The Phoenix and the Fenghuang: Mythic Birds of Blessing

The Phoenix and the Fenghuang:
Mythic Birds of Blessing©

George M. Smiga, S.T.D

Project Manager and Author of research, history, culture
for ITM Consumer Product Division’s The First Dragon™ Project

Copyright © ITM (China) Ltd., 2012.
All Rights Reserved to ITM (China) Ltd.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
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The Phoenix and the Fenghuang:
Mythic Birds of Blessing©

George M. Smiga, S.T.D.

The religious and folklore traditions of most cultures include a bird with mythic
characteristics. India tells of the Garuda bird. Egypt knows the Benu. Islamic countries
describe the fabulous Rukh. Persia has the Simurg and Central Asia the Kerkas.1 China
speaks of the Fenghuang, and Western cultures influenced by Hellenism have developed
elaborate accounts of the Phoenix. The mythic dimensions of each of these avian
creatures has developed along its own trajectory with occasional influences extending
across cultural divides. In order to understand the symbolic significance of any mythic
creature, its particular historical context and usage must be examined. It is the purpose of
this investigation to trace the development of the Phoenix and the Fenghuang in order to
appreciate the significance which each possesses within its own culture and to discover
the common meanings which they share.

The Name Phoenix

The name phoenix translates the Greek word phoinix (φοινιξ). The earliest
attestation of the word used in regard to a mythical bird is found in a fragment from the
Greek poet, Hesiod, who was a contemporary of Homer. The fragment is preserved in a
work by Plutarch, De defectu oraculorm. Although Plutarch’s composition is dated

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around 100 CE, the fragment it contains preserves Hesiod’s original account. This
verifies that phoinix as a reference to the mythical bird was in use as early as the eighth
century BCE.

The fragment provides little information concerning the phoenix. The name
merely appears in a list of the relative life-spans of a number of creatures. The text is as
follows:

The cawing crow lives for nine generations of young men, but the deer four times
longer than the crow; the raven reaches the age of three deer, but the phoenix
[φοινιξ] of nine ravens; we, however, the fair-haired Nymphs, daughters of
Aegis-bearing Zeus, reach the age of ten phoenixes [φοινικας].2

How did this particular word become the name of the phoenix? The question is
complicated by the fact that the Greek phoinix carries three other possible meanings:
Phoenician, purple, and date palm.3 All of these meanings have been used by ancient
authors to explain the origins of the phoenix’s name.

The connection between the bird and the date palm has been argued in both
directions. Pliny, a Roman author of the first century CE, reports that the phoenix
received its name from the date palm which was said to die and rise again with the
mythical bird. Isidore of Seville, writing in the early seventh century CE, says that the
date palm received its name from the phoenix, because the plant—like the long-lived
Arabian bird—was known for the length of its life.4 At the same time Isidore connects the
name to the meaning, “purple.” He asserts that the bird was called “phoenix” because it

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was purple-red in color.5 Other authors explain the name by associating it with the place,
Phoenicia. Ovid believed that the bird was called phoenix because it was named so by the
Phoenicians. Lactantius argued that the country was called Phoenicia because that was
where the phoenix went to die.6 The variety of these derivations indicates that ancient
authors were offering reasons based simply on the verbal associations of the word. This
explains why a particular connection was sometimes proposed in both directions: the bird
names the plant / the plant names the bird; the bird names the country / the country names
the bird.

Modern research has traced the linguistic origin of phoinix to the Semitic world,
assigning a temporal order to the meanings which the word now carries. M. C. Astour has
proposed that the Greek phoinix is derived from an Arabic and Hebrew word which
means “madder,” the red dye obtained from the roots of the plant Rubis tinctorum.7 In
light of his arguments, it is probable that the Greek word phoinix came originally from
the Western Semitic term for this red dye. Its original meaning, then, was the color.
Because the people who occupied the coastal cities of Byblos, Tyre, Sidon, and Beruit
became famous for the red-colored products which they manufactured with the dye, they
came to be called “Phoenicians.” Their name originally meant something in the sense of
“those who work with red dyes.” The color gave its name to the people and their territory.
The association of phoinix with the bird follows upon this development. The bird’s name
originally meant either “the Phoenician bird” or “the purplish-red bird.”

Although it is impossible to choose between these two alternatives on purely
linguistic grounds, cultural discoveries support the former option. The Mycenaean culture

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(1900-1100 BCE) precedes the period of Classical Greece. In Mycenaean art a mythical
bird-griffin is attested whose lineage can be traced to the Semitic world via Phoenicia. It
is therefore probable that the Greek phoinix was first applied to this mythical creature in
order to signify “the Phoenician bird.”8 Phoinix, then, was used to name a mythical bird
which arrived on Greek soil from the shores of Phoenicia.

The Content of the Phoenix Myth: Two Versions

The foregoing discussion has posited that the name Phoenix traces its origins to
Phoenicia via Mycenaean culture. This linguistic history, however, does not necessarily
establish that the content of the phoenix myth also originated in Phoenicia. After the
decline of Mycenaean culture, the bird disappears from Greek art, indicating that the
interest in the creature has faded. The bird reappears on artistic objects in the eighth
century BCE which is the same period in which the first literary mention of the phoenix
is made by Hesiod. This double attestation in art and literature suggests that a new
understanding of the mythical bird occurred at that time. Although it is possible that some
ideas concerning the phoenix were carried over from the Phoenician/Mycenaean
background of the word, it is probable that the content of the phoenix myth was a new
creation of Greek philosophers and poets in the eighth century. They shaped the story of
the phoenix by borrowing from other myths found throughout the Near, Middle, and Far
East.9 By the time phoinix was used by Hesiod, it is likely that nothing of the Phoenician
origins of the phoenix remained except the name itself.

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In the first century CE the phoenix is mentioned twenty-one times by ten different
authors. In the eight centuries before that only nine references can be found. These early
references are often made in passing, as was seen in the earliest mention of the phoenix
by Hesiod. Authors drew upon a particular aspect of the myth to illustrate a point they
were arguing in a larger context. The allusive character of their references suggests that
the writers were confident that their readers possessed a fuller understanding of the myth
and that a passing reference would require no further elaboration. This is a strong
indication that knowledge of the phoenix myth was widespread in Hellenistic culture long
before the Christian era.

The actual content of this widespread myth can be reconstructed by piecing
together the isolated references preserved in the literary evidence. The core of the myth
was the belief that the phoenix could renew its life after death and, when it felt death
approaching, began to collect aromatic herbs.

Beyond this common agreement, however, it appears that two separate versions of
the bird’s regeneration were in circulation. According to one, which may be called the
decaying version, the bird dies and decomposes. From its decaying remains a new
phoenix is generated, usually beginning as a worm. The new phoenix carries the remains
of its predecessor to Heliopolis in Egypt and places it on the altar of the god of the sun. A
second variation is reported by a greater number of authors. It may be called the flame
version. Here the old phoenix burns together with the aromatics in a fire ignited by the
sun. From its ashes a new phoenix arises.10

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The earliest literary attestation to the phoenix after the Hesiod fragment is found

in the Greek historian, Herodotus (5th century BCE). Herodotus reports a journey to

Egypt by Hecataeus, a Greek historian of the previous century. In the account of the

journey Hecataeus provides a description of the phoenix. Because of its age and detail,

this report has exercised a profound influence upon the understanding of the phoenix

legend. It is worth presenting it in full.

Another bird also is sacred; it is called the phoenix. I myself have never seen it,
but only pictures of it; for the bird comes but seldom into Egypt, once in five
hundred years, as the people of Heliopolis say. It is said that the phoenix comes
when his father dies. If the picture truly shows his size and appearance, his
plumage is partly golden and partly red. He is most like an eagle in shape and
bigness. The Egyptians tell a tale of this bird's devices which I do not believe. He
comes, they say, from Arabia bringing his father to the Sun's temple enclosed in
myrrh, and there buries him. His manner of bringing is this: first he moulds an
egg of myrrh as heavy as he can carry, and when he has proved its weight by
lifting it, he then hollows out the egg and puts his father in it, covering over with
more myrrh the hollow in which the body lies; so the egg being with his father in
it of the same weight as before, the phoenix, after enclosing him, carries him to
the temple of the Sun in Egypt. Such is the tale of what is done by this bird.11

Hecataeus is the first author to provide any detail about the actions of the phoenix

and the first to mention its death. However, he does not refer to the unusual way in which

the bird renews its life. Thus the motif of self-genesis which is central to the phoenix

myth is missing in his account. One should not conclude, however, that Hecataeus was

unaware of the phoenix’s remarkable ability to regenerate. As stated above, authors were

selective in their accounts of the phoenix story, expressing only those aspects which

suited their purposes. Perhaps Hecataeus was only concerned with the bird’s return to
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Egypt and the remarkable conveyance of its father’s body. If, however, he was familiar

with the bird’s life-renewing powers, it is unclear whether he knew of the decay or flame

version of the myth.

