All too often we speak about ‘evolution’ in Origen’s theology. However, this is an exaggeration. While bearing a tremendous erudition in his luggage as a formerly illustrious Greek philosopher, Origen’s approach was clear: God had already revealed to the heathen his ‘invisible things’, no matter if the Greeks misunderstood those and spoke of theories of ‘Ideas’ or kept on worshipping idols, as Paul wrote in Rom. 1:19-22: the Greeks ‘knew God’ but ‘did not glorify Him, and became vain in their reasoning, and professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.’ For even in the case of those simple fishermen, who were taught by Jesus ‘privately and especially in places of retreat’, it was because they ‘received those thoughts by the grace of God’ that ‘they saw better than Plato what thoughts should be committed to writing and how they should be written’ (Cels, VI.6). However, along with frequently recalling Paul’s words, Origen (unlike other Christians who saw Hellenism as a daemon) did not dismiss the first part of Paul’s statement, namely, that the Greeks somehow ‘knew God’. Whatever part of this ‘somehow’ could be rescued and taken advantage of, Origen did not despise, although he did so tacitly. This was one aspect of what both his contemporary and later inquisitors saw as his scandalous and unpardonable sin.
Already at the time when he wrote the preface to his De Principiis, Origen explicated the need for a codified ‘corpus of doctrine’ to be constructed. To this purpose, he did not count on Christians prior to him, on whom he commented very seldom, let alone that excoriated some of them as heretics on various grounds, such as Melito of Sardis and, more importantly, Tatian, whom Clement on Alexandria had criticised exactly on the same issue and grounds.
Consequently, in reality Origen’s work was not evolution: it was revolution. This means that, upon his conversion to Christianity, he had clear ideas concerning certain aspects of doctrine, such as his Anaxagorean theory of generation (that I have expounded as ‘Theory of logoi’), in light of which he explained the narrative of Genesis without allowing room for being blamed in the least. And yet, he was inculpated (or calumniated) by uninformed fanatics, but this did not deter Gregory of Nyssa from following Origen’s theory suit, with remarkable diligence and impressive knowledgeability.
However, Origen’s Theology was a different matter: for whereas as a formerly Anaxagorean Greek philosopher he departed from his fundamental monotheistic notion of God being an entirely simple Nous, he had to move to the notion of the Trinity being an absolutely simple Nous and yet threeness of distinct Persons in oneness. This he did right from the very start, when he argued that the Trinitarian God is ‘altogether one and simple’ (πάντῃ ἓν καὶ ἁπλοῦν), using the same expression which Plotinus used exclusively for the supreme and unfathomable One ontologically standing above the Nous (the Intellect, which is not ‘altogether simple’, but ‘one many’, ἓν πολλά). Against this, even as a Greek philosopher, Origen believed that there is nothing superior to the Nous (therefore, he dismissed the Neoplatonic One), for which Proclus criticised him severely and averred that Plato could have never included Origen among his pupils for that matter.
Hence, the ‘evolution’ in Origen’s thought is far more attenuated than what many believe, since some fundamentals were there right from the start of his Christian life. Besides, in effect he set out to explain scripture from scratch. He only felt he could avail himself sparingly and cautiously of a few earlier Christians, such as Clement of Alexandria and Hippolytus, which though did not involve cardinal points of doctrine.
The present codex-text reveals (actually, confirms) that, at a later stage of his life, Origen overcame his inhibitions concerning use of the Gnostic term homoousios about the Trinity. He did so also upon writing the commentary on Matthew and some other works – a point that Pamphilus arguably explained in his Apology for Origen. As it happens, scholars are loath to accept facts, one of which is that Origen’s use of homoousios does not come to light now for the first time: this is also in Klostermann’s texts, and, prior to those, this term has been there ever since Migne’s Scholia on Matthew.
In any case, however, to Origen this was just a word among the many figurative terms and expressions he used in order to adumbrate the mystery of God being Triune and yet absolutely One. This means that he did not make homoousios a ‘banner’ or catchword, as the followers of Nicaea zealously and contentiously did later, although, to begin with, most of them could hardly account for the import of the notion of God’s ousia.
