The Archparadox of Death: Martyrdom as a Philosophical Category 9783631665626, 9783653059571, 3631665628

Citation preview

The book deals with martyrdom understood as a philosophical category. The main question pertains to the evidential value of the Christian witness through death. The author approaches an answer through a philosophical interpretation of the belief in the evidential role of martyrdom. Numerous historical documents confirm that ancient martyrdom might have been considered as a kind of proof also by people unaffiliated with the Church. The author observes the theology and the reality of martyrdom through the perspective of the ancient philosophy of death and radical personal transformation. He believes that the Christian stance in the face of persecutions could have been understood as the realization of the unrealized ambitions of philosophy, thereby proving indirectly the veracity of the teaching revealed by Jesus Christ.

Dariusz Karłowicz is a philosopher, publisher and columnist. He works as an editor-in-chief of the Polish philosophical magazine Teologia Polityczna (Political Theology) and is President of St. Nicolas Foundation.

The Archparadox of Death

EUROPEAN STUDIES IN THEOLOGY, PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF RELIGIONS Edited by Bartosz Adamczewski

VOL. 10

Dariusz Karłowicz

The Archparadox of Death Martyrdom as a Philosophical Category

Bibliographic Information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available in the internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Karłowicz, Dariusz, 1964Title: The archparadox of death : martyrdom as a philosophical category / Dariusz Karłowicz. Description: 1 [edition]. | New York : Peter Lang, 2016. | Series: European studies in theology, philosophy, and history of religions, ISSN 2192-1857 ; VOL. 10 Identifiers: LCCN 2015036011 | ISBN 9783631665626 Subjects: LCSH: Martyrdom. | Death--Religious aspects. | Philosophy and religion. Classification: LCC BL626.5 .K37 2015 | DDC 272.01--dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015036011 The publication of this book was supported by Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński University in Warsaw. ISSN 2192-1857 ISBN 978-3-631-66562-6 (Print) E-ISBN 978-3-653-05957-1 (E-Book) DOI 10.3726/978-3-653-05957-1 © Peter Lang GmbH Internationaler Verlag der Wissenschaften Frankfurt am Main 2016 All rights reserved. Peter Lang Edition is an Imprint of Peter Lang GmbH. Peter Lang – Frankfurt am Main ∙ Bern ∙ Bruxelles ∙ New York ∙ Oxford ∙ Warszawa ∙ Wien All parts of this publication are protected by copyright. Any utilisation outside the strict limits of the copyright law, without the permission of the publisher, is forbidden and liable to prosecution. This applies in particular to reproductions, translations, microfilming, and storage and processing in electronic retrieval systems. This publication has been peer reviewed. www.peterlang.com

Dedicated to the memory of Father Jerzy Popiełuszko (1947–1984), martyr and patron of our freedom

“When, therefore, this image shall have been renewed to perfection by this transformation, then we shall be like God, because we shall see Him, not through a glass, but ‘as He is’ (1 John 3:2); which the Apostle Paul expresses by ‘face to face’ (1 Corinthians 13:12). But now, who can explain how great is the unlikeness also, in this glass, in this enigma, in this likeness such as it is? Yet I will touch upon some points, as I can, by which to indicate it.” —St. Augustine, On the Trinity XV.XI.21

Contents Introduction.................................................................................................................13 Part I: Dethroning Philosophy.......................................................................17 1. Paul at the Areopagus.......................................................................................17 Authenticity........................................................................................................18 An Appraisal of the Speech...............................................................................24 Truth Facing the Tribunal of Opinions............................................................27 Irony....................................................................................................................30 2. Letters....................................................................................................................32 Knowledge-Acknowledgment-Conversion......................................................33 Degradation and Development.........................................................................37 The Possibility of Virtue before Christianity....................................................39 Credibility and Proof.........................................................................................43 Several Observations about the Paradoxicality of the Truth...........................52 3. Philosophy as a Conversion of Existence and Knowledge...........................60 Man against the Backdrop of the Whole..........................................................64 Man as the Whole (Integral Conversion).........................................................68 Change and Permanence...................................................................................70 Philosophy as a Spiritual Exercise.....................................................................73 Christianity as Philosophy.................................................................................78

Part II: Witness as Proof........................................................................................85 1. The Concept of Martyrdom...............................................................................86 Evolution of a Concept......................................................................................86 Jewish Sources....................................................................................................91 The Philosophical Tradition..............................................................................94

9

2. Knowledge and Witness................................................................................... 101 The Criterion of Laches...................................................................................... 101 Skepticism and Praxis......................................................................................... 109 The Sage as the Condition for the Meaning and Criterion of Truth............ 116 4. The Witness of Deeds....................................................................................... 119 The Problem of Philosophical Biography........................................................ 119 Witness According to Epictetus......................................................................... 124 Martyrdom and Conversion.............................................................................. 129 The Conditions of a Proof.................................................................................. 136

Part III: Perfection and Death...................................................................... 139 1. Dramatis Personae............................................................................................ 141 2. Preparing for Death.......................................................................................... 147 The Archparadox of the Phaedo.......................................................................... 147 Death as a Way of Life......................................................................................... 154 Exhortation to Martyrdom................................................................................ 157 An Evil World or the Evil of the World?........................................................... 161 3. The Problem of Suicide.................................................................................... 165 4. Death as a Proof................................................................................................ 174 Philosophers and Philomaths............................................................................ 174 False Witness and an Attempt to Avoid the Impasse...................................... 180

Part IV: Martyrdom as a Complete Conversion.....................................185 1. Divinization....................................................................................................... 185 The Sage as God................................................................................................... 185 Plato and Aristotle: The Issue Whether the Sage Exists.................................. 189 Continuation of the Discussion: Peripatetics and Stoics................................ 195

10

2. The Christian Homoiosis Theo......................................................................200 Affirmation of the Spirit..................................................................................... 200 Affirmation of the Body..................................................................................207 3. The Martyr as God?.......................................................................................... 212 Teleioi.................................................................................................................... 212 Foretaste of the Resurrection............................................................................. 216 Transformation of Knowledge........................................................................... 225 Transformation of Existence: Who is a Witness?............................................ 232

Conclusion: Faith, Knowledge, Witness................................................241 Index...............................................................................................................................253 Bibliography...............................................................................................................261

11

Introduction It takes time for eyes accustomed to the sun to adapt to the dimness in the cave. This is why, as we read in Book VII of the Republic, the philosopher who returns to the world of appearances at first is disoriented. He hears laughter and voices of pity. However, when he stubbornly stands by what he has seen, and tries to convince others to liberate themselves, he evinces the passionate resistance of the prisoners who feel at home in their cave, “And would they not kill anyone who tried to release them […] if they could somehow lay hands on him?” (516e517a). Plato has no doubts about the mission of philosophy being connected to the risk of death. After all, when he describes the scene of returning to the cave, he has the fate of his own intellectual master in mind, the master who was condemned to death by the verdict of an Athenian court. When during the middle of the 2nd century Christians looked for the appropriate word to describe those who gave their lives for their faith, they utilized the term witness, martys. Whatever we may judge about causes of this decision, it was a choice comprehensible to all who were raised on the metaphor of the cave and the legend of Socrates’ trial. Who is the sage, if not the witness who knows what he saw with his very own eyes? Does not the witness appear before a court as a representative of a reality that is beyond the reach of our experience, in Epictetus’ words, as that reality’s ambassador or messenger? Finally, are not the enemies of the truth after his life (“And would they not kill anyone who tried to release them […] if they could somehow lay hands on him?”)? Yes, the category of witness spoke clearly to the philosophical imagination of antiquity. Certainly, this does not mean that the theology of martyrdom can be merely reduced into the tradition of pagan philosophical categories. Even if we ought to resist the temptation of reductionism, we should also remember that the theory and practice of witnessing through death did not come about in a philosophical vacuum. It is indubitable that for many philosophers of antiquity martyrdom was the answer to the fundamental questions of ancient philosophy. Its interpretation as such was neither an abuse within the realm of philosophy nor Christian theology. The topic of this book is martyrdom understood as a philosophical category. The main question pertains to the evidential value of Christian witness through death. We shall approach an answer through a philosophical interpretation of the belief in the evidential role of martyrdom. According to many ancient Christian thinkers, figures such as Tertullian, Justin Martyr or Clement of Alexandria, the witness of dying for the faith is an argument that inclines one to acknowledge 13

the truth of Christian doctrine. Numerous other documents confirm how martyrdom might have been considered as such a proof also by people unaffiliated with the Church. The autobiographical narrative of Justin Martyr can serve as such an example. He eventually became a saint, however, during his early years he was a Platonic philosopher. Justin only converted to Christianity under the influence of the witness borne by Christians condemned to death. This same idea is expressed by the famous opinion of Tertullian—which will be taken up by many later authors, that, paradoxically—persecutions strengthen the Church, instead of destroying it (semen est sanguinis christianorum). We need not convince anyone that we are not only dealing with a problem which is crucial for understanding the expansion of the ancient Church, but also with a crucial problem for Christian philosophy. It is not an exclusively historical problem. The credibility of Revelation is at stake. In Christian thought the concept of a witnessing death, which formed itself in the late 2nd and early 3rd centuries, remains to this day a category that draws the focused attention of theologians. Unchangeably since the time of the Apologists witness is the core of the Christian concept of perfection—it is the fundamental challenge and calling of the followers of Christ. Unfortunately, nowadays we must deal with an obvious asymmetry between the meaning of witness and the attention devoted to it by modern philosophers. In order to learn about this matter we will have to turn to the old masters. I think the type of proof of doctrinal credibility we have introduced here is worthy of serious consideration, especially in our time when the tension between various forms of irrationalism, on the one hand, and minimalistic rationalism, on the other, seems insurmountable. I will not consider the problem of martyrdom here within popular psychological or sociological categories (i.e. Durkheim’s altruistic suicide), but in light of the classic categories of ancient philosophy. Thus, the answer will take us through an attempt to understand what philosophical reasons were capable of making witnessing through death an intersubjective argument that attested to the veracity of Revelation. I will look upon theology and reality of martyrdom through the perspective of the ancient philosophy of death and radical personal transformation. I believe that there are sound bases for judging that the Christian stance in the face of persecutions could have been understood as the realization of the unrealized ambitions of philosophy, thereby proving indirectly the veracity of the teaching revealed by Jesus Christ. The need to establish the mutual relationship between philosophy and Christianity is an essential condition of this undertaking. This is the reason why the first part of this book was devoted to an attempt of characterizing the stance of 14

Christians toward philosophy and a definition of the notion of philosophy that ancient Christians faced which is as universal as possible. In the second part I will discuss the category of witness in Christian and pagan writings, and the specific role philosophical praxis might have played during a time of epistemological perplexity during late antiquity. The third and fourth parts constitute an attempt to capture the supra-confessional character of Christian martyrdom by situating it within the light of two great traditions of classically defining philosophy: preparing for death and likening oneself to God. There are debts that cannot be repaid by a short bibliographic note. It really is difficult to evaluate how much—not only as a historian and philosopher—I owe to professor Juliusz Domański. Without his original vision of ancient philosophy it seems unlikely that even a step would be possible toward the hypotheses put forward by this book. I would venture to say that I have taken much more than other readers from his outstanding books and articles. Thanks to him I belong to a small group of those who have a real spiritual master. My sincere thanks also go out to professor Władysław Seńka, whose unfailing kindness has accompanied me for a long time. The especially insightful critiques advanced by professor Dobrochna Dębińska-Siury and the recently deceseased patrologist, Fr. Emil Stanula, saved me from many mistakes and oversights. Here I also cannot overlook my dear friend Paweł Paliwoda who often helped me with his erudition and perspicacity. Finally, I would like to warmly thank my parents and sister—without their support it would have been difficult to complete this work.

15

Part I: Dethroning Philosophy 1.  Paul at the Areopagus In the 17th chapter of Acts of the Apostles we find a speech made by St. Paul during his stay in Athens. It was delivered to philosophers who were gathered at the Areopagus. The facts that the speech comes from a canonical book of the New Testament, that it was written down by the hand of St. Luke, and finally, that its speaker is the Apostle to the Nations encourage us to see in it a model stance toward philosophy which is faithful to the Gospel; or, even more widely, such a stance toward all of pagan culture.1 Thus, there is nothing strange that in the Athenian episode recorded in Acts 17:16–33 (which took place in the Autumn of the year 50AD, during what is called Paul’s Second Apostolic Journey)2, scholars expect to find basic instructions for appraising the aims of, the mediation model for, and the essence of proper relations between Jerusalem and Athens. Unfortunately this, as Harnack calls it, “most beautiful fragment of the Acts of the Apostles”3, unexpectedly disappoints all those who expect a clear interpretation in the name of an Apostolic magisterium.

1 The selection of the New Testament canon is a separate issue. The first known collection of this type can be found in the so-called Muratorian Fragment thought to be written sometime around the end of the 2nd century. It justifies Acts by counting it as one of the writings universally acknowledged and read publicly, it also recognizes it as an inspired book. It seems that already during the time of the Apologetes the Acts of the Apostles were universally known, which might be attested by the fact, among others, that Tertullian refers to it twice (Marc. 5:1 and Praescr. 23). The formation of the New Testament canon is discussed by: Jerzy Banak, Historia kanonu Nowego Testamentu [The History of the New Testament Canon] in Apokryfy Nowego Testamentu [Apocryphas of the New Testament], ed. Marek Starowieyski, v. 1, Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 1986 p. 25–64. John Norman Davidson Kelly, Early Christian Doctrine, New York: Continuum, 2000, p. 56–60. See also the entry, “Muratorian Fragment” in Jan Maria Szymusiak SJ & Marek Starowieyski, Słownik wczesnochrześcijańskiego piśmiennictwa [The Dictionary of Early-Christian Writings], Poznań: Księgarnia św. Wojciecha, 1971, p. 244–245. 2 Cf. 1 Thess 3:1–6. 3 Adolf Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries, New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1962, p. 383.

17

Authenticity Let’s begin with the widely discussed issue of the speech’s authenticity. It is clear that the problem of ascertaining the degree of readiness to integrate elements of pagan culture in the Acts of the Apostles depends upon, above all, the perspective the interpreter chooses while deciding its authenticity. In 1913, against Harnack’s opinion4, Norden judged the text to be from Hadrian’s time, therefore both a historical and literary forgery.5 Norden’s radical thesis no longer has many supporters. However, alongside the opinion of scholars who defend its complete authenticity6, the intermediary position is quite common. Its representatives maintain doubts with regard to the historical fidelity of the account, but they maintain that the speech is not a literary falsification, that it came from the pen of the author of Acts and is his own individual composition which utilizes some earlier account.7 Basically, we know Luke did not accompany Paul to Athens and we cannot be certain whether he possessed a record of Paul’s oratory. The character of the earlier writings remains a controversial issue which connects the problem of authenticity with the debate over ascertaining its inspiration and the factual contents of the speech. We are dealing here with an ideal example of the problems which emerge from the borderlands between theology and textual criticism. Judging St. Paul’s stance must be preceded by an evaluation of the text’s authenticity, which in turn, to a 4 Adolf Harnack, “Is die Rede des Paulus in Athen ein ursprünglicher Bestandteil der Apostolgeschichte?” in Texte und Untersuchungen 39–1, Leipzig 1913. An overview of the debates about the historical and literary authenticity of the speech which have lasted from the beginning of the 20th century can be found in: Lucian Legrand, “The Areopagus Speech: Its Theological Kerygma and its Missionary Significance” in La notion biblique de Dieu, le Dieu de la Bible and le Dieu des Philosophes, Louvain: Peeters, 1976, p. 337–350. The present study owes a lot to this article and the analyses of Eugeniusz Dąbrowski, Dzieje Pawła z Tarsu [The History of Paul of Tarsus], Warszawa: PAX, 1953, p. 235–256, and the same author’s “Mowa na Areopagu” [The Areopagus Speech] in Pismo Święte Nowego Testamentu w 12 tomach: Wstęp-Przekład-Komentarz [The New Testament in 12 volumes: Introduction-Translation-Commentary], ed. Fr. E. Dąbrowski, KUL, v. 5, Acts of the Apostles, p. 534–541. For convenience I will use abbreviations where I will note the pertinent information in the following order: An abbreviation of the volume’s name, KUL, volume, page(s). 5 Eduard Norden, Agnostos Theos, Leipzig: Teubner, 1913. 6 Cf. Eugeniusz Dąbrowski, Dzieje Pawła…, op. cit., p. 235–256. 7 Cf. Eduard Schweitzer, “Concerning the Speeches in Acts” in Studies in Luke-Acts, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1966. Also: Werner Jaeger, Early Christianity and Greek Paidea, “Lecture 1”, Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1961.

18

great degree, is conditioned upon its conformity with what we consider Christian teaching. This is because historical authenticity is often evaluated on the basis of conformity with the spirit of the Gospel, which is reconstructed on the basis of texts acknowledged as indubitably authentic. Obviously, this puts fragments that are in some way atypical in a problematic situation—the lone account in the New Testament of the Apostle’s encounter with the philosophers just happens to be one of these fragments.8 The exemplum maius of the speech’s unique character is verse 28, in which scholars have found references to as many as three ancient poets: the semi-mythical wonder-worker, poet and sage Epimenides, who was admired by Norwid9, and two Stoic poet-philosophers, Aratus of Soli and Cleanthes.10 It bears repeating: the fragment can only be a noteworthy example of integrating Greek pagan elements when we, at the very least, acknowledge its literary authenticity. In turn, it can only be acknowledged as authentic through external criteria, when such criteria can be either other indubitable authentic witnesses, or the character of the sources from which it originates. The risk of an all-tocircular hermeneutic is apparent. The matter complicates itself further when the integrity of the text is questioned, and only some fragments of Paul’s Athenian appearance are deemed inauthentic. This kind of stance expresses itself in the frequent tendency to oppose the two parts of the speech. The first so-called theological (or philosophical) main part (24–29) is marked by, as is often ascertained in such analyses, by suspect Christian discourse, whereas the second part (30–31) is admittedly 8 Therefore it is obvious that serious doubts were awakened by the partial correspondence of the speech with some categories of Pauline theology, which were utilized as external criteria for judging the text’s authenticity. I leave this issue here, only noting how this difficulty is resolved both by acknowledging Paul’s right to change his mind, just as it is resolved by accepting the exclusively literary authenticity of the speech, that is, acknowledging that if even though it is not an account of a real appearance made by St. Paul, it still constitutes an ancient fragment of the Acts of the Apostles, and not the fruit of some later redaction. 9 When Norwid writes in Epimenedes that “The moral tenor of this sage has something almost evangelical throughout, at least from we know about him these days,” it is difficult to ignore in that “almost” the voice of the long history of dilemmas and divisions among Christian intellectuals toward pagan Greece being voiced once more. See: Cyprian Kamil Norwid, Epiemnides in his Dzieła zebrane, v. 2, Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1980, p. 47–48.  10 Eugeniusz Dąbrowski, “Cytaty z Aratosa i Epimenidesa w mowie na Areopagu” [Quotations from Aratus and Epimenides in the Areopagus Speech],” Dzieje [Acts], KUL, v. 5, p. 542–549.

19

in accordance with the spirit of the Gospels, but it is most often seen only as a Christianizing addition. Thus, for example, Schweitzer claims that in the structure of the speech the passages from the poets take the place of passages from the Bible used in other speeches. He puts forward a stringent thesis: in front of pagans Luke’s Paul puts himself forward as a monotheist, rather than as a Christian, as a theologian, rather than as a Christological-theologian.11 This is connected to a more general discussion about the already-mentioned materials which served as the sources for the speech, and the question of their Christian character. It is noteworthy that according to some scholars these sources can be derived from popular theses of Stoic theology12, whereas according to others it represents typical tropes of Judeo-Christian apologetics. We can see what shaky ground is furnished by this foundation for resolving an altogether fundamental question. For example, according to Martin Dibelius the content that is properly Paul’s voice is a Hellenistic discourse about God inspired by Stoicism (24–29), which was supplied with a Christian intercalation unconnected to the rest of the whole (30–31). Much like Schweitzer, Dibelius divides the speech into a theological part that is in some way foreign to the Gospel, and a Christian addition that is extraneous to it. Both express a contrast between what is philosophical and simultaneously non-Christian, and the Christological element which is at odds with the spirit of the speech. Yet, there is a possibility of suspending the thesis that the Christological verses 30–31 are an artificial element added by a redactor. This becomes possible with a shift in opinion about the genesis of the Christian part. The path to preserving both the speech’s unity and defending its authenticity, is the one of acknowledging the role previous proselytic efforts of Hellenistic Judaism played in Christian teaching. When we assume the ultimate source of the first fragment is not Stoicism, but instead a Hellenized Jewish monotheism, the thesis of an irresolvable conflict between the two fragments is invalidated. This breakthrough occurred thanks to the work of Bertil Gartner who, against Dibelius, showed that all the themes in the first fragment could be found in the Old Testament or Hellenized Jewish literature without exception.13 From here we can interpret the combining of the testimony about Christ with the theological fragment which precedes it (24–29) as a conscious use of the proselytizing experiences of Jews who acted in a culture saturated by polytheistic elements. Thus, Christians drew from the 11 Eduard Schweitzer, op. cit., p. 213. 12 Martin Dibelius, Studies in Acts of the Apostles, New York: Scribners, 1956, p. 57. 13 Bertil Gärtner, The Areopagus Speech and Natural Revelation, Uppsala: C.W.K. Gleerup. 1955.

20

experience of the monotheistic propaganda of Hellenized Judaism, whose proclamation of the existence of the One God and critique of idolatry preceded the Christian teaching. They did this because they believed that it did not marginalize the Gospel, but instead paved the way for the preaching of the Good News. According to Legrand, contemporary trends in exegesis lean toward this stance. The Athenian episode of the Acts of the Apostles is interpreted as a Lucan composition and a generalization of a widely distributed type of Christian teaching directed to pagans and in tune with the main lines of monotheistic propaganda.14 We should note that this thesis—bracketing off the Pauline authorship of the speech—retains in place, and even amplifies, its typicality and rank as a standard text. The fact that St. Luke only relates three speeches to us, each one directed to a different community, that is, to the Jews (13:16–41), pagans (17:22– 31) and Christians (20:17–35), supports the thesis that the speeches manifest three different ways of Christian preaching typical for addressing those specific communities.15 Resting upon these presuppositions, we will now make a short overview of the speech delivered by Paul at the Areopagus. The introduction of the speech already causes serious interpretive difficulties. Paul begins with a phrase so ambiguous that it can be taken both as a slap on the face and as praise. This first verse of the speech (17:22) is translated as follows: “Then Paul stood up at the Areopagus and said: ‘You Athenians, I see that in every respect you are very religious.’”16 In the Polish translation the commentator adds the observation that the phrase “very religious” can also be understood pejoratively as “superstitious”. Parenthetically speaking this is how Fr. Jakub Wujek translates it: “You Athenians, I see that you are exceedingly supersitious in every respect.”17 The problem revolves around the term deisidaimonesterous, and more widely the reason why Paul uses such an ambiguous term in a very prominent part of his speech. In truth, most biblical scholars tend toward accepting the positive sense of the expression from verse 2218, however, we should remember that

14 Lucian Legrand, op. cit., p. 341. 15 Gerhard Lohfink, La conversion de saint Paul, Paris: Cerf, 1967, p. 71–72. 16 All citations from the Bible come from the New American Bible translated by Catholic biblical scholars and published in 1970. 17 Fragments of the Bible in Fr. Jakub Wujek’s translation come from reprints of the Brytyjskie i Zagraniczne Towarzystwo Biblijne, Warsaw 1950. 18 Walter Bauer, Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testament, Berlin-New York: De Gruyter Publishers, 1971, p. 344. There he distinguishes three meanings of deisidaimonia: positive (fear of God), pejorative (superstition), and neutral (religion). Under the entry deisidaimon he writes, “wie deisidaimonia im üblen Sinn gebraucht werden

21

this has its source in one particular way of interpreting the whole speech. Even though Paul could not have known about the existence of Plutarch’s condemnation of superstition in Peri Deisidaimonias, it is difficult to accept that, without reason, the Apostle used a term which provokes its hearers precisely where ancient rhetoric dictated placing a captatio benevolentiae, which would unite one’s listeners.19 It is improbable Paul by wanted to win the benevolence of his listeners by utilizing such an obvious ambiguity. The problem of the deisidaimonia is closely connected to the reference to the altar of the Unknown God (Agnosto Theo) which appears in the next verse. As is often said, Paul refers to the existence of such a cult in order to gain the favor of his listeners by pointing to pre-Christian intimations of the God whom he wants to proclaim to the philosophers. The words which conclude this verse, “What therefore you unknowingly worship, I proclaim to you”, are a formula which introduces us into the speech proper. However, a somewhat different take is also possible here. Both archaeologists and Early Christian authors inform us about the existence of altars raised to unknown gods (agnostois theois), that is, of altars with a decidedly polytheistic character. Their emergence is connected to the legendary figure of Epimenides and related to anxiety about the wrath of nameless and unknown gods.20 St. Jerome thought Paul made a conscious decision in changing the plural into the singular. As he writes, “The genuine inscription did not read ‘to an Unknown God’, but to all the gods of Asia, Europe and Africa, all the unknown, foreign gods. Since Paul did not need many gods, but the one Unknown God, he used the singular.”21 This useful grammatical maneuver which monotheized the altars raised to unknown gods also has its very own critical dimension, close in intent to the earlier reprimand addressed to Athenian kann… muß jedoch in der Captatio des Paulus AG 17,22 die Bedeutung ‘religiös’ haben.” 19 Liddel-Scott’s dictionary accentuates the ambiguity of all constructions of the deisidaim- variety. It stresses how the verb deisidaimoneo rarely appears in the positive sense. Cf. Liddel & Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, Oxford, 1940, p. 375. 20 The Wisdom of Epimenides, which was supposed to protect Athens from the plague, was expressed in the command to make sacrifices to all the gods, including those who were nameless, in order not to overlook any of them. Diogenes Laertius, who relates this story, ensures us that, “owing to this one may even now find in the different boroughs of the Athenians altars without names, which are a sort of memorial of the propitiation of the Gods that then took place.” Cf. D.L. I.110 [quotation from: Diogenes Laertius, The Lives and Opinions of Famous Philosophers, trans. C.D. Yonge, Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing LLC, 2006, p. 51]. 21 Jerome, Comment. in Titum, I.12.

22

superstition. The change of quantity is something more than just a clever rhetorical trick. Here Paul very forcefully stresses that that the Unknown God is totally foreign to polytheistic religion, that he is an Unknown God in the full sense of the term and not one of the many unknown gods. The crux of the matter, as Legrand writes, is not the assertion that Greek religion has an implicit cult of the true God, but that, in accord with their own avowals, the one true God was totally unknown to them until then.22 After this appearance by Paul in Athens, which we cannot acknowledge as an example of openness toward pagans, there is a short explication of monotheistic theology that puts a strong emphasis on criticizing the cult of idols. The first part of the speech (24–29) begins and closes with a critique of idolatry whose absurdity comes to the fore by way of a confrontation with the truth about the Unknown God. The self-sufficient God who is the Creator, Giver and Lord of everything (17:24–25), who “gives to everyone life and breath and everything” (dzoen kai pnoen kai panta) (17:25), who cannot dwell in sanctuaries made by human hands (17:24), cannot be considered similar to the work of human hands and imagination (17:29), and his self-sufficiency (in fact, he does not need anything) makes any type of sacrifice absurd (17:25). Verse 26 introduces a description of man’s relation to God. Two main themes dominate here. The first theme is the purposefulness of human nature: man was created by God in order to search for God. We should add that this theme is completed by the teaching about the fallenness of human knowledge. The second main theme comes from Stoic sources, the theme of connaturalis of man and God, or more widely, of a certain kind of proximity between man and God. The God who marked out the seasons and boundaries for man made mankind from one (human being?), so that men would inhabit the earth (17:26) and, above all, that they would seek him (17:27). However, this searching occurs in a manner that is described as a “groping” (17:27), whereas God is not far from any one of us (17:27), “In him we live and move and have our being” (dzomen kai kinoumetha kas esmen) (17:28). From these remarks, which we can acknowledge as a clearly formulated judgment about the state of human knowledge, the second part of the speech begins with a call to conversion and repentance. It is inaugurated by an unambiguously negative evaluation of an epoch labeled as “the times of ignorance” (17:30). God, the Apostle continues, calls all people everywhere to repent (17:30). He does so because he has established a day on which he will judge the world with justice.

22 Lucian Legrand, op. cit., p. 348.

23

He will accomplish this through a man he has appointed, whom he destined for this day by confirming him for all by raising him from the dead (17:31). We can dispense with a detailed commentary upon the speech. Without going into complicated terminological discussions we should only say that Paul utilizes a whole series of extremely technical Stoic concepts and that verses 26 through 28 are the best examples of this. However, we should once again return to the question of sources. If we reject their theses concerning the inauthenticity of the first part of the speech, then, under certain conditions, we can acknowledge Gartner’s and Dibelius’ interpretations as complimentary. This kind of reconciliation gives us a single gaze to garner in the uniqueness of the Hellenistic melting-pot in which, on the basis of the Greek language and Greek philosophy, a widespread way of communicating was taking shape, which would serve to define the scope of that which is in common, but also to express that which is impassibly unique. The peculiarity of the situation is such that the same elements which make Dibelius classify the speech as a Stoic treatise artificially attached to Acts, can be compared to the message of a fragment from the First Letter to the Thessalonians (1:9–10); then it becomes apparent how, in its content and terminology, it fits within the Hellenic tradition of Jewish literature. At the same time, both the introduction and the last two verses of the speech in no way justify the suspicion that such a dialogue threatens a watering-down of the Christian kerygma’s essence, unless we assume from the start that any adjustments whatsoever of the Gospel’s language are a falsification of its spirit. Paul knows what he says and to whom he says it, so instead the problem is our overvaluing the kindness of the Apostle, rather than any compromising imports of foreign philosophical concepts into Christianity on his part.

An Appraisal of the Speech We have said that the speech does not fulfill the hopes we invest in it, that it disappoints. Why? We are dealing with two problems here. If, as we have seen in our discussion so far, it is difficult to unambiguously characterize St. Paul’s stance toward the culture of antiquity, then it is even more difficult to define how the Acts of the Apostles evaluate the Apostle’s appearance in front of the thinkers congregated in the Areopagus. First of all, we have no clarity about the nature of the model Paul proposed for engaging pagan culture and philosophy, second, we do not know whether, according to the author of Acts, it was a model worthy of emulation. We will first address the initial question by attempting to definitively indentify Paul’s stance. Thus we ask: what approach is presented by the Apostle to the Nations in his speech? 24

The very structure of the speech itself presents us with several fundamental presuppositions. Paul presents three inalienable elements of the Christian kerygma: faith in the One God, the resurrection of Jesus, and a call to repentance. However, the whole proselytic effort essentially concentrates upon demonstrating that only in the instance of the first thesis can there be any striving toward adopting some pagan convictions. The first lesson the speech gives us is the ability to understand how the theses constitutive for the Christian teaching about the One and Unknown God were very uncontroversial for the philosophers gathered in the Areopagus. Presupposing, as we do, that the captatio benevolentiae does not go beyond permissible boundaries, we find here, expressed in universally understandable categories, a catalogue of theses from the domains of theology, anthropology, and epistemology, which in no way shock Paul’s philosophical contemporaries. For now we will put aside the question as to why the Apostle’s ardor wanes with the conclusion of the theological section, so that Paul does not even attempt to assert the truth about the Resurrection in a light which is slightly easier to accept. We will only say that the fact that the Apostle knows the difficulty of this task only obscures, rather than explains this problem. As to the Apostle’s own stance, we can, it seems to me, talk of goodwill, or, maybe more carefully, of a restrained goodwill toward philosophy. Many things point to Paul seriously tending to his obligations as a guest. It is enough to recall the quotes from the poets or the whole series of technical terms taken from Stoicism.23 Legrand captures this issue well. According to him, the lack of clarity in determining the range of Stoic and Judaic influences points to a theology of dialogue that expresses itself in the form of the speech, and which might lead to further general assertions. But we should add that the speech’s basic criterion remains an austerely observed monotheism and the teachings of Christ. The frame of what, even more than the Greek citations, demonstrates this goodwill is the observation about the “times of ignorance”, which could be understood as something like a justification of philosophy in its factual, but unintended, ignorance. We will now attempt to summarize St. Paul’s observations with regard to philosophy and its relationship to Christianity. Philosophy did not come to know God though it was groping for him, while simultaneously, the Christian teaching was the goal of its search. Christianity is presented by St. Paul as the depository of the truth, which was sought in vain. Christianity proclaims a God who is the natural aim of human seeking. Thus, philosophy grows out of the same trunk

23 On St. Paul’s relationship to Stoicism: Eugeniusz Dąbrowski, “Święty Paweł a stoicyzm” [St. Paul in Relation to Stoicism] in Kor [Corinthians], KUL, v. 7, p. 308–322.

25

whose crown is Christianity. Humanity, to put the matter in language that does not seem to disfigure the text’s intention, is endowed in the plan of Creation with an intentional constitution that wholly fulfills itself by knowing God and through obeying his will. However, without God’s aid, philosophy will fall short of the Creator’s will written into human nature, and it will remain an expression of the incomplete—or perhaps, although this is not entirely clear, the totally unrealized—strivings of the “times of ignorance”. Philosophy was a justified and reasonable groping for God without God until the coming of the Good News. Unfortunately, the speech itself is merely a starting point. Even if our interpretation is true so far, to fully answer our most substantial question we have to go beyond the text that presents St. Paul’s appearance. We must find out how the Acts of the Apostles appraise this cautiously friendly stance toward the pagan tradition represented by the speech at the Areopagus. According to the inspired author of Acts, does Paul’s appearance belong to the history of Apostolic blunders, or to examples that should be imitated? We need not explain the capital importance of this question. We have established that the appearance at the Areopagus expresses a certain stance; now we must answer the question of what, according to the author of Acts, we should think about this stance. Were Paul’s efforts at mediation only a waste of time? Are all attempts to dialogue with philosophy a useless, what’s more, a dangerous, experiment for Christians? Are we dealing here with an exhortation to imitation, an exhortation to search for things in common even at the cost of the inescapable risk involved in such undertakings? Answers to this question were traditionally sought by addressing the success of Paul’s mission. Unfortunately, while keeping in mind the weight of the problem, we must say that we have not found a satisfactory answer to this question. The scholar’s opinions are contradictory, and the controversy is still not resolved. On the one hand, there is talk of the absolute failure of the Apostle. The experts usually point to the imperceptible amount of converts, the lack of a Christian community in Athens, and the atmosphere of crisis that accompanied the conclusion of the speech. On the other hand, when the Athenian speech is compared to, for example, the results achieved by St. Stephen’s speech, there is talk of a real success. However, it is hard to agree with such an interpretation when we read the conclusion of the speech: “‘We should like to hear you on this some other time.’ And so Paul left them. But some did join him, and became believers. Among them were Dionysius, a member of the Court of the Areopagus, a woman named Damaris, and others with them” (17:32–34). In the final analysis, it seems impossible to establish whether St. Paul, who left amid the scoffing of 26

the assembled philosophers, is a symbol of a Christianity that should abandon philosophy, or rather a generic example of missionary difficulties. We also cannot exclude the possibility that an ambiguity, which might serve to protect missionaries both from enthusiasm and discouragement, is written directly into the narrative of Acts. Therefore is this speech an example not of moderation, but of an intentional lack of clarity? Not a model, but an intended obscurity that shows the difficulty of apostolic service? We must add that this would be a pointer that is exceptionally unintelligible and deceptive.

Truth Facing the Tribunal of Opinions If we reject the idea that the scene at the Areopagus simply illustrates the success or failure of St. Paul’s apostolic efforts, then we cannot resist the impression that the narrative’s structure was built around the familiar form of a recognizable philosophical trope. That trope is the commonplace of the trial of the truth before the tribunal of opinions and it was incarnated most spectacularly in the story of Socrates. Let’s take a closer look at the account from Paul’s visit in the capital of philosophy. Paul divides his time between the synagogue (where he meets with the Jewish diaspora) and the agora (17:17). The agora—the real center of commercial, political and intellectual life of Athens—is the concrete setting of his daily contact with the Greeks. The thread of the synagogue, settled with just a few words, does not return again. Thus, in practice, the triptych synagogue-agoraAreopagus is replaced by the diptych of agora-Areopagus. The first connection with the Socratic theme is a generic image that stands behind the assertion that Paul daily spoke with everyone he met at the agora (dielegeto… en te agora kata pasan hemeran pros tous paratynchanontas) (17:17).24 We should also point out how, among all of Paul’s interlocutors, the author of Acts only specifically names the philosophers, who are characterized as Stoics and Epicureans (17:18). Here a model opposition begins to draw itself, Christianity against philosophy and not, for example, against politics, rhetoric or poetry. It is also inestimably significant how the philosophers themselves sum up the conversation with the Apostle, especially his teaching about Jesus and the Resurrection giving him the mocking title of a scoundrel, blatherer, or more literally, word-sower (spermologos), and 24 In a book written a long time ago, St. Paul the Traveler and the Roman Citizen, Oxford: Hodder and Stougthon, 1895, p. 237, W.M. Ramsay writes, “… in Athens (Paul) made himself like an Athenian and adopted the regular Socratic style of general free discussion in the agora”.

27

utter a characteristic phrase, “He sounds like a promoter of new deities” (ksenon daimonion dokei katangeleus einai) (17:18). Luke presents this formula as the direct reason for the forced—as we might surmise from the phrase “They took him and led him” (epilabomenoi… egagon)25—interrogation before the Areopagus. I owe my understanding of the fact that the wider frame for the Lucan account is the history of Athenian trials of philosophers to Eugeniusz Dąbrowski. These trials are the common property of the whole of ancient philosophy and represent the considerable conflict between hidden truth and common knowledge. In his commentary to verse 18 Dąbrowski turns our attention to how the phrase “ksenon daimonion dokei katangeleus einai” might be an echo of accusations leveled against Socrates.”26 We need not add how this perspective not only automatically directs the blade of irony against the philosophers, but it actually deprives them of the right to the label “philosopher”, thereby making them into ambassadors of powers hostile to the truth. Three sources of the accusations against Socrates have survived to our own time.27 In each one of the versions the issue of new gods is narrated side-byside with accusations about not worshipping the state gods. Therefore, it is not 25 Fr. Dąbrowski is deeply convinced of the involuntary character of Paul’s appearance in Dz [Acts], KUL, v. 5, p. 376, where he writes that the “Words: epilabomenoi… egagon (“They took him and led him” in 17:19), leave no doubt that the hearing before the Areopagus was forced, even if it did not have the character of a trial. Cf. the entry “epilambanomai” in: Walter Bauer, op. cit., p. 642. 26 Fr. Dąbrowski made this observation in his commentary Dz [Acts], KUL, v. 5, p. 376. In his excursus on “The Areopagus Speech”, ibid., p. 536, he notes how the shadow of Socrates looms over the whole composition of the Athenian episode. 27 We have the versions of Plato, Xenophon, and Favorinus. Plato in the Apology writes, “Socrates is guilty of corrupting the young and of not believing in the gods in whom the city believes, but in other new spiritual beings (kai theous hous he polis nomidzonta, hetera da daimonia kaina).” Pl., Ap. 24b, in: Plato: Complete Works, John Madison Cooper & D. S. Hutchinson (eds.), Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1997, p. 23. All subsequent quotations from Plato will come from this volume [translator’s note]. Xenophon pushes the matter of corrupting the young into the background, “Socrates is a malefactor, firstly, in that he does not recognize the gods recognized by the State, but introduces new deities (adikei Sokrates hous men he polis nomidzei theous ou nomidzon, hetera de kaina daimonia eisagomenos); secondly, in that he corrupts the young.” Cf. X., Mem. I.1, trans. R. Waterfield & H. Tredennick, New York: Penguin Classics, 1990, p. 68. His version is confirmed by the excellent writer from Trajan’s times, Favorinus, who, as he claims, still had access to the original copy of the indictment housed at the Metroon, “Meletus, the son of Melitus, of Pittea, impeaches Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, of Alopece: Socrates is guilty, inasmuch as he does not believe in the gods whom the city

28

difficult to guess that it was an additional reason why, in the near future, Socrates garnered the sympathy of many Christians. Additionally, the motif of confronting a polytheistic state religion is present in all famous trials of philosophers. It is very symbolic and telling that the first person accused of atheism was the philosopher, Anaxagoras, who brought philosophy to Athens. The proof of Anaxagoras’ atheism was his belief that the sun is a fiery mass.28 We can now more clearly see the dividing line, so fundamental for the narratives of anti-philosophical trials. Knowledge of the hidden reality uncovered by the philosopher comes into conflict with common knowledge, and with that the conflict is obviously the most heated where false opinions are the constitutive element of a religious state order. The trial of philosophy is a collision of opinions, in their most dangerous and institutionalized form, with the truth represented by philosophy. This same structure, independent of confessed views, can be found in the trials of philosophers as different from each other as Socrates29 (fulfilling his Apollonian mission) and Protagoras30 (who was condemned for radical agnosticism). This is why, let’s say this clearly, the Socratic situation of Christianity does not have to be a direct approbation of Socrates himself. In the Christian tradition Socrates is not an unambiguously positive hero, neither in everything he did, nor for everyone. This is why we can accept that Christians who (if we are to believe Lucian) called an

worships, but introduces other strange deities; he is also guilty, inasmuch as he corrupts the young men, and the punishment he has incurred is death.” D.L. II. 40, op. cit., p. 72. 28 D.L. II.12, op. cit., p. 61. 29 According to Socrates, at the source of the antipathy of the Athenians there were suspicions that, “Socrates is guilty of wrongdoing in that he busies himself studying things in the sky and below the earth; he makes the worse into the stronger argument, and he teaches the same things to others.” Cf.: Pl., Ap. 19b, op. cit., p. 20. The second part of the sentence clearly relates to worries about Sophism and its dangers to democracy, whereas the first part perfectly fits in the tradition of accusations made against Anaxagoras. Even though Socrates openly mocks his accuser, who ascribes the views of Anaxagoras to Socrates (26d), it is perhaps Meletus’ aggressive ignorance that most clearly points to the supra-individual outline of the situation in which real philosophers find themselves. 30 Diogenes Laertius writes (D.L. IX.51–52, op. cit., p. 397–398): “And another of his treatises he [Anaxagoras] begins in this way: ‘Concerning the Gods, I am not able to know to a certainty whether they exist or whether they do not. For there are many things which prevent one from knowing, especially the obscurity of the subject, and the shortness of the life of man.’ And on account of this beginning of his treatise, he was banished by the Athenians. And they burnt his books in the market-place, calling them in by the public crier, and compelling all who possessed them to surrender them.”

29

imprisoned martyr a “Socrates”31 did so by referring to a meta-philosophical category of which Socrates was the exemplary incarnation, rather than with regard to the specific views of the Athenian philosopher. This formal meta-philosophical structure, which points toward the conflict between the truth and opinions, possesses certain common material contents. Above all, it is a critique of the cult of the idols or, more widely, of the traditional image of the gods, and this critique has been tied to philosophy ever since its inception. It is already present in Heraclitus’ proposal to thrash Homer and Hesiod, it appears in its fullness in Xenophon and his venomous critique of Greek religion’s anthropomorphism. It would be difficult to find a topic that would more easily unite all the philosophers and would more readily inscribe into their condition a permanent residency in the bench reserved for defendants. Paul hits the bull’s-eye by choosing this theme as the leitmotiv of the theological part of his speech. He creates the ideal background for the second part in which he will shift the old dividing line that held for the “times of ignorance”, whereas now it will be reestablished between philosophy and Christianity. The conflict between polytheistic religion with its childishly naive theology and the philosophy of the ancient thinkers now corresponds to the conflict between philosophy and Christianity. Is this not the reason why—after a mild first section, full of philosophical and poetic references, and even outside all of that, exceedingly non-controversial—the second part puts forward theses that are incredibly difficult to accept, and puts them forward in the least accessible manner? The approval of the philosophers ends precisely at the moment in which Paul mentions the Christian teaching about the Resurrection. The Areopagites, St. Luke seems to want to say, have always rejected the truth, the only difference being that at present the Areopagites are the philosophers themselves.

Irony We find a whole series of qualities that are typically Socratic not only in the episode at the Agora, but also in the picture of Saint Paul from before the Areopagus incident. We can assume the interrogation, to which Paul was probably taken by force, was connected with the procedure of confirming a new cult. Yet, Paul does

31 According to Lucian of Samosata the “naive” Christians gave the title of “Peregrinus” to swindlers. Even though we need not prove Lucian’s antipathy toward Christians, nothing stops us from acknowledging that Lucian got this idea from authentic sources. Cf. Lucianus, Peregr. 12. The Socratic tradition of Christianity is comprehensively covered by: Thomas Deman, Socrate et Jésus, Paris: L’Artisan du Livre, 1944.

30

not act as one being interrogated and displays the sort of composure Socrates showed to his fellow Athenians who were lost in their opinions. His tone, even though it is respectful, is not devoid of irony and an air of superiority. We have already alluded to the proselytic accents of the speech. This is correct, because the philosophical and literary allusions it contains have all the qualities of a unifying openness. Nevertheless, it is difficult to shut our eyes to the fact that if some know-it-all picked off from the street tries to convince genuine philosophers that he has come to know what they unsuccessfully sought, that he will proclaim to them what they revered without knowing, he would seem just as diplomatic as Socrates when he proposed making his punishment be lifetime support at the cost of the state. Within this perspective the issue of the ambiguous start of the speech takes on a new light. The address to the piously superstitious Athenians and the strange phrase about the unknown gods are good examples of the use St. Paul makes of Socratic irony. The essential, yet usually ignored background of the speech, establishes how the first part, which was uncontroversial for the philosophers, was given in the city, where there was no lack of statues made by human hands, nor smoke from sacrifices to the gods. We must remember that the critique of the cult of the idols is also the critique of traditional Athenian religion. It is true that it is in accord with the observations of many philosophers. On the other hand, we should not forget how as early as Xenophanes’ time philosophy shaped a peculiar compromise with religion. While philosophy critiqued religion, it simultaneously affirmed it as a form of patriotic ritual or also, simply, as the living force of the status quo. We should remember this when we contrast the genial stance in Acts with the so-called “theology of confrontation” in Paul’s Letters. The account from Athens opens up with news of the Apostle’s extreme perturbation (paroksyneto to pneuma autou en auto) at the sight of “a city full of idols” (17:16). This perturbation did not abate and it can be easily heard in Paul’s speech, if we remember that the echo of his voice resounded among statues and temples whose number even made a considerable impression on the ancients. At the Areopagus Paul speaks, above all, about what philosophy already knows, yet does not do. To those for whom the theoretical right to critique does not necessarily signify renunciation of the false cult the cutting words of the Letter to the Romans will fill out what is missing in the Areopagus speech. However, before we move onto discussing the Pauline Letters let’s quickly recapitulate what we have said so far. The trial of the philosopher comes from the collision between the always strange and disturbing truth with the quotidian nature of opinions and apparent goods. Not without reason did Leo Strauss 31

speak of the protest against all that is inherited as the source of philosophy.32 Luke consciously utilizes this manner of showing the Christian truth as protesting against the philosophical opinions of a wide range of philosophical schools. Pre-philosophical opinions tried and condemned Anaxagoras—the first thinker to proclaim philosophy to the Athenians. Now here philosophical opinions call before their tribunal the Christian truth, unwittingly setting up the scene for the ritual of dethroning and passing on of the insignias of power to a legitimate successor. There are elements here that have, despite appearances, an extraordinary significance which could escape our attention. Here those who speak with authority of the truth, speak with the authority of a debased and disdained authority, which is why all instances that show its strangeness, ridiculousness, or absurdity are especially important. This is also why the presentation of Christianity in a Socratically ironic manner as something worse, or even foolish—that is, in a manner proper to the truth—is so important to Luke. We shall return to this motif in our discussion of the Letters, only stopping to note here that the accusations against the “new teaching”, the adjective spermologos and the ridicule that accompanied the preaching of the Resurrection, in the accepted convention are not perhaps a guarantee of the philosophical truth, but they are certainly put forth in the garb of the truth. Simultaneously, they are a clarification of the mysterious and ambiguous accent of the Pauline mission.

2.  Letters It seems there was no other acceptable perspective for Paul other than the one that asserted Christianity had taken the place of philosophy. This attitude brings up a whole series of questions. First, even the idea of how Revelation replaces philosophy is entirely unclear. We also do not know whether this means that philosophy is no longer needed. We also do not know what its role was and whether the hopes placed in it came to fruition. Even though we will not find answers to everything, we can be certain that there is no talk of a difference between faith and knowledge in the way we understand it today. Christianity is not an autonomous sphere that satisfies some highly specific needs of people—it just plainly works better within the very frames of the tasks philosophy set for itself. Christianity knows what philosophy did not know, could not know, and in a certain sense, did not want to know. Christianity can do what philosophy could not do. Only Christ allows man to realize the telos proper to him, and only the Christian 32 Leo Strauss, Natural Right and History, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971, p. 86.

32

can be, in the proper sense of the word, teleios, meaning, having reached perfection: complete.

Knowledge-Acknowledgment-Conversion In the Letter to the Colossians Paul makes an important distinction between philosophy and Christianity. “See to it that no one captivate you with an empty, seductive philosophy according to human tradition (kata ten paradosin ton anthropon), according to the elemental powers of the world (kata ta stoicheia to kosmou) and not according to Christ (kata Christon)” (Col 2:8). Without losing sight of the textual limitations that accompanied the writing of the letter33, we can say that the cause of the confrontation, or simply the superiority of Christianity, is philosophy’s falsely identified foundation and principles. This is why futility is contrasted with fullness and deceit is contrasted with Christianity, which opens the possibility of achieving something that is not available to philosophy, namely, “to have all the richness of fully assured understanding, for the knowledge of the mystery of God (misteriou tou Theou), Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge (tes sophias kai gnoseos)” (Col 2:2–3).34

33 St. Paul’s main concern in the letter is the heterodoxy spreading among the Colossians, and from this the following follows: 1) in the letter philosophy signifies, above all, a heterodox teaching, which was probably some kind of Judeo-Hellenistic pre-gnosis rather than philosophy par excellence, and from this it follows that: 2) human tradition or captivation (paradosis) signifies an esoteric tradition that does not agree with the authentic tradition grounded in the teachings of Christ, instead of some philosophical tradition—in this sense human. Similar doubts pertain to the term stoicheia (in the English translation “elemental powers”). Independent of the role it has played in philosophy since Plato’s times, it most likely signifies the cosmic powers which appear in Jewish tradition, something like angel-planets, with possible ties to neo-platonic demonology. Cf: “ta toicheia tou kosmou in Gal 4:3”, Liddel-Scott, op. cit., p. 1647; Walter Bauer, op. cit., p. 1523; Discussions about this topic appear in Eugeniusz Dąbrowski, Kol (Colossians), KUL, v. 3, p. 259–261. If, despite these reservations, I include this fragment in the discussion above it is because 1) I am convinced that the text does not exclude the possibility of relating it to philosophy proper as well as 2) because it contains a positive definition of the superiority of the Christian teaching over all other sciences which have the ambition of showing man his proper aim and leading him to it. 34 The terms sophia and gnosis are probably used here in the same way as they are used in the Sapiential Books of the Old Testament where they frequently appear together. Wisdom here means the wisdom of God, whereas knowledge pertains to the human ability to know God. Cf. Kol [Colossians], KUL, v. 3, p. 255. We should emphasize the uniqueness and exclusiveness of the object of knowledge. The Apostle excludes the

33

For the first sentence quoted here to have any meaning, we must assume Paul presupposed the existence of a first principle, common to Christianity and philosophy, which philosophers identify with the elemental powers of the world (ta stoicheia tou kosmou), whereas Christians identify it with Christ. The existence of this category creates the possibility of a comparative evaluation of philosophy and Christ’s teachings. While pursuing this possibility we must overcome our difficulty in understanding the Pauline way of thinking about what constitutes knowledge. If we will not do this, then we will not avoid the false impression that philosophy differs from Christianity by the object of its theoretical contemplation, or by its identification of a different ultimate principle that explains all of reality. According to Paul, coming to know the ultimate principle of reality, when properly understood, always will be simultaneously an act of praising it and recognizing it as the principle that will lead man to perfection by directing his life. For our considerations it is secondary whether ta stoicheia tou kosmou refers to stellar intelligences of Judeo-Hellenic demonology, or to elements of ancient physics; the most important thing is that it should not to be identified with God. The crucial element here is the confrontation of a false foundation for philosophy, which objectively closes and discredits its claims to the truth (also to the good and perfection), with the mystery revealed by God, which constitutes the foundation of Christianity. God is the Creator, Lord and Beginning, therefore a foundation upon anything else is an error since it leads nowhere, because beyond him, beyond his Son, there is no wisdom or knowledge. For Paul, knowledge properly understood is not only an intellectual act that discovers God as a Creator and the Lord of everything, but also an acknowledgment and submission to God. The deepening of one’s knowledge of God is, above all, a deepening of our knowledge of his will and an increasingly more perfect submission of oneself to acting in accordance with it; therefore, it has a strictly practical character and is connected to giving praise and the development of virtue.35

possible existence of anything that would deserve the title of knowledge if it does not have Christ as its object. 35 This can be clearly seen in the Pauline prayer for the Colossians, where he says, “Therefore, from the day we heard this, we do not cease praying for you and asking [God] that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding to live in a manner worthy of the Lord, so as to be fully pleasing, in every good work bearing fruit and growing in the knowledge of God, strengthened with every power, in accord with his glorious might, for all endurance and patience,

34

We should now add a few observations on the topic of the unity, and proper meaning, of the words used by St. Paul and St. John to express knowledge, faith, and seeing. Exegetes underscore the fact that, according to St. John, knowledge of God begins with the act of believing in Christ, which signifies, above all, obedience to his words, and at the same time a kind of interior seeing with the eyes of faith.36 Pisteuein, according to Zygmunt Poniatowski, is “a total [knowing], meaning, an act that engages… the whole person of the believer… and the verbs to believe and to know are almost synonymous for John.” However, since the accent is on belief, we cannot treat it in a purely intellectual manner.37 Such faith-knowledge, which obviously is a gift of God and cannot be treated as a purely human achievement (Jn 6:65), constitutes a kind of personal relationship of the believer to Christ. If pisteuein is not a synonym, then it ideally complements gignoskein; both signify a relation, whose most perfect example is the union between God the Father and Christ.38 It is expressed in obedience, trust and love, and so loving and coming to know Christ becomes a coming to know God the Father and participation in praising his love.39 In St. Paul this aspect of the personal tie between the Christian and God expresses a relationship of true knowledge and love. The wisdom and love of God is the most important element in this relation. If we can come to know him, then we can do it only through participating in his love and knowledge. At the same time love is a kind of litmus test for confirming true wisdom, “knowledge inflates with pride, but love builds up. If anyone supposes he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know. But if one loves God, one is known by him” (1 Cor 8:1–3). Love saves a person and it decides upon the proper tinting of all the words connected with knowing and coming to know. In any case we should remember that present earthly knowledge and hope and faith are only a partial

36 37 38 39

with joy giving thanks to the Father, who has made you fit to share in the inheritance of the holy ones in light” (Col 1:9–12). Cf. Alan Richardson, An Introduction to the Theology of the New Testament, London: Trinity Press International, 1958, especially the chapter “Knowledge and Revelation”, p. 39–61. Zygmunt Poniatowski, Logos prologu Evangelii Janowej [The Logos of St. John’s Prologue], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1970, p. 166–167. Cf. Alan Richardson, op. cit., p. 46. In Ibid., p. 46–47 Richardson writes, “The disciples of Christ see the truth and the glory that are in him by the eyes of faith; they ‘see’, but not with the vision (theoria) of Gnostic speculation or mystic contemplation; in this life all ‘seeing’ is faith-seeing and all knowledge of God is faith-knowledge. That is why in the Fourth Gospel the words ‘see’, ‘hear’, ‘believe’, and ‘know’ are in a certain context more or less interchangeable.”

35

fulfillment of a perfect intimacy, which will be expressed only in the fullness of eschatological love. This is why our imperfectly partial knowledge sees “as in a mirror” and “darkly”, but it will disappear along with all that is partial, and then love will become the proper state of our relation to God. In the end times, when we will stand face to face and “[We] shall know fully, as [we are] fully known.”40 This is a very important statement. It shows something that is crucial for understanding St. Paul, namely, how the Apostle stresses the primacy of God’s wisdom and love in comparison to human wisdom and love—the love which is the proper dimension of knowledge. This unique connection between knowledge, praise and obedience, understood as a life in accordance with the nature of that which is known, can also be found in St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans. This letter leaves no doubts: the problem does not lie in ascertaining the existence of God, but on the moral implications of this act.41 The human mind is capable of knowing the invisible attributes of God, to discover the power and divinity that manifests itself in what he has made.42 However, it is possible to come to know God and not acknowledge him, meaning, while knowing that he exists, to live as if he did not exist. One can reject this ultimate and most authentic explanation of reality, and the principle ruling over it. That is, one can go against one’s God-given nature and make some other principle the guide of one’s life. This is the place of a crucial choice—our life will bear witness to what we factually acknowledge as the principle ruling reality. This is a crossroad where the division into those who live according to the flesh (kata sarka)43, according to purely human principles44, human traditions, or the powers of the world, and those who live kata Theon45, kata pneuma or kata Christon. That is, the world is divided between those who live according to the body and those who live according to the Spirit, in other words, into those who, against their nature, reduce themselves to the flesh, and those who strive along the way of perfection opened up by Christ. This choice is the starting point for understanding knowledge-conversion-faith.

40 41 42 43 44 45

36

Cf. 1 Cor 13:1–13. Cf. Rom 1:18–32. Cf. Rom 1:19–20. Cf. 1 Cor 15:50; 2 Cor 10:2–3; Rom 8:12. 1 Cor 3:3: kata anthropon peripateite. 2 Cor 7:9–11; Rom 8:27.

Degradation and Development The choice can be at variance with one’s knowledge. St. Paul describes the consequences of such a choice in his Letter to the Romans, where he accuses the pagans of not materializing the knowledge they actually possessed in their lives and customs. The Apostle writes, “The wrath of God is indeed being revealed from heaven against every impiety and wickedness of those who suppress the truth by their wickedness. For what can be known about God is evident to them, because God made it evident to them. Ever since the creation of the world, his invisible attributes of eternal power and divinity have been able to be understood and perceived in what he has made. As a result, they have no excuse” (Rom 1:18–20). God’s wrath, above all, is a synonym for self-degradation. Impiety (asebeia) and wickedness (adikia) are to the same degree guilt for, as they are the punishment for, turning away from, or constraining the truth.46 At the root of the process of degradation we have just described, which comes from the rejection of natural revelation, there is a mechanism that automatically connects guilt with punishment. This faithlessness toward the truth has to be an action against nature and reason, because coming to know the fundamental principle is simultaneously an identification of the nature and goal of human life. Because the offence that degrades is a punishment in itself, this refusal to give God praise, out of necessity, comes to fruition in a loss of clarity of the mind and the loss of the ability to distinguish wisdom from folly.47 The Apostle says, “While claiming to be wise, they became fools” (Rom 1:22). The cult of false gods and impurity are the consequences of rejecting the truth; they are the demons that awaken when reason sleeps (Rom 1:23–32). Only within this context is it possible to understand the stubbornly recurring theme of the cult of the idols, which is one of the main symptoms of abandoning the truth for falsehood, of exchanging “the glory of the immortal God for the likeness of an image of mortal man or of birds or of four-legged animals or of snakes… They exchanged the truth of God for a lie and revered and worshiped the creature rather than the creator, who is blessed forever” (Rom 1:23,25). This is because idolatry is the external sign that not the spirit, but the body or matter, were acknowledged as the fundamental principle, and what follows from it: that life as kata sarka not as kata Theon was acknowledged as the most appropriate. In other words, life 46 Cf. “katecho” in: Walter Bauer, op. cit., p. 835. 47 “[F]or although they knew God they did not accord him glory as God or give him thanks. Instead, they became vain in their reasoning, and their senseless minds were darkened” (Rom 1:21).

37

as kata sarka is the acknowledgment that the natural telos of man is a life constrained within the horizon of the senses. Wherever Paul speaks of the wisdom of those who study this world48 while only relying upon merely human tradition or the cult of idols, he always comes to the conclusion that they reject the truth, since only Christ is Kyrios, since only Christ is the Lord and thus the spiritual is higher than the fleshly.49 This is why the triumph of sensuality is the flip side of abandoning the truth50, which Paul stigmatizes, above all, as a state contrary to nature (Rom 1:26).51 The long catalogue of perversions is opened up by a statement that recapitulates their cause, “And since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God handed them over to their undiscerning mind to do what is improper” (Rom 1:28). As we can see, however much man has the power to condemn himself, he needs grace to develop his faith. The proper choice is only the beginning of a way whose goal is, in the measure in which it is possible in this life, the perfection of Christ; that is, the state proper to mature Christians, pneumatics as Paul calls them, spiritual people. The distance between nepioi (infants) and teleioi (full or mature Christians)52 who have realized the telos available to them, is full of difficulties and spiritual battling (agon) for a complete spiritual transformation. The need to achieve complete freedom plays a crucial role along the road that the Christian must traverse with God’s help. This freedom positively expresses itself in love, whereas it expresses itself negatively in an ultimate restraint of sensuality: “For you were called for freedom, brothers. But do not use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh; rather, serve one another through love. For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement, namely, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself ’” (Gal 5:13–14). In order to properly understand Paul’s philippics addressed against the 48 1 Cor 1:19. 49 This is why accusations of immorality so often accompany Christian critiques of pagan religion. This is also why, in their polemics, Christians so readily stretch the truth with regard to the cult of the idols, always suspecting it of a cult of the material(s) out of which idols were fashioned. 50 We should note how for Paul immorality is a kind of idolatry, “Put to death, then, the parts of you that are earthly: immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and the greed that is idolatry” (Col 3:5). 51 In agreement with Richardson, op. cit., p. 49, we should note the freedom with which Paul uses the category of “nature”. It is a concept which was unknown to the Old Testament, yet it is so obvious for Paul that he utilizes it not only to condemn unreasonable sensuality, but even what seems to him to be an improper hair length for men (1 Cor 11:14). 52 1 Cor 3:1; 1 Cor 14:20; Phil 3:15; Eph 4:13.

38

body and sensuality we must not forget their positive dimension, namely, love (agape). Suspicions against the body are connected to Paul’s conviction that the vectors of intentionality proper to the flesh and spirit are irreconcilable. There is an unavoidable conflict between the desires of the spirit and the lusts of the flesh, “For the flesh has desires against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; these are opposed to each other, so that you may not do what you want” (Gal 5:17). This is why a partial change of one’s life, a compromise between the spirit and the passions, is not possible. The contrast between the spiritual and sensual person is so great that the necessary condition for the existence of the one is the death of the other. Yet, the change is not made once and for all. In the battle against sensuality, the struggle to throw off the old man and to understand God more deeply, thanksgiving and prayer will always remain the daily bread of Christians.53 In order for the spirit to live, sensuality must die. 1 Corinthians leaves us no doubts: the wisdom of the world, the wisdom of sensual man, must be overcome in the name of spiritual wisdom.54 There is no space for compromise at all.

The Possibility of Virtue before Christianity However, can we say that all of philosophy snugly fits into the category of worldly wisdom and because of that it only deserves to be rejected? First we must firmly admit the following: we have no testimonies whether St. Paul ever took up this question. Thus, it is difficult to accept that his texts will lead to an unambiguous answer to this and other related questions. Outside the speech at the Areopagus the Apostle never directly speaks about the philosophers whom we might find in our textbooks. However, is there a basis for thinking St. Paul might have identified philosophy wholesale with the pseudo-wisdom he so summarily condemned? Even though the Letter to the Romans does not mention any exceptions, there is no reason to presuppose that Paul definitively excluded the possible existence of pagan wisdom. We are obviously talking here of a highly imperfect wisdom within the measure proper to the natural knowledge of God as expressed in the voice of conscience innate to all people. Natural knowledge and the natural moral instinct (we will refer to them collectively as “natural wisdom”) can be situated between worldly wisdom and the wisdom of God—tilted more toward the side of divine wisdom. The factor which distinguishes worldly wisdom from the two other types is its object of knowledge, or to use the terminology of the Gospels, it depends on what 53 Col 3:9–10. 54 Cf. 1 Cor 1:17–25.

39

one serves. When the wise of this world identify the creatures with the Creator, then the proper object of natural wisdom are the divine deeds (poiemata) which are visible to reason, yet they come from the invisible attributes of the Creator—therefore the object is God, not idols. In turn, the difference between natural wisdom and the wisdom of God comes not so much from a difference in the object as from the scope of knowledge. The conscience supports this natural knowledge and they both (as seen through the prism of the concept of nature) constitute, in some measure analogically to the positive revelation of the Old Testament, a basis for responsibility for actions in times predating the incarnation of Christ, “For when the Gentiles who do not have the law by nature observe the prescriptions of the law, they are a law for themselves even though they do not have the law. They show that the demands of the law are written in their hearts, while their conscience also bears witness and their conflicting thoughts accuse or even defend them” (Rom 2:14–15). Obviously, neither the Law, nor natural knowledge ever allowed for anything more than a just life. Only the salvific sacrifice of Christ destroyed the blight that corrupted our moral life and our knowledge by erasing the effects of Original Sin. The wisdom of God, unreachable through purely natural knowledge, which does not exist outside of Christ, was revealed to us through Christ. The mystery of Christ was hidden, “the mystery hidden from ages and from generations past. But now it has been manifested to his holy ones, to whom God chose to make known the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles; it is Christ in you, the hope for glory. It is he whom we proclaim, admonishing everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone perfect in Christ (teleion en Christo)” (Col 1:26–28). Let’s attempt to summarize all these elements. They are as follows: 1) natural knowledge, a purely theoretical act, which can be discussed independently of moral consequences, treated as a possible source of knowledge of God, 2) worldly knowledge condemned, meaning, the combination of an intellectual act with worship of a non-god, 3) natural wisdom, which is not excluded by Paul either as a fact, nor as a possibility, it is a life in accordance with nature based upon natural knowledge and the pointers of conscience 4) the revealed wisdom of God, which is not accessible to people naturally, which is always only partially realized here on earth, and finally 5) the eschatological wisdom-agape, which constitutes a perfected life in God.55

55 When we accept this classification, we can treat the division from the Acts of the Apostles into “times of ignorance” and the times when Christianity proclaims the wisdom of

40

The relationship between divine and worldly wisdom is the easiest to understand. On the basis of the First Letter to the Corinthians we can accept that the conflict between these two positions is irreconcilable and that each one of the contrary options sees the other as foolishness in comparison to itself. The object of cults, the placing of the ultimate principle within the horizon of the world and sensual man’s possibilities puts its wisdom in radical opposition to all revealed truths. As we can recall, the Letter to the Romans situates such worldly knowledge in the circle of utterly corrupted knowledge. If Revelation really is foolishness to philosophy, then it is so only for bad philosophy, and we appear to be pointed in this direction by a certain kind of complementarity between natural knowledge and Revelation. While reconstructing (I hope not entirely arbitrarily) the concept, which is not explicitly present in Paul, of natural wisdom we can also utilize the existence of similar distinctions in the Judeo-Hellenistic tradition. This is how, for example, for Philo of Alexandria natural knowledge leads to knowledge of God’s existence as a Creator; it then makes way for Revelation, which gives us knowledge about God’s essence. This limitation inherent to natural knowledge flows from its nature: natural knowledge is only an indirect knowledge, it comes to its conclusions by going from the effect to the cause, from the existence of order to the existence of its Architect. In one of the fragments from Legum Allegoriae Philo makes Moses and Bezalel the symbols of the two types of knowledge, “It was for this reason that God called Moses and spoke to him (Lev 1:1). Bezalel too did he call, but not in the same manner. One receives the impression of God from the First Cause himself, the other perceived the Artificer, as from a shadow, from created things, by way of inference.”56 The different ranges of knowledge are explained through different forms of cognition, what’s more, we can how Revelation has an advantage, because of its directness, clarity and unmediated nature, which additionally give this type of knowledge certain

God, as simply a division into times before and after Christ’s revelation, instead of as a justification of philosophy’s futility. The evaluation of philosophy depends upon how it utilized the possibilities inherent in nature, and this can only be evaluated through concrete examples, not generally. 56 Phil. Al., Leg. alleg. III.102, in Philo of Alexandria, The Contemplative Life, Giants and Selections, trans. David Winston, Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1980, p. 127.

41

attributes of uncreated being.57 I think we can risk the hypothesis that Paul’s answer to this problem would be similar in spirit.58 When we utilize the reconstruction of the concept of natural wisdom, which is not present in Paul’s writings, we cannot forget the enormous chasm that divides revealed fullness from natural knowledge, which proper to the “times of ignorance”. It is a difference so large that it is easy to ignore this imperfect knowledge by accentuating the two polar opposites of worldly wisdom and the wisdom of God. Natural wisdom, similar to divine knowledge when it comes to its ultimate object, comes close to worldly wisdom through the lack of positive Revelation, and also because it is condemned to depending on merely human powers.59 This similarity allows us to capture a substantial relationship between philosophy and Christianity independently of the division into good philosophy (natural wisdom) and bad philosophy (worldly wisdom). We will start with the similarities. First we must say that philosophy is functionally identical with Christianity, it strives to achieve the same goal and to satisfy the same needs. The proper object of knowledge or wisdom is God, whereas perfection is the state, proper to man, for which he should strive. We have already stressed the theological implications inherent in the foundations of this kind of thinking. Man was created in order to come to know God; by realizing this goal he realizes the perfection proper to human nature. Looking through the prism of human striving we cannot say, without falling into absurdity, that wisdom is a knowledge which excludes cognition and obedience to God, just as we cannot say that we can fill our hunger with gold or hear smells. This is why there is no place here for some kind of autonomous rational or philosophical knowledge 57 Ibid. III.101, p. 126: “There is a mind more perfect and more purified, which has been initiated into the great mysteries, a mind that discovers the First Cause not from created things as one may learn of the abiding object from its shadow, but transcends creation and obtains a clear impression of the Uncreated…” 58 Obviously, this answer can only be a reconstruction. In opposition to Philo, Paul nowhere directly addressed the relationship between natural knowledge and Revelation. Certainly the knowledge revealed by the One in whom are hidden all the jewels of wisdom and knowledge exceeds natural knowledge about God, but in many other matters we are condemned to conjectures. Cf. Henry Chadwick, “St. Paul and Philo of Alexandria” in History and Thought of the Early Church, London: Variorum Reprints, 1982, p. 286–307, and for the issue which most interests us here: p. 292. 59 Just to put things in order we should say that the range of worldly wisdom of which Paul speaks includes not only doctrines based on natural reason, but also those which legitimate themselves by a false, at least for Christians, revelation. We think this might be the case with the philosophy Paul warns the Colossians against.

42

which might be a rival to Revealed wisdom. Everything which is not the wisdom of God is foolishness; what’s more, it is imperfect. If this foolishness takes up for itself the label of wisdom, then it can only do this by the power of an unsubstantiated pretense, because the wisdom of God is the only wisdom, and its mysteries can be known only through Christ. Therefore if philosophy is a search for the truth and the road to perfection, then Christianity constitutes the ultimate realization of philosophical aspirations. The fundamental difference clearly springs from the difference in fundamental sources. The wisdom of God comes from the Spirit, directly from the Author of reality. It is something like first-hand knowledge.60 Paul has a clear awareness of the difference between the phenomena of revealed knowledge and the gaining of knowledge along the road of natural cognitional effort. We would search Paul in vain looking for examples of a conviction that this situation might mean Christianity is somehow inferior. On the contrary, for him this is perhaps the most substantial sign of Christianity’s superiority over all natural knowledge. The mystery that has been hidden since the foundation of the world was revealed to the Christians and there is no natural method whatsoever to gain that knowledge without Christ. We know that later in history this issue became the basis for distinguishing philosophy from theology and knowledge from faith, thereby deciding about their autonomous status. We should ask therefore whether Paul paid attention to the issue of ascertaining the validity, and the intersubjective verifiability, of revealed truths. Does the lack of natural procedures for uncovering the wisdom of God without the aid of Revelation and God’s grace mean that there is no possibility of forming a proof of Revelation’s truth? In other words: is the superiority of Revelation over natural knowledge incapable of being proved?

Credibility and Proof It actually seems that, according to St. Paul, Christianity is superior to philosophy also thanks to the arguments that authenticate it, thanks to the power of the arguments which incline someone to acknowledge the truth of Revelation. I say “it seems,” because Paul did not acknowledge this element as sufficiently important, difficult, or troublesome enough, to develop it in a wider form than just two dispersed passages. The first is a warning directed against philosophy in the Letter to the Colossians: “I say this so that no one may deceive (paralogidzetai) you by specious 60 1 Cor 2:12.

