Chinese Buddhists who sought to carry forward the teachings of the Buddha to their own time and place were acutely aware that these tales came from an unimpeachable source – the golden mouth of the Buddha. Self-immolators and their champions could point to many places in the scriptures where the Buddha had explicitly instructed them to do extraordinary things with their bodies if they wished to advance on the path to buddhahood. But were these extraordinary acts thought of primarily as ascetic? One of the most common methods of (attempted) self-immolation after auto-cremation involved casting the body in front of a hungry tiger or tigress. The prime exemplar of this act was the Buddha himself, as seen for example in a jātaka contained in the Jinguangming jing 金光明經 (Sūtra of Golden Light). This popular story shows just what kind of claims were being made for self-immolation. The act of offering the body – for the benefit of a tigress, for other beings, or in homage to buddhas – was guaranteed to result in awakening and the ability to save other beings. In the legend, Prince Mahāsattva (Śākyamuni in a former life) is conscious of imitating the bodhisattvas, just as Chinese self-immolators later imitated him. The universe responds to his sacrifice in just the same way that acts of Chinese monks were accompanied by magic rain, the blossoming of trees and flowers, light shows, earthquakes, thunder and so on. The actions of Prince Mahāsattva and other self-sacrificing bodhisattvas, however, are not presented as ascetic acts but as gifts of the body11.

10.  Dazhidu lun, T no. 1509, 25.149b. 11. R. Ohnuma, Head, Eyes, Flesh, and Blood: Giving Away the Body in Indian Buddhist Literature, New York, Columbia University Press, 2007.

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IV. The Lotus Sūtra, the Bodhisattva Medicine King and Ascetic Practice There is one possible exception to the general rule that offerings of the body by bodhisattvas are not construed as ascetic acts. It is the important case of the Bodhisattva Medicine King in the Lotus Sūtra chapter “The Original Acts of the Medicine King”12. The chapter is introduced by the Bodhisattva Beflowered by the King of Constellations (Nakṣatrarājasaṃ­ kusumitābhijña), who asks the Buddha to explain about the “difficult deeds and arduous practices” (nanxing kuxing 難行苦行) of the Bodhisattva Medicine King. The Buddha relates that in the past, innumerable eons ago, there was a Buddha called Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon (Candrasūryavimalaprabhāsaśrī) who was accompanied by a vast retinue of advanced practitioners and as living in a world that was considerably more impressive than our own. He had an entourage of eighty million bodhisattva-mahāsattvas, all of whom had a lifespan of forty-two thousand eons. His realm was perfectly flat and adorned with jewelled trees, banners, and terraces; there were no women, hell-dwellers, hungry ghosts, or asuras (demi-gods) there. It was, in other words, a Pure Land, a place in which only favourable states of rebirth were possible. At that time in the far distant past, the Buddha Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon taught the Lotus Sūtra to the Bodhisattva Seen with Joy by All Living Beings. This Bodhisattva was so inspired by the teaching that he wished to attain buddhahood himself, which he aimed to do by cultivating austerities. He then practiced diligently for twelve thousand years (the sūtra does not tell us exactly what his practices were) and thus attained a level of meditational skill called the “samādhi (absorption) that displays all manner of physical bodies”. He was delighted with this result, which he attributed to his having heard the Lotus Sūtra. Again, we see that asceticism appears in the frame of accounts of offerings of the body, but is not central to them. He thereupon resolved to make offerings to the Buddha Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon and to the Lotus Sūtra. First, he entered samādhi and magically produced a rain of flowers and incense. But he considered that this offering was inferior to the donation of his own body. The Lotus Sūtra then describes his preparations in a way that was to echo through later accounts of auto-cremation in China. The Bodhisattva made a vow (presumably stating his intention and identifying 12.  Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, New York, Columbia University Press, 1976, pp. 291-302.



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the recipients of his donation) and then ignited himself. The light of his burning body reached innumerable other world-systems. The buddhas of these realms were much impressed and compared his auto-cremation favourably against other types of donation: Good man, this is true perseverance in vigor! This is called a true Dharma-offering to the Thus Come One. If with floral scent, necklaces, burnt incense, powdered scent, paint-scent, divine cloth, banners, parasols, the scent of the candana of the near seashore, and a variety of such things one were to make offerings, still they could not exceed this former [act of yours]. Even if one were to give realms and walled cities, wives and children, they would still be no match for it. Good man, this is called the prime gift. Among the various gifts, it is the most honorable, the supreme. For it constitutes an offering of Dharma to the thus come ones13.

In this passage, the giving of “inner wealth” (that is to say, the body) is described as far surpassing the most extravagant offerings of external wealth and even the donation of one’s own wife and children – an allusion to the story of Prince Viśvantara whom we met above. The enthusiasm of the buddhas for the offering of the body was an element of the chapter that caught the attention of Medicine King’s Chinese imitators who took it as an unequivocal endorsement of auto-cremation. The Bodhisattva’s body burned for twelve hundred years before it was fully consumed. Because he had made such a great offering, the Lotus Sūtra tells us, he was instantaneously reborn in the realm of the Buddha Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon, materialising in the household of King Pure Virtue (Vimaladatta). There, he introduced himself in verse, explaining how he had come to be reborn there: O Great King! Now be it known that I, going about in that place, Straightway attained the All-Body-Displaying Samādhi, Whereby, striving and greatly persevering in vigor, I cast off the body to which I had been so attached. Making this offering to the world-honored one, I seek the unexcelled wisdom14.

These lines tell us three important things about the Bodhisattva’s self-immolation. First, he made offering as a consequence of attaining the samādhi, with the implication that his self-immolation was an advanced practice accessible to him because of his skills in meditation and the supernatural powers that come with it. Second, his self-­immolation was primarily a practice of one of the other “perfections” of the ­bodhisattva 13.  Ibid., p. 295. 14.  Ibid.

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path, that of vigour (vīryapāramitā), and not the perfection of charity (dānapāramitā) as we might have expected. The heroic, energetic mode of vigour contrasts somewhat with the humility required of selfless devotion. The association of self-immolation with vigour as well as charity may help to explain why Chinese self-immolators often made a show of the strenuous effort required for public auto-cremation. Third, it was an offering to the Buddha, made in the hopes of attaining the full awakening of buddhahood. This last aspect is important for understanding the ultimate goal of self-immolation, and why it could be said to “benefit others” – by becoming a buddha rapidly the self-immolator would soon find himself in a position to rescue sentient beings from suffering by means of a buddha’s salvific powers. The Bodhisattva then announced to his father, Pure Virtue, that he intended to make further offerings to the Buddha. But when he presented himself before Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon, the Buddha informed him that he was about to pass from the world that very night. He entrusted Medicine King with his teaching, the bodhisattvas of his retinue, the world-systems that made up his realm, and finally his precious bodily relics, instructing him on how they should be venerated. In the last hours of that night the Buddha entered the extinction of parinirvāṇa. The Bodhisattva cremated the deceased Buddha and collected the relics which he placed in eighty-four thousand reliquaries inside eighty-four thousand stūpas (pagoda). He made the kinds of offering appropriate for venerating relics – draping the stūpas with banners, covering them with parasols, and adorning them with jewelled bells – but again it occurred to him that he should make a further oblation. He announced to the assembled bodhisattvas, their disciples, gods, nāgas and yakṣas, etc., “You are all to attend single-mindedly. For I will now make an offering to the śarīra (relic) of the Buddha Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon”15. He then burned his forearms for seventy-two thousand years, causing many beings to aspire to complete and perfect enlightenment (anuttarāsamyakṣaṃbodhi) and enabling them also to acquire the “­samādhi that displays all manner of physical bodies”. The assembled witnesses remained somewhat upset that he had no arms. The Bodhisattva then vowed, “I have thrown away both arms. May I now without fail gain the Buddha’s golden-colored body! If this oath is reality and not vanity, then may both arms be restored as before”16. Because of the sincerity of 15.  Ibid., p. 297. 16.  Ibid., pp. 297-298.



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this vow, his arms were immediately restored; the universe responded by shaking “in six ways” and all men and gods “gained something they had never had before”17. At this point in the chapter, the story of the “former acts” of the Bodhisattva Medicine King concludes and we return to the narrative frame of the Lotus Sūtra. The Buddha now reveals to the Bodhisattva Beflowered by the King of Constellations that the Bodhisattva Seen with Joy by All Living Beings, who made such remarkable offerings in the distant past, is none other than the present-day Bodhisattva Medicine King. The Buddha extols this Bodhisattva’s practices, and then makes a recommendation to ordinary practitioners: Gifts of his own body, such as this one, number in the incalculable hundreds of thousands of myriads of millions of nayutas. O Beflowered by the King of Constellations! If there is one who, opening up his thought, wishes to attain anuttarasamyaksaṃbodhi, if he can burn a finger or even a toe as an offering to a Buddhastūpa, he shall exceed one who uses realm or walled city, wife or children, or even all the lands, mountains, forests, rivers, ponds, and sundry precious objects in the whole thousand-millionfold world as offerings18.

In this speech – which was often quoted by Chinese Buddhist authors – Śākyamuni states that burning the body is not restricted to advanced bodhisattvas, but may be practiced by anyone who wishes to attain buddhahood. However, in the typical fashion of the Lotus Sūtra, this claim for the powers of auto-cremation is immediately undercut by a further declaration that the merit accrued by one who memorises even a single verse of the sūtra exceeds that gained by one who gives away a universe full of jewels. The chapter on the original acts of Medicine King concludes with the customary hymns of praise to the miraculous powers of the Lotus Sūtra. Finally, Śākyamuni entrusts the chapter to the care of the Bodhisattva Beflowered by the King of Constellations. The story of Medicine King was not just edifying or awe-inspiring; his auto-cremation could also offer an opportunity for the awakening of those who heard it. Tiantai Zhiyi 天台智顗 (538-597) – one of the most influential figures in the East Asian tradition – was said to have become enlightened on reading this chapter of the Lotus Sūtra19. A commentary attributed to him says that the Bodhisattva exemplifies a manner of riding in the “great vehicle” through the cultivation of austerities (nanxing) – in 17.  Ibid., p. 298. 18.  Ibid. 19.  See L. Hurvitz, Chih-i (538-597): An Introduction to the Life and Ideas of a Chinese Buddhist Monk, in Mélanges chinois et bouddhiques 5/12 (1960-62) 108-109.

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other words, that he represents a distinct bodily or somatic path towards buddhahood, but he does not further elaborate on self-immolation as an ascetic practice20. Kuiji 窺基 (632-682), a disciple of the famous Buddhist pilgrim and translator Xuanzang 玄奘 (600-664), also notes the Medicine King’s ascetic mode of Buddhist practice: “Through his own cultivation of austerities he propagates the true dharma”21. Jizang 吉藏 (549-623), another major Buddhist thinker, emphasises the multiple effects of self-immolation when he says that the Bodhisattva uses his own life “to repay the kindness [of the Buddha] and pay homage to him, thus propagating the sūtra, creating merit for humans, teaching and converting myriad beings”22. Thus, commentators emphasised the altruistic nature of surrendering the body, and noted its ascetic character without particularly expanding upon it. V. Understanding Self-Immolation within the Chinese Buddhist Tradition What did Chinese Buddhist authors who worked with doctrine make of the practice? How did they fit self-immolation into the larger framework of valid and orthodox praxis? An extended discussion of this question is offered by Yongming Yanshou 永明延壽 (904-975) in Wanshan tonggui ji 萬善同歸集 (The Common End of the Myriad Good Practices; T no. 2017, 48). By the time Yanshou was writing, self-immolation in China had nearly six hundred years of history. But while the practice was well attested, the question of its orthodoxy continued to vex the monastic community. In addition to occasional criticisms levelled at self-immolators by rulers and officials, the Buddhist translator, pilgrim and Vinaya master Yijing 義淨 (635-713) had composed a sharp critique of the practice, based in part on his experiences in India. Yanshou’s primary argument for the validity of self-immolation is expressed in terms of Buddhist precepts, specifically the superiority of the Bodhisattva precepts of the apocryphal Fanwang jing 梵網經 (Book of Brahmā’s Net), over the non-Mahāyāna “śrāvaka precepts” of the Sifen lü 四分律 (Dharmaguptaka vinaya). Yanshou begins by citing the sixteenth of the forty-eight lesser precepts of the Fanwang jing. The text of this precept is difficult to construe and was open to some different 20.  Miaofa lianhua jing wenju, T no. 1718, 34.143b3. 21.  Miaofa lianhua jing xuanzan, by Kuiji (632-682), T no. 1723, 34.843b24-25. 22.  Fahua yishu, by Jizang (549-623), T no. 1721, 374.620a20-22.



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interpretations, but in Yanshou’s reading the following part is fairly unambiguous: when bodhisattvas who are new to the practice come in search of teaching to one who has taken the Bodhisattva precepts, then: In accordance with the dharma he should explain to them all the arduous practices, such as setting fire to the body, setting fire to the arm, or setting fire to the finger. If one does not set fire to the body, the arm, or the finger as an offering to the Buddhas, one is not a renunciant bodhisattva23.

Now, the meaning of this precept is that if one does not explain the true dharma, point by point, then one is guilty of a lesser transgression. The arduous practices that are detailed in the precept are merely an example of the true teaching, they are not what the precept requires one to do oneself, though Yanshou omits twenty-five characters towards the end of the precept and replaces them with ruo bu ru shi 若不如是… (“if one does not do so…”). Thus, the reader is left with the impression that by not burning the body one is breaking a bodhisattva precept. This is not the thrust of the original precept, which is concerned with the necessity of transmitting the teachings correctly. To understand why Yanshou wanted to defend self-immolation we should turn to Yijing’s attack on the practice. As it is somewhat lengthy, it may suffice here just to quote the opening lines24. Burning the body is not fitting. Among renunciates there is a group of practitioners who, on commencing their studies, want to be brave and keen. They are not familiar with the sacred books, but put their trust in people who have gone before them. They consider burning the fingers as the practice of vigour (jingqin 精勤, Skt. vīrya) and the burning of the flesh as the production of great merit. They follow their own feelings, go by what is in their own minds. Although they are extolled in the sūtras, such actions are for the laity who may offer their own bodies, not to mention any external possessions which they have. This is why in the sūtras it simply says “If someone gives rise to such a thought…”, thus it does not apply to renunciates. The meaning is that renunciates should abide by the Vinaya. If they do not transgress the precepts then they are in accordance with the sūtras. If they do transgress then I see no reason to justify [their acts]. Even if the whole gandhakuṭī is covered in grass, they [i.e., monks] should not destroy even one blade25. Even if they are starving alone in the wilderness 23.  Tonggui ji, T no. 2017, 48.969c2-4. 24. See Benn, Where Text Meets Flesh (n. 1), pp. 312-316. 25.  Gandhakuṭī (xiangtai 香臺, Perfume Chamber), was the cell reserved in a monastery as the residence of the Buddha, and later designated the building housing the image of the Buddha. In either case, the grass growing in or around such a chamber would belong to the Buddha. Early epigraphical evidence for this term is discussed in G. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks: Collected Papers on the Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Texts of Monastic Buddhism in India, Honolulu, University of Hawai’i Press, 1997, pp. 268-271.

