(B) Louth, A. - Denys Dionysius The Areopagite (Continuum 2001 1989)

DENYS THE AREOPAGITE
OUTSTANDING CHRISTIAN THINKERS
Series Editor: Brian Davies OP, Professor of Philosophy at Fordham

University, New York.
Cappadocians Hans Urs von Balthasar

Anthony Meredith SJ John O'Donnell SJ
Augustine Teresa of Avila

Mary T. Clark RSCJ Archbishop Rowan Williams
Catherine of Siena Bultmann

Giuliana Cavallini OP David Fergusson
Kierkegaard Karl Barth

Julia Watkin John Webster
Lonergan Aquinas
Frederick Rowe SJ Brian Davies OP
Reinhold Neibuhr Paul Tillich

Kenneth Durkin John Heywood Thomas
Venerable Bede Karl Rahner

Benedicta Ward SLG William V. Dych SJ
Apostolic Fathers Anselm

Simon Tugwell OP G. R. Evans
Denys the Areopagite

Andrew Louth
DENYS THE
AREOPAGITE
Andrew Louth
continuum
LONDON NEW YORK
Continuum
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© Andrew Louth 1989
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical including photocopying,
recording or any information storage or retrieval system.
without prior permission in writing from the publishers.
First published 1989
Re- issued 2001
British library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from The British Library
ISBN 0 8264 5772 X
Typeset by YHT Ltd, London

Printed and Bound in Great Britain by
Biddies Ltd, Guildford and King's Lynn
Contents
Editorial foreword vii
Bibliography viii
Abbreviations x
1 Introduction: the intellectual world of the

late fifth century 1
2 A liturgical theology 17
3 The angelic choirs 33
4 The earthly liturgy 52
5 The nameless God of many names 78
6 Visions and darkness 99
7 Afterlife 111
8 Conclusion 130
V
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Editorial Foreword
St Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109) once described himself as

someone with faith seeking understanding. In words addressed to God
he says 'I long to understand in some degree thy truth, which my heart
believes and loves. For I do not seek to understand that I may believe,
but believe in order to understand.'
This is what Christians have always inevitably said, either explicitly
or implicitly. Christianity rests on faith, but it also has content.
It teaches and proclaims a distinctive and challenging view of reality.
It naturally encourages reflection. It is something to think about;
something about which one might even have second thoughts.
But what have the greatest Christian thinkers said? And is it worth
saying? Does it engage with modern problems? Does it provide us
with a vision to live by? Does it make sense? Can it be preached? Is it
believable?
The Outstanding Christian Thinkers series is offered to readers with
questions like these in mind. It aims to provide clear, authoritative and
critical accounts of outstanding Christian writers from New Testament
times to the present. It ranges across the full spectrum of Christian
thought to include Catholic and Protestant thinkers, thinkers from East
and West, thinkers ancient, mediaeval and modern.
The series draws on the best scholarship currently available, so it
will interest all with a professional concern for the history of Christian
ideas. But contributors also write for general readers who have little or
no previous knowledge of the subjects to be dealt with. Its volumes
should therefore prove helpful at a popular as well as an academic
level. For the most part they are devoted to a single thinker, but
occasionally the subject is a movement or school of thought.
Brian Davies OP
vii
Bibliography
DENYS'S WORKS
The works of Denys the Areopagite are printed in: Patrologia
Graeca 3, ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris, 1857), from the edition by Baltha-
sar Corderius (2 vols, Antwerp, 1634). A new critical edition is still
awaited from Gottingen.
The translation in the Classics of Western Spirituality series, by
Colm Luibheid and Paul Rorem (London/Mahwah, NJ, 1987) takes
account of the Gottingen edition.
In this book, column references to Migne are frequently added (or
used alone): these are printed in the margin of the Luibheid-Rorem
translation.
English translations are usually my own, though sometimes I have
used the Luibheid-Rorem translation. Even when I have not used
their translation, I have found it most helpful.
OTHER BOOKS FREQUENTLY CITED

See p. x for the abbreviated forms of references used.
Pseudo-Dionysius, The Complete Works, trans. Colm Luibheid
and Paul Rorem (Classics of Western Spirituality, London:
SPCK/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1987).
H. Koch, Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita in seinen Beziehungen zum
Neoplatonismus und Mysterienwesen (Mainz, 1900).
viii
BIBLIOGRAPHY
J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologia Graeca (Paris, 1857-66).

R. Roques, L'Univers dionysien. Structure hierarchique du monde
selon le Pseudo-Denys (Paris, 1954).
R. Roques, Structures theologiques de la gnose a Richard de Saint-
Victor (Paris, 1962).
Paul Rorem, Biblical and Liturgical Symbols within the Pseudo-
Dionysian Synthesis (Toronto, 1984).
For further bibliography, see Roques, L'Univers dionysien . . .
pp. 7-28, and Rorem, Biblical and Liturgical Symbols . . .
pp. 151-6.
ix
Abbreviations
CA Corpus Areopagiticum
CH Celestial Hierarchy
DN Divine Names
EH Ecclesiastical Hierarchy
Ep. Epistle
MT Mystical Theology
PG J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologia Graeca
Works =
Pseudo-Dionysius, The Complete Works, trans. Colm Luibheid and
Paul Rorem
Koch, Ps-Dionysius =
H. Koch, Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita in seinen Beziehungen zum
Neoplatonismus und Mysterienwesen
Roques, L'Univers =
R. Roques, L'Universdionysien. Structurehierarchiquedu monde
selon le Pseudo-Denys
Roques, Structures =
R. Roques, Structures theologiques de la gnose a Richard de Saint-
Victor
Rorem, Symbols =
Paul Rorem, Biblical and Liturgical Symbols within the Pseudo-
Dionysian Synthesis
X
1
Introduction: the intellectual

world of the late fifth century
A HIDDEN AUTHOR
At the beginning of the sixth century the Christian community began
to become aware of a collection of writings, the Corpus
Areopagiticum or the Areopagitical Corpus, that has exercised a
profound influence on Christian theology from that day to this. For
centuries it was thought that they were the works of that Dionysius
(or Denys, as he became known in the vernacular) who is mentioned
as having been converted by St Paul's defence before the Areopagus
in Athens (Acts 17:34). The writings themselves locate their writer in
first-century Christianity: he speaks of Paul as his mentor, addresses
letters to Timothy and Titus, and even to the apostle John in exile on
Patmos; he tells of experiencing the darkness that covered the earth
at the time of the crucifixion (when he was in Egypt, still a pagan),
and (perhaps) presents himself as present, with some of the apostles,
at the death of the Blessed Virgin. Eusebius in his Church History
(III.4.6) states that Denys the Areopagite became the first Bishop of
Athens, basing this information on the testimony of another Denys,
who was Bishop of Corinth at the end of the second century. Later
tradition, in the West and especially in France, made Denys the
Areopagite not only Bishop of Athens, but also the apostle to the
Gauls and first Bishop of Paris who was martyred for the Christian
faith on what is now Montmartre.
Gradually, however, this whole tradition was dismantled. Peter
Abelard added to his troubles by questioning the theory that the
martyr-bishop of Paris (and patron of the Abbey of Saint-Denis)
1
was the author of the Corpus Areopagiticum. Scholars from the time
of the Renaissance onwards revived ancient doubts about the
authenticity of these writings, and more recent research1 has proved
beyond any reasonable doubt that, far from being works from the
first century, these writings belong to the end of the fifth or
the beginning of the sixth century.2 Denys the Areopagite became the
Pseudo-Denys or Pseudo-Dionysius, and interest in him declined,
apart from attempts to solve the fascinating problem as to who
exactly he was. But interest in Denys could not lapse for long, for,
whoever he was, his writings exercised an enormous influence on the
so-called mystical tradition of the mediaeval West. As interest in that
tradition increases as the twentieth century wears on, so curiosity, at
least, about Denys and his writings has grown.
Denys veiled himself in the folds of a lightly-worn pseudonymity.
The curiosity of modern scholarship has stripped off from him the
veil he chose to wear, but has hardly come much closer to discovering
his own true identity. Almost everyone in the period has been sug-
gested, but few of the suggestions have convinced anyone other than
their authors and none has gained general acceptance.3 Even what
virtually everyone accepts—that the author of the Corpus
Areopagiticum belongs to the end of the fifth or beginning of the
sixth century—reveals very little: it simply locates him in a period of
the Church's history, little known and much misunderstood. So, as
we cannot begin this study with an account of our author's life,
perhaps we may begin with a sketch of the period of church history in
the shadows of which he still hides himself. But it is indeed an
obscure period—the ideal hiding-place for one such as our
author—and in our attempt to make something clear of it some of
the way will seem rather hard going. But, though obscure, it was a
crucially important period in the life of the Church, and it is essential
to come to terms with it, if we are ever to understand Denys.
CONFLICT OVER THE PERSON OF CHRIST

For most students of theology, the Council of Chalcedon, held in AD
451, represents the end of 'early Christian doctrine': after the coun-
cil a darkness descends which only begins to clear in the Middle
Ages, or at the Reformation, or sometimes even later still. The
Council of Chalcedon is seen as settling the great Christological
controversy of the patristic period which had begun almost two cen-
turies earlier with the condemnation of Paul of Samosata at Antioch
(268) and then the condemnation of Arius at Nicaea (325)—both for
2
THE INTELLECTUAL WORLD OF THE LATE FIFTH CENTURY
having questioned in different ways the full divinity of Christ—and

continued through the heresy of Apollinaris (c. 310-c. 390), who
compromised Christ's full humanity by denying him a human soul
and was condemned at Constantinople (381), to culminate in the
great Christological controversy between Alexandria and Antioch.
This final stage of the controversy was concerned with the question
of reconciling full divinity and full humanity in Christ.
The Alexandrian tradition, which can be traced back to
Athanasius (Patriarch 328-373) and found its fullest expression in
Cyril (Patriarch 412-446), started from the confession of the full
divinity of the Word of God who, in the incarnation, united himself
completely with humanity, so that the Incarnate Word of God was
truly God among us, his mother was truly called Theotokos (God-
bearer, or Mother of God), and by such divine contact with the
human condition, the wretched, fallen state of mankind was healed.
This emphasis on uncompromised divinity and unqualified unity
was summed up in the phrase, dear to Cyril, 'one incarnate nature of
God the Word'.
The opposing Antiochene tradition can be traced back to
Diodore, Bishop of Tarsus (d. c. 390), if not to Eustathius, Bishop
of Antioch (Bishop from c. 324 to 326), and found its most deve-
loped form in Theodore (c. 350-428), Bishop of Mopsuestia;
though when the storm broke in 428, Theodore was dead and his dis-
ciple Nestorius (d. c. 451), the newly elected Bishop (or Patriarch) of
Constantinople, bore the brunt of the conflict. For the Antiochenes,
what was important was to hold firmly to both the full divinity and
the full humanity of Christ. Christ's work of redemption was some-
thing worked out in our humanity: the sacrifice Christ offered he
offered as man, and our redemption depends on his priestly role,
which is something he exercises in his humanity. Certainly Christ is
fully divine, too: God takes the initiative in our redemption and the
human, priestly work of Christ is in response to that divine initiative.
Christ is seen as so utterly responsive to the divine that God can be
said to dwell in him in a way quite different from the way he dwells in
even the most saintly of human beings. But how full divinity and full
humanity form a unity in Christ, the Antiochenes could not say: they
had various theories and analogies, but their concern was to empha-
size the distinctness and integrity of the two natures of Christ, as it
was important for them that the humanity of Christ still functioned
with full human integrity, since on that our redemption depended.
The first stage of this final Christological conflict was fought out
between Cyril and Nestorius, and culminated in the Council of
Ephesus (431) at which Nestorius was condemned, deposed as
31
patriarch of Constantinople, and exiled by the Emperor to the Great

Oasis on the edge of the Libyan desert. Nestorianism (as the heresy
of the Antiochenes was called) was condemned for dissolving the
unity of Christ, as, in effect, preaching 'two Sons' (a charge
Nestorius always denied).
It was the second stage of the conflict that resulted in the Council
of Chalcedon. Nestorius was still in exile, his successor Proclus was
dead and had been succeeded by Flavian; in Alexandria, Cyril had
died and his successor was Dioscorus. In Constantinople an aged
monk of great sanctity, and considerable influence at the imperial
court, an archimandrite (head of a monastery) called Eutyches,
began to insist that the true teaching about Christ, the teaching of the
great Cyril, must be expressed by saying 'one nature after the union';
and further, that this one nature of Christ was not 'of one substance
with us'. Christ was God in human form, that was the important
thing.
Flavian censured Eutyches; Eutyches appealed to Dioscorus, who
with some of his bishops set sail for Ephesus to support Eutyches
against this 'new Nestorius'. At a synod held in Ephesus in 449,
Eutyches was upheld and Flavian condemned (and so ill-treated that
he soon died). Flavian had appealed to Rome, to Pope Leo, who had
given him his support in a letter, the famous 'Tome of Leo', which
condemned Eutyches and set out Leo's teaching on Christology.
More important for the immediate course of events, the Emperor
Theodosius II died and was succeeded by Marcian, who married the
widowed Empress Pulcheria, who became the real power behind the
throne. Pulcheria's sympathies were with Flavian and Leo, and a
new council was called, which eventually met at Chalcedon in 451.
The Council deposed Dioscorus for his part in the Synod of Ephesus
(called by Leo the Latrocinium, the 'Robber Synod'), rehabilitated
Flavian (posthumously: he was now dead and had been succeeded by
Anatolius), and proceeded to draw up a definition of Faith.
The Chalcedonian Definition begins by reaffirming the creed of
the Council of Nicaea and the creed of the Council of Con-
stantinople, and then endorsing the teaching of Cyril, as expressed in
various of his letters, and the teaching of Leo, as put forth in his
'Tome'. Then follows the Christological definition of faith. It is cun-
ningly constructed: based on the Formulary of Reunion in which
Cyril and John, Bishop of Antioch from 429 to 441, had sunk their
differences in 433 after the condemnation of Nestorius, it safeguards
the Antiochene insistence on the integrity and distinctness of the two
natures of Christ in terms drawn from the writings of Cyril (though
4
taken out of context), and sets the whole in the context of an

Alexandrine emphasis on the unity of Christ. Had that been all, the
Definition might have secured more acceptance than it did, but it
was necessary, too, to secure the unequivocal approval of the West:
the new Eastern emperor, Marcian, needed the approval of the
Western emperor, Valentinian III. That meant not just general
approval of Leo's Tome but the incorporation into the Definition of
its insistence that Christ exists and is known 'in two natures'. So the
crucial phrase of the Definition came to read: 'One and the Same
Christ, Son, Lord, Only-Begotten, known in two natures, uncon-
fusedly, unchangeably, indivisibly, inseparably . . .'.
Far from Chalcedon settling the Christological controversy in the
East, it satisfied hardly anyone. The course of the next hundred
years saw a series of attempts to fashion some sort of unity out of the
divided state of Eastern Christendom. For many Christians,
Chalcedon seemed to represent a betrayal of Cyril and the Council of
Ephesus. Had they known, they would not have been surprised to
learn that the aged Nestorius, in exile at the Oasis, had welcomed the
news of Leo's support for Flavian in his Tome as a vindication of
himself. Leo's insistence on the separateness of the two natures in
their activities—'the property of each nature is preserved as they
unite in one person', 'each form performs what is proper to it in
communion with the other. . . one of them flashes forth in miracles,
the other succumbs to injuries'—seemed to open the door to
Nestorianism. Not that Eutyches found much support for his idea of
a Christ, one nature formed out of two, and that one nature not of
one substance with us. For most of those who rejected Chalcedon
rejected Eutyches, too, and insisted that while Christ formed a single
nature, he was both 'of one substance with the Father' (as the Coun-
cil of Nicaea had maintained) and 'of one substance with us' (as
Cyril had maintained—and so had the Formulary of Reunion and,
indeed, Chalcedon itself).
It was the memory of Cyril, and the fear that he had been
betrayed, that fed resistance to Chalcedon in the East. Juvenal,
Patriarch of Jerusalem, who had supported Dioscorus at Ephesus
and had been censured at Chalcedon (though reinstated on his sup-
port for the Definition) returned to find riots in Jerusalem. Things
were much the same in Syria. But it was in Egypt that the depth of
resentment against Chalcedon and Leo was most apparent. Dioscorus
had been exiled to Gangra, and Proterius, who had been close to
Dioscorus, was appointed Patriarch in his stead. There were riots in
Alexandria: the troops were called in, but were driven back
5
and took refuge in the Serapeum, a former pagan temple, where they
were burnt alive. An uneasy calm was eventually restored. But when
the Emperor Marcian died in 457, Timothy Aelurus (The Weasel',
so called because of his spare physique) was elected Patriarch
(Dioscorus having died in exile some time earlier) and within days
Proterius had been torn to pieces by the Alexandrian mob. The
Church in Egypt has never come to accept the Council of Chalcedon.
This Cyrilline reaction against Chalcedon—called 'Monophysite'
(from the Greek for 'one, single, nature') by the supporters of
Chalcedon, because of its rejection of the Council's phrase 'known
in two natures'—commanded the hearts and minds of the East.
The great names of the seventy or eighty years after
Chalcedon—Timothy Aelurus, Peter Mongus ('the Hoarse'), Peter
the Fuller, Philoxenus of Mabbog, Severus of Antioch, Jacob of
Serugh—all rejected Chalcedon in the name of Cyril; everywhere
they could call on popular support. It can, indeed, be claimed that
Chalcedon only gained final acceptance by large concessions being
made to the Cyrilline tradition, so that the Chalcedonian Definition
came to be read in the light of the theology of the great Alexandrian.
But a divided empire, and still worse, an empire professing a stan-
dard of orthodoxy repugnant to many of its citizens, was politically
intolerable. So various attempts were made to unite those who sup-
ported Chalcedon and those who rejected it. In 475 Basiliscus
usurped the imperial throne. In his brief reign he issued the Encycli-
cal which set aside Leo's Tome and the Council of Chalcedon and
reasserted the authority of the Council of Nicaea (supplemented by
the decisions of the Councils of Constantinople and Ephesus). But
Basiliscus did not last long. Zeno, who reasserted his authority as
Emperor in 476 and reigned until 491, attempted to achieve unity
among Christians with the so-called Henoticon (482). This again
sought to return to the authority of Nicaea (supplemented again by
Constantinople and Ephesus), and has a brief Christological state-
ment which lays emphasis on the unity of Christ, avoids any lan-
guage at all of 'nature' (either one or two), and further asserts that
the One who became incarnate was 'one of the Trinity, God and
Word'. It thereby met the Alexandrian fear that Nestorianism intro-
duced a fourth member into the Trinity, but (more significantly)
brought into mutual relationship the doctrines of the Trinity and the
incarnation in a way that foreshadowed the theological develop-
ments of the next century.
The Henoticon did, in fact, secure a large measure of unity in the
East. It was promulgated (and composed) by Acacius, Patriarch of
6
Constantinople, who secured the support of Peter Mongus, Pat-

riarch of Alexandria, and Peter the Fuller, Patriarch of Antioch
(both opponents of Chalcedon, as we have seen), as well as many
other bishops. But Rome, naturally, had no inclination to disavow
the 'Tome of Leo', and excommunicated Acacius and those who
supported him in 484. The resulting schism between East and
West—the so-called Acacian schism—was only healed when, with
the accession of Justin I as Emperor in 518 in the time of Pope
Hormisdas, theHenoticon was abandoned as an instrument of unity
and the way paved for the acceptance of Chalcedon.
BACK TO THE PAST

Our concern, however, is not with the details of church history, but
rather to give a sketch of the theological and intellectual world of the
late fifth century, which was the background of Denys the
Areopagite. What is interesting about theHenoticon (and to a lesser
extent Basiliscus's Encyclical) is not the complicated story of rela-
tions between the imperial house, the patriarchs and the bishops,
and the monks and people whose confidence they needed, but the
kind of unity that seemed attractive and attainable in the late fifth
century. Both the Encyclical and theffenoticon lay enormous stress
on the Council of Nicaea. One might wonder why: it is notorious
that the Council of Nicaea itself settled nothing but merely heralded
decades of arguments and councils, hardly any of which conceded
Nicaea any paramount authority; on the contrary, the succession of
councils constantly revising the definition of the faith of the Church
only weakened the notion of conciliar authority. But from about 360
onwards, when Athanasius (and later the Cappadocian Fathers)
managed to unite the Church against the extremes of Arianism, they
did this in the name of the 'faith of Nicaea'. By the time of their
triumph at Constantinople in 381, Nicaea had become a symbol of
orthodoxy. The Councils of Constantinople, of Ephesus and indeed
of Chalcedon saw themselves as reaffirming the faith proclaimed at
Nicaea:
We in no wise suffer any to unsettle the faith . . . defined by
our holy Fathers assembled sometime at Nicaea. Nor assuredly
do we suffer ourselves or others either to alter a phrase of what
is contained therein, or to go beyond a single syllable.4
The Fathers5 had no real notion of development of doctrine, and
7
little enough of any idea of history. The very newness of the

Christian gospel had been an embarrassment in the early days, an
embarrassment they had overcome by seeing Christ as the fulfilment
of ancient prophecy, so that the newly preached Christian gospel was
simply a rediscovery of what was in truth of enormous antiquity. As
the Church grew and developed, the mature state of the Church was
read back into the very beginnings. St Basil the Great, in the fourth
century, regarded the liturgical customs of his own day as apostolic
in origin,6 something commonly insinuated by ascribing accounts of
liturgical customs to the apostles: witness the Apostolic Tradition
(early third century, ascribed to Hippolytus), and the Canons of the
Apostles, the Apostolic Constitutions (both fourth century). Of
course, the fourth century did see a change in the affairs of the
Church: from being a persecuted minority, it became with the con-
version of the Emperor Constantine in 312 the favoured religion of
the Empire, and eventually the official state religion. This is pre-
sented in Eusebius' Church History, par excellence, as a rediscovery
of the true state of things, which had been lost at the fall of Adam.
Eusebius repeats, throughout book I, that Christianity is not 'recent
and outlandish' (1.2.1) or 'new and strange' (1.4.1), but 'primitive,
unique and true' (1.4.11). What was lost as a result of man's sin is
restored in Christ who appeared 'in the early years of the Roman
Empire' (1.2.23). As the pax Romano heralded the coming of the
Prince of Peace, so the confession of Christ by the Roman Emperor
restores everything to its original harmony: as the Word of God rules
the universe, so the Emperor, in imitation of the Divine Word, rules
the Empire, the oikoumene.1 The Council of Nicaea, whatever its
immediate success, was a celebration of this restored state of affairs:
the Christian bishops assembled at the command of the Christian
emperor proclaiming the faith of the Christian Church. The enthusi-
asm for Nicaea in the Henoticon is enthusiasm for such a state of
affairs.
The Peace of the Church also led to rapid liturgical development
(disguised, as we have seen, by being ascribed to the apostles). The
liturgy became more splendid, ceremonial took over the customs of
the ceremonial of the imperial court, a conscious effort was made to
provide in the liturgy a moving, symbolic, dramatic performance.8
The whole celebration of the liturgy was surrounded by a sense of
awe and mystery: only baptized Christians in good standing were
allowed at the sacramental liturgy, all others (catechumens receiving
instruction, Christians guilty of serious sin enrolled as penitents)
were excluded from the Church after the biblical readings and the
8
sermon. The liturgy became the focus for the encounter between
God and man in Christ that is the heart of the Christian faith.
Christological differences were expressed in different understand-
ings of the liturgy. For the Antiochenes the liturgical action
impressed on Christians the pattern of Christ's life of obedience and
incorporated them into his humanity, his body; while for the
Alexandrines, in the Eucharist the Word of God who came to be with
us in the incarnation is 'again in the flesh'—in communion
Christians are united with God, they are 'deified'.
Peter the Fuller, from 471 Patriarch of Antioch (though with
several periods of banishment), carried the enthusiasm for doctrinal
purity—understood as enthusiasm for the old teaching of Nicaea as
reaffirmed by Cyril, free from the corruptions introduced by
Chalcedon—into the liturgical sphere. By the use of creeds as stan-
dards of orthodoxy, Nicaea (and Constantinople) had expressed the
faith in a way that could be given liturgical expression, for creeds
were the summary of faith affirmed at baptism and the creeds of the
councils were adopted in the baptismal liturgy (later wholesale, ear-
lier by the incorporation of distinctive language such as 'of one sub-
stance with the Father').9 Peter the Fuller carried this a step further:
during his second period as Patriarch (475-477) he introduced the
Creed into the Eucharistic liturgy, in much the same place as it
occupies nowadays, between the liturgy of the word and the liturgy
of the sacrament. It underlines the claim to orthodoxy on the part of
those, like Peter the Fuller, who rejected Chalcedon, and expressed
this orthodoxy in the words of the creed with which the Fathers at
Constantinople had reaffirmed the faith of Nicaea, the so-called
Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed (still, perhaps significantly,
called the 'Nicene Creed' in the Anglican Book of Common
Prayer).10 Peter's other liturgical innovation related to a part of the
liturgy that was still a relative novelty: the so-called Trishagion, that
is, the chant 'Holy God, Holy Strong, Holy Immortal, have mercy
upon us'. First recorded in Constantinople in the time of the Patri-
arch Proclus (Patriarch 434-446/7), this chant had had from early
days two interpretations (as had the older Sanctus, derived from
Isaiah 6, found in the Eucharistic Prayer in most liturgies): a tri-
nitarian and a Christological.11 The trinitarian interpretation
regarded the chant as addressed to the Trinity, as the threefold 'holy'
suggests. The Christological interpretation regarded the chant as
addressed to the second Person of the Trinity, the Son of God. This
latter interpretation was prevalent in Syria, and the one known to
Peter. To emphasize that it was indeed God himself, the Son of God,
9
who became incarnate and suffered for us—something that Cyril felt
had been obscured by Nestorianism, and his supporters by the Coun-
cil of Chalcedon—Peter added to the chant 'who was crucified for
us', so that it now ran: 'Holy God, Holy Strong, Holy Immortal,
who was crucified for us, have mercy upon us'. This shocked the
Byzantine Greeks, who understood the chant as addressed to the
Trinity and thus saw the addition as qualifying the impassibility of
God: they accused Peter of 'theopaschitism', the doctrine that God
can suffer. For Peter and those who thought like him, it simply
underlined the belief that the Incarnate One was one of the Trinity,
God himself: something, incidentally, affirmed in the Henoticon.
(In the end Peter was vindicated: not that the text of the Trishagion
was changed,12 but the Theopaschite formula, 'One of the Trinity
suffered (or, was crucified) in the flesh', was accepted as orthodox
and given conciliar authority at the Second Council of Con-
stantinople, the Fifth Ecumenical, in 553.)
THE PAST AND DENYS

The tendency to telescope the past, so that the truth now is the truth
affirmed at Nicaea, itself the truth of what had been believed and
suffered for during the centuries when the Church had been perse-
cuted, was something that awakened an echo in the whole Byzantine
world in a far more precise way than it would today.13 And it is this
conviction that underlies the pseudonymity adopted by our author.
He was concerned with the truth, not with changeable opinion, and
the truth was ancient, it was there in the very beginning. So it was
under the name of one converted by St Paul himself that he wrote.14
Our author never steps aside from his pseudonym to give us a chance
to see why he adopted it: but the pseudonym of 'Dionysius the
Areopagite' is very suggestive. Dionysius was the first of Paul's con-
verts in Athens, and Athens means philosophy, and more precisely,
Plato. Plato had commonly (if not quite always) been respected by
Christians: the first to defend Christianity in the context of
Hellenistic culture, the apologists of the second century (especially
Justin Martyr), had greatly revered him, if dissenting from some of
his doctrines; even the great Athanasius, the champion of orthodoxy
during the Arian crisis, spoke of Plato as 'that great one among the
Greeks'.15
The voice of Plato in Athens was not dead: the Academy he
founded was still there (or so Denys would have thought: it is, how-
10
ever, most unlikely that it had had a continuous existence since the
time of Plato) and was to remain there until the Emperor Justinian
closed it in 529. For much of the fifth century the head of the Aca-
demy, the diadochus (the successor—of Plato), had been the great
philosopher (and redoubtable pagan) Proclus. The most compelling
reason for dating Denys the Areopagite to the turn of the fifth and
sixth centuries is the deep sympathy that we shall see exists between
the vision of Denys and the philosophy of Proclus. Denys the
Areopagite, the Athenian convert, stands at the point where Christ
and Plato meet. The pseudonym expressed the author's belief that
the truths that Plato grasped belong to Christ, and are not aban-
doned by embracing faith in Christ. Both Denys and Proclus were
men of their time: just as Denys saw no anachronism in speaking
with the voice of a first-century Christian, so Proclus saw no
anachronism in counting his elaborate speculations no more than
elucidations of Plato. What appears to us a strange mongrel, the
product of late Greek philosophy and a highly developed form of
Christianity, appeared to Denys a pure-bred pedigree, or rather the
original specimen of the species.
The great Church historian, Adolf von Harnack, dismissed the
Chalcedonian Definition in these words:
The four bald negative terms (unconfusedly, unchangeably,
indivisibly, inseparably) which are supposed to express the
whole truth, are in the view of the classical theologians
amongst the Greeks profoundly irreligious. They are wanting
in warm, concrete substance; of the bridge which his faith is to
the believer, the bridge from earth to heaven, they make a line
which is finer than the hair upon which the adherents of Islam
one day hope to enter Paradise.16
There was much in the Chalcedonian Definition that caused distress,
but it was hardly that. The four adverbs were drawn from Cyril of
Alexandria and used by him to express the closeness of the union and
the reality of the natures thus united. In using these terms, Cyril,
though no professional philosopher himself, was drawing on the
developing philosophical terminology of the late Platonists, such as
Proclus who was fond of adding such adverbs as 'inseparably and
indivisibly' when saying that two identical things were nevertheless
distinct, and 'unconfusedly and unchangeably' when saying that dis-
tinguishable things are ultimately identical. Such philosophical
terminology helped Cyril to affirm the mysterious unity of God and
man that effected human salvation.17
11
Denys was fond of such language, too, but his enthusiasm for late
Platonism (or Neoplatonism) went well beyond use of logical
terminology: much in the deeper concerns of such philosophy
attracted him. Neoplatonism is generally held to begin with the
thought of the third-century philosopher Plotinus, though neither he
nor his successors would have regarded themselves as innovators:
they were simply Platonists. In his reflections, put together in vari-
ous treatises (called the Enneads or the 'Nines', since they were
edited by his pupil Porphyry into six books, each of nine treatises),
Plotinus drew together ideas from Plato and other later thinkers into
a suggestive vision.
For Plotinus, as for many of his contemporaries (and many
others), multiplicity cried out for explanation and found such
explanation if it could be traced back to some primordial unity. That
primordial unity Plotinus called the One: everything derived from it,
all beings owed their existence to a declension from original unity, or
put another way were an effect of the outflow from the potent reality
of the ultimacy of the One. Closest to the One was the realm of Intel-
lect, which corresponds to Plato's realm of the Forms or Ideas,
where there is true knowledge of differentiated reality. Beyond that
is the realm of Soul, which is still further from the unity of the One,
where knowledge is only the result of searching, and Soul itself is dis-
tracted by its lack of unity. Beyond the soul is the material order
which receives what coherence it has from the realm of Soul. Beyond
that there is nothing, for such disintegration has itself no hold on
being.
This outward movement of progressively diminishing radiation
from the One, called 'procession' or 'emanation', is met by a move-
ment of yearning on the part of all beings for unity, or—which
comes to the same thing—for return to the One. Such return is a
spiritual movement towards deeper inwardness, a movement of
recollection, fostered by and expressed in contemplation.
Such a way of understanding reality answers two problems: on the
one hand, it suggests a way of looking at the interrelatedness of
everything; on the other, it answers the spiritual problem of how to
cope with our sense of being disorientated, at odds with ourselves
and other people, out of touch with the roots of our being. Plotinus's
insights were developed in various ways by his successors: all that
really concerns us is the form they took in the late Athenian Neo-
platonism that Denys found so congenial. For us that means
Proclus, as little else has survived, though it is very likely that Denys
knew much that is now lost to us.
12
One theme in Plotinus is particularly important to Proclus, and

that is the theme of mediation. Fundamental to Plotinus is his desire
to relate the One and the many: the deepest problems in Plotinus's
philosophy are due to the fact that any movement from the One
takes one immediately to the many. Nevertheless Plotinus seeks to
disguise the abruptness of this move by various mediating devices,
especially perhaps that of distinguishing between the One as the First
Number, and the One as the source of everything else, including
number. For Proclus this very problem of mediation is the hinge of
his philosophy: and because to relate two things is to invoke a third
that mediates, his philosophy comes to abound in triads. These
triads link everything together. Reality itself has a threefold struc-
ture: the One, Intellect, and Soul, of Plotinus. Any level of reality,
once it admits of differentiation, lays bare a threefold structure:
being, life and intelligence. These triads are not a static classifica-
tion, but express a movement that pulsates through everything, a
movement expressed in the triad: rest, procession and return. Real-
ity, arranged in levels that mediate and relate one to another, takes
the form of 'hierarchies' (the term is Denys's, but the concept is there
in Proclus). These hierarchies express the graded levels of reality, all
of which link up with one another through a cosmic sympathy that
embraces the whole.
For Plotinus all this was on the one hand a logical and meta-
physical analysis of reality, and on the other an elucidation of the
way in which the soul can return to Intellect and thence to the One by
a movement of contemplation and purification culminating in ecsta-
tic union. But such a movement of return by contemplation is open
only to very few: Plotinus's successors sought some other way by
which this movement of return could be made accessible to a less
restricted group. Increasingly they put their trust in an attempt to
release the power of higher divine beings by the ceremonies of
ancient paganism—sacrifice, divination and such-like—so that
divine assistance could make up for the frailty of ordinary human
effort. Such tapping of divine power was called 'theurgy' (a word
coined, it would seem, in the late second century AD).18 lamblichus's
work On the Mysteries of Egypt, from the first half of the
fourth century, is a full-scale treatise on theurgy, and Proclus
himself says that theurgy is 'better than any human wisdom or
knowledge'.19
This is the world of Denys the Areopagite: both the Christian
world of the late fifth century, marked by opposition or indifference
to Chalcedon, but deeply convinced of the divine presence in Christ,
13
DENYS THE AREOPAG1TE
and the pagan world of late Athenian Neoplatonism. Like Proclus,

