Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300-550 Ce 2021940862, 9780198869788, 0198869789

Table of contents :
Cover
Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 CE
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Contents
List of Abbreviations
Introduction
1: Educational Communities
1.1 Educational Practices, the Individual, and the Community
1.2 Grappling with the Educational Baggage of Catechumens
1.3 Paideia and Religious Affiliation
1.4 The Educated Few
1.5 Education, Allegiances, and Exclusions
2: The Emergence of Religious Education
2.1 Christianity and Education
2.2 Education and Religion in Antiquity
2.3 Reading the Classics through the Christian Glass
2.4 Raising Athletes for God
2.5 ‘In the Symbol of the Cross Every Christian Act Is Inscribed’
2.6 Education as Proof of the Genuine Christian
2.7 Religious Education from the Alpha to the Omega
3: What Men Could Learn from Women
3.1 Ancient Schooling: A Training Ground for Elite Men
3.2 Leaving the Trodden Path of Conventional Education
3.3 Stripping Paideia of Its Habit-Forming Force
3.4 Trailblazers of a New Model of Education
3.5 Thinking Education ‘with’ Women
4: The Life of Paideia
4.1 Education and Life
4.2 Leaving the Study and Reaching Out to Others
4.3 Templates for the Life of Learning
4.4 Towards a Christian Liberal Leisure
4.5 The Educated Ethos
5: Moulding the Self and the World
5.1 The Never-Ending Process of Bildung
5.2 The Art of Reading the World
5.3 The Armchair Traveller
5.4 Kicking Away the Ladder
5.5 ‘I Shall Equip Your Mind with Wings’
5.6 Cultivating the Self
6: The Making of the Late Antique Mind
6.1 Education and History
6.2 Museumizing Antiquity
6.3 Sounding the Death Knell for the Classics
6.4 Historicizing the veteres
6.5 Through the Lens of Modernity
6.6 Towards a Postclassical Mentality
7: Conclusion
References
Index

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Education in Late Antiquity

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Education in Late Antiquity Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce JA N R . ST E N G E R

1

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3 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Jan R. Stenger 2022 The moral rights of the author have been asserted First Edition published in 2022 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2021940862 ISBN 978–0–19–886978–8 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.001.0001 Printed and bound in the UK by TJ Books Limited Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

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Acknowledgements This book would not have seen the light of the day without the generous financial support of the Leverhulme Trust. It is, therefore, my heartfelt desire to extend my thanks to the members of the Trust Board for awarding me a Major Research Fellowship for the period 2016–19. I doubt it would have been possible to embark on this project without this sustained period of full-time focus. Julia Smith (Oxford), Henriette van der Blom (Birmingham), and Matthew Fox (Glasgow) were the first readers of my initial thoughts on this project and helped me with their perceptive comments to turn them into a worthwhile application. For this I owe them a great debt. I also benefitted from the support of Susanna Elm (Berkeley), Andrew Louth (Durham), and Mark Vessey (Vancouver). A Senior Fellowship at the Cluster of Excellence ‘TOPOI’, Berlin, in summer 2017 and a fellowship at the Swedish Collegium for Advanced Study in the academic year 2017–18 allowed me to make significant progress on the project. I would like to express my gratitude to these institutions and especially to the former director of the Swedish Collegium, Björn Wittrock, for creating such an inspiring environment. I very much enjoyed the ‘freien Umgang vernünftiger sich untereinander bildender Menschen’ (Friedrich Schleiermacher) at the Collegium, in particular the conversations with Rebecca Earle (Warwick) about religious education. The exchange with my co-fellows broadened my intellectual horizon and, thus, provided a truly formative experience. Portions of this book were publicly presented at events in Berlin, Göttingen, Uppsala, Leicester, and Rome. I remain grateful to the thoughtful audiences for taking part in the discussions and providing valuable feedback on my thoughts. The staff of the university libraries at Glasgow, Berlin, Uppsala, and Würzburg, of the National Library of Scotland at Edinburgh, of the Institute of Classical Studies in London, and the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich were always helpful. In the final stage, the help of my former doctoral student James McDonald (Glasgow) was invaluable. He carefully read the entire draft of the manuscript and improved my English. His work has saved me from many mistakes, for which I am immensely grateful. At Würzburg, Johannes Kern with his diligence spotted many inconsistencies and inaccuracies in the manuscript. Finally, I would like to thank the anonymous readers of the Press for their helpful suggestions and the editorial staff at Oxford University Press for their assistance and flexibility.

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Contents List of Abbreviations

ix

Introduction

1

1. Educational Communities 1.1 Educational Practices, the Individual, and the Community 1.2 Grappling with the Educational Baggage of Catechumens 1.3 Paideia and Religious Affiliation 1.4 The Educated Few 1.5 Education, Allegiances, and Exclusions

17 17 20 32 42 53

2. The Emergence of Religious Education 2.1 Christianity and Education 2.2 Education and Religion in Antiquity 2.3 Reading the Classics through the Christian Glass 2.4 Raising Athletes for God 2.5 ‘In the Symbol of the Cross Every Christian Act Is Inscribed’ 2.6 Education as Proof of the Genuine Christian 2.7 Religious Education from the Alpha to the Omega

57 57 61 69 75 80 88 95

3. What Men Could Learn from Women 3.1 Ancient Schooling: A Training Ground for Elite Men 3.2 Leaving the Trodden Path of Conventional Education 3.3 Stripping Paideia of Its Habit-Forming Force 3.4 Trailblazers of a New Model of Education 3.5 Thinking Education ‘with’ Women

99 99 106 119 128 137

4. The Life of Paideia 4.1 Education and Life 4.2 Leaving the Study and Reaching Out to Others 4.3 Templates for the Life of Learning 4.4 Towards a Christian Liberal Leisure 4.5 The Educated Ethos

141 141 146 159 173 185

5. Moulding the Self and the World 5.1 The Never-Ending Process of Bildung 5.2 The Art of Reading the World 5.3 The Armchair Traveller 5.4 Kicking Away the Ladder 5.5 ‘I Shall Equip Your Mind with Wings’ 5.6 Cultivating the Self

189 189 195 203 212 224 234

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viii contents

6. The Making of the Late Antique Mind 6.1 Education and History 6.2 Museumizing Antiquity 6.3 Sounding the Death Knell for the Classics 6.4 Historicizing the veteres 6.5 Through the Lens of Modernity 6.6 Towards a Postclassical Mentality

239 239 248 255 262 270 282

Conclusion

285

References Index

293 319

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List of Abbreviations CCSG CCSL CSEL GCS GNO PG PL PLRE SC

Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller Gregorii Nysseni Opera Migne, Patrologia Graeca Migne, Patrologia Latina The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire Sources Chrétiennes

References to Greek authors follow the abbreviations of Liddell-Scott-Jones and, for Christian authors, those of Lampe 1961. References to Latin authors follow the practice of the Thesaurus Linguae Latinae.

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Introduction Education can be a divisive issue. When the Gothic court at Ravenna in 526 ce debated the upbringing of King Athalaric, a serious conflict erupted. Athalaric was the grandson and successor of Theoderic the Great but, as a minor, still under the guardianship of his mother Amalasuintha. On one side of the divide was the boy’s mother, herself of sharp mind and well educated. If everything had gone according to her plans, Athalaric would have received a thorough training by mature experts in Latin grammar and letters, so as to adopt the lifestyle becoming for Roman nobles. On the other, a clique of powerful Goths mounted resistance. ‘Letters’, they asserted, ‘are widely separated from manliness, and the teachings of old men for the most part results in a cowardly and submissive mind.’ Alleging that already Theoderic had evinced dislike for literate education in favour of training in arms, they forced Amalasuintha to abandon the aspirations for her son and replace the three elderly tutors with the company of boys who were to share Athalaric’s life. From then on, the child king’s fate was sealed, as the Greek historian Procopius informs us. These lads, only a little older than Theoderic’s grandson, soon enticed him into drunkenness and debauchery, until any advice of his mother fell on deaf ears.1 But, as Edward Gibbon dryly remarked on Athalaric’s nature, ‘the pupil who is insensible of the benefits, must abhor the restraints, of education’.2 This episode from the introduction to Procopius’ Gothic War, undergirded by stark binaries—female/male, Roman/barbarian, effeminacy/manliness, and intellect/practical virtue—allows us a fascinating glimpse into the debate on education and formation in late antiquity.3 Embellished by the historian’s imagination, the dramatic clash at the royal court not only condenses the political and cultural tensions arising from Ostrogothic rule over Italy but also pushes into the limelight questions around which late antique thinking about paideia 1 Procop. Goth. 1.2 (γράμματά τε γὰρ παρὰ πολὺ κεχωρίσθαι ἀνδρίας, καὶ διδασκαλίας γερόντων ἀνθρώπων ἔς τε τὸ δειλὸν καὶ ταπεινὸν ἀποκρίνεσθαι ἐκ τοῦ ἐπὶ πλεῖστον). For another view on Amalasuintha’s education see Cassiod. var. 10.3, the letter in which she appoints Theodahad as her partner in her reign. The piece contains a eulogy of formal education and its power. 2 Gibbon 1994: 648–50, the quote at 649. However, in Cassiod. var. 9.21 (to the senate of Rome) Athalaric, in the words of Cassiodorus, praises grammar’s benefits, claiming that it distinguishes Romans from barbarians. 3 Kaldellis 2004: 106–10 discusses the representation of rulers in the opening of the Gothic War, arguing that having an education half Roman and half Gothic, Athalaric is shown between the two extremes of the excellent but illiterate statesman, Theoderic, and Theodahad, the learned philosopher who was utterly incompetent as a ruler. See also Stewart 2020: esp. 71–97 on gendered discourse and sentiments concerning Romans and Goths in Procopius.

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0001

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2 education in late antiquity and personal development was revolving. It contrasts two education systems, the centuries-old tradition of Graeco-Roman schooling in letters and rhetoric, and a barbarian model of socialization in a peer group, with a strong preference for the cultivation of strength and will. As the contents, methods, aims, and outcomes of late Roman education are called into question by barbarians, Procopius’ cultured readers are encouraged to cast a glance from a different, external angle at their cherished pedagogic principles and traditions, even if, in the end, the superior value of those venerated traditions is reaffirmed by Athalaric’s steep lapse into degeneration. Education, the account suggests, was a catalyst for negotiating key issues of culture and society, such as gender, ethnicity, the relationship between theory and practice, and the foundations of leadership, particularly in a time of profound transformation. Procopius’ eavesdropping on the argument in the inner circles of Gothic power draws our attention to the wider implications of training and formation: the personality produced by different processes of upbringing; the morality underpinning pedagogic ideals; the hidden curriculum tacitly at work in any education; and the role of socialization in guiding human beings from childhood to adult age. In this respect, the controversy, stylized though it is, is emblematic of preoccupations of the late Roman elites. This monograph intends to, as it were, adopt Procopius’ perspective and look at how people of the late antique Mediterranean were thinking and discussing questions of upbringing, formal education, and self-formation. It investigates what may be termed educational ideologies, that is, reflections on the conditions, contents, methods, objectives, outcomes, and paradigms of education, both formal and informal. At times, these issues were addressed in full-fledged theories and manifestos, but more often than not they were embedded in wider contexts, sometimes, as in the episode just seen, couched in the language of narratives. Existing scholarship tends to concentrate on the practicalities of education in the late Roman Empire, on schools and individual teachers, on the curriculum, and on the well-documented student life of the major cities.⁴ In particular the work on the school practices and the papyri was a corrective to a field that had previously overlooked these sources.⁵ However, our investigation aims to show that we are missing out a crucial dimension of education if we neglect the theorization made by educational thinkers, be it explicit or implied. As to the scope of our analysis, we shall cover the period spanning from c.300 to 550 ce, the Latin west as well as the Greek east, and both pagan and Christian authors. The focus will be on the pivotal second half of the fourth to the beginning ⁴ See, for example, Riché 1976 (schooling in the west), Vössing 1997 (schools in North Africa), Cribiore 2001 (schooling in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt), Heath 2004: 217–54 (teaching practice in rhetoric, mainly Libanius), Watts 2004 (student travel), and Watts 2006 (Athens and Alexandria), Cribiore 2007 (Libanius), Penella 2007 (Himerius), Watts 2015: 51–8 (student life), Amato et al. 2017 (school of Gaza). ⁵ See Morgan 1998, Cribiore 2001, and Webb 2001.

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introduction 3 of the fifth centuries, as in the course of these decades the late antique discourse on education had its heyday and generated considerable, often polemical, debate on the right way to equip people for their lives. It is this broad scope that allows us to discern ideas and attitudes common to westerners and easterners, and shared by adherents of the traditional cults and the followers of Christ, while scholarship is predominantly compartmentalized along disciplinary boundaries. A superficial look at the literary output of late antiquity is sufficient evidence that these centuries saw a proliferation of educational thinking, often driven by the eminent literati, including Chrysostom, Jerome, and Boethius. Paideia was a central issue of the time, whether in the secular realm or within the church; it was a pervasive topic in literature, thought, and society, across political and religious turbulences. The examination of the concepts of education and formation will thus recover an important layer of the culture of late antiquity. Although in scholarship the critical engagement of late antique church fathers with classical paideia has attracted great interest for a long time, the common perception of educational philosophy is used to focusing on classical and imperial thinkers as precursors of the modern discipline of pedagogy. When historians of education reach back to ancient civilization, Plato and Isocrates, Quintilian and Plutarch usually dominate the scene, and not without reason.⁶ It was in democratic Athens that the public discussion of paideia reached its first peak, as the new political conditions put upbringing, training in useful skills, and the acquisition of knowledge centre stage.⁷ Athenian democracy created a framework in which as many people could partake in political decision-making and jurisdiction as never before. This widening of access and participation raised the question of what competences and skills were needed to exercise one’s political rights in a successful and responsible manner.⁸ The sophists tried to satisfy this demand by offering professional teaching to the affluent upper class, promising their students the expertise and techniques that seemed to be vital for gaining and retaining power and influence in the polis society.⁹ It would have been a surprise if in a democratic city this model of education had remained unchallenged. At the same time as the sophists, and in competition with them, Socrates’ way of philosophizing aimed at encouraging his disciples to seek the truth and reflect on the very possibility of knowledge, rather than imparting factual knowledge and skills. Following in Socrates’ footsteps, Plato, above all in the Republic, launched a scathing critique of Athenian elite schooling and proposed a revolutionary model

⁶ Brooke and Frazer 2013 is representative. If histories of the philosophy of education include Graeco-Roman antiquity, they usually cover Plato, Isocrates, and Quintilian, sometimes also Aristotle, the Stoics, and Augustine. See the contributions in Curren 2003. ⁷ For brief surveys of educational thinking before late antiquity see Morgan 1998: 9–21 and Barrow 2015. ⁸ See Ober 2001 on the debate on civic education in democratic Athens; further, Livingstone 2017. ⁹ Jaeger 1943–5: 1.298 considered the sophists the founders of pedagogy.

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4 education in late antiquity that was meant to educate children and adolescents for the higher good of a new society governed by philosophers.1⁰ Simultaneously, the sophistic pedagogy provoked another thinker, Isocrates, not only to establish his own school but also to develop a theory of teaching and learning that envisioned as the outcome of the education process the citizen who possessed practical judgement and learning, and knew how to express them in a politically effective manner.11 The tremendous and long-standing success of his teaching made Isocrates one of the most influential philosophers and theorists in the history of education. We would, however, be mistaken to think that the discussion of education was the preserve of intellectuals and serious philosophers alone. Far from it, Isocrates with his speeches addressed the wider Athenian public, and the comedies of Aristophanes and other playwrights brought Socrates’ and Plato’s philosophical teaching to the theatre stage, where they subjected them to ridicule and criticism before the Athenian citizen body.12 Paideia was an eminently public topic. Educational ideologies again gained momentum centuries later, and under widely different political conditions, in the Roman Empire of the imperial age. In this period, discussion of learning, teaching, and formation was not disconnected from politics and society either. Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria, which enjoyed an enormous afterlife well into modern times, was far more than a practical handbook furnishing the would-be leader with applicable skills and a reading list to cultivate his eloquence.13 Rather, his synthesis of rhetoric included moral formation, with the greater aim of the full development of humanity. While Quintilian promoted the ideal of the well-educated Roman man putting his eloquence in service of morality, Plutarch was more philosophically-minded, erecting his education theory on Plato’s philosophy. Plutarch defined paideia as the formation of the human character, the attainment of ethical excellence, which enabled humans to live the good and happy life. Consequently, the formation process had no limits in terms of age, gender, or life setting. For all its philosophical aspirations, Plutarch’s programme had obvious societal relevance, for it hoped to produce able statesmen who would be ethical teachers of the body politic.1⁴ The same ideal pervaded the treatise On the Education of Children, falsely attributed to Plutarch.1⁵ Its anonymous author devised a comprehensive education scheme for children of 1⁰ See in particular Books 2, 3, and 7 of the Republic. For Plato’s educational thought see, for example, Kamtekar 2008. Plato’s presence is dominant in Werner Jaeger’s classic on Greek paideia (Jaeger 1943–5). 11 Muir 2015. According to Marrou’s 1956 account, a new direction was given to Greek education by the two beacons, Plato and Isocrates. 12 In particular Aristophanes’ Clouds, first performed in 423 bce and afterwards revised, with its comic distortion of Socratic pedagogy, and the representation of teaching in Plato’s Academy in a thirty-seven-line fragment of an unnamed comedy by Epicrates (fr. 10 K.-A.). See also a fragment from Antiphanes’ Antaeus (fr. 35 K.-A.). Further prominent evidence for the public interest in education is the trial of Socrates in 399. 13 See Bloomer 2011: 81–110. 1⁴ Xenophontos 2015 and Xenophontos 2016. 1⁵ See Connolly 2001 and Bloomer 2011: 58–80.

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introduction 5 the upper echelons to remedy the many flaws of imperial educational practice. Drawing on the three factors of nature, instruction, and exercise, the wide-ranging programme not only deals with many practical aspects of child rearing but also pursues an agenda situated in the wider context of imperial society. All pedagogic measures, from choosing the right nurse to physical exercise, are designed to produce a good citizen who unites the management of civil affairs with philosophy. The imperial education discourse continued many lines of thought drawn by the Athenian thinkers but adapted them to the changed conditions of the Roman Empire. Both educational ‘movements’ were strongly oriented to, and indicative of, the contemporary state and the preoccupations of their societies. If we believe the majority of scholars working on late antique schooling and pedagogy, this synchronicity or correlation broke down in the later Empire. After classical Athens and imperial Rome had given the two major impulses, the theorization and practice of formal education seemed to be caught in a standstill for the centuries to come. In the wake of Marrou’s magisterial study of ancient education, it has often been described how, once the seeds of rhetorical and philosophical instruction had been sown in the fifth and fourth centuries bce, the Hellenistic era primarily contributed to the full development of the Greek education system.1⁶ This was the state that the Romans inherited when they conquered the Hellenistic kingdoms and integrated from Greek culture what appeared to them superior and useful for their own needs. With the adoption of Hellenic education in Rome, the system became ever more formalized and structured, as richly documented in rhetorical handbooks, practical exercises, and school papyri from the imperial period.1⁷ Since later centuries seem to have added or changed nothing of significance, late antiquity is treated, if at all, in surveys of ancient education merely as an appendix, in agreement with the older prejudice that this period was anything but original.1⁸ What has enhanced this image is the increased interest of recent decades in the performance culture of the Second Sophistic. Scholars frequently emphasize that Libanius and his late antique colleagues exhibit the same traits as, for example,

1⁶ See, for example, Marrou 1956 and Morgan 1998. Marrou’s motivations and his humanistic viewpoint, including his criticism of his own times, have been discussed by Too 2001 (the entire volume is intended as a revision of Marrou’s narrative) and the contributions in Pailler and Payen 2004. 1⁷ Studied by Morgan 1998 and Cribiore 2001. Bloomer 2011, however, argues that Roman education was not just a copy of Greek education and highlights the variety of teachers, students, materials, and methods in the Empire. 1⁸ As is the case in Marrou 1956 and still in Bloomer 2015. Morgan 1998: 24 concludes, ‘By the mid-third century bce, on the evidence of the papyri, most of its [literate education] elements were established in the order which they would maintain for nearly a thousand years.’ In the 1949 Retractatio to his 1938 monograph on Augustine, in the light of his work on ancient education, Marrou was more appreciative of the ability of late antique education to develop (Marrou 1938: 672–4). He then acknowledged some progress in rhetorical instruction, while in the first part of the book he had spoken of the ‘caractère formel, sclérosé, de l’école antique’, which he attributed to the classicism that dominated every part of ancient education (51–2, the quote at 51).

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6 education in late antiquity the sophists Aelius Aristides and Favorinus, which has led to an overemphasis on the use and functions of paideia in late antiquity.1⁹ Consequently, the prevailing picture of education from the fourth century ce onwards is one of inertia, utter conservatism, and a failure to go with the times.2⁰ It has been noted that educational papyri from the third century bce to the beginning of the eighth century ce look very similar.21 Further, what students learnt in the classrooms of Himerius, Ausonius, and Choricius was largely the same fare that students of the Augustan or Antonine times had to memorize. Raffaella Cribiore therefore notes ‘the substantially “frozen” quality of education’ and the limited changes that occurred over the course of this long span of time.22 Robert Kaster is another important voice that supports this image, stressing that the schools of grammar and rhetoric were sound-proof against the outside world and in no way affected by the changes of the period. ‘The schools of literary study’, he claims, ‘at best did nothing to prepare their students to understand change; at worst, they blinded them to the fact of change.’23 And, with regard to the seemingly absurd scenarios endlessly rehearsed in the school declamations of late antiquity, Robert Browning speaks of the ‘hermetic exclusion of the world in which such men were to pass their lives’.2⁴ Only occasionally are scholars ready to acknowledge that in the late Roman schools there were, to some extent, changes, for instance innovations in the rhetorical curriculum that responded to earlier transformations in the theory of argument and stylistic theory.2⁵ However, these adaptations did little to overhaul the education system as a whole. How likely is it, we may be wondering, that in an age that is now seen as the period of marked transformations the education sector remained totally immune to change and innovation, as the rare bird of the period? While not denying the strong and palpable continuities in schooling across the epochal watershed of c.300 ce, this monograph aims to challenge the dominant 1⁹ Anderson 1993: 41–6 and Schmitz 1997: 34 (also noting the different conditions of late antique society). Most prominently, Brown 1992 has shown that paideia in late antiquity fulfilled social and political functions very similar to those in the preceding centuries. See also Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen 2015. 2⁰ Jaeger 1943–5: 1.xiv identified this phenomenon as a cultural universal: ‘Educational ideals are often extremely stable in the epoch of senile conservatism which marks the end of a civilization—for example, in pre-revolutionary Confucian China, towards the end of Greco-Roman civilization, at the end of Judaism, and in certain periods of the history of the churches, of art, and of scientific schools.’ 21 Morgan 1998: 47. 22 Cribiore 2001: 8. See also Webb 2017: 140. 23 Kaster 1988: ix and 12–13 (the quote at 13). See also Watts 2015: 55, who overstates that fourthcentury schools ‘physically and emotionally insulated students from the larger world’, so that these did not notice the enormous political and religious changes going on around them. 2⁴ Browning 2000: 862. 2⁵ As Heath 2004 has argued. He also tries to counter the myth that rhetorical teaching no longer had practical functions and applications but rather operated as a social mechanism, as has been claimed for the Second Sophistic. Szabat 2015 insists that the education sector of late antiquity saw innovation and flexibility, but falls short of substantiating her claim with evidence, other than the rise of legal studies. What she does show is only that there was lively educational activity across the Greek-speaking world.

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introduction 7 view by taking a different avenue to late antique paideia. If we shift the focus from practice in the schools to the analysis of theorization, we may re-evaluate the relationship between education and society in this period. Thanks to burgeoning research into various aspects of the period from the tetrarchy to the threshold of the Middle Ages and Byzantium, we have come to appreciate that these centuries so decisive for the formation of European civilization were by no means suffering under wholesale decline but were rather marked by in part dramatic upheavals and symptoms of transition.2⁶ Older scholarship, spellbound by the triumph of Christianity, the fall of the Roman Empire, and Germanic invasions, liked to see collapse and decadence all over the Mediterranean. Now we possess a more nuanced image of late antiquity that takes account of geographic and temporal variation, and is alive to local signs of prosperity, while not ignoring clear evidence for contraction and decline. Overall, the image has shifted from effeteness and disintegration to one of a dynamic period, as scholars have moved on to understand late antiquity on its own terms. It is this revised paradigm that has to be the context for an examination of the contemporary education discourse. Late antique studies have traced historical processes in a wide range of fields. Major lines of the scholarly debate are the Christianization of the Mediterranean world and the establishment of the church; empire-wide administrative reforms; material and social transformations in the cities of the west and the east; economic developments, such as the changing patterns of agriculture, food crises, and the new perception of poverty; the influx of barbarian peoples and its repercussions; and fragmentation, including the gradual drifting apart of east and west.2⁷ These phenomena not only altered the face of the Roman Empire as a whole but also affected, in various ways and to different degrees, the lives of communities and individuals. It is, therefore, reasonable to assume that the theory and practice of upbringing, formation, and education, as a crucial element in human life, did not constitute an island far removed from the shifting sands of society at large. Even if what was routinely going on in the late Roman schools did not directly respond to societal changes, the attitudes to education, the values and functions attributed to it, and the significance of education for individuals within late antique society are likely to have undergone revision. The following outline seeks to make this assumption plausible, as an introduction to our investigation.

2⁶ Already Marrou 1938 had inaugurated a revision of the image of decadent late antiquity (esp. 543–4, 663–5, 689–702). For the still ongoing debate on transformation and decline see Ward-Perkins 2005, Ando 2008, Rebenich 2009: 88–92, and Mitchell 2015, a detailed account of the entire period. 2⁷ See, for example, Mitchell 2015. For an up-to-date synthesis of the changes and their impact on ordinary lives see Sessa 2018. The essays in Föller and Schulz 2016 explore the changing relationships between east and west. Further, see the volumes in the series Late Antique Archaeology (from 2003 on, edited by Luke Lavan et al., published by Brill).

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8 education in late antiquity Although, as scholars have contended, curriculum and methods of the rhetorical schools were uniform and consistent across regions and places, the still dominant model of male education did not go uncontested. While the sons of the upper strata flocked to the schools in the hopes of a public career and acquired there a homogeneous class habitus, the discourse on education did have its controversies. The philosopher Themistius, though himself an outstanding example of a successful and urbane pepaideumenos, was critical of students, and parents, who expected teachers to primarily impart knowledge and skills that would pay in the currency of power, possessions, and status. In Themistius’ eyes, paideia was nothing of the sort but aimed solely at the cultivation of virtues and self-perfection.2⁸ The young Augustine disparaged the traditional schools and their social functions, advertising instead a kind of intellectual conversion. True eruditio and doctrina promised happiness and a fulfilled life, in deliberate withdrawal from the treadmill of the schools.2⁹ Other thinkers, for example Gregory of Nyssa, challenged the male supremacy in education by celebrating women learners and teachers as alternative models of paideia.3⁰ Competition also arose when the dominant model of rhetorical training had to fend off attractive newcomers, the budding studies in law and shorthand. In addition, the centuriesold feud between rhetoric and philosophy was revived. Teachers and litterateurs such as Libanius, Themistius, Eunapius, and Synesius bear witness that there was public controversy over the best way to shape the life of a young person. In the face of criticism, they publicly promoted their preferred models. Instead of inertia and universal agreement, we find diversity and competing ideologies, as discussed in Chapters 1, 3, and 4.31 Such disagreement opens avenues for study of the education concepts available at the time. The diversity of the education discourse is also reflected in the settings and formats in which it emerged. It is significant that late antiquity saw a number of full-blown theories of education, mainly within the realm of the church. But Chrysostom, Augustine, and Cassiodorus did not plough a lonely furrow.32 Their ambitious programmes were joined by theorization put forward in school speeches, public addresses, letters, biographic literature, and further genres. Even emperors and Germanic kings issued edicts concerning the schools, taking the opportunity to make official pronouncements on the value of literary education to society (Chapters 1 and 4). The settings in which the state of education was 2⁸ Them. Or. 20 and 27. 2⁹ Aug. c. acad., ord., beat vit. 3⁰ Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 31 This observation ties in with what Peter Brown has stated about the mentality of late antiquity in general. He argues for an important difference between the cultures of the imperial age and late antiquity. While in the age of the Antonines there were centripetal mechanisms that blurred the hard edges of competitiveness, from the third century onwards the elite became increasingly unable to curb these centrifugal forces. It was a development from an age of equipoise to an age of ambition, with a general unleashing of competitive urges in the late Empire (Brown 1978: 27–53). See also Brown 1992: 19–20 on the fracturing of the late antique elites. 32 Chrys. educ. lib., Aug. doctr. christ., Cassiod. inst.

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introduction 9 discussed varied no less. On one end of the spectrum, private conversation often gave rise to personal statements on the content and benefits of paideia, such as when bishop Isidore of Pelusium expressed to a newly ordained lay reader his belief that empire and church fared well only if administered by men imbued with logoi.33 On the other end, Themistius expressed his educational ideas before the senate of Constantinople and the illustrious circle of the imperial court. Catechumenate and regular church services provided further opportunities for putting ideologies and visions up for debate (Chapters 1 and 3). On many occasions, educational theorists of late antiquity entered the public arena to make known what they deemed proper training and formation and where current pedagogic practice failed. Sometimes these public appearances could descend into fierce battles, such as the one fought at Antioch between Libanius and local critics of his education system.3⁴ What is more, the promoters of both ethical formation and intellectual studies by no means addressed only the forum of erudite connoisseurs. This they did, of course, but in particular churchmen had a vital interest in reaching out to ordinary Christian parents, regardless of social status and educational background. Education became a major concern for many stakeholders, and the range of their interests is reflected in the remarkable polyphony of the discourse. While specialists in the world of letters were often the primary audience, a much wider segment of the population had a stake in the debate on education—a characteristic that late antiquity shares with classical Athens.3⁵ In many cases, we see such statements on paideia, whether made pro domo or from a disinterested standpoint, provoked by specific debates and urgent issues, though they responded, of course, to the numerous changes of the times only selectively. Educational thinkers on the basis of their authority as literati, political, or ecclesiastical leaders attempted to offer in these contexts solutions and clarify their positions. In doing so, they took into account the dramatic transformations surrounding them. In the perception of the Gothic king Athalaric, already mentioned, or rather his ghostwriter Cassiodorus, the crisis of cities in Italy, exacerbated by the withdrawal of the curiales to the countryside, not only threatened orderly political life but also shook the whole of higher education to the core. In response, the ruler averred that the classical city was the cradle of civilization, but that it could only flourish as long as liberales scholares brought their learning to bear on its cultural and political life.3⁶ Some years earlier, Athalaric’s predecessor, Theoderic, expressed his belief that the world, faltering under uncertainty, rapid change, and confusion, was in dire need of a secure, immovable anchor. Intellectual studies, above all arithmetic, by nature inclined 33 Isid. Pel. ep. 1.322 (PG 78.369). 3⁴ Lib. Or. 62. 3⁵ Pace Barrow 2015: 289, who contends that educational thinking in antiquity never generated much public interest. 3⁶ Cassiod. var. 8.31, addressed in c.526/7 to Severus, who was probably governor of LucaniaBruttium. For a detailed analysis see Lepelley 1990. See also Deliyannis 2016: 234–5.

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10 education in late antiquity to certissima ratio, ordo, and dispositio, in sum an immobilis scientia, seemed to him the perfect antidote.3⁷ The episode at the Gothic court related by Procopius also points to the longing for orientation and stability that education was thought to provide. In the meantime, the Gallo-Roman aristocrats, among them Sidonius Apollinaris, reinterpreted the old cultural ideal of Romanitas, including literary pursuits, to brace themselves for the ever wider barbarization of their homeland under Germanic dominance (Chapter 1). By contrast, the plans of the church fathers Gregory of Nyssa and Jerome for redefining the ethos and values of the aristocracy through an upbringing with strong ascetic overtones embraced change and they sought to accelerate it themselves (Chapter 3). These examples illustrate that the transformations of late antiquity could prove fertile ground for dynamism and change in the field of education. Even traditional ideas could assume new significance and importance in a changing environment. It is certainly no coincidence that, corresponding to the changes in society, late antiquity witnessed a surge in normative theories, encapsulated in authoritative definitions of ‘correct’ education. Emperor Julian and his former classmate Gregory of Nazianzus fought a literary battle over what true paideia was and who owned it, as Themistius and Synesius respectively did in reaction to their critics.3⁸ In the face of rivalling options and a perceived decline of rhetorical studies, Libanius of Antioch kept raising the standard of the genuine logoi. Matters of theological doctrine and idiosyncracies aside, the bitter enmity between Jerome and his erstwhile friend Rufinus was about the solely acceptable form of Christian erudition.3⁹ On the state level, although there was no such thing as an official educational policy, emperors and authorities paid increasing attention to the schools and higher studies and, at times, they made direct interventions in order to ensure good practice.⁴⁰ Unsurprisingly, the church also took measures to regulate the faithful’s dealings with formal education and occasionally issued to the clergy binding orders on how much traditional learning was deemed legitimate. Ecclesiastical authorities sought to ban clerics from reading pagan books, to no avail, and church statutes considered higher education expendable.⁴1

3⁷ Cassiod. var. 1.10.3 and 6 (addressed to Boethius, c.507–12). 3⁸ See, for example, Them. Or. 24.308a–309a and 33.365c–366a. Further, Iamb. Ep. 14, l. 5 Dillon– Polleichtner (ἡ ὀρθὴ παιδεία) and Synes. Dion 4.1 (τῆς ἀληθινωτάτης παιδείας). 3⁹ See Rebenich 2002: 47–50 and Chin 2008: 76–87. ⁴⁰ As Julian in his oft-discussed school edict of 362 and Cassiod. var. 5.4 (Theoderic promoting the combination of education and wisdom and stressing the value of learning among the senators). See also Constantius II’s letter read in 355 to the senate in honour of Themistius, in which he hails the philosopher as an educator of the whole people (included in Themistius’ speeches, 18c–23d). ⁴1 Stat. eccl. ant. can. 5 (CCSL 148.167.12–13): Vt episcopus gentilium libros non legat, haereticorum autem pro necessitate et tempore; Const. App. 1.6.1–6 (SC 320.116.1–13), suggesting the biblical books as a substitute for pagan literature: τῶν ἐθνικῶν βιβλίων πάντων ἀπέχου; Didasc. apost. (Codex Veronensis 55) 3.2–18 (ed. Tidner): Gentiles autem libros penitus ne tetigeris. Quid enim tibi est cum alienis verbis vel legibus aut pseudoprofetis, quae facile leviorib⟨us⟩ hominib⟨us⟩ errorem praestant? Nam quid tibi deest in verbo dei, ut ad illas gentiles fabulas pergas? See Gemeinhardt 2007: 316–18.