43

arguments (en pithanologia)” (Col 2:4). We find two important elements within this short fragment: an indirect pointing toward the proper form of philosophical argumentation (pithanologia) and the risk of deception, which, as the etymology bears out, constitutes an improper form of argumentation (paralogidzesthai). This warning is prefaced by a section which presents the hope proper to Christianity (opposed to “specious arguments”) of having “all the richness of fully assured understanding (tes plerophorias tes syneseos), for the knowledge of the mystery of God (epignosis mysteriou tou Theou), Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Col 2:2–3). What is the argumentation against which Paul warns the Colossians? The term pithanologia, which is accordingly translated as “specious arguments”, has a very long philosophical tradition. According to the Liddel-Scott dictionary, this concept, which already appears in Plato61, designates the use of credible or probable arguments, and, this is especially important, it is the opposite of a proof (apodeiksis).62 Credibility, or probability, appears within this context as the opposite of certainty. This is the reason why, for example, pithanologike, the art of utilizing probable argument can be understood as the opposite of the art of deductive proof. When one says that an argument is pithanos, one thinks of something that is convincing, but also that at the same time something that does not give one certainty, because probability and credibility begin where certainty and objective necessity end.63 Thus, such a pithanos logos—or peithos logos as Paul puts it elsewhere—is the best available method of gaining credible information about things we cannot know in an absolute manner because of their uncertain and changeable nature. This is how Aristotle put it in the Rhetoric, where the art of persuasion constitutes a secondary form of philosophical knowledge, allowing us to observe “the means of persuasion on almost any subject presented to us.”64 Properly using one’s ability to make credible and convincing arguments is a close relative of philosophizing. The philosopher uses it in all those situations that do not possess the qualities necessary for access to a totally objective knowledge. It is well-known that ancient epistemology imposed very severe conditions upon the object of knowledge proper: necessity, universality and immutability—all these considerably widened the field for the art of searching for the

61 Cf. Tht. 162e, where Plato contrasts oratory with proof. 62 Cf. Liddel-Scott, op. cit., p. 1403. 63 Cf. Arist., Rh. 1357a, and also 1356b and 1403b. 64 Ibid. 1355b10, trans. W. Rhys Roberts, Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2004, p. 7. Cf.: ibid., 1355a1–19.

44

credible. Furthermore, Aristotle says: “The true and the approximately true are apprehended by the same faculty.”65 As it turns out, such a positive appraisal of the art of persuasion was rather rare in the world of antiquity. The general picture of persuasion was mostly dominated by worries. The skill, which in the hands of a philosopher serves to appraise the credible and to distinguish whatever is less probable from the more probable, in the hands of a demagogue becomes an instrument of convincing other people of randomly chosen theses. Thus, the art of persuasion can become a dangerous weapon in unfavorable circumstances. Rhetoric owes its infamy to this manner of understanding its tasks, which, for particular gains, allows for a dishonest taking advantage of the weaknesses of one’s listener. Here what should be a mutual search for the truth is twisted by persuasion into something that borders upon intellectual violence. However, worries and aversions were somewhat abetted by the possibility of making a distinction between the mechanisms necessary for producing subjective conviction from the mechanisms of attaining objective knowledge (the Greeks saw this very early on). Yet, the next causes of rhetoric’s infamy were the brusque (according to the philosophers) incursions of technique, perhaps useful elsewhere, into domains reserved for knowledge and proof. The anxiety that Plato harbored toward sophism is actually complimented by the calming intentions of Aristotle’s remarks. While he acknowledges all the worries directed at the art of rhetoric, Aristotle stresses that, with the exception of virtue, all goods are capable of causing someone harm provided if they are used in a mean-spirited way. We come to understand the real scale of the problem, in ironic contrast with the calm tone of the Stagirite, when we read his ad hoc list of such goods. Right next to rhetorical skill, in the same list, without wavering, Aristotle places the following: power, riches, finally, and probably most tellingly, the ability to command an army.66 The situation shifted radically later when philosophy questioned the epistemological absolutism that was the hallmark of both Plato and Aristotle. For the Skeptics, who rejected the ideal of necessary and universal knowledge, rhetoric (secondary knowledge for Aristotle) became the sole type of knowledge. Therefore, there is nothing strange about the concept “pithanon” gaining the status of a technical term of the so-called Second (Skeptical) Academy. The void left behind after the critique of Stoic criteria of truth led Carneades to create the doctrine of the pithanon, that is, the probable. According to Carneades, the method of

65 Ibid. 1355a15, p. 5. 66 Ibid. 1355b5.

45

verifying impressions allows us to qualify some of them as probable67, where probable of course means: the single most certain possibility out of all the possibilities. Critical reason’s rejection of unjustified claims toward certainty makes credibility the de facto apex of man’s cognitive ambitions. There is no need to convince anyone that Paul used the concept pithanologia in a pejorative sense. However, I cannot understand why it is translated as “specious”68 arguments instead of “credible,” and when we consider the context, it should be rendered as “barely credible arguments.” The meaning is negative, because while Paul shares Carneades’ diagnosis of philosophy’s limited capabilities, he also contrasts it with “the fullness of understanding” offered by Revelation. I don’t think it is necessary to prove that Paul knew Carneades (we should add that he was considered to be one of the greatest thinkers of antiquity69), to agree that the Apostle approves of his minimalist understanding of philosophy. Credibility is all philosophy can give us. On top of that, it can show itself to be an instrument of deception in the hands of the wrong person. On the other hand, Christianity is the fullness or maybe even, as some exegetes suggest, certainty of understanding.70 We should note that Paul never directly says anything about some kind of Christian proof when he contrasts the art of coming to know the Christian mystery (“fully assured understanding” and “knowledge of the mystery of God”) with the merely credible procedures of philosophical proof and its merely credible results. Essentially, if not for the concepts which appear here and the curious context in which they were used, it would be just another example of St. Paul’s well-known opinion about the functional superiority of Christianity over philosophy, or, to put it another way, the superiority of the results reached by one of the two modes of knowing. However, as we shall see, the conviction—awakened by this uniquely formulated deprecation of philosophy—that Paul probably

67 S.E., M. I.7.. 68 Cf. Kol [Colossians], KUL, v. 3, p. 256. 69 For antiquity the wisdom of Carneades was literally proverbial. Especially difficult matters were said to be so hard to solve that Carneades would not resolve them were he to come back from Hades. 70 Ernst Lohmeyer argues that: “The Pauline concept tes plerophorias (tes syneseos), here rendered — because it takes richness into consideration and analogies with Eph 3:18 — as fullness (of understanding), in other places (1 Thess 1:5; Heb 6:11 & 10:22; Rom 15:29) designates ‘certainty’, and not so much the subjective certainty of conviction , but rather the objective reliability of the object which it refers.”; Cited in: Kol [Colossians], KUL, v. 3, p. 254.

46

presupposes the existence of arguments that are more adequate than merely credible ones (and decide the truth of Revelation) will find its full confirmation in the First Letter to the Corinthians. This time the matter will be expressed directly and will even include something like an explication. In his First Letter to the Corinthians Paul recalls his first encounter with Corinth, where he arrived after the visit to Athens described in Acts. Paul knew well that educated Corinth would pose difficulties comparable to those he encountered in Athens. Here is how he describes his course of action: “When I came to you, brothers, proclaiming the mystery of God, I did not come with sublimity of words or of wisdom. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (1 Cor 2:1–2). Some see a criticism of the Athenian teaching in the conventional irony directed at the sublimity of rhetorical tropes. However we come to see it, the witness (martyrion), or as other readings would have it, the mystery (mysterion) of God71, will be proclaimed by the Apostle in the manner proper to the knowledge of Christ crucified: “my message and my proclamation (ho logos mou kai to kerygma mou) were not with persuasive words of wisdom (ouk en peithos sophias logos), but with a demonstration of spirit and power (all’en apodeiksei pneumatos kai dynameos), so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom (en sophia anthropon) but on the power of God (en dynamei Theou)” (1 Cor 2:4–5). There is no doubt this is a comparison of human wisdom (sophia anthropon) and the wisdom of God (or mystery of God) and it opposes the value of the forms of argument proper to each. The first thing we notice is the opposition between peithoi sophias logoi and apodeiksis pneumatos kai dynameos, that is, this time it is an articulated opposition of peithos logos (the Pauline synonym for pithanos logos) and apodeiksis. Of course apodeiksis does not appear here in its technical Aristotelian meaning of demonstratio, that is, a deductive syllogistic proof. However, the use of precisely this word, in opposition to peithos/pithanos logos, assures us that a “demonstration of spirit and power” means a strong or decisive proof. Therefore we have apodeiksis against peithos logos; a proof in place of persuasion. We already know what is hidden behind peithos logos; behind “persuasive words of wisdom” we will find, above all, a relatively low appraisal of human reason’s possibilities. We can almost see the shade of Carneades, with his skeptical evaluation of man’s epistemological possibilities, appearing here in the role

71 Or even euangelion and soterion. Cf. Grecko-polski Nowy Testament [The Greek-Polish New Testament], trans. Remigiusz Popowski and Michał Wojciechowski, Warszawa: Vocatio, 1993, p. 774.

47

of a just judge, and he judges credibility to be the epistemological maximum. Furthermore, this time we have a clear evaluation of the inferior character of the art of persuasion in comparison to the proof-demonstration proposed by Paul. We can see how it is located by dogmatic philosophy in the place of secondary knowledge; however, this time, not in relation to the absolutism of first philosophy, but instead in relation to the fullness of revealed Mystery. Finally, we come back to a suggestion of the possibility of being intentionally deceived by “barely credible arguments”. In this we hear the aversion (full of irony and criticism) that the art of persuasion, because of its relative autonomy toward the truth, awakens in lovers of wisdom. We hear the familiar worried tone toward neutral skill, which is disturbingly reminiscent of the art of leading an army. “Persuasive words of wisdom” understood in this way are deemed by St. Paul to be an inadequate foundation for faith. What then is apodeiksis, that powerful method of authenticating Revelation, that proof-demonstration of spirit and power? What is at stake here? Is it some kind of miracle or supernatural event? Walter Bauer explains that, “the proof from spirit and power means a proof which depends upon possessing the spirit and the activity of a miracle-working power.”72 Therefore we have two elements here: possessing the spirit and events that have the character of miracles. Let us start with the latter. The fact of working miracles during the stay at Corinth is also confirmed by the Second Letter to the Corinthians.73 What is their function? Fr. Marian Rusecki stresses the biblical understanding of miracles as a fundamental criterion of Revelation’s credibility.74 Miracles will appear in this function, as a type of self-authentication, in the argumentative structure of Christ’s teaching and later in the primordial catechesis that was written not long after Christ’s life and public ministry.75 In Acts 2:22 extraordinary deeds, miracles and signs are the means that confirm, authenticate or prove (apodedeigmenos) the mission of Jesus.76 We are therefore dealing here with an analogical use of apodeiksis, which qualifies miracles as the proof or argument for the divinity of Jesus. According to Fr. Rusecki, miracles also had a motivational function for the early Church. They encouraged conversions to the faith. We can accept the possibility that this 72 Walter Bauer, op. cit., p. 177. 73 “The signs of an apostle were performed among you with all endurance, signs and wonders, and mighty deeds” (2 Cor 12:12). 74 Marian Rusecki, Cud w myśli chrześcijańskiej [Miracle in Christian Thought], Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 1991, p. 15. 75 Ibid., p. 17–18. 76 Ibid., p. 18–19.

48

is the function Paul had in mind when he recalled the events which took place in Corinth.77 This is all we shall say now about miraculous events.78 Let’s take a look at the second part of the argument which Bauer calls “possessing the spirit”. We can understand “possessing the spirit” as the state proper to a pneumatic, the complete Christian, a person perfected in Christ. Let’s attempt to explicate what the proof-demonstration of the spirit and its power, as an argument for the truth of Revelation and conversion to Christianity, might mean. The whole episode takes place in Hellenistic Corinth. Therefore, Paul’s proof had to possess universal qualities that could be understood by non-Christians and non-Jews. We know argumentation from miracles specifically appealed to this universal approach.79 Is it the same in this particular instance? I will risk a reconstruction of the meanings hidden behind the formula of demonstrating the spirit. We have agreed that Paul, much like Carneades, was convinced that there is no infallible and intersubjectively verifiable philosophical procedure that might lead to the discovery of the fullness of truth. The mystery hidden since the foundation of the world had to be revealed by Christ and without positive revelation natural reason could not come to know it on its own. Despite this assertion can we accept the existence of criteria for distinguishing true from false doctrine? The answer might be affirmative if we add several conditions to it. These conditions are connected to agreeing upon defining the effects caused exclusively by true doctrine. First, we must agree that knowledge has a specific function, which it has to fulfill a circumscribed task. Once we possess a 77 Cf.: Michał Czajkowski, “Sens antropologiczny czy teologiczny synopotycznych cudów Jezusa” [The Anthropological or Theological Meaning of the Synoptic Miracles of Jesus] in Warszawskie Studia Biblijne [Warsaw Biblical Studies], Warszawa 1976, p. 70–87; also: Edward Łomnicki, Kryteria wiarygodności chrześcijaństwa w ujęciu apologetów starochrześcijańskich [The Criteria of Christianity’s Credibility in Early Christian Apologetics], Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL: Lublin, 1977. 78 H.C. Kee, Miracle in the Early Christian World, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983, especially the chapter “Miracle as Propaganda in Pagan and Christian Romances”, p. 252–289. 79 It did this with varying success. The miracles of Jesus were interpreted—especially by pagan intellectuals who actually acknowledged them as facts—as the effects of black-magic power over demons, rather than as proofs of divinity. This interpretation, which brought down the miraculous activities of Jesus and the Apostles to the level of magical-demonic tricks of pagan thaumaturgies, caused the argument from miracles to lose its meaning, especially during the Patristic period. Cf.: Marian Rusecki, op. cit., p. 26, 33–34; Orig., C. Cels. I.6; I.38; I.67–68; Iren., Adv. haer. II.31–34; Tert., Marc. III.3.3–4 and Ap. 21.

49

mutual picture of the proper effect and the criteria which allow us to judge that it was achieved, then effectiveness would be principle of verifying the authenticity of a doctrine. Let’s demonstrate this with an example. We can all agree there is no possibility of independently discovering the combination that opens up a safe box, but at the same time we would have no difficulty in distinguishing between right and wrong combinations. Effectiveness in opening up the safe box is the deciding factor in this instance, totally independent of the issue whether our epistemological condition makes us capable of independently discovering the combination. (Obviously, the ability to agree upon what it means to “open the door” is a necessary condition.) As we know, knowledge has a thoroughly practical meaning for Paul. The effect of directing one’s life according to its instructions can be perfection. However, as we recall from the Letter to the Romans, one of the necessary conditions of reaching this goal is the truth of the knowledge guiding our lives.80 Therefore perfection, being a visible proof of the effectiveness of the knowledge, can at the same time constitute a criterion of its truth. I believe that the evidential power of the demonstration of the spirit depends upon some demonstration of perfection as the effect of accepting Revelation. The power of this demonstration will obviously depend upon the degree of the effect’s intersubjective verifiability and the obviousness of the fact that the demonstrated effect is indeed the correct effect. It is indispensable to accept the existence of extra-doctrinal qualities of perfection that can serve as objective criteria for verifying the effectiveness of the doctrine. The proof which relies upon demonstrating that the highest degree of existential, moral and epistemological perfection was attained must presuppose the existence of a model of perfection and of a description of the manner in which perfection manifests itself. The question whether we can say such a model exists, and what the criteria of its verification might be, leads us directly into the main problem covered by the next parts of this book: the problem of witness.

80 It is the only condition, but it is not sufficient. We will explain this now, before any doubts might creep in. We should not see knowledge in this reconstruction of the Pauline proof as some magic formula that mechanically opens up the doors of perfection. There is no place here for the automatism found in the initiation rituals of Gnostics or mystery religions. It is not as if accepting Revelation will magically immediatel lead to our perfection, however, there is no perfection beyond Revelation. The putting into practice of the knowledge is a long path of spiritual exercises and its history fully depends upon the grace of God. Therefore this is very important: the essence of the argument does not lie in the judgment that every Christian has reached perfection, however, the existence of one such person is a proof of the truth of Revelation.

50

In the meantime, while anticipating the unfolding of this argument, we will pause for a few supplementary remarks. The concept of perfection common to both Christians and pagans is a vision of the soul’s materialization of a natural harmony of virtue. Thus, it is a vision of rationality understood as controlling the passions and it also is a vision of the triumph of the spirit. In some sense Christian perfection has some of the attributes of miracles. This is because it can be achieved only by exceeding the possibilities available to a person outside of grace and without Revelation.81 Thus, the relationship of the demonstration of the spirit with the demonstration of power is not coincidental. At the same time Christian perfection is undoubtedly the sole and highest type of perfection proper to man, because even though the transcendent telos of man is beyond nature, it is not contrary to it. The miracle of perfection has the character of a prophecy. The pneumatic, a spiritual person, is a kind of theophany and a prophecy, a proclamation of the coming of the Kingdom of God. The pneumatic demonstrates the spirit and simultaneously proves its existence by pointing toward the transcendent goal of every human being without exception. We must also say this proof has all the qualities of directness and visibility. If there are universal and indubitable criteria of perfection, then we can say we see the spirit in the pneumatic, the spirit is demonstrated in him or her. The proof does not occur with the help of words, but though a demonstration of

81 For example, this way of thinking is clearly noticeable in Origen. I should stress that his interpretation of the “demonstration of the spirit” differs from mine. However, he so strongly interweaves the phenomenon of miracle with the phenomenon of moral perfection that the effects of a “demonstration of power” can be spoken of within the categories of the moral miracle which is a life lived according to the precepts of Jesus. In C. Cels. I.2 Origen writes, “Moreover, we have to say this, that the gospel has a proof which is peculiar to itself, and which is more divine than a Greek proof based on dialectical argument. This more divine demonstration the apostle calls a ‘demonstration of the Spirit and of power’—of spirit because of the prophecies and especially those which refer to Christ, which are capable of convincing anyone who reads them; of power because of the prodigious miracles which may be proved to have happened by this argument among many others, that traces of them still remain among those who live according to the will of the Logos.” Origen, Contra Celsum, trans. Henry Chadwick, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980, p. 8. Even though Origen’s interpretation of the “demonstration of the spirit”, against our own, is exclusively concerned with the evidentiary power of Old Testament prophesies fulfilled by Christ, his take on the “demonstration of power” has all the features we ascribe to both forms of “demonstration”. According to Origen, in the “demonstration of power” we have both a miracle and moral perfection, which is understood by him as a type of miracle.

51

the facts. Pneumatics are not the “barely credible” proofs; instead, they are facts which appear right before our eyes—they are proofs through demonstration. The contrasting of “persuasive words of (human) wisdom” with the “demonstration of the spirit” might be connected to the typical late antiquity distrust of words as objectified carriers of knowledge, which was already present as early as Plato. This is part of a wider issue which is closely tied to the manner in which late antiquity understood the possibility of any communication, or persuasion, whatsoever. Plato very frequently asks whether people can even learn from each other. Words are the attempt to record the mental state of seeing, however, by their very nature, words tear themselves away from this subjective base. Knowledge, already on the purely theoretical level, has an existential, individual character. When understood as theoria, it is, above all, the state of a concrete human mind, the mental seeing of an object. The debate from Plato’s Cratylus shows how the ancients seriously worried whether the knowledge objectified in language does not lead to merely apparent mutual understanding. Is not the student who repeats the words of a philosopher who knows the truth a bit like the child whose ambitious parents have made him memorize Hamlet’s monologue? The matter further complicates itself when we introduce the practical dimension of knowledge, which, after all, was not foreign to the ancients. We must remember this when we listen to Paul and think about the people he converted in Corinth. I have proved to you, by showing, says Paul, not with something that is merely credible, not with the help of words, which convince and deceive, but through a demonstration of the spirit. You can convince yourselves by seeing it with your very own eyes. This is because if knowing means, above all, seeing, then to teach or to prove is to show.

Several Observations about the Paradoxicality of the Truth Nowhere else so clearly as in the First Letter to the Corinthians does Paul show the unsurpassable barriers of understanding between sensual and spiritual man, between God’s wisdom and the wisdom of the world. Sensual man has no criteria capable of judging the truth and giving justice to spiritual reality.82 The Christian teaching was revealed by the Spirit who, “scrutinizes everything, even the depths of God” (1 Cor 2:10), whereas the human spirit limits itself to knowing only the 82 “Now the natural person does not accept what pertains to the Spirit of God, for to him it is foolishness, and he cannot understand it, because it is judged spiritually. The spiritual person, however, can judge everything but is not subject to judgment by anyone” (1 Cor 2:14–15).

52

human (1 Cor 2:4). Essentially, within the borders of their territories, within the criteria proper to their realms, these two wisdoms are folly to each other.83 Therefore there is an unavoidable conflict and this leads to the peculiar condition of the wisdom of God, always pilloried, always spurned and humiliated, at best seen as foolish or comical in the eyes of the world. Paul intently explores this element and shows all the characteristics of the conflict caused by the Christian transvaluation of values.84 We have already discussed this while speculating about the reason and the significance of why Paul’s Athenian mission failed. The foolishness of the resurrection mocked at the Areopagus corresponds to the “foolishness of the cross” from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians. These are the two great mysteries of Christianity, and they are totally incomprehensible to human wisdom. One might notice how, in this interpretation of the inherent conflict between Christianity and the wisdom of the world, we have used the category of paradox, which from the dawn of philosophy has served to interpret the ways in which truth manifests itself in the world. Christianity is paradoxical in the sense that it goes para doksan, that is, against widely held notions and disputable opinions, and because of this it suffers persecution and disdain. The meaning of this approach is obvious. Formerly philosophy was paradoxical. Now philosophy is a foil that, by fighting the truth, involuntarily makes it shine through all the more. According to Juliusz Domański the Pauline texts “which so clearly deprecate philosophy can be, at least theoretically, interpreted… as contrasting two types… of otherwise homogeneous philosophy. The foolishness of the Cross which in the First Letter to the Corinthians (1:22) is identical with ‘the wisdom of God,’ is not entirely incompatible with the philosophical category of paradox. In ancient philosophy paradox was much more common than we are wont to accept, because we involuntarily tend to see only whatever is in accord with the modern understanding of rationality. Paradox not only appeared in the form of Stoic or Megarean sophisms, instead it was present in everything which went beyond common sense and ordinary observation. What else was philosophy if not that type of going beyond?”85 83 In light of our discussion above we should make an exception here for what we have called “natural wisdom”. 84 “For since in the wisdom of God the world did not come to know God through wisdom, it was the will of God through the foolishness of the proclamation to save those who have faith. For Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Cor 1:21–23). 85 Juliusz Domański, “Patrystyczne postawy wobec dziedzictwa antycznego” [Patristic Stances Toward the Heritage of the Ancients] in Idea: Studia nad strukturą i rozwojem

53

Domański distinguishes two substantial strata of philosophical paradox: the theoretical and practical. Diogenes the Cynic, called the Dog, is something of a symbol for both. While shoving and moving against the current of the crowds leaving the Athenian theater, Diogenes assured everyone that his whole life consisted in doing the same. Let’s not be deceived by the picturesque ostentation of the philosophers. Neither perversity nor the desire to flaunt individuality was the driving force behind such strange words and actions. Instead, the factual paradoxicality of a concealed reality and the paradoxicality of the morality implied by it are the real guiding principles. The act of searching for what is hidden behind the external appearances of phenomena already, from the start, questions the value of common sense. This is why paradoxicality comes into being along with the act of critical thinking, which reconsiders all the things which are usually unreflectively accepted as true. The seed of paradox was sown by the mythical Thales who searched for the element and principle to explain all of reality. The conclusions of the Ionians were the first fruits of this line of thinking. They identified all of reality with water, air or infinity. The logic of delineating the boundaries of knowledge is itself conducted para doksan, thereby isolating it from and opposing it to the merely apparent. Let’s recall the inspired prologue of Parmenides’ poem, where for the first time in such a substantial way the truth (alatheia) is opposed to opinion (doksa) and the ways of know-nothing mortals are opposed to the ways of sages. We should also recall how the truth seen by reason, which is revealed by the goddess to philosophy, not only undermines, but even destroys, the value of the testimony of the senses, along with them it reduces the whole of human knowledge to rubble. This is because paradox is a manifestation of the total freedom of the mind, the emancipation of the truth from the limiting force of intellectual habits and customs. As Domański points out, philosophy is a going beyond the

pojęć [Idea: Studies on the Structure and Development of Concepts], v. 5, Białystok, 1992, p. 11. Cf.: Juliusz Domański, Erazm i filozofia [Erasmus and Philosophy], Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1973, especially the chapter “Obsobliwości i paradoksy filozoficznego życia” [The Pecularities and Paradoxes of the Philosophical Life], p. 77–90 and Juliusz Domański, “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy] in Studia Mediewistyczne [Medieval Studies], v. 1, Wrocław 1978, especially pages 20, 27, and 107–108. Gigon believes paradox to be the most important of all the main concepts of ancient philosophy in: Olof Gigon, Głowne problemy filozofii starożytniej [The Main Problems of Ancient Philosophy], trans. Piotr Domański, Warszawa: Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii PAN, 1996, p. 78.

54

quotidian in this sense. Giovanni Reale’s comments about the Eleatic paradoxes also suggest this liberating power: “The arguments against movement and multiplicity, far from being vacuous sophisms, bristle with the strength of the logos that contests experience itself in proclaiming the omnipotence of its own laws (in our view, it reaches the same heights speculatively that from the poetical viewpoint were achieved by the Odes of Pindar and the lyric poetry of Sappho).”86 And so the language of truth also becomes paradoxical; it becomes mysterious and enigmatic when it attempts to positively describe a concealed reality, whereas when it sets itself against other positions, then it stresses its difference from the falsehoods it attacks and exposes. The proverbial ambiguities of the sentences of Heraclitus—nicknamed skoteinos (murky) and ainiktes (one who speaks in riddles)—is characteristic of the language of a prophet of the Logos. It is easy to condemn philosophers for misanthropy and indeed many of them suffer from it. Yet, it is impossible to believe that an aggregate of popular nonphilosophical opinions gives something more than just another opinion.87 The opinions of wide circles, sensual knowledge, based upon the instability of sensual reality are in some way, on various levels, equivalent. We should not allow changes in tone of philosophical discourse to lead us into confusion: sublime or ironic, it is always the tone of a prophet of a concealed reality, a prophet whose enigmatic language and behavior reveal the truth like an oracle. People in general do not understand the hidden truth as the following recurring philosophical phrases suggest: The Greeks have an incorrect belief88, it seems to the mortals89, they are like children90, they do not listen to reason, they have barbarian souls and do not understand ultimate reality.91 Paradoxical language is an attempt to communicate the fact that the state of things is different than people generally take it to be. Part of the philosophical discovery is the belief that the corruption of human knowledge goes hand in hand with a corruption of speech and action. In most instances philosophers want to counteract these tendencies. The starting point for changing human existence is the passing on of the news that universal opinions can be questioned in the name of the truth. Paradox is an attempt to convince someone who is ill that he is ill. Falsehood infects everyone, and 86 Giovanni Reale, A History of Ancient Philosophy: From the Origins to Socrates, trans. John R. Catan, Albany NY: SUNY Press, 1990, p. xvi. 87 Pl., La. 184e. 88 Anaxag., fr. 17, cited in Giovanni Reale, op. cit., p. 101. 89 Cf. Xenoph., fr B11. 90 Cf. Emp., fr. B11. 91 Cf. Heraclit., fr. B1 i B2.

55

all the “things which people say are true.”92 Therefore, the whole of man’s onomastics is burdened by a false ontology and ethics. This is the reason why philosophers so often turn against the dictates of meaning presupposed in everyday language, incessantly repeating that “it is only the name given to these processes by people.”93 The ordinary values questioned in the name of truth are rejected, while philosophy forms an apophatic linguistic system: poverty becomes wealth, the truth becomes falsehood, death becomes life, pleasure becomes vexation, and wisdom becomes foolishness. This results in a reversal or purification of meanings. Language becomes a signpost directing its listeners toward the direction of a paradoxical homeland of truth. The paradox also has its practical dimension. The lovers of wisdom are, in a deeper sense, foreigners in the land of opinions, because they are the citizens of the land of being, truth, and virtue. When Anaxagoras was asked about his country, he pointed, without wavering, toward the heavens.94 The strange language of the philosophers is paired with odd habits and lifestyles. Pittacus of Mytilene only took part of the field due to him, saying that half is more than the whole95; Socrates did not take advantage of the opportunity to flee from an unfair verdict; capable of profiting from his talents Thales wasted his time studying the heavens.96 Philosophers abandon wealth, are not afraid of tyrants, do not flatter rulers, and mock decency. Heraclitus abandons the splendor of being a lawgiver and tells his compatriots to hang themselves. He puts off the political life for throwing dice with his children in front of the temple of Diana.97 Arete (virtue) is paradoxical, which means, in practice, that its uniqueness is seen as worthy of admiration, but sometimes it seems comical, and not infrequently, dangerous. The admiration, contempt and hostility of the people toward Thales, Empedocles, Pythagoras and Socrates are the two sides of the same coin. The laughter in response to Thales falling into a well while gazing at the heavens is the same as the laughter at the sight of Aristophanes’ Socrates, whom the Athenians considered a fool.98 However, the philosophers do not abandon their discernment, and they believe, like the Stoics, that only the sage is not a madman. What Solon tells the crowd 92 93 94 95 96 97 98

56

Cf. Meliss., fr B8. Cf. Emp., fr B8. D.L. II.6–7, op. cit. p. 59. Ibid. I.75, p. 35. Cf. Arist., Pol., 1259a. D.L. IX.2–3, op. cit., p. 376. Cf. The comments about eccentricity and folly of Apollodores, a friend of Socrates in: Pl., Smp. 173c-d; also: Sph. 216c-d and R. 249d-e.

when he is convicted of madness could be said by many other philosophers: “A short time will to all my madness prove, when stern reality presents itself.”99 However, the truth does not always present itself, and the risk of humiliation is combined with the risk of death. Not without reason does the Platonic account of the trial of Socrates allege that the seemingly innocent jokes of Aristophanes are one of the main sources of the charges against him.100 The opponents of the truth inadvertently apply the definition Plato’s definition of ridiculousness from the Philebus to themselves. The ridiculous person is he who considers himself more important than he actually is, but at the same time cannot really harm a philosopher at all.101 On the other hand, the ridiculous sages, because of their stubborn proclamation of the truth and interior freedom, are taken to be dangerous. This is why death and foolishness are two sides of the same phenomenon. It is also why the readers of the Acts of the Apostles probably saw the Apostle’s death by martyrdom already shadowed in the laughter of the Areopagites. In time paradox became a form of language so typical to Christianity that in our time we might be surprised by the extent of its non-Christian sources.102 Yet, “typical” does not mean “well-understood.” We see it in the Erasmian Praise of Folly, but also in the pseudo-Tertullian credo quia absurdum, which is stubbornly interpreted as an affirmation of irrationalism. Christians recognized the usefulness of this philosophical category early on. We should add that paradox is the only philosophical category that, without obliterating identity, can feel at home in any form of philosophical thinking, but at the same time it tends to dethrone the wisdom of old. The author of the Epistle to Diognetus, one of the earliest Christian writings, already writes that Christians are “distinguished from other men neither by country nor language, nor the customs they observe… and the rest of their ordinary conduct, they display to us their wonderful and

99 D.L. I.49, op. cit., p. 24. 100 While pondering the causes of the charges, he says the following: “You have seen this yourself in the comedy of Aristophanes, a Socrates swinging about there, saying he was walking on air and talking a lot of other nonsense about things of which I know nothing at all.” Pl., Ap. 19c, op. cit., p. 20. 101 Pl., Phlb. 48c. 102 When discussing sources we should mention an excellent analysis of the connections between the language and form of St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians and the diatribes of Cynics and Stoics. Cf. Eugeniusz Dąbrowski, “Diatryba cynicko-stoicka a Listy św Pawla do Koryntian” [Cynic-Stoic Diatribes and St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthians] in Kol [Colossians], v. 3, p. 499–512.

57

confessedly striking method of life.”103 Naturally, the initial power of paradox dies out along with the progress of Christian expansion. Paradoxicality is a negative or apophatic category, which expresses itself in contesting a specific and concrete reality. The Christianization of culture blunts Revelation’s cutting edge of paradoxicality, and it often changes the primordial power of paradoxical formulas into impotent moralizing. There are some exceptions. One of them is—more lasting than the cultural situation of the early Church—the paradoxicality of the mystery of the cross and resurrection. The historical difficulties in domesticating these mysteries, both in Platonic categories and later in Aristotelian categories, clearly demonstrate the boundaries whose crossing equals a change in identity.104 103 Ad. Diog. 5.1–4, ANF1, trans. Philip Schaff, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing, 2001, p. 26. Further on in 5.5–17, p. 26–27 we read: “They dwell in their own countries, but simply as sojourners. As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as if foreigners. Every foreign land is to them as their native country, and every land of their birth as a land of strangers. They marry, as do all [others]; they beget children; but they do not destroy their offspring. They obey the prescribed laws, and at the same time surpass the laws by their lives. They love all men, and are persecuted by all. They are unknown and condemned; they are put to death, and restored to life. They are poor, yet make many rich; they are in lack of all things, and yet abound in all; they are dishonored, and yet in their very dishonor are glorified. They are evil spoken of, and yet are justified; they are reviled, and bless; they are insulted, and repay the insult with honor; they do good, yet are punished as evil-doers. When punished, they rejoice as if quickened into life; they are assailed by the Jews as foreigners, and are persecuted by the Greeks; yet those who hate them are unable to assign any reason for their hatred.” Henceforth all citations from the 10-volume Ante-Nicene Fathers series from Eerdmans will be cited starting with the title of the patristic text, “op. cit.”, followed by ANF, plus the number of the volume and the number of the page(s) cited. The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers series will be similarly cited, but with a NPNF [note from translator]. 104 The truth about the resurrection became (perhaps only equaled by the problem of the eternity of the world) one of the most troublesome truths for philosophizing Christianity, both for the part of Christianity that took its inspiration from Plato, and the part which allied itself with Aristotle. Explaining the perspective of eschatological glory, which the soul is supposed to somehow share with its “tomb”, just like the problem of resurrection in the same body, will continue to be the cause of discussion about the range of philosophy’s competence for many centuries. Among earlier explanations, one very interesting example of a philosophical attempt to explain the mystery, which induced the spontaneous laughter of the philosophers, is the treatise of Athenagoras of Athens entitled On the Resurrection of the Dead. In the following chapters we will return to the philosophical consequences of accepting this mystery.

58

The permanent paradoxicality of holiness is yet another exception. Holiness unveils the sense of Revelation which, regardless of the actual context, makes it, as if naturally, paradoxical. There will be time later to address this theme. The followers of Christ will be led by it directly to the enlivening consciousness that the real Kingdom is not of this world. One more thing: The ascertainment of Christianity’s paradoxicality is the proclamation of a radical and ineradicable conflict between the wisdom of God and man. The space of mediation belongs to a territory that falls through the fingers of univocal appraisals, and in Paul it exists as a possibility rather than a fact. Discussions will revolve around what we named “natural wisdom,” that is, the positive effects of utilizing natural knowledge and the voice of conscience. In Paul we will not find an answer to the question as to how useful this category is in the times after Christ. We know that its radical overemphasis annihilates the meaning of Revelation and, along with the views of Julian of Eclanum and Pelagius, it sits squarely itself outside of Christian orthodoxy. On the other hand, the complete rejection of natural knowledge would be what is usually falsely imputed to Tertullian, that is, extreme irrationalism. At the same time, and we cannot forget about this: a possible relation with natural wisdom is not at all identical with a relation to already existing philosophy. One can have a positive view about the natural possibilities of the human mind, even regard it as an indispensable requirement for reaching the fullness of Christian life, and simultaneously regard the history of philosophy as a history of error and sin. To put it another way, the reach of what is acceptable in philosophy will, to a large degree, depend upon how many of its fruits we will identify with the fruits of natural wisdom, and from the role we will confer upon natural wisdom along the road to salvation. Therefore, we should remember when we talk about Christianity’s stance toward philosophy to distinguish between our opinion about the bases of possible convergences from their factual extent and our opinions about the degrees of usefulness of historical forms of philosophy in the Christian life. We can therefore accept that doctrinal convergences and divergences are one thing, whereas the matter of a fundamental similarity is something else altogether, which—if we think in meta-philosophical categories—allows us to define Christianity as philosophy fulfilled. Without blurring doctrinal differences and without questioning the sense of fruitful comparative studies, it is useful to consider the general structure of pagan wisdom and its similarity to Christianity. The vexing question is: was there any philosophy that might have acknowledged Christianity as its most perfect possibility?

59

3. Philosophy as a Conversion of Existence and Knowledge Paradox is an accurate way of defining philosophy from the outside, from the side of its phenomenality, and the way it registers in the language of common sense experience. Doksa aletheia almost always faces off against paradoksos. The truth is hidden and, in general, incompatible with what merely passes for the truth. This is the reason why paradox is so often the language of philosophical truth, both in relation to the words and the strange, not infrequently shocking, deeds. If language and customs reflect some universally accepted group of presuppositions then, and this is obvious, all forms of contesting these truths manifests itself through a transgression of an impression of meaning and the banishing of what is usually taken as good manners. However, paradox in its fundamental function is, above all, a sign of the existence of (and of faithfulness to) a concealed reality. It can even be located in the philosopher’s very existence, which is an epiphany of that reality. Through pointing toward the heavens with a finger, paradox induces wonder, which gives birth to philosophy and discovers an unknown space of freedom, truth and being; thanks to it—even though in the world of opinions the philosopher has the status of a foreigner and oddball, sometimes of a king or god (like Epimenides, Empodocles, or Pythagoras), some times a dog (like Diogenes) or a madman (like Solon), not infrequently a convict—within his philosophical homeland he is a reasonable, respected and lawful citizen. The discovery of the paradoxical character of ancient philosophy opens us up to the possibility more fully defining it. We can agree, it seems to me, that the scholastic manner of thinking deprives ancient philosophy of its basic subjective and existential dimension. Presenting it exclusively as a collection of more of less systematized doctrines seems like a wrong-headed undertaking. Above all, this philosophy is a way of life, understood not only as some moral stance, but also as a manner of existing for a concrete person, a person taken as a whole, in all the aspects that constitute his humanity.105 All that makes up ancient philosophy grows out of a strictly subjective perspective; everything leads someone somewhere, everything serves something. Following Pierre Hadot, we can define philosophy as a method for the total conversion of being and knowledge, a method of spiritual development, expressed in a complete change of life.106 105 Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, Oxford: Blackwell, 1995, p. 264–276. 106 Ibid., p. 172–174. Cf. Arthur Darby Nock, Conversion, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998, p. 179nn.

60

Following Alasdair MacIntyre, who unjustifiably limited his attention only on ethics, ancient philosophy can be describe according to a threefold scheme.107 The first element is a diagnosis of the state of untutored human nature; second, a description of the goal proper to human nature or perhaps a picture of man when he will realized his telos; third, the set of resources, or the method which allows man to move along the path marked out by his telos. It is true that, regardless of differences in viewpoints about what made up the substance of these elements, nobody in the ancient world every questioned the scheme itself. There was an absolute consensus upon this issue: philosophy is not a collection of views; instead, it is a way of reeducating man, a path that ultimately leads to perfection. Philosophy understood in this way can be defined in many ways. While stressing the fact that philosophical conversion is concerned with the whole person, not only purely theoretical functions, we can call it praxis-oriented.108 By accenting the goals of perfection and happiness, which are the effects of the conversion, we can call this perspective eudemonistic. Finally, we can, because of the role played by constant work upon spiritual development, identify philosophy with the practice of spiritual exercises. I do not think we should further multiply the examples. After all, we are not aiming to exhaust all possible definitions, but to highlight the fact that, without doing damage to the understanding of philosophy, we cannot ignore its functioning in the shaping of a person’s existence. According to Hadot, the idea of a complete conversion grew out of Greek political experiences.109 As it developed under the sun of Athenian democracy the rhetorical artistry of political and juridical orators revealed to the Greeks the phenomenon of spiritual change to a larger extent than the ritualized state religions. This is why the first philosophical reflections about such a change, or conversion, is tied to the idea of a profound change of the state through the complete reform of its citizens. This is not an art of arbitrarily shaping of the soul, which would serve the particular interests of demagogues, but the detachment of the soul’s eye from the transient, in order to completely and lastingly direct it toward the idea of the Good. As Plato puts it, “the power to learn is present in everyone’s soul and that the instrument with which each learns is like an eye that cannot be turned around from darkness to light without turning the whole 107 Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, North Bend IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007, p. 53. 108 Juliusz Domański writes widely about the praxis-oriented model of philosophy in his work “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy], op. cit., p. 12. 109 Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 106.

61

body. This instrument cannot be turned around from that which is coming into being without turning the whole soul until it is able to study that which is and the brightest thing that is, namely, the one we call the good… Then education is the craft concerned with doing this very thing, this turning around, and with how the soul can most easily and effectively be made to do it. It isn’t the craft of putting sight into the soul. Education takes for granted that sight is there but that it isn’t turned the right way or looking where it ought to look, and tries to redirect it appropriately.”110 From this perspective education and learning are nothing other than a conversion of the soul through the constant effort of spiritual exercises, which serve to deepen and strengthen this change. Education understood in this way becomes the exclusive task of the sage, meaning, only people who are worthy of the label of true converts. This manner of understanding philosophy as the complete conversion of a man controlled philosophy’s history almost without interruption, starting with Socrates through the whole of the classical period until the Hellenistic and Roman periods, when it experienced its apogee, only to leave the scene with the dawn of Scholasticism.111 Philosophy understood as a technique of the interior life, of a life lived according to reason, of striving for happiness and perfection, constitutes the common postulate of the Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic and Epicurean schools. However, we can chart the history of the tie between philosophy and conversion to a date considerably earlier than the date of the appearance of Plato’s Republic. Some elements of such thinking about the tasks of philosophy can be found in the pre-Socratic period. A noticeable instance of identifying philosophy with the idea of a radical conversion is already present in the scenery of Parmenides’ poem. The gate which the goddess opens in the prologue to the poem before the philosopher symbolically divides the roads proper to two types of people, two methods of attaining knowledge and two kinds of existence. The crossing of the gate is associated with a revolutionary change of a person that expresses itself in a definitive rejection of opinions for the sake of knowledge. Here the act of knowledge is indubitably an act of spiritual conversion. Nor is Parmenides an isolated instance of such thinking. The problem of changing one’s spiritual attunement and way of life, a change born from a deep jolt that accompanies 110 Pl., R. 518c-d, op. cit., p. 1135–1136. 111 Cf.: Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit., especially the chapter, “Conversion to Philosophy”, p. 165–186. Also: W.A. Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993, particularly the chapter “Moral Consequences of Conversion”, p. 19–36. We should add that the only exceptions were some of the Sophists, Skeptics, Cyrenaics and representatives of post-Socratic eristic schools.

62

the discovery of the truth, is present in many pre-Socratics. In Heraclitus we find it exhibited by the philosopher in his passage from absolute ignorance to the fullness of truth, from an ordinary life to the life of a philosopher (loneliness and asceticism), all of which were caused, he claims, by coming to truly know himself.112 The philosopher, as he used to say, must “awaken” when he hears the speech of the world within himself, when he understands its meaning, when he rediscovers himself within it, he becomes a sage.113 We can also acknowledge the element of conversion as central for the Pythagoreans. The members of their brotherhood considered purification and change as the fundamental goal of philosophizing. We can suspect Orphic inspirations here, which, as some judge, exercised an enormous influence upon shaping the currents of ancient philosophy.114 Therefore there is nothing strange about seeing it in a similar form in Empedocles, author of the Purifications, who was placed by Diogenes Laertius, probably not by accident, in the same book (VII) as the Pythagoreans. Independent of the differences between particular schools, the end-point of philosophical conversion is the state of natural good. As Leo Strauss writes, the first philosopher was the person who discovered nature.115 We can confidently say that at the foundations of philosophy there lies the distinction between the naturally good and that which is good by the force of particular habits or mandatory conventions.116 Philosophy born from reflection on nature came into being and developed in conflict with whatever passed for normal or inherited. What this means is that the nature discovered by the Greeks was in some way “unnatural”, meaning, different from and foreign to whatever passes as normal or ordinary. Following the discovery of nature comes consciousness of our belonging to nature, the necessity of thinking about man within the perspective of the whole of the world. This is why we should stress how the discovery of nature equals the constant presence of a revolutionary negation in philosophy that is complemented by a conservative tendency which expresses itself in searching for, and striving for, a recovery of a partially forfeited identity. As Hadot observes, in the Latin word conversio there are two Greek elements in ostensible conflict. The first is the idea of a change of direction, which clearly suggests a return to oneself or a return to one’s sources (epistrophe). The second is the idea of a radical change and 112 Cf. D.L., IX.5, op. cit., p. 377. 113 Cf. Adam Krokiewicz, Zarys filozofii greckiej [An Outline of Greek Philosophy], Warszawa: Aletheia, 1995, p. 519. 114 Cf. Ibid., p. 54nn. 115 Leo Strauss, op. cit., p. 81. 116 Ibid., p. 82.

63

rebirth, of a complete change of one’s present manner of thinking (metanoia).117 The conservative element within conversion, set upon a factual continuation and search for identity, is interwoven with a proclamation of a total rupture with what is corrupted and unnatural. The ancient philosopher is always simultaneously priest and rebel, conservative and rebellious scoffer. On the other hand his student is someone who with great difficulty traverses the line that divides the ordinary from the natural.

Man against the Backdrop of the Whole It would be difficult to overlook the popularity which two seemingly unconnected disciplines enjoyed among the ancient philosophers: astronomy and the theory of music. This interest grew out of the conviction that with their mediation the philosopher could perceive an unperturbed image of the action of the reasonable cause which rules all of reality. The laws governing the movement of the planets and the mathematical proportions of musical harmony discovered by the Pythagoreans were supposed to constitute two different manifestations of the existence of the same universal principle. The deep impact that accompanied the discovery of musical harmony inspired faith in the existence of a reasonable (which does not mean personal) principle which orders, unifies and explains the whole world and the entirety of our experience. The judgment that the world in its basic structure is not chaos but order constitutes the foundation of theological metaphysics. From the times of Diogenes of Apollonia explaining reality is tantamount to answering the question, “Why and for what reason does it exist?” The causal explanations of the physicists (which explain “How did it come to be?”) dodged explaining the intimations of order in the underlying substrata of the reality which surrounds us, “Such a distribution would not have been possible without mind, that all things should have their measure: winter and summer and night and day and rains and winds and periods of fine weather; other things also, if one will study them closely, will be found to have the best possible arrangement.”118 Indeed, voicing the criticism in antiquity that the invocation of purpose as an argument for the existence of an intelligent principle is anything but an example of proving one’s own assumptions would not have won special applause. Democritus was not mistaken when he quipped that both comedy and tragedy are made up of the same letters, however, the creation of such works

117 Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 79–144. 118 Diog. Apoll. fr. 64b3, cited in: Giovanni Reale, op. cit., p. 129.

64

cannot be explained by any mechanical jumbling of letters in a cosmic hat.119 On the one hand, the purposefulness of the world seems like a settled fact; on the other, explaining away the purposefulness which really fascinated the philosophers—for example, the build of the human body—by random collections of atoms seemed simply incredible, if not stupid.120 Take Cicero’s opinion for example, “I am thinking for instance of the fallacious theory of Democritus—or was it his predecessor Leucippus?—which would have us believe only in minute particles, some rough, some smooth… and that from these particles have been created the heavens and the earth, not by any natural force but merely by a sort of accidental collision!”121 An authentically universal principle effectively explains the nature of all manifestations of being, because it gives an answer to the question, “For what reason does it exist?”, therefore indirectly also the question, “How should they be?” For the purposes of our present argument let’s assume that the world, state or soul are only fragments of the one nature. Their perfection will become equivalent to the state that fully reflects the laws governing the cosmos. Within the order of the stars and the proportions of music a kind of fundamental instruction is inscribed. Astronomy allows us to gain knowledge about it, whereas philosophy deciphers and translates it into realities that are not cosmic. The harmony of the spheres, the justice of a soul, and the accord reigning in a state are all the same pattern read in three different ways; it is the pattern in perfect accord with nature, it is three different manifestations of the good. We always discover the same principle when we discover harmony. Pythagoras taught the following: “[V]irtue is harmony, and health, and universal good, and God; on which account everything owes its existence and consistency to harmony.”122 This is the reason why ancient philosophers illustrated their moral discourses with examples drawn from physics with such great ease.123 Whenever we talk about a general law, then its mechanisms can be investigated using examples taken equally from the worlds of men, animals or the elements. The unity of nature makes it difficult to say whether Plato’s Republic is a political work or a treatise about the soul. In

119 Cf. Democr., fr. A9. 120 Cf. A.H. Armstrong and R.A. Marcus, Christian Faith and Greek Philosophy, London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1960, also Min. Fel., Oct. 17–19. 121 Cic.,Nat. deor. I.24.66, quotation from: Cicero, On the Nature of Gods, trans. Horace Cecil Pancras McGregor, New York: Penguin Classics, 1972, p. 95–96. 122 D.L. VIII.33, op. cit., , p. 351. 123 Cf. Aristotle’s observations about friendship in: EN 1151b1–12 and 1159b15–24.

65

the great majority of similar instances this question just does not make sense.124 Whatever philosophy is occupied with at any given time, it never loses sight of the whole. Thus, we must be careful not to commit a cardinal error. Philosophers are interested in the whole, not in everything. This is a very important distinction: whatever might be the object of their research, they have the whole in mind, which relates us to the unity of the universe. Philosophy discovers in everything what really exists and what can be known. The whole is not everything; instead, it is the perspective from which everything becomes comprehensible. With the exception of the Physicists and Skeptics there was a consensus in the ancient world: the reign of the principle of reason extends over the entire universe. However, the order—for example as seen in the cosmos—is an imperfect order. The world that surrounds us is deprived of the harmony so perfectly present in the movement of the heavenly bodies. For some reason the nature of direct sensual reality hampers the spontaneous realization of the natural order. Some error, evil or contamination prevents our mutable reality from fully submitting itself to the rule of the overarching principle. The main suspects are the sensual building blocks; either matter which does not submit to form, or some material resistant to the will of the demiurge—it is enough to say that the laws reigning in the whole universe are not fully respected down here. The sub-lunar world, as it’s been called since Plato and Aristotle, suffers from a disturbance that manifests itself in the lack of identity between that which is natural and that which is ordinary. The philosophers discover the lack of natural harmony with every glance; it is lacking in our bodies, senses, souls, social life and institutions. Even though the philosophers are themselves entangled in matter, they constantly turn their gaze upon the cosmic picture of harmony, harboring the hope of realizing it in the frustrated, changeable and crippled sub-lunar world.125 Thales contemplating the heavens is a symbol of this effort to discover nature, an effort that initiates a great return—the philosophical transformation of man. By discovering the whole the philosophers discovers himself against the backdrop of the whole,126 and he learns that the most tragic symptom of the dissonance between nature and the ordinary (the sub-lunar world), is the state in 124 In antiquity there were already debates about what is the main object of specific philosophical works. For example Diodotos, one of the interpreters of Heraclitus, claimed that, “the subject of the book is not natural philosophy, but politics; and that all that is said in it about natural philosophy, is only by way of illustration.” Cited in: D.L.,IX.15–16, op. cit., p. 381. 125 Pl., Ti. 47b-c. 126 Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 97.

66

which man finds himself. His natural state is perfection and happiness, whereas, as we can see with the naked eye, perfection is not given to him. If it is achievable at all, it is always a toilsome task. Giovanni Reale is right when he says that without cosmology, without a concept of order, goal and nature there would be no ancient anthropology and ethics.127 The philosophy of nature precedes the philosophy of man not only historically, but also logically. The transference of philosophy from the heavens to the earth is not a gesture of turning one’s back on nature, but the discovery of our place in nature. There are two basic elements within this act: on the one hand, the birth of the tragic consciousness of losing one’s way, and on the other, a conviction about the possibility of discovering unerring pointers for regaining the state of natural harmony. This task was acknowledged as the main function of philosophy. It is supposed to discover the aim of man and equip him with a method which makes the achievement of this goal possible. This is precisely why philosophy taken as a conversion of existence and knowledge cannot exist without the justification provided by a picture of the whole and the place of man within a teleologically ordered nature—what Heraclitus calls the common.128 The existence of the order described by teleological philosophy builds the foundation for the absolute character of philosophy’s verdicts. It is an objective order, immutable, and totally independent of any subjective coloring whatsoever. Happiness, conceived as the possession of the goods proper to human nature, is a state of objective perfection, and therefore objective wisdom, utility, and happiness; it is totally independent, and usually distant from wide-spread notions about these matters.129 The concept of human nature becomes a universal criterion and there is not place in it for any voluntarism or particularism. The fact that we participate in a goal-oriented nature means that—whether we realize it or not—our choices have objective consequences. When happiness is the natural result of ethically proper actions, then degeneration, stupidity, evil and existential triviality are the automatic results of choosing merely apparent goods. 127 Giovanni Reale, op. cit., p. 138. 128 This is what he says in a famous fragment: “That is why one must follow that which is common [i.e., universal. ‘Common’ means ‘universal’]. Though the account [logos] is common, many live, however, as though they had a private understanding.” Heraclit., fr. B2, quotation from: Heraclitus, Heraclitus: Fragments, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1987, p.11. Cf. also Heraclit, fr. B50. 129 The paradoxes from Plato’s Gorgias 476a nn can constitute an exemplary instance of this. The thesis which shocked Socrates’ interlocutors that to be wronged is better than causing harm, is explained in the categories of objective and spiritual happiness.

67

Natural sanction is more certain than any imaginable interior sanction, because it is ineluctable. The natural reward is happiness; the natural punishment is selfdegradation. It is difficult to overlook how highly this positions knowledge, which is supposed to mark-out all our means and goals. A teleologically organized realty constitutes the basic principle of the rationality of our actions. The only frame for a final justification of our choices is reference to a reality which is organized in a goal-oriented manner. Only acting according to the goal is natural, good, and at the same time reasonable. Without the concept of a goal the meaning of the concepts of the good, reasonable action and utility all disappear. Without the existence of an absolute order of goods an absolute ethic is not possible—we have to part with not only the hope for perfection understood as the realization of a natural goal, but also with the hope for any comprehensibility of the choices taken by us. Therefore order must exist, but it also must be known. Absolute ethics cannot exist without an absolute epistemology. Only a complete interpretation of the world in the categories of a reasonable and teleological causality gives us hope of discovering the order of everything, and within its frames, pointers related to what is best for us.130 This leads to two fundamental conflicts in ancient philosophy: the controversies started by the Physicists and the Skeptics.131 These conflicts became especially heated when the opposing sides did not want to abandon their ambitions to construct a rational and purposeful ethics.

Man as the Whole (Integral Conversion) The question now revolves around whether the philosophy we are discussing here is not just some small part of ancient philosophy, specifically, whether it is an insignificant part of it concerned with a practical philosophy devoted to reflection upon human life. After all, since the time of Pythagoras philosophy has also been defined as examination, theoria, meaning, a disinterested contemplation of nature, disengaged from immediate practical goals.132 One wonders: does the understanding of philosophy as the process of spiritual conversion ignore the division of philosophy into theoretical and practical philosophy so typical since the times of Aristotle?133

130 Cf. Pl., Phd, 97b nn. 131 An excellent discussion of the aporias of Democritan ethics can be found in Giovanni Reale, op. cit., p. 124–126. 132 D L. VIII.8, op. cit., p. 338–359. Cf. Cic., Tusc. V.3.8–9. 133 D.L. V.28.

68

Juliusz Domański, in his studies of ancient philosophy, reconstructed three of its most basic models. According to him, depending on whether the ethical or physical (that is, theoretical) element is at the top of the hierarchy, we can distinguish praxis-oriented, theoretical and mixed models of philosophy. This seems to imply that none of these forms is superior to the others. However, regardless of the place and value attributed to theory and practice, in none of the three models do these elements appear in isolation. There is no purely practical or purely theoretical ideal of philosophy.134 The goal of philosophizing is the total perfection of human nature, independently of whether it is crowned by contemplation or the practice of virtue—these elements are inseparable. Man seen upon the background of the whole of nature is in turn treated as a whole. Even systems where the bond with the body is thought to be totally accidental do not halt their efforts to master the body and to realize the natural order within the body. The transformation of man is concerned with all aspects of his being. The concept of natural perfection constitutes the essential unity of ethics, epistemology, and ontology. Progress in the transformation of an individual expresses itself in mutually conditioned moral, cognitive and existential development. The more perfect a person is the closer he is to the natural goal, he is all the more ethically efficient, he knows better and he is, if you will, fuller ontically. Can framing the matter in this way be reconciled with the division of philosophy into physics, ethics, and logic as introduced by Xenocrates?135 It appears that of all these elements only ethics has a subjective or practical dimension, because it is actually realized by people. The distinction between philosophy and philosophizing might be helpful in resolving this dilemma. By philosophy we should mean an objectified method of spiritual conversion; by philosophizing we should mean the continuous act, the uninterrupted effort of a philosophical life in all of its manifestations. This is because the philosophical life is in the same degree the realization of ethics, physics and logic. Pierre Hadot recalls the division the Stoics introduced, that of philosophical discourse and philosophy itself.136 Physics, ethics and logic are part of philosophical discourse, separated solely for logical and pedagogical reasons, but they describe aspects of one and the same reality and serve the same goal. This is how Hadot summarizes it, “But philosophy itself—that is, the philosophical way of life—is no longer a theory divided into parts, but a unitary act, which consists in living logic, physics and ethics. In this case, we no longer study logical 134 Cf. Juliusz Domański, “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy], op. cit., p. 8–24. 135 Cf. S.E., M. 7.16. 136 Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 266–267.

69

theory—that is, the theory of speaking and thinking well—we simply think and speak well. We no longer engage in theory about the physical world, but we contemplate the cosmos. We no longer theorize about moral action, but we act in a correct and just way.”137 All attempts to objectify ancient philosophy, attempts to tear it away from its strictly existential character serve to merely petrify it through an anachronistic division into independent philosophical disciplines. Autonomous discourse about Stoic physics or the achievements of Platonic linguistics is like a description of the brain or liver without connecting them to their functions in the human organism. The problem of philosophy’s unity, something looming ever so starkly today, was unknown to the ancients, precisely because of philosophy’s existential dimension. Philosophy was a transformation that allowed for the attainment of the natural happiness which is open to man. This is precisely why philosophy was an integral act, an act which engages all aspects of our humanity. The unity of the world and the unity of the goal for which the whole person strives means that philosophical disciplines cannot be separated from each other, just as we should not make the various aspects of spiritual transformation independent. An autonomous ethics is an idea just as silly as the idea of a sage (somebody who is happy) who does not know the truth. If we say that according to the ancients you cannot just play a Bach cantata, you must also know the score, then we would be belaboring the obvious. The difference is that the ancients would have added the observation that you cannot only know them.

Change and Permanence The formal structure of philosophy can be further fleshed out with an important material characteristic. Philosophical conversion occurs within the field of the antinomy of change/permanence, which characterizes the tension between the starting point and the endpoint of the person striving toward wisdom. The endpoint, happiness, was universally understood as the act of possessing the highest sum of the goods proper to man.138 The condition of happiness was therefore, obviously, the character of that which a man actually possessed. Permanence is the basic quality inherent in the nature of intellectual goods. This is why virtue and contemplation (understood as forms of spiritual possession) of the unchanging essence of things are the objective guarantee of the most lasting type of

137 Ibid., p. 267. 138 Cf. Władysław Tatarkiewicz, O szczęściu [On Happiness], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1985, p. 20.

70

happiness.139 Man’s unhappiness comes from his turning his sight away from the necessary and universal (or, at the very least, comparatively lasting), and his turning toward everything which is characterized by change, decay and death. The diagnosis of philosophy (frequently called the medicine of the soul140) connects all the dismal aspects of human life with man’s fatal turning toward the side of the transient. The two basic types of passions—the ones connected to desiring changeable goods and the ones connected to worrying about losing them—are the tragic symptoms of spiritual illness. The desire for wealth, power, beauty, popularity or success can never be satisfied and even when they are attained they never give us the sense of permanence. The passions destroy our happiness. As Socrates said, the chase after apparent goods is essentially just like carrying water in a sieve.141 The unavailability of certain goods and the spiral of insatiable desire on the one hand (individual), and the image of a conflagration consuming a granary or of the ingratitude of the crowd on the other (social), are the basic images of a human life consumed by unquenchable desire, uncertainty, and fear. The nature of desired goods dictates the nature of our life, which is also fleeting, fills us with the greatest of all passions: the fear of death. Therefore the diagnosis is gloomy and the transformation offered by philosophy accomplishes itself within the perspective of an unavoidable (without the saving cure) destruction, enslavement, disease, animality and non-existence. The medicine of the soul promises freedom, self-sufficiency, and happiness, which is the freedom from the passions, independence from what does not depend upon us, and the hope of possessing the goods which cannot be taken away by anyone. This was the common promise of the philosophers; the same was said by the Epicureans, Stoics, and even the Skeptics.

139 The subjective guarantee of the absolute permanence of happiness is constituted by the unchangeableness, permanence, and immortality of the human soul. 140 This understanding of philosophy was propagated by Pl.. Cf. Grg. 464b, Tht. 167a, and Ti. 87c. It was taken up by Aristotle, cf. EN 1105b13–17; and after him by the whole of the ancient world. Healing, nursing, and the hospital are the typical metaphors that served to describe the tasks of philosophy. Cf. Juliusz Domański, Erazm i filozofia [Erasmus and Philosophy], op. cit., especially the chapter, “Filozofia jako ‘medicina animi’ a wolność filozofa” [Philosophy as ‘Medicina Animi’ and the Freedom of the Philosopher], p. 79–82. 141 Cf. Pl., Grg. 493b-c.

71

Why is it that, as the philosophers so gladly repeated after the Orphics, if we are souls trapped in bodies, we do not ignore our bodily prisons or graves?142 Why does philosophy treat man as a psychophysical whole? How to explain the fact that when the soul discovers its spiritual identity, it does not become indifferent to the fate of the body, negligently allowing the passions to do as they please? There is no such negligence because responsibilities toward the body come from the discovery of the simultaneous opposition and dependence of the spiritual with the bodily. Man—through whom runs the boundary of ontological oppositions—can only have one ruler. When reason sleeps, the passions enslave the mind, by making it their servant they degrade it and destroy it in practice.143 Happiness is the possession of that which we desire, so long as we do not desire anything evil. Philosophers discovered early that, “It is not better for people to get all that they want!”144 Or as Cicero put is, “nor is it so miserable not to obtain what you will, than to will to obtain what you ought not.”145 Man is like a rider on a horse, that is, even though in truth they form a somewhat accidental totality, the rider controls his mount and the horse does not take the rider where the horse wants to go. If we do not secure the rule of reason over the whole of existence then reason will be sabotaged and the whole person will be reduced to the level of the passions. Therefore, an existential reduction will take place, an animalization that is characterized by moral and epistemological corruptions. There is no place for compromise, the rule of one element occurs at the price of the other, “It is difficult to fight passion (one’s heart), for whatever it wishes it buys at the price of the soul.”146 Each of us, like young Hercules at the crossroads of the story told by Socrates, must choose either virtue or pleasure.147

142 Cf. Pl., Cra. 400c; Clem. Al., Str., III.3.17.1–2. When characterizing the state of the soul in the body Aristotle uses the macabre image of an Etruscan torture that consisted in tying the bodies of the dead to the bodies of the living. Cf. Arist., Protr., fr. 107. 143 The only exception known to me is the libertine sect described by Irenaeus (Adv. haer. I.6.2–3) which combined an ontological dualism with a belief about the total freedom of the soul toward the body, so much so, that some of the perfect were permitted debauchery. Cf. Hans Jonas, The Gnostic Religion, Boston: Beacon Press, 2001, p. 275–276. 144 Heraclit., fr. B110 op. cit., p. 65. 145 Cited in: Augustinus, De Trin. XIII.5.8, quotation from: Augustine, On the Trinity: Books 8–15, trans. Stephen McKenna, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002, p. 112. 146 Heraclit., fr. B85, op. cit., p. 53. 147 X., Mem. II.1.21–34.

72

The details of our picture of the goal of philosophizing will depend upon our view of human nature, which will determine the character of the highest good and the degree of man’s unavoidable dependence upon the body. We can assume that for all philosophers that highest good is a spiritual good, a state of internal harmony that expresses itself through the rule of reason over the passions. For the extremists, it will take the form of a cosmic order victorious over disorder and immorality.148 For everyone it will be the state of the highest spiritual freedom available to man, an internal independence understood as the state of an optimally lasting happiness. This theme expresses itself with equal force in Socrates, Plato, just as it does in the Cynics, Epicureans, and the Stoics. The common ideal is a perfect self-sufficiency, a life based upon a foundation that is reasonably lasting and independent of the vicissitudes of life, from the general ontological impermanence of sensual goods. Perfection understood as independence leads to the judgment that the happiness and unhappiness of man is essentially the state of his soul. As Democritus put it, “Happiness, like unhappiness, is a property of the soul.”149 You can search for permanence and immutability in the soul (not in the world of the senses) because it is where authentic delight, freedom, control, and the good are to be found.

Philosophy as a Spiritual Exercise Philosophical transformation is neither easy nor definitive. When Hercules gives his hand to virtue he does not thereby take possession of it. The famed Diogenes of Sinope, the first to call philosophy an exercise,150 ostensibly mocked the automatism of ritual purifications.151 Diogenes is not an isolated case. All the philosophical schools, even though they defined health differently and differed in their methods of healing, agreed that the cure of the soul takes a long time. Philosophy, as Pythagoras is said to have told Leon of the Phliasians, is the skill of striving for wisdom.152 Just like any other skill, it must be perfected. From 148 “Yes, Callicles, wise men claim that partnership and friendship, orderliness, selfcontrol, and justice hold together heaven and earth, and gods and men, and that is why they call this universe a world order, my friend, and not an undisciplined worlddisorder.” Pl., Grg. 507e-508a, op. cit., p. 852. 149 Democritus also says, “Happiness does not dwell in flocks of cattle or in gold. The soul is the dwelling place of the (good and evil) genius.” Both quotes cited in: Giovanni Reale, op. cit., p. 124. 150 D.L. VI.70, op. cit., p. 243. 151 Ibid. VI.42, p. 232. 152 Cic., Tusc. V.3.8–9.

73

this perspective, says Plato, “Now, it looks as though the other so-called virtues of the soul are akin to those of the body, for the really aren’t there beforehand but are added later by habit and practice [spiritual exercises].”153 The systematized practice of Stoic, Epicurean, and Platonic was based upon methods of work upon the soul and grew out of the conviction that the basic problem of spiritual transformation is its permanence and that spiritual progress has a differentiated and gradual structure. The constant repetition of the exercises, adjusting them to the level of spiritual development, and their engagement of a person on all sides meant that conversion became the second, that is, proper nature. The spiritual masters took to heart the opinion of Democritus who taught that, “Nature is similar to teaching, since teaching transforms a man and by transforming him creates a new [second] nature.”154 There is an understanding of the role of habit (ethos) at the root of spiritual exercises, which, if we are to believe Krokiewicz’s interpretation, was already discovered by Heraclitus.155 The habit that leads to happiness, the habit of denying the heart (the realm of passions) and degrading pleasures, is the foundation of the developed concept of virtue conceived as fitness or ability (dynamis). What’s interesting is that habit is also an important element of theoretical knowledge156, which, much like virtue, the Greeks included in the wider category of abilities (dynameis). Therefore the art of properly grasping the essence of things is an ability, which, just like any art, can be perfected. This is an important qualification, which capably reflects the teleological paradigm of Greek thinking. Just like all of reality and all dynameis, knowledge and acting has its goal-oriented dimension, its proper function. The art of building ships, leading an army, the art of playing a cither, the art of healing are all different types of abilities, whose more perfect use requires the proper kinds of exercises.157 The essence of spiritual exercises is therefore the gradual perfection of man in realizing the functions proper

153 Pl., R. 518d, op. cit., p. 1136. 154 Democr., fr. B33, cited in: Nikolaos Bakalis, Handbook of Greek Philosophy: From Thales to the Stoics: Analysis and Fragments, Victoria BC: Trafford Publishing, 2006, p. 99. 155 Cf. Adam Krokiewicz, Zarys filozofii greckiej [An Outline of Greek Philosophy], op. cit., p. 149. 156 Arist., EN 1103a15, op. cit., p. 23: “Intellectual virtue owes its origin and development mainly to teaching, for which reason its attainment requires experience and time; virtue of character is a result of habituation [ethikai from ethos], for which reason it has acquired its name through a small variation on [ethos].” 157 Ibid. 1098a5.

74

to him qua human being. The realization of these, that is, their able and proper use, constitutes a specific type of good, a spiritual good, whose possession is synonymous with happiness. Therefore the task of philosophy is to tear man away from unconsciousness, to wake him, to put his life under question, and then, while leading him through the succeeding phases of spiritual development, to protect him from the reefs of impermanence and doubt. The authentic doctor begins by awakening consciousness, by convincing the patient that he is sick. This is, we can assume, one of the functions of paradox: wonder, which opens up one’s eyes up to the truth. This is how Socrates saw the starting-point of his therapy. It is the reason why Socrates is like a torpedo-fish which paralyzes the confidence of so many of those who approach him158, the birth, during an incidental conversation, of the consciousness of a factual ignorance and the evanescence of goods for which people strive, and finally a brutal examination of conscience which allows one to discover, as Alcibiades acknowledges with extraordinary honesty that “my life isn’t worth living!”159 This, however, is only the beginning. Spiritual development is a slow achievement. As Pierre Hadot demonstrates in his wonderful study, paideia always takes a concrete person into consideration.160 The set and scope of the exercises depends upon the actual stage of development and the intellectual attunement of the student. Philosophy is the perfecting of the whole person, therefore we must remember the mutual conditioning of the exercises. Even though they are concerned with various aspects of human existence, they are parts of an overall personal development. In some sense logic has the quality of a moral exercise, whereas battling with the passions is an element of epistemological development. Reason cannot submerge itself in contemplation if the desiring part of the soul is in chaos. This is the elementary level of the tie between epistemology and ethics.161 Putting an end to the rebellion of the passions not only cures the soul of anxiety, but it also is the necessary condition for the proper functioning of reason. Moral asceticism must be understood as part of the cognitive cure and vice-versa. We should also remember that the exercises deal with different aspects of one and the same person and the development of the aspects tends in principle to be parallel. All the exercises are meticulously selected for their aptitude or, to put it another way, usefulness. The principle of selecting the instruments is their 158 Pl., Men. 80a. 159 Pl., Smp. 216a, op. cit., p. 55. 160 Cf. Pierre Hadot, op. cit., especially the chapter “Spiritual Exercises”, p. 81–126. 161 Ibid., p. 81–83.

75

effectiveness. There must be enough instruments/exercises and they must be practiced in such a wide range that the transformation will change the whole person. Therefore, when we determine what human nature is, that is, when we will know by what properly conducted functions human perfection is realized, then happiness will become the criterion of choosing the exercises—thus, paradoxically, also the criterion of the reasonableness of the teachings. This is the reason why the concept of nature decides about the various canons of education proper to the different philosophical schools, and simultaneously fulfills the role of a negative criterion that demonstrates what is not worth knowing. One of the sharpest pejorative designations is that of futility, that is, of inutility. The only one worse characterization is harmfulness. The former is connected to the conviction that happiness must be reached by the most reasonably short road without wasting precious time. These motives probably stand behind the decision of the stoic Aristo of Chios, who rejected logic and physics162, or Socrates, so often praised for his negative attitude toward the natural sciences.163 When Diogenes of Sinope calls Platonism “empty pride”, he probably had in mind the futility, which, according to him, characterized most of the Platonic exercises.164 However, when Heraclitus or Plato rail against the poets they have in mind something like antiexercises—the strengthening of spiritual degeneracy. Futility is not at stake here, instead, they are concerned with harm. On the other hand, some exercises can become acknowledged as an indispensable condition of transformation. “That’s because you neglect geometry”165, Socrates accuses Calicles, whereas Xenocrates turns back a pupil who does not know music, geometry and astronomy telling him to, “Be gone, for you have not yet the handles of philosophy”, or according to another, more brutal, version, “Be gone, for I do not card wool here.”166 Even though this might sound iconoclastic, we can confidently say that the ancient philosophers were not interested in music, geometry, physics, semiotics or whatever else. The philosophers were interested in happiness. Neither the advocates of the astronomical enthusiasm of Thales, nor their opponents were interested in astronomy for itself. After all, pure zeal for the curiosities of astronomy produces fruitless knowledge, for “we can know nothing about such things, or, even if we knew all about them, such knowledge would make us neither better

162 D.L. VII.160–161, op. cit., p. 318. 163 Ibid. II.21, p. 65. 164 Ibid. VI.24, p. 226. 165 Pl., Grg. 508a, op. cit., p. 852. 166 D.L. IV.10, op. cit., p. 156.

