Creation and Contingency in Early Patristic Thought: The Beginning of All Things 9781498562829, 9781498562812

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
Abbreviations
Introduction
Part I: In the Beginning: Scriptural and Platonic Perspectives
1 A Scriptural Point of Departure
2 Plato on Cosmological Origins
3 Middle Platonic Responses
Part II: The Shape of Things to Come
4 The Creation Account of Philo Judaeus
5 Creation and Cosmos in the Apostolic Fathers
Part III: Forging the Doctrine
6 The Christian Platonism of Justin Martyr
7 The Christian Philosophy of Athenagoras of Athens
8 Tatian of Syria
9 Theophilus of Antioch
10 The Alexandrian School
Epilogue
Bibliography
Index
About the Author

Citation preview

Creation and Contingency in Early Patristic Thought

Creation and Contingency in Early Patristic Thought The Beginning of All Things Joseph Torchia, O.P.

LEXINGTON BOOKS Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 6 Tinworth Street, London SE11 5AL, United Kingdom Copyright © 2019 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Torchia, Joseph, 1953- author. Title: Creation and contingency in early Patristic thought : the beginning of all things / Joseph Torchia, O.P. Description: Lanham : Lexington Books, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018060104 (print) | LCCN 2019008539 (ebook) | ISBN 9781498562829 (Electronic) | ISBN 9781498562812 (cloth : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Neoplatonism. | Christian philosophy--History--Early church, ca. 30-600. | Philosophy and religion. | Creation. | Contingency (Philosophy) | Fathers of the church. Classification: LCC B645 (ebook) | LCC B645 .T67 2019 (print) | DDC 231.7/6509--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018060104

TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Printed in the United States of America

To my fellow Dominican philosophers and theologians actively engaged in fides quaerens intellectum.

Contents

Preface

ix

Acknowledgments

xiii

Abbreviations

xv

Introduction

xxi

Part I: In the Beginning: Scriptural and Platonic Perspectives 1 A Scriptural Point of Departure 2 Plato on Cosmological Origins 3 Middle Platonic Responses

3 31 47

Part II: The Shape of Things to Come 4 The Creation Account of Philo Judaeus 5 Creation and Cosmos in the Apostolic Fathers

73 97

Part III: Forging the Doctrine 6 The Christian Platonism of Justin Martyr 7 The Christian Philosophy of Athenagoras of Athens 8 Tatian of Syria: “Stages” of Creation 9 Theophilus of Antioch: At the Threshold 10 The Alexandrian School

111 129 145 163 177

Epilogue: Creation as “Beginning”

205

Bibliography

215 vii

viii

Contents

Index

225

About the Author

229

Preface

Wonder and speculation about cosmological origins run deeply in the human psyche. Since we all have a personal stake in the quest for intelligibility, the topic arouses perennial interest. 1 How did the universe come to be? What is our place in relation to the whole of things? Why does anything exist at all? Attempts to answer such questions gave rise to early creation myths, which in turn engendered more sophisticated cosmologies, and eventually, served to stimulate philosophical and theological reflection of a highly metaphysical character. In this respect, accounts regarding “the beginning” of all things provide ideal referents for coming to terms with the faith/reason relationship at its most seminal stages of development. This is particularly the case, it seems, in regard to early Christian discussions regarding creation, and the scriptural commentaries upon which those discussions were founded. The fact that the Bible commences with an affirmation of the comprehensiveness of God’s creative activity is significant. Indeed, the opening verse of Genesis (In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth) sets the tone for everything which follows in the ensuing drama of salvation history, from the creation of human beings in God’s own image onward. By the same token, that initial verse provides an intriguing point of contact with late antique philosophical speculation, specifically in the context of Plato’s discussion of cosmic generation in the Timaeus (28b-c; 53b; 69b-c). In this connection, Platonic and Middle Platonic philosophy offered both Jewish and Christian thinkers fertile inspiration for exploring the implications of Scripture’s affirmation of God as the sovereign, omnipotent, and free Creator of everything which exists. Patristic authors, however, also came to discern the disparity between depicting the act of creation along Platonic lines (as a formation of preexistent, amorphous matter) and designating it as a bringing into being from nothing (that is, from absolute non-being). For this reason, ix

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the doctrine of creation ex nihilo can easily be viewed as establishing an insurmountable divide between pagan and Christian interpretations of the “the beginning” of all things. But if there was a sense of such an irreconcilable gulf in patristic circles, it was only fully grasped on a gradual basis. Not until the end of the second century do we encounter an explicit statement on the uniqueness of God’s creative activity, in contrast to the model of creation found in the philosophical tradition (most notably, in Platonism). The gradual internalization of this insight opened the way to the eventual distancing of patristic accounts of creation from their pagan counterparts. Theophilus of Antioch (writing shortly after A.D. 180) articulates this conviction in the form of a probing question: “What would be remarkable if God made the universe out of preexistent matter (Τί δε μέγα, εἰ ὁ θεὸς ἐξ ὑποκειμενης ὕλης ἐποίει τὸυ κόσμον‧)?” 2 Implicit in this question lies the recognition that the God of Revelation (the God in Whom we live and move and have our being, in the language of Acts 17:28), does not depend upon anything at all in bringing the universe into being. Theophilus, in effect, highlights the inextricable link between the exclusive monotheism of Scripture and an affirmation of creation from nothing. In a very real sense, however, Theophilus’ breakthrough represents the culmination of a long developmental process that ultimately yielded the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. Accordingly, an adequate investigation of early patristic accounts of “the beginning” of all things demands an attunement to the ebb and flow of this development and the emergence of a well-defined understanding of creation in its most absolute, unequivocal sense. The present study moves on two complementary tracks of analysis. While its main focus is directed toward early patristic treatments of cosmological origins, it unfolds with an ongoing attentiveness to the parallel tradition of late Platonic commentary on the account of cosmic generation in the Timaeus (28b-31b). Just as Judeo-Christian thinkers sought to explicate the meaning of Gn 1:1-2, later Platonists (i.e., the Middle Platonic successors to Plato’s Academy) debated the meaning of Plato’s teaching (Tim. 28b-c) that the universe was generated (gegonen), that is, that it had a beginning. The fact that both Genesis and the Timaeus have something significant to say about the beginning of all things provides a means of bridging the conceptual gap between the Hellenic/Hellenistic and Judeo-Christian intellectual traditions. In this connection, a major concern of this study lies in an attunement to the mainlines of the Middle Platonic debate surrounding the interpretation of Plato’s teaching that the world was generated, and thus, came to be. The debate in question proceeded from Aristotle’s contention (Caelo I, 10, 280a 23-32; III, 2, 300b 16; Phys. VIII, 1, 25b 17; Metaph. L 3, 1071b 31-37) that Plato understood the beginning of the world as generated in literal terms. In response, Aristotle was committed to the notion of an eter-

Preface

xi

nally existent and imperishable universe (and therefore, to the rejection of its temporal origin). While the majority of Plato’s successors endorsed Aristotle’s teaching that the universe is eternal, they challenged his assumption that Plato intended his “creation” account in strictly literalist terms. According to their imposition of an “allegorical” dimension into the Timaeus’s theory of cosmological origins, the universe is eternally existent, but still depends upon an external cause for its ongoing generation, formation, and ordering. The notable exceptions to this trend were the Middle Platonic philosophers Plutarch of Chaeronea and Atticus of Athens, both of whom were firmly committed to a literal reading of the Timaeus account, with the accompanying presupposition that if the universe came to be, it came to be in time. Such Middle Platonic developments have a direct bearing on my investigation of the early patristic theology of creation on two levels. As observed above, Plato’s Timaeus and the doxographical commentaries it inspired provided Judeo-Christian intellectuals with a philosophical idiom for depicting the act of creation that became an operative component in their interpretations of scriptural teaching in this vein. Accordingly, we confront the paradox that the Timaeus served as an appealing touchstone for deliberations on the creation of the universe, by pagans and Judeo-Christians alike. The fact that Jewish and Christian thinkers brought to bear a perspective rooted in the teachings of Revelation (and therefore, fundamentally at odds with the key aspects of the Platonic understanding of creation) only magnifies the paradox. In this regard, however, Platonism articulated a theory of creation that could speak to Judeo-Christian thinkers in a cogent way. This book is interdisciplinary in nature, exploring the interface between theology and philosophy in early patristic thought, providing a window into the subtle relationship between faith and reason that was instrumental in forging the doctrine of creation ex nihilo at its most seminal stages of development. By no means, however, do I attempt to recount the entire story as to how this fundamental article of faith emerged. Rather, I confine my focus to key second and third century Fathers of the Church who articulated the components of that doctrine by means of a dialogical encounter with later strains of Platonic philosophy. In this way, I highlight the extent to which certain early patristic figures (i.e., Justin, Athenagoras of Athens, Tatian of Syria, and Theophilus of Antioch among the Greek Apologists; Clement and Origen among the Alexandrian Fathers) sought an elusive common ground with the Greek philosophical tradition in explaining and defending a distinctively Christian understanding of the meaning of creation. On an individual basis, each of these thinkers reflects a different phase of a broader doctrinal development. Collectively, they contribute to the gradual crystalization of a teaching that affirms God’s supreme efficacy as Creator on the one hand, and the absolute contingency of creatures upon God for their very existence on the other.

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A WORD ON TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS Complete citations of primary texts and translations of those texts to which the endnotes refer are listed in the comprehensive bibliography under the names of the respective authors. NOTES 1. We find a remarkable statement regarding this universal concern in the Pseudo-Clementine Literature (Recognitions of Clement, Bk. 1, Ch. 1 [trans. by Thomas Smith in The AnteNicene Fathers, Volume VIII] Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark; Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, Repr. 1995], 77) where the writer blends speculations about cosmological origins with reflections on personal mortality. As the quote indicates, the search for the “beginning” of things is intimately related to a sense of selfhood and a perception of one’s status in the greater scheme of reality. For a thought that was in me . . . constantly led me to think of mortality, and to discuss such questions as these: Whether there be for me any life after death, or whether I am to be wholly annihilated: whether I did not exist before I was born, and whether there shall be no remembrance of this life after death, and so the boundlessness of time shall consign all things to oblivion and silence, so that we not only shall cease to be, but there shall be no remembrance that we have ever been. This also I revolved in my mind: when the world was made, or what was before it was made, or whether it has existed from eternity. 2. Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum, trans. by Robert M. Grant (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1970) I.4.

Acknowledgments

I would be remiss if I neglected to acknowledge my sense of indebtedness to various authors and teachers who were instrumental in stimulating my interest in this topic over many years. Indeed, my absorption with the issues and questions addressed in this work is long and abiding. I ultimately trace it to my undergraduate days, when I was introduced to the richness of the patristic tradition through my reading of such authors as Henry Chadwick and R. A. Norris (among others). This early interest came to fruition in my graduate work in the Early Christian Studies program at the Catholic University of America. In that context, several memorable courses with Professor Thomas Halton opened the way to my fascination with the origins of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo and the Middle Platonic influences upon those Fathers of the Church who forged it during the second and third centuries. My subsequent dissertation on the role of that doctrine in St. Augustine’s anti-Manichaean polemic (under the illuminating direction of Professor Gerald Bonner) prompted further exploration of the early patristic theology of creation. Formal research for this project largely took shape over the 2014–2015 academic year, in conjunction with my appointment as Visiting Scholar at the Pontifical Faculty of the Immaculate Conception in the Dominican House of Studies in Washington, DC. I express my gratitude to Father John Langlois, O.P. (President of the Pontifical Faculty) for that appointment and the many opportunities it offered for study and dialogue in an extremely hospitable setting. I also thank the staffs of the library of the Pontifical Faculty and the Mullen Library of the Catholic University of America for their ongoing assistance in securing vital texts and monographs. Last but not least, I thank the administration of Providence College for the sabbatical leave during the 2014–2015 academic year which afforded me the wonderful luxury of uninterrupted research and writing. xiii

xiv

Acknowledgments

Priory of St. Thomas Aquinas Providence College

Abbreviations

Alexander of Aphrodisias Metaph.

Commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics

Aristotle Caelo

De Caelo

De An.

De Anima

Eth. Nic.

Ethica Nicomachea

Metaph.

Metaphysica

Phys.

Physica

Apuleius of Madaura De deo Socr.

De deo Socratis

De Platone

De dogmate Platonis

Aquinas, St. Thomas ST

Summa Theologica

SCG

Summa Contra Gentiles

Athenagoras of Athens Leg.

Legatio pro Christianis

Books of the Bible xv

Abbreviations

xvi

Acts

Acts of the Apostles

Am

Amos

Bar

Baruch

Col

Colossians

Dn

Daniel

Dt

Deuteronomy

Eccl

Ecclesiastes

Eph

Ephesians

Ex

Exodus

Gn

Genesis

Heb

Hebrews

Is

Isaiah

Jer

Jeremiah

Jn

John

1 Mc

1 Maccabees

2 Mc

2 Maccabees

Mk

Mark

Mt

Matthew

Prv

Proverbs

Ps

Psalms

Rom

Romans

Rv

Revelation

Sir

Sirach

Wis

Wisdom

Clement of Alexandria GCS

Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller Der Ersten Jahrhunderte

Paed.

Paedagogus

Protr.

Protrepticus

Strom.

Stromateis

Clement of Rome I Clement First Epistle of Clement to the Corinthians

Abbreviations

Eusebius HE

Historia ecclesiastica

PE

Praeparatio evangelica

Ignatius of Antioch Ad Rom.

Epistle to the Romans

Irenaeus Adv. haer. Adversus haereses Justin Martyr I Apol.

First Apology

II Apol.

Second Apology

Dial.

Dialogue with Trypho

Origen C. Cels.

Contra Celsum

Comment. Commentaries on the Gospel of St. John in Joh. In Gen. hom.

Homilies on Genesis

Princ.

De Principiis

Philo Judaeus Aet.

De Aeternitate Mundi

Cher.

De Cherubim

Confus.

De Confusione Linguarum

Decal.

De Decalago

Ebr.

De Ebrietate

Leg. Alleg.

Legum Allegoriae

Migr.

De Migratione Abrahami

Mut.

De Mutatione Nominum

Opif.

De Opificio Mundi

Prov.

De Providentia

xvii

Abbreviations

xviii

Qu. Gen.

Quaestiones et Solutiones in Genesin

Sacr.

De Sacrificiis Abelis et Caini

Som.

De Somniis

Spec. Leg. De Specialibus Legibus V. Mos.

De Vita Mosis

Plato Parm.

Parmenides

Phd.

Phaedo

Phlb.

Philebus

Soph.

Sophist

Rep.

Republic

Tim.

Timaeus

Plotinus Enn.

Enneads

Plutarch of Chaeronea De an pr.

De Animae Procreatione in Timaeo

De Is. et Os.

De Iside et Osiride

Def. Or.

De defectu oraculorum

Pl. qu.

Quaestiones Platonicae

Quaest. conv.

Quaestiones convivales

Proclus In Tim.

Commentary on Plato's Timaeus

Tatian Ad Gr.

Oratio ad Graecos

Tertullian Adv. Herm.

Adversus Hermogenem

Abbreviations

De praescr. haer.

De praescriptione haereticorum

Theophilus of Antioch Ad Autol.

Ad Autolycum

xix

Introduction

The teaching that God created all things from nothing is a fundamental component of Christian faith that finds salient expression in the most ancient credal statements. Its formal definition, however, was only issued by the Fourth Lateran Council (1215). That definition affirms the comprehensiveness of God’s creative act, an act encompassing what is invisible and visible, what is spiritual and corporeal alike: We firmly believe and simply confess that there is only one true God . . . one principle of all things, creator of all things invisible and visible, spiritual and corporeal; who by his almighty power at the beginning of time created from nothing both spiritual and corporeal creatures, that is to say angelic and earthly, and then created human beings composed as it were of both spirit and body in common. 1

Succinctly stated, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo upholds the total dependence of creatures upon God for their very being. Accordingly, the doctrine says something deeply profound about God and creatures alike. Just as nothing other than God could exist in the absence of His creative efficacy, nothing could coexist with God prior to the act of creation. Thus, creation ex nihilo presupposes an uncompromising monotheism committed to belief in the uniqueness and sovereignty of the supreme Godhead, and conversely, the radical contingency of creation as a whole. In this regard, we must distinguish “creation” as a divine act from the product of that creative activity. Created reality is contingent to its very core, both in respect to its ontological origin and its ongoing dependence upon God’s sustaining power from moment to moment. On its most fundamental level, this radical contingency proceeds from the fact that reality other than God need not exist. From this xxi

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standpoint, God neither requires creation in order to be God, nor is there anything inherent in creation which necessitates its existence. 2 Creation from nothing, then, is the logical implication of belief in one supreme Godhead. From this standpoint, God depends upon nothing whatsoever in creating, and creatures depend upon God for their very existence. Likewise, God creates by a free act that is wholly unencumbered—either by constraint from external influences or by compulsion from some necessity proceeding from God’s own nature. Even if God’s goodness were posited as the motive of creation, God does not create in response to that goodness, but simply because He freely chooses to do so. FORMULATING THE DOCTRINE Early patristic treatments of creation serve as illuminating touchstones for exploring the beginning of what St. Thomas Aquinas designates as sacra doctrina, that synthesis of faith and reasoning, theology and philosophy, which applies the natural resources of the human intellect to the profound truths of divine Revelation. Reciprocally, however, the contents of Scripture offered philosophically minded believers challenging new material for reflection. Indeed, the scriptural understanding of God and the creative process which God effects lend support to Etienne Gilson’s assertion that “from the second century A.D. on, men have had to use a Greek philosophical technique in order to express ideas that had never entered the head of any Greek philosopher.” 3 Why is this the case? A preliminary answer might lie in the very conception of the Godhead at the heart of the entire Christian intellectual tradition. The uniqueness of the God of Judeo-Christian Revelation lies in the fact that the God to whom one prays is also deemed the ultimate explanatory principle of the universe. Arguably, this is one of those ideas (following Gilson’s reasoning) that apparently “never entered the head of any Greek philosopher.” The inability of the Greek philosophers to reconcile these respective roles of the Godhead (i.e., the religious and the metaphysical) accounts for the ongoing tension between faith and reason that we discern in the ancient Greek world and its intellectual life from the sixth century B.C. onward. Conversely, the fact that Jews and Christians viewed the supreme Creator of the universe as the ultimate object of religious devotion infused their understanding of creation with a highly personalistic character. In this conceptual framework, the act of creation reveals the sheer gratuituousness of a Creator Who is wholly self-sufficient, yet willing to share His being and goodness. Still, belief in God’s status as supreme Creator is one thing; a depiction of the act of creation in its most absolute sense is quite another matter. In this

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regard, the formulation of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo points to a reliance upon insights derived from the Greek philosophical tradition. For all practical purposes, the very phrase ex nihilo reflects certain ontological categories and dichotomies (existence and nonexistence; being and non-being) otherwise foreign to mainstream Old Testament theology. In this vein, the most salient scriptural referent for the teaching that God created all things from nothing (i.e., 2 Mc 7:28) itself points to the presence of a strong Hellenic/Hellenistic influence that would later permeate biblical ways of thinking. Doctrine, however, develops over time, as the product of ongoing exploration and debate regarding the contents of Revelation. In my estimation, then, the issue is not whether the explicit “doctrine” of creation ex nihilo is to be found in Scripture. The compelling question, I think, is whether Scripture attests to the absolute dependence of finite reality upon God for its very existence, and conversely, the absolute sovereignty of God as supreme Creator. This question prompts an ancillary one: to what extent does a commitment to creation ex nihilo require an explicit metaphysical formulation of that teaching? In the face of an affirmation of divine sovereignty and creaturely dependence, it can be said that Scripture upholds the fundamental truth of what would become the “doctrine” of creation ex nihilo, even in the absence of technical articulations of this teaching or an explicit discussion of its philosophical implications. In a very real sense, an emphasis upon the contingency of finite reality (that is, reality other than God) constitutes a dominant theme in early patristic deliberations on creation. An evolving patristic theology of the dynamics of the act of creation, then, reflects a complementary grasp of the depth of creaturely dependence on its most primordial level. But an understanding of such metaphysical contingency is intimately bound up with an interpretation of the really and truly real. In point of fact, an appreciation of the scope and extent of creaturely dependence upon God presupposes a corresponding appreciation of the very nature of being and how one defines it. If being is defined exclusively in essentialist terms (that is, on the basis of what is formed, ordered, and intelligible), then the act of creation amounts to an imposition of form, order, and intelligibility on what is otherwise lacking in such transcendental attributes. If being is defined in pronounced existentialist terms, however, then the act of creation entails a bringing into being of what does not (and cannot) exist in the absence of divine will. By the same token, a recognition of the thoroughgoing contingency of creatures shapes the meaning of the nihil as well. How negatively are we to interpret the nothing? In this respect, the affirmation that God creates ex nihilo must be construed in absolute rather than merely relative terms. Accordingly, we must distinguish creation ek ouk onton from creation me ouk ontos. While the latter formula encompasses a bringing into being of something nonexistent from what already exists (as a child is born to existing

xxiv

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parents, or a work of art is produced by an artist), the former implies a bringing into being of what did not or could not exist at all, without God’s creative efficacy. BRIDGING THE GAP BETWEEN ATHENS AND JERUSALEM On the surface, it appears that a commitment to the notion of creation from “formless matter” (ἐξ αμόρθου ὕλης) and the notion of creation “from nothing” (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων) are mutually exclusive. But a perusal of the early Fathers of the Church easily falsifies this assumption. In this respect, the initial centuries of the patristic era exhibit something of a blurring of the distinction between these seemingly competing models of creation. Second-century Apologists such as Justin Martyr and Athenagoras of Athens freely describe the dynamics of the act of creation in Platonic terms as a formation of formless matter, even as they affirm the contingency of the world upon God’s creative efficacy. It is somewhat facile, then, to assume that the creation accounts of these respective thought worlds were wholly “incommensurable” (to borrow an expression from philosophy of science). 4 The situation, it appears, was far different. Indeed, not every instance of incommensurability is exactly the same (or more precisely, not every instance of incommensurability is completely insurmountable). In this connection, I draw upon Thomas Kuhn’s notion of “local” or partial incommensurability in coming to terms with the problem of radical meaning variance, whereby the significance of basic terms and concepts are so drastically transformed in a conceptual revolution as to render trans-paradigmatic communication (and any fruitful dialogue between competing perspectives) all but impossible. 5 For Kuhn, “local” incommensurability confines meaning variance to a limited range of terminology and ideas, thereby permitting the transference of other terminology and ideas into alternate conceptual frameworks. 6 By extension, the notion of “local” incommensurability might serve as a useful methodological tool in a study concerning the relationship between late pagan and early patristic theories of cosmological origins. On the basis of this notion, we can approach the creation accounts of these respective traditions with an attunement to their kinship and common ground, even as we recognize their considerable disparities. 7 While we must acknowledge the polemical dimension of these treatments (in critical reaction to the mainstream philosophical tradition and its Gnostic offshoots), we must also be receptive to those crucial points of contact between pagan and patristic speculation about “the beginning” of all things. In the final analysis, polemics against the pagan understanding of creation presupposed certain ideas, vo-

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cabulary, and dialectical instruments that were themselves deeply rooted in the very philosophical outlooks under critique. In this vein, Eric Osborn observed that the doctrine of creation “provides a major link between Christianity and Greek philosophy.” 8 The reality of this link is continually apparent in the writings of the early Fathers of the Church. What I wish to explore in greater depth, however, are the reasons for that link and the mutual interest of late antique pagan, Jewish, and Christian thinkers in the topic of cosmological origins. Pagan philosophy (but more specifically, Platonic and Middle Platonic sources) provided the early Fathers with a conceptual “lens” through which they could read the creation accounts of Scripture in a manner consistent with the critical perspective they directed to the text. In this context, however, “text” must be understood in two senses: on the one hand, the text of Sacred Scripture which the Fathers viewed as the inspired word of God; on the other hand, the text of Plato’s Timaeus and the prolonged debate surrounding its interpretation by later generations of Platonists. If Osborne’s observation that the doctrine of creation provides “a major link between Christianity and Greek philosophy” is valid, that link finds its crucial nexus in Tim. 28b–c. The very phrase “in the beginning” thus serves as a means of bridging the conceptual gap between pagan philosophy and Judeo-Christian ways of thinking. POINTS OF CONTACT While Jews and Christians found their primary authority for creation in Genesis, pagan thinkers approached the Timaeus in a comparable fashion. But the very fact that Jews and Christians likewise looked to the Timaeus underscores their shared vision of “the beginning” of things with Platonists. John Whittaker describes the appeal of the Timaeus for those steadfastly committed to the authoritativeness of Scripture. According to Whittaker, “The question was one of considerable importance, for by demonstrating a high degree of parallelism between Genesis and the Timaeus, Hellenized Jews and the Christians gained immediate access into the philosophical world of Platonism.” 9 One of the interesting (and revealing) aspects of this perceived “parallelism” between Genesis and the Timaeus was the argument that Plato must have plagiarized the more venerable (and divinely inspired) Mosaic teaching concerning creation. How else (certain early Fathers queried) can one explain the parallels? But such an interpretation can cut two ways. First and foremost, of course, it affirms their sincere belief (however fanciful it may seem from our perspective) in the remote dependence of Platonism upon scriptural authority. Implicit in that argument, however, lies the suggestion that the Platonic and scriptural accounts of creation were on a similar wavelength,

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thereby reducing scriptural teaching to the Platonic model of a formation or ordering of preexistent matter. If the disparity between the Platonic and Judeo-Christian understandings of cosmological origins amounts to one of “local” incommensurability (rather than a wholly irreconcilable one), wherein lies the common ground or points of contact between these respective traditions? For all their differences in fundamental theological presuppositions, both traditions emphasize the world’s dependence upon a principle outside of the world itself (whether it be the God of Revelation, the Platonic Demiurge, or the Neopythagorean Monad). In this connection, Gerhard May speaks of a “common intellectual climate,” rooted in a convergence between the philosophical understanding of God as the “sole cause of reality” and the Christian doctrine of creation by God out of nothing. 10 Likewise, both traditions display a shared vision of cosmic order and the conviction that the parts of the universe contribute to the goodness of the whole of things. Such a conviction is consistent with a teleological outlook that recognizes the inherent intelligibility and coherence of reality, by virtue of the causal action of a good and providential creative source (whether the act of creation is defined in terms of a bringing into being or as a formation of a formless material substrate). 11 THE CONTINGENCY CRITERION By the same token, the early Fathers’ adaptation of the Platonic interpretation of creation does not mean that they accepted it “hook, line, and sinker,” so to speak. Such an uncritical endorsement would have been offset by their recognition of the radical contingency of the created world. In a very real sense, an appreciation of true creatureliness was the great legacy of an understanding of the act of creation as ex nihilo. For these Christian thinkers, creatures are deemed causally dependent upon God for their very being, not merely for their formation and ordering. A formed and ordered universe in the Platonic sense presupposes the sheer fact of its existence. But this could only be fully appreciated once the Fathers were able to discern the uniqueness of the scriptural understanding of creation, over against competing Platonic versions. What the early Fathers required was a means of articulating this creaturely contingency as concomitant with the ontological transition from nonbeing to being that the act of creation encompasses. Accordingly, a guiding methodological principle of this study is what I characterize as the “contingency criterion.” By focusing primarily upon contingency (rather than upon explicit articulations of the creation ex nihilo formula), we have a means of upholding divine sovereignty in its most absolute sense (even in the face of those patristic creation accounts which sound unmistakenly Platonic in their depiction of the dynamics of creation). In the absence of this criterion, one

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can easily assume that thinkers like Justin and Athenagoras (or Philo Judaeus in later Judaism) adopted something of a dualistic stance in their descriptions of the act of creation as a formation of formless matter. In my estimation, then, the critical consideration here is not whether a given thinker (or Scripture itself, for that matter, when we consider key creation texts like Gn 1: 1–2 and Wis 11:17) explicitly employs the creation ex nihilo formula. Rather, we must assess whether the text in question affirms the contingency of created reality in relation to the sovereignty and omnipotence of its Creator. In this regard, interpretations of the Old Testament theology of creation are particularly challenging and problematic. It can be misleading to ask whether the “doctrine” of creation ex nihilo is found in Gn 1:1, ff., many centuries before the formal doctrine took shape. We must instead confine ourselves to what Scripture says regarding the scope of divine sovereignty and the depth of creaturely dependence. For this reason, we must avoid the uncritical assumption that the primordial void or abyss to which the opening verses of Genesis refer must be interpreted in terms of an amorphous matter. Such an assumption reflects a reading of Greek philosophical categories into the text not warranted in relation to the intellectual milieu in which it emerged (despite the fact that Philo and certain early Fathers interpreted it in this manner). We must confront, then, a critical question that touches directly upon an assessment of the origins of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. Can the notion of creation from nothing rest exclusively upon an affirmation of creaturely contingency in relation to God’s unqualified power, or does it require something more, namely, a recognition of the deeper metaphysical implications of that notion? If the latter option is true, then any claim that Scripture upholds creation ex nihilo must be ruled out. In this connection, Gerhard May contends that “the origins of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo must be understood and explained as part of the controversy of early Christianity with philosophy.” 12 From May’s standpoint, the affirmation of creation from nothing in its technical sense was the outgrowth of Christian polemics against Greek philosophical accounts which defined creation in terms of the formation of an eternal, preexistent matter. More specifically, May contends that the doctrine emerged in attempts to defend God’s omnipotence, freedom, and uniqueness against the Greek model of world-formation (yet expressed within the “frame of reference” of a Greek philosophical perspective). 13 May’s criterion for determining whether a commitment to creation ex nihilo is evident in a given text is a highly stringent one. For him, even an explicit use of the ex nihilo formula (i.e., ek ouk onton) does not necessarily imply an endorsement of that particular doctrine. We must hold fast to the methodological principle that enquiry must not be limited to the connotation as such of the formula ‘to create out of non-being’;

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this need not have the sense of an ontological principle. Only when the formula is seen from the train of thought to be an intentional antithesis of the idea of world-formation, is it to be taken as a testimony to the doctrine of unconditional creation. 14

While May acknowledges the continuity between Old Testament discussions of creation and the formal doctrine of creation ex nihilo, he also distinguishes between what is merely implicit in a text, and what a text actually expresses (and intends to express). In this regard, he contends that “It is only when one tries to put oneself back into problems as posed by the sources . . . that one can grasp and follow through the historical process in which the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo originated.” 15 From my standpoint, however, it is precisely what is implicit in a text that merits our attention. As May himself acknowledges, it is possible that the notion of creation ex nihilo can be “unambiguously expressed, but without the corresponding formula.” 16 Since that doctrine presupposes the development of a wide range of concepts, we should not draw conclusions merely on the basis of what the text does not say (or simply could not say, at least not at the time of its composition, in the absence of a more sophisticated metaphysical framework for its interpretation). What the text of Gn 1:1–2 affirms is the fact that the world as we know it is radically dependent upon God’s creative efficacy for anything worthy of the name of “real.” 17 METHODOLOGY This book encompasses three parts: part I, “In the Beginning: Scriptural and Platonic Perspectives” (chapters 1–3); part II, “The Shape of Things to Come” (chapters 4 and 5); and part III, “Forging the Doctrine” (chapters 6–10). The concluding epilogue synthesizes major themes and attempts to place the topic in a contemporary context. Part I considers key sources of the early patristic theology of creation: the Bible (chapter 1, “A Scriptural Point of Departure”), Plato’s Timaeus (chapter 2, “Plato On Cosmological Origins”), and second century (A.D.) Platonic interpretations of Aristotle’s critique of Plato’s “creation” narrative (chapter 3, “Middle Platonic Responses”). More specifically, chapter 3 approaches Middle Platonic thinkers representing (a) the “majority opinion” in these debates endorsing Aristotle’s commitment to an eternal universe, but appealing to an external causal principle as a means of explaining its formation and ordering; and (b) those who depart from the majority position, upholding a temporal origin of the universe. Overall, then, part I assumes a dual role, offering an historical point of departure for what follows, and critical touchstones for exploring early patristic contributions to the development of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo.

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Part II addresses anticipations of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo in hellenistic Judaism and in the Apostolic Fathers. Chapter 4 (“The Creation Account of Philo Judaeus”) comes to terms with Philo’s rich contribution to this discussion. Philo provides an intriguing nexus between reason and Revelation that would exert a highly significant influence upon subsequent developments in patristic creation theology. While Philo’s thought is firmly grounded in the context of scriptural exegesis, it is deeply imbued with insights derived from the eclectic milieu of Middle Platonism as well. Chapter 5 (“Creation and Cosmos in the Apostolic Fathers”) provides something of a bridge between parts II and III, laying the groundwork for my investigation of the second-century Greek Apologists (the veritable heart of the study) in part III (spanning chapters 6–10). In this respect, chapter 5 examines initial patristic affirmations of divine sovereignty and creaturely contingency, along with the growing perception of the consonance between faith and reason that manifests itself as early as the first century A.D. Chapter 6 (“The Christian Platonism of Justin Martyr”) assesses Justin’s contribution to the patristic theology of creation against the background of his receptivity to Greek thought and his adaptation of insights drawn from Platonism in affirming God’s role as ultimate Cause of the universe. Chapter 7 (“The Christian Philosophy of Athenagoras of Athens”) continues in this vein, addressing the apologetic program of Athenagoras and its incorporation of Platonic metaphysical presuppositions into his unequivocal monotheism and its emphasis upon the ontological difference between God and the material universe. The attachment of Justin and Athenagoras to a Platonic perspective raises some interesting questions regarding the extent to which they were committed to the notion of creation ex nihilo, at least in an explicit way. In this regard, both thinkers adopted a depiction of the dynamics of creation in terms of a formation of formless matter, rather than as a bringing into being from nothing. By virtue of their reliance upon the formation model of creation, they prompt the question as to whether they espoused the idea that God brought into being the matter that He formed and organized in the world’s creation. 18 Their mutual emphases upon the radical contingency of the material universe, however, leave little doubt that a commitment to creation ex nihilo was implicit in their respective accounts. But such a commitment still presupposes God’s bringing into being of the matter that served as the substrate of the subsequent creative process. We only find a specific response to this problem in the next phase of patristic creation theology. This response was effected by Tatian, the focus of chapter 8 (“Tatian of Syria: The ‘Stages’ of Creation”), which delineates his innovative theory of a sequential, “dual creation,” that is, the creation of matter from nothing and creation as an ordering of that amorphous material substrate.

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While Tatian’s innovation stands in continuity with the deliberations of Justin and Athenagoras (refining as he does what is merely implicit in their creation accounts), it also points the way to the theological breakthrough of Theophilus of Antioch, the subject of chapter 9 (“Theophilus of Antioch: At the Threshold”). When Theophilus poses the probing question “What would be remarkable if God made the world out of preexistent matter?” (Ad Autol. II.4), he establishes a crucial line of demarcation between the Judeo-Christian and Greek philosophical accounts of cosmological origins. 19 Once this line was drawn, creation ex nihilo became a standard, uncontested feature of patristic theology. If the doctrine was challenged in the early Christian centuries, such challenges proceeded largely from the dualistic perspective of Gnosticism. In point of fact, however, these challenges only refined the way in which the doctrine found theological expression. As Paul Blowers observes, “the ever-deepening encounter with the rival religious and philosophical world-views of Graeco-Roman antiquity . . . raised the stakes of Christian doctrinal self-definition respecting the origins and destiny of the cosmos.” 20 While an anti-dualistic stance is discernible in each of the Fathers of the Church considered in this study, it assumes a special prominence in the Alexandrian Fathers treated in chapter 10 (“The Alexandrian School”). In Clement of Alexandria, we find a thinker who was critical of the philosophical tradition, yet highly receptive to its teachings, particularly in regard to his reliance upon Platonism. Indeed, Clement was extremely confident of the kinship between the opening verses of Genesis and what he found in Plato’s Timaeus. Clement, however, was equally uncompromising in his denial of an eternally existent universe in affirming creation from nothing. But Clement also endorses the seemingly anomalous position (shared with Philo) that the beginning of things did not occur in time, but proceeded from its creation by the Logos, the eternal arché Who serves as the Father’s creative agent. Clement clearly upheld the world’s creation from nothing. But despite this commitment, he still does not provide complete clarity concerning the question as to whether matter existed prior to creation, as a preexistent substrate (so amorphous that it could hardly be said to exist at all). Origen (Clement’s student and great successor in the Alexandrian school), however, is clear and unequivocal in his commitment to the absolute contingency of matter. Origen’s explicit statement of creation ex nihilo delineates the act of creation in terms of the origin of matter from nothing and its subsequent formation and ordering. While this “dual stage” interpretation is reminiscent of what we encounter in Tatian of Syria, it bears Origen’s distinctive (and theologically controversial) stamp as well. In this regard, Origen develops a theory of creation encompassing reality as a whole, from God to rational spirits to corporeal natures. For this very reason, he provides an illuminating referent for assessing the role of creation ex nihilo in the context of a system-

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atic approach to Christian theology, serving as a means of unifying the themes of creation, primal sin, redemption, and eschatology in a cohesive manner. NOTES 1. Fourth Lateran Council (1215): DS 800; Cf., DS 3025. The historical context in which this counciliar statement emerges is revealing, to the extent that it highlights the sense of urgency which prompted a formal and precise definition of creation ex nihilo in terms of an unequivocal affirmation of God’s sovereignty as Creator and the thoroughgoing contingency of creation. The declaration implicitly rejects the Latin Averroistic commitment to Aristotle’s teaching that the universe is eternal. It likewise rejects the medieval Neoplatonic dictum that creation presupposes God’s reliance upon a range of intermediary principles. Most notably, it reflects a reaction against the neo-Manichaeaism which arose in the south of France during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. This revival of a radical dualism found expression in Catharism (closely linked with Albigensianism), a movement which posited an adversarial relationship between the principles of good and evil. In this scheme, the good principle (identified with the God of the New Testament) was designated as the Creator of the spiritual world, while the evil principle (identified at least partially with the God of the Old Testament) was designated as Creator of the material universe (as well as human souls imprisoned in bodies). 2. In this vein, Robert Sokolowski (The God of Faith and Reason [Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1995], 18–19) draws a sharp contrast between the Christian God (whose greatness and goodness does not require that He create) and the notion of the divine in Greek philosophy (which is deemed “divine” by virtue of its differentiation from what is non-divine). According to Sokolowski (23), such a differentiation amounts to a “new distinction” between the world “as possibly not having existed” and the God that is “possibly being all that there is.” 3. Etienne Gilson, God and Philosophy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1951), 43. 4. The term “incommensurable” is itself mathematical in origin, denoting “no common measure.” Cf., Robert M. Veatch and William E. Stempsey, S.J., who offer a succinct definition of “incommensurability” within a paradigm-based analysis (“Incommensurability: Its Implications for the Patient/Physician Relation,” The Journal of Medicine and Philosophy 20 [1995]: 255): The only alternative to interpretation of data within one paradigm is interpretation of data in some other paradigm. What this means is that paradigms are “incommensurable.” That is, there is no common language between paradigms that allow the terms of one paradigm to be completely translated into the terms of the other. 5. In the Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 2nd edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 196, 1970), 148–150, Kuhn considers (148): “why the proponents of competing paradigms must fail to make complete contact with each other’s viewpoints” (in the context of his analysis of revolutionary science as a “paradigm shift” from one conceptual framework to another). Kuhn proposes three reasons for this phenomenon: (a) disagreements about problems, standards, and definitions that any paradigm must resolve; (b) new relationships between the terms, concepts, and experiments of the competing paradigms; and (c) the fact that proponents of competing paradigms see different things and practice science in different worlds. 6. Thomas Kuhn, “Commensurability, Comparability, Communicability” in The Road Since Structure. Philosophical Essays 1970–1993 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), 36:

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Introduction The phrase “no common measure” becomes “no common language.” The claim that two theories are incommensurable is then the claim that there is no language, neutral or otherwise, into which both theories, conceived as sets of sentences, can be translated without residue or loss. Most of the terms common to the two theories function the same way in both; their meanings, whatever those may be, are preserved; their translation is simply homophonic. I shall call this modest version of incommensurability “local incommensurability.”

7. Veatch and Stempsey (“Incommensurability: Its Implications for the Patient/Physician Relation,” 260) propose the following implications of the notion of “local” incommensurability for bridging the gap between diverse outlooks: In fact, some neighboring clans may hold much in common with respect to language, beliefs, and values while differing only in certain key features. They may share much the same metaphysics and conceptual apparatus, but on certain critical controversies disagree on certain elements. Second, these clans may not be engaged in a revolutionary war so much as a prolonged, chronic dispute in which two thought collectives coexist side-by-side speaking different dialects in which many concepts and conventions are shared, but certain key ones are not. 8. Eric Osborn, Justin Martyr (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1973), 46. 9. John Whittaker, “Plutarch, Platonism and Christianity,” in Studies in Platonism and Patristic Thought (London: Variorum Reprints, 1984), 60. In this regard, David Runia (Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato [Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1986], 135) specifically cites Tim. 29e as one of those texts which are “among the chief motivating forces which led to the Platonizing tendencies of Patristic theology.” Similarly, Jaroslav Pelikan (What Has Athens to Do with Jerusalem? Timaeus and Genesis in Counterpoint. Jerome Lectures, 21 [Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997], 43) approaches the relationship between pagan Greek and the Judeo-Christian cosmological perspectives in terms of a posing of questions from the former to the latter: “When this philosophical cosmogony of Athens encountered the nonphilosophical cosmogony of Jerusalem, many of the concepts of Timaeus put questions to the text of Genesis that had not been raised in quite that way before.” By the same token, we might consider the extent to which a scriptural cosmogony along with Jewish and Christian cosmological speculation, could pose challenging new questions to a Greek philosophical outlook. 10. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, viii. 11. Jaroslav Pelikan, What Has Athens to Do with Jerusalem? Timaeus and Genesis in Counterpoint (12) highlights the connection between creation ex nihilo and a teleological perspective: The history of cosmogonic speculation based on Timaeus . . . demonstrated that this theory was by no means the only way to give centrality to the notion of divine teleology. The subsequent history of the interpretation of Genesis . . . would show that the divine “creatio ex nihilo” . . . was a powerful way to teach teleology; for it ascribed to the divine creator the sovereignty and freedom not only to call things into being out of nonbeing but to stamp on them a design, and thus (in Aristotelian language) to connect first cause with final cause. 12. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, xii. 13. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, xii. Cf., the remarks of Blake T. Ostler (“Out of Nothing: A History of Creation ex Nihilo in Early Christian Thought,” FARMS Review 17/2 [2005]: 271), who echoes May’s sentiments:

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An approach that resists reading creatio ex nihilo into the text unless it is expressly formulated is especially appropriate because . . . the earliest Christian philosophers assumed that the doctrine of creation from preexisting chaos was the Christian view. The issue had not been addressed or settled prior to the end of the second century, when the adoption of a Middle Platonic view of God and matter as a background assumption of discourse made adoption of creatio ex nihilo the only rational doctrine to adopt. 14. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 8. 15. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, xii. 16. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, xii. By the same token, May (xii) also considers the possibility that “there is formal talk in a given text of creatio ex nihilo without that being the underlying idea.” What does he have in mind here? For May (and other commentators, as we shall see), this latter option emerges in the case of 2 Mc 7:28: while its language clearly endorses the notion of creation ex nihilo (that is, a bringing into being of what does not exist), it still does not meet the rigid criterion he proposes for determining a commitment to the notion of creation in its most absolute and unequivocal sense. 17. In this context, contingency implies neither an inert passivity nor a chaos devoid of intelligibility. Indeed, the conviction that the universe ultimately depends upon a supremely good and infinitely intelligent Godhead imparts it with a special integrity of its own. Creation, for all its contingency, bears the stamp of its Creator. In E. L. Mascall’s reckoning (Christian Theology and Natural Science [London/New York/Toronto: Longmans, Green and Co., 1957], 132), a created universe “will embody regularities and patterns, since its Maker is rational, but the particular regularities and patterns . . . can be discovered by extension.” Likewise, contingency must be construed as part and parcel of created reality. Indeed, creatures are contingent upon an ongoing basis, from moment-to-moment of their existence. 18. Ian A. McFarland (From Nothing: A Theology of Creation [Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014], 3) discerns a consistency between Justin’s Platonic depiction of the dynamics of creation and the language of Gn 1:1–3: “However envisioned, the idea of a “formless waste” already present to God as the raw material for God’s creative activity is clearly most consistent with Justin’s Platonic picture of creation as the shaping of pre-existing matter than with Theophilus’ doctrine of creation from nothing.” Cf., Paul Blowers’s assessment in “Creation,” Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, edited by Everett Ferguson (New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1990], 240a), which contends that the scriptural depiction of God’s fashioning of the world from chaos (Gn 1:1ff.; Wis 11:17) “appeared superficially compatible with Plato’s vision of the demiurgic bringing order to eternal, formless matter.” 19. Ian A. McFarland (From Nothing: A Theology of Creation, 2) demonstrates how Theophilus’s recognition of the distance between the pagan and Christian understanding of the act of creation is rooted in basic presuppositions surrounding the contingency of created reality on the one hand, and Divine omnipotence on the other: If God is to be confessed as Lord without qualification, then everything that is not God must depend on God for its existence without qualification. Otherwise, whatever realities existed independently of God would constitute a limit on God’s ability to realize God’s will in creation, in the same way that the properties of wood constrain the creative possibilities open to the carpenter. Because Theophilus refused to acknowledge any such limits, he concluded that creation cannot be thought of as God reshaping some preexisting material in the manner of a human artisan who . . . creates from something else. Instead, God brings into being the very stuff of which the universe is made. In short, God creates from nothing.

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20. Paul M. Blowers, “Doctrine of Creation,” chapter 44 of The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, edited by Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 907.

Part I

In the Beginning: Scriptural and Platonic Perspectives

Chapter One

A Scriptural Point of Departure

Patristic theologies of creation were firmly grounded in scriptural teaching. The fact that the Bible affirms that God is the supreme Creator of all things is clear and uncontested. This seminal teaching finds support in countless passages in the Old and New Testaments alike. Since God’s status as Creator is absolute, He could not rely upon anything in implementing His creative purpose. A commitment to the ultimacy of divine creation thus points to the assumption that God creates from nothing whatsoever. But what is this, but another way of saying that God’s creative activity does not depend upon any preexistent reality (that is, reality which preexists creation)? Indeed, it could not so depend, if God’s sovereignty and omnipotence are to remain inviolate. From this standpoint, early patristic discussions of creaturely origins are unavoidably linked with the notion of creation ex nihilo. But if Scripture provides the critical touchstone for such discussions, then an additional question must be addressed. To what extent does Scripture itself teach creation ex nihilo? In a very real sense, this question assumes a retrospective significance. Indeed, the very posing of the question presupposes doctrinal developments that extend far beyond the scriptural tradition. Accordingly, are we justified in reading creation ex nihilo into texts written long before the subsequent formulation of the doctrine? Stated in other terms, is it appropriate to judge what the Bible teaches about creation in light of a doctrinal standard rooted in sustained reflection on the contents of Revelation? Paul Copin frames the critical issue in these terms: “Is the traditional Christian belief in creatio ex nihilo, God’s creation of the universe out of nothing, one that is inherent to biblical doctrine or one that is simply compatible with it?” 1 3

4

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Copin’s question touches upon a lively contemporary scholarly debate regarding the origins of creation ex nihilo and its scriptural provenance. In surveying the plethora of studies concerning this topic, one is immediately struck by the extent to which the same texts (most notably, Gn 1: 1–2 and 2 Mc 7:28) can admit of such conflicting interpretations by authors who muster compelling textual and theological support in defense of their respective positions. 2 These diverse interpretations reveal a seemingly irreconcilable tension between (a) those who discern the presence of creation ex nihilo in the Bible (“pre-packaged,” so to speak) and (b) those who contend that it is the outgrowth of later developments. In light of the persuasive evidence and convincing argumentation pro and con that these studies bring to bear, which intepretation or side of the debate is correct? In confronting this question, I consistently opt for something of a middle ground between those competing perspectives, that is, the claim that Scripture explicitly teaches creation ex nihilo on the one hand, and the assumption that creation ex nihilo only emerged in the second century A.D., in the context of polemical responses to Greek philosophical and Gnostic models of creation, on the other. From my standpoint, considerations as to whether creation ex nihilo is inherent in or compatible with scriptural teaching must give way in terms of an overriding concern: does Scripture consistently affirm the contingency or dependence of reality other than God? In this connection, I wish to shift the focus of investigations into the scriptural theology of creation (and by extension, into early patristic discussions in this vein) from (a) a preoccupation with whether or not the act of creation is described in a manner consistent with the formal doctrine of creation ex nihilo to (b) an emphasis upon the extent to which a given text affirms the existential dependence of creatures upon a supreme and all powerful Godhead. This initial chapter addresses a range of scriptural passages pertinent to the theology of creation, with an attentiveness to what they tell us about God and creatures alike. This limited range by no means provides the basis of an exhaustive treatment of this theme. Rather, the survey merely offers a point of departure for our exploration of early patristic deliberations on cosmological origins in those chapters comprising parts II and III of this study. While Gn 1:1–2 and 2 Mc 7:28 provide major scriptural referents for our purposes, we also address certain fundamental presuppositions found in the biblical tradition as a whole (including sources from the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and rabbinical commentaries).

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5

THE CASE FOR GENESIS First lines of great works are usually memorable. This is no less true in regard to the greatest of books, the Bible. In commencing with a proclamation of “the beginning of all things,” the Bible immediately attests to the unlimited power of God, and by implication, to the absolute dependence of everything else upon God's creative efficacy: “In the beginning God created (bārā̕) the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was a formless and empty waste, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” 3 In this context, the verb bārā̕ expresses a mode of action unique to God alone. If bārā̕ finds its exclusive subject in God, it also connotes something novel or extraordinary in the product of His creating. 4 But how far does the divine exclusivity suggested by this term take us in affirming that God created the heavens and the earth in an absolute and unequivocal sense, that is, from nothing? Commentators are far from unanimous in assessing the import of the word in this particular context. 5 Such disparities of interpretation caution us against investing bārā̕ with too great a significance, or at least, a significance beyond the intention of the Priestly writers. Pelikan, for one, acknowledges that the verb denotes “the exclusive prerogative of God the Creator,” but denies that it carries “the additional connotation of creatio ex nihilo.” 6 In this respect, we confront the critical question as to how absolute a “beginning” Gn 1:1 affirms. Does it refer to an absolute beginning (before which nothing existed in the absence of God’s creative command) or to the beginning of an ordered creation? Fretheim opts for the latter option: “The word beginning does not refer to the absolute beginning of all things, but to the beginning of the ordered creation, including the temporal order.” 7 From this standpoint, the “novelty” of creation consists in the origin of a genuine cosmos, that is, an ordered whole. According to this interpretation, the “novelty” of creation (consistent with the connotations of bārā̕) does not lie in the making of what was not, but an ordering of what was disordered, and thus, of no consequence to the Priestly writers. 8 But does such an interpretation do justice to the distinctiveness and comprehensiveness of God’s creative activity? Even if the origins of such preordered phenemona (that is, the waste or chaos [tōhû wābōhû], the deep [tehōm], and the waters) described in Gn 1:2 were wholly inconsequential to the author(s), this kind of interpretation reduces the act of creation designated by bārā̕ to a mere metaphor of human making or craftsmanship. Still, we must consider whether an acknowledgement of God’s sovereignty as Creator immediately rules out the possibility of preexistent reality, albeit a reality wholly lacking the robustness of created reality. The question only becomes more complicated in the face of semantical analyses of the opening verses of Genesis.

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Chapter 1

In this connection, the debate in question turns on diverse intepretations of the grammatical relationship between the first two verses of Genesis and the divergent meanings that those interpretations yield. The problem can be framed in this way: does Gn 1:1 constitute a complete sentence in its own right (or alternatively, a temporal or circumstantial clause designating the origin of things) or a dependent clause implying that the act of creation presupposed the preexistent, disordered chaos to which Gn 1:2 refers? Lane summarizes the mainlines of the debate in these terms: An examination of the syntax of verse 1 itself does not lead to the conclusive proof that it is a complete sentence or that it is a temporal clause. This could have been anticipated in view of the duration of time that discussion of which is the case has been going on. What has been shown is that the “traditional” translation “In the beginning God created . . .” is not a likely translation but that either “First God created . . .” or “When God began to create . . .” are reasonable translations with respect to the syntax and lexicography involved. 9

While the syntactical/lexicographical dimension must be taken into account, however, the resolution of the debate is by no means clear-cut. In this respect, McFarland stresses the ambiguity surrounding the text, acknowledging that “the unusual grammar of the Hebrew makes the prospect of a definitive judgment on the verse’s meaning unlikely.” 10 For the sake of argument, however, let us assume that Gn 1:1 must be interpreted as a dependent clause (implying that when God created the heavens and the earth, a primordial chaos was present). Even if the validity of such an interpretation was undisputed (and it apparently is not), this surely cannot mean that God relied upon that chaos in order to create, the way in which a human craftsman relies upon the materials at hand in order to produce something. By the same token, what does it mean to speak of the “preexistence” of chaos? In what sense could that disorder be said to “exist” in any significant way? A more viable response, I believe, is that the Priestly writers simply did not address the kind of question that considers what “preceded” the act of creation. The fact that Gn 1:2 refers to such phenomena in this context probably points to certain cosmological presuppositions common to ancient Near Eastern traditions (which depict creation as proceeding “from something,” as reflected in the Enuma Elish, the Egyptian theology of Heliopolis, and Canaanite religion). In any case, such presuppositions would not pose a challenge to the sovereignty and omnipotence of God in the minds of the Priestly writers. In a very real sense, the creative act described in Gn 1:1–2 encompasses everything that its authors envisioned as genuinely real. Since they conceived reality in highly tangible terms, the metaphysical status of the primordial chaos was not relevant to their thought world. In McFarland's estimation, the Priestly writers “show no particular interest in the metaphysical question of

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whether absolutely everything has its sole point of origin in God,” even as they uphold God’s sovereignty. 11 But can the issue be so neatly resolved, as McFarland seems to suggest? From this writer’s standpoint, the claim that the question as to whether the God of Genesis created from nothing was not relevant or interesting to its authors can be construed in two ways. On the one hand, it might imply that the text simply does not endorse the notion that God “started from scratch,” so to speak, in creating. (In that case, however, we must still come to terms with the possibility that God’s creative efficacy was limited, reliant as it was upon something preexistent, or more drastically, something opposed to God’s creative intent.) On the other hand, such an interpretation might affirm that the notion of creation from nothing was taken as a given, that is, so obvious a fact that it required no further elaboration or attempts at explanation. Indeed, the Priestly writers of Genesis may not have been metaphysically inclined (at least not in the way that the Greek philosophers were so inclined). 12 But this did not render them unable to grasp the really and truly real. In this sense, they knew the difference between a world exhibiting all the order and beauty that God’s creative action brings to bear, and a primordial chaos that hardly merits inclusion in the scheme of reality at all. In my estimation, then, inquiring whether Genesis teaches creation ex nihilo is not only premature from the standpoint of doctrinal development, but more crucially, misses the point regarding the theological concerns of the text’s authors. As Westermann contends, their true intention was “to guard with reverence the mystery of creation, not to explain it.” 13 In confronting the mystery surrounding God’s creative will, the discussion of what God created “out of” or “from what” He created becomes something of a moot consideration. For the Priestly writers, what does matter is the product of God’s creative efficacy. If, as Bockmuehl argues, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo “in its origin states the creation’s . . . absolute contingency on the Creator . . . at the same time affirming his unlimited sovereignty and freedom,” then we certainly find these elements in Gn 1:1–2. 14 Accordingly, it is not necessary to find explicit textual support (either terminological or syntactical) for this teaching. The crucial factor, it seems, is the de facto articulation of the fundamental components of what would become the formal doctrine of creation ex nihilo: a recognition of the thoroughgoing contingency of creation and an affirmation of the ultimate sovereignty of God as Creator. 15 If we allow Gn 1:1–2 to speak for itself, what does it say? More specifically, what does it require theologically? In addressing this issue, Lane alerts us to what is at stake in our reading of the text, in light of its theological priorities: To the Priestly writer, God is in complete control of the universe. He brought it under his control in creation. It was this act that brought order out of chaos,

8

Chapter 1 made life possible, and gave meaning and purpose to all that does not exist. To him this was the thing of importance; this was all that needed to be known about creation. Philosophically we are forced to add a prior step: All this is true because God brought all things into existence ex nihilo. But theologically is his view inferior to ours? 16

Once we read the opening verses of Genesis as a succinct commentary on the scope of divine sovereignty and the depth of creaturely contingency, the chaos of Gn 1:2 assumes a more profound significance. For Gerhard von Rad, the tension in the text is not really between the extremes of nothingness and creation, but between creation and cosmos. 17 In a manner consistent with the latter distinction, God is ultimately responsible for the order and harmony that is part and parcel of the really and truly real. In this respect, the conviction that God created from nothing can only be rendered minimally intelligible on the basis of some conception of that which exists. 18 We do not grasp “nothingness” in the abstract; it always presupposes the absence or lack of something substantial. Accordingly, the Priestly writers’ conception of reality in a highly tangible, pictorial manner would probably extend to their understanding of the negativity inherent in the preexistent chaos as well. In the mindset of the ancient Hebrews, genuine reality was expressed by means of the term dabhar, that is, the “word,” “deed,” “object”; conversely, nothingness found expression in lo-dabhar, the “not-word,” which is consistent with the notion of non-being. 19 It is significant that God is depicted as creating by means of a command; the issuance of His efficacious word provides for the implementation of His creative intent. By virtue of this utterance, God affirms His sovereignty over all things. In this context, then, the chaos represents that state of disorder and upheaval which God neutralizes. If the tōhû wābōhû of Gn 1:2 can be equated with negativity, it represents something denuded of the dynamic, life-giving character of God’s creative power. Boman characterizes the primordial chaos in these terms: This kind of chaos . . . is the vain . . . lacking in reality and actuality just because it cannot effectively bring anything to pass. It is difficult . . . to insinuate ourselves into the Israelite thought world . . . because according to our way of thinking chaos is something quite real . . . but for the Hebrew a material without specific properties is a mere nothing. 20

By introducing negative notions like chaos (as well as the deep or abyss) into its depiction of the act of creation, Gn 1:2 underscores the extent of God’s creative potency. Such negative elements in the text provide striking counterpoints for highlighting the fecundity of creation, as the antithesis of privation and deficiency on a physical and moral level. As prefatory to the J-story’s account of the creation and proliferation of humanity (Gn 2–11), Gn 1 offers an elaborate cosmogony, that is, a system exhibiting a hierarchical arrange-

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ment. 21 For this reason, the emphasis here is not upon what preceded creation or its “material cause” (i.e., that “out of which” God created), but rather, what God actively accomplishes as Creator, and ultimately, as deliverer of the people of Israel. In this respect, God's creative and providential roles go hand-in-hand. For, the beginning of all things in the act of creation is the basis of a continual sustaining of the created universe that extends to God's care for His people—from their liberation from Egyptian bondage in the Exodus experience to their preservation in the midst of Babylonian exile. From this standpoint, we must approach the creation account of Gn 1 from the perspective of its authors and the experience of a people who recognized their utter reliance upon the benevolence of God for their very survival. Indeed, an affirmation of creaturely contingency in its broadest terms is consistent with an affirmation of an ongoing existential reliance upon God in the context of everyday life. In the vision of its Priestly writers, the God of Genesis (powerful enough to create all things) is the same God Who can respond to the needs of His people in their present situation. 22 In this connection, Denis Carroll describes the book of Genesis as a “patchwork” (by an anonymous editor of the Deutero-Isaiah school) of the “strands” of the Priestly (end of fifth century B.C.) and the Jahwist (ninth to eighth centuries B.C.) traditions, bringing together their diverse theological concerns (i.e., the transcendence and sovereignty of God for the Priestly authors; the source and problem of evil for the Jahwists). 23 We now turn to some key creation texts of Deutero-Isaiah, and consider what they reveal about the intimate relationship between belief in God as supreme Creator and an enduring faith in His fidelity to His people in their time of deepest need. THE COSMIC VISION OF DEUTERO-ISAIAH It is significant that Deutero-Isaiah (middle sixth century B.C.) emerged during the exilic period. This time of trial for the people of Israel heightened their sense of reliance upon God for deliverance. Deutero-Isaiah provides a veritable treasure trove for references to God’s role as Creator, and conversely, discussions of creaturely contingency. As Denis Carroll points out, some twenty of the forty-seven Old Testament appearances of the term bārā̕ are found in Deutero-Isaiah. 24 But in contrast to Genesis, the main focus of such discussions is not a cosmogonical one. Rather, the theme of creation provides a segue for coming to terms with the exigencies of an era in which the faith of God’s Chosen People was severely put to the test. Such a critical moment was conducive to attempts to find historical precedents in the intimate relationship between the people and God, from the creation of the world to the Exodus from Egypt to the contemporaneity of the Babylonian Captivity.

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According to Richard Clifford, Deutero-Isaiah’s parallelism between creation and the Exodus experience reflects a desire to infuse the present historical situation with cosmic dimensions. From Second Isaiah’s rhetorical perspective, Israel in Babylon found itself in a position like that of the Hebrews in Egypt. Away from its . . . divinely given land, the people had ceased in any true sense to be Yahweh’s people. To become fully alive, again, they needed to embark on a new exodus—land taking, a new cosmogony. 25

In implementing this project, the authors of Deutero-Isaiah accomplished nothing less than a literary tour de force, skillfully integrating several key motifs: the cosmic character of creation; the creation of God’s own people; the forging of this people into a nation; their purification and struggle to preserve their national and religious identity. Such motifs also reveal an intertwining of the dominant theological concerns of the Priestly and Jahwist strands comprising the book of Genesis: a recognition of the sovereignty and omnipotence of God and an attunement to the presence of evil and the necessity of redemption. For the present purposes, our investigation of DeuteroIsaiah is confined to some salient texts drawn for those chapters (i.e., 44–55) comprising the “Book of Consolation” (a title consistent with the message of hope that permeates the entire work). 26 For Deutero-Isaiah, the theme of creation provides a means of continually highlighting God’s power to accomplish all things on behalf of the people He calls His own. But now, thus says the Lord, who created (bārā̕) you, O Jacob, and formed (yāṣar) you, O Israel: Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name: you are mine. 27

In this context, bārā̕’ (to create) and yāṣar (to form) are almost synonymous in meaning. Their pairing in a single verse plays on the analogy between the act of creation in its most originative sense and the forming or shaping of Jacob/Israel as a people. 28 God’s calling of His people by name underscores the personal bond between Creator and created in cosmic and nationalistic terms. God’s creation of Jacob/Israel thus harkens back to His creation of all things. But Deutero-Isaiah is also permeated with imagery evocative of the Exodus drama and God’s rescuing of His people at that defining moment of their history. 29 Yet we are immediately admonished against considering these words in relation to past events alone, as if God’s saving work was confined to what happened in a bygone age. 30 Accordingly, we must view God’s creative

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activity as dynamic and ongoing, unfolding in the present. The import of this message comes into sharp focus against the background of the Israelites’ Babylonian Exile. If God promises to do “something new,” His impending intervention clearly involves a response to their current situation. The Exodus from Egypt offers a compelling historical precedent for His willingness to respond to His people at the critical time. In broader terms, however, Is 43 appeals to the power of the God Who can accomplish all things, the same God Who created the world “in the beginning” (Gn 1:1). Who could stifle the saving plans of such a personal Creator? Since God made all things, everything and everyone is subject to His governance. In this respect, the deliverance of the Israelites from Babylonian exile extend to all peoples as well. 31 By virtue of its grouping of three creation verbs (bārā’, yāṣar, and ’āsāh), Is 43:7 highlights the multidimensional character of God’s creativity: from His making of the world to an imposition of order—not just upon the earth, but upon His own people and the people of all nations. 32 The universalist emphasis of Deutero-Isaiah is strikingly revealed in the role it assigns to Cyrus of Persia (559–529 B.C.) as God’s instrument in the Israelites’ redemption and eventual restoration. 33 In even stronger terms, Is 45:1 designates Cyrus as the Lord’s “anointed,” the one whose “right hand” the Lord grasps as Cyrus subdues nations and kings. The dominant message of Deutero-Isaiah is that the reach of God’s power is global in extent precisely because it is cosmic in scope. By means of this power, He extends His providential care to the very “ends of the earth.” 34 Accordingly, DeuteroIsaiah’s emphasis upon the all-encompassing character of creation is consistent with an unequivocal monotheism that recognizes the absolute sovereignty of God alone. For thus says the Lord, The creator (bôrē) of the heavens, who is God, The designer and maker of the earth, who established (kônĕnāh) it, Not creating it to be a waste, but designing it to be lived in: I am the Lord, and there is no other. 35

The foregoing quote from Is 45:18 employs variants of bārā̕ in designating that mode of creating proper to God. In this connection, the Creator (bôrē) of the heavens also made (‘ōśāh) the earth. For all practical purposes, ‘ōśāh (derived from the verb ‘āsā ) is interchangeable in meaning with bārā̕ and its variant forms. Accordingly, the notions of God’s “forming” and “establishing” the earth are ancillary to the primary meaning of divine creation, that is, a making that is the prerogative of God alone. Even if the issue of creation ex nihilo is not explicitly addressed in this terminologically rich text, the impli-

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cation is clear: the heavens and the earth depend upon the creative power of God for their very existence. But the God capable of creating all things at the outset can also re-create His people by providing them with a new beginning. 36 By the same token, the hope for such restoration presupposes a moral integrity and a fidelity to God’s precepts. While Deutero-Isaiah focuses upon divine mercy and the prospect of deliverance, we find a rather different tone in the prophet Jeremiah. Although God did not create the earth “to be a waste” (as Is 45:18 teaches), Jeremiah warns that infidelity and immorality on the part of the people will result in a regression to an acosmic state of affairs that is the polar opposite of the order and harmony proceeding from God's creative efficacy. 37 Jeremiah introduces the unsettling prospect of the dissolution that accompanies sinfulness on a societal scale. Significantly, however, Jeremiah also portrays God as refraining from completely annihilating the world. 38 While this promise affirms God’s compassion and mercy, it also implies something crucial about God’s creative efficacy. Indeed, the God able to reduce all things to waste and void if He willed to do so is the same Creator that called forth the earth from nothingness by a single command. As Deutero-Isaiah makes clear, God’s creation of the earth is intimately bound up with the forming and ordering of creation. Cosmic order is correlative with a moral order in which obedience to God insures fruitfulness and prosperity. As supreme Creator and sustainer of all things, God establishes the standard for goodness and well-being on every level, from the flourishing of the physical world to the deliverance and enhancement of His people Israel, and by extension, the peoples of the world. From Deutero-Isaiah’s perspective, everything and everyone falls under God’s providential care. This accounts for the highly nuanced conception of “beginnings” that emerge in its widespread appeals to the fecundity of creation. The act of creation, then, inaugurates a series of beginnings: in its most foundational terms, the beginning of the earth and its creatures, culminating in the creation of humans; in covenantal terms, the beginning of a people set apart, God’s chosen ones; in salvific terms, the beginning of this people's restoration in the aftermath of exile. Accordingly, divine creation opens the way to the “new creation” of redemption and deliverance from evil. For this reason, Deutero-Isaiah is lavish in its exaltation of the sheer wonder of God’s work. As Boadt observes, the poems of this source assume something of the quality of hymns or psalms of praise. 39 We now turn to the genre of psalmic literature, an important repository of references to the theme of creation.