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introduction 11 Directives and authoritative guidelines bespeak the wish to draw boundaries, to achieve non-ambiguity amid changing parameters. In response to the polyphony of the education discourse, they sought to forge a new consensus and re-establish uniformity. One factor that had hardly played a role in earlier educational ideologies but became paramount, indeed a game changer, in late antiquity was religion. Although we should avoid the fallacy of making religion the absolute crux of the period, the impact that Christianization, the establishment of the church, and the Christian engagement with the surrounding culture had on educational thinking cannot be overestimated.⁴2 The church itself in all its facets was intertwined with the domain of teaching and learning in various ways. Since preaching was among the core duties of priests, consideration of the extent to which rhetorical training was required of clergy was almost inevitable. Moreover, many Christian bishops in their dealings with the court, magistrates, and notables could not dispense with refined eloquence and knowledge of letters, the more so as they themselves came from an elite background.⁴3 While vocational training was of little concern for classical pedagogic thinking, which rather focused on producing cultured gentlemen, job requirements now mattered more. Chrysostom and Augustine considered rhetorical abilities essential in a cleric, and hagiographies promoted the ideal of the well-educated bishop.⁴⁴ Yet education needed attention not only in respect to functionaries of the church. The institutionalized catechumenate created a new type of religious instruction that occasioned theoretical thinking. Teaching in this setting had objectives widely different from, and sometimes at odds with, the secular schools, as examined in Chapter 1. Moreover, as churchmen wanted to reform the lifestyles of their congregants more widely, regular church service assumed a school-like character, noted by the preachers themselves. However, the analogy to the traditional schools went only so far because pastoral pedagogy had to cater for the high and low alike, in contrast to the schools. This tension generated some theoretical reflection, not least about the risks of worldly paideia. The emerging monastic movement was another innovation that gave to education a new direction. From its inception, powerfully promoted by the seminal Life of St Antony, Christian monasticism was interwoven with a particular kind of wisdom. Taught by God alone, the monk single-handedly saw off the Greek intellectuals, or so the hagiographic sources boast. In fact, Christian ascetics adopted and adapted many practices, even specific exercises, from Graeco-Roman schooling.⁴⁵ Abba Arsenius (c.354–449), one of the desert fathers, frankly dismissed formal education in letters, but Dorotheus of Gaza, in the sixth century, ⁴2 Watts’s 2006 account of the philosophical schools in Athens and Alexandria creates the misleading image that late antique schooling was dominated by religious tensions and conflict. ⁴3 See Brown 1992, Sterk 2004, and Rapp 2005. ⁴⁴ Chrys. sac., esp. Book 5; Aug. doctr. christ., Book 4. ⁴⁵ See now the contributions in Larsen and Rubenson 2018.

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12 education in late antiquity had no qualms about running his coenobium like a philosophical school, including lecture-like presentations.⁴⁶ Also in the sixth century, Cassiodorus pursued the ambitious goal of setting up a monastery as a school in all but name, when he devised a detailed curriculum for his Vivarium. As an institution without exact precedent, the Christian church injected new ideas into pedagogy, to meet its specific needs. The new significance of religion in the trajectories of education generated novel thinking on various aspects, from lifelong education of ordinary people and widening the scope of pedagogy to formal instruction in religion and the re-evaluation of the role of literature and the school curriculum (Chapter 2). The rise of Christianity in the fourth century had a profound impact on the educational landscape not only within the institutions of the church and the monastery, however. Practical questions of the Christian life often triggered theoretical reflection on general lines of dealing with paideia. To be sure, from its infancy on, in the apostolic times, Christianity had a fraught relationship with higher education. But it was only with the fourth century that wide areas of knowledge were reformulated from Christian perspectives, most prominently the idea of history.⁴⁷ On a more personal level, elite Christians at the time, among them the Cappadocians, Chrysostom, Jerome, and Augustine, had to confront the serious question of the compatibility of faith with their refined education. Each of them felt compelled to address this issue, to become clear about the place and legitimacy of erudite studies in their lives, though they shared many arguments with earlier thinkers. A definitive solution remained out of reach, but what is important in our context is that the Christian position on learning was now an integral and central part of the mainstream educational discourse, as discussed in Chapters 1 and 2. Moreover, the debate on Christianity’s relationship with paideia was conducted not only between Christians and pagans but among Christians themselves. The acrimonious dispute between Rufinus and Jerome over Latin letters and Augustine’s rebuke of a student who cared too much about Cicero’s philosophy (epist. 118) are evidence that there was a variety of Christian responses to secular

⁴⁶ Arsenius was anything but a stranger to elite literary schooling. He was the son of noble Roman parents and possibly worked at the court as the teacher of Arcadius and Honorius but then, in c.394, retired to Scetis as a monk. See Apophth. Patr., Arsenius 5–6 on his rejection of traditional learning in favour of ascetic virtue and 42 on his career; further, the Greek Life of Arsenius, ed. F. Halkin, Hagiographica inedita decem (CCSG 21) Turnhout: Brepols, 1989, 91–110. Dorotheus of Gaza was also raised as a son of an elite family and received a thorough training in letters before he joined the monastic community at Tawatha. For his conception of the coenobium as a learning community see in particular doct. 6.77–8, for his theory of the ideal teacher ep. 2. Stenger 2017 examines the school-like traits of Dorotheus’ monastic instruction. ⁴⁷ See Inglebert 2001 on the Christian transformation of geography, ethnography, and history. Inglebert emphasizes that ancient education did not stay the same but was transformed in the process of integration into the Christian framework, in a kind of conversion of knowledge. He argues that its social, rhetorical, and political functions changed and converged into an ideological function, to express the world according to the religious framework of Christianity (13).

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introduction 13 education—and that cultured Christians sometimes descended into the same ferocious polemics as pagan intellectuals did. Christian attitudes to learning will therefore occupy a prominent place throughout our investigation. While existing studies tend to foreground ideas and preoccupations exclusive to Christians, we will see that, though both ecclesiastical leaders and lay believers sometimes addressed their own, distinctive pedagogic questions, they were part of the same cultural discourse and frequently held the same views on intellectual studies and formation as their pagan contemporaries.⁴⁸ In a sense, Christianity was the roof or umbrella under which various questions on education could be pondered, not only the question of whether classical paideia was compatible with faith. We have already mentioned that critical engagement with the ways in which the traditional schools imparted knowledge and skills was not a prerogative of Christians, although they in general evinced stronger scepticism toward rhetorical and philosophical instruction. Pagan thinkers also questioned the ideas and methods upon which formal education was predicated and the qualities that the accepted curriculum nurtured in young men. Writers such as Macrobius, Libanius, and Eunapius, it is true, were far from overturning the whole education system from top to bottom. Yet, they often articulated their criticism, and their own ideals, in terms of formation and self-perfection, rather than the acquisition of specific expertise and competences. When they advertised their visions of the good life emanating from learning, they preferred settings far removed from the mundane routine of the classroom. Augustine drew an idyllic portrait of a circle of likeminded learners in quest for the happy life in the quietude of a country estate, and Synesius envisioned a philosophical conversation in Socratic style with a select company, to enjoy complete intellectual freedom (Chapter 4). Significantly, many of the authors studied in this book pay scant attention to the minutiae of schooling and focus instead on the fundamentals of education, on the substance of processes of upbringing and formation. Their individual preferences aside, they explore what education means for an individual’s entire life after reaching adulthood, suggesting the superiority of Bildung (culture) over Ausbildung (education, training). This shift in interest was driven by a desire to make paideia meaningful for one’s being, to build one’s place in the world and social relationships on a particular kind of intellectual and ethical formation. What men like the disaffected young teacher Augustine and his eastern peer Gregory of Nyssa were looking for was personal fulfilment, a transformative experience generated by a new educational paradigm, as embodied, for example, in Gregory’s sister Macrina.

⁴⁸ This is rightly stressed by several contributions in Larsen and Rubenson 2018. An example of the approach that exclusively focuses on the ideas and concerns of Christians, as if their discourse had been separate from their pagan contemporaries, is the otherwise excellent study by Gemeinhardt 2007 (though he emphasizes that Christianity was part of the wider culture).

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14 education in late antiquity This is not to say that late antique thinking shunned the functional aspects of education completely. However, it now rather revolved around education as a lifestyle, not necessarily in the sense of the Second Sophistic, with its emphasis on display culture and social standing, but predominantly inspired by the wish to give sense and direction to one’s life. Outstanding learners and teachers who captured the late antique imagination—Sosipatra, Macrina, Moses, Origen, and others— perfectly illustrated this choice of life. Accordingly, the trend to look beyond the walls of the classroom, to consider the formation of personality more broadly, will be at the forefront of our analysis. It will be shown that late antiquity saw a return to a more fundamental, humanistic notion of education, to its essence as it were. In a changing world, the turn to something that could not be lost, to the self, had universal appeal (Chapters 3 to 5).⁴⁹ Finally, the dynamism and innovation of educational ideologies need to be situated in the context of the late antique zeitgeist. Over recent years, our image of the culture of the late Empire has been undergoing radical revision, in a scholarly debate that has not yielded general consensus yet. Studies mainly on the creative arts and Latin poetry have made us aware of the distinctive, postclassical voice of the age. Instead of frowning upon the deviations from classical aesthetics, as older scholarship did, we now have come to understand that late antique artists and writers in engagement with earlier models developed their own idioms. The reuse of older material in architecture and decoration, the penchant for fragmentation, bricolage, and miniatures seen in artwork show that the people of the period had an ambivalent relationship with the classical past.⁵⁰ On the one hand, the tradition still very much captivated the minds of artists and their audiences; on the other, they wanted to express an independent sensitivity. A similar move towards a non-classical aesthetics, with features comparable to the arts, has been noted for late Latin literature, while it remains to be seen whether Greek authors will be subjected to an analogous revision.⁵1 The changing relationship to the classics inevitably had repercussions for education. As late antiquity, an aetas hermeneutica or a ‘Kultur globaler Auslegung’, never ceased to engage with earlier texts, literate learning continued to be dominated by the classical greats, from Homer to Plato and from Vergil to Cicero.⁵2 Yet we discern in late antique ideologies of education a characteristic awareness that the relationship with the distant past was no longer seen as straightforward and unbroken. Quite the contrary, the look back to the venerated classics was a ⁴⁹ Cf. Jaeger 1943–5: 1.xxii–xxiii, who claims that this humanistic notion of Bildung, which is the essence of education in the Greek sense, ‘always reappears when man abandons the idea of training the young like animals to perform certain definite external duties, and recollects the true essence of education’ (xxiii). ⁵⁰ See, for example, Fabricius Hansen 2003 and Elsner 2006. ⁵1 For Latin literary aesthetics see Formisano 2007, Pelttari 2014, and Elsner and Lobato 2017b. See also Vessey 2015. ⁵2 For the notion of ‘Kultur globaler Auslegung’ (emphasis in the original) see Herzog 1989: 32–3.

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introduction 15 catalyst for the articulation of a late antique mentality, a feeling of temporal and spatial disconnect that originated a new model of temporality. The theorization and practice of education generated the very lateness of late antiquity, thus defining the era’s ‘autonomy’. Giving birth to an Epochenbewusstsein, an awareness of living in a distinct period, educational thinking enabled the literate experts to make sense of their times, as argued in Chapter 6. This intellectual operation allows us to identify the education discourse as a tributary of what we may term the ‘cultural revision’ of late antiquity, that is, the reinterpretation of cultural parameters in engagement with the past. This rough outline of the topic should be sufficient to suggest that a detailed analysis of educational ideas, of the conceptual level of paideia, in this period is worth our while. The following chapters will offer rereadings of well-known literary masterpieces, alongside studies of lesser known texts, to trace how the notion of education was debated, developed, and reformulated between 300 and 550 ce. It will be shown that reflection upon the conditions, contents, methods, and aims of teaching, learning, and formation was implicated in ideas and practices of wider society. An examination of these discussions thus helps us to better understand the mindset of the late Romans. This does not imply denying the obvious continuities in education theory and practice from the classical era to the postclassical world. The extent to which late thinkers were indebted to their classical precursors will surface throughout. However, we will see much more dynamism, changes, and novel ideas than has been hitherto acknowledged. Further, it would be inappropriate in light of the polyphony noted above to posit a monolithic, homogeneous paradigm of education across the late Mediterranean world. Yet, this monograph aims to give an account of defining trends in educational thinking that occupied major thinkers, even if they were not directly put to the test in pedagogic practice. What characterizes the prolific education discourse is a wide notion of paideia: whether pagan or Christian, whether in Latin or in Greek, late antique thinkers left a narrow definition of training, as embodied by the established schools, behind in order to discuss processes of formation more broadly, in terms not unlike the concept of Bildung in nineteenth-century German philosophy.⁵3 They took the whole human being into consideration and tried to explain how methodical efforts and studies delineated what it meant to be human. Therefore, our investigation will not limit itself to studying school education but adopt a comprehensive view. It is this approach that will establish the main traits of the discourse: that societal transformations strongly impinged upon the debate; that, in consequence, there was considerable dynamism and space for experimenting with new ideas; that this brought about a reinterpretation of paideia in many aspects, with an inclination towards a humanist definition; and, finally, that these developments make the

⁵3 See Chapter 5.1.

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16 education in late antiquity education discourse a perfect gateway to the preoccupations of the late antique world. The first book-length study devoted to the educational ideologies of the late Empire, this monograph recovers an underestimated dimension of education in this period and revises the image of a ‘frozen’ system that has dominated scholarship for too long.

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1 Educational Communities 1.1 Educational Practices, the Individual, and the Community In the introduction we have seen that research on late antique education, although it has made impressive progress, is still inclined to subscribe to the classicizing view that instruction in the late Roman Empire shied away from leaving the welltrodden paths of schooling of earlier centuries. Rarely does a study on learning and teaching in the period from 300 to 600 ce fail to mention that pedagogy, insulated from the changes of the late antique world, was not prepared to question what the authorities of the past had inaugurated.1 It seems that the educational landscape both in the west and in the east was united in firm consensus on the goals, contents, and methods of instruction. Once the system of rhetorical training and the philosophical schools had been fully developed in the Hellenistic and early imperial eras, inertia set in, as the elites were unwilling to deviate from a course that they deemed to be time-tested. The uses and functions of paideia in late Roman society seem to corroborate this picture. Peter Brown has argued that traditional education, mainly in its rhetorical form, operated as a shared communicative code among the elites. After the profound changes of the third century, this formalized, predictable education gave to them reassurance that nothing fundamental had changed. Paideia, according to Brown, generated consensus among the higher echelons and guaranteed cultural continuity.2 Yet, the image of an ossified education system and unbroken continuity in the sector can be attributed to a simplistic equation of education with what was taught and learnt in the schools. What has favoured this equation is, among other factors, the sheer abundance of texts related to schooling, from Aphthonius’ Progymnasmata to Choricius’ declamations, and from writing exercises on papyrus to Ennodius’ letters.3 When we direct our gaze beyond the daily practice of the schools, that is, beyond curriculum, teaching formats, skills, and student life, a more variegated picture begins to emerge. As numerous documents show, education in late antiquity, as in other historical periods, extended well beyond the walls of the classroom. Whether

1 e.g. Kaster 1988: 12–13, Browning 2000, Cribiore 2001: 8, and Krumeich 2006: 111. 2 Brown 1992: especially 39–40, 118–26. See also Vössing 1997: 596–8, who notes the integrating function of education in late antique society. 3 See Larsen 2018 on late antique school texts.

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0002

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18 education in late antiquity Jerome was fighting an intellectual battle against his erstwhile companion Rufinus, Emperor Constantine was giving a speech on Christ and the Trinity, or Gregory of Nazianzus was playing with funeral epigrams for relatives and acquaintances, what people had learnt in school still mattered in their adult life, and it mattered in various contexts.⁴ Education as a topic was ubiquitous in communication. Not only that, writers of late antiquity would have been surprised by the view that learning and formation was something confined to the years spent in school. Studying and self-formation were rather seen as informing one’s entire life, as will become clear throughout our investigation.⁵ It was considered a never-ending process, as we are reminded so poignantly by Boethius’ Consolation, written as the sum of his life immediately before his execution. The exclusive focus of scholars on institutionalized forms and settings of knowledge acquisition and transmission runs the risk of losing sight of the ways in which theorists and practitioners departed from that point. This is not to say that late antique thinkers discounted literate and rhetorical education, far from it; but in fact, notions of education in many cases were embedded in broader ideologies, and pursued more ambitious goals. Concomitantly, the education discourse of the period was not as monolithic as many scholars like to think. To begin with, a considerable number of Christians, in particular churchmen, abandoned the entrenched consensus on education and contested the dominance, and usefulness, of formal training in literature, eloquence, and philosophy. However, it was not only the religious question that fuelled disagreement on education. Synesius’ polemic against the critics of his intellectual pursuits, for example, shows that conflicts could erupt between different educational camps, in this case between the protectors of an esoteric, highbrow paideia and those promoting a broad education that reached out to the wider public.⁶ To give another example of dissonance, Eunapius of Sardes in his biographical survey of philosophers, sophists, and medical experts left out the prominent teachers Hypatia and Themistius, apparently because they did not fit his vision of a homogeneous stream of Iamblichean philosophy.⁷ These examples remind us not only that there was room for diversity and disagreement but also that education was intertwined with broader discourses and ideologies. Christian unease with elite paideia, Synesius’ polemic, and Eunapius’ silence on intellectual dissenters demonstrate that teaching and learning had to do not only with the ethical and intellectual formation of the individual but also with communities and their ideologies, values, and world views.

⁴ See Hier. adv. Rufin. 1.30; Constantine, Oratio ad sanctorum coetum, delivered possibly in Rome in 313 (transmitted as an appendix to Eus. v.C.), esp. 9–11; Gr. Naz. epitaph. 5 (PG 38.13, on Prohaeresius), AP 8.122 (Euphemius). ⁵ This will be the focus of Chapters 4 and 5. ⁶ Synes. Dion 1.14, 5.2, 13.2, 15.2. ⁷ See Stenger 2009: 223 and Becker 2013: 37.

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educational communities 19 In this chapter, we will therefore explore the intersection of education and ideologies that were characteristically late antique and revolved around communities and their identities. Our investigation will focus on discussions that put the relationship between the individual, or the learner-subject, and the community centre stage. It will be argued that educational thought, though evidently linked to schooling, had a much wider scope and considered questions of group identity, allegiance, and exclusion in response to contemporary needs and concerns. For this aim, the following questions will be addressed: to what extent did the overriding concerns of groups shape educational ideologies? How did the champions of late antique communities relate the formation of individuals to the needs of the social group of which they were members? What educational practices did they deploy for shaping their community and demarcating it from the world outside? And finally, what did education according to them do within wider society, and how? Answering these questions will help us to make sense of the polyphony of the educational landscape. For the investigation into the link between education and community we can make use of a concept that has been introduced by the historian Brian Stock into the study of the emergence of religious heresy and reform movements in the Middle Ages.⁸ In order to analyse how competing groups within eleventh- and twelfth-century Christianity organized and defined themselves, Stock suggested the descriptive term ‘textual communities’, which draws attention to the central role that texts and textual practices played in the emergence, development, and life of religious groups. While texts are key to the internal organization of these communities and to their relationship with other groups, it is important to note that it was not necessarily literacy that was at the heart of the textual community but rather an interplay of the written and the oral. As Stock says, ‘What was essential to a textual community was not a written version of a text, although that was sometimes present, but an individual, who, having mastered it, then utilized it for reforming a group’s thought and action.’⁹ A number of characteristics identify a group as a textual community:1⁰ first, the group is defined by the use of texts; its life, thought, identity, and external relations are organized around an authoritative text or a set of texts, whatever their form is.11 Second, for the cohesion of the group to be maintained there must be a literate interpreter, an exegete who, often as a charismatic reformer and educator, expounds to the members the meaning of the text and thereby ensures the common understanding of it. Third, the two factors that shape the community’s life are education and religion. The members’ faith and piety revolve around the authoritative texts; and the texts ⁸ Stock 1983. Stock later elaborated on the theoretical foundations of the concept in Stock 1990: 140–58. ⁹ Stock 1983: 90. 1⁰ For a succinct definition see also Heath 2018: 5. 11 It is important to note that the notion of ‘text’ in Stock’s model is defined only loosely and thus remains somewhat elusive.

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20 education in late antiquity are used in the context of religious practices, for example in liturgical settings. As regards education, the process of learning, reading, and discussing the texts shapes the members’ attitudes and their behaviour towards one another, as well as their behaviour towards the outside world. And fourth, it is not so much the authoritative text per se that establishes and guarantees the group’s identity but rather the educational experience—the practices that develop around the text. While it is not necessary for the foundational text to be spelt out and interpreted all the time, it is essential that the members are bound together by shared, if often tacit, assumptions about the meaning of the text. Ritualized practices, habits of reading, and regular engagement with the textual tradition structure the interactions of the members. In recent years, the notion of textual communities has also been proposed as a heuristic tool in the study of ancient Christianity.12 In particular, it has been adopted in order to analyse the relationship and interplay between literacy and orality in the engagement of the early Christians with their sacred texts. What makes the notion so useful in our context is that it directs our attention to the interconnectedness of literate education, understood as a practice, and the community; it helps us to understand how late antique thinkers assessed the wider implications of formation processes, that is, the impact that education could have beyond the individual. By making use of this approach we will be able to see that writers of the postclassical Empire devised educational paradigms in order to position their communities in a transitional society. Our examination will focus on the following aspects: attitudes towards texts and their functions in education; methods of dealing with texts, reading, and explaining them; competitions with rival communities; and the role of education in defining communal identities. We will shed light on three settings in the fourth and fifth centuries in which education became crucial in the formation and delineation of communities: catechetical instruction in eastern and western Christianity; the Emperor Julian’s attempt at a consistent education policy; and the social and cultural life of the aristocracy in Gaul. These three examples will illuminate the emergence of educational communities, in the sense that thinkers reinterpreted learning in such a way that it could be exploited for shaping group identities and organizing relations with those who did not partake in this type of learning.

1.2 Grappling with the Educational Baggage of Catechumens A useful starting point for our discussion is provided by the catechetical instruction of the early church, whose kinship with classical schooling has not escaped 12 See Haines-Eitzen 2009. Heath 2018 critically reviews further applications of Stock’s model to Jewish, Christian, and classical antiquity.

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educational communities 21 the attention of scholars. It almost seems to be a truism that the teaching of the creed and elementary doctrine offered by priests to those who sought baptism resembled (if not in content, then at least in method and format) the practices of the schools of grammar and rhetoric.13 If the novices in the faith regularly attended the classes run by the clergy in order to learn, as it were, the alphabet of Christianity, it was hardly surprising that the catechists resorted to the GraecoRoman discourse of learning and teaching. By doing so, they drew on the lived experience of at least the members of the upper echelons, who had frequented the classes of the grammarians and rhetors. When, for example, bishop Cyril of Jerusalem (c.313–86) in the mid-fourth century was catechizing the higher class of catechumens, the photizomenoi, he, in the preparatory remarks, not only echoed the schoolmaster’s admonitions and advice about the work ethics required from students and stressed the systematic layout of his instruction but also stylized his catechesis as the superior counterpart to Greek schooling.1⁴ Modern scholars have acknowledged the high standard of teaching in the catechumenate, and William Harmless observed quite aptly that the churches envisioned this as ‘a sort of spiritual fitness program meant to touch mind, heart, body, and behavior.’1⁵ School-like instruction, though, was not confined to the short-term process of initiation. In fact, a considerable part of the regular communication in the churches took place in the form of lecturing to an audience of learners. Rising from two ancient cultures that highly valued the written word, Judaism and GraecoRoman civilization, respectively, it was not long before Christianity incorporated forms of preaching which were borrowed from both teaching in the synagogue and education in the schoolroom.1⁶ When preachers entered the pulpit to explain the Scriptures to their flocks or reform their morals they quite naturally made use of methods and formats, such as the diatribe and protreptic, which were available outside the church. On account of the close ties between the practice of Christian preachers and exegesis in the schools, Christian preaching has been viewed, in accordance with the Christians’ own perception, as a kind of scholasticization.1⁷ However, the similarity between Christian preaching and the schools was not a perfect one. We will see that churchmen underscored precisely the discrepancy between secular schooling and Christianity in order to forge a cohesive educational

13 See, for example, Studer 1996. See also Gemeinhardt and Georges 2018 on the development of institutionalized catechetical teaching. 1⁴ Cyr. H. procatech. 10–12 (ed. Reischl and Rupp, vol. 1.14–16); catech. 4.2–3 (vol. 1.90–2). See Ferguson 2009: 473–87 on Cyril’s theology of baptism and Lorgeoux 2018 on Cyril’s self-presentation as catechetical teacher. Young 2004: 468 speculates that, if Cyril’s lectures give insight into popular Christianity, a considerable level of understanding was demanded even from illiterate people. 1⁵ Harmless 2014: 73. The analogy is not far-fetched: Chrys. catech. 9.29 (SC 366.144–6; PG 49.228). 1⁶ For the origins of preaching in the Latin west and the influence of Jewish and Graeco-Roman traditions on the Christian sermon see Mayer 2018: 11–15. See also Mayer 2019: 244–6 on the scholarly discussion on synagogue and school as the origins of preaching and catechesis. 1⁷ Stewart-Sykes 2001. See also Young 2004: 482.

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22 education in late antiquity community. In particular, it will be examined how their ideal of a community based on shared educational practices aimed to overwrite the allegiances created by traditional education. In addressing their congregations, the clerics faced one peculiar challenge that the rhetor and the philosopher did not have to confront in the same way. As they regularly offered pastoral care and championed Christian morals on the basis of Scripture, the preachers delivered their sermons before crowds of very mixed backgrounds.1⁸ While grammarians and rhetors stood in front of socially homogeneous classes, the priest directed his words at the affluent elite as well as the poor, at women as well as men, and at old people as well as the young.1⁹ Some of them had been formally trained in the schools, most of them had not; the degree of literacy among them varied considerably, not to speak of the huge class differences.2⁰ Furthermore, since the practice of preaching had not sprung from nowhere, the preacher had to factor in expectations that his listeners had formed in other venues for public oratory. More than once, Chrysostom and Augustine had occasion to upbraid their flocks for their fondness of sophistic displays, their desire for entertainment, and their enthusiastic applause.21 The competitive relationship between exegetical preaching and the classroom was lost neither on the preachers themselves nor on their congregations.22 John Chrysostom in the church in Antioch often took biblical passages on teaching, discipleship, and children as a springboard for drawing comparisons between his own sermons and the education in the household and in the schools. At times, he highlighted the obvious analogies between the schoolteacher’s duties and the preacher’s efforts;23 at times, he insisted on the antagonism between secular schooling and Christian upbringing in order to make a case for the latter’s superiority in delivering what civic society urgently needed.2⁴ Moreover,

1⁸ MacMullen 1989 has argued that the preacher’s audience in the fourth century consisted mainly of the social elite. Other scholars have challenged this view, e.g. Clark 2001: 271 and Maxwell 2018: 352–3. 1⁹ Augustine, for example, emphasizes that the church is like a classroom, albeit one that is open to everyone regardless of gender, age, social status, and educational level (epist. 138.10: tamquam publicis utriusque sexus atque omnium aetatum et dignitatum scholis). See Clark 2012: 151–2, who also notes the important difference that Christian teaching was free of charge. See also Justin’s remarks in 1 apol. 60.11 and 2 apol. 10.8. 2⁰ See, for example, Maxwell 2006 on the composition of Chrysostom’s regular audience in Antioch. See also Cunningham and Allen 1998: 1–20 on Christian preaching in antiquity. 21 e.g. Aug. in psalm. 141.8 (CSEL 95/5.33.7–34.8); serm. 96.4 (PL 38.587); Chrys. hom. in 2 Thess. 3.4 (PG 62.485), hom. in Ac. 30.4 (PG 60.226–7). See also Gr. Naz. or. 41.25, 36.4, 42.24 on the proximity of preacher and sophist. Further, Jerome’s stern disapproval of rhetorical entertainment in the churches in Hier. in Gal. 3 praef. ll. 5–15 (CCSL 77A.157). Cf. Norden 1915: 551–2 and Gemeinhardt 2007: 322–5; further, Stuiber 1954. See also Maxwell 2018: 347–51 on the role of classical eloquence in Christian preaching. 22 See Maxwell 2006 on Chrysostom’s preaching in Antioch in the context of late antique oratory. 23 Chrys. hom. in Col. 4.4 (PG 62.330), hom. in 2 Thess. 5.5 (PG 62.499), hom. in Ac. 30.3–4 (PG 60.225–6). 2⁴ Chrys. hom. in Eph. 21 (PG 62.149–56), on Eph. 6:1–3, about children’s obedience to their parents. This is one of the most detailed discussions about child education in his homilies.

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educational communities 23 theoretical remarks on his own pedagogic methods, including repetition of key points and accommodation to the audience’s understanding, are legion in his homilies and show us the priest as a virtuoso pedagogue.2⁵ To illuminate Chrysostom’s strategy for annihilating the group allegiances implanted by the schools, our discussion will focus on one of his baptismal instructions, which he delivered to advanced catechumens in Antioch at some point between 389 and his move to Constantinople in 397.2⁶ In this catechesis, given in the week after Easter, Chrysostom addresses both neophytes and those who had been baptized already some time before.2⁷ As in the other baptismal instructions preserved among his works, he puts questions of morals and conduct in the foreground, with the aim that the neophytes adopt the truly Christian way of life.2⁸ This can be attained best, he advises them, if they disregard earthly and perishable goods for the true, spiritual goods. If Chrysostom’s catechetical orations with their teaching vocabulary and explicitly didactic approach cannot conceal their pedagogic impetus, this particular piece takes this one step further by discussing the nature of paideia itself. That Chrysostom regards the entire process of baptismal initiation into the mysteries of faith, and the Easter week in particular, as an education is made clear right in the opening of the discourse when he stresses the pedagogic effects and the spiritual encouragement of attending the gatherings at the martyrs’ graves.2⁹ As a matter of fact, the theme of education occupies the whole first part of the address, closely aligned with the overarching goal of denouncing the cherished values of contemporary society, above all riches and reputation, as unstable and elusive.3⁰ Taking the presence at the service of some monks from the Syrian countryside as a cue, Chrysostom points to what the members of his flock share with the seemingly provincial peasants. The countrymen, as brothers in faith, deserve the Antiochenes’ unreserved love, their foreign tongue notwithstanding.31 After having brought the Syrians’ ‘barbarian tongue’ to his congregation’s attention, the preacher easily proceeds to a discussion of true education, encouraging the townsfolk to learn ‘their inner thought’, despite the impossibility of verbal communication. Surprisingly, the rustics, although not partaking in ‘external learning’, emerge as the superior teachers: ‘what we try to teach by philosophizing in words’, Chrysostom unashamedly concedes, ‘they demonstrate through

2⁵ Chrys. hom. in 1 Tim. 13.1 (PG 62.563–5), Laz. 3.1 (PG 48.991). 2⁶ For the date see Kaczynski 1992: 39–44. 2⁷ Chrys. catech. 8 (SC 50.247–60). 2⁸ See Ferguson 2009: 533–63 on the nature of Chrysostom’s catechetical teaching. 2⁹ Chrys. catech. 8.1 and 16 (SC 50.247 and 256), both with reference to teaching. 3⁰ For Chrysostom’s re-education of the Antiochenes’ values and habits see Stenger 2019a: esp. 156–73. 31 They were probably monks living in the mountains around Antioch. Kaczynski 1992: 466–7 and Maxwell 2006: 78–9.