An Alexandrian Jew named Ezekiel composed a play called Exodus in the second

century BCE. In the work the phoenix is said to have appeared to the Israelites, and a

lengthy description of the bird is provided. Its appearance and song are reported, but no

mention of its death or renewal is given.12 If Ezekiel possessed knowledge of these

unusual qualities, he was content to limited his remarks to a description of the “King of

Birds.”

The first description of the unusual genesis of the phoenix is given by the Roman

Senator Manilius. His account is reported by Pliny the Elder in his Natural History

written in the first century CE. Manilius tells of the bird’s remarkable regeneration

according to the decay version:

Ethiopia and India, more especially, produce birds of diversified plumage, and
such as quite surpass all description. In the front rank of these is the phoenix, that
famous bird of Arabia; though I am not quite sure that its existence is not all a
fable. It is said that there is only one in existence in the whole world, and that that
one has not been seen very often. . . . [Manilius] tells us that no person has ever
seen this bird eat, that in Arabia it is looked upon as sacred to the sun, that it lives
five hundred and forty years, that when it becomes old it builds a nest of cassia
and sprigs of incense, which it fills with perfumes, and then lays its body down
upon them to die; that from its bones and marrow there springs at first a sort of
small worm, which in time changes into a little bird: that the first thing that it does
is to perform the obsequies of its predecessor, and to carry the nest entire to the
city of the Sun near Panchaia, and there deposit it upon the altar of that divinity.13

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The first clear attestation of the flame version of the phoenix myth also occurs in
the first century CE. The Roman poet Martial in one of his epigrams compares the
regeneration of Rome to that of the phoenix.

As the flames renew the nest of the Assyrian phoenix, whenever the solitary bird
has lived through its ten centuries so Rome, renewed, has put off her former old
age, and has herself assumed the looks of her guardian.14

The poet here claims that just as the phoenix is renewed after ten centuries, Rome has put
aside its old age and begun anew in the likeness of her new ruler. The mention of
“flames” makes it clear that Martial is thinking of resurrection by fire.

The epigram of Martial indicates that the flame version of the phoenix myth was
known widely enough in the first century to allow the poet to refer to it without extensive
elaboration. The report of Manilius in Pliny proves that the decay version of the myth
was in circulation at the same time. It is therefore logical to conclude that by the first
century CE both versions of the phoenix myth were accessible to writers who could draw
upon them for their own purposes.15

The availability of both of these versions is confirmed by a work attributed to
Lactantius (240-320 CE), a writer who became an advisor to Constantine I, the first
Christian Roman emperor. The work, Carmen de ave phoenice, is devoted entirely to the
phoenix. It begins with a vivid description of the land of paradise in the East in which the
phoenix lives. The bird resides in a lofty tree and sings a song to which no other music
can compare. After one thousand years of life it flies to Phoenicia and settles on a lofty

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palm. As the author describes the death and regeneration of the phoenix, it is clear that

aspects of both the flame and decay versions have been merged into the same account.16

Afterwards she builds for herself either a nest or a tomb, for she perishes that she
may live; yet she produces herself. Hence she collects juices and odors, which the
Assyrian gathers from the rich wood, which the wealthy Arabian gathers . . . .
Immediately she places her body about to be changed on the strewed nest, and her
quiet limbs on such a couch. Then with her mouth she scatters juices around and
upon her limbs, about to die with her own funeral rites. Then amidst various odors
she yields up her life, nor fears the faith of so great a deposit. In the meantime her
body, destroyed by death, which proves the source of life, is hot, and the heat
itself produces a flame; and it conceives fire afar off from the light of heaven: it
blazes, and is dissolved into burnt ashes. And these ashes collected in death it
fuses, as it were, into a mass, and has an effect resembling seed. From this an
animal is said to arise without limbs, but the worm is said to be of a milky color.
And it suddenly increases vastly with an imperfectly formed body, and collects
itself into the appearance of a well-rounded egg. After this it is formed again, such
as its figure was before, and the phoenix, having burst her shell, shoots forth, even
as caterpillars in the fields, when they are fastened by a thread to a stone, are wont
to be changed into a butterfly.17

As the account continues the phoenix is said to encase the remains of its body in a an

ointment of balsam and carry them to the altar of the rising sun.

In the account of Lactantius the fire version has been joined to the decay version.

Although fire is present, the phoenix does not perish in the flames but dies naturally.

After death the body is immolated. The presence of the worm attests to the challenge of

uniting the two versions. A worm makes perfect sense in the decay version because

worms are associated with decomposing flesh. In Lactantius’ account there is no such

decomposition. The flesh has been turned into ashes. In merging the versions, Lactantius

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was unable to reconcile the details of the two accounts. Yet his very effort confirms that

both versions of the myth were available to him in the third century CE.

Even if they were aware of both versions, authors did not feel constrained to draw

from both of them as Lactantius had done. One of the fullest accounts of the phoenix

myth is found in a minor song of the Roman poet, Claudian. Writing in the late fourth

century CE, he describes the kingdom beyond the Indes where the phoenix lives. After a

thousand years, the bird falls victim to age and prepares to die. It gathers herbs and

branches and builds a pyre which will be both its tomb and cradle. It prays to the sun

which strikes the bird with its rays. Then the death is described:

Now, to ensure his rebirth, he suffers himself to be burned and in his eagerness to
be born again meets death with joy. Stricken with the heavenly flame the fragrant
pile catches fire and burns the aged body. The moon in amaze checks her milk-
white heifers and heaven halts his revolving spheres, while the pyre conceives the
new life. Nature takes care that the deathless bird perish not, and calls upon the
sun, mindful of his promise, to restore its immortal glory to the world.

Straightway the life spirit surges through his scattered limbs; the renovated blood
floods his veins. The ashes show signs of life; they begin to move though there is
none to move them, and feathers clothe the mass of cinders. He who was but now
the sire comes forth from the pyre the son and successor; between life and life lay
but that brief space wherein the pyre burned. His first delight is to consecrate his
father's spirit by the banks of the Nile and to carry to the land of Egypt the burned
mass from which he was born.18

Claudian may have been aware of the decay version of the myth, but his account presents

only the flame version of the story. Other details of the myth, however, are included, such

as the carrying of the remains of the old phoenix back to Egypt which was noted in the

earliest account of the phoenix’s death in Hecataeus.
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In summation, beginning as early as the eighth century BCE, literary passages
attest to a widespread knowledge of the phoenix myth in two versions. Authors felt free
to draw upon either of them and sometimes attempted to join them together. As useful as
the myth was to classical writers, it was left to Christians to provide the most developed
use of the phoenix story. They adapted the myth to express and confirm the resurrection
of Jesus Christ.

Christian Use of the Phoenix Myth

A central conviction of Christianity is that after his crucifixion and death Jesus of
Nazareth was raised bodily from the dead. The resurrection of Jesus is an apocalyptic
belief which claims that after his death Jesus entered a new and glorious existence in
which he was made Lord of all creation. The promise to followers of Jesus is that he will
return in power and then all who belong to him will themselves be raised up into the new
life of the Kingdom of God.

The apostle Paul, writing to the Church at Corinth around 56 CE asserts the
centrality of the resurrection. He warns his readers, “If Christ has not been raised, then
our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.”19 Paul goes on to
describe Jesus’ resurrection as the “first fruits” (aparchē) of those who have died.20 By
this term Paul is asserting that Christ’s resurrection has an intimate connection to the lives
of all who believe in him. Aparchē is an agricultural term indicating the first of the crops
to be harvested. Paul is using it metaphorically to indicate that if Christ by his

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resurrection is the “first fruits,” then those who follow Christ will comprise the rest of the
harvest when they too are raised from the dead. This resurrection will occur when Christ
returns in glory at the end of time.

The Christian belief in resurrection promises a new bodily existence. Resurrection
is not seen as a purely spiritual state but one in which the present physical body is
transformed and glorified. Jesus’ own resurrected body is clearly presented with a
physical dimension. After his resurrection he says to his disciples, “Look at my hands and
my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and
bones as you see that I have.”21

The belief in a bodily resurrection came to Christian believers through Judaism
and was a unique shared characteristic of their two traditions. The larger world of
Hellenism tended to dismiss the value of the body and did not include a physical
dimension in its view of the afterlife. Therefore, early Christians found the central tenet
of their faith frequently under attack. The belief in bodily resurrection was a strange and
often ridiculed idea in the Greek world.

As early Christian preachers and writers attempted to defend the truth of the
resurrection, one of the first tactics they employed was to cite the myth of the phoenix.
The phoenix’s physical regeneration after death was used as a validation of Christ’s
bodily resurrection. Jesus’ resurrection and the Phoenix’s rebirth were not exact parallels.
Through resurrection Jesus was understood to enter into a new and glorified existence,
whereas the phoenix simply returned to the kind of life which it previously possessed.
Nevertheless, a commonly accepted Greek myth which asserted a bodily return to life

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after death was too useful a tool to ignore. Christian writers eagerly turned to the phoenix

to support the resurrection of Jesus.

Clement of Rome is commonly recognized as the first Christian to employ this

strategy. He was a leader of the Christian community of Rome in the late first century.

