Church and People in Byzantium

Table of contents :
CONTENTS
Abbreviations.
Introduction
TEACHING THE FAITH
Bishop Kallistos of Dioklea_The meaning of the Divine Liturgy for the Byzantine worshipper.
Cunningham M.B._Preaching and the Community.
Raasted J._Byzantine Liturgical Music and its Meaning for the Byzantine Worshipper.
LAW AND MORALITY
Macrides R._Nomos and Kanon on paper and in court.
Karlin-Hayter P._Indissolubility and the 'greater evil'. Three thirteenth-century Byzantine divorce cases.
CHURCH ADMINISTRATION
Kaplan M._L'Eglise byzantine des VIe-XIe siècles: terres et paysans.
Mullett M._Patronage in Action: the problems of an eleventh-century Bishop.
THE PUBLIC LIFE OF THE CHURCH.
Herrin J._Ideals of charity, realities of welfare: The philanthropic activity of the Byzantine Church.
Magdalino P._Church, Bath and Diakonia in Medieval Constantinople.
CHURCHES AND THEIR CONTENTS
Mathews T.F._The Transformation symbolism in Byzantine architecture and the meaning of the Pantokrator in the dome.
Zalesskaya V._Byzantine white-clay painted bowlsand cylix-type cups.
Loverance R._Early Byzantine marble church furnishings: some examples from the episcopal basilica of Kourion in Cyprus.
Mango M.M._The uses of liturgical silver, 4th-7th centuries.
Lowden J._Luxury and Liturgy: the function of books.
INDEX

Citation preview

CHURCH AND PEOPLE IN BYZANTIUM Society for the Promotion of Byzantine Studies Twentieth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies Manchester, 1986

edited by Rosemary Morris

CENTRE FOR BYZANTINE, OTTOMAN AND MODERN GREEK STUDIES UNIVERSITY OF BIRMINGHAM ι

© Centre for Byzantine, Ottoman and Modern Greek Studies, University of Birmingham, England

ISBN 0 7044 1100 8

Typeset and printed by The Bemrose Press Ltd., 21 Chaser Court, Greyhound Park, Chester, CHI 4QQ

Cover: Icon depicting the Triumph of Orthodoxy (843), late 14th or early 15th century. Photo by kind permission of the Trustees of the British Museum.

ІІ

Contents Illustrations Abbreviations Acknowledgements

v ix χ

Introduction ROSEMARY MORRIS

1

TEACHING THE FAITH The meaning of the Divine Liturgy for the Byzantine worshipper BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA Preaching and the community MARY CUNNINGHAM Byzantine liturgical music and its meaning for the Byzantine worshipper J0RGEN RAASTED LAW AND MORALITY Nomos and kanon on paper and in court RUTH MACRIDES Indissolubility and the 'greater evil'. Three thirteenth-century Byzantine divorce cases PATRICIA KARLIN-HAYTER CHURCH ADMINISTRATION L'église byzantine des VIe-XI siècles: terres et paysans MICHEL KAPLAN Patronage in action: the problems of an eleventh-century bishop MARGARET MULLETT iii

7

29 49

61 87

109

125

THE PUBLIC LIFE OF THE CHURCH Ideals of charity, realities of welfare: The philanthropic activity of the Byzantine church JUDITH HERRIN Church, bath and diakonia in medieval Constantinople PAUL MAGDALINO

151

165

CHURCHES AND THEIR CONTENTS The transformation symbolism in Byzantine architecture and the meaning of the Pantokrator in the dome THOMAS F. MATHEWS Byzantine white-clay painted bowls and cylix-type cups VERA ZALESSKAYA Early Byzantine marble church furnishings: some examples from the episcopal basilica of Kourion in Cyprus ROWENA LOVERANCE The uses of liturgical silver, 4th-7th centuries MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO Luxury and liturgy; the function of books JOHN LOWDEN

225

INDEX

282

iv

191

215

245

263

Illustrations Fig. 1 Church çf Christos Pantokrator, Constantinople: a 12thcentury example of the cross-in-square plan with dome on pendentives. Photo: T. Mathews. Fig. 2 Hagioi Theodoroi, Mistra: a 13th-century example of the octagonal plan with dome on squinches. Photo: T. Mathews. Fig. 3 Daphni Monastery Church, с 1100; east-west section. Photo after G. Millet, Le monastère de Daphni. Fig. 4 Daphni, mosaic of the dome with Pantokrator at centre. Photo: C. Christofides, University of Washington, Seattle. Fig. 5 Daphni, Pantokrator mosaic. Photo: P. Papachatzidakis, Benaki Museum, Athens. Fig. 6 St Sophia, Kiev, 1037: mosaic of the dome. Photo: T. Mathews. Fig. 7 Panagia Arakiotissa, Lagoudera, 1192: general view of frescoes. Photo: Dumbarton Oaks. Fig. 8 Tibetan mandala, with Buddha Vairocana, the Illuminator, at centre. Photo after J. andM. Argüelles, Mandala. Fig. 9 Göreme, Karanlik Kilise, 11th century, Pantokrator in the eastern cupola. Photo: N. Teteriatnikov, Dumbarton Oaks. Fig. 10 Hermitage Museum, fragment of a cup with polychrome design. Photo: Hermitage Ňíuseum, Leningrad. v

Fig. 11 Hermitage Museum, base of a cup. Photo: Hermitage Museum, Leningrad. Fig. 12 Hermitage Museum, base of a cup. Photo: Hermitage Museum, Leningrad. Fig. 13 Chersonese Museum, polychrome cup with handles. Photo: Hermitage Museum, Leningrad. Fig. 14 Episcopal basilica, Kourion, Cyprus (plan after Megaw 'Kourion', 353). Fig. 15 Rectangular tables, profiles and reconstruction. Fig. 16 Rectangular table, concave-edge profile. Fig. 17 Circular tables, profiles. Fig. 18 Circular table, concave-rim profile. Fig. 19 Sigma-shaped tables, profiles and reconstruction. Fig. 20 Sigma-shaped table, enclosed-flange profile, front. Fig. 21 Sigma-shaped table, enclosed-flange profile, back. Fig. 22 Sigma-shaped table, raised-band profile. Fig. 23 Raised-band with astragal decoration and polylobed tables. Fig. 24 Astragal table, relief decoration. Fig. 25 Astragal tables, relief decoration. Fig. 26 Bowl, ornamental lugs. Fig. 27 Bowl, round knob for attachment. vi

Fig. 28 Pedestal base. Fig. 29 Colonette. Fig. 30 Baptistery, column base in situ. Fig. 31 Table leg, Pennsylvania University Museum excavations. Fig. 32 Table legs, Saraye excavations. Fig. 33 Altar, Saraye excavations. Fig. 34 The Emperior Justinian and Archbishop Maximianus and their retinue shown offering a paten (?), cross, bookcover (all in gold) and a silver censer. Wall mosaic of 546/7 AD in S. Vitale, Ravenna. Photo afterF.A. Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten und Mosaiken von Ravenna (Baden-Baden, 1958), pl. 359. Fig. 35 One half of the Kaper Koraon Treasure (of с. 540-640 AD) photographed с. 1910 in the cathedral of Hama, Syria; now in The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, Maryland. Photo: The Walters Art Gallery. Fig. 36 Drawing of silver ciborium portrayed in a wall mosaic of 512 AD (?) in the sanctuary of the main church of the monastery at Qartamin in Byzantine Mesopotamia. Draw­ ing: J. Dowling and M. Mundell Mango. Fig. 37 Silver paten of 577 AD valued at 11 solidi 1 carat, given to his church by Megas, endoxatatos, ex-consul, patri­ cian and curator (582-602) for the repose of the souls' of Peter and Nonnus; now in the Dumbarton Oaks Col­ lection, Washington D.C. Photo: Dumbarton Oaks. Fig. 38 A silver votive plaque inscribed 'Lord help, Amen'from a church treasure found near Ma'aret en Noman, Syria; now in The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, Maryland. Photo: M. Mundell Mango. vii

Fig. 39 Drawing in the crosses on the bowls of six silver spoons found or excavated in Syria and Lebanon. Drawing: M. Mundell Mango. Fig. 40 Silver paten (491-518 AD), valued at с 80 solidi donated to a church by Paternus, Bishop of Tomi; now in the Her­ mitage Museum, Leningrad. Photo after A. Bank, Byzan­ tine art in the collections of the USSR (Leningrad/ Moscow, 1966), fig. 71. Fig. 41 Silver chalice of 547-550 AD, valued at 2 solidi 15 carats, given by Symeonos magistrianus, to his church in Syria; shown also in Fig. 35, above; now in The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, Maryland. Photo: The Walters Art Gallery. Fig. 42 Mt Athos, Lavra, Skevophylakion Lectionary, front cover. Photo after S. Pelekanidis et al., Oi Thesauroi to Agiou Orous, / / / (Athens, 1979), 24. Fig. 43 Mt Athos, Lavra Skevophylakion Lectionary, fol. lv, Anastasis. Photo after Pelekanidis, HI, fig. 6. Fig. 44 Mt Athos, Dionysiou 105, decorative headpiece to Liturgy of St Basil. Photo after Pelekanidis, I, fig. 158. Fig. 45 Moscow, GIM gr. 429, fols. 18v-19r. Akathistos, start ofOikosXIH. Photo after V.D. Likhachova, Byzantine Miniature, (Moscow, 1977), no. 45. Fig. 46 Moscow, GIM gr. 146, fol. lv, Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzos, Anastasis and Teaching scene. Photo after G. Galavaris, The illustrations in the Liturgical Homilies of Gregory Nazianzenus (Studies in manuscript illumina­ tion, 6, Princeton, 1969). Fig. 47 Sinai gr. 339, fol. 4v, Homilies of Gregory of Nazian­ zos, St Gregory. Photo after Galavaris, fig. 377. Fig. 48 Sinai, gr. 204, p. 1, Christ. Photo after P. Huber, Heilige Berge, Sinai, Athos, Golgota-Ikonen, Fresken, Minia­ turen (Zurich, 1980), fig. 9.

Abbreviations I have followed the system of abbreviations laid down in 'Style guide for the Dumbarton Oaks Papers', DOP, 26 (1972), 363-5 and in 'Dumbarton Oaks list of abbreviations', DOP, 27 (1973), 329-39, with the following additions: BMGS Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies. BS Byzantinoslavica. MM F. Miklosich and J. Müller, Acta et diplomata Graeca medii aevi sacra et profana, 6 vols. (Vienna, 1860-90). RP G.A. Rhalles and M. Potles, Σύνταγμα των Θείων και ιερών κανόνων, 6 vols. (Athens, 1852-9). As Byzantinists well know, there is no standard system for the transliteration of Greek, but (like editors of previous Symposium papers) I have made the sixth century the division between the Latinised and the pure Greek.

ix

Acknowledgements The Society for the Promotion of Byzantine Studies is most grateful to the British Academy, The British Council, the Hellenic Foundation, the Delegation Culturelle Française, Manchester and the Research Support Fund of the University of Manchester without whose generous help the Symposium on Church and People in Byzantium could not have been held. The Editor is most grateful to Professor A.A.M. Bryer for undertaking the publica­ tion of the papers on behalf of the SPBS and for his continued encouragement and support during a lengthy and troublesome editorial process. Dr Jonathan Shepard gave valuable assistance with advice on translation and transliteration from Russian; Dr David Whitehead saved the Editor (it is hoped) from disasters with Greek accentuation. At a very late stage, Mr Keith Maude of the Department of Archaeology, University of Manchester, performed photographic miracles to produce illustrations for a delayed contribution. The very warmest thanks must, however, go to the contributors to this volume, who have patiently endured the long delays caused by financial difficulties, university cut­ backs and unexpected editorial parenthood. Rosemary Morris Manchester, March 1990

χ

Introduction ROSEMARY MORRIS The Society for the Promotion of Byzantine Studies held its Twen­ tieth Spring Symposium at Manchester University from March 22nd to March 24th, 1986. The subject of Church and people in Byzantium was chosen to build upon previous Spring Sym­ posia which had dealt with rehgious themes (notably Iconoclasm and The Byzantine saint) and to focus on the experience of Byzan­ tine worshippers as they came into contact with the Church's liturgy, music, buildings, holy objects and art. In addition, some of the major problems associated with the diocesan administra­ tion of the Church were addressed and the definition and applica­ tion of Byzantine canon law explored. The symposium ended with a session on the enemies of orthodoxy, notably heretics and the Devil. It was, of course, only possible to scratch the surface of this vast topic and from the outset it was clear that certain limita­ tions both of scope and period would impose themselves. We con­ fined ourselves to considering the Greek Orthodox Church; those many Byzantines who followed other Christian creeds, or indeed, other faiths, are certainly deserving of separate study. It was reluc­ tantly decided to exclude any detailed consideration of monasticism, a matter dealt with to some degree in the Symposium on The Byzantine saint. Church and people concentrated, therefore, on the activities of the secular church. In liturgical mat­ ters, we focussed on the practical: how the liturgy was intended to affect believers; how the beliefs of the Church were preached and taught and, indeed, how Byzantines became members of their 1

ROSEMARY MORRIS

Church. Of the five papers in the first section on The teaching of the faith, three are published in the present volume. Bishop Kallistos of Dioklea provided an introduction to the liturgy from the worshipper's point of view; Dr Cunningham reviewed that most characteristic of Byzantine ecclesiastical productions — the sermon. Dr Munitiz's paper 'Catechetical teaching aids in Byzan­ tium' appears in Kathegetria. Essays presented to Joan Hussey for her 80th birthday (London, 1989) and Dr Stevenson's on bap­ tism in Studia Liturgica (1987). It is quite impossible to recap­ ture in cold print the liveliness of the oral (and aural!) exposi­ tion of Professor Raasted's symposium paper, which was accom­ panied by tape-recorded and personally performed musical ex­ amples, but his short tour d horizon will, it is hoped, provide at least an introduction to the fascinating subject of Byzantine liturgical music. The second major theme, Law and morality was covered in four lectures. Dr Macrides' survey of Byzantine nomos and kanon is contained in this volume as is Dr Karlin-Hayter's paper on divorce, developed from her Symposium lecture on 'Morality, the church and the family'. Dr Čupane Kislinger's paper on 'Patriarchal jurisdiction in late Byzantium: the "law" of oikonomia\ has been published in JòB, 38 (1988). Dr Barringer's paper on 'Penitential epitimia in Byzantine pastoral care', remains, so far as the Editor is aware, unpublished. In the third section, it had originally been planned to centre our discussion on the ad­ ministration of the archbishopric of Ohrid, since, by good for­ tune, abundant source material for the period from the eleventh century onwards survived in the writings of Theophylact of Ohrid and Demetrios Chomatianos. Unfortunately, the onslaught of influenza just before the Symposium prevented Professor Günther Prinzing from coming to England, but happily his work on Chomatianos continues to flourish. The section was thus reduced to two papers (by Professor Kaplan and Dr Mullett), but we are able to publish both of them here. At very short notice, Dr Magdalino was able to offer a paper in the fourth section — The public life of the church — which we are happy to publish here together with that of Professor Herrin. It is a matter of some sadness that Professor Bryer's 2

INTRODUCTION

customarily incisive and informative lecture on 'The church in the streets' with its reconstruction of processional routes in Con­ stantinople and Trebizond and astonishing calculations about how long it actually took to parade along them, is not yet ready for publication. But the subject was further illustrated at the Sym­ posium in the preview of the television film 'Where God walked on earth' concerning the monks of St Catherine's Monastery on Mt Sinai made by Costa and Lydia Carras and later shown on Channel 4. On the last day of the Symposium, our attention was first directed to visual evidence. We deliberately concerned ourselves with perhaps less glamorous material than the frescoes and mosaics which are the stuff of so many Byzantine art-historical papers, though we began the section on Churches and their con­ tents with Professor Mathews' wide-ranging study of the Pan­ tokrator image and its philosophical significance. Rather, we con­ centrated on what might loosely be described as church furnish­ ings; Dr Mundell Mango's paper now takes on new and impor­ tant relevance at a time when the 'Sevso' Treasure has provided a rich new example of a collection of late antique silverware. In addition to the papers given at the Symposium, we are able to publish a contribution by Dr Vera Zalesskaya of the Hermitage State Museum in Leningrad, unfortunately prevented from reach­ ing Manchester by arcane рте-glasnost bureaucracy. Our last two speakers concentrated on those whom the Byzantines clearly iden­ tified as being beyond the religious pale: Dr Malcolm Lambert gave us a consideration of 'Byzantine heresy: a western view' and Professor Cyril Mango considered 'The Devil in Byzantium'. He also spoke on the subject at the International Congress of Historical Sciences meeting which also took place in 1986 and his paper will be published in its Proceedings. As with many Spring Symposia, much valuable work was presented in the short Com­ munications and it is only financial constraints which prevent them from being published here. In addition, the exhibitions presented by the Manchester Museum (Centenary Exhibition of the British School at Athens: 'A scent of thyme'); the John Rylands Univer­ sity Library, Deansgate (Byzantine manuscripts from the Library's collections) and the Department of Archaeology, University of 3

ROSEMARY MORRIS

Manchester (Early Christian churches in Libya) all contributed to the supply of visual evidence. The aim of the Spring Symposia has always been to allow speakers to present the first results of work in progress, to ex­ periment, to challenge and to question in an atmosphere of com­ plete academic informality. It is hoped, therefore, that the present collection of papers not only provides a suitably wide-ranging record of the Symposium's areas of discussion, but also a stimulus to further research. Manchester, 1990

4

TEACHING THE FAITH

5

6

The meaning of the Divine Liturgy for the Byzantine worshipper BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA The Final Mystery 'This is the final mystery', says St Nicholas Kabasilas (c. 1322-c. 1391) of the Divine Liturgy, 'Beyond this it is not possi­ ble to go, nor can anything be added to it'. 1 What did this 'final mystery' mean in practice to the Byzantine worshipper? Impor­ tant work has been done in recent years on the historical develop­ ment of the Byzantine Eucharistie rite, on the evolution of the text and the ceremonial,2 and there exists also an excellent analysis of the Byzantine liturgical commentaries.3 Far less at­ tention, however, has been devoted to the influence of the Liturgy upon the daily personal life of the people.4 What impact did the service have upon a Byzantine Christian who was not a trained theologian or a member of the clergy? How widely were the words of the prayers and the symbolism of the ceremonies understood by the congregation as a whole? Here is a promising field for 1. Nicholas Kabasilas, Tne Life in Christ, PG, 150, col. 548 B; trans. C.J. deCatan­ zaro (St Vladimir's Seminary Press, Crestwood, 1974), 114.1 have usually made my own translations from the Greek. 2. A helpful survey is provided by H.-J. Schulz, The Byzantine liturgy: Symbolic structure and faith expression (New York, 1986), trans. M.J. O'Connell from the 2nd German ed. (Trier, 1980). Note in particular the studies (cited in Schulz) by J. Mateos, R.F. Taft, A. Jacob, G. Wagner and F. van de Paverd. 3. R. Bornert, Les commentaires byzantines de la divine liturgie du Vile au XVe siècle (AOC, 9, Paris, 1966). 4. Cyril Mango, for example, in Byzantium: the Empire of New Rome (London, 1980), while offering a fascinating reconstruction of the 'conceptual world' of Byzan­ tium, makes scarcely any reference to the role of the liturgy.

7

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

future research. I should like in the present paper to concentrate on two questions. Can we identify a dominant 'model', a primary image, that guided the Byzantine worshipper's attitude to the Liturgy? And how far was the Liturgy a genuinely corporate act, performed in solidarity by the clergy and the people together? Heaven on Earth An image that sums up the deeper significance of the Liturgy for the Byzantine worshipper is to be found in the tenth Homily of Photios, delivered at Constantinople around the year 864. Here the Patriarch offers a fine description of the programme of church decoration in the period immediately following Iconoclasm. He begins by speaking of the delight and wonder felt by thé wor­ shipper on entering the atrium: he stands as if 'rooted' to the ground; the facade is 'a new miracle and a joy to see'. 'But when with difficulty', continues Photios, 'one has torn oneself away from there and looked into the church itself, with what joy and trepidation and astonishment is one filled! It is as if one had entered heaven itself'.5 Here is an idea that may serve as our dominant 'model': the Divine Liturgy, along with the church building in which it is celebrated, is heaven on earth. This is a notion that constantly recurs in Byzantine and medieval Slavonic sources. 'The visitor's mind', writes Prokopios of the newly-restored Hagia Sophia in the 530s, 'is lifted up to God and soars aloft, thinking that he cannot be far away, but must especially love to dwell in this place that he himself has chosen'.6 As St Germanos of Constantino­ ple (d. с733) writes at the start of his commentary on the Divine Liturgy, 'The church is an earthly heaven (επίγειος ουρανός), in which the heavenly God dwells and moves'.7 Similar language 5. Φωτίου όμιλίαι, ed. В. Laourdas (Thessalonika, 1959), Χ, 4-5, 101; trans. С. Mango, The Homilies of Photios, (Cambridge, Mass., 1958), 186. Formerly regar­ ded as a description of the Nea Ekklesia, inaugurated in 880, the homily refers in Mango's view to the Church of the Virgin of the Pharos. 6. Prokopios, Buildings, I, i. 61, trans. С Mango, The art of the Byzantine em­ pire 312-1453: Sources and documents (Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1972), 76. 7. Germanos of Constantinople, On the divine liturgy (Historia ecclesiastica), l, ed. and trans. P. Meyendorff (St. Vladimir's Seminary, Crestwood, 1984), 56-7.

8

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

is used in the legendary account of the conversion of Russia: retur­ ning home after attending the Liturgy at Hagia Sophia, Prince Vladimir's envoys reported, 'We knew not where we were in heaven or on earth'. 8 In the words of St John Chrysostom (d. 407), 'The church is the place of the angels, of the archangels, the kingdom of God, heaven itself'.9 During the Divine Liturgy, then, the earthly and the heavenly realms are joined in unity. Whether few or many, the members of the earthly congregation invariably form part of a larger, allembracing drama; they are taken up into an action far greater than themselves. The Divine Liturgy is always the undivided of­ fering of the total Church, both visible and invisible. Those on earth are made concélébrants at the heavenly liturgy with Christ himself, with the Mother of God, the angels and the saints. The earthly service, states Theodore of Mopsuestia (d. 428), is 'an image (εικών) of the Liturgy in heaven'; 'we should imagine that we are in heaven'.10 The context implies that he is using'the term 'image' in a strong sense; an 'image' or 'icon' is not merely a copy or replica of the reality that it signifies, but conveys a direct and dynamic participation in that reality. 'When the priest in­ vokes the Holy Spirit', says Theodore's contemporary and fellowpupil Chrysostom, '. . . angels attend him, and the whole sanc­ tuary is thronged with heavenly powers'.11 The drawing-aside of the chancel curtains after the epiclesis of the Spirit symbolizes the opening up of heaven itself and the approach of the heaven­ ly hosts: 'See the choir of angels coming out to meet you . . . ascend to heaven'.12 'When you see the Lord sacrificed and ly­ ing before you, and the priest standing over the sacrifice and pray­ ing, and all who partake stained and tinctured with that precious blood, can you imagine that you are still among men and still 8. The Russian Primary Chronicle, ed. and trans. S.H. Cross and O.P. SherbowitzWetzor (Cambridge, Mass., 1953), 111. 9. John Chrysostom, Homilia in epištolám primam ad Corinthios, PG, 61, XXXVI, 5, col. 313. 10. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Homélies catéchetiques, ed. R. Tonneau and R. Devreesse, (ST, 145, Rome, 1949), XV, 15; 20, pp.485, 497. 11. John Chrysostom, Sur le sacerdoce, ed. A.-M. Malingrey, (SC, 272, Paris, 1980), VI, 4, p.316. 12. In epist. prim, ad Corinth., XXXVI, 5, col. 313.

9

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

standing on earth? Are you not at once transported to heaven! . . . Do you not gaze round upon heavenly things?'13 Liturgical realism of this kind would have been readily com­ prehensible to Byzantine worshippers, simple as well as educated. The sense of heaven and earth, of the immediate presence of the communion of saints, was visually enhanced — especially from the ninth century onwards — by the figures in mosaic and fresco surrounding the worshipper on every side. 'The icon may be termed a door', writes Stephen the Deacon in his Life of St Stephen the Younger (d. c.764)14 — a door precisely into the celestial realm, a way of entry initiating the earthly worshipper into the heavenly Liturgy. The icon serves as a meeting place, a point of encounter, rendering the living members of the Church concélébrants with the powers on high. The earthly worshipper is made to feel that the church walls, so far from closing him in, open out upon eternity. As Professor Mango justly remarks, the primary function of Byzantine art 'was to express a message that never varied: the timeless re-enactment of the Christian drama, the presence of the Heavenly Kingdom, the mediation of the saints. Within these limits it succeeded admirably'.15 The presence of the heavenly kingdom is emphasized more par­ ticularly at the two 'entrances' or processions during the Divine Liturgy. In the prayer at the Little Entrance, the entry with the Gospel, the priest speaks of the 'ranks and hosts of angels and archangels' who perform the Liturgy in heaven, and he says to God: 'Make with our entry an entry of your holy angels, celebrating the Liturgy with us'. 16 While this prayer was said in a low voice, inaudible to most of the congregation, the Trisagion hymn that is chanted shortly afterwards, 'Holy is God, holy mighty . . .', would have been understood by all present as a song of the angels, a moment when the earthly congregation is taken up into the adoration offered by the bodiless powers. 13. Sur le sacerdoce, III, 4, pp. 142-4. 14. Vita St Stephani iunioris, PG, 100, col. 1113 A. 15. Mango, Byzantium, 281. 16. This prayer was in use before the end of the eighth century; see Codex Barberinus graecus, 336 (c.A.D. 800), in F.E. Bright man, Liturgies eastern and western, I (Oxford, 18%), 312.

10

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

The second procession, the Great Entrance, renders the unity of heaven and earth even more explicit. The Cherubikon or Hymn of the Cherubim, which accompanied the processional entry with the Holy Gifts from the late sixth century,17 begins with the words, 'We who mystically represent the cherubim. . .'; the Greek could also be rendered, 'We who in this mystery are icons of the cherubim . . .' An icon, as already noted, is much more than a bare copy or exterior imitation; it implies participation, and so if the earthly worshippers are 'icons of the cherubim', this means that they share directly in what the cherubim are doing in heaven. The same point is made in a more emphatic manner by the hymn at the Great Entrance in the Liturgy of St James, 'Let all mortal flesh be silent', sung in the Byzantine rite on Holy Saturday. Here the processional entry of the clergy is identified with the entry of Christ himself, accompanied by the angels: 'The King of Kings, Christ our God, comes forth to be sacrificed and given as food to the faithful; before him go the choirs of angels, with every principality and power, the cherubim with many eyes and the sixwinged seraphim'.18 Clearest of all is the entrance hymn sung at the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts: 'Now the powers of heaven worship with us invisibly . . ,'19 This understanding of the Great Entrance, as an act taking place in heaven as well as upon earth, is visually expressed in the frescoes depicting the ceremony in the apse or on the drum of the dome from about the fourteenth cen­ tury. The procession is made up of the angels, shown holding the same liturgical objects as are carried by the clergy in the ear­ thly service. Iconographically this constitutes an exact illustra­ tion of what Chrysostom affirms: 'Those in heaven and those on earth form a single festal assembly; there is shared thanksgiving . . . one single choir'.20 17. It was introduced in the ninth year of the reign of Justin II (573/4): George Kedrenos, Compendium historiarum, ed. B.G. Niebuhr, 2 vols. (CSHB, 1838), 685. 18. La Liturgie de Saint Jacques, ed. B.-Ch. Mercier, (PO, 26.2, Paris, 1946), 176. 19. The use of this hymn dates back to the early 7th century: see Chronicon paschale, PG, 92, col. 989 B, s.a. 617; D.N. Moraitis, Ή λειτουργία των Προηγιασμένων, (Thessalonika, 1955), 6, 55. 20. John Chrysostom, Homilia in laudem eorum qui comparuerunt in ecclesia, PG, 56, col. 97.

11

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

Mystery and Homeliness Byzantine sources, describing the effect of this sense of 'heaven on earth' upon the worshipper, stress above all the feeling of joyful wonder, such as Photios experienced on entering the church forecourt: 'a new miracle and a joy to see'. The public part of the Divine Liturgy begins, not with a rite of penitence, but with a proclamation of the joy of the heavenly kingdom: 'Blessed is the kingdom of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit'.21 Accompanying this feeling of joy and wonder, there is also a sense of awe and fear. This is a marked feature of Byzantine liturgical piety from the late fourth century onwards.22 Chrysostom speaks repeatedly of the 'terrifying mysteries' (φρικτά μυστήρια),23 and the phrase has been incorporated into the ac­ tual text of the Liturgy.24 'With fear of God and faith draw near', says the deacon before the communion of the people.25 In the same spirit of awe, St Symeon the New Theologian (949-1022) insisted to his monks, 'Never receive communion without tears'. His words were greeted with some scepticisim by his audience — 'Very well', they said with a half-smile, 'let us never receive communion again!' — yet Symeon himself clearly meant what he said.26 The feeling of awe and mystery was in­ creased by the use of curtains drawn across the sanctuary at crucial moments, and at a later date by the development of a solid icon-screen. Fear and wonder are vividly expressed in a story from the Life ofEuthymios (377^73) by Cyril of Scythopolis. Terebon, an Arab chieftain converted to Christianity by Euthymios, was present 21. The opening blessing is not found until the eleventh century: R.F. Taft, Beyond east and west: problems in liturgical understanding (Washington, DC, 1984), 172. 22. See E. Bishop, 'Fear and awe attaching to the eucharistie service', in R.H. Connolly (ed.), The liturgical Homilies of Narsai (Cambridge, 1909), 92-7; J.A. Jungmann, Die Stellung Christi im liturgischen Gebet (Münster, 1925), 217-22, trans. A.J. Peeler, The place of Christ in liturgical prayer (London/Dublin, 1965), 245-51. 23. For example, John Chrysostom, In epist. secundam ad Corinth. PG, 61, ХѴІІІ.З, col. 527'; Homiliae in proditionem Judae, PG, 49, II.6, col. 392. 24. See the eleventh-century ms. used by CA. Swainson, The Greek liturgies (Cam­ bridge, 1884), 142. 25. Swainson, Liturgies, 141. 26. Symeon the New Theologian, Catéchèses, ed. В. Krivochéine, (SC, 96, Paris, 1963), IV, 314, 11.11-12; 316, 11,16-18.

12

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

one day at the Divine Liturgy which the saint was celebrating. According to his usual custom, he was standing at the front of the congregation, resting his hands on the chancel-screen, which at this date was evidently a low barrier, more or less waist-high. Suddenly, at the singing of the hymn Holy, holy, holy . . . in the first part of the anaphora, Terebon sprang back in terror and fled to the west end of the church. The reason, so he afterwards explained, was that he saw 'fire descending from heaven upon the altar and enfolding it as with a veil', so that the celebrants were entirely hidden from view. Never again, so the story ends, did Terebon dare to lean on the chancel-screen during the Liturgy.27 The Eucharist is fire; in the phrase of St John of Damascus (d. c.749), it is the divine 'coal' (άνθραξ),28 red-hot with God's uncreated energy. As one of the verses before com­ munion says, 'Behold, I come to Divine Communion: Creator, do not burn me up as I partake. For you are fire, consuming the unworthy'.29 Combined, however, with this fear and wonder in the presence of the 'terrifying mysteries', there is also in Eastern Christian wor­ ship a sense of homeliness and informality, a family feeling.30 In an Orthodox church today, people tend to arrive after the ser­ vice has already begun; there is a certain amount of movement, as the late arrivals venerate icons and light candles, and often some talking as well. Not everyone does the same thing at the same time; a spirit of diversity and spontaneity prevails. We have every reason to suspect that much the same happened in the Byzan­ tine era. 'Here in church', complains Chrysostom, 'there is great 27. Cyril of Scythopolis, Life of Euthymios, ed. E. Schwartz in Kyrillos von Skythopolis, (TU, 49 (2), Leipzig, 1939), 28, p.45; Fr. trans. A.-J. Festugière, Les moines d'orient, (Paris, 1962), III/l, 99. For a similar story in a Russian text of the late fourteenth century, see The 'Vita' of St Sergii of Radonezh, éd. M. Klimenko (Houston, 1980), 179-80. Compare also the story in Moschos (see n. 64). 28. John of Damascus, Expositiofldei,ed. В. Kotier, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, 5 vols. (Patristische Texte und Studien, 7, Berlin, 1967-88), vol. 2, 86, 11.130-4 (= IV.13); cf. Isaiah 6.6. 29. P.N. Trempelas, Άί τρειςλειτουργίαι κατά τους έν 'Αθήναις κώδικας (Athens, 1935), 142. 30. Both aspects are well portrayed by P. Hammond, The waters of Marah: the present state of the Greek church, (London, 1956), cc. 5 and 6.

13

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

disturbance and confusion, and it as bad as a tavern. There is so much laughing and tumult, with everyone chattering and mak­ ing a noise, just as they do at the baths or the market'.31 In par­ ticular the congregation was quick to make clear its opinion of the sermon: Chrysostom mentions how one of his sermons has just been received 'with great tumult and applause',32 while Sozomen describes the scornful laughter that greeted the first ser­ mon of the Arian Eudoxios at Constantinople in 360.33 Although the Byzantines experienced the Liturgy as 'heaven on earth', in practice they seem, like the modern Greeks, to have behaved inside church much as they behaved outside. There was for them no sharp division between the sacred and the secular. Eastern Christian worship, while liturgical and ritualistic, is not altogether otherworldly. It involves an ascent to heaven, but is also closely integrated into the cycle of the agricultural year and makes full use of material symbols. In the Eucharist the bread is always leavened and the wine always red, so that the materiality of the sacramental elements is more in evidence than in the West. Hot water (zeon) is poured into the chalice immediately before commumon, thus heightening the worshipper's sense of touch and taste at the moment of reception. Commumon has never ceased to be received by the laity as well as the clergy under both 'kinds', not only bread but wine. In the early period the laity first approached the priest and received the bread in their hands, and then they drank from the chalice held by the deacon. From around the eighth or ninth century the use of a spoon became general, with both 'kinds' received in it together. The same insistence upon the physicality of liturgical actions is also found in non-Eucharistic worship. In the Christian East Baptism, except in situations of emergency, has continued to be by immersion. The candidate is stripped naked, large quantities of water are used, and there is a visible 'drowning' or 'burial' 31. In epist. primant ad Corinth., XXXVI. 5, col. 313. 32. John Chrysostom, Sur l'incompréhensibilité de Dieu, ed. A.-M. Malingrey, (SC 28bis, Paris, 1970), III. 7, 11.474-6; cf. Homiliae XXI de statua ad populum Antiochenum habitae, PG, 49, II.4, col. 38. 33. Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica, ed. J. Bidez, (GCS, 50, Berlin, 1960), IV. xxvi, 1, p.183.

14

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

in the font. In the sacrament of Confession, the priest lays his stole (epitrachelion) and then his hand upon the penitent's head; absolution is not given from a distance, but there is physical con­ tact between the two. In the older rites of Confession the exter­ nal action was reversed, with the penitent laying his own hands on the priest's neck, thereby symbolizing a transfer of the burden of guilt.34 At funerals the coffin is left open, and all approach to give the 'last kiss' to the departed. In Byzantine society liturgical rites were joined to daily life through a whole series of special blessings: of rivers, springs and the sea, for example, at the feast of Theophany on January 6, and of grapes at the feast of the Transfiguration on August 6. The Euchologion contains prayers for sowing, threshing and winemaking, for blessing new fish-nets, even for cleansing a jar into which something unclean has fallen. As George Every remarks, 'A religion that continues to propagate new forms for cursing caterpillars and for removing dead rats from the bottoms of wells can hardly be dismissed as pure mysticism'.35 Presence and Sacrifice Belief in the Liturgy as 'heaven on earth' entails a strongly realistic view of Christ's presence in the Eucharist. For the Byzan­ tine worshipper, the true officiant at every Liturgy is always the Lord himself. 'You are he who offers and he who is offered' ó προσφέρων καί προσφερόμενος), says the priest in the prayer before the Great Entrance,36 using a phrase taken from Patriarch Theophilos of Alexandria (d. 412).37 Christ is both offering and offerer, both victim and priest. The clergy and the people are no more than concélébrants with the unique High Priest, Christ himself, present invisibly; in the words of the 34. See the ritual prescribed in PG, 88, col. 1893 A, attributed to John the Faster (d. 595) but certainly of later date (?ninth or tenth century); cf. E. Herman, 'Il più antico penitenziale greco', OCP, 19 (1953), 71-127. 35. G. Every, The Byzantine patriarchate, 451-1204, (London, 1947), 198. 36. This prayer was in use by 800, and may well be more ancient: see Barberin. gr. 336, in Brightman, Liturgies, 313. 37. Theophilos of Alexandria, Homilia X: In mysticam coenam, PG, 77, col. 1029 В (incorrectly attributed to Cyril of Alexandria).

15

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

greeting exchanged at the Kiss of Peace, 'Christ is in our midst'. The point is clearly made in late Byzantine and post-Byzantine iconography, when Christ is shown clothed in bishop's vestments, officiating at the heavenly altar.38 'Everything is done by the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit', says Chrysostom; 'the priest merely lends his tongue and provides his hand'. 39 Since Christ is immediately present 'in our midst' as offering and offerer, it follows that the Divine Liturgy is a real sacrifice, and that the bread and wine become truly his Body and Blood. In the liturgical texts, the service is variously described as 'sacrifice of praise', and 'unbloody', 'reasonable', 'spiritual' or 'mystical' sacrifice.40 On the whole Byzantine theologians did not develop elaborate theories about the nature of the Eucharistie sacrifice, but the matter was discussed at some length in the middle of the twelfth century. The Council of Constantinople, held under Manuel II in 1157, condemned the view propounded by the deacon Soterichos Panteugenos, that the Liturgy is merely a bare memorial or imaginary representation of Christ's sacrifice on the Cross. The Eucharist, the Council maintained, is indeed a true sacrifice, although not a new sacrifice distinct from that of the Cross, but 'one and the same' with the sacrifice on Calvary.41 According to Nicolas of Methone, the theologian whose teaching underlies the decisions of the 1157 Council, the Liturgy renders present and manifest the sacrifice of Christ that is being 'eter­ nally celebrated' upon the 'altar on high' in heaven.42 Similar views are expressed by Nicolas Kabasilas.43 Thus, in his defence 38. Schulz, Liturgy, 113. 39. John Chrysostom, Homilia in Ioannem, PG, 59, LXXXVI. 4, col. 472. 40. For the use of these phrases, see Brightman, Liturgies, 316, 22, 319, 14; 22-3, 348, 24. They can all be traced back to the fourth century. 41. For Manuel Komenos' Council of 1157, see Nicholas Chômâtes, Thesauri orthodoxaefidei XXIV, PG, 140, col. 177 A. Cf. Hiéromoine Paul (Tchéremoukhine), 'Le concile de 1157 à Constantinople et Nicolas, évêque de Méthone', Messager de l'Exarchat du Patriarche russe en Europe occidentale, П/67 (1969), 137-73. 42. Nicholas of Methone, Refutation of the writings of Soterichos, ed. A. Demetrakopoulos, Άντίρρησις προς τα γραφέντα παρά Σωτηρίχου, I (Leipzig, 1866), 354-5. 43. Nicholas Kabasilas, Explication de la Divine Liturgie, ed. P. Périchon, et al. (SC, 4bis, Paris, 1967), XXXII, 202-6; trans. J.M. Hussey and P.A. McNulty (London, 1960), 80-2.

16

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

of the sacrificial character of the Eucharist, Nicolas of Methone appeals directly to what we have chosen as our dominant 'model' — to the notion of 'heaven on earth', to the unity of the earthly and the heavenly Liturgy. Equally the Byzantines put forward no detailed explanations of the change in the elements at the Eucharistie consecration. The question was, however, raised during the Iconoclast controver­ sy. According to the Iconoclast Council of Hieria (754), the only true or possible icon of Christ is the consecrated elements at the Eucharist. To this the Seventh Ecumenical Council (Nicaea II, 787) responded that the consecrated Gifts are not merely an icon of Christ but his 'very Body and very Blood'. 'Before the con­ secration', the Council affirmed, 'they are called "antitypes" (αντίτυπα), but after the consecration they are called in the full and true sense of the Body and Blood of Christ; such they are, and are believed to be'. 44 Prior to the consecration, for exam­ ple at the Great Entrance, the bread and wine may thus be venerated as a foreshadowing of what they are subsequently to become, as St Symeon of Thessalonika (d. 1429) allows; and such veneration is parallel to that ascribed to the icon. But after the consecration they are no longer an antitype or foreshadowing but the reality itself, and so they receive, not simply the relative honour due to icon, but the absolute adoration (latreia) due to God alone. Christ's presence in the Eucharist is therefore on a significantly different level from his presence in an icon. 'It is Body truly united to Godhead, the Body taken from the Holy Virgin', says John of Damascus in what has become a classic statement of the Byzan­ tine positon. '. . . The bread and wine are not a type (τύπος) of the Body and Blood of Christ — God forbid! — but the ac­ tual divinized Body of the Lord'. He attempts no explanation of the way in which the Eucharistie transformation takes place, but is content to affirm: 'If you enquire into the manner whereby this comes to pass, it is enough for you to be told that it is through the Holy Spirit'.46 In Chrysostom's words, 'It is the grace of the 44. Mansi, XIII, col. 365 D. 45. Symeon of Thessalonika, De sacro tempio, PG, 155, LXXV, col. 729 Α. 46. John of Damascus, Expositio fidei, 86. 11.944-8, 114-5.

17

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

Spirit that effects the mystical sacrifice'.47 The Byzantine wor­ shipper felt this presence and action of the Spirit particularly at the moment of the Eucharistie epiclesis.48 This sense of Christ's objective presence gave rise in Byzan­ tium to stories similar to the accounts of the 'bleeding Host' in the medieval West. A narrative in the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, dating perhaps from the sixth century, describes the con­ version of an Egyptian monk who had claimed, 'The bread that we receive is not by nature the body of Christ but an antitype'. One day at the Divine Liturgy, when the bread was placed on the holy table, he saw it 'as it were a little child . . . And when the priest put out his hand to break the bread, behold an angel descended from heaven with a sword and slew the child, and poured its blood into the chalice. When the priest divided the bread into small pieces, the angel also cut the child in pieces'. At com­ munion the monk saw the sacrament in his hand as 'a piece of bloody flesh'; whereupon he confessed the sacrament to be truly Christ's Body, and at once it appeared to him once more as bread.49 Of much the same date is a parallel story about a peasant who doubted whether the truth lay with the Chalcedonian or the Monophysite party. His hesitations were removed when, receiving communion one day in a Chalcedonian church, he saw in his hand 'instead of bread a piece of bleeding flesh, and all his hand stained with blood'. When he then approached to drink from the chalice, the deacon stopped him because there

47. John of Damascus, De saneta Pentecoste, PG, 50, 1.4, col. 459. 48. Cf. В. Bobrinskoy, 'Le Saint-Esprit dans la liturgie', Studia Liturgica, l/i, (1962), 47-60; E.G.F. Atchley, On the epiclesis of the Eucharistie Liturgy and in the con­ secration of the font, (Alcuin Club Collections, 31, London, 1935); J.H. McKenna, Eucharist and Holy Spirit: the Eucharistie epiclesis in twentieth-century theology (1900-66) (Alcuin Club Collections, 57, Great Wakering, 1975). 49. Apophthegmata patrům, alphabetical collection, PG, 65, Daniel, 7, cols. 156 C-160 A; trans. B. Ward, The sayings of the desert fathers, 2nd ed. (London/Oxford, 1981), 53-4. A similar story is found in a text attributed to Gregory of Dekapolis (9th century), Sermo historicus, PG, 100, V-VI, cols. 1201 C-1204 A; here the cen­ tral figure is a Saracen, and the liturgical details are more elaborate. Schulz, Liturgy, 223, n. 18, wishes to date this narrative to the fourteenth century; but, as the exam­ ple from the Apophthegmata shows, such stories were in circulation at a much earlier period.

18

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

was blood on his lips.50 Such stories are reflected in the iconography of the Prothesis chapel, where from the thirteenth century onwards Christ is shown as an infant lying on the paten (diskos).51 So dynamic is Christ's presence in the Eucharist, according to Kabasilas, that the communicant actually becomes that which he eats: Christ changes us into his own state . . . Our clay becomes the Body of the King . . . Christ's Body is mingled with our body, his Blood with our blood . . . Ordinary food is changed into the person who consumes it; fish, bread and the like become human flesh and blood. But here the exact opposite happens. The Bread of Life himself changes the person who feeds on him, and transforms and assimilates him into himself.

One moment above all the others at which the Byzantine wor­ shipper felt the nearness of Christ was the Great Entrance in the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts. At normal celebrants of the Liturgy, whether of St John Chrysostom or of St Basil, what is carried in the processional entry is no more than bread and wine, as yet unconsecrated, although already set apart, and it is therefore customary for members of the congregation to make at most a low bow. But at the Presanctified Liturgy, celebrated on weekdays in Lent, the priest carries in procession the sacrament consecrated on the preceding Sunday. The entry takes place in profound silence and, as Symeon of Thessalonika specifies, the people kneel with their faces to the ground.53 This moment of total stillness, with everyone prostrate before the consecrated Gifts, conveys with par­ ticular power the Byzantine sense of Christ's immediate presence in the Eucharist. 50. John Rufus, Plérophories, ed. F. Nau, PO, 8.1 (Paris, 1912), 175. 51. Schulz, Liturgy, 106-8. 52. Kabasilas, Life in Christ, IV, cols. 581 B, 585 A, 597 B; trans. deCatanzaro, 113-4, 116, 126. 53. Symeon of Thessalonika, De sacra precatione, PG, 155, CCCLV, col. 657 D. Kabasilas speaks of the people 'falling down' at the Great Entrance, even though it is not a Presanctified Liturgy, but this is not today the normal practice. He finds it necessary, however, to warn his readers against worshipping the Gifts at the Great Entrance in the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom; evidently there existed a risk of confusion at this point between the Presanctified and the ordinary Liturgy: Explication, XXIV, ed. Périchon, 162-4; trans. Hussey and McNulty, 65-6.

19

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

Liturgical Symbolism While Christ's presence was felt pre-eminently at such moments as the entry in the Presanctified Liturgy or the epiclesis in the ordinary Liturgy, the service in its entirety is interpreted by the Byzantine commentators as a symbolic drama, re-enacting in visi­ ble form the different stages of Christ's earthly life. In the words of St Theodore the Studíte (759-826), 'This mystery is a recapitula­ tion of the whole economy'.54 In the texts analysed by Bornert,55 two basic schemes emerge, which may be termed the 'incarnational' and the 'eschatological'. The more common of the two, the incarnational, is found, with many minor variations, in Theodore of Mopsuestia, Germanos, Nicolas and Theodore of Andida (mid-eleventh century), and Nicolas Kabasilas. Here the Eucharist is seen as typifying Christ's earthly life from his birth to his ascension: Start of the service

Old Testament prophecies, Birth of Christ

Little Entrance

Baptism of Christ

Gospel

Preaching in Galilee

Great Entrance

Entry to Jerusalem, Passion, Entombment

Consecration, communion

Resurrection, Pentecost, Ascension

The eschatological scheme, found in St Maximos the Confessor (d. 662) and Symeon of Thessalonika, concentrates chiefly upon the Second Coming: Start of service

Old Testament prophecies, Birth of Christ

Little Entrance

Passion, Resurrection, Ascension

Gospel

Second Coming

Great Entrance

Vision of God in the age to come

Consecration, communion

Union with God in eternity

54. Theodore the Studite, Antirrhetici tres adversus iconomachos, I, PG, 99, X, col. 340 C: trans. C.P. Roth On the holy icons (St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, Crestwood, 1981), 30. 55. See n. 3.

20

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

These symbolical schemes have in some measure affected the actual text of the Liturgy, as when the priest says the Good Fri­ day troparion 'Noble Joseph' at the deposition of the Gifts on the altar after the Great Entrance, or when he recites the troparia of the Resurrection while placing the bread in the chalice after the communion of the clergy.56 To the contemporary Orthodox reader, much of the symbolism proposed in the Byzantine com­ mentaries cannot but appear artificial and arbitrary. This is par­ ticularly the case in the highly elaborate Protheoria of Nicolas and Theodore of Andida; Kabasilas, on the other hand, probably in deliberate reaction against this work, offers a far simpler scheme. But, whatever our modern reservations, these symbolical interpretations were clearly appreciated by the Byzantine wor­ shipper, and served to contribute to his total sense of the Divine Liturgy as 'heaven on earth'. A shared action? Let us turn now to our second question. How far was the Liturgy in practice a shared action? How widely were the words and ceremonial understood? The communal character of the ser­ vice is something to which Chrysostom attaches the greatest importance: It is not as in the Old Testament, when the priest ate one part of the offering and the people another, and the laity were not allowed to partake from the same part as the priest. But now it is different: one Body is set before us all, and one Chalice . . . Prayers are offered in common by priest and people, and all say the same prayer . . . We all exchange the Kiss of Peace together. . .

Chrysostom goes on to cite the dialogue immediately before the anaphora: The priest prays for the people, and the people pray for the priest; for the words 'And with your spirit' mean precisely this. Everything in the Eucharistie thanksgiving is shared in common; for the priest does not offer thanksgiv­ ing alone, but the whole people give thanks with him. For after he has replied to their greeting, they then give their consent that 'it is just and right', and only then does he commence the Eucharistie thanksgiving.

56. Trempelas, ΑΙ τρεις λειτουργίαι, 83, 146. 57. John Chrysostom, In epist. secund, ad Corinth., PG, 61, XVIII, col. 527.

21

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

Kabasilas likewise speaks of the people 'expressing their con­ sent' at this same point in the service.58 In the eyes of Chrysostom and Kabasilas, it is impossible for the priest to of­ fer the Eucharist on his own, but he must first secure the dynamic involvement of the people. For both authors the Liturgy is a cor­ porate work in which all share; there are no spectators, but only active participants. That is why, at the consecratory epiclesis, the celebrant associates himself with the people, saying not Τ but 'we': 'Again we offer . . . we pray and we implore . . . Send down your Holy Spirit on us . . .'59 'Everything in the Eucharistie thanksgiving is shared in com­ mon'. Such was the theory, but what happened in practice? Were there not in the Byzantine Church, as there are in the Orthodox Church today, various factors tending to obscure the corporate nature of the Liturgy? Let us consider five points: the Kiss of Peace, congregational singing, the recitation of prayers secretly, the iconostasis, infrequency of communion. Chrysostom, in the passage just cited, states that the Kiss of Peace is exchanged by all members of the congregation. Today, however, it is exchanged only between the members of the clergy. There is reason to believe that its use among the laity had already been discontinued by the seventh or eighth century.60 Here, then, is a first restriction on the participation of the laity. As for the singing, it is clear from the writings of Chrysostom, among others, that in the early period much of this was shared between cantors and congregation.61 But today, in most parts of the Orthodox Church, the singing is almost entirely restricted to the cantors or choir. It is not very clear when this limitation first occurred. Theodore Balsamon (twelfth century), after mention­ ing the specific function of the cantors, adds that 'it is not for58. Kabasilas, Commentary, XXVI, 6; XXVII, ed. Périchon, 172,174; trans. Hussey and McNulty, 69. 59. Barberin. gr. 336 in Brightman, Liturgies, 329. 60. See C. Kucharek, The Byzantine-slav liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. Its origins and evolution (Allendale, 1971), 536. But other evidence suggests that the Kiss of Peace was still exchanged by the whole congregation as late as the tenth century. 61. John Chrysostom, Homilia in Psalmam CXVII, PG 55, I, col. 328; In epist. primam ad Corinth., XXXVI, 6, col. 315.

22

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

bidden for the laity to join in the singing',62 but it does not therefore follow that they actually did so. Kabasilas, in the mid­ dle of the fourteenth century, writes that, after the doxology by the priest, 'All the faithful add Amen'.63 Yet the fact that he should so insist on this leads us to suspect that in practice con­ gregational singing had by now become largely a thing of the past. In the third place, how far were the priest's prayers, and especially the Eucharistie anaphora, said aloud in the hearing of the people? A story in John Moschos, dating from the start of the seventh century, implies that at this time the anaphora was still recited aloud. Some children, he recounts, were playing at 'church'. On a large flat stone they placed several smaller stones, arranging them in the same way as with the loaves on the altar at the Liturgy. One of the boys took the part of the priest, and two others stood on either side as deacons, waving their caps over the stones in place of liturgical fans. When the first boy recited the text of the anaphora, at the moment of the epiclesis fire sud­ denly came down from heaven and consumed the stones. Moschos comments that it was customary for children to stand at the front of the congregation; in this way they could hear the prayers recited by the priest and had learnt them by heart. But significantly Moschos adds that the prayers were said aloud only 'in some places'.64 Evidently the manner of celebration was changing around this time. Indeed, about half a century before Moschos was writing, Justinian had found it necessary to legislate against the growing practice of saying the prayer of consecration in a low voice: 'We order all bishops and presbyters to recite the divine anaphora not in secret but with a voice that can be heard by the faithful people'.65 This prohibition, however, proved ineffective. In the late eighth century, the Barberini codex prescribes that the anaphora is to be said μυστικώς, 'secretly',66 while Kabasilas in 62. Theodore Balsamon, In Can. XV Cone. Laod., PG, 137, col. 1361 A. 63. Kabasilas, Explication, XV, 2, ed. Périchon, 124; trans. Hussey and McNulty, 50-1. 64. John Moschos, Pratum spirituale, PG, 87, СХСѴІ, col. 3081 A-B. 65. Justinian, Novella 137.6 (A.D. 565), CIC, III, 699. 66. Brightman, Liturgies, 476, 8; 506, 17; 523, 43.

23

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

the fourteenth century takes it for granted that the priest's prayers will not be audible to the congregation.67 From the standpoint of the laity, this represents a significant deprivation, for it is in the prayers recited by the priest that the greater part of the theological teaching in the Liturgy is contained. But, fourthly, even if the people could not hear much of what the priest was saying, could they at least see what was going on in the sanctuary? Not always. The use of curtains in the sanc­ tuary is mentioned already in the fourth century by various writers, for example, by Chrysostom at Antioch, by Athanasios and Synesios in Egypt, and by Gregory of Ňazianzos in Pontos.68 But these curtains were only drawn at the more solemn moments, such as the consecration, while at other times the congregation had a clear view into the sanctuary. The iconostasis (τέμπλον) does not appear to have assumed its present form, high and solid, until the late Byzantine or, more probably, the post-Byzantine era. Originally it was merely a low barrier between the nave and the sanctuary, no more than waist-high, as in the story of St Euthymios and Terebon.69 Above this low screen there was often a row of pillars, supporting a horizontal beam or architrave; curtains were hung from this beam, and icons were attached to the pillars or the architrave, but the space between the pillars was left open until at least the thirteenth century, and probably later. Paul the Silentiary envisages an open screen of this kind, with columns and architrave, at Hagia Sophia in the sixth century;70 this was destroyed by the Crusaders in 1204, but there are sur­ viving examples of the same type at St Mark's, Venice, or (bet­ ter still) at Torcello. It remains unclear precisely when the space between the pillars began to be filled up with large panel icons, permanently fixed in place so as to form a solid screen; but in most localities this probably did not happen until the fourteenth, or even the fifteenth or sixteenth, century.71 67. Kabasilas, Explication, XV, 1; XVIII, 1, ed. Périchon, 122, 158; trans. Hussey and McNulty, 50, 63. 68. Brightman, Liturgies, 476, 8; 506, 17; 523, 43. 69. See n. 27. 70. Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 87, 91. 71. C. Walter, 'The origins of the iconstasis', ECR, 3 (1971), 251-67; N. LabrecquePervouchine, L'iconostase: une évolution historique en Russie (Montreal, 1982).

24

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

Far more, then, of what was happening at the altar was visi­ ble to the Byzantine worshipper than can be seen by his modern Orthodox counterpart. It should be remembered, however, that what the Western visitor experiences as a barrier has a different significance for an Eastern Christian. 'The iconostasis conceals nothing from the faithful', writes the Russian priestmathematician Pavel Florensky (1882-71943). 'It bears witness to the mystery; it discloses to them, to the lame and the halt, the entrance to the other world. It proclaims to them the existence of the kingdom of heaven'.72 Fifthly and finally, how far did the laity actively participate in the liturgy by receiving communion? In the pre-Constantinian Church it was assumed that the whole congregatin would receive communion at the Eucharist every Sunday. Many of them even communicated daily; according to TertuUian (c.l60-c.225), it was customary for the laity to take the consecrated sacrament to their homes and to communicate themselves from it each weekday.73 Hippolytus warns them to keep it with care, not allowing a mouse or other animal to eat from it.74 This practice of daily lay com­ munion survived for some centuries after the conversion of Con­ stantine, especially in monastic circles.75 But by the end of the fourth century communion had already begun to grow infrequent, perhaps in part because of the increasing emphasis upon the awesome and terrifying character of the Holy Mysteries.76 St Ambrose of Milan (d. 397) remarks that the Greeks come to com­ munion only once a year.77 This is often dismissed as an exag­ geration, but Chrysostom provides at least a partial confirma­ tion: 'Many communicate only once in the whole year' — although he goes on to say, 'others do so twice, and others frequently'.78 72. P. Florensky, 'On the icon', ECR, 8 (1976), 16-7. 73. TertuUian, A son épouse, ed. and trans. C. Mumer, (SC, 273, Paris, 1980), II, 5, pp.137-41. 74. The treatise on the Apostolic Tradition of St Hippolytus of Rome, éd. G. Dix, 2nd ed. (London, 1968), XXXII, 2, p.59. 75. Taft, 'The frequency of the Eucharist throughout history', Beyond east and west, 61-80, espec. 62. 76. See n. 22. 77. Ambrose of Milan, De sacramentis, ed. Botte, V, 25. 78. John Chrysostom, Homiliae in epištolám ad Hebraeos, PG, 63, XVII, 4, col. 131; cf. Homiliae XVIII in epištolám primam ad fìmotheum, PG, 62, V, 3, col.529.

25

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

Whatever the exact situation in Chrysostom's day, frequent communion seems to have declined steadily in the following cen­ turies. As late as the eleventh century, the Evergetinon79 and Symeon the New Theologian80 still recommend daily commu­ nion. But they are primarily addressing a monastic audience, and from the tone in which Symeon speaks it is clear that very few monks in fact communicated as often as this. It is true that, one or two generations subsequent to Symeon, Nicholas and Theodore of Andida — writing, so it appears, for laity as well as monks — also advocate daily communion;81 and a century later Theodore Balsamon affirms that all Christians without excep­ tion, whether Clergy, monastics or laity, may receive commu­ nion every day, provided that they are properly prepared.82 But in practice the great majority of the laity in the later Byzantine period seem to have communicated only about four times a year at great feasts — and many of them only at Easter — commonly after careful preparation and strict fasting. This is still the situa­ tion in most parts of the contemporary Orthodox Church. In any case, the Byzantine laity would usually have lacked the opportunity for very frequent communion, since parish churches scarcely ever had a daily celebration of the Eucharist. Even in monasteries it was by no means the universal practice. At Hagia Sophia, with its enormous staff of clergy, there was for a long time no provision for a daily celebration. In the tenth century the Liturgy was celebrated daily from Easter to Pentecost, but at other times of the year only on Saturdays, Sundays and more 79; Paul Evergetinos, Εύεργετινός·ήτοιΣυναγωγή των Θεοφθόγγων βημάτων και διδασκαλιών των Θεοφόρων και άγιων πατέρων, ed. Nicholas Hagioretes, 3rd ed. (Athens, 1900-1), IV, 34, title: 'That it is highly profitable to receive communion every day'. 80. Symeon the New Theologian, Catéchèses, ed. Krivochéine, IV, 318,1.36; 364, 1.614; trans. deCatanzaro, 71, 86. Daily communion is also recommended by the fourteenth-century Hesychasts, e.g. Kallistos and Ignatios Xanthopoulos, Methodus et reguli. . .de his qui elegerunt pacifìcere vivere acuratissima, PG, 147, XCI-XCII, cols. 793 A; 800 D. 81. Theodore of Andida, Brevis commentatio de divinae liturgiae symbolis et mystérii, PG, 140, XXVI, col. 452 С 82. Theodore Balsamon, Responso ad interrogationem Marci patriarchae Alexan­ drini, PG, 138, XVI, col. 968 С

26

MEANING OF DIVINE LITURGY FOR THE BYZANTINE WORSHIPPER

important festivals.83 So matters continued until 1044, when the Emperor Constantine IX Monomachos donated special en­ dowments so that it could be celebrated everyday.84 Symeon of Thessalonika expects priests to celebrate the Liturgy at the very least twice a week, and if possible four times;85 but he seems to be proposing an ideal standard, and one suspects that in prac­ tice many celebrated only on Sunday. It is evident, then, that a number of factors — most seriously, the infrequency of communion — served to diminish the con­ gregational character of the Liturgy. Certainly we should not idealize the situation of the Byzantine worshipper. Yet the pro­ cess of liturgical disintegration did not advance nearly as far in Byzantium as it did in the medieval West. The Orthodox Church never developed an equivalent to the Latin 'Low Mass', and the custom of 'private' Masses, even if in practice tacitly permitted to a certain extent, has never been accepted as a normal institu­ tion in the East. The Byzantine Liturgy is always sung, with in­ cense and processions, and it is always in principle a public event. Despite all the limitations, the Liturgy never lost its sense of 'togetherness' and corporate solidarity. 'Christianity is a liturgical religion', writes the Russian theologian Georges Florovsky (1893-1979). 'The Church is first of all a worshipping community. Worship comes first, doctrine and discipline second'. His words are true to a pre-eminent degree of Byzantine Christianity. The Byzantines were purr excellence a liturgical people. The civil government of the Empire was cen­ tred upon the Liturgy in the palace, so minutely described by Con­ stantine Porphyrogennetos, while the religious life was centred upon the Divine Liturgy, celebrated not only in the Great Church ad­ joining the emperor's residence but in every parish and monastery. Here the Byzantine people entered Sunday by Sunday into 'heaven 83. J. Mateos, Le typìcon de la Grande Eglise (OCA, 165-6, Rome, 1963-3), II, 302; Taft, 'Frequency of the eucharisť, 65. There were also celebrations of the Presanctified Liturgy in Lent on Wednesdays and Fridays and possibly on other weekdays as well. 84. See John Skylitzes, Synopsis historiarum, ed. J. Thurn, (CFHB, Berlin/New York, 1973), 477. 85. Symeon of Thessalonika, De Sacris Ordinationibus, PG 155, col. 973 B.

27

BISHOP KALLISTOS OF DIOKLEA

on earth' through the corporate action of the Eucharist. For them the Divine Liturgy truly constituted, in Symeon of Thessalonika's words, 'the mystery of mysteries . . . the holy of holies, the in­ itiation of all initiations'.86

86. Symeon of Thessalonika, De sacra liturgia, PG, 155, LXXVIII, col. 253.

28

Preaching and the Community MARY B. CUNNINGHAM If we go by the evidence of surviving manuscripts, sermons represented one of the most popular literary genres in the Byzan­ tine world. Along with the lives of saints, homilies are transmit­ ted in hundreds of manuscripts, which far outnumber those con­ taining histories, letters or other literary forms.1 In view of this fact, it is surprising that scholars have so far paid so little atten­ tion to sermons as a genre, apart from extracting the few pieces of historical information which they contain.2 The homiletic cor­ pus deserves study, not only for its literary and theological in­ terest, but for what it can tell us about the religious practices and beliefs of the Byzantines. In this paper, I would like to concentrate on preaching as a method of instruction within the church and to examine the cir­ cumstances in which it occurred. If we are to reach any conclu­ sions about the effect of sermons on the laity or on monks, cer­ tain questions must first be answered. For example, in what part of the liturgical celebrations were homilies preached? Who delivered these sermons? How many members of the congrega-

1. For a nearly comprehensive survey and analysis of the manuscripts containing homilies and saints' lives, see A. Ehrhard, Überlieferung und Bestand der hagiographischen und homiletischen Literatur der griechieschen Kirche, 3 vols. (Leip zig, 1937-9). 2. Some surveys do exist, but in general they are too superficial to do justice to the subject. See G. A. Kennedy, Classical rhetoric and its Christian and secular tradition from ancient to modern times (Chapel Hill, 1980); idem., Greek rhetoric under Christian emperors (Princeton, NJ, 1983).