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they should not steal even half a grain of rice. But, for Sarvasattvapriyadarśana [i.e., the Medicine King] who is classed as a lay person, to burn his arms, is considered perfectly permissible. Bodhisattvas may give up their sons and daughters, but bhikṣus (monks) need not seek for sons and daughters to surrender. The mahāsattva donates his eyes and body, but [does it follow that] the person who begs for the mahāsattva’s eyes and body should use them to donate [to a third person]26?

Having set out his case by drawing a clear line between the mahāsattva-bodhisattvas of scripture, who were free to do as they chose with their bodies, and ordinary Chinese monks, who were not, Yijing attacked self-immolation for the following reasons. Human rebirth is hard to attain, and one should not give up the body before one has really begun to study27. Suicide is not permitted in the Vinaya28. The Buddha did not even permit castration, but encouraged the “releasing of living beings” (e.g., releasing fish into ponds)29. Self-immolation goes against the teachings of the Buddha, although this does not apply to those who follow the bodhisattva path without being ordained to the Vinaya30. Those who burn their bodies are guilty of a sthūlātyaya (indeterminate) offence, but those who then imitate them are guilty of pārājika (defeat), since their intention is worse31. There were suicides in India at the time of the Buddha, and he declared them “heretics” (waidao 外道)32. The rest of Yijing’s argument, which unfolds across some seven frames of Taishō text, can be summed up as follows: “my teachers were all wise and virtuous men, they never burned their bodies and they told me it was wrong to do so”33. It is interesting, then, that Yanshou makes a special case for the austerities of the bodhisattva that we saw highlighted in the Lotus Sūtra and enumerated in the apocryphal Book of Brahma’s Net. The rest of his 26.  T no. 2125, 54.231a28-b11. My translation, cf. Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion as Practised in India and the Malay Archipelago (A.D. 671-695) by I-Tsing, London, Clarendon, 1896, p. 195. 27.  T no. 2125, 54.231b14-17; Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion (n. 26), p. 196. 28.  T no. 2125, 54.231b23-24; Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion (n. 26), p. 197. 29.  T no. 2125, 54.231b25-26; Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion (n. 26), p. 197. 30.  T no. 2125, 54.231b26-28; Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion (n. 26), p. 197. 31.  T no. 2125, 54.231c3-4; Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion (n. 26), pp. 197-198. 32.  T no. 2125, 54.231c10-12; Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion (n. 26), p. 198. 33.  T no. 2125, 54.231c-233c; Takakusu Junjiro, Record of the Buddhist Religion (n. 26), pp. 198-215.



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argument is lengthy, complex and somewhat abstruse in places, so let us highlight here just a few places in which self-immolation is brought into contact with issues of asceticism. One issue that Yanshou addresses compares self-immolation to the practices of non-Buddhist ascetics in India, such as “those who roast themselves with five sources of heat” (wure zhishen 五熱炙身)34. These, says the interlocutor, are heterodox practices, censured by the buddhas, so why should they be adopted by Buddhists? Yanshou’s answer draws on high-order soteriological reasoning. He begins with the contrast between the “path of complete emptiness” and the “path which discriminates between good and bad”35. Discrimination of any kind – choosing between right or wrong, orthodox or heterodox – is counterproductive and prevents one from reaching the full attainment of wisdom. Moreover, the “special application” siddāntha (duizhixitan 對治悉檀), a mode of teaching aimed at destroying deep defilements or unwholesome karma of certain beings, dispenses with logic altogether. Thus, says Yanshou, we are led to this apparent paradox: If you say [auto-cremation] is completely right, then Nigrantha (Niganzi 尼 乾子, the Jain founder) perfected the orthodox true path, and all the buddhas are wrong to criticise him. If you say it is completely wrong, then the Medicine King falls into the error of inversion, and all the buddhas are wrong to praise him36.

This line of argument – that auto-cremation, if performed while on the path of complete emptiness, is essentially beyond such worldly and provisional categories as right and wrong – is one to which Yanshou returns repeatedly. But Yanshou does go on to distinguish between the meanings of self-immolation as performed by Buddhists and non-Buddhists. For each type of practitioner, he says, the act has two meanings. For Buddhists, it first illustrates that the nature of both self and others is empty, and it negates the idea that either the self or dharmas have any inherent existence. Second, Buddhist self-immolators only offer themselves to the Three Jewels and repay the four kinds of kindness (si en 四恩, i.e., the kindness of parents, kindness of beings, kindness of rulers, kindness of 34.  Section 35, T no. 2017, 48.969c20-970a22. On these ascetics see for example, Jizang’s commentary on the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa, Weimo jing yishu 維摩經義疏, T no. 1781, 38.941b3, and Daban niepan jing 大般涅槃經 (Mahāparinirvāṇa sūtra), T no. 374, 12.406a27. An interesting story in which the auto-cremation of Nigrantha is foiled by the Buddha’s use of the fire samādhi may be found at Za baozang jing 雜寳藏經, T no. 203, 4.488b1-29. 35. See Dazhidu lun 88, T no. 1509, 25.682a1-5. 36.  T no. 2017, 48.970a2-4.

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the Three Jewels), and these offerings actually help them to attain unsurpassed bodhi. Self-immolators do not seek to be reborn among devas or humans because they have a higher goal. On the other hand, non-­Buddhists still retain the view of a self that inherently exists, and thus their act remains essentially selfish. Also, Yanshou claims, they are motivated by the idea of fame in their present life and a beneficial future rebirth; in particular, he says, some of them vow to become rulers or to be reborn in the Heaven of Extensive Rewards (Guangguo tian 廣果天)37. Yanshou next cites Zhanran’s subcommentary on the Lotus Sūtra, the Fahua wenju ji 法華文句記, to support his contention that if self-immolation is performed in a way that is empty, and untainted by duality, the act is essentially correct38. It is the intention behind the act that determines whether it is orthodox or heterodox. Finally, he paraphrases the Questions of Mañjuśrī to the effect that the actions of bodhisattvas who discard the body are not karmically “indeterminate” (wuji 無記)39. Bodhisattvas just obtain good fortune and virtue, and by the extinction of the afflicted body they attain a pure body in exchange. Yanshou’s argument here is complex and depends entirely on Mahāyāna notions of emptiness, but it is clear that he is unwilling to concede that Buddhist self-immolation is comparable to ascetic practices of non-Buddhists and he draws a sharp line of distinction between them. He does, however, present a strong case for self-immolation as a somatic path to liberation. Not only is the practice definitely not marginal or heterodox, it is not even an expedient practice. Yanshou claims that self-immolation offers a direct access to emptiness, and thus awakening. Yanshou was not the first Chinese monk to endorse self-immolation, but he was the first to attempt to seek out the doctrinal foundations for the practice and to think through some of the ethical ramifications. Whereas the compilers of biographies had given a cautious endorsement by assembling materials and writing critical evaluations, Yanshou actually attempted to grapple seriously with the issues and paradoxes that self-immolation seems to present. For him, self-immolation was not an abstract issue confined to the scriptures and records of the past. Rather, he looked at a living tradition and tried to secure its legitimacy not as a subsidiary practice, minor curiosity, or subset of asceticism, but as nothing less than a path to liberation on an equal footing with meditation, recitation, or ritual. 37.  The Heaven of Extensive Rewards is the third of the eight heavens included at the level of the fourth dhyāna of the realm of form. 38.  T no. 1719, 34.354c. 39. See T no. 468, 14.503a17 for the source of Yanshou’s quotation.



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We have noted that Yanshou began his exploration of self-immolation with the question of the precepts. Yanshou’s solution was a bold one: he turned to another, Mahāyāna, set of precepts and found a rule that not only permitted body-burning practices but seemed to require them. Aside from claiming that the precepts taken by an aspiring bodhisattva simply outweighed the precepts of the lesser vehicle, Yanshou’s argument depends on the premise that if self-immolation is performed in a completely empty manner then the practitioner is essentially beyond such mundane categories as right and wrong. This offers further evidence for the idea that by burning their bodies as prescribed in scripture, Chinese self-immolators could indeed take on the role of advanced bodhisattvas. Since their aspirations were to become buddhas by offering themselves to the three jewels, they would in time attain awakening in a pure body and not suffer any adverse karmic consequences for killing themselves. Yanshou takes the argument back to the fundamental nature of the practice of generosity. He claims that when the giving of the body is rooted in the true “inner dāna” which embraces all the Buddhist teachings, then self-immolation affects not just the practitioner but the whole universe and brings buddhahood. Thus, for him, self-immolation is a valid path to awakening that is confirmed not just by the precedent of the Buddha’s own body offerings, but also by the logic of the perfection of charity. What greater evidence of emptiness could there be than the ability to give up that which is hardest to surrender? Yanshou shows no hesitation in linking the actions of Chinese self-­ immolators with the heroes of the jātakas and the Lotus Sūtra. For him these men and women were not deluded, foolish, or extremist ascetics, but rather the inheritors of a noble and spiritually productive tradition. In short, self-immolation is as valid a practice as any other that was current in the tenth century and should not be criticised by those who might prefer other types of practice themselves. VI.  Self-Immolation, Self-Mummification,

and

Self-Cultivation

In the hagiographies of auto-cremators, burning the body was rarely a spontaneous act; usually it required weeks or months of preparation, both mental and physical. The physical preparations involved a change of diet, usually expressed as “abstention from grain”, accompanied by the ingestion of materials such as pine needles, herbs, resin, incense, and various types of oil. While this diet resulted in the production of a fragrant body which would be especially suitable as a burnt offering to the buddhas, it

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also carried a strong association with the cultivation, transformation and perfection of the body in other contexts. One rather striking parallel is a similar preparation of the body for the process of (self-)mummification in Chinese and Japanese Buddhism. The terminology for self-immolation suggests a sense of radical detachment from the body, but in practice it could involve techniques of self-cultivation which were aimed at perfecting the body, or which were more commonly associated with the extension of life. Both auto-cremation and self-mummification produced bodies which were no longer human, rather they were the perfect, indestructible, adamantine bodies of bodhisattvas. Buddhist canonical descriptions of the body are primarily designed to destroy attachment to the body and its pleasures. They do so often by providing meditational anatomy lessons, in which each component of the body is enumerated, classified and shown to be disgusting and repugnant40. This boil, monks, is an apt metaphor for the body which is made up of the four great elements, begotten of mother and father, formed from a heap of boiled rice and sour gruel, subject to impermanence, concealment, abrasion, dissolution, and disintegration, with nine gaping wounds, nine natural openings, and whatever might ooze out from this, foulness would certainly ooze out […] Therefore, monks, you should be disgusted with this body41.

But this view of the body as a collection of decaying matter is only half the story. Relics of buddhas, arhats, and other saints, in the form of contact relics (robes, bowls, etc.) and bodily relics such as bones, ash and the crystalline śarīra (sheli 舍利) produced by cremation have always been important in Buddhism. They were often treated as living entities – “legal persons” who had property rights, and functionally equivalent to living beings or buddhas. Auto-cremation and mummification both produced body relics. Auto-cremators did not simply destroy their own bodies so much as transform them from mundane flesh into the adamantine and transcendent body of a buddha. We should also consider body position in auto-cremation and self-mummification – hagiographies stress the importance of transformation accomplished while sitting upright in the lotus position. This is indicative of the control of the body which an advanced practitioner 40.  See the excellent study by L. Wilson, Charming Cadavers: Horrific Figurations of the Feminine in Indian Buddhist Hagiographic Literature, Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press, 1996. 41.  Aṅguttara Nikāya, ed. R. Morris – E. Hardy, 5 vols., London, Pali Text Society, 1895-1900, vol. 4, pp. 386-387.



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should have at the moment of death42. But it probably also suggested the posture of the Buddha himself as represented in images. The images of perfect beings that Chinese Buddhists saw reinforced the idea that bodhisattvas did not tend to look like ordinary human beings, and that a certain type of posture was to be emulated. We should note also the numinous power of the places where such acts took place: mountains and mountain caves, long associated with traditions of transforming the body in China. Biographies of auto-cremators and mummies frequently employ the term “niche” (kan 龕) to define the space inside the pyre where the auto-cremator sat and burned, and the cave or hole where a monk sat and became a mummy. Some dying monks were even placed straight into stūpas, suggesting the power of the structure itself to produce a relic. The prevalence of the term “niche” suggests that the very act of placing a human body in such a spot transforms it from a mass of corrupt material into something which is indestructible by a process of either fire or desiccation. We should note some examples of shared tropes in Buddhist and Daoist practice. The first is abstention from grain, a technique long associated with transcendence. The second, more specific to auto-cremation perhaps, is the ingestion of some substance prior to burning. We saw these tropes in the hagiography of Faguang, who, we recall, abstained from grain, ate pine needles, pine resin and drank oil. What is the meaning of this abstention from grain? As far as I know, the concept has no doctrinal basis in Indian Buddhist texts, but was an indigenous practice, and not necessarily an ascetic one. It is recommended in a number of texts associated with longevity, such as Ge Hong’s 葛洪 (283-343) Baopuzi 抱朴 子 (The Master Who Embraces Simplicity) for example. Another early fourth-century text, Taishang lingbao wufuxu 太上靈寶五符序 (Explanation of the Five Talismans of the Most High Numinous Treasure, DZ 388) provides a fairly typical example: You attain the Dao by avoiding all grains. You will never again have to follow the rhythm of the moon and plant and harvest. Now, the people of mysterious antiquity, they reached old age because they remained in leisure and never ate any grains. As the Dayou zhang 大有章 (Verse of Great Existence) says, “The five grains are chisels cutting life away, making the five organs stink and shorten our spans”43. 42. See, e.g., R. Birnbaum, The Deathbed Image of Master Hongyi, in Stone – ­Cuevas (eds.), The Buddhist Dead (n. 1), 175-207. 43.  DZ: Daozang [Zhengtong daozang 正統道藏, 1445], including the Wanli xu daozang 萬磿續道藏, 1607, 1120 vols., Shanghai, Commercial Press, 1923-1926; reprint, 60 vols., Taibei, Yiwen Yinshuguan, 1962; citations from the Daozang provide references

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But our auto-cremators not only abstained from grain, they also altered their diet to favour pine needles (a fairly common foodstuff to this day for the ascetically inclined), resin, herbs, sesame, honey, incense and oil44. Let us turn to some more examples of these practices from the biographies of Buddhist auto-cremators. This passage from the biography of the Buddhist monk Huiyi 慧益, from the late fifth century, describes his preparations for auto-cremation: In the fourth year of the Daming 大明 reign-period (460) he began by abstaining from cereals (queli 卻粒) and ate only sesame and wheat (?)45. In the sixth year he also abstained from wheat and ate only oil of thyme46. There were occasions when he also cut out thyme and oil and ate only pills made of incense47.