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IN PRAISE OF GOD AND CREATION A particularly notable expression of praise for God and His works is found in Ps 104, a hymn proclaiming God’s sovereignty over everything which exists. 40 In this respect, its overall language is strongly evocative of Gn 1, the seminal creation account of Scripture. In order to appreciate the profundity of Ps 104, however, we must consider its immediate predecessor. Together, Ps 103 and Ps 104 constitute a thematic pair beginning and ending with the inclusio “Bless the Lord, my soul.” 41 But while both are directed toward an exaltation of God and His goodness, each addresses different aspects of God’s dealings with the world as its Creator. In a manner reminiscent of Deutero-Isaiah, Ps 103 emphasizes the extent of divine love, as revealed in His forgiveness of sins, healing of disease, and compassion toward the oppressed. Ps 104, on the other hand, extols the variety of a created order brought into being and sustained by divine wisdom. In point of fact, however, the concluding verses of Ps 103 anticipate this emphasis on God’s sovereignty and its manifestations in the works of creation. 42 Ps 104 leaves no doubt as to what constitutes the most dramatic manifestation of divine power. The thirty-five verses comprising Ps 104 provide a detailed catalogue of the fruits of creation, the psalmist’s overt evidence for God’s greatness. Everything that God does on behalf of creatures proceeds from this originative act. In the context of Ps 104 as a whole, the verb ᾽āsāh (extremely close in its connotations to bārā̕ and its variant forms) provides the root for those terms designating the “making” proper to God, as well as the multifarious “works” it generates. For the present purposes, an abridgement highlighting the relevant verses of Ps 104 suffices. You make the clouds your chariot . . . You make the winds your Messengers . . . by your labor the earth abounds . . . You made the moon to mark the seasons . . . How varied are your works . . . in wisdom you have wrought them all . . . may the Lord be glad in these works. 43

In the concluding sections of Ps 104, we encounter a shift in emphasis from the greatness of God (as revealed in His works) to the greatness of God’s works themselves. An extolling of the wonder of God’s works is an extolling of the Lord God as well. The psalmist’s praise focuses upon creation as a whole, encompassing all of the works confirming the majesty of the Creator. The uniqueness of the act of creation is underscored in the assertion “In wisdom you have wrought them all.” 44 If God created in wisdom, the implication is that creatures could not have emerged in a naturalistic manner. Rather, creation bears the stamp of an intelligibility consistent with belief in a personal and providential Godhead. In contrast to the gods of surrounding

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peoples, the God of Israel is not arbitrary in His actions, including His creative activity. In this connection, the Hebrew term ḥokmâ (the nearest Hebrew equivalent of the Greek term for wisdom, sophia) suggests a general competence, practical skill, or technical expertise in dealing with the exigencies of life and its manifold trials. 45 This teleological perspective (which presupposes the order of the whole of things under God’s providential guidance) is reinforced at Ps 104:27. While this particular verse refers to the totality of created works, the principal concern here is not only the actual creation of those works, but their ongoing sustenance. Creatures “look to” God because they depend upon Him for their survival, and ultimately, their existence. But implicit in this expression of dependence is a trust that God will provide creatures with all they require. Metaphorically speaking, even non-rational creatures can be said to “look to” God and to trust in Him, by virtue of their radical contingency from moment to moment of their existence. By means of the affirmation that God creates all things “in wisdom” (Ps 104:24a), the psalmist shows that this gratuity on God’s part is purposeful, intended for the realization of the good of creation as a whole. God’s nourishment in “due time” is again stressed at Ps 104:28, where His act of feeding humans (and their reciprocal gathering of food) is reminiscent of the feeding of the Israelites with manna in the desert. 46 But such sustenance also entails a spiritual strengthening of sinful humanity by a benevolent God. Just as humans are sustained when God (figuratively speaking) “opens His hand” to them, they are also given over to complete dissolution (in a manner recalling the admonition of Jer 4:23) in the absence of God’s saving care. 47 The turning away of God’s loving countenance coincides with a suspension of His blessings, and the corresponding diminishing of humanity. Separation from God can only result in death, evoking the image of the dust or clay from which God formed Adam at Gn 2:7. 48 Ps 104:30 provides a concise but profound summation of this hymn of praise to both God and creation. Here, God’s issuance of His “breath” (suggestive of the “mighty wind” or Spirit sweeping over the water in Gn 1:2) is identified with God’s creative decree. As in Gn 1, creation proceeds from a single divine utterance. 49 This understanding of the dynamics of creation is consistent with the connotations of bārā̕ and its variants: a “making” proper to God alone that requires no more than a word of command. In the context of Ps 104:30, creation assumes a dual character: a causal efficacy whereby all things are called forth on the one hand, and a conserving of created reality on the other. As in Deutero-Isaiah, creation coincides with an ongoing recreation or renewal of everything on earth. While Ps 104 is firmly grounded in the tradition of Salvation History (especially as reflected in Genesis and Exodus), it can also be read within the context of Wisdom literature. In this respect, we find grounds for characteriz-

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ing it as a “Wisdom Psalm” in its own right. 50 In verses throughout Ps 104 (i.e., vv. 1–3; 5; 24; 27–30), we find several themes pointing to salient features of the Wisdom theology of creation: the role of God as supreme Creator and sustainer of everything on earth; the intimate relation between God and creatures at every phase of their existence; the notion of the act of creation as an expression of divine wisdom. But in addition to such thematic similarities, we also encounter a number of linguistic and conceptual parallels between Ps 104 and the Wisdom tradition as a whole. 51 THE CHALLENGE OF WIS 11:17 Ps 104 testifies to the vision of the created world as a harmonious system whose diverse parts contribute to the goodness of the whole of things. Such harmony and organization are most evident in the constitution of humans, and more specifically, in the rationality which underscores their creation in God’s image and likeness. An emphasis on the intimate relationship between the divine Wisdom in the universe and the wisdom attainable by humans is a hallmark of the sapiential literature. 52 As rational creatures, humans are able to discern the work of God’s Wisdom in the natural order in which they participate. In more practical terms, this rational capacity enables them to find meaning and intelligibility in their dealings with the vagaries of the external environment. The Wisdom tradition of the Old Testament exhibits a decidedly pragmatic stance, exploring the fundamental components of the good and happy life. For the Sages who produced this genre of writing, human wisdom proceeds from an attunement to the universal order established by God and an adherence to its dictates in conducting one’s affairs. 53 While the Wisdom literature upholds the chief tenets of mainstream biblical theology (most notably, a recognition of the absolute sovereignty of God as Creator and the thoroughgoing contingency of creatures), it also introduces certain features pointing to the hellenizing influences accompanying the conquests of Alexander the Great and his successors. This Hellenistic presence is fully evident in the Book of Wisdom (c. 1st century B.C.). 54 While this work assumes an admonitory tone in the face of the threat posed by Hellenization to the integrity of the Israelites’ faith, it also discloses a familiarity with various aspects of the Greek thought world. Arguably, however, the most significant cultural aspect in this vein is a linguistic one. Since the Book of Wisdom was composed in Greek, its vocabulary introduces the technical precision of a philosophical idiom into biblical ways of thinking. More crucially for our purposes, such terminological innovation had theolgical consequences that would decisively shape the manner in which subse-

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quent commentators (both Jewish and Christian) would interpret the issue of cosmological origins. In the Book of Wisdom, we find three key references to God’s work as Creator, each of which highlights a different dimension of divine creativity. 55 At Wis 1:14a, the Sage proclaims that “He created all things that they might exist” (Ἔκτισε γὰρ εἰς τὸ εἶναι τὰ πάντα). 56 In so doing, the author depicts the act of creation on its most fundamental existential level as the origin of the very being of creatures. Here, the verb form (derived from the verb κτίζω) provides a Greek equivalent of the Hebrew bārā̕, with its connotation of a mode of creating exclusive to God alone. This teaching is reiterated in Wis 9:1, but with the use of alternate creation terminology: “God of my fathers, Lord of mercy, you who have made all things by your word (ὁ ποιήσας τὰ παντα ἐν λόγῲ σου).” In this instance, the verb in question is derived from ποιέω, designating a making or doing with broader applicability (i.e., to divine and human examples of making or producing alike) than κτίζω and its variant forms (with a focus on the creativity proper to God alone). In any case, the connotations of Wis 1:14 and Wis 9:1 are the same, with the emphasis in Wis 9:1 on the fact that God creates in a direct and instantaneous way, by the mere utterance of a word or command. Indeed, any doubts about the import of ποιήσας in Wis 9:1 are easily dispelled on the basis of the verses (9:2–3) which affirm the causal dependence of all things upon God (regardless of the verb employed to express His creative action) in a manner consistent with the general thrust of the scriptural theology of creation. But this claim encounters something of a challenge in confronting the language of Wis 11:17: “For your all powerful hand, which created the world out of formless matter (κτίσασα τὸν κόσμον ἐξ ᾀμόρφου ὕλης).” 57 The critical question here is not whether God actually created the universe, but the means by which He created. Indeed, the formula “out of formless matter” (ἐξ ᾀμόρφου ὕλης) might provide something of a stumbling block for those committed to the presence of the teaching of creation ex nihilo in Scripture, or conversely, a prooftext for those who wish to maintain that Scripture teaches creation on the basis of a preexistent substrate. In this regard, it is reasonable to assume that one's interpretation of the “formless matter” of Wis 11:17 will reflect how one interprets the primordial chaos of Gn 1:2. So we must revisit the question that dominates interpretations of the initial verses of Genesis. 58 Indeed, commentaries on Wis 11:17 are as divided in their responses as commentaries on the Priestly account of creation in Genesis. 59 In my estimation, however, it is as mistaken to look for a full blown “doctrine” of creation ex nihilo in the Book of Wisdom as it is to do so in the context of Genesis. Once again, we must attune ourselves to what the text says about God’s role as Creator and the scope of His creative action. When

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we read Wis 11:17 in conjunction with Wis 11:25, we find an unequivocal affirmation of creaturely dependence upon God in the most absolute sense. The language of Wis 11:25 attests to a divine causality that not only brings things into being, but sustains them in their sheer finitude. But if God is the ultimate Creator and sustainer of everything which exists, what are we to make of the reference to creation ἐξ ᾀμόρφου ὕλης in Wis 11:17? One can only infer that the Sage implicitly assumed God’s creation of the matter “from which” He fashioned all things. Such an influence, however, demands that we anticipate the theory of a sequential or dual stage creation which emerged in second century patristic theology. 60 But by the same token, even if we do not have grounds for affirming that Wis 11:17 upholds creation ex nihilo, neither can we rule it out completely, at least not solely on the basis of the text’s language and imagery. Indeed, the linking of the notion of creation as a “making” by God alone was already firmly established in Deutero-Isaiah. The Book of Wisdom continues in this vein, teaching that God has “disposed all things by measure and number and weight.” 61 God's exercise of such a providential dominion over creation is consistent with His role as Creator. Indeed, the God Who “called forth” all things by creative fiat arranged them into a harmonious, ordered whole. Wis 11:17 would become a pivotal text for the early patristic theology of creation, not just as a vital point of contact between the biblical and Hellenistic thought worlds (with its incorporation of the distinction between form and matter), but as a compelling referent for those Fathers committed to a Platonic model of cosmological origins. Christian Platonists such as Justin Martyr could easily perceive a kinship between the teachings of Wis 11:17 and the Timaeus’s account of cosmic generation. In so doing, they also came to interpret the chaos of Gn 1:2 as an amorphous material substrate, a pure potentiality for formation and ordering. 62 A focus upon the language and imagery of Wis 11:17, however, might also blur the distinction between the act of creation as a “bringing forth” or “making” and creation as a “forming” or “fashioning.” While there is an overlapping of meaning between these understandings of what it means to create, there is a substantive difference as well. For this reason, Wis 11:17 must be read in conjunction with another influential scriptural text that draws upon an additional distinction drawn from Greek thought, the distinction between being and non-being. THE CASE FOR 2 MC 7:28 Like the Book of Wisdom, 2 Maccabees (c. 124–63 B.C.) encompasses a reaction against detrimental foreign influences and the dangers they posed to the religious fidelity of the Jews. In contrast to The Book of Wisdom (in which the motivating concern is an excessive assimilation of Hellenistic

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culture), however, 2 Maccabees reflects a situation of harsh persecution directed toward nothing less than the destruction of the Jewish religion. This oppression culminated in the profanation of the Temple at Jerusalem under the Seleucid monarch Antiochus IV Epiphanes. 63 The Book of Wisdom and 2 Maccabees share the irony that both works were composed in Greek and reveal a familiarity with various elements of Hellenistic learning, even as they engage in polemics against threats to the maintenance of Jewish religious identity. 64 This openness to a Hellenistic worldview, as we have seen, is particularly evident in the incorporation of abstract philosophical terminology and concepts. But any such usage in 2 Maccabees does not emerge in explicit cosmological deliberations (as in the psalmic and sapiential literature), but rather, in the context of an extended exhortation to remain steadfast in the faith. This speech directs the Jews to look toward God's power for deliverance, as revealed in His role as supreme Creator. The exhortatory dimension of 2 Maccabees is a highly prominent feature of its fourth major part (i.e., 2 Mc 4:1–7:42). In 2 Mc 7, we encounter the poignant account of the martyrdom of a mother and her seven sons subjected to cruel torture and death for refusing to violate their ancestral customs. Addressing her first six sons, the mother appeals to the Creator of the universe, the beginning of all things, to inspire hope in His capacity to restore them to life. 65 But the true comprehensiveness of God’s creative efficacy emerges in the mother’s advice to her final son, words containing the unmistakable verbal formulation of a manner of creating proper to God alone: “I implore you, my child, to look at the earth and sky and everything in them, and consider how God made them out of what did not exist (γνῶναι ὅτι ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων ἐποίησεν), and human beings come into being in the same way.” 66 We find no reference to amorphous matter here, and no suggestion of a preexistent substrate. Rather, the text appears clear and unequivocal in affirming that God did not create on the basis of what already exists, or more literally, that God created from what did not exist. But the contention that 2 Mc 7:28 upholds creation ex nihilo is by no means a universally shared assumption among contemporary scholars. The dispute surrounds the formula ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων ἐποίησεν (the reading of Lucian 55 311, Origen GCS 10.22.14 on Jn 1:17, Latin M, Syriac) and its unambiguous pronouncement of creation “from what does not exist.” The alternate reading (A V 106, Latin BP, Coptic) of οὐκ ἐξ ὄντων carries the connotation of “not from existent things,” a formula less explicit in its commitment to creation from absolutely nothing at all. In this respect, J. C. O’Neill suggests that the original reading was ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων ἐποίησεν, stressing that the very need to highlight the “novelty” inherent in this act of making required a

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formula indicating an exceptional case (even as he concedes that the preposition ἐξ “implied some pre-existent stuff”). 67 From O’Neill’s standpoint, 2 Mc 7:28 is revolutionary enough to challenge the deeply ingrained Parmenidean assumption that from nothing, nothing arises (ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος οὐδὲν γίνεται): “The sentence in 2 Mc 7:28 was meant to convey absolute novelty. What Parmenides had denied to be possible could and did occur. It would have been safer to avoid the formula ἐκ, but the ἐκ was necessary in order to make it clear that Parmendes’ rule did not always apply.” 68 Accordingly, we confront something of an either/or option regarding our interpretation of the import of 2 Mc 7:28: either God is sovereign over creation or He is not. If Scripture upholds God’s absolute sovereignty as Creator, is there a place in this theological framework for a commitment to the notion of creation from a primordial chaos or preexistent matter? 69 This “sovereignty test,” I submit, applies not only to 2 Mc 7:28, with its explicit language suggestive of creation ex nihilo, but likewise to Gn 1:1–2 (which contains no such abstract metaphysical terminology) and Wis 11:17 (with its incorporation of the “out of formless matter” formula). God’s sovereign power is all-embracing, encompassing not only the power to create the world from nothing (in the language of 2 Mc 7:28), but the power to restore people to life. In the context of 2 Mc 7, creation in the most absolute sense (and the divine power which renders it possible) is closely aligned with belief in God’s power to raise the dead (2 Mc 7:9, 14, 23, 29). Goldstein, in fact, argues that the belief in bodily resurrection (among Jews and Christians alike) provided the incentive for an insistence on creation ex nihilo. 70 Goldstein’s contention is consistent with a larger scholarly trend that views the emergence of a commitment to creation ex nihilo as inextricably bound up with polemical concerns. 71 But while this teaching was certainly clarified and refined in the course of debates with those who either upheld creation from preexistent matter, or denied bodily resurrection, or challenged the inviolability and freedom of God, this does not prove that it was no more than the outgrowth of those debates or that it was merely invoked for polemical purposes. If it was so invoked, it was because its emphasis on divine sovereignty and creaturely contingency was consistent with theological presuppositions deeply rooted in Scripture. 72 While an appeal to creation in its most absolute sense was obviously useful in a polemical context, this notion hardly fell “out of the air,” so to speak, in the interests of theological expediency.

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RABBINICAL, PSEUDEPIGRAPHICAL, NEW TESTAMENT SOURCES As we have seen, the Old Testament offers ample evidence of a commitment to the fundamental tenets of creation ex nihilo. The most salient statement in this vein (2 Mc 7:28) provides an explicit formulation of theological presuppositions that permeate various Old Testament texts. By virtue of its unambiguous assertion that God creates from what is nonexistent, this text also provided a key scriptural referent for those patristic theologians who forged the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. But 2 Mc 7:28 by no means stands alone in what it affirms about the dynamics of God’s creative action. In actuality, its language resonates with what we find in a number of hellenistic Jewish sources. 73 The highly eclectic cultural milieu in which Jewish thinkers of that age participated was conducive to a sharpening of dialectical skills in defense of revelatory teaching. In this regard, a particularly interesting discussion emerges in B’reshith Rabbah, an early second century text (c. 100 A.D.) which openly challenges the notion of creation from something preexistent. B’reshith Rabbah describes an encounter between Rabbi Gamaliel II and someone vaguely designated as a “philosopher.” A certain philosopher asked R. Gamaliel, saying to him, “Your God was indeed a great artist, but surely He found good materials which assisted Him?” “What are they,” said he to him? “Tohu, bohu, darkness, water, wind (ruah), and the deep,” replied he. “Woe to that man,” he exclaimed. “The term ‘creation’ is used by Scripture in connection with all of them.” 74

While the appellation “philosopher” suggests a representative of a Greek philosophical perspective, it might also refer to a Hellenized Jew who perceived no compromise of divine sovereignty in interpreting the primordial chaos of Gn 1:2 as an amorphous matter already at hand when God engaged in the act of creation. In any case, the characterization of God as an “artist” is a telling one, indicating an affinity with a Platonic model of creation and its depiction of the Demiurge’s shaping or ordering of the Receptacle. Gamaliel’s negative reaction to the claim of the “philosopher” implies that he considers God’s role as Creator encompassing no more than the work of an “artist” or “craftsman” in need of “good materials” for assistance. By applying the term “creation” to those “materials” (tohu, bohu, darkness, water, wind, the deep), Gamaliel affirms their causal dependence upon God. From this standpoint, they must have been created as well. 75 While B’reshith Rabbah I.9 does not explicitly incorporate the ontological terminology employed in 2 Mc 7:28, it definitely points in the direction of upholding God’s sovereign status as Creator over anything that falls under the scope of existent reality, from the highest heavens to the most elemental

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natural phenomena. 76 For intertestamental statements on creation that are evocative of the metaphysically charged language of 2 Mc 7:28, we must turn to selections from the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (first century B.C. to second century A.D.). These passages articulate the common conviction that God not only created all things, but brought them into being from what did not exist. While this theme is evident in several pseudepigraphical texts, it is particularly explicit in 2 Enoch: “Before anything existed at all, from the very beginning, whatever exists I created from the non-existent, and from the invisible the visible.” 77 In view of the proposed time-frame for the composition of B’reshith Rabbah and the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, it is entirely feasible that these sources reflect a cross fertilization of insights drawn from Judaism and Christianity alike. Indeed, the possibility of such a mutual influence at the outset of the Christian era cannot be overlooked. As Bockmuehl observes, “there seems to have been a two-way traffic here, from Jewish readings of Genesis to Christian affirmations about creation out of nothing, and back again.” 78 Such dual interaction, of course, must also encompass the New Testament and its incorporation of the creation ex nihilo language that we observe in 2 Maccabees. In the clear statements regarding creaturely contingency that thread their way through the New Testament, O’Neill discerns evidence of the formulation of creation ex nihilo as a credal statement so deeply ingrained that it requires no further elaboration. 79 In the prologue to St. John’s Gospel, we find the veritable paradigm of New Testament references to creation. In the beginning was the Word (Ἐν ảρχῆ ἦν ὁ Λόγος) and the Word was with God (ἦν πρὸς τὸν Θεόν) . . . He was in the beginning with God. All things came to be through him, and without him nothing came to be (πάντα δι´ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο οὐδἑ ἒν ὃ γέγονεν). 80

The Johannine identification of the Word (the God who assumed human flesh) as Creator of all things harkens back to Old Testament themes. On the one hand, it evokes the image of Wisdom as coeternal and copresent with God in the world’s creation. On the other hand, it calls to mind DeuteroIsaiah’s linking of the notion of creation as the beginning of the world with the notion of creation as a re-creation. St. John’s Gospel thus affirms the thoroughgoing contingency of all things upon the creative agency of the Word, without whom nothing was created. Its emphasis upon creaturely contingency is echoed in various New Testament texts, including St. Paul’s epistles. In a manner consistent with the Johannine Christology, Eph 3:8–9 refers to the God who “created all things by Jesus Christ” (τῷ τὰ πάντα κτίσαντι διὰ ’Ιησου Χριστοῦ). Col 1:16–17 further describes the comprehensiveness of creation by God, the beginning

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and sustainer of all that exists, things both visible and invisible. 81 While such texts clearly uphold God’s creative omnipotence, a more explicit suggestion of creation ex nihilo is found in Rom 4:17, which links God’s power to restore the dead to life with His power to call “into being what does not exist” (καλοῦντος τὰ μὴ ὄντα ὡς ὄντα). 82 While the New Testament theology of creation stands in continuity with the general thrust of Old Testament teachings, its distinctiveness lies in the role it attributes to the Word as the Father’s agent in creation. As fully divine and fully human, the Word made flesh of John’s Gospel (Jesus, the Second Person of the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) allows for the new creation of the redemptive process and the restoration of fellowship between humanity and its Creator signalled by the inbreaking of the Kingdom of God. In this respect, the concluding book of the New Testament provides a striking counterpoint to the teaching of Gn 1:1, where God declares Himself to be “the Alpha and the Omega . . . the beginning and the end.” 83 If Genesis traces cosmological origins and the intelligibility of the universe to God’s creative fiat, the Book of Revelation imparts a deeper significance to the ebb and flow of history by virtue of its orientation toward a final end. In eschatological terms, the God who made all things in and through the Word brings all things to completion in a new heaven and a new earth, with the restoration of fellowship between creation and its Creator. THE SCRIPTURAL “BEGINNING OF ALL THINGS” The opening verses of Genesis provide a succinct but comprehensive statement regarding cosmological origins. In this theological framework (which sets the tone for what follows in Scripture), everything ultimately depends upon God for its existence. Indeed, a commitment to the most exclusive form of monotheism (upholding the absolute sovereignty of God) extends to the scriptural understanding of the act of creation as well. Those who interpret Gn 1:1–2 as teaching that God created by imposing order upon a primordial chaos must still reckon with the theological implications of such a claim. Can God be deemed absolutely sovereign over all things if He depended upon a preexistent reality in creating? Accordingly, divine sovereignty is correlative with the radical contingency of anything other than God. The claim that God created from nothing whatsoever thus renders moot any consideration regarding “from what” or “out of which” God created. We are led to the conclusion, then, that in the absence of God’s creative fiat, nothing whatsoever could exist. When Scripture affirms that creation is oriented toward a final consummation, it likewise affirms that God has infused it with a purposefulness and

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intelligibility from the very outset. As First Cause (the Cause of all causes), however, God also constitutes the end toward which all things tend, as the ultimate standard of perfection and fulfillment. This deeply rooted teleological perspective provides a significant point of contact with the Greek intellectual tradition. We now turn to a major representative of that tradition. In Plato’s Timaeus, we find an alternate account of cosmological origins which provided both Jewish and Christian thinkers with a vital touchstone as they applied the resources of philosophical reasoning to their understanding of the contents of Revelation. NOTES Quotations from the Bible are drawn from the following translations (cited by the accompanying abbreviations): New American Bible = NAB New International Version = NIV New Jerusalem Bible = NJB New Revised Standard Version = NBSV Revised English Bible = REB 1. Paul Copin, “Is Creation Ex Nihilo A Post-Biblical Invention? An Examination of Gerhard May’s Proposal,” Trinity Journal 17.1 (Spring 1996): 79. 2. In this connection, note the astute observations of William R. Lane (“The Initiation of Creation,” Vetus Testamentum 13 [1963]: 66) and his caution against imposing later presuppositions upon the text: Thus it is important that we should not . . . attempt to translate these verses with preconceived ideas about what it must or must not say. We must allow the writer to speak for himself. Only thus can we learn what he considered . . . the important facts about creation. We believe in creation ex nihilo. What did the Priestly writer believe? This we cannot answer until we have objectively studied the syntax of verses 1–3. 3. Gn 1:1–2 (NIV). Cf. LXX: ἘΝ ảρχῇ ἐποἱησεν ὁ Θεὸς τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ τὴν γῆν. Ἡ δέ γῆ ἦν ảόρατος καὶ ảκατασκείαστος, καὶ σκότος ἐπάνω τῆς ảβύσσου• καὶ πνεῦμα Θεοῦ ἐπεφέρετο ἐπάνω τοῦ ὕδατος. 4. Luis I. J. Stadelmann, S.J., The Hebrew Conception of the World: A Philological and Literary Study (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1970), 5. 5. Compare here the remarks of William R. Lane (“The Initiation of Creation,” 70), who warns against assigning an extraordinary meaning to bārā̕: “One can just not say that because bārā̕ is used creatio ex nihilo is implied; we do not know that much about the meaning of the word.” 6. Jaroslav Pelikan, What Has Athens to Do with Jerusalem? Timaeus and Genesis in Counterpoint. Jerome Lectures 21 (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997), 48. Pelikan (48) also observes that the verb in the Septuagint version of this text is έποίησεν rather than ἒκτιοεν. In Pelikan’s reckoning, the verb poiein is broad in scope, covering a wide range of acts of making (including human ones). 7. Terence E. Fretheim, The Book of Genesis. Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection New Interpreter’s Bible I (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), 342a.

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8. Terence E. Fretheim, The Book of Genesis, New Interpreter’s Bible I, 342a: “The author does not deny that God created all things, but God’s creative work in this chapter begins with something already there, the origins of which are of no apparent interest.” 9. William R. Lane, “The Initiation of Creation,” 69. In support of this thesis, Lane also argues (69) that the definite article (“the”) is lacking in the Hebrew text (i.e., bereshit rather than bar-reshit). 10. Ian A. McFarland, From Nothing. A Theology of Creation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014), 3. 11. Ian A. McFarland, From Nothing. A Theology of Creation, 4. Similarly, Claus Westermann (Genesis 1–11. A Commentary. Trans. John J. Scullion, S.J. [Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1984], 108) makes the following observation: The alternatives which this question raises comes from a causal way of thinking which . . . goes behind creation and asks, Where did it come from? The fact that the verb . . . [bārā̕] . . . is not used with any preposition with the meaning “out of” indicates that such a question was irrelevant for P. What is peculiar to biblical talk about the creation of the world is that it looks wholly and solely to the creator. 12. In this vein, I endorse the opinion of Lane (“The Initiation of Creation,” 73): To the Greek the origin of matter was a pertinent and even pressing question. This is evidently not so with the Priestly writer. If he thought of the question at all, he was content to leave it unanswered. It is more likely that it never entered his mind; he did not answer it because he was not aware of it as a question. 13. Claus Westermann, Genesis 1–11. A Commentary, 174. 14. Markus Bockmuehl, “Creatio ex nihilo in Palestinian Judaism and Early Christianity,” Scottish Journal of Theology 65, issue 3 (August 2012): 269. 15. In this context, note Bockmuehl’s distinction (“Creatio ex nihilo in Palestinian Judaism and Early Christianity,” 270) between “the meaning and substance” of the doctrine and the terminology by which it would eventually be articulated. My claim is that the “meaning and substance” are already evident in Genesis. 16. William R. Lane, “The Initiation of Creation,” 73. 17. Gerhard von Rad, Genesis. A Commentary. Revised Edition. Translated by John H. Marks (London: SCM Press, Ltd., 1972), 51. Cf., the remarks of Conrad Hyers (The Meaning of Creation. Genesis and Modern Science [Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1984], 65), whose emphasis upon the cosmic dimension of Genesis’s creation account (whereby God orders and governs all things) downplays the importance of creation as a “making” in this context. In Genesis 1 . . . the first item of concern is that of the establishment and maintenance of an orderly cosmos. The primary analogy being used . . . is that of ordering and ruling, rather than that of making and fashioning. But does not the former presuppose the latter, whereby God orders and governs what He creates? 18. How does one conceptualize complete nothingness? This is no easy task, but this is precisely the notion that the formal doctrine of creation ex nihilo presupposes, that is, that creation entailed a bringing into being of what was not in the most absolute sense. 19. Thorlief Boman, Hebrew Thought Compared with Greek (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1960), 56. In view of the interpretation of the “chaos” I here endorse, I consider Bockmuehl’s contention (“Creatio ex nihilo in Palestinian Judaism and Early Christianity,” 255) that this state is “already the product of the act of creation” somewhat problematic. Could the God of Genesis be said to create such existential negativity? Such a claim, of course, also raises some important questions pertinent to the classic problem of evil that extend beyond the scope of the present discussion. 20. Thorlief Boman, Hebrew Thought Compared with Greek, 57.

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21. Richard J. Clifford, Creation Accounts in the Ancient Near East and in the Bible. The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 26 (Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1994), 143. 22. Denis Carroll, “Creation” in The New Dictionary of Theology, Joseph A. Komonchak, Mary Collins, and Dermot A. Lane eds. (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, Inc., 1987), 246a–b. 23. Denis Carroll, “Creation” in The New Dictionary of Theology, 247a. 24. Denis Carroll, “Creation” in The New Dictionary of Theology, 246b. 25. Richard J. Clifford, Creation Accounts in the Ancient Near East and in the Bible, 170–171. According to Lawrence Boadt (Reading the Old Testament: An Introduction [New York /Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1984], 418), on the basis of “the note of excitement and urgency in his message, we can be sure that the prophet was working just before the final end of Babylon in 539.” 26. Lawrence Boadt, Reading the Old Testament: An Introduction, 416. 27. Is 43:1 (NRSV). Like bārā̕, yᾱṣar is rich in meaning, designating God’s creative activity in relation to the earth, to humanity, and to God’s Chosen People. In this regard, yᾱṣar contributes to something of a blurring of the distinction between creation as a “making” or “producing” and creation as a “forming”. But Conrad Hyers points out (The Meaning of Creation. Genesis and Modern Science, 66) the kinship between the notions of creation as a “making” and creation as a “forming”: Even the act of creating in the sense of making is a form of lordship and ordering. The potter masters and shapes the clay. To create is to have control over a medium and give form and order to it. 28. But Christopher R. Seitz (The Book of Isaiah 40–66. Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections. New Interpreter’s Bible VI [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2001], 375b) qualifies an appeal to the exodus experience in these terms: The relationship to the exodus narratives is not to be denied, but the association is secondary and allusive and . . . generated by the language of judgment . . . familiar from the larger book of Isaiah. 29. Is 43:17. 30. Is 43:19. 31. Is 43:7. See Luis I.J. Stadelmann, S.J., The Hebrew Conception of the World. A Philological and Literary Study for a delineation of the significance of the creation terminology of Deutero-Isaiah. According to Stadelmann (5), bārā̕ is the “term par excellence for God’s creative activity,” yᾱṣar connotes a forming and fashioning in the manner of a potter, while ᾽ᾱsᾱh is always interchangeable with bārā ̕when it refers to God's act of creation. 32. Cf. Is 43:3, with its reference to those nations which God allowed to be conquered by the Persians so as to grant Israel freedom from their control. 33. Is 44:28. 34. Is 45:22. 35. Is 45:18 (NAB). Cf., Is 40:25–26; 44:24. Note the following verb forms in Is 45:18 which highlight the multidimensional character of God's creative action: bôrē̕ Verb, qal, participle, ms., from bārā̕, to create; yōṣēr Verb, qal, participle, ms., from yāṣar to create, form, fashion; ̒ōśāh Verb, qal, participle m.s., with 3rd fs. suffix, from ̒āsā, to make, do; kônĕnāh Verb, polel, perfect, 3rd ms., with 3rd fs. suffix, kûn, polel, to set up, establish, fix solidly; bĕrā’āh Verb, qal, perfect, 3rd ms. with 3rd fs. suffix, from bārā̕, to create; yĕṣārāh Verb, qal, perfect, 3rd ms. with 3rd fs. suffix, from yāṣar, to create, form, fashion. 36. Is 65:17–19. 37. Jer 4:23. 38. Jer 4:27. 39. Lawrence Boadt, Reading the Old Testament: An Introduction, 417.

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40. This characterization is derived from J. Clinton McCann Jr., The Book of Psalms. Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections. New Interpreter’s Bible IV (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 648. According to McCann, such hymns employ the basic form of an opening invitation to praise; the rationale for such praise; and a reiteration of the initial invitation to praise. 41. These two psalms, in fact, provide the only examples of such an inclusio in the entire psalter. 42. Ps 103: 19a–22. 43. Ps 104: 3, 4, 13, 19, 24a, 31 (NAB). J. Clinton McCann Jr. (The Book of Psalms. New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IV [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996], 1096a) points out that ᾽āsāh is “the key word in Psalm 104,” with some six variants found through its thirty-five verses (as the quote indicates). 44. Ps 104:24a (NAB). 45. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1997), 1057: “The translation ‘wise’ or ‘wisdom’ is inexact; it catches neither the range nor the precise meaning of the originals, which suggest experienced and competent mastery of life and its various problems. The most common parallels have to do with perception, understanding, or skill, although parallels with uprightness and honesty are also common. The parallels show that action rather than thought is the point.” 46. Cf., Ex 16:16–21. 47. Ps 104:28 (NAB). 48. In this respect, “dust” not only provides a symbol of corruption and death, but also serves as a poignant reminder of the mutability of creaturely existence and the superficiality of human power in the face of divine omnipotence. 49. Cf., Ps 33:9; Ps 148:5–6. 50. I derive this characterization from J. Clinton McCann Jr. (The Book of Psalms, New Interpreter’s Bible IV, 650). In keeping with his designation of some psalms in this manner, McCann (666) speaks of them as providing “a theological instruction manual for the study of the divine order of salvation,” that is, “a study of the life of God and the life God intends for humankind and the world.” Following McCann's lead, I tentatively place Ps 104 within this category of psalms. 51. In addition, Ps 104 displays certain affinities with genres of extra-biblical literature that exerted an apparent influence upon the Wisdom tradition, and which were reshaped in light of biblical presuppositions regarding God’s role as Creator. More specifically, Ps 104 exhibits a kinship with the Egyptian Hymn of Amenhotep IV to Aten (the beneficent sun disc responsible for the creation and regeneration of all things), as well as with the literature of the Canannite tradition. We find a common ground with Ps 104:27 in the following portion of the Hymn of Amenhotep: “The world came into being by thy hand, according as thou hast made them. When thou hast risen they live, when thou settest they die. Thou art lifetime thy own self, for one lives through thee.” In regard to possible Canannite influences, McCann (The Book of Psalms. New Interpreter’s Bible IV, 1096), suggests those accounts which depicted creation as the result of a battle among the gods which prompted an ordering of the chaos into the cosmos. 52. In Richard Clifford’s characterization (Creation Accounts in the Ancient Near East and in the Bible, 181), Wisdom “mediates between the all-wise Yahweh and the human seeker.” While Clifford’s comment is directed specifically to what we find in the Book of Proverbs, it can be reasonably applied, I think, to the Wisdom literature in general. 53. Dianne Bergant, “The Wisdom Books” in Reading Guide to The Catholic Study Bible (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), RG 231. 54. The Book of Wisdom is alternately entitled The Wisdom of Solomon, in its Septuagint rendering. 55. Note that I confine my discussion specifically to those passages from The Book of Wisdom dealing with creation in its broadest, most comprehensive sense. Accordingly, I do not refer to references to God’s creation of humans, as the summit of the created order. 56. I here rely on the NRSV translation of Wis 1:14a, and its rendering of ἔκτισε as “created” (rather than “fashioned” as in the NAB translation).

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57. I again rely upon the NRSV translation and its rendering of κτίσασα as “created” (rather than “fashioned” as in the NAB translation). 58. Michael Kolarcik, S.J. (Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections to The Book of Wisdom in New Interpreter’s Bible V [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1997], 541a) draws a parallel between the imagery of Wis 11:17 and Gn 1:2 in these terms: “The author employs a platonic term to paraphrase God’s creation of the heavens and the earth in Genesis. The image of ‘formless matter’ (11:17) corresponds to the ‘formless void’ of Gn 1:2.” 59. James M. Reese and David Winston reflects the general thrust of these opposing viewpoints. According to Reese (The Book of Wisdom, Song of Songs [Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, Inc., 1983], 122-123): The Sage draws upon a technical term from Aristotelian cosmology “matter,” to describe this . . . activity . . . Aristotle was the first to develop a philosophical system that posited matter and form as incomplete and complementary principles of physical beings. The Sage finds this terminology compatible with the biblical teaching on God as absolute creator. It proved a good tool for integrating Greek philosophy into the picture of God taught in Jewish Scriptures. Conversely, Winston (The Wisdom of Solomon [Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1979], 38–40) offers a series of arguments in support of his position (on the basis of internal and external evidence) that the Sage considered matter to be eternal. Winston grounds this claim upon the assumption that the author of Wisdom would have affirmed so novel a doctrine as creation ex nihilo if he upheld that teaching and what it implies about the power of God. As my own position indicates, I tend toward that side of the debate endorsed by Reese. I am unconvinced by Winston’s arguments, since the Sage need not have been attuned to the finepoints of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo in order to recognize the all-embracing character of God’s creative power, and the corresponding dependence of creatures upon God. 60. I address this development in my treatment of the second-century Christian Apologist Tatian of Syria in chapter 8 of this book. 61. According to Michael Kolarcik, S.J. (The Book of Wisdom, New Interpreter’s Bible V, 541a–b), the Sage (in Wis 11:20) “harnesses the popular platonic triad of ‘measure, number and weight’” (referring to Plato’s Phlb. 55E; Rep. 602D; and Laws 757B). 62. Wis 11:20 (NAB). But we must also be attuned to the differences in meaning and connotation between the tōhû wābōhû of Gn 1:2 and the amorphous matter of Wis 11:17. While tōhû wābōhû designates a disordered chaos or waste, the “matter” of Wis 11:17 (consistent with the Greek philosophical interpretation of matter) suggests a pure potentiality open to limitless possibilities for formation and ordering. Claus Westermann (Genesis 1–11. A Commentary, 109) contrasts these notions in this manner: Our idea of matter is abstract; one can speak of matter only insofar as one prescinds from the question whether what is meant by it is creation or something over and against creation. Such an abstract way of thinking was not part of the thought pattern of P; it was not possible to conceive of matter in our sense. What we mean by matter could only be for P either something created or the Tohuwabohu, but never something as neutral as matter. 63. Robert Doran, The First and Second Book of Maccabees, New Interpreter’s Bible IV (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 3. 64. This requires some qualification. According to Robert Doran (The First and Second Book of Maccabees, New Interpreter’s Bible IV, 181), “the bulk” of 2 Maccabees (2:19–15:39, i.e., the part designated as the “epitome”) was written in Greek. 65. 2 Mc 7:23. 66. 2 Mc 7:28 (NJB). I opt here for the NJB rendering because of its fidelity to the force of the original Greek. In contrast, the NRSV, REB, and NAB renderings all translate the formula ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων in the sense that God did not create “out of things which existed” (NRSV), or

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“from what already existed” (REB), or “out of existing things” (NAB). While these translations certainly suggest that God created from nothing, they are not as strong in that assertion as the NJB translation. 67. J. C. O’Neill, “How Early Is The Doctrine of Creatio Ex Nihilo?” Journal of Theological Studies 53, no. 2 (2002): 450. Cf., the alternate interpretation of Georg Schmuttermayr, “‘Schöpfung aus dem Nichts’ in 2 Makk 7,28?” Biblische Zeitschrift, neue Folge 17 (1973): 218: Durch den Vergleich der Formulierung ὄντων mit dem anderen Überlieferungsstrang und den betreffenden Wendungen in griechisch-patristischen, aber auch klassischen Texten rückt ein sehr wichtiges sprachwissenschaftliches Kriterium in den Vordergrund: das syntaktische Phänomen der Position. Unsere Problematik wird zur Frage nach dem Verhältnis von Position und Bedeutung, hier aufgrund der “Vertauschung” der Position von Präposition und Negation, von ἐξ und οὐκ. Dass . . . die lukianische Rezension mit den späteren griechischen Texten geht, spricht nicht gegen die Ursprünglichkeit von οὐκ ἐξ ὄντων eher für sie. Es handelt sich dort wohl um spätere Korrektur aufgrund von Speculationem in anderen Bereichen, möglicherweise auch anhand anderer vorliegender Texte, die die Alternative bieten. 68. J. C. O’Neill, “How Early Is The Doctrine of Creatio Ex Nihilo,” 451. 69. For O’Neill (“How Early Is The Doctrine of Creatio Ex Nihilo?” 451), the application of the ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων formula to God as Creator of “the heaven and the earth,” rules out any possibility of creation “from formless matter.” For him (453), then, both 2 Mc 7:23 and 2 Mc 7:28 uphold God’s power as Creator out of nothing “before the shaping of the origin of humanity and the inventing of the origin of all things . . . both before anything material existed and after the material came into existence.” O’Neill’s pro-creation ex nihilo position regarding 2 Mc 7:28 is challenged by Jonathan A. Goldstein (representative of that line of commentators who deny the presence of creation ex nihilo in the text.) Goldstein (II Maccabees. The Anchor Bible [Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1983], 307), is firm on this particular point, extending this assessment to Scripture as a whole (307): “In fact, there is no unequivocal statement of the doctrine either in the Hebrew Bible or in the New Testament, and statements can be found even in rabbinic literature supporting the view of creation from preexistent matter.” Thus, while Goldstein (308) affirms that he “found no ancient text explicitly indicating the reason why Jews and Christians came to insist upon the doctrine of creation ex nihilo,” he also concedes that “the interpretation of the Church Fathers has some foundation and is so old that one must give the case for it a full hearing.” In this writer’s estimation, such a give-andtake attitude toward this issue shows that the debate (for and against the presence of creation ex nihilo in Scripture) promises to continue, unabatedly. 70. Jonathan A. Goldstein, “The Origin of the Doctrine of Creation Ex Nihilo,” Journal of Jewish Studies XXXV (1984): 129. Cf., Goldstein’s remark in his “Creation Ex Nihilo: Recantations and Restatements,” Journal of Jewish Studies XXXVIII (1987): 192: “Jews and Christians did not insist on creation ex nihilo until driven . . . by the . . . challenge to the doctrine of resurrection.” Conversely, he contends (“The Origin of the Doctrine of Creation Ex Nihilo,” 129–130) that those Jews who only endorsed the soul’s immortality were amenable to the notion that God created the world from a preexistent matter: “In discussing human survival after death, they did not even need to touch the problems of creation.” In this connection, he further observes (132) that the initial explicit Christian appeals to creation ex nihilo (i.e., in Tatian of Syria and Theophilus of Antioch) also link that doctrine with belief in the resurrection. This position is challenged by David Winston (“Creation Ex Nihilo Revisited: A Reply to Jonathan Goldstein,” Journal of Jewish Studies XXXVII [1986]: 91), who argues that “those who sought to defend the doctrine of resurrection, even in its extreme form, did not require the support of the conception of God’s ability to create ex nihilo.” 71. Gerhard May (Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought. Trans. A. S. Worrall [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark], 1994) is a key representative of this scholarly trend. In regard to the question regarding the presence of an affirmation of

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creation ex nihilo in 2 Mc 7:28, May (7) contends that “the text implies no more than the conception that the world came into existence through the sovereign creative act of God, and that it was previously not there . . . the omnipotence of God is expressed . . . but a critical move away from the doctrine of world-formation out of eternal matter is quite outside the scope of this text.” May, then, consistently contends that the presence of a commitment to creation ex nihilo in a given text presupposes a polemical reaction against a competing position (e.g., creation as formation). 72. In contrast to the position of May regarding the origins of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo, Markus Bockmuehl (“Creatio ex nihilo in Palestinian Judaism and Early Christianity,” 269) argues that “the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo in its origin states . . . creation’s comprehensive and absolute contingency on the Creator while at the same time affirming his unlimited sovereignty and freedom.” 73. Certainly, the most significant (and prolific) thinker in this vein is Philo Judaeus (i.e., Philo of Alexandria). I postpone my treatment of Philo’s vital contribution to this discussion until part II of this study (chapter 4, “The Creation Account of Philo Judaeus”), where I place his extended deliberations on creation in the philosophical context of Middle Platonism. 74. B’reshith Rabbah I.9 (in Midrash Rabbah. Genesis. Volume 1. Trans. Rabbi H. Freeman [London/New York: The Soncino Press, 1983]). 75. In delineating the createdness of these “materials,” B’reshith Rabbah I.9 draws upon various Old Testament texts which endorse God’s creative sovereignty over all things, including the most impoverished features of reality: Is 45:7 for tohu, bohu, darkness; Ps 148:4–5: for water; Am 4:13 for wind; Prv 8:24 for the depths. According to the editorial note accompanying this version of B’reshith Rabbah I.9 (p. 8 of Freedman’s translation), the “philosopher” construes tohu and bohu as amorphous matter; the “peace” of Is 45:7 refers to the composite whole of matter and form; the cryptic reference to “evil” in Is 45:7 refers to the unformed matter that God creates. 76. As to be expected in regard to this issue, scholars are divided in their opinions as to whether B’reshith Rabbah I.9 teaches creation ex nihilo. According to Markus Bockmuehl (“Creatio ex nihilo in Palestinian Judaism and Early Christianity,” 268), that text endorses “a position substantially indistinguishable from the Christian account of creation ex nihilo.” David Winston (The Wisdom of Solomon, 38–39, n. 53), on the other hand, contends that “nothing may be inferred from this discussion as to the common rabbinic view of creation.” For Winston, Gamaliel’s remarks were only motivated “under the impact of a polemic with a Gnostic,” and thus, reflect a desire to rebut that viewpoint with the contention that God also created the primordial elements. In further support of his claim that the rabbis did not accept creation ex nihilo, Winston appeals to a passage in the Mekilta (Shirta 8): in its ten examples of the uniqueness of God’s acts, the passage does not include a reference to creation ex nihilo. In this writer’s estimation, however, this omission does not necessarily rule out the fact that other rabbinical sources may well have endorsed creation ex nihilo. 77. 2 Enoch (Slavonic Apocalypse of [J]) 24:1ff., Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (Garden City, NY: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1983) 1:142–143, trans. F. I. Andersen; Cf., Odes of Solomon 16:18, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha 2:750: “And there is nothing outside of the Lord, because he was before anything came to be,” trans. J. H. Charlesworth; 2 Bar (Syriac Apocalypse of) 48:8, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha 1:635–636: “you who created the earth . . . the one who is the beginning of the world call that which did not yet exist and they obeyed you,” trans. A. F. J. Klijn; Joseph and Aseneth 12:1–2, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha 2:220: “Lord God of the ages, who created all [things] and gave life to them, who gave breath of life to your whole creation,” trans. C. Burchard. A reference to the Dead Sea Scrolls is also worthy of inclusion here. In The Community Rule (Rule of the Congregation) 1 QS XI,11, God’s causal efficacy is linked directly with His knowledge. 78. Markus Bockmuehl, “Creatio ex nihilo in Palestinian Judaism and Early Christianity,” 268. Bockmuehl directs these remarks specifically to the influences operative in the B’reshith Rabbah, but I think that they have applicability to a wider range of rabbinical and intertestamental writings as well. 79. J. C. O’Neill, “How Early Is The Doctrine of Creatio Ex Nihilo?” 462. 80. Jn 1:1–3 (NAB).

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81. Cf., Mk 13:19; Heb 11:3; Rv 10:5–6. 82. Rom 4:17 (NAB). The parallel between God’s power to raise the dead to life and His power to create in Rom 4:17 is reminiscent of what we encounter in 2 Mc 7. 83. Rv 22:13 (NAB).

Chapter Two

Plato on Cosmological Origins

Plato’s Timaeus encompasses what amounts to the locus classicus of ancient Greek philosophical accounts of cosmological origins. In that tradition, Plato’s “creation” narrative became the veritable benchmark for coming to terms with “the beginning” of all things. For this reason, it also provided a perennial flashpoint for later debates regarding its significance and deeper metaphysical implications. By virtue of this authoritative status, however, Plato’s narrative as to how and why the cosmos came into being also exerted a decisive influence upon Jewish Hellenistic and Christian patristic thinkers. In this respect, the Timaeus served as the philosophical template for their interpretations of the scriptural understanding of “the beginning,” and more specifically, for their attempts to penetrate the layers of meaning embedded in Genesis’s creation story. We will explore the complex reasons for the esteem the Timaeus came to command (among Jews and Christians alike) in subsequent chapters of this study. On a preliminary basis, however, it would do us well to consider some salient features of the Timaeus narrative that offered a compelling common ground for a biblically inspired understanding of creation. First and foremost, Plato appeals to a Cause external to the visible world to explain its coming to be. In so doing, he affirms the contingency of the world upon that causal principle (albeit not the radical contingency which Scripture presupposes). But what of the character of that world? In keeping with his endorsement of the optimistic outlook of Hellenic rationalism, Plato envisioned the world as a genuine cosmos, that is, an ordered whole whose parts contribute to its overall goodness. Plato’s commitment to a cosmic vision is consistent with the teleological perspective that dominates Greek philosophical thinking from the Pre-Socratic thinkers onward. The depiction of the world as teleologically ordered 31

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dovetails with a recognition of its thoroughgoing intelligibility. But intelligibility does not stand on its own: it points to a causal principle that imparts order and purposefulness upon the world’s very constitution and operation. In this way, the world assumes a comprehensive orientation toward the promotion of the good. The world’s trajectory toward the realization of the good, however, points to a rational Cause that provides its ultimate Model and standard of excellence. Accordingly, the Timaeus plays heavily on the contrast between the benefits of a mind-governed universe and the sheer randomness and disorder that characterize one subject to the vagaries of Necessity. Plato’s account of cosmological origins, then, represents an exaltation of a teleological perspective over a mechanistic one. The discussion which follows traces Plato’s exposition of “the beginning” of all things (as it emerges in Tim. 27d–69a) against the background of this teleological outlook. As we shall see, this exposition rests upon some key metaphysical, epistemological, and moral presuppositions. On a metaphysical level, it presupposes that true Being is defined in terms of what is immutable and incorruptible. But the articulation of this conception of the really and truly real was tempered by the epistemological assumption that any theory of cosmological origins reflects the mutability of the world as we know it (or as we are capable of knowing it by means of sense experience). This is why Plato acknowledges that this theory is (at best) highly tentative in regard to its truth value. But even in the face of his recognition of the instability of the world of sense experience, Plato remains firm in his conviction in its fundamental goodness, by virtue of its participation in a higher order of truth and meaning accessible to reason alone. BEING AND BECOMING The Timaeus’s treatment of cosmological origins proceeds from the metaphysical distinction between Being and Becoming. In this respect, Plato begins his story of the beginning of all things by addressing two dominant (and conflicting) perspectives in ancient Greek philosophy: the Heraclitean (which focuses on the constancy of change and the seeming lack of sameness in the world) and the Parmenidean (which endorses the eternity and immutability of what is genuinely real). 1 In keeping with the Parmenidean perspective, Plato identifies Being with what always exists (and thus, has no beginning and no need for a beginning), while Becoming (by virtue of its mercurial character) is never fully existent. 2 For Plato, the really and truly real admits neither change nor motion; it simply is. Plato’s entire theory of Forms, in fact, reflects his commitment to the Eleatic conviction that Being is and cannot not be. Indeed, those paradigms of true reality could not be subject to the change that marks the

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existence of mutable, corruptible things. Becoming, on the other hand, bespeaks a causal dependence, whereby everything that comes to be requires something to account for its becoming. Nothing becomes in the absence of a cause. 3 But what bearing do these metaphysical presuppositions have upon Plato’s theory of the emergence of the visible cosmos? The reader is offered two options: either the cosmos has always existed, with no beginning of its generation, or “it has come into existence, having begun from some beginning” (ἢ γέγονεν, ảπ ảρχῆς τινὸς ảρξάμενος). 4 For Plato, only the latter option is acceptable. This position proceeds from the premise that things visible, tangible, and corporeal (that is, things accessible to us through the senses) come into existence (γιγνόμενα) and are generated (γεννητὰ). 5 This premise is consistent with Plato’s affirmation that things in a state of becoming require a cause. He draws a direct parallel, then, between coming into existence and coming into existence by virtue of a causal principle. 6 Accordingly, the state of becoming and its accompanying change always entail causal dependence. The metaphysical dichotomy between Being and Becoming which undergirds Plato’s appeal to the necessity of causal dependence for things in a state of becoming points to an epistemological dichotomy between reasoning and sense experience. 7 We are reminded of the Parmenidean distinction between the Ways of Truth and Opinion, and the assumption that reasoning alone opens us to true reality. Sense experience, in contrast, reflects no more than conjecture about what is metaphysically unstable, and thus, epistemologically questionable in regard to its truth value. A consideration of the foundation of knowledge is the critical issue here. In Platonic terms, a changing world accessible to the senses can never provide the firm support that knowledge requires in order to qualify as such. Since the senses open us to an ever changing world of potentially corruptible things, they yield no more than unsupported belief about what is the case. Yet even true belief does not possess the justification of our knowledge claims derived from reasoning alone. Reasoning does so because it finds its proper objects in realities most akin to its immaterial nature: the immutable and eternal Forms, the true causes of the intelligibility of things. In his fidelity to the Socratic equation of moral virtue with knowledge, Plato designates the life of the soul (and its reasoning faculty) as the Form of our humanness. The soul’s happiness thus proceeds from its focus upon unchanging Being, once it detaches itself (as far as possible in this life) from the realm of Becoming. 8

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A TELEOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE Plato’s commitment to this rationalist standard of judgment is a crucial component of the teleological character of his cosmology. In keeping with this teleological perspective, Plato depicts the cosmos as a beautiful, ordered whole whose parts complement and enrich its overall goodness. If this is the case, however, Plato traces the beauty of the cosmos to the goodness of its Artificer, that this, the demiourgos (ὁ δημιουγὸς) that crafts it on the basis of an immutable paradigm. 9 Accordingly, the beauty of the cosmos is correlative with its generation in imitation of a Model exhibiting the transcendental properties of authentic Being: goodness, unity, truth, and beauty. In this respect, Plato describes the process of cosmic generation as analogous to the dynamics of craftwork in general. 10 When Plato emphasizes the beauty of the visible cosmos, he does not consider such beauty in such general terms that this transcendental attribute was applicable to any number of worlds. Rather, he stresses that the cosmos we inhabit is truly one of a kind, indeed, one that is “unique of its kind” (μονογενὴς οὐρανὸς γεγονὼς). 11 Plato’s depiction of the cosmos by means of the biological metaphor of the “Living Creature” presupposes a design, order, and harmony of parts. Such features are necessary implications of the fact that the visible world is an imitation of a Model constituting the perfection of those features. Plato’s stress on the uniqueness of the cosmos thus highlights the difference between the teleological vision he embraces and the mechanistic outlook of materialists such as Democritus who attribute the way things are to a mere chance intersection of random events. For this reason, a cosmos crafted on the basis of what comes into existence (that is, what is in a state of Becoming) could not yield the beauty of one crafted in the image of an eternal Model. From this standpoint, the effect must be proportionate to its cause; an intelligent Cause is responsible for intelligible effects. Cosmic uniqueness presupposes a unique Cause, since the cosmos must resemble its Model. 12 According to Leonardo Tarán, Plato’s very conception of causality assumes a teleological character, as revealed in his use of the analogy of the artisan “constructing” the universe by “conscious” design”. 13 But if the demiourgos produces the cosmos in imitation of authentic Being, the cosmos in turn exhibits an orientation toward the realization of the good (or, in more explicit teleological terms, toward finality). We are reminded here of Plato’s endorsement of a Mind-governed universe in the Phaedo. In that earlier dialogue, he roots the true causes of things in a directing Intelligence that arranges them in the most optimal manner. “If . . . one wished to know the cause of each thing, why it comes to be or perishes or exists,” Plato argues, “one had to find what was the best way for it to be.” 14 In this respect, the

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Phaedo incorporates a theory of participation, whereby the visible world shares in the immutable world of the Forms. By the same token, the Forms neither stand completely on their own (in regard to their efficacy as true causes), nor do they exist completely independent of each other in the intelligible universe. For this reason, the theory of causal participation in the Phaedo is enriched by deliberations on the Form of the Good in the Republic. For Plato, this supreme Form imparts an ultimate truth value to the objects of knowledge embodied in all the other Forms. By implication, it serves as the necessary condition for knowledge in general. 15 Plato thereby envisions a cosmic system under the governance and providential guidance of an ultimate principle of Goodness. This optimistic conviction in the inherent goodness of things imparts a motive to the generation of the cosmos as well. Because the demiourgos is good, it desires that all things should resemble it (as much as the materials allow). 16 In this connection, goodness is correlative with order, a state of affairs conducive to the maximization of the good of the cosmos as a whole. In providing for the “best way” for the cosmos to exist, the demiourgos’s work reflects the qualitative assumption that order is superior to disorder. 17 THE DEMIOURGOS AS EFFICIENT CAUSE The Timaeus skillfully integrates the Phaedo’s notion of formal causality (whereby the Forms provide the standards of intelligibility and meaning for visible, mutable things) with the Form of the Good of the Republic (the Form of all Forms which defines the character of all reality as good). The way is open, then, for the operation of a dynamic, efficient brand of causality which introduces order into the disorder of the pre-cosmic environment. In the Timaeus, the demiourgos assumes the role of efficient Cause, communicating the “best way” to the realm of Becoming. Plato’s designation of the demiourgos as “Maker and Father” (ποιητὴν καὶ πατέρα) of the whole underscores the operation of efficient causality in cosmic generation. 18 But it also highlights its providential character. In this context, “making” encompasses a “paternal” governance of what is changing and unstable in light of an eternal Model. The Cause of becoming (which Plato also depicts in theistic terms) thus imparts its goodness to what stands in need of ordering. According to Plato, “God desired that, so far as possible, all things should be good, and nothing evil when He took over all that was visible . . . not in a state of rest but…discordant and disorderly motion . . . brought . . . into order out of disorder.” 19 In addressing the role of the demiourgos as an efficient cause, we must come to terms with the question as to whether Plato was committed to the thesis that the cosmos really “came to be,” or whether the Timaeus offers no

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more than what Norris describes as “a literary device . . . suggesting that it is appropriate to regard the world ‘as if’ it had come into being in this fashion.” 20 In this regard, Plato stipulates that any treatment of cosmological origins must be consistent with what it seeks to explicate. The very transitoriness of the visible world imposes certain limitations upon our capacity to explain it with any certitude. Plato’s tentativeness in this endeavor is reflected in the statement considered above: “God desired that, so far as possible” (or more literally, “to the best of one’s power”) all things should be good.” 21 The implication here is that efficient causality on a cosmic scale (even one implemented by a divine Craftsman) is somewhat contingent upon the materials at hand. The goodness and beauty of the Copy of an eternal Model reflects the quality of the material cause. But what applies to the cosmos as a whole is applicable to any human account of its origins as well. Plato himself professes no more than a “likely account” as to how the cosmos “has come into existence (γενέσθαι) as a Living Creature endowed with soul and reason.” 22 A “LIKELY” ACCOUNT In a very real sense, however, can we expect more than a “likely” explanation of a universe that by its very nature only allows for opinion regarding its genesis? The metaphysical character of the visible cosmos (mutable and causally dependent) thus determines the epistemological status of any attempt to explain its beginning. For Plato, the logos of cosmological origins at best conveys a probable truth. In this context, he draws a parallel between Being and Becoming on the one hand, and Truth and Belief on the other. 23 By virtue of its unchanging nature, Being is knowable with rational certitude; what is in a state of Becoming, on the other hand, can only be an object of opinion (doxa). In light of the epistemological strictures governing Plato’s narrative, to what extent does this “likely account” amount to myth-making on his part? The answer to this question, of course, depends upon how one interprets the use of “myth” in a Platonic context. In Plato’s hands, mythos serves as a profound means of articulating those deeper truths regarding reality and our place in it that simply do not allow for immediate verification. 24 Plato was firm in the conviction that the world was governed by a principle of Intelligence, and that it exhibits as much order as can be brought to bear in the midst of an ever changing universe. The provisionality of Plato’s account is correlative with the change and uncertainty inherent in the subject matter. In this respect, Plato’s commentary assumes the character of myth to the extent that it offers no more than a probable explanation of the way in which the visible cosmos came to be. 25

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In Platonic terms, an ordered cosmos (that is, a cosmos reflecting the goodness and beauty of its Cause) is also an animated one (even if it also encompasses non-living things). In this regard, endowment with life by the demiourgos is wholly consistent with its governance by the laws of reason. Rationality is part and parcel of ensoulment on such a wide-ranging scale. In keeping with the optimism that defines the thrust of his cosmology, Plato views the goodness and beauty of the universe as inextricably bound up with its rational, purposive character. The eternal Model which the cosmos imitates must itself be a Living Creature in its own right encompassing the Forms of all things. 26 THE ROLE OF THE RECEPTACLE If the demiourgos serves as Efficient Cause in Plato’s “likely account,” the material it brings to order provides the counterpoint of the eternal Model. Plato explicates the dynamics of this ordering on the basis of another dichotomy that complements his metaphysical distinction between Being and Becoming and his epistemological distinction between Truth and Belief. In keeping with these distinctions, he also distinguishes Reason from Necessity (the very antithesis of intelligibility). Plato casts this distinction in adversarial terms: Reason “persuades” Necessity to submit to the ordering conducive to the realization of the best end for things in a state of process. 27 The upshot of this “persuasion” metaphor is that Necessity stands opposed to Reason’s oversight in the manner of a recalcitrant subordinate to the instructions of a superior. In this sense, Necessity constitutes the “third Kind” in addition to the “first Kind” that is the Model and the “second Kind” that is the Copy. As “Errant Cause,” the “third Kind” qualifies as a Form, but one that is “baffling and obscure.” 28 In contradistinction to the teleological dimension that the demiourgos introduces (whereby things are ordered to their best ends), the Errant Cause is bound up with all the chance and arbitrariness of a realm deprived of participation in the intelligibility of the Forms. This “counterForm,” if you will, is the Receptacle (ὑποδοχη), the “Nurse of all Becoming” (γενέσεως τιθήνή). 29 Plato’s treatment of the Receptacle provides an intriguing and challenging aspect of his cosmological theory. How, indeed, do we describe something which is so indeterminate as to become the Forms of all things? For it is laid down by nature as a molding stuff for everything, being moved and marked by the entering figures, and because of them it appears different at different times. And the figures that enter and depart are copies of those that are always existent . . . stamped from them in a fashion marvelous and hard to describe. 30

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The Receptacle, in effect, fulfills the role of the material cause of the demiourgos’s efficient causation. In this respect, it is all too tempting to discern a certain parallel between the Receptacle of the Timaeus and the chaos of Gn 1:2. In both instances, we find the incorporation of something into an account of the beginning that bespeaks a preexistent state of incompleteness. Plato’s recognition of the difficulties of conceptualizing and even discussing this nebulous notion is evident in the fact that he resorts to the language of analogy in highlighting the relationship between the ordering principle and what is ordered. In contrast to his depiction of the demiourgos as “Maker and Father” (ποιητὴν καὶ πατέρα), Plato designates the Receptacle as “Mother” (μητέρα) and what is engendered as their progeny. 31 But the Receptacle is more than the passive bearer of the Craftsman’s engendering. It is also a pure potentiality for formation into the elements of the visible world. Plato finds an ideal analogue in the relation between gold and the manifold objects into which it can be shaped. The very malleability of gold allows it to assume a wide variety of shapes, even as it remains gold. 32 For this reason, however, the Receptacle of the generated cosmos (the world of becoming) must be utterly lacking in Form. Its very openness to the sheer diversity of the world’s constituents presupposes that it can be none of those things. Indeed, such specifications would rule out its ability to serve as their underlying substratum. 33 In this connection, the Receptacle finds another analogue in the odorless base supporting the precious liquids bearing the aromas of fine perfumes. 34 Plato is clearly grappling for a means of expressing the indefiniteness of a reality midway between being and non-being, that is, something which can barely be said to exist, but does not quite qualify as nothingness. 35 Such reasoning on Plato’s part resonates with the assumption that what serves as the underlying substrate of all things can itself be no one of those things. 36 In metaphysical terms, the Receptacle assumes the dual significance inherent in Aristotle’s conception of potentiality: the not-yet-realized, on the one hand, and a raw capacity for realization on ther other. But this duality of significance extends to the very purpose which the Receptacle serves in Plato’s account. As Donald Zeyl points out, the Receptacle also encompasses the matter from which visible things are constituted and the spatial context in which they are localized. 37 From this standpoint, the potentiality that the Receptacle encompasses must be spatially grounded if it can be spoken about (or even conceptualized) in any meaningful way. Plato thus designates the Receptacle as “the ever existing Place” (ὂν τὸ τῆς χώρας ảει), that is, the necessary condition of an emptiness that provides “room for all things that have birth.” 38 In a very real sense, Plato’s recourse to such spatial imagery must be understood in light of the epistemological limitations of a narrative presented as no more than a “likely account.” If the “ever existing Place” were construed in strictly literal terms, the implication

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would be that the Receptacle constitutes a preexistent locus in its own right. This interpretation, however, presupposes the paradoxical existence of a world before the visible world was actually generated. But how else can Plato depict that “from which” the cosmos comes to be in the absence of some spatial referent? For this reason, any consideration as to whether the Receptacle exists as a physical locus becomes something of a moot point in this context. The Receptacle can be said to exist, but as no more than an amorphous material cause with an aptitude for an unlimited receptivity to Form. Accordingly, it can only be cast in the apophatic language of what is not. If we can grasp this negativity at all, it can only be the product of what Plato calls an “illegitimate reasoning” (λογισμῴ τινὶ νόθῴ), not even worthy of the name “belief”—a veritable dream state in which one assumes that anything existent must be spatially contained. 39 As “Errant Cause,” the Receptacle (the “Nurse of Becoming”) encompasses what Plato designates as “things . . . in a state devoid of reason or measure.” 40 If the Receptacle can be characterized in spatial terms as a locus, it is one driven by the vagaries of Necessity. The transition from a state lacking the features of rationality to one of order and intelligibility assumes the character of a winnowing process in which the Receptacle “filled with potencies . . . sways unevenly in every part, and is herself shaken by these forms and shakes them in turn as she is moved.” 41 In this agrarian metaphor, Plato likens the Receptacle to the sieve of the winnowing basket used in the sorting of grain: “The forms . . . fly continually in various directions and are dissipated . . . as the particles . . . winnowed by the sieves . . . used for the cleansing of corn fall in one place if they are solid and heavy, but . . . settle elsewhere if . . . light . . . separating farthest from one another the dissimilar, and pushing most closely together the similar.” 42 THE EMERGENCE OF COSMOS For Plato, cosmic generation constitutes the point of demarcation between the “before” and the “after,” between an antecedent and a subsequent state. The three “Kinds,” however, assume an ontological priority (although Plato’s language suggests a temporal one) over what comes into existence. By implication, the distinction between what was “before” and “after” the generation of the visible world amounts to the difference between disorder and chaos on the one hand, and order and intelligibility on the other. 43 Plato depicts this ordering in Pythagorean terms, as an introduction of harmony and proportion founded upon numerical relations into the “Nurse of Becoming” (γενέσεως τιθήνην). 44 The “translation,” so to speak, of the life of the eternal Model into the context of things in a state of becoming highlights the significance of Plato’s

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claim that this task can only be accomplished “as far as possible,” within the parameters of a visible realm of change. Plato repeatedly emphasizes the limited capacity of the Copy to receive and imitate the Model in its most authentic sense. Since the eternity of the Living Creature could not be present in its fullness to what is generated, the demiourgos crafted the “movable image” of the eternal that is time. 45 Temporality is the mark of the world of becoming, since process presupposes a fragmentation of being into past, present, and future. 46 The implication is that time came into being along with the visible world. Temporal designations such as “days,” “nights,” “months,” and “years” coincide with the making of Heaven. 47 Plato establishes a link between the world’s coming into existence and its potential cessation. Indeed, becoming and corruption are part and parcel of a process patterned after the Eternal Model. 48 Yet, Plato’s discussion of cosmic generation suggests a chaotic condition preceding the emergence of an orderly world. 49 Since he views temporality as coinciding with the “beginning” of the cosmos, what are we to make of his references to a pre-cosmic state of disorderly motion? If the Receptacle requires a spatial framework, does the chaos it “contains” exhibit the kind of process we associate with a time-bound world? Since Plato’s narrative is clearly riddled with ambiguity, it lends itself to ongoing debate. 50 The fact that Plato himself emphasized the tentative character of his narrative (as a “likely” account) only compounds the interpretative challenges. But in light of his teaching that time is a “moving image” of an Eternal Model, it would be contradictory to apply temporal distinctions to what occurred prior to the world’s coming to be. In Platonic terms, what is eternal is immune to change, and time always presupposes becoming. From our limited perspective, however, it is difficult (if not impossible) to avoid describing what prompted cosmic genesis in anything but temporal language (that is, in terms of what transpired “before” the world’s origin). This is precisely why Plato stresses the provisional quality of his narrative. We must revisit, then, the question regarding the truth-value of the mythical dimension of the Timaeus’s creation story. The crucial consideration here does not pertain to how Plato understood or depicted what preceded cosmic generation. The relevant issue (and one looming so large in subsequent debates) is whether Plato’s statement that the cosmos “has come into existence . . . from some beginning” (Tim. 28b) was intended in a literal or metaphorical sense for expository reasons. The latter reading assumes that Plato did not believe that the world actually came to be in time (that is, that it truly “began”). 51 With a few exceptions, the majority of the successors to Plato’s Academy endorsed such a metaphorical interpretation. In this regard, that trend must be assessed against the background of Aristotle’s provocative challenge to Plato’s claim that the universe “has come into existence” (gegonen).

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ARISTOTLE’S PLATONIC CRITIQUE Aristotle’s critique proceeded from the fact that he took Plato at his word, construing the Timaeus as teaching that the world actually came to be in time. By virtue of his literal reading of the text, Aristotle found what he viewed as a grievous error on Plato’s part tantamount to blasphemy. By Aristotle’s reckoning, Plato was unique in upholding “the creation of time, saying . . . that it had a beginning together with the universe . . . having had a beginning.” 52 Aristotle’s vehement objection to this teaching was rooted in his own firm commitment to the world’s eternity, with the corollary that an eternally existent world has neither an end nor a temporal origin. For this reason, he assumes that affirming that the world began in time opens the possibility of its eventual dissolution. Aristotle grounds this aspect of his Platonic critique in the empirical observation as to how things perpetually come to be and pass away. That the world was generated all are agreed, but generation over, some say that it is eternal, others say that it is destructible like any other natural formation. Now to assert that it was generated and yet is eternal is to assert the impossible; for we cannot reasonably attribute to anything any characteristics but those which observation detects in many or all instances. But in this case the facts point the other way: generated things are seen always to be destroyed. 53

Aristotle, then, considers the notions of a generated universe and an eternally existent one to be mutually exclusive. Accordingly, he recognizes no strategy for reconciling what he perceives as the contradictory positions that (a) the world is indestructible; and that (b) it began to be. In this connection, he cites the attempt by Plato’s immediate followers (e.g., Speusippus [c. 407–339 B.C.] and Xenocrates [396–314 B.C.]) to interpret the Timaeus in metaphorical terms, reducing its “creation” narrative to a matter of exposition alone. More specifically, he rejects their parallel between this allegorical reading and geometers’ drawing of figures, “not implying that the universe really had a beginning, but for didactic reasons facilitating understanding by exhibiting the object . . . in course of formation.” 54 From the standpoint of those first-generation Platonists, it is no more tenable to suppose that the world began to be than to claim that the basic constituents of a figure somehow precede its actual construction. Aristotle, however, found the analogy flawed. While a geometrical figure admits no temporal distinctions between priority and posteriority, Plato’s account does presuppose a transition from a state of disorder to order, with the lapse in time that such a process necessarily entails. Aristotle thus concludes that the world cannot be at once eternal and generated. 55 The long-range impact of Aristotle’s critique of Plato’s account of cosmic generation cannot be underestimated. While that critique provided a signifi-

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cant stimulus to ongoing disputes regarding its appropriate interpretation, the very inconclusiveness of Platonic teaching in this vein was a major contributing factor as well. In John Dillon’s succinct assessment, “Plato himself cannot have made his position clear . . . otherwise the controversy could not have arisen.” 56 Because of this lack of decisiveness, controversy abounded among his successors in the Academy. The next chapter traces the mainlines of these debates as they took shape in Middle Platonism, the philosophical perspective which transmitted the legacy of Hellenic thought to early Christianity. NOTES 1. W. C. K. Guthrie, The Greek Philosophers From Thales to Aristotle (New York/London/ Toronto/Sydney: Harper Perennial, 1975), 87–88. 2. Plato, Timaeus, trans. by R. G. Bury (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975) 27d–28a. 3. Tim. 28a. 4. Tim. 28b. 5. Tim. 28b–e. 6. Tim. 28c. 7. Tim. 28a. 8. Cf., Plato, Phaedo, trans. by G.M.A Grube (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 1977) 79c–d; Plato, Republic, trans. by F.M. Cornford (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1950) VI 508. 9. Tim. 28a–b. 10. Tim. 28a–b. 11. Tim. 31b. As Donald Zeyl puts it (“Plato’s Timaeus,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy [Spring 2014], Edward N. Zalta, ed., http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2014/ entries/plato-timaeus/, p. 9 of 23), “it is not just the generation of any world, but that of a supremely beautiful one that Timaeus’ reasoning attempts to explain.” 12. W. C. K. Guthrie. A History of Greek Philosophy, Volume V (Cambridge, UK/London/ New York/Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 275. 13. Leonardo Tarán, “The Creation Myth in Plato’s Timaeus,” in Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy. Edited by John P. Anton with George L. Kustas (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1972), 391. 14. Phd. 97c–d. 15. Rep. VI 508–509. For Plato, the Form of the Good makes knowledge possible, in a manner analogous to the role of light in rendering vision possible. In this respect, he likens the role of the Form of the Good in the intelligible universe to the role of the sun in the visible world (Rep. VI 508). 16. According to Frederick C. Copleston, S.J. (A History of Philosophy, Volume I. New Revised Edition [Westminster, MD: The Newman Press, 1953], 247, the demiourgos “was limited by the material at his disposal, but he did the best he could with it.” Likewise, W. C. K. Guthrie (A History of Greek Philosophy, Volume V, 255) maintains that the limitation which the material imposes upon the demiourgos affirms that it is not in complete control of the situation, but that it must submit to something at least to some extent recalcitrant. 17. Tim. 30a. We must recognize the distinction in Plato’s account between characteristics of the visible cosmos which are observable and expectations one might have about what characteristics the cosmos should possess in order to be the best possible cosmos. In this vein, Donald Zeyl draws a distinction between those features of the world that we actually observe, and questions about the good purposes which those features serve. According to Zeyl (“Plato’s Timaeus,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy [Spring 2014], 10 of 23), “for the most part there is a happy coincidence between the features that are required . . . and the features . . .