76

nor happier”167, so said an opponent of these types of studies, and in principle it found a resonance in the words of their proponent, who said, “First of all we must not think that there is any other aim in knowledge of heavenly phenomena, whether in combination [with other subjects] or in isolation, than peace of mind and firm assurance.”168 This is how astronomy, in cooperation with rhetoric, can be, for example, an exercise in taming the passion for fame, limiting pride, which lie at the foundation of so many human miseries. The majestic spectacle of cosmic harmony gives resources, which when repeatedly meditated upon, will establish a disdainful stance toward the spectacular triviality of human ambitions and the impermanence of earthly accomplishments.169 The matter was much the same with all the disciplines that the ancients included in philosophy’s circle of interests: logic, natural sciences or even rhetoric (which was meant to teach how to use the human imagination to gain control over the passions). The Pythagorean brotherhood was the first to create a canonical method of philosophical transformation. Studying was accompanied by the practice of individual poverty, silence and abstinence during the period of the introductory exercises.170 We also know that Pythagoras recommended to his pupils a type of continually renewed ethical auto-reflection, “It is said that he used to admonish his disciples to repeat these lines to themselves whenever they returned home to their houses, ‘In what have I transgressed? What have I done? What that I should have done have I omitted?’”171 We can surmise that a similar role was played by the Pythagorean study of music, mathematics, and astronomy, namely, they allowed thanks to meditation upon the order revealed by them, the soul of the philosopher increasingly to resemble that order. We will not consider more types of exercises. The constant effort of attention directed at oneself, the continual coming to know oneself and contemplation of the whole of the world, Stoic meditation upon the triviality of unavoidable misfortunes, or the Epicurean meditations which discover the joy of existence through meditating upon past and future pleasures, are just a few of the many activities which led philosophical novices toward a state of inner freedom. We should however turn our attention to the importance 167 Cic., Rep. I.19.32, in: On the Commonwealth and On the Laws, trans. James E.G. Zetzel, Cambridge: Cammbridge University Press, 1999, p. 15. 168 Epicur., Ad. Pyth., § 85. Cited in: R.W. Sharples, Stoics, Epicureans and Skeptics: An Introduction to Hellenistic Philosophy, New York: Routledge, 1996, p. 14. 169 An example of using astronomy as this type of spiritual exercise is the unusually popular “Scipio’s Dream” which concludes Cicero’s On the Commonwealth. 170 D.L. VIII.10, op. cit., p. 342. 171 Ibid. VIII.22, p. 347.

77

this understanding of philosophy gave to schooling and the important role it gave to the authority of a spiritual master. A.D. Nock answers the question why philosophical schools played such a substantial role in the spiritual history of antiquity with the following: “Firstly, they offered intelligible explanations of phenomena. The Greek was naturally inquisitive, and the intellectual and political ferment of the fifth century had left many open questions. Secondly—and this is a point of cardinal importance—the schools offered a life with a scheme. One of the terms for a school of philosophy, whatever its kind, is agoge, which means way of teaching and way of living.”172 As Ilsetraut Hadot writes, “Ancient philosophy was, above all, help with life’s problems and spiritual guidance, and the ancient philosopher was, above all, a spiritual guide.”173

Christianity as Philosophy Therefore, philosophy does not exclusively appear as a competing truth, but also as a way of life that competes with Christianity. This changes our way of understanding the relationship between Christianity and philosophy. The philosophies that take the exclusive and full possession of their students are not specialized theories deprived of any ties with life; instead they are a path of conversion and transformation.174 How far philosophy was understood, above all, as the effort of remaking oneself is illustrated by the surprisingly wide range of the definition of what a philosopher is. In ancient times it was customary also to call philosophers all those who do not bring anything new to the theory of a given school, who took up the difficulty of striving for perfection, by living according to the rules set down by the masters.175 As we recall, it was not the call to conversion that elicited the opposition of the philosophers at the Areopagus. Christian metanoia – which leads to salvation, happiness, and perfection – was not seen by them as a religious characteristic of Christianity, on the contrary, it was seen by them as the main characteristic of its philosophical ambitions.176 The question whether Christian writers were aware of the distinctions and differences between the contents of Revelation and the precepts proclaimed

172 Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit., p. 167. 173 Ilsetraut Hadot, “The Spiritual Guide” in Arthur Hilary Armstrong (ed.), Classical Mediterranean Spirituality, New York: Routledge, 1986, p. 444. 174 Cf. A.H. Armstrong and R.A. Marcus, op. cit., p. 176–177. 175 Cf. Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 267–268. 176 As W.A. Meeks, op. cit., p. 23 notes, “in antiquity, conversion as a moral transformation of the individual is the business of philosophy rather than of religion”.

78

by the pagan philosophers is not a serious one. The transcendence of faith and the radical newness of the salvific teachings passed down by Jesus cannot be questioned. Revelation goes beyond the possibilities of human reason and it is a mystery which could not be known without positive revelation. Despite, or rather precisely because of that, many of the early Christian writers considered Christianity to be a philosophy—what’s more, the most perfect, true and unique form of philosophy. Aristedes the Athenian, the author of one of the first works defending the Christian faith, simply called himself a Christian philosopher.177 Starting with the 2nd century after Christ, that is, during the epoch of all the major apologies, the identification of Christianity with philosophy became a popular topic in Christian writing. This opinion was shared by thinkers as diverse as Justin Martyr, called the Philosopher, the founder of a school modeled upon pagan philosophical schools178 and his student Tatian, infamously hostile toward everything Greek. These Christian views endorsed the meta-philosophical structures of philosophy rather than endorsing any specific philosophical school; thus they did not undermine the general achievement of the Greeks.179 This is why the identification of Christianity with philosophy in the lips of Tertullian180 was not the expression of irresponsibility and rhetorical overzealousness (he was conscious of Christianity’s uniqueness), just as it was not an example of a compromise which papers over differences, when it flowed from the pen of Minucius Felix181, who had the reputation of being a Christian Cicero. That this was an acceptable form of thinking is attested to by the fact that Christians used it in their apologies, that is, writings that were in some ways official documents. Thus, for example, Bishop Melito of Sardis wrote to the philosopher and emperor Marcus Aurelius asking him to protect philosophy which, “began with Augustus and has grown to full stature along with the Empire.”182 The identification of Christianity with philosophy became a topic which returned in various forms in Clement of Alexandria, Origen, the Cappadocian Fathers, John Chrysostom, and Evagrius

177 Cf. Aristides the Athenian, Apol., Praef. 178 Cf. Iust., Dial. 8.1. 179 Cf. Tat., Or. 31; 35; 55. 180 Cf. Tert., Pall. 6.2. 181 Cf. Min. Fel., Oct. 20.1. 182 Eus., HE IV.26.7, quotation from: Eusebius, The History of the Church from Christ to Constantine, trans. Geoffrey Arthur Williamson, New York: Penguin Classics, 1989, p. 134

79

Ponticus, just to name only the most outstanding ancient Christian writers.183 We should stress that this idea has both a long history and also a future too. The precursors of the Apologists were the Jews of Alexandria who lived in a Hellenistic environment, especially Aristobulus of Paneas and Philo, who saw the source and crowning of philosophy in the allegorical sense of the Pentateuch.184 The Alexandrian crucible produced a whole series of concepts that fertilized the imagination of Christians far beyond those associated with the Alexandrian catechetical school. The idea of Christianity as a philosophy lost its vitality near the end of the Patristic epoch, only to briefly regain influence over the intellects of some representatives of medieval monasticism, and also medieval and renaissance humanists. Its final disappearance coincided with the death of the ancient understanding of philosophy.185 The identification of Christianity with philosophy has an obvious relation to the functional definition of philosophy, understood as an instrument that leads man to the telos proper to him—perfection. Revelation, as understood by Christian writers, is just such a perfect instrument, the only road, truth and life. Christians frequently stressed the superiority of their teaching both in the theoretical and practical realms.186 This is how Justin Martyr put it confidently, “Our doctrines, then, appear to be greater than all human teaching.”187 Revelation is the crown of philosophy, it is the fullness of truth, the final and full explanation of reality, it shows the man’s real place in the world, his Creator and goal, it brings the good news about salvation and resurrection, and from this it follows that it 183 Anne-Marie Malingrey, «Philosophia». Etude un groupe de mots dans la littérature grecque des Présocratiques au IVe siècle après J.-C., Paris : Klincksieck, 1961. 184 Werner Jaeger, Early Christianity and Greek Paideia, op. cit., p. 29–31 reminds us that already in the 3rd century BC Greek writers such as Hecataeus of Abdera, Megasthenes, and Clearchus of Soli spoke of the Jews as a “philosophical race”. Jaeger goes even as far as speculating that the translation of the Septuagint came from the curiosity of Alexandrian Greeks about the philosophy contained in the Jewish Holy Books. According to Jaeger, Jews, while taking up the title of philosophers did not so much claim pretensions to the pagan heritage, instead, with time, they learned to see themselves and their religion through the eyes of the Greeks. 185 This matter is thoroughly discussed by Juliusz Domański, “Metamorfozy pojęcia filozofii” [Metamorphoses in Understandings of Philosophy], trans. Zofia Mroczkowska, Monika Bujko, in Renesans i Reformacja. Studia z historii filozofii i idei [Renaissance and Reformation. Studies Concerning the History of Ideas], Lech Szczucki (ed.), v. 15, Warszawa: Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii PAN, 1996. 186 Cf. Iust., Apol. II.10; II.13; Tert., Ap. XLVI.7–16. 187 Iust., Apol. II.10.1, op. cit, ANF1, p. 191.

80

realizes the ambitions of philosophy, giving its followers hope for real freedom and the independence of perfected sages. Therefore Christianity is not only the best philosophy, it is the only philosophy, which means that outside of it perfection cannot be attained. As one can see, it is the functional definition of philosophy that justifies the comparison of its effectiveness with the effectiveness of Christianity. The latter parts of this book will be devoted to attempting to explain in what ways Christians proved these theses. Let’s pause for a moment and address a different question. After a first glance one can see that by calling Christianity a philosophy one totally abstracts from the most basic, as it seems to us, difference between philosophy and revealed religion, a difference which is even present when we approve the ancient definition of philosophy as a way of life. This identification seems to ignore each method’s unique way of justifying the tools that lead to perfection. We might agree Christianity’s intentional structures possibly demonstrate an affinity with philosophy; however, this does not change the fact that the procedures of philosophy only refer to human cognitive abilities, whereas the way of faith is something else altogether, because it is justified by Revelation. Is it the case that the early Christians noticed this difference, yet totally ignored it? Does it prove a premeditated and fully conscious manipulation? Should we not explain this as a propaganda technique of the new religion, which had nothing to do with philosophy, but instead had something to do with intellectual honesty? Two factors prevent such conclusions. The first is the fact that when we explain the causes for which Christians insistently underscore this difference (instead of hiding it—as the logic of manipulation would dictate), we would have to utilize the worst hermeneutical technique, that is, to presuppose the inconsequentiality or naïveté of apparently first-rate minds. The second fact is the way in which the declarations of Christianity’s philosophical nature were received. Among the many ancient attacks on Christianity it is difficult to find any which question the possibility of calling Christianity a philosophy. Of course, without stopping themselves from the basest suspicions, the ancients questioned the moral value of the Christian life. Its teachings were mercilessly mocked. All of this was therefore an attack against the conviction that Christianity can be acknowledged as the most perfect form of philosophy. However, nobody questioned the fact (very unconventional for us) that Christianity can be given the label of philosophy.188 188 The matter is complicated by the fact that attacks on Christianity were not the place of meta-philosophical reflections. The criticism was conducted from the positions of concrete philosophical outlooks that painted not only Christianity, but also other philosophical schools, as incomprehensible and undeserving of the label of

81

In other words: according to the ancients, acknowledging Christianity as a philosophy did not seem excessive at all. Why? It is not very convincing to explain this state of things by what is often referred to as the religious character of ancient philosophy.189 The weakness of this explanation has at least two causes. The substantial supra-systemic structure, which is the cause of our identification of Christianity with philosophy, is almost as old as philosophy itself. By following these types of leads we would have to weigh down all of ancient philosophy with the burden of the label “religion”, which seems quite futile. The second eventuality is reserving the label of religious philosophy exclusively for the philosophy of late antiquity. This thesis might be justified by the identification of certain distinguishing qualities, especially the periods increased philosophy. One example is the impassioned speech of Caecilius, one of the protagonists in Minucius Felix’s Octavius (esp.: 8.3–13.5), who considers Christianity to be the quintessence of ignorance and vice (10–12). What matters here is that despite the venom of his speech Caecilius not only does not separate religion form philosophy, but limits himself to critiquing Christianity as a degenerate religion, simultaneously revealing his skeptical sympathies (13), yet he acknowledges Christianity to be a naive, and actually immoral, attempt at practicing philosophy (13.1). The attack of Caecilius seems instead to more properly belong to the history of controversies between Skeptics and Dogmatists (of any stripe), rather than to the conflict between philosophy and religion. This is indeed how Octavius, who answers in the name of the Christians, takes it and proposes the need to deal with the question of determining the criteria of the truth (16.2). This is the reason why, before the accusations of Celsus or Galen, that Christians “believe without rational thought” (Origen, C. Cels. I.9–11, op. cit., p. 12; Gal., UP 11,14) will be acknowledged as a symptom of the controversy between Greek intellectualism and Christianity (Cf. Werner Jaeger, op. cit., p. 32–34). It would be profitable to take a look at Lucian’s Hermotimus, where similar objections are hurled by the Skeptic against the Stoics, Plato and Aristotle, thus as he assures us, “My remarks applied to all alike. I would have said the same things to you if you had joined the school of Plato or Aristotle and condemned all the other untried.” (Lucianus, Herm. 85, in: Lucian, Selected Dialogues, Charles Desmond Nuttall Costa (ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005, p. 127). However, ecclesiastical egalitarianism might have essentially multiplied suspicions that the Christians cared less than others about the intellectual development of their pupils; yet we should remember, as Origen notes in C. Cels. I.10 using arguments known from Lucian’s dialogue, that it was possible to accuse the followers of all philosophical schools of leaning on faith. The convincing argument that we are dealing here with an intra-philosophical argument, seems to be the fact that Galen, seemingly against the logic of his own criticisms, calls the Christians philosophers. Cf. Iust., Apol. II.12 and Tert., Ap. VII.1. 189 Like, for example, John Norman Davidson Kelly, op. cit., p. 14, who said, “Philosophy was the deeper religion of most intelligent people”.

82

appreciation of intuitive knowledge and the growing reservations about creating an intersubjective procedure related exclusively to reason as the sole guide to happiness. I am afraid that in this instance the label “religious” only obscures the crux of the matter, suggesting that the evolution of philosophical stances is a kind of arbitrary, but deplorable, degeneration of rationalism—its descent into religiousness. This suggestion seems wrong-headed to me. We should not lose sight of the fact that the change of the philosophical climate in late antiquity did not occur on the basis of some irrational preferences. During this period philosophical absolutism was going through a serious crisis. When we explain the similarity between philosophy and Christianity through the religious character of the philosophy of that time then it is easy to acknowledge the fact that what is at stake is not the caprices of philosophers who are bored with rational discipline, instead what matters is the state of philosophical research after Skepticism got done with ancient absolutism. Neither Plato, nor Aristotle ever seriously doubted that knowledge of concealed reality was, at the very least within a certain scope, possible. After Pyrrhonism and Academic Skepticism this certainty was replaced by doubt. Since in the next section of this book we will attempt to sketch the landscape of philosophy after Skepticism, for now we will conclude that it seems that the comparison of philosophy and Christianity was something more than just a distant analogy, whereas the argument about the superiority of Christianity could only be properly grounded in the venerable and increasingly significant tradition of proving the veracity of a teaching on the basis of its results.

83

Part II: Witness as Proof The ancient observers of Christianity had good reasons not to protest the packaging of its call to repentance, conversion and transformation as a philosophical etiquette. Even ignoramuses, not to mention those shaping their lives according to the exercises of Plato, Zeno or Diogenes, accepted, without protest, the new topography of the old crossroads, which was always faced by the same Heracles.190 Despite that, the consensus with regard to the picture of philosophy as a path of totally transforming one’s life did not signify a lack of questions and substantial doubts. Trypho, one of the protagonists of Justin’s dialogue, tells his Christian interlocutor to follow Plato or some other philosopher when training in constancy, self-restraint, and moderation, rather than by following Christ, who nobody knows.191 In the preceding chapter we were concerned with establishing the Christian view of philosophy and philosophy’s relation toward Revelation. Trypho’s observation, coming from outside the Church, radically changes this perspective. Trypho knows that the Christians considered their teaching to be the most perfect variety of philosophy. However, in the eyes of Trypho and others (meaning, those looking at Christianity from the outside) this conviction will look like a symptom of simple-minded pride, until they get a substantial answer, formulated in philosophical categories, to the following question: why Christ and not, i.e., Plato, Aristotle or Pyrrho? In order not to fall into a position that is ahistorical in its bias toward Christianity, we should remember that this was the same question asked of representatives of all the philosophical schools, of everyone who donned the mantle of a philosopher and outlined his own picture of the philosophical crossroads. When presenting Christianity as the crown of philosophy, one cannot escape the responsibility of outlining the reasons that justify one’s conviction about the authenticity of the teaching one proclaims. Along with Trypho, we will direct the following question (which we already asked of St. Paul) to the writers from the era of the Apologists: does Christianity also

190 The choice between the path of life and the path of death is the theme of the Didache, one of the oldest monuments of Christian literature, whose earliest versions come from about first century after Christ. The two roads, the path of light and the path of darkness, are also mentioned by the Judeo-Christian author of the Epistle of Barnabas (18.1–21.1), dated to about the year 100 AD. Justin Martyr, among other, refers directly to Xenophon, cf. Apol. II.11.3. 191 Cf. Iust., Dial. 8.3–4.

85

surpass philosophy with the power of its universalizing arguments, the power of reasons which compel one to acknowledge the truth and authenticity of Revelation? From the start we should mention the following: while trying to reconstruct the ways in which Christian writers resolved this matter, we will have to face the fairly widespread opinion that no satisfactory, philosophically formulated, answer has ever been given. The thesis we will defend presupposes, according to a number of Christians, that the fundamental argument (by the standards of ancient philosophy) for the unconditional superiority of the Church’s teachings is constituted by heroic acts of martyrdom, understood as a type of credible witness of the truth of Revelation. The problem is that Christians never fully formulated an argument showing the epistemological status of the witness of a martyr’s death.192 This is why, without forgetting the hypothetical mode of our argumentation, we will attempt to make plausible the thesis that, for many philosophizing pagans, the universal obviousness of certain elements of the ancient conceptual scheme made such an undertaking redundant.

1.  The Concept of Martyrdom Evolution of a Concept The first time the concept of a martyr (martys), in reference to a person who gives his life for Christ and his teachings (martys tou Christou), appears in a way that is indisputable only during the second half of the 2nd century.193 We find it in a letter dated to about 150 from the Smyrnian church describing the martyrdom of St. Polycarp.194 The complicated history of this concept became the basis of an exceptionally stormy controversy with regard to the originality of the 192 Fr. Edward Łomnicki in the conclusion of his article “Męczeństwo jako znak prawdzwości religii chrześcijańskiej w ujęciu apologetów starochrześcijańskich” [Martyrdom as a Sign of the Christian Religion’s Truth in the Understanding of Ancient Christian Apologetes] in Tarnowskie Studia Teologiczne, 7, 1979, p. 80, where he writes, “When ascertaining that the martyrdom of believers in Christ is a sign of the direct intervention of God, and relying upon it as a criterion of the divine origins of the Christian teaching, the early-Christian Apologetes did not work out an argument for justifying the authenticity of Christianity on the basis of the way in which the martyrs accepted death.” 193 Cf. Stanisław Longosz, “Niektóre aspekty teologii męczeństwa w literaturze wczesnochrześcijańskiej” [Some Aspects of the Theology of Martyrdom in Early Christian Literature] in Tarnowskie Studia Teologiczne, 7, 1979, p. 52. 194 Mart. Polycarpi 1–2 in: The Acts of the Christian Martyrs, trans. Herbert Musurillo SJ, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972, p. 3–5. This book, which was also edited

86

Christian conception of martyrdom, which until today has not led to any widely accepted conclusions.195 This matter, within a wider context, is connected with the historical method and the analysis of texts through literary criticism, which sometimes makes scholars to lean toward saying that, “except Christ, there is nothing original in the teaching of the New Testament.”196 We need not add that the basic difference of opinion rests upon defining the weight of that “except”. In Greek, the word martys occurs most frequently in a juridical context and defines a person who communicates his eyewitness account to others.197 The presence of the legal context manifests itself here, because even when we are talking about a person who is giving witness outside any court, his words, to a certain degree, have an official character and strive to establish an objective state of things. In the Bible this basic meaning is not altered, however there the mystery of witness concentrates upon the person and teaching of Christ.198 His is a witness in the fullest sense of the word: he is a faithful witness (Rev 1:5 and 3:14), who came into the world in order to testify to the truth (Jn 18:37) and to give testimony about what he has seen and heard from the Father (Jn 3:11 and 3:32). The object of human witness is the life, death, and, above all, resurrection of Christ. In this sense the only authentic witnesses are the Apostles who participated in these events.199 The modification, or rather the shifting of accents, only relates to the object of witness. While maintaining the traditional meaning of martys and martyrein, the New Testament stresses the specific role of the most important of

195 196 197

198 199

by Musurillo, will be henceforth cited thus: title of the work cited, Musurillo, and the page number(s). After many years of debates Celestino Noce, in the book Il martirio. Testimonianza e spiritualita nei primi secoli, Roma: Edizioni Studium, 1987, p. 19 said the following: “in certo senso, il titolo di martire come tale resta un enigma.” C. Ryder Smith, The Bible Doctrine of the Hereafter, London: Epworth Press, 1958, p. 219. Cf. Glen Warren Bowersock, Martyrdom and Rome, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 13. Fr. Edward Łomnicki, op. cit., p. 75, distinguishes three main meanings of the concept of witness: juridical, related to a person who gives witness in a court of law; historical, a person passing on information about past events; moral, utilized for someone who witnesses about someone else’s merits or virtues. Cf. Xavier Leon-Dufour, Dictionary of Biblical Theology, trans. E.M. Stewart, Ijamsville, MD: Word Among Us Press, 1995. Cf. Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 20 and Hippolyte Delehaye, Sanctus: Essai sur le culte des saints dans l’Antiquité, Bruxelles: Société des Bollandistes, 1927, p. 77.

87

all possible witnesses: that is, the one which is concerned with the matter of the greatest weight—the salvific work of Christ. Around 150AD we encounter a surprising novum. The term witness starts to be applied to Christians who, without being historical witnesses of the life and resurrection of Christ, die as victims of increasingly fierce persecutions. The causes behind this change are the object of very serious academic controversies. Some scholars see an augury of the interpretation that joins witness with suffering and death in two fragments of the New Testament.200 In Rev 2:13, St. John speaks of Antipas as a faithful witness to Christ, Antypas ho maratys mou, ho pistos mou, who was killed. In Acts 22:20 the same title (martyros sou) Paul gives to St. Stephen, much like John he joins witness with the sacrifice of spilled blood.201 It is difficult to achieve a definitive resolution to this problem. The opponents of this interpretation, not without reason, hold that in both instances it only possible to accept the conventional New Testament meaning of martys.202 It is interesting that if until 150AD dying for the faith is not defined by the concept of martyrein203, how after that date it is not only in universal use, but also appears in a strictly defined form. Even though there were some exceptions, the writings from that period respect the distinction between a martyr (martys), who while imitating Christ gave his life for the faith, and a confessor (homologetes), who suffered, but did not sacrifice his life. For example, we see this in the “Letter from Vienne and Lyons” preserved in Eusebius, which related the course of persecutions in Gaul between 177 and 178. Christ is the authentic martyr and

200 Cf. Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 20; also Theofrid Baumeister, Die Anfänge der Theologie des Martyriums, Münster: Aschendorf, 1980, p. 119–136 and 211–228. 201 “And when the blood of your witness (martyros sou) Stephen was being shed, I myself stood by giving my approval and keeping guard over the cloaks of his murderers” (Acts 22:20). 202 Glen Warren Bowersock, op. cit., p. 13–15, thinks Antipas was called a witness not because he was killed, but because he was a witness of Christ who was killed, that is, he was a witness before and independently of his death. In relation to Acts 22:20 he points out how only five verses earlier (22:15) Paul speaks of himself as a witness in the traditional New Testament sense and there is no reason to think that in relation to Stephen this word was supposed to mean something else. At the same time Bowersock agrees that the context in which the word martys appears in this fragment of Acts can be treated as a foreshadowing of its later meaning. 203 The most widely discussed exceptions are: Clem. Rom., Epist. 5.4 and Hermas, Pastor 8.3.7. Cf. Theofrid Baumeister, op. cit., p. 229–247 and 252–256.

88

those who gave their lives for Him, whereas those who suffered for the faith exclusively merited the title of confessors.204 Starting with the third century on, along with the dying down of the wave of persecutions, a further evolution of the concept of witness began to develop. In the writings of Clement, Origen, Cyprian, Jerome, and finally in Augustine and Gregory the Great, the concept of a bloodless and spiritual martyrdom develops. The faithful believer in Christ participates in this kind of witness, over the span of a whole life, also during times free of persecutions, through demanding spiritual exercises, voluntary mortification, prayer and through helping those in need.205 The following fragment from Origen is usually taken to be fullest definition of Christian witness206, “Now every one who bears witness to the truth, whether he support it by words or deeds, or in whatever way, may properly be called a witness (martyr); but it has come to be the custom of the brotherhood, since they are struck with admiration of those who have contended to the death for truth and valor, to keep the name of martyr more properly for those who have borne witness to the mystery of godliness by shedding their blood for it. The Savior gives the name of martyr to every one who bears witness to the truth He declares; thus at the Ascension He says to His disciples, ‘You shall be my witnesses…’”207 Regardless of what caused the surprising metamorphosis of the concept martys, it would be impossible to deny that its Christian interpretation has a deep connection with the Gospel. There can be no doubts that the sources of 204 Cf. Mart. Ludg. 2.2–3, in: Eus., HE V.2.2–3, op. cit., s. 148: “[T]hough they had won such glory and had borne a martyr’s witness not once or twice but again and again, and had been brought back from the wild beasts and were covered with burns, bruises and wounds, they neither proclaimed themselves martyrs nor allowed us to address them by this name: if any one of us by letter or word ever addressed them as martyrs he was sternly rebuked. For they gladly conceded the title of martyr to Christ, the faithful and true Martyr-witness and Firstborn of the dead and Prince of the life of God, and they reminded us of the martyrs already departed, ‘They indeed are martyrs, whom Christ judged worthy to be taken up as soon as they had confessed Him, sealing their martyrdom by their departure: we are nothing but humble confessors.’” 205 Cf. Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 53–55; Fr. Marek Starowieyski, Męczennicy: Ojcowie Żywi [Martyrs: The Living Fathers], IX, Krakow 1991, p. 133–137. 206 It is considered to be such by, among others: Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 21; Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 54. 207 Orig., Comment. in Joann. II.34.210, quotation from: Allen Menzies, ed. The AnteNicene Fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to A.D. 325, Volume X, Peabody MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1995, p. 343.

89

reflection upon persecutions and death for the faith lie in the words and life of Christ. He is the witness par excellence, a faithful witness (martys pistos; Cf. Rev 1:5 and 3:14), and only His calling and grace allows the one who imitates Him to participate in His sacrifice. For example, Jesus says the following to his disciples, “Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it’” (Mt 16:24–25; cf. Mk 8:34–9:1 and Lk 9:23–27). When speaking about his resurrection he stresses, “You are witnesses of these things” (Lk 24:48), and he says to all who will become real witnesses, “Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father” (Mt 10:32). Readiness for suffering and death in the hands of persecutors is an essential element of the Christian’s bond with God, becoming simultaneously a kind of criterion for authentic faith, “No slave is greater than his master. If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you” (Jn 15:20). In light of Christ’s words persecutions are not surprising at all, “They will hand you over to the courts. You will be beaten in synagogues. You will be arraigned before governors and kings because of me, as a witness before them” (Mk 13:9; cf. Mt 10:17–18 and Lk 21:12–13). Awareness that Christians “share in the sufferings of Christ” (1 Pet 4:13) and just like Him they must “suffer for doing good” (1 Pet 3:17), has been with the Church from the beginning. Christ already teaches in the Sermon on the Mount that for his followers “persecuted” is a synonym for “blessed”, “Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you (falsely) because of me” (Mt 5:10–11). Karl Kertelge highlights how righteousness is the cause of persecution. The imitation of Christ is, after all, the fulfilling of God’s will through a righteous life208, in all conditions, all the way up to suffering and dying for the faith. It would make no sense to argue the fact that martyrdom, in the strictly Christological sense, was not known among the pagans or among the Jews.209 This position, for obvious reasons, does not need to be defended, but neither can it, with one exception, be the conclusion to the controversy about martyrdom that has 208 Cf. Karl Kertelge, “Błogosławieni, którzy cierpią prześladowanie dla sprawiedliwości” [Blessed Are the Persecuted for the Sake of Righteousness], trans. Franciszek Mickiewicz SAC, Communio [Polish edition], 5 (41), 1987, p. 31. 209 The fact that martyrdom, in the strictly Christian sense, was not known before Christianity is stressed by Edward Łomnicki, op. cit., p. 75; cf. also Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 51–52.

90

gone one for many years.210 Now the discussion is not concerned with the indubitable fact of uniqueness, but with the degree of dependence of the concept and theology of martyrdom forged by Christians upon Jewish and pagan sources. In many respects the characteristic of the basic vectors of this debate is reminiscent of the debate about the sources of Paul’s speech at the Areopagus.

Jewish Sources The religion of the Old Covenant already fully deserves the label of a religion of martyrdom according to a wide range of scholars.211 The responsibility of witnessing to the truth of the One God and the Law revealed by him, combined with descriptions of the terrible fates of the prophets, can essentially be acknowledged as one of the important qualities of Jewish religious consciousness.212 The Psalmist says, “I will speak openly of your decrees without fear even before kings” (Ps 119:46). The story of the youths in the Book of Daniel (Dan 3) shows that faithfulness to the Law, expressed as a firm stand against the cult of false gods, cannot be repealed even in the face of the harshest trials. The dramatic events, which touched the Jews during the times of Antiochus IV Epiphanes, contributed to the deepening and development of theological reflection upon the meaning of persecutions. The history of Eleazar’s heroic death and the nameless mother along with her seven sons from 2 Maccabees describes the ideal of a steadfast stance of a righteous person.213 These stories, later reworked in 4 Maccabees,214 display the most important characteristics of the Jewish theology of persecution and dying for the Law.

210 The one exception is scholars who do not see a difference between similarity and identity, between a possible connection or dependence and the total lack of originality. 211 Cf. William Hugh Clifford Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Christianity, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965, p. 31 also Wilhelm Bousset and Hugo Gressmann, Die Religion des Judentums im Späthellenistischen Zeitalter, J.C.B. Mohr: Tübingen 1926, p. 374. 212 For example, they can be found in Isaiah. Cf. Isa 43:10 and 53:10–12. 213 The author of this narration is probably Jason of Cyrene whose output reached its peak around 150BC. Cf. Herbert A. Musurillo SJ, The Tradition of Martyr Literature, which is an appendix to The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs: Acta Alexandrinorum, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954, p. 238. 214 Eusebius attributes the second redaction to Joseph, a Syrian Jew who was heavily influenced by Stoicism. Musurillo dates it to the first or second century after Christ. Cf. Herbert A. Musurillo SJ, The Tradition of Martyr Literature, op. cit., p. 239.

91

The Jewish theology of martyrdom is, above all, apocalyptic.215 As they are dying the Maccabean brothers prophesy the resurrection God will give to those who die for His Law (2 Macc 7:9), they speak of a restoration of life that will not be available to the persecutors (2 Macc 7:14), and they warn the tyrant about the punishment that will befall him and his descendants (2 Macc 7:17). The tragic circumstances carry within themselves the promise of a radical change of fate of both the persecutors and their victims, and they foretell the approach of the last judgment. The spiritual sense of the persecutions is, on the one hand, a purification from sins committed by Israel, and on the other, a trial of the faithfulness of the righteous. The sixth brother stresses that even though the persecutions are actually the direct result of the sins of Israel, their perpetrator will not escape punishment, because he dared to fight against God (2 Macc 7:18–19). The persecutions will confirm the fact of individual and national calling. The majesty of the righteous come from their role given to them as ambassadors of God and that is precisely why the persecutors direct their weapons not only against men, but also against the Creator.216 The Maccabee books, inspired by contacts with Hellenism, strike us with their deep wonder at witnesses of heroic death217 and the tendency to present them in the categories of ancient virtue. The first of the brothers, while undergoing torture, assures the king that “We are ready to die rather than transgress the laws of our ancestors” (2 Macc 7:2). The third brother makes everyone marvel at his indifference to suffering (2 Macc 7:12). When under oath the king promises ensures the last living brother that he will not only avoid further torture, but will also gain riches and the friendship of the monarch by denying the Law (2 Macc 7:24–29), his mother dissuaded him and convinced him to persist, and in the end she was also thrown into the fire (2 Macc 7:41). In the eyes of the authors of these books, the victims of Israel’s enemies take on certain features of the

215 Cf. William Hugh Clifford Frend, op. cit., p. 45.; Theofrid Baumeister, op. cit., p. 6–65 and 307. 216 The theme of reward and punishment, alongside the eschatological dimension, also has a temporal meaning. The death that befalls Antiochus shortly after these events is described as a judgment of God (Dan 11:45 and 2 Macc 9:28). The recovered grace of peace is also understood as temporal result of this particular heroic faithfulness to the Law (2 Macc 10:1). 217 This is what Theofrid Baumeister thinks; he joins the Hellenistic influence with the Judaic, and later Christian, conviction that the martyr goes immediately, without waiting like others for the last judgment, before the throne of the Lord. Cf. Theofrid Baumeister, op. cit., p. 307.

92

philosophical sages who chose “preferring a glorious death to a life of defilement” (2 Macc 6:19). We see this clearly in the story of elderly Eleazar, “one of the foremost scribes” (2 Macc 6:18), who persecutors attempt to force him into breaking the dietary prohibitions found in the Law. Eleazar refuses and voluntarily goes to his death (2 Macc 6:19). Before the execution his friends try to encourage him to engage in trickery, which would allow him to avoid both death and sin. During an unlawful ritual meal they give him meat prepared especially for him, instead of meat from sacrifices. Convinced that pretending does not befit his silver hairs Eleazar rejects this proposition. He also believes such subterfuge might mislead the young, whereas by dying he will “leave to the young a noble example of how to die willingly and generously for the revered and holy laws” (2 Macc 6:28). Essentially, his death not only leaves behind an example of faithfulness to the Law, but, as the author concludes, “a model of courage and an unforgettable example of virtue” (2 Macc 6:31). There is no place here relay a detailed picture of the discussion over the degree in which the Christian theology of martyrdom depends upon its Jewish sources. Scholars do not only highlight the numerous conceptual similarities, but also affinities in style, form and terminology in various specific examples of stories about martyrs.218 There are no serious objections anyway to the claim that for the ancient Church the death of the Maccabeans, or the heroes of the Book of Daniel, are a very significant point of reference. Many Christian writers simply treated the Maccabean brothers as Jewish martyrs.219 It seems to me that the essence of this controversy does not revolve around the range of similarities, instead it is concerned with the degree to which the Jewish writings were modified by the life and teaching of Christ. The matter has to do with the telltale “exception” mentioned earlier. To put it succinctly: even though we still find scholars who lean toward rejecting any serious borrowings220, in principle nobody questions the originality of the Christian theology of martyrdom. W.H.C. Frend, an enthusiast of the thesis that there are far reaching dependencies, writes that the Jewish understanding, which stressed the factor of being faithful to the Law, was to a large degree deprived of the positive and universal dimension given to it 218 The matter of literary and conceptual similarities are discussed by, for example, William Hugh Clifford Frend, op. cit., p. 19–22; Cf. Robin Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians, London: Viking Press, 1986, p. 437. 219 Cf. Cypr., Epist. 6.3; Orig., Exhort. 22–27; Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 51. 220 This is what Bowersock, who considers himself to be a continuator of Delehaye and von Campenhausen, does in op. cit., p. 9, by arguing for the possibility of dating 2 Maccabees to the second half of the first century AD.

93

by the idea of imitating Christ.221 Theofrid Baumeister, whose views are close to Frend’s, decidedly states the following in the conclusion to his excellent study, “Christianity does not take over the ready form of the Jewish theology of martyrdom, instead it goes its own way, assimilating simultaneously both the Jewish tradition and singular Hellenistic motifs passed on by Hellenized Jews.222 The scholar also stresses that the uniqueness of the Christian theology of martyrdom resides within the calling of Christ, directed to his disciples, to be ready to follow in his footsteps.223 This calling results in a substantial reinterpretation of the Judaic tradition. Judaic apocalypticism is supplemented by anticipation of Christ’s parousia,224 whereas martyrdom takes its place in the universal mission of the Church, no longer just as an opportunity to profess the faith, but as a way of heralding the Good News.225

The Philosophical Tradition The mysterious evolution of the concept of the martyr—from the typically Greek use of the term in the New Testament to the narrowed down meaning of a person who gives witness through death—resulted in numerous speculations about the role Hellenistic philosophy played in this transformation. Particular attention is paid to the technical utilization of martys in the Diatribes of Epictetus. We will return later to this matter. We will only say that the title martys is given by Epictetus to philosophers possessed by a god. These philosophers show through their disposition a total equilibrium of spirit (ataraksia), and through indifference to external goods they demonstrate their authentic place in the hierarchy of goods. They do this with their whole lives, in every situation, even the most dramatic, not excluding those that threaten with death. Therefore for Epictetus witness is essentially just as much a testimony of words as it is a testimony of deeds. Thus, it is a certain stance, or way of life, which, just like words, serves to express the truth about the objective order of things. For many scholars, Johannes Geffcken can be made a representative of their views, Epictetus constitutes one of the main 221 William Hugh Clifford Frend argues that Judaic martyrdom remained something like Hamlet, but without Prince Hamlet, because of the (in a certain sense) impersonal nature of the Law. He carefully nuances his remarks while also stressing the national dimension, rather than individual or universal, of the sacrifices made by Jewish martyrs. Cf. William Hugh Clifford Frend, op. cit., p. 67–68. 222 Theofrid Baumeister, op. cit., p. 308. 223 Cf. also Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 309. 224 Cf. Theofrid Baumeister, op. cit., p. 309. 225 Ibid., p. 311.

94

sources of the Christian idea of martyrdom226, which recognizes the witness of action (suffering and dying for the faith) as complementary to the witness of the word (professing the faith, teaching about Christ). In the discussion about this matter I would like to point out two (incommensurate in my view) issues. The first, and less interesting, issue deals with the problem of the Christian concept’s dependence upon the its supposed model. The second, which brackets off the question of the concept’s sources, shifts our attention toward the philosophical context that decided about the possibility of viewing acts of martyrdom in categories that were wider than just Christian. From the start, we will say that in both instances a big role is played by the category of witnessing through deeds, which makes the life of the teacher an indispensable element of his doctrine’s credibility. Let’s start with the first issue. We can, along with Geffcken, hold that there are numerous parallels between the literary form of histories about the deaths of pagan philosophers and the relations from martyrdoms of Christians; we can affirm the many similarities between Epictetus’ witness through deeds and the witness of death for Christ without still agreeing it is a sufficient proof that, “Socrates was the first martyr and the Stoics: Thrasea Paetus, Helvidius Priscus and Rubellius Plautus the next.”227 The distinction introduced by the Christians between homologetes (confessor) and martys (martyr) makes an illusion out of the conviction that even the most visible connections between the philosophical witness of deed and the Christian understanding of martys, narrowed down to witness through death, allow, without remainder, to extrapolate the Christian meaning of the concept from the pagan sources. It is not even that there are different motivations of the philosophical and Christian witness, not that there are different contents, nor different objects, of the witnesses given by them. The heart of the matter is that in the non-Christian sources we find no evidence for limiting the title “martyr” only to those who, by imitating Christ, undergo death for the truth revealed by Him.228 The martyr-title cannot be understood without a theology of the cross, and Christian martyrdom cannot be reduced to the philosophical witness through deeds. This is why we must firmly assert – from the

226 Johannes Geffcken, “Die Christlichen Martyrien”, Hermes 45, 1910, p. 496; Hippolyte Delehaye, op. cit., p. 96 held the opposite position. 227 Ibid., p. 494. 228 An exhaustive discussion with Feffcken and Teitzenstein is conducted by Norbert Brox, Zeuge und Märtyrer: Untersuchungen zur frühchristlichen Zeugnis-Terminologie, Munich: Kösel-Verlag 1961, p. 183–192.

95

perspective of the pagan texts – that the mystery of the evolution of the concept martys remains, to a large extent, unresolved.229 The question of witness through deeds will take us much further, once we finish discussing the problem of its sources, when we consider it directly as the immediate conceptual context of the Christian theology of martyrdom. We have sound foundations to believe that while Epictetus created his own original theory of witness by borrowing from an older way of thinking for which the category of witness through deeds, as a form of proof and teaching, was present from time out of mind. Just like, for example, Seneca, for whom the term testis (witness) does not play any systematic role; he talks about Demetrius with wonder that he is not a teacher of the truth, but its witness (Non praeceptor veri, sed testis est).230 As we can see, witness through deeds is not only present here, and as such, does not require commentary, what’s more, it is acknowledged as indubitably superior to other forms of manifesting the truth. For another, somewhat subversive, example of revealing the evidentiary role of testimony, we can reach for a fragment from Cicero’s De Natura Deorum.231 In a discussion concerned with the existence of the gods, Cicero recalls an opinion attributed to Diogenes the Cynic that the 229 Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 22 writes, “Non sono mancati tentativi di riconoscere nozione cristiana di martirio, influssi piu o meno espliciti della tradizione filosofica pagana, sopratutto stoica, ma gli accostamenti sono cosi generice da risultare per lo piu vaghi e poco convicenti.” It is tempting to point toward several causes for the narrowing of the concept of martyrdom: 1) The desire to imitate Christ fully was certainly the most basic impulse. Christ’s death on the cross in the most obvious way defines the character of the witness of His followers. 2) In the 2nd century AD the Church was not very well known to the wider world. The period of persecutions constitutes one of the very few occasions for direct contact with Christians and is the main, outside of slander and hearsay, source of knowledge about the Church (cf. Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit., p. 193. and Robin Lane Fox, op. cit., p. 420nn.). Therefore, witness through death could be, thanks to its ancient genealogy, the only type of witness that was difficult to deny, simultaneously, it was also the only one that Christians could give publicly. 230 Cf. Sen., Epist. 20.9, quotation from: Seneca, Moral Epistles, v. 1, trans. Richard M. Gummere, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1917–25, p. 137, 139. “Epicurus will once again be glad to settle my indebtedness: ‘Believe me, your words will be more imposing if you sleep on a cot and wear rags. For in that case you will not be merely saying them; you will be demonstrating their truth.’ I, at any rate, listen in a different spirit to the utterances of our friend Demetrius, after I have seen him reclining without even a cloak to cover him, and, more than this, without rugs to lie upon. He is not only a teacher of the truth, but a witness to the truth.” 231 Cic., Nat. deor. III.34.83.

96

long and trouble-free life of Harpalus, a robber, is proof or testimony against the gods (contra deos testimonium). Even though it is used in the service of a somewhat simplistic theology, the mechanism is still the same: the happy life of the bandit constitutes a testimony against the existence of the religiously sanctioned order, with all of its claims to objectivity. In a similar way, although with different intentions and much later, Porphyry will use the concept of witness in the Letter to Marcella, where he will write, “whoever holds a belief must live in accordance with it, in order that he may himself be a faithful witness to the hearers of his words (Kai dei houtos bioun hostis episteusen, hina kai autos pistos he martys peri hon legei tois akromenois).”232 We will conclude with an example of a use of the verb martyrein as used in the 2nd century AD in the Greek papyrus 67:8. The conclusion it contains, ta erga soi (deeds will prove it to you)233, seems to leave no doubt that deeds might constitute a direct witness of spoken opinions. As Norbert Brox writes in his outstanding work, the primordial meaning of witnessing is, of course, witness of the word. However, the way in which Epictetus utilizes this term proves that around 100AD the concept of a witness through deeds was already universally intelligible. Brox writes, “In the instance of witness through deeds we are not dealing with a new concept, but the observation that just like the words of a man, also his deeds and gestures, the whole of his behavior and singular actions, can be the means of expressing his convictions, and just like with his words, the power of persuasion is ascribed to them.”234 Therefore, in principle, we can agree with the opinion that in the 2nd century Christians and pagans were developing, independently of each other, concepts that were in many respects similar235, and they were founded upon common, universally intelligible premises. However much we might suspect the influence of Epictetus upon later Christian traditions236, it is still difficult to explain in this

232 Epist. ad Marc. 8, in: Porphyry, Porphyry, the Philosopher, to His Wife, Marcella, trans. Alice Zimmern, London: George Redway, 1896, p. 59. 233 Cited in: Norbert Brox, op. cit., p. 194. 234 Ibid., p. 193. 235 Cf. Glen Warren Bowersock, op. cit., p. 16–17. 236 The work of Epictetus begins after 90AD. The Diatribes were written down by Flavius Arrianus, born around 95AD, that is, around the year when the final redaction of the Revelation of St. John was compiled, making it the youngest book of the New Testament. In fact, even if there is no documentation of a direct influence of the concept of witness as expounded by Epictetus on the Christian concept of martyrdom, this does not at all mean that its picture of the martyr has no characteristics that liken it to the image of Hellenistic sages. The sources can equally be texts of philosophers

97

way the existence of the root mart-, in its meaning of a witness of deed, in the writings of the Old and New Testaments.237 Yet, this is how we can understand, for example, the calling to witness that Paul combines with images of struggle and patient striving toward righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience, and gentleness (1 Tim 6:11–12). Many years before Epictetus, readers of St. Paul understood that witnessing is, for the Christian, something more than just a ceremonious confessing of the truth about Christ, but a concrete stance toward the world. This is how the Apostle puts it, “So do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord, nor of me, a prisoner for his sake; but bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God” (2 Tim 1:8). The practical dimension of witnessing is also well ensconced in the theology of St. John. Zygmunt Poniatowski writes about this, without relinquishing from the juridical shading of the word martyria, John extends it to the rank of “a complete and personal witness”.238 A full harmony of teaching and life is presented by Christ, the perfect witness. Word and deed merge within him into a unity, “But I have testimony greater than John’s. The works that the Father gave me to accomplish, these works that I perform testify on my behalf that the Father has sent me” (Jn 5:36). We should add that the evidentiary value of Christ’s witness is decidedly stronger than what is available to verbal accounts, “Jesus answered them, ‘I told you and you do not believe. The works I do in my Father’s name testify to me’” (Jn 10:25). Plus, and this is crucial, Christ, as a witness sent by God to what is most important, remains a witness in the common use of the word, that is, one who faithfully relates in what he participated. John, with remarkable power, stresses the authenticity of Jesus’ witness of word and deed.239 Christ is, in the spiritual sense of the word, an eyewitness, because he witnesses, as the Gospels put it, to what he has seen and heard from the Father (J 3:11, 3:32). It is very significant, if one wants to understand the intentions of the ancients, not to fall into the temptation of subjectivizing the witness of deed, that is, to fall into the temptation of understanding witness as an expression of convictions divorced from the truth, instead of an objective relation about the real state of things. The choice of a concept, by both Christians and pagans, with a juridical and a popular philosophical tradition (i.e. the Cynics). On this matter cf. Theofrid Baumeister, op. cit., p. 312. 237 Norbert Brox, op. cit., p. 194 points to the following biblical and apocryphal passages: Gen 21:30; Ruth 4:7; 4 Macc 16:16, 12:16; Mt 10:18; Mk 6:11; 1 Pet 5:1; Acts 14:3. 238 Zygmunt Poniatowski, op. cit., p. 163. Cf. Hans von Campenhausen, Die Idee des Martyriums in der Alten Kirche, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1964, p. 37. 239 Ibid., p. 164 pays particular attention to this.

98

lineage can hardly be taken as accidental. A witness is not called before a tribunal to give expression to his subjective fancy, but because he might constitute a source for coming to know the truth. The object of the court’s interest are not conjectures, but what the witness saw with his own eyes. The task of the witness is revealing a truth totally independent of him and nothing indicates that from this perspective the witness of deed substantially differs from the witness of word. Since the witness passes on what he knows and not what seems to him to be the case, it is understandable that at the foundations of witnessing, it is understandable that there must be built upon some type of direct knowledge about the reality whose existence will be confirmed with words and deeds. In the New Testament, this way of thinking leads to a tendency toward stressing the direct or, in the many different connotations of the word, eyewitness accounts to legitimize the mission of each witness separately. Here we are dealing with various kinds of seeing, but it always is a type of direct knowledge. As we have said, Christ himself witnesses to what he has seen and heard from the Father. The Apostles, who are supposed to witness to the nations about the Gospel (Mt 24:14) and who were designated to be witnesses to Christ (Acts 1:8), directly participated in the events which they witness to (Acts 1:22). This way of thinking also remains significant after the death of Christ. Direct knowledge constitutes the basis and justification of Paul’s mission, when he is designated to be a witness of Christ.240 The witness of deed should not be understood as a proof of the strength of an inner, subjective, conviction. We will falsely interpret the role assigned to it if we will read into it an inflexibility, even in the face of the most formidable oppressions, divorced from the objectivity and transferred into the dimension of witnessing to subjective states of mind. Both in the case of the sage described by Epictetus and the Christian martyr, the truth is the necessary condition of perfect witness of deed, which is not intersubjective, but always objective.241

240 “‘Saul, my brother, regain your sight.’ And at that very moment I regained my sight and saw him. Then he said, ‘The God of our ancestors designated you to know his will, to see the Righteous One, and to hear the sound of his voice; for you will be his witness before all to what you have seen and heard’” (Acts 22:13–15). 241 The inseparable connection between witness of word or deed and the truth is perfectly illustrated by the martyrdom of St. Stephen as related in Acts, which is the prototype of Christian martyrdom. Stephen sees the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God (Acts 7:55) and he gives a witness of word to his vision (Act 7:56), and a moment later he attests to it through his deeds, that is, when he is stoned, he is free from hatred, and while he dies he prays for his persecutors (Acts 7:59–60).

99

It appears that only in the perspective of a witness of deed we can define the space of dialogue between the Christian concept of martyrdom and pagan philosophy. If we follow Brox in accepting that for men of antiquity certain behaviors could have the character of a proof, then the witness of dying for Christ can become an argument that is also important outside the boundaries of the Church. It is true that nowhere else do we find as substantial a terminological convergence as we do in the case of Epictetus. However, as Brox argues, even without being aware of these convergences, we can “establish that Christian martyrdom was received as an act of witness”, or to put it another way, that it could have been understood as a proof for the existence of a certain state of things.242 Of course, outside a direct encounter with philosophy, there remains a whole series of fundamental features inherent to the Christian theology of martyrdom. It is possible to express the epistemological implications of heroic acts of dying in a common language; this research should not exceed the boundaries proper to it. We should not forget this while limiting ourselves to addressing questions of the evidential value of witnessing. This is why we can at the same time confidently agree with those who believe that in the development of this theology the Jewish sources played a decidedly greater role than any possible similarities or borrowings from pagan philosophy.243 The theology which came into being in the 2nd century examined the drama of persecutions and deaths in the complex context of the Church’s life, the sacraments, the economy of salvation, grace, holiness and discipline which really cannot be expressed with the language of Epictetus. However, it is one thing to unjustifiably reduce Christian martyrdom to pagan witnessing, yet it is something else altogether to attempt to show that there is a space which makes possible the expression of some part of Christian truth in the language of philosophy. Before we undertake a more precise characterization of those common places we will attempt to follow those threads of ancient thought which allowed one to think of human life in the categories of a proof, and understand the place it occupied in the individual histories of people striving toward the truth.

242 Norbert Brox, op. cit., p. 195. 243 William Hugh Clifford Frend, op. cit., p. 67 writes, “There is no doubt that if one considers martyrdom in terms of witness to God’s mighty works, and the martyr as his agent, Christians looked back almost exclusively to Jewish prototypes.”

100

2.  Knowledge and Witness The Criterion of Laches When we talked about the integral nature of conversion, we specifically focused upon the mutual dependence of moral and cognitive development. The demand, which grows out of this, for a harmony of words and deeds must have been a commonly held conviction already in the times of Socrates. For Laches, the protagonist of Plato’s dialogue—made famous by his military, and not his philosophical, achievements—the basic qualification of a person worthy of teaching wisdom is agreement between their life and teaching, “Whenever I hear a man discussing virtue or some kind of wisdom, then, if he really is a man and worthy of the words he utters, I am completely delighted to see the appropriateness and harmony existing between the speaker and his words. And such a man seems to me to be genuinely musical, producing the most beautiful harmony, not on the lyre or some other pleasurable instrument, but actually rendering his own life harmonious by fitting his deeds to his words… The discourse of such a man gladdens my heart and makes everyone think I am a discussion-lover because of the enthusiastic way in which I welcome what is said; but the man who acts in the opposite way distresses me, and the better he speaks, the worse I feel, so that his discourse makes me look like a discussion-hater.”244 This, as Laches calls it, “harmony that is genuinely Greek”, constitutes the principle which allows us to infer from our knowledge of the beautiful deeds of Socrates that his teaching might possess substantial value.245 The criterion applied here by Laches is worth of a deeper analysis. Independently of its clearly anti-Sophist edge, it expresses the conviction that deeds strengthen or weaken the credibility of proclaimed teachings. Laches thinks one can say about someone who acts virtuously that there is a high probability that he knows what virtue is, or also, if we return to the musical metaphor, the performer of a musical composition must know its score. This is because a man is supposed to wholly transform himself, in all respects. Theory and practice are indivisible, because they constitute two sides of the same transformation. The philosopher is a musician, not a musicologist—this is why we can compare a musician who never plays to a philosopher whose life contradicts the teachings he proclaims.246 The divergences between words and the lives of philosophers are one of the most

244 Pl., La. 188c-e, op. cit., p. 673–674. 245 Ibid. 188e-189a, p. 674. 246 Cf. D.L. IV.18.

101

popular themes of the scornful philippics of ancient writers. Thus if a musician please perfectly, then he proves his knowledge of the appropriate score, whereas, not without reason, we can think about the one who plays out of tune that he either does know the notes, or that he only knows a damaged score. As we know from Diogenes Laertius, the great Solon denied overt profligates their right to make public appearances.247 If we are not mistaken, then the Athenian lawgiver, by protecting the ears and time of citizens against the drivel of fools, used the same criterion that Laches applied to Socrates. If conversion pertains to all aspects of being, then an overt profligate must be overtly incoherent. In the eyes of Laches and Solon a person, or rather his deeds, become the criterion of their teaching’s credibility. Let’s now consider what meaning is attached to this principle. The situation in which Laches applies it can best be described as the situation of a person at the starting line of his philosophical transformation. Laches considers his convictions about the moral qualifications of Socrates to be a sufficient reason to undergo an examination that is a type of philosophical exercise.248 The distinguished general presupposes that Socrates might know something he does not know, and that he can teach it to him. The question that now begins to absorb us is concerned with the appropriateness of decisions taken by persons who are on the lowest steps of philosophical transformation. Does the understanding of philosophy as a path to the truth mean that its novices, so long as they have not

247 Ibid. I.55. 248 Laches can have no doubt that this is an ordinary, meaningless, conversation. Nicias clearly describes all the difficulties that await the conversation partners of Socrates. Nicias warns that whoever lets his thoughts approach Socrates must, “even if he began by conversing about something quite different in the first place, keep on being led about by the man’s arguments until he submits to answering questions about himself concerning both his present manner of life and the life he has lived hitherto. And when he does submit to this questioning, you don’t realize that Socrates will not let him go before he has well and truly tested every last detail. I am personally accustomed to the man and know that one has to put up with this kind of treatment from him… and don’t regard it as at all a bad thing to have it brought to our attention that we have done or are doing wrong. Rather I think that a man who does not run away from such treatment is willing, according to the saying of Solon, to value learning as long as he lives, not supposing that old age brings him wisdom of itself, will necessarily pay more attention to the rest of his life. For me there is nothing unusual or unpleasant in being examined by Socrates, but I realized some time ago that the conversation would not be about the boys but ourselves, if Socrates were present.” Pl., La. 187e-188c, op. cit., p. 673.

102

yet reached their goal, are condemned to a more or less justified form of faith? What arguments allow us, when we do not yet possess the fullness of knowledge, to think that we have chosen the right path? Above all: what meaning can be attached to the witness of people who have traversed this path, and what role in identifying them is played by the criterion applied by Laches? While using examples from Epicurus and Epictetus, A.D. Nock stresses the weight given in ancient philosophy to faith in the authority of masters.249 The belief that such a state of things is a type of intellectual decadence belies the picture of a philosophical education described within the second and third books of Plato’s Republic. The elite guards, from whom the leaders are recruited the philosopher-kings, remain at the stage of opinions throughout their long period of training for taking over rule.250 They are, obviously, authentic opinions, however, it seems, the guards mainly can judge about their authenticity on the basis of the authority of the sages who direct the exercises. From the point of view presented in the Republic (an absolutist understanding of knowledge) this is not a verification that offers the guards an unshakable certainty, even if succeeding stages of the exercises can be subjected to a certain type of rational control. Interestingly enough, Plato himself seems to have an especially low view of the epistemic value of convictions based upon somebody’s witness. Plato in the Theaetetus, while considering the difference between authentic conviction (orthe doksa) and knowledge (episteme), rejects the thesis that someone’s judgment (opinion, conviction) in some affair, even an authentic judgment, could deserve the label of knowledge, if it is not from the participation of a direct eyewitness.251 In this instance Socrates uses the example of court proceedings in a robbery trial. This allows him to highlight the fact of the total autonomy of the art of bringing about judgments, which in the hands of a capable lawyer can create in the judges a particular conviction exclusively with the techniques of rhetorical persuasion. Plato stresses that the opinion of the jury in this case cannot be called knowledge even when it corresponds to the truth.252 As C.A.J Coady notes, 249 Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit., p. 181. 250 Cf. Ryszard Legutko, Krytyka demokracji w filozofii politycznej Platona [The Critique of Democracy in Plato’s Political Philosophy], Kraków: Uniwersytet Jagielloński, 1990, p. 96. The careful reader of Legutko, especially of pages 66–73 and 90–101, will notice without much difficulty, how much my reflections presented below are indebted to this analysis. 251 Cf. Pl., Tht. 201b-c. 252 “Then suppose a jury has been justly persuaded of some matter which only an eyewitness could know, and which cannot otherwise be known; suppose they come to

103

while commenting on this passage, “Plato could perhaps have rested his case on the distinction between beliefs produced by rhetorical trickery or non-rational persuasion on the one hand and beliefs supported by relevant evidence on the other, but he seems to want to go further and insist that beliefs about the robbery could never amount to knowledge for the jury since these are facts ‘which can be known only by an eye-witness.’”253 Coady further adds that, in principle, this position annuls the epistemic value of all opinions or convictions based on reports, even those convictions based upon the testimony of eyewitnesses.254 Does the fact that authentic judgments, founded exclusively upon on someone’s witness, do not deserve the label of knowledge par excellence totally destroy their epistemic value? In opposition to Coady, I think that Plato gives witness a certain knowledge-producing role, even if his evaluation (which always depends upon including a whole series of additional conditions) changes in relation to the understanding of knowledge he presupposes in a given context. In the Meno (97a-e) Plato develops an answer where the defect of authentic convictions lies, and he gives some pointers how it can be removed, thereby transforming authentic convictions into knowledge. The axis of the fragment is the matter of reason’s (knowledge’s) monopoly as the principle of proper conduct. As his interlocutors notice the way to Larissa can be traversed by not only someone who knows the way and can lead others there, but these two tasks can also be accomplished by someone who has a correct opinion. Since the distinction between knowledge and opinion does not demarcate the line between truth and falsehood, this makes the dialogue’s title-character to wonder, “…why knowledge is prized far more highly than right opinion…”255 First of all, according to Socrates, we are dealing with the changing nature of opinions, which are like the moving statues of Daedalus, and since they are not tied down by reasonable accounts they easily evaporate from the human soul.256 Second, as he says

their decision upon hearsay, forming a true judgment: then they have decided the case without knowledge, but, granted they did their job well, being correctly persuaded?” Plato, Tht. 201b-c, op. cit., p. 222–223. 253 Cecil Anthony John Coady, Testimony: A Philosophical Study, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994, p. 5. 254 Ibid., p. 5. 255 Pl., Men. 97d, op. cit., p. 895. 256 “For true opinions, as long as they remain, are a fine thing and all they do is good, but they are not willing to remain long, and they escape from man’s mind, so that they are not worth much until one ties them down by (giving) an account of the reason why.” Ibid. 97e-98a, p. 895.

104

in Gorgias, whereas opinions can in one instance be true, and in another false, knowledge can never be false.257 Only knowledge has a necessary tie with the truth. However, it seems that also along the way to Larissa, that is, before we achieve the fullness of philosophical wisdom, we can also legitimate ourselves with opinions that have the valor of knowledge. This is because there exist, as Plato signals in the Meno, the possibility of transforming correct opinions into knowledge understood as a set of reasonably tied down judgments.258 The difference between Meno and the Republic, when it comes to the value of judgments made by people who are still on the road to the truth, comes from two different understandings of knowledge. As Ryszard Legutko has noted, in the dialogues written before the Republic, the difference between knowledge and opinion is strictly formal and regards the ways of justifying them.259 The relationship between opinion and the truth is purely accidental, because opinions do not undergo any procedure of rational control.260 Whether people who are content with opinions have in some matter true or false convictions all depends upon coincidence, and it depends upon changing circumstances and external influences whether they will place one above the other. However, convictions taken from hearsay can become knowledge, that is, gain a necessary connection with the truth, if they undergo the laborious process of intellectual reflection. Knowledge, as Plato defined it in the Phaedo, is a system of organized logical hypotheses drawn out of the theory (logos) which has the highest degree of credibility.261 The starting point is accepting the judgment, or more widely, theory, which can be acknowledged as the most probable. This theory then becomes the criterion for both rejecting theses that contradict it and for accepting those that are in accord with it, along with all the consequences which follow from these choices. Socrates says, “However, I started in this manner: taking as my hypothesis in each 257 Pl., Grg. 454d. 258 “After they are tied down, in the first place they become knowledge, and then they remain in place. That is why knowledge is prized higher than correct opinion, and knowledge differs from correct opinion in being tied down. “ Ibid. 98a. 259 Ryszard Legutko, op. cit., p. 69–70. 260 Pl., Grg. 465a. 261 Pl., Phd. 99e-101a, 101d-e. My interpretation of this fragment of the Phaedo (Giovanni Reale calls the fragment 99d-101c the Magna Carta of European metaphysics) follows the translation and commentary of Ryszard Legutko (Plato, Fedon [Phaedo], trans. and commentary Ryszard Legutko, Kraków: Znak, 1995). The decision to translate logoi as “theory” instead of as “words” as Witwicki and other do, helps to stress the distinction (very important for our argument) between hypothetical reasoning and direct knowledge.

105

case the theory that seemed to me the most compelling, I would consider as true, about cause and everything else, whatever agreed with this, and as untrue whatever did not so agree.”262 The justification of a hypothesis is another, more general hypothesis, from which the preceding can be deduced. Arriving at the most general hypothesis, which given the label of most “acceptable”, is the end of this whole process.263 Obviously, this hypothesis, even though it most fully explains reality and constitutes at the same time the limit of explanations in the logical order, it does not thereby stop being a hypothesis, meaning, the theory which is best justified, even though it does not have a final justification. The issue of the value of a witness, however much it plays any role here, exclusively revolves around the procedure of creating the first hypothesis. If we are to follow the meaning sketched out by the criterion of Laches, then we will acknowledge that even if later intellectual discovery moves in an objectified space of logical relations, definitions, presuppositions and conclusions, then the starting point allows itself to be analyzed only with great difficulty by purely logical procedures. We will now quote a longer fragment from Ryszard Legutko’s commentary, “It is easy to see that the Platonic method does not encompass the process of reaching the fundamental hypotheses. This process cannot be systematized, because here we encroach upon the field of learning, wisdom, gaining knowledge, etc., that is, something that cannot be reduced to technical procedures which can be mastered by everyone. Wisdom has the features of an elite and the process of gaining knowledge depends upon the extraordinary tie between master and pupil. All of these things are passed over in Plato’s text, but there is no question that they necessarily constitute the quality, and therefore the degree of truth, of the hypothesis. The hypothesis of a fool, even if it seems to him to be the strongest, will be a false opinion.”264 In the Republic, Plato abandons the understanding of knowledge as a system of hypotheses for the ideal of non-hypothetical knowledge, which is a kind of direct intellectual seeing of a necessary and unchanging reality.265 The hypothetical mediated reasoning (en logois), where presuppositions are the beginning, but also the end of reasoning, it becomes, as Plato images it, a type of steps, rungs or a 262 Pl., Phd. 100a, op. cit., p. 86. 263 Ibid. 101d-e, p. 87. 264 Ryszard Legutko in his commentary to Plato, Fedon [Phaedo], Kraków: Znak, 1995, p. 227. 265 Cf. Pl., Phdr. 247d and Smp. 210e-211d, where the ideal of direct knowledge, understood as a type of intellectual perception, is introduced with the theory of anamnesis and Plato’s teaching on love.

106

point for footing and rebounding toward a direct intellectual presence with intelligible reality. Knowledge that uses presuppositions, which in the Republic Plato calls reason (dianoia), is given a specific mediate status between reason (noesis) and opinion.266 Only knowledge, which is a kind of intellectual seeing or touching, becomes an absolute and non-hypothetical justification of true convictions. Without going into the terrain of specific problems related to Plato’s epistemology, I will only stress the higher status given here to true opinions based upon the witness of sages. It must be said that given the Republic’s background of the objective criterion of the division between knowledge and opinion, the status of true opinions has a very peculiar character. Where the object of episteme is being (ta onta), the object of opinions is changeable sensory reality. This state of things, which has its basis in the radical ontological dualism of the Republic, is the consequence of thinking about knowledge and opinion as dynameis (efficiency or skill), which are distinguished by the goals proper to them.267 From this perspective the observation which appears in the third book of the Republic, “Or don’t you think that to believe the things that are (ta onta doksadzein) is to posses the truth (aletheuein)?” 268, questions this division, and points toward the possibility that there exist opinions which refer to eternal reality. In the ideal republic the sages who gained their status thanks to an immense intellectual labor of ascending to the heights of knowledge, “[M]ust go down to live in the common dwelling places of the others and grow accustomed to seeing in the dark”269, where they will pass onto others their true opinions to people at the most elementary stages of spiritual development.270 The ultimate justification of the truth of these opinions cannot be objectified in any way. It is the possession only of those who through purifying their minds of all that is sensory have reached the end of the philosophical road. The fullness of knowledge, knowledge understood as a state of mind, has a strictly subjective character; it does not stop being true when it is passed onto others, but it loses the quality of being called knowledge, and becomes an opinion that lacks ultimate grounding. 266 Cf. Pl., R. 511a-d. 267 Ibid. 477d; On the relationship of thinking about cognitive processes using the category dynameis along with the issues of true opinions see the chapter “Knowledge and its Objects in Plato” in Jaakko Hintikka, Knowledge and the Known, Dodrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1974, p. 1–31. 268 Pl., R. 413a, trans. G.M.A. Grube (rev. C.D.C. Reeve), in Plato: Complete Works, op. cit., p. 1049. 269 Ibid. 520c, p. 1137. 270 Cf. Ryszard Legutko, op. cit., p. 95–100.

107

For obvious reasons, from the perspective of the Republic, the radical critique of the epistemological function of witness271 seems difficult to uphold.272 Even if they are transmitted through eyewitnesses, in the intellectual sense of this word, the truths of opinion cannot be truly called knowledge—still their function in the process of approaching the truth cannot be questioned. We can see this in the specific status of philosophical novices, who factually do not have at their disposal a sure criterion that allows them to distinguish between false and true opinions. They can only take on faith the fact that they are going to Larissa and not Latvia, only thanks to the strength of the authority of the sages who rule in the polis. Whoever does not posses, possesses only worse, or better, justified opinions. The primacy of the absolutist epistemological model of direct knowledge, among a whole line of other questions, must ask itself about the problem of verifying the credibility of people who are considered worthy of fulfilling the function of being teachers of wisdom. If an additional condition is fulfilled, that being the weakening of the trust in inter-subjective methods of knowledge (of the type presented in the Phaedo), then the problem of finding a criterion of judging people aspiring to the role of guides through philosophical education will come to stand in the front and center of philosophical debate.273 While taking the risk of an immense simplification, we can say that in this section of ancient philosophy, which did not want to abandon the ideal of absolute

271 Following Coady, op. cit., p. 5, I accept that the conclusions of the Theaetetus can be applied not only as the context suggests, for sensory perceptions, but also to acknowledge it as a metaphorical exemplification of the difference between knowledge and opinion in general. 272 Obviously, the noticeable change in Plato’s relation to true opinions also flows from his project of an ideal polis, which presupposes ideal educational conditions. In such a polis, false opinions, along with poetry and theater, which are harmful to the proper development of the soul, are expelled. Democratic chaos, which intensified the inconsistency in the details of opinions embedded in the soul, is replaced with developmental discipline based upon knowledge of the truth. Separation from the harmful influence of false opinions naturally increases the endurance of true opinions. 273 A similar mechanism, although it occurs historically much later, is considered by Krzysztof Pomian in the book Przeszłość jako przedmiot wiary [The Past as an Object of Faith], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1968, especially pages 29–87. While analyzing the methodology of medieval historiography, Pomian concludes that acknowledging ex visione knowledge as the only form of knowledge in the most rigorous sense of the word leads to verification of information ex audito through verifying the authority of the people who are the sources of this knowledge.

108

knowledge, reached this impasse after the jarring critique of rational cognitive procedures undertaken by the pyrrhonists and academians.

Skepticism and Praxis We are indebted to the works of Adam Krokiewicz for the seemingly paradoxical thesis that ancient Skepticism contributed to the grounding of the cognitive absolutist stance. According to Krokiewicz just the fact that Pyrrho performed priestly duties274 can be acknowledged as a symbol of Skepticism in the role of praeparatio Plotinica.275 Already through the critique of inter-subjective cognitive procedures we do not get a weakening, but rather a strengthening of the understanding of knowledge as a type of direct, intellectual intercourse with the object of knowledge. We can say about the great variety of ancient Skeptic doctrines that in all instances there was not so much a negation of objective reality, but rather a negation of the criteria necessary for evaluating the quality of knowledge, which had the ambition of adequately describing this reality. At the roots of the pyrrhonic principle of suspending judgment (epoche) were the same principles which led Plato to an absolutist conception of knowledge, those being the uncertainty with regard to the witness of the senses and the merely formal, not objective, value of dialectical reasoning. The student of Pyrrho, Timon of Phlius, compared the results of the cooperation between the senses and the reason to the work done by two celebrated bandits: Attagas and Numenius.276 The incommensurability of relations based upon sense-knowledge is accompanied by the contradictions inherent in the judgments of reason, as can be glimpsed, at the very least, through the variety of philosophical doctrines. The Skeptics, in their polemics with their opponents, pointed to the impossibility of going beyond the boundary, marked out by the dogmatists, between opinions and knowledge. This is perfectly demonstrated in the critique of the academics of the Stoic doctrine of cognitive impressions (phantasia kataleptike).277 The Stoic judgment that the cognitive impressions are constituted by their obviousness (enargeia), were countered by the 274 D.L. IX.64. 275 Adam Krokiewicz, “Pirron z Elidy i Timon z Flijuntu” [Pyrrho from Elis and Timon of Phlius], KF, v. 5, 1927, p. 385–386. On ancient skepticism also cf. Adam Krokiewicz, Sceptycyzm grecki: Od Pirrona do Karneadesa [Greek Skepticism: From Pyrrho to Carneades], Warszawa: PAX, 1964 and Adam Krokiewicz, Sceptycyzm Grecki: Od Filona do Sekstusa [Greek Skepticism: From Philo to Sextus], Warszawa: PAX 1966. 276 D.L. IX.114. 277 Cic., Ac. II.47.145.