Only one of his writings has been preserved. It is a letter to the Church in Corinth,

possibly written as early as 80 CE.22 The missive is largely exhortatory in tone, directing

its readers to a holy life and a respect for church order. The one clearly doctrinal topic

addressed is Christ’s resurrection. Aware of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, written some

twenty years prior, Clement introduces the topic with the term, “first fruits”: “Let us

consider, beloved, how the Master continually proves to us that there will be a future

resurrection, of which he has made the first fruits, by raising the Lord Jesus Christ from

the dead.”23 Clement begins his “proofs” by pointing to the succession of day and night

and transformation of seeds into crops. Finally he turns to the phoenix.

Let us consider the strange sign which takes place in the East, that is in the
districts near Arabia. There is a bird which is called the Phoenix. This is the only
one of its kind, and lives 500 years; and when the time of its dissolution in death
is at hand, it makes itself a sepulcher of frankincense and myrrh and other spices,
and when the time is fulfilled it enters into it and dies. Now, from the corruption
of its flesh there springs a worm, which is nourished by the juices of the dead
bird, and puts forth wings. Then, when it has become strong, it takes up that
sepulcher, in which are the bones of its predecessor, and carries them from the
country of Arabia as far as Egypt until it reaches the city called Heliopolis, and in
the daylight in the sight of all it flies to the altar of the Sun, places them there, and
then starts back to its former home. Then the priests inspect the registers of dates,
and they find that it has come at the fulfillment of the 500th year.

Do we then consider it a great and wonderful thing that the creator of the universe
will bring about the resurrection of those who served him in holiness, in the

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confidence of good faith, when he shows us the greatness of his promise even
through a bird?24

Clement’s use of the phoenix as a “proof” of the resurrection is clear in this passage. It is

also evident that he has drawn upon the decay version of the myth. There is no fire in his

account, only the corruption of the flesh and the worm.

Testimony to the flame version, however is not lacking among Christian authors.

Tertullian was an early Christian writer who around 210 CE wrote De resurrectione

carnis (The Resurrection of the Flesh). In this lengthy treatise of sixty-three chapters,

Tertullian marshals an array of arguments against the Greek tendency to dismiss the value

of the flesh and therefore deny a bodily resurrection. In chapter twelve he draws upon

nature to corroborate a corporeal return to life. Following the same progression found in

1 Clement, he points to the succession of night to day, seed to vegetation, and finally the

example of the phoenix which Tertullian calls “a most complete and unassailable symbol

of our hope.”25

I refer to the bird which is peculiar to the East, famous for its singularity,
marvelous from its posthumous life, which renews its life in a voluntary death; its
dying day is its birthday, for on it it departs and returns; once more a phoenix
where just now there was none; once more himself, but just now out of existence;
another, yet the same. What can be more expressive and more significant for our
subject; or to what other thing can such a phenomenon bear witness? God even in
His own Scripture says: “The righteous shall flourish like the phoenix;” that is,
shall flourish or revive, from death, from the grave—to teach you to believe that a
bodily substance may be recovered even from the fire. Our Lord has declared that
we are "better than many sparrows." Well, if not better than many a phoenix too, it
were no great thing. But must men die once for all, while birds in Arabia are sure
of a resurrection?26

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The question at the end of the above quotation is important. Tertullian is ironically
suggesting how absurd it is for people to believe a bird can be resurrected and at the same
time deny that possibility to humans. The phrase, “recovered even from the fire,” is a
clear indication that Tertullian is using the flame version of the myth for his argument.

Early Christian writers often turned to the phoenix myth to present the possibility
of bodily resurrection. They felt free to use whatever version of the myth supported their
purposes. Cyril of Jerusalem in his Catechesis (18.8) cites the decay version. Ambrose
does the same in his Hexaemeron (5.23) and in the funeral oration for his brother. But in
that oration he also mentions that he knows of a version in which the phoenix sets fire to
its own funeral pyre and then rises from its ashes. Gregory of Nazianzus in his Exhortatio
ad Virgines (lines 526 ff.) uses the flame version speaking of “genital fire.” Epiphanius in
his Ancoratus (84-85) knows of the bird’s regeneration through fire but also adds (like
Lactantius) the detail of the worm.27

The mixture of the flame version with the worm also occurs in another source
which has had a profound effect on the phoenix myth. Sometime in the period between
140 and 375 CE an anonymous Christian traveling in Egypt collected a series of popular
tales concerning animals, real and fabulous. The purpose of the collection was to
illustrate the chief doctrines of the Christian faith by means of the characteristics the
animals were said to possess. The collection of over forty tales was called Physiologus.
The title comes from the Greek word physis which means “nature” and logos which
means “word” or “reason.” This collection, then, sought to attain insight into heavenly
mysteries through their correspondences with the earthly natures of creatures. Far from

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being some scientific treatise on natural history, Physiologus carries on a mystical

hermeneutic. Relying upon the Platonic thought of such writers as Origen, it seeks to

offer a connection between the phenomenal world and its heavenly archetype, bridging

the impassible intellectual gap between the visible creatures of this world (visibilia) and

the heavenly realities of the other (invisibilia).28

The ninth entry of Physiologus describes the phoenix. The use of Gospel of John

and doctrine of the resurrection illustrate how a Greek myth is being adapted for

Christian purposes.

The Savior said in the Gospel, "I have the power to lay down my life, and I have
the power to take it again" [John 10:18]. . . . . There is a species of bird in the land
of India which is called the phoenix, which enters the wood of Lebanon after five
hundred years and bathes his two wings in the fragrance. He then signals to the
priest of Heliopolis (that is, the city named Heliopolis) during the new month, that
is, Adar, which in Greek is called Farmuti or Phamenoth. When the priest has
been signaled, he goes in to the altar and heaps it with brushwood. Then the bird
enters Heliopolis laden with fragrance and mounts the altar, where he ignites the
fire and burns himself up. The next day then the priest examines the altar and
finds a worm in the ashes. On the second day, however, he finds a tiny birdling.
On the third day he finds a huge eagle which taking flight greets the priest and
goes off to his former abode.

If this species of bird has the power to kill himself in such a manner as to raise
himself up, how foolish are those men who grow angry at the words of the Savior,
"I have the power to lay down my life, and I have the power to take it
again" [John 10:18]. The phoenix represents the person of the Savior since,
descending from the heavens, he left his two wings full of good odors (that is, his
best words) so that we, holding forth the labors of our hand, might return the
pleasant spiritual odor to him in good works. Physiologus, therefore, speaks well
of the phoenix.29

17

Like Lactantius and Epiphanius the author of Physiologus uses the flame version of the
story with the addition of the worm which derives from the decay version. In his desire to
expose theological correspondences, however, he alters the myth. The assertion that the
new phoenix does not emerge from the worm until “the third day” carefully parallels the
resurrection of Jesus which also happens on the third day.30 Moreover, when the author of
Physiologus states that “the phoenix represents the person of the Savior,” he draws for the
first time a personal connection between Jesus and the bird. Before Physiologus the
phoenix was used as a proof of resurrection. Now it has become an image of Christ
himself.31

Physiologus continued to be read for thirteen centuries. Over seventy-seven Greek
manuscripts of the work still exist. A Latin translation was in circulation by 431 CE. Its
stories were incorporated by Isidore of Seville into his Etymologies around 623 CE and
influenced the creation of a new form of book call a “bestiary.” Bestiaries added other
animal legends to those of Physiologus and remained extremely popular throughout the
Middle Ages.32 The phoenix myth as told by Physiologus and disseminated through the
bestiaries is the reason why the flame version of the phoenix story predominates in the
popular imagination to this day and why the decay version remains largely unknown.

Besides the account of Physiologus in the bestiaries, only two other major
treatments of the phoenix myth are known from the medieval period to the present. The
phoenix is the subject of an anonymous Old English poem, The Phoenix, which draws
heavily upon earlier sources such as Lactantius and Ambrose and was in circulation

18

before the ninth century.33 It also plays a central role in a 12th century English sermon
known as the Phoenix Homily.34

Despite the lack of major works on the topic, the phoenix myth was not forgotten
in literature. Passing allusions are found in Chaucer, Dante, Donne, Shakespeare,
Crashaw, Sir Thomas Brown, Ben Johnson, and Milton. After the Renaissance, the
allusions to the phoenix continue in Dryden, Keats, Browning, Yeats, Joyce, and Dylan
Thomas. Interest in the myth was renewed when D. H. Lawrence adopted the phoenix as
his personal icon. With the exception of G. K. Chesterton, however, the connection
between Christ and the phoenix was not used by modern authors. They instead drew upon
the image of the phoenix for a secular notion of rebirth.35

The Phoenix in the Jewish and Christian Scriptures

It has already been established that the phoenix myth was in circulation as early as
the eighth century BCE and increased in popularity during the first century CE. It is
within this span of time that the sacred writings of Jews and Christians were composed,
edited, and collected. It is, therefore, valid to consider whether the myth of the phoenix
was used by any author of the Jewish or Christian scriptures. At first glance, this inquiry
does not seem promising. There are no unchallenged references to the phoenix in these
sacred texts. Three passages, however, warrant examination: Psalm 91:13, Job 29:18, and
John 12:13.