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24 education in late antiquity their deeds’, above all through the physical labour of farming.32 The simple backwoodsman (τὸν ἰδιώτην τοῦτον καὶ ἄγροικον), in stark contrast to the townsman vexed by worldly concerns, knows no more than farming and care for the soil; he does not care about the present things, which constantly perturb, as Chrysostom insinuates, his listeners, but about the eternal goods in heaven. Although never having set foot in a school, he even knows how to philosophize about the unspeakable goods, those things which the accomplished Greek philosophers, puffed up with their beards and staffs, could not even imagine.33 To drive home his paradoxical lesson, Chrysostom claims, ‘when teaching through works leads the way there is no more need for instruction through words.’3⁴ With this hyperbolic statement, the preacher directly challenges the cultural assumptions of his urban congregants, the firm belief that logos-centred paideia elevates the Greek man above the uncultured mob and the non-Greeks. As a preparation for the central message of this catechetical sermon, Chrysostom depicts the men from the Syrian hinterland as unsurpassed teachers. Their virtuous lifestyle is a far cry from the obsessive concern for reputation, status, and wealth so typical of the people of Antioch. The admirable countrymen have realized on their farmland the angelic life, and by doing so, they want to lead their ‘students’ (ὑπήκοοι) through their impeccable conduct to imitation.3⁵ Yet, the idyllic scenario of simple farmers void of any formal training but eclipsing the Greek intellectuals is not the whole story, and it would likely not have been especially appealing to the urban neophytes.3⁶ Instead of outright dismissal of teaching through words—a gesture hardly credible in the mouth of the most eloquent Greek church father—Chrysostom’s baptismal instruction suggests that oral and written discourse does have a role to play in the angelic life and teaching of the rustics. Not only is their conduct a ‘philosophy’ received from God and a compelling proof of Scripture, viz. 1 Corinthians 1:25.3⁷ But alongside agricultural efforts, the Syrian monks, like priests, regularly climb the bema to address their fellow countrymen. Chrysostom depicts them as giving, as it were, lectures on the word of God and putting the seeds of the divine teachings into the souls of

32 Chrys. catech. 8.2.5–11 (SC 50.248–50): τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῶν τὴν φιλοσοφίαν μετὰ ἀκριβείας κατανοήσωμεν, μηδὲ ὅτι βάρβαρον ἔχουσι τὴν γλῶτταν, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἔνδον φρόνημα καταμάθωμεν καὶ ὅτι ἅπερ ἡμεῖς ἐν λόγοις φιλοσοφοῦντες διδάσκειν σπουδάζομεν, ταῦτα οὗτοι διὰ τῶν πραγμάτων ἐπιδείκνυνται, τὸν ἀποστολικὸν νόμον διὰ τῶν ἔργων πληροῦντες τὸν κελεύοντα ἀπὸ τῆς τῶν χειρῶν ἐργασίας τὴν καθημερινὴν πορίζεσθαι τροφήν (cf. 1 Cor. 4:12 and Acts 20:34). 33 Chrys. catech. 8.6 (SC 50.250–1). 3⁴ Chrys. catech. 8.3.8–9 (SC 50.249): Ὅταν γὰρ ἡ διὰ τῶν ἔργων προηγῆται διδασκαλία οὐκέτι χρεία τῆς διὰ τῶν λόγων παιδεύσεως. 3⁵ With this term, Chrysostom possibly alludes to obedience in a monastic context. See Lampe 1961: 1432, s.v. ὑπακοή. He also refers to the Syrian monks’ disciples as οἱ μαθητευόμενοι (8.3). 3⁶ Clark 2001: 274–5 notes that Chrysostom’s idealized account of country life aimed at rebuke and exhortation of his urban audience. 3⁷ Chrys. catech. 8.5 (SC 50.250). 1 Cor. 1:25: ‘For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.’

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educational communities 25 their disciples. Theirs is a life that encourages imitation not as a conduct adopted merely by instinct but as a reflective mode of life based on the divine Scriptures. To reform one’s behaviour in order to become a true Christian requires more than the emulation of living exemplars like the Syrian rustics, however effective that may be. No initiation into faith and religious conduct can be complete without becoming familiar with the Bible, a point that is made by the address itself with its numerous references to Paul’s epistles and biblical role models such as the ‘protomonk’ Abraham.3⁸ While traditional paideia divides people into educated elite and illiterate masses, the angelic community envisioned by Chrysostom does not know such inequalities. All its members, a virtual society of learners, can take part in the shared understanding of the authoritative texts, guided by interpreters whose expertise has no need of formal training. Thus, the baptismal instruction is, obviously, a didactic discourse that intends to educate its audience and, at the same time, exploits the teaching situation in order to discuss the methods and aims of Christian paideia. By introducing in his address the Syrian peasants as the cultural ‘others’ of the citizens, Chrysostom paves the way for an opposition of two types of wisdom, highlighted by the catchword φιλοσοφία.3⁹ In a similar way as Cyril had done some decades earlier, the Antiochene ‘Golden Mouth’ in a satirical cameo of the Greek philosophers devalues formal education in favour of a new educational paradigm that places a high premium on a particular way of life.⁴⁰ Strikingly, the rustic ascetic is a completely unlikely role model for the denizens of the bustling metropolis, whose inclinations for status symbols and formal schooling come to the fore so intrusively in Chrysostom’s homilies. However, the learner’s path leading up to the heavenly goods is not wanting in intellectual activity. The monks’ regular preaching and exegesis of Scripture send a clear message, namely that the angelic life is predicated on, and shaped by, a fundamental text. Christian formation, though greatly advanced by the imitation of exemplars, cannot be successfully completed unless one obeys Paul’s precepts and models one’s life after biblical figures like Abraham and the apostles. Moulding Christian conduct, therefore, means translating Scripture into practical life.⁴1 This educational process, most prominently implemented in the catechumenate, requires good knowledge, and correct understanding, of Scripture, which is secured by the preacher as an unerring guide.⁴2

3⁸ Chrys. catech. 8.7–10 (SC 50.251–3). See also stat. 17.2 (PG 49.177), where Chrysostom is presenting Abraham as an ascetic of the desert in all but name. 3⁹ See Malingrey 1961 and Stenger 2016c for a fuller discussion of the Christian transformation of the concept of philosophy. ⁴⁰ Cyril ridicules the pagan philosophers in catech. 4.2 (ed. Reischl and Rupp, vol. 1.90). ⁴1 As very clearly articulated in Chrys. catech. 8.3 and 5 (SC 50.249–50). ⁴2 Chrysostom assumes the role of the exegetical guide who guarantees the congregation’s grasp of the meaning especially in catech. 8.9 (SC 50.252–3). Cyril instructs the catechumens in even greater detail on the study of Scripture: catech. 4.33–7 (ed. Reischl and Rupp, vol. 1.124–32).

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26 education in late antiquity By devising an education for the good, Christian life on the basis of the barbarian, uncultured visitors’ presence, Chrysostom achieves two goals with a single stroke: he cuts across entrenched values, hierarchies, and habits, to replace a divisive, elitist intellectualism with a philosophy that is inclusive and accessible to everyone, regardless of class, age, and gender. Simultaneously, in catering for such a diverse audience he forges a community around a pedagogic ideal. The traditional education paradigm created a group of those who were trained in classical literature and demarcated it from those outside this cultural universe. To overcome such engrained divisions, Chrysostom formulates a new educational community whose cohesion is guaranteed by a different set of authoritative texts. Importantly, these foundational texts integrate instead of discriminating because they do not call for formal training.⁴3 Travelling to the west, to Africa, we find the bishop Augustine (354–430) facing similar challenges as Chrysostom had done a decade earlier. If someone was in a position to settle the question of Christianity and classical education, it arguably was Augustine. It was only after he had fully imbibed expert knowledge in rhetoric and philosophy, and become a successful schoolteacher himself, that he embarked on an ecclesiastical career that would lead him in 395 to the see of Hippo. Bringing with him the baggage of the classical school, Augustine devoted a considerable part of his works, probably more than any other Christian writer, to the discussion of the legitimate place of education and rhetoric in the church.⁴⁴ Frequently returning to the question of whether skilled eloquence should serve the spread of the gospel, Augustine was also clear that teaching was at the heart of preaching and catechesis. The abundant pedagogic terminology, not least the phrase schola christiana, speaks volumes about how he saw the mission of the preacher and the exegete.⁴⁵ Yet, the analogy between church and school was not an easy one. Within the church there should be no place for the lies of skilful orators or the linguistic pedantry of the grammarian.⁴⁶ Augustine’s ambivalence towards the effects of schooling, by no means an exception among his contemporaries, comes to the fore in a minor work that is both a didactic handbook and a discussion of the conditions of learning and teaching. On the request of his friend, the Carthaginian deacon Deogratias, Augustine around 400 undertook the task of writing a manual for the catechetical

⁴3 See also Chrys. hom. in Mt. 1.5 (PG 57.20), where he insists that Christian morals, ethics, and theology are easy to understand ‘even to a farm worker, to a servant, to a widow, and to a child, and to a person who seems exceedingly unintelligent’. Further, hom. in 1 Cor. 5.6 (PG 61.46–7): there he reassures the uneducated in his audience who feared they were too simple-minded to follow and uses the humble ‘tent-maker’ Paul as a model. He also claims that ‘to support oneself by continually working is a form of philosophia’. ⁴⁴ See Chapter 2.5 for a discussion of his De doctrina christiana. ⁴⁵ Relevant terms and phrases are collected by Studer 1996. ⁴⁶ e.g. Aug. catech. rud. 6.10.5–6 (CCSL 46.131). Gemeinhardt 2007: 406–7.

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educational communities 27 teacher, entitled De catechizandis rudibus.⁴⁷ This short treatise in the first part explains how the catechetical instructor should address challenges and issues that regularly arise in teaching at the introductory stage of the catechumenate. On the basis of his own experience, Augustine here discusses, among other topics, methods of captivating and holding the addressees’ attention, the conditions of understanding, the learners’ intellectual abilities, and the pleasure ideally instilled in the teacher as well as the catechumens. Following the greater, theoretical part, two model addresses, evidently composed by a trained orator, furnish Deogratias with a template for his classes in the Carthaginian church.⁴⁸ The overall aim of catechetical teaching according to Augustine is, to be sure, anything but original, for the baptizands are to become firm in their faith through making progress in morals and knowledge (moribus et scientia proficere) and be armed against enemies from outside the Catholic church and within.⁴⁹ What is unique about the treatise is its concern with the teacher–student relationship.⁵⁰ De catechizandis rudibus applies principles of pedagogy and psychology—some of them already formulated in rhetorical handbooks—to religious instruction.⁵1 Not only does Augustine examine the limitations of verbal communication and human understanding, but he also considers the essential role played in teaching by the mutual love of teacher and pupil. Of fundamental importance to the communication between the two is the appropriate discourse, the mode that at the same time does justice to the religious topics being taught and reaches out to the audience. In pitching his teaching at the right level Augustine’s catechist is, not unlike Chrysostom, confronted by the problem that those who sought baptism often had passed through the classical schools. Their minds were not a tabula rasa, after all. As a catechetical teacher, Augustine himself, as he points out to Deogratias, had to adapt his speech to ‘an educated person or an ignoramus, a fellow-citizen or a stranger, a rich man or a poor man, a private person or a distinguished man, a man having some official authority, a person of this or that family, of this or that age or sex, coming from this or that school, or from this or that popular error’.⁵2 It is this variation in educational backgrounds and knowledge that the treatise presents as one of the major hurdles, both in the theoretical part and in the model catechesis. ⁴⁷ Edition in CCSL 46.121–78. The commentary of Christopher 1926 is still useful. ⁴⁸ For the influence of classical rhetoric on the treatise see Harmless 2014: 148–60, 180. ⁴⁹ Aug. catech. rud. 7.11.6 (CCSL 46.132). This is in agreement with, for example, the purposes of Cyril’s catechetical lectures. Jacobsen 2014 discusses how catechetical instruction according to Cyril and Augustine functioned as moral and doctrinal identity formation, in the sense that by changing their way of life and their beliefs the candidates underwent a transformation of their identity. ⁵⁰ Howie 1969: 150–3 and Harmless 2014: 161–2. ⁵1 For example, the necessity of the speaker’s accommodation to the intellectual capacity of the audience had been formulated already in rhetorical theory. See Cic. de orat. 3.210; Quint. inst. 1.2.27. ⁵2 Aug. catech. rud. 15.23.4 (CCSL 46.148): eruditum, inertem, civem, peregrinum, divitem, pauperem, privatum, honoratum, in potestate aliqua constitutum, illius aut illius gentis hominem, illius aut illius aetatis aut sexus, ex illa aut illa secta, ex illo aut illo vulgari errore venientem.

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28 education in late antiquity Catechetical instruction, as indicated above, resembles the practice of the traditional schools in many respects, from didactic skills to threats to the teacher’s authority. But the analogy goes only so far. Unlike the schoolmaster, the churchman has to take into account the different schooling paths of his audience. The teaching situation of the catechumenate, thus, leads Augustine to a categorization of people according to the education they received, implying as well different social milieus. His enumeration of different types of addressees suggests that formal education, like possessions and citizenship, divides people into the haves and the have-nots and enhances class differences. To raise Deogratias’ awareness of the risks posed by this situation, Augustine distinguishes between three levels of training with the help of a differentiated terminology.⁵3 First, there are the advanced learners, those brought up in the liberal studies (liberales doctrinae), who have a keen interest in intellectual conversation about the Bible. Some of them have even been inspired by their private reading to become Christians, and so the focus in their instruction should be on texts and reading. In this category fell, for example, Augustine’s compatriot, the African rhetorician Marius Victorinus (d. after 363), who according to the Confessions was exactly the type of intellectual who, out of curiosity and professional reading of Scripture, came to embrace the Christian faith.⁵⁴ Concerning these cultivated initiands, Augustine advises his addressee, ‘All these topics we should discuss in modest conversation with the man who makes his approach to the community of the Christian people, not as an uneducated man, as they say, but as one who has achieved culture and refinement through the books of the learned.’⁵⁵ While it is not necessary to bore those erudite people with things in Scripture with which they are already familiar, a severe risk lurks exactly in their habit of wide reading. A person who for intellectual stimulation has pored indiscriminately, and without a guide, over any religious writings might have misunderstood some teachings, picked up others that are openly false, and even adopted heretical views. The teacher’s primary task is, therefore, to eradicate heretical doctrines from his mind and correct him if he has studied anything which contradicts the church.⁵⁶ The extensive discussion of the appropriate method of dealing with men educated in the liberal studies indicates that this was a challenge that presbyters

⁵3 See Stenger 2019b: 338–43. ⁵⁴ Aug. conf. 8.2.3–5 (CCSL 27.114–16). Tellingly, the example of Victorinus carefully scrutinizing Christian writings is told to the young Augustine in a catechetical lesson which he receives from the presbyter Simplicianus. Victorinus’ conversion to Christianity in 355 had caused a sensation. ⁵⁵ Aug. catech. rud. 8.12.8 (CCSL 46.134): Haec omnia cum illo qui ad societatem populi christiani, non idiota, ut aiunt, sed doctorum libris expolitus atque excultus accedit, modesta collatione tractanda sunt. ⁵⁶ In Aug. util. cred. 17 (CSEL 25.21–2) Augustine censures readers who approach the Scriptures without a guide, give their own opinion on them, and because of their ignorance find some things in the Bible absurd, whereas in the school they read the Latin classics only with the help of an expert teacher.

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educational communities 29 were facing regularly, and one that could have unwelcome consequences for the learning process. Augustine in this chapter envisages a learned conversation, at times verging on an investigative scrutiny, in which the catechist, as a guide with a knowing hand, ushers the catechumen around the pitfalls of theological studies while at the same time avoiding playing the wiseacre. With the second group it is a different matter, one of morals rather than knowledge. The teacher, though, is again expected to make full use of his authority. While the highly educated are likely to develop an appreciation of the intellectual side of theology, the man in the second lot may threaten to disrupt unity and harmony in the Christian community: There are also some who come from the most frequented schools of the grammarians and professional orators, whom you may not venture to reckon either among the uneducated or among those very learned men whose minds have been trained in the investigation of serious subjects. When such persons, therefore, who appear to surpass the rest of mankind through the art of speaking, approach you with the wish of becoming Christians, it will be our duty to make a greater effort than in our dealings with those illiterate hearers, to make it plain that they are to be earnestly admonished to clothe themselves with Christian humility, so that they learn not to despise those whom they may recognize as keeping themselves clear of vices of conduct more carefully than from faults of language; and also that they do not dare to compare with a pure heart the trained tongue which they were even accustomed to regard more highly.⁵⁷

Augustine knew these men all too well because he himself had been one of the students of the ordinary schools, and had not been immune to the vanities injected by formal education.⁵⁸ One major flaw of those trained in the rhetorical schools is that they give priority to linguistic correctness and a beautifully crafted style, and quite naturally so as the grammarians and rhetoricians had drummed these skills into their students’ heads. The dire result of the average socialization of the well-off classes, Augustine points out, is that they not only despise the members of the Christian community who had not enjoyed such an upbringing but also raise their eyebrows at the seemingly simple language of the biblical books.⁵⁹ Their ⁵⁷ Aug. catech. rud. 9.13.1–2 (CCSL 46.135): Sunt item quidam de scholis usitatissimis grammaticorum oratorumque venientes, quos neque inter idiotas numerare audeas, neque inter illos doctissimos, quorum mens magnarum rerum est exercitata quaestionibus. His ergo qui loquendi arte ceteris hominibus excellere videntur, cum veniunt, ut Christiani fiant, hoc amplius quam illis illitteratis impertire debemus, quod sedulo monendi sunt, ut humilitate induti christiana discant non contemnere, quos cognoverint morum vitia quam verborum amplius devitare, et cordi casto linguam exercitatam nec conferre audeant quam etiam praeferre consueverant. ⁵⁸ Aug. conf. 1.16.26 (CCSL 27.14), 1.9.14 (8), 1.18.28 (15), 3.5.9 (31). ⁵⁹ The stylistic simplicity of Scripture was a major concern among learned Christians and pagan critics in the fourth century. See, for example, Aug. conf. 3.5.9 (CCSL 27.31.6–7), Hier. epist. 22.30.2 (CSEL 54.189–90). See Fiedrowicz 2000: 277–8.

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30 education in late antiquity allegiance is to a different set of authoritative texts which require reading habits different from those valued in the church. Moreover, they are only too eager to spot linguistic mistakes and solecisms made by the churchmen, so that they are deaf to the content of sermons and prayers. Even more damaging, their obsession with the minutiae of the language prevents them from a correct understanding of Scripture because they fail to discern the hidden meanings, the mysteries, beneath the textual surface. The general line of the advice offered to Deogratias by Augustine is to insist on the divide between the church and the rhetorical school: instead of the inflated mind produced by elite schooling, the catechumen is to cultivate humility towards his neighbours and teachers; instead of disdaining the unrefined language of the gospels, he ought to focus on their ideas and their truth; instead of being passionate about words and sounds, he is to appreciate the grace of the divine word. Literary and rhetorical education and its corollaries are identified as a stumbling block to the catechumen’s progress on the path to Christ and a threat to the cohesion of the believers. Since grammarians and rhetors conveyed values, attitudes, and skills that were at odds with faith, Augustine considers it imperative to devise a Christian re-education, to remedy the flaws acquired in the classroom.⁶⁰ Not all catechumens attending Augustine’s classes had had the privilege of higher schooling. But surprisingly, the third group among the baptizands receives only scant attention. De catechizandis rudibus, to be sure, does take into account the presence of tardiores and illiterati. Yet, Augustine does not specifically address their intellectual needs and expectations, beyond the general advice given to Deogratias about learner-oriented, effective teaching. Perhaps he thought that the shortness of theoretical discussion was compensated for by the concluding sample addresses, which are deliberately targeted at simpler minds.⁶1 However, his briefness might also indicate that he regarded higher education as an obstacle greater than lack of it to becoming a Christian. What Augustine’s discussion of all three categories shows is that, as in Chrysostom’s case, the situation of catechetical instruction necessitated theoretical thinking about, and critical engagement with, the entrenched education system because the alumni of the schools approached their clerical teachers with a cultural ballast that thwarted any attempt to create an inclusive community. ⁶⁰ That the attitudes of Christians to literate education and its functions did not necessarily differ from those of their pagan peers is nicely illustrated by a passage in the sixth-century Greek Vita Eutychii, written by Eustratius, in which a young baptizand is expected to succumb to the competitive spirit of the educated elite, praying, ‘Lord, give me a good intellect so that I learn the letters and triumph over my comrades’ (8, PG 86.2.2284, CCSG 25, ll. 213–15: Κύριε, ἀγαθὸν νοῦν χάρισαί μοι, ἵνα μάθω τὰ γράμματα καὶ νικῶ τοὺς ἑταίρους μου). Eutychius, however, renounces higher education for the monastic vocation. See Sterk 2004: 214–18. ⁶1 In the introduction to the first model catechetical address Augustine envisages as the audience someone of the uneducated class (de genere quidem idiotarum), yet not a man from the country but a townsman as would be the case in Carthage (16.24.1, CCSL 46.148). See Clark 2001 on the relevance of the city–countryside relationship in Augustine’s preaching.

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educational communities 31 Even more than Chrysostom, whose baptismal instructions speak of their author’s constant anxieties about religious conduct, Augustine gives thought to the relationship between education and Scripture. Although his treatise covers morality too, the focus is clearly on the role of the divine Scripture in training Christians. Augustine is fully aware that for educated people to be turned into faithful neophytes it is paramount to deal with the biblical books and the canonical writers of the church in a circumspect way because the classical schools generated reading habits that virtually frustrated correct understanding and appreciation of Scripture. Deogratias is invited to take on the role of the literary guide who frees the catechumens from the misconceptions about language and style inculcated by the guardians of linguistic correctness. It would be mistaken to simply ignore the cultural preferences of the audience. The catechist is to start from his students’ existing knowledge of the Bible and interest in literature and eloquence in order to make them appreciate the, paradoxically, ‘humble loftiness’ of the Scriptures.⁶2 More importantly, the mentor ought to ensure the Catholic understanding of the Bible and help the reader, who is only accustomed to the study of pagan literature, decipher the deeper meaning of the Holy Scriptures. The anxiety about inappropriate expectations of educated men gives Augustine the opportunity to formulate his ideal of Christianity as a community which is bound together by a shared understanding of authoritative texts. He analyses the detrimental impact of traditional literate training on society, namely that textual practices foster arrogance and cement exclusion, and counters it by implementing a new syllabus. The rationale behind Augustine’s advice on teaching those who were rudes only in a religious sense is that the catechist’s duty is to level out the differences created by the established education system. Well-trained catechumens were expected to partly disown their secular upbringing. Since Christian identity, built on nothing but believing,⁶3 pivots on the correct interpretation of fundamental texts, the aim of Augustine’s programme of education is to make sure that all initiates, regardless of their educational background, share the same, Catholic understanding of the Bible. Both he and Chrysostom highlight the threat posed by the divisive effects of a literate education. For a truly harmonious and inclusive community to emerge, new textual practices, even a new body of texts, need to be established. Under the stewardship of knowledgeable interpreters, be they charismatic monks or catechetical teachers, Christians of all backgrounds will come together in the shared understanding of the Scriptures. Like Chrysostom but more determinedly, the bishop of Hippo seeks to gather a community around an authoritative text and arm its members against heterodox groups and pagans, who might have the same classical training but lack the remedy against its flaws. Augustine’s manual for

⁶2 Aug. catech. rud. 8.12.3 (CCSL 46.133): admirandae altitudinis saluberrima humilitas. ⁶3 Aug. catech. rud. 1.1.1 (CCSL 46.121.7): credendo Christiani sumus.

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32 education in late antiquity catechists offers far more than precepts for effective pedagogy; it utilizes pedagogy for building a united community.

1.3 Paideia and Religious Affiliation The triangle of education, authoritative texts, and religious affiliation emerging from the practice of catechetical teaching had occupied the minds of many thinkers already for some time, and sparked fierce controversy. Chrysostom and Augustine themselves were not watching from the sidelines of the erupting intellectual battle but took part in it—the bishop of Hippo more vocally than his Antiochene colleague. What inflamed their anger was an unprecedented move by the last pagan emperor, Julian. If the ‘Apostate’s’ ambition to restore pagan worship into its ancient rights alone sufficed to outrage Christian leaders, his determination to claim classical paideia for the devout followers of the gods seems to have hit a little too close to the bone for many Christian literati. Previous rulers, too, had evinced an interest in education and issued edicts to that effect, but none of them had ventured to take measures comparable to what Julian’s teaching edict of 17 June 362 appeared to inaugurate.⁶⁴ Though the legislation as included in the Theodosian Code only requires from public teachers a reasonable moral standard (excellere moribus) and gives the emperor the final say in the appointment of professors, the message behind Julian’s edict sent shock waves throughout Christian circles. For them it was evident that he wanted to ban once and for all Christians from teaching as well as learning and, in the long run, exclude them from the invaluable resource of higher learning, so as to bar them from the upper levels of administration and society.⁶⁵ The law is arguably the most debated single element in Julian’s brief reign, but still scholars have not yet reached consensus over central questions, including the edict’s context and scope.⁶⁶ Taking Christian responses to it as a starting point, most studies focus on the anti-Christian tendencies of Julian’s policy, on ⁶⁴ Cod. Theod. 13.3.5: Magistros studiorum doctoresque excellere oportet moribus primum, deinde facundia. Sed quia singulis civitatibus adesse ipse non possum, iubeo, quisque docere vult, non repente nec temere prosiliat ad hoc munus, sed iudicio ordinis probatus decretum curialium mereatur optimorum conspirante consensu. Hoc enim decretum ad me tractandum referetur, ut altiore quodam honore nostro iudicio studiis civitatum accedant (‘Masters of studies and teachers must excel first in character, then in eloquence. But since I cannot be present in person in all the towns, I command that whoever wishes to teach should not rush suddenly and blindly to this task, but should be approved by the judgement of the local senate and obtain the decree of the decurions with the consent and agreement of the best citizens. For this decree will be referred to me for consideration, in order that the teachers may turn to their pursuits in the towns with a certain higher honour because of our judgement’). Cf. Cod. Just. 10.53.7. For legislation on education see Chapter 4.3. ⁶⁵ See Aug. civ. 18.52, Socr. h.e. 3.16.1 and 18–19 (GCS 1.210–12), Philost. h.e. 7.4b, Soz. h.e. 5.18.1–2. ⁶⁶ Recently, McLynn 2014 has speculated that the teaching edict responded to a specific complaint while Julian was travelling to Antioch. Letter 61c, seen by McLynn as a rather personal statement, also originated from the same local controversy in Ancyra. See also Elm 2012: 139–43 on the context and the relationship with the letter.

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educational communities 33 its practicability and immediate impact, and on the counter-strikes of Christian writers against the infamous law.⁶⁷ My discussion will take a different road and investigate the concepts of education underpinning the contributions of the two fiercest combatants, the former fellow students Julian and Gregory of Nazianzus. It will be argued that the emperor wanted to forge a clearly delimited, exclusive community based on the shared understanding of canonical texts, while his Christian antagonist contested the criteria that regulated access to this educational community. This will reveal how in the course of the struggle paideia came to be defined in terms of group membership.⁶⁸ If the wording of the teaching edict leaves much room for interpretation and appears prima facie unoriginal, we are in the lucky position that Julian by no means made a secret of his motives for interference. Quite the contrary, his resolute thoughts on what defined the members of the educated elite come to the fore in many of Julian’s writings, from the satirical Misopogon to his invectives against the Cynics and his letters.⁶⁹ In particular one extensive letter which has often been associated with the teaching edict can shed light on Julian’s motives and intentions in his reform programme.⁷⁰ Although our understanding of this piece is limited by the absence of information on the historical situation and the identity of the addressees, it is clear that the emperor wanted to make his ideas on what he calls ‘correct education’ (παιδεία ὀρθή) known to the public and to engage with opposing positions, especially those of Christian teachers. Right from the first sentence, the imperial letter writer makes clear that he wants to address a serious issue which he implies is rife in fourth-century schooling. ‘Correct education’, his directive insists, ‘does not, we believe, consist in the laboriously achieved symmetry of phrases and language but in the healthy condition of a sensible mind and true opinions about good and evil things, and noble and shameful things.’⁷1 It is because of the very nature of paideia that immediate action is required, for many grammarians, rhetors, and sophists apparently fail to understand the ethical ⁶⁷ It is impossible to cite here every study on the teaching edict, let alone to discuss all the arguments that have been brought forward. I limit myself to some more recent titles: Tloka 2005: 206–9, Watts 2006: 68–71, Tanaseanu-Döbler 2012: 106–8, Cribiore 2013: 229–37, and McLynn 2014. Germino 2004 discusses the legal background. ⁶⁸ Elsewhere, I have argued that the deliberately vague wording of Julian’s school law indicates that the emperor targeted his education reform not only at Christian teachers but also at pagans who were not as zealous and passionate as he himself about the pagan cause. Julian required them to conform with his strict religious guidelines to establish uniformity among the adherents of the gods. Stenger 2009: 101–10. This view has also been adopted by Cribiore 2013: 229–37. ⁶⁹ In addition to the Misopogon and the two attacks against the Cynics (Jul. Or. 7 and 9 Bidez), the letters Ep. 8, 61c, 82, and 89b in particular afford insight in Julian’s thinking about paideia. Relevant, also, are fragments 53–7 of his polemic Against the Galilaeans. For Julian’s polemic against the Cynics’ lack of education see Stenger forthcoming b. ⁷⁰ Jul. Ep. 61c, transmitted in the manuscripts of Julian’s letters without inscription and with lacunae. In the course of the letter, Julian abruptly addresses Christian teachers (423d), so the piece might have been written as a public address to schoolteachers in the Greek-speaking east. ⁷1 Jul. Ep. 61c.422a: Παιδείαν ὀρθὴν εἶναι νομίζομεν οὐ τὴν ἐν τοῖς ῥήμασιν καὶ τῇ γλώττῃ πολυτελῆ εὐρυθμίαν, ἀλλὰ διάθεσιν ὑγιῆ νοῦν ἐχούσης διανοίας, καὶ ἀληθεῖς δόξας ὑπέρ τε ἀγαθῶν καὶ κακῶν, καλῶν τε καὶ αἰσχρῶν.

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34 education in late antiquity mission of their profession and, even more appallingly, do not live up to norms of accepted morality in their own lives. Similarly to Chrysostom and Augustine, Julian is dissatisfied with current education practice because he attributes at best secondary importance to imparting linguistic skills and rates a philosophical definition of education higher than a sophistic one.⁷2 Proper paideia, in the broad sense of culture, aims at ethical formation because the careful study of literary works helps to become a better, virtuous person.⁷3 With this point, expressed also in Julian’s polemic against Christians, hardly any of his contemporaries would have found fault, as theorists and practitioners had long claimed that the teaching profession, despite its strong emphasis on language, aspired to mould responsible, honest citizens—or simply ‘good men’.⁷⁴ Careful reading of the Homeric epics, Demosthenes’ speeches, and Plato’s dialogues was to furnish the student with ethical rules and role models to be applied to his own life. The emperor’s former fellow-student Basil of Caesarea would hardly have disagreed.⁷⁵ Julian manoeuvred in fairly well-charted territory when he further demanded that for this mission to be achieved the professors had to be themselves noble characters, that their words be in consonance with their deeds and conduct. However, precisely that was the junction where Julian began to depart from uncontroversial principles. The key method for moulding the learner’s character, it is true, remains the established practice of a meticulous study of the canonical authors of Greek literature. Julian’s selection of works, apart from the writers mentioned including Lysias, Thucydides, Aristotle, and others, can pass as unremarkable and consensual among educated Greeks of late antiquity. Yet, Julian’s explanation of why all these authors were unsurpassed as ethical instructors would have provoked from some quarters doubt, if not disbelief. While I commend them [grammarians, rhetoricians, and sophists] for aspiring to such noble pretensions, I would commend them even more if they did not utter falsehoods and convict themselves of thinking one thing and teaching their students another. Why? Was it not the gods who were the guides for all learning for Homer, Hesiod, Demosthenes, Herodotus, Thucydides, Isocrates, and Lysias? Did not these writers think that they were consecrated, some to Hermes, others to the Muses? I think it is absurd that men who expound the works of these men should dishonour the gods who were honoured by them.⁷⁶ ⁷2 See Luchner 2008. ⁷3 Jul. Ep. 61c.422c–d. Cf. Gal. fr. 55.229d–30a. ⁷⁴ The idea is prevalent in, for example, Isocrates’ conception of philosophy (Antidosis 186–92, Panathenaicus 30–2), Quintilian’s theory of rhetorical instruction (inst. 6.2.18; further, 4.1.7, 5.12.9) and Plutarch’s pedagogy (e.g. Political Precepts, Mor. 799–800). ⁷⁵ For Basil’s Address to the Young, itself possibly a retort to Julian’s teaching edict, see Chapter 2.3. ⁷⁶ Jul. Ep. 61c.422d–23a: ἐπαινῶν δὲ αὐτοὺς οὕτως ἐπαγγελμάτων καλῶν ὀρεγομένους, ἐπαινέσαιμ’ ἂν ἔτι πλέον, εἰ μὴ ψεύδοιντο, μηδ’ ἐξελέγχοιεν αὑτοὺς ἕτερα μὲν φρονοῦντας, διδάσκοντας δὲ τοὺς πλησιάζοντας ἕτερα. Τί οὖν; Ὁμήρῳ μέντοι καὶ Ἡσιόδῳ καὶ Δημοσθένει [μέντοι] καὶ Ἡροδότῳ καὶ Θουκυδίδῃ καὶ Ἰσοκράτει καὶ Λυσίᾳ θεοὶ πάσης ἡγοῦνται παιδείας· οὐχ οἱ μὲν Ἑρμοῦ σφᾶς ἱερούς, οἱ δὲ Μουσῶν ἐνόμιζον; Ἄτοπον μὲν οἶμαι τοὺς ἐξηγουμένους τὰ τούτων ἀτιμάζειν τοὺς ὑπ’ αὐτῶν τιμηθέντας θεούς.