109

Skeptics through a series of reservations about the possibility of distinguishing false and true impressions.278 Neither the fallible witness of the senses, nor impressions, nor the reasons that depend on them, give any hope for constituting a criterion which is irresistible because of its obviousness. The issue of the merely formal value of dialectical reasoning plays a very important role in the Skeptic critique.279 In the first pyrrhonists, it expressed through the stance of a radical aversion toward the dialectic of inconclusiveness written into nature. The great opponent of the Sophists, Eurylochus, runs away and swims across a river in order to escape the questions that drown him.280 The isosthenic principle worked out by the sophists, which proclaims the equal value of contradictory judgments, serve them in practicing the ability to reach any given conclusion, becomes the main accusation in the process of dialectic. In the Academy, which under the direction of Arcesilaus entered its Skeptic phase, the art of argumentation for and against any given thesis, thereby illustrating the equal value of contradictory conclusions, became one of the basic methods of an anti-dogmatic education.281 While drawing conclusions out of accepted presuppositions, the dialectic cannot lead to knowledge about reality. The vicious circle of dogmatic presuppositions is thereby closed. The thesis that the critique of inter-subjective methods of gaining knowledge does not destroy the idea of direct knowledge is confirmed by the popular ancient rumor that the Skepticism of the Academy is only a screen for the esoteric teachings of Plato professed by the Academy.282 The fact that we do not possess criteria and methods which allow everyone to access the truth cannot lead to the conclusion that there are no people who know the truth. If the ultimate justification of judgments is the strictly subjective state of knowledge that does not lend itself to inter-subjective confirmation, then we can imagine a sage who accepts the Skeptic diagnosis and believes we do not possess knowledge and that we cannot distinguish it from opinion. Is there a method that allows us to leave the vicious circle in which knowledge can be possessed only by those who know? 278 Ibid. II.24.77. 279 I will not deal with the critique of the dialectical method itself here. With regard to this matter cf. Leon Joachimowicz, Sceptycyzm Grecki [Greek Skepticism], Warszawa: Wiedza Powszechna,1972, p. 78. 280 D.L. IX.69. 281 Ibid. IV.28,37; Cic., De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum, II.1.2; V.4.10; Leon Jachimowicz, op. cit., p. 64. 282 This tradition is discussed by Adam Krokiewicz, “Arkezilaos” [Arcesilaus], KF, v. 6, 1928, p. 163–164.

110

It seems to me that an increase in the evidentiary role of philosophical praxis is a parallel phenomenon to the increase in importance for direct knowledge described by Krokiewicz. If no speculative techniques have the power to, in an indubitable way, verify the truth of some teaching, then its effectiveness becomes the only criterion. Let’s attempt to interpret this stance through the prism of discussing the ethical implications of Skepticism. The Skeptics attack the dogmatic understanding of human nature. According to the Skeptics, the concept of a goal (telos), of a proper good, and therefore also of human nature, appears to be impossible, if we even just note the differences between people.283 The example of a fool or someone who is sleeping shows that it is impossible to describe what state is essentially against nature.284 This type of conclusion also grows out of observing human customs, which allow for extreme differences in their understanding of justice and the good. The Persians permitted incest, which was condemned by the Greeks; unusually, the Massageteans believed in having their women in common (the Greeks did not); the residents of Sicily praised robbery, which was condemned by the Greeks.285 This is why it is safest to suspend all judgments about human nature. The problem lies in the fact that once we accept the thesis about the inscrutability of human nature it also excludes the possibility of constructing rational principles of acting. Without dogmatizing, it is not only impossible to achieve happiness—is it possible to live at all? The accusations against Skepticism were concerned with, on the one hand, the practical impossibility of maintaining the principle of suspending judgment, on the other, the tragic consequences of this stance. “Moreover, the dogmatic philosophers attack the criterion derived from appearances, and say that the same objects present at times different appearances; so that a town presents at one time a square, and at another a round appearance; and that consequently, if the Skeptic does not discriminate between different appearances, he does nothing at all. If, on the contrary, he determines in favor of either, then, say they, he no longer attaches equal value to all appearances.”286 However, if one maintains isosthenia, then he will be condemned to total inertia287, or he will expose himself to dangers that are the consequence of the impossibility, for example, of judging the difference between a garden snake and a

283 284 285 286 287

Cf. The Second Trope of Aenesidemus in D.L. IX.80–81. Cf. The Fourth Trope of Aenesidemus in Ibid. IX.82. Cf. The Fifth Trope of Aenesidemus in Ibid. IX.82. Ibid. IX.107, p. 419. This is a frequent accusation made against the skeptics; cf. Cic., Ac. II.12.39.

111

cobra.288 What’s worse, the dogmatists continued, living in a state of mind which does not allow for dogmatic judgments the Skeptic will not stop at chopping up his own father.289 In sum, the Skeptical stance either cannot be practically incarnated, or is monstrous, and it certainly cannot give anyone a chance to achieve happiness. The answer of the pyrrhonists first depends upon distinguishing between a non-dogmatic approval of common experience and the dogmatic interpretation of these experiences, second, on an attempt to create practical principles of action. “For, say they, we assert what is actually the fact, but we do not describe its character… Therefore, say they, we only resist the uncertain deductions which are put by the side of evident facts… On which account Timon, in his Python, says that Pyrrho does not destroy the authority of custom.”290 The Skeptic philosopher, while he has no dogmatic criterion of action, uses a practical criterion instead. Aenesidemus says about Pyrrho in his Introduction to Pyrrhonism he, “defines nothing dogmatically, on account of the possibility of contradiction, but that he is guided by what is evident.”291 To be guided by what is evident probably means accepting the commonplace interpretation of phenomena with a total awareness of their provisory nature. “But when the dogmatic philosophers object that the Skeptic, on his principles, will not refuse to kill his own father, if he is ordered to do so; so that they answer, that they can live very well without disquieting themselves about the speculations of the dogmatic philosophers; but, suspending their judgment in all matters which do not refer to living and the preservation of life. Accordingly, say they, we avoid some things, and we seek others, following custom in that (kata ten synetheian); and we obey the laws.”292 However, being guided by what is evident, directing oneself by the facts, or finally going by custom or law leads us into the wasteland of arguments about

288 It seems that early pyrrhonism was not free from a radicalism that confirms these accusations. According to Antigonus of Carystus, Pyrrho, while guiding his life according to the principle of the inscrutability of things and withholding judgment, “never shunned anything, and never guarded against anything; encountering everything, even wagons for instance, and precipices, and dogs, and everything of that sort; committing nothing whatever to his senses. So that he used to be saved, as Antigonus the Carystian tells us, by his friends who accompanied him.” D.L. IX.11.62, op. cit., p. 402. 289 Ibid. IX.108, p. 420. 290 Ibid. IX.104–105, p. 419. 291 Ibid. IX.106, p. 419. 292 Ibid. IX.108, p. 420.

112

the fallibility of sense-knowledge and the relative nature of those customs. In essence, the concept of widely-accepted customs and the commandment to obey the laws are an attempt to provisionally restore the concept of a universal human nature along with its ethical implications—both of which were rejected earlier. It would be provisional, because it would be deprived of its absolutist scope. This is why they quite easily succumb to aporias, which we can call the aporias of opportunism. By commencing our arguments with the relativity of customs, we reach conclusions which do not rule out the above mentioned possibility of patricide. A Skeptic traveling from Persia to Greece must change his attitude toward incest right at the border, if he does not accept a transcendental justification of norms (in the form of a universal nature and goal). In what moment along one’s travels between Greece and Sicily, the dogmatists might ask, is the robbery of a Skeptic reprehensible and where is it commendable? Finally, what will the Skeptic decide about his wife living in a mixed colony of Greeks and Massageteans? Objections to Skeptical propositions do not only grow out their inability to be realized. The reasons are deeper. The issue is that the Skeptical suspension of judgment transforms human life into an undertaking (from the point of view of the dogmatists) which is totally irrational. When we follow common presuppositions we can avoid practical dangers, but not because we can evaluate them. By suspending judgment the Skeptic does not evaluate anything and is incapable of distinguishing anything from anything else. Pyrrho actually deserved praise for passing a pond, unmoved and without assisting him, where Anaxarchus was drowning.293 The person who does not judge, who suspends judgment, also does not distinguish nor hierarchize. Foresight based upon the criterion of prevailing customs helps us understand how a Skeptic can survive without giving any reasonable explanations of the choices he takes. To that Cicero the Stoic says, “But if those things are true, is the whole of reason, which is, as it were, the light and illumination of life, put an end to?”294 Under the pressure of such questions the pyrrhonic Academics worked out the theory of practical criteria of action, which, I should add, led the Academy back toward dogmatism. While accepting the division into opinion and knowledge, Academics thought the Stoic pretensions to knowledge an illusion. The trick is not in arbitrarily acknowledging some judgments as true, but to be able to hierarchize their values while being aware of the uncertainty of our claims. 293 Ibid. IX.63. 294 Cic., Ac. II.8.26, in: The Academic Questions, Treatise De Finibus And Tusculan Disputations Of M. T. Cicero, trans. C.D. Yonge, Whitefish, MO: Kessinger Publishing, 2007, p. 35.

113

Since on our path toward happiness we do not possess any principles which deserve our unconditional acknowledgment, we should resort to the best grounded opinions. This kind of optimalism, in place of the Stoic maximalism, is expressed by Arcesilaus’ criterion of healthy reason (to eulogon)295, that is, a reasonable assumption, which allows one to make choices, although admittedly not always— however, generally, they tend to be fitting.296 A similar spirit is at work in the multi-layered method of verifying the credibility of impressions (pithanon)297 devised by Carneades, or finally in the concept of probability (verisimilitudo)298 proposed by Philo of Larissa. Two substantial conclusions came out of the discussions about these criteria. First of all, every attempt to abandon the stance of consistent doubting falls into the difficulties of dogmatism. Second, acknowledging the existence of absolute truth is logical condition of accepting the possibility of inching toward the truth. Or more generally, without the postulate of a transcendental grounding both the gradation of concrete examples of truth and the good, as well as the concepts themselves, lose their meaning. The self-destruction of ancient Skepticism was inscribed in its ethical ambitions. The postulate of happiness, even when it is non-absolutist and reachable through merely credible criteria, must presuppose concepts which it could not justify on its own, skeptical, grounds (goal, happiness, good, etc.). This entangled Skepticism in internal contradictions, at the same time it did not help fulfill any of the expectations of the absolutists. Both the Pyrrhonists and the Academics could not liberate themselves (if it is at all possible) from the net of concepts which they attempted to revise. This is primarily concerned with the openly 295 The Stoics distinguished a claim which is probable (pithanon) from a claim which possesses many reasons which justify its truth (eulogon). Cf. D.L. VII.75–76. 296 “But since after this it was necessary also to investigate the conduct of life, which is not of a nature to be accounted for without a criterion, on which happiness too—that is, the end of life—depends for its trust, Arcesilaus says that, not suspending judgment about everything, he will regulate his choices and avoidances and generally his actions by the reasonable, and by going forward in accordance with this criterion he will act rightly. For happiness comes about through insight (phronesis), and insight lies in right actions (katorthoma), and the right action is that which, when done, has a reasonable justification. The person who pays attention to the reasonable will therefore act rightly and be happy.” S.E., M. VII.158, trans. Richard Bett, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006, p. 34.; Cf. Adam Krokiewicz, op. cit., p. 151–156. 297 Cf. S.E., M. VII.159–189; Adam Krokiewicz, “Karneades” [Carneades], KF, v. 7, 1929, p. 392–403. 298 Cf. Adam Krokiewicz, “Filon z Larissy i Antjochos z Askalonu” [Philo of Larissa and Antiochus of Ascalon], KF, v. 9, 1931, p. 305.

114

dogmatic ethical postulates of Pyrrhonism, for example, ataraxia as the most perfect image of the state of soul attained by the sage who does not judge anything. It is easy to see how difficult it is to simultaneously question the possibility of knowing one’s goal, and maintaining, “that the chief good is the suspension of the judgment which tranquility of mind follows, like its shadow.”299 There is no need to comment further on this matter. Without dogmatizing it is improbable that one can both outline a goal and judge that some state of the soul (here ataraxia) is better from any other. Despite appearances, similar difficulties will plague the optimalist ideas of the Academy, even though they were tinged with reservations about limited possibilities of human knowing. The postulate of the highest probability available to us with regard to the truth, or the highest achievable degrees of happiness available to us dictates the necessity of accepting the existence of both absolute truth and absolute happiness. As Leszek Kołakowski noticed, while commenting on a slightly different discussion, if we do not presuppose the existence of an absolute subject, then it is impossible to use the predicate “true”. What is at stake is not the ability of distinguishing true from false, that is, a criterion of the truth, but rather a logically anterior question, about the necessary presuppositions for the valid use of these concepts.300 Without the concept of an unerring and happy subject the concepts of truth and happiness lose their meaning. While depending upon the opinion of St. Augustine, I assume this was one of the bases for suspecting that the Academy practiced the secret teachings of Plato. The idea of approaching the truth, the meaningful use of the concept of “probability” must at least presuppose the hypothesis of a subject who knows unerringly. In turn, pronouncing about degrees of similarity to the truth is not possible without full knowledge of the truth. Augustine thought that for Carneades, “That to which it was like [the opinions of Plato], he knew well and prudently concealed. He also decided to call ‘what-is-like-truth’ the ‘probable.’ A man, indeed, can rightly ‘approve’ of a representation when he looks upon its exemplar. On the other hand, can the sage approve of, or act on, ‘what-is-like-truth,’ if he does not know what truth itself is?”301 Or, as the Stoic cited above said, we are either condemned to an absolute Skepticism and we reject the idea of reason (and the ideas

299 D.L. IX.107, op. cit., p. 420. 300 Cf. Leszek Kołakowski, Religion: If There is No God, South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 2001. 301 Augustinus, Contra Ac. III.18.40, trans. John J. O’Meara, Mahwa, NJ: Paulist Press, 1978, p. 146–147.

115

of truth, good, goal, nature and happiness), or we accept the dogmatic stance and with it the hypothesis of the existence of a perfect subject.

The Sage as the Condition for the Meaning and Criterion of Truth For many Greeks, the gods had the status of perfect knowing subjects. Already in Homer the chasm between men and gods demarcates the border between truth and opinion, “Sing to me now, you Muses who hold the halls of Olympus! You are goddesses, you are everywhere, you know all things—all we hear is the distant ring of glory, we know nothing—who were the captains of Achaea?”302 The omniscience of the gods gives sense to valuing human opinions, because it constitutes the final justification of the truth of partial human knowledge. “About things invisible”, wrote Alcmaeon, “… the gods alone have a certain knowledge; but men may form conjectures.”303 Plato claimed that only the god was wise, whereas man can only deserve the title of philosopher.304 We can meaningfully speak of our inching toward the truth only through the strength of the conviction that there exists some fullness of understanding, that is, the knowledge of the gods. To put it another way, wisdom (sophia) of the gods gives meaning to man’s philosophy (philosophia) as its goal or final destination. There is no obstacle to acknowledging that the existence of subjects who know infallibly does not result in anything beyond the fact that some judgments are false, whereas others are true. One can accept the existence of an epistemological absolute and what follows from it, namely the meaningfulness of the predicate “true”, yet one can at the same time question the value of the criteria which allow us to distinguish true from false. Thus, it is possible to come to the conclusion that the division between true and false judgments is warranted, yet nobody besides the gods is able to distinguish one from the other. This puts us in the situation of a person, as the Stoics used to tell the Academics, whose sight was taken away, and who was then cheered up by being told his eyes were not taken away.305 If only knowledge constitutes the criterion of knowledge, and that knowledge is unattainable for men, then we are condemned to opinions which are an indistinguishable mix of truth and falsity. Many years before the discussion between the Stoics and the Academics this situation was accurately

302 Homer, Iliad II.572–576, trans. Robert Fagles, New York: Penguin Classics, 1998, p. 115. 303 Alcmaeon, fr. B1, in: Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., p. 371. 304 Cf. Pl., Phdr. 278d; Smp. 203e. 305 Cic., Ac. II.11.33.

116

characterized by Xenophon, who, and we should stress this, was understood by Timon to be the grandfather of Skepticism. “There never was, nor will there ever be a man who has clear knowledge about the gods, nor about any of the things which I proclaim. Truly, even if someone were to say something quite unerring, he himself does not know about it, because opinion, only opinion (dokos) is the share of all.”306 We should carefully turn our attention to the fact that in the division Xenophon painted between the gods, who are the representatives of an epistemological absolute, and mortals condemned to opinions, there is breach. There is an intermediary link between the mortals and the gods. The status of the sage— which the thinker from Colophon so clearly attributes to himself—is what is at stake. In the cited fragment Xenophanes appears as an ambassador of divine wisdom, as someone who breaches the boundary to which ordinary people are condemned. He thereby achieves reliable knowledge, which constitutes the ultimate justification for the judgments proclaimed by him. We cannot go any further in our investigations until we consider the consequences of the thesis that the sage can possess a knowledge that is in some sense absolute. All ancient schools of philosophy worked upon the picture of the sage, the perfect man, someone who fully realized the perfection proper to human nature. We should note we are not talking of any concrete ancient philosopher, but of an ideal picture, a type of model, which is pertinent even if nobody ever came to realize it; we are talking here of a sage (sophos) and not about a philosopher (philosophos).307 In all instances the sage possessed the highest sum of goods available to men, therefore he was, within the horizon of nature, absolutely good and he also had at his command full knowledge of what each of the schools considered to be the essence of reality. “Again, what more accurate standard or what norm of what is good do we have, apart from a person who is wise? For the things that such people will choose, if their choice follows their knowledge, are good and their contraries bad,” 308 said Aristotle, deeply convinced that the sage (sophos) knows the truth

306 Xenoph. fr. 34, cited in: Adam Krokiewicz, op. cit., p. 117. 307 This division can be derived from Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations (V.3.8–9) where in a tale about Pythagoras, who called his art the love of wisdom (philo-sophia). Cf. Juluisz Domański, “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy], op. cit., p. 9nn; Adam Krokiewicz, op. cit., s. 17nn. 308 Arist., Protr. fr. 39, trans. D. S. Hutchinson & Monte Ransome Johnson, p. 69–70, accessed from: http://www.chass.utoronto.ca/~phl102y/Protrepticus.pdf.

117

about the highest principles, and knows what follows from them.309 As the Stoics used to say, “…the wise man will never form mere opinions, that is to say, he will never agree to anything that is false.”310 Just like virtuous people, they do the good in whatever it is that they do, because they know the highest principles and are capable of applying them in their deeds.311 Despite considerable differences between philosophical schools, on this point there was universal agreement. The ideal of human perfection is composed of knowledge and virtue in both Plato and Epicurus. It is the state of the highest objective perfection, which does not admit gradation. This is why Epicurus used to say, “One sage is not wiser than another.”312 Even though not infrequently it is difficult to pin down what the objective reach of the sage might be, one can say that the sage is a substitute for the gods in the role of an epistemological absolute. 313 His knowledge is unerring and in some sense full. What’s more, according to Aristotle, the sage becomes a positive measure of the good. It is easy to understand what importance is assigned to the proof of the existence of a sage within this context. His existence not only gives meaning to judging the partial manifestations of good and truth, but at the same time it can constitute the criterion which permits one to distinguish between true and false, and good from evil. If it were possible to carry out this proof it would fulfill a role analogous to the proof for the existence of God, or rather the proof for the epistemological absolute. What is more, it would make visible the truth of the pointers which guide the philosophical novice toward the full knowledge of the truth. If there were the possibility of pointing toward someone, who beyond any doubt is perfect, then his person would constitute the proof of the effectiveness, therefore the truth, of the teaching which directs his life. We have argued thus far that Skepticism expanded the meaning of philosophical praksis. Why? Our overview of the Skeptics grounded the conviction that the perfect and happy life is impossible without a foundation of certain knowledge. Even if philosophical discourse is unavoidably entangled in the traps of isothenia, the credibility of the teaching can be supported by a pointing toward an Ecce Sapiens, because the sage knows the truth. Granted, the sage cannot pass his knowledge to us automatically. Thus, from this perspective, until we reach the goal we are still in the 309 Arist., EN 1141a18. 310 D.L. VII.122, op. cit., p. 303. 311 Ibid. VII.125–126, p. 305. 312 Ibid. X.121b, p. 468. 313 Cf. G.B. Kerferd, “What Does the Wise Man Know?” in: John Michael Rist (ed.), The Stoics, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978, p. 125–136.

118

position of blind men who must trust the testimony of those who can see. However, if we were in possession of trustworthy criterion allowing us to recognize a sage, then we would at least gain a well-grounded conviction about the truth of the teaching proclaimed by him.

4. The Witness of Deeds The Problem of Philosophical Biography The arguments presented above would be rebutted in the following way by a consequential Skeptic: even if a sage exists and does not want to, for example, lead us into error on purpose, we still do not possess any criteria that bowl us over with their obviousness, which might allow us to distinguish him from a fool. In other words: an intersubjectively acceptable proof is not possible. Whoever takes up this effort is inevitably condemned to the vicious circle of proving what he has presupposed. In order to establish the existence of a sage we must know what wisdom is and how it manifests itself, however this feat is impossible to accomplish without the aid of a sage. Whatever else they did, ancient philosophers devoted a lot of attention to the matter of objective signs of wisdom. Plato’s observations already tell us to doubt whether it is possible to find a simple way of identifying a real, instead of an imagined, philosopher. Plato says in the Statesman, not without some irony, that someone who from the beginning has predispositions to become a sage, like a queen bee, would differ from others in his physical and spiritual features.314 Either no sage was ever born, or human reality does not afford us such clear criteria. As Socrates says in the Sophist, real philosophers, “But probably it’s no easier, I imagine, to distinguish that kind of person than it is to distinguish gods. Certainly the genuine philosophers who ‘haunt our cities’… take on all sorts of appearances just because of other people’s ignorance. As philosophers look down from above at the lives of those below them, some people think they’re worthless and others think they’re worth everything in the world. Sometimes they take on the appearance of statesmen, and sometimes of sophists. Sometimes, too, they might give the impression that they’re completely insane.”315 This is perhaps the reason why ancient philosophers, while working out a common canon of the features and manifestations of wisdom, held back from pointing toward one conclusive feature of perfection. However, such a canon did come into being. We should add that despite the weakness of the 314 Pl., Plt. 301d-e. 315 Pl., Sph. 216c-d, op. cit., p. 237.

119

argumentation based upon it, it is one of the most interesting attempts of breaking through the impasse which was introduced into philosophy by the Skeptical paralysis of its speculative ambitions. The consequential skeptic is right; it is not a presuppositionless argumentation. However, not without some exceptions, the basis for the common assumptions is the platonic picture of a perfect control of the reason over the senses and the criterion of Laches which requires an agreement between words and deeds.316 At first glance it seems that without accepting the common picture of perfection the criterion of harmony of word and deed is totally relativistic, because agreement between them can lead to the affirmation of just about any teaching. Plato’s Callicles, or any immoralist free from hypocrisy, can serve as an example. Without a set of initial absolutist presuppositions (here the Platonic-Aristotelian picture of virtue) this criterion seems to transform itself into a mere postulate of sincerity. The terrain of anthropology is where the prefatory remarks would reside. If someone will acknowledge as his highest goal being the life of a libertine or being a Croesus, then the matter will be dealt with through the prism of the concept of human nature (for example, the superiority of reason in relation to the sphere of the senses), rather than through the prism of an agreement between life and the declared ideal. However, it does seem that at the root of the criterion of harmony between one’s teachings and life there is also a conviction which, to a large degree, is independent of earlier anthropological presuppositions. It seems to me that it is permissible that a false teaching, one which is not compatible with nature, cannot be consistently applied. Why? As we saw in Plato, only knowledge possesses a necessary relation to immutable truth. On the other hand, the mutable and impermanent opinions (incapable of lasting in the human soul) create a disordered, incoherent, and constantly changing conglomerate of true and false judgments. Opinions that are incompatible prevent living out a life according to them. Therefore, if the acknowledgment of being as the goal of human nature is based upon an opinion, then in effect it is impossible to be a consistent libertine. All the same, earlier anthropological presuppositions are indispensable only in the case of totally erroneous doctrines; such doctrines were unthinkable until the idea of a perfect tempter was invented. Let us repeat: the agreement of words and life is the proof of the full mastery of reason over the whole of our given nature. The condition for reaching the goal defined in this way is knowledge of nature (which is synonymous with knowing the goal). A truly Hellenic harmony of words and deeds is thus only possible in 316 For example: Pl., Phd. 83b-c; R. 431a, 442c, 443d.

120

the instance where the words (the teaching) are true. If ethical perfection is an aspect of knowing invisible reality, then virtue is an indirect proof which confirms the truth of the teaching. This principle can be applied not only to affirm, but also to reject. Wickedness and other signs of lacking control over the affects negate the teachings of a philosopher, or to be more precise, they verify the fact that he himself does not possess knowledge. From this vantage point it is not difficult to understand the position which not only ethics, but also biography, had to occupy in philosophical writing. Contemporary humanism has a lot of difficulty understanding the philosophical valor of biography. Nowadays, criticism of texts related to an author’s life is usually placed outside the range of serious analysis.317 Petrarch, deeply disturbed by the true portrait of Circero which emerges from the letters of the Arpinate, is one of the last witnesses of a forgotten tradition.318 An increased interest in the lives of philosophers has nothing to do with the unhealthy curiosity of tabloid readers. Invariably proof and example are the main concerns here. Even if the passion for philosophical biography explodes during the Hellenistic epoch, it is not the invention of late antiquity at all. The works which came into being during the 2nd and 3rd centuries BC, written by Satyrus of Callatis, Antigonus of Carystus, Sotion of Alexandria, Antisthenes of Rhodes and many others, to a large degree, depended upon a much older tradition of authentic and imagined tales.319 These works in part correspond to the need for tendentious literature in the heroic-sensational style. However, their creation is a reflex of two much more important causes. First, by outlining the profiles of outstanding models of acting, these works provide material for spiritual exercises, and by creating an ideal of the philosopher, they are a voice in the discussion about defining the picture of

317 Umberto Eco, who discusses this issue in a popular book Six Walks in the Fictional Woods, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994, p.11, ironizes the fact that Immanuel Kant wrote his masterworks at a venerable age. He admits his biography can be a source of inspiration for young authors, but does not influence serious interpretations of Kant’s work. 318 Kazimierz Kumaniecki, Cyceron i jego współcześni [Cicero and His Contemporaries], Warszawa: Czytelnik, 1989, p. 5. 319 Kazimierz Leśniak, “Diogenes Laertios i jego dzieło” [Diogenes Laertius and His Work], The introduction to: Diogenes Laertios, Żywoty i Poglądy Słynnych Filozofów [Lives and Opinions of Famous Philosophers], trans. Irena Kosińska, Kazimierz Leśniak, Witold Olszewski and Bogdan Kupisa, Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1984, p. ix–xix.

121

a perfect sage.320 Second, it seems to me that they relate the course of the battle, among the main currents of philosophy, between legends about masters, founders and spiritual patrons of specific schools. The tales that prove the perfection some teachers are accompanied by descriptions that point to (due to doctrinal causes, false teachings) the imperfection of other teachers. We must admit that we are especially well-informed in this matter. The invaluable Diogenes Laertius—because of his impartiality, or as others would have it, because of his lack of criticism—gave voice almost to all of the sides of this conflict. We must admit that the reading of Laertius gives a surprisingly consistent canon of ways in which perfection manifests itself. The freedom of the sage, independence toward external goods, the rule of reason over the affects find their expression in a whole series of typical behaviors which invariably manifest a particular stance which wisdom takes toward the world. In the land of paradox uniqueness becomes something typical. Perfection is endowed with a whole series of requisites, places, situations, which are given the valor of the attempts and proofs of an authentic and complete conversion; instead of one which is merely declarative and partial. Such examples or proofs pertain to an entire life and relate as much to simple efforts as they do to indubitable heroism. Thus, for example, we find out that Pythagoras avoided gossiping, alcohol and never condemned slaves in anger.321 Epicurus lived simply and modestly, preferred water to wine322, whereas Zeno generally turned down invitations to feasts.323 The victorious confrontation with the passions did also have its spectacular manifestations. The austerity of the philosophical life was placed by the sage above the splendor of rule and the pleasures of wealth. Thales, even though he came from a prominent family, withdrew from public activities324, without wavering Heraclitus rejected the respectability of being a lawgiver325, Empedocles resigned from kingly rule326, Anaxagoras gave his wealth to his relatives327, whereas Democritus chose the smallest part of the patrimony left to him and his brothers.328 Among

320 Cf. Juliusz Domański, “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy], op. cit., p. 19. 321 D.L. VIII.19–20. 322 Ibid. X.11. 323 Ibid. VII.1. 324 Ibid. I.22–23. 325 Ibid. IX.3. 326 Ibid. VIII.63. 327 Ibid. II.6–7. 328 Ibid. IX.35.

122

the typical figures of atypical behavior of sages special significance is given to the confrontation with the king. The rule who possesses everything which is the object of the desires of ordinary people, in person materializes the order of good ostensibly ignored by the sage. All Diogenes wants from Alexander is that the latter not block the sun.329 However, the king, equipped with instruments of force, can also appear as a symbol of power which is hostile toward philosophers. Then the history exhibits the inner spiritual freedom of the sage, unconstrained by any external circumstances. We see this, for example, in the legend of Aristippus, when imprisoned by the universally feared satrap Artaphernes, was overjoyed to have an occasion to talk with the tyrant330, or the history of Diogenes, taken prisoner by Phillip, when asked who he is replied that he is a spy on the tyrant’s insatiability.331 It is not our intention to systematize the whole many-layered topic of stances of wisdom toward the world. Loneliness, abnegation, indifference to suffering and death reveal the many sides of interior freedom and the specific type of the sage’s self-sufficiency. We will return to some of these themes later. Let’s now consider how this canon was applied not in the hands of the apologetes, but in the hands of their opponents and critics. Essentially, the biographies also overflow in histories which question the morality of philosophers. Behaviors inconsistent with the stated ideal, which prove that the philosopher could not be called a sage, simultaneously the truth of his theoretical views. When we read that Pyrrho was scared by a dog or was angered when his sister was offended332, or that Eurylochus, in angered chased a cook all the way to the Agora while holding a spit with the meat on it in his hand333, then we can judge that we are dealing with the following thesis: perfection cannot depend upon uncertain foundations. However, when we read similar stories about dogmatic philosophers, when we find out, for example, that Diogenes forged money334, or that Pythagoras was a swindler335, then the doctrines propagated by them come under question. Obviously, the proof from the perfection of a sage does not presuppose that everyone who submits himself to the instructions of a school will arrive at Larissa, instead it means that if there is at least one person 329 330 331 332 333 334 335

Ibid. VI.38. Ibid. II.79. Ibid. VI.43. Ibid. IX.66. Ibid. IX.68–69. Ibid. VI.20. Ibid. VII.41.

123

who reached the goal thanks to the rules, then they are true. The road to perfection requires many constant exercises and not everyone can follow it to the end. However much the observation that someone is a sage increases the credibility of the teaching, then the fact that some philosopher turns out to be a libertine does not definitively destroy the authenticity of a school’s ambition, just the individual philosopher’s aspirations to perfection. This is why it was so important for every school to indubitably prove the existence of at least one sage among its ranks. Reading Diogenes Laertius tells us a lot about how intense the philosophical war over biographies was. In the biographies of the philosophers we find not only examples of virtue and supposed inconsistencies, but also many versions of the same events. Neither the apologetes, nor their opponents ignore any occasion to prove their point. The affair surrounding the mysterious death of Empedocles is a prime example. Diogenes gives seven versions of this event, starting with an assumption into heaven, moving onto a swindling mystification, or a trivial accident, concluding with two versions of suicide.336 This variety should not surprise us. Skepticism, and the increasing sway of an absolutistic understanding of knowledge based upon direct contact with immutable reality, increased the significance of methods of verifying teachings which “were passed by ear.” Biography played an important role here: it supplied the proofs of authenticity.

Witness According to Epictetus During the Hellenistic period philosophers increasingly voiced the worry that, because of the crisis of philosophy in their times, the discipline might become limited to purely speculative questions. These worries came not only from side of the cynical philosophers, the natural allies of minimalist conceptions of philosophy confined to ethics. It also came from their opponents, for example, Stoics or Platonic philosophers influenced by Stoicism, who saw philosophizing as a harmonious combination of a developed theory with existential praksis. If we judge that this stance is not without connection to the skeptical critique, then it is not because the call to practicing philosophy constitutes some particular novum. Philosophy never was a purely theoretical undertaking, however after the Skeptics it was endangered by the possibility of being trapped within endless argumentation. In other words, it faced risk of betraying its own mission through a reduction to merely dialectical exercises, whose only possible philosophical conclusion would be the lack of any conclusions. The aversion to worshipping speculation and the substantial calling to realizing theory in life can be found both in 336 Ibid. VIII.68–74.

124

the teaching of the Christians and the pagans. The lively discourses of Tertullian against the reverence for speculation which lead to “nothing but a stomach-ache or a headache”337 can be safely placed within the same current of thought as the attacks present in the writings of Plutarch, Seneca, or the teachings of Epictetus as passed down to us by Lucius Flavius Arrianus. As Epictetus puts it, “For it is not petty arguments that are wanted now; the writings of the Stoics are full of them. What then is wanting? Someone to apply them, someone to bear witness to his words by his acts.”338 We commit a serious error if we suppose that Epictetus wanted to reject Stoic doctrines. On the contrary, just like Tertullian was not rejecting the Bible with his comments above, Epictetus thought the Stoic teachings true, however, according to him, they only take on meaning when they become the foundation of a transformed life. The weight which philosophers of late antiquity gave to practicing philosophy does not flow from an irrational growth in ethical questions, on the contrary, it comes from the universal, if we are to believe the evaluations of Epictetus or Seneca, tendency to limit philosophy to dialectical dexterity. The thinkers of this period ad nauseam reiterated well-known truths. “Philosophy,” Nero’s teacher writes, “teaches us to act, not to speak; it exacts of every man that he should live according to his own standards, that his life should not be out of harmony with his words, and that, further, his inner life should be of one hue and not out of harmony with all his activities. This, I say, is the highest duty and the highest proof of wisdom—that deed and word should be in accord, that a man should be equal to himself under all conditions and always the same.”339 This statement stresses the immense abyss dividing theory and wisdom, which constitutes the proper goal of man. Philosophy, as Seneca believed following Agrippa, is the harmonious combination of knowledge and a particular spiritual stance. Whoever possesses knowledge is “not a wise man until his mind is metamorphosed into the shape of that which he has learned.”340 We are far from accepting the thesis that the tendency to reduce the role of speculation comes from worrying about disturbing the harmony between theory and practice. It seems to me that the difficulty of defending dogmatic presuppositions, while using their very own grounds, is also a substantial cause. 337 Tert., Praescr. 16, in: Early Latin Theology Selections from Tertullian, Cyprian, Ambrose, and Jerome, trans. S.L. Greenslade, Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006, p. 42. 338 Arr., Epict. I.29.56, quotation from: Epictetus, Discourses: Book I, New York: Oxford University Press USA, 2008, p. 60. 339 Sen., Epist. 20.2, op. cit., v. 1, p. 133, 135. 340 Sen., Epist. 94.48, op. cit., v. 3, p. 41.

125

While destroying the good self-esteem of philosophers Skepticism leads to the stiffening of the dogmatic position, which looked for justifications of the ascertainments it accepted in the space of their practical effects. Seneca, who warns against taking up theoretical considerations until a ripe old age341, after all, does not doubt that one might live long enough to convince the Skeptics of the logical or physical foundations of the rule for living recommended by him. If we hear that one should not worry too much about theory, then it is also in part because the Academics and Skeptics exposed its conclusions, the sophists showed how easily techniques of persuasion can be dressed in the costume of proof, whereas the common experience of many philosophical schools proved how the word is not a vehicle capable of passing on wisdom. The above-mentioned growth in the significance of biography was expressed in the explosion of writings that joined doxological and biographical elements.342 The works of Cicero, Seneca or Epictetus constitute an excellent example of works in which the doctrinal elements are supplemented by biographical material. Socrates, Diogenes, Zeno, Plato, or many others, are lifted up to the rank of philosophical heroes. These philosophers, who are usually closely associated with the author of the accounts, give a proof of the effectiveness of philosophical presuppositions through their lives. For Epictetus, whose theory of witness probably most fully expressed the evidential value of the philosophical life the ideal of a sage is a Cynic, while Socrates and Diogenes of Sinope were his ancestors.343 The opinion of Epictetus does not diverge from the tradition we have described: the sage is a kind of bridge between the gods and mortals. As such he fulfills a particular mission: he is teacher, educator, and physician of souls. Epictetus will not hesitate from calling the lecture hall—the place where, with difficulty and pains, healthy reason and virtue will remove the illnesses of human passions—a doctor’s office (Diatribes, III.23.30). Philosophers are the messengers (angeloi) of the gods (III.22.23), while pointing out the real difference between good and evil is their task (III.22.23). The unhappiness of mortals is basically grounded in a misidentification of goods, putting one’s hope in everything that cannot guarantee it (III.22.41). At the same time, man was so equipped by the 341 Sen., Epist. 88.1. 342 Cf. Juliusz Domański, “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy], op. cit., p. 19–24. 343 Epictetus clearly distinguishes Stoic teaching from its realization (which he considers to be the life of a perfect Cynic). Cf. Leon Joachimowicz, “Epiktet i jego dzieło” [Epictetus and His Works] in Epictetus, Diatryby, Encheiridion [Diatribes and Encheiridion], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1961, p. x–xi.

126

gods that he can achieve total freedom and perfection without searching for anything outside himself. People are just not aware of how real happiness in no way depends upon external conditioning; instead it wholly depends upon virtue which manifests itself in a proper spiritual stance, which makes external things into something which is entirely indifferent (I.29.46–49). Success, family, wealth, fame, each of these possesses no real value, and in itself is neither good nor evil. The concept of witness is based upon the teaching office bestowed upon the sage by the god. The basic function of witness lies in its educational and evidentiary function. Through an unshaken indifference toward all certainties of life the sage witnesses a possible, because already attained, perfection. The god says, “Step forward, you, and bear witness for me; you earned the right to represent me as a witness. Is anything good or bad that is independent of your will? Do I do any man harm? Have I put each man’s advantage under the control of anyone except himself?”344 Therefore, witness is a proof of total freedom, not expressed by words, but through deeds. The mission of the sage—to the miserable and humiliated who think they lack wealth and fame, and to the rich and famous, who fear a bad fate and tremble at the thought of a fire which destroys storehouses, or the bad temper of a tyrant—is always the same. The sage proclaims that freedom from anxiety, passions, misery or unhappiness lies within a hand’s reach. It is not something passing or chimerical, like merely apparent goods, instead it is fully independent of fortune’s inconstancies. This independence of the austere life of a Cynic, whose signs are a torn tunic, loneliness, often infamy, is a calling which might seem to some to be beyond the capabilities of an ordinary man. To this Epictetus replies, “How can someone who has nothing—no clothes, no hearth or home, no luxuries, no slaves, no city he can call his own—how is it possible for a person like that to be happy? Well, God has sent among you a person who will prove by example that it can be done.”345 Thus the sage proves that his teaching is not just the empty words of an unrealized hope, instead they are words whose authenticity proves his own happiness. We will now cite a fragment which most fully illustrates the evidentiary power of witness. It is a fragment worth remembering, because, as we will shortly see, it thoroughly corresponds with the function Tertullian, Justin or Clement gave to the witness of death. “That you may see, O men, that you seek happiness and tranquility not where it is, but where it is not, behold

344 Epict. I.29.46–49, quotation from: Epictetus, Discourses and Selected Writings, I.47, trans. Robert Dobbin, New York: Penguin Classics, 2008, p. 73. Cf. Ibid. III.24.112. 345 Ibid. II.22.45–46, p. 161.

127

I am sent to you by God as an example. I who have neither property nor house, nor wife nor children, nor even a bed, nor coat nor household utensil; and see how healthy I am: try me, and if you see that I am free from perturbations, hear the remedies and how I have been cured.”346 Tranquility of spirit, unmoved when facing even the greatest trials that life can throw at the sage, proves that the spiritual cure is appropriate. It also authenticates the appraisal of the state of things that lies at the root of the method which is supposed to lead men to happiness. In Epictetus the criterion of Laches gains it theoretical interpretation. We go to Larissa led by a guide who knows the way, and this is especially important, a guide who can be recognized. The witness of a sage is the source of knowledge and the proof of its credibility. Can we definitively determine whether someone is a sage, or whether he is only pretending, with the aid of the tests Epictetus speaks about? The essential content of Discourse IV.8, which we have just extensively cited, constitutes a warning against giving excessive weight to ostensible marks of wisdom. Epictetus is aware that the paradoxicality of the philosophical life has become so ritualized to such a degree that it does not exclude the possibility of risking a pseudo-philosophical masquerade, but a costume and props do not equal wisdom. One’s whole life is an authentic proof. Even if there are proofs, which in an especially spectacular way point toward the perfection of a philosopher, none of them—courage in the face of tyrants (I.29.63), indifference when facing death (I.25.23)—are decisive when it comes to the title of “witness”. As Norbert Brox notes, persecution and death are simply some of the many things to which a witness is indifferent, if they are at all significant, then only as an especially acute examples of the animosity to which wisdom is condemned (III.24.13).347 The frightening spectacle of the conflicts which befall the philosopher—which are unavoidable because of the character of his mission in a world of false goods—and their side effects of imprisonment, exile (III.24.113) or death constitute, equally with others, ordinary examples of

346 Ibid., IV.8.31–32, quotation from: Epictetus, Discourses of Epictetus: With Encheiridion and Fragments and A Life of Epictetus and A View of His Philosophy, trans. George Long, Whitefish MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2004, p. 355. 347 Cf. Norbert Brox, op. cit., p. 181. I owe not only my understanding of Epictetus but also my choice of quotations to Brox. He stresses in his analysis that it is truly impossible to derive the Christian witness of death from the witnessing described by Epictetus. For the Cynic life is one of many indifferent things, whereas death is just one type of trial, and not a specifically important trial. This does not change the fact that the philosophy of Epictetus creates the frames in which the Christian concept can be more easily understood by pagans.

128

perfect freedom. Independent of the decorations, it is always the same freedom, because independently of the human hierarchy of apparent goods, they are all indifferent to the sage. By not joining witnessing to some concrete test of perfection Epictetus does not seem to be beset by the worry that it could somehow be mystified. A torn coat and long hair do not liken one to, “the Cynic who is honored with the scepter and the diadem by Zeus, and says, That you may see, O men, that you that you seek happiness and tranquility not where it is, but where it is not, behold I am sent to you by God as an example.”348 Later we will realize that others were much more skeptical of such claims.

Martyrdom and Conversion The demand for a harmony between one’s teaching and life is one of the oldest tropes of Christian literature. This criterion was already present in St. Matthew’s account of the Sermon on the Mount where Christ considers deeds to be a sure was of discerning false prophets (Mt 7:15–20; Lk 6:43). This thought is repeated by the Didache, which tells the faithful to apply to visiting wandering teachers the criterion of deeds as much as the criterion of his teaching’s orthodoxy.349 In the Letter to Diognetus we find the development of this idea through an inventive interpretation of the Book of Genesis, which is something of an analysis of the essence of Original Sin. According to the author the real sin of Adam and Eve was not their eating the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, but that they did not understand the proper function of knowledge: “Nor truly are those words without significance which are written, how God from the beginning planted the tree of life in the midst of paradise, revealing through knowledge the way to life, and when those who were first formed did not use this [knowledge] properly, they were, through the fraud of the Serpent, stripped naked. For neither can life exist without knowledge, nor is knowledge secure without life.”350 Since knowledge has a strictly functional dimension, then it makes no sense to speak of knowledge, in the proper sense of the word, if it is not part of a total transformation of life. This is why the author of the letter points out that “For he who thinks he knows anything without true knowledge, and such as is witnessed to by life, knows nothing, but is deceived by the Serpent, as not loving life.”351 Following the trail blazed by 348 Epict. IV.8.32, quotation from: Discourses of Epictetus…, IV.8.32, op. cit., p. 355. 349 Cf. Didache 11. 350 Ad Diog. XII.3–4, op. cit, ANF1, p. 30. 351 Ibid. XII.6, p. 223–224.

129

the philosophers, the Christians will make use both of the apologetic and the critical aspects of this presupposition. The philosophical critique of customs served the Christians well in their efforts at discrediting pagan philosophy. They were faithful to the teachings of St. Paul, because even if they willingly accepted the scattered seeds of singular wisdom peppered throughout philosophy they denied that philosophers possessed wisdom or led a rational life.352 In the eyes of its declared enemies the poverty of philosophy is essentially twofold. Philosophers not only did not take advantage of the possibilities inherent in natural knowledge, but they stole353 everything that is most true in their teachings from the Jews and barbarians. What’s more, they completely destroyed the truth which they made their own, and led by pride they brought into it only errors, contradictions and lies. Therefore, philosophers are not fit to be guides, whereas philosophy does not deserve to be acknowledged as being a way of life equal to Christianity. While the contradictions of philosophical teachings lead to confusion, their falsity must lead to immorality. This is why, even though philosophy does not lack its reflections of the truth, it is difficult to find witnesses of perfection within it.354 As Tatian puts it, “What that is distinguished have you produced by your philosophizing? Who among the real enthusiasts is innocent of self-display? Diogenes by boasting of his tub prided himself on his self-sufficiency; he ate raw octopus,

352 Justin Martyr, in his approval of the traces of truth scattered throughout philosophy, probably went the furthest through his concept of the scattered logos (Apol. I.46.2–3). Yet Justin, even though he accepts so much of the Stoics (II.7.1) and Plato (II.13.2), still presupposes merely a partial knowledge of the truth among the pagans (II.10.2–3), who did not possess a clear understanding nor an unassailable knowledge (II.13.3–4). We should remember that Justin does not have a monopoly on the conviction that some philosophical judgments are in accord with Christian teaching. As early as Tertullian (Test. 1) we know that at the end of the 2nd century there were compendiums of philosophical fragments that were considered to be in harmony with Revelation. 353 The dependence of the philosophers upon the prophets of the Old Testament was a common way of explaining the similarities between Christianity and philosophy. The genealogy of this understanding reaches all the way back to Alexandrian Judaism. In dependence upon apologetic needs it was utilized to either explain similarities or to point out degradations with which the pagans infected the truth that they inherited. It seems to me that it is frequently used to explain coincidences that go beyond the competence of natural knowledge. Cf. Iust., Apol. I.44.8–9; 59.1–6; Tat., Or. I.35–40; Min. Fel., Oct. 20.1; 34.5; Tert. Ap. XIX. 354 Tert., Nat. II.2.

130

was seized with pain and died of an internal obstruction because of his intemperance. Aristippus, walking about in a purple robe abandoned himself to luxury under a cloak of respectability. Plato while philosophizing was sold by Dionysius because of his gluttony. Aristotle, too, after ignorantly setting a limit for providence and defining happiness in terms of his own pleasures, used to fawn in a very uncultured way on that wild young man Alexander, who in true Aristotelian fashion shut his own friend up in a cage.”355 While reading what Tatian, Tertullian, or Hermias had to say about this topic it is impossible to doubt that the Christians were careful readers of skeptical diatribes, which not only collected mutually exclusive judgments of the dogmatists, but also left no doubts about the real morals of their authors. This same criterion also found a positive application. The moral practice of Christians often served as an argument for the exclusive truth of Christianity. The thesis was outline very clearly: since knowledge is the necessary condition for a virtuous life, then the virtuous lives of the Christians are a direct proof of the truth of the teachings revealed by Christ. Tertullian in the Apology writes that Christians are the only ones who act justly, because they singularly legitimize themselves with the fullness of knowledge along with their fear of the Lord.356 Tertullian also showed how—using the examples of Thales, Socrates and Plato—the philosophers did not conceal their ignorance about divine reality. Whereas things are different with Christians, “There is not a Christian workman but finds out God, and manifests Him, and hence assigns to Him all those attributes which go to constitute a divine being…”357 The idea that Christians display a harmony between word and deed is an essentially indispensable element of Christian apologetics. “[T]he lover of truth does not give heed to ornamented speeches, but examines the real matter of the speech, what it is, and what kind it is…”358, writes Theophilus in his Letter to Autolycus, whereas the Apologetes described the unsurpassable witnesses of heroic virtue and the perfect lives of the disciples of Jesus.359 The popular opinion of the higher worth of every Christian workman over a pagan sage needs a short commentary.360 We must observe the rhetorical 355 Tat., Or. 2, in: Tatian, Oratio ad Graecos and Fragments, trans. Molly Whittaker, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982, p. 5. 356 Tert., Ap. XLV.7. 357 Ibid. XLVI, op. cit., ANF3, p. 51. 358 Theo., Ad Autol. 1, ,op. cit., ANF2, p. 89. 359 Ad Diog. 5.1nn; Min. Fel., Oct. 32.1nn; 37.1nn; Iust., Apol. I.12.1nn. 360 Cf. Iust., Apol. II.10.8; Min. Fel., Oct. 16.5–6. We could suspect a critical allusion to Plato’s Republic in Justin’s formulation. The elite understanding of wisdom, which

131

device of contrasting the improprieties committed by philosophers with an idyllic picture of the Christian life with a grain of salt.361 The universal presence of this ideal in the apologies should be explained by the spirit of the times in which the discussion took place, rather than by the conviction of their authors. The idealized self-portraits were an answer to accusations of unimaginable crimes. Incest, cannibalism, ritual murder, collective orgies or atheism were all part of the basic repertoire of anti-Christian propaganda.362 The tragic consequences of these slanders, which created a climate of persecution, were familiar to Christians starting with the time of Nero. Therefore, we should not be surprised by the tendency to paint a rosy picture of reality.363 However, the Apologetes did not maintain that all Christians, without exceptions, were perfect people.364 This matter is also connected to the debate over the vision of the Church, that is, whether it should be an association of the perfect as Tertullian and Hippolytus insisted, or whether it should be, as Pope Calixtus put it rather picturesquely, Noah’s Ark. Either way, the maneuver made by Tertullian and Justin, who took away the right to be called Christians from all whose lives ran counter to Revelation did not change the fact that sinners existed after all.365 Even though the extraordinarily principled execution of penitential discipline essentially kept the fallen beyond the frames of the strictly eucharistic community366, nobody in the right frame of mind ever thought that right after baptism, somehow automatically, without the working of grace and constant practice in virtue, all members of the Church deserve to be called perfect.367 The development of wisdom is parallel to the development of discipline, therefore

361 362 363 364 365 366 367

132

excludes workmen from the ranks of the perfect is contrasted with the wisdom of the uneducated merited through grace. Cf. Tert., Ap. XLVI.10. Cf. Iust, Dial. 10.1; Min. Fel., Oct. 9.2–7; Tert, Nat. I.15–16; Ap. VII.1–2. I think that we can also think of this within a perspective which will not constrict itself merely to anti-Christian polemics, but will also take into consideration what we have called the battle of competing biographies. Cf. Tert., Nat. I.5; Iust., Apol. 17.1. Cf. Tert., Ap. XLVI.16.; Iust., Apol. I.4.7–8. This maneuver, as Justin notes, has its philosophical analogies. For example, Epictetus denied the label of philosopher to unprincipled people. With regard to penitential discipline cf.: Jean Daniélou and Henri Marrou, Historia Kościoła [History of the Church], v. 1, trans. Maria Tarnowska, Warszawa 1986, p. 161.; John Norman Davidson Kelly, Early Christian Doctrine, op. cit., 199–201. Such elitarianism was not altogether foreign to the Church, Cf. John Norman Davidson Kelly, op. cit., p. 154nn.

baptism was the beginning of the road, not its end. This is why writers, who, like Tertullian, tended toward some kind of elitarianism, noted the difference between the perfect and those who, while living without sin (when it came to mortal sins), were still on their way toward the goal. We can see this when Tertullian says that Christians simultaneously posses the truth and are on their way toward it368, which is not an attempt to undermine the principle of noncontradiction, instead it stresses the difference between the indubitable truth of the Church’s teachings and the spiritual effort of each individual Christian to more deeply understand this truth by witnessing to it through his life. Thus, when they speak of a workman, they do not mean every workman, what they are after is that even the perfection of at least one of them (when in fact there were so many of them!) proves the authenticity of the teaching which—here the anti-philosophical blade of this thought comes to the fore—can after all be incarnated into the life of a simple person. Doubtlessly, martyrdom is the most perfect example of what Tertullian calls the manifestation of God; the Christians consider it to be the witness of dying for Christ. 369 The opinions of ancient authors confirm the existence of a deep conviction about the evidentiary value of martyrdom. Here word and deed converge in an exemplary way. This is why the stance of Christians toward death is capable of changing people, of shaking their prejudices, and by placing them in the face of the most fundamental questions it can also authenticate Christian hope. Obviously, the witness of Christ stands front and center. As Justin said, before Christ nobody’s teaching was believed to such a degree that so many men were willing to go to their death for that very teaching. What’s more, “not only philosophers and scholars believed, but also artisans and people entirely uneducated; despising both glory, and fear, and death.”370 The pervasive conviction about the persuasive power of martyrdom is attested to by the famous adage of Tertullian: semen est sanguis christianorum. We are not concerned with causes, but with facts here. The persecutions aimed against the Church were essentially ineffective; on the contrary, the ferocity of the Empire only multiplied the witnesses of the Christians who were ready to give their lives up for their faith without hesitation. In turn, witnessing increased the number of new Christians. Thus Tertullian says, “But go zealously on, good presidents, you will stand higher with the people if you sacrifice the Christians 368 Tert., Ap. XLVI.7. 369 Ibid., XLVI.9. 370 Iust., Apol. II.10.8, in: Justin Martyr, The First and Second Apologies, trans. Leslie William Barnard, Westminster MD: The Newman Press, 1997, p. 81.

133

at their wish, kill us, torture us, condemn us, grind us to dust; your injustice is the proof that we are innocent… Nor does your cruelty, however exquisite, avail you; it is rather a temptation to us. The oftener we are mown down by you, the more in number we grow; the blood of Christians is seed.”371 Tertullian is not alone in holding this opinion.372 As the author of the Letter to Diognetus notes, “Christians, though subjected day by day to punishment, increase the more in number.”373 Further on we read, “Do you not see that the more of them are punished, the greater becomes the number of the rest?”374 Public punishment and elaborate tortures, which were supposed to discourage and deter, turned out to be reasons for conversion. The courage displayed in the face of degradation and death led to a trauma that caused others to put their whole lives in question. The stance of Christians worked in the way in which Epictetus characterized the power of philosophical teaching, “The philosopher hit me well: I must no longer do these things.”375 It is reminiscent of the centurion who in the hour of Christ’s death with apprehension kneels under the cross and says, “Truly, this was the Son of God!” (Mt 27:54). The paradoxical power of Good Friday renews itself in the witness of the martyrs. When they are imprisoned, even before their deaths, the confessors are able to bring about spiritual breakthroughs thanks to their attitudes. In an episode in Acts we read how a guard in the prison at Philippi falls before Paul and Silas asking: “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” (Acts 16:30). The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas, sometimes attributed to Tertullian mentions gawkers who out of vain curiosity came out on the eve of the bloody spectacle to see the imprisoned Christians and how “Thus everyone would depart from the prison in amazement, and many of them began to believe.”376 The autobiographical testimony of St. Justin Martyr is an important document which attests to the supra-confessional effects of martyrdom. The platonizing philosopher was convinced that accusations of immorality were impossible to sustain in the face of the disregard displayed by Christians toward torture and death. “For I myself too”, says Justin, “when I was delighting in the teachings of Plato, and heard the Christians slandered, and saw them fearless of death, and of all other things which are counted fearful, saw that it was impossible that they could be 371 Tert., Ap. L.12–13, op. cit., ANF3, p. 55. 372 Cf. Arnobius, Contra nat. II.5; Lactantius, Div. instit. V.13.10. 373 Ad Diog. 6.9, op. cit., ANF1, p. 27. 374 Ibid. 7.8, p. 28. 375 Epict. III.23.27, in: Discourses of Epictetus…, op. cit., p. 269. 376 Mart. Perpet. 17, quotation from: Musurillo, p. 125.

134

living in wickedness and pleasure. For what sensual or intemperate person… could welcome death that he might be deprived of his enjoyments, and would not rather always continue the present life, and try escape the observation of the rulers; and much less would he denounce himself when the consequence would be death?”377 It would be difficult to overlook the role that the witness of death had in individual paths from unbelief, through conversion, toward perfection. Tertullian put it directly: martyrdom is preaching through deeds.378 For those who accept it becomes the starting point of spiritual development. “For all who witness the noble patience of its martyrs,” writes Tertullian in a letter to the proconsul of Africa, “as struck with misgivings, are inflamed with desire to examine into the matter in question; and as soon as they come to know the truth, they straightway enroll themselves its disciples.”379 Elsewhere he adds, “That very obstinacy you rail against is the preceptress. For who that contemplates it, is not excited to inquire what is at the bottom of it? Who, after inquiry, does not embrace our doctrines? And when he has embraced them, desires not to suffer that he may become partaker of the fullness of God’s grace that he may obtain from God complete forgiveness, by giving in exchange his blood?”380 Therefore seeing and thinking is required then a disturbed conscience will lead to an inquiry to the cause of wonder and does not square with the rhetoric which attempts to discredit Christians. Much like the examples of Epictetus, which when they prove the health of the patient tend to convince the audience of the veracity of the spiritual cure, martyrdom was for eyewitnesses the motivation for conversion and the beginning of their transformation. Perfection legitimizes the authenticity of the instructions that lead to it. According to Clement of Alexandria, the witness of death does not only have meaning for those who apparently have no knowledge whatsoever of Christ. This proof is also directed at those who are advanced in their Christian spiritual exercises. “But it will be given to

377 Iust., Apol. II.12.1–3, op. cit., p. 82. Marek Starowieyski, op. cit., p. 104, stresses the necessity of being critical of the value, especially specifically speculative descriptions of conversion, for example of an executioner by a victim (cf. Mart. Perpet. 21). W.A. Meeks, op. cit., p. 23, writes in relation to pagan literature, “conversion stories always idealize”. However, even unauthentic reports, from a historical point of view, can serve to help us come to know the opinions, which its authors and readers saw as accurate—in our case the opinion that witness has an evidential value. 378 Tert., Ap. L.14. 379 Tert., Scap. 5, op. cit, ANF3, p. 108. 380 Tert., Ap. L.15, op. cit., ANF3, p. 55.

135

some,” says Clement, “if expedient, to make a defense, that by their witness and confession all may be benefited—those in the Church being confirmed, and those of the heathen who have devoted themselves to the search after salvation wondering and being led to the faith; and the rest seized with amazement.”381

The Conditions of a Proof Obviously, martyrdom does not enslave anybody to acknowledge the truth of Christianity. The fact that great persuasive effectiveness is ascribed to it does not mean it is impossible to question them. The sight of a Christian’s stance toward death one need not feel one’s conscience disturbed, which should lead to a transformation, one could, against Clement’s hopes, rest seized with amazement. We must presuppose that the mechanism of argumentation can lead one to acknowledge the authenticity, but not total certainty, when faced with the truthful deed. We should add that we are not concerned with persuasion in the rhetorical sense of the word. Not without reason Aristotle excluded witness from his lists of resources proper to rhetoric.382 The credibility of witness simply employs different criteria of judgment than the credibility of rhetorical argumentation (and also different than hypothetical credibility—in the sense given to it in the Phaedo). The rhetorician, even if he would like to convince his listeners otherwise, essentially moves within a circle that does not admit the truth within its circumference. Even if it presupposes the existence of truth, a rhetoric that is honest to itself never suggests that it is capable of going beyond the boundaries of hypothesizing.383 The proper goal of rhetorical persuasion is the ability to convince listeners that among all the possible hypotheses one deserves to be believed more than the others—even though we do not know the truth we can judge that some thesis resembles the truth the most. In opposition to the rhetorician, the witness informs us about what he saw. Therefore, what 381 Clem. Al., Str. IV.IX.73.5, op. cit., ANF3, p. 422; Cf. Ibid., IV.XII.85.1. 382 Cf. Arist., Rh. 1375a20–25; 1375b25nn. 383 Aristotle writes in the Rhetoric, 1355a3–9, op. cit., p. 4, “It is clear, then, that rhetorical study, in its strict sense, is concerned with the modes of persuasion. Persuasion is clearly a sort of demonstration, since we are most fully persuaded when we consider a thing to have been demonstrated. The orator’s demonstration is an enthymeme, and this is, in general, the most effective of the modes of persuasion.” Then a little bit further (1355b14, op. cit., p. 5), “Furthermore, it is plain that it is the function of one and the same art to discern the real and the apparent means of persuasion, just as it is the function of dialectic to discern the real and the apparent syllogism. What makes a man a ‘sophist’ is not his faculty, but his moral purpose.”

136

is at stake is the credibility of the fact that the truth was mediated through his words and deeds, rather than the credibility of the procedure of distinguishing the best hypothesis. However, as we have noted, even though the knowledge of the witness is not something the judges have participated in—after all, they did not see what he saw—a substantial change of situation takes place anyway. The difference is at the very least something like the one between gathering evidence and the process of the trial itself where the judges have eyewitnesses at their disposal. Credibility here is no longer concerned with a hypothesis; instead it is concerned with the truth.384 The evidentiary power of this type of argumentation depends upon agreement on criteria that a credible witness must fulfill. If the Apologetes were not mistaken and martyrdom played a role in causing conversions, then we can accept that such an agreement existed. The method by which we arrive at what Tertullian called a manifestation of God385, and which leads us directly to our earlier considerations of the Pauline apodeiksis, must also have had an extra-ecclesial value. We need not mention how we are interested here in only the aspect of this argument’s validity which can be expressed through philosophical categories. The question therefore is as follows: was there ever, and if there was, what was the philosophical background upon which martyrdom appeared as an argument for the credibility of Revelation? Since we are dealing with the form of witness that combines teaching with existence, then we are concerned with ways of defining perfection and its manifestations. If for Christians a martyr is a teleios, a man who has achieved perfection—or if we go into the word’s etymology then we mean a “completed”386 person—then we must discover the reasons which are capable of convincing philosophers to acknowledge this qualification. I will devote the next chapters to two definitions of philosophy, which, as it seems to me, played a substantial role in this matter. The first definition, which Tertullian in his Apology refers to directly within the context of martyrdom, defines philosophy as a preparation for death.387 The second definition, which has a noble platonic genealogy, is the definition of 384 However, if in a preliminary investigation, differently than in a trial, the state of things related by the witness stays the same, then judges who lean toward believing the witness have a chance to transform their belief into knowledge. 385 Tert., Ap. XLVI.9. 386 Cf. Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 58; Clem. Al., Str IV.IV.14.3–4. 387 More precisely, Tertullian referring to Zeno, speaks of philosophy as teaching contempt of death (Ap. L.9), later he uses Cicero and Seneca to demonstrate the philosophical commandment to courageously bear pain and death (Ap. L.14).

137

philosophy as divinization. The first definition reveals perfection in negative categories, that is, through what the sage has been freed from by rejecting it. The second definition reveals who such a “completed” person is, that is, who is a perfected convert.388 Both of these definitions enjoy wide approval among philosophers. Both define the goal whose realization was ascribed to martyrs by the Christians.

388 I am indebted to Clement of Alexandria for the shape of this interpretation who describes the condition of the martyr in his Stromata using a twofold relation. There is the relation toward Satan, who during persecutions tempts men to the greatest extent with an offer of life in exchange for renouncing God. The martyr answers to such temptations with his whole being by patiently enduring suffering. On the other hand, through the relation toward God in love, which constitutes the deepest content of witness, the martyr shows himself as one who has made his own life similar to God’s life. Cf. Clem. Al., Str., IV.IV.14.3.

138

Part III: Perfection and Death The passion and death of Jesus mean that the tie between truth, suffering and death is a fundamental aspect of Christian teaching and life. The persecutions which hit the Church in the first centuries of its history did not allow believers to forget about the gravity of this connection. The world in which Christianity matured posed a choice between Truth and all that is worldly in a perspective that eliminated any possibility of mediation and compromise. We must clearly say that it is a fact totally independent of whether Christians themselves, as they awaited the Second Coming of the Savior, showed any inclinations to make concessions. The sufferings foretold by Christ (Mt 10:17–18) came soon. The first persecutions, the result of a conflict with Judaism, began in Jerusalem with the arrest and flogging of the apostles (Acts 4:1–21; 5:17–41). In the year 36AD there were persecutions which were inaugurated by the stoning of St. Stephen (Acts 6:8–8:3). In the year 43AD James the Just was thrown from a tower and then stoned. Several years later, in the year 49AD, Christians shared the fate of Jews expelled from Rome by Claudius. Suetonius reports that Emperor made this decision because of a controversy over some Chrestus.389 The first acts of violence by the Empire aimed directly against the Christians were the events following the Great Fire of Rome in the year 64AD.390 Tacitus related that both the rabble and the authorities began to distinguish Christians from Jews.391 It was a slow process and we can assume that the persecutions of Domitian that fell upon the churches in Palestine, Asia Minor and Rome were still part of the Empire’s conflict against Judaism.392 The first document to describe the manner of dealing with Christians came into being in 111AD.393 Pliny the Younger, the imperial governor of Bythnia-Pontus, 389 Suet., Claud. 29. 390 Cf. Suet., Nero 16, in Lives of the Caesars, trans. Catharine Edwards, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000, p. 203: “Punishments were imposed on the Christians—adherents of a new and dangerous superstition.” 391 Tac., Ann. 15.44. 392 Cf. Jean Daniélou and Henri Marriou, op. cit., p. 81–82. 393 The case of the so-called Institutum Neronianum, which was supposed to regulate dealing with Christians—mentioned by Tertullian (Nat. 1.7), is discussed in the article “Prześladowania w państwie rzymskim” [Persecutions in the Roman Empire], in Męczennicy [Martyrs], op. cit., p. 32–33. According to her, the document is probably concerned with some decree about punishing Christians after the fire of Rome,

139

in a letter to Caesar Trajan, asked for advice in his investigation against the Christians.394 The bureaucrat appears to have doubts whether the accusations of misanthropy, cannibalism, and ritual murders (which still resound so clearly in the reports of Tacitus) have any basis. The essence of the deputy’s doubts is expressed in the question, “whether it is the name Christian (nomen Christianum), itself untainted with crimes, or the crimes which cling to the name (flagitia cohaerentia nomini) which should be punished.”395 Trajan’s response confirmed the rectitude of Pliny’s practice. The sufficient basis for punishment was the nomen Christianum, whereas the basis for acquittal was denying one’s faith, confirmed by a public veneration of Roman gods. Even though Trajan’s letter did not have the binding power of a law enforced everywhere in the Empire, its reasoning about the crimes and punishment of Christians held until an edict announced by Constantine which gave Christians freedom of worship on 15 June 313. This type of reasoning lay at the foundation of the death penalty ad bestiam given to Ignatius, bishop of Antioch, the martyrdom of Justin Martyr, Cyprian the bishop of Carthage and thousands of other people who fell victim to the succeeding persecutions and edicts.396 Paradoxically, in this way the law, which turned itself upon the Church, brought out one of the deepest mysteries of Christianity. When he accepts the revealed Truth, the Christian transforms his life and he dies, “to the whole order of things through which the order of death reveals itself here on earth: sin (Rom 6:11), the old self (Rom 6:6), the flesh with its passions and desires (Gal 5:24), the body (Rom 6:6, 8:10), the Law (Gal 2:19) and all the elemental powers of the world (Col 2:20).”397 We should remember that this is not a nihilistic love of death, but, as theologians say, it is the negative aspect of grace, which transforms the whole person. The change that occurs through the revealed Truth is a total conversion of one’s life and knowledge; as such it constitutes the

394 395 396

397

140

rather than prescriptions which were binding in the whole Empire. The posthumous condemnation of Nero to damnatio memoriae brought with it the nullification of acts of law promulgated by him. Plinius Min., Epist. X.96, trans. P.G. Walsh, New York: Oxford University Press USA, 2009. The correspondence between Pliny and Trajan on this issue can be found on p. 278–279. Ibid. X.96, p. 278. The history of the debate about the exact number of victims is discussed by Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 49 in footnote #1. Cf. Ewa Wipszycka, Kościół w świecie późnego antyku [The Church in the World of Late Antiquity], Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1994, p. 106. Słownik teologii biblijnej [Dictionary of Biblical Theology], op. cit., p. 947.

goal of the human pilgrimage toward Mount Tabor. This new perspective is ruled not by necessity, but rather by a readiness to die for the Truth. For those, who follow Marcus Aurelius in seeing only stubbornness and histrionic display at work in the martyrdom of Christians, can be answered by those who follow Gilson in pointing out how none of these scenes were staged by the Christians themselves.398 Even during periods when the persecutions were expiring in light of the reigning court jurisdiction, confessing faith in Christ and fidelity to revealed Truth was tantamount to choosing death.

1.  Dramatis Personae The persecutions that befell the Church from nearly the start of its existence were seen by Christians as yet another unveiling of the drama which closely tied the Truth to death.399 Since the beginning of history the protagonists of this drama were, on the one side, the ambassadors of a hidden truth, and on the other, the world taking on the role of a bloody despot or the role of unjust judges, either way, always addressing the Truth with a heated and destructive hatred. If we want to take a look at Christian martyrs through the prism of the pagan tradition, we will find, without great difficulty, foundations for accepting an interpretation of history as a long and dreary night of persecutions.400 The lives of the philosophers give plenty of arguments for the thesis that wisdom is the object of hatred only because it is wisdom.401

398 Étienne Gilson, Historia filozofii chrześcijańskiej w wiekach średnich [History of Christian Philosophy in the Middle Ages], trans. Sylwester Zalewski, Warszawa: PAX, 1987, p. 19. 399 In one of this letters directed to persecuted Christians in Carthage Cyprian writes, “… you know that it was so ordered from the beginning of the universe that here Righteousness should struggle and wrestle in this world, for at the very beginning the righteous man Abel was slain and thereafter all those righteous man have been slain, both the Prophets and the Apostles whom He sent forth.” Cypr., Epist. 6.2, quotation from: Cyprian of Carthage, The Letters of St. Cyprian Vol. 1, 6.2, trans. George W. Clarke, Westminster MA: The Newman Press, 1983, p. 64. 400 Cf. Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit., p. 193–196; Herbert A. Musurillo SJ, “The Tradition of Martyr Literature”, which is an appendix to The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, op. cit., p. 236–246. 401 That even in pre-Christian times this conviction was something of a popular literary trope is proven by the vir bonus et sapiens from the 16th Letter of Horace—a sage persecuted by a tyrant whose freedom can neither be limited by his shackles nor by the guards (Epist. I.16.73–80).

141

The conviction that there is a tie between the truth, suffering and death was born many centuries before Christianity. We can already find this belief in Aeschylus and Sophocles.402 However, it was not the tragedians, but the person of Socrates, which constitutes the focal point of the great tradition that combines choosing wisdom with choosing death. His trial and death—especially in the version left behind by Plato in the Crito, Apology and Phaedo—is the main point of reference for all philosophical currents of antiquity. He was almost immediately followed by other philosophers, such as Zeno of Elea who was tortured to death by Nearchus,403 or the bestial torture by pounding to death in a mortar administered by the tyrant of Cyprus, Nicocreon, against the student of Democritus and teacher of Pyrrho, Anaxarchus.404 Among later figures fame shines upon Stoic heroes of the so-called “philosophical opposition” during the era of the early Principate. According to Dio Cassius, people such as Thrasea Paetus or Soranus, died not for what they did, but for what they were.405 We can assume that already for Plato the tragic fate of his master: false accusations, imprisonment and hemlock constituted the incarnation of the unavoidable fate of a just person. In a fragment from the second book of the Republic, a fragment that Christians will later lavish with particular attention, Plato writes that whoever wants to be just, instead of merely appearing to be just, will have to undergo infamy, imprisonment, and after tortures and being blinded he will die by being impaled.406 The conflict leading to such fearful consequences is not accidental. This is because it is not related to some accidental issues. It is related to 402 In Aeschylus and Sophocles we find it within the formula pathei mathos—learning through suffering. According to Werner Jaeger, the belief that there is a highest level of knowledge, and that it can only be reached through suffering, is the deepest message of Aeschylus’ work. Cf. Werner Jaeger, Paideia, v. 1, trans. Gilbert Highet, New York: Oxford University Press USA, 1986, p. 266–267. While analyzing the function of pathei mathos in the hymn to Zeus in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (verses 160–183), Maria Maślanka-Soro stresses the function of suffering as a means to attaining knowledge. According to her, it is the only way of regaining prudence and moderation (sophrosyne). Cf. Maria Maślanka-Soro, Nauka poprzez cierpienie (pathei mathos) u Ajschylosa i Sofoklesa [Learning Through Suffering in Aeschylus and Sophocles], Kraków: Towarzystwo Wydawców i Autorów Prac Naukowych „Universitas”, 1991, p. 38. 403 D.L. IX.26. 404 Ibid. IX.58–59. 405 Cf. Donald R. Dudley, A History of Cynicism, From Diogenes to the 6th Century A.D., Mayo Press 2007, p. 128. 406 Pl., R. 361e-362a.