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actually observed . . . and it is part of the genius of the discourse that these are so well woven together.” For Zeyl, questions prompted by expectations of what the cosmos should possess find expression in “Why?” questions (e.g., “Why does the world exist?” or “Why is it living, intelligent, unique?”), questions which elicit a priori responses not susceptible to empirical verification. 18. Tim. 28c. 19. Tim. 30a. In regard to Plato’s incorporation of the term theos into his account of cosmological generation, Guthrie (A History of Greek Philosophy, Volume V, 253) points out its use in conjunction with the definite article. But Tarán (“The Creation Myth in Plato’s Timaeus,” 381) qualifies Plato’s use of theos in this way: “The notion of a good starting the creation of the world . . . presupposes a divinity powerful enough to create . . . values; but such a thing is incompatible with Plato’s conception of the divine. For Plato, God, or a god, is soul and as such it must be subordinated to the ideas.” In this vein, R. A. Norris Jr. (God and World in Early Christian Theology [New York: The Seabury Press, 1965], 25–26) points out that Plato attributes the appellation “divine” to what participates in Being and intelligible (and thus, immortal) reality, that is, the world of Forms (with the Form of the Good as the highest and most divine Form), the World Soul, human souls, and in broader terms, what allows for harmony and order in the universe. 20. R. A. Norris Jr., God and World in Early Christian Theology, 24. 21. Tim. 30a. 22. Tim. 30b. 23. Tim. 29b–c. 24. Cf., Gregory Vlastos, “Creation in the Timaeus: Is It a Fiction?” (1964) in Studies in Plato’s Metaphysics. Edited by R. E. Allen (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul; New York: The Humanities Press, 1965), 382: “A mythos is a tale. Not all tales are fictions. The typical mythos is mythological. But there is none of this in the discourse of the Timaeus.” 25. Frederick C. Copleston, S.J., A History of Philosophy, Volume I, 246. Cf., Leonardo Tarán, “The Creation Myth in Plato’s Timaeus,” in Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy, 391: If the Demiurge . . . is mythical, so is the creation of the world itself. But once Plato had decided to present his account of the universe in the shape of a creation myth, he had to preserve the likelihood of his story. Thus he could not state openly that the creation was merely “for the sake of explanation,” . . . for the open and unambiguous explanation of the purpose of a literary device deprives the work itself of interest. Vlastos (“Creation in the Timaeus: Is It a Fiction?” [1964] in Studies in Plato’s Metaphysics 383), in contrast, endorses the notion that Plato viewed the account as “probable,” but by no means “mythical” in the sense of the “fabulous” or purely fictional: The presumption must be that every element in the Timaeus is probable, and none fanciful, unless we are given further instructions or hints to the contrary. Of the later there are none for the pre-existing chaos. In their absence we are so far driven to accept it as a serious, though only probable, hypothesis of the origin of the material world. Tarán (“The Creation Myth in Plato’s Timaeus,” in Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy, 391), however, takes a more critical stance regarding this point, arguing that “whereas our Judeo-Christian upbringing causes us to focus attention on the ‘creating god,’ Plato must have considered that a literal interpretation of his figure of the Demiurge was highly unlikely.” 26. Tim. 30c. Cf., Tim. 32d–33a. 27. Tim. 48a. 28. Tim. 49a. 29. Tim. 49a. 30. Tim. 50c.

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31. Tim. 50d. 32. Tim. 50b–c. Richard D. Mohr (The Platonic Cosmogony. Philosophia Antiqua, Volume XLII. Edited by W. J. Verdenius and J. C. M. Van Winden [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1985], 105) specifies the suitability of gold as an analogue for the “characterless,” non-resistant features of the Receptacle: “God is malleable, so it can receive and hold all shapes . . . yet it offers no resistance to the various shapes which it receives so it can constantly be shaped and reshaped unlike . . . stone.” 33. Vlastos (“Creation in the Timaeus: Is It a Fiction?” [1964] in Studies in Plato’s Metaphysics, 390) addresses the ambiguity of meaning that surrounds Plato’s notion of the Receptacle in these terms: Plato had to compromise and say: the chaos is disorderly, but not altogether so; it contains “some traces” of order. This is a makeshift. Even as a metaphor it is selfcontradictory, for “traces” could only be a result, not an anticipation. Yet it is the best that Plato could do in the case of spatial order. And, I submit, it is the best he can do in the case of temporal order. 34. Tim. 50e. 35. Tim. 51a. But we must be careful not to define the substratum in terms of Aristotelian prime matter, since Plato himself does not explicitly refer to formless matter in this context. 36. One is reminded here of the Pre-Socratic philosopher Anaximander’s positing of the apeiron (the unbounded or unlimited principle) in response to the difficulties generated by the Milesians’ positing of a material element (like water) to explain all things (including what is contrary to it). Reale (A History of Ancient Philosophy, Volume II, 104) continues in this vein, with a special focus on the indefinite character of the Receptacle, affirming that “to accept all forms in an appropriate way, the Receptacle must not possess any.” 37. Donald Zeyl (“Plato’s Timaeus,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy [Spring 2014], 12 of 23). Zeyl further observes that “it is not clear that these two roles are inconsistent—indeed, they appear to be mutually necessary.” 38. Tim. 52a–b. 39. Tim. 52b. 40. Tim. 53a. 41. Tim. 53e. 42. Tim. 52e–53a. 43. Tim. 53a. 44. Tim. 53b. 45. Tim. 37d. 46. Tim. 37d. 47. Tim. 37e. 48. Tim. 38b–c. 49. Cf., Tim. 30a; 52d; 53a–b. 50. Richard Sorabji (Time, Creation, and the Continuum. Theories in Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983], 268) delineates three interpretations that can be drawn from the text of the Timaeus: (a) time was initiated with the emergence of an orderly world and nothing prior existed; (b) orderly time began with the cosmos, while disorderly matter, motion, and time preexisted; (c) the notion of a “beginning” is purely metaphorical; there was no actual “beginning” of the cosmos or time. 51. Guthrie points out (A History of Greek Philosophy, Volume V, 303–304) that the terms “becoming” (γένεσις) and the infinitive “to become” (γίγνεσθαι) assume two connotations, that is, (a) coming into existence at a specific time; and (b) a perpetual process (whereby the old is supplanted by the new) with an ongoing sustaining cause. According to Guthrie (304), Plato was attuned to this ambiguity of meaning and “goes out of his way to remove it in favour of the temporal sense,” while the notion of a “timeless dependence” proceeds from Xenocrates. But as John Dillon observes (“Tampering with the Timaeus: Ideological Emendations in Plato, with Special Reference to the Timaeus,” The American Journal of Philology 110, No. 1 [Spring 1989], 72), “what is disturbingly plain . . . is that the Master himself managed to avoid giving

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any definitive account of what he meant to his immediate followers.” In this vein, Matthias Baltes (Die Weltenstehung Des Platonischen Timaios Nach Den Antiken Interpreten, Teil I [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1976], 2) perceives the bone of contention in the proper interpretation of the term genetos: “Ein Problem für den Übersetzer und Interpreten bildet das Wort genetos, Platon sagt nie direkt, die Welt sei genete, sondern sie sei geworden. In der Sprache der Schulplatoniker lautet das Problem immer, ob der Kosmos genetos sei oder nicht. Wie es zu diesem Sprachgebrauch kam, ist nicht mehr sicher auszumachen, doch geht er gewiss auf die Alte Akademie zurück, du Aristoteles sich seiner in De caelo I 10ff, unter anderen in Auseinandersetzung mit dem Timaios, bedient.” 52. Aristotle, Physica, trans. by R. P. Hardie and R. K. Gaye (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1940) VIII, 1, 251b 17ff. 53. Aristotle, De Caelo, trans. by J.L. Stocks (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1941) I, 10, 279b 13–21. 54. Caelo I, 10, 279b36–280a 2. 55. Caelo I, 10, 280a 10–12. 56. John Dillon, The Middle Platonists. 80 B.C. to A.D. 220 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977), 7.

Chapter Three

Middle Platonic Responses

Aristotle’s criticism of Plato’s “creation” narrative gave rise to the extended debates prominent in the doxographical tradition of Middle Platonism. In broad historical terms, Middle Platonism stood in continuity with developments traceable to the first century B.C. and the initial successors to the Academy. While this philosophical perspective encompasses a wide range of issues and problems, it reveals a fundamental divergence of opinion among its adherents between a receptivity to Aristotle on the one hand, and an opposition to Aristotelianism (along with an openness to Stoicism) on the other. 1 Middle Platonic thinkers shared a common vision (by virtue of their fidelity to Plato’s teaching), but they remained at irreconciliable odds in their responses to Aristotle’s critique of the Timaeus account. 2 While that critique motivated them to defend the teaching of the Master, Aristotle’s influence gradually seeped into the thinking of the Academy from Xenocrates onward. In this respect, its members came to embrace Aristotle’s conviction in the world’s eternity. At the same time, however, they attempted to support Plato’s theory on the basis of the metaphorical interpretation of the doctrine that the world “has come to be” (gegonen). In so doing, they redefined cosmic generation in atemporal terms, as a “non-temporal process.” 3 By implication, such thinkers reinterpreted the meaning of “the beginning” as well, shifting the focus from the notion of a temporal origin of all things to what Guthrie designates as the “sustaining cause” supporting an orderly state of “timeless dependence.” 4 While the metaphorical interpretation (associated with the “School of Gaius”) represented the majority opinion in Middle Platonic circles, a small minority of thinkers (those associated with the “Athenian School” of Middle Platonism) adhered to Aristotle’s literal interpretation of the Timaeus narrative (i.e., that for Plato, the world actually began to be), albeit not in the 47

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polemical spirit of Aristotle. 5 From Aristotle's standpoint, the literal reading of that text underscored what he perceived as an error tantamount to gross impiety on Plato’s part. Those Middle Platonists who took Plato’s words literally, however, were not only committed to the temporal origin of the world, but stood opposed to Aristotle's teaching that it is eternally existent. In this chapter, we explore the theories proposed by key representatives of these competing schools, contrasting their interpretations of the Timaeus’s account of cosmological origins in the context of their own visions of reality. FOUR SENSES OF “CREATEDNESS” The fact that Plato’s teaching that the world “came into being” was the focus of such disagreement underscores the complexity of the issue. In this connection, we find a convenient exposition of various senses of what it means to be “created” (i.e., gegonen) in Calvenus Taurus’s Commentary on the Timaeus. 6 Taurus (fl. c. A.D. 145) provides a detailed outline of various positions endorsed by Middle Platonists regarding the significance of gegonen at Tim. 28b. As a preliminary to this treatment, Taurus highlights the problematic nature of the text and the different interpretations it has stimulated. Certain others have held that the cosmos according to Plato is created . . . others that it is uncreated. But since those who claim that it is created base themselves principally on the text “It was created; for it is visible and tangible” . . . it is necessary to distinguish how many senses of ‘created’ there are; for . . . Plato does not use the word “created” in the sense in which we say that things which derive their existence from some beginning in time are “created”; for this is what had led the majority of interpreters astray, when they hear this word “created.” 7

As the above quote indicates, Taurus (although we associate him with the Athenian School of Middle Platonism) does not endorse a literal interpretation of Tim. 28b, but adheres to the assumption (prominent among the members of the School of Gaius) that Plato used the term “created” metaphorically, for expository purposes. In keeping with this perspective, he offers four possible meanings attached to “created”: (1) That is said to be “created” which is not in fact created, but is of the same genus as things that are created . . . (2) That is also called “created” which is in theory composite, even if it has not in fact been combined . . . (3) The cosmos is said to be “created” as being always in process of generation . . . (4) One might also call it “created” by virtue of the fact that it is dependent for its existence on an outside source . . . God, by whom it has been brought into order. 8

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Taurus’s catalogue of meanings highlights the diversity of non-literal interpretations of Tim. 28b that Middle Platonists endorse. This attempted reconciliation of Platonic and Aristotelian teaching assumes a significant role in a second-century (A.D.) doctrinal manual entitled the Didaskalikos. THE DIDASKALIKOS OF ALCINOUS The Didaskalikos (The Handbook of Platonism) represents a notable example of the Middle Platonic doxographical genre. At the outset, its author professes to present “the principal doctrines of Plato.” 9 But while the work reveals a clear commitment to Platonic teachings (and a familiarity with Plato’s writings), it also reflects a tendency to go beyond Plato, incorporating insights and imagery derived from Aristotle and other sources. In the words of R. E. Witt, “this is an excellent illustration of a tendency . . . to expound the Platonic philosophy in terms of later systems.” 10 It is rather ironic, however, that the authorship of such a substantial Middle Platonic text has long been a matter of dispute among scholars. The source of contention lies in a disagreement regarding the identity of the writer of the Didaskalikos specified in the manuscript tradition as “Alkinoos,” a name construed as a reference to the Middle Platonist philosopher Albinus (a mid-second century A.D. student of Gaius and teacher of Galen). This was the influential view of J. Freudenthal (“Der Platoniker Albinos und der falsche Alkinoos,” Hellenistische Studien, 3, Berlin, 1879), who contended that the name “Alkinoos” in the manuscripts was the error of scribes who mistakingly entered the letter kappa rather than beta (easily conflated in the minuscule script). 11 But Freudenthal’s interpretation (which commanded the scholarly consensus for the larger part of the twentieth century) has come under increasing criticism over the past forty years or so. 12 This critical trend was prompted by the work of John Whittaker, who challenged the paleographical support mustered in favor of Albinus’ authorship. 13 Dillon supports this position (revising his own earlier conclusions on this subject), expressing a willingness “to accept that Freudenthal’s ingenious conjecture is . . . not proven, and that the work cannot be confidently attributed to Albinus.” 14 For my purposes (i.e., a focus upon the content of the Didaskalikos rather than upon the question of its authorship), I accept Dillon’s endorsement of Whittaker’s argument in favor of Alcinous as a tentative hypothesis. In the discussion which follows, I provide a broad sketch of Alcinous’s exposition of Plato's account of the world’s generation against the background of his treatment of the major doctrines on which it rests. At the outset, Alcinous upholds an ideal of philosophy as a striving for wisdom that abets the soul’s liberation from corporeal influence and its corresponding gravitation toward the intelligible world of true being. 15 Philosophical wisdom pro-

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vides the means to grasping divine realities through contemplation, the proper activity of the intellect. In keeping with his allegiance to Platonic teaching, Alcinous upholds the superiority of the soul and intellectual life in relation to the body and action, respectively. If Alcinous advances a dualism, however, it is an ethical dualism that emphasizes a hierarchical ordering of soul over the body, rather than a wholesale downgrading of the body. According to Alcinous, “The soul engaged in contemplation of the divine . . . is said to be in a good state . . . called ‘wisdom’ . . . no other than likeness to the divine . . . a state . . . of priority, valuable, most desirable and proper to us, free of (external) hindrance, entirely within our power.” 16 Alcinous’s discussion of the world's origin unfolds with the context of his analysis of the metaphysical first principles, that is, Matter, the Forms, and god. As stipulated by his order of procedure, he initially addresses Matter and the primary elements. 17 While this exposition is firmly grounded in the Timaeus, it is imbued with an Aristotelian influence as well, as reflected in the terminology and conceptual apparatus it incorporates. As Dillon’s commentary points out, the term “Matter” (hyle) is not present in Plato, but used as a “technical term” by Aristotle. 18 This Aristotelian influence is particularly evident in Alcinous’s treatment of the Receptacle as the bearer of the primary elements (Tim. 50–51). In addition to Plato’s metaphors for the Receptacle (“mould,” “all-receiver,” “nurse,” “mother,” “space”), Alcinous adds the markedly Aristotelian notion of “substratum,” as that which is receptive to all material forms (that is, “forms in matter”) because it is no specific form itself. In this connection, he contends that “nothing would be readily adapted to (receiving) a variety of imprints and shapes unless it were itself devoid of qualities and without participation in those forms which it must itself receive.” 19 In its unlimited capacity to receive material forms, the Receptacle occupies the middle ground between corporeal and incorporeal reality. Alcinous again draws upon Aristotle in clarifying this somewhat nebulous status as a reference to what is “potentially body . . . as we understand the bronze to be potentially a statue.” 20 But whether Alcinous inferred this notion from the Timaeus itself, or whether he imposed the Aristotelian conception of potentiality upon the text becomes a moot point in this context. In the spirit of later Platonic scholasticism, Alcinous exhibits the freedom to interpret Plato in a creative manner. Alcinous’s discussion of material forms opens the way to his investigation of the purely intelligible Forms, the transcendent paradigms of all things. He links these immaterial Forms with god, as the objects of divine thought. 21 This grounding of the Forms in the mind of God represents a key Middle Platonic innovation (consistent with Aristotle’s positing of self-thinking Thought as the proper activity of god). 22 While Alcinous wavers between

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describing god as intellect or as possessing intellect, he is clear in asserting that God “has thoughts.” 23 Following Plato’s distinction between the realm of true Being (immaterial and accessible to reason alone) and Becoming (material and changeable), Alcinous affirms that “unmeasured” Matter stands in need of the “measure” it derives from the Forms. 24 In this respect, he establishes a chain of causal dependence extending from the world of sense experience to god: “Form is considered in relation to god, his thinking; in relation to us, the primary object of thought; to the sensible world, its paradigm; and in relation to itself, essence. For in general everything that we can conceptualize must come to be in reference to something of which the paradigm must pre-exist.” 25 The contingency of Matter underscores the contingency of the world as a whole. Alcinous contends that the world is “not only . . . generated from something, but also by something . . . and with reference to something.” 26 This affirmation of contingency on a cosmic scale stands opposed to any claim that the world emerged as the result of mere chance. Alcinous thus traces this ultimate causal principle to god, “the father and cause of all things.” 27 He does not, however, depict god’s creative action in terms of the efficient causality associated with the Platonic demiourgos. Rather, he links it with the final causality stimulated by Aristotle’s Unmoved Mover, the object of universal aspiration. In this vein, “The primal god…the cause of the eternal activity of the whole heaven . . . acts on this while remaining itself unmoved . . . as the object of desire moves desire, while remaining motionless itself.” 28 How does the primal god implement this great task? It can only be accomplished in a manner akin to the nature of what is most excellent. Accordingly, Alcinous finds a model for this divine activity in the eternal selfthinking Thought of Aristotle’s god, the comprehensive standard of excellence on every level. 29 In this context, he skillfully intertwines Aristotelian and Platonic teaching, enriching the impersonal orientation toward finality that provides the framework within which his analysis of cosmic generation takes shape. Echoing Tim. 28c, he again links his personalization of god as “father” with the designation of god as “cause of things…bestowing order on the heavenly Intellect and the soul of the world.” 30 God bestows order by means of the thoughts that are part and parcel of the divine Mind. Alcinous thereby coordinates the noetic motif derived from Aristotle with Plato’s paternal image of the demiourgos’s providential governance of the universe. In this synthetic vein, he further identifies the primal god with three Platonic transcendentals: the Good as cause of all good in things in conjunction with their potentialities; the Beautiful, as the exemplar of perfection and proportionality; and Truth, as the very source of truth. 31 Alcinous’s extended commentary on the world’s generation (Didaskalikos 12–14) represents a pronounced shift in focus from the Aristotelian char-

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acter of the primal god described in preceding chapters (that is, as a selfintellective object of desire). At Didaskalikos 12.1, he relies more deliberately upon Plato’s image of the demiourgos’ crafting of the world in imitation of the world of Forms (Tim. 28a–b). In this connection, however, Alcinous specifies the object of divine contemplation as nothing less than the Form of the World itself. He draws this conclusion by inference: just as the objects of scientific knowledge look to the Forms for their intelligibility, the world is copied from an intelligible prototype: “It is by assimilation to it that it is fashioned by the creator, who proceeds through a most admirable providence and administrative care to create the world.” 32 Alcinous’s fidelity to the optimism inherent in Plato’s cosmic vision is evident in the parallel he discerns between the visible world and its creative cause. The goodness of that cause is correlative with the providential character of the world’s governance. Alcinous’s charting of the dynamics of cosmic generation adheres rather closely to the Timaeus’s account of the demiourgos’s ordering of the Receptacle. “He created it,” Alcinous asserts, “out of the totality of matter,” or more precisely, “out of the elementary components of matter.” 33 Like Plato, Alcinous alludes to a pre-cosmic state of disorder (Tim. 52d; 53a–b) existing “prior to the generation of the heavens.” 34 In connection, however, the optimism of Plato’s teleological outlook is readily apparent. By endowing things with the intelligible patterns of things, Alcinous deems the order that god draws out of disorder to be not only good, but the very “best.” In this respect, “Matter . . . imprinted with these traces (of Forms), moved first of all in a disorderly manner, but was then brought by god to order, through all things being harmonized with each other by means of proportion.” 35 Any uncertainty regarding Alcinous’s understanding of Plato’s allusions to a state of affairs preceding this “bringing to order” is dispelled in light of his reading of Plato’s teaching (Tim. 28b) that the world has been “generated” (gegonen). In Alcinous’s interpretation of Plato, “One must not understand him to assert that there ever was a time when the world did not exist; but rather that the world is perpetually in a state of becoming, and reveals a more primordial cause of its own existence.” 36 While Alcinous’s personal history and background are largely unknown, the foregoing rendering of the meaning of gegonen implicitly connects him with the School of Gaius and its commitment to the notion of a universe that is both caused and eternally existent. In this respect, the language he brings to bear stands in agreement with the third and fourth meanings attached to gegonen by Calvenus Taurus in his Commentary on the Timaeus (that is, (a) always in process of generation, and (b) dependent . . . on an outside source . . . God, by whom it has been brought into order). On the surface, such an interpretation seems to

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represent an uneasy (and even irreconcilable) alliance of contradictory positions. Why does an eternally existent universe engaged in a perpetual state of becoming require any need for an ultimate cause? From a metaphysical standpoint, Alcinous is appealing to a level of causality more fundamental than one which confines the meaning of the “beginning” of the universe to a temporal origin alone. In a very real sense, such a “vertical” brand of causality encompasses and sustains orderly becoming from moment to moment, or more precisely, from all eternity. Accordingly, the metaphorical interpretation of the Timaeus narrative endorsed by Alcinous provides a means of construing cosmological origins in more profound ontological terms. 37 In concluding this consideration of the Didaskalikos, we must note one of the major sources traditionally cited as lending support to the thesis that Alcinous was its author, against the pro-Albinus line endorsed by Freudenthal and Witt. In his Commentary on the Timaeus, Proclus attributes to Albinus the position (present in the Didaskalikos) that an ungenerated universe also demands a principle or cause of its generation. In this regard, that interpretation encompasses the third and fourth senses of gegonen specified by Calvenus Taurus. The Platonist Albinus considers that in Plato’s view the cosmos, though ungenerated . . . has a principle of generation. For this interpreter it even exceeds true Being, true Being only having eternal existence, whereas the cosmos, in addition to being eternal, also has a principle of generation. As a result it is both always existent and generated. 38

Proclus, however, also attributes to Albinus an interpretation of gegonen rather foreign to what we find in the Didaskalikos, an interpretation more akin to the second sense of gegonen delineated by Calvenus Taurus (that is, what is in theory composite, even if it has not in fact been combined). According to Proclus, the cosmos is both eternal and generated “not because it is generated in terms of time . . . but because it has a logos for its generation through being compounded from multiple and dissimilar parts, a combination whose existence must necessarily be referred back to another more ancient cause.” 39 In the final analysis, however, it seems that the real value of what Proclus says here does not lie in what it might tell us about who (or who did not) author the Didaskalikos. Rather, it highlights the diversity of interpretations that grew out of the attempt to read Plato’s account of cosmological origins in a critical way, with the assumption that an eternally existent universe still requires a higher cause for its orderly operation and intelligibility. Among those interpretations, the commentary of Apuleius offers a rather distinctive and nuanced treatment of the meaning attached to gegonen.

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REFINING THE “NON-LITERAL” INTERPRETATION Lucius Apuleius was a native of Madaura in North Africa (b. c. A.D. 123). After studying rhetoric in Carthage, he pursued philosophical studies in Athens. Since he studied at Athens in the mid-second century, there are at least some grounds for connecting him with Calvenus Taurus. 40 But any connection with Taurus, with Gaius, or with a disciple of Gaius is highly conjectural at best. The fact that Apuleius authored a manual or handbook of Platonic doctrine (the De Platone) might prompt us to find parallels between his philosophical perspective and what we find in the Didaskalikos. 41 While there are similarities between the De Platone and the Didaskalikos, however, there are significant differences as well. As Dillon aptly observes, each writer “shows too much that is distinctive for them to have had a common master.” 42 What the De Platone and the Didaskalikos do share is a belief in the world’s eternity (and by implication, a rejection of its temporal origin). Yet even here, we find a significant difference regarding the ways in which Apuleius and Alcinous depict Plato’s teaching that the world was begotten or generated. Apuleius addresses Plato’s dictum that the “world has come into existence” in terms of the seemingly paradoxical positions that accompany it, namely, that an eternally existent universe has come into being. Like Alcinous (and the perspective endorsed by the School of Gaius), Apuleius contends that Plato himself did not construe the world’s coming into being as a coming to be in time. Accordingly, he addresses what he perceives as a tension in Plato’s own teaching in the Timaeus: “And this world he sometimes declares to be without beginning, but elsewhere to have an origin and to have been created. There is, he says, no beginning nor end to it, because it has always existed.” 43 Apuleius thus grapples with the same question that Alcinous confronts in the Didaskalikos: how can an eternally existent world be deemed to have an origin, whereby it can be described as “begotten” or “generated”? Alcinous, as we have seen, links a transcendent source of cosmic order (Calvenus Taurus’s fourth sense of gegonen) with the notion of an ongoing process of generation (Taurus’s third sense of gegonen). Apuleius likewise affirms the existence of a cause external to the system it sustains. “Since god has provided the principle of its creation,” he contends, “it will always subsist with eternal permanence.” 44 Apuleius, however, aligns this recognition of the necessity of a cause of eternal generation with the first sense of gegonen enumerated by Taurus (“what is not created, but of the same genus as things that are created”). Accordingly, he teaches that the world “appears ‘created’ because its substance and nature are constituted from elements which have the characteristics of createdness.” 45 This is tantamount to maintaining that the

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world exhibits a “horizontal” (i.e., a spatio-temporal) series of causally dependent things, that is, things in an ongoing process of becoming. By exploiting Taurus’s first sense of gegonen, then, Apuleius focuses more specifically upon the contingency of those things which comprise the cosmos, rather than upon the cosmos as a whole. 46 In this respect, the cosmos can be said to possess a “beginning” to the extent that it relies upon an ordering cause. 47 Indeed, Apuleius upholds the remoteness of god, even as he incorporates an elaborate theology of Providence into his scheme. As described in the De Platone (I,12), Providence establishes a network of celestial gods that implement the divine will for the world’s supervision in a manner conducive to the realization of excellence on all levels, from the highest to the lowest of things. In the metaphysical framework that Apuleius conceives, we find a continuity and coextensiveness between the intelligible and the material realms, and between the eternal and the temporal worlds. While Apuleius emphasizes the transcendence of god, he also bridges the ontological gap between higher and lower levels of reality by means of his daemonology, a theory of intermediary beings that serve as ministers of the gods and guardians of humans. Such a cohesive world view lends itself to the conviction that god orders an eternally existent cosmos on an ongoing basis. We now turn to those Middle Platonists who depart from this teaching in upholding a temporal origin of the universe. In this connection, it is interesting to observe that the major proponents of this theory of cosmological origins (Plutarch and Atticus) also embrace a dualistic vision of reality which posits a more pronounced dichotomy between pre-cosmic disorder and cosmic order than we find among members of the School of Gaius (or those who at least reflect its fundamental presuppositions). PROPONENTS OF TEMPORAL CREATION Calvenus Taurus’s exposition of the four senses of what it means to be “generated” (gegonen) is obviously slanted toward the non-literal reading of Plato’s use of that term in the Timaeus. In the quote from Taurus considered above (see n. 7), we see that he describes those who contend that Plato teaches a beginning in time as having been “led astray” in assuming that Plato intended gegonen in a literal fashion. But whether this understanding of Plato’s teaching was as erroneous as Taurus contends reflects the perspective he brings to bear, that is, one consistent with a commitment to an eternally existent universe. Those who upheld a temporal origin of the universe, on the other hand, were confident in their fidelity to Plato’s own words in the Timaeus. This verbal evidence provided compelling support for a position that posed a serious challenge to commentators attempting to draw an alter-

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nate conclusion from what Plato’s actually says. According to John Whittaker, “no philosophically unsuspecting reader of the Timaeus, would ever dream that Plato might have intended his account to be understood nonliterally.” 48 The most salient proponent of a temporal creation was Plutarch of Chaeronea (b. c. A.D. 45–c. A.D. 125), a prolific essayist, biographer, historian, and Middle Platonic philosopher. Plutarch exemplifies the eclecticism of Middle Platonism, combining his allegiance to Plato with influences derived from Aristotle, the Stoics, and Neopythagoreanism. 49 Plutarch’s allegiance to the thrust of Platonic metaphysics is evident in his identification of true Being with what is eternal (that is, what is without beginning or end). But the Neopythagorean dimension of his thought is reflected in his adoption of a dualistic model of reality encompassing a distinction between the supreme principle of the One (the limiting principle of what is formless and irrational) and the Indefinite Dyad (the principle of indeterminacy). 50 The appeal to such competing principles represents an attempt to come to terms with the source of evil: by grounding evil in the Indefinite Dyad, the One is alleviated of culpability for any negativity in the cosmic scheme. In Plutarch, then, the Indefinite Dyad provides a means of shifting the causal responsibility for evil from the divine to the sheer Limitlessness (apeiria) of the Dyad. The dualism that emerges on the level of the first principles (and the accompanying tension between Limit and Limitlessness, between form and indeterminacy) sets the tone for what transpires in Plutarch’s account of cosmic generation in his De Animae Procreatione In Timaeo. This treatise constitutes the focus of our investigation of Plutarch’s contribution to the Middle Platonic debate surrounding Plato’s “creation” narrative in the Timaeus (27d–69a). From Plutarch’s standpoint, in fact, the entire Timaeus “from beginning to end is about the generation of the universe” (περὶ κόσμου γενέσεως). 51 Plutarch’s interpretation of cosmological origins unfolds in the context of his treatment of Plato’s theory of the soul’s origin. In surveying the range of opinions regarding Plato’s teaching on this topic, Plutarch discerns a common trend, namely “that the soul did not come to be in time and is not subject to generation.” 52 Plutarch reckons that these commentators reduce Plato’s contention that the soul “came to be” to no more than a matter of verbal utterance, intended for pedagogical purposes alone. Such an assumption, he argues, also enters into their interpretation of Plato’s understanding of the origin of the universe. According to Plutarch, “Plato . . . for the sake of examination represents it [the soul] verbally as coming to be and being blended together and . . . with the same thing in mind concerning the universe . . . while he knows it to be everlasting and ungenerated (ảίδιον ὄντα καὶ ảγένητον).” 53

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From Plutarch’s perspective, the error of this interpretation lies in its falsification of Plato’s designation of the soul as the primary agent of motion and change. 54 What applies to the origin of the soul applies to the universe as well. Accordingly, he professes to follow Plato in affirming that “the universe has been brought into being by god” (κόσμον ὑπὸ θεοῦ γεγονέναι), even though the matter from which the universe came into being was eternally existent. 55 In this respect, Plutarch rules out any possibility of a generation or creation from nothing. “The source of generation,” he argues, “is not what is non-existent.” 56 He thus proceeds from the assumption (widely endorsed by ancient thinkers) that ex nihilo nihilo fit. Something must precede the actual beginning of the universe, just as the works of craftsmen proceed from material “not in good and sufficient condition.” 57 On a cosmic scale, an orderly universe bearing the stamp of divine causation succeeds a preliminary state of turmoil. “What preceded the generation of the universe,” Plutarch maintains, “was disorder . . . not incorporeal or immobile or inanimate but . . . corporeality amorphous and incoherent and of motivity demented and irrational . . . the discord of soul that has not reason.” 58 This Maleficent Soul lays the groundwork for the eventual demiurgic creation of the universe. Plutarch considers the Maleficent Soul a causal principle in its own right (albeit one of a recalcitrant nature) which implements an initial disordered version of creation. This prior state “becomes” a cosmos only by virtue of god’s imposition of rationality upon the maelstrom of irrational movement. Amorphous corporeality and the maleficent psychic principle provide the underlying constituents for a subsequent demiurgic creation “producing from them the living being supremely fair and perfect” (τὸ κάλλιστον καὶ τελειότατον ἐξ αủτῶν ζῷον). 59 Plutarch’s incorporation of the notion of a Maleficent Soul into his account of creation presupposes the same rationale that supports his positing of the Indefinite Dyad. In both cases, he finds a means of insulating the divine from responsibility for evil. Plutarch identifies the corporeal substance with the Receptacle of Plato’s Timaeus, as “abode and nurse of the things…subject to generation” (πανδεχοῦς φύσεως ἕδρας τε καὶ τιθήωης τῶν γενητῶν). 60 But in so doing, he also cautions against any inclination to ground what Plato designates as “Necessity” (Tim. 48a–49a) in amorphous matter, rather than in the motive character of soul. From Plutarch’s standpoint, what is wholly amorphous (and completely lacking in any qualitative features) cannot assume a causal efficacy in regard to evil: “For what is without quality and of itself inert and without propensity Plato cannot suppose to be cause and principle of evil and . . . necessity which is . . . recalcitrant to god.” 61 The relevance of this issue is not confined to considerations of theodicy alone for Plutarch. In a very real sense, it also touches upon his conception of the dynamics of the generative process and the manner in which god orders disordered matter. Plutarch’s interpretation of Plato stipulates that god does

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not work directly on inert matter, but rather, that god terminates matter’s disruption by the erratic movement of the irrational soul. 62 This presupposes, however, that corporeal natures were already at god’s disposal for providential ordering even before the generation of the universe. 63 In this respect, Plutarch distinguishes two senses of the notion of the “body of the universe” (τὸ σῶμα τοῦ κόσμου): an ungenerated body on the one hand, and a body subject to generation on the other. When Plato says that everything visible being . . . in disorderly motion, was taken over by god who arranges it . . . he posits bodies as existing . . . and ready to hand before the generation of the universe; but, when again he says that . . . the universe is subject to generation because it is visible . . . and has body . . . it is clear . . . that he attributes a genesis to the nature of body. 64

What is the difference between these two senses of corporeal substance? For Plutarch, the difference lies in an absence or presence of ratio or measure. Accordingly, he interprets Plato as teaching that god’s role as “father and artificer” does not pertain to the origin of the raw material of creation, but only when “god first gave them definite shape with figures and numbers.” 65 Plutarch extends this dichotomization into the psychic sphere. Just as he contrasts a corporeality before and after generation (the former disordered, the latter ordered), he likewise contrasts the irrational, Maleficent Soul with the World Soul “regulated by god . . . with the appropriate numbers and ratios.” 66 As conceived by Plutarch, the generation of the World Soul coincides with the generation of the universe. If the irrational soul presides over a pre-cosmic realm characterized by the absence of order, the World Soul (by virtue of its overarching regulation) serves as the primary agent of motion and change in an orderly universe. Indeed, the pre-cosmic realm in Plutarch’s scheme is not even worthy of the name “universe” or “cosmos” at all. For this very reason, he discerns in Plato’s teaching an affirmation of the universe’s temporal origin, that is, a beginning in the truest sense. “Plato,” Plutarch contends, “speaks of the soul both as ungenerated and as generated, he always speaks of the universe as having come to be and as generated and never as ungenerated or everlasting.” 67 While Plutarch’s commitment to a temporal origin set him apart from the Middle Platonic mainstream, he shared a key assumption with thinkers like Alcinous and Apuleius regarding god’s relation to the universe. Like those thinkers, Plutarch emphasizes divine transcendence, even as he affirms god’s providential role in reality as a whole. 68 But “creation” in Plutarchean terms consists in bringing order to the pre-cosmic disorder, a marked transition between a preliminary state and the subsequent generation of the cosmos. As Pierre Thévenaz neatly frames the issue, “L’idée de genèse et de creation . . . signifies simplement passage du désordre à l’ordre.” 69 In a very real sense,

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this model of the generative process reveals the extent to which Plutarch’s theodicy (in its attempt to shield god from responsibility for evil) requires a temporal origin of things. By sharply distinguishing the pre-cosmic disorder from the order that emerges under the formative action of divine reason, Plutarch envisions the cosmos as the inbreaking of something new—a “creature” animated by the World Soul. In the context of that vision, the cosmos is not merely the outgrowth of the disorder which precedes its emergence, but an altogether different world characterized by measure and intelligibility (the antithesis of the realm of chaos and irrationality under the aegis of the Maleficent Soul). From Plutarch’s perspective, this position was essential in upholding god's causal role in crafting the “supremely fair and perfect” cosmos. But the degree to which Plutarch’s literal reading of the Timaeus’s “creation” narrative is faithful to Plato’s own teaching is itself a matter of conjecture. In this respect, Plutarch engages in the kind of creative adaptation that is such a prominent feature of Middle Platonism. Plutarch’s defense of Plato’s “creation” account reflects a willingness on his part to innovate, and thereby, to expand upon Plato in support of his deep conviction in the world’s temporal origin. 70 While there are Platonic inspirations for Plutarch’s notions of a Maleficent Soul, an amorphous Receptacle, and a precedent state of disorder, he drastically reshapes these notions in service of his own dualistic vision of reality. In addition, we can discern a Stoic dimension in his depiction of the cosmos as an “animal” and a “body” or corporeal substance. The contention that Plato taught that the universe came to be in time found a receptive audience in the Athenian School of Middle Platonism. The leading late second-century figure in this intellectual circle was Atticus (f. A.D. 176–180), a thinker who fully embraced Plutarch’s dualism in support of his own cosmological theory. Atticus’s endorsement of a literal interpretation of Plato was reinforced by his uncompromising opposition to Aristotelianism, and by extension, to any attempt to render Plato’s “creation” narrative compatible with the notion of an eternally existent universe. Accordingly, he set himself (following Plutarch) against the general thrust of conventional Middle Platonic responses to this question. Our consideration of Atticus’s contribution to this debate draws primarily upon the fragments of his writing preserved by Eusebius, with supporting insights from Proclus’s references to Atticus’s teaching. 71 For Atticus, the notion of a temporal creation is closely aligned with a belief in the efficacy of divine providence. From this standpoint, those who endorse an eternally existent universe reject god’s providential concern for all things. Atticus, however, views a recognition of the operation of providence as not only pertinent to cosmic order in its most general sense; it also has a bearing upon human fulfillment. If god is causally responsible for bringing everything into order, then god’s overarching care encompasses human existence as well. According to Atticus, “Plato makes all things con-

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nected with God, and dependent on god…and while he cares for all things, and orders all . . . he has taken thought for mankind also.” 72 Atticus perceives divine causality as correlative with the causal dependence of things on every level. Accordingly, he disdains the remoteness that Aristotle assigns to god. “For we seek,” Atticus asserts, “a providence that has an interest for us.” 73 Atticus’s linking of providence with causal dependence is a crucial component of his rejection of a timeless (and by implication, an “uncreated”) universe. This conviction drives his interpretation of Plato’s teaching on cosmological origins. In Atticus’s reckoning, “Plato . . . having reasoned out the conclusion that the uncreated has no need . . . of a maker or . . . a guardian for its well-being, in order that he might not deprive the world of providence, denied that it was uncreated.” 74 Along with other Middle Platonic commentators, Atticus avows his fidelity to Plato’s own words. In this context, he appeals directly to the language of Tim. 30a and its depiction of the demiurgic organization of a preliminary disorder for the realization of the good. Atticus frames Plato’s teaching in these terms: “For god,” says he, “having found the whole visible world not at rest, but moving in an irregular and disorderly manner, brought it out of disorder into order, because he thought that was altogether better than the other.” 75 Atticus incorporates Plutarch’s dualistic perspective in delineating the transition from the state of disorder to a rationally governed cosmos. Proclus sheds light upon this dimension of Atticus’s interpretation of Plato, distinguishing a “former time” preceding the universe’s generation and the time that emerges simultaneously with its emergence. In so doing, he allies Atticus with those Platonists who construe cosmic generation in temporal terms. They assert that prior to the fabrication of the world, there was disorderly motion. But time entirely subsists together with motion; so that there was time prior to the universe. Time . . . was also generated with the universe, being the number of the motion of the universe; so that the former time was . . . the number of a disorderly motion. 76

Proclus’ testimony, then, specifies that Atticus follows Plutarch in demarcating a preexistent, disordered, and unbegotten motion from the cosmos “generated in time.” 77 Like Plutarch, Atticus incorporates the notion of the Maleficent Soul (drawing upon Plato’s Laws X) as the source of irrational motion. According to Proclus, “Plutarch of Chaeronea and . . . Atticus . . . say . . . that unadorned matter existed prior to the generation of the universe, and likewise a malevolent soul, which moved this matter.” 78 In this vein, Atticus posits an acosmic state of affairs (characterized by irrational motion) prior to the emergence of the cosmos itself. Such a dualistic model rules out creation ex nihilo in the sense of a bringing into being from absolute non-being. (Plutarch, as we saw, explicitly argues against generation from the nonexistent. 79) Atticus,

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however, strongly suggests creation from nothing when he contends that Plato “invests the Maker of all with a power by which he made the world which did not previously exist.” 80 But whether Atticus intends this reference to non-being in an absolute or a relative sense is rather irrelevant in this context. For him (as for Plutarch), the pertinent issue is not whether the universe was made out of the completely nonexistent, but that the cosmos as cosmos represents something genuinely new in relation to the preexistent state of disorderly motion. In any case, Atticus’s concern lies in emphasizing the relationship between the universe’s causal dependence upon god and the providential care it receives on an ongoing basis. The same god that made the universe wills to preserve it indefinitely. 81 Atticus discounts any claim that there is a necessary connection between the notions of “createdness” and “perishability” (or conversely, between an eternal, unbegotten universe and an imperishable one). 82 From his perspective, the pivotal determinant lies in the divine will, to the extent that “It is ridiculous that, because a thing has come into existence, it must therefore perish, and yet not perish, if god so wills…that, because a thing is uncreated, it has strength to escape from perishing, and yet that the will of god is insufficient to keep any created thing from perishing.” 83 For Atticus, demiurgic ordering assumes two roles. On the one hand, it encompasses the imposition of mind-governed rationality upon the irrational motion under the aegis of the Maleficent Soul. On the other hand, it involves the modelling of the material world upon the Forms, the archetypes of all things. In Atticus’s commentary upon Platonic teaching (Cf. Tim. 28–29), the demiourgos (a title that he conjoins with that of “Father,” “Lord,” and “Guardian” of all things) makes the universe on the basis of the incorporeal, intelligible, and eternal paradigms (παραδείγματα) in the manner of an artisan who relies upon a prior conception of what he crafts. 84 In this respect, these immutable patterns assume an ontological priority (and causal efficacy) in relation to the material things which bear their image. While Atticus (along with Plutarch) espouses a dualistic model of reality, this dualism is not a radical one of the Gnostic variety. In those schemes, the world emerges as a result of a conflict between competing principles of good and evil. In contrast, the dualism of Plutarch and Atticus serves the needs of their theodicy. Their positing of a preliminary state of disorder distances the godhead from any responsibility for evil and imperfection in the universe. By no means, however, do they conceive this prior state as a foundational stage of creation upon which the demiourgos depends in making the cosmos. The simultaneous emergence of the cosmos and temporality affirms the sovereignty of rationality and rational governance over the irrationality and arbitrariness inherent in Necessity. The earlier chaotic state of disorder gives way to the order of a mind-governed universe.

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By virtue of their mutual emphasis upon the temporal origin of the cosmos, both Plutarch and Atticus underscore the necessity of a cause of the form, intelligibility, and beauty that characterizes the cosmos as a whole. In their estimation, any appeal to the operation of providence (and any basis of fulfillment in human existence) would be rendered illusory in the absence of an ultimate explanatory principle. This is why their anti-Aristotelian stance must be considered in conjunction with the alternative vision of reality that they propose. If they oppose Aristotle’s critical interpretation of Plato’s Timaeus (and the theological presuppositions underlying that critique), their opposition did not proceed exclusively from a rejection of the Aristotelian cosmology. Rather, it was grounded in a commitment to what they consider crucial to Plato’s account of cosmological origins, namely, that a transcendent godhead can be providentially involved with the cosmos and human affairs. For this reason, Atticus challenges the Aristotelian assumption that a begotten universe must inevitably perish. Since the divine will provides the raison d’etre for the being of the cosmos, its imperishability or perishability is wholly contingent upon the dictates of that will as well. In keeping with Atticus’s teleological perspective, the divine will not only seeks what is conducive to the good, but to what is supremely good for all things. MIDDLE PLATONIC TRENDS Middle Platonic treatments of Plato’s account of cosmological origins in the Timaeus developed in response to Aristotle’s critical interpretation of that account in the most literal terms (that is, that Plato taught that the universe began to be at a specific point in time). Middle Platonist responses followed two paths. The majority, as we have seen, endorsed Aristotle’s teaching, shaping their Platonic commentaries around the presupposition that the universe is eternally existent. From their standpoint, Plato’s assertion that the universe came into being was reducible to a matter of metaphor, merely intended for illustrative purposes. In contrast to this metaphorical interpretation, the minority wing of Middle Platonism proceeded from the premise that a fidelity to Plato’s teaching required that the universe had a temporal beginning. But whatever their differences in interpretations (differences reflecting either a receptivity or a hostility to Aristotelianism), the Middle Platonists we have considered in this chapter reflect an allegiance to the fundamental tenets of classical Hellenic rationalism: a cosmic vision which affirms the inherent goodness of things in relation to a greater whole; a teleological outlook committed to the purposefulness and coherence of the universe; the assumption that the material world participates in a higher intelligible order; a belief in the providential guidance of the universe by god for the realization of the good. Each of these thinkers opposed a mechanistic model of the universe,

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sharing the conviction that reality as we know it depends upon an external cause for its goodness, order, and intelligibility. In these schemes, god is both transcendent and immanent, remote yet present to all things by virtue of their sharing in the immutable world of Forms. In a very real sense, the question as to whether the “beginning” of the universe is temporal or timeless in character can be subsumed under the broader metaphysical question regarding the contingency of the universe in relation to an ultimate causal principle. Each of these thinkers (Alcinous, Apuleius, Plutarch, and Atticus) wrestles (in their varied ways) with an issue that likewise looms large in Judeo-Christian discussions of cosmological origins. Indeed, the very fertility of the creation narratives in both traditions opened the way to differing interpretations of the very notion of the “beginning.” While Plato’s Timaeus lent itself to diverse interpretations, Genesis did as well. On the surface, it would appear that Jewish and Christian speculation in this vein was committed to the notion of a temporal beginning endorsed by Plutarch and Atticus (along with a literal reading of Plato). For the most part, this was the case. But we also confront a tendency (beginning with Philo Judaeus) to define the “beginning” in terms of a timeless origin and ongoing dependence of creation upon God. Even as they drew upon the philosophical categories of Platonism for their own exegetical purposes, Jewish and Christian thinkers redefined the notions of “creation” and “createdness” in a manner consistent with an understanding of Divine sovereignty and creaturely contingency unique to the scriptural tradition as a whole. CONCLUDING PART I Those who read Plato through the lens of biblical creation accounts might well identify the “Maker and Father” of the Timaeus (which Plato designates as ὁ θεὸς) as a Creator God Who brings all things into being from what was nonexistent. Reale, in fact, describes the “creative” activity of the demiourgos as a “form of semi-creationism.” But in adopting this qualification, Reale also contrasts the biblical and Platonic conceptions of how things come to be. Although the creative act of the biblical God is absolute or unconditioned, insofar as it does not presuppose anything existent and is therefore a production ex nihilo . . . the creative activity of the Platonic demiurge is not unconditioned, insofar as it presupposes . . . the existence of two realities . . . that of a being . . . always identical, that functions as an exemplar, and . . . a sensible material Principle, characterized by disorder and excess. 85

From this standpoint, one may wish to characterize the ordering imposed by the demiourgos as an act of “creation,” albeit in a qualified sense of the term. But Reale alerts us to a crucial meaning variance problem that can easily be

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overlooked in light of the broad affinities between the biblical and Platonic accounts of cosmological origins. There is a considerable difference between the notions of creation as a “bringing into order out of disorder” and a “bringing into being from non-being.” 86 For Plato, the teaching that the world “comes into being” is equivalent to saying that the “world comes into being as ordered.” Plato’s account depicts the demiourgos as initiating a process introducing order (and all the goodness that such ordering entails) into what was otherwise disordered and random. In this respect, “creation” in the Platonic sense amounts to the insertion of a teleological dimension into the cosmic scheme on the basis of an eternal Model of rationality and the standard of excellence it establishes for the realization of goodness on a universal scale. It is not surprising, then, that Judeo-Christian thinkers found a useful touchstone in Plato’s Timaeus for their own interpretations of the dynamics of creation. As R. A. Norris observes, such thinkers came to perceive in Plato’s narrative a “parallel and derivative” of the Genesis story of creation. 87 But this trend does not necessarily mean that they assumed that the biblical and Platonic accounts were exactly the same, or that they saw no substantive differences between these narratives. What it does show is that Jews of the late Hellenistic age and Christians of the early patristic era discerned something of a common ground between what Genesis teaches about creation and Plato’s theory of cosmic generation in the Timaeus. We explore the ebb and flow of that great dialectical encounter between the thought worlds of Athens, Alexandria, and Jerusalem in parts II and III of this book. NOTES 1. A. H. Armstrong (An Introduction to Ancient Philosophy [Westminster, MD: The Newman Press, 1959], 147) addresses the diverse character of Middle Platonism in these terms: When it becomes visible in the second century A.D. it is neither a formless eclecticism nor Stoicism masquerading as Platonism. It is genuinely Platonic doctrine, differing in many important ways from the teaching of Plato himself, and showing many signs of the influence of Aristotle and of other schools, but going back in many essential points to Plato’s own pupil Xenocrates. 2. John Dillon, The Middle Platonists. 80 B.C. to A.D. 220 [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977], 51: We . . . see . . . the philosophers of Middle Platonism oscillating between the poles of attraction constituted by Peripateticism and Stoicism, but adding to the mixture of these influences a strong commitment . . . to a transcendent supreme principle, and a non-material, intelligible world above and beyond this one, which stands as a paradigm for it.

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3. Philip Merlan, chapter 3 (“Aristotle”) in A. H. Armstrong (ed.), The Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 48. 4. W. C. K. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, Volume V (Cambridge, UK/London/ New York/Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 304. 5. In addition to the “School of Gaius” and the “Athenian School” of the Middle Platonic tradition, we must also recognize a renewal of Pythagoreanism beginning in the first century B.C. and extending to Numenius of Apamea (fl. c. A.D. 150). 6. Taurus’s Commentary on the Timaeus is contained in John Philoponus’s On the Eternity of the World (145, 13ff., Rabe). I rely upon the translation of the relevant portions of Taurus’s text in John Dillon’s The Middle Platonists. 80 B.C. to A.D. 220, 242–243. 7. Taurus, Commentary on the Timaeus (Dillon, 243). 8. Taurus, Commentary on the Timaeus (Dillon, 243). 9. Alcinous, Didaskalikos, trans. by John Dillon (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1993) 1.1. According to John Dillon (introduction to his translation of Alcinous’s The Handbook of Platonism [Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1993], xiii), the work is essentially an “instructional account” or “instructor’s manual” (as the title Didaskalikos indicates). 10. R. E. Witt, Albinus and the History of Middle Platonism (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1937, 1971), 3. 11. I rely here upon the detailed survey of this controversy provided by John Dillon in his introduction to his translation of Alcinous’s The Handbook of Platonism, ix-xiii. 12. Dillon (introduction to his translation of Alcinous’s The Handbook of Platonism, x) cites the work of M. Giusta (“Αλβίνου Ἐπιτομή ο Ἀλκινόου Διδασκαλικός?,” Atti della Accademia delle Scienze di Torino, Classe di Scienze morali, storiche e filologiche, 95 (1960/1): 167–194) as the initial challenger to Freudenthal’s theory on the basis of the disparity between indirect evidence for Albinus’s teachings and the contents of the Didaskalikos itself. 13. Whittaker’s critique in this vein commenced in 1974 in “Parisinus graecus 1962 and the Writings of Albinus,” Phoenix, 28, pt. 1, 320–354; pt. 2, 450–456, repr. in Studies in Platonism and Patristic Thought (London, 1984). 14. Dillon, introduction to his translation of Alcinous’s The Handbook of Platonism, xi. Dillon (xiii) further situates Alcinous in a timeframe encompassing a broad range of Middle Platonist thinkers: “It remains true . . . that A. fits most comfortably into a period bounded by the writings of Plutarch on the one hand, and Galen and Alexander of Aphrodisias on the other, with Apuleius, Albinus, Atticus, Numenius, the Peripatetic Aspasius, and the Platonizing sophist Maximus of Tyre as approximate contemporaries . . . along with the earlier Antiochus of Ascalon (ap. Cicero) and Philo of Alexandria.” Dillon views these authors as providing sources of the terminology and concepts upon which Alcinous’s commentary often draws. But for a twentieth-century voice supporting the authorship of Albinus, consider the words of R. E. Witt (Albinus and the History of Middle Platonism, 106): “The view advanced by Freudenthal that the ascription of the Didaskalikos to “Alkinoos” is false and that the work belongs in fact to Albinus has met with general acceptance. Here the corruption is taken for granted. Albinus was clearly a Platonist of some importance, and it is equally certain that his name could be corrupted in more ways than one.” 15. Didaskalikos 1.1. 16. Didaskalikos 2.2. 17. Didaskalikos 8.1. 18. Dillon, Commentary on The Handbook of Platonism, 90. 19. Didaskalikos 8.2. According to Dillon (commentary on The Handbook of Platonism, 69), the term “forms in matter” is not Platonic in origin, but rooted in Aristotle, for example, De Caelo, translated by J. L. Stocks (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1941) I.9.278a9. 20. Didaskalikos 8.3 21. Didaskalikos 9.1; 9.2. 22. Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea, trans. by W. D. Ross (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1941) X,8 (1198b): “The activity of God, which surpasses all others in blessedness, must be contemplative.” Cf., Aristotle, Metaphysica,

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trans. by W. D. Ross (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1941) XII,9 (1074b): “It must be of itself that the divine thought thinks (since it is the most excellent of things), and its thinking is a thinking on thinking.” 23. Didaskalikos 9.3. 24. Didaskalikos 9.3 25. Didaskalikos 9.1. 26. Didaskalikos 9.3 27. Didaskalikos 9.1. 28. Didaskalikos 10.2. In commenting on this passage, John Peter Kenney (Mystical Monotheism: A Study in Ancient Platonic Theology [Hanover, NH, and London: Brown University Press/University Press of New England, 1991], 82) perceives “an attempt to show how the divine will can be understood in terms of final causality, a will . . . that not so much directs and orders as rouses and enlivens.” In this respect, Kenney further argues that “In the Didaskalikos we have a theology that is not only nondemiurgic in its scheme but that has been carefully thought through to provide a more consistent understanding of such a Platonism.” 29. Didaskalikos 10.3. 30. Didaskalikos 10.3. 31. Didaskalikos 10.3. Plato’s central statement regarding the causal role of the Good is found at Plato, Republic, trans. by F. M. Cornford (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1950) VI 508–509. The triad of the Good, the Beautiful, and the True is reminiscent of Plato’s identification of Beauty, Symmetry, and Truth as the cause of the genuine mixture at Philebus, trans. by B. Jowett (The Dialogues of Plato. New York: Random House, 1937) 65a. 32. Didaskalikos 12.1. 33. Didaskalikos 12.2. 34. Didaskalikos 12.2. 35. Didaskalikos 13.3. Alcinous’s language in this passage calls to mind the imagery of Plato, Timaeus, trans. by R. G. Bury (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975) 52e–53a, and its description of the Receptacle’s encompassing of the potencies of things moving to and fro like the grain in a winnowing fan. According to Alcinous (Didaskalikos 13.3), these “elements do not remain spatially separated, but experience an unceasing agitation, and communicate this to matter.” 36. Didaskalikos 14.3. 37. Alcinous’s interpretation of cosmic generation in terms of an eternal ordering is reflected in his depiction of the eternal existence of the World Soul. From this perspective, God can be said to “create” the World Soul by bringing it to order, that is, by arousing and drawing it to a contemplation of the Forms, the objects of God’s own thought, which Alcinous identifies with god (Didaskalikos 14.3). 38. Proclus, Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus (Volume II, Book 2), trans. with an introduction and notes by David T. Runia and Michael Share (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008) II.219.2–7. 39. Proclus, in Tim. II.219.7–10. Even in the face of this disparity between the teaching that Proclus attributes to Albinus and the actual content of the Didaskalikos regarding the world’s generation, Witt (Albinus and the History of Middle Platonism, 107) steadfastly contends that “the most convincing proof that Albinus is the author of the Didaskalikos is supplied by Proclus in discussing the sense in which the Universe may be said to have been begotten.” We see, then, how a given passage can easily lend itself to such diametrically opposed readings. 40. Cf., the remarks of Richard Fletcher (Apuleius’ Platonism. The Impersonation of Philosophy [Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2014], 135), who places Apuleius within the broader context of later Platonic trends in the second century A.D.: “In Apuleius’ day, the figure of the Platonist seems to emerge out of a form of dogmatism extolled by certain leaders of the Academy such as Gaius and Taurus, both of whom have been linked with Apuleius and his philosophical training in Athens.” 41. For my purposes, the relevant philosophical work is the expository De dogmate Platonis (or De Platone, the title I employ)—a work that is attributed to Apuleius, but of questionable authenticity. Other disputed Apuleian philosophical works are a logical treatise entitled Περὶ

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ἑρμηνείας, the De Mundo (a translation of a pseudo-Aristotelian text), and the De deo Socratis (a discourse on Socrates’s daimonion). 42. John Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 340. 43. Apuleius of Madaura, De Platone I,8,198. For quotes of this key passage from the De Platone [notes 43, 44 and 45], I rely upon John Dillon’s translation in The Middle Platonists, 315. 44. De Platone I,8,198. 45. De Platone I,8,198. 46. By virtue of his reliance upon Taurus’s fourth sense of gegonen, Alcinous highlights the contingency of the cosmos in its totality. For this reason, I do not agree with Dillon’s suggestion that the choice of one sense of gegonen over another became a fairly arbitrary matter among members of the School of Gaius. “One could take one’s pick,” Dillon asserts, “from among the senses of genetôs, and Apuleius’s masters chose differently” from the author of the Didaskalikos (The Middle Platonists, 315). From my standpoint, there is indeed a subtle but significant difference between the first and fourth senses of gegonen specified by Taurus. Accordingly, the choice of one sense over another might well have proceeded from a desire to emphasize a different dimension of contingency in the realm of cosmic process. 47. In the De deo Socratis, trans. by Christopher P. Jones (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017) 3.4, Apuleius draws upon Plato’s language in describing God as “the ruler and creator of all things,” yet so sovereign as to remain immune to any affectivity or action. 48. John Whittaker, “Plutarch, Platonism and Christianity,” in Studies in Platonism and Patristic Thought (London: Variorum Reprints, 1984), 59. 49. Hans Dieter Betz (Plutarch’s Theological Writings and Early Christian Literature. Studia ad Corpus Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti III [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975], vii) highlights the conjoining of the philosophical and religious perspectives in Plutarch’s thought: “He was a man who had an unlimited access and the Insider’s comprehension of the two centers of the Greek intellectual and religious life of the time, the Platonic Academy and the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi.” 50. In the De E Apud Delphos, trans. by Frank Cole Babbitt (Volume V, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1962) 19, 392 E–F, Plutarch describes Being in clear Platonic terms: “What . . . really is Being? It is that which is eternal, without end, to which no length of time brings change. For time is something that is in motion, appearing in connexion with moving matter, ever flowing, retaining nothing, a receptacle . . . of birth and decay, whose familiar ‘afterwards’ and ‘before,’ ‘shall be’ and ‘has been,’ when they are uttered, are of themselves a confession of Not Being.” For Plutarch’s delineation of the difference between the One and the Indefinite Dyad, see De Iside et Osiride, trans. by Frank Cole Babbitt (Volume V, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/ London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1962) 371 A: “The creation and constitution of this world is complex, resulting . . . from opposing influences . . . not of equal strength, but the predominance rests with the better.” Cf., De Is. et Os. 369 E (where Plutarch contrasts two opposing principles (archai) and powers (dynameis). 51. Plutarch, De Animae Procreatione in Timaeo, trans. by Harold Cherniss (Volume XIII, Part I, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1993) 10, 1017 B. In this respect, “generation” or “becoming” provides a means of demarcating true Being from the image of Being. But as Merlan observes (“The Later Academy and Platonism,” chapter 4 of A. H. Armstrong (ed.), The Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy [Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1967], 60) the absolute transcendence that Plutarch attributes to the divine principle sets it apart from the rest of reality: “The way in which Plutarch tries to elevate God above everything else is to say of him that only he truly is and is truly one, whereas everything else becomes rather than is and is many rather than one. God is simple, free of all otherness.” 52. De an. pr. 3, 1013 A. 53. De an. pr. 3, 1013 A.

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54. De an. pr. 4, 1013 E–F. 55. De an. pr. 5, 1014 A–B. Cf., Plato, Timaeus, trans. by R. G. Bury (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975) 28 b–e. 56. De an. pr. 5, 1014 B. Matthias Baltes (Die Weltenstehung Des Platonischen Timaios Nach Den Antiken Interpreten, Teil I [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1976], 40) rules out any suggestion of the presence of the teaching of creation ex nihilo in Plutarch: “Der Demiurg schafft nicht aus dem Nichtseienden, sondern aus dem mangelhaft Seienden das Vollkommene.” Cf., Aristotle, Physica, trans. by R. P. Hardie and R. K. Gaye (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1940) 187 a 34, for an affirmation of the dictum that it is impossible for being to arise from what is not. But G. C. Stead (in his review of Gerhard May, Schöpfung aus dem Nichts: Die Entstehung der Lehre von der Creatio ex Nihilo [Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 1978] in JTS n.s. 30 (1979): 548) suggests that there is evidence indicating that a doctrine of creation ex nihilo had emerged as a minority view in Greek philosophical circles (citing Simplicius In Aristotelis de Physica Commentarii i. p. 181 Diels, esp. 17ff. and Alexander of Aphrodisias in Metaph., p. 59.1 ff. Hayduck). 57. De an. pr. 5, 1014 B. 58. De an. pr. 5, 1014 B. In stressing that god did not make body from the incorporeal nor soul from the unsouled, Plutarch (De an. pr. 5, 1014 C) introduces this analogy: “Just as a man skilled in attunement and rhythm is expected not to create sound over movement . . . but to make sound tuneful and movement rhythmical so god did not himself create either the tranquility and resistance of body or the imagination and motivity of soul, but he took over both the principles . . . and . . . ordered and arrayed and fitted them together.” For the Platonic inspiration for Plutarch’s notion of an irrational or Maleficent Soul, see Laws, trans. by B. Jowett (The Dialogues of Plato, Volume II. New York: Random House, 1937) X, 898 B, where Plato refers to “the notion of the other sort which is not . . . according to any rule or proportion . . . akin to senselessness and folly.” Cf., Statesman, trans. by B. Jowett (The Dialogues of Plato, Volume II. New York: Random House, 1937) 273 C, where Plato speaks of a “previous state” from which comes “elements of evil and unrighteousness.” Harold Cherniss (introduction to his translation of Plutarch’s De Animae Procreatione In Timaeo (Volume XIII, Part I, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia [Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 1993], 147–148) contends that an eternally existent universe would rule out the need for the existence of god in Plutarch’s scheme: “This corporeal universe, if it had been so organized always and without beginning, would be coeval with soul, in which case there would be neither cogent evidence for the existence of god.” 59. De an. pr. 5, 1014 C. Cf., Tim. 31 b, for Plato’s description of the cosmos as the “allperfect Living Creature.” For a succinct delineation of Plutarch’s account of the transition from a pre-cosmic state of disorder to an orderly cosmos “supremely fair and perfect,” see Matthias Baltes, Die Weltenstehung Des Platonischen Timaios Nach Den Antiken Interpreten, Teil I, 40–41: “Die Bewegung der vorkosmischen Materie war ungeordnet, also muss auch die Ursach dieser Bewegung ungeordnet . . . denn der Nus ist das Prinzip der Ordnung. Es war also eine Seele ohne Nus, die die vorkosmische Bewegung verursachte. Sowohl die ungeordnete Hule wie die ungeordnete Seele übernahm . . . der Gott beim Beginn der Weltordnung, ordnete sie beide und schuf aus ihnen “das schönste und vollkommenste Lebenwesen.” 60. De an. pr. 5, 1014 C. Cf., Tim. 49 a. 61. De an. pr. 6, 1015 A. Cf., De Is. et Os. 374 E. But at Tim. 50 c, Plato does characterize the Receptacle as wholly indeterminate (“the moulding stuff for everything”). Only such indeterminacy allows it to become the substratum of all things. 62. De an. pr. 7, 1015 E. In this context, Plutarch contends that god “did not arouse matter from torpor,” but ended its disturbance “by an irrational cause.” 63. De an. pr. 9, 1016 D. Here, Plutarch explicitly describes these natures as “ready to Hand” or “reserved” for god’s use in generating the cosmos. 64. De an. pr. 9, 1016 D–E. Cf., Plutarch, Platonicae Quaestiones, trans. by Harold Cherniss (Volume XIII, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA/ London: Harvard University Press, 1993) IV, 1003 A.

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65. De an. pr. 9, 1016 F. Cf., Plutarch, Quaestiones Convivales, trans. by Edwin L. Minar Jr., F. H. Sanbach, and W. C. Helmhold (Volume IX, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1951) 4, 720 B. In Plutarch’s depiction of god as orderer, Whittaker (“Plutarch, Platonism and Christianity,” 52) discerns an emphasis on god’s paternal role (drawing upon Plato’s designation of the demiourgos as “Maker and Father” at Tim. 28c): “God is the maker of the universe in so far as he has fashioned it out of pre-existent matter after the manner of an artist or carpenter. But he is the father of the universe in so far as he has imbued the universe with rational life. For the rational life depends on the presence of soul and soul is the offspring of God.” Cf., Quaest. conv. VIII, 4, 720 C, which closely associates the roles of “Father” and “Creator” or “Maker.” As Harold Tarrant points out (“Platonism before Plotinus,” chapter 4 of Volume 1 of Lloyd Gerson (ed.), The Cambridge History of Philosophy in Late Antiquity [Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2010], 87), the supremacy that Plutarch attributes to god as Father and Creator “does not entail that everything must derive from him . . . he regularly affirms that both unordered bodily matter and unintelligent soul have always existed, and that the creation involves the giving of intelligence by god to soul followed by soul’s organization of body.” 66. De an. pr. 9, 1017 B. 67. De an. pr. 10, 1017 B. 68. De Is. et Os. 378 A. 69. Pierre Thévanz, L’Ame Du Monde Le Devenir Et La Materière Chez Plutarque (Paris: Société D’Édition “Les Belles Lettres,” 1938), 99. 70. According to Harold Cherniss (introduction to his translation of Plutarch’s De Animae Procreatione in Timaeo, 147), “Plutarch’s interpretation upon closer inspection proves to be far from ‘literal’ . . . not strict fidelity to Plato’s words but concern to enlist Plato’s authority for the proposition that the universe was brought into being by god.” In addressing Plutarch’s innovativeness as a Platonist, Cherniss further observes (149) that his version of Plato “is instructive . . . because it shows . . . what arbritrariness and contradictions are involved in an attempt to prove Platonic the dogma of ‘creation’ as an historical beginning.” Baltes (Die Weltenstehung Des Platonischen Timaios Nach Den Antiken Interpreten, Teil I, 45) highlights Plutarch’s role as a system-builder in respect to his wide-ranging use of Plato’s writings: “Plutarch erbaut ein überraschendes System zum Nachweis der realen Entstehung des Kosmos im Timaios. Er geht dabei vom Worterverständnis aus und legt immer wieder den Finger auf den Wortlaut. Soviel hat er mit Aristoteles gemeinsam, auf den er sich auffälligerweise nie beruft. Nur ist er ein viel sorgfältigerer Philologe, beachtet alle möglichen Implikationen einer Annahme, zieht in grösstem Ausmass die übrigen platonischen Dialoge heran und errichtet ein Lehrgebäude vom staunenswerter innerer Kohärenz und Geschlossenheit.” 71. The relevant works are Eusebius’s Praeparatio Evangelica, Bk. XV and Proclus’s In Platonis Timaeum I. 72. Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica, trans. by E. H. Gifford (Oxford, 1903) XV, V, 5 (Atticus, Fragment 3, Text Établi et Traduit par Édouard Des Places [Paris: Société d’Édition Les Belles Lettres, 1977], 46). 73. Eusebius, PE XV, V, 10 (Fr. 3, Des Places ed., 48). 74. Eusebius, PE XV, VI, 2 (Fr. 4, Des Places ed., 50–51). 75. Eusebius, PE XV, VI, 4 (Fr. 4, Des Places ed., 51). 76. Proclus, In Platonis Timaeum, Volume I, trans. by Thomas Taylor (London, 1820) I 276, 30–277, 7 Diehl, Fr. 19 (Des Places ed., 73). We must qualify the notion of a “former” time in this context as referring to temporality in the sense that motion presupposes a flow of events. “Time” in the strict sense (as ordered motion), however, only emerges with the cosmos. 77. Proclus, In Tim. I 283, 27–30 Diehl, Fr. 20 (Des Places ed., 73–74). 78. Proclus, In Tim. I 381, 26ff. Diehl, Fr. 23 (Des Places ed., 74). 79. See notes 56 and 57 earlier. 80. Eusebius, PE XV, VI, 7 (Fr. 4, Des Places ed., 52). The Neopythagorean doctrine of Eudorus implies that the Supreme Principle was the origin of the Ideas and matter. Cf., Simplicius, In Aristotelis de Physica Commentarii 181, 10ff., Diehls; Alexander Aphrodisius, Metaph. 988 a 10–11, Hayduck.

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81. Eusebius, PE XV, VI, 7 (Fr. 4, Des Places ed., 52). 82. Eusebius, PE XV, VI, 8 (Fr. 4, Des Places ed., 52). On this point, Atticus contends that Aristotle places himself squarely at odds with Plato, in imposing the necessity of perishing upon what is begotten or created on the one hand, and assuming that imperishability necessarily stems from uncreatedness on the other. 83. Eusebius, PE XV, VI, 11 (Fr. 4, Des Places ed., 53). 84. Eusebius, PE XV, XIII, 5 (Fr. 9, Des Places ed., 69). 85. Giovanni Reale, A History of Ancient Philosophy, Volume II. Edited and translated from the Fifth Italian Edition by John R. Catan (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), 109. 86. While both notions presuppose a dependence upon an external Cause, the degree of dependence differs radically. On this point, R. A. Norris (God and World in Early Christian Theology, 25) stresses that the dependence highlighted in Plato does not even amount to an equivalent for creation in the biblical sense: the Plato story only seeks to explain the state of the world as it always existed, does exist, and will exist, not the reason as to why there is a world. In this connection, however, David T. Runia (Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1986]) notes the difficulty of avoiding a description of Plato’s account of cosmological origins in terms of an act of “creation.” For this reason, Runia (132) finds a useful distinction in the German words Weltbildung (i.e., “world formation,” the sense of creation that Runia imputes to Plato’s account) and Weltschöpfung (conveying the notion of creation in an absolute sense as a bringing into being). 87. R. A. Norris, God and World in Early Christian Theology, 24.