Here is another case from a year earlier: Sengqing 僧慶, surnamed Chen 陳, was from Anhan 安漢 in Baxi 巴西48. For generations his family had been members of the Way of the Five Pecks of Grain (Wudoumi dao 五斗米道)49. After Sengqing was born he awakened on his own. At thirteen he left home and resided at Yixing si 義興寺. He purely cultivated chastity and wished to see the Buddha. He began by sacrificing three fingers. Finally he vowed to burn his body. Gradually, he stopped eating grains and only consumed incense and oil. On the eighth day of the second month of the third year of the Daming 大 明 reign-period (459), west of Wudan si 武擔寺, at the walls of Shu 蜀, facing an image of Vimalakīrti (Jingming 淨名) that he had made himself,

to fascicle, page and register and follow the sequential numbers given in K.M. Schipper, Concordance du Tao-Tsang: titres des ouvrages (Publications de l’École française ­d’Extrême-Orient, 102), Paris, École Française d’Extrême-Orient, 1975. 44.  See R.E. Buswell, The Zen Monastic Experience: Buddhist Practice in Contemporary Korea, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1992, p. 178 on the use of pine needles as a food supplement in contemporary Korean monasteries. M. Kaltenmark discusses pine cones and pine needles as part of the diet of transcendents in Le Lie-Sien Tchouan (Biographies légendaires des immortels Taoïstes de l’antiquité), Paris, Collège de France, 1987, p. 54, n. 2. 45.  Gernet suspects that this should be the name of some oleaginous plant, rather than mai 麥 (barley or wheat), see Gernet, Les suicides par le feu (n. 5), p. 533, n. 2. Sesame was not an indigenous plant, but an import from Iran, as Kaltenmark notes, and thus seems not to have been classified as a “cereal” but as a food suitable for the diet of transcendents; see Kaltenmark, Le Lie-Sien Tchouan (n. 43), p. 67, n. 7. 46.  The Three editions and the Palace edition (needs to be explained) prefer suyou 酥 油 (butter) for suyou 蘇油 (oil of thyme), but since the former compound seems not to be attested before the late seventh century, this reading appears less likely. 47.  Gaoseng zhuan, T no. 2059, 50.405b. 48.  North of present day Nanchong 南充 county in Sichuan. 49.  The Way of the Five Pecks of Grain is a somewhat pejorative term for the Way of the Celestial Masters (Tianshi dao 天師道), founded in Sichuan by Zhang Daoling 張道陵, and derived from the annual amount of grain which was handed over for membership dues.



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he burned his body in homage50. The Prefect (cishi 刺史) Zhang Yue 張悅 personally came and witnessed it. Religious, laity, travellers and residents all left the city [for the monastery]. Passing clouds gathered and a hard rain was falling mournfully, when suddenly the sky cleared and fine bright weather returned. [The witnesses] saw something like a dragon come out of the pyre and leap into the sky. At the time, he was twenty-three. The Governor (taishou 太守) of Tianshui 天水, Pei Fangming 裴方明, had his ashes gathered and erected a stūpa for them51.

In this later example from the Tang dynasty, which involves two nuns, we see a more detailed account of the process, and with rather different results: At the beginning of the Zhenguan 貞觀 reign period (627-649), in Jingzhou 荊州, there were two sisters who were bhikṣuṇīs (nuns). They had a deep loathing for their physical form, and they both wished to abandon their bodies. They restricted their food and clothing, and were respectfully honoured for their practice of austerities. They consumed fragrant oils and gradually cut out grain from their diet. Later, they completely abstained from grain and ate only incense and honey. They were filled with strength of essence, their spiritual determination was bright and vigorous. They widely advertised, to both religious and laity, that on the appointed day they would burn their bodies. On Zhenguan 3.2.8 (March 8, 629), they set up two high seats on the main road of Jingzhou. Then they wrapped their bodies in waxed cloth right up to the crown of the head, only their faces and eyes were visible. The crowds massed like mountains, their songs and eulogies like gathering clouds. They recited [the Lotus Sūtra] up until the point where [the Medicine King] burns. The older sister first applied a flaming wick to her younger sister’s head, then she asked the younger sister to apply a burning wick to her head. In the peace of the night the two torches blazed away together simultaneously. The fire burned down to their eyes, but the sound of their recitation was still clearly transmitted. [The flames] gradually reached their noses and mouths and then [the recitation] came to an end. This was just at daybreak, and they were still sitting together and intact. Then, simultaneously the fires flared up, and their bones were smashed and broken, but the two tongues remained intact. The assembled crowd sighed admiringly and raised a high stupa for them52.

It is interesting here that the motivation for auto-cremation is attributed to “deep loathing for the physical form”, of a kind which we saw recommended by the Buddha in the passage from the Aṅguttara Nikāya 50.  Shu is present day Chengdu 成都, Sichuan. 51.  Tianshui is present day Tianshui county in Gansu. Pei Fangming is mentioned at Song shu 宋書 45/1382-1384. 52.  Xu Gaoseng zhuan 續高僧傳27, T no. 2060, 50.683c26-684a7. See V. Georgieva, Representation of Buddhist Nuns in Chinese Edifying Miracle Tales during the Six Dynasties and the Tang, in Journal of Chinese Religions 24 (1996) 47-76, pp. 57-58.

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quoted above. Since this is a fairly unusual comment in the biographies of monks, we may suspect that it was their female bodies which the nuns considered especially loathsome. The sisters’ practice of restricting their food and clothing is ascetic in the context of the dhuta regulations, and yet abstention from grain and the consumption of incense and honey speaks of a certain care for the body – or at least a desire to offer a perfect body to the Buddha, to purify it for the sacrifice. Their bodies themselves are not destroyed, they remain intact until the last moment, and then shatter to reveal the perfected essence, two unburned tongues. Abstention from grain is commonly associated in Buddhist sources with ingestion of the needles, cones and resin of the pine along with sesame and honey. In China, these substances have been more commonly understood as part of the diet of the transcendent rather than of the bodhisattva, and as such are frequently encountered in texts found in the Daoist canon. The Taishang lingbao wufuxu that we cited above contains typical recommendations of pine resin and needles and of sesame53. In addition to these plant products the auto-cremators also consumed oil and incense, preparing the body as a fragrant offering to the Buddha. It is also possible that at a deeper level this carries echoes of the ingestion of elixirs in Daoist practice. The presence of “incense pills” in Buddhist materials may likewise be based on the longevity pills of the Daoist pharmacopoeia. But the ingestion of oil and incense also consciously mimics the Bodhisattva Medicine King’s preparations for auto-cremation in the Lotus Sūtra, where he is said to have consumed the essential oils of flowers for 1200 years. The change in diet by Buddhist auto-cremators thus represents an indigenous adaptation of the text of the Lotus, in which Chinese notions of the perfectibility of the body perhaps unconsciously came to the fore. Let us examine the Lotus Sūtra’s description of the Medicine King’s preparations: Straightway then he applied [to his body] various scents, candana, ­kunduruka, turuṣka [two kinds of frankincense], pṛkkā [trigonella], the scent that sinks in water, and the scent of pine-tar; and he also drank the fragrant oils of campaka-flowers. When a thousand two hundred years had been fulfilled, he painted his body with fragrant oil and, in the presence of the Buddha Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon, wrapped his body in a garment adorned with divine jewels, anointed himself with fragrant oils, with the force of supernatural penetration took a vow and then burnt his own body54. 53.  DZ 388, 2.1a; L. Kohn, The Taoist Experience: An Anthology (SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture), Albany, NY, State University of New York Press, 1993, p. 150. 54.  Scripture of the Lotus Blossom (n. 12), pp. 294-295.



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Note the emphasis in the Lotus Sūtra on smearing the body with fragrant materials: “painting”, “applying” and “anointing” it with oil. There is much less emphasis on ingesting oil, and no mention of swallowing incense, or of fasting. In the Lotus Sūtra, the body is more passive. It is an object which is decorated and perfumed, whereas in Chinese enactments of this drama indigenous ideas about transforming the body through diet take centre stage. For Chinese auto-cremators, the body becomes the site of transformation, rather than acting as an element which is transformed by fire. This notion also suggests that ideas about abstention from cereals and the ingestion of such things as herbs, sesame, and honey were not part of arcane knowledge, but simply part of the cultural background of medieval China. If one were to drink oil, as the Lotus suggests, it also made sense to eat these substances, and to swallow pills made of incense. The body was thus made into a human fragrant candle, but the process of transformation had already begun even before the refining action of the flames. The inspiration for the preparations described in the Lotus is probably drawn from Indian cremation practices, where the body was prepared for the pyre by soaking it in oil. In China, there really was no strong tradition of cremation prior to the ninth or tenth century, so it is not surprising that the Medicine King’s preparations were understood in a different way, and that we find a stronger emphasis on internal cultivation. The first cases of mummification in China date from the Six Dynasties (third to sixth century ce). In 298, a Chinese monk by the name of Heluojie 訶羅竭 died in a “Western kingdom” but when the locals tried to cremate him, his body refused to burn. Instead, he was placed in a cave, and his undecayed body was still being shown to travellers thirty years later55. An early case of mummification on Chinese soil was that of Shan Daokai 單道開 who was from Dunhuang 敦煌 and was noted for his enthusiastic practice of dietetics, healing, and thaumaturgy56. He abstained from cereals and swallowed the fruits of the cypress. When these were hard to obtain, he took pine resin. Later, he swallowed small pebbles57. He took several of them at a time, but for several days he only took them once a day. Sometimes he ate pepper and ginger in greater or 55.  Gaoseng zhuan 高僧傳, T no. 2059, 50.389a. P. Demiéville, Momies d’Extrême-Orient, in Id., Choix d’Études Sinologiques (1921-1970), Leiden, Brill, 1973, 407432, p. 411. 56.  Gaoseng zhuan, T no. 2059, 50.387b. Translated as M. Soymié, Biographie de Chan Tao-k’ai, in Mélanges publiés par l’Institut des hautes études chinoises 1 (1957) 414-422. 57. The consumption of small rocks is attested in the Liexian zhuan, see, e.g., ­Kaltenmark, Le Lie-Sien Tchouan (n. 43), p. 72.

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lesser quantities58. He lived like this for seven years, after which he feared neither heat nor cold. He felt warm in winter and cool in the summer. He did not sleep by either day or night. He and ten of his companions stuck to the same diet. After ten years some were dead, and some had left. Only Kai remained fully resolute.

When he died at Luofu shan 羅浮山, near Guangdong, he was placed in a cave with an incense-burner and vases, according to his own instructions. We must imagine that his mummy looked just like a Buddha image in a niche, with offerings before it. Four years later, the local prefect came to visit and said, “the teacher’s conduct was unlike that of ordinary people, so he has shed his skin like a cicada (chantui 蟬蛻)”. The cicada analogy was commonly applied to people who became transcendents, leaving behind an object such as a sandal, sword, or staff, but not usually a mummified body59. In time, this idea of the mummy as the “husk” which was left behind gave way to the idea of the mummy as a “wholebody relic” of the enlightened master60. Despite these intriguing connections with the transcendent, it appears that Daoist mummies were both relatively rare and relatively late phenomena61. Nevertheless, it seems that Chinese Buddhists were well aware of the analogue with Daoism, and eventually tried to distance themselves from their rival religion62. In Zanning’s 贊寧 appended comment to the biography of Layman Ding 丁居士 whose body is said to have turned into “golden bones” after his death, he writes that although Buddhist saints leave a “linked skeleton” (like Daoist immortals) in the case of a 58.  Ginger and pepper are also part of the diet of transcendents, see, e.g., Taishang lingbao wufuxu, DZ 388 1b; Kohn, The Taoist Experience (n. 52), p. 151. 59.  Demiéville, Momies d’Extrême-Orient (n. 54), p. 411. For examples of these tropes in the biographies of transcendents, see, e.g., Kaltenmark, Le Lie-Sien Tchouan (n. 43), pp. 8, 51, 72. Another Buddhist example of chantui can be found in the biography of Huizhi 慧直 appended to that of Huiyuan 慧元 in the Gaoseng zhuan, see Matsumoto Akira 松本 昭, Chūgoku no nyūjō miira no kenkyū 中国の入定ミイラの研究 (Research on Nyūjō Mummies in China), in Nihon, Chūgoku miira shinkō no Kenkyū 日本,中国ミ イラ信仰の研究 (Research on Mummy Beliefs in Japan and China), Tokyo, Heibonsha, 1993, 147-216, p. 153. 60.  On the use of the mummy as an image in the Chan school see R.H. Sharf, The Idolization of Enlightenment: On the Mummification of Ch’an Masters in Medieval China, in History of Religions 32 (1992) 1-31. 61.  Matsumoto Akira, Chūgoku no nyūjō (n. 58), pp. 147-157. Andō Kōsei 安藤更 生, Nihon no miira 日本のミイラ, Tokyo, Asahi Sinbunsha, 1961, pp. 164-165 notes some Daoist mummies in Song dynasty local gazetteers. 62.  In early medieval China connections between skill in dhyāna and thaumaturgic powers previously the province of Daoist adepts were commonly made in the biographical literature. See Sharf, Idolization of Enlightenment (n. 59), n. 21, n. 22 and the examples cited therein.