Athanasius eagerly and honestly assured that the term homoousios was not a novelty invented at Nicaea; instead, ‘eminent bishops and scholars of old’ had already used this. Eusebius used the selfsame words explaining to his flock why was it that he eventually signed up for this term – and those words were repeated as a sort of appeal to authority by later Christians, such as the historians Socrates, Gelasius of Cyzicus, and Nicephorus Callistus, as well as Theodoret. Beyond hypotheses about who those ‘bishops of old’ possibly were (discussed in the Introduction), one should wonder about this: in an era when both doctrinal faultlessness and aberration were determined by the pulpit, who those laymen ‘scholars of old’ could possibly have been? And if Origen were excluded in the teeth of so much evidence, who else could be a possible alternative?
At any rate, what should be realised is this: a scandal and logical inconsistency could be there if Origen did not theorise the Trinity as homoousios, once he posited the Trinitarian God as a Nous ‘altogether one and simple’, while styling not only the Trinity in toto but also each Trinitarian Person Nous, a formula of which Cyril of Alexandria could not have enough (and I should not mention Origen’s expression styling the Son ‘homoousios king’, because this appears in one of his fragments on the Psalms, which are vulnerable to being impugned as untrustworthy).
Perhaps this explains why, after three quarters of a century, Klostermann’s honourable collection of Origen’s fragments from the commentary on Matthew is stubbornly snubbed. The twenty-four codices that this great and industrious scholar explored contain material that calls for perusal, which though never really took place. Unfortunately, Klostermann missed Codex Sabaiticus 232, which is the most important of all since it contains more material not found in other codices – indeed material that questions current prejudice by means of facts. Nevertheless, the present edition is meant to remain side by side with Klostermann’s work, which will never be displaced or outdated. Instead, my hope is that the present edition will stimulate renewed attention to Klostermann’s volume and to the study it deserves.
If Origen’s commentary on Matthew is rightly considered a ‘mature’ work of his, this is not because it contains new ideas that Origen developed step by step; rather, it is his different spirit, which evinces a man who is now set free and expresses himself more courageously, notwithstanding the gloomy circumstances (indeed the pandaemonium) surrounding him and despite avowed enemies that lay in wait, of whom he was fully aware.
As I have argued earlier (and discuss further in the present Introduction with respect to John Chrysostom), Epiphanius was a quarrelsome zealot, yet he cared to be an accurate scholar, and his testimony that Origen lived in Caesarea for two years only and then moved to Tyre for the rest twenty-eight years of his life must be given credit. Once Origen decamped from Alexandria to Caesarea, he continued to write his commentary on John (from the sixth book onwards) and it is hardly coincidence that he implied that, at that time, he himself was ‘a man of the church’, i.e. a clergyman. However, in the thirty-second book of the same commentary, he speaks of ‘bishops and presbyters, who hold these superior posts as clergymen’, in the same way he speaks of ‘those who hold other secular offices’, as if placing both groups on the same par, which probably suggests that he was no longer a member of any of those privileged élites. Above all, at Tyre Origen was at odds with the local bishop, as careful study of his commentary on Matthew bespeaks. I should have thought that this bishop was no other than Methodius, known as ‘of Olympus’. As nasty and unfettered as Jerome oftentimes was towards his enemies, yet, whenever he wanted to, he was an accurate scholar, and his testimony about Methodius having been ‘bishop of Olympus, then of Tyre’ should not be dismissed lightheartedly. After all, Jerome knew far more about the historically obscure Methodius than we do, and he was not sparing of characterisations, such as styling Methodius ‘most dialectical’ (disertissimum) and his exposition ‘brilliant’ (nitidum).
There are many who take it as mere coincidence that a bishop ‘of Olympus’ was all out to confront two eminent intellectuals of Tyre, namely, its native Porphyry and the immigrant Origen, while this prelate was located as far as Cilicia is from Palestine. Given Jerome’s testimony (embraced by Photius, too), I myself do not think that Methodius’ arduous invective was motivated merely by the obsession of a bishop whose see was located hundreds of miles away from Tyre. In fact, Methodius’ rancour against Origen turned out a chronic situation once both of them lived in the same city and the illustrious Alexandrian was a thorn in the local bishop’s side. In this context, Origen’s vehement attacks (only in the commentary on Matthew, i.e. after Methodius had moved to Tyre from Olympus) on bishops (meaning the local bishop par excellence) whom at numerous points he identified with the Gospel’s Pharisees (whom Jesus evicted violently from the Temple, the self-righteous hypocrites, etc.) have not as yet been properly assessed and understood as to their real historical setting.