142

the essence of the philosophical mission, the very being of the philosopher, who through a just life and teaching manifests his faithfulness to the truth. We can see this in Socrates’ categorical reply to the proposition of a suspended sentence in exchange for abandoning the philosophical life in Plato’s Apology, “… if, as I say, you were to acquit me on those terms, I would say to you: ‘Men of Athens, I am grateful and I am your friend but will obey the god rather than you, and as long as I draw breath and am able, I shall not crease to practice philosophy, to exhort you and in my usual way…’”407 Since the philosopher is condemned for what he is, instead of for what he has done, he can only avoid death by betraying himself. In extreme circumstances we come upon this dilemma: to be or not to be a philosopher transforms itself into the alternative between two poles, on the one hand, biological life, on the other, being a philosopher. It is impossible to be faithful to both of these poles at the same time. From this perspective death manifests itself as a possible consequence for placing oneself on the side of the truth expressed equally through the words and deeds of the sage. The real meaning of the phrase that a philosopher always acts according to his knowledge was supposed to be illustrated by an episode cited by Epictetus of a conversation between Vespasian and one of the Stoic heroes, Helvidius Priscus. The Caesar tried to encourage Priscus not to attend a meeting of the Senate, “For when Vespasian sent and commanded him not to go into the senate, he replied, ‘It is in your power not to allow me to be a member of the senate, but so long as I am, I must go in.’ ‘Well, go in then,’ says the emperor, ‘but say nothing.’ ‘Do not ask my opinion, and I will be silent.’ ‘But I must ask your opinion.’ ‘And I must say what I think right.’ ‘But if you do, I shall put you to death.’ ‘When then did I tell you that I am immortal? You will do your part, and I will do mine: it is your part to kill; it is mine to die, but not in fear: yours to banish me; mine to depart without sorrow.’”408 Truth and justice are not negotiable, and that is also the reason why ambassadors of absolute values cannot permit themselves any compromises. Therefore there is nothing strange about the sage’s situation being compared to the fate of a soldier surrounded by a hostile world.409 The world and wisdom are at war. Therefore, if we look through the eyes of the pagan public at the spectacle of Christians being dragged out in front of officials of the Empire, we will admit that their drama could be described through the lens of well-known categories.410 407 Pl., Ap. 29c-d, op. cit., p. 27. 408 Epict., I.2.19–21, in Discourses of Epictetus…, op. cit., p. 10. 409 Ibid. III.22.69. 410 We should remember that the acknowledgment of this fact is not the fruit of the labors of modern scholars—a thesis that would have undermined the originality

143

We have already extensively discussed in what ways the Athenian episode of St. Paul’s mission related in Acts was supposed to illustrate the Socratic condition of Christianity—the situation of truth put before the tribunal of opinions. Later writings overflow with numerous unabashed comparisons of those persecuted for righteousness’ sake to the terrible fates of the pagan philosophers. We can take as an example a fragment of a speech made by noble Apollonius around 183 in his defense before the Praetorian Prefect Perennius.411 “After teaching us this doctrine vigorously and persuading us with many arguments (polles apodeikseos), he himself attained a great reputation for virtue. Still was he despised by the ignorant, like the philosophers and just men who lived before him. For the wicked have no use for the righteous. Wherefore it is written that the ignorant say unjustly, Let us imprison the just man, for he is useless to us. So too one of the Greeks has written for us to hear: ‘The just man’, he says, ‘will be whipped, tortured, bound, his eyes gouged out, and after suffering all sorts of penalties will finally be impaled on the gallows’. The Athenian informers convinced the people and then unjustly condemned Socrates; so too our Savior and teacher was condemned by a few malefactors after they had him bound. This they had also done to the prophets…”412 In Apollonian’s speech the wretchedness of the prophet described by Isaiah, the death of Socrates, the fate of the just man from Plato’s Republic413 and the death of Christ constitute stages of the same history. Other Christian writings add to Socrates the names of other heroes, among them Zeno, Anaxarchus, Empedocles414, or Aristides.415 This obviously does not mean that Christians did not notice the difference between Christ and His followers and philosophers such as Socrates, or that they considered Socrates to be a Christian martyr. Despite all the similarities, the differences are substantial. Philosophers fell victim to the hatred of the world because of the few crumbs of wisdom they possessed. Then here is nothing odd about the full Truth revealed to Christians being attacked with such ferocity.

of the concept of martyrdom—instead it was an important element of a conscious argument made by ancient Christian writers. 411 Cf. Berthold Altaner and Alfred Stuiber, Patrologia [Patrology], trans. Paweł Pachciarek, Warszawa: PAX, 1990, p. 156. 412 Mart. Apoll. 38–41, Musurillo, p. 101. 413 The popularity of this fragment from the Republic (361e-362a) is confirmed by Clement of Alexandria, when he cites it in a similar context within the Stromata V.XIV.108.2; cf. IV.VII.52.1. 414 Tert., Ap. L.5–9. 415 Mart. Pionii 17, Musurillo, p. 159.

144

“And those who by human birth were more ancient than Christ,” says Justin Martyr, “when by reason they tried to contemplate and investigate reality, were brought before the tribunals as impious persons and busybodies. And Socrates, who was more forcible in this direction than all of them, was accused of the very same crimes as ourselves.”416 Yet, in the case of Socrates it was all about a partial truth, which was only fully revealed by Christ. Tertullian says the following about the philosophers, “And yet it is the truth, which is so troublesome to the world, that these philosophers affect, but which Christians possess: they therefore who have it in possession afford the greater displeasure, because he who affects a thing plays with it; he who possesses it maintains it. For example, Socrates was condemned on that side (of his wisdom) in which he came nearest in his search to the truth, by destroying your gods. Although the name of Christian was not at that time in the world, yet truth was always suffering condemnation.”417 If we follow the accepted form of argumentation, then the scale of the persecutions indirectly prove Christianity’s possession of the fullness of truth. The battle between good and evil, truth and lies has reached its apex after Christ’s victory on the cross. Christians saw all of this within an eschatological horizon. Each one of the persecuted for righteousness takes part in a battle between God and the demons, which are the real perpetrators of the persecutions.418 Since the demons hate and battle against anyone who tries to live reasonably, then there is nothing remarkable if the devils prove to cause those “to be much worse hated who lived not by a part only from logos, the Sower, but by the knowledge and contemplation of the whole Logos, who is Christ.”419 Therefore, since every person persecuted for the Truth was the victim of demons, then the Christian martyr can triumph over them, renewing Christ’s triumph over Satan.420 The official accusations, which created a semblance of justice, directed at the philosophers are a screen for the real causes of the conflict. What we know from the trial of Socrates, accused of atheism and corrupting the youth, is confirmed

416 Iust., Apol. II.10.4–5, op. cit., p. 80–81. 417 Tert., Nat. I.4, op. cit. ANF3, p. 112.; Cf. Tert., Ap. XLVI.6, op. cit., ANF3, p. 51: “In proportion to the enmity the truth awakens, you give offense by faithfully standing by it; but the man who corrupts and makes a mere pretence of it precisely on this ground gains favour with its persecutors.” Cf. Theo., Ad Autol. III.30. 418 Iust., Apol. II.7.3, op. cit., p. 78: “…and it is according to the working of wicked demons that earnest people, such as Socrates and the like suffer persecution and are in bonds, while Sardanapalus, Epicurus, and the like appear blessed and abundant in glory.” 419 Ibid. II.8.3, p. 79. 420 Tert., Mart. 1.; Mart. Perpet. 10.

145

by the story of Aristotle’s nephew, the peripatetic Callisthenes of Olynthus who was accused of taking part in a rebellion against Alexander the Great. Before he has thrown to the lions he was put in an iron cage, where he was exposed to vermin and gawkers, on top of that he was carted in it throughout the country for all to see. The real reason for this cruel revenge was not taking part in a conspiracy plot, but Callistenes’ brave (unconstrained by court hypocrisy) attitude toward Alexander.421 In other words, the philosopher perished, despite his uncle’s advice, because he did not cease being a sage who, independently of circumstances, always acts according to his knowledge. The combined elements of false accusations and the factually groundless convictions is a very important trope of apologetic rhetoric, which serves to highlight the fact that Christians died for what they were, rather than for the crimes for which they were ostensibly tried. In his treatises Ad Nationes and the Apologeticum Tertullian widely develops this argument.422 The logic of persecution known to us from the letters of Pliny and Trajan meant that during a trial it was not necessary to prove Christians committed any alleged infractions. The one who admits being a Christian dies, while the person who renounces Christianity is acquitted. The Christians, just like the sages, did not die because they broke the law, but because they did not renounce the Truth. Even though this historical interpretation of the persecutions is very suggestive, it does not exhaust all the ways in which Christians understood the analogy between martyrdom and the death of a philosopher. Pointing out Zeno, Anaxarchus, or especially Socrates, should make us think not only of historical accuracy, which is easy to question, but the ways in which their attitude toward death can witness to the realization of perfection, which can be defined in strictly philosophical categories. As we have said already, the heart of the matter lies not in Socrates being treated like a Christian martyr, instead it lies in Christian martyrdom fulfilling all the conditions required for philosophical perfection.423

421 D.L. V.4–5. 422 Tert., Ap. II; Nat. I.2. 423 Glen Warren Bowersock, op. cit., p. 9, who refers to, among other things, the reference to Socrates contained within Apollonius’ speech, writes the following: “…these allusions occur in the context of persuading incredulous pagans that what the martyrs are doing is not irrational. It is a rhetorical argument and admittedly one of considerable force. It does not constitute a statement that Socrates was, in a Christian sense, a martyr.”

146

2.  Preparing for Death The Archparadox of the Phaedo As we know, within Christian reflection upon martyrdom there appears the conviction that the life of Christians, especially their stance toward death, constitutes the criterion of credibility of the teachings revealed by Jesus Christ. What especially interests us, something not ignored by Christian authors, is the fact that the standards of validity are not the exclusive property of Christianity. On the contrary, the value of the argument which lies behind this conviction is actually revealed in the conceptual structures of ancient philosophy. The Christian use of this argument is aimed at pagan philosophy, and it can only be interpreted and accepted precisely within this territory. When it is accepted and affirmed, then it becomes the main reason for dethroning of philosophy and replacing it with Christianity. We will take the answer which Pionius, a Christian martyred in Syria during the reign of Decius, gives to the widely acclaimed rhetorician Rufinius, as our starting point.424 The rhetorician attacks the Christian and accuses his hardliner stance with regard to death of being the greatest kind of folly. When we read the reply of Pionius, if we trust the testimony of the author, we are to assume that his answer leaves his opponent speechless: “Is this your rhetoric? Is this your literature? Even Socrates did not suffer thus from the Athenians. But now everyone is an Anytus and a Meletus. Were Socrates and Aristides and Anaxarchus and all the rest fools in your view because they practised philosophy and justice and courage (philosophian kai dikaiosynen kai katerian eskesan)?”425 We see here something that goes beyond a comparison of the fate of the Christians and the philosophers in the perspective of the age-old struggle between the truth and the world. Pionius’ reply sketches out a different basis for an analogy we are already familiar with. It is the spiritual exercises which mark out the path of spiritual development toward righteousness and courage, whose goal is total indifference toward death. We find this thought in a developed form in Tertullian. In the last chapter of the Apologeticum426, the Carthaginian once again returns to the matter of Christianity’s superiority to philosophy. He writes that many philosophers encourage their pupils to patiently endure suffering and death. The distinct writings of Cicero, Seneca, and the teachings of Diogenes, Pyrrho, Callinicus all

424 Cf. Altaner-Stuiber, op. cit., p. 157. 425 Mart. Pionii 17, Musurillo, p. 159. 426 Tert., Ap. L.14.

147

witness to this. However, none of them, through their words, ever found as many followers as the Christians, who preached through the example of their lives and deaths. In other words, it was the lives of Christians which realized the philosophical postulate of contempt for death, understood as the objective gauge of human perfection. This is the reason why the attitude toward facing suffering can be understood as an effective form of persuasion, which brought converts to Christianity: it made outsiders think, inclined them to familiarize themselves with Christian teaching, and then to realize it in their own lives.427 As if supplementing Tertullian, Clement of Alexandria said: “So the Church is full of those, as well chaste women as men, who all their life have contemplated the death which rouses up to Christ. For the individual whose life is framed as ours is, may philosophize without learning, whether barbarian, whether Greek, whether slave—whether an old man, or a boy, or a woman. For self-control [wisdom] is common to all human beings who have made choice of it.”428 It was a wisdom through self-control which, we should add, was understood as existing within a state of readiness to die. The principle to which both Tertullian and Clement allude has its sources in Plato’s Phaedo. We can only understand philosophy as preparation for death when we see it through the tragic consequences of the unavoidable conflict between the truth and falsehood, only then can we see that philosophy is the capability to place the objective and universal above the particular and changing. The Phaedo shows how there is a still deeper dimension at the heart of this matter. Among the friends who gathered in the prison to accompany Socrates during the last days of his life there was still a glimmer of hope for saving their master from death. We can see this in the enthusiasm with which Simmias agrees with Cebes’ argument that the sage should not be rejoice about leaving the world (62e-63a). Everything revolves around certain ambiguities between an argument advanced by Socrates earlier about how a real philosopher desires death, and the unconditional condemnation of suicide advanced by the Pythagorean philosopher Philolaus (61c-62c). Socrates treated the reply to his friends with the utmost seriousness, even guaranteeing to them that he will attempt to defend himself much more convincingly than he did before the judges (63b). “I am afraid other people,” Socrates tells Simmias and Cebes, “do not realize that the one aim of those who practice philosophy in the proper manner is to practice for dying and

427 As we have noted earlier, both for Tertullian and many other Christian writers, the enmity and cruelty of the persecutors was essentially a form of Christian propaganda. 428 Clem. Al., Str. IV.VIII.58.2–3, op. cit., ANF2, p. 419.

148

death. Now if this is true, it would be strange indeed if they were eager for this all their lives and then resent it when what they have wanted and practiced for a long time comes upon them.”429 A bit further on he says, “…those who practice philosophy in the right way are in training for dying and they fear death least of all men.” That Plato was aware how such a definition of philosophy’s goals must provoke stupefaction is best witnessed by the laughter of Simmias and his reply which invokes widely held sarcastic opinions held by those who disdain philosophy. The Athenian, says Simmias, would agree with the opinion that philosophers, who desire death, deserve to die (64b). This same ominous accusation of culpable foolishness will resound in opinions voiced against the Christian martyrs. We know it from Rufinius’ attack against Pionius. In the Apologeticum Tertullian will repeat it in a formulation strikingly similar to that of Simmias.430 Later Christians will frequently hear these accusations both from the mouths of bureaucrats431, and pagan intellectuals.432 People, Socrates says, “…are not aware of the way true philosophers are nearly dead, nor of the way they deserve to be, nor of the sort of death they deserve to die” (64b, p. 55–56). We can assume that the early Christians who referred to Socrates so often would also subscribe to this opinion of the Athenian.

429 Pl., Phd. 64a, op. cit., p. 55. Cf. 80e-81a. 430 Tert., Ap. L.1, op. cit. ANF3, p. 54: “In that case, you say, why do you complain of our persecutions? You ought rather to be grateful to us for giving you the sufferings you want.” A bit further on, in order to refer to the pagan ideal of contempt for death and those who embody it (L.4), he adds that when Christians appear to be desperate and reckless, then “…the very desperation and recklessness you object to in us, among yourselves lift high the standard of virtue in the cause of glory and of fame.”. Among the admired “reckless” Tertullian lists figures as diverse as: Mucius the defender of Rome, Empodocles, Dido, Regulus, Anaxarchus, Leaena the Athenian prostitute, and Zeno of Elea (L.5–9). 431 This is what proconsul Arrius Antoninus told Christians who willingly gave themselves up to the authorities during the persecutions: “O miserable men, if you wish to die, you have precipices or halters.” Tert., Scap. 5, op. cit., ANF3, p. 107. 432 “It is with good reason,” replies Origen to Celsus, “that we have regarded it as a matter dear to God if one is crucified for virtue, and is tortured for piety, and dies for holiness. ‘Precious before the Lord is the death of his holy ones.’ And we affirm that it is good to have no love for this life. Celsus compares us to evildoers who with good reason undergo the punishments which they suffer for robbery, and is not ashamed to assert such a noble purpose resembles the attitude of robbers.” Orig., C. Cels. VIII.54, op. cit., p. 493.

149

With an introductory digression we shall now note how since the preSocratics, in the philosophical world of reversed meanings, the concepts of life and death underwent a considerable metamorphosis. First, according to many philosophers, from the perspective of ultimate reality death, as a form of change, does not exist. Sensual experience told the Greeks about an endless process of birth and death, creation and destruction, that is, about the considerable instability of everything surrounding us. The discovery of arche (the ultimate building block of reality), on the one hand, an ultimate explanation in the intellectual order, on the other hand, the fundamental substratum in the order of being—negates and lifts this dramatic experience of the world’s lack of identity. By finding an anchoring in arche, a qualitative change need not be seen as a movement from being into non-being and it need not put the principle of non-contradiction into doubt. However, a depreciation of sensual data, and with it ordinary experience—both of which are now explained through the categories specific to the arche—is the inescapable consequence of this discovery. From the perspective of this principle what we experience with our senses as instability, ontological discontinuity, disintegration, progression into or emergence from nothingness are nothing but an illusion.433 Therefore, if there is no change, then death also does not exist. Empedocles says, “Here is another point: of all mortal things no one has birth, or any end in pernicious death, but there is only mixing, and separating of what has been mixed, and to these men give the name ‘birth’.”434 “The Hellenes,” repeats Anaxagoras, “do not understand rightly coming into being and passing away, for nothing comes into being or passes away, but there is a mingling and

433 Aristotle in the Metaphysics, 983b6, trans. Hugh Lawson-Tancred, New York: Penguin Classics, 1999, p. 12–13, writes the following: “Well, of the first philosophers the majority thought that the causes in the form of matter were alone the principles of all things. For that from which all entities come, from which each thing primarily arises and into which it is at the end resolved, the substance remaining but changing as to affections, this they announced to be the element and principle of all entities, and for this reason they thought that nothing either came to be or was destroyed, since this sort of nature was always preserved, so that we do not even say that Socrates either came into being simpliciter, when he became fine or musical, nor that he was destroyed when he lost these dispositions, since the substrate remained, Socrates himself, and the same consideration they thought applied to all other things. For they thought that there must be some nature, either one or more than one, from which other things arose while it was conserved.” 434 Emp., fr B8, in Empedocles, The Extant Fragments, trans. M.R. Wright, London: Duckworth Publishers, 2002, p. 174–175.

150

a separation of things which are.”435 Obviously, the more radical the negation of our sensory experience (undertaken from an ontological perspective) of the world’s mutability, the more cumbersome concepts such as birth or death become. Knowledge of ultimate reality requires us to bracket-off language based upon a false, because only sensory, knowledge. On the other hand, there is also increasing criticism of commonplace understandings of the concepts of life and death. This criticism was derived from anthropological and moral categories. “Who now can tell”, asks Euripides, “whether to live may not be properly to die. And whether that which men do call to die, may not in truth be but the entrance into real life?”436 Socrates will utilize this fragment during a polemic with Callicles in the Gorgias. According to Callicles, happiness understood as a lack of needs, which is the result of restraining desires, is a totally inhuman ideal (492d). “Rather, this is what’s admirable and just by nature—and I’ll say it to you now with all frankness—that the man who’ll live correctly ought to allow his own appetites to get as large as possible and not restrain them” (491e-492a, p. 835). The arguments of both sides leaned upon the concept of nature. Socrates quotes the tragedian’s words, because it can serve as a slogan for both positions, and at the same time it stresses their total incommensurability. When Callicles associates the sage who tempers his own appetites with a corpse, then Socrates associates him with the triumph of the appetites over reason. Therefore, life as Callicles understands it is for Socrates a nail in the coffin for all that is most significant in man. When reason is tyrannized by an endless spiral of passions it dies. Hence, the Socratic ontological dualism requires us to look for characteristics of death in a life not disciplined by spiritual exercises. “Perhaps in reality we’re dead. Once I even heard one of the wise men say that we are now dead and that our bodies are our tombs…”437, is how Socrates comments on Euripides. Man, as a divided creature, can only live according to one of the elements. The affirmation of one of them is the death of the other. Yet, since most people understand death as the death of the body, then we can confidently say that life is death, and death (but not for all) is life. Fear of death is one of the greatest passions. Death is the loss of the good which stands at the foundation of the possibility of possessing any good. Thus, our relationship to 435 Anaxag., fr. B17, cited in: Frederick Copleston, A History of Philosophy: Greece and Rome, New York: Continuum Publishers, 2006, p. 67. We find similar conclusions in the atomists for whom birth and death, becoming and expiring, are essentially the combination or disintegration of groups of atoms. Cf. Arist., GA 324b35. 436 D.L. IX.11.72, op. cit., p. 406. 437 Pl., Grg. 493a, op. cit., p. 836.

151

death defines the fundamental orientation of our being. The interpretation of philosophy as preparation for death proclaimed by Socrates in the Phaedo will hold to the Pythagorean-Orphic tradition we have just outlined. The death for which philosophical novices train is a spiritual liberation of the soul from the body—it is the complete supremacy of reason. If death, as we ordinarily understand it, is a parting of ways between the body and soul, which inaugurates their separate existence (Phaedo, 64c), then it constitutes a model of spiritual freedom from temptations and passions, that is, the goal toward which philosophy strives. The participants of the dialogue agree that the palate, sex, or beauty do not absorb the philosopher whose only concerns are matters of the soul. There is also no doubt that in the eyes of the many those who neither find pleasure nor participate in bodily matters deserve to be called dead (64d-65a). These opinions, intentionally insulting, Socrates turns around to his own advantage. Philosophy can be understood as an exercise in dying, because it constitutes a process of purifying and liberating the soul from its dependence on the body. “And does purification not turn out to be what we mentioned in our argument some time ago,” ask Socrates, “namely, to separate the soul as far as possible from the body and accustom it to gather itself and collect itself out of every part of the body and to dwell by itself as far as it can both now and in the future, freed, as it were, from the bonds of the body?” (67c-d, p. 58). The basic motive for putting the matter this way is the question of knowledge and acquiring wisdom in which the relationship with the body constitutes a considerable, or even an unyielding obstacle.438 First of all, the senses do not give the soul any indubitable data (65b). Second, the soul encounters the objects of knowledge proper only through reasoning, not through sense impressions.439 Third, the body through illness, appetites and desires—if only because they steal away time and disturb one’s peace—turns the soul’s attention from the substantial goals of

438 Preparing for death is the practical aspect of philosophizing, but it is augmented by the epistemological goal. This is why this definition is complemented by the definition found in the Republic V.475e, op. cit., p. 1102: “And who are the true philosophers? Those who love the sight of truth.” 439 Cf. Pl., Phd. 79d, op. cit., p. 70: “But when the soul investigates by itself it passes into the realm of what is pure, ever existing, immortal and unchanging, and being akin to this, it always stays with it whenever it is by itself and can do so; it ceases to stray and remains in the same state as it is in touch with things of the same kind, and its experience then is what is called wisdom.”

152

philosophizing and prevent it from seeing the truth.440 This is because, “…indeed the soul reasons best when none of these senses troubles it, neither hearing nor sight, nor pain nor pleasure, but when it is most by itself, taking leave of the body as far as possible having no contact or association with it in its search for reality” (65c, p. 57). Knowing the truth, beauty and justice is only possible for the one who liberates himself from his body (65d-66a). “For Plato,” writes Pierre Hadot, “training for death is a spiritual exercise which consists in changing one’s point of view. We are to change from a vision of things dominated by individual passions to a representation of the world governed by the universality and objectivity of thought. This constitutes a conversion (metastrophe) brought about with the totality of the soul.”441 Transformation understood this way turns the soul’s eye442 from a particular and subjective point of view that is sketched out by the body, toward the direction of a universal and objective perspective; it leads from the mutable toward the permanent. As we can see, the definition of philosophy as preparation for death has a deeply apophatic quality: it is a description of the goal of philosophy constructed out of elements that are not proper to this goal. In accordance with the rules of the philosophical language of paradox, the state of perfection is revealed through a negation of imperfections, that is, what usually passes for perfection and happiness. The shorthand for this catalogue is the necessary condition for their realization: bodily life. In this sense perfection is a negation of life, and the path toward wisdom is learning how to die. When outlining the road toward perfection Plato tends to speaks about what we need to abandon, rather then what we should strive for, and one must admit that looking at it from an ordinary, non-philosophical, perspective: this means that we have to abandon everything. There is no denying that such a definition of philosophy was, is, and will be an archparadox. Does it designate a program which can be realized in this life, or only a goal which points toward the proper direction of human efforts? Can anyone totally free themselves from their body? Can reason gain complete control over the affects? The radicalism of Plato’s formulation had a varied reception. The main question arising out of it was about the relationship between the spiritual 440 Ibid. 66b-d; Cf. Ibid. 83d, p. 73: “Because every pleasure and every pain provides, as it were, another nail to rivet the soul to the body and weld them together. It makes the soul corporeal, so that it believes that truth is what the body says it is. As it shares the beliefs and delights of the body, I think it inevitably comes to share its ways and manner of life and is unable ever to reach Hades in a pure state…” 441 Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 96. 442 Cf, Pl., R. 518c.

153

element and the bodily, of the intellectual and sensory, or more precisely, the range in which human happiness depends upon certain responsibilities that the soul must fulfill toward the body, that is, about the degree to which the soul can be independent. It is true that a complete lack of needs, the ideal which so riled up Callicles, was treated with suspicion even by those who took the side of Socrates in the debate. However, even those who like the peripatetics saw the bond between the body and the soul as making human happiness depend upon external goods, at the same time saw a lack of needs as a mark of perfection. That a total independence from bodily determinants is not accessible to man, that it is only proper to the gods, does not change the fact that the more perfect a man is, the closer he is to this ideal.443 Anyway, judging from the reply Socrates gives in the Phaedo, Plato himself doubts in the possibility of such a purification and liberation of reason from the bonds imposed upon it by the body, so that even in this world we would be capable of knowing in a totally pure manner (66e-67b). Ontological dualism, which sees the body as an evil and identifies man with the soul, shows itself to be unavoidable, “…because as long as we have a body and our soul is fused with such evil we shall never adequately attain what we desire, which we affirm to be the truth.”444 It seems, according to Plato, a full conversion is impossible during our earthly travail.445

Death as a Way of Life The teaching of the New Testament allowed the Christians consent to the understanding of philosophy outlined in the Phaedo. The archparadox of life and death constitutes one of the central elements of the Christian interpretation of the drama inaugurated by Adam and Eve’s act of disobedience. Death’s reign over the world (Rom 5:14), which came into the world through sin (Rom 5:12; 1 Cor 15:21), was overcome by Christ on the cross. His sacrifice freed people both from the bondage of sin and death (Rom 8:2; Heb 2;15). Desire is the source of sin, 443 Cf. Arist., EN 1177a12–1178a8. 444 Pl., Phd. 66b, op. cit., p. 57. It does not seem to me that this position contradicts the quite optimistic appraisal of man’s cognitive possibilities in the Republic or in the Seventh Letter. The Phaedo is concerned with the conditions of a total and lasting conversion and whether human embodiment destroys all the cognitive capabilities of man. 445 We do not have enough space here to discuss the philosophical tradition which grew out of Plato’s Phaedo and its definition of philosophy. Cf. Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 94–96, where the author sketches the consequences of accepting the definition of philosophy as preparation for death in Plato, the Stoics and the Skeptics.

154

whereas death is its effect (Jam 1:15). Lack of control over bodily desires resulted in the human body, a gift of God after all, becoming a “body of death” (Rom 7:24). The sacrifice of Christ ended the indivisible mastery of death over the world, but it did not ultimately destroy death. This is the reason why outside of Christ there is no resurrection or life (Jn 8:21). Therefore the real death of man is not physical death, but persisting in the bonds of sin (Col 2:13). A man passes from death to life, who, according to the words of Christ, hears his words (Jn 5:24). Christ says, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die” (Jn 11:25–26). From this perspective physical death is something secondary. This is because the real object of the human drama is the battle for eternal life. Whoever keeps to the teaching of Christ will live forever (Jn 8:51), whereas whoever rejects it stands on the side of the body and sin and he awaits condemnation, or as the author of Revelation called it “second death” (Rev 2:11). How to avoid it? Well, the road to life goes through death. While living in Christ, the Christian dies to the world daily with Him. This is how St. Paul puts it in Colossians: “Think of what is above, not of what is on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God… Put to death, then, the parts of you that are earthly: immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and the greed that is idolatry” (Col 3:2–3, 3:5). The life of the Christian that is inaugurated by baptism, which unites him with the Crucified, is therefore the daily dying of all that prevents him from striving for what is above. This is what gives meaning to spiritual exercises, which limit sensual desires, and to physical suffering and death, which more firmly bond the Christian with the dying Christ. We can say that for a follower of Christ both voluntary ascesis and sufferings, persecutions and death constitute a kind of spiritual exercise which help him be reborn through dying to sin and the world. This is precisely how the author of the Letter to Diognetus understands it. He compares the mortification of the flesh, its effect of perfecting the soul, to the persecutions which have befallen the Church. All of these make the Church from day to day better, stronger, and more numerous.446 Christians did not have to show literary inventiveness in order to utilize the setting and props of the Phaedo in their own teaching about preparing for death. 446 Ad Diog. VI.9. In the famous sixth chapter of that work, among other comparisons, the presence of Christians in the world is compared to the presence of the soul in the body. The author stresses the inescapable tension between the invisible and immortal soul and the mortal body, which hates the soul for defying the temptation to take advantage of pleasures (VI.5). The soul constitutes a unity with the body and loves it, even though it is locked up in the mortal flesh as if in a prison (VI.7).

155

The courts, prisons and shackles, which the philosophical tradition made into a banal trope of moralizing rhetoric, once again became a reality. This is not the only reason why when we pick up Christian exhortations to martyrdom we immediately notice the close family resemblance between them and the spirit of the Phaedo. Christel Butterweck claims that the history of apologetic literature began with Plato’s version of Socrates’ apology.447 We can paraphrase this opinion by saying that next to Holy Scripture the tradition derived from the Phaedo is the source of Christian reflection upon martyrdom understood as a substantial point of reference for all human life. Even though the subtitle of the Phaedo is On the Immortality of the Soul, the Phaedo is a philosophical protreptic, an exhortation to practice philosophy, which is a learning to die. In order to stress the difficulty of the undertaking, Socrates directs the following words toward the pseudo-philosopher Evenus, “Tell this to Evenus, Cebes, wish him well and bid him farewell, and tell him, if he is wise, to follow me as soon as possible. I am leaving today, it seems, as the Athenians order it. Said Simmias: ‘What kind of advice is this you are giving to Evenus, Socrates? I have met him many times, and from my observation he is not at all likely to follow it willingly.’ How so, said he, is Evenus not a philosopher?… Then Evenus will be willing, like every man who partakes worthily of philosophy” (61b-61c, p. 53). Obviously, the exhortation to martyrdom is hyperbolic: desiring death, fettered by the substantial prohibition against death (61d-62c), turns man from matters of the body, and directs his life toward an affirmation of reason and spirit. Learning to die is learning how to live. From this perspective we can say that Christians partake worthily of philosophy. The Christian is united with the imprisoned Socrates not only by imprisonment and shackles, and not only with their agreement that this dreary fate is a metaphor for the condition of the righteous, but also by their conviction that the constant effort of preparing for death is the most proper form of life.448

447 Christel Butterweck, “Martyriumsucht” in der alten Kirche, Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1995, p. 8. 448 Below we will discuss selected passages of the following three Christian exhortations to martyrdom: Tertuallian’s Ad Martyres, Ad Fortunatum by St. Cyprian of Carthage, and Exhortatio ad Martyrium which came from the pen of Origen. We should note that if we consequently want to think of Christianity as the crowning of philosophy, then we need to place these texts within the tradition of philosophical protreptics such as the Protrepticus of Aristotle, Cicero’s Hortensius or the protreptic written by Iamblichus. Even if this thesis cannot be defended from a historical-literary perspective, then we should remember that, much like pagan texts, the Christian protreptics

156

Exhortation to Martyrdom If the life of the just man is a battle fought from the moment of spiritual birth, then martyrdom is the deciding battle of this war. The person who believes in Christ prepares for it from the moment of their baptism. Christians would probably share the wonder of Empedocles over the residents of Acragas who lived their lives as if they were going to die tomorrow, but furnished their homes as if they were going to live forever.449 Living in the shadow of death gives luster to every moment. Meditating on death makes each day the last one, it also makes each day the most important day. In the exhortations to martyrdom difficulty, discipline and the systematic nature of the spiritual practices, which are a preparation for an ultimate confrontation with the world, are presented through images of military exercises or the training of athletes. The military metaphors, which get across the enmity of the world, also serve as a metaphor that justifies the daily moral effort undertaken by people who are aiming for perfection. Tertullian puts it thus, “yet we were called to the warfare of the living God in our very response to the sacramental words. Well, no soldier comes out to the campaign laden with luxuries, nor does he go to action from his comfortable chamber, but from the light and narrow tent, where every kind of hardness, roughness and unpleasantness must be put up with. Even in peace soldiers inure themselves to war by toils and inconveniences—marching in arms, running over the plain, working at the ditch, making the testudo, engaging in many arduous labors. The sweat of the brow is on everything, that bodies and minds may not shrink… For the athletes, too, are set apart to a more stringent discipline, that they may have their physical powers built up. They are kept from luxury, from daintier meats, from more pleasant drinks; they are pressed, racked, worn out; the harder their labors in the preparatory training, the stronger is the hope of victory.”450 In the most trying hour, adds the great admirer of Tertullian, St. Cyprian, our army finds itself in prison.451 Whoever has not trained for such a test finds his chances very slim, “For he cannot be a soldier fitted for the war who has not first been exercised in the field; nor will he who seeks to gain the crown of contest be rewarded on the

constitute an exhortation to the most perfect form of life, they sketch out its picture and point the way which leads to it. 449 Cf. D.L. VIII.63. 450 Tert., Mart. 3, op. cit., ANF3, p. 694. 451 Cypr., Epist. 10.1.

157

racecourse, unless he first considers the use and skillfulness of his powers.”452 If things are otherwise, if riches, gains, pride, envy, arguing and unfaithfulness become the content of one’s life if we, “renouncing the world in words only, and not in deeds”453, then victory will be almost totally out of reach. Much like in Plato, the exercises are concerned with a daily consolidation of spiritual transformation. This is why Cyprian will make Lot’s wife the anti-hero of spiritual striving. The negative aspect of conversion, after all, is the act of turning away from the transient. One must not look back, “Let us lift up our eyes to heaven, lest the earth with its delights and enticements deceive us.”454 Thus, the whole of Christian life is training in spiritual readiness for death. Clement of Alexandria in the fourth volume of the Stromata, dedicated to martyrdom, says that the whole education of the Christian is nothing other than a preparation for death.455 These types of exercises, by the way, are not reserved for elites of sages. Thanks to training in self-denial wisdom, understood as readiness to accept martyrdom, comes within the reach of possibility of simple Christians.456 Clement stresses that Christ is the educator of the soul457, that all he ever said he related to the soul’s education458, to the development of virtue. “And it is the sum of all virtue, in my opinion, when the Lord teaches us that for love to God we must gnostically despise death”, which, according to Holy Scripture, leads men to become perfect and sons of God.459 Training in death is humanizing in the deepest sense of the word, because it depends upon rejecting what is not worthy of man. Clement says the following about people who have given themselves up to the misrule of bodily pleasures, “As slaves the Scripture views those ‘under sin’ and ‘sold to sin,’ the lovers of pleasure and of the body; and beasts rather than men.” Clement continues, making references both to the Phaedo and 452 Cypr., Ad Fort. 2, op. cit., ANF5, p. 496. We should recall the following fragment from Seneca here: “What, have you only at this moment learned that death is hanging over your head, at this moment exile, at this moment grief? You were born to these perils. Let us think of everything that can happen as something which will happen… I now warn you not to drown your soul in these petty anxieties of yours; if you do, the soul will be dulled and will have too little vigour left when the time comes for it to arise.” Sen., Epist. 24.15–16, quotation from: Seneca, Moral Epistles, v. 1, op. cit., p. 173. 453 Cypr., Epist. 7.1, op. cit., ANF5, p. 285. 454 Ibid. 7.7, p. 287. 455 Cf. Clem. Al., Str. IV.VII.53.1–55. 456 Ibid. IV.VIII.58.2–4. 457 Ibid. IV.VI.35.1. 458 Ibid. IV.VI.36.1. 459 Ibid. IV.VI.41.1, op. cit., ANF2, p. 416.

158

to the letters of St. Paul, “The severance, therefore, of the soul from the body, made a life-long study, produces in the philosopher gnostic alacrity, so that he is easily able to bear natural death, which is the dissolution of the chains which bind the soul to the body (Phaedo, 67d, 80e). ‘For the world is crucified to me, and I to the world,’ (Gal 6:14) the Apostle says; ‘and now I live, though in the flesh, as having my conversation in heaven’ (Gal 2:20; Phil 3:20).”460 We will find similar thoughts in the Exhortation to Martyrdom, written by a great student of Clement, the Alexandrian Origen. Origen thinks we can robustly say, “You will notice that life is filled with contests and contestants for many virtues.”461 This is why we should glory in oppressions, because they help form endurance, which in turn form virtue and hope.462 Preparing for death is a witness of Christian maturity and an expression of progress in wisdom.463 “I believe that they love God with their whole soul who, because of their great desire to be united with Him, separate and cut off their soul not only from the earthly body but from every kind of body. Without distraction or disturbance they undergo separation from the body of their lowliness when through death, as it is held to be, the opportunity offers of putting away the body of this death…”464 Origen utilizes the parables about the foundation and the seeds to stress that the persecutions are essentially a test of whether our life was an earnest progress in perfection according to the precepts of the Gospel. Only times of real oppression will show us whether we have built our house on a rock, on sand, or totally without foundation.465 Facing death will manifest whether the Word of God has authentically taken root in us, or whether it was sowed among the weeds or on rocky soil.466 The linguistic consequence of a moral conversion leads to a change in the meanings of ordinary words. Death stops being death, while prison and its shackles become symbols of freedom. And so Tertullian wrote the following to imprisoned Christians: “for if we reflect that the world is more really the prison, we shall see that you have gone out of a prison rather than into one. The world has the greater darkness, blinding men’s hearts. The world imposes the more grievous fetters, binding men’s very souls… O blessed, you may regard yourselves 460 Ibid., IV.III.12.4–5, p. 411. 461 Orig., Exhort. 5, in Origen, Prayer, Exhortation to Martyrdom, trans. John Joseph O’Meara, Mawah NJ: Paulist Press, 1954, p. 144. 462 Ibid. 41. 463 Ibid. 1. 464 Ibid. 3, p. 142. 465 Ibid. 48. 466 Cf. Ibid. 49.

159

as having been translated from a prison to, we may say, a place of safety. It is full of darkness, but ye yourselves are light; it has bonds, but God has made you free… Sadness may be there for him who sighs for the world’s enjoyments. The Christian outside the prison has renounced the world, but in the prison he has renounced a prison too.”467 The paradoxical language of truth expresses an experience of freedom which totally negates the ordinary scale of values. When life stands above death, then death becomes the road to life. As Origen stressed, after all, persecutors can only kill the body.468 “If we wish to save our soul so as to receive it back better than a soul, let us lose it in martyrdom.”469 The Christian protreptics, much like in the Phaedo, see death, the breaking of all bonds with the body, as a path to freedom and knowledge. It is often noted how Tertullian mainly unearths the negative aspects of martyrdom. This is true insofar as he addresses imprisoned Christians he tells them not to escape prison, but to escape the evil of this world (whose gloomy picture he paints in a very lively manner). Yet, we would go deeply astray if we ignored the profound and joyful experience of spiritual freedom which lies at the source of this negation. Even the murkiest prison is no obstacle for the spirit—before which all dimensions stand wide-open. And so Tertullian writes to the imprisoned, “In spirit, then, roam abroad; in spirit walk about, not setting before you shady paths or long colonnades, but the way which leads to God. As often as in spirit your footsteps are there, so often you will not be in bonds. The leg does not feel the chain when the mind is in the heavens. The mind compasses the whole man about, and whither it wills it carries him.”470 The Alexandrians, who were closer to the Platonic tradition, stressed the cognitive aspect of preparing for death. When he comments on the Phaedo (67d, 80e, 81a), Clement praised Socrates for calling philosophy a training for dying, he will substantiate his approval by adding, again going back to the Phaedo (65e-66a), “For he who neither employs his eyes in the exercise of thought, nor draws anything from his other senses, but with pure mind itself applies to objects, practices the true philosophy.”471 For Clement knowledge itself has all the features of what people commonly call death. Learning to die is the necessary 467 Tert., Mart. 2, op. cit., ANF3, p. 693–694. In turn St. Cyprian, Epist. 6.1, op. cit., ANF5, p. 406, writes: “O blessed prison, which your presence has enlightened! O blessed prison, which sends the men of God to heaven!” 468 Cf. Orig., Exhort. 36. 469 Ibid. 12, op. cit., p. 153. 470 Tert., Mart. 2, op. cit., ANF3, p. 694. 471 Clem. Al., Str., V.XI.67.2, op. cit., p. 460.

160

prerequisite for knowledge, “But we must as much as possible subject the soul to varied preparatory exercise, that it may become susceptible to the reception of knowledge. Do you not see how wax is softened and copper purified, in order to receive the stamp applied to it? Just as death is the separation of the soul from the body, so is knowledge as it were the rational death urging the spirit away, and separating it from the passions, and leading it on to the life of well-doing, that it may then say with confidence to God, ‘I live as You wish.’”472 Origen also combines abandoning the body with a new cognitive perspective. A reasonable and immaterial soul is kindred to God. Just as each one of the senses forms a bond with the object proper to it, so the mind bonds with things which can be understood through reason, and finally with the thing which towers above all which can be comprehended, that is, God. “Why do we hesitate and waver about putting off the impediment of the corruptible body that is a load upon the soul, the earthly habitation pressing down the mind that museth upon many things?… We would then repose with Christ Jesus in the repose that comes with eternal bliss alone; we would contemplate the all-pervading living Word in His entire essence, nourished by Him, and understanding the manifold wisdom that is in Him; we would be marked with the seal of Him who is Truth itself; and our spirit would be illumined with the true and unfailing light of knowledge for the contemplation of things which can be seen as they are, thanks to this light, by eyes that have been enlightened by the commandment of the Lord.”473

An Evil World or the Evil of the World? When we think of the cheerful and serene lines of Anacreon’s poetry, we unwillingly recall of the dark side of antiquity which was marked by a strong revulsion, or at the very least indifference, toward the body and the world. Yet, we are aware that it would not be difficult at all to compile an impressive library of radical ancient witnesses to contemptus mundi. Independently of the Stoic cosmic religion, well-known from the twelfth book of The Laws, ancient dualism gave credence to principles which at first glance can be easily confused with Gnostic pessimism.474 Great compendiums of this are given by Christians who are aware of the whole matter, people such as, for example, Clement of Alexandria, who in the Stromata composed a long list of predecessors of the Encratist and dualist, Marcion, a 472 Ibid..VII.XII.71.3–4, p. 543. 473 Orig., Exhort. 47, op. cit., p. 191–192. 474 Cf. Jean Pepin, “Cosmic Piety” in Classical Mediterranean Spirituality, op. cit., p. 408–435.

161

heretic who thought the whole visible world as the work of an evil creator.475 For many students of Plato the abyss between the immutability of the spiritual world and the visible is so immense that even if the second reflects, in the degree available to it, the glimmer of reasonable order, then in comparison with the first it must seem imperfect and degenerate.476 Even if, as Clement also stresses, interpreting philosophical dualism in Gnostic categories is a gross misinterpretation, then it is still difficult to deny that condemning the sensible world is an important motif of philosophical teachings about death, whereas a philosophical death is usually understood as a purification of the soul and is an escape from all that is mutable and imperfect, that is, from the order of apparent goods. Christian doctrine forces a deep reconsideration of the stance toward the world perceived by the senses that lies at the foundation of the philosophical tradition of preparing for death. The revealed teaching about creation from Genesis, right from the beginning, posits an unbreakable barrier against Christian versions of contemptus mundi. Even if the world is not a part of God (which is why, along with all other types of idolatry, cosmic religion deserves to be rebuked), it is the good work of a good God. Independently of their sporadic dualistic rhetoric, none of the Christian authors ever puts into doubt the goodness of the world posited in Genesis. Whoever crossed this boundary found himself, along with Marcion, beyond the confines of orthodoxy. Therefore, the Christian desire for martyrdom cannot take its inspiration from hatred for creation; instead it must be motivated by love for God.477 Martyrdom is thanking God for his benevolence and not a rejection of God’s works.478 The theme of escaping from the world, even though it was so strongly accentuated, for example in Tertullian, is always an escape from the evil of this world and not from the world itself.479 Without 475 Cf. Clem. Al., Str. III.III.12.1–24.3. The following fragment from Theognis cited by Clement will cure most from their beliefs about the bucolic spirit of pagan antiquity: “Optima non nasci res est mortalibus ægris, / Nec nitidi soils luce micante frui, / Extemplo aut natum portas invadere Ditis” (For mortals best it is not to be born at all / And never to see the rays of the bright sun. / But if born to pass the gates of Hades as soon as possible.”). Theognis from Megara 425–427, cited in: Clem. Al., Str. III.III.15.1, op. cit., ANF2, p. 384. 476 Cf. A.H. Armstrong and R.A. Marcus, op. cit., p. 44–45. 477 Cf. Clem. Al., Str. IV.IV.17.1–4. 478 Cf. Orig., Exhort. 28; Clem. Al., Str. IV.IV.15.4–6, stresses that the rejection of the world is only the negative aspect of martyrdom, whose proper sense is positively expressed in gratitude toward the Creator. 479 Cf. Tert., Mart. 2. We should remember this when we read statements such as the assurance expressed in the Apologeticum, “only one thing in this life greatly concerns

162

all the appropriate reservations the Christian cannot, echoing the Gnostics who actually parodied Plato, simply identify the body, which was created by God, with a “great evil”, especially if this evil were to be captured in ontological, not moral, categories. The first two chapters of De Spectaculis are a good exposition of this position. In them Tertullian answers accusations of those who ascribe to the ascetic practitioners of preparing for death a stance of pure negation. According to them, Christians would have to be characteristically enamored with death. They only prepare themselves for death and they deny themselves all, even harmless, pleasures, break all bonds with the world in order not to weaken their gloomy determination even by a shadow of yearning.480 By rejecting pleasures the Christians supposedly also fell into conflict with the truth, because God entrusted the whole of creation to man—a creation which is good, because it comes from him. In his reply Tertullian gives a perfect example of thinking in terms of laws of nature and teleology. Evil does not have an ontic character; instead, it has a moral character. Nothing is evil by nature and but only, “Man himself, guilty as he is of every iniquity.”481 The iron in the sword held by a murderer is not intrinsically evil, not the herbs of a poison. Yet, it would be absurd to claim that the one who poisons is justified by the fact that God created plants. The Christians knew the law of nature because of their deep familiarity with it (ius familiare) and its Creator, and thanks to that they had a reliable key to understanding how to utilize the created world. Whoever does not know the goal of creation—like the pagans who knew God as if from afar and only had the law of nature (ius naturale)—will end up using the world against nature, according to Satan’s intentions, who is a parodist and forger of God’s intentions.482 Eric Osborn, while commenting on Tertullian, says that martyrdom presupposes leaving the body and being in the presence of the Lord. However, this does not lead to deprecation of the body.483 In

480 481 482 483

us, and that is, to get quickly out of it” (XLI.5), so that we do not commit a typically scholarly error, such as this one, which claims that for Christians such as Tertullian, “life was at best unimportant; at worst evil.” A. Alvarez, The Savage God: A Study in Suicide, San Francisco: W.W. Norton, 1970, p. 68. Cf. Arthur Droge & James Tabor, A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom Among Christians and Jews in Antiquity, San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1992, p. 129. Cf. Tert., Spect. 1. Ibid. 2, op. cit., ANF3, p. 80. Ibid. 2. Cf. Tertuallian, Res. 43.3nn, 56.1. Cf. Eric Osborn, The Emergence of Christian Theology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993, p. 225–226.

163

other words it is the desire for the world to be redeemed, not damned. The death for which they prepare is the death of sin, not of the body. But is this not really a conceptual, rather than an actual, difference? It is true that Genesis protects Christians from the most extreme encratism? If we look at it from another angle, can we point to any substantial difference between saying the world is evil by nature and saying it is morally corrupt? The difference lies in the hope for transformation, in the thought that the salvation of man is tied up with the salvation of the world. The person who strives for perfection does not run away from what is naturally abject, instead he participates in the reparation of a corrupt reality. A doctrine so foreign to Tertullian, the doctrine of apocatastasis, that is, the doctrine of universal salvation is actually present in the logic inherent to the Carthaginian’s thought. Nothing of what was created must be rejected. Evil is reversible. Future glory is not closed to anyone or anything. This is why it is so difficult to separate the teaching of Genesis from the teaching, which first developed in the times of the Maccabees and was ultimately developed in the New Testament, that is, the teaching about the resurrection.484 Changes in thinking about the world are accompanied by revolutionary changes in thinking about man, who ceases to be a soul accidentally combined with a body and begins to be understood as an integral unity of these two elements. It is hard to estimate the consequences of this fact. We should recall the reaction of the philosophers at Areopagus. The Christian tradition struggled for a long time in its efforts to explain the paradox of the resurrection in philosophical categories. This much was plain and clear: the body was incorporated into the space of transformation that constitutes the goal of man. The truth that in the end times there will be a “redemption of our bodies” (Rom 8:23), must necessarily change the foundations of a Christian preparation for death. “In opposition to Greek understandings, according to which the human soul, freed from the bonds of the body, alone tends toward immortality, the hope of the Christians assume the complete renewal of the human person. Simultaneously, these hopes presuppose the complete transformation of the body, which will become spiritual, indestructible and immortal (1 Cor 15:35–53)”485 Therefore, paradoxically, in the struggles of the bodily versus the spiritual, the body can be found to be on the side of the spirit. If we must talk about a flight, then it is not a flight of the soul from the body, but their mutual flight from sin. As we have already stated, it is not only that man is constituted as a unity, but

484 Eric Osborn, op. cit., p. 232. 485 Słownik teologii biblijnej [The Dictionary of Biblical Theology], op. cit., p. 1141.

164

also that the dualism which poses a danger for man, the dualism of the soul and body, has a moral nature, not an ontic nature.486 The struggle for eternal life is therefore a struggle for the body (soma)—a struggle to liberate it from slavery to sin—not against the body, because without it the resurrection of man would be impossible. Even though the resurrected body is not identical with our present body, we still cannot avoid the fact that the idea of human perfection undergoes a substantial metamorphosis here. Along with Christianity the body enters in the space of that which, along with the soul, through radical transformation and the death of sin, strives toward perfection. Preparing for death no longer is simply a negation of the body. It is something more; it constitutes a preparation for its resurrection.487

3.  The Problem of Suicide The problem of suicide—its motives, its evaluations and the prohibitions against it—is an integral problem in the discussion of the philosophical stance toward death. J.M. Rist wrote that, “in classic antiquity suicide was not only an ordinary phenomenon, but accepted, and in many circumstances justified.”488 In this case our very own ethical sensibility certainly departs from the sensibility of antiquity. It seems to me that even ancient Christians who condemned this practice would have been surprised by placing suicides, as Dante did, in a special circle of the Inferno. Whenever we speak of suicide these days, we concentrate mainly upon the moral implications of taking one’s life. In earlier times attention and wonder was heaped upon the suicide’s disdain toward death. When we want to understand the stance of the ancients, we should treat suicide as one of the factors of a much wider problem. The matter of a voluntary death is what is at stake here, that is, conscious choosing of some particular good in a situation when the necessary

486 I will rely upon the authority of biblical scholars once again, we can say that for St. Paul the body, understood as that which is corruptible, in opposition to the incorruptible, is expressed with the word sarks. Whereas the term soma, even though it designates a body subject to the rule of the Law, sin and death, is, as Paul says, a body designated “for the Lord” (1 Cor 6:13). It is the temple of the Holy Spirit (6:19), it will rise from the dead (6:14) and man should glorify God in this body (6:20). Cf. Ibid., p. 145nn. 487 Caroline Walker Bynum, The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity: 200– 1336, New York: Columbia University Press, 1995, p. 43nn. 488 John Michael Rist, Stoic Philosophy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969, p. 233.

165

consequence of such a choice is death.489 The moral evaluation of taking leave of life will often depend upon the motives of such a choice, rather than whether it was a death by one’s own hand, or by the hand of an executioner.490 This is the reason why even though Christians never spoke against Socrates for not taking the opportunity to escape491, nor that he drank the cup of poison willingly, they viewed with great suspicion the motives which required him and other philosophers to show their contempt for death. Including a discussion of this problem in our argument seems necessary, because for many thinkers suicide was simply one of the forms of witnessing to the fact that philosophers considered certain goods higher than bodily life. We will attempt to discuss it without applying outside criteria of evaluation. First of all, we will consider the conditions which led to seeing suicide as a permissible, or even recommended, act. Second, we will consider the rank philosophers gave to this form of death. Plato, as J.M. Rist observed, was an inspiration for both thinkers who justified suicide and for those who represented a deep skepticism for the phenomenon, which in relation to the spiritual climate of the first century after Christ was called, “the cult of death by suicide.”492 Even though the testimony to be passed on to Evenus has a metaphorical ring in the lips of Socrates, there is no doubt that Plato gives us reason to explicate it literally. “[B]ecause as long as we have a body,” we read in the already cited fragment of the Phaedo, “and our soul is fused with such an evil we shall never adequately attain what we desire, which we affirm to be the truth” (66b). The body, directly called “evil”, is an obstacle which limits our cognitive and moral aspirations. For all who accept this diagnosis suicide must appear as the simplest solution to the limitations forced upon the philosopher by temporality. The brakes Plato puts upon the desire, which is inspired by ontological dualism, to immediately free the soul are responsibilities toward the gods and state. When he discusses these matters in the Phaedo (61b-62c), Socrates leans upon the Pythagorean doctrine expounded by Philolaus. The prohibition against suicide was introduced, first, because of the necessity of meeting the demands of the gods on us, second, because of who owns our lives, that being the gods, not 489 Arthur Droge & James Tabor, op. cit., p. 3–4. 490 I assume that if Tertullian wrote the Divine Comedy, he would not have separated the suicide Pietro della Vigna from Zeno, who was murdered by a despot, because the sin at issue for both was that of pride and lust for fame, which led both of them to their deaths. In this light, the form of the death itself was something secondary. 491 Pl., Cri. 45a-46a. 492 John Michael Rist, op. cit., p. 233.

166

us. In the Laws (873c-d), while stigmatizing those who violently tore themselves away from the lot given them by fate, Plato allots bitter punishments in connection with the burials due to suicides. However, both texts contain exceptions from an unconditional prohibition. In the Phaedo it is ananke—the necessity sent down by the gods, whose main example is the situation in which Socrates found himself. In the Laws (873c) there are other exceptions: sentences passed by the state, irreversible unhappiness and disgrace which make life impossible. In general, the prohibition directs the desire for death, awakened by the hope of perfection, toward a life that is the apotheosis of reason and spirit. On the other hand, the example of Socrates sketches the boundary of acceptable compromise with the world, a boundary that has a religious sanction. Ananke, the necessity sent by the gods, endures doubts that can give birth both to the stance of Socrates before the court or the rejection of the opportunity to flee, and also the form of death, which according to Athenian law made the victim his own executioner. This same understanding will make the sage simultaneously a judge who is able to decide when the gods have sent a sign that the time to depart from this life has come, and whether a freely-chosen death is not just a curse, but also can be erected as an indubitable monument to virtue.493 Therefore the teleological structure of the state can create the frames that describe the religious and political aspects of the prohibition. For Plato an offence against the state—suicide understood as the abandoning of responsibilities placed upon man—is also an offence against the gods. The foundation for a form of thinking that makes suicide an object of lawmaking is the Greek vision of man as a naturally social animal.494 For Aristotle, who abandons religious argumentation, the condemnation of suicide has, along with an ethical justification, strictly political causes. Taking one’s own life is not only a form of cowardice that is opposed to courage—when it is a flight from poverty, love or worries495—but, above all, it is a crime against the state, a crime which entails punishment from the state.496 The accent on suicide as a measure directed against the state is so strong that it even makes some commentators to acknowledge that the prohibition only

493 A fragment from the Apology, 41d, op. cit., p. 36, where Socrates tells the following to the judges can serve as an example: “What has happened to me now has not happened of itself, but it is clear to me that it was better for me to die now and to escape from trouble. That is why my divine sign did not oppose me at any point.” 494 John Michael Rist, op. cit., p. 236. 495 Arist., EN 1116a10–15. 496 Ibid. 1138a5nn.

167

applied to people who could bear arms, that is, citizens from whom the state could demand some form of service.497 The other extreme of this stance toward a freely-chosen death are the Cynics with their radical affirmation of freedom understood as a life according to reason and nature. We would search their writings in vain hoping to find limitations imposed by the state or the gods. Every situation that blocks the possibility of living life according to the ideals of the Cynics is a sufficient reason for suicide. As Diogenes used to say, either reason (logos) or the noose (brochos).498 Death is the best medicine for every threat to reason. According to Crates, if the passions of love cannot be disentangled by hunger or by time, then the noose is a solution.499 The Cynics condemned suicide when it arose out of philosophically suspect motivations. Such was the case of Metrocles who wanted to stave himself to death, because he was deeply ashamed that he was not able to control his stomach during a lecture500, or the case of the pseudo-Cynic Mennipus who upon being robbed of everything he had collected with great difficulty hung himself in despair.501 Thus, there are two essential elements that distinguished the Cynics from Plato: an unusually liberal attitude toward suicide, accompanied by a relatively low weight given to the sage’s obvious disdain for death. In the Stoic school we expect to find a stance that sees the choice of death as a philosophical act par excellence, because of the many famous suicides of its members. What’s interesting, despite widely-held stereotypes, this way of thinking is almost totally absent from Stoic thought.502 The evaluation of a deed is based upon its reasonableness and therefore in the light of reason suicide is sometimes permitted, and even recommended in other situations.503 The sage lives only for as long as he should (that is, so long as he can be a sage) and not as long as he can. This is the reason why he chooses death when external conditions prevent him from leading a reasonable life, or when the gods send him a sign. These circumstances can be equally the madness of a tyrant, or the infirmity of

497 This is what Arthur Droge and James Tabor, op. cit., p. 23 believe. However, it is difficult to agree with them in light of the ethical argumentation of Aristotle we have just addressed. 498 D.L. VI.24. 499 Ibid. VI.86. 500 Ibid. VI.94. 501 Ibid. VI.100. 502 John Michael Rist, op. cit., p. 233, 238nn, demonstrates how there is no basis for projecting Seneca’s stance upon the thought of Zeno or Chrysippus. 503 Cf. D.L. VII.130.

168

old age. Even if the Stoics are not quite as liberal as the Cynics, their most basic attitude to death remains basically the same.504 The issue of suicide allows us to throw a bit of light upon the questions we addressed in the previous chapter. As we can see, in the opinion of the Cynics and the Stoics one’s behavior in the face of death, and along with it one’s attitude toward suicide—so long as it is reasonably justified—does not have any particular stigma, which would allow us to distinguish it from other deeds of the philosopher. This obviously does not mean that inflexibility in the face of death has no moral luster, but that all reasonable acts of a sage are equally valued. In opposition to Plato, for both of these schools—and Epictetus is their faithful disciple in this regard—life is one of the many indifferent things, instead of being a considerable obstacle on our way toward perfection. When we compare the opinions of Plato with the Stoics and Cynics, we might be, it seems to me, tempted to put forward the thesis that the weight ascribed to one’s attitude toward death, to a great extent, is correlated with our opinion about the degree to which the soul can gain independence from the body in this life. This means that the greater the optimism of individual thinkers in this area the lower their estimation of our confrontation with death. The growth of interest in the problem of suicide developed only with Roman representatives of the Stoics. We can rightly view this phenomenon only through the prism of the greater attention given to questions of philosophical praksis in general, and the problem of death in particular. A.D. Nock even speaks of the emergence of a cult of suicide in the first century of our era, which he considers to be a Stoic form of martyrdom in the fullest sense of the word.505 We cannot deny that the writings of the philosophers, to a great degree, mirror the atmosphere of the epoch, which is often attributed with a curious love for death.506

504 Zeno of Citium took his own life by strangulation after breaking a toe while leaving school. This episode shows both flight from an indolent old-age, as well as an echo of the Platonic ananke—which is confirmed by Zeno’s behavior, who after the unfortunate accident knocked on the ground and repeated the words of Niobe, “I am coming, why do you call me thus?” D.L. VII.28, op. cit., p. 270. See also: John Michael Rist, op. cit., p. 243. 505 Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit, p. 197. 506 Not without some exaggeration Eric Robertson Dodds, Pagan and Christian in the Age of Anxiety, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, p. 135 writes the following: “…and there is evidence for thinking that in these centuries a good many persons were consciously or unconsciously in love with death.” Fascination with death, as Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit., p. 197–201, notes, was given expression not

169

Already for Cicero the suicidal death of Cato constituted, along with the death of Socrates, a major object of philosophical reflection.507 We notice how the desire of the Phaedo for the return of the soul to its heavenly fatherland was colored by the injunction to free oneself from the responsibilities imposed by the gods.508 In the second half of the first century, for Roman authors who took their inspiration from Cynic and Stoic philosophy, the experience of the dramatic fates of the so-called philosophical opposition associated with the circle of Demetrius and Thrasea Paetus was especially important. Perhaps they are responsible for Epictetus bringing back the Platonic thought of death as a refuge and the true haven of all people.509 However much we might agree with Nock, that a freely-chosen death was the topic of intense philosophical interest, we cannot go along with him in typifying it as becoming some higher form of witness. We are dealing here more with a psychological phenomenon, than a philosophical one. This type of thinking, which puts the act of a death worthy of a philosopher above all other deeds of a sage, is really present only in Seneca.510 We can, it seems to me, risk the thesis that we would not find such a stance toward witnessing in our search though all the other pagan inspirations for martyrdom such as Epictetus. We ought to note that the similarity with martyrdom will be not so much about a harmony of moral qualifications of suicide—here the opinions of the Christians and Seneca are at opposite extremes—but about the extraordinary place given to the act of a philosophical death. This is especially apparent in his work On Providence (11.6–12) where Seneca once again returns to the death of Cato, calling it one of the very few earthly spectacles worthy of Jove’s attention.511 Much like his only in philosophical and Christian literature, but also, for example in the emergent Hellenistic art of the novel (romances). 507 In the Tusculan Disputations (I.71–75) while describing the death of Cato he compares it to the death of Socrates. Cicero returns to the concept of ananke, speaking of a sign from the gods, of a just cause (causa iustitiae) of death, which frees one from the prohibition to leave this world. Cf. Cic., Tusc. I.118. For more about Cato cf. Cic., Off. I.112. 508 Cic., Rep. VI.15–16. 509 Epict. IV.10.27. 510 One exception might be the teaching of Peregrinus. It seems the philosopher gave his suicide a specific educational role, by giving others an advantageous example how they should scorn death. Cf. Lucianus, Peregr. 22, 33. However, since this was related to a public self-immolation, it is difficult to say whether the act itself had an extraordinary moral qualification, or whether its spectacular nature was what matters. 511 Cf. Sen., Epist. 71.8–16; 24.6–8.

170

predecessors, Seneca believed the sage above wretchedness, suffering, poverty or the rule of a tyrant. However, if it is the case that fate cannot rattle his spirit, it is not because it is so easy to resist it, rather it is because death is the measure of a sage’s freedom, which always allows him to escape the threat of spiritual slavery. “Above all I have taken care,” says Seneca’s god, “that no one may detain you against your will; the way out lies open: if you do not wish to fight, you may run away. That is why, out of all the things I judged necessary for you, I have made nothing easier than dying.”512 This total approbation of suicide understood as one of the highest free acts available to man (so foreign to Christianity),513 if not the most free act available to man,514 is accompanied by the thought that a courageous attitude toward death is an exceptionally noble moral act. A worthy death liberates and transforms a person and can even make a fool into a sage.515 This is because suicide is not an escape for the faint-hearted, but an affirmation of total freedom that is always within reach. At its roots there is the sage’s constant, taken for granted, readiness to depart from life. The place suicide occupies in Seneca’s thought comes from, it seems, a greater pessimism than his Stoic predecessors about the possibility of maintaining a total independence of spirit. In the eyes of Nero’s teacher, the world, fate and the whims of a tyrant, constitute a far greater danger for the spiritual freedom of a sage, than what the founders of the Stoic school thought. The particular role assigned to suicide by Seneca is combined with the fact that his picture of the world is much darker, and the influence that fate can exercise upon the soul is much greater, than in the earlier Stoics. It follows from all of this that perfection is more difficult to maintain.516 In effect, the 512 Sen., Prov. 6.7, in: Dialogues and Essays, op. cit., p. 17. Cf. Sen., Ira 3.15.3. 513 Cf. Sen., Prov. 2.9–10; Epist. 70.14–15. 514 Arthur Droge and James Tabor, op. cit. p. 35. 515 John Michael Rist, op. cit., p. 249 writes the following: “It seems that not only is the choice of suicide open to everyone, but it is also peculiarly ennobling—a wholly novel concept for Stoics. Apparently the fool can be transmuted into a sage by a well-judged and opportune death.” 516 I think we should once again let one of the foremost experts on Stoicism, John Michael Rist, have his say, “In the traditionally Stoic context, to think of suicide as the free act par excellence is rather odd. The early Stoics defined freedom as the opportunity for personal action; slavery is the deprivation of this power. But all the acts of the sage are free. If he chooses suicide, that is free like the rest; there is nothing special about it. Seneca, on the other hand, comes very close to arguing that suicide itself makes one a free man. Of course it does this in so far as it frees a man from constraint, but this seems to be a means of taking away the possibility of future moral action as well as of saving the present situation. Seneca seems to regard freedom, not

171

manner of dying is not the only important factor, rather it is the ability to leave the world when flight from death must lead to an evil life. Suicide is a particularly important, but not the only type, of a good death. “There are times, nevertheless, when a man,” says Seneca while thinking of the days Socrates spent in an Athenian jail, “even though certain death impends and he knows that torture is in store for him, will refrain from lending a hand to his own punishment, to himself, however, he would lend a hand. It is folly to die through fear of dying.”517 The most important thing is maintaining inner independence, rather than the form of one’s death. In his 70th letter Seneca, conscious of the reaction an apotheosis of a barbarian will create, and of the obscenity of the tale itself, does not hesitate to proclaim the praises of a German slave who killed himself by seizing a stick of wood tipped with a sponge used for cleaning the cloaca of excrements and sticking it down his throat. “Let each man judge the deed of this most zealous fellow as he likes,” 518 says Seneca while placing the virtue of an anonymous gladiator on the same plane as the virtues of the Catos and Scipios of this world, “provided we agree on this point: that the foulest death is preferable to the fairest slavery.”519 If we consider that these are words the Roman patrician says about a slave and barbarian, we can easily understand the particular moral splendor Seneca showered upon people who witnessed to a real contempt for death. It is difficult to deny that in philosophical texts we will be hard pressed to find, except perhaps in Seneca, a fiery desire for death that hits us as hard as when we read, for example, the Epistle to the Romans of St. Ignatius of Antioch. “For though I am alive while I write to you, yet I am eager to die”520, writes the bishop who is worries that the zealousness of his co-religionists to save him will deprive him of his desire to die the death of a martyr. At the same time, few issues call forth such lively debate as the matter of exposing oneself willingly to the danger of death. Christian thought, unlike Seneca, not only does not tie the desire to die for Christ with an approval of suicide, instead it shows a large dose of suspicion toward a stance which might provoke the cruelty of persecutors. so much as the opportunity to act, as a state in which one cannot be forced to act. His emphasis on suicide is an emphasis on the negative concept of freedom, which is almost totally absent among the early Stoics. This negative concept of freedom is linked with an obsession with the possible means by which freedom can be attained.” Ibid., p. 248–249. 517 Sen., Epist. 70.8, op. cit., v. 2, p. 55, 57. 518 Ibid. 70.20, p. 67. 519 Ibid. 70.21. 520 Ign., Rom. 7.2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 76.

172

Martyrdom, as the leaders of the Church stressed, is a grace, a gift of the Holy Spirit, therefore nobody should frivolously undertake the risk which cannot be faced without God’s aid.521 We should remember that the words of pastors are not only concerned with purely theoretical questions. The desire for martyrdom can be so great that it leads frequently to acts of self-denunciation. Tertullian tells of an episode where a collective of Christians placed itself before a tribunal of a proconsul, which took place during the time of the persecutions in Asia around the year 185.522 Then there is the story of young Origen, not devoid of a dose of the comic, whose mother hid all of his clothes, because she was trying to keep him at home.523 The problem is quite complex. Cowardice often hides itself easily behind a veneer of prudence and reflection, whereas nihilism often clothes itself in the garbs of martyrdom. The borders are vague. Did not St. Cyprian, the rigorists asked, escape from Carthage during the persecutions of Decius to save his skin instead of, as he thought, to defend the good of the community? In turn, do not those who condemn evading persecution do not come close to approving suicide, and do they not disregard Christ’s words, who encouraged fleeing (Mt 10:23), so long as it was not a betrayal of the faith? These were not abstract questions, they were real problems, which often tore apart the ancient Church. In the end, the condemnation of fleeing became a unique feature of rigorism that situated itself outside the walls of the orthodoxy. The evolution of Tertullian’s views is quite telling here. When he wrote the work Ad Uxorem (1.3), he thought it is better to flee than risk breaking down during a trial, however, already in De Fuga in Persecutione, written after he joined the Montanists, he firmly condemned all forms of fleeing.524 The stance of St. Cyprian was positive in that he gave an example of pastoral prudence by leaving the community during the persecutions of Decius, whereas during the times of Valerian he stamped his prudence with the witness of a martyr.

521 Cf. Cypr., Epist. 81.4; Mart. Polycarpi 4; Marek Starowieyski, op. cit., p. 96.; Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 35–44. 522 Cf. Tert., Scap. 5. 523 Cf. Eus., HE VI.2.3–6. 524 For this issue consult Timothy David Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985, p. 171. The issue of fleeing during times of persecution is also addressed by Marek Starowieyski, op. cit., p. 99–102. Cf. Oliver Nicholson, “Flight from Persecution as Imitation of Christ” in The Journal of Theological Studies, v. 40, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989, p. 48–65.