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Psalm 91:13
The attentive reader may remember that Tertullian refers to Psalm 91:1336 during

his discussion of the phoenix in De resurrectione carnis. He cites the psalm as follows:
“The righteous shall flourish like the phoenix.”37 This same translation of the psalm is
employed by Pseudo-Ambrose, the Untitled Gnostic Treatise, and Byzantine Physiologus.
38 It is, then, the understanding of these writers that the author of Psalm 91 drew upon the
common myth of the phoenix as an example of a lengthy life. There is little doubt,
however, that Psalm 91 does not have the phoenix in mind.

Tertullian and the other early writers were using the Septuagint, an honored Greek
translation of the Hebrew Bible. The Septuagint reads: “The righteous shall flourish like
the phoinix.” The Greek word phoinix in this line can clearly be read to refer to the
mythical bird. But, as has already been discussed, it can also mean Phoenician, purple, or
date palm. The determination of which sense is intended can be simply resolved by
examining the Hebrew text which the Septuagint translates. The Hebrew word translated
by phoinix is tamar. In Hebrew the word means palm tree. It cannot signify the phoenix.
Thus the author of Psalm 91, when referring to a long life, has a plant not a bird in mind.

Reading a reference to the phoenix in Psalm 91 was a misunderstanding possible
only in Greek translation. When Jerome translated the Bible into Latin, he eliminated the
confusion. He used the Latin palma to translate the Hebrew tamar. Palma means palm
tree, not phoenix. Thus, once the Latin Vulgate became the standard Bible of the Church,
it was no longer possible to imagine a phoenix as a part of Psalm 91. It is clear that
Tertullian and those who followed him saw the mythical bird in the psalm because they

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did not consult the Hebrew text which would have determined for them which of the
multiple senses of the Greek phoinix should be understood.

Job 29:18
There is widespread confusion over the translation of verse 18 in chapter 29 of the

Book of Job. The verse is a part of Job’s final speech and clearly describes the positive
end of life which Job had been expecting. The sense of the verse depends upon the
meaning of two words which are vigorously debated. To illustrate the divergence of
possible meanings, consider the following four English translations. In each example the
first debated word is indicated as (A) and the second as (B).

(1) Then I said, I shall die in my (A) nest,
and shall multiply my days as the (B) sand.39

(2) I thought, “I shall expire with my (A) family,
and shall multiply my days like (B) sand.40

(3) I thought I would end my days with my (A) family,
and be as long-lived as the (B) phoenix.41

(4) Then I thought, “I shall die in my (A) nest,
and I shall multiply my days like the (B) phoenix.42

The debated word (A) in the first half of this verse is the Hebrew word qên which
literally means “nest.” The debated word (B) in the second half of the verse is the Hebrew
word ḥôl which most often in the Hebrew scriptures is translated as “sand.” As such ḥôl

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is used to indicate a great multitude as in Genesis 22:17, “I will indeed bless you, and I
will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the
seashore.”43 The sense of a large number or multitude easily fits the import of Job’s
speech, because Job was expecting a long life. The import of “dying in my nest,”
however, is less clear.

Several translators retain what could be considered the most common meanings
for both words, rendering qên as “nest” and ḥôl as “sand.” These options are employed in
translation (1) above which is from the King James Version. It is followed by the New
American Standard Bible and The New English Bible. What weakens these translations is
that they run counter to the established method of Jewish poetry. It is accepted Jewish
poetical practice to compose so that the two halves of every verse parallel each other.
Therefore, some meaningful connection is always expected between the first half of the
verse and the second. This expectation produces a serious problem with the translation
(1) above. How does the sand-like longevity in the second part of the verse relate to the
death in the nest in the first part?44 In other words, how can the image of a nest be
connected with that of sand? The metaphors of the two parts of this verse appear at odds
with each other.

James Barr attempts to resolve this problem by suggesting that “nest” (qên) is not
a metaphor. Barr argues that the original meaning of qên was “abode,” “dwelling,” or
“family.” In time the word was applied to the “dwelling of birds” and took on the sense of
“nest.” However, its root meaning—and the meaning to be understood in Job 29:18—is
that of “family.”45 If Barr’s theory is adopted, qên in Job 29:18 can be translated as “I

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shall expire with my family,” and this creates a better parallel between the two halves of

the verse. With the elimination of “nest,” dying surrounded by one’s family is a happy

condition which matches the similarly fortunate state of a life as lengthy as the sands on

the seashore. The joining of these two ideas is captured in translation (2) above.

Barr’s argument, however, is theoretical and has convinced only some

interpreters. This has led many translators to focus not so much on qên as on ḥôl. The

common meaning of ḥôl is sand. But another meaning is possible when it is vocalized in

a different manner. Written Hebrew at the time of the writing of Job was non-vocalized—

consonants only with no vowels. Later interpreters added vocalization to the written text.

The meaning of some words can shift depending upon which vocalization is added. This

is true of the Hebrew ḥôl. Although most often translated as “sand,” if the vocalization

ḥûl is adopted, the term can mean “phoenix.”46 This vocalization was adopted by the

Massoretes of Nahardea. Interpreting the word as “phoenix” can be traced back as early

as the Talmud. The following passage from Genesis Rabbah 19.5 draws upon Job 29:18

to interpret Genesis 3:6.

And she [Eve] took of the fruit thereof [the tree of knowledge] and ate. . . [and she
gave] also [to her husband]. "Also" is an extension. This means that she gave the
cattle, beasts and birds to eat of it. All obeyed her and ate of it except one bird
called chol [ḥôl], as it is written: "And I thought I shall die with my nest and shall
multiply my days as the chol.” The school of R. Jannai and R. Judan b. Simon
differ. The school of R. Jannai said: "it lives a thousand years and at the end of
thousand years a fire issues from its nest and burns it until as much as an egg is
left of it. Then it grows again limbs and lives." R. Judan b. Simon said: "it lives a
thousand years and at the end of thousand years its body is consumed and its
wings crumble to pieces until as much as an egg of it is left. Then it grows again
limbs and lives."47

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The Rabbis whose opinions are reported in Genesis Rabbah were clearly aware of the
phoenix myth. The different understandings of the bird’s death correspond to the two
versions of the story. The School of R. Jannai adopts the flame version, whereas Rabbi
Judah b. Simon uses the decay version.

Unlike Christian writers who focus on the bird’s resurrection, the rabbis use the
myth to establish the bird’s eternity. In this interpretation the phoenix emerges as the most
obedient creature in paradise. Although the divine prohibition against eating the fruit of
the tree of knowledge strictly pertains only to Adam in Genesis 2:17, the rabbis extend it
also to the animals. All the animals in the garden ate of the fruit which Eve offered except
the phoenix. In rabbinic midrash, therefore, the phoenix earns its eternity by following
God’s instructions. “Its longevity is a fulfillment of God’s original plan of the world,
which humanity and other animals had spoiled.”48

These early opinions of the rabbis which understand ḥûl as the phoenix support
the possibility that the author of Job understood the word in the same sense.49 The Jewish
Publication Society of America adopts the sense of “phoenix” in its translation of Job
29:18, which is (3) above. However, its choice to use “family” for qên in the first half of
the verse lessens the poetic parallelism which should be expected in the verse.

It is the last option of translation (4) which is most successful in making the two
halves of the verse parallel: “Then I thought, ‘I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply
my days like the phoenix.’” Here the phoenix is both the bird who dies in his nest and
then multiplies his days as he returns to life. Job is referring to the phoenix myth in both

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halves of the verse. This translation of the verse is adopted by the New Revised Version,
(4) above. It is also followed by the original New American Bible (1970) and the revised
New American Bible (2005). Mitchell Dahood is a strong proponent of this option,
supporting it through parallels which he draws between Hebrew and Ugaritic. He argues
that the Hebrew ʽim can be rendered “like” rather than “with,” resulting in the following
translation.

And I thought, “Though I perish like its nest,
I shall multiply days like the phoenix.50

If this translation is adopted, the verse reflects the phoenix myth even more fully. The
nest perishes, but the Job, like the phoenix, will multiply his days. Dahood summarizes:

The essential elements of the phoenix legend are present in Job 29:18. At the end
of its life-span (500, 600, or 1461 years), the fabled phoenix burned itself in its
nest, and from its ashes it arose in the freshness of youth to live through another
cycle of years. The author of Job mentions nest (qinnî), death (̕egwāʽ), phoenix
(ḥôl), and resurrection (̕arbeh yāmîm). That the biblical writer had the phoenix
legend in mind seems inescapable.51

Although the debate among translators continues, there is a strong probability that
the author of the Book of Job knew of the myth of the phoenix and, when he sought an
image to represent the promise of a long life, drew upon the story of the mythical bird
who continued to live after he perished in his nest.