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Buddha his whole body is a śarīra63. Mummies were thus clearly understood to be superior to the relics created by cremation, although both were imbued or saturated with the numinous power of the adept and were thus composed of indestructible perfect material. The analogues with preparations for auto-cremation are striking – the body is the site for transformation, the process begins within, by dietary purification. If Buddhist mummies were no longer to be understood as “cicadas” and were not solely the results of dietary purification, then how were they produced? By the Tang, accounts of such marvels tended to focus instead on purification by less physical methods. The case of Daoxiu 道休 (?-629), which is included in the self-immolation section (yishen pian 遺 身篇 of Xu Gaoseng zhuan 續高僧傳 (Continued Biographies of Eminent Monks, compiled by Daoxuan 道宣, preface dated 645) is a good example of this. It is especially interesting because it contains an eye-­ witness account of the mummy by the compiler. Note that, once again, the monk is identified as a practitioner of dhūta, but that his self-­ immolation is not necessarily tied to his ascetic practices. Daoxiu’s clan is unknown. He lived at Fuyuan si 福緣寺 of Xinfeng 新豐 in Yongzhou 雍州64. He made dhūta his constant practice. South of the monastery in a secluded valley on Li shan 驪山, he made a hut out of grass. He would sit for seven days before emerging from samādhi, then, holding his bowl and carrying his staff, he would come off the mountain to beg for food. When his rice-bowl was full he would eat wherever he was, and then return to his hermitage. Seven days was always the period and from the beginning he never missed the date, and therefore the villagers had faith in him. On the appointed day they would go to the mountain, and meet him at the head of the road. Then Daoxiu would smile happily and address them first, making his inquiries with humble words. As he walked, he would preach on the precepts, and instruct them as to compassion and goodness. The laity would all provide him with food, and then would receive and take refuge in the precepts. They would see him off at the entrance to the mountain, and afterwards he would return home. This went on for more than forty years. In the summer of the third year of the Zhenguan 貞觀 reign period (629), he did not appear at the expected time. So they went to his hut to look for him. He had died, sitting erect with his hands folded. The crowd declared that he was in samādhi. They kept guard overnight by his side, and continued to do so for a further two nights. But when they examined him close up, then they knew that his qi 氣 was exhausted. He sat in the lotus position and did not rot. They left him there and closed his hut. They also 63.  Song Gaoseng zhuan 宋高僧傳, T no. 2061, 50.830a. B. Faure, Relics and Flesh Bodies: The Creation of Ch’an Pilgrimage Sites, in S. Naquin – Chun-fang Yu (eds.), Pilgrims and Sacred Sites in China, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1992, 150-189, p. 167. 64.  North-east of Lintong 臨潼 county in Shaanxi 陝西.

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put thorny brambles outside the doors, fearing that insects might damage his body. At the beginning of winter in the fourth year (of Zhenguan), I (Daoxuan) went to have a look at him. The people north of the mountain had taken him back to their village, where they had raised a hut for his mausoleum and installed his body. Although his skin had turned leathery and his bones had fused together, his facial expression had not changed, and he sat cross-­ legged as before. They had added lacquer-soaked cloth to the surface of his body65.

There are a number of issues which deserve attention in this account. First, the classification of this biography under the rubric of self-immolation would seem to be an argument for self-mummification as a form of “abandoning the body”. Second, the body of the solitary practitioner becomes a gift to the larger community, as Daoxuan puts it, in an addendum to the biography, “using his own death as an essential for the living”. His mummy is unmistakably claimed by the living – it is not an impure dead thing, but a relic to be preserved and cherished. Third, his mummy provides tangible evidence of the efficacy of Buddhism on Chinese soil. Daoxuan goes so far as to compare his ascetic practices favourably with those of monks from Central Asia and India in his personal reflections on this case. Finally, it was Daoxiu’s purity of action rather than any dietary restrictions which produced his pure corpse. Mummification sometimes required some collaboration with the community after a non-decaying corpse had been produced. The principal technique of mummification was dry-lacquering. The archaeologist Xu Hengbing has determined a standard procedure for mummification in China. As the monk perceived his oncoming death, he sat in the lotus posture wearing his kāṣāya (robe) and entered samādhi, ceasing to eat and drink after that point. After death, the corpse was seated on a wooden bench inside two urns which were sealed shut, in the lower urn was quicklime and wood charcoal. As the body decomposed, putrefying liquid fell onto this mixture, producing a rising hot vapour which desiccated the crossed-legged body. Layers of cloth soaked in raw lacquer were wrapped around the body of the mummy. The resulting image, no different from a statue produced by the same technique, could then be gilded and dressed in silk robes66. This development of mummification, while 65.  Xu Gaoseng zhuan 續高僧傳, T no. 2060, 50.684b4-c3. See Gernet, Les suicides par le feu (n. 5), pp. 556-557. 66. G.T. Foulk – R.H. Sharf, On the Ritual Use of Ch’an Portraiture in Medieval China, in Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 7 (1993) 149-219, pp. 166-167; Demiéville, Momies d’Extrême-Orient (n. 54), pp. 414-415.



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dependent on artistic techniques perfected in the Tang, added significant human agency to the process of mummification, which originally and rhetorically was seen as the expression of a monk’s spiritual powers. As Robert Sharf argues, the use of dry-lacquer was justified as the augmentation of the naturally occurring phenomenon of the non-corruptibility of the body of the saint67. Mummification was still a risky business, it could, and did, go wrong68. In that case an effigy, similar to that of a mummy, might be made which contained the ashes of the cremated monk69. The use of cremation as a “second-best” option clearly privileged the wholebody relic of the mummy. VII.  Conclusions In this chapter, we have seen that terminology relating to ascetic practice appears regularly in the frames of discussion about self-immolation but rarely intrudes within the discussion itself to provide any interpretive leverage. Self-immolators were often tagged with terms like dhuta and “arduous practices” but their biographers do not tell us how self-immolation was an ascetic impulse. Advanced bodhisattvas whose stories are told at length in Mahāyāna literature made gifts of their own bodies in dramatic ways but these gifts are not usually understood as ascetic acts. Looking back to the scriptural touchstone for auto-cremation, the Medicine King in the Lotus Sūtra, we find his actions tagged as “arduous practices” but the lengthy descriptions of his preparations and body burning in fact tell a different story – one of nurturing the body for transformation rather than denying it. Chinese auto-cremators only added further elements of self-cultivation to their preparations for body burning, moving the frame of reference even further towards transcendence and away from the ascetic mode. Overall then, I am inclined to favour the idea that self-immolation in Chinese Buddhism did not mean simply destroying the body. In a sense, self-immolation did not imply death and thus was not exactly suicide. Rather, the underlying concept was one of transformation of the body from something mortal and impermanent into something immortal and permanent. If the Lotus Sūtra provided the doctrinal basis for this act, its 67.  Sharf, Idolization of Enlightenment (n. 59), p. 9. 68. See, e.g., the case of the Vinaya master Jianzhen (Jpn. Ganjin) 鑒真 (688-763) discussed in the appendix to Sharf, Idolization of Enlightenment (n. 59). 69.  Demiéville, Momies d’Extrême-Orient (n. 54), p. 415.

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textual descriptions were at the same time subject to a subtle shift; the body was not the passive and anointed object of sacrifice, but was treated as the grounds and means for a kind of transformation which had its roots in late Han dynasty ideas about the possibility of transcendence and the means of achieving it. One might be inclined to label this simply a Buddhist co-option of Daoist techniques, but it seems more likely that ideas about abstention from grain, and the properties of certain organic substances were part of the general knowledge of the early medieval period and that any borrowing of ideas was almost unconscious. Both auto-cremation and mummification can be seen as part of a larger trend towards an idea that was to become more clearly articulated over time in both word and deed – that the Chinese, although separated from the Buddha by time and distance, could and did become bodhisattvas. This was not simply a rhetorical stance, and bodhisattvas were conceived of as being as physically different from humans as they were spiritually advanced. To become a bodhisattva required not so much a leap of faith, as a great leap of action, and activating the power of the Lotus Sūtra by making it a performative text was but one means of rooting the dharma firmly on Chinese soil. Practitioners consciously imitated the “difficult and arduous practices” of the Bodhisattva Medicine King, but the mode seems to have been more heroic than ascetic. McMaster University Department of Religious Studies University Hall, room 120 Main Street West Hamilton ONT L8S 4M4 Canada [email protected]

James A. Benn

INDEX OF AUTHORS Abelarga, L.  73 Abrams, D.  129 Abu-Husayn, A.  84, 96-98 Achard, J.-L.  169-170, 174, 177 Albert, M.  84 Albrecht, M. von  30 Ammondsen, I.  11 Andō Kōsei 安藤更生  204 Annas, J.  42, 49 Arblaster, J.  54, 106, 109, 114 Argárate, P.  85 Arguillère, S.  173 Armstrong, A.H.  29, 31 Arnauld d’Andilly, R.  71-72 Arnim, H. von  21 Athanassiadi, P.  31 Aube, S.  70 Aubineau, M.  79-80 Avivi, Y.  138 Bachrach, B.S.  124 Balás, D.L.  52, 55, 57 Bar-Asher, A.  135, 138 Bartelink, G.J.M.  76, 113 Baurtier, R.-H.  124 Becker, A.H.  97 Bekker, I.  68 Bénatouïl, T.  21 Benjamin, A.  10 Benn, J.A.  5, 179-181, 193, 208 Ben-Yosef, E.  83 Berthold, H.  80 Berti, V.  87 Bettiolo, P.  85, 92 Beulay, R.  102 Bhugra, D.  11 Bhui, K.  11 Bidez, J.  35, 71 Birnbaum, R.  199 Bitton-Ashkelony, B.  3, 83, 87-88, 102, 153 Blanchard, M.J.  86, 90 Blumenberg, H.  16 Boersma, H.  50

Borgstadt, E.  110 Bowman, S.  140 Boyarin, D.  152 Bradford, D.T.  61 Bremond, H.  108 Brion, F.  144 Brisson, L.  35 Brock, S.  83, 85-88, 92, 100 Brown, J.P.  136 Brown, P.  148-149, 161 Brufani, S.  113 Budge, E.A.W.  88-92 Burkert, W.  26 Burnyeat, M.F.  42 Buswell, R.E.  200 Callahan, J.F.  50-53 Callahan, V.W.  54-57 Caner, D.  160 Canivet, P.  64 Caputo, J.D.  12-13, 17 Carrette, J.  152, 163 Caseau, B.  61 Caspers, C.  107 Cassidy, E.  108 Castelli, E. 152 Catapano, G.  32 Cavarnos, J.P.  54-57 Ceruti, A.  71 Chabot, J.-B.  99-102 Charlesworth, J.  137 Chavasse, A.  108 Chen, J.  179 Chialà, S.  84, 87, 94-96 Christensen, M.J.  41 Chun-fang Yu  205 Clark, G.  30, 34, 36 Clements, N.K.  4, 146-147, 155, 157, 165 Colledge, E.  117 Colson, F.H.  133 Comella, J.P.  10, 14, 16, 24 Constantine, P.  118 Cook, C.C.H.  11

210

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Coomaraswamy, A.K.  169 Cooper, J.  9 Cornu, P.  170, 176 Coronel, N.N.  137 Cozza-Luzi, J.  71 Cuevas, B.  179, 199 Dalarun, J.  112 Dan, J.  124, 127, 133 Davidson, A.I.  9, 148 Davila, J.R.  137 d’Ayala Valva, L.  71 de Angelis-Noah, P.  72 de Biberstein Kazimirski, A.  69 Deblaere, A.  104 Declerck, J.H.  62 Dedering, S.  87, 91-93 de Durand, G.-M.  63 Defert, D.  145, 151 de Halleux, A.  84, 87, 91, 93-94 de Labriolle, P.  118 Delatte, A.  70 Delouis, O.  61 del Río Sánchez, F.  84, 96-98 Demiéville, P.  203-204, 206-207 Dennis, M.  10 Denzinger, H.  117 de Préville, J.  65, 76 Déroche, V.  61-62 Deseille, P.  71 Desprez, V.  80 Detienne, M.  26 Diamond, E.  61, 128, 134, 137 Dillon, J.  42 Dmitrievsky, A.  70 Dörries, H.  76 Doutreleau, L.  104-106 Draguet, R.  72, 77, 84, 96 Draper, P.  12 Drobner, H.R.  51 Dumeige, G.  116 Dutilleul, J.  103 Duval, R.  87 Dweck, Y.  129 Dysinger, L.  101 Edmonds, I.  108 Edwards, M.  33, 36 Eklund, R.  53 Elden, S.  162 Eliade, M.  2, 12, 126

Elsner, J.  19-20 Emery, K.  117 Enelow, H.G.  131 Esler, D.  5, 168, 172-173, 175, 178 Ewald, F.  145, 151 Faesen, R.  3, 54, 103-104, 107, 109, 114, 119, 122 Faierstein, M.  139 Farquharson, A.S.L.  18 Faure, B.  172, 205 Fénelon, F.  108 Fenton, P.B.  124 Filliozat, J.  180 Filoramo, G.  87 Fine, L.  123 Fischer, R.H.  84 Fishman, T.  140 Fortier, M.  20 Foss, M.  5 Foucault, M.  4, 9-10, 124, 143-165 Foulk, G.T.  206 Freiberger, O.  179 Frerichs, E.S.  137 Fruchard, H.-P.  144, 164 Furrer-Pilliod, C.  63, 81 Garb, J.  133, 139 Gavin, J.  50, 54 Gebhardt, E.  53 Georgieva, V.  201 Germano, D.  168, 172, 174-175 Gernet, J.  180, 200, 206 Gibson, E.C.S.  157 Gill, M.L.  37 Gilson, É.  108 Giulea, D.A.  41 Goetschel, R.  124 Goldschmidt, V.  13 Graffin, F.  84, 90 Granoff, P.  179 Grant, J.  117 Greenspoon, L.J.  135 Gros, F.  149-150, 152, 164 Gross, A.  138 Guarnieri, R.  109, 117 Guillaumont, A.  67, 101 Gutman, H.  148 Gutting, G.  148 Guy, J.-C.  70, 73, 77, 80 Gyatso, J.  173-174



INDEX OF AUTHORS

Hacker, J.  127 Hadot, P.  9-10, 15, 37 Hadzic, M.  11 Hägg, T.  36 Hall, S.G.  51-52 Hansbury, M.I.  87-88, 91-93, 95-96, 102 Harb, P.  90 Harcourt, B.E.  144 Hardy, E.  198 Harrison, N.V.  45-48 Hatchell, C.  174, 177 Heal, K.S.  85 Hecker, J.  133 Heil, G.  53, 120 Heine, R.E.  104, 106 Heirman, A.  7 Hense, O.  24 Higgins, D.  171, 173 Hillel, Y.M.  141 Hillis, G.  172 Hoffmann, P.  37 Hofman, R.  107 Holman, S.R.  53 Ḥoreb, Y.F.  137 Howells, E.  103, 106 Hunter, D.G.  120, 155 Huot de Longchamp, M.  103 Hurvitz, L.  191 Huss, B.  129 Hutton, P.H.  148 Idel, M.  136 Ihm, S.  62 Ihwe, J.  126 Jaeger, W.  54-57 Javelet, R.  105 Jensen, J.S.  20 Jullien, F.  87 Kaelber, W.O.  126 Kaltenmark, M.  200, 203-204 Kapstein, M.T.  169, 177 Katzenelenbogen, M.Ḥ.  137 Kearney, R.  12-13, 17, 20 Keenan, M.E.  55, 57 Kepnes, S.  125 Kerscher, G.  124 Kharlamov, V.  41, 43-44 Kidd, I.G.  21, 23 Kieschnick, J.  181