173

4.  Death as a Proof Philosophers and Philomaths The Phaedo as an exhortation to practice of philosophy not only gives a definition of wisdom, but also an example of its application. To the degree in which union with the body permits it, the Socrates from the Phaedo is a person who is practiced in death. This not only comes through in the majestic final scene, in which Socrates in total calm drinks the cup of hemlock, but also the setting and dramatic pacing of the whole dialogue. Even before the sage appears on the scene the gatekeeper tells everyone that Socrates is being freed from his bonds (59e). When we see him for the first time Socrates is rubbing his legs, because they ache from long confinement in shackles (60a). Before the start of his conversation he sends away his wife who has their little son in her hands (60a-60b). He ignores the advice to talk as little as possible, because the conversation will raise the body’s temperature and will increase the torments of dying. Unperturbed by the prospect of dying he calmly continues the conversation (63d-63e). It is impossible to say these are unimportant elements when the whole discourse is so tightly constructed. It is apparent that already before physical death Socrates, as far as it is possible for a man, broke all bonds with the world and suppressed human passions. Socrates is not only free despite being imprisoned by the Athenian demos, but also despite the prisons of the body and the world. The connection between the voiced opinions with his actual stance toward death is especially important here. Let’s take a look at the great emphasis Plato puts upon making the relations between people realistic. The dialogue begins with three crucial questions, which are asked by the Pythagorean Echecrates. The first question concerns the credibility of the account and serves to establish whether Phaedo, the narrator of the story, was an eyewitness of the philosopher’s death. The next two questions are concerned with the witness of word and deed, that is, they are questions about what Socrates said before dying and how he ended his life (57a). What is behind the curiosity of Echecrates? What does he want to find out? Plato, as if mistrustful of his readers, decides to relate every last detail. It would be comical and foolish, says Socrates, if those who have devoted their whole lives to dying and death succumbed to dread, horror and fear. After all, “…those who practice philosophy in the right way… fear death least of all men” (67e, p. 59). If they desired wisdom and resisted their bodies, and if at the same time they trusted that they will achieve wisdom after death, then would not their fear and resentment be absurd? If so many people are in a hurry to get to Hades to reunite with their loved ones, then what would be the reason for the resentment of death 174

of those who are quickened by the hope of finding the truth (68a-b, p. 59)? “Then you have sufficient indication, he said, that any man whom you see resenting death was not a lover of wisdom [philosopher] but a lover of the body, and also a lover of wealth or of honors, either or both [philomath]” (68b-c, p. 59). As we can see, the proof—much like the definition that it is based upon—has a very negative tone. As we have already mentioned, in this apophatic definition of philosophy the criteria are designed to allow us to judge who has not reached perfection. When Plato speaks of philosophy as practice in dying, he reveals wisdom to us through what it is not, meaning, through what we must abandon in order to gain wisdom. By knowing what wisdom is not, we can judge who is not a sage. Fear of death is an indubitable symptom of imperfection, because it proves that one possesses qualities which are not part of this ideal. Whoever is afraid of dying is a philomath, not a philosopher. Whoever fears death, according to Socrates, probably loves wealth and fame and does not serve courage, moderation and orderliness (68c), instead he is a slave to everything which is not concerned with the truth. In other words, he has not achieved spiritual perfection that is here characterized through (echoing the mystery religions) an antinomy of purity and defilement (69c-d). Purity, just like death, is independence from the body. Therefore, anyone afraid of death is not a philosopher. Fear of death irrefutably proves that a man’s being is oriented toward the world of apparent goods. At the same time, as Plato notes in the Republic, a soul devoid of the particularisms and trifles dictated by the body, a soul which has achieved a universal perspective, will not give heed to life: “And will a thinker high-minded enough to study all time and all being consider human life to be something important? He couldn’t possibly. Then will he consider death to be a terrible thing? He least of all. Then it seems a cowardly and slavish nature will take no part in true philosophy” (486a-b, p.  1109). We can now easily understand the reasons why St. Justin—at the time still a pagan Platonist—found the martyrs to be an irrefutable argument against all the calumnies spread about the Christians, “For I myself, too, when I was delighting in the doctrines of Plato, and heard the Christians slandered, and saw them fearless of death, and of all other things which are counted fearful, perceived that it was impossible that they could be living in wickedness and pleasure.”525 Would not a lover of pleasure, asks Justin, avoid death which deprives him of every pleasure he might desire? Can someone wicked look in the eyes of death without dread? This is the main reason why the attention of the ancients was so keenly concentrated upon the last moments of philosophers. How 525 Iust., Apol. II.12.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 192.

175

did they behave during their last trials? If throughout their lives they taught freedom from the affects and condemned pleasures, did they at the end of their lives witness to the teaching they proclaimed, or did the overpowering anxiety reveal a love for trivial things hidden deep down? “There are indeed, as those concerned with the mysteries say, many who carry the thyrsus but the Bacchants are few.”526 The heroism of Socrates became an example of a stance typical of spiritual perfection; it became a kind of ideal death. Aristippus, when asked how Socrates died, answered that Socrates died just like he would have liked to die.527 If we are to believe Plutarch, before committing suicide Cato the Younger was reading the Phaedo. In some way he was arranging the scene of his death in imitation of the last moments of the Athenian.528 The shadow of Socrates also probably cast itself upon the death of the skeptic Pracylus of Troas. Unjustly accused of treason, he received his sentence calmly and did not think it proper to utter even a word to the other citizens throughout the whole trial.529 This ideal indifference was influenced by a saying attributed to Thales, who claimed that life does not differ from death at all.530 If we were to interpret this maxim in the spirit of the Phaedo, then it will be taken to mean that for the one who has achieved perfection, that is, someone prepared for death, the very act of dying is not special in any way. Thus, the imprisoned Anaxagoras said about the verdict against him along with the news of the death of his sons, “Nature has long since condemned both them [the judges] and me.” When he hears of his children, he said, “I knew that I had become the father of mortals.”531 When reason rules over the passions, anxiety has no access to the philosopher. Complete freedom manifests itself not only in a lack of fear, but total disregard for torture—as illustrated by the stories of Zeno and Anaxarchus. Zeno of Elea, who was imprisoned for conspiring against a tyrant, when asked about his co-conspirators replied by naming a close associates of the tyrant, topping it all off by naming the tyrant as the greatest curse against the country. When the tyrant leaned over to hear what Zeno was saying, the philosopher bit his ear and did not let go until he was stabbed.532 The theme of confronting a tyrant also appears in the story of Anaxarchus. Captured by Nicocreon, the ruler of Cyprus who hated him, the teacher of Pyrrho was pounded to death 526 Pl., Phd. 69d, op. cit., p. 60. 527 D.L. II.76. 528 Plu., Cat. Mi. 67–70. 529 D.L. IX.115. 530 Ibid. I.35–36. 531 Ibid. II.12–13, op. cit., p. 61. 532 Ibid. IX.26–28.

176

by a mortar. Totally disregarding the immense sufferings he was undergoing, he said the following famous words: “Beat the bag of Anaxarchus, but you will not beat Anaxarchus himself.”533 Commenting on this, and a whole series of other examples of martyrdom, Clement of Alexandria said, “Neither, then, the hope of happiness nor the love of God takes what befalls ill, but remains free, although thrown among the wildest beasts or into the all-devouring fire; though racked with a tyrant’s tortures. Depending as it does on the divine favor, it ascends aloft unenslaved, surrendering the body to those who can touch it alone.”534 One of the causes for the conviction that Christianity is superior to philosophy comes from the fact that for every person who accepts baptism, faith in Christ is at the same time the proclamation of one’s readiness to die a death that potentially lies just around the corner. Independently of the actual number of martyrs, the real scale of the persecutions, and the more or less liberal policies of the Empire’s officials, external reality would not let one forget about the ultimate consequences of the choice. When the Stoics claimed a real martyr was as rare as a Phoenix, ordinary Christians took up the call of death in great numbers. “For it is plain that, though beheaded, and crucified, and thrown to wild beasts, and chains, and fire, and all other kinds of torture, we do not give up our confession…”535 As Tatian said, the Christians fulfilled their obligations to Caesar, but they did not forget that they should only fear God. “Only when I am commanded to deny Him, will I not obey, but will rather die than show myself false and ungrateful.”536 We note in the words of the Apologetes a deep wonder at how this extremely elite ideal of perfection was taken over by a multitude of believers regardless of their education, social standing or gender.537 Tertullian’s “Christian workman” who demonstrates his familiarity with God through his deeds538, through disdain for vain praise, dread and death (all of them manifested not only in philosophers and scholars, but in workmen and the simpletons spoken of by Justin Martyr539) is not a rhetorical construct. Instead he is the appearance of the dumbfounding fact that the ideal of the Phaedo was realized by so many people. “Yet boys and young women

533 Ibid. IX.58–59, op. cit., p. 410. 534 Clem. Al., Str. IV.VIII.57.1, op. cit., ANF2, p. 419. 535 Iust., Dial. 110.4, op. cit., ANF1, p. 254. 536 Tat., Or. 4, op. cit., ANF2, p. 66. 537 On the right of women, slaves and children to philosophical perfection expressed through a death for the truth and virtue Cf. Clem. Al., Str. IV.VIII.58.1–69.4. 538 Cf. Tert., Ap. XLVI.9. 539 Iust., Apol. II.10.8.

177

among us treat with contempt crosses and tortures, wild beasts, and all the bugbears of punishments, with the inspired patience of suffering.”540 The facts are absolutely unambiguous: the attitude of Christians, their manner of giving a witness of blood, fully confirms their declarations. Descriptions of the martyr’s struggles pass on a whole series of examples of extraordinary courage and dumbfounding interior equilibrium. The fragile Blandina lasts without breaking, until her persecutors start tiring from the effort of torturing her541; Sanctus seems to gain strength during inhuman tortures542; Carpus smiled as he was burnt at the stake, speaking of the freedom he gained thereby543; Apollonius544 and Cyprian thanked God for their convictions545; Sabina546, Perpetua and Felicity accepted their sentences joyfully.547 There is no exaggeration in Justin’s reassuring claim that the martyrs “willingly die confessing Christ.”548 Justin confirmed these words with his deeds, while glorifying God, he went to his death.549 All of this happened because for martyrs physical death is only a semblance of death. Pionius, while being questioned by the prosecutor, explained that he wants to die because thereby he will not go to his death, but to life550. We also again see the accusations of Simmias from the Phaedo rearing their head. The proconsul Perennis, disturbed by the attitude of Pionius, suspected that the saint loves death. Apollonius answers that he loves life, but does not fear death, because life eternal is real life.551 The reversal of values and meanings postulated by the philosophers thereby became the stock of legions of ordinary people. As Stanisław Longosz wrote, “faith in the resurrection of Christ became something like the death of death.”552 540 Min. Fel., Oct. 37.5–6, op. cit., ANF4, p. 196. 541 Mart. Ludg. 18–19, Musurillo, p. 67. 542 Ibid. 20–24, p. 69. 543 Mart. Carpi 38, Musurillo, p. 26. 544 Mart. Apoll. 46, Musurillo, p. 103. 545 Acta Cypr. 4.3, Musurillo, p. 173. 546 Mart. Pionii 7, Musurillo, p. 147. 547 Mart. Perpet. 6.6, Musurillo, p. 114. 548 Iust., Apol. I.39.3–4, op. cit., ANF1, p. 176. 549 Mart. Iust. 6, Musurillo, p. 47. 550 Mart. Pionii 5.4–5, Musurillo, p. 143. 551 Mart. Apoll. 30, Musurillo, p. 99. 552 Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 61. We should add that a striking witness of the phenomenon that Longosz discusses, the death of the passions – which, we should note, is not at the same time the death of intellectual passion – are the letters of Ignatius, bishop of Antioch, who was condemned ad bestiam. He was a Christian who, even

178

We should repeat once again: Christians consciously compared the witness of martyrs to the courage of pagans. As Tertullian wrote, whoever wants to deny the glory of Christian endurance of suffering, contempt for death, fire and tortures, then he must also deny it first to pagan heroes.553 Therefore, there is no coincidence that Christian acts of martyrdom were interpreted by the Christians themselves within strictly philosophical categories. According to Clement of Alexandria, Christians are those who, “who, while still in the body, like the just men of old, enjoy impassibility and tranquility of soul.”554 Minucius Felix, clearly refers to a passage of Seneca we have previously discussed when he writes, “How beautiful is the spectacle to God when a Christian does battle with pain; when he is drawn up against threats, and punishments, and tortures; when, mocking the noise of death, he treads underfoot the horror of the executioner; when he raises up his liberty against kings and princes, and yields to God alone, whose he is; when, triumphant and victorious, he tramples upon the very man who has pronounced sentence against him!”555 Even if martyrdom will not be described in such unambiguously philosophical terms everywhere, then it is always possible to read it within the frames of the postulate, as it was presented in the Phaedo, of the total freedom of soul and the scheme marked out by two different stances toward death: philosopher versus philomath. In an excellent article Edward Łomnicki claims Christians, “did not work out a specific method of argumentation for justifying the authenticity of Christianity based upon how the martyrs accepted death.”556 None of the sources available to us provides us with anything like an example of such a method. However, do we not impose our own perspective upon the ancients by looking for such constructions? Does the lack of such an argument not imply its total obviousness? I must admit the witness of the Apologetes make me incline toward an affirmative answer to this question. Justin says that what he saw totally changed his sentiments. The examples of the persuasive power of witnessing we have listed throughout

before his death, laid to rest all earthly desires: “For though I am alive while I write to you, yet I am eager to die. My love has been crucified, and there is no fire in me desiring to be fed… I desire the bread of God, the heavenly bread, the bread of life, which is the flesh of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who became afterwards of the seed of David and Abraham; and I desire the drink, namely His blood, which is incorruptible love and eternal life.” Ign., Rom. 7,2–3, op. cit., ANF, 1, p. 76–77.  553 Tert., Nat. I.18. 554 Clem. Al., Str. IV.VII.55.4, op. cit., ANF2, p. 419. 555 Min. Fel., Oct. 37.1, op. cit., ANF4, p. 196. 556 Edward Łomnicki, op. cit., p. 80.

179

this book confirm that his experience was not isolated. If Justin was not aware of the logic which directed his reasoning, then either he is, or I am, making a mistake in evaluating something which appears to be universally comprehensible. I think neither Justin, nor Tertullian, or the author of the Letter to Diognetus is mistaken. A new method of argumentation was totally redundant, because the way for interpreting the facts was available to everyone. Christians did not create a method of interpretation, because it was already available. In their opinion, the facts spoke for themselves.

False Witness and an Attempt to Avoid the Impasse However, let’s ask whether these facts constituted a proof overwhelming in its obviousness. Most certainly not! As we have already mentioned, the witness of readiness for death is, above all, a negative proof—it allows us to say who has not reached perfection. Fear, anxiety and dread in the face of death indubitably prove someone has not reached perfection. All the same, can courage be considered to be a proof of perfection? If courage in the face of death definitively separated the world of the senses and the world of the immutable truth, then no other proof would be needed. However, things are not so. The fact that philosophers are not afraid of death and that fear unmasks a lover of the body, does not mean that all who are ready to die are philosophers. Both Plato and the Christians were well aware how desire of death might come from sources foreign to philosophy. In the Phaedo Plato alludes to those who, directed by a strong nostalgia, are ready to part with this life in the hope that they will reunite with the ones they loved (68a). Paradoxically, philosophers also admit there is a type of philomath whose attachment to goods which are not spiritual outweighs their attachment to life. We will find plenty of instances where the value of witnessing through death will be rejected upon such bases. We can equally compile these examples from discussions between Christians and philosophers, but also between philosophers, and even from discussions within the bosom of the Church. We should add that even if this type of criticism exposes the weakness of the evidentiary value of philosophical death, at the same time it indirectly is a very telling example of the power ascribed to it by all sides. We should not forget how we are dealing with attempts at discrediting opponents who aspire to perfection, but not without a sense of admiration for the contempt they showed toward death. As we have already mentioned, these arguments were used equally by Christians as they were by pagans. Thus, for example, Tertullian thought pagan philosophers chose to die because of their vanity and desire of fame, rather than because

180

they authentically desired to be united with God.557 In other words, according to Tertullian, the death of pagan heroes was not a witness to the victory of reason, but instead it was a spectacular proof of passion’s triumph. The same logic served the opponents of Christianity. Marcus Aurelius, who took the Christians to task in the name of the philosophers, denied the martyrs not only reason and dignity, but also ascribed stubbornness to them, and to top it all off, he attributed to them a tragic stance foreign to truly great souls.558 Thus, in both instances the verdict sounds basically the same: those who claim to be sages are actually only philomaths. The debate did not limit itself to tensions between Athens and Jerusalem. Lucian of Samosata, while exposing low motives unworthy of sages, mocks the philosophical value of the highly publicized suicide of the cynic Peregrinus.559 This pseudo philosopher, who enthralled the mob, whose linen was as dirty as his life, according to Lucian, committed self-immolation because of his passion to be loved by the crowd.560 Peregrinus’ deed does not even prove his contempt for death, which he fears with his whole person, but a soulless desire for fame, and finally—as if that weren’t enough—submission to the crowd, which against his calculations, instead of discouraging him, told him to fulfill his promises.561 The opinion of Tacitus is a different and interesting example. He did not join the chorus of those who supported the philosophical opponents of Domitian, instead he undermined the value of their deaths.562 Discussions about motivations for martyrdom also took place within the Church. Clement of Alexandria thought the martyrdoms of Marcionites totally worthless, because it derived from hatred toward the world, instead of knowledge of God.563 To round out this list, we will 557 Cf. Tert., Mart. 4–5. 558 Marcus Aurelius, Ad se ipsum 11.3. 559 Donald R. Dudley, op. cit. p. 171–172, warns against a literal reading of information contained in a texts which has all the qualities of ancient invectives. Cf. Mark Edwards, “Satire and Verisimilitude: Christianity in Lucian’s Peregrinus” in: Historia: Journal of Ancient History, v. 38, 1989, p. 89–98. 560 Lucianus, Peregr. 1; 20. 561 Ibid. 32–36. 562 Cf. Tac., Agr. 42.4–5; Cf. Herbert A. Musurillo SJ, The Tradition of Martyr Literature, op. cit., p. 240. 563 While writing about those who falsely “calumniate the body” Clement of Alexandria writes the following in the Stromata, IV.IV.17.1–4, op. cit., ANF2, p. 412: “…for they differ with us in regard to first principles. Now we, too, say that those who have rushed on death (for there are some, not belonging to us, but sharing the name merely, who are in haste to give themselves up, the poor wretches dying through hatred to the Creator)—these, we say, banish themselves without being martyrs, even though they

181

now discuss a fragment of a heterodox critique from the Montanist work of Tertullian On Fasting. There he draws up a caricature of the pseudo-martyr Pristinus by relating a story which has a surprising amount of parallels with Lucian’s satirical lampoons. Pristinus drank so much under house arrest was so drunk during the day of his trial that he could not answer the proconsul’s questions. Wine made him impervious to tortures. Even if he did not renounce his faith, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He actually wanted to but he got so tongue-tied that his torturers could not hear anything besides hiccoughs and belching. 564 We can see all too clearly that the act of witnessing through death by itself proves to be insufficient. What counts are the object and the motives behind the act. People go to their deaths not only for the truth, but also for fame, out of fear, for their fatherland, state or friendship565, and often because of emotional instability or because they lose their senses.566 Therefore, not every death is a proof of perfection. It follows from this that it also is not necessarily a witness to the truth of professed convictions. As St. Augustine will say years later, “Therefore Martyrs, not the punishment, but the cause makes, for if punishment made Martyrs, all the mines would be full of Martyrs, every chain would drag Martyrs, all that are executed with the sword would be crowned.”567 Obviously, the Christians knew what constitutes the uniqueness of being martyred for Christ. However, we are interested in exploring how they were able to move within the space of concepts which were also accepted by pagans. It seems to me that a possibility of bypassing these intellectual difficulties is presented by the argument which, from acts of martyrdom and overcoming the weaknesses proper to humans, reaches the conclusion that Christian teaching must be divine.568 “Do you not see”, writes the author of the Letter to Diognetus, “them exposed to wild beasts, that they may be persuaded to deny the Lord, and yet not overcome? Do you not see that the more of them are punished, the greater becomes the number of the rest? This does not seem to be the work of man: this is the power of God; these are the evidences of His manifestation.”569 The question are punished publicly. For they do not preserve the characteristic mark of believing martyrdom, inasmuch as they have not known the only true God, but give themselves up to a vain death, as the Gymnosophists of the Indians to useless fire.” 564 Cf. Tert., Iei. 12.3 and Timothy David Barnes, op. cit., p. 183–184. 565 Cf. Tert., Ap. L.10–11. 566 Cf. Tert., Mart. 6. 567 Augustinus, En in Ps. 34, NPNF1, p. 85. 568 This argumentation is thoroughly discussed by Edward Łomnicki, op. cit., p. 79. 569 Ad Diog., 7.8–9, op. cit., ANF1, p. 28.

182

the Apologetes addressed to eyewitnesses of martyrdom was concerned with the sources of the remarkable power displayed by the persecuted. In the arenas of the Empire, where it was not isolated philosophers or gladiators facing elaborate tortures (crucifixion and wild animals), instead it was groups of ordinary men, women and children who endured inhuman sufferings, while displaying a baffling amount of restraint, serenity and mildness given the situation. They were perfectly joyful, free of hatred, and they often prayed for their persecutors.570 “And do you not perceive, O wretched men,” writes Minucius Felix, “that there is nobody who either is willing without reason to undergo punishment, or is able without God to bear tortures?”571 The foundation for this argument often are convictions that during the tortures the martyrs not so much endured suffering, but that they were totally immune to it, or to put it in the language of philosophy, they were not so much in control over their passions, but instead they were totally liberated from them.572 In order to understand the significance of this fact, one has to refer to discussions of the Stoic ideal of happiness totally independent of outside circumstances. This is how the opponents of the Stoics mock their beliefs: “Now imagine a wise person who is blind, disabled, suffering the gravest illness, in exile, childless, needy, and being tortured on the rack for good measure. Zeno, what do you call this person? ‘Happy.’ Even completely happy? ‘Absolutely’, he will reply.”573 We can find agreement with such a critique in the writings of the Christians. However, it is a qualified critique. This is because it presupposes that such an ideal is not attainable if one strives for it with just one’s own strength. As Edward Łomnicki has written, the behavior of Christians toward suffering and death meant that, “from the beginning Christianity saw martyrdom as a moral miracle, which constituted a convincing argument that established the divine origin of the Christian religion and its authenticity.”574 Perfection, which according to the opinion of many philosophers is not attainable in life, becomes the share of martyrs thanks to divine aid. The stance of martyrs expresses a natural and simultaneously transcendental perfection of a sage, which can be interpreted using the Pauline categories of demonstrating the spirit and power. Martyrdom is the miracle of a total conversion, a realization of the goal. Divine aid raises imperfect nature to the level of spiritual perfection naturally inaccessible to it. And this perfection is manifested in the martyrs. This conclusion marks out the 570 Justin Martyr wrote about the attitudes of the martyrs in Dial., 18.3, 96.3. 571 Min. Fel., Oct. 37.6 op. cit., ANF4, p. 196. 572 Cf. Ibid. 37.5; Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 57. 573 Cic., Fin., V.28.84, op. cit., p. 146. 574 Edward Łomnicki, op. cit., p. 80.

183

path for the rest of our considerations. The categories of the Phaedo allow us to understand the negative qualities of perfection that express themselves in a total independence from the world. As we have seen, conclusions based upon this form of reasoning can be questioned. On the other hand, the form of argumentation that points us toward the divine sources of witness takes us further, because it directs us toward a positive definition of witness. The following question now stands before us: what is the object of witness and what becomes of the person who undergoes a complete conversion of his existence and knowledge? Behind these questions hides the essence of witnessing. Are the answers expressible in the language of philosophy? It seems to me that some authors did undertake this type of enterprise. When asking about the remarkable resilience to suffering, Christians pointed toward a certain type of presence of Christ in the martyr, that is, a Christ who gives the martyr courage, who battles right along with the martyr, and who suffers for the martyr.575 Martyrdom, presented as a proof of the divinity of Christian teaching therefore brings us all the closer to the line of understanding the witness of the martyrs which can be interpreted through yet another Platonic definition of witness. We mean the formulation of philosophy which defines the goal for which man properly aims as divinization (homoiosis Theo).

575 Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 57.

184

Part IV: Martyrdom as a Complete Conversion 1. Divinization The Sage as God For Greek religion the two most basic qualities of divinity are its omniscience and immortality.576 Philosophers usually supplement this list with one more attribute, namely, perfect goodness. These qualities establish the distance that separates a god from the mortals—people condemned to opinion and merely aspiring toward the good. E.R. Dodds rightly notes, if we distance ourselves from the Greek manner of thinking, then the conviction that man can become a god, not only after death, but already in life, that he can be, as Empedocles and Clement of Alexandria noted, “a god going about in flesh”577, will become totally incomprehensible and dumbfounding.578 What he means is that for the ancients the barrier separating gods from men was not totally impregnable. Rather, the real issue was the distance that divides man from his goal, rather than some unsurpassable separating the two. After all, the opposition god-man is written right into human nature. The difference between them is the distance separating what is encountered and what is assigned, that is, the distance between ordinary people and the sage. Thus, the discovery of a god is the discovery of human nature— it unveils what one must become in order to actualize one’s telos. Let’s add the following: the consequences of this discovery remain essentially independent of whether we accept or reject the conviction that a mortal human being is capable of achieving it. The classical expression of divinization occurred in Plato’s Theaetetus. The main points of reference are the, “…two patterns set up in reality. One is divine and supremely happy; the other has nothing of God in it, and is the pattern of the deepest unhappiness.”579 This position maintains the frames of ontological dualism and the theme of the soul’s escape from the world familiar to us from the Phaedo. However, this time the emphasis is put upon what we strive for, instead

576 Cf. Bruno Snell, The Discovery of the Mind: The Greek Origins of European Thought, New York: Harper and Row, 1960, especially in the chapter “Human Knowledge and Divine Knowledge Among Early Greeks”, p. 136–152. 577 Clem. Al., Str. VII.XIV.101.5, op. cit., ANF2, p. 553. Cf. Epicur., fr. 141; Emp., fr. 112. 578 Cf. Eric Robertson Dodds, op. cit., p. 74. 579 Pl., Tht. 176e, op. cit., p. 195.

185

of what we need to avoid. The gods are totally free from the evil that is an inherent element of mortal nature and the sensual life. Socrates explains, “That is why a man should make all haste to escape from earth to heaven; and escape means becoming as like God as possible (phyge de homoiosis theo kata to dynaton)” (176b, p.  195). As he continues, Socrates explains the moral character of this action, “a man becomes like God when he becomes just and pure, with understanding (homoiosis de dikaion kai hosion meta phroneseos genesthai)” (Ibid.). This issue is similarly framed in a fragment from the Republic (613a-b), where Plato stresses, above all, the praxis-oriented aspect of the required transformation: good will, justice and the virtue which appear in concrete acts. In both of these instances being a god is equated with being perfectly good. It is not accidental that in commentaries written during late antiquity homoiosis theo appears as a mixed definition: it refers both to the practical and theoretical planes of philosophy.580 Divinization, becoming like the god, is the program for a total conversion that cannot be accomplished if one ignores the highest, that is, cognitive, possibilities of man. The basis for this was the discovery of the natural similarity between the intellectual element of man and the spiritual perfection of the god. After all, besides goodness, perfect knowledge is one of the main characteristics of divinity. This thought was expressed very expressively in the vision of the chariots in the Phaedrus. The purest knowledge, on which the mind of the god feeds, is a type of eyewitness, in the spiritual sense of the word, that is, it is unmediated knowledge of “what really is what it is” and the immutable world of the objects of true knowledge (247d-e, p. 525). The soul which is most similar to the god is the one which has the most of what the god sees (248a). Later, after its fall to the earth it takes up the effort of returning to its natural state, it will make the rediscovery of knowledge that likens it to the god the most substantial vector of its efforts (248b-249d). This is because similarity is not just a starting point. Instead, it is the result of a deepening of knowledge. Through an increasingly adequate knowledge of the lasting principles of reality, man, stretched between 580 Adam Krokiewicz explains how homoiosis theo was meant to define, “how, a man who liberates or purifies his soul ‘desired to imitate God in His knowledge and acting’, in other words, that he should desire ‘to know all beings and live ethically’, meaning, ‘to do the good and to aid those in need of help’ (Comm. in Aristot. Gr. XVIII2, s. 77nn., IV3, s. 3,11).” Adam Krokiewicz, Zarys filozofii greckiej [An Outline of Greek Philosophy], op. cit., p. 39; cf. Juliusz Domański, “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy], op. cit., p. 8.

186

mutability and immutability, comes closer, however much it is possible for him, toward the stable world of intellectual objects of knowledge. Next to virtue contemplation is the most substantial form of divinization. To some degree the perfection of knowledge testifies to the ontic similarity of the knower and his object of knowledge.581 Both the ethical and the epistemological aspects of divinization are based upon an indisputable acknowledgment of the existence of an immutable spiritual reality as higher from the changeable world which is perceived by the senses. Mortal man, who has affinities with both sides of the cosmic dualism, becomes the area of a dispute, which can also be viewed, as Plato does in the Timaeus, in cosmological categories.582 Let’s put it as clearly as possible: this does not signify a deprecation of the world, instead it signifies the awareness of the disharmony inherent to man, which has its source in the material element of his earthly existence. This is the reason why the appropriate stance in this dispute does not depend upon condemning the body and the world, on the contrary, within his powers man should strive to make his body, along with, for example, social reality, reflect in the highest degree possible the glory of perfect harmony.583 What matters is not losing sight of the unconditional primacy of spiritual reality, so that care for what is mortal should not overshadow the desire for immortality. Such an overshadowing would mean a degradation of man. Thus, in the final analysis, a double loyalty is clearly impossible, “we are plants grown not from the earth but from heaven”, says Plato and follows it up with the strong assertion that this is an “absolutely” correct judgment.584 Thus, the choice facing us is the choice between reducing ourselves to animality and divinizing ourselves. Or, as the young Aristotle wrote, the man deprived of reason becomes like an animal, whereas when his reason is fully developed, he becomes like a god585, precisely because reason—here he follows Hermotimus or Anaxagoras—is what is divine in us.586 The antinomies draw themselves out clearly here. On the one hand, there is change, the senses, opinion, chaos and death, on the other, permanence, reason, knowledge, harmony and immortality. As Plato writes in the Timaeus (90b-c), whoever succumbs to the passions and becomes absorbed in disputes, will necessarily have only mortal thoughts and will expand the dominance of the 581 Jaako Hintikka, op. cit., p. 5–18. 582 Cf. Pl., Ti., 90c-d. 583 Cf. Ibid. 87c-89d; Arist., Protr. fr. 49 and 50. 584 Pl., Ti., 90a, p. 1289. 585 Arist., Protr. fr. 28. 586 Ibid. fr. 110 ; cf. fr. 108 and 109.

187

mortal and will stop at nothing to become mortal. In turn, whoever maintains himself in the love for the truth and works upon himself in order to think about divine things will necessarily have the joy of participating in immortality to the extent it is possible for man. While keeping in mind substantial differences, we ought to point to the Pauline explication of the dependence of knowledge upon the praise given to God. Essentially, what is at stake is establishing the correct measure for reality, which then must be transposed upon human acts, aspirations and tasks. It is the god, says Plato in the Laws (clearly directing this observation toward Protagoras), “who is preeminently the ‘measure of all things,’ much more than any ‘man,’ as they say.”587 Man becomes pleasing to the god when he likens himself to him through justice and moderation588; he praises the god when he undergoes spiritual exercises since through them he keeps, “well-ordered the guiding spirit that lives within him.”589 Just so we do not lose sight of the eudemonistic dimension of this transformation, we should add that through being similar to the god, man is also necessarily happy.590 The sources of likening ourselves to the god lie in the same question that lay at the foundation for the task of preparing for death. What measure should be used to measure man? Who is he, and who should he be? If in the exhortation to death “life” constitutes a synonym for everything which, while training in death, must be abandoned, then “divinity” is a lapidary expression of man’s goal. If the first is a diagnosis of a spiritual disease, then the second is a definition of health. The concept of “life” implies all the merely apparent goods, whereas “divinity” implies all the goods which ought to be gained in order to realize all of man’s natural perfection and happiness. Outside of this goal everything is mere chatter and 587 Pl., Epin., 716c, op. cit., p. 1403. 588 Ibid. 716d. 589 Pl., Ti. 90c, op. cit., p. 1289. Cf. Sen., Epist. 95.47–51, who stresses that we give authentic praise by coming to know the god and by likening ourselves to him in goodness. 590 In the Timaeus (90c-d, p. 1289) Plato gives a fascinating example of an exercise that can lead to the restoration of lost harmony: “Now there is but one way to care for anything, and that is to provide for it the nourishment and the motions that are proper to it. And the motions that have an affinity to the divine part within us are the thoughts and revolutions of the universe. These, surely, are the ones which each of should follow. We should redirect the revolutions in our heads that were thrown off course at our birth, by coming to learn the harmonies and revolutions of the universe, and so bring into conformity with its objects our faculty of understanding, as it was in its original condition. And when this conformity is complete, we shall have achieved our goal; that most excellent life offered to humankind by the gods, both now and forevermore.”

188

verbosity (phylaria kai leros).591 Therefore, divinization describes philosophy, not because of the object or the instruments that aid in the achievement of wisdom, but because of the goal written into human nature to which philosophy is supposed to lead its adept. This is why for each one of the philosophical schools the homoiosis theo postulate expressed a picture of human nature which is realized in the person of a true sage who no longer strives for perfection, because he has achieved it, and who through his perfected knowledge and virtue is the earthly manifestation of ultimate reality.592

Plato and Aristotle: The Issue Whether the Sage Exists Thus, divinity is a calling to a transformation which covers all the aspects of human existence, an exhortation to regain participation in the necessary, universal and unchanging harmony of spiritual reality. Philosophers shrink from definitions of philosophy that abstract from its spiritual dimension. As Seneca wrote, impassivity, peace or lack of worry are not in themselves philosophical virtues. We can find them in the bug, cricket, or flea. “Do you ask what it is that produces the wise man?”, Seneca asks Lucilius and answers with, “That which produces a god.”593 Yet we should never forget that death lies between and the god and man and that the relationship between death and perfection is indissoluble. Philosophical dying, understood as liberating the soul from dependence on apparent goods, is not only a necessary condition, but simply one of the aspects of the transformation, the transformation whose positive dimension is the birth of a new man who is simultaneously a sage and a god. Not without reason these two definitions of philosophy were combined. When it comes to this issue, for all who approved the Platonic paradigm of philosophy, there was no conflict: preparing for death is likening oneself to the god.594 The differences lie in the opinions as to the possibility of realizing this ideal. As we have said, establishing the meaning of the concept of what constitutes a sage is the end of our discussion about human nature that concerns itself with the highest goods, happiness and goals for man. The second part will now concern itself with whether a sage can possibly exist. This is the question we will

591 Cf. Arist., Protr. fr. 110. 592 The history of the idea of likening oneself to god is discussed in: Hubert Merki, Homoiosis Theo, Freiburg: Paulus Verlag, 1952. 593 Sen., Epist. 87.19, op. cit., p. 333. 594 Cf. Cic., Tusc., I.31.75; The union of these two aspects of the philosophical life is also stressed by Clement of Alexandria when writing about ascesis, Str. II.XX.103.1–109.1.

189

now need to address: can man, during this life, become a god, or is he inevitably condemned to the effort of unfulfilled striving—to the constant effort of entering into the possession of truth and virtue? The question we are attempting to address here, was one of the main causes as to why circles of Dogmatic philosophers doubted the hope for a perfect divinization of man. Let’s say it from the start: in our opinion this problem best expressed itself in the question whether man is capable of dying during his life in earth. To put it another way: can man, despite his relation to his body, attain a freedom comparable to the one given to the philosophizing soul when death frees it from the body through physical death? I am convinced that if according to philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle something stands in the way of achieving perfection, it is not, as many presuppose today, our inability to know the truth, instead it is man’s fundamental inability to last in the truth. The blame for this is not directed at the soul, but the body. This whole matter is tightly connected with the already mentioned interpretation of the difference between a philosopher and a sage. “To call him wise (sophos),” says Socrates to Phaedrus, “seems to me too much, and proper only for a god. To call him wisdom’s lover (philosophos)… or something similar would fit him better and be more seemly.”595 It seems we are used to explicating the distinction within this fragment in a manner totally incompatible with Plato’s intentions.596 Karl Albert has pointed out our frequent tendency to project onto Plato’s thought a picture of philosophy seen as a constant and unfulfilled striving toward the truth.597 The combination of philein and sophia already seems to contain a presentation of the philosophy of wisdom for which the constant asking of questions and consciousness of the provisional nature of all answers, must be seen as opposed to possessing the truth. Albert rejects this modern interpretation of the Greeks. We must begin by saying that it cannot be defended based upon ancient Greek linguistic practice. Out of the many linguistic constructions in Greek which are similar to philo-sophos, such as, for example, philositos (lover of eating, glutton), philoksenos (lover of guests, a hospitable person), or philippos (lover of horses), one cannot derive the conclusion that the “love” present in these names signifies a lack of fulfillment and the lack of what is desired. The 595 Pl., Phdr. 278d, op. cit., p. 555. 596 This analysis utilizes conclusions culled from the following work: Karl Albert, O platońskim pojęciu filozofii [On the Platonic Understanding of Philosophy], trans. Jerzy Drewnowski, Warszawa: Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii PAN, 1991. 597 This is difficult to understand even in light of the fragment from Phdr. 278d we have just cited.

190

philositos most certainly eats a lot and often, while the home of the one who deserves the title of philoksenos, is always full of guests. Walter Burkert confirms this when he writes, “philein does not signify a longing for something which is not present, nor the striving toward something which is out of reach, instead it signifies an intimacy, the daily confirmation of being in contact with something that is present—this relation, which in many expressions such as philagyia or philonetor make the word ‘lover’ become something like a possessive pronoun, it makes philein a description of everyday action.”598 This is the reason why, “whoever coined the word philosophos, could not have treated it as the opposite of sophos and as a resignation of sophia; out of the possible combinations of meaning, it cannot be understood otherwise than as a good relation, familiarity, and a constant preoccupation with what sophia designates.”599 Karl Albert thus asks: how are we to understand the distinction between philosophia and sophia which Plato apparently introduced going against the tradition written into the Greek language? “The problem resides in whether the philein that resides in philosophia is understood by him as an essentially unsatisfied striving.”600 Karl Albert’s analysis of the concept of philosophy in Plato’s writings of the middle-period leaves no doubt that such a hypothesis is false.601 It is true that Eros, the personification of philosophy and philosophers, which is intermediary between the god and man (metaksy esti theou te kai thnetou; Symposium 202d-e), does not possess divine wisdom (sophia), but only strives for it.602 All the same, it does not mean that Eros does not know the truth. His answer requires us to add nuance to our view—divine wisdom is not identical with coming to know the truth. The function of a translator (hermeneus) and ferryman (porthmeus; Symposium, 202e) presupposes knowledge of divine speech and frequenting the ports of the gods. What matters is not that the philosopher, the connection between men and the gods, does not reach the divine goal, rather what matters is that he does not stay there—he returns to the human. Therefore, the content of the philosophical life is not unsatisfied effort, instead, it is a constant ferrying between the two poles. “But now he springs to life when he gets his way; now he dies—all in the very same day… he keeps coming back to life, but then anything he finds his way to always slips away, for this reason Love is never completely

598 599 600 601 602

Walter Burkert, “Platon oder Pitagoras?” in Hermes (88), 1965. p. 172. Ibid., p. 173. Karl Albert, op. cit., p. 17. Ibid., p. 17–29. Cf. Pl., Smp. 203e; Ly. 218a-b.

191

without resources, nor is he ever rich.”603 Therefore, the philosophical existence “in between” or “in the middle” does not signify a lack of fulfillment, but the transitory nature of fulfillment. This one of the key qualities that make the erotic into a metaphor of philosophy. Here is how Albert explains it, “the philosopher, in his essence, is therefore not a sophos, but he is not also an amathes, because he does reach, even if in passing, divine knowledge—sophia.”604 Essentially, there is no contradiction between this judgment and the one voiced in an already discussed fragment from the Phaedo (66e-67a), which said that only after death, when the soul will exist independently of the body, the philosopher will enter into possession of what he desires and loves. This is not an exception to the rule that must be explained away by lowering oneself to pointing to the psychological situation of the dialogue’s protagonist.605 Socrates thought that only physical death is capable of totally liberating the soul and permit the philosopher to finally become a sage, meaning, to change the one who finds himself in constant motion “between”, into one who, like the gods, permanently possesses wisdom. Therefore, the boundary of death, which separates man from god, cannot be crosses during this life. The “as possible” (kata to dynaton), which Plato applies to likening oneself to god (Theaetetus, 176b), describes the inescapable limits of conversion for a soul tied to the body. It marks out the degree to which, during life, we are able to transform our existence along the road leading from transience and particularism to immutability and the generality of the intellectual world. Only death allows the purified soul, which really “trained to die easily”, to make the following journey: “its way to the invisible, which is like itself, the divine and immortal and wise, and arriving there it can be happy, having rid itself of confusion, ignorance, fear, violent desires and the other human ills…” (Phaedo, 81a, p. 71). The rooster which, according to the last wishes of Socrates, Crito gave to Aesculapius (118a) is a thanksgiving offering for freedom regained. The gesture which Christians saw as idolatrous606 is more likely, as Olympiodorus thought, the sign of a soul full of thanksgiving for being able to return to its origins.607 The example of Nietzsche shows how there will never be any agreement between Socrates and the followers of Calicles when it comes to 603 Pl., Smp. 203e, op. cit., p. 486. 604 Karl Albert, op. cit., p. 22. Albert documents his position with the following fragments from Plato’s work: R. 532a-b; Phdr. 247c, 249c, 249e-250a. 605 Karl Albert, op. cit., p. 27. 606 Cf. Tert., Nat. II.2; An. I; Lact., Div. Instit., III.20.16–17. 607 Emma Edelstein and Ludwig Edelstein, Asclepius: A Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies, New York: Arno Press, 1975, p. 297.

192

this matter.608 Nietzsche was not mistaken: earthly life, branded by the body with the tragic virus of mutability, has for Socrates all the marks of illness. Only death allows us to really die. However, this death gives birth to a god. In the tenth book of the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle repeats the arguments of Plato without altering them too much. In both thinkers we see the emergence of a thought that lies at the foundations of the possibility of the sage’s existence. It is a thought, which from the beginning, was marked by a deep rift. The rift runs along the possibility of total freedom (that draws its conclusions out of an anthropology which identifies man with the soul) and a kind of philosophical compromise, which takes into consideration the dependence of the soul upon the body. When reading the famous fragment of the Nicomachean Ethics, devoted to the activity of theoretical contemplation (1177a12–1178a8), we have a foretaste of the type of thinking which will lead Philo of Alexandria to claim God created two Adams: one who was perfect and spiritual, and the second whose soul was tied to a body. While considering the question of the happiest type of life, Aristotle seems to stratify the discourse as if he had in mind two different natures of man: the actual and the purely spiritual. We should add that he clearly treats the second nature as the goal for the first. We will not be mistaken if we see in Aristotle a philosopher who strongly emphasizes the dependence of human happiness upon the non-intellectual, sensory and social. Even though virtue gives happiness to man, he writes, “the person who is terribly ugly, of low birth, or solitary and childless is not really the sort to be happy…”609 Self-sufficiency is a trait of the gods, whereas the embodied person is entangled within an immense net of dependencies. A person is dependent upon things that are indispensable to life or those such as healthy progeny, beauty or wealth, whose lack, according to Aristotle, is hard to reconcile with happiness. The fact that practice of virtue is impossible without other people also stands in the way of self-sufficiency, “… the just person will need people as associates in and objects of his just actions, and the same is true of the temperate person, the courageous person and each of the others…”610 Courage requires danger, generosity needs money, whereas justice requires people. However, at the same time, Aristotle is surprisingly inclined to attribute the self-sufficiency he seems to continually limit to happiness based upon the “highest” activity, that is, to contemplation. If happiness is acting in accordance with the best type of ethical activity, meaning virtue, then 608 Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols: or How to Philosophize with a Hammer, trans. Duncan Large, Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 2009, p. 11–16. 609 Arist., EN 1099b4, op. cit., p. 15. 610 Ibid. 1177a30–32, p. 195.

193

contemplation is the highest type of happiness available to man (1177a12–19). Contemplation, an activity of the intellect (the best and most divine part of man) where philosophical wisdom is fulfilled, is distinguished by the greatest relative permanence, purity and endurance of pleasures, and crucially, self-sufficiency, which can be understood as freedom from non-intellectual goods (1177a20– 1177b1).611 The philosopher, writes Aristotle, “can contemplate even when he is by himself, the more so the wiser he is.”612 It seems that the highest activity of our best part does not need anything or anybody. Moreover, contemplation is worthy of being chosen not because of some aim or advantage that we want to gain with its aid—it is the only thing we enjoy in itself (1177b1–15). Should we understand by this that by gaining this specific good we also gain a total, divine, freedom? The answer is negative. A life of uninterrupted contemplation exceeds the possibilities of man, who does posses the divine element, but has a composite nature. The difference between this element and the bodily-spiritual nature is the difference between the happiness of contemplation and the practice of virtue. “If the intellect, then, is something divine compared with the human being, the life in accordance with it will also be divine compared with human life.”613 Paradoxically enough, this is not a judgment which justifies the temptation to replace a “divine” ethic with a “human” one. “But we ought not to listen to those who exhort us, because we are human, to think of human things, or because we are mortal, think of mortal things.”614 On the contrary, we must care for immortality and do everything to live according to the divine element. The rift we spoke about earlier expresses itself in the fact that the ethics of virtue are, at best, an ethics of a compromise full of resignation. This is because Aristotle is far from acknowledging that human nature somehow marks out a desired measure for our striving toward divinity. “It would seem, too, to constitute each person, since it is his authoritative and better element; it would be odd, then, if he were to choose not his own life, but something else’s. And what we said above will apply here as well: what is proper to each thing is by nature best and pleasantest for it; for a human being, therefore, the life in accordance with intellect is best and pleasantest, since this, more than anything else, constitutes humanity. So this life

611 We should keep in mind that this is only a relatively highest self-sufficiency. “For though a wise person, a just person, and anyone with any other virtue, all require the necessities of life…” Ibid. 1177a27, p. 195. 612 Ibid. 1177a33, p. 195. 613 Ibid. 1177b29–30, p. 196. 614 Ibid. 1177b31, p. 196.

194

will also be the happiest.”615 The paradox is that what naturally (according to one meaning of the word) is the best, is naturally (in another meaning) also unattainable. Perfect happiness is a divine state, accessible to people only in a limited manner. Divinity is the ideal, incapable of being fully realized; it is a life totally in accord with reason, in other words, a life that does not have to deal with functions which are not intellectual.

Continuation of the Discussion: Peripatetics and Stoics However much the dependence of human happiness upon the transient goods of the world can be justified, it definitively cancels out the hope for man’s complete cure. When, as the Stoics suggested, the sage must possess health, physical stature friends, wealth and “the functioning of every part from head to toe”616, then the potential persistence of his happiness must be questioned. Dependence upon external goods brands the philosophical cure with a stigma of uncertainty, thereby putting the philosopher in the same position as the countless masses of people in the hands of fortune’s caprices. This kind of thinking seemed unacceptable to the Stoics. Thus, no other group went further than the Stoics in affirming the total freedom of the soul. Nothing so clearly pointed out the substantial reasons behind why some philosophers considered full conversion to be a postulate totally incapable of being realized as the debate between the Stoics and the Peripatetics. Neither one of the sides questioned the fact that virtue is the highest good. It’s just that, according to the Stoics, it is the only and sufficient good. What’s interesting, both sides of the debate used the movements of a newly born creature as their evidence, much like later Tertullian would look for the truth of nature in what is most primordial and untainted. According to Cato, who in Cicero’s On Moral Ends presents the Stoic view, the primordial reaction of every creature is a protective self-love and a pull toward the truth in itself. Therefore, the first appropriate action is, “…to preserve oneself in one’s natural constitution. The next is to take what is in accordance with nature and reject its opposite.”617 As time passes, thanks to knowledge and reasoning, man comes to understand that harmony with nature is the highest good and it expresses itself in what is noble, in virtue. Everything else does not even deserve the title of a “good”.618 Piso, who explains the teachings of the Peripatetics, agrees with Cato that the first actions of every 615 Ibid. 1178a2–9, p. 196. 616 Cic., Fin. V.27.80, op. cit., p. 144. 617 Ibid. III.6.20, p. 71. 618 Ibid. III.5.16–8.27.

195

creature are directed by the desire toward preserving life.619 However, here is where the sages part ways. According to Piso, as time passes man discovers that he is composed of a soul and body. Even though there is no doubt, “…the mind and its components are primary, the parts of the body only secondary”620, we still cannot say that bodily goods have simply no meaning whatsoever. Instead, the primordial gesture pointed toward the importance of bodily goods. Whereas, as a result of reflection they are pushed down the hierarchy of goods, nevertheless they remain goods which are necessary for happiness. “We are made of mind and body of a certain kind. It is proper for us, as demanded by our primary natural desire, to love these elements and to derive from them our end, the supreme and ultimate good. If our premises are correct, this good must consist in our obtaining as many as possible of the most important things that are in accordance with nature.”621 Since both schools agree that virtue is the highest good, the axis of the controversy revolved around the role which the remaining goods played in the attainment of happiness. From our point of view the most interesting fragment of this discussion was the defense of the compromise-ethic of the Peripatetics through questioning the Stoic concept of nature. The Peripatetics granted that they came from the same presuppositions and accepted living in accordance with nature as the primary criterion of happiness. However, according to them, the Stoics, in a mysterious manner abandoned “the body and all those things that are in accordance with nature but not in our power.” Then they asked the following: “How is it that so many of the things originally commended by nature are suddenly forsaken by wisdom?”622 And so if the difference is not purely verbal and does not stem from the fact that what the Peripatetic calls a good, the Stoic considers worthy of acknowledgment, then the Stoic living in “harmony with nature will be to abandon nature.”623 The heart of the attack is the accusation of spiritualizing man. Cicero’s attack develops in this way: “The only circumstance in which it would be correct to make the supreme good consist solely in virtue would be if our animal which has nothing but a mind also had nothing connected with its mind that was in accordance with nature: for example, health.”624 Thus, when on the one hand, the attack goes against those who, like the Epicureans caricatured by Cicero, treat 619 620 621 622 623 624

196

Ibid. V.9.24. Ibid. V.12.34, p. 129. Ibid. IV.10.25, p. 99. Ibid. IV.11.26, p. 99. Ibid. IV.15.41–42, p. 103. Ibid. IV.11.28, p. 100.

man as a being deprived of a soul, it also wants to undermine the views of those who ignore anything beyond the soul as if “human beings had no body.”625 This is the root of the attack against Stoic ataraxia, which we have mentioned earlier. The total absurdity of the Stoic idea of happiness, wholly independent of the needs of the body (an ideal of perfection indifferent to the tradition of exile, destitution or torture) is proven by lived practice, whereas in theory it is proved by anthropological reflection. This latter-day Peripatetic confirms the views of Plato and Aristotle: the soul’s tie with the body only allows for a divinization that can only go as far as possibility allows it. Only the witness of a perfect life can overcome the theoretical foundations of these Aristotelian arguments. If there is a sage, then it means that during this life the soul can uproot the passions and totally liberate itself from the body. However, it was difficult to find confirmation of the Stoic position in practice. Establishing the existence of a sage is especially difficult since individual displays of philosophical virtue are not enough, what is needed is a complete and lasting transformation—not the momentary divinity of the Eros-philosopher, but the immutable sophia of the gods. The real sage must, like the phoenix, die and be born again. His new life should be marked by a full and unchanging knowledge and perfected virtue. The trick which Perseus played upon Ariston, consisted of one of two twin brothers placing a deposit in his hands, and then the other to reclaiming it. It totally discredited Ariston’s aspirations to the title of sage who is never mistaken.626 One can be disqualified as a sage by even the tiniest imperfections in one’s emotional, moral or intellectual life, because the only acceptable proof is the whole of one’s life. Essentially, only after death can we confirm that someone was indeed a sage. Thus, there is nothing strange in the Stoic claim that a sage is as rare as a phoenix. It pays to turn our attention to the substantial similarity between the views of both sides of this discussion. The subject of the debate is the degree of the soul’s dependence upon the body—never the ability to transform oneself along with the body. Independently of what is thought about the possibility of liberation in this life, the limiting factor of human conversion is the body, which is wholly incapable of such a transformation. The body cannot be perfected, it can only be cast aside. We shall soon see how the Christians introduced an important correction of this point. However, before this transition it was easier to believe that only after death the souls of exceptional philosophers will be with the gods

625 Ibid. IV.13.36, p. 102; cf. Ibid., IV.13.55–14.36. 626 D.L. VII.162.

197

and enjoy the status of gods, rather than believe in the embodied perfection of any of the living philosophers. Even Peregrinus, presumptuous according to Lucian, who right before self-immolation turned into a phoenix expected divinity and the golden rings for himself only after death.627 Perhaps with the exception of Xenophanes and Empedocles—if we are to trust the authenticity of the fragments which have survived to our day—philosophers did not consider themselves to be gods.628 In truth it would be difficult to imagine hearing from the lips of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle or Zeno the following words of Empedocles: “I, an immortal God, no longer mortal, / Now live among you well revered by all, / As is my due, crowned with holy fillets / And rosy garlands. And whene’er I come / To wealthy cities, then from men and women / Due honours meets me; and crowds follow me, / Seeking the way which leads to gainful glory. / Some ask for oracles, and some entreat, / For remedies against all kinds of sickness.”629 And perhaps it was the extraordinary megalomania of the philosopher from Akragas which became the source of the popular opinion that he craftily arranged his death in a way which was supposed to suggest a miraculous ascension into heaven.630 This obviously does not mean that there was a lack of legends about the real divinity of philosophers. Almost all schools made their founders into objects of cults. Plato was considered to be a son of Apollo, while Pythagoras, Epicurus, and Diogenes were considered to be gods. Especially in the Hellenistic period there was an increase in literature in which great philosophers, while still living, entered into the nimbus of supermen.631 The most substantial proof of their perfection increasingly became the exhibition of supernatural power expressed by the ability to perform miracles.632 In time thaumaturgical abilities came to stand at the foundation of the popular image of the “man of God” (theios aner). This figure combined the philosophical ideal of the sage (pertaining to ethics and epistemology) with the religious imaginings of late antiquity.633

627 Lucianus, Peregr. 27. 628 John Michael Rist, op. cit., p. 242–243, stresses that neither Zeno, nor Chrysippus considered themselves to be sages. 629 D.L. VIII.62, op. cit., p. 363. 630 Ibid. VIII.69. 631 Cf. Arthur Darby Nock, op. cit., p. 175–176. 632 Cf. Eric Robertson Dodds, op. cit., p. 75. 633 Cf. Hans Dieter Betz, Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament: Religionsgeschichtliche und Paränetische Parallelen, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1961, p. 100–101; Ludwig Bieler, Theois aner. Das Bild des “Göttlichen Menschen” in Spätantike und Frühchristentum, Vienna: Höfel, 1935–1936. The sources of the “man of God” tradition

198

As David L. Tiede noted, this model cannot be acknowledged as universally accepted still in the times of Plutarch (46–120), and as an example he presents the controversy surrounding the causes behind Socrates’ divinity. We should add that, according to Plutarch himself and in accordance with the earlier philosophical tradition, Socrates owed his divinity to reason and virtue as expressed in his unflinching attitude in the face of death.634 On the other hand, since time out of mind, the popular imagination possessed a model that acknowledged superhuman power as an elementary form of divinity’s manifestation. It is enough to recall the adventure of Paul and Barnabas in Lystra (Acts 14:8–18). During their First Missionary Journey they were identified as Zeus and Hermes who had come down from heaven and taken on human form. Even a chaplain of the cult of Zeus brought oxen and garlands to makes sacrifices along with the crowds that had gathered at the gates of the city. The cause of this misunderstanding, grotesque when we take the Apostles’ intentions into consideration, was a miracle—Paul’s healing of a man who had been crippled from birth. However, the situation will considerably change between the second and third centuries after Christ. During that historical point there was a fusion of magical and philosophical elements in the portraits of philosophers. This is best demonstrated by Philostratus (170–244) in the biography The Life of Apollonius written by him. Traditional features such as readiness to die for one’s convictions (VII.14), plus tropes typical for the lives of sages: unjust accusations, appearing before the tribunal or ignoring the possibility of escaping (VII.38) were supplemented by numerous miracles (IV.44), the ability to predict the future and a mysterious disappearance of the sage.635 Indubitably, the superiority of miracles as a criterion of perfection and divinity comes from their spectacular nature. Miracles relieve the worry, present since the times of Homer, that there are no good ways of recognizing a god who appears in the world under the guise of a human being.636

are discussed in Howard Clark Kee, op. cit., p. 297–299. Cf. Maria Dzielska, “Il ‘theois aner’” in I Greci: Storia, Cultura, Arte, Societa, v. 2, Torino 1998, p. 1261–1280. 634 Cf. David L. Tiede, The Charismatic Figure as Miracle Worker as discussed in: Howard Clark Kee, op. cit., p. 298. 635 Cf. Maria Dzielska, “Flawiusz Filostrat i jego dzieło”, the introduction to: Flawiusz Filostratos, Żywot Apolloniusza z Tiany, trans. Ireneusz Kania, Kraków: Oficyna Literacka, 1997, p. 11nn. A similar fusion of qualities can be found in the Life of Pythagoras written by Porphyry during the second half of the third century. 636 Cf. Pl., Sph. 216b-d. Where Plato refers to the Odyssey XVII.485. We should note that the philosopher-magician is not the only type of protagonist of philosophical

199

The influence of this paradigm upon the descriptions of Christian saints is clear, the difference being that for Christians it will never be the ultimate criterion. The traits typical of pagan gods do not give criteria for distinguishing good and bad spirits. Therefore, the cautiousness of Christians was directed by their belief that the ability to perform miracles was also within the reach of demons. For now we will put aside this new magical-fairytale outline of divinity and will concentrate on its classical and Platonic formulation. We will search within the bounds of this formulation for the language which the Christians used to show the world that the witness of martyrs not only fulfilled, but also greatly exceeded the hopes of the philosophers.

2.  The Christian Homoiosis Theo Affirmation of the Spirit The adventure in Lystra, where the Apostles of the One God were taken for gods from the polytheistic pantheon, ably illustrates the risk of an unreflective approval of the postulate of divinization. After all, is not the desire to become God the essence of pride? Was not the promise of being transformed into God the essence of Satan’s temptation who led Adam and Eve into the wasteland of sin? Does not the hope of divinization, on the one hand, contain the germ of polytheism, on the other, the danger of obscuring the difference between man and transcendence? The problem still causes heated theological controversies. The idea is sometimes condemned as the most serious aberration and a fatal flaw in the thought of Greek Christianity. Nowadays a negative answer is usually given to the question, “Does a reasonable person desire to become God?”637 However, we would be terribly mistaken if we thought the early Christians were not aware of these dangers. As Eric Osborn notes, writings about deification might be a waste of time, but only if we will not take up the labor of trying to understand the proper context of this concept. According to him, every Christian writer must ask what if means to be born in God, to be born again, to be a child of God; he has to describe it in a way that will not remove the difference between the creature and the Creator, because the New Testament, to a great degree, is directed biographies of late antiquity. This is attested to by, for example, the biography of Plotinus, free of all such magical elements. 637 Cf. Benjamin J. Drewery, Origen and the Doctrine of Grace, London: The Epworth Press, 1960, s. 200; Hans Küng, On Being a Christian, Doubleday: New York 1976, s. 442. Both quotations are taken from: Eric Osborn, The Beginning of Christian Philosophy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981, p. 111, 113.

200

against the human effort of self-salvation.638 The cross confirms the position of man as a creature and condemns efforts at raising oneself up by one’s own powers to God. In actuality, with all the fuzziness of many opinions of early Christian theology, there is no lack of clarity when it comes to deification. Their polytheistic surroundings forced the Christians into making an unambiguous distinction between God and creation, whereas the Gnostic proposal of a self-salvation required them to clearly stress the substantial role of grace.639 If in accordance with the words of the Psalmist (82.6), says Tertullian, we can be gods, then it is not thanks to our own powers, but the grace of God, because only he is capable of creating gods.640 As Osborn has written, accurately reconstructing the logic of the thinking of early Christians, “Because God is one and God is good, the only path to goodness is that of becoming like God.”641 We cannot forget the biblical sources of the concept of likening oneself to God, even if the fragment from the Theaetetus (176a-b)—passed on through Platonic florilegia—constitutes one of the most important inspirations of Christian anthropology.642 The Book of Genesis (1:26) clearly states that man was created in the image (kat’ eikona) and likeness (kath’ homoiosin) of God. We would be hard pressed, as late as in the age of the Apologetes, to see the manner of interpreting this fragment as directly dependent upon Platonic influences; “image” and “likeness” were understood to be synonyms and, as in the case of Tatian’s writings, it designated a supernatural participation in the life of God.643 Despite that, much like the ancient philosophers, the question of participation from the beginning was connected to the problem of the goal that should constitute the proper measure of human existence. The author of the Letter to Diognetus derived the idea of imitating God from man’s peculiar position, who is loved by the Creator, is shaped by his image, and was given reason and the promise of salvation (10.2). The Christian is a citizen of heaven and that is why, like a foreigner abroad, measures everything according to the measure of the spirit, not the measure of the world.644 This is also the reason why, as Hermas says, those who bustle around

638 Eric Osborn, op. cit., p. 113–114. 639 Ibid., p. 114. 640 Tert., Herm. 5. 641 Eric Osborn, The Emergence…, op. cit., p. 211. 642 Cf. Jean Daniélou, Gospel Message and Hellenistic Culture, trans. J.A. Baker, Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1973, p. 118–120. 643 Ibid., p. 119. 644 Cf. Ad Diog. 5.5–9.

201

worldly matters in fact, “look not forward to the blessings of the life to come.”645 Here we find the conviction that the spiritual element is higher than the sensual and its kinship to God is indubitable. “Man is not,” says Tatian, “merely a rational animal, capable of understanding and knowledge; for, according to them, even irrational creatures appear possessed of understanding and knowledge. But man alone is the image and likeness of God; and I mean by man, not one who performs actions similar to those of animals, but one who has advanced far beyond mere humanity—to God Himself.”646 As we can see, the transformation of the human spirit can have various vectors. Man, as we see in Tatian, can undergo a conversion that affirms his corporeality. This is the reason behind why, for example, Tertullian saw the cult of idols as the polar opposite of likening oneself to God. Idolatry understood also, or above all, as a depraved life647, means acknowledging that which is lower than God as the actual measure of human existence. This false cult orders man according to a principle which reduces him to an element which stands a cut below what is best in him. The essence of idolatry is a transformation contradicting the natural direction of human development and its unavoidable consequences is the reduction of man—the confinement and enslaving of the soul.648 Thus, much like with the philosophers, imitation, praise and service to God are essentially identical. As Minucius Felix wrote, if man is the image of the invisible God, then it is an absurdity to turn to sensual images. The real measure of piety is righteousness, and the most appropriate sacrifice, is a good heart, pure mind and sincere intentions.649 “For all reckon it an honorable thing,” writes Justin Martyr, “to imitate the gods.”650 What counts is that they not be false gods. This is why, as Clement says paraphrasing the Theaetetus, “assimilation as far as possible in accordance with right reason is the end, and restoration to perfect adoption by the Son, which ever glorifies the Father by the great High Priest who has deigned to call us brethren and fellow-heirs.”651 When we ask what this could possibly mean, the discourse will lead us to toward anthropology, ethics and epistemology. However, the ultimate answer will be available only within the space of eschatological hope. 645 Hermas, Pastor, Simm. 1.1, op. cit., ANF2, p. 9. 646 Tat., Or. 9, op. cit, ANF2, p. 71. 647 Cf. Tert., Idol. 2.5. 648 Eric Osborn, The Emergence…, op. cit., p. 221. 649 Min. Fel., Oct. 32.1–2. 650 Iust., Apol. I.21.4–5, op. cit., ANF1, p. 170. 651 Clem. Al.,, Str. II.XXII.134.2, op. cit., p. 376.

202

In opposition to Plato, the Christians rejected the belief in the immortality of the soul. This is how Tatian summarized this position, “The soul is not in itself immortal, O Greeks, but mortal,” however what’s at stake is that, “it is possible for it not to die.”652 God, as Theophilus of Antioch wrote, made man neither mortal, nor immortal, but capable of one and the other, “For if He had made him immortal from the beginning, He would have made him God.”653 The effort of likening oneself to God means primarily the attempt to avoid death, while the divine status of man means a likeness to God in immortality.654 Yet, even in this instance man can only be made into a god by God. In the Dialogue with Trypho Justin Martyr, in opposition to the logic of the Phaedrus (245c-e), proves that the soul is not self-sufficient, because it receives life from God. “…but that which partakes of anything, is different from that of which it does partake. Now the soul partakes of life, since God wills it to live. Thus, then, it will not even partake [of life] when God does not will it to live. For to live is not its attribute, as it is God’s…”655 As we can see, there is no risk here of destroying the difference between man and God, nor is there any temptation to reduce the role of grace. The scheme of participation defines the relation of likeness in a way which does not allow us to treat it as an identity in nature656; at the same time it stresses strongly the non-autonomous character of human divinity, which cuts off any potential polytheism. It would be equally difficult to accuse this line of thinking of selfsalvation—life and immortality are gifts wholly dependent upon the sovereign will of the One God.657 And so it would be vain to deny Eric Osborn when he

652 Tat., Or. 9, ANF2, p. 70. 653 Theo., Ad Autol. II.27, op. cit., ANF2, p. 105. 654 Cf. George William Butterworth, “The Deification of Man in Clement of Alexandria” in Journal of Theological Studies, 17, 1916, p. 162; Eric Obsborn, The Beginning…, op. cit., p. 114. 655 Iust., Dial. I.6.1–2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 198; cf. Iren. Adv. haer. II.34.4. 656 Eric Osborn, The Beginning…, op. cit., 115, writes: “The ‘exchange formula’ (x became y, that y might become x) has been commonly misinterpreted. In the first place, it denies an original identity or community between God and man. It is clear ‘That this deification does not imply, between the human and divine, any community of nature, any consubstantiality’. If x becomes y, then it was originally not y. In the second place, identity is not asserted; x and y do not become coextensive. Man does not acquire all attributes of God, any more than God acquires all the attributes of man… The ‘exchange formula’ sounds far more precise than the meaning Irenaeus and others draw from it.” 657 Cf. Tert., Marc. 2.9.

203

argues that the second century language deification meant sola gratia.658 “And do not wonder,” we read in the Letter to Diognetus, “that a man may become an imitator of God. He can, if he [God] is willing.”659 Man becomes like God through knowledge and virtue. If we do not forget the substantial role of grace, then we can say that in this regard not much separates the Christians and the philosophers. Freedom from death and the passions, also knowledge of nature and God, makes man into a god. While rejecting the heroes of the pagan pantheon, Justin denies them divinity for no other reason than the wickedness of their deeds, because, as he believes, immortality is reserved for those who in their bond with God led a pious and virtuous life.660 It is easy to locate the praxis-oriented logic of the doctrine of likening oneself to God from the Theaetetus in the words of Justin. Just as in Plato, in the writings of the Apologetes the ethical elements are accompanied by the belief in a tight bond of immortality with the truth. In order to learn to imitate God’s goodness, we must come to know the One who first loved us661, and understand “what it is to live truly in heaven.”662 In other words: one must come to know God and thereby understand what the perfection of human nature really is. Ignorance or falsity destroys the hope of life eternal, because just like the truth is bound to immortality, falsity is bound to death. Tatian claimed that when the soul does not know the truth, it dies.663 Even though for the Apologetes deification is, above all, an eschatological issue, Clement of Alexandria will make an important contribution by stressing how already our “earthly preparation for immortality is the first step of the process of deification.”664 In the mind of Clement Plato’s postulate converges with the exhortations of Holy Writ. The Law tells us to follow the Lord and to observe the commandments (Deut 13:5), and he calls the state of deification a

658 Eric Osborn, The Beginning…, op. cit., p. 117. 659 Ad Diog. 10.4, op. cit., ANF1, p. 29. 660 Iust., Apol. I.21.6. In the Letter to Diognetus, 10.6, op. cit., ANF1, p. 29, we read: “On the contrary he who takes upon himself the burden of his neighbor; he who, in whatsoever respect he may be superior, is ready to benefit another who is deficient; he who, whatsoever things he has received from God, by distributing these to the needy, becomes a god to those who receive [his benefits]: he is an imitator of God.” 661 Ad Diog. 10.3–4. 662 Ad Diog. 10.7, op. cit., ANF1, p. 29. 663 Tat., Or. 9. 664 George William Butterworth, op. cit., p. 162.

204

“following”.665 He summarizes it thus: “And I reckon all the virtuous, servants and followers of God.”666 Clement does not doubt that St. Paul—who in the First Letter to the Corinthians (11:1) calls Christians imitate him, just as he has imitated Christ—presupposes the goal of faith as likening oneself to God just like in the Theaetetus, through righteousness, piety and rationality.667 If the pillars of this likening are knowledge and virtue, then the patient battling against the affects must become the content of everyday life.668 Furthermore, he rhetorically asks, how is it possible to attain knowledge of God or liken oneself to God if we give ourselves up to carnal pleasure?669 However, his thought goes even further than this. The road to perfection, understood as the fullness of understanding and virtue, is grasped within a theory of gradual development of the natural relationship between man and God. In the 22nd chapter of the second book of the Stromata Clement undertakes a considerable reinterpretation of the terms “image” and “likeness”.670 In line with the philosophical tradition the matter of the homoiosis Theo is placed within the context of a discussion about the highest good. After presenting a whole line of Platonic definitions of happiness, the Alexandrian writes, “Sometimes he [Plato] calls it a consistent and harmonious life, sometimes the highest perfection in accordance with virtue; and this he places in the knowledge of the Good, and in likeness to God, demonstrating likeness to be justice and holiness with wisdom. For is it not thus that some of our writers have understood that man straightway on his creation received what is ‘according to the image,’ but that what is according ‘to the likeness’ he will receive afterwards on his perfection?”671 Clement’s interpretation of Genesis, when it speaks of the “image”, it speaks of the natural kinship of every human being with God672, which is the starting point and justification of all human strivings, whereas the “likeness” marks out the goal that man should actualize if he wants to perfect his nature. Therefore, deification is the complete transformation of man, which begins already in this life—it is the passage from the mutable and bodily to the immutable and spiritual. Its basis is Clem. Al., Str. II.XIX.100.3–4, op. cit., ANF2, p. 369. Ibid. V.XIV.94.6, p. 466. Ibid. II.XXII.136.5–6. Ibid. II.XXII.103.1. Ibid. III.V.42.1. According to Jean Daniélou, Gospel and…, op. cit., p. 119, Clement’s interpretation played a crucial role in the history of Christian anthropology. 671 Clem. Al., Str. II.XXII.131.5–6, op. cit., ANF2, p. 376. 672 Cf. Ibid. VII.XIV.86.2. 665 666 667 668 669 670

205

the likeness of human nature to the spiritual nature of the Word673, whereas the whole argument turns upon the concept of immutability. This is why the battle against the passions that leads to virtue is, above all, the way of acquiring a constant and lasting inner disposition, which likens man to moral beauty.674 The one who does the good out of habit will, “imitate the nature of good, and his disposition will be his nature and his practice.”675 The matter looks the same when Clement turns his attention to knowledge. Thinking, “by exercise is prolonged to a perpetual exertion. And the perpetual exertion of the intellect is the essence of an intelligent being, which results from an uninterrupted process of admixture, and remains eternal contemplation, a living substance.”676 Through abstract reasoning and abiding in the presence of God the gnostic attains the state of lasting non-affective identification, “so as no longer to have science and possess knowledge, but to be science and knowledge.”677 As we can see, moral and intellectual change becomes an ontic change. According to Clement, “Rightly, then, Plato says, ‘that the man who devotes himself to the contemplation of ideas will live as a god among men’”678—free of death, affects and change, also lastingly and fully good. Can the life presented to us in the eschatological promise be our share even here on earth? What’s interesting, despite all the differences between Clement and the writers who came before him, there is unanimity about the constants and about the extraordinary exceptions to the rule. We will discuss the exceptions shortly. The rule expresses itself in the conviction that only in the life to come the chosen will taste the fullness of supernatural perfection. Irenaeus, Tertullian, Hippolytus agree in their opinion that the promised happiness is separated off from our present life, first of all, by death, second, the judgment that souls await in the place designated for them by God.679 Only when we come face to face with God will it be decided whose reward it will be to live in immortality680, and who will, as Hermas writes, live with the angels and the saints and enjoy unending happiness as the crowning

673 674 675 676 677 678 679

Ibid. VI.IX.72.2. Ibid. VI.IX.74.2. Ibid. IV.XXII.138.3–4, p. 435. Ibid. IV.XXII.136.4–5, p. 434. Ibid. IV.VI.40.1, p. 416. Ibid. IV.XXV.155.2, p. 432. Cf. Iren., Adv. haer. 5.31.1nn; Tert., An. 55–58; John Norman Davidson Kelly, op. cit., p. 341–346. 680 Clem. Rom., Epist. 35.2.