29

MARY CUNNINGHAM

tion would have understood them? And finally, how were they written down and transmitted to posterity? The answers to some of these questions can be found in the sermons themselves and in the books containing liturgical regula­ tions for individual churches and monasteries, known as typika.21 should like to emphasize here, however, the difficulty of drawing any definite conclusions on the basis of these texts and the need for much further study in this area. The typika pro­ vide us with the regulations of individual churches and monasteries and they are frequently so succint that one cannot be sure how much information they have left out. Nevertheless, these various sources do show that both the context and the style of preaching went through major changes in the course of the centuries. In view of the complexity of the subject, I have limited my scope to the early and middle periods of Byzantine history, in other words, to the fourth through the ninth centuries. In the period with which we are concerned, an important transition in the liturgical context of preaching took place, probably between the seventh and eighth centuries. In the earlier period, sermons were preached in the middle of the liturgy, just after the reading of the Gospel and before the Mass of the faithful, although they could also be delivered during the morning and evening services which occurred daily.4 After the end of the seventh century, however, our literary sources suggest that the sermon was preached only in the divine office, usually in the service of Matins (orthros) or else in all-night vigils.5 We shall examine the evidence for this change and its possible implications later, but for now let us turn 3. See those published in A. Dmitrievsky, Opisanie liturgicheskikh rukopisa, 2 vols. (Kiev, 1895-1901), I, and elsewhere. A list of the surviving monastic typika can be found in H. Delehaye, 'Deux typika byzantins de l'époque des Paléologues', (MAcBelg, Classe des lettres, 2e ser., XIII, (4), Brussels, 1912), 4-8, repr. in Synaxaires byzantins, ménologes, typika (London, 1977), VI.' 4. Brightman, Liturgies, 464 (the catéchèses of St Cyril of Jerusalem); 470 (John Chrysostom); 504 (Liturgy from the writings of the Egyptian fathers); 518 (Liturgy of Asia from the canons of Laodicea), etc.; also cf. J.A. Jungmann, The early liturgy (London, 1959), 278-87. 5. Brightman, Liturgies, 314 (the Byzantine liturgy of the ninth century from Cod. Barbarmi, iii, 55 (с. A.D. 800); E. Wellesz, A history of Byzantine music and hymnography (Oxford, 1961), 366-7.

30

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

to the sermons themselves, beginning with those written in the fourth and fifth centuries. Much evidence exists in this period, both in the writings of the Fathers themselves and in contemporary historical accounts, about when and by whom sermons were delivered. The Spanish pilgrim Egeria, who travelled to the Holy Land in the late fourth cen­ tury, describes the service at the church of the Anastasis in Jerusalem in the following passage: At daybreak, the people assemble in the Great Church. . . It is the Lord's day, and they do what is everywhere the custom on the Lord's day. But you should note that here it is usual for any presbyter who has taken his seat to preach, if he so wishes, and when they have finished, there is a sermon from the bishop. The object of hearing this preaching every Sunday is to make sure that the people will be continually learning about the Bible and the love of God. Because of all this preaching, it is a long time before the dismissal, which takes place not before ten or eleven o'clock.

Many other sources testify to the practice of preaching after the reading of the Gospels, not only to the baptized faithful, but also to the catechumens, who were allowed to be present in this half of the service.7 Different types of sermons existed in the early church, including the evangelizing, the prophetic and the purely exegetical, all of which had their forerunners in the Jewish synagogue.8 By Egeria's time it is probably the exegetical sermons expounding the passages of Scripture read out in church which predominated. While some sermons were preached in the context of the liturgy, there is evidence that daily morning and evening offices in which homiletic instruction also took place developed at an early period. In these offices the preaching would be aimed at the baptized faithful and catechumens alike; further instruction for the unbaptized could also take place in sessions held outside of the nor­ mal liturgical hours. 9 6. J. Wilkinson, Egeria's Travels, 125. 7. See above n.4. 8. See Kennedy, Classical rhetoric, 135-8. 9. On the early development of the divine offices, see R. Taft, The liturgy of the hours in east and west, (CoUegeville, Minnesota, 1986). Also cf. Origen, Homélies surJérémie, ed. P. Nautin (SC, 232, Paris, 1976), lOOff. On the instruction of the catechumenate, see Jungmann, Early liturgy, 77.

31

MARY CUNNINGHAM

Egeria betrays her unfamiliarity with the delivery of sermons by presbyters in the phrase, 'But you should note that here it is the custom for any presbyter who has taken his seat to preach. . .'. It is likely that some regional variation existed with regard to this custom. Origen, Jerome and John Chrysostom all delivered ser­ mons before they became bishops,10 but according to Socrates and Sozomen, priests were prohibited from preaching in Alex­ andria after the emergence of the Arian heresy.11 When priests and bishops preached in the same service, the bishop would always deliver his sermon last.12 If the object of sermons was to expound the Scriptures and to exhort people to lead more Christian lives, it would follow that they should be written in a style intended to be understood. As G.L. Kustas has pointed out, the rhetorical quality of apheleia (simplicity) was in fact cultivated by early Byzantine homilists.13 It was essential that they should express the truth clearly, simply and without too much circumlocution. Synesius of Cyrene states, 'God does not care for exalted style; the spirit of God spurns finery in writing'.14 Simplicity was also favoured by the Fathers in their exegesis of the Bible. Of the three levels of interpretation of the Scriptures described by Origen in his De Principiis, and which he calls the corporeal, the moral and the spiritual, it is the first which most commonly appears in exegetical sermons.15 With the application of the techniques of pagan rhetoric to Christian teaching, most notably by the Cappadocian Fathers in the middle to late fourth century, the writing of sermons took on a new function: that of inspiring, as much as educating, a con­ gregation. Even such a highly sophisticated rhetorician as Basil of Caesarea, however professed as his aim the edification of the faithful. In various writings, St Basil states that the preacher 10. See J. Longère, La prédication médiévale (Paris, 1983), 30; Origen, Homélies sur Jérémie, 109, ff. 11. Socrates, Historia Ecclesiastica, PG, 67, V, 22, col. 640; Sozomen, Historia Ecclesiastica, VII, 19, pp.330-1. 12. Longère, Prédication, 30. 13. See G.L. Kustas, Studies in Byzantine rhetoric, (Thessalonika, 1973), 37-44. 14. ibid., 38. Synesius of Cyrene, Homiliae, PG, 66, I, col. 1561 B. 15. Origen, De Principiis, edd. H. Crouzel and M. Simonetti (SC, 238, Paris, 1980), IV, 2, iv-v, 310-18.

32

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

should not idly pursue certain themes for his own gratification or employ a too sophisticated (in other words, allegorical) method of expounding the Scriptures. Instead he should seek to provide spiritual food through his homilies, encouraging and comforting his listeners in their struggle against the forces of evil.16 St Basil provides some interesting details about his methods of preaching and the nature of the congregation in his sermons. Describing some of the people who were present to hear his homilies on the Hexaemeron, which were delivered in the morn­ ing and evening services on five successive days in Lent, he states, 4 It has not escaped my notice that many artisans, employed in manual labours and who earn just enough at their daily work to provide for their own nourishment, are surrounding me and obliging me to be brief, so I shall not keep them too long from their jobs'.17 Basil knows very well that those who labour all day are not able to reflect on his morning sermon.18 Nevertheless, in one of the homilies he asks his congregation how they liked his sermon earlier in the day.19 Although St Basil is concerned that he should be understood, the style of his sermons is elevated and correct.20 To him, his brother, Gregory of Nyssa, and most of all, Gregory of Nazianzos, are owed the full development of the most rhetorical of all homiletic productions, the Christian panegyric.21 There is no way of knowing how many members of their congregations understood these rhetorical tours deforce, but it is clear that this

16. See P.J. Fedwick, The church and the charisma of leadership in Basil of Caesarea (Toronto, 1979), 92. 17. Basil of Caesarea, Homélies sur l'Hexaéméron, ed. S. Gîet (SC, 26, Paris, 1949), III, 1, p. 190. For more examples, see J. Bernardi, La prédication des pères cappadociens (Paris, 1968), 42, ff. Gregory of Nazianzos also states, '. . . too great length in sermon is as much an enemy to peoples' ears as is too much food to their bodies' : De Baptismo, PG, 36, col. 360 B. 18. Basil of Caesarea, Нот. sur l'Hexaéméron, II, 10, p.242. 19. ibid., IX, 1, p.478. 20. See Fedwick, Church and charisma, 172. 21. For an excellent discussion of the Cappadocian Fathers' place in the adaptation of pagan rhetoric to Christian teaching, see I. Sevcenko, Ά shadow outline of vir­ tue: the classical heritage of Greek literature (second to seventh century)', in K. Weitzmann (ed.), Age of spirituality; a symposium (New York, 1980), 53-73.

33

MARY CUNNINGHAM

particular form of sermon was intended for display, as much as for edification. John Chrysostom testifies to the increasing need for preachers to impress their public as well as to educate them in the late fourth to early fifth centuries. In his treatise, On the Priesthood, he underlines the importance of certain rhetorical qualifications for a priest to maintain his congregation's respect. While the apos­ tle Paul was uncultured and spoke in plain language, he was able to work miracles. In our generation, when miracles no longer oc­ cur frequently, states Chrysostom, preachers should possess two qualities, the ability to speak well and a lack of concern for whether or not they are applauded for their efforts.22 Elo­ quence, however, should be cultivated both for its persuasive and therapeutic powers: When we have the care of the sick, we must not set before them a meal prepared at haphazard, but a variety of dishes, so that the patient may choose what suits his taste. Thus we should proceed in the spiritual repasts.

That John Chrysostom was himself a successful preacher is well known; in many of his sermons he refers to the applause with which they were greeted.24 His homiletic style, although atticizing, is straightforward and clear in comparison with that of some of his successors, such as Proclus of Constantinople. While they are rich in metaphor and imagery, Chrysostom's sermons would have presented few problems to the moderately educated listener. It is the practical and moral aspects of the Scriptures which he stresses most in his homilies and even today, they have a direct appeal for Christians. In contrast to his writings, most other fifth century sermons are highly rhetorical, sometimes even to excess.25 It is clear that to Proclus, Basil of Seleucia and other writers the manner in which 22. John Chrysostom, Sur le sacerdoce, V, 2, pp.284 ff. 23. John Chrysostom, DeProphetiarum Obscuritate, PG, 56,1, col. 156, translated by G. Kennedy in Classical rhetoric, 145. 24. E.g. Horn, in Ioannem XVIII, 4, col. 120. 25. Photios accuses Basil of Seleucia of using a figurative style, characterised by short, balanced phrases, to excess. Ultimately their monotonous continuity induces aversion on the part of the reader. See Photios, Bibliothèque, ed. R. Henry, 6 vols. (Paris, 1960), II, cod. 168, p. 160.

34

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

ideas were expressed was as important a consideration as the ideas themselves. Both Proclus and Basil employ a rhythmic, 'asiatic' style, full of rhetorical devices such as homoeoteleuton, allitera­ tion and isocolon. It is possible that they were influenced by the Syrian homiletic tradition, although forerunners exist in Greek literature as well.26 In addition to their rhetorical eloquence, many of these homilies convey the dramatic nature of the Biblical stories which they ex­ pound.27 Proclus's sermon on the Annunciation, accepted by its most recent editor as authentic and in its original form,28 con­ tains a dramatic dialogue between the Virgin Mary and Joseph in which the latter expresses his doubts concerning her virginity and his fear of being mocked by his peers.29 Basil of Seleucia also injects a considerable amount of dramatic interest into his homilies. In the sermon on Lazarus, Basil provides a vivid descrip­ tion of the underworld after Lazarus's resurrection, in which all of the other dead arise from their tombs and dance, much to the discomfiture of Death, who sits and bewails his loss.30 Similar to this picture is that painted in the homily of Ps.-Eusebius of Alex­ andria on the Devil and Hades, in which these two personages debate fruitlessly with each other about how to defeat Christ.31 It is difficult to determine whether or not a fifth century con­ gregation would have understood these homilies. John Chrysostom suggests that the number of people appreciating a

26. See J. Grosdidier de Matons, Romanos le Melode et les origines de la poésie religieuse à Byzance (Paris, 1977), espec. 16-27; E. Wellesz, 'Melito's Homily on the Passion. An investigation into the sources of Byzantine hymnography', JThS, 44 (1943), 41-52. 27. On the dramatic homilies of the period, see S. MacCormack, 'Christ and em­ pire, time and ceremonial', B, 52 (1982), 287-309. 28. See F.J. Leroy, L'homilétique de Proclos (ST, 247, Vatican City, 1967), 273-9. The text of this homily appears on pp.299-324. Doubts about its authenticity were expressed by S. Lenain de Tillemont, Mémoires pour servir a l'histoire ecclésiastique des six premiers siècles (Paris, 1709), XIV, 800; G. La Piana, Le rappresentazione sacre nella letteratura byzantina (Grottaferrata, 1912); B. Marx, Procliana. Untersuchung über den homiletischen Nachlass des Patriarchen Proklos von Konstantinop (Münster, 1947), 90-3. Leroy provides a summary of their arguments and goes some way towards refuting them. 29. Leroy, L'homilétique, 306-8. 30. See M.B. Cunningham, 'Basil of Seleucia's homily on Lazaros: A new edition', AnalBoll, 104 (1986), 176.

35

MARY CUNNINGHAM

good sermon would have been small; this was a further reason for preachers not to be elated or cast down by criticism.32 On the other hand, the style of these sermons is in some ways perfectly suited for oral comprehension. Although their range of vocabulary is wide, scriptural language predominates and all except the most rhetorical panegyrics confine themselves to Biblical, rather than Classical, quotations. The short, rhythmic phrases and repeti­ tion of words would also aid the listener, providing frequent pauses and a succession of familiar expressions. The dramatic nature of many of these homilies reinforces the idea that they were generally understood. There would be little point in adding dialogues, in which the characters of Biblical per­ sonages and their adverseries are fully developed, if the majori­ ty of people in the congregation did not understand them. As Basil of Caesarea states in his homily on the Forty Martyrs, it is the orator's intention, just as it is the artist's, to paint a vivid picture in order to bring to life the valour of holy men and to incite Christians to emulate them.33 The standardization of the Byzantine liturgical calendar is believed to have taken place between the mid seventh and eighth centuries.34 It is also in this period that the sermon ceased to be preached during the liturgy and found its place only in the of­ fices or in nocturnal vigils.35 Although the exact date of this development has not been established, it may be associated with the Council in Trullo (692), whose Canon 19 is specifically con­ cerned with the preaching of sermons in church.36 It is possible that the kontakion, which performs a didactic function similar 31. Ps. Eusebius of Alexandria, In diabolum et orcum, PG, 86, cols. 383-406. Ps.Eusebius of Alexandria lived in the fifth or sixth centuries. See F. Nau. 'Sur diverses homélies pseudépigraphiques, sur les oeuvres attribués à Eusèbe d'Alexandrie. . .', ROChr, 13 (1908), 406-35; S. der Nersessian, 'An Armenian version of the homilies on the harrowing of Hell', DOP, 8 (1954), 201-24. 32. John Chrysostom, Sur le sacerdoce, V, 6, pp.294-6. 33. Basil of Caesarea, Homilia in quadraginta martyres, PG, 31, cols. 508-9. 34. See Ehrhard, Überlieferung, 1,25-35; C. Martin, 'Aux sources de l'hagiographie et de l'homilétique byzantines', В, 12 (1937), 347-62; Leroy, L'homilétique, 36. 35. Wellesz, History of Byzantine music, 366; Bright man, Liturgies, 314. 36. It states that sermons should be preached every day and especially on Sundays. See Mansi, XI, col. 952.

36

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

to that of the homily, found its way into the service of Matins in the same period.37 Our earliest concrete evidence for the reading of sermons only in the context of the divine office is found in the Typikon of the Great Church in Constantinople, dated to the ninth or tenth cen­ turies.38 Unfortunately, this text is very concise in its description of the order of services, so that we cannot be sure whether the omission of any references to homilies in the liturgy reflects the true state of affairs or not. However, the Typikon does state that 'readings', calledproanagnosmata (and it does not specify what these were), could take place in the intervals between offices or in the course of all-night vigils before the feasts of the Mother of God or of our Lord. These readings most likely represented either a Scriptural book, the life of a saint or a homily.39 Among the later typika, that of the Evergetis monastery, which is dated to the eleventh century,40 provides the most complete evidence concerning the reading out of sermons, both in the allnight vigil (pannychis) and in the service of Matins (orthros). This Evergetis Typikon actually identifies which texts are to be read in the offices for particular feast-days; thus, on the Saturday of Lazarus, Andreas of Crete's homily on the raising of Lazarus should be read, while on Palm Sunday, both John Chrysostom's and Andreas's sermons are assigned.41 The Typikon of the Studios monastery also mentions readings, sometimes number­ ing two or three, within the service of Matins.42 That of the 37. Wellesz, History of Byzantine music, 366. Also see his 'Kontakion and kanon', Atti del congresso di musica sacra (Rome, 1950), 131-3. Grosdidier de Matons pro­ vides the most convincing theory for the liturgical context of the kontakion before this period, suggesting that it was sung in the vigils before the major feasts, services which the laity, as well as clerics and monks, would have attended. See Grosdider de Matons, Romanos le Melode, 98-108. 38. First published partly by Dmitrievsky in his Opisanie, I, 1-152. It is now available in a complete form and with a French translation: see Mateos, Typikon. 39. Mateos, Typikon, 1,20,21, n.l, 28, etc. See also Taft, Liturgy of the Hours, 173-4. 40. Dmitrievsky, Opisanie, I, 256-656. A summary of the readings assigned for the entire liturgical year in this typikon can be found in Ehrhard, Überlieferung, I, 39-45. See also the typikon of the church of the Anastasis in Jerusalem, ed. A. PapadopoulosKerameus, Analecta Hierosolymitikes stachyologias, 4 vols. (St Petersburg, 1894), II, 1-254. 41. Dmitrievsky, Opisanie, I, 540-1. 42. Descriptio constitutiones monasterii Studii, PG, 99, col. 1703ff.

37

MARY CUNNINGHAM

church of the Anastasis in Jerusalem refers to readings (again, not specifying what these were) in the vigil (agrypnia) before Palm Sunday.43 It is clear on the basis of these typika and others that sermons could be read out either in the course of all-night vigils before important feasts or in the service of orthros. If homiletic instruc­ tion henceforth took place in the context of the nocturnal offices, it must be asked whether the congregation would have been similar to that which attended the ordinary and festal liturgies. The answer to this is most probably not, but we should not rule out the possibility that many devout lay people as well as monks attended them.44 It is also noticeable that homilies underwent important changes in their content, length and style between the sixth and the eighth centuries. Generally speaking, the sermons of the eighth-century homilists are longer and more meditative in character than the fifth-century writers. In their structure, these sermons fit better into the context of the divine office, which centres around scrip­ tural readings, especially the Psalms, than into the Liturgy. In an otherwise unproductive period in literary terms, homilies and hymns represent the great achievements of the eighth cen­ tury. Many of the sermons written by Germanos, Andreas of Crete and John of Damascus commemorate the recently instituted feasts of the Mother of God.45 Drawing on types and images 43. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Analecta, II, 4ff. 44. See Justinian I's law that the main daily offices, that is, orthros and vespers, should be celebrated daily in every church since he thought it wrong that the laity should flock so zealously into churches to perform their part in the psalmody while the clergy neglected to fulfil their obligations: CIC, CJ, I, 3, xli (xlii), 28. Later ex­ amples of devout individuals attending the divine offices included St Stephen the Younger and his mother, who always went to the vigils on Friday nights in the church of the Blachernae and Andrew the Fool, who attended the all-night vigils in the same church. See, VitaS. Stephani iunioris, PG, 100, cols. 1076, 1081 and L. Ryden, 'The vision of the Virgin at Blachernae and the feast of Pokrov', AnalBoll, 94 (1976), 63-82. (I am most grateful to Valerie Nunn for providing me with these two references.) 45. Most of her feasts, except that of the Dormi tion, were instituted during the reign of Justinian. According to Nikephoros Kallistos (c. 1335), the feast of the Dormi tion was added to the calendar by Maurice (582-602). See M. Jugie, La mort et l'Assumption de la Sainte Vierge (ST, 114, Vatican City, 1944), 175. On the growth of marian devotion during the sixth and seventh centuries, see also A. Cameron, 'The

38

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

developed from the fifth century onwards, these sermons extoll her as the means of man's redemption through Christ. The homilies written in the honour of the Virgin Mary, often described in the manuscripts as encomia, are written in a fairly high style, which is suited to the exalted nature of their subject. Their style is less periodic than kommatic, that is, the individual phrases or kommata are short and often rhyming. Frequent interjections to the congregation are intended both to hold their attention and to promote their emotional involvement.46 Whereas the Marian homilies praise and exalt the Mother of God, some festal homilies concentrate more on explaining the scriptural readings in a literal fashion. Andreas of Crete's two homilies on Lazarus and Palm Sunday represent good examples of this;47 written in a simpler style than many of his other ser­ mons, they are concerned with what Origen called 'the corporeal' meaning of the Biblical texts.48 In the first homily, each sentence in John's account of the resurrection of Lazarus is examined and a logical explanation is found even for the most enigmatic of these. For example, why did Christ wait for three days after hearing the news of Lazarus' illness? He wished to wait until his friend had died, explains Andreas, in order that the miracle might be greater.49 Most of these sermons are considerably longer than those which survive from the earlier period and would probably have taken at least an hour to read out. There is evidence that both John of Damascus's and Andreas of Crete's cycles of three sermons on individual feasts of the Mother of God would have been read

Theotokos in sixth-century Constantinople. A cityfindsits symbol', JThS, 29 (1978), 79-108. 46. This device also created the sense of a dialogue between the orator and his audience. It was an inherent feature of the homilia, which, after all, means 'conver­ sation'. See Kustas, Byzantine rhetoric, 44. 47. Andreas of Crete, Oratio IX: In ramospalmárům, PG, 97, cols. 960-1017, recently re-edited in M.B. Cunningham, The Homilies of Andreas of Crete on Lazarus and Palm Sunday: a critical edition, translation and commentary (Unpubl. PhD. thesis, University of Birmingham, 1983). 48. See above, n.14. 49. Andreas of Crete, Oratio VIII: In Lazarům quatriduanum, col. 965.

39

MARY CUNNINGHAM

as a trilogy, probably within the hours of the vigil.50 In this con­ text, their length would not have presented any problems, especial­ ly if time was being filled between the midnight office and Matins in an all-night vigil. The eighth-cenţury sermons frequently provide clues about their intended audiences. John of Damascus most often appears to be addressing monks, since he calls them 'brethren' and exhorts them to practise the monastic virtues, the chief of which is chastity.51 In many of Andreas of Crete's sermons, on the other hand, the congregation is evidently lay. Andreas addresses men and women separately, exhorting them in different ways to follow the teaching of the Gospels.52 His injunctions are often practical in nature, involving the keeping of the Lenten fast, attending church and practising Christian charity.53 Sermon writers of the ninth century followed in the footsteps of their eighth-century predecessors with regard to the structure and content of their homilies. Sermons on the Virgin Mary, such as those written by Theodore of Studios, 54 George of Nikomedia55 and Leo the Wise,56 do not at first glance differ greatly from the earlier ones, being composed in a highly rhetorical style, filled with poetic and typological images expressed in endlessly changing combinations. Sermons commemorating the Mother of God offered further scope for rhetorical and theological subtlety than did those which were devoted to explaining a Biblical 50. See C. Chevalier, 'Les trilogies homilétiques dans l'élaboration des fêtes mariales, 650-850', Gregorianum, 18 (1937), 361-78; Jugie, La mort et l'Assomption, 245. Also see Dmitrievsky, Opisanie, I, 263^t: the Evergetis typikon for the feast of the Nativi­ ty of the Mother of God. One sermon by John of Damaseus is read after the end of the pannychis and two more in orthros. Two of the sermons cited are, in fact, by Andreas of Crete! 51. Horn, in Ficum Arefactum, PG, 96, cols. 585-8. 52. Andreas of Crete. Horn, in Nativitaem Mariae, I, PG, 97, col.817 D. 53. Ѣіа., cols. 984-5. 54. See Theodore of Studios, Orationes, PG, 99, cols. 719-29. 55. Ten homilies, nine of which concern the Virgin Mary, are published in George of Nikomedia, Orationes, PG, 100, cols. 1335-1528. Several others are edited, but assigned to other authors. See H.-G. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur im byzan­ tinische Reich (Munich, 1959), 542-3. 56: Leo the Wise, Oratio in Beatae Mariae nativitatem, praesentationem, annuntiationem; Oratio XIV: in Beatae Mariae assumptionem, PG, 107, col. 1-28; 157-72.

40

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

narrative. Similarly, the encomia of saints are always written in a higher style; in the ninth century, some of these panegyrics, such as those of the deacon of St Sophia, Prokopios, might even contain a number of Classical allusions.57 The homilies of Photios have appealed to modern scholars more than do those of his contemporaries, both because of their originality and because of their concern with historical events.58 Some of these, like the two intended for Good Friday, are peniten­ tial in nature, urging Christians to enter into the contest of the Lenten fast, to meditate on their own deaths and to confess their sins.59 The two most well known homilies on the Russian attack against Constantinople in 860 represent the direct response of the patriarch to this frightening event.60 Apart from an occasional Classical reference, such as the proverb about carding wool into fire,61 Photios relies above all on Old Testament imagery in these sermons: Constantinople is 'Jerusalem, not yet captured and fallen down, but standing nigh to being captured, and rocked by the calamities which we behold'. 62 The homilies dedicated to the Virgin Mary, on the other hand, are true to this wellestablished genre, containing such conventional elements as the dialogue between Mary and the angel Gabriel in the first sermon on the Annunciation, the chairetismoi and references to the rich typology surrounding this holy figure.63 A question which presents itself here is why Photios's sermons survive in relatively few manuscripts, whereas those of some of his contemporaries, such as George of Nikomedia and Leo VI, are preserved in a great many.64 To answer this, it is necessary 57. See, for example, Prokopios the Deacon, Encomium in sanctum Apoštolům et evangelistům Marcum, PG, 100, cols. 1187-1200. 58. See the edition of eleven homilies by S. Aristarches (Constantinople, 1900) and of homilies XII and XIII by G.P. Koumatos and B. Laourdas in Theologta 25 (2) (Athens, 1954), 177-99. An excellent translation and commentary on these homilies appears in Mango, Homilies of Photios. 59. Photios, Homilies (ed. Mango), 41-73. 60. ibid., 74-110. 61. ibid., 87. 62. ibid., 90. 63. ibid., 111-24. 64. On the manuscript tradition of Photios' homilies, see Mango, 224-32. On the richer traditions of George of Nikomedia and Leo VI, see Ehrhard, Überlieferung.

41

MARY CUNNINGHAM

to examine the transmission of the homiletic corpus as a whole. The history of this transmission in fact provides important clues about the extent to which some sermons continued to be used in Byzantine monasteries and churches, while others did not. As Albert Ehrhard has shown, it is in the late eighth and early ninth centuries that the prototypes of most of the surviving col­ lections of homilies and saints' lives were probably compiled. Various different types of collections existed, including homiliaries, panegyrika, menologia and 'mixed collections', depending on whether they were intended for the fixed or movable feasts. Scholars have connected the new impulse for compiling such collections with the standardization of the Byzantine liturgical calendar between the seventh and eighth centuries and the new distribution of Gospel lections to be read out in church.65 The content of these collections is remarkably varied; it can almost be said that each manuscript represents a unique selec­ tion of texts to be read on the appropriate feast-days. Certain authors and texts appear more frequently, which suggests their continuing popularity and influence. The writings of the Cappadocian Fathers, John Chrysostom, Germanos, Andreas of Crete and John of Damascus are the most popular; it is for this reason that a critical edition of their sermons represents such a monumen­ tal task for scholars today. Whereas George of Nikomedia's and Leo VI's sermons did find their way into many of these collec­ tions, those of Photios, with a few exceptions, did not. Instead, they survive in the form of a special collection, which Cyril Mango suggests may have been compiled and preserved secretly by the patriarch's friends after his downfall in 867.^ In fact, the publication of Photios's homilies in a single volume represents a new trend; which began to be adopted by many of his successors. As Mango reminds us, the Patriarch Euthymios (907-912) is said by his biographer to have copied out his ser­ mons himself and presented them to his monastery.67 Thirtyseven of Leo VI's sermons, although some of these appear in 65. See above, n.34. 66. Homilies of Photios (ed. Mango), 9-10. 67. ibid., 9; Vita Euthymii, ed. С. de Boor (Berlin, 1888), 30, 1, 24.

42

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

mixed collection, were gathered into a special, ornate panegyrikon.6* Later writers whose homilies also survive in col­ lections which are devoted to them alone include the monk John Xiphilinos,69 John IX Agapetos,70 John XIV Kalekas,71 and many others. The practice of collecting individual authors' (usually patriarchs') works into a single volume by no means replaced the older collections of various authors' texts, including both homilies and saints' lives. The latter continued to be copied for centuries later, even into the period of the Tourkokratia. However, it is difficult to determine that the collections of single authors' works were intended for private reading by an educated élite, if it were not for the fact that some of these also survive in a large number of manuscripts.72 Since I have not yet studied the later homiliaries adequately, I shall refrain from offering any hypotheses concerning their possible uses here. Let us return to the question of when sermons were preached in the Byzantine church and attempt to sum up what has been said so far. As we have seen, the evidence for the disappearance of the homily from the liturgy and its place within the divine of­ fice after the end of the seventh century is fairly conclusive. Henceforth, sermons were read out either between the offices in the all-night vigils or in the service of orthros, which took place in the early hours of the morning. Perhaps we should distinguish, however, between the reading out of homilies, some of which had been written centuries earlier, and the delivery of original ones. While the typika provide information about the former prac­ tice, they do not tell us when bishops or patriarchs actually

68. See Beck, Kirche und theologische literatur, 546; Erhard, Überlieferung, 1,229-37. 69. Ehrhard, Überlieferung, II, 525-30; the first twenty-five homilies of this collec­ tion are edited by S. Eustratiades (Trieste, 1903). Also see P. Papageorgiou, Όμιλίαι είς τας κυριακας τοϋ ένιαυτοΟ, ΒΖ, 13 (1904), 494-524; Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 630. 70. Ehrhard, Überlieferung, II, 564-8; only eight homilies are edited. See Beck, Kirche und theologische literatur, 631-2. 71. Ehrhard, Überlieferung, III, 576-81; Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 728-9. 72. Here again, I am relying on Ehrhard and his lists of the manuscripts containing each type of collection.

43

MARY CUNNINGHAM

preached their own sermons. It is safest to assume that preaching took place in the contexts just mentioned; later, they would be copied into liturgical collections and read out if an original sermon was not forthcoming, for example, if minor priests and bishops doubted their own rhetorical powers. On the other hand, since the liturgical books do not specifically mention spontaneous preaching, but only the reading of set texts, it is also possible that this continued to occur in other contexts as well, possibly even within the Sunday and feast-day liturgies. These would have been ideal occasions for a preacher to address his congregation, particularly those members who only attended the liturgies and were thus most in danger of straying from their understanding of Christian doctrine. However inconclusive the evidence concerning true preaching may remain, we know that new sermons continued to be com­ posed throughout the Byzantine period. After being delivered for the first time, those homilies which seemed worthy of preserva­ tion would have been edited and copied into the liturgical collec­ tions intended for reading in the divine office. Thus, it is likely that only a small fraction of the sermons preached in church has come down to us. It is also known that some sermons were delivered extempore at least into the middle Byzantine period. As the bishop or patriarch preached, stenographers or ordinary members of the congregation recorded their words in short-hand with the result that the homilies differ considerably in style from the more literary productions.73 Not only the sermons of Origen74 and Gregory of Nazianzos,75 but also those of the Patriarch Tarasios in the early ninth century were recorded in this way.76 This suggests that there continued to be room in the 73. For a good discussion of this process with reference to the homilies of St John Chrysostom, see B. Goodall, The Homilies of St John Chrysostom on the Letters of St Paul to Titus and Philemon. Prolegomena to an edition (Classical Studies, 20, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1979), 65-73. 74. Eusebius, Historica Ecclesiastica, ed. T. Mommsen (GCS, Lepzig, 1908), II, VI, 36, i, 590; P. Nautin, Origene, sa vie et son oeuvre (Paris, 1977), 390. 75. Gregory of Nazianzos, Oratio XLII, PG, 36, xxvi, col. 492 A; H. Hunger, 'On the imitation (mimesis) of antiquity', DOP, 23 (1969), 18. 76. Ignatios the Deacon, Vita S. Tarasii, ed. I.A. Heikel, Acta Soc. Scient. Fennicae, 17 (1891), 423; Photios, Homilies, (ed. Mango), 9.

44

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

liturgical celebrations for an informal style of preaching which did not necessarily find its way into the rubrics of the typika. The reading out of homilies which is described in the monastic and cathedral typika, on the other hand, represents quite a dif­ ferent phenomenon. The collections of sermons and saints lives which began to be compiled after the ninth century and which were intended for reading in the divine office are purely literary productions. In the course of editing two homilies by Andreas of Crete from about thirty manuscripts, I discovered that varia­ tions between these witnesses were in fact very minor. It became clear that a textus receptus had been established at least by the beginning of the ninth century and that scribes copied these texts into the various types of liturgical collections with scrupulous care.77 The hundreds of surviving manuscripts containing such sermons must have been intended for reading aloud, mostly in monasteries, but also in the parish churches which celebrated the divine office. Finally, how many members of a Byzantine congregation, either lay or monastic, would have understood the sermons which were delivered in church? Here again, we can only hypothesize, but it does seem possible that a greater number of ordinary people understood them than has sometimes been assumed.78 We must remember that church-going Byzantines probably understood Biblical and liturgical language, even if they were unable to read it. A number of lay people and probably most monks would have attended at least elementary school and learned sections of the Psalms and the New Testament by heart.79

77. Cunningham, Andreas of Crete's Homilies. 78. See, for example, the negative assumptions of H. Maguire in his Art and eloquence in Byzantium (Princeton, NJ, 1981), 6; 'Many of the sermons were written in a highly complicated, affected and archaizing style, which may have been as far from the everyday speech of a Byzantine in the middle ages as Chaucerian English is from the average English of today. The medieval preachers who continued to com­ pose in this style were members of a tiny elite who had received their higher educa­ tion in the schools of Constantinople. Their homilies may have been all but incom­ prehensible to provincial audiences, if they were delivered in the style in which they were written'. 79. R. Browning, 'Literacy in the Byzantine world', BMGS, 4 (1978), 42, 46-9.

45

MARY CUNNINGHAM

The importance of oral instruction, as M.T. Clanchy and others have recently argued concerning Western medieval society, should not be underestimated, nor should literacy be regarded as a necessary prerequisite for the comprehension of literary texts.80 The Byzantines, like their Western counterparts, lived in a world in which the spoken word played a far more important role than the written one. The language of homilies would not be entirely beyond the reach of an audience which was accustomed to hear­ ing the Scriptures read out, as well as the texts of the liturgy, the offices, and the growing corpus of hymns, whose words were at least as important as their musical settings. Further, as Γ sug­ gested earlier, the rhetorical devices which are favoured by Byzan­ tine sermon writers might actually have helped ordinary people to comprehend the sermons. Rhetorical questions or exclamations and the repetition of words or phrases, all of which are features, incidentally, of oral literature, would have served as guiding beacons in a flow of unfamiliar words and constructions.81 Although these features are found to some extent in all Byzan­ tine homilies it is difficult to generalise about such a varied literary genre. Homilies could be written in styles ranging from the collo­ quial to the extremely high-brow;82 while exegetical sermons are generally easy to understand, the panegyrics may have been in­ comprehensible to all but a very fcv. It is important to remember that the latter, with their devotional, almost hymnodic qualities, were intended to glorify our Lord, the Theotokos or the saints. 80. See M.T. Clanchy, From memory to written record (London, 1979); B. Stock, The implications of literacy (Princeton, NJ, 1983). 81. See R. Crosby, Oral delivery in the middle ages', Speculum, 11 (1936), 88-110. I should stress here that I am not suggesting that homilies represented an oral, popular genre, the characteristics of which have been studied and classified in detail by a number of scholars. True oral literature is generally written in the vernacular and follows a particular set of rhythmic and formulaic patterns. As an oratorical genre, however, homilies share some characteristics with other examples of orally influenced literature. As M.J. Jeffreys points out, these characteristics may be found in a number of dif­ ferent genres. See his 'Formulas in the Chronicle of the Могеа', £ЮР, 27 (1973). 82. On the different levels of style deliberately used by Byzantine authors, which may be classified roughly into low, middle and high, see R. Browning, 'Greek diglossia yesterday and today', International Jnl. for the Sociology of Language, 35 (1982), 49-68 and I. Sevcenko, 'Levels of style in Byzantine prose', JOB, 31/1 (XIV Inter­ nationaler Byzantinistenkongress, Atken, I/I, Vienna, 1981), 289-312.

46

PREACHING AND THE COMMUNITY

Whether or not the congregation understood them would not have been as important a consideration to their authors as whether they achieved a stylistic level which was worthy of their exalted subjects. In conclusion, it is important to emphasize the amount of work which still remains to be done on Byzantine sermons and their transmission. In this paper, I have only offered the results of some preliminary work in this direction, limiting myself to the earlier period in Byzantine history. Further research should take into account the monumental work by Ehrhard on the history of the homiletic collections, since this represents a mass of evidence con­ cerning their dissemination throughout Byzantine society. The manuscripts remain our most positive proof of the continuing popularity of sermons in the medieval period. Even if it is a taste which many of us do not share today, we should appreciate the influence of preaching in all spheres of religious life in the Byzan­ tine world.

47

48

Byzantine Liturgical Music and its Meaning for the Byzantine Worshipper J0RGEN RAASTED One of the most important facts to remember about Byzantine music is that we do not know how it sounded in the middle ages, centuries before the invention of the phonograph and the taperecorder. And even in our own days, geographical and confes­ sional reasons prevent most non-orthodox scholars from obtaining an intimate command of the 'living tradition'. No doubt, we may be attracted by what we hear on records or when attending Orthodox services — and in this way we may acquire some feel­ ings for the 'atmosphere' of Neobyzantine Chant. But outsiders we remain! Fortunately, however, we have the written sources at our disposal. The oldest extant mss with some kind of musical nota­ tion were written in the early 10th century, maybe already in the 9th, and the first printed books with Neo-byzantine musical nota­ tion date from 1820. We are thus dealing with 900 years of musical manuscripts — plus the last century-and-a-half, with printed and handwritten neumes side by side! This is certainly overwhelming material: the total number of preserved musical documents runs into thousands. For my present purpose I shall need to describe, very briefly, how Byzantine musical notation developed during these one thou­ sand years: The earliest neumes were a mnemonic device, reminding the singer (or choirmaster) about the outlines of melodies which he was supposed to know in advance. Also about some rhythmical and dynamic details. The rest was left to oral tradition. 49

flĎRGEN RAASTED

At the middle of the 12th century, a reform of notation in­ troduced a hitherto unknown precision as to the size of intervals — and it now became possible to sing directly from the unwrit­ ten page, provided one knew the conventions and formulas of the eight church modes. With minor modifications the notational system of the 12th century was used during the next 650 years, until the first decades of the 19th century, where the so-called 'Reform of the Three Teachers' introduced further improvement and precision, e.g. in the field of rhythm and pauses. The nota­ tion of the early 19th century is the one actually used for liturgical music by the Greek Church — also elsewhere, such as in Romania and Bulgaria. Summing up we can thus characterize the evolu­ tion of Byzantine musical notation as a constant development towards precision. And now, please, allow me a very simple and naive observa­ tion: any notational reform which aims at introducing new elements ofprecision will thereby indirectly tell us about a previou lack of precision. Take for instance the Reform of the Three Teachers with its exact indication of rhythmical subdivisions and the placing and the length of pauses. The implication, of course, is not that something new was introduced in the singing; the previous generation of Psaltai no doubt performed their singing with the same kind of rhythmical differentiation and of course made pauses in between. But these details of the chant were not written down; they belonged to the oral παράδοσις and were transmitted by psaltai and choirmasters in a long and complex stream of unwritten traditions and performing habits. As you see, the tradition of Byzantine Chant in the last thou­ sand years can be defined as an interplay between written and oral elements. Admittedly, this situation sets some limits to our scholarly work. . . And there are further complications! They stand out clearly, the moment we begin to ask how the musical manuscripts were used. The melodies written down in these books were performed by soloists or by choirs. So one might expect that the medieval singer or singers had the neumated books in their hands or before their eyes at the services. But this cannot have been the case. At least not when more than one singer was per­ forming, in unison singing. For many reasons, including the ob50

BYZANTINE LITURGICAL MUSIC AND ITS MEANING

vious fact that two handwritten books will never be exactly alike. No, the musical manuscripts must have been intended for con­ sultation; maybe we should consider them as scores, used by the choirmaster when rehearsing. And we have no means to establish how faithfully he would follow the neumatic text of his books. The same question about the relations between the written music and its actual performance in church should also be put in con­ nection with soloist singing. To illustrate this point I should like to present an actual case for you — obviously a modern case, but one from which analogies can be safely drawn. In September 1985,1 attended a Byzantine concert in the church of Delphi, during a conference arranged by the European Cultural Centre of Delphi. My tape-recorder was there, too. One of the most impressive pieces was a Cheroubikon, sung by an oiapsaltes from Crete, Mr Sphikas. After the concert I had a talk with him and learned that the Cheroubikon was a composition of Mr Sphikas's teacher (who died с 1940) and that Mr Sphikas owned a copy of his teacher's melodies, which the teacher had made for him shortly before his death. I then asked him, whether it would be possible for me to get a microfilm of this collection — but the old gentleman was able to do better: He gave me, on the very spot, a xerox copy of these pages of his book, evidently made for the use of the local Delphi singers who were to support him by singing the Isokratema. So the same night I listened to the tape with his handwritten score before my eyes. This confrontation of model and performance is highly instruc­ tive and demonstrates a considerable distance between the two. In other words: a good performance is not necessarily an exact duplicate of the score; the singer is also doing composer's work. My actual example was sung at a concert. But I am sure that your imagination can supply the liturgical context. We are in church, and the singing accompanies the Great Entrance, the είσοδος where Christ himself — in the shape of the not yet con­ secrated bread and wine — is escorted to the Altar. Example 1 shows the text, with its characteristic repetition of words. The melody is highly melismatic and sung slowly — to give the pro­ cession the necessary time. But also to make room for medita­ tion. Fifteen minutes, to be precise. You will have ample time 51

JÖRGEN RAASTED

to meditate upon the fact that our Leitourgia in this particular church on this particular day is a duplicate of what the Cheroubim are doing just now — and the solemn chant will really make you 'put aside all worldly μέριμνα' and realize that you are now in the presence of the Heavenly King surrounded by his invisible bodyguard of angels. The Cheroubikon has accompanied the Great Entrance at the Leitourgia since the 6th century. The written tradition for its melodies begins at a much later date — after the 12th century. I do not know how many distinct melodies have been preserved — in his monograph on 'Byzantine Trisagia and Cheroiibika in the 14th and 15th centuries', Conomos describes some 20 melodies prior to the 16th century. And a Copenhagen ms from the 18th century contains a collection of no less than 140 compositions to this text, a collection which takes up 88 crowded pages of our folio volume. This great page-number confirms what you have already realized, that these are long melodies — functionally long, if you understand what I mean! Greek Cheroubikon melodies from the earlier centuries, before the 13th, have not been preser­ ved. In this respect, the Cheroubikon behaves like many other central and recurrent items of the Byzantine musical repertoires: its written tradition is surprisingly late. According to Oliver Strunk, such melodies were simply too well-known to be taken down into books. But there is also the possibility that the sing­ ing consisted of improvised adaptation of standard formulas and phrases. Considering the strongly formulaic character of Byzan­ tine music in general, I would not be surprised if this was not also the case for the Cheroubikon. I have now introduced you to one of the central problems in the study of Byzantine Chant: the interplay of written and oral tradition. We saw this interplay at work in our analysis of the neumatic systems — especially the early ones, which left a con­ siderable part of the melodic details unrecorded. We surmised that there might be a considerable difference bet­ ween the written score and what was actually sung at the liturgical moment — Mr Sphikas's Cheroubikon offered a good example, one which we can check if we want to. And I made a general 52

BYZANTINE LITURGICAL MUSIC AND ITS MEANING

reference to the fact that many kinds of melodies were not writ­ ten down at all, at least not in the Byzantine period. Such are the conditions of our work on Byzantine Chant! Let me return, for the last time, to our Cheroubikon. If this kind of material is to be made to tell us something of interest for our actual theme, this 'something' might perhaps be described — in the terms of the paper which opened our Symposium — as 'The Meaning of Liturgical Music for the Byzantine Worship­ per'. Now, let us suppose for a moment that this particular Cheroubikon melody was not a composition from our own cen­ tury, but a medieval product, and let us also imagine that Mr Sphikas's singing was an exact reproduction of the melody as in­ tended by its composer. Would we, then, be able to define how the Byzantine worshipper felt about this piece of music? No, of course, we would not! At best, we might analyze our own reac­ tions — and then, maybe, make some hypothetical deductions from a belief that Man has not changed basically during the in­ tervening centuries. But this approach, I am afraid, would lead us nowhere. No, if we want to know what was going on in the mind of a Byzantine worshipper, we shall have to ask him. In other words, we must search literature for descriptions of the effect of music at the religious services. And, more particular­ ly, we should look for statements by Church Fathers and preachers about the intended effect of religious music, and their warnings against its misuse. In the case of the latter, the misuse, I have in mind cases like the much quoted dictum ascribed to Pambo, who is reported to have remarked to his disciple (who went to Alexandria to sell ropes and returned to their abode after two glorious weeks of listening to the singing in the church of Alex­ andria): 'What kind of contrition, what kind of tears could result from the Troparia? What contrition would it mean for the μοναχός, if he stands in church or in his κελλίον and raises his voice like the oxen?' 'No' — says Pambo — 'we have not come into this desert to exalt ourselves in front of God, to sing melodies and tunes, or to perform religious dancing and clapping of hands, but to offer our prayers to God with humble (or moderate) voices!' What we have to do in order to draw a picture of the effect 53

J0RGEN RAASTED

of Byzantine religious music on the mind of the worshippers would then, simply, be to read Byzantine literature from one end to the other and to make the necessary excerpts. It is quite simple, but it is going to take some time! In between we might with profit consider the question from a different angle: Instead of asking the Byzantine worshippers about their attitude towards the sing­ ing of their church, we might ask Byzantine composers about their intentions. In connection with the Bydgoszcz Congress in 1985, I read a paper on 'Compositional devices in Byzantine chant'. My remarks were to be understood as 'paragraphs in a Byzantine Handbook for composers'. The second part of my present paper, in a way, deals with the same kind of material — but now I am not deal­ ing with the composer (the 'sender' of the musical message) but with the 'addressee' (the listener). A careful study of the Byzantine melodies themselves reveals certain features of style and composition which can be analysed from a functional point of view. And from this functional analysis we shall then be able to make qualified guesses about the effect of these phenomena on the listeners, the congregation. At least the intended effect; for of course we cannot be sure that those in church actually listened in the way in which the music was in­ tended to be heard. I think they did, however — generally speak­ ing. For otherwise we would not be able to explain how the same features of style and composition were cultivated centuries after centuries — from the earliest traditions we can grasp until hun­ dreds of years after the Fall of Constantinople. The features and phenomena which I have in mind must have fulfilled their pur­ pose — a substantial percentage of worshippers must, somehow, have had their needs satisfied by this kind of music. Let me begin this — final — part of my paper with a sum­ mary list of the five phenomena to which I want to draw your attention: 1. In many kinds of melodies the accentuated syllables of the text will tend to be musically accentuated as well. This descrip­ tion covers, e.g., Stichera and Kanons. 2. In Psalmody, the last four or five syllables of each verse 54

BYZANTINE LITURGICAL MUSIC AND ITS MEANING

or half-verse will be sung to a fixed cadential formula, where the musical accents are not adapted to those of the Psalm text. Con­ versely, in the verse-interior the musical accentuation follows the text closely. 3. In all kinds of Byzantine and Metabyzantine chant, the dif­ ferent levels of the verse structure is reflected in the music. By 'levels of verse structure' I am thinking of the structure of thought, of the syntactical/grammatical structure, and of the way in which the poetical text is divided into sections, long-verses, and shortverses, and with possibilities of further subdivisions by means of caesuras. 4. In non-melismatic genres — i.e. those where each syllable is sung to one (or a few) notes — some words may carry quite long melismata, with many notes per syllable. 5. Finally, in late and modern chant, a special kind of wordpainting is applied — rather mechanically — to words which belong to the 'negative' side of our existance, such as 'sin', 'death', and so on. At such words, a diatonic melody will use chromatic intervals — to return, again, to diatonic intervals as soon as the gloomy words are over. Similar partial modulations into chromatic modes can also be observed, in medieval music, though apparently less connected with specific types of words. Let us recapitulate these items. The first two dealt with the way in which the accents of the text were reflected by the musical ac­ centuation. Thirdly, I mentioned that the textual structure (in its various levels) was reflected by the music. And, finally, the last two items spoke of different musical terms to draw attention to specific words. Taken together, my five items lead to one result — not a surprising one, but nevertheless it is nice to be able to demonstrate it so clearly: that the music is meant to underline the meaning of the text. My remaining examples (Ex. 2-5) illustrate this point. In some of them I have added a number of extra-textual typographical elements, to convey some information about music and especially about the way in which the music underlines the structure of the text. The symbols are quite simple: A vertical stroke marks a major stop of music, a cadence which indicates some kind of 'ending or rest'. 55

J0RGEN RAASTED

An arrow shows some melodic element which 'leads on' to the following and does not allow any stop in the flow of the melody. The combination of vertical stroke and arrow is used at places where a leading-on element is appended to a full cadential for­ mula. This is a device which the Byzantine composers have han­ dled with great subtlety — usually in situations where the verseline has come ţo its end, but where the meaning demands that the singing goes on. Finally, I have underlined the few syllables which are sung melismatically in otherwise simple melodies. Example 2 is a Doxastikon for January 27 plus an appropriate Theotokion, inserted after the two halves of the Little Doxology. Here, the words which are melismatically emphasized have to do with the joyous occasion (the translation of the relics of St John Chrysostom). Example 3 is one of the famous Doxastika Eothina, written and composed by the Emperor Leo VI AD c.900. The example il­ lustrates an ingenuous use of partial modulation to chromatic intervals, in the last-but-one line — no doubt intended to draw our attention to the theologically important juxtaposition of μεθ ' ών and δι ' ών. The last two examples (4 and 5) go together. I have picked them out to illustrate how the general character of an ecclesiastical mode can express the general character of a text. Example 4 is an Allelouiarion of the First Authentic Mode. Example 5 was writ­ ten and composed in Philadelphia in the 14th century, as far as I can figure out at a time where the rest of Asia Minor was on Turkish hands. This piece (by Theoleptos) is still used, e.g. in times of earthquake. The mode is second Piagai, equally well suited for medieval turks and for earthquakes! If time had allowed it, I should have added remarks and specimens of at least one other type of Byzantine music. The wordless melismata called teretismata and nenanismata, where meaningless syllables are sung to very extended melodies. Ob­ viously, such melodies are used for quite other purposes than the features which I have dealt with in this paper.

56

BYZANTINE LITURGICAL MUSIC AND ITS MEANING

EXAMPLES: 1) Oi τα χερου— οί τα χερουβίμ μυστικώς είκονίζο— είκονίζοντες καί τή ζωοποι— ζωοποιφ τριά— τριάδι τον τρισάγιον υμνον προσάδο— ϋμνον προσάδο— δμνον προσάδοντες πάσαν τήν βιωτι— βιωτικήν άποθώμεθα μέρι— μέριμναν [ώς τον βασιλέα των δλων ύποδεξόμενοι ταΐς άγγελικαίς άοράτως δορυφορούμενον τάξεσιν αλληλούια αλληλούια αλληλούια.] 2) Δόξα πατρί και υίω καί άγίω πνεύματι 'Αγάλλεται σήμερον — ή εκκλησία τοϋ θεοΰ — λαμπρυνομένη τη χάριτι Ι— καί πιστώς πανηγιιρίξει. Ι των φιλέορτων τα συστήματα Ι— έπί τή έπανόδω τοϋ τιμίου λειψάνου σου Ι δσιε πάτερ — 'Ιωάννη Χρυσόστομε Ι— και SoLcţCex Χριστόν Ι τον δια σοΰ παρέχοντα ήμΐν το μέγα έλεος. Και νΰν καί άεί καί εις τους αιώνας τών αιώνων, αμήν. Νεφέλην σε φωτός Ι— άϊδίου παρθένε ό προφήτης όνόμασεν Ι νανά έν σοι γαρ ώς ύετος έπί πόκον καταβάς ό λόγος τοϋ πατρός Ι— καί έκ σοΰ άνατείλας Ι τον κόσμον έφώτισε —· τήν πλάνην κατήργησεν — Χριστός ό θεός ημών Ι— αυτόν ίκετεύουσα εκτενώς παναγία δεόμεθα μή παύση υπέρ ημών — τών αληθώς θεοτόκον — όμολογούντων σε. 3) Ίδου σκοτία καί πρωί — καί τί προς το μνημείον Μαρία έστηκας Ι πολύ σκότος έχουσα ταΐς φρεσίν Ι ύφ ' Q& Ι— ποΰ τέθαπται ζητείς ό Ίησοΰς αλλ' δρα τους συντρέχοντας μαθητάς Ι— πώς τοις όθονίοις — καί τω σουδαρίω — τήν άνάστασιν έτεκμήραντο Ι καί άνεμνήσθησαν — της περί τούτου γραφής Ι αεθ'ών Ι— καί δι' ών Ι— καί ήμεΐς πιστεύσαντες Ι—, άνυμνοΰμέν σε — τον ζωοδότην Χριστόν. 4) 'Αλληλούια. "Ασατε τφ κυρίω άσμα καινόν δτι θαυμαστά έποίησεν ό κύριος. Είδοσαν πάντα τα πέρατα τής γής το σωτήριον του θεού ημών. 'Αλληλούια. 5) Ουράνιε βασιλεϋ φιλάνθρωπε κύριε μακρόθυμε καί πολυέλεε έπιδε έξ αγίου κατοικητηρίου σου ίδε τήν ταπεΐνωσιν ημών ΐδε καί τήν κάκωσιν ημών μή τω θυμω σου έλέγξης ημάς μηδέ τη οργή σου παίδευσης ημάς μή παραδώης ημάς είς" χείρας τών άνομων μήποτε είπωσι τα έθνη ποΰ έστιν ό θεός αυτών ήμεις δέ λαός σου καί πρόβατα νομής σου καί το δνομά σου έπικεκλήμεθα έχεις εμφυτον τήν αγαθότητα σκέπε τήν πόλιν ταύτην έχεις πρέσβυν τήν θεοτόκον μετά τοϋ αρχαγγέλου χορον τών αποστόλων καί πλήθος τών μαρτύρων καί τών αγίων Δέξαι τάς δεήσεις υπέρ λαοΰ ήμαρτηκότος καί απεγνωσμένου καί σώσον άνεξΐκακε κύριε τήν κληρονομίαν σου.

57

58

LAW AND MORALITY

59

60

Nomos and Kanon on paper and in court RUTH MACRIDES One way in which to examine the role of the church in Byzantine society, the extent of its authority, its influence, and the regard in which it was held by the people and the other power, is to con­ sider the relationship between civil and ecclesiastical law, nomos and kanon. Such an inquiry is part of the complex question of the relationship between state and church, and the emperor's posi­ tion in the church, problems which have met with no small number of definitions yet remain singularly indefinable. If, as in theological thought and political theory, it is true that the Byzantine state and church were neither separate nor separable institutions but manifestations of one and the same Christianity, it is also true for political and ideological reasons which had their origin in Constantinian times that the church was treated as a subordinate depart­ ment of state. This latter scheme, which seems to leave the church little room for manoeuvre, informs most discussions of the church today.1 This is so much so the case that there is even a reluctance to ascribe the patronage of mosaics put up in Hagia Sophia to any but the emperor.2 1. For a general discussion of the issues see A. Michel, Die Kaisermacht in der Ostkirche (Darmstadt, 1959), passim;Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 36-7; ibid., 'Kirche und Klerus im staalichen Leben von Byzanz', REB, 24 (1966), 1-24. The latest book on the church, J. M. Hussey, The orthodox church in the Byzantine empire (Oxford, 1986), does not subscribe to the 'department of state' view (see especially 299-303) but also does not examine the question afresh and falls into many of the old patterns of thought. Thanks to the discoveries made in research on legal ques­ tions in the last few years, the time is ripe for a new look at the old problems. 2. R. Cor mack, 'Interpreting the mosaics of S. Sophia at Istanbul', Art History, 4, no.2 (1981), 131-46.

61

RUTH MACRIDES

In this paper I would like to consider — with respect to the laws of the state and the church, those who made them and those who interpreted them on paper and in court — whether there is evidence for a middle ground between these extreme positions, but also whether there were any areas into which the state did not or could not enter. Answers to these questions will be sought especially in the sources of the twelfth century, a time when the first consis­ tent criticism of imperial power and attitudes was expressed in literary works. Only once in Byzantium was an attempt made to define and institutionalise the relationship between emperor and church. This occurred in the reign of Basil I and the work can be ascribed to the patriarch Photios. The law book known up to now as the Epanagoge which recent research has shown was called the Eisagoge3 and in whose composition Photios played a part, con­ tains two sections entitled O n the Emperor' and 'On the Patriarch' which describe the spheres of influence and authority of these two powers.4 The emperor, called an ennomos epistasia, a 'lawful dominion', is said to be concerned with the physical well-being of the people (Eis. 2.1,2,3), while the patriarch, a living icon of Christ, cares for their spiritual well-being (Eis. 3.1-3,8,11). In ad­ dition to the clear demarcation of their functions there is a distinc­ tion made in their legal activities and capacities. The emperor must maintain and preserve Holy Scripture, the pronouncements of the seven oecumenical councils, and also Roman law. He is not to promulgate any law which transgresses the canons (Eis. 2.4-12). But it is the work of the patriarch alone to interpret the canons of the holy fathers and synods (Eis. 3.5). This attempt to 'institute' two equal powers with separate spheres of influence was, however, short-lived for in 907, 30 years after its issue, the Eisagoge was revised by the Procheiros Nomos.5 Just 3. The latest study of this lawbook revises the commonly held opinions on Macedo­ nian legislation, arguing convincingly for the name Eisagoge and for the appearance of the work before the Procheiros Nomos: A. Schminck, Studien zu mittelbyzantinischen Rechtsbüchern (Frankfurt am Main, 1986), 12-15, 62-107. 4. Zepi, Jus, II, 240-3. For the authorship and the ideas expressed see J. Scharf, 'Photios und die Epanagoge', BZ, 49 (1956), 385-400; ibid., 'Quellenstudien zum Prooimion der Epanagoge', BZ, 52 (1959), 68-81. '5. Schminck, Studien, 91-102.

62

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

as it is no surprise that the remarkable formulation of the separate spheres of the two powers was the work of a patriarch, it is equally clear that its undoing was the work of an emperor, none other than Photios' student, Leo VI. The desire of this emperor to ex­ punge the problematic formulations and thus to limit the church's influence can be understood both in the light of his personal animosity towards Photios but also with regard to the opposition he had experienced from the church over his fourth marriage.6 In any case, a similar effort to define the spheres of church and emperor was never again undertaken. The question of the emperor's position and rights within the church therefore remained undefined. Here and there in the sources we encounter attempts to formulate these privileges but they are on the level of personal opinion, and the question of the basis and origin of the rights meets with vague answers. We are left with impressions from terms which appear in the sources almost as afterthe-fact justifications of imperial intervention in dogmatic or canonical matters or in ecclesiastical appointments. The difficultto-translate word έπιστη μονάρχη ς is an example of this phenomenon. Up to the twelfth century it was used exclusively in monastic contexts to refer to a monk whose duty it was to keep order among fellow monks at meal times and during chanting. It was the epistemonarches' duty to remind monks of proper behaviour and to correct and discipline those who strayed from it.7 But parallel to this usage in the twelfth century for the first time the term is applied to the emperor in literary and legal texts by people within and outside the church. Anna Komnena, writing in the 1140s, refers to her father Alexios as an epistemonarches, a master of the science of government, in the context of his crea­ tion of new titles for the court hierarchy. Here the connection with 6. A Schminck, 'Rota tu volubilis. Kaisermacht und patriarchenmacht in Mosaiken', Cupido Legum, eds. L. Burgmann, M.Th. Fogen, A. Schminck (Frankfurt am Main, 1985), 211-34, esp. 211-14; S. Troianos, 'Kirche und Staat: Die Berührungspunkte der beiden Rechtsordnungen', OKS, 37 (1988), 291-6. 7. E.g. P. Gautier, 'Le typikon de la Théotokos Evergetis', REB, 40 (1982), 21-3, 39, 71-3; for the epistemonarchissa: P. Gautier, 'Le typikon de la Théotokos Kécharitôménè', REB, 43 (1985), 73-5. See also the discussion by B.K. Stephanides, Oi δροι επιστήμη και έπιστημονάρχης παρά τόίς βυζαντινοΐς) Έπ. Έτ. Βυζ. Σπ., 7 (1930), 153-8, particularly for the monastic contexts of the word.

63

RUTH MACRIDES

the word's monastic origin is not explicit but is evident in the em­ phasis on the taxis or order which Alexios creates in the hierarchy and which the monastic official oversees.8 All other examples of the word's application to emperors are related to imperial activi­ ty within the church. A synodal document of 1147 which was the act of deposition of the patriarch Kosmas relates that the emperor Manuel Komnenos himself questioned the patriarch with regard to his attitude toward the Bogomil Niphon. He conducted his in­ vestigation with 'his skilled and epistemonarchic wisdom'.9 Likewise, in a prostagma of 1166 Manuel refers to the synod's consultation with him on a matter of canon law because of his 'epistemonarchic right' (δίκαιον).10 Michael VIII Palaiologos, an emperor whose style of government has been acknowledged to be strongly reminiscent of the Komnenoi, addressed a prostagma to the patriarch in 1270 instructing him to give a rank high in the ecclesiastical hierarchy to the deacon Theodore Skoutariotes whom the emperor had appointed to the office of dikaiophylax. This the emperor did in his capacity as epistemonarches of the church.11 But if the question of the emperor's rights within the church met with no clear-cut answer, the problem of the relationship bet­ ween civil and ecclesiastical law did find a resolution of sorts, although its significance and implications are still a matter for debate today. In Novel 131, promulgated in 545, the emperor Justinian legislated that the holy ecclesiastical canons issued and confirmed by the four holy councils which had met up to his time, that is, Nicaea, Constantinople, Ephesos and Chalcedon, were to have the status of nomos, and were to be regarded as laws.12 This provison was enlarged in the Basilika, the collection of Justinianic law in 60 books, promulgated at the beginning of Leo VI's reign in the early tenth century, and known as the 'cleansing' or 'purifica­ tion' of the laws.13 The Basilika brought Justinian's measure up 8. Anna Komnena, Alexiad, ed. В. Leib, 3 vols (Paris, 1937) I, 114-15; also, P. Magdalino. 'Aspects of twelfth-century Byzantine Kaiserkritik', Speculum, 58 (1983), 338. 9. RP, V, 307-11, esp. 309, 9. 10. N.69: Zepi, Jus, I, 408-10, esp. 409, 6-7. 11. N.9: Zepi, Jus, 1,503-4; see also below for a discussion of the title of dikaiophylax. 12. CIC, Nov., 131.1 13. On the Basilika see now A. Schminck, Studien, 17-54, and below p.74 n.64.

