Love as Descent: Comparing the Models of Proclus and Dionysius through Eriugena

Abstract

This paper explores the models of the providential-erotic descent in Neoplatonism and Christianity and the ethical consequences that these two models entail. Neoplatonic representative is an excerpt from Proclus’ Commentary on the First Alcibiades, where a parallel with ancient Greek mythology is drawn: Socrates’ providential love for Alcibiades is compared to Hercules’ descent to Hades in order to save Theseus. This image recalls not only the return of the illumined philosopher back to the Cave (from Plato’s Republic) but also the Byzantine hagiographical depiction of Jesus Christ’s Resurrection qua Descent to Hades. The end of Dionysius’ 8th Epistle (the Christian counterpart to Proclus) recalls this Byzantine icon and forms a narration framed as a vision that a pious man had. There are crucial features differentiating Proclus from Dionysius, and Eriugena’s poetry (paschal in tone) helps in order to understand their ontological background and the eschatology they imply, as well as explain why Christ’s “philanthropy” (love for mankind) is more radical than that of Proclus’ Socrates.

1. Introduction

Perhaps the most famous descent in the philosophical literature stems from the Cave simile in Plato’s Republic.1 Its Christian counterpart is not only Jesus Christ’s incarnation2 but especially the Resurrection itself, which in Byzantine iconography is depicted as a “Descent to Hades”.3 Despite the similarities one can find in the philosopher’s and Christ’s descents, there are also various differences. A basic difference is that, in the Christian case, the humiliation encapsulated in the descent is a characteristic of the Sun of Righteousness, i.e., of God himself. In Plato’s case, the sun who illuminates the vision of the philosopher does not descend; it is only the philosopher who descends to the cave, functioning as a mediator between the under- and outer world, between the human and the divine, like eros in Symposium. What are the ethical consequences that the concept of descent in Neoplatonism and Christianity implies? In what follows, I juxtapose these two models by looking at some examples from the pagan Neoplatonic appropriation of the Platonic Cave simile found in Proclus’ Alcibiades Commentary and from a Christian counterpart in Dionysius’ 8th Epistle, coupled with relevant passages from Eriugena’s poetry. The Eriugenian eschatology, to be found there succinctly expressed, illuminates the different ontological backgrounds between Proclus and Dionysius. A common denominator in these thinkers is the connection of descent with love.

I begin with a Proclean passage that I regard as the most exciting of the whole Commentary on the First Alcibiades:4 “Socrates at any rate is full of the good and the beautiful and offers the young man communication in the virtues; he descends (κάτεισιν), as it were, to activity in relation to another, and proceeds from his inner life to a movement lower in the scale of being; for this reason he terms this procession (πρόοδον) ‘daring’, (τόλμαν)5 after the manner of the Pythagoreans, and manifests his forethought (προμήθειαν) for the young man;…But because Socrates ‘ventures (τολμᾷ) to declare his own mind’,6 he descends to an activity inferior to that which abides within him; since for divine lovers, to turn towards the inferior is at any rate venturesome;7 but nevertheless Socrates does descend, in order that like Hercules he may lead up his beloved from Hades,8 and persuade him to withdraw from the life of appearance…”9

This passage is remarkable for many reasons. For one thing, it shows Proclus’ wondrous (allegorical) sensitivity for recognizing Platonic patterns and schemes, such as the κατάβασις into the Cave, as anticipated in the mythical background of versatile Greek culture.10 Moreover, the abovementioned parallel with Christ’s descent to Hades is not difficult to make.11 Elsewhere, I have explicated the metaphysics and terminology of erotic providence (here surprisingly denoted by the central Neo-Pythagorean and Gnostic notion of “audacity”/τόλμα).12 I have also discussed how to square descending eros with the proper use of ascending eros as desire for the divine,13 as well as the Neoplatonic ideal of transcendent providence:14 this kind of providence excludes descent because it pertains to lower entities, say embodied souls, who, by being lower in the rank of being, exemplify their attenuated providence by descending, like Socrates and Hercules in the above passage.