206

of their earthly trials and tribulations.681 Clement of Alexandria also muffles the aspiration for complete divinization in this life. He formulates his opinion by appealing to the concept of a double-tiered likeness, which is essentially an interpretation of the Platonic “likening as much as possible”, in the categories provided by the Pauline doctrine of hope. Clement says of Plato, actually ascribing to him the views of his successors, “the philosopher says that the end is twofold: that which is communicable, and exists first in the ideal forms themselves, which he also calls ‘the good;’ and that which partakes of it, and receives its likeness from it, as is the case in the men who appropriate virtue and true philosophy.”682 According to Clement the Platonic idea of two goals corresponds to the Pauline teaching about the twofold hope: sanctification, understood as a goal accessible in this life, and immortality, which can only be achieved after death.683 “And viewing the hope as twofold—that which is expected, and that which has been received—he now teaches the end to be the restitution of the hope.”684 The full and lasting gnosis of Clement, much like the Platonic sophia of the gods, is an unattainable goal for this life. This is why the Christian gnostic, who has achieved the highest possible degree of perfection attainable in this life is, “changing always duly to the better, he urges his flight to… the Lord’s own mansion; to be a light, steady, and continuing eternally, entirely and in every part immutable.”685

Affirmation of the Body The uniqueness of the Christian teaching on divinization is expressed most emphatically in the promise of a total transformation of the human body. The ultimate goal, participation in the divine nature and immortality—called deification (theosis) by the theologians686—constitutes the telos of the whole person, and not, as the philosophers thought, just the soul. However since, as St. Paul teaches, in 681 Hermas, Pastor, Visio 2.2.7. 682 Clem. Al., Str. II.XXII.131.2–3, op. cit., ANF2, p. 375. It would be difficult to figure out what place in Plato’s dialogues Clement is referring to here. According to the Polish translator of the Stromata, Janina Niemirska-Pliszczyńska, the Alexandrian was most likely referring to the teachings of the later Platonists, which he mistook for the teachings of the Academy’s founder. 683 In the Letter to the Romans (6:22) St. Paul writes, “But now that you have been freed from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit that you have leads to sanctification, and its end is eternal life (to de telos dzoen aionion).” 684 Clem. Al., Str. II.XXII.134.4, op. cit., ANF2, p. 376. 685 Ibid. VII.X.57.5. 686 John Norman Davidson Kelly, op. cit., p. 352.

207

his earthly state man cannot attain the Kingdom of God, his destructible and sinful body will be changed into a glorified body (Phil 3:21), spiritual, indestructible (1 Cor 15:42–44) and immortal (1 Cor 15:53). This transformation will only take place in the end times. When the sound of the last trumpet will resound, “in an instant, in the blink of an eye,” the living will be transformed and the dead will rise from their graves (1 Cor 15:52). To the shock of the Greeks, deification will not be liberation from the ties of matter, but a spiritualization of the body, which, like the soul, has within itself the element of perfection and similarity to God. When Christians attempt to comprehend what it means to really live in heaven, then they see the spiritual and immortal body as, above all, immutable and free from suffering.687 Ignatius of Antioch claimed the Christian’s reward is a state free from corruption and life eternal.688 Justin Martyr thought that the people who will have the privilege of being with God will reign “in company with Him, being delivered from corruption and suffering.”689 Whereas, during the incident in Lystra, the shocked Apostles tried to convince the crowd that they were not gods, they used the following argument: “We are of the same nature as you, human beings (kai hemeis homoiopatheis esmen hymin anthropoi)” (Acts 14:15). Despite the drama of the incident, the argument was exceptionally wellchosen. Apatheia, freedom from sufferings and passions, is the common feature of both the Christian and the Stoic God who has taken on a body. However, the similarities end there. If any of the citizens of Lystra went further than this, then he missed the Apostles’ intentions. According to the Christian view, perfection is not the soul becoming free from the suffering body; the body becomes free from suffering. The radical change required brings up the question of the identity of a glorified body with the earthly body, if not with the body, in general. “Yet I should be glad to be informed,” writes Caecilius doubtfully to Minucius Felix, “whether or no you rise again with bodies; and if so, with what bodies—whether with the same or with renewed bodies? Without a body? Then, as far as I know, there will neither be mind, nor soul, nor life. With the same body? But this has already been previously destroyed. With another body? Then it is a new man who is born, not the former one restored…”690 The answer is not simple. Caroline Walker Bynum, in her excellent book about the concept of the resurrection, turns our attention to the paradox of continuity and change present in the thought 687 Ad Diog. 10.7. 688 Ign., Polyc. 2.3. 689 Iust., Apol. I.10.2–3, op. cit., ANF1, p. 165. 690 Min. Fel., Oct. 11.7, op. cit., ANF4, p. 179.

208

of ancient Christians.691 On the one hand, Christian writers stressed how the changed resurrected body is materially the same as the one we had during our earthly life.692 And so Tertullian reassured his readers, “but we shall be the same that we are now.”693 However, on the other hand, the regenerate body will be a substance proper only to eternity. Both Irenaeus and Tertullian, following the thought of St. Paul, clearly stress transformation. As Caroline Walker Bynum has noted, Tertullian forcefully stressed the paradoxical state of things. According to the Carthaginian, the image of the grain, taken from the First Letter to the Corinthians (15:36), which must die in order to live, “is a guarantee of identity exactly in its radical change,” because “our bodies will not only be raised but also glorified.”694 Yet, it is hard to deny that in its fundamental structure the paradox of continuity and change is a typical trope of ancient philosophy. As somebody who knew the tradition, Caecilius must have been well-acquainted with the idea of a transformation of man, who, by returning to his natural state, suddenly becomes somebody else, yet he does not lose his identity, but instead regains his true identity. The questions of Caecilius are more concerned with the object of regeneration, rather than with the very concept of a transformation of the ordinary. The difference in viewpoints relates to matter, the body and human nature. As we have mentioned earlier, the scandal elicited by the resurrection is rooted the understanding of creation it presupposes. The resurrection, in one fell swoop, eliminates the gloomy take on the body and the world and creates the basis for the spiritual-corporeal unity of human nature. It was obvious for someone like Justin, that freedom from suffering and immortality are essentially a return to the natural state of conformity to God, which was abolished by sin. After all, at the moment of creation, all were acknowledged as worthy of becoming gods.695 Irenaeus, Athenagoras and Tertullian all agreed that man is not just a soul accidentally attached to a body. The compound of body and soul is not a temporary and undesirable phenomenon, instead it is true human nature.696 When the presupposition that man was created to live forever697 is accepted, then it becomes 691 Caroline Walker Bynum, op. cit., especially the chapter, “The Paradox of Continuity and Change”, p. 34–42. 692 Cf. Iren., Adv. haer. V.5 and V.12; Min. Fel., Oct. 34; Tert., Res. 17–18. 693 Tert., Ap. XLVIII.13, op. cit., ANF3, p. 54. 694 Caroline Walker Bynum, op. cit., p. 42.; Cf. Tert., Res. 55. 695 Iust., Dial. 124. 696 Cf. John Norman Davidson Kelly, op. cit., p. 344–346. 697 Athen., De res. 12.

209

impossible to reject the resurrection, which with equal obviousness is the result of contemplating both the efficient cause, human nature, its goal, and from contemplating the righteousness of God.698 Christian theology abolishes the rift which created an ontological barrier standing in the way of an earthly transformation into a god. The body can be transformed, because, just like the visible world, it is an integral part of the order created by God. Matter is not the quintessence of change ordered by the demiurge of the Timaeus699, it is not a material for which permanence, harmony and goodness are always something external, instead, since it is created by God, it is good by nature. For Plato matter in itself has no permanence and when it is deprived of external harmony it situates itself outside of the knowable and exiting, whereas in Genesis matter is wrested from non-being. When it is viewed with the categories of a dualistic ontology, we can say that matter is outside of being, as Plato says, “It comes to be and passes away, but never really is” (Timaeus, 28a, p. 1234). Therefore, much like the body, which did not truly belong to human nature proper, the substance of the cosmos does not belong to the essence of the visible world—everything which is intelligible, enduring and existing within it must be external to it. In such an order the body was neither capable of a fall, nor a transformation. It could either be abandoned, or, as much as possible, ordered according to the soul trapped within it, but the body always remained an obstacle to the soul’s strivings toward the natural, that is, divine state. Even though it was difficult for the Christians to abandon thinking about corporeality in the categories of Platonic dualism, then it is fair to say that their polemics with the Gnostics forced them early on to formulate the consequences of the teaching contained in Genesis. There is no discussion on this matter, the realm of the body is a space ruled by the Word, and salvation pertains to the whole of man, meaning, both the body and the soul.700 The body and soul were created as good, yet that does not mean they did not suffer corruption. Its ability to transform thereby inscribes the body not only in the history of salvation, but also in the history of perdition. The body, which equally like the soul can be saved, was also debased by sin. The boundary, which for the dualists extends between the body and soul, in Christianity changes both its location and character. Now both the soul and the body are subject to corruption, and the results—ignorance, suffering and death—have their roots in an evil

698 Ibid. 12–25; Cf. Iren., Adv. haer. 5.2.2nn; 5.20.1; 2.29.2; Tert., Res. 14–16. 699 Cf. Pl., Ti. 29a nn. 700 Cf. Iren., Adv haer. 5.2.2.

210

will, not in an evil matter. As Tertullian wrote, we have sin in common, but also hope in common.701 Even if in the Apologetes the theory of Original Sin was far from its ultimate formulation702, there was a basic agreement that the present, sinful, state of man—ignorance, the rule of bad demons, life’s difficulties, suffering and death—was the consequence of Adam and Eve’s disobedience.703 This breaking of God’s commandments condemned the whole human race.704 The first man, who was, as Theophilus put it, neither mortal nor immortal, but capable of becoming one or the other, through his disobedience chose death.705 Interestingly, there was also a widespread conviction that not only the body, but the whole visible world participates in the history of fall and redemption. The hope of resurrection included within itself the idea of matter’s return to its lost natural perfection and it was manifested in imaginings of a restored world, especially suggestively in the Arcadian visions of the millenarists. “But I and others, who are right-minded Christians on all points,” claimed Justin Martyr, “are assured that there will be a resurrection of the dead, and a thousand years in Jerusalem, which will then be built, adorned, and enlarged, [as] the prophets Ezekiel and Isaiah and others declare.”706 Probably nothing so eloquently, as the idea of the sensual world perfected, shows the distance separating Jerusalem from Athens and the abyss separating the Christian Jerusalem from the Gnostic. The hopes of chiliasts (such as Justin or Papias) Christianity most radically rejects the temptation of ontological pessimism. However, since the renewal of the corporeal and sensual is always a form of death, then before the ultimate transformation there must be an end, a conflagration of the world707, which, as Hermas claimed, will perish in fire and blood.708 On the eve of perfection the whole visible order of the world will fall apart and burn up.709 According to the prophecies of Barnabas, there will be a day “on which all things shall perish with the evil [one]”710, while the Lord will transform the sun, moon and stars.711

701 Cf. Tert., Paen. 3. 702 John Norman Davidson Kelly, op. cit., p. 127–145. 703 Iust., Dial. 94.2; Iren., Adv. haer. 3.18.7; Tert., Res. 47. 704 Iust., Dial. 95.1. 705 Theo., Ad Autol. 2.24–27. 706 Iust., Dial. 80.5, op. cit., ANF1, p. 239. 707 Iust., Apol. I.45.1; I.50,8–9. 708 Hermas, Pastor, Visio 4.3.3. 709 Min. Fel., Oct. 11; 34. 710 Ad Barn. 21.3, op. cit., ANF1, p. 149. 711 Cf. Ibid. 15.5.

211

The abolishing of ontological limitations did not however mean that Christians tended to think of the complete conversion of human existence in categories other than the eschatological. For most of us the path to transformation, which is anyway the death of the old body, leads through the darkness of physical death. For Athenagoras the idea of the resurrection presupposes the following: “we both await the dissolution of the body, as the sequel to a life of want and corruption, and after this we hope for a continuance with immortality…”712 St. Paul wrote, “For while we are in this tent we groan and are weighed down, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life” (1 Cor 5:4), yet only with the exception of those who will meet the sound of the final trumpet while alive (1 Cor 15:52), all others will have to undergo the terror of death and decay. Furthermore, according to St. Paul, “What you sow is not brought to life unless it dies” (1 Cor 15:36). God, who predestined us for resurrection, for now gave us the Spirit as a presentiment, “So we are always courageous, although we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor 5:6–7).

3.  The Martyr as God? Teleioi Therefore the Christians, like the Platonists and the Peripatetics, essentially denied the possibility of likening oneself to God in this life. What is interesting, in opposition to the philosophers, while explaining this state of things, they need not relate it to a discussion about the limitations placed upon the soul by the corporeal part of man. Even if there is no doubt that the tendency for constant change comes from a dependence on the body713, physical death does not seem to be the ontic requirement for spiritual perfection. Therefore St. Paul wrote, while he had in mind those who will be alive when the Parousia comes, “We shall not all fall asleep, but we will all be changed…” (1 Cor 15:51). In actuality this does not mean Christians sympathized with the Stoics who proclaimed that man, by his own powers, can attain a divine self-sufficiency. The opinion of orthodoxy is clear when it comes to this matter. This is especially evident in its opposition to all precursors and successors of Pelagius and Julian of Eclanum. What matters here is that the prism of the concept of grace, and the concomitant change in the understanding of the body, substantially changes the factors behind why 712 Athen., De res. 16, op. cit., ANF2, p. 157. 713 Clem. Al., Str. IV.22.139.4.

212

perfection is a hope and not a fact. Full, divine freedom of the soul is a gift of God and without grace it is equally impossible to realize both before and after death. If people do not become gods in this life, it is not because God is not capable of doing it, but because such is the divine economy of salvation—the logic of hope, faith and freedom established by God, which excludes a mercantile interpretation of the sequence: promise, attempt, fulfillment. This is why the author of the disputed Second Epistle of Clement to the Corinthians wrote, “No one of the righteous received fruit speedily, but waits for it. For if God tendered the reward of the righteous in a trice, straightway were it commerce that we practiced, and not godliness.”714 Our salvation is based upon hope, not certainty. St. Paul put it thus: “For in hope we were saved. Now hope that sees for itself is not hope. For who hopes for what one sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait with endurance” (Rom 8:24–25). Here is how this would sound in the language of Plato: the Christian teaching is true, however, during our earthly life, for most of us, it is not knowledge, but a true opinion. The quintessence of faith is faithfulness to a promise, which does not include certainty. Or as Christ himself said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed” (Jn 20:29). However, since the explanation is related to the sovereign will of God, instead of, as is the case in Plato or Aristotle, to the limitations proper to a spiritualcorporeal nature, then can we rule out that God might want to suspend this rule, thereby manifesting to the world the hope which has become a fact? Can the object of the believers’ eschatological hope be legitimated through a proofmanifestation of the Spirit’s fullness? Did God, in his mysterious plans, not make someone “a god going about in flesh”715, who, as Clement also says, lives among people like a god and becoming something like an angel, remaining with Christ, in the state of contemplation, ever keeping in view the will of God as if the sole reasonable human being.716 It seems to me there are good foundations for believing Christians would give—not without considerable reservations—a positive answer to these questions. It seems that still in the world, however only in the highest degree possible, the certainty of the eschatological hope is confirmed and manifested by the martyr. “We call martyrdom perfection,” says Clement of Alexandria, “not because the man comes to the end of his life as others, but because he has exhibited the perfect work of love.”717 Indubitably, the telos about which the Alexandrian speaks 714 715 716 717

2 Clem. 20,3–4, op. cit., ANF9, p. 256. Clem. Al., Str. VII.XVI.101.5, op. cit., ANF2, p. 553. Ibid. IV.XXV.155.1–4. Ibid. IV.IV.14.3–4, p. 411.

213

of here, this end and fulfillment, is the object of the hope described by St. Paul and is the ultimate goal of human existence. Martyrdom and perfection are one and the same thing for ancient Christians. As the complete transformation of the faithful follower of Christ, after all, martyrdom is the act of the highest love and is the fullest response to God’s loving call. Martyrdom is precisely where the most important threads of Christian hope connect. The theology of suffering and the cross reveal themselves as the theology of praise and resurrection.718 No wonder the ancient Church celebrated the anniversaries of martyrdoms as the commemorations of births in heaven. Martyrdom is the death of death, the beginning of life and the real birth of man. This is how, along these lines, Ignatius of Antioch fervently described martyrdom: “This is the gain which is laid up for me. Pardon me, brethren: do not hinder me from living, do not wish to keep me in a state of death; and while I desire to belong to God, do not give me over to the world. Suffer me to obtain pure light: when I have gone thither, I shall indeed be a man of God.”719 The belief in the perfection of the martyrs was in many different ways inscribed within the language of Christian doctrine. We finds its traces in reflections upon the Eucharist, resurrection, and grace, whose most particular aim is martyrdom.720 An example of this influence is Tertullian’s development of his teaching about the second baptism, the baptism by blood, which purifies one from sin, and even replaces the baptism by water. When the first baptism is the starting point and the birth of the Christian hope, the second baptism is the shortest route to actualizing this hope. According to the Carthaginian, the believer is “called by water, chosen by blood.”721 Martyrdom, as a faithful student of Tertullian wrote, is a baptism “a baptism after which no one sins any more— a baptism which completes the increase of our faith—a baptism which, as we withdraw from the world, immediately associates us with God. In the baptism of water is received the remission of sins, in the baptism of blood the crown of virtues.”722 The act of martyrdom therefore constitutes a transformation that appears to be complete, lasting and final. There no longer is any talk of judgment and expectation. When others after dying must await the day of their judgment, the martyrs go directly before the throne of the Lord.723 Those, who like Peter and 718 Cf. Eric Osborn, The Beginning…, op. cit., p. 117–118. 719 Ign., Rom. 6.1–3, op. cit., ANF1, p. 76. 720 Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 35–40. 721 Tert., Bapt. 16, op. cit., ANF3, p. 677. 722 Cypr., Ad Fort., Praef. 4, op. cit., ANF5, p. 497. 723 Cf. Mart. Polycarpi 17.1; Iren., Adv. haer. 4.33.9; Tert., An. 45.4–5.

214

Paul, gave their witness were perfected in love and then departed directly to the place of glory due to them.724 For those Christians who have sacrificed their lives on their path to heaven, “no delay or inquest will meet [them] on the threshold, since they have there to be not discriminated from one another, but owned, and not put to the question, but received in.”; and even if heaven is closed, those who on earth witnessed to their faith with their blood, take with them the keys to heaven that the Lord gave to St. Peter.725 Clement stresses that martyrdom is a work of fulfillment (teleiosin) not because it is the end of man’s life, but because it is the fullness of perfection in love. However, if we were to ask whether this could be accomplished without physical death, we would get a negative answer. Even though death is not a sufficient condition, it still seems to be a necessary condition for martyrdom. “And if he conduct himself rightly (as assuredly it is impossible to attain knowledge (gnosis) by bad conduct); and if, further, having made an eminently right confession, he become a martyr out of love, obtaining considerable renown as among men; not even thus will he be called perfect in the flesh beforehand; since it is the close of life which claims this appellation, when the gnostic martyr has first shown the perfect work, and rightly exhibited it, and having thankfully shed his blood, has yielded up the ghost: blessed then will he be, and truly proclaimed perfect, ‘that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us,’ as the apostle says.”726 Two elements appear to be decisive for the threshold of death being the dividing line between perfection and corporeal existence. The first is that nothing outside of the sacrifice of life has the same weight of authentic thanksgiving. The second is connected to an argument we have already discussed: even the highest acts of heroic virtue are not a proof of its complete endurance. So long as we are in the body, so long no conversion can be acknowledged as final and ultimate.727 “For to the Son of God alone was it reserved to persevere to the last without sin,” writes Tertullian, “But what if a bishop, if a deacon, if a widow, if a virgin, if a doctor, if even a martyr, have fallen from the rule (of faith), will heresies on that account appear to possess the truth? Do we prove the faith by the persons, or the persons by the faith? No one is wise, no one is faithful, no one excels in dignity, but the Christian; and no one is a Christian but he who perseveres even to the end.”728 We have already discussed this extensively: there is no martyrdom 724 Clem. Rom., Epist. 5.4–6.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 6; Epist. 50.3. 725 Tert., Scorp. 10.7, op. cit., ANF3, p. 643. 726 Clem. Al., Str. IV.XXI.130.5–131.1, op. cit., ANF2, p. 433. 727 Cf. Eric Robertson Dodds, op. cit., p. 76–79. 728 Tert., Praescr. 3, op. cit., ANF3, p. 244.

215

without death. The confessor (homologetes) does not deserve the title of martyr (martys), and only a martyr can be considered perfect with certainty.729 Can we actually speak of any exceptions? The principle that proclaims that the one who does not die to the body will not become a god seems to fully relate to martyrs; a single deviation would jeopardize their immediate and certain salvation. This peculiarity is most visible in the context of Christian theology, which for all that is not something completely novel when compared to Greek thought.730 However, as we shall see, a careful reading of texts that discussed martyrdom seriously changes the picture. They confirm the existence of an exception. Even if death constitutes the only rightful seal of perfection, then in the eyes of their brothers the martyrs, even before crossing the border of the here and now, seem to be transformed into rightful citizens of the Logos’ realm. The power of grace, which is higher than everything, profoundly changes the whole being of the martyrs, showing to the eyewitnesses in their seemingly reborn bodies the virtue of perfected love as the goal and hope of Christians. When in the shadow of unavoidable death, but still among the living, the martyr seems to enter into the space of spiritual reality—thereby showing the credibility of the Christian teaching’s truth and hope. It is extremely difficult to say whether the martyrs display the fullness, or just some small parcel of the benefits reserved for the saved, and actually, nobody has ventured an answer to this question. The only measures at our disposal are the imaginings of eschatological hope, however, they lack unambiguous criteria for judging their realization. However, there is no doubt, according to a distinguished scholar of ancient understandings of witnessing, that, “through likening oneself to Christ suffering and resurrected martyrdom offers man… the possibility of anticipating, to a certain degree, the promised eschatological gifts.”731 The Christian picture of the eschatological goal, part of which is the transformation of the body, that is, knowing face to face in the fullness of love, is comprehensible enough to use it as a measure and document how, in the eyes of the Christians, the martyrs, at least to some degree, have realized this goal.

Foretaste of the Resurrection The Apologetes put a lot of effort into arguments meant to convince that the resurrection is not in conflict with reason, on the contrary, they argued that the rational analysis of reality legitimates its necessity. Athenagoras even divides his 729 Cf. Cypr., Epist. 13.2; Mart. Ludg. 2.3. 730 Cf. George William Butterworth, op. cit., p. 163. 731 Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 59–60.

216

treatise into a part devoted to the defense of the truth (hyper aletheias), where he addresses accusations of the dogma’s absurdity, and a part devoted to the truth (peri aletheias), where he presents and justifies the dogma.732 As Minucius and Tertullian believed, the singular character of the Christian teaching was challenged by analogies taken from pagan philosophy and mythology733; Theophilus and Tatian stressed that the resurrection is not less credible than the act of man’s creation734; finally, Athenagoras showed how the Christian teaching does not contradict God’s omniscience, justice, goodness or might.735 Among the positive arguments the chief one was derived from God’s justice: the soul and body, united both in good and evil, must receive a mutual reward or punishment.736 Athenagoras also used arguments from efficient causality, nature and teleology.737 However, it seems he was isolated in believing his proofs to be irrefutable.738 This is because independently of the power ascribed to these justifications, Christians agreed that the resurrection, even if it did not contradict reason, was, as Theophilus put it, a matter of faith.739 We could also point to the words of St. Paul, “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor 5:7). The example of Justin Martyr is very instructive when it comes to this issue. The philosopher stressed that the Christian hope for receiving back, “they who were corruptible before—that is, our bodies; in other words, our flesh and

732 Athen., De res. 1. 733 The specific analogy in question here is the one with the doctrine of the migration of souls. Cf. Tert., Ap. XLVIII.1–4; Nat. I.19; Min. Fel., Oct. 34.5–9. 734 Cf. Tat., Or. 6; Theo., Ad Autol. 1.8; Tert., Ap. XLVIII.5–9. 735 Athen., De res. 1–10. Even before the era of the Apologetes Clement of Rome, in the so-called First Letter to the Corinthians, written around the year 96AD, argues that in comparison with many other deeds of God the resurrection is neither extraordinary nor odd. “The Lord continually proves to us that there shall be a future resurrection” (24.1) through the constant changing of night into day “declare to us a resurrection” (24.3); through the example of seed, which “out of its dissolution the mighty power of the providence of the Lord raises it up again”; and finally through the phoenix, through whom the Lord gives a wonderful sign of his promise (25.1–5). The promise of resurrection written down in the Bible cannot be false, because God cannot lie (27.2). The resurrection of the dead can be easily accomplished by God because, “By the word of His might He established all things, and by His word He can overthrow them” (27.4). Cf. 1 Clem. 24–27, op. cit., ANF1, p. 11–12. 736 Cf. Tert., Res. 14–16; Ap. XLVIII.4; Iren., Adv. haer. 2.29.2; Athen., De res. 18–23. 737 Athen., De res. 12–13, 15–17, 24–25. 738 Ibid. 14. 739 Theo., Ad Autol. 1.8.

217

blood,”740 is the consequence of the (indisputable according to the Apologists) belief in the omnipotence of God.741 However, this does not mean that Justin would like to explain the paradoxicality of the resurrection as an irrational phenomenon that is contrary to nature. If the resurrection appears to be contrary to reason, it is not because God, using the power of a sovereign decision, somehow suspends the laws of nature, but because philosophical reason has insufficiently plumbed the truth of nature. In other words: the fact that the resurrection belongs to the category of phenomena not dreamed of by philosophers does not prove its contradiction of nature, instead it shows the limitations of philosophy. This way of thinking can be seen clearly when Justin palliates the apparent absurdity of the resurrection by comparing it to the changes which can occur to a drop of human semen. If we were to momentarily suspend our mental habits, the transformation of a bit of matter into a human composed of blood, nerves and a body seems to be, according to the philosopher, even less credible than the dogma of the resurrection. “For let this now be said hypothetically,” said Justin, “if you yourselves were not such as you now are, and born of such parents [and causes], and one were to show you human seed and a picture of a man, and were to say with confidence that from such a substance such a being could be produced, would you believe before you saw the actual production? No one will dare to deny [that such a statement would surpass belief].”742 The thought experiment proposed by Justin shows the primacy of knowledge understood as a direct observation. Justin appears to have no doubts that the combining of the argument based upon the omnipotence of God with the analogy of the semen’s development to a great extent removes the incredibility of the teaching about the resurrection, without constituting an argument which decides its authenticity. After all, the only deciding argument is unmediated knowledge. The metamorphosis of the semen would be totally incredible if we did not see it, as it were, “with our own eyes.” Therefore Justin concludes, “In the same way, then, you are now incredulous because you have never seen a dead man rise again.”743 When we pick up ancient acts of the martyrs we stand before a whole series of narratives that register the moment of transformation of the earthly suffering body into a holy body full of goodness and completely free from pain. When we turn our attention to sudden transformation of the body related in these writings, we should not overlook the frequent use of verbs related to sight, 740 Tert., Ap. LI.10, op. cit., ANF3, p. 584. 741 Cf. Iust., Apol. I.18.6. 742 Ibid. I.19.2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 169. 743 Ibid. I.19.3–4, p. 169.

218

which stress the eyewitness, objective, character of the reported events that were used to legitimize the narratives. One gets the impression that when the Apologists argued for the credibility of the resurrection, for them the martyrs directly manifested its reality to eyewitnesses. It also seems telling that when we compare descriptions of the bodies of martyrs with Christian imaginings of material reality after the resurrection there seem to be a lot of common features.744 Caroline Walker Bynum, who puts a lot of emphasis upon the ties between martyrdom and the doctrine of the resurrection, writes the following: “The specific adjectives, analogies, and examples used in treatises on resurrection suggest that the palpable, vulnerable, corruptible body Christ redeems and raises was quintessentially the mutilated cadaver of the martyr… The paradox of change and continuity that characterizes theological and hagiographic descriptions of the risen body seems to originate in the facts of martyrdom.”745 Tertullian, in the De Resurrectione Carnis (55) assured us that our body will not only be resurrected, but also transformed into a glorified body. Right alongside the transformation of Christ, Moses, and Elijah on Mount Tabor—which was a foretaste of this change—he presents the example of, the first martyr’s, St. Stephen’s, bodily metamorphosis. In accordance with the narrative of Acts, all (pantes) gathered in the Sanhedrin and when they looked intently (atenisantes) at the martyr, “saw (eidos) that his face was like the face of an angel” (Acts 6:15). The author of Acts puts all of his effort into confirming the actuality of the transformation—he goes as far as using two verbs to underscore the authenticity of the direct and visual nature of the account. Its objectivity is witnessed by pantes, which refers even to members of the Sanhedrin who were downright hostile toward Stephen. Right before the eyes of the assembled the disgrace of a horrible death intersects with the glory of a regenerated, immortal body. This manifestation renews hope, aids the overcoming of fear and helps overcome despair. “Martyred flesh had to be capable of impassibility and transfiguration, suffering and rot could not be the final answer. If flesh could put on, even in this life, a foretaste of incorruption, martyrdom might be bearable.”746 744 Cf. Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity, New York: Columbia University Press, 1988, p. 73. 745 Caroline Walker Bynum, op. cit., p. 43–44. 746 Ibid., p. 45. With all due respect for Bynum’s work, we must note how the scholar seems not to notice the effort the authors of these narratives put into underscoring the objective character of the transformation. Bynum did not guard against the temptation toward a psychologizing interpretation, seeing in the phenomenon of transformation, above all, a projection of Christian expectations, whose driving power is

219

According to the common opinion of many Christians, the body of the martyr, just like the resurrected body, is already free of suffering. As we might recall, Tertullian in his exhortation to the martyrs firmly affirmed that the body, “does not feel the chain when the mind is in the heavens”, because, “The mind [spirit] compasses the whole man about, and whither it wills it carries him.”747 According to an opinion attributed to St. Cyprian, this all means that the body of a witness to Christ becomes a different body. The vision of St. Flavian as recounted by St. Cyprian assures the martyrs that, “It is another flesh suffers (alia caro patitur) that suffers when the soul is in heaven. The body does not feel this at all (neguaguam corpus hoc sen tit) when the mind is entirely absorbed in God.”748 The last blow is not accompanied by even the slightest suffering. Marek Starowieyski has noted how the martyrs clearly distinguish between “their own and personal sufferings from those they underwent as witnesses of his (Christ’s) passion.”749 Felicitas, who with difficulty dealt with the premature birth of her baby in a prison, assured all concerned that it would be totally different in a Roman arena. “What I am suffering now… I suffer by myself. But then another will be inside me who will suffer for me, just as I shall be suffering for him.”750 When they face their trial, it seems that even the weakest show a superhuman ability to endure, for example, “Blandina was filled with such power, that those who took it in turn to subject her to every kind of torture from morning to night were exhausted by their efforts and confessed themselves beaten—they could think of nothing else to do to her. They were amazed that she was still breathing, for her whole body was mangled and her wounds gaped; they declared that torment of any one kind was enough to part soul and body, let alone a succession of torments of such extreme severity.”751 The metamorphosis that takes up the body of the martyr into the sphere proper to its perfection does not mean that there is a break in continuity. In accordance with the paradoxical rules of conversion the changed glorified body is simultaneously the same human body. The short lecture from St. Carpus burning at the stake leaves no doubts about this—the ordinary human body and the body of the martyr, free from pain, are essentially the same. “We too were born of the same mother, Eve, and we have the same flesh (kai ten auten fear of the monstrosity of death, the abjection of the body’s decomposition and the disgraceful handling which met the bodies of martyrs. 747 Tert., Mart. 2, op. cit., ANF3, p. 694. 748 Mart. Mont. 21, Musurillo, p. 234. 749 Marek Starowieyski, op. cit., p. 123–124. 750 Mart. Perpet. 15, Musurillo, p. 122–124. 751 Mart. Ludg. 1.18, Musurillo, p. 67, quotation from: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 141.

220

sarka echomen). Let us endure all things looking forward to the judgment seat of truth (all’aphorontes eis to dikasterion to alethinon panta hypomenomen).”752 The transformation, which only is fulfilled in the shadow of a certain death, manifests itself in more ways than just in the lack of pain. Just as it was in the case of St. Stephen, the authors of the martyr narratives attempted to give indubitable accounts, using eyewitness accounts, of the particular goodness, holiness and glory of the martyrs’ bodies. For example, we find out that Polycarp “was filled with a joyful courage; his countenance was filled with grace.”753 We also learn that the other Smyrnian martyrs “were no longer men but angels (hoiper meketi anthropoi all’ede angeloi esan).”754 In turn, bishop Fructuosus and his companions in their adversity appeared to their eyewitness spectators as if they were the young men from the Book of Daniel (3:1–97).755 On the other hand, the martyrs of Lyons were described in a poetic manner. The martyrs glowed with happiness, dignity, and grace and even their handcuffs adorned them like jewels, and around themselves they diffused the “aroma of Christ” (2 Cor 2:15), so beautiful “that some people thought they had smeared themselves with worldly cosmetics.”756 The perfection and holiness of the new bodies is sometimes preceded by, and contrasted with, the total degradation that is the frightening consequence of undergoing torture. The bodies of the Smyrnian martyrs, before they likened themselves to the angels, were horribly degraded, “they were torn by whips until the very structure of their bodies was laid bare down to the inner veins and arteries.”757 However, already at the gates of the amphitheater, the martyrs were already closer to their reward than their punishment. The destruction left behind by the hand of the executioner does not undermine the reality of the Lord’s promise. Or as bishop Fructuosus says to those gathered around him, “For what you look upon now seems but the weakness of Mart. Carpi. 40, Musulillo, p. 26. Mart. Polycarpi 12.1, Musurillo, p. 11. Ibid. 2.3, Musurillo, p. 5. Mart. Fruct. 4.2, Musurillo, p. 181. Mart. Ludg. 1.35, Musurillo, s. 73, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 144. Smell is one of the crucial characteristics which join the understanding of the resurrected world with the way in which the bodily perfection of martyrs manifests itself. The miraculous fragrance, which we find in the vision of heavenly existence in the The Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas, diffuses itself around the body of St. Polycarp burning at the stake. Cf. the vision of Saturninus in the Mart. Perpet. 13.8, Musurillo, p. 123; Mart. Polycarpi 15.2, Musurillo, p. 15. Cf. Jean Delumeau, The History of Paradise, trans. Matthew O’Connell, Champaign IL: University of Illinois Press, 2000 , p. 5. 757 Mart. Polycarpi 2.2, Musurillo, p. 3.

752 753 754 755 756

221

an hour.”758 The author added that after these words the listeners entered upon the path of salvation, “worthy in their martyrdom and happy to reap the fruit of the Holy Scriptures according to their promises.”759 The narrative from Lyons gives us an interesting example of transformation. When, after a pause of several days, the torturers of Sancuts (whose previous beatings were so bad that the slightest touch caused him suffering) were absolutely certain they could break him. However, the letter’s author relates how the following happened: “However, nothing of the sort happened: to their amazement his body became erect and straight as a result of these new torments, and recovered its former appearance and the use of the limbs; thus through the grace of Christ his second spell on the rack proved to be not punishment but cure.”760 We find another telling example of a bodily transformation in the martyrdom of Pionius. We should highlight three aspects of this narrative: personal details pertaining to martyrdom, the transformation of the body and its proof: a gentle and painless death. The body of the martyr does not immediately become a new body. During the torture itself, he was questioned by the proconsul who was amazed by his endurance, and replied that he can still feel everything (dia ti aponenoesai… Ouk aponenoesmai).761 Only later, when after his sentencing he stood before the pyre whose flames were supposed to consume him, he was suddenly filled with joy, he discovered the “holiness and dignity of his own body (eita katanoesas to hagnon kai euschemon tou somatos heautou).”762 The discovery was confirmed through his death. On the pyre, before the fire reached its peak, after a short prayer in which he entrusted his soul to God, the martyr (as the author assures us) died in peace and without pain (aponos).763 Ignatius of Antioch, in the Epistle to the Smyrnaeans, against the Docetists, declares that the Eucharist is, “the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ, which suffered for our sins, and which the Father, of His goodness, raised up again.”764 While analyzing the Didascalia of the Apostles, a Syrian text from the 4th century, based upon a Greek original from the third century, Caroline Walker Bynum focuses upon the author’s presupposition that the Eucharist is not only the body

758 Mart. Fruct. 4.1, Musurillo, p. 181. 759 Ibid. 4.1–2, Musurillo, p. 181. 760 Mart. Ludg. 1.24, Musurillo, p. 69, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 142. 761 Mart. Pionii 20.2, Musurillo, p. 163. 762 Ibid. 21.2, p. 163. 763 Ibid. 21.9, p. 164. 764 Ign., Smyrn. 7.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 89.

222

of Christ, but also the image of the body that we will receive in heaven.765 Therefore, there is nothing odd in the perfection of a martyr being measured by the ancient Christians using the mysterious measure of the Eucharist.766 For the early Christians the sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the martyrs, who participated in his death and resurrection, were obviously related. “I am the wheat of God, and let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ”, says Ignatius to the Romans.767 A little bit later he adds, “I have no delight in corruptible food, nor in the pleasures of this life. I desire the bread of God, the heavenly bread, the bread of life, which is the flesh of Jesus Christ, the Son of God… and I desire the drink of God, namely His blood, which is incorruptible love and eternal life.”768 The glorified body seems to not only be free from the passions, but from all bodily needs. While commenting on the words of Ignatius, Stanisław Longosz writes that the Eucharist seemed to be treated as the proper nourishment for martyrs as it “gives the martyr its power and essence, because that is the only probable way to interpret the utterances according to which the martyr himself becomes a Eucharist.” Therefore, on the one hand, through the Eucharist, the martyr unites with the passion and the love of the resurrected Christ, on the other, through martyrdom, understood as the act of the highest love, the martyr “elevates his reality into this unification with Christ.”769 Suffering and corruption do not constitute the ultimate reply when, as we read in accounts of Polycarp’s martyrdom, right before the eyes of those gathered, the body of Christ’s witness transforms itself into a host. When Polycarp finished his prayer and the fire was lit and “…those of us to whom it was given to see beheld a miracle (thauma eidomen hois idein edothe). And we have been preserved to recount the story to others. For the flames, bellying out like a ship’s sail in the wind, formed into the shape of vault and thus surrounded the martyrs with a wall. And he was within it not as burning flesh but rather as bread being baked, or like gold and silver being purified in a smelting-furnace. And from it we perceived such a delightful fragrance as though it were smoking incense or some other costly perfume.” 770

765 Caroline Walker Bynum, op. cit., p. 47. 766 With regard to the link between martyrdom and the sacrament of sacrifice cf. Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 66. 767 Ign., Rom. 4.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 75. 768 Ibid. 7.3, p. 77. 769 Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 67. 770 Mart. Pionii 15.1–2, Musurillo, p. 15.

223

The above-cited fragment confirms the weight given to ascertaining the objective and eyewitness status of the change taking place. As we have already said, this is because it seems Christians saw the fact of a bodily transformation as a kind of proof of the resurrection, and perhaps, they also espoused the most controversial doctrine: that it proved the credibility of the entirety of the hope contained in the Christian teaching. In the Letter from the Martyrs of Lyons we read that through the martyrdom of Sanctus Christ, who suffered in him, “proving as an example to the rest (eis ten ton loipon hipotyposin hypodeiknyon) that where the Father’s love is nothing can frighten us, where Christ’s glory is nothing can hurt us.”771 A chronicler wrote the following about the companions of Polycarp, who attained such power of the spirit that they endured the worst torments: “showing (epideiknymenous) to all of us that at that hour of their torment these noblest martyrs of Christ were not present in the flesh”, which was confirmed by their total disregard of the tortures and the fact that, “the fire applied by their inhuman torturers was cooled.”772 The martyrs themselves seemed to confirm this state of consciousness. Pionius, who was nailed down to the stake, and who rejected his last chance to save his skin through apostasy (he said this about the nails: “I felt that they are in to stay.”), after taking pause for reflection he added: “I am hurrying that I may awake all the more quickly, manifesting the resurrection from the dead (Dia touto speudo hina thatton egertho, delon ten ek nekron anastasin).”773 We need not argue here that if the martyr had in mind the resurrection of the dead at the end times all such hurrying would be totally redundant. We should also add that the reality of hope fulfilled manifested in the martyrs has both an evidentiary dimension and a polemical one too. By demonstration the power and glory of God, the witnesses of Christ at the same time expose and disavow the falsity of human opinions. We see this especially in a very interesting fragment which precedes the description of Blandina’s martyrdom. The extraordinary power which this frail virgin showed in the face of torture is presented through the prism of a category familiar to us. The category in question is the Pauline apodeiksis, the proof-demonstration of power, which is additionally strengthened by a confrontation with human opinions. “Blandina,” says the letter’s author, “through whom Christ proved (di’hes epedeiksen ho Christos) that things which men regard (para anthropois) as mean, unlovely and contemptible are by God (para Theo) deemed worthy of great glory, because of her love for

771 Mart. Ludg. 1.23, Musurillo, p. 69, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 144. 772 Mart. Polycarpi 2.2–3, Musurillo, p. 3–5. 773 Mart. Pionii 21.4, Musurillo, p. 165.

224

Him shown in power and not vaunted in appearance (en dynamei deiknymenen kai me en eidei kauchomenen).”774 Through demonstrating the power of God the martyr directly proves the authenticity and superiority of things which are para Theo—plus the things which are par’ anthropois, that is, the teaching revealed by God—over undependable human opinions. There is no doubt this is, in the eyes of the Christians, the best available argument. There is also no doubt that it is possible to reject this form of argumentation. Direct sensory experience is merely a distant cousin of direct intellectual knowledge. Eyewitness, that is, sensory experience is adequate enough to serve as something like a metaphor of direct intellectual knowledge, but not strong enough to offer the intellectual obviousness proper to the latter. Thus, the consequent skeptics will not be convinced. In place of listing all the possible counterarguments, it is enough to recall just the ones that discredit the value of sensory knowledge. The thesis that was never really fully formulated in antiquity might be put thus: the witness of Christians will not satisfy everyone. The conviction based upon it remains an opinion, not knowledge. And yet, it is a conviction equipped with a relatively high degree of credibility. It is worthy of belief, at least in the measure given to all other convictions based upon the senses. Whoever believes in the transformation of the human seed, because he has seen it “with his own eyes”, has no reason to reject the truth of resurrection. Whoever does not want to believe, despite seeing it “with his own eyes”, will remain a skeptic in all other matters whose reality is confirmed by the testimony of the senses. While paraphrasing Justin Martyr we can make the following conclusion: because you have already seen a resurrected man, you are believer.

Transformation of Knowledge While outside observers knew ultimate reality through the mediation of the senses, ultimate reality, which is manifested in the world through the person of the martyr, whereas many witnesses directly participated in the fruits of the Holy Scriptures, that is, spiritual reality.775 According to the author of The Martyrdom of Polycarp, “they kept before their eyes the knowledge that they were escaping that eternal fire never to be extinguished; and with the eyes of the soul they looked up to those good things that are saved up for those who have persevered, which neither the ear has heard nor the eye seen, nor has it entered into the heart of man (1 Cor 2:9); but to them the Lord revealed it seeing they were no longer 774 Mart Ludg. 1.17, Musurillo, s. 66, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 141. 775 Mart. Fruct. 4.1–2, Musurillo, p. 181.

225

men but angels.”776 The martyrs are the most perfect witnesses of the truth, because they see the truth. They profess this truth before the world through word and deed. The existence of such a conviction should be first addressed through the testimony of the Acts of the Apostles. In the last fragment describing St. Stephen’s death we read, “But he, filled with the holy Spirit, looked up intently to heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God, and he said, ‘Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God’” (Acts 7:55–7:56). The text so clearly underscores the value of eyewitness testimony that it needs no further commentary. We should, however, pay closer attention to the narrator’s use of the effect of repetition, which further brings out the complete credibility of the martyr’s confession of what he “saw” in the moment preceding the stoning. The narrator wants the readers to abandon all doubts as to whether Stephen is truthfully witnessing to what he sees. In many fragments, including the ones we have cited above, we are struck by the way in which knowledge of ultimate reality is combined with a transformation of the body which is visible to the witnesses. We should recall that in Flavian’s vision of a “different body” which suffers in the arena, he speaks of it in the context of the soul being in heaven (cum animus in caelo est). He adds, “The body does not feel this at all when the mind is totally absorbed in God (cum se Deo tota mens deuouit).”777 As we also recall, Tertullian combined these phenomena in a similar way when he wrote that the body, “does not feel the chain when the mind is in the heavens.”778 Perpetua gave us a striking example. She not only did not feel anything, but also did not remember the attack of wild beasts, because, according to the narrative’s author, “so absorbed had she been in ecstasy in the Spirit.”779 The integration of both of these aspects of the transformation was nowhere else so strongly emphasized as in the description of the martyrdom of Carpus. When he was being tied to the pyre those nearest to him were amazed when they saw a calm smile. Here is his answer to their questioning: “I saw the glory of the Lord (eidon ten doksan Kyriou) and I was happy. Besides I am now rid of you and have no share in your sins”, and later he gave out the following advice: “Let us endure all things looking forward to the judgment seat of truth (all’ aphorontes eis to dikasterion to alethinon panta hypomenomen).”780 Moments 776 Mart. Polycarpi, Musurillo, p. 5. 777 Mart. Mont. 21, Musurillo, p. 235. 778 Tert., Mart. 2, op. cit., ANF3, p. 694. 779 Mart. Perpet. 20.8, Musurillo, p. 129. 780 Mart. Carpi 39–40, Musurillo, p. 27.

226

later his words were confirmed by Agathonice who, much like Carpus, saw the glory of the Lord (idousa ten doksan tou Kyriou), recognized it as a sign from heaven and joyfully went to the pyre without fear.781 The phenomenon of immunity to suffering is seen in much the same way by the author of The Martyrdom of Polycarp: “Fixing their eyes on the favor of Christ, they despised the tortures of this worldpaying heed to the grace of Christ they despised worldly torture.”782 We should stress how in the description of what the martyrs see with the “eyes of their hearts” the author utilizes a Pauline description of the eschatological goods, “What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and what has not entered the human heart, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9). And in order to underscore that the lack of suffering and the direct knowledge of spiritual reality are a sign of a factual transformation of their being, the author adds that the martyrs were “no longer men but angels.”783 Alongside the metaphor of seeing, the trope of martyrs conversing with Christ also appears frequently as a method of bringing out the reality of direct communion with God. Joyful, indifferent to their sufferings, the martyrs seem to inhabit a different reality. According to the narrative, the companions of St. Polycarp seemed as if, “the Lord [Christ] was present there holding converse with them.”784 About one of the martyrs of Lyons, Alexander, we read that during varied tortures he “uttered no cry, not so much as a groan, but communed with God in his heart.”785 These conversations, just like during the visions, are accompanied by a total indifference to pain. Blandina’s martyrdom is yet another excellent example of this, “After the whips, after the beasts, after the griddle, she was finally dropped into a basket and thrown to a bull. Time after time the animal tossed her, but she was indifferent now to all that happened to her, because of her hope and sure hold on all that her faith meant, and of her communing with Christ.”786 We should clearly stress these words, “because of her hope and sure hold on all her faith meant.” The question to what degree in this life the martyrs attain the ultimate fullness of love, joy and knowledge, must remain without a definitive answer. The unique connection of hope and certainty experienced by Blandina is its best proof. We also should recall the cautiousness that Clement of Alexandria displayed when 781 782 783 784 785 786

Ibid. 42–47, Musurillo, p. 27–29. Mart. Polycarpi 2.3, Musurillo, p. 3–5. Ibid. 2.3, Musurillo, p. 5. Ibid. 2.1, Musurillo, p. 3. Mart. Ludg. 1.51–52, Musurillo, s. 79, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 146. Ibid. 1.56, Musurillo, s. 79–81, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 147.

227

it came to discussing this matter. Perhaps it also is a specific stamp of Christian readers of the Phaedo. We also find it in Origen. The great successor of Clement obviously had no doubts about the extraordinary epistemological status of the martyrs. In the epilogue to his Exhortation to Martyrdom he wrote the following about them: “…now especially you are worthy to see more of the mysteries of God, you have a more profound and richer understanding, one more helpful to your present purpose…”787 However earlier, while referring to St. Paul being taken up to seventh heaven—where the Apostle supposedly heard, “heard ineffable things, which no one may utter” (2 Cor 12:2–4)—Origen reassured the martyrs that they will attain a deeper and more enduring understanding and also said: “For in God as in a treasury are stored up wonders much greater than those mentioned, which cannot be grasped by a nature joined to a body until it has put off all that is of the body.”788 Thus the Platonic dictum of attaining as much knowledge as is possible within the body is not totally suspended. Yet, without losing sight of these reservations, it is hard to deny the impression that through getting even a foretaste of the promised gifts the martyrs gain true majesty. If we apply the comparative method we have embraced and compare the confessions of martyrs to the picture of eschatological promise, then we can surely call them the only truly reasonable people. By applying the teaching of St. Paul as our measure we can claim, it seems to me, the right to accept that in the measure available to them the martyrs walk not “by faith”, but “by sight.”789 In their instance seeing has taken over the role played by hope for others790; the imperfect seeing “as in a mirror, darkly” is replaced by seeing “face to face”, and faith and hope have found their fulfillment in perfect love, which bears all things, never fails, and “rejoices with the truth.” 791 As we have argued, witnessing (the sort that properly deserves the name) constitutes an objective relation, rather than an expression of subjective convictions. This is true both of the witness of deeds and the witness of words. Through their words and deeds the martyrs publicly give an account of their faith, or also—as we can surmise from all of the examples above—what they see and hear, that is, according to the language of ancient Greek epistemology, of what they know. It therefore seems that using the concept of “witness” to describe a martyr’s death was not entirely arbitrary or coincidental. The validity of witness as a category is 787 Orig., Exhort. 51, op. cit., p. 195. 788 Ibid. 13, p. 154. 789 Cf. 2 Cor 5:6–7. 790 Cf. Rom 8:24–25. 791 Cf. 1 Cor 13:6–13.

228

constituted by the knowledge of the object to which one testifies. And truth regarding the last things can only be captured through direct knowledge. The most serious doubts raised by our construction pertain to its presupposition that the states of vision and hearing recorded in the acts of the martyrs can be, without reservation, grouped together with unmediated philosophical knowledge. We now face a question which cannot be ignored: was the knowledge of the martyrs treated by the Christians on the same level as the knowledge of which the ancient intuitionists spoke? Even though there are many reasons why it would be difficult to gain a decisive answer, it still seems that it would not be too much of a stretch to give a positive answer. Once again Justin Martyr will come to our aid, because he was one of the very few Christian authors of the second century who did not limit the concept of witness to the act of a voluntary death for Christ.792 In an extraordinarily interesting fragment of his Dialogue he not only discovers the background against which Christian witness can be read in the categories of popular Platonism. He also shows the reasons, which thanks to this background, allowed Christians to situate martyrs above the philosophers. In the Dialogue with Trypho Justin presents a carefully stylized history of his own conversion or, to put it more accurately, his transformation from a Platonic philosopher into a Christian philosopher.793 During a walk, which he took in order to converse with himself and think, along the way he met an elderly man (3.1–2) with whom he started disputing. We should add that it was a dispute in accordance with all the canons of philosophical dialogue. The greater part of the conversation is devoted to establishing a list of common views with regard to the fundamentals of philosophy, the role of reason and God.794 In the long catalogue of mutually accepted opinions our attention should turn to, above all, to theses 792 This is pointed out by Eric Osborn, Justin Martyr, Tübingen: Mohr Publishers, 1973, p. 82–83. 793 Iust., Dial. 3.1–8.2. 794 The elderly man listened “with pleasure” the popular Platonic arguments of Justin about the primacy of reason and its role as a guide for human life. There was also no quarreling about the extraordinary position of philosophy, to which all human affairs must be ordered (3.3). The definition and function of philosophy was also agreed upon without any controversy. Philosophy, as knowledge about the essence of things and a way of coming to know the truth, leads to happiness, which is the reward of knowledge and wisdom (3.4). The elderly man did not question Justin’s definition of God. God is the immutable cause of everything’s existence (3.5); a Being who is the essence of everything that can be grasped by the mind; who cannot be known by the senses; who is beyond all being; he is unutterable and inexplicable; finally, God is Beauty and Goodness (4.1).

229

from the area of epistemology. There are two substantial forms of knowledge. Alongside arts such as strategy, navigation, and medicine, where we gain knowledge through learning and practice, there is a knowledge which we can only gain along the way of direct knowledge (intuition). Knowledge that allows us to know the essence of human and divine affairs is of this second variety. It is a type of seeing which is analogical to sense perception, yet it is accomplished without the mediation of the senses (3.5–6). Much like with sense perception, the necessary condition for this form of knowledge is direct contact with the object of knowledge. It would make no sense, says the elderly Christian with the full approval of Justin, to come to know an animal one has never seen with one’s eyes. What’s more, he adds that we would not be able to say a word about it, if we did not first hear from someone who has seen it. In a similar way knowledge of God and the essence of things can only be gained through intellectual seeing with reason as mediator, or as Plato put it, “the eye of the soul” (3.6–4.1). According to the elderly man, this is the knowledge which philosophers lack, because they have never seen or heard God; this is best proved by all the obvious absurdities in the philosophical teachings about the soul (4.3–5.6). During the discussion in Justin’s dialogue, both sides agreed upon more condition for coming to know God, namely, the person must “live justly, purified by righteousness, and by every other virtue.”795 We should not overlook how Justin’s interlocutor did not forget to signalize his doubts about whether being reasonable and virtuous are sufficient for knowing God (4.2–4): the elderly man clearly renounces the thought that reason, unaided by grace, is capable of attaining this knowledge. While the philosophers do not know the truth, it has become the property of Christians through the work of prophets who saw the truth and proclaimed it to men. Justin succumbed to the power of this line of arguing. He was convinced about the inadequacy of the Platonic teaching about the soul and asked the old man to reveal the roots of this teaching. All the tropes we have covered so far reappear in the elder’s answer, “There existed, long before this time, certain men more ancient than all those who are esteemed philosophers, both righteous and beloved by God, who spoke by the Divine Spirit, and foretold events which would take place, and which are now taking place. They are called prophets. These alone both saw and announced the truth to men, neither reverencing nor fearing any man, not influenced by a desire for glory, but speaking those things alone which they saw and which they heard, being filled with the Holy Spirit. Their writings are still extant, and he who has read them is very much helped in his knowledge 795 Iust., Dial. 4.3, op. cit., ANF1, p. 196.

230

of the beginning and end of things, and of those matters which the philosopher ought to know, provided he has believed them. For they did not use demonstration in their treatises, seeing that they were witnesses to the truth above all demonstration, and worthy of belief…”796 While commenting upon this fragment Eric Osborn stressed that in Christianity revelation occurs through persons.797 Justin expresses this elementary experience of Christian faith, for which the mediator between the Truth and the world is always a human being submerged in history, in the categories of philosophical intuitionism. We can state Justin’s position, by paraphrasing Osborn, thus: The truth about the last things always comes through people; everything that the philosopher should know was seen and heard by those whom God saw fit to become the witnesses of the truth. However, the role of witnesses is much greater than the role of explorers of unknown domains. They do not simply pass into the history of thought, which, when discovered once, becomes the common property of all. Even if what they have said is the truth without them, it ceases to be knowledge without them. On can “see” God, or hear about him from someone who has seen him. Ever if second-hand knowledge is made out of true propositions, despite that it never deserves the label of knowledge. This is because knowledge, understood as a state of intellectual seeing, has a strictly subjective quality: it is always somebody who knows and there is no knowledge without a person. So long as we do not gain a gaze into the truth, the person of a true witness is our greatest chance to gain, out the immense reserve of false and true opinions, the ones that will lead us to Larissa. At first sight we might think that the canon of writings chosen by Christianity as revealed should shrink the importance of personal witness. After all, the knowledge of a witness is always his own knowledge. Those who do not see and hear are left with faith. What difference does it make whether we believe a person or the Bible? The answer is quite simple. If we were dealing with purely theoretical knowledge divorced from life, then the teaching contained within the Bible would be totally sufficient. However, wisdom is at stake. This is why both realities complement each other. The Bible is something like a criterion of true witness. Witnessing confirms the truth of the Bible, and at the same time it realizes its calling. This is why Justin writes about people, who exceed all argumentation, not judgment.798 The witnesses do not only tell us about God, we see God

796 Ibid. 7.1–2, p. 198. 797 Eric Osborn, Justin…, op. cit., p. 72. 798 Cf. Ibid., p. 71.

231

in them. This is because witnessing is not confined to proclaiming truths. It is also the witness of a life. The logic of the epistemology presupposed here means that an encounter with the living truth is necessarily an encounter with a living person and through him with the living God. For those Christians who believed that the martyrs gained direct knowledge of God, the martyrs were, just like the prophets mentioned by Justin, witnesses of the truth in the most strictly philosophical sense. They were such witnesses to a degree not attained by pagan sages. We should repeat Justin’s words: “These alone both saw and announced the truth to men, neither reverencing nor fearing any man, not influenced by a desire for glory, but speaking those things alone which they saw and which they heard, being filled with the Holy Spirit.”

Transformation of Existence: Who is a Witness? In the everyday parlance of the Greeks a witness is a person who relates events in which he has participated, he attests to facts which he saw with his “own eyes”. As we might recall, in certain situations the Greeks are wont to acknowledge not only words, but also deeds, as such a narrative. The books of the New Testament utilize the concept martys in a similar sense. Allowing for some oversimplification, we can state that the inspired authors limit themselves to two substantial corrections of this concept. First of all, they limit the concept of witness to people who after the death of Christ witness to his life, teaching and resurrection. Second, they expand the category of eyewitness to knowledge unmediated by the senses. We find a similar limitation of the object of witness, to matters which have a decisive meaning for human happiness, in the philosophical concept of the witness present in the teaching of Epictetus. Therefore both philosophical and Christian witnessing is distinguished by its object. The content of the confession is the teaching that shows man his proper goal and leads him to perfection and happiness. In both instances the crucial corrections of the original meaning of witness put emphasis upon the praxis-oriented understanding of witness and the specific evidentiary function of this praksis. As we remember, the deeds or even the life of a person who gave witness is not only considered to be a form of confession, but it also is a type of argument for the truth of the proclaimed teaching. As we have said, all of these frequently modified elements can be found in the concept of a witness-martyr, who “sees” the object of his witness, makes a solemn confession and confirms its truth through a deed. However, in many of the examples we have discussed above, there appeared a theme that clearly goes beyond our outline of the status of the witness of ultimate reality. It is extraordinary from an epistemological and ethical point of view. The witness, through the 232

mediation of word and deed, seems to not only relate what constitutes the object of his profession, but in a certain sense becomes that which he witnesses to. The transformation of knowledge and action is an aspect of the transformation of an existence. Word and deed become an inseparable reality where being leaves the dimension of imperfection. The particular status assigned to Christian witness seems to depend upon a factual participation in ultimate reality. The witness and the object of witness become well-nigh identical. By becoming visible signs of divine power, a sort of epiphany of the Spirit and an image of the goal of human life, the martyrs undergo a total, and not only an epistemological, transformation. In the moment of the final confrontation of the truth and falsity, sin and virtue, life and death, that which is immutable with what is mutable, the witnesses of Christ, in both body and spirit, become the citizens of the Logos’ domain. The martyrs show the world its goal, because, being perfect and happy, they have already arrived at the goal—their bodies already have a taste of the resurrection’s glory, and their transformed souls enjoy the promised goods. Here we are dealing with the most spectacular instance of the paradox of continuity and change. Through having attained the goal and having regained the fullness of their humanity, the martyrs, already perfected, become similar to God. To some degree this state of things is inscribed into the central idea of imitating Christ that is inscribed into the theology of martyrdom.799 In the eyes of the ancients, says Stanisław Longosz, “the martyr was elevated through his suffering… to the heights of Christ, who walked beside him and suffered, reenacting his passion in his body, thereby giving God the proof of his most elevated love and faithfulness unto death.”800 Imitating the Lord, being a true pupil of Christ, for whom the Master is not only the truth, but also a way and life, is a thread that very frequently recurs on the pages of martyrdom literature. “For this is to wish to be found with Christ,” says Cyprian of Carthage, “to imitate that which Christ both taught and did…”801 Imitation, which is the content of the whole of Christian life, finds is crown in imitating the passion of Christ. Ignatius of Antioch cried out the following in one of inflamed letters: “Pardon me [in this] I know what is for my benefit. Now I begin to be a disciple… Permit me to

799 On imitation and the union of martyrs with Christ cf. Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 55–60; Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 48–61; Michele Pelegrino, “Cristo Negli Atti dei Martiri e Nella Letteratura sul Martirio” in Ricerche Patristiche, v. 1, Turin, 1982, p. 197–205; Marek Starowieyski, op. cit., p. 121–129. 800 Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 55. 801 Cypr., Epist. 58.1, op. cit., ANF5, p. 347.

233

be an imitator of the passion of my God.”802 While explaining the motives of his desire he wrote, “And why have I also surrendered myself to death, to fire, to the sword, to the wild beasts? But, [in fact,] he who is near to the sword is near to God… provided only he be so in the name of Jesus Christ. I undergo all these things that I may suffer together with Him, He who became a perfect man inwardly strengthening me.”803 We can see very clearly how the mystery of Easter, the mystery of God, who through the abasement of the cross lifts men out of sin and death, and this means that, unavoidably, in Christian witness both elements of the philosophical ideal must meet. Likening oneself to God, who saves the world through the sacrifice of the cross, is necessarily a witness through preparing for death. Celestino Noce forcefully stresses how Christians have a complete awareness that perfection can only be achieved through, “leaving oneself and being Christ (per essere Christo).”804 We cannot, says Ignatius of Antioch, be a pupil and imitator of Christ if we do not possess the life of Christ within, “…if we are not in readiness to die into His passion…”805 As Noce notes, the martyr more than others, “experiences the mystically and physically the mysteries of Christ tried, condemned, dead, and resurrected. The mystery of Easter is repeated in his body in an actual and most cruel manner.”806 This is the reason why through imitation of Christ in suffering and dying the martyr, as St. Cyprian writes, becomes “an associate of Christ’s passion (collega passionis cum Christo).”807 And since the fundamental dimension of Christ’s passion is love, St. Polycarp did not shrink from saying imitators of Christ “followed the example of true love,”808 in other words: the true example of Christ. Imitating Christ through suffering and death leads to the total unification of the believer with the Savior.809 The martyrs can say the following: “I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me” (Gal 2:19–20). The complete communion (koinonia) between man and God is realized through

802 Ign., Rom., 5.3 and 6.3, op. cit., ANF1, p. 76. 803 Ign., Smyrn. 4.2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 88. 804 Cf. Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 48–49. He also adds, “It is an identification which is fully realized only in eternity.” 805 Ign., Magn. 5.2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 61. 806 Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 49. 807 Cypr., Epist. 31.3, op. cit., ANF5, p. 302. 808 Polyc., Epist. ad Philipp. 1.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 33. 809 Marek Staryowieyski, op. cit., p. 123.

234

martyrdom.810 According to Tertullian, “Christ is in the martyr”811, whereas Cyprian assures us that Christ “dwells” in the martyr.812 This is the most complete explanation of the martyr’s indifference to sufferings, which any normal person could not bear if he were left to his own devices. The witnesses themselves were convinced, and their co-religionists too, that Christ, just as he promised, was present in them. He strengthens and leads them, speaks through them, battles right along with them, in them and for them suffers persecution. Christ, as St. Cyprian assures his readers, “He was present at His own contest; He lifted up, strengthened, animated the champions and assertors of His name.”813 This is because Christ, “who is not such a one as that He only looks on His servants, but He Himself also wrestles in us, Himself is engaged.”814 According to Stanisław Longosz, “by suffering with the martyr, Christ seems to identify with him.” 815 However, this union is not only a union in humiliation and death. Participation in the passion is also a participation in the glory, whereas unity in suffering constitutes the guarantee of likeness in resurrection. The Paschal drama repeats itself both in its monstrosity and its glory. We should also not forget that the martyr’s communion with God is not exclusively a union with Christ, but with all the persons of the Trinity. Therefore, as Origen writes, whoever is ready for witness frees himself from the love of the mutable and then he becomes “worthy to become one with the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit.”816 Martyr literature puts a lot of emphasis on the presence of the Holy Spirit. The Comforter not only continually accompanies the martyrs817, but in harmony with the promise of the New Testament writings (Mt 10.19–20; Mk 13:11; Lk 12:11–12) he speaks through them, pouring out his gifts.818 We can count visions that gave the martyrs direct knowledge of God along with the prophetic dreams found in writings about the martyrs such as Polycarp or Perpetua.819 The idea of 810 Cf. Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 53; Michele Pellegrino, op. cit., p. 201; Mart. Polycarpi 6.2, Musurillo, p. 7; Mart. Ludg. 1.41, Musurillo, p. 75. 811 Tert., Pud. 22.6, op. cit., ANF4, p. 100. 812 Cypr., Epist. 60.3, op. cit., ANF5, p. 352. 813 Ibid. 10.3, p. 288. 814 Ibid. 10.4, p. 289. Cf. Mart. Perpet. 15.5–6, Musurillo, p. 123–125; Mart. Ludg. I.22–23, I.27, II.2, Musurillo, p. 69, 71, 75, 83. 815 Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 67. 816 Orig., Exhort. 39, op. cit., p. 183.; Cf. Mart. Fruct. 4.1–2, Musurillo, p. 181. 817 Cf. Tert., Mart. 1.3. 818 Cf. Celestino Noce, op. cit., 57–61. 819 Cf. The visions of Perpetua and Saturnus in Mart. Perpet., 4–10 and 11–13, Musurillo, p. 110–118 and 118–122; and the vision of Polycarp in Mart. Polycarpi, 5.2, Musurillo, p. 6.

235

martyrdom as human perfection that depends upon possessing God, is sharply expressed by Ignatius of Antioch.820 Just about every page of his Epistles confirms his deep belief that martyrdom is the way to union with God. “I also am the more encouraged, resting without anxiety in God, if indeed by means of suffering I may attain to God…”821 “Suffer me to become food for the wild beasts, through whose instrumentality it will be granted me to attain to God.” 822 “And let no one, of things visible or invisible, envy me that I should attain to Jesus Christ.”823 The sign of interior unity, which is simultaneously a union with God, is the profession made by the Christian publicly with word and deed. The witness to God, which is confirmed by blood, is also the witness to a regained identity. Then the confession that one is a Christian is no longer a description of spiritual aspirations, but the confirmation of a real state of being. While thinking of the martyrdom he so much desired, Ignatius wrote, “Only request in my behalf both inward and outward strength, that I may not only speak, but [truly] will; and that I may not merely be called a Christian, but really be found to be one. For if I be truly found [a Christian], I may also be called one, and be then deemed faithful, when I shall no longer appear to the world.”824 The existence of the martyr is free of the rupture that is the most substantial mark of earthly life. The body, which was an important cause of the interior disharmony, is no longer the source of dissonance between the proclaimed teaching and life. Word and deed coincide fully in the person of the martyr. The postulated harmony becomes a realized harmony, which confirms unity with God. This is because the essence of the spiritual transformation is the unity of word and deed that is only proper to God. “It is better for a man to be silent and be [a Christian], than to talk and not to be one. It is good to teach, if he who speaks also acts. There is then one Teacher, who spoke and it was done; while even those things which He did in silence are worthy of the Father. He who possesses the word of Jesus, is truly able to hear even His very silence, that he may be perfect, and may both act as he speaks, and be recognized by his silence.”825 This is the final word of Christian theology on the theme of the criterion of Laches. Those who both in word and deed manifest the perfection of their Teacher are his pupils and imitators. This is why the martyr is the image of Christ 820 Stanisław Longosz, op. cit., p. 58–59. 821 Ign., Polyc. 7.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 96. 822 Ign., Rom. 4.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 75. 823 Ibid. 5.3, p. 76. 824 Ibid. 3.2, p. 74. 825 Ign., Eph. 15.1–15.2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 56.

236

and the expression of a Christian identity is the expression of an identity with God. While commenting on a fragment from the Gospel of Mark (10:32–33), Tertullian wrote, “He who confesses himself a Christian, bears witness that he is Christ’s; he who is Christ’s must be in Christ. If he is in Christ, he certainly confesses in Christ, when he confesses himself a Christian. For he cannot be this without being in Christ. Besides, by confessing in Christ he confesses Christ too: since, by virtue of being a Christian, he is in Christ, while Christ Himself also is in him.”826 Thus, there is nothing odd about the fact that martyrs were called carriers of the spirit (Pneumatophoros) or of Christ (Christophoros).827 The human existence, which is transferred into the dimension of spiritual perfection, becomes like God. The perfected Christian becomes the most perfect image of Christ among people. In this light we can see that the meaning Christians ascribed to martyrdom, with the aid of the Pauline apodeiksis dynameos kai pneumatos, was not an unwarranted maneuver. It is undeniable that, for their brothers in the faith, the martyrs were a proof-manifestation of the spirit and power of God, a proof which towered above essentially unreliable reasoning. Here we should recall an opinion expressed in the Stromata (Bk. IV) by the Alexandrian. Clement says the martyr, “confirms also the truth of preaching by his deed, showing that God to whom he hastens is powerful.” 828 We have already discussed an interesting fragment in which the exceptional endurance of the martyrs was interpreted as a concrete proof or manifestation of God’s power (dynamis), which at the same time devalued human opinions.829 We will now concentrate upon examples that allow us to ascertain that, according to Christians, a manifestation of the Spirit occurs through the person of the martyr. We will concern ourselves with the visible, according to the eyewitnesses, manifestations of likeness to God. This is because when facing the martyr, as the Alexandrian argues, “You will wonder at his love, which he conspicuously shows with thankfulness, in being united to what is allied to him…” 830 Therefore, in martyrdom the spirit and power are not only manifested negatively through indifference toward suffering and death, but also positively, 826 Tert., Scorp. 9, op. cit., ANF3, p. 642. Cf. Orig., Exhort. 10, op. cit., p. 150: “…he who bears witness to someone, especially in a time of persecution and trial of faith, unties and joins himself to him to whom he bears witness.” 827 Eus., HE VIII.10.3. 828 Clem. Al., Str. IV.IV.13.2–3, op. cit., ANF2, p. 411. 829 Mart. Ludg. 1.17, Musurillo, p. 67. 830 Clem. Al., Str. IV.IV.13.2–3, op. cit., ANF2, p. 411.

237

through the witness of a perfect love, which is the actual measure of likening or even uniting oneself to God. The opinion of Clement is confirmed by the experience of the martyrs of Lyons. Vettius Epagathus (“full of love towards God and towards his neighbor”), who defended the Christians before a tribunal, when asked, confirmed that he too was a Christian, “And he, too, was admitted to the ranks of the martyrs. He was called the Christians’ advocate, but he had in himself the Advocate (echon de ton Parakleton en heauto), the spirit that filled Zacharias, as he showed by the fullness of his love (ho dia tou pleromatos tes agapes enedeiksato) when he gladly laid down his own life in defense of his brother Christians. For he was and is a true disciple of Christ, following the Lamb wherever He goes.”831 Through the mediation of the martyrs people who live in the empirical world, can, seemingly, empirically experience the reality of the Spirit. This is not all. The whole series of martyr narratives confirm the judgment that in the person of the martyr their co-religionists can “with their own eyes” see not only the power and love of God, but also the person of Christ himself. “The multitude of those who were present”, wrote Cyprian while he had the struggles of the martyrs in mind, “saw with admiration the heavenly contest—the contest of God, the spiritual contest, the battle of Christ…”832 The authors of the narratives also carefully noted all the analogies with the Passion of the Lord. This can be clearly seen in the narrative from the trial and death of St. Polycarp, “For everything that had gone before took place that the Lord might show us (hina… epideikse) from heaven a witness in accordance with the Gospel.”833 Even if, not surprisingly, the authors are sensitive to secondary resemblances to the arch-model (the head of the police is named Herod, the bishop is betrayed), the matter does not exhaust itself in purely literary analogies. In the eyes of his brothers the martyr by following the Lord becomes, as Celestino Noce notes, Christ’s actual image and a kind of living icon of Christ. 834 There is a very telling fragment from Lyons that demonstrates this. The elderly bishop Pothinus, broken down by illness, was mercilessly dragged before the governor, “He was conveyed to the tribunal by the solders, accompanied by the civil authorities and the whole populace, who shouted and jeered at him as the he were Christ Himself (hos autou ontos tou Christou),” and the author stresses, “But he bore the noble witness.”835 In another fragment of the same letter we find another example of an eyewitness account of the martyr’s 831 Mart. Ludg. 1.9–10, Musurillo, p. 62–64, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 140. 832 Cypr., Epist. 10.2, op. cit., ANF5, p. 288. 833 Mart. Polycarpi 1.1, Musurillo, p. 3. 834 Celestino Noce, op. cit., p. 51. 835 Mart. Ludg. 1.30, Musurillo, p. 70, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 143.

