The Christian Adaptation of Classical Culture: The Case of Photios the Great

Abstract

This article examines the understanding of paideia in the writings of Photios of Constantinople (c. 810–893) and argues that his educational vision cannot be reduced to literary cultivation or the preservation of classical learning. While modern scholarship has frequently emphasised Photios’ role in transmitting the intellectual heritage of antiquity, less attention has been given to the anthropological and theological framework within which he interpreted that inheritance. Through an analysis of his Myriobiblos, Amphilochia, letters and homilies, this study demonstrates that Photios understood education as the complete formation of the human person through the harmonious cooperation of body and soul. Classical philosophy, literature and aesthetics are valued not as autonomous disciplines but as instruments serving a higher theological purpose. In Photios’ thought, the Hellenic ideal of paideia undergoes a thorough Christian adaptation, recalibrated by doctrines of creation, incarnation, resurrection and deification. His anthropology is reflected in his understanding of virtue, ascetic discipline, beauty and cultural inheritance. The article argues that Photios’ engagement with the classical tradition was neither antiquarian nor merely apologetic but rather one of the most sophisticated syntheses of classical culture and revealed theology in the middle Byzantine period.

Photios, the ninth-century scholar and Patriarch of Constantinople, did not initiate the Christian appropriation of classical culture. The kernel of that process can be found already in the writings of the Apostle Paul who quoted from Greek poets (Acts 17:28), employed Hellenistic rhetorical forms (such as the chiasmus of Philemon 1:5 and the anaphora of 1 Corinthians 13:4–7) and used philosophical vocabulary that his audiences were already familiar with (as, for example, syneidēsis-conscience borrowed from Stoic philosophy and used in Romans 2:15). The question that deserves to be asked, and which will be addressed in this study, is What is specifically Photian in this process of appropriation of classical culture? When Photios was elevated to the patriarchal throne on Christmas Day in 858, having been a layman only five days earlier, he not only assumed an ecclesiastical office; he inherited, as a scholar, a tradition of Christian engagement with Hellenic wisdom extending from the Apologists through to the Cappadocians. Consideration must be given to Photios’ understanding of the human person that explains why he valued theology, philosophy, literature and classical learning generally in the way that he did. It shall be argued that Photios’ distinctive contribution lies in the integration of classical learning with a theological anthropology centred upon the purification and sanctification (or deification) of the human person.

Modern scholarship has approached Photios from several complementary perspectives. Lemerle1 situated him at the centre of the ninth-century revival of classical education, while Hunger2 established his importance as one of Byzantium’s foremost literary scholars. Louth,3 by contrast, examined Photios primarily as a theologian, concluding that his theological reflections were erudite, although lacking an overarching vision. Kakaletris4 has more recently explored the relationship between theology and paideia in the patriarch’s thought. While the pioneering studies of Lemerle and Hunger established Photios’ place within the ninth-century revival of learning, more recent scholarship has refined this picture by examining his lexicographical methods (Tribulato5) together with his literary and visual rhetoric (Daskas6) and role within the broader history of Byzantine scholarship (Montanari7). While these studies have illuminated Byzantine attitudes toward classical culture, comparatively little attention has been paid to the anthropological and theological framework through which Photios understood the educational value of that inheritance. That is to say, greater consideration must be devoted to the theological anthropology that underpins Photios’ understanding of paideia and provides consistency to his appropriation of classical culture.8

The present study therefore intends to build upon earlier contributions by examining the educational value of Photios’ understanding of the classical tradition.9 It argues that his engagement with classical culture was neither antiquarian nor merely literary but reflected instead a Christian conception of paideia in which scholarship is directed towards the holistic formation of both body and soul in virtue, sanctification, and ultimate participation in the divine life. These findings derive primarily from two of his most renowned works, the Bibliotheca (or Myriobiblos) and the exegetical Amphilochia. Within the broader Photian corpus, these texts stand alongside the Lexicon, numerous letters, homilies and major theological treatises such as the Mystagogy of the Holy Spirit and Against the Manichaeans. It will be shown that classical education, rather than being preserved as an autonomous cultural inheritance, was incorporated into a new approach to human formation. Intellectual study, bodily discipline, moral virtue and theological understanding were consequently united in the restoration of every willing person according to the image of God.

1. Photios’ Byzantine Context

Byzantium has commonly been portrayed as a civilisation devoted primarily to the preservation or imitation of the achievements of antiquity rather than the production of intellectual creativity of its own. Such a characterisation, however, overlooks the extent to which Byzantine culture steered inherited classical learning in new directions. Rather than abandoning the ancient educational tradition, Byzantine society reinterpreted it in light of Christian revelation, transforming the aims of philosophy, literature and education in the process.10