64

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

to date by including in it the canons of the councils which had been held since the novel's promulgation, up to and including the seventh oecumenical council at Nicaea in 787.14 It has generally been thought that Justinian's provision was beneficial to the status of canon law, enlarging its field of application and giving it greater binding power. However, a recent study questions this interpretation and shows that Justinian's measure may have had a different intention.15 First of all, the emperor who was seen to sanction the holy canons and to give them general legislative strength was securing for himself in this way the role of universal legislator. And if the emperor was not bound by civil law,16 such a position could now be extended to the area of canon law. Furthermore, if nomos and kanon were on the same level, any differences between them could be resolved by recourse to the norms applicable in civil law — that is, applica­ tion of the principle that later law cancels earlier law. Therefore, far from increasing the binding force of the canons, Justinian's measure opened the way for imperial or civil intervention. Nothng was resolved, though, for there were no pronouncements to ex­ plain what criteria ought to be applied in a case of conflict bet­ ween nomos and kanon. But it should be stressed that this lack of a systematic method of interpretation could be used by both sides to their advantage. If the emperor could be said to be above the canons, it could also be argued, as did a scholiast to the canons, that canon law was stronger than civil law because civil laws were composed or accepted only by emperors, whereas ecclesiastical laws were issued and certified by emperors and the holy fathers.17 The canon law which Justinian proclaimed to be equal to civil law was a heterogeneous corpus which began to be formed in the 14. B.5.3.1: Basilicorum Libri LX, eds. H.J. Scheltema and N. van der Wal, (Groningen, 1955-), I. 15. S. Troianos, 'Θεσπίζομεν τοίνυν, τάξιν νόμων έπέχενν τους αγίους εκκλησιαστικούς κανόνας . . .', Βυζαντινά, 13 (1985 = Δώρημα στον Ι. Καραγιαννόπουλο), 1193-1200, with references to the older literature on the subject. ibid., 'Kirche und Staat', 291-6. 16. For the history of the concept, see the study by D. Simon, 'Princeps legibus solutus: Die Stellung des byzantinischen Kaisers zum Gesetz', in Gedächtnisschrift für W. Kunkel, eds. D. Nörr and D. Simon (Frankfurt am Main, 1984), 449-92. 17. Scholion on Nomokanon 1,2: RP, I, 38.

65

RUTH MACRIDES

fourth century.18 It was composed of the pronouncements of the oecumenical councils, those of the local synods of the fourth century, excerpts from the writings of the church fathers, and the so-called Apostolic canons. The corpus was heterogeneous not only because of the different origins of the canons but also because of the differing weight which they carried. Only the canons of the oecumenical synods had binding power for the entire church, while the canons of local synods had more limited application as they addressed local problems. However, the council in Trullo in 691/2 pronounced the entire corpus to have the same weight and im­ portance and secured it against unauthorised enlargement.19 The second council of Nicaea of 787 also proclaimed all canons to be binding.20 After the great period of the councils had ended in the ninth century, another source of canon law was the decisions of patriarchs made together with the permanent synod of Constantinople. Changes to canon law were issued in the form of a synodal tomoi. The tomos of the patriarch Sisinnios on marriage law is one such work.21 It should be noted in this connection on legal matters on his own. Patriarchal action in this area without the synod was un­ thinkable. Another source of canon law, also of a subsidiary nature, were imperial laws which made provisons for matters on which there was no canon.22 Codification of this corpus of canon law began approximately in 545, the same year as Justinian's novel giving ecclesiastical law the same rank as civil law. The first known codification from this time, the work of an unknown author, was a canonical collection in 60 titles with an appendix including 21 imperial laws on church

18. For what follows see H.G. Beck, 'Nomos, Kanon und Staatsräson in Byzanz', SBWìen, 384 (1981), 5ff., ibid., Kirche und theologische Literatur, 140-7; E. Schwartz, 'Die Kanonessammlungen der alten Reichskirche', in Gesammelte Schriften, IV (Berlin, 1960), 159-275. 19. Canon 1, council in Trullo: RP, II, 301-5; V. Laurent, 'L'oeuvre canonique du concile in Trullo (691-692): source primaire du droit de l'église orientale', REB, 23 (1965), 7-41. 20. Canon 1: RP, II, 555-6. 21. Beck, 'Nomos, Kanon und Staatsraison', 12-3. 22. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 142.

66

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

matters.23 The better known work by John Scholastikos, patriarch of Constantinopole in 565-577, was an improved col­ lection, including the canons of Basil, those of local synods, as well as of the Apostles. The collection was given a new organisa­ tion and excerpts were added from Justinianic novels on church matters.24 From such collections of canons and imperial laws dealing with matters of ecclesiastical law, it was a short step to the nomokanones, collections which took into account in equal fashion both ec­ clesiastical law and imperial law pertaining to ecclesiastical mat­ ters. The oldest of these is the Nomokanon in L Titles which dates from the late sixth century.25 But the most famous is the Nomokanon in XIV Titles compiled by the so-called Anonymous, named Enantiophanes in scholia to the Basilika. This work dates to the period between 629 and 640 but underwent several revi­ sions.26 The first of these, from 883, has been falsely ascribed to Photios since the twelfth century.27 The more important revision is that by Theodore Bestes of the late eleventh century. It is this version of the Nomokanon which is the foundation for the canonical work of the twelfth century.28 The 14 titles of the Nomokanon concern such subjects as 'Monks and Monasteries', Tasting and Lent', 'Catechumens and Baptism', 'The Sins and Judgements of Bishops and Clergy'. Each title contains subordinate chapters with rubrics summarising the content, and a list of rele­ vant canons. The κείμενον or text which follows contains the civil law related to the subject.29

23. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, А22-Ъ\ S. Troianos, Oi πηγές του Βυζαν­ τινού Δικαίου (Athens and Komotini, 1986), 83. 24. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 144-5, 423; Troianos, Oi πηγές, 83-4. 25. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 146, 423; Troianos, Οί πηγές, 87. 26. On the question of the authorship, see K.E. Zachariae von Lingenthal, 'Uber den Verfasser und die Quellen des (Pseudo-Photianischen) Nomokanon in XIV Titeln', in the author's Kleine Schriften zur Römischen und Byzantinischen Rechtsgeschichte, II (Leipzig, 1880-94, repr. 1973), 145-85; J. Gaudemet, 'Nomokanon' in RE, Suppl. X (1965), 420-7. For a general discussion see Troianos, Oi πηγές, 88-90, 27. Balsamon, introduction to his commentary on the Nomokanon in XIV Titles: RP, I, 32; commentary on canon 2, council in Trullo: RP, II, 311. Photios' author­ ship of the prooimion (RP, I, 5-9) to this revised ninth-century Nomokanon is not however in question: Schminck, Studien, 14-15 and no.30; Troianos, Oi πηγές, 142. 28. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 146; Troianos, Oi πηγές, 142. 29. RP, I, 5-335.

67

RUTH MACRIDES

The eleventh century, the time of the final revision of this Nomokanon, and the twelfth century, the period of the canon law commentaries, are centuries in which there was a revival of in­ terest in law and in this legal activity the church played a large part.30 The emperor Constantine IX Monomachos who establish­ ed the law school in Constantinople in the mid-eleventh century, appointed as its head, with the title of nomophylax, John Xiphilinos, who later became patriarch (1064-1075).31 The title of nomophylax is attested later — although there is no evidence that it was also connected with teaching later — and it is always held by a churchman.32 Two well-known nomophylakes of the twelfth century were Alexios Aristenos and Theodore Balsamon. They combined this civil title with an ecclesiastical one — protekdikos in the case of Aristenos and chartophylax in Balsamon's.33 Both ecclesiastical titles were attached to offices which required com­ petence in canon law if not also in civil. The protekdikos' duties are well documented for the twelfth century;34 he was head of a unique tribunal in Hagia Sophia which handled the cases of people seeking refuge in the Great Church, debtors, slaves or people in­ nocent or guilty of a killing. To this latter catergory of refugee 30. See Beck, 'Kirche und Klerus', 1-24, and especially V. Tiftixoglu, 'Gruppen­ bildungen innerhalb des Konstantinopolitanischen Klerus während der Komnenenzeiť, BZ, 62 (1969), 25-72, for the rise in power of the Constantinople clergy in the eleventh century and the role which legal education and expertise played in this. 31. Zepi, Jus, I, 618-27. The novel and Xiphilinos' role are analysed in detail by P. Lemerle in Cinq études sur le Xle siècle byzantin (Paris, 1977), 207-13; N. Oikonomides, 'The "Peira" of Eustathios Rhomaios: an abortive attempt to innovate in Byzantine law', Fontes Minores, 7 (1986), 188-90. Schminck, Studien, 31-2, con­ trary to received opinion, argues that Xiphilinos was not a layman when appointed nomophylax but rather a deacon and chartophylax. 32. Tiftixoglu, 'Gruppenbildungen', 34-6; P. Magdalino, 'Die Jurisprudenz als Kom­ ponente der byzantinischen Gelehrtenkultur des 12. Jahrhunderts', Cupido Legum, 170; J. Darrouzès, Recherches sur les Offikia de l'église byzantine (Paris, 1970), 79, 82; Schminck, Studien, 31-2 and no.60, for differences of opinion on the nature of the title. 33. For Aristenos: W. Hörandner, Theodores Prodromes Historische Gedichte (Vien­ na, 1974), 461 Gemma), 463-5, 464,8; Prodromos* letters: PG, 133, 1241 A, 1451 A, 1246 B; A. Garzya, 'Encomio inedito di Niceforo Basilace per Alessio Aristeno', ByzForsch, 1 (1966), 94ff. He was never chartophylax, as Schminck, Studien, 31, would have it. For Balsamon: V. Grumel, Regestes, I, no.1134 (1177). 34. Darrouzès, Offikia, 323-32; R.J. Macrides, 'Killing, asylum and the law in Byzan­ tium', Speculum, 63 (1988), 509-38, espec. 515-6.

68

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

the protekdikos gave a document which contained a summary of the case drawn from the confession, a judgement on the category of crime committed and the penances given to the sinner.35 This document could be presented to civil officials should they pursue the alleged killer.36 The chartophylax, on the other hand, was the head of the sekreton of the chartophylakeion and principal assis­ tant to the patriarch. In addition to archival and notarial work he prepared Erotapokriseis, replies to canonical problems which were released in his own name, and he examined candidates to the priesthood, preparing testimonials for them.37 Another title bestowed by the emperor on churchmen from the mid-eleventh century which involved legal competence was that of dikaiophylax.38 In the last decade of that century, the monk and hypertimos Gregory Xeros presented a case before a mixed ecclesiastical and civil court concerning a man and woman related by spiritual kinship who wished to learn if their marriage was pro­ hibited on those grounds.39 Two years later as dikaiophylax and anagrapheus he established an inventory for the monastery of Iviron.40 When, after the restoration of the empire to Byzantine rule, the emperor Michael VIII appointed the deacon Theodore Skoutariotes as dikaiophylax, he made it clear that he was reviv­ ing a title and function which had existed before 1204, and that it was because of the churchman's knowledge of nomos and kanon that he had been so honoured.41 It would appear in general that this was the reason why these churchmen were chosen for such 35. For example of a formula for the document (semeioma) issued by а protekdikos, see A. Pavlov, 'Grecheskaia zapis o tsekovnom sudie nad ubiitsami, pribiegaiushchimi pod zashchitu tserkvi', Viz Vrem, 4 (1897), 155-9; R. Macrides, 'Poetic justice in the patriarchate. Murder and cannibalism in the provinces', Cupido Legum, 137-68. 36. Macrides, 'Killing, asylum and the law', 512-19, 530-1. 37. Darrouzès, Offlkia, 334-53, 508-25; Balsamon, on the rights and duties of a chartophylax: RP, II, 587; IV, 530-41. 38. On this title see Laurent, Sceaux, II, nos. 902-4; N. Oikonomidès, 'L'évolution de l'organisation administrative byzantine au Xle siècle (1025-1118)', TM, 6 (1976), 135. 39. Grumel, Regestes, no.964 (1092); text: Balsamon, commentary on canon 43, council in Trullo, RP, II, 430-1. 40. Actes de Lavra, I, eds. P. Lemerle, A Guillou, N. Svoronos, D. Papachryssanthou (Paris, 1970), no.52 (1094), 271-4. 41. Zepi, Jus, I, 502, Darrouzès, Offlkia, 109-10; Beck, 'Kirche und Klerus', 8.

69

RUTH MACRIDES

'civil' positions. Furthermore, the little that is known of the judicial duties of nomophylakes and dikaiophylakes indicates that the cases in which they were involved had to do with ecclesiastical matters or were tried before mixed courts of civil and ecclesiastical of­ ficials.42 Therefore, the churchmen who held these positions acted as important links betwen the state and the church. This was one way in which the church could and did make its influence felt. A similar shift in favour of ecclesiastics for civil positions can be seen in the twelfth century with regard to the title of hypatos ton philosophon which had a teaching function attached to it. Created in the mid-eleventh century by Constantine Monomachos,43 it was an imperially bestowed and remunerated position which, up to the twelfth century, was given to laymen.44 Michael o tou Anchialou, the first churchman to hold the title, later became patriarch (1170-1178).45 The maistor ton rhetoron, is also attested from the mid-eleventh century and had a teaching func­ tion. The title appears to have been given to men of the church from the beginning.46 The church therefore had, by the twelfth century, key representatives in law, philosophy and rhetoric. The last subject was — according to men with successful careers in 42. The two examples of Xeros' activities imply this. See also the case of Aristenos, below p.71. 43. Michael Attaleiates, Historia, ed. I. Bekker (Bonn, 1853), xxi, 18-23. 44. Lemerle, Cinq études, 223-5, esp. 224-5 and no.62. 45. R. Browning, 'A new source of Byzantine-Hungarian relations in the twelfth century: the inagural lecture of Michael ό του Άγχίαλου ώς ύπατος των φιλοσόφων', Balkan Studies, 2, (1961), 173-214, esp. 181-4, reprinted in the author's Studies on Byzantine history, literature and education, (London, 1977), IV. See also below p.73. 46. For the earliest holder of the title, a mid-eleventh-century churchman who later became metropolitan of Thessalonika, see P. Gautier, 'Quelques lettres de Psellos inédites ou déjà éditées', REB 44 (1986), 162-4. Darrouzès, 'Notice sur Grégoire Antiochos (1160 à 1196)', REB, 20 (1962), 66, 79 no.28, concludes from an unpublished funeral oration of Gregory Antiochos for Nicholas Kataphloron that the title was given by the emperor to laymen and that it is only from Manuel I's reign that we know of deacons only in the position. The oration (Scor. Y-11-10 f.268r) does not however state or imply that the title 'était destinée à un laïc et non à un clerc' (Darrouzès, op. cit., 66) and besides, there are no known lay examples of a maistor ton rhetoron. For the functions of this official which included teaching and deliver­ ing orations before the emperor and patriarch, see the discussion and references in R. Macrides, 'The New Constantine and the New Constantinople — 1261?', BMGS 6 (1980), 25-7.

70

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

law like Michael Psellos47 but also according to recent work on methods of argumentation in Byzantine legal decisions of the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries — if anything, more im­ portant than knowledge of the law itself,48 be it nomos or kanon. Better knowledge of the Nomokanon and perhaps also the canonical commentaries which survive from the twelfth century may have been promoted by Alexios I's edict of 1107. Addressed to the patriarch Nicholas Grammatikos and to the synod, this law called for raising the standard of the clergy's instruction of the people in the faith. In connection with this it was decreed that the Nomokanon should be read out in its entirety before the synod. Canons concerning matters of piety and dogma which were neglected at the time were to be renewed, while those on other matters which were not observed were to be discussed by emperor and patriarch before the emperor came to a solution through oikonomia.49 Three names are connected with canonical exegesis of the twelfth century — Aristenos, Zonaras, and Balsamon. Each of these had a distinctive style and approach. The earliest comentary is that by Alexios Aristenos, a deacon of the Great Church famous for rhetorical skills which he exercised both in civil and ecclesiastical courts.50 He held a number of positions which had legal-judicial 47. Ecomium for John, metropolitan of Euchaita, Sathas, V, 149; Magdalino, 'Jurisprudenz', 169-77; Lemerle, Cinq études, 208. 48. D. Simon, Rechtsfindung am byzantinischen Reichsgericht (Frankfurt am Main, 1973)passim; M. Th. Fögen, 'Rechtsprechung mit Aristophanes', Rechtshistorisches Journal, 1 (1982), 74-82; eadem., 'Horror iuris. Byzantinische Rechtsgelehrte disziplinieren ihren Metropoliten', Cupido Legum, 47-72; Macrides, 'Poetic justice in the Patriarchate', 137-68. 49. P. Gautier, 'L'édit d'Alexis 1er Comnène sur la réforme du clergé,' REB, 31 (1973), 165-201, esp. 197. Tiftixoglu, 'Gruppenbildungen', 55, assigns an exceedingly important role to this law in its function of raising the educational level of the cathedral clergy and sees a connection between the law and the flowering of rhetoric and literature in the twelfth century. 50. The best account of his career, known almost exclusively from the difficult-todate orations and letters of Theodore Prodromos, Nikephoros Basilakes and George Tomikes, is that by J. Darrouzes, Georges et Demetrios Tornikès, Lettres et Discours (Paris, 1970), 53-7. For Aristenos' rhetorical skills, see A. Garzya (ed.), Nicephori Basilacae orationes et epistolae, (Leipzig, 1984), 10-25. Prodromos, letters: PG, 133, 1262 B..1264 A. For his work in the courts: Prodromos, PG, 133, 1246 B; Balsamon, commentary on canon 37, council in Trullo: RP, II, 389 and no.l.

71

RUTH MACRIDES

functions — nomophylax, protekdikos, dikaiodotes?1 — and undertook a mission of a judicial nature to Greece.52 He is also attested as orphanotrophos and megas oikonomos, the title with which he is last mentioned in 1166.53 His career is the best exam­ ple of a twelfth-century churchman who served both church and state in a judicial capacity.54 His commentary on the canons is dated to the reign of John II Komnenos.55 John Zonaras, held the titles of megas droungarios, head of one of the civil courts in Constantinople, and protasekretis,56 before he took monastic vows, retreating to a self-imposed exile, as he claims.57 It was as a monk that he wrote a chronicle which deals 51. For his title of dikaiodotes, head of one of the four civil courts in Constantino­ ple in the twelfth century, see the letter of Tornikes, George and Demetrios Tornikes, 175-6. Aristenos was forced to reliquish the position: Balsamon, commentary on canon 6 of the Holy Apostles, RP, II, 9; George and Demetrios Tornikes, 56. 52. Basilakes, 22,24-23,12; Prodromos, PG, 133, 1246 A, 1274 B; George and Demetrios Tornikes, 54-5. 53. George and Demetrios Tornikes, 56; Balsamon on canon 6 of the Holy Apostles, RP, II, 9; synod of 1166: S.N. Sakkos, Ό πατήρ μου μείζων μου έστιν: Έριδες και σύνοδοι κατά τον ιβ αιώνα, (Thessalonika, І966), 155, (the hypertimos and megas oikonomos Alexios). 54. Prodromos and Basilakes emphasise the honour paid to Aristenos' competence by his appointment to serve both the civil and ecclesiastical courts: καΐ δυσί. . . τοις βήμασι, τω ΐερατικφ φημί, καί βασιλικω, συ τοις άμφοτέροις μόνος απάντων έμπρέπειν έλαχες (PG, 133,1274 A). Even so, Darrouzès, in George and Demetrios Tornikes, 55, and others perhaps overstress the fact that Aristenos, a deacon of the Great Church, had a 'civil' judiciary mission. The demarcation between 'civil' and 'ecclesiastical' is much less pronounced in such cases than is thought. See the com­ ments above on the dikaiophylax and the case which Aristenos argued before the 'imperial bema': Balsamon on canon 37, council in Trullo: RP, II, 389 and n.l. 55. N.van der Wal and J.H. A. Lokin, Historiae iurisgraeco-romani delineatio (Gron­ ingen, 1985), 108; Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 657; Troianos, 148. For the text of his commentary: RP, II-IV (=PG, 137-138). 56. Almost everything known about Zonaras' life derives from the lemmata and prooimia to his chronicle and commentary on the canons. For his titles: loannis Zonarae Annales, ed. M. Pinder, 3 vols. (Bonn, 1841), I, 3; RP, II, 1; for their func­ tions in the twelfth century: R. Macrides, 'Justice under Manuel I Komnenos: Four novels on court business and murder', Fontes Minores, 6 (1985), 181 and references. (Zonaras was not 'commander of the imperial guard' as megas droungarios, as all modern discussions of his career would have it. By the twelfth century the megas droungarios was head of a court.) 57. Zonaras, I, 3, 4ff., 8, 12-14. It is generally throught that Zonaras served Alex­ ios I, who receives detailed treatment in his chronicle, as megas droungarios and/votesekretis, and that he took monastic vows upon John IPs accession because he had supported the 'opposition' party led by Anna Komnena. This is, however, based on

72

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

with events from the creation of the world to the death of Alexios I (1118), a work remarkable for the interest in and knowledge of Roman history which it reveals, and its outspoken criticism of the tyranny of the emperor.58 Zonaras' commentary on the canons was also written after he took monastic vows and at someone's bidding.59 His exegesis contains the only datable reference for his life. In his commentary on canon 7 of the council of Neokaisareia, Zonaras refers to the emperor's second marriage from which it can be inferred that he did not complete the work until after 1161, the date of Manuel Γ s remarriage.60 The most important commentary and the one on which modern evaluations of the relationship of nomos and kanon in Byzantium are based, is that of Theodore Balsamon, nomophylax, char­ tophylax of the Great Church and after 1185, titular patriarch of Antioch.61 He was commissioned by the emperor Manuel Komnenos and the patriarch Michael of Anchialos (1170-1178) to write an exegesis not only of the canons but also for the Nomokanon in XIV Titles.62 The specific case which occasioned the commission is reported by Balsamon in his commentary on Nomokanon 1,9.63 The patriarch Michael, having failed to press the metropolitan of Amaseia to appoint a bishop to the vacant a hypothesis of K. Ziegler, 'Zonaras', in RE, 2nd ser. 19 (1972), cols. 718-23. If the reference to the emperor's second marriage (see n.60) is indeed by Zonaras and not a later interpolation, it could place his career later than previously thought. 58. P. Magdalino, 'Kaiserkritik', 326-46; H. Hunger, Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der Byzantiner, I (Munich, 1978), 416-18. 59. RP. II, 2,1-3. He claims also in the prooimion to his chronicle that friends urg­ ed him to write it. See Zonaras, 4-8. 60. RP, III, 80: Άλλα ταΰτα έν γράμμασιν ήμΐν δέ και πατριάρχης ώφθη, και μητρωπωλϊται διάφοροι, συνεστιώμενοι δευτερογαμήσαντι βασιλεΐ. F. Chalandon, Les Comnène, II, 2 (Paris, 1912, repr. New York, 1962), 474. 61. For Balsamon' career, see E. Herman, 'Balsamon', in DDC, II, cols. 76-83. Balsamon is first attested as nomophylax and chartophylax in a document of 1177 (Grumel, Regestes, no. 1134). His two predecessors as chartophylax in the patriar­ chate of Michael of Anchialos (1170-1178) were Samuel Mauropous (Grumel, Regestes, no.1108, [1170]) and Eustathios Chantrenos (Grumel, Regestes, no. 1125 [1172]). 62. Balsamon describes the commission in his prooimion to the commentary: RP, I, 31-3; Grumel, Regestes, no.1136. The date of the commission is unknown but it may have been the occasion for Balsamon's appointment as chartophylax which took place some time between 1172 and 1177 (see no.61). 63. RP, I, 49-50; Grumel, Regestes, no. 1135.

73

RUTH MACRIDES

see to Amisos, proceeded to make the appointment himself. In justification of his action, he cited a chapter of Justinianic novel which was in the Nomokanon. He was told by some that this law had not been included in the Basilika and that it was therefore invalid but the patriarch insisted that it could not be right to annul what was written in the Nomokanon, for the church held this to be a God-written tablet. It was only when the patriarch heard that he was wrong from the emperor's own lips and the prominent members of the senate that he sought to have the Nomokanon in­ terpreted and clarified. Inclusion of a law in the Basilika was therefore henceforth to be the criterion for the validity of laws promulgated before the last 'purification' undertaken in the eleventh century.64 In addition to clarifying the position of the Justimanic novels vis à vis the Basilika, Balsamon was to bring the work up-to-date by citing laws and synodal acts issued since the Basilika. He was also to undertake the whole task for the col­ lection of canons, interpreting whatever was unclear, and whenever canon and law seemed to contradict each other.65 Those who have studied Balsamon's commentary have examined it for what it can tell us about the emperor's position in the church and the relationship of nomos and kanon. They have concluded that Balsamon is the emperor's man, that he supports and cham­ pions imperial prerogatives over the church. They point out the tell-tale signs: that Balsamon quotes more imperial laws than synodal decisions, that in cases of conflict between nomos and kanon it is nomos that wins. They explain that after all the emperor had appointed Balsamon to write the commentary and Balsamon was dependent on the emperor for promotion.66 64. Balsamon, in the prooimion to the Nomokanon, refers to the 'last purification of the laws' (τελευταίαν άνακάρθασιν) which took place under the emperor Constantine Porphyrogennetos: RP, I, 32. The most recent study of the problem con­ firms that there were versions of the Basilika, one promulgated under Leo VI in the tenth century, the other, a more abridged version, in the eleventh century under Con­ stantine VIII. It is this later version to which Balsamon réfers. See Schminck, Studien, 33-54; Troianos. Oi πηγές, 107-10. 65. RP, I, 32-3. 66. Beck, 'Nomos, Kanon und Staatsraison', 3-60, esp. 16-20; Tiftixoglu, 'Grup­ penbildungen,' 58-9 and n.217: ' . . the idea of the extensive subjection to the emperor runs like a leitmotif through his commentaries, etc.': A.P. Kazhdan and A. Wharton

74

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

Leaving this thorny problem aside for the moment, I would like to widen the inquiry to include a discussion of other aspects of the commentary which can give us insight into the church of the twelfth century. Balsamon's work is a continuous dialogue with his readers. It is full of observations from his experience over 20 years, knowledge gained as chartophylax and titular patriarch of Antioch,67 information gathered from research into the archives of the chartophylakeion and from discussion with men educated in civil and canon law. His commentary reveals to the reader laws and patriarchal decisions not otherwise known,68 contemporary practices, controversial subjects at the patriarchate and conflicts of opinion. It can be studied for all of these aspects but also and especially for his method.69 First of all it must be said that this method differs completely from that of Aristenos and Zonaras whose work Balsamon knew.70 Although all three were writing in the twelfth century and Epstein, Change in Byzantine culture in the eleventh and twelfth centuries (Berkeley and London, 1985), 148; I.S. Mpouas, Βυζαντινοί έρμηνευταί και ιεροί κανόνες, Έκκ.Φαρ., 32 (1933), 248-55. 67. Balsamon himself refers to the span of his career in his commentary on canon 1, first council of Nicąea: RP, II, 116: 'And this was discussed by many in synod both when I was chartophylax and also after I became patriarch.' The last datable law he mentions is a chrysobull of 1193 of Isaac I Angelos: RP, II, 248. There are many instances of a second commentary, added sometime later by Balsamon when he returned to the subject to fill in with a case which Had since come up in synod (e.g. on canon 68 of St. Basil, RP, IV, 223,10 ff.; canon 34 of Trullo, RP, II, 383,13ff.) or which he had since found in the chartophylakeion (A. Schminck, 'Drei Patriarchalschreiben aus der ersten Hälfter des 13. Jahrhunderts', Fontes Minores, 5 (1982), 204 and no.64). 68. According to Troianos, Oi πηγές 150, 27 of the 93 post-Justinianic novels men­ tioned by Balsamon are known only from him. For a breakdown of these laws see E. Papayianni and S.Troianos, Διατάζεις τής πολιτειακής νομοθεσίας έίς το έρμηνευτικόν έργον των Άριστηνοϋ, Ζωναρά καί Βαλσαμώνος, Επ.Ετ.Βυζ.Σπ., 45 (1981-82), 201-21. 69. This has been studied in most detail by G.P. Stevens, De Theodore Balsamone: Analysis operum ac mentis iuridicae (Rome, 1969). 70. There is more direct evidence for Balsamon's knowledge of Zonaras than of Aristenos. Most often Balsamon takes over whole passages of Zonaras' work (see below, p.77). Sometimes he cites Zonaras directly (canon 50 of St. Basil, RP, IV, 204: 'as Zonaras says'; also canon 36 of the Holy Apostles, RP, II, 49). Elsewhere, he refers to this work in a roundabout way: Others have understood the canon . . .' (RP, III, 582), or 'some tried to say . . .' (RP, II, 478). For Balsamon's knowledge of Aristenos' work, see canon 17 of Ankyra: RP, III, 56-8.

75

RUTH MACRIDES

had received the same kind of education, each commentator shows an independent style and approach. Aristenos' work, probably the earliest of the three, is the most concise. Where Zonaras and Balsamon might write a page-long commentary, Aristenos gives a pithy one-line summary followed by the word σαφής, 'clear'.71 He rarely cites a law and even more rarely does he intrude into his commentary with a personal statement.72 Zonaras who had a career as a civil judge until he took monastic vows and retreated from public life, infrequently cites a law in his commentary.73 He gives a paraphrase of the canon and clarifies its meaning but rarely makes any reference to practices of his lifetime.74 When he does, however, it is all the more strik­ ing. He complains, for instance, about the excessive variety of styles of chanting in his time75 and he describes certain pagan practices of divination still in use,76 but most vehement of all and perhaps most revealing is his long description of the grooming fashions of his day, in the commentary to canon 96 of the council in Trullo: What could be a more peculiar and superfluous adornment than to plait the hairs of one's head . . .? Then (τότε), it seems, they acted no differently with regard to their hair than now, dyeing it and braiding it and making every effort to let their hair grow long and wear feminine locks, reaching as far as their waists, if possible . . . They shape their hair with reeds so that it may

71. E.g. the commentary on canons 47 and 85 of Trullo: RP, II, 416-19, 498-503, where the contrast is particularly striking. For Aristenos' style of commenting, in another context, the synod of 1166, see Sakkos, (as cited in n.53), 149,24-32: 'the hypertimos and megas oikonomos said, "I had a great deal to say . . . but I shall confine myself . . ." ' A notable exception to Aristenos' usual concise commentary is to be found on canon 21 of Gangra which differs from Zonaras' (and Balsamon's identical commentary), is very long for Aristenos and introduces information on the practices and beliefs of the Euchitai: RP, HI, 117-21. 72. An exception is his commentary on canon 2 of Sardika where he states that the measure is alien and awful and not to be found anywhere else in the canons for any other sin: RP, III, 233. 73. See the analysis of laws cited by Zonaras in Papayianni-Troianos, (as cited in No.68), 204-20, and the discussion by Troianos, Oi πηγές 147. See infra, p.77 and no.80. 74. See, for instance, his commentary on canon 100 of Trullo where the entire state­ ment is in the past tense, while Balsamon's shows its contemporary relevance: RP, II, 545-6. 75. Canon 75 Trullo: RP, II, 479. 76. Canon 65 Trullo: RP, II, 457.

76

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT become curly, and they dye it to make it blonde and golden. They soak their hair and let it see the sun in the height of summer so that the darkness of the hair may be lightened. Then, there are those who put on false locks, shav­ ing off their own natural hair. And hair is now so arranged and prepared by most people.

It has been said of Zonaras that he used his exegesis of the canons to political ends, to express a demand for limitation on autocratic power.78 Certainly in his chronicle his political views are express­ ed in no uncertain terms but from his canonical commentary one could never guess that he had been a civil judge, for even more striking than his criticism of imperial power,79 is his infrequent citation of law. The latter could be attributed more to the fact that it was not appropriate to his task of commenting on the canons rather than to any deliberate ideological statement on his part.80 It was after all only Balsamon who was specifically engaged to bring the laws into play with the canons. Although Balsamon knew Zonaras' commentary and sometimes refers to it explicitly or follows it closely in the paraphrase of the canon, he branches out considerably thereafter in a number of ways.81 It is not only that he cites Justinianic laws in the Basilika which are related to the canon, and also post-Basilika legisla­ tion.82 His entire method is different. He engages in a discussion with his readers and gives them directives: 'Note', 'Do not say', or 'say x, nor y'. His commentary is a dialectic and its method 77. RP, II, 534-5 esp. 534, 6-27. For the social significance of the ţemarks, see H.G. Beck, 'Formes de non-conformisme à Byzance', BAcBelg, 65 (1979), 313-29. 78. Kazhdan and Epstein, Change in Byzantine culture, 148. 79. For criticism in the chronicle, see above p.73 and no.58; in the commentary, RP, II, 260-1, 282, 466. 80. Van der Wal and Lokin, Delineatio, 109, suggest that the relative paucity of laws cited by Zonaras (see no.73 above) can be attributed to his comparative isola­ tion in a monastery outside Constantinople whre imperial novels and patriarchal decrees would not have been readily available. Certainly, in the prooimion to his chronicle, Zonaras speaks of his retreat 'in this remoteness' (Zonaras, 8, 13-14) and mentions his concern over the problem of obtaining the many books necessary for writing his chronicle (7, 9-13; 8, 12-13). 81. The dependence has been noted (Herman, 'Balsamon', 78; Troianos, Βάλσαμων) in Παγκόσμιο Βιογραφικό Λεξικό, II (Athens), 165; Stevens, De Theodore Balsamone, 84-85) and different conclusions drawn. 82. See Papayianni-Troianos, (as cited in no.68), 201-21, for the range of Balsamon's citations.

77

RUTH MACRIDES

is related to the teaching practices of his time, with emphasis on discussion and debate.83 Balsamon's exposition begins with a paraphrase of the canon, providing an explanation of key words or phrases in their historical context, and then proceeds to obser­ vations on the passage which take the form of questions and answers. There are hypothetical questions and those he had heard posed in the synod or in informal discussions. A very similar ap­ proach can be found in the Ecloga (lib. I-Х) Basilicorum, ateachingcommentary on the first 10 books of the Basilika which dates to 1142.84 In that work of exegesis also the same expository pro­ cedure can be found: a paraphrase of the law is given, questions and dilemmas are posed and resolved. A series of directions punc­ tuate and discourse: 'See', 'Know that.'85 In his commentary, Balsamon anticipates problems and loopholes, trying to ensure that the way around a canon is closed. In a canon prohibiting laymen, praktores, archontes or judges from hitting or jailing a bishop, without reason or with a pretext, Balsamon says, 'Hearing the canon say . . . "without reason", do not say conversely that when lay archontes have a good reason they can beat and imprison bishops.'86 On canon 70 of the Council in Trullo on women who should be silent during the holy 83. Kazhdan and Epstein, Change in Byzantine culture, 123-6, draw attention to a change in teaching techniques in the eleventh century. One of the best illustrations of discussion and dispute in the learning process in the twelfth century is Nicholas Mesarites' description of the school at the church of the Holy Apostles: ed. and trans. G. Downey, 'Description of the Church of the Holy Apostles at Constantinople', TAPS, n.s.47 (1957), XLII, 2.6.9; XLIII, 1-3. The only evidence for the way in which law was taught derives from the commentaries on nomos and kanon. 84. L. Burgmann, ed., Ecloga Basilicorum (Frankfurt, 1988), passim. See also his comments on the text in 'Vier Richter des 12. Jahrhunderts', JOB, 32/2 (1982), 369-72. 85. Van der Wal and Lokin, Delineatio, 107, suggest, without further elaboration or demonstration, that the anonymous author of the Ecloga Basilicorum borrowed the 'plan and system' of his work from Aristenos' commentary on the canons. Aristenos' approach is, however, totally different; there is no discussion or dialogue in his commentary. The Ecloga has, in fact, much more in common with Balsamon's method, not because of any direct borrowing by the canonist but rather because of a common teaching-commenting method from which they both drew. For another example of this method see the scholia to the Basilika, with their summaries of the law, explanations and directions: Basilicorum Libri LX, series B, Scholia, eds. H.J. Scheltema, D. Holwerda, N. van der Wal, vols. I-IX (Groningen, 1953-1985). 86. Canon 3 of the synod in Hagia Sophia (879/80): RP, II, 710-12 (esp. 711,30-712,2).

78

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

liturgy, Balsamon comments, 'This being ordained thus, do not say that women are hindered from speaking during the liturgy but that they can talk unimpeded during the other ecclesiastical ser­ vices.'87 On canon 12 of Antioch, on the right of appeal of bishops and clergymen to all higher courts except the emperor's, Balsamon forsees a problem, poses the question and answers it. He who has been deposed by the synod in Thessalonika or Ephesos will have to go to the patriarch as the higher court of appeal. But he who has been condemned by the patriarch will have nowhere to turn for help. Will he be punished for going to the emperor? Yes, says Balsamon, because there is no appeal against the patriarch's decision.88 Balsamon's commentary is an excellent source for contemporary practices because he constantly draws attention to the relevance of a canon for his own times. For instance, for those who remark that canon 81 of St Basil no longer applies because in their day orthodoxy is secure on a firm rock, Balsamon replies that the canon can be adapted to the problems caused by the conquests of the Muslims.89 Commenting on canon 68 of Trullo forbidding the destruction of Holy Scripture or sale to a book dealer for erasure or destruction, Balsamon instructs his reader: 'Note this canon for book dealers who erase parchments of the Holy Scripture and do not accept those who say it is desirable to erase one book of the Holy Scripture in order to transcribe another.'90 On canon 103 of Carthage stating that priests should abide by the approved prayers, Balsamon reveals that various archbishops had been suspended from service for pronouncing encomiastic prayers at the memosyna of noblemen and magnates. Furthermore their prayers were sometimes in iambic verse. Likewise anagnostai had turned the epitaphios into an epigamion by the way in which they sang at memosyna with instrumental accompaniment.91

87. RP, II, 467-9 (esp. 468, 18-21). 88. RP, III, 146-50 (esp. 147,7-21); discussion by Tiftixoglu, 'Gruppenbildungen', 67-8 and J. Darrouzès, Documents inédits d'ecclésiologie byzantine (Paris, 1966), 75-83. 89. RP, IV, 245-7 (esp. 247, 13-20). 90. RP, II, 463-5 (esp. 465, 16-20). 91. RP, III, 550-2 (esp. 551,4-13).

79

RUTH MACRIDES

Balsamon also shows how a canon could be applied to solve a dispute raging at the patriarchate. On canon 37 of Trullo on heads of churches who are not able to go to their sees because of barbarian conquests, Balsamon says, 'Note this canon for those who say that the patriarchs of Antioch and Jerusalem and the rest who have not managed to reach their churches and be enthroned are not able to give judgement in ecclesiastical matters in synod, or to ordain, or to perform any priestly function. This will check them.92 In this connection Balsamon identifies one of those people who have made the claim: the hypertimos Alexios Aristenos had argued against the right of the patriarch of Jerusalem, Nikephoros, to give judgement in synod and people believed him, not knowing any better. This incident reveals the in-fighting which went on not only among cathedral clergy like Aristenos and Balsamon but also between members of the permanent synod and cathedral clergy.93 Another way in which contemporary practices are-brought into the commentary are Balsamon's utterances of indignation or sur­ prise at anti-canonical behaviour. It is most frequently Latin prac­ tices which anger Balsamon.94 'It seems that they follow customs more than canons,'95 he comments. They allow laymen and women to enter the sanctuary and also to sit while priests are stand­ ing and officiating.96 They fast on Saturdays during Lent.97 They marry their affines with no qualms.98 Balsamon's indignation may have been fuelled in part by the fact that a Latin patriarch was enthroned at Antioch, his own titular see. Balsamon also reveals differences of opinion and controversies which were current in ecclesiastical circles and outside the church. 92. RP, II, 388-91 (esp. 389, 22-30 and n.l). 93. See Tiftixoglu, 'Gruppenbildungen', 25-72. For more evidence of conflict within the cathedral clergy, see below p.83 and n.l 14. 94. See the list in Stevens, De Theodoro Balsamom, 14. Note also Balsamon's harsh verdict on Latin prisoners' receiving holy communion from the orthodox: RP, V, 434-5; discussion by Darrouzès, 'Les réponses canoniques de Jean de Kitros', REB, 31 (1973), 325, 331-2. 95. Canon 55 Trullo: RP, II, 434-5 (esp. 435, 22-23). 96. Canon 69 Trullo: RP, II, 466-7 (esp. 466, 21-24). 97. Canon 55 Trullo: RP, II, 434-5. 98. Canon 79 of St Basil: RP, IV, 241-2, (esp. 242, 25-26).

80

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

These are introduced by the words τινές λέγουσι ( 'some say') and γέγονε πολλάκις αμφιβολία ('there was often uncertainty'), or πολλών τοϋτο ζητησάντων συνοδικώς ('many discussed this in synod'). In his commentary he summarises all the opinions, and finally gives his own. Subjects which were much debated were the question of the rebaptism of children taken prisoner by Muslims and then sold to Christians," whether to punish those who aban­ doned their infants at the entrances to churches,100 the appropriate length of time for raising a layman to ecclesiastical office.101 Some issues which Balsamon identifies as controversial, like that of bishops who have left their sees and reside in Con­ stantinople for extended periods of time, do not surprise us because they can also be identified as a problem in other sources of the time.102 However, others do, such as whether clerics are to be allowed to be castrated because of illness.103 In writing his commentary Balsamon drew from discussions he had had with bishops, holy men and others104 but also from bis memory of cases which had come before the synod.105 He refers 99. Canon 84 Trullo: RP, II, 496-9 (esp. 497-8). 100. Canon 33 of St Basil: RP, IV, 171-6. 101. Canon 17 of the primasecunda council of Constantinople: RP, II, 701-4 (esp.702-4). 102. Canon 16 Antioch: RP, HI, 154-7 (esp. 155-7); commentary on Nomokanon 8,2 (RP, I, 149-53); Darrouzès, 'Decret inédit de Manuel Comnène', REB, 31 (1973), 307-17; Tiftixoglu, 'Gruppenbildungen', 25-53. 103. Canon 1 of the first council of Nicaea: RP, II, 114-16. This question was much debated in synod throughout Balsamon's career, both when he was chartophylax and as patriarch of Antioch (116,13-16). Balsamon states that 'apprehension of the dangerous outcome of the treatment' was the reason for reluctance to allow it. On the dangers, see E. Kislinger, 'Der Kranke Justin II. und die ärztliche Haftung bei Operationen in Byzanz', JöB, 36 (1986), 39-44, esp. 42. 104. Canon 30 Trullo, RP, II, 370,26-29: 'I asked various bishops about this, those who came from Russia but also the metropolitan of Alania . . .'; canon 60 Trullo, RP, II, 441,23ff.: 'I am not voicing my private opinion but (I have it) from the reports of good men . . .'; canon 55 Trullo, RP, II, 435, 14ff.: 'I have seen some Latins accused of this . . . ' ; canon 67 Trullo, RP, II, 463,17-18: 'The people of Adrianople, as I hear . . .'; canon 7, Carthage, RP, HI, 315, 1-2: 'The patriarch Michael who was hypatos ton philosophon used to say . . .' 105. Canon 44 Trullo, RP, II, 410, 17ff.: 'For I knew in the days of the most holy patriarch kyr Loukas a monk called Leo Mouzakes who appeared before the synod in the clothes of a soldier . . .'; canon 61 Trullo, RP, II, 446, 4ff.: 'If I had the time to communicate all the cases I saw tried in synod, I would narrate a great report about

81

RUTH MACRIDES

often to these to support his interpretation of a canon. He men­ tions, too, documents which he found in the chartophylakeion. The synodal records he cites range from the sixth to the twelfth centuries but the heaviest concentration of acts dates from the patriarchates of Luke Chrysoberges (1157-1169/70) and his suc­ cessor Michael of Anchialos (1170-1178)106 which coincide with the years of Balsamon's service in the Great Church as a deacon and later, in the 1170s as chartophylax. The post-Justinianic legisla­ tion which Balsamon cites likewise ranges from the seventh to the late twelfth centuries but he most frequently refers to the laws of Leo VI, Alexios I, and Manuel I,107 all three emperors who adopted a dominant, not to say domineering position in church affairs.108 Thus Balsamon's research into synodal acts and civil laws shows that he basically used the most obvious sources and those most easily accessible to him. To return now to the question of the relationship of nomos and kanon in Balsamon's commentary and what this can reveal about the strength and presence of the church in Byzantium. First of all it is clear that very little tension is evident in Balsamon's work. Canon and law are neatly laid side by side109 and where a conthese things.'; canon 72 Trailo, RP, II, 473, 19ff.: 'This happened in the time of the most holy patriarch kyr Theodotos.'; canons 43 and 74 of St Basil, RP, IV, 191, Uff-, 237, 13f. 106. See Stevens, De Theodore Balsamom, 139-41, for a list of the number of documents Balsamon quotes for each patriarch, from John Nesteutes (582-95) to Niketas Muntanes (1186-89): 24 for Loukas, followed by 13 for Michael of Anchialos. These by far outnumber the documents cited for other patriarchs. 107. Stevens, op. cit., 137-9, from Heraclius to Isaac II: Leo VI: 41 laws; Alexios I: 12; Manuel I: 24. 108. For Leo VI, see Schminck, Studien, 80-107; for Alexios, M. Angold, The Byzan­ tine Empire 1025-1204 (London and New York, 1984), 114-23; for Manuel, P. Magdalino, 'The Byzantine holy man in the twelfth century', in The Byzantine saint, éd. S. Hackel (London, 1981), 51-64, esp. 62-4; R. Macrides, 'Justice under Manuel I Komnenos', 99-204, esp. 182-204. 109. D. Simon, Die Bussbescheide des Erzbischofs Chomatian von Ochriď, JöB, 37 (1987), 325-75, esp. 271-2, draws attention to the same procedure in decisions issued by Chomatianos who used Balsamon's commentary and had a good knowledge of civil and canon law: 'Diese Trennung ist eine rein genetische und formale. Sie dient dazu, eine inhaltliche Beschreibung der Normfolgen zu ermöglichen.' See his com­ ments on Chomatianos' knowledge of the law in 'Nomotriboumenoi', Satura Roberto Feenstra, eds. J.A. Ankum, J.E. Spruit, F.B.J. Wubbe (Freiburg, 1985), 279-80.

82

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

tradiction might appear, Balsamon is quick to point out that it only seems to be a contradiction, really canon and law are deal­ ing with different aspects of the same thing.110 Equally, however, in his commentary one finds little indication of cooperation be­ tween church and state. The church does not recognise physical punishment; it heals and it applies its healing remedies, epitimia, in accordance with the quality of the sin but also taking into con­ sideration the person's age, occupation and disposition to repent. The state, on the other hand, has a totally different approach to these matters.111 However, Balsamon indicates that the church might on occasion hand over to civil officials people guilty of forgery, treason, sacrilege or a dogmatic fault who have not been persuaded to make a clean confession and name accomplices.112 From the pages of Balsamon's commentary one would never guess that the Great Church in the twelfth century was providing asylum to people who confessed to killing and was protecting them from physical and material damage at the hands of civil officials. Manuel I's novel of 1166 vehemently attacks the practice and states that those who have sought asylum are to be handed over to receive the punishments of civil law. If the thirteenth century cases from the registers of the archbishop of Ochrid, Chomatianos, and the metropolitan of Naupaktos, Apokaukos, are anything to go by, the church retained the practice and the right.113 Balsamon's silence on the subject could well be connected with the rivalry be­ tween the chartophylax and the protekdikos which his treatise on the two offices reveals.114 110. E.g. canon 41 Trullo, RP, II, 403-5: 'Some say that the novel contradicts the canon. It seems to me that the canon was pronounced for hermitages, the novel for those who have cells in cenobitic monasteries and there is a great difference between the two regulations and therefore the things defined do not contradict each other.' (405, 15-19); also, canon 93 Trullo (RP, II, 523-7), canon 6, primasecunda Constantinople (RP, II, 670, 17-671, 18). 111. Nomokanon 9, 25 (RP, I, 188-91, esp. 191, 11-13): 'I know no canon that ever permitted punishment, since ecclesiastical law has never known physical punishment, but rather the civil. . .'; canon 9primasecunda Constantinople (RP, II, 680-2); canon 43 of St. Basil (RP, IV, 190-1). 112. Canon 5, Antioch (RP, III, 137, 16-22). 113. R. Macrides, 'Killing, asylum and the law'. 114. RP, IV, 530-41; Darrouzès, Offlkia, 338-44. In this work he makes claims for a court of the chartophylax which have little basis in reality. His commentary on

83

RUTH MACRIDES

In conclusion, it should be said that Balsamon does not show one uniform approach to the question of the emperor's position and rights in the church. There are instances of his support of im­ perial prerogatives and his admission of patriarchal impotence. On canon 56 of Carthage he states, 'It was decided in synod that even this great synod cannot create a new bishopric without an imperial prostaxis.'115 Or, there was the case of the abbot who had received an imperial prostaxis to allow him to transfer his case to a secular court. 'The patriarch Luke expressed great indigna­ tion at this, making a great effort to set right what had happened. He heard from the civil judges that imperial power is capable of everything.'116 But equally Balsamon holds very firmly to the principle that the patriarch's court is the final court of appeal and to the ex­ clusive right of ecclesiastical courts to try the cases of church­ men.117 Certainly he cites more imperial laws than synodal deci­ sions and he sometimes says that the law should win over the canon but these are most often laws which support the church.118 Balsamon's commentary shows an ability to argue both sides of the case depending on the circumstances. There are many in­ stances of this 'flexibility'. Although, for example, the starting point of the commentary was that any law not included in the Basilika was no longer valid, he argues on canon 17 of the pnmasecunda council of Constantinople, 'If it does not hinder that this novel was not included in the Basilika, the ambiguity concer­ ning laymen is resolved for the time being.'119 But on canon 48 canon 9, second council of Nicaea (RP, II, 586-7), also shows a forced attempt to show the equivalence of chartophylakeion and episkopeion and in this manner to raise the importance and prestige of the chartophylax. 115. RP, III, 455, 14-16. 116. Canon 15, Carthage: RP, III, 336, 15-18. 117. See above p.79 and n.88; canon 15 Carthage: RP, III, 333-340. 118. E.g. canon 12 Antioch: RP, III, 149, 2-6: 'Then, too, the novel of Justinian on the exegesis of this canon which ordains that no one is to speak out against the patriarchal vote, is sufficient to check those (who object) forever.'; also, canon 131 Carthage (RP, III, 601-2). The significance of the greater number of imperial laws cited by Balsamon must be qualified by an examination of the context of the cita­ tions and by other factors, such as the ecclesiastical origin of the requests for some of the legislation. 119. RP, 11,703, 21-23.

84

NOMOS AND KANON ON PAPER AND IN COURT

of Trullo he says of a novel of Justinian, 'We say that the provisons of this novel have become invalid, even though they were included in the Basilika, and that the present canon is effec­ tive.'120 Futhermore, although the principle that later canons are to be preferred over earlier ones holds in general in his work, on canon 15 of Antioch Balsamon states, This canon was annulled by the fourth canon of the synod of Sardika but if you do not want to say that, interpret the canon as was stated above and say >121

These few examples show how complex is the work of inter­ preting Balsamon's commentary and the limitations which this puts on any conclusions we might like to draw concerning the role and strength of the church in Byzantine society. The problem of in­ terpreting his writings seems to have been one which his contem­ poraries also had, according to John, bishop of Kitros, writing to Constantine Kabasilas, metropolitan of Dyrrachion in the first half of the thirteenth century: 'It remains for us to say reasonably that the said writings ought to be read by he who knows precisely the complexity of the law and has been trained scientifically in the manifold convolutions of canonical summaries. Such a per­ son knows precisely what is unassailable and what is not exactly as it appears written in these.'122 Balsamon's ability to argue both sides of the case was never­ theless a characteristic he shared with his civil counterparts.123 They were all products of the same rhetorical training. The tools of rhetoric and oikonomia,m used by both church and state, were the great levellers of the differences between nomos and kanon. 120. RP, II, 422, 25-27. See, too, n.114 on Balsamon's arguments in favour of the chartophylakeion, and his treatise supporting the (uncanonical) transfer of bishops, written as patriarch of Antioch when he believed that Isaac II was going to appoint him patriarch of Constantinople: RP, V, 391-4; Chômâtes, 406, 41-408, 90; Beck, 'Nomos, Kanon und Staatsräson', 17 and n.3; Tifixoglu, 'Gruppenbildungen', 60-72. 121. RP, III, 153-4. 122. RP, V, 418-9; J. Darrouzès, 'Les responses canoniques de Jean de Kitros', REB 31 (1973), 319-34, esp. 330, and discussion by D. Simon, 'Fragen an Johannes von Kitros', 'Αφιέρωμα στονΝ. Σβορώνο, I. (Rethymno, 1986), 258-79, esp. 265-6; ibid., 'Nomotriboumenoi', (as cited in n.109), 273-83. 123. See the discussion above p.71, and n.48. 124. On oikonomia, see N. Oikonomidès, 'The "Peira" of Eustathios Rhomaios', 185; Beck, 'Nomos, Kanon und Staatsraison', 40 and n.97.

85

86

Indissolubility and the 'greater eviF. Three thirteenth-century Byzantine divorce cases PATRICIA KARLIN-HAYTER Of recent years, the records of cases that came before the Byzan­ tine courts and the sentences given have begun to receive con­ siderable attention; I propose to look at a small number of divorce cases that came before the archbishop of Ochrid, Demetrios Chomatianos in the thirteenth century. They illustrate the dif­ ferent attitude of the Church towards divorce in the East and in the West. They also throw a little light on marriage. Though divorce cannot be considered a simple negative of marriage, the documents in which these cases are recorded constitute the 'hardest' data available on the attitude of the Church towards marriage and the married, and of her praticai effect on conjugal life. They bear implicit witness to what marriage stood for in the eyes of the judge, and sometimes of one of the partners. They do not tell us what was the dominant attitude of the society to which these couples belonged, but they do reveal attitudes that could be and were present in that society. The documentation is very sparse: a few motivated episcopal or synodal decisions, a few letters instructing a suffragan how to proceed. Not only limited, the data is also heaped. As Laiou pointed out in a very rich and stimulating article,1 the only two 1. Angeliki E. Laiou, 'Contribution à l'étude de l'institution familiale en Epire au XlIIe siècle', Fontes Minores, 6, (1984), 275-323. The considerable material con­ cerned with matrimonial and paramatrimonial problems, not only from Chomatianos but also Apokaukos, is methodically sifted. The article's principal interest is the evidence on concubinage, and we may well have to re-examine some time-honoured assumptions about Byzantine reality. Divorce is also looked at, but from an essen-

87

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

sources to supply a significant number of cases are contem­ poraries, acting in the western territories of the Empire, at a date when contact with Constantinople was severed and the different parts of the Empire thrown back upon themselves. These are the Ponemata of Demetrios Chomatianos, archbishop of Ochrid and Primate of Bulgaria from 1217-1235, and letters and other documents from the pen of John Apokaukos, Metropolitan of Naupaktos from before 1204 to 1233.2 Space being short, I shall confine myself to Chomatianos, and to a small number of his cases, endeavouring rather to estimate his representativity and, above all, his theoretical approach, both in his legally based lyseis and to others, of which he himself writes: In strict observation of the law there is no way of getting a divorce in this case — yet proceeds to grant it, lest evil be crowned with a worse evil? I have raised the point of the origin of most of our documen­ tation in the western parts of the Empire; in the case of Choma­ tianos, the population is largely slav, and ancient custom still in competition with Christian Byzantine law as the norm. Lai ou has made the essential point that it would be unwise to postulate for distant areas what is attested for Epiros. In the case of divorce, however, the problem was common to the whole oikoumene: how was the Church to administer an area of civil law that was in apparent conflict with the canons? The theological aspect of the question had been debated at least since Origen. Neither

tially sociological viewpoint with which the present paper is not concerned. For fur­ ther bibliogrpahy, see also, N. Oikonomidès, 'The "Peira" of Eustathios Rhomaios', for the theoretical approach to another famous and discerning judge ('As D. Simon has already stressed, there is no way to describe the "legal system" of the Peira, because no such system exists . . .'), for whom Chomatianos had a very high regard: λόγιος τής εγκυκλίου παιδείας εις άκρον μετεοχηκώς . . . την νομικήν άπλάνως και άμέμπτως άκριβωσάμενος (Pitra, VI, 26, see below, n.2); Čupane, 'Una "classe sociale" dimenticata: il basso clero metropolitano', in H. Hunger (ed.), Studien zum Patriarchatsregister von Konstantinopel, I (SBWien, 383, Vienna, 1981), 61-83. 2. Demetrios Chomatianos, ed. J.B. Pitra, Analecta sacra et classica spicilegio Solesmensi parata, VI (Rome 1891), except for the two acts for which Laiou pro­ vides a critical edition. For John Apokaukos, see Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 708. 3. Pitra, Analecta, VI, 55.

88

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

Apokaukos nor Chomatianos was a provincial: to both, the law was imperial Byzantine law, basically the legislation of Justinian as it appeared in the Basilika, and more recent Novellae and semeiomata.4 As for the great jurists, Chomatianos gives a list ending with Eustathios Rhomaios, whom he covers with praise — surely a significant choice. Though, on occasion, he may con­ done local custom, he does so deliberately and explicitly, in the framework of οικονομία, in this case the recognition that recently Christianised peoples must be allowed to throw off their old ways gradually — particularly if custom rather than the law leads to the verdict he intends to delivers. His way with local custom is well illustrated by a case printed by both Pitra and Laiou.5 Basil Dobresinos of Prisdriana, representing his sister Tzernokose, v. George, her reluctant hus­ band. Dobresinos produces the certificate of divorce according to local custom from his first wife, Obrada, which had enabled George to marry Tzernokose, live with her for eighteen years and have a number of children by her. The certificate was confirmed by the presence of reliable persons (πρωσώπων αξιόπιστων) and by the signature of the bishop of Prisdriana. . . The archbishop [Chomatianos] declared the divorce invalid because it had no legal basis. This was exactly what the defendant, George, was asking for, since his aim was to get rid of Tzernokose. But Chomatianos' sentence might almost be termed blackmail: he declared the divorce invalid — with the result George had not forseen, that he found himself liable to the penalty for adultery as well as those prescribed by the law for illegal divorce. There was, however, a way out for him: If we may occasionally make a concession to ethnic customs and so accept as legal the aforementioned ethnic divorce, insofar as it was given validity by episcopal approba­ tion, George may avoid condemnation. That is, if he wants to avoid trouble, he had better stop trying to break up the family for which he is responsible. The archbishop allowed validity to local custom, because it enabled him to give the verdict he con­ sidered right, but he did not fail to emphasise that this was a con4. Justinian, CIC, Nov; Basilika, A IV. 5. Pitra, Analecta, VI, 103; Laiou, 'L'institution familiale', Appendix, 1, 321-2.

89

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

cession: ethnic custom is not law. My feeling is that Chomatianos' decisions owe little to Macedonian particularism, but a great deal to his own convictions and personality. Almost all preserved material suggests considerable suppleness in the application of divorce in the Byzantine Empire, and considerable variation in practice, the issue depending first of all on the views of the judge, and then on his skill in exploiting the texts at his disposal.6 Though cases concerning marriage were normally brought before ecclesiastical courts, this was by delegation of the civil law. The continuous efforts of emperors and churchmen to reconcile civil and canon law, in this domain as well as others, emphasise not only the differences between them, but the authority of both. The tale of divorce in the Christian world begins with the words of the Gospel: 'Whosoever shall put away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, causeth her to commit adultery; and whosoever shall marry her that is divorced committeth adultery' (Matthew 5.31; 19.9). In the second version the command has a context, and Christ goes on to say: 'All men cannot receive this saying, save they to whom it is given . . . He that is able to receive it, let him receive it' (Matthew 19.11-12). It is remarkable that this did not enter patristic exegesis.7 Origen, commenting on the passage writes: 'If we should resolve to investigate matters too deep for us . . . this too should be said, that some laws are given, not as the ideal (διαφέρουντες), but one of indulgence for human weakness . . . In the New Testament, too, there are rulings of the same kind as "Because of the hardness of your hearts, Moses allowed you to divorce your wives". As that was given because of their hard hearts, so your weakness elicited: "But because of fornication, let each man have his own wife etc."

The Gospel ruling on divorce came to be seen as perhaps the most stringent command in the whole New Testament, of, at least 6. See C. Vogel, 'Application du principe de l'"économie" en matière de divorce dans le droit canonique orientale', Rev. du droit canonique, 32 (1982), 81-100, see 100: 'Tel métropolite, tel synode d'une Eglise autocéphale agira librement, sans que sa décision engage les instances hiérarchiques voisines'. 7. The problems of New Testament criticism are disregarded; all that is relevant is the words Tertullian and Origen had before them when they wrote. 8. Origen, Commentario in evangelium secundum Matthaeum, PG, 13, XIV, 1181-1252, col. 1244 С

90

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

in theory, imprescriptable application. It owed this, partly, no doubt, as has often been said, to the temperament of some of the men who moulded Christianity, partly to having as object an act governed by the law of the land (unlike loving one's neighbour), but this is not all. So vivid was the image of the mystic marriage of Christ and the Church that any attack on the in­ dissolubility of marriage was felt as a threat to that. The follow­ ing passage is striking: 'It was in obedience to the command "those whom God hath joined, let no man separate" that Christ did not divorce His first wife . . . the Synagogue, for any reason but that she had committed adultery with the Evil One, and plotted against her husband and killed Him . . . And for the sake of the Church, the Lord, her husband, left His Father . . . and His mother (for He was son of the heavenly Jerusalem) and cleaved to His wife, fallen here below, and they became one flesh; for it was for her that He became flesh when "the Word became flesh etc." . . . and God joined them, as one flesh, and forbade that any man should separate the Church from the Lord . . . Therefore, that which God has joined, let nothing separate, neither power not authority . . .'

In matter of divorce, there is interference, not only between the Gospel and the law, but also between civil and ecclesiastical or canon law. The use of different words for different things, or different words for the same things, πορνεία, μοιχεία, πόρνη, παλλακή, άπολελυμένη, έκβληθείσα, in texts such as the socalled Apostolic Canons, or those of St Basil, opened the way to interpretation, a radically different approach.10 The anti-feminine bias the law was given to practice was noted by St Basil: The Lord forbade men and women equally to divorce except for adultery. Custom does not follow this: to the woman it applies the rule very rigorously . . . but no motive is recognis­ ed as allowing her to leave her husband: if he beats her, she must put up with it; financial considerations are irrelevant; if he wallows in fornication, that is not a reason either . . . It is not easy to account for, but this custom has prevailed.11 The canonists, too, express puzzlement. Zonaras writes . . . this man is committing 9. Origen, In Matthaeum, XIV, col. 1229 С 10. See n.12, below. 11. Basil, Canons, ix and xxi.