2. Proclean Ataraxia

I would now like to draw attention to some problematic features of Neoplatonic erotic providence.15 These problems spring from certain ontological presuppositions (for instance, the pagan Neoplatonic notion of hierarchy) having their foundations in Platonic texts.16 For instance, the infamous episode of Symposium,17 where Socrates abstained from having any sexual contact with Alcibiades, must have been of paramount importance to Proclus and is in line with other Platonic enunciations, such as that of the Form of Beauty, the end of the philosopher-lover’s journey, which is “pure (καθαρόν), unmixed (ἄμεικτον), not polluted by human flesh”.18

In the context of the discussion as to why Socrates’ guardian spirit allowed him to associate with Alcibiades, although it could foresee that the young man would not be finally benefitted from the Athenian gadfly,19 Proclus invokes several arguments20 and examples21 in order to conclude: “So Socrates also achieved what was fitting;22 for all the actions of the noble man have reference to this:23 if he has acted, then, beneficently and in a divine manner, he achieves his end in his activity, even if that in him24 which admits of external activity also has not been perfected”.25 Although the text is not fully clear, it seems safe to say that it is not for the sake of the recipient that providence (i.e., “external activity”) takes place but rather the other way round: it is for the sake of its taking place that a (fitted) recipient must be found, since providence is necessarily an intentional activity. This seems to suggest that Socrates might not be so interested in Alcibiades’ perfection for the sake of Alcibiades but only to the extent that the latter is expedient as a receptacle for Socrates’ external and overflowing activity. In that way, Socrates’ or his divine analogue’s “affection” must be qualified, and all the more so since Alcibiades’ failure of perfection does not seem to imply anything about Socrates’ complete status. After all, Socrates does not need Alcibiades in order for the former to recollect the intelligible. In other words, Alcibiades assumes the place of a preferred “indifferent” for the Stoic-like sage Socrates. The Neoplatonic sage seems wholeheartedly sympathetic, so to speak, to the view expressed in the Stoic archer analogy:26 the preferred indifferent forms only a target so that the sage can perform a virtuous action, no matter whether the target is accomplished (e.g., the preservation of health), the actual target lying within the virtuous activity itself.27

My suggestion can be supported by another excerpt, where Proclus comments on a small phrase abstracted from Socrates’ initial exchanges with Alcibiades:28 “The phrase ‘so I persuade myself,’ seems to me to show clearly that the divinely-inspired lover, if he sees the beloved suited for conversion to intellect, helps him, in so far as he is able; but if he finds him small-minded and ignoble and concerned with things below, he [sc. the lover] turns back to himself and looks towards himself alone, taking refuge in the proverbial ‘I saved myself.’29 For the persuasion and self-directed activity are indications of this knowledge (sc. the erotic)”.30 From this description, it turns out not only that the divine lover is not in need of his beloved but actually that he is not very much troubled about the other person and his/her final perfection either.31 Of course, we should not lay too much weight on the slightly surprising use of the proverbial “I saved myself” because the lover is in any case, and regardless of the beloved’s fate, already saved. We can exclude the egoistic accusation that the lover has used the beloved for the former’s ascent and then stopped caring about his “ladder”: the lover did not need the beloved right from the beginning. The beloved’s failure to keep pace with him—or, in the words of the previous citation, the fact that “even if that in him which admits of external activity also has not been perfected” does not seem to have any impact on the tranquillity (ἀταραξία) of the lover’s internal and self-directed activity.

Perhaps, then, the lover was not much interested in being providential for the sake of the beloved but rather for the activity’s sake, since providence is necessarily an intentional activity. In this case, although the beloved is not a necessary requirement for the divine lover’s self-realization, (s)he is reduced to a means for the manifestation of the lover’s self-realization. Moreover, in our passage, the lesser importance of this instrumentality is evident in that the divine lover presumably can perfectly do alone with himself, as well. Thus, even if there were affection between the lover and his beloved, this must have surely been disinterested, on the lover’s behalf. Of course, it is natural enough to turn one’s back on someone who does not or cannot follow. Nonetheless, it is a question of whether we would like to posit that as an ethical ideal. Το recap, so far I have given some examples in order to show that although altruism can be found in Proclus, who thus gives answers to Gregory Vlastos’ (or Anders Nygren’s) egoistic accusations of Plato, a peculiar kind of instrumentality might arise in Proclus’ framework, too.

3. Dionysian Mania

Now, let us move to Dionysius’ more frugal and humble metaphysics in order to pursue Neoplatonism’s comparison to Christianity. Once more, elsewhere I have discussed how Dionysian erotic providence likens and differs from Proclus’ version and have explained the thesis with which I started this paper, i.e., that in Christianity32 it is God Himself who descends, not a secondary being in the ontological scale.33 Hence, the metaphysics of transcendent providence is quite different in Dionysius, despite the identity of terminology with Proclus, as I show in yet another paper.34 For my present purposes, I do not refer to the incarnation itself or the resurrection but to a recounted vision that recalls not only Jesus Christ’s descents but also the Bible’s Parable of Judgement.35 It also has some similarities both in terms of text and ideas with Socrates’ aforementioned descents and especially the Hercules simile that Proclus uses. I do not argue, though, that Dionysius consciously draws or alludes to this specific chunk of Proclean text, giving his Christian version of descent, although this might be plausible too.36

