by I begin by apologising for the lame title of this paper. When Dr Adrahtas kindly invited me to present, I knew what I wanted to say but at the time I could not find a better way of saying it. So, while the song remains the same, I take this opportunity to mend the title. I will go by “An Attempt to Elucidate Clement of Alexandria’s Ambiguous Representations of Orpheus through Eliade’s Understanding of Orphism.”
Now, I must confess at this juncture my unwavering love for Clement—this most consequential, enigmatic, and misunderstood forefather of all Byzantine theology and spirituality, who lived in the second half of the second century and possibly died in 215, Christian Era. What proves my love is a series of journal articles and book chapters where I discussed some of his contributions, beginning in 2013, a series that reached the climax—well, so far—with my 2025 monograph, Nature Contemplation in Clement of Alexandria.
Clement remains the incontestable trailblazer of Christian complex exegesis, mystical theology, and ascetic spirituality. The great number of surviving manuscripts of his works attests to his influence, even though, for various reasons, not many authors of later centuries acknowledged their debt to him. Not even his disciple, Origen. This is not the place for details, but for the audience to grasp the magnitude of Clement’s impact—in case not everyone is familiar with his thinking—I shall just point out that he set the foundations for Origen’s layered exegesis; Antony’s and Athanasius’ ascetic spirituality; the Cappadocians’ interdisciplinary epistemology and theological anthropology, together with their method of what we currently call science-engaged theology; Dionysius’ deification theology; Maximus’ cosmology; and Gregory Palamas’ sense of the tradition as both conservative and progressive. Above all, Clement is the first major Christian thinker who factored into his theological universe the new stars of the end of classical Antiquity—what Peter Brown called “holy men”—whom he, Clement, considered against the backdrop of a profound Christian reinterpretation of mystery religions, including Orphism, and of the gnostic quest for enlightenment.
It is his engagement of the mystery religions that concerns me here, for it is within this context that he developed an ambiguous discourse about the eponymous supposed founder of one of those communities, Orphism—I mean, of course, the equally enigmatic and consequential figure of Orpheus. But, before I turn to this matter, I must disclose my reasons for choosing to tackle this topic for this symposium dedicated to Mircea Eliade, forty years after his death. I am certain that Eliade’s readers are aware of his frequent analyses of Orpheus and Orphism, where he captured, among other matters, the popularity of mystery religions at the end of classical Antiquity and in the early Late Antiquity. What I intend to show is that precisely the popularity of these communities during the formative centuries of Christianity—foremost Orphism, of relevance here—determined Clement to contextualise the Christian message against their backdrop, but also to downplay Orpheus’ figure. The insights of Eliade into Orpheus and Orphism cast an indirect light upon Clement’s reasons for so doing.
But let me return to Clement. It is noteworthy that his Exhortation to the Gentiles, possibly one of his earliest writings, begins by presenting Christ’s “song,” the Gospel, as superior to any classical composition, poetic and musical alike, to then unleash a merciless attack on religion, as practised and as articulated in initiation rites, poetry, and theatre. After this, Exhortation surveys the philosophers’ quest for higher values, praising their search, as well as asserting their failure to reach that goal. The treatise ends by inviting the seekers of truth, beauty, and wisdom to experience the Christian mysteries of baptism and the eucharist. Indeed, in the last chapters of the treatise, Clement depicts these known Christian rites as stages of genuine initiation and spiritual progress in Christ, doing so by borrowing established tropes of the mystery religions. By the way, this reinterpretation of baptism and the eucharist in the language of mystery religions created the vocabulary of later Byzantine orthodoxy, for which the sacraments have been and are to this day “mysteries.”
Recording of the actual presentation, followed by questions from Vasilios Adrahtas (convenor of the conference) and Garry Trompf
It is already in Exhortation that Clement gives the first signs of ambivalence about Orpheus, first by avoiding his name while other classical poets are mentioned, and second by attempting to present Christ as the new Orpheus. My following review of relevant instances focuses on Exhortation, but adducing information from Stromateis.
Thus, the prologue of Exhortation lists artists such as Amphion of Thebes, Arion of Methymna, and Eunomus the Locrian, and refers to some of their skills and deeds, especially their charming and enchanting music. In turn, initially, Orpheus receives only an indirect mention, as “yet another Thracian σοφιστής,” a terms that could mean either “expert,” here in a sarcastic sense, or “deceiver,” an outright insult. Much later, the treatise refers to this artist and founder of a mystery religion as “Odrysian,” after the name of his presupposed Thracian tribe. Regardless, this Thracian or Odrysian can be easily identified from the outset. Clement cannot hide the fact that—as the Greek myth went—this artist could “tame animals by his song and transplant trees, such as oaks, by music.” It is only pages later that the Thracian is named Orpheus, but on that occasion Clement rushes to point out that this artist and his colleagues were in fact “deceivers” (ἀπατηλοί. Hostility transpires through this disparaging label, but I believe that Clement’s issue was not so much with Orpheus and his colleagues as it was with the mystery religions. Just before this clarification, indeed, Clement launches an attack on the mystery religions in general, to then brand Orphism as a promotor of licentiousness. In Stromateis, Clement continues the attack on Orphism on doctrinal grounds. by showing that Plato, in Cratylus, believed that Orpheus understood the body as a prison for the soul, a prison to escape from—which idea Clement himself ascribes to Orpheus’ disciples.