Part II

The Shape of Things to Come

Chapter Four

The Creation Account of Philo Judaeus

Plato’s theory of cosmological origins (and the tradition of commentary it inspired) provided a perennial model for exploring the dynamics of creation in a Judeo-Christian framework. The early centuries of the Christian era were a particularly fertile period for this extended theological development and the critical reflection which served as its vital support system. In response to Tertullian’s provocative question, “What does Athens have to do with Jerusalem?” this period offers a resounding response: “A great deal indeed!” 1 In this connection, the topic of creation provides an illuminating referent for assessing the extent to which late antique Jewish and early Christian thinkers looked to secular wisdom for assistance in expressing their fundamental belief in God’s role as supreme Creator of all things. But the development of a bona fide theology of creation not only encompasses a synthesis of insights derived from Athens and Jerusalem. We must also factor the influence of the intellectual milieu of Alexandria into this equation. In a very real sense, Alexandria provided the crucial confluence of the great streams of Greek rationalism and Judeo-Christian Revelation. David Runia (building upon Tertullian’s question) frames the issues in these terms: “What . . . has Jerusalem to do with Athens? The answer . . . is that Alexandria has to do with them both.” 2 Precisely what did Alexandria have to do with Athens and Jerusalem regarding the development of a theology of creation? On the one hand, its cosmopolitan environment provided fertile soil for nurturing the eclecticism that characterized Middle Platonism (along with its Stoic and Neopythagorean offshoots). On the other hand, it offered a powerful stimulus to philosophical speculation about the beginning of all things for those grounded in the intellectual tradition of Hellenistic Judaism. It would be erroneous, how73

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ever, to assume that the Platonic and scriptural perspectives were mutually exclusive in this context. In this respect, Runia discerns a “double tendency” in Alexandrian Judaism that combines an allegiance to Mosaic Law with an interest in sharing in the various dimensions of secular culture. 3 Philo Judaeus (b. 20–15 B.C., d. c. A.D. 50) exemplifies this dual orientation, integrating both perspectives in crafting an innovative theory of creation that is firmly rooted in Scripture but decisively shaped by the intellectual currents of the Hellenistic world. In so doing, he laid the groundwork for that prolonged endeavor of “faith seeking understanding” that defined the course of patristic and medieval ways of thinking. PHILO’S MIDDLE PLATONISM In its broadest terms, Philo’s contribution lay in his interpretation of the Septuagint version of the Pentateuch (that is, the Torah) in light of the philosophical categories of Platonism (and the diverse influences accruing to it in Middle Platonic circles). At the core of this interpretation was his commentary on the first chapter of Genesis by means of the Timaeus narrative of cosmic generation. But Philo’s ability to reconcile faith and reason in this manner rested on more than his perception of a compatibility between seemingly disparate outlooks. If Philo read the sacred text through a philosophical “lens” (and more specifically, through a Middle Platonic one), it was because he considered the sacred text itself as imbued with a philosophical import proceeding from its Mosaic authorship. For this reason, we cannot dissociate Philo’s reading of Scripture in philosophical terms from his conviction that the author of its seminal books was not only the great Lawgiver, but the archetypal philosopher as well. In this respect, Philo drew upon a legend that traces the lineage of philosophy from Moses and his successors to Pythagoras, and ultimately, to Plato himself. 4 The truth-value of this legend is not really significant. What does matter is the extent to which Philo endorsed it, presupposing that Moses was the founder of the philosophical tradition. By virtue of that presupposition, Philo viewed the whole of Greek philosophy as bearing a pronounced Mosaic stamp, and the Pentateuch itself as expressing profound philosopical truths. Still, it would be naive to assume that Philo found a “ready-made” philosophical system in the Pentateuch that was completely independent of the hermeneutic he brought to bear. Philo’s understanding of the philosophical content of Scripture was closely aligned with his allegorical method of exegesis. He adapted this method (employed by the Stoics for purposes of literary analysis) in penetrating the deeper meaning embedded within the text. 5 If he read the Pentateuch as a grand work of philosophy (authored by the one he considered the “father” of genuine philosophy), he did so from the Middle

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Platonic perspective consistent with that of its first century Alexandrian exponents. In John Dillon's assessment, Moses expounds a philosophy resembling a Stoicized brand of Platonism embraced by Antiochus and related to the teaching of Eudorus. 6 In this case, however, the philosophy of “Moses” also happens to be the Middle Platonism that Philo himself embraced. The fact that Philo discerned so strong a consonance between Genesis and the Timaeus raises a critical question regarding his identity as a thinker. Was Philo a devout Jewish commentator on the Torah, a Middle Platonic philosopher in his own right, or an intriguing hybrid of both personae? From Philo’s standpoint, religious piety and devotion to the one true God were in no way compromised or undermined by his commitment to the resources of philosophical reasoning. Philo was a man of his culture who felt completely at home in the diverse thought-worlds he inhabited. For him, these thought worlds were by no means incompatible in their approaches to truth. In anticipation of the Christian Fathers of the Church, however, Philo consistently upheld the primacy of faith over the findings of reason. It is significant that Philo viewed the revealed truth communicated through the Mosaic writings as inherently philosophical. According to Runia, whatever Philo derived from the Timaeus was not “read into scripture or used to illustrate Mosaic ideas, but . . . genuinely present in the word and brought to light in the exegetical process.” 7 Indeed, Philo’s view of history dictated that the best aspects of Platonic philosophy were ultimately derived from the “Ur-philosophy” he attributed to Moses. Philo, then, did not see himself as imposing Middle Platonic categories upon the sacred text. Rather, Mosaic wisdom provided his standard for evaluating the truth value of pagan philosophy, even as he drew upon that philosophy for his own exegetical purposes. While Philo was an active participant in the brand of Middle Platonism he encountered in Alexandria, that participation must be evaluated in terms of his primary religious allegiance. Therein lies the distinctiveness (and somewhat paradoxical character) of Philo’s exegesis. David Winston captures the essence of this ambiguous stance, characterizing Philo as “a thoroughly Hellenized Jew . . . intellectually seduced by Platonic philosophy, but . . . steadfastly loyal to his Jewish faith and . . . compelled to bend every effort to . . . reconciling the two opposing passions that energized his spiritual existence.” 8 This seeming ambiguity (born of his commitment to the reconciliation of the contents of faith with the tools of reasoning) is nowhere more apparent than in Philo’s account of creation. My delineation of this account proceeds from the premise that Philo’s thought is better understood within the context of Middle Platonic philosophy, but that it is indelibly shaped by his faith in scriptural Revelation.

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THE MAINLINES OF PHILO’S CREATION THEORY Philo addresses the theme of creation in a substantial range of writings that bring to the fore his attempt to harmonize his perspectives as scriptural exegete and Middle Platonic commentator. Such widespread treatment does not lend itself to the development of a truly systematic theory of creaturely origins. Indeed, many aspects of Philo’s creation account are susceptible to divergent interpretations, particularly in regard to his conception of the status of matter. But in keeping with his adherence to the teaching of Genesis, Philo is clear and unequivocal in upholding God's sovereignty and causal efficacy as supreme Creator (even if the “how” or dynamic of creation lends itself to considerable debate). While Philo’s discussions of creation permeate his corpus of writings, his most thoroughgoing analysis emerges in the De Opificio Mundi, a work whose title indicates its subject matter. For our purposes, this work provides a core text for exploring the complexities of Philo’s theory of creation, and by extension, a touchstone for integrating his broad references to this topic into something of a cohesive statement. Philo’s conviction in the superiority of Mosaic wisdom provides him with a criterion for differentiating sound philosophical teaching from its spurious competitors. Accordingly, his fidelity to Scripture dovetails with a fidelity to Platonism. For this reason, Philo is bound to reject Aristotle’s conception of an eternally existent universe and the remoteness he assigns to the godhead. From Philo’s standpoint, such a position reflects a disordering of priorities, whereby the visible world is held in greater esteem than its Creator. In this respect, he contrasts the inactivity of Aristotle’s god with the scriptural God’s “powers as Maker and Father” (τὰς δυνάμεις ὡς ποιητοῦ καὶ πατρὸς). 9 By attributing the Platonic pair of appellations “Maker and Father” to the God of Genesis, Philo highlights the complementarity of the creative and providential dimensions of divine action in relation to the world and human endeavors. 10 Philo’s merger of these dimensions is consistent with what we encounter in the second-century Middle Platonists considered in the preceding chapter of this study. Philo draws upon this motif in crafting his own critique of Aristotelian teaching. In the spirit of Plato and his Middle Platonic successors, Philo moves on the assumption that upholding the notion of an unoriginate (ảγένητος) universe is tantamount to a rejection of providence (πρόνοιαν) and its many benefits, including any incentive to piety. 11 Implicit in this assumption lies the conviction that the Creator of the universe is concerned with the product of creation. “It stands to reason,” Philo contends, “that what has been brought into existence should be cared for by its Father and Maker” (τοῦ μὲν γὰρ γεγονότος ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τὸν πατέρα καὶ ποιητὴν αιρεῖ λόγος). 12

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God’s role as “Maker and Father” (that is, Creator and providential orderer) presupposes an ontological difference between God and creation. More precisely, Philo distinguishes God’s status as active Cause (and transcendent Mind) from the passive object of God’s creative action—inert and inanimate until “set in motion . . . shaped and quickened by Mind, changes into the most perfect masterpiece . . . this world.” 13 For Philo, this model of creation attests to the goodness and generosity of a Creator willing to share His excellence with what is no more than the unlimited potentiality to become all things. 14 Philo posits a condition of utter passivity at the disposal of God’s causal efficacy for the realization of the good. But he likewise introduces a dualistic element into this model that anticipates later Middle Platonic developments. 15 In this respect, the amorphous substrate assumes a recalcitrant character, and Philo depicts the act of creation as effecting a transformation from a state of imbalance and disharmony to one reflecting the nature of its Creator. He grudged not a share in His own excellent nature to an existence which has of itself nothing fair and lovely, while . . . capable of becoming all things (οὐσία, μηδὲν ἐξ αὑτῆς ἐχούσῃ καλόν, δυναμένῃ δὲ πάντα γίνεσυαι) . . . of itself . . . without order . . . quality . . . full of inconsistency . . . disharmony . . . but capable of undergoing a complete change to the best. 16

Philo’s tendency toward dualism by no means encompasses a radical tension between competing principles of good and evil. Still, he incorporates the Platonic dichotomy between the visible world of sense experience (susceptible to change and corruptibility) and a higher intelligible world (κόσμος νοητός) of immutable reality accessible only through reasoning. By virtue of his grounding in the conceptual framework of Middle Platonism, Philo assumes that a material universe subject to becoming requires an unoriginate First Principle immune to change. 17 But how does one reconcile this assumption with Moses’s depiction of creation as emerging in “six days”? Philo recognizes this difficulty, stressing that the Maker required no temporal duration for the completion of creation, but created in a manner consistent with His unoriginate nature, that is, by doing all things simultaneously. 18 We see, then, Philo’s willingness to look beyond (or more accurately, to delve within) the letter of the text in the interests of his allegorical exegesis. In reading Genesis through this exegetical lens, Philo construed the “six days” as a reference to the orderly emergence of the world, “the most perfect of all that has come into existence” (τελειότατον μὲν ὄντα τῶν γεγονότων). 19 Such an interpretation underscores the teleological perspective that weaves its way through Philo’s creation accounts. Indeed, the world must emerge in an orderly fashion, precisely because it proceeds from an intelligent Cause which brings it into being according to the immutable principles

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of the intelligible world. Philo, however, does not consider the intelligible world in itself as eternally existent (as Plato’s Timaeus holds), but rather, as causally dependent upon God. In this interpretation, “God . . . first fully formed the intelligible world, in order that He might have the use of a pattern wholly God-like and incorporeal in producing the material world, as a later creation, the very image of an earlier.” 20 Philo’s depiction of the visible world's creation in temporal terms (i.e., “later” than the “earlier” intelligible world) confronts the same problematic issue that arises in Genesis’s reference to the “six days” of creation. Does temporal language in this context suggest that God’s creative act was restricted by the parameters of “before” and “after” (and the literal distinction between an antecedent and a subsequent state of being that such language presupposes)? 21 If the intelligible world can be said to “precede” the visible world, it is only to the extent that it assumes an ontological priority over a causally dependent universe. Philo, as we have seen, affirms that God creates all things at once, that is, simultaneously. This interpretation of God’s creative action shapes his exegesis of Gn 1:1: In the beginning God made the heaven and the earth. According to Philo, Moses does not intend “the beginning” in a chronological sense, since “there was not time before there was a world” (χρόνος γὰρ οὐκ ἦν πρὸ κόσμου). 22 In this case, time coincides with or emerges after the world’s creation, presupposing measured space correlative with the motion of an existing world. 23 For Philo, however, the question as to “when” the world began (or whether time commenced simultaneously with or subsequent to creation) is ancillary to the more pressing issue of its dependence upon God for its existence. In this regard, he interprets “the beginning” of Gn 1:1 as pertaining to a numerical ordering, whereby “it is reasonable that [heaven] should come into existence (εἰς γένεσιν ἐλθεῖν) first,” by virtue of its status as exemplar for the visible world. 24 God’s creative act coincides with ordering action; proper order dicates that the visible world stands in a subordinate relation to the intelligible world, which depends upon God for its existence. Like the architect of a great city, God “conceived beforehand the model and out of these constituted a world discernible only by the mind.” 25 Philo deems the intelligible patterns of visible things as part and parcel of the divine Intellect. “The universe that consisted of ideas,” he affirms, “have no other location than the divine Reason . . . the Author of this ordered frame.” 26 The use of spatial language here poses the same interpretative problem we encounter in the application of temporal language to creation. Strictly speaking, the ideas are not “localized” in God’s Mind, but united with it as thoughts are united with the mind of the thinker. Philo identifies the intelligible world as a whole with the Logos, God’s agent in creation, actively engaged in making the world, just as the city envisioned by the architect is one with his reasoning in its planning. 27 In

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its capacity as active instrument of God’s creative power, the Logos insulates the Creator from direct involvement with matter, “since His nature forbade that He should touch the limitless chaotic matter” (ảπείρου καὶ πεφυρμένης ὔλης). 28 Philo’s treatment of the “first day” of creation in Gn 1:1–3 (In the beginning . . .) provides an intriguing example of his creative adaptation of Platonic insights in service of his biblical exegesis. In this connection, he interprets the “heaven and earth” specified in Gn 1:1 as a reference to the intelligible world, as prototype for the visible world which emerges in the subsequent “days” of creation. 29 As already observed, Philo justifies his depiction of creation in chronological terms as a means of highlighting the orderly emergence of things on the basis of a hierarchical model of reality extending from God and immaterial reality to a material world of becoming. In this way, he takes pains to accommodate the sacred text to Plato’s depiction of cosmic generation unfolding in separate phases, from a condition of random disorder to one of rational order effected by the demiourgos. 30 But his fidelity to Platonism drew him into some highly interesting exegetical waters. Indeed, his reading of Genesis stretches his allegiance to the primacy of scriptural authority to its limit and beyond. THE STATUS OF MATTER The most glaring example of this tendency is found in Philo’s assumption that the Mosaic account of creation incorporates the rather ambiguous portrayal of matter as it emerges in Middle Platonism. As already observed, Philo interprets matter on the basis of two somewhat contradictory connotations: first, as a passive and inert substrate with an unlimited potentiality for formation into the constituents of the intelligible and material worlds; secondly, as a negative force suggesting the maleficent principle described in Plato’s Laws and by later Platonists such as Plutarch and Atticus. But any use of the notion of matter in this context (regardless of its status as a passive or recalcitrant principle) raises significant questions about its standing in relation to God’s creative power. Does God’s sovereignty as Creator (and the comprehensiveness of the act of creation) encompass the creation of matter as well? Moreover, does matter preexist creation (and thereby, eternally coexist with God)? An affirmative answer to the latter question does nothing less than undermine any claim that Philo understood the act of creation in its most absolute sense. Accordingly, the status of matter in Philo’s creation account provides something of a litmus test for determining the degree to which he upheld (or at least implicitly endorsed) creation ex nihilo. At the outset, however, a critical observation is in order. Philo himself does not offer any clear-cut, conclusive resolution

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to this problem. We must, then, focus upon the various interpretations of matter that emerge in his writings, with an attunement to the diverse scholarly opinions that these interpretations have generated. 31 Philo provides ample attestations to his conviction that God brought things into existence from what is nonexistent. In a particularly notable statement in the De Somniis, he affirms that God “made things which before were not” (πρότερον οὐκ ἦν ἐποίησεν), not only as “an artificer, but being Himself its Creator” (οὐ δημιουργὸς μόνον ảλλὰ καὶ κτίστης αυτὸς ὤν). 32 The fact that Philo explicitly distinguishes God's role as demiourgos (with its Platonic connotation of an ordering or formation of amorphous matter) from His role as true Creator (one who makes what does not exist) poses a challenge to the claim that he acknowledges a preexistent matter outside the scope of God’s creative efficacy. This position finds further support in Philo’s emphasis on the immutability and perfection of a God who requires nothing whatsoever for His completion. “As He alone really is,” Philo holds, “He is also the Maker, since He brought into being what was not” (μόνος γὰρ πρὸς ảλήθειαν ὢν καὶ ποιητής ἐστιν . . . ἐπειδὴ τὰ μὴ ὄντα ἤγαγεν εἰς τὸ εἶναι). 33 Indeed, a Creator sufficient to Himself alone has no need of anything beyond His sheer power in implementing creation: “Why did He make the things which were not (διὰ τί οὖν εποίει τὰ μη ὄντα) save because He was good and bountiful?” 34 Although Som. I, XIII, 76 strongly suggests creation from nothing in an absolute sense, Philo favors the formula ek me ontos (designating relative non-being, that is, in relation to what already exists) rather than the more emphatic formula ex ouk onton (designating what is utterly nonexistent). 35 His consistent use of the ek me ontos formula lends support to the claim that Philo endorsed the notion of a disorderly matter coeternal with God. While he designates God’s ordering of this preliminary disorder as a bringing into being (that is, a transition from non-being to being), we must still reckon with the metaphysical status of this primordial chaos. This issue brings to the fore the uneasy alliance in Philo’s thought between his roles as scriptural exegete and Middle Platonist philosopher. Could ever the ’twain fully meet? Because Philo perceived such compatibility between the Mosaic and Platonic creation narratives, he had no reservations about reading the alien notion of matter into the sacred text. 36 By the same token, he may have been motivated by a more practical agenda. As Runia observes, “Philo needs the doctrine of pre-existent matter . . . for the doctrine of an actual genesis of the cosmos.” 37 In the interests of exegetical expediency, Philo’s sequential model of creation requires something out of which God brings the intelligible and visible worlds into existence. The fact that Philo relies upon the notion of matter is clear. What remains the focus of scholarly contention is the question as to whether he viewed matter as created or coeternal with God. According to H. A. Wolfson (a

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major proponent of the createdness of matter in Philo’s thought), nothing less than an explicit statement on Philo’s part will completely resolve this issue. 38 For Wolfson, however, such evidence can neither be adduced from Philo’s creation terminology (e.g., existence/nonexistence), nor from the creation titles he attributes to God (e.g., Craftsman, World-Moulder, Artificer), nor from Scripture itself. Rather, Wolfson finds it in Philo’s revision of the creation narrative of the Timaeus emerging in his commentary on Gn 1:1–3 (at least as Philo interprets that narrative in relation to the Mosaic account): “In the beginning God made the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form or shape, with darkness over the abyss and the Spirit of God was borne over the water. Then God said: Let there be light, and there was light.” Philo develops a Platonized interpretation of the seven italicized terms in the above passage (heaven, earth, darkness, abyss, Spirit of God, water, light), identifying them with the intelligible archetypes for the creation of the material world that transpires over the following five days of creation (Gn 1:6–31). First . . . the Maker made an incorporeal heaven, and an invisible earth, and the essential form of air and void. To the one he gave the name of “Darkness” . . . the other he named “abyss” . . . a region of vast depths. Next . . . the incorporeal essence of water and . . . life-breath and . . . light . . . an incorporeal pattern, discernible only by the mind, of the sun and of all luminaries. 39

Philo’s exegesis of Gn 1:1–3 not only reflects his sense of fidelity to scriptural teachings, but his willingness to impose Platonic categories upon the Mosaic account of creation as well. His interpretation of that account from a Platonic perspective demanded that he insert a theory of matter into the language of Gn 1:1–3. Philo, however, did more than subject the scriptural narrative to a Platonic reading. Reciprocally, he read the Timaeus narrative through a Mosaic lens. Since Philo contends that the Timaeus (41a) teaches that the world is “created and indestructible” (γενητὸν καὶ ἄφθαρτόν), we might conclude (following Wolfson’s lead) that Plato taught the creation of matter as well. 40 Wolfson’s interpretation of Philo’s theory of matter is not without its weaknesses. Philo himself provides the basis of a highly persuasive criticism by David Winston. 41 Winston’s counter-arguments proceed from the premise that Wolfson’s position clashes with the thrust of Philo’s overall treatment of creation. Philo, as we have seen, depicts preexistent matter in rather ambiguous terms as a passive, innocuous substrate and as a discordant principle. Winston finds the latter depiction of matter particularly problematic. How could God (who created according to the model of the divine Ideas and introduces order and harmony) be deemed Creator of disordered and chaotic matter? 42 Why, indeed, would God wish to render excellent what He had

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created in so negative a state at the outset? From this standpoint, the claim that God created matter conflicts with Philo’s depiction of a providential Creator who willed to share His excellence with what He makes. 43 If matter is depicted as preexistent and “ready to hand” when God creates, how does Philo avoid a metaphysical dualism which renders matter God’s coeternal partner, with an independent existence of its own? In the absence of explicit textual support for the creation of matter, we can only rely upon what inferences can be drawn from Philo’s writings. In addressing this issue, we must come to terms with a problem closely linked with the question of matter’s status as eternal or created. Does Philo understand creation itself as representing a temporal beginning or as the result of an eternal action on the part of God? As we shall see, Philo’s response to this question reflects a highly nuanced understanding of the means whereby God creates. THE DYNAMIC OF CREATION Philo’s sustained account of creation in the De Opificio Mundi renders it clear that he did not construe the phrase In the beginning (Gn 1:1) in any temporal sense. His teaching in this vein can be reduced to two mutually reinforcing principles: first, that God created by doing all things at once, that is, simultaneously (Opif. III, 13); secondly, that God caused the model of the universe in the manner that an architect plans a great city (Opif. IV, 19). From this perspective, God’s creative act is consistent with an eternal nature that transcends the limitations of becoming and change on every level. 44 Philo delineates the dynamic of creation by means of two compelling metaphors, both of which highlight the coalescence of God’s will to create with its product. Philo’s designation of the act of creation as a “speaking” or “utterance” is deeply rooted in scriptural teaching. God simply “spoke and it was done,” he contends, “His word was deed.” 45 Philo enriches this metaphor with one inspired by his grounding in the Greek philosophical tradition. While “speaking” underscores the instantaneousness of God’s mode of creating, “planning” is suggestive of a deliberative process of thinking. By internalizing God’s creative action within divine thought, Philo finds the ideal means of expressing the coincidence of God’s intention to create and its implementation. God is united with His thought as the architect is united with the rational model of the city he plans to build. From Philo’s Middle Platonic perspective, it would seem wholly fitting that God creates by engaging in the most exalted form of action—the noetic action of the intellect. 46 He thus interprets the “six days” of Genesis in terms of an orderly sequence involving a simultaneity of planning and making through the agency of the Logos. 47 For him, however, the act of creation does

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not constitute a “once and for all” event, but encompasses what later Platonists conceive as a “timeless dependence” upon God as ultimate causal Principle. God “does not cease making” (θεὸς οὐ παύεται ποιῶν), because God is not just an Αrtificer of disorderly matter, but the “Father” of what comes into being. 48 Since God engages in a ceaseless creation, then what He creates stands in a relationship of ongoing reliance upon divine power. In this respect, the Platonic dichotomization of reality in terms of being and becoming governs Philo’s attitude toward time and temporality in general. In Philo’s Platonic interpretation of Genesis, time constitutes an image of eternity that came into being along with the world. 49 Conversely, a world exhibiting change and variability presupposes time and the temporal distinctions accruing to physical motion. “Thus people accustomed to define things,” Philo contends, “have correctly explained time as what measures the movement of the universe and the world is coeval with time and its original source (ὁ κόσμος ἰσῆλιξ τοῦ χρόνου καὶ αἴτιος).” 50 Philo’s theory of an eternal creation must be assessed in the broader context of Aristotle’s critique of Plato’s Timaeus narrative and the Middle Platonic debate it precipitated. By virtue of his Platonic commentary on the opening verses of Genesis, Philo became a de facto participant in this debate and a contributor to its long-range development in his own right. But the fact that Philo’s primary fidelity as a thinker lay in what he understood as the highest revelatory authority (as communicated through Mosaic wisdom) inserted a new dimension into this perennial discussion. Because Scripture teaches that God is the sovereign Creator of everything which exists, creation must constitute a real event with historical ramifications. For this reason, Philo could not reduce the creation account of Genesis to a matter of allegory alone intended for purely pedagogical purposes (in the way that the majority of Middle Platonists interpreted the Timaeus). By the same token, Philo’s theological and philosophical commitments could not allow him to view creation as entailing any change in the divine nature, to the extent that the act of creation occurs at a specific point in time. Accordingly, Philo develops a theory anticipating aspects of later Middle Platonic commentaries on the Timaeus. On the one hand, he shares the conviction of the Athenian School that the origin of the universe must be understood literally. On the other hand, he endorses a version of the teaching (prominent among members of the School of Gaius) that creation encompasses an eternal generation. In this respect, Philo's theory reflects something of an amalgam of the third and fourth senses of “created” (gegonen) later enumerated by Calvenus Taurus: a universe always in process of generation and a universe dependent upon an outside source for its existence. 51 But Philo’s understanding of the meaning of “dependence upon an outside source” raises the metaphysical stakes considerably in comparison to Philo’s mainstream Middle Platonic counterparts. In the Mosaic account of creation,

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the “outside source” is not merely an ordering demiourgos but a Creator in the most absolute sense. For Philo’s purposes, moreover, it is not enough to define “causal dependence” exclusively in terms of an “ordering” or “formation” of an eternally existent state of disorder. Philo definitely posits a “beginning,” but it is a timeless one, in no way subject to the limitations of temporal process. Despite his preference for the ek me ontos formula (and its connotation of creation out of what already exists, that is, relative non-being), Philo provides compelling textual support for the position that everything depends upon God for its existence. The fact that he contrasts God’s role as “Artificer” with His role as true Creator (κτίστης) reflects his appreciation of the difference between the God of Genesis and the demiourgos of Plato. 52 In this connection, however, we must revisit that persistent stumbling block of Philo’s theology. Is matter itself included within the range of God’s creative action? Philo’s most detailed response to this question is found in the De Providentia. The passage in question begins on a speculative level, inquiring whether God began to create by fashioning the world on the basis of the irrational movements of matter: “How else did God begin to create the world . . . by taking the disorderly, erratic and unblending movements of matter first and then fashioning the world?” 53 On the surface, such a question might well suggest that creation consisted in God's action upon uncreated matter. Even if Philo presupposes that matter was created, the implication would be that God initially created the material out of which He fashioned the world (and consequently, that God was bound to engage in a rather unwieldy “dual stage” account of creation). 54 But these difficulties seem to all but disappear in light of Philo’s response to his own questions. The Creator fashioned it while always thinking . . . not anterior to his creating, and there never was a time when God was not creating; the ideas have been with him ever since the beginning . . . so it is that He, always thinking, creates and gives beginning of being to sense-perceptible things, so that both should exist together . . . the giver . . . the benefactor and the recipient the beneficiary. 55

Philo thus links the notion of an eternal creation with the metaphor of creation as an ongoing intellectual process grounded in the divine mind. On the basis of this motif, Winston concedes that “logically . . . God is for Philo, indirectly the source of pre-existent matter.” 56 But what does it mean to say that God is “indirectly the source” of preexistent matter? Does this not amount to maintaining that matter depends upon God for its existence? In challenging Wolfson’s position that matter for Philo was directly created by God, Winston attempts to circumvent the difficulties (as noted above) that such an interpretation poses to Philo’s creation

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theory in general (including Philo’s reluctance to put God in direct contact with matter). Runia, however, finds Winston’s strategy an effective means of reducing references to preexistent matter to metaphor, whereby matter becomes “an eternal constituent of reality,” although still the product of God’s creative action. 57 By the same token, imparting an independent status to matter (even if it assumes no more than a quasi-existence or shadow-like reflection of true being) goes against the grain of Philo’s depiction of creation as ultimately modeled upon the “thoughts” of God. Divine causality and the creaturely contingency it establishes present us with an either/or option: either matter is caused by God or it is not. The contention, then, that God “indirectly” creates matter would seem to skirt this critical issue. Indeed, Philo’s account of creation proceeds from the premise that the material universe is an image of the pattern of the intelligible universe, a pattern grounded in the divine Mind. 58 From this standpoint, any talk of existence in the absence of God’s creative input is rendered meaningless. Everything (from the intelligible world of ideas to the material universe) proceeds from a ceaseless act of creation. In this vein, J. C. O’Neill argues that “Philo interpreted Plato’s story of creation . . . as a drama going on in the head of God . . . in the intelligible world . . . so it is out of the question that any substance preexisted before God got to work [and] nothing bodily as yet exists.” 59 If everything finds its ultimate Cause in God, then the chain of causal dependence extends from the visible universe to the intelligible paradigms of all things to the intelligible world encompassed by the Logos to the rational will of the Creator. Philo’s distinction between the creation of the intelligible world (originating in the divine Mind) and a material world (modelled on the intelligible one) presupposes a complementary distinction between intelligible and corporeal matter. 60 By virtue of this distinction, Philo anticipates Plotinus’s notion of intelligible matter as the noetic archetype of sensible matter. In the Plotinian universe, intelligible matter underlies the forms and incorporeal substances of the intelligible world, since it is all things at once. 61 But while Plotinian intelligible matter is derived from the One through a necessary eternal emanation, the intelligible οὐσία of Philo only has a claim to existence on the basis of God’s creative fiat. 62 But any case for the creation of matter in Philo must still wrestle with the fact that he often speaks as if matter was already present when God created. Like any exegete of Gn 1:2, Philo had to come to terms with the text’s reference to “a formless and empty waste.” From Philo’s Middle Platonic perspective, such language was perceived as tailor-made for interpretation as amorphous disordered matter. As it stands, Philo’s theory of matter represents something of a pastiche of the various connotations it assumes in the Greek philosophical tradition. Indeed, the very nebulousness of matter as a

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philosophical concept lends itself to a diversity of interpretation. To some extent, then, Philo’s discussions of matter’s role in the dynamic of creation reflect the vagueness of meaning inherent in this notion. He posits, as we have seen, an Aristotelian version of matter as pure potentiality for forming and quickening by the divine Mind. But he integrates this conception with the Platonic identification of matter with non-being, not in the sense of absolute negativity, but as a sterility or deficiency of being. 63 While the nonbeing of matter does not constitute evil in radically dualistic terms, it nonetheless assumes the character of a recalcitrant principle standing in need of God’s formative action. Philo further exploits the Platonic notions of the Receptacle and empty space in his commentary on the “first day” of creation in Genesis as the “matter in which” the world is created. In a very real sense, Philo’s theory of matter confronts us with what amounts to a seemingly unresolvable tension between his incorporation of preexistent matter into his creation account (reflected in his use of the formula ek me ontos) and an affirmation of the causal dependence of all things upon God (from the intelligible universe to the visible world of sense experience). Yet, even in the face of the inconsistencies inherent in Philo’s exegesis of Gn 1:1–3, we find some firm footing in key theological presuppositions which permeate his writings: a commitment to God’s absolute sovereignty as Creator and an affirmation of the contingency of all things upon God (not only for their existence, but for their continuing existence and providential ordering). In my estimation, these presuppositions are so fundamental to Philo’s theological perspective that they all but nullify any difficulties posed by his references to preexistent matter. The major difficulty concerns the potential challenge that such references pose to the absoluteness of God’s creative efficacy. Indeed, if God relied upon an eternal, preexistent matter, can He be said to create in the thoroughgoing and unequivocal manner that creation ex nihilo implies? Accordingly, the question of the status of matter in Philo opens the way to a broader theological one. Does Philo’s creation account presuppose creation ex nihilo? PHILO AND CREATION EX NIHILO Generally speaking, scholars tend to view the question of matter’s standing as created or eternal as pivotal in determining whether Philo upheld creation ex nihilo. 64 But such an assumption, it would seem, invests this issue with far more importance than it merits in relation to Philo’s theology as a whole. From this writer’s standpoint, Philo’s treatment of matter does not so much challenge God’s supremacy as Creator (with the implication that matter possesses a quasi-independent status of its own) as it highlights the extent to which Philo’s dual allegiance (that is, to the authority of Scripture and to the

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tenets of the Platonic cosmogony) decisively shapes his commentary on the opening verses of Genesis. In this regard, his assumption of the consonance between the creation narratives of Genesis and the Timaeus carries certain credits and debits for his exegetical purposes. On the positive side, it promoted his use of the philosophical tools that placed the language of Scripture in conversation with a wider secular audience. On the downside, it imposed certain categories and motifs on Scripture that clashed with Philo’s commitment to divine sovereignty and creaturely contingency in the most primordial sense. Philo’s appeal to preexistent matter as that out of which God creates provides the most glaring case in point of this faultline in his thought. One can, of course, argue that by the time that Philo developed his creation account, the notion of creation ex nihilo had assumed a currency in Hellenistic Judaism. 65 In this connection, O’Neill appeals to evidence that creation ex nihilo was “already formulated as a credal statement by the time of the New Testament.” 66 From this standpoint, Philo might have accepted this teaching as something of a given, even if he consistently relied upon the formula ek me ontos (implying creation from relative rather than absolute non-being). But what does a commitment to creation ex nihilo in the formal sense of that teaching require? Does a recognition of divine sovereignty and creaturely contingency provide adequate grounds for establishing its endorsement by a thinker such as Philo? According to Gerhard May’s rather rigid criterion (discussed in the introduction to this study, earlier), an affirmation of creation ex nihilo coincides with a defense of divine power, freedom, and uniqueness in opposition to a Greek philosophical model of creation by world formation (and conversely, an articulation of scriptural teaching on creation in philosophical terms). 67 On the basis of this evaluative standard, May contends that Philo was so wed to Platonism that he could not sufficiently distance himself from this mindset in order to reject the notion of creation from preexistent matter. 68 But as we have seen, Philo’s attachment to Platonism cuts two ways. On the one hand, we might emphasize (as May does in this context) the extent to which Philo read the creation narrative of Genesis from a Platonic (or more precisely, a Middle Platonic) perspective. (One of the most notable aspects of this Platonized exegesis is Philo’s incorporation of a theory of matter into his commentary.) On the other hand, we must not lose sight of Philo’s own sense of the subtle relationship between the Platonic and Mosaic outlooks. Philo’s belief in the dependence of Plato’s cosmology upon the more venerable teaching of Moses thus puts a different slant on May’s thesis. While Philo certainly relied upon a Platonist ontology and the creation narrative of the Timaeus, he did so with the conviction that what Plato taught was ultimately derived from (and reflective of) the wisdom of Moses. One might reasonably assume, then, that Philo might have interpreted the Ti-

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maeus narrative as presupposing the createdness of matter, rather than its eternal preexistence. (It is interesting to observe that a commentator on Middle Platonism such as Atticus was likewise moving in that interpretative direction, teaching that the universe was made from what did not previously exist.) So, did Philo impose a Platonic outlook on Genesis, or did he read Mosaic teaching into the Timaeus? By virtue of his dual allegiance, the answer to both options would seem to be in the affirmative, with the qualification that Philo was committed to the primacy of scriptural authority. This fact underscores the complexities and apparent inconsistencies in his creation account. The following chapter addresses the endeavor of faith seeking understanding as it manifests itself at its most seminal stage of development in the first-century Apostolic Fathers, on the veritable “ground floor” of the great edifice of patristic theology. Although the interests of these writers were primarily pastoral rather than speculative in orientation, they offer compelling evidence of those initial attempts to articulate the relationship between the created universe and its sovereign Creator within a larger cultural milieu. While chapter 5 serves as an interlude in our investigation of the interaction of the scriptural and Platonic accounts of creation, it also provides a segue to our exploration of the second-century Apologists that dominates part III of this study. NOTES 1. Tertullian, De praescriptione haereses, trans. by Peter Holmes (The Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 3. Edinburgh: T & T Clark/Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Company, 1997) 7. 2. David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1986), 4. 3. David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato, 33. 4. John Dillon (The Middle Platonists. 80 B.C. to A.D. 220 [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977], 143) traces the process whereby Moses came to be viewed as a genuine Middle Platonist: in the context of Philo's philosophy of history, Plato was considered a disciple of Pythagoras, and Pythagoras a disciple of Moses (based upon the legend to which Iamblichus’s Life of Pythagoras attests). 5. John Dillon (The Middle Platonists, 141–142) describes Philo’s creative adaptation of the allegorical method against the background of its earlier applications to the Homeric writings. In this connection, Dillon contends that the Stoic exegesis of Homer attuned him to the philosophical dimension embedded in that text, and by extension, to the Pentateuch. 6. John Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 143. For references to Philo’s characterization of Moses as “father” of philosophy, see his Legum Allegoriae, trans. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 1. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1991) I, 108; Quaestiones et Solutiones in Genesin, trans. Ralph Marcus. (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Supplement I. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1971) IV, 152; Quis Rerum Divinarum Heres, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker. (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 4. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1968) 214; De Aeternitate Mundi, trans. by F. H. Colson. Loeb

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Classical Library Edition. Volume 9. (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1967), 18–19. 7. David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato, 535. But Runia (87) also recognizes the fact that Philo’s analysis of Genesis on the basis of Platonic categories (and the compatibility between Genesis and the Timaeus this presupposes) served to enhance the reasonableness of the scriptural account of creation: “By describing the Genesis account in terms of the structural categories of Plato’s celebrated cosmogony, Philo demonstrates in a subtle manner the former’s rationality and philosophical plausibility.” We see, then, a complementarity in Philo’s exegesis between an emphasis on the venerability of revelatory wisdom on the one hand, and the advantages of its credibility before a larger secular audience on the other. 8. David Winston, chapter 13 (“Philo of Alexandria”) of Lloyd P. Gerson, ed., The Cambridge History of Philosophy in Late Antiquity, Volume 1 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 236. But whether such an accomodating stance on Philo’s part in the interests of reconciling the resources of faith and reasoning rendered him a full-fledged Middle Platonist is debatable. Runia (Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato, 519), for one, denies that Philo is a Middle Platonist, precisely because he is “doing his own thing,” so to speak, developing a “philosophically oriented exegesis of the words of Moses”—an endeavor in which he merely enlists the assistance of Platonic doctrines. 9. Philo, De Opificio Mundi, translated by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 1. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1991) II, 7–8. Elsewhere, Philo attributes alternate titles to God in highlighting His various roles as Creator. Cf. Philo, De Specialibus Legibus, trans. by F.H. Colson (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 7. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd.,1968) I, V, 30–31: “God is one and the Framer and Maker of all things” (θεὸς εἷς ἐστι καὶ κτίστης καὶ ποιητὴς τῶν ὂλων) . . . Lord of created beings (κύριος τῶν γεγονότων). 10. Cf., Spec. Leg. I, XXXVIII, 209: “God is the maker and begetter of the universe and His providence is over what He has begotten” (τέ ἐστι καὶ ποιητὴς καὶ γεννητὴς τῶν ὅλων). While Philo recognizes the universe’s corruptibility and potential for destruction, he links God’s providential action with a conserving role. Cf., Philo, De Somniis, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 5. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 2001) I, XXV, 158. In the De Decalogo, trans. by F. H. Colson (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 7. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd.,1968) XII, 58, Philo connects the world’s potential for destruction with its mutability and createdness (“there was a time when it was not”), even though divine providence can insure its permanent existence. The Spec. Leg. I, XLIX, 266 is even more emphatic in its emphasis upon God’s sustaining of things in existence: “For nothing is made as to disappear into non-existence” (οὐδὲν γὰρ εἰς τὸ μὴ ὂν φθείρεσθαι πέφυκεν). 11. Opif. II, 9. In contrast to those who uphold the role of divine providence, Philo’s De Confusione Linguarum (trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker. Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 4. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1968) XXIII, 14, characterizes the pronouncements of impiety in these terms: “The Deity does not exist, or exists but does not exert providence, or that the world had no beginning or that though created its course is under the sway of random causation.” 12. Opif. II, 10. For Philo (Opif. II, 11–12), a universe devoid of God’s providential governance would be doomed to an anarchic condition in the absence of a divine protector devoted to the administration and direction of its affairs. 13. Opif. II, 9. According to Philo’s De Cherubim (trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker. Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 2001) XXXV, 125, “God is the cause (ὁ θεὸς αἴτιον) and that which comes into being is brought into being by a cause.” Philo further links God’s dual role as “Father and Maker” with the notion of a mind-governed providential creation (Spec. Leg. II, XXIV, 189): “All these were not brought together automatically by unreasoning forces, but by the mind of God . . . rightly called their Father and Maker Who begat them . . . His providence watching over both the whole and its parts.”

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14. Opif. V, 21–22. Cf., Philo, De Specialibus Legibus, trans. by F. H. Colson (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 8. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1968) IV, XXXV, 187: “He and His beneficient power make it their business to transmute the faultiness of the worse wherever it exists and convert it to the better.” 15. Cf., Plutarch’s positing of a preexistent state of disorder and irrationality under the aegis of the Maleficient Soul (drawing upon Plato’s Laws X). 16. Opif. V, 22. Cf., Spec. Leg. IV, XXXV, 187, where Philo identifies this transformation with the notion of creation as a bringing into being from what is not: “He called the nonexistent into existence” (τὰ γὰρ μὴ ὄντα ἐκάλεσεν εἰς τὸ εἶναι) and produced order from disorder, qualities from things devoid of quality, similarities from dissimilars, identities from the totally different, fellowship and harmony from the dissociated and discordant, equality from inequality and light from darkness.” 17. Opif. II, 12: “Seeing that this world is both visible and perceived by the senses, it follows that it must also have had an origin” (ἐπεὶ οὕν ὁρατός τε καὶ αἰσθητὸς ὄδε ὁκόσμος, ảναγκαίως ἂν εἴη καὶ γενητός). 18. Opif. III, 13. 19. Opif. III, 14. 20. Opif. IV, 16–17. In Som. I, XIII, 75, Philo identifies God as the “archetype of every other light,” that is, “prior to and high above every archetype . . . the model of a model.” In this way, He affirms the causal dependence of intelligible patterns upon God. 21. Philo’s creation account reflects Plato’s treatment of cosmological origins in successive stages. Philo finds this motif complementary to the Mosaic depiction of creation as emerging over a six-day period. But while such a motif suggests a temporal sequence of events, Philo rejects the claim that creation occurs in time or that God’s creative action is subject to temporal distinctions. 22. Cf., Philo, De Ebrietate, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 3. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd.,1968) 42: “Is not the Maker and Father of the Universe He who presided at the beginning” (τοῦ δὲ παντὸς οὐκ ἄρα αρχηγέτης ὁ κτίστης και παρτὴρ αὐτοῦ)? 23. Opif. VII, 26. Cf., Leg. Alleg. II, I, 3, where Philo posits the “posteriority” of time and number to the creation of the universe by God, who is “prior to the universe and its Maker” (ὁ δὲ θεὸς πρεσβύτερος κόσμου καὶ δημιοθργός). 24. Opif. VII, 27. 25. Opif. IV, 19. 26. Opif. V, 20. 27. Opif. VI, 24–25. Philo expands upon the “planning” analogy in Cher. XXXV, 127, likening the universe to the greatest of cities and delineating the aspects of its “construction” on the basis of Aristotle’s four causes: “Its cause is God, by whom it has come into being (αἴτιον μὲν αὐτοῦ τὸν θεὸν ὑφ’ οὗ γέγονεν), its material the four elements, from which it was compounded, its instrument the Word of God, through which it was framed, and the final cause of the building is the goodness of the architect.” Cf., Som. II, VI, 45, where Philo links the Word with the perfection of the created universe, as God’s “image and ideal form.” 28. Spec. Leg. I, LX, 329. Philo further develops the notion of the Logos as the Father’s creative agent, comparing it to a cutting instrument involved in the actual implementation of creation by dividing and sorting the intelligible patterns into various aspects of the material world (Heres XXVIII, 140): “God sharpened the edge of his all-cutting Word, and divided universal being, which before was without form or quality, and the four elements of the world which were formed by segregation from it, and the animals and plants which were framed with them as material.” 29. In broader terms, Philo interprets Gn 1:1–5 (encompassing the first “day” of creation) as a commentary on the creation of the Ideas which serve as the models for the creation of the visible heaven and earth (encompassing the second and third “days” of creation). 30. Runia (Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato, 417) suggests that the parallels which Philo discerns between Plato’s notion of a “sequential creation” in the Timaeus and the Mosaic description of creation as transpiring over “six days,” not only serves to illustrate the

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orderly emergence of the universe, but also lends Moses’s narrative a certain philosophical respectability. 31. H. A. Wolfson (Philo. Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, Volume I, Fourth Printing, Revised [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968], 300–301) delineates the chief scholarly positions (and their rationale) on the question as to whether Philo views matter as created or coeternal with God: (a) those who contend that Philo taught the createdness of matter find support in those passages which describe God bringing into being what is nonexistent (e.g., Opif. 26, 81; Som. I, 13, 76; Spec. Leg. I, 5, 30); (b) those who contend that Philo taught the coeternity of matter interpret his references to what is “non-existent” merely in relative rather than absolute terms; (c) those who contend that when Philo speaks of God as “Creator” of matter, he refers to God merely as “Craftsman,” “Worldmoulder,” and “Artificer” (terms which presuppose a creation out of something already existing). 32. Som. I, XIII, 76. Cf., Leg. Alleg. III, III, 10 for Philo’s reference to “Him who brought the universe out of non-existence” (τὰ ὅλα συστησάμενον ἐκ μὴ ὄντων). In Philo’s De Vita Mosis, trans. by F.H. Colson (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 6. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1966) II, XLVIII, 267, he compares the act whereby “God called up . . . the world, out of not being into being” (ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος εἰς τὸ εἶναι) with God’s bringing forth manna in the desert. In a manner evocative of the image of God as “Father,” Philo (Spec. Leg. II, XXXVIII, 225) further develops an analogy between the Creator God and earthly parents, since God provided “existence for the nonexistent” (τὰ μὴ ὄντα εἰς τὸ εἶναι), just as parents imitate God's power in procreation. 33. V. Mos. II, XX, 100. 34. Philo, De Mutatione Nominum, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 5. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 2001) V, 46. Cf., Philo, De Migratione Abraham, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 4. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1968) XXXII, 182–183 referring to those “gracious deeds bringing into created existence things that were not” (χάριτας δὲ γεννῶσα αἷς τὰ μὴ ὄντα εἰς γένεσιν); Leg. Alleg. III, III, 10 praising God “who brought the universe out of nonexistence” (τὰ ὅλα συστησάμενον ἐκ μὴ ὄντων); Heres XXXIII, 36 affirming that God “gives being to what is not and generates all things” (ὁ τὰ μὴ ὄντα φέρων καὶ τὰ πάαντα γεννῶν). 35. The notion of absolute non-being or sheer nothingness (ex ouk ontos) was anathema in the Greek philosophical tradition from Parmenides onward. For Plato, non-being is understood in relative terms (ek me ontos) as an intermediate state between the really real and utter nonbeing. In Plato’s Timaeus, trans. by R. G. Bury (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975) 52a–c, the Receptacle assumes the status of such relative non-being, providing the “space” for everything which comes into being. 36. The insertion of the Greek philosophical concept of matter into the exegesis of Genesis would become something of a commonplace among the early Christian Fathers of the Church. For a comprehensive survey of later Platonic and early patristic references to Plato’s theory of preexistent and uncreated matter, see Clemens Bäumker, Das Probleme des Materie in der Griechischen Philosophie. Eine Historisch-Kritische Untersuchung (Münster: Aschendorffschen, 1890), 143–144. 37. David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato, 153, n. 15. 38. W. A. Wolfson, Philo. Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, Volume I, 303: “If . . . an answer is to be found to the question of Philo’s position . . . it will . . . be found in some passage in which he definitely . . . states that the preexistent matter out of which the world was created was itself created by God.” Wolfson’s endorsement of created matter in Philo finds the support of G. Lindeskog, Studien zum neutestamentlichen Schöpfungsge-danken (1952), 154, n. 3; Robert M. Grant, Miracle and Natural Law in GraecoRoman and Early Christian Thought (Amsterdam, 1952), 141; C. J. de Vogel, Greek Philosophy (Leiden, 1964), 3.356, n. 5. 39. Opif. VII, 29. According to Wolfson (Philo. Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, Volume I, 307ff.), Philo adds the Ideas of mind and soul

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(represented by the Spirit of God) to the Ideas of the four elements (represented by the terms heaven [i.e., fire], earth, darkness [i.e., air], water) and the Idea of the celestial bodies (represented by the term light). In this vein, Wolfson contends that Philo (in contradistinction to Platonic teaching) affirms the creation of the Ideas, as well as the creation of the copies of the ideal four elements and the void or Receptacle (represented by the abyss in his exegesis of Gn 1:1–3), that is, the matter in which the world was created. Wolfson finds support for this interpretation in Confus. XXVII, 36, which specifies God’s creation of “space and place” (χώραν καὶ τόπον). Wolfson (308) thus perceives in Philo what he terms “a clear, though indirect, statement” that the matter in which the world was created (the void or Receptacle) and the matter from which the world was created (i.e., the copies of the ideal four elements) were created by God. In confronting Philo’s identification of the Receptacle (i.e., “space and place”) with matter, we cannot overlook the long-range influence of Aristotle upon later Platonic thought. Cf., Aristotle, Physica, trans. by R. P. Hardie and R. K. Gaye (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1941) 209 b 12, which interprets Tim. 52 as teaching that “matter and space are identical.” 40. Aet. IV, 13. Wolfson (“Plato’s Pre-Existent Matter in Patristic Philosophy,” in The Classical Tradition [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1966], 412) argues that Plato’s own vagueness as to whether he viewed matter as uncreated “led Philo to assume a pre-existent created matter out of which the world was created.” Wolfson further contends (412) that thinkers like Philo (who interpret Genesis as teaching the world’s creation out of a pre-existent matter) “also assumed that was the view of Plato.” Philo would have found support for this thesis in the later Platonism and Neopythagoreanism of Eudorus of Alexandria (fl. c. 25 B.C.), who taught the causal dependence of matter upon the supreme Principle of Unity. Cf., Simplicius, In Aristotelis de Physica Commentarii 181, 10ff., Diehls; Alexander Aphrodisius, Metaph. 988a 10–11, Hayduck. 41. David Winston, “Philo’s Theory of Cosmogony,” in Religious Syncreticism in Antiquity (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1975), 157–171. Cf., Winston’s recapitulation of his position in his Introduction to Philo of Alexandria. The Contemplative Life, The Giants and Selections (New York/Ramsey/Toronto, 1981), 7–12. 42. David Winston, “Philo’s Theory of Cosmogony,” 167. 43. In this vein, Winston argues (167) that Philo’s contention that God willed to communicate His goodness to what was devoid of good qualities (Opif. V, 21–22; Spec. Leg. IV, XXXV, 187) would be meaningless if God had already created such deficient reality. Cf., Heres XXXII, 160, where Philo states that God’s praise is directed to “the works of His art,” rather than to matter per se which God used in implementing His works. As observed above (n. 28), Philo rules out any possibility that the supremely perfect God should have any direct contact with “limitless chaotic matter” (Spec. Leg. I, LX, 329). 44. In Leg. Alleg. I, VIII, 20 (commenting on Gen. 2:4), Philo argues that the phrase “When it came into being” does not define “when” in temporal terms, since the things that came into being by the power of God as First Cause “came into being with no determining limit” (ảπεριγράθως γὰρ γίνεται τὰ γινόμενα ὑπὸ τοῦ αἰτίου). Cf., Qu. Gen. I, 1: “The expression ‘when they came into being,’ undetermined and uncircumscribed... indicates time [and] this evidence confutes those who consider it to be a certain number of years summed under one head.” 45. Philo, De Sacrificiis Abelis et Caini, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 2001) XVIII, 65. 46. Cf., Plato, Philebus, trans. B. Jowett (The Dialogues of Plato. New York: Random House, 1937) 30 A–E, where Plato identifies wisdom and mind as presiding causes responsible for ordering and arranging the universe. 47. Leg. Alleg. I, II, 2. 48. Leg. Alleg. I, VII, 18. Even Philo’s notion of the “ceaselessness” of creation suggests that God engages in an ongoing activity measurable by temporal intervals. For this reason, Runia maintains (Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato, 439) that God’s creative activity can be viewed as both an act and a process, depending on Philo’s point of view. In any

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case, such language does not compromise God’s eternal nature, but merely serves as a linguistic device for expressing how creation emerges in an orderly, sequential manner. 49. Sacr. XVIII, 65. Cf. Leg. Alleg. I, II, 2–3: “The world was not made in time, but . . . time was formed by means of the world.” In Aet. X, 52, Philo maintains that the claim that time is uncreated (ảγένητος) is tantamount to the claim that the world itself is uncreated. 50. Aet. X, 52. In emphasizing the coevality of the world and time, Philo finds the height of absurdity (Aet. X, 53) in the contention that “there was a time when the world was when time was not” (ὅτι ἦν ποτε κόσμος, ἡνίκα οὐκ ἦν χρόνος). 51. Calvenus Taurus, Commentary on the Timaeus (145, 13ff., Rabe), trans. by John Dillon, The Middle Platonists. 80 B.C. to A.D. 220. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977, 242–243. 52. Cf., Som. I, XIII, 76. 53. Philo, De Providentia, trans. by David Winston (Philo of Alexandria. The Contemplative Life, The Giants, and Selections. New York/Ramsey, NJ/Toronto: Paulist Press, 1981) I.7. 54. While a “dual stage” theory would be consistent with Philo’s interpretation of creation as unfolding in a sequential manner, such a theory would require considerable embellishment of the letter of the Mosaic text on Philo’s part. 55. Prov. I.7. According to Matthias Baltes (Die Weltenstehung Des Platonischen Timaios Nach Den Antiken Interpreten, Teil I [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1976], 37), Philo finds an inspiration for the eternal creation motif (along with the notion of the real creation of a spiritual, intelligible world and the temporal origin of the sense world): “Philo scheint hier einer platonischen Quelle zu folgen, in der eine reale Schöpfung im Timaios vertreten wurde und in der der Gott nicht nur Schöpfer der sinnlichen, sondern auch der geistigen Welt genannt wurde. Die geistige Welt bringt er in ewiger Schöpfertätigkeit hervor, während die sinnenhafte Welt einen realen Anfang hat.” 56. David Winston, “Philo’s Theory of Cosmogony,” 167–168. Winston succinctly describes his view of the dynamic of an eternal creation in Philo (introduction to Philo of Alexandria. The Contemplative Life, The Giants, and Selections, 16), extending from God to the Logos to the visible world: “Insofar as God is always thinking the Intelligible World or Logos, and thereby also indirectly causing its shadow reflection, the sensible world, which he is constantly making to conform as closely as possible to its intelligible counterpart.” Winston further concludes (“Philo’s Theory of Eternal Creation: ‘De Prov.’ 1.6–9,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, 46/47, Jubilee Volume, Part 2 [1979–1980], 600) that “the many passages in which Philo speaks of creation in temporal terms are not to be taken literally, but only as accomodations to the biblical idiom.” 57. Runia, Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato, 453–454. According to Runia (453), any difficulties posed by Philo’s theory of matter “vanish like mist before the Sun” if Winston’s “solution” of an eternal creation is adopted. In this regard, Runia also draws the conclusion (454) that “matter possesses for Philo the status of an eternal constituent of reality with an existence (if that word can be used) in some way independent of God.” 58. Opif. IV, 16. 59. J. C. O’Neill, “How Early Is The Doctrine of Creatio Ex Nihilo?” JTS 53, no. 2 (2002): 457–458. 60. Citing Philo’s distinction between an intelligible matter (οὐσία) accessible to the mind and corporeal matter accessible to the senses, O’Neill contends (457) that while Philo applies the term οὐσία to both species of matter, only corporeal matter is designated by the term ὕλη (e.g., Opif. LXVIII, 136; XLIX, 146; LXI, 171). In Opif. V, 21–22, O’Neill perceives (457) a reference to the creation of intelligible οὐσία, arguing that “the invisible οὐσία, perceptible only by the intellect, and shaped by God to form the ideas, could not possibly be thought of as pre-existent in relation to God.” Hans Friedrich Weiss (Untersuchungen Zur Kosmologie Das Hellenistischen Und Palästinischen Judentuns [Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1966], 30–31) refers to a variation of the distinction between intelligible and corporeal matter (i.e., “primary” and “secondary” matter) prominent in Middle Platonic circles. But according to Weiss (31), Philo’s language indicates more of a grounding in the Platonic conception of matter as unregulated and disordered (rather than upon the later Platonic notion of “primary matter”):

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Chapter 4 Im Vordergrund seiner—Philons—Anknüpfung an platonische Gedanken und Terminologie, die ihm zweifellos in der Brechung und Interpretation durch die platonische Schulphilosophie überliefert wurden, steht jedoch nicht so die Vorstellung von der ‘primären Materie’ bzw. von der ὕλη im Sinne des Raumes . . . usw. Die Terminologie Philons zeigt vielmehr, dass den sachlichen Hintergrund seiner Vorstellung von der (präeexistenten) Materie weit mehr Platons Mythus vom “unregelmassig und ungeordnet sich Bewegenden” bildet, das vom Demiurgen aus der zur Ordung geführt wird.

For Émile Bréhier (Les idees philosophiques et religieuses de Philon d’Alexandrie. Deuxìeme Édition Revue [Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 1925], 81–82), however, creation ex nihilo is only applicable on the level of the intelligible world, and the creation of the intelligible world does not involve matter: S’il admet d’autre part que la matière est corporelle, il y aurait là une preuve de la creation ex nihilo . . . Ainsi la création se fait sur une matière, mais cette matière n’est pas l’object d’une création: l’action divine reste toujours d’un demiurge. Pourtant, il y a des êtres qui sont sans matière: c’est sagesse, ce sont les Idées et les intelligences pures. Ces êtres sont engendres par Dieu sans . . . matiere. Pour cette raison à ces êtres intelligibles et à eux seuls peut s’appliquer le mot de creation ex nihilo. Elle n’est donc pas conçue sous une forme que comme une production d’idées dans l’intelligence divine. Ce sont ces deux sortes de création que Philon désigne en distinguant l’homme idéal que Dieu a fait . . . et l’homme terrestre qu’il a façonne. 61. Plotinus, Ennead II.4(12).1, 3, trans. A. H. Armstrong (Loeb Classical Library. Volume II. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1966). Plotinus reasons (Enn. II.4[12].4) that if the universe is an imitation of an intelligible universal order (and composed of matter), then there must be an intelligible matter in that higher noetic realm. 62. Enn. II.4(12).5: “For Otherness There exists always, which produces intelligilble matter (γὰρ ἡ ἑτερότης ἡ ἐκεῖ ảεί, ἣ τὴν ὕλη ποιεῖ). 63. This is consistent with the notion of relative non-being (ek me ontos). According to Henry Chadwick (Early Christian Thought and the Classical Tradition [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984], 46–47), relative non-being encompasses “unformed matter, so shadowy and vague that it cannot be said to have the status of ‘being’ which is imparted to it by the shaping hand of the Creator.” 64. Cf., Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought. Trans. by A. S. Worrall (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994), 16: Such statements could only be interpreted in the specific sense of the creatio ex nihilo if it were inescapable from the context in which they stand that Philo also accepted a creation of matter out of nothing. But this is nowhere the case, and the texts in which Philo sets out the eternal constitution of matter show convincingly the impossibility of this interpretation. 65. The most salient statement that emerges in this milieu in reaction against the notion of creation from what preexists God’s creative action is found in B’reshith Rabbah I.9 (depicting the encounter between Rabbi Gamaliel II and a “philosopher” who likens divine creation to the work of an artisan). The position that God created by bringing into being from what did not exist finds further support in the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (i.e., 2 Enoch; Odes of Solomon 16:18; 2 Bar 48:8; Joseph and Aseneth 12:1–2). 66. J. C. O’Neill, “How Early Is The Doctrine of Creatio Ex Nihilo?,” 462. In support of this contention, O’Neill further cites the third and fourth articles of Philo’s creed at the conclusion of the De Opificio Mundi (LXI, 171) as implying creation ex nihilo (“the world came into

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being” and “the world . . . is one as well as its Maker, who made His work like Himself in its uniqueness”). 67. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 24. 68. According to May (Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 24), Philo was “so strongly dependent on the Platonist ontology that he cannot think of the creation of the world without the presupposition of the preexistent material.”

Chapter Five

Creation and Cosmos in the Apostolic Fathers

Like Hellenistic Judaism, Christianity was grounded in a milieu that bore the indelible imprint of Graeco-Roman culture. Christianity’s confrontation with that culture finds a dramatic portrayal in Acts 17:16–34, which describes Paul’s preaching at Athens to the Stoic and Epicurean philosophers. While Christianity was rooted in the revelatory tradition of Scripture, that tradition had itself been decisively transformed by virtue of Hellenistic influences, along with the translation of the Old Testament into the Greek Septuagint. Christians thus participated in what R. A. Norris describes as “a conversation which had been going on . . . before they came upon the scene.” 1 When Christian thinkers began to write about the tenets of their faith (as those tenets were crystallizing into more formal pronouncements, and eventually, credal statements), they expressed themselves within that cultural matrix. As early as the sub-apostolic age, we find evidence of attempts to grapple with the meaning of Christian teaching and its scriptural underpinnings in a manner that points to such diverse influences as later Judaism, Jewish Christianity, Graeco-Roman philosophy, the mystery religions, and Gnosticism. From their vantage point as the immediate successors to the Apostles, the first-century Fathers of the Church (the “Apostolic Fathers”) were chiefly motivated by pastoral concerns. But this practical agenda lent itself to the beginning of theological reflection on a variety of topics. Among these topics, the notion of creation provides something of a nexus of a cluster of themes. Indeed, a given conception of creaturely origins reveals much about one’s overall theological perspective. In view of their proximity to St. Paul, it is not surprising that the Apostolic Fathers relied upon the epistolary genre for purposes of teaching and exhortation. 2 A particularly significant example of this trend is found in the 97

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Epistle to the Corinthians (I Clement), attributed to Clement of Rome (third successor to St. Peter, A.D. 92–101), and reputedly the earliest extant Christian document outside the New Testament canon. In actuality, the sentiments of the letter are more representative of the Church of Rome than any specific individual. For expository purposes, however, I follow its traditional ascription to Clement, and prescind from the critical question regarding its authorship. AN APPEAL TO ECCLESIASTICAL UNITY I Clement (c. A.D. 95) was written in response to word of factionalism within the Church of Corinth. The unrest there prompted the ousting of a number of presbyters. 3 While the author does not exhibit the speculative orientation of early patristic figures such as Justin, Clement of Alexandria, or Origen, the epistle nonetheless assumes a decidedly academic tone. Its overriding interest lies in highlighting the importance of ecclesiastical unity in the face of dissension and upheaval. In this spirit, Clement continually appeals to the order, harmony, and hierarchical structure of creation as models for the Church and its members. Evoking the memory of St. Paul and the other Apostles, Clement presents their lives as compelling contemporary examples to be emulated by his readers. After enumerating the trials endured by Paul in the name of the faith, Clement stresses the broad scope of his teaching of righteousness to “the whole world” (ὅλον τὸν κόσμον). 4 His emphasis upon the universality and breadth of the Christian message sets the tone for what follows. Bound in a common struggle, he enjoins his audience to renounce petty concerns, focused upon “the Blood of Christ [which] brought the grace of repentance to all the world” (παντὶ τῷ κόσμω). 5 Clement proceeds from a survey of scriptural exemplars of submission to God to a consideration of that cosmic order which provides a naturalistic paradigm of fidelity to the divine will. This discussion encompasses Chapters xix.2–xxi.8, a section comprising what amounts to a distinct subdivision of the epistle in its own right. A COSMIC IDEAL In keeping with I Clement’s stress upon the benefits derived from universal order, the epistle instructs its readers to “fix our gaze on the Father and Creator of the whole cosmos” (πατέρα καὶ κτίστην τοῦ κόσμου). 6 This focus cannot rest exclusively upon sense experience, but encompasses a deeper contemplative vision. Clement resorts to a visual metaphor in designating knowing at its highest level, a contemplation “according to reason” (κατὰ διάνοιαν), that is, a gazing with “the eyes of the soul” (τοῖς ὄμματσιν τῆς

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ψυχῆς) on God’s benevolent purpose. 7 In the ensuing discussion, he embraces a teleological perspective that rises from the observation of naturalistic phenomena to the discernment of an orderly arrangement of parts in relation to a greater whole. This perspective coincides with an optimistic conviction in the purposefulness inherent in natural processes. Rational design, however, is not immediately apparent on the basis of what the senses disclose. Rather, we must be attuned to an ideal of order embracing the fittingness and coherence of all things. In Clement’s idealized portrait of the cosmic scheme, humans and beasts alike dwell in a quasi-paradisiac setting in which God ordains that the earth sustains “every living thing, without dissension” (μὴ διχοστατοῦσα). 8 Chapter 20 provides a detailed statement on the manifold ways in which God’s regulative plan manifests itself, including celestial movements, the passage of day and night, the course of the heavenly bodies, the patterns of growth and reproduction, the governance of the lower world and the world beyond, the transition of the seasons, and the peaceful association of animals. 9 This paean to the richness and diversity of the natural world testifies to the guidance of a divine Law responsible for the direction of all things to the realization of their proper end. THE ROLE OF DIVINE LAW For Clement, God’s orderly arrangement of the cosmos assumes a highly personalistic character. “Let us observe how near He is,” the epistle proclaims, so that “nothing escapes Him of our thoughts or . . . the devices we make.” 10 Chapter xx concludes with a depiction of God that complements Clement’s earlier reliance (xix.2) upon Plato’s conjoining of the titles “Father and Creator” (πατέρα καὶ κτίστην) in the Timaeus. 11 That appellative pairing links God’s creative role with a paternal oversight that finds concrete expression in the providential governance of the universe. In Clement’s rendering, “All these things did the great Demiurge and Lord of the universe ordain to be in peace and concord (ὁ μέγας δημιουργὸς καὶ δεσπότης τῶν ảπάντων ἐν εἰρηνῃ καὶ ὁμονοίᾳ προσέταξεν εἶναι), and to all things does He do good.” 12 The presence of the term demiourgos in the passage is charged with philosophical overtones. We can easily construe this term as synonymous with “Creator,” but this interpretation is more reflective of Judeo-Christian presuppositions about God than Platonic ones. For I Clement, however, that title merely affirms that God is responsible for the goodness, harmony, and order of the universe. But the use of demiourgos here also reflects a general trend in early patristic circles. Clement and other Church Fathers employ it somewhat loosely in designating God’s creative role in its most generic (and

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rather vague) sense. 13 The notion of “Maker” or “Creator” is implicit in the Platonic usage of that term, albeit in the sense of artistic production on the basis of preexistent material. The Timaeus (29d-30-c) not only applies this title to the “Craftsman” of the universe, but to the World Soul and the immortal part of the human soul as well. What, then, does God’s creative efficacy entail? The epistle’s overriding concern does not lie in any fine-tuned metaphysical distinctions between “being” and “non-being” (consistent with the import of creation ex nihilo language), but in establishing God’s sovereignty as “Lord of the whole” (δεσπότης τῶν ἁπαωτων), imparting His perfection to a contingent universe. While I Clement asserts that “to all things does He do good” (εὐεργετῶν τὰ πάντα) it remains silent about what this benevolence entails: either a bringing into being or no more than a fashioning or ordering in the classic Platonic sense. What the epistle does articulate in unequivocal terms, however, is God’s supreme status in a well-organized hierarchy oriented toward the most optimal ends under the impetus of His will. A MODEL OF PEACE I Clement’s cosmic vision set the standard for peace in the Corinthian community. Clement’s teleology reinforces his ecclesiology. Cosmic order finds its counterpart in a social hierarchy with clearly defined roles of subordination and command. While Clement recognizes “higher” and “lower” ranks of prestige and responsibility, his primary concern lies in the proper allocation of tasks in the interests of the common good. In keeping with the epistle’s hortatory tone, its author advocates an interdependency between members and ranks, whereby “the great cannot exist without the small, nor the small with the great.” 14 The ideal espoused by Clement is rooted in the very nature of things. Social order coincides with a larger cosmic order that instructs us about the significance of harmonious relationships in an ecclesiastical context. Echoing St. Paul (I Cor 12:12ff.), I Clement illustrates the relationship between individual members and the community in which they participate by way of analogy with the body and its mutually dependent parts, whereby “The smallest members of our body are necessary and valuable to the whole body, but all work together and are united in a common subjection to preserve the whole body.” 15 PHILOSOPHICAL INFLUENCES I Clement depicts the cosmos as a coherent scheme in which all things find their appropriate place. Indeed, “peace” and “harmony” are the epistle’s

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watchwords. The orderly succession of natural phenomena is repeatedly linked with the dictates of divine will, as expressed in God’s commands, decrees, and ordinances. Accordingly, the great discourse of Chapter xx represents an injunction to contemplate God and His purpose by means of reason. As supreme Creator and Lord of the whole, Clement’s God exercises a providential care extending to the lowliest creatures and the most remote reaches of reality. All creation bears the mark of its Maker as inherently good, rationally ordered, and conducive to a state of concord among living beings, including those divisive members of the Corinthian community. It is interesting to observe, however, that I Clement’s theology is not only faithful to scriptural teaching regarding God’s role as Creator, but also compatible with the natural theology of the philosophical tradition. As already noted, the epistle incorporates the demiurgic motif of the Timaeus, the Platonic designation of God as “Father and Creator,” and the elevation of reason over sense experience as the means to truth. But how far does such philosophical influence extend in shaping the sentiments of I Clement? In this respect, Adolf von Harnack and R. Knopf maintained that the overall framework of the epistle (and more specifically, Chapter xx) was derived from Stoic rather than scriptural sources. 16 While such studies demonstrate the common ground between aspects of I Clement and Stoic thought, this consensus was challenged by W. C. Van Unnik, who found important differences between the epistle and Stoicism, even as he acknowledges its similarities with Stoic teaching. Two points merit our attention in this context. First, Van Unnik contended that I Clement attributes the cause of universal order to the dictates of divine will, whereas Stoics proceed from an order already present in the universe, and then, infer its cause. 17 Secondly, Van Unnik proposed an alternate influence in those works of Palestinian Jewish literature (e.g., the first Book of Enoch, Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, Assumptio Mosis, the Psalms of Solomon) which emphasize an order of nature issuing from a divine command serving as a model for humanity. 18 From the standpoint of Van Unnik’s assessment, it would appear that the author of I Clement argues for cosmic design on a purely a priori basis, moving from a presupposition of the goodness and benevolence of God, based upon faith in what Revelation teaches. This presupposition decisively shapes the ensuing interpretation of what the natural world discloses. 19 Accordingly, the theistic starting point of I Clement seriously undermines the claim that its cosmology bespeaks an exclusive reliance upon a Stoic world view. On the one hand, it clashes with the notion of divine immanence that is so fundamental to the natural theology of Stoicism. On the other hand, the biblically grounded cosmology of the epistle places its author at odds with the thoroughgoing materialism and determinism inherent in the Stoic cosmology. Simply stated, the cosmos is the way it is because God wills it to be

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so. Moreover, God is not a component of the natural world but “Father and Creator” of the whole. While the God of I Clement exercises a personal care for the universe, such providential concern in no way compromises the ontological distinction between God and creatures. As depicted in the epistle, the cosmos is a realm which does not stand on its own, but assumes its intelligibility from an ultimate, external Cause. Yet, while the author of I Clement could not have been completely amenable to Stoic teaching, it is wholly tenable to assume that he appropriated its insights in articulating his distinctive cosmic vision. The terminology, imagery, and overall spirit of the epistle (specifically but not exclusively the pivotal section xix.2–xxi.8) seems to support such an interpretation. If a Stoic “influence” is discernible in I Clement, then, it need not be construed in terms of a wholesale commitment to the Stoic worldview. Rather, it points to a creative adaptation of Stoic insights on the author’s part for his own Christian purposes. By the same token, his use of resources drawn from secular thought might well reflect an uncritical reliance upon insights that were part and parcel of his cultural experience. From this standpoint, Platonic and Stoic ways of thinking were very much “in the air” in the first century of the Christian era. This would have been especially the case for a writer grounded in the cosmopolitan centers of Rome and Corinth. For purely practical reasons of an apologetic nature, this openness to the philosophical tradition enabled its author to appeal to a Greek speaking audience, and thereby, articulate the contents of Revelation in a more cogent manner. In this way, the epistle’s incorporation of insights of a Platonic and Stoic heritage anticipates a trend that became increasingly pronounced among the next generation of patristic authors. I Clement’s cosmic vision embraces the totality of things dependent upon an ultimate causal principle. In arguing for the maintenance of ecclesiastical unity, it appeals to the model of a larger cosmic unity grounded in the dictates of divine will. By virtue of its creative adaptation of Stoic insights, the epistle merges God’s creative action with a providential ordering of creation as a whole. If the epistle provides a significant voice in the development of a patristic theology of creation, however, its value lies in the theistic perspective it brings to bear, rather than in a systematic account of creaturely origins. GOD AND CREATION IN THE APOSTOLIC FATHERS While I Clement and other writings of the sub-apostolic era did not develop explicit treatments of the act of creation, they point the way to the eventual emergence of a full-fledged doctrine of creation ex nihilo. Early Christian

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writers such as the author of I Clement were more concerned with upholding divine sovereignty than in clarifying the dynamic of creation. In this connection, statements in three additional texts of the Apostolic tradition merit our attention: the Didache, the Epistle of Barnabas, and The Shepherd of Hermas. 20 The Didache exalts God’s omnipotence as the “Lord Almighty” (δέσποτα παντοκράτορ), whose power to create embraces all things. 21 This creative efficacy is likewise recognized in the Epistle of Barnabas, which designates God as our “Maker” and “Lord over all the world” (ὁ δὲ θεός, ὁ τοῦ παντὸς κόσμου κυριεύων). 22 By stressing God’s supreme Lordship in the universe, such texts implicitly highlight the contingency of everything else upon their Creator. This dual affirmation of divine sovereignty and creaturely contingency provides the underlying presuppositions of what would become the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. More explicit language along these lines emerges in The Shepherd of Hermas, which links an exclusive monotheism with God’s power to create in the most thoroughgoing sense: “Believe that God is one, who made all things and perfected them (ὁ τὰ πάντα κτίσας καὶ καταρτίσας), and made all things to be out of that which was not (καὶή ποιήσας ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὅντος εἰς τὸ εἶναι τὰ πάντα).” 23 It is interesting to observe that The Shepherd of Hermas draws upon the sentiments of 2 Mc 7:28 (rather than Gn. 1:1–3) and the designation of creation as a bringing into existence from nothing. The language of this particular text is “tailor made,” so to speak, for casting the act of creation in true metaphysical terms, as a transition from non-being to being. Granted, The Shepherd of Hermas relies upon the me ontos formula (rather than the ex ouk onton formula of 2 Mc 7:28), with its suggestion of creation from relative rather than absolute non-being. But as in Philo’s usage, the technicalities of such a formula become something of a moot point in the face of a commitment to God’s sovereign power as supreme Creator of all things. At this early stage of Christian theology, we find evidence of a conviction that God (the great demiourgos of I Clement) is not only the Cause of the goodness, harmony, and order of the universe, but more radically, its very existence. Accordingly, a recognition of divine sovereignty and omnipotence presupposes an acknowledgment of creaturely dependence as well. In this way, the theism of the sub-apostolic age builds upon the precedent of references to creation from nothing in the New Testament and in Hellenistic Judaism. While such statements do not necessarily meet the criteria for the formal enunciation of creation ex nihilo, they represent significant anticipations of subsequent doctrinal formulations. 24

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CONCLUDING PART II The impact of Philo upon the patristic theology of creation was significant and wide ranging. Even when we cannot establish direct lines of influence, the second-century Greek Apologists suggest some continuity with his thought, particularly in respect to his Platonic interpretation of Genesis. Philo’s exegesis unfolded against the backdrop of the translation of the Pentateuch into Greek and the accompanying transmutation of biblical ways of thinking into a philosophical idiom. As a participant in these diverse milieus, he provides an important nexus between Hellenistic and Judeo-Christian thought. By virtue of his grounding in Middle Platonism, Philo points toward (and might well have influenced) those later Platonists who supported the notion of an eternal creation and the timeless dependence of all things upon an ultimate Cause. In keeping with his fidelity to Scripture, Philo also provides an invaluable touchstone for exploring those early Christian thinkers who were likewise imbued with a dual allegiance to Genesis and the Timaeus as inspirations and critical referents. Philo’s application of the resources of philosophical reasoning to the contents of revealed religion rested upon his unshakeable confidence in their compatibility. This confidence, however, was rooted in the widely shared assumption in the venerability of Mosaic wisdom and its authoritativeness over Platonic teaching. Accordingly, Philo’s belief in the compatibility of Genesis and the Timaeus presupposes the derivative character of Plato’s cosmology. His ability to read Genesis from a Platonic perspective, then, proceeds from the premise that Plato’s theory of cosmological origins displays a complementarity with a biblical understanding of the beginning of all things. This premise is evident in the creation accounts of the major secondcentury Greek Apologists to be considered in the next part of this study. Like Philo, the author of I Clement applies Plato’s designation of the demiourgos as “Father and Maker” to the God of Scripture, the supreme Creator of everything which exists. By means of this pairing of titles, the epistle highlights the intimate relationship between God as Creator and as providential orderer. In so doing, it transforms the rather depersonalized understanding of providence common to Platonism and Stoicism into a theory of the overarching care exercised by a personal God. The “Father and Maker” motif inherited from Plato becomes a standard feature of the creation accounts of early Church Fathers. In this respect, I Clement is representative of certain trends in the Apostolic Fathers that point the way to later theological developments: first, the identification of God as the “great demiourgos” (with its dual connotation of Creator/Craftsman); secondly, an emphasis on God’s absolute sovereignty over all things; third, a well-defined teleological perspective that envisions creation as an ordered whole whose parts are harmonized in a manner conducive to peace and stability on a universal scale. In

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this vein, I Clement anticipates the natural theology operative in the Apology of Marcianus Aristides (c. A.D. 140), purportedly the earliest example of the apologetic genre that looms large over second century patristic writing. For Aristides, the order and beauty of the world attests to the existence of an ultimate Cause responsible for directing all things to their appropriate end. If I Clement moves on a deductive basis (assessing the design and purposefulness of the universe in terms of what Revelation teaches about the nature of God), Aristides adopts an inductive approach, drawing upon the data of sense experience in affirming the existence of God as Creator of everything which exists. His Stoicized version of natural theology not only speaks to his fellow Christians, but to everyone capable of reasoning. Proceeding from the premise that the cause of motion is greater than what is moved, Aristides concludes that this First Mover can only be the God “Who made all things for the sake of humanity.” 25 By virtue of his distinction between God as supreme motive Cause and a created world of motion and change, Aristides describes God in strict apophatic terms (that is, in terms of what God is not), by way of contrast with mutable reality. 26 As Creator, God must be wholly distinct from things subject to change and corruptibility. Because they recognize the difference between Creator (as immutable and incorruptible) and creatures (mutable and perishable), Christians rise above the errors of pagan philosophers who even impart a divine status to the elements. In this connection, the Syriac translation of the Apology is rather conservative in regard to the elements’ creation: we are simply told that the elements were created (not divine as pagans believe), and therefore, susceptible to change and dissolution like all created things. 27 A Greek rendering (as recounted in the History of Barlaam and Josaphat), on the other hand, provides a more explicit reference to the creation of the elements from nothing: “They are not gods, but perishable and mutable, produced out of that which did not exist (ὅτι οὐκ εἰσι θεοί, ảλλὰ φθαρτὰ καὶ ảλλοιούμενα, ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος) at the command of the true God, who is indestructible and immutable and invisible.” 28 The language here is strongly evocative of the sentiments conveyed in The Shepherd of Hermas. While each text speaks of creation out of the nonexistent, however, both incorporate the me ontos formula, with the implication of relative (rather than absolute) non-being. For this reason, one might infer that the Greek translation of Aristides’s Apology says no more than the Syriac version, namely, that the author merely intends to show that the material elements are not on a par with the divine, but display the same mutability that we find in created things in general. 29 But the crucial issue here, it seems, is not whether Aristides articulates the doctrine of creation ex nihilo, but the extent to which he affirms the creaturely dependence of all things upon God. From this standpoint, Aristides’s Apology provides something of a nexus linking the creation language of Hellenistic Judaism and the sub-apos-

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tolic tradition with the program of the major second-century Greek Apologists. Aristides’s rational defense (on a small scale) of Christian belief in the Creator God provides a prelude to the more ambitious apologetic endeavor of Justin the Martyr, Athenagoras of Athens, Tatian of Syria, and Theophilus of Antioch. Each of these Fathers applies the resources of the philosophical tradition in the interests of a deeper understanding of the contents of Scripture. By the same token, each draws upon those resources in a critical manner, with an increasing sensitivity to the disparities between scriptural accounts of creation and the Platonic interpretation of cosmological origins. NOTES 1. R. A. Norris, God and World in Early Christian Theology (New York: The Seabury Press, 1965), 41. 2. Edgar J. Goodspeed, A History of Early Christian Literature (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966), 7. The designation “Apostolic Fathers” encompasses those early Christian authors and/or writings that emerged in the immediate aftermath of the New Testament era: Clement of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, The Shepherd of Hermas, Polycarp, Papias, the Epistle of Barnabas, Diognetus, 2 Clement, and the Didache. 3. Henry Bettenson (The Apostolic Fathers [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978], 2) sums up the circumstances surrounding the epistle’s composition, downplaying the authoritative status of the Church of Rome in mediating the dispute: The Corinthian Church had not changed much since the time when St. Paul had been moved by reports of schisms to write I Corinthians. The Roman Church now intervenes because of Christian concern over this distressing situation, not because it claims authority over other churches. Since Corinth was a Romanized city after its refounding as a colony in 44 B.C. the Roman believers may well have had a particular concern about the fortunes of the Church in that place. 4. Clement of Rome, First Epistle of Clement to the Corinthians, trans. Kirsopp Lake (Apostolic Fathers. Loeb Classical Library. Volume I. Cambridge, MA/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1985) v.7. 5. I Clement vii.1–i2; 4. 6. I Clement xix.2. 7. I Clement xix.3. 8. I Clement xx.4. 9. I Clement xx.1–10. 10. I Clement xxi.3. 11. Cf., Plato, Timaeus, trans. by R. G. Bury (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975) 28c. 12. I Clement xx.11. The optimistic vision of cosmos in I Clement stands in marked contrast with the negative attitude that emerges in another Apostolic Father. In Ignatius of Antioch, we find a devaluing of the visible cosmos that carries with it a corresponding devaluing of matter, the flesh, and its accompanying desires. For Ignatius, the cosmos and the present age are linked with a whole cluster of emotional, physical, and social commitments that detract from a singleminded focus on the things of God. Following St. Paul, Ignatius contends that the cosmos inspires a life lived “according to the flesh” rather than “according to the mind of God” (Epistle to the Romans, trans. Kirsopp Lake [Apostolic Fathers. Loeb Classical Library. Volume I. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1985], VIII.3).