Classical philosophy arrived at its own truth through rational inquiry in areas such as virtue, justice and the nature of the soul. Byzantine intellectual life began from a different premise: truth had entered history through the Incarnation, Passion and Resurrection of Christ. Creativity therefore consisted in exploring, articulating and applying that which had been revealed to them. Within this broader transition, literature occupied a time-honoured position. Unlike architecture or iconography, literature possessed the capacity to preserve, interpret and transmit every other dimension of civilisation. Through the written word, doctrine was defended and virtue taught. Distinctive theological and doctrinal works signalled a creative new phase of civilisation, born from an unprecedented religious worldview. Whereas the scope of classical philosophy was largely speculative (addressing questions such as ‘Is the soul immortal?’ or ‘What is the ethical life?’), Byzantine cultural and intellectual achievements were primarily responses to what was believed to have been revealed to humanity through the Incarnation and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Consequently, the theoretical inquiries of antiquity were re-orientated toward more immediate and existential concerns, centred on how the teachings of Holy Scripture might be applied to the salvation of the soul while also enabling the wider community to flourish.11

Given that Byzantium placed the greatest emphasis on the literary tradition above all the bequests of its ancient heritage, Photios was acutely aware of the power of literary creation: he describes the writer’s pen as “a spear forged by God capable of piercing the guts of heretics” (Homily 18). The metaphor reappeared in later Byzantine texts and finds its modern parallel in Bulwer-Lytton’s famous dictum that the pen is mightier than the sword. If the act of writing could be described in such terms by Photios, then, by extension, the power of receiving and assimilating the written word must also have been immense for him. This need not imply that literature per se constituted the most important aspect of that culture. Rather, literary production appears to have been highly valued insofar as it served as a conduit for other vital dimensions of civilisation, including the cultivation of virtue and the formation of spiritual exemplars. If such aims sometimes appear to be overshadowed by an emphasis on rhetorical training, this is largely because rhetoric was regarded by the Byzantines—and by the citizens of ancient Athens long before them—as an indispensable discipline for those pursuing legal careers. Yet rhetoric was more than a mere technical accomplishment. Whereas literature had the capacity to form the mind, rhetoric was able to shape one’s ability to communicate truth. To be more precise, Photios maintains that it

enters all parts of virtue, because it was invented with the intent of justice, and it is protected by temperance and courage… Rhetoric, then, is for one to find what is proper, and to regulate and give back what is appropriate with correctness and power.12

To the modern reader, this reveals an entirely unexpected perspective. It helps explain why Pericles was described as being as far removed from demagogues as Socrates was from the Sophists, as noted by Photios in his review of Aelius Aristides.13 Photios’ admiration for Pericles is significant. He praises him not because he was politically successful but because his eloquence restored moral judgement within the community. When the people were overcome by arrogance, Pericles possessed the ability to bring them back to their senses, while, through his words, he could raise their spirits whenever they were disheartened, “just as Socrates customarily did with the youth.”14 Such observations illuminate the early Christian conviction that the so-called secular disciplines, inherited from the classical educational programme, retained considerable value as preparatory studies (propaidevmata), equipping the student for higher pursuits. Seneca, for example, maintained that they were taught not because they themselves impart virtue but because they prepared the mind to receive it. Beyond his numerous positive references to Basil the Great,15 Photios also aligns directly with the protreptic tradition established by his fourth-century predecessor:

Since it is through virtue that we must enter upon this life of ours, and since much has been uttered in praise of virtue by poets, much by historians, and much more still by philosophers, we ought especially to apply ourselves to such literature.16

Liberal studies may well prepare the soul for virtue, but for Photios that kind of preparation should look beyond the virtuous life and culminate in sanctification. He naturally regarded literary awareness as a vital asset, insofar as language constitutes the principal medium through which meaning is communicated. However, language does not merely communicate meaning; it mediates participation in truth. Because revelation is received through words—whether scriptural, liturgical or patristic—the careful cultivation of language becomes an ascetical discipline. Precision of expression safeguards precision of doctrine, while clarity of interpretation guides the soul toward salvation. One needs only to consider the importance of Scripture, preaching, hymnography and homilies in the Christian tradition in order to realise that they are not subordinate categories of spiritual labour.

The multiplicity of meanings found in Scripture is not a defect requiring elimination but is rather evidence of divine pedagogy. Just as classical literature rewards repeated reading, Scripture possesses inexhaustible depths because its purpose extends beyond information to transformation. In both ancient and medieval societies, large yet illiterate segments of the population maintained a deep cultural connection to the canonical figures, narratives and symbols of the literary tradition. Within the dual spheres of patriarchal concern—the preservation of orthodox doctrine and the cultivation of a virtuous life—the transmission of meaning remained paramount.

Accordingly, Question 21 of the Amphilochia observes:

But because we have such a great abundance of words with many meanings in the works of the ancients, whose life was more than anything else about the wisdom of choice vocabulary, what hinders our own sacred Scriptures also, whose purpose is teaching and exhortation, from having a diverse array of terms to identify various subjects?17

As an educator, Photios is concerned with the edification of the reader and the listener, given that much of Byzantine literature was to be read aloud before an audience. The past furnished an “arsenal of facts and ideas beneficial for the soul and intellect alike,”18 meaning that literary works frequently carried distinctive subtitles indicating their salutary effects on the soul.19 This recurring theme reflects the conviction that the past offered

not only the place of refuge from state-controlled ‘political Orthodoxy’ but supplied an arsenal of facts and ideas beneficial for the soul (a Byzantine expression) and intellect alike.20