Denys's vision of reality abounds in triads: from the Trinity itself,
through the ranks of the angels, arranged three by three, down to the
threefold ministry of bishops, priests and deacons that ministers to
the Christian community, itself arranged in threes. His metaphysical
analysis of reality is also marked by Procline triads, as is his under-
standing of man's ascent to the divine. He is also fond of the voca-
bulary of late Neoplatonism: his use of the word 'theurgy' in relation
to the Christian sacraments is but one example. We shall see, how-
ever, that though his language and categories are inconceivable
except against the background of Procline Neoplatonism, his
thought is distinctive; and often pagan Neoplatonic themes are
turned on their head. This is true of his doctrine of creation and the
oneness of God, which he sets over against a doctrine of procession
and what he regards as a related polytheism; and also of his under-
standing of the sacraments.
But Denys belongs equally, in a somewhat elusive way, to the
Christian world of the late fifth century. Scholars are still divided as
to whether his Christology is 'Monophysite': it seems most likely
that his language has something of the deliberate ambiguity of the
Henoticon. But his idea that in the incarnation what is beyond being
(namely God) takes on being in the person of Jesus, seems to express
in his own peculiar language a Cyrilline way of speaking of the
incarnation.20 His stress on deification (Christian, not pagan, lan-
guage) likewise fits such a context. So it is not surprising that he is
first mentioned in Christian history when, at a colloquy held
between supporters of Chalcedon and supporters of Severus of
Antioch in 532, a passage from the fourth Epistle is (mis-)quoted in
support of the Severian, Monophysite, position. One particular
detail seems to place him firmly in this world, and that occurs in his
account of the liturgy in the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy. There he seems
to envisage the singing of the Creed in the middle of the liturgy,
something which, as we have seen, was only introduced by Peter the
Fuller at Antioch, probably in 476.21 This confirms that Denys was
writing at the turn of the fifth and sixth centuries, and in Syria,
which fits with everything else we know about him.
14
Notes
1 See esp. Koch, Ps-Dionysius; idem, 'Proklus als Quelle des Ps-
Dionysius Areopagita in der Lehre von Bosen', Philologus 54/1 (Neue
Folge, 8/1; 1895), pp. 438-54; J. Stiglmayr, 'Der Neuplatoniker
Proclus als Vorlage des sog. Dionysius Areopagita in der Lehre vom
Obel', Historisches Jahrbuch 16 (1895), pp. 253-73, 721-48. On the
earlier history of doubts about the authenticity of CA, see I. Hausherr,
'Doutes au sujet du "Divin Denys" ', Orientalia Christiana Periodica
2 (1936), pp. 484-90.
2 For perhaps the last attempt to defend the traditional legend, see J.
Parker, The Celestial and Ecclesiastical Hierarchies of Dionysius the
Areopagite (London, 1894), pp. 1-14.
3 See Roques, Structures, pp. 74-115.
4 Cyril, Ep. 39 (108C-D).
5 The word 'Fathers' is, in fact, an example of this kind of reverence for
the past. The term, applied to past orthodox teachers of the Christian
faith, is first used in the third century. It later comes to mean (and is still
used to mean) the orthodox teachers of the formative years of the
Christian tradition: a flexible period, usually spanning the first seven or
eight centuries, sometimes stretching as far as the twelfth (St Bernard in
the West) or the fourteenth (St Gregory Palamas in the East). The pass-
age from the Council of Ephesus, just quoted, invokes the 'Holy
Fathers', and the Chalcedonian Definition begins with the expression,
'Following therefore the Holy Fathers . . .'. See the articles by G.
Florovsky, reprinted as chs 6 and 7 in Bible, Church and Tradition: an
Eastern Orthodox View (Belmont, MA, 1972), pp. 93-120.
6 Basil, On the Holy Spirit XXVII.66.
7 Eusebius, Oration on the Tricennalia of Constantine 2.1-5.
8 See E. J. Yarnold, The Awe-Inspiring Rites of Initiation (Slough,
1972).
9 On this see J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds (3rd ed., London,
1972), pp. 323-5, 344-8.
10 Ibid., pp. 348-51.
11 On this whole question, see Sebastian Brock, 'The thrice-holy hymn in
the liturgy', Sobornost'/Eastern Christian Review 1:2 (1985),
pp. 24-34.
12 See John Damascene, Expositio Fidei III. 10 (54) (ed. B. Kotter, Berlin
and New York, 1973, pp. 129-31).
13 See Norman Baynes's lecture The Hellenistic civilization and East
Rome', repr. in Byzantine Studies and Other Essays (London, 1955),
pp. 1-23.
15
14 On the question of Denys's pseudonym, see Hans Urs von Balthasar,

The Glory of the Lord, vol.2 (Eng. trans., .Edinburgh, 1984),
pp. 148-51.
15 Athanasius, On the Incarnation 2.
16 A. von Harnack, History of Dogma IV (Eng. trans., London, 1898),
pp. 222f.
17 See Ruth M. Siddals, 'Logic and Christology in Cyril of Alexandria',
Journal of Theological Studies 38 (1987), pp. 341-67.
18 On theurgy, see H. Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles and Pagan Theurgy (rev.
ed. by M. Tardieu, Paris, 1978), esp. excursus iv, pp. 461-6; E. R.
Dodds, 'Theurgy', Appendix ii in The Greeks and the Irrational
(Berkeley, CA, 1951), pp. 283-311.
19 Platonic Theology 1.25 (ed. H . D. Saffrey and L. G. Westerink,
Paris, 1968: p. 113).
20 See Ep. 4.
21 EH Hl.ii: 425D; III.iii.7: 436C-D.
16
2
A liturgical theology
THE WORKS OF DENYS

The works of the Areopagitical Corpus consist of four treatises and
ten letters (though the distinction is somewhat artificial in that all the
works are addressed to specific people, and two of the letters—Epp.
VIII and IX—are each longer than one of the treatises, the Mystical
Theology). The four treatises (all addressed to Timothy, a bishop,
doubtless to be understood as the correspondent of St Paul) are the
Celestial Hierarchy, the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, the Divine Names,
and the Mystical Theology. The first four letters are addressed to a
monk called Gaius; Ep. V to a deacon, Dorotheus; Ep. VI to a
priest, Sosipater; Ep. VII to a bishop, Polycarp (doubtless the
Bishop of Smyrna: the account of his martyrdom is the earliest such
account to survive;1 he was reputed to be a disciple of the apostle
John and a friend of Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch, who was martyred
at the beginning of the second century2 and whom Denys once
quotes3); Ep. VIII to a monk, Demophilus; Ep. IX to a bishop,
Titus (presumably the other recipient of St Paul's pastoral epistles);
and Ep. X to the apostle John. Where his correspondents are identi-
fiable, their names serve to establish Denys's pseudonym: they sug-
gest that he was writing at the end of the first or beginning of the
second century. This is further borne out by his mentioning, as con-
temporaries, other people known from the New Testament, or the
early history of the Church: for example, Elymas the magician (DN
VIII.6; cf. Acts 13:8) and Carpus (Ep. VIII; cf. 2 Tim 4:13). But
they do more than establish Denys's pseudonymity, they also present
17
him as part of a. society. Denys does not present himself to the world
simply as the author of various treatises: he presents himself as a
member of a society, bound and defined by relationships. This con-
sciousness of belonging to an ordered society is further underlined
by the order of the letters: addressed to holders of the office of
monk, deacon, priest, bishop, and apostle, in that order, with the
exception of Ep. VIII which is addressed to a monk, though between
letters written to bishops—but that break in hierarchical sequence
has its own significance, since it is concerned to rebuke a monk who
usurped the role of a priest. A society, an ordered ecclesiastical
society, within which one member turns to another for advice and
counsel, in which there are teachers and disciples, venerated holy
men, propounders of false teaching and raisers of objections, in
which there is a regular cycle of prayer and worship: that is the
society Denys reflects in his writings, and of which he seems very
fond. And we should admit straight away that it is a somewhat
limited conception of society. There is no mention of the everyday
world of work and play, nor is there any mention of political
authority. It is an ecclesiastical, even a monastic society. But it is
nonetheless a society: the Dionysian writings are not a collection of
academic treatises concerned simply with ideas and concepts.
That is an important point to grasp, since, too often, in the history
of Christian thought (especially in the West) they have been taken to
be just that. In the Western Middle Ages, the Divine Names was
regarded as a treatise discussing what properties may be said to per-
tain to God, and the Mystical Theology was taken to concern the rare
case of mystical experience of God; the works on the hierarchies fell
into the background, though the Celestial Hierarchy was valued for
the information it gave on the structure of the realm of the angels
and the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy for its useful hints on sacramental
causality. This way of treating Denys has continued to the present
day, so that Denys is thought of primarily as a philosopher or a
mystic. It may be that the real core of what Denys is trying to say is
philosophical, but that is not how he presents his writings. They are
intended to serve the needs of a Christian community, and the
immediate object of his concern is the use of the Christian Scriptures
within that community. One of his treatises, the Divine Names, is
concerned with the meaning of various scriptural terms for God;
another, the Celestial Hierarchy, is concerned with the meaning of
imagery drawn from the realm of the senses and applied, by the
Scriptures, to the immaterial realm (of the angels) where the revela-
tion of the Supreme Godhead is first manifest; the Ecclesiastical
Hierarchy is concerned to expound and interpret the ceremonies of
18
A LITURGICAL THEOLOGY
the Church. Of the letters, four of them elucidate specific scriptural

usages, and one, Ep. IX, is virtually a short treatise on the
interpretation of the Scriptures.
THE LOST WORKS

If, then, we are going to take Denys at his own word, at least to begin
with, we should recognize that his immediate concern is with the
meaning of the Scriptures; not, again, as an abstract academic
matter of theological hermeneutics, but quite concretely, with the
meaning of the Scriptures as they are used in the Christian com-
munity, especially in its worship.
If we are going to take Denys seriously, there is, however, another
point we must note. The four treatises and ten letters are not the only
writings to which Denys lays claim. In the Divine Names, he refers to
five other works: the Theological Outlines, On the Properties and
Ranks of the Angels, On the Soul, On Righteous and Divine Judge-
ment, and the Symbolic Theology. The Mystical Theology in its
summary of theological method (in ch. Ill) presents the Theological
Outlines, Divine Names, and Symbolic Theology as three successive
treatises. The Celestial Hierarchy refers back to the Symbolic Theol-
ogy and mentions a work On the Divine Hymns. The Ecclesiastical
Hierarchy refers back to the Celestial Hierarchy and mentions
another work, The Intelligible and the Sensible. Ep. IX again refers
back to the Symbolic Theology. On the one hand, this suggests that
the order of composition of the treatises that we have is DN, MT,
CH, and EH, which is the order in which they are printed in the new
translation by Luibheid and Rorem (and in the older French transla-
tion by Maurice de Gandillac).4 In the manuscripts of the
Areopagitical Corpus the order is CH, EH, DN, MT, Epp.: we shall
come back to this point later.
On the other hand, all this presents us with a problem: what has
happened to the seven treatises Denys mentions that have not sur-
vived? And how important are they for an understanding of
Dionysian theology? Opinions about this vary among scholars.
Hans Urs von Balthasar takes Denys quite seriously here and sup-
poses that the missing treatises were written (or sketched out, at least
in his mind); he works out the structure of Dionysian theology taking
account, in principle, of all the works mentioned.5 However, there is
no trace at all of these 'lost' treatises: despite the interest in Denys
from as early as the sixth century, no mention of them is to be found.
Added to that, there is no trace of two other works Denys refers to
19
and quotes from: the Hymns of Love and the Elements of Theology
of the one he regarded as his mentor, Hierotheus. Such a silence in
the tradition makes one wonder whether the missing treatises are not
fictitious, conjured up to give the impression, perhaps, that the
works we have were all that survived to the end of the fifth century of
a much larger corpus of writings written at the end of the first. 6
Mystical Theology III gives a brief account of theological method
and speaks of a theology that traces the movement down from God
through the successive manifestations of himself to the material and
sensible order, a movement that is followed in the three treatises: the
Theological Outlines, which treats of the doctrines of the Trinity and
the incarnation; the Divine Names, which discusses how goodness,
being, life, wisdom and power are ascribed to God; and the Symbolic
Theology, which considers the use of images drawn from the
material world when applied to God. These Denys calls cataphatic
theologies (that is, concerned with affirmation), and contrasts them
with apophatic theologies (that is, concerned with negation), which
he does not name and which seem to trace the corresponding move-
ment of return, or ascent from the material to the divine. If we look
from this to the work which is called the Divine Names, we see that
DN I-II correspond to the Theological Outlines, and are perhaps a
summary of it, while the rest of DN corresponds to what the Mystical
Theology says it contains. Ep. IX says that it is a summary of part of
the Symbolic Theology, and the Celestial Hierarchy (especially
ch. XV) covers the same kind of ground as that work. This suggests
that the 'loss' of the 'missing' treatises is not as serious as it first
seems, since here—the one place where Denys makes any attempt to
explain the relationship between his writings, even though only one
out of three of the treatises mentioned survives—we can reasonably
well make out from what we do have what his system contains.7
A CHRISTIAN AND A NEOPLATONIST

The chapter in the Mystical Theology we have briefly looked at
brings out another point: that though Denys's intention may be to
expound the Christian Scriptures, underlying his theological method
are assumptions of a rather different provenance. For the movement
of theology that Denys envisages clearly presupposes the Neo-
platonic idea of corresponding movements of procession (or emana-
tion) and return: cataphatic theology seems to trace the movement of
procession, a movement from oneness to multiplicity; apophatic
20
theology traces the corresponding movement of return, moving

from multiplicity closer and closer to oneness, until one passes into
'the darkness beyond understanding' and is reduced to 'complete
speechlessness and failure of understanding'.
This raises one of the fundamental questions about Denys the
Areopagite: the relationship between Christianity and Neo-
platonism in his thought. One thing, however seems quite clear.
Denys' writings are explicitly Christian. It is the Christian Scriptures
that he seeks to interpret in his writings, not the works of Plato or the
Chaldaean Oracles (a source of supposedly 'revealed' wisdom much
beloved of later Neoplatonists, such as Proclus). When he quotes, he
quotes from the Scriptures. He never ascribes any authority to
(pagan) Greek philosophical sources.
On the other hand, it is undeniable that many of his concepts are
derived from Neoplatonism. We have just seen an example of the
way he understands theological method against the background of
the Neoplatonic doctrine of procession and return. Elsewhere he
echoes much that is at home in the metaphysics of Proclus: we men-
tioned several of the more obvious points at the end of the last
chapter—three levels of reality corresponding to the One, Intellect
and Soul, his use of Proclus's analysis of reality into the triad,
being-life-intelligence (the last lightly 'Christianized' as wisdom).
But Denys's sympathy with Neoplatonism goes much further, and
much deeper. If he never quotes from Plato and the Neoplatonists,
he frequently alludes to them. In DNII.7 on love of the beautiful, he
reproduces word for word part of Diotima's speech to Socrates from
the Symposium (211A-B). It is not a quotation only because he does
not say where it comes from. His allusions to the Timaeus are parti-
cularly frequent. He is very fond of words from Platonic dialogues
or the Chaldaean Oracles that one would never expect to find in a
Christian, but would regard as commonplace in a pagan phil-
osopher. All this has been demonstrated by scholars and is
undeniable.8
A particular example will bring out points that are typical. In
Ep. VIII, Denys concludes his exhortation to the erring monk,
Demophilus, by giving a moving account of a vision that a monk,
Carpus, had once had. The vision was a rebuke to Carpus who had
allowed his feeling of righteous anger to lead him to pray for the
destruction of a couple of sinners. In the vision Carpus sees on high,
'in the vault of heaven', Jesus surrounded by the angels; but below
he sees the two sinners trembling on the edge of a chasm that opens
on to the depths of hell whence serpents and evil men seek to force
21
and entice the men to tumble down among them. Carpus finds the
plight of the men fascinating and is only sorry that they do not fall
into the pit more quickly. Then he looks up and sees Jesus again,
going down to the men to stop them from falling. Jesus turns to
Carpus and says, 'You were going to strike them. Strike me instead. I
would gladly suffer again for men if by doing so I could stop other
men from sinning.' It is a telling illustration of the gentle endurance
that Denys sees as characteristic of the love of God. There is a very
similar account of such a vision granted to a monk called Carpus pre-
served in Greek monastic literature under the name of Nilus, dating
from the fifth century.9 It is conceivably the source of Denys's
account. The contrasts are instructive: Nilus does not make out that
Carpus was his contemporary, whereas Denys does; and Nilus's
account is innocent of the Platonic allusions that we find in Denys.
Denys's account is redolent of the myth of Er from the Republic,
book X; the 'many-coloured flames' are from there, the 'vault of
heaven' from the Phaedrus (247C). Carpus's vision occurs at mid-
night, the holy hour when men see visions, by Denys's account. He
has both made the account subserve his pseudonymity, and also
given it a much more distinctively Platonic colouring.10
Even his attitude to the Scriptures is given a 'pagan' colouring. He
hardly ever uses the Christian word (graphe), but prefers to refer to
them as 'oracles' (logid), using the word pagans used. He also, in
Ep. IX, presents a picture of the absurdity of the literal meaning of
the Scriptures that it would be hard to find in any other Christian
Father: it sounds much more like a pagan Greek apologizing for the
absurdities of the Greek myths:
Viewed from outside they seem full of so many incredible and
fictitious fairy-tales. So, for example, in the case of the com-
ing-to-be of God [the theogony] that is beyond being, they
imagine the womb of God bodily giving birth to God, or the
Word poured forth into the air from a human heart which
sends it out, or they describe the Spirit as breath breathed out
of a mouth, or the theogonic bosom embracing the Son: all this
we celebrate in forms befitting bodily things, and we depict
these things with images drawn from nature, suggesting a cer-
tain tree, and plants, and flowers, and roots, or fountains
gushing forth water, or sources of light radiating beams of
light, or certain other sacred forms used by the Scriptures to
expound divine matters beyond being. In the matter of the
intelligible providences of God, or His gifts, or manifestations,
22
powers, properties, fortunes, abodes, processions, distinc-

tions, and unions, the human imagination applies to God a
variety of forms found among beasts and other living things
and plants and stones, and arrays Him with feminine orna-
ments and barbarian armour and with ornaments of ceramic
and metalwork, as if he were a mere artisan. It supplies Him
with horses and chariots and thrones, and provides delicately
prepared banquets and depicts Him drinking, and drunk, and
drowsy, and suffering from a hangover. And what about
God's fits of anger, His griefs, His various oaths, His moments
of repentance, His curses, His wraths, the manifold and
crooked reasons given for His failure to fulfil promises? And
the battle of the giants [the gigantomachia] in Genesis, when
God is said to have taken counsel out of fear of the power of
those men who were building the tower not in order to injure
others, but for their own safety, or that plot fashioned in
heaven to deceive Ahab by a trick? What about the variety of
sensual passions, passions appropriate to a prostitute,
described in the Song of Songs, and all the other sacred signs
that are daringly used to manifest God and to protect what is
hidden, and make manifold and divided what is single and
indivisible, and give a variety of form and figure to what is
without form or figure? (1104D-1105C)
There is nothing new about a Christian theologian in the fifth cen-
tury advocating allegory, but Denys's eagerness to jettison the literal
meaning of Scripture, and his willingness to see unsavoury views of
the divine there, is unusual, or at least extreme.
What is one to make of this mixture of Christianity and Neo-
platonism? Is the Christianity simply a cover for his real conviction
which is pagan Neoplatonism? Is he perhaps trying to find within
Christianity a place where a now-outlawed Platonism can continue
to survive?'' The long answer to that—for my part—is the rest of this
book, which hopes to show that what Denys expounds in his writings
is recognizably Christian. The immediate answer, or the beginnings
of such, is to note that by the end of the fifth century educated Greek
Christians and pagan philosophers had much in common, because
they shared a culture. Even in the West in the fifth and sixth cen-
turies, there were educated men whose Christianity was expressed in
the clothing of a pagan culture to such an extent that one wonders
what their real allegiance was: one thinks of Sidonius Apollinaris or
of Boethius. We recognize them as belonging to a dying culture,
23
because Western (pagan) culture did die and yielded to a 'Christian'

culture. But the fate of Greek culture was different: the Empire did
not collapse, secular education continued; as late as the eleventh cen-
tury (Michael Psellus) or even the fourteenth (Gemistos Plethon),
there were Greeks whose real allegiance seems doubtful. In Denys's
time this common culture meant that many terms and expressions
had a meaning and a life in both a pagan and a Christian context.
Earlier scholars argued that for Denys such words as 'theologian',
'theology', and 'tradition' were used not in a Christian but in a Neo-
platonic way. They were right that Denys's use of these words is not
much different from the way Neoplatonists used them: but
Christians and Neoplatonists did, by this time, use these terms in
very similar ways.
We saw in the last chapter that Cyril of Alexandria had picked up
from Neoplatonic logic notions like 'inseparable union' and 'uncon-
fused distinction' and that these eventually found their way into the
Chalcedonian Definition. Given that, it is hopeless to say, as some
scholars have, that Denys's use of such language is reminiscent
rather of Neoplatonism than of Chalcedon. The distinction between
Christian and pagan in the fifth century was not so much a matter of
language or method, as we are tempted to view it when we regard
commitment to a philosophy such as Platonism as inimical to real
Christianity; rather it was a matter of the convictions expressed
through language and by means of whatever methods were to hand.
It is the substance of Denys's convictions we need to examine. We
should not assume that what he says is wholly conditioned by the
way he delights in saying it. Denys may be more sensitive or more
clearheaded than we might suppose possible.
THE NATURE OF THEOLOGY

In several places Denys talks directly about the nature of theological
language. One such passage occurs in Ep. IX. There Denys says,
that the tradition of the theologians is twofold, on the one
hand ineffable and mystical, on the other manifest and more
knowable; on the one hand symbolic and presupposing initia-
tion, on the other philosophical and capable of proof—and the
ineffable is interwoven with what can be uttered. The one per-
suades and contains within itself the truth of what it says, the
other effects and establishes the soul with God by initiations
that do not teach anything. (1105D)
24
We have on the one hand, then, what appears to be a rational

theological method which works openly, using philosophical means,
persuading by means of proof and making the truth available to us;
on the other hand, we have another tradition which is concerned
with what is unknowable and unutterable, which is only open to the
initiate, employs symbolism and by some kind of action puts the soul
securely in contact with God without teaching anything. This con-
trast recalls the contrast Plato made between philosophy which is
expressed in terms of logos (reason) and is capable of proof, and
teaching which is handed down in the form of myth (mythos). It
recalls even more vividly what Aristotle said about the Eleusinian
mysteries, that there the initiates do not learn (matheiri) anything,
rather they experience (pathein, or suffer) something:12 Denys's
second type of theology, reserved only for initiates, is said explicitly
not to teach anything. Both these distinctions, and others, are made
use of by Neoplatonist philosophers, Proclus, for example.13 The
contrast between learning and suffering (which in Greek involves a
play on words: mathein-pathein) is used elsewhere by Denys, when
he speaks of his master, Hierotheus. The teaching of Hierotheus
consisted of
whatever he learned directly from the sacred writers, whatever
his own perspicacious and laborious research of the scriptures
uncovered for him, or whatever was made known to him
through that more mysterious inspiration, not only learning
(matHon) but also experiencing (pathori) the divine things. For
he had a 'sympathy' with such matters, if I may express it this
way, and he was perfected in a mysterious union with them and
in a faith in them which was independent of any teaching. (DN
II.9)
Denys clearly regards Hierotheus as an adept at his second, more
mysterious kind of theology. But what kind of an adept was he?
Traditionally he has been taken to be some kind of experiential
mystic, who experiences God and does not just know about him.
That his knowledge of God was based on experience and not some
more indirect source is evident, but whether it is the individual
experience of the mystic (maybe of some ecstatic kind) that is
involved is not so clear. The answer to that will depend, to some
extent, on the importance for Denys of such 'mystical' experience:
something we shall have to discuss later. But the experience that
Aristotle had in mind when he spoke of the Eleusinian mysteries was
certainly not of any such kind: he meant that the initiate learnt
25
nothing but simply underwent an experience (of the rite of

initiation). Denys, too, seems to be speaking of the experience of a
rite or ceremony when he speaks of the theology of the initiate,
expressed in symbolism, for he goes on to speak of the use of sym-
bolism in the 'rites of the most holy mysteries' both in the Church of
the Old Testament and that of the New, and of the angels' use of
riddles to introduce divine mysteries, and of 'Jesus himself, speaking
of divine matters in parables, and passing on to us the mysteries of
his divine activity through the symbolism of a meal laid out on a
table' (Ep. IX: 1108A). It does not seem to be the experience of
mystical rapture that Denys has in mind, but the experience of
Christian liturgical worship.
There is another problem in taking Denys's distinction of two
kinds of theology in Ep. IX as referring to a distinction between
rational theology and some sort of mystical, experiential theology,
and that is that though Denys's language seems to suggest that the
first kind of theology is rational and philosophical, that cannot be
really what he means; for the distinction occurs within 'the tradition
of the theologians', and that expression—'the tradition of the
theologians'—as Denys understands it, completely excludes any
kind of simply rational, philosophical theology, as we (and even
Plato) would understand it. 'Tradition' for Denys means something
handed down from the past—he is not at all interested in what we can
discover for ourselves by the exercise of our native wit (Hierotheus's
'perspicacious and laborious research' is applied to the Scriptures);
and 'theologians' does not for Denys mean learned academics, nor
even sacred teachers in general, but it refers quite specifically to the
biblical writers: Moses, the prophets, the evangelists, the apostles.
So the two kinds of theology Denys has in mind are to be found
within the tradition of biblical theology, as he understood it.
Perhaps the nearest parallel to Denys's distinction here is to be
found, not in the pagan philosophical tradition that meant so much
to him, but in the Christian theological tradition that he was heir to.
In his work On the Holy Spirit, St Basil the Great makes a distinction
within the teaching of the Church between dogma and kerygma,
doctrine and proclamation. Kerygma (plural: kerygmata) is based
on written teaching, dogmata are based on the tradition of the
apostles which has been handed down secretly ('in a mystery'). Both,
he says, have an equal claim on our reverence. If one ignores the
dogmata, one would evacuate the Church's preaching, the
kerygmata, of meaning. The examples that Basil gives of dogmata
are the meanings behind various liturgical customs: the sign of the
26
cross, prayer facing East, the words used in the Eucharistic Prayer to
consecrate the sacred elements of bread and wine, the blessing of the
water of baptism, the oil of anointing, the words used at the rite of
baptism itself, the triple immersion, and so on. All this, Basil says, is
based on no written tradition, on no Scripture, but it is based on a
teaching kept private and secret which our holy fathers have
preserved in a silence that prevents anxiety and curiosity... so
as to safeguard by this silence the sacred character of the mys-
teries. The uninitiate are not permitted to behold these things:
their meaning is not to be divulged by being written down.
Basil goes on to say that the same principle of safeguarding what is
sacred was employed by Moses in his planning of the Temple, and by
the 'apostles and the Fathers' in their regulations concerning
Christian worship. He adds that the obscurity which envelops the
Scriptures and makes it difficult to grasp the teaching they contain is
a 'form of silence'.14 Basil's distinction between kerygma and
dogma seems then to amount to this: kerygma is the Church's
preaching of the gospel, it is something proclaimed, it seeks to
awaken faith in those who do not believe, it seeks to persuade, to
convert; dogma, on the other hand, is the experience of the mystery
of Christ within the bosom of the Church, which is to be kept secret
from those outside, from those who do not have faith—it is a grow-
ing understanding of the faith mediated through the experience of
the liturgy of the Church and a deeper grasp of the hidden signi-
ficance of the Scriptures. This distinction seems very close to
Denys's 'twofold tradition of the theologians'. The hidden, inner
dimension of theology is a matter of experience, but not (or not
necessarily) a matter of extraordinary, ecstatic experience (we shall
have something to say later about Denys's understanding of
ecstasy): it is a matter of a lifetime's experience of prayer and wor-
ship within the bosom of the Church. The inner riches of the mystery
of the faith are continually being unfolded: Basil goes on to say that
'a whole day would not suffice to expound the unwritten mysteries
of the Church'. 15 It is presented in the liturgy in the form of sym-
bolism: the symbolism of the ceremonies and gestures of the liturgi-
cal rite, the symbolism of the material elements used—water, bread,
wine, oil, incense, the colours of the vestments, and so on—and the
symbolism of the language of the Scriptures read, and perhaps even
more importantly of the songs sung during the liturgy (one of
Denys's 'lost works' is On the Divine Hymns}.
21
HIEROTHEUS
It is in this context that we should understand Hierotheus. Denys
refers to him several times as his revered teacher or guide
(kathegemon): one presumes that he was a bishop, or at least a
priest.16 Twice he speaks of his visions (DN II.9, III.2), and several
times he refers to him for particular details of Christian teaching: for
example, the idea that the angels are ranked in three triads (CH
VI.2), or the dignity of the Eucharist as the 'rite of rites' (EH Ill.i).
We have seen that it is probably misleading to describe him as a
mystic. But it is not so much because such language is inappropriate,
as because we tend to give it a meaning that is anachronistic when
applied to Hierotheus by Denys. For the word 'mystic' does have a
use in the Dionysian writings, which bears very closely on
Hierotheus's importance for Denys.
Behind the words 'mystic', 'mysticism', lies the Greek root, mu-,
suggesting something closed: the group of words derived from
it—mystikos, mysterion, mystes—were used in connection with the
Greek mystery religions. The use of such language quickly became
little more than a stylistic device to underline the idea that truth is
hard of access, less something discovered than something disclosed:
such use of this language goes back to Parmenides and Plato. The
Christian use of this vocabulary really stems from the Pauline use of
the word mysterion. Mysterion means a secret, but in its use in the
New Testament it has a very specific reference, to the mystery of
God's love for mankind revealed in Christ. It is a secret, or a mys-
tery, not because it is kept secret; on the contrary, it is something to
be proclaimed and made known. But since it is a matter of the reveal-
ing of God's love for mankind, it is the revelation of something that
remains hidden in its revealing, inexhaustible and inaccessible in the
very event of its being made known and accessible to us in the life,
death and resurrection of Christ. So in Christian vocabulary,
mystikos means something that refers us to this mystery of God's
love for us in Christ and makes it accessible to us. Thus it comes to
have three ranges of meaning: first, refering to a 'mystic', or hidden,
meaning of Scripture; secondly, referring to the 'mystic', or inner,
meaning of the sacraments (or 'mysteries', as they are called in
Greek); and thirdly, 'mystical theology', knowing God as revealed in
Christ, by living the life 'hid with Christ in God' (Col 3:3), by
belonging to the 'fellowship of the mystery' (Eph 3:9), by living the
mystery into which we are incorporated in baptism and which comes
to fruition in us through the sacramental life and growth in faith,
28
17
hope and love. For Denys, Hierotheus exemplifies such under-
standing of the hidden ('mystic') truth of the Christian mystery. His
experience of the Christian life is such that he has a 'sympathy' with
divine matters, and thus is an expert (an experienced guide) in the
hidden meaning of the Scriptures and the sacraments.
His visions fit into this context, too. The language of the second
account of Hierotheus's visions (DN III.2) suggests that the context
was liturgical.18 This is supported by the fact that the other two cases
of visions in CA, Carpus's in Ep. VIII and Moses' in MT I, seem to
envisage a liturgical context, Carpus's explicitly and Moses' because
the language that speaks of his approach to the vision is full of
liturgical allusions.19 Hierotheus's experience seems rooted in the
Christian liturgy: his 'suffering divine things' (DN II.9), his
'experiencing communion with the things praised' (DN III.2) are to
be understood of his celebrating the Christian sacraments. He was
one who had entered into the heart of the Christian liturgy (its
'mystic' significance) and could thus explain it to others, perhaps by
the very way he celebrated (hence, maybe, his being called guide,
rather than simply teacher).
LITURGICAL THEOLOGY
If the heart of Denys's theology is liturgical, as all this suggests, then
it perhaps explains another thing about his attitude to theology.
Twice—in Epp. VI and VII—Denys warns against a polemical atti-
tude in theology. To Sosipater he explains that a polemical argument
that demolishes the opinions of an opponent does not establish any-
thing, and, to Bishop Poly carp, he explains why he does not engage
in controversy with the pagan Greeks: it is more important to
expound what one holds to be true, rather than to spend one's time
and energy in refuting error. There is a calmness about these two
passages, a sense of serenity in the truth that is unshakable. One can
imagine that if the heart of his own religious experience was the cor-
porate experience of the Christian liturgy, this would give him a
sense of sureness: the truth does not depend on his grasp of it, it has
been received from the tradition, through a community which gave
him, too, the support of belonging.
The two traditions of theology, Denys says, are interwoven. Even
those plain and open parts of the Scripture that express the gospel to
be proclaimed, the gospel of the coming of the Kingdom, or repent-
ance, and faith in Christ—even those plain and open parts are
29
interwoven with riddles and obscurities (Jesus preached the King-

dom of God in parables) which point deeper, to the mystery we can
never exhaustively understand. Similarly, however obscure and
riddling the Scriptures may appear, it is never the case that to pene-
trate and begin to understand involves anything less than that change
of mind, metanoia, repentance, that the gospel demands. The way in
which what is plain and straightforward is bound up with what is
obscure and puzzling is something that, we shall find, runs through
the whole of Denys's theological work.
It is perhaps clear now why this chapter is called 'A Liturgical
Theology': for it is the liturgy, and the understanding of the Scrip-
tures that are read and expounded in the liturgy and in which the lan-
guage of the liturgy is drenched, that is the fundamental context for
Denys. There is a sense, a sense suggested by the categories we have
seen St Basil employ, in which liturgy is more fundamental than
Scripture. Basil's contrast between written and unwritten tradition,
between kerygma and dogma, suggests that it is the latter that is
more fundamental: kaerygma is for everyone, dogma only for those
who can value it. Denys echoes this distinction at the beginning of
the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, and contrasts the liturgy with Scrip-
ture, as being 'more immaterial' (EH 1.4: 376B-C). Paul Rorem
remarks that in fact Denys exaggerates the contrast between Scrip-
ture and the liturgy by emphasizing the spatial, physical and material
aspects of scriptural imagery while playing down the spatial and
material in the case of the liturgy—the surroundings and the objects
used in the liturgy—and concentrating on 'liturgical events and
ritual movements'. This bias leads to Scripture being seen as the
formless expressed in the multiplicity of spatial form, and the liturgy
as the timeless expressed in temporal actions. This, allied with a Pla-
tonic conviction that time is superior to space and closer to the
divine—a conviction founded on the cosmology of the Timaeus,
where time is an imitation of eternity whereas space sums up all that
is contrary to the divine intention in fashioning the cosmos—com-
pletes the sense Denys conveys of the superiority of the liturgy to the
Scriptures.20
If the liturgical is the fundamental context for Denys's theology,
then it makes sense of a number of general features of his writings.
That the works on the hierarchies are liturgical is clear enough, but it
is no less true of the Divine Names and the Mystical Theology. The
Divine Names is not just about the qualities we ascribe to God: it is
about the names that he has given us in Scripture to call him, and we
call him these names when we praise him. The Divine Names does
30
not so much speak of divine predication, as divine praise: we praise

or celebrate (the Greek word Denys uses is hymneiri) God with those
names that he has revealed. So the Divine Names is about the
interpretation of the language with which we sing the praises of God.
Similarly, as has already been suggested, the context oaf iheMystical
Theology is not the individual 'mystic's' solitary ascent to God, but
the priest's (or rather the bishop's) ascent to the altar: something
that takes place with, and on behalf of, the whole people of God. So
it would seem that the context of all the writings of the Areopagite is
liturgical.
If we are going to approach Denys in this way, then this suggests
that whoever settled the order of the treatises as found in the manu-
scripts—beginning with the works on the hierarchies and ending
with the Mystical Theology—knew what he was about. Scholars may
well be right in detecting another order (as we have seen), but the
order in the manuscripts does introduce us to Dionysian theology in
a logical and coherent way. The Celestial Hierarchy expounds the
order and function of the angelic ranks: there we can see in an uncon-
fused way the principles that govern hierarchical order. These prin-
ciples are then applied in the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy to the structure
and liturgy of the Church on earth (we shall see this means very much
the Church that Denys was familiar with in Syria). The Divine
Names then looks to the One who has brought all this about and
whose praises we sing in the liturgy, and the Mystical Theology looks
at the culminating significance of the liturgy and draws the whole
together. We shall let this structure determine the way we shall
expound the theology of the Areopagite.
Notes
1 Martyrdom ofPolycarp, trans, in Early Christian Writings (Penguin
Classics; rev. ed., Harmondsworth, Middx, 1987), pp. 125-35.
2 Denys himself mentions Ignatius: DN IV. 12.
3 See Early Christian Writings (op. cit.), pp. 115f.
4 Oeuvres Completes du Pseudo-Denys I'Areopagite, trans. M. de
Gandillac (Paris, 1943; repr. 1980). This ordering of Denys's works is
not universally accepted—see G. Heil's note in his translation of the
Hierarchies (Bibliothek der Griechischen Literatur, 23; 1986),
p. 1—but is argued for by Roques, Structures, pp. 133f.
5 Hans Urs von Balthasar, The Glory of the Lord 2 (Eng. trans.,
Edinburgh, 1984), pp. 154-64.
31
6 See Roques, Structures, pp. 128-33 (= Dictionnaire de Spiritualite III