The 8th Epistle is the longest37 and most enticing of the Dionysian ten Epistles. As a distinctive part of the Dionysian Corpus, these letters form a whole that is hierarchically structured: from the first to the last epistle, we see an ascending ladder of recipients in the ecclesiastical hierarchy (starting with a monk and ending with a theologian). The hierarchy breaks only in the 8th Epistle, whose recipient is the monk Demophilus (a lover of “the many”, like Alcibiades). The reason is that, in this way, Dionysius mirrors and draws our attention to the content of the letter:38 why and how one should (not) break the hierarchy. Demophilus judged that a priest, by being meek39 towards a sinner (full of penitence), had sinned and should not enter the altar. Dionysius criticizes Demophilus in two ways: first of all, Jesus himself was meek and called us to love even our enemies.40 Hence, Demophilus’ stance against the priest was false because it was bereft of meekness, while presumably the priest was not mistaken at all. The second argument is that even if the priest were wrong, Demophilus should not violate the hierarchy and criticize a higher member of the Church. He should let the priest’s peers or higher members do this for two reasons: (a) The closer in the hierarchy we get to God, the more light one receives from God in order to illuminate the others, too. The good judgment and, if needed, the intervention by the high members of the Church seems secured. (b) Even if a hierarch is unsuccessful in this work, though, it is safe to wait that some other illumined member will intervene in order to align things with the will of God. As a crown to this discussion, which structurally parallels the final myths of Platonic works, such as Republic (Book X) and Gorgias,41 the letter ends with a vision42 that a pious man in Crete,43 presumably a priest named Carpus, had.44

This story illustrates both of Dionysius’ above points by reminding us how the top of Hierarchy, the humble and meek Christ, acts. The context is similar to that of Demophilus’ framing story. Carpus was upset by the sinful behaviour of two men45 and envisaged them as being in a chasm, in fact, an image of Hell since serpents were trying to take down the two sinners. He was delighting in this because it was presumably a just punishment. However, the manic lover of mankind did not think so. When Carpus looked up again, “Jesus, moved to pity (ἐλεήσαντα) at what was happening, had risen (ἐξαναστῆναι)46 from his supercelestial throne, and descending (καταβάντα) to them He reached out a helping hand, the angels accompanying Him to help out by taking hold, one on each side of the two men. And Jesus said to Carpus: ‘So, with your hand already raised up,47 strike against me. For I am prepared, even again, to suffer for the sake of humans, who are in the process of recovery (ἀνασῳζωμένων). And this is dear to me, lest other people should be led to sin. But look whether it is well to exchange the abode next to God and the good and man-loving (φιλανθρώπων) angels for that in the chasm with the serpents.’”48

This remarkable experience reveals many similarities with the (Neo-)Platonic antecedents I discussed before. For example, like Hercules, Jesus descends to a chasm that reminds either of Hell or Plato’s fiery Cave49 in order to save two persons, as in the ancient Greek myth (with Perseus and Pirithous). What is more, as in the Icon of Resurrection with Adam and Eve, Jesus Christ gives his hand to the sinners, which is a symbol of man’s potentiality to become god, since God became man.50 However, does not man’s godlikeness51 threaten the hierarchy? The Epistle shows us that an upwards violation of the hierarchy might be forbidden. However, a downwards violation of the hierarchy is a product of the hierarchy itself! Jesus Christ descends in order to take upon Him the sins of the two people. His descent is not an attenuated image of divine providence, as in Socrates’ or Hercules’ case in the Proclean framework, but the divine and manic erotic providence par excellence. Thus, the hierarchy is not static but dynamic: it exists and persists in so far as its members can descend in order to help and save those that are remoter from the Sun, the source of Light and Life, so that they become as “sun-like” as possible.52 Sign that one has become more godlike is his/her identification with the ones in need, qua descent to their level, as Christ does both in Carpus’ vision and in the Parable of Judgement.53 This is why, in sharp contrast to Christ’s helping hand, Carpus’ hand against the sinners ended up being against Christ himself.54

To sum up so far, what is the practical outcome of the juxtaposition between these pagan and Christian versions of descent? We have seen that, according to Proclus, if the divinely inspired lover finds the beloved “small-minded and ignoble and concerned with things below, he turns back to himself and looks towards himself alone…”55 Dionysius’ Christ sees this in another way: “Here I am, ready once again (αὖθις) to suffer for the salvation of man and I would very gladly endure it if in this way I could keep men from sin”56—although admittedly this is very difficult. If descent is not only a remote by-product of providence as in Proclus’ Neoplatonism but the essence of loving, ecstatic and kenotic providence itself, then the divine lover will never settle in order to “turn back to himself and look towards himself alone”. Resurrection qua descent to Hades is a fact that is repeated every “now and forever”.57