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His hard-hitting contention that “nothing visible is good” (Ad Rom. III.3) is consistent with his claim that Christian fidelity proceeds from an “invisibility” to the visible cosmos. Ignatius’s ambivalence toward the world on various levels might lend some credence to the charge that his writings reflect a Gnostic influence. But studies which endorse that claim tend to focus upon isolated images or motifs in the Ignatian corpus. Indeed, we might expect a degree of pessimism regarding worldly pursuits in someone who was so harshly persecuted, deposed by his fellow Christians, and condemned to a cruel execution. In the final analysis, however, Ignatius’s Christology and his overall understanding of the redemptive process dispel any claim that he was committed to an extreme dualism of the Gnostic variety. Cf., Heinrich Schlier’s contention (Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchen zu den Ignatiusbriefen [Giessen: Töpelmann, 1929], 81) that Ignatius’s theology was the outgrowth of a pre-Valentinian gnosis, relying upon a Mandaean redeemer myth. Schlier’s thesis was challenged by Virginia Corwin (St. Ignatius and Christianity in Antioch [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1960], 11–14) for his tendency to find parallels between Ignatius and Gnosticism without sufficient evidence. A lucid account of the Schlier/Corwin debate is found in Herbert Musurillo, “Ignatius of Antioch: Gnostic or Essene? A Note on Recent Work,” Theological Studies 22, no. 1 (1961): 103–110. 13. See G. W. H. Lampe (A Patristic Greek Lexicon [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984], 342b) for a survey of pertinent sources. Cf., Athanasius, Orationes tres adversus Arianos (PG XXVI: 36c); Justin, I Apol. 8.2; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. I.11. 14. I Clement xxxvii.4. 15. I Clement xxxvii.5. 16. For key works supporting the hypothesis of a Stoic presence in I Clement, see Adolf von Harnack, Einführung in die alte Kirchengeschichte, das Schreiben der römischen Kirche an die korinthische aus der Zeit Domitians [I Clemensbrief] (Leipzig, 1929, S. 81, cf. S. 84); R. Knopf, Die Lehre der zwölf Apostel, die zwei Klemensbriefe (Tübingen, 1920, S. 76). L. Sanders (L’Hellénisme de saint Clément de Rome et le Paulisme [Louvanii, 1943], 130) provides more specificity on this issue, drawing parallels between statements and imagery in I Clement and Stoicism. In a later study, J. J. Thierry (“Note sur τὰ ελάχιστα τῶν ζώων Au Chapitre xx De La Clementis,” Vigiliae Christianae 14 [1960]: 235–44) contends that I Clement’s emphasis upon the coherence and harmony of life-forms is close to what is found in Cicero’s discussions of the operation of providence in the De natura deorum (II, 98; XLV, 115). For a concise overview of this discussion, see Robert M. Grant, The Apostolic Fathers. A New Translation and Commentary, Volume 1 (New York: Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1964), 104–105. 17. W.C. Van Unnik, “Is I Clement 20 Purely Stoic?,” Vigiliae Christianae 4 (1950): 184: “The Stoa starts from the phaenomena and finds in them the (pantheistic) God,” whereas for the author of I Clement, “the τάξις is not a good in itself, but the result of God’s will.” 18. According to Van Unnik (“Is I Clement 20 Purely Stoic?,” 189), “the tinge of Stoic language is unmistakable,” but this conception of the universe “is subjected to . . . the biblical idea of God” that is consistent with the Jewish catechetical instruction known to Saint Paul. 19. Cf., the remarks of D. W. F. Wong (“Natural and Divine Order in I Clement,” Vigiliae Christianae 31 [1977]: 83), who affirms that “Clement starts with the Creator, expects a created design, and then draws from that design the will of the Creator.” In point of fact, the mere observation of natural phenomena does not, in and of itself, disclose rational design or purpose. Indeed, what we perceive as “orderly” reflects certain background assumptions, whereby we discern notions like design, plan, purposefulness, or end in the midst of empirically observable data. 20. The extant version of the Didache (the commonly used title of the work Teaching of the Lord through the Twelve Apostles for the Gentiles) was compiled c. A.D. 150. The Epistle of Barnabas was probably composed c. A.D. 130–131. The dating of Τhe Shepherd of Hermas is based upon the testimony of the Muratorian writer, who identifies Hermas as the brother of Pius, Bishop of Rome, who wrote during that episcopate (A.D. 140–155). According to Goodspeed (A History of Early Christian Literature, 32), however, portions of Τhe Shepherd of Hermas were most likely composed at the end of the first century or the beginning of the second century:

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Chapter 5 Since the second vision states that it should be the business of Clement to send copies of the vision to other churches, these first visions may go back as far as the last part of his leadership, or episcopate, which covered the years 88–97. Hermas certainly expected the visions to be widely circulated among the churches, and his book did have a great vogue in the second century. It found its way into more than one early form of the New Testament.

21. Didache, translated by Kirsopp Lake (Apostolic Fathers. Loeb Classical Library. Volume I. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1985), x.3. According to J. N. D. Kelly (Early Christian Doctrines, Second Edition [New York, Evanston, and London: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1960], 83), the use of the term “Almighty” at this early juncture indicated God’s “all-pervading control and sovereignty over reality,” while the title “Father” was chiefly a means of designating God’s role as Creator. 22. Epistle of Barnabas, trans. by Kirsopp Lake (Apostolic Fathers. Loeb Classical Library. Volume I. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1985) xxi.5. 23. Shepherd of Hermas, trans. by Kirsopp Lake (Apostolic Fathers. Loeb Classical Library. Volume II. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), Mandate 1, 1. 24. Cf., the assessment of Gerhard May (Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought. Trans. A. S. Worrall [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994], 22): “Only with Christian theologians of the second century did the traditional saying, that God created the world out of nothing, take on a principled ontological sense: the expression ‘out of nothing’ now meant that absolutely, and excluded the idea that the creator had merely imposed form on a preexistent material.” 25. Aristides of Athens, Apology, trans. from the Greek and from the Syriac Version in Parallel Columns by D. M. Kay (The Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume IX. Fifth Edition. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1926), 1. 26. In Apology 1, Aristides describes God in a manner that excludes any of the imperfections or limitations associated with things that are created and mutable: not born, not made, without beginning and without end, immortal, perfect, and incomprehensible, no name, no form, no union of members, neither male nor female, unlimited, etc. Aristides’ commitment to the apophatic way to God is borne out by his need to qualify his attribution of the seemingly positive attribute “perfect” to the Divine nature: “When I say that He is ‘perfect,’ this means that there is not in Him any defect, and He is not in need of anything but all things are in need of Him.” 27. Apology 4 (Syriac translation). 28. Apology 4 (Greek translation). 29. The question whether the Apology reflects a commitment to creation ex nihilo is closely aligned with discussions regarding the originality of the Greek translation. May challenges its originality (Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 119) on the grounds that the sentiments of Apology 4 are more akin “to the aspirations of a later age to theological precision and academic correctness than does the statement in the Syriac version” and the accompanying desire “to bring the text of Aristides theologically into line.” May argues that even if the Greek translation were original, it still offers no more than what we find in The Shepherd of Hermas and Jewish Hellenistic writing. According to May’s criteria, of course, one can only make a case for the presence of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo if a given text demonstrates its attunement to the deeper philosophical issues at stake (e.g., a need to challenge the world-formation model of creation).

Part III

Forging the Doctrine

Chapter Six

The Christian Platonism of Justin Martyr

To a great extent, the patristic theology of creation developed on the basis of increasing contact between Christianity and the secular environment in which it expanded, in geographical and intellectual terms. This relationship with the larger world is especially evident in the writings of the secondcentury Greek Apologists, thinkers who sought to defend the Christian faith against charges of atheism and immorality. In so doing, they appropriated the philosophical idiom of their critics, promoting their perception of the consonance between their beliefs and the best elements of Greek philosophy. As we have seen, however, such points of contact were not only present at the outset of the Christian era; they were already anticipated in the syncretic character of Hellenistic Judaism. Implicit in an apologetic program dedicated to a defense of the faith, however, we discern a reaction against a religious perspective dominated by polytheism and a metaphysical outlook committed to materialism and dualism. By implication, the Greek Apologists built upon Philo’s conviction in the possession of a revelatory wisdom offering an objective standard of truth against which such erroneous teachings could be interpreted and refuted. But the relationship between pagan and Judeo-Christian ways of thinking was a subtle and evolving one. In the second century of the Christian era, thinkers actively drew upon the philosophical inspiration of the very tradition which became the increasing focus of their critique. In this respect, however, they could be highly selective and increasingly critical in their appropriation of Hellenic and Hellenistic thought, even as they recognized a crucial common ground with this intellectual tradition. 1 This ambiguous stance toward Greek philosophical resources is exemplified in the writings of St. Justin (d. c. A.D. 165), a native of the Palestinian city of Flavia Neapolis, who estab111

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lished a school in Rome during the emperorship of Antoninus Pius (A.D. 138–161). 2 Along with Philo (that great forerunner of Christian scriptural exegesis), Justin embraced the dictum that the most ancient sources assume a primacy and authoritative status over their later offshoots and derivatives. In broader terms, his recognition of the venerability of Mosaic wisdom is wholly consistent with deeply rooted assumptions common in the late antique world. 3 Since Justin viewed Greek philosophy as ultimately derived from Mosaic wisdom, he also discerned a truth value in philosophical teachings. This is not to suggest, however, that he accepted these teachings in a completely wholehearted and thoroughly uncritical manner. For him (as for Philo), the definitive authority is to be found in Scripture, his ultimate court of appeal for assessing the pronouncements of the philosophers. 4 But Justin’s belief in the compatibility of Greek philosophy with Scripture did not rest exclusively upon the assumption that pagan thinkers such as Plato had appropriated (or more drastically, purloined) Moses’s teaching for their own purposes. 5 While he certainly accepted aspects of that widely disseminated theory, his real interest lay in what he considered the human capacity to grasp the truth, by virtue of participation in the logos spermatikos. “Hence there seem to be seeds of truth among all people,” Justin asserts, “but they are proved not to have understood them accurately when they contradict each other.” 6 The critical dimension of Justin’s receptivity to Greek philosophy is evident in his distinction between what is sound in its teaching and what represents a counterfeit claim to the truth. 7 Justin takes this position to even greater lengths in affirming the universal scope of the logos spermatikos among its human recipients. Accordingly, he deems all who partake of the logos to be Christians, “even though they have been thought atheists.” 8 Among Greek philosophers, however, Justin clearly finds a special kinship with the Platonists. JUSTIN’S PLATONIC ALLEGIANCE In his Dialogue with Trypho, Justin recounts his encounter in Ephesus with a Hebrew resident of Greece. In response to Trypho’s query regarding his opinion of God and philosophy, Justin exalts philosophy as “one’s greatest possession . . . most precious in the sight of God.” 9 Justin then proceeds to trace the course of his own philosophical journey. After turning to the Stoics, Aristotelians, and Pythagoreans (and finding no solace in their philosophical schools), he found what he thought to be the end of his search in Platonism, by virtue of its commitment to incorporeal reality and the theory of Ideas. 10 While his conviction in the superiority of revelatory wisdom did not nullify Justin’s embrace of Platonism, it imbued him with a willingness to judge it

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from a decidedly critical perspective. Indeed, Justin’s recognition of the common ground between Plato and Christianity always coincided with his attunement to what he perceived as the erroneous features inherent in Plato’s philosophy. “I strive to be found a Christian,” Justin affirms, “not because the teachings of Plato are different from those of Christ, but because they are not in every respect equal, as neither are those of the . . . Stoics . . . poets, and historians.” 11 By the same token, we find no firm scholarly consensus regarding the extent to which Justin relied upon Platonism (and in broader terms, Greek philosophy). Nahm conveniently organizes these diverse interpretations on the basis of three main theories regarding the character of Justin’s Platonic allegiance and its impact upon his own Christian outlook: (a) the total assimilation theory (presupposing the absorption of Christian teaching in a Greek philosophical framework); (b) the total rejection theory (ruling out any grounds for dialogue between the Platonic and Christian perspectives); and (c) the partial assimilation theory (acknowledging the points of contact for purposes of Christian adaptation without undermining the integrity of Christian teaching). 12 From this writer’s standpoint, however, the complexity of Justin’s theology and his fidelity to the authority of scriptural Revelation rule out those exclusionary options which either treat him as a complete rationalist and assimilationist of Greek philosophy or one completely opposed to its use in a Christian context. 13 Accordingly, it seems more reasonable to assume something of a middle ground, whereby Justin can be viewed as creatively adapting the resources of Greek philosophy (but most notably, Platonism) in the interests of his own Christian apologetic endeavor. As Nahm argues, “Justin had shown somewhat of an open-minded attitude toward a Platonism while maintaining at the same time a critical reserve” that yielded what amounts to a “Christianization” of Plato. 14 In a very real sense, then, Justin’s overall disposition toward Platonism stands in direct continuity with the intellectual program of Philo Judaeus. If Justin exhibits a receptivity (or more precisely, a critical receptivity) to Platonism, this stance must still be qualified in terms of the brand of Platonism to which he had access. According to Droge, the Platonism of Justin’s day reflects the influential “popular” Platonism derived from the handbook or doxographical tradition. 15 In broader philosophical terms, this exposure would have placed Justin firmly in a Middle Platonic framework, with all the eclecticism that this philosophical perspective encompassed. Such an outlook would not only have opened Justin to Platonic thinking, but to elements of Stoicism and Aristotelianism as well. 16 More specifically for our purposes, such exposure would have also introduced him to Middle Platonic theories of cosmological origins and the debates regarding the appropriate interpretation of Plato’s understanding of the beginning (gegonen) of all things.

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GOD AND CREATURES Justin’s theology of creation rests upon his affirmation of the ontological difference between God and creatures. He grounds this difference in a recognition of the radical contingency of created reality and its potential for deterioration and even dissolution. Justin approaches the divine nature by way of contrast with the things around us. Their very instability attests to their need for a causal principle immune to any metaphysical limitations whatsoever. Accordingly, Justin contends that “Whatever exists or shall exist after God has a nature subject to corruption (φύσιν φθαρτὴν ἔχειν), and therefore capable of complete annihilation, for only God is unbegotten and incorruptible (μόνος γὰρ ảγέννητος καὶ ἄφθαρτος ὁ θεός) . . . and all other things after Him are created and corruptible (γεννητὰ καὶ φθαρτά).” 17 Justin’s causal analysis proceeds on an inferential basis. Adapting a version of the argument against an endless regress of causally dependent beings, he concludes that God is the ultimate Cause of everthing which exists: “Not many beings are unbegotten, for, if there were some difference between them, you could not . . . find the cause of such difference; but after sending your thought always to infinity, you would finally become tired and have to stop before the Unbegotten and declare that He is the cause of all things.” 18 The appellation of God as “Unbegotten” (ảγέννητος) is laden with philosophical import. The term carries the dual connotation of “underived” and wholly transcendent. 19 Accordingly, God’s unbegotten status provides the key criterion for distinguishing Him from everything else, that is, everything which is “begotten” (γεννητός) and thus subject to ongoing change. In this context, Justin depicts the God of Judeo-Christian Revelation in terms of the Eleatic dictum that the mark of true reality (indeed, reality in the fullest sense) is immutability. “God is the Being who always has the same nature in the same manner,” Justin contends, “the cause of existence to all else.” 20 Implicit in this argument, we discern an indictment of those materialists who would reduce God to the level of mutable and corruptible reality. Such an assumption points to a narrowness of metaphysical vision that confines one’s understanding of even the divine nature to the world of appearances. 21 Justin’s emphasis upon God’s exclusivity as the Unbegotten primal Cause presupposes that God transcends the categories applicable to creatures in general. 22 For this reason, Justin assumes an apophatic stance in affirming God’s utter ineffability. Indeed, “the ineffable Father and Lord of all neither comes to any place, nor walks . . . sleeps . . . arises, but always remains . . . nor is he moved who cannot be contained in any place.” 23 Since Justin’s God is beyond knowing, He is beyond naming as well. “To the Father of all . . . unbegotten,” he asserts, “a name is not given.” 24 While Justin could find a philosophical precedent here in Plato’s notion of the Form of the Good as

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beyond truth and knowledge, his language exhibits certain affinities with the theology of the Middle Platonist Alcinous. Both Justin and Alcinous emphasize divine transcendence; both thinkers display a tendency toward apophaticism, elevating the divine nature beyond the attributes of things common to our experience. For Alcinous, god is distinguishable from all else on the basis of a series of negations of the limitations and imperfections which characterize the things of our experience. The primary god . . . is eternal, ineffable . . . “all perfect” . . . the Good . . . the Beautiful . . . Truth . . . Father through being the cause of all things . . . graspable only by the intellect . . . neither genus, nor species, nor differentiation, nor . . . any attributes . . . nor qualified . . . nor unqualified . . . not a part of anything . . . nor . . . a whole which has parts . . . for no attribute is proper to him in virtue of which he could be distinguished from other things. 25

We likewise observe a parallel between Justin’s interpretation of God as Unbegotten Cause in a chain of contingent effects and Alcinous’s emphasis on cosmic contingency in appealing to the necessity of an ultimate causal principle. As the one and only source of all things, the God of Justin transcends the effects of change and corruptibility on every level. This theological presupposition finds a Middle Platonic counterpart in Alcinous’s conjoining of the “father and cause of all things” with Aristotle’s notion of the Unmoved Mover, the final cause which draws all things to the realization of their proper ends. 26 This does not discount, of course, the vast differences between the primary god of Alcinous and the God of Judeo-Christian Revelation. 27 But such parallels at least provide compelling support for the thesis that the conception of God in Justin’s theology suggests some grounding in Middle Platonist ways of thinking. In this vein, Justin’s designation of God as “Father and Creator” of all things not only points to a reliance upon Plato’s language (Tim. 28c), but to Middle Platonic adaptations of this motif as well. 28 As already observed, however, Justin views the Unbegotten Godhead as nameless. For him, any titles imparted to God (whether it be “Father,” “Creator,” “Lord,” “Master,” or even “God” itself, for that matter) are not to be construed as names at all, but mere linguistic devices for expressing divine actions. 29 While God reveals Himself in manifold ways, the greatest manifestation of His power lies in His creative efficacy. THE LOGOS OF CREATION In positing God as absolutely transcendent, Justin confronts a problem looming large in Middle Platonic circles, namely, the need to bridge the ontologi-

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cal gap between a wholly Unbegotten Creator and a begotten universe admitting change and corruptibility. Middle Platonists, as we have seen, address this challenge by means of a scheme of intermediary divinities that serve to administer God’s providential care throughout the cosmos. 30 From Justin’s Christian perspective, however, the sovereignty of the true and only God rules out the possibility of incorporating lesser gods into his creation account. It is likely, then, that Justin might have found a more viable source of inspiration in this vein in Hellenistic Judaism, and more specifically, in Philo’s theory of the Logos as God’s agent in creation. 31 While it is feasible that Justin was influenced by the Middle Platonic emphasis upon the necessity of intermediaries and the conception of the Logos found in later Jewish commentators such as Philo, he decisively reshapes its meaning in light of New Testament teaching. In Justin’s hands, the Logos assumes a distinct christological import, even as it is operative in his account of the dynamic of creation. In this connection, Justin maintains that “the Logos who is with God and . . . begotten before the creation (ὁ Λόγος πρὸ τῶν ποιημάτων, καὶ συνὼν καὶ γεννώμενος), when in the beginning God created and set in order everything through Him (ὅτε τὴν ảρχὴν δι᾽ αὐτοῦ πάντα ἕκτισε καὶ ἐκόσμησε) is called Christ.” 32 Yet Justin’s depiction of the Logos’s intimate union with God raises a question that poses a challenge to his uncompromising commitment to the unity of the Godhead. How can the Logos be “with God,” but be “begotten” as well? Justin opposes those who teach the Logos’s indivisibility and inseparability from God, in the manner that the sun’s radiated light is considered indivisible and inseparable from the sun itself. 33 By the same token, however, he makes it clear that the Logos’s emergence as God’s creative instrumentality in no way undermines God’s essential unity. While he stipulates that the Logos is distinct from the Father, then, he is adamant that its begetting was not a matter of abscission or division, “as if the substance of the Father were divided.” 34 Justin skillfully conjoins his Christian understanding of the Logos as the Son of God and Word Incarnate with the Old Testament notion of a divine Wisdom by which God creates and governs the visible universe. By virtue of this identification, “this Offspring (γεννήματα) . . . really begotten of the Father talked with Him before all creation as the Word . . . this Son . . . called Wisdom by Solomon, was begotten . . . as a beginning before all his works and as His Offspring.” 35 For Justin, this “Offspring” begotten of the Father assumes both revelatory and creative functions. Accordingly, he distinguishes the Logos as Word of God from the logos spermatikos, the means whereby God manifests His Truth to humans on a universal scale. 36 Still, the logos spermatikos in which humans participate on an intellectual level finds its fullness in the Logos as Christ, the living Word of God serving as agent of God’s creative will. In this regard, the begetting of the Logos as “beginning”

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must be understood in terms of its mediative role in implementing divine power. “All living beings were created,” Justin states, “by the Word of God in the beginning.” 37 Such an interpretation is wholly compatible with St. Paul’s reference to Christ (Col 1:15) as “First-born of all creation” (πρωτοότοκος τάσης κτίσεως). Indeed, Justin imparts the Logos with an historical grounding in and through Jesus Christ, whereby “the First-born of all creatures took flesh and truly became man.” 38 Justin’s depiction of the Logos’s seeming “derivation” from the Father suggests a possible subordinationist dimension in his christological theory. 39 If Justin’s Christology can be characterized in such a way, however, it would appear to proceed from a rather qualified sense of “subordinationist,” that is, only in regard to the Logos’s supporting role as God’s power in revealing and creating. But whether he espouses the brand of subordinationism that reduces the Logos to another creature is highly questionable in view of his recognition of its divine status. On the one hand, Justin establishes a direct link between the historical Christ (as Word made flesh) and God the Father. “There is not a single race,” he contends, “among whom prayers . . . are not offered to the Father and Creator of the universe in the name of the crucified Jesus.” 40 On the other hand, Justin explicitly affirms that “the Logos and First-begotten is also God.” 41 While Justin does not designate the Logos as “Person” in its own right, the implication is clear: in union with the Father at “the beginning,” the Logos is really distinct in numerical terms, that is, as truly other than the Father. 42 From this standpoint, Justin’s reference to the Logos as “holding second place” need not be interpreted in terms of any creaturely subordination or substantial difference. Rather, it affirms the real distinctness that places the Son in a filial relationship with the Father. 43 If Justin’s language assumes a subordinationist tone, it seems only in the qualified sense of the “posteriority” that sonship necessarily entails in relation to the “priority” of the Father. Justin designates Christ, in turn, as First-born, that is, prior to all creation. HOW THE LOGOS CREATES Any lack of clarity on Justin’s part regarding the Logos’s status in relation to God the Father carries over into his discussion of the means whereby the Logos effects creation. The question whether the Logos is eternally coexistent with the Father or generated solely for the purpose of creating finds a parallel one that is pertinent to Justin’s understanding of creaturely origins in general. The problem arises in Justin’s contention that “the whole Universe came into being” (γεγενῆσθαι τὸν πάντα κόσμον) by the Word of God out of the substratum spoken of before by Moses. 44 In this succinct statement, we encounter two key features of Justin’s creation account: an incorporation of

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the Platonic notion of a “substratum” and a tracing of that motif to Moses. On the surface, it would appear that Justin simply adopted a Platonized exegesis that he imposed upon the creation narrative of Genesis which he believed (along with Philo and other early Fathers of the Church) was authored by Moses. As Philo shows us, however, such a conviction is correlative with the assumption that Plato’s own theory of cosmic generation was itself derived from a Mosaic source. Justin wholly endorses this thesis, attributing the words of Gn 1:1–3 directly to Moses, the one from whom Plato took the teaching that “God made the Universe by changing formless matter” (ὕλην ἄμορφον οὗσαν στέψαντα τὸν Θεὸν, κόσμον ποιῆσαι). 45 The belief that Genesis teaches approximately what the Timaeus teaches about the beginning of all things (whatever the order of derivation) significantly influences the thrust of Justin’s exegesis. While he upholds the primacy of scriptural authority, he assumes that the opening verses of Genesis implicitly refer to a seemingly preexistent substrate. “We have been taught,” he affirms, that “in the beginning He of His goodness . . . formed all things out of unformed matter” (καὶ πάντα τὴν ảρχὴν ảγαθὸν ὄντα δημιουργῆσαι αὐτὸν ἐξ ảμόρθον ὕλης) for the good of humanity. 46 In this respect, Justin’s commitment to the compatibility of Genesis and the Timaeus attests to his ability to read the creation account of Genesis from a Christian and a Platonist perspective alike. For him, in fact, these perspectives coalesce, at least to the extent that he considers the creation narratives of Genesis and the Timaeus as not only reconcilable but complementary as well. If Justin takes certain liberties in his exegesis of Gn 1:1–3 (going beyond what the text of Scripture explicitly states about some preexistent condition), he does so in regard to Plato as well. Contrary to Justin’s claim, Plato does not refer to hulé in the Timaeus account of cosmic generation. Rather, the Timaeus focuses upon the Receptacle as bearer of the primary elements. 47 Accordingly, Justin seems to impose a Middle Platonic interpretation upon Plato, linking amorphous matter with the Aristotelian notion of an underlying substratum as the pure potentiality for the reception of form. 48 By the same token, Justin could readily find scriptural support for his inference that Gn 1:1–3 presupposes primordial matter in the creation formula of Wis 11:17, and its teaching that God “created the world out of formless matter” (κτίσασα τὸν κόσμον ἐξ ᾀμόρφου ὕλης). WHENCE COMES CREATION? Justin’s introduction of the ex amorphou hules formula into his exegesis of Genesis raises serious questions about his understanding of the ontological status of the preexistent substrate. While Justin does not explicitly say that the substrate was “preexistent,” he speaks as if it served as a component in

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the act of creation in its own right. We encounter, then, the same intepretative problem that arose in our examination of Philo’s treatment of the opening verses of Genesis. Was Justin committed to something existing independently of God’s creative efficacy? More drastically, did he view matter (in the manner of the Middle Platonist Plutarch of Chaeronea) as some recalcitrant principle that God subjects to order? The very sparseness of Justin’s references to the material substrate renders it difficult to respond to such questions with any certitude. We are left to grapple, then, with what his exegesis of Gn 1:1–3 leaves unsaid. For this reason, a more pertinent question in this vein might be framed in terms of the creation ex nihilo issue. Does Justin hold that God (through the mediation of the Logos) brings matter into being from nothing? This question amounts to asking whether Justin teaches that God ultimately created all things from nothing. A hallmark of Justin’s theology, as we have seen, lies in his dictum that whatever is other than God must be generate, and therefore, a creature. Justin draws a sharp distinction between the unbegotten and incorruptible nature of God and what is begotten and corruptible. Therein lies his criterion for establishing the causal dependence of creatures in the most uncompromising manner. In broad metaphysical terms, this criterion rests upon the conviction that immutable reality is greater and more efficacious than mutable reality. “We know that God, the Creator of all” (νοοῦμεν τὸν πάντων ποιητὴν Θεόν), he writes, “is superior to changeable things” (κρεῖττόν τι τῶν μεταβαλλομένων). 49 The very contingency of creatures (that is, everything other than God) rules out any possibility of a dualistic dimension in Justin’s account of creation. This anti-dualistic posture is further evident in Justin’s polemic against Marcion and that controversial figure’s distinction between the good and loving God of the New Testament and the Creator/Demiurge of the Old Testament (the arbitrary God of Law). 50 In opposition to Marcionism, Justin affirmed that God is the ultimate and exclusive Creator of everything that exists. If God (as sole Creator) is supremely good, then what God creates is good. In support of this commitment to the goodness of God and creation, Justin found philosophical common ground and support from Plato’s optimistic vision of cosmic generation and the teleological perspective on which it rested. In the final analysis, Justin’s exegesis of Genesis along Platonic and Middle Platonic lines inevitably lends itself to a certain ambiguity regarding his reliance upon the ex amorphou hules model of creation. His unequivocal pronouncement that anything other than God is changeable, corruptible, and created provides grounds for inferring that God made the underlying material substrate as well. Justin, however, is simply not forthcoming on this crucial point. How can such silence be construed? One might argue that Justin was simply not concerned with delineating the fine points of the ontological

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status of matter because he took it for granted that God is the ultimate Creator of all things, including matter. 51 But such silence can also be construed as an implicit acknowledgment that matter is an eternally existent reality prior to creation. 52 In point of fact, Justin’s lack of firmness on this topic does not necessarily prove that he embraced the thesis that matter exists independently of the scope of God’s creative power. For this reason, I cannot agree that Justin’s insertion of amorphous matter into his creation account suggests a dualism in which matter represents something antithetical to God’s ordering action. 53 It would seem, however, that Justin’s attachment to a Platonic mindset rendered his uncritical incorporation of a material substrate into his exegesis of Genesis something of a given on his part. Did he view the substrate as eternally existent or as created? Any assessment of this question must remain as tentative as the evidence we find in Justin’s own writings. 54 In any case, the question as to whether Justin endorsed creation ex nihilo in the fullest sense does not hinge upon a resolution of his understanding of the ontological status of matter. Indeed, this issue is relegated to a peripheral importance in the face of his unequivocal affirmation of the radical contingency of mutable reality upon God as supreme Creator. From this standpoint, his depiction of creation as proceeding ex amorphou hules becomes no more than a philosophical device for articulating what is genuinely significant in his creation account, namely, the dependence of changeable things upon God for their very existence. THE “FIRST DAY” OF CREATION As a thoroughgoing Christian Platonist, Justin could define the act of creation in essentialist terms as an imposition of form upon what is amorphous or disordered. In this conceptual scheme, however, God’s imposition of form amounts to a bringing into being. This is in keeping with Justin’s reading of both Genesis and the Timaeus. “While we say that all things have been ordered and made by God,” he asserts, “we will appear to utter the teaching of Plato.” 55 By virtue of his adoption of this motif, Justin tacitly endorsed the notion that God created on an incremental basis. The assumption that the act of creation admits of “before” and “after” stages is consistent with the creation language of Genesis and Plato alike. Justin apparently found no conflict between his commitment to God’s role as ultimate Creator and the assumption that God implemented creation by acting upon formless matter. But whether the language of Genesis and the Timaeus must be conceived in temporal terms lent itself to ongoing debate among Jewish and Christian thinkers.

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It appears that Justin assumed that the act of creation must be construed in temporal terms, referring as he does to Sunday as “the first day on which God transforming the darkness and matter made the universe.” 56 But does this isolated utterance provide sufficient grounds for identifying him (at least implicitly) as a Christian exponent of the Plutarch/Atticus perspective in the Middle Platonic debate over Plato’s understanding of the meaning of gegonen? 57 Justin himself was not ignorant of this debate and its implications. He tips his hand in this direction in his Dialogue with Trypho, acknowledging those holding the opinion that the universe is unbegotten. His rejection of that teaching, however, is closely aligned with his rebuttal of a commonly held psychological theory. 58 On the surface, Justin’s conjoining of cosmological and psychological considerations in this context may seem unwarranted, or at the very least, somewhat puzzling. 59 For him, however, this linkage becomes a matter of special urgency. Since souls are part of the universe of created being, then the claim that souls are unbegotten implies that the universe as a whole is unbegotten. Indeed, Justin readily endorses the opinion of his interlocutor (the “old man” of the Dialogue with Trypho) that souls are necessarily begotten if the universe has been begotten. 60 In view of Justin’s belief in the complementarity of the creation accounts of Genesis and the Timaeus, it is all too tempting to depict him as a Christian participant in the Middle Platonic debate alluded to above. While Justin imparts a temporal origin to creation, however, this interpretation by no means establishes his link with the teaching of those Middle Platonists who impose a temporal interpretation upon the creation narrative of the Timaeus. 61 We must exercise caution in attempting to align Justin with a particular “wing” of Middle Platonic commentary on the Timaeus solely on the basis of one isolated passage in the Dialogue with Trypho. As May observes, “one can scarcely conclude from this statement of Justin’s that he belonged, in academic terms, to the persuasion of Plutarch and Atticus.” 62 Justin, in fact, consistently draws a sharp metaphysical distinction between the unbegotten and immutable nature of God as Creator and a universe of mutable, corruptible creatures. The very metaphysical criteria operative in his understanding of the relationship of creatures to God dictates his endorsement of a temporal origin of creation, rather than to any specific Middle Platonic allegiance on his part. The significant question here, it seems, lies in the way in which Justin interpreted the creation account of Genesis itself. The fact that he approached it in literal terms, as referring to a temporal creation, undoubtedly shaped his interpretation of the way in which Plato understood the meaning of gegogen in the Timaeus as well. As we have observed, however, even those Middle Platonists who upheld an eternal generation of the universe did not deny the depth of its contingency. In this sense, “the beginning” need not necessarily refer to a temporal

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origin. Accordingly, Justin’s emphasis upon creaturely dependence on an ongoing basis cuts across the lines of those Platonic interpretations of cosmological origins which alternately appeal (a) to a temporal beginning or (b) to a timeless dependence upon an ultimate causal principle. While I do not deny the importance of Justin’s faith commitment to a temporal beginning of the universe, this issue assumes less significance than his affirmation of creaturely contingency. From this writer’s standpoint, then, Justin’s recognition that a universe encompassing mutable and corruptible things exhibits an onoing dependence upon God takes precedence over the question as to when the universe began, or whether creation coincided with the emergence of time. THE TEXTURE OF JUSTIN’S CHRISTIAN PLATONISM Justin imposed an enduring Platonic imprint upon the opening verses of Genesis that decisively shaped subsequent patristic deliberations. Justin was not the first to engage in this attempt to harmonize the contents of Revelation with the intellectual resources of Greek philosophy. His adaptation of Platonic teaching in service to his faith commitment found a prominent precedent in the Hellenistic Judaism of Philo of Alexandria. This does not suggest that there was a direct Philonic influence upon Justin’s thought. Any such links are highly tentative at best. And even where we perceive a strong indication of influence (e.g., Justin’s positing of the Logos as the Father’s agent in creation), Justin recasts this notion in the context of the New Testament theology of the Word Incarnate. If Justin stands in continuity with Philo, that line of descent is most apparent in their mutual commitment to a Middle Platonic perspective. Like Philo, Justin interprets the creation account of Genesis in terms of a formation of formless matter. In his rendering, the primordial chaos of Gn. 1:2 becomes the amorphous material substrate from which the Word of God made the universe. Accordingly, Justin ventures beyond the letter of the text of Genesis and the Timaeus alike: Genesis in fact contains no explicit reference to a material substrate, and the Timaeus is devoid of any specific mention of formless matter. Despite his claim that Plato relied upon Moses, Justin assumed that both Moses and Plato spoke in distinct Middle Platonic voices. This assumption is fully operative in Justin’s formula of the act of creation. For him, the “bringing into being” implemented by the Logos constitutes a formation “from formless matter” (ex amorphou hules). While this particular language is absent in the creation account of Genesis, it does emerge in the sapiential literature of the Old Testament. In Wis 11:17, Justin could have readily found scriptural support for this fundamental Middle Platonic motif regarding cosmological origins.

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But what is Justin’s position concerning the creation of matter? Any contention that he taught its creation from nothing can only be established by way of inference, in light of his clear affirmation of the contingency of all reality other than God. What remains unsaid on his part leaves us with many unanswered questions. Did God first create the matter from which the universe was formed? Did the act of creation admit of separate “stages”? If so, did such a “sequential” creation subject God’s creative action to temporal process? Justin’s silence on these points opens the way for subsequent development by his successors in the Greek apologetic tradition, from Athenagoras of Athens to Tatian of Syria to Theophilus of Antioch. I address the response of the first member of this trio in the following chapter. NOTES 1. In this vein, R. A. Norris (God and World in Early Christian Theology [New York: The Seabury Press, 1965], 43) notes the “simultaneous receptivity and hostility” of the Apologists toward Greek thought, viewing it as providing a suitable “theological idiom” and a “body of specific teachings . . . accepted or rejected on their merits . . . and for the most part, treated as dangerous at best.” 2. Johannes Quasten, Patrology, Volume I (Allen, TX: Christian Classics, 1986), 196. 3. Justin Martyr, The First Apology, trans. by Leslie Williams Barnard (Ancient Christian Writers. Volume 56. New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1997), 44. 4. Henry Chadwick (Chapter 9, “The Beginning of Christian Philosophy . . .”) in A. H. Armstrong, ed., The Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 161, links Justin with Philo in this endeavor: “Like Philo he is an eclectic, not in the sense of wanting to reconcile everyone and everything merely for its own sake, but in the sense that his acceptance of the biblical revelation provides him with a criterion of judgment for assessing what is true or false in the philosophers.” 5. Arthur J. Droge (Homer or Moses? Early Christian Interpretations of the History of Culture (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck] Verlag, 1989, viii) traces this assumption to the common belief that since what is older is better, Greek philosophers like Plato acquired their wisdom from eastern sources: “So when the Christian apologists claimed that Greek culture had been ‘borrowed’ or ‘plagiarized’ from Moses, they were only following a theory which in other forms was widely held.” Leslie William Barnard provides more specific information on the origin of the theory that Plato (and other Greek philosophers) were “dependent” on Moses (The First and Second Apologies [New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1997], n. 280, 157), tracing that claim to Aristobulus (a Jewish peripatetic) regarding an ancient Greek translation of the Torah to which prominent Greek thinkers had access. According to Barnard, this claim found further support in the belief that Plato himself had visited Egypt where he was introduced to the Pentateuch. Cf., Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride, trans. by Frank Cole Babbitt (Volume V, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1962), 10, 354E; Origen, Contra Celsum, trans. by Henry Chadwick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), 4.39. 6. I Apol. 44. I expand upon Justin’s interpretation of the logos spermatikos at n. 36, below. 7. Justin Martyr, The Second Apology, trans. by Leslie Williams Barnard (Ancient Christian Writers. Volume 56. New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1997), 10. 8. I Apol. 46. Here, Justin makes a case for the rational respectability of Christians in the face of pagan charges of atheism. But he would extend participation in the Logos to a figure like Socrates (likewise accused of atheism). Cf., I Apol. 5: “For not only among the Greeks through Socrates were these things revealed by reason (logos), but also among the Barbarians were they revealed by logos personally, when He had taken shape, and became man, and was

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called Jesus Christ.” In a note to this passage, Barnard (The First and Second Apologies, n. 31, 109) stresses that “Justin sees a close correspondence between the treatment meted out to Socrates and that accorded to Jesus Christ and His followers: just as Socrates was put to death as an atheist, so Christians who follow the incarnate logos are falsely termed atheists.” 9. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, trans. by Thomas B. Falls (The Fathers of the Church. Volume 3. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America, 2003), 2. 10. Dial. 7. For an illuminating assessment of the possible identity of the “old man” in the context of the dialogue, see Andrew Hofer, O.P., “The Old Man as Christ in Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho,” Vigiliae Christianae 57 (2003): 1–21. Charles Nahm (“The Debate on the Platonism of Justin Martyr,” The Second Century. A Journal of Early Christian Studies 9, No. 3 [Fall 1992]: 131) echoes Justin’s affirmation of the affinities between Platonism and Christian belief: “Platonism, more than any other Greek philosophy . . . maintained the most consistent and lasting contact with the Fathers of the Church.” Nahm further supports this contention with the argument (131) that “among all philosophical traditions it best possessed the type of religiosity which showed the possibility of a belief in the invisible realities . . .” 11. II Apol. 13. A corollary to the theory that the more ancient source represented what is more venerable in wisdom (and thus, more authoritative in standing) was the assumption that what was derived was more susceptible to error and falsehood. From this standpoint, Platonism would be found wanting in relation to scriptural authority, even if it offered the best philosophical touchstone available. 12. Charles Nahm, “The Debate on the Platonism of Justin Martyr,” 150. 13. In this vein, Nahm (“The Debate on the Platonism of Justin Martyr,” 131ff.) provides an illuminating survey of the diverse scholarly positions on this question, citing such authors as A. von Harnack (Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte, I: Die Enstehung des kirchlichen Dogmas [Tübingen, 1901]) and E. de Faye (“De l’influence du Timée de Platon sur la théologie de Justin martyr,” Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes-Études, science religieuse 7 [1896]: 169–77), as representative of the “total assimilation” theory in contending that Justin compromised the Christian dimension by the imposition of philosophical categories. Cf., R. Holte (“Logos Spermatikos. Christianity and Ancient Philosophy according to St. Justin’s Apologies,” Studia theologica 12 [1958]: 109–68), J. Daniélou, Histoire des doctrines chrétiennes avant Nicée, II: Message évangélique et culture Hellenistique aux IIe et IIIe siècle), N. Hyldahl (Philosophie und Christentum. Eine Interpretation der Einleitung zum Dialog Justins [Kopenhagen, 1966]), and J. C. M. Van Winden (An Early Christian Philosopher. Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Tryphon. Chapters One to Nine [Leiden, 1971], esp. 126f.) as representative of the “total rejection” theory, in contending that Justin was not attached to Platonism. 14. Nahm, “The Debate on the Platonism of Justin Martyr,” 151. As the quote suggests, Nahm (151) himself endorses the “partial assimilation” theory as “the most fitting description” of the confluence of Christianity and Platonism in Justin’s writings. Among those writers who reflect a commitment to this type of intepretation, we must include Henry Chadwick (Early Christian Thought and the Classical Tradition. Studies in Justin, Clement and Origen [Oxford, 1966]), R. A. Norris (God and World in Early Christian Theology), and L. W. Barnard (Justin Martyr. His Life and Thought [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967]). 15. Droge, Homer or Moses? Early Christian Interpretations of the History of Culture, 51. Cf., M. J. Edwards, “On the Platonic Schooling of Justin Martyr,” The Journal of Theological Studies, New Series, 42, No. 1 (April 1991): 21: “Platonism at this time was in the mouth of every wandering pedagogue, every sophist, every speculator of whatever professed allegiance. Attempts to divide its adherents into parties labelled ‘Stoic,’ ‘Pythagorean,’ or ‘Aristotelian’ rarely satisfy more critics than one.” 16. A major proponent of the Middle Platonic background of Justin was Carl Andresen (“Justin und der mittlehre Platonismus,” Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche 44 [1952/53]: 157–95), who emphasized the extent to which Middle Platonism shaped Justin’s understanding of God and the divine attributes. Cf., the comment of C. J. de Vogel (“Problems concerning Justin Martyr: Did Justin Find a Certain Continuity between Greek Philosophy and Christian Faith,” Mnemosyne, Fourth Series, 31, Fasc. 4 [1978]: 384): “Justin’s view of philosophy was fairly in line with the Middle Platonic style, that incorporated quite a number of Aristotelian and Stoic elements in their system of

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philosophy.” De Vogel’s tentative assessment of Justin’s Middle Platonic commitment (i.e., that he was “fairly in line with the Middle Platonic style”) is an astute one, to the extent that it acknowledges Justin’s use of Middle Platonism in a rather selective and critical manner for his Christian theological purposes. As De Vogel elsewhere observes in the same monograph (365), “Justin did not only know something about Greek philosophy and used it . . . he passed judgment upon it, according to the standard of the biblical doctrine of God and His relation to the world.” 17. Dial. 5. 18. Dial. 5. Eric F. Osborn (Justin Martyr [Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr/Paul Siebeck, 1973], 21) embellishes this argument, highlighting the underlying reasoning which led Justin to affirm the exclusivity of the Unbegotten God as first and ultimate Cause: God is . . . placed as a first cause upon whom all else is dependent, because there can only be one thing which is ảγέννητον . . . if there were more than one thing, then we should have to look for the cause of the difference between them and when we came to the end of the chain of cause, we should find one thing which was ảγέννητον and fix on it as the first cause of all things. 19. According to Barnard (The First and Second Apologies, 117, n. 82), “Justin, with other second-century Christian writers, consistently uses agennetos (‘unbegotten’) to describe the transcendence of God, rather than agenetos (‘uncreated’), which he nowhere uses . . . it would . . . seem that for Justin agennetos means ‘underived,’ ‘ultimate,’ and . . . gennetos means ‘derived.’” 20. Dial. 3. Cf., Plato, Republic, trans. by F. M. Cornford (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1950), VI, 509b. 21. II Apol. 7. 22. I Apol. 20. 23. Dial. 127.2. 24. II Apol. 6. 25. Alcinous, Didaskalikos, trans. by John Dillon (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1993), 10.3–4. 26. Didaskalikos 9.1; 10.2–3. 27. The question of the sources of Justin’s conception of God has prompted ongoing debate. An early and strong proponent of the exclusive influence of Hellenistic Judaism (and especially, Philo) upon Justin’s theology was E. R. Goodenough. In endorsing that influence (and rejecting any Greek philosophical influence whatsoever), Goodenough contended (The Theology of Justin Martyr [Jena: Verlag Frommannsche Buchhandlung 1923], 124) that “the phrases and shreds of philosophical speculation about God are still recognizably a Christian adaptation of those of the Greek-Jewish school, and show no trace of an immediate borrowing from the pages or even the traditions of the schools of Greece.” But in the face of the consensus of twentieth-century patristic scholarship, such a blanket rejection of the role of secular wisdom in shaping Justin’s thought is no longer tenable (even if Justin found inspiration in Philo and Hellenistic Judaism in general). By the same token, Philo himself clearly exhibits a dual allegiance to both Mosaic wisdom and Middle Platonism. In this connection, however, Barnard (Justin Martyr, 82) advises that “caution is needed before we find in Philo the primary influence on Justin’s philosophical conception of God,” and conversely, that “his philosophical idea of God was at least influenced by the Middle Platonist milieu and teaching in which . . . he progressed.” 28. For Justin’s references to God as “Father and Creator,” see Dial. 7.3; 56.1; 117.5; II Apol. 10.6. In regard to this usage in II Apol. 10.6, Barnard observes (The First and Second Apologies, 193, n. 54) that “it can be shown that the actual wording of the passage in Justin was taken, not from the original text of Plato, but from a version of the text current among Middle Platonists.” For Philo’s use of this motif, De Opificio Mundi, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 1. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1991), II, 7–8; 10; De Specialibus Legibus, trans. by

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F. H. Colson (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 7. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1968), I, XXXVIII, 209; II, XXIV, 189. 29. II Apol. 6. 30. Cf., Didaskalikos 10.3 (where Alcinous attributes the imposition of order in the world to the World Soul sent by the Father); 15.1 (for Alcinous’s references to the “daemons” or “created gods,” to which the administration of the sublunar and terrestrial sphere has been delegated). 31. Cf. Philo, Quis Rerum Divinarum Heres, trans. by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 4. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1968) XXVIII, 40; Opif. VI, 24–25; Spec. Leg. I, IX, 329. Any question of a direct Philonic influence upon Justin’s own conception of the Logos is, of course, highly speculative. In my estimation, however, the claim that Justin’s understanding of the Logos bears Middle Platonist and Stoic influences provides grounds for introducing Philo into this broader circle of possible influences, since Philo’s thought bears their imprint as well. 32. II Apol. 6. R. M. Price (“Hellenization and Logos Doctrine in Justin Martyr,” Vigiliae Christianae 42 [1968]: 20) challenges any claim that Justin’s understanding of the Logos was derived from Greek philosophical sources; he attributes it instead to Old Testament references to the “word of God,” as transmitted through the Greek Septuagint and interpreted by Jewish biblical commentators like Philo Judaeus. Barnard (Justin Martyr: His Life and Thought, 99), on the other hand, stresses that although Justin’s identification of Christ as the Logos distances him from Philo, the Stoics, and Middle Platonism, his notion of the Logos incorporates more in the way of philosophical influences (esp. Middle Platonic ones) than we encounter in other early Christian authors. For a survey of the diverse ways in which Justin describes the manner of the Logos’s coming into being and the way in which it creates, see Willis A. Shotwell, The Biblical Exegesis of Justin Martyr (London: S.P.C.K., 1965), 104–5. 33. Dial. 128.3. The radiation metaphor to which Justin alludes is evocative of Plotinus’s reliance upon the same image to explain the Omnipresence of the One, whereby the One (as First Principle) diffuses its goodness over the intelligible universe without undergoing any diminishing in the process. Cf., Plotinus, Enneads V.3(49).12.39–44; VI.4(22).7.38–42, trans. A. H. Armstrong (Loeb Classical Library. Volumes V–VI. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1984, 1988). 34. Dial. 128.4. Cf., Dial. 61.2, where Justin likens the unity of God the Father and the Logos to the “begetting” of a word in speech (“but not by cutting it off”) and the igniting of one fire by another, “without lessening the brilliancy of the first fire.” 35. Dial. 62.4. Cf., Wis 7: 24–26 (and its depiction of Wisdom as distinct from God the Father), Prv 8: 22–23 and Sir 24: 3–4, 8–9 (describing Wisdom as preexistent with the Father from the beginning). 36. II Apol. 13; Cf., I Apol. 44, 46. For Justin, the logos spermatikos provides the means whereby God manifests Himself to humans on a revelatory basis, giving them access to Truth. The logos spermatikos in which humans participate finds its fullness in the Logos as Christ, the living Word of God and instrument of God’s creative activity. After a detailed survey of the sources of Justin’s notion of the logos spermatikos and the surrounding scholarly interpretations of this theme in his theology, Barnard concludes (The First and Second Apologies, 196–200, n. 71) that “the man . . . chiefly responsible for making the logos idea a permanent element in Christian thought was but little influenced by Saint John, Philo, or his philosophical forebears [but] . . . the idea of the logos-Christ sowing seeds in man was . . . in essence his own.” 37. Dial. 84.2. 38. Dial. 84.2. 39. Quasten (Patrology, Volume 1, 209) highlights a major component of the assumption that Justin’s doctrine of the Logos tends toward subordinationism, on the basis of the functions which Justin assigns it: “Justin seems to suppose that the Logos became externally independent only in order to create and govern the world. The personal function gave him personal existence. He became a divine person, but subordinated to the Father.” Cf., Barnard’s contention (Justin Martyr: His Life and Thought, 91) that the Logos is subordinate to the Father in His

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person and “office” in regard to revelation (as logos spermatikos) and as the Word through which creation is effected. 40. Dial. 117.5. In this quote, Justin casts a rather wide cultural net over this hypothetical audience, including “barbarians,” “nomads,” and “herdsmen” among those who offer their prayers to the Father through Christ. 41. I Apol. 63. 42. Dial. 128.4: “This power which the prophetic Word calls God and angel not only is numbered as different by its name . . . but . . . something distinct in real number.” In contrast to those who discern a subordination of the Logos to God in regard to its very nature, Osborn (Justin Martyr, 43) is emphatic that Justin upholds the Logos’s substantial unity with God, along with its roles in implementing revelation and creation: “The first-born of God, one with God in substance, second to God in number . . . messenger of God who speaks to man . . . the sum of all truth and reason . . . prophetic voice by which God has . . . saved mankind.” 43. I Apol. 60. Cf., I Apol. 13. As Osborn observes (Justin Martyr, 52), “the question concerning precedence can be asked and Justin answers it by pointing to the father.” Note here that Justin attributes “third rank” to the Holy Spirit. 44. I Apol. 59. 45. I Apol. 59. 46. I Apol. 10. 47. Plato, Timaeus, trans. R. G. Bury (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975), 51a–b: “The mother and receptacle of all created and visible and . . . sensible things is not to be termed earth or air or fire or water, or any of their compounds, or any of the elements from which those are derived, but is an invisible and firmless being which receives all things.” 48. Alcinous (Didaskalikos 8.2) reflects this interpretative trend in Middle Platonism. 49. I Apol. 20. 50. I Apol. 26. Cf., I Apol. 58. Irenaeus, Adversus haereses, trans. by A. Roberts and James Donaldson. Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 1. Edinburgh: T & T Clark/Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1996) IV, vi, 2, quotes Justin’s (lost) work against Marcion (λόγοικατὰ Μαρκίωνος) to the effect that “I would not have believed the Lord Himself, if He had announced any other than He who is our framer, maker, and nourisher.” In this connection, also see Adv. haer. V, xxvi, 2. 51. As an exponent of this position, Denis Minns suggests (“Justin Martyr,” Chapter 14 of The Cambridge History of Philosophy of Late Antiquity, Volume I [Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2010], 265) that Justin’s supposition that formless matter was created is a “reasonable inference.” 52. Along these lines, Gerhard May (Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought. Trans. A. S. Worrall [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994], 123) argues that in view of Justin’s attunement to the differences between Christian and Platonic teaching, he would not have failed to correct Plato in affirming that matter itself was brought into being in the event that he discerned any substantive difference between Christian and Platonist accounts of creation. 53. Consider here the balanced assessment of Goodenough (The Theology of Justin Martyr 210): “If it cannot be said that Justin taught the creation of matter, it is equally erroneous to go to the other extreme and insist that Justin believed in the eternity of matter in the full Platonic sense of an existential anthithesis to God.” According to M. J. Lagrange (Saint Justin [Paris: Librairie Victor Lecoffre, 1914], 151), Justin’s teaching on the created status of matter stands in continuity with what emerges in the intellectual tradition of Judaism. In this respect, Lagrange argues that the denial that matter was created amounts to denying the fact that “le Dieu des chrétiens était absolument le Créateur.” 54. Note Barnard’s tentativeness in addressing this question (Justin Martyr: His Life and Thought, 112): It is . . . uncertain whether Justin believed in the eternity of matter in the Platonic sense of an antithesis to God. We must be content to state that Justin had no particular theory of the origin and nature of matter. He is content to accept Gen. i.1

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55. I Apol. 20. This pairing of “ordering” or “forming” and “making” is a commonplace in Justin. Cf., Dial. 11.1, for Justin’s designation of God as “Him who created and formed this universe (τοῦ ποιήσαντος καὶ διατάξαντος τόδε τὸ πᾶν).” 56. I Apol. 67. 57. For attestations to Atticus’s commitment to a temporal origin of cosmic generation, see: Plutarch, De Animae Procreatione in Timaeo, trans. Harold Cherniss (Volume XIII, Part I, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1993), 10, 1017 B; Proclus, In Platonis Timaeum, I 276, 30–277, 7 Diehl, Fr. 19 (Des Places ed., 73); I 283, 27–30 Diehl, Fr. 20 (Des Places ed., 73–74). 58. Dial. 5.1. In this connection, Justin opposes what is taught “by some so-called Platonists” (κατά τινας λεγομένους Πλατωνικούς), namely, that the soul is “unbegotten,” and thus, uncreated. 59. Such a critical reaction is expressed by Niels Hyldahl (Philosophie und Christentum. Eine Interpretation der Einleitung zum Dialog Justins [Kopenhagen: Prostant Apud Munksgaard, 1966], 202): Das überraschende Moment der Diskussion in Dial. 5, 1-2 ist jedoch nicht die Benutzung des erwähnten Arguments, sondern die Tatsache, dass die Psychologie der Kosmologie untergeordnet wird. Kosmologie und Psychologie sind kombiniert worden, und der Kosmologie werden Arguments abgezwungen, die für die Psychologie verhängnisvoll sind. Diese Kombination findet sich augenscheinlich nicht im mittleren Platonismus, und Justin selbst bekundet mit seinem Hinweis auf Tim. 41a-b (Dial. 5,4 in.), dass Platon eine solche Kombinierung vom Kosmologie und Psychologie nicht zugeschrieben werden die Timaiosstelle handelt nicht von der der Seele sondern . . . von der Welt. J. C. M. Van Winden (An Early Christian Philosopher: Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho Chapters One to Nine [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971], 87), however, rejects Hyldahl’s thesis on the grounds that “Justin purposely arranged this discussion on the immortality of the soul after the example of the much disputed problem of the eternity of the world . . . Plato and . . . the discussions of the Platonists on this matter gave plenty of scope to do so.” 60. Dial. 5.1. Here, Justin also muses that “perhaps there is a time” when souls do not exist. But as the subsequent exchange shows, this recognition of the createdness of souls does not compromise their immortality. In this context, “immortality” does not encompass an immunity to corruption. Rather, it presupposes the capacity of souls to live for all eternity by virtue of God’s will. As Justin continually affirms, whatever is created (that is, anything other than God) is capable of corruption (and even utter annihilation if God so wills). 61. Andresen (“Justin und der mittlere Platonismus,” 164) was a proponent of this line of interpretation, arguing that “Justin gehört also nach seiner philosophischen Vorbildung zu jener Richtung des Schulplatonismus, die in ihrer betont religiösen Einstellung an der Schöpfung der Welt festhält.” Robert Joly (Christianisme Et Philosophie. Etudes sur Justin et les Apogistes grecs du deuxieme siècle [Bruxelles: Editions De L’Univesite De Bruxelles, 1973], 56) echoes these sentiments: “Rappelons simplement que Justin se place ainsi du côte de Plutarque et d’Atticus, mais aussi de l’Aristote du De philosophia contre la tendance representée par Albinus et Taurus, mais qui remonte probablement à Xenocrate, Speusippe et Crantor.” 62. May, Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 123, n. 30.

Chapter Seven

The Christian Philosophy of Athenagoras of Athens

We possess few details concerning the life of Athenagoras. The little we do know, however, is illuminating. On the basis of the testimony of the fifthcentury Christian historian Philip of Sade (as recounted in Codex Bodleianus Baroccianus 142, fol. 216 [PG VI.182]) we learn that Athenagoras headed the school at Alexandria, that he flourished during the reigns of Hadrian (A.D. 117–138) and Antoninus (A.D. 138–161), and that he became a Christian even as he wore the garment of the philosopher, led the Academy, and prior to his conversion, opposed Christianity. 1 This last item of information is particularly revealing in view of the intensity of Athenagoras’s brand of apologetic. Indeed, he brings to bear all the zeal in support of the faith that a formerly vehement opponent can muster. Like the Apostle Paul, Athenagoras redirected energies once devoted to undermining Christianity in its vigorous defense. Athenagoras’s apologetic program differs markedly in character from that of Justin Martyr. While both Justin and Athenagoras relied upon the resources of Greek philosophy in their respective articulations of Christian teaching, their attitudes toward those resources reflect rather distinct intellectual orientations. Justin, as we have seen, was imbued with the conviction that the truth value of Platonism (in his estimation, the noblest of philosophies) was ultimately derived from the Mosaic tradition. Athenagoras’s writing, in contrast, displays a notable absence of any reference to the theory that Plato had appropriated his philosophical teachings from the Old Testament tradition. By freeing himself from the constraints of that assumption, Athenagoras acquired a greater flexibility—not only to use Greek philosophy for his theological purposes, but to engage in dialogue with that perspective as a Christian philosopher in his own right. 129

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We discern in Athenagoras more than an apologist of Christian belief. While he defends Christian theism against its critics, he also becomes a participant in what David Rankin characterizes as “a broader conversation . . . but doing so very much as a Christian.” 2 In this respect, we might designate Athenagoras as the first representative of what Etienne Gilson designates as “Christian Philosophy,” that is, the meeting of Greek philosophy with the teachings of Judeo-Christian Revelation. For Gilson, the critical issue is not whether there were “philosophic Christians” or Christians who “happened to be philosophers,” but rather, the extent to which Christian thinkers found a source of philosophical inspiration in revealed truths that “modified the conditions under which reason has to work.” 3 From this standpoint, Revelation posed new questions and introduced new problems to Greek dialectic that considerably “raised the bar” of philosophical speculation and opened fresh horizons of metaphysical inquiry (notably in regard to the question of cosmological origins). If Athenagoras was engaged in such a dialogical encounter with Greek philosophy, who did he perceive as his “interlocutors”? In broad terms, one might say that he placed himself in dialogue with the major figures of the philosophical tradition (i.e., Plato and Aristotle). As someone firmly rooted in the Athenian milieu of the latter half of the second century of the Christian era, however, Athenagoras found his primary point of contact with the eclectic Middle Platonism of his day. 4 This was by no means an accommodationist exercise on Athenagoras’s part, intending to show that Christian belief was completely reducible to Middle Platonic teaching. Barnard succinctly defines the terms of this relationship (at least as Athenagoras understood it): not an attempt to Hellenize Christianity, but the “Christianizing of Hellenism.” 5 By virtue of this agenda, he demonstrated that Christian intellectuals were not simply beholden to the philosophical tradition as passive respondents, but informed participants in a conversation that transcended the parameters of their own belief system. Athenagoras’s very ability to engage in this enterprise attests to a key conviction on his part pertinent to the relationship between faith and reason. From Athenagoras’s standpoint, Christian intellectuals could speak to their pagan counterparts in a persuasive manner precisely because the truths they endorsed were recognizable as true by all who submitted themselves to the dictates of rationality. Such an effort exerted a transformative effect on the very philosophical material from which Athenagoras drew for his dialectical resources. Like the recipient host in a grafting procedure, Christian Revelation was robust enough to incorporate the philosophical perspective into the contents of faith, thereby placing it on a new trajectory.