91

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

adultery, but the civil law calls it fornication. Basil follows the law when he says that 'while the woman may not leave her hus­ band because of his fornication, the man shall expel the polluted woman from his home. It is not easy to understand the reason for this. However this custom has prevailed'.12 Balsamon's approach is pragmatic: Almost everything in this canon, he says, has been changed by Justinian 's Novella 117 [B,XXVIII,7], there you will find the grounds on which divorce is allowed13 The theory behind this affirmation, which made it possible to get round the Gospel interdict, is set forth in the scholia to the same text by Zonaras and, even more clearly, by those of Aristenos. The latter, after explaining at some length how the interdict, interpreted with the bias referred to, would actually work, pursues: For in those days partners in marriage might separate, even without just cause, by {pronouncing} a prescribed formula (bm τυπικών ρημάτωγΛ but nowadays neither the hus­ band nor the wife may dissolve their union without just cause. To which effect the Justinianic novella expressly légiférâtes. Zonaras, after a like interpretation of the situation as presented by Basil, proceeds: However, the great Father says this with reference to ecclesiastical custom as then prevailing. But the Novella later promulgated by Justinian (to be found in the 28th Book of the Basilika, title 7), allows the woman to divorce on various other grounds . . . Balsamon gives a similar interpreta­ tion in his commentary to Apostolic Canons, 48: 'If a layman has repudiated (έκβαλών) his wife and takes another, or if he marries someone else's repudiated wife (άπολελυμένη), he shall be excommunicated.'Balsamon . . . has repudiated without cause (παραλόγως) . . . The repudiated wife (f\ άπολελυμένη^ is one divorced without legal grounds. Even in the past, divorce was not automatic, but followed on a decision of the court. The implications of this last remark are made clear in Balsamon's scholion to Basil 87: But since the canon says that a woman who 12. Zonaras in Theodore Balsamonis, Zonarae, Aristeniin canones SS. Apostolorum conciliorum, PG, 137, canon xlviii, col. 136 C. 13. Theodore Balsamon, In epištolám S. Basilii canonicum, I, PG, 138, canon ix, col. 621.

92

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

leaves her husband without cause is to be punished as an adulteress, someone may say that she who has left him with good cause is not to be punished. This is not so. Neither with good cause nor without cause may a wife leave her husband without a decision of the court — see Basil, canon 9, and divers Justinianic novellae in [Basilika], Book 28, title 7, whence we may cull the substance of the canon in extenso (εκ περιουσίας), other­ wise, say that a woman leaves without cause if she leaves without a judicial decision}* The approach is legalist, the idea is to create a tool. What exactly do the canonists mean by divorcing (λύειν τα συνοικέσια)? I am not here concerned with the opposition bet­ ween the eastern and the western Churches over annulment versus divorce,15 but only with the question as it presents itself in the framework of the eastern Church, and specifically in the form: When a man has repudiated his wife or a woman left her hus­ band for a just cause (i.e. authorised by a court decision), may they remarry? The civil law allows it, allows even the remarriage, after a punitive delay of the guilty parties.16 How is this law ad­ ministered by churchmen? A decisive feature of the three com­ mentaries quoted above, in their descriptions of the earlier, obsolete, situation, is the insistance on the fact that, even from the point of view of the new standards they stand for, separa­ tion, though dictated only by the whim of the parties, did not become illicit until they remarried. But now the old disorder has been done away with; at present divorce is necessarily founded on a just cause and consequently allows remarriage. Balsamon's commentary to Basil 26, though it starts with an apparent denial that this is possible, in fact confirms this interpretation: But this 14. Balsamon, op. cit., canon lxxxvii, col. 809 C-D. 15. Vogel, 'Application du principe de l"'économie" ', 90: 'Conformément au droit byzantin et contraire au droit canonique latin Vimpotentia coeundi n'est pas une cause de nullité, mais un motif de divorce bona gratia, par mesure d'économie. Ceci au moins à partir de Justinien (CI V, XVII, 10; Nov. XXII.6). En accord avec le droit romain, les Eglises orientales restent, en effet, fidèles à l'adage: Nuptias non concubitus sed consensus facit, (Dig. XXX, 1,15:LXVII,30)'; 'mariage pleinement valide; il ne peut être rompu, en raison d'accomodation, que par un divorce' (ibid., 97). 16. Justinian, Nov XXII, 16, 18; Basilika, XXVIII, 4, 21; Basilika, XXVIII, 7, 2.

93

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

was appropriate [viz. remarriage], so it seems to me, when marriage was contracted simply by agreement, but surely not nowadays when a wedding is blessed and confirmed by participa­ tion in the sacrament. How could those who are under the penalties for fornication, unable to partake of the sacrament, con­ tract marriage? If you say: After abstinence during the three whole years penance for fornication lasts, [yes], after three years they may, without impediment, be lawfully married. It might be asked, why does the saint allow the seduced virgin to be married to her seducer [Basil, 25], while making difficulties for fornicators? Answer: the virgin, after her seduction, may find no one else will­ ing to take her, and, if the seducer is debarred, she will be left dishonoured and in a pitiable plight, whereas the fornicatress has not the same problem . . . If therefore no great harm follows, and if they do not set their whole heart on marriage, it is preferable to separate fornicators... In other words, after an initial show of standing firm, the conclusion is exactly the same.17 This is the thirteenth century, but Gaudemet has shown that the major religious thinkers of the pre-Byzantine period accepted as incontrovertible that re-marrying during the lifetime of a former spouse could not be anything but adultery, recognised that such marriages were frequent, and only half-heartedly condemned them.18 To return to Origen, he notes that there were bishops who allowed a woman to re-marry while her husband was still alive, and comments: 'Not entirely unreasonably. . . if you com­ pare with worse offences' (ου μεν πάντη άλόγως . . . συγκρίσει χειρόνων). I think this is Origen's meaning, not the 'greater evil' that was to assume a central place in speculation on divorce, from Basil on, if not earlier (Basil 26 forbidding partners in fornicaton to marry, but if they cling wholly to their union, submit them to the penalty for fornicaton, but let them be, ϊνα μη χείρον τι γένηται). Origen seems struck rather by a nuisance-value scale with which he is not in full agreement: Is a man unable to repudiate his wife, just because she has not been taken in adultery, 17. Balsamon, In epist. S. Basilii can., II, canon xxvi, col. 673 C-D. 18. J. Gaudemet, 'L'interprétation du principe d'indissolubilité du mariage chré­ tien au cours du premier millénaire', Bull, dell'istituto di diritto romano, 3rd ser.,

94

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

even if she is a poisoner or does away with their child, or strips her husband's house bare, purloining everything in it? Has he got to put up with all this, which really seems worse than adultery?19 Tertullian, too, was conscious of the disparity between theory and practice, and also, though more reluctantly and by a very different approach, came, in a certain measure, to terms with it. He, in fact, condemned remarrying and adultery as the same thing, 'mais il sait que cet emploi de la notion d'adulterium doit être d'autant moins strict qu'à ses propres yeux le premier mariage se trouve, sinon totalement du moins profondément brisé par l'in­ fidélité d'un des conjoints'. On the other hand, Tertullian, like Origen, 'ne limite pas les motifs de divorce au seul adultère, dont il n'est pas ici [re De Monogamia, с. 12] question: les notions de discordia, ira, et odium . . . paraissent singulièrement excéder le cadre du simple adulterium'.20 Byzantine thinking on the subject seems never to have' passed beyond the stage of interrogation nor isolated the rule from cir­ cumstances, to give it absolute validity. Gaudemet, in the article referred to, is making, I think, a value judgement when he writes: 'Il ne suffit pas de dire qu'ils [les évêques] ont agi parce qu'ils étaient sen­ sibles au drame que vivaient certains époux séparés, ni même qu'ils ont voulu éviter un mal plus grand. Le dilemme est plus grave: ou bien . . . les évêques ne considèrent pas que leur premier mariage était dissous, et alors ils se faisaient complices d'une bigamie adultère, ou bien l'indissolubilité de la première union ne leur paraissait pas, en l'espèce évidente.

Wherever we have enough evidence to judge, it seems clear that these bishops were not certain that the ideal indissolubility of the union outweighed the reality of the 'greater evil'. Some cases even imply Gaudemet's 'complicity'. Only by identifiying the 'greater evil' can we hope to understand the practice of Chomatianos and others. Was it indeed 'le drame que vivaient les époux' that made them assume this responsability? Certainly, they were aware of 20(1978), 11-70. 19. Origen, In Matthaeum, XIV, col. 1248 A-B. 20. P. Mattei, 'Le divorce chez Tertullien', RSR, 60e année, (1986), 206-34, see pp.216; 231. 21. Gaudemet, 'L'indissolubilité'.

95

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

the dilemma, and disturbed by it. In the scholia to Basil, 9 quoted above, the Gospel interdict and Basil's comment on the inter­ pretation have been, consciously or not, run together, allowing both to be disposed of together without trouble as legislation ap­ propriate to a specific past situation. But this furtive approach is not typical; the contradiction between a practical decision and the Original law' is faced. Leo VI, promulgating two novellae allowing madness as a just cause, writes:22 'But you will say the divine command forbids separating those whom God has joined? Divine precepts from God's own mouth are good, but those who advance them in this case do so neither well nor in conformity with the divine intention.' 'If there is anyone who does not aquit this law of blame, let him consider carefully and reflect on what good can come of a madman. '

The text of Chomatianos is strewn with allusions: 'How can he be reckoned to have a wife within the meaning of the com­ mand when he etc.' 25 'We must see how this divorce can be arranged, lest evil be crowned with a greater evil, and scrupulous observance of the law . . . bring, instead of salvation, destruction'}6 Balsamon gives definition, of a kind, of the 'greater evil' in his scholion to Basil 26, a canon already referred to above, which runs: 'Fornication is not marriage, it is not a starting point for marriage, and if those who are partners in fornication can be parted, this is best. If, however, they are determined to stay together at any cost, submit them to the penance for fornication, but let them be, for fear of worse.'

Balsamon: i.e. so that they should not return to their fornica­ tion after being parted, or after being joined in matrimony with someone else, instead of sticking to their lawful marriage, com­ mit adultery, or lest they should do away with themselves because 22. Les novelles de Léon VI le Sage, edd and trans. P. Noailles and A. Dain (Paris, 1944); see Novel CXI for madness in the wife and Novel CXII for madness in the husband. 23. Leo VI, Novel CXI, 363. 24. op. cit., Novel CXII, 373. 25. Pitra, Analecta, 12. 26. loc. cit., 17. 27. Contrast Tertulliano view of fornication as abolishing the marriage.

96

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

of the ardour of their passion™ But these are the symptoms: though it is clear that distress per se is not the 'greater evil', its essential nature is not explicited. I quoted Chomatianos expressing the fear that scrupulous obser­ vance of the law would bring, instead of salvation, destruction This is the other fundamental concept: the law is not an end in itself, but a means; as a means, it must have an end, and that end is salvation — σωτηρία. When the likely outcome is going to be, not salvation but destruction, rigid adherence to the law makes a mockery of it, preventing it from the intentions of the giver — God, whether directly or indirectly. The parallels and the differences between Zonaras' and Aristenos' scholia, quoted above, and Chomatianos' On divorce are instructive: The divine ruling of the Gospel was directed at the Jews' uncontrolled divor­ cing, allowed on any grounds. To put a stop to this, fornication only (πορνζχα) was allowed as grounds. Anyone divorcing without this cause was guilty of adultery. Then the Christian way of life spread over the civilised world, and grace drove the letter of the law into a corner [το του νομικού γράμματος πάχος]. The ex­ pression was deliberately chosen, as an allusion to the letter which kills, while the spirit vivifies in II Corinthians 3.6. But in the diver­ sity of and mutability of life, with its innate tendency to disorders and ups and downs, accidents occur that drive a married man to try to shake off the marriage yoke, and it was wisely decided by those at the head of the Christian polity, holy fathers and pious emperors, to regulate, along with the rest, the question of divorce, in the interests of public order, and to ward off the dangers that threaten marriage, so that no spot may defile the Church of Christ. If a married person asks for divorce, consult, he says, Justinian. Chomatianos found it convenient to have Justinian behind him, but the concept of law as an instrument of salvation outweighed this. An example was given above, with legal validity allowed to an ethnic divorce that had been followed by remarriage and the birth of several children. In a case such as Cloropod v. Irene Vodeniatou, to be discussed below, the reason for disregarding Justinian not, perhaps, so immediately obvious, is no less cogent. 28. See n.17, above.

97

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

Maria Barda, seeking divorce from George Vlazernou29 can plead a just cause: three years impotency in her husband (cf. Jus­ tinian, Nov. XXII, 5, vi). But this situation may not last. The couple had already been before the synod a year earlier, and had been authorised to have their betrothal crowned with 'full mar­ riage'. Whether or not this was the reason for their going before the synod, pre-marital sex there had been, since one year later George was recognised to have been impotent for three years. There were two opinions about sex between betrothed couples, and the more permissive one prevailed. At the date of Choma­ tianos' letter, George, after three years and more, has given Maria noproofofhis virility. Chomatianos' the impossibility of divorce must no longer be argued suggests that Maria has already asked for it, but canonical objections have been made. Chomatianos quotes St Paul on everyone having their own wife because of for­ nication and the novella on impotency, adding that this is not what the Gospel means by marriage. They must be granted divorce lest the evil grow worse. There are to be no damages, even though in this kind of divorce, the civil law allows them; if there is any nonsense from either party, he or she will be excommunicated. There is, however, no time to waste: so far Maria has the law with her, but she is lapsing into clandestine pleasure . . . If per­ chance she should be taken in fornication before the marriage is dissolved, and threatened with the penalties for adultery, her husband's impotency clears her, for by 'adultress' we mean, in truth, the woman who is not satisfied with the intercourse of her own husband, but introduces another because of her insatiabili­ ty. Maria is being freed to enable her to have licit satisfaction in the bonds of wedlock — to the man, one wonders, with whom, the archbishop fears, she is already carrying on an affair? There are both law and canons to forbid this. Proven adultery gives some curiously divergent results: Krasne is committed to a convent, where she is to be shorn, unless her husband claims her within the legal time limit30 Slava is back

29. Pitra, Analecta, 55. 30. ibid., 137.

98

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

under her parents' guardianship. Her husband is demanding her return, but can only have her if he gives certain guarantees.31 Irene's injured husband is presented with the divorce he says he does not want, but which the guilty party certainly does and makes no pretence not to. 32 As the only indisputable cause from every point of view, adultery, one might have thought, would be the simplest in in­ terpretation. Yet it was natural that, in the context of Roman law, the Gospel command should have seemed to many — including hierarchs and theologians — not a rule to enforce so much as an ideal to live up to, if one could. The bias noted above further increased the perplexity: though Christ was the lawgiver, for half the population the law was simply swept aside. Some forms taken by this lack of equity the Church could com­ bat without hesitation, but not without coming down, in the great debate, on the side of human weakness: The Fathers do not allow the guilt of women who have committed adultery and confessed out of piety, or been somehow found out, to be made public, lest we be cause of their death, i.e. women are not to do public penance for adultery, as the gravity of their offence would nor­ mally require, because their husbands, seeing them, would put two and two together, with occasional fatal results. Balsamon makes no bones about i t . . . This should not be taken to mean that a man is allowed to kill his wife for adultery?21 So we see Basil quoting 'the Fathers' and allowing a con­ siderable concession in the penance imposed on a woman guilty of adultery. By the thirteenth century, her best chance, if she wanted divorce, might be to confess to adultery, even if she had not committed it. One might object that the sentences given by Chomatianos are not necessarily evidence of anything but his own methods, however the reasons give in Pitra, Analecta, 139 for establishing the wife's guilt must imply a general situation: The archbishop and his synod recognised that adultery was confirmed, not merely because Slava had confessed, but because she wished 31. ibid., 139. 32. ibid., 141. 33. Balsamon, In epist. S. Basilii canonicum. XXXIV, col. 700.

99

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

to return to her husband, so that any doubt arising from Slava's confession was removed, for if what she wanted was divorce, she would not have asked to be taken back. Of the three cases listed, the first is simple: Krasne not only committed adultery, but tried to poison her husband. In the second, Slava confessed to having committed adultery while her husband was away. She would like to return to him if he will undertake to forgive her. The synod pardoned her and did not submit her to the penalties the law prescribes . . . in considera­ tion of her confession, of her distress, and of the fact that her youth and impressionability had been taken advantage of, for she was thirteen. Rados, her husband, while asking to have her back, refused to give the written guarantee her parents ask for, that she shall have nothing to fear if she returns to him. The archbishop interprets Rados' refusal as indicating evil intentions rather than love, and ruled that Slava should not return to him while he remained so disposed. The law allowed him two years in which to decide what he would do. 34 In the third case, Theodore Chloropod v. Irene Vodeniatou, the court is informed that Irene has never stayed more than two or three days with her husband, running away and staying with 'strangers' [i.e. not relations] for months at a time. There are two obvious reasons for 'staying with strangers'. Either because, when she returned to her parents, they used (as they testify in court) persuasion, force and sometimes blows to make her return to her husband, or because staying with 'strangers' is a just cause.35 In court, Chloropod's sister gave the show away, saying that Irene was in love with Cholavres George. Irene's parents admit­ ted that they knew this when they married her against her will ^άκουσαν) to Chloropod. . . Questioned about Cholavres, Irene unblushingly admitted she was in love with him (ει ποθεί τούτον ερωτηθείσα . . . άνερυθριάστως τοΰτο καθωμολόγησεγλ Taking all into consideration and recognising it for a clear case of adultery (for by confessing that love for Cholavres was fixed in her heart, and that she made long stays from home and family 34. Pitra, Analecta, 139; 547. 35. Justinian, Nov CXVII, 8, 5; Basilika, XXVIII, 7, 1.

100

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

she manifested her hatred of her husband). [Chomatianos] pro­ nounced the divorce. Irene would be liable to the canonical penalties for adultery, but not be submitted to those of the civil law — poverty and its attendant ills would be a sufficient punish­ ment. (It is difficult not to wonder if her parents had chosen Chloropod because he was better off than Cholavres.) But the plaintiff had not asked for divorce, had said, on the contrary, that he would like to resume life together. Sentence is given in favour of Chloropod, but it is the sentence wanted by Irene. The attested willingness of women to be divorced as adultresses implies that Irene would not find insurmountable im­ pediments in her union with Cholavres, whatever the exact terms. Basil the Great, not notoriously permissive, recognising that some irregular couples refused to be parted, and that rigid application of the canons would only estrange them completely from the Church, had ruled that these unions be allowed and regularised 'for fear of worse'.36 In the fourth century, the penance for for­ nication to which he subjected them, would not be an obstacle to marriage, which was a civil contract. After Leo VI decreed that only marriages celebrated religously were valid,37 the pro­ blem noted by Balsamon arose.38 Licensed concubinage, such as Laiou suggests, would solve it, but Balsamon's commentary shows that this was not the only solution. To return to Chomatianos' motives. There certainly was a choice of dangers threatening Irene. The husband, as in the case of Slava, and others, may have appreared to be welcoming back his errant wife in order to teach her a lesson. Irene herself was clearly in danger of committing adultery. I say 'in danger of com­ mitting it' for, though she is sentenced as an 'adultress', the evidence most strongly suggests evangelical, not consummated, adultery. If it had been consummated, there would be no point on the insistance on her running away to 'strangers', or on 'desire for Cholavres fixed in her heart' (ίμερος εν τη καρδία προσηλωσθαι).39 36. 37. 38. 39.

Basil, Canon xxvi and above 94. Leo VI, Novel XXCIX, 295. See 93-4 above. 'L'institution familiale', 311, interprets this case slightly differently, simpli-

101

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER

Why did Chomatianos not choose the issue of consent, which, in theory at least, should have released Irene without blame? There is no marriage says the law without the consent of those who are being united and of their guardians40 (the mention of guardians make it quite clear that it applies to minors also). One possible reason might be awareness that, in spite of the law, the issue was uncertain. Balsamon, commenting on Basil 22, writes: When this canon says 'If the girl'parents or relatives consent, she shall be given in marriage to etc. ' do not think that the consent of the parents alone suffices. The consent of those to be married is necessary for marriage to be legal, whether they be minors or free to dispose their persons. Novella XXVIII, iv, 2 says expressly etc. But Zonaras comments the same canon thus: The girl's confying a case whose complexities are marginal to the question she is studying. As, however, they are central to my interest in this paper, I will look at the only impor­ tant difference. 'La soeur du mari accuse Irène d'adultère, ce que la femme "admit sans rougir" '. The words actually used by the sister are: ποθήσασα . . .τοίς εκείνου ίμέροις άπρ'ιξ έλκομενη . . . πάθους αλλότριου άλλαζαμέη των του οικείου ανδρός. The manifestations and actions to which the sister accuses her of being led by these strong feelings are 'aversion from her husband's bed' — but not sharing another man's — and running away to stay in other people's houses — again no suggestion that it is with Cholavres. I pointed out two sufficient reasons for her choosing to stay with 'strangers'. Irene 'unblushingly' confesses, not to adultery, but to 'desire' — πόθος. The word does not appear until Irene is sentenced as 'adultress' in the following terms: 'recognising that this was a clear case of adultery (for by confessing that desire for Cholavres was fixed in her heart, and that she made long stays away from home and family, she manifested here hatred) . . .' This is hard to reconcile with facts, but does suggest the Gospel: 'Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart' (Matt. 5, 28). Hatred of her hus­ band is used by Chomatianos almost as a synonym of this form of adultery. Leo VI makes analogous use of it, saying explicitly that, where there is hatred, there is no longer 'one flesh': 'For the married woman who after having been one flesh with her husband, instead of loving him ogles another man, both offending her Creator and nourishing feelings of emnity towards her husband, how could it be anything but just to exclude her completely from the union she has already severed? What further proof could there be of a woman's hating her husband?' (Leo VI, Novel, XXX, 121: . . . γυνή ετι τοϋ ανδρός έν ζωσιν δντος περί γάμων αυτής έτέρω διαλεγομένη 'but one who has come to have the opposite feeling neither knows this any longer, nor is she flesh of his flesh' (Novel, XXXI, 123, re wife who has had an abortion: τήν οΰτω προφανώς τήν προς τον άνδρα δυσμένειαν έπανηρημένην δι'ών τω εκείνου λωβάται σπέρματι, 125). This is in the tradition of the Fathers glanced at earlier in this paper. 40. Basilika, XXVIIII 4, 2; Dig, XXIII, 1, 12.

102

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

sent is necessary with reference to anyone else, but certainly not in opposition to her father, in whose power she is. She may not oppose her father unless he betroth her to a man of dishonourable habits or unworthy: this conforms to the civil law.41 In fact, Zonáras is commenting the law on marriage but quoting the law on engagements,42 the result represents an attitude that had not ceased to exist in Balsamon's day, nor in that of Chomatianos. However, I have little doubt that Chomatianos could have im­ posed this solution if he had thought it the right one. Again, why did he not pronounce the divorce for sleeping out and staying with 'strangers', a just cause, and the facts patent? In all cases coming before him, Chomatianos is instructing the local bishop or assuming his functions. Balsamon writes: Other synods too have ruled that the local bishop . . . need not always respect the rules of the canons in the matter of penance. . . The present canon commits the whole penitential therapy of the sick [soul] to the discretion of the physician, that is to say the local bishop.43 In other words? Chomatianos' juggling with laws and canons has canonical backing. And there is plenty of evidence he was not alone nor tributary to some local influence in dealing leniently with irregular matrimonial situations. We have only to think of Apost. 17 and Balsamon's scholion: 'A man who marries twice after baptism, or has a concubine may not be bishop, priest or, generally speaking, in holy orders'. Balsamon: How to reconcile this with the fact that any number ofanagnosts have married twice and kept their places, and even, thanks to chits from bishops, been promoted, I do not know. Canon 102 of the Council in Trullo sets forth clearly the con­ cept of salvation as the aim of the law, and identifies the 'greater evil', if not in those exact terms: 'Those who received from God the power to loose and to bind must con­ sider both the nature of the sin and the sinner's readiness to return, adapt­ ing the cure to the case, so as to avoid putting the sufferer's salvation into jeopardy through excess in either direction. For the sickness of sin is not confined to one kind but various and multiform, burgeoning in error from 41. Zonaras, In epist. S. Basilii Can., col. 665. 42. Basilika, XXVII, 1. 10; Dig, XXIII, 1, 12. 43. Balsamon, scholion to Canon СП of Council in Trullo.

103

PATRICIA KARLIN-НАYTER its roots. The evil propagates and spreads until the physician manages to arrest it. A skilled spiritual healer must first consider the disposition of the sinner, whether he wants to be healed, or whether, on the contrary, his whole behaviour is an invitation to disease; [in which case the physician] must con­ sider how to work in the meanwhile for his recovery, and — if he does not resist the practitioner, so that the soul's ulcer is made worse by the medicine applied to it — temper mercy to deserts. For the whole question, in the sight of God, and as far as regards the pastor to whose care [the flock] is entrusted, is bringing back the sheep that are lost and healing those bitten by the ser­ pent, neither driving them over the precipice of despair nor giving free rein to a dissolute life and recklessness (καταφρόνησις).

This is the clue to Chomatianos' legal methods in general, and to the case of Irene Vodeniatou in particular. Because his sentences usually favour the weaker party, because women asking for divorce seem usually to get it (in some form), whether they are the injured or the guilty party, and regardless, in either case, of the husband's wishes, it is easy to see the archbishop as a par­ ticularly humane modern judge, seeking to alleviate distress and spread happiness. And this is no doubt true, if one remembers that the happiness he has essentially in mind is eternal, and the distress is any distress that appears to be driving the suffered to despair or recklessness — indifference to his own salvation. This is the 'greater evil'. Chomatianos freed Irene from Chloropod, making it possible for her passion for Cholavres to be fitted into an acceptable framework — acceptable to her, but implying her submission, recognition of the wrongness of her ways, and willingness to make amends via penance and proper behaviour. He did not pronounce a divorce that innocented her, though there were perfectly good legal grounds, because he did not consider her innocent. He did not even pronounce a decree against her for staying with 'strangers', because this cause belonged to the civil law and entailed no canonical penance. He divorced her as an adulteress, because that, as defined, by the Gospel, and, presumably, in his eyes too, she was, and therefore liable to canonical penance, which is spiritual therapy. Instead of being driven to despair, she was back eating out of the hand of the Church. 44. See n.43, above.

104

INDISSOLUBILITY AND THE 'GREATER EVIL'

If it be thought that this owes too much to imagination, let me recapitulate the case in the form of the familiar puzzles in logic. A man brings a claim against his wife before the court. He states that he does not want divorce, just the truant brought home. He wins his suit — but divorce is pronouced. It is pro­ nounced in terms of the law of the land, but the injury for which his wife is divorced she has not, in terms of the law of the land, committed. Yet she has abundantly committed another injury allowed by the law of the land as just cause for divorce. In any case, she had not consented to the marriage, and was legally en­ titled to repudiate the man to whom she had been united against her will. The judge was not a bungling fool but a first-class jurist.

105

106

CHURCH ADMINISTRATION

107

108

L'Eglise byzantine des VI -XI siècles: terres et paysans MICHEL KAPLAN Au VIe siècle, la vie ecclésiastique, dans ses aspects matériels comme dans ses aspects spirituels, est fortement centrée sur l'évêque et l'évêché.1 Certes, les monastères sont totalement indépen­ dants des évêchés;2 l'higoumène y est seul responsable, même si, dans les grands monastères, commence à se faire jour une spécialisation des tâches; ainsi, la laure d'Euthyme possède déjà un économe, le diacre Euthyme.3 Ni la loi eclésiastique, ni la loi civile ne se sont encore vraiment intéressés aux biens monasti­ ques; il faudra attendre le concile in Trullo de 692, peut-être tout simplement parce que la faible quantité des biens en question ne nécessite pas autre chose.4 Pour le reste, seuls les éstablissements de charité autogérés5 échappent partiellement à l'autorité de l'évêque. Il est vrai qu'il en existait de grands et considérables, véritables institutions à eux tout seuls, d'autant plus à même de revendiquer cette indépen­ dance qu'ils étaient des fondations impériales (orphelinat de Con­ stantinople, hôpital de Zôtikos, toujours à Constantinople, ou hôpital fondé par Justinien à Jérusalem). Ceci mis à part, l'évê­ que et son personnel de gestion sont responsables de l'administra­ tion temporelle de tous les établissements de charité, mais aussi des églises fondées ici et là en dehors des églises cathédrales. Pour 1. M. Kaplan, Les propriétés de la couronne et de l'église dans l'empire byzantin (Ve-VIe siècles), (Byzantina-Sobonensia, 2, Paris, 1976), 20-1. 2. ibid., 18-9. 3. Vie d'Euthyme, éd. E. Schwartz, Kyrillos von Scythopolis (Leipzig, 1939), 27. 4. Kaplan, Propriétés, 21; Concile in Trulle, canon 16, Mansi, XI, 209. 5. ιδίαν διοίκησιν έχοντες, CIC, Nov, 120, VI, 1, p.582.

109

MICHEL KAPLAN

les églises locales, qui commencent à apparaître, même celles fondées par des personnes privées dépendent de l'évêque. Le 'droit de fondateur' (κτητορικον δίκαιον) confère au 'fondateur' et à ses héritiers un certain regard sur la nomination des desservants, mais non le droit de propriété. L'existence d'églises fondées par un propriétaire sur sa terre à sa seule initiative montre un autre aspect de l'Eglise byzantine dans ses relations avec le peuple. N'importe qui peut fonder une église; on observe un certain développement de ces oratoires privés construits par les propriétaires terriens sur leurs domaines; mais cette implantation de l'Eglise se fait dans une certaine anarchie, sans planification. L'Eglise institutionnelle reste essentiellement urbaine; le véritable clergé est celui de l'église cathédrale et l'évêque délègue encore, pour le seconder dans les campagnes, des chôrévêques. Le système des églises paroissiales est long à se mettre en place; le clergé qui apparaît dans les oratoires ruraux, qui ne sont pas de véritables églises, reste mal intégré à hiérarchie ecclésias­ tique. Comme cette église officielle est essentiellement urbaine, elle est mal intégrée à une population surtout rurale d'agriculteurs. Les oratoires sont insuffisants; maints villages n'ont pas d'église et donc pas de clergé. Certes, la cité et sa basilique ne sont jamais bien loin, mais l'Eglise est clairement à l'écart de la vie rurale. Sauf quand s'impose un saint homme. Celui-ci ne fait pas vraiment partie du clergé ordinaire, il vit à l'écart des villages par volonté d'érémitisme; mais il attire irrésistiblement la popula­ tion locale. Le meilleur exemple que nous en ayons est Théodore de Sykéôn, à 100 km environ à l'Ouest d'Ancyre.6 Dès qu'un problème surgit, les villages avoisinants viennent chercher le saint pour qu'il intervienne; pour ne prendre que les plus proches, au moins une trentaine de villages forment ainsi le domaine d'in­ tervention de Théodore. Certes, il existe déjà, en cette fin du VIe siècle, des prêtres villageois et plusieurs villages sont devenus des paroisses avec une église paroissiale; mais Théodore dépasse large­ ment cet esquisse de réseau d'églises villageoises. 6. Vie de Théodore de Sykéon, éd. et trad. A. J. Festugière (SubsHag, 48, Bruxelles, 1970).

110

L'ÉGLISE BYZANTINE DES VIe-XI SIÈCLES: TERRES ET PAYSANS

Du point de vue des villageois, à part le prêtre local ou le saint homme, l'Eglise, c'est avant tout le propriétaire foncier qui exige le paiement des loyers. Ce peut être un propriétaire parmi d'autres, l'Eglise possédant seulement un bien-fonds ou une partie du village. Ainsi, Porphyre, évêque de Gaza, envoie son serviteur Barochas lever le canon d'un paysan dans un village; mais c'est tout le village qui vient à son aide dans sa révolte contre Barochas; les villageois sont solidaires contre l'exploiteur.7 Dans la région de Sykéôn, alors que Théodore est devenu évêque d'Anastasioupolis, le village d'Eukraous se révolte contre Théodosios, qui a reçu par contrat la tâche de lever les redevances sur les villageois; la majorité, ou du moins un bon nombre des villageois devaient être locataires de terres appartenant à l'évêché d'Anastasioupolis.8 Dans l'évêché voisin de Juliopolis, c'est l'économe et son adjoint qui effectuent la levée;9 l'évêché est donc entouré d'une ceinture de villages qui lui appartiennent au moins en partie. Et, sur ces terres, vivent les tenanciers des biens ecclésiastiques: locataires, emphytéotes ou parèques. L'existence de personnes chargées de lever les revenus de l'Eglise ne doit pas faire illusion. Les propriétés ecclésiastiques sont en mauvais état au VIe siècle: elles sont souvent mal gérées, manacées de ruine, criblées de dettes qui ne peuvent être payées en vendant des terres, dont elles sont largement dotées, mais qu'elles n'ont pas le droit d'aliéner. Nombreux sont les biensfonds désertés, sans bâtiments ni matériel, qui ne rapportent rien.10 Souvent, les églises et établissements de charité sont obligés d'emprunter pour survivre et la dette s'alourdit. Justinient est obligé d'autoriser l'Eglise à vendre ses terres et même à les vendre aux enchères, ce qui n'assure d'ailleurs pas de trouver preneur, tant ces biens-fonds sont en mauvais état.11 La situation est d'autant plus difficile que l'Eglise a du mal à trouver des locataires. Les emphytéoses limitées à trois généra7. 19. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Vie de Porphyre de Gaze, eds. H. Grégoire et M.-A. Kugener (Paris, 1930), c.22, Vie de Théodore de Sykéon, c. 76, 63-4. Ibid., с. 34, 36. CIC, Nov, 7, III, 1, 55; Nov, 120, I, pr. 579. CIC, Nov, 120, I, 2, 580 et VI, 2, 585.

Ill

MICHEL KAPLAN

tions qu'elle propose ne trouvent pas preneur et l'Eglise n'a pas, en principe, le droit de concéder des emphytéoses perpétuelles, qui sont considérées comme des aliénations.12 Justinien autorise l'Eglise à concéder des emphytéoses perpétuelles;13 il tente vaine­ ment de limiter l'affaiblissement du loyer.14 En revanche, l'Empereur refuse les concessions 'en droit de parèque' qui com­ mençaient d'apparaître sur les biens ecclésiastiques,15 et qui ten­ dent à remplacer le jus colonarium, tout en offrant au paysan une plus grande liberté personnelle et économique, donc assez proche de l'emphytéose. Entre le VIe et le XIe siècles, la situation de l'Eglise comme propriétaire foncier et dans ses rapports avec les paysans se modifie profondément. Les évêchés voient leur base foncière transformée. Ils ont perdu une partie des terres qui assuraient leurs revenus au VIe siècle; bon nombre d'établissements d'assistance, nous le verrons, leur échappent. En revanche, avec le développement des monastères, la place de ceux-ci augmente dans le temporel ecclésiastique. En effet, ceux des monastères qui ne bénéficient pas d'un statut spécial appartiennent normalement à l'évêque du lieu, qui, en fait, s'approprie une partie des revenus. Un évêché qui se voit privé d'une partie des revenus que fournis­ sent les monastères risque de sombrer dans l'indigence: c'est une des menaces qui planent sur les évêchés aux Xe-XIe siècles.16 Parallèlement, on observe un intérêt croissant des ecclésiasti­ ques pour leur appareil de gestion. Ainsi, la mieux pourvue de toutes ces églises, Sainte-Sophie, se dote, outre ses économes, dont la législation n'a pas fixé le nombre,17 de toute une armée de chartulaires18 et de curateurs, à l'exemple de la fortune im­ périale. La gestion des biens des évêchés les plus importants se rapproche en effet de celle pratiquée sur les domaines impériaux.

12. CIC, CI, 1, 2, 17, 15. 13. CIC, Nov, 120, I, 2, 580 et VI, 1, 582. 14. CIC, CI, 1, 2, 14, 13; CI, 1, 2, 24, V, 17; Nov, 7, III, 1, 55; Nov, 120,1, 578-9. 15. CIC, CI, 1, 2, 24, pr., 17; Nov 7, pr. 1, 51; Nov 120, pr., 578. 16. M. Kaplan, 'Les monastères et le siècle à Byzance: les investissements des laïques au Xle siècle', CahCM, 27 (1984), 72-3. 17. Héraclius, Nov. 22, Zepi, Jus, I, 27-30.

112

L'ÉGLISE BYZANTINE DES VIe-XI SIÈCLES: TERRES ET PAYSANS

Réciproquement, l'Empereur et son administration s'intéressent de plus en plus à la gestion des biens ecclésiastiques. L'économe de Sainte-Sophie figure dans les taktika des dignités du IXe;19 à partie de 945,20 les économes de Sainte-Sophie deviennent même souvent des laïcs, des fonctionnaires impériaux envoyés par l'Empereur pour s'occuper de biens trop importants pour être abandonnés à des ecclésiastiques. La tendance est encore plus nette pour le personnel subalterne, mais important pour la gestion quoti­ dienne des biens, comme les chartulaires;21 quant ils restent des clercs, ils sont souvent qualifés de 'clercs impériaux', ce qui mar­ que bien leur dépendance à l'égard du pouvoir civil. Ce phénomène n'est pas limité à Sainte-Sophie, mais s'étend égale­ ment, autant que nous sachions, aux évêchés provinciaux.22 L'office d'économe,23 désormais recherché, constitue souvent une étape vers l'épiscopat, ce qui n'est pas nouveau. Mais quand on voit un ambitieux comme Michel Cérulaire24 suivre cet itinéraire,25 on mesure l'attrait de la fonction; des métropolites de province, comme Anastase d'Héraclée26 (Xe siècle), ne mépri­ sent pas un tel poste. De même, au XIe siècle, un métropolite de Tyr assume la même charge à Antioche.27 Toutefois, les églises de province, moins riches, sont moins recherchées et moins étroite­ ment contrôlées par l'administration centrale. La situation des établissements de charité, elle aussi, se modifie profondément, mais dans un sens qui rappelle l'évolution con­ nue par les évêchés. Dans un jugement d'Eustathe Romanos à propos de l'hospice de Saint-Elias, la Peira explique28 qu'il ex18. Sur les chartulaires: CIC, Nov, 120, V, 1, 581. 19. N. Oikonomidès, Les listes de préséances byzantines des IXe-Xe siècles (Paris, 1972), 53, 59, 139, 145, 151, 249, 251, 269. 20. Darrouzès, Offikia, 38. 21. Bid., 38 n.8. 22. La sigillographie permet de démontrer ceci. Nous ne pouvons citer tous les sceaux utilisés; on se reportera à Laurent, Sceaux, V, 1-3, L'Eglise. 23. Sur l'économe, cf. Darrouzès, Offikia, 35-8. 24. Pour lui, le patriarcat n'était qu'un pis-aller pour la poupre; cf. A. Michel, Humbert und Kerullarios (Paderborn, 1927). 25. Laurent, Sceaux, V, 3, no. 1941 bis, 19-20; il porte alors le titre de Grand économe. 26. Ibid., V.1, no.304, 215-6. 27. Ibid., Ѵ.2, no. 1533, 366-7. 28. Peira, XV, 12, Zepi, Jus, 53.

113

MICHEL KAPLAN

iste deux sortes d'établissements de charité: les fondations im­ périales, qui reçoivent l'appellation α'εύαγεΐς οίκοι; les autres, qui sont de statut privé, qu'elles dépendent de particuliers, de monastères ou, cas devenu rare, d'un évêché. Au VIe siècle, la plupart dépendaient d'un évêché; à partir du VIIIe siècle au moins, une part notable des établissements de charité font partie de la fortune impériale et leurs gestionnaires sont des officiers impériaux ou, au pire, des 'clercs impériaux'; le nombre d'ec­ clésiastiques au sens strict est très faible. Et le phénomène ne se limite pas aux très nombreux hôpitaux de la capitale. Ainsi, à Nicée, il pouvait y avoir plusieurs hôpitaux (xenones); le plus im­ portant est une fondation impériale, confié à un 'hospitalier im­ périal' (βασιλικός ξενοδόχος). 29 Les établissements de charité, pour l'essentiel et les plus im­ portants passés sous l'autorité impériale, sont rangés dans la même catégorie que les 'maisons divines'. Nous en trouvons la preuve dans le fameux passage de la Chronographie de Théophane sur la prétendue mauvaise politique de Nicéphore 1er. L'auteur ac­ cuse Nicéphore d'avoir soumis au kapnikon les parèques des ευαγών οίκων, à savoir l'orphelinat, les hôpitaux, asiles de vieillards, et aussi les églises et monastères impériaux; tous sont de la même espèce, des biens impériaux. Dès lors, on ne s'étonne plus du deuxième reproche adressé à Nicéphore: 'leurs meilleurs terres furent prises au bénéfice de la curatorie impériale'. C'est une simple réorganisation interne des biens impériaux.30 L'Empereur a donc repris directement en main l'assistance publique. Sachant ce que nous avans vu de l'état des biens ec­ clésiastiques, y compris ceux des établissements de charité, au VIe siècle, ce n'est pas étonnant; nombre de ces institutions n'avaient plus de quoi satisfaire à leurs obligations; les pauvres, malades, vieillards, orphelins et nourrissons n'avaient pas disparu pour autant. L'ordre public commandait que l'on accueillît ces malheureux et l'Empereur a pris sur lui cette tâche au nom du devoir impérial d'évergétisme.

29. G. Zacos et J.W. Nesbitt, Byzantine lead seals (Berne, 1984), no.263, 163. 30. Theophanes, Chronographia, éd. C. de Boor (Leipzig, 1883), 486-7).

114

L'ÉGLISE BYZANTINE DES VIe-XI SIÈCLES: TERRES ET PAYSANS

Les puissants personnages laïcs ne dédaignent pas totalement la charité. Ainsi, à fin du VIIIe siècle, la femme de Philarète, Théosébô, dont la petite-fille a épousé Constantin VI et dont le mari vient de mourir, retourne à Amnia en Paphlagonie et y fonde des asiles pour les pauvres.31 Au Xe siècle, le drongaire du ploïmon Constantin Lips fonde lui aussi un xenon à côté d'un monastère.32 Des fondations pratiquées par des laïcs, la mieux connue reste celle de Michel Attaliate à Raidestos dont nous possédons la diataxis;^ il s'agit d'un établissement doublé: l'asile de pauvres de Raidestos sera doublé d'un monastère à Con­ stantinople; mais l'ensemble s'appelle asile de pauvres (ptochotropheion) et le chef s'appelle ptochotrophos. Dans tous ces cas de fondation par des laïcs, l'établissement de charité est doublé d'un monastère. A cette époque en effet, les monastères commencement à donner naissance en annexe à des établissements de charité. Nous en donnerons deux example significatifs, pris dans les deux grandes fondations monastiques des années 950-1050. D'abord Lavra. Bien que le monastère fondé par Athanase fût situé dans un lieu inaccessible par terre et dangereux par mer quand celle-ci n'est pas absolument calme, on y trouve dès le départ un hospice et hôpital; le monastère y accueillera les ασθενών (fatigués);34 ce qui justifie les investissements con­ sidérables entrepris par Athanase pour le ravitaillement en eau et l'irrigation et la permission faite à Lavra de conserver des animaux.35 Un demi siècle plus tard, Lazare le Galésiote bâtit un xenodocheion en annexe de son monastère central;36 vu la situa31. Vie de Philarète le Miséricordieux, éd. et trad. M.-H. Fourmy et M. Leroy, B, 9 (1934), 165-9. 32. Scriptores originum constantinopolitanarum, éd. T. Preger, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1907), II, 289; cf. T. Macridy, A.H. Megaw, С Mango, E.J.W. Hawkins, 'The monastery of Lips (Fenari Isa Camii) at Istanbul', DOP, 8 (1964), 255-6, 299-301. 33. Michael Attaleiates, Diataxis, éd. et trad. P. Gautier, 'La diataxis de Michel Attaleiate', REB, 39 (1961), 5-143. 34. Vie d'Athanase I'Athonite, vie A, éd. J. Noret, Vitae duae antiquae Sancii AthanasiiAthonitae (CChr, ser. graeca, 9, Louvain, 1982), с. 81,37; vie В, с. 25,151-2. 35. Vie d'Athanase I'Athonite, vie А, с. 114, 55; vie В, с. 25, 152; cf. Kaplan, 'Les monastères et le siècle', 82-3. 36. Vie de Lazare le Galésiote, ActaSS, Nov. Ill, с. 83, cols. 250-1.

115

MICHEL KAPLAN

tion, peu au nord de la grande cité commerçante d'Ephèse, il y avait là de quoi attirer plus d'un hôte, pèlerin ou marchand, que l'hôpital héberge. Au point qu'il fallut limiter le séjour à trois jours, sauf pour les malades, et interdire aux moines de prendre leurs repas au xenodocheion pour que celui-ci puisse nourrir les hôtes. 37 Néanmoins, quelque indépendance que montre l'hospitalier du Galésion, de tels établissements de charité sont des annexes des monastères; leur fortune et leur puissance sont fonction de celle du monastère dont ils dépendent. Au VIe siècle, les monastères n'étaient pas riches; la gestion de leurs biens n'avait pas vraiment retenu l'attention des législateurs et canonistes. Certains auteurs ont pu avancer que les monastères possédaient le tiers des terres de l'Empire avant le début de l'iconoclasme; on peut au contraire affirmer qu'ils n'avaient pas accumulé beaucoup de richesses depuis le VIe siè­ cle. Certes, les moines et, à leur suite, les chroniqueurs, ont tenté de faire croire qu'ils avaient subi de lourdes confiscations de la part des empereurs iconoclastes; mais les vies de saints, comme les historiens, se limitent à des généralités imprécises, se répétant les uns les autres, qui font planer au moins la suspicion sur le fond même de l'affaire. Par example, la vie de Michel le Syncelle, higoumène du monastère de Chôra en 843, assure que Constantin V avait dépouillé de toute ce monastère qui regorgeait aupara­ vant de richesses et biens-fonds;38 et pourtant, en 813, ce monastère est suffisamment rétabli pour servir de pied à terre aux moines de Palestine venus à Constantinople;39 en 843, quand Michel veut le reconstruire, il va chercher ses moines réfugiés sur le bien-fonds de Kastoréon;40 le monastère, après 30 ans du second iconoclasme prétendument plus terrible que le premier, n'était pas encore totalement dépouillé! Quoi qu'il en soit, les moines sont les grands vainqueurs de la lutte contre l'iconoclasme; et ils en profitent. Déjà Irène les avait largement dotés, y compris au détriment de la fortune im37. 38. 39. 40.

Wid., cc. 150-1, cols. 552-3. Vie de Michel le Syncelle, éd. T. Schmitt, IRAIK, 11 (1906), 250-1. Ibid., 234. ѢШ., ISA.

116

L'ÉGLISE BYZANTINE DES VIe-XI SIÈCLES: TERRES ET PAYSANS

périale; c'est pourquoi Nicéphore fait rétrocéder à la curatoire impériale une partie des terres généreusement accordées aux monastères et ευαγείς οίκοι impériaux. C'est encore plus net après 843. Mais le mouvement de fondation de monastères, peu im­ portant avant le milieu du VIIe siècle, devient fort, et de façon continue, dès la seconde moitié de ce siècle.41 L'iconoclasme ne l'arrête pas; au contraire, durant le second iconoclasme, les foun­ dations se multiplient, comme acte de résistance à la politique exécrée; Théodore Stoudite leur a fourni les bases d'une organisa­ tion plus efficace et plus centrée sur la vie cenobi tique. Certains monastères sont maintenant dotés dès le départ de biens considérables. Ainsi, Athanase de Lavra, qui a moins be­ soin de terres que de liquidités pour édifier son monastère sur une base étendue, reçoit de Nicéphore Phocas puis de Jean Tzimiskès 6 livres, puis 244 nomismata et le monastère SaintAndré de Péristérai, puis encore 244 nomismata.42 Même un petit monastère comme celui de Polygyros en Chalcidique, fondé avant 944 par Dèmétrios Ptéléôtès, est doté de trois proasteia de grande taille dont l'un, Chabounia, a pu accueillir avant 996 les habitants de 4 villages qui ont fui devant l'invasion bulgare.43 Mais c'est surtout le comportement des moines qui se modifie totalement en l'espace de trois siècles, du début du IXe siècle à la fin du XIe. D'abord, les monastères recouvrent, pour la plupart, une indépendance qu'ils avaient perdu face aux évêchés et au patriarcat. Certes, la règle canonique demeure qu'un monastère dont le fondateur n'a rien prévu d'autre devient la pro­ priété de l'évêché du lieu; et la chose se produit fréquemment quand les fondateurs sont des paysans ignorants des institutions ecclésiastiques et bien incapables de rédiger un typikon, mais la plupart des fondations de quelque importance sont l'oeuvre de 41. Voir par exemple le monastère de Mantinée fondé par sainte Anthuse et riche­ ment dotés par l'épóuse même de Constantin Copronyme, Vie d'Anthuse, Synaxarium CP, 846-52 et C. Mango, 'St Anthusa of Mantinea and the family of Constan­ tine V , AnalBoll, 100 (1982), 401-9, repris dans Byzantium and its image (Londres, 1984). 42. Vie d'Athanase l'Athonite, vie В, с 23, 149; с. 34, 166; с. 36, 169. 43. Actes d'Iviron I, edd. J. Lefort, N. Oikonomidès, D. Papachryssanthou, H. Metreveli (Paris, 1985), no. 10, 169-72.

117

MICHEL KAPLAN

personnages puissants et au courant des procédures qui assurent soit la patrimonialité du monastère soit le statut d'autodespote. Dès lors que les monastères sont souvent en charge de leur pro­ pre gestion et qu'ils reçoivent d'importantes donations, se pose le problème de la mise en valeur des terres. L'opinion d'un homme bien au fait de la vie ecclésiastique et plutôt clairvoyant comme Michel Attaliate concorde avec celle de Nicéphore Phocas exprimée dans la доѵеііе de 9Ó4.44 At­ taliate décrit comment Isaac Comnène a massivement confisqué les biens des monastères 'dont les propriétés riches et étendues ne le cédaient en rien sur celles de la Couronne'; mais, finale­ ment, Attaliate approuve: 'cela libéra les moines de soucis qui ne correspondaient pas à leur genre de vie, les détourna du gain . . . Les moines étaient insatiables au point d'en être malades'.45 Et en plus, ils tyrannisaient les petits paysans alen­ tour. Déjà, en 964, Nicéphore Phocas dénonçait 'l'évidente maladie': 'les moines ont tourné toute l'attention de leur âme vers le souci d'acquérir quotidiennement des milliers de modioi de terre, de splendides édifices, d'innombrables chevaux, boeufs, chameaux et autres animaux, rendant la vie du moine semblable à celle des laïcs, avec toutes ses vaines préoccupations'. Et l'Empereur d'ajouter que les propriétés des monastères sont suffisantes en général, mais ne servent à rien, car elles restent incultes faute d'argent et donc de main d'oeuvre pour les exploiter. Nicéphore Phocas recommande 'de prendre soin des monastères existant qui sont maintenant en ruine et ont besoin d'aide'. 46 Le tableau que dresse Nicéphore Phocas et que complète, un siècle plus tard, Michel Attaliate, est saisissant: les monastères sont riches de terres, souvent acquises au détriment de petits paysans; mais cette richesse est dans un état lamentable, car les moines n'ont pas les moyens ni la capacité d'assurer une saine gestion. Ce n'est d'ailleurs pas leur vocation. Un certain nom­ bre de monastères sont ainsi menacés de ruine; d'ailleurs s'amorce alors le mouvement qui fait donner les petits monastères aux 44. Nicéphore Phocas, Nov. Ill, Zepi, Jus, I, 249-52. 45. Attaleiates, Histoire, 61. 46. Nicéphore Phocas, loc. cit., 249.

118

L'ÉGLISE BYZANTINE DES VIe-XI SIÈCLES: TERRES ET PAYSANS

grands, dont ils deviennent les métoques. A la fin du Xe siècle et tout au long du XIe siècle, l'Eglise trouve elle-même une solu­ tion au problème avec la charistike; la gestion du monastère ou établissement de charité est confiée à un laïc; celui-ci doit assurer la vie quotidienne du monastère et les obligations charitables, moyennant quoi, le reste, le profit, lui revient. A la fin du XIe siècle, cette institution contestée disparaît discrètement: la plupart des monastères sont à même de prendre en main leur propre gestion.47 Cette complète transformation des esprits s'est amorcée dès le Xe siècle. Par exemple, à Sparte, Nikon le Métanoéite organise un monastère urbain avec un artisanat, mais aussi un métoque rural pour assurer le ravitaillement.48 Athanase déclen­ che la colère des ermites athonites à cause des investissements con­ sidérables qu'il pratique pour faire de son monastère une unité économique performante; lui commence une politique d'édifica­ tion d'une véritable fortune: achats, donations de terres et méto­ ques lui permettent de rassembler un domaine foncier qui fait de son monastère un véribale rentier du sol. Bref, Athanase de Lavra montre cet appétit insatiable de terres dénoncé par Nicéphore Phocas, mais il sait les mettre en valeur.49 A une échelle plus modeste, Jean Xénos, dans la Crète du XIe siècle, procède de la même facon autour de son monastère de la Théotokos de Myrioképhalon.50 Au départ, sa fortune personnelle. Il obtient de l'Empereur une rente annuelle et des puissants locaux, laïcs et ecclésiastiques, d'importants dons en animaux. Quant à la fortune foncière, elle n'est pas très considérable, mais patiem­ ment rassemblée autour de 3 métoques pour lesquels ils achète quelques terres, et s'en fait donner d'autres. Au total, pas grand chose: quelque 20 exploitations paysannes, mais dont la surveillance est assurée par les moines eux-mêmes, présents dans

47. Sur la charistike, voir en dernier lieu, Kaplan, 'Les monastères et le siècle', avec la bibliographie antérieure. 48. Vie de Nikon le Métanoéite, éd. O. Lampsidis, Ό έκ Πόντου δσνος Νίκων ό Μετανοείτε' Αρχ.Ποντ., Suppl. 13 (Athènes, 1982), с. 42, 217-8 etc. 48, 224. 49. Cf. supra, n.35. 50. Vie de Jean Xénos, éd. H. Delehaye, Deux typica byzantins, 191-6.

119

MICHEL KAPLAN

les métoques; le tout complété par un cheptel comparativement nombreux, source d'importantes rentrées en argent.51 Les fortunes des monastères tendent ainsi à devenir tout à fait semblables à celles des évêchés ou des fortunes privées, voire de la fortune impériale. Au départ, les moines cultivaient eux-mêmes la terre qui les faisait vivre. Au XIe siècle, certains le font encore, mais c'est par ascèse ou parce qu'ils ont choisi la vie érémitque. Dans les grands laures se sont développés toute une série d'offices qui dispensent du travail de la terre et le ravitaille­ ment vient principalement de l'extérieur, par achat ou percep­ tion de loyers en nature. Certains monastères devaient posséder de grands domaines en régie directe, puisque Nicéphore Phocas demande qu'on leur donne des esclaves. Mais, dans les documents d'archives, c'est tout à fait secondaire: les terres de l'Eglise sont exploitées par des locataires et surtout des parèques. Ce n'est pas une nouveauté; dès le VIe siècle, Justinien avait tenté d'empêcher l'apparition de cette réalité.52 Au début du IXe siècle, lorsque Nicéphore reprend des terres aux monastères im­ périaux, celles-ci étaient exploitées par des parèques que les monastères avaient fait dispenser du kapnikon.53 Au Xe siècle, et, plus encore au XIe siècle, les archives de l'Athos montrent des monastères qui acquièrent des parèques, si possible dispensés d'impôt, afin qu'ils versent plus au monastère.54 Cela modifie radicalement les rapports des monastères avec la population. Bien sûr, il continue d'exister de petits monastères ruraux, fondés par des paysans sur leur terre, qui regroupent quel­ ques moines, le plus souvent des paysans du même village. Ces moines restent des paysans, du moins au début. A la fin du XIe siècle, Cyrille de Philéa, près de Derkos en Thrace, en fournit un bon exemple.55 Mais les évêchés tentent de mettre la main 51. Vie de Jean Xénos, passim. 52. Cf. supra, η .15. 53. Cf. supra, n.30. 54. Il nous est ici impossible d'entrer dans le détail de cette question; on se reportera au point fait sur ce sujet en dernier lieu par les éditeurs des actes d'Ivirôn, cités supra, n.43. 55. La Vie de St Cyrille le Philéote, moine byzantin, éd. et trad. E. Śargologos (Subs Hag, 39, Bruxelles, 1964), c.21, i, 164 etc. 22, ii, 107.

120

L'ÉGLISE BYZANTINE DES VIe-XI SIÈCLES: TERRES ET PAYSANS

dessus pour agrandir leur temporel, ce qui dénature le caractère de la fondation. En 996, Basile II tente de s'opposer à ce mouve­ ment, pour protéger la communauté villageoise.56 De toute façon, de tels monastères ruraux végètent; ils sont condamnés à entrer dans le domaine soit de l'évêché voisin soit d'un monastère plus important qui en fera son métoque.57 Les grands monastères, eux, deviennent des organismes com­ plexes, sur le modèle des évêchés, avec un nombreux personnel de gestion; l'économe y prend rang parmi les personnages im­ portants et succède souvent à l'higoumène, ce qui garantit les capacités de celui-ci à la gestion. Ces établissements deviennent également hiérarchisés, sur le modèle de Γοϊκος laïc; au centre, le monastère principal; autour, mais dans un rayon pas trop éloigné, les métoques, souvent contrôles par un moine envoyé par l'higoumène et qualifié, lui aussi, d'économe. Depuis le méto­ que, des moines surveillent le travail des parèques, souvent regroupés en un véritable village qui peut être à proximité ou à distance du métoque.58 Petit à petit, les monastères, qui recher­ chaient surtout la terre, s'intéressent avant tout aux parèques qui la travaillent; ils ne dédaignent pas de se faire attribuer l'impôt de leurs propres parèques, voire les revenus fiscaux d'autres parè­ ques pour lesquels ils se substituent à la puissance publique. Bref, ils deviennent des puissants comme les autres, au moment même où, se libérant de la charistike, les monastères échappent au con­ trôle des puissants laïcs. Ainsi donc, les principaux monastères qui, au départ, baignaient dans la population paysanne, qui étaient pour elle le meilleur représentant de l'Eglise, deviennent de lointains propriétaires, des puissants comme les autres, voire, à en croire Attaliate, pire que les autres. Ce n'est pas toujours le cas, grâce à l'incessante floraison de monastères villageois, créés par des villageois, dont

56. Basile II, Nov. Ill, Zepi, Jus, I, 268. 57. En plus des innombrables exemples athonites (St André de Péristérai et Gomatou devenus métoques de Lavra, Kolobou, Léontia, Chabounia, Ampakoum, Spélaiôtou et autres devenus métoques d'Ivirôn, avec leurs propres métoques), on citera les ex­ emples tirés de vies de Nikon (supra, n.48) et Jean Zénos (supra, n.50). 58. Cf. Bélikradou, dans le village de Sidérokausia, Actes d'Ivirôn, no.9 (995), 161-2.

121

MICHEL KAPLAN

l'existence est souvent brève et toujours menacée par les appétits des évêques et monastères plus importants. Pour autant, l'Eglise n'est pas absente de la société rurale. Au contraire, elle s'est systématiquement implantée dans la totalité des villages, qui ont leur église et leur clergé, un prêtre, parfois plusieurs, et des clercs de moindre rang. Or ce clergé rural est, lui, totalement intégré à la communauté villageoise; les prêtres sont en effet des agriculteurs comme les autres. Ils sont le plus souvent détenteurs d'une terre patrimoniale qu'ils peuvent transmettre à leur descendance puisqu'ils sont mariés et ont des enfants; leur exploitation agricole est donc, à l'image des autres, une exploitation familiale. De ceci, nous avons d'innombrables exemples. Ainsi, quand les agriculteurs habitant Hiérissos pas­ sent un accord avec Ivirôn en 982, les prêtres, diacres, lecteurs et autres clercs figurent dans la liste des signataires, parfois avant les dignitaires laïcs et les oikodespotai, mais aussi mélangés aux simples villageois,59 ceci indique qu'ils sont partie prenante du contrat, et non de simples témoins. On en a d'ailleurs confirma­ tion par les actes qui montrent un ecclésiastique, ou ses enfants, détenteur d'une terre dont la taille correspond à une exploita­ tion familiale. Les ecclésiastiques sont même souvent des agriculteurs sans être propriétaires; ainsi, dans l'acte d'Ivirôn 15 du 22 mai 1008, qui établit par témoignage la propriété d'un champ au bénfice d'un nommé Phsézélis, on apple d'abord l'ex­ ploitant en titre de la terre, l'archidiacre Constantin, puis le précé­ dent exploitant, le prêtre Paul; témoigne aussi le prêtre Jean, qui avait failli acheter le même champ.60 L'Eglise, ce n'est donc pas seulement, pour le peuple byzan­ tine des campagnes, un lointain propriétaire. C'est aussi un prêtre, un diacre ou autre clerc qui travaille la même terre que lui, con­ naît les mêmes difficultés, se voit contraint de vendre sa terre, puis d'en prendre une autre en location; le clergé rural est en­ traîné dans le déclin de la petite paysannerie indépendante, et l'on retrouvera ces prêtres dans les villages de parèques, appartenant 59 Actes d'Ivirôn, no.4, 125 et no.5, 132-3. 60. Ibid., no.15, 188-9.

122

L'ÉGLISE BYZANTINE DES VIe-XI SIÈCLES: TERRES ET PAYSANS

éventuellement à tel ou tel évêché, monastère ou établissement de charité. Malgré la présence de ce clergé rural, souvent tellement médiocre que de nombreux clercs sont incapables de signer tel ou tel acte de leur main, la modification de la propriété au profit de grands monastères éloigne du peuple la partie la plus populaire de l'Eglise; et ce n'est pas un hasard si les nouvelles vies de saints ruraux, comme celle de Cyrille le Philéote, petit paysan devenu pauvre moine, se font rares à partir du XIe siècle. L'Eglise finit la période plus riche et mieux organisée, mais elle est, pour l'essen­ tiel, du côté des puissants, au besoin contre une partie d'elle-même, le bas clergé séculier, dernier représentant d'une église populaire disparue.

123

124

Patronage in Action: the problems of an eleventh-century Bishop MARGARET MULLETT I Over a ten-year period, from well before 1100 until 1106-7, Theophylact, autocephalous archbishop of Ochrid,1 had pro­ blems with a village on the Vardar called Ekklesiai.2 Nine let­ ters refer to these unhappy events.3 They are not easy to reassemble,4 but I think the sequence of events went like this: General Note: References are made to four collections of the Letters of Theophylact of Ochrid: 'Meurs', 'Lami' and 'Vat.,' refer to the collections printed in PG, 126; 'G' to the recent edition of P. Gautier (see n.l below). 1. On this figure, who held office from 1089/90 until possibly after 1126, see M.E. Mullett, Theophylact through his letters: the two worlds of an exile bishop (unpub. PhD thesis, Birmingham, 1981), and D. Obolensky, Six Byzantine portraits (Oxford, 1988), 34-82. His letters, long disguised by the misprints of PG, 126, have now been re-edited, alas posthumously, by P. Gautier, Theophylacte d'Achrida, Lettres. Introduction, texte, traduction et notes (CFHB, 16/2, Thessalonika, 1986). This article was substantially complete before Gautier's text reached me, and I have not been able to incorporate his views fully. 2. It is not altogether certain that the Vardar village of Meurs XXXIII ( = G 88), XLI (= G 96) and XLIII (= G 98) is identical with that referred to as Ekklesiai in Meurs XIII (= G 74), XXX (= G 85), LV (= G ПО), LVI ( = G 111), LXVI ( = G 121) and Lami X, ( = G 15), XXIII ( = G 31), but there is a certain thematic unity in the complaints. It might well be the Asprai Ekklesiai of Alexiad, V.iv, vol.11, 22. Its position was clearly close to Moglena (the route was Veroia-Servia-Edessa-MoglenaAE) on the Vardar. 3. Meurs XLI (= G 96), Meurs XLIII (= G 98), Lami XXIII (= G 31), Meurs XXX ( = G 85), Meurs XXXIII ( = G 88), Meurs LXIII ( = G 98), LXIV ( = G 119), LXV (= G 120), LVI (= G 111), Lami VII (= G 11). 4. For one thing, it is not always clear when the form ekklesiai conveys a proper name; for another, we can watch the village through various stages of depredation, but not all the stages are documented. For attempts at dating, see P. Gautier, Nicéphore Bryennios, Histoire (CFHB, 9, Brussels, 1975); S. Maslev, Fontes graeci historiae

125

MARGARET MULLETT

there had been for some time persistent over-taxation of the village and Theophylact took action by writing to Adrian the Grand Domestic, brother of the emperor.5 The emperor made some response but apparently not to Theophylacťs satisfaction, for he wrote again and yet again to Adrian.6 The emperor's even­ tual response came in the form of a prostaxis and the promise of a survey of the village, presumably an anametresis to establish a praktikou.1 This survey clearly produced a result unfavourable to the archdiocese, for around 1100 Theophylact complained about it to Gregory Kamateros, his ex-pupil whose startling rise to power began with this position as imperial secretary.8 The situation was to become worse. Aparoikos, Lazaros, had thrown off his dependent status and made difficulties with Theophylacťs otherparoikoi to the extent of accusing Theophylact of arson. Theophylacťs reaction was double: in two long, undisciplined letters9 he recounted (yet again) all his grievances to Adrian the Grand Domestic and, in greater detail, since he was new to the case, to Nikephoros Bryennios, husband of the emperor's daughter, Anna. No immediate result ensured, and Lazaros formed a dangerous alliance with con­ demned heretics and other malcontents, as well as with the agents of the fişe including Theophylacťs least favouritepraktor, Iasites. Calumnies were carried to the emperor and Theophylacťs paroikoi were threatened. Another anametresis was feared. Theophylact again took action, around 1105. He wrote to George

bulgaricae, IX, Theophylacti Achridensis, archiepiscopi Bulgariae, scripta ad histori Bulgariae pertinentia, I, Studia in scriptis quibusdam a Theophylacto Achridensi archiepiscope Bulgariae (1090-c. 1126) relictis (Sofia, 1974); Mullett, Theophylact, 544-7. 5. Lost IX, see Mullett, Theophylact, II, 790. 6. Meurs XXX (= G 85), cols. 421-8; Meurs XXXIV (= G 89), cols. 433-6. 7. Meurs XLI (= G 96), col. 452, re-ed. Bryennios, 333. 8. Lami XXIII (= G 31), cols. 537-40. On Gregory Kamateros, see В. Skoulatos, Les personnages byzantins de l'Alexiade. Analyse prosopographique et synthèse (Université de Louvain, Receuil de travaux d'histoire et de philologie, 6 ser., 20, Louvain, 1980), no.76, 109-11. 9. Meurs XLIII (= G 98), cols. 453-60 and XLI (= G 96), cols. 442-52, re-ed. Bryennios, 320-33. Meurs XLI is in many ways the key document, since it contains a full list of nineteen grievances against the demosion, see Mullett, Theophylact, 541, n.128.