238

transformation into Christ: “But Blandina was hung on a post and exposed as food for the wild beats let loose in the arena. She looked as if she was hanging in the form of a cross, and through her ardent prayers she stimulated great enthusiasm in those undergoing their ordeal, who in their agony saw with their outward eyes in the person of their sister the One who was crucified for them, that He might convince those who believe in Him that any man who has suffered for the glory of Christ has fellowship (koinonian) for ever with the living God.”836 The presence of the martyr in the empirical world becomes the real presence of God. In the eyes of their brethren Fructuosus and his companions: “…were like Ananias, Azarias, and Misael (Dan 1:6; 3:13–26), so that the divine Trinity was also visible in them. For to each at his post in the flames the Father was present, the Son gave his aid, and the Holy Spirit walked in the midst of the fire.”837 The martyr (martys) seems to be perceived as a sensory manifestation of the Spirit. Being already someone from a different order, he manifests-proves the existence of a reality that is proclaimed by the Christian teaching. His person manifests a fulfilled hope: his body manifests the reality of the resurrection, the transformation of the soul is manifested by freedom from fear, and the stability of spirit and love are even visible to one’s persecutors, whereas the martyr himself, right before the eyes of his brethren, is likened to God. This is the heart of the epistemological function of witnessing. The very person of the martyr, without any aid from the inherently fallible proofs of credibility, constitutes the highest, out of all those available in the empirical world, proof of God’s existence. The proof is not accomplished through reasoning toward the most probable (peithos logos), but through a manifestation (apodeiksis). If we look at the martyrs through the prism of the definition found in the Theaetetus, then we are capable of figuring out who qualifies as a witness. However, if we simply say that in the eyes of his brethren the martyr became God, because they see Christ in him, then we must, obviously, remember all the reservations presented at the beginning of this chapter. Even though the authors of the various martyr narratives did not strive for the theological precision of the Scholastics, they clearly knew the principle that lies behind the difference between a Master and even his most perfect pupil. They did not confuse likeness with identity while expressing the transformation of the martyr through metaphors that sought to make the phenomenon more intelligible. This is confirmed by the Christians’ reaction to the pagans who decided against turning over the body of

836 Ibid. 1.41–42, Musurillo, p. 74, cited in: Eusebius, op. cit., p. 145. 837 Mart. Fruct. 4.1–2, Musurillo, p. 181.

239

St. Polycarp to them, “Otherwise… they may abandon the Crucified and begin to worship this man.” The Christian explanation for this was, “Little did they know that we could never abandon Christ, for it was he who suffered for the redemption of those who are save in the entire world, the innocent one dying on behalf of sinners. For him we reverence as the Son of God, whereas we love the martyrs as the disciples and imitators of the Lord (mimetas tou Kyriou), and rightly so because of their unsurpassable loyalty towards their king and master.”838 Likeness is a relation “between objects which in certain respects are the same”839, we should stress the “in certain respects”. Likeness to God is neither a loss of identity, nor identification with God. We should remember this while read St. Paul’s words about those whom God predestined, “…to be conformed to the image of his Son…” (Rom 8:29). They are the very words Clement of Alexandria used to refer to martyrs without any hesitation.840

838 Mart. Polycarpi 17.3, Musurillo, p. 15–17. 839 Mały słownik terminów i pojęć filozoficznych [A Small Dictionary of Philosophical Terms and Concepts], Antoni Posiad, Zbigniew Więckowski (ed.), PAX, 1993, p. 274. 840 Clem. Al., Str. IV.VII.46.1.

240

Conclusion: Faith, Knowledge, Witness As we now see, according to both pagans and Christians, perfection creates a kind of fissure through which the existence of a hidden reality makes itself present, behind the mutable state of phenomena, in the stuff of ordinary life. Confrontation with the truth, which is mediated through the paradoxical words and deeds of a sage, might constitute the beginning of a total transformation of a person. In a famed fragment of the Metaphysics (982b) Aristotle says that a philosopher is born from wonder. According the Plato’s Meno (80e) Socrates is reminiscent of a fish which, when touched, benumbs the person who touched it—his presence totally paralyzes the ability to give seemingly obvious answers. Socrates compares his mission to the workings of a stinger in the Apology (30e). He is like a gadfly released by the hand of a god who by stinging rouses the Athenian horse out of its slumber. Wonder, benumbing, and stinging are the essence of initiation through paradox. Initially paradox paralyzes the habits of reason and will, derails the ordinary course of life, and amazes with the discovery that things might be otherwise than we are inclined to believe. The encounter with the paradoxical nature of truth and virtue leaves very few indifferent: some it pains and disturbs, to others it seems comical, whereas others still think it dangerous. “Tell me, Socrates, are we to take you as being in earnest now, or joking? For if you are in earnest, and these things you’re saying are really true, won’t this human life of ours be turned upside down, and won’t everything we do evidently be the opposite of what we should do?”841 Is what everyone calls knowledge just plain stupidity? Does what we, without wavering, always label as the “good,” really deserve the name? However, our collision with the truth also gives birth to hope. By revealing our tendency to shrink away from our true stature—the inadequacy of our thoughts, the wretchedness of our lives and aspirations—paradox puts us face to face with our hidden desire for spiritual growth, the dream of something, if it really exists, which is worth more than anything we have ever encountered. This is because paradox unveils the mysterious horizon of the truth, the repressed yearning for something which hides beyond the decorations of the quotidian, the yearning for our natural, but unrealized, perfection. This is how the start of the road toward the truth and a total existential transformation might look like. And at the start there is almost always the encounter with a concrete person, the witness of an immutable truth, a master and spiritual guide. For young Plato it 841 Pl., Grg. 481c, op. cit., p. 826.

241

was Socrates, for Crates it was Diogenes, for Dionysus the Areopagite it was St. Paul, for Justin and many others it was the Christian martyrs from the time of the persecutions. The overpowering force of paradoxical teaching is surpassed and confirmed by the paradoxicality of the deeds, especially when materialized in the calling of the archparadox of death, which questions the worth of the very foundation of everything we value—the value of life. For ancient pagans this experience will focus around the person of Socrates, whereas for Christians around the mystery of Christ’s death on the cross. As St. Justin Martyr wrote, nobody before Christ was believed to compel others to die for his teachings to such a degree; he was believed not only by scholars and philosophers, but by simple people too, “despising both glory, and fear, and death.”842 The paradoxical stance of the perfect followers of Christ was the cause of conversions of successive generations of Christians. Clement of Alexandria wrote, following the belief that the witness of blood constitutes the seed of Christianity (semen christianorum), “since martyrs’ testimonies are examples of conversion gloriously sanctified.”843 And Tertullian believed the contempt of Christians for death almost immediately disturbed consciences and caused people to question themselves844, or as Clement of Alexandria said it causes fear845 and shames.846 Unrest and shame push people to explore the paradox, which gives birth to the desire to know the truth, or, as in Justin’s example847, to a confrontation of commonplace opinions by the majesty of witnessing through death. The next step is the desire for total transformation; the final step is readiness for death. “For who that contemplates it,” says Tertullian, “is not excited to inquire what is at the bottom of it? Who, after inquiry, does not embrace our doctrines? And when he has embraced them, desires not to suffer that he may become partaker of the fullness of God’s grace…”848 To summarize, the sequence is as follows: witness, wonder, striving for perfection, and witnessing. This is a proclamation through deeds in its entirety, a short biography of spiritual growth and at the same time the Christian genealogy of holiness. On the philosophical plane the stance toward death is inscribed within the context of the teaching of the Phaedo. Praeparatio mortis is a program of 842 Iust., Apol. II.10.8, op. cit., ANF1, p. 191–192. 843 Clem. Al., Str. IV.V.19.3–4, op. cit., ANF2, p. 412. 844 Tert., Scap. 5. 845 Clem. Al., Str. IV.IX.74.1. 846 Ibid. IV.IV.13.3. 847 Iust., Apol. II.12.1–3. 848 Tert., Ap. L.15, op. cit., ANF3, p. 55.

242

transformation, which is expressed in the language of apophatic philosophical categories. The encounter of the sage with death is the ultimate confrontation of the mutable and particular with the immutable and absolute: the confrontation of truth and opinion, spiritual perfection and the greatest of all passions—the lust for life. This is the reason why the steadfastness of the philosopher constitutes such an important witness of faithfulness to the truth, so much so that it is seen as a proof of citizenship within the land of the Logos. Arguments and the truth do not change in the face of death, because their power of persuasion no longer means anything to the sage. “I cannot, now that this fate has come upon me,” said Socrates to a friend who encouraged him to escape from prison, “discard the arguments I used; they seem to me much the same. I value and respect the same principles as before, and if we have no better arguments to bring up at this moment, be sure that I shall not agree with you, not even if the power of the majority were to frighten us with more bogeys, as if we were children, with threats of incarcerations and executions and confiscation of property.” A bit further, not without irony he asks, “Or was that well-spoken before the necessity to die came upon me, but now it is clear that this was said in vain for the sake of argument, that it was in truth play and nonsense?”849 Since the freedom of the sage is no longer constrained by any earthly ties, then no circumstances can change his answer to the calling. The truth is immutable. It cannot be corrected by democratic voting or the decisions of despots. The influence of these elements is exclusively limited to the body. The whole matter is complicated by the fact that contempt toward death is not the exclusive feature of wisdom. The philosophical teaching about death is a metaphor of a complete independence, of a total purification of the soul of all ties. Yet, all the same, there are manifestations of the passions that are stronger than the lust for life. Obviously, in those instances, contempt for death is not an instance of witnessing one’s faithfulness to the truth. In other words, in isolation one’s stance toward death is not sufficient to demonstrate the type of preparation for death intended by the philosophers. Therefore, the attempt to identify a perfect person must depend upon a definition that outlines the positive characteristics of the goal of human transformation. In other words, what is needed is a definition of what happens when a person is likened to God. While the perspective of the Phaedo uncovers everything that must be rejected, the Theaetetus helps us understand what the sage witnesses to through his word and deed, and also what man becomes when he reaches his telos. Yet, even here, further 849 Pl., Cri. 46b-d, op. cit., p. 41.

243

difficulties rear their heads. Although certain elements are indisputable for all— the sage knows the truth, his nature is in a state of perfection (Cicero simply says that virtue is nature in the state of perfection850)—yet also in this instance there is no criterion which allows for a faultless identification of the person who has become, in the degree to which it is possible for a human being, likened to God. Things are this way, first of all, because the various concepts of perfection vary from each other, and second, because—as Plato writes in the Sophist—real (not imagined philosophers) are difficult to recognize, “But probably it’s no easier, I imagine, to distinguish that kind of person than it is to distinguish gods. Certainly the genuine philosophers who ‘haunt our cities’—by contrast to the fake ones—take on all sorts of different appearances… Sometimes they take on the appearance of statesmen, and sometimes of sophists. Sometimes, too, they might give the impression that they’re completely insane.”851 This problem cannot be resolved through any typology of paradoxical manifestations of a likeness to God. Wisdom manifests itself in such a wild variety of ways that it would be impossible to deposit some unchanging model of its manifestations in a philosophical Sèvres. The problem is that no singular trial, even the most dramatic, is capable of evaluating the true quality of any conversion. Suspicion, which makes us see in the death of Peregrinus signs of pride and the craving of fame, allows us to suspect in every human deed the impulse of false wisdom. Perfection measured according to the criterion of Laches is manifested with the whole of a life, both in all that is manifest and in everything that is hidden from the eyes of observers. This principle, if we follow Epictetus in saying that the perfection of a witness is decided by the whole of his life, is in the final analysis the same as saying that likeness to God, without risking error, can only be adjudicated by God. The lack of a criterion that makes possible a faultless identification of a sage-God is not coincidental, instead, it is at the heart of the type of thinking which makes direct

850 Cf. Cic., Leg. I.8.24–25, in: Cicero, On the Commonwealth and On the Laws, op. cit., p. 114: “And although all the other things of which humans are composed came from mortal stock and were fragile and bound to perish, the soul was implanted in us by god. Hence there is in truth a family relationship between us and the gods, what can be called a common stock or origin… The result is that they acknowledge god as a sort of recollection and acknowledgment of their origin. Furthermore, virtue is the same in human and god, and it is found in no other species besides; and virtue is nothing else than nature perfected and taken to its highest level. There is, therefore, a similarity between the human and god. And since that is so, what closer or more certain relationship can there possibly be?” 851 Pl., Sph. 216c-d, op. cit., p. 237.

244

knowledge the height of spiritual development. In other words, it all boils down to the judgment that if our goal is gaining direct knowledge, then from the start, because no other possibilities are open, it is most reasonable to believe, that is, believe reasonably. For all who refuse to abandon an absolutistic understanding of knowledge, one that accepts the skeptical diagnosis of human limitations, the path to perfection must begin with faith. Knowledge is always preceded by faith. To paraphrase Theophilus in his To Autolycus: everything is preceded by faith. Ignatius of Antioch wrote, “None of these things is hid from you, if you perfectly possess that faith and love towards Christ Jesus which are the beginning and the end of life. For the beginning is faith, and the end is love.”852 If we accept that there is no starting point that could offer an infallible certainty and obviousness (along the lines of Stoic graspable notions), then we must agree that so long as we do not participate in perfection, then we are condemned to opinions. This situation was common to both Christians and the pupils of Platonic philosopher-kings. Their faith is a type of introductory life-hypothesis, which is enlivened by the hope of going beyond the boundaries of the hypothetical. It is a fact that the ultimate justification of true statement cannot be the result of any universally available proof, yet this obviously does not meant that the succeeding stages of spiritual transformation are totally incomprehensible to the philosophical novice, however, only a full conversion will give him full knowledge. The relationship of the imperfect philosopher to a perfect one essentially describes the relationship of faith to knowledge. If knowledge is a state of mind proper to a person who sees or possesses the truth, then we can say that faith, understood as a true opinion, is distinguished from knowledge not by its truth, but by a person. “Faith is then, so to speak, a comprehensive knowledge of the essentials; and knowledge is the strong and sure demonstration of what is received by faith, built upon faith by the Lord’s teaching, conveying [the soul] on to infallibility, science, and comprehension.”853 We should not forget that doctrine is not the protagonist of ancient doctrine; instead, it is a human being striving toward wisdom. Books and intellectual masters can pass on the truth (true opinions), but never lasting knowledge. This is the central theme of Plato’s Meno: perfection cannot be 852 Ign., Eph. 14.1, op. cit., ANF1, p. 55. 853 Clem. Al., Str. VII.X.57.3, op. cit., ANF2, p. 539. The categories of pistis and gnosis in Clement (without any of the shortcuts which were necessary in our presentation) is the work: Salvatore R.C. Lilla, Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971, especially the chapter “‘Pistis’, ‘Gnosis’, Cosmology and Theology”, p. 118–226.

245

simply passed on, it can only be achieved through individual moral and intellectual effort. Even if our attitudes toward the possibility of rational control over the subsequent stages might vary, philosophical paideia requires an element of faith that the pointers which direct us are real.854 Thus, if truth can only be known by way of direct contact, then those who know—that is, witnesses of the truth—are in a way above proofs. As Justin wrote, the prophets, who saw the truth, did not seek proofs for what they were talking about, because, and he stressed this, “they were witnesses to the truth above all demonstration…”855 Seeing the truth towers over proving it, because, in itself, it is the elementary condition for any proving which is not merely hypothetical.856 Without leaning on knowledge, it is really improbable one will distinguish the true from the false. “What”, asks Socrates in the Republic, “Haven’t you noticed that opinions without knowledge are shameful and ugly things? The best of them are blind…”857 Justin Martyr adds, “…for these things cannot be perceived or understood by all, but only by the man to whom God and His Christ have imparted wisdom.”858 Did philosophy, which nullified all authorities right from its inception, in the epoch of its intellectual maturity simply return to them? Is this maturity or degeneration? After all, according to Leo Strauss’ description of philosophy’s genesis, “By uprooting the authority of the ancestral, philosophy recognizes that nature is the authority,” or more precisely, nature is the criterion, because reason becomes its authority.859 From this angle, the discovery of nature that stands at the foundations of philosophy must be accomplished at the cost of all other ways of legitimating answers to fundamental questions. Strauss also notes how it is no coincidence that in Plato’s Republic the conversation about nature starts right when the elder Cephalus, a representative of pre-philosophical authority, leaves those gathered.860 Is late antiquity the epoch of Cephalus’ return, who will once again, without any changes, play out the same role as before? It seems not. The authority of a philosophical sage is substantially different from the authority of the guardians of authority. After all, it is not a turning from nature and reason, 854 Cf. Clement’s description (Str. VII.XI.60.1–68.5) of the spiritual path of the Christian gnostic from wonder and faith, through moral exercises which lead to perfection, right up to knowing God “face to face”. 855 Iust., Dial. I.7.2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 198. 856 Cf. Eric Osborn, Justin…, op. cit., 70–71; Clem. Al., Str. VIII.III.6–7; Pl., R. 505–508. 857 Pl., R. 506c, op. cit., p. 1127. 858 Iust., Dial. I.7.3, op. cit., ANF1, p. 198. 859 Leo Strauss, op. cit., p. 91. 860 Ibid., p. 84.

246

instead, it is the expression of philosophical self-consciousness. Coming to know the truth cannot be the effect of an epistemological procedure that undergoes intersubjective control. Since reason itself seems to be condemned to making errors, man once again becomes the authority not as a witness to tradition, but as a witness to God, nature and reason. The man who has reached perfection becomes the new hope for discovering nature. His authority is the authority of ultimate reality. The element which decides the extraordinary position given to witnessing, in both Christianity and Epictetus, seems to be the presupposition of a particular kind of identity of the witness and the object of his witnessing. To a certain degree, the witness is that which he witnesses about (we should stress: the likeness is an identity in some regards). For people who are sunk in opinions, truth comes through the mediation of those who have undergone and completed a spiritual conversion. Obviously, this understanding of the matter is already inscribed into the understanding of philosophizing as a transformation and a return. The logic of the praxis-oriented teaching, whose goal is the transformation of life, means that both the philosophical sage and the Christian witness, through their perfection, become what they witness to. The criterion of Laches has gone a long way, but essentially, the presupposition which lies at its bases did not undergo change. The witness in whom there reigns an authentic Hellenic harmony (Laches, 188d), manifests the existence of this harmony. If it is a trait of God, then the witness is likened to god. We should remember that the witness is a representative of order who does not abolish nature and reason, instead he constitutes their realization. The discovery of God in man circumscribes the basic principle of affinity or likeness, which allows us to accept that imperfect human nature participates in a universal order. Tertullian points toward this when he writes about the witness of the soul which is Christian by nature. When it is purified from the disease of the passions and the destructive influence of a false education861 the soul becomes a witness of nature and God.862 Witnessing is not an escape, but rather is the result of a return to our lost nature and reason. The witness fully participates in what everyone participates in imperfectly. Divinity is humanity’s goal and calling. The real measure of man, as Plato said in the Laws (716c), is not what is particular (sensual man), but instead it is the universal (God). The truth does not destroy nature and reason, even if it goes beyond the horizon which is imposed on human reason by its relation to the body. This was the essence of the argument

861 Tert., Ap. XVII.5; Test. 1. 862 Cf. Tert., Test. 5–6.

247

between Socrates and Callicles. What appears paradoxical in light of particular opinions, discloses itself as good and reasonable in the universal perspective. The demonstration of this perspective establishes the evidentiary value of witnessing. The novice philosopher does not actually posses a justified certainty, but this does not entail making a sacrifice of reason. To a great degree it is witnessing which causes his choice not to be arbitrary. The perfection of our master can be a serious argument that vouches for the truth of the doctrine which will direct our lives. The faith that somebody is a sage, whose accuracy in describing the state of things (the nature and goal of man) leads to conclusions, which also give others hope for realizing human perfection, decides about the credibility of his teaching. It seems that the Christians would subscribe to what the Cynic told Epictetus: the sage witnesses to the fact that the hope for happiness independent of outside circumstances is not a vain hope. Perfection is possible because he, the witness and messenger (angelos) of god, is perfect.863 When looking at all these analogies between Christianity and philosophy we must not lose sight of the merely formal character of these similarities. It is entirely obvious that the object of an Epictetan Cynic’s witness is different from the witnessing of a Christian. Yet, in both instances, the complete conversion has its ontic dimension, where the representative of a lost and postulated order is a sensory manifestation of a hidden reality. This is precisely how we understand the Pauline apodeiksis pneumatos and the witnessing of prophets and martyrs. According to the Christians, the martyrs reveal perfection on a human scale, by likening themselves to the humility of Christ. Through their person, the reality of Christian hope is manifested, and through them, we encounter Christ.864 Even if martyrdom cannot 863 In Clem. Al., Str. VII.X.57.4, op. cit, ANF2, p. 539, this identity is marked by the likeness between the subject and object of knowledge, which is accomplished through the deepest love: “And, in my view, the first saving change is that from heathenism to faith, as I said before; and the second, that from faith to knowledge. And the latter terminating in love, thereafter gives the loving to the loved, that which knows to that which is known. And, perchance, such an one has already attained the condition of ‘being equal to the angels.’” 864 Austin Farrer, “Revelation” in Faith and Logic, Basil Mitchel (ed.), London: Allen & Unwin, 1957, p. 104 writes: “The faith in the inspiration of Christians, and to a higher degree, of saints and apostles, is no afterthought, no additional article for buttressing a faith already received. It is the Christian’s starting point. If he is confronted (as he believes) with the divine, it is not in a historical figure whom he cannot directly reach, but in a living and speaking faith which he encounters. To him, Christ speaks through the apostle and both through living Christians and also through the new believer’s own heart.”

248

replace an individual path to perfection, it still seems to be the highest of all available proofs of the doctrine which is supposed to direct man to his goal. The proof-manifestation does not have the stigma of the uncertainty of conceptual argumentation. It is a kind of eyewitness verification of the truths of faith, an eyewitness account of the limits of spiritual development.865 Obviously, even the existence of a sage seen with our very own eyes can at best be believed. The question is as follows: can we believe reasonably? If the witness is supposes to constitute the argument for the credibility of the teaching, then we must ask the following: what constitutes his credibility? The fragment from the Sophist suggests that the proof for the existence of a man who is likened to God (who is a kind of ethical and epistemological absolute) is essentially a problem comparable to the proof for the existence of God. Clearly, we are not aiming here at a definitive proof, for an ultimate justification. Since there is no possibility of going beyond the space of credibility, then the most crucial problem is how not to believe blindly. We have seen distinctly that even though the Christian idea of likening oneself to God in its most elementary structures is reminiscent of the pagan conception (knowledge, virtue, immortality), yet Revelation is paradoxical to philosophy’s eyes—the object of its witnessing is not some conciliatory and eclectic wisdom. This is why the fundamental point of reference for Christians is not the criterion of Laches or the Theaetetus, but

865 Here I would like to quote at length Eric Osborn’s commentary, Justin Martyr, op. cit., p. 73 upon the work De Resurrectione which was attributed to Justin. It is a wonderful supplement to our concluding comments. “The word of truth is eleutheros and autexousios. It falls under no test of proof and its hearers cannot submit it to any logical examination. It is believed because of its nobility and trustworthy origin, ‘the word of truth is sent from God’. It bears its own authority and naturally does not look for any proofs. There is nothing beyond the truth which is God. Every proof is stronger and more credible than the thing which is proved. There is nothing stronger and more credible than the truth. To ask for a proof of the truth is like asking for a verbal logical proof of ta phainomena tais aisthesesi… dioti phainetai…. Perception is the kriterion of the things received by reason. There is nothing beyond perception which might be its kriterion. Just as we test the reasonings and sayings of men by comparison with aisthesis ‘in the same way we send off human and worldly reasoning to the truth and we judge by this whether they are bad or non-existent. But we judge the words of truth by nothing else, but believe in it.’ Truth is God, the Father of the universe, who is nous teleios. His word became a son and came to us clothed in flesh. He declared himself and the Father, giving to us in himself the resurrection of the dead and the eternal life hereafter. This is Jesus Christ, our savior and Lord. He then is himself, pistis and apodeiksis of himself and of all things.”

249

the Bible. When they speak of being likened to God, Christians move within a space at least partially comprehensible for philosophers, however, when it comes to the most elementary matters, their Christocentric witness decidedly goes beyond the boundaries of common presuppositions. Also, the problem of the relative value of criteria of likeness to God was not a problem which particularly preoccupied the pupils of Christ. As we saw, the Christian criterion applied toward every concrete witness is the Bible and tradition, which constitute a compact collection of witnesses acknowledged to be authentic. The credibility of Christ’s witness is confirmed by the witness of the prophets866, while the perfection of the prophets is measured by the teaching and person of Christ. Is this not a spectacular example of proving something already agreed upon? What use will this criterion be to people who reject the teachings of the Bible? Christians are aware of these difficulties. This is why Justin worked out a proof of the credibility of Old Testament witnesses, carried out on the basis of prophecies which were fulfilled in the life of the Savior and the history of the Church.867 The weak points of this argument are often stressed, which according to the intentions of the Christian philosopher offered a proof that was convincing even to pagans.868 Ironically, as the Dialogue with Trypho shows, it was especially hard to accept for those who believed in the teachings of the Old Testament. It is hard to deny that the way in which the prophecies fulfilled themselves were far from being entirely obvious. The real power of this type of reasoning seems to lie elsewhere. The arresting unity of the witnesses whose object is the teaching and salvific work of Christ shows the existence of a consensus sapientium which is difficult to ignore. If so many people, who on the basis of the fallible criterion of the Phaedo (it clearly has its pluses too) can be acknowledged as perfect, and they all witnessed to the same truth, then it is much more credible to believe the conviction that we are dealing with a consensus of sages, not idiots. We will now

866 This is why Justin is shocked that the Jews wanted to talk about Christianity in the language of the philosophers and not the Holy Scripture (Dial. I.1.3), as well as why Justin’s most substantial proof of Christ is carried out in light of the Old Testament’s prophecies (Apol. I.30–53). 867 Cf. Jean Daniélou, op. cit., p. 211–220. An analysis and copious documentation is presented in Oskar Skarsaune, The Proof from Prophecy: A Study in Justin Martyr’s Proof-Text , Text-Type, Provenance, Theological Profile, Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 1987. 868 Ibid., p. 213. Henry Chadwick, op. cit., p. 280, thought that this argument might have been one of the most substantial reasons for Justin’s very own conversion. Cf. Epist. ad Harn. 1.7.

250

return to the judicial roots of the concept of martyrdom. In especially difficult cases, the witness of one person is not enough: even, as the old Roman proverb went, if that witness were Cato.869 It is obvious that the amount of compatible testimonies of credible witnesses influences the value attributed to the thesis presented before the tribunal. People of various times, languages, professions, social standing, intellectual formation, both Jews, Greeks and Romans, scholars and common folk, women, men, elders and children, unbending in the face of death and torture, gave consonant witness to Christ. This is not about the problematic chain of witnesses, where trust in the first constitutes the condition for credibility of the next. It is the astounding coherence of those who, “alone both saw and announced the truth to men, neither reverencing nor fearing any man, not influenced by a desire for glory, but speaking those things alone which they saw and which they heard, being filled with the Holy Spirit.”870 The witness of the word from the Theaetetus, who is an uncertain source of knowledge ex auditu, as a witness through deed, transforms himself into a source of knowledge ex vision. However, it is only sensory vision not intellectual, but it is direct and maybe the only one available to humans who are condemned to opinions. The witnesses, who see the truth with the spiritual eye, are themselves seen with the aid of the senses. The natural consequence of this fact will be a partial rehabilitation of the credibility of sensory knowledge871—not in the sense that it would necessarily be given the value of being a criterion in the Stoic sense, but through a stance of reasonably distancing itself from the hypercritical stance of the Skeptics. The evidentiary value of witnessing does not offer the certainty that accompanies the act of direct knowledge of intellectual objects. Here the credibility of hope is at stake. This is why this, perhaps the best of all available methods of proving the truth of Christianity cannot be taken as an argument which is immune to criticism. The certainty that faith solely and objectively describes reality is the exclusive share of authentic witnesses. This is why the argumentative value of martyrdom can be ignored. The consequential skeptic can reject the apodeiksis of martyrdom by questioning its motivations (madness, pride, stupidity), by questioning the value of sensory knowledge, and finally by rejecting the truth claims of this understanding of perfection which is realized through death for the faith. Essentially, thoroughgoing skepticism constitutes the impassable threshold of every revelation that is not characterized by direct knowledge. The

869 Cf. Plu., Cat. Mi. 19. 870 Iust., Dial. I.7.1–2, op. cit., ANF1, p. 198. 871 Cf. Eric Osborn, Justin…, op. cit., p. 74–76.

251

witness of Christ is not in a situation entirely different from the situation of Christ himself. Even when facing the Archangel Gabriel, who is standing right next to him, the skeptic can stubbornly judge that we are dealing with an ordinary delusion. Through imitating the Savior, the witnesses of all epochs reproduce the mysterious presence of God in the world of the senses. Thanks to their efforts the witness which Christ gave nearly two thousand years ago becomes, for all who encounter them, a contemporary event. Christians know that the encounter with a witness does not necessarily change a life. Witnessing is not coercion, but a chance which can be rejected, while faith is not only a question of reason which judges the credibility of the witness, but above all, a grace. This is why when for many as the demonstration of the limits of preparing for death and likening to God, martyrdom possessed the power to incline them to enter upon the way of paradoxical truth, while for others it turned out to be insufficient. We must say that the ancient concept of martyrdom-witness was inscribed into a philosophy with a high degree of self-consciousness. It is protected from the accusation of philosophical naïveté by skeptical arguments, which could constitute an interpretation of the cognitive consequences of Original Sin. Obviously, the concept of martyrdom as a proof will not satisfy the expectations of philosophers who are convinced about the greatness of reason, such as Anselm of Canterbury, but it will also avoid the many weaknesses which dog their doctrines. Above all, witnessing constitutes the only existing attempt of a philosophical proof which bears fruit in revealing not only the God of the philosophers, the Absolute Measure, Truth, Goodness or Goal, but also a proof of Truth personified—the living Christ, Savior and Lord who loves, dies and is resurrected. The rift between the individual and the universal is thereby healed.872 God first crossed it. After all, the Word became flesh, where the incarnation of the Logos, the personification of truth, is an act which builds bridges between the historical and particular, and the universal. This is a crucial, perhaps the main, path of Christian philosophy. In a concrete, unrepeatable, individual life, suffering and death manifests the existence of a God who is just as much the God of the philosophers as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The limits of discourse are abolished. The truth about man and God, which cannot be expressed, can be seen.

872 Cf. The interesting observations of Paweł Lisicki in the essay “Świadek i zakładnik” [Witness and Hostage] in Debata, 3, 1998, p. 62–63.

252

Index A Abel 141 Abraham 179, 252 Agathonice 227, 261 Agrippa 125 Aenesidemus 111, 112 Aeschylus 142, 272 Albert Karl 190–192, 268 Alexander the Martyr, St. 123, 131, 227 Alexander the Great 146, 273 Alcibiades 75 Alcmaeon of Croton 116 Alighieri Dante 165 Altaner Berthold 144, 147, 268 Alvarez Alfredo 163, 268 Anacreon 161 Ananias 239 Anaxagoras 29, 32, 56, 122, 150, 176, 187 Anaxarchus 113, 142, 144, 146, 147, 149, 176, 177 Annas Julia 266 Antiochus IV Epiphanes 91, 92, 114, 271 Antigonus of Carystus 112, 121 Antipas 88 Antisthenes of Rhodes 121 Anytus 147 Anselm of Canterbury 252 Apollodores 56 Apollonius of Tyana 144, 146, 178, 199, 270 Aratus of Soli 19, 269 Ariston 197 Arcesilaus 110, 114, 271 Armstrong Arthur Hilary 65, 78, 162, 268, 270, 273 Arnobius 134 Arrius Antoninus 125, 149 Artaphernes 123

Aristobulus 80 Aristophanes 56, 57 Aristotle 44, 45, 56, 58, 65, 66, 68, 71, 72, 74, 82, 83, 85, 117, 118, 131, 136, 146, 150, 151, 154, 156, 167, 168, 187, 189, 190, 193, 194, 197, 198, 213, 241, 266 Aristides 79, 144, 147 Aristippus 123, 131, 176 Athenagoras of Athens 58, 209, 212, 216, 217, 262 Attagas 109 Augustine, St. 7, 72, 89, 115, 182 B Bach Johann Sebastian 70 Baker John Austin 201, 269 Banak Jerzy 17 Barnabas 85, 199, 211 Barnes Timothy David 173, 182, 268 Bauer Walter 21, 28, 33, 37, 48, 49, 267 Baumeister Theofried 88, 92, 94, 98, 268 Barnard Leslie William 133, 266 Bezalel 41 Bett Richard 114, 267 Betz Hans Dieter 198, 268 Bieler Ludwig 198, 268 Blandina, St. 178, 220, 224, 227, 239 Bousset Wilhelm 91 Bowersock Glen Warren 87, 88, 93, 97, 146, 268 Brown Peter 219, 268 Brox Norbert 95, 97, 98, 100, 128, 268 Bujko Monika 80, 270 Burkert Walter 191 Butterweck Christel 156, 268 Butterworth George William 203, 204, 216, 268 253

Bynum Caroline Walker 165, 208, 209, 219, 222, 223, 268 C Calicles 73, 76, 120, 151, 154, 192, 248 Callinicus 147 Callisthenes of Olynthus 146 Campenhausen Hans von 93, 98, 268 Carneades 45–47, 49, 109, 114, 115, 271 Carpus 178, 220, 226, 227 Cato the Younger 170, 172, 176, 195, 251 Cebes 148, 156 Celsus 82, 149 Cephalus 246 Chadwick Henry 42, 51, 250, 267, 269 Chrysippus 168, 198 Cicero 65, 68, 72, 73, 77, 79, 96, 109–111, 113, 116, 117, 121, 126, 137, 147, 156, 170, 183, 189, 195, 196, 244, 262, 266, 272 Clarke George W. 141, 266 Claudius 139, 265 Cleanthes 19 Clearchus 80 Clement of Alexandria 13, 72, 79, 89, 127, 135–138, 144, 148, 158–162, 177, 179, 181, 185, 189, 202–207, 212, 213, 215, 227, 228, 237, 238, 240, 242, 245, 246, 248, 262, 268, 272, 273, Clement of Rome 88, 206, 215, 217, 262 Coady C.A.J. 103, 104, 108, 269 Constantine 79, 140, 266 Costa Charles Desmond Nuttall 82, 267 Cooper John Madison 28, 267 Crates 168, 242 Crisp Roger 266 Crito 142, 166, 192, 243, 264 Cyprian of Carthage, St. 89, 93, 125, 140, 141, 156–158, 160, 173, 178, 254

214, 216, 220, 233–235, 238, 261, 262, 266, 267 Czajkowski Michał 49, 269 D Damaris 26 Daniélou Jean 132, 139, 201, 205, 250, 269 Davie John 267 Dąbrowski Eugeniusz 18, 19, 25, 28, 33, 57, 269 Decius 147, 173 Delehaye Hippolyte 87, 93, 95, 269 Delumeau Jean 221, 269 Deman Thomas 30, 269 Demetrius 96, 170 Democritus 64, 65, 73, 74, 122, 142 Dembińska-Siury Dobrochna 15 Dibelius Martin 20, 24, 269 Dio Cassius 142 Diodotos 66 Diogenes Laertius 20, 22, 29, 56, 57, 63–66, 68, 73, 76, 77, 101, 102, 109–116, 118, 121, 122, 123, 124, 142, 146, 151, 157, 168, 169, 176, 197, 198, 262, 266 Diogenes of Apollonia 64 Diogenes of Sinope 54, 60, 73, 76, 85, 96, 126, 130, 147, 168, 198, 242, Dobbin Robert 127, 266 Dodds Eric R. 169, 185, 198, 215, 269 Domański Juliusz 15, 53, 54, 61, 69, 71, 80, 117, 122, 126, 186, 269, 270 Domański Piotr 54, 270 Domitian 139, 181 Drewery Benjamin J. 200 Drewnowski Jerzy 190, 268 Droge Arthur J. 163, 166, 168, 171, 270 Dudley Donald R. 142, 181, 270 Durkheim Emile 14 Dido 149 Dzielska Maria 199, 270

E Echecrates 174 Eco Umberto 121 Edwards Catharine 139, 267 Edwards Mark J. 181, 270 Eleazar 91, 93 Elijah 219 Empedocles 56, 63, 122, 124, 144, 150, 157, 185, 198, 266 Epictetus 13, 94–100, 103, 124–129, 132, 134, 135, 143, 169, 170, 232, 244, 247, 248, 266, 271 Epicurus 96, 103, 118, 122, 145, 198 Epimenides 19, 22, 60, 269 Erasmus of Rotterdam 54, 71, 269 Eurylochus 110, 123 Euripides 151 Eusebius of Caesarea 79, 88, 89, 91, 173, 220–222, 224, 225, 227, 237, 238, 239, 263, 266 Evagrius of Pontus 79 Ezekiel 211 F Farrer Austin M. 248 Fagles Robert 116, 266 Favorinus 28 Felicitas of Rome 134, 220, 221 Flavius Arrianus 97, 125 Flavian 220, 226 Fox Robin L. 93, 96, 270 Frend W.H.C. 91–94, 100, 270 Fructuosus 221, 239 G Gaius Mucius Scaevola 149 Galen 82 Gartner Bertil E. 20, 24, 270 Geffcken Johannes 94, 95, 270 Gigon Olof 54, 270 Gilson Étienne 141, 270 Greenslade S.L. 125, 267

Gressmann Hugo 91 Gregory the Great, St. 89 Gummere Richard D. 96, 267 H Hadot Ilsetraut 78, 270 Hadot Pierre 60, 61, 63, 64, 66, 69, 75, 78, 153, 154, 270 Hadrian 18 Harnack Adolf von 17, 18, 270, 271 Harpalus 97 Hecataeus of Abdera 80 Helvidius Priscus 95, 143 Heraclitus 30, 55, 56, 63, 66, 67, 74, 76, 122, 266 Hermas 88, 201, 202, 206, 207, 211 Hermias 131 Hermotimus 82, 187 Herod 238 Hesiod 30, 271 Hintikka Jaako 107, 187, 271 Hippolytus 132, 206 Homer 30, 116, 199, 266, 271 Horace 141 Hutchinson D.S. 28, 117, 267 I Iamblichus 156 Ignatius of Antioch, St. 140, 172, 178, 179, 208, 214, 222, 223, 233, 234, 236, 245, 263 Irenaeus of Lyons 49, 72, 203, 206, 209–211, 214, 217, 263 Isaac 252 Isaiah 91, 144, 211 J Jaeger Werner 18, 80, 82, 142, 271 Jacob 252 James the Lesser 139 Jason of Cyrene 91 Jerome, St. 22, 89, 125, 267 255

Jesus Christ 14, 25, 27, 30, 47–49, 51, 79, 90, 98, 99, 131, 139, 147, 161, 179, 222, 223, 226, 234, 236, 245, 249, 269 Joachimowicz Leon 110, 126, 271 John the Apostle, St. 7, 35, 88, 97, 98, Jonas Hans 72, 271 Julian of Eclanum 59, 212 Justin Martyr, St. 13, 14, 79, 80, 82, 85, 127, 130–135, 140, 145, 175, 177–180, 183, 202–204, 208, 209, 211, 217, 218, 225, 229–232, 242, 246, 249–251, 266, 273

Lisicki Paweł 252, 272 Lohfink Gerhard 21, 272 Lohmeyer Ernst 46 Long George 128, 266 Longosz Stanisław 86, 89, 90, 93, 94, 137, 140, 178, 183, 184, 216, 223, 233, 235, 236, 272 Lucilius 189 Lucian of Samosata 30, 82, 170, 181, 182, 189, 267 Luke St. 17, 18, 20, 21, 28, 30, 32, 274

K Kania Ireneusz 199, 270 Kant Immanuel 121 Kee Howard C. 49, 199, 271 Kelly John N.D. 17, 82, 132, 206, 207, 209, 211, 271 Kerferd George Briscoe 118, 271 Kertelge Karl 90, 271 Kołakowski Leszek 115, 271 Krokiewicz Adam 63, 74, 109–111, 114, 117, 186, 271, 272 Kumaniecki Kazimierz 121, 272 Kung Hans 200 Kupis Bogdan 121

Ł Łomnicki Edward 49, 86, 87, 90, 179, 182, 183, 272

L Laches 101–103, 106, 120, 128, 236, 244, 247, 249, 264 Lactantius 134 Lawson-Tancred Hugh 150, 266 Leaena 149 Legrand Lucien 18, 21, 23, 25, 272 Legutko Ryszard 103, 105–107, 272 Leon of the Phliasians 73 Leon-Dufour Xavier 87, 267 Leśniak Kazimierz 121 Leucippus 65 Liddel 22, 33, 44, 267 Lilla Salvatore 245, 272 256

M MacIntyre Alasdair 61, 272 McGregor Horace Cecil Pancras 65, 266 Malingrey Anne-Marie 80, 272 Marcion 161, 162 Marcus R.A. 65, 78, 162, 268 Marcus Aurelius 79, 141, 181 Marrou Henri-Irenee 132, 269 Maślanka-Soro Maria 142, 272 Matthew the Apostle, St. 129 McKenna Stephen 72, 266 Meeks Wayne A. 62, 78, 135, 272 Megasthenes 80 Meletus 28, 29, 147 Melito of Sardis 79 Metrocles 168 Mickiewicz Franciszek 90, 271 Minucius Felix 65, 79, 82, 130–132, 178, 179, 183, 202, 208, 209, 211, 217, 263 Moses 41, 219 Musurillo Herbert A. 86, 87, 91, 134, 141, 144, 147, 178, 181, 220–227, 235, 237–240, 261

N Nearchus 142 Nero 125, 132, 139, 140, 171, 265 Nicholson Oliver 173, 272 Niemirska-Pliszczyńska Janina 207 Nietzsche Friedrich 192, 193, 273 Nicocreon 142, 176 Noce Celestino 87–89, 96, 173, 214, 233–235, 238, 273 Nock A.D. 60, 62, 78, 96, 103, 141, 169, 170, 198, 273 Norden Eduard 18, 273 Norwid Cyprian 19, 273 Numenius of Apamea 109 O Octavius 82, 263 Olympiodorus 192 Olszewski Witold 121 O’Meara John J. 115, 159, 266, 267 Origen 49, 51, 79, 82, 89, 93, 149, 156, 159–162, 173, 200, 228, 235, 237, 267 Osborn Eric 163, 164, 200–204, 214, 229, 231, 246, 249, 251, 273 P Pachciarek Paweł 144, 268 Paliwoda Paweł 15 Papias of Hierapolis 211 Parmenides 54, 62 Paul, St. 7, 17–53, 57, 59, 85, 88, 91, 98, 99, 115, 130, 134, 144, 155, 159, 165, 199, 205, 207, 209, 212–215, 217, 228, 240, 242, 269 Pelagius 59, 212 Pellegrino Michele 235, 263, 273 Pepin Jean 161, 273 Peregrinus 30, 170, 181, 198, 244, 270 Perpetua 134, 178, 221, 226, 235, 261 Perseus 197 Petrarch 121 Phaedo 105, 106, 108, 120, 136, 142,

147–149, 152, 154–156, 158–160, 166, 167, 170, 174, 176–180, 184, 185, 192, 228, 242, 243, 250, 264 Philolaus 148, 166 Philo of Alexandria 41, 42, 80, 193, 267 Philo of Larissa 114, 271 Philostratus 199 Pindar 55 Pionius, St. 147, 149, 178, 222, 224 Peter, St. 214, 215 Piso 195, 196 Pittacus of Mytilene 56 Plato 13, 14, 28, 29, 33, 44, 45, 52, 55–58, 61, 62, 65–68, 71–76, 82, 83, 85, 101–110, 115, 116, 118–120, 124, 126, 130, 131, 134, 142–144, 148, 149, 151–154, 156, 158, 160, 162, 163, 166–169, 174–176, 180, 185–193, 197–201, 203, 204–207, 210, 213, 230, 241, 243–247, 264, 267, 271, 272 Pliny the Younger 139, 140, 146, 267 Plotinus 200 Plutarch 22, 125, 176, 199, 251, 264 Polycarp, St. 86, 173, 214, 221–227, 234, 235, 238, 240 Pomian Krzysztof 108, 273 Poniatowski Zygmunt 35, 98, 273 Porphyry 97, 199, 267 Pristinus 182 Protagora 29, 188 Pythagoras 56, 60, 65, 68, 73, 77, 117, 122, 123, 198, 199 R Ramsay William 27, 273 Reale Giovanni 55, 64, 67, 68, 73, 105, 273 Regulus 149 Richardson Alan 35, 38, 273 Rist John M. 118, 165–169, 171, 198, 271, 273 257

Roberts W. Rhys 44, 266 Rubellius Plautus 95 Rufinius 147, 149 Rusecki Marian 48, 49, 273 Ryder Smith C. 87 S Sabina, St. 178 Sanctus 87, 178, 224, 269 Sappho 55 Sardanapalus 145 Satyrus 121 Schweitzer Eduard 18, 20, 274 Sextus Empiricus 46, 69, 109, 114, 264, 267 Seneca 96, 125, 126, 137, 147, 158, 168, 170–172, 179, 188, 189, 264, 267 Silas 134 Simmias 148, 149, 156, 178 Skarsaune Oskar 250 Snell Bruno Socrates185, 274 Solon 56, 60, 102 Sophocles 142, 272 Sophroniscus 28 Soranus 142 Sotion of Alexandria 121 Stanula Emil 15 Starowieyski Marek 17, 89, 135, 173, 220, 233, 268, 274 Stewart E.M. 87, 267 Strauss Leo 31, 32, 63, 246, 274 Stuiber Alfred 144, 147, 268 Stephen, St. 26, 88, 99, 139, 219, 221, 226 T Tabor James D. 163, 166, 168, 171, 270 Tacitus 139, 140, 181, 265 Tarnowska Maria 132, 269 Tatarkiewicz Władysław 70, 274 Tatian 79, 130, 131, 177, 201–204, 217, 265, 267 258

Tertullian 13, 14, 17, 49, 57, 59, 79, 80, 82, 125, 127, 130–135, 137, 139, 144–149, 157, 159, 160, 162–164, 166, 173, 177, 179–182, 192, 195, 201–203, 206, 209–211, 214, 215, 217–220, 226, 235, 237, 242, 247, 265, 267 Thales of Miletus 54, 56, 66, 74, 76, 122, 131, 176 Theognis of Megara 162 Theophilus of Antioch 131, 145, 203, 211, 217, 245 Thrasea Paetus 95, 142, 170 Tiede David L. 199 Timaeus 187, 188, 210, 264 Timon of Phlius 109, 112, 117, 271 Trajan 28, 140, 146 Tredennick H. 28, 267 V Valerian 173 Vespasian 143 Vettius Epagatus 238 W Walsh P.G. 140, 267 Waterfield R. 28, 267 Whittaker Molly 131, 267 Więckowski Zbiginiew 240 Williamson Geoffrey Arthur 79, 266 Winston David 41, 267 Wipszycka Ewa 140, 274 Witwicki Władysław 105 Wojciechowski Michał 47, 263 Wright M.R. 150, 266 Wujek Jakub 21 X Xenophanes of Colophon 31, 117, 198 Xenophon of Athens 28, 30, 72, 85, 117, 118, 263, 267 Xenocrates 69, 76

Y Yonge C.D. 22, 113, 266 Z Zacharias 238 Zalewski Sylwester 141, 270

Zeno of Citium 169, 176, 183, 198 Zeno of Elea 85, 122, 126, 137, 142, 144, 146, 149, 166, 168 Zetzel James E.G. 77, 266

259

Bibliography Greek and Latin Sources Ad Diognetum Ed. Meecham G., Manchester 1949. Ad Diog. = Ad Diognetum The Acts of the Christian Martyrs Ed. Musurillo H.A., S.J., Oxford 1972. Mart. Polycarpi = Martyrion tou Hagiou Polykarpou Mart. Carpi. = Maryrion ton Hagion Karpou, Papylou kai Agathonikes Mart. Iust. = Martyrion ton Hagion Iustinou, Karitonos, Karitous, Euelpistou, Hierakos, Paionos, Liberianou kai tes Synodias auton Mart. Lugd. = Martyrion ton Lougdouno teleiothenton Mart. Apoll. = Martyrion tou Hagiou kai Paneuphemou Apostolou Apollo, tou kai Sakkea Mart. Perpet. = Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis Mart. Pionii = Martyrion tou Hagiou Pioniou tou Presbyterou kai ton syn auto Acta Cypr. = Acta Proconsularia Sancti Cypriani Mart. Fruct. = Passio Sanctorum Martyrum Fructosi Episcopi, Auguri et Eulogi Diaconorum Mart. Mont. = Passio Sanctorum Montani et Lucii The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs Ed. Musurillo H.A., S.J., The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, Acta Alexandrinorum, Oxford 1954. Arrianus [Arr.] Ed. Schenkl H., Leipzig 1894. Epict. = Epicteti Dissertationes Aristoteles [Arist.] Ed. Bekker I., Berlin 1831–70. EN = Ethica Nikomachea GA = De generatione et corruptione Metaph. = Metaphysica Rh. = Rhetorica Pol. = Politica

261

Asclepius A Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies, Edelstein E.J., Edelstein L., (ed.), New York 1975. Athenagoras [Athen.] Ed. Schoedel W. R., Oxford 1972. Leg. = Legatio De res. = De resurrectione Cicero [Cic.] Ed. Teubner B.G., Editio maior, Lipsk. Ac. = Academica (1=Posteriora, 2=Priora=Lucullus) Fin. = De finibus bonorum et malorum Leg. = De legibus Nat. deor. = De natura deorum Off. = De officiis Rep. = De re publica Tusc. = Tusculanae disputationes Clemens Alexandrinus [Clem. Al.] Str. = Stromateis, Stächlin O., Früchtel L. (ed.), books I–VI, GCS 52 [15], books VII i VIII, GCS 17, Berlin 1970. Clemens Romanus [Clem. Rom.] Ed. Jaubert A., SCh 167, 1971. Epist. = Epistula Clementis Cyprianus [Cypr.] Ed. Hartel G., CSEL 3, 1/3, 1868–71. Epist. = Epistulae Ad Fort. = Ad Fortunatum de exhortatione martyrii Diogenes Laertios Ed. Long H.S., Oxford 1964. D.L. = Diogenis Laertii de clarorum philosophorum vitis… libri decem…

262

Epistula ad Barnabam Ed. Prigent P., SCh 172, 1971. Epist. ad Barn. = Epistula ad Barnabam Eusebius Caesariensis [Eus.] Ed. Schwartz E., Leipzig 1903–1909. HE = Historia Ecclesiae Horatius Ed. Jurewicz O., 1/2, Warszawa 1988. Ignatius Antiochenus [Ign.] Ed. Camelot Th., SCh 10, 1969. Eph. = Epistula ad Ephesios Magn. = Epistula ad Magnesios Rom. = Epistula ad Romanos Phil. = Epistula ad Philadelphos Smyrn. = Epistula ad Smyrnaeos Polyc. = Epistula ad Polycarpum Irenaeus [Iren.] R. Massuet, PG 7. Adv. haer. = Adversus haereses Iustinus [Iust.] Apol. = Apologia, Frasca S. (ed.), Torino 1938. Dial. = Dialogus cum Tryphone Iudaeo, van Winden J. C. M. (ed.), Leiden 1971. Xenophon [X.] Ed. Marchant E. C., Oxford. Mem. = Memorabilia Lucianus Ed. C. Jacobitz, Leipzig 1896–7. Peregr. = De Morte Peregrini Minucius Felix [Min. Fel.] Ed. Pellegrino M., Torino 1947. Oct. = Octavius Nowy Testament grecko-polski [The Greek-Polish New Testament] Wydanie interlinearne z kodami gramatycznymi, tłum. Popowski R. ks. i Wojciechowski M., Warszawa 1993. 263

Origenes [Orig.] C. Cels.= Contra Celsum, Borret M. (ed.), Sch 132;136;147;150;227, Paris 1967–1976. Exhort. = Exhortatio ad martyrium, Koetschau P. (ed.), GSC Orig. 2, 1899. Philon Aleksandrinus [Phil. Al.] Ed. Cohn L., Wendland P., Berolini 1896–1930. Leg. alleg. = Leges allegoriarum Plato [Pl.] Ed. J. Burnet, Oxford. Ap. = Apologia Cra. = Cratylus Cri. = Crito Epin. = Epinomis Grg. = Gorgias La. = Laches Ly. = Lysis Men. = Meno Phd. = Phaedo Phdr. = Phaedrus Phlb. = Philebus Plt. = Politicus R. = Respublica Smp. = Symposium Sph. = Sophista Tht. = Theaetetus Ti. = Timaeus Plutarchus [Plu.] Vitae parallelae, C. Linskog i K. Ziegler (ed.), Leipzig 1914–15. Cat. Mi. = Cato Minor Sextus Empiricus [S.E.] Ed. I Bekker, Berlin 1842. M. = Adversus mathematicos Seneca [Sen.] Epist. = Epistulae ad Lucilium, Prechac F. (ed.), 1/4, BL, Paris 1991. Ira = De ira, Bourgery A. (ed.) in Dialogues, tom 1, BL, Paris 1971.

264

Prov. = D  e providentia, Waltz R. (ed.) in Dialogues, tom 4, BL, Paris 1970, s. 10–31. Suetonius [Suet.] De vita Caesarum, Ailloud H. (ed.), 1/4, BL, Paris 1989. Claud. = Divus Claudius Nero = Nero Tacitus [Tac.] Agr. = De vita et moribus Agricolae, Saint-Denis E. (ed.), BL, Paris 1985. Ann. = Annales, Wuilleumier P. (ed.), 1/4, BL, Paris 1990. Tatian [Tat.] Ed. Schwartz E., TU 4, 1, 1888. Or. = Oratio ad Graecos Theofilus [Theo.] Ed. Bardy G., Sender J., SCh 20, 1948. Ad Autol. = Ad Autolycum Tertullianus [Tert.] Ed. PL 1/2 – CSEL 20, 1890; 47, 1906; 69, 1939; 70, 1942; 76, 1957. An. = De anima Ap. = Apologeticus Bapt. = De baptismo Fug. = De fuga in persecutione Herm. = Adversus Hermognem Idol. = De idololatria Iei. = De ieiunio adversus psychicos Marc. = Adversus Marcionem Mart. = Ad martyras Nat. = Ad nationes Paen. = De paenitentia Pall. = De pallio Praescr. = De praescriptione Pud. = De pudicitia Res. = De ressurectione Scap. = Ad Scapulam Scorp. = Scorpiace Spect. = De spectaculis Test. = De testimonio animae 265

English Translations of Greek and Latin Sources Aristotle, Metaphysics, trans. Hugh Lawson-Tancred, New York: Penguin Classics, 1999. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. Roger Crisp, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Aristotle, Rhetoric, trans. W. Rhys Roberts, Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2004. Augustine, Against the Academics, trans. John J. O’Meara, Mahwa, NJ: Paulist Press, 1978. Augustine, On the Trinity: Books 8–15, trans. Stephen McKenna, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Cicero, On Moral Ends, trans. Julia Annas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Cicero, On the Commonwealth and On the Laws, trans. James E.G. Zetzel, Cambridge: Cammbridge University Press, 1999. Cicero, On the Nature of Gods, trans. Horace Cecil Pancras McGregor, New York: Penguin Classics, 1972. Cicero, The Academic Questions, Treatise De Finibus And Tusculan Disputations Of M. T. Cicero, trans. C.D. Yonge, Whitefish, MO: Kessinger Publishing, 2007. Cyprian of Carthage, The Letters of St. Cyprian, v. 1–4, trans. George W. Clarke, Westminster MA: The Newman Press, 1983. Diogenes Laertius, The Lives and Opinions of Famous Philosophers, trans. C.D. Yonge, Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing LLC, 2006. Empedocles, The Extant Fragments, trans. M.R. Wright, London: Duckworth Publishers, 2002. Epictetus, Discourses: Book I, New York: Oxford University Press USA, 2008. Epictetus, Discourses and Selected Writings, trans. Robert Dobbin, New York: Penguin Classics, 2008. Epictetus, Discourses of Epictetus: With Encheiridion and Fragments and A Life of Epictetus and A View of His Philosophy, trans. George Long, Whitefish MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2004. Eusebius, The History of the Church from Christ to Constantine, trans. Geoffrey Arthur Williamson, New York: Penguin Classics, 1989. Heraclitus, Heraclitus: Fragments, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1987. Homer, Iliad, trans. Robert Fagles, New York: Penguin Classics, 1998. Justin Martyr, The First and Second Apologies, trans. Leslie William Barnard, Westminster MD: The Newman Press, 1997. 266

Lucian, Selected Dialogues, Charles Desmond Nuttall Costa (ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 2005. Origen, Contra Celsum, trans. Henry Chadwick, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. Origen, Prayer, Exhortation to Martyrdom, trans. John Joseph O’Meara, Mawah NJ: Paulist Press, 1954. Philo of Alexandria, The Contemplative Life, Giants and Selections, trans. David Winston, Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1980. Plato, Plato: Complete Works, John Madison Cooper & D. S. Hutchinson (eds.), Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1997. Pliny the Younger, Complete Letters, trans. P.G. Walsh, New York: Oxford University Press USA. Porphyry, Porphyry, the Philosopher, to His Wife, Marcella, trans. Alice Zimmern, London: George Redway, 1896. Seneca, Dialogues and Essays, trans. John Davie, Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 2008. Seneca, Moral Epistles, v. 1–3, trans. Richard M. Gummere, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1917–25. Sextus Empiricus, Against the Logicians, trans. Richard Bett, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Suetonius, Lives of the Caesars, trans. Catharine Edwards, Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 2000. Tatian, Oratio ad Graecos and Fragments, trans. Molly Whittaker, Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 1982. Xenophon, Conversations of Socrates, trans. R. Waterfield & H. Tredennick, New York: Penguin Classics, 1990.

Dictionaries and Anthologies Ante-Nicene Fathers, v. 1–10, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing, 2001. Bauer Walter, Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testament, Berlin-New York: De Gruyter Publishers, 1971. Early Latin Theology Selections from Tertullian, Cyprian, Ambrose, and Jerome, trans. S.L. Greenslade, Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006. Leon-Dufour Xavier, Dictionary of Biblical Theology, trans. E.M. Stewart, Ijamsville, MD: Word Among Us Press, 1995. Liddel & Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, A New Edition, by Jones & Mc Kenzie, Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 1940. 267

Szymusiak Jan Maria SJ i Starowieyski Marek, Słownik wczesnochrześcijańsk­ iego piśmiennictwa [The Dictionary of Early Christian Writings], Poznań: Księgarnia św. Wojciecha, 1971.

Literature Cited in the Book Albert Karl, O platońskim pojęciu filozofii, [On the Platonic Understanding of Philosophy], trans. Jerzy Drewnowski, Warszawa: Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii PAN, 1991. Altaner Berthold i Stuiber Alfred, Patrology, trans. Paweł Pachciarek, Warszawa: PAX, 1990. Alvarez Alfredo, The Savage God: A Study of Suicide, New York: Random House, 1970. Armstrong A.H. i Marcus R.A., Christian Faith and Greek Philosophy, London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1960. Barnes Timothy David, Tertulian. A Historical and Literary Study, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985. Baumeister Theofried, Die Anfänge der Theologie des Martyriums, Münster: Aschendorff, 1980. Betz Hans-Dieter, Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament, Religionsgeschichtliche und Paränetische Parallelen, Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1961. Bieler Ludwig, Theios Aner. Das Bild des göttlichen Menschen in Spätantike und Früchchristentum, Vienna: Höfel, 1935–1936. Bowersock G.W., Martyrdom and Rome, Cambridge: Cambridge Univeristy Press, 1995. Brown Peter, The Body and the Society. Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity, London-Boston: Faber & Faber, 1989. Brox Norbert, Zeuge und Märtyrer. Untersuchungen zur frühchristlichen Zeugnis Terminologie, München: Käsel-Verlag, 1961. Butterweck Christel, „Martyriumsucht” in der alten Kirche, Studien zur Darstellung und Deutung fruchtchristlicher Martyrien, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1995. Butterworth G.W., “The Deification of Man in Clement of Alexandria” in The Journal of Theological Studies, 17, 1916. Bynum Caroline Walker, The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336, New York: Columbia University Press, 1995. Campenhausen Hans von, Die Idee des Martyriums in der Alten Kirche, Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1964. 268

Chadwick Henry, History and Thought of the Early Church, London: Variorum Reprint 1982. Coady C.A.J., Testimony, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992. Czajkowski Michał, “Sens antropologiczny czy teologiczny synoptycznych cudów Jezusa” [The Anthropological or Theological Meaning of the Synoptic Miracles of Jesus] in Warszawskie Studia Biblijne, Warszawa 1976, s. 70–87. Daniélou Jean, Gospel Message and Hellenistic Culture, trans. John Austin Baker, Darton, Longman & Todd: London, The Westminster Press: Philadelphia, 1973. Daniélou Jean, Marrou Henri Irenee, Historia Kościoła [History of the Church], v. 1, trans. Maria Tarnowska, Warszawa: PAX, 1986. Dąbrowski E., Cytaty z Aratosa i Epimenidesa w mowie na Areopagu [Quotations from Aratus and Epimenides in the Areopagus Speech] in Dz, KUL, v. 5, p. 542–549. Dąbrowski E., Diatryba cynicko-stoicka a Listy św. Pawła do Koryntian [Cynic-Stoic Diatribes and St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthians] in Kol, KUL, v. 3, p. 499–512. Dąbrowski E., Dzieje Pawła z Tarsu [The History of Paul of Tarsus], Warszawa: PAX, 1953. Dąbrowski E., Św. Paweł a stoicyzm [St. Paul and Stoicism] in Kor, KUL, v. 7, p. 308–322. Delehaye H., Sanctus, essai sur le culte des saints dans l’antiquite, Bruxelles: Société des Bollandistes 1927. Delumeau Jean, The History of Paradise, trans. Matthew O’Connell, Champaign IL: University of Illinois Press, 2000. Deman Th., , Socrate et Jésus, Paris: L’Artisan du Livre, 1944. Dibelius M., Studies in Acts of the Apostles, New York: Scribners, 1956. Dodds E.R., Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965. Domański Juliusz, Erazm i filozofia [Erasmus and Philosophy], Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1973. Domański Juliusz, Quelques observations sur l’attitude d’Erasme envers la philosophie, Neohelicon 1975. Domański Juliusz, “Patrystyczne postawy wobec dziedzictwa antycznego” [Patristic Stances Toward the Heritage of the Ancients] in Idea: Studia nad strukturą i rozwojem pojęć [Idea: Studies on the Structure and Development of Concepts], v. 5, Białystok, 1992, p. 7–28.

269

Domański Juliusz, “‘Scholastyczne’ i ‘humanistyczne’ pojęcie filozofii” [The “Scholastic” and “Humanist” Understandings of Philosophy] in Studia Mediewistyczne [Medieval Studies], v. 1, Wrocław 1978. Domański Juliusz, “Metamorfozy pojęcia filozofii” [Metamorphoses in Understandings of Philosophy], trans. Zofia Mroczkowska, Monika Bujko, in Renesans i Reformacja. Studia z historii filozofii i idei [Renaissance and Reformation. Studies Concerning the History of Ideas], Lech Szczucki (ed.), v. 15, Warszawa: Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii PAN, 1996. Droge Arthur J. & Tabor James D., A Noble Death. Suicide and Martyrdom Among Christians and Jews in Antiquity, San Francisco: Harper, 1992. Dudley Donald R., A History of Cynicism, from Diogenes to the 6th Century A. D., Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1967. Dzielska Maria, “Flawiusz Filostrat i jego dzieło” in Flawiusz Filostratos, Żywot Apolloniusza z Tiany, trans. Ireneusz Kania, Kraków: Oficyna Literacka, 1997, p. 5–40. Dzielska Maria, “Il ‘theios aner’” in I Greci. Storia, Cultura, Arte, Societa, v. 2, Torino: Einaudi, 1998, p. 1261–1280. Edwards Mark J., “Satire and Verisimilitude: Christianity in Lucian’s Peregrinus” in Historia: Journal of Ancient History, v. 38, 1989, p. 89–98. Fox Robine Lane, Pagans and Christians, London: Viking 1986. Frend W.H.C., Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church, Oxford: Basil Blackwell 1965. Gärtner B., The Areopagus Speech and Natural Revelation, Uppsala: C.W.K. Gleerup. 1955. Gigon Olof, Głowne problemy filozofii starożytniej [The Main Problems of Ancient Philosophy], trans. Piotr Domański, Warszawa: Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii PAN, 1996. Gilson Étienne, Historia filozofii chrześcijańskiej w wiekach średnich [History of Christian Philosophy in the Middle Ages], trans. Sylwester Zalewski, Warszawa: PAX, 1987. Geffcken Johannes, „Die Christlichen Martyrien“ in Hermes, 45, 1910. Hadot Ilsetraut, “The Spiritual Guide” in Classical Mediterranean Spirituality, A.H. Armstrong (ed.), London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1986, p. 436–459. Hadot Pierre, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, Oxford: Blackwell, 1995. Harnack Adolf, “Ist die Rede des Paulus in Athen ein ursprünglicher Bestandteil der Apostolgeschichte?” in Texte und Untersuchungen 39–1, Leipzig, 1913.

270

Harnack Adolf, What is Christianity, trans. Thomas Bailey Sounders, London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1958. Harnack Adolf, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centu­ries, New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1962. Hintikka Jaako, Knowledge and Its Objects in Plato in Jakko Hintikka Knowledge and the Known, Dodrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1974, p. 5–18. Jaeger Werner, Paideia, trans. Gilbert Highet, New York: Oxford University Press USA, 1986. Joachimowicz Leon,“Epiktet i jego dzieło” [Epictetus and His Works] in Epictetus, Diatryby, Encheiridion [Diatribes and Encheiridion], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1961. Joachimowicz Leon, Sceptycyzm grecki [Greek Skepticism], Warszawa: Wiedza Powszechna, 1972. Jonas Hans, The Gnostic Religion, Boston: Beacon Press, 2001. Kee Howard Clark, Miracle in the Early Christian World, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983. Kelly John Norman Davidson, Early Christian Doctrine, New York: Continuum, 2000. Kerferd G.B., “What Does the Wise Man Know?” in The Stoics, John M. Rist (ed.), Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1978, p. 125–136. Kertelge Karl,“‘Błogosławieni, którzy cierpią prześladowanie dla sprawiedliwości’ (Mt. 5,6)”, trans. Franciszek Mickiewicz SAC in Communio, 5, 1987, p. 23–31. Kołakowski Leszek, Religion: If There is No God, South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 2001. Krokiewicz Adam, “Arkezilaos” [Arcesilaus], KF, v. 6, 1928, p. 143–176. Krokiewicz Adam, “Karneades” [Carneades], KF, v. 7, 1929, p. 393–418. Krokiewicz Adam, “Filon z Larissy i Antjochos z Askalonu” [Philo of Larissa and Antiochus of Ascalon], KF, v. 9, 1931, p. 270–309. Krokiewicz Adam, Moralność Homera i etyka Hezjoda [The Morality of Homer and the Ethics of Hesiod], Warszawa: PAX, 1959. Krokiewicz Adam, “Pirron z Elidy i Timon z Flijuntu” [Pyrrho from Elis and Timon of Phlius], KF, v. 5, 1927, p. 389–446. Krokiewicz Adam, Sceptycyzm grecki. Od Pirrona do Karneadesa [Greek Skepticism: From Pyrrho to Carneades], Warszawa: PAX, 1964. Krokiewicz Adam, Sceptycyzm grecki. Od Filona do Sekstusa [Greek Skepticism: From Philo to Sextus], Warszawa: PAX, 1966. 271

Krokiewicz Adam, Zarys filozofii greckiej [An Outline of Greek Philosophy], Warszawa: Aletheia, 1995. Kumaniecki Kazimierz, Cyceron i jego współcześni [Cicero and His Contemporaries], Warszawa: Czytelnik, 1989. Legrand L., “The Areopagus Speech: Its Theological Kerygma and its Missionary Significance” in La notion biblique de Dieu, le Dieu de la Bible and le Dieu des Philosophes, J. Coppens (ed.), Louvain: Peeters, 1976, p. 337–350. Legutko Ryszard, Krytyka demokracji w filozofii politycznej Platona [The Critique of Democracy in Plato’s Political Philosophy], Kraków: Uniwersytet Jagielloński, 1990. Lilla Salvatore R.C., Clement of Alexandria. A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 1971. Lisicki Paweł, “Świadek i zakładnik” [Witness and Hostage] in Debata, 3, 1998, p. 62–68. Lohfink Gerhard, La conversion de saint Paul, Paris: Cerf, 1967. Longosz Stanisław, “Niektóre aspekty teologii męczeństwa w literaturze wczes­ nochrześcijańskiej” [Some Aspects of the Theology of Martyrdom in Early Christian Literature] in Tarnowskie Studia Teologiczne, v. 7, 1979, p. 49–73. Łomnicki Edward, Kryteria wiarygodności chrześcijaństwa w ujęciu apologetów starochrześcijańskich [The Criteria of Christianity’s Credibility in Early Christian Apologetics], Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 1977. Łomnicki Edward, Męczeństwo jako znak prawdziwości religii chrześcijańskiej w ujęciu apologetów starochrześcijańskich [Martyrdom as a Sign of the Christian Religion’s Truth in the Understanding of Ancient Christian Apologetes] in Tarnowskie Studia Teologiczne, v. 7, 1979, p. 74–81. Malingrey Anne-Marie, “Philosophia”. Etude d’un groupe de mots dans la litterature grecque, des Presocratiques au IVe siecle apres J.-C., Paris: Klincksieck 1961. MacIntyre Alisdair, After Virtue, North Bend IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007. Maślanka-Soro Maria, Nauka poprzez cierpienie (pathei mathos) u Ajschylosa i Sofoklesa [Learning Through Suffering in Aeschylus and Sophocles], Kraków: Towarzystwo Wydawców i Autorów Prac Naukowych „Universitas“, 1991. Meeks Wayne A., The Origins of Christian Morality, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993. Merki H., Homoiosis Theo, Freiburg: Paulus Verlag, 1952. Nicholson Olivier, “Flight from Persecution as Imitation of Christ” in The Journal of Theological Studies. New Series, 40, 1989, p. 48–65. 272

Nietzsche Friedrich, Twilight of the Idols: or How to Philosophize with a Hammer, trans. Duncan Large, Oxford: Oxford University Press USA, 2009. Noce Celestino, Il martirio. Testimonianza e spiritualita nei primi secoli, Roma: Edizioni Studium, 1987. Nock Arthur Darby, Conversion. The Old and the New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1933. Norden Eduard, Agnostos Theos, Leipzig: Teubner, 1913. Norwid Cyprian Kamil, Epiemnides in idem, Dzieła zebrane, v. 2, Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1980. Osborn Eric, The Philosophy of Clement of Aleksandria, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1957. Osborn Eric, Justin Martyr, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1973. Osborn Eric, The Begining of Christian Philosophy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981. Osborn Eric, The Emeregence of Christian Theology, Cambridge: Cambridge Univeristy Press, 1993. Pellegrino Michele, “Cristo negli atti dei martiri e nella letteratura sul martirio” in Michele Pellegrino, Richerche patristiche, v. 1, Torino: Bottega d’Erasmo, 1982. Pepin Jean, “Cosmic Piety” in Classical Mediterranean Spirituality, A.H. Armstrong (ed.), London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1986, p. 408–435. Pomian Krzysztof, Przeszłość jako przedmiot wiary [The Past as an Object of Faith], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1968. Poniatowski Zygmunt, Logos Prologu Ewangelii Janowej [The Logos of St. John’s Prologue], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1970. Ramsay W.M., St. Paul the Traveler and the Roman Citizen, Hodder and Stoughton 1895. Reale Giovanni, A History of Ancient Philosophy: From the Origins to Socrates, trans. John R. Catan, Albany NY: SUNY Press, 1990. Richardson Alan, An Introduction to the Theology of the New Testament, London:SCM Press Ltd, 1958. Rist John M., Stoic Philosophy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969. Rist John M., “The Stoic Concept of Detachment” in The Stoics, John M. Rist (ed.), Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1978, p. 259–272. Rusecki Marian, Cud w myśli chrześcijańskiej [Miracle in Christian Thought], Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 1991. 273

Schweizer E., “Concerning the Speeches in Acts” in Studies in Luke-Acts, L.E. Keck & J.L. Martyn (ed.), Nashville 1966. Snell Bruno, The Discovery of the Mind. The Greek Origins of European Thought, New York: Harper & Brothers, 1960. Strauss Leo, Natural Right and History, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971. Starowieyski Marek, “Męczeństwo” [Martyrdom] in Męczennicy [Martyrs: The Living Fathers], Marek Starowieyski (ed.), Kraków: Wydawnictwo Znak, 1991, p. 84–141. Tatarkiewicz Władysław, O szczęściu [On Happiness], Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1985. Wipszycka Ewa, Kościół w świecie późnego antyku [The Church in the World of Late Antiquity], Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1994. Wipszycka Ewa, “Prześladowania w państwie rzymskim” [Persecutions in the Roman Empire] in Męczennicy [Martyrs], Marek Starowieyski (ed.), Kraków: Wydawnictwo Znak, 1991, p. 15–83.

274