I should also have thought that Methodius was a much younger contemporary of Origen, and when the former held the office of bishop at Tyre, Origen lived there but was no longer a presbyter, and the title he had received at Caesarea was but a waned memory of the past. Whether by that time Methodius had written his Symposium (or, On Chastity) is hard to say, although this is known as one of his early works. But in case Origen (the most relentless critic of Gnosticism) had read this, he could have been dismayed at Methodius styling the Son of God ‘most senior of all aeons’ (πρεσβύτατος αἰών), ‘firstling’ (πρωτόγονον βλάστηµα), and ‘the first of all archangels’ (πρῶτον τῶν ἀρχαγγέλων). Little wonder that, when Photius reviewed this book, he was appalled at ‘the Arianist malice and the mythical narratives’ which he read therein. On the other hand, Methodius’ obloquy against Origen in reality had nothing to do with the ideas that Origen himself systematically and forcefully had expounded. For he laid at Origen’s door the theory of beginningless creation (or, eternity of the world), pre-existence of souls, and transmigration – that is, all those theories that Origen forcefully confuted through the whole of his writings.
In the commentary on Matthew Origen is different in mood, not in ideas: he is highly critical of the ecclesiastical establishment of his city, with which his relations could have not been worse; he deplores their moral quality and their penchant for mundane pleasures, goods, and power; he rebukes the mentality of regarding converted Christians, such as Origen himself, as inferior to those who were born to Christian parents, and argues extensively against this attitude. Moreover, he certainly has no inhibitions about using such bold terms as homoousios in the context of his Trinitarian theology, a term already defamed and precarious because of its Gnostic usage, as Origen’s arguments against the Gnostics in his commentary on John evince, too.
All in all, when Origen wrote his commentary on Matthew, in some respects he was a different person, sometimes disillusioned, often disheartened, yet, concerning his fundamental ideas, he was not a different theologian.
The manuscript of Sabaiticus 232 presented in this volume has the merit of offering not only ‘fragments’, but also extensive ratiocination in ample context, which can be considered critically. The Greek language is exquisite and the author every now and then feels it necessary to make analyses concerning the etymology and appositeness of the terms used either by the scripture or by himself, to explain their significance, or clear up possible polysemic imports and consider meaningful nuances. Alongside the explicit attributions made to Origen, all of these texts are very much like his style and methodology, which is a feature abundantly making its mark throughout all of his works.
I wish to express my gratitude to Professor Martin Illert for making this book a tenant of the historic house of Ferdinand Schöningh. His knowledgeable approach to the content of this work, and subsequently his noble collaboration he offered me, has profoundly touched me. In the person of Production Manager Lisa Sauerwald, I found a partner at all times ready to make things as easy as possible. In thanking her, I extend my appreciation also to all the members of her highly professional team.
Dedication of this book to the late Professor Jan den Boeft (Rotterdam, 13 October 1935 – † Leiden, 10 August 2019) falls short of expressing what I really feel and think of this man. He was a respectable figure that made this world a better place to live in, and a person whose role in my scholarly career has been decisive and unforgettable. As the editor-in-chief of the Vigiliae Christianae Supplements (1990-2014) he considered four volumes of mine that have been published therein. He was Professor of Latin literature, but he had also a profound knowledge of Greek since the times he was a teacher of Greek and Latin at the City Gymnasium in Leiden (1958-1976), then, during his lectureship in Latin at the University of Utrecht, then, as Professor Extraordinarius in the History of ancient religions in the Theological Faculty of the University of Utrecht, and finally, as Professor holding the chair of Latin at the Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam (since 1994), where he taught until his retirement in 2000.
I have always admired his love for both the Classical and the Christian traditions. Nevertheless, to me, he was always a wise mentor, whose opinion on various matters weighed over the direction of my pursuits, and his advice has always turned out to be invaluable. I cherish the hope that, to the noble and compassionate Jan den Boeft, the gates of Paradise have been already wide open.