4. Eriugenian Eschatologia

It is, of course, up to us to choose from the two abovementioned paradigms the erotic modus vivendi we would like to imitate. However, what are the ontological “mechanics”, so to speak, of this differentiation? Why and how can Dionysius’ view be more realistically optimistic than the Proclean one? Is it only about the number of repetitive attempts to help one who is in need? To answer these questions, I turn to John Scot(t)us Eriugena. I adduce evidence from his poetry,58 part of it written late in his life. The reason I use this particular mini-corpus is that it thematises descent to Hades and resurrection in a way unprecedented in Eriugena’s oeuvre and also because, in these poems, Eriugena, in a succinct manner, touches on themes that are explored in much lengthier ways in Periphyseon. Thus, before getting into the answer to the questions posed above, as a way of getting acquainted with the tone of Eriugena’s poetry, let us see some moving Eriugenian illustrations of the motive of descent, which are comparable to images we have already discussed in the previous sections.

First of all, let us begin with the terminology. Eriugena uses cognates of the term “descent” (descensus/descendo) in order to express the fact of incarnation, already mentioned as a prominent species of Christian descent in the introduction: “What mind, what power, what created wisdom of heaven/can describe the descent (descensum) of the Word into the flesh”.59 Correspondingly, Christ’s unceasing care for the salvation of mankind (i.e., of the crown of creation), which we witnessed in Dionysius’ Epistle, is here transposed to the phase (or seen from the point of view) of creation; if the “logoi” of beings exist in and through the Son, then creation has a special relation to “theophany”,60 and, hence, Eriugena declares that “Christ, who is always born (semper natus), sees61 all things created”.62

As already stated, still more than in the case of incarnation, the consummation of God’s love63 for His beloved creation is found in Jesus Christ’s resurrection; Eriugena’s praise for Easter is scattered throughout his poems64, and we may well declare that his poetry is paschal in tone.65 Consider as an example the following epigram, written originally in Greek: “Behold the resurrection of him who was buried in deep death/and the Church66 cries out ‘alleluia’67 to the living Christ”.68 It is within this context that we find plenty of references to Hades’ imagery,69 with elements of it recalling the pagan similes mentioned above,70 e.g., the existence of prisoners71 in a cave72 who are set free.73 However, having granted that Dionysius alludes to the descent of the resurrection in his 8th Epistle, it is true that Eriugena’s paschal imagery seems to make a shift in underlining the more straightforward upward movement of Jesus Christ’s resurrection, i.e., ascent,74 which thus becomes the corresponding answer to Christ’s descent in the incarnation. However, Eriugena does not deny that, in terms of this imagery, in order for Christ to be able to rise from the dead in Hades, he would have needed to descend even lower than the level of the alive human beings.75 In other words, a necessary76 precondition of the resurrection is not just Jesus’ birth but also His death.77 After all, when Paul, echoed by John,78 reminds us that the one who has ascended is the same one who descended,79 he mentions a descent80 “to the lowliest places of earth”81 which, in terms of this spatial imagery, is to be interpreted as a descent to the realm of Hades.82 Thus, for all his rhetorical and poetical choices, as well as philosophical emphasis, Eriugena does not really deviate from Dionysius’ theology.83 What is more, Eriugena is in line with a key feature of the 8th Dionysian Epistle, i.e., descent as humility. He is not repeating Carpus’ mistake of ascribing to all others the responsibility for the ever-recurring crucifixion of Jesus Christ (through our deeds and thoughts against our fellow humans), but he is ready to acknowledge the trespass of Adam in his own life: “Almighty one, have pity on me (miserere mei) in my grief/for I am the cause of my own sorrow”.84

Moreover, it is such a stance, which is bereft of sheer moralism, that leaves room for the ontological hope of one’s personal salvation, qua eternal life with the lover-and-beloved Christ85 (i.e., qua Paradise86),87 given that Christ’s descent to Hades (with His consequent resurrection) opened the gates of Hades for all without exception, as Eriugena is keen to note.88 This is precisely the point that answers the questions with which I started this section. Let us see why and how through the verses of one of the most impressive poems in the Eriugenian collection, Carmen 8: “…Christ our Redeemer/…because your provident power desired that nothing of man should perish/It embraced our nature (ΦΙΣΙΝ), now free of every taint/In your power is our nature (ΦΙΣΙΣ)89 fully restored (renovatur)90 henceforth/And a potent antidote,91 prepared to help all men/Wards off divers ills from those who drink it/92 While rightly permitting those to perish who refuse it/For God, compelling none to have life93 against his will/Expels no one of good will from the threshold of the light/Inviting all,94 he abandons the former, the latter he assists95“.96