126

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

Palaiologos to complain about Iasites,10 asked the Protostrator Michael to put in a good word with his son, Constantine Doukas, who had just been appointed to the rule of the Vardar,11 and asked Palaiologos's secretary to make sure that no anagrapheus was sent to the village.12 This three-pronged approach had some effect; Iasites was curbed somehow, and Theophylact wrote to thank George Palaiologos for this.13 The problem seemed to have died down. Then in 1105-6 we again hear of difficulties in the village: an oikidion belonging to the archdiocese was occupied by the army and there was also over-taxation. His response was to write to the imperial doctor and court poet Nicholas Kallikles to ask him to do something about it.14 Whether he did or not we do not know. Here we leave this complex case, a microcosm of the ten­ sions of rural society under the Komnenoi. What is interesting about it is not so much the complexity and difficulty of the problem, as the means Theophylact used to counter it. He approaches not the functionaries responsible for the taxation of the village, the numerous and voracious officials of Boleron-Strymon-Thessalonika, but luminaries of the imperial court, closely related to the emperor or in constant touch with him. The only time an official is mentioned is when Theophylact asks the official's father to influence him on Theophylact's behalf. Is this characteristic of Theophylact's tactics, or could it be simply an accident of survival of certain letters? Admittedly, in two other cases we can observe Theophylact going through the official chan­ nels: towards 1092 in a village called Mogila north-east of Bitola15 and in the case of the monastery at Pologos, dated by 10. Meurs XXIII, cols. 401-2. 11. Lost X, ( = G Lost 10), see Mullett, Theophylact, 790, referred to in Meurs XXXIII ( = G 88), col. 432. 12. Meurs XXXIII, col. 434. 13. Meurs LXX ( = G 126), cols. 489-90. 14. Meurs LVI ( = G 111), cols. 473-6, cf. Alexiad, XII, iv, vol. III, 64. 15. Lami XII (= G 17), cols. 521-4; Lami XX ( = G 26), cols. 533-6, see P. Gautier, 'Le dossier de Manuel Straboromanos', REB, 28 (1965), 172. The place is to be iden­ tified with the village Mogila north-east of Bitola. The village contained 'an ancient hall' and was at that time occupied by Romanos Straboromanos, 'who has made himself fat on the goods of the church'. Theophylact wrote immediately to John

127

MARGARET MULLETT

Gautier to 1092-3.16 Again, in both cases, the outcome is un­ known. In both, however, Theophylact appears to operate im­ peccably through official channels. Yet an analysis of the correspondence as a whole bears out our impression in the Ekklesiai case that Theophylact was not always content to play by the rules. A first impression experienced by anyone picking up Theophylact's letter-collection is of dense vacui­ ty;17 a second is of disappointment that the three cases already cited are the only ones it is possible to see in sharp focus. Even so, Theophylact's problems bulk large in his letters. Few of his correspondents were allowed to remain ignorant of them. He saw problems as monsters: Before we have completely escaped from the lion, a bear appears before us. And as we run away from her and are just resting our hands on the wall of the house, a deadly snake pops out of its hiding place . . .

Theophylact's Bulgaria is infested by the monsters of his wor­ ries and problems, 'his cares unspeakable and insoluble about the general state of the laity and the church'.19 His monsters can Doukas, then absent from Bulgaria, asking him to make over the village to the church by sigillion and to remove Straboromanos. The outcome is unknown. 16. In this case Theophylact writes on behalf of a monastery whose rights and im­ munities have been disregarded by tax officials despite a sigillion of Alexios giving them exkousseia from all but the zeugologion. Theophylact asks John Komnenos to issue a pittakion to restore all tax taken from them. This seems not to have had any immediate effect, since he wrote again, also to John Komnenos, complaining that his pittakion had been ignored, and begged the Doux to take strong action. Again the outcome is unknown. 17. Cf. the comments of R.J.H. Jenkins, 'The Hellenistic origins of Byzantine literature', DOP, 17 (1963), 45: 'To us, a letter is a message accompanied by an ex­ pression of personal regard; a Byzantine letter is an impersonal rhetorical flourish which either contains no message at all, or if it does, the message is couched in so obscure and allusive a fashion as to be nearly unintelligible'. 18. Even specific events are thin on the ground; the synod of Prespa and the death of Theophylact's brother Demetrios are two exceptions, together with a single throwaway reference to the First Crusade. To be fair, even the thorough researches of D. Xanalatos, Beitrage zur Wirtschafts-und Socialsgeschichte Makedoniens im Mittelalter, hauptsachlich auf Grund der Briefe Theophylaktos von Achrida (Diss, Munich, 1937), B.A. Nikolaev, Feodalik Otnosheniia В Pokovenata ot Bizantiia B'lgarskia Otrazeni В Pismata na Teoßlakt Ochridski Archiepiskop B'lgarski (Sofia, 1971) and B. Panov, Teofilakt Ohridski kako izvor za srednovekovnsta istorila na Makedonskiot národ (Skopje, 1971) have concentrated on institutions and structures rather than on problem-solving case-studies; a transactionalist approach is well overdue. 19. Meurs XVII ( = G 71), col. 389. The externalisation of problems into monstrous

128

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

usually be traced to their lairs in classical mythology, though the Bible is the source of serpents and scorpions and the lions of Daniel who knew no fast.20 His choice of personification was partly dictated by his feelings of exile;21 he delighted in per­ suading correspondents safely ensconced in Constantinople that the Achridiots really were headless stumps, or alternatively bullchildren with human faces, and that for conversation he enjoyed only the croaking of crows and jackdaws and the twittering of starlings.22 In some moods Leviathan, the Harpies who over­ turned his books, the Laestrygonians and Cyclopes seemed very real;23 his archiepiscopate felt like a perpetual voyage between Scylla and Charybdis24 or a continuous struggle with the Lernean hydra,25 who is almost always the demosion; he saw himself as Tantalos,26 unable to grasp the longed-for solution to a nightmarish and timeless situation. But from time to time (unlike Circe's pigs27) his problems assumed their own form, and he was able to act effectively for the advantage of the diocese. It comes as something of a surprise to realise that many of the densest and most rhetorical of Theophylact's letters have a specific aim to mind, beyond the frequent demands for letters,28 or the latest requests on his inter-library loan system,29 or the passionate in­ vitations to his friends to come and stay to cheer him up. 30 In shapes was no new phenomenon in Greek literature, see R. Padel, In and out of the mind in Greek tragedy (Unpublished DPhil. thesis, Oxford, 1976). 20. Vat VII ( = G 71), col. 321. 21. Meurs LXX ( = G 26), col. 489; Lami XXIX ( = G 37), col. 548; Meurs I ( = G 61), col. 357. 22. On exile imagery in Theophylact, see M.E. Mullett, 'The classical tradition in the Byzantine letter', in Byzantium and the Clasical Tradition, eds. M. Mullett and R. Scott (Birmingham, 1981), 97. 23. Vat I ( = G 6), col. 308; Meurs XLIV ( = G 99), col. 460; Meurs I, col. 360. 24. Vat XIV ( = G 55), col. 383; Lami XXII ( = G 30), col. 537; Lami XXIII ( = G 31), col. 540; Meurs XXII ( = G 77), col. 400. 25. Meurs XXX ( = G 85), col. 424-5, cf. Meurs XXXIII ( = G 88), col. 433. 26. Meurs XXI ( = G 34), col. 386. 27. Vat V ( = G 46), col. 320; Meurs VIII ( = G 69); col. 372. 28. E.g. Vat VI ( = G 47) to Mermentoulos, cols. 319-20. 29. E.g. Meurs XXI ( = G 34) to Anemas, cols. 395-6 and Meurs LVII ( = G 112) to Nicholas Kallikles, cols. 475-6. 30. E.g. Vat X ( = G 51) to Nikephoros the Chartophylax, cols. 323-4 and Meurs LXXIII to Michael Pantechnes, cols. 499-500.

129

MARGARET MULLETT

fact of the 128 letters written from Bulgaria, thirty-eight make specific requests and four are thanks for services rendered. Most of these requests were quite down to earth: to temper the effects of the demosion, to obtain a pittakion in a particular dispute, to prevent the appearance of an anagrapheus in a village, to restrain the>influence of a particular official or a particular archon, to regain a specific piece of church property. Of those thirty-eight letters, only twelve are written to officials. It is possible to reconstruct in some detail Theophylact's deal­ ings with the agents of the civil adminstration. Those who regard him as a catspaw of the imperial government31 should look clearly at these transactions, where Theophylact the defender of Bulgar rights is often sharply opposed to the ekprosopou of the emperor. Several centres of government bore on the enormous archdiocese, which only increased Theophylact's problems. In thé west was the important theme of Dyrrachion, governed at the end of the eleventh century by persons close to the emperor,32 and a crucial point in the Balkan wars of the early part of Alexios's reign. Theophylact had dealings (and these imply a civil and judicial role for the doux) with four incumbents of the duchy: happy relations with John Doukas (1081-92),33 unhappy ones with John Komnenos (1092-7 +) 34 (and we can see the takeover in the correspondence),35 less close relations with John Bryen31. This view of Theophylact, largely attributable to V.N. Zlatarsky, Istorijana Bulgarskata Durzhava prez svednite vekove, 3 vols (Sofia, 1918-40) has been out of fashion for some years. See, though, J.V.A. Fine, The early medieval Balkans: a critical survey from the sixth to the late twelfth century (Michigan, 1983), 220. 32. The theme of Dyrrachion was a creation of the ninth century. See N. Oikonomidès, Listes de préséance, 49. 33. John Doukas, the second son of Andronikos Doukas and Maria of Bulgaria had already been at Dyrrachion for some time when Theophylact arrived at Ochrid (the dating of John's appointment depends on Alexiad, VII, viii, vol. II, 115). He was not replaced until he was named megadoux and sent to make war on the Turk Tzachas probably in 1091 or 1092. On John Doukas, see D.I. Polemis, The Doukai (London, 1968), 66-70; A. Hohlweg, Die Verwaltungsgeschichte der Byzantinischen Reich unter den Komnenen (Byzantina monacensia, 1, Munich, 1965), 23. 34. Seven letters of Theophylact to John are preserved. The pivot of his relation­ ship with Theophylact must be the latter's denunciation of him to the Emperor (Alexiad, VIII, vii, vol. II, 151, to be dated to spring 1094). 35. Lami X (= G 15), cols. 519-20.

130

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

nios (? 1097-1105)36 and Alexios Komnenos (1105/6).37 Cases where the doux is involved stretch far from the hinterland of the city, over the Albanian passes into the Macedonian highland and lakeland, concerning Mogiła near Pelagonia, Pologos near Skopje, Devol and Prespa, where an archon was also based.38 In the east was another 'old' theme, Thessalonika, which had merged with Strymon and Boleron by the 1070s.39 Here Theophylact's deal­ ings were over Ochrid property held in that theme, to this disad­ vantage, perhaps, since as the Athos documents show us, a vigorous fiscal system operated in the theme. Of the long list of officials for the period which can be reconstructed from seals and the Athos documents, Theophylact had dealings with only one, Constantine Doukas,40 but it is possible to watch this relation­ ship even before the doux took up his posting. In the north were the themes of Dalmaţia,41 Serbia-Sirmion42 and Paristrion43 but there is no extant evidence to show that they had any impact on Theophylact at all — it is likely that Theophylact's control was

36. Two short letters of Theophylact indicate that they had known one another before his appointment and that their relations were amicable. John appears to be the father of Nikephoros Bryennios the historian and husband of Anna Komnena, an older man than his predecessors, see the arguments of Gautier, Bryennios, 20-3 against A. Carile, 'Il problema della identificazione de cesare Nicefore Briennio', Aevun, 38 (1964), 74-83; 42 (1968), 429-54. 37. Alexiad, XII, iv, voi. III, 65. 38. Meurs LII ( = G 108), cols. 469-70 is the only evidence. 39. The strategos of Thessalonika is mentioned in the Taktikon Uspenskij and doukes until 1081, whereas civil officials had belonged to all three from much earlier. BoleronStrymon-Thessalonika was still listed as one theme in 1198, see Zakythinos, Έ π . Έτ.Βυζ.Σπ., 17 (1941), 242. For tax purposes it seems that Thessalonika was grouped with Serres and Stťymon with Boleron, see Actes de Lawa, I, no.39. 40. Constantine Doukas was the son of the Protostrator Michael and was appointed to the 'rule of the Vardar' probably close to 1105. On him see Polemis, Doukai, 76. 41. Dalmaţia, reconquered by Basil II in 1019, had ceased to exist as a theme by this date, see J. Ferluga, L'administration byzantine en Dalmatie (Belgrade, 1971), 160. 42. Sirmion-Serbia, sometimes called Western Paristrion has caused more dispute than any other administrative area. All are agreed that whatever land was captured by Basil II, and however it was administered later, the Western Paristrian towns and Serbia were lost in the rising of 1072. 43. Paristrion was created by John Tzimiskes and revived after Basil's conquest of Bulgaria, see; E. Condurachi, I. Barnea and P. Diaconu, 'Nouvelles recherches sur le limes byzantin du Bas-Danube aux Xe-XIe siècles', (XIII Congres internationale des études byzantines, Oxford, 1967), 179-93.

131

MARGARET MULLETT

very limited towards the northern part of his archdiocese.44 Curiously we have little evidence of contacts with Skopje, the theme capital of Basil IPs new theme of Bulgaria, although in one letter we have evidence of failures of communication.45 There is evidence for 'small fiscal' themes in the presence of a doux at Veroia, and possibly at Ochrid and Pelagonia.46 But it was the two old themes of Thessalonika and Dyrrachion which have greatest importance in the correspondence. There is no doubt that officials were very important to Theophylact: the number of letters preserved to them, a possi­ ble twenty-four,47 compared with nine to his suffragans and two to his metropolitan colleagues should make that clear. Officials also appear among the rare third person references in the cor­ respondence: he shows concern for the appointment of the right governor,48 writes to the Bishop of Pelagonia on one occasion to warn him of the impending change of officials,49 mourns, in vocabulary reminiscent of a threnos or a consolatio, the depar­ ture of a good governor,50 and shares with friends his exultation 44. See the map of Theophylact's Bulgaria, Mullett, Theophylact, Fig. HI. 45. Lami Xllla ( = G 18), cols. 523-6. The theme of Bulgaria was created after the conquest of Basil II, with military head (doux-katepano) and civil officials (pronoetes and kritai). No anagrapheus has yet been recorded. It appears that the administra­ tion was based on Skopje, Skylitzes, Synopsis Istorion, éd. H. Thurn (CFHB, 5, Bonn and New York, 1973), 409. 46. For the category of 'small fiscal' themes, see H. Ahrweiler, 'Recherches sur l'ad­ ministration de l'empire byzantin au IXe-XIe siècles', BCH, 84 (1960), 87 ff. Veroia is given by Ahrweiler, op. cit., 63 as a military theme on the evidence of Meurs LXVIII ( = G 123), cols. 487-90, but it may very well be fiscal, since the official who is men­ tioned in Vat VIII (= G 49), col. 321 was dealing with a civil matter. Ochrid is cited as a theme in Lami XVIII, cols. 531-4 as the poorest of all (to be compared un­ favourably with the size and richness of Pelagonia). The evidence for Pelagonia as a theme depends on Lami XVIII; it is to the doux of Dyrrachion to whom Theophylact complains. 47. Including Meurs I, which may be to an official. 48. See Meurs VI (= G 67) to Gregory Kamateros, cols. 367-70 where he flatters the other by lauding his influential position. For an attempt to prevent an official, Antiochps, being sent, see Poem X, éd. G. Meracati, Studi Bizantini, 1 (1924), 368, re-ed. Gautier, Theophylacte, I, 365. 49. Lami (XV (= G 21), cols. 527-8. The strategos and anagrapheus Eumallos or Eumathios has been recalled and Michael son of Polyeuktos is to become strategos. It is not known to which theme Theophylact refers, but it is possibly either Ochrid or Pelagonia. 50. Meurs XXIV (= G 79), col. 405.

132

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

at some coup in which he had outwitted the katepano and kastroktistes.51 Yet of those 38 letters written with a particular end in view, 26 were to apparently uninvolved parties. Some of his requests are personal: he asks John Doukas to lend help to his relatives in Euripos52 and the epi ton Deeseon to release his nephew-inlaw from military service.53 Some are on behalf of other people, like the five recommendatory letters preserved.54 Most involve his struggles in Bulgaria. He asks Nicholas Grammatikos to approach the emperor and ask help for Theophylact's troubles with the demosion;55 he asks Gregory Kamateros to help in in­ fluencing the emperor over a change of officials;56 he asks the bishop of Chalcedon to have a word with the chartophylax in support of a letter of Theophylact's;57 he asks Nicholas Kallikles to make an approach to the emperor for him.58 This is the way he proceeded in the Ekklesiai case, bringing in Adrian the Grand Domestic, Nikephoros Bryennios, the Protostrator Michael, George Palaiologos in skilful manipulation of a patronage network. II Personal patronage has been described as a 'lopsided friend­ ship', 59 involving 'a reciprocal exchange of different goods and services, the unequal status of the parties and a personal link of some duration'. 60 It is rarely envisaged in studies of Byzantine 51. Meurs XIX = Lami XXIV (= G 32), col. 541. 52. Vat II = Lami IV (= G 8), cols. 309-12. 53. Meurs LVI (= G 111), cols. 473-6. 54. Meurs LIX ( = G 114) to John Pantechnes for a relative of Theodore of Smyrna; Lami XXXII ( = G 40) to Niketas Polites for the bishop of Glavenica; Meurs XLIX (= G 104) to John Attaleiates the autokrator of the doux of Attalia for the metropolitan of Side; Meurs XV ( = G 27) to Gregory Kamateros for Psellos's grand­ son; Meurs III ( = G 64) to the patriarch Nicholas III Grammatikos for the bishop of Pelagonia. 55. Vat IV (= G 45), cols. 313-7 56. Meurs VI (= G 67), cols. 367-70. 57. Meurs XXVII (= G 82), cols. 415-8. 58. Meurs LVI (G 111), cols. 473-6. 59. J. Pitt-Rivers, The people of the Sierra (London, 1954), 140. 60. R. Sailer, Personal patronage under the early empire (Cambridge, 1982), 1, based on J. Boissevain, 'Patronage in Sicily', Man, n.s., 1 (1966), 18.

133

MARGARET MULLETT

society. Only Günther Weiss's analysis of the Gefolgschaft of Kantakouzenos has really tackled the problem, and even then not from a theoretical standpoint.61 The most obvious way of extending his research might be to pursue Byzantine perceptions of inequality of status: for example what it meant to be an anthropos in the sense in which this term appears, for example, in Kekaumenos or the will of Eustathios Boilas.62 But we also need to be able to detect patronage where it is to be found and this raises various critical issues. Waterbury points out that 'It is tempting at times to see patronage everywhere', but Waterbury also accepts that 'one cannot advance irrefutable, general­ ly accepted criteria by which to establish what patronage is and when it has become something else.'63 Certainly there are generally accepted core characteristics of patronage, but the form patronage takes varies from society to society. We do not need to assume, for example, as some anthropologists do, that the client must be completely dependent on the patron; rather the client can be seen at the centre of a network of patronage, mobilising various contacts in order to gain his ends: clients search after a patron who agrees to press their particular interest. Locating the patron presents problems, but once the proper connections are made the client's desires may be advanced. Exchanges are also expected, but these appear as a kind of deferred payment to be collected in the future.64 In this view of the patron-client relationship, the clients are at the centre, selecting patrons, cultivating multiplexity, acting as patron in some transactions and client in others, choosing his children's godfathers for maximum effect. With the final exception, personal patronage seems to me 61. G. Weiss, Johannes Kantakuzenos-Aristokraat, Kaiser und Mönch in der Gesellschaftentwicklung von Byzanz im 14 Jahrhundert (Wiesbaden, 1969), 138ff. 62. See J. Verpeaux, 'Les oikeioi; notes d'histoire institutionelle et sociale', REB, 23 (1965), 89-99. For Kekaumenos and Boilas and for eleventh- and twelfth-century seals, see my 'Byzantium: a friendly society?', Past and Present, 118 (1987), 17 and n. 82. 63. J. Waterbury, 'An attempt to put patrons and clients in their place', in E. Gellner and J. Waterbury (eds.) Patrons and clients in Mediterranean societies. (London, 1977), 329, 334. 64. J. Boissevain, Friends offriends, networks, manipulators and coalitions (Oxford, 1974).

134

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

to describe very well Theophylact's transactions with his cor­ respondents at court. Once it is accepted that Theophylact had recourse to the links of personal patronage to further his ends in Bulgaria, further in­ sights ensue. Even the ninety letters which appear to have no obvious intention can sometimes be seen to be part of a process of softening up a patron or of keeping him in play — 28 letters in fact, together with 3 which are thanks for patronage rendered. We even see Theophylact in the process of trawling for a new patron, for example Nikephoros Melissenos when he came recruiting to the Ochrid area in 1091.65 Theophylact greets him as a theos eleutherios in this barbaros oikoumene, as a medicine, as a tower of strength. He hints of the possible benefits Melissenos could offer the bishop and accompanies his letter with 200 salted fish, together with a disquisition on their symbolism. It seems to have paid off: he later writes another letter of thanks for benefits received.66 Theophylact has often praised the Caesar for all his good works, in a kind of balance, but now the lightness of his words is outbalanced by the greatness of the other's works (reciprocity indeed.) Melissenos has got for Theophylact aprostagma which has been added to previous documentation like Ossa on Pelion; only a giant among men could achieve this. Theophylact praises Nikephoros, whose deeds vanquish all his rhetorical skills, for the Caesar, through his association with the emperor, is god-like. Theophylact claims to hear voices and an imagined conversation between himself and the Caesar — and here he is pushing it — in which "Theophylact imagines that he is given the kanonikon of more villages. He decently retreats in­ to more praise of Melissenos before closing: the vocabulary throughout is panegyric and imperial, so much so that a recent scholar has identified the addressee as the emperor.67 Nor did Theophylact scorn to recruit officials as patrons; even if they were less than totally obliging during their term of office 65. Lami IX (= G 13), PG 126, cols. 517-20. 66. Lami V (= G 9), cols. 511-4. 67. S. Maslev, 'Les lettres de Théophylacte de Bulgarie à Nicéphore Melissenos', REB, 30 (1972), 179-86.

135

MARGARET MULLETT

they might turn up trumps later, like John Doukas, convenient­ ly posted after Ochrid to Hellas, very close to Theophylact's relatives. A pattern emerges of what one might call 'first letters' to incoming governors, in which the governor receives an epistolary adventus. Four of these are preserved,68 to John Bryennios and John Komnenos of Dyrrachion, Constantine Doukas of Thessalonika and Gregory Pakourianos, Theophylact's favourite official, to whose Dionysios he plays Plato. 69 In these letters Theophylact bemoans the fact that he cannot render prosky nesis in person to the official, but proceeds to do so by letter. He has first to counter the accusation of excess parrisia, in deign­ ing to address the other first.70 He wishes the official good for­ tune in his new tasks, alludes to the wretched state of the church in Bulgaria71 and ways in which he can help;72 the bearer will describe this fully;73 the official is god-like,74 youthful and vigorous75 (or of mature years), like his father76 (or a welcome new broom) and Theophylact prays to God to give him every assistance in his task.77 We can watch also Theophylact oiling the wheels of a relation­ ship, sending gifts of fish on public holidays,78 remembering to 68. Meurs XXXI (= G 86), cols. 425-8, re-ed. Gautier, Bryennios, 316-8; Lami VI, cols. 513-4; Meurs XIII, cols. 381-2; Meurs VII, cols. 369-72. 69. The identification of this figure has caused some difficulties but he is certainly not Gregory Pakourianos the Grand Droungarios and founder of Backovo. A fur­ ther problem attaches to the possibility that Theophylact wrote to two Pakourianoi, a Gregory and ą Nicholas, see R. Katicić, Ά\ προς Πακουριάνούς έπιστολαι του Θεοφύλακτου αρχιεπισκόπου Άχρίδοςγ,Επ. Έτ.Βυζ.Σπ.,30 (1960-1), 386-97, whose solution I largely follow. 70. E.g. Meurs XXXI (= G 56), col. 428; Meurs LXIII (= G 98), col. 481; Lami VI (= G 10), col. 513; Meurs VII (= G 68), col. 369. 71. E.g. Meurs XXXI, col. 428. 72. E.g. Meurs LXIII (= G 108), col. 481; Lami VI (= G 10), col. 513. 73. E.g. Meurs XXXI (= G 86), col. 428. 74. E.g. Lami VI (= G 10), col. 513. 75. E.g. Meurs VII (= G 68), col. 372. 76. E.g. Meurs LXIII (= G 98), col. 481. 77. E.g. Meurs VII (= G 68), col. 372. 78. Meurs L (= G 105) 100 fish to John Bryennios at Dyrrachion and Lami IX (= G 12), 200fishto Melissenos somewhere in Bulgaria both emphasise an associa­ tion with the Theotokos. The occasion could surely be a feast, for example the Koimesis.

136

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

write and congratulate his patron on a great victory or advance­ ment,79 remembering to write a consolatio when someone close to the patron has died (this, the duty of a client, sometimes solves such knotty questions as why he should have written to the deceased's nephew-in-law rather than to his brother), 80 remembering to be grateful, warning patrons of approaching trouble and the possible need for their renewed assistance.81 It is arguable that in one case we can see Theophylact paying into an account on which in the correspondence he never — unless in Vat VIII — draws. Four letters are preserved to Gregory Taronites,82 one dating from his youth (before 1094), asking what he is doing and imagining a scene of intense millitary activity — preparation for the successes of the future.83 A second letter greets him on his arrival in Colchis84 and two further letters hail his later military achievements (1103-4) bringing victory to the empire and peace to the Pontos.85 Another letter referring to him may date from a later period still, after a somewhat chequered carer.86 The last two letters are written in the encomiastic style characteristic of the letter to John Doukas or 'first' letters to officials. This, like many problems of detection of relationship in Byzan­ tine literary texts91 is a complex case. Gregory was possibly an ex-pupil, possibly a spiritual son of Theophylact and certainly a potential patron. Who were Theophylact's patrons? Nineteen different persons are asked for particular favours, but not all of these can be seen strictly as patrons. Ex-pupils unless they were extraordinarily grand like Gregory Taronites are more likely to 79. E.g. Meurs XXVI ( = G 81). 80. E.g. Meurs XII (= G 73) to the Caesar on the death of the Sebastokrator, see the doubts of Maslev, 'Lettres de Theophylact', 179-86 on the identity of its addressee. 81. Meurs XXIV ( = G 79) warns of the continued need for help in Bulgarian af­ fairs; Meurs LXX and Lami IV are thank-you letters. 82. See Mullett, Theophylact, II, 2, 204-22. 83. Meurs IV (= G 63), cols. 363-8. 84. Meurs XXIII ( = G 78), cols. 401-2; identification pointed out by A. LeroyMolinghen, 'Les lettres de Théophylacte de Bulgarie à Grégoire Taronite', B, 11 (1936), 589. 85. Meurs XXVI ( = G 81), cols. 409-10; Meurs XXXVII ( = G 92), cols. 437-40. 86. Vat VIII (G 49), col. 321.

137

MARGARET MULLETT

be repaying debts of teaching to Theophylact rather than clien­ tage: Michael Pantechnes, Gregory Kamateros, John Attaleiates, the didaskalos of the Great Church appear to be in this category of ex-pupil;87 it is their proximity to the emperor, the first two as secretary and doctor respectively, which lead him to call on them so frequently. John Pantechnes, to whom Theophylact apologises for sending him so many young men, was the father of an ex-pupil.88 We should also watch out for the instrumental nature of Byzantine friendship; I have argued elsewhere89 that Theophylact expected his friendships to work; usually to console and support, but sometimes in a more tangible way. I suspect that his relationships with Niketas Polites, John Serblias, Niketas the imperial doctor and Michael, Bishop of Chalcedon fall into this category.90 But we are left with a glittering array of figures who cannot be mistaken for ex-pupil or friend: Adrian the Grand Domestic is the grandest: brother to the emperor, and of im­ pressive closeness to events and decisions.91 Nikephoros Melissenos and Nikephoros Bryennios successively Caesar were also at Theophylact's disposal,92 as was John Doukas, who in the first flush of the reconquest of 109293 must have looked like a very useful contact indeed. And we should not neglect 87. On Michael Pantechnes, see Skoulatos, Personnages no. 135,209-10; P. Gautier, Michel Italikos, Lettres et discours (Paris, 1972) 46-9; A. P. Kazhdan, 'The image of the medical doctor in Byzantine literature of the tenth to the twelfth centuries', DOP, 38 (1984), 44; on Gregory Kamateros see above n. 8; on John Attaleiates, see P. Gautier, 'Le Synode des Blachernes (fin 1094). Etude prosopographique', REB, 29 (1971), 262. 88. On John Pantechnes, see George and Demetrios Tornikes, SO; Michael Italikos, 47. 89. Mullett, 'Byzantium; a friendly society?', 13. 90. See Mullett, Theophylact, 270-308 and G. Zacos and A. Veglery, Byzantine lead seals (Basel, 1972), nos. 2697-9, 1/3, 1480-1; for Nikephoros Bryennios see Bryen­ nios, 20-3 and bibliography; Skoulatos, Personnages, no. 144, pp. 224-32. 91. See Skoulatos, Personnages no. 3, pp. 7-8. 92. For Nikephoros Melissenos, see D. Papachryssanthou, 'La date du mort du Sebastokrator Isaac Comnène, frère d'Alexis 1er et de quelque événements contem­ porains', REB, 21 (1963), 250-5. 93. For Alexios's reconquest, see S. Vryonis, The Decline of medieval Hellenism in Asia Minor and the process ojIslamization from the eleventh through the fifteenth century (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1971), 114-20; H. Ahrweiler, 'Les forteresses construites en Asie Mineure face a l'invasion seldjoucide', (XIcongress internationale des études byzantines, Munich, 1958), 182-9.

138

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

Theophylact's royal patronesses: the mysterious despoina whom he thanks for visiting him in illness,94 and the magnificent set-piece letter to Maria the ex-basilissa which can be interpreted in terms of Theophylact's failure to do his duty as client and visit her when in Constantinople.95 We can even get some idea of relative chronology. I have argued elsewhere96 that Maria the ex-basilissa need not necessarily be seen as Theophylact's literary patroness: the case for personal patronage is much stronger. And as in the 1080s her influence at court waned, Theophylact, while maintaining his stance of client, was forced to turn elsewhere, to John Doukas, to Adrian, to Nikephoros Bryennios on the way up, thanks to a personal link with his father and to George Palaiologos. It is unfortunate that we do not know how Theo­ phylact made some of these contacts; what is clear is why he made them: all are closely related to the emperor and at the centre of power in Constantinople. Theophylact, I suspect, knew clan government when he saw it coming.97 So much for Theophylact as client: how about the Archbishop of All Bulgaria as patron? Surprisingly there is rather less evidence. Apart from his own relatives, his use of contacts in Constantinople is three times on behalf of fellow-bishops, twice for suffragans of his own, Pelagonia and Glavenica, and once for the metropolitan of Side,98 and twice for the relatives of his own teachers or fellow-scholars, the grandson of Michael Psellos and a relation of Theodore of Smyrna.99 On two occasions he appears to be refusing to give patronage: he once sends back a 94. On George Palaiologos' tour of duty (71081-3) see P. Gautier, 'Diatribes de Jean l'Oxite contre Alexis 1er Comnène', REB, 28 (1970), 11, n. 32; ibid., 'Synode des Blachernes', 34, η. 30, cf. Hohlweg, Verwaltungsgeschichte, 17, η. 5, in any case well prior to the two letters of Theophylact, с 1105. They are quite clearly written to a patron in Constantinople rather than to an official in Bulgaria. 95. Meurs LII (= G 107), col. 469; Lami I (= G 4), cols. 501-5. 96. M.E. Mullen, 'The "Disgrace" of the ex-basilissa Maria', ByzSlav, 45 (1984), 209-11. 97. For reservations on the suitability of this term for the undeniable exploitation of the family by the Komnenoi see my 'Maria', n. 57. 98. Meurs III (= G 64), cols. 361-4; Lami XXXII (= G 40), cols. 553-6; Meurs XLIX (= G 104), cols. 465-6. 99. Meurs XV (= G 37), cols. 383-6; Meurs LIX (= G 114), cols. 477-8.

139

MARGARET MULLETT

psaltes sent him by the chartophylax on grounds of monastic stability; on another occasion he refuses to appoint to a bishopric the nominee of John Taronites, doux of Skopje.100 Interesting­ ly, he here reveals his policy on appointments: Bishops have been appointed by me either for their work in this church and their discretion and dignity, like the bishops of Morava and Prisdiana, or they are chosen from those who in Constantinople have been brilliant in thought and teaching, or those who were conspicuous in the monastic life, like the bishop of Triaditsa.101

Impeccably upright? Playing hard to get? Unimpressed by Taronites's power over him? Willing to accept but not give patronage? We shall never know. In any case the picture is as far from the idea of the Early Byzantine bishop, at the centre of a network of patronage, as one could imagine.102 There we think of Basil and the Cappadocians simply carrying on family concerns,103 Synesius stepping into the bishop's chair not because of any deep commitment to Christianity but through a sense of sociarobligation,104 the bishops of the eastern frontier in the fifth century, solemnly ordering new fortifications for their cities.105 Even in the eleventh and twelfth centuries we are more familiar with the concept of bishop-as-patron rather than bishopas-client. Theophylact's predecessor Leo's new look for Hagia Sophia at Ochrid, whatever it meant;106 Theophylact's suffragan the bishop of Stroumnitza funding the monastery of the Eleousa;107 Bishop Anthony's appearance on the Climax icon at 100. Meurs V (= G 66), cols. 365-8; Lami ХШа (= G 18), cols. 523-6. 101. col. 525. 102. On the early Byzantine bishop, see A. Guillou, 'L'évèque dans la société mediterra­ nean des VI-VII siècles: un modèle', BECh, 131 (1973), 5-19. 103. T.A. Kopeček, 'The Cappadocian fathers and civic patriotism', Church History, 43 (1974), 293-303. 104. See most recently, J. Bregman, Synesius ofCyrene, philosopher-bishop (Berkeley, 1982). 105. Chronicle of Joshua the Stylitě, ibíW. Wright (Cambridge, 1882, repr. Amster­ dam, 1968), 71; Chronicle of Zachariah of tóitylene, tr. F.J. Hamilton and E.W. Brooks (London, 1899), 164-5. 106. See the recent study of A.W. Epstein, 'The political content of the paintings of Agia Sophia at Ochrid', JOB, 29 (1980), 315-29 and the opposing views of С Walter, 'Portraits of local bishops; a note on their significance', ZVI, 21 (1982), 15, n.63. 107. See L. Petit, 'Les actes du monastère de Notre-Dame de Pitié en Macédoine', VV, 11 (1904), 94-9 and for the church, P. Milijković-Pepek, Veljusa (Skopje, 1981),

140

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

Sinai; the bishop of Paphos and Neophytos;108 and all those episcopal uncles of the twelfth century who educated their nephews.109 Theophylact's status appears rather different. Faced with pro­ blems he worked both through official channels and through the unofficial network of patronage. We can almost detect a ten point plan for dealing with civil officials: 1) try to influence his appointment, 2) warn all suffragans of his advent, 3) write him a crawly letter when he arrives, 4) keep him happy by gifts of fish, letter &c, 5) try to get him to protect the interests of the Church, but 6) simultaneously use the patronage network, 7) if he fails to come up to scratch, delate on him to the emperor (the best example of this is in Anna Komnena when he tried to get rid of John Komnenos),110 8) write to him on his replacement telling him what a marvellous governor he has been, 9) try to influence the choice of his successor, 10) try to use him after he has been appointed elsewhere. All good officials can be recycled as patrons. It is an impressive display, but his skill in using his network should not be allowed to conceal the fact that he appears to operate far more often as client than as patron. Now Theophylact was neither incompetent, nor was he in a particularly disadvan­ taged see.111 By any account he was a 'good constituency bishop' : if you accept the criteria of the early large scale bios, he taught, even Bulgars,112 he preached and wrote best-selling commentaries,113 he combated heresy, both at home and on the 108. R. Cormack, 'Aristocratic patronage of the arts in eleventh-and twelfth-century Byzantium', The Byzantine aristocracy, IX-XIIIcenturies, ed. M. J. Angold (BAR, IntSer 221), 1984), 159-72 at 161-2. 109. For episcopal uncles, see my 'Friendly Society?', n.30. 110. Alexiad, VIII, vii, vol. II, 147. 111. It was after all an autocephalous archbishopric whose rights had been maintain­ ed against the encroachments of neighbouring metropolitans after the Byzantine takeover, see H. Gelzer, 'Die Patriarchat von Aclinda', AbhLeip, phil-hist. KL, 20 (Leipzig, 1903). 112. Meurs XLVIII (= G 103), cols. 465-6. 113. For the commentaries on the Gospels, the Epistles, the Minor Prophets, the Psalms, the Acts of the Apostles, see PG, 123-5; for their popularity in his own time and shortly afterwards see Michael Choniates's anxiety not to be without a copy, see ep. 106, éd. S. Lampros, Μιχαήλ Ακομινάτου τοΰΧωνιάτου τα σωζόμενα (Athens, 1986), II, 35; Ν. Wilson, Scholars of Byzantium (London, 1983), 205.

141

MARGARET MULLETT

metropolitan front;114 he contributed to theological debates and (very unusually for his time) held at least one local council.115 He supported his clergy in difficulties116 and protected monks from the wrath of over-zealous suffragans.117 He was not only learned on his own terms but took on board also the culture of the society in which he found himself. If you accept the criteria of contemporary wall-paintings,118 he took a deep interest in the liturgy, writing akolouthias for newly converted heretics and reply­ ing to his brother's queries about details of Lenten practice.119 He can hardly win on the terms of the Synaxarion, by which (according to recent work by Anna Wilson) he would have to be not only pre-Constantinian but also a martyr, but at least he described himself in deeply self-pitying terms as a martyr: I have come through fire and water, I have drunk of the bitter cup: these are the ways he describes his experience — and of course in terms of the beasts in the arena.120 Nor were the particular dificulties of his archdiocese excep­ tional. Ochrid was a prestigious see (although Bulgaria was perhaps not the smartest place to live) and everyone agrees that Theophylact did his best to raise that prestige and defend its privileges.121 We owe to Günther Prinzing the suggestion that it was Theophylact rather than any later archbishop who drew the connection of the see with Justinian's birthplace and new town

114. Vat XX (= О 135), cols. 253-6 looks remarkably like a fragment of a speech against the Armenians. 115. See his Contra Latinos, ed. Gautier, Théophylacte, I, 246-85, and for councils, Mullett, Theophylact, 306-402. 116. See Vat XVI ( = G 57) to the Bishop of Vdin, Lami X (= G 15) to the Bishop of Devol, Lami XXVIII (= G 36) to the Bishop of Pelagonia and Lami XXXI ( = G 39) on behalf of the Bishop of Glavenica. 117. See the correspondence with the Bishop of Triaditsa, Vat XVII (= G 58), cols. 337-44; XVIII (= G 59), cols. 343-50; XIX (= G 60), cols. 349-54; Meurs XXXII (= G 87), cols. 429-32. 118. See С. Walter, Art and ritual of the Byzantine church (Birmingham Byzantine Series, 1, London, 1982), 200-21. 119. Lami X (= G 15), col. 520 ed. Gautier, Théophylacte, I, 334-43. 120. E.g. Meurs XXXVI (= G 91), cols. 437-81; Lami XXVII, col. 543-6. 121. A.P. Kazhdan (with G. Constable) People and power in Byzantium; an introduction to modern Byzantine studies (Washington DC, 1982), 28.

142

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

of Justiniana Prima.122 The problems he faced were con­ siderable: Cumans, Normans, Crusaders, disaffected Kastrenoi — they had offered to hand Ochrid over to Bohemond in 1082123 and there is no reason to believe they made life easy for Theophylact. He had the usual crop of problems with his suffragans and with the monasteries. But none of these was anything compared with problems of Anatolian bishops at the time.124 Theophylact's persona of bishop-as-client rather than bishop-as-patron appears all the more remarkable. Ill 'Patronage', said Gellner, 'is a kind of power.'125 Do our sur­ prising conclusions about one archbishop in one archdiocese of the empire at the turn of the eleventh centuries teach us anything about the position of the Middle Byzantine Bishop? In recent years bishops have emerged a little from the wings where they had been pushed by holy men. For Michael Angold,126 bishops had a vital role to play in the revival of the Byzantine city, and as urban life revived so did their power and influence. They came to have power over the archives and outclassed the imperial governor in the eyes of the people. Christopher Walter in his recent study of bishops in Byzan­ tium, argues for a radically new way of representing bishops in monumental wall-painting from the eleventh century on: bishops take their place with the communion of the apostles and the ministry of the angels in a new liturgical view of the church, exiling emperors to outlying parts of the building. He points to a grow122. G. Prinzing, 'Zur Entstehung und Rezeption der Ohrider Justiniana-Prima-theorie im Mittelalter', ByzBulg, 5 (1978), 269-87. 123. Alexiad, V.v, vol. II, 32. 124. Vryonis, Decline of medieval Hellenism, 194-216. 125. Gellner, 'Patrons and Clients', eds. Gellner and Waterbury, Patrons and clients, 4. 126. M.J. Angold, 'The shaping of the medieval Byzantine "City"', Perspectives in Byzantine history and culture, eds. J.F. Haldon and J.T.A. Koumoulides (ByzForsch, 10, 1985), 1-37; 'Archons and dynasts; local aristocracies and the cities of the later Byzantine empire', Byzantine Aristocracy, 236-351, esp. 241-3.

143

MARGARET MULLETT

ing consciousness of their position in the church among bishops in the eleventh century, arguing (tenuously) from Niketas Stethatos's view of interior illumination to what he calls 'the esteem in which the episcopal state was held in the eleventh cen­ tury'.127 From the eleventh century he sees the supremacy of eccclesiastical authority over imperial power and detects a growing sense of episcopacy as personal grace, not the hard grind of a job that John Chrysostom and Gregory of Nazianzos thought of it.128 For Henry Maguire,129 bishops are also important, perhaps allimportant, because they bridge this gap between what was heard or read by the audience or readership of metropolitan rhetoric and the images displayed on provincial church walls. He regards the second half of the century as a crucial period when art and literature come closer together than at any previous time, a phenomenon which Maguire attributes to the career structure we all know so well,130 and of which Theophylact is an early exam­ ple: highly educated Constantinopolitan academics sent out to become bishops in the provinces and (this bit is new) patronise art. For Ihor Sevcenko,131 however, Middle Byzantine bishops were remarkable for their failure to patronise the art of the pro­ vinces: 'they wanted to leave behind their dilapidated churches with tesserae falling off the mosaics; none seems to have record­ ed the thought of having his church repaired.'132 He casts a 127. Walter, Art and Ritual, chapters 5 and 6, 164-249. 128. John Chrysostom, Sur le sacerdoce, ed. A.M. Malingrey (Paris, 1980); Gregory of Nazianzos, Oratio de fuga, PG, 35, col. 407-514. 129. H. Maguire, Art and eloquence in Byzantium, 109-11. 130. R. Browning, 'Unpublished correspondence between Michael Italicus, Archbishop of Philippopolis, and Theodore Prodromos, ByzBulg, 1 (1962), 279-97. 131. I. Sevcenko, 'Constaninople viewed from the eastern provinces in the middle Byzantine period', Eucharisterion: essays presented to Omeljan Pritsak on his sixtieth birthday by his colleagues and students, ed. I. Sevcenko and F. E. Sysyn, Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 3-4 (1979-80), part 2, 712-47, esp. 739-40. 132. In fact, evidence for episcopal patronage of art in the eleventh and twelfth cen­ turies does exist. Theophylact himself appears to have been involved in the addition of a layer of paint at Prespa and his suffragan at Stroumnitza was responsible for the beginning of the great church with its glamorous marble floor at Veljusa, even if the emperor had to step in with extra patronage in 1085. Doula Mouriki, 'Stylistic trends in monumental painting of Greece during the eleventh and twelfth century',

144

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

glance at the mentality of the Komnene exile-bishops, compares them to Paris academics posted to Strasbourg, and asks 'if life in the provinces was so dreary . . . why these members of the talent pool at the patriarchate and the court ever agreed to go to provincial sees in the first place.' His answer: to get rich quick and to buy houses in the capital with their ill-gotten gains. For Judith Herrin,133 Hellas in the late twelfth century was a place where bishops were powerful, because they provided the only form of administration which took on responsibility for the whole of the community and who really acted as leaders of their cites. In time of crisis, there is little new in this; so did any bishop worth his salt: the differences surely is that at the end of the twelfth century they had no competition. Civil and military authorities were powerless: all that remained was the Church. None of these recent interpretations accords well with the con­ stant complaints of Middle Byzantine bishops on grounds of powerlessness and penia, or, perhaps more to the point, with the experience of Theophylact we have analysed above. On the basis of these recent studies, it looks as if the eleventh and twelfth centuries were a good time to be a bishop: why didn't they appreciate it? Why, if George Tornikes ought to have been con­ verting his rhetoric into plaster and paint, and could afford it, did he waste it bemoaning the tesserae falling from the walls of St John at Ephesus.134 Why, if the standing of bishops was ris­ ing in the eleventh century, was the Synaxarion so unenthusiastic about them? There is here a clear reminiscence of the confusion Liudprand of Cremona displays while contemplating his Greek counterparts. They ought, he feels to have been rich. In all Greece I found no hospitable bishops. They are both poor and rich, rich in gold coins wherewith they gamble recklessly, poor in servants and utensils. They sit by themselves at a bare little table, ath a ship's biscuit DOP, 34-5 (1980-1), 77-124 points to the rising power of the bishop in the second half of the twelfth century as a major source of patronage for high quality artistic works. 133. J. Herrin, 'Realities of Byzantine provincial government: Hellas and Peloponnesos, 1180-1205', DOP, 29 (1975), 255-84. 134. George Tornikes, no. 21, in George and Demetrios Tornikes, 153-4.

145

MARGARET MULLETT in front of them, and instead of drinking their bath water they sip it from a tiny glass. They do their own buying and selling, they close and open their doors themselves, they are their own stewards, their own ass-drivers, their own innkeepers. 135

It is easy to imagine Theophylact's retort to Liudprand's criticism: Lazaros the peasant accused,him of something similar: And he swore that my mountains flow with milk, that I am stuffed with I don't know how many talents for supplies, that I am immensely rich and live like a satrap, that in comparison to the riches of the archbishops those of the Persians would seem shabby, that the palaces at Susa and Ecbatana are mere huts compared with my airy, high-rise residence where in summer I cool the furnace of my fleshiness.

He denied it all. It is impossible to check these claims and counter-claims empirically, and pointless to debate the roles of rhetoric and truth here. Wealth in fact may be a less good indicator of power than patronage. What is clear is that these bishops do not exude a powerful persona. Bishops in synod in Constantino­ ple certainly became far more self-aware, jealous of their rights and privileges and made life particularly difficult for Alexios Komnenos.137 But bishops in their sees are another matter, as Alexios appreciated. Liudprand was perhaps on to something when he suggested that the extraordinary behaviour of bishops he met had something to do with the state. Patronage flourishes in an incompletely centralised state;138 the only strange thing about Theophylact's patronage network is that he looked to the centre for help. But the state was strong enough to make trouble for Theophylact and his like and too strong to allow the bishop to emerge as the powerful figure he might have been. Theophylact is surely much closer to Liudprand's bishop of Leukas than to Basil of Caesarea — or to Michael Chômâtes. It was then, at the end of the twelfth century, when the weakness of the state again 135. Liudprand of Cremona, Relatio de Constantinopolitana legatione, ed. J. Bekker (MGH, ScriptRerGerm, Hanover and Leipzig, 1915), 211; tr. F.A. Wright, The Works of Liutprand of Cremona, 274-5. 136. Theophylact, Meurs XLI ( = G 96), col. 447. 137. See for example the rowdy synod of 1084 (rowdy because of a strong metropolitan presence) and the loud and courageous apposition to Alexios by Leo of Chalcedon, John of Antioch and Niketas of Ankara. 138. Gellner, 'Patrons and clients', eds. Gellner and Waterbury, Patrons and clients, 4.

146

PATRONAGE IN ACTION

allowed bishops to assume a position of power. In that sense, the twelfth century rather than the eleventh was the real political watershed. IV But it seems to me that there are serious questions about the Middle Byzantine bishop which have not yet been asked, and it is certain that the debate will continue. It is at least possible that its inconclusiveness at present is more than a temporary condi­ tion, and may owe something to the limitations of structural func­ tional models of role relations. Certainly we can refine the kind of questions we ask and the tools of the investigation: are we talk­ ing about power? spending power? patronage? influence? are any of these evidence for any of the others? Is personal patronage the same phenomenon as the ability to commission works of art? On the other hand, while a transactional analysis of a single bishops's letters will not solve these problems, it may guide us to an alternative viewpoint and allow us to see the bishop-as-client at the centre of his network,139 quietly manipulating his relation­ ships (the main resources at his disposal) for the benefit of himself and his flock.

139. For a full network analysis of the correspondence fo Theophylact see my The Letters of Theophylact of Ochrid: text and context in Byzantium and Bulgaria at the tum of the eleventh century (forthcoming). My thanks go to Michael Angold who proposed the happy ending to Michael McGann for his patient criticism, and to Luigi Sartori for his countless beneficia.

147

148

THE PUBLIC LIFE OF THE CHURCH

150

Ideals of charity, realities of welfare: The philanthropic activity of the Byzantine Church JUDITH HERRIN Although modern scholars sometimes doubt the extent of early Christian charity, claims made by late second century apologists, particularly Justin Martyr and Tertullian, which are clearly con­ firmed by hostile, pagan witnesses, should alert us to the new religion's innovations in philanthropic activity.1 The dispossess­ ed, the downtrodden, and all those who were destitute, sick and unable to help themselves, were singled out for compassion and alms (eleemosyne). Christ's identification, and elevation, of these unfortunates as persons most worthy and deserving of good works {kala erga) gave his followers unmistakable instructions. For the first time adherents of a particular belief were to show solidarity with those in need, whatever their origins. Thus, prostitutes, lepers, political enemies, aged slaves, shipwrecked sailors, those committed to the mines or taken prisoner by bandits, among others, were to be comforted. And people in these categories could expect to receive attention, as proper recipients of Christian charity. During the early centuries A.D. there is ample evidence of concern for these new categories, as well as those more tradi­ tionally cared for by Jewish philanthropy, orphans and widows

1. The Apologies of Justin the Martyr, ed. A. W.F. Blunt (Cambridge, 1911); Ter­ tullian, Apologeticum, in Opera, ed. E. Dekkers (Turnhout, 1954), I, esp. с 39, pp.85-171. For background information in general, see L.W. Countryman, The rich Christian in the church of the early empire: Contradiction and accommodations (Ne York, 1980), esp. 103-30; M. Hengel, Property and riches in the early church (Philadelphia, 1974); D.J. Constantelos, Byzantine philanthropy and social welfare, 2nd. ed. (New Brunswick, NJ, 1987).

151

JUDITH HERRIN

for example. In addition, the followers of Jesus generally offered each other hospitality, took care of the sick and made sure that burial according to Christian rite was not denied to any believer. What is more, this concern for the poor, the meek and the hum­ ble, who had been so graphically listed in Christ's Sermon on the Mount, can occasionally be given a numerical value. The figures available only provide the barest indication, yet the fact that in the mid-third century Bishop Cornelius of Rome supported 1,500 widows and needy people, as well as maintaining a large clergy, provides some idea of the scope of such assistance. Since women and the non-resident poor, who did not own property in Rome, were specifically excluded from the city's bread dole, it is clear that the church was directing its aid to a new constituency.2 While ecclesiastical philanthropy grew and chang­ ed over centuries, the earliest Christian experience remained an important model, frequently reasserted in an effort to imitate the direct charitable activity of Christ and the Apostles. In extremely simplified form, the two outstanding features of this duty to assist those in need were summed up by Jesus' in­ structions to his followers to love one another and to sell all they had and give to the poor. The subject of the first, love, involves a Greek word, agape, which Christian authors were to make exclusively theirs in the early centuries A.D. 3 This duty to love one another extended to strangers and enemies too, it was a univer­ sal application of the Mosaic law, 'Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. No exceptions were admitted, for by loving all peo­ ple a Christian would develop the capacity to love God, which was the highest duty of all. In their practice of agape, every stranger had to be welcomed, since each was a potential represen­ tation of Christ. The subject of the second, charity, is very closely related. For in the Latin Vulgate translation of the New Testament, agape 2. Eusebius, Hist. Eccles., vol. II, vi, 43, ii, p.618; G.E. Rickman, The corn supply of ancient Rome (Oxford, 1980), 161, 172-3, 183-4, 210-11, stresses that women were not generally admitted to the imperial system, which completely lacked any sense of altruism or poor relief. 3. See article agape: New Catholic Encyclopaedia, 1,193-4 (C. Bernas), with previous bibliography.

152

IDEALS OF CHARITY, REALITIES OF WELFARE

is rendered by Caritas, charity.4 In the famous passage in I. Cor­ inthians, 13: 'Faith, hope and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity', St Paul is in fact praising love above all other virtues. Of course, love and charity were intimately connected in the mutual-aid structure of the first recorded Christian com­ munities, that were characterised by a voluntary adoption of poverty. Their charity was to be marked by an indiscriminate care for the immediate needs of all in trouble, combined with a lack of attention to future needs. All these ideals of Christian philan­ thropy find an echo in later Byzantine practice, although the struc­ tures that developed in the fourth and fifth centuries implied a permanency little appreciated in Apostolic times, when Christians expected the Parousia, Second Coming, very soon. In this brief paper I shall examine two aspects of the develop­ ment of Byzantine charitable institutions: the mechanisms by which welfare was administered, and the underlying theory of good works.5 First, the mechanisms. From the fourth century onwards, when official state protection permitted the open ac­ cumulation of ecclesiastical wealth, church leaders began to establish lists of people in need, whom the Christian community had to assist. St John Chrysostom in Antioch provides evidence of 3,000 widows and virgins recorded on a katalogos, and an unspecified number of men who are inscribed, engegrammenon, on separate lists.6 All these are fed daily. In addition, a host of captives in prison, sick in hospital, mutilated, ship-wrecked, fear­ ful and healthy people travelling through Antioch depend on church resources. Many come regularly to the door to be fed: others wait for help to come to them. Among these in need, John singles out those women who weep, mourn and lament, or who are merely frightened. Finally, the needs of all the clergy who serve are met from church resources.7 4. Article, Charité: Dictionnaire de Spiritualité, II, cols. 507-68 (J. Farges and M. Viller). 5. I shall omit private expressions of Christian charity such as those organised by philoponoi, which are studied in Paul Magdalino's contribution, see 'Church, bath and diakonia', below. 6. John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum, LXXVI, PG, 57, col. 630; Horn, in epist. primam ad Corinth., XXII, col. 179. 7. As above, Horn, in epist. primam ad Corinth., col. 180.

153

JUDITH HERRIN

During the late fourth and early fifth century, Bishop Porphyrios of Gaza also drew up a register of those in need, and each received 6 obols a week, a sum increased during the 40 days of Lent to 10. This arrangement was made permanent in his will, which set aside special funds for the purpose.8 Although not all bishops could endow similar systems of charitable distributions, the notion of keeping a record of the poor in cities seems to have been adopted. In the early seventh century, John the Almsgiver ordered officials to identify and record all the poor of Alexan­ dria prior to his arrival as bishop and 7,500 were enscribed.9 The principle of registration may imply some form of discrimination — who was worthy? who was sick? — but Leontios of Neapolis who described John's philanthropy in great detail, was at pains to stress his immense generosity. In addition to his own private, family wealth, the church of Alexandria was perhaps the richest of all. John was certainly well placed to assist those who fled from Jerusalem when it was sacked by the Persians in 614, and to finance the rebuilding of churches in the Holy City. But his philan­ thropic capacity was exceptional rather than the norm. In the more straightened circumstances of the late eighth cen­ tury, Patriarch Tarasios of Constantinople still employed a register of the poor: all those whose names were written in his papyrus record got a monthly payment in silver.10 It is, however, im­ possible to ascertain how many were recorded, how they were selected, if they were, and how many were not caught in this charitable net. Some of the poor also benefitted from the patriarch's distribution of warm clothing and blankets in the winter and his gifts of corn. At Nicaea, Bishop Theophylact established a similar system of welfare, which was maintained by his successors.11 But since the ranks of the urban poor were 8. Mark the Deacon, Vie de Porphyre, évêque de Gaze, eds. H. Grégoire and M.A. Kugener (Paris, 1930), 72-3. 9. Leontios of Neapolis, Leben des heiligen Johannes, ed. H. Geizer (Freiburg im Breisgau/Leipzig, 1893), с. 2, pp. 8-9; trans. A.J. Festugière (Paris, 1974), 444-5; H. Delehaye, 'Une vie inédite de S. Jean l'Aumonier', AnalBoU, 45 (1927), с 7, p.22 (trans. Festugière, 325); cf. Mango, Byzantium, 37-8. 10. Ignatios the Deacon, Vita S. Tarasit, 402. 11. A. Vogt, 'S. Théophylacte de Nicomédie', AnalBoU, 50 (1932), с 8, p.75.

154

IDEALS OF CHARITY, REALITIES OF WELFARE

frequently swelled by famine, disease and enemy activity in the provinces, it seems unlikely that this episcopal philanthropy could satisfy all those in distress. Christian charity was also administered through institutions devoted to the assistance of the very old and very young, the poor, blind, sick and so on, who gave their names to specific refuges: ierokomeion, brephotropheion, ptocheion etc. A great number of hostels, xenones, appear to have provided shelter for travellers, pilgrims and occasionally those suffering from particular diseases, or just old age.12 All these institutions were usually attached to an episcopal church or monastery; they were staffed by clerics, monks, deaconesses and pious lay people; they were supported by donations from the faithful, ecclesiastical revenues and income from properties, urban and rural. This structure was designed to redistribute part of the resources of the wealthy to the needs of the poor; it employed the mechanism of voluntary assistance by the rich of those unable to help themselves. Such a rationalisa­ tion of Christian resources permitted the well-to-do to act as true followers of Christ and justified their wealth. Throughout the Greek East charity always remained heavily dependent on lay initiative, on the personal decision of individuals, couples and sometimes whole families, to adopt poverty. When this was accompanied by entry into a Christian community, the wealthy could rid themselves of personal riches without sacrific­ ing their security — a future, however humble, was assured. This desire for voluntary poverty motivated great numbers of Chris­ tians, for instance, Melania and other rich widows who became benefactors in Jerusalem, and on a more modest scale, St Elizabeth of Herakleia.13 Her Life embraces all the well-known stages of Christian philanthropy: when her parents died, Elizabeth freed all her slaves, sold all her inheritance and distributed her wealth to the poor. She then went to join her aunt in a nunnery in Constantinople, where she later became abbess. By the same 12. For example, the monastery of Mt Tabor had special quarters for its oldest monks called the ierokomeion, see R. Thomson, 'An Armenian pilgrim on Mt Tabor', JThS, 18 (1967), 27-33, esp. 32; Constantelos, Byzantine philanthropy, 152-276. 13. F. Halkin, 'S. Elisabeth d'Heraclée, abbesse à Constantinople', AnalBoll, 91 (1973), 249-64.

155

JUDITH HERRIN

system many church leaders were also recruited, bishops like St John Chrysostom or Epiphanios of Salamis, who both maintained a humble life-style and denounced luxury within the church. Yet paradoxically, this mechanism of transference meant that when the rich abandoned their worldly goods, the church acquired pro­ blems provoked by such wealth. Conflicts over the correct priorities for ecclesiastical expenditure were inevitable. When Epiphanios protested at the use of extravagantly embroidered silk curtains, and said that they would be better used as shrouds for the poor, he drew attention to a running sore in Byzantine religious life.14 While bishops dealt more with the problems of the urban poor, frequently destitute and completely dependent on charity, monks often found hospitality their main task, particularly if they could provide shelter for those travelling between cities. Pilgrims making the journey south from Jerusalem to Mount Sinai discovered a well worn route of monastic halts, where they could refresh their mounts and themselves, until they reached the desert. There, at Elusa, they had to prepare for five to six days through uninhabited regions without a resting place. Eventually, however, the monks of Sinai would welcome them with fruit, fresh water and hospitality.15 In the countryside in times of famine monasteries frequently distributed additional supplies of grain; at major festivals they always provided food, and sometimes clothing, to local inhabitants as well as travellers. No uniform system of rural charity emerged, however, because the capacity of each monastery and ecclesiastical diocese varied according to its resources. The wide range of episcopal incomes and expenses meant that a ma­ jor see like Caesarea could construct a host of buildings devoted 14. Letter to John of Aelia (Jerusalem), see G. Ostrogorsky, Studien zur Geschichte des byzantinischen Bilderstreites (Breslau, 1929, repr. Amsterdam, 1964), 73-5; Eng. trans, in Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 42. Epiphanios was cited by the iconoclasts as a supporter; the Libri Carolini by Charlemagne refer to the same text in a translation made by Jerome. 15. See, for example, the Piacenza pilgrim's description of the xenodocheion of St George on the edge of the desert, Itineraria, ed. P. Geyer (Turnhout, 1965), cc. 35-6, pp. 146-7 and Egeria's reception by the monks of Mt Sinai, Wilkinson, Egeria's Travels, 93-8.