2. Contradictory Views of Body and Soul

While soul-enrichment may have motivated those who revived, edited, translated, copied or composed certain texts, the fate of the educational ideal of paideia itself warrants closer examination. Understandably, Photios was careful to distance himself from any heterodox or erroneous conceptions of psychosomatic unity. Photios finds an authoritative expression of this anthropology in St Methodios’ oration On the resurrection,21 which contends that the body is not a fetter (οὐ δεσμόν) of the soul—contrary to the views of Plato and, purportedly, Origen—since neither serves as an impediment to the life of the other. On the contrary, the body is called to cooperate (συνεργεῖν) with whatever the soul permits and directs. The choice of συνεργεῖν is significant. The body is neither passive nor antagonistic but an active participant in the moral life. This language anticipates the Eastern emphasis upon synergy between divine grace and human freedom. At the anthropological level, body and soul should exist in a cooperative rather than competitive relation, and yet they so often do not.

Every educational philosophy presupposes—or should presuppose—an understanding of the human person. Whether education aims for intellectual refinement, moral excellence or spiritual transformation depends on how one conceives of the human constitution. Photios’ educational vision naturally rests upon a Christian anthropology. Consequently, a critical question arises: which precise aspect of the person is being educated? Before paideia can be understood as a program of spiritual formation, its anthropological foundations must first be established.

Man, he states most truly, is spoken of neither as a soul without a body, nor again as a body without a soul, but that which through the composition of soul and body became a beautiful form. By contrast, Origen would say that the soul alone is the person, as would Plato.22

In endorsing this view, Photios reiterates the biblical understanding of the human constitution. His emphasis on humanity’s dual nature rejects any conception of the body as an inconsequential appendage that is destined for ultimate disposal. Against the backdrop of those who regarded the body with disdain and denied it any meaningful role in the life to come, Photios’ interpretation of the Apostle Paul’s vision described in the second letter to the Corinthians is striking. He understood the passage to be a reference to two distinct visions: one of the third heaven and another of paradise. According to Photios, Paul’s repeated declaration and superficial uncertainty in the phrase “whether in the body or out of the body I do not know,”23 serves as an apologetic strategy to counter the widespread belief that paradise and the future life entail a purely bodiless existence. By recounting an experience of heavenly reality while still embodied, Paul was making a profound statement about both the dignity of the body and its place eschatologically. Photios was therefore quick to draw attention to an important implication:

He spoke these things because the opponents believed paradise to be intelligible, from the apostolic word that it is found above heaven, only to conclude from this that life in paradise will be without a body.24

If the body has a place in the life to come, then it necessarily possesses significance in the present life as well. The physical body is not an instrument of punishment for souls cast down from an immaterial realm and subsequently cooled25 during their descent into material existence, when the souls lost their primordial fervour or spiritual vitality, as Gnostic and Manichaean cosmogonies maintained. The belief that the body was either not created by God or, at the very least, was not a good creation, survived well into the Christian era. They were particularly evident among the Manichaeans, whose influence endured until the era of Photios and prompted him to compose his celebrated treatise against that sect. As was often the case in doctrinal disputes, scriptural support was sought for such positions:

Also if the body was not the creation of the God of all, how is it that the interpreter of the mysteries of God prays for the body and spirit and soul to be kept also during the coming of the Lord? For he writes: ‘May the God of peace himself sanctify you entirely; and may your spirit and soul and body be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (1 Thess. 5:23).26

The rejection of Manichaean anthropology was not merely a doctrinal detail. It safeguarded the very possibility of complete formation. Every bodily discipline, such as fasting, keeping vigil, prostration and liturgical participation, presupposes that the body is capable of cooperating in sanctification. The scriptural imperative to preserve both body and soul “blameless” grants somatic cooperation a distinct sphere of responsibility in the process of sanctification.

If [as the Manichaeans say], the body is the creation of the Evil one, how is it that through the body we achieve the greatest accomplishments, temperance (σωφροσύνην), self-control (ἐγκράτειαν), vigilance (ἀγρυπνίαν), standing up (στάσιν) and fortitude (καρτερίαν) amidst trials, the pain of martyrdom, achievements which are all rather of the body and not of the soul…? For the soul of itself will not enter such contests, nor will it be asked to give an account as to why it did not do these things.27

The five virtues cited above are not features of an abstract morality; they are all tied to the body and cannot be attained without it. Photios says that “it is impossible to attribute the creation of the body and of the soul to opposing first principles.”28 He addresses this issue in a manner consistent with earlier patristic writers, especially Gregory the Theologian, from whose On Baptism he cites the following:

Being double, from soul and body, the one visible and the other invisible, our purification is also double.29

Gregory’s observation that purification is “double,” precisely because humanity is double, provides the theological key to Photios’ anthropology. As a consequence, education cannot concern the intellect alone, nor can sanctification belong to the soul alone.