(Paris, 1957), cols 259-62).
7 On the other 'lost' treatises and how we can supplement what we have
'lost' from what survives, see Balthasar, op. cit.
8 See, esp., Koch, Ps-Dionysius, passim.
9 PG 79, 297D-300C.
10 See Koch's comments, Ps-Dionysius, pp. 18-26.
11 As R. F. Hathaway suggests: Hierarchy and the Definition of Order in
the Letters of Pseudo-Dionysius (The Hague, 1969), p. 25. More pre-
cisely, Hathaway thinks that the author of CA may have been
Damascius, the last head of the Academy in Athens. Others who
believe Denys to have been a Neoplatonist and not a Christian at all
include J. Vanneste (Le Mystere de Dieu, Brussels, 1959), B. Brons
(Gott unddieSeienden, Gottingen, 1976), R. Mortley (From Word to
Silence 2, ch. 12, Bonn, 1986).
12 Aristotle, De Philosophia, frag. 15 (Ross).
13 See Proclus's rather elaborate distinction of types of theology in the
Platonic Theology 1.4 (ed. H. D. Saffrey and L. G. Westerink, Paris,
1968, pp. 17-23).
14 Basil, On the Holy Spirit XXVII.66: ed. (with French trans.) B. Pruche
(Sources Chretiennes 17 bis, Paris, 1968), pp. 478-86.
15 Ibid., XXVII.67 (p. 486).
16 On Hierotheus, see I. P. Sheldon-Williams, 'The Pseudo-Dionysius
and the holy Hierotheus', Studio Patristica 8 (= Texte und
Untersuchungen 93, 1966), pp. 108-17.
17 On all this see Louis Bouyer's articles, 'Mysticism' and 'Mysterion: an
essay on the history of a word' in A. Pie and others, Mystery and
Mysticism (Blackfriars Publications; London, 1956: articles translated
from La Vie spirituelle, Supplement, 1952); and at greater length, his
book, Mysterion: du mystere a la mystique (Paris, 1986).
18 See Rorem's note, Works, p. 70, n. 131.
19 Ibid. p. 137, n. 10.
20 Rorem, Symbols, pp. 117-19.
32
T
The angelic choirs
In his work the Celestial Hierarchy, Denys gives an account of the

realm of those heavenly, immaterial beings generally called angels.
The angelic realm is represented as being closer to God than we
human beings are, and thus as mediating between God and man-
kind. The purpose of Denys's work is partly to establish the order
and rank of the angels and to give an account of their purpose. But
because none of the angelic orders has any material existence, the
language with which Scripture describes them is metaphorical, using
imagery drawn from the realm of the senses. This raises the question
about how such metaphorical language works, which is for Denys
akin to the subject of symbolic theology. Descriptions of the angelic
hierarchies make use of names taken from the realm of the senses
and apply them to the immaterial realm which Denys calls intelligible
or conceptual (in Greek: noetori); in symbolic theology proper
names taken from the realm of the senses are applied to the divine
itself.1
But to devote a whole treatise to the subject of angels must seem
strange to modern ways of thinking: Christians still celebrate, as
they have for centuries, the feasts of St Michael and All Angels (on
29 September, now called the Feast of the Archangels) and of the
Holy Guardian Angels (on 2 October), and angels play a role in the
Christmas stories and in the accounts of the Resurrection, but quite
what they are, or whether they are at all, is not much aired.2 In the
Bible, however, angels appear a good deal. The 'angel of the Lord' in
the Old Testament often seems to be a periphrasis for God: the
'angel of the Lord' is the presence of God himself (see, e.g., Judg
33
6:11-24; 13:2-23). The word 'angel' (in Greek, angelos-, in

Hebrew, mal'ak) means a messenger, and the angels are often
depicted as messengers moving between God and men (cf., e.g., the
ladder of Jacob's dream, up and down which angels passed: Gen
28:12), carrying messages from God and prayers from men. Else-
where they are represented as a kind of heavenly court with which
God consults (e.g., 1 Kings 29:19-23; Job 1:6-12),-and increasingly
as beings who surround God and sing his praises (Isa 6, Ps 148:2).
They are the invisible company who are close to God and who sup-
port those who trust in him: holy men and women know their pre-
sence, so on one occasion, in a moment of danger, the prophet Elisha
prays that his servant's eyes may be opened to see that 'those who are
with us are more than those that are with them' (2 Kings 6:15-17).
Already in the Old Testament there is a growing definiteness about
the nature of the angelic world. As well as angels, there are seraphim
(Isa 6), cherubim (guarding Paradise, Gen 3:24; in Ezekiel's vision,
Ezek 10:5), and the names of some of the angelic beings are given:
Michael (Dan 10:13), Gabriel (Dan 8:16) and Raphael (Tobit 7:8).
These named beings were later all thought to be archangels. Belief in
a body of angelic mediators who live in the presence of God singing
his praises and mediating between God and men is taken for granted
in the New Testament. The angel Gabriel announces to Mary her
vocation as Mother of the Lord (Luke 1:26-38) and an angel tells the
shepherds of the birth of Jesus (Luke 2:8-20); angels minister to
Jesus in the desert (Matt 4:11) and in the Garden of Gethsemane
(Luke 22:43), and announce to the women the resurrection of Jesus
(Matt 28:2-7; John 20:12f.). They figure in the life of the early
Church as depicted in Acts (e.g., 12:6-11), and play a prominent
part in the picture of heaven found in the Apocalypse (or the book of
Revelation). Such a belief in angels was commonplace in the
Judaism of the day: angels were seen as mediators between God and
men, in particular they were the intermediaries through whom the
Law was given (a belief known to writers of the New Testament: cf.,
Acts 7:53, Gal 3:19, Heb 2:2). The great Jewish philosopher Philo
(c. 20 BC -c. AD 50) had a highly developed angelology.
Belief in such intermediary beings was not, however, confined to
the Judaeo-Christian tradition. Many people in classical and
late classical times believed in such beings. In the Symposium
(202E-204A) Plato develops the idea of a class of beings called
daemons (Greek: daimones) who are intermediaries between gods
and men and carry messages between them. This idea was much
elaborated in later Platonism, for example by Plutarch (AD
34
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
50-c. 120) and Apuleius (second century AD). There is clearly a

great deal in common between the idea of angels and that of
daemons, and indeed Philo tells us that 'it is the custom of Moses
[i.e., the custom of Scripture] to give the name of angels to those
whom other philosophers call daemons'.3 The idea of intermediary
beings was still further elaborated in Neoplatonism, and as hier-
archies of intermediary beings were developed, so the names for
these beings were drawn from the Judaeo-Christian tradition, the
Greek philosophical tradition, and other traditions too (such as
Gnosticism). So, for instance, in his work On the Mysteries of Egypt
the Neoplatonist lamblichus has (usually) four ranks of beings
mediating between the gods and human souls: archangels, angels,
daemons, and heroes; he also refers to them by the term beloved of
the Gnostics, archons (rulers).4 In Christian use there developed a
tendency to distinguish between angels and daemons, seeing in the
angels good intermediary beings and in the daemons evil inter-
mediaries (our 'demons'). This tendency was doubtless encouraged
by the Christians' habit of regarding pagan gods as evil spirits who
sought to deceive mankind. As the pagan philosophers interpreted
their gods (or their presence amongst humans) as daemons, this led
Christians to regard daemons as evil. In the stories of the early
monks, the Desert Fathers of the fourth century, the demons are
malevolent spiritual beings who tempt men to sin and faithlessness to
Christ. Denys inherits this distinction: for him demons (daimones)
are evil beings (evil not by nature, but through their freewill), though
he has not very much to say about them (he mentions them, for
example, in DN IV.23), while the angelic beings are those heavenly
beings who have remained steadfast in their love of God.
THE ORDERING OF THE ANGELS ACCORDING TO DENYS
So much by way of background. We have mentioned that the Bible

gives various names to these angelic beings: seraphim and cherubim,
for instance. In the New Testament other names are given to such
heavenly beings, notably by St Paul in Colossians 1:16 and
Ephesians 1:21: there we read of thrones, dominions, principalities,
authorities and powers. These—together with angel and archangel
(the latter not found in the Old Testament, though it occurs in inter-
testamental literature and twice in the New Testament: 1 Thess 4:16
and Jude 9)—give the nine names of the angelic beings as we find
them in Denys.
35
In Denys they appear as three ranks of three orders of beings: the

first rank (in descending order), seraphim, cherubim, thrones; the
second, dominions, powers, authorities; the third, principalities,
archangels, angels.5 There is nothing original in Denys's giving such
a list of nine ranks of angelic beings. Earlier Christian writers had
already put together these nine biblical names into a list of heavenly
beings. St Cyril of Jerusalem (c. 315-86) gives just such a list (with
the same names as Denys, though with a different order) as he
enumerates the heavenly beings with whom we join our praises in the
solemn prayer at the Eucharist.6 St John Chrysostom (c. 347-407)
in his Homilies on Genesis'1 gives another list of nine angelic beings
(with the same names as Cyril and Denys, though his order is dif-
ferent from them both).8 In his Homilies on the Incomprehensibility
of God, Chrysostom has a good deal to say about the angelic beings:
again he speaks of the same nine kinds of beings as Denys does, but
here the order he gives differs even more from that of Denys.9
Another fourth-century writer, St Gregory of Nyssa (c. 320-
c. 395), shows interest in the ranks of angels. In his Homilies on the
Song of Songs he speaks of the ranks of the angels and names them:
his names are much what we would expect (and if, indeed, his minis-
ters (leitourgoi) cover angels and archangels, the same), but his order
is yet another permutation. Gregory is, however, very interested in
their ranks as such: he emphasizes (against Origen) that the ranks of
the angels are secure, and were unaffected by the fall of man. Their
ordered array fills men and women with wonder and astonishment,
and that wonder serves to keep them close to the path of virtue.10
Chrysostom, too, finds the ranks of the angels awesome. So, too,
later did the German poet, Rilke:
Who, when I cry, hears me from out of the orders
Of the angels? . . .
For the Beautiful is nothing
But the onset of the fearful, which we can just bear,
And we are amazed, because it disdains
To destroy us. Every angel is fearful. 11
One wonders whether there is any reason behind the developing
interest in angels in the fourth century, which Denys takes a step
further. The three Fathers we have mentioned—Cyril of Jerusalem,
John Chrysostom, Gregory of Nyssa—all stood firm against the
threat of Arianism, the two latter developing a doctrine of the com-
plete unknowability of God against the arguments of the extreme
Arian, Eunomius (d. 394). For Chrysostom and Gregory the doc-
36
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
trine of the angels fits into their emphasis on God's ineffability: even
the angels cannot come to know God completely. Even though they
reach more deeply than men and women could ever hope into the
mystery of God, this closeness to God is characterized by silence.12
The same idea is found in the Syrian Father, Ephrem (also fourth
century): for instance in one of his Hymns on the Faith (4.1): 'A
thousand thousands stand, ten thousand ten thousands run: thou-
sands and ten thousands are not able to search into the One: for all of
them in silence stand to minister.' The angels, as it were, display the
utter ineffability of God, and come from that silence in which God
dwells to communicate with men and women. Whereas earlier
Christian theology had thought in terms of the Word (or Logos) of
God coming from the silence that God is and declaring it,13 and had
interpreted the theophanies of God in the Old Testament as mani-
festations of the Word of God, Denys sees angels coming from the
silence that God is (cf. DN IV.2), just as by the fifth century
Christian theology had come increasingly to interpret theophanies as
the work of angels.14 Angels shroud, as it were, the greatly enhanced
incomprehensibility of God.15
Denys, however, takes this growing interest in angels a step
further, and in doing so lays the foundations for later theology. For
he does not simply enumerate the nine ranks of angels, he sees them
as constituting three orders, each consisting of three ranks of heav-
enly beings. No Christian writer before Denys produces this doubly
threefold pattern (Denys himself attributes the idea to Hierotheus:
CH VI.2). Where, we might wonder, does it come from? A Neo-
platonic interest in triads is doubtless in the background. Proclus
tells us that lamblichus had 'three triads of intelligible gods'16 in the
'intelligible hebdomad', which is very close to Denys's three triads of
angels (who are also intelligible beings, that is, belonging to the
realm of intellect or nous), and even earlier Porphyry (whose disciple
lamblichus had probably been) comments on one of the Chaldaean
hymns (or oracles): 'This oracle gives knowledge of the three orders
of angels: those who perpetually stand before God; those who are
separated from him and who are sent forth with a view to certain
messages and ministrations; those who perpetually bear his throne
. . . and perpetually sing.'17 So it looks as if Denys's distinctive
contribution to Christian angelology is of Neoplatonic inspiration.
37
THE NOTION OF HIERARCHY

Three ranks of three, or three hierarchies, of angelic beings. Denys
uses various words for the ranks or orders, but one of them, hier-
archy (Greek: hierarchia) is first found in Denys himself and seems
to be his own coinage. Hierarch (Greek: hierarches), the word he
habitually uses for a bishop, is a pagan word meaning 'president of
sacred rites, high-priest'.18 But the word hierarchia is composed of
two Greek words meaning 'sacred' and 'source or principle', and
Denys probably expected his readers to be sensitive to etymology. He
is fond, anyway, of coining words with the ending -archia. His
normal word for the Godhead is Thearchy (thearchia)', he uses words
like agatharchia (from 'good' and 'source'), taxiarchia (from 'rank'
and 'source'), and derives adjectives and verbs from the nouns thus
arrived at: there is a verb, hierarchein, which presumably means 'to
carry out the function of hierarchy'.
Hierarchy is a key term (and key concept) for Denys. He defines it
several times. At the beginning of CH III, he introduces the term
thus:
Hierarchy is, as I understand it, a sacred order, knowledge and
activity, which is being assimilated to likeness with God as
much as possible and, in response to the illuminations that are
given it from God, is raised to the imitation of Him in its own
measure.
So hierarchy is more than just a rank or order; it refers as well to
what this sacred ordering makes possible: knowledge and activity.
The sacred order imparts knowledge and enables the members of the
hierarchy to operate effectively. And the whole point of this sacred
arrangement is an assimilation to the divine likeness. The purpose of
hierarchy, its scope (skopos) as he puts it a few lines later, is assimila-
tion to God and union with him, as far as possible. The whole
arrangement is concerned with deification. 'Deification' is often
thought of as clear evidence of the influence of Hellenistic ideas on
Christian theology, but in fact the language which the Fathers use
for deification (theosis, theopoiesis) is peculiar to the Christian
tradition (the pagans speak, rather, of apotheosis), and by the time
of Denys it was firmly established in Christian vocabulary (especially
in the Greek-speaking, and also the Syriac-speaking, traditions).19
It should therefore come as no surprise to find the language of
deification so frequently used in the Dionysian writings. But what
does it mean? Not some metaphysical confusion between God and
38
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
his creatures: on the contrary, as we shall see, Denys holds quite

firmly that creatures are created by God and have no ontological
continuity with him. Rather, Denys means that creatures come to
know God, and as 'like is known by like' (a maxim traditional in
Greek philosophy), such knowledge implies a deepening likeness to
God. Further, deification means for Denys that the deified creature
becomes so united to God that its activity is the divine activity flow-
ing through it. So, as he puts it, 'What could be more divine than to
become, in the words of the oracles, a "fellow-worker with God" (1
Cor 3:9), and to show forth the divine energy which is manifested in
oneself as much as one can?' (CH III.2).
Hierarchies mediate knowledge ('are knowledge', Denys actually
says): they are vehicles of revelation. Denys conceives of this revela-
tion in terms of light; light flowing out from the supreme Godhead
and irradiating the whole created order. But it is not a light that
shines on the created order, but rather through it: those nearest to
God are illuminated and their brightness, derived ultimately from
the brightness of God's glory, radiates the divine light further and
further into the farthest recesses of the created order. The divine
light is first of all received by the immaterial order of purely intellec-
tual beings, the ranks of angels, arranged, as we have seen, three by
three. From this purely intellectual level, the divine light is passed on
to the material world, to men and women composed of souls and
bodies, and in that realm it is the Church and its rites and ceremonies
that are the vehicle of illumination. So Denys goes on, in CH III, to
say,
It is God himself who is our guide in all sacred knowledge and
activity, and looking unwaveringly to his divine comeliness,
the hierarchy receives his stamp as much as possible and makes
its own members divine images, perfectly clear and spotless
mirrors, receptive to the ray of the primordial and thearchic
light, and divinely filled with the brilliance that has been given
to it; and those in their turn, without envy, become sources of
illumination for others, in accordance with the thearchic
arrangements.
The hierarchies are a vehicle for theophany: they are a theophany.
The divine light radiates out from the Godhead and reaches through-
out the created order. And where the divine light shines, there God
is. But the imagery of a light shining, though strongly biblical (cf.
John 1:5), is also somewhat impersonal. Such impersonality is not,
however, part of Denys's meaning. The last quotation makes clear
39
how much the passing on of the divine light depends on those who
receive it, on their attentiveness and unwavering steadfastness. The
light does not just shine, it is received and passed on. This sense of
hierarchy as an active transmitter of the divine light is enormously
important, and Denys expounds it by a triad that leaves its impress
on almost every page of the works on the hierarchies. That is the
triad of purification, illumination, and union or perfection
(katharsis, photismos, henosis or teleiosis).
PURIFICATION, ILLUMINATION, UNION

The triad of purification, illumination and union is also something
original to Denys that was destined to have a great impact on sub-
sequent Christian tradition (the so-called 'three ways' of
mysticism—the purgative way, the illuminative way, and the unitive
way—are derived from it). Its origins can be sought partly in tradi-
tions associated with the pagan mystery religions: they required
ritual purification as a preparation for initiation, and illumination
and union could be said to be the fruit of such initiation. Plato picks
up such language and uses it to give solemnity to his requirement of
purification as preparation for the philosophical quest which, by
means of illumination, finally achieves union with the objects of true
knowledge. Christians too, had developed threefold patterns of
ascent to God: Clement of Alexandria has an ethical stage, a
'hierurgical' stage which is said to be that of 'natural
contemplation', and a final 'theological' stage, which is that of
vision (or epopteia).20 Similar triadic patterns can be found in
Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and Evagrius.21 All these form the back-
ground for Denys's triad of purification, illumination, and union or
perfection.
According to Denys, however, it is the triadic structure of the hier-
archies that administer this threefold movement that purifies,
illumines, and leads to union. In each triadic rank, the lowest order is
purificatory or stands in need of purification; the middle order
illumines or stands in need of illumination; the highest order leads to
perfection or is led to perfection. The point of this seems threefold.
First of all, the movement to union with God has three moments:
purification is the foundation; this leads to illumination; which itself
culminates in union or perfection. Secondly, purification, illumina-
tion and union are operations that happen to us: we are purified, we
are illuminated, we are perfected. We do not achieve this movement
40
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
towards God ourselves, by our own efforts: we depend on God's gra-

cious movement towards us. Denys's understanding of hierarchy is
an expression of his deep sense of God's active search for mankind
and gentle persuasion of fallen men. So in his letter to the monk
Demophilus, he begs him to contemplate Christ:
Let us quietly receive the beneficent rays of the truly good, the
transcendently good Christ and let us be led by their light
towards his divinely good deeds. After all is it not char-
acteristic of his unspeakable, incomprehensible goodness that
he fashions the existence of things, that he draws everything
into being, that he wishes everything to be always akin to him
and to have fellowship with him according to their fitness?
Does he not come lovingly to those who have turned away from
him? Does he not contend with them and beg them not to spurn
his love? Does he not support his accusers and plead on their
behalf? He even promises to be concerned for them and when
they are far away from him they have only to turn back and
there he is, hastening to meet them. He receives them with com-
pletely open arms and greets them with the kiss of peace.
(Ep. VIII: 1085C-1088A)
Hierarchy is the outreach of God's love, it is not a ladder we struggle
up by our own efforts. But thirdly, to depend on God and his love
means to depend on other people. It is the members of the hierarchy
who purify, illumine, and perfect, and themselves stand in need of
such purification, illumination and perfection. The hierarchy is a
community that is being saved and mediates salvation. Denys is
often accused of a narrow individualism, because he seems con-
cerned to show how the hierarchical arrangements meet the needs of
the individual. But it is not so often noted that the hierarchical
arrangements themselves are emphatically not impersonal, but are
the arrangement of a community, or group of communities, whose
members are seeking to draw near to God and draw others near to
God. So Denys says:
Since the order of hierarchy will mean that some are being puri-
fied and others purify, some are being enlightened while others
enlighten, some are being perfected while others complete the
perfecting initiation for others, each will imitate God in the
way that is harmonious with its own functions. (CH III.2)
But what is mediated through this mutual assistance in the way to
God comes from God himself, so Denys continues:
41
The Divine Blessedness, to speak in human terms, is free from

any unlikeness, full of eternal light, perfect and lacking no
perfection, itself purifying and enlightening and perfecting, or
rather purification itself, illumination itself and perfection
itself, the primary source and principle by itself of all perfect-
ing initiation, beyond purification, beyond light, the source of
all hierarchy, and yet separated by its transcendence from
everything that is sacred.
HIERARCHY AND ORDER

Nonetheless, for many the very notion of order and hierarchy seems
constraining: people are allotted their role and are to be content with
it. In favour of the notion of hierarchy it could be argued that the
alternative to some order is no order, and that anarchy brings with it
much greater evils, much greater constraints on freedom and fulfil-
ment. But Denys himself has none of these doubts or questions. He is
deeply committed to the notion of an ordered society and sees the
order he describes in the two books on the hierarchies as divinely
ordained. He regards the principle of hierarchy as very precious. In
Ep. VIII to the monk Demophilus who has broken the order of the
hierarchy by rebuking a priest of whose ministrations he dis-
approved (and indeed driving him from the sanctuary), he asserts
without qualification the principle of hierarchical order. Or perhaps
not quite without any qualification: he insists that those who bear
hierarchical office must be worthy of that office—an unworthy
priest is no priest. But it is only one set over such a one hierarchically
who can rebuke him. Further, Demophilus's offence was not just
against hierarchical order, but against the whole purpose of hier-
archy, which, as we have seen, is to express God's love and draw men
and women to him: Demophilus had driven out of the sanctuary a
priest who was reconciling a sinner.
But the assertion of hierarchical order in Ep. VIII is directly con-
cerned with earthly hierarchy, which is not directly our concern in
this chapter. In the Celestial Hierarchy itself there is an assertion of
hierarchical order which might seem excessive (it has certainly
seemed so to some). Although Jesus (that is, for Denys, the incarnate
Son of God) is said to be the 'source and perfection of all hierarchies'
(EH 1.2), it is made quite clear that during his earthly life, Jesus was
subject to angelic ministrations and like us had no direct, unmedi-
ated communion with God. In CH IV Denys argues that all human
42
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
knowledge of divine things is mediated by angels, even the know-

ledge of Jesus' 'love of humanity', \\isphilanthrdpia (as Denys habi-
tually refers to the incarnation), was mediated by angels. And so in
the case of the Incarnate Lord himself: 'Jesus himself, the
transcendent Cause of those beings which live beyond the world,
came to take on human form without in any way changing his own
essential nature' and yet during his earthly life he 'submitted to the
wishes of God the Father as arranged by angels'. There could hardly
be any stronger assertion of Denys's respect for the principle of hier-
archical order.
TALKING OF ANGELS
The Celestial Hierarchy is not just about the principle of hierarchy: it
contains chapters on each of the three ranks of angelic beings and
various other chapters on specific scriptural accounts of such angelic
beings (for example, Isaiah's vision in the Temple and his being puri-
fied by one of the seraphim). Denys, then, has something to tell us
about the angelic beings. What?
It might be better to ask, Why? Denys is not interested in clearing
up some obscure points of celestial geography (if one can use such an
expression) for their own sake. It is impossible for us to know 'the
mysteries of the intelligences beyond the heavens', we can only know
what God has revealed to us (CH III. 1). And as the purpose of God's
revelation is to draw mankind back to union with himself, the lan-
guage of revelation is not there to convey information, but to raise us
up to God. Revelation does not so much reveal something, as effect
something.
In CH II Denys discusses the use of language in such revelation.
Revelation concerning heavenly beings (and even more revelation of
the Divine itself) makes use of language that refers to things within
our earthly experience in order to draw us up to communion with
that of which it speaks. Such language is symbolic. What is conveyed
is not conveyed directly. To understand such language is to respond
to it rightly; it is to be raised up towards the heavenly realm and
thence to God. If we attempted to understand what the Scriptures
say about heavenly beings simply and descriptively, then it would
lead us into absurdity:
One would likely then imagine that the heavens beyond really
are filled with bands of lions and horses, that the divine praises
are, in effect, great moos, that flocks of birds take wing there
43
or that there are other kinds of creatures all about or even more
dishonourable material things. (CH II.2)
Denys gives two reasons for 'creating types for the typeless, for
giving shape to what is actually without shape':
First, we lack the ability to be directly raised up to conceptual
contemplations. We need our own upliftings that come
naturally to us and which can raise before us the permitted
forms of the marvellous and unformed sights. Secondly, it is
most fitting to the mysterious passages of scripture that the
sacred and hidden truth about the celestial intelligences be con-
cealed through the inexpressible and the sacred and be
inaccessible to the many. Not everyone is sacred, and, as scrip-
ture says, knowledge is not for everyone. (CH II.2)
This latter point, that the obscurity of the Scriptures is intended to
protect their secrets from the profane, we have already come across
in St Basil (see above, p. 27), and it is common in the Fathers. St
Augustine saw such obscurity as a challenge to our pride, since it
demands of the reader a humble, patient effort to understand.22 The
modern Orthodox theologian, Vladimir Lossky, spoke of a 'margin
of silence' belonging to the words of Scripture, 'which cannot be
picked up by the ears of those outside' ,23 Only those who can discern
this margin of silence are able to enter into the real meaning of the
Scriptures. It is only in a spirit of prayer that we can become attuned
to this silence. But the first reason Denys gives for the use of sym-
bolic, and apparently absurd, language in Scripture is that we are
incapable, as beings of flesh and blood caught up in the concerns of
the material world, of being lifted up by 'conceptual contempla-
tions', that is, by immaterial representations of angelic matters.
They would simply pass us by, we would miss the point. Part of
Denys's point here is a point that is commonplace amongst Pla-
tonists. It is by abstraction that we form immaterial concepts, by
thinking away the particular and the material, but whereas properly
such abstraction should lead us to a deeper grasp of reality, it can
often go the other way; by thinking away the particular and material
we simply drain our thoughts of any grasp on reality at all. So
abstraction, the formation of immaterial concepts, is not a simple
operation, but an exercise, a practice, by which the human mind is
weaned from its dependence on the material and particular and
accustomed to the more austere world of pure, immaterial truth.
Plato (and the Neoplatonists were with him in this) thought that
44
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
mathematics was indispensable for the soul in its transition from the
material to the conceptual. That gave the whole ascent to the divine a
strongly intellectual bias which Christians tended to resist;
mathematics was, consequently, much less important in Christian
circles.
LIKE AND UNLIKE SYMBOLISM

The symbolic language of Scripture, then, at once conceals the inner
meaning from the eyes of the merely curious and provides images
that are within our grasp and can be of use in our ascent to God.
Within this symbolic language Denys distinguishes between like and
unlike symbols (homoia andanomoiasymbola). Some symbols have
some similarity to that which they symbolize: Denys gives the
examples of reason, mind and being. When Scripture describes God
in these terms, it depicts God as rational, intelligent, a supreme
Being to whom all other beings owe their existence. Other symbols
are drawn from the material world and many of them seem ridi-
culous: Denys does not give any examples in this chapter of the
Celestial Hierarchy, but in Ep. IX he gives a long list of such appar-
ently inappropriate symbolism and concentrates particularly on
extreme anthropomorphisms—God as a man of war, or a passionate
lover, or as jealous, deceitful, or arrayed in tasteless jewellery.
But Denys insists that it is this unlike symbolism that is more
appropriate to God, because in fact God infinitely transcends any-
thing we say about him. If we depict him using like symbolism and
see him as, for example, an omnipotent, far-seeing creator, we are
very likely to make the mistake of supposing that God is really like
that: a being among other beings, only much more powerful and
indeed the one to whom all other beings owe their existence. But that
is not so, God is not a being among other beings, even a very power-
ful one: he utterly transcends every being and any conception we
may have of him. If, however, we use unlike symbolism of God, and
say that he is a man of war or a consuming fire, then there is little
danger we will imagine that he is really like that. It will be obvious
that such language tells us something about God, but does not
describe him.
The truest kind of language about God, according to Denys, is
that which denies qualities of God, as when we say that he is invis-
ible, infinite, ineffable. Such a way of negation describes God truly,
45
since God is in no way like the things that have being. Since unlike
symbolism compels us to seek understanding of God by denying
what we say about him, it is more reliable. As Denys puts it, 'Since
the way of negation appears to be more suitable to the realm of the
divine and since positive affirmations are always unfitting to the
hiddenness of the inexpressible, a manifestation through dissimilar
shapes is more correctly applied to the invisible' (CH II.3).
This applies, too, to the invisible realm of the angels. Scripture
deliberately describes the heavenly beings as horses, cows, wheels
and so forth, for there is less danger we will understand such lan-
guage literally. If Scripture had used what is nearest to the angelic
realm to describe it (the human realm) we might easily depict the
angels as simply superhuman—'golden and gleaming men, gla-
morous, wearing lustrous clothing', as Denys puts it (and how right
he was!); whereas 'the sheer crassness of the signs is a goad so that
even the materially inclined cannot accept that it could be permitted
or true that the celestial and divine sights could be conveyed by such
shameful things'. Such language, Denys adds, also reminds us that
'there is nothing which lacks its own share of beauty, for as Scripture
rightly says, "Everything is good" '. 'A goad': that is the point of
such language, not to describe but to stir up our devotion and lift us
up towards heaven.
Denys goes on to apply these principles to the way in which human
emotions are applied to the transcendent realm. It is worth pausing
to consider this, for there were two currents in Christian ascetic
literature contemporary with Denys. All (or nearly all) saw the
attainment of apatheia (freedom from passions or emotions) as the
goal of Christian ascetic struggle: such freedom from passions was
seen as releasing a pure love for God and for men. Some saw
apatheia as suppression of the passions: that was the tendency of the
Evagrian tradition;24 others saw apatheia as a transformation of the
passions, a redirection of them: Diadochus, Theodoret (both fifth
century) and later Maximus the Confessor (c. 580-662) are repre-
sentatives of such a tradition. Denys's interpretation of the way
human emotions are applied to the celestial realm suggests that he
belonged to the second tradition: for if such feelings have meaning in
the transcendent realm, that sublimation is presumably the goal for
our ascetic endeavour here below. So anger is interpreted as 'the
sturdy working of reason in [the celestial beings] and the capacity
they have to be grounded tenaciously in holy and unchanging
foundations': the sublimation of anger is a kind of rational strength
and sturdiness. Desire becomes 'a strong and sure desire for the clear
46
THE ANGELIC CHOIRsa
and impassible contemplation of the transcendent. It is a hunger for

an unending, conceptual, and true communion with the spotless and
sublime light, of clear and splendid beauty.' Denys would have
understood Diadochus, nearly his (older) contemporary, when he
spoke of the 'fire of apatheia'.25
THE ORDERS OF ANGELS

Most of the Celestial Hierarchy is concerned with applying these
principles to understanding what is said about angels in the Scrip-
tures. He treats each rank separately and then looks at various parti-
cular problems. He has a good deal to say about the first hierarchy of
angelic beings, the seraphim, cherubim, and thrones (CH VII). He
gives the traditional meanings of the Hebrew names: seraphim
means 'fire-makers', that is to say, 'carriers of warmth'; cherubim
means 'fullness of knowledge' or 'outflowing of wisdom'. This rank
of angelic beings is immediately present before God, his revelation is
received by them first. Denys then goes on to expound this basic
information, making use, as he does so, of Neoplatonic themes.
Thus the name seraphim means 'a perennial circling around the
divine things, penetrating warmth, the overflowing heat of a move-
ment which never falters and never fails, a capacity to stamp their
own image on subordinates by arousing and uplifting in them too a
like flame, a like warmth'; cherubim signify 'the power to know and
see God, to receive the greatest gifts of his light, to contemplate the
divine splendour in primordial power, to be filled with the gifts that
bring wisdom and to share these generously with subordinates as a
part of the beneficent outpouring of wisdom'; thrones suggest 'a
transcendence over every earthly defect, as shown by their upward-
bearing toward the ultimate heights, that they are forever separated
from what is inferior . . . and are utterly available to receive the
divine visitation, that they bear God and are ever open, like servants,
to welcome God' (CH VII. 1).
The leading motif behind this interpretation of the three highest
beings is the triad purification-illumination-perfection: the
thrones 'transcend defects', in this way representing purification;
emphasis is laid on the contemplative power of the cherubim, cor-
responding to illumination; the seraphim represent perfection in
their continual union with God. Denys goes on to draw out the signi-
ficance of this at some length (VII.2). His discussion is something of
a tour de force> as the natural meaning of purification (which is
47
mainly a matter of turning from sin) and illumination (in the sense of
filling a need) is inappropriate in the exalted realm of the first hier-
archy. But not entirely, at least in the realm of illumination; for even
to the angelic hierarchies the incarnation is something new, some-
thing they have to learn about. Psalm 24:10, with its question 'Who
is the King of Glory?' celebrates the angelic questioning as Jesus
ascends into heaven in human form: the Lord of hosts, the Lord of
the heavenly powers, he is the King of Glory, is their answer.
Others, as they puzzle over the nature of Jesus, acquire an
understanding of this divine work on our behalf and it is Jesus
himself who is their instructor, teaching them directly about
the kindly work he has undertaken out of love for man. 'I
speak of righteousness and saving judgement.' (VII.3)
The last scriptural quotation, placed on the lips of Jesus, is from
Isaiah 63:1 (in the form found in the Greek Bible, the Septuagint),
and is the answer to the question, 'Who is this that comes from
Edom, in crimsoned garments from Bozrah, he that is marching in
his apparel, marching in the greatness of his strength?'. The answer
provokes another question, 'Why is thy apparel red, and thy gar-
ments like his that treads in the wine press?', which leads into the
splendid song of verses 3-6. The Fathers, from Origen onwards,26
had interpreted this questioning as a questioning of Jesus by the
angelic beings. But the first question is not directly addressed to
Jesus, though he answers it, and Denys sees in this a marked
similarity between those exalted beings and us when it comes to
enlightenment in divine matters: 'They do not first ask, "Why are
your garments red?". They begin by exchanging queries among
themselves, thus showing their eagerness to learn and their desire to
know how God operates. They do not simply go leaping beyond that
outflow of enlightenment provided by God.' It is a splendid picture
of the highest angelic beings wondering among themselves, as Christ
re-enters heaven in his wounded humanity.
As the angels surround God and 'dance around an eternal know-
ledge of him' (VII.4), they celebrate their gloriously transcendent
enlightenment with hymns of praise: 'Some of these hymns, if one
may use perceptible images, are like the "sound of many waters"
. . . others thunder out that famous and venerable song telling of
God: "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts. The whole earth is full
of his glory".'
Denys then goes on to discuss the second rank of angelic beings:
dominions, powers, and authorities (CH VIII). Oddly, he does not
48
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
seem very sure about the order
t
of the heavenly beings in this inter-
mediate rank: his normal order is what we have given, but once (the
first time he mentions them, at CH VI.2: 201A) he interposes the
dominions and powers; and once (at the beginning of VIII: 237B) he
seems to interpose the powers and authorities. Not surprisingly,
Denys uses this chapter on the intermediate rank of angels to say
something about mediation, about the 'process of handing on from
angel to angel' which is a 'symbol for us of the perfection which
comes complete from afar and grows dimmer as it proceeds'
(VIII.2).
The final hierarchy consists of principalities, archangels, and
angels. This is the angelic hierarchy that directly presides over
'human hierarchies' (oddly in the plural: 260B) and the different
nations are allotted to different angels, Israel's angelic ruler being
Michael (whom Denys does not seem to regard as an archangel). The
idea of guardian angels for nations is found in the Bible (e.g., Dan
10:13, 20f.), and the same belief is found among Neoplatonists, for
instance in lamblichus.27 Denys explains the election of Israel, in
contrast to the faithlessness to the truth of the pagan nations, in
terms not of special divine favour, but of Israel's faithfulness that
made them worthy of God's special favour. Unlike other nations,
Israel did not desert its angelic illumination, and thus it merited
being called God's people (CH IX.3).
The rest of the Celestial Hierarchy deals with various problems
presented by the language that Scripture uses to describe the celestial
beings. In particular, Denys is worried about apparent breaches of
hierarchical order, such as when Isaiah is said to be visited by one of
the seraphim, instead of by an angel. His long and involved attempt
to answer this problem struggles both to maintain the principle of
hierarchy and to preserve his conviction that what is mediated
through the hierarchies is God's own activity: a point, he argues,
which is made by attributing human purification in this case to one
of the seraphim (CH XIII). Other breaches of hierarchy are seen in
the application of the term 'angel' to angelic beings in general (easily
solved in that the higher can be held to contain the lower: CH V), and
in the way all such beings are sometimes called 'powers' (less easily
solved, and more of a problem, perhaps, because it was something of
an established tradition in Christian circles to refer to celestial beings
as powers28). This latter is solved by the introduction of the Neo-
platonic doctrine (derived ultimately from Aristotle's distinction
between potentiality and actuality) that every mind possesses being,
power and activity:29 so just as we call the heavenly minds 'beings',
49
we could equally well call them 'powers' (CH XI). The final chapter
of the Celestial Hierarchy deals with the corporeal images used of the
angels in detail.
So in the Celestial Hierarchy Denys introduces us to the principle
of hierarchy that informs his understanding of the universe. The
glorious array of the celestial realms manifests and passes on the
effulgence of the divine glory. Just as the celestial hierarchy is an
'image of the thearchic comeliness' (165B), so the earthly hierarchy,
among which we find our own place, mirrors at a still lower level the
splendour of the celestial hierarchy. To that hierarchy, 'our' hier-
archy, as Denys calls it, we shall now turn.
Notes
1 See MT III: 1033A-B; there are examples of symbolic theology in CH,
e.g., at II.5.
2 On the subject of angels in the Fathers, see J. Danielou, Les Anges et
leur mission (Chevetogne, 1951), and, more generally (especially good
for their iconography), P. L. Wilson, Angels (London, 1980). See also
the new Blackfriars edition of St Thomas Aquinas, Summa
Theologiae, vol. 9 (la, 50-64), by Kenelm Foster, OP (London, 1967).
3 Philo, On the Giants 6.
4 lamblichus, On the Mysteries II.4 (78); cf. II.7 (83): ed. E. des Places
(Paris, 1966), pp. 84f., 87f.
5 The Greek words for the angelic beings of the second and third ranks
are: kyriotes, dynamis, exousia; arche, archangelos, angelos. Note how
the form of the words suggests archangelos as an intermediary between
arche and angelos.
6 Catechetical Lecture 23 (5th Mystagogical), 6. (These homilies may be
by Cyril's successor in the see of Jerusalem, John.)
7 John Chrysostom, Homily on Genesis 4.5.
8 See Roques, Structures, pp. 11 Iff.
9 See the introduction by J. Danielou to the edition of Chrysostom's
homilies On the Incomprehensibility of God in Sources Chretiennes (28
bis; Paris, 1970), pp. 40-50.
10 Homily XV in Gregorii Nysseni Opera (ed. W. Jaeger), vol. VI,
pp. 445f.
11 Rilke, Duineser Elegien, I, 11.1-2, 4-7.
12 See J. Danielou, op. cit., pp. 46f. and the passages cited there.
50
THE ANGELIC CHOIRS
13 See Ignatius, Epistle to the Magnesians 8.2.