156

IDEALS OF CHARITY, REALITIES OF WELFARE

to needy people, while a smaller bishopric in rural Asia Minor might rely on the donations of local peasants and pilgrims to relieve poverty. And at this 'New City', established by St Basil in the late fourth century, family wealth as well as the resources of other rich landowners, was responsible for the establishment of a leprosarion, hostels, old people's homes, and other institu­ tions for the poor.16 The theory of social justice and equality among Christians elaborated by the Cappadocian Fathers could be put into effect in their charitable foundations partly because of special circumstances that did not pertain in other regions of the empire. The provision of hospitals provides a case in point. From the fourth century onwards the church took the lead in establishing institutions where the sick could be cared for. While these tried to provide adequate medical care, individual doctors were fre­ quently responsible for hospitals, for instance, Samson, who set up his practice in Constantinople in the fifth century. His foun­ dation was taken over and expanded by imperial funds to become one of the most famous in the capital, famous also because it survived for centuries.17 Similarly, through imperial patronage, St Sabas was able to establish hospitals in Jerusalem.18 And in seventh-century Constantia, on Cyprus, a rich layman, Philentolos, was responsible for building the hospital, not the archbishop.19 In Oxyrrhynchos, on the other hand, hospitals and hostels for travellers were often constructed and maintained by the church and administered by clerical officials.20 So while 16. Sozomen, Hist. Eccles., VI, 34, 9, p.291; Gregory Nazianzos, Oratio XLIII. In laudem BasiliiMagni, PG, 36, cols. 493-605, esp. cols. 577-80; Eng. trans, in L.P. McCauley, Funerary orations by S. Gregory Nazianzen and S. Ambrose (Washington, D.C., 1968), 80-1; Vita S. Gregorii Theologi, PG, 35, col. 273; cf. S. Giet, Les idées et l'action sociale de Sainte Basile (Paris, 1941). 17. F. Halkin, 'S. Samson le Xénodoque de Constantinople (Vie siècle)', RSBN, 14/16 (1977/79), 5-17. 18. Schwartz, Kyrillos von Skythopolis, с 72, p. 175. 19. F. Halkin, 'La vision de Kaioumos et le sort éternel de Philentolos Olympiou', AnalBoll, 63 (1945), 56-64. 20. E. Wipszycka, Les ressources et les activités économiques des églises en Egypte du IVe au Ville siècle (Brussels, 1972), 117-9; cf. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, XVI, eds. B.P. Grenfell, A.S. Hunt and H.I. Bell (London, 1924), no. 1898 (hospital of Abba Elias).

157

JUDITH HERRIN

the church made medical provision one of its priorities, and Chris­ tians devoted themselves to washing and nursing those who were ill, even with infectious diseases like leprosy, medical services were by no means a Christian preserve. In this field as in so many others, intervention could be decisive. For besides these instances of episcopal and monastic charity, imperial assistance played a crucial role in the development of Byzantine charity. Elsewhere I have tried to evaluate the relative strengths of ecclesiastical and state contributions;21 here I can only emphasise that imperial philanthropy continued to dominate for many centuries. On numerous occasions it is the additonal income from the imperial treasury, or from public funds sanc­ tioned by emperors, that secures the survival of ecclesiastical in­ stitutions for the poor. From an early date appeals to imperial generosity, like that by Bishop Porphyrios indicate the significance of state funding. Not only did the Empress Eudoxia finance the replacement of the pagan temple of Zeus Marnas at Gaza by a grand Christian church, but she also provided a hostel where visitors could stay free of charge for three days.22 Similarly, through the generosity of Empress Pulcheria, strangers who died in the Byzantine capital could receive a proper burial in her xenotapheia.23 The reign of Justinian, as Patlagean has shown, is vital to an understanding of church/state relations in the ad­ ministration of charity.24 At this point, the poor are recognised as a legal category worthy of assistance, which is often entrusted to ecclesiastical bodies. This combination of private initiative, clerical foundation and imperial finance, reveals the close alliance that persisted throughout the history of the Byzantine Empire. Although the church has been characterised as 'the department of state respon­ sible for social welfare',25 this does not do justice to the indepen21. 'From bread and circuses to soup and salvation', forthcoming. 22. Vie de Porphyre, (see n.8, above), paras. 53 (p.44); 75-9 (pp.59-63); 83-4 (pp.65-6); 92-3 (pp.71-2). 23. Theophanes, Chronographia, 106. 24. E. Patlagean, 'Lá pauvreté à Byzance et la législation de Justinien: aux origines d'un modèle politique', in M. Mollat, (ed.), Etudes sur l'histoire de la pauvreté, 2 vols. (Paris, 1974), I, 59-81. 25. Mango, Byzantium, 36.

158

IDEALS OF CHARITY, REALITIES OF WELFARE

dent aspects of ecclesiastical philanthropy. It would be more ac­ curate to say that the relationship between church and state was based on imperial recognition of the value of ecclesiastical organs of charity, which it supported with additional privileges and duties. The same pattern of autonomous initiative safeguarded by im­ perial protection is reaffirmed by nearly all the major monasteries of Byzantium. In a great many cases monastic communities, or their founders, appealed to emperors to confirm their landholding by granting exemption from public taxation, a normal privilege for pious institutions.26 Over the centuries the development of Byzantine charity is ac­ companied by a shift from largely episcopal to more monastic forms, with a concomitant increase in discrimination against cer­ tain types of poor. The process is part of the transition from Late Antiquity to the medieval world, a process marked by the reduc­ tion of resources, the decline of ancient cities and the growing importance of monasticism in Byzantine society. In specific in­ stances, the Christian principle of assisting all the needy had already been tempered in practice by a reluctance to support scroungers. The abuse of hospitality by visitors staying more than two nights at Christian shelters is noted in the Teaching of the Apostles, the Didache, possibly as early as 100 A.D.. True Chris­ tians would not stay longer. While the early communities in the desert of Nitria gave pilgrims a better diet than their own, and broke their vows of silence to receive travellers with humanity, they decided to put the visitors to work after a week's holiday.27 This practical notion passed into Byzantine tradition and was revived, to cite one example, in the eleventh century at the monastery of Mount Galesion, near Ephesos. St Lazaros had established himself here close to the main highway that led north 26. See, for example, the account by John Xenos of his journey to the capital to gain an imperial chrysoboullon that confirmed the independence of his many foun­ dations, Delehaye, Deux typica byzantins, 194. 27. La doctrine des Douze Apôtres (Didache), ed. and trans. W. Rordorf and A. Tuilier (Paris, 1978), XII, 1-5, p. 188; The Lausiac History of Palladius, ed. С. Butler (Cambridge, 1904), II, с 7, pp.25-6. A similar limit of seven days (or three if there were crowds of poor or pilgrims) was established at the lavra of St Sabbas, see Dmietrievsky, Opisanie, I, 224 (repr. by Kurtz, BZ, 3 (1894), 170.

159

JUDITH HERRIN

from Ephesos, and the xenon of the monastery was frequented by travellers who occasionally abused the monk's hospitality. After one particular incident, the xenodochos in charge of the hostel imposed the three day rule, but he was in turn accused of mistreating the visitors. The abbot, forced to intervene, remov­ ed the restriction on hospitality, and took the opportunity to stress the monastery's customary duty to receive all and especially to care for the sick.28 In any debate over this fundamental aspect of Byzantine charity, several authorities could be cited. In the opinion of St Maximos Confessor unlimited giving was essen­ tial, while St Cyril Phileotes continued to oppose aid for the ablebodied or lazy, because they thereby deprived those in genuine need. Subsequent developments in the administration of charity tend­ ed to a symbolic, exemplary philanthropy, rather than generalised efforts to assist. This was frequently liturgified, as donations to the poor became related to church festivals and the commemora­ tion of monastic founders. Easter had always been such an oc­ casion. But in the eleventh century, Michael Attaleiates ordered that on the anniversary of his death, 12 old men in need, mutilated or infirm, should each be given one gold coin, nomisma, and six annuarioi modioi of corn at his monastery in Raidestos. On this occasion six trachea nomismata and a loaf made of six modioi (of grain) were also to be distributed to the poor.29 The anniversary of the death of a benefactor, Patriarch Nikephoros of Antioch, was to be marked by the distribution of two nomismata to each of the monks for the necessary liturgical ser­ vices, and three gold coins to the poor. While six needy people were fed at the refectory table every day, and a further 18, widows and old men, were to be supported, Attaleiates implied that he wished his own monks to represent the poor, to take the place of those who were most worthy of charity.30 28. Gregory, Life of St Lazaros, cols. 552-3. 29. P. Gautier, 'La Diataxis de Michel Attaliate', REB, 39 (1981), 5-143, esp. 49, 11. 536-9. 30. Diataxis of Attaliates, 99, 11. 1329-33; 47, 11. 496-505, the six who dined with the monks also received four follets (copper coins) each. In addition, there was pro­ vision for a regular Sunday distribution of bread at the monastic gate.

160

IDEALS OF CHARITY, REALITIES OF WELFARE

Throughout the Empire this private and individual charity coex­ isted with the ideal of anonymous giving, not for selfaggrandisement but out of real concern or love. The unknown 'lover of Christ' (philochristos), who established a burial ground for the xenon of the Evergetis monastery in Constantinople, paid serious attention to the needs of travellers, who were otherwise well served by this famous institution. It provided for the hungry to be nourished with both food and spiritual care; supplied clothing and shoes when necessary, and arranged for the monks to sing epitaphia at the death of any stranger, who would then be buried in the special cemetary.31 Similarly, humble donors supported the wandering ascetic, John Xenos, when he wanted to construct shrines.32 These anonymous philochristoi, commit­ ted to charity with no immediate recognition, provide a clue to the continuing force behind Byzantine support for the poor — it grew out of, and in turn reinforced the theory of good works. Good works, always considered useful if not necessary for salva­ tion, were a determining factor in the Byzantine practice of philanthropy. The fundamental ambiguity over the role of good works in salvation was evident in New Testament times and has vexed Christians ever since.33 In its most extreme form the contrast is between St Paul's doctrine of 'justification by faith alone', and the Epistle of St James, which draws on Jewish practice and stresses the need for visible proof of faith in the form of good works: 'Faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone . . . By works a man is justified, and not by faith alone'. These posi­ tions are partly resolved by the gift of grace, which unlike good works is essential to salvation. Christians must therefore strive for God's grace, and in this struggle good works are a practice ordained by God and instilled in men as a proper pattern of Chris­ tian behaviour (Ephesians 2.8-10). Once good works are 31. ed. Dmitrievsky, Opisanie, I, c. 38, pp.649-50. 32. Delehaye, Deux typica byzantins, 193, 19 (pi delothentes choritai); 193, 25; 194, 4; 195, 2, 4, 19. 33. On the Jewish background and the Christian theory of good works, see Country­ man, The rich Christian (seen.l), 107-30; Constantelos, Byzantine philanthropy, 20-5.

161

JUDITH HERRIN

understood as a result, rather than a condition of salvation, the emphasis on motivation can take its rightful place. As Paul said and many others repeated after him, actions as charitable as bestowing all one's goods to feed the poor, if done without love, are worthless. In a series of sermons on these and other New Testament texts, the Church Fathers did not completely succeed in correlating grace and good works. They did not investigate the preordained pat­ tern of good works, which led St Augustine to emphasise predestination, the determining force that antedates any human effort to do good. This western doctrine of man's utter dependence on God for that grace which is necessary for salvation, may be contrasted with the eastern theology developed by St Maximos Confessor on the basis of Chalcedonian Christology. Against both the Monophysite view of human nature, which was basically pessimistic, and the Augustinián doctrine of predestination, Max­ imos argued that: 'The Christ who is known in two natures is able to be the model for our freedom and individuality', as Chadwick puts it.34 This dual nature permits a positive interpretation of the created world and humanity, including the human capaci­ ty to love. In this respect Maximos reinforced the New Testament identification of love/charity as the supreme Christian virtue, elevated to a ruling position in his great work, The Four Centuries on Charity?5 This text is a crucial one in the development of the Byzantine theory of philanthropy. It provides the clearest statement of the importance of joyful, selfless giving and altruistic service to those in need, and emphasises the value of boundless giving as an indication of Christian love.36 Since Maximos also devoted much time to the relative strengths of other Christian virtues, establishing the significance of 34. H. Chadwick, The early church (Harmondsworth, 11967), 211. 35. Maximos Confessor, Capita de caritate, PG, 90, cols. 960-1080; new edition and translation, A. Ceresa-Gastaldo, Massimo Confessore, Capitoli sulla Carità (Rome, 1963); see P. Sherwood, The Four Centuries on Charity (Westminster, Maryland/London, 1955); G.C. Berthold, Maximus Confessor. The 400 Chapters on Love (London, 1985), 35-87. 36. He is very strict about the correct interpretation of alms giving and good works, stressing that the motive is all-important, see, for instance, Four Centuries, I, 24; II, 35.

162

IDEALS OF CHARITY, REALITIES OF WELFARE

restraint/temperance (sophrosyne), for instance, his considered view of love set it apart and above all others. In this way, the gift of material benefits and goods was reduced to a mere exter­ nal sign of charity, to be contrasted with the infinitely superior inward expression of love which directed true charity.37 Those who delayed their charitable activity, by establishing that com­ memorative liturgies or distributions to the poor should be made after their death, or who waited for their relatives to provide these services, were similarly taken to task. Maximos restated in forceful terms the original Pauline doctrine: 'Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels and have not love, I am becoming a sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor; and though I give my body to be burned and have not love, it profiteth me nothing'. While this emphatic claim is echoed in many later Byzantine theologians, the notion that good works and almsgiving (eupragiai) was part of the Christian duty to love remained engrained. St John of Damascus, for instance, quoted St Gregory of Nazianzos on the value of doing good, eupoiein: 'Nothing is more honourable or philanthropic than to be merciful and do good, because nothing is more desirable to God'. 38 Patriarch Germanos of Constantinople stressed that good works (agathoergias) are necessary for salvation and reminded his flock that the servants of God have revealed themselves through their good works and pious deeds.39 But good works alone, or giving in expectation of reward, was never sufficient. A fascinating episode recorded in seventh century Cyprus will serve to make the point. Philentolos was that rich benefactor mentioned earlier,

37. Four Centuries, I, 45; HI, 1, 3, 11; IV, 44. 38. John of Damascus, Sacra Parallela, PG, 95, VIII, de eleemosyna, 1456-73. 39. Patriarch Germanos, Epistola . . . ad Joannem episcopum Synadensem, PG, 98, 159 D; Epistola . . . ad Thomam episcopum Claudiopoleos, PG, 98, 173 A; see V. Grumel, 'Homélie de S. Germain sur la délivrance de Constantinople', REB, 16 (1958), 188-205, esp. para. 25 (p. 199).

163

JUDITH HERRIN

who provided funds to build a hospital in Constantia.40 He devoted considerable resources to relieve poverty but persisted in the sin of fornication. At his death, the bishops of Cyprus debated his fate and could not agree whether his good works would secure his entrance to Paradise. In a dramatic vision, an old holy man called Kaioumos discovered the answer. He reported that he had seen Philentolos with an angel, who asked: 'Have I not warned you many times, telling you to cease from fornica­ tion? If through your alms-giving you are freed from Geenna (Hell), through your failure to cease from fornication, you are depriv­ ed of the joy of Paradise'. And at Philentolos' protests that he had given alms and counted on being saved, even if he sinned, the angel repeated that the sins of the.flesh were like a continual sacrifice to the Devil, which encouraged even greater fornication. Philentolos was lucky to be spared the fires of eternal Hell, but he would remain forever deprived of the kingdom of heaven. 'God is light', the angel concluded, 'and he who is deprived of light finds himself in perpetual darkness'. In a sense Philentolos got off lightly, for the darkness of Lim­ bo was preferable to the tortures of Hell that awaited most obstinate sinners. The Byzantines knew that their fate in the hereafter depended on their observance of Biblical law; they had to desist from sinning and lead a godly life in imitation of the saints, embodying the Christian duty to love one another. In all this, good works helped.41 And to the end, the theory of good works provided a major stimulus to the practice of all Byzantine philanthropy.

40. Halkin, 'La vision de Kaioumos', see n.20 above. 41. For instance, Patriarch Euthymios recommended 'alms giving and good deeds, freeing debtors and prisoners' to Leo VI, see Vita Euthymii Patriarchae CP, с X; ed. and Eng. trans. P. Karlin-Hayter (Brussels, 1970), 63.

164

Church, Bath and Diakonia in Medieval Constantinople PAUL MAGDALINO έπί γαρ το παλαιον Ιθος ην τοις τελευτώσι καταλιμπάνειν χρήματα, ίνα το της Θεσσαλονίκης τυχόν ίπποδρόμιον ή ίνα κτισθη λουτρον ή τφ δήμφ τέρψις τίς γένηταν του δέ Χριστιανισμού έλθόντος ταϋτα πάντα άνηρηνται, και ή της ψυχής επιμέλεια πλείονα των σωμάτων εσχε χώραν. Peira, 67.1

As Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire enters its third century, 'the triumph of barbarism and religion' continues to concentrate the scholarly mind. No one doubts that in the tran­ sition from antiquity to the middle ages, the main winner was the church and the main loser was the civilization of the ancient polis, not only in the barbarian kingdoms, but also in those parts of the Roman world where the Roman Empire survived. Yet bet­ ween the victory of the one and the defeat of the other, there is no simple correlation. On the one hand, Christian bishops and holy men actively campaigned against the institutions and values of civic life; on the other hand, churches and monasteries took over important civic functions or provided passable substitutes. Christian fanaticism was only one of the factors that weakened the fabric of the late antique city and made it vulnerable to demographic crisis and barbarian invasion. The centralising hand of imperial bureaucracy weighed no less heavily, if no more destructively. For in the final analysis, church and state needed the towns as much as they needed each other and the towns needed them: their marriage of convenience was urban based, and the powerful command economy which they administered between 165

PAUL MAGDALINO

them eventually saved many a city from extinction. The survival of the empire in the east also helped to ensure the survival of areas of civic life where the church never properly felt at home: the 'outer learning' of secular education, and the Hippodrome. Basic to all these complications is the difficulty of generalising about the whole Byzantine period: what became the norm from the sixth century was not necessarily recognised as normal in the fourth and fifth centuries, when the institutions and values of the ancient polis were taken very much for granted. A case in point, and the subject of this paper, is the institu­ tion of public bathing, 'that vie aux bains which was the focus of civilized existence' in the world of late antiquity.1 How did the church impinge on East Romans when they were in the bath, or were thinking of taking a bath? Did it transform their bathing habits? In particular, was it in any way responsible for the demise of the great public baths of Constantinople, of which the few that are mentioned after the sixth century were certainly defunct by the ninth? Recent discussion of this question has tended to play down the importance of the ecclesiastical factor because, it is pointed out, ecclesiastical attitudes to baths and bathing were far from being uniformly hostile. 2 St Basil practised uncleanliness (άλουσία) as being next to godliness, and St Gregory of Nazianzos praised him for it, but Gregory himself freely par­ took of the 'consolation of the bath'. 3 Sţ John Chrysostom, in his letters from exile, twice listed baths among the basic human rights of which he felt unjustly deprived.4 The same attitude comes through in his sermons: although he preached against immoderate and immodest bathing, he definitely equated bathing with food as a necessity of life.5 So did St Basil's brother, St Gregory of Nyssa, who criticised a miserly money-lender for be1. C. Mango, 'Daily life in Byzantium', JOB, 31/1 (1981), 338-41, repr, in Byzan­ tium and its image (London, 1984). 2. Ibid.; A. Berger, Das Bad in der byzantinischen Zeit (Munich, 1982), 34-45. 3. Gregory Nazianzos, In laudem Basilii magai, PG, 36, col.575; Epistola CXXVI, PG, 37, col. 220. 4. John Chrysostom, Lettres à Olympias, ed. A.-M. Malingrey (SC, 13bis, Paris, 1968), nos.VI, la; XVIII, 4b. 5. John Chrysostom, Horn. LXXXVIII in Joannem, XVIII (XVII), PG, 59, col. 118.

166

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

ing too mean to look after himself adequately — 'not putting on a decent meal, not changing his clothes regularly or accor­ ding to need, not providing adequately for his children, and hesitating to go to the bath for fear of having to pay the fee of three obols'. 6 Church and bath were not only compatible; they were often closely associated. Examples of baths built by churchmen, attach­ ed to churches and owned by churches are to be found in all parts and all periods of the Byzantine world.7 As early as the fifth century, baths were being decorated with representations of Chris­ tian subjects,8 while by the thirteenth century it was practically impossible to find a bath in Constantinople which was not decorated with crosses and icons.9 The healing and cleansing functions of baths accorded well with the church's mission and message of salvation. The imagery of bathing was appropriate to the mystery of baptism — the baptismal font was, after all, the 'bath of regeneration' (λουτρόν παλιγγενεσίας),10 or even the 'divine bath'.11 Not all early Christian communities can have taken this analogy as literally as did the church at Philippi, where a baptistery communicated directly with a bath-house. 12 However, the idea that physical and spiritual purification went together had a powerful appeal, especially at cult centres where people went in search of miraculous cures. A number of the miracles performed by St Thecla at her church near Seleucia, and 6. Gregory of Nyssa, Contra usurarios, ed. W. Jaeger, et al., Gregoru NysseniOpera, IX (Leiden, 1967), 205. 7. See below, passim, and also, e.g.: C.Th, IX. 45, 4 (1); C.H. Kraeling, Gerasa. City of the Decapolis (New Haven, Conn., 1938), 265 ff.; Chronicle of Joshua the Stylitě, 33; Anthologia Graeca, XVI. 281; P.Gautier, 'Typikon de la Théotokos Kécharitôméné', 139; MM, I, 312; George Pachymeres, Relations historiques, ed. A. Failler, trans. V. Laurent (Paris, 1984), II, 337; Downey, 'Description of the Church of the Holy Apostles', 864-5, 898 (cf. Eusebius, Vita Constantini, ed. F. Winkelman, Berlin, 1975, IV. 59); Constantine Porphyrogennetos, De cerimoniis aulae byzantinae, ed. J.J. Reiske, 2 vols. (CSHB, 1829-30), 532. 8. Theodore Anagnostes, Kirchengeschichte, ed. G.C. Hansen (Berlin, 1971), 131-3; cf. Mango, 'Daily life', 339. 9. Pachymeres, II, 339. 10. Titus, 3.5; cf. Lampe, Lexicon, s.v. λουτρόν. 11. Cf. e.g., IGLSyr, V, no.1685. 12. S. Pelekanides, Άνασκαφαί Φιλίππων; Πρακτ.Άρχ.Έτ. (1962), 179.

167

PAUL MAGDALINO

by SS Cyrus and John at their sanctuary outside Alexandria, in­ volved washing in the bath belonging to the church.13 After one of these miracles, people visiting the shrine of SS Cyrus and John 'took in the bath just like the church, and entering in would bathe and pray, treating it as both church and bath, and gaining thence a double blessing'.14 The most popular doctor saints in Constan­ tinople, SS Cosmas and Damian and St Artemios, seem to have lacked bathing facilities on their own premises, but nevertheless staged some of their miracles in public baths. 15 More remarkably, perhaps, St Symeon the Stylitě the Younger, although himself allergic to bath water from birth, ordered two of his 'pa­ tients' to use the public baths three miles away from his monastery.16 Even Byzantine monasticism, then, did not totally exclude the practice of bathing, despite its basic commitment to alousia as a necessary part of the renunciation of worldly norms.17 There is a well-known story in John Moschos about the abbot of a monastery in Cilicia who provided his community with a miraculous spring which dried up when the monks, disobeying his orders, constructed a bath, and only started flowing again when the offending structure was demolished.18 Whatever the moral of this edifying tale, it surely reflecta a difference of opi­ nion in the late sixth century which was not confined to one monastic community, and in which the cause of extreme alousia did not always prevail. Byzantine monasticism in fact proved capable of accommodating a broad spectrum of attitudes. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and no doubt much earlier, there 13. G. Dagron, Vie et miracles de Sainte Thècle (Brussels, 1978), 60, 68-9, 354;. N.F. Marcos, Los Thaumata de Sofronia (Madrid, 1975), 256, 259, 334, 354, 365-6. 14. Marcos, Los Thaumata, 366. 15. L. Deubner, Kosmas und Damien (Leipzig/Berlin, 1907), 135-6, 170; Miracles of St Artemios, ed. A. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Varia graeca sacra (St Petersburg, 1909, repr. Leipzig, 1975), nos.ll, 27, pp. 11-13, 25-8. 16. P. Van den Ven, La vie ancienne de S. Syméon Stylitě le Jeune, 2 vols. (Brussels, 1962-70), 1,7-8, 80,220. St Theodore of Sykeon often recommended 'taking the waters' at hot springs: Vie de Théodore de Sykéon, §145. 17. See, in general, H. Hunger, 'Zum Badwesen in byzantinischen Klöstern', Klösterliche Sachkultur der Spätmittelalters (SBWien, 367, Vienna, 1980), 353-64. 18. John Moschos, Pratum Spirituale, 80, col. 2937 В; cf. H. Chadwick, 'John Moschos and his friend Sophronius the Sophist', JThS, 25 (1974), 67.

168

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

were rules to suit all requirements.19 At one extreme were spiritually ambitious communities founded and directed by rigorous ascetics, whose typika prohibited bathing altogether, ex­ cept in case of sickness. At the other extreme were the more relaxed aristocratic or episcopal foundations, where bathing was permitted as frequently as once a week.20 In the eleventh century, Symeon the New Theologian numbered baths among the immovable assets that monasteries and lavrai normally possessed.21 Indeed it is probably no exaggeration to say that by the time Symeon was writing, churches and monasteries not only accounted for the vast majority of bath houses in the empire, but also, as will be argued below, provided most of the bathing facilities available to the public. Thus to come back to our original question, the evidence seems to point to one inescapable answer: 'the end of ancient Badekultur surely came about less through the influence of the church . . . than through the grave economic and political crises of the late sixth and especially of the seventh century'.22 The grave demographic effects of these crises have been stressed most recently by Cyril Mango, who estimates that the population of Constantinople may have declined by up to 80-90% ,23 The truth of the matter is, however, considerably more com­ plicated, and there are good reasons for thinking that the church had a very sobering effect on the Graeco-Roman vie aux bains. Those churchmen who blessed the 'consolation of the bath' as a hygienic necessity and as a form of ritual purification, implicitly disapproved of it as a hedonistic social activity which, like the theatre, kept people away from church, exposed them to temp­ tation, and encouraged the vainglory of conspicuous, competitive consumption.24 St John Chrysostom considered the public bath 19. See in general Berger, Bad, 60ff. 20. MM, V, 185; also éd. G.A. Choras, Ή "Αγία Μονή" Αρείαςèv τη έκκλησιατικη кал πολιτική Ιστορία Ναυπλίους και "Αργούς (Athens, 1975), 246. 21. Symeon the New Theologian, Catéchèses, 440; 22. Berger, Bad, 34. 23. С. Mango, Le development urbain de Constantinople (IVe-VIIe siècles) (Paris, 1985). 24. For the tendency to associate bathing with worldly vanity, cf. Gregory of Nazianzos, Discours, ed. С. Moreschini, trans. P. Gallay (SC, 318, Paris, 1985), 172; John Chrysostom, Horn. LVin Acta apostolorum, XXIX, PG, 60, col. 218; Anastasius

169

PAUL MAGDALINO

to be a breeding ground for that root of all evil, the vanity of women,25 whose freedom of access to the baths may well have been curtailed by Christian preaching. The church certainly cam­ paigned against the practice of mixed bathing. The prohibition issued by the fourth-century Council of Laodicaea between definitive canon law when it was repeated as canon 77 of the Council in Trullo (Quinisext) — a prohibition which, as Balsamon's commentary makes plain, was strictly enforced in later centuries, even when the bathers were husband and wife.26 The reason given by both councils was that mixed bathing among Christians laid them open to censure from the 'Gentiles' (έθνη). For the Council of Laodicaea, these Gentiles would have been the empire's own pagans, but the Council in Trullo almost cer­ tainly retained the expression with reference to the infidel bar­ barians, the Moslem arabs and the pagan slavs and Bulgars, who were threatening the empire's very existence in the late seventh century. The Council itself can be seen as a response to these disasters, and its numerous provisions clearly reflect a concern to make the Chosen People of the New Covenant more pleasing in God's sight by raising moral standards and purging the church of any 'weeds of Hellenic and Judaic perversion which were still mixed in with the ripe corn of truth'. 27 Canon 77 was not the only provision which concerned bathing habits: canon 11, which restricted social intercourse with Jews, prohibited bathing in their company. These prohibitions were issued at the very time when the great thermae of Constantinople were being abandoned: the most famous of all, the Baths of Zeuxippos, were used for the last recorded time only twenty-one years later.28 Admittedly, the Council's prohibitions were not enough in themselves to make a significant difference. But they can, perhaps, be seen as the tip of Sinai, Viae dux, ed. K.-H. Uthemann, (CChr, ser. gr., Turnhout, 1981), 78, and the passage of the Peira quoted at the^head of this paper. 25. John Chrysostom, Laus maximi, et quales ducendae sint uxores, PG, 51, col. 239; In Genesím sermo III, PG, 56, col. 536; Нот. in Acta apost., XXIX, PG, 60, col. 218. 26. RP, III, 197; II, 483-5. 27. See the opening address, ibid., 295-9, espec. 299. 28. Theophanes, Chronographia, I, 383.

170

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

of a growing weight of inhibition whose practical effect was much greater than its formal canonical expression. An indication of the kind of moral pressure which was being brought to bear is to be found in the seventh-century Life of St Theodore ofSykeon, where it is reported that the saint, on his second visit to Con­ stantinople during the reign of Phokas (602-610), condemned the practice of going to the baths after taking communion, not on the basis of any scriptural authority, but simply because it was unseemly: 'For a man who has anointed himself with unguent and perfumes does not wash away the fragrance, nor does one who has just dined with a king rush off to the tavern'.29 The existence of customary restrictions of this nature is attested in later centuries. In the mid-ninth century, the newly converted Bulgarian king, Boris-Michael, enquired of Pope Nicholas I whether the Greeks were right to forbid bathing on Wednesdays and Fridays.30 Although the twelfth-century canonist, Theodore Balsamon, made no mention of this, he did insist that both before and after the liturgy, priests as well as laymen should give thanks to God, 'and not dissipate themselves in the indulgent shower­ ing of hot water'. He also insisted that those who bathed on Sunday harmed both themselves and the service staff of the bath by their failure to keep holy the Lord's day.31 In one way and another, therefore, the church cannot have fail­ ed to play a part in reducing the scale and frequency of public bathing. Whether Jews and women had to use separate facilities, or to bathe on different days from Christian men — in the case of women both solutions were adopted32 — their segregation would clearly have favoured the general trend towards smaller bath-houses. Where the institution of separate bathing days for 29. Vie de Théodore de Sykéon, I, 109; II, 113. Cf. also De peccatorum confessione, PG, 87, col. 3365 ff. (attributed to Sophronius of Jerusalem). 30. Responso Nicolai ad consulta Bulgarorum, PL, 119, cols. 978-1016, Resp. 6, col. 982. 31. RP, IV, 457, 486-7. 32. Berger, Bad, 42-3. That Byzantine Jews used public facilities is perhaps implied by later criticism of their laxity in taking the post-menstrual purification bath 'in the stagnant water of the bath-house': J. Starr, The Jews in the Byzantine empire, 641-1204 (Athens, 1959), 227.

171

PAUL MAGDALINO

men and women was combined with the restriction on Sunday opening, or where the Wednesday and Friday prohibition applied, there were, in theory, at most three days in the week when one could go to the baths. This was in fact considered the height of luxury in the twelfth century,33 while at the beginning of the tenth, Arethas claimed to be scandalised by the fact that the Patriarch Nicholas I Mystikos took a bath every day.34 It was all a far cry from the fourth century, when a bishop could be asked how a man in his position could go to the baths twice a day, and could reply, because he thought three times was over­ doing it.35 If the church had reservations about the old ethos of public bathing, it can hardly have given unqualified approval to the old type of public bath, which was, after all, the luxurious abode of Erotes and Charités,36 and a conspicuous monument to the kind of civic benefaction which the Fathers had denounced as the pursuit of vainglory.37 The fate which the church had in store for such establishments was sometimes not so different from that suffered by many a pagan temple. At Antioch, the so-called 'Bath of King Philip' made way for Constantine's new cathedral.38 At Thessalonika, the three great churches of St Demetrios, the Theotokos Acheiropoietos and Hagia Sophia stand on the ruins of Roman thermae?9 At Samos in the late 33. Poèmes prodromiques en grec vulgaire, ed. D.C. Hesseling and H. Pernot (Amsterdam, 1910), no.IV. 9-10; Niketas Chômâtes, Historia, ed. J.-L. Van Dieten (CFHB, Berlin/New York, 1975), 441. 34. Arethas, Scripta minora, ed. L. Westerink (Leipzig, 1972), I, 175. 35. Socrates, Hist. Eccl., VI.22. 36. Cf. L. Robert, Hellénica: Recueil d'epigraphìe, de numismatie et d'antiquités grecs, 13 vols (Paris, 1940-65), IV, 77 ff, 129 ff. 37. See St John Chrysostom, Sur la vaine gloire et l'éducation des enfants, ed. A.M. Malingrey (SC, 188, Paris, 1972), 64 ff, and the author's other works cited by the editor in her apparatus. Cf. also Homiliae in Genesin XXX. In Cap. XI Genes. PG, 53, col. 275; Expositio in Psalmos, XLVIII, PG, 55, col. 231; Horn, in Act. apost, XVIII, PG, 60, col. 147 and Gregory of Nyssa, In Ecclesiasten, III, PG, 44, col. 656. 38. John Malalas, Chronographia, ed. L. Dindorf, (CSHB, 1831), 318; cf. F.W. Deichmann, 'Das Oktagon von Antiocheia: Heröon-Martyrion, Palastkirche oder Kathedrale?', BZ, 56 (1972), 47-8. 39. See G.A. and M.G. Soteriou, Ή βασιλική του 'Αγίου Δημητρίου Θεσσαλονίκης (Athens, 1952), Ι, 37 ff; С. Bakirtzis, Ρωμαϊκός λουτρών και ή Άχειροποίητος

172

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

fifth century, a monastery was built on the site of a preConstantinian bath and gymnasium complex.40 Excavation still in progress at Aizanoi in Asia Minor has revealed that a thirdcentury bath complex was converted to other use in Justinian's reign, one chamber being fitted out with altar, ciborium, and ambo.41 It would certainly be unwise to generalise on the basis of such examples, against which can be set abundant evidence for Roman baths maintained in or restored to use in the fifth and sixth centuries. The motives which led the state to relinquish the buildings in question may have been anything but pious. Yet in each case, the effect of the transformation is unmistakable. The situation was bound to be somewhat different in Constan­ tinople, where churches and baths had grown up together, and the great thermae, being the work of Christian emperors, were maintained as an integral part of the monumental fabric of the New Rome. Here, their continued existence cannot have caused great offence; indeed, the Baths of Zeuxippos were the venue for an extraordinary session of the Sixth Ecumenical Council (681), in which a Syrian Monothelete tried unsuccessfully to resuscitate a corpse in order to prove the orthodoxy of his beliefs.42 However, it is worth recalling Gregory of Nazianzos' disparag­ ing reference to the Zeuxippos as the 'New Jerusalem' of the largely Arian population of Constantinople.43 The church clear­ ly did not persuade the emperors of the eighth century that they had a duty to prevent the Zeuxippos from falling into disrepair; if anything, ecclesiastical opinion must have contributed very substantially to the view that such expenditure would be a sinful extravagance in the straitened circumstances of the time. The Θεσσαλονίκης, in 'Αφιέρωμα στη μνήμη Στθλιανοΰ Πελεκανίδου, edd. P. Asemakopoulou-Atzaka, E. Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou, С. Mavropoulou-Tzioumi, N. Nikonanos, Μακεδόνικα, Supplement 5 (Thessalonika, 1983), 310-29. ÌFor Hagia Sophia, see, pending publication of interim reports, the article by E. Marki in 'Αρχαιολογία, fase. 7 (May, 1983), 14. 40. W. Martini, Das Gymnasium von Samos (Bonn, 1984), 263-5. 41. 'Recent research in Turkey. Aphrodisias', AnatSt, 34 (1983), 203; R. and F. Naumann, 'Aizanoi. Bericht über die Ausgrabungen und Untersuchungen 1980 and 1981', AA (1984), 453 ff. 42. Mansi, XI, col. 609. 43. Gregory of Nazianzos, Discours, 33.8, p. 174.

173

PAUL MAGDALINO

significant fact is that the Zeuxippos and other baths of its kind passed away unlamented by either iconoclasts or iconophiles. Even more significantly, these baths were not included in the rebuilding programme which accompanied the political and economic revival of the empire in the ninth and tenth centuries. Herein lies the essence of the problem. While economic and demographic crisis can account for the demise of the great Constantinopolitan public baths, it cannot account for the failure to rebuild them after the crisis was over. By the twelfth century, the population of Constantinople had returned to something like its sixth-century level: Geoffrey de Villehardouin gives the not impossible figure of 400,000 for 1204.44 Even at the most negative estimate, these people had to wash, and some of them, as we have seen, bathed as much as three times a week. Contem­ porary literature contains many incidental references to public bathing which suggest that it was a regular, if not a daily habit.45 I would draw particular attention to the neglected passages in which Robert de Clari describes the booty taken by the crusaders in 1204. He distinguishes between the valuable treasures appropriated by the army leaders, and the gros argent distributed among the rest of the host. This consisted mainly of the silver pitchers which women took with them to the baths: so numerous were such items that not only the knights and sergeants but also all the camp followers, including women and children, received one apiece.46 44. Geoffrey de Villehardouin, La conquête de Constantinople, ed. E. Farai, 5th ed., 2 vols. (Paris, 1973), II, 251; cf. D. Jacoby, 'La population de Constantinople à l'époque byzantine: un problème de démographie urbaine', B, 31 (1961), 81-109, repr. in Société et démographie à Byzance et en Romanie latine (London, 1975). 45. Berger gives most of the references, without, however, conveying an adequate impression of their density and variety. There are also some which he does not in­ clude: Poèmesprodromiques, no.1.55; John Tzetzes, Historiae, ed. P. Leone (Naples, 1968), Chiliad ІѴ.592 ff; Michael Glykas, Στίχοι οϋς έγραψε καθ 'δν κατεσχέθη καιρόν (Thessalonika, 1959), 11. 228-30; Theodosios, Life ofLeontios of Jerusalem, in Makarios Chrysokephalos, Λόγοι πανηγυρικοί ΙΔ. (Cosmopolis [Vienna] 1794), 384, 431. See also the references in the works of Eustathios of Thessalonika collected by P. Koukoules in Θεσσαλονίκης Ευσταθίου τα λαογραφικά (Athens, 1950,1,157.ff. 46. Robert de Clari, Conquête de Constantinople, ed. P. Lauer (Paris, 1924), 31, 96; trans. E.H. McNeal, The Conquest of Constantinople, (New York, 1936, repr. 1966), 102, 117.

174

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

The question is, then, if people could no longer go to baths like the Zeuxippos, to what kind of baths were they going? Or, to look at it from the opposite chronological perspective, what was the medieval Byzantine equivalent of the Ottoman neighbourhood fiammanti It was, presumably, a small, privatelyowned and commercially run establishment of the kind known as a 'private bath' (balneae privatae) or 'paying bath' (τέλειον λουτρόν) in the fifth century,47 and, by a significant semantic shift, as a 'public bath' (δημόσιον λουτρόν) in a notarial for­ mula of the Palaiologan period which reproduces the standard form of contract between the owner of such a bath and the per­ son who rented it from him.48 Some owners must have been laymen — the Tzetzes family were perhaps among them.49 Yet it is doubtful whether most middle and late Byzantine 'public' baths were under secular ownership. For one thing, it was in the nature of Byzantine real estate to gravitate into religious hands. For another, in nearly all the specific cases known to us, church ownership can be inferred when not actually proved. For the provinces, there are two key documents from the twelfth century. One is the typikon of the Kosmosoteira monastery near the mouth of the R. Maritza in Thrace. In this, the founder, the sebastokrator Isaac, states that he has provided the foundation with two bath-houses, one inside the precinct for the monks' own use, and one outside, for hire to a contractor, to serve the general public.50 It is a fair assumption that the Kosmosoteira was not the only rural monastery which provided bathing facilities for the local population. A similar arrangement seems to have ex­ isted at Paramythia in Epiros, where the ruins of a late medieval

47. Notitia Dignitatum, accedimi Notitia Urbis Constantinopolitanae et Latercüla Provinciarum, ed. О. Seeck (Berlin, 1876, repr. Frankfurt, 1962), 229^3; cf. the Life of Olympias, éd. Malingrey, Lettres à Olympias, 416. 48. MM, VI, 624 f; Berger, Das Bad, 28 f. 49. Tzetzes, Historiae (above, n.45), gives an example of his father's great modesty the fact that 'whenever he had to go to the bath, he would order his slaves to put his mattress on the very last couch, going past all the others, even though the bath practically belonged to us (καίτοι σχεδόν τυγχάνοντος λουτρώνος ημετέρου). 50. L. Petit, 'Typikon du monastère de la Kosmosoteira près d'Aenos', IRAIK, 13 (1908), 66, 72.

175

PAUL MAGD ALINO

bath have been found in close proximity to a fourteenth-century church that was probably of monastic origin.51 The other key document is a fiscal diagnosis of 1163 for the bishopric of Stagoi in Thessaly, enumerating the see's tax-exempt properties.52 Among these was a bathing establishment on the edge of the kastron associated with a church of St John the Bap­ tist. While the bath may have been used by the clergy, the fact that it was not attached to the cathedral church, and is listed along with obvious sources of revenue like the market-place and mulberry trees, suggests that this too was a public bath in the medieval sense. If this interpretation is correct, it is a strong in­ dication that the public baths which are attested in two other pro­ vincial towns, Servia and Lakedaimon, were the property of the local bishoprics.53 In this connection, it is also worth noting that John Apokaukos, in his remarkable encomium of the town of Naupaktos, where he was metropolitan in the early thirteenth cen­ tury, sings the praises of Our bath' — a tall, elegant marble building with glass windows and polychrome (presumably mosaic or opus sedile) decoration — in a way which makes it impossi­ ble to determine whether this belonged to the episcopal palace, which he has just described in great detail, or was a public building, like 'our fortress', which he goes on to extol.54 The most satisfactory solution may be to conclude that here too, the municipal bath and the church's bath were one and the same. For Constantinople itself, the best known evidence also dates from the twelfth century, when we have references to a public bath belonging to the Monastery των Όδηγών, 55 and to a bath in the Monastery of St Mamas which was used by the monks once

51. P. Šoustal, Nikopolis undKephallenia, (TIB, 3, DenkWien, 150, Vienna, 1981), 236-7. 52. С Astrae, 'Un document inédit de 1163 sur l'évêche thessalien de Stagi', BCH, 83 (1959), 221. 53. For Servia, see Kekaumenos, Sověty i rasskazy Kekavmena, ed. G.G. Litavrin (Moscow, 1972), 174'(= Wassiliewsky-Jernstedt, 28-9); for Lakedaimon (Sparta), C. Bouras, Ένα βυζαντινόλουτpòρτή Λακεδαιμόνια, Αρχ.Εφ. (1982), 99-112. 54. Ed. Ε. Vei-Seferli, 'Aus dem Nachlass von N.A. Bees', BHJbb, 21 (1975), 123. 55. Appendix, no. 15.

176

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

a month and the rest of the time was open to the public.56 But the existence of public baths which were sacred, if not monastic, property can be traced back much earlier, The demosion loutron of the Blachernae church was built between 578 and 602.57 Two of the baths mentioned in the seventh-century Miracles of St Artemios clearly belonged to the same category.58 The bath at τα Άνθημίου was part of a religious foundation which, as we know from the Patria, also comprised a home for the aged (γηροκομεϊον) and a church of St Thomas.59 The double bath at τα Πασχεντίου was attached to a hospital (ξενών), a philan­ thropic institution which must have had religious status. The public function of both establishments is not open to doubt. At the former, a deacon of the Great Church was cured of his rup­ ture while taking a bath early in the morning when no other bathers were present to see his affliction.60 At the latter, the beneficiary of the miracles was the son of the woman who ran the bath; his cure was announced to her in a dream in which the saint appeared to her in the guise of a palace dignitary visiting the bath with an entourage of slaves. The evidence of these two miracle stories is particularly valuable, because it comes from a period when baths like the Zeuxippos were still functioning, and yet it shows us members of Constantinopolitan high society bathing not in these baths, but in smaller, newer bathing establishments belonging to religious foun­ dations. Put together with the rest of the dossier which we have assembled, it confirms the suspicion, which has been forming throughout this enquiry, that what happened to public bathing in Byzantium in the transition to the Middle Ages had a lot to do with the influence of the church. The church, quite simple, took over. Not only that: the takeover had occured before the

56. S. Eustratiades, Τυπικον της έν Κωνσταντινουπόλει Μονής τοϋ 'Αγίου μεγαλομάρτυρος Μάμαντος. Επαρχιακά 1 (1928), 306. 57. See appendix, no.6. 58. Above, n. 15. 59. Appendix, no. 14. 60. An indication that people bathed naked, which is confirmed by the Typikon of the holy lousma of the Blachernae: see Appendix, no.6.

177 -

PAUL MAGDALINO

old-style thermae went out of business. In other words, these baths were abandoned not because Constantinople could no longer af­ ford them, but because it no longer needed them. It now remains to substantiate this hypothesis by looking more closely at the nature, organisation and capacity of the new ec­ clesiastical public baths. Firstly, were they merely, as we have so far implied, church-owned balneaeprivatae — investments for profit which charged commercial rates for their services — or did they in any way replace the old public baths as a subsidised form of public welfare? Secondly, when and where were they built, and could they cater to the whole population? The answer to both questions lies in an examination of the diakonia, or charitable association, an institution which has received far too little atten­ tion from Byzantinists, although it was undoubtedly as impor­ tant in medieval Constantinople as it was in early medieval Rome, where its history has been studied in great detail.61 The Byzan­ tine evidence is admittedly less straightforward and circumstan­ tial, mainly because the diakonia was incidental to the concerns of Byzantine writers, with the notable exception of John of Ephesos.62 However, enough information can be pieced together from a variety of sources to give a good idea of what is missing. A documented list of known and probable Constantinopolitan diakoniai, to which references is made in the following pages, will be found at the end of this paper.63 The Roman diaconiae have been studied mainly with regard to urban topography and to their role as charitable fooddistribution centres through which the Roman church effective­ ly took over the provisioning of the city from the imperial ad­ ministration. The focus of their activity was, however, the ritual 61. See O. Bertolini, 'Per la storia delle diaconie romane nell'alto medio evo sino alla fine del secolo ѴІІГ, Archivio della Societa romana di Storia patria, 70 (1947), 1-145. 62. John of Ephesos, Historiae Ecclesiastìcae, pars tertia, trans. E. W. Brooks (CSCO, Script. Syr., 3rd ser., 3, Louvain, 1936), cc.15-6, 55-6; Lives of the Eastern Saints, ed. and trans. E.W. Brooks, PO, 18 (1924), nos. 455-6. 63. Bracketed numbers in the text refer to items on this list. On Byzantine diakoniai, see also J.W. Nesbitt, 'Byzantine copper tokens', ed. N. Oikonomidès, Studies in Byzantine sigillography, (Washington, DC, 1987), 67-75.

178

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

bath or lusma. In Constantinople, all the evidence for the func­ tions of diakoniai relates to bathing the poor, and the one men­ tion of feeding seems to confirm that here, just as in Rome, the bath was the place and the occasion for the distribution of ra­ tions (7). John of Ephesus says that the diakoniai founded by Monophysite clergy in the sixth century performed all kinds of ministration, but washing is the only one which he specifies. Five diakoniai were associated with establishments known to have in­ cluded bath houses (2, 6, 7, 8, 10), and in two cases (2, 10) the reference is actually to 'the diakonia of the lousma'. The seal of what must have been the most important Constantinopolitan diakonia (6) links it with the Blachernae church, but the liturgical evidence relates exclusively to the 'holy lousma', and clearly equates membership of the diakonia with ministration in the\ bath.63a Studies of the Roman diakonia have pointed to its origins in the monasteries of rural Egypt.64 However, the institution is most likely to have reached both Rome and Constantinople via the cities not only of Egypt but also of Palestine and Syria, where it had become an expression of urban lay piety.65 John of Ephesus gives the distinct impression that in Constantinople the institution was popularised by Syrian Monophysites who, although they themselves may have been monks, found their following, and their financial support, as much among laymen as among clergy. The importance of lay participation, and of Syria, is also illustrated by the case of the rich argyroprates Andronikos and his wife, who ministered in the lousmata of Antioch on Sundays,

63a. See also the prayer transmitted in the famous eighth-century liturgical manuscript Barberini gr. 336, under the title Ε υ χ ή έπί διακονίας λεγομένη έν τη έμβάτη εκφωνητικώς. ed. J. Goar, Euchologion sive rituale Grecorum (Venice, 1730; repr. Graz, 1960), 363. Modem scholars have failed to recognise the significance of the terms diakonia and embate: A. Jacob, 'Note sur la prière Κτίστα των υδάτων de PEuchologie Barberini', В, 56 (1986), 139-47. 64. H.I. Marrou, 'L'origine orientale des diaconies romaines', MélRome, 57 (1940), 95-142; cf. Bertolini, 'Per la storia', 91 ff. 65. Cf. E. Patlagean, Pauvreté économique et pauvreté sociale à Byzance, 4e-7esiècles (Paris/La Haye, 1977), 192; Κ. Μεηιζου-ΜεΐηωΓί,Έπαρχιακάεύαγή ιδρύματα μέχρι του τέλους της Εικονομαχίας', Βυζαντινά, 11 (1982), 250.

179

PAUL MAGDALINO

Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays.66 The diakonia would thus seem to have been a para-monastic, urban lay confraternity similar in composition, organisation, and scope to other types of pious association which are known to have existed at the time: the groups of zealots (σπουδαίοι, φιλόπονοι) whom we encounter in the world of John Moschos and his contemporaries,67 vigil societies (παννυχίδες) like the one associated with cult of St Artemios,68 and the professional brotherhoods (πρεσβεΐαι, ύποστροφαί) at­ tested at a later date.69 These organisations must have overlap­ ped to a greater or lesser extent. We have a seal of 'the diakonia of the return (υποστροφή) from the Blachernae',70 and it is hard to believe that the confraternity of the Hodegetria, which took the famous icon of the Theotokos on procession every Tuesday, had nothing to do with the 'holy lousma' at the monastery where the icon was kept (14). The processional confraternity is in fact described, in the convoluted expression of one eleventh-century text, as 'the zealots of the orthodox congregation who constituted the diakonia of brothers'. 71 The diakoniai described by John of Ephesus relied heavily on private, voluntary contributions, and there is no reason to doubt that in later centuries, laymen who ministered in lousmata con­ tinued to give not only of their time and effort but also of their wealth, which in some cases was considerable. The mother of the author of the Life of St Theophano, who regularly took part in diakonia at the lousma των Άρματίου (7), clearly belonged to a rich and influential family.72 Earlier in the ninth century, the 66. L. Clugnet, 'Vie et récits de l'abbé Daniel de Scété , ROChr, 5 (1900), 371; cf. also T. Nissen, 'Unbekannte Erzählungen aus dem Pratum spirituale', BZ, 38 (1938), 367: έν 'Αντιόχεια τή μεγάλη της Συρίας διακονίαι είσί διάφοροι. . . 67. John Moschos, Pratum spirituale, 176; Nissen 'Unbekannte Erzählungen', 359; Los Thaumata de Sofronio, 249-50, 330; E. Wipszycka, 'Les confréries dans la vie religieuse de l'Egypte chrétienne', Proc. Xllth Int. Cong, of Papyrology (American Studies in Papyrology, 7, Toronto, 1970), 511-25; P. Hordern, 'The confraternities of Byzantium', Studies in Church History, 23 (1986), 25-45, espec. 40 ff. 68. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Varia, 20 f. 69. Laurent, Sceaux, V/2 (see Appendix, n.l), nos. 1200-6. 70. Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1203. 71. E. von Dobschütz, 'Maria Romaia', BZ, 12 (1903), 201-2. 72. Her husband was a public dignitary and their other son (the author's brother) held the title of protospatharios: 'Zwei griechische Texte über die hl. Theophano', ed. E. Kurtz, MASP, 8th ser. HI/2 (1898), 1-24, 19.

180

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

lousma at τα Άρεοβίνδου (8) had been regularly attended by no less a person than the logothete Theoktistos, head of the ad­ ministration for at least thirteen years before his murder after one such visit in 856. That he went there to minister, and not to bathe, seems evident from the fact that he had his own facilities in his private annexe to the imperial palace.73 It may be that he actually financed the whole operation, in the way that the asekretis and future patriarch Tarasios, some seventy years earlier, had financed vigil services, recruiting the chanters for wages which they received from him in person as they dismissed.74 Even emperors, it seems, ministered in the diakoniai which they founded (11). The prominent, and dominant, role of high-ranking officials does suggest, however, that in Constantinople — again as in Rome — diakoniai were liable to lose their spontaneous character and to become incorporated into the institutional structure of state patronage and finance. This suggestion is confirmed by the report of an eleventh-century judicial decision concerning a dispute over the sale of an office characterised as 'service in a loumď (δουλεία εις λοϋμα).75 Although, unfortunately, the text does not in­ dicate what duties this involved, or whether it was secular or ec­ clesiastical, the office in question was probably that of diakonia 'prior' (πρώτος) known from a few lead seals.76 What does emerge quite clearly is that the office was, in effect, a bureaucratic benefice, providing a modest annual income (18 nomismata gross, 8 net) derived from rents, but treated as the legal equivalent of a public emolument.77 This diakonia, it seems, had become a 73. George monachus continuatus, Vitae imperatorum recentiarum, ed. I. Bekker (CSHB, 1835), 816. The Patria, ed. Preger, 248, identities this with the palace-cummonastery complex known as Ta Kanikleiou, and the identification appears to be confirmed by the Acta of SS David, Symeon and George, ed. I. Van den Gheyn, AnalBoll, 18 (1899), 246 ff. Cf also Janin, Eglises et monastères, 277. 74. Life of St George of Amastris ed. V.G. Vasilievsky in Letopis zanjatij arheograficeskoi kommissij, 9 (1882-4; St Petersburg, 1893), part 2, 30-1. 75. Peira, XXXVIII, 74: Zepi, Jus, IV, 162-3. The transaction (but not the nature of the office) is discussed by P. Lemerle, ' "Roga" et rente d'état aux Xe-XIe siècles', REB, 25 (1967), 89-90, repr. in Le monde de Byzance: Historie et institutions (London, 1978). 76. Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, nos. 1213, 1217, 1920. 77. The judge ruled on the basis of two current tarrifs: (1) that of rents involving expenditure, and (2) that of salaries (rogai) sold by the fisc.

181

PAUL MAGDALINO

financial, or even a fiscal unit, with endowed revenue in excess of its charitable expenditure. The endowment of diakoniai is fur­ ther attested in other sources, which point to the importance of imperial patronage (5), and of tax-revenue from city shops (2, 10).78 The status of the premises where a diakonia ministered is far from clear. They were not necessarily part of its endowment, or distinct from the commercial 'public' bath. Some diakoniai were certainly self-contained units.79 But many were attached to foun­ dations comprising other philanthropic institutions, which also, presumably, had claims on the bathing facilities. In any case, the diakonia did not have to monopolise the facilities, whether it owned them or not. It could, conceivably, pay for their use on certain days, or at certain times of day, leaving them free at other times to admit a different clientele. On the face of it, there was nothing to prevent the same baths from providing both charitable and commercial services; indeed, a combination of charitable sub­ sidy and commercial profit surely made better economic sense than exclusive reliance on one or the other. Alternate use of a single establishment would also have made less demand on the erratic water supply than the parallel operation of separate, specialised buildings.80 The hypothesis that public baths doubled as diakonia baths or vice-versa is attractive, because it explains how the church was able to provide a viable social and economic substitute for the old thermae. It is worth considering as an alter-

78. i.e. the shopowners paid their taxes to the diakonia instead of to the fisc. For the practice of endowing religious institutions with fiscal revenues, cf. Oikonomidès, 'Quelques boutiques', 353-4. See also following note. 79. Appendix, no.2; cf. also P. Gautier, 'Le Typikon du Christ Sauveur Pantokrator', REB, 32 (1974), 121: among the properties in Thessalonika with which John II en­ dowed his monastic foundation was ή διακονία τοΰ Κραμβέως μετά των δύο αυτής λοετρών και ένοικικών και λοιπών δικαίων. 80. For water shortages in Constantinople, and repairs to the aqueduct, see Skylitzes, 366, 389; Eustathios of Thessalonika, Oratio ad Manuelem imperatorem, ed. W. Regel, Fontes rerum byzantinarum, I-II, (St. Petersburg, 1892; repr. Leipzig, 1982), 126-31; John Kinnamos, Epitome rerum, ed. A. Meineke (CSHB, 1836), 274-5; Chômâtes, 329. It may have been the water shortage complained of by Eustathios which obliged Constantine Manasses to cross the Bosphoros in order to take a bath: 'Analecta Manassea', ed. L. Sternbach, Eos, 7 (1901), 181.

182

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

native to the odd conclusion that has been drawn from the evidence for ecclesiastical baths in early medieval Italy: 'the sec­ tions of the population catered for by these baths was strictly limited — the clergy itself and those poor enough to need charity. The large area of society in between was apparently not catered for at all.'81 Against the hypothesis of dual function, the main argument would seem to be one of terminology: a diakonia bath was a lousma or louma, as opposed to a loutron. The problem with this argument is that both words are sometimes used of the same location (6, 10, 14, 15).82 If we insist on seeing a rigid distinc­ tion between loutron and louma in each of these cases, we have to postulate either a conversion from one type of bath to another, or the simultaneous existence of two separate bathing establishments.83 In the absence of conclusive evidence, neither of these explanations can be preferred to the other or to that ad­ vanced above, especially since each of them begs important ques­ tions about the chronology and numbers of Byzantine diakoniai, not to mention the baths where they ministered. Associations of spoudaioi and philoponoi may have existed in Constantinople before the time of John of Ephesus, whose pic­ ture of a diakonia movement in the capital inspired by Syrian Monophysites must certainly be treated with caution. However, it also deserves to be taken seriously, for there is no hard evidence for diakoniai in the city earlier than the period about which he is writing. It is true that three diakonia baths (2, 6, 14) are said to have been built much earlier, but the diakoniai themselves may 81. B. Ward-Perkins, From classical antiquity to the Middle Ages. Public building in northern and central Italy, 300-850 (Oxford, 1984), 140. 82. Which is hardly surprising, given that λοΰμα/λοϋσμα refers primarily to an action, and only by extension to a building. Loutron remained the standard term for the latter even when it clearly designated a diakonia bath: see above, n.79; and Dmitrievsky, Opisanie, II, 1044. 83. The former explanation is plausible in two cases (10, 14), but impossible in that of the monastery ton Hodegôn (15), where the demosion loutron and the holy louma are mentioned by the same author. The same would be true of the Blachernae if one could trust the statement by the Patria that the holy louma there was built by Leo I (457-74), and thus predated the building of the demosion loutron by Tiberius II and Maurice.

183

PAUL MAGDALINO

have been later developments, and the source, the Patria, is pro­ blematic. More significant, perhaps, is the combined informa­ tion of the Patria and Theophanes that the baths at three impor­ tant diakonia centres (6, 7, 8) were built by the emperors Tiberius II and Maurice and close associates of the latter. It may be helpful to view these constructions in the context of an imperially spon­ sored Chalcedonian attempt to join, and control, a movement which had won the Monophysites a lot of sympathy. In any case, it surely makes sense to see the institution of the diakonia as crystallising in the same sixth-century milieu which gave definitive shape to other distinctive features of Byzantine worship such as hymnography, the cult of Theotokos, and the veneration of icons.84 This is not to claim that all Byzantine diakoniai were established in the sixth century. There may have been additions to their number in the brief interlude between the Persian and the Arab invasions, when one derelict bath was restored.85 After the Dark Age crisis, priority was probably given to the revival of old diakoniai — like the one whose revenues were increased by Basil I (5) — rather than to the creation of new ones. However, two new lousmata (10, 15) can fairly confidently be dated to the reigns of Theophilos and Michael III respectively. Constantine IX founded the diakonia of the Tropaiophoros с 1047 (11), and in view of the date which has been assigned to the seals of the diakonia of Christ Antiphonetes (12), it is a reasonable assump­ tion that this was set up by the empress Zoe (d.1050) when she refounded the church of the same dedication. It is also reasonable to assume that the Byzantine diakonia move­ ment continued to flourish until 1204, although it was undoubtedly affected by the new monastic foundations of the period and the new fashion in imperial piety which these represented. The establishment of new, monastic diakoniai may have made old ones redundant. But this is speculation. It is simply impossible to make 84. See, in general, Averii Cameron, 'Images of authority: Elites and icons in late sixth-century Byzantium', Past and Present, 84 (1979), 3-35, repr. in Change and continuity in sixth-century Byzantium (London, 1981). 85. L. Sternbach, 'Georgii Pisidae carmina inedita', WSt, 14 (1982), 56.

184

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE

even a rough estimate of the number of diakoniai existing at any one time. On balance, the list of twenty-two which I have com­ piled may be considered substantially incomplete. The deceptively similar figure of eighteen from late eighth-century Rome is not based on comparable data. Nor can the two cities usefully be com­ pared. For all the importance of Rome as a pilgrimage centre in the seventh and eighth centuries, and for all the contraction suffered by Constantinople in the same period, the latter's political role, maritime position, and impregnable defences give credence to the Byzantine view that the New Rome was by nature ampler and healthier than her aged mother on the Tiber. Moreover, in Constantinople the diakonia remained closer to its oriental roots and the traditions of lay piety in which it was rooted. There are two reasons for thinking that our list represents only a random sample: first, the fact that six diakoniai known from seals (16-22) do not correspond to institutions known from other sources; and second, the converse of this, the fact that the diakoniai attached to two known lousmata (14, 15) have gone unrecorded. This is not to mention other known baths which are likely to have doubled as lousmata, (e.g. τα Πασχεντίου) and the numerous monasteries, hospitals, and homes for the aged which must have had baths attached to them. Of course, it does not follow that every diakonia had its own separate lousma, or that every ecclesiastical bath was served by a diakonia. Even so, we have found good reasons for believing that such baths, whether loutra or lousmata, had the joint capacity to drive, and keep, the old fourth and fifth-century thermae permanently out of business. I have already drawn attention to the lack of evidence for any attempt to restore or replace those establishments during the 'Macedonian Renaissance'. In closing, it is instructive to consider the exception that proves the rule. The imperial bath built or restored by Leo VI adjacent to the imperial Great Palace was decorated with statues, relief sculptures and mosaics of river gods and aquatic scenes in an antique manner.86 This must have been 86. P. Magdalino, 'The bath of Leo the Wise and the "Macedonian Renaissance" revisited: topography, iconography, ceremonial and ideology', DOP, 42 (1988), 97-118. See also C. Mango, 'The palace of Marina, the poet Palladas and the bath of Leo ѴГ (forthcoming).

185

PAUL MAGDALINO

as close as medieval Byzantines came to recreating the secular bathing environment of antiquity. Yet the bath was also, in a sense, an appendage of two religious institutions, the Nea Ekklesia and the monastery of St Lazaros.87 Moreover, it had two features which suggest that if it was not actually a lousma, it was very close to the model of the ecclesiastical bath. Firstly, the main chamber had a pool in an octaconch, an arrangement un­ characteristic of ancient thermae but strongly reminiscent of Chris­ tian baptisteries. Secondly, the iconography of the inferior decora­ tion could have been read, in a thoroughly Christian sense, as an allegory of the church's message of salvation through the Gospels (the rivers of divine wisdom), the Apostles (the fishers of men), and the waters of Baptism. And if Leo's bath did give offence, it did not do so for long: some seventy years later, John I Tzimiskes pulled it down. There was now nothing left to disturb the basically religious character of bathing in Byzantium. 87. For the former, see also my Observations on the Nea Ekklesia of Basil I', JOB, Ъ1 (1987), 56-64.

LIST OF KNOWN AND PROBABLE DIAKONIAI Name and approximate date attested

Associated institutions and alleged foundation date

1.