3. Paideia: Plagiarised or Christianised?

The integration of classical learning into the Byzantine world is rarely a matter of simple imitation; rather, it represents a deep structural reorientation. To ask whether classical education was merely borrowed wholesale or truly transformed is to uncover how its very foundations were fundamentally recast. The Hellenic concept of paideia is Christianised through the introduction of transformative themes such as ascetic purification. Within this framework, the pedagogical goal transcends abstract contemplation; instead, it demands a comprehensive awareness of the reciprocal impact between somatic actions and the soul’s disposition. Wholeness—or, in Photian terminology, the acquisition of spiritual and moral health (ὑγιάζειν)—is in proportion to the proper exercise of these divinely endowed human capacities. The primary pedagogical role is attributed directly to the soul rather than the body:

Likewise, to act is something that occurs either in the body or the soul, or both, or outside the person. In the soul there can be, for example, teaching (διδάσκειν) or habit (ἐθίζειν) towards a virtue or vice; in the body there can be a burning [sensation] or cutting. And it can be together, such as the existence of health, as this is of both, and it is neither of the soul nor particularly of the body. What happens outside is the acquisition of wealth and the like.30

The unity of the human person is not realised automatically, as it requires cultivation through discipline. In its absence, the relationship between body and soul is characterised by an enduring struggle, often described in biblical language as the conflict between the flesh and the Spirit of God:

“For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh” [Gal. 5:17 NRSV]. In other words, the soul which was formed in the image of God and which has been joined by the same Creator’s hand with the body, seeks to be raised towards the archetype, while the flesh is fleshly desires… These fleshly desires do not easily follow the will of the soul, but in many cases fight fiercely, having as their fellow combatant the Evil One.31

The role of the five senses is re-emphasised due to their often underrated pedagogical and soteriological importance. Photios could speak of a transgression whose outward manifestation is physical, even though its deeper significance lies in the spiritual disorder from which it arises. An example of this is “fornication, with which the body is corrupted, but the soul is corrupted even more so.”32 In Codex 242, he uses Theosevios as a pretext to draw particular attention to the most perilous sense of touch, “for it is truly earthly and hostile and misguides the soul in the ceaseless flow of becoming.”33 Due to their susceptibility to error and their capacity to distort rational judgment, the senses introduce a persistent tension into the psychosomatic relationship. Photios underscores their significant role in his interpretation of the traditional duration of the Great Lenten fast. According to his explanation, the period of forty days derives from the multiplication of the Eighth Day by the five senses (8 × 5), which were corrupted with the Fall and therefore require purification through their proper use.

The body, with its powerful desires and impulses, is capable of drawing the soul in whatever direction it chooses—unless, that is, it has been properly disciplined from an early age. Photios repeatedly emphasises the formative importance of such discipline. In a letter addressed to Abbot Theodore, he writes that “circumcision was a prefigurement of the circumcision of the heart, spiritually, from the passions and pleasures.”34 The core issue, therefore, is not the mere avoidance of harmful habits—which amounts to a pedagogical truism—but rather the practical means by which they may be prevented from taking root. On this precise point, Photios offers the following counsel:

How, then, can we avoid bad things? During childhood, if this has good instruction and prudent pedagogues, which responsibility is not ours but belongs to the parents or guardians. During adolescence, with the strongest bridle and the most precise paideia and exercises and ascesis. In middle age with the habit that has already been fashioned and impressed upon the soul, something which has great force in relation to the subsequent achievements, and through the same care and attention towards perfection in virtue. The one, then, who manages and governs his life in this way, will find a harbour in old age and the cessation of pain, as the spiritual pleasure and divine gladness will deflect and cover the sorrows caused by the body and will show forth the person to be truly blessed.35

The cited passage emphasises the educational role proper to every stage of life: childhood, adolescence, maturity and old age. Within a single paragraph, Photios weaves together a remarkable constellation of educational concepts, ranging from sound instruction and prudent pedagogues to the attainment of virtue and spiritual perfection. Each of these elements is finally directed toward the formation of a beatified individual, the μακάριον ἄνθρωπον. At this point, literary interests no longer appear to constitute the patriarch’s primary concern.

The body, therefore, is to be progressively formed through ascesis,36 not merely by avoiding harmful activity, but by cultivating the virtuous habits and actions that contribute to the sanctification of the whole person. Christian pedagogues of the early centuries of the empire maintained that the body should be preserved in a sound state of health so that it might more readily obey the directives of the soul. A similar concern is evident in Photios’ letter To Michael on the task of a leader, in which he advises the addressee not to neglect the art of governance, nor even to “overlook the form and movements of our bodies as being insignificant.”37

Moving far beyond any ordinary affirmation that something positive can be said about the physical body, Photios provides the astounding statement: “Take away the body and you have deadened creation (Ἄνελε τὸ σῶμα, καὶ τὴν κτίσιν ἐνέκρωσας).”38 As an integral part of creation, the human body confers meaning upon it. Without embodied humanity, there would be no other being capable of truly beholding, experiencing and responding to the created order. Moreover, it is through the bodily existence within the material conditions of the world that creation becomes the arena of moral striving and spiritual achievement. The physical challenges and limitations of earthly life provide the context in which virtue is exercised and character is formed.

And where will you find the arts, if there is no body? The seasons and the orderly changes in weather and the indescribable wisdom of the movements of the heavens—of what use are they without the body?… How then can I consider that the body is unworthy of the future gifts, when I see that it has been given this honour in all things?… For, the nature of the body is not outside the nature of creation, even if it is dissolved and flows through infinite deaths. This is why it is easily restored to its proper form and participates in the honours which it should, since it has achieved feats as well.39

This intricate link between the physical body and the created order, combined with the classic understanding of human composition, has vital eschatological ramifications—specifically, that soul and body must collectively experience future rewards or punishment.