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educational communities 35 From this passage of Letter 61c the emperor’s true intentions begin to emerge. As a former Christian himself, Julian was no stranger to the Christian unease with pagan literature and philosophy. With many educated Christians voicing their qualms about studying the classics because of their association with paganism, the letter now turns that argument against the followers of Christ. Homer’s poems and even historical writings and speeches are recast as divinely inspired texts; they assume the status of religious revelation.⁷⁷ The paideia contained in these literary works originates from the gods, so that it is impossible to separate the study of the classics from the cult of the pagan gods. If a student is to benefit morally from his studies, he needs to form a correct understanding of poetry and prose, that is, acknowledge, and fully embrace, their religious nature. It is, therefore, vital that grammarians and rhetoricians subscribe to the pagan interpretation of the texts they expound because if they do not they will deprive their students of the possibility to mould themselves properly after these works. Venerating poets, above all Homer, as divine prophets and gifted by the deities was one thing, and well-established at that;⁷⁸ but it was another thing to postulate on contested religious ground an inherent pagan quality of nearly the whole of Greek literature, and to make this ideology the backbone of the only available education system. With his artful reinterpretation, the emperor intended to reorient the reading practices cultivated in the schools, in the sense that henceforth every student would approach the classics with religious piety. This indissoluble link between schooling and religion is clearly also stated in Julian’s apologetic Against the Galilaeans, where he envisages a competition between Christians and pagans over the value of education: Now this will be a clear proof: select children from among you all and let them train in your scriptures. And if when they have reached manhood they prove to have nobler qualities than slaves, then you may believe that I am talking nonsense and am insane. Yet you are so miserable and foolish that you regard those writings as divinely inspired, through which no one could ever become wiser or braver or better than he was before. On the contrary, the writings through which men can acquire courage, wisdom, and justice, these you assign to Satan and to those who serve Satan!⁷⁹

⁷⁷ See also Jul. Or. 11.136b–c, Ep. 89b.300c–2a, Gal. fr. 55. Stenger 2009: 99–101. ⁷⁸ Cf. Lamberton 1986 on the reception of Homer in late antiquity; Sandnes 2009: 40–58. ⁷⁹ Jul. Gal. fr. 55.229e–30a: Τεκμήριον δὲ τοῦτο σαφές· ἐκ πάντων ὑμῶν ἐπιλεξάμενοι παιδία ταῖς γραφαῖς ἐμμελετῆσαι παρασκευάσατε. κἂν φανῇ τῶν ἀνδραπόδων εἰς ἄνδρας τελέσαντα σπουδαιότερα, ληρεῖν ἐμὲ καὶ μελαγχολᾶν νομίζετε. εἶτα οὕτως ἐστὲ δυστυχεῖς καὶ ἀνόητοι, ὥστε νομίζειν θείους μὲν ἐκείνους τοὺς λόγους, ὑφ’ ὧν οὐδεὶς ἂν γένοιτο φρονιμώτερος οὐδὲ ἀνδρειότερος οὐδ᾿ ἑαυτοῦ κρείττων· ὑφ’ ὧν δὲ ἔνεστιν ἀνδρείαν, φρόνησιν, δικαιοσύνην προσλαβεῖν, τούτους ἀποδίδοτε τῷ σατανᾷ καὶ τοῖς τῷ σατανᾷ λατρεύουσιν.

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36 education in late antiquity Just as the pamphlet as a whole contrasts two unified camps, the Hellenes and the Galilaeans, in a clash of civilizations, this fragment in particular sets pagan paideia as the foundation of Greek civilization against its inferior Christian counterpart. While poring over the biblical books can produce nothing but slavish characters because the Scriptures lack divine inspiration and sound morality, the student who culls paideia from the pagan writings not only becomes courageous, wise, and just himself but also, as a divine gift to mankind, ameliorates the morals of others. What Julian in Letter 61c as well as in Against the Galilaeans has in mind is a faith school avant la lettre. Feeling challenged by literary pursuits of educated Christians, the emperor claims the established education, especially its textual basis, as a prerogative for his pagan followers. This move, it can be argued, was the flip side of what we have seen in the discussion of catechetical instruction: the religious fractions of the fourth century intensified the feeling that there were two educational philosophies that did not get on well together. On one side of the divide, there was the educational community defined by a shared exegesis of divinely inspired literature; on the other, those who were trapped in an erroneous interpretation of the classical texts because they had been misled by false exegetes. Its debts to classical predecessors notwithstanding, Julian’s ideology of education moved far beyond the cherished ideal of the vir bonus dicendi peritus.⁸⁰ Building upon classical foundations, Julian based his vision of paideia on three pillars: canonical texts, ethical formation, and pagan religion.⁸1 The novel element in his thinking was that, apart from the emperor’s direct involvement in the selection of professors, education was inseparable from a specific Weltanschauung that was notably religious. To expel Christians, parasites of Greek learning,⁸2 from the realm of paideia, the Apostate redraws the map of education: abandoning the traditional distinction between the pepaideumenoi and the illiterate, he erects a new boundary between virtuous, educated Hellenes and wretched, uncivilized fishermen and tent-makers. The reason why the edict and the accompanying letter put so much emphasis on the figure of the teacher lies in Julian’s very conception of paideia. In the context of his reform agenda, education is utilized as a forceful instrument for community building. If the members of a group share the same educational practices and the same understanding of authoritative texts, they form a homogeneous body and keep those who do not participate in this interpretation outside. It is, then, vital that there are reliable guides who safeguard the exegetical practice against dissenters and make sure that students are initiated into the only acceptable way of interpreting the classics. ⁸⁰ Cic. de orat. 2.85, Sen. contr. 1, praef. 9, Quint. inst. 1, prooem. 9; 12.1.1. On the persistence of this ideal see Kaster 1988: 27–8, 65–6. ⁸1 This line of reasoning also lies behind Julian’s fragmentary directive on the pagan clergy (Ep. 89b). Once again demanding a consonance of intellectual pursuits and moral conduct, Julian recommends a canon of texts suitable for pagan priests. The criterion for including authors such as Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics is that they have chosen the gods as guides of their lives. ⁸2 Jul. Gal. fr. 55.229b–c.

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educational communities 37 If Julian’s vision of pagan indoctrination in the schools looks to modern eyes somewhat otherworldly or, to say the least, unfeasible, some of his followers were not so sceptical. The historian Ammianus Marcellinus (c.330–95), it is true, wanted to cover Julian’s teaching law with silence, though otherwise being a staunch admirer of the emperor.⁸3 And a traditionalist pagan, Julian’s academic mentor Libanius of Antioch (314–94), was short of enthusiasm and missionary zeal; all the same, he endorsed the emperor’s campaign for Greek logoi with religious undertones.⁸⁴ But Julian’s close confidant and supporter Salutius lent his hand to the official education policy. In his Neoplatonic tract On the Gods and the Universe Salutius developed a pagan ‘code’, by some scholars called a ‘catechism’, to instruct educated readers in pagan doctrine on the nature of the divine, sacrifice, and other core teachings. Significantly, this short treatise openly pursued an educational agenda, providing theoretical discussion on different levels of learners and the appropriate method of instruction.⁸⁵ The view that pagan religion and paideia coalesce is certainly akin to the spirit of Julian’s letter. While we are prevented from judging Salutius’ success, the case of a certain Olympus might provide evidence that it was not inconceivable to establish a faith school in the emperor’s sense. If we are to believe the fifth-century philosopher Damascius, this Olympus in the fourth century travelled from Cilicia to Alexandria to set up a religious school. There he is said to have taught as ἱεροδιδάσκαλος at the Serapeum the rules of divine worship and the ancient rituals.⁸⁶ The implications of Julian’s remapping of the educational landscape were not lost on Christian litterateurs and churchmen. His policy, which eventually would have closed to ‘Galilaeans’ any influential position in the Empire, stirred up outrage among learned Christians and provoked an outcry that even resonated with the church historians of the fifth century. Some, however, appear to have turned this challenge into an opportunity to devise a curriculum for Christian schools. Particularly inventive were the two Apollinarii, father and son, both being skilled in logoi, the father as a grammarian and the son as a rhetorician. So at least the church historians Socrates and Sozomen tell us.⁸⁷ To make good the dearth of suitable textbooks in the wake of Julian’s decree, the Apollinarii composed a grammar ‘consistent with the Christian way’, translated the Pentateuch into epic verse, and paraphrased all the historical books of the Old Testament in dactylic metre or tragic drama. The younger Apollinarius, who later would become bishop of Laodicea, is even said to have rendered the gospels in philosophical dialogue in

⁸⁴ Lib. Or. 18.156–61. See Stenger 2009: 101 and Stenger 2014. ⁸3 Amm. 22.10.7, 25.4.20. ⁸⁵ Stenger 2009: 321–7 and Stenger 2018. ⁸⁶ Dam. Isid. fr. 42A and F Athanassiadi (fr. 91, 95, and 97 Zintzen). Cf. Watts 2006: 189–91. Christian attempts at developing a religious notion of education will be discussed in Chapter 2. ⁸⁷ Socr. h.e. 3.16 (GCS 1.210–12), Soz. h.e. 5.18. See Löhr 2015: 131–4 on the two church historians’ accounts. See Kaster 1988: 242–3 no. 14 and Markschies 2015: 55–9 on attempts to establish an independent Christian educational canon.

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38 education in late antiquity the manner of Plato. The historians’ account, whose trustworthiness is certainly open to debate, suggests that the emperor’s innovative intervention generated among Christian elites original ideas about what genuinely Christian schools could look like. If nothing else, the approach of the two erudite and versatile writers at least testifies to the appeal of shaping a group identity through instruction in a body of canonical writings. In the same way as Julian sought to gather the pagan community around a shared education paradigm, the Apollinarii appear to have thought that a set of authoritative texts and apposite reading habits generated a tight-knit community, and that educational practices were instruments for demarcation. The difference from the emperor’s scheme was that they opted for a new canon of formative writings. If father and son Apollinarius sought to thwart Julian’s programme with practical wit, Gregory of Nazianzus preferred to respond as a theorist. In a pair of extremely bellicose invectives, he gave a devastating reckoning of the Apostate’s brief reign, though only in 364, when Julian’s death on the Persian battlefield provided impunity. Couched as eulogistic thank-offerings to God, the two orations, or rather written pamphlets, articulate the fierce backlash against almost every action and decision the ‘tyrannical’ ruler, the anti-Christ, had taken. It says perhaps more about the author of the scornful defamation than about Julian’s actual legacy that the first piece, Oration 4, decries as the most outrageous of Julian’s atrocities his offence against the logoi.⁸⁸ The reason why the attack puts the battle over education and culture centre stage was that Gregory himself had a very strong personal interest in all matters of paideia.⁸⁹ Before launching his strike against the emperor’s school edict, Gregory confesses to his readers that he cannot deny his deep affection for logoi, and adds that if he had to say farewell to worldly things such as wealth, nobility, and power there is but one thing that he will cling to, the logos. Thus, he is poised to defend at once Greek education and his own intellectual identity against the injustices inflicted by Julian on the logoi. Tellingly, the speech adopts legal discourse in order to advocate the cause of learning against the imperial offender. Moreover, Gregory from the outset makes clear that his defence speaks up on behalf of the entire community of those to whom the logoi are dear, so as to protect them from Julian’s wrongdoing.⁹⁰ With this gesture, he takes up the emperor’s challenge, the provocation that lies in the coupling of education and group identity.

⁸⁸ Gr. Naz. or. 4.100 (SC 309.248). See Kurmann 1988 for a detailed commentary. The companion piece is Oration 5. See Elm 2012: 342–3 on the dates of the two orations. ⁸⁹ See Breitenbach 2003 on Gregory’s idealized representation of his intellectual pursuits and his stay in Athens. ⁹⁰ Gr. Naz. or. 4.100.5–13 (SC 309.248): Καί μοι συναγανακτείτω πᾶς ὅστις λόγοις χαίρων, καὶ τῇ μοίρᾳ ταύτῃ προσκείμενος, ὧν εἶναι καὶ αὐτὸς οὐκ ἀρνήσομαι . . . Ἐμοὶ γοῦν εἴη, καὶ ὅστις ἐμοὶ φίλος, τὸ τῶν λόγων κράτος.

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educational communities 39 The way in which Gregory paraphrases Julian’s education policy then strikes the note that resounds through the ensuing counter-accusation. Had the emperor spoken of proper paideia and proclaimed the ethical mission of the schools, his Christian opponent gives a significant spin to Julian’s true intentions: How did it enter your head, you silliest and greediest of all, to deprive the Christians of words? For this was not one of the things he merely threatened but one of those actually ordained by law . . . . ‘Ours’, he says, ‘are the words and the speaking of Greek, whose right it is to honour the gods; yours is the lack of reason and boorishness. And nothing beyond “Believe!” is the signature of your wisdom.’⁹1

Gregory accuses the late emperor of banning all Christians, not only teachers, from the whole of logoi and from Hellenizein, speaking Greek. In this warped and malevolent representation, Julian’s measures certainly emerge, as the speech highlights, as an innovation (καινοτομία).⁹2 No sensible person would even think of usurping logoi and language for himself and his group. Unsurprisingly, the whole oration makes much of Julian’s illogical behaviour and policies, sardonically stripping him off his self-arrogated wisdom.⁹3 The juxtaposition of logoi and alogia in the quote, and the scorn for the emperor’s lack of λόγος, are more than a cheap pun; rather, the play on words points us to the heart of Gregory’s engagement with Greek paideia. One striking feature of Oration 4 is the multi-layered and, in some places, elusive use of the word λόγος and its derivatives. Its meanings in the discourse fluctuate from word to reason, from literature (in the plural) to the Christian Logos.⁹⁴ What is more, Gregory in a display of his own knowledge highlights that there are homonyms with different meanings and intensions, a fact that has escaped the notice of the emperor’s all too subtle mind.⁹⁵ With the disingenuous shift of the controversy to logoi, Gregory is able to not only uncover the absurdity of Julian’s decree but also throw the wide gulf between the emperor’s conception of education and his own into high relief. He insinuates, for one thing, that Julian’s legislation intended to claim ‘words’ as an exclusive possession for the Hellenes. To deprive Christians of the Hellenizein, the Apostate posited a nexus between words and the pagan gods. In fact, however, there is no such thing as words specifically assigned to any god or demon. Taking this argument one step further, Gregory moves from individual words to language ⁹1 Gr. Naz. or. 4.101.1–102.3 (SC 309.248–50): Πόθεν οὖν ἐπῆλθέ σοι τοῦτο, ὦ κουφότατε πάντων καὶ ἀπληστότατε, τὸ λόγων ἀποστερῆσαι Χριστιανούς; τοῦτο γὰρ οὐ τῶν ἀπειλουμένων ἦν, ἀλλὰ τῶν ἤδη νενομοθετημένων . . . Ἡμέτεροι, φησὶν, οἱ λόγοι, καὶ τὸ Ἑλληνίζειν, ὧν καὶ τὸ σέβειν θεούς· ὑμῶν δὲ ἡ ἀλογία καὶ ἡ ἀγροικία· καὶ οὐδὲν ὑπὲρ τὸ ‘Πίστευσον’ τῆς ὑμετέρας ἐστὶ σοφίας. ⁹2 Gr. Naz. or. 4.96 and 101 (SC 309.240–2, 248–50), the term ‘innovation’ in 101.12 (250). ⁹3 Illogical thinking and lack of wisdom are Julian’s outstanding characteristics in this work. Kurmann 1988: 25. ⁹⁴ Cf. Elm 2012: 348–9. ⁹⁵ Gr. Naz. or. 4.103 (SC 309.252–4).

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40 education in late antiquity (γλῶσσα) as such. Again, the case for the Greek language as the allotted patrimony of the pagans is flawed. Even if we grant that those who speak Greek are the same as those who worship the gods, it does not follow that speaking Greek and paganism are identical. Therefore, it is wrong to debar Christians from the use of the language.⁹⁶ Julian is guilty of the same error when it comes to specific usages of the Greek language (φωνή), whether in everyday conversation, prose writing, or learned discourse. The case for a specific pagan usage of Greek rests on extremely shaky foundations. Even the laughable words used by the Homeric gods, moly and the like, cannot invalidate one fundamental given: ‘In the same way the skilled craftsman and creator, the Logos, has set a different inventor over each different occupation or art, and has offered them all alike for everyone to use, binding together human life for us by the ties of mutual communication and humane feeling, and rendering it more civilized.’⁹⁷ The kind of paideusis championed by Julian, a thorough training in the linguistically correct and stylistically appropriate use of the Greek language, can by no means be considered the exclusive property of one single group or religion, for it is a universal good, a possession of all mankind, and dispensed by the Logos at that.⁹⁸ That Julian wants to make a link between the logoi and pagan religion, then, only testifies to his flawed thinking and complete misunderstanding of the very thing he claims as his own. In the battle over ownership of paideia, Gregory raises the standard against a restricted, inward-looking education and in defence of a universal community of those who partake in Greek letters. It is, though, not hard to see that his representation of Julian’s intentions is biased and one-sided. He strips what is said about paideia in the school law and Julian’s writings of its ethical claims, to equate the emperor’s ideal of education with linguistic skills and literary studies.⁹⁹ This distortion makes the concept of a pagan educational community an easy target. From the strident attack against the school law it already becomes apparent that neither a solid grounding in the Greek classics nor the pedantic obsession with linguistic correctness can pass as proper paideia. Both literary pursuits

⁹⁶ Gr. Naz. or. 4.104 (SC 309.254–6). ⁹⁷ Gr. Naz. or. 4.106.14–18 (SC 309.258): οὕτω κἀν τούτοις ὁ τεχνίτης καὶ δημιουργὸς Λόγος ἄλλον μὲν ἄλλης τινὸς ἐπιτηδεύσεως ἢ τέχνης εὑρετὴν προὐστήσατο, πάντα δὲ εἰς μέσον προὔθηκε πᾶσι τοῖς βουλομένοις, τῷ κοινωνικῷ καὶ φιλανθρώπῳ συνδέων τὸν βίον ἡμῖν, καὶ ποιῶν ἡμερώτερον. ⁹⁸ See also Gr. Naz. or. 4.4.8–11 (SC 309.92): ἀλλὰ κἀκείνῳ πρέπουσα δίκη, λόγῳ κολάζεσθαι ὑπὲρ τῆς εἰς λόγους παρανομίας· ὧν κοινῶν ὄντων λογικοῖς ἅπασιν, ὡς ἰδίων αὐτοῦ, Χριστιανοῖς ἐφθόνησεν, ἀλογώτατα περὶ λόγων διανοηθεὶς, ὁ πάντων, ὡς ᾤετο, λογιώτατος (‘but it is also a fitting judgement for that man to be punished by means of the word for his offence against words. Although they are common to all rational beings, he begrudged the Christians them, as if they were his own exclusively, thinking most illogically about words, he who, in his own opinion, was the most rational of men’). ⁹⁹ Gregory says that the foundations of this erroneous view of education were laid already during Julian’s own studies with the rhetoricians and philosophers, whom he admired, not for their morals, but only for their beautiful eloquence. Gr. Naz. or. 4.43 (SC 309.142–4). See also 30, where the young Julian is said to have trained in eloquence but, like a sophist, advocated the wrong argument.

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educational communities 41 and command of eloquence, though undoubtedly part of Gregory’s self-image as a litterateur, deserve in his conception of education secondary rank at best. Right from the proem of Oration 4, Gregory is crystal clear that, in accord with 1 Corinthians, all power and knowledge of this world are covered in darkness and stumble before the light of truth.1⁰⁰ This is resumed also later in the context of the engagement with Julian’s ideal of education.1⁰1 On the basis of this tenet, it is self-evident that expert knowledge of canonical literature cannot be used as a criterion for segregating different classes of humans, nor can linguistic and rhetorical skills. While the faculty of language, as any techne, is common to all mankind, the qualities that truly distinguish one individual from others, and one group from another, are wisdom and sound morals. However, these qualities cannot be acquired through any other means than faith and divine truth. Therefore, proper education, in contrast to the aims of Julian’s ‘pagan church’, must combine theoria with praxis, or the vita contemplativa with the vita activa. While the paideia propagated by Julian remains in the drudgery of human technical learning, Christian theoria, Gregory claims, leads up to heaven, but only if it is put into practice in life in this world.1⁰2 The failure of Julian’s sect to achieve true philosophy is captured in the image of a theatre spectacle whose stunning external features cannot hide its ridiculous vanity. To illuminate the enormous gap between Hellenic and Christian paideia, Gregory also draws a comparison between the figureheads of classical philosophy and the Christian ascetics.1⁰3 The whole bunch of Greek philosophers, from Solon to Plato, the Cynics, the Stoics, and Aristotle, were not immunized by their sophisticated intellectualism against all kinds of ignorance and immorality. Christian sages, by contrast, numbering in thousands, prove their faith and testify to God’s word through their lives, regardless of sex, age, and social status. Although ignorant of skilful eloquence, they demonstrate the triumph of reason and practical wisdom.1⁰⁴ With the opposition of Greek intellectuals and Christian sages Gregory’s argument comes full circle. An obsession with the formalities and techniques taught in the schools will inevitably lead to strange allegories, immoral myth-making, and superstition, if not worse things.1⁰⁵ Julian’s faulty understanding of the logoi is the best example of these flawed textual practices. Only the Christian combination of theoria and praxis, guided by divine truth, guarantees the proper use of language and learning.

1⁰⁰ Gr. Naz. or. 4.3 (SC 309.90), alluding to 1 Cor. 1:20, 2:6–7, further to Pss. 82:5 and 37:2. 1⁰1 Gr. Naz. or. 4.100 (SC 309.248). 1⁰2 Gr. Naz. or. 4.113–14 (SC 309.270–2), further 123 (SC 309.290–2) on the Christians’ ethical superiority over Julian’s pagan community. 1⁰3 Cf. Kurmann 1988: 21. Synkrisis is Gregory’s preferred method in this oration. 1⁰⁴ Gr. Naz. or. 4.72–3 (SC 309.184–90). In this passage Gregory draws on the motif of the unlettered ascetic’s superiority over the pagan philosophers as, for example, embodied by St Antony in Athanasius’ Life. 1⁰⁵ Gr. Naz. or. 4.43, 115, 118–20. See Elm 2012: 380–6.

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42 education in late antiquity In Gregory’s vehement refutation of Julian’s pagan monopoly of education we see clearly how ideas of inclusion and exclusion provoked divisions in the debate on schooling and instruction. The threat posed by the imperial decree to Christian literati forced Gregory to set out his views on the link between paideia and group affiliation. His response was to invalidate the nexus between Greek learning and pagan worship that Julian sought to implement via official order. Severing the ties between traditional schooling and religious affiliation allowed Gregory to incorporate the cherished literate studies into the framework of Christian faith. Since paideia in the established sense covered only language, eloquence, and rational argument, it was, on the one hand, universally human; on the other, as belonging to this world it counted nothing in the face of divine truth. Even worse, Julian’s misguided measures and the philosophers’ immorality had made blatantly clear that secular learning was liable to error and sin. It had to be regulated by virtue and truth, which could be found nowhere but in Christian faith. Gregory, thus, contested the idea that boundaries could be drawn between the pagan and the Christian communities along the divide between educated and illiterate. Instead, being available for everyone to use, the logoi united all humankind. The only valid criterion by which humans could be differentiated into communities was the acceptance of divine truth.

1.4 The Educated Few Questions of participation in higher learning and demarcation were not exclusive to the religious battlefield, however. In this section, we will investigate how challenges to the political power and culture of the elite in Gaul led to a redeployment of literate education. It will be shown that, as the vocal exponent of the GalloRoman nobility, Sidonius Apollinaris (429/32–c.486) sought to gather a closeknit community around shared educational practices. In his eyes, training in the Latinate tradition promised to integrate the individual into a circle of like-minded gentlemen and give reassurance amid existential threats. Earlier, in the fourth century, the young Jerome had made his way to Gaul, to the capital Trier, in the hope of giving his training in eloquence the finishing touches and make a living from the skills acquired in the schools.1⁰⁶ Some years later, the rhetorician Ausonius of Bordeaux celebrated the Gallic provinces and their towns as the hotbed of literary and rhetorical culture, an image already conjured up by the imperial panegyrics assembled in the Panegyrici Latini.1⁰⁷ 1⁰⁶ Hier. epist. 3.5. Rebenich 2002: 6–7. 1⁰⁷ See, for example, Ausonius’ Professores (composed after 385) and Eumenius’ eulogy on the restoration of the school in Autun (Paneg. 9[4], c.297/8 ce). See Mratschek 2002 on the culture of late antique Gaul and Eigler 2013 on the emergence of Gaul as a distinctive area of literary production and reception.

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educational communities 43 However, that culture of Latin letters all of a sudden seemed to face the threat of extinction when in 406/7 Germanic and other tribes, the Burgundians, Suevi, Vandals, and Alans, crossed the borders of the Roman Empire and invaded Gaul. The barbarian incursion of unprecedented scale unleashed dramatic upheavals that wreaked havoc on everything that for centuries had turned these provinces into heartlands of Roman culture.1⁰⁸ Members of the aristocracy withdrew from their estates in the northern parts of Gaul to the safer southern regions, some to the famous monastery of Lérins. Salvian, himself educated in law and rhetoric in Trier, for instance, moved further south in flight from the terror and destruction inflicted by the Germanic invaders. His depiction of the Germans seizing the city of Trier paints a gruesome picture of the raids, massacres, and impoverishment the local population had to endure.1⁰⁹ But there were also other symptoms of the disintegration of the Empire that exacerbated the situation, in particular for the ruling class. The Gallic noblemen were losing political influence and essential contacts in the capital Rome, they had to accept foreign, even barbarian rulers, cope with loss of property, and come to terms with a diminished role in society and politics.11⁰ These challenges inevitably threatened to undermine the selfunderstanding of the aristocracy, not least their self-perception as the bearers of literary culture. Their letters and writings express very articulately their anxieties and give a voice to their perception of sweeping cultural decline. Sidonius Apollinaris, for example, amid the overall confusion laments ‘our vanishing culture’ and has, with his resignation in a ‘world growing old’, greatly contributed to the picture of the Gallo-Roman civilization coming to an end in the wake of the Germanic onslaught.111 While older scholarship was often too ready to accept the aristocrats’ threnody at face value, more recent studies have established that the literary culture of late antique Gaul was by no means on the verge of obliteration under the barbarian kings. Ralph Mathisen in an illuminating article has shown that rhetorical schooling in the area, though undergoing transformation, continued to flourish in the fifth century.112 Further, the impressive literary output of Sidonius, Ruricius (bishop 485–507), Avitus (d. after 517), Gregory of Tours (c.538–94), and others belies the idea of inevitable cultural decline and is rather evidence of the 1⁰⁸ Waarden 2010: 10–16. See also the contributions in Diefenbach 2013 on the transformation of late antique Gaul. 1⁰⁹ Salv. gub. 6.15.83 (CSEL 8.148). See also Hier. epist. 123.16 (CSEL 56.93–4). Sidon. epist. 3.4.1, written in 473, expresses great anxiety about being squeezed between rival Germanic tribes. Further, 2.1.4 and 7.7, from 475, on the fall of Clermont. 11⁰ See Drinkwater and Elton 1992 and Mathisen 1993 for the situation of the Gallic aristocracy in the fifth century. 111 Sidon. epist. 4.17.2 (vanescentium litterarum . . . vestigia); further, 2.10.1, 5.10.1 (veteris peritiae diligentiaeque resedisse vestigia) and 4, 8.6.3 (per aetatem mundi iam senescentis). Sidonius in his lament was joined by other Gallic aristocrats: Claud. Mam. epist. ad Sapaud. (CSEL 11.204.16–205.4), Ruric. epist. 1.4, Greg. Tur. Franc. praef. (1.8–10 Kr./L.). See Mathisen 1988. 112 Mathisen 2005.

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44 education in late antiquity nobility’s hyperbolized perception of a land that to them seemed to bear the marks of an eschatological age.113 Recent scholarship has also done a great deal to discard the view that the often seemingly arcane literary pursuits of the Gallo-Roman elites were completely out of touch with reality.11⁴ We have come to acknowledge that their heightened interest in Latin language and letters served to reconfigure the very notion of nobility in response to the ever narrowing space for political activity. Alongside holding ecclesiastical office, either as bishop or president of a monastic community, there was a second, often complementary path for aristocratic self-assertion amid the frightening disruption: traditional learning.11⁵ Sidonius’ elaborately crafted letters in particular propagate the new image of the aristocratic leader committed to the church and/or letters.11⁶ On the basis of the scholarly reassessment of literary culture as the centrepiece of aristocratic self-definition, the following discussion intends to explore how litterae and learning came to create a virtual community transcending time, the existence of which depended on educational, text-centred performances as everyday rituals. Without the body of Sidonius’ poems and letters we would be in a less promising position to study the homogeneous cultural milieu and habits of the Gallic elites. His profuse writing about the preoccupations and concerns of his peers make him the epitome of the new aristocrat who emerged from the redrawn political landscape of fifth-century Gaul. Having been brought up in a family of officeholders in Lyons, he in 468 became urban prefect of Rome, before two years later advancing to the see of Augustonemetum, modern Clermont-Ferrand.11⁷ His works, spanning both his secular and ecclesiastical careers, show him at the centre of a coterie of intellectuals, all of them devoted to literary studies and some also related through family ties.11⁸ The one ingredient that stands out from his epistles as much as his verses is litterae. Sidonius never tires of talking about his own and his friends’ reading, writing, eloquence, stylistic brilliance, as well as their books and libraries. Not a single hour or occasion seem to pass without them discussing the latest literary production and mutually praising their virtuoso command of the

113 For the eschatological visions of Eucherius of Lyons, Prosper of Aquitaine, Sulpicius Severus, and Paulinus of Nola see Mratschek 2002: 41–3. 11⁴ Auerbach 1965: 258 was convinced that the Gallic literati were ‘hopelessly cut off from reality’, that their ‘style could surely have had no appeal even for an elite’. Sidonius’ style was ‘a game for the initiate’, which ‘only a small clique could appreciate’. See now Schwitter 2015 for a reassessment of obscuritas in the epistles of the Gallo-Roman literati. 11⁵ Mathisen 1993 and Harries 1994: 103–4. 11⁶ e.g. Sidon. epist. 2.1.4, 7.9.24. Cf. Eucher. epist. ad Val. (PL 50.718). Harries 1994: 122 observes that ‘[t]he fusing in the aristocratic mind of the three ideas of romanitas, eloquentia, and Christianity was symptomatic of the adjustments being made by individual nobles as they sought to come to terms with a post-Roman world.’ 11⁷ See Harries 1994, Waarden 2010: 5–7, Hanaghan 2019: 2–8, and Waarden 2020 for an account of Sidonius’ life. 11⁸ See Müller 2013 on the epistolary network and the ties among its members.

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educational communities 45 poetic tradition.11⁹ The erudite Christian aristocrat, whether he holds an office in the church or not, comes across as an intellectual universalist, with expertise in prose-writing, poetry, philosophy, geometry, and music, a distinction awarded by Sidonius unapologetically also to himself.12⁰ What is of equal importance is the collective and experiential dimension of this type of learning. The idea that education, studium, comes to the full in regular conversation and intimacy is captured most vividly in Sidonius’ poetic report of a banquet of learned nobles in the times of the Emperor Majorian (r. 457–61) sent some years later to his friend Tonantius. At the dinner party, a number of GalloRoman men, united in friendship and literary pursuits, assemble to ‘celebrate dutifully a festival of letters’ (celebremus ergo, fratres, pia festa litterarum). In the carefully created festive atmosphere of the banquet, depicted by Sidonius in Horace’s Asclepiads and peppered with references to classical culture, we will not be surprised to find the poets and rhetoricians discussing the unrivalled prose and verse of Peter, the emperor’s secretary, a ‘master well schooled in both disciplines’, prose writing and poetry.121 Even in Sidonius’ post-festum recreation, the feature that defines the noblemen as a group is reading, the joint study of Latin letters, which they mutually attest in their epistles. As the phrase pia festa indicates, the letter writer and his friends share a devotional habit which elevates educational practice to ritualistic activity and thus constitutes a semi-religious community.122 What the noblemen gathered around the dinner-table are practising is reenacted in the letter itself, with Sidonius sending his own verses and the accompanying lines to Tonantius for enjoyment and due appreciation. A similar picture of an intimate friendship of literati is given by a letter sent about 469/70 to a young man named Hesperius, a student at the time and future rhetorician, who would become the teacher of the son of Ruricius of Limoges.123 With its affectionate, warm tone, its references to learning, and the inclusion of one of Sidonius’ poems, the epistle is emblematic of the habit and thoughts that defined the circle of the Gallic litterateurs. However, Hesperius’ juniority, qua student, to Sidonius is not without significance for the concept of education 11⁹ See, for example, Sidon. epist. 5.17.1. In epist. 1.9.8, Sidonius even ascribes the advance of his career to his literary activities. 12⁰ Sidon. epist. 1.9.1 on the astoundingly broad erudition of the nobleman Paul, and 4.11.1 and 6, the epitaph for Claudianus Mamertus (written probably at the end of 471; see Amherdt 2001: 279–80); further, the eulogies of Claudianus in 5.2.1 and of bishop Lupus in 9.11. In the final letter of Sidonius’ collection, epist. 9.16, sent to the dedicatee of Book 9, Firminus, Sidonius gives a summary of his own literary achievements in the form of Sapphic stanzas. Mratschek 2017 shows how important the identity as a poet is to Sidonius’ self-presentation in the letter collection. 121 Petrus est tibi legendus | in utraque disciplina | satis institutus auctor. Sidon. epist. 9.13, probably written about 479. The quotes are in the poetic section of the letter (5). See Egelhaaf-Gaiser 2018 on the meta-literary and meta-convivial discourse in the letter. 122 For the importance of regular reading as a marker of the group see Sidon. epist. 4.17.2, 5.5.4, 7.14.10. 123 Hesperius is included in Kaster’s catalogue of grammarians, where he is identified as ‘probably’ a rhetorician. Kaster 1988: 412–13 no. 229.