That these polemical stances were primarily aimed at the Hellenistic mystery religions, not at Orpheus and his colleagues, becomes increasingly obvious. Clement adopts a milder tone at times, when, in Exhortation, he presents Orpheus as repenting of his earlier follies and as instructing his followers to acknowledge the divine Logos, the Lord of the universe. It does not come as a surprise, therefore, that in Stromateis Clement alludes to Orpheus’ wisdom as preceding the rise of the seven sages of classical Greece. Furthermore, he acknowledges Orpheus as a seer, or prophet. However, Clement’s discourse about Orpheus is far from continuing in a consistent direction. Again and again, he feels compelled to undermine Orpheus’ reputation, for example by undertaking to identify the real authors of the writings ascribed to him.
In short, Clement oscillates between criticism and more or less explicit praises. It is my contention that what caused his ambivalence is the evidence that Orphism competed with Christianity—a contention for the substantiation of which I turn to Eliade in the remaining part of this paper.
Before that, considerations are in order about the other Clementine strategy, of presenting Christ as the new Orpheus, which betrays, if not appreciation for the artist, at least a deliberate endeavour to build a counterpoint for his influence. Specifically, Clement depicts Christ, in Exhortation’s first chapter, as the supreme musician and poet, who surpassed the ancient Greek artists, poets, and initiates. Yes, Orpheus and his colleagues’ message moved people’s hearts and even had a limited environmental footprint. But Clement’s Christ composed and played “the eternal song of the new harmony,” which reverberates across the universe, a song that transforms beastly behaviours into the habits of moderate, virtuous humans. Clement’s Christ has all the attributes of Greece’s musicians and poets—he performs on a stage, but it is on the stage of the universe that he receives the laurel crown for his cosmogenetic song. In his 2003 chapter, “La natura ‘drammatica’ del mistero cristiano,” Leonardo Lugaresi discussed the “dramatic nature” of this representation of Christ through the lens of ancient theatrical and other artistic events. More relevant here is Fabienne Jourdan’s 2008 article, “Le Logos et l’ empereur, nouveaux Orphée,” where she analysed in detail the evidence for Clement’s Christ represented as a “new Orpheus.” Jourdan concluded that this representation was part of a successful strategy to convey the message in culturally adaptive forms. In chapter two of my 2021 monograph, Humankind and the Cosmos, I concurred with her conclusions. What I did not realise at the time is the fact that there is a tension within Clement’s construct of Christ-as-Orpheus, which has to do with his intention of staving off the popularity of Orphism.
It is at this juncture that the patristics scholar must seek clarification from other disciplines, in this case Eliade’s expertise in the history and philosophy of religions.
Even a cursory foray into Eliade’s extensive corpus makes one aware of his interest in the topic relevant here. For example, the first volume of A History of Religious Ideas, titled From the Stone Age to the Eleusinian Mysteries, includes chapters such as “The Eleusinian Mysteries” (ch. 12) and “Dionysus, or Bliss Recovered” (ch. 15). The second volume, titled From Gautama Buddha to the Triumph of Christianity, comprises more relevant material, such as “Orpheus, Pythagoras, and the New Eschatology” (ch. 22) and “Syncretism and Creativity in the Hellenistic Period: The Promise of Salvation” (ch. 26), to conclude with a tantalising postscript about “The bus that stops at Eleusis” (end of ch. 30). But let me walk you through a couple of his references to Orphism elsewhere, in Images and Symbols. There, based on the corresponding morphology of archaic myths and practices from across the world—a method currently contested by academics—he was able to establish, for example, the shamanic background—or at least connotations—of some of the exploits of Orpheus. Thus, Orpheus descended to hades to rescue his beloved Eurydice, much the way “the shaman goes down into hell to seek and to bring back his patient’s soul, which has been snatched away by demons.” And he adds, “Orpheus is the bard, the charmer of wild beasts, physician, poet and civilising hero; in short, he combines exactly those functions that fall to the lot of the shaman in ‘primitive’ societies.” But Eliade does not abandon prudence. He asks, rhetorically, “Have we … the right to regard Orpheus as a ‘shaman’ or to compare the descent of Christ into Hell with the descents of the shamans in a state of trance?” His response is nuanced. On the one hand, the differences are too obvious in terms of the motivations and intentions behind the various narratives (descent as initiation, as a way of rescuing someone or as salvation of all) to allow for perfectly overlapping motifs. On the other hand, he submits, the similar morphology of these instantiations of the theme of katabasis, descent, denotes related experiences of the same archetype. And he comments, “It is just this perennial and universal quality of the archetypes which “saves” cultures … and renders possible a philosophy of culture that is more than a morphology or history of styles.” In other words, differences aside, the possibility of a genuine overlap originates in a shared archetypical experience.
I will not pass any judgement on the legitimacy or illegitimacy of this conclusion. But the message Eliade conveys here, and more so in A History of Religious Ideas, is that the mystery religions—including Orphism—focused on perceptions, practices, and experiences that were shared by Christianity, too. Furthermore, as he shows in A History of Religious Ideas, the mystery religions played an important role in shaping the Christian movement, leaving an indelible mark upon what enthusiasts of early Christianity, like me, could inattentively take for original Christian developments. And this is the crux of the matter; this, I propose, explains Clement’s ambivalence. For he was at the forefront of the effort of rephrasing Christianity against the backdrop of ancient mystery religions, working alongside his colleagues towards ensuring, as much as humanly possible, Christianity’s survival and cultural impact on that society. And he worked diligently, representing Christ as the “new Orpheus,” but also begrudgingly, by criticising Orphism and attempting to belittle its eponymous founder. Either way, Eliade’s insights, as well as those of his critical successors, are instrumental towards elucidating the reasons behind Clement’s ambivalence.
Acknowledgment Talk given for the conference The Bearing of Mircea Eliade’s Work on the Understanding of Ancient Greek Religion and Myth: Critical Reflections upon the 40th Anniversary of His Death (1986-2026). The University of Sydney, Vere Gordon Childe Centre. 9 November 2026
9 November 2026 © AIOCS
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