For, by not granting the rewards for deeds to the soul, you give it also the punishment of the body as if only the soul were at fault. If in other words the rewards for effort and achievements belong only to the soul, surely the punishments for any sin of a person do as well. Be careful not to set up a court house between the soul and the body. For the body will reasonably accuse the soul, which snatches the honours for its achievements, and the soul will accuse the body that it alone receives the blows that are due to it [the body]…40

Conceived as a microcosm of the natural order, human beings represent a unique somatic amalgam: while they share certain higher capacities with the divine, they simultaneously hold others in common with the animal kingdom. Yet a single faculty—opinion (doxa)—remains uniquely human. Such is the distinct anthropological portrait attributed to Pythagoras within Iamblichus’ Life of Pythagoras, reviewed by Photios. Significantly, the very themes selected for comment by the patriarch expose his own intellectual preoccupations, if not a profound sympathy with the material under consideration.

Man is called a little world not because he is composed of the four elements (for so are all the beasts, even the meanest) but because he possesses all the faculties of the universe. For in the universe there are gods, the four elements, the dumb beasts, and the plants. Of all these, man possesses the faculties: for he possesses the godlike faculty of reason; and the nature of the elements, which consists in nourishment, growth and reproduction. In each of these faculties he is deficient; just as the competitor in the pentathlon, while possessing the faculty to exercise each part of it, is yet inferior to the athlete who specialises in one part only; so man, though he possesses all the faculties, is deficient in each. For we possess the faculty of reason less eminently than the gods; in the same way the elements are less abundant in us than in the elements themselves; our energies and desires are weaker than those of the beasts; our powers of nurture and of growth are less than those of the plants. Whence, being an amalgam of many and varied elements, we find our life difficult to order. For every other creature is guided by one principle; but we are pulled in different directions by our different faculties. For instance at one time we are drawn towards the better by the god-like element, at another time towards the worse by the domination of the bestial element, within us.41

Immediately following this, Photios interprets the famous Delphic maxim Know Thyself as a dual exhortation: it demands not only an understanding of one’s own capacities but also a comprehension of the cosmos. Such knowledge, he affirms, remains unattainable apart from philosophy, a pursuit toward which God Himself inclines humanity. In view of the extensive quotations he preserves from numerous pre-Christian authors, there is reason to believe that this ninth-century polymath discerned greater value in their writings than he explicitly acknowledged. Much is implied by the considerable effort he devoted to both reproducing lengthy passages of the original texts and ensuring their transmission to his circle of students. This required a degree of intellectual courage. For instance, in his discussion of the arguments surrounding iconoclasm, he goes as far as to accept some affinity between his own mode of reasoning and that of the ancient Greeks. In his view, the latter would not have accepted the iconoclast objection that diversity in iconographic expression undermined the legitimacy of icons. He illustrates the point by means of an analogy: just as one does not reject the Gospel because it exists in multiple translations, so too the existence of diverse artistic traditions in iconography should not deter the faithful from venerating the icon of Christ.

Elsewhere, Photios makes several noteworthy acknowledgements concerning ancient Greek conceptions of divinity, worship and “countless other things” that were not entirely foreign to his own understanding. Most significant of all, however, is his explicit assertion that the ancients conceived of the union of soul and body “in much the same way,” as he expressly claims in the excerpt below. Particularly revealing are the triangular comparisons he draws between Greek, atheistic and Christian understandings:

No Greek would pose such things to us easily. Because they also have many similar reverences, and just as their nature is common to ours, and the nous and logos and mixture of the soul and body occurs in much the same way, and countless other things, so is their conjecture about the Divine, even if they differ in the main majority. There are however some matters for which, due to the clarity of shared meanings, even they do not dare to express opposition. Therefore, neither will the Greek doubt our approach, as some other totally atheist person without religion would, who does not accept any notion of the divine or of worship.42 [emphasis added]

One notes in the foregoing quotation a reversal, at least in part, of what might be expected of a Christian hierarch; instead of criticising the Greeks who philosophised before the time of Christ, he praises them, even while acknowledging a majority of differences in the respective conceptions of the Divine. The nous and logos are educational faculties that are held in common across time, precisely because they are part of the inherent human constitution within the “mixture” or κράσις, as he describes it, of body and soul. Photios’ argument rests upon the conviction that Greeks and Christians participate in the same human nature, and because of this shared constitution, they can recognise many of the same anthropological realities, despite their disagreement concerning the higher theological questions.

True humanity is manifested in the honour shared by, and accorded to, both body and soul. The body is portrayed not merely as the instrument through which human capacities and achievements—including the arts—are revealed; it is also presented as the very reason for which the phenomena of the natural world, from the succession of the seasons to the movements of the heavens, hold significance. Honour, therefore, emerges as a fitting complement, as it is bestowed upon those who have transformed the circumstances of embodied existence into occasions for moral and spiritual excellence.