των Δεξιοκράτους

church, gerokomeion monastery

2.

του Γερμανού 7th-8th с. του λούσματος τώυ Γερμανού 959

louma

3.

των Μαυριανου

7th-8th с.

church xenodocheion

4. 5. 6.

των Πέτρου των Τζήρου (Στείρου) του νεώ Βλαχερνών

7th-8th с. 9th с. 9th с.

church, gerokomeion

A.

των Άρματίου των 'Ρεοβίντου (Άρεοβίνδου)

7th с.

church

408-50 c.9th с 364-83 4th-5th с 919-44 527-65

4th с , rest. 867-86

church 5th-6th с hagion louma 457-74, rest. 976-1025 = (?) demosion loutron 578-602 church, gerokomeion, Iouma582-602

9th с. 9th-?12th с.

church, louma

186

582-602

CHURCH, BATH AND DIAKONIA IN MEDIEVAL CONSTANTINOPLE 9. 10. 11.

των Ευγενίου 9th-10th с. του Ξυλινίτου του λούσματος 959 του Τροπαιοφόρου с.1047

12. 13.

του Άντιφωνήτου μονής Θεοδώρου

14.

(των Άνθημίου

15.

(των 'Οδηγών

20. 21. 22.

с 840-60

loutron, monastery (?) monastery, gerotropheia, ptochotropheia, xenones, nosokomeion, school

11 th-12th с. 12th с.

monastery

10th с.)

church, loutron

llth-12thc.)

1042-7 1042-50

church

= (?)

16. 17. 18. 19.

379-95

church, gerokomeion

5th с

gerokomeion, louma 5th с 7th с.

monastery hagion louma loutron

9th с rest. 1185-95

του αγίου Μαρτινακίου 6th с. τών Βήρου 7th с. του αγίου Κορωνάτου 7th с. του αγίου Κωνσταντίου του Γερμανικίου 7th-8th с. της Θεοτόκου 7th-9th с. τ ο ν αγίων Πατέρων τών έν Βοτρεπτίω 10th с. τών 'Αθανασίου 10th с.

Appendix: Sources 1.

(A) (B)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1211. Patria, ed. Preger, 241; Synaxarium CP, 828; Mateos, Typikon de la Grande Eglise, I, 346; cf. Janin, La géographie ecclésiastique de l'empire byzantin, I: Le siège de Constantinople et le Patriarcat Oecuménique, 3: Les églises et les monastères (Paris, 1969), 87-8.

2.

(A) (B)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no.1923; N. Oikonomidès, 'Quelques boutiques de Constantinople au Xe siècle: prix, loyers, imposition (Cod. Patmiacus 171)', DOP, 26 (1972), 345-56, esp.345. Patria, 259.

3.

(A) (B)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no.1215. Patria, 233; Theoph. Cont., 430; Janin, Eglises et monastères, 22ff.

4.

(A) (B)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1217. Patria, 249.

5.

(A) (В)

Theoph. Cont., 339. Patria, 184, 225; cf. Janin, Eglises et monastères, 471-2.

187

PAUL MAGDALINO 6.

(A)

(В)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no.1921; Zacos and Veglery, Byzantine lead seals, no.2008; Dmitrievsky, Opisanie, II, 1042ff. This text is an excellent source for both the theory and the practice of ritual bathing. N.B. in­ ter alia, the supplication for God's φιλανθρωπίας ίαματα . . ου προς ήδονήν σαρκός άλλα προςΐασιν ψυχής και σώματος the commemora­ tion των δι' εύλογους αίτιας άπολειφθέντων αδελφών ημών (1048) and the mention of the assembled poor as παρισταμένων γυμνών (1043: cf. above, n.60). Theophanes, 244, 251, 261; Patria, 187, 242, 283; Const. Porph., De cerim. (ed. Reiske), 551-6 (cf. Berger, Dos Bad, 81ff.).

7.

(A) (В)

E. Kurtz, 'Zewi griechische Texte über die heilige Theophano', 18. Patria, 150, 238.

8.

(A) (В)

Laurem, Sceaux V/2, no. 1209; Leo Gram., 235; Geo. Mon. Cont., 822. Theophanes, 277, Patria, 237.

9

(A) (B)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1212. Patria, 220; Const. Porph. De cerim. (ed. Reiske), 556.

10.

(A) (В)

Oikonomides, 'Quelques boutiques, 346. Patria, 269, 276; Leo Gram., 257; Geo. Mon. Cont., 843; cf. Janin, Eglises et monastères, 379-80.

11.

(A)

John Mauropous, éd. P. de Lagarde, lohannis Euchaitorum Metropolitae quae in Cod. Vat. Gr. 676supersunt (AbhGött, Hist-phil. Cl., 28, 1882, repr. Amsterdam, 1979), nos. 71-2, p.37. See N. Oikonomides, 'St George of Mangana, Maria Skleraina and the 'Malyj Sion' of Novgorod', DOP, 34-5 (1980-1), 239-46, esp. 241-3.

(B) 12.

(A) (В)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, nos. 1207-8. Cf. Janin, Eglises et monastères, 506-7.

13.

(A) (В)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no.1218. Cf. Janin, Eglises et monastères, 154-5.

14.

(В)

Patria, 251; Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Varia, 27-8.

15.

(В)

Patria, 223; К. Horna, 'Die Epigramme des Theodoros Balsamon', WSt, 25 (1903), 190-1, 200.

16.

(А)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1924.

17.

(А)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1222.

18.

(А)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no.1214.

19.

(А)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1922.

20.

(А)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no.1219; Zacos and Veglery, no.317.

21.

(А)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no.1216.

22.

(А)

Laurent, Sceaux, V/2, no. 1210.

188

CHURCHES AND THEIR CONTENTS

190

The Transformation symbolism in Byzantine architecture and the meaning of the Pantokrator in the dome1 THOMAS F. MATHEWS The designs that appear in ninth-century Byzantine architecture, and are repeated with subtle variations for hundreds of years thereafter, are all, in simplest terms, compact crosses supporting a central dome (figs. 1 and 2).2 The most universal of Christian symbols, the cross represents the victory of Christ over death and the new creation inaugurated by that victory. Far from being some sort of abstract cypher or hieroglyph, the cross was regarded as the means of active and personal transformation into Christ. Paul expressed the Christian's attitude: 'I have been crucified with Christ: it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me . . . Far be it from me to glory except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. For neither circumcision counts for anything, nor uncircumcision, but a new creation'. (Galatians 2.10,6.14-15). Enter­ ing the church building, the believer entered bodily into the cross; once inside he took part liturgically in Christ's sacrifice on the cross, he bowed to receive the blessing of a cross-clad bishop who held aloft a jewelled cross, and he signed himself repeatedly with the cross. This multiple crossing on various levels was intended to symbolize and effect the identification of the believer with Christ crucified the way Paul described it. John Damascene in 1. For discussing the Oriental dimensions of this subject with me, I am indebted to John Hay, Julia Meech-Pekarik, Ann Wood Norton and Alexander Soper. 2. On middle Byzantine architecture, see R. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine architecture, 2nd ed. (Baltimore, 1975), 349 ff; C. Mango, Byzantine architecture (New York, 1974), 194 ff.

191

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

the eighth century remarked, 'The might of God, that is his vic­ tory over death, has been revealed to us in the cross'. 3 Yet it is not the cross that dominated the Byzantine chruch building but rather the dome. Carried on four arches or eight, on pendentives or squinches, partitioned into sections of eight, nine, twelve or sixteen, the dome caps a central well of light which is the focus of the entire design (fig. 3).4 The symbolic inter­ pretation of this form is somewhat more difficult. To call it simply (and grandly) the 'dome of heaven' is to assign it a name that Carl Lehmann has given to a pagan cosmological dome sym­ bolism, which, it has been shown, does not carry over into Chris­ tian church decoration.5 Some effort should be made to unders­ tand the Christian building in Christian terms. If we want to discuss the symbolism of the Byzantine dome we have to discuss the iconography of the dome, for the mean­ ing of the dome is specified in the Byzantine decorative pro­ gramme by the half-length image of Christ Pantokrator (figs. 4-6).6 Clutching the Gospel in his left hand and blessing with his right, he looks down through a kind of oculus that is often rimmed with a rainbow motif. The interpretation of this image ought to be a matter of some urgency, for it was the principal image of 3. John of Damascus, De sacris imaginibus Oratio Π, PG, 94, xix, col. 1305. 4. G. Bouras has demonstrated that the original dome of Nea Moni in Chios was nine-sided, a very unusual design: Nea Moni on Chios: history and architecture (Athens, 1982), 101-11. 5. While there may well be compositional similarities between the pagan and the Byzantine dome decorations, the iconography of seasons, planets and zodiac is dropped in the Byzantine iconography. C. Lehmann, 'The Dome of Heaven', ArtB, 27 (1945), 1-27; T.F. Mathews, 'Cracks in Lehmann's "Dome of Heaven'", Source, 1/3 (1982), 12-6. 6. Two other subjects sometimes copy the central dome of the Byzantine church: in Cappadocia and the Caucasus a monumental ornamented cross sometimes occurs, repeating the cross symbolism of the floor plan; occasionally, too, in Cappadocia and Greece the dome is decorated with the Ascension, the implications of which should be pursued separately.

Opposite: Fig. 3: Daphni Monastery Church, c. 1100; east-west section Photo after G. Millet, Le monastère de Daphni 194

TRANSFORMATION SYMBOLISM IN BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE

the Byzantine church, controlling the space in the nave, somewhat the way the crucifix, from its lofty position above the rood screen, controlled the vast spaces of the Gothic cathedral. At the apex of the dome the Pantokrator concludes the entire interior pro­ gramme of narrative and iconic subjects. Yet the Pantokrator itself has received little attention and that has been generally misleading.7 The simplicity of this image is a serious challenge to the modern interpreter: there are absolutely no narrative clues accompany­ ing the image. Demus tried to fix a narrative meaning to the im­ age, by reading it as an abbreviation for the Ascension.8 But this does not stand scrutiny. The half-length blessing Christ had wide circulation as an independent motif in icons and coinage of the sixth and seventh centuries without any implications of the Ascen­ sion; and the Ascension itself often had a place elsewhere in the Byzantine decorative programme. On the other hand the imperial interpretation of the image, that would make Christ into a great emperor in the sky, is no more credible.9 The iconography itself gives no warrant for such a reading: in contrast to developments of the image of Christ in the West, the Pantokrator never wears any of the imperial attributes, whether crown or chlamys or loros, and he never carries a sceptre. His facial type derives from an­ cient representations of Zeus and has nothing to do with types of the imperial visage. It should be noticed that whenever a Byzan­ tine author compares Christ to the emperor the author is speak7. For bibliography on the Pantokrator, see K. Wessel, 'Christusbild', RBK, 1046-7; E. Lucchesi Palli, 'Christusbild: der Pantokrator', Lexikon der Christlichen Ikonographie, ed. E. Kirschbaum, et al., 8 vols. (Freiburg, 1968-76) I, 394. 8. O. Demus, Byzantine mosaic decoration: aspects of monumental art in Byzantium (London, 1948), 19-22. The equivalence of the Pantokrator and the Ascension was recently re-asserted by K.M. Skawran, The development of middle Byzantine fresco painting in Greece (Pretoria, 1982), 13. 9. E. Giordani, 'Das mittelbyzantinisch Ausschmückungssystem als Ausdruck eines hieratischen Bildprogramms', JöB, 1 (1951), 103-34, espec. 128.

Opposite: Fig. 6: St Sophia, Kiev, 1037: mosaic of the dome Photo: T. Mathews 199

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

ing in the presence of the emperor or is himself the emperor: the comparison is courtly flattery or imperial megalomania.10 If the iconography is so simple that it defies discursive analysis, this does not mean, as Klaus Wessel maintained, that it is in fact undefinable, but that our traditional way of approaching the sub­ ject is not adequate.11 Instead of looking for iconographie com­ plexities, perhaps we should be asking what was its psychological impact on the viewer. How was the church-goer expected to react to the image? Is Christ's commanding gaze meant to be stern or gracious? Should one tremble at the vison or melt with joy? Is the Lord threatening or inviting the beholder? These questions may take us beyond the customary borders of art history, but the psychological implications of so extraordinary an image cannot be avoided. Western art historians have consistently found a terrible severity in the Pantokrator, especially in that of Daphni. According to Charles Diehl, Έη effect, ce n'est plus ici le Christ évangelique, le Sauveur doux et tendre; c'est le créateur, le maître du monde, le Pantocrator, image du Dieu invisible, avec lequel il se confond'.12 Else Giordani, speaking of the Kiev Pantokrator as well as that of Daphni, reads anger in his face: 'Die regelmässigen, strengen Gesichtszüge, die gefurchte Stirn, die grossen, weitgeöff­ neten, jedoch zur Seite gewendeten Augen und der geschlossene Mund, um welchen sich zwei tiefe Falten einkerben, bezeichnen den Zorn, die Unnahbarkeit und unerbittliche, gerechte Strenge des Allherschers, in dem Beschauer der Furcht vor der verdienten Strafe erweckend'.13 Talbot Rice termed the Daphni Christ, 'not the tender human Jesus of Western thought, but rather a strange awesome figure akin to the Old Testament Jehovah',14 and John Beckwith also identifies him as Jehovah: 'a heavy Semitic judge 10. See Photios' description of the Pharos church delivered in the presence of Michael III, and Leo VI's description of the StyUanos church: Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 185-6, 203-4; R. J. H. Jenkins and С Mango, 'The date and significance of the Tenth Homily of Photius', DOP, 9-10 (1956), 125-40. 11. К. Wessel, 'Christusbild: der Pantokrator', RBK, I, 1017: 'So bleibt die for­ male Ikonographie des Pantocrator-Bildes unfassbar'. 12. C. Diehl, Manuel d'art byzantine (Paris, 1910), 456. 13. Giordani, 'Mittelbyzantinische Ausschmückungssystem', 126. 14. D. Talbot Rice, Art of the Byzantine era (New York, 1963), 90.

200

TRANSFORMATION SYMBOLISM IN BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE

with thick nose and full, cruel mouth, the thick-browed eyes gazing pitilessly to one side, . . . one sinewy hand grasping a jewelled codex, the other raised in blessing but conveying also menace and condemnation'.15 To the modern interpreter it is a remote, un­ compromising figure pronouncing harsh sentence on the world. The Daphni image is admittedly the most severe of all Pan­ tokratore; nevertheless, even of this image one must ask whether modern reactions are a reliable measure of medieval intentions. The real question that must be addressed is how the image was regarded by the Byzantine beholder. The basic dogmatic meaning of the image was made clear by the name the 'Pantokrator', which was associated with it from the ninth century on.16 The history of the term has been careful­ ly examined by Or salina Montevecchi.17 The Greek word, which can be translated as 'the almighty, the all-powerful, the all-ruler', was unknown to classical authors; it makes its first appearance in the translation of the Septuagint in the third or second cen­ tury B.C. Jewish translators putting the Old Testament into Greek coined the term Pantokrator as the proper name of God, rendering the Hebrew expression Jahweh Adonai Sebaoth as Kyrios ho theos ho Pantokrator. Accordingly, the earliest Christian use of the term took Pantokrator as the name of God the Father. It was the Arian denial of Christ's divinity that prompted Athanasius to assign the names of the Father to the Son as well, calling Christ also the Pantokrator — an extension that theologians call the communicatio idiomatum, or sharing of names. Hence the image in the dome can carry the proper names of the Father and besides 15. J. Beckwith, Early Christian and Byzantine art (Baltimore, 1970), 120. 16. In pointing out that the earliest instances in which the name 'Pantokrator' is inscribed on the image itself occur in the twelfth century, Jane Timken has taken an unduly restrictive view of the matter. J. Timken Matthews, 'The Byzantine use of the title Pantokrator', OCP, 44 (1978), 442-62. The term was used in the ninthcentury inscription of the tympanum of Hagia Sophia, Constaninople, where it evidently referred to an image in the dome, and it was used in the apse and the drum of Daphni (and other churches) in situations where it must be connected with the image in the dome. For the inscription in Hagia Sophia, see C. Mango Materials for the study of the mosaics of Śt Sophia at Istanbul (Washington, DC, 1962), 63-6; for those at Daphni, see G. Millet, Le monastère de Daphni (Paris, 1899), 76, 83. 17. О. Montevecchi, 'Pantokrator', Studi in onore di Aristide Calderini e Roberto Paribeni, 3 vols. (Milan, 1957), Ii, 401-32.

201

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

the inscription 'Pantokrator' it is sometimes labelled ho on ('he who is'). But this does not make it a representation of the Father or 'Jehovah'; only Christ is being represented and the figure is invariably labelled with the Greek abbreviation '1С XP', Jesus Christ. Dogmatically, therefore, the image is a reaffirmation of the consubstantiality of Christ with the Father as defined at Nicaea; 'God of God, light of light, true God of true God, begot­ ten not made, of one substance with the Father'. But this dogmatic meaning says too much and too little for our purposes. Too much, because virtually every image of Christ implies this meaning; too little because it doesn't really explain why this image had to be present in the dome. The more signifi­ cant question to ask of this image is not a question of iconography so much as a question of function, for the function of the image involves our understanding of both the image and the architec­ tural space to which it belongs. One wants to know not just what are the attributes and the inscriptions that go with this figure of Christ, but how the viewer was expected to relate to this figure, and how the viewer used it. The identical half-length blessing Christ could be, and was, used on panel icons but in an entirely different relationship to the viewer. The beholder's reaction to an icon was one of intimate worship, which was described in Greek by two terms: aspasmos, a greeting in the form of a kiss or an embrace; and proskynesis, prostrating oneself on the floor before the image. These are the two terms used to define the legitimate veneration of images at the Council of Nicaea II.18 The Pan­ tokrator in the dome, however, is too remote to kiss; and were the viewer to prostrate himself in proskynesis beneath the dome he would in fact turn his back to the image. How then did the beholder relate to this image? I would like to suggest that we look at an image from a very different culture 18. Mansi, XIII, 377-80.

Opposite: Fig. 7: Panagia Arakiotissa, Lagoudera, 1192: general view of frescoes. Photo: Dumbarton Oaks 202

TRANSFORMATION SYMBOLISM IN BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE

as a model, in some respects, of how the dome-Pantokrator was used, and consequently of how it ought to be interpreted. As an alternative to our usual iconographie method I would suggest we consider the mandala of Buddhist and Hindu culture, which Alex­ ander Soper likened to Byzantine dome decoration in a pro­ vocative article on dome decoration in the Orient.19 In the mandala the central circle is occupied by the divinity, the timeless beginning, and from the circle the four directions of the created world radiate out (fig. 8). An obvious visual analogy can be found between this composition and the Byzantine placement of the image of the timeless divinity, Christ, within a circle from which develop the four directions of creation (fig. 7). The analogy, however, is more than visual. According to Giuseppe Tucci's study, the mandala 'is above all, a map of the cosmos'; or 'it is the whole universe in its essential plan, in its process of emanation and of reabsorption . . . It is a geometric projection of the world reduced to an essential pat­ tern'; it is a 'cosmogramj.20 From the secret first principle, the Absolute or the One, which is unchanging and eternal and per­ manent and omnipotent, all of the created world emanates. This of course is quite different from a Christian concept of creation. In Indian thought the Infinite projects itself and by the opera­ tion of maya assumes the limitations of the world of experience: the limitations of time, determination, desire, intellection, genera­ tion. In Christian thought, on the other hand, God creates a heaven and an earth that are essentially distinct from himself, and he creates by free decision rather than by necessity. Still, there is a very real sense in which the Byzantine church represents a cosmogram. In the centre is Christ, who, in the words 19. A. Soper, 'The "Dome of Heaven" in Asia', ArÍB, 29 (1947), 224-48, espec. 226. 20. G. Tucci, The theory and practice of the mandala, with special reference to the modern psychology of the subconscious, trans. A. H. Brodrick (London, 1961), 23-5.

Opposite: Fig. 8: Tibetan mandala, with Buddha Vairocana, the Illuminator, at centre Photo after J. and M. Argùelles, Mandala 205

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

of St Paul, 'is the image of the invisible God, the first-born of all creation; for in him all things were created, in heaven and in earth, visible and invisible; . . . all things were created through him and for him'. Colossians 1.15-20. Although the Christian notion of creation is not a divine emanation, still it involves a continuous action on the part of the Creator: all things would fall back into nothingness if God did not constantly maintain them in existence. This is precisely the way Gregory of Nyssa defines the term Pantokrator: God, he says, is Pantokrator, 'because he holds the orb of the earth in his palm, and he measures the depth of the sea with his hand; he includes in himself every spiritual creature in order that all might remain in existence, ruled by his all-containing power'.21 The same Une of thought appears in Pseudo-Denis' explanation of the Creed, composed for the lay public. God is called Pantokrator, 'because all things reside in him, he contains and embraces all, . . . he produces all things out of himself as a source that holds all and draws all things back to himself as a support that maintains all, he holds the universe as an all-container, . . . not allowing anything to slip away or be lost from place in its perfect abode'. 22 We should not overlook how graphically this 'all-container' aspect of the Creator is expressed in the Pantokrator image: placed in the concave cup of the dome he literally encompasses the world of the beholder below. The Pantokrator in the dome is the 'wrap-around' Christ. Around the absolute One the mandala represents phases and modes by which his being is shared through the created world. In the corresponding zone of the Byzantine cosmogram we find the angelic powers, the 'messengers' who carry out the will of the Lord through the created world. Angels are depicted in satellite domes, when such exist, as in the grand cathedral of St Sophia in Kiev or in the humble rock-hewn church of Elmah Kilise in Cappadocia. When the architecture involves only a single dome the angels usually occupy the zone of the drum just below the 21. Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Eunomium, PG, 45, col. 524. 22. Pseudo-Denis, De divinis nominibus, PG, 3, X, i, col. 936. See other citations of this nature collected by C. Capizzi, Pantokrator: saggio d'esegesi letterarioiconografìca (Rome, 1964), 51-81.

206

TRANSFORMATION SYMBOLISM IN BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE

Pantokrator. Emperor Leo the Wise characterizes them as, 'His servitors whose being is higher than that of matter . . . the messengers of God's communications to men'.23 The meaning of the mandala, however, is twofold; according to Tucci, it is both exoteric and esoteric. More than a cosmogram, it is a psychogram, that is, it is not just a speculative diagram of the organization of the world but a scheme by which the devout seeks to escape the web of maya, to be transported out of the world of time and re-integrated into the One-All.24 It is a tool of trans-formation. The aim is not an intellectual grasp of cosmic complexities but a real identification of the mediator with the Supreme Essence. Accordingly, the painted mandala, which is hung on a wall, has echoes in monumental temple plans and ceiling decorations, which the devout can enter physically, and has its remote origins in a life-size mandala which the initiate would draw around himself.25 Tucci has described in detail the liturgy of this primitive drawn mandala: the care with which the site must be chosen, the purifications which the neophyte must undergo before entering the site, the omens to be observed, the yoga exercises prescribed, and the concentration necessary to achieve the final 'revulsion' and transferrence to another plane.26 It is in this realm of the esoteric mandala that the analogies to the Byzantine programme are most compelling. In the Byzan­ tine programme, the place of the viewer is within the system, just as the place of the neophyte is within the mandala. By entering the church the believer 'put on Christ' (Galatians 3.27) in a very literal fashion, he was 'umbrella-ed' by him, he stood under him in hope of under-standing him. The nave of the Byzantine church was the congregation space par excellence. Krautheimer tried to represent the nave as space reserved for the clergy and court, but there are no barriers to reserve the nave and the Byzantine com­ mentators on the Divine Liturgy leave no doubt that the nave 23. Leo VI, Sermon XXXIV, trans. Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 203. 24. Tucci, Theory and practice of the mandala, 28-9. 25. On the relationship of temple plans and ceiling decoration to mandatas, see Soper, 'Dome of Heaven'. 26. Tucci, Theory and practice of the mandala, Ъ1-АП.

207

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

was the space of the laity.27 The dome crowns the people of God assembled to participate in the liturgy. The meaning of the dome in Byzantine architecture, then, is tied up with the meaning of the image of the Pantokrator in the dome, and this image derives its meaning from the liturgical ac­ tion that takes place beneath the dome. Entering the church meant placing oneself in the middle of a transformative symbol like the drawn mandala. While the liturgy of the Eucharist is quite dif­ ferent from that of the mandala, its goal is also a transforma­ tion, namely the transformation of the participant into Christ, just as the liturgy of the mandala has as its goal transformation into the Buddha or the Absolute. It was this dimension of the liturgy that most struck Carl Jung in his essay on 'Transforma­ tion Symbolism of the Mass'. 28 Unfortunately Jung's familiari­ ty with the liturgy was restricted to the Latin mass, and the transformation symbolism he examined was that involved in transubstantiation, a perpetual preoccuation of Western theologians. Byzantine authors, however emphasize a transformation sym­ bolism that is inherent in the basic twofold structure of the liturgy. The liturgical action is in essence: (1) enlightenment and (2) com­ munion, and both of these processes have as their goal the in­ timate identification of the believer with Christ. The first half of the liturgy is the liturgy of the word, an in­ struction in divine revelation. It is certainly significant that the invariable attribute of the Pantokrator is his Gospel book, for the solemn procession of the Gospel with candles and incense, the Little or First Entrance, is dramatically the high point of the 27. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine architecture, 313: 'The congrega­ tion is relegated to the aisles, the esonarthex, and the galleries. The cross-domed cen­ tre bay, on the other hand becomes an anteroom to the sanctuary — a stage, as it were, visible to the faithful, but accessible only to the clergy'. The commentators, however, are quite clear in describing only one division in the church, and that is the templon screen separating the sanctuary from the nave; the former they call the place of the clergy and the latter the place of the people. For discussion of the rele­ vant texts from Maximos and Germanos, see T.F. Mathews, The early churches of Constantinople, architecture and liturgy (University Park, Pennsylvania, 1971), 121-2; Symeon of Thessalonika also locates the people in the nave: De sacro tempio, с. 142, col. 352. 28. CG. Jung, Psychology and refigion: west and east, Collected Works, XI, (Princeton, 1958), с 3, 'Transformation symbolism of the Mass'.

208

TRANSFORMATION SYMBOLISM IN BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE

first half of the liturgy, and it takes place directly beneath the dome.29 Furthermore, the reading of the Gospel that follows, which is the climax of the instruction, is performed by the deacon on the step before the bema underneath the dome.30 The effect of the readings and the songs that accompanied them can be com­ pared to the purification undertaken by the Indian ascetic in the liturgy of the mandala. In somewhat convoluted language Maximos the Confessor tells us, 'Broadly speaking, the holy Gospel is a reminder of the end of this world, but more particularly it declares the believers' utter rejection of the primordial error: the death and extermination of the law and mind of the flesh in active souls; and in the wise, who have completed the more detailed and complex study of natural philosophy, their association and transference of the many different causes of things to the most comprehensive of all'.31 The reading of the Gospel, then, purifies the minds of the faithful and elevates them to their First Cause. The inscriptions that occasionally accompany the Pantokrator are always revealing. In the Karanhk Kilise in Göreme one en­ counters a unique doubling of Pantokrator imagery. In the cen­ tral dome the image is encircled by the verse from Psalm 53.2: 'God looks down from heaven upon the sons of men to see if there are any that are wise, that seek after God'. This is a gloomy psalm about the ignorance and darkness of evildoers; but this is only one side of the story, for the artist repeats the image of the Pantokrator in a second dome directly before the sanctuary 29. There is no foundation to Giordani's contention that Christ holds the book of judgement; the book of judgement is a scroll with seven seals which the Lord holds in his right hand (Rev. 5.1); the Pantokrator always carries a codex, it is in his left hand, and when it is open it shows a text from the Gospel, usually John, 8.11. Gior­ dani, 'Mittelbyzantinische Ausschmückungssystem', 126. On the evolution of the First Entrance see Mathews, Early churches of Constantinople, 138-47. 30. In the early Byzantine liturgy the reading was done from an elevated ambo in the centre of the nave; the ambo disappeared in the medieval church and the readings took place as they do in contemporary orthodox usage on the step before the doors of the sanctuary which came to be called the ambo. Mathews, Early churches of Constantinople, 147-9; Symeon of Thessalonika, De sacro tempio, с. 136, col. 346. 31. Maximos the Confessor, Mystagogia, trans. J. Stead, The church, the liturgy and the soul of man: the Mystagogia ofStMaximus the Confessor (Still River, Mass., 1982), e. 24, 106.

209

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

(fig. 9), in which Christ now opens his book to show the text: 'I am the light of the world; he who follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life'. (John 8.12). This is the usual text that appears when Christ's book is shown open. The Pantokrator in the dome is the Illuminator leading his followers to the way of light. The second half of the liturgy is the Eucharist, culminating in Communion which is also administred to the faithful underneath the dome on the step before the bema?2 It is in Communion that the Christian comes closest, on this earth, to realizing the goal of Christian life: his identification with Christ and assimila­ tion into him. This transformation symbolism is central to the meaning of the church building and to the Pantokrator image. According to Maximos, 'The holy reception of the immaculate and life-giving sacraments brings about a resemblance to Him, which effects a communion and identity with Him by participa­ tion, after which the human person is deemed fit to be changed out of a man into God . . . [Jesus Christ] transforms us into Himself. He rids us of the symptoms of corruption, and grants us the original, archetypal mysteries represented here to the senses under symbols'.33 Nicholas Kabasilas observes that unlike the reception of or­ dinary food which is transformed into the body of the consumer, the transformation works the other way in the sacrament; he who eats the Body and Blood of Christ is transformed into Christ, for 'the higher and divine element overcomes the earthly one'. In this context Nicholas invokes a most telling metaphor: 'When iron is placed in fire, it becomes fire; it does not, however, give the fire the properties of iron; and just as when we see white hot 32. The place of receiving Communion seems not to have changed from early Chris­ tian time through the Middle Ages. Mathews, Early churches of Constantinople, 172. 33. Maximos the Confessor, Mystagogia, trans. Stead, с 24, 102-4.

Opposite: Fig. 9: Goreme, Karanhk Kilise, 11th century, Pantokrator in the eastern cupola. Photo: N. Teteriatnikov, Dumbarton Oaks 210

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

iron it seems to be fire and not metal, since all the characteristics of iron have been destroyed by the action of fire, so if one could see the Church of Christ insofar as she is united to him and shares his sacred Body, one would see nothing other than the Body of the Lord.34 This miraculous transformation of the Christian in­ to his higher and more perfect self in Christ is the action that we must associate with the image of Christ in the dome. The Christ in the dome is the full, perfect self that the beholder becomes in Communion. The passage of Kabasilas also reminds us of the essentially com­ munal dimension of the Christian transformation: it is not just the individual but the 'Church of Christ' that is being united with Christ. For this reason the reception of communion is preceded by the by the priest's invocation, 'Holy things to the holy', to which the response is 'One is holy, one is Lord, Jesus Christ, in the glory of God the Father'. This verse is interpreted by Maximos as a presage of the future unity of the whole church in Christ. The inscription surrounding the Pantokrator sometimes refers to this community aspect of the mystery, as in the church of the Virgin Peribleptos in Mistra: 'Establish firmly those who trust in you, Lord, the church which you founded with your precious blood'. At Hagia Sophia in Trebizond the inscription which en­ circles the Pantokrator also alludes to his work in establishing the church, the new Jerusalem: 'The Lord has looked from heaven upon earth to hear the groans of the prisoners, to set free those who were doomed to die; that they might declare in Sion the name of the Lord and his praise in Jerusalem'. (Psalm 102, 19-21). This process of transformation is the key to the symbolism of the Byzantine church. The Byzantine church was a very special kind of space laid out in rigorous centrality around a vertical well of light under the cup of the dome. The dome defined a magical space in which one encountered the divine. Here the worshipper found himself at the very centre of creation, on direct axis with his Lord overhead. One did not enter this space to work out puzzles in iconography but to be transformed or transported. The 34. Nicholas Kabasilas, Commentary on the Divine Liturgy, trans. Hussey and

212

TRANSFORMATION SYMBOLISM IN BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE

experience must have been awesome, but in the final analysis it was not an experience of terror but of intimacy with Christ. We must remember that one of the commonest epithets of Christ in Byzantium was 'philanthropos', or 'lover of mankind'. This is precisely the way Nicholas Mesarites describes the image of the Pantokrator in the church of the Holy Apostles in Constaninople. Only half of the figure is visible, he says, 'because He dwells in heaven in the bosom of His Father, and wishes to associate with men on earth together with His Father, according to the say­ ing, "I and my Father will come and make our abode with him". Wherefore He may be seen, to quote her who sings, looking forth through the window, leaning down to his navel through the lat­ tice which is near the summit of the dome, after the manner of irresistibly ardent lovers'.35 In a bold figure of speech borrow­ ed from the Song of Solomon, Mesarites imagines Christ look­ ing at men through a window, burning with a lover's desire to be united with his beloved. The Christ in the dome is the lover of mankind with whom one is united in the divine liturgy. As Maximos concludes his commentary on the process: 'By adop­ tion and grace it is possible for them [the participants] to be and to be called gods, because all of God completely fills them, leav­ ing nothing in them empty of his presence'.36 The psychological importance of this process can not be overlooked in a discussion of the meaning of the church building. In Jungian terms, manda las are symbols of integration, psychological expressions of the totality of the self, of a wholeness toward which one strives.37 Insofar as Christ is the perfect self whom the Christian must become, the Pantokrator in the dome

McNulty, с 38, p. 91. 35. Nicholas Mesarites, Description of the Church of the Holy Apostles, 14, in Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 232. It is interesting that Mesarites entertains the no­ tion that the Pantokrator might seem to be like a judge, only to dismiss it. 36. Maximos the Confessor, Mystagogia, trans. Stead, с 21, 96. 37. CG. Jung, Mandala symbolism: the archtypes and the collective unconscious, Collected Works, vol. 9/1 (Princeton, 1959). Jung returns to mandala symbolism often in his work; cf. his commentary in R. Wilhelm, The Secret of the Golden Flower (New York, 1932); also CG. Jung, Psychology and religion (New Haven, 1938), 66-70.

213

THOMAS F. MATHEWS

is the ideal Christian mandala?* It is regrettable that Jung, whose knowledge of religions ranged from China to pre-conquest America, was apparently un-aware of this East Christian development.

38. C.J. Jung, Aion: researches into the phenomenology of the self, Collected Works, vol. 1/2 (Princeton, 1959), с 5: 'Christ, a symbol of the self.

214

Byzantine white-clay painted bowls and cylix-type cups VERA ZALESSKAYA Byzantine white-clay painted ware belongs to a relatively rare but artistically most elaborate species of pottery. The character of the designs on the surviving examples displays close associations with stylistic and artistic ideas during the middle Byzantine period, a fact which enables us to consider this pottery as a clear culturohistorical phenomenon. Among the vessels, which are versatile in form, a group of shallow bowls, usually called cups, or small cups, stands out. They have a low flaring base, and are supplied with one or two handles. The height of their sides varies from 6.9 cm to 8.9 cm; the diameter of the base from 4.5 cm to 6.9 cm.1 Such vessels, smaller in size than cylixes and more simplified in form are called κυλίχνια in literary sources.2 Among more than thirty fragmentary vessels of this type in various museums, only a few, in a better state of preservation, enable us to make any certain judgement about their original shape. Such examples were found in Athens,3 Corinth,4 Chersoń5 (figs. 10-13) and Preslav.6 In all other cases, only the 1. C. Morgan, The Byzantine pottery (Corinth XI, Cambridge, 1942), 66. 2. H. Frisk, Griechisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, 20 (Heidelberg, 1960), 46-7. 3. A. Frantz, 'Middle Byzantine pottery in Athens', Hesp.'l, no. 3 (1938), 457-8, Fig. 19. 4. Morgan, Byzantine pottery, 65, figs. a-n. 5. D.L. Talis, 'K kharakteristike vizantijskoj keramiki IX-X w. iz Khersona', Trudy Gosudarstvennogo Istoriceskogo Museja, 37 (1960), 125-39, fig. 2, nos. 8-10; fig. 4, nos. 1-4, 14, 16, 18. 6. La Bulgarie médiévale: à l'occasion du XlIIe centenaire de la fondation de l'état bulgare, {Exposition, Grand Palais, Paris, 1980), nos. 110-1.

215

VERA ZALESSKAYA

bases of vessels with a black painted cross on them and fragments of the sides with a vegetable or geometric polychrome design, have been found. The stratigraphie date of these cups varies within a period òf two or three centuries. Thus finds from Chersoń,7 Sarkel,8 and Mesembria9 date from the 9th-10th centuries; fragments found on the site of the Great Palace in Constantinople are dated by coins to round about the 10th century;10 the flaring base of the cup from Novgood was found at levels 26-27, dating from the years 972-98911 and the white-clay painted cups from Preslav belong to the 10th century.12 The vessels from Corinth,13 Thessalonika,14 Kerch and Tàman15 date from the period between the second half of the 9th century and the beginning of the 11th century. The cups from Dinogetia16 and Athens17 are dated to the lOth-llth centuries. 7. A.L. Jakobson, Rannesrednevekovyj Khersones (Moscow-Leningrad, 1959), 358, pi. XVIII, nos. 4-5. 8. S.A. Pletneva, 'Keramika Sarkela — Beloj-Vezy', Materiały i Issledovanija po Arkheologii SSSR, 75 (1959), pi. 45. 9. J. СіщЬиІеѵа, 'Vases à glacure en argile blanches de Nessebre: IX-XII ss', Nessebre, 11 (1980), 202-12. 10. E. Stevenson, The Great Palace of the Byzantine emperors: the pottery (Lon­ don, 1947), 44-6. 11. A.M. Medvedev, 'Bliznevostocnaja i zolotoordynskaja keramika iz raskopok v Novgorode', Materiały i Issledovanija po Arkheologii SSSR, 117 (1963), 270. 12. I. Akrabova-Jandova, Preslavskaja risovannaja keramika: Bolgarskaja srednevekovaja kul'tura (Sofia, 1964), 52. 13. Morgan, Byzantine pottery, 67. 14. C. Bakirtzis and D. Papanikola-Bakirtzis, 'De la céramique byzantine en glacure à Thessalonique', BB, 7 (1981), 442. 15. T.I. Makarova, Polivnajaposuda: iz istorii keramiceskogo importa iproizvodstva drevnej Rusi: Svodarkheologiceskikh istoenikov (Moscow, 1967), 11-16, pi. II, figs. 1-3. 16. I. Barnea, Dinogetia — Ville byzantine du Bas-Danube (Thessalonika, 1980), 277, pi. XXII, nos. 7-8. 17. Frantz, 'Middle Byzantine pottery', 433.

Opposite: Fig. 10: Hermitage Museum^ fragment of a cup with polychrome design. Photo: Hermitage Museum, Leningrad Fig. 11: Hermitage Museum, base of a cup Photo: Hermitage Museum, Leningrad 216

BYZANTINE WHITE-CLAY PAINTED BOWLS AND CYLIX-TYPE CUPS

The cataloguing of the Byzantine white-clay painted pottery in the Hermitage Museum led to the discovery of five more fragments.18 Four of them are bases; the fifth is part of a side. The base with a cross (Inventory no. x-985, see fig. 11) was found in Chersoń in 1949 while excavating a 9th-10th-century house near the so-called Basilica 1935. The base and side-fragments decorated with a vegetable ornament enclosed in a rectangle, besides the cross, also come from the region of Chersoń, though the exact period and place is not established. (Fig. 10) A similar fragment of the side of a cup with a polychrome double-sided design was found in the XX quarter of the northern part of Chersoń while levelling a hill artificially constructed by the Monastery of St Vladimir for a pavilion.19 With all their apparent similarity, the Byzantine κυλίχνια are versatile in their structure and the character of their design. Their sides and handles have dissimilar forms; they differ in the design of the rim and in the form of the cross inside the base of the cup. There are two types of vessels: cylix-type cups with two loop­ like handles connecting the rim of the piece with the base and bowls with ring-like (and less often loop-like) handles located in the most bulging parts of the sides. The shape of the bowls is varied: some have straight sides and a straight rim, some have barrel-like sides and a funnel-like neck, the others are identical to the cylix-type cups with one handle. The design of the base of the vessels is either in the form of a cross, or in that of cross-

is. V.N. Zalesskaya, Vizantijskaja beloglinianaja raspisnaja keramika (Leningrad, 1985), 20-1, figs. 1-2. 19. V.N. Zalesskaya, 'Nouvelles découvertes de céramique peinte byzantine du X siècle', CahArch, 32 (1984), 49.

Opposite: Fig. 12: Hermitage Museum, base of a cup Photo: Hermitage Museum, Leningrad Fig. 13: Chersonese Museum, polychrome cup with handles Photo: Hermitage Museum, Leningrad 219

VERA ZALESSKAYA

like or even rhomboid figures. The cylix-type painted vessels are identical in form to the white-clay cups, but are covered by an overall green glaze without design, which is very characteristic of the 10th century.20 The dating of the bowls is less certain. The ring-handled bowls with sides which are oval in profile and which have funnel-like necks appear in Byzantium in the 8th-9th centuries and show eastern influence, in some cases that of barbarian (Avar) examples of the 7th-8th centuries imported from the steppes of Eurasia.21 Thus the painted bowl in the Chersoń museum (fig. 13) presents some similiarities with the wooden, gold-covered bowl-jug from the Perescepina treasure: both items have identical rims and handle forms. The latter has a rather characteristic decoration. While the products of the Avar goldsmiths have ring handles made of small balls, the Byzantine pottery bowls have ring handles covered with painted black stripes or sequences of drops, which imitate metal balls. Vessels of other types with similarities to cylix-type cups, as has been pointed out, belong to the 10th century. When consider­ ing the decoration on the bases of the objects under discussion, we find crosses both on the ordinary cups as well as on the cylixtype vessels. Thus these pieces are versatile in structure and, ob­ viously, of different chronological periods. Vessels with crosses should be attributed to the earlier groups (the 9th century), for these crosses have overcrossed ends of the so-called 'iconoclastic' type,22 dated by seals to the 8th-9th centuries23 and existing, ac­ cording to illuminated manuscripts, in the 9th-10th centuries.24 The vegetable-geometric decoration indicates adherence to the iconoclastic tradition. Archaeological dating, as has been shown 20. A.L. Jakobson, Keramika i keramiceskoe proizvodstvo srednevekovoj Tavriki (Leningrad, 1979), 83-4. 21. B.I. Marsak and K.M. Skalon, Perescepinskiy klad (Leningrad, 1972), 15. 22. J. Lafontaine-Dosogne, 'L'église aux trois croix de Gulhi Dere en Cappadoce et le problème du passage du décor "iconoclaste" au décor figuré', B, 25 (1965), 175-207. 23. W: Seibt, Die byzantinische Bleisiegel in Österreich, Kaiserhof, I, (Vienna, 1978), pi. 2, nos. 15-17. 24. К. Weitzmann, Die byzantinische Buchmalerei des 9. und 10. Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 1935), pl. XLII, no. 236.

220

BYZANTINE WHITE-CLAY PAINTED BOWLS AND CYLIX-TYPE CUPS

above, confirms the existence of these vessels in the 9th-11th centuries. What was the purpose of these vessels? Most of them, as well as vessels similar in form, but without design, were obviously used in the household. It is, however, hardly justifiable to believe that κυλΐχνια with crosses on their flaring bases were also used as household drinking vessels. The cross on a plate or bowl is a clear proof of the fact that the item concerned played some part in Christian worship. They can also be associated with the early Christian bronze bowls with chi-rho's which, according to de Rossi, were used during christening rites.25 Baptism by sprinkl­ ing with water, though common in the West, was only admitted in the Eastern Church in special cases: shortage of water in the desert, the illness of the person to be christened and so on.26 Such a case is described, for instance, in the Life of St Basil, where the saint revives a dead person by means of christening.27 The usual rite consisted of a three-fold immersion, which, according to John of Damascus, was the symbol of Christ's three days spent in the tomb.28 Since the bowls with crosses were made by Byzan­ tine craftsmen and the places in which they are found indicate their existence both in Byzantium itself and in the regions whose clerical organisation was subordinated to the Patriarchate of Con­ stantinople, a 'sprinkling' function for the bowls must be excluded.29 The liturgical bowls had, however, another part to play in the rituals of the Church. In this context, the text of the XIX Canon of Hippolytos, included in the so-called Apostolic Canons, deserves attention.30 The Canon prescribes that the deacon or the presbyter should give the neophyte some milk mixed 25. G.B. de Rossi, 'Delia "Schola Sodalium Serrensium" scoperta presso la via Nomentana', BACr, 11, no. 8 (1864), 57-62. 26. P. Smimov, Bogosiuzhenie khristianskoeso vremen apostolov do IVveka (Kiev, 1876), 286. 27. V.V. Latysev, 'Zhitie sv. episkopov khersonskikh', Zápisky imp. Akad. nauk po ist.-phil, otdeleniu, 8, no. 3 (1906), 46-7. 28. A. Almazov, Istorija cinoposledovaniy krescenija i miropomazanija (Kazan, 1885), 295-6. 29. Almazov, Istorija, 297-303. 30. H. Achelis, Die ältesten Quellen des orientalischen Kirchenrechtes: die canones Hippoliti, I (Leipzig, 1891), 38.

221

VERA ZALESSKAYA

with honey (sometimes only milk) after the christening ceremony and the Eucharist.31 Liturgical practices of this kind had a double symbolism. In the first place, the adult neophyte was symbolically transformed into a new-born child and as such began to 'feed on the milk of learning' and, secondly, access to the true faith was likewise ac­ cess to paradise, where, according to the Old Testament (Levit. 20, 24) milk and honey flowed in abundance. The Greek text of the Canons of Hippolytos, referred to in some passages in the Letter of Bishop Cyprian, has not survived.32 The Latin text is more recent and is a translation from the more complete Arabic version, which, however, abounds in relatively recent insertions.33 In the oldest text of the XIX Canon of Hippolytos, which now only exists in Coptic,34 two points are worth men­ tioning. Firstly, the vessel containing milk and honey is given a Coptic name meaning a household vessel or goblet, that is — a cup. Secondly, the piece differs from the Communion chalice men­ tioned in the same text and called in Greek το ποτήριον.35 Thus we may conclude that in this highly liturgical rite they were in the habit of using a common household vessel, adapted to a clerical purpose. This rite, established (it is said) by the Fathers of the Church, was seldom used in everyday life, though it was not prohibited, and was abandoned after the 9th century.36 That the Arabic translator of the Coptic text, who was working soon after the year 926 included distortions of the original is merely proof of the fact that by this time the rite may have been forgot­ ten, since it was out of practical use in the Eastern church. So, on the one hand we know of the existence of bowls and cylixtype cups with crosses (the oldest belonging to the 9th century) and, on the other, literary sources tell us of the existence of a 31. W. Riedel, De Kichenrechtsquellen des Patriarchats Alexandrien (Leipzig, 1900), 213. 32. F.X. Funk, Doctrina duodecim apostolorum: Canones apostolorum ecclesiastici, (Tübingen, 1887), 50-73. 33. Achelis, Canones Hippoliti, 39, 100. 34. P. de Lagarde, Aegyptiaca: Canones apostolorum (Göttingen, 1883), 216. 35. G. Horner, The Statutes of the Apostles or Canones Ecclesiastici: Translation of the Saidis (London, 1904), 319-20. 36. Almazov, op. cit., 443-4.

222

BYZANTINE WHITE-CLAY PAINTED BOWLS AND CYLIX-TYPE CUPS

special ceremony where such things could have been used. Because of this, we are justified in considering κυλίχνια with crosses as liturgical vessels used during a special 'festive' Baptism. There is some indirect evidence confirming the ceremonial associations of the κυλίχνια. Three cases are known in which these vessels are connected with the Church. The base of the cup from the Hermitage (fig. 11) was found near the so-called Basilica 135 in Chersoń; the cup from Athens near the Church of Hypopanta38 and the sides of a cup with decorated crosses in medallions and the Greek inscription [πίετε] έξ αύτοΰ [πάντες] ('Drink ye all from it') were found in the crypt of the Basilica of St Demetrios in Thessalonika.39 The places where the objects were found indicate another point. The majority of the liturgical bowls was found beyond the borders of Byzantium itself — in Bulgaria, in Romania, in various centres on the northern coast of the Black Sea, in Khazar Sarkel and in old Russian towns — that is, in all those places where Byzantine missionaries pursued their activities in the 9th century. The 9th century was a period of increased activity in Byzan­ tine foreign policy, when the Empire tried to profit from the tem­ porary weakness of both the Arab Caliphate and the First Bulgarian Empire. At the same time, it was the 'Golden Age' of Byzantine clerical attempts to influence such states as the khaganate of the Khazars, the Bulgarians and the stronghold of the Rus' on the Dnieper.40 Cyril and Methodios preached in Bulgaria, which was converted to Christianity in 864 and in Great Moravia. By 875, Methodios was at the head of a recently created archbishopric covering the territories of Pannonia and Moravia.41 At the beginning of the seventh decade of the 9th century, Cyril (Constantine the Philosopher) visited the Khazars (compare the earlier military and political mission of the 37. J. and A. Périer, 'La version arabe des 127 Canons des Apôtres', PO, 8, fase. 4 (1912), 567. 38. Frantz, 'Middle Byzantine pottery', 433. 39. Bakirtzis and Papanikola-Bakirtzis, 'De la céramique', 422. 40. B.N. Floria, Skazanija o nacale slavianskoy pis'mennosti, Patmiatniki srednevekovy istorii narodov tsentral'noy i vostocnoy Evropy (Moscow, 1981), 16-17. 41. Floria, 'Skazanika', 37.

223

VERA ZALESSKAYA

spatharokandidatos Petronas in 833) and Chersoń. This outpost of Byzantine power in the territory to the north of the Black Sea served during the activities of the Slav preachers as a 'cultural bridge' between Byzantium and the pagans of the north.42 Such activities in Chersoń were largely a consequence of the emigra­ tion there of orthodox clergy caused by Iconoclasm. Evidence for this is contained in Letter XCII of Theodore the Studite.43 It is more than likely that in cases where, for instance, chiefs of barbarian tribes, whose help and support Byzantium needed, were being christened, that a grand liturgy might have taken place with elaborate symbolism ending with a special 'Eucharist' of milk and honey. In addition, the very shape of the cross, with its crossed-over ends may indicate a special religious function for the vessels thus decorated. So a comparison of archaeological data and that from literary sources suggests that the white-clay vessel bases with crosses found in excavations belonged to liturgical κυλίχνια, the earliest of which date to the 9th century. In later centuries, though the vessels themselves were still in use, their religious function gradually died away — something which is expressed by the transformation of the cross on the base into a cruciform style of ornament.

42. S.F. Sestakov, Patmiatniki khristianskogo Khersonesa: Ocerkipo istorii Khersonesa ν VI-Х vekakh (Moscow, 1908), 49. 43. A. Tougard, 'La persécution iconoclaste d'après la correspondance de saint Théodore Studite', RevQH, 50 (1891), 80-118.

224

Early Byzantine marble church furnishings: some examples from the episcopal basilica of Kourion in Cyprus. ROWENA LOVERANCE My purpose in this paper is a simple one: to present some ex­ amples from the fifty or so pieces of marble church furniture, i.e. tables, trays, bowls and pedestal supports, which have recently been excavated at Kourion in Cyprus, and to show how the Kourion examples can help to cast light on some of the issues already raised by the study of this class of object: these include the relationship between the shape of the object and its function, the range of iconography used on the decorated pieces, and, of particular interest to the subject of this symposium what these objects can tell us of the relationship between the architectural lay-out of the church and the liturgy which went on in it.1 The site of the classical city of Kourion (Curium) extends over a high bluff on the south of Cyprus, and the excavation of the Christian basilica was begun as early as 1934 by the Pennsylvania University Museum. Several of the marble finds date from this phase of the excavation. Excavation was renewed in the 1950's and 1970's under the direction of A.H.S. Megaw on behalf of 1. Interest has so far concentrated on table fragments with relief decoration: cf. E. Michoń, 'Rebords de bassins chrétiens ornés de reliefs', R Bibl, n.s. 12 (1915), 485-540; 13 (1916), 121-170; E. Thomas, 'Bruchstück einer früchristlichen Mar­ morischplatte mit Reliefverzierung aus Csopak', ActaAntHung, III, 3 (1955), 261-282; E. Kitzinger, 'A marble relief of the Theodosian period', DOP, 14 (1960), 19-42 esp. 22 note 10. For the most comprehensive catalogue, by which tables are referred to in this paper, see G. Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes en marbre découvertes à Salamine', Salamine de Chypre IV, Anthologie Salaminienne (Institut F. Courby, Université de Lyon II, 1973), 181-196. No published catalogue yet exists of undecorated tables, smaller pieces of marble furnishings or pedestal supports.

225

ROWENA LOVERANCE

the Department of Antiquities of Cyprus, and latterly with the support of Dumbarton Oaks.2 The excavation has uncovered a large basilica church (36m χ 23m) (fig. 14) with two aisles, narthex and atrium, generous provison for catechumens, a substan­ tial baptistery with a complex masonry font, and around the bap­ tistery atrium a residential complex, presumably a bishop's palace, which is one reason for identifying this church with the episcopal seat of the bishops of Kourion.3 The excavator dates the founding of the church to the second half of the fourth century; its date of abandonment is rather more firmly tied by coin evidence to the middle decades of the seventh century, which coincides with known Arab raids on the city.4 As we shall see, the evidence of the marble finds has a part to play in establishing both these arguments. Since its abandonment, the church has been severely plundered for its building stone and marble, with the result that much necessary archaeological detail, particularly in the area of the apse and presbytery, has been lost. On the other hand, the quality and quantity of the architectural marbles which have survived make clear that the church was richly decorated, and the champlevé ornament of the wall revetment and the acanthus pilaster capitals are particularly impressive.5 The marble finds with which I am concerned may be less im2. G.F. McFadden, University Museum Bulletin, 7, no. 2 (Philadelphia, March 1938), 3f.; A.H.S. Megaw, 'Excavations at the episcopal basilica of Kourion in Cyprus in 1974 and 1975: a preliminary report', DOP, 30 (1976), 345-371 (hereafter Megaw, 'Kourion'). The full report, to be published by Dumbarton Oaks, is in preparation. I am most grateful to Peter Megaw for the opportunity to take part in this excava­ tion and to work on the marble furnishings. I have also benefited a great deal from the help of Geoffrey House, who is working on the architectural marbles. Peter Megaw took the photographs which appear as figs, 16, 20, 21, 22, 18 and 32, and Geoffrey House those of figs. 18,27, 29-31.1 am grateful to Diana Wardle for all the drawings. 3. First suggested by J. F. Daniel, University Museum Bulletin, 13 no. 3 (Philadelphia, June 1948), 13f. 4. Megaw, 'Kourion', 369-71.

Opposite: Fig. 14: Episcopal basilica, Kourion, Cyprus (plan after Megaw 'Kourion', 353) 226

ROWENA LOVERANCE

mediately attractive but are perhaps archaeologically more in­ teresting. Their use as furniture is attested both in some wellknown contemporary representations of the period — the mosaic of the Last Supper from Sanť Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna has Christ and his disciples grouped round a sigma (horse-shoe shaped) table — and in some equally well-known modern survivals, such as in the refectory of the Great Lavra on Mt. Athos. 6 Within the group attention has focused on the pieces with relief decoration,7 but this stress on their artistic merit may have proved double-edged and doubts have recently been cast on the authenticity of a fragment in Dumbarton Oaks, which was originally seen as a highpoint of the Theodosian Renaissance of the fourth century.8 Perhaps as a result, more interest is now being shown in their function.9 The Kourion excavation represented an opportunity to concentrate equally on the undecorated as on the decorated pieces, and to set them in their archaeological context. If this latter aim has been less than fully 5. Megaw, 'Kourion', 346 and figs., E, 19, 21, 22, 15; idem, 'Byzantine architec­ ture and decoration in Cyprus: metropolitan or provincial?', DOP, 28 (1974), 57-88, esp. 60 and fig. 2 (hereafter Megaw, 'Byzantine architecture'): S. Boyd, 'Champlevé sculpture from Cyprus', XVI Internationaler Byzantinistenkongress (Wien, 1981), Resumes, 10.2. 6. J. Strzygowski, 'Der sigmaförmige Tisch und der älteste Typus des Refektoriums', Wörter und Sachen, 1 (1909), 70-80, esp. 74 figs., 5 and 6. 7. Another reason for this concentration on the decorated pieces is that these ob­ jects are as yet undated by archaeological context. The decorated examples seem to offer a possibility of dating by comparison with other media, particularly the silver vessels with similar relief bands which are generally dated to the mid-late fourth cen­ tury e.g. the Carthage Treasure in the British Museum, cf. O.M. Dalton, Catalogue of early Christian antiquities (London, 1901) 79, nos. 356 & 357. For a summary of opinions on dating, an outstanding problem which does not directly concern me here, cf. Kitzinger, 'Marble relief, 32, n.59. 8. Kitzinger, 'Marble relief; S. Boyd and G. Vikan, Questions of authenticity among the arts of Byzantium (Dumbarton Oaks, 1981), 5-7. 9. This is not confined to their use in churches. Many have a funerary use which is not necessarily secondary: cf. E. Dyggve, History ofSalonitan Christianity (Oslo, 1951), 105ff; W. Deonna, 'Mobilier délien, I: Tables antiques d'offrandes avec écuelles et tables d'autel chrétien', BCH, 58 (1934), Iff; F. Cabrol and H. Leclerq, DACL, I, col. 829 f. Several come from an apparently secular context, e.g. Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', nos. 78 and 79 from the oil-works at Salamis and no. 147 from a building at Corinth tentatively identified as an inn. The range of mythological decoration (below, n. 19) also supports the impression that they were not confined to ecclesiastical use.

228

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

successful, due as I have indicated to the robbing of the church and the lack of very much useful stratigraphy, it is the purpose of this paper to show that even with such disadvantages, some interesting points can still be made. Tables in early Byzantine churches come in three shapes: rec­ tangular, circular and sigma-shaped. The rectangular ones found at Kourion divide into two classes, defined principally by profile — a straight edge, sloping out slightly towards the base, and a concave edge (fig. 15). The most complete example from Kourion belongs to the concave-edge class (fig. 16). On the back of the smaller fragment of this table are incised both a monogram and a board game. From a comparison of the Kourion finds it would seem that the distinction of profile reflects a distinction of size — the straight-edged ones are on average one-third larger than the concave-edged ones. The obvious question is whether this reflects a difference in function. Megaw suggests that the larger group are altar tables and that the smaller, concave-edged ones are offering tables.10 Objections to this view are that we would then seem to be dealing with at least seven altars (one is remin­ ded of the reference in the Liber Pontificalis to the seven altars of the Lateran Basilica) — but presumably most of these are offering tables11 and that one of the straight-edged group comes from the room identified as a diakonikon, the place for the receipt of offerings. I shall return to the problem of the use of the diakonikon later. Tables indisputedly circular in form also come at Kourion in two classes, again defined by profile (fig. 17): a solid flat rim or, as illustrated by an example from the narthex (fig. 18), a thin­ ner concave rim. Though as finely polished as all the rest of these objects, this group is often irregularly carved, making it hard to reconstruct an accurate diameter for these tables. They seem to 10. Peter Megaw made this observation in personal correspondence: the distinction by profile within the less well-studied rectangular group is not yet always recognised in the literature. A function for the circular and sigma-shaped tables has also to be allowed for, but there are of course further possibilities for the use of tables in a church, e.g. two examples associated with baptism, Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', nos. 65 from Sbeitla and 162 from Tebessa. 11. L. Duchesne, Le Liber Pontificalis (Paris, 1881-92), I, 171. T. Klauser, 'Die konstantinischen Altare der Lateranbasilika', RQ, 43 (1935), 183ff.

229

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

range between 70-120 cms. The carelessness of carving may also suggest that they were intended for a less prominent area of the church. The third and most distinctive shape is the sigma. This too comes in various profiles (fig. 19), of which only one, the enclosedflange type, appears to be restricted to the sigma shape. One enclosed-flange example was found widely scattered from the east to the west end of the basilica, but turns out to be almost complete (figs. 20 and 21). It measures 88 cm. in width and depth. Despite the prevalence of champlevé in the architectural decoration we do not have any fragments to parallel the champlevé sigma table from Salamis, on the east coast of the island.12 Another sigma profile, the raised-band type, which sometimes has a bead and reel astragal decoration round the edge, is not restricted to the sigma form, though enough of one Kourion ex­ ample has been found to reconstruct its sigma shape in this case, and to estimate its full width of с 120 cms (fig. 22). The moulding on the back, equally fine but not respecting the line of that on the front, suggests the use of pre-cut marble. There is no source of marble on Cyprus, so presumably these tables were imported ready-cut.13 Another form which appears both in sigma and circular shape is the poly-lobed type. This is represented at Kourion by just one example, which as it dates from the earlier phase of the excava­ tion lacks an exact provenance (fig. 23). The same is true of 12. Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', 152ff., fig. 70; also catalogue no. 74. This so far unique example may represent a local product in a relief-carving technique particularly popular in Cyprus. 13. For the range of marble objects imported to Cyprus, see Megaw, 'Byzantine architecture', 68-9. For indications of local carving of tables, see above, n. 11 and below, n. 16.

Opposite: Fig. 15: Rectangular tables, profiles and reconstruction Fig. 16: Rectangular table, concave-edge profile Fig. 17: Circular tables, profiles Fig. 18: Circular table, concave-rim profile 231

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

another raised-band example, this time with astragal decoration (fig. 23), and also the three examples from Kourion of tables with relief decoration. The interest of the first of these (fig. 24) lies principally in demonstrating how standard is the range of themes, and the method of treating those themes, employed by the makers of these tables. The cloven-footed animal in our piece recalls a similar fragment now in Berlin,14 acquired in Akhmin by Josef Strzygowski, one of the first to take an interest in the use of these objects. Egypt is often cited as the place of manufacture of these tables, largely on grounds of the number surviving there, often in a reused form as grave stelae.15 The stylised tree in our second piece (fig. 25) has the same flat palm-like branches as another fragment from Cyprus now in the Louvre.16 On the Kourion example the creature beside the tree is indistinguishable, but on that from the Louvre the tree is clearly intended to separate a series of scenes, of which the one on the right is recognisably David and Goliath and that on the left may show the paws of a lion. The piece is from Lapethos, and the coincidence of theme with that of the David plates in the seventhcentury Cyprus Treasure, also from Lapethos, has, of course, been pointed out.17 Our third piece (fig. 25) is the most interesting. It is only the 14. Roux, 'Tableschrétiennes', no. 38. Michoń, 'Bassins chrétiens', 13, no. 25, fig. 21. 15. Strzygowski, 'Sigmaförmige Tisch', 70, fig. 1. For art historical support for an Egyptian provenance, see G.A. Snyder, 'The so-called puteai in the Capitoline Museum at Rome', JRS, 13 (1923), 56-68. The D.O. fragment (above, n. 8), if genuine, would suggest Constantinopolitan work. For most recent support for Egypt, see R. Giveon, 'Alexandrine decorated basin-rims from Israel', IEJ, 14 (1964), 232ff. 16. Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', no. 4. Michoń, 'Bassins Chrétiens', 13, no. 23, fig. 19.