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John 12:13
The last passage which may refer to the phoenix occurs in the Gospel of John, the

fourth gospel of the Christian scriptures. The word phoinix occurs only once in John’s
text. It is used in the scene of Jesus entering Jerusalem before his passion and death. All
four Christian gospels report this event, but in the manner in which it is presented varies.
The Gospel of Mark says that the crowd “spread leafy branches (stibadas) that they had
cut in the fields” on the road before Jesus (Mark 11:8). The Gospel of Matthew describes
a similar action by the crowd but indicates that the “branches” (kladous) had been cut
from trees (Matthew 21:8). When the Gospel of Luke presents this scene in 19:29-40,
there is no mention of any vegetation used by the crowd. Like Mark and Matthew, the
Gospel of John reports that the crowd used foliage as Jesus entered the city. But in its
version the people do not spread it on the road but hold it aloft in welcome. Of the four
evangelists only John names what plant is used during Jesus’ entry: the palm tree. He
does this, however, in an unusual way.

As the people welcome Jesus in the Gospel of John, they are said to use ta baia
tōn phoinikōn which is commonly translated, “branches of palm trees” (12:13). But the
phrase is a strange redundancy in Greek. This is because the word which is translated
“branches” (baia) already means “palm branches,” and the word “palm tree”—which is
the single occurrence of phoinix in John—can also mean “palm branches.” Phoinix is
used in this way in the Book of Revelation where those standing before God’s throne are
said to be dressed in white and holding phoinikes in their hands (7:9). These saints are
clearly not holding “palm trees” in their hands. Here, then, phoinix is being used to

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indicate palm branches. Therefore, it would be possible to read John 12:13 as presenting
the crowd holding “palm branches of palm trees” or even “palm branches of palm
branches.”

Many commentators have recognized the difficulty with John’s expression.
Bultmann admits that both words can mean “palm branches.”52 Hoskyns calls it
“awkward,” Barret “pleonastic,” Morris “peculiar,” Brown “somewhat tautological,” and
Bernard “superfluously precise.”53 Michaels sums up the issue well: “The expression is
as redundant as it sounds in English, for the first word refers to palm fronds or branches
and the second to either palm branches or palm trees.”54 Can any explanation be made for
John’s use of this strange expression other than inadvertently clumsy Greek?

In 1982 John Spenser Hill proposed that John’s “strange and obtrusive locution”
was consciously constructed to draw attention to a particular meaning within the phrase:
the phoenix.55 It has already been discussed that the Greek word phoinix can mean:
Phoenician, purple, date palm, or phoenix. Hill contends that the meaning in John 12:13
should be understood not as date palm but rather phoenix, because John is drawing on the
myth of the phoenix’s rebirth to anticipate the resurrection of Jesus.

Hill bases his argument chiefly on the structure of the gospel, emphasizing that
the scenes before and after the triumphal entry include strong references to Jesus’ death
and resurrection. Before the entry John describes Jesus’ anointing at Bethany, an
anointing which anticipates his burial (12:1-11). In this scene Lazarus who Jesus raised
from the dead is mentioned three times, thereby suggesting that Jesus’ life—like that of
Lazarus—will not end with his burial. In the section after the triumphal entry (John

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12:20-36) Jesus tells his disciples that, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be

glorified” (12:23). The “hour of glory” is a technical phrase in John’s gospel which refers

to Jesus’ dying and rising. Clearly, then, the entry into Jerusalem (John 12:12-19) is

framed by references to Jesus’ death and resurrection. Yet Hill’s argument which is based

solely on structure and theme may seem inadequate to justify the contention that the

awkward phrase of 12:13 should be understood as “the palm branches of the phoenixes.”

But Hill’s interpretation can be confirmed by more than the structure of the

gospel. A reference to the phoenix in John 12:13 can be supported by the presence of a

well-recognized literary technique of the gospel which derives from its worldview. The

Gospel of John focuses upon the person of Jesus in a unique manner. Everything in

John’s world depends upon a choice for or against Jesus. This establishes a pervasive

dualism throughout the gospel.

One must either believe or fail to believe. These two alternatives are the iron rails
upon which the story of John’s gospel is grooved to run. The story moves from
scene to scene based on the decisions either for or against Jesus.

John does not allow for any middle ground between these two alternatives. There
are only two possibilities for human existence. Avoiding the decision to choose
between them only leads to disaster. This stark choice is the foundation for a
dualism which is a central characteristic of John’s gospel. The world which the
evangelist sets before us is divided into two opposing realms corresponding to
belief or disbelief in Jesus. The language of the gospel functions across the paired
opposites of light/darkness, life/death, above/below, love/hatred, freedom/slavery,
truth/falsehood, God/Satan. 56

This dualism in John’s gospel facilitates a number of narrative devices. John’s

literary style mirrors his worldview. It often becomes clear within a passage that a
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concept is being used in two different senses, one which is from above and the other
which is from below. When Jesus promises the Samaritan woman “living water” (John
4:10) he is speaking of the eternal life which only he can give. This is water “from
above.” She, however, is thinking of natural water such as that drawn with a bucket from
a well (4:11). This is water “from below.” The entire narrative of chapter nine of the
gospel revolves around the realities of blindness and sight. But these terms also carry a
double sense. There is the sight which is from below: the physical sight of the eye. But
there is also a spiritual sight which is from above: the ability to see Jesus as the Eternal
Word.

This same dualism allows for a literary device within the gospel which is even
more compact. John employs certain words which carry more than one meaning. When
such words are used, both the characters in the narrative and the reader must choose
which meaning to understand. The double sense of the word parallels the dualism of the
gospel. One meaning points to what is from above—a meaning of light and truth. The
other inclines to what is below—a meaning of darkness and falsehood.

In chapter three of the gospel, Jesus talks to a Jewish teacher named Nicodemus.
In verse 3 Jesus tells him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God
without being born anōthen (ανϖθεν).” The Greek word anōthen can mean either “from
above” or “again.” John has chosen this word because it offers a choice to Nicodemus
and the reader. The meaning “from above” clearly expresses a choice for Jesus, because
Jesus is “from above” (see John 8:23). The meaning “again” might be acceptable, if it
were understood “born again but this time in Jesus.” But it also can be understood as a

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simple repetition of the old life. This is how Nicodemus misunderstands it when he asks,
“Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” (3:4). The evangelist
intends the reader to hear both meanings of anōthen but to choose the sense “to be born
from above,” for that meaning invariably points to faith in the Son of God.

Another example of this device is found in the trial of Jesus. At the end of the trial
Pilate brings Jesus out before the crowd. John 19:13 says that Pilate “brought Jesus
outside and ekathisen (εκαθισεν) on the judge’s bench.” The Greek verb ekathisen
means “to sit,” but it can be intransitive or transitive. If read intransitively, it is an action
which the subject of the sentence does himself or herself—in this case “Pilate sat.” If read
transitively, it is something the subject does to an object—in this case “Pilate sat Jesus.”
Interpreters of the gospel debate over what sense was intended by the evangelist. The
disagreement is extended and irresolvable. Brown takes six pages to review the
arguments.57 The word is equally able to be read in both ways.

Lightfoot was the first to suggest that the double sense may have been part of the
evangelist’s strategy.58 The person who sits upon the judge’s bench is, of course, the
judge. On a historical level, it was certainly Pilate who passed judgment on Jesus. But on
a spiritual level, it is Jesus who passes judgment on Pilate. John intends the reader to see
both possibilities. The double meaning of ekathisen catches the dualism of the gospel.
Read intransitively, Pilate holds the authority. But this is a meaning from below which
reflects a world of darkness and death. Read transitively, Jesus will pass judgment. This is
a meaning from above which expresses the kingdom of light and life. Barrett summarizes
this duality concisely.

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Probably John was conscious of both meanings of ἐκάθισεν. . . .We may suppose
then that John meant that Pilate did in fact sit on the βῆµα, but that for those with
eyes to see behind this human scene appeared the Son of man, to whom all
judgment has been committed (5.22), seated upon his throne.59

Anōthen in John 3:3 and ekathisen in 19:13 are two examples in which John has
used a word with more than one meaning in order to offer the reader a choice aligned
with the two sides of the gospel’s dualism. It is likely that phoinix was used by the
evangelist for the same purpose.

This possibility is enhanced by the probability that John has introduced palm
branches into the triumphal entry scene for theological reasons. The use of palm branches
in Jesus’ historical entry into Jerusalem is questionable. Jerusalem sits on a hill. Its
climate, therefore, is too cool to support the growth of palm trees. Even today, palms
must be brought into the city from Jericho on Palm Sunday.60 A recently discovered letter
of Simon Bar-Kochba ordering a lieutenant to bring palm branches to Jerusalem from En
Gedi for the celebration of the Feast of Tabernacles indicates that the same condition
existed in ancient times.61 Therefore, palm branches would not have been available to
those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem without similar advance planning.