211

Kilcher, A.  136 King, D.  87 Kirchberger, C.  116 Kitchen, R.A.  84-85, 88-92 Kleine, C.  179 Klostermann, E.  76 Kmosko, M.  84 Koch, P.B.  4, 124-125, 136, 138, 142 Köhler, F.  30 Kohn, L.  202, 204 Konstantinovsky, J.S.  101 Kouamé, T.  70 Kozah, M.  84, 95-98 Kreisel, H.  137 Krieger, G.  124 Kripal, J.  12-13 Kristeva, J.  12-13, 126 Kroll, J.  124 Krüger, M.  76 Lacoste, J.-Y.  103 Lagrange, J.  151 Lambert, D.  128 Lampe, K.  2, 9-10, 13, 16, 28 Laurent, J.  42 Lavenant, R.  87 Leask, I.  108 Lebon, M.  11 Leclant, J.  61 Leclercq, J.  106-108, 111, 124 Leemans, J.  7 Leroy-Molinghen, A.  64 Leuenberger-Wenger, S.  53 Levett, M.R.  42 Levin, D.M.  168 Lietaert Pierbolte, B.J.  155 Lin Huisheng  林惠勝  181 Lipman, K.  171 Loewenthal, K.  11 Long, A.A.  9-10, 13, 21-22 Lorenzini, D.  144, 152, 164 Louf, A.  95 Luhrmann, T.M.  11, 20 Lukoff, D.  11 MacKenna, C.  11 Männlein-Robert, I.  29, 32, 35-36 Magliocco, S.  12, 20 Marion, J.-L.  108 Marler, J.C.  117

212

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Martin, L.H.  148 Maslov, B.  41, 44 Maspero, G.  54, 58 Matanky, E.  125 Mateo-Seco, L.F.  58 Matsumoto Akira 松本 昭  204 Matt, D.C.  130, 132 McGinn, B.  106, 110 McIntosh, M.  103, 106 Menestò, E.  113 Mens, A.  112 Mepetaki, E.G.  71 Mercies, C.  105 Meredith, A.  36, 38 Merki, H.  29, 41, 50, 53 Métivier, S.  61 Meyendorff, J.  106 Michelson, D.A.  91 Mingana, A.  84, 96 Minov, S.  83, 88 Mitcheson, K.  10 Moore, L.  67, 71, 81 Morris, R.  198 Moshe ben Azriel Manṣor, N.  139 Moulet, B.  61 Mourad, S.  84, 96-98 Musurillo, H.  61 Naquin, S.  205 Neusner, J.  137 Neyt, F.  72 Nietzsche, F.  153 Nissen, P.  107 Noë, H.  111, 116, 121-122 Norbu, N.  171 Northcott, K.  110 Nussbaum, M.  9 Oechslin, R.-L.  105 O’Gorman, E.  10 Ohnuma, R.  187 Ollivry-Dumairieh, F.  61 O’Meara, D.J.  2, 30, 39 Oosterman, J.  107 Orbe, A.  104 Osei, A.  11 Otto, R.  2, 12 Pachter, M.  123, 127-128 Padmavati, R.  11 Pagès, P.  61 Paramelle, J. 84

Pargamont, K.I.  11 Parmentier, L.  71 Parmentier, M.F.G.  85 Parrinello, R.M.  78 Patrich, J.  83 Peleg-Barkat, O.  83 Pellegrin, P.  37 Perrone, L.  83 Petridou, G.  19-20 Petschenig, M.  153, 157, 159 Pietsch, C.  29 Pilato, R.  11 Pines, S.  137 Pistelli, H.  31 Powell, A.  11 Pradeau, J.-F.  42 Proust, J.  20 Pruche, B.  49 Quacquarelli, A.  92 Quint, J.  110 Rabinow, P.  147 Rader, M.  64, 66, 74 Ramble, C.  174 Ramsey, B.  153, 160 Rand, E.K.  106 Rapoport-Albert, A.  127 Ray, R.  180 Regnault, L.  65, 76 Revel, A.  152 Reypens, L.  109 Rignell, L.G.  92 Ritter, A.M.  120 Rochais, H.M.  107, 111 Rohde, E.  18 Roskam, G.  7 Rouët de Journel, M.J.  103 Rouselle, A.  161 Rousseau, A.  105 Rousseau, P.  36 Rubinkiewicz, R.  137 Rudberg, S.Y.  48 Russell, N.  41, 43-44, 46, 50, 52 Sack, B.  127 Saffrey, H.D.  32 Sarna, N.M.  137 Sartre, M.  61 Satlow, M.L.  124, 133 Scammell, S.  11 Schellenberg, J.L.  12



INDEX OF AUTHORS

Schipper, K.M.  200 Schjødt, U.  20 Schönmetzer, A.  117 Scholem, G.  137 Schopen, G.  193 Sedley, D.N.  13, 21-22 Segonds, A.  32 Sellars, J.  9 Senellart, M.  152 Sennett, R.  144 Setaioli, A.  14 Sforzini, A.  152 Sharf, R.H.  204, 206-207 Shatil, S.  139 Shaw, T.M.  161 Shinohara, K.  179 Sholtz, J.  10 Shtober, S.  139 Sikka, S.  12 Sims, A.  11 Smets, A.  45-47 Solignac, A.  104-105 Soymié, M.  203 Spira, A.  53 Steward, H.F.  106 Stewart, C.  156, 161 Stone, J.I.  179, 199 Sudbury, J.  174 Ṣuriel, M.  129 Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順次郎  180, 194 Talbot, C.H.  111 Teiser, S.F.  179 Tharoor, H.  11 Tihon, A.  70 Tishby, I.  129, 134 Tobin, F.  110 Todd, R.B.  21-22 Tomasic, T.M.  107 Torrance, A.  6 Tsigaridas, Ε.Ν.  63

213

Tülku Tsullo  173-174 Ure, M.  10 Vajda, Y.A.  133 Valgaeren, T.  2, 59 Vallet, E.  70 Van Bavel, T.J.  105 van Dijk, M.  107 Van Esbroeck, M.  45-47 van Geest, P.J.J.  155 Van Heck, A.  53, 79 Van Kooten, G.H.  43, 46, 48-49 Van Mierlo, J.  109, 114 Van Riel, G.  42 van Schaik, S.  168, 170, 172, 174175 Vauchez, A.  61 Venarde, B.L.  112 Venetskov, M.  3, 67, 78, 82 Verdeyen, P.  108-109, 117, 119 Verheyden, J.  7, 143 Vermeersch, S.  179 Vernon, T.  11 Vetter, F.  118 Viciano, A.  51 Vieten, C.  11 Völker, W.  64 Waldmann, Ḥ.Y.  123, 127 Wangchuk, D.  171 Werkhoven, S.  10 Wilson, L.  198 Winslow, D.F.  41, 44 Wittung, J.A.  41 Wolfson, E.R.  124-126, 130 Wright, W.  68 Wyschogrod, E.  124-125 Young, R.D.  86, 90 Young, S.H.  181 Zajko, V.  10 Zintzen, C.  31 Zovko, M.-É.  43-44

INDEX OF SOURCES Biblical References Genesis 1,26

45 3-4, 44, 46, 104, 106, 122, 157 1,27 46 2,16-17 61 3,1-7 61 Exodus 28,35 140 Deuteronomy 8,3 133-134 32,15 131, 140 1 Kings 19 137 Job 28,28 141 Psalms 50,13 131 51,5 138 51,19 130 69(70) 156 101,5 76 136,25 131, 133 Proverbs 4,13 138 9,5 134 11,17 142 Wisdom 18,14-15 118 Isaiah 2,22 140 6,3 89 32,15-18 94 62,6 134

Matthew 4,1-2 61 5,3-12 50 5,3 50 5,23 85 5,39 85 5,48 3, 47, 83, 107 7,14 63 19,21 83 Mark 1,12-13 61 Luke 4,1-2 61 6,29 85 6,37 85 John 2,13-16 109 4,24 89 20,17 106 Romans 6,5 49-50 1 Corinthians 11,27 66 13,13 94 14,15 88 14,20 83 2 Corinthians 4,16

45, 105

Ephesians 4,13

92

Philippians 2,7 86, 92 3,21 105

216

INDEX OF SOURCES

Colossians 1,15 104

1 Timothy 6,15 51

1 Thessalonians 5,23 91

Hebrews 1,3 104 5,12-14 83 5,12 66 6,1 83

2 Thessalonians 3,12 94

Classical Antiquity Antipater

26

Aristarchus of Samos 21 Aristotle Metaphysics 1.982b-983a 15 Nicomachean Ethics 3.3 68 Chaldaean Oracles 37 Cicero On the Nature of the Gods 2.75 14 2.96 15 2.97 15 2.116-118 22 Cleanthes

21, 25

Cleomedes 21-22 1.8.79 21 1.79 22 Corpus Dionysiacum 120 Damascius Life of Isidore 29, 34-35 F22 (Athanassiadi) = F40 (Zintzen) 37 F26B = F24 31 F42D = E50, F98 34 F111 = E167 34 F111 = F34 36-37

Diogenes Laertius 7.87-89 13 7.139 22 Ps.-Dionysius Sixth Letter 120 Epictetus 9 Discourses 1.12.5 13 1.30.4 13 2.8 18 4.7.20 13 Hesiod

25-27

Hesychius of Alexandria Lexicon 64 Hierocles 30 In Aureum Pythagoreorum Carmen commentarius 30 Ps.-Hippocrates Περὶ ἰχθύων 70 Homer

27

Iamblichus 30, 32, 34, 39 Life of Pythagoras 29, 35 3.13 34 6.29-30 35 15.66 30 18.86 31 21.96-100 35 21.97-98 34 24.106-107 34



INDEX OF SOURCES

28.137 31 31.210 35 35.253 35 Protrepticus 112.11-17 31 Isidorus

2

Julian the Emperor Letters 89b, 288bc 35 Marcus Aurelius 2, 18-19, 28 2.13 18 2.17 18 3.6 18 3.7 18 3.12 18 3.16 18 4.3.1 36 5.27 18 Marinus Life of Proclus 29, 35 12.19-21 34 18.5-20 36 22–25 37 22.15-23 37 26–28 37 26.36-42 34 30.19-21 34 Musonius Rufus 23-24, 27 F18a 24 F18b 24 Orphica 37 Palladius of Helenopolis Lausiac History 71.1 76 Plato 2, 16, 43-44, 54 Parmenides 37 Phaedo 42, 49 Phaedrus 17, 33, 49 251a-252b 17

217

Republic 33 IV 32 X, 613a 42 Symposium 31 Theaetetus 31, 34, 36, 47-48 176ab 29 176a8-b2 42 Timaeus 90ad 30 Ps.-Plato First Alcibiades 129e-130c 34 133c 17 Plotinus 2, 30, 33-36, 42 Enneads I.1.3.3 34 I.2 31, 36 I.2.1.6-15 30 I.2.2.13-26 32 I.2.3.10-19 33 I.2.3.22-32 32 I.2.5.1-6 34 I.2.5.11 34 I.2.5.18-21 35 I.2.5.25-28 33 I.2.6.11-27 33 I.2.6.15-16 32 I.2.7.21-30 32 I.3.1.5-6 37 I.4 29 I.4.16.10-13 29 I.6.8.16-27 36 I.8.6.9-13 36 VI.9.4.12-16 37 Plutarch 34 Moralia: On the Control of Anger 464b 75 Porphyry 30, 32, 34-35, 37 On Abstinence 36 Life of Plotinus 29, 31, 35 8.20-23 34 12.9 36 23.3-12 31 Sentences 32 35

218

INDEX OF SOURCES

Posidonius 10 F110 23 F111-112 21 Proclus

2, 34-35, 37

Pythagoras

2, 30-31, 34

Seneca 2, 16-19, 21-22 Moral Letters 74.20 13 92.27 13 115 16 Natural Questions 2.5.1-2 21

2.32.6-8 21 2.32.7-8 15 2.51 15 3.pref.12 13 3.29.1 22 6.16.2 21 7.30.3 15 7.30.6 14 Socrates

9, 17, 30

Virgil 16 Aeneid 1.326-330 17 1.407-409 17

Ancient Christian and Medieval Writings Acta Monasterii Studii 70

Barsanuphius of Gaza 64, 72-73

Anthony

Basil of Caesarea 2-3, 41-59, 64 Be Attentive to Yourself 6.6-10 48 Hexaemeron 44 Homily on Fasting 1.1 80 On the Holy Spirit 44, 49-50 1.2.11-12 49 15.35.8-11 49 On the Origin of Humanity I 44-45, 48, 49, 55, 58-59 3 45 4 45 5–7 45 5.12 45 5.23-24 45 6 45 6.4 45 7 45 7.5-7 46 7.9-10 45 7.17-18 45 8–14 46 15 46, 49

112-113

Apocalypse of Abraham 9,7 137 Apophthegmata Patrum 64, 73 4.15 69 4.80 77 4.104 73 10.105 73 15.40 80 Anthony 1 160 Athanasius of Alexandria 113 Life of Anthony 113 Sermo pro iis qui saeculo renuntiarunt 63 Augustine 105 Confessions 117 9.10 118 Barlaam of Seminara 6



INDEX OF SOURCES

16 46 16.11-18 46 17 47-48 17.4-13 47 17.27 47 Beatrice of Nazareth 109 On Seven Ways of Holy Love 109 Bernard of Clairvaux 3, 108, 110-111 On Loving God 107 1.1 107 Sermon on the Song of Songs 108 83.6 111 Boethius 106 Against Eutyches and Nestorius 106 Bonaventure 106 Commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard I, d. 9, art. un., q. 2, sol. 3 106 Book of Steps 3, 84-85, 87-91, 93, 96, 99, 102 2.1-6 85 3.4 85 3.7 85 3.16 86 7.3 86 8 86 11 85 12.1 86 13 85-86 13.4 86 13.5 86 13.9 86 14 85 14.2 86 15.13 85 30.25 86 Dadisho’ Qatraya 3, 92-93, 96-97, 99

219

Commentary on the Asceticon of Abba Isaiah 84 I.13 97 III.13-14 96 Compendious Commentary on the Paradise of the Egyptian Fathers in Garshuni 84, 96-98 On Stillness 96-98 I.17 84 I.22 98 I.34 96 V.8-9 97 Daniel of Raithu Life of John Climacus 67 Dorotheus of Gaza 64 Doctrines 15.161 76 15.161.20-27 65 Eckhart (Meister) 109-110, 118, 121 Sermons 1 110 19 118 Elias of Crete 68, 70-72, 79 Commentary 63, 65, 68, 70, 72, 76, 78-79 Ephrem the Syrian 64, 99 Epiphanius of Salamis 70 Etymologicum magnum 64 Etymologicum parvum 64 Evagrius Ponticus 3, 64, 76, 83, 90, 92-93, 95-96, 98-100, 102