14 E.g. in the West, Augustine, On the Trinity III, and cf. CH IV.3.
15 See Koch, Ps-Dionysius, pp. 131 f.
16 Proclus, Commentary on the Fimaeus, ed. E. Diehl, vol. 1 (Leipzig,
1903), p. 308, 1.21.
17 Quoted in H. Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles and Pagan Theurgy (rev. ed.,
Paris, 1978), pp. 13f. (text: n. 31).
18 See Liddell and Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, s.v.
19 For the Syrian tradition, see Sebastian Brock, The Luminous Eye
(Rome, 1985), pp. 123-8.
20 Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 1.28.176.Iff.
21 See my Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition (Oxford, 1981),
pp. 58-60 (for Origen), 84-7 (for Gregory), 102f. (for Evagrius).
22 See Augustine, On Christian Doctrine II.6.7f.
23 See Vladimir Lossky's essay, Tradition and Traditions' in In the
Image and Likeness of God (Eng. trans., London and Oxford, 1974),
p. 151.
24 . Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition, op. cit., pp. 103-10.
25 Diadochus, Gnostic Chapters 17 (ed. E. des Places, Sources
Chretiennes, 5ter, Paris 1966: p. 94); though Denys himself only rarely
uses the word apatheia: the passage just quoted contains one such use.
'Anger' and 'desire' in the passages just quoted (from CH II.4) repre-
sent the Greek words thymos and epithymia, the names for the two
lower parts of the soul in Plato's analysis (Republic IV.434D-441C;
cf. Phaedrus 246A-247C, Timaeus 69B-71D), which was widely
accepted in the Christian ascetic tradition.
26 See Origen, Commentary on John VI.56. There is nothing strange in
Denys's interpretation here, as Rorem's note seems to suggest (Works,
p. 164, n. 78).
27 On the Mysteries V.25, and see note in Sources Chretiennes ed. of CH
(58 bis, Paris, 1970): p. 132, n. 1.
28 J. Danielou, op. cit., p. 40.
29 See Proclus, Elements of Theology, prop. 169, and E. R. Dodds's note
in his edition (2nd ed., Oxford, 1963), p. 288.
51
4
The earthly liturgy
OUR HIERARCHY
Hierarchy, we have seen, is concerned with communicating the
Divine Light from the source of that Light, God himself, and
drawing all rational creatures back into union with the Supreme
Beauty. In the hierarchy of the angelic beings we see this diaphanous
manifestation of the divine glory, and the receiving and passing on
of that glory, in pure conditions: conditions of pure, spiritual
reality. Now in the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, we see the extension of
the outreach of God's alluring love into the human realm. These
'human hierarchies' (as Denys calls them: 260B) reflect the same
principles as the angelic ones: they take the form of triads, the triads
express the threefold movement of purification, illumination and
perfection, and the purpose of the whole arrangement is to draw
rational beings up to union with God and deify them. Things are dif-
ferent, though, with 'our hierarchy' (as Denys habitually refers to it:
the expression 'ecclesiastical hierarchy' only occurs in the title of the
work), mainly because whereas the angels are purely spiritual beings,
men and women are composed of body and soul.
The difference this makes comes out very clearly in chapter V, at
the beginning of his discussion of the ranks of the clergy. There he
says that every hierarchy is divided into three. He specifies this triad
as sacraments (teletai), those who understand the sacraments and
initiate others into them (the clergy), and those who are initiated by
them into the sacraments (what we would call the laity). There is
nothing odd about the hierarchies' being structured in triads, but in
52
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
the case of the angelic hierarchies, as we have seen, the members of

the triads are all angelic beings; there is nothing corresponding to
sacraments. To define hierarchy as a triad consisting of sacraments,
initiators and initiates fits 'our' hierarchy, but is very awkward in
relation to the celestial hierarchy, as transpires when Denys tries to
show how this definition of hierarchy is exemplified in the case of the
angelic beings (CH V.2).
He then suggests a way of looking at our hierarchy as midway
between the celestial hierarchy and the hierarchy of the Old Testa-
ment, which he calls the 'hierarchy of the Law'.1 In the hierarchy of
the Law, truth was veiled with obscure imagery and only discerned
with great difficulty behind dense enigmas. Such a heavy veil of
symbolism was necessary to protect the weak eyes of the men of the
Old Covenant. In the celestial hierarchy there is found the power of
contemplative understanding. Our hierarchy is a mean between the
two, where symbolism is used and contemplative understanding is
attained.
Denys's analogy here does not work at all well. We know very well
by now that there is no direct contemplation of God, even in the cel-
estial hierarchy; nor could the symbolism in the Old Testament be
mere symbolism, for unless it symbolized something it would not be
symbolic at all. But nonetheless the point still holds, that our hier-
archy partakes of both the material order and the spiritual order. It
uses symbols from the material order and attains contemplation in
the spiritual order. And such a middle position corresponds to our
middle position as human beings, composed of both body and soul.
Our hierarchy, then, is a triad of sacraments, ministers and those
to whom they minister. And each part of this triad again forms a
triad: there are three sacraments, three orders of clergy, and three
orders of laity. The three sacraments are the sacrament of illumina-
tion (baptism), the sacrament of gathering together (the Greek is
synaxis: the sacrament is the Eucharist), and the sacrament of oil
(myron). The three orders of clergy are hierarchs, priests, and
ministers (leitourgoi)'. which we recognize as the threefold ministry
of bishops, priests (usually called presbyters—literally, elders—in
ecclesiastical language until long after Denys's time: 'presbyter'
occurs in CA only in the dedications of the treatises, which may not
be original) and deacons. The three orders of laity are monks, the
'sacred people' (what we would call the 'laity', from the Greek for
'people', laos, used here by Denys), and those who have yet to be
initiated or who have spoilt their initiation and consequently
been excluded from the sacred people. The latter group includes
53
catechumens (those preparing for baptism), penitents (those guilty

of grave sin, who have been excluded from communion for a period)
and the possessed (that is, the mad, those possessed by demons and
consequently driven away from rational communion with sacred
things).
The significance of this hierarchical ordering can be understood in
various ways. First of all, it corresponds to the triad of purification,
illumination and perfection. The lowest order of those being
initiated—the catechumens, penitents and the possessed—stand in
need of purification and are being purified. The sacred people are
being illuminated, and are consequently called the 'contemplative
order'. The monks are being perfected. The deacons are responsible
for the duty of purifying: they are entrusted with the task of giving
instruction in the Scriptures and the faith to the catechumens (not all
that earlier, this had been pre-eminently an episcopal task: all the
'Catechetical Homilies' of the fourth century are the work of
bishops), and also with the liturgical duty of seeing that the cate-
chumens and others are excluded from the church after the readings
from the Scriptures. The priests' task is to illuminate: thus their
concern is especially with the sacred people. The hierarch's (or
bishop's) task is to perfect, and the monks, therefore, are their
especial concern. It will be seen that the triad of ministers and the
triad of those ministered to relates very straightforwardly to the triad
of purification, illumination and perfection. This is not so with the
sacraments, however: baptism is called 'illumination', though it is
purifying as well, and the Eucharist and the sacrament of oil are both
said to be perfecting.
A further significance of this hierarchical ordering might be called
geographical. In his letter to Demophilus (Ep. VIII) Denys gives an
account of the ordering of the different ranks in the church building,
an account we can supplement from various descriptions of the rites
in EH. The church of Denys's day was clearly already divided inside,
with a sanctuary separated off from the main body of the church by
the 'holy doors' (as they are still called today in the Orthodox
Church): it is even possible that this separation was made by a screen
covered with splendidly painted symbols (perhaps icons, as on the
iconostasis of a modern Orthodox church: EH III.iii.2: 428C). The
three orders of ministers were allowed inside this sanctuary; the laity
were kept outside. Amongst the laity, the monks had a special place
close to the holy doors of the sanctuary, though Denys emphasizes
that they are not placed there 'like sentries', rather their being placed
outside the holy doors indicates that they are closer to the people
54
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
than to the priests. The catechumens, penitents and possessed are

allowed into the church building for the first part of the liturgy, but
are excluded from the celebration of the Eucharist and Communion.
All this gives us a clear picture of the Christian community
assembled for worship, a picture that corresponds well with what we
know from other sources, for instance the Homilies on Baptism and
the Eucharist of Theodore of Mopsuestia, where we have a picture of
worship in the Church of West Syria at the beginning of the fifth
century. 2 The ordered arrangement of the church fits well with
Denys's hierarchical idea in general and, more especially, reflects his
idea of graded participation in the divine mysteries, with a secret
source at the centre, veiled from the outer reaches.
One point, though, is striking, and that is that it is a very mascu-
line picture. Presumably the laity included women as well as men,
and there might have been women amongst the ranks of the monks.
But there is not a word of it. And it is surprising, for in the church of
Denys's day (and especially in the church in Syria) women played a
varied role. The Didascalia, which gives a picture of the life of the
church in Syria in the late third century, has a good deal to say about
the order of widows, whose special duty was prayer. An order of
deaconesses is mentioned there, too. In the rite of baptism through-
out the Church, deaconesses had a special role to play in the triple
immersion in the case of women: but Denys represents this task as
being fulfilled not by deacons but by the hierarch himself. Widows,
deaconesses and virgins had an important part in the Church of the
fourth century, and seem to have had a special place reserved for
them in the church building.3 But we hear nothing of this in Denys.
Such a position for women did eventually die out, or become
reserved for those living a specifically conventual life, but it does not
seem that this had happened by the time of Denys. Councils in the
East in the sixth century were exercised about deaconesses arroga-
ting to themselves too much: so they must have been important
enough to be a nuisance!
THE ECCLESIASTICAL HIERARCHY*
The structure of the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy is both more and less

formalized than that of the Celestial Hierarchy: more, in that it does
not have chapters on particular problems, but less, in that its struc-
ture is not very clearly related to the triads that constitute 'our'
hierarchy. The first chapter is introductory. The next three chapters
55
discuss the three rites or sacraments. Chapter V discusses the clergy

and revolves round an account of the service of ordination. Chapter
VI discusses the lay orders and concentrates on the service of
monastic consecration. Chapter VII is concerned with the funeral
service. After the first chapter, each of the chapters is divided into
three: first an introductory section, then a section called the
'mystery' (mysterion), and finally a section called 'contemplation'
(theoria). The second section is always an account of a rite or cere-
mony; the third section is an interpretation of it, an interpretation by
which we enter into the significance of what is symbolized in the rite
and thus raised up towards God.
The symbolic rites have been handed down in an unwritten tradi-
tion: in this Denys concurs with the teaching of St Basil that we are
already familiar with (see above, pp. 26-27). They are thus 'more
immaterial' and in a way superior to the Scriptures (EH 1.4). As the
Scriptures preserve their inner meaning from the gaze of the curious
by means of the obscurity of their symbolism (above, p. 44), so the
sacramental rites of the Church preserve their inner meaning by
being protected by the disciplina arcani, a discipline of secrecy,
whereby only baptized members of the Church are admitted to the
sacraments and all others excluded. This is possibly the explanation
of what is, at first sight, a contradiction in Denys: that he extols
'unlike symbolism' when expounding scriptural imagery for the
angels or God, but in his accounts of the sacraments, he often
stresses the appropriateness of the symbolism and of the symbolic
value of the material elements used. 'Unlike symbolism' is its own
protection; the sacraments are already protected, by the disciplina
arcani. This disciplina arcani was certainly adhered to in the fourth
century (and so written versions of homilies on the sacraments do
not disclose the actual words of the sacramental rites), but it declined
as infant baptism became more and more the norm and so any
distinction between the Church and the society amongst which it
lived was eroded. How far this process had gone by the time of Denys
we do not know: but the form of the liturgy still assumed its exis-
tence, and still does in the Orthodox churches (the deacon still calls
out for the doors to be closed at the time when the catechumens were
excluded: as early as the seventh century the meaning of this excla-
mation had been lost—Maximus the Confessor gives an edifying
allegorization5). Denys assumes the disciplina arcani as a fact, and
goes to the length of producing a tortuous Greek periphrasis to avoid
mentioning the Hebrew word, 'alleluia', and thus setting it down in
writing. 6
56
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
The bare account of the sacramental rite (the 'mystery') is

expounded in the much longer 'contemplation' (theoria). The use of
theoria here parallels earlier exegetical practice: it is the normal word
for the deeper meaning of Scripture among the Antiochene exegetes
(for example John Chrysostom and Theodore of Mopsuestia), and is
also found in this sense in Gregory of Nyssa. Denys transfers it from
biblical exegesis to sacramental interpretation. The rites and cere-
monies of the Church are a moving outwards, into the multiplicity of
spatial form and temporal succession, that is to be met by our
participation and understanding which will accomplish our ele-
vation towards God, our union with him, and our deification: the
end and purpose of hierarchy. As Rorem notes, the threefold pattern
of these chapters corresponds to the movement of procession and
return, characteristic of Neoplatonism.7
THE SACRAMENTS
As we have seen, Denys enumerates three sacramental rites
(teletai)—baptism, the Eucharist, and the sacrament of oil—and
also expounds three other services—ordination, monastic consecra-
tion, and the funeral service. This list, taken either way, does not
bear much relation to the list of seven sacraments, taken as tradi-
tional in the West. That is hardly surprising, as the list of seven
sacraments—baptism, confirmation, the Eucharist, marriage, ordi-
nation, penance, and the anointing of the sick (or extreme
unction)—does not emerge until the twelfth century, though it then
won rapid acceptance in the West. In the East, however, the list of
seven sacraments only became common much later, as a result of
Western influence, and it is not surprising that lists of sacraments
among the Orthodox, rarely thought of as definitive, are often
reminiscent of Denys. Theodore the Studite, in the ninth century,
gives a list of six sacraments—the holy 'illumination' (baptism), the
'synaxis' (the Eucharist), the holy chrism, ordination, monastic
tonsure, and the service of burial 8 —while Nicolas Cabasilas's book
The Life in Christ is a commentary on baptism, chrismation and the
Eucharist.9 There seems to be a certain difference of feel between the
Western list and those inspired by Denys: the latter are seen very
much as ecclesiastical rites, whereas the former is a series of signifi-
cant events in the life of the individual Christian. Denys himself,
however, only calls baptism, the Eucharist, and the sacrament of oil
sacraments or rites (teletai): the other three ceremonies are not
57
enumerated with them. It is probably not even correct to think of the

three rites as 'sacraments', in anything like our sense of the word: the
sacrament of oil, at least, does not correspond to any single 'sacra-
ment' (such as confirmation or chrismation). Denys describes the
blessing of the oil: its use seems to be various—he mentions the
anointings in the course of baptism and the use of oil in the con-
secration of the altar.
BAPTISM
The first of the rites, properly so called, is baptism, which Denys
always calls by one of its traditional names, 'illumination'
(photisma, so called by Clement of Alexandria, Gregory of Nyssa
and others): the word 'baptism' is only used twice and refers not to
the whole ceremony but to the immersion in water (the word,
baptisma, means dipping). The New Testament has two main ways
of understanding baptism: as rebirth (especially characteristic of the
Johannine tradition), and as death and resurrection (especially
characteristic of St Paul). Denys, though he does not ignore the
Pauline tradition (immersion, baptisma, symbolizes our sharing in
Christ's death: EH II.iii.6: 404A), primarily sees baptism as rebirth,
thus following the Johannine tradition, which had also been charac-
teristic of early Syriac Christianity as a whole.10 This rebirth is a
divine birth Qtheogenesia) which makes possible deification. Denys
refers to the teaching of Hierotheus that 'in the realm of intellect it is
the love of God which first of all moves us towards the divine': in
baptism, it is the love of God that gives us a divine beginning, a
divine birth, and enables us to move towards the divine.
Denys then moves on to the second section, the mystery, and gives
an account of the baptismal rite. It begins when someone 'fired by
love of transcendent reality and longing for a sacred share of it' seeks
out a Christian, who takes him to the bishop. The bishop rejoices,
like the shepherd who found the lost sheep, and calling together the
clergy marks him with the sign of the cross and has him enrolled as a
catechumen. Then a description of the baptismal rite follows: the
stripping and renunciation of Satan (facing West), followed by the
candidate's turning East and confessing Christ, the pre-baptismal
anointing, the blessing of the water of baptism (into which oil is
poured), the triple immersion, the clothing, post-baptismal anoin-
ting and signing with the cross, and then participation in the cele-
bration of the Eucharist.11 The 'contemplation' which completes the
58
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
chapter dwells on the significance of these ceremonies. What is stri-

kingly missing from Denys's interpretation here is any real sensiti-
vity to what one might call the 'typological' significance of baptism.
Traditional Christian interpretation of the sacraments saw the
symbolic actions as echoing Old Testament types of God's activity.
The use of water recalled events such as the crossing of the Red Sea
by the Israelites, and the Flood in which the sinners were destroyed
and Noah and his family saved in the ark (cf. 1 Pet 3:18-21). Admit-
tedly, Denys keeps the most fundamental typological significance of
baptism, that in it we share in the death of Christ, but he has scarcely
any reference to the Old Testament types by which Christians had,
for centuries, drawn out the significance of baptism. The events of
the baptismal rite are material symbols of immaterial truth, and the
main truth, at this stage, is the reverence in which we should hold the
sacred hierarchical arrangements.
'An image of this harmonious and sacred order is the reverence of
the postulant, his self-awareness, the path he takes, with the help of
his sponsor, towards the hierarch' (EH II.iii.4: 400C). The renun-
ciation facing West and the turning East to confess Christ symbolize
the utter opposition between the life the postulant is renouncing and
the one he is seeking: and this opposition is expressed in terms of the
dividedness of a life of wickedness and the unity of a life in pursuit of
the One. The anointings are symbols of the strength and resoluteness
that will be needed to persevere: they are anointings, like that of a
wrestler, for the struggle to which the Christian is committed by his
baptism. The immersion symbolizes, as we have seen, our sharing in
Christ's death: death, Denys makes a point of saying, is 'the separa-
tion of two parts which had been linked together. It brings the soul
into what for us is an invisible realm where it, in the loss of the body,
becomes formless' (404B). This formlessness is interpreted as a kind
of receptiveness to the illumination that is the heart of this rite. It is
symbolized by the bright clothes put on: 'His courage and his like-
ness to God, his firm thrust towards the One, make him indifferent to
all contrary things. Order descends upon disorder within him. Form
takes over from formlessness. Light shines through all his life'
(404C). The final anointing and the fragrance it brings symbolizes
the anointing with the Holy Spirit and its ineffability. Rene Roques
wonders if we do not find in this chapter a deliberate substitution of
the Platonic contrast sensible-intelligible (aisthetos-noeton) for
the traditional, Christian contrast type-truth. 12 It is hard not to feel
that he is right. And the idea of symbols as pointing away from the
material towards the spiritual is underlined by Denys's further
59
tendency, which we have noticed, to gloss this as a move from

dividedness/multiplicity to unity/the One.
THE EUCHARIST
The movement from the One to multiplicity and back again governs
Denys's understanding of the Eucharist. He calls it, we have seen,
thesynaxis, the 'gathering-together' of the many into unity. It is, for
Denys, the most important of the sacraments: he says that his 'cele-
brated teacher', Hierotheus, had called it the 'rite of rites', or 'sacra-
ment of sacraments' (teleton telete), and as he expounds this he plays
on the associations of the word telete, which recalls telos, end or
purpose, and teleiosis, perfection. No other rite can take place
without the Eucharist, so that they are only perfected by its means.
And each 'sacredly initiating operation', thus perfected by the
Eucharist, 'draws our fragmented lives together into a one-like deifi-
cation. It forges a divine unity out of the divisions within us. It grants
us communion and union with the One.'
Denys's account of the celebration of the Eucharist has many
points in common with that given by Theodore of Mopsuestia in his
Homilies on the Eucharist, which is not surprising if Denys is
recording the liturgical customs of some part of Syria. There is an
initial censing. The first part of the liturgy consists of psalm singing
and readings from the Scriptures (by the deacons), and then the cate-
chumens, penitents and possessed leave (supervised by the deacons).
The Creed is sung (something not found in Theodore's rite: as we
have seen, it was only introduced towards the end of the fifth
century), the kiss of peace follows and then there takes place the
intercession for the living and (especially) the departed, during
which the deacons and priests place the bread and wine on the altar.
Then follows the Eucharistic Prayer, communion, and a final prayer
of thanksgiving.
But Denys's account is selective. He is primarily concerned with
the movement of the liturgical action, and sees that movement
almost exclusively in terms of God's love outwards to us in creation
and redemption, drawing us back to him in our own answering
movement of love. It is the Neoplatonic movement of procession
and return that is most prominent. In contrast, Theodore is con-
cerned with much more of the liturgical action and relates it much
more directly to the historical events of Christ's life that are recalled
in the liturgy. So for Theodore the first part of the liturgy, the
60
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
readings, is concerned with the prophecies of Christ's life and that

life and ministry itself; and the sacramental liturgy is modelled on
the laying of the dead body of Jesus in the tomb and its being
wrapped in linen clothes (so Theodore refers to the deacons' laying
the linen on the altar, something Denys ignores) and the resurrection
through the life-giving power of the Spirit which is echoed in the
invocation of the Spirit (the epiclesis) in the consecratory prayer.
Theodore also tells us about the movement of the deacons to and fro
between the sanctuary and the nave, where the people are: a
movement he compares to the movement of the angels between
heaven and earth. Denys's account is much barer. But both Denys
and Theodore are at one in their concern to interpret the movement
of the liturgical action. There is relatively little arbitrary symbolism
of the gestures and robes of the clergy and so on, that was later to
form such a large part of the interpretation of the liturgy, especially
in the West.
Denys sets the tone for his interpretation of the liturgical action of
the Eucharist with his account of the hierarch's censing procession at
the beginning of the liturgy. He proceeds out from the sanctuary,
goes to the farthest point of the nave, and returns. Just so God
moves outwards in procession, creating all things and drawing them
into communion with himself, and does this without deserting his
own unity. So too the Eucharist as a whole is a unity, and yet is
'pluralized in a sacred variegation of symbols' so as, in love, to reach
out to humanity. And so, too, the bishop moves from his own
contemplation of the One, out into the congregation and imparts to
them what he contemplates, returning back to his contemplation
without any loss.
Denys then gives a long account of the variety of ways in which the
Scriptures, which are now read, communicate to us divine things and
prepare us to receive them. Communication at this level is not
restricted to the baptized members of the holy people. The cate-
chumens are present and can profit from hearing the words of Scrip-
ture. But after the reading of the Scriptures they are instructed to
leave, so that for the second 'more immaterial' part of the liturgy
there are present only the baptized: the clergy and the laity. Then
follow the Creed and the kiss of peace, a sign of the harmony
amongst the members of the congregation, 'for it is not possible to
be gathered together towards the One and to partake of peaceful
union with the One while divided among ourselves'.
Denys summarizes the Eucharistic Prayer which, as is common in
most Eastern liturgies, has a long account of man's creation and fall,
61
and God's constant search for mankind, culminating in the coming

of Christ. The reciting of the Eucharistic Prayer is, of course, the
task of the bishop, and Denys concentrates the celebration of the
Eucharist very much on the person of the celebrant. It is the cele-
brant who sings the praises of the works of God, 'those sacred works
wrought gloriously by Jesus'.
He prays that, like Christ himself, he might perform the divine
things. He prays too that he might impart wisely and that all
those taking part may do so without irreverence. Then he
performs the most divine acts and lifts into view the things
praised through the sacredly clothed symbols. (444A)
The focus on the celebrant is partly because in the central action of
the Eucharist he is in some way doing what Christ did: the divine
works that Christ did for us are in some way repeated by the cele-
brant. Another reason for the focus on the celebrant is Denys's
understanding of the personal character of the passing on of sacred
knowledge and communion: the hierarch himself contemplates and
is united with God and the acts of his love, and it is the hierarch who
extends these to the holy people.
What the celebrant effects is expressed in two ways. Firstly, he lifts
up 'the things praised' so that they can be seen—something like the
elevation in the Western liturgy (though there it is the host itself,
unveiled, that is elevated), or rather, the showing of the holy gifts (as
the Orthodox call the consecrated elements) to the people by the cele-
brant with the words, 'Holy things for those who are holy' (a cere-
mony recorded by Theodore, though not by Denys). Secondly, he
distributes the consecrated bread and wine to the people in Commu-
nion. Elevation and distribution, not consecration itself: that is
where Denys puts his emphasis.
The bread which had been covered and undivided is now
uncovered and divided into many parts. Similarly, he shares
the one cup with all, symbolically multiplying and distributing
the One in symbolic fashion. With these things he completes
the most sacred act. For because of his goodness and his love
for humanity the simple, hidden oneness of Jesus, the most
divine Word, has taken the route of incarnation for us and,
without undergoing any change, has become a reality that is
composite and visible. He has beneficently accomplished for
us a unifying communion with himself. (444A)
62
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
The incarnation is the revelation and movement into multiplicity of

the hidden and single divinity of Jesus, out of love for men and
women: and this movement is completed and made effective in the
Eucharist. Denys's interest here centres on the movement of the
liturgical action of taking and breaking and giving: he is much less
interested in the question (which came to fascinate the West later on)
of what actually happens to the sacred elements. Denys seems to take
for granted that they are changed into Christ—'He offers Jesus
Christ to our view'—but he says nothing about the bread and wine
becoming Christ's body and blood (when he mentions the 'one
body', the 'perfect, whole divine body' (444B), it is the Church that
he means). The Eucharist is accomplished by being performed, and
Denys keeps his attention, and ours, on the sacramental action.
THE SACRAMENT OF OIL

The ceremonies of baptism and the Eucharist that we find described
in the pages of the Areopagite are much the same as those we find
described by Christian Fathers in the fourth and fifth centuries. The
sacrament of the oil, the sacrament that completes Denys's triad of
rites or sacraments, is somewhat different. We have already
observed that it is not quite a sacrament in the same way as the
others: what Denys is concerned with is the consecration of the oil,
not its use, whereas baptism can only take place when there are
people to be baptized and the Eucharist culminates in communion;
the sacrament of the oil is not confirmation, or chrismation, or
anything similar. But it is puzzling in another respect: for we know
nothing about it from those sources—the Mystagogical Homilies
of Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, Ambrose and Theodore
of Mopsuestia—that tell us so much about the way baptism and
the Eucharist were celebrated. Denys tells us about a ceremony
that consists of a censing procession, followed by the singing of
psalms and the reading of the Scriptures (just as in the celebration
of the Eucharist: similarly, at this point the catechumens are
dismissed); then the oil (myron: it is a mixture of oils, probably olive
oil (elaion) and strongly fragrant oil of balsam; Denys remarks on its
fragrance), in a container covered with twelve folds, is placed on the
altar; the alleluia is sung and a prayer of consecration is offered.
Nothing is known of such a ceremony, at least as early as this, in
Greek or Latin sources: later on there is a solemn consecration of
63
oils, in the West by the bishop at the morning mass on Maundy

Thursday. But as has recently been shown, 13 the Syrian Orthodox
Church, probably from the time of Denys himself, has known just
such a 'sacrament of oil': the earliest hint of it is found in the Syrian
bishop Jacob of Serugh (c. 451 -321) and later accounts are found in
Jacob of Edessa (c. 640-708) and George (c. 640-724), Bishop of
the Arabians. In the Syrian Church the consecration of the oil was
reserved for the patriarch, catholicos or metropolitan:14 for Denys it
is the function of the hierarch, conventionally identified with the
bishop. Here, then, we have further evidence of affinity between
Denys the Areopagite and the Syrian tradition.
Denys's exposition of the sacrament of the oil concentrates on two
points. First, the oil symbolizes something hidden, secret, kept away
from the eyes of the profane, treated with reverence and awe. The
twelve folds or layers (the Greek means simply 'wings') symbolize
the extreme protection of its secret hiddenness: they also symbolize
the twelve wings of the seraphim, who veil the presence of God,
hovering before his presence with one pair of wings, and veiling their
eyes and their feet with the other two. It is then a symbol of the inner
reality which the sacraments communicate to us: an inner reality
only communicated to those who are ready and prepared for it. But
secondly, that inner reality, the heart of the Church's sacramental
life, is none other than Jesus himself. The seraphim veil the presence
of God himself, and God himself, in Jesus Christ, comes to us in the
incarnation. The oil is hidden, but its fragrance is perceived by all
around it: the fragrance is an emanation of the hidden reality of the
oil. So Denys speaks of the 'transcendent fragrance of the divine
Jesus'. But in the incarnation, God becomes man. Jesus is God-
made-man. Denys relates this to the fact that the sacred oil is, as we
have seen, a mixture of oils (oil of balsam and olive oil in the Syrian
Liturgy), and so this composite oil is a symbol of the God-man,
Jesus: 'So it is that the composition of the oil is symbolic, giving a
form to what is without form. It shows figuratively that Jesus is the
rich source of the divine fragrances' (EH IV.iii.4: 480A).
Some have seen in this comparison between the blended oil and
Jesus as God-man evidence of a Monophysite Christology15: we
shall come back to that later. Denys's more immediate point is that it
is Jesus himself who is the source of all that is derived from the sacra-
ments: 'The divine oil is used for the consecration of any sacred
thing, thereby showing clearly that, as Scripture proclaims, he who
consecrates the consecrated [i.e., Jesus—cf. Heb 2:11, 13:8;
Jn 17:19] remains for ever the same amid all the workings of his
64
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
divine goodness' (EH IV.iii.10: 484A). Denys illustrates this by

mentioning the use of oil in the service of baptism, and then adds
that at the consecration of the altar oil is used: it is presumably in this
way that the sacrament of oil is involved in the celebration of the
Eucharist, for it is on the altar that the elements of bread and wine
are consecrated and become Christ himself.16 The sacrament of oil
symbolizes the consecration that took place in the incarnation and is
the source of the power of the sacraments:
It is, so to say, the perfecting rite of God which praises in a
double sense its divine work of perfection. God, first of all,
having become man, was consecrated for us and, secondly, his
divine act is the source of all perfection and of all consecration.
(485A)
When Denys describes the anointing at the end of the ceremony of
baptism, the sealing, after which the candidate is ready to take part
in the Eucharist, he describes the oil as 'most theurgic'—'most deify-
ing', perhaps (we shall discuss Denys's use of the Neoplatonic term
'theurgy' later).
THE PRIESTLY ORDERS