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46 education in late antiquity outlined in the piece. The social function of literary studies in this milieu is brought up immediately in the opening lines: I love you for the fact that you are a lover of letters, and everywhere I strive to celebrate with the most fulsome proclamations the noble breeding of your great sedulity, by which you commend to me not only your first attempts but also my own studies. For when I see the abilities of our young men grow in pursuit of that art because of which I too ‘have pulled my hand from under the rod’, I gain most ample fruit from my own efforts. To this you should add that the number of sluggards has so grown that, unless there are at least a modest few like yourself to defend the proper use of the language of Latium unadulterated by the rust of vulgar barbarisms, we shall in a short time be bewailing its extinction and obliteration, thus will all the purple brilliance of noble expression turn pale by the negligence of the mob.12⁴

These lines at first glance seem banal, for they merely appear to enhance what we glean from the letters of other intellectual figures of late antiquity, and of earlier centuries for that matter. To first establish in the epistle the relationship with his addressee, Sidonius extols Hesperius’ love of letters and great diligence, stressing through the recollection of his own studies the spiritual bond between him and the young man. Yet, their unanimity is reinvigorated by the multitudo desidiosorum, the multitude of sluggards, who by their sheer increasing mass almost overwhelm and suffocate the two learned men. Sidonius’ strikingly long contemptuous comment on the soaring number of ignoramuses might suggest that there is more to his uneasiness than purely the wish to throw his and Hesperius’ pursuits into high relief. It is not only the worrying imbalance between the vel paucissimi quique and the vulgar mob, but the real cause for anxiety seems to be the general trend that is running against the efforts of the well-educated elite. Intellectuals like Sidonius and his addressee are fighting for a lost cause, it seems, as the Latin language in all its splendour and purity is about to succumb to the vulgus.12⁵ That the mushrooming of barbarisms and dullness is a pressing concern for the men of culture is again made clear in the conclusion to the letter when Hesperius is encouraged to ‘not let the cultivation of letters lose its esteem in your

12⁴ Sidon. epist. 2.10.1, quoting Iuv. 1.15: Amo in te quod litteras amas et usquequaque praeconiis cumulatissimis excolere contendo tantae diligentiae generositatem, per quam nobis non solum initia tua verum etiam studia nostra commendas. nam cum videmus in huiusmodi disciplinam iuniorum ingenia succrescere, propter quam nos quoque subduximus ferulae manum, copiosissimum fructum nostri laboris adipiscimur. illud appone, quod tantum increbruit multitudo desidiosorum ut, nisi vel paucissimi quique meram linguae Latiaris proprietatem de trivialium barbarismorum robigine vindicaveritis, eam brevi abolitam defleamus interemptamque: sic omnes nobilium sermonum purpurae per incuriam vulgi decolorabuntur. 12⁵ Hanaghan 2019: 30 emphasizes the class dimension of Sidonius’ assertion of literary education in this letter.

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educational communities 47 eyes because of the crowd of the ignorant; for nature has ordained that in all the arts the grandeur of learning rises in esteem as it becomes rarer.’12⁶ Evidently, a still impressionable young man like the addressee might fall victim to the ever growing mass of the ignorant and, thus, his mentor Sidonius needs to reassure him in his efforts. The hostility towards the outside world, towards those who do not care about the degeneration of the Latin language and quality of the litterae, is very notable in a letter that otherwise only intends to confirm the writer’s affection for his younger addressee and is composed around a thirty-line poem celebrating a church erected by bishop Patiens of Lyons.12⁷ However, the idea that literary and rhetorical training defines one’s stance towards a world outside, a place for the vulgar mob, recurs also elsewhere in Sidonius’ letters.12⁸ In an invective against the governor Seronatus, Sidonius berates this official for talking about literary matters among barbarians and dictating and correcting missives in public—despite his lack of, even elementary, education.12⁹ On another occasion, Sidonius not only praises his addressee, the comes of Trier Arbogast, for being immune to any barbarisms in his discourse but also laments that the sermo Romanus has long been wiped out among the Belgians and at the river Rhine. The only thing that can offer Sidonius some comfort is that, thanks to Arbogast still holding up the cause of eloquence, Roman words do not falter.13⁰ As if two worlds existed in separation from each other, the circle of instituti, the men of education, constitutes a virtual, intangible territory on which the rustici will never set foot, however close they may live to the man of letters in the real world.131 A proper intellectual upbringing, embodied in the mastery of impeccable Latin and beautiful eloquence, is the hallmark of the genuine Roman noble in Sidonius’ epistolary network, and sets him apart from the cultural cretins outside, whether they belong to the barbarian invaders or the petulant mob. What the German tribes 12⁶ Sidon. epist. 2.10.5: igitur incumbe, neque apud te litterariam curam turba depretiet imperitorum, quia natura comparatum est ut in omnibus artibus hoc sit scientiae pretiosior pompa, quo rarior. Cf. epist. 5.10.1 and 4, 9.7.2, and 7.14.1–2 for the sharp demarcation between the uncultured ignorant multitude and the erudite individual, Sidonius himself. See also Alc. Avit. carm. 6 prol., p. 275.11–12 Peiper (suggesting that only few can understand the correct measuring of the syllables). 12⁷ Patiens, archbishop of Lyons before 470 (d. before 494). To him is addressed letter 6.12. See also 4.25. The church was built in honour of St Justus. For Sidonius’ view in 2.10 that standard Latin, as a matter of personal carefulness, separates the elite from the uneducated others see Denecker 2015: 411. 12⁸ Sidon. epist. 7.14.10: ego turbam quamlibet magnam litterariae artis expertem maxumam solitudinem appello (‘As for me, I call any large crowd that is devoid of literary talent a complete wilderness’). 12⁹ Sidon. epist. 2.1.2. It is important that Sidonius’ strident attack had also political implications: Seronatus was an ally of Euric and tried to hand over the Roman territories to the Goths. Cf. epist. 5.13 and 7.7.2. For Seronatus, the vicar of the Septem Provinciae, see Jones et al. 1971–92: 2.995–6, Seronatus. 13⁰ Sidon. epist. 4.17.1–2 (c.477 ce). Somewhat ironically, Arbogast, as his name tells, had been born into a Romanized Frankish family. Jones et al. 1971–92: 2.128–9, Arbogastes. See also Mratschek 2020: 233. 131 As Sidonius asserts in a letter to his friend Philagrius (7.14.1–3), making use of the epistolary topos that letter writing unites friends physically separated by wide distances.

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48 education in late antiquity with their strange names are lacking, and what forever consigns them to the status of barbarians, is the complete absence of education and, in consequence, civilized manners.132 It would no doubt need a Roman, someone who, like Sidonius’ friend Syagrius, is trained both in Latin letters and in the Germanic tongue, to bring civilization to the barbarians and take their language to an acceptable standard.133 Importantly, Syagrius will be able to preserve his Latinity pure and intact only if he regularly spends time reading, as if one’s membership of the club of educated gentlemen had to be constantly renewed through practising.13⁴ Not even the court of the Visigothic kings, though apparently keen to flatter itself with the addition of some men of letters, is spared Sidonius’ sharp tongue as in another letter he sarcastically remarks that Queen Ragnahild and her entourage would appreciate more an elaborately crafted silver basin than the sophisticated verse inscription that Sidonius composed for it.13⁵ The rapidly changing conditions in Gaul around Sidonius and his peers gave the traditional opposition of civilized Romans and rude barbarians new significance and rendered education a matter of urgency, even an endangered feat.13⁶ With the Germanic hordes appearing at the gates and the Roman noblemen marginalized by the vulgar masses, a refined education was seen as a commodity or resource, a rarefied possession of the true Roman. As the vestiges of pure Latin and the litterae were disappearing on all fronts, Sidonius sought reassurance in the idea that he and his companions were the learned few, the last men standing. Yet, that was certainly a badge of honour. The antagonism of the multitude and the few was not simply a question of numbers. Education, as the epistle quoted above insists, had to be scarce in order to remain precious. Divulging this cherished asset to indocile barbarians, as Seronianus presumed to do, was a serious offence and betrayed the high standard of Latin learning. More important than merely

132 Sidon. epist. 4.1.4: After showering lavish praise on Probus’, the addressee’s, outstanding culture and the philosopher Eusebius’ fine learning, Sidonius imagines Eusebius’ philosophical precepts being brought to bear on the brutish minds of the Sygambrians, Alans, and Gelonians—of course with the implication that this fantasy will never come true. It should be noted that Sidonius’ attitude towards the barbarians was flexible, depending on the situation. See Wood 2018 and Mratschek 2020: 230–4. 133 Sidon. epist. 5.5, expressing amazement for Syagrius’ rare feat. However, the letter makes clear that Syagrius was able to achieve it only on the basis of proper schooling. In the conclusion, Sidonius is anxious that Syagrius keeps the balance between the two languages and retains his grasp of Latin. See Denecker 2015: 413–15 on Sidonius’ contempt for the uncultivated language of the Germans in this letter. 13⁴ Sidon. epist. 5.5.4. 13⁵ Sidon. epist. 4.8, especially the ironic conclusion: namque in foro tali sive Athenaeo plus charta vestra quam nostra scriptura laudabitur (‘For in that sort of forum or Athenaeum [the barbaric court] your writing material [i.e. the vessel] will get more praise than my writing’ (5). Becht-Jördens 2017 reads Sidonius’ covert criticism as a compensation strategy for the trauma caused by the military and political disaster. For Gallo-Roman scholars in the service of the barbarian rulers of the following century see the overview in Riché 1976: 184–9. See also Wood 2018: 286–7. 13⁶ Mathisen 2018: 261–2, investigating the concept of Romanness in late antique Gaul, notes that metaphorical concepts of non-legal regional and ethnic ‘citizenship’ became popular in Sidonius’ times as a descriptor of personal identity.

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educational communities 49 as a foil for comparison, the collapsing outside world of fifth-century Gaul was an indispensable inhabitant of Sidonius’ intellectual cosmos. The cohesion of the erudite coterie could only be guaranteed if the pressure of the others behind the walls was maintained.13⁷ In Sidonius’ and his companions’ attempt to work out a definition of Latin learning on which their group could lean, we discern a line of reasoning akin to the agenda which, under different conditions, the Emperor Julian pursued. What defined for them true education was not only the material, that is, the proven expertise in a specific discipline—in this case language and literature. Rather, the question of who was and who was not entitled to set his foot on the premises of the sermo Romanus concerned the Gallic aristocrats just as much. As an exquisite property acquired so laboriously, the litterae had to be guarded against intruders, the more so as the territories of the provinces had already been flooded by invaders. For the erudite men it was still possible to erect at least cultural boundaries and, through exclusive learning, keep the frightening masses at bay. That in fact some of these nobles accommodated to the barbarian rulers was a different matter.13⁸ To reinforce the cultural walls, Sidonius also invoked the sacred principles of kinship and heritage. If, as one letter suggests, family ties and the affinity of intellectual interests merged13⁹ or, as other epistles intimate, love of letters was something that one inherited from his ancestors rather than learnt,1⁴⁰ then it was self-evident that those beyond the gates of these circles would never get access. As the Roman society in Gaul was in disarray and conventional hierarchies had been turned upside down, thorough knowledge of the Latin language and reading of the classical authors, if anything, remained the only way to maintain stability and reinforce clear-cut distinctions. Where was it possible to find security if not in the purity of a language that had not changed since the days of Cicero and Vergil, or in the style of Pliny’s letters and Horace’s Odes, which ever had been the benchmark for literary production?1⁴1 As a consequence, when Sidonius, Claudianus Mamertus (c.425–74), and Ruricius discuss matters of education and culture, it is mostly with a nostalgic look backwards in time. The engagement with vetustas, antiquity, is virtually a leitmotif

13⁷ The elitist habit of the literati and their sniffing at the brutish mob is nicely captured in an episode in which Sidonius and his friends, ‘the leading citizens’, leave the cramped space of a church, where crowds of all social classes had gathered indiscriminately to celebrate Mass. The group of noblemen then exchange the imprisoned atmosphere of the overheated church with the cool breeze of a locus amoenus outside, under the shadow of a vine. There they indulge in urbane conversation and playful pastime, until finally Sidonius himself composes an epigram on the spot (epist. 5.17). 13⁸ As Sidonius himself did. Cf. Sidon. epist. 2.1.2, 5.5.3 (Syagrius as the new Solon of the Burgundians). Mathisen 1993: 70–1 and Näf 1995: 138. 13⁹ Sidon. epist. 4.1.1 and 5, 5.10.2. 1⁴⁰ Sidon. epist. 5.5.1, 8.3.3, 9.15.1, Claud. Mam. epist. ad Sapaud. (CSEL 11.205.19–22), Alc. Avit. epist. 51 (81.1–2 Peiper), acknowledging in Sidonius’ son ‘paternal declamation’ and ‘hereditary kindness’, Ruric. epist. 2.26. 1⁴1 For Sidonius’ admiration, and adaptation, of Horace’s poetry in the letters see Mratschek 2017.

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50 education in late antiquity of Sidonius’ letters, showing that the study of literature, eloquence, and philosophy meant for him seeking the connection with the glorious past.1⁴2 This longing for the past found expression above all in two recurring tropes. For one thing, the writings of the Gallic aristocrats frequently feature catalogues of canonical authors in varying composition, such as Naevius, Plautus, Cato, and Cicero in a letter written by Claudianus Mamertus.1⁴3 At times, these lists come with remarkable additions of more recent provenance. Sidonius, for example, also inserts in his canons contemporaneous writers, the poets and rhetors Drepanius, Anthedius, Paulinus, and Alcimus.1⁴⁴ The juxtaposition of ancients and moderns suggests that it is still possible to keep up the gold standard set up by the great authors centuries ago. Claudianus Mamertus made this point when he suggested that ‘whoever in recent times had written something worthy of memory’ had followed the authorities of bygone days.1⁴⁵ The second important trope is that an accomplished writer, be it in prose or poetry, is expected to emulate the beacons of Latin letters, Cicero, Horace, and so forth. Time and again, the members of the literary circle recognize each other’s products as meriting a place among the classics. They, indeed, vie to compare each other to the literary giants.1⁴⁶ And even when they as frequently in self-effacement confess to having fallen far short of their admired models, they nonetheless give a display of their lofty ambitions.1⁴⁷ Sidonius’ letter to the young Hesperius adds another layer to the productive admiration of the canonical models. We have mentioned already that the writer adopts the role of a mentor in their relationship. Yet in doing so, he tries to evoke the image of a mutually beneficial friendship as if he, Sidonius, were Hesperius’ junior and eager to learn from him. Towards the end of the epistle, when he more openly offers advice, he exhorts Hesperius not to cease in his studies, despite his marriage, which is soon to happen:

1⁴2 Sidon. epist. 2.13.5, 4.3.3, 4.3.9, 4.22.4, 5.10.1, 8.2.2, 8.6.3, 9.14, carm. 6.33–4. For the term vetustas see also carm. 2.299, 524, 539, 13.1. Meurer 2019: 248–53 attributes to the references to the past in the Gallo-Romans’, especially Sidonius’, correspondence an important role in the articulation and affirmation of social status. The connection between education and the construction of the past is studied in detail in Chapter 6. 1⁴3 Claud. Mam. epist. ad Sapaud. (CSEL 11.205.30–206.5), claiming that the only good Gallic writers are those who followed the established classical norms. See further Sidon. epist. 8.11, 4.3.5–7. 1⁴⁴ Sidon. epist. 8.11.2, 9.15.1 (poem, 19–34), carm. 9.302–17. The late antique letter writer Symmachus is also an obvious model for Sidonius (in the introductory letter to the collection, epist. 1.1, further epist. 2.10.5, 8.10.1, carm. 9.304). 1⁴⁵ Claud. Mam. epist. ad Sapaud. (CSEL 11.206): quisquis enim recentiorum aliquid dignum memoria scriptitavit, non et ipse novitios legit. 1⁴⁶ Sidon. epist. 4.3.2, 5.17.1, 4.22.2, 5.10.3, 8.2.2 (the addressee as ‘a new Demosthenes or Tully’), 8.11.7, 9.15.1, carm. 26.47–9. See in particular Sidonius’ effusive praise of Claudianus’ accomplished writing in 4.3 (written in 471). Mathisen 1993: 209 n. 19 has counted that Sidonius compares Claudianus to no less than thirty-eight Greek and Latin exemplars. See also the commentary of Amherdt 2001: 93–165 on epist. 4.3 and Claudianus’ preceding letter (4.2), especially 109–13 on Sidonius’ praise of the addressee’s literary merits. 1⁴⁷ For the characteristic self-deprecation see Sidon. carm. 6.33–6, the lengthy catalogue in carm. 9 (esp. 302–3, 318–28), epist. 2.10.3–4, 4.3.9, 7.9, 8.6.3, 9.11.7.

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educational communities 51 . . . you must make a habit of reading without negligence, and you must feel a desire for reading without limit. You must not allow the anticipation that before long you will be happily married to turn you from this determination. Always remember that in the old times Marcia held candles and candelabra for Hortensius while he was reading and studying, Terentia for Tullius, Calpurnia for Pliny, Pudentilla for Apuleius, and Rusticiana for Symmachus. And by all means, if you lament that in addition to your eloquence your poetical talent and the edge of your tongue, which has been finished off on the whetstone of assiduous study, are blunted by the society of ladies, remember that Corinna often helped her Naso to complete a verse, and so it was with Lesbia and Catullus, Caesennia and Gaetulicus, Argentaria and Lucan, Cynthia and Propertius, Delia and Tibullus.1⁴⁸

Sidonius’ friendship with the aspiring Hesperius shows in exemplary fashion how the members of the intellectual network seek in their epistolary exchange mutual reassurance in their literary pursuits and performance of Roman identity. Commending the junior partner for his eager studies and encouraging him, the senior partner co-opts him into the exclusive community, and, in addition, instils in him a sense of superiority over those who are wanting in proper education. More than that, the passage suggests to Hesperius the right track to becoming fully initiated into this honourable circle: in his marriage he is to follow the path of prose writers such as Cicero, Pliny, and Apuleius, and that of poets like Catullus, Lucan, and Propertius, in order not to cease in his devotion to Latin letters. What Sidonius’ well-meaning advice intimates is that the Gallic noblemen ought to emulate the classics in their whole way of life, virtually to live in their company. Text-centred educational practices must become second nature. Comparing himself to the great authors, living up to their standards, and constantly training in their habits will make the student the ideal aristocrat of letters. The key to success is, as Sidonius’ counsel indicates, that education, though a prized possession, is essentially a practice, and moreover, a collective endeavour.1⁴⁹ It reaches its consummation only in the cultivated, urbane exchange, whether in written correspondence or cultured banquets.1⁵⁰

1⁴⁸ Sidon. epist. 2.10.5–6: . . . opus est ut sine dissimulatione lectites, sine fine lecturias; neque patiaris ut te ab hoc proposito propediem coniunx domum feliciter ducenda deflectat. sisque oppido meminens quod olim Marcia Hortensio, Terentia Tullio, Calpurnia Plinio, Pudentilla Apuleio, Rusticiana Symmacho legentibus meditantibusque candelas et candelabra tenuerunt. certe si praeter oratoriam contubernio feminarum poeticum ingenium et oris tui limam frequentium studiorum cotibus expolitam quereris obtundi, reminiscere quod saepe versum Corinna cum suo Nasone complevit, Lesbia cum Catullo, Caesennia cum Gaetulico, Argentaria cum Lucano, Cynthia cum Propertio, Delia cum Tibullo. 1⁴⁹ Schwitter 2020 highlights the role of affectionate, friendly competitiveness, especially with regard to literary production, in Sidonius’ circle. 1⁵⁰ Näf 1995: 157–8 notes the top position of education among the nobleman’s qualities in Sidonius’ eulogies and states the social dimension of aristocratic learning.

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52 education in late antiquity For Sidonius’ notion of studium to be fully appreciated, the idea of practice is to be taken seriously. Hesperius had asked him for one of his poems that celebrated a new church building at Lyons. The letter now fulfils this request, but it does far more than that. The poetical ecphrasis enveloped in the epistle is, regardless of the author’s typical self-abasing comments, no doubt intended as a model, an example which carefully reading and scrutinizing the addressee can hone his own poetical skills.1⁵1 To be acknowledged as an eruditus, it did not suffice to dedicate oneself to reading as widely as possible. On the basis of that, as if to constantly give evidence of their reading, the Gallic aristocrats prolifically produced letters, poems, prose treatises, and speeches that abounded with classical echoes. Always hunting for applause from their peers, they circulated these literary products and expected the addressees to put them to knowledgeable scrutiny and requite lavish praise; and so the peers dutifully did.1⁵2 By doing so, they, as it were, traded in the precious commodity of education. Crucially, this aristocratic economy of learning contributed to the preservation of the ancient Latin language and culture, a task underlined so strongly in the letter to Hesperius.1⁵3 In the face of ubiquitous barbarism, both linguistic and political, and the advance of the uncultured multitude, the learned practice of the literati amounted to an act of resistance and heroism.1⁵⁴ The grammaticus Ioannes, for example, was assured by his friend Sidonius that he, the ‘reviver’ of fading literary culture, had made the decisive contribution to preserving traditional learning, as the ancient birthright, among invincible but alien people.1⁵⁵ And Avitus had no doubts that animus against barbarians and interest in literature went hand in hand, merging as maternal and paternal inheritance.1⁵⁶ As a compensation for the limited space available to them in the field of politics and society, the aristocrats retreated to the realm of learning, as an inner exile, from which they could set out

1⁵1 Sidonius describes his verses as the fruit of his leisure time. See Hindermann 2020: 108–9. 1⁵2 Sidon. epist. 9.14, to Burgundio. This letter, notably, also makes a comparison with literary authorities of the past, such as Livy and Suetonius. Further, 9.7, to bishop Remigius, and 9.11.6. 1⁵3 Müller 2013 illuminates the importance of a cultural tradition that reaches far back in time to Sidonius’ and Ruricius’ self-presentation in their letters. 1⁵⁴ Cf. Sidon. epist. 8.2.1–2. As Kaster 1988: 90 remarks: ‘In this milieu, to be learned was to know that one was still Roman: the man who postponed the eclipse of Latin letters in troubled times was a heroic figure . . . .’ 1⁵⁵ Sidon. epist. 8.2.1 (suscitator fautor assertor) and 2: debent igitur vel aequaevi vel posteri nostri universatim ferventibus votis alterum te ut Demosthenen, alterum ut Tullium nunc statuis, si liceat, consecrare, nunc imaginibus, qui te docente formati institutique iam sinu in medio sic gentis invictae, quod tamen alienae, natalium vetustorum signa retinebunt (‘Our contemporaries and our successors should all universally and with fervent prayers dedicate statues or portraits to you, as to a new Demosthenes or Tully. For they were formed and educated by your teaching, and they will preserve right in the midst of an invincible but alien nation these signs of their ancient birthright’). The letter was sent in c.476/80. Jones et al. 1971–92: 2.601, Ioannes 30; Kaster 1988: 298 no. 80, discussing the possibility that Ioannes was a rhetorician rather than grammarian. 1⁵⁶ Alc. Avit. epist. 95 (102.15 Peiper), in a letter sent probably in c.500 to the vir clarissimus Heraclius, talking about a young man called Ceratius. Similarly, Sidon. epist. 7.14.10.

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educational communities 53 to stem the tide.1⁵⁷ Claudianus Mamertus in the preface of his De anima articulated this feeling very well when he conferred on Sidonius the accolade of the ‘restorer of ancient eloquence’ (veteris reparator eloquentiae).1⁵⁸ To Sidonius, Latin education provided to the community of Roman noblemen an ‘anchor’, something that promised stability and reassurance amid the chaos by which Gaul was engulfed. A thorough training in litterae was not only an accomplishment of the individual but, more importantly, the quality that defined the individual’s place within the changing society of fifth-century Gaul. Education, manifest in textual practices, integrated him in the elite community of true noblemen and kept the uncultured mob at bay. It maintained the strict boundaries between Romans and barbarians that in reality had become porous. Although membership could occasionally be considered an inheritance, Sidonius and his companions insisted that it required constant reading and engagement with the authoritative texts of the past, a shared understanding of the great classics. These works did not have to be spelt out and discussed in detail. It sufficed to evoke them, to cite the literary models, as a consensus about the literary heritage and the appropriate reading practices was assumed as a given.

1.5 Education, Allegiances, and Exclusions Over the distance of a century and the yawning chasm between their religious universes, Sidonius, Claudianus Mamertus, Avitus, and their peers, if we may speculate, would have recognized in the Emperor Julian’s thoughts on education some of their own preoccupations. The historical contexts and their respective audiences were far apart. And still, the opinions and claims on both sides reflect normative thinking about what was and what was not proper paideia, and who was entitled to wear the badge of the well-educated civis Romanus. Questions of participation in learning, of inclusiveness and exclusivity, were at the heart of their debates because these champions of the liberal studies saw their identities, and their ideal of learned culture, threatened by impertinent interlopers: Julian by the atheist Galilaeans, and the Gallic aristocrats by the Germanic parvenus and the boorish mob. The very question of access also occupied the minds of John Chrysostom and St Augustine as they wrote down precepts for catechetical instruction, yet their answers were widely different. It was precisely the elitist model of classical

1⁵⁷ As is also visible in Sidonius’ idealized depiction of the banquet as the last refuge for the production of occasional poetry (epist. 9.13). See Egelhaaf-Gaiser 2018: 278–9; further, Schwitter 2015: 192–201. We may compare with the Gallic aristocrats’ perception the idea expressed some decades earlier by Jerome in a letter to Gaudentius, where he suggests a link between the sack of Rome in 410 and the education of Pacatula (Hier. epist. 128.5, CSEL 56.161–2). See also Hier. epist. 130.6 (CSEL 56.181) to Demetrias and Palladius’ account of the life of Melania the Elder (h. Laus. 54.7). 1⁵⁸ Claud. Mam. anim. praef. (CSEL 11.20.17).

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54 education in late antiquity education, the arrogance nurtured by the rhetorical and philosophical schools, that prevented humans from acknowledging others as equals. To overcome the class distinctions woven into the fabric of classical culture, Chrysostom travelled the radical, perhaps unrealistic, road of extirpating Greek paideia with the help of an all-embracing ascetic education imported from the Syrian countryside. Augustine’s solution promised greater success as he accepted the unwelcome consequences of traditional schooling as a fact, but only to attenuate them through differentiated antidotes. However different the historical settings were, the ideologies were occasioned by challenges to education and its desired outcomes. It seemed that education could no longer be taken for granted but had become problematic in various ways. The way in which someone was trained and socialized threw up questions of affiliation and belonging, and sometimes caused divisions. The authors discussed in this chapter felt that these issues had to be directly addressed. Turning to the link between paideia and allegiance, they shared a concern related to the fluidity of boundaries and the fuzziness of group identities. Their educational thinking was evidently embedded in discourses current at the time, as the veneer of late antique society showed signs of cracks: gathering a group of followers behind an ideal educational model promised homogeneity, as a cure for emerging rifts, be they religious, social, ethnic, or cultural. In response to the uncertainties of their times, Chrysostom, Augustine, Julian, and Sidonius harnessed education in order to reinstate stability and reinforce dividing lines because each of them considered intellectual formation as a powerful means for negotiating sameness and otherness. All the thinkers whom we have studied in this chapter arrived at an appreciation of the great impact that level and scope of intellectual training had on the entire community and its identity. The disciplines one had studied, the texts one had read, and the formats in which one had acquired knowledge and skills determined how the group to which people with similar educational backgrounds belonged looked like. In this sense, we can address what the writers inaugurated as educational communities. What the catechetical teachers, Julian, Gregory of Nazianzus, and their Gallic counterparts sought to achieve was an authoritative definition of true learning that reflected the community’s self-understanding and demarcated it from outsiders. Winning acceptance for such a definition was imperative because the communities on whose behalf the thinkers claimed to speak were moving on contested ground, or so they thought: Chrysostom and Augustine mustered what they considered Christian formation against their rivals in the traditional schools; Julian and his Cappadocian antagonist fought the battle for a specifically pagan paideia or, on the contrary, for universally human culture; and Sidonius and his friends took up the gauntlet to confront barbarians and the vulgus in order to save high-brow Latin culture from overall downfall.

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educational communities 55 The educational paradigms on which these close-knit groups were based display a number of defining characteristics. First, what helped to shape the educational communities was a literate education and exegesis that centred upon an agreed set of canonical texts. The thought and actions of every individual member were shaped by foundational texts that both organized the internal relationships of the members and defined as the outside world those who did not implicitly acknowledge the textual basis. Secondly, practices of reading, explaining, and dealing with authoritative writings established the acceptable understanding of them that guaranteed the cohesion of the respective group. While catechetical instruction required the catechumens to be loyal to the divine Scriptures and, depending on the circumstances, to the Catholic understanding of them, the Emperor Julian’s Hellenic community would have been based on the interpretation of the classics as divinely inspired revelation. The Gallo-Romans bound together the members of their circle through the admiration for, and emulation of, the great authors of the past, virtually immersing themselves in this imagined library. Thirdly, the content of the instruction often receded into the background while emphasis was laid on the shared attitudes and practices. What exactly the members of the group of learned men were expected to study did not have to be specified in every detail. Instead, it was essential that the members displayed commitment to the same principles that governed the engagement with the canonical texts. Finally, for the cohesion of the group to be maintained, there had to be experts, guides who possessed and transmitted the correct understanding of what education was and of the foundational writings on which it rested. In the religious education programmes studied in this chapter, this role fell upon charismatic ascetics and the catechist; the Emperor Julian envisioned school teachers as guardians of a sacralized Greek literature; and in Sidonius’ coterie of men of letters, the litterateur who had demonstrated his linguistic and literary expertise in his writings, above all Sidonius himself, was the authority figure who decided admission to and rejection from the community. Werner Jaeger, with regard to classical Greek paideia, has contended that education is always about the relationship between individual and community, and attributed to the ancient Greeks a new awareness of the position of the individual in the community.1⁵⁹ In the period of late antiquity, the idea that processes of formation were about the relationship between individual and community gained new momentum and significance, as society increasingly exhibited signs of dynamic changes and fragmentation. Education came to be seen as regulating this relationship. The educational paradigm to which a person adhered had the power to define him or her and determine their place within society. Consequently, as group identities and demarcation became paramount, the educational ideologies

1⁵⁹ Jaeger 1943–5: 1.xiii–xvii and xix.

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56 education in late antiquity analysed in this chapter gave birth to the idea that literate learning could be exploited for forging togetherness and cohesion. It was this path of thinking that raised the awareness that intellectual formation was not the sole matter of the individual person, the subject to be educated, but rather about communities, participation, and loyalty. The next chapter will explore how the association of learning with a particular group identity, namely religious affiliation, resulted in a significant reinterpretation of the very notion of education.

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2 The Emergence of Religious Education 2.1 Christianity and Education There is universal consensus among scholars that, as Teresa Morgan puts it, ‘Christianity opened a new chapter in the history of education’.1 Surveys of learning and higher studies in late antiquity acknowledge that the Christian takeover of imperial society, aside from many other dramatic changes, marked a watershed both in the practice of intellectual instruction and, perhaps even more so, in thinking about education. However, although scholars such as Marrou were ready to appreciate the innovations made by Christians to the curriculum and the ways in which students acquired knowledge, it is hard to pin the degree of novelty and change down.2 Christians certainly did not reinvent the wheel, and scholars have duly noted that they did not even try to establish their own, as it were, confessional schools.3 Attestations of schools tailor-made for missionary purposes are extremely meagre and of doubtful value.⁴ Even more puzzling than the nonexistence of designated institutions for religious education is that there was no attempt in late antiquity to discuss the best sequence for reading the biblical books, let alone to design a scriptural curriculum. While Neoplatonists devised curricula to steer the novices from the basics to the higher doctrines, church leaders did not offer to their congregants guidance on reading.⁵ This chapter will not add another entry to the list of studies that investigate pedagogic innovations introduced by Christian thinkers or, conversely, trace the persistence of classical culture in the Christianized Empire, though these aspects will come up here and there. Rather, it will argue that the major difference made to the domain of learning by the 1 Morgan 1998: 47. 2 See, for example, Marrou 1956: 327, 330, 334–5, 339. 3 The absence of Christian schools in late antiquity has been noted by, among others, Marrou 1956: 316–19, Nathan 2000: 141–2, Döring 2003: 552, Vössing 2003: 496–7, Markschies 2015: 47–8, and Cribiore 2017: 361. See also the discussion of Pack 1989. For Christian adaptation of traditional pedagogic methods and formats see the contributions in Hauge and Pitts 2016. ⁴ Theodoret reports that when Emperor Valens exiled two orthodox priests, they were astonished that in the region where they settled Christians were only a small minority. For the purpose of converting the pagans, they founded an elementary school that, aside from teaching literacy, had a missionary agenda, with the Psalms and the New Testament on the syllabus (Thdt. h.e. 4.18.7–14). Marrou 1956: 325–6 considers this a proper Christian church school and the priests the founders of religious education in the modern sense. ⁵ As noted by Clark 2012. She concludes (160), ‘we cannot identify a late antique curriculum for reading scripture. There is no discussion of the best sequence; there was no requirement for preachers to follow a particular sequence of reading through the year; and there was no way of predicting what an individual Christian or would-be Christian might have read.’