220

INDEX OF SOURCES

Kephalaia Gnostica 91, 101 Practicus 66-68, 90 ch. 16 67 ch. 94 67 [Nilus Ancyranus], Eight Thoughts 4 77 [Nilus Ancyranus], On the Vices Opposed to the Virtues 2 77

16.10, 17 157 On Perfection 44, 55, 59 196.9-143 56 211.18–212.2 56 213.17-20 57

Evagrius Scholasticus 71

Hesychius of Jerusalem Homily on Fasting 80 15 79

Francis of Assisi 112-113 Testament 113 George Arsilaites 65 Gregory Nazianzen 41, 44 Gregory of Nyssa 2-3, 41-59, 157 On the Beatitudes 44, 50, 53, 55, 58, 150, 251, 451 77.1–78.24 50 82.9-13 51 82.24-25 51 82.26–83.7 51 88.12-17 52 88.21–89.19 53 88.21-22 52 On Beneficence 79 To Call Oneself a Christian 44, 54-55 135.22 54 137.3-15 55 138.6-23 54 On the Christian Mode of Life 87.21–88.4 57 Life of Moses 56 On Love for the Poor 1: On Good Works 103.5-12 53 On the Making of Man 5.1-2 157

Gregory Palamas 6-7 Hadewijch

109, 114

Irenaeus of Lyon 104-105 Against Heresies 5.16.2 105 Isaac of Nineveh 92, 94-100 Chapters on Knowledge II 14.43 95 II 30.14 95 II 40.5 95 III 54 95 Discourses II, 34.5 100 III, 1.1 95 III, 2.7 95 III, 13.1 95 III, 13.6 96 III, 13.13 95 III, 13.17 95 Abba Isaiah

96, 99

Isaiah of Gaza 72 Logos 11.40 72 12.42 72 15.116a 77 Johannes Tauler 118 Von drien geburten 118



INDEX OF SOURCES

John of Apamea 3, 87, 88, 91-93, 97, 99-100 Dialogue on the Soul 87 1 91-92 2 92 3 87, 92 4 93 Letter 2 92 3.83-88 92 On Prayer 87 3 87-88 John Cassian 4, 64, 143-165 Conferences 153, 158 preface 1.5 158 1–10 155 1 Abbot Moses, On the Goal and the End of the Monk 155-156 1.2.1 158 1.2.3 159 1.4.1 155 1.4.3 158 1.14.1 158 1.15 156 2 Abbot Moses, On the Grace of Discretion 160 2.2.4 161 2.4.3 161 2.5 160 2.6 160 2.19 160 4 Abbot Daniel, On the Lust of the Flesh and the Spirit 157 9 Abbot Isaac, On Prayer 1 9.6.5 157 10 Abbot Isaac, On Prayer 2 156, 158 10.7.3 159 10.11.5 160-161 11 Abbot Chaeremon, On Perfection 153, 156, 158 11.1 153 11.2.2 158 11.3.8 157 11.4 157 11.4.2 158

221

11.4.3 158 11.6.1-3 153 11.6.1-2 153-154 11.6.3 155, 157 11.7.1 154 11.7.4-5 154 11.7.4 157 11.7.6 155 11.8.3 154 11.8.4 154-156 11.9.1-2 154 11.9.2 154, 157 11.9.3 157 11.9.4 157 11.10 157 11.12.6-7 154 11.13.1 155 11.13.4 158 11.13.6 157 11.13.7 155 11.13.8 157 11.14 157 11.15 157 21 Abbot Theonas, On Relaxation 21.22.1 161 21.23 161 22 Abbot Theonas, On Sinlessness 22.3.2 161 On the Incarnation 157 Institutes 158-159 2.14 159 5.9 161 6.23 161 10.22 160 John Chrysostom Homily on 2 Thessalonians 1.2 79 John Climacus To the Shepherd 64, 66, 74 Ladder of Divine Ascent 3, 61-82 1 63, 65-66, 68, 79 2 63, 65, 79 3.2 65 4 65, 70 5 63, 65

222

INDEX OF SOURCES

6 65, 75 7 65, 75 14 62-68, 71, 73, 81 18.17 63, 65 25 64 26 79 26.1 63, 65, 72-73, 76-80 26.2 63, 65, 74, 76, 78, 80 26.3 62-63 27 76 27.2 63, 65, 82 28 65 29 63 30 76 recapitulatio 63, 65, 77 John of Dalyatha 102 Letter 12.3 102 John Damascene On Holy Fasting 63 John of Gaza 64, 72 Letter 161 72 163 73 503 72 John of Ruusbroec 111, 114-115, 121-122 The Sparkling Stone 111, 116, 121-122 John the Sabaite 74-75 Leo the Great Sermons 92.3 108 Tome to Flavian of Constantinople 117 3 117 Macarius the Alexandrian 67

Macarius-Symeon 64, 83 Spiritual Homilies 3 80 5 76 6.3.5 80 10.2.4 80 12 76 21.2.1 80 Marguerite Porete 109, 116-117 The Mirror of Simple Souls 109, 117 Mark the Ascetic On Those Who Think They Are Justified by Their Own Works 197.2-4 63 Maximus Confessor Theological and Economical Chapters 2.65 6 Nikephoros Kallistos Xanthopoulos 74-75 Commentary 66, 75 Nilus Ancyranus Letters IV.3 80 Origen 43, 104, 105 First Homily on Genesis 1.13 104, 106 Pachomius

75

Peter Abelard 107-108 Philoxenus of Mabbug 3, 92-93 Discourses 88-91 8 88 9.13 91 9.25 92 9.27 88 9.35-37 89 9.58 90



223

INDEX OF SOURCES

9.69 92 9.73 89 9.74 90 Letter of Exhortation Sent to Someone Who Left Judaism and Came to the Life of Perfection 83 Letter to Patricius 90 Photius of Constantinople 64, 70, 73 Richard of Saint-Victor On the Four Degrees of Violent Love 115 42-43 116 Robert of Arbrissel 112 Sahdonā 92, 94, 96-97, 99 Book of Perfection I 84, 93-94 3.1 94 3.10 93 3.133 93 4.1 93 4.3 93-94 4.4, 5, 7 93 4.14 94 4.17-25 94 4.18 93 4.19 94 4.21 93-94 4.23, 25 94

Amma Syncletica of Alexandria 73 Synodikon of Orthodoxy 6 Tertullian Against Praxeas 105 Theodore of Mopsuestia The Book of the Perfection of Disciplines 84, 96 Commentary on the Sacrament 96 Theodore the Studite Great Catechesis 2 71 Theodoret of Cyr 87 History Prol. 5.10 64 3.3 67 29.7 71 William of Saint-Thierry 107-108, 121 On Contemplating God VIII, 6 108 Letter to the Brothers of Mont-Dieu [= Bernard of Clairvaux, Golden Epistle] 119, 121 Yoḥannan bar Kaldun 3, 101-102 Life of Yawswp Busnaya VIII 99-102

Jewish Sources R. Anan

141

R. Aqiva

137

R. Avraham (ha-Levi Berukhim?) 136

Bamidbar Rabbah 14,10 123 El‘azar

141

224

INDEX OF SOURCES

Elijah de Vidas The Beginnings of Wisdom 4, 123-142 Introduction §1, 1:3 123 §42, 1:21 136 §45, 1:2 123 Gate of Awe 128 ch. 12, §51, 1:239 129 ch. 15, §28, 1:309-310 129 Gate of Holiness 128, 134 ch. 4, §24, 2:55 129 ch. 4, §30, 2:59 134 ch. 7, §61, 2:168 134 ch. 15, §29, 2:389 131 ch. 15, §52, 2:420 132 ch. 15, §§54-55, 2:403-404 135 ch. 15, §§59-60, 2:407 133 ch. 17, §64, 2:536-537 131 Gate of Humility 128 Gate of Love 128 ch. 6, §33, 1:469-470 133 ch. 7, § 34, 1:515 136 ch. 11, §77, 1:640-641 142 Gate of Repentance 128, 140 ch. 4, §6, 1:753 130 ch. 4, §10, 1:755 130 ch. 4, §17, 1:760 130 ch. 5, §17, 1:782-783 140 ch. 5, §18, 1:783 141 ch. 5, §23, 1:786 135-136 Ezra of Gerona 130 Ḥayyim Vital Sha‘ar ha-Gilgulim ‘im Perush Bnei Aharon 139 Sha‘ar Ruaḥ ha-Qodesh 132, 136 Sha‘arei Qedushah (“Gates of Holiness”) 137-138 Sefer Ḥezionot 139 Sefer Sha‘arei Qedushah ha-Shalem 138 Hekhalot Literature 137

Isaac Aboab Menorat ha-Ma’or 131, 137 Isaac Luria Ashkenazi 136, 138-139, 141 Isaiah Horowitz Shnei Luḥot ha-Brit 141 Israel ibn al-Nakawa Menorat ha-Ma’or 131-132 Jacob ben Sheshet 133 Meshiv Devraim Nekokhim 133 Jacob Poyetto 123 Maimonides The Guide of the Perplexed 2.32-48 137 Marpeh la-Nefesh 138-139 Merkava Literature 137 Moshe ben Naḥman (Naḥmanides) 140 Moshe Cordovero 125, 129, 131, 136, 142 Moshe de León Sefer Mishkan Edut 135 Moshe Yonah Kanfei Yonah 123 Neḥuniah ben ha-Qana (attr.) Sefer ha-Qanah 140-141 fols. 11-12a 140 fol. 12a 141

Ovadia Bartenura 123

b. Yoma 9b m. Avot 1,17 m. Yoma 8,1 t. Sotah 3,3

Philo Moses 2.68 133

137 123 128 137

Toledot ha-Ar”i 139

Shimon bar Yoḥai 132, 141 R. Shmuel

225

INDEX OF SOURCES

135

Talmud b. Ketubot 106a 141 b. Sanhedrin 11a 137 b. Shabbat 33b-34a 141 b. Ta‘anit 11a 135 b. Ta‘anit 11b 130, 135

Zohar 129, 132, 134-135 1,12b 134 2,30a 134 2,61b-62a 132 2,61b 135 2,153a 132 2,254b 132 3,23b 134 3,240a 130 3,347a 130

Buddhist and Daoist References Aṅguttara Nikāya 198, 201

Wanli xu daozang 萬磿續道藏, 1607 199

Daban niepan jing 大般涅槃經 (Mahāparinirvāṇa sūtra) T no. 374, 12.406a27 195

Fanwang jing 梵網經 (Book of Brahmā’s Net) 192, 194

Daoxuan 道宣 Xu Gaoseng zhuan 續高僧傳 (Continued Biographies of Eminent Monks) 205-206 T no. 2060, 50.683c26-684a7 201 T no. 2060, 50.684b4-c3 206 Daozang (Zhengtong daozang 正統道 藏, 1445) 199 Taishang lingbao wufuxu 太上靈寶五 符序 (Explanation of the Five Talismans of the Most High Numinous Treasure, DZ 388) 199, 202 1b 204 2.1a 202

Gaoseng zhuan 高僧傳 (Biographies of Eminent Monks) 185, 204 T no. 2059, 50.387b 203 T no. 2059, 50.389a 203 T no. 2059, 50.404c11-18 180 T no. 2059, 50.405b 200 T no. 2059, 50.405c12-17 181 Ge Hong 葛洪 (283-343) Baopuzi 抱朴子 (The Master Who Embraces Simplicity) 199

226

INDEX OF SOURCES

Jigme Lingpa (’Jigs med gling pa, 1730-1798) 173-174 Kun mkhyen zhal lung 170 Jinguangming jing 金光明經 (Sūtra of Golden Light) 187 Jizang 吉藏 (549-623) 192 Fahua yishu T no. 1721, 374:620a20-22 192 Weimo jing yishu 維摩經義疏 T no. 1781, 38.941b3 195 Kuiji 窺基 (632-682) 192 Miaofa lianhua jing xuanzan T no. 1723, 34.843b24-25 192 Liexian zhuan 203 Longchen Rabjam (Klong chen rab ’byams, 1308-1364) 173 Sems nyid rang grol 170 Theg mchog mdzod 171, 176 Lotus Sūtra

180, 183, 185-186, 188-192, 194, 196197, 202-203, 207

Nāgārjuna Dazhidu lun 大智度論 (Great Perfection of Wisdom Treatise) 186 T no. 1509, 25.149b 187 T no. 1509, 25.682a1-5 195 Nubchen Sangye Yeshe (gNubs chen Sangs rgyas ye shes, 10th century) 173 bSam gtan mig sgron 168

Questions of Mañjuśrī 196 T no. 468, 14.503a17 196 Saddharmapuṇḍarīka 185 Sifen lü 四分律 (Dharmaguptaka vinaya) 192 Tiantai Zhiyi 天台智顗 (538-597) 191 Miaofa lianhua jing wenju T no. 1718, 34.143b3 192 Xuanzang 玄奘 (600-664) 192 Yijing 義淨 (635-713) 192-194 T no. 2125, 54.231a28-b11 194 T no. 2125, 54.231b14-17 194 T no. 2125, 54.231b23-24 194 T no. 2125, 54.231b25-26 194 T no. 2125, 54.231b26-28 194 T no. 2125, 54.231c10-12 194 T no. 2125, 54.231c-233c 194 T no. 2125, 54.231c3-4 194 Yongming Yanshou 永明延壽 (904975) 192-197 Wanshan tonggui ji 萬善同歸集 (The Common End of the Myriad Good Practices) T no. 2017, 48 192 T no. 2017, 48.969c2-4 193 T no. 2017, 48.969c20-970a22 195