Opposite: Fig. 19: Sigma-shaped tables, profiles and reconstruction Fig. 20: Sigma-shaped table, enclosed-flange profile, front Fig. 21: Sigma-shaped table, enclosed-flange profile, back Fig. 22: Sigma-shaped table, raised-band profile 233

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

fourth example that has come to light of arcaded decoration with figures, and seems to show a figure seated on a chair or throne. Although a group of four is a very small sample,18 this kind of decoration raises the interesting question of the direction from which these tables were theoretically considered to be viewed. Given their presumed origin as functional dinner tables, the decoration in almost all cases faces outward. The Kourion frag­ ment still has a trace of its astragal decoration along the foot. Two of the three other known examples face the same way. The subject of the Leningrad piece, though it preserves two ar­ caded figures, is still not clear: it may be another version of David and Goliath. The Famagusta example also shows just two figures, but one is clearly Hermes and the subject seems to be the Judg­ ment of Paris.19 The best preserved table in the group, that from Salona now in Zagreb, offers a close parallel to the Kourion frag­ ment in its frieze of seated figures. Christ proclaiming the Gospel to his disciplies, but is quite unlike it, and the rest of the group, in having its arcade facing inward. Until more examples of this type are known, we shall not be able to tell if this remains excep17. The selection of biblical subjects on these tables is relatively conventional and similar to that found in other media of the period. The Lapethos table, unlike the silver plates, was not wholly devoted to the David cycle: two other fragments, now in Nicosia, show the sacrifice of Abraham and Daniel in the lions' den; cf. Michoń, 'Bassins chrétiens', 13, no. 20, fig. 16 and 21, fig. 17. 18. Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', no. 3 from Salamis now in Famagusta, no. 43 from Egypt now in Leningrad and no. 53, comprising the substantial piece from Salona now in Zagreb and a fragment in Vienna. 19. Specific mythological subjects are relatively rare on these tables, though Heracles, Dionysos, Athena and Apollo and Achilles may make individual apeparances: cf. Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', nos. 37, 41a, 47a and 63 respectively. Generalised secular subjects, however, such as pastoral, fishing or hunting scenes, are commonplace.

Opposite: Fig. 23: Raised-band with astragal decoration and polylobed tables Fig. 24: Astragal table, relief decoration Fig. 25: Astragal tables, relief decoration 235

ROWENA LOVERANCE

tional, or represents a chronological, functional or iconographie development.20 This piece has taken us on to the question of what these tables tell us about how they were intended to be used in a church. In fact, it is less than one would have hoped. Neither the rectangular nor the circular tables give any indication in their surface treat­ ment of how they stood; though both are equally well polished underneath, so presumably stood on legs or pedestals rather than masonry footings. The purely sigma-shaped tables on the other hand, like all the examples of this class known, have the smooth front edge and rough curved edge and underside (fig. 21) which suggests they stood firmly wedged in a niche or apse.21 We have found only one such niche in the basilica, in a chapel beside the north-east entrance, which has rich mosaic decoration and marble revetment rather than a marble table, but this is probably because the walls rarely survive to the necessary height.22 A category of objects that I have not previously mentioned, that of heavy marble bowls or mortars, probably offers the best evidence of how these furnishings were used. One has ornamen­ tal lugs, or spouts, which presumably allowed it to be hung from three chains (fig. 26); another has a round knob on the base which would have fitted into the top of a pedestal foot (fig. 27). Both pedestals and colonettes have been found, the larger presumably used singly, the smaller in sets of two or four. Unlike the tables, the great variety of material used for the pedestals — alabaster, marble, limestone or basalt — suggests that some of them may have been spolia reused, and one column shaft has a socket cut in it presumably for this purpose. However, they have not been found in anything like the quantity suggested by the number of table tops — some seven pedestals and only five col­ onettes. We seem to be back again to hypothetical masonry 20. The straight band of the Salona table, showing Jonah and the whale, remains in the outward-facing position. Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', 145ff; Kitzinger, 'Mar­ ble relief, 27ff. 21. The different levels of finish are well illustrated by Roux, 'Tables chrétiennes', figs. 76ff. 22. Megaw, 'Kourion', 347 and fig. 10.

236

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

footings to account for the supports of the rectangular as well as the sigma-shaped tables.23 More reassuringly, however, despite the small number of these finds, several came from places where one would expect to find them, such as the north-east corner of the basilica, which served as its main entrance, leading into a series of vestibules which gave on to the catachumenon and thence to the north aisle and pastophorion, a distinctive feature of this church which is unusual in Cyprus and which draws on Syrian models.24 A marble pedestal (fig. 28) and a tall colonette (fig. 29) both appear to have been supported tables in this entrance area, where offerings would presumably have been brought. On the other hand it has to be said that no such finds either of pedestals or of colonettes were made in the diakonikon. Where one lacks even a pedestal, there is occasional evidence of where it stood, such as a column base embedded in the floor of the narthex, and another in the apse of the baptistery, of which more in a moment. In this context, the greatest loss is that of the presbytery floor, which has been robbed to its rubble foun­ dations, thus removing all trace of the altar and any other sanc­ tuary tables.25 Having reviewed in general the nature of the material and its use, I now want to turn to three questions in the life of the church where the marble finds have a particular relevance. First, the baptistery.26 This is undoubtedly the most exciting part of the Kourion church, because it is here that it is possible to see changes in ritual being put into archaeological effect. The magnificent font, built to cope with large numbers of adult converts and designed to be viewed like a stage-set from the centre of the room, was adapted to infant baptism by closing off the walk-ways with parapet blocks revetted with marble. 23. Such masonry footings are increasingly being identified in excavations where the stratigraphy allows: cf. e.g. J. Russell, 'Excavations at Anemurium 1982', Echos du Monde Classique, 27, n.s. 2 (1983)r 168-183 esp. 174 and plate 5. 24. The pastophoria functioned as sacristies where the remains of the eucharistie gifts were taken after the liturgy: Megaw, 'Kourion', 360. 25. Megaw, 'Kourion', 362. 26. Megaw, 'Kourion', 348-57, 363-8, figs. D, 2, 5, 7, 8, 24, 26, 27.

237

i.

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

There were other changes in the main part of the baptistery. The apse itself represents an afterthought: it is freestanding and not bonded in to the flat east wall. In front of the apse, the rais­ ed sanctuary area shows two periods of use. In the first, the sanc­ tuary was about lm. shorter, terminating in a cross wall to the west and apparently reached by steps on the south. It had a mosaic floor, embedded in which was a marble base which must have carried the pedestal of a circular table or bowl (fig. 30). In the second period of use the sanctuary was lengthened and given steps to the west, and an opus sedile floor was laid which covered the pedestal base. This upper floor had no trace of a table footing. Why the change? If whatever went on in the apse no longer required a table or bowl, are we seeing the removal of the rite of chrismation from pre-baptism, in the apse of the main baptistery, to post-baptism, in the makeshift apse to the east of the font, a removal which would represent a change from the Antioch to the Jerusalem prac­ tice? This is Megaw's view: in fact it gives him his main reason for preferring an earlier date in the fourth century, before the rift with Antioch and the arrival of Epiphanius in 368, for the foundation of the church.27 It is a lot to pin on one pedestal base, although as we have seen such a find in situ is so rare at Kourion that it has to be taken seriously. The smaller apse, despite its makeshift ap­ pearance, could be part of the original fabric and represent the continuous practice of post-baptismal chrismation. But then one needs to account some other way for the use and then the aban­ donment of the pedestal base. The most obvious explanation for 27. Megaw, 'Kourion', 366 for a thorough survey of the liturgical references.

Opposite: Fig. 26: Bowl, ornamental lugs Fig. 27: Bowl, round knob for attachment Fig. 28: Pedestal base Fig. 29: Colonette 239

ROWENA LOVERANCE

its use, that the first Eucharist of the newly-baptised took place in the baptistery and not in the basilica proper, challenges the general assumption which I have made throughout this paper that altar tables are rectangular and supported on four legs.28 A case of one leg good, four legs better. I want now to turn to a question which I have already touched on, the role in the Kourion church of the diakonikon, a room where tables were particularly needed. The discovery here of our largest rectangular table might itself have suggested the identifica­ tion, but this was hardly necessary, given the presence of a mosaic inscription which Cyril Mango has identified as coming from Psalm 76.11 'Vow and pay to the Lord your God'. 29 The room is at the west end of the church, beyond the narthex and adjacent to the basilica atrium, so useful for offerings brought in the form of livestock. It has benches down one side and an inner bay, presumably reserved for the clergy, marked out by distinctive flooring and reached direct from the narthex by a ser­ vice corridor. However, this is one of the few areas which can be archaeologically dated within the life of the church. The mosaic floor is sixth century, and has late fifth century coins beneath it. Moreover the earlier floor extends beneath the walls of the diakonikon to the walls of a larger room. The whole diakonikon would thus seem to be a sixth century construction. The movement of the diakonikon from the west to the east end of the church to form part of the middle Byzantine triple sanc­ tuary has been well documented by Orlandos.30 It seems though that what we are seeing at Kourion is a relatively late example' of the movement in the other direction, from east to west, which has recently been described by Pallas.31 It had the purpose of removing non-eucharistic offerings from the vicinity of the altar and the result of further complicating the rite of prothesis by 28. Most attempts to suggest circular or sigma-shaped altars have foundered: cf. Kitzinger, 'Marble relief, 29-30. 29. Megaw, 'Kourion', 357-9, fig. 13. 30. A.K. Orlandos, Ή άπο του νάρθηκος προς το Ιερόν μετακίνησνς τοΰ διακονικού εις τας ελληνιστικός βασιλικός; Αελτ. Χριστ. 'Αρχ. Έτ., 4 (1964), 353-72. 31. D.I. Pallas, 'Monuments et textes: remarques sur la liturgie dans quelques basili­ ques paléochrétiennes d'Illyricum oriental', Έπ. Έτ. Βυζ. Σπ„ 44 (1979-80), 37-116.

240

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

separating the receipt of offerings from the registration of names of donors. In several of the Greek examples quoted by Pallas, such as Basilica A at Nikopolis, this process required a larger table with a solid masonry footing.32 Typically, this evidence is lacking at Kourion, where the inner bay of the diakonikon has lost its floor level except for two large border slabs of marble. In compensa­ tion perhaps, Kourion offers an opportunity, with its unusual eastern-style pastophoria, to see how the creation of a diakonikon at the west affects the layout at the eastern end of the church. In a possibly contemporary development, the easternmost bay of each aisle was closed off and added to the sanctuary, thus closing off the pastophoria from the laity.33 And finally I want to turn in what I admit is a highly speculative fashion to the subject of the abandonment of the church in the mid-seventh century. I have already made clear the existence of various items dating from the earlier excavation which lack an exact provenance. One such is a fragment of a rectangular table leg, the first substantial and recognisable table leg which has featured in this paper (fig. 31). It remained for years a unique find, but has recently acquired a pair, in a similarly fragmentary condition. A second complete pair has also been found: the dif­ ference between the two pairs — the depth of the base, the number of flutes on front and side — are less striking than their general similarity in appearance (fig. 32). The three new posts come not from the basilica but from the middle Byzantine church recently excavated by the Department of Antiquities in the village of Episkopi just below Kourion, presumably founded, as its name implies, when the community moved further inland for protection against Arab raids.34 In the nave of the church stands a complete rectangular marble table, on a vastly different scale, 165 χ 106 cms., to any we have studied so far (fig. 33). If we are justified in suggesting that the table legs originated in the basilica — and the sanctuary of this church 32. Pallas, 'Monuments et textes', 70, fig. 15. 33. This may have been done at the same time that the synthronon was installed in the main apse: Megaw, 'Kourion', 362.

241

EARLY BYZANTINE MARBLE CHURCH FURNISHINGS

is floored with pieces of champlevé revetment which are certain­ ly from the basilica — it may just be that we are here looking at the elusive altar table from the basilica itself.

34. We are grateful to the excavator, Mr. A. Papageorghiou, for permission to in­ clude reference to the Saraye finds in the publication of the Episcopal Basilica.

Opposite: Fig. 30: Baptistery, column base in situ Fig. 31: Table leg, Pennsylvania University Museum excavations Fig. 32: Table legs, Saraye excavations Fig. 33: Altar, Saraye excavations 243

244

The uses of liturgical silver, 4th-7th centuries MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO In S. Vitale, Ravenna, Justinian and Theodora and their entourage are portrayed offering to that church a paten, cross, book cover, censer and chalice, mostly in gold (Fig. 34). The offertory significance of the scene is underlined by the Three golden Magi ascending Theodora's purple hemline. The gold that the Magus Caspar offered was said by Agnellus, in his ninth-century com­ mentary on the mosaics of S. Apollinare Nuovo, to signifiy 'kingly wealth'.1 And indeed, like Justinian and Theodora's gifts, the chalice, paten, censer, cross and curtain sent to Rusafa by the Persian king Chosroes II in 592 were likewise fashioned from gold.2 Similarly, gold vessels were presented to churches at Rome by Constantine, Valentinian HI, Justin I and Justinian,3 and at Antioch and Martyropolis by Constantius, Theodosius II and Yezdegerd of Persia.4 While gold was restricted mostly to the manufacture of imperial objects, coin, jewellery and gold leaf, silver was used on a wide scale for domestic and donated cult objects alike. Pious individuals endowed churches all over the empire with liturgical silver. Sosiana, the widow of a cubicularius at Constantinople, gave John of Ephesos a fortune in silver ob­ jects and in silk clothes worth a pound of gold each, on the con­ dition that these precious materials be recycled for church use and not sold lest they fall into the hands of a prostitute5 — the Ί. Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 108. 2. Evagrius, Ecclesiastical History, edd. J. Bidez and L. Pannentier (London, 1898), VI, 21. 3. Liber Pontificalis, 170 ff, 233 f, 276, 285. 4. Theodoret, Historia Ecclesiastica, ed. L. Parmentier (Berlin, 1911), II.xii.4; R. Marcus, 'The Armenian Life of Marutha of Maipherkať, HThR, 25 (1932), 63-9. 5. John of Ephesos, Lives of the Eastern Saints, c.55.

245

MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO

very fate that befell the silver eventually used for the paten and chalice bought by Theodore of Sykeon.6 Precious metals had to be protected, for they were the suitable materials for offerings to God and His saints. St Pancratios designated as essential equip­ ment for every church two sets of patens and chalices in silver7 and Severus of Antioch, a patriarch noted for asceticism, con­ sidered it a question of reverence, that a church ciborium be revet­ ted in silver.8 Types of silver liturgical vessels presented to Early Byzantine churches are known from inventories and at least a dozen treasures (with many objects bearing dated imperial stamps) discovered in several provinces of the empire. The former include an inven­ tory dated 303 from a Numidian church; the donar lists of the Liber Pontificalis of Rome and that of Ravenna, as well as in­ ventories from village churches in Italy and Egypt.9 Nearly all of the discovered treasures (Fig. 35) are associated — either by inscription or archaeological context — with village rather than urban churches and so, in theory, provide us with a view towards the lower end of the social scale. Recorded and surviving treasures 6. Vie de Theodore de Syke'on, c.42. 7. Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 137. 8. Les Homiliae Cathédrales de Sevère d'Antioche. Homélies XCIX à CIII, ed. and trans. I. Guidi, PO, 22 (1930), Homily 100. 9. M. Mundell Mango, (with technical contributions by C.E. Snow and T.D. Weisser) Silver from early Byzantium. The Kaper Koraon and related treasures (Baltimore, 1986), 263 f.

Opposite: Fig. 34: The Emperior Justinian and Archbishop Maximianus and their retinue shown offering a paten (?), cross, bookcover (all in gold) and a silver censer. Wall mosaic of 546/7 AD in S. Vitale, Ravenna. Photo after F.A. Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten und Mosaiken von Ravenna (Baden-Baden, 1958), pl. 359 Fig. 35: One half of the Kaper Koraon Treasure (of с. 540-640 AD) photographed с. 1910 in the cathedral of Hama, Syria; now in The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, Maryland. Photo: The Walters Art Gallery 246

MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO

attest that from the fourth century at least the central liturgical objects were the paten and chalice (Figs. 35, 37, 40-1). In inven­ tories, the latter is often designated as 'ministerial', weighs from one to three pounds, and often outnumbers the patens by at least two to one;10 by the seventh century paten and chalice are designated as pairs, known as diskopoteria. The Latin inventories also feature prominently the ama and scyphus — two large recep­ tacles used to collect the eucharistie wine.11 Village church in­ ventories list instead the smaller jug or ewer, as for example that from Syria (Fig. 35 centre) described in its dedicatory inscrip­ tion as a xestion, or small xestes, which in this case holds three and a half xestai or pints.12 The use of the spoon in the eucha­ ristie service is not documented by Early Byzantine sources, although the widow Sosiana's silver was specifically stated to be recycled into spoons (tarode), as well as patens and chalices.13 Furthermore, in one church treasure there are two spoons with explicit dedications which indicate that the spoons were made for a church. They and four other known spoons, all from Syria, have crosses placed upright on their tips (Fig. 39) where the spoons may have been lowered into the consecrated wine for stirring or distribution. That the spoons and chalices were used together may be indicated by the fact that the two inscribed spoons were donated by individuals who also gave chalices to their church.14 Three church treasures contain both large and small strainers (Fig. 35 left centre) for the wine.15 What may be described as paraliturgical objects in silver in­ clude fans, censers, crosses and bookcovers; the latter three types of objects — in gold and silver — are shown offered to S. Vitale (Fig. 34). A pair of silver gilt fans decorated with seraphim and cherubim, one to each side, were found in Syria. Dated by their stamps to 577, they are the earliest extant pair made of silver of 10. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 228 ff, 250 ff, 264; and e.g. Liber Pontificalis, 170, 172 f, 176, 179, 232, 234. 11. Liber Pontificalis, I, CXLIV. 12. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 104 ff. 13. see n.5 above. 14. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 118 ff. 15. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 133.

248

THE USES OF LITURGICAL SILVER, 4th-7th CENTURIES

the flabello or rhipidia known to have been in use from at least the 4th century to keep insects off the sacrament.16 Another ob­ ject made in silver in the sixth century was the asteriskos, a starshaped support for a protective veil placed over the paten, one of which survives in the Sion Treasure.17 The latter also contains two silver censers,18 an object mentioned in inventories from the 4th century.19 Crosses of all sizes were recorded in, and recovered from, this period. Constantine set up a 150-pound gold cross in St Peter's in Rome and later emperors installed large crosses in other churches, particularly in Jerusalem.20 A gold cross given to Rusafa by Chosroes II had an inscription that runs to sixteen lines of printed text.21 The larger silver crosses from Syria shown in Figure 35 are typical of medium size crosses which have a tang at their base for insertion into a staff used for carrying the cross in procession or for setting it upright for display either in the vicini­ ty of the altar or ambo, as at Edessa, on the U-shaped bema found in Syria, or on the church roof.22 In the latter position, however, the cross would undoubtedly have been of bronze or iron.23 What was probably a Gospels bound in gemmed gold covers is shown among the Justinianic gifts to S. Vitale in its sanctuary mosaic (Fig. 34) and surviving pairs of silver plaques bearing crosses or figures may have served as bookcovers, particularly as their dimensions generally correspond to those of contemporary manuscripts.24 Lighting equipment, a large and weighty part of 16. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 151. 17. Dumbarton Oaks July 1, 1977 — June 30, 1979 (Washington, DC, 1979), 50. See also M.C. Ross, Catalogue of the Byzantine and early mediaeval antiquities in the Dumbarton Oaks collection, I (Washington, DC, 1962), no.89. 18. E. Akurgal, C. Mango, R. Ettinghausen, Treasures from Turkey (Geneva, 1966), 97 ff, fig. p.98; S. Boyd, 'The Sion treasure: status report', Fifth annual Byzantine studies conference; Abstract of papers (Washington, DC, 1979), 7. 19. Liber Pontificalis, 174, 177. 20. Liber Pontificalis, 176; John Rufus, Plérophories, с. 12. 21. See η.2, above. 22. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 194 ff. 23. E.g. the bronze cross at S. Vitale, Ravenna; G. Cavallo et al., I Bizantini in Italia (Milan, 1982), no.35. 24. E. Kitzinger, Ά pair of silver book covers in the Sion treasure', Gatherings in honour of Dorothy E. Miner (Baltimore, 1974), 3-17. Mundell Mango, Koraon, no.44-7 and p.207.

249

MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO

the precious metals belonging to churches, included lampstands (Fig. 35 outer sides), hanging (Fig. 35 centre) and standing lamps and polycandela, such as the set of over twenty silver lights given to the Sion church in Lycia during the reign of Justinian. A coun­ try church near Tivoli had thirty-one lamps of which six were in silver, while the lighting needs of large city churches were much greater. One hundred and seventy four lamps in gold, silver and bronze were presented to the Lateran Basilica and one hundred and twenty to S. Lorenzo in Lucina, both in Rome, and the number in St Sophia was higher.25 By far the greatest amount of precious metal used in churches was in the form of revetments. Silver in particular was used to cover altars, ciboria, synthronons, amboes, chancel screens, shrines and doors from at least the fourth century. Constantine provided the Lateran Basilica in Rome with revetments totalling 5185 pounds of silver.26 That such practice became commonplace is proven by citations of revetments, not just at Rome and Con­ stantinople and pilgrimage centres such as Jerusalem and Thessalonika, but in numerous other cities, both large like Antioch and small like Arabissus.27 Silver revetments were found outside urban centres as well — near Tivoli, on the Nile, and they 25. S. Boyd, 'A bishop's gift: openwork lamps from the Sion treasure', in ed. F. Baratte, Argenterie romaine et byzantine (Paris, 1988), \9\\ Liber Pontificalis, CXLVI, 172 ff, 242 f, 274 (Lateran); 234, 244 (S. Lorenzo). 26. Liber Pontificalis, 172.

Opposite: Fig. 36: Drawing of silver ciborium portrayed in a wall mosaic of 512 AD (?) in the sanctuary of the main church of the monastery at Qartamin in Byzantine Mesopotamia Drawing: J. Dowling and M. MündelI Mango Fig. 37: Silver paten of 577 AD valued at U solidi 1 carat, given to his church by Megas, endoxatatos, ex-consul, patrician and curator (582-602) for the repose of the souls' of Peter and Nonnus; now in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection, Washington D.C. Photo: Dumbarton Oaks 250

MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO

survive from rural Lycia and Syria.28 A silver ciborium, of the sort portrayed in the mosaic at Qartamin in Mesopotamia (Fig. 36) and which was four metres in plan, having four columns five metres high and fifty centimetres in diameter, and with a dome, all revetted in silver one millimetre thick can be reconstructed at a weight of around 2000 lbs., a figure which agrees with those recorded in inventories at Rome and Ravenna.29 The revetments described in St Sophia by Paul the Silentiary, after the dome repairs of 558, may be calculated at over 13000 pounds at one millimetre thick, over 26000 at two millimetres thick, and over 39000 at three millimetres thick — thus helping to verify Prookopios' figure of 40000 lbs. of silver given to the church by Justi­ nian in 537.30 There were several means by which a church might acquire its liturgical vessels. Church funds and solicitation by the clergy secured the essentials, but spontaneous offerings from the pious could exceed the immediate needs of a church and corresponded instead to the needs of the donor — to fulfill a vow, to obtain salvation, to commemorate the memory of someone.31 Votive dedications were inscribed on the liturgical objects (Figs. 37, 40-1) and endowed them, therefore, with secondary uses, that is, to obtain for the donor various favours from God, often through the intercession of His saints. Healings were apparently sought and explicitly acknowledged by means of votive plaques. The Water Newton Treasure found in Britain includes a series of silver leaf-shaped plaques, some being inscribed with a chi rho or ex­ plicit dedication and a treasure found in Syria contains small pla­ ques decorated with eyes (Fig. 38) and or ant figures accompanied by legends such as hyper euches and Kyrie boethei. The orant figure may represent the donor and the eye plaques have been 27. On silver furniture revetments see M. Mundell Mango, 'The monetary value of silver furniture revetments and objects in early Byzantine church treasures', in edd. S. Boyd, M. Mundell Mango, G. Vikan, Ecclesiastical silver plaie in sixth-century Byzantium (Washington, D.C., in press). 28. Mundell Mango, 'Value'. 29. Liber Pontificalis, 172, 233; Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 105. 30. Prokopios, Buildings, I.i.65; see Mundell Mango, 'Value'. 31. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 3-6.

252

THE USES OF LITURGICAL SILVER, 4th-7th CENTURIES

placed in the enduring tradition of ex-votos portraying the organ to be healed.32 A larger plaque in the same Syrian treasure may well have been dedicated in thanksgiving for such a cure. It is inscribed, 'In thanksgiving to God and to St Symeon, I have of­ fered (this)' Whether this is the Elder or Younger Symeon Stylit es is unclear, but both effected cures. Furthermore, the serpent wound round the column is very similar to the snake on a votive plaque found in the Asklepeion in Jerusalem and seems to transform this Symeon into the successor of Asklepios, as il­ lustrated on the Liverpool ivory.33 While the Symeon plaque may have been affixed flat to a wall, as was a silver plaque por­ traying Daniel Stylites in his shrine near Constantinople,34 the smaller plaques may have been suspended as they are today in Greek churches. Surviving silver objects are inscribed with dedications to God or a saint. A law of Justinian (Novel 131.9) dated 545 sets out the procedure to determine how property left to God or a given saint finds its proper shrine, for it is God or the saint and not the church building, who is the recipient of the object. On a number of objects the location of a particular shrine of a given saint is specified. These include mention of the ecclesia at Gallunianu in Italy, the churches of St Sergios at Beth Misona and the Theotokos at Phela, — both Syrian villages — and St George of the village of Cag or Caginkom in Asia Minor, whose dedica­ tion is inscribed in Armenian on an otherwise very Byzantine cross with pendant Alpha and Omega and Byzantine silver stamps of ca. 550.35 In particular, mention should be made of objects dedicated to St Sergios of Kaper Koraon. Over fifty silver objects, half of which are shown in a photograph taken in 1910 (Fig. 35), were presented to his church between 540 and 640. Kaper Koraon may be iden32. K.S. Painter, The Water Newton early Christian silver (London, 1977), nos. 10-27 and p.22; Mundell Mango, Koraon, 242-5. 33. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 240 f, and ed. К. Weitzmann, Age of spirituality: late antique and early Christian art, third to seventh century (New York, 1979), no.133 ( = Liverpool plaque). 34. N. Sevcenko in Age of spirituality, no.529. 35. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 5, 228-37, 248-54.

253

THE USES OF LITURGICAL SILVER, 4th-7th CENTURIES

tified with the modern village of Kurin in the limestone massif of northern Syria where many well constructed, now abandon­ ed, villages still stand, preserving numerous churches as well as domestic architecture. Unfortunately Kurin itself stands in a region which has been continuously occupied and its Early Byzantine monuments rebuilt. Their fragments abound, however, and the old mosque in the centre of the village may well replace and in­ corporate parts of the church of St Sergius. The names repeated on several of the silver objects and the dates indicated by those stamped, allow one to plot a genealogical tree that is made up of four or five main families who donated silver vessels to the church over a hundred years. The five sons of Maximinus joint­ ly donated a pair of lampstands and ewer. One of the sons may also be identified as the donor of a chalice (Fig. 41) and small votive cross. Thomas mentioned on the other cross had two sons, Heliodoros and Akakios, mentioned in dedications on a chalice, paten, spoon (Fig. 39) and oil flask. Stamped objects in these groups fall around 550. Between 577 and 602, the most impor­ tant native of the village, Megas an ex-consul, patrician and endoxotatos (curator of an imperial domain), donated a paten (Fig. 37) and pair of ewers. About the same time Sergios, a tribune and argyroprates, donated two patens and a lamp. In the reign of Phokas (602-610) another lamp was acquired by the church and a chalice and spoon (Fig. 39) were given by the three sons of Theophilos. Later in the seventh century, a paten and possibly two chalices were given by Pelagios and his wife Susannah. The earliest date of 542 on the stamped objects may be significant in that it follows the campaign of extortion undertaken in 540

Opposite: Fig. 38: A silver votive plaque inscribed 'Lord help, Amen' from a church treasure found near Ma'aret en Noman, Syria; now in The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, Maryland Photo: M. Mundell Mango Fig. 39: Drawing of the crosses on the bowls of six silver spoons found or excavated in Syria and Lebanon Drawing: M. Mundell Mango 255

MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO

by Chosroes I, in which he stripped all the cities surrounding Kurin of their silver and gold. The rich villages lying between Antioch and Apamea may well have provided additional booty for the Persians. The concentration of memorial inscriptions on silver objects donated in the 570's may likewise have been connected with the next Persian invasion in 573 when the army led by Ardamanes relieved Apamea of over 10000 lbs. of silver and com­ mitted certain atrocities in the area before going on its way to Dara in Mesopotamia.36 The looting of precious metals brings us to the last use of liturgical silver, that of financial asset. Certain surviving objects, are inscribed with the word 'treasure' — that is keimelion; for example, on a paten in Switzerland: 'Treasure (misspelled) — of the most holy church of the village of Sarabaon' (which may be in Lebanon). 37 Procopius describes the keimelia of the cathedrals of Antioch and Rusafa as providing spoils for Chosroes I.38 The approximate value of these treasures may be worked out in some cases. Although silver was not coined for commercial purposes in the East during this period (up to 615), its ratio to gold remained relatively stable, so that a pound of silver was worth either four or five solid?9 It is possible therefore to convert the weights listed in inventories or obtained from extant objects, in­ to approximate prices (making allowances of course for labour, gilding, etc.). The value of the liturgical object to the donor may be seen in terms of these prices, compared with those of others objects. In his sermon soliciting donations to complete the silver revetment on the ciborium of St Drosis at Antioch, Severus the patriarch said that every member of the congregation could easily afford to give a pound of silver, 'even the poorest among you', 36. For detailed discussion with bibliography, see Mundell Mango, Koraon, 3-36, 68-227; on donors to Kaper Koraon, see also M. Mundell Mango, 'The origions of the Syrian ecclesiastical silver treasures of the sixth-seventh centuries', in ed. F. Baratte, Argenterie romaine et byzantine. On the Syrian treasures see also E.C. Dodd, Byzantine silver treasures (Bern, 1973). On the silver stamps, see Dodd, Byzantine silver stamps (Washington, DC, 1961). 37. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 248. 38. Prokopios, Wars, II.ix.15; xx5. 39. E. Stein, Histoire du bas empire, (Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, 1949-59), II, 426 n.l.

256

THE USES OF LITURGICAL SILVER, 4th-7th CENTURIES

he added.40 A number of objects such as chalices, lamps and censers, in fact, do weigh one Roman pound, while some patens weigh around twenty pounds and a spoon may weight as little as a quarter of a pound. A twenty-pound paten (Fig. 40) would have cost, then, eighty solidi or the amount paid by Nicholas of Sion to repair an entire church building.41 On the other hand, a one-pound chalice (Fig. 41) would cost four solidi which was the price of a panel of mosaic pavement, or a complete New Testa­ ment or a mule.42 Some donations were of course financed joint­ ly by several people, such as the five brothers who gave three silver objects to the Kaper Koraon church.43 In some cases we know the office and therefore station in life of the donor. In addition to emperors whose resources seem boundless, there are other state and church officials whose in­ come or relative position may be placed against the quality and value of their silver gifts. At Kaper Koraon, Megas the ex-consul and imperial curator gave around seventy-five solidi worth -of obejcts to his church, although the iconography of the Commu­ nion of the Apostles on the paten (Fig. 37) he donated may display further gifts now lost, such as chalices, a paten, a washing set, lamps and, perhaps, even revetments represented by the promi­ nent arched epistyle.44 These donations would compare well then with those silver objects worth over 200 solidi given to his church by FI. Valila, a magister militum in the west.45 The latter sum was, however, less than one tenth of the value of the gift made by the consul Fl. Senator to the cathedral of Edessa which was a silver altar slab weighing 720 pounds and worth 2880 solidi.^ This, in turn was only about one tenth of the 26000 solidi spent on the building and decoration of S. Vitale at Ravenna by Julianus 40. Severus of Antioch, Homily 100, p.247. 41. The Life of St Nicholas of Sion, ed. and trans. I. Sevcenko and N.P. Sevcenko (Brookline, Mass., 1984), c.58. 42. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 11 f. 43. Mundell Mango, Koraon, nos. 11, 12, 14. 44. Mundell Mango, Koraon, no.35. 45. Liber Pontificalis, CXLVI, f. listing 54 lbs. 7 oz. of silver donated. 46. Chronicle of Edessa, in Chronica Minora, ed. and trans. I. Guidi (CSCO, Scr. Syri, I, 1903), C.7; see Mundell Mango, 'Value'.

257

THE USES OF LITURGICAL SILVER, 4th-7th CENTURIES

the argentarius.41 Sergios the argyroprates, in stark contrast to Julianus, paid less than thirty-five solidi for his three objects for Kaper Koraon and Symeonos, a magistrianus, bought his chalice (Fig. 41) for less than three solidi, one half the amount he could, as an imperial courier, have collected in gratuities when announc­ ing the new consul in a single province.48 One comparison among clerical donations is striking: the paten given by the bishop Eutychianus to the church of Sion in Lycia is handsomely decorated and cost around sixty-four solidi, while a simply ex­ ecuted paten (Fig. 35 right side) worth only about twelve and a half solidi was donated to the Kaper Koraon church by the more highly placed archbishop Amphilochios.49 The latter's annual salary may have reached 2160 solidi, which was, in fact, the ex­ act amount of secular silver bestowed on two churches by the bishop of Auxerre in the early seventh century.50 Such com­ parisons between recorded and surviving donations demonstrate that we are left with only a small portion of the silver belonging to Early Byzantine churches. Comparisons also indicate that for the donor, it was appearances which counted. For example, chalices generally stood around eighteen centimetres high, yet their weights, and therefore their prices, differed dramatically. Each of the three Beth Misona chalices weigh only about 300 gram47. 48. 49. 50.

Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 105. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 13. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 86. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 13.

Opposite: Fig. 40: Silver paten (491-518 AD), valued at с 80 solidi donated to a church by Paternus, Bishop of Tomi; now in the Hermitage Museum, Leningrad Photo after A. Bank, Byzantine art in the collections of the USSR (Leningrad/ Moscow, 1966), fig. 71 Fig. 41: Silver chalice of 547-550 AD, valued at 2 solidi 15 carats, given by Symeonos magistrianus, to his church in Syria; shown also in Fig. 35, above; now in The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, Maryland. Photo: The Walters Art Gallery 259

MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO

mes or one Roman pound, while the Riha chalice of exactly the same height weighs 527 grammes.51 The value of all silver objects was important to the church which received them. In addition to liturgical objects churches were also given domestic silver, either for recycling into liturgical objects, as the widow Sosiana requested,52 or kept for its monetary value, as were the 504 pounds of dinner services given to chur­ ches of Auxerre which still preserved them in that form in the thirteenth century.53 For example, the secular Risley Park Lanx with hunting scenes was rededicated to a church by a bishop.54 Early Byzantine church buildings were literarlly treasure houses and metropolitan cathedrals kept the state scales used for tax­ ation.55 Earlier, the Temple of Saturn at Rome had been a public treasury, as was later the great mosque of early Islamic cities.56 Philip Grierson has suggested that with their precious metal reserves, the empire's churches functioned in fact as a system of banks.57 Furthermore, civil laws forbade the alienation of moveable church property, although exceptions were made for famine, debt and ransoms, as when the church treasures of Amida were used to secure the freedom of 7000 prisoners of war in 422.58 But ecclesiastical banking facilities were perhaps best displayed when church silver of Constantinople and Edessa helped to finance the last Roman-Persian war: in 621 Heraclius was given in loan the silver of St Sophia to pay his army59 and the follow­ ing year Chosroes II had removed from the thirty-odd churches of Edessa, then under his control, a total of 112000 lbs. of silver.60 It is known that the furniture revetments of St Sophia of Edessa were on a scale with those of St Sophia at Constan­ tinople, they could, therefore, have totalled 20000 lbs. Other chur51. Mundell Mango, Koraon, nos.30, 57-59. 52. See n.5 above. 53. J. Adhémar, 'Le trésor d'argenterie donné par Saint Didier aux églises d'Auxerre (Vile siècle)', RA, ser. 6, no.4 (1934), 45. 54. С. Johns, 'The Risley Park lanx', AntJ, 61 (1981), 53 ff. 55. CIC, Nov, 128.15. 56. Mundell Mango, Koraon, 3. 57. Unpublished lecture given at Collège de France, Paris, in 1979. 58. Socrates, Hist. Eccles., с XXI. 59. Dodd, Silver stamps, 32 f.

260

THE USES OF LITURGICAL SILVER, 4th-7th CENTURIES

ches of Edessa may have had an average of 3000-5000 lbs. each,61 as we have seen that one ciborium could weigh 2000 lbs. At the other end of the scale is the village church with up to fifty lbs. or more in silver. In sum, a silver church object had multiple uses, namely liturgical, votive and economic. To discuss its uses to adorn and impress would require a separate study. Because of its intrinsic value, silver was more often melted than buried, but when con­ cealed and recovered it assumes a new use in helping us to inter­ pret certain aspects of the early church.

60. Chronicon ad ann. Christi 1234pertìnens, ed. and trans. A. Abouna (CSCO, 354, Scr. Syri, 154, Louvain, 1974), 180; see Mundell Mango, 'Value'. 61. Mundell Mango, 'Value'.

261

262

Luxury and Liturgy: the function of books JOHN LOWDEN 'What is signified by the Gospel (εύαγγέλιον) and the Cross on the altar?' The question was asked by Symeon, archbishop of Thessalonika (d. 1429), in his discussion Peri te tou theiou Naou} His answer provides the orthodox Byzantine view in the middle and late periods: 'The Gospel which lies visible on the altar is a type (τύπος) of Christ, and the Cross of His sacrifice'.2 This interpretation had been explicitly propounded by the Second Council of Nicaea in 787, which stated that the holy Gospel is a type of Christ, and hence it is appropriate to venerate it.3 In­ deed, in the context of the Iconoclast controversy this tradition of veneration was of special importance, for it could be used to General Note: This paper reproduces the text of the lecture as delivered in the Symposium, with some minor amendments. There are, however, fewer illustrations. My intention was to open up for reconsideration and discussion various fundamental questions, which, it seemed to me, were raised by liturgical books. The entire subject is one which richly deserves, and urgently needs further study. The Psalter has been excluded from the discussion, partly due to the limitations of a short paper, partly because it raises rather different problems (see J. Lowden, Observations on illustrated psalters', ArtB, 70 (1988), 241-60, for further discussion). 1. Symeon of Thessalonika, De sacro tempio, 705, question 13: τί το Εύαγγέλιον και σταυρός εν τη τραπέξη κείμενα. See also Symeon of Thessalonika, Uber die göttliche My'stagogie, trans. W. Gamber (Regensburg, 1984), 17 par.13. 2. Symeon of Thessalonika, De sacro tempio, 705: "Ov [sc. τον Ίησοΰν και τό Εύαγγέλιον, επί τού θυσιζαστηρίου όρώμενον, καΐ ό σταυρός, την θυσίαν αύτοϋ δηλών. 3. Mansi, XIII, 377. And see Η.-J. Schulz, Die Byzantinische Liturgie, 2nd ed. (Trier, 1980), 85* and n.217, 97 and n.13.

263

JOHN LOWDEN

justify, by extension, the iconodule position on holy images: it was right to venerate icons of Christ because, like the Gospel, they were types of the Godhead.4 Veneration of the Gospel in its physical form must then have been universally practised in the Byzantine world by the eighth century, and in all probability goes back to the early period. For Byzantines the Gospel, and specifically the volume they termed the Evangelion, was the book (figs. 42-3). In the early period, the word Evangelion, in addition to 'Gospel' or 'Gospels', could mean the lection from the Gospels, and the book of the Gospels. But in later centuries it appears to have been more specific: the Evangelion is the book we call the Gospel lectionary. That is to say it contains only excerpts from the four Gospels, arranged to follow the movable church calendar, beginning at Easter, and the fixed civil calendar, beginning on 1st September. The book which contained the full text of the Gospels in the usual order was distinguished from the Evangelion by use of the newly invented term τετραευάγγελον or τετραευαγγέλιον6 Because of its primary position among liturgical books it will be the Gospel lectionary which we will focus on, but it may be helpful first to make some more general points about books and the liturgy. As a general rule, I think we can assume that most of the work­ ing books needed for the liturgies and offices in the episcopal and parish churches and monasteries of the Byzantine world were not luxury items. This is not to say that they were cheap, for we 4. Schulz, Liturgie. For an example of the iconodule position, see St John of Damascus: 'We do not adore the matter of the Gospel book (εύαγγέλιον) or the matter of the cross, but that which is expressed by them,' as cited by Mango, Art of the Byzantine empire, 170. 5. Lampe,Lexikon, s.v. εύαγγέλιον, esp. sections F-G. 6. Some citations in Thesaurus Graecae linguae, ab Henrico Stephano constructs . . . 3rd. ed. (Paris, 1831-65), s.v. τετραευαγγέλιον.

Opposite: Fig. 42: Mt Athos, Lavra, Skevophylakion Lectionary, front cover. Photo after S. Pelekanidis et ai, Oi Thesauroi to Agiou Orous, HI (Athens, 1979), 24 264

LUXURY AND LITURGY: THE FUNCTION OF BOOKS

know that materials and labour meant that all books were in fact rather costly.7 But most would not have been given especially lavish treatment in the form of illustration, decoration, chrysography (writing in gold), or bindings enriched with precious metals, gems, or enamels. With the exception of the Gospel lectionary, most of these books were comparatively inconspicuous in the service, providing the active participants with necessary texts, or acting as aides-mémoires. It follows then that when a luxury copy of a liturgical text is encountered it is necessary to think about the circumstances which brought it into being, and not merely to take its existence for granted. The study of il­ luminated manuscripts, because it often excludes from considera­ tion all but luxury examples, tends to give the misleading impres­ sion that these books are normal, rather than exceptional. As examples of some of the questions raised by luxury manuscripts made for the liturgy, we can first consider the illustrated Euchologia, (fig. 44) long scrolls on which are written the texts to be spoken by'the celebrant, usually in the mass.8 Of the 100 or more surviving Euchologia, it seems that perhaps 10% have some illustration. Most contain the liturgy of St Basil or of St John Chrysostom, but some of the luxury examples have a more specialised text. Mt Athos, Dionysiou 101, for example, contains the officiant's texts only for Pentecost and Epiphany, one on each side.9 An illustrated roll formerly in the Russian Archaeological Institute in Istanbul contained only the office for Pentecost, and the Liturgy of the Presanctified.10 Obviously, in 7. See first N.G. Wilson, 'Books and readers in Byzantium', in Byzantine books and bookmen (Washington, DC, 1975, 1-17, esp. 3-4. 8. Helpful preliminary discussion by A. Grabar, 'Un rouleau liturgique constantinopolitain et ses peintures', DOP, 8 (1954), 161-99. 9. S.M. Pelekanidis et al., The treasures of Mount Athos. Illuminated manuscripts, (Athens, 1974), I, fig. 149. 10. Grabar, 'Rouleau', 167.

Opposite: Fig. 43: Mt Athos, Lavra Skevophylakion Lectionary, fol. lv, Anastasis. Photo after Pelekanidis, III, fig. 6 267

LUXURY AND LITURGY: THE FUNCTION OF BOOKS

would have been read from sixteen times per year. But whereas some of the surviving books show significant signs of wear and tear, such as Moscow GIM gr. 146 (fig. 46),15 others remain in excellent condition, and some appear almost unused, such as Sinai gr. 339 (fig. 47).16 This observation raises a question of method. We can safely deduce that a book in pristine state has rarely been read. But a book that is worn or damaged is often enigmatic. Its condition might be the result of, let us say, twenty years hard use, but this need not necessarily have taken place when the manuscript was new. Such a book might have been intended as a 'treasure', and initially have remained unused for decades, or even, as in the Sinai example (fig. 47), for centuries. The question of intended use should then remain open, to be considered anew with each individual manuscript. But as a work­ ing principle, it may be helpful to begin from the somewhat paradoxical assumption that luxury books, even when functional in content, were rarely intended to serve as working copies. And to judge from surviving examples, the main working books of the liturgy, for example those containing the texts not spoken by the celbrant, such as the Hirmologion, Triodion, Pentekostarion, Octoechos, Horologion, and so on, were rarely if ever given luxury treatment. Unlike any other book, the Gospel lectionary was both a sym­ bol of Christ, and an essential piece of liturgical equipment, like the chalice, paten, and cross.17 As far as we can judge, it pro­ bably stood with the cross on the altar, even when no service was 15. Galavaris, Liturgical Homilies, 229-32, figs. 1-18. 16. Galavaris, Liturgical Homilies, 255-8, figs. 377-97. 17. Useful starting points are provided by Schulz, Liturgie; P. de Meester, 'Grec­ ques (liturgies)', in DACL, VI.2, cols.1591-1662; Mathews, Early churches of Constantinople.

Opposite:

Fig. 45: Moscow, GIM gr. 429, fols. 18v-19r. Akathistos, start of Oikos XIII. Photo after V.D. Likhachova, Byzantine Miniature, (Moscow, 1977), no. 45 271

LUXURY AND LITURGY: THE FUNCTION OF BOOKS

in progress. It was ceremonially carried by a deacon in advance of the celebrant as part of the First or Little Entrance. And it was again carried ceremonially to and from the ambo or lectern before and after the Gospel reading.18 For all these reasons it was appropriate that the book should be treated in a special way. In the first place this would seem to imply that a conspicuous and costly cover would be appropriate, ideally gold or silver set with gems or enamels. Unfortunatley, few original Byzantine bookbindings survive, and luxury bindings are very rare. Several examples are preserv­ ed among the treasures of S. Marco in Venice, reused to fit latin manuscripts,19 but an example of such a cover still in place is provided by the famous Skevophylakion lectionary at the Lavra on Mt Athos (fig. 42). Like the S. Marco examples, this book was kept, as its name suggests, among the ecclesiastical treasures, not in the library. I think we can assume two things about such bindings. First, they were usually made only for Gospel lectionaries. And second, they are mostly lost because of their in­ trinsic value, for they could all too easily be wrenched off the books they covered, and the precious metals and gems put to new use. Despite the lack of original bindings, luxury lectionaries can still be identified on the basis of the care and costliness of their production: gold or silver script, outsize letter forms, lavish ornament or miniatures. There are very few surviving lectionaries written entirely in gold or silver, but, and this is probably more 18. Helpful discussion in Mathews, Early churches of Constantinople, esp. 139-49. 19. The treasury of San Marco, Venice, (Milan, 1984), 124-8 (cat.9), 152-5 (cat. 14), with a discussion by M. Frazer; see also 176-8 (cat.20).

Opposite: Fig. 46 Moscow, GIM gr. 146, fol. lv, Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzos, Anastasis and Teaching scene. Photo after G. Galavaris, The illustrations in the Liturgical Homilies of Gregory Nazianzenus (Studies in manuscript illumination, 6, Princeton, 1969) 273

LUXURY AND LITURGY: THE FUNCTION OF BOOKS

surprising, there are also comparatively few illustrated lectionaries. A preliminary survey of the 2,000 + lectionaries listed by Aland suggests that less than 2°Io (fewer than 50 manuscripts) were illustrated.20 Certainly the relative proportion and absolute number of illustrated Gospel Books is very much higher. The paucity of illustrated lectionaries needs to be emphasised, for the literature gives the impression that such manuscripts are rather numerous.21 In the present context, the small total provides the stimulus to ask how much manuscripts were used. There are two basic types of Gospel lectionary, those with readings for the entire year, and those with all the readings for Easter to Pentecost, but only those for Saturday and Sunday in the remaining weeks.22 Many of the luxury books, however, fit neither of these categories. Instead they have a much shorter text, containing only the readings for selected days. The total number of books with these selected readings is small, although impossi­ ble to gauge accurately in the present state of research (see Appendix for a preliminary list). Of Aland's 2,000 + lectionaries, many are of unspecified content, but only about 20 are listed as containing selected readings; perhaps a truer figure could be as high as 5%, to judge by the first 250 manuscripts listed, for which the content is better known. This total includes some, but not all of the illustrated lectionaries. Yet all the lectionaries with select 20. K. Aland, Kurzgefasste Liste der griechischen Handscriften des Neuen Testaments (Berlin, 1963), 205-318 (on lectionaries, sigla /1-/1977), and Aland, Materiálen zur Neutestamentlichen Handschriftenkunde (Berlin, 1969), 'Forsetzung der "Kurzgefasste Liste" ', 30-7 (sigla / 1998-/ 2146). 21. E.g. the remarks of S. Tsuji: 'It is beyond doubt that from the tenth to the twelfth century, Lectionary illustration, along with monumental and icon paintings, played a most important role in developing typical mid-Byzantine artistic formulae', ed. G. Vikan, Illuminated Greek manuscripts from American collections (Princeton, 1973), 38. 22. Brief description in Aland, Liste, 24; fuller details in C R . Gregory, Textkritik des Neuen Testaments (Leipzig, 1900-9), 344 ff.

Opposite: Fig. 47: Sinai gr. 339, fol. 4v, Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzos, St Gregory. Photo after Galavaris, fig. 377 275

JOHN LOWDEN

texts deserve careful scrutiny. For example, the first two such manuscripts in Aland's list are largely ignored by scholarship, yet one, Paris, gr.278, is a tenth century manuscript written in a huge and mannered uncial, which is closely comparable with the script of Vat. gr.1522, an important illustrated lectionary.23 And the second, Vat. gr.351, also a tenth-century book, is des­ cribed in the rarely efffusive Vatican catalogue as 'liber splendidissimus.'24 The text of these lectionaries simply cannot be ignored if we wish to understand them. It must provide a vital clue to why they were made and how they were used. It is not enough merely to call a book a Gospel lectionary, so as to distinguish it from a Gospel Book. A Gospel lectionary containing merely a selection of texts, whether or not it was illustrated, was certainly a luxury item and the result of a special commission. By its very existence it presup­ poses that a working lectionary with the full complement of readings would be required for normal use. It is reasonable to deduce that such books were intended for display, and only read from on special occasions, even if their texts would have made possible more frequent use. If these books were principally intended for display, presumably closed on the altar, it is fair to ask why they were provided with illustrations at all. Why not simply make do with splendid covers? Perhaps this is what did happen in some cases, which would go some way to explaining the rather small number of illustrated lectionaries. But what of the magnificent exceptions, like the 23. Cited by G. Cavallo, 'Funzione e strutture della maiuscola greca tra i secoli VIIIХГ, in La paléographie grecque et byzantine (Colloques internat. CNRS, 559, Paris, 1977), 109, 136 figs. 148-9. 24. R. Devreesse, Codices vaticani graeci, II, Codices 330-603 (Vatican, 1937), 32-3. See also Cavallo, 'Funzione', 108 and 133 fig.43.

Opposite: Fig. 48: Sinai, gr. 204, p. 1, Christ Photo after P. Huber. Heilige Berge, Sinai, Athos, Golgota-Ikonen, Fresken, Miniaturen (Zurich, 1980), fig. 9 276

Sinai gr.204 (/ 300) Athens EBE 177 (/ 398) Vat.Chisi.R.VII.52 (= gr.43) (/ 538) Athos, Chilandar.105 (/757) Sinai gr. 210 (/ 844) Jassy, BU, Eminescu IV.34 (/ 1044) ? Berat, Metrop Alexoudes 48 (/ 1209) London BL Add.32643, f.185-95 (/ 1234) Moscow GIM Usp.1163 (/ 1390) Patmos gr.769 (/ 1719) Cesena, Bibi. Malatest.D.27.4 (/ 1911)

280

INDEX

281

INDEX Bohemond, 143 Bo'üas, Eusthathios, 134, 278 Boleron-Strymon-Thessalonika, theme of, 127, 131 Boris-Michael, 171 Bryennios, John, 130-1, 136 Bryennios, Nikephoros, 126, 133, 138-9 Bulgaria, 128, 130, 135-6 theme of, 132 Caesarea, 156 Cag (Caginkom), Church of St George, 253 Chalcedon, bishop of, 133 Chersoń, 215-20 Chomatianos, Demetrios, Archbishop of Ochrid, 83, 87-9, 95-9, 102-4 Choniates, Michael, 146 Chosroes I, 256 Chosroes II, 245, 249, 260 Chrysostom, John, 9, 11-14, 16-17, 21-2, 24-6, 32, 34-5, 37, 42, 54, 144, 153, 156, 169 Colchis, 137 Constantia (Cyprus), 157 Constantinople, 41, 54, 116, 139, 146, 169, 250, 260 churches Blachernae, 177, 179-80 Hagia Sophia, 8-9, 24, 26, 37, 61, 68, 71, 112-13, 250, 252, 260 Holy Apostles, 213 Nea Ekklesia, 186 baths, 166, 176 Zeuxippos, 170, 173-4, 177 Great Palace, 185, 216 hospitals and hostels, 157 St Elias, 113 ta Anthemiou, 177 ta Paschentiou, 177 Zotikos, 109 monasteries Chora, 116 Evergetis, 37, 161 St Lazaros, 186 St Mamas, 176 Studios, 37 ton Hodegon, 176 Corinth, 215-16

Agnellus, 245 Aizanoi, 173 Alexandria, 32, 53, 154 Church of SS Cyrus and John, 168 Amaseia, 73 Amisos, 74 Ambrose of Milan, St, 25 Amnia, 115 Amphilochios, Archbishop, 259 Anastasios, Metropolitan of Heraclea, 113 Anastasioupolis, bishopric of, 111 Andreas of Crete, 37-40, 42, 45 Andrew of Peristerai, St, Monastery of, 117 Ankyra, 110 Antioch, 24, 153, 172, 239, 245, 256 Apamea, 256 Apokaukos, John, Metropolitan of Naupaktos, 83, 88-9, 176 Arabissus, 250 Arethas, 172 Aristenos, Alexios, 68, 71, 75-6, 80, 92, 97 Artemios, St, 168, 180 Athanasios of Alexandria, St, 24, 201 Athanasios, St, of Athos, 115, 117, 119 Athens, 215-16 Athos, monasteries on Iviron, 122 Lavra, 115, 228 Attaleiates, John, 138 Attaleiates, Michael, 115, 118, 121, 160 Auxerre bishop of, 259 churches of, 260 Balsamon, Theodore, tit. Patriarch of Antioch, 22, 26, 68, 71, 73-80, 82-5, 92-4, 96-7, 101-3, 171 Basil the Great, St, of Caesarea, 32-3, 36, 101, 140, 146, 166 Basil of Seleucia, 34-5 Bestes, Theodore, 67 Beth Misona, Church of St Sergios, 253, 259-60 Bitola, 127

282

INDEX Cornelius, Bishop of Rome, 152 Cosmas and Damian, SS, 168 Councils of Church Neokaisareia (315-24), 73 Nicaea I (325), 64 Laodicaea (325-381), 170 Antioch (341), 85 Sardika (342/3), 85 Constantinople (381), 64 Carthage (418), 84 Ephesos (431), 64 Chalcedon (451), 64 in Trullo (691/2), 36, 66, 76, 78-80, 85, 103, 109, 170 Hieria (754), 17 Nicaea II (787), 17, 65, 66, 202, 263 primasecunda Constantinople (861), 84, 173 Constantinople (1157), 16 Crete, 119 Cyprus, 157 Cyprus Treasure, 233 Cyril Phileotes, St, 120, 123, 160 Cyril of Scythopolis, 12 Dalmaţia, theme of, 131 Darnel the Stylitě, 253 Daphni, Monastery of, 200-1 Dara, 256 Devol, 131 Dinogetia, 216 Doukas, Constantine, 127, 131, 136 Doukas, John, 130, 133, 136-9 Dyrrachion, 130 theme of, 132 Edessa, 249, 257, 260-1 Egeria, 31-2 Egypt, 24 Ekklesiai, 125, 128 Elmah Kilise, 206 Elizabeth, St, of Heraklea, 155 Emperors, Roman Valentinian III, 245 Emperors, Byzantine Constantine I (306-37), 245, 249 Constantius (337-61) Theodosius II (408-50), 245 Justin I (518-27), 245 Justinian I (527-65), 23, 65, 158

novels of, 64, 66, 92, 97-8, 120, 253 Tiberius II (578-82), 184 Maurice (582-602), 184 Constantine V (741-75), 116 Constantine VI (780-97), 115 Nikephoros I (802-811), 114, 117 Theophilos (829-42), 184 Michael III (842-67), 184 Basil I (867-86), 62 Leo VI, the Wise (886-912), 40-2, 56, 63, 185, 207 novels of, 82, 96, 101 Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos (913-59), 27 Nikephoros II Phokas (963-969), novels of, 117-20 John I Tzimiskes (969-976), 117, 186 Basil II (976-1025), 132 novels of, 121 Constantine IX Monomachos (1042-55), 27, 68, 70, 184 Isaac I Komnenos (1057-59), 118 Alexios I Komnenos (1081-1118), 63, 73, 131, 146 novels of, 71, 82, 83 John II Komnenos (1118-43), 72 Manuel I Komnenos (1143-80), 64, 73 novels of, 82 Michael VIII Palaiologos (1259-82), 64, 68 John VI Kantakouzenos (1347-54), 134 Empresses, Byzantine Eudocia, 158 Pulcheria, 158 Irene (797-802), 139 Zoe (1042), 184 Maria of Alania, 139 Enantiophanes, 67 Ephesos, 79, 116, 160 Church of St John, 145 Epiphanios of Salamis, 156 Epiros, 88 Episkopi, 241 Eudoxios the Arian, 14 Euthymios I, Patriarch of Constantinople, 42

INDEX Kaper Koraon (Kurin), Church of St Sergios, 253, 255-9 Karanhk Kilise, 209 Kastrenoi, 143 Kekaumenos, 134 Kerch, 216 Kiev, Church of Hagia Sophia, 200, 206 Komnena, Anna, 63, 126, 141 Komnenos, Adrian, 126, 133, 138 Komnenos, Isaac, sebastokrator, 175 Komnenos, John, 136, 141 Kourion, 225-43 Kosmas II Attikos, Patriarch of Constantinople, 64 Kosmosoteira Monastery, 175

Forty Martyrs, 36 Galesion, Mt, 116 Gaza, Temple of Zeus Mamas, 158 Geoffrey de Villehardouin, 174 George of Nikomedia, 40-2 Germanos I, Patriarch of Constantinople, 8, 20, 38, 42, 163 Glavenica, bishop of, 139 Gregory of Nazianzos, St, 24, 33, 44, 144, 163, 166, 173, 269 Gregory of Nyssa, St, 33, 166, 206 Hellas, theme of, 136, 145 Hierissos, 122 Hippolytus of Rome, 25

Lakedaimon, 176 Lazaros, St, of Mt Galesion, 115, 159 Leo, Archbishop of Ochrid, 140 Leontios of Neapolis, 154 Lips, Constantine, 115 Liudprand of Cremona, 145-6 Luke Chrysoberges, Patriarch of Constantinople, 82

Iasites, 126 Jerome, 32 Jerusalem, 154, 156, 239, 250 Asklepion, 253 churches, 249 Anastasis, 31, 38 hospitals, 157 of Justinian, 109 John of Damascus, St, 17, 38, 40, 42, 163, 191, 221 John of Ephesos, 178-9, 180, 183, 245 John, Bishop of Kitros, 85 John the Almsgiver, 154 John III Scholastikos, Patriarch of Constantinople, 67 John VIII Xiphilinos, Patriarch of Constantinople, 43, 68 John IX Agapetos, Patriarch of Constantinople, 43 John XIV Kalekas, Patriach of Constantinople, 43 Juliopolis, bishopric of, 111 Justin Martyr, 151 Justiniana Prima, 143

Maximos Confessor, St, 20, 160, 162, 210, 212-13 Melania, 155 Melissenos, Nikephoros, 135, 138 Mesarites, Nicholas, 213 Mesembria, 216 Michael I Keroularios, Patriarch of Constantinople, 113 Michael HI of Anchialos, Patriarch of Constantinople, 70, 73, 82 Michael, Bishop of Chalcedon, 138 Michael the Synkellos, 116 Michael, protostrator, 127 Mistra, Church of Virgin Peribleptos, 212 Mogiła, 127, 131 Morava, bishop of, 140 Moschos, John, 23, 168, 180 Myriokephalon (Crete), Monastery of Theotokos, 119

Kabasilas, Constantine, Metropolitan of Dyrrachion, 85 Kabasilas, Nicholas, 7, 16, 19, 20-3, 210 Kallikles, Nicholas, 127, 133 Kamateros, Gregory, 126, 133, 138

Naupaktos, 176 Neophytos the Recluse, St, 141

284

INDEX Prokopios the Deacon, 41 Psellos, Michael, 139 Pseudo-Denis, 206 Pseudo-Eusebius of Alexandria, 35

Nicholas I Mystikos, Patriarch of Constantinople, 172 Nicholas III Grammatikos, Patriarch of Constantinople, 71 Nicholas, Bishop of Methone, 16-17 Nicholas of Andida, 20, 21, 26 Nicholas of Sion, St, 257 Nikephoros, Patriarch of Antioch, 160 Niketas, imperial doctor, 138 Nikon 'Metanoieite', St, 119 Nikopolis, 241 Niphon the Bogomil, 64 Novgorod, 216

Qartamin, 252 Raidestos, 115, 160 Ravenna, 252 churches Sant'Apollinare Nuovo, 228, 245 S. Vitale, 245, 248-9, 257 Rhomaios, Eustathios, 89, 113 Riha Chalice, 260 Risley Park Lanx, 260 Robert de Clari, 174 Rome, 252 churches Lateran Basilica, 229, 250 S. Lorenzo in Lucina, 250 St Peter's, 249 Temple of Saturn, 260 Rusafa, 249, 257

Ochrid, 131-2, 135-6, 142-3 Hagia Sophia, 140 Origen, 32, 39, 44, 88, 94 Oxyrrhynchos, 157 Pakourianos, Gregory, 136 Palaiologos, George, 126-7, 133, 139 Palestine, 116 Pancratios, St, 246 Panteugenos, Soterichos, 16 Paphos, bishop of, 141 Paramythia, bath at, 175 Paristrion, theme of, 131 Paul, St, 34, 153 Paul the Silentiary, 24, 252 Pelagonia, 131-2 bishop of, 131, 139 Perescepina Treasure, 220 Petronas, 224 Phela, Church of Theotokos, 252 Philippi, 167 Philaretos, St, 115 Photios, 8, 12, 41, 62 Polites, Niketas, 138 Pologos, 131 Polygyros, Monastery of, 117 Pontos, 24, 137 Popes Nicholas I (858-67), 171 Porphyrios, Bishop of Gaza, 111, 154 Preslav, 216 Prespa, 131 Prisdiana, Bishop of, 140 Proclus of Constantinople, 34-5 Prokopios of Caesarea, 8, 252

Sabas, St, 157 Samos, 172 Samson, 157 Sarabaon Treasure, 256 Sarkel, 216 Seleucia, 167 Serbia-Sirmion, theme of, 131 Serblias, John, 138 Severus of Antioch, 246 Side, Metropolitan of, 139 Sinai, Mt, 156 Sion, Church and treasure, 249, 259 Sisinnios II, Patriarch of Constantinople, 66 Skopje, 131 Skoutariotes, Theodore, 64, 69 Socrates, 32 Sozomen, 32 Stagoi, 176 Stephen the Deacon, 10 Stethatos, Niketas, 144 Stroumnitza Bishop of, 140 Monastery of Eleousa, 140 Symeon of Thessalonika, St, 17, 19-20, 27-8, 263

285

INDEX Symeon the New Theologian, St, 12, 26, 169 Symeon the Stylitě the Elder, St, 253 Symeon the Stylitě the Younger, St, 168, 253 Synesios, 24, 140

churches Hagia Sophia, 172 St Demetrios, 172 Theotokos Acheiropoietos, 172 Tivoli, 250 Torcello, 24 Tornikes, George, 145 Triaditsa, bishop of, 140 Trebizond, Church of Hagia Sophia, 212 Tzetzes, John, 175

Taman, 216 Tarasios, Patriarch of Constantinople, 44, 154, 181 Taronites, Gregory, 137 Taronites, John, 140 Tertullian, 25, 95, 151 Thecla, St, 167 Theodore of Andida, 20-1, 26 Theodore of Mopsuestia, 9, 20 Theodore of Smyrna, 139 Theodore of Studios, St, 20, 40, 117, 224 Theodore of Sykeon, St, 110-11, 246 Theophanes, 114 Theophilos, Patriarch of Antioch, 15 Theophylact, Archbishop of Ochrid, 125-47 Theophylact, Bishop of Nicaea, 154 Thessalonika, 79, 216

Vardar, River, 125 Venice, Church of S. Marco, 24, 273 Water Newton Treasure, 252 Xenos, John, St, 119, 161 Xeros, Gregory, 69 Yezdegerd, King of Persia, 245 Zonaras, John, 71-3, 75, 77, 91-2, 97, 102-3

286