We have already seen how for Denys 'our hierarchy' is composed of
three ranks of clergy and three ranks of laity, and that the threefold
distinction of purification, illumination and perfection is shared out
among the three ranks. We have also seen how very important for
Denys the principle of hierarchical order is. In the chapter on the
priestly hierarchy he explains how the principle of hierarchy works in
the human realm: we have already dealt with that at some length
(above, pp. 38-43). For the rest he gives an account of the cere-
monies of ordination, which have the same basic pattern for the
three ranks of the clergy with individual differences, and explains
their symbolism. The elements of the ceremony are presentation at
the altar, genuflexion (or maybe prostration), laying on of hands by
the hierarch, sign of the cross, announcement, and kiss of peace.
We know from elsewhere17 that it all takes place in the context of
the Eucharist. There is no need here to go into the detail of Denys's
symbolism. But there is one point worth making. Despite Denys's
emphasis on hierarchy, it is not at all the case that such hierarchy is
merely a matter of office. Though, clearly, the priestly orders derive
their authority from their priestly consecration, Denys often speaks
65
as if they derive their authority from their intrinsic, moral and intel-
lectual qualities. He comes very close to suggesting that the efficacy
of a priest's ministrations depend upon his own holiness and purity:
he is very far from any Augustinian notion of the validity of orders
which guarantees the efficacy of the ministry of an unworthy priest.
Part of the reason for this is historical. The Augustinian doctrine
of the validity of orders was worked out in the context of the
Donatist controversy in the African Church, in which the Donatist
Church had broken with the Catholic Church over the issue of the
value of the sacramental ministrations of a priest who had com-
promised with the pagan authorities during the last persecution, the
so-called 'Great Persecution' under Diocletian (303-311). It was a
controversy that did not have much impact in the Eastern Church
where the traditional (and normal) expectation that a priest should
be an example to the laity was not detached from the formal question
of the source of his sacramental efficacy. The sacraments are a
source of holiness: it is thus appropriate that the priest who ministers
such sacraments should be holy. The Eastern Church has never
worked out a formal doctrine of sacramental validity (nor involved
itself in the complications it has introduced). That partly explains
why Denys lays so much stress on the holiness of the priest whose
ministrations are sanctifying.
But Denys's insistence seems to go further than this, and the
reason is, it seems to me, that he does not see the principle of hierar-
chy as at all an impersonal principle. The members of the hierarchy
are persons and the relationships within the hierarchy are personal
relationships (like Denys's own relationship to his teacher, Hiero-
theus): therefore the correlation between the worth of the priest and
the dignity of his office is imperative. Just as the heavenly beings are
holy beings of transcendent purity who receive and pass on the rays
of divine illumination, so this should be the case in the earthly
hierarchy:
Therefore the founding source of all invisible and visible order
quite properly arranges for the rays of divine activity to be
granted first to the more godlike beings, since theirs are the
more discerning minds, minds with the native ability to receive
and to pass on light, and it is through their mediation that this
source transmits enlightenment and reveals itself to inferior
beings in proportion to their capacity. It is therefore the task of
the first ranks of those beholding God to reveal fittingly and
without jealousy to those of second rank the sacred sights
66
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
which they behold. To initiate others into the hierarchy is the

task of those who have with perfect understanding learned the
divine secret of all that has to do with their hierarchy and to
whom the power of sacramental initiation has been granted. It
is the function of those who are full and understanding
partners in clerical consecration to pass on, as appropriate, all
that is sacred. (EH V.i.4: 504D-505A)
Belonging to the priestly hierarchy, like belonging at all to any rank
of our hierarchy, is a response to God's call, which is itself an attrac-
tion to the divine beauty (Denys makes use of the play in Greek
between kaleo, I call, and kallos, beauty). Fulfilling that call is
achieved by being fashioned after the divine beauty, to be deified.
The flow of divine light through the hierarchies is not a matter of
impersonal power, but of a personal assimilation to God, so that the
theophanous character of the created order is perfected: the more
the created order is assimilated to God, the more it reflects his glory,
becomes a perfect manifestation of God, a theophany. So the
priestly order should be a group of people who share in under-
standing of God and his love and manifest that understanding in
their lives: fundamentally their effectiveness as a priestly order is not
separable from that. So Denys says of the kiss of peace in the service
of ordination:
The kiss at the conclusion of the priestly consecration also has
a sacred meaning. For not only do all those belonging to the
priestly orders give the kiss to the initiate but so too does the
consecrating hierarch. When a mind has been made sacred by
the type of its priestly activity, by its call from God, by the
sanctification conferred upon it, when it comes to the rite of
priestly consecration, it deserves the love of its peers and of all
those who belong to the most sacred orders. It has been lifted
up to a beauty which brings it into full conformity with God. It
has a love of like minds and enjoys their sacred love in return.
So, then, this mutual priestly greeting is celebrated. It denotes
the sacred communion formed by like minds and the joyous
shared love which ensures for the whole hierarchy the beauty
of its conformity to God. (EH V.iii.6: 513B).
67
THE MONK
When Denys turns to the order of the laity, his attention is mainly
drawn to the highest rank of laity, the order of monks. In chapter VI
he discusses the two lower orders—the order of those who need
purifying, the catechumens, the penitents and the possessed, and the
order of the baptized laity whom he here calls the 'contemplative
order' (EH VI.iii.5: 536D 6)—but the ceremony that is described in
the second part of the chapter and whose significance is drawn out in
the third part is that of monastic consecration. The ceremony is rela-
tively simple consisting of prayer, a promise on the part of the monk-
to-be to be faithful and earnest in his monastic life. Then, after being
marked with the sign of the cross, his hair is cut and he exchanges his
clothes for others (Denys is very inexplicit about what is clearly the
giving of the monastic tonsure and the clothing with the monastic
habit).
By Denys's time the monastic state had achieved an important role
in the life of the Church, and was to continue to exercise such a role
throughout the Middle Ages and indeed, beyond, both in the East
and West. But it had not always been so. In the early centuries we
hear nothing about any organized Christian monasticism: it is only
in the fourth century, after the Church passed from being a per-
secuted minority to the favoured religion of the Empire, that
monasticism appears on the scene and grows rapidly.
The primary focus of this development sems to have been in
Egypt. In the Egyptian Desert, the 'Desert Fathers', as they came to
be called,18 established the pattern for future monasticism. There
were three types of monks: hermits, who lived a solitary life; others
(semi-eremites, half-hermits) who lived what was essentially a soli-
tary life, but lived within earshot of one another in what was known
as a lavra\ and those who lived in a community, and shared a
common life of worship, eating together and working together, who
were called coenobites (from coenobium, derived from the Greek for
'common life', koinos bios).19 The life in community eventually
established itself as the basic form of the monastic life: in the East
the Rules of St Basil the Great provided the guidelines for this life; in
the West, there were various rules, the most important being that of
St Benedict (c. 480 -c. 540) who must have been more or less a
contemporary of our Denys.
Denys's understanding of the monastic life is concentrated on one
point: the monk is a single-minded pursuer of union with unity or the
One: 'Theirs is a single-minded type of life and they have the duty to
68
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
be at one only with the One, to be united with the sacred unity' (EH
VI.iii.2: 533D). We hear nothing of rules or communities or abbots
or superiors or of obedience—all an important part of monasticism
as Denys would have known it. Nor do we hear anything about
monasticism as a radical way of imitating Christ: a naked following
of the naked Christ (nudum Christum nudus sequere) as Jerome put
it.20 For Denys the monastic life is characterized by unity, both as the
way and the goal. As Roques puts it, 'The monk is a solitary in
pursuit of perfect unity. While the baptized simply leads the divine
existence of the ecclesial community, the effort of the monk is
directed towards the highest perfection.'21 Denys uses two words for
the monk, monachos and therapeutes. 'They are called therapeutae
or monks, from the pure service and worship they offer to God, and
the single undivided lives they live as they strive for simplicity in a
sacred folding together of all division into a God-like unity and per-
fection of the love of God' (EH VI.i.3: 533A). The first became the
normal word for a monk in Greek (and hence in other languages),
and etymologically does suggest a solitary and thus supports Denys's
emphasis on unity. The second is an unusual word for a monk: it
only seems to occur in Denys and in the church historian Eusebius,
who uses the term because he took Philo's account of an ascetic
community in Egypt called therapeutae to be an account of an early
Christian community.22 It means a servant, and Eusebius repeats
Philo's suggestion that one reason for this might be 'because of their
pure and sincere service and worship of the Divine', a hint Denys
picks up. It could be that Denys knew the passage in Eusebius, and
that the use of therapeutes is part of the first-century 'colour' he
wants to give to his writings.
These two words, monk and therapeutes, are not used indis-
criminately in his work. Apart from mentioning the word the-
rapeutes, Denys does not use the word at all in EH : he uses the word
'monk' and exploits its suggestions of singleness. In his letters, on
the other hand, we find that the word therapeutes is used exclusively.
Five of the letters are addressed to therapeutai: Epp. I-IV are
addressed to one called Gaius, and Ep. VIII is addressed to Demo-
philus. Ep. VIII we have met several times already: not only does he
use the word therapeutes to address Demophilus, it is the idea of
service, implicit in that word, that governs his presentation of the
monastic life in that epistle. Epp. I-IV are concerned to expound
particular themes discussed elsewhere in the Dionysian Corpus: Ep.
I is concerned with the 'divine darkness', Ep. II with the notion of
divine transcendence, Ep. Ill with the adverb 'immediately' and its
69
application to the incarnation, Ep. IV expounds the doctrine of the

incarnation. They suggest that the monk's task is concerned with the
more exalted aspects of Christian contemplation—the darkness, we
have seen from MT III, is entered as we leave behind both affir-
mative and negative theology: they confirm what Denys says at the
very beginning, that the monks are being raised 'to the most perfect
perfection' (EH VI.i.3: 532P).
Clearly one reason for Denys's understanding of the monastic
state as a unified state modelled on the One is because it fits very well
with his Neoplatonism. All the way through the Ecclesiastical
Hierarchy we have seen how Denys is fond of underlining how the
whole orientation of the hierarchy and its ceremonies is towards
unity. There is, however, another possible background for Denys's
understanding of monasticism, and that lies in the Syrian tradition.
There we find a tradition, older than monasticism itself, that saw the
highest grade of Christian devotion in the 'single ones'. These 'single
ones' (the Syriac is ihidaya, which can translate both monogenes
(only-begotten) and monachos) were committed to celibacy, single-
mindedness, and had a special relationship to the Ihidaya, Christ the
Only-Begotten Son. They were not organized into a monastic order,
they were simply a group of deeply committed Christians and (in the
fourth century) included among their numbers the two great Syriac
theologians, Aphrahat and Ephrem.23 That this is part, at least, of
the background for Denys's understanding of monasticism is very
attractive since, like Denys, it is an understanding of a higher stage
of the Christian life revolving round the symbol of singleness or
unity, and, also like Denys, it does not envisage an organized
community style of life, as did later monasticism. It also ties in with
the other indications of affinity between Denys and the Syrian
tradition.24
THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY AND

THE LIFE EVERLASTING
The last chapter of the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy is concerned with the
funeral service which gives Denys the opportunity to emphasize
three things: first, the veneration of the body and the place of the
body in the economy of salvation; secondly, the value of prayers for
the departed; and thirdly, he defends the apparently absurd aspect of
Christian liturgical ceremonies for those who do not share the
70
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
Christian faith, both in relation to Christian burial and also in

relation to infant baptism.
But first let us give the form of the burial service, for this chapter
like the others focuses on a ceremony in the Church's liturgy. The
body of the departed is brought into the Church, a prayer of thanks-
giving is said, psalms are sung and there are readings from the Scrip-
tures (passages that relate the promise of the resurrection), the cate-
chumens are then dismissed (but not the penitents or possessed:
those who are baptized, even if they have not been faithful to their
baptism, are allowed to remain), the names of the long-departed are
read out and the newly-departed added to the list, and there is prayer
for them all. The hierarch offers a final prayer; he then kisses the
departed, and all the others present do so too. Sacred oil is poured on
the body of the departed, and it is buried.
Denys lays great emphasis on the reverence that is paid to the body
of the departed, for that body shared with the soul in the struggles of
his earthly life and so, in the resurrection, will share in the victory
(EH VII: 533A, 565B). It perhaps seems strange that, given his
enormous interest in the structures of the heavenly realms and the
ecclesiastical community, Denys shows little curiosity about the fate
of the departed. We look forward to the resurrection; in the mean-
time the saints (as Denys calls all Christians, following the usage of
the New Testament) 'sleep with a joyous and unshakable hope at the
hour when their sacred combat ends' (EH VH.i.l: 553B). The fulfil-
ment of the promises concerning the afterlife is beyond our under-
standing (560B): they speak of dwelling in 'the light in the land of the
living' and being in the bosom of the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and
Jacob. Denys sticks to such biblical language and comments that
The bosom of the blessed patriarchs and of all the other saints
signifies, I believe, this divine inheritance and this perfect
beatitude where all those who have lived in conformity with
God are welcomed into the ever-renewed perfection of unaging
blessedness. (560 B-C)
The importance of the prayers of the saints underlines, for Denys,
the fact that the Church is a community whose members all mutually
support one another. Prayer for the departed is simply an extension
of this mutual prayer, an extension justified by the hope of the resur-
rection, which manifests the Church as a community that transcends
the division brought about by death. At the Eucharist, Denys tells
us, the departed are regularly commemorated, 'as alive, as those
71
who have not died but, as the Word of God teaches us, who have
passed from death to a more perfectly divine life' (EH III.iii.9:
437B).
It is probably not by chance that Denys's defence of the apparent
absurdity of the Christian liturgy to those who do not share the
Christian faith is sparked off by his account of the Christian burial
service. The pagan horror at Christian reverence for the bodies of the
departed, especially the remains of the martyrs, finds eloquent
expression in the account by Eunapius of Sardis of the Christiani-
zation of the pagan temples in Egypt:
For they collected the bones and skulls of criminals who had
been put to death for numerous crimes, men whom the law
courts of the city had condemned to punishment, made them
out to be gods, haunted their sepulchres, and thought that they
became better by defiling themselves at their graves. 'Martyrs'
the dead men were called, and 'ministers' of a sort, and
'ambassadors' from the gods to carry man's prayers.25
Eunapius (c. 345-c. 420) was a pagan Neoplatonist, and his Lives of
the Philosophers tells us about several of the early Neoplatonists,
Porphyry and lamblichus among them. His distaste for the
Christian reverence for the bodily remains of their departed would
have been shared by those pagan Neoplatonists with whom Denys
must be assumed to have studied. Denys defends the absurdity of
Christian liturgical practices by deflecting attention from Christian
burial rites to the custom of infant baptism. Here, infants who
cannot understand what is going on are baptized and admitted to
Communion (as still happens in the Eastern Church). Denys's
defence has two prongs: first, it is not surprising the divine mysteries
should be beyond our grasp; secondly, when infants are baptized,
sponsors promise that they will have a godly upbringing. For Denys
the supportive nature of the Christian community is so important, it
is not surprising that he feels that infants born into Christian families
and cared for by Christian sponsors can be, as it were, carried by the
Christian community. But his point is not that the rites are unintel-
ligible but valid, rather that understanding is a matter of degree and
something that is never complete. He seems, too, to envisage a kind
of dual sacramental action in which the soul is raised up to union
with God by understanding the symbolism of the liturgy, and the
body is prepared to be a fitting companion for the enlightened soul
by the action of the material elements in the sacraments (EH
72
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
VII.iii.9: 565B): a view very similar to that found in Gregory of

Nyssa's Catechetical Oration.26
THE MEANING OF THE SACRAMENTAL ACTION

Such is Denys's account of the sacramental liturgy and hierarchic
structure of the Christian Church. It is a rich and fascinating
account, but it leaves certain broad questions to be answered. The
biggest one is perhaps this: is it not the case that this presentation of
the sacraments in the context of a highly structured hierarchy, with
great emphasis placed on their power of drawing Christians closer
into divine union through a rich and complicated symbolism
obscures, or perhaps precludes, an understanding of the sacraments
as a personal encounter with Christ? What indeed is the place of
Christ and the incarnation in all this? Is not the relationship between
the sacraments and the incarnation obscured? Are not the sacra-
ments being modelled so closely on Neoplatonic theurgy understood
as rites and sacrifices that effect communion between the gods and
men that they are being reduced to a 'sort of magical clericalism' as
Jean Meyendorff has put it?27
It is often suggested that Denys's use of the word theurgy (the-
ourgia) and its derivatives implies that he makes a distinction similar
to the Neoplatonists between theology and theurgy—theology being
speaking about God, theurgy being rather releasing divine power or
energy—and perhaps like the later Neoplatonists, sees in theurgy a
more effective way of achieving union with God (see above,
p. 13). Some have suggested that his treatises can be divided
into two groups that really have little in common: the Divine Names
and Mystical Theology being concerned with theology, and the Cele-
stial Hierarchy and Ecclesiastical Hierarchy being concerned with
theurgy.28
Denys does make considerable use of theourgia and its deriva-
tives, but one must not be so hasty as to suppose that he means by
this word just what the Neoplatonists did. For the Neoplatonists,
theourgia was understood as if it were the contraction of an objective
genitive (work of God, theou ergon), that is, a work concerned with
the gods: human beings accomplished a work which affected the
divine realm (their understanding of this was most carefully thought-
out: it did not mean that the gods were affected by what we do,
rather that theurgic action made humans responsive to the divine).
73
For Denys, in contrast, theourgia is understood as if it were the

contraction of a subjective genitive, meaning a divine act. Pre-
eminently it means the divine acts or works that Jesus performed as
incarnate. When, at the end of his account of the Scriptures that are
read at the Eucharist, Denys says that 'theurgy is the consummation
of theology' (EH III.iii.5: 432B), he does not mean, as we might
imagine recalling some Neoplatonic utterances about theurgy, that
theurgy rounds off theology, or is a more effective way of reaching
God; but that the divine act in the incarnation fulfils the prophetic
utterances of the Old Testament.29
If, with this in mind, we look at what Denys says about the various
liturgical celebrations he discusses, we find that theurgy is never used
to describe the liturgical action: rather, in the liturgical action, the
divine work (or works) are praised or celebrated, the liturgical action
itself being referred to by different words, like hierourgia. The litur-
gical actions celebrate the divine works, pre-eminently the works of
Jesus the incarnate Son of God. This implies that the incarnation is
much more central to the sacraments than we might have supposed.
It is not at all the case that the incarnation simply effects the tran-
sition from the 'hierarchy of the Law' to 'our hierarchy', rather the
incarnation and what Jesus did as incarnate is the focus of the praise
and celebration in which the sacraments consist.30 As we have seen,
Jesus is the source and end of all hierarchies, hierarchy therefore is
subordinated to him, insofar as he is God; though, as we have seen,
as man, as Incarnate, he submits to the hierarchical arrangements he
himself was responsible for. All hierarchic activity is his activity, as
Denys makes clear especially in his exposition of the sacrament of
oil. The principle of hierarchy seems at once to be a means by which
all that Jesus achieved in the incarnation is made effective among
men and women and available to them, but also seems to place a
distance between God and mankind: there are intermediaries and
their mediation is strictly observed (I nearly wrote 'jealously' but
that would be wrong: as strongly as Plato, Denys emphasizes that
there is no 'jealousy' in the heavenly realm; they eagerly pass on
what they have received, they begrudge nothing). A final answer to
this will have to await consideration of the metaphysical structure of
Denys's universe.31
Reflection on the place of the incarnation in Denys's sacramental
theology prompts one to reflect on his doctrine of the incarnation,
his Christology, as such. It is obvious, when one reflects on it,
that—as we would expect—Denys's ideas fit well with those current
amongst those who rejected; or hesitated over, the teaching of Chal-
74
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
cedon out of a feeling that Cyril of Alexandria had been betrayed. In

Jesus God himself is present among us: the one who is beyond being
takes on human being in order to manifest himself amongst us.
When he compares Jesus to the mingling of the oils to make the
sacred myron, he uses language that would have found ready accep-
tance amongst Cyrillines and Monophysites. We should notice,
though, that the Syriac tradition was very fond of using the imagery
of 'mingling' to describe the union of the two natures of Christ.32
Denys's most explicit Christological statement occurs in his fourth
letter. Here he speaks of Jesus as God (being beyond being) out of
love for humanity truly becoming man. As a result, his actions,
though human actions, are also divine. He concludes by saying
He was not a man, not as though he were not a man at all, but
as one come from among men, being beyond men, he has truly
become a man in a way that surpasses humanity. And for the
rest, he did not do divine things divinely, or human things
humanly, but as God made man, he manifested a certain new
divinely-human [literally: theandric] energy, as he lived
amongst us.
It was this last phrase that was quoted by Monophysites at the con-
ference in 532—the first time we hear anything of Denys. But they
misquoted it as a 'single theandric energy': Denys is not so explicit. It
is, nevertheless, difficult not to hear a rebuttal of the insistence of the
Tome of Leo, endorsed by the Council of Chalcedon, that in the
Incarnate Christ each nature 'did what was proper to it in commu-
nion with the other' (Tome 4), though Denys's insistence on the
newness of Christ's theandric activity could be held to echo Leo's
stress on the 'new order', the 'new birth', of the incarnation.33
Denys's Christology, like that of the Henoticon, and that of many
Eastern Christians who did not want to seem to cast doubt on the
tradition of Cyril, seems ambiguous. Monophysites could appeal to
it, but so too could the Orthodox: and from the time of Sophronius
of Jerusalem onwards (Patriarch 634-8), Denys's idea of a 'new the-
andric energy' of the Incarnate One became part of the vocabulary
of Orthodoxy.
Notes
1 This recalls the similar idea found in lamblichus, On the Mysteries of

Egypt V.18: see Rorem's note, Works, p. 234, n. 146.
75
2 Edited with Eng. trans, by A. Mingana, Woodbrooke Studies VI

(Cambridge, 1933); and with French trans, by R. Tonneau and R.
Devreesse (Studi e Testi 145; Rome, 1949).
3 Didascalia XIV-XVI (ed. and trans. R. H. Connolly, Oxford, 1929),
pp. 130-51. And see C. H.Turner,'Ministries of women in the primi-
tive church . . . ' in his Catholic and Apostolic (ed. H. N. Bate;
London and Oxford, 1931), pp. 316-51; R. Gryson, LeMinistere des
femmes dans I'Eglise ancienne (Gembloux, 1972).
4 For Denys's treatment of 'our' hierarchy, see, especially, Roques,
L'Univers, part 3, pp. 171-302.
5 Maximus the Confessor, Mystagogia 15 (PG 91, 693B-C).
6 EHIV.xii:485A15-18.
7 Works, p. 200, n. 17.
8 Theodore the Studite, Ep. 2.165 (PG 99, 1524B).
9 On the understanding of sacraments in Eastern Christianity, see J.
Meyendorff, Byzantine Theology (London, 1975), pp. 191-200.
10 See Sebastian Brock, The Luminous Eye (Rome, 1985), p. 25.
11 For rites of initiation in the fourth/fifth century, see E. J. Yarnold,
The Awe-Inspiring Rites of Initiation (Slough, 1971).
12 Roques, Structures, p. 185.
13 W. Strothmann, Das Sakrament der Myron-Weihe in der Schrift de
Ecclesiastica Hierarchia des Ps-Dionysius Areopagita (Gottinger
Orientforschungen, 1. Reihe: Syriaca 15.2; 1978), pp. xliv-xlix.
14 Ibid., p. xli.
15 Ibid., p. Ix, endorsed by Rorem, Symbols, p. 73n.
16 As Denys says explicitly later: EH IV.i.5: 505B-C.
17 EH Il.i: 425A.
18 See Benedicta Ward SLG (trans.), The Sayings of the Desert Fathers
(London, 1975) and her introduction to The Lives of the Desert
Fathers, trans. Norman Russell (London, 1981).
19 On this, from a vast literature, see Dom David Knowles, Christian
Monasticism (London, 1969), and A. M. Allchin (ed.), Solitude and
Communion (Fairacres Publications 66; Fairacres, Oxford, 1977).
20 Jerome, Ep. 125.20.
21 Roques, Structures, p. 224 (and see the whole of the section, 'Elements
pour une theologie de Petal monastique selon Denys PAreopagite',
pp. 198-225).
22 See Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 11.17; and Philo, On the
Contemplative Life 21 -90.
76
THE EARTHLY LITURGY
23 See R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom (Cambridge, 1975),

pp. 12-16; Sebastian Brock, op. cit., pp. 107-17 (and note that,
according to Brock, the Syriac translation of Eusebius's Ecclesiastical
History brings together ihidaya and therapeutes: p. 114).
24 To which we can add the suggestion of Sebastian Brock that Denys's
interpretation of the cleansing function of the leitourgoi (deacons)
might imply an allusion to the Syriac mdakkyane, though it cannot be a
'pseudo-etymology' as Denys does not use the word diakonoi: op. cit.,
p. 163, n. 6.
25 Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers 472 (Loeb ed., p. 425).
26 Gregory of Nyssa, Catechetical Oration 37 (ed. J. H. Srawley, Cam-
bridge, 1903; p. 141, 1.1-144, 1.3).
27 J. Meyendorff, Le Christ dans la pensee byzantine (Paris, 1969),
p. 145.
28 J. Vanneste, LeMystere deDieu (Brussels, 1959), pp. 30-5; endorsed
by Meyendorff, op. cit., p. 144.
29 See Rorem, Symbols, pp. 14f.
30 For a more detailed discussion, see my article, 'Pagan theurgy and
Christian sacramentalism', Journal of Theological Studies 37 (1986),
pp. 432-8.
31 See Roques, L 'Univers, pp. 305-29.
32 Sebastian Brock, op. cit., p. 28.
33 At the beginning of the same chapter (4) of the Tome of Leo.
77
5
The nameless God of

many names
The theology of Denys focuses on the liturgy. The principle of God's

movement towards men and women in transfiguring light is worked
out in his contemplation of the eternal workings of the angelic ranks
and hierarchies. How this transfiguring manifestation is realized
amongst us in the liturgical structure and liturgical activity of the
Church on earth is dwelt on at length in his discussion of 'our hierar-
chy'. And in all this celebration God is addressed by the praises of
men and angels. But how is God addressed? How do we use words of
him, and what do those words mean? For Denys we address God by
giving him names: or, to be more precise, not by giving him names
but by using the names that he has revealed. And to understand the
nature of God is to understand these names. But though these names
have been revealed, as names they are ways in which human meaning
is conveyed, and so they fall short of declaring the nature of God
himself. Ideas like this were commonplace in Christian theology: the
Cappadocian Fathers, especially, wrote much on the question of the
names of God, partly provoked by the claim of Eunomius, a latter-
day Arius, that the name 'unbegotten' reveals the very nature of God
(from which, therefore, the only-begotten Son is necessarily
excluded). For them God was revealed in many names, but remained
in himself beyond all names. But this theme of the 'names' of God
remained just a theme: in his Divine Names Denys attempted to go
further and give a systematic consideration of these names by which
we praise God. And it is made very clear that this is what we are
doing: we are purifying and perfecting our praise of God. Denys
does not speak of the names of God as merely qualities or epithets
78
THE NAMELESS GOD OF MANY NAMES
that we ascribe to God: they are names with which we praise him, or
celebrate or hymn him (the Greek is hymnein).
A SYRIAN BACKGROUND?
In composing a treatise on the names of God, Denys was not
altogether original. As Sebastian Brock has pointed out, several of
the hymns or songs of Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306-373) also take the
form of a consideration of the divine names. This is especially true of
the thirty-first Hymn from the cycle on the Faith, which begins:
Let us give thanks to God who clothed himself in the names of
the body's various parts;
Scripture refers to his 'ears', to teach us that he listens to us;
It speaks of his 'eyes', to show that he sees us.
It was just the names of such things that he put on,
And, although in his true being there is no wrath or regret,
Yet he put on these names, too, because of our weakness.
We should realize that, had he not put on the names
Of such things, it would not have been possible for him
To speak with us humans. By means of what belongs to us
did he draw close to us:
He clothed himself in our language, so that he might clothe us
In his mode of life. He asked for our form and put this on,
And then, as a father with his children, he spoke with our
childish state.1
Ephrem mentions some of the names God put on—Old Man,
Ancient of Days, Valiant Warrior—and goes on to compare God's
revealing himself to man, with a man teaching a parrot to talk:
A person who is teaching a parrot to speak
Hides behind a mirror and teaches it in this way:
When the bird turns in the direction of the voice which is
speaking,
It finds in front of its eyes its own resemblance reflected;
It imagines that it is another parrot conversing with itself.
The man puts the bird's image in front of it, so that thereby it
might learn how to speak.
This bird is a fellow creature with the man,
But although this relationship exists, the man beguiles and
teaches
79
The parrot something alien to itself by means of itself; in this

way he speaks with it.
The divine Being that in all things is exalted above all things
In his love bent down from on high and acquired from us our
own habits:
He laboured by every means so as to turn us all to himself.2
Ephrem's humorous analogy conveys well the vast disparity between
God and man which is bridged by God's revealing himself. There
are, according to Ephrem, two kinds of names that God puts on:
'perfect and exact names' and 'borrowed names'. 'Perfect and exact
names' indicate something of his true nature; 'borrowed' names are
metaphors drawn from human experience. Examples of perfect
names are 'Being', 'Creator', 'Father', 'Son', and 'Holy Spirit':
without these there can be no conception at all of the divine nature.
Take care of God's perfect and holy names,
For if you deny one of them, then they all fly away off:
Each one is bound up with the other,
They support everything, like the pillars of the world.3
Even when these 'perfect' names are names that are also used of
humans, their primary meaning is divine, it is their human use that is
'borrowed'. So Ephrem explains that people
. . . have been called 'gods', but he is God of all;
They are called 'fathers', but he is the True Father;
They are named 'spirits', but that is the Living Spirit.
The terms 'father' and 'son' by which they have been called
Are borrowed names that through grace have taught us
That there is a Single True Father
And that he has a single True Son.4
In the 'perfect names' there takes place the most exalted encounter
between human beings and God: by pondering them we are drawn
close to God himself. The 'borrowed' names God has put on in his
love of mankind, in order to draw men and women up to him.
There are parallels to all this in Denys's Divine Names. Especially
in the first chapter he speaks of the innumerable names by which
God is praised in the Scriptures. And the purpose of these names, as
with Ephrem, is not just to reveal something about God, but to draw
men and women into union with God: to deify them. 'When, for
instance, we give the name of "God" to that transcendent hidden-
ness, when we call it "life" or "being" or "light" or "Word", what
80
our minds lay hold of is in fact nothing other than certain activities
apparent to us, activities which deify, cause being, bear life, and give
wisdom' (DN II.7).
But there is much in Denys's treatment of the divine names that
seems very different from Ephrem. He has, for instance, no real
parallel to Ephrem's distinction between 'perfect' and 'borrowed'
names: his classification of the divine names proceeds on quite other
lines. He distinguishes between names expressive of concepts and
names drawn from the realm of the senses: these latter names belong
to 'symbolic theology', the former are the concern of the treatise, the
Divine Names (DN 1.8). He maintains, like Ephrem, that names like
'father' and 'son' apply properly to God and to human beings only
in a secondary sense (DN II.8): but this had been a commonplace of
Christian theology from the time of the Arian controversy.5 We have
already seen that there is a good deal of evidence that Denys's back-
ground is partly that of Syrian Christianity, and it is tempting to see
further evidence here. It may well be that Ephrem's outlines of a
treatment of the names of God inspired him: but there are other
influences on Denys's treatment of the divine names that seem more
important.
NEOPLATONIC TEACHING ON THE DIVINE NAMES

It is to Neoplatonic influences that we must turn for a more imme-
diate background to the Divine Names. The Neoplatonists were also
interested in working out a doctrine of the divine by considering
divine names. Though what Denys says he is doing (namely, investi-
gating the names given to God in the Scriptures) draws him very close
to Ephrem, what he actually does betrays his deep affinity with
Neoplatonism. After three introductory chapters, Denys settles
down to a systematic discussion of divine names, beginning with the
'Good' and ending with the 'One'. After the chapter on the Good,
there follow three chapters on 'Being', 'Life' and 'Wisdom', which
echo Proclus's triad, Being-Life-Intelligence. All that suggests a
strongly Neoplatonic ambiance. In the rest of the treatise, some
names treated are clearly scriptural (e.g., 'Almighty', 'Ancient of
Days' in DN X; 'Holy of Holies', 'King of Kings' etc. in DN XII),
others have both biblical and Neoplatonic echoes ('Power' in DN
VIII; 'Peace' in DN XI) and still others seem only explicable against
a Neoplatonic background. The instances in this latter category are
81
instructive. DNIX is concerned with 'greatness and smallness, same-

ness and difference, likeness and unlikeness, rest, motion, and
equality', and although Denys produces biblical references, it all
seems puzzling unless one realizes that these qualities are precisely
the qualities discussed as attributes of the One in the Neoplatonic
interpretation of the series of hypotheses found in the second part of
Plato's dialogue, Parmenides (137C-166C). Two other divine
names (discussed in DN X) are 'eternity' (aion} and 'time' (chronos).
Plotinus himself had not regarded these as substantive principles,
but Proclus did; and E. R. Dodds remarked in his commentary on
Proclus's Elements ofTheology, 'I suspect that Proclus had a special
reason for hypostatizing aion and chronos, namely their importance
in late Hellenistic cultus and contemporary magic'.6
It is necessary here to say a word about the treatment of the divine
names in Neoplatonism: it will both help us to understand Denys and
to appreciate his originality in relation to Neoplatonism. For the
Neoplatonists, the divine names are the names of the gods: so, for
instance, as Dodds's quotation above implies, Aion and Chronos
refer to gods. For Plato himself there had been an almost complete
divorce between philosophy and religious mythology, the latter con-
taining absurd and scandalous stories of supposedly divine beings,
while philosophy concerned itself with truth of an entirely different
order. Part of the inspiration of Neoplatonism, however, was a
conviction that the ancient religious traditions of the Greeks were
genuine (if veiled) revelations of the divine, and a succession of
Neoplatonic philosophers endeavoured to reconcile Greek mytho-
logy with the more austere understanding of the divine found in the
Platonic dialogues. This was achieved by a combination of allegory
(applied to the myths) and commentary (applied to the Platonic dia-
logues). One dialogue that proved to be particularly fruitful was
Plato's Parmenides. In this dialogue the aged Eleatic philosopher,
Parmenides, encounters the youthful Socrates. In the first part of
the dialogue, Parmenides subjects the theory of the Forms to
searching criticisms; in the second part he engages in deductive argu-
ments based on various hypotheses concerning the one (or the One,
or 'one thing'). Many Platonists had regarded this section as a
logical exercise in deductive argument (for example, Albinus in the
second century AD7), and it was (or had been) a sufficiently influen-
tial position for Proclus to go to the trouble of refuting it in his
Platonic Theology.* The Neoplatonists, however, thought it incre-
dible that so much time should be spent on a mere logical exercise,
and regarded it as a treatise on theology: the first hypothesis was
82
understood to refer to the One, which is absolutely one and utterly

simple, and the argument shows that it follows from this that
nothing at all can be said about the One; the second argument varies
the hypothesis to 'if the One is', that is, if it participates in being and
so is not absolutely one, and en this basis various attributes are
ascribed to the One, and so on. These attributes are regarded as
divine attributes: attributes ascribed to the One as it manifests itself
at the various levels of reality. The gods to whom these divine names
refer are identified with the gods of Greek mythology by means of
allegory (for example, Mount Ida refers to the lofty realm of the
ideas; difference, unlikeness and so on are manifest in the stories of
the battles of the gods).
In fact, in the fully developed form we find in Proclus (especially
in his Platonic Theology) it is even more complicated than this. We
have already seen that Plotinus had distinguished between three
hypostases—the One, Intelligence, and Soul—and saw them related
by a downward movement of procession and an answering move-
ment of return. Since the levels of Intelligence and Soul admit of
multiplicity, it was possible to distinguish between Intelligence and
intelligences (or minds) and Soul and souls: individual souls partici-
pate in the hypostasis Soul and individual minds in the hypostasis
Intelligence. They realize the original reality in particular forms. The
realm of minds possesses a unity which is realized in Mind or Intel-
ligence; the realm of soul possesses a unity which is realized in Soul.
As the individual soul withdraws into itself, it realizes a kinship with
all other souls, and as it 'returns' to the intuitive state of intelligence,
it becomes intelligence itself ('we are each of us the intelligible
world', as Plotinus had put it).9 But how does the One relate to what
comes after it? How does mind emanate from the One? It is the
hardest problem of Plotinus's philosophy: any link between the
absolutely transcendent One and the many seems to compromise the
very nature of the One. One begins to see how the Parmenides could
be so fascinating to Neoplatonists: by considering different ways in
which the One could be, it seems to suggest some kind of path from
absolute One to a unity composed of multiplicity.
In Proclus's system (the idea seems to go back to his master,
Syrianus) these ideas are incorporated by postulating unities (Greek:
henades, anglicized as 'henads') alongside the One, just as there are
intelligences alongside Intelligence and souls alongside Soul. The
henads exist alongside the One and replicate unity without destroy-
ing it.10 The One itself remains utterly transcendent: nothing can be
said of it save that it is One (which means that it is the sole source of
83
all that is) and that it is Good (meaning the ultimate goal of all that
is). The henads are (ultimately) the recipients of the divine attributes
or names yielded by the later hypotheses of the Parmenides, and by
the other Platonic dialogues. For it is not the Parmenides alone that
yields a doctrine of divine attributes: Proclus finds them discussed in
many other dialogues. A notable example is the famous analogy of
the sun in the Republic. The sun, which is transcendent over the
visible world and by its light makes both knowledge and life possible,
is presented by Socrates as an analogy of the Good (or form of the
Good) which is transcendent over the world of understanding
(indeed 'beyond being and knowledge') and by its influence (its
'light') gives being and knowledge to that world. In the Platonic
Theology, Proclus supports his exposition of the Parmenides by
referring to the analogy of the sun and regards the two
sequences—One-divinity-henads-intelligibles (derived from the
Parmenides) and Good-light-gods-intelligibles (derived from the
Republic)—as identical."
What this means is that the process of emanation from the One,
which is the source of all reality, through Intelligence and Soul, is to
be seen in a more complex way, whereby the multiplicity that is the
result of emanation can be traced back to the level of the One in the
henads: so one can think equally of emanation from the One or
emanation from the henads. The advantages of the second way of
thinking are (philosophically) that the manifold, belonging to (or
manifested in) the henads, is not illusory, and (religiously) that all
that is, and the governance of all that is (providence), can be ascribed
to the gods. The first way of thinking (of emanation from the One
itself) is more ultimately true: to think like that is to pass beyond the
knowable into the realm of the unknowable.
DENYS'S CORRECTIVE TO NEOPLATONISM