INDEX OF SOURCES

T no. 2017, 48.970a2-4 195

T no. 2061, 50.830a 205

Za baozang jing 雜寳藏經 T no. 203, 4.488b1-29 195

Zhanran Fahua wenju ji 法華文句記 196 T no. 1719, 34.354c 196

Zanning 贊寧 204 Song Gaoseng zhuan 宋高僧傳

227

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150. F. Neirynck, Evangelica III: 1992-2000. Collected Essays, 2001. xvii666 p. 60 € 151. B. Doyle, The Apocalypse of Isaiah Metaphorically Speaking. A Study of the Use, Function and Significance of Metaphors in Isaiah 24-27, 2000. xii-453 p. 75 € 152. T. Merrigan & J. Haers (eds.), The Myriad Christ. Plurality and the Quest 75 € for Unity in Contemporary Christology, 2000. xiv-593 p. 153. M. Simon, Le catéchisme de Jean-Paul II. Genèse et évaluation de son 75 € commentaire du Symbole des apôtres, 2000. xvi-688 p. 154. J. Vermeylen, La loi du plus fort. Histoire de la rédaction des récits 80 € davidiques de 1 Samuel 8 à 1 Rois 2, 2000. xiii-746 p. 155. A. Wénin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Genesis. Literature, Redaction and 60 € History, 2001. xxx-643 p. 156. F. Ledegang, Mysterium Ecclesiae. Images of the Church and its Members 84 € in Origen, 2001. xvii-848 p. 157. J.S. Boswell, F.P. McHugh & J. Verstraeten (eds.), Catholic Social 60 € Thought: Twilight of Renaissance, 2000. xxii-307 p. 158. A. Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus, 2001. xxii-776 p. 60 € 159. C. Hempel, A. Lange & H. Lichtenberger (eds.), The Wisdom Texts from Qumran and the Development of Sapiential Thought, 2002. xii-502 p. 80 € 160. L. Boeve & L. Leijssen (eds.), Sacramental Presence in a Postmodern 60 € Context, 2001. xvi-382 p. 161. A. Denaux (ed.), New Testament Textual Criticism and Exegesis. Festschrift 60 € J. Delobel, 2002. xviii-391 p. 162. U. Busse, Das Johannesevangelium. Bildlichkeit, Diskurs und Ritual. Mit einer Bibliographie über den Zeitraum 1986-1998, 2002. xiii-572 p. 70 € 163. J.-M. Auwers & H.J. de Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons, 2003. lxxxviii-718 p. 60 € 164. L. Perrone (ed.), Origeniana Octava. Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition, 180 € 2003. xxv-x-1406 p. 165. R. Bieringer, V. Koperski & B. Lataire (eds.), Resurrection in the New 70 € Testament. Festschrift J. Lambrecht, 2002. xxxi-551 p. 166. M. Lamberigts & L. Kenis (eds.), Vatican II and Its Legacy, 2002. xii-512 p.  65 € 167. P. Dieudonné, La Paix clémentine. Défaite et victoire du premier jansénisme français sous le pontificat de Clément IX (1667-1669), 2003. xxxix302 p. 70 € 168. F. Garcia Martinez, Wisdom and Apocalypticism in the Dead Sea Scrolls 60 € and in the Biblical Tradition, 2003. xxxiv-491 p. 169. D. Ogliari, Gratia et Certamen: The Relationship between Grace and Free Will in the Discussion of Augustine with the So-Called Semipelagians, 75 € 2003. lvii-468 p. 170. G. Cooman, M. van Stiphout & B. Wauters (eds.), Zeger-Bernard Van Espen at the Crossroads of Canon Law, History, Theology and Church80 € State Relations, 2003. xx-530 p. 171. B. Bourgine, L’herméneutique théologique de Karl Barth. Exégèse et dogmatique dans le quatrième volume de la Kirchliche Dogmatik, 2003. xxii-548 p. 75 €

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172. J. Haers & P. De Mey (eds.), Theology and Conversation: Towards a 90 € Relational Theology, 2003. xiii-923 p. 173. M.J.J. Menken, Matthew’s Bible: The Old Testament Text of the Evangelist, 60 € 2004. xii-336 p. 174. J.-P. Delville, L’Europe de l’exégèse au xvie siècle. Interprétations de la parabole des ouvriers à la vigne (Matthieu 20,1-16), 2004. xlii-775 p.  70 € 175. E. Brito, J.G. Fichte et la transformation du christianisme, 2004. xvi808 p. 90 € 176. J. Schlosser (ed.), The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition, 2004. xxiv569 p. 60 € 177. R. Faesen (ed.), Albert Deblaere, S.J. (1916-1994): Essays on Mystical Literature – Essais sur la littérature mystique – Saggi sulla letteratura 70 € mistica, 2004. xx-473 p. 178. J. Lust, Messianism and the Septuagint: Collected Essays. Edited by 60 € K. Hauspie, 2004. xiv-247 p. 179. H. Giesen, Jesu Heilsbotschaft und die Kirche. Studien zur Eschatologie und Ekklesiologie bei den Synoptikern und im ersten Petrusbrief, 2004. xx578 p. 70 € 180. H. Lombaerts & D. Pollefeyt (eds.), Hermeneutics and Religious 70 € Education, 2004. xiii-427 p. 181. D. Donnelly, A. Denaux & J. Famerée (eds.), The Holy Spirit, the Church, and Christian Unity. Proceedings of the Consultation Held at the Monastery 70 € of Bose, Italy (14-20 October 2002), 2005. xii-417 p. 182. R. Bieringer, G. Van Belle & J. Verheyden (eds.), Luke and His Readers. 65 € Festschrift A. Denaux, 2005. xxviii-470 p. 183. D.F. Pilario, Back to the Rough Grounds of Praxis: Exploring Theological 80 € Method with Pierre Bourdieu, 2005. xxxii-584 p. 184. G. Van Belle, J.G. van der Watt & P. Maritz (eds.), Theology and Christology in the Fourth Gospel: Essays by the Members of the SNTS 70 € Johannine Writings Seminar, 2005. xii-561 p. 185. D. Luciani, Sainteté et pardon. Vol. 1: Structure littéraire du Lévitique. 120 € Vol. 2: Guide technique, 2005. xiv-vii-656 p. 186. R.A. Derrenbacker, Jr., Ancient Compositional Practices and the Synoptic 80 € Problem, 2005. xxviii-290 p. 187. P. Van Hecke (ed.), Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible, 2005. x-308 p. 65 € 188. L. Boeve, Y. Demaeseneer & S. Van den Bossche (eds.), Religious Experience and Contemporary Theological Epistemology, 2005. x-335 p. 50 € 189. J.M. Robinson, The Sayings Gospel Q. Collected Essays, 2005. xviii888 p. 90 € 190. C.W. Struder, Paulus und die Gesinnung Christi. Identität und Entschei­ 80 € dungsfindung aus der Mitte von 1Kor 1-4, 2005. lii-522 p. 191. C. Focant & A. Wénin (eds.), Analyse narrative et Bible. Deuxième colloque international du RRENAB, Louvain-la-Neuve, avril 2004, 2005. xvi-593 p. 75 € 192. F. Garcia Martinez & M. Vervenne (eds.), in collaboration with B. Doyle, Interpreting Translation: Studies on the LXX and Ezekiel in Honour of 70 € Johan Lust, 2005. xvi-464 p. 87 € 193. F. Mies, L’espérance de Job, 2006. xxiv-653 p.

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194. C. Focant, Marc, un évangile étonnant, 2006. xv-402 p. 60 € 195. M.A. Knibb (ed.), The Septuagint and Messianism, 2006. xxxi-560 p. 60 € 196. M. Simon, La célébration du mystère chrétien dans le catéchisme de Jean85 € Paul II, 2006. xiv-638 p. 197. A.Y. Thomasset, L’ecclésiologie de J.H. Newman Anglican, 2006. xxx748 p. 80 € 198. M. Lamberigts – A.A. den Hollander (eds.), Lay Bibles in Europe 145079 € 1800, 2006. xi-360 p. 199. J.Z. Skira – M.S. Attridge, In God’s Hands. Essays on the Church and Ecumenism in Honour of Michael A. Fahey S.J., 2006. xxx-314 p. 90 € 200. G. Van Belle (ed.), The Death of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, 2007. xxxi1003 p. 70 € 80 € 201. D. Pollefeyt (ed.), Interreligious Learning, 2007. xxv-340 p. 202. M. Lamberigts – L. Boeve – T. Merrigan, in collaboration with D. Claes (eds.), Theology and the Quest for Truth: Historical- and Systematic55 € Theological Studies, 2007. x-305 p. 203. T. Römer – K. Schmid (eds.), Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, 65 € de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque, 2007. x-276 p. 204. J.-M. van Cangh, Les sources judaïques du Nouveau Testament, 2008. xiv718 p. 84 € 205. B. Dehandschutter, Polycarpiana: Studies on Martyrdom and Persecution in Early Christianity. Collected Essays. Edited by J. Leemans, 2007. xvi286 p. 74 € 206. É. Gaziaux, Philosophie et Théologie. Festschrift Emilio Brito, 2007. lviii-588 p. 84 € 207. G.J. Brooke – T. Römer (eds.), Ancient and Modern Scriptural Histo­ riography. L’historiographie biblique, ancienne et moderne, 2007. xxxviii372 p. 75 € 208. J. Verstraeten, Scrutinizing the Signs of the Times in the Light of the 74 € Gospel, 2007. x-334 p. 209. H. Geybels, Cognitio Dei experimentalis. A Theological Genealogy of 80 € Christian Religious Experience, 2007. lii-457 p. 210. A.A. den Hollander, Virtuelle Vergangenheit: Die Textrekonstruktion einer verlorenen mittelniederländischen Evangelienharmonie. Die Hand­ 58 € schrift Utrecht Universitätsbibliothek 1009, 2007. xii-168 p. 211. R. Gryson, Scientiam Salutis: Quarante années de recherches sur l’Antiquité 88 € Chrétienne. Recueil d’essais, 2008. xlvi-879 p. 212. T. Van Den Driessche, L’altérité, fondement de la personne humaine dans 85 € l’œuvre d’Edith Stein, 2008. xxii-626 p. 213. H. Ausloos – J. Cook – F. Garcia Martinez – B. Lemmelijn – M. Vervenne (eds.), Translating a Translation: The LXX and its Modern Translations in 80 € the Context of Early Judaism, 2008. x-317 p. 214. A.C. Osuji, Where is the Truth? Narrative Exegesis and the Question of 76 € True and False Prophecy in Jer 26–29 (MT), 2010. xx-465 p. 215. T. Römer, The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, 2008. xxvii-742 p. 85 € 216. D. Donnelly – J. Famerée – M. Lamberigts – K. Schelkens (eds.), The Belgian Contribution to the Second Vatican Council: International Research Conference at Mechelen, Leuven and Louvain-la-Neuve 85 € (September 12-16, 2005), 2008. xii-716 p.

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217. J. De Tavernier – J.A. Selling – J. Verstraeten – P. Schotsmans (eds.), Responsibility, God and Society. Theological Ethics in Dialogue. 75 € Festschrift Roger Burggraeve, 2008. xlvi-413 p. 218. G. Van Belle – J.G. van der Watt – J. Verheyden (eds.), Miracles and Imagery in Luke and John. Festschrift Ulrich Busse, 2008. xviii-287 p.  78 € 219. L. Boeve – M. Lamberigts – M. Wisse (eds.), Augustine and Postmodern 80 € Thought: A New Alliance against Modernity?, 2009. xviii-277 p. 220. T. Victoria, Un livre de feu dans un siècle de fer: Les lectures de l’Apocalypse 85 € dans la littérature française de la Renaissance, 2009. xxx-609 p. 221. A.A. den Hollander – W. François (eds.), Infant Milk or Hardy Nourishment? The Bible for Lay People and Theologians in the Early Modern 80 € Period, 2009. xviii-488 p. 222. F.D. Vansina, Paul Ricœur. Bibliographie primaire et secondaire. Primary and Secundary Bibliography 1935-2008, Compiled and updated in colla80 € boration with P. Vandecasteele, 2008. xxx-621 p. 223. G. Van Belle – M. Labahn – P. Maritz (eds.), Repetitions and Variations 85 € in the Fourth Gospel: Style, Text, Interpretation, 2009. xii-712 p. 224. H. Ausloos – B. Lemmelijn – M. Vervenne (eds.), Florilegium Lovaniense: Studies in Septuagint and Textual Criticism in Honour of Florentino García 80 € Martínez, 2008. xvi-564 p. 225. E. Brito, Philosophie moderne et christianisme, 2010. 2 vol., viii-1514 p.  130 € 85 € 226. U. Schnelle (ed.), The Letter to the Romans, 2009. xviii-894 p. 227. M. Lamberigts – L. Boeve – T. Merrigan in collaboration with D. Claes – M. Wisse (eds.), Orthodoxy, Process and Product, 2009. x-416 p. 74 € 228. G. Heidl – R. Somos (eds.), Origeniana Nona: Origen and the Religious 95 € Practice of His Time, 2009. xiv-752 p. 229. D. Marguerat (ed.), Reception of Paulinism in Acts – Réception du 74 € paulinisme dans les Actes des Apôtres, 2009. viii-340 p. 230. A. Dillen – D. Pollefeyt (eds.), Children’s Voices: Children’s Perspectives in Ethics, Theology and Religious Education, 2010. x-450 p. 72 € 231. P. Van Hecke – A. Labahn (eds.), Metaphors in the Psalms, 2010. xxxiv363 p. 76 € 232. G. Auld – E. Eynikel (eds.), For and Against David: Story and History in the Books of Samuel, 2010. x-397 p. 76 € 233. C. Vialle, Une analyse comparée d’Esther TM et LXX: Regard sur deux 76 € récits d’une même histoire, 2010. lviii-406 p. 234. T. Merrigan – F. Glorieux (eds.), “Godhead Here in Hiding”: Incarnation and the History of Human Suffering, 2012. x-327 p. 76 € 235. M. Simon, La vie dans le Christ dans le catéchisme de Jean-Paul II, 2010. xx-651 p. 84 € 236. G. De Schrijver, The Political Ethics of Jean-François Lyotard and Jacques Derrida, 2010. xxx-422 p. 80 € 237. A. Pasquier – D. Marguerat – A. Wénin (eds.), L’intrigue dans le récit biblique. Quatrième colloque international du RRENAB, Université Laval, 68 € Québec, 29 mai – 1er juin 2008, 2010. xxx-479 p. 238. E. Zenger (ed.), The Composition of the Book of Psalms, 2010. xii-826 p.  90 €