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WHY CHRISTIANS ARE NOT ATHEISTS Athenagoras’s role as “Christian philosopher” (and his influence by Middle Platonism) is fully evident in his Legatio pro Christianis (c. A.D. 176–180) and its treatment of the divine nature and the causal relationship between creatures and God. 6 The impetus to this treatment lies in Athenagoras’s wellcrafted response to the charge of atheism (a catchword, as in Socrates’s time, for any perceived challenge to the cult of the state and the religious beliefs it promoted). Athenagoras meets the charge of atheism on purely rational grounds, affirming Christian belief in one God and God’s transcendence over matter and perishable things. He links this monotheism with a creationist perspective that posits God as the ultimate Cause of everything which exists. 7 But any appeal to Christian monotheism as a means of countering this particular accusation would hardly find a receptive hearing among uncritical polytheists. If Athenagoras was to make a compelling case for his position, he had to speak to those pagan intellectuals who themselves viewed monotheism in a favorable light. Like the other Greek Apologists, Athenagoras proceeded from the premise that Christian theological teachings were compatible with the highest ideals and aspirations of Graeco-Roman culture. While his own monotheism was firmly grounded in scriptural teaching, it could also find a common ground with the monotheistic trend already operative in pagan intellectual circles. By the same token, the exclusivity inherent in Christian monotheism provides the ultimate referent for Athenagoras’s theology. While this theology could incorporate insights derived from the philosophical tradition, it was bound to go beyond that tradition in coming to terms with the personal God of Revelation—a God Who is absolutely transcendent, but intimately connected with the universe as a personal Creator. To a degree, Athenagoras relies upon apophatic language in describing the divine nature, emptying God of the limitations associated with created things. In keeping with this commitment to apophaticism, He refers to “a God Who is uncreated (ảγένητον), eternal (ảιδίον), invisible (ảόρατον), impassible (ảπαθῆ), incomprehensible (ảκατάληπτον), and infinite (ảχώρητον) who can be apprehended by mind and reason alone.” 8 Athenagoras’s initial listing of the appellation of “uncreated” (ảγένητον) in the series of divine attributes sets the tone for what follows. Indeed, God’s status as “eternal,” “invisible,” “impassible,” “incomprehensible,” and “infinite” are correlative with the fact that God is uncaused, that is, (a) without beginning; (b) beyond the sense realm of visible reality; (c) unaffected by the vagaries of change; (d) unknowable as He is in Himself; and (e) not limited in any spatio-temporal way. In this context, ảγένητον refers specifically to what never had a beginning, but exists eternally. 9 Herein lies the crux of the distinction be-

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tween the immutable (and therefore, incorruptible) Godhead and mutuble creatures. If Athenagoras resorts to such negative language, however, his commitment to apophaticism is not as pronounced as that of Justin. In contrast to Justin, Athenagoras never suggests that God is so transcendent that He cannot be named in any direct way. 10 While he designates God as “incomprehensible,” he still acknowledges His accessibility to us by means of our mind and reason. It is precisely on such rational grounds that Athenagoras affirms the irrationality of charging that those “who distinguish God from matter” (διαιροῦσιν ảπὸ τῆς ὕλης τὸν θεὸν) are atheists in any shape or form. 11 By virtue of this fundamental distinction, Athenagoras draws the metaphysical line of demarcation between what is uncreated, immutable, and incorruptible on the one hand, and what is created, mutable, and perishable on the other. This distinction lies at the heart of his rebuttal of the charge of atheism. If God is ontologically distinct from matter and things of a material nature, then God is wholly unique, as the one and only Creator in whom Christians invest their deepest faith. 12 From this standpoint, the root cause of atheism lies in a failure to distinguish between Creator and created, between the immutable, incorruptible Cause and changeable, corruptible creatures. In this absence of this distinction, one might easily place matter on a par with the God Who is uncreated and eternal and always the same. 13 Athenagoras’s positing of the ontological difference between God and matter (however vast the difference) by no means establishes an insurmountable gulf between creatures (particularly rational ones) and their Creator. Athenagoras balances his recognition of God’s absolute transcendence with a willingness to apply positive attributes to God. This is borne out by the centrality he imparts to the attribute of goodness. While Athenagoras denies that goodness constitutes a “part” of God, he nevertheless attaches goodness inextricably to the divine nature. 14 This powerful claim nonetheless requires qualification. Athenagoras is not claiming that God is somehow dependent upon the attribute of goodness, but only that this quality is inseparable from His nature. Because God is wholly simple (in contrast to the composite character of material things), any attribute that God possesses must run to His very essence. 15 THE BEING OF GOD Athenagoras’s attribution of goodness to the divine nature bespeaks his commitment to a Platonic metaphysics and its positing of the Form of the Good at the summit of the intelligible world, and thus, beyond the categories of being. But he also interprets Plato in a manner which anticipates the later medieval understanding of the transcendentals as the overarching attributes of existent

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reality. Indeed, Athenagoras goes beyond Plato by including being itself among the transcendental attributes of the eternal God accessible to our minds and reason: true being (τὸ ὄντως ὄν), oneness of nature (τὸ μονοφυές), the good which is truth flowing from him (τὸ ảγαθὸν ảπ’ αὐτοῦ ảποχεόμενον). 16 In Platonic thought (and later, in Neoplatonism), the Form of the Good stands above being and the intelligibility that finds expression in the World of Forms. 17 From Athenagoras’s Christian perspective, however, nothing can transcend the divine nature. As the ultimate Creator of all things, God is one and unified in Himself; God is the ultimate Good to which all things aspire; and God is the Truth which provides the perfect standard of truth on any level. 18 For this reason, he affirms what amounts to the convertibility of unity, goodness, and truth with the being of God. By identifying God as true being, Athenagoras demonstrates his originality as a Christian thinker, and by extension, as a Christian exponent of Middle Platonism. This identification finds a key Middle Platonic precedent in Plutarch of Chaeronea. In inquiring “What is Being (τι οὖν ὄντως ὄν ἐστι)?” Plutarch responds that “it is that which is eternal (τὸ ảίδιον), without beginning (ảγένητον) without end (ἄφθαρτον).” 19 By virtue of this definition, he draws the same contrast between imperishable Being and perishable matter that we find in Athenagoras. But when Athenagoras attributes Being to God, he does not merely designate God as the ultimate standard of form, order, and intelligibility. From a Christian perspective, Being assumes a robust existential connotation, in a manner consistent with God’s role as supreme Creator of all things. THE CONTINGENCY OF MATTER For Athenagoras, any discussion of created reality begins with matter, as its most fundamental constitutent. In contrast to God’s uncreated (ảγένητην) and eternal (ảίδιον) nature, matter is created (γενητὴν) and perishable (φθαρτήν). 20 The very clarity of this distinction dispels the kind of ambiguity that we encounter in the creation account of Justin Martyr. Justin, as we have seen, offers strong grounds for inferring that matter was created by God. But that conclusion (however reasonable it seems on the basis of Justin’s overall theological presuppositions) is still a matter of inference. Athenagoras takes a veritable giant step in relation to his patristic predecessors in his unequivocal pronouncement of the createdness of matter. By the same token, Athenagoras revises the Middle Platonic conception of matter as one of the “first principles” (archai), along with God and the Forms. 21 In the Didaskalikos (ch. 8), Alcinous interprets the Receptacle of Tim. 49A ff. (the “Errant Cause” or “Nurse of Becoming”) in terms of matter,

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the pure potentiality for formation by the demiourgos into the elements of the world. For Alcinous and like-minded Middle Platonists, matter stands in relation to God as an eternally existent substrate. 22 For Athenagoras, on the other hand, matter stands in relation to God the Creator as non-being stands in relation to being, that is, the relation between what is inherently perishable and what is wholly immune to change and perishability. In this context, matter represents more than a state of pure potentiality, as if it already possessed a quasi-existence as something mid-way between being and nonbeing, with a receptivity to formation and ordering. In contrast to Philo and Justin, Athenagoras leaves no doubt as to his position: matter itself (like everything other than God) is itself created, that is, brought into being by God. Herein lies the disparity between those who devote themselves to the worship of material images and those who recognize the ontological difference that renders things of a material nature wholly dependent upon God. Because Christians distinguish God from matter, they also “distinguish and divide (οἱ διακρίνοντες καὶ χωρίζοντες) the uncreated from the created (τὸ ảγένητον καὶ τὸ γενητόν), being from non-being (τὸ ὂν καὶ το οὐκ ὄν), and the intelligible from the perceptible.” 23 Athenagoras’s distinction between God and matter, then, does not merely differentiate a principle of form from a state of formlessness or a principle of order from a condition of disorder. More radically, it demarcates what is fully existent from what is otherwise non-existent in the absence of God’s creative fiat. Athenagoras’s metaphysical speculation is driven by his polemical concerns. Indeed, his refutation of the charge of atheism provides the framework within which his deliberations on God and matter unfold. He decries the attempts of the poets and philosophers to base their conceptions of God upon their own feeble imaginings, rather than on the basis of what we learn of God by means of Revelation. 24 The reduction of God to a material level underscores the disordering of metaphysical priorities which yields a hodgepodge of erroneous doctrines. Athenagoras neither demands more of perishable matter than it possesses, nor does he abandon God for the sake of the elements. 25 In the midst of this veritable morass of philosophical opinions, Athenagoras finds a firm bedrock in Plato. “If, as Plato says, the world is God’s craftsmanship (τέχνη τοῦ θεοῦ),” Athenagoras affirms that “I reverently draw near to the craftsman.” 26 In response to those who “divinize” aspects of the material universe, Athenagoras espouses a standard of true being that reflects Plato’s key metaphysical distinction between the intelligible and the perceptible worlds (Tim. 28a): the former encompasses the uncreated (ảγένητον), that is, what always exists, whereas the latter comprises the created (γενητόν), that is, the realm of non-being, encompassing those things with a beginning and an end to their existence. 27 On one level, this distinction

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provides Athenagoras’s criterion for turning the tables on his pagan critics. If their gods came into being, then they must be perishable. 28 In broader terms, this distinction provides the basis of his argument that God created matter, just as He creates everything else. THE “CRAFTSMAN” MOTIF The fact that Athenagoras does not subscribe to the theory that Plato “borrowed” or appropriated his cosmological theory from Moses played a significant role in his development as an independent thinker. While that theory emphasizes the derivation of Platonic teaching from the Mosaic tradition (and its ultimate reliance upon scriptural Revelation), it also promotes the questionable assumption that the biblical and Platonic accounts of creation are not merely compatible but fundamentally the same. Such an assumption is constraining for Judeo-Christian purposes, since it presupposes too close a correlation between Genesis and the Timaeus. By shedding that burdensome theory, Athenagoras acquired the freedom to engage in the very innovativeness that yielded his designation of matter as created (γενητὴν). 29 In this way, he could approach Plato and his commentators on more equal (and in more critical) terms. Although he continually resorts to Platonic teaching in defending Christian monotheism against charges of atheism, he also displays a willingness to go beyond Platonic and Middle Platonic categories in the interests of his Christian vision of reality. 30 Yet, as the Legatio shows, Platonism is never far removed from Athenagoras’s discussions of creation. This Platonic affinity is readily evident in Athenagoras’s incorporation of the “craftsman” motif into his treatment of the dynamic of God’s creative action. We have already seen how Athenagoras likens the world to God’s “craftsmanship” and God to the “craftsman.” This motif is fully operative in his discussions of the manner in which God creates. “Matter needs a craftsman,” he argues, “and the craftsman needs matter,” for “how could there be shapes without matter or a craftsman?” 31 On the surface, this statement might imply that God and matter are mutually dependent. But there is a substantive difference between (a) the notion that God forms the matter that He has created, and (b) the notion that God relies upon preexistent matter in order to create, in the manner that a human craftsman implements his craft. Everything that Athenagoras says about the metaphysical status of matter supports the former option rather than the latter one. What we do not find in the Legatio, however, is any explicit pronouncement that God created matter from nothing. While Athenagoras provides strong grounds for inferring matter’s creation ex nihilo, we must still come to terms with his use of an analogue (prominent in Leg. 15, 2–3) strongly suggestive of the classic Platonic model

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of creation, that is, from formless matter (ex amorphou hules). In this connection, Athenagoras places matter in relation to “God the craftsman” (ὁ θεὸς δημιοθργός), as clay stands in relation to the potter. 32 But on the basis of this analogue, how are we to construe the causal dependence of matter upon God? On the one hand, Athenagoras stresses that matter is “subservient” (ὑπακούσα) to God in the exercise of His craft, just as the clay requires a potter to become pottery. 33 On the other hand, he describes this subservience in language which any Middle Platonist could readily endorse. The “matter . . . receptive to all modifications,” he contends, “did not receive articulation, form, and order (διάκρισον καὶ σχῆμα καὶ κόσμον) without God the craftsman.” 34 How do we account for the seeming inconsistency in the Legatio between Athenagoras’s ongoing emphasis upon the ontological difference between God and created matter and his treatment of matter along Platonic lines as a component (albeit the foundational component) in God’s creative activity? Are such diverse depictions of matter’s dependence upon God wholly irreconcilable? Athenagoras’s designation of God as supreme “craftsman” lends support to the thesis that the act of creation amounts to a transformation of preexistent matter. But we must remember that early Fathers (e.g., Clement of Rome and Justin) freely used the appellation of God as “craftsman” (demiourgos) to describe His causal action in its most general terms. While the appellation of demiourgos is wholly consistent with his reference to God (Leg. 4, 2) as “Maker of this universe” (τοῦ παντὸς ποιητήν), it also highlights that dimension of God’s creative action which imparts form, order, and intelligibility to the universe. This focus, of course, does not rule out God’s creation of matter. A commitment to matter’s creation from nothing is not incompatible with the adoption of a motif that describes the act of creation in sequential terms (in the manner suggested by Philo Judaeus and Justin alike). 35 Athenagoras, in fact, points us in this direction when he explicitly rejects the claim that matter existed before God, since the active cause always takes precedence over what comes into being. 36 But if God’s creative action assumes a “precedence” over what is created, how is “priority” and “posteriority” to be construed in this context? By virtue of his grounding in the intellectual milieu of second century Athens, Athenagoras was undoubtedly conversant with the ongoing Middle Platonic debate regarding the interpretation of Plato’s teaching (Tim. 28b) that the universe “has come into existence . . . from some beginning.” If Athenagoras reveals his allegiance in this debate, any evidence the Legatio provides is rather sparse. In endorsing Plato’s distinction between the intelligible (what always exists) and the perceptible (which is created), Athenagoras characterizes the created as what has a beginning and an end of its existence. 37 Does this isolated statement, however, necessarily align him with that minority group of Middle Platonists (Plutarch

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and Atticus) who interpreted the gegonon language of Tim. 28b in literal terms, affirming a temporal origin of the universe? The difficulty is only compounded in view of an absence of any explicit reference on his part to the creation account of Genesis. As a Christian philosopher, Athenagoras was committed to a fidelity to scriptural teaching. It is reasonable to assume, then, that he would tend toward the position that creation had a beginning at some point in time. But as our investigation of the creation accounts of Philo and Justin demonstrates, the notion of the “beginning” need not be defined exclusively in temporal terms. Athenagoras’s designation of God as “active cause” calls to mind Aristotle’s stipulation that “in all cases that which acts is superior to that which is affected, and the principle to its matter.” 38 In this respect, Aristotle affirms an ontological priority (rather than a temporal priority) of act over the potency of matter. From this standpoint, we might view God’s creative action as encompassing a simultaneity of cause and its created effects, a causal relation in which the creation of matter and its formation and ordering are inseparably united. 39 The fact that Athenagoras imparts a causal efficacy to God and created contingency to matter is evident. What remains to be considered is his account of the dynamic of creation through the agency of the Logos. THE “FIRST OFFSPRING” Athenagoras’s Logos theory stands in continuity with that of Justin on several levels: both thinkers assign a dual role to the Logos (its immanence in the Godhead on the one hand, and its expression as the Father’s agent in creation on the other); both affirm the unity of the Godhead even as they attribute a distinct operation to the Logos as the Father’s creative instrument; both must confront the objection that the Logos stands in a position subordinate to the Father. Like Justin, Athenagoras is firm in his conviction in the indissoluble union of the Godhead. For him, the Son is the Logos (that is, the Word of the Father), but “the Father and Son are one” (ἑνὸς ὄντος τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ υἱοῦ). 40 It is significant that Athenagoras attributes the task of creation primarily to the Godhead, rather than to its individual members. While he imputes the responsibility for creating, framing, and governing the universe to God, however, he specifies that these acts are accomplished “through the Logos that issues from Him.” 41 Any distinction here between Father and Son is not based upon a diversity of natures, but points to the operation assigned the Son/Logos. Athenagoras dispels any claim that the Logos is subordinate to the Father, as a creature that came into existence. The appellation “Son” merely assumes a relational significance as “first offspring of the Father”

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(πρῶτον γέννημα εἶναι τῷ πατρί). 42 We can easily discern the inspiration of Jn 1:2–3 here. But this scriptural influence cannot be detached from Athenagoras’s philosophical agenda. One who so strongly upholds the ontological difference between God and creatures requires a means of linking the transcendent Godhead’s creative activity with a temporal realm of becoming. Indeed, this was a concern for Judeo-Christian and Middle Platonists alike. In contrast to the Middle Platonists (who rely upon intermediary principles), Athenagoras (like Philo and Justin) incorporates the Logos into his creation account. For Christian thinkers, of course, the notion of the Logos finds its definitive historical manifestation in Christ, as the Word of God Incarnate. Athenagoras analyzes the operation of the Logos in terms of interior and exterior dimensions, in a manner consistent with what we encounter in Philo. 43 In Athenagoras’s version of this distinction, the Son of God is designated as Logos/Word of the Father on two levels: first, “in Ideal Form” (ἐν ἰδέᾳ); and secondly, “in Energizing Power” (ἐν ἐνεργείᾳ). 44 His depiction of the Logos as “Ideal Form” calls to mind Philo’s identification of the Logos with the noetic world encompassing the divine ideas, the prototypes of things comprising the visible universe. For Philo, as we have seen, the Logos stands in relation to material creation as the city planned by the architect exists conceptually in the mind of the artist. By the same token, Philo imparts an active role to the Logos as the instrument responsible for introducing form and order into the universe by means of these intelligible patterns. Athenagoras follows suit in attributing an “Energizing Power” to the Father’s Word, as the creative agent that “exteriorizes” divine ideas in arranging amorphous matter devoid of qualities. 45 In this respect, we cannot separate the Logos as “Energizing Power” from God’s role as “active cause” of creatures. If God constitutes the “eternal mind” (νοῦς ảαδίος), God is one with the Logos from the beginning. Athenagoras finds his scriptural touchstone here in Prv 8:22 (attesting to the evidence provided by “the prophetic Spirit”): For the Lord made me the beginning (ἔκτισέν με αρχὴν) of His ways for His works. 46 By virtue of the unity of the Father and the Son/Logos, the Logos’s functions as “Ideal Form” and “Energizing Power” are implicit in an integral act of creation. While Athenagoras’s Logos theory lends itself to comparison with its counterparts in Philo and Justin, he provides precious little in the way of detail regarding how the Logos actually implements creation on the Father’s behalf. His naming of the Logos as “Ideal Form” clearly reflects an attachment to a noetic model of God’s creative activity, whereby God (as eternal mind) eternally coexists with the Word, the Father’s mind and reason. 47 But we do not find any direct reference to the Logos’s preliminary creation of an intelligible cosmos. Indeed, Athenagoras dispenses with any commentary on the opening verses of Genesis, and more pointedly, any exegesis of the “six days” of creation. It was Philo’s exegesis of the hexaemeron, we recall, that

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supported his depiction of creation as proceeding in successive stages, from the creation of the kosmos noetos to the making of the material universe. Still, Athenagoras contends that the Logos infuses creation with form and order. But how does such intelligibility manifest itself on a human level? In point of fact, Athenagoras does not develop a counterpart of Justin’s notion of the logos spermatikos as a means of explicating the Word’s inculcation of the “seeds” of rationality in all people. But he clearly suggests that everyone (regardless of their access to divine Revelation) is guided by reason, and thus, all enjoy a rational capacity to grasp truth. From this standpoint, Athenagoras presupposes that even his opponents could recognize the cogency and persuasiveness of his arguments in favor of God’s existence and the ontological difference between God and creatures. 48 This is precisely why he derides the irrationality of those who would reduce God to the level of material and perishable being. THE PROVIDENTIAL GOD While Athenagoras upholds the transcendence of the God responsible for the finite universe, he also views God as intimately involved with creation on all levels, from the highest to the lowest orders of reality. As the instrument of creation, the Logos proceeding from the Godhead sets in place ranks of angels and ministers for the proper arranging of the elements, the heavens, and all other things, in relation to the goodness of the whole. 49 Athenagoras’s adoption of Plato’s designation of theos as “Maker and Father” (Tim. 28c) attests to his recognition of the complementarity of God’s roles as Creator and providential sustainer of creatures. 50 This phraseology, as we have seen, carried over into the Middle Platonic tradition. Alcinous and Atticus closely align a dependence upon a transcendent Cause with a beneficent governance directed toward the realization of goodness, truth, and beauty on a universal scale. From a Judeo-Christian perspective, such an alignment is wholly compatible with the theological presuppositions surrounding the God of Revelation, that is, a personal Creator exercising a paternal care over what He brings into being. Athenagoras’s incorporation of Plato’s “Maker and Father” motif builds upon a well-established precedent in the creation accounts of Philo, Clement of Rome, and Justin. For such thinkers, the act of creation (whether one defines it as a bringing into being or as a formation and ordering) coincides with an attunement to the world’s well-being. Athenagoras’s assignment of a providential role to God represents an implicit challenge to the Aristotelian notion of an aloof Unmoved Mover, whose transcendence presupposes an utter detachment from the universe. Still, this does not utterly rule out any Aristotelian influence upon Athenagoras’s depiction of God’s creative and

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providential activity. His very characterization of God as “eternal mind” suggests Aristotle’s identification of theos with “Self-Thinking Thought,” the ultimate standard of intelligibility toward which everything aspires for its completion. This is not surprising in view of the Aristotelian dimension of the Middle Platonism with which Athenagoras would have been acquainted. In this connection, he could find a compelling touchstone for his purposes in Alcinous’s link between God as “father and cause of all things” and the Aristotelian Unmoved Mover, the final end of intelligible movement and change. 51 For Athenagoras, however, divine causality is mediated by the Logos, the “mind and reason” of the Father. He thus integrates the classical philosophical vision of a mind-governed universe with his theory of the Logos as the principle of universal rationality. 52 Athenagoras finds the ideal appellation for designating the coextensiveness of God’s creative and providential work in demiourgos, that is, the “craftsman” of creation. This title is rich enough in its connotations (in both the Platonic tradition and in early patristic circles) to embrace both aspects of God’s causal action. As we have seen, Athenagoras relies upon the “craftsman” motif in describing God’s formation and ordering of amorphous matter. But the demiourgos-God that “crafts” the universe also “conserves and governs” (συνέχοντα καὶ εποπτεύοντα) the totality of creation through the knowledge and artfulness emanating from the divine mind. 53 We are reminded here of Philo’s attribution of a conserving role to divine providence in “holding together” a created universe which is liable to dissolution and even annihilation in the absence of God’s overarching attentiveness. 54 The teleological outlook against which Athenagoras develops his understanding of divine providence runs counter to a mechanistic perspective which reduces the workings of the universe to a matter of sheer randomness. He specifically indicts those who assume that everything emerged as the result of pure chance, without a guiding intelligence or purposefulness inherent in natural processes. 55 Creation mirrors the intelligibility of its Creator, by virtue of the fact that effects (however remote from God) resemble their ultimate Cause. The rational character of God’s creative and providential action thus sets the tone for what transpires on every creaturely level. Accordingly, Athenagoras appeals to the totality of things as evidence of its subjection to providence. 56 In this context, he resorts to a nautical analogue that speaks directly to members of a culture well accustomed to maritime endeavors: just as a well-equipped ship cannot sail without the direction of a pilot, the material elements (regardless of their beautiful arrangement) cannot serve their purpose without God’s providential direction. 57 We are clearly worlds apart from the natural theology of Aristotle. The God of Athenagoras (that is, the God of Judeo-Christian Revelation) is present to His creation from its origin to its final end, as the Alpha and the Omega of its existence.

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THE CONTRIBUTION OF ATHENAGORAS Athenagoras shaped the apologetic endeavor of the second century in a bold way. His originality as a thinker is measurable in terms of his relationship with the philosophical tradition. On the one hand, he actively incorporates insights and motifs from Plato and his successors. On the other hand, he demonstrates his ability to articulate his teaching in the voice of a Christian philosopher in his own right in coming to grips with the contents of faith. His willingness to distance himself from the theory that the Timaeus account of cosmic generation was derived from Mosaic teaching afforded him the flexibility to adapt the resources of Platonism in service to the distinctive conception of God and creation rooted in Revelation. As the Legatio demonstrates, Athenagoras was receptive to the authority that Plato commanded among his pagan interlocutors. Indeed, he continually appeals to him for support in his defense of Christian monotheism. But Athenagoras also possessed an independence of mind which permitted him to define the divine nature in a robust existential manner. By identifying God with true being, Athenagoras goes beyond Plato in positing being rather than goodness as the core attribute of the ultimate first principle. Granted, he might have found a Middle Platonic precedent for this teaching in Plutarch. But Athenagoras infuses it with a more profound metaphysical import, in a manner befitting the sovereign Creator of everything which exists. For Athenagoras, God is not only the cause of form and intelligibility, but existence itself. The identification of God with being undergirds Athenagoras’s metaphysical distinction between God and creatures. In this respect, he closely follows Justin in designating God as the “uncreated” originary source for changing, corruptible reality. According to Athenagoras’s version of the ontological difference, the contrast is not merely between immutable being and what is in a state of becoming, but between being and non-being in its most unequivocal sense. For Athenagoras (as for Philo and Justin), matter provides the most basic constituent of created reality. His emphasis upon the causal dependence of all things upon God presupposes the creation of matter as well. But does Athenagoras endorse the creation of matter from nothing? As we have seen, the Legatio provides persuasive evidence that he tended in this direction, simply by virtue of his statements on the createdness of matter. It would be left to another second-century Greek Apologist, Tatian of Syria, to provide a firmer statement on this particular issue.

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NOTES 1. William R. Schoedel, Introduction to his edition of Athenagoras’s Legatio (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1972), ix; Rankin, Athenagoras. Philosopher and Theologian (Surrey, UK/ Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009), 5. 2. David Ivan Rankin, Athenagoras. Philosopher and Theologian, 26. 3. Etienne Gilson, The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy, trans. A. H. C. Downes (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1936), 2; 5. Bernard Pouderon (D’Athenes À Alexandrie. Études Sur Athénagore et les Origines de la Philosophie Chrétienne [Quebec: Les Presses de L’Université Laval; Louvain/Paris: Éditions Peeters, 1997], 361) supports Athenagoras’s claim to the title “Christian philosopher” in these terms: “C’est donc dans le ton et la manière qu’Athénagore fait preuve de la plus grande originalité: en situant sa démarche sur le plan de la seule rationalité, il mérite plus que tout autre le nom de ‘philosophie chretien’ qu’il s’attribue, et qui lui a sans doute valu de ne point figurer parmi les saints de la grande Eglise.” 4. L. W. Barnard, Athenagoras. A Study in Second Century Christian Apologetic. Théologie Historique 18 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1972), 44. More specifically, Athenagoras drew upon the summaries of the teachings of Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics found in Middle Platonic doxographies. Cf., Athenagoras of Athens, Legatio, trans. William R. Schoedel (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1972), 6, 2. 5. L. W. Barnard, “The Philosophical and Biblical Background of Athenagoras,” Epektasis. Melanges Patristiques Offerts Au Cardinal Jean Daniélou (Paris: Beauchesne, 1972), 16. This is not to deny, of course, that Justin worked along similar lines. If, as Barnard contends, Athenagoras contributed to a “Christianizing” of Hellenism, it can also be argued (as Charles Nahm does in “The Debate on the ‘Platonism’ of Justin Martyr,” The Second Century. A Journal of Early Christian Studies, 9, No. 3 [Fall 1992]: 151) that Justin attempted a “Christianization” of Platonism. While Justin’s creative originality in adapting Platonism for Christian purposes is readily evident in his writings, however, Athenagoras embarks on a more ambitious version of this endeavor. 6. In this vein, Abraham J. Malherbe (“The Structure of Athenagoras’s ‘Supplicatio Pro Christianis,’” Vigiliae Christianae 23 [1969]: 1–20) specifically draws a parallel between the composition of Legatio 4–12 and the overall organization of the Didaskalikos. 7. Leg. 4.1. Here, Athenagoras contrasts Christian belief in God with the atheism of Diagoras of Melos (late fifth century B.C.), a poet and Sophist known for his ridicule of the Eleusian mysteries. It is notable that Athenagoras not only recounts examples of Diagoras’s impiety and irreverence toward popular piety, but characterizes him as one who completely denied the existence of theos. 8. Leg. 10, 1. By virtue of Athenagoras’s use of such appellations, I do not entirely agree with Barnard’s claim (Athenagoras. A Study in Second Century Christian Apologetic, 89) that Athenagoras does not rely upon the Platonic heritage of the via negativa in his theology. 9. R. P. C. Hanson, The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God. The Arian Controversy 318–381 (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1997), 203. In contrast to Athenagoras, Justin (Dial. 5) designates God as agennetos (ảγέννητος), with the connotation of “Unbegotten” or eternally existent. This term serves Justin’s purposes in highlighting God’s absolute transcendence and the fact that God is completely “underived.” 10. Athenagoras, in fact, blends apophatic appellations with positive imagery in describing the divine nature (Leg. 10, 1). 11. Leg. 4, 1. 12. Leg. 4, 2. 13. Leg. 22, 3. 14. Leg. 24, 2. 15. Leg. 8. 16. Leg. 23, 7. According to Rankin (Athenagoras. Philosopher and Theologian, 178), Athenagoras was the first Christian thinker to have identified the uncreated God with Being. 17. On this point, consider the illuminating remarks of W. Norris Clarke, S.J. (The One and the Many. A Contemporary Thomistic Metaphysics [Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005], 291–92):

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Plato and Neoplatonism introduced unity and goodness as attributes of every reality, descending by participation from the supreme One-Good. But they did not include being itself in the list, because “being” for them signified a limited intelligible form as part of the whole system of intelligible essences defined by relation to each other. But the ultimate One and Good was above this whole realm of determinate intelligible essences or forms, hence “beyond being,” . . . and even beyond intelligibility itself in the ordinary sense of clear rational concepts. 18. In this triad of attributes, Athenagoras appears to anticipate what Clarke (The One and the Many. A Contemporary Thomistic Metaphysics, 292) designates as “the basic trio” of transcendental properties that emerges during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (i.e., being as one, true, and good) and “remained the classic formulation from then on.” 19. Plutarch, De E Apud Delphos, trans. Frank Cole Babbitt (Volume V, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1962), 19, 392 E–F. Plutarch posits two first principles of his own: the opposing influences of the One and the Indefinite Dyad. Cf., De Iside et Osiride, trans. Frank Cole Babbitt (Volume V, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1962), 369 E. 20. Leg. 4, 1. 21. Cf., Plutarch, Quaestiones Convivales, trans. Edwin L. Minar, Jr., F. H. Sanbach, and W. C. Helmhold (Volume IX, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1951), VIII, 4, 720 A–B, who addresses the three-fold division in the Timaeus of “the first principles from which the cosmos comes to birth.” Alcinous treats this triad of “first principles” in three successive chapters of the Didaskalikos: Ch. 8 (on matter), Ch. 9 (on the Forms), and Ch. 10 (on god). Bernard Pouderon (Athénagore D’Athènes. Philosophe Chrétien [Paris: Beauchesne, 1989], 117–18) describes Athenagoras’s “demotion” of matter from the status of “first principle” (as coexistent with God) against the background of the Christian doctrine of creation ex nihilo: Athénagore . . . s’efforce de rabaisser le principe matériel, de le remettre à sa juste place, à la fois seconde et secondaire . . . de lui enlever sa qualité meme de “principe” . . . la doctrine chrétienne ne saurait accepter un dualisme de fait, absolument inconciliable avec l’affirmation d’une création ex nihilo; elle se doit de revaler la matière à son juste rang, pour qu’elle ne paraisse pas nécessaire à Dieu tout autant que Dieu l’est a la matière. 22. While Plato’s Timaeus does not explicitly refer to “matter” (hyle), some commentators construe the Receptable itself as matter or a material cause, the “empty space” in which the elements are brought into order. In commenting on Tim. 50–51, Rankin (Athenagoras. Philosopher and Theologian, 105) reflects this viewpoint, contrasting the eternal character of the Middle Platonic God with generated and perishable matter. For this reason, Rankin also argues (Athenagoras. Philosopher and Theologian, 52) that “Athenagoras’ implicit claim that matter is to be regarded as included in the Platonic notion of the ‘becoming’ is not entirely faithful to Plato himself.” 23. Leg. 15, 1. 24. Leg. 7, 2. 25. Leg. 16, 4. 26. Leg. 16, 3. Cf., Athenagoras’s contention (Leg. 15, 3) that just as the craftsman deserves greater praise than the product of the craftsmanship, God the Artificer merits praise for the arrangement and order of the universe. 27. Leg. 19, 2. 28. Leg. 19, 1. Cf., Leg. 15, 4. 29. Leg. 6, 2. Conversely, the fact that Justin does not explicitly teach the creation of matter might serve to illustrate the degree to which he was still bound to Platonic ways of thinking. 30. Cf., Leg. 6, 2. 31. Leg. 19, 4.

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32. Leg. 15, 2. 33. Leg. 15, 2. 34. Leg. 15, 2. 35. As we have seen (in chapters 4 and 6, respectively), both Philo and Justin (attempting to reconcile the teaching of Genesis on the “days” of creation with Middle Platonic ways of thinking) suggest a sequential model of creation, whereby God created the matter that He organized and rendered intelligible. From the standpoint of Rankin (Athenagoras. Philosopher and Theologian, 69), the fact that Athenagoras does not explicitly refer to matter’s creation ex nihilo bespeaks a similar fidelity to his philosophical sources: “Athenagoras nowhere speaks of a creation by God ‘out of nothing.’ His thought on the matter of that out of which creation takes place is undeniably influenced . . . by the philosophical presuppositions of the day: that the world was made out of unformed matter, whose own origin is itself not speculated upon.” 36. Leg. 19, 4. 37. Leg. 19, 2. 38. Aristotle, De Anima, trans. Hugh Lawson-Tancred (London: Penguin Books, 1986), III.5 (430a). Aristotle refers here specifically to the ontological priority of the active intellect over the passive intellect (even if knowledge in a potential state assumes a temporal priority in individual cases). But his argument is applicable to the priority of act over potency in general. 39. This interpretation (as we saw in chapter 4) finds a precedent in Philo, who maintains that God (by virtue of His unoriginate nature) created all things simultaneously, rather than in a temporal manner. 40. Leg. 10, 2. 41. Leg. 10, 1. 42. Leg. 10, 3. 43. This statement requires qualification. I am not contending that Athenagoras’s Logos theory exhibits a dependence upon Philo. Rather, I merely wish to stress the discernible continuity between Philo and Christian Middle Platonists such as Justin and Athenagoras in this vein. 44. Leg. 10, 2. 45. Leg. 10, 3. Cf., the comment of William R. Schoedel (note to Leg. 10, 2) in his edition/ translation of Athenagoras’s Legatio: “It appears that a Platonic term (Form, Idea) is linked with one that is Aristotelian (Energizing Power, Act). The phrase as a whole is probably modelled on the Stoic-Philonic distinction between the logos endiathetos (containing all Forms) and the logos prophorikos (as agent in creation). 46. Leg. 10, 4. 47. Leg. 10, 2; 10, 3. 48. Athenagoras’s conviction in the universal dissemination of rationality through the Logos’s agency is evident in the authority he imparts to Plato. At Leg. 23, 7, he refers to the one who could understand by “mind and reason” (νῷ καὶ λόγῷ). In view of the fact that Athenagoras designates the Word as the “mind and reason” of the Father, the implication is evident: even pagan thinkers can attain a natural knowledge of God by means of reasoning. 49. Leg. 10, 5. 50. Leg. 27, 2, where Athenagoras refers to God as “the Father and Maker of all things” (πατρὸς καὶ ποιητοῦ τῶν ὅλων). 51. Alcinous, Didaskalikos, trans. John Dillon (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1993) 9, 1; 10, 2–3. 52. In the philosophical tradition, the notion of a mind-governed universe is inextricably connected with the teleological perspective and the conviction that things are ordered in a manner conducive to the realization of the good. 53. Leg. 13, 3. 54. For pertinent references to Philo’s discussion of this theme, see notes 10–12 in chapter 4 of this book. 55. Leg. 25, 3. 56. Leg. 25, 2. 57. Leg. 22, 12.

Chapter Eight

Tatian of Syria “Stages” of Creation

Our investigation of Justin and Athenagoras has disclosed that the relationship of the second-century Greek Apologists to the philosophical tradition was a complex one indeed. While their fidelity to Scripture required a critical distancing from that tradition, they actively incorporated its resources in articulating and defending the contents of their faith. The gradual absorption of philosophical insights from Plato and the Middle Platonists into the Christian mainstream prompted an evolving understanding of the meaning and metaphysical implications of the doctrine of creation. In a very real sense, however, the forging of a distinctively Christian doctrine of creation can be monitored on the basis of shifting attitudes toward the intellectual heritage of the Hellenic and Hellenistic thought worlds. From the outset of the Christian era, thinkers were imbued with the conviction in the compatibility between the cosmology of the Timaeus (and its Middle Platonic offshoots) and the teaching of the opening verses of Genesis. Yet, this thesis carried a certain liability for those who upheld it, to the extent that it promoted a somewhat uncritical reading of Genesis from a Platonic perspective. A particularly nettling problem in this vein (looming large in Philo, Justin, and Athenagoras) concerns the metaphysical status of matter in creation. Did God create matter from nothing, or did matter preexist, “ready at hand” so to speak, for God’s formation and ordering? Philo, Justin, and Athenagoras all tend to blur the distinction between the notions of creation ex nihilo and creation from formless matter (ex amorphous hules). Granted, Athenagoras represents a notable exception to this trend, in view of his teaching that matter is created. But he also depicts God’s creative activity as the work of a “craftsman” that introduces form and order into formless, disordered matter. 145

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This is not to say that we cannot at least infer a commitment to matter’s creation ex nihilo in Philo, in Justin, and Athenagoras. But in each case, we must also infer that these thinkers endorsed a sequential mode of creation comprising separate but complementary phases: the initial creation of matter by God and its subsequent formation into the universe. We find an explicit development of this notion in Tatian of Syria (a disciple of Justin and near contemporary of Athenagoras). For Tatian, the “stages” in question are part and parcel of a single creative action, whereby God brings into being the matter that the Logos transforms into an intelligible universe. In this respect, Tatian displays a clarity and precision on this issue that represents a major step toward overcoming any lingering sense of ambiguity regarding the creation of matter from nothing. TATIAN AND THE PHILOSOPHERS Tatian (b. c. A.D. 120) exemplifies the ambivalent attitude of early Christian thinkers toward secular wisdom. Like Justin and Athenagoras, he was a convert to Christianity. As such, he was attuned to the thought-worlds of both Athens and Jerusalem. This “dual citizenship,” so to speak, generated a tension that runs to the heart of his theology. On the one hand, he exhibits a general disdain for Graeco-Roman culture. On the other hand, he resorts to the philosophical resources of that same culture for his apologetic purposes. This ambivalence is clearly not peculiar to Tatian alone among the secondcentury Apologists. But it assumes a greater urgency in his writing, by virtue of the intensity of his critique of Greek philosophy and its representatives. Who was Tatian and what influences were operative in his polemical stance? Tatian himself provides the best source of information in this vein, at the very end of his Oratio ad Graecos. “All this, men of Greece, I have compiled for you,” he affirms, “I Tatian, a philosopher among the barbarians, born in the land of the Assyrians, and educated first in your learning and secondly in what I profess to preach . . . knowing who God is and what is His creation I offer myself to you.” 1 This quote provides much more than a conclusion to the Oratio. Indeed, it affords us a window into Tatian’s varied and rather conflicted background. His designated place of birth (Assyria) places his origin outside the cultural mainstream. By the same token, his selfidentification as “a philosopher among the barbarians” indicates a claim to membership in the intellectual milieu of those “men of Greece” to whom the work is addressed. While Tatian considers himself someone attuned to Greek learning, he also stresses his grounding in the contents of his preaching. This preaching, we see, focuses upon two key doctrines: the nature of God and creation.

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Tatian’s journey of faith and reason was a circuitous one. He informs us that his conversion was prompted by reading “some barbarian writings” (an oblique reference to the Jewish Scriptures). He found these texts persuasive because of their humility and simplicity, but more specifically, because they offer an intelligible creation narrative and recognize one sole ruler of all things. 2 Following his conversion, he became a follower of Justin in Rome, a relationship reflected in the parallels between their teachings and intellectual outlooks. In the aftermath of Justin’s martyrdom, however, Tatian (according to the testimony of Irenaeus) left the Church and developed a doctrine bearing a resemblance to the teachings of Valentinus, Marcion, and Saturninus. 3 The Oratio ad Graecos encompasses an extended diatribe against almost all aspects of classical culture. This attack (focusing on such topics as astrology, sorcery, medicine, oracles, acting, dancing, mime, drama, and music) finds a recurring referent in Tatian’s critique of philosophy and its perceived connection with mythologizing and ignorance. 4 A central feature of this polemic lies in his argument that everything the “Greeks” possess (including their philosophy) depends upon “foreign” sources. “What that is distinguished,” he pointedly asks, “have you produced by your philosophizing?” 5 This assumption is consistent with the commonly held belief among late antique Jewish and early Christian thinkers that Greek philosophy (but most notably, Platonism) was derived from a revelatory wisdom conveyed through Moses and the prophets. That assumption, however, rests upon the more sweeping one that what is older is superior in truth value to what comes later in history. 6 On the surface, it would appear that Tatian’s disposition toward the Mosaic provenance of Greek philosophy was no different from that of his teacher Justin. In point of fact, they draw radically different conclusions regarding this thesis. Justin views the affinities between Genesis and the Timaeus in a highly positive light. For him, the “derived” character of Platonism attests to its authoritativeness among philosophical schools. Tatian, however, considers such a supposed dependence as confirming its weakness and parasitism. From his standpoint, the philosophy of the “Greeks” can only be a specious version of the love of wisdom that does not measure up to the Christian standard. The Oratio brings Tatian’s brand of Christian wisdom to the fore in coming to terms with fundamental teachings regarding the supreme Godhead and the emergence of creation. Tatian articulates those teachings in the manner of one indebted to the same intellectual outlook he so strongly derides. His reliance upon its resources, however, was rather restrained. As Emily Hunt intriguingly observes, Tatian “does make use of Hellenistic philosophy, but it is not obvious since he does not consciously use Hellenistic philosophy to validate Christian claims as . . . Justin does.” 7 Such a psychological consideration aside, the fact remains that Tatian does indeed draw upon the

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philosophy of those “Greeks” in the interests of his Christian apologetic. His attribution of a Mosaic inspiration to that philosophical perspective thus served a dual purpose. On the one hand, it could justify his recourse to a pagan philosophy that he firmly believed was ultimately rooted in Revelation. On the other hand, it allowed him to benefit from the concepts which the philosophical tradition offered for explicating the tenets of his faith. How, then, are we to construe Tatian’s “use” of Hellenistic philosophy and his relation to that tradition of inquiry? Following Hunt’s lead, we might compare his methodology with that of Justin. Tatian undoubtedly absorbed a good deal of Justin’s apologetic, perhaps even to the extent that he was not completely attuned to the Middle Platonic dimension inherent in that program (and subsequently, in his own). But we should not underestimate Tatian’s familiarity with philosophy. The Oratio provides ample evidence of his acquaintance with philosophers and their teachings. From this standpoint, the claim that he incorporated the insights of Philo and Justin without any recognition whatsoever of their philosophical underpinnings is not entirely persuasive. 8 Still, a conversance with philosophical currents of thought is one thing; an active engagement with those currents is quite another. Tatian simply does not come to terms with the philosophical tradition on its own grounds as a conduit to truth. His hostility to that tradition impeded his ability to engage in such a dialogical encounter as a genuine interlocutor. In my estimation, then, Tatian is better characterized as a polemical theologian, rather than as a Christian philosopher on the order of Athenagoras (and to a lesser degree, Justin). 9 Tatian’s critique of Graeco-Roman culture provided the framework within which he crafted his contribution to the development of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. This polemic finds a continual touchstone in its proclamation of the uniqueness of the Judeo-Christian God in contrast to the gods of pagan worship. What Tatian says in this vein is consistent with the theological presuppositions that dominate the apologetic endeavors of Justin and Athenagoras. The Oratio echoes their emphasis upon the ontological distinction between God and creatures, God’s utter transcendence, and the apophatic approach to the divine nature that such transcendence requires. The hallmark of Tatian’s theology, however, lies in the succinctness he brings to bear in articulating his arguments. The spareness of his language lends itself to an incisiveness that facilitates his apologetic goals. We find the core of Tatian’s teaching regarding God and creation in three substantive chapters (that is, Ad Gr. 4, 5, and 12) that serve as the primary focus of my subsequent discussion.

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THE TRANSCENDENT GOD Ad Gr. 4 provides Tatian’s most comprehensive statement regarding the scope of creaturely contingency, encompassing what amounts to a synopsis of his overall theology of creation. Accordingly, it highlights the rather subtle interplay between the polemical and theological currents that weave their way through the work as a whole. While Tatian presents himself as a thoroughgoing opponent of everything associated with the “Greeks,” he readily expresses his willingness to participate in society and even defer to secular authority (albeit within the limits prescribed by his commitment to divine sovereignty). If human rulers deserve honor in a manner befitting their humanity, God alone should be feared. 10 Tatian’s message to his pagan opponents is direct and hardhitting: this awe-inspiring God completely surpasses feeble human claims to greatness (including those of rulers). So transcendent is this God that He is neither visible nor comprehensible from a finite perspective. 11 In keeping with his polemical agenda, Tatian’s reference to God’s invisibility and incomprehensibility might amount to no more than a reaction against the anthropomorphism of the pagan gods. On a deeper theological level, however, it underscores his conviction that God is wholly other than anything to be found in the material realm. Because God utterly transcends spatio-temporal categories, He can only be described by way of a remotion of any imperfections from the divine nature. 12 First and foremost, Tatian stresses God’s immunity to change and its effects. But he closely aligns God’s eternal mode of existence with His role as creative origin of everything else, that is, everything other than God. 13 By identifying the God “without beginning” as “the beginning of all things,” Tatian skillfully blends scriptural and Platonic sentiments. Indeed, the above quote is evocative of the teaching of Genesis and the Timaeus alike. 14 Tatian does not now commit himself to the notion of a temporal creation, although nothing he says here rules out a creation in time. For the moment, this topic is secondary to more pressing concerns, namely, Tatian’s monotheistic emphasis and the exclusivity he imparts to God as the foundational arché of the totality of creation. “All things were made by Him” (πάντα ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ), Tatian elsewhere contends, “and without Him not a single thing has come into being” (καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ γένονεν οὐδὲ ἕν). 15 God’s creative efficacy thus bridges the ontological gulf between spirit and matter. On the one hand, Tatian designates God as “‘a spirit,’ not pervading matter” (ου διήκων διὰ τῆς ὕλης); on the other hand, he describes God in more personalistic terms as “the father of things perceptible and visible.” 16 Yet, the ontological difference between God and creatures is not completely unbridgeable. Tatian posits a relationship of dependence between things which come into being (that is, things of a mutable, material nature) and the eternal and immutable Godhead. By virtue of this relationship, the unseen

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power of God is revealed in His creation. 17 Despite his preference for the negative approach to the divine nature, Tatian suggests something of a similitude between creatures and Creator that renders a knowledge of God accessible to humans on an inferential basis. The more challenging theological question for Tatian lies in explaining how the transcendent God communicates His creative power in producing a universe of finite being. Like Justin and Athenagoras, he grounds his response in his discussion of the Logos as God’s creative instrument. THE LOGOS AS “BEGINNING” Tatian’s Logos theology finds its primary inspiration in Old and New Testament sources. 18 As already observed, he draws upon the language of Gn 1:1 in designating God as the “beginning of all things.” In Ad Gr. 5, he conjoins this appellation with the teaching of the Prologue of John’s Gospel regarding the Logos, the Word of God. 19 The linkage between Gn 1:1 and Jn 1:1–3 lies in the diverse connotations that attach to the notion of “the beginning”: first, “the beginning” identified with God Himself, as the foundational principle or First Cause existing eternally before creation; secondly, “the beginning” as origin of the universe, the totality of things other than God. In this dual connotation, we find the nexus between the creative power of God the Father and the creative agency of the Logos. Let us consider these dimensions of the act of creation in turn. At the outset, Tatian affirms the priority of God who was “alone in relation to the creation which had not yet come into being” (μηδέπω γεγενημένην ποίησιν). 20 His depiction of God as “the Lord of all things” (ὁ δεσπότης τῶν ὄλων) reminds us of the language of I Clement (xx.11), a text which uses a comparable phrase to designate the comprehensiveness of God’s creative activity. As “the foundation of the whole” (τοῦ παντὸς ἡ υπόστασις), God brings into being a creation encompassing visible and invisible realities. 21 But if God existed “alone” prior to creation, then we can assume that creation commenced on a subsequent basis, at some point which opened the way for the existence of reality other than God. Creation ex nihilo is not explicitly stated here, but the implication is clear: nothing whatsoever existed precedent to God’s creative intent. In this regard, Tatian delineates the emergence of creation as the outgrowth of a “process” encompassing separate phases or “stages,” extending from God’s will to create to the implementation of that will by the Logos. 22 (Hereafter, I use the terms “Word” and Logos interchangeably, but confine my use of the term “Word” to translations drawn from the Oratio.) God’s status as foundational principle (υπόστασις) coincides with the creation of the universe through the instrumentality of the Logos. 23 The

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intimate relationship which holds between God the Father and the Logos, however, poses a challenge to Tatian’s assertion that God was “alone” (μόνος), or more precisely, “single in kind” before He created. In this connection, he confronts a problem similar to that addressed by Justin and Athenagoras in explaining how the Logos is distinct from the Father, but in such a way as to uphold the indissoluble unity of the divine nature. How can the Logos be one with God, but likewise distinct as “‘firstborn’ (πρωτότοκον) work of the Father” that “sprang forth” (προπηδᾷ) by the Father’s will? 24 Tatian’s response to this challenge bears the imprint of Justin’s influence, albeit with refinements of his own. He closely follows Justin in asserting that the Logos’s begetting was not a matter of “abscission” or “severance” (κατὰ ảποκοπήν) from its source, with the qualification that such generation was by way of “division” (κατὰ μερισμόν). 25 At first glance, this terminological distinction might appear like so much superfluous hairsplitting on Tatian’s part. But he exploits the rather fine shade of meaning between these terms for his theological purposes. For Tatian, what comes into being “κατὰ ảποκοπήν” is completely divorced from its source; what is begotten “κατὰ μερισμόν” assumes its own function, without diminishing that source. 26 More specifically, “κατὰ μερισμόν” suggests a participatory relationship between the Logos and the Father, whereby the Logos is distinct as “firstborn,” yet inseparably united with its generative origin. Tatian reinforces this interpretation by means of the fire/speech analogues employed by Justin in explicating the unity and diversity of the Logos in relation to the Father. In the manner that one torch ignites many fires without lessening its light and the utterance of words does not weaken the speaker’s vocal power, the begetting of the Logos in no way undermines the Father’s efficacy. 27 THE LOGOS AND CREATION As the Logos is begotten of the Father, the Logos begets creation. The Logos’s identification with God as “‘firstborn’ of the Father” dovetails with its function as “beginning of the universe.” 28 But since Tatian views the Logos as one with God, it is fitting to say that God Himself is ultimately the “beginning of all things.” The allocation of a distinct function to the Logos, however, would seem to be crucial for two reasons: it provides a means of upholding God’s absolute transcendence and insulates God from immediate involvement with the raw material of creation. 29 By virtue of its creative agency, the Logos places creation in a relationship of dependence upon God, thereby enabling humans to arrive at some understanding of God through creation.

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Tatian’s exposition of the dynamic of creation (i.e., how creation occurs) initially focuses on matter as the most fundamental constituent of created reality. Tatian designates matter as completely contingent upon God for its existence, and consequently, wholly other than its Creator in nature. 30 In Tatian’s creation account, “having a beginning” is tantamount to “being brought into being” (that is, created). In this respect, his terminology in the above quote is noteworthy. His appellation of God as demiourgos is consistent with its usage by other early Christian thinkers as a means of designating the supreme Creator of all things (and not merely an organizer of matter). But his rather curious description of the creation of matter as a “projection” is somewhat puzzling in this context. It seems reasonable to consider this notion in conjunction with Tatian’s image of the Logos’s “springing forth” by the Father’s will. 31 In this respect, it complements his earlier use of the speech analogy in explaining the role of the Logos as “utterance” of God the Father. He further employs this analogy in explicating the process of creation itself. In this connection, he discerns a parallel between the speaker’s “projection” of the voice in producing speech that “begets” rational comprehension and the Logos’s begetting of creation. 32 Ad Gr. 5, as we see, draws a rather fine line between the act of creation as (a) the bringing into being of matter and (b) the bringing of order to disordered, amorphous matter. These seemingly conflicting connotations of creation are consistent with the view that the Logos represents a rational principle that introduces intelligibility into the universe it crafts. 33 Tatian links these dimensions of the Logos’s creative function in Ad Gr. 12. In this phase of his discussion, he reiterates his position that “the whole construction and creation of the world has derived from matter” (γεγονυῖαν ἐξ ὕλης). 34 But how is this accomplished? Tatian’s response reflects his vision of creation as unfolding in a sequential process. Just as he posits a transition from God (existing on a “solitary” basis prior to creation) to the begetting of the Logos to the begetting of the universe, he now describes the creation of matter in similar terms. Accordingly, “matter has itself been produced by God (ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ προβεβλημένην) . . . partly as raw and formless before its separation (προ του διάκρισιν), partly as organized and orderly after its division (μετὰ τὴν ἐν αὐτῇ διαίρεσιν).” 35 The above quote underscores Tatian’s affinity for a Middle Platonic mindset that conceives the origin of the universe in terms of the formation of recalcitrant matter. This affinity, however, lends itself to a somewhat uneasy alliance of two competing perspectives. As a Christian polemicist, Tatian upholds God’s absolute sovereignty as Creator of all things; as one wed to Platonic ways of thinking, he integrates his endorsement of matter’s creation with a theory of its organization into the universe. Tatian, in effect, closely aligns the notion of creation as a “bringing into being” with the counterpart notion of creation as a “bringing into order.”

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But what do we make of Tatian’s image of the prior “separation” (διακρισιν) and subsequent “division” (διαίρεσιν) of matter? For someone attuned to early patristic exegesis of the opening verses of Genesis (as Tatian undoubtedly was), such imagery is evocative of God’s creation of the heavens and the earth out of the primordial chaos. His reference to a disordered state preceding creation is compatible with this scriptural touchstone. But we also find an interesting Platonic referent at Tim. 52e–53a, where Plato likens the Receptacle (the “Nurse of Becoming”) to a sieve in a winnowing process that serves to differentiate and arrange the potencies of things in a random, chaotic state into an intelligible cosmos subject to form and number. In Tatian’s account, creation proceeds from the making of matter in a crude, amorphous condition to the “division” that gives rise to the rich panoply of the finite universe: the heavens, the stars, the earth, and all that the earth generates. 36 He conceives a highly diversified creation admitting of many grades of perfection, yet united by virtue of a commonly shared origin in matter. In a very real sense, Ad Gr. 12 encompasses something of a paean to the majesty and complexity of creation as a whole and its governance by God according to an overarching plan. 37 Everything in this great tapestry, from the highest to the lowest, is traceable to matter, the ultimate attestation to creaturely contingency and the bridge between creatures and God. In comparison with what we encountered in Philo, Justin, and Athenagoras, Tatian’s creation account strikes us as rather spare. Nowhere does he develop an exegesis of the opening verses of Genesis or a commentary on the six days of creation. Nor does he distinguish between the creation of a visible and intelligible universe (beyond a passing reference to “things visible and invisible” at Ad Gr. 5, 1). By the same token, his commitment to the notion of a temporal creation is implicit rather than explicit in his deliberations on creaturely origins. But what he does say in a few chapters of the Oratio represents a highly refined statement regarding the causal dependence of all things (beginning with matter) upon God. While Tatian does not incorporate the formula ex ouk onton into his account, this lacuna does not diminish his emphasis upon the depth of creaturely contingency and the causal efficacy of God over everything which exists. MIDDLE PLATONIC AFFINITIES This chapter commenced with an observation about the rather complex relationship between the second-century Greek Apologists and the philosophical tradition they alternately critiqued and absorbed. I now revisit this topic in assessing the extent to which Tatian’s account of creation was itself influenced by the polemical thrust of the Oratio, and the conversance with Greek philosophy such polemicizing required. Tatian presents a particularly illumi-

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nating case study in this vein in view of his vehement rejection of the cultural apparatus of the hellenistic world, including its philosophy. From this standpoint, it is interesting to contrast his stance with that of Athenagoras. While Athenagoras disavows the theory that Plato “plagiarized” or “borrowed” his teaching regarding cosmological origins from the Mosaic tradition, Tatian was thoroughly committed to that thesis. But in contrast to his teacher Justin (who considered such derivation as ennobling Platonism), Tatian could only view such a supposed dependence as confirming the inferiority of Platonism and Greek philosophy in general. Yet for all his disdain of the philosophy of the “Greeks,” Tatian seems to have no reluctance about incorporating Middle Platonic insights in his defense of monotheism and arguments regarding the creation of the universe. 38 In the discussion which follows, I provide a broad sketch of the affinities between some salient features of Tatian’s creation account and Middle Platonic trends. In so doing, I also recognize that Tatian may well have internalized a Middle Platonic perspective through the medium of Judeo-Christian thinkers (but especially Justin). At this juncture, however, I focus specifically upon Tatian’s consonance with certain aspects of the mainstream Middle Platonic tradition. 39 The utter transcendence of God is a salient feature of Tatian’s deliberations on creaturely origins. This theme found inspiration in Scripture and assumed a prominence in the early Fathers. But it is also prominent in the metaphysical schemes of Middle Platonist thinkers. Tatian’s adaptation of the negative approach to the divine nature attests to his conviction that God is wholly other than created reality. For him, as we have seen, the most fundamental attribute of God pertains to His timelessness and the corollary teaching that God is “without beginning.” This teaching is evocative of what we encounter in Alcinous, whose own depiction of the divine by a means of a series of negative terms proceeds from his affirmation of the eternal character of the primary god. 40 In this respect, Tatian reflects the Middle Platonic tendency to identify true Being with what is eternally existent, and therefore, immune to the corruptive influence of mutability. For this reason, he likewise designates God as “spirit,” since what is completely immutable cannot be composed of matter or corporeal. Tatian’s positing of the ontological difference between God and creatures represents a crucial component of his theology of creation. In broad metaphysical terms, however, his creation account presupposes the contrasts between being and becoming on the one hand, and between immutability and mutability on the other. From this standpoint, having “a beginning” can only mean a “bringing into being” by God. Herein lies the critical point of divergence between Tatian and the philosophers who bear the brunt of his polemic. In the context of his Christian understanding of creation, to be “brought into being” encompasses more than a formation and ordering of preexistent matter. Tatian’s innovation lies in a synthesis of that model of creation

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(prominent in the Platonic tradition) with one that recognizes God as the ultimate cause of existence. While he does not completely forgo depicting the act of creation as a formation and ordering, he infuses this theory with an existential import. While God is without beginning, matter only begins to exist by God’s creative fiat. In this connection, “the beginning of things” proceeds from the creation of matter, the commonly shared base of finite reality. Here, Tatian confronts a problem common to Judeo-Christian thinkers and Middle Platonists alike, namely, the challenge of explaining how an absolutely transcendent Cause is responsible for the emergence of a changing universe without undermining its immutability. In lieu of an appeal to a chain of intermediary principles for this purpose, he draws upon the rich Logos theology he inherited from Justin (and in broader terms, from Hellenistic Jewish speculation). Tatian’s interpretation of the Logos as the Word of God and “firstborn of the Father” finds its primary inspiration in New Testament teaching (specifically, the Prologue to John’s Gospel). But it assumes a metaphysical significance in the context of his account of the making and ordering of matter. Tatian imparts a distinct function to the Logos as God’s agent in a process which effects the transition from God’s eternal mode of being to the origin of the universe through the Logos’s power. In this way, he implicitly aligns himself with that minority group of Middle Platonists (Plutarch and Atticus) who interpret the “beginning” of the universe in literal terms as a beginning in time. Tatian’s commitment to a temporal beginning is reflected in his delineation of creation as a process admitting of “before” and “after” phases. God (existing “alone” in the beginning) in turn begets the Logos as the beginning of creation. In explicating the begetting of the universe, Tatian continues to speak in terms of successive “stages”: a prior one encompassing the fabrication of matter, followed by the organization of matter into the constituents of the universe. At Ad Gr. 12, 1, he alludes to a “raw and formless” state of matter prior to its “separation” and an “orderly state” after its “division.” But how should we construe such “stages”? Initially, we might assume that Tatian merely resorts here to a linguistic device for describing God’s creative activity from our time-bound perspective. But he is also motivated by the desire to define creation in a manner consistent with the dictates of both faith and reason. From a faith-based perspective, his use of this motif harkens back to the teaching of Genesis (1:1–2) regarding God’s creative ordering of the primordial chaos. From a philosophical perspective, it suggests a reliance upon Middle Platonic references to a pre-cosmic condition of disorder (consistent with Plato’s depiction of the Receptacle at Tim. 52–53). According to Alcinous, the matter that was “formerly” in a chaotic state was brought into order by God. 41 Plutarch and Atticus similarly describe God’s subjection of

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an amorphous and recalcitrant material substrate to the rational governance of proportion and numerical principles. 42 On the basis of these parallels, we can muster at least tentative support for the assumption that Tatian crafted his Christian conception of creation by means of a Middle Platonic “template” that defined the generation of the universe in terms of a transition from the “Former Time” of irrationality and disorder to the emergence of a cosmos bearing the imprint of rationality, beauty, and goodness. But while Middle Platonists such as Alcinous, Plutarch, and Atticus identify their god as “father and artificier” of the universe, they do not include the origination of matter among God’s creative activities. According to Tatian, however, the shaping and organization of matter presupposes that matter was initially brought into being by God as supreme Creator of everything which exists. TATIAN AS EXPONENT OF CREATION EX NIHILO For Tatian, matter constitutes the core of created reality, and that to which everything of a created nature is reducible. 43 For all practical purposes, Tatian’s affirmation of the createdness of matter is tantamount to the claim that God created all things from nothing. The fact that Tatian does not express this teaching in terms of the technical formula of ex ouk onton does not diminish the force of this conviction in his theology. But as our investigation has thus far disclosed, this issue is not so easily resolvable. We recall that Philo, Justin, and Athenagoras unanimously uphold the ontological distinction between God and creatures, and each provides us with persuasive grounds for inferring that matter was created by God. By the same token, however, each of these thinkers exhibit some inconsistencies regarding their interpretations of the metaphysical status of matter (occasionally depicting it as a preexistent, amorphous substrate). For this reason, they prompt us to “read between the lines,” so to speak, assuming that their creation accounts implicitly hold that God created the matter which He then formed into the universe through the agency of the Logos. Perhaps these thinkers simply did not perceive the need to articulate a teaching that they considered so obvious. Tatian overcomes this ambiguity, with a technical precision that finds expression in his delineation of the separate “stages” of creation. While Tatian still does not explicitly state that matter was created from nothing, he clearly affirms that it was made by God. But the fact that he formulates this teaching in the context of an extended polemic raises a critical question. To what extent did he develop his theory of the creation of matter in response to second-century challenges to orthodox conceptions of God posed by Greek philosophy and Gnosticism? In Gerhard May’s assess-

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ment of the situation, a defense of God’s omnipotence and unity requires an endorsement of the position that God created matter. 44 This assessment is consistent with May’s general thesis that the doctrine of creation ex nihilo grew out of reactions against perspectives which interpreted creation as the formation of an eternally existent matter. In this context, May speculates that doctrinal controversies might have pressured Tatian to reject the preexistence of matter. 45 If I find myself at odds with May here, my disagreement is confined to one aspect of his position. It is evident that Tatian (like the other secondcentury Apologists) crafted his creation account in reaction against (and in response to) the positions of his adversaries. Indeed, such controversy served as a valuable stimulus to the refinement of the Christian theological understanding of creation and its metaphysical requirements. Where I find May’s position questionable lies in the suggestion (if I interpret it correctly) that Tatian’s affirmation of the creation of matter was something of a doctrinal expedient in the face of claims that matter possessed an existence independent of God’s creative input. In this respect, May seems to render the notion of creation ex nihilo dependent upon the explicit claim that matter was created. 46 But in my estimation, an endorsement of creation ex nihilo does not hinge exclusively upon a theory of the creation of matter. What it does presuppose is a recognition of the implications of God’s sovereignty as Lord of all things. From this standpoint, the notion of a preexistent matter beyond the scope of God’s creative activity is completely untenable. If God is absolutely sovereign, how could anything exist independently of His creative will? Still, we must reckon with the fact that Judeo-Christian thinkers (at least from Philo onward) incorporated the philosophical notion of matter into their creation accounts (a notion found in neither Genesis nor the Timaeus). By virtue of their influence by a Middle Platonic mindset, it is not surprising that those accounts tend to interpret creation in terms of the “bringing into order” of amorphous matter. Tatian’s affirmation of the creation of matter also reflects a possible reaction against the challenges posed by Gnosticism. By the middle of the second century, Gnosticism (in all its varied forms) assumed a pervasive presence in Christianity. While Gnosticism was doctrinally heterogeneous, its diverse sects shared some common beliefs to which Tatian would have been particularly attuned. 47 His teaching that matter is created by God stands directly opposed to the Gnostic teaching that matter is eternally existent. Moreover, his cosmic vision of reality (proclaiming the goodness and providential ordering of all things) is antithetical to the downgrading of matter and the visible universe endemic in the radical dualism of Gnostic cosmogonies. By the same token, Tatian’s theology of creation does seem to rely upon certain ideas and imagery evocative of Valentinian influence. His assertion that the Logos “sprang forth” (προπηδᾷ) as “firstborn” of the Father suggests

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an emantionist interpretation of the Logos’s generation. Likewise, his teaching that matter was “produced” (προβεβλημένην) by God conveys more of the notion of an outward “projection” than it does an act of creating in its most unequivocal sense of a “bringing into being.” While Tatian employs such terminology, however, it is clear that the meaning he attaches to these words is drastically different from their usage in Gnostic systems. It would appear that he merely relies upon an idiom with which his mid- to late second-century audience would have been conversant. 48 But he puts this language to new use in service to his theological outlook. In this respect, Tatian exemplifies the struggle of the Apologists to formulate a distinctively Christian theology of creation, and thereby, to break free of the limitations of Greek philosophical theories of cosmological origins. We now consider the consummation of this process in the development of a well-defined theory of creation ex nihilo by Theophilus of Antioch. NOTES 1. Tatian of Syria, Oratio ad Graecos, trans. Molly Whittaker (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1982), 42, 1. The tentative date of Tatian’s Oratio ad Graecos (c. A.D. 160) places its composition before Athenagoras’s Legatio (c. A.D. 176–180). In this study, however, I have opted for an order of exposition which considers Athenagoras (chapter 7, earlier) prior to Tatian. In this respect, my methodology is guided by thematic criteria rather than purely chronological ones. Accordingly, I treat Tatian after Athenagoras because I view Tatian’s theology as providing a refinement of the theory of the creation of matter that extends beyond what we encounter in Athenagoras. In any case, Athenagoras and Tatian can be viewed as contemporaries (or more precisely, near contemporaries). 2. Ad Gr. 29, 1–2. 3. Irenaeus, Adversus haereses, trans. A. Roberts and James Donaldson. Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 1 (Edinburgh: T & T Clark/Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1996), I, 28, 1. According to Johannes Quasten (Patrology, Volume I [Allen, TX: Christian Classics, 1986], 221), however, when Tatian returned to the East (c. A.D. 172), he founded the Encratites, a Christian gnostic sect that promoted abstinence from marriage, the consumption of meat, and the drinking of wine. 4. A survey of the topics of relevant chapters in the Oratio indicates Tatian’s recurrent focus on philosophy in his critique of pagan culture: philosophers in Ad Gr. 2; mythology and astrology in Ad Gr. 8; sorcery and medicine in Ad Gr. 16; philosophy, oracles, and mythology in Ad Gr. 19; mythology in Ad Gr. 21; acting, dancing, and mime in Ad Gr. 22; gladiatorial shows in Ad Gr. 23; drama and music in Ad Gr. 24; philosophy, mythology, and pagan ignorance in Ad Gr. 25. 5. Ad Gr. 2, 1. 6. Tatian argues (Ad Gr. 41, 1) that Christian wisdom antedates Greek culture on the grounds that Moses antedates Homer, as well as all writers preceding Homer. In this regard, Tatian further contends (Ad Gr. 31, 1) that Christian wisdom (by virtue of its Mosaic origin) is even older than the invention of writing. 7. Emily J. Hunt, Christianity in the Second Century: The Case of Tatian (London and New York: Routledge, 2003), 61. 8. For this reason, I have some reservations about Hunt’s explanation for Tatian’s seemingly paradoxical reliance upon Middle Platonism in spite of his hostility toward Greek cultural influences (Christianity in the Second Century: The Case of Tatian, 108):

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I believe that most of the parallels between Tatian and Middle Platonism can be identified already within the New Testament or in Tatian’s master Justin and Philo of Alexandria. If Tatian encountered philosophical ideas within an already existing Judeo-Christian tradition, he may in fact have been genuinely unaware of the debt that his Christian philosophy owed to Platonism. While I do not doubt the degree to which Middle Platonism had become deeply engrained in the Christian tradition during the second century (so much so that certain philosophical elements became “mainstream” features of that tradition), I am still somewhat skeptical about Hunt’s rather sweeping claim that Tatian was “genuinely unaware” of its indebtedness to Platonism, in view of his self-professed education in Greek philosophy. While he might well have been unconcerned about such matters, the possibility of a complete “unawareness” on his part strains credibility. 9. I do not designate Tatian as a “Christian philosopher” by virtue of the criteria I adopt in my assessment of Athenagoras as a thinker in chapter 7 of this study. In my estimation, Tatian could only qualify as such if he was able to function as an independent thinker who could speak in his own voice as an interlocutor in touch with the Greek philosophical tradition. This would presuppose, of course, that he took that philosophical tradition seriously, considering it in possession of some truth value worthy of incorporation into a Christian framework. There is clearly a difference between merely using philosophical insights in the service of theology and engaging in original philosophical reflection in such a way as to straddle the boundary between faith and reason. 10. Ad Gr.4, 1. 11. Ad Gr. 4, 1. 12. Tatian often describes God by means of negative attributes, as a means of distinguishing the divine nature from the limitations of finite reality, for example, Ad Gr. 4, 1 (invisible and incomprehensible); Ad Gr. 4, 2 (invisible and impalpable); Ad Gr. 4, 3 (ineffable); Ad Gr.7, 1 and 32, 1 (incorruptible); Ad Gr. 15, 2 (fleshless); Ad Gr. 25, 2 (bodiless). 13. Ad Gr. 4, 1–2. 14. Cf., Gn 1:1; Plato, Timaeus, trans. R. G. Bury (Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975), 28b. 15. Ad Gr.19, 4. 16. Ad Gr.4, 2. Tatian here adheres to the trend in the Middle Platonic and early patristic traditions (drawing on the language of Plato’s Tim. 28c) in identifying the Creator God as “father.” More specifically, Ad Gr. 4, 2 refers to God as both “constructor of material spirits and the shapes . . . in matter” and “father of things perceptible and visible.” Cf., Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, trans. Thomas B. Falls (Fathers of the Church, Volume 3. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America, 2003) 7.3; 56.1; 117.5; Second Apology, trans. Leslie Williams Barnard (New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1997) 10.6 (for references to God as “Father and Creator”); Athenagoras, Legatio, trans. William R. Schoedel (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1972), 27, 2 (for a reference to God as “Father and Maker”). 17. Ad Gr. 4, 2. While Tatian affirms that “we know God through His creation,” he stresses (in keeping with his polemical purposes) that he rejects the worship of creation itself, which was made by God for the sake of humans. 18. This does not preclude other influences, of course, given the pervasiveness of speculation regarding the Logos in Philo, in early Christian thought, and in Middle Platonism. I prescind here from considering possible extra-biblical influences on Tatian regarding his Logos theology. 19. Cf., Jn 1:1–3. 20. Ad Gr. 5, 1. 21. Ad Gr. 5, 1. 22. The description of creation in terms of an incremental process must be understood from a human perspective that projects the categories of “before” and “after,” or priority and posteriority onto a divine plane. If God is immutable and eternally existent, then God is not subject to temporal distinctions, and God’s creative action need not conform to such temporal restrictions. But how else can we describe the metaphysical transition from what did not yet exist except in

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temporal terms? While Tatian states that God is without beginning, he also designates God as the “beginning of all things.” But this presupposes an ontological distinction between the eternally existent Godhead and a universe of finite, mutable realities that continually come into being. In Tatian’s theological scheme, the Logos thus serves as the intermediary principle between the eternal and temporal orders of reality. 23. Ad Gr. 5, 1. 24. Ad Gr.5, 1. Cf., Justin, Dial. 62.4; 84.2; 128.4; First Apology, trans. Leslie Williams Barnard (New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1997), 63; Athenagoras, Leg. 10, 2–3. 25. Ad Gr. 5, 1. Cf., Justin, Dial. 128.4. 26. Ad Gr. 5, 2. 27. Ad Gr. 5, 2. Justin focuses more specifically on the question as to whether the distinction between God the Father and the Logos (and the different function attributed to the Logos) undermines the unity of the Godhead. Tatian, on the other hand, focuses on the seeming challenge that the Logos’s distinctness from the Father undermines or dilutes the power of God. Cf., Justin, Dial. 61.2; 128.3. 28. Ad Gr. 5, 1. 29. But as Hunt points out (Christianity in the Second Century: The Case of Tatian, 46), this consideration is not the outgrowth of Tatian’s perception of an adversarial relation between matter and God: “In involving the Logos in creation Tatian is pushing the boundaries between God and matter further apart, but this is because of the transcendence he attributes to God, and not because matter is absolutely alien to God.” 30. Ad Gr. 5, 3. 31. The verb “προβεβλημένη” also connotes the idea of a “putting forth” or “throwing forward.” According to Gerhard May (Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, trans. A. S. Worrall [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994], 149), this term is used by the Valentinians in reference to emanation. 32. Ad Gr. 5, 2–3. Tatian does not develop an explicit discussion of the role of the logos spermatikos in human reasoning as does Justin. But this passage suggests a comparable notion, to the extent that the human intellect “imitates” the rational influence of the Logos in making sense of, and thereby, resolving the seeming confusion about those things it seeks to understand. 33. We find this theme developed in the Logos theologies of Philo, Justin, and Athenagoras. 34. Ad Gr. 12, 1. 35. Ad Gr. 12, 1. Once again, Tatian resorts to the use of the term προβεβλημένη in designating the creation of matter by God, a term suggestive of Valentinian influence. Martin Elze (Tatian und seine Theologie [Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1960], 86) succinctly describes Tatian’s theory of the role of the Logos in the creation and formation of matter, with a focus on the parallel that Tatian draws between the eternal begetting of the Logos and the temporal begetting of the created universe: Diese Behauptung geschöpflicher Herkunft hindert nicht, zwei Zustände der der Materie zu unterscheiden, einen, in dem sie noch ungestaltet ist, noch keine Formen . . . aufgenommen hat . . . und einen, in dem sie geordnet und wohlgefügt ist, die Unterteilung . . . in sich erfahren hat. Dass es die Aufgabe des Logos als des Demiurgen war, diesen geordneten Zustand herzustellen, hat Tatian bereits ausgeführt . . . War dabei die Tätigkeit des Logos in Analogie zu derjenigen Gottes bei der Hervorbringung des Logos beschrieben worden, so wird nun also hier über den Zustand der Materie eine ähnliche dialektische Aussage gemacht wie dort über der Transzendenz. Nur wird jetzt in richtiger Konsequenz eine zeitliche Bestimmung in diese Dialektik aufgenommen. Die Schöpfung ist im Gegensatz zur Zeugung des Logos, die vor aller Zeit geschah, ein innerzeitlicher Vorgang. 36. Ad Gr. 12, 1–2. 37. Ad Gr. 12, 2. 38. In this writer’s estimation, the critical question is not whether Tatian drew upon Middle Platonism for his Christian purposes, but the degree of such reliance. Martin Elze (Tatian und

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seine Theologie, 30–31) argues in favor of Tatian’s firm grounding in Middle Platonism, with a particular emphasis upon the influence of Atticus upon his thought. Hunt (Christianity in the Second Century: The Case of Tatian, 124) tends to agree with Elze regarding Tatian’s employment of Middle Platonic resources, but is less enthusiastic about “drawing . . . parallels between Tatian and individual philosophers.” Hunt further argues (Christianity in the Second Century: The Case of Tatian, 124–25) that Tatian assimilated Middle Platonic elements through a developing Christian philosophical tradition that he would have encountered through contact with his teacher Justin: Although Tatian may have had some sort of basic introduction to Hellenistic philosophy during his youth, when he converted to Christianity he inherited a Christian philosophy that had already absorbed a great deal of Middle Platonic doctrine. I strongly suspect that he was unaware of the incorporation of Platonism into Christian philosophy, and that he . . . believed any similarities between Greek philosophy and his own Christianity . . . due to plagiarism. 39. In this respect, my appoach to the Middle Platonic background of Tatian attempts to steer a middle course between the positions of Elze and Hunt cited above: on the one hand (pace Hunt), I acknowledge Tatian’s participation in an intellectual tradition grounded upon the revelatory teaching of Scripture; on the other hand (pace Elze), I recognize the Middle Platonic dimension inherent in Tatian’s creation theology. 40. Alcinous, Didaskalikos, trans. John Dillon (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1993), 10.3. 41. Didaskalikos 13.3. 42. For Plutarch, see De Animae Procreatione in Timaeo, trans. Harold Cherniss (Volume XIII, Part I, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1993), 5, 1014 B; Quaestiones Convivales, trans. Edwin L. Minar, Jr., F. H. Sanbach, and W. C. Helmhold (Volume IX, Loeb Classical Library Edition of Plutarch’s Moralia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1951), 4, 720 B; for Atticus, see Proclus, In Platonis Timaeum, Volume I, trans. Thomas Taylor (London, 1820), I 381, 26 ff. Diehl (Atticus. Fragment 23. Texte Établi et Traduit par Édouard Des Places, S.J. Paris: Société D’Édition “Les Belles Lettres,” 1977, 74–75). 43. I refer here to matter in its broadest metaphysical sense as the underlying substrate of everything which exists in the order of creation, from spiritual to material realities. Tatian apparently does not make a fine-tuned distinction between intelligible and corporeal matter. 44. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo: The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 148. 45. Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo: The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 150. 46. In this regard, I adopt what amounts to the reverse of May’s argument (Creatio Ex Nihilo: The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 152): The unexamined idea of creation out of nothing and the thesis that matter is created by God . . . do not necessarily belong together. The latter is not simply to be derived as a conceptual consequence of the former; rather does the argument run the other way: only when one has achieved the insight that for the sake of the unity and omnipotence of God matter must be considered created, does one find the proposition of creation out of nothing to be the pregnant formula for this. 47. The fact that Justin writes against Marcionism and its challenge to the supremacy of God as Creator would not have been lost on his disciple Tatian. 48. According to May (Creatio Ex Nihilo: The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought, 152), Tatian’s contact with Valentinian teaching demonstrates the fact that he formulated his theory of the created status of matter on the basis of controversies with Gnosticism and an appropriation of the methodology of his adversaries.