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0003

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58 education in late antiquity religious transformation of the Mediterranean world was a new conceptualization of paideia itself. Ever since Paul’s epistles and the Acts of the Apostles, education and knowledge had been a serious challenge to Christians, at least to their vocal spearheads, because the topic pointed to the heart of the question as to how Christianity should position itself to the classical world surrounding it. Right from its humble beginnings, Christianity could not totally dispense with the traditional school disciplines and the erudite code of communication if it did not want the message of the gospel to remain incomprehensible to potential believers. Although simple fishermen and tentmakers were hailed as paragons of faith and the apostle dismissed, albeit eloquently, the wisdom of the world, the movement could not do without formal education.⁶ Tertullian, himself one of those who prominently articulated unease with Graeco-Roman culture, hinted at the necessity of education when he stated fiunt, non nascuntur christiani, a statement soon echoed by other ecclesiastical thinkers.⁷ If Christians had to be ‘trained’ through upbringing and formation, the topic assumed even greater significance and urgency in the post-Constantinian period, when ever greater parts of the population converted to Christianity or were born into already Christianized families.⁸ As long as the movement had been a sect on the margins of society, it was relatively straightforward for its adherents to demarcate themselves from everything that smacked of refined pagan erudition. Yet, this was no longer an option when more and more members of the elite turned to the church. Further, as Christianity became a mass movement, it was inevitable that many of its followers, in their attitudes and everyday habits, did not live up to the ideal that its promoters set as the norm. How should the church then make sure that its members were Christians not only in name but in truth?⁹ Many Christians after Constantine, such as the author of the fourth-century Acts of Philip, became aware that Christ ‘brought a very new and innovative teaching into the world so that he might wipe out all worldly instruction’.1⁰ In other words, Christianity needed a brand new and distinctive way of education. ⁶ For the New Testament critique of human learning see e.g. 1 Cor. 1:17–2:16 and the episode on the Areopagus in Acts 17:16–34. Schnelle 2015 attempts a reassessment of the early Christians’ level of education. However, his argument rests on some problematic assumptions, for example on the extent of literacy in the Empire and the connection between social class and education. ⁷ Tert. apol. 18.4. For the significance of this process see Louth 2014. See also Hier. epist. 107.1 (CSEL 55.291) and Chrys. hom. in Eph. 21.1 (PG 62.150). ⁸ From the vast literature on this topic I only refer to Piepenbrink 2005, Gemeinhardt 2007, and Chin 2008, all on the Latin west, and Van Dam 2003, on the Greek east. For the cultural ramifications of the Constantinian turn see Markus 2006. ⁹ Augustine speaks of those qui non ipsa veritate, sed solo nomine christiani sunt (Aug. catech. rud. 14.21, CCSL 46.145) and christiani mali (serm. 73.3, PL 38.471). See also Chrys. Jud. 1.4 (PG 48.844), 1.4.6 (849), and 5.12 (904). See Piepenbrink 2005: 125–61 on the late antique discussion about Christian identity and affiliation to the church. 1⁰ Acta Philippi 8(3) (ed. Bonnet): Καὶ γὰρ παιδείαν ὄντως νέαν καὶ καινὴν ἤνεγκεν ὁ κύριός μου εἰς τὸν κόσμον, ἵνα πᾶσαν ἐξαλείψῃ κοσμικὴν παίδευσιν.

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the emergence of religious education 59 It is not a surprise then that studies on the complicated, often fluctuating relationships of late antique Christians with classical culture are legion. While older scholarship frequently recorded elements of classical paideia, be it literature, rhetoric, or philosophy, in Greek and Latin church fathers,11 the increase in studies on Christian identities in the late Empire has generated further discussion of the ways in which figures like Gregory of Nazianzus, Augustine, Jerome, and Cassiodorus rejected, adapted, and sometimes embraced what their pagan predecessors had achieved.12 While scholars often focus on Christian problematization of pagan learning, they tend to posit religion and education as two separate entities that came into contact in various ways. This paradigm of ‘religion and education’ generally presupposes paideia as a largely fixed and well-defined thing to be demonized, banished, or utilized by Christian authors.13 In the best case, the use of Graeco-Roman learning, prominently billed by them as χρῆσις or usus iustus,1⁴ paved the way to what has sometimes been characterized as Christian humanism and Christian culture.1⁵ Only recently has scholarship turned its attention to the forms of religious education in late antiquity, analysing the methods, media, settings, and transmitters of religious knowledge and practices.1⁶ These recent studies have shown that instruction in religion took place in late antique Christianity in a wide range of contexts, from formal catechesis to monastic paideia, and in various guises, from moral disciplining in regular church services to curricular studies in the liberal disciplines in Cassiodorus’ Vivarium. The major challenge that this field of research is facing is that both constituents of the term ‘religious education’ are notoriously hard to define, all the more as ‘religion’, despite its ancient roots, is a modern concept with no exact equivalent in antiquity.1⁷ To compound the problem, religious education 11 e.g. Hagendahl 1958, 1967, 1983, and recently Bingham 2017: 338–53 (on Irenaeus of Lyon). 12 e.g. Cameron 1991: esp. 121–2, 138–40, Inglebert 2001, Piepenbrink 2005, Gemeinhardt 2007, Stenger 2016b, Stenger forthcoming a. Recent studies on Christian identity construction include Sandwell 2007, Rebillard 2012, Harrison et al. 2014. 13 Pelikan 1993. See also Markschies 2015: 34–40 on the religious provocation posed to ancient Christians by the pagan character of classical elementary education. It is important to note that, in spite of the frequent Christian condemnation of pagan paideia, classical literature and culture did indeed provide for late antique Christians and pagans a common ground on which religious allegiance was often of no consequence (as emphasized by Brown 1992). However, Cribiore’s 2017 claim that paideia was ‘neutral’ territory oversimplifies the matter. 1⁴ See Gnilka 1984. Gnilka’s approach, however, is blind to the diversity of ways in which ancient Christians interacted with pagan culture, because he posits chresis as the church fathers’ master plan and thus attributes to their engagement with pre-Christian cultural achievements a high degree of systematicness (13). 1⁵ Marrou 1938: 339, 345, etc., Jaeger 1959: 9, Jaeger 1961: 100. 1⁶ Tanaseanu-Döbler and Döbler 2012, Gemeinhardt et al. 2016, Gemeinhardt 2017, Larsen and Rubenson 2018, Stenger 2019b. 1⁷ We may define religion as a socio-cultural praxis, a conglomerate of discourses and practices based on the assumption that there is a layer of reality behind the sphere of empirical life, i.e. a transcendent. See Tanaseanu-Döbler and Döbler 2012: 2, who also discuss the term ‘religious education’ and its applicability to ancient cultures. For the concept of religion see, for example, Rüpke 2007: 3–38, Bergunder 2014, Stausberg and Gardiner 2016, and Hanegraaff 2016. Nongbri 2013 argues that in antiquity there was no concept of the religious as opposed to the secular.

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60 education in late antiquity is a category mainly employed by research on modern pedagogy, with regard to school education in western countries, and, in addition, a category frequently charged with political agendas.1⁸ It is not the place here to give a full discussion of the term ‘religion’ and its application to pagan cults, Judaism, and Christianity (or Christianities) in the ancient world. But, having said that, we need at least to attempt a working definition of religious education that allows us to analyse the late antique Christians’ perception of specifically Christian instruction and is also compatible with historical research in other types of the transmission and acquisition of religious knowledge, attitudes, and practices. As a historical phenomenon, religious education encompasses models and processes of the transmission and acquisition of knowledge and competences within religious traditions. It is an ensemble of socialization, training, and selfformation that is oriented towards religion. While this definition is wide enough to cover religious instruction and socialization also in non-Christian environments, it helps us to limit our discussion to cases in which religion is the differentia specifica, that is, setting this mode of education apart from other types in which religion is not centre stage but might be peripheral. Religious education operates at different levels: it includes the transmission of knowledge about a particular religion (for example, learning about its sacred texts) but also instruction in ritual practice and behaviour. Further, it covers initiation into certain forms of religious existence, for instance when novices are received into a coenobitic community. For the study of religious education in antiquity an analytical framework has been suggested that enables us to identify and describe the defining components, including the contents, addressees, mediators, media and methods, and intentions.1⁹ While such an approach goes a long way towards describing the object level accurately, it fails to do justice to the conceptual level. We equally need an approach that helps us to understand how education was conceptualized as part of religion, or, to put it differently, the historical process in which the notion of religious education was established and developed. Therefore, this chapter shall reconstruct the interior perspective, the Christians’ own ideas on how upbringing and intellectual formation could assume a religious character. For this aim, a distinction between two types of religious education seems fruitful. On the one hand, we can speak of a weak notion of religious education if we deal with the transmission and acquisition of knowledge about religion, further with practices of initiation into a religious community; we could consider in these cases religion as a Bildungsgut, the object of education.2⁰ On the other, the strong notion of religious education denotes that, in addition to the things 1⁸ Berglund et al. 2016. 1⁹ Tanaseanu-Döbler and Döbler 2012: 8–18. Damm 2019: 19 defines religious education by its religious goals, that is, as an education that draws the person more fully into the religious tradition. 2⁰ This concept of religious education in a broad sense is adopted by Tanaseanu-Döbler 2012: 98–9 and also dominates the discussion on today’s religious education (RE).

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the emergence of religious education 61 just mentioned, education per se and in every aspect is conceived of as a purely and inherently religious undertaking. In this case, educational acts are considered a religious praxis, in various ways dependent on the transcendent.21 While in the first sense, religion may be one among several other objects or branches of learning, in the second it tends to supersede any other form of education. Or in yet another way, the first means learning to ‘do’ religion, whereas the second means learning ‘religiously’. To delineate the distinction more sharply, I suggest a new terminology: the former, content-based type of religious education, which often is participatory, implicit, and operates on the level of socialization, can be named paratactic because it coordinates religion additively with other areas of the education process, such as literature, rhetoric, and realia. The latter model is hypotactic since it is avowedly religious in every aspect, totalizing (matching other attempts to make religion the supreme component of one’s identity), and distinct from and exclusive of secular types of education, which it aims to supplant.22 On the basis of this distinction, this chapter examines how the integration of education into the Christian framework of late antiquity affected the very notion of education. Would this process leave any room for what we may call secular learning, that is, education and erudition without any link to religion?23 I will argue that Christian thinkers of the pivotal fourth century, the decades after Constantine, introduced a theory of an integrated religious education that was new to Graeco-Roman antiquity. It will become clear that in this period there was a qualitative leap in thinking about the interplay between religion and paideia in comparison with the religious dimension of earlier classical education.

2.2 Education and Religion in Antiquity It may be no accident that we do not possess from pagan antiquity any treatise devoted to religious education, whereas Christianity produced a literature, both in Greek and Latin, that discussed conditions, methods, and purposes of religious upbringing and learning in detailed and systematic fashion. That is not to say that a place for religion within education was inconceivable for Greeks and Romans. However, the peculiar nature of pagan religion as an ensemble of mainly ritual practices appears not to have created a demand for a paideia specifically geared 21 See also Stenger 2019b: 348–9. 22 Gemeinhardt 2017: 173 makes a similar distinction when he differentiates between religious education, which means instruction in the competent use of sacred texts, and purely religious education, which rejects any non-religious learning and cultural practices. 23 Robert Markus has argued that between the end of the fourth century and the second half of the sixth the spectrum of what was tolerable within traditional Christian observance, including secular erudition, was contracting. He defines the secular as the domain of the religious—though not moral— adiaphora, or as the sector of life which is not considered to be of direct religious significance. See Markus 1990: 15 and Markus 2006: 4–6 and passim.

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62 education in late antiquity towards religious purposes. Scholarship has emphasized the embedded nature of Greek and Roman paganism, highlighting the fact that religion was embedded in many of the social structures of the ancient world, not set aside from other autonomous socio-cultural systems.2⁴ As a result, religious elements, practices, and rituals could in principle permeate every aspect of human life, including childrearing, the schooling of youngsters, and mature scholarship. It would therefore be surprising if religion were altogether absent from the educational domain. In, for example, classical Athens and Sparta religious matters were communicated and discussed in public, and they were part of everyday social interactions within the polis.2⁵ Most prominently, the cult of Dionysus in Athens provided not only opportunities for the informal transmission and learning of religion but also a locus for tragic performances pervaded by gods and rituals.2⁶ Religious customs and practices were learnt predominantly through participation. On a more abstract level, philosophers discussed theological questions and religious duties of citizens, even though classical antiquity stopped short of laying down a fixed set of doctrines. In Plato’s dialogue Euthyphro, the title character, a professional prophet, fails to give Socrates a definition of piety. In addition, when Plato in the Republic elaborated his ideas on the education system apposite to his ideal state, religion figured prominently. Everything was to be done to avoid the adoption of blasphemous ideas about the gods, as they had been spread by poets like Homer.2⁷ Even the goal of philosophical activity could be invested with religious significance if it was interpreted as the assimilation to the divine in the highest possible degree (ὁμοίωσις θεῷ).2⁸ From then on, religion was never dropped from the philosophical curriculum, as can be seen from Philodemus’ On Piety and On the Gods, Cicero’s On the Nature of the Gods, Plutarch’s On Isis and Osiris, and Maximus of Tyre’s On Prayer. In particular in the Second Sophistic, religion was of great importance to the educated elites. Members of this class acted as priests, they discussed and wrote about questions of theology, and religion was an ingredient of their selffashioning and social identity, still documented in inscriptions.2⁹ We must also not forget that teachers not only of philosophy but also of rhetoric habitually stylized themselves as high priests and hierophants who initiated their circles into the mysteries of higher studies. By this gesture they at the same time tried to establish

2⁴ See Beard et al. 1998: 1.43, Rüpke 2007: 9–10, Nongbri 2008, Damm 2019: 2. For some critical remarks on the use of the terminology ‘embedded religion’ see Nongbri 2013: 151–2. 2⁵ See, for example, the testimony in Is. 8.15–16 and Pl. Lg. 10.887d–e. 2⁶ For the transmission of religious knowledge and religious learning in classical Greece see Auffarth 2012, who concludes that religious education in this period meant ‘participation, imitation, hearing stories and telling them to others, joining in hymns and prayers’ (56). Bremmer 1995 also highlights the informal and participatory nature of religious education of Greek and Roman children. He hypothesizes that the informality was due to the lack of a fully developed concept of religion in the modern sense: ‘If religion is not recognised as a separate category, how can there be religious instruction?’ (38). 2⁷ Pl. R. 2.377d–3.387b. 2⁸ Pl. Tht. 176b. See Merki 1952. 2⁹ See Graf 2010.

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the emergence of religious education 63 their charismatic authority and lent to profane wisdom the aura of exclusivity and sacredness, as if they shared with the initiands some esoteric secret.3⁰ However, at no point was education and formation as a whole considered a subsystem of religion, nor was there the idea that an education accessible to everyone aimed at shaping the religious identity of individuals or even furthered the cause of religion. Although priests of the pagan cults could at times act as religious teachers, formalized religious instruction was virtually absent from classical Greece and Rome.31 The poet Statius’ mention of his father’s giving the sons of senators instruction in religion at Naples, of which nothing further is known, is clearly the exception to the rule.32 We would, therefore, be mistaken to conclude from the embedded nature of pagan religions that there was a full-blown concept of religious education.33 Neither were knowledge and education generally perceived as inherently religious, nor was an overtly religious agenda grafted onto processes of paideia. What was missing, despite the affinity between philosophy and religion, was an uncompromising subordination of the whole of upbringing, formation, teaching, and learning to the sacred sphere. Here, mention must be made of developments in Neoplatonic thought analogous to Christian attempts at establishing a strong notion of religious education. Among the Platonists of the later Empire the belief that philosophy and religion sat side by side gained ever wider currency. Philosophical activity was assigned religious value and function, as Plotinus defined as its goal the ascent to the divine One and his followers postulated a special closeness of the philosopher to the gods.3⁴ The construct of a Platonic theology was at the heart of Neoplatonic thinking, so much so that the curriculum elevated theology to the top position. The reading schedule culminated in the Parmenides, the essence of Plato’s speculation about the gods.3⁵ Divinely inspired texts, such as the Orphic poems and the Chaldaean Oracles, gained entry into the Neoplatonists’ study programme. Some of these philosophers even made religious practices, the theurgic rites, a defining part of the philosopher’s profession.3⁶

3⁰ See, for example, Lib. Or. 15.27, 58.4, 62.9, Ep. 285. Kaster 1988: 15–17, Stenger 2012: 127–8, Ballard 2017. 31 The informal nature of religious instruction in Rome is perfectly captured by Prudentius’ tendentious depiction of it in c. Symm. 1.197–225. See Prescendi 2010 on how Roman children became familiar with religious rituals and acquired a sense of their religion through them, without theoretical instruction. 32 Stat. silv. 5.3.172–94. See Rüpke 2007: 10–12. 33 I here strongly disagree with Gemeinhardt 2017: 173, who claims ‘Im antiken Griechenland und in Rom durchdringt Religion alle Lebensbereiche, so dass Bildung stets religiös konnotiert ist und vor allem durch familiäre Erziehung weitergegeben wird’ (my emphasis). The conclusion that every aspect of human life—including education—was religious because of the pervasiveness of religion is not valid. 3⁴ See Becker 2019: 219–24 on the Neoplatonic idea of philosophical paideia as a quasi-religious practice and self-formation as becoming godlike. 3⁵ O’Meara 2003: 52–4, 62–3. 3⁶ See Becker 2019: 213–14.

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64 education in late antiquity As an adherent of this philosophical branch, the Emperor Julian propagated a natural unity of paideia and pagan religion in order to bar Christians from teaching the classical subjects in school, as discussed in Chapter 1.3. For example, his two invectives against Cynic philosophers document that for him pagan religion and philosophical paideia were closely intertwined.3⁷ Julian attributes to classical education a religious function because it purifies the mind and paves the way for the acquisition of knowledge of the divine.3⁸ Originating from the emperor’s inner circle, Salutius’ treatise On the Gods and the Universe, which has sometimes been called a ‘pagan catechism’, is an elementary programme of instruction in pagan religion and a succinct account of Neoplatonic theology. Although it insists on the central function of paideia in building and defending pagan identity, the work is intended as a compendium of religious knowledge rather than defining learning as such as a religious activity.3⁹ Similar ideas were advocated by later Neoplatonists like Eunapius of Sardes, Marinus of Neapolis, and Damascius, in whose biographical writing the true philosopher figures as religious expert and philosophy as religious practice with a strong ritual component.⁴⁰ Yet, several aspects suggest that the strong notion of religious education does not apply to the philosophy of the Neoplatonic school. First, it is important to stress that when investing learning with religious value, the Neoplatonists were thinking of their branch of philosophy alone, not of all facets of education. They did not make the totalizing claim that any educational practice carried religious significance. Further, their aim was not to redefine education per se but to elevate and ennoble their philosophical pursuits. Here, we should also mention that the Neoplatonic ideology of religious education crucially differed from the Christian approach in that it was aimed predominantly at the well-educated elites and largely ignored people outside of this socio-cultural background. Even Julian’s vision of paideia as a religious undertaking never gained wider acceptance. Moderate pagans such as Himerius, Libanius, and Themistius, though they were far from excluding religious concerns from education (e.g. Lib. Or. 13.1, 18.157), did not subscribe to the idea that paideia, whether rhetorical or philosophical, was intrinsically religious and had to be a demonstration of religious affiliation.⁴1 It is therefore safe to say that, even though religion gained exceptional prominence in

3⁷ See Stenger forthcoming b. 3⁸ See also Iamb. Protr. 2. 3⁹ In 1.1, Salutius states that a good education from childhood on is a prerequisite for learning about the gods. See Stenger 2009: 320–33. ⁴⁰ See, for example, Eun. VS 4.2.2–3, 6.4, 7.3.7, 7.3.12–13, Marin. Procl. 15, 18–19, Dam. Isid. fr. 59D–F, 72D, 73A–B, 76A–E Athanassiadi. ⁴1 For the fourth-century pagan discussion on the religious element in classical culture see Stenger 2009: 99–110 and Stenger 2014: 272–3. Tanaseanu-Döbler 2012 discusses the relationship between religion and learning in Julian, Salutius, and Eunapius. However, despite her use of the term ‘religiöse Bildung’ her analysis in fact shows that these authors did not have a concept of comprehensive religious education, encompassing any educational activity. They rather insisted on the importance of classical literary and philosophical paideia as the basis for the transmission of religious knowledge.

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the emergence of religious education 65 Neoplatonic learning, there was no concept of an out-and-out religious education. The strong notion of religious education was inexistent. Religious learning was, as can be expected, not absent from ancient Judaism, either. Although it is not possible here to go into the details of Jewish educational practice and thinking, we may cast a brief glance at the unrivalled centrality of sacred texts, the Torah, in learning and teaching.⁴2 At least since the last centuries of the Second Temple period (586 bce–70 ce), elementary education focused on reading the Torah.⁴3 A high premium was placed on memorizing the sacred texts, and the sources throughout promote the ideal of a congruity of words and deeds, in the sense that the study of the law was to translate into daily life. This practical dimension of religious learning was paramount, from Deuteronomy onwards, to the theology of Qumran and the rabbinic tradition. The texts from Qumran allow us a glimpse of the prominence of learning and education in this Jewish community (late Second Temple period).⁴⁴ God was seen as a teacher, so that instruction became an act of divine grace and acquired soteriological significance. Accordingly, learning was conceptualized as a path to the encounter with God and the experience of God’s presence.⁴⁵ When Philo of Alexandria (c.20 bce–50 ce) highlighted the importance of the study of the law for the community of the Essenes, he also stated that the locus for regular instruction was the synagogue, where the Jews learnt piety, sanctity, justice, and the difference between good and bad.⁴⁶ In rabbinic Judaism, Torah study was valued as an intrinsically salvific activity and religious duty of the highest importance, as a form of worship. This valorization of religious learning is evident, for example, in the Mishnaic tractate Avot (final redaction c.200 ce) and the Sifre Deuteronomy, a tannaitic midrash on the fifth Book of the Torah (70–200 ce).⁴⁷ As Hirshman points out, the Sifre conceptualized learning as a liturgy, even as the paramount service of the Lord.⁴⁸ ⁴2 Hezser 2001 and 2010 provide good surveys of Jewish educational practice in Roman Palestine. For a brief overview of the religious orientation of Jewish education see Damm 2019: 6–9. See also the contributions in Hogan et al. 2017 on various aspects of pedagogy and educational thinking in Second Temple Judaism. The essays in Zurawski and Boccaccini 2017 explore Jewish education in the Second Temple period, also in the context of Graeco-Roman paideia. ⁴3 See Hezser 2001: 68–71, who suggests that the rabbinic focus on the Torah as the primary and exclusive subject of instruction may have been a deliberate alternative to the focus on Homer in the Graeco-Roman education system. ⁴⁴ See, for example, the Rule of the Community 1QS VI, 13–15 and 4QInstruction. Brooke 2017 gives a survey of various aspects of education in texts of Qumran. He infers from the scrolls the movement’s overall concern with lifelong learning. ⁴⁵ See Steudel 2005. See also Goff 2017 on the centrality of the Torah in the Jewish pedagogy of the Dead Sea Scrolls. ⁴⁶ Philo, Quod omnis probus liber sit 80–3. See also De vita Mosis 2.215–16, where regarding his own times he describes regular instruction in the synagogue in terms of the Greek philosophical schools. Zurawski 2017 shows that Philo advocated a synthesis of Jewish and Greek education. ⁴⁷ See Avot 2:6. For the tractate Avot see Viviano 1978: in particular 1 and 117. Hirshman 2009 studies passages from the Sifre Deuteronomy as an exposition of a theory of education. ⁴⁸ Hirshman 2009: 36, 46, 110.

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66 education in late antiquity The nexus of education and religion is also made in the apologetic Against Apion, a pamphlet written after 94 ce by the Jewish author Josephus (37–c.100 ce). He situated education in the context of the distinctive Judaean constitution, defined in theological terms as a theocracy in which God possessed supreme rule and power.⁴⁹ Josephus singled out as a defining characteristic of this form of government the fact that, according to Moses’ legislation, piety (εὐσέβεια) was not part of virtue but rather the overarching principle to which all practices and occupations were subordinated. He then went on to describe how this fundamental tenet was implemented in the education not only of children but of the whole of society.⁵⁰ What was of particular importance to Josephus was the profound impact of weekly instruction in the law practised in the synagogue: learning the sacred texts by heart from earliest infancy on, the Jews brought every aspect of their lives in line with the law.⁵1 What is more, regular religious instruction also generated universal concord regarding the notion of God, in glaring contrast to the theological dissonance among the Greeks. Overall, Josephus’ idealized account conjures an image of Jewish society as one held together by a paideia totally pervaded by religion.⁵2 It was, however, primarily against the backdrop of Graeco-Roman culture that the Christian idea of religious education came into being. The more Christians were inclined to engage with the culture and society surrounding them, the more some of them felt the need to clarify the Christian stance on pagan or ‘outside’ learning. It is well known and has frequently been described that Christian writers, despite their own rhetorical and philosophical training, often joined in with Tertullian’s stern and disapproving remark ‘What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?’ and took issue with pagan erudition.⁵3 But it is also true that, while many of them tacitly made use of what the traditional schools were teaching, a number of leading figures reflected on whether and under what conditions it was legitimate to harness for Christian ends what pagan writers, rhetoricians, and philosophers had accomplished. By doing so, they foreshadowed the idea of a distinctively Christian education that would incorporate classical learning as far as possible, without compromising their religious identity. Already Pseudo-Clement, in the late first century, adumbrated the possibility of a παιδεία ἐν Χριστῷ, an education and discipline ‘in Christ’, which simultaneously

⁴⁹ J. Ap. 2.170–8, and 165–7 on the Jewish theocracy. See also AJ 4.209–11 (paraphrasing Deut. 11:19). For the details of the Against Apion passage see the instructive commentary by Barclay 2007. ⁵⁰ The accessibility to the masses is contrasted with the elitism of the Greek philosophers (J. Ap. 2.169). ⁵1 See also J. Ap. 1.60, where Josephus defines the characteristically Jewish way of living by the education of children, the observance of the law, and piety; also 2.204. Further, see 1.42–3 on the Jewish writings as ‘decrees of God’ as different from Greek literature. ⁵2 For the contrast between the learning of the Greeks, which centres upon linguistic exactness and eloquence, and Jewish paideia see also J. AJ 20.264–5. See also the remarks in Philo, De legatione ad Gaium 115. ⁵3 Tert. praescr. 7.9: Quid ergo Athenis et Hierosolymis? quid academiae et ecclesiae?

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the emergence of religious education 67 emphasized its dependence on the instruction of the Christian God and was open to the Hellenistic educational discourse.⁵⁴ In a far more elaborate manner, Clement of Alexandria (around 200 ce), himself well-versed in literary and philosophical erudition, eloquently demonstrated in his didactic works not only that it was acceptable to utilize pagan philosophy for explaining Christian faith, but also that a subtle mind such as Plato had even borrowed from Moses and was familiar with the Psalms.⁵⁵ Consequently, Clement argued that, though education was not necessary for belief, it was certainly indispensable for attaining a true understanding of faith.⁵⁶ For him philosophy had an important role to play as the handmaid of theology, so that pagan learning could legitimately serve as a propaedeutic to Christian formation.⁵⁷ We will see this legacy come to fruition later, in the fourth century, in Basil of Caesarea’s Address to the Young. Of no less importance to the future development of a Christian culture was Origen’s (c.185–254) school at Alexandria and Caesarea, and its theoretical basis.⁵⁸ Christian pedagogy was at the centre of Origen’s writing and activities so that he has been said by Werner Jaeger to have defined Christianity as the paideia of mankind.⁵⁹ His aim of wedding classical philosophy with Christian faith was a far cry from Tertullian’s puritanical rejection. As is shown in particular by Origen’s letter to his student Gregory Thaumaturgus and Gregory’s address to his teacher, the Christian was excused from making a stark choice between classical philosophy and Christian truth. Instead, Origen held that, once the true elements in pagan learning had been disentangled from falsehoods, it could be redeployed to illumine the soul’s path to God and for the exercise of virtue—particularly piety.⁶⁰ Like Clement, he advocated the propaedeutic usefulness of Greek philosophy, something that was typologically anticipated in the people of Israel wrestling the precious vessels from the hands of the Egyptians.⁶1 In both theologians we can discern a positive and productive engagement with pagan culture as a step toward the development of a free-standing religious education. Apparently, both thinkers acknowledged the necessity of intellectual studies for a full understanding of faith and of an elite culture that matched the pursuits in the schools of rhetoric and philosophy. How difficult it was to reach a satisfactory solution here can also be seen in the writings of the convert and teacher Lactantius

⁵⁴ 1 Clement 21:8, see also 62:3. The letter 1 Clement is generally considered to be the earliest extant church writing outside the canonical New Testament writings. See Jaeger 1961: 12–26 and Gemeinhardt 2007: 7–8, who highlights the merging of the traditions of the Septuagint and Hellenistic culture. ⁵⁵ See Clem. paed. 1.8, 2.10, 2.1. ⁵⁶ Clem. str. 1.6.35.2. ⁵⁷ See in particular the beginning of Book 1 of his Stromateis, especially 1.5.28–30, with an allegorical interpretation of the story of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar (Gen. 16), following Philo, De congressu eruditionis gratia 22–4 (ed. Alexandre) and Legum allegoriae 3.244–5. ⁵⁸ See Markschies 2015: 76–91, who argues that Origen’s school was the first Christian university of antiquity that is firmly attested. See also Chapter 4.4 on Eusebius’ portrait of Origen. ⁵⁹ Jaeger 1961: 66, 68. ⁶⁰ See Or. ep. 2.2–3, Gr. Thaum. pan. Or. 14. ⁶1 Or. ep. 2.1–3 (Philocalia 13.1–3). Cf. Eus. h.e. 6.18.4.

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68 education in late antiquity (c.250–325). He, too, was adamant that Christians had to be on the watch to avoid being deceived by the tricks of pagan rhetoric and perverse doctrines of the philosophers. Human learning in his view was by nature subservient to the world, relating to the life on earth and the human body.⁶2 Lactantius’ dissatisfaction with worldly erudition and the perception of an opposition between pagan culture and divine truth generated in him a desire for Christian culture. Learning and wisdom had a central role to play in Christianity, but there were no teachers to instruct Christians.⁶3 The flaws of pagan education precluded a true and equal synthesis with Christian religion and ruled out any preparatory value of the school disciplines. Notwithstanding, Lactantius was inclined to accept them as instrumental and subservient, so that they could no longer harm Christianity. If the educated person was a Christian and knew how to employ rhetoric and philosophy for the benefit of faith, knowledge in these subjects could become an aid to religion and veritas, and thus help to reach out to educated persons interested in Christian religion.⁶⁴ Another tributary of the Christian discussion of paideia was the conception of divine pedagogy rooted in the Jewish tradition but shaped with the help of GraecoRoman educational discourse. Already in the Old Testament the relationship between God and mankind was defined not only by God being the Creator but also by his being the educator of humans.⁶⁵ And the New Testament figured Christ as the supreme teacher, a trope taken up by many later Christian thinkers, Clement, Origen, John Chrysostom, and Augustine among them. Irenaeus of Lyons (c.130–c.200), for example, held that humanity needed to be trained, educated, and moulded, that God should forever teach and humanity forever learn from God.⁶⁶ For him it was God as father-teacher who through his laws, the prophets, and the gospel was gradually leading humanity to perfection. Thus, education was seen as a key mechanism in the redemptive economy, with history virtually becoming a schoolroom. According to Irenaeus learning, as Jeffrey Bingham observes, is holy and sanctifies humanity.⁶⁷ In this process knowledge has its part, but its scope is delimited by pious love for God, the ultimate goal of education. These were foundations on which the theologians of the later fourth century could build when they set out to develop ideas of what a distinctively religious education could look like. From their predecessors they inherited the key themes and tropes of the debate: the entanglement of pagan learning with the world and the superiority of Christian truth, the need for discrimination and careful selection, the idea of proper use, and, above all, the necessity for education to be injected with a religious value. In the following sections we will see how these parameters shaped the emergence of religious education. ⁶2 Cf. Lact. inst. 5.1.19–20, 6.3.5–9. ⁶3 See Lact. inst. 1.1.25, 5.2.1; further, opif. 1.2. ⁶⁴ Lact. inst. 5.1.11–12. ⁶⁵ See Finsterbusch 2007. ⁶⁶ Iren. 2.28.3, 4.11.2, 4.13.2, 4.37.7. See Bingham 2017: 324–37. ⁶⁷ Bingham 2017: 331.

