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[To be published in The Gnostic World, ed. Garry W.

Trompf and Jay Johnston, Routledge,


forthcoming; this pre-publication version contains the bibliographical list, but not full references]

Christian Gnosis: From Clement the Alexandrian to John Damascene

Doru Costache

Christianity has emerged in history as a community of learners, disciples of a Teacher, Jesus Christ,
and his successors, the apostles. More a philosophical school than a religious movement, from the
outset Christianity has focused on the teaching and wisdom of the Founder, which it construed as
“the way” to knowledge and perfection. Gnosis, the knowledge revealed by the Teacher and
explained by his successors, was interwoven with the practical life, or the virtuous and spiritual
experience, and so inherent to Christianity. Holistically understood, the gnostic dimension was
nevertheless central for many theologians, from the second to at least the eighth Christian century.
Herein I offer glimpses of their elaborations, pointers to a phenomenon whose breadth and
complexity far exceeds the parameters of this chapter.

Clement the Alexandrian

Echoing the journey of Justin Martyr a generation earlier, Clement, whose life roughly spanned
from the mid-second century to the early third, embarked on a philosophical quest which led him to
the discovery of Middle Platonism and culminated with his Christian conversion. His conversion
occurred under the guidance of Pantaenus, in Alexandria, Egypt. He established there a school of
Christian philosophy—perhaps modelled after the Roman school of Justin and surely that of his
teacher. As a master of Christian philosophy and perhaps an Alexandrian presbyter, Clement
structured his teaching by the classical paideia, with a Christian twist. Paideia, richer than modern
education in that it entailed both curricular training and formative dimensions, prescribed
advancement through successive stages of learning up to the highest state of intellectual and moral
perfection. Similarly, Christian pedagogy presupposed a gradual initiation of a convert, from the
status of “catechumen” to that of “enlightened,” and finally “believer.” Clement combined the two
traditions into one complex process of philosophical pedagogy, which progressed from the
preparatory phases of paideutic training to the “holy gnosis” of the higher stages of Christian
initiation (Choufrine 2002). His major works, Exhortation ( = Exhort.), The Tutor, Stromateis ( =
Strom.), and the loose parts of The Teacher, illustrate the curriculum.

Clement was concerned with perfection, which, as depicted for the Alexandrine intelligentsia, he
construed complexly. Perfection was unreachable without the curricular stages of theoretical and
practical disciplines (Strom. 2) such as music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, dialectic, and
philosophy. As much as gazing upon “things divine” and contemplating “the great mysteries of
existence” (Strom. 7; 1), one learned how to “till the soil, make geometrical measurements, and
philosophize” (Strom. 6). Above all, one aimed at gnosis—“the perfection of the human being as a
human being” (Strom. 7). Theological gnosis was the fulfillment of human existence. This was so
because “the human being was made primarily for the knowledge of God” (Strom. 6). To attain
gnostic perfection, one progressed from catharsis (Strom. 5) to the “little mysteries of the teaching”
and the “great” mysteries of contemplation (Strom. 4; 5), culminating in divine vision (Strom. 5;
Lilla 1971). Gnosis amounted therefore to more than an intellectual accomplishment. It constituted
a holistic “way of life and thinking in concord with and adherence to the divine Logos” (Strom. 7),
entailing one’s reference to a transcendent paradigm. The gnostic had to observe in everything the
wisdom of Christ, Logos incarnate—in faith (Strom. 2), grace (Strom. 5; 7), and virtue (Strom 2; 7;
Prophetic selections 37). Consequently, Christianity was the privileged framework for achieving
gnosis.

Building on “Mosaic philosophy,” shaped after the Platonic curriculum of ethics, physics, and
epoptics (Strom. 1), Christianity was the perfect gnosis. Variously termed, “gnostic tradition,” “holy
gnosis,” and “ecclesiastical gnosis” (Strom. 5; 3; 7), the Christian tradition made possible one’s
advancement from a naïve faith and preconceived ideas to a mature knowledge and wisdom (Strom.
7). This process was guided by elders (Bucur 2015), who delivered the wisdom of Christ revealed to
the apostles and the prophets (Strom. 6). This interplay of Old and New Testament authorities in the
handing on of ecclesial gnosis was typically Clementine. Elsewhere he added to this framework the
Logos’s cosmic revelation (Exhort. 1; Costache 2013a). The common denominator for these
channels of divine knowledge—the cosmos, the prophets, the apostles, and the elders—was their
reference to Christ, Logos incarnate, who sang the universe into existence, spoke through the
prophets, and communicated the truth to his disciples, who have then instructed the elders. Clement
returned frequently to the centrality of Christ to the gnostic tradition (Strom. 5; 6; Lilla 1971).

Actually, Christian gnosis was perfect because the one who was its source possessed perfect
knowledge (Strom. 1; 6). Christ circumscribed the universe’s present, past, and future (Strom. 6).
Moreover, as creator Logos, Christ was the “primary meaning” of the universe (Strom. 5) and its
inner measure (Exhort. 1; 6). Consequently, when the Clementine gnostic “contemplated and
comprehended” the “great mysteries of the universe,” he or she acquired a profound knowledge of
Christ, the foundation of the cosmos. Ultimately, what the “holy gnostic” (Strom. 2; 4) sought was
complete gnosis, an understanding of the universe in the light of its measure. Contemplation
proceeded gradually from the visible world to the invisible and then to the vision of Christ as Logos
(Strom. 5; 5). Acknowledged as “gnosis and spiritual paradise,” “true gnosis and light,” and God’s
Son who “offered and revealed” the understanding of the universe (Strom. 6), Christ was the
supreme object of gnostic contemplation.

All Christians were called to divine gnosis, but Christ offered the deepest teachings only to worthy
recipients (Strom. 1). In a way, supreme knowledge was not for all (Strom. 1). This caveat does not
denote Clement’s adherence to the “gnostic” elitism of his Alexandrian contemporaries. What he
meant was that gnosis was attainable through diligent study and strenuous ascesis. Gnosis was
available for the studious and pure, who, like Abraham and Moses, had undertaken the
transformative process facilitated by the curriculum (Strom. 1; 2; 5; 6; Choufrine 2002). The need
for purification, alongside study, was motivated by the view that gnosis, as “the pure light which
enlightens those pure among the human beings,” required an existential compatibility from its
seeker (Prophetic selections 32). It required transformation. Thus, Clementine pedagogy aimed at
personal transformation by way of a gnostic process that led to enlightenment.

Athanasius of Alexandria

Almost nothing is known of Athanasius’s (d. 373) life before his public ascension after 325.
Scholars doubt that his education included higher training (Louth 2004a). Perhaps an autodidact,
Athanasius displayed nevertheless a sense of tradition which entailed familiarity with an
Alexandrian forebear and Clement’s onetime disciple, Origen. He must have become familiar with
Origen’s ideas both directly, through study, and indirectly, by drawing on older Origenist
contemporaries such as Antony (Casiday 2002). That he appreciated Origen is well known (Louth
2007). But when they refer to his dependence on earlier traditions, scholars do not connect
Athanasius with Clement. Nevertheless, even without displaying the structured pedagogy of
Clement, his construal of gnosis followed similar principles. He maintained that gnosis was attained
by answering the divine call to know God through faith, faith manifesting a disposition of the soul
which was conditioned by ascetic purification (Life of Antony [ = Ant.]). Elsewhere he referred to
grace, faith, and virtue as prerequisites of superior knowledge (Against the Gentiles [ = Gent.]).
These elements, and some of the following ones, correspond to Clement’s holistic gnosis.

Athanasius believed that the call to divine gnosis was imbedded in human nature. God had made
humankind in the image of God’s Son, enabling it to know the Father and his Logos (Gent.).
Moreover, God conditioned humankind towards God’s likeness so that it can understand the world
and grasp the eternity of its creator. But the human mind was able to exercise contemplation proper,
a “perception of things intelligible,” only if it maintained likeness to God and an ascetically purified
heart (Gent.). Within the same context Athanasius deployed an arsenal of epistemological terms.
There, on a single page we find the following concepts related to ratiocination and knowledge, in
the order in which they unfold: notion, thought, contemplation, science, conceptualization, gnosis,
capacity to represent reality, knowledge of the divine, understanding, power of the mind,
realization, vision (Gent.).

Together with this complex vocabulary and the theological presuppositions earlier outlined,
Athanasius understood the acquisition of divine gnosis as a gradual process which, like for
Clement, began with the contemplation of the universe to end by gazing upon the divine. Without
the material being organized in this precise order, within Gent. four steps are discernible: examining
things created; discerning God’s providence; realizing God’s eternity and the creation’s ephemeral
condition; and contemplating the Logos, the image of the Father, as “divine gnosis.” Athanasius
represented the cosmos as a book out of which, as from Scripture (Blowers 2012), one learned the
mysteries of the cosmos and its creator (Gent.). An accurate reading of the cosmic book required a
sharp mind, whose gnostic aptitudes were enabled by ascetic purification and contemplative
exercises (Gent.). It appears that, informed by Clement, Athanasius’s gnostic program was
ultimately inspired by Antony, depicted as a Christian sage (Ant.) whose wisdom, drawing on
personal experience, exceeded that of his pagan counterparts (Ant.). This illustration lends
substance to the ideal of Christian gnosis as an existential accomplishment.

The Cappadocians

The Cappadocian fathers, Basil, Gregory Nazianzen, and Gregory Nyssen, flourished in the second
half of the fourth century. They shared interests and methods, but they were not always in
agreement (Louth 2004b). Of interest is their view of Moses as exemplary for the gnostic quest—a
depiction in which reverberate motifs pondered by Philo, Clement, Origen, and Athanasius.

The thinking of Basil (d. 379), a bishop of Cappadocian Caesarea for less than ten troubled years
and an elegant writer, is only seldom acknowledged as touching divine gnosis. This view must
change. I have shown elsewhere (Costache 2013b) that even works of a different scope, such as the
Homilies on the Hexaemeron [ = Hex.], exhibit signs of Basil’s mystical thinking. One finds there
heuristic devices, typical for the mystagogical approach, meant to stir the intelligent reader’s desire
to seek gnosis. In the prolog, Basil recommended that the cosmos be approached with an inquisitive
reason, purified senses, and a discerning mind untainted by worldly cares, able to identify the divine
signature in things created. Also there, he introduced Moses as an illustration of how gnosis should
be attained (DelCogliano 2010), through a gradual process of personal transformation. Being
trained in the Egyptian sciences, the prophet proceeded to purify his mind and life. Purification
facilitated his progress in the “contemplation of beings,” which he exercised for forty years, after
which he “beheld God, as much as possible for the human being to see” (Hex. 1). This depiction is
typical for the triple pattern—purification, contemplation, theological gnosis—encountered in
earlier authors. Elsewhere, Basil added important notes on divine gnosis. Knowledge of God was a
gift apportioned to the seekers, an illumination for whomever had “purified the eye of their
soul” (Against Eunomius [ = Eun.] 1.). The source of enlightenment was Christ, who granted
“access to gnosis” (Eun. 1) and mediated one’s union to God (Eun. 2). Nevertheless, the superior
knowledge reached by saints like Paul did not exhaust the ocean of divine mysteries (Eun. 1).
Attainable to some extent within the authenticated framework of the written and secret tradition of
the apostles (On the Holy Spirit 27), gnosis may have remained an ever-elusive target.

Basil’s onetime friend, Gregory the Theologian (d. 390), for awhile bishop of Constantinople and
the best educated of them (McGuckin 2001), displayed a more consistent interest in writing on
gnosis and perfection. He affirmed an inextricable connection between lofty discourse, an
experientially authenticated knowledge, and personal worthiness (Beeley 2008). Thus, anyone who
did not qualify for theological gnosis had to refrain from discoursing on it, even from listening to it
(Theological Orations [ = Theol.]). Gnosis was conditioned by the existential isomorphism between
subject and object—the human mind and the divine reality—which, in turn, was contingent on the
human mind’s purification. The genuine teacher was the accomplished gnostic who, like Moses, has
undertaken catharsis. The isomorphism between subject and object, or, better, the human and the
divine subjects, was required because gnosis was a participatory experience. Paraphrasing the
Exodus narrative about Moses climbing up Sinai (Theol. 2; Oration 20), Gregory described one’s
attainment of divine gnosis as ascending to the condition of “becoming a relative of God,” so
participation in the divine. This was not the same for all. Symbolically illustrated by the elders who
accompanied Moses, “the worthiness of their purification” or personal catharsis conditioned their
level of participation; some of them could not climb too far, others fell short of reaching the top.
Worthiness dictated why few people could approach the cloud of divine mystery, having access to
the hidden wisdom and gnosis—the top of the mountain as it were—while the many struggled with
the externals of the Law, at the foothills of Sinai. Those attached to “material things” remained
foreign to “contemplation and theology.” Consequently, Gregory warned them not to approach “the
height of vision,” indeed “divine glory.” Nevertheless, like in Basil, given God’s transcendence, the
culminating gnostic experience of divine vision remained imperfect even for the worthy ones, the
existential isomorphism between the subjects notwithstanding.

Lastly, Basil’s younger brother, Gregory (d. ca 395), bishop of Nyssa, is unanimously
acknowledged as the spiritual master among his peers (Louth 2004b). This scholarly acclaim refers
to the many writings he dedicated to the topic of interest, not the traditional criteria concerning
matters of gnosis or mystical theology. Below I focus on his approach to the Sinai narrative
illustrated by Life of Moses, where Gregory redrafted already familiar motifs (Blowers 2015). It is
there that, while interpreting the scriptural account, he described superior knowledge as an ascent of
“the mountain of divine gnosis” (2). In dealing with the text, he nevertheless followed the triadic
outline of perfection encountered in the foregoing authors. According to him, Moses travelled in
stages from “the contemplation of beings” to “the knowledge of the divine power” which has
created the universe, to then ascend “there, where God is” (2). The experience amounted to a divine
“mystagogy,” an “ineffably mystical initiation” of Moses in higher gnosis, which crowned the
seeker’s efforts of catharsis. Thus, ascesis, or rather virtue, and divine revelation conditioned gnosis.
Gregory highlighted that the commandments delivered a “teaching for virtue” which led the gnostic
mountaineer “to the heights of virtue.” Virtue exceeded ethics, being charged with epistemological
significance. In his words, “the head” of all virtue was gnosis, the “respectful thought concerning
divine nature.” However, virtue was one’s “way towards gnosis.” This understanding echoes the
traditional conviction, earlier discussed, that gnosis required an ascetic reshaping of life. But in
Gregory virtue and gnosis appear to have overlapped as much as gnosis and perfection did in
Clement.

In becoming virtuous through ascetic purification, Moses concluded the “divine ascent” by
“entering the innermost sanctuary of divine mystagogy,” thus “becoming an initiate of the
ineffable” with insights into the “abyss of divine gnosis.” This achievement crowned the
contemplative effort of piercing beyond the “phenomenal universe” and embracing “the invisible
and the unreachable.” Virtue, it seems, trained him to humbly realize that, given the caesura
between the created and the uncreated, “the divine is there, where understanding cannot reach.”
Ultimately, gnosis remained work in progress. This realization prompted Gregory to phrase gnosis
paradoxically: Moses managed “to see by not seeing” through the veils of a “luminous darkness.”
Possibly for the same reason, Gregory developed the notion of epektasis or the endless ascent
toward God, as another way of saying that gnosis was a never-ending chase after the divine.

Although the Cappadocian fathers maintained distinctiveness from one another, they were agreed
on matters mystical. As illustrated by their views of Moses, supreme gnosis was made accessible by
one’s corresponding purification and advancement in virtue, one’s personal transformation. The
measure of personal transformation conditioned one’s level of receptivity towards divine revelation.
Thus articulated, gnosis was irreducible to reasoning and the accumulation of information; it was,
instead, a holistic experience where knowledge and life mingled in the making of a renewed human
being—forever drawn to reach the unreachable.

Evagrius Ponticus

A Pontian intellectual trained by the Cappadocian fathers and several desert elders, Evagrius (d.
399) referred to the early Alexandrians both directly (Casiday 2013) and through the lens of the
Cappadocians, particularly Gregory of Nyssa (Ramelli 2015). Throughout the Evagrian corpus one
discovers the same interest in triadic patterns discussed above. This is obvious in his works, The
Practical Treatise ( = Pract.), The Gnostic, and Gnostic Chapters, which mirror Clement’s trilogy
of The Tutor, Stromateis, and The Teacher. The same interest transpires in the way Evagrius has
organized his reflection. Significantly, he construed Christianity as “the teaching of our Savior
Christ that consists of the practical, physical, and theological stages” (Pract.). Whereas his entire
corpus is a monument to the quest for Christian gnosis, unless otherwise stated herein I exemplify
the topic of interest by considering The Gnostic.

The writing explores matters of monastic life superior to what pertains to basic asceticism, such as
contemplation, compassion, discernment, and prayer. These were the main qualities and activities of
the holy gnostic. Evagrius shared with the Cappadocians the view that to reach perfect knowledge
was impossible in the present circumstances. Nevertheless, the advanced possessed a
comprehensive grasp of reality. This holistic perception corresponded to an existential
accomplishment since, as highlighted in the prologue of Pract., virtue, dispassion, faith, and love
made possible the contemplation of nature and the ultimate blessedness. Typically, this achievement
required the triadic path of the “practical” purification and progress in dispassion, the “physical”
discovery of the truth hidden in all things, and the “theological” turn from things material to the
“first cause” of everything. In walking this path, the gnostic was able to grasp the principles of
beings and make proper use of them. For this reason, the gnostic was the best aid for others in
matters of reaching perfection, and the most qualified guide to the knowledge of created and divine
realities.

There is indication that, while inspired by the desert elders he encountered, Evagrius’s sketch of the
gnostic borrowed nevertheless from Clement. But, to legitimize his interpretation, Evagrius made
mention of more recent authorities, namely, “Gregory the righteous” (either the Theologian or the
bishop of Nyssa), “the pillar of the truth, Basil the Cappadocian,” “Athanasius, the holy luminary of
the Egyptians,” “Sarapion, the angel of the Church of Thmuis,” followed by “Didymus, the great
and gnostic teacher.” Since the passages attributed to them cannot be traced to known writings, it is
likely that Evagrius either referred to their oral preachings or used them as springboards for his
views.

With reference to Gregory he noted that the master correlated the four Stoic virtues—prudence,
courage, moderation, and righteousness—and the contemplative undertakings of the gnostic. The
virtues oriented the gnostic’s mind towards worthwhile objects and away from vain hypotheses. The
virtues regulated also the manner in which the gnostic shared insights with others. Proportional to
the audience’s aptness, righteousness demanded that the more advanced disciples received the
teaching in obscure statements, which incited them to ponder matters, whereas simple folks were
granted a clear instruction, for their immediate benefit. Turning to Basil, Evagrius pointed out that
the Cappadocian had drawn a sharp line between human and divine gnosis. Human knowledge was
acquired by way of assiduous study and did not require ascesis. In turn, being acquired through
gracious illumination, divine gnosis was nonetheless conditioned by the “righteousness, gentleness,
and mercifulness” of the dispassionate. Given the aspects of purification and illumination, divine
gnosis was associated with a perception of the mind’s ethereal light during prayer.

Moving on, Evagrius pointed out that Athanasius was concerned with how the gnostic faced the
snares of the evil one and the requirement of enduring trials nobly. But the main feature of the
Athanasian gnostic was generosity—an “eagerness to feed those that present themselves” in order
to learn the ways of true knowledge. In turn, Evagrius observed that Sarapion emphasized the
existential impact of “spiritual gnosis.” Using Platonic anthropology, Evagrius’s Sarapion preached
that gnosis furthered the catharsis of the mind, healed the natural aptitude of anger through love,
and controlled the appetitive energy through abstinence. Lastly, Didymus, Evagrius has shown,
construed the gnostic as “always exercising” by contemplating the universe and people’s
worthiness. The exercises included memorizing the discoveries, understanding the world and its
diversity, together with discerning the advancement “in virtue and gnosis” of those who spiritually
redrafted their lives. Spiritual exercises and the attainment of gnosis were entwined.

With Evagrius, together with a return to Clement’s rigorous depiction of the “philosophical life”
leading to gnosis, the corresponding views of Athanasius and the Cappadocians, who preferred to
theorize about scriptural figures, have been aligned with the concrete circumstances of the desert
ascetic life. At the forefront of Evagrius’s theorizations on the attainment of gnosis was the figure of
the holy gnostic.

Maximus the Confessor


The greatest Byzantine theologian, Maximus (d. 662) is usually credited with achieving a creative
synthesis of previous traditions, together with exploring new avenues pertaining to mystical
theology. Of interest is his construal of gnosis, within which the ethical and ascetic prerequisites
observed by Clement and Evagrius intersected with the revelational vantage point of the
Cappadocians—against the backdrop of a spiritual reading of scriptural passages, specific to the
Alexandrian tradition. Similar to the foregoing authors and many others after them, such as
Macarius, Diadochus of Photiki, Mark the Ascetic, and Dionysius the Areopagite, Maximus’s view
of gnosis was at the forefront of his theological endeavors, irrespective of the genre to which his
writings belonged. Symptomatically, in Chapters on Love 1 he pointed out that true love of God
becomes manifest when one prioritizes divine gnosis to knowing anything else. Likewise, in the
beginning of On the Our Father he entreated God to lead him to an understanding of the mysteries
encoded within the words of the prayer. The prayerful approach to higher knowledge features also
in To Thalassius, which has the seekers striving to arrive, through praxis and contemplation, to the
inner chambers of God’s house where, “with never silent voices, they sing the gnosis of things
ineffable.” Furthermore, his Mystagogy searches for gnosis through liturgical symbols. That said, in
the tradition of Evagrius’s Gnostic Chapters and their fifth century replica written by Diadochus,
the Confessor produced a typically monastic treatise in sentence form, Two Hundred Chapters on
Theology and the Incarnate Economy of the Son of God, relevant to the scope of this study. Unless
otherwise stated, in what follows I focus on this work.

Echoing the Aristotelian distinction between theoretical and practical wisdom, Maximus referred to
the “double” nature of gnosis, namely, “scientific” or theoretical, and “actively practical” or the
experiential grasp of reality. The second, applied dimension was associated with the observance of
divine commandments, but essentially did not differ from the theoretical dimension; the object of
both types of gnosis were the divine principles of things created. The passage seems to favor the
applied gnosis. This choice, which may represent a deliberate counterpoint to the Aristotelian
primacy of theoretical wisdom, alludes to the general patristic opinion that genuine knowledge was
conditioned by ascetic fortitude. Consequently, the experiential grasp of reality presupposed
purification through the “practice of the virtues,” the “attainment of dispassion,” and humility.
Advancement in virtue and dispassion was required in order for the seeker to “shake off” the
preconceived opinions about things and so reach the “inner principle of truth” or the “foundation of
real knowledge.” In addition to purification, the Maximian gnostic had to consider the objects of
interest through Christ’s life, taken as a theoretical lens. Alongside deciphering “all the enigmas and
types within Scripture,” the vantage point of “the mystery of the Logos’s embodiment” enabled one
to grasp “the science of the visible and the noetic creations.” Furthermore, Christ’s cross, burial, and
resurrection facilitated the comprehension of the inside of things and the purpose for which all were
made. Only thus, by collecting “the inner principles of created beings” one could have “received
portions of the loaves of gnosis from the hands of the Logos,” finding noetic nourishment in things
created, “the divine gnosis they contain” (Bradshaw 2010). Elsewhere, and more simply stated,
“true knowledge” was accessible through faith, but not without a direct divine input—“the
revelation by grace” or the “divine illumination.” Thus, the gnostic quest was an interactive
experience, an event of divine-human communion.

Purification and natural contemplation led to divine knowledge. It is plain that Maximus construed
the gradual attainment of gnosis according to the ancient tradition of the three stages (Blowers
2016), even though at times, like in To Thalassius, he rendered these stages in variant terms such as
fear, advancement, and perfection. Equally traditional was his interest in identifying the triple
pattern in scriptural contexts. For example, and perhaps drawing on Origen’s First Homily on
Genesis, he produced a synthetic interpretation of the days of creation as a triadic advancement
towards perfection and spiritual knowledge. For him, the six days typified the ascesis that was
conducive to virtue, the seventh day represented the apophatic approach of the contemplatives to
the “ineffable gnosis,” and the eighth corresponded to the culminating deification of the worthy
ones. The attainment of gnosis amounted to a state of blessedness or “mystical joy,” which in the
here and now was limited by corporeality. The last nuance is reminiscent of Evagrius. That said,
together with Gregory of Nyssa, Maximus believed that the path of gnosis was an endless one and
that, motivated by desire (Cooper 2015), the human being was called to “advance from one virtue to
a greater virtue and ascend from a certain knowledge to a higher gnosis,” aiming to reach the
heavenly tabernacle of God and so become “the dwelling place of God.” Even so, or rather due to
this asymptotic ascent to God, the Maximian gnostic was, similar to its Clementine and Evagrian
prototypes, not isolated; he or she was someone able to “feed thousands,” “cure every disease and
infirmity,” “healing the sick, and through hope restoring devotion to those who have lost it.”

John Damascene

Born in Damascus to a wealthy family, John (d. 749) lived as an erudite monk in the Palestinian
monastery of Saint Sabbas, where he wrote treatises, orations, and liturgical hymns. For reasons that
remain obscure, he composed a trilogy on aspects pertaining to gnosis, The Fount of Knowledge ( =
Fount), dedicated to his supposedly foster brother, Cosmas, bishop of Maiuma (Louth 2002).
According to the prolog to the trilogy, the Damascene adopted the selective approach of the famous
Basilian bee (see Address to Youth) when searching the elements of proper thinking within the
classical tradition, which he discussed in the first part, Philosophical Chapters ( = Phil.); then he
disclosed, in Against the Heresies ( = Her.), a range of doctrinal errors, maybe samples of incorrect
thinking (as implied elsewhere within the same preface, “I shall refute all ordinary and falsely
called knowledge”); and then, in On the Orthodox Faith ( = Orth.), proceeded to explain the truth
preached by the God-inspired prophets, the divinely-taught apostles, and the God-bearing shepherds
and teachers. Herein I refer to passages that strictly treat the prerequisites and the acquisition of
superior gnosis.

In the first part of the trilogy, from chapter three onwards, John discussed the various kinds of
curricular knowledge, theoretical and practical, that we have encountered in Clement and Maximus.
And although the study of the disciplines, particularly dialectic, make for most of the remaining
work, the earlier chapters, including the prolog of the trilogy, include significant caveats in relation
to genuine gnosis. The relevant chapters summarize the earlier elaborations on the Christian gnostic
tradition.

The Philosophical Chapters abruptly begin by stating that gnosis is proper to rational beings as
much as ignorance is the province of irrationality. John explained within the same place that the
soul’s mind has an “eye of sorts” or a “gnostic faculty” by which it can acquire knowledge and
understanding. For the human mind, therefore, “there is nothing of greater value than gnosis” and in
its absence reason abides in darkness. The darkness of ignorance, furthermore, translates as a
condition of inferiority to irrational beings, a state to which human beings condemn themselves
through intellectual neglect. Instead, reason flourishes when it attains “the true knowledge of things
that are” (Phil.). But to know things for what they are, human reason should persist in its quest for
the truth. In the Damascene’s words, “let us search, let us enquire, let us examine, let us
question” (Phil.). There is nothing that the mind should take for granted. One should not be
complacent, satisfied with untested information. This conviction echoed Clement’s and was
somehow at variance with the monastic commonplace that curiosity, in popular parlance, killed the
cat. One must knock hard at the doors of gnosis in order “to see the beauties” behind them and
vigorously dig “to find the treasure of gnosis and delight in its wealth” (Phil.). As he proved in the
second book of Orth., this included scientific enquiry, not just theological aptness.

John’s conviction that true knowledge can be grasped by the polymath “lover of learning” only
through “diligence and effort” was not the only prerequisite. He believed likewise that gnosis
required “before everything and after everything” God’s gift of grace (Phil.). Elsewhere (Orth.;
Adrahtas 2003; Louth 2002), instead of grace he referred to a gradual divine revelation—in the
harmony of nature, in the Scriptures, and in the gospel of Christ—a schema which is reminiscent of
Origen’s and Maximus’s theory of the three embodiments of the Logos (Blowers 2016). Ultimately,
Christ, “the very wisdom and truth” in whom “all the treasures of gnosis are hidden,” was the one
who led the soul from ignorance and falsehood to the truth (Phil.). What matters is that for John
there was no rift between scientific enquiry and theological knowledge. But, as much as diligence in
study, neither grace nor revelation could have sufficed either. John iterated again and again that one
had to be personally worthy to acquire gnosis. For instance, in the prolegomenon to Fount and by
way of rhetorical interrogations, he claimed that, his own impure mind being sullied “with every
sort of sin” and “the rough waters of thoughts,” it cannot have served as a mirror to God nor can it
“utter things divine and ineffable.” Within the same preface he added that it would be unpardonable
to pretend to know when one was in fact ignorant. One had to be sincere therefore, we read
elsewhere (Phil.), cultivating attentiveness, maintaining the inner eye unclouded by the passions,
and a mind free of material interests. At the end of the same chapter, the Damascene added: “if we
approach gnosis not as a vain pursuit and with humble thinking, we shall be ready for what is
desired.” We find here, again, the ascetic and existential criteria upheld by his traditional forebears.
Humility was instrumental for the gnostic pursuit. It prompted one to call on the Lord, “our guide,”
and so, through obedience to him, become an “imitator of Christ.” Walking in the footsteps of
Christ, in turn, led one “from the lowest place to the highest,” which amounted to becoming
graciously illuminated, more precisely the possessor of a purified heart and an enlightened mind
(Fount, preface). The perfect exemplification of this trajectory was again the experience of Moses,
who reached dispassion and abandoned preconceived ideas, which enabled him “to receive the
divine vision” and know the very name of God (Fount, preface). John Damascene construed gnosis
as a holistic experience which involved “our whole soul and our whole understanding” (Phil.). As
Louth (2002) had it, the trilogy defined “what is to be a Christian, understood less as a set of beliefs
[…] than as a way of life.”

In conclusion, gnosis was central to the early Christian experience, being construed as a holistic,
existentially and intellectually complex achievement, which entailed ascesis, virtue, training, study,
theological acumen, grace, and commitment to divine revelation.

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