Chapter Nine

Theophilus of Antioch At the Threshold

According to Eusebius’s testimony, Theophilus was the sixth bishop in apostolic succession at the church of Antioch. 1 His background conforms to the general pattern of the lives of Justin, Athenagoras, and Tatian: a pagan by birth from a region on the periphery of the cultural centers of the Empire (the area around the Euphrates); educated in the intellectual tradition of the Hellenistic world; a convert to the Christian faith. 2 As in Tatian’s case, his conversion was abetted by his introduction to the prophetic books of Scripture. “I encountered the sacred writings of the holy prophets,” he informs us, “who through the Spirit of God foretold past . . . present . . . and future events in the order in which they will be accomplished.” 3 In many respects, Theophilus displays a marked continuity with what we encounter in the other second-century Apologists. But he also stands at the threshold of a new phase of development which drastically redefined the meaning of creation in contrast to Greek philosophical ways of thinking. This is not to say that Theophilus completely severed his theology of creation from its philosophical moorings. As Carl Curry rightly observes, “it is not practical to think that a convert could simply leave all learning behind without being influenced by it.” 4 Theophilus effected this synthesis of faith and reason within the context of a dialogical encounter with “Autolycus,” a man that Theophilus claimed had questioned him about God and his religion. 5 In this polemical discourse, he brings to bear his considerable knowledge of Greek philosophy derived from doxographical compilations. 6

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THEOPHILUS’S DOCTRINE OF GOD Theophilus’s theology of creation rests upon a monotheism in its most exclusivistic sense. By and large, his doctrine of God is consistent with the teachings of the other second-century Apologists and the Middle Platonic presuppositions operative in their affirmation of divine transcendence and unknowability. But the urgency of Theophilus’s apologetic concerns intensify his monotheistic emphasis, as he addresses those challenges to what constitutes the core of his Christian faith. For this reason, we must be attuned to the polemical agenda underlying his deliberations on the divine nature. Theophilus forges his doctrine of God on the anvil of his critique of pagan polytheism, and closer to home, Marcionite teaching. 7 At the outset of the Ad Autolycum, Theophilus’s extended cataloguing of divine attributes and appellations reflects the brand of apophaticism prominent in Justin, Athenagoras, and Tatian. In this connection, his treatment of God’s nature is inextricably bound up with his response to the problem of divine predication. According to Kathleen McVey, the central question posed by this initial book of the Ad Autolycum is an epistemological one, namely how we can know God. 8 Like the other Greek Apologists, Theophilus resorts to the method of the via negativa in addressing this challenge. In so doing, he reveals the Middle Platonic dimension inherent in his theology. He tips his hand in this direction by focusing on the negative attributes surrounding “the form of God” (εἶδος τοῦ θεοῦ), that is, God as “ineffable and inexpressible (ἄρρητο καὶ ảνέκφραστόν) . . . uncontainable . . . incomprehensible . . . inconceivable . . . incomparable . . . unteachable . . . inimitable.” 9 From a Christian perspective, Theophilus’s stress on God’s ineffability and unknowability would appear to lead to a theological dead end. Is God so remote as to be completely beyond our cognitive grasp? In the face of this problem, Theophilus balances his strict apophaticism with a series of appellations highlighting God’s role as Creator, and by extension, His providential governance of creation. 10 GOD THE CREATOR Ad Autol. I.4 provides something of a compendium of divine names pertinent to God’s creative activity. The chapter commences with a reaffirmation of the well-established patristic assumption (as reflected in Justin, Athenagoras, and Tatian) that God (as Creator of all things) must Himself be without beginning. Theophilus provides a succinct rationale for this assumption that goes to the very heart of his theology of creation: “He has no beginning because He is uncreated” (Ἄναρχος δέ ἐστιν, ὅτι ảγένητος ἐστιν). 11 While this assertion may appear redundant, it underscores Theophilus’s conviction

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that the reason why God is without beginning lies in the fact that He is ontologically independent of any causal dependence. This establishes the dividing line between God and creatures. For Theophilus, God is recognized as God precisely because of His creation of all things by His own sheer power. More precisely, “He is called God because He established everything (θεὸς δὲ λέγεται διὰ τὸ τεθεικέναι τὰ πάντα) . . . and because He runs (καὶ διὰ τὸ θέειν); the word ‘run’ means to . . . set in motion (τὸ δὲ θέειν ἐστὶν . . . και κινειν) and energize (καὶ ἐνεργεῖν) and nourish and provide and govern . . . and to make everything alive.” 12 For Theophilus, God’s creative efficacy is part and parcel of the divine nature. But how is God’s nature revealed? From our perspective, it can only be manifested on the basis of what God does. Yet what are we to make of Theophilus’s rather cryptic claim that God is called theos (θεὸς) because He “runs” (θέειν)? How can God, as wholly immutable, be said to engage in such action? In this context, Theophilus exploits what he perceives as the etymological relation between the terms θεὸς and θέειν. 13 The image underscores the dynamic character of divine power, a power inseparable from God’s essence. God is an active Creator responsible for moving, animating, and providentially overseeing all things. As Creator, God is fittingly described by other names, each referring to a different aspect of God’s creative efficacy. Theophilus affirms that God is sovereign “Lord” (κύριος) as “master of the universe”; that God is “Father,” by virtue of His priority over the universe; that God is “Demiurge and Maker” (δημιουργὸς καὶ ποιητὴς) as “creator and maker of the universe” (κτίστην καὶ ποιητὴν τῶν ὅλων). 14 At first glance, Theophilus’s placing of the “Demiurge and Maker” pair of divine appellations in tandem with the “creator and maker” pair might seem redundant. But such a distinction serves to show that God’s creative activity is not limited to a demiurgic ordering (in the manner of a craftsman in the Platonic model of cosmic generation), but encompasses a bringing into being in the most absolute sense. In this respect, the added designations of God as “creator” (κτίστης) and “maker” (ποιητὴς) indicate a mode of creation proper to God alone. In His role as supreme Cause, “God made everything out of what did not exist (καὶ τὰ πάν τα ὁ θεὸς ἐποίησεν ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων), bringing it into existence (εἰς τὸ εἶναι).” 15 In one succinct statement, Theophilus renders explicit what is merely suggested or implicit in the creation accounts of earlier Fathers of the Church. Significantly, his proof text for this teaching is 2 Mc 7:28, a scriptural source which provides the technical formulation of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. On the basis of this vital touchstone, he affirms the key theological presuppositions undergirding that doctrine, that is, divine sovereignty on the one hand, and creaturely contingency on the other. In his reckoning, however, God is not only creatively responsible for all things, but intimately involved in their ongoing governance. Theophilus is clearly no deist. As a

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strict monotheist committed to belief in a personal God, he closely coordinates God’s action as Creator (κτίστης or ποιητὴς) with His demiurgic maintenance of the goodness and harmony of the whole. As the “pilot of the universe,” God keeps the entire universe on an even keel. 16 THE POLEMICAL CONTEXT Theophilus’s articulation of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo is more fully developed in the polemical context of the second book of the discourse. In this vein, Ad Autol. II.4 focuses upon a critique of philosophical theories of cosmological origins. By way of introduction, however, Theophilus launches into a rebuttal of myth-based conceptions of the pagan gods. By adopting the stance of the critical theologian, Theophilus establishes a criterion for differentiating what he considers the illusory divinities of paganism from the one true God of the Christian faith. 17 In a manner consistent with his exclusive monotheism, he proceeds from the premise that the gods of the mythological tradition are nonexistent—indeed, no more real than their literary or artistic portrayals. 18 At the outset of Book II, then, Theophilus draws a sharp distinction between the God that brings all things into being out of nothing and those spurious gods brought into being out of the imaginings of poets and artisans. His tacit assumption, of course, is that the God responsible for the being of all things must be really real (that is, real in the order of being and not merely as a projection of human thought). In support of this position, Theophilus appeals to the anthropomorphic renderings of the gods endorsed by the pagans’ own myths. In contrast to the localization of the gods on Olympus and Zeus’s habitation of Mount Ida, the God who actually exists is “not contained but is himself the locus of the universe” (οὐ χωρεῖται, ảλλὰ αὐτός ἐστι τόπος τῶν ὅλων). 19 Proceeding from this lampoon of the grounds of popular pagan piety, Theophilus next addresses the errors inherent in the natural theology of Graeco-Roman thought. In this phase of his polemic, Theophilus explores philosophical perspectives which either deny God’s existence or reject God’s providential governance of the universe, or alternately, contend that the universe is eternally existent, uncreated, and purely random in its operation. 20 But the major target of his disputation is Platonism. Theophilus clearly has a special interest in this aspect of his critique due to the receptivity of fellow Christian thinkers toward Platonic and Middle Platonic philosophy (and their conviction in the affinities between Tim. 28b–c and the opening verses of Genesis). In this respect, Theophilus lays bare the deceptive appeal of the Platonic cosmology for Christian purposes. While the Platonists affirm that God “is uncreated, the Father and Maker of the universe” (ảγένητον καὶ πατέρα καὶ ποιητὴν τῶν

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ὅλων), they nevertheless designate matter as uncreated and on a par with God. 21 Theophilus makes rather short work of this contradictory position. From the standpoint of his uncompromising monotheism, the claim that both God and matter are uncreated is wholly untenable. Indeed, this claim completely nullifies the Platonists’ own designation of God as “Maker of the universe,” along with the absolute sovereignty attaching to such a causal principle. 22 Theophilus sums up his rebuttal with a question that sharply distinguishes the ex amorphou hulês and ex ouk onton models of creation. “What would be remarkable,” he memorably asks his opponent, “if God made the world out of preexistent matter” (εἰ ὁ θεος ἐξ ὑποκειμένης υλης ἐποιει τὸν κόσμον)? 23 A simple question to be sure, but one that represents a watershed in the development of the Christian theology of creation. It elicits, in turn, a simple response: such a God would not be God at all, but a de facto “craftsman” reliant upon available material for the implementation of his craft. Herein lies the difference between the Platonic demiourgos and a true Creator God in the most radical ontological sense, that is, a God Who brings things into being from nothing. Theophilus not only affirms the uniqueness and scope of God’s creative efficacy, but also extols His absolute freedom to create just as He wills. In this connection, God’s power assumes two dimensions: first, in regard to “his making and having made the existent out of the non-existent” (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων ποιεῖν καὶ πεποιηκέναι τὰ ὄντα); secondly, insofar as “he made whatever he wished in whatever way he wished” (βούλεται καὶ ὡς βούλεται). 24 God’s unlimited power to create and God’s unrestricted freedom to do so are the marks of divine sovereignty. THE PROPHETIC WITNESS In Theophilus’s estimation, the flagrant errors endemic in pagan religious conceptions stem from the fact that they are outgrowths of human conjecture and speculation that do not correspond to the truth of things. 25 But where is the truth of these matters to be found? Along with the other second-century Apologists, Theophilus appeals to the prophetic wisdom which he traces to divine inspiration. In this respect, he considers the voices of the prophets as the very instruments of God and the recipients of His higher Wisdom. “Through Wisdom,” he says, “they spoke about the creation of the world (εἶπον καὶ τὰ περὶ τῆς κτίσεως τοῦ κόσμου) and about everything else.” 26 The prophets thereby become the channels through which truth is communicated to those capable of distinguishing truth from falsehood. The entire thrust of his address to Autolycus presupposes that the teachings of the Christian faith can find support on purely rational grounds accessible to everyone. 27 By the same token, Theophilus affirms the truth of the sacred

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texts on the basis of the commonly held view (among Jews, Christians, and pagans) that the more ancient authority is the more reliable one. From this standpoint, he is confident that the veracity of scriptural teaching is older (and thus, possesses greater truth value) than anything found in the writings of Greeks, Egyptians, or the historiographers. 28 Theophilus’s conviction in prophetic inspiration as a conduit to truth is correlative with his vision of God’s providential ordering of the universe. The very character of his theological outlook (an outlook grounded upon a belief in a personal Creator) is directly opposed to the notion of an aloof Godhead completely detached from human affairs. Humans are not cast adrift after creation and left to their own devices, but rather, enjoy the benefits of law and prophetic teaching concerning the divine nature. 29 The dispensation of God’s Wisdom through the writings of the prophets is consistent with God’s ongoing care for creatures. From this monotheistic perspective, it stands to reason that one supreme God disseminates teaching about Himself and His works in a manner that is unified and whole rather than diverse and fragmentary. For Theophilus, the prophets’ unanimity of opinion regarding the origin of the universe attests to their inspiration by the Holy Spirit. 30 THE SCRIPTURAL CONTEXT Theophilus perceives a general consensus among the prophets in support of the teaching that God “made everything out of the non-existent” (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων τὰ πάντα ἐποίησεν). 31 As we have seen, he links creation ex nihilo with a divine sovereignty that excludes anything else from a coequal status with God. By virtue of His absolute transcendence, however, God implements His work of creation through the intermediary action of the Logos and Sophia, “beginning” (ảρχή) and “offspring” (γέννημα) respectively. Logos and Sophia assume complementary roles in Theophilus’s theology as the agents of God’s creative efficacy and providential governance. He describes their functions in personalistic terms, likening God to the “physician” who both heals and brings life to creatures. 32 By integrating the energizing power of the Logos with the intelligence of Sophia, he affirms that creation emerges as the result of God’s rational purpose, rather than on an arbitrary basis. His pairing of Logos and Sophia represents an intertwining of Old and New Testament themes in service to a uniquely Christian interpretation of creation. Theophilus’s exegetical skills are evident in his ability to ground his Logos theology in an array of scriptural texts pertinent to creaturely origins. In Theophilus’s figurative usage, God “generated” (ἐγέννησεν), along with Sophia, the “immanent Logos” (the Logos endiathetos) within His “viscera” (σπλάγχον), “issuing it forth” (ἐξερευξάμενος) prior to creation. 33 In this

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context, the notion of an “issuing forth” is reminiscent of the emanationist language employed by Tatian, who similarly describes the Logos as “having sprung forth” (προπηδᾷ) as “firstborn” of the Father. 34 But this notion also reflects Theophilus’s innovative adaptation of imagery drawn from the Septuagint version of two Psalms: Ps 109:3 (“I have begotten you from the womb before the morning . . .”) and Ps 44:1 (“My heart has uttered a good matter . . . my tongue . . . the pen of a quick writer . . .”). Together, these texts provide precedents for Theophilus’s depiction of the Logos as proceeding from God’s inner depths as the expression of the divine will to create. Theophilus also coordinates Old Testament anticipations of the Logos as divine intermediary with the language of the Prologue of St. John’s Gospel. “He used this Logos as his servant in the things created by him,” Theophilus affirms, “and through him he made all things . . . he is called Beginning because he leads and dominates everything fashioned through him.” 35 In Jn 1:1–3, the Logos (as the Word Incarnate) is designated as one with God in the beginning and the Father’s agent as “Beginning” of creation. Once generated, the “immanent Logos” is externalized as Logos prophorikos, the “firstborn of creation” (in the language of Col 1:15). 36 Theophilus’s Logos doctrine stands in continuity with that of Justin, Athenagoras, and Tatian. Each of these thinkers affirm the immanence of the Logos in the divine nature and its issuance as the Father’s creative instrumentality. Likewise, each designates the Logos as the means of bridging the ontological distance between the absolutely transcendent God and the production of a finite universe. 37 While Theophilus’s assertion that the Logos “derived his nature from God” (ἐκ θεοῦ πεφυκώς) assumes a subordinationist connotation, he firmly maintains (in a manner consistent with Johannine teaching) that the Logos is God. 38 For this reason, the positing of the Logos as distinct from God the Father does not threaten the unity and indivisibility of the divine nature. By the same token, Theophilus closely conjoins the functions of the Logos and Sophia in different aspects of the unfolding of creation. In this connection, he suggests something of a “planning stage” in which the innate Logos takes on the roles of “Counsellor,” “Mind,” and “Intelligence” of the Father as a preliminary to the actualization of creation. 39 Here, he appears to incorporate a Middle Platonic theme that weaves its way through Philo and the Christian Apologists: God conceives the universe according to the intelligible patterns of things grounded in the divine Intellect. For these thinkers, creation is viewed as the result of a rational deliberation on God’s part. In Theophilus’s version of this theme, the Logos inheres in God as reasoning principle in anticipation of the emergence of the universe. 40 The subsequent creation of the universe effected by the generated Logos implements the Father’s creative intent. In this way, the Logos prophorikos provides the crucial link between the eternal coexistence of the immanent Logos with the

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Father and the temporal beginning of the universe. The generated Logos thereby brings God’s “conception” of creation to realization. Since God is absolutely transcendent, wholly immaterial, and not confined to any place, the act of creation requires an instrumental cause directed toward the spatio-temporal world. By virtue of the fact that the Logos becomes present, audible, and visible to humanity, it serves as the tangible manifestation of God’s will to create. 41 This is how the creative agency of the Logos overlaps with the inspirational function of Sophia as a means of drawing humans to a grasp of truth. 42 The principal recipients of Sophia’s influence, however, are the prophets. If the Logos (in conjunction with the rational influence of Sophia) is God’s instrument in effecting creation, the prophets (as embodying Sophia) become the spokesmen of Revelation regarding the origin of the universe. 43 Theophilus finds the seminal scriptural teaching on this topic at Gn 1:1. Theophilus interprets the initial verse of Gn 1:1 as designating the creation of the matter from which God made all things. 44 For all practical purposes, then, Scripture commences with the teaching of creation ex nihilo. Gn 1:1 succinctly defines the unlimited scope of God’s power as Creator, encompassing everything which exists, from the celestial to the terrestrial worlds. God demonstrates this efficacy by making “existent things out of the non-existent” (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων ποιῇ τὰ γινόμενα), in keeping with the dictates of His will. 45 Theophilus’s polemical agenda again drives his theological speculation. In this context, he contrasts the simply stated truth of the scriptural account of creation with the highly embellished (and error laden) accounts of the philosophers, historians, and poets. The specific focus of his critique lies in Hesiod’s Theogony and its development of a creation theory based upon what is mundane, human, and weak in comparison to God. 46 In this respect, Hesiod’s order of procedure reflects the norms observed by human builders, who construct their dwellings on a “ground up” basis, proceeding from the foundation to the upper levels of the structure. For Theophilus, however, the fact that Gn 1:1 depicts the making of “the heavens” prior to the earth demonstrates God’s ability to create precisely as He wills by an unrestricted power surpassing anything humans can conceive or replicate. It is wholly reasonable to assume that a God capable of bringing things into being from nothing would proceed from the creation of what is highest in the order of created reality. 47 In this regard, Gn 1:1 highlights the uniqueness of God’s manner of creating, an activity (metaphysically speaking) utterly distinct from the creative endeavors of humans.

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THEOPHILUS’S INTERPRETATION OF CREATION EX NIHILO Theophilus’s account of creation is rooted in a monotheistic theology that exalts God as the supreme Creator of everything which exists. Such an exclusive monotheism considers all other claimants to divinity as illusory, and therefore, nonexistent in the order of reality. If these gods can be said to exist, it is only in regard to the minds of their human creators—the authors of the myths which provide the basis of pagan religion. In contrast to these counterfeit divinities, the reality of the God of Scripture (attested to in prophetic teaching) is revealed in the power He brings to bear as Creator. God engages in a mode of creating proper to God alone: not only a power to bring things into being, but a power to bring things into being from nothing whatsoever. For Theophilus, creation ex nihilo is comprehensive in scope, coinciding with God’s granting of movement, life, sustenance, and providential governance to finite, contingent being. God’s unqualified sovereignty dictates that nothing can exist independently of His creative fiat. Theophilus rules out the preexistence of matter, either as the amorphous constitutent of creation or as a co-principle of God. In his exegesis of Gn 1:1, “heaven” and “earth” refer to the matter “from which God made and fashioned the world.” 48 Despite his rejection of a preexistent matter, however, he does not completely forfeit the ex amorphou hulês model of creation for his exegetical purposes. In this vein, we observe an implicit commitment on his part to the “dual stage” interpretation employed by Tatian, whereby God creates the matter that the Logos forms into the cosmos. But with the exception of some isolated references in his treatment of the ordering process operative in the six days of creation, he does not exploit this motif in any formalized way. 49 Theophilus’s emphasis upon God’s unlimited power and freedom to bring all things into being from what is utterly nonexistent overrides any attempt to elaborate upon the philosophical finepoints regarding God’s implementation of creation. 50 He breaks new doctrinal ground, however, with a question as hard-hitting in its ramifications as Tertullian’s famous query regarding the relationship between Athens and Jerusalem. “What is so extraordinary,” Theophilus pointedly asks, “if God made the world out of preexistent matter?” 51 His ability to raise this question attests to his conviction in the substantive difference between the Judeo-Christian conception of creation and Middle Platonic accounts of cosmological origins. His firm grounding of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo in Scripture reflects a conscious effort to distance his theology from the philosophical tradition upon which the other second-century Apologists rely in varying degrees of dependencies. It is no overstatement to say that Theophilus placed the Christian theology of creation on a new trajectory. While he did not reject the philosophical

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framework within which that theology developed and matured, he demonstrates the degree to which Christians came to discern what was truly distinctive about their scripturally inspired conception of creation, and conversely, what aspects of it were irreconcilable with philosophical accounts of cosmological origins. Theophilus could still rely upon the ex amorphou hulês model in delineating one phase of the creative process. But he decisively distinguished that model from the teaching that creation constitutes a bringing into being out of nothing. By the beginning of the third century, Christian thinkers could draw upon a well-defined doctrine of creation ex nihilo in meeting the challenges posed by Gnostic dualism and theories of the eternal existence of matter. Irenaeus (c. A.D. 150–c. 202) and Tertullian (c. A.D. 155–c. 220) exemplify this trend and the extent to which the doctrine of creation ex nihilo was operative in the anti-Gnostic polemics of that era. 52 By the same token, this period witnessed the incorporation of the doctrine into the speculative endeavors of the schools, those vibrant centers of learning which transformed the theological enterprise into a sacred science encompassing a systematic vision of reality as a whole. We conclude this study with a consideration of the role of creation ex nihilo in two prominent representatives of the Alexandrian school, that Hellenistic milieu most conducive to the blending of the resources of reason with the contents of Revelation. NOTES 1. Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica, trans. Philip Schaff (Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, 2nd Series. Volume 1. Edinburgh: T & T Clark /Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1997), IV, 20. Eusebius (in his Chron.) contends that Theophilus’s accession occurred in the ninth year of Marcus Aurelius’s emperorship (A.D. 169). Theophilus’s chronology of world history culminates with the death of Marcus Aurelius (A.D. 180). 2. Johannes Quasten, Patrology, Volume I (Allen, TX: Christian Classics, 1986), 236. 3. Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum, trans. Robert M. Grant (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1970), I.14. 4. Carl Curry, “The Theology of Theophilus,” Vigiliae Christianae 42 (1988): 324. 5. Ad Autol. II.1. Cf., the assessment of Rick Rogers regarding the significance of the identity and role of “Autolycus” in the discourse (Theophilus of Antioch. The Life and Thought of a Second Century Bishop [Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2000], 6–7): “Whether Autolycus is real or fictional, I take him to be the perfect nemesis foil for my educationally minded bishop—this curious and perhaps sympathetic pagan does not speak back.” 6. Theophilus makes an implicit reference to the doxographies at Ad Autol. II.1, where he reminds Autolycus that he will use “a few of those history books” in order to convey the truth to him about his own religion. 7. Robert M. Grant, Introduction to his Text and Translation of Theophilus’s Ad Autolycum (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1970), xv. 8. Kathleen E. McVey, “The Use of the Stoic Cosmogony in Theophilus of Antioch’s Hexaemeron,” Biblical Hermeneutics in Historical Perspective (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1991), 36. 9. Ad Autol. I.3. Cf., Alcinous, Didaskalikos, trans. John Dillon (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1993), 10, 3–4, a text which appears to provide a recurring touchstone for several of the

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Greek Apologists in addressing the transcendence of God and the negative predication it entails. 10. Ad Autol. I.3. In contrast to the series of negative predicates at the beginning of I.3 (quoted above), Theophilus immediately introduces a range of appellations with a clear scriptural provenance that affirms God’s intimate involvement with creation: “If I call him Light, I speak of his creature . . . Logos . . . of his beginning . . . Mind . . . his intelligence . . . Spirit . . . his breath . . . Sophia . . . his offspring . . . Strength . . . of his might . . . Power . . . his energy . . . Providence . . . his goodness.” In Ad Autol. I.3, then, we find Theophilus’s initial reference to the pairing of the Logos and Sophia which serve as God’s creative agents (a theme fully developed in Book II of the Ad Autolycum). 11. Ad Autol. I.4. Theophilus complements this rationale with the argument that God’s immutability follows upon His immortality. 12. Ad Autol. I.4. Theophilus here draws upon the sentiments of Ps 103/104: 5: “You fixed the earth on its foundation, so it can never be shaken.” Ps 103/104 as a whole constitutes an elaborate hymn of praise to the scope and grandeur of God’s creative activity. 13. Interestingly, the ninth-century medieval philosopher John Scotus Eriugena develops a similar argument (De Divisione Naturae, trans. I. P. Sheldon-Williams, revised by John O’Meara [Washington, DC, and Montreal: Dumbarton Oaks and Editions Bellarmin, 1987], I, 12), contending that theos is derived from the verb theô on these grounds: “When (theos) is derived from the verb (theô) it is correctly interpreted ‘He Who runs,’ for He runs throughout all things and never stays but by His running fills out all things, as it is written: ‘His Word runneth swiftly.’” 14. Ad Autol. I.4. Theophilus concludes this cataloguing of divine names associated with God as Creator with the inclusion of “Most High” (by virtue of God’s preeminence over all things) and “Almighty” (by virtue of God’s universal governance). 15. Ad Autol. I.4. Theophilus follows this teaching with a rationale for God’s motive in creating, that is, that He might make known His greatness and that it may be grasped in His works. 16. Ad Autol. I.5. Note how the “pilot” image serves an additional purpose for Theophilus in this context. Just as one infers that a smoothly sailing vessel is guided by a pilot, we can infer the providential action of the unseen God on the basis of the order and harmony of the visible universe. Theophilus reinforces this image with an organic metaphor, likening the entire universe to a pomegranate: just as the inner seed is oblivious to the outer rind, so humans (existing within the universe) are unable to see the “hand of God” embracing the totality of creation. 17. Ad Autol. II.2–3. Theophilus presents an extended critique of the theology of the poets (e.g., Homer, Hesiod, Aristophanes) at Ad Autol. II. 5–7. In this discussion, he argues that even when the poets posit the origin of the world, they assume the preexistence of some primordial material (e.g., “Ocean” in Homer’s Iliad; “Chaos” in Hesiod’s Theogony; an “egg” in Aristophanes’s The Birds). From his standpoint, however, matter itself cannot account for what it becomes, in the absence of some ultimate cause. Cf., Ad Autol. II.6. 18. Ad Autol. II.2. 19. Ad Autol. II.3. 20. Ad Autol. II.4. Theophilus refers in broad terms to the positions of certain Stoics, and more specifically, to the teachings of Epicurus and Chryssipus. 21. Ad Autol. II.4. 22. Ad Autol. II.4. Theophilus complements this argument with the reasoning that if matter were uncreated, then it would have to be immutable like God (and therefore, equal to God). Conversely, Theophilus contends that anything created must be mutable. 23. Ad Autol. II.4. 24. Ad Autol. II.4. 25. Ad Autol. II.8. 26. Ad Autol. II.9. 27. Ad Autol. II.34. 28. Ad Autol. III.26. According to McVey (“The Use of the Stoic Cosmogony in Theophilus of Antioch’s Hexaemeron,” 43), Theophilus’s belief that prophetic wisdom antedated the writings of the pagan poets, philosophers, and historians served a dual purpose: “Theophilus be-

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lieved that the antiquity of his tradition not only validated the religious insights of Christianity but it also conveyed the stamp of authority on the cosmological information contained in the first chapters of Genesis as he understood them.” 29. Ad Autol. II.34. 30. Ad Autol. II.33; III.23. 31. Ad Autol. II.10. 32. Ad Autol. I.7. 33. Ad Autol. II.10. The verb form “ἐξερευξάμενος” also lends itself to the more graphic rendering of a “vomiting forth” or “disgourging.” Curry (“The Theology of Theophilus,” 321) relates this imagery to Hesiod’s description (Theogony 497) of Kronos’s regurgitation of the stone he had ingested in the mistaken belief that it was Zeus. 34. Tatian, Oratio ad Graecos, trans. Molly Whittaker (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1982), 5, 1. 35. Ad Autol. II.10. 36. Ad Autol. II.22. 37. Rogers (Theophilus of Antioch: The Life and Thought of a Second Century Bishop, 103) defines the intermediary role of the Logos in these terms: “The logos functions for all practical purposes as a go-between informing man regarding the mind of God.” 38. Ad Autol. II.22. 39. Ad Autol. II.22. 40. We are reminded here of Athenagoras’s interpretation of the “interior” dimension of the Logos (Legatio, trans. William R. Schoedel [Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1972], 10, 2), the “Ideal Form” which serves as the noetic model for its “exteriorization” as “Energizing Power” of creation. Similarly, Philo likens the envisioning of the universe in the Mind of God to the way in which an architect conceives the city he wishes to build. 41. Ad Autol. II.22. 42. Ad Autol. II.10. Theophilus distinguishes between Sophia as “in” God and the Logos that is “always present with” God. At Ad Autol. II.10, he also links the revelatory function of Logos and Sophia with God’s intention to make Himself known to humans (the creatures for whom God created the world). 43. Ad Autol. II.9. At Ad Autol. II.10, Theophilus’s inventiveness as a scriptural exegete is evident in his aligning of the teaching of Gn 1:1–2 with the Logos theology of the Prologue of St. John’s Gospel. The identification of the Logos as “Beginning” in Jn 1:1–3 provides Theophilus’s rationale for discerning an implicit reference to the creative function of the Logos at Gn 1:1. Theophilus further interprets these texts in light of the teaching of Prv 8:22–23: “The Lord begot me, the firstborn of His works . . . from of old I was poured forth.” In this way, he connects the Logos of John’s Gospel with the voice of Sophia which finds human expression in the words of the prophets (but more specifically, in the words of Solomon and Moses). Rogers provides a cogent assessment of Theophilus’s rather complex exegetical strategy in this passage. According to Rogers (Theophilus of Antioch: The Life and Thought of a Second Century Bishop, 96), Theophilus “is juxtaposing the sophia tradition of the prologue to John’s Gospel, and thereby leading his readers into a synthesis of the two.” By reading John’s Logos into the language of Proverbs, Rogers further contends that Theophilus renders the Logos (rather than Sophia) the “speaker” represented in Prv 8:22–30. This interpretation finds further support in Ad Autol. II.22, where Theophilus identifies the “voice” which Adam hears in the Garden with the Logos of God. 44. Ad Autol. II.10. 45. Ad Autol. II.13. 46. Ad Autol. II.13. 47. According to Theophilus (Ad Autol. II.13), Gn 1:1 specifies the creation of an invisible heaven, in contrast to the creation of the firmament encompassing the visible heaven described in subsequent verses. His exegesis of Gn 1:1 provides his point of departure for his detailed commentary on the Hexaemeron, the narration of the six days of creation (spanning Gn 1:3–31) that culminates in the creation of man specified in Gn 1:26. In Ad Autol. II.18, Theophilus discerns evidence of the special dignity that God confers on humanity in proclaiming that man be made in God’s image and likeness. In Theophilus’s reading, this statement indicates that

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God views the creation of man as meriting the work of his “hands,” that is, the joint work of Logos and Sophia. 48. Ad Autol. II.10. 49. Cf., Ad Autol. II.13, referring to God’s forming and adorning of herbs, seeds, and plant life; II.18–19, discussing the “fashioning” and “formation” of man. 50. The Ad Autolycum, for example, does not offer any explicit treatment of the creation of an intelligible universe, as the archetype of the visible universe, aside from Theophilus’s vague allusion (Ad Autol. II.13) to the creation of an “invisible heaven.” 51. Ad Autol. II.4. Cf., Tertullian, De praescriptione haereses, trans. Peter Holmes (The Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 3. Edinburgh: T & T Clark/Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Company, 1997), 7: “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” 52. For references in Irenaeus to creation ex nihilo and an affirmation of the comprehensiveness of God’s creative activity, see Adv. haer. 2.1,1 (which designates God as the only Creator of all things in heaven and earth by His own free will); 2.10,4 (which stipulates that the mark of God’s supremacy lies in His ability to bring into being what did not exist); 2.30,9 (which links God’s status as ultimate Creator with an exclusive monotheism). Tertullian upholds the doctrine of creation ex nihilo in the context of his polemic against Hermogenes and the teaching that both God and matter are eternal: Adversus Hermogenes, trans. Peter Holmes (Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 3. Edinburgh: T & T Clark/Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1997), xv.1–2; xxi.1–3.

Chapter Ten

The Alexandrian School

“There is one way of truth,” wrote Clement of Alexandria, “but different paths join it . . . like tributaries flowing into a perennial river.” 1 This metaphor provides an effective means of depicting the merger of the great intellectual currents emanating from Jerusalem and Athens, a confluence which fused the teachings of divine Revelation with the resources of human reasoning. But the convergence of these seemingly disparate outlooks was also sustained by the tributary of Alexandria, a vital artery linking Hellenistic Judaism with the eclectic philosophical perspective of Middle Platonism. Middle Platonism served as the conceptual apparatus on which early Christian speculation relied in coming to terms with the origin and metaphysical implications of creation. The receptivity to philosophy as a support system for explicating the contents of faith was abetted by the unique brand of scriptural interpretation that was a hallmark of the Alexandrian milieu. As a key exponent of the allegorical method of exegesis, Philo Judaeus exerted a far-reaching and profound influence over the patristic tradition. His interpretation of the Pentateuch from a Middle Platonic perspective decisively shaped the creation theology of the second-century Greek Apologists. But his presence is particularly evident in Clement and Origen, thinkers who embodied the critical spirit of the Alexandrian school. Both embraced the allegorical method of exegesis and exploited its potential for penetrating the deeper significance of the sacred text. 2 This speculative bent is fully evident in their respective interpretations of creation. A notable feature of these interpretations lies in their positions regarding the ongoing debate (harkening back to the Middle Platonic tradition) concerning the question as to whether creation originated in time. This question, as we have seen, was one in which Greek philosophers of late antiquity and Judeo-Christian thinkers had a mutual interest. 177

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Clement and Origen highlight the conflict between those who construe the “beginning” of all things in literal terms (that is, as a temporal beginning) and those who construe it in atemporal terms, in a manner consistent with the timeless nature of God. CLEMENT OF ALEXANDRIA: THE “GIFT” OF PHILOSOPHY After his conversion to Christianity, Titius Flavius Clemens (c. A.D. 150–215) embarked upon a series of travels and periods of study that eventually took him to Alexandria and the leadership of its catechetical school. His identification with this urban center (despite his untimely departure from Egypt during the persecution of Septimus Severus) earned him the title by which he is generally designated—Clement of Alexandria. But his journey from Athens (purportedly his place of origin) to Alexandria involved more than a geographical transition. It also reflects his movement from an early exposure to the philosophical tradition on its homeground to an environment that actively promoted the use of philosophy in explicating the tenets of Christian belief. As a learned convert, Clement (like Justin, Athenagoras, Tatian, and Theophilus) was deeply conversant with the various philosophical schools, and conversely, attuned to the challenges to the faith posed by the pseudo-philosophies of Gnosticism. Clement fully endorsed the theory that Greek philosophers had appropriated the teaching of Scripture for their own purposes. On the surface, his language appears to commit him to the hard-line approach to this issue, depicting the Greeks as so many “thieves,” guilty of plagiarizing the more venerable doctrines of divine Revelation. 3 Such rhetoric might easily lead one to infer that he took a dim view of the philosophical tradition as a whole. But this is far from the case. Although Clement considered philosophy as ultimately derived from the higher authority of Moses and the prophets, he also viewed it as an indispensable tool for coming to terms with the truths of Revelation. But how is “faith” to be construed? There is, to be sure, a simple faith that rests content with a reliance upon the word of God in a spirit of unquestioning trust. Clement by no means disparages this fideistic stance. For him, however, the perfection of faith lies in a dynamic search for understanding, as far as possible for human minds. And philosophy provides the means of attaining this understanding. It is significant that Clement begins his Stromata by specifying his intention to proceed from an investigation of the world’s creation, first by delineating earlier accounts, and then, rejecting everything “that stands in the path of coherent thought.” 4 The topic of creation offers the ideal focal point for applying the tools of reason to this fundamental article of the faith. Clement

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readily acknowledges his willingness to draw upon the best that philosophy offers, along with all the other pedagogical devices at his disposal. 5 This is not some haphazard reliance upon philosophy and learning for its own sake. Rather, he advocates a sensible mixing of faith and reason in the way that spice enlivens the diet of the athlete in promoting a higher endeavor. 6 Such a relationship, however, presupposes a proper ordering of priorities, whereby reason stands in a subordinate role to faith. Or, in keeping with his culinary metaphor, the truth of Revelation constitutes the edible kernel embedded within the outer shell of philosophical teaching. 7 Clement’s integration of faith and reason presupposes a consonance between the teachings of Scripture and philosophy. This symbiotic relationship attests to the fact that philosophy is nothing less than a gift bequeathed by divine providence to humanity at large. 8 From this standpoint, philosophy assumed a preparatory role for Greek thinkers parallel to the role of the Law for the Hebrews, as “a tutor escorting them to Christ.” 9 But philosophy also serves as a propaedeutic for Christians in achieving that deeper intellectual grasp of what they profess to believe. According to Clement, philosophy presently serves as “a useful guide towards reverence for God . . . a kind of preliminary education for those . . . trying to gather faith through demonstration.” 10 Clement assesses the value of Greek philosophy in rather broad terms, on the basis of what its great schools (i.e., Stoic, Platonic, Epicurean, and Aristotelian) teach regarding righteous living in conjunction with a “scientific” knowledge of religion. 11 In this respect, the philosophical endeavor complements the scriptural injunction to engage in the search for God, a quest that combines the dynamism of mind and heart. For Clement, in fact, the Christian practice of philosophy assumes a distinct moral dimension, since righteousness presupposes a knowledge of the reasons for good works. The lack of such awareness amounts to no more than a “stumbling” into virtuous behavior on a purely accidental basis. 12 From this standpoint, Greek philosophy provides the stepping stone for advancing to that true philosophy which is the mark of Christian wisdom. In this case, however, we must assume that the intellectual heritage of the Greek thought world already bore the stamp of divine Wisdom, rendering it fruitful in the manner of “rainstorms bursting upon a fertile soil.” 13 Clement effectively plays upon this agrarian metaphor in highlighting the universality of the capacity of human reason to gain at least limited access to truth. In a manner reminiscent of Justin’s notion of the logos spermatikos, Clement likens the illuminative action of the Word to the sowing of the seeds of wisdom according to the diversity of times and places. 14 In the teaching of Gen. 1:26–27 that God created humans in His own “image and likeness,” Clement perceives a reference to the means whereby the human mind stands in conformity with the divine Word. “The image of the Word is the true man,

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the mind,” Clement specifies, “made ‘in the image and likeness of God,’ assimilated to the Divine Word in the affections of the soul.” 15 Still, Greek philosophy is anticipatory of richer things to come. Just as farmers irrigate the soil beforehand in order to abet the growth of crops, Christian thinkers draw upon the “water” of Greek philosophy in preparing themselves for the reception of the “spiritual seed” of Revelation. 16 Clement assesses the value of Greek philosophy in relation to a Christocentric standard. “The philosophers . . . are children,” he opines, “if . . . not . . . brought to maturity by Christ.” 17 Christian philosophy, in effect, raises the bar of the philosophical endeavor to a higher plane. If Christian philosophers possess an insight into truth, it proceeds from the fact that their speculative efforts are directed toward the glory and knowledge of the one true God. 18 This blending of faith and reason (and the contemplative life with the life of virtue) finds expression in that unique species of thinker that Clement terms the “Christian Gnostic.” If our status as creatures in God’s “image and likeness” is grounded in our rationality, then the Christian Gnostic exemplifies this imaging. In Clement’s rendering, the Christian Gnostic “imitates God as far as possible, leaving out none of the things which lead to the possible likeness.” 19 By virtue of this participatory relationship with the divine Wisdom, the Christian Gnostic is best equipped to distinguish genuine philosophy from its counterfeit versions, and more specifically, genuine truth from heretical teaching. 20 This criterion is fully operative in Clement’s doctrine of God and theology of creation. GOD AS FIRST CAUSE Clement’s doctrine of God stands in direct opposition to the major tenets of Gnosticism (in its pagan and Christian versions) prominent in late antiquity and early Christianity: a metaphysical dualism which posits matter as eternally existent and independent of God’s creative efficacy; the more radical dualism which considers matter as inherently evil and in conflict with the goodness of immaterial reality; a pessimistic sense of alienation from the world; a negative view of creation rooted in the conviction that its maker was an evil demiourgos. In reaction to such teachings and presuppositions, Clement upholds a thoroughgoing monotheism which acknowledges God as sole Creator of everything which exists. This recognition of God as supreme Creator coincides with an attunement to a creaturely dependence that runs to the very existence of everything other than God. “God is the Creator of all” (πάντων γὰρ κτίστης), Clement contends, “and nothing that exists is what He wills it not to be” (καὶ οὐδέν ἐστι τῶν ὑποστάντων ὃ μὴ θέλει). 21 This clearly requires qualification. Clement de-

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picts the scope of creation as all-encompassing, to the extent that God is causally responsible for everything which comes into being. 22 But the imputation of causal responsibility to God in such a pervasive manner might place God on a metaphysical par with material reality as well. For this reason, Clement stresses that God is absolutely transcendent in spatio-temporal, linguistic, and conceptual terms. From this standpoint, “the First Cause is not in space (οὔχουν ἐν τόπῳ τὸ πρῶτον αἴτιον), but above . . . space, and in time, and name, and conception (ảλλ᾽ ὑπεράνω τόπου χρόνου καὶ ὀνόματος καὶ νοήσεως).” 23 Clement rebukes certain Greek philosophers for their ignorance of God, the “First Cause” and “Maker of all things” responsible for the very First Principles they exalt. 24 Accordingly, he redefines the meaning of the notion of “First Principle” in light of the teaching of divine Revelation. In so doing, he also highlights the limitations of human reasoning in demonstrating the ultimate Cause of the universe. If all scientific knowledge builds upon prior teaching, upon what teaching did the Greek philosophers base their materialistic theories of the primal causes of nature? 25 For Clement, a knowledge of the First Cause of the universe must ultimately proceed from faith in what God Himself reveals. 26 In response to Gnostic pessimism and the sense of alienation it generated, Clement extols the inherent goodness of creation as a whole. This optimistic vision of things is consistent with his conviction that God’s creative intent is directed toward the realization of what is good, and by implication, the sustaining of things in existence in a providential manner. “He does not wish anything not to exist” (μὴ εἶναι), Clement writes, “nor does He wish anything not to exist which yet exists” (οὐδὲ μὴν οὐ βούλεται μεν τι [μὴ] εἶναι, τὸ δὲ ἔστιν). 27 CLEMENT’S INTERPRETATION OF CREATION EX NIHILO Clement’s theology of creation rests upon the conviction that nothing whatsoever exists or can exist in the absence of God’s creative will. But does such an assumption provide sufficient grounds for concluding that Clement upholds creation ex nihilo in its most absolute sense? Clement refers to creation ex nihilo several times in Book V of the Stromata. 28 In each of these instances, however, he refers to creation from non-being in its relative (that is, meontic) sense, rather than in the sense of creation from absolute non-being (that is, as ex ouk ontos). Clement (in keeping with his attachment to the theory that Plato “plagiarized” his creation narrative from Moses) proceeds from the premise that “the philosophers” (specifically, the Platonists) endorsed the teaching that “the world was created” (μὴν γενητὸν εἶναι τὸν κόσμον) on the basis of what they had received “from Moses” (ἐχ

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Μωυσέως). 29 It is revealing to contrast Clement’s position on this issue with what we find in Justin. As we saw in chapter 6, Justin is similarly attached to the thesis that the creation accounts of Genesis and the Timaeus stand in harmony with each other. But Clement takes this thesis a step further in uncritically assuming that Plato is referring to fundamentally the same understanding of creation as we find in Genesis, that is, that “the universe was created (γενητὸν τὸν κόσμον) . . . deriving its being . . . from non-existence” (εχ μὴ ὄ ὄντος ὑποστάντος). 30 Clement’s distinction between the creation of a higher realm of contemplation and the creation of the material world accessible through sense experience stands in continuity with the creation account of Philo. In this vein, Clement interprets the reference to “heaven,” “earth,” and “light” of the first day of creation (Gn 1:1–3) as pertaining to an intelligible world, the archetypal model of the sense world that serves as its image. 31 In the language of Gn 1:2 (and its teaching that “the earth was invisible and formless”), he finds an allusion to “the starting point of material nature” (ảφορμή ὑλικῆς οὐσίας). 32 Like Philo, Clement read Plato through a Middle Platonic lens, assuming that Plato likewise incorporated the notion of formless hulê into the creation account of the Timaeus. In refuting the Gnostic charge that the philosophers (Stoics, Platonists, Pythagoreans, Aristotelians) numbered matter among the First Principles, Clement retorts that what they designate as matter is without quality or without form, and therefore, identified with meontic non-being by Plato. 33 In the Timaeus (52a–c), however, Plato attributes such relative non-being specifically to the Receptacle, the “space” which serves as the locus for the formation of the elements of the visible universe. Middle Platonists (following the lead of Aristotle) interpreted the emptiness of Plato’s Receptacle as matter. 34 Clement’s description of the matter underlying creation as formless, lacking in quality, and deficient in being is suggestive of the ontological privation inherent in Plato’s Receptacle, an intermediary state between being and nonbeing. 35 More directly, it points to the Middle Platonic depiction of matter as the substratum for the generation of the cosmos. We have seen how this Middle Platonic mindset shaped Philo’s commentary on Genesis, an exegesis that would exert a decisive influence upon the creation theology of early Fathers of the Church, including Clement. For this reason, Clement also inherited the vagueness regarding the metaphysical status of matter as preexistent or created that looms so large in Philo and the second century Apologists. Accordingly, he leaves us with two viable interpretative options: either he construed the opening verses of Genesis as referring to a preexistent matter coeternal with God, or he considered matter so ontologically deficient that it simply could not qualify as existent in any genuine sense. 36 This problem, however, is easily resolvable in the face of Clement’s emphasis upon God’s role as First Cause of everything which exists. His

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commitment to God’s sovereignty as Creator and the depth of creaturely dependence rules out any possibility that he would conceive of matter as an eternal co-principle in the manner of the Gnostic dualists. Accordingly, Clement leaves us to wrestle with an ambiguity on this issue (a difficulty proceeding from his endorsement of a model of creation as a formation and ordering of formless disordered matter). Accordingly, I find Chadwick’s succinct assessment of this dilemma highly persuasive, albeit rather tentative in regard to the conclusion it draws. In Chadwick’s reckoning, “Clement is content that this formula [i.e., μὴ ὂν] sufficiently safeguards the transcendence of God and the contingency of the created cosmos . . . beyond this Clement is reticent.” 37 Clement, then, apparently perceives no contradiction between designating creation as proceeding from relative (i.e., meontic) non-being and a commitment to creation ex nihilo. This seeming anomaly points to another in his theology, namely, the teaching that the act of creation did not coincide with “the beginning” in any temporal sense. His attempt to reconcile this position with the teaching of Genesis provides an additional indication of his influence by Philo. A TIMELESS CREATION Clement adheres to Philo’s teaching that the act of creation does not commence at some point in time. 38 God creates all things by means of a single instantaneous act transcending the limits of temporal succession. The simultaneity of God’s will to create and its implementation presupposes “an indeterminate and atemporal production” (ảόριστον εκφορὰν καὶ ἄχρονον). 39 In this respect, Clement distinguishes the “sequential” creation described in Genesis (unfolding over several “days”) from the creative work whereby all things “were created at once in thought” (ἅμα νοήματι κτισθέντων). 40 For him, the successive “days” of creation affirm the gradations of excellence in creatures which collectively proceed “from one essence by one power” (ἐκ μιᾶς οὐσίας μιᾷ δυνάμει). 41 While creatures exhibit varying degrees of perfection, they derive their value from their common origin in God, the ultimate Cause of everything which exists. By the same token, God’s causal action is not confined to the act of creation alone. The divine nature encompasses an eternal goodness and benevolence embracing the totality of things. In Clement’s formulation, a mutual righteousness is equally distributed “from an unbeginning principle” (ἐξ ảρχῆς ảνάρχου). 42 By virtue of this providential governance, God maintains a universal ordering of what is susceptible to disorder by its very nature. Clement identifies the seventh “day” of creation (on which God “rested”) with this ordering action. But he stresses that divine “resting” does not entail

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any cessation of God’s activity, since God would cease to be God if He refrained from doing what is good. 43 But how does Clement account for the transition from God’s timeless act of creation to the temporal origin of the universe? He addresses this issue by means of a Logos theology that reflects the general patristic trend to distinguish the Logos as immanent in the divine nature from its status as God’s agent in creation. For Clement, the Logos that eternally coexists with God also constitutes “the beginning” of creation. In this way, it fulfills a theological role as Wisdom of the Father and a metaphysical one as archê of created being. 44 Clement draws upon the distinction between the “interior” and “exterior” aspects of the Logos’s relation to God prominent in Athenagoras, Tatian, and Theophilus. 45 These diverse dimensions, of course, pose no challenge to the indissoluble unity between God (as Father) and the Logos (as Son). Clement identifies the Logos with the most venerable of divine Ideas in its capacity as the “timeless, unoriginate First Principle (τὴν ἄχρονον ἄναρχον ảρχήν) and Beginning of being” by which we learn of the most ancient Cause, “the Father of the universe” (τὸν πατέρα τῶν ὅλων). 46 The Logos so “near” the Father actualizes the creation of the visible universe on the model of the immutable principles grounded in the divine Intellect. Clement describes this dynamic dimension of the Logos in various ways, each of which highlights its implementation of God’s creative efficacy: as “energy of the Lord” (ἡ τοῦ κυρίου ἐνέργεια); as “first efficient cause of motion” (πρωτουργὸς κινήσεως); as the Word by which God made all things; as the “cause of creation” (δημιοθργίας αἴτιος), by virtue of its “issuing forth” (προελθὼν) from the Father. 47 But the Logos’s agency likewise encompasses that providential governance whereby things are sustained in being. The Logos immanent in the divine nature “at the beginning” is also immanent in creation as an ordering or “steering” principle, “energizing all things” (πάντα ἐργαζομένη) in keeping with God’s design for creation as a whole. 48 As the Father’s abiding Wisdom, the Logos assumes a pedagogical significance, imparting the “seeds” of wisdom to human minds. Clement inextricably conjoins the Logos’s roles as Creator and Teacher, since its abetting of the creation of the visible universe opens the way to the dissemination of the truth to those in whom it can bear rich fruit. 49 ORIGEN’S SYSTEMATIC VISION Clement’s reliance upon the mainlines of earlier patristic theories of creation (and by extension, the Middle Platonic perspective transmitted by Philo into the Christian tradition) exerted a significant influence on Origen, his successor as head of the catechetical school at Alexandria. 50 Origen transformed these diverse influences into a cohesive systematic theology that integrates

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his account of creaturely origins with a psychology and soteriology charting the fall and redemption of rational spirits. The course of Origen’s life (c. A.D. 185–253) reflects an ongoing attempt to combine the resources of faith and reason in support of a Christian understanding of reality as a whole. The sheer breadth of his scholarly and pedagogical pursuits (in Alexandria until 232, in Caesarea thereafter) bespeaks a wide-ranging conversance with the major strands of Greek philosophy. The dominant strand was Platonism, or more precisely, a later expression of this philosophical outlook. But the extent to which we can designate Origen as a Middle Platonist is a matter of speculation. If we can identify him with the Middle Platonic tradition, such an identification must carry the qualification that he imposes a distinctive Christian stamp on that perspective. In this respect, his Christian Middle Platonism is decisively shaped by scriptural teaching. 51 Like Clement, Origen exhibits a strong receptivity to philosophy as a vehicle for expressing the finepoints and technicalities of Christian doctrine. In contrast to Clement, however, he never goes so far as to exalt philosophy as a “gift” of God. While he acknowledges that certain philosophers could anticipate (at least partially) divinely inspired teaching, he never wavered from his conviction in the primacy of scriptural authority. For him, philosophy must always assume a subordinate role (in later theological parlance, that of “handmaiden”) in coming to terms with the truths disclosed in Revelation. Accordingly, Origen’s rather detached attitude toward philosophy is more consistent with what we encounter in Athenagoras of Athens, than in Clement or Justin. Origen’s ability to maintain a critical distance from the wisdom of the philosophers afforded him the creative freedom to adapt its insights in the first flowering of a Christian speculative theology. The great irony inherent in his thought proceeds from the fact that his seemingly uncritical adherence to Platonism took him down some perilous paths from the standpoint of orthodox teaching. 52 GOD AS CREATOR Origen’s Christian Platonism rests upon a fundamental distinction between an intelligible level of reality (the realm of true being) and the world of becoming, the visible image of the really and truly real. This distinction is implicit in his exegetical method as well. Origen approaches the surface meaning of the scriptural text as symbolic of a deeper spiritual significance hidden from immediate view but nonetheless accessible to the intellect. 53 He adheres to this norm in depicting the divine nature, explicitly challenging any tendencies toward theological anthropomorphism. “God . . . must not be thought to be any kind of body, nor to exist in a body,” Origen affirms, “but

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to be a simple intellectual existence, admitting in himself no addition whatever.” 54 From this theological perspective, God establishes the ultimate standard of being, intelligibility, and goodness. Only the God that is wholly other than mutable reality and its deficiencies can assume the role of supreme Creator of all things. On the basis of multiple attestations in Scripture, Origen affirms both the sovereignty of God and the thoroughgoing contingency of everything else. 55 The implication is that nothing can exist independently of God’s creative efficacy. In affirming the doctrine of creation ex nihilo, Origen appeals to the apostolic teaching that one God caused the universe to exist when absolutely nothing existed, and brought all things into order. 56 The scope of creation is immense and unrestricted, embracing the totality of finite being, from the intelligible to the material world. In the Pauline language that Origen adapts for his theological purposes, creation constitutes “one body” composed of “many members” conjoined by God’s “power and reason.” 57 THE FATHER’S WORD AND WISDOM The operation of God’s “power and reason” finds expression in His only begotten Son, the Word and Wisdom of the Father through whom all things are made. 58 Origen follows the lead of his predecessors in the patristic tradition, upholding the indissoluble unity between the Father and the Son, the image of the Father. But how should the notion of “image” be construed in this context? Origen likens the relationship to the one holding between child and parent, or alternately, to an act of will proceeding from the understanding. 59 While these analogues highlight the inseparability of Father and Son, they also underscore the Son’s distinctness as the manifestation of the Father’s efficacy. If the Son functions as the Father’s agent in creation, however, it does so in intimate union with the divine nature. In implementing the Father’s will, “the Son is in no way separate or different from the Father, nor . . . His work anything other than the Father’s work.” 60 In designating the Son as both “Word” and “Wisdom,” Origen draws upon the language of Jn 1:1–3 and Prv 8:22, respectively. These texts provide his critical touchstones in addressing different dimensions of the Son’s creative action. In the Prologue of John’s Gospel, Origen discerns an affirmation of the comprehensive character of creation through the agency of the Word, “in the beginning with God, the One through whom all things were made, and without Him nothing was made.” 61 In a strategy evocative of the Logos theology of Theophilus, he coordinates this seminal New Testament teaching on creation with the personification of Wisdom found in Prv 8:22: “God created me the beginning of His ways for His works.” 62

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But how is the “beginning” to be construed in these respective passages? In his Commentary on the Gospel According to St. John (I, 90–124), Origen explores the fertility of meaning inherent in the term “beginning” (arché) in the Greek and scriptural traditions. In its ordinary usages, the term applies to a change or transition from one state of being or set of circumstances to another. 63 But these connotations of “beginning” must be distinguished from the more profound theological significance that the term assumes in Jn. 1:1: “In the beginning was the Word.” In this context, he argues that the term refers specifically to Christ’s role as Creator, that is, the “beginning” of existent things. 64 On the basis of his linkage of the language of Jn 1:1 and Prv 8:22, he aligns the Word’s creative efficacy with Wisdom’s implementation of creation according to rational principles. This “beginning” is unlike any with which we reckon by means of temporal distinctions or the powers of human understanding. 65 If Christ is the “beginning” of creation, this designation pertains to His identity as Word and Wisdom of the Father. As Origen specifies, “Scripture is not speaking here of any temporal beginning but it says all things were made ‘in the beginning’ in the Savior.” 66 On the basis of his distinction between an intelligible and a material creation, Origen affirms that created reality as a whole preexists in seminal form in the divine Wisdom. “In this Wisdom who ever existed with the Father,” he contends, “the Creation was always present in form and outline and never a time when the prefiguration of those things which were to be did not exist in Wisdom.” 67 Origen reinforces this interpretation by means of the Artisan/Craftsman analogue that Philo puts to similar use in the De opificio mundi (IV,19). Just as a dwelling or vessel can be said to exist in the minds of their planners, creation is preconceived and eternally present in the divine Wisdom. 68 But this requires qualification, lest we assume that Origen holds that creation itself is eternal by its very nature, in the manner of God. The challenge lies in reconciling the notion of finite (i.e., causally dependent) reality with the notion of a timeless existence (that is, a creaturely mode of being, but one without temporal origin). From this standpoint, creation subsists in the fullness of God’s existence, an existence that transcends any temporal limitations whatsoever. 69 On this level, the Word and Wisdom of God function in a complementary manner: the divine Wisdom engages in the eternal contemplation of the archetypes of the spiritual creatures which the divine Word brings into being. 70 In Origen’s scheme of reality, this encompasses an initial phase of creation, that is, a “first creation” preceding the creation of the material universe in time.