Aware of these historical circumstances, Rudolph Schnackenburg concludes that
John has inserted palm branches into his account for their “symbolic significance.”62 At
least since the time of the Maccabean revolt, palms were seen as the sign of political
victory. The only other place where the Greek word baion is used in the Greek Bible is in
1 Maccabees 13:51 where the Jews celebrate the capture and purification of the citadel in

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Jerusalem by the general, Simon Maccabeus. In the first and second centuries palm
fronds were symbols of Jewish nationalism. They appeared on the coins of the Second
Revolt against Rome in 132-35 CE.63

Raymond Brown argues that John has employed palm branches to represent an
idea which he wishes to correct. Jesus’ rule was not to be that of a political leader such as
Simon Maccabeus. Jesus would assume a universal rule which would be initiated by his
death and resurrection. To make this correction, the evangelist first introduces palm
branches which stand for national and military force. He then presents Jesus riding on a
donkey to assert that his rule will be a different kind of kingdom. To demonstrate the
difference, John cites the prophet Zephaniah (John 12:15) in whose writings a king is
described who will save the lame and gather the outcast. In Brown’s interpretation,
Zephaniah and the donkey are used to correct the palm branches. He summarizes:

While there may be an element of nationalism in the Synoptic description of the
acclamation of Jesus, this is clearer in John; and Jesus' entering Jerusalem on a
donkey is a prophetic action designed to counteract that nationalism. It is an
affirmation of a universal kingship that will be achieved only when he is lifted up
in death and resurrection. The peculiar Johannine order of events (acclamation,
followed by Jesus' reaction in selecting a donkey) and details (palms—see Note
for difficulty) are ordered to this theological purpose.64

This scene, like so many other in John’s gospel, offers two choices in meaning. Is
Jesus to be seen as a national king (the meaning from below) or as the Eternal Word who
triumphs through his death and resurrection (the meaning from above)? The evangelist
reminds the reader of the choice by stating that Jesus’ disciples did not grasp the true

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significance of the event: “His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when
Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written of him and
had been done to him” (12:16). Here the evangelist emphasizes that the apparent meaning
of Jesus’ entry (a nationalistic victory) is not the correct one. The true significance of the
event, the meaning “from above,” will only be appreciated by the disciples once Jesus is
glorified—when Jesus is raised from the dead.65

There is little debate over John’s desire to use this scene as a way to point to the
true victory of Jesus in his resurrection. The clear sense of what the evangelist intends in
this passage increases the likelihood that the double sense of phoinix was employed to
support the same theological horizon. By using the repetitive expression ta baia tōn
phoinikōn, John draws attention to the phrase so that the reader may consider whether
phoinikōn is merely an unnecessary repetition or the sign of a higher meaning. In close
proximity to the very word which carries the sense of nationalistic victory (baia, palm
branches), John adds the word phoinikōn which can be read “of the phoenixes.” By this
device John employs the widespread myth of the phoenix and its association with
resurrection to point to the sense which is “from above.” Jesus’ victory will not be that of
a military commander but one which—like the phoenix—triumphs by conquering death.

The double sense of phoinikōn cannot be captured in translation. Translators must
choose only one sense of phoinix to be rendered in the text. They will commonly choose
the meaning which fits most naturally into the historical narration: “palm branches of the
palm tree.” But the informed reader can realize that in its original language this
expression points to an additional and higher reality. Parallel to other words in John

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which carry a double sense, phoinix offers the reader a choice. One must decide whether
the word is merely a reference to a nationalistic triumph expressed in clumsy Greek or a
signal of the true victory of Christ which is accomplished through his resurrection.

The author of First Clement is commonly recognized as the first to associate the
phoenix with Jesus’ resurrection. If the above argument is accepted, Clement has
company. Writing in the same time period, another writer can also lay claim to be the first
Christian to employ the myth of the phoenix for a theological purpose. He is the author of
the Gospel of John.

The Origin of the Phoenix Myth

Thus far, this paper has traced the elaborate development of the phoenix myth
which emerges in two versions and has deeply influenced both classical Greek and
Christian traditions. The origins of the myth will now be examined.

Several authors have argued that the specific content of the phoenix myth derives
from Egypt. As early as 2500 BCE a bird is attested in the mythology of Egypt associated
with the god Atum/Re, the god of the sun. The texts refer to the bird as benu. The creature
is pictured perched on a primeval stone, marking the origin of the inhabited world and the
reign of Atum.66 Early in the Egyptian texts the benu is associated with the city of
Heliopolis.67

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The name phoinix has been proposed as a linguistic variant of the Egyptian benu.
Linguistic dependency, however, is now largely discredited.68 As discussed above, the
origins of phoinix are most likely found in Phoenicia. Nevertheless, the similarities
between the benu and the phoenix, together with the frequent association of the phoenix
with Egypt and Heliopolis convince some experts that the Egyptian tradition was the
“germ” from which the classical Greek phoenix story emerged.69 R. Van den Broek has
argued against this conclusion. He asserts that although the classical myth of the phoenix
is related to the Egyptian benu, it did not develop directly from it. Rather it emerged out
of the widespread oriental conception of the bird of the sun.

It must be considered probable that the Classical phoenix myth is a purely Greek
product, i.e. the Greek variant of the mythical conception of the bird of the sun
found in various cultures of the Near, Middle and Far East.70

What is noteworthy in Van den Broek’s analysis is that it connects the phoenix’s
origins to the sun. There is no question that the Greek phoenix has developed far beyond
its solar origins. In its present form it includes the remarkable regeneration of the bird,
even to the extent of presenting it in two distinct versions. But prior to this particularly
Greek development, it is likely that the phoenix began as a bird representing the power
and movement of the sun. This aligns the phoenix with similar mythical “sun birds”
throughout the world. It is because of this sun connection that Van den Broek concludes
that flame version of the myth was prior to the decay version: “It is clear that the version

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of burning is more consistent with the sun bird than the version of genesis from the
decaying body of a predecessor.”71

Mythical birds of the sun commonly symbolize self-renewing time. Just as the sun
rises and sets, marking the passing of each day, sun birds naturally indicate the beginning
and end of temporal periods. Indeed, it is the temporal association of the phoenix which
characterizes almost all the extant texts referring to it. The earliest citation in Hesiod
already names the number of years the phoenix lives. The description of Herodotus gives
500 years as the period between the phoenix’s return to Heliopolis. Other authors plot the
period of the bird’s return to 540, 972, or 1000 years. But in almost every recital of the
phoenix myth, a period of time is associated with the bird’s appearance.72

Because the phoenix, like the sun, is associated with time, the phoenix easily
became the sign of a turn in history and the beginning of a new era. Tacitus reports an
appearance of the phoenix at the death of the last Egyptian king. It also is said to have
appeared at the death of the emperor Tiberius. The emperor Claudius used the phoenix as
a symbol in the forum to celebrate the 800th year of Rome. Jews in Egypt reported a
sighting of the phoenix at the inauguration of their new temple. John of Salisbury reports
that a phoenix was present at the founding of the city of Constantinople and interpreted it
as a good omen.73

In 1956 a Coptic Sermon on Mary was discovered. In a dramatic manner it
employs the phoenix to indicate the stages of Christian history. The text, which comes
from the period 400-567 CE, divides world history into periods, marking each one with
the appearance of the phoenix. The first period was the time before the Jewish law. It

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began when a phoenix appeared in the flames of Abel’s sacrifice. The second period was
the period of the Mosaic law. It began when Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt. At that
time the phoenix appeared on the temple of On, the city of the sun. The third and final
period is the time of Christ. It began when Jesus was born. At that time a phoenix
appeared and burned itself on the pinnacle of the temple in Jerusalem.74 Even though the
most common Christian use of the phoenix is as a sign of resurrection, the Sermon on
Mary attests that the phoenix continued to be used as a temporal marker.

These citations from Greek, Jewish, and Christian writers all testify that the
phoenix was regularly used as a sign to indicate a significant shift in history. In drawing
his conclusions on the import of the phoenix myth, Van den Broek states:

The main accent consistently falls on the symbolism of the phoenix as inaugurator
of a new era; the appearance at the beginning of the rule of a new king or emperor
is a derivative aspect of this symbolism, even though it sometimes seems to occur
almost independently.75

Beneath all the variations of the classical phoenix myth and its use by generations
of authors, the phoenix originated as a bird of the sun. Like the Egyptian benu and
mythical birds of other cultures, the phoenix is tied to the passage of time and its
significance. Even though the phoenix is most know for its remarkable powers of
regeneration, it is the temporal aspect of the myth which is most frequently cited in the
sources. In almost every account of the phoenix, mention is made of the bird’s rare
appearances and of the number of years which separate them. Therefore, the arrival of the

37

phoenix signifies a turning point of history. It is this particular attribute which links the
phoenix to the fenghuang of China.

The Fenghuang of China

The Chinese mythical bird is the fenghuang. When translations are made of the
Chinese classics, fenghuang is often rendered as “phoenix.” But such a translation is
deceptive. Although both birds function mythically within their own cultures, many of the
characteristics of the phoenix are not shared by the fenghuang. In his discussion of the
fenghuang, W. H. Edmunds remarks: “The Phoenix, as this bird is called by many
writers, is a misleading name, for it [the fenghuang] has nothing in common with the
Phoenician conception [the phoenix] either in form or attributes.”76

Edmunds’ comment is overstated, for as will be seen there are some clear
similarities between the two birds. Nevertheless, the two names, phoenix and fenghuang
will be maintained in this paper to remind the reader of the significant differences
between these two avian creatures.

The Chinese Book of Rites (Li Ki) was composed about 200 BCE, but it contains
traditions which may go back as far as the eighth century BCE. It describes four animals
which according to M. W. DeVisser should be seen as “the four spiritual animals par
excellence.”77 These animals are said to control the destiny of the empire. The first
animal is the Dragon which is the chief of all scaly animals and represents authority. The
second is the Fenghuang which is the chief of feathery animals and represents virtue.

38

These two are followed by the Unicorn which is the leader of hairy animals and has
control over literature and the Tortoise which is the head of shelled animals and directs
divination.78 The appearance of any of these spiritual animals is regarded as “an
auspicious sign heralding the advent of a great and glorious ruler or bringing benediction
upon his reign.”79

The recognition that the fenghuang was the chief of all birds and the bringer of
blessing is expressed in the Classic of Mountains and Seas, a repository of early Chinese
mythic material dating from 300 BCE to 100 CE.

Again five hundred li to the east there is a mountain called Red Cave (Tan-hsüeh).
At the top there is a great deal of gold and jade. The Red River (Tan-shui) comes
out here and flows south and goes into the P'o Sea (P'o-hai).
There is a bird whose shape is like a cock. It has five colors and stripes. It is
called feng-huang. [As the dragon is the chief of the animals, the phoenix is the
chief of the birds. It is the symbol of happiness.] The stripes on the head are called
virtue; the stripes on the wings, justice; on the back, politeness; those on the
breast are called humanity; those on the stomach, honesty. This bird drinks and
eats, sings and dances, by itself. When it appears the world enjoys peace.80

When the etymology of the word fenghuang is analyzed, the Chinese sign for feng
is male and that for huang is female. This indicates that originally fenghuang referred to a
pair or to a bisexual creature.81 More than just a description, the two verbal signs which
compose fenghuang may well be a clue to its origins. Chinese funeral chambers can be
found with depictions of the fenghuang as a bird with two heads. One way of explaining
this representation is to see the fenghuang as a bird of the sun. One head indicates the
growing increase of the sun (the Yang or male principle). The other head stands for the

39

sun’s decrease (the Yin or female principle). The union of two heads in one body
“corresponds to the moment when perfect balance exists between the two principles that
rule the sun’s power with equal strength, and when neither predominates.”82 This balance
explains the unique way in which the fenghuang—as one of the four spiritual animals—
serves as a bird of blessing.

Every text mentioning the apparition of the phoenix as a sign of good omen,
alludes to the two phoenixes (i.e. feng huang) male and female in one. This is
easy to understand, as it is only when joined that the two phoenixes can represent
the entire evolution of the sun and consequently the complete symbol of the sun in
its two phases of progression (Yang) and regression (Yin). Perfect concord
between the two opposites is a sign of perfect harmony in heaven and on earth.83

Such interpretations have convinced many scholars that the fenghuang originated
as a bird of the sun. This origin is challenged by others who associate the beginnings of
the fenghuang with the wind.84 However, regardless of what position is adopted for its
origin, over time the fenghuang assumed a solar significance. Therefore, today the
fenghuang is understood as a solar bird.

The appearance of the fenghuang was a powerful sign of blessing and prosperity
throughout Chinese history. The fenghuang was first said to appear when the Yellow
Emperor, Huang Ti, ascended the throne (2697 BCE). It appeared again when Huang Ti
was engaged in his ceremonial fasts (2693 BCE). It also came to the emperors Yao (2356
BCE) and Shun (2255 BCE).85 The blessing of the fenghuang was indicated by the
beauty of its song. The Yellow Emperor commissioned his minister to make twelve pitch
pipes and to distinguish the twelve pitch standards according to the song of the

40

fenghuang. Thus the bird is seen as the originator of wind instruments and musical tones.
86 During the reign of Shih Hu in the third century CE, a brood of nine fenghuang took up
residence in the royal palace. They were trained to deliver the emperor’s
pronouncements. In response to their services all imperial edicts afterwards became
known as “fenghuang messages.”87 The last fortunate monarch to receive a visit from the
fenghuang was Hung Wu of the Ming dynasty (1368-99 CE). The bird appeared at the
grave of the emperor’s father.88

With the passage of time, the male (feng) and female (huang) characteristics of
the bird were blurred into one feminine entity. This allowed another yin-yang paring to
occur. The fenghuang became the symbol of the empress just as the dragon was the
symbol of the emperor. The fenghuang thus became the yin principle to the dragon’s
yang.89

The Phoenix and the Fenghuang Compared

When the myths of the phoenix and fenghuang are examined together, significant
differences emerge. The regeneration of the phoenix, which is in many ways the focus of
its myth, is absent from the story of the fenghuang. Moreover, the phoenix manifests a
much more complex development in its narrative, expressing two versions of its
resurrection and becoming closely associated with the specific resurrection of Jesus
Christ. By contrast, the myth of the fenghuang is used consistently as a simple sign of
favor appearing to various emperors over the course of history.

41

The two birds also differ as to appearance. The phoenix is variously described by
authors as an eagle, ostrich, or peacock. Its plumage is characterized by vibrant colors,
although there is no consensus on what the particular colors are. Its most consistent
characteristic is that its head is surrounded by a nimbus, either with or without rays. This
adornment of the head results from the phoenix’s connection to the sun.90 By contrast the
fenghuang is commonly shown as with qualities of a peacock or ocellated pheasant.
Some authors have attempted to argue that the fenghuang can trace its origin to the actual
bird.91 The plumage of the fenghuang is composed of five colors: greenish-blue, yellow,
red, white, and black. “These colors symbolize the five cardinal virtues: uprightness,
honesty, justice, fidelity, and benevolence.”92

Although the visual differences between the phoenix and the fenghuang are
significant, appearance is not the most reliable tool in discussing mythical creatures. Both
the phoenix and fenghuang are imaginary constructs having no single bird of nature with
which they can be identified. Authors who speak of them, therefore, enjoy great freedom
in description. When dealing with mythical creatures, it is the nature of the myth which
dictates their appearance. The myth comes first and determines the description, not the
other way around.93

Despite the differences between the phoenix and the fenghuang, similarities also
exist. Both birds appear only rarely in the world and do so in exceptional circumstances.
Both are regarded as the chief of all other birds. Both are known for their beauty and
marvelous song. Both eat rare foods and dwell in distant lands.94 Both birds are
recognized as birds of the sun. This characteristic ties them to time and establishes the

42

most fundamental similarity between them. Both birds are bearers of blessing. Appearing
only rarely, they announce a turn in history which is for the good. Their coming marks a
period of harmony and peace.

Jean-Pierre Diény has argued that the fenghuang announces harmony and peace
in a political sense for this world, whereas the phoenix heralds harmony and peace which
is spiritual and eternal.95 Diény’s distinction is accurate but must be qualified. In
comparing the two traditions Diény uses the phoenix myth in its most developed stage at
which it represents the resurrection of Christ. In that form the phoenix no doubt carries an
otherworldly significance which cannot be paralleled by the fenghuang. Yet, Diény’s
distinction between this world and another world is determined by a much broader reality.
Chinese culture does not accept an external creator and sees all that is as part of the
present world.96 It is, therefore, to be expected that the Chinese mythic bird would direct
its good news to the events of this world. The phoenix, by contrast, functions within a
culture which admits an existence beyond the present world. The phoenix, therefore, is
able to assume the other-worldy significance which its culture allows.

Therefore, when the cultural contexts of each bird are appreciated, it is clear that
the phoenix and the fenghuang both function in their respective traditions as signifiers of
a period of goodness and peace. Whenever either bird appears, it is an indication that time
has taken a significant and positive turn. Both China and the West have periodically
recognized in their histories moments which carry crucial significance. In searching for a
way to indicate such glorious shifts in time, both cultures have chosen to employ a
mythical bird of the sun to announce the advent of blessing.

43

44

1. R. T. Rundle Clark, “The Legend of the Phoenix (Part I),” University of Birmingham
Historical Journal II.I (1949) 1-29 and II.II (1950) 105-140, p. 4.

2. R. Van den Broek, The Myth of the Phoenix (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1972) 80.

3. A Greek-English Lexicon, Revised Edition, Volume II, φοινιξ (eds. Henry George
Liddell and Robert Scott; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1940) 1948.

4. Van den Broek, 53-55.

5. ibid., 51.

6. ibid., 52-53.

7. M. C. Astour, “The Origin of the Terms ‘Canaan,’ ‘Phoenician,’ and ‘Purple,’” Journal
of Near Eastern Studies 24 (1965) 346-350, pp. 348-49.

8. Van den Broek, 64-65.

9. ibid., 397-98.

10. Van den Broek, 146-47; Anneliese Felber, “Phoenix,’ in Religion Past and Present
(ed. Hans Dieter Betz; Lieden: Brill, 2011) 96-97, p. 97; John Spenser Hill, “The
Phoenix,” Religion and Literature 16:2 (1984) 61-66, p.63.