The danger of Neoplatonism for Denys and Christianity is, then,
very great. It is not just that a doctrine of emanation may tend to
obscure the fundamental difference between the Being of God and
the being of creatures, it is rather that the whole analysis of reality
that Proclus offers subserves a polytheistic religious system. Denys,
attracted by the subtlety of the Neoplatonic analysis of reality, must
strive as a Christian to block off those aspects of the system that
open the door to a doctrine of many gods.
Denys does this in two ways, which are, I think, ultimately equi-
84
valent: first, he qualifies the notion of emanation by insisting that

being is derived from God alone; and secondly, he turns the doctrine
of divine names into a doctrine of divine attributes (that is, attributes
of God, the one God). Emanation, in a Neoplatonic sense, is a
doctrine about the derivation of being: being derives from the One,
but in the stream of emanated beings, each being receives from the
one above it (actually for Proclus, beings that are capable of self-
presence, that is, self-conscious beings, are identical with that from
which they proceed, and so are in a way self-created)—creation is not
restricted to the One, the whole realm of being that flows from the
One is creative. Denys takes over the Neoplatonic idea of a scale of
being, and also the idea that lower beings are dependent on higher
beings, but he rejects any idea that being is (as it were) passed down
this scale of being: all beings are created immediately by God.12 The
scale of being and the sense of dependence only has significance in
the matter of illumination: light and knowledge flow from God
down through the scale of being—each being becomes radiant with
light and thus passes on light to beings lower down.
It is perhaps this understanding of emanation simply in terms of
illumination and not communication of being, that explains Denys's
fondness for the analogy of the sun (referred to: DN IV. 1, IV.5,
V.8), though for Plato, as we have seen, the sun (and therefore the
Good) is regarded as the source not just of knowledge, but of life
(and being). Strikingly, though, Denys does not speak much of crea-
tion; he is more interested in the interrelationships of the created
order, and never speaks of creation ex nihilo, even though by this
time the idea of creation out of nothing had become the normal and
accepted way in which Christians expressed their belief in creation:
he prefers to say that we come from (ek) God, than from nothing.13
The reason for this is that creation is not central to his understanding
of the relationship of the universe to God (though it is true). But
neither is emanation central. We have to find another word for what
it is that is central to Denys's understanding of God's relationship to
the world: and a good candidate for that word would be theophany.
The world is a theophany, a manifestation of God, in which beings
closer to God manifest God to those further away. The world is
God's glory made manifest: it exists to display his glory and draw
everything into contemplation of his beauty. The doctrine of crea-
tion is necessary to such an understanding of the world as theo-
phany: God is immediately present to his whole creation as its
creator; created reality is not, as created, an obstacle to his glory,
neither because it owes its being to something other than (or even
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alien to) God, nor because it is an increasingly remote echo of God's

original creative urge. But if God is to manifest himself outside
himself, that implies multiplicity, which in turn implies difference,
which must be either ordered or disordered: and for Denys, only an
ordered, hierarchical creation coald manifest the glory of the One. u
Denys's other modification of the Neoplatonic doctrine of divine
names is to insist that they are simply divine attributes, that is, attri-
butes of the one God. This is another way of saying that being only
proceeds from God or the One, the modification of the doctrine of
emanation that we have just discussed. The divine attributes display
the manifold splendour of God's self-manifestation, but they do not
have their proper signification in applying to exalted beings who
have emanated from God. The divine attributes do not ultimately
refer to the henads. In part this is implicit: Denys simply assumes as a
Christian that there is only one God. But it is occasionally made
quite explicit. In DN XI Denys discusses a query from Timothy
about the use of expressions like 'life itself (that is, the essence of
life, or, in Platonic terms, the form or Idea of life). Sometimes they
are applied to God, sometimes they are said to be caused by God. In
his reply Denys explicitly counters the Neoplatonic understanding of
this:
The absolute being underlying individual manifestations of

being as their cause is not a divine or angelic being, for only
transcendent being itself can be the source, the being, and the
cause of the being of beings. Nor have we to do with some other
life-producing divinity distinct from that supra-divine life
which is the originating cause of all living beings and of life
itself. Nor, in summary, is God to be thought of as identical
with those originating and creative beings and substances
which men stupidly describe as certain gods or creators of the
world. Such men, and their fathers before them, had no
genuine or proper knowledge of beings of this kind. Indeed,
there are no such beings. What I am trying to express is some-
thing quite different. 'Being itself, 'life itself, 'divinity itself
are names dignifying source, divinity, and cause, and these are
applied to the one transcendent cause and source beyond the
source of all things. But we use the same terms in a derivative
fashion and we apply them to the provident acts of power
which come forth from that God in whom nothing at all
participates. . . 1 5
86
Instead of a distinction between the One and the gods, Denys has a
somewhat different distinction in that 'being itself, etc., are applied
to God, but in two ways: either to God himself, or to his activity in
the world. Denys's distinction recalls (or rather foreshadows) the
distinction between the essence and energies of God, found in St
Gregory Palamas (c. 1296-1359) and other late Byzantine (and
indeed modern Orthodox) theologians.
But this example reveals an untidiness (or, perhaps, a paradox) in
Dionysian theology, in contrast to Neoplatonism. Denys is here
trying to explain how God can be regarded both as 'being itself and
as the source of 'being itself. This contradiction was reconciled in
Procline Neoplatonism by applying these different terms to different
entities. The source of all, beyond any attribute, is the One; the attri-
butes are then applied to different beings who proceed from the One,
the henads. In place of such logical simplicity (although complicated
in other ways), Denys wants to speak of the attributes of One who is
beyond all attribution.
APOPHATIC AND CATAPHATIC THEOLOGY

This can be put in another way. We have seen the importance for late
Neoplatonism of the interpretation of the successive hypotheses of
the second part oftheParmenides: the first hypothesis yields the One
of whom nothing at all can be said, the succeeding hypotheses yield
manifestations of the divine of whom something can be said. There
is a neat distinction between apophatic theology (that is, theology of
denial) and cataphatic theology (that is, theology of affirmation):
apophatic theology applies to the One, cataphatic theology to the
henads and other divine manifestations of the One. The terms
'apophatic' and 'cataphatic' theology become familiar terms in
Byzantine theology, from the time of Maximus the Confessor and
John Damascene (c. 650-c. 750). Their first Christian use seems to
be in Denys: but they are also used freely in a theological context by
Proclus. For Denys, however, the reference of both apophatic and
cataphatic theology is the One God: they are apparently contra-
dictory or paradoxical. It is of the same God that we are to make
both affirmations and denials. Denys has, as it were, identified
the hypotheses of the Parmenides (or rather the first two
hypotheses). What Procline Neoplatonism kept, logically and onto-
logically, apart, Denys brings together in stark paradox. God reveals
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something of himself. We can affirm that: this is cataphatic theo-

logy. But what God reveals of himself is not himself; as we seek to
understand God as he is in himself, we must go behind the affir-
mations we make, and deny them of God, and thus engage in apo-
phatic theology. It is apophatic theology that is the more ultimate:
our denials are truer than our affirmations in relation to God. So,
for instance, Denys can say,
Therefore God is known in all things and apart from all things;
and God is known by knowledge and by unknowing. Of him
there is understanding, reason, knowledge, touch, perception,
opinion, imagination, name and many other things, but he is
not understood, nothing can be said of him, he cannot be
named. He is not one of the things that are, nor is he known in
any of the things that are; he is all things in everything and
nothing in anything; he is known to all from all things and to
no-one from anything. For we rightly say these things of God,
and he is celebrated by all beings according to the analogy that
all things bear to him as their Cause. But the most divine know-
ledge of God, that in which he is known through unknowing,
according to the union that transcends the mind, happens
when the mind, turning away from all things, including itself,
is united with the dazzling rays, and there and then illuminated
in the unsearchable depth of wisdom. (DN VII.3: 872A-B)
Apophatic and cataphatic theology apply to the One God and repre-
sent the movement by which the intellect grasps God's revelation of
himself by affirming it, and then penetrates beyond knowledge
about God to God himself, by denying and transcending what he has
revealed of himself. The successive chapters of the Divine Names
explore this movement by which the soul is divinized, in relation to
the various attributes of God.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY

The first three chapters of the Divine Names provide a preface to the
treatment of the divine names. As we have already mentioned, they
seem to contain a summary of the contents of the Theological Out-
lines, namely the doctrines of the Trinity and the incarnation.16
Before discussing the names through which God has revealed his
being, Denys expounds the names through which God has revealed
something of his inner life. What Denys has to say about the Trinity
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(and even more briefly, the incarnation) belongs to the tradition of

Greek Patristic theology, especially as we find it in the Cappadocian
Fathers, but he expresses it in language that draws heavily on the
vocabulary of Neoplatonism (though it might be doubted whether
this use of philosophical terminology makes for much clarity).
Denys introduces a distinction between union (henosis) and
differentiation (diakrisis): some names of God have to do with union
(or 'are unified'), others have to do with differentiation ('are
differentiated'). The 'unified names' apply to the whole Godhead
(he occasionally calls them 'common' names, using the expression
the Cappadocian Fathers used): such names are being, unity, good-
ness, etc. They apply equally to each of the Persons of the Trinity
(DN II.3). The 'differentiated names'—such as Father, Son and
Holy Spirit—do not apply to the whole Godhead, but to the indivi-
dual Persons of the Trinity, and cannot be interchanged (DN II.5).
Thus far we have nothing more than the concepts of the Cappa-
docian Fathers couched in unfamiliar language. Denys, however,
has a little more to say (not nearly enough, alas: for more detail he
refers to the lost Theological Outlines). The unions, we are told, are
'the hidden and inseparable supreme foundations of a permanence
which is beyond ineffability and unknowing'; the differentiations
are 'the benign processions and manifestations of the Thearchy'
(DN II.4: 640D). 'Unions', then, refer to the One, either by
referring to the utterly ineffable source of all, that the One is (the
word translated 'permanence', monimotes, may be intended to
convey an allusion to mone, rest, the first term of the triad,
rest-procession-return), or by referring to the movement of
return, which is unifying or simplifying. Either way, we are
immersed in Neoplatonism (in Proclus, the latter use is perhaps more
common, while, for Denys, the former seems more central).
Similarly, differentiation means emanation or procession (which
is Proclus's definition of diakrisis11). However, Denys wants
something more complex than Neoplatonism, where differentia-
tion is simply the consequence (or meaning) of procession, and
union the goal and method of return. He goes on to say that there are
some names that are proper to union, and also some unions and
differentiations that are proper to differentiation. What is proper to
union are the common names—being, divinity, goodness,
etc.—which are united and common to the 'indivisible Trinity', and
also the 'rest and establishment in one another of the indivisible
Persons'. He compares these unified qualities to the light in a single
room where there are several lamps. The light that shines from the
89
room is one and undivided: here there are 'things united in differen-
tiation and things differentiated in union' (641 A-B). All this seems
to suggest that the indivisibility of the Trinity is both expressed in the
fact that the divine attributes (or divine activities) cannot be distri-
buted amongst the Persons of the Trinity, and also is to be found in
the mutual indwelling of the Persons of the Trinity (what was later to
be called perichoresis, or coinherence: St John Damascene, whose
Exposition of the Faith first popularized the language of peri-
choresis in Byzantine theology, does so in language which is deeply
indebted to the Areopagite18). Denys then says that differentiation in
speaking of God who is beyond being is applied in two ways: either
to the names we give to the Persons that distinguish them ('Father'
and 'Son', for instance) or to the way in which God manifests
himself in creation as being, life, wisdom, etc., so as to share these
properties (and ultimately divinity itself) with the whole created
order (DN 11.50). So union and differentiation can be conceived of
in two different ways. There are 'unified names' which refer to the
whole indivisible Godhead: as a result of differentiation ('the
generous procession of divine unity overflowing with goodness in a
way that transcendently preserves unity and making itself manifold')
these manifestations of God flow into the world, manifesting the
divine and stirring up beings to return to the One. There are
'differentiated names' which refer to the Persons of the Trinity:
these differentiations are contained within the unity of the Godhead.
Another example of differentiation is the incarnation, for this refers
to the Person of the Word (or the Son) and not to the Father or the
Spirit (644C): Denys refers to this a little later on, to profess its utter
ineffability (DN II.9: 648A). It is, however, clearly something quite
different from God's manifestation of himself through the divine
names.
If we try and put all this together, we seem to have the idea that
God manifests his whole being in attributes (or names) which we
grasp as they are differentiated from God in their procession or
radiation from him. There is also the idea that within the Godhead
there is some kind of primordial procession in which 'the Father is
the originating Source of the Godhead, and the Son and the Spirit
are divine shoots, and, as it were, flowers and transcendent lights of
the divinely fruitful divinity' (DN II.7). (The Father as 'originating
source of Godhead' is not far from the Cappadocian idea of the
Father as 'source of divinity'; the rest of the language is reminiscent
of the Chaldaean Oracles, doubtless transmitted through Proclus.)
In the incarnation, it seems, this primordial procession is manifest in
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the world of creation. The use of the language of procession (if it is

not just fashionable late fifth-century language, and confusing as
fashions often are) raises problems that Denys does not answer. Pro-
cession is logically inferior to the unity from which it proceeds:
Denys himself says that 'in divine matters unions are more important
than differentiations' (DN 11.11: 652A). Does this mean that the
Unity within the Godhead is in some sense prior to, more ultimate
than, the Trinity of Persons? Sometimes Denys seems to indicate
that this is far from what he means, and it would certainly be far
from the trinitarian theology of the Cappadocian Fathers. For
instance, he says
For the Unity that is celebrated, and the Trinity which is
beyond all divinity, is not unity or trinity in any of our senses of
the words, but in order to praise truly the transcendent unity
and divine fruitfulness, we call the One beyond all names,
whose being transcends all beings, with the divine names of
Trinity and Unity. (DN XIII.3: 980D-981A)
God is not Unity beyond Trinity, but beyond both Unity and Trinity
in any way that we can understand these terms: Unity and Trinity, it
would seem, are equally ultimate, and equally transcended. But the
idea of a Godhead beyond the Trinity is at least suggested by Denys's
language, even though it is a suggestion he seems not to take up
himself: the suggestion was certainly taken up by others, for
instance, in the late Middle Ages by Meister Eckhart, with his notion
of'God beyond God'.19
PRAYER
Denys's exposition of the doctrine of the Trinity is presented only in
summary form and as a preface to the main body of the work, a
systematic treatment of the divine names. Before he embarks on this,
however, he turns in prayer to the Holy Trinity and reflects on the
nature of prayer itself. In prayer we are drawn into the divine
presence, not as if the divine became present when before he was not,
but in our turning to him we realize his presence within us. He gives
two vivid analogies of what he means:
It is as if there were a great chain of light let down from the
summit of the heavens and reaching down to the earth, and as
we grasp it first with one hand, then another, we seem to be
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drawing it down, but really it remains there and it is we who are

being raised up to the most exalted splendours of its shining
rays. Or it is as if we were on a boat pulling on ropes thrown
across from a rock to help us: we do not draw the rock towards
us, but ourselves and the boat to the rock . . . (DN HI. 1:680C)
Such an understanding of prayer had been commonplace in the
Christian tradition,20 but it was commonplace, too, among
Neoplatonists: prayer, as it were, makes conscious the reality of our
relationship to what is higher, what is ultimate. As such it has been
called 'ontological prayer', prayer which expresses the nature of our
ontological condition.21
THE STRUCTURE OF THE DIVINE NAMES

Denys now embarks on his systematic treatment of the divine names.
These names, we have seen, begin with the Good and end with
the One. A good deal of ingenuity has been expended on the ques-
tion of the structure of the Divine Names. As we have it now, it
begins with some intelligible order, with the Procline triad,
being-life-intelligence, providing the basis for the next three
chapters after the chapter on the Good (DN IV): Being (DN V), Life
(DN VI), Wisdom (DN VII). After that any order seems less clear. A
rearrangement of the chapters (first suggested by Endre von
Ivanka22) finds in the Divine Names a reference to the names of the
churches built in Constantine's new capital, Constantinople: the
churches of the Holy Wisdom (Haghia Sophia), of Holy Power
(Haghia Dynamis), and of Holy Peace (Haghia Eirene). If chapter
XI is transposed to follow chapter VIII, then the chapters following
chapter IV (on the Good) treat successively two triads: the Procline
triad, being-life-wisdom, and the 'Constantinopolitan' triad,
wisdom-peace-power (the two triads overlapping in DN VII).
Then would follow the chapter on the Tarmenidean' attributes (the
present chapter IX: Ivanka regards the present chapter X as a
biblical appendix to that) and then the final chapter on the One (the
present chapter XII Ivanka regards as having been introduced as a
transition between the chapters on Peace and the One, when DN XI
was transferred to its present position). Ivanka's ideas are quite
hypothetical, and there are reasons for being sceptical about them;23
nonetheless, he has found favour with some scholars, for instance
I. P. Sheldon-Williams, who would summarize the doctrine of the
92
Divine Names as the Divine Goodness, itself ineffable, making itself

known at the level of intelligence as Being, Life, and Intelligence; in
the soul as Wisdom, Power, and Peace; and in the physical world as
Holy of Holies, Lord of Lords, King of Kings, and God of Gods.24
Whatever the structure of the treatise, the treatment of the divine
names provides, on the one hand, a series of illustrations of the inter-
relationship between cataphatic and apophatic theology—each
chapter expounds what is revealed and then beckons the mind to
ascend still further by denial of what is revealed—and, on the other,
the opportunity for a rather piecemeal exposition of various meta-
physical themes fundamental to Denys's understanding of the
universe. We have already dwelt on the former; it remains to treat
some of the latter themes. The longest chapter by far is chapter IV on
the Good: this contains a long discussion of the problem of evil
(which is closely dependent on a treatise by Proclus, and solves the
problem of evil by identifying evil with non-being), but also intro-
duces a number of important ideas, notably providence and love,
which will provide the starting-point for the rest of this chapter.
PROVIDENCE
The notion of providence (pronoia) casts a long shadow over
Denys's thought: he rarely talks about it explicitly,25 but he very fre-
quently speaks of the divine influence (in its many forms) as being
'providential' (pronoetikos). Such an emphasis on providence is yet
another sign of his affinity with Neoplatonism. For Plato, to deny
that the gods exercise providence was a blasphemy drawing upon
itself the gravest punishment;26 later Platonists defended the notion
of providence against the idea of fate with which the Stoics and
others identified it. In Neoplatonism, providence is a dimension of
the notion of procession: lower beings do not simply proceed from
the One and the henads, but are the object of the providence of the
henads. Proclus derives the term pronoia from 'before mind' (pro
nou) and sees in it the transcendent form of intelligence found
amongst the gods.27 It is, as it were, the original of which thought
and reasoning in minds and souls are a copy or an echo: providence
contains within itself the meaning that is discerned at lower levels by
thought and reasoning.28 Providence, or pronoia, characterizes very
generally the relation of the henads to lower levels of reality.
All this deeply colours Denys's thought and language: the
'providential rays' that shine forth from God communicate his
93
manifestation within the world. God manifests himself through his

attributes, his names, and these unfold his providential care for the
world. Denys speaks, too, of 'paradigms' (DN V.8-10) which seem
to be the divine attributes perceived in their relation to creation: as
the attributes reveal aspects of the unknowable Godhead, so, as
paradigms, they are archetypes for creaturely reality.29 What philo-
sophy calls paradigms, theology calls predeterminations (pro-
orismoi), or 'divine and good wills': they are the forms that God's pre-
intelligence (pronoid) determines. 'Starting from being, from the
procession of goodness that is productive of being, moving through
all things and filling all things with a gift of itself, and rejoicing in all
that is, it anticipates all things in itself . . . ' (DN V.9: 825A). And
the point of these paradigms, or predeterminations, or divine and
holy wills, is to reveal God in such a way that we may be raised up to
union with him: 'so that through the knowledge we have of the
source of all through the analogy of these things, we are to be raised
up as far as possible'. We are deified, so to speak, by being identified
with the paradigm or predetermination God has determined for us:
one with God's will for us, we express perfectly God's intention, and
radiate limpidly the divine light that we have received. E. R. Dodds
remarked that 'the topic ofpronoia bulks almost as large in Neopla-
tonism as does that of predestination and grace in the Christian
theology of the period'.30 It was, however, only in Christian theology
in the West that predestination and grace loomed large; in the East
categories similar to those of Neoplatonism (Origenist, Evagrian,
and later Dionysian) were prominent: we can see from this brief
outline something of the difference of emphasis it entailed. Pro-
vidence makes room for the response of human freewill more easily
than does the Augustinian doctrine of grace and predestination.
LOVE
A particularly striking way in which Denys speaks of providence is
when he considers the divine name, Good, under the aspect of love
(eros or agape, which he argues, following patristic precedent, to be
equivalent). God creates the world out of his goodness, or out of his
love. And love is defined as essentially 'ecstatic', that is: the one who
loves is drawn out of himself and centres his being on the object of
his love. Love is ecstatic, because it is unitive: the lover is united to
the beloved, who is, for him, a manifestation of beauty. For love is 'a
power that unites and binds together and effects an indissoluble
94
fusion in the beautiful and the good' (DN IV. 12: 709C). But love is
not for Denys mainly a matter of our striving for God: it is essentially
something divine, and when we love God, we love him with his love.
But since it is essentially divine, we can speak of God's love, and
indeed of God's ecstatic love:
We must dare add this as being no less true: that the Source of
all things himself, in his wonderful and good love for all things,
through the excess of his loving goodness, is carried outside
himself, in his providential care for all that is, so enchanted is
he in goodness and love and longing. Removed from his
position above all and beyond all he descends to be in all accor-
ding to an ecstatic and transcendent power which is yet insepar-
able from himself. (DN IV. 13: 712A-B)
The idea of a divine 'providential love' (erospronoetikos) is found in
Proclus, but not the idea of God's 'ecstatic' love. Nor is Proclus's
divine 'providential love' quite the same as Denys's notion of God's
'providential love', for Eros is one of the gods for Proclus, and not
indeed one of the highest of them.31 John Rist's comment is to the
point:
The first person to combine the Neoplatonic idea about God as
Eros with the notion of God's 'ecstasy' is Pseudo-Dionysius,
and it would seem merely perverse to deny that Dionysius'
Christianity is the direct cause of this adaptation. Dionysius
has in fact adapted Eros to the Christian demand that God love
all things, and he is the first person to do so.32
What we have in Denys is really a transformation of the Greek
notion of eros: for Plato eros primarily (though not exclusively) met
a need, and the neediness of love remains in the pagan Greek tradi-
tion; for Denys eros, yearning love, is an overflow of divine
goodness—it needs nothing, it is the source of everything.
The way in which love, though mentioned only briefly in DN IV,
has deeply coloured Denys's understanding of reality can be seen in
his treatment of the twin names, Power and Peace, for love is a force
as powerful as anything we know and its goal is unity. So Denys
waxes his most eloquent as he hymns the name, Power:
It preserves the immortal lives of the angelic henads unharmed

and the heavens and the luminous starry beings and their
orders unchangeable . . . it makes the power of fire unquench-
able and the flow of water unfailing . . . it protects the
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indissoluble abiding of the universe; to those made godlike it

grants the power of deification itself. (DN VIII.5:
829D-893A)
But the power of deification is the power of union and harmony: the
power of peace. For peace is the longing of all things: Denys affirms
this as strongly as Augustine.33 And the perfection of peace is a
harmony that preserves the distinctiveness and individuality of all:
And perfect peace guards the unmingled individuality of each,
with its peaceful providence ensuring that all things are free
from disturbance and confusion both within themselves and
amongst themselves, holding all things in peace and rest by a
stable and unshakeable power. (DN XI.3: 952C)
THE ONE
The last chapter of the Divine Names leads us back to the name, the
One, which is not only the source and goal of all things, but, as we
have seen, one of Denys's favourite terms for God. It provides an
opportunity for summing up much that he has said about the essen-
tial role of unity in the nature of reality. But the absolute nature of
the One implies that it is beyond any kind of attribution, and so the
Divine Names ends by reminding us of the greater ultimacy of
apophatic over cataphatic theology:
But they [sc. the theologians, the Scriptural writers] prefer the
ascent through negations. This way draws the soul out of what
is connatural to it, and leads it through all divine conceptions
which are transcended by the One that is beyond every name
and all reason and knowledge, and brings it into contact with
Him beyond the uttermost boundaries of the universe, insofar
as such contact is possible to us. (DN XIII.3: 98IB)
Notes
1 Ephrem, Hymn 31 on the Faith, If. (ed. E. Beck, Corpus Scriptorum
Christianorum Orientalium 154 (Scriptores Syri 73; Louvain, 1955),
pp. 105ff.): trans, in Sebastian Brock, The Luminous Eye (Rome,
1985), pp. 43f.: see the whole section ('The garment of names'),
pp. 43-8.
2 Hymn 31, 6f. (ed. Beck, pp. 106f.): trans, pp. 44f.
96
3 Hymn 44 on the Faith, 3 (ed. Beck, p. 141): trans., p. 46.

4 Hymn 46 on the Faith, 12 (ed. Beck, pp. 148f.): trans., pp. 46f.
5 See, e.g., Athanasius, Against the Arians 1.21.
6 E. R. Dodds (ed.), Proclus: The Elements of Theology (2nd ed.,
Oxford, 1963), p. 228: Dodds goes on to give examples of their impor-
tance in such circles.
7 Or Alcinous, the author of the Didaskalikos, an introduction to
Platonic philosophy.
8 Proclus, Platonic Theology 1.9 (ed. H. D. Saffrey and L. G. Weste-
rink, Paris, 1968, pp. 34-40).
9 Plotinus, Enneads IH.4.3.22.
10 For more on the henads, see Saffrey and Westerink's introduction to
vol. 3 of their edition of the Platonic Theology (Paris, 1978),
pp. ix-lxxvii.
11 Platonic Theology III.4 (ed. Saffrey and Westerink, pp. 14-17, and
see note: pp. 112f.).
12 See, e.g., DN 11.11: 649B-C; V.4: 817C.
13 See B. Brons, Gott und die Seienden (Gottingen, 1976), p. 194.
14 On this and what follows, see Otto Semmelroth's article, 'Gottes
ausstrahlendes Licht: zur Schopfungs- und Offenbarungslehre des Ps-
Dionysius Areopagita', Scholastik 28 (1953), pp. 481-503: one of a
series of important (but alas, somewhat inaccessible) articles on Diony-
sian theology.
15 DN XI.6: 953C-956A; cf. DN II. 1: 636C-637C; V.2: 816C-817A.
16 See MT III: 1032D-1033A.
17 Elemen ts of Theology, prop. 35.
18 See Expositio Fidei i.14 (ed. B. Kotter, 1973: pp. 42f.).
19 See Bernard McGinn, 'The God beyond God. Theology and mysticism
in the thought of Meister Eckhart', Journal of Religion 61 (1981),
pp. 1-19.
20 See, e.g., Origen, On Prayer VIII.2; Gregory of Nyssa, On the Lord's
Prayer 1.
21 See Jean Trouillard, L'Un et I'ame selon Proclos (Paris, 1972),
pp. 178f.
22 E. von Ivanka, 'Der Aufbau der Schrift "De divinis nominibus" des
Ps-Dionysius', Scholastik 15 (1940), pp. 386-92; repr. \nPlato Chris-
tianus (Einsiedeln, 1964), pp. 228-42.
23 See, especially, E. Corsini, // Trattato de Divinis Nominibus dello
97
Pseudo-Dionigi e i commenti neoplatonici al Parmenide (Turin, 1962),

pp. 58-73.
24 I. P. Sheldon-Williams, 'The Pseudo-Dionysius and the Holy Hie-
rotheus', Studia Patristica 8 (1966), p. 114.
25 DN IV.2 does talk about pronoia.
26 Plato, Laws X.899Dff.
27 Elements of Theology, prop. 120.
28 On this, see Jean Trouillard, La Mystagogie de Proclos (Paris, 1982),
pp. 101-8.
29 See Corsini, op. cit., pp. 135f.; and O. Semmelroth, 'Gottes geeinte
Vielheit: zur Gotteslehre des Ps-Dionysius Areopagita', Scholastik 25
(1950), pp. 389-403.
30 Dodds, op. cit., p. 263.
31 See Proclus, In Alcibiadem 51 (ed. L. G. Westerink, Amsterdam, 1954:
pp. 22f.).
32 J. Rist, 'A note on Eros and Agape in Ps-Dionysius', Vigiliae Chris-
tianae 20 (1966), p. 238.
33 DN XI.3-5; cf. Augustine, The City of God XIX. 12.
98
6
Visions and darkness
VISIONS
In his second letter to the Corinthians, St Paul comes to talk of
'visions and revelations of the Lord' and tells of a 'man in Christ'
(most probably a veiled allusion to himself) who 'was caught up to
the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not
know, God knows— . . . and he heard things that cannot be told,
which man may not utter' (2 Cor 12:2, 4). It is not surprising then
that one who wishes to be seen as a close disciple of St Paul should
also speak of visions and of the ineffability of what is thus revealed,
nor that he, too, tells of these visions by ascribing them to a third
party. Only with Denys, the third party is no nameless 'man in
Christ', but a monk, Carpus, his 'revered guide', Hierotheus, and
Moses. The choice of Moses is not that surprising, either, as Moses
and Paul were often bracketed together as notable recipients of the
vision of God.1
We have already seen something of Carpus's vision which Denys
describes at the end of Ep. VIII. It has a liturgical context: it took
place as Carpus was praying during the night office. Another remark
Denys makes about Carpus underlines the connexion he sees
between visions and the liturgy: he tells us that Carpus would not
celebrate the liturgy 'unless during the sacred prayers of preparation
there was shown to him a favourable vision' (1097C). This may seem
strange, indeed rather pagan: one recalls the story from the Sayings
of the Desert Fathers:
99
Abba Olympios said this, 'One of the pagan priests came down
to Scetis one day and came to my cell and slept there. Having
reflected on the monks' way of life, he said to me, "Since you
live like this, do you not receive any visions from your God?".
I said to him, "No." Then the priest said to me, "Yet when we
make a sacrifice to our God, he hides nothing from us, but dis-
closes his mysteries; and you, giving yourselves so much hard-
ship, vigils, prayer and asceticism, say that you see nothing?
Truly, if you see nothing, then it is because you have wicked
thoughts in your hearts, which separate you from your God,
and for this reason his mysteries are not revealed to you." So I
went to report the priest's words to the old men. They were
filled with admiration and said that this was so. For impure
thoughts separate God from man.'2
There is something very moving about the humility of the 'old men',
conscious of their need for continual repentance and calmly unsur-
prised that they see no visions. But other Christians did expect to see
visions, notably the author of the homilies ascribed to Macarius the
Great. These homilies, of Syrian not Egyptian provenance, lay
considerable stress on visions: after much struggle and prayer 'the
face of the soul is unveiled, and it gazes upon the heavenly Bride-
groom face to face in a spiritual light that cannot be described'.3
This tradition was influential in Eastern monasticism and reached its
apogee in Hesychasm with its doctrine of the vision of the uncreated
light of God.4 In the tenth/eleventh century, a similar emphasis on
the vision of the divine light is found in Symeon the New Theologian,
who regarded experience of the divine vision as a prerequisite for
ecclesiastical office:5 a generalized version of what Denys admired
so much in Carpus.
DARKNESS
The short treatise, the Mystical Theology, seems to be about a dif-
ferent kind of vision. There Denys talks of Moses in his ascent of
Mount Sinai. As he ascends, he passes beyond all that can be dis-
cerned by the senses and the intellect and enters into a divine
darkness where he is united with God in a way that surpasses know-
ledge. Denys's account of the ascent of Moses into the Divine
Darkness has many parallels with Gregory of Nyssa's much more
extended treatment in the second part of his Life of Moses, and it
100
VISIONS AND DARKNESS
seems certain that Denys has drawn on it.6 This suggests an arche-
typal 'mystical ascent', in which the soul passes beyond images and
comes to know God as he is in himself: the Mystical Theology was
read in that way in the Middle Ages, notably by the author of the
Cloud of Unknowing, and is still so read today. According to this
interpretation, Denys is speaking of a contemplative union with
God, where the soul abandons forms of prayer that rely on imagery
and reasoning ('meditation' as it was, and still is, called) and learns
an openness to God himself in the darkness of the abandonment of
techniques within its control. But it has been noted7 that Denys's
account of the ascent of Mount Sinai by Moses is full of liturgical
echoes. Moses purifies himself and then, separating himself from the
crowd, ascends the mountain with his chosen priests: just as the
hierarch is purified and then approaches the altar with his priests.8
In his ascent he passes beyond 'all divine lights and sounds and
heavenly words' into the 'Darkness': just as the liturgy progresses
from the first part full of readings from Scripture and sacred hymns,
into the hidden (and perhaps also silent) consecration in the sanc-
tuary. It is to be noted, too, that the Mystical Theology is addressed
to Timothy, a hierarch. Several times in the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy
the hierarch's experience of the liturgy is spoken of in terms that
recall the language of the Mystical Theology (especially 1.3, which
describes the ascent of Moses). At the end of the rite of illumination
(or baptism) the hierarch is said to turn 'from the procession to the
secondary things and reach up to contemplation of those that are
first'; 9 at the end of his account of the Eucharist, Denys says that
'while the many are content to behold the divine symbols alone, the
hierarch is ever being raised up hierarchically by the thearchic Spirit
to the holy sources of the sacramental rites in blessed and conceptual
visions, in the purity of his godlike condition' (EH Hl.ii: 428A); in
the case of the still more hidden sacrament of oil, the actual cere-
mony is said to be hidden from the ordinary people and sacredly
veiled by the priests who are allowed to behold, 'for the ray of all-
holy things enlightens purely and directly godly men, as kin of the
Light, and the fragrance is received by their minds without any hin-
drance' (EH IV.iii.2: 476B). All this suggests that the Mystical
Theology has a liturgical context, and indeed that it relates especially
to the hierarch and his role in the liturgy.
101
HIEROTHEUS AGAIN
The other visionary Denys speaks of is his guide, Hierotheus. He
speaks of his 'many and blessed visions' as being the source of his
teaching (DN II.9); and in DN III.2 describes the extraordinary
experience Hierotheus had on the occasion of the death of Mary, the
Mother of God (her 'dormition' or falling asleep) when, in the
context of that solemn occasion, he surpassed the other apostles and
holy men in singing praises of the 'boundlessly powerful goodness of
the thearchic weakness', and being 'wholly caught up, wholly out of
himself, and suffering communion with the things praised, so that he
was considered by all who heard and saw him, and knew or rather
did not know him, to be divinely possessed, to be uttering divine
praises' (681D-684A).10 We encounter here themes we are already
familiar with: Hierotheus's ecstasy ('wholly out of himself) and his
experiencing (or rather suffering) divine things. We hear, too,
language that Denys characteristically uses of the liturgy: for the
hierarch in the celebration of the Eucharist is said to 'come into
communion' with the 'things praised' (EH Ill.ii: 425D).
We suggested earlier (pp. 28-29) that Hierotheus's significance is
to be seen in relation to the liturgy. Now is the time to draw out what
Denys says about Hierotheus, for it seems that it is Hierotheus's
experience that will be our surest guide to the meaning of the
Mystical Theology. Hierotheus's significance for Denys is spelled
out in the Divine Names: in the two passages just referred to, and in
the discussion of love (eros and agape) in DN IV. lOff., which culmi-
nates in extracts from Hierotheus's Hymns of Love (DN IV.15-17).
From all this a remarkably consistent picture emerges. Hiero-
theus's knowledge of the divine is derived partly from his study of
the Scriptures, and partly through an untaught experience, where
he did not 'learn' but 'suffered' or experienced divine things. As a
result Denys speaks of his 'sympathy' with divine things, which was
both an expression of and a means towards his 'hidden union and
faith' (DN II.9). This sympathy, or suffering of divine things, is pre-
sented as divine possession, which issues in ecstasy. Given this
language of possession, ecstasy, suffering, it is no surprise that all
this is summed up in Denys's teaching on love. Love, we have seen, is
defined as a 'power that unites and binds together and effects an
indissoluble fusion in the beautiful and the good' (DN IV. 12: 709C),
and it is ecstatic in the sense that it draws the lover out of himself and
centres his life on the beloved: 'those who are possessed by this love
belong not to themselves, but to the objects of their love' (712A).
102
Denys's example of such ecstatic love of God is the apostle, St Paul,

the common master of himself and Hierotheus (and of Timothy11):
So also the great Paul, caught up in rapture by divine love and

participating in its ecstatic power, said with inspired speech, 'I
live, and yet not I, but Christ lives in me.' As a true lover,
caught up out of himself into God, he lives not his own life, but
that life so much longed for, the life of his beloved (DNIV. 13:
712A).
Ecstasy, for Denys, does not primarily mean an extraordinary expe-

rience, it means having one's life centred on the beloved so that the
life of the beloved is one's own. In the case of the love of God, it
means letting God's love be the principle of one's life. It is 'suf-
fering' in that it means receptivity of such a high degree that the one
who loves God is a vehicle of his power and love. It is ecstatic in the
sense that the self of the lover is driven out by the love of God. In one
place, Denys speaks of the soul not so much going out of itself, as
being driven out of itself (the soul is the object of the verb, existemi:
'going out' or 'standing out')—and indeed being driven out of itself
by the way of negation (DN XIII.3: 98IB). For it is the way of nega-
tion, apophatic theology, that surrenders the soul to the unknowable
God. This is precisely the teaching of the Mystical Theology: as
Moses ascends the mount, he passes beyond what can be affirmed,
and can only express what he experiences by means of
negation—'now, belonging wholly to that which is beyond all, and
no longer to anything, whether himself or another, and united in his
highest part with him who is unknown by renunciation of all
knowing, by that very not knowing he knows in a manner that trans-
cends understanding' (MT 1.3: 1001 A).
To complete the picture of Hierotheus and his importance for
Denys, we must look at the examples of his teaching that Denys
gives: from the Elements of Theology and especially the Hymns of
Love. The overriding theme here is God's love for mankind: a love
that goes out from God and draws men back to himself. The circle of
existence is the movement of love's procession (manifest as provi-
dential care), love's capacity to bind together equals in communion,
and the returning movement of love whereby the lower strives
upwards towards the higher (DN IV. 15). But this movement of God
towards his creation in love is not only manifest in his creative acti-
vity, providential care and the attractive allure of his beauty. It is
manifest, too, in the incarnation:
103
Therefore out of his love for mankind [hisphilanthropia, the

usual word in the Greek Fathers and the Greek Liturgy for
God's love for mankind] he has come as far as our nature, and
truly become a being, and the transcendent God is called a
man. (DN 11.10: 648D—from the Elements of Theology)
It is just these two themes—that of procession and return, and that
of the incarnation—that govern Denys's understanding of the
liturgy: the movement of the liturgy, especially the movement of the
hierarch out among the people and back again during the censing
procession, reflects the fundamental movements of procession and
return, and the function of the liturgy is to celebrate the theourgiai,
the divine acts, pre-eminently the divine activity of the incarnation
(see above, pp. 73-74).
A CELEBRANT'S HANDBOOK?
The Mystical Theology, then, is to be seen as relating to the liturgy,
as referring to the inner nature of what is accomplished in the liturgy:
union with God and deification. But for whom does it elucidate this
inner meaning? Much of what we have said so far would suggest that
it is concerned with the hierarch, or bishop. It is addressed to
Timothy, a hierarch. Hierotheus seems to be the model of the
experience it speaks of, and he too was most likely a hierarch. Other
considerations might suggest this as well. The Mystical Theology is
speaking of what happens beyond the symbols of the liturgy and
beyond the affirmations, both metaphorical and conceptual, of our
praise of God. It is the theology of silence and union with God. How
does the notion of such union with God relate to the hierarchies that
figure so large in his books on the heavenly and earthly hierarchies?
Hierarchies seem to trace a movement away from God.
The most natural suggestion (which Denys himself takes up, when
he speaks of the seraphim in CH VII and VIII, and EH IV) is that
union with God is the prerogative of those beings immediately
present to God: the seraphim, or perhaps the whole of the first rank
of angelic beings—seraphim, cherubim and thrones—who several
times are said to dwell in the 'antechamber' of the Thearchy (pro-
thyroi, a Neoplatonic expression: e.g., CH VII.2, and cf. DN V.5).
Indeed, when in CH XIII Denys expands on the role of the seraphim,
much of his language is reminiscent of the Mystical Theology.12
Perhaps, then, in the case of our hierarchy, union with God is
104
reserved for those who occupy the highest rank, namely the
hierarchs or bishops. Much of what we have seen in this chapter
suggests such an inference. Denys does seem to imply that the
hierarch lives in contact with the realities that he displays in symbolic
fashion for the sake of the people in the liturgy. The Mystical
Theology would then be intended for bishops: it would be a kind of
celebrant's handbook.
That may be so, but there are considerations that weigh against
such a conclusion. What about the monks?—we might wonder.
Their vocation is to live out a union with the One, and to draw every-
thing into that unity. One might observe, too, that the first four of
Denys's letters which seem to be appendices to the Mystical
Theology—the first two are concerned with the notion of the divine
darkness and of the divine transcendence, the central notion of the
Mystical Theology, the other two with the meaning of the incar-
nation, which we have seen to be equally central—are all addressed
to a monk, Gaius. That would suggest that Denys does not reserve
the theme of the Mystical Theology for the attention of bishops
alone. Perhaps then we should see the two human hierarchies—the
priestly hierarchy and the lay hierarchy—as united with God
through their highest rank, bishops and monks respectively?
HIERARCHY AND THE WAY OF NEGATION

But either of these suggestions implies that, in some way, the hierar-
chies are to be seen as ladders leading up to union with God: those at
the top of the ladder are in union with God (or in reach of such
union), which is denied to those lower down the hierarchy. It is
certainly true that we can find examples of such an understanding of
hierarchy later on in the tradition inspired by Denys, but I do not
think there is much trace of it in his own writings (the most evident
trace is, it seems to me, that the subject of seraphim readily invites
the topic of immediate union with God). It would mean that hierar-
chies do not simply mediate the light of God's revelation; it would
mean that they express a notion of distance from God as well. Denys
rarely mentions that side of the notion of hierarchy. For him, the
purpose of hierarchy is simply 'assimilation with God and union
with him, as far as possible' (CH III.2: 165A). His hierarchies are
static: they are not ladders up which one climbs, so that finally by
reaching the rank of seraphim (or bishop, or monk) one attains
union with God. The hierarchies seem to mediate union with God
105
and deification by their existence, not by their finally being folded up

as one reaches the top. The hierarchies are a glittering display of the
divine glory, a magnificient theophany, and by responding to that
theophany we are assimilated to God and deified.
In fact the Mystical Theology nowhere mentions the hierarchies.
Perhaps, then, the hierarchies are irrelevant for the purpose of that
treatise. According to the Mystical Theology, as one passes beyond
symbols and concepts, one comes into the presence of God, a
presence which seems like absence because one has passed beyond
one's powers to perceive and understand. When we were discussing
Denys's notion of hierarchy and its Neoplatonic background, we
noticed that Denys deserts Neoplatonism in one crucial respect: the
hierarchies only mediate the light of divine revelation, they do not,
as Neoplatonic hierarchies do, mediate being. We may be illu-
minated by attention to those beings higher than us, but we are
created, each of us, directly by God (see above, pp. 84-87). Perhaps
Denys's departure from orthodox Neoplatonism is relevant here. If
the hierarchies mediate everything we receive from the Source of
all—being, life, intelligence—then to ascend to the One is to
recapitulate the procession through the hierarchies. If, however, we
are created immediately by God, and it is only the light of revelation
we receive through the hierarchies, then we can be united to God by
responding immediately to his act of creation. God's creative act is
seen by Denys as an act of his ecstatic love: God goes out of himself,
while remaining himself, in love in the act of creation. Going beyond
symbols and concepts is interpreted by Denys in MT I as an act of
love in which we abandon the signs of God's love—the symbols and
concepts that reveal him and his love—and come to belong to God
himself, for love has the effect of taking us out of ourselves and sur-
rendering us to the Beloved. The way of negation, apophatic
theology, is then the way of ecstatic love, answering God's ecstatic
love for his creatures. It realizes an immediate relationship with
God.
This comes out still more clearly if we consider what is involved in
Denys's understanding of the way of negation. For the way of
negation is only partly something that we do: in MT II he draws on a
famous metaphor Plotinus used13 when he says:
For this is to see and to know truly, and to praise in a transcen-
dent way him who is beyond being through the negation of all
things, just as those who make statues with their own hands cut
away everything which obscures the clear beholding of the
106
hidden form, and thus make it manifest its hidden beauty

solely by the process of cutting away. (MT II: 1025B)
But more importantly, it is something that we suffer, something that
happens to us. So Denys speaks of the soul in deep darkness being
united with the One who is unknown by 'inactivity (anenergesia) of
knowing' (MT 1.3:1001 A), by a passivity of the intellect. Elsewhere
he says, as we have seen (p. 103), that the ascent through negation
prises the soul out of itself, the ecstasy happening to the soul as an
object.14 Perhaps one should make a separation between 'negative
theology' and 'mystical theology': negative theology remaining a
matter of human understanding, while mystical theology is a matter
of surrender to the dark ray of divine light, a matter of a 'theo-
pathic state', as it has been called.15 But that would be a concep-
tual distinction only: the two theologies are correlative, and
Denys never separates them. But mystical theology as a passive
state of loving surrender to God is the deepest meaning of that
'suffering divine things' which, for Denys, was the heart of Hiero-
theus's experience and of his authenticity and authority as a guide in
divine things. And it involves an immediate relationship, a contact,
with God.
Another way of understanding the immediacy of the creature's
relationship to God, which is fulfilled in union with God and seems
to bypass the notion of the hierarchies, and the distance from God
they seem to entail, is to consider Denys's notion of paradigms
or predeterminations (above, p. 94), and the related notion of
analogy. The creature's response to God is not to draw near to God
by ascending the hierarchy, but to identify itself with God's will
(another word for paradigm or predetermination) by fulfilling its
role in the created order, by fulfilling the analogy between itself and
the Creator that the Creator himself has determined. Praising God
'according to the analogy of all those beings of which he is the Cause'
(DN VII.3: 872A) is the same thing as 'assimilation to God as far as
possible'.16 The Platonic qualification 'as far as possible' (kata to
dynatori) has for Denys a precise meaning: it is the same as
'according to the analogy' (kata ten analogian), where analogy
means the aptitude of the creature to receive the divine, an aptitude
given by God and perfected by the creature's co-operation with God.
To perfect the analogy given by God is not to ascend the hierar-
chy—that would breach the God-given analogy—but to perfect
one's place in the hierarchy which is determined by the analogy God
has established between each unique creature and himself. The
107
analogy of each creature is perfected by love (DN IV.5:

700C-701A), and the way of love is, we have just seen, the way of
negation and surrender.17
If the 'ascent through negations', ultimately involving mystical
theology, is to be drawn up to God and ecstatically out of oneself in
an act of loving surrender, then the human ecstasy of union with
God and the divine ecstasy of creation can be seen as meeting one
another: God goes out of himself in love in establishing the
creature's being, the creature goes out of itself in love in union with
its Creator. And this act of mutual ecstasy bypasses the system of
hierarchy: just as God bypasses the hierarchies in creation, so the
creature bypasses the hierarchies in realizing its immediate relation-
ship to God in ecstatic love. What then would be the point of the
hierarchies? The only point Denys ever ascribes to them: to display
the divine glory, to be limpid, diaphanous theophany, and thus to
call back to God those creatures that have lost their sense of divine
origin, and their sense of the divine beauty. Beauty calls everything
to itself (a play on words in Greek where 'beauty' is kallos, and 'to
call' is kaleinn): the beauty and splendour of the hierarchies call out
to the whole creation. But the hierarchies are the creation, the
cosmos, and intelligent creatures, who have free choice, can enhance
or mar the transmission of the divine glory through the hierarchy.
Hence the emphasis Denys lays on the necessity for purity in the
priestly ranks, for their role is to mediate to those lower down. But it
is an emphasis that is equally appropriate to all rational beings. If
this is right, then the Mystical Theology is not to be restricted to
bishops, or even to bishops and monks: it deeply concerns them, but
it concerns all who want to be faithful to the divine vision.
To say this, however, is not to say that the Mystical Theology is
after all a kind of erratic block in the Dionysian Corpus, in that it is
not concerned with liturgical theology. Rather the point is that it
concerns the heart of the liturgy, the inner 'mystic' meaning, the
manifestation of God's love in divine acts that culminate in the
incarnation. It is not concerned with thinking about God's love, or
explaining it, but simply with experiencing it, 'suffering' it. The litur-
gical action is an invitation to open oneself to the divine love: to
respond to that invitation is to allow the whole of one's life to be
transformed, to be deified, to become a vehicle for God's love in the
world. The liturgical invitation is addressed to human beings of body
and soul: it is expressed in symbols and concepts, in liturgical actions
and gestures, and hymns and prayers. To understand and respond is
to enter into the meaning of these ceremonies, which is God'sphilan-
108
thropia, his love for all humanity. And that response is required of
all who take part in the liturgy. As he explains each sacred rite, Denys
passes from the 'mystery' to 'contemplation' (theoria): and all the
baptized are expected to contemplate, to watch, to take part, to be
involved in the movement of God's love. It is the rank of the holy
people whom Denys calls the 'contemplative order'.
Notes
1 E.g., Gregory of Nyssa expounds Moses' vision by reference to Paul's
in the Life of Moses II.173ff. ; and for Augustine on the visions of
Moses and Paul, see C. Butler, Western Mysticism (2nd ed., London,
1926), pp. 78-88.
2 Alphabetical Collection, Olympics, 1 (PG 65: 313C-D), trans, (with
modifications) by Benedicta Ward SLG, The Sayings of the Desert
Fathers (London, 1975), p. 135.
3 Macarius, Homily X.4 (trans. A. J. Mason, London, 1921; p. 78).
4 See Vladimir Lossky, The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church
(Eng. trans., Cambridge, 1957), pp. 217-35.
5 SeeEthical Treatise V. 11.404-54, and Darrouzes' remarks in his intro-
duction: Sources Chretiennes 122 (Paris, 1966), pp. 33-5.
6 See H.-C. Puech's article, 'LaTenebre mystique chez le Pseudo-Denys
I'Areopagite'.repr. inEnquetedelagnose(Paiis, 1978), pp. 119-41;
esp. pp. 131f.
7 Notably by Paul Rorem in a paper (as yet unpublished) given at the
Ninth International Patristic Conference in 1983, and in his notes to the
translation of MT in Works.
8 EH Ill.ii: 425C-D; cf. EH HI.iii.10.
9 EH H.ii.8: 397A; cf. EH III.iii.3: 429B.
10 The translation in the Classics of Western Spirituality gives the impres-
sion of a vision of the Mother of God shared by the apostles, Hiero-
theus and Denys himself. The point is, surely, that they were there and
saw the body of Mary.
11 SeeDNVII.l.
12 See, especially, CH XIII.4: 304C; the account of the seraphim in EH
IV.hi.5-10 has, however, very few echoes of MT.
13 Ennead I.6.9.9ff.
14 DNXIII.3:981B.
15 See Roques, Structures, pp. 143-5.
109
16 The Platonic phrase (from Theaetetus 176B) and the idea of analogy
mutually echo each other in CH III.2: 165A-C.
17 See V. Lossky, 'La notion des "analogies" chez Denys le Pseudo-
Areopagite', Archives d'histoire doctrinale et litteraire du moyen-age 5
(1931), pp. 279-309; O. Semmelroth, 'Die Lehre des Ps-Dionysius
Areopagita vom Aufstieg der Kreatur zum gottlichen Licht', Scho-
lastik 29 (1954), pp. 24-52.
18 An etymology that goes back to Plato: Cratylus 416C.
110
7
Afterlife
The writings ascribed to Denys the Areopagite were destined to have

a long and fruitful influence. This influence was obviously enhanced
by their claim to have been written by St Paul's convert and disciple,
but it cannot be reduced to that: those who succumbed to their
influence were not 'duped', but responded to the power of the vision
they express. In this chapter we can do no more than indicate the
general lines of his influence, such were its many and complex
ramifications.1 The story of his influence is, in fact, several stories:
there is the story of his influence throughout the Byzantine centuries
in Greek Christianity, an influence that eventually reached the Slav
countries; there is the story of his influence in the Latin West, first by
distant echoes in those still open to influence from the Greeks and
then through the study of the various translations of the Dionysian
Corpus that were made in the Middle Ages, first into Latin, and later
into the various modern vernaculars. But the earliest story is the
story of the influence of the Dionysian writings in that milieu that
was so close to their begetting: the milieu of Syrian Christianity.
THE SYRIAN STORY

We have noticed, throughout this book, various striking parallels
between Denys and Syrian Christianity: parallels that support the
supposition that Denys's geographical milieu was Syria. It is not sur-
prising then that the very first translation of the Areopagitical
Corpus was into Syriac, a dialect of Aramaic that came to serve as the
111
literary language of the majority of Christians living in Eastern pro-

vinces of the Roman Empire and, over the frontier, in the Persian
Empire. This was made very early indeed, by Sergius of Reshaina
who died in 536: it almost certainly antedates the first occasion when
the writings of Denys are known to have been cited, at the Council at
Constantinople in 532. This translation was revised by Phocas of
Edessa in the late seventh century. Its influence (as with the Greek
tradition, see below) can be traced in two ways: through commen-
taries and scholia (brief explanatory comments), and the use of
Dionysian ideas in writers who had read him. But the Dionysian
tradition in Syrian Christianity is only one of several traditions, and
amongst those traditions the Dionysian influence is usually sub-
ordinate: there do not seem to have been any Dionysian disciples.
Apart from the native traditions of Syriac-speaking Christianity,
which has left its own mark on Denys, much monastic literature was
translated into Syriac and found a ready audience. The sayings of the
Fathers of the Desert, Palladium'sLausiac History and the History of
the Monks in Egypt were all available in Syriac probably even before
Denys wrote his own works (in the seventh century this material was
all put together to form The Paradise of the Fathers2). Various of the
Macarian Homilies were also translated into Syriac, and several
writings of Evagrius of Pontus, the great theorist of the monastic life
who died in 399 (notably his Kephalaia Gnostica—'Gnostic
Chapters'—which have not survived in Greek, but survive in two
Syriac translations, both probably earlier than Sergius of Reshaina's
translation of Denys3). So a wealth of material on the monastic life,
and the two great traditions of interpretation of that life—the
experiential Macarian tradition, and the more intellectualist, Orige-
nist tradition of Evagrius—were available in the Syriac-speaking
world into which Denys was introduced by the Syriac translations. In
that context Denys could only be another voice, speaking of angels,
the liturgy and introducing a new kind of language for speaking
about the nearest approach to God, the language of darkness. This is
just what we find, for example, in Simeon 'the Graceful'
(d-Taybutheh), who lived in what is now northern Iraq in the seventh
century.4 He acknowledges his debt to Denys the Areopagite, and
speaks of the three orders of reality—God the Trinity, the realm of
the angels, and the realm of men and women—and he has a strong
sense of divine providence 'which holds all, deifies all, perfects all,
illuminates all, and which by its perfect goodness penetrates all,
sustains all, and infuses all with the desire of uniting with the highest
Divinity', 5 and regards the highest knowledge of God as 'no-
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AFTERLIFE
knowledge, or rather a knowledge that is higher than all knowledge,

as it has reached the divine knowledge of the hidden God, which is
higher than all understanding':6 all of which is very reminiscent of
Denys. But it is all in the context of teaching which is much more
markedly Evagrian: prayer is, for example, 'an emptiness of the
mind and a peaceful and rational intelligence . . . a complete
destruction of thoughts and a complete rejection of all cares';7 there
is emphasis on apatheia and a very Evagrian understanding of the
soul's ascent to God. Dionysian themes are interwoven into a funda-
mentally Evagrian fabric. When we find in the Syrian tradition the
only real attempt to continue the enterprise of Dionysian pseudony-
mity, it is in the service of an advanced Evagrianism which would
otherwise have been short-lived. For the 'Book of Hierotheus',
purporting to come from Denys's revered teacher, was written by
Stephen bar Sudhaili not long after the composition of the Areopagi-
tical Corpus itself, and though it contains many Dionysian traits,
these are only to give 'authenticity' to a work that is deeply and
uncompromisingly Evagrian.8
THE GREEK STORY

The story of Dionysian influence in the Byzantine East is not funda-
mentally different from the Syrian story. By the time Denys wrote,
the main sources of the Byzantine tradition were already in place:
the theology of the Cappadocians, and of Cyril of Alexandria, the
preaching of St John Chrysostom, the monastic literature—the
accounts of the Desert Fathers, both the collections of sayings, and
the lives and histories—and the two strands of interpretation of the
monastic life, the Macarian and the Evagrian, as well as the earliest
attempts to draw these traditions into a synthesis, notably the
attempt of Diadochus of Photike. The Dionysian literature intro-
duces another voice, a voice that speaks in a strange accent, at once
too Syrian and too Greek: too close to the monks who mistrusted
Chalcedon, and too close to the 'Hellenes', the representatives of the
pagan Greek philosophical tradition. The earliest evidence of Diony-
sian influence is found in scholia on his writings. These were long
ascribed to Maximus the Confessor, who did indeed write some of
them, and they are printed as his in the columns of Migne's Patrolo-
gia Graeca (vol. 4). But the earliest scholia, the basic collection to
which others were added, were written by John of Scythopolis.9 This
John was a man of astonishing erudition: indeed his erudition may
113
have included knowledge of the real author of the Areopagitical

writings. Certainly he was very close to their inspiration, and his
scholia shed light on the philosophical filiation of the Dionysian
ideas.10 Much of his effort in the scholia was to save Denys for the
adherents of Chalcedon: Denys's ambiguities were read in a way
contrary to that of the Monophysites who cited him in 532, by which
time John's scholia were already written. So though Denys remained
popular amongst those who opposed Chalcedon, he was still able to
find favour amongst those who supported Chalcedon. Leontius of
Jerusalem (sixth century) cites him, as does the author of De Sectis
(once ascribed to the other sixth-century Leontius, of Byzantium).
But the most important person to be influenced by Denys, and the
one who decisively secured his acceptance by the Orthodox, was St
Maximus the Confessor (580-662). Maximus was involved in the
last stages of the Christological controversy, the beginnings of which
we have already traced. Now the controversy was over the human
will of Christ. There were those who denied that Christ had a human
will and believed that he had only a single (divine) will: their oppo-
nents called them Monotheletes (from the Greek for a 'single will').
Their position seemed a good compromise which might serve to
secure the reconciliation of the Monophysites, and enable Byzantine
Christianity to present a united front against the new threat of Islam.
In the space of three years (638-641), Arab troops had overrun the
whole area from the Arabian Desert to the Sahara, and within only a
few years more Syria was to become the hub of a Muslim empire
greater than that of Rome at its height. The pressure to conform to
the Monothelete position was enormous and Maximus's continued
opposition to the heresy led to his condemnation in 662. After being
flogged and mutilated, he died in August of that year, an exile in the
Caucasus. Maximus was soon vindicated—at the Sixth Ecumenical
Council held in 680-681 in Constantinople—and held in veneration
as 'the Confessor'. His theological achievement is a work of syn-
thesis drawing together Cappadocian and Cyrilline theology,
Macarian experiential spirituality, the psychological and philo-
sophical insights of Evagrius . . . and the vision, both theological
and philosophical, of Denys the Areopagite. He also, as we have
seen, wrote scholia on the Dionysian writings, but his real impor-
tance lies in the way he found a place for Dionysian ideas and Diony-
sian language in a synthesis drawing on all the resources of Byzantine
theology and spirituality. The basis of the synthesis is not Denys: on
the theological side his main authority is Cyrilline Christology and
the ideas of the Cappadocians, on the side of spirituality a synthesis
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AFTERLIFE
of Macarius and Evagrius. The impact of Denys is mainly felt in

deepening the apophatic stress of Cappadocian theology—Denys's
language of transcendent attributes of God (prefaced by hyper-) is
welcomed, as is also his language of 'apophatic' and 'cataphatic'
theology—an endorsement of his understanding of the ranks of
heavenly beings (though not the subordination of the historical
incarnate Jesus to them), and, in the realm of spirituality, the graf-
ting on to the Macarian-Evagrian synthesis of the triad,
purification-illumination-perfection (which is also applied to the
apostolic ministry in a Dionysian way), and the idea that in the final
stages of its ascent to God, the soul advances into a realm of
unknowing and knows God in an ecstasy of love. In two other ways
the influence of Denys is perhaps more profound. What attracted
Denys to Neoplatonism, we have surmised, was the subtle under-
standing of reality he found there. To a certain extent, the same is
true of Denys's attraction for Maximus: the analysis of reality that
we find in Denys (of largely Neoplatonic inspiration) impressed
Maximus in turn. For though Maximus rarely uses Denys's Neopla-
tonic language of procession and return, speaking instead of God's
movement towards us in incarnation and self-emptying and our
movement of return and response as deification and renunciation,
and understanding God's relation to creation as fundamentally and
explicitly one of creation out of nothing, Maximus makes much
use of the fundamental triads of being-power-activity,
being-life-intelligence, and (perhaps most fundamentally)
being-well being-eternal being, all of which can be traced back to
the Neoplatonic analysis of reality we find in Denys.
The other way in which Denys's influence is deeply felt is in his
Mystagogia, his introduction to the liturgy of the Church. This is
often misunderstood (as is Denys's Ecclesiastical Hierarchy) as fore-
shadowing the elaborately allegorical interpretations of the cere-
monies of the liturgy found in the Western Middle Ages.11 But
Maximus (and Denys) is far from the arbitrary individualism of such
interpretation. He sees the Eucharist as the action of the whole
Church, and has a sense of the dramatic structure of the rite as a
unity: all of which he derives from Denys. He goes beyond Denys in
making more of the spatial aspect of the liturgy, and in his grasp of
its eschatological significance. The first part of the Mystagogia
concerns the symbolism of the Church building, which in its unity in
diversity is an image of God, and, in the division of the Church
building into the sanctuary (hierateiori) and the nave (naos), reflects
similar divisions in the cosmos (between the invisible and the visible
115
orders), the physical world (heaven and earth), man (body and soul),
soul (contemplative intellect and practical reason), Scripture
(mystical and literal meaning). The movement of the liturgy between
sanctuary and nave can therefore be seen to echo at all levels from
the cosmic to the individual.
Maximus was deeply influential on the tradition of Byzantine
theology: a measure of his importance for the later monastic tradi-
tion in the East can be seen in the fact that he is assigned more space
than anyone else in the Philokalia of St Nicodemus of the Holy
Mountain and St Macarius of Corinth (163 pages out of 1,206 in the
editio princeps of 1782; most of the second volume of the English
translation). The influence of Denys on St Maximus was therefore
widely felt throughout the Byzantine East. Nevertheless there are
still Byzantine writers totally unaffected by Denys: notably St John
Climacus, a close contemporary of Maximus, whose Ladder of
Divine Ascent is perhaps as important in Eastern Orthodox mona-
sticism as the Rule of St Benedict in the West. But from the time of
Maximus onwards, Dionysian themes become more and more
commonly accepted. In the century after Maximus, the influence of
Denys can be traced along lines by now familiar in the works of St
John Damascene (c. 650-c. 750). John follows Denys for his angelo-
logy, and takes over his language of apophatic and cataphatic
theology, and other aspects of Denys's doctrine of the divine names
(for example, in relation to the doctrines of the Trinity and the incar-
nation), but this is all part of a much wider synthesis that owes most
to others—others with whom we are already familiar.
If John Damascene represents Dionysian influence in the wake of
Maximus on the theological side, then Germanus of Constantinople
(who died in 733 and was the Damascene's contemporary and with
him one of the principal opponents of iconoclasm) can be taken as
representing that influence on the liturgical side. His 'Ecclesiastical
History and Mystical Contemplation' (to translate it literally: a more
idiomatic translation would be, 'What takes place in Church and its
hidden meaning') gives an account of the Eucharistic liturgy and its
significance that leans heavily on Denys's Ecclesiastical Hierarchy,
as well as incorporating the typological understanding of the liturgy
characteristic of Theodore of Mopsuestia's Homilies, and notable
by its absence from Denys. The very first chapter epitomizes this
double filiation: 'The Church is an earthly heaven in which God,
who is beyond the heavens, dwells, and which represents the cruci-
fixion, burial and resurrection of Christ'. 12 Germanus's inter-
pretation of the liturgy remained dominant in Constantinople for
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AFTERLIFE
the rest of the Byzantine period: it was unchallenged until Nicolas

Cabasilas's commentary on the Divine Liturgy in the fourteenth
century.13 Through it the influence of Denys remained powerfully
felt.
In the eleventh century there is a curious example of Dionysian
influence in the disciple and biographer of St Symeon the New
Theologian, Nicetas Stethatos (c. 1005-c. 1080). In Symeon himself
Dionysian echoes are rare: he occasionally refers to the Divine Dark-
ness,14 but for the most part he breathes quite a different atmos-
phere, that of the Macarian Homilies and the felt vision of divine
light. But the third section of Nicetas's trilogy, entitled 'On the
Hierarchies' (the other two parts being 'On the Soul' and 'On Para-
dise'),15 is both indebted to Denys and attempts to take his ideas on
the hierarchies further. The concern of this treatise is to relate the
two hierarchies, the celestial arid the ecclesiastical. He does this by
seeing the celestial hierarchy as the destiny of the ecclesiastical
hierarchy: after death the faithful members of the ecclesiastical
hierarchy find their allotted place amongst the ranks of the celestial
hierarchy. We noticed Denys's unusual agnosticism about the after-
life (its details, that is, not the hope of the resurrection itself);
Nicetas Stethatos clearly felt there was a gap here to be filled.
This theme is introduced in three successive chapters. We are told
that the rank of the thrones, cherubim and seraphim (in apparently
descending order: Nicetas reverses the Dionysian order) is the place
of rest for apostles and prophets, and 'the holy God-bearing Fathers
and universal teachers': those, that is, who have ascended 'from
natural contemplation to mystical theology', and have 'brought
forth fruit a hundred-fold', offering to the Church the 'grape
of the word of wisdom in theology' (17). Nicetas characterizes
the qualifications for this, the loftiest place of reponse, in three
ways. First, he thinks of the most venerable members of the
Church: apostles, prophets, fathers and teachers (there is still an
echo here of St Paul's 'apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and
teachers' of Eph 4:11). Secondly, they have reached the highest
level in their ascent to God, which Nicetas calls by the Dionysian
term 'mystical theology': here the Dionysian term simply expands
the Evagrian theologia, for it is the Evagrian triad, praktike
-physike (i.e., natural contemplation)-?/zeo/og/a, that he has
in mind, as the sequel makes clear. (Elsewhere, Nicetas modifies
the Dionysian triad, purification-illumination-perfection, into
purificatory-illuminative-mystical.16) Thirdly, Nicetas is apply-
ing to all this the threefold fruitfulness of the seeds that fell on
117
good ground in the parable of the Sower (Mk 4:3 -20 and parallels):
these bear the heaviest fruit, a hundred-fold. The rank of the domi-
nions, powers and authorities is the place of rest for the martyrs and
confessors and the holy ascetics who work miracles: these have
ascended from practical philosophy to the heights of contemplation,
they bear fruit a moderate sixty-fold, and offer to the Church the
seed of the word of knowledge (18). The rank of the principalities,
archangels and angels is the place of rest for leaders and holy abbots
and lay people of holy life: these have fulfilled the commandments
and have shown themselves accomplished in practical philosophy,
they bear fruit thirty-fold and offer within the Church protection
and relief for the needy (19).
That is Nicetas's first attempt at relating the two hierarchies: in the
succeeding chapters he offers a more detailed account, which
attempts a more precise correlation of the several ranks. To do this
he produces three ranks of three in the ecclesiastical hierarchy to
match more exactly the celestial hierarchy. Denys, we recall, had
only two ranks of members of the Church: the clerical and the lay. In
comparison, Nicetas's ecclesiastical hierarchy is thoroughly clerical.
His highest rank consists of patriarchs, metropolitans and arch-
bishops; his middle rank is Denys's clerical hierarchy (called by their
usual names: bishops, priests—as in Denys, but now the usual
ecclesiastical term—and deacons); and his lowest rank consists of
sub-deacons, lectors and monks (some manuscripts bracket the
lectors and monks together, thus making room for the laity as the
lowest rank: but this seems to be a later modification). There is a
direct correspondence between the two hierarchies: thrones corres-
pond to patriarchs, cherubim to metropolitans, seraphim to arch-
bishops, and so on. Each triadic rank is said to have its own chant or
hymn of praise. Nicetas works out appropriate chants with some
ingenuity. The thrones, etc. sing 'Blessed be the glory of the Lord in
his place' (Ezek 3:12); the patriarchs, etc. sing 'Blessed be the
kingdom of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, now and for
ever, and to the ages of ages' (the introductory chant of the Eucha-
ristic liturgy, sung by the celebrant). The dominions, etc. sing the
sanctus in the version as it appears in Isaiah, 'Holy, holy, holy is the
Lord of Sabaoth: the whole earth is full of his glory' (Isa 6:3—oddly
enough, said in Isaiah to be the song of the seraphim); the bishops,
etc. sing the sanctus in its liturgical form, 'Holy, holy, holy, Lord of
Sabaoth: heaven and earth are full of thy glory; hosanna in the
highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in
the highest.' The lowest rank, both in heaven and on earth, sing
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AFTERLIFE
simply, 'Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!' After death, the members of

the earthly hierarchy pass to their corresponding place in the celestial
hierarchy and join the heavenly members of that hierarchy in singing
their songs, thus 'forming a choir together with them and making
festival with them in joy and delight' (56). In this parallelism,
Nicetas displays his deep sense of the earthly liturgy as an
anticipation of the heavenly liturgy. One recalls the impression made
on the envoys of Vladimir, Prince of Kiev, by the liturgy in the
Church of the Holy Wisdom at Constantinople, only a few decades
before Nicetas wrote, according to the account in the Russian
Primary Chronicle: 'We knew not whether we were in heaven or on
earth, for surely there is no such splendour or beauty anywhere on
earth'. Nicetas then continues by going through each rank, both of
angels and men, pointing out the appropriateness of the place of
each in its hierarchy.
He breaks off this exercise, however, with the consideration: what
if 'the radiant wisdom of God the Word and the heavenly know-
ledge' is seen 'as light' by priests, inferior ministers and monks, but
to a lesser degree, or even not at all, by bishops? (32) This doubt is an
echo of the famously controversial opinion of his master, St Symeon
the New Theologian, that only those who are granted the vision of
divine light can really exercise the priesthood: a point we have
already noticed, as it seems to be the position of the Areopagite too.
Nicetas's answer is uncompromisingly on the side of Symeon (and
Denys): only ordination by the Spirit counts, human ordination is no
more than recognition of spiritual attainment (36: though Nicetas
supports his opinion with texts that seem hardly appropriate—1 Tim
4:14 and Acts 19:6).
As Nicetas works his way through the ranks of the angelic and
human beings, much of what he says is drawn from Denys. A few
points are worth noticing. It seems that he reverses the order of the
highest rank of angelic beings in order to place the thrones in
immediate proximity to God, because they are 'receptive of the the-
archic manifestation and god-bearing' (25: as Denys says, cf. CH
VII. 1:205D). He parallels lectors and archangels, because they both
have the role of interpreting (5 If.), and monks and angels, not only
because it had been customary for centuries to refer to the monastic
state as the 'angelic life', but because the monks 'lead those of pagan
origin to the knowledge of God', a reference presumably to the idea
expounded in Denys that the angels have care of the nations, and
also perhaps to the part played by the monks in the Christianization
of the Slav nations, which was contemporary with Nicetas.17
119
Nicetas's development of Dionysian ideas is unusually detailed

and not altogether attractive: his clericalism exceeds even that of
Denys. But it gives a glimpse of continued interest in Dionysian ideas
in the eleventh century. The language and ideas of the Areopagite
continued to be important in Byzantine Christianity. The contro-
versy between St Gregory Palamas and Barlaam the Calabrian is
now seen by some scholars as less a conflict between Western
influences (represented by Barlaam) and authentic Orthodox
spirituality, as a conflict within Greek Christianity about the true
meaning of Dionysian language about the knowledge of God:
Barlaam interpreting his apophatic theology as intellectual dialectic,
and Gregory seeing it as concerned with ineffable experience of
God.18 If Gregory represents the continued influence of Denys in his
understanding of a loving encounter with God in the divine dark-
ness, then his contemporary and supporter, Nicolas Cabasilas,
represents the continued influence of Denys's liturgical theology. In
his Commentary on the Divine Liturgy19 and his Life in Christ,20
there are marked Dionysian traces: notably, in the latter, in the way
he classifies the Christian sacraments as a triad of baptism, the
Eucharist, and the sacrament of chrism.
The Dionysian influence in Byzantine theology has been much
deplored by modern Orthodox, and also minimized.21 What this
survey brings out is that the Dionysian strand is but one strand in the
rich fabric of Byzantine theology and spirituality, and that it is the
whole of the Dionysian tradition—its understanding of apophatic
and cataphatic theology, its angelology and sense of the structure
and nature of the Church, in fact its character as a liturgical
theology—that has continued to inform Byzantine and Orthodox
theology. The picture in the West, as we shall see, has been some-
what different.
THE LATIN STORY22

The first notice of Denys the Areopagite in the West comes from
Pope Gregory the Great, who probably brought a codex of the
Areopagitical Corpus back with him on his return from his mission
as papal legate to the Emperor in Constantinople (c. 585). Gregory's
knowledge of Greek is a subject over which there is scholarly
dispute, but it was hardly likely to have been adequate for him to
cope with the rather difficult Greek of the Areopagite. Nonetheless
he does refer to Denys and had gained some idea of what he wrote.
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AFTERLIFE
But probably not very much. In Homily 34 on the Gospels, he

mentions Denys's opinion that amongst the angels some are devoted
to the worship of God and others minister to human needs. He
rejects it on the grounds that it was one of the seraphim, the most
exalted of the angelic beings, who had ministered to the prophet
Isaiah. But he does not show any awareness of Denys's lengthy dis-
cussion of this very point (in CH XIII) which suggests he did not
know of it. Nor is there any reason to read much significance into the
fact that in that same homily he records his own view that there are
nine ranks of heavenly beings. His account of the angelic ranks is not
that of Denys. His order is different—seraphim, cherubim, thrones,
dominions, principalities, authorities, powers, archangels, angels:
this order was to remain canonical in the West until the twelfth
century, when it was supplanted by the Dionysian order. Nor does he
seem to think—and this is the distinctive point about the Dionysian
ordering—that they are arranged in three ranks of three. As we have
seen, nine ranks of angels with the names Denys gives them is an easy
deduction from the biblical evidence, and can be found in the
Christian tradition independently of Denys, and indeed earlier than
him. As Gregory seems unaware of the distinctively Dionysian point
of the three triads, there seems little reason to suppose that he knew
anything much about Dionysian angelology at all, still less that he
was influenced by it (he rejects the only opinion of Denys's that he
mentions).
After Gregory the Great there are a few references to Denys in
seventh-century documents, but the real beginning of his influence
in the West came with the gift of a codex of the Dionysian writings
sent by the Byzantine Emperor Michael the Stammerer to Louis the
Pious in 827. This Louis gave to the monastery of Saint-Denis, north
of Paris, and there the abbot, Hilduin, made a translation so bad as
to be unintelligible. It was probably Hilduin who added the final
embellishment to the Dionysian legend by identifying the Areopa-
gite, the author of the Dionysian writings, with the martyr-bishop of
Paris. Very soon, however, Charles the Bald commissioned another
translation of Denys's works from the Irish monk, John the Scot
(that is, the Irishman), or Eriugena, as he called himself. (The name
Ehugena means native of Erin, i.e. Ireland, probably coined after
the analogy of the Vergilian Graiugena.)
Eriugena's translation of Denys was part of a considerable work
of translation which made available in the West some of the most
important works of Greek theology. Apart from translating the
Corpus Areopagiticum, he translated Gregory of Nyssa's On the
121
Creation of Man (which he called De Imagine) and Maximus the

Confessor'sAmbigua and Questions to Thalassius (these are all that
has survived: it is likely that he translated other Greek works, inclu-
ding some by Basil and Epiphanius). These were translated (and his
translation of the Dionysian writings also revised) during the 860s.
At the same time he was engaged on his own workPeriphyseon ('On
nature'), in which the influence of Dionysian Neoplatonism is mani-
fest, and his commentary on Denys's CelestialHierarchy. In the 870s
he began a commentary on the Fourth Gospel, of which some
portions survive, and wrote a long homily on the Johannine pro-
logue: these works bear the mark of his learning in Greek theology,
and are full of Dionysian themes. Eriugena's work created a rare
window through which the Latin West could look and see something
of the genius of Greek theology, and at the centre of that picture was
the figure of Denys the Areopagite. His own work developed Diony-
sian themes and gave them some currency in the West. Particularly
central to Eriugena's own vision was the Dionysian idea of the world
as a theophany, as a manifestation of the splendour of the divine
glory, and the idea that this theophany—in the ordered cosmos, and
in the incarnation—calls on man to share God's nature, to be
deified.
But the work of Eriugena did not immediately awaken an echo in
the West: it seems to have been neglected for two centuries. Neither
Lanfranc(c. 1010-89) nor Anselm(c. 1033-1109) seems to know of
it, though Suger, abbot of Saint-Denis from 1122 to 1151, drew on
Dionysian themes to explain how the architecture of his new
'Gothic' abbey church helped raise the soul to God.23 The influence
of Eriugena—his works and his translations—seems first to have
been felt in the Cathedral schools of the eleventh century, especially
at Laon. Anselm of Laon (d. 1117) promoted Eriugena's reputation
and in the Glossa Ordinaria, a vast collection of comments on Scrip-
ture, in the making of which he played a great part, he drew heavily
on Eriugena's writings and his translations of the Areopagite. It was
through the Glossa Ordinaria that Denys first began to exercise any
influence in the West. Another translation of Denys was made, by
John Saracen, a friend of John of Salisbury and at his suggestion:
this and Eriugena's translation, his commentary on the Celestial
Hierarchy and his own Periphyseon formed the basis for the study of
philosophy in the university of Paris in the thirteenth century.24
Another translation of part of the Dionysian corpus (DN and MT)
was made by Robert Grosseteste in the thirteenth century.
122
AFTERLIFE
It seems that Denys made his influence felt through the Schools:
he was not very influential in the revival of monasticism in the
twelfth century. Isaac of Stella (mid-twelfth century) seems to have
known him well, but the great Cistercian reformer, St Bernard of
Clairvaux, seems to have been little influenced by him.25 The
eventual influence of Denys in the West cannot, however, be under-
stood without a grasp of Bernard's impact on Western spirituality.
In Bernard we begin to see a disjunction between knowledge and
love, thinking and feeling, that was destined to have a profound
influence in the West.26 In earlier thinkers (Augustine, for instance)
feeling and thinking are held together, so that in love, the intellect
realizes a deeper dimension of its own nature: in love, the intellect
passes beyond a dispassionate discursive kind of thought, and comes
to know the beloved in an intuitive way, through some kind of
communion. In Bernard, however, love is opposed to knowledge, it
is a matter of feeling. Knowledge is regarded as superficial—it is only
thinking about things; feeling engages the depths of the human
person—it is in love that a man discovers himself.
It is this tendency to separate love and knowledge that prepares the
way for the peculiar form of Dionysian influence in the West. But
this separation of love and knowledge can be seen as part of a much
wider phenomenon—what has been called the 'discovery of the
individual'27—and that, too, prepared the ground for the reception
of Denys.
Denys's notion of hierarchy seems to have been taken up as a
major interpretative concept in the high Middle Ages. St Bona-
venture, for instance, develops Denys's idea in an original way by
extending the notion of hierarchy up into the divine nature itself, and
down into the human soul.28 Everything is seen as hierarchical: the
notion of hierarchy is used to hold together the idea of different
levels in a single whole. The several hierarchies—the divine, the
heavenly, the ecclesiastical, and the psychological—all mutually
illuminate one another: in particular, the heavenly hierarchy, which
stretches from human contact to the presence of God himself, illumi-
nates the psychological hierarchy which itself stretches from human
concerns and efforts to surrender to God in contemplation. The
soul's ascent to God is an ascent through the hierarchy of the soul: it
can be compared to ascent through the ranks of the celestial hier-
archy. We noticed earlier that Denys himself does not regard the
hierarchies as ladders for us to ascend: but it is just such an under-
standing of hierarchy we find emerging here. Probably the earliest
123
example of such an understanding of hierarchy is to be found in

Thomas Gallus (d. 1246), one of the canons of Saint-Victor who
later became abbot of St Andrew's at Vercelli. He was devoted to the
Areopagite and his commentary on Saracen's translation of the
Mystical Theology was destined to be very influential. Thomas inter-
prets Denys's celestial hierarchy as being a kind of allegory of the
stages of the soul's ascent to God.29 The lowest hierarchy is the level
of man's natural effort, passing from simple apprehension of good
and evil (the level of the angels) to the first awakening of the intellect
and the affections (archangels) to the supreme truth and goodness as
such (principalities); the intermediate hierarchy is the level at which
man's freewill co-operates with God's grace and man is raised from a
deliberate choice of what is good and true in creatures (the level of
the authorities) to the perfect activity of the will aided by ordinary
grace (dominions); the highest hierarchy is the level where grace
alone operates and the soul moves from reception of infused grace
(the level of thrones), through the perfection of knowledge by
infused illumination (cherubim), to the perfection of union in the
apex affectus, the pinnacle of the soul's feeling (the level of the sera-
phim). In this way, Thomas Gallus explores the hierarchical struc-
ture of the soul, seeing in it a reflection of the celestial hierarchy. We
have thus an interiorization of the celestial hierarchy: the notion of
hierarchy is being used to explore the inner depths of the individual.
In this way we can see how Dionysian notions (in a very un-
Dionysian context) contributed to the 'discovery of the individual'.
Very much the same picture is found in Bonaventure's popular
Journey of the Soul into God (and it is most likely that Bonaventure
was influenced by Thomas Gallus):
These things attained, our spirit, inasmuch as it is in confor-

mity with the heavenly Jerusalem, is made hierarchic in order
to mount upwards . . . Thus our spirit is sealed with the nine
degrees of orders, when in its inner depths the following are
arranged in due order: announcing, dictating, guiding,
ordering, strengthening, commanding, receiving, revealing,
and anointing, and these correspond, step by step, to the nine
orders of angels. In the human mind the first three degrees of
the aforementioned orders concern nature; the following
three, activity; and the last three, grace. Having obtained
these, the soul, entering into itself, enters into the celestial
Jerusalem, where, considering the order of the angels, it sees in
them God, who dwells in them and performs all their works.30
124
AFTERLIFE
In this interiorization of the notion of hierarchy, Dionysian themes

are being used to explore human inwardness, the inwardness of one
made in the image and likeness of God.
The other dramatic reinterpretation of a Dionysian theme can
likewise be traced back to Thomas Gallus. In this the Dionysian
theme of the divine darkness is used to suggest that the soul's way to
God is not a way for the mind or intellect at all, but a matter of the
soul's loving affection. The most famous representative of this inter-
pretation of Dionysian darkness is the Middle English anonymous
treatise of the fourteenth century, The Cloud of Unknowing. There
Bernard's opposition of knowing and feeling is crossed with the
Dionysian imagery of darkness to produce the doctrine that to draw
near to God we need to renounce the intellect and reach out into the
darkness of ignorance, the 'cloud of unknowing', with a' sharp dart
of longing love'. For Denys the divine darkness lies beyond the
farthest effort of the mind, and it is the mind (the nous) that enters it:
for the author of the Cloud, we enter the cloud of unknowing when
we renounce the activity of the mind and rely solely on the 'loving
power' of the soul. That the author of the Cloud has derived this
interpretation of Denys from Thomas Gallus is clear from the pro-
logue to his translation of Denys's Mystical Theology (or Hid
Divinity, as he—correctly—translates it), where he acknowledges his
debt to the 'Abbot of St Victor' as he mistakenly describes him, and
indeed from the translation itself, where the introduction of the
phrase 'with affection above mind' into the Mystical Theology from
Thomas Gallus's commentary transforms Denys's teaching and
makes the work of contemplation a matter for the 'loving power' of
the soul and not its 'knowing power'.31
These two examples suggest that the influence of Denys in the
West was very different from his influence in the East. Denys himself
represents a kind of synthesis of the theological and philosophical
traditions that continued to be influential in Byzantine theology. His
influence was easily absorbed and was most deeply felt where he
underlined themes already dear to the East: for example, with his
lapidary statement of the conviction of God's utter ineffability (the
notion of apophatic theology was gratefully taken up in the Byzan-
tine tradition), or in his appreciation of the liturgical worship of the
Byzantine Church, sensitive to its dramatic movement and rich
symbolism. That the heart of Denys's theology was the praise of God
continued to be understood in the East. In the West, the influence of
Denys was different mainly because by the time his influence was at
all deeply felt—in the twelfth century—Western theology had begun
125
to develop its own characteristic emphases (though many of them

can be traced back to St Augustine: the appreciation of inwardness,
for example) and the Dionysian corpus is pillaged for themes and
imagery which are then used in an entirely different context, and
often with a meaning quite foreign to anything Denys might have
intended. The influence of Denys in the West is thus much more
complex, as Denys is being read in the light of presuppositions that
are increasingly remote from him: very much more complex than we
have been able to indicate in such a brief sketch. St Thomas Aquinas
read Denys with great care and attention: and whole areas of his
theology—the doctrine of the divine attributes, angelology, to name
but two—are deeply in debt to him. Eckhart, too, read Denys and
often quotes him in his sermons: some of his most characteristic
themes—for example, his notion of imageless unknowing by which
we come close to God—are transpositions of Dionysian themes. In
some way, too, Denys influenced the concept of the Dark Night of
the Soul, central to the spirituality of St John of the Cross.
One in the West who did respond to the heart of Denys's vision,
his understanding of the whole hierarchically ordered cosmos as a
hymn in praise of the creator, was Dante, in his great poem, the
Divine Comedy. Denys is introduced as the one who understood
the nature of the angelic hierarchies and Dante represents Gregory
the Great, whose influential ordering of the angelic ranks differed
(as we have seen) from that of Denys, as opening his eyes in heaven to
realize his mistake:
And Dionysius set himself with such zeal
to contemplate these orders
that he named and distributed them as I do;
but later Gregory differed from him,
so that as soon as he opened his eyes in this heaven
he smiled at himself.32
But the influence of Denys on Dante goes much further than the
matter of the correct order of the angelic ranks: the whole notion of
the heaven as light irradiating in splendid multiformity, expressing
the outward flow of God's love and the loving response of the
cosmos—all this is close to the Dionysian vision, even though other
traditions of thought flow into it too.
The primal light that irradiates them all
is received by them in as many ways
as are the splendours with which it is joined,
126
AFTERLIFE
and therefore, since the affections follow the act of conceiving,

love's sweetness glows variously
in them, more and less.
See now the height and breadth
of the Eternal Goodness, since it has made for itself
so many mirrors in which it is broken,
remaining in itself one as before.33
Notes
1 For the influence of Denys on later Christian thought see the series of
articles in Dictionnaire de Spiritualite HI (Paris, 1957), cols 286-429
(some of which have, however, been superseded by more recent
research).
2 The Paradise or Garden of the Holy Fathers, trans. E. A. Wallis
Budge, 2 vols (London, 1907).
3 For the history of the Kephalaia Gnostica, and their influence, see A.
Guillaumont, Les "Kephalaia Gnostica" d'Evagre le Pantique (Paris,
1962). For a brief account of what was available in Syriac, see Sebastian
Brock in The Study of Spirituality, ed. Cheslyn Jones, Geoffrey Wain-
wright, Edward Yarnold (London, 1986), pp. 207-9.
4 Surviving works, with Eng. trans, in A. Mingana, Early Christian
Mystics, Woodbrooke Studies VII (Cambridge, 1934).
5 Ibid., p. 15.
6 Ibid., p. 11.
7 Ibid., p. 57.
8 Guillaumont, op. cit., pp. 302-32.
9 See Hans Urs von Balthasar, 'Das Scholienwerk des Johannes von
Scythopolis', Scholastik 16 (1940), pp. 16-38; repr., with minor revi-
sions, in Kosmische Liturgie (2nd ed., 1961), pp. 644-72.
10 See H. D. Saffrey, 'Nouveaux liens objectifs entre le Ps-Denys et
Proclus', Revue des sciences philosophiques et theologiques 63 (1979),
pp. 3-16.
11 E.g. by A. Riou, Le Monde et I'Eglise selon Maxime le Confesseur
(Paris, 1973), p. 160.
12 St Germanus of Constantinople, On the Divine Liturgy, with intro-
duction, translation and commentary by Paul Meyendorff (Crest-
wood, NY, 1984), p. 56.
13 See R. Bornert, Les commentaires byzantins de la divine liturgie du
Vile au XVe siecle (Paris, 1966).
127
14 E.g., Theological, Gnostic and Practical Chapters, 11.18 (ed. J. Dar-

rouzes, Sources Chretiennes 51, Paris, 1957, p. 76).
15 Nicetas Stethatos, Opuscules et Lettres, ed. and trans. J. Darrouzes
(Sources Chretiennes 81; Paris, 1961).
16 Centuries III.42-4.
17 See, e.g., D. Obolensky, The Byzantine Commonwealth (London,
1971), pp. 298-300, where Obolensky speaks of events contemporary
with Nicetas.
18 See Bishop Kallistos Ware in The Study of Spirituality (above, note 3),
p. 249.
19 Edited with French trans, by S. Salaville and others (Sources Chre-
tiennes 4 bis; Paris, 1967); Eng. trans, by J. M. Hussey and P. A.
McNulty (London, 1966).
20 Eng. trans, by C. J. deCatanzaro (Crestwood, NY, 1974).
21 Especially by Jean Meyendorff: see his Le Christ dans lapensee byzan-
tine (Paris, 1969), ch. 5, pp. 121-47, and his 'Notes sur 1'influence
dionysienne en Orient', Studio Patristica 2 (1957), pp. 547-52. Such
an attitude is not shared by all modern Orthodox: the late Vladimir
Lossky was a notable advocate of Denys.
22 For the Latin story in general see Dom David Knowles, 'The influence
of Pseudo-Dionysius on Western mysticism' in Christian Spirituality.
Essays in honour of Gordon Rupp, ed. Peter Brooks (London, 1975),
pp. 79-94.
23 See Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St-Denis and its Art Trea-
sures, ed., trans, and annotated by E. Panofsky (2nd ed., Princeton,
NJ, 1979).
24 See H. Dondaine, Le Corpus dionysien de I 'universite de Paris au XHIe
siecle (Paris, 1953).
25 See E. Boissard, 'S. Bernard et la pseudo-Areopagite', Recherches de
theologie ancienne et medievale 26 (1959), pp. 214-63, which con-
vincingly challenges the conclusions drawn in the article in theDiction-
naire de Spiritualite (see note 1 above).
26 See my 'St Bernard and affective mysticism' in The Influence of St
Bernard, ed. Benedicta Ward SLG (Fairacres Publications, 60; Fair-
acres, Oxford, 1976), pp. 1-10.
27 See Colin Morris, The Discovery of the Individual. 1050-1200
(London, 1972).
28 See J. G. Bougerol, 'S. Bonaventure et la hierarchic dionysienne',
Archives d'histoire doctrinale et litteraire du moyen-age 36 (1969),
pp. 131-67.
29 See J. Walsh, 'Thomas Callus et 1'effort contemplatif, Revue
d'histoire de la spiritualite 5\ (1975), pp. 17-42.
128
AFTERLIFE
30 Itinerarium mentis in Deum IV.4: in Works ofSt Bonaventure, vol. 2,

with trans, by P. Boehner (St Bonaventure, NY, 1956), pp. 75-7.
31 See Dom Justin McCann's note in his edition of The Cloud of
Unknowing (London, 1924), p. 252.
32 Paradiso XXV1I1.130-135 (J. D. Sinclair's translation: London,
1958).
33 Paradiso XXIX. 136-145. For a good discussion of Denys's influence
on Dante see E. G. Gardner, Dante and the Mystics (London, 1913),
pp. 77-110.
129
8
Conclusion
In a fine essay on the thought of Denys the Areopagite, Bishop West-

cott wrote:
This harmonization of Christianity and Platonism was not
effected without a sacrifice. It is impossible not to feel in
Dionysius, in spite of his generous and apostolic aspirations,
the lack of something which is required for the completeness of
his own views. He fails indeed by neglecting to take in the
whole breadth of the Gospel. The central source of his dog-
matic errors lies where at first it might be least looked for. The
whole view of life which he offers is essentially individual and
personal and subjective; the one man is the supreme object in
whose progress his interest is engaged. Though he gives a
magnificent view of the mutual coherence of all the parts of the
moral and physical worlds, yet he turns with the deepest satis-
faction to the solitary monk, isolated and self-absorbed, as the
highest type of Christian energy. Though he dwells upon the
Divine order of the Sacraments, and traces the spiritual signi-
ficance of each detail in their celebration, yet he looks upon
them as occasions for instruction and blessing, suggested by
appointed forms, and not supplied by a Divine gift. He stops
short of that profounder faith which sees the unity of the
worlds in the harmonious and yet independent action of deri-
vative forces; one indeed in their source, and yet regarded as
separate in their operation. He is still so far overpowered by
Platonism that he cannot, in speculation as well as in con-
130
CONCLUSION
fession, consistently treat man's bodily powers as belonging to

the perfection of his nature. The end of the discipline of life is,
in his view, to help the believer to cast aside all things that
belong to earth, and not to find in them gifts which may by
consecration to God become hereafter the beginning of a
nobler activity. And so it is that he is unable to see in their full
beauty and strength those instincts and faculties of man, by
which he is impelled towards social combination, and the
divine institutions by which these instincts and faculties are
sanctioned and supported.1
Anyone who has come so far in this book with any sympathy will
find that judgement of Westcott's surprising. Yet Westcott's judge-
ment is, in essence, that of many who deplore the influence of the
Areopagite, especially modern Orthodox writers such as John
Meyendorff2 and Alexander Schmemann.3 Indeed, they repeat what
are, fundamentally, Westcott's strictures without finding room for
Westcott's admiration—perhaps because the damage they feel
Denys to have done seems very close at hand.
The heart of this charge against Denys is individualism. But we
have seen that the central concepts in Denys's vision—the notions of
hierarchy, mutual independence, the dramatic movement of the
liturgy (which demands a community in which to move)—all belie
such a judgement. Nevertheless such is the nature of Westcott's
charge. We must ask ourselves why he and others make such a judge-
ment. It is, essentially, because the whole of Denys's vision—cosmic
and ecclesial—seems to them to be a spectacle.
It is as if someone were to say that the ballet is individualistic. On
one level, such a judgement is absurd: ballet requires utmost co-
operation and team-spirit from those who dance—if everyone
regarded him- or herself as an independent individual, it would be a
disaster. On another level, the ballet is a spectacle put on for a group
of individuals to watch and admire, by which they are to be uplifted
and entranced. Most do not take part: they watch, and their appre-
ciation is individual. For Westcott, Denys's vision is somewhat
balletic: a cosmic and ecclesial ballet which most of us are to
watch—a long way from the traditional understanding of Christian
worship as the worship of the whole community gathered together to
give thanks and to celebrate. When Denys calls the laity the 'contem-
plative order', Westcott understands him to mean 'those who
watch'. The real participants are the clergy (and in a way the monks
with their 'ascetic' performance).
131
But we have suggested that Denys does not really regard hierarchy
as something imposed on 'us' and independent of 'us': rather it con-
sists of us. The theophany that the cosmos is, that the hierarchies
are, is not over against us: we are part of it. If Denys's vision is balle-
tic, then we are all meant to join in the dance.
Perhaps the problem lies in the word 'hierarchy'. We do not now-
adays in the West think naturally in hierarchical terms. We pre-
suppose that all men and women are equal; we tend to see society on
some sort of 'social contract' model: we have (or can be regarded as
having) agreed together to form a society, by accepting the con-
straints that living together imposes. Our notion of community tends
to mean 'doing things together'. Applied to the liturgy, such an
understanding of community produces the notion of worship which
is becoming more and more prevalent in the Christian West.
Christian worship is everyone doing everything together: we sing
hymns, we repeat prayers together; if anything is said, then we all
want to be able to hear it, so that we can all 'take part'. It was not
always like that (nor is it yet in the Orthodox Church). Some parts of
the liturgy used to be silent, other things would be going on at the
same time, there was no 'single line' in the liturgy that all should
follow. The idea that there should be—at least as far as the part sung
by the choir is concerned—is not new. Church authorities have long
deplored polyphony and have never appreciated the great,
incomprehensible bursts of praise produced in baroque Mass
settings by compressed Glorias and Credos. But this idea of commu-
nity and communal worship really is individualistic: it envisages a
collection of individuals doing everything together (as far as
possible).
The notion of hierarchy suggests something very different. It
suggests a community that is essentially structured, where there are
genuinely different roles, and the putting together of those different
roles creates something new and different from all the parts that go
to make it. Such an understanding of an essentially hierarchical
society is not something new in Christian history with Denys; on the
contrary, it is very ancient. We can find it at the end of the first
century in the first Epistle of Clement of Rome:
For to the high priest [i.e., the bishop] his proper ministrations
are allotted, and to the priests the proper place has been
appointed, and on levites [i.e., deacons] their proper services
(diakoniai) have been imposed. The layman is bound by the
ordinances for the laity. Let each of us, brothers, celebrate the
132
CONCLUSION
Eucharist to God in his own order, having a good conscience,

and not transgressing the prescribed rule of his ministry, in
reverence.4
And Clement is only echoing the words of St Paul in one of his own
letters to the Corinthians (1 Cor 12:4-30). The idea of a hierarchical
society—even though the word hierarchy is Denys's—is a more
natural presupposition in late antique society than any other: cer-
tainly more natural than our own notions of a 'social contract' which
only go back to the Enlightenment (and have hardly stood the test of
even that short time).
If these considerations can be admitted as having much weight, it
would seem that Westcott, in accusing Denys of individualism, is
picking out of Denys's system an individualism he finds there
because it is the only part of Denys's view of things that reflects his
own, fundamentally individualistic, presuppositions. In other
words, it is Westcott who is the individualist, not Denys, and
Westcott shows this by finding it impossible to understand Denys
except in an individualist way. Denys's strong sense of hierarchy
excludes Westcott (and most of us) and so Denys's vision appears to
him as a spectacle, for the appraisal of the individual—or perhaps as
a kind of distorting mirror, in which we see our own features
exaggerated.
Such a conclusion is not very surprising when we reflect how very
different societies can be and how difficult it is to appreciate a
society that seems strange to us. Mary Douglas, in her Natural
Symbols,5 has suggested how we might estimate the different ways in
which a society can function, and the way these determine the world-
view of that society, and so avoid the mistake of measuring all
societies against our experience of modern, liberal, essentially indivi-
dualistic society. Perhaps Mary Douglas herself shows some nostal-
gia for a more structured society, more capable of supporting a
symbolic universe, than ours: it would certainly seem that such a
nostalgia, or at least a sympathy for such a society, is necessary for
appreciating Denys and his vision of society and the cosmos. His
society is certainly one with both strong 'grid' and strong 'group'
characteristics, to use Mary Douglas's terms (that is, a society in
which there is a powerful system of shared values, and a strong sense
that the individual's values are controlled by the pressure of others),
though it does not fit too easily into her categories, perhaps because
the achievement of Denys was to find room in his vision of society
for a variety of types. While his society as a whole is highly
133
structured, he finds place in it for the monk, the solitary, which

would seem to be a low-grid type (in other words, his values are
largely ones he has discovered for himself). Denys's attitude to the
problem of evil—at least as manifest in DNIV—is also that which is
characteristic of the low-grid type.
The point of bringing in Mary Douglas's ideas here is not to herald
a further reconsideration of the Dionysian vision, using her cate-
gories, but rather to strike a warning-note about how easy it is for us
to dismiss a way of thinking that is rooted in a society very dif-
ferently conceived from our own. Such a consideration suggests
caution, and caution can be a form of respect. Denys's vision is
remarkable because, on the one hand, his understanding of hier-
archy makes possible a rich symbolic system in terms of which we
can understand God and the cosmos and our place within it, and, on
the other, he finds room within this strictly hierarchical society for
an escape from it, beyond it, by transcending symbols and realizing
directly one's relationship with God as his creature, the creature of
his love.
There is space within the Dionysian universe for a multitude of
ways of responding to God's love. That spaciousness is worth
exploring: and therein, perhaps, lies the enduring value of the vision
of Denys the Areopagite.
Notes
1 B. F. Westcott, Essays in the History of Religious Thought in the West
(London, 1891), pp. 189-91 (the complete essay is found on
pp. 142-93).
2 J. Meyendorff, Le Christ dans la pensee byzantine (Paris, 1969),
p. 147.
3 A. Schmemann, Introduction to Liturgical Theology (Eng. trans.,
London/Portland, ME, 1966), p. 155 (the 'ascetic' is to be understood
as 'individualistic': see pp. 106f.)
4 / Clement 40f.
5 Mary Douglas, Natural Symbols (Pelican ed., Harmondsworth,
Middx, 1973).
134

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DENYS THE AREOPAGITE

OUTSTANDING CHRISTIAN THINKERS

Series Editor: Brian Davies OP, Professor of Philosophy at Fordham

Cappadocians Hans Urs von Balthasar

Augustine Teresa of Avila

Catherine of Siena Bultmann

Kierkegaard Karl Barth

Reinhold Neibuhr Paul Tillich

Venerable Bede Karl Rahner

Apostolic Fathers Anselm

Denys the Areopagite

The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX

© Andrew Louth 1989

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

First published 1989

Re- issued 2001

British library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

ISBN 0 8264 5772 X

Typeset by YHT Ltd, London

Editorial foreword vii

1 Introduction: the intellectual world of the

3 The angelic choirs 33

4 The earthly liturgy 52

5 The nameless God of many names 78

6 Visions and darkness 99

St Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109) once described himself as

OTHER BOOKS FREQUENTLY CITED

J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologia Graeca (Paris, 1857-66).

Introduction: the intellectual

CONFLICT OVER THE PERSON OF CHRIST

having questioned in different ways the full divinity of Christ—and

patriarch of Constantinople, and exiled by the Emperor to the Great

taken out of context), and sets the whole in the context of an

Constantinople, who secured the support of Peter Mongus, Pat-

BACK TO THE PAST

little enough of any idea of history. The very newness of the

THE PAST AND DENYS

One theme in Plotinus is particularly important to Proclus, and

and the pagan world of late Athenian Neoplatonism. Like Proclus,

14 On the question of Denys's pseudonym, see Hans Urs von Balthasar,

THE WORKS OF DENYS

the Church. Of the letters, four of them elucidate specific scriptural

THE LOST WORKS

A CHRISTIAN AND A NEOPLATONIST

theology traces the corresponding movement of return, moving

powers, properties, fortunes, abodes, processions, distinc-

because Western (pagan) culture did die and yielded to a 'Christian'

THE NATURE OF THEOLOGY

We have on the one hand, then, what appears to be a rational

nothing but simply underwent an experience (of the rite of

interwoven with riddles and obscurities (Jesus preached the King-

not so much speak of divine predication, as divine praise: we praise

6 See Roques, Structures, pp. 128-33 (= Dictionnaire de Spiritualite III

The angelic choirs

In his work the Celestial Hierarchy, Denys gives an account of the