The notion that the body shares in honour and enjoyment together with the soul is complemented by the conviction that it also shares in its sufferings. This constitutes one of the more intriguing dimensions of Photios’ anthropology. Indeed, it forms the central theme of Codex 234, which comments on the mentioned work of Methodios On the resurrection. The text provides a rich source of material for understanding Photios’ conception of the body, particularly in the context of Methodios’ sustained effort to refute Origen’s views on the relationship between body, soul and resurrection.

If then it [the soul] were not led astray at all by irrational desire, nor changed with the body whenever it feels pain and suffers (because it will never be that the bodiless will suffer with a body, or a body with the bodiless), it would be possible to consider it bodiless according to what we have said. If however it co-suffers with the body, as shown through the witness of the phenomena, it is not possible for it to be bodiless.43

Photios declares the relative ‘corporeality’ of the soul. In so doing, he echoes the thought of John of Damascus, who maintains that the soul is immaterial in relation to the body, yet somehow material when compared with God. The soul possesses a degree of materiality; it is not a ‘breath of God,’ remote and unfathomable in the same manner as God Himself. Rewards and punishments alike are held in common because, as Photios explains, their actions are performed in common.

What might be said now about the practicalities of a real-life educational situation, rather than the theoretical discussions about education? The Photian task of the educator is to keep the integrity and purpose of the whole human person constantly in view—before the student has even attained the maturity to appreciate the aims of education. The process of personal formation cannot be postponed until such understanding has fully matured. The following passage is presented from the perspective of the soul addressing its Creator:

You, Lord, joined me the bodiless one to a body, and for me alone you did not sanction actions of the earth, and then from me alone do you demand responsibilities. And I am punished for actions that are of the body: drunkenness, fornication, gluttony. How are these actions of the soul, such as envy or an impious opinion? For just as these latter examples are not sins of the body, so it is that the others are not sins of the soul, even though one without the other is slow concerning both groups… What is the decision of the court? Common is the reward, common the penalties, because the actions were in common, even if in some cases the one has an advantage over the other. The couple that was joined from the beginning we must admit was joined for common struggles, and we should know that they enjoy in common the crowns of victory, and that common punishment awaits transgression.44

The discussion of the shared struggles of body and soul further reveals Photios’ awareness of the soul’s susceptibility to decline and disorder, articulated in a manner that is surprisingly resonant with modern psychological insight. How terrible it is when the soul is consumed by grief and judgement is clouded by its darkness. Photios’ response to this existential problem is, unsurprisingly, rooted firmly within the theological and spiritual tradition he inherited. What is particularly noteworthy, however, is the manner in which Christ is presented within the context of this psychosomatic framework. The language is deliberate: “as the perfect physician of body and soul, the Son prescribes the saving medicine beforehand,”45 a formulation that reveals his understanding of sanctification as the healing of the fractured human condition.

Finally, one must confront the inevitable parting of body and soul that occurs at physical death. Within the Christian perspective, this separation is only temporary. The General Resurrection at the end of time will not consist of “naked souls,” but of souls restored to their embodied existence through reunion with the body. Thus, the bond between body and soul is interrupted only for the interval between death and the General Resurrection. Indeed, the divine intention that they should ultimately be reunited serves only to underscore the profundity of their intrinsic connection. At this point, Photios arrives at one of his most significant theological affirmations, expressed in the passage below: The judge must sit in the form of those whom he judges. That is to say, the divine judge must appear in human form. In this remarkably concise statement, Photios presents a compelling image at the intersection of Christology, anthropology and eschatology. Those who are judged must hear the words of one whom they are able to recognise and understand. Divine judgement is not conceived as a nebulous encounter between disembodied spirits but as a profoundly personal event in which each person stands before Christ, hence his assertion that

… in the general resurrection, there are not naked souls, but souls united with their bodies, and that is how they are presented at the judgement seat and in that combined state they undergo trial; the judge must of necessity also sit in his seat with the same form, so that it is possible for the judged also to see the judge, and that the trial might occur with words that are familiar to them, and that the knowledge of the decisions is completely clear both in hearing and in intellect, and our own form is suited to no other among supernatural hypostases, but only to the Son, as all of us know.46

4. Aesthetics and Paideutics

This elevated conception of the body, together with the high value attributed to the material world as a whole, may help to account for Photios’ pronounced sensitivity to aesthetics. If the body is neither a prison nor an incidental appendage to the soul, but rather an integral component of God’s creation, then beauty itself acquires theological significance. By the same creative decree, the human person and the cosmos were brought forth ex nihilo, binding them together as subjects worthy of deep contemplation and care. This theological framework illuminates Question 87 of the Amphilochia. In this text, Photios bridges classical tradition and Christian aesthetics. Even when drawing sharp contrasts, he reframes the “Christian Muses” (sic) as inherently noble figures of thought, although they differ from the Greek [Muses] as much as free natures do from slavish habits and truth from flattery.

Photios’ aesthetics reflect the time-honoured relationship between beauty and truth, encapsulated in the medieval maxim that “beauty is the splendour of truth” (pulchritudo est splendor veritatis).47 For Photios, beauty is not a superficial embellishment of reality but a manifestation of meaning. Beauty draws the person toward truth before truth has been fully articulated. It therefore possesses an inherently pedagogical function. Thus, the accomplished painter is one who “fashions one idea from many colours” (ἀπὸ πολλῶν χρωμάτων μίαν τεχνησάμενος ἰδέαν).48 There is a striking consistency between the Eastern Christian doxological approach to divine beauty and the practise of theōria, the contemplation of the transcendent and suprasensible beauty of God, who is Himself the source of all beauty.49 The emphasis upon divine beauty in the Christian East also possesses a significant pre-Christian heritage. This is evident in Plato’s sublime assertion that the source of knowledge and truth must itself be of “inexpressible beauty” (ἀμήχανον κάλλος),50 precisely because it surpasses knowledge and truth in beauty.

Yet Photios’ aesthetic vision is not confined to the visible and invisible realms of God’s creation. It extends also to the creative works of human hands, including artistic expression in its various forms. Human artistry possesses significance because it reflects, however imperfectly, the order, harmony and intelligibility that derive ultimately from above. It is therefore unsurprising that Photios should speak with eloquence about sacred art. In his celebrated homily delivered at the unveiling of the icon of the Ever-Virgin Mary in Hagia Sophia on 29 March 867, he would observe that

These things are conveyed by both stories and pictures, but it is the spectators rather than the hearers who are drawn to emulation. The Virgin is holding the Creator, as an infant in her arms. Who is there who would not marvel upon seeing it, rather than upon hearing about it, at the magnitude of the mystery, and who would not rise up to laud the condescension that surpasses all words?51

Visual beauty possesses a formative power distinct from verbal instruction. Whereas doctrine informs the intellect, sacred images cultivate imitation, wonder and desire for holiness. The beautiful icon (exterior/artistic beauty) can stimulate a beautiful soul (interior/moral beauty). In Letter 55, the discussion of aesthetics is explicitly linked to education. Photios speaks directly of the ethical dangers that physical beauty may present when it is encountered without prudence and self-control on the part of the beholder. Beauty itself, needless to say, is not the problem; rather, the moral disposition of the observer determines whether it becomes an occasion for virtue or vice. Aesthetic perception therefore requires the formation of the person no less than any other human faculty. The correlation between beauty and moral cultivation recurs throughout Photios’ writings. In the Amphilochia, freedom from the passions is described in aesthetic terms but through transformative language since “it is necessary to beautify” (ἐξωραΐζειν) “and adorn” (κοσμεῖν) the soul.52 Elsewhere, in his characteristically vivid homiletic language, he speaks of the “bright and lovely meadow of the virtues, beautiful to behold, beautiful and lovely to dwell in and enjoy its charms.”53 Beauty, in other words, is not merely an object of contemplation but also a quality of the transformed soul.

The scope of Photios’ aesthetic interests is remarkably broad. His writings refer to dance, theatre and mime (Letters 39 and 90), as well as to comic and tragic poets, ancient drama and even the comedies of Aristophanes, whom he praises for his wisdom (Letters 39, 46 and 63). His appreciation is not confined to literary culture, as he refers also to architecture,54 the Parthenon and celebrated statues of antiquity55—including that of Aphrodite herself.56 Such references demonstrate a figure who was capable of recognising artistic brilliance wherever it appeared. The association between beauty and virtue was of course deeply embedded in the Greek intellectual tradition. Indeed, after discussing the four cardinal virtues of wisdom, courage, temperance and justice in the Republic (444d–e), Socrates exclaims:

Virtue, then, it seems, is a kind of health and beauty (kallos) and good condition of the soul, and vice is the disease, ugliness and weakness of it.

Just as there are ancient precedents for speaking about the virtues in relation to beauty, it must be remembered that similar references can also be found in a number of authors writing within the Eastern tradition.57 The present analysis does not seek to isolate Photios from this broader intellectual and spiritual milieu. In many respects, he was representative of a wider Byzantine engagement with the literary and philosophical inheritance of antiquity. Photios’ distinctive contribution lies elsewhere, namely in the manner in which he appropriated elements of the classical legacy that had survived in Byzantium before investing them with renewed significance and vitality. The classics were not studied and cited merely as props to support Christian doctrine. Rather, the advent of Wisdom incarnate provided a new vantage point from which the wisdom of the ancients could be reassessed and more fully appreciated. Classical learning was not rendered obsolete by Christianity; it was reinterpreted.

This perspective enabled Photios and his intellectual heirs, most notably Arethas of Caesarea, to be at once disciples of Christ and devoted students of the classical tradition. Whereas many Fathers of the fourth and fifth centuries had received their education at so-called ‘pagan’ centres of learning under renowned teachers such as Libanius,58 the intellectual landscape of the ninth century presented a markedly different situation. The older educational institutions no longer displayed their former vitality, and new sources of intellectual and cultural inspiration were required for a rising generation. Some scholars have argued that Photios recognised this challenge and responded to it by opening new possibilities for the youth of his age.59 With the discernment of a Christian classicist, Photios challenged the assumptions of those who regarded themselves as the sole custodians and interpreters of tradition and who therefore dismissed the classical inheritance outright. The anti-intellectualism of the zealots stemmed from their conviction that the Bible and the writings of the Church Fathers were sufficient for the spiritual life. To seek wisdom beyond these sources was regarded as an example of secular pride and a distraction from monastic humility and prayer. That background may help to explain the emergence of a new generation of scholars during this period, some of whom would go on to teach at the tertiary-level Magnaura, without this implying that learning had lain dormant in the preceding centuries. The cultivation of scholarship that made this development possible has frequently been associated with the influence of the Photian circle:

Photios and his students had deeply understood that the Church would either make the necessary opening to the world and its intellectual demands or else become a closed community trapped inside a sterile traditionalism, turning the universal message of the Gospel into a subject of the select few.60

5. Concluding Remarks

Photios was, above all, a theologian whose concern was for a theological worldview capable of guiding human beings through the mysteries of life.61 The questions that drew his attention to the philosophical tradition—such as the filioque, the defence of icons and the problem of free will—were fundamentally theological in nature. His interest in philosophy arose from these questions, not the other way around.

Photios’ emphases must therefore be interpreted within the context of what has been described as “his attempt to combine ancient wisdom and revealed theology.”62 Yet even this formulation requires qualification. The relationship was not one of an equal synthesis between two autonomous systems of thought. Revealed theology remained the primary point of reference, providing the criterion by which philosophical insights were evaluated and, where necessary, adapted. To speak of the ‘transfiguration’ of classical learning would be misleading, as it erroneously presents the classical tradition as the core subject being elevated or perfected. Worse still is the notion of an ‘amalgamation’ between the classical heritage and revealed theology, which falsely implies a partnership of equals meeting across history. Instead, Photios exemplifies a distinctively Byzantine approach to this inheritance, defined by strategic adaptation. The wisdom of the ancients was not merely examined; it was subordinated and adapted to a Christian vision of reality, where the ultimate purpose of knowledge lay not in intellectual attainment but in the formation and sanctification of the human person. The role given to education generally, and to scholarship in particular, is the formation of perception. A true education enables one to see differently, rather than to know more. Not only classical literature but also creation, beauty, the body, history and truth itself are seen with new eyes in the light of the Incarnation and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Photios does not merely Christianise classical learning; he spiritualises the faculties by which human beings encounter reality. And when desire is properly educated, it becomes the faculty by which the whole person is directed toward the highest good.

Modern scholarship on Photios has given comparatively little consideration to these dimensions of his thought. Instead, academic attention has tended in the past to focus on well-known questions, such as the dating of the Myriobiblos (Bibliotheca) or whether Photios actually undertook a diplomatic mission to Assyria. Such concerns are understandable, given the gaps in our knowledge that historians naturally seek to fill. Yet they are neither the most representative nor the most significant aspects of Photios’ life and work, and they need not be privileged at the expense of the themes discussed above. Establishing the date of the Myriobiblos may shed light on the circumstances or purpose of its composition; beyond this, however, its significance may be limited. It bears only indirectly upon the more substantial questions that emerge from Photios’ writings, including his anthropology and his theology.

Just as this study has chosen to avoid such issues, it has also sought to avoid the pitfall of concentrating exclusively on a single work of this Church Father, whether it be the Myriobiblos (his most voluminous work), the Amphilochia or any of his many other writings. Instead, it has attempted a synthetic reading of his corpus as an integrated whole. For Photios, the value of classical culture was determined not by its antiquity or literary excellence but by its capacity to advance the divine vocation of the human person. In the Myriobiblos, Photios does not classify books according to whether they are Christian or pagan, but according to whether they offer spiritual nourishment, moral usefulness or educational benefit. The picture that emerges is that Photios’ educational philosophy cannot be understood apart from his anthropology. He begins with the potential of the human person, situates it within the prospect of sanctification, and then advocates a way of living and learning appropriate to that vocation. At the outset of this study, the question was asked, What is specifically Photian in this process? It should now be evident that Photios’ characteristic contribution did not consist in his approval of selected products of classical culture. Rather, he actively evaluated, classified, summarised, preserved and transmitted them to his own students—most notably through the Myriobiblos, though by no means exclusively there.

However, a second question must be posed, even if only at the conclusion, precisely because it crystallises the foregoing discussion: What kind of person is education intended to form? If the answer is a philosopher, a rhetorician or a statesman, to cite but three familiar examples, then a classical education would suffice. If, on the other hand, the answer belonged to Photios, it would be that the purpose of education is to form a virtuous and, ultimately, sanctified person. Good literature is valuable because it contributes to the formation of the human person; rhetorical training is valuable because it serves the communication of truth; philosophy is valuable because it prepares the mind for revealed wisdom, and aesthetics is valuable because beauty has the capacity to direct human desire towards God. By championing and devoting himself to these disciplines, Photios placed scholarship directly in the service of sanctity.

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Unless otherwise stated, all translations from Greek are by the author. References to the Amphilochia are from the edition published in Ἓλληνες Πατέρες τῆς Ἐκκλησίας, vols. 1–3 (Meretakis, Thessaloniki, 2001). References to the Myriobiblos are from Ἓλληνες Πατέρες τῆς Ἐκκλησίας, vols. 7–9 (Meretakis, Thessaloniki, 2001). Citations of Patrologia Graeca are abbreviated as PG.