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the emergence of religious education 69

2.3 Reading the Classics through the Christian Glass Clement’s and Origen’s suggestions for circumspect selection and harmonizing philosophy with faith were in the mind of Basil of Caesarea, when, probably in the late 360s or 370s, he advised his young nephews on the right way to use Greek literature.⁶⁸ However, Basil’s relationship with pagan learning and his own intellectual formation was not as easy as the Address to the Young might lead us to think. He not only in a letter deprecated his schooling in Athens, saying that it was vanity and a waste of time, but also declared to a wider audience that pagan teaching and philosophy had ceased to be useful in the emerging Christian society because they had been replaced by the truth of the gospel.⁶⁹ Against this backdrop, the tract addressed to his young relatives appears to be surprisingly liberal. Not only does it freely borrow from Plato’s dialogues and Plutarch’s writings, but it also argues, albeit cautiously, for the value of pagan literature, especially poetry, and schooling in the process of Christian formation. This seemingly prejudice-free attitude has earned Basil lavish praise for providing a road map for Christian culture, and secured the treatise an extraordinary afterlife through the centuries.⁷⁰ Critical readers, by contrast, have doubted whether Basil really succeeded in outlining a programme of Christian paideia integrating the pagan cultural heritage. Philip Rousseau’s critique of the treatise’s inconclusiveness has raised the question of why the Christian adolescent should read the pagan classics at all if, as Basil claims, all their useful teachings can be learnt likewise, and even better, from the Scriptures.⁷1 This apparent shortcoming provides us with a starting point for our analysis: the place of the Greek classics in Basil’s outline will show us how far he advanced on the path toward a religious education.⁷2 With this focus, this section will offer a fresh reading of Basil’s well-known and oftdiscussed text. The central question that the Address promises to answer is, ‘Can traditional paideia contribute to ethical formation of Christian persons, and if so, how are Christians to deal with it?’ Seen from the perspective of Basil’s addressees, this implies that the work intends to show school students a way in which they can align what they are learning in school with their religious affiliation.⁷3 From the

⁶⁸ The Address to the Young cannot be dated with precision. See Gane 2012: 12–15 and Naldini 1984: 16–17. ⁶⁹ Bas. ep. 223.2, hom. in Ps. 32 7 (PG 29.341). See Rousseau 1994: 47–8. ⁷⁰ Jaeger 1961: 81. For the afterlife see Schucan 1973. ⁷1 Bas. leg. lib. 10.1. Rousseau 1994: 55–6, Rappe 2001: 411. See also Stenger 2016a: 95–6. ⁷2 Focusing on the reading principles suggested by the Address, Schwab 2012 argues that Basil aims to ‘religiously educate and socialize the Christian youth’ (160) but fails to grasp the religious element in studying the pagan classics. He also does not really address why Christian students should read non-Christian literature at all. ⁷3 See Bas. leg. lib. 1.4–5, 2.7–10, as well as the title transmitted in the manuscripts, Πρὸς τοὺς νέους ὅπως ἂν ἐξ Ἑλληνικῶν ὠφελοῖντο λόγων.

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70 education in late antiquity outset the author is explicit that for that purpose a sound method is required because it would be inappropriate and harmful to fully embrace Homer’s epics, Hesiod’s didactic poems, elegies, historiography, or even oratory, which is prone to disingenuity.⁷⁴ The reason is that, alongside many true and useful insights, pagan literature also contains dangerous falsehood, deceptive lies, and immoral tales. Since Basil’s main concern is the character formation (τῆς ψυχῆς ἐπιμέλεια)⁷⁵ of his addressees, the bottom line must be that one has to select from the classics only what is useful and in congruence with biblical truth while discarding the useless and harmful teachings.⁷⁶ Behind his guidelines for the proper engagement with pagan literature lies the general acknowledgement that for Christian identity to fully develop there needs to be a methodical process of education. Although a good knowledge of the Bible and Christian doctrines is assumed on the part of the readers, Basil holds that, in order to lead a truly virtuous life as preparation for the other life, the Christian must undergo continuous training facilitated by reading suitable texts.⁷⁷ This training cannot be completed through intellectual activity alone but has to balance theory and practice in equilibrium.⁷⁸ In the final part of the Address, when Basil gives an extended specimen of his classical reading (ch. 9), it becomes clear that he understands the process of education as the encouragement to the true Christian life, which is evidently in the mould of the ascetic ideal.⁷⁹ If self-formation means step by step realizing the Christian mode of life, it follows that pagan learning, if it has to become meaningful, needs to be somehow ‘Christianized’, i.e. invested with religious significance. Prima facie this possibility seems very unlikely, for, as Basil points out, pagan culture and Christianity constitute two distinct systems. The former is represented by the foreign or external logoi, by outside learning and outside wisdom (μαθήματα τὰ ἔξωθεν, τῶν ἔξωθεν παιδευμάτων); the latter, conversely, is ‘ours’ (τοῖς ἡμετέροις λόγοις) and belongs to the addressees as if through kinship.⁸⁰ ⁷⁴ See Bas. leg. lib. 1.6–7, 4.1–2. ⁷⁵ Basil elaborates on that topic in ch. 9. For the phrase in 2.8 compare Pl. Clit. 407e, 408b, Ap. 29e, Phd. 107c. Lamberz 1979: 233 n. 49. ⁷⁶ Bas. leg. lib. 1.6, 3.1, 4.9–11, 8.1. Intriguingly, the introductory Chapter 1, which puts forward the criterion of usefulness, makes no reference to Christianity at all but rather gives the impression of a purely philosophical discussion of the use of literature in the manner of Plutarch’s On Reading the Poets. For parallels between Basil’s and Plutarch’s treatises see Beneker 2011 and Gane 2012: 45–9. ⁷⁷ The other life as the ultimate goal for which Christian education must prepare the faithful is introduced in Bas. leg. lib. 2.2. Further, when Basil approvingly paraphrases Prodicus’ fable of Heracles at the crossroads, he defines as the goal of the path of virtue ‘becoming god’, adopting, like Origen before him, the Platonic ὁμοίωσις θεῷ (5.16). ⁷⁸ Basil emphasizes the congruence of words and deeds in Bas. leg. lib. 6, with particular reference to Euripides and Plato. ⁷⁹ Van Dam 2002: 182–5 argues that the course of the treatise reflects Basil’s own trajectory from secular studies to more serious Christian studies and the ascetic life. Lamberz 1979: 238 is sceptical about an ascetic agenda. ⁸⁰ Bas. leg. lib. 3.1–2, 4.1, 10.1. See Stenger 2019b: 335–6. The label ‘outside’, ‘foreign’ was used very frequently by Christian writers, especially the Cappadocians and Chrysostom, to denote pagan learning and philosophy. The usage goes back to St Paul’s phrase οἱ or τὰ ἔξω(θεν) denoting people or things

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the emergence of religious education 71 Moreover, the foreign logoi are closely intertwined with the world and all its shortcomings, which Basil with determination rejects in his protreptic in Chapter 9. There he exhorts his nephews to abandon earthly goods such as riches, power, and honour in favour of the Christian path of virtue. True education is instead anchored to the eternal life, serving as unceasing preparation to that goal, to which only the Scriptures lead the way. Yet, the Address attributes at least a propaedeutic value to pagan literature if one takes from them sound moral lessons and examples of virtuous behaviour like, for example, the philosopher Socrates.⁸1 The reason why it is possible to use Greek learning in the same way that athletes prepare through exercises for a contest is that the gap between classical paideia and Christian truth is not as wide as the external–internal divide just mentioned suggests. After he has stressed the exclusiveness of the Christian road to the other life, Basil concedes, with Platonic imagery, that the other paideusis reflects the beauty of the eternal things like a shadow or dream. Some paragraphs later, the relationship, or resemblance, is presented in slightly different terms: ‘Now if there is some affinity between the two bodies of teachings, knowledge of them should be useful to us; but if not, at least setting them side by side so that we can discern the difference between them will be of no small use for strengthening the position of the better.’⁸2 Thus, some affinity or kinship between the two bodies of logoi allows the student to select, like bees collecting nectar from flowers, from pagan texts only what is useful and in agreement with truth, while leaving the rest untouched.⁸3 How pagan and Christian logoi relate to each other is then further detailed some lines later, with another analogy. Basil explains: Perhaps it is the proper virtue of a tree to abound in the fruit of the season, but it also wears like an ornament leaves that float around its branches. In about the same way, in the case of the soul, its fruit is primarily the truth, yet it is certainly not without charm that even the wisdom drawn from the outside is draped around it, like leaves that provide both protection to the fruit and an aspect not devoid of beauty.⁸⁴ outside the church (e.g. 1 Cor. 5:12–13, 1 Tim. 3:7). The first attestation of the phrase οἱ ἔξω φιλόσοφοι appears to be Gr. Thaum. pan. Or. 10. For a sample of the vast amount of references in Christian texts see Cameron and Long 1993: 35–6 n. 90 and Malingrey 1961: 212–13. See also Chapter 5.4 on Gregory of Nyssa’s use of the kinship theme with regard to learning. ⁸1 For the idea of propaedeutic see Clem. str. 1.5.28–35. Already Plutarch in On Reading the Poets had assigned to poetry the function of a path to philosophy. ⁸2 Bas. leg. lib. 3.1: Εἰ μὲν οὖν ἔστι τις οἰκειότης πρὸς ἀλλήλους τοῖς λόγοις, προὔργου ἂν ἡμῖν αὐτῶν ἡ γνῶσις γένοιτο· εἰ δὲ μή, ἀλλὰ τό γε παράλληλα θέντας καταμαθεῖν τὸ διάφορον οὐ μικρὸν εἰς βεβαίωσιν τοῦ βελτίονος. ⁸3 The analogy of the bee is applied to Basil’s own dealing with learning by Gregory of Nazianzus in Gr. Naz. or. 43.13.1. For the significance of the simile in the Christian engagement with classical culture see Gnilka 1984. ⁸⁴ Bas. leg. lib. 3.2: Ἦπου καθάπερ φυτοῦ οἰκεία μὲν ἀρετὴ τῷ καρπῷ βρύειν ὡραίῳ, φέρει δέ τινα κόσμον καὶ φύλλα τοῖς κλάδοις περισειόμενα· οὕτω δὴ καὶ ψυχῇ προηγουμένως μὲν καρπὸς ἡ ἀλήθεια, οὐκ ἄχαρί γε μὴν οὐδὲ τὴν θύραθεν σοφίαν περιβεβλῆσθαι, οἷόν τινα φύλλα σκέπην τε τῷ καρπῷ καὶ

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72 education in late antiquity The simile, itself presented with obvious literary skill, illustrates how Basil at the same time subordinates and integrates pagan education into the framework of Christian religion.⁸⁵ Once again the image suggests a relationship between inside and outside (θύραθεν), or between core and non-essential cover. While the tree’s essence lies in producing fruit in due season that is ripe and nourishing, the leaves provide additional embellishment, as if they were merely accidental. Thus, there is a clear hierarchy of what is essential and in itself an end, Christian truth, and that which is subservient and instrumental, pagan wisdom. An additional benefit is given by the protection that Greek paideia gives to the fruit of the Christian soul. Yet, there is more to the analogy than the well-known superiority of Christian truth to pagan wisdom. While he insists on the foreign character of Greek erudition, Basil at the same time with the image of fruit and leaves suggests a unity of both. As fruit and leaves form an organic whole, both growing from a single tree, so Christianity and what is considered true and useful in classical culture seem to belong together, though not on equal terms. Both appear as two sides of a coin and, thus, cannot be completely separated; the consonance Basil notes between numerous literary passages and the divine Scriptures is not coincidental but a natural one, so much so that pagan teachings become, as it were, the exterior of Christian doctrine. That is why, as Basil adds, Moses could easily advance from the Egyptians’ learning to the contemplation of being, and Daniel was able to proceed from Chaldaean wisdom to divine instruction.⁸⁶ Against the backdrop of the two Old Testament precursors, Basil gives the selective appropriation the student is to perform in reading yet another twist. In Moses’ and in Daniel’s case, the alien nature of the wisdom they imbibe is foregrounded, in accordance with Basil’s ideology of two distinct bodies of learning. However, when in the main part of the Address he illustrates, with an array of examples excerpted from Hesiod, Solon, Prodicus, and others, the lessons a Christian might adopt without risk, the kinship between the classics and the Bible is seen from a different angle. Having told an anecdote about Socrates being brutally maltreated without paying back in like manner, Basil notes that Socrates’ peaceful response ‘is akin to that precept—that to him who strikes us on the cheek, so far from retaliating we should offer the other cheek also’.⁸⁷ Thus, the Greek philosopher anticipated the gospel’s commandment of peaceability. Equally, he

ὄψιν οὐκ ἄωρον παρεχόμενα. Possibly, Basil’s analogy was inspired by Plutarch’s On Reading the Poets 10 (Mor. 28d–e). See further Plutarch, On Listening to Lectures (Mor. 41e–42a) with the parallel of bees and an emphasis on fruits produced by plants and the category of the ‘useful’, all elements also used by Basil. See Morgan 1998: 262–4 on the simile. ⁸⁵ For similar imagery, inspired by Plato (Pl. Ti. 90a), see Them. Or. 27.340a. See Chapter 5.3. ⁸⁶ Bas. leg. lib. 3.3–4. See Acts 7:22, Dan. 1:4–5. For Moses’ training in pagan learning see Clem. str. 1.23.153, Amph. Seleuc. 219–22; further, Chapter 5.4 on Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses. ⁸⁷ Bas. leg. lib. 7.6–8: τὸ τοῦ Σωκράτους ἀδελφὸν ἐκείνῳ τῷ παραγγέλματι, ὅτι τῷ τύπτοντι κατὰ τῆς σιαγόνος καὶ τὴν ἑτέραν παρέχειν προσῆκε, τοσούτου δεῖν ἀπαμύνασθαι. See Matt. 5:39, 5:44–5; further, 1 Cor. 4:12. A similar anecdote about Socrates is told in Ps.-Plu. De lib. educ. 14 (Mor. 10c).

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the emergence of religious education 73 claims, Pericles and Eucleides displayed behaviour that amounted to the same as Christian forbearance and love of one’s enemy.⁸⁸ With another example Basil goes even further. Concerning Cleinias, one of the disciples of Pythagoras, he says, ‘it is difficult to believe that it is by mere chance that [Cleinias’ action] coincides with our own teachings, and not through its imitating them deliberately’. Cleinias refused to swear an oath, even though it would have been a true oath and to his advantage. ‘He must have heard, it seems to me, our commandment forbidding the taking of an oath’, Basil concludes.⁸⁹ By this artful move, the tract intimates that the close resemblance between pagan teachings and Christian truth is due to the Greeks’ imitation of the Bible.⁹⁰ Other theologians, including Origen and Augustine, made similar claims and made intellectual efforts to explain the puzzling reversal of chronology. Basil, by contrast, does not bother with such niceties.⁹1 For him it is sufficient that his nephews believe in the pagans’ dependence on the Scriptures. The bold claim sheds new light on Basil’s oft-quoted idea of selective use, so nicely captured in the image of the industrious bees. It is true that by this advice Basil wants Christian students to carefully discriminate and select only what can be of use for the Christian life, so that it may function as propaedeutic to the higher, exclusively Christian studies. Reading pagan poetry is not a means of gaining new insights, but rather corroborates the moral tenets already learnt from the Bible. In other words, it is an additional and easily accessible aid for the care of the soul. To this, however, Basil adds another layer when he argues for an affinity caused by the pagans’ copying of Christian doctrines. Approaching classical literature from the perspective of the Bible, the students are to look for bits of divine truth in the school texts. Time and again they will uncover in the Greek poets and philosophers teachings from the gospel, in every instance becoming aware of the precedence of Christian truth, and of their own Christianness. The discovery of the Christian elements buried in the ‘foreign’ texts constitutes an act of reappropriation and, thereby, turns every reading experience into a religious activity. In a sense, Basil brings the metaphor of Christian doctrine as secret mysteries, which he has evoked before, to life so that

⁸⁸ Bas. leg. lib. 7.8–9. See also 9.8–12 on the congruence between David and Pythagoras, and between Plato’s teachings and Paul. Cf. Stenger 2016a: 93–4. ⁸⁹ Bas. leg. lib. 7.12–13: Τὸ δὲ τοῦ Κλεινίου, τῶν Πυθαγόρου γνωρίμων ἑνός, χαλεπὸν πιστεῦσαι ἀπὸ ταὐτομάτου συμβῆναι τοῖς ἡμετέροις, ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ μιμησαμένου σπουδῇ . . . ἀκούσας ἐμοὶ δοκεῖν τοῦ προστάγματος τὸν ὅρκον ἡμῖν ἀπαγορεύοντος. Cf. Iamb. VP 28.144. For the prohibition of perjury in the Old Testament see Exod. 20:7, Deut. 5:11, and for the complete ban on oath-swearing Matt. 5:33–6. ⁹⁰ The seemingly paradoxical claim that Greek philosophy was an imitation of Old Testament teachings had already been made in the second century by Justin Martyr. He insisted that the Logos had revealed the same to Socrates as what Christ, the Logos incarnate, revealed to the barbarians. See Just. 1 apol. 5.4, 20.3, 44.8–9. ⁹1 Tert. apol. 47.10–14; Clem. str. 1.25.165, 6.2.27.5, paed. 3.11.54.2, etc.; Or. Cels. 4.39; Aug. doctr. christ. 2.28.43 (CCSL 32.63; but see retract. 2.30.2). For the idea of a dependence of pagan thinkers on the Bible and Hebrew wisdom see Ridings 1995 and Boys-Stones 2001: 176–202.

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74 education in late antiquity his nephews by studying virtually perform a rite of initiation.⁹2 ‘Outside’ wisdom is taken ‘inside’, through the careful adaptation (συναρμόζειν) of the alien element to the religious end.⁹3 If the reader through the specified manner of reading displays his faith, by recognizing what is Christian and his own (οἰκεῖον, συγγενές, 4.9), the pagan element vanishes, just as Basil reinterprets the Pythagorean Cleinias as a Christian avant la lettre.⁹⁴ This training in religious identity performed through reading habits is certainly worth being called a propaedeutic. Basil’s advice for his young relatives may not be fully conclusive because he refrains from spelling out the crucial difference made by Christian faith to self-formation. The challenge that the ultimate goal of Christian education lies beyond the students’ level of understanding renders Basil’s programme necessarily incomplete. Nonetheless, the Address marks a decisive step on the road toward a strong notion of religious education.⁹⁵ How difficult it was to establish the concept of education as a genuinely religious task is indicated by the fact that, instead of a wholesale overhaul of the curriculum, Basil opted solely for a re-evaluation of classical paideia. What his nephews were studying under the grammarian’s and rhetorician’s tutelage could largely be retained provided that it was approached from a different perspective.⁹⁶ This meant, on the conceptual level, the decontextualization of pagan literature and incorporation of material from outside into Christianity. Greek literature did not have an autonomous value nor was it an alternative path of education. Rather, reading the pagan classics for moral self-improvement was to become a religious practice, as it was given an eschatological dimension. Whatever intellectual pursuit the student was following had to contribute, in a single-minded trajectory, to the preparation for the other life. Basil wanted his addressees to become aware that with this goal in mind, every step on their formative path had existential significance and required deliberate choice because it manifested the Christian stance on the world.⁹⁷ On a practical level, the appropriative reading habit that was the nucleus of Basil’s programme redefined education as a conscious act of piety. It nurtured a sense of religious identity. Their eyes fixed on the eschatological goal, the students were to perform a devotional reading of Homer, Solon, Plato, and other great authors. Whenever

⁹2 See Bas. leg. lib. 2.7 and 9, where he refers to sacred teachings as secrets (ἀπόρρητα) and the study of pagan literature as initiatory (προτελεσθέντες), preceding the holy and unspeakable doctrines. The use of classical mystery terminology fits well the idea of education preparing for ‘the other life’. ⁹3 See Bas. leg. lib. 4.11 on the adaptation of every element of learning to the ultimate goal. ⁹⁴ Pace Kaster 1988: 78, who claims that ‘Basil does the external culture the favor of allowing it to remain both clearly secular and clearly useful in Christian terms’ (also 87–8). ⁹⁵ This is a slight revision of my earlier argument in Stenger 2016a, where I emphasized that Basil is rather vague on the genuinely religious element in reading the pagan classics. ⁹⁶ Lamberz 1979: 235 and Döring 2003: 565 go too far in claiming that for Basil education in pagan literature was the best way of elementary instruction or even indispensable for those who wanted to attain an intellectual understanding of faith. In fact, Basil is clear that it is only a second option inferior to the sacred Scriptures and that it requires a cautious approach. ⁹⁷ See also Stenger 2019b: 338.

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the emergence of religious education 75 they detected in the pagan writers teachings apparently drawn from the Scriptures, they realized, and enhanced, their Christianness. Studying Greek literature did not require the followers of Jesus to temporarily suspend their religious affiliation, far from it. If only understood correctly, it even became a repeated demonstration of Christian faith. This was a decisive step towards a full-blown concept of religious education.

2.4 Raising Athletes for God Not every churchman was ready to subscribe to Basil’s cautious liberalism. Just as John Chrysostom’s ascetic experience was more radical than that of the Cappadocian, so his vision of a Christian paideia breathed a rigid renunciation of everything that was contaminated by worldliness and paganism. Already when he sought to defend the monastic life against both pagan and Christian critics, in the Against the Opponents of the Monastic Life, Chrysostom, though making a number of concessions to the expectations of an educated audience, raised the question as to whether traditional schooling and the values it inculcated were compatible with the true Christian life.⁹⁸ In this treatise he did not demand that the children of the upper strata of Antioch be totally uneducated but aimed to eradicate worldly values and habits by giving temporary custody of the boys to saintly men. These monastics were void of literate education, not to mention training in rhetoric, and thus were ideally placed to steer children away from the maladies of the secular world.⁹⁹ Although his concerns were the same as Basil’s, Chrysostom’s discussion of education covered wider ground as he considered the entire course of raising children, from infancy to marriage. In contrast to his Cappadocian colleague, Chrysostom, when he outlined the first ever Christian pedagogy, tackled an urgent problem. For, as the address On Vainglory and the Education of Children suggests right from the start, the deplorable state of the church and the perverse nature of urban life at Antioch was directly linked to the way in which parents raised their children.1⁰⁰ We will see that, as an antidote to this culture inimical to Christian faith, the ‘Golden Mouth’ devises a free-standing religious upbringing, with as little import from secular paideia as possible. For our analysis of the address we should bear in mind two factors. The first is the close link between established education and the life of the Greek polis— Chrysostom’s theory of Christian paideia cannot be understood without awareness of his conception of the city and the church within it.1⁰1 Secondly, while the treatise ⁹⁸ PG 47.319–86. The tractate can be dated to the first half of the 380s. ⁹⁹ Chrys. oppugn. 3.12 (PG 47.368–71). 1⁰⁰ Chrys. educ. lib. 1–15 (SC 188). The treatise was probably written in the 390s. Malingrey 1972: 41–7 argues for a date in the end of 393 or beginning of 394. 1⁰1 As shown by Tloka 2005. For Chrysostom’s attempts to transform the classical polis into a Christian community see now Stenger 2019a.

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76 education in late antiquity caters for the same milieu as Basil’s, that is, the well-to-do families, it is significant that it addresses, not the youths themselves, but their parents, mainly their fathers. This intimates that the preacher intends to make those who dominate social life in the city rethink their attitudes and behaviour. Compared to Basil, Chrysostom is far more explicit about the direct link between traditional paideia and the world. Before he introduces his educational precepts, he, in extremely graphic fashion, depicts the disastrous effects that vainglory (κενοδοξία), like a seductive but wretched harlot, has had on the church. Not only has this sin afflicted the body of the church, but it has also caused the downfall of urban society.1⁰2 In one of Chrysostom’s most vivid narratives, On Vainglory relates how an overambitious Croesus splashes out excessively on public festivals in the theatre in order to impress the masses, but through his spending ruins himself and is finally even despised by the citizens.1⁰3 With this long prelude Chrysostom draws the audience’s attention to the social mechanisms engendered by the established education practice.1⁰⁴ Upbringing and schooling appear to be about nothing other than kindling desire for riches, power, and reputation, thus reproducing over and over again the values of the world with vainglory as its cornerstone. If the world, and the polis as its epitome, is a place utterly hostile to the Christian life, then Greek paideia is the pillar on which every flaw rests: What will become of boys when from earliest youth they are without teachers? If men, being nurtured from the womb and continuing their education to old age, do not live righteously, what wrong will children, accustomed from the very first stage of their life to such instruction, not commit? In our days everyone makes every effort to train their sons in the arts, in literature, and in eloquence. But to exercise their soul, of that no man any longer takes heed.1⁰⁵

Paradoxically, children seem to be left without education altogether, though their parents make sacrifices to procure a training in the canonical disciplines.1⁰⁶ 1⁰2 Chrys. educ. lib. 1–15. 1⁰3 Stenger 2019a: 127–31 discusses this passage in the context of Chrysostom’s critique of the theatricality typical of the city. 1⁰⁴ Tloka 2005: 145–225 analyses Chrysostom’s educational programme against the backdrop of Libanius’ model of the classical polis. 1⁰⁵ Chrys. educ. lib. 18: Ὅταν τοίνυν ἐκ πρώτης ἡλικίας διδασκάλων ἀπορήσωσιν οἱ παῖδες, τί ἔσονται; Εἰ γὰρ ἐκ κοιλίας τρεφόμενοί τινες καὶ ἕως γήρως παιδευόμενοι οὔπω κατορθοῦσιν, οἱ ἐκ προοιμίων τῆς ζωῆς αὐτῶν τούτοις συνεθιζόμενοι τοῖς ἀκούσμασιν τί οὐκ ἂν ἐργάσωνται δεινόν; Νῦν δὲ ὅπως μὲν τέχνας καὶ γράμματα καὶ λόγους τοὺς αὑτῶν παῖδας παιδεύσειεν, ἅπασαν ἕκαστος ποιεῖται σπουδήν, ὅπως δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀσκηθείη, τούτου οὐκέτι οὐδεὶς λόγον ἔχει τινά. See also In illud: Vidua eligatur 7 (PG 51.327). In oppugn. 3.8 (PG 47.360–3) Chrysostom even suggests a close association of classical education and pederasty, the ‘peak of evils’. 1⁰⁶ Against the Opponents of the Monastic Life, following the lines of the traditional rivalry between rhetoric and philosophy, discusses in greater detail that the rhetorical schooling favoured by the urban elite does not educate character while training in philosophy is neglected. Rhetorical education even

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the emergence of religious education 77 Throughout the address Chrysostom is adamant that the upbringing children normally receive, as well as the socialization that comes with it, is the nemesis of the Christian society defined by piety, mercy, justice, and self-restraint. Consequently, the preacher-educationalist does not even try to find a legitimate place for classical learning in Christian upbringing. Unlike Basil, he makes no reference whatsoever to poets, philosophers, or famous exemplary figures who might be compatible with Christian morality, even though the influence of classical thinkers such as Plato, the Stoics, and Ps.-Plutarch is plain to see.1⁰⁷ While Chrysostom elsewhere is amenable to the use of pagan figures such as Socrates as exemplars of virtue, On Vainglory does everything to nullify the contents and effects of paideia, almost regardless of whether this was feasible or not.1⁰⁸ It is not before the final part of the treatise that, albeit implicitly, he grants traditional education the permission to stay as a matter of course in the polis society.1⁰⁹ But on the whole, he presses for an antidote to it. Following from this idea, large parts of Chrysostom’s education guide detail how the father ought to banish every harmful impact of worldly life from his son’s soul. Significantly, all temptations, desires, and psychic injuries invade the adolescent soul through the body. Engulfed by countless corrupting vices, the boy will take in sin with his eyesight, his ears, his nose, and his sense of touch, and even utter with his mouth foul words so as to corrupt others. Chrysostom therefore orders the father to prevent his son from going to theatre spectacles, smelling alluring fragrances, wearing caressing fabrics, and having intercourse with girls and women. If parents were suspecting that the preacher might turn the child into a fanatic ascetic, it would not be completely off the mark, but he assuages their fears: I will not cease exhorting, begging, and entreating you before all else to discipline your sons. If you have consideration for your son, show it thus, and you will have your reward also in other ways. Listen to what Paul says, ‘. . . if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control’. And even if you are conscious

ruins the soul of the students (oppugn. 3.11, PG 47.367). This is contrasted with monasticism as the preferred form of education (ibid. and 3.13, PG 47.371). See Schatkin 1987: 240–3. 1⁰⁷ Chrysostom, for example, follows Plato’s threefold division of the soul (educ. lib. 65). His ethics and psychology are clearly indebted to Stoic thinking (e.g. 71). Further, a number of parallels seem to suggest familiarity with the treatise On the Education of Children wrongly ascribed to Plutarch. It is, however, hard to determine whether Platonic and Stoic influence derived from original reading, as these thoughts had already been adopted by earlier Christian authors. 1⁰⁸ See, for example, Chrys. oppugn. 2.5 (PG 47.339), Ad viduam juniorem 6, ll. 380–91 (SC 138.146–7), In Isaiam 2.5 (SC 304.122). The same concession is made in educ. lib. 79, where Chrysostom recommends wise men of old as models of moderation, even those from ‘outside’ (τῶν ἔξω), i.e. pagan ones. But see hom. in 1 Cor. 4.4 (PG 61.35) and Jud. 5.3 (PG 48.886) on Christian superiority over Socrates. Schlager’s 1991 view of Chrysostom’s openness to pagan education is far too positive (47, 51–2). 1⁰⁹ Chrys. educ. lib. 81, where he expects the Christian young man to embark on a public career in the administration or in the army, which, of course, required formal education. See Stenger 2016a: 90–1.

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78 education in late antiquity of countless vices within yourself, nevertheless devise some consolation for your vices. Raise up an athlete for Christ! I do not mean, hold him back from marriage, send him to the deserts and prepare him to choose the monks’ life. No, I do not mean this.11⁰

Even though he would wish Christian infants to be raised as monks, Chrysostom declares himself satisfied if they are trained as models of Christian virtue.111 ‘Raise up an athlete for Christ’, he reiterates, ‘and teach him though he is living in the world to be reverent from his earliest youth.’112 The bottom line of Christian education is then protection against the pernicious influences that threaten to intrude on the child’s soul from the outside world. Chrysostom’s ideal upbringing hinges upon the Bible, which, replacing pagan fables, will mould the still pliable soul like wax, so that the young Christian learns to renounce the riches and pleasures of secular society.113 Instead of exposing his soul to the debauchery of the stage shows, the Christian boy is to admire, and follow, the saintly ascetics, the true philosophers.11⁴ Based on a black-and-white dichotomy of Weltanschauungen, Christian faith and the worldly life respectively, On Vainglory campaigns for the idea of education as world-negation, as radical extrication from any earthly concern. As implied in the exhortation just quoted, Chrysostom aims at a virtual dislocation of the Christian person, as though it were possible while living on earth to anticipate the citizenship in heaven. In order to convey to the parents his concept of a religious upbringing, he structures the programme around the memorable image of the newly founded, fortified city.11⁵ Like a well-governed and watchfully guarded polis

11⁰ Chrys. educ. lib. 19, quoting 1 Tim. 2:15: Οὐ παύομαι παρακαλῶν ὑμᾶς καὶ δεόμενος καὶ ἀντιβολῶν, ὥστε πρὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων τέως ὑμῶν ῥυθμίζειν τοὺς παῖδας. Εἰ γὰρ φείδῃ τοῦ παιδός, δεῖξον ἀπὸ τούτου· ἄλλως δὲ καὶ μισθὸν ἔχεις. Ἄκουε γὰρ τοῦ Παύλου λέγοντος· ‘. . . ἐὰν ἐπιμείνωσι τῇ πίστει καὶ τῇ ἀγάπῃ καὶ τῷ ἁγιασμῷ μετὰ σωφροσύνης.’ Καὶ εἰ σὺ μυρία σαυτῷ σύνοιδας κακά, ἀλλ’ ὅμως ἐπινόησον παραμυθίαν τινὰ τοῖς σοῖς κακοῖς. Θρέψον ἀθλητὴν τῷ Χριστῷ. Οὐ τοῦτο λέγω ὅτι γάμου ἀπάγαγε καὶ εἰς τὰς ἐρημίας ἀπόστειλον καὶ τὸν τῶν μοναχῶν παρασκεύασον ἑλέσθαι βίον· οὐ τοῦτο λέγω. 111 In Against the Opponents he argues for the superiority of the monastic existence over the secular life but insists that the ethical precepts are the same for monks and worldly Christians (Chrys. oppugn. 3.13–14, PG 47.371–5). Elsewhere he advocates the monastic life as the complete opposite of, and better alternative to, the busy life of the polis (hom. in 1 Tim. 14.3–4, PG 62.575–6). For the role of the monastic ideal in Chrysostom’s educational philosophy see Tloka 2005: 168–75 and Stenger 2019b: 345–7. 112 Chrys. educ. lib. 19: Θρέψον ἀθλητὴν τῷ Χριστῷ καὶ ἐν κόσμῳ ὄντα δίδαξον εὐλαβῆ ἐκ πρώτης ἡλικίας. The metaphor of the athlete of Christ, in particular applied to martyrs, is widespread. See, for example, 1 Clement 5:1, Clem. str. 7.3.20.3, Eus. h.e. 5 prooem. 4, Ath. v. Anton. 12.1 (SC 400.166), Hier. adv. Iovin. 1.12. 113 See also Chrys. hom. in Eph. 21.1 (PG 62.150). For the replacement of pagan myth-making with biblical storytelling see Stenger 2016a. The analogy of the young soul as wax is also made in Bas. reg. fus. 15 (PG 31.956.12–13). Cf. Pl. Phdr. 245a. 11⁴ Chrys. educ. lib. 78–9. 11⁵ Elsewhere I have shown how the analogy of the city is used to suggest the transformation of the real polis through Christian education (Stenger 2015b). We may note here that Plutarch had used the analogy of city and citizens in an educational context, though making a different point. For Plutarch,

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the emergence of religious education 79 keeps enemies and criminals outside its gates, the youth’s body, if its gates and walls are securely watched, will protect the soul from evil intruders. Tellingly, on another occasion Chrysostom envisioned the city of Antioch, if staying true to its Christian nature, as a monastery.11⁶ With the clear division between Christian education and the world, he in a sense reverses the order suggested by Basil’s Address to the Young: while Basil wants to harness secular schooling as propaedeutic for the Christian life, the Antiochene preacher positions a thoroughgoing religious upbringing as the best training for the hostile world. The lines quoted above already make plain that the father by subjugating his son to a strict regime is to simultaneously reform himself.11⁷ More importantly, the young man, once the care of his soul has borne fruit, is excellently placed to align his life in the world with Christian philosophy. Christian education has the power to almost sanctify the world, to gradually transform it in such a way that it stops being altogether uninhabitable.11⁸ By commanding parents to raise athletes for Christ Chrysostom once more espouses the conviction that there is no truly Christian life without training. In the face of the world’s onslaughts, education becomes a religious necessity. If moulding the young soul—he repeatedly uses the term ῥυθμίζειν—means closing off the world, this entails that father and son ought to make their Christianness salient in every single step.11⁹ Be it listening to storytelling, contemplating nature’s beauties, dealing with slaves in the household, fasting, or praying: everything the boy does in the process of his formation must be done for the sake of his religious make-up. ‘Let us teach him so that the words [of God] revolve on his lips all the time, even on his walks, not lightly nor incidentally nor rarely, but without ceasing.’12⁰ There should simply be no moment in his formative years in which he is forgetful of his religious affiliation. This totalizing vision of religious education is summed up in emblematic fashion in Chrysostom’s injunction to break away from traditional naming practices. Although parents would have been used to calling their children after their forebears, he now urges them to name them after the righteous, after martyrs, bishops, and apostles.121 If parents give their sons the names of Peter, John, or other saints, not only will they cease to observe pagan customs of naming children,

educated men are like citizens newly enrolled in a polis; only when the young man begins to study philosophy, does he become a citizen (Plu. De aud., Mor. 37e–f). 11⁶ Chrys. stat. 17.2 (PG 49.175); further, terr. mot. (PG 50.714). Generally, Chrysostom propagates the transfer of monastic philosophia into the city. See Stenger 2016c and Stenger 2019a: 188–200. 11⁷ In In illud: Vidua eligatur 7–10 (PG 51.327–30) Chrysostom envisages a succession of good Christians emerging like a chain from Christian education continuing over generations. See further educ. lib. 88. 11⁸ See Chrys. educ. lib. 81–9. The same vision is formulated in oppugn. 3.18–19 (PG 47.381–2). 11⁹ The expression ῥυθμίζειν or ῥυθμός is very frequent in Chrysostom in educational contexts. It occurs in On Vainglory in chs. 16 (twice), 19, 25, 49, 50, 54, 69, 70, 81, and 88. 12⁰ Chrys. educ. lib. 28: Διδάσκωμεν ταῦτα διὰ παντὸς ἐν τοῖς χείλεσι στρέφεσθαι, καὶ ἐν τοῖς περιπάτοις, μὴ ἁπλῶς μηδὲ παρέργως μηδὲ σπανιάκις, ἀλλὰ διηνεκῶς. 121 Chrys. educ. lib. 47–50. See also Chrys. hom. in Gen. 21.3 (PG 53.179).