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THE “FIRST” CREATION Origen’s theology of creation reflects his commitment to a teleological perspective that envisions the fundamental orientation of all things to the realization of the good. He ultimately roots this dynamism in the rationale for creation itself. Since God is good by nature, His sole motive to create lies in his own essential goodness. 71 Divine power is defined by the parameters of form, by virtue of its directedness toward intelligible ends. In seemingly paradoxical language, Origen defines God’s power as “finite,” to the extent that He creates in a purposeful way. 72 In the Middle Platonic framework within which his theology unfolds, the “finite” is equated with intelligibility and what operates according to rational principles of order. “If the divine power were infinite,” he contends, “it of necessity could not . . . understand itself, since the infinite is by its nature incomprehensible.” 73 When God creates, then, He does so by means of a well-defined providential plan for everything in the universe of created being. Here, Origen draws upon the scriptural pronouncement (Wis XI.20) that God created all things “by number.” 74 In his usage, the term “number” designates rational minds, insofar as divine providence brings the vast multitude of such creatures under its governance. As already observed, Origen posits the creation of all things simultaneously in seminal form “in the beginning” (that is, in the divine Wisdom). But creation finds its most immediate actualization in the making of rational spirits. 75 For all practical purposes, this amounts to a “first” creation that finds its scriptural referent in what Origen designates as “the beginning” introduced by Moses in the teaching of Gn 1:1. 76 Origen follows the precedent set by Philo, who posits the creation of an intelligible world serving as prototype for the material universe. In this scheme, creatures originally constituted a pure unity in which all things exhibit an equality and likeness. 77 Such primal unity reflects the simplicity of a Creator that transcends the limitations of mutable and variegated things. Indeed, divine justice presupposes that God “gathered the diversities of minds into the harmony of a single world.” 78 It is wholly fitting, then, that the initial products of creation (that is, rational spirits with incorporeal natures) bear the closest similitude to God that creatures can enjoy. THE “FALL” OF RATIONAL CREATURES Despite their exalted status, rational natures are nonetheless creatures. As such, they are radically contingent in metaphysical, and subsequently, in moral terms. For Origen, their creation from nothing bespeaks a susceptibility to change. 79 While rational natures are immune to corporeal limitations,

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they exhibit an instability rooted in the fact that they do not exist on their own. Rather, they depend upon God for their very bringing into being. But what kind of change can incorporeal natures undergo? As incorporeal, they clearly cannot undergo physical change. Rather, their capacity for change proceeds from a free will which can either adhere to the highest Good or deviate from a contemplative focus upon their Creator. In this respect, “the Creator granted to the minds created by Him the power of free and voluntary movement . . . that the good . . . in them might become their own . . . but sloth and weariness . . . coupled with disregard and neglect of better things, began the process of withdrawal from the good.” 80 Notably, Origen correlates his deliberations on the creation of the visible universe with a theory of descent from a higher spiritual mode of being characterized by unity and stability to a lower material one. For him, the defection of incorporeal natures provides nothing less than the raison d’etre for the creation of the material universe. If the defection does not constitute the ultimate cause of that phase of creation, it most definitely opens the way for corporeal reality as the terminus of the downward orientation of rational natures. In the De Principiis, Origen affirms the relation between “fall” and “creation” on the basis of a consideration of the connotations surrounding the term katabole (καταβολή). According to Origen’s lexigraphical analysis, “The holy scriptures call the foundation of the world by a new and peculiar name, terming it katabole . . . very incorrectly translated into Latin by constitutio, or foundation, for katabole in Greek has rather the significance of deicere . . . to cast downwards.” 81 Origen, however, develops a rather selective interpretation of the term καταβολή in this context, which St. John’s Gospel (17:24) employs in reference to the world’s origin. In this respect, he infuses it with a distinctly Platonic significance (that is, an ontological descensus from one level of reality to another) not really warranted by the Johannine usage of the term. 82 In Origen’s reworking of this notion, the “beginning” coincides with a “falling away” from a higher to a lower mode of existence. By virtue of their freedom of will, rational natures establish their position in the hierarchy of reality, and by implication, their standing in relation to God. 83 Origen delineates the transition from a primal creation in which creatures encompass a unified, harmonious whole to a world whose diversity mirrors these varied volitional movements. In this regard, the world’s very existence presupposes the descent from that pre-lapsidarian condition in which rational natures were originally created. 84 Origen’s theory of the fall of rational natures exhibits a tension similar to one we encounter in Plato concerning the soul’s presence to the body: on the one hand, a declination proceeding from some flaw or transgression (as reflected in the psychology of the Phaedrus); on the other hand, a response to the dictates of cosmic law (as highlighted in the cosmic vision of the Ti-

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maeus). Origen’s account of the fall of rational natures lends itself to a similar sense of ambiguity, insofar as their descent precipitates the creation of the material universe. 85 In keeping with God’s overarching governance of all things, he depicts rational natures as falling in a manner proportionate to the depth of their fault, thereby meriting various degrees of corporeality. As we saw above, Origen applies the teaching of Wis. 11:20 that God created all things “by number” to the making of rational natures. But that same scriptural text specifies that God created all things “by measure” as well. In Origen’s exegesis, “measure” refers to corporeal matter, which God made in sufficient quantity for the organization of the material world. 86 Origen imparts a timelessness to the “first creation” (i.e., of rational natures) that mirrors the eternal nature of God. Such an interpretation is consistent with the allegorical method and its attunement to the deeper spiritual meaning embedded under the “veil” of the text. Origen’s treatment of the creation of the visible universe, however, reflects a literal reading of Gn 1:3ff. that specifies a temporal origin. Indeed, Origen affirms that the teaching that “the world was made and began to exist at a definite time” is a dogma of the Church. 87 He closely aligns this teaching with one attesting to the world’s finitude and mutability, contending that “as a result of the consummation of the age to which all things are subject it must be dissolved through its own corruption.” 88 In upholding the temporal origin of the material universe, Origen advances a teaching anathema to Aristotelians, namely, that affirming a temporal beginning acknowledges the possibility of the universe’s eventual annihilation. “Generated things,” Aristotle contended, “are seen always to be destroyed.” 89 For Origen, however, the notions of creation and dissolution are closely related. From his theological perspective, the dissolution in question is not an absolute one, but rather, a segue to the return of all things to their original harmony. Accordingly, his theology of creation opens the way to his theology of redemption, so that “we must understand that there is one beginning of all things, and . . . one end of many things . . . from one beginning arise many differences and varieties . . . restored, through God’s goodness through their subjection to Christ.” 90 THE ROLE OF MATTER IN CREATION We have observed Origen’s stipulation that fallen rational natures find the terminus of their downward movement in material bodies. But material embodiment presupposes the existence of matter as the amorphous base supporting corporeal reality. We are reminded here of Plato’s designation of the Receptacle as bearer of all forms which must itself be devoid of all forms in order to fulfill this role. 91 Origen applies a similar line of reasoning to his

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interpretation of matter. In this vision of creation, the sheer indeterminacy of matter allows it to serve as the underlying substrate of the great diversity of bodies comprising the material universe. While Origen depicts matter as assuming an existence in its own right, he links it inseparably with the qualities it supports. 92 From this standpoint, we can only grasp matter as barren of visible qualities on a purely abstract level. Origen illustrates this by means of an analogy: just as we distinguish an individual man from his accidential characteristics (and in broader terms, from the very definition of “man”), we are able to abstract matter from the qualities accruing to a given body. 93 It would be mistaken, however, to assume that God finds an eternally existent matter at His disposal independent of His creative efficacy. Origen imputes such an assumption to those who interpret Gn 1:1–2 [“In the beginning God made the heaven and the earth, and the earth was invisible and without order.”] as referring to a preexistent matter that God incorporated into creation. 94 The target of his invective here is apparently the Gnostic teaching of matter’s coeternity with God. He tips his hand in this direction in citing those guilty of the impiety of holding that matter is uncreated on the one hand, and eternally coexistent with God on the other. 95 For Origen, God’s creation of all things from nothing embraces the creation of matter as the most fundamental constituent of bodily forms. From this standpoint, intellectual nature necessarily uses bodies, “and this nature is . . . changeable and convertible by the very condition of its being created . . . for what began to be is . . . of a changeable nature.” 96 In the context of Origen’s overall creation account, then, matter is created in order to facilitate the need of rational natures for embodiment and the diversity appropriate to the degree of their defection. 97 Since the material world requires the variegation which can accommodate this range of defections, indeterminate matter provides the medium for transformation into the diverse forms and species inherent in that world. 98 From this standpoint, the creation of matter is consistent with God’s overall plan for the completion and restoration of things to their original condition of unity, harmony, and peace. Origen develops an intriguing version of the dual “stage” model of creation prominent in the Greek Apologists and Clement. For him, however, these “stages” do not consist of the initial creation of matter and its subsequent formation. They instead entail (1) the creation of an intelligible world of rational spirits and (2) the creation of the material universe necessitated by their defection. In this respect, Origen’s creation theology encompasses something of an uneasy alliance between positive and pessimistic accounts. The positive account is an outgrowth of his theology of the Logos, the beginning of all things (as the Father’s Word and Wisdom) that brings rational natures into being on the model of the eternal archetypes of created reality. This constitutes a “first” creation, a timeless beginning which results in the

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generation of the intelligible world of pure spirits. Their subsequent fall requires the “second” creation of matter and the material universe in time. While Origen does not consider material creation as evil, its very purpose enshrouds this phase of creation with a sense of pessimism. If he does not succumb to the radical pessimism of Gnosticism, he comes rather close to it in his depiction of the creation of the visible world as a response to the defective choices of rational natures. Does the world only exist as the result of a fall, a descent from an intelligible realm characterized by unity and stability to a world of change, diversity, and a tendency toward dissolution? As Henri Crouzel observed, however, Origen’s fall account shares little with the Valentinian version to the extent that he roots its impetus in the free decision of rational creatures (not in some pre-cosmic drama prompted by the rash desire of Sophia). 99 What distinguishes Origen’s use of the fall motif from its Gnostic counterparts lies in his commitment to a teleological vision grounded upon a conviction in God’s sovereign power to make all things and govern all reality in a providential manner. In this scheme, the fall of rational natures does not entail some irreparable tragedy, but a step in a cosmic process in which all things find the prospect of redemption and eventual restoration. Nevertheless, Origen still relegates this aspect of creation to something of an expediential response to the fall of rational spirits and their need for material embodiment. CONCLUDING PART III The second-century Greek Apologists display an evolving understanding of the meaning of creation, and more specifically, the act by which God brings things into being from nothing. But the claim that God is supreme Creator is correlative with the notion that God’s existence provides the necessary condition for the existence of everything other than God. In this context, the act of creation encompasses the ultimate causal reason of creaturely existence on every level; nothing can exist in the absence of God’s creative efficacy. In defending this seminal article of faith, the Apologists drew chiefly upon the contents of divine Revelation. But their exegesis was articulated largely by means of the terminology and dialectical resources of the highly eclectic philosophical perspective of Middle Platonism. An adequate assessment of the evolution of the Apologists’ theology of creation must reckon with their relationship with the philosophical tradition that they simultaneously critiqued and embraced in their ongoing endeavor of faith seeking understanding. This relationship was sustained by a conviction in the compatibility of the creation narrative of Genesis with Plato’s theory of cosmic generation in the Timaeus. But that conviction was founded upon more than a perception of textual parallels or conceptual affinities alone. It

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also rested upon the widespread assumption that Plato had “appropriated” his teachings on cosmological origins from Moses. In espousing this thesis, the Apologists wavered between positive and negative intepretations of its significance. On the positive side, it provided a means of ennobling Platonism as a philosophy in consonance with Scripture. On the negative side, it justified a derision of the philosophical tradition for its supposed plagiarism of the teachings of divine Revelation. Whether the Greek Apologists assumed a positive or negative posture toward the “appropriation” thesis, they exhibit a common reliance upon a conceptual framework bearing the imprint of Middle Platonic influences. Chapters 6 through 9 of this study provide a window into these diverse stances and the ways in which a dependence upon Middle Platonic commentaries upon Plato’s theory of cosmic origins shaped the exegesis of Justin, Athenagoras, Tatian, and Theophilus. Each of these thinkers endorsed a version of the teaching that creation entails a formation and ordering of amorphous/disordered matter. In this respect, the question regarding the status of matter as created or preexistent provides something of a litmus test for evaluating the extent to which they upheld creation ex nihilo in its strictest sense. It is hardly persuasive to maintain that God brought all things into being from nothing with the exception of preexistent matter. Such a position not only challenges God’s exclusiveness as Creator, but suggests a metaphysical dualism whereby matter assumes an independent status in its own right. We confront, then, an either/or proposition: either God is creatively responsible for the existence of all things (including matter) or God’s creative work amounts to a demiurgic organizing of what already exists, albeit on a rather primitive metaphysical level. Accordingly, we can chart the Apologists’ increasing refinement of their understanding of creation ex nihilo on the basis of their responses (or lack of responses) to the problem concerning the origin of matter. Arguably, Justin was the first Father of the Church to coordinate a reading of the opening verses of Genesis with Plato’s theory of cosmic generation in the Timaeus. In so doing, he stands in continuity with the exegetical approach of Philo Judaeus, a major conduit of Platonic thought into the patristic tradition. Justin’s ability to view the creation accounts of Genesis and the Timaeus along almost parallel lines attests to his vision of the harmony of Platonism with scriptural teachings. Still, Justin’s relation to Platonic thought (whether the thought of Plato himself or his Middle Platonic successors) was rather subtle, shifting between a wholesale attachment to that philosophical outlook and a highly selective incorporation of its resources. Justin could be as critical of Platonism as he was attentive to its effectiveness for his theological requirements. For him, any truth value he discerned in the writings of the Platonists was attributable to what they had gleaned from the more venerable

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authority of Moses. For this reason, Justin exhibits no reluctance to correct or revise Platonic teaching when it conflicted with Scripture. It is interesting to observe, however, that Justin freely recasts the teaching of both Plato and Genesis in his exegesis of Gn 1:1–3. In point of fact, the notion of matter figures neither in the creation narratives of Genesis nor the Timaeus. Still, Justin’s exegesis assumes a distinctive Middle Platonic character, reading as he does the formation of an amorphous substrate into these opening scriptural verses. Justin was clearly no metaphysical dualist, as borne out by his critique of Marcionism. Moreover, his designation of God as “Unbegotten Cause” of all things provides sufficient grounds for inferring that he would have considered matter as created. In this vein, we might well wonder if Justin would have considered amorphous matter as truly existent at all in any robust metaphysical sense. But in leaving unsaid whether matter was in fact created, he sets the tone for the ambiguity on this issue exhibited by other second-century Apologists. Athenagoras reflects this tendency, describing God’s imposition of form upon the raw material of creation in a manner akin to the way in which a potter shapes formless clay into the finished product. Athenagoras likewise integrates this highly Platonized model of creation with an existential interpretation of the divine nature in which God (as Being Itself) is not only identified as the source of form and intelligibility, but as the Cause of the very being of creatures. Like Justin, Athenagoras makes a compelling case for inferring a sequential creation, whereby God creates the matter that the Logos (as the Father’s agent) transforms into a finite universe reflecting the majesty of its Creator. Tatian provides a formalized version of this process, linking his Logos doctrine with a “dual stage” theory of creation. If we can discern a commitment to creation ex nihilo on Tatian’s part, it is most evident in his pronouncement of the creation of matter. This teaching is consistent with his recognition of the causal dependence of all things upon God for their existence. But the Oratio ventures deeper into the metaphysical dimension of creaturely contingency by specifying that God brought matter itself (as the fundamental constituent of creation) into being. In advancing the notion that matter was created, Tatian (along with Athenagoras) demonstrates the gradual distancing of Christian thinkers from an overarching Middle Platonic influence. Despite this development, the formation model of creation remained a staple feature of second-century creation accounts. Granted, Tatian relegated it to the second “stage” of creation, that transformative phase of the Logos’s action. But it nonetheless assumed a significant place in his overall Logos doctrine. Accordingly, we must reconcile his scathing critique of Greek philosophy with his lingering attachment to a Middle Platonic outlook. Theophilus follows suit in this adaptative endeavor. But if he retains the Platonic appellation of demiourgos in relation to God (along with an incorporation of the formation model of creation), he infuses this terminology with

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the connotation of “Creator” in the sense reserved exclusively for God. On one level, Theophilus can be viewed as the culmination of the extended series of refinements in creation theology exhibited by the second-century Apologists from Justin onward. Yet this intepretation would reduce Theophilus’s contribution to little more than an outgrowth of what preceded him. On a more profound level, he achieves that conceptual leap by which the uniqueness of a biblical understanding of the act of creation is set in sharp contrast to anything we find in the creation narrative of the Timaeus and its Middle Platonic commentaries. Theophilus appeals to the fact of creation ex nihilo as the mark of God’s identity as the one true God, the ultimate Ground of being on which everything else depends. In his reckoning, creation from preexistent matter does not constitute creation at all, at least not in the manner that God creates. It is significant that Theophilus crafts his doctrine of creation ex nihilo on the basis of the language of 2 Mc 7:28, a text rich in metaphysical import by virtue of its incorporation of the ex ouk onton (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων) formula in designating the extent of God’s creative power. By means of this scriptural touchstone, he specifies the exclusivity of divine creation, a task reserved for God alone. Indeed, Theophilus represents something of a nodal point in the Christian theology of creation to the extent that he explicitly distinguishes creation in its absolute sense (that is, from nothing whatsoever) from the counterpart notion prominent in Platonism (that is, creation as a formation and ordering). The critical question he poses (regarding the fact that there is nothing extraordinary regarding creation from preexistent matter) attests to his awareness of the distinctiveness of a teaching that runs to the heart of Christian belief in one supreme Godhead and the power to create in the most thoroughgoing, unequivocal terms. The teaching of creation ex nihilo formulated in the second century opened the way to its incorporation into the systematic theologies of the Alexandrian school. Clement and Origen both affirm God’s sovereign power as Creator and the radical contingency of creatures upon God for their existence. By the same token, they reflect the extent to which a Middle Platonic mindset continued to exert a substantial influence on Christian thinking in this vein. If Philo was the medium through which that influence was transmitted, however, they also absorbed a version of Middle Platonism highly amenable to a Judeo-Christian exegesis of the creation account of Genesis. The creation theologies of Clement and Origen reflect the influence of Philo Judaeus on various levels. So pervasive is this influence that it seems justifiable to posit a conceptual line of descent proceeding from Philo to these dominant Christian representatives of the Alexandrian school. This, of course, does not overlook Philo’s influence on other early Christian thinkers as well. But his impact upon the Alexandrian milieu is especially prominent. In this regard, the most apparent legacy that he bequeathed to Clement and

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Origen proceeded from an exegetical method versatile enough to place the teachings of scriptural Revelation in conversation with a Greek philosophical (and more specifically, a Middle Platonic) outlook. While Philo, Clement, and Origen display a fidelity to Scripture, they likewise exhibit a facility for adapting insights drawn from secular wisdom in service to their respective creation accounts. Philo, in effect, provided the crucial point of contact between the teaching of Genesis and the Timaeus, and in broader terms, between the resources of faith and reason. Philo, it seems reasonable to assume, was the thinker responsible for introducing the notion of matter into the exegesis of the opening verses of Genesis, along with a model of creation (at least in its initial phase) as a process involving a formation of formless matter. A prominent feature of this exegesis lies in his account of the visible world’s creation on the basis of an intelligible paradigm grounded in the Mind of the Creator. In this context, the Logos provides the intermediary between Creator and creation. Philo’s incorporation of the Logos into his treatment of the dynamic of creation finds continuity in patristic interpretations of the Logos as the Father’s creative agent, the Word Incarnate that creates the visible universe according to rational principles. Still, the ambiguity inherent in Philo’s intepretation of the metaphysical status of matter (as eternally preexistent and coeternal with God, or as created by God) carries over into early patristic circles as well. Clement, as we have seen, inherits this vagueness in upholding God’s sovereignty as Creator on the one hand, and the creation of matter from meontic (that is, relative) non-being on the other. Philo likewise served as a conduit for a more refined interpretation of the notion of “the beginning” of creation in the broader context of Middle Platonic debate regarding Plato’s own account of cosmological origins. In this respect, Plato’s Timaeus and the doxographical tradition it inspired provided Judeo-Christian thinkers with a philosophical matrix within which they came to terms with the metaphysical implications of the teaching that “In the beginning God made the heaven and the earth” (Gn 1:1). Following Philo’s lead, Clement and Origen adapt the notion of a timeless or atemporal creation espoused by Alcinous and Apuleius, representatives of the majority view of Middle Platonists regarding the meaning of Plato’s understanding of the term gegonen at Tim. 28b. As we saw in chapter 3 of this study, these philosophers drew upon the third and fourth senses of gegonen delineated in Calvenus Taurus’s Commentary on the Timaeus (145, 13ff., Rabe). From this standpoint, the universe is always in process of generation, but actively dependent upon a transcendent cause for its formation and ordering. For Philo and the Alexandrian Fathers, however, God’s causal action as Creator entails a bringing into being, not just an ordering and formation of preexistent matter. For them, creatures exhibit an active dependence upon God, not merely at the outset of their existence, but on an ongoing basis. Their task, then, lay in

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coordinating the notion of a “timeless beginning” with an affirmation of the act of creation in its most absolute sense. From our finite perspective, “the beginning” is ordinarily construed in temporal terms, as the initiation or start of a process. 100 In ontological terms, however, “the beginning” assumes a foundational import as the enduring and sustaining cause (arché) of creation. Accordingly, the question as to “when” or “at what point in time” creation commenced is subsumed under the larger metaphysical question as to why things exist at all, or more precisely, why there is something rather than nothing. 101 Both Clement and Origen share Philo’s conviction that God (as First Principle of all things) must necessarily transcend becoming and change on every level. Since God creates according to His unoriginate nature, He neither requires temporal duration in implementing creation, nor depends upon temporal succession in effecting His purpose as Creator. In a manner consistent with His eternal nature, God brings all things into being simultaneously. For these thinkers, the creation of “all things” encompasses the making of the intelligible and the material universes. On the basis of Philo’s overall creation theology, however, we might assume that the creation of the intelligible universe temporally precedes the creation of the material universe. But Philo’s attribution of the intelligible universe’s origin to the “first day” of creation is attuned to an ontological priority rather than a temporal one. For Clement and Origen alike, God initially creates all things in a seminal state by means of a single instantaneous act. They integrate this teaching with a Logos theology in which the Logos (as the Word and Wisdom of the Father) constitutes “the beginning” of creation. (While the intelligible universe encompasses unchanging principles grounded in the divine intellect, it is still causally dependent upon God for its existence.) The Logos thereby provides the link between the noetic and the visible realms: first, as the expression of the divine mind embracing the exemplars of all things; and secondly, as the Father’s will to create. In this scheme, time only emerges with the creation of the material universe. 102 Accordingly, Clement and Origen adhere to the patristic trend (emerging in the second-century Greek Apologists) to treat the act of creation as a process involving separate “stages” or “phases,” that is, an originative creation responsible for the creation of matter (in Clement’s account) or the rational principles of all things (in Origen’s account), and a secondary creation (implemented by the “exteriorized” dimension of the Logos) responsible for the crafting of the material universe. NOTES References to Books One to Three of Clement of Alexandria’s Stromateis are based upon the translation of John Ferguson (The Fathers of the Church. Volume 85. Washington, DC: The

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Catholic University of America Press, 1991). References of Books Four to Seven of the Stromateis are based upon the translation of the Ante-Nicene Fathers Edition, Volume 2 (Fathers of the Second Century. Edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson. Revised by A. Cleveland Coxe. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1994). All references to the critical edition of Clement’s works are drawn from Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller Der Ersten Jahrhunderte (designated by the abbreviation “GCS,” followed by the appropriate volume and page numbers), Band 1–3 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1960ff.). 1. Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis I, 5, 29 (1). 2. Johannes Quasten (Patrology, Volume II [Allen, TX: Christian Classics, 1986], 3) defines the advantages of this exegetical approach for Alexandrian Christians in these terms: “In the age of Clement and Origen and in the centre of Hellenistic learning, it had the great advantage of opening a vast field to nascent theology and of allowing the fertile contact of Greek philosophy and revelation.” 3. Strom. II, 1, 1 (1). 4. Strom. I, 1, 15 (1). 5. Strom. I, 1, 15 (3). 6. Strom. I, 1, 16 (1). 7. Strom. I, 1, 18 (1). 8. Strom. I, 1, 18 (4). 9. Strom. I, 1, 5, 28 (3). 10. Strom. I, 5, 28 (1). 11. Strom. I, 7, 37 (6). 12. Strom. I, 7, 37 (1). 13. Strom. I, 7, 37 (1). 14. Strom. I, 7, 37 (2). Cf., Justin, The First Apology, trans. Leslie Williams Barnard (Ancient Christian Writers. Volume 56. New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1997), 44, 46. 15. Clement of Alexandria, Protrepticus (Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 2. Fathers of the Second Century., ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, rev. by A. Cleveland Coxe. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1994), X, 98. 16. Strom. I, 1, 17 (4). 17. Strom. I, 11, 53 (2). 18. Strom. I, 5, 30 (2). 19. Strom. II, 19, 97 (1). 20. Strom. I, 9, 44 (2). 21. Strom. VII, 12, 69 (5): GCS III, 50. Cf., Strom. III, 10, 69 (3). 22. Strom. III, 10, 68 (3). 23. Strom. V, 11, 71 (5): GCS II, 374. 24. Protr. V, 57, 4: GCS I, 50. Clement here designates God as “Maker” of everything by means of the terms poietes (ποιητὴς) and God as “Creator” of the first principles by means of demiourgos (δημιουργὸς). We find a similar pairing of these terms in Theophilus (Ad Autol. I.4). While demiourgos carries the Platonic connotation of creation as a “bringing into order,” its usage in a Christian context implies the notion of creation in its absolute sense as a “bringing into being.” 25. In Strom. II, 4, 14 (2): GCS II, 119–20, Clement specifically refers to early natural philosophers of the Pre-Socratic tradition (who posited one of the elements as the primary cause) as well as Anaxagoras (who posited Mind as the principle governing material things) as evidence that these thinkers never arrived at the creative Cause of all things. 26. Strom. II, 4, 14 (1). 27. Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 2. Fathers of the Second Century, ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, rev. by A. Cleveland Coxe. (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1994), I, 8, 62 (3): GCS I, 126–27. 28. Strom. V, 14, 89 (6–7); V, 14, 92 (3–4); V, 14, 126 (1–2). 29. Strom. V, 14, 92 (1–2): GCS II, 386. 30. Strom. V, 14, 92 (3–4): GCS II, 386–87.

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31. Strom. V, 14, 93 (5–6). For Philo’s theory of the creation of the intelligible universe, see Philo, De Opificio Mundi, trans. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 1. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1991), IV, 19; V, 20; VI, 24–25; De Specialibus Legibus, trans. F. H. Colson (Loeb Classical Library Edition. Volume 7. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1968), I, LX, 329. According to W. E. G. Floyd (Clement of Alexandria’s Treatment of the Problem of Evil [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971], 14), Clement’s universe was “structured” along the lines of a “Platonic two-world pattern” exhibiting a system of gradation, and bearing “a marked similarity to the ‘emanationism’ proposed by the Gnostics.” While similarities are clearly discernible, we must still balance them against Clement’s clear commitment to the ontological difference between God and creatures. By the same token, Floyd (Clement of Alexandria’s Treatment of the Problem of Evil, 15) contrasts Clement’s vision of the universe with that of the Gnostics, insofar as the God of Clement is no disinterested Godhead, but rather, a Creator fully operative in creation, sustaining everything in being (drawing on Protr. LXIX, 4). 32. Strom. V, 14, 90 (1): GCS II, 385. 33. Strom. V, 14, 89 (6–7): GCS II, 385. 34. Cf., Aristotle, Physica, trans. R. P. Hardie and R. K. Gaye (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1941), 209 b 12; Alcinous, Didaskalikos, trans. John Dillon (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1993), 8.2–3. For a broad survey of texts pertinent to the Aristotelian interpretation and its influence on Middle Platonic interpretations of Plato’s Receptacle, see Salvator R. C. Lilla, Clement of Alexandria. A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 193–94. 35. At Strom. V, 14, 126 (1–2): GCS II, 411, Clement (referring to the Orphic hymns) interprets the expression “father of our mother” (μητροπάτωρ) as imitative of creation out of nothing (ἐχ μὴ ὄντων). The expression is evocative of Plato’s depiction of the Receptacle as both “Father” and “Mother”: the designation of “Father” is aligned with the title “Maker” (Timaeus, trans. R. G. Bury [Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1975], 28); together, these appellations highlight the causal and providential roles of the demiourgos. By identifying the demiourgos as “Mother,” Plato (Tim. 50d) focuses specifically upon the role of the demiourgos as bearer of the “offspring” of what is engendered. In this way, it also serves as the pure potentiality for such formative action. Clement, we see, draws on the Middle Platonic interpretation of matter as a pure potentiality encompassing a kind of quasi-existence or intermediary state between true being and non-being. 36. In this vein, Lilla (Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, 195–96) rejects the claim that Clement’s depiction of matter in meontic terms (as relative non-being) justifies the assumption that he upheld creation ex nihilo (and the corresponding denial of the existence of preexistent matter). Rather, he finds in the μὴ ὂν formula a link between Clement and Neopythagorean and Neoplatonic conceptions of matter in Aristotelian terms as that which stands in opposition to οὐσία, and thereby, represents a deficiency of real being. 37. Henry Chadwick, “Clement of Alexandria,” Chapter 10 of The Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 171. According to Floyd (Clement of Alexandria’s Treatment of the Problem of Evil, 4), however, Clement’s suggestion that God assumes more of the role of “orderer” than “fabricator” (citing Protr. 5.1 and Paed. III, 11, 19ff.) provides “carrots which Clement dangles in front of his adversaries . . . to demonstrate that orthodox Christianity is broad enough to encompasss their ideas,” despite the fact that he “remains firm in his opinion that the divine Artist did not ‘order’ the world . . . but created it ex nihilo.” 38. Strom. VI, 16, 142 (4). 39. Strom. VI, 16, 145 (4–5): GCS II, 506. 40. Strom. VI, 14, 142 (2): GCS II, 504. We are reminded here of Philo’s depiction of the noetic dimension of God’s creative activity in terms of the way in which an architect envisions the model of the future city in his mind (Opif. IV, 10; V, 20). 41. Strom. VI, 14, 142 (3): GCS II, 504.

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42. Strom. V, 14, 141 (1–2): GCS II, 421. 43. Strom. VI, 16, 142 (1). 44. Lilla (Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism, 200–209) delineates the role of Clement’s Logos as a metaphysical principle in terms of three stages of its relationship with God and creation: first, the Logos as identified with the mind and thoughts of God; secondly, the Logos as a distinct hypostasis, in its role as Creator and immanent Law of the visible universe; third, the Logos as administering power of the universe. 45. Athenagoras, Legatio, trans. William R. Schoedel (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1972), 10, 2–3, distinguishes the “interior” and “exterior” aspects of the Logos in terms of the contrast between the Logos as “Ideal Form” and as “Energizing Power”; Tatian, Oratio Ad Graecos, trans. Molly Whittaker (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1982), 5, 1, distinguishes the Logos “at the beginning” (as coeternal with God) from the Logos “in the beginning” of the visible universe; Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum, trans. Robert M. Grant (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1970), II.10, contrasts the immanent Logos (Logos endiathetos) with the Logos as “firstborn of creation” (Logos prophorikos). These motifs, in turn, harken back to Philo’s identification of the intelligible world itself with the same Logos that functions as agent of creation (Opif. VI, 24–25; Spec. Leg. I, LX, 329). 46. Strom. VII, 1, 2 (2–3): GCS III, 4. Cf., Protr. I, 6, 3, where Clement refers to our preexistence before the world’s formation in the “eye of God,” as rational creatures of the Word. 47. Clement’s designations of the Logos in these terms are found in the following passages (listed in the order in which I quote them): Strom. VII, 2, 7 (7): GCS I, 7; VII, 2, 8 (5): GCS I, 8; I, 9, 4–5 (5–6): GCS II, 30; V, 14, 89 (2–3): GCS II, 384–85; V, 3, 16 (5): GCS II, 336. 48. Strom. VII, 2, 5 (4): GCS III, 5. In this passage, Clement’s use of the verb οἰᾶκίζω (with its connotation of “steering” or “helmanship”) is reminiscent of Theophilus’s depiction of God (Ad Autol. I.5) as the “pilot of the universe,” setting it upon its proper course. 49. Protr. I, 7, 3. 50. In this vein, Joseph Wilson Trigg (Origen: The Bible and Philosophy in the Third Century Church [Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1983], 54) goes so far as to say that “practically all the elements which Origen was to weld into a magnificant theological system are present . . . in the works of Clement.” Trigg further contends (Origen, 60) that Clement’s assimilative ability “was perhaps his most significant contribution to Origen.” When viewed in comparison to Origen, however, we must also consider whether Clement can be considered a “systematic theologian” (at least in the strict sense of that term). 51. Commenters have been divided on this point. According to Robert M. Berchman (From Philo to Origen. Middle Platonism in Transition [Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1984], 100), “Origen’s thought represents the consummation of Middle Platonic thought, not the initiation of a new phase in Platonic thinking itself.” Charles Kannengiesser (“Divine Trinity and the Structure of Peri Archon,” Origen of Alexandria. His World and His Legacy, ed. by Charles Kannengiesser and William L. Petersen [Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988], 249), however, rejected this claim, charging that “Berchman reduces him exclusively to a final figure of a dying Middle Academy, where he should . . . have given some weight to Origen’s foundational and paradigmatic achievement in the line of his own Christian tradition.” In point of fact, however, Berchman does affirm (From Philo to Origen, 100) that while Origen’s metaphysic stands in continuity with the Middle Platonism of Clement and Philo, he offers something distinctive, as “a pivotal figure in the history of formative Christian Platonism.” 52. Such doctrines include the preexistence of rational natures and the restoration of all creation to a condition of pure unity. My treatment of Origen’s theology of creation relies chiefly (but not exclusively) upon the De Principiis. In this investigation, I prescind from discussion of the issue regarding the fidelity of Rufinus’s Latin translation to the original work and the fidelity of other testimony to Origen’s teachings. For the present purposes, I approach the Koetschau text on a tentative basis as a reasonably accurate statement regarding what Origen taught concerning creation. Scholars have been at odds in their opinions about Rufinus’s accuracy as Origen’s translator. Joseph Wilson Trigg (Origen, 91) reflects a skeptical viewpoint, advising the use of Rufinus’s text “with caution,” insofar as Rufinus’s own testimo-

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ny shows “that he altered passages . . . of doubtful orthodoxy in order to make the work accessible to Christians in the West.” In contrast, René Cadiou (Origen, His Life at Alexandria, trans. John A. Southwell [St. Louis, MO: B. Herder Book Co., 1944], 210) offered a more positive response, contending that Rufinus’s major focus “seems to have been the wateringdown of the more rash expressions or theories . . . passing them over in silence [or] an effort to forestall possible objections.” In relying chiefly upon the De Principiis in this chapter, I share the opinion of Peter W. Martens (Origen and Scripture. The Contours of the Exegetical Life [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012], 277, n. 1) that this work (for all of the deficiencies in the text) “offers us the clearest window” into Origen’s thought regarding the beginning and ending of things. 53. Origen, De Principiis, trans. G. W. Butterworth (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1966), I, Praef. 8. 54. Princ. I.I.6. 55. Princ. I.III.3. This teaching necessarily rules out what Origen designates as the “false doctrine” that matter exists co-eternally with God (the teaching endorsed by the Gnostics). 56. Princ. I, Praef. 4. In support of creation ex nihilo, Origen appeals to the pronouncements of 2 Mc 7:28 and The Shepherd of Hermas, Mandate I.1. 57. Princ. II.I.3. For St. Paul’s incorporation of this organic metaphor, see Rom 12:3–8 and I Cor 12:12–31. 58. Princ. I.VIII.1. 59. Princ. I.II.6. 60. Princ. I.II.12. 61. Princ. I.VII.1. 62. Origen, Commentary on the Gospel According to John, trans. Ronald E. Heine (The Fathers of the Church. Volume 80. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1989), I, 288. Cf., Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autol. II.10. 63. Origen’s survey in Comment. in Joh. highlights various connotations surrounding this sense of “beginning”: as involving change and belonging to a way and length (I,91); as the underlying matter from which something comes (I,103); that according to which something is made, that is, according to its form (I,104); as pertaining to the learning process (I,106); as pertaining to an action directed toward some goal (I,108). 64. Comment. in Joh. I, 109–10; 116. 65. Princ. I.II.2. 66. Origen, Homilies on Genesis, trans. Ronald E. Heine (The Fathers of the Church. Volume 71. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1982), 1(1). Origen’s designation of an atemporal beginning of creation might be construed in terms of an eternal creation. This interpretation is proposed by John D. Zizioulas (Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church [Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1985], 75) who reconciles the notion of an “eternal creation” with creation ex nihilo in these terms: Despite his doctrine of creation ex nihilo, Origen connected the idea of God so closely with that of creation that he came to speak of eternal creation, arguing that God would not be eternally omnipotent with no object on which to exercise his power. God thus becomes eternally a creator, and the link between the logos of God and the logoi of creation thus comes to be organic and unbreakable, as in the Greek idea of truth. 67. Princ. I.IV.4. 68. Comment. in Joh. I, 114; 288. 69. Princ. I.IV.4. 70. Comment. in Joh. I, 111. 71. Princ. II.IX.6. 72. Princ. II.IX.1. 73. Princ. II.IX.1: ἐὰν γάρ ᾖ ἄ πειρος ἡ θεία δύναμις, ảνάγκη αὐτὴν μηδἑ ἑαυτὴν νοεῖν‧ τῇ γὰρ φύσει τὸ ἄπειρον ảπερίληπτον. We see here the difference between the Middle Platonic and Neoplatonic visions of reality and their implications for interpretations of the Godhead.

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Middle Platonism defines the divine perfection in terms of form and intelligibility. From a Middle Platonic perspective, the “finite” is linked with order and purposefulness, whereas the “infinite” is associated with disorder and chaos. Neoplatonism precipitated a metaphysical revolution in designating the One (as ultimate First Principle) as unbounded in its unlimited capacity to diffuse goodness, being, and life throughout all reality without undergoing any diminishment of its power in the process. 74. Princ. II.IX.1. 75. Princ. II.II.2. 76. Princ. II.II.1. 77. Princ. II.IX.6. 78. Princ. II.IX.6. 79. Princ. II.IX.2. Cf., Princ. I.VII.1. 80. Princ. II.1X.2. Cf., Princ. I.IV.1. For a delineation of Origen’s theory of rational natures’ “satiation” with the contemplation of the divine goodness that prompted their defection, see Joseph Torchia, O.P., “Satiety and the Fall of Souls in Origen’s De Principiis,” Studia Patristica XXVI: 192–99. H. Cornelis (“Les Fondements cosmologiques de l’eschatologie d’Origene,” Revue des sciences philosophiques et theologiques 43 (1959): 212) explores the complex motivation prompting the fall of rational spirits in the De Principiis, rooting it in their creaturely status: Cette chute débuta, si nous suivons le De Pr., par une lente déperdition de ferveur, un consentement à l’inertie, une sorte de viscosité que empêchait les esprits de à la suite du Logos avec la célérité qui convenait à leur état premier. Dans l’univers d’Origene, avec une constance parfaite, on est toujours puni par où on a péché. La vie ‘aquatique’ de ceux qui ont chu dans l’abîme est une vie ralentie. Comment un tel engourdissement a-t-il pu gagner ces esprits, unis au Logos dans une même contemplation du Pere? Origène en est le premier étonné, et se réfugie dans l’impuissance où se trouve l’homme de connaitre tout commencement absolu, en particulier celui du mal. Le seule résponse possible est que ces esprits etaient créés. Ils étaient donc dès le principe passibles; passibilité impliquant passibilité d’une déchéance. 81. Princ. III.V.4. 82. G. W. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), 705b. Cf., Origen’s remarks on Comment. in Joh. XIX, 149, which interpret the use of καταβολή at Jn 17:24 as a “throwing down,” an interpretation consistent with his assessment of the meaning of the term at Princ. III.V.4. While καταβολή refers to a “beginning” or “foundation,” it also lends itself to the connotation of a “sowing” of seed or a “propagation” of ideas. In both cases, we find the suggestion of a “casting” or “throwing” downward. But Origen expands upon this motif in a markedly metaphysical way as a “descent” or “fall” that amounts to a defection from the eternal contemplation of the divine goodness. According to Trigg (Origen: The Bible and Philosophy in the Third Century Church, 109), however, this imagery is more consistent with Platonic emanationism than with any traditional Christian reading of scriptural sources. 83. Princ. I.V.5. Cf., Princ. I.VIII.2. 84. Princ. II.I.1. 85. In this vein, R. A. Norris (God and World in Early Christian Theology [New York: The Seabury Press, 1965], 147) aptly characterizes the emergence of the material universe as a “second-best creation,” at least to the extent that this phase of creation is simultaneously an outgrowth of a moral failing on the part of rational natures and an expression of the divine omnipotence and goodness which enables all things to be brought into order. 86. Princ. II.IX.1. 87. Princ. III.V.1. 88. Princ. III.V.1. 89. Aristotle, De Caelo, trans. J. L. Stocks (The Basic Works of Aristotle. Richard McKeon, editor. New York: Random House, 1941), I, 10, 279b 13–21.

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90. Princ. I.VI.2. At Princ. II.VIII.3, Origen designates the embodiment of rational natures as a punishment for the fall that opens the way to the purification that results in their return to an incorporeal state of existence. Cf. Princ. III.VI.8. 91. Tim. 50e–51a. 92. Princ. II.I.4. At Princ. II.II.2, Origen makes the claim that material substance was made for the embodiment of rational natures, which have “neither lived nor live” without material substance. How is this statement to be construed? On the one hand, we might reconcile it with his contention (Princ. IV.IV.7) that we can only consider rational natures as separable from bodies on the basis of concepts and by means of thought. On the other hand, the statement might point to a notion of spiritual or intelligible matter. Support for this latter interpretation can be found at Princ. II.III.2, where Origen draws upon the Pauline teaching that the corruptible must put on incorruption. For Origen, the teaching presupposes a distinction between bodily or carnal matter and matter “in the subtler and purer form which is called spiritual.” For an exploration of the notion of intelligible matter in Plotinus and Augustine, see A. H. Armstrong’s “Spiritual or intelligible Matter in Plotinus and St. Augustine,” Augustinus Magister I. Congres International Augustinien (Paris, 1954): 277–83. Cf., Plotinus, Ennead II.4[12].1–3, trans. A. H. Armstrong (Loeb Classical Library. Volume II. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1966). 93. Princ. IV.IV.7. 94. Princ. IV.IV.6. Cf., Princ. IV.IV.6, where Origen specifies that the only exception to the absence of any scriptural reference to matter (hyle) as underlying substrate of all bodies is found in the teaching of Wis 11:17 that God “created the world out of formless matter” (κτίσασα τὸν κόσμον ἐξ ᾀμόρφου ὕλης). 95. Princ. II.I.4. We can include Marcionism in this indictment. Cf., Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem, trans. Peter Holmes (Ante-Nicene Fathers. Volume 3. Edinburgh: T & T Clark/ Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1997), I.XV, referring to Marcion’s teaching that God fabricated the world out of unbegotten, uncreated material that exists co-eternally with God. 96. Princ. IV.IV.8. 97. Princ. I.IV.1. 98. Princ. III.VI.7. 99. Henri Crouzel, Origen, trans. A. S. Worrall (San Francisco: Harper & Row Publishers, 1987), 217. 100. The sense of “beginning” as the initiation of process is a hallmark of Plato’s account of cosmological origins in the Timaeus. As Arnold Ehrhardt affirms (The Beginning. A Study in the Greek Philosophical Approach to the Concept of Creation from Anaximander to St. John [Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1968], 107), the “beginning” in Plato’s philosophy is an event rather than a static principle. 101. Jaroslav Pelikan (What Has Athens to Do with Jerusalem? Timaeus and Genesis in Counterpoint. Jerome Lectures 21 [Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997], 15) delineates the various connotations inherent in the notion of a cosmological “beginning” with an attentiveness to its parallel teleological connotations: Just as the Latin word principium and its Greek counterpart ảρχή could mean either “beginning” in the chronological sense, “first principle” in the epistemological sense, or “ground of being” in the metaphysical sense, so the dual meaning of the word “end,” chronologically as “conclusion” and metaphysically as “intention” or “purpose,” which is visible also in the Greek τέλος, in the Latin finis, and in the familiar English distinction between “means” and “ends,” has helped to shape the development of the teleological theory in cosmogony, by relating it to eschatology. 102. The affirmation of a temporal origin of the universe finds its Middle Platonic counterpart in the philosophies of Plutarch and Atticus, representative of the minority interpretation which construed Plato’s understanding of gegonen in literal terms.

Epilogue Creation as “Beginning”

I believe in one God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.

The initial article of the Nicene Creed is a fundamental tenet of Christian faith, upholding monotheism in its most exclusive sense and the all-encompassing scope of God’s role as Creator. What it leaves unstated is that this unique, all-powerful God depends upon nothing whatsoever in creating “all things visible and invisible.” 1 But need it be stated in an explicit manner? Or, would such a statement be superfluous to those who invest their belief in the God in whom “we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28)? This belief is deeply rooted in scriptural teaching from Genesis onward. From this standpoint, the recognition that God creates in these unequivocal terms does not necessarily rely upon the ex nihilo or ex ouk onton formulae. What it does assume is an attunement to the radical contingency of reality other than God (that is, reality encompassing things which can be and not be, since they do not possess the sufficient reason for their existence). This is tantamount to saying that God’s act of creating constitutes the “beginning” of all things. Accordingly, we find what amounts to a de facto commitment to creation ex nihilo in Scripture on purely theological grounds. Its very conception of the Godhead as absolutely sovereign and omnipotent rules out the possibility that something existed independently of God’s creative fiat. The implication is that anything which exists other than God ultimately depends upon God for its claim to existence in any robust sense of that term. The linkage of these themes highlights the key presuppositions operative in the early patristic theology of creation: an emphasis upon divine sovereignty and omnipo205

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tence; and a recognition of the existential dependence of creatures upon God, not merely at the outset of creation, but from moment to moment of their existence. 2 While these presuppositions are deeply rooted in Scripture, their theological and philosophical implications were only fully grasped on the basis of the increasing contact of Jewish and Christian thinkers with an intellectual perspective that they put to new use in service of faith seeking understanding. In the Acts of the Apostles, we find a dramatic New Testament depiction of the encounter between Christianity and the Hellenistic thought world. The setting is the Areopagus in Athens, the veritable wellspring of western philosophy. There, St. Paul preaches about “the God who made the world and all that is in it, the Lord of heaven and earth . . . who gives to everyone life and breath and everything” (Acts 17:24–25). The Athenians’ response to Paul (Acts 17:20) points the way to things to come: “You bring some strange notions to our ears; we should like to know what these things mean.” Christians of subsequent generations indeed clarified the meaning of these things. And they would do so by putting the resources of Greek philosophy to bold use in explicating the riches of Revelation. Christianity could offer Greek philosophers a new conception of the Godhead; Greek philosophy, in turn, provided Christian thinkers with the dialectical tools for explicating their understanding of God and God’s role as supreme Creator. This endeavor (which presupposed a symbiotic relationship between faith and reason) abetted the growth of the Christian theology of creation. We confront, however, something paradoxical in the claim that the doctrine of creation ex nihilo emerged on the basis of an adaptation of insights derived from Greek philosophical speculation. The very claim that God created from nothing violated a hitherto incontestable canon of ancient Greek philosophy: from nothing nothing comes (ex nihilo nihilo fit). The Christian introduction of the ex nihilo formula into the theology of creation not only challenged a basic principle of logic, but opened the way to asking a provocative new question. According to Jim Holt, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo “appeared to sanction the idea of nothingness as a genuine ontological possibility,” thereby making “it conceptually possible to ask why there is a world rather than nothing at all.” 3 The very raising of the “Why?” question in regard to reality as a whole points to certain theological convictions that were likewise foreign within a Greek philosophical framework. The question itself implies that the universe need not exist, and that the alternative to an existent universe is nothing at all. For this reason, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo incorporates ideas that were revolutionary in their philosophico-theological implications. In this respect, Judeo-Christian thinkers from the first through the third centuries drastically redefined the meaning of “creation” (at least as it was understood in the context of the Greek philosophical tradition), engaging in what anthropolo-

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gist Alfred Gell describes as “thinking . . . that goes against the grain of language . . . in the service of . . . new meanings, or the more ‘expressive’ communication of old meanings.” 4 While Gell’s observation is applicable to intellectual discovery and the expansion of knowledge in general, it is equally so in regard to the forging of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. Early patristic theologies of creation exhibit the kind of ground-breaking character that reflects a bold synthesis of the old with the new: on the one hand, critical reflection on the contents of Revelation by means of the philosophical resources of the pagan world; on the other hand, a recognition of the exclusivity of a mode of creation proper to God alone. In my estimation, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo amounted to a veritable conceptual revolution in Christian theology, and arguably, in the broader sweep of western thought. In G. W. H. Lampe’s reckoning, this process entailed a “double apologetic,” whereby the early Fathers used pagan philosophy in support of scripturally grounded teaching, but only in a subordinate role to the infallible truth of divine Revelation. 5 Once cast in such revolutionary terms, the development of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo provides an intriguing case study in what has been characterized (in a hermeneutical context) as the growth of new genres. This particular theme is developed by E. D Hirsch Jr., in his work Validity in Interpretation. While Hirsch’s concern lies in textual interpretation, I believe that his analysis is relevant to our understanding of the emergence of a profound theological doctrine like creation ex nihilo as well. In Hirsch’s assessment, the growth of a new genre “is founded on the quantum principle that governs all learning and thinking: by an imaginative leap the unknown is assimilated to the known, and something genuinely new is realized.” 6 From this standpoint, the revolutionary character of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo was only completely discernible when contrasted with the Platonic interpretation of cosmological origins. 7 An examination of the initial centuries of the patristic era discloses an increasing attempt to grapple with the significance of biblical teaching regarding creation. In this way, the early Fathers of the Church effected the kind of “imaginative leap” to which Hirsch refers, linking the metaphysically charged language of 2 Mc 7:28 with their conviction in the radical contingency of created reality. Even those Fathers (e.g., Justin and Athenagoras) who defined the act of creation as a formation of matter were deeply attuned to the dependence of the created world upon God. From the standpoint of an essentialist interpretation of the really real (whereby being is defined in terms of what is ordered or formed, and therefore, intelligible), formless matter might well constitute “nothing” in the absence of God’s creative action. By the same token, I realize that the term “revolutionary” must be used in a rather restrictive manner in this context. By no means do I wish to suggest a complete discontinuity with Greek theories of cosmological origins or a

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thoroughgoing opposition on the part of Judeo-Christian thinkers to a Greek philosophical perspective. At the outset of this study, I proposed that the relationship between early patristic and Platonic accounts of creation might be assessed in terms of a “local” incommensurability. This model allows for an acknowledgment of the gulf separating these outlooks, while granting their respective points of contact. It is all too easy to focus on the former dimension, stressing the incompatibility between the notions of creation as a formation or ordering of preexistent matter and a bringing into being from nothing. But the early Fathers’ ability to recognize the distinctiveness of their understanding of creation was closely aligned with their comprehension of a common ground with Platonist theories of cosmological origins. So closely aligned, in fact, that early patristic theories of creation were heavily laden with the trappings of a Platonic mindset. This alliance was founded upon a deeply ingrained conviction in the parallelism between the creation narratives of Genesis and the Timaeus. A key component of the perceived parallelism between Genesis and the Timaeus was the argument that Plato had appropriated the more venerable (and divinely inspired) Mosaic teaching concerning how the universe came to be. 8 From an early patristic perspective, how else could be parallels be explained? But such an interpretation cuts two ways. First and foremost, it affirms the belief (however fanciful it may seem from our vantage point) in the ultimate dependence of Platonism and the best of Greek philosophical wisdom upon the authority of Scripture. Implicit in that belief is the assumption that Platonic and scriptural accounts of creation were on a similar wavelength. There are persuasive grounds for that assumption. Both traditions embraced a cosmic ideal grounded upon a teleological perspective upholding the intelligibility of reality as a whole; each attributes the providential governance of all things to a causal principle external to the visible universe. The downside to this sense of a shared vision, however, lay in the fact that it promoted a reading of the creation narrative of Genesis by means of the categories derived from Platonism, or more precisely, from Middle Platonism. While second- and third-century Fathers refined their grasp of the meaning of the act of creation in its most unequivocal terms, they still articulated that theology within a Middle Platonic framework. But the traditions increasingly pressed hard against each other in the face of two tenets that bespeak the distinctiveness of Judeo-Christian conceptions of God and creation: first, the notion of a personal Creator responsible for bringing all things into being (rather than merely imposing form and order upon an amorphous and disorderly substrate); secondly, the notion of creaturely contingency in its truest existential sense. Still, it would be mistaken to assume that the Church Fathers under scrutiny in this study crafted their understanding of creation ex nihilo solely in a polemical context, as “outsiders” standing opposed to the philosophical tradi-

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tion. I prefer to view them as interlocutors with that tradition, engaging in an ongoing intellectual discourse that bridged the gap (at least partially) between Greek philosophical and Judeo-Christian outlooks. From this standpoint, they not only functioned as opponents of the Platonists, but as “native speakers” wholly conversant with their idiom, both intellectually and culturally. Accordingly, they were able to move freely within both spheres, alternately critiquing the positions of the philosophers and adapting them for their unique theological purposes. In a very real sense, Middle Platonic debate regarding Plato’s teaching that the world “came to be” shaped early patristic exegesis of the creation account of Genesis. Middle Platonists, as we have seen, were divided in their opinion as to whether Plato’s words should be assessed allegorically (as pertaining to an atemporal beginning in an eternally existent universe) or literally (as referring to a beginning in time). Judeo-Christian thinkers from Philo onward incorporated both dimensions into their exegesis of the sacred text. While they interpreted the creation of the visible universe in literal terms (as entailing a temporal beginning), they construed the opening verses of Genesis in terms of a timeless beginning of an intelligible universe encompassing the formal principles of all things. Such a notion, of course, is not immediately apparent in a surface reading of the text. The imposition of that allegorical mode of interpretation underscores a reliance upon the Middle Platonic distinction between intelligible and material orders of reality. From this standpoint, God brings everything into being in seminal form simultaneously. The visible universe, in turn, comes into being as the image of a higher noetic realm under the agency of the Logos. The notion of a timeless creation imparts a deeper ontological significance to the teaching that God made all things “in the beginning.” In this respect, the act of creation does not merely initiate a process of change and becoming. On its most fundamental level, it constitutes the raison d’être for created reality as a whole and the foundational archê upon which everything depends for its very existence. If God assumes a priority over created reality, it is an ontological priority, rather than a temporal one. God cannot be designated as “first” in regard to a series of finite realities (even an eternally existent series with no temporal beginning or end). In that case, God would be reduced to but another member of the series. 9 As the ultimate Cause of everything which exists (that is, as First Cause) God also remains present to finite reality as a sustaining Cause. In this respect, God provides the metaphysical foundation upon which the great edifice of created being actively depends. 10 From this standpoint, the question as to “when” the universe began must be subordinated to the more fundamental question as to “why” anything exists at all. This conviction is operative in the classic Cosmological Argument for God’s existence that finds its most well-known medieval exponent in St. Thomas Aquinas. 11

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Aquinas infuses a metaphysical precision into the themes of creation and contingency that the early Fathers adumbrate in their deliberations on God’s role as “the beginning” of all things. Aquinas’s version of the Cosmological Argument rests upon the Argument from Contingency. The Argument from Contingency proceeds from the assumption that a universe composed of finite things riddled with layer upon layer of dependence does not possess the comprehensive reason for its existence. While the Argument from Contingency is implicit in each of Aquinas’s famous “Five Ways” to God, it assumes its most explicit role in the Third Way. In that demonstration, Aquinas contends that possible beings (i.e., things which come to be and cease to be what they are) ultimately depend upon an absolutely Necessary Being for their existence (i.e., a Being which necessarily exists, by its very nature). Aquinas accepted the temporal origin of the world. But he did so because of his faith in the teaching of Genesis. In philosophical terms, however, he contended that even an eternally existent universe composed of causally dependent realities would still require an ultimate Cause in order to sustain it in being on an ongoing basis. According to Aquinas, creatures require God for their very existence, since “the esse of all creaturely beings so depends upon God that they could not continue to exist even for a moment, but would fall away into nothingness unless they were sustained in existence by His power.” 12 God’s act of bringing all things into being thus coincides with God’s conserving of all things in being as well. Accordingly, Aquinas responded to those who argue in favor of the world’s eternity in these terms: They say that God is the cause of an everlasting world in the same way as a foot would have been the cause of an imprint if it had been pressed on sand from all eternity. For, whether God produced things in time . . . or from all eternity . . . nothing can be in reality that God did not produce; for God is the universal source of all being. 13

By virtue of God’s eternal nature, the act of creation (whereby all things proceed from a universal Cause) does not entail a transition from a prior to a posterior state of existence. For Aquinas (as for the early Fathers), God engages in an instantaneous bringing into being of what does not exist in the most absolute sense. God creates in a manner which transcends the succession operative in a finite universe (even one which is everlasting in horizontal terms, that is, in terms, of an infinite spatio-temporal series of causally dependent beings). In Aquinas’s estimation, actions which are instantaneous and non-successive do not require that “the maker . . . be prior in duration to the thing made [and] because God is the active cause of the world it does not necessarily follow that He is prior to it in duration, for . . . creation . . . is not a successive change.” 14

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Aquinas’s emphasis upon the timelessness of the act of creation and the ongoing dependence of creatures upon God is evocative of teachings propounded by Philo and early Church Fathers a millennium or more before. In a very real sense, these thinkers lay the groundwork for a natural theology rooted in our observation of the causal dependencies inherent in ourselves and the world around us. But while this natural theology relies upon the resources of reason and sense experience, it is also decisively shaped by the Judeo-Christian understanding of God. The God of Revelation is a giver of being on a universal scale, not merely a standard of perfection toward which all things aspire. Creatures, in turn, are not emanations or modes of the divine nature, but beings in their own right; finite because of their ontological difference from their Creator; contingent to the core but possessing an integrity that runs to their very natures. On its most basic metaphysical level, the mark of finitude lies in mutability and a tendency toward corruptibility rooted in creation from nothing and the contingency it presupposes. But contingency is not confined to this brute metaphysical dimension alone. It also encompasses a moral dimension accruing to creatures of a rational nature possessing a freedom of the will enabling them to function as morally responsible agents. In such beings, corruptibility is rooted in the will’s mutability and its ability to oscillate between competing goods (or in relation to an objective moral standard, between good and evil choices). The capacity to act on one’s own as a free agent is not determined by a causal necessity imposed from above, even as one actively depends on God for existence and the faculty of free will itself. From this standpoint, we are not free in spite of God, but because of God and what God endows as our Creator. There is, to be sure, a certain exhilaration accompanying the exercise of freedom. But that sense of delight is always tempered by an awareness of our own fallibility and inability to do good on a consistent basis. In the early patristic tradition, Origen’s treatment of the defection of rational natures provides a riveting commentary on the extent to which free will is open to destructive choices. He leaves us to grapple with the great surd in the order of creation. Why would creatures so close to God choose to deviate from their state of contemplative bliss? The Fall account of Genesis brings this question closer to home, highlighting the degree to which human beings created in God’s own image can elect to reject the love of their Creator. Herein lies the mystery inherent in human freedom, a mystery touching upon the issue of theodicy. Why would God create beings capable of using their will in a defective manner? But the essence (and the paradox) of freedom lies in this very lack of constraint. The mark of our integrity as free agents proceeds from the fact that God grants us the ability to say “Yes” or “No” to His offer of love. But even in the nihilistic rejection of God (what the twentiethcentury theologian Karl Rahner designates as “negating freedom”), one im-

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plicitly acknowledges God as ultimate Ground in the very denial of His existence. As St. Augustine argues, however, blameworthy choices do not proceed simply from our status as natural beings, but from the fact that our natural being is created from nothing. 15 In this connection, the contingency inherent in our finitude as creatures undergirds a moral contingency conducive to our ongoing susceptibility to sin. From a Christian perspective, humans do not sin of necessity, but the mutability and freedom of the will open them to the possibility of defective choices. For this reason, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo (affirming the ultimate origin of all things through the gratuity of the divine love) is closely related to the theology of redemption (which proclaims the prospect of a new creation in and through Christ) and the theology of grace (which attests to our need for divine assistance in order to do good in a resolute manner). “True doctrine,” wrote St. Gregory the Great, “tries both to teach by words and to demonstrate by loving example humility.” 16 When assessed according to this criterion, the doctrine of creation ex nihilo carries the ring of truth that resonates with the human quest for meaning and intelligibility. This is why it constitutes far more than a technical theological teaching. In a very real sense, it provides a profound statement on the depth of a contingency that permeates every facet of our existence. The early Fathers of the Church came to terms with this teaching on an intellectual level. But they also found its confirmation in their faith in the God that is absolutely transcendent yet ever attentive to reality as a whole. The words of the psalmist express the import of this sentiment with greater poignancy than any philosophical argument or theological formulation can convey: “Where can I go from your spirit? From your presence where can I flee? If I ascend to the heavens you are there; if I lie down in Sheol, there you are.” 17 The internalization of this message is humbling indeed. Humbling because it prompts us to ponder the fragility of an existence that exhibits a tendency toward nonbeing rooted in its creation from nothing. But ennobling as well, affirming the presence of God to creation as the First and sustaining Cause of its being. This God is not an impersonal Cause, not some remote Self-thinking Thought, but a personal Creator generous enough to allow for reality other than Himself. And for that sheer gift of being, that calling forth out of nothingness, we can all rejoice and be glad. NOTES 1. We find a succinct argument in support of the relationship between divine omnipotence and the uniqueness of the Godhead in pseudo-Aristotle’s reference to the teaching of Xenophanes (de Melisso, Xenophane, Gorgia 68: 977a24–29 = A28w), trans. W. S. Hett (Aristotle, Minor Works in Loeb Classical Library. London: Wm. Heinemann Ltd., 1937):

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If god is the most powerful of all, He must be one. For if there were two or more gods, He would no longer be the most powerful and best of them all. For each of the many being a god would also share His characteristics. For the essence of God and of His power is to rule and not to be ruled, and to be the most powerful of all. In so far then as He is not most powerful He is not God. 2. Jim Holt (Why Does the World Exist? An Existential Detective Story [New York/London: Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2013], 67) highlights the relationship that Christian dogma establishes between God’s role as Creator and a contingent creation that requires God’s role as active sustainer: Once created, the world is utterly dependent on him for its continuing existence. He works around the clock to keep it in a state of being. If God ceased existentially supporting the world, even for a moment, it would . . . “collapse into nonexistence.” The world . . . is like a car balanced precariously at the edge of a cliff. Without divine power to maintain its balance, it would plunge into the precipice of nothingness. 3. Holt, Why Does the World Exist? An Existential Detective Story, 20. Yuval Noah Harari (Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind [New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2015], 238) succinctly distinguishes the significance of the “How” and “Why” questions in this way: What is the difference between describing “how” and explaining “why”? To describe “how” means to reconstruct the series of specific events that led from one point to another. To explain “why” means to find causal connections that account for the occurrence of this particular series of events to the exclusion of all others. 4. Alfred Gell, The Anthropology of Time. Cultural Constructions of Temporal Maps and Images (Oxford, UK/Providence, RI: Berg Publishers Limited, 1993), 131. 5. G. W. H. Lampe, “Athens and Jerusalem: Joint Witnesses to Christ?” in The Philosophical Frontiers of Christian Theology. Essays presented to D. M. MacKinnon. Edited by Brian Hebblewaite and Stewart Sutherland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 19–20. 6. E.D. Hirsch, Jr., Validity in Interpretation (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1967), 105. 7. Frances Young (“‘Creatio Ex Nihilo’: A Context For The Emergence Of The Christian Doctrine of Creation,” Scottish Journal of Theology 44 [1991]: 139) stresses the uniqueness of the doctrine of creation, and by implication, its ultimate independence from a Greek philosophical perspective in affirming creation from absolutely nothing: It is often supposed that Hebraic understanding lost out in the assimilation of the Bible to Greek philosophy, but increasingly this seems to be a false estimate of what was going on in the formation of Christian doctrine. The development of the distinctively Christian doctrine of creation is a clear sign that Christian intellectuals were not “captured” by Greek philosophy. For creatio ex nihilo was affirmed in the face of Greek assumptions: “nothing comes from nothing” was a Greek commonplace, and implied that anything coming from nothing is a sham! In this connection, however, Gerhard May (Creatio Ex Nihilo. The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Christian Thought [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994], xii) observes that while “the concept of creatio ex nihilo was formulated as an antithesis to the Greek model of world-formation,” it still had to be interpreted within the Greek philosophical “frame of reference,” and by means of its terms. 8. As we have observed, early Church Fathers display diverse attitudes toward this supposed “appropriation,” ranging from a charge of plagiarism to the more polemical indictment of outright theft.

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9. Ed. L. Miller (God and Reason. A Historical Approach to Philosophical Theology [New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc./London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1972], 52) distinguishes between the causality inherent in a “horizontal” and “vertical” series in illustrating the necessity of an ontologically prior Cause: Because an infinite number of contingent things can no more be the cause of itself than a single contingent thing, the infinite series is itself wholly contingent. The horizontal or temporal series, even if infinite, is therefore subject to, conditioned by, and contingent upon a higher and different order of causality. But if there were no first term or ultimate cause in the vertical or ontological series, then the universe as a whole would have no ground, no condition, no cause, no reason for being. 10. I draw here upon an image proposed by Brian Davies (The Thought of Thomas Aquinas [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993], 27), who specifies that God is the cause of effects as they occur, in the manner that the statue of Lord Nelson in Trafalgar Square in London depends at present upon the column that supports it, not merely upon those who erected the statue at some time in the past. 11. Aquinas’s use of the Cosmological Argument is found in his “Five Ways to God,” a series of a posteriori demonstrations for God’s existence. While each of these demonstrations can be characterized as “Cosmological,” the first three Ways (the arguments from motion, from causality, and from possible beings) are more specifically so. 12. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, trans. Thomas Gilby, O.P. Volume 8. (New York, and Eyre & Spottiswoode, London: Blackfriars, 1967), Ia Q. 104, a. 1. Cf., the remarks of Conrad Hyers (The Meaning of Creation. Genesis and Modern Science [Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1984], 66) who explores the rationale behind this seemingly paradoxical scenario: Even if one were to argue . . . that matter and energy are eternal and that this universe is but one in an infinite chain of universes . . . matter and energy would be seen as proceeding from . . . governed by . . . and fashioned by God. In this case, while accepting co-eternal realities, one would not be accepting co-divine realities. God would be seen as eternally creating, for God is eternally creative. Divine creativity is not restricted to a finite stretch of time, or to the past, but is a continuing activity. 13. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, trans. Anton C. Pegis (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1975), I.43(13). 14. ST Ia Q. 46, a. 2, ad. 1. 15. St. Augustine, De Civitate Dei, trans. Henry Bettenson (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books Ltd., 1972), xii.6. 16. St. Gregory the Great, Moral Reflections on the Book of Job, trans. International Commission on English in the Liturgy (The Liturgy of the Hours. Volume III, p. 304. New York: Catholic Book Publishing Company, 1975), Lib. 23, 23–24: PL 76, 265–66. 17. Ps 139:7–10.

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Index

Acts 17, 97, 205 Alcinous: Didaskalikos, 49–53; disputed authorship of Albinus, 49; first principles, 50; gegonen, 52; god as Unmoved Mover, 51; Platonic transcendentals, 51; Receptacle as bearer of primary elements, 50 Anaximander, 44n36 Andresen, Carl, 124n16, 128n61 Antiochus IV Epiphanes, 17 Apuleius of Madaura, 54–55; daemonology, 55 Aquinas, St. Thomas, xxii, 209–210 Aristides, 105–106 Aristotle, x; critique of Plato, x, 41, 47 Armstrong, A. H., 64n1, 67n51 Athenagoras of Athens: apophaticism, 131; charge of atheism, 131; “Christian philosopher”, 129; contingency of matter, 133–134; craftsman motif of creation, 135–137, 140; divine Being, 132–133; “first offspring”, 137; first principles, 133; God as “active cause”, 137; Logos as Ideal Form/Energizing Power, 138; “Maker and Father” motif, 139; monotheism, 131; ontological difference, 132; Plutarch, 143n19, 143n21; providential role of God, 139–140; teleological perspective, 140 Atticus, xi, 59–62; demiourgos, 61; Maleficient Soul, 60, 61

St. Augustine, 212 Baltes, Matthias, 44n51, 68n56, 68n59, 69n70, 93n55 Barnard, William Leslie, 123n5, 123n8, 125n19, 125n27, 125n28, 126n32, 126n36, 126n39, 127n54, 142n5 Berchman, Robert M., 200n51 Bettenson, Henry, 106n3 Betz, Hans Dieter, 67n49 Blowers, Paul, xxx, xxxiiin18 Boadt, Lawrence, 12, 25n25 Bockmuehl, Markus, 7, 21, 29n72, 29n76, 29n78 Bréhier, Émile, 93n60 B‘reshith Rabbah, 20, 29n75 Cadiou, René, 200n52 Calvenus Taurus, 48–49, 53, 54, 55, 83 Carroll, Denis, 9 Chadwick, Henry, 94n63, 123n4 Cherniss, Harold, 69n70 Clark, W. Norris (S.J.), 142n17, 143n18 Clement of Alexandria: agrarian metaphors, 179–180; creation ex nihilo, 181–183; creation of an intelligible world, 182; “First Principle”, 181; God as First Cause, 180–181; Logos theology, 184; metaphysical status of matter, 182–183; Mosaic plagiarization theory, 178, 181; preparatory role of

225

226

Index

philosophy, 179; temporal origin of the universe, 184; timelessness of creation, 183–184 Clifford, Richard, 10 contingency criterion, xxvi Copin, Paul, 3 Copleston, Frederick (S.J.), 42n16, 43n25 Cornelis, H., 202n80 Corwin, Virginia, 106n12 Cosmological Argument (for God’s existence), 210 creation as timeless, 209 Curry, Carl, 163 Cyrus, 11 Davies, Brian, 214n10 Deutero-Isaiah, 9–12 de Vogel, C. J., 124n16 Didache, 102 Dillon, John, 41, 44n51, 54, 64n2, 65n14, 67n46, 74, 88n4, 88n5 Doran, Robert, 27n64 Droge, Arthur J., 113, 123n5, 124n15 Egyptian Hymn of Amenhotep IV to Aten, 26n51 Ehrhardt, Arnold, 203n100 Elze, Martin, 160n35, 160n38 Enuma Elish, 6 Epistle of Barnabas, 102 Epistle to the Corinthians (I Clement): appeal to ecclesiastical unity, 98; cosmic ideal, 98–99; “Father and Maker” appellation, 104; God as demiourgos, 99; model of peace, 100; role of divine Law, 99–100; Stoic influences, 101–102 Eriugena, John Scotus, 173n13 Eudorus of Alexandria, 74 Eusebius of Caesarea, 59, 163, 172n1 ex nihilo nihilo fit , 206 Five Ways to God, 210 Fletcher, Richard, 66n40 Floyd, W. E. G., 199n31, 199n37 Fourth Lateran Council, xxi, xxxin1 Fretheim, Terence E., 5 Freudenthal, J., 49, 53

Gell, Alfred, 206 Genesis 1:1-2, 5–9 Gilson, Etienne, xxii, xxxin3, 130 Goldstein, Jonathan, A., 19, 28n69, 28n70 Goodenough, E. R., 125n27, 127n53 Goodspead, Edgar J., 106n2 Gnosticism, xxx St. Gregory the Great, 212 Guthrie, W. C. K., 43n19, 44n51 Heliopolis, 6 Hirsh, E. D., Jr., 207 Hofer, Andrew (O.P.), 124n10 Holt, Jim, 206, 213n2, 213n3 Hunt, Emily J., 158n8, 160n29, 160n38 Hyers, Conrad, 25n27, 214n12 Hyldahl, Niels, 128n59 Ignatius of Antioch, 106n12 incommensurability, xxiv Joly, R., 128n61 Justin Martyr: causal dependence of creatures, 119; Christian Platonism, 112–113, 122; “First Day” of creation, 120–121; gegonen, 113, 121; God and creatures, 114–115; God as Unbegotten, 114; links with Alcinous, 115; logos spermatikos, 112, 116; Logos theology, 115–118; matter as preexistent substrate, 117–118; opposition to Marcion, 119; Mosaic authorship, 117 Kannengiesser, Charles, 200n51 Knopf, R., 101 Kelly, J. N. D., 108n21 Kenney, John Peter, 66n28 Kolarchik, Michael (S.J.), 27n58, 27n61 Kuhn, Thomas, xxiv, xxxin5, xxxin6 Lagrange, M. J., 127n53 Lampe, G. W. H., 207 Lilla, Salvatore R. C., 199n34, 199n36, 200n44 “local” incommensurability, xxiv, 207 2 Maccabees 7, 17–19 Malherbe, Abraham J., 142n6

Index Martens, Peter W., 200n52 Mascall, E. L., xxxiiin17 May, Gerhard, xxvi, xxvii, xxviii, 28n71, 87, 94n64, 95n68, 108n24, 108n29, 121, 127n52, 156–157, 160n31, 161n48, 213n7 McCann, J. Clinton, 26n43, 26n50, 26n51 McFarland, Ian A., xxxiiin18, xxxiiin19, 6 McVey, Kathleen, 164, 173n28 Middle Platonism: Athenian School, 47, 59; doxographical tradition, 49; School of Gaius, 47, 48, 52, 54, 55 Miller, Ed. L., 214n9 Minns, Denis, 127n51 Mohr, Richard D., 44n32 Moses: plagiarization theory, 74, 208; six days of creation, 77 Nahm, Charles, 113, 124n10, 124n13, 124n14, 142n5 Nicene Creed, 205 Norris, R. A., 43n19, 63, 70n86, 97, 123n1, 202n85 Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 20–21 O’Neill, J. C., 18–19, 21, 28n69, 85, 87, 93n60 Origen: craftsman motif of creation, 187; God as Creator, 185–186; creation and matter, 190–191; creation ex nihilo, 186; fall of rational creatures, 188–190; “first” creation, 188; katabole , 189; Logos as “Beginning”, 187; matter as indeterminate, 190–191; Middle Platonic allegiance, 184–185; temporal origin of the material universe, 190; theological anthropomorphism, 185; Valentinian Gnosticism, 192; Word/ Wisdom of the Father, 186 Osborn, Eric F., 125n18, 127n42, 127n43 Ostler, Blake T., xxxiin13 Pelikan, Jaroslav, xxxiin11, 5, 203n101 Philo Judaeus: creation ex nihilo, 86; De Opficio Mundi (creation account), 76–79; dynamic character of creation, 82–86; eternal creation, 82–83, 84; God as “Maker and Father”, 76–77; Logos as God’s creative agent, 78, 82;

227

metaphysical status of matter, 79–82 Plato: Being and Becoming, 32–33; common ground with biblical creation account, 31; cosmos as “Living Creature”, 34, 39; demiourgos as efficient cause, 35; “Father and Creator”, 99; gegonen, 40, 47; “likely” account of cosmic generation, 36–37; “Maker and Father”, 35, 38; mythos, 36; Necessity as “third Kind”, 37; Nurse of Becoming, 39, 153; Parmenidean perspective, 32, 33; Phaedo dialogue, 34–35; Reason and Necessity, 37; Receptacle as “ever existing Place” and “Mother”, 37–55; teleological perspective, 31, 34–35; Timaeus’ exposition of “the beginning”, 32; time as moving image, 40 Plutarch of Chaeronea, x, 56–59; Indefinite Dyad, 56, 57; Maleficient Soul, 57, 58, 59, 68n58 Pouderon, Bernard, 142n3 Price, R. M., 126n32 Proclus, 53, 59, 60 Psalm 104, 13–14 Pseudo-Clementine Literature, xiin1 Quasten, Johannes, 126n39, 158n3, 198n2 Rahner, Karl, 211 Rankin, David Ivan, 130, 142n16, 143n22, 144n35 Reale, Giovanni, 63 Reese, James M., 27n59 Rogers, Rick, 172n5, 174n37, 174n43 Runia, David T., 70n86, 73, 75, 80, 84, 89n7, 89n8, 90n30, 92n48, 93n57 Schlier, Heinrich, 106n12 Schoedel, William R., 144n45 Seitz, Christopher R., 25n28 Septuagint, 74, 97 Shepherd of Hermas, 103 Sokolowski, Robert, xxxin2 Sorabji, Richard, 44n50 Speusippus, 41 Stadelmann, Luis I. J. (S.J.), 25n31 Stead, G. C., 68n56 Stempsey, William E. (S.J.), xxxin4

228

Index

Tarán, Leonardo, 34, 43n19, 43n25 Tarrant, Harold, 69n65 Tatian of Syria: anti-Gnostic polemic, 157; “barbarian writings”, 147; begetting of creation by the Logos , 151; creation ex nihilo, 156; divine transcendence, 149; “foundation of the whole”, 150; God as “Lord of all things”, 150; generation “by division”, 150; Logos as “Beginning”, 150–151, 155; matter and creation, 152–153; monotheism, 149; Mosaic provenance of Greek philosophy, 147; ontological difference between God and creatures, 149, 154; polemical theologian, 148; secular wisdom, 146 Tertullian, 73, 175n52, 203n95 Theophilus of Antioch, x, xxx; apophaticism, 164; appeal to prophetic wisdom, 167; creation ex nihilo, 171; critique of Marcionism, 164; divine names, 165, 173n10; endiathetos, 168; God’s role as Creator, 164–165; Hesiod’s Theogony, 170; Logos theology, 168–170; monotheism, 164; polemical emphasis, 166–167; prophorikos, 169; rejection of Platonic model of creation, 171; reliance on 2 Mc, 137, 165 Thévenaz, Pierre, 58

Trigg, Joseph Wilson, 200n50, 200n52, 202n82 Torchia, Joseph (O.P.) 10n80 Van Unnik, W. C., 101 Van Winden, J. C. M., 128n59 Veatch, Robert M., xxxin4 Vlastos, Gregory, 43n24, 43n25, 44n33 von Harnack, Adolf, 101 von Rad, Gerhard, 8 Weiss, Hans Friedrich, 93n60 Westermann, Claus, 7, 27n62 Whittaker, John, xxv, 49, 69n65 Wisdom 11:17, 15–17 Winston, David, 27n59, 28n70, 29n76, 75, 81, 84, 92n43, 93n56 Witt, R. E., 53, 65n14, 66n39 Wolfson, H. A., 80, 81, 91n31, 91n38, 91n39, 92n40 Wong, D. W. F., 107n19 Xenocrates, 41, 47 Xenophanes, 212n1 Young, Frances, 213n7 Zeyl, Donald, 38, 42n11, 42n17, 44n37 Zizioulas, John D., 201n66

About the Author

Joseph Torchia, O.P., is Professor of Philosophy (with a joint appointment in the Department of Theology) at Providence College. He is a member of the Dominican Province of St. Joseph (Eastern, United States) and an associate editor of The Thomist. He holds doctorates in Philosophy (Fordham University) and in Early Christian Studies (The Catholic University of America). Among his diverse publications in Philosophy and Historical Theology are the books Restless Mind: Curiositas and the Scope of Inquiry in St. Augustine’s Psychology (2013); Exploring Personhood: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Human Nature (2008); Creatio ex nihilo and the Theology of St. Augustine: The Anti-Manichaean Polemic and Beyond (1999); and Plotinus, Tolma, and the Descent of Being: An Exposition and Analysis (1993).

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