11. Herodotus 1, (trans. A. D. Godley; London: Loeb Classical Library, 1921) 359-61.

12. Mary Francis McDonald, “Phoenix Redivivus,” Phoenix 14:4 (1960) 187-206, pp.
188-89.

13. Pliny the Elder, The Natural History, X, 2, (trans. John Bostock and H.T. Riley;
Perseus Digital Library: Tufts University. [http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper].

14. Martial, Epigrams, V, 7. (Bohn’s Classical Library, 1897). [http://www.ccel.org/ccel/
pearse/morefathers/files/martial_epigrams_00eintro.htm]

15. Van den Broek, 411: “We can only observe that we are confronted as early as the first
century A.D. with the entire complexity of the phoenix myth.”

16. Van den Broek, 157-58.

45

17. Ante-Nicene Fathers, Vol. 7 (trans. William Fletcher; eds. Alexander Roberts, James
Donaldson, A. Cleveland Coxe; Buffalo: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1886).

18. Claudian, Carmina Minora, XXVII, Loeb Classical Library (trans. Maurice
Platnauer; Boston: Harvard University Press, 1922). The text is available on line at
penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Claudian/Carmina_Minora*/27.html

19. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians 15:14, The Holy Bible, New Revised Standard
Version (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989).

20. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians 15:20.

21. The Gospel of Luke 24:39, The Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1989). See also Paul’s discussion of the resurrected
body in First Corinthians 15:35-57.

22. Most scholars date Clement’s letter in the 90’s. But W. A. Jurgens has offered
reasonable arguments for the earlier date in The Faith of the Early Fathers,
(Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1970) 6-7.

23. The First Letter of Clement to the Corinthians, 24:1 in The Apostolic Fathers (trans.
Kirsopp Lake; London: William Heinemann, 1912).

24. ibid., 25:1-26:1.

25. Tertullian, De resurrectione carnis, XIII, The Ante-Nicene Fathers, Vol. III (eds.
Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989) 554.

26. ibid.

27. For a brief summary of these writers, see McDonald, 201-204.

28. Michael J. Curley, Physiologus (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979) ix-xxi;
McDonald, 197-200.

29. Curley, 13-14.

30. Matthew 16:21, 17:23, 20:19; Luke 9:22, 18:33, 24:7, 24:46; Acts 10:40, 27:19; First
Corinthians 15:4.

31. M. R. Niehoff, “The Phoenix in Rabbinic Literature,” Harvard Theological Review
89:3 (1996) 245-65, p. 253.

46

32. Curley, xxvi-xxxiii; McDonald, 198-200.

33. N. F. Blake, The Phoenix (Exeter: University Press, 1990) 17-24.

34. Early English Homilies (ed. Rubie D-N. Warner; London: Kegan Paul, Trench
Trübner & Co., 1917) 146-48.

35. References to the works of these authors can be found in Hill, “Phoenix,” 63-66.

36. Different editions of the Bible enumerate the psalms in their own manner, depending
whether they follow the Hebrew or Greek text. Therefore, depending upon the Bible
consulted, the verse of the psalm here referred to as 91:13, may appear as 91:12,
92:12, or 92:13.

37. See note 24 for the citation.

38. Van den Broek, 57.

39. King James Version (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983).

40. John E. Hartley, The Book of Job (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1988) 392.

41. The Writings (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1982).

42. The Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version (New York: Oxford University Press,
1989).

43. S. Kapelrud, “chôl” in Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 1998) IV, 264-66.

44. Niehoff, 255; Van den Broek, 58-59.

45. James Barr, “Is Hebrew ‫‘ קן‬Nest’ a Metaphor?” in Semitic Studies, Vol. I (ed. Alan S.
Kaye; Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1991) 150-61, pp. 154-56.

46. S. R. Driver, The Book of Job, The International Critical Commentary (New York:
Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1921) 201-204; McDonald, 191.

47. The translation is that of Niehoff, 257.

48. Niehoff, 258-59; Marvin H. Pope, Job (The Anchor Bible; New York: Doubleday,
1965) 190.

47

49. After an exhaustive review of the issues, this position is accepted by David J. A.
Clines, Job 21-37, Word Biblical Commentary, Vol 18a (Nashville: Thomas Nelson,
2006) 991.

50. Mitchell Dahood, “Nest and Phoenix in Job 29:18,” Biblica, 48(1967) 542-544.

51. ibid., 544. For Dahood’s refutation of Van den Broek’s position that the phoenix
cannot be found in Job 29:18, see Mitchell Dahood, “ḥôl ‘Phoenix’ in Job 29:18 and in
Ugaritic,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 36 (1974) 85-88.

52. Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1971) 417.

53. E. C. Hoskyns, The Fourth Gospel (London: Faber and Faber, 1940) 421; C. K.
Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1955) 417;
Leon Morris, The Gospel According to John (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdsmans,
1971) 584; R. E. Brown, The Gospel According to John, Anchor Bible 29 (New York:
Doubleday, 1966) 456; J. H. Bernard, Gospel According to St. John (Edinburgh: T. &
T. Clark, 1928) 424.

54. J. Ramsey Michaels, The Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdsmans,
2010) 675.

55. John Spenser Hill, “τά βαϊα τϖν φοινκων (John 12:13) Pleonasm or Prolepsis?”
Journal of Biblical Literature 101:1 (1982) 133-35, p. 133.

56. George M. Smiga, The Gospel of John Set Free (Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press,
2008) 8.

57. Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah Vol. I (New York: Doubleday, 1994)
1388-93.

58. R. H. Lightfoot, St. John’s Gospel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1956) 325-26.

59. Barrett, 544. In agreement are: John Ashton, Understanding the Fourth Gospel
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1991) 228; Paul D. Duke, Irony in the Fourth Gospel (Atlanta:
John Knox, 1985) 134-35.

60. Brown, Gospel, 457.

61. Yigael Yadin, “More on the Letters of Bar Kochba,” The Biblical Archaeologist 24:3
(1961) 86-95, p. 90-91; Brown, Gospel, 456-57.

48

62. Rudolph Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to John, Vol. II (New York: Seabury
Press, 1980) 374.

63. W. R. Farmer, “The Palm Branches in John 12:13,” The Journal of Theological
Studies n.s. 3 (1952) 62-66; Brown, Gospel, 461.

64. Brown, Gospel, 463.

65. Francis J. Maloney, The Gospel of John, Sacra Pagina (Collegeville: Liturgical Press,
1998) 350-51.

66. Larry J. Alderink, “Phoenix,” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. V (ed. D. H.
Freedmann; New York: Doubleday, 1992) 363-65.

67. Clark, 16.

68. Van den Broek, 21-22.

69. Clark, 122.

70. Van den Broek, 398.

71. ibid., 412.

72. Van den Broek (400-401) suggests that the various numbers are in fact based upon
different calculations of Hesiod’s riddle and the attempts to round them off. However,
the fact of a specific period of time is more important than the precise calculation of
years.

73. Van den Broek, 113-18.

74. ibid., 33-47 and 119-32.

75. ibid., 415.

76. Will. H. Edmunds, Pointers and Clues to the Subjects of Chinese and Japanese Art
(London: Sampson Low, Marston & Co., 1934) 392. See also M. U. Hachisuka, “The
Identification of the Chinese Phoenix,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great
Briton and Ireland 4 (1924) 585-589, p. 585; Anne Birrell, Chinese Mythology: An
Introduction (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993) 237.

49

77. Marinus Willem de Visser, The Dragon in China and Japan (Verhandelingen der
koninklijke Akademie van Wetenschappen te Amsterdam: Afdeeling Letterkunde,
Nieuwe Reeks, 1913) 39.

78. Katherine M. Ball, Decorative Motives of Oriental Art (New York: Hacker Art Books,
1969) 5.

79. Edmunds, 391-92.

80. Quoted in Alan Priest, “Phoenix in Fact and Fancy,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Bulletin, New Series, 1:2 (1942) 97-101, p. 100.

81. Elmer G. Suhr, “The Phoenix,” Folklore 87 (1976) 29-37, p. 30.

82. C. Hentze, Chinese Tomb Figures (London: Edward Goldston, 1928) 27.

83. ibid.

84. Felber, 97; See the discussion in Jean-Pierre Diény, “Le Fenghuang et le phénix,”
Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 5 (1989) 1-13, p. 12.

85. Ball, 27; Edmunds, 392.

86. Roel Sterckx, “Transforming the Beasts: Animals and Music in Early China,” T’oung
Pao, Second Series, 86 (2000) 1-46, p. 9.

87. Ball, 27.

88. John C. Ferguson, The Mythology of All Races, Volume VIII (New York: Cooper
Square Publishers, 1964) 99-100.

89. Stanley Charles Nott, Chinese Culture in the Arts (New York: Chinese Cultures Study
Group of America, 1946) 74; Ball, 31.

90. Van den Broek, 233-60.

91. Hachisuka, 585-87; Priest, 98.

92. Ball, 25; Edmunds, 392.

93. Diény, 7.

94. ibid., 2-3.

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