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80 education in late antiquity but the new, Christian custom also implies a teleology: ‘How great is the virtue of which this is a sign and exhortation, this appellation. For we will find no other reason for the change of name than this, that it is able to bring virtue to mind.’122 The biblical name provides the mould after which the child is shaped, it puts an unmistakeable stamp on the person’s entire being. As he states that the longstanding tradition of pagan name-giving no longer produces its intended effects, Chrysostom enthusiastically welcomes a new world in which there is no place for pagan elements. He expects the saint’s name to enter the house and train not only the child but also the father, thereby transforming the entire family.123 Éric Rebillard in his study of Christian identities in late antique North Africa argues, drawing on recent identity theory, that Augustine advocated a hierarchical arrangement of religious membership, that is, one in which Christianness should always be the most salient identity of Christians whenever and wherever they interacted with other Christians or non-Christians. However, not all Christians at the time embraced such a hierarchical arrangement in which religious affiliation was the guiding principle in all contexts.12⁴ Apparently, the same tension characterized Chrysostom’s dealing with his congregation. His rebukes and admonitions evidence that many members of his congregation thought they could temporarily suspend their Christian membership, for instance, when entertaining their children with pagan myths, enjoying together with them theatre shows, and giving them à la mode haircuts.12⁵ To extirpate these bad habits, the preacher imposed on them an autonomous Christian education system, so that there would be an end to moving freely between the two spheres of religion and secular life. Everything without exception being of religious significance, there would be no space left that was neutral or secular. Thus, Chrysostom’s pedagogic vision reifies the secular, demarcates it from the religious domain and finally attempts to annihilate it through the newly devised Christian upbringing. Constantly made aware of the otherworldly nature of Christianity, parents and children should at no time be allowed to make their religious identity anything but salient. In this totalizing Christian paideia anything non-religious was to be excluded and obliterated, and conversely every single step had to make a statement of devotion. As encapsulated in the image of the hermetically walled-off city, Chrysostom believed in the transformative power of such a strictly religious education.

2.5 ‘In the Symbol of the Cross Every Christian Act Is Inscribed’ In the Latin west theologians were ruminating on the place of pagan education in a Christian society in somewhat different terms. Neither Augustine nor Jerome

122 Chrys. educ. lib. 49: Πόσης τοῦτο ὑπόδειγμά ἐστιν ἀρετῆς καὶ παράκλησις καὶ ἡ προσηγορία; Ἐπεὶ οὐδὲ ἄλλην εὑρήσομεν τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς μετονομασίας ἢ ταύτην, τὸ ὑπόμνησιν εἶναι ἀρετῆς. 123 Chrys. educ. lib. 50 (after quoting Gen. 28:12, on Jacob’s ladder). 12⁴ Rebillard 2012: esp. 4–5 and 78–9, 85. 12⁵ Chrys. educ. lib. 16, 39, 56, 77.

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the emergence of religious education 81 or any other western churchman wrote such an unprejudiced defence of classical literature as Basil did. However, their concerns did display obvious parallels to those of the Greek church fathers. Similarly to Chrysostom, Augustine in the Confessions and elsewhere denounced traditional schooling mainly for its social mechanisms, its function as a social marker, and the vain self-aggrandizement it generated in members of the elite.12⁶ Yet, early in his career as a Catholic Christian, the freshly retired teacher Augustine was still optimistic about the usefulness of liberal studies, convinced that they could help to gain religious knowledge and attain wisdom—a belief to which he later in life looked back in disapproval.12⁷ And still, even after he had abandoned such hopes, Augustine continued struggling to find a place for erudite pursuits within Christianity. If the encyclopaedic scheme outlined in Cassiciacum was no longer viable because of its lack of a religious fingerprint, he now, in De doctrina christiana, put his later thoughts up for discussion. Scholars have often celebrated Augustine for the solution he reached there in the revision of his earlier claims about the liberal disciplines. Most prominently, Marrou considered the work a manifesto of a ‘culture chrétienne’, yet others have stressed that Augustine affords the arts only a grudging tolerance, or have foregrounded the main function of De doctrina christiana as a Christian hermeneutics.12⁸ Taking up Marrou’s claim, Robert Markus has argued that Augustine sought to safeguard a place for the secular, including the curriculum of the established educational system, within Christianity, by subordinating and integrating it into a study of Christian wisdom.12⁹ The following discussion intends to examine whether categories such as subordination, integration, and the secular are helpful in understanding Augustine’s answer to the question that discomfited so many Christian minds at the time. That the work, despite its focus on the tractatio Scripturarum, the modus inveniendi, and the modus proferendi, has a wider scope is already indicated in the prologue. There, Augustine engages with several groups of critics who might find fault with his undertaking of teaching a method for

12⁶ Tornau 2006: 32–4 notes that Augustine in the Confessions criticizes classical education not so much for the contents it taught as for its social effects. 12⁷ Aug. retract. 1.3.2, 1.6. See Hadot 1989: 127–8, Cavadini 1995, Pollmann 2005: 220–3. Müller 2015 rather emphasizes the continuity in Augustine’s educational thinking. Topping 2012: 126–48 discusses the place of the liberal arts as preparation for the path to happiness, the final purpose for education, in De ordine. See also Chapter 4.4 on Augustine’s conception of the educated life at Cassiciacum. 12⁸ Marrou 1938: 339 (‘Augustin . . . veut une culture étroitment et directement subordonnée au christianisme’), also 413. According to Kevane 1966: 102 the work ‘might well have been consciously designed to reform the educational system of classical antiquity’. See also Brown 1967: 265–6 and Vessey 2005: 8 (‘Augustine is the first person known to have essayed a large-scale theory of the liberal arts that would integrate them into a Christian programme of education’). Schäublin 1995 argues against this view and notes the narrowly utilitarian, extremely reductive viewpoint of De doctrina christiana. Allen 2008: 248 sees De doctrina christiana as a document of ‘liberal Christian humanism’. For hermeneutics see Pollmann 1996, 2005, and Fuhrer 2011: 49–50 on the history of scholarship on De doctrina christiana. 12⁹ Markus 2006: 72.

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82 education in late antiquity interpreting the Bible.13⁰ While he thinks that certain rules for the interpretation of Scripture can and should be communicated to those capable of learning, critics are likely to object that understanding is a divine gift, which renders any human teaching futile and superfluous. After all, St Antony succeeded in understanding the Bible solely through meditation, and even a barbarian Christian slave managed to learn the alphabet and read books without any human instruction.131 What these critics call into question is whether there is a connection between human intellectual pursuits and piety, or to phrase it differently, whether education and learning go together with Christian identity. Should those who have not received Antony’s gift, the illumination from God, really ‘no longer consider themselves Christians and start doubting that they have received the Holy Spirit?’132 No, he insists, ordinary Christians should learn, notably without pride, what can be learnt from human teachers; and those who have learnt are to pass on their knowledge, equally without pride. Thus, by couching potential objections in these terms, De doctrina christiana raises the central question of a unity of Christian faith and education, and we will see that his emphasis on pride (superbia) as a likely concomitant of erudition hints at one of the major challenges in answering the question.133 Our discussion will demonstrate that learning, if undertaken with the right, devotional attitude, even becomes a constitutive element of the religious life. The four books of De doctrina christiana, rather than illustrating in concrete and detailed manner the proper reading of Scripture, explain the theoretical foundations of Christian hermeneutics and, in the final book, discuss the rules that ought to guide clergy in instructing others in the Bible. It has, therefore, been pointed out that the treatise resembles an ancient ars grammatica, in that it provides a theory of the acquisition of knowledge, methodical exegesis, and pedagogy.13⁴ One reason why Augustine provides such an ambitious theoretical framework is that he wants to enable readers of the Bible, not only clergy but also laypeople, to overcome any difficulty they hit upon, by applying hermeneutical rules, without the help of another interpreter.13⁵ Since the deeper meaning of Scripture is hidden and thus requires methodical investigation, Augustine furnishes the reader with a rule book of practical use. Another reason is that the interpretation of Scripture inevitably relies on techniques and skills taught in the secular schools. For Augustine, as for Chrysostom, human learning is intertwined with the sphere of this world and its shortcomings. 13⁰ See Pollmann 1996: 76–84 on these opponents. 131 Aug. doctr. christ. prol. 4–8 (CCSL 32.2–5). 132 Aug. doctr. christ. prol. 5 (CCSL 32.3): . . . aut cui talia non provenerint, non se arbitretur esse christianum aut spiritum sanctum accepisse se dubitet? 133 Schäublin’s 1995: 53–4 view that Augustine had a utilitarian and reductivist approach to educational matters misses the scope of De doctrina christiana. 13⁴ Chin 2008: 88; further, Pollmann 1996: 89–104 on the features of a technical handbook exhibited by the treatise. 13⁵ See Pollmann 1996: 69–75 on the idea of the reader implied in De doctrina christiana.

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the emergence of religious education 83 We have already noticed that he considers arrogance an encumbrance that is likely to go hand in hand with knowledge, so much so that the apostle’s warning against ‘knowledge that puffs up’ is, as Karla Pollmann states, almost a mantra of De doctrina christiana.13⁶ In Book 1 Augustine makes clear that wisdom has come to us mortals in mortal flesh and that, according to John, ‘it was in this world and the world was made through it’. Later on, he repeats that weaker men desire to appear learned, with a knowledge, not of things that edify, but of signs that almost inevitably makes them puffed up.13⁷ The learning that Augustine has in mind is of a different kind, bound as it is to the Bible and the imperative of Christian love. The reader, first of all, is to learn from the Scriptures ‘that he is entangled in love of this present age, that is, of temporal things, and that he is far from the love of God and his neighbour such as Scripture prescribes’. Consequently, the true education that is conveyed in sacred literature, as Augustine later states in his discussion of Christian eloquence, leads us from this wicked world to the world of true happiness.13⁸ For all its usefulness, the curriculum of the established education system cannot be followed unthinkingly in a Christian context because it fosters unchristian values, above all pride. Although the interpretation of the Bible, as the heart of Christian learning, cannot forego the achievements of grammar, rhetoric, and the other disciplines, it has to find a way to rectify their worldly character. How does Augustine tackle this dilemma? It has long been noted that Augustine’s approach to the liberal arts is encapsulated first and foremost in the famous allegory, presented in Book 2, of the Exodus passage of the spoliation of the Egyptians.13⁹ In the Old Testament the people of Israel, at God’s command, take from the Egyptians precious vessels, ornaments of silver and gold, and clothes, in order to make better use of them when they have left the country. Read in allegorical terms, Augustine explains, this episode means that ‘if those who are called philosophers, especially the Platonists, have said something that happens to be true and consistent with our faith this should not scare us but be claimed for our own use from, as it were, owners who have no right to it’.1⁴⁰ All the branches of pagan learning, he goes on to explain, contain, alongside false and

13⁶ Pollmann 2005: 213. See also Hughes 2008: 101–2. 13⁷ Aug. doctr. christ. 1.12.12 (CCSL 32.13), quoting John 1:10; 2.13.20 (CCSL 32.45); cf. 4.10.24 (CCSL 32.132–3). 13⁸ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.7.10 (CCSL 32.37): Necesse est ergo, ut primo se quisque in scripturis inveniat amore huius saeculi, hoc est, temporalium rerum, implicatum, longe seiunctum esse a tanto amore dei et tanto amore proximi, quantum scriptura ipsa praescribit. Further, 4.6.10 (CCSL 32.122). 13⁹ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.40.60–42.63 (CCSL 32.73–7). Cf. Exod. 3:21–2, 12:35–6. See also conf. 7.13–15, which seems to presuppose the reader’s familiarity with De doctrina christiana. This interpretation of the spoliation episode is already anticipated by Or. ep. 2.1–3 (Philocalia 13.1–3). For Augustine’s allegorical reading see Gnilka 1984: 89–91; Kaster 1988: 87–8; Chin 2005: 180; Gemeinhardt 2007: 477–81; Chin 2008: 89–91; Allen 2008: 250–60; Fuhrer 2011: 52–66. 1⁴⁰ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.40.60 (CCSL 32.73): Philosophi autem qui vocantur si qua forte vera et fidei nostrae accommodata dixerunt, maxime Platonici, non solum formidanda non sunt, sed ab eis etiam tamquam ab iniustis possessoribus in usum nostrum vindicanda.

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84 education in late antiquity superstitious teachings, also valuable things, the treasures, which can be put in the service of truth and be used for moral instruction.1⁴1 Whatever the pagans have used wickedly and harmfully, the Christians may legitimately remove and apply to their true function. Scholars have interpreted this passage mainly from the perspective of the Christian engagement with pagan culture, and rightly so, as Augustine here proposes a method of ‘right use’ that allows Christians to exploit the resources of the traditional education system for their own ends, the understanding of Scripture.1⁴2 What has been generally overlooked, though, is that Augustine follows his allegorical interpretation in 2.41.62 with a brief discussion of the celebration of Passover, including another reference to ‘the knowledge that puffs up’. It is important to note that De doctrina christiana in proposing a suitable method for approaching classical learning draws on a biblical narrative and with the paraphrase of the Exodus passage highlights its narrative quality. For one thing, this approach suggests to the reader a ‘script’, a way to proceed in applying pagan erudition to illuminating the meaning of the Bible. By doing so, Augustine directs the reader’s attention to the critical engagement with pagan teachings required on the part of the Christian interpreter and to the act of transformation performed in this task. Furthermore, he implies that the use of the classical disciplines has to be seen from a historical viewpoint. The non-Christian ‘pre-history’ of the liberal arts cannot be ignored, that is, the pagan misuse of the treasures, which is why spoliation and removal are necessary in the first place. Essentially, the Christian appropriation of pagan education necessitates a spatial ‘exodus’ of learning, a decontextualization, before the instruments can be put back into the service of Christ.1⁴3 To a certain extent, the pagan character of higher studies is neutralized by this operation, so that they can no longer do harm to the Christian soul. It would, however, be mistaken to think that the foreign nature recedes into the background altogether, as Robert Kaster argues.1⁴⁴ Rather, the act of dislocation constantly evokes the Egyptian origin of learning. As Catherine Chin states, ‘By creating these parallel locations, the dislocation of knowledge—the idea of spoliation—invokes the opposed categories of Christianity and paganism as the two cultural contexts for late Roman education.’1⁴⁵ By this move Augustine not only, as Chin shows, produces Christianity as a free-standing conceptual entity but also highlights the need for a transformation of pagan knowledge. Significantly, Augustine expects the interpreter of Scripture to recreate the exodus experience while studying the sacred texts. Already before, Cyprian, Lactantius, Hilary, and others have followed the people of Israel in leaving Egypt

1⁴1 1⁴2 1⁴3 1⁴⁴

We have seen the same line of thought in Basil’s address (Chapter 2.3). Cf. Fuhrer 2011. Chin 2008: 89–90 has highlighted the decontextualization technique employed here. 1⁴⁵ Chin 2005: 180. Kaster 1988: 87–8.

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the emergence of religious education 85 laden with treasures of gold, silver, and clothing, just as Moses had done even earlier. And now, in Augustine’s times, any reader of the Bible is to replicate the spoliation and departure from the foreign country in order to arrive with the help of the disciplines at the hidden meaning.1⁴⁶ Thus, Augustine envisions every instance of applying the rules of grammar, rhetoric, and examples from history as a reperformance of the dislocation depicted in the Old Testament. When wrestling the arts from the world, readers undertake a very practical repurposing because they utilize them solely for understanding Scripture as the universal book. The new end superimposed on traditional studies guarantees that their use is legitimate. Compared to Augustine’s reorientation of pagan learning, Basil’s idea of a propaedeutic value got stuck midway through the race. In imagining the Christian student using the arts as hermeneutical tools Augustine makes a significant addition, saying: As the student of the divine Scriptures, prepared in this way, begins to approach the careful examination of them, he should not cease to ponder this phrase of the apostle: ‘knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.’ In this way, even if he leaves Egypt well equipped with riches, he understands that without first celebrating the Passover he cannot be saved. Now ‘Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed’; Christ’s sacrifice teaches us nothing more clearly than what he himself calls out, as if to those whom he sees suffering in Egypt under Pharaoh: ‘Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.’1⁴⁷

The crucial difference between pagan learning and Christian education is not only that the latter is done exclusively for the sake of understanding the Bible and, thereby, prepares for the dawn of eternity. Likewise, Christian learning surpasses its pagan counterpart in that it is paired with humility and charity. Constant meditation on Paul’s precept will prevent the student from falling prey to vanity and arrogance. In the full awareness that any knowledge comes from God he will never do his studies without the love of God and love of his neighbours. Scientia even becomes coextensive with love.1⁴⁸ While Basil deemed a re-evaluation of

1⁴⁶ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.40.61–41.62 (CCSL 32.74–5). 1⁴⁷ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.41.62 (CCSL 32.75), quoting 1 Cor. 8:1, 5:7 and Matt. 11:28–30: Sed hoc modo instructus divinarum scripturarum studiosus, cum ad eas perscrutandas accedere coeperit, illud apostolicum cogitare non cesset: Scientia inflat, caritas aedificat. Ita enim sentit, quamvis de Aegypto dives exeat, tamen, nisi pascha egerit, salvum se esse non posse. Pascha autem nostrum immolatus est Christus nihilque magis immolatio Christi nos docet quam illud, quod ipse clamat, tamquam ad eos, quos in Aegypto sub Pharaone videt laborare: Venite ad me, qui laboratis et onerati estis, et ego vos reficiam. Tollite iugum meum super vos et discite a me, quia mitis sum et humilis corde et invenietis requiem animis vestris. 1⁴⁸ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.7.10–11 (CCSL 32.37–8).

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86 education in late antiquity classical learning sufficient, Augustine insists that a total ‘conversion’ of knowledge is necessary. Education, as indicated by the quote above, must be impregnated with lowliness and inscribed in the cross: quo signo crucis omnis actio christiana describitur.1⁴⁹ The pagans may have transmitted numerous teachings which they considered true knowledge, but in fact true learning, the conversion trope makes clear, does not exist outside Scripture and the church. While the memory of the former pagan misuse remains a constant presence, Christians are continuously reminded of the only legitimate use. It is striking how the second book of De doctrina christiana weaves from scriptural references and quotations a script that projects the Christian student back to Egypt. While scholarship has focused on the spoliation episode, Augustine caps the brief storyline with a reference to the installation of Passover. As generally with his discussion of the ritual, Augustine here points in typological interpretation to the sacrifice of Christ, the verum pascha.1⁵⁰ Once again, this underlines that arts and sciences must not be pursued in separation from Christ and do not have an independent value.1⁵1 What is more, the sacrifice on the eve of the exodus from Egypt and the blood on the door posts secure the protection of the people of Israel from disaster, and thus point to the redemption of humanity through Christ’s death on the cross.1⁵2 A similar purificatory ritual is to be performed by the student in order to avoid being puffed up by knowledge. Augustine asks readers to virtually celebrate the conversion of knowledge with a religious ceremony, to commemorate by studying Scripture the events that took place in Egypt and foreshadowed the sacrifice of Christ. As a result, the application of the proper method transforms learning into a religious rite, in a scenario whereby every exegetical act becomes a renewal of the purifying ritual and enhances the bond between the believer and Christ, the ‘gentle and lowly in heart’ (mitis et humilis corde).1⁵3 Addressing a question similar to that of Basil and Chrysostom, Augustine in De doctrina christiana develops a concept of religious education that in its single-minded focus on Scripture is markedly distinctive. He does, indeed, find a way to subordinate and integrate pagan learning into Christian religion, as he instrumentalizes it for interpreting the fundamental sacred text, the Bible. For him there is no knowledge independent from Scripture, and even that knowledge is

1⁴⁹ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.41.62 (CCSL 32.76): quo signo crucis omnis actio christiana describitur, bene operari in Christo et ei perseveranter inhaerere, sperare caelestia, sacramenta non profanare (‘In the symbol of the cross every Christian act is inscribed, namely, to do good works in Christ, to cling with constancy to him, to hope for heaven, and not to desecrate the sacraments’). Augustine speaks of the ‘conversion’ of human institutions in 2.40.60 (CCSL 32.74: in usum convertenda christianum). 1⁵⁰ Cf. Aug. catech. rud. 34, 41. See Klöckener 2014. 1⁵1 See also Augustine’s precept in doctr. christ. 2.39.58 (CCSL 32.72), where he enjoins studious young people not to venture without due care into any branches of learning located outside the church of Christ. 1⁵2 Augustine’s reference is to Exod. 12:22. For the other biblical passages see n. 139. 1⁵3 Matt. 11:29, quoted in doctr. christ. 2.41.62 (CCSL 32.75).

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the emergence of religious education 87 radically reduced in its value, because it is incomplete without Christian love and, more fundamentally, will cease at the end of times.1⁵⁴ The limited value of human knowledge is exemplified not least by the desert hermits who live without books, solely according to the principles of hope, faith, and charity. Augustine’s idea of a nexus between studies and love also indicates that while studying, the Christian reader is never to ignore his religious affiliation. Just as learning must be oriented toward Scripture, the student must perforce pursue his studies in a pious manner, and so must the teacher who instructs others in the Bible.1⁵⁵ Nothing could illustrate this better than the kinship between the interpretation of Scripture and observing the Passover, with studies and religious ritual becoming coterminous. We can even go a step further and say that Augustine’s interpretation of the Old Testament ritual suggests an identification of education with the religious life. The ritualistic practice of studying, in analogy to the Passover, constitutes the subject as Christian and thus becomes a constituent of his religious being. As in Chrysostom’s struggle with the Antiochenes’ expectations, Augustine’s religious reorientation of education probably asked too much from many of his contemporaries. His letter to a young Greek student named Dioscorus, written in about 410, neatly illustrates that the radical alignment of erudition with Christian religion did not occur naturally to educated people. Dioscorus had sent Augustine a list of questions on Cicero’s philosophical dialogues and rhetorical writings and hoped for instruction because he wanted to avoid appearing illiterate and stupid.1⁵⁶ In his response, in fact an elaborate treatise, the bishop disparages, often with caustic remarks, Dioscorus’ opinions about education and exposes the shortcomings of pagan philosophy, on similar grounds as in De doctrina christiana. A brief history of philosophy reveals that the philosophical schools failed to find the truth and attain wisdom, while Christianity has been proven the fulfilment of philosophy. It conjures up the image of an intellectual landscape in which only Christian learning is left, while any other erudition is irrelevant (because useless) and fading into oblivion, even in Rome and Carthage.1⁵⁷ With the demise of classical paideia, the doctrina christiana, as the only education, leads the way to salvation (11). Dioscorus’ fundamental error is that he thinks it is possible for him to suspend his Christian identity while dealing with philosophical matters,

1⁵⁴ This is pointed out by Pollmann 2005: 224–5, who highlights the eschatological goal of De doctrina christiana. She refers to 1.39.43, where Augustine quotes 1 Cor. 13:8 to argue that a person strengthened by faith, hope, and love even does not have the need of the Scriptures. 1⁵⁵ Marrou 1938: 339 appropriately summarizes Augustine’s agenda: ‘toutes les manifestations de la vie intellectuelle doivent être au service de la vie religieuse, n’être qu’une fonction de celle-ci.’ 1⁵⁶ Aug. epist. 118 (CCSL 31B.112–36). The list of questions has not survived while Dioscorus’ accompanying letter has (Aug. epist. 117, CCSL 31B.110–11). See Rebillard 2012: 79–81. Tornau 2006: 49–57 has a perceptive analysis of the letter’s argument. The letter is discussed in more detail below, in Chapter 6.4. 1⁵⁷ Aug. epist. 118.12; further, 9 and 21 (CCSL 31B.120, 117–18, 126).

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88 education in late antiquity as if his intellectual self could be divorced from the religious self.1⁵⁸ Augustine’s reproachful reply leaves no room for doubt: only if the Christian student is constantly aware of his religious affiliation and the ultimate goal of learning (and any human activity), can he engage in intellectual activities in the only acceptable manner. Learning is an activity that constitutes, and exhibits, religious identity.1⁵⁹

2.6 Education as Proof of the Genuine Christian When Augustine was writing De doctrina christiana he was fully aware that he was about to enter a minefield, for the call for Christians to seek understanding through human instruction was anything but uncontroversial at the time. Amongst his opponents he saw men who frankly denied the need for hermeneutical rules because the understanding of Scripture was granted by divine grace.1⁶⁰ In all likelihood, Augustine’s arguments were directed against the ascetic movement with its charismatic elements, which gained momentum in the west from the middle of the fourth century.1⁶1 The position refuted by Augustine seems to be perfectly encapsulated in the writings of John Cassian (c.360–435), the proponent of monasticism in Gaul, who spent many years with the desert fathers in Egypt to drink from the sources of Christian asceticism and, in addition, counted John Chrysostom among his spiritual mentors.1⁶2 In contrast to Augustine’s programme, Cassian taught that practical virtues are the centre not only of monasticism but of Christian existence in general, while theory plays a secondary role at best. In one of his Institutes, which survey the basics of the life in a monastic community and the eight major vices, he praised Abba Theodore, who, despite his ignorance of the Greek language, was endowed with scientia spiritalis, solely on the basis of his puritas cordis, purity of conduct.1⁶3 This spiritual director advised his brothers not to rely on the study of commentaries but to pay attention to dealing with their desires. Cassian’s ascetic preference for practical experience and ‘lived’ education pervades his writings, and is in agreement with the general

1⁵⁸ Rebillard 2012: 80 notes that the letter is ‘a rebuke to a Christian who does not orient all his intellectual interests according to his religion’. 1⁵⁹ As made particularly clear in Aug. epist. 118.22 (CCSL 31B.127), where Augustine exhorts the addressee to orient himself unreservedly towards God and divine truth. There he also insists that humility is the core of the precepts of Christian religion. 1⁶⁰ Aug. doctr. christ. prol. 4–9 (CCSL 32.2–6). 1⁶1 See Pollmann 1996: 76–84. She refers in particular to Cassian’s Conference 14 and his relatively strong ‘Bildungsfeindlichkeit’ (hostility toward education). This verdict, however, is simplistic, as will be shown in the following discussion. 1⁶2 For the little that we know of Cassian’s career see Stewart 1998: 3–26 and Harmless 2004: 373–8. 1⁶3 Cassian. inst. 5.33–4. Cassian stresses that Theodore’s understanding of Scripture did not stem from a zeal for reading or from worldly learning (studium lectionis vel litteratura mundi). Cf. Krawiec 2012: 782–3. One may compare Augustine’s image of St Antony in Aug. doctr. christ. prol. 4 (CCSL 32.2–3).

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the emergence of religious education 89 monastic trend of prioritizing virtuous conduct over theoretical knowledge.1⁶⁴ In Cassian’s view, the fathers revived the simplicity of the fishermen and were proof that the sincere life and correction of vices had no need of dialectical syllogisms and Cicero’s eloquence, the hallmarks of a worldly spirit.1⁶⁵ Although this picture appears to leave little room for a productive role of intellectual formation, Cassian’s programme does leave some room for matters of education and knowledge. A fundamental anti-intellectualism would possibly have had reduced appeal to his main audience, the members of the Gallic aristocracy with ascetic inclinations. After all, Cassian dedicated the Conferences, twenty-four conversations with leading spiritual masters of Egypt, to men like Honoratus, then a superior at Lérins and later bishop of Arles, and Eucherius, later bishop of Lyons, who were no strangers to intellectual pursuits.1⁶⁶ Cassian himself, though he did his best to sever the links to his former studies in pagan literature, in both bodies of his writings demonstrates that he was not only fluent in Greek and Latin but also conversant with literary technique.1⁶⁷ It is therefore not at all surprising that one of the Conferences explored the relationship between practical and theoretical knowledge, or more broadly, the intellectual element in monastic formation.1⁶⁸ The following discussion argues that it is the very monastic antagonism of practice and theory, or virtue and intellect, that helps Cassian to delineate his notion of a genuinely religious education. This piece, notably the most analytical of the collection, purports to relate a conversation about spiritual knowledge between Abba Nesteros, an anchorite near Panephysis in the Nile delta region, and the young Cassian and his comrade Germanus. It develops a theory of knowledge and learning centring exclusively on the Holy Scripture but situates this discussion in the wider context of education in general. Right at the beginning, Abba Nesteros explains to his young dialogue partners that the kind of knowledge he is going to deal with is understood best against the backdrop of other types of intellectual pursuits: There are indeed many different kinds of knowledge in this world, inasmuch as there is as great a variety of them as there is of the arts and disciplines. But, while 1⁶⁴ This attitude to education is perfectly captured in one of Abba Arsenius’ sayings: Apopthegmata Patrum, Arsenius 5 (PG 65.88–9). See Rydell Johnsén 2018 on the preference for the cultivation of virtues over intellectual education in monastic sources. 1⁶⁵ Cassian. inst. 12.19; further, conl. 10.14 (CSEL 13.308). See also Conference 13 with the opposition of the pagan philosopher’s imaginary, or partial, chastity and the true chastity of those who have been granted it by God’s grace. Further, see inst. 5.21 relating an anecdote about one of the elders who had learnt naturally, without secular education, the first principles of philosophy, i.e. ethics. 1⁶⁶ The Conferences were composed at least two decades after Cassian’s visit to Egypt and published in three instalments. See Harmless 2004: 386–8. 1⁶⁷ See Kelly 2012: 12–14. The Conferences are presented in the established question-and-answer form. Leyser 1994 has argued that they draw on the tradition of the philosophical dialogue in order to reach the Roman elites of the west. 1⁶⁸ Krawiec’s 2012 thesis that the Institutes and the Conferences function as monastic equivalents to rhetorical handbooks and works of literary theory, and that they are intended as replacements for pagan literature is greatly overstated. She argues that Cassian’s works are an ars monastica, a parallel to the ars grammatica and rhetoric.

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90 education in late antiquity all are either altogether useless or only useful for the good of the present life, there is yet none which has not its own system and method of instruction, by which it can be attained by those who seek it.1⁶⁹

If the secular arts, he adds, follow their own defined principles when they are taught, the teaching and profession of Christian religion (religionis nostrae disciplina atque professio), which is not fixed upon present concