Michael Harrington

The medieval fascination with the mysterious language of Dionysius the Areopagite is nowhere more evident than in the thirteenth-century textbook edition of his treatise on liturgical rites. Dionysius employed unfamiliar Greek to describe people, actions, and texts that would have been perfectly familiar to his readers. The Latin translation used in the thirteenth-century textbook strives to preserve this unfamiliarity, but commentaries are introduced between its lines and paragraphs, disrupting its ability to bewilder and surprise. These commentaries make the Dionysian text less mysterious, while also slightly altering its meaning. In the hands of the commentators, Dionysius becomes less interested in the aesthetic mystery of the liturgy, and more interested in credal orthodoxy. To read text and commentary together is to confront seven hundred years of competing voices speaking on the nature and purpose of the Christian church.

The luminaries of late thirteenth-century Europe took great interest in the mysterious fifth-century author known as Dionysius the Areopagite. They typically read Dionysius not in the original Greek, but in a Latin edition prepared sometime in the middle of the thirteenth century. This edition, which appeared first in Paris and later circulated all over Western Europe, was no mere translation. In addition to the famous translation made by Eriugena in the ninth century, it contained translations of scholia on the Dionysian texts made by Anastasius the Librarian, alternative readings provided by Anastasius and other Latin readers, as well as excerpts from Eriugena's own theological masterwork, the Periphyseon. University scholars such as Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas thus learned Dionysian mystical theology not only from his text, but from the seven-hundred year interpretive tradition that literally surrounded it on the page.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Clement of AlexandriaL. Michael HarringtonEric Osborn. Clement of Alexandria. Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Pp. xviii + 324. Cloth, $85.00.With Clement of Alexandria, Eric Osborn returns to the subject of his 1957 book, The Philosophy of Clement of Alexandria, but its style and themes more closely resemble his more recent studies of second-century Christian thinkers: Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge, 1997) and Irenaeus of Lyons (Cambridge, 2001). Osborn's Clement, Tertullian, and Irenaeus are bound together by more than the century in which they happened to live. They share an optimism—a confidence that the world is finally comprehensible—and an argumentative theology, developed in response to the Gnostics, who, Osborn says in his book on Irenaeus, "were strong on picture and myth but weak on argument" (xiii).Osborn's approach to Clement is, as he describes it, analytic or problematic, meaning that "we simply ask what problems forced Clement to write and where he found Christian teaching in need of elucidation" (xii-xiii). Three problems concern Clement: (1) "how can the narrative of the kerygma (what God does) be translated into a metaphysic (who God is)?"; (2) "how two distinct beings, father and son, constitute one God"; and (3) "an answer had to be found for those who divided faith and knowledge." Each problem is addressed by means of a theme—divine economy for the first, reciprocity for the second, and salvation by faith for the third—and each of the book's three major parts devotes itself to one of these themes.Having laid out this systematic division, Osborn generally follows the logic of Clement's own thought rather than an imposed structure, developing his argument by careful collation and paraphrase. As a result, by the end of the book, the reader will feel thoroughly and effortlessly initiated in Clement's major works: the Protrepticus, the Paedagogus, and the Stromateis. The book thus serves as a thorough introduction to Clement, without aiming so low that it is of no interest to the scholar.Osborn's central argument unfolds from his observation that "Clement, more than any other early Christian writer, knew and enjoyed Greek philosophy and literature" (2). Clement defends the rationality shared between Christians and Greeks against the irrationalists of his time: the theosophers, or Gnostics (215). Osborn, in turn, defends Clement against the irrationalists of our own time, represented in his book by Wolfhart Pannenberg. The "divine irrational freedom" praised by Pannenberg is replaced in Osborn's Irenaeus and Clement by "universal wisdom" (47). The universality of wisdom allows great and dispassionate natures to reach the truth—whether they are Christians or Greeks—though each is like one limb of the truth, severed from the rest. Convinced that Christ will reunite these disiecta membra, "Clement converses with them and joins their broken lights" (104).In footnotes and parenthetical references throughout the book, Osborn argues against the approaches to Clement in doxography and Discourse Power theory, precisely because they are unable to treat him as a philosopher (79). The doxographer can show Clement's dependence on earlier philosophers, but is unable to see how he differs from them (xii). The Discourse Power theorist can see that Clement's system differs from the Gnostic system, but is able to explain the difference only as a competition between two social structures, without seeing that only one of them aspires to logical coherence (215).This dismissal of doxography and Discourse Power theory may strike the reader as too thoroughgoing, especially if we distinguish, as Osborn himself does in his book on Tertullian, philosophy as "a matter of system and speculation" from philosophy as "a matter of argument" (198). Clement's optimism depends on his confidence in system and speculation, in so far as they can be defended by argument. But if argument can defend two different systems equally well, then we may wonder why Clement chooses the system he does. Here the doxographer, who can show the provenance of his thought, becomes essential, as does the Discourse Power theorist, who can set Clement's choice of system in the context of the contemporary social fabric that inevitably affects even the...

The Dionysian corpus makes virtually no statement about the authority of kings or the structure of nations, but it has nevertheless repeatedly been the subjectof political analysis. Several scholars have recently sketched out a Dionysian politics by drawing analogies between the Dionysian church and the city, and between the Dionysian bishop and the emperor. These analogies are of limited usefulness. They show that Dionysius does employ Platonic political language to describe the ecclesiastical hierarchy, but they risk overlooking or downplaying the hierarchy’s non-temporal, and therefore non-political, activity. A more fruitful ground for developing a Dionysian politics may be found in his brief discussion of the legal hierarchy, which provides practical instruction for action in the temporal realm without direct reference to the contemplative activity of the church.

The twentieth century discovered the concept of sacred place largely through the work of Martin Heidegger and Mircea Eliade. Their writings on sacred place respond to the modern manipulation of nature and secularization of space, and so may seem distinctively postmodern, but their work has an important and unacknowledged precedent in the Neoplatonism of Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages. Sacred Place in Early Medieval Neoplatonism traces the appearance and development of sacred place in the writings of Neoplatonists from the third to ninth centuries, and sets them in the context of present-day debates over place and the sacred.

This book is a translation of a key commentary on the Book of Changes, or Yijing, perhaps the most broadly influential text of classical China. The Yijing first appeared as a divination text in Zhou-dynasty China and later became a work of cosmology, philosophy, and political theory as commentators supplied it with new meanings. While many English translations of the Yijing itself exist, none are paired with a historical commentary as thorough and methodical as that written by the Confucian scholar Cheng Yi, who turned the original text into a coherent work of political theory.

The classical Western concept of place points in two directions: toward isolating things from one another and toward articulating their connections. Aristotle’s famous definition of a thing’s place as the limit of its surrounding body, which serves to isolate the thing from all but its immediate surroundings, sits side-by-side in the Physics with his theory of natural places, according to which things have places only in relation to each other.1 A thing’s natural place may be at the center—as the earth is at the center of the cosmos in the classical theory—but the center exists only with respect to the periphery, and vice versa. Likewise, a thing can be below only in relation to something above it. The relationship...