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239. P. Foster – A. Gregory – J.S. Kloppenborg – J. Verheyden (eds.), New Studies in the Synoptic Problem: Oxford Conference, April 2008, 2011. xxiv-828 p. 85 € 240. J. Verheyden – T.L. Hettema – P. Vandecasteele (eds.), Paul Ricœur: 79 € Poetics and Religion, 2011. xx-534 p. 241. J. Leemans (ed.), Martyrdom and Persecution in Late Ancient Christianity. 78 € Festschrift Boudewijn Dehandschutter, 2010. xxxiv-430 p. 242. C. Clivaz – J. Zumstein (eds.), Reading New Testament Papyri in Context – Lire les papyrus du Nouveau Testament dans leur contexte, 2011. xiv-446 p. 80 € 243. D. Senior (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew at the Crossroads of Early 88 € Christianity, 2011. xxviii-781 p. 244. H. Pietras – S. Kaczmarek (eds.), Origeniana Decima: Origen as Writer, 105 € 2011. xviii-1039 p. 245. M. Simon, La prière chrétienne dans le catéchisme de Jean-Paul II, 2012. xvi-290 p. 70 € 246. H. Ausloos – B. Lemmelijn – J. Trebolle-Barrera (eds.), After Qumran: Old and Modern Editions of the Biblical Texts – The Historical Books, 84 € 2012. xiv-319 p. 247. G. Van Oyen – A. Wénin (eds.), La surprise dans la Bible. Festschrift 80 € Camille Focant, 2012. xlii-474 p. 248. C. Clivaz – C. Combet-Galland – J.-D. Macchi – C. Nihan (eds.), Écritures et réécritures: la reprise interprétative des traditions fondatrices par la littérature biblique et extra-biblique. Cinquième colloque inter­national du RRENAB, Universités de Genève et Lausanne, 10-12 juin 2010, 2012. xxiv-648 p. 90 € 249. G. Van Oyen – T. Shepherd (eds.), Resurrection of the Dead: Biblical 85 € Traditions in Dialogue, 2012. xvi-632 p. 90 € 250. E. Noort (ed.), The Book of Joshua, 2012. xiv-698 p. 251. R. Faesen – L. Kenis (eds.), The Jesuits of the Low Countries: Identity and Impact (1540-1773). Proceedings of the International Congress at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven (3-5 December 2009), 65 € 2012. x-295 p.  252. A. Damm, Ancient Rhetoric and the Synoptic Problem: Clarifying Markan 85 € Priority, 2013. xxxviii-396 p. 253. A. Denaux – P. De Mey (eds.), The Ecumenical Legacy of Johannes 79 € Cardinal Willebrands (1909-2006), 2012. xiv-376 p. 254. T. Knieps-Port le Roi – G. Mannion – P. De Mey (eds.), The Household of God and Local Households: Revisiting the Domestic Church, 2013. xi-407 p.  82 € 255. L. Kenis – E. van der Wall (eds.), Religious Modernism of the Low Coun75 € tries, 2013. x-271 p. 256. P. Ide, Une Théo-logique du Don: Le Don dans la Trilogie de Hans Urs von 98 € Balthasar, 2013. xxx-759 p. 257. W. François – A. den Hollander (eds.), “Wading Lambs and Swimming Elephants”: The Bible for the Laity and Theologians in the Late Medieval 84 € and Early Modern Era, 2012. xvi-406 p. 258. A. Liégois – R. Burggraeve – M. Riemslagh – J. Corveleyn (eds.), “After You!”: Dialogical Ethics and the Pastoral Counselling Process, 79 € 2013. xxii-279 p.

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259. C. Kalonji Nkokesha, Penser la tradition avec Walter Kasper: Pertinence d’une catholicité historiquement et culturellement ouverte, 2013. xxiv320 p. 79 € 260. J. Schröter (ed.), The Apocryphal Gospels within the Context of Early 90 € Christian Theology, 2013. xii-804 p. 261. P. De Mey – P. De Witte – G. Mannion (eds.), Believing in Community: 90 € Ecumenical Reflections on the Church, 2013. xiv-608 p. 262. F. Depoortere – J. Haers (eds.), To Discern Creation in a Scattering 90 € World, 2013. xii-597 p. 263. L. Boeve – T. Merrigan, in collaboration with C. Dickinson (eds.), Tradi55 € tion and the Normativity of History, 2013. x-215 p. 264. M. Gilbert, Ben Sira. Recueil d’études – Collected Essays, 2014. xiv-402 p.  87 € 265. J. Verheyden – G. Van Oyen – M. Labahn – R. Bieringer (eds.), Studies in the Gospel of John and Its Christology. Festschrift Gilbert Van Belle, 94 € 2014. xxxvi-656 p. 266. W. De Pril, Theological Renewal and the Resurgence of Integrism: The 85 € René Draguet Case (1942) in Its Context, 2016. xliv-333 p. 267. L.O. Jiménez-Rodríguez, The Articulation between Natural Sciences and Systematic Theology: A Philosophical Mediation Based on Contributions 94 € of Jean Ladrière and Xavier Zubiri, 2015. xxiv-541 p. 268. E. Birnbaum – L. Schwienhorst-Schönberger (eds.), Hieronymus als Exeget und Theologe: Interdisziplinäre Zugänge zum Koheletkommentar 80 € des Hieronymus, 2014. xviii-333 p. 269. H. Ausloos – B. Lemmelijn (eds.), A Pillar of Cloud to Guide: Text-critical, Redactional, and Linguistic Perspectives on the Old Testament in Honour 90 € of Marc Vervenne, 2014. xxviii-636 p. 270. E. Tigchelaar (ed.), Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and the Scriptures, 95 € 2014. xxvi-526 p. 271. E. Brito, Sur l’homme: Une traversée de la question anthropologique, 2015. xvi-2045 p. (2 vol.) 215 € 272. P. Watine Christory, Dialogue et Communion: L’itinéraire œcuménique 98 € de Jean-Marie R. Tillard, 2015. xxiv-773 p. 273. R. Burnet – D. Luciani – G. Van Oyen (eds.), Le lecteur: Sixième Colloque International du RRENAB, Université Catholique de Louvain, 85 € 24-26 mai 2012, 2015. xiv-530 p. 274. G.B. Bazzana, Kingdom of Bureaucracy: The Political Theology of Village 85 € Scribes in the Sayings Gospel Q, 2015. xii-383 p. 275. J.-P. Gallez, La théologie comme science herméneutique de la tradition de foi: Une lecture de «Dieu qui vient à l’homme» de Joseph Moingt, 2015. xix-476 p. 94 € 276. J. Vermeylen, Métamorphoses: Les rédactions successives du livre de Job, 84 € 2015. xvi-410 p. 277. C. Breytenbach (ed.), Paul’s Graeco-Roman Context, 2015. xxii-751 p. 94 € 278. J. Geldhof (ed.), Mediating Mysteries, Understanding Liturgies: On Bridging the Gap between Liturgy and Systematic Theology, 2015. x-256 p.  78 € 279. A.-C. Jacobsen (ed.), Origeniana Undecima: Origen and Origenism in the 125 € History of Western Thought, 2016. xvi-978 p. 

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280. F. Wilk – P. Gemeinhardt (eds.), Transmission and Interpretation of the Book of Isaiah in the Context of Intra- and Interreligious Debates, 2016. xii-490 p. 95 € 281. J.-M. Sevrin, Le quatrième évangile. Recueil d’études. Édité par G. Van 86 € Belle, 2016. xiv-281 p.  282. L. Boeve – M. Lamberigts – T. Merrigan (eds.), The Normativity of ­History: Theological Truth and Tradition in the Tension between Church 78 € History and Systematic Theology, 2016. xii-273 p.  283. R. Bieringer – B. Baert – K. Demasure (eds.), Noli me tangere in Inter­ disciplinary Perspective: Textual, Iconographic and Contemporary Inter89 € pretations, 2016. xxii-508 p.  284. W. Dietrich (ed.), The Books of Samuel: Stories – History – Reception 96 € History, 2016. xxiv-650 p.  285. W.E. Arnal – R.S. Ascough – R.A. Derrenbacker, Jr. – P.A. Harland (eds.), Scribal Practices and Social Structures among Jesus Adherents: 115 € Essays in Honour of John S. Kloppenborg, 2016. xxiv-630 p. 286. C.E. Wolfteich – A. Dillen (eds.), Catholic Approaches in Practical Theology: International and Interdisciplinary Perspectives, 2016. x-290 p.  85 € 287. W. François – A.A. den Hollander (eds.), Vernacular Bible and Religious Reform in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Era, 2017. viii-305 p. 94 € 288. P. Rodrigues, C’est ta face que je cherche … La rationalité de la théologie 92 € selon Jean Ladrière, 2017. xiv-453 p. 289. J. Famerée, Ecclésiologie et œcuménisme. Recueil d’études, 2017. xviii668 p. 94 € 290. P. Cooper – S. Kikuchi (eds.), Commitments to Medieval Mysticism within 79 € ­Contemporary Contexts, 2017. xvi-382 p. 291. A. Yarbro Collins (ed.), New Perspectives on the Book of Revelation, 98 € 2017. x-644 p. 292. J. Famerée – P. Rodrigues (eds.), The Genesis of Concepts and the 78 € ­Confrontation of Rationalities, 2018. xiv-245 p. 293. E. Di Pede – O. Flichy – D. Luciani (eds.), Le Récit: Thèmes bibliques et 95 € variations, 2018. xiv-412 p. 294. J. Arblaster – R. Faesen (eds.), Theosis/Deification: Christian Doctrines 84 € of Divinization East and West, 2018. vii-262 p. 295. H.-J. Fabry (ed.), The Books of the Twelve Prophets: Minor Prophets – 105 € Major Theologies, 2018. xxiv-557 p.  296. H. Ausloos – D. Luciani (eds.), Temporalité et intrigue. Hommage à 95 € André Wénin, 2018. xl-362 p. 297. A.C. Mayer (ed.), The Letter and the Spirit: On the Forgotten Documents 85 € of Vatican II, 2018. x-296 p. 298. A. Begasse de Dhaem – E. Galli – M. Malaguti – C. Salto Solá (eds.), Deus summe cognoscibilis: The Current Theological Relevance of Saint Bonaventure International Congress, Rome, November 15-17, 2017, 2018. xii-716 p. 85 € 299. M. Lamberigts – W. De Pril (eds.), Louvain, Belgium and Beyond: Studies in Religious History in Honour of Leo Kenis, 2018. xviii-517 p. 95 € 300. E. Brito, De Dieu. Connaissance et inconnaissance, 2018. lviii-634 + 635-1255 p. 155 €

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301. G. Van Oyen (ed.), Reading the Gospel of Mark in the Twenty-first Century: Method and Meaning, 2019. xxiv-933 p. 105 € 302. B. Bitton-Ashkelony – O. Irshai – A. Kofsky – H. Newman – L. Perrone (eds.), Origeniana Duodecima: Origen’s Legacy in the Holy Land – A Tale of Three Cities: Jerusalem, Caesarea and Bethlehem, 2019. xiv-893 p.  125 € 303. D. Bosschaert, The Anthropological Turn, Christian Humanism, and Vatican II: Louvain Theologians Preparing the Path for Gaudium et Spes 89 € (1942-1965), 2019. lxviii-432 p. 304. I. Koch – T. Römer – O. Sergi (eds.), Writing, Rewriting, and Overwriting in the Books of Deuteronomy and the Former Prophets. Essays in Honour 85 € of Cynthia Edenburg, 2019. xvi-401 p. 305. W.A.M. Beuken, From Servant of YHWH to Being Considerate of the Wretched: The Figure David in the Reading Perspective of Psalms 35–41 69 € MT, 2020. xiv-173 p. 306. P. De Mey – W. François (eds.), Ecclesia semper reformanda: Renewal 94 € and Reform beyond Polemics, 2020. x-477 p. 307. D. Hétier, Éléments d’une théologie fondamentale de la création artistique: Les écrits théologiques sur l’art chez Karl Rahner (1954-1983), 2020. xxiv-492 p. 94 € 308. P.-M. Bogaert, Le livre de Jérémie en perspective: Les deux rédactions conservées et l’addition du supplément sous le nom de Baruch. Recueil de ses travaux réunis par J.-C. Haelewyck – B. Kindt, 2020. lviii-536 p.  95 € 309. D. Verde – A. Labahn (eds.), Networks of Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible, 85 € 2020. x-395 p. 310. P. Van Hecke (ed.), The Song of Songs in Its Context: Words for Love, 95 € Love for Words, 2020. xxxiv-643 p. 311. A. Wénin (ed.), La contribution du discours à la caractérisation des personnages bibliques. Neuvième colloque international du RRENAB, Louvain95 € la-Neuve, 31 mai – 2 juin 2018, 2020. xx-424 p. 312. J. Verheyden – D.A.T. Müller (eds.), Imagining Paganism through the Ages: Studies on the Use of the Labels “Pagan” and “Paganism” in 95 € Controversies, 2020. xiv-343 p. 165 € 313. E. Brito, Accès au Christ, 2020. xvi-1164 p. 314. B. Bourgine (ed.), Le souci de toutes les Églises: Hommage à Joseph 93 € Famerée, 2020. xliv-399 p. 315. C.C. Apintiliesei, La structure ontologique-communionnelle de la personne: Aux sources théologiques et philosophiques du père Dumitru Stăniloae, 90 € 2020. xxii-441 p. 316. A. Dupont – W. François – J. Leemans (eds.), Nos sumus tempora: Studies on Augustine and His Reception Offered to Mathijs Lamberigts, 98 € 2020. xx-577 p. 317. D. Bosschaert – J. Leemans (eds.), Res opportunae nostrae aetatis: Studies on the Second Vatican Council Offered to Mathijs Lamberigts, 2020. xii578 p. 98 € 318. B. Oiry, Le Temps qui compte: Construction et qualification du temps de l’histoire dans le récit des livres de Samuel (1 S 1 – 1 R 2), 2021. xvi-510 p.  89 €

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319. J. Verheyden – J. Schröter – T. Nicklas (eds), Texts in Context: Essays on Dating and Contextualising Christian Writings from the Second and 98 € Early Third Centuries, 2021. viii-319 p. 320. N.S. Heereman, “Behold King Solomon on the Day of His Wedding”: A Symbolic-Diachronic Reading of Song 3,6-11 and 4,12–5,1, 2021. xxviii-975 p. 144 € 321. S. Arenas, Fading Frontiers? A Historical-Theological Investigation into 80 € the Notion of the Elementa Ecclesiae, 2021. xxxii-261 p. 322. C. Korten, Half-Truths: The Irish College, Rome, and a Select History of 98 € the Catholic Church, 1771-1826, 2021. xii-329 p. 323. L. Declerck, Vatican II: concile de transition et de renouveau. La contribution des évêques et théologiens belges, 2021. xviii-524 p. 97 € 324. F. Mies, Job ou sortir de la cendre: étude exégétique, littéraire anthropologique et théologique de la mort dans le livre de Jobforthcoming 325. J. Lieu (ed.), Peter in the Early Church: Apostle – Missionary – Church Leader, 2021. xxviii-806 p. 160 € 326. J.Z. Skira – P. De Mey – H.G.B. Teule (eds.), The Catholic Church and Its Orthodox Sister Churches Twenty-Five Years after Balamand, 2022. xxii-304 p. 75 € 327. J. Verheyden – J.S. Kloppenborg – G. Roskam – S. Schorn (eds.), On Using Sources in Graeco-Roman, Jewish and Early Christian Literature, xvi-440 p. 93 € 328. J.W. van Henten (ed.), The Books of the Maccabees: Literary, Historical and Religious Perspectives forthcoming

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