Chaos was the first, and from Chaos all else proceeded. The Greek word does not mean disorder, in the modern sense; it derives from a verbal root meaning to gape or to yawn, and signifies a gap, an opening, a vast emptiness within which other things may be. Chaos was not the formless matter of later philosophical speculation; it was rather the empty place in which the cosmos would be made — the precondition of being, the room within which existence could find room. From this Chaos, by no parentage, came forth Gaia the broad-bosomed earth, Tartarus the gloomy pit, and Eros the binding love; and from Chaos itself, by spontaneous generation, came Erebus the underworld darkness and black Night.
Chaos had no cult, no temple, no statue. It was a poetic and theological postulate — the necessary first term in any account of how the world came to be. Later philosophers, particularly the Stoics and the Neoplatonists, made of Chaos a more positive principle (the formless matter awaiting form, the precosmic plenum); but Hesiod's Chaos is the simpler and starker thing, the gap before the things that fill it.