The thesis that the possibility of salvation97 is granted to the whole humankind is reiterated here, expressed through the term “nature”, i.e., via the human nature of Christ, who, in virtue of His two natures (or substantiae), is consubstantial both with the Father and with humanity, that is, with each and every human being (through His mother, the Theotokos98).99 Does this mean preordaining or violating each person’s freedom? No, says Eriugena, succinctly expressing the experience of the church and the (Greek-speaking) Patristic tradition, as well as a ubiquitous master-theme of the final Book100 of his epic Periphyseon:101 Christ does nothing against our own will, even if this means a human existence’s ontological “divorce” from its manic lover and bridegroom.102 Mentioning life in the above passage, Eriugena is speaking in eschatological terms, bringing in our minds (once more) the Parable of Judgement, as well as that of the Wedding Feast.103 He means the true life without death, i.e., living together with the source of life, or Life itself104, in the day to come. Jesus Christ’s resurrection as restoration, “renovation” and immortalisation of the perfected human nature is precisely this gift to everyone;105 however, according to the exercise of one’s freedom in his/her earthly life,106 some people will have opted for a future wedding with Christ (“deification”),107 whereas others will have practically chosen Hell («κόλασις»)108 in the sense of being (forever far away or) divorced from Christ.109 In each case, the decisive factor is not one’s perfection or sinlessness (only God is perfect) but the humility of acknowledging one’s own Fall and asking forgiveness from the Father, as in the Parable of the Prodigal Son,110 a stance we have already seen characterizing both Eriugena and Dionysius.

Furthermore, Eriugena is in accord with Dionysius in so far as salvation is a matter of «συνέργεια», a cooperation between God and man, as perfectly exemplified in Christ.111 Jesus Christ resurrects human nature, but it is up to us whether we want to open ourselves (i.e., our nature) to the others, as Christ did (viz. live in paradise), or stay egocentrically closed to ourselves (hell). On the other hand, Proclus’ paradigm hints rather to an asymmetrical relation: Socrates is like a sun radiating,112 and it is completely a matter of Alcibiades’ receptivity, i.e., his freedom of choosing to (be able to) receive Socrates’ bestowals of goods. Socrates (for all his good-like will) is not able to save Alcibiades if Alcibiades refuses so.113 The subtle but cardinal difference with Christ is that, via His descent, qua incarnation and resurrection, Christ has already saved (i.e., He has perfected and immortalised) human nature,114 and it is up to us to choose whether we want to partake in our salvation (qua modus vivendi with Christ) or not.115 This Eriugenian ontological optimism, grounded in the synergistic model of Christ (rather than of Socrates), is translated in the unceasing attempt of Christ to elevate human nature, as we saw in the context of Dionysius’ 8th Epistle, which contrasts the questionable ethical consequences of Socrates’ ataraxia and impassivity that I drew from the Proclean excerpts of the Alcibiades Commentary.116

5. Conclusions

To recap, my final section, based on Eriugena’s poetry, enabled us to review some points where Christianity has surpassed Neoplatonism and accounted for Dionysius’ optimism (exposed in Section 2) when contrasted with the Proclean relation of Socrates and Alcibiades (illustrated in Section 1): Jesus Christ’s resurrection, qua descent to Hades, has made immortal the human nature common to each and every human being and has paved, as well as established, the way for the modus of paradise life qua love between lover and the beloved(s). It is only up to the persons to decide for and during their own lives (even in their last minute) if they want to follow this ascending path or not. Whether the response is the one that Alcibiades finally gave or that of the thief who was crucified on the right side of Christ,117 we can be assured that Dionysius’ and Eriugena’s God is like the father of the prodigal son: he does not sit at his home (or just observe whether his son is arriving, as the Proclean Socrates would at best do), but he is always waiting and ever ready, when seeing his son coming, to rush toward his side in order to embrace him118 (however sinful he was), bring him back home and give him a ring,119 as well as a new garment,120 for, from an eschatological perspective—which we have already witnessed in Eriugena’s vision—in contrast to the envious brother121 (a persona for Dionysius’ Carpus), that son was spiritually resurrected122 because he descended to his Hades: he “was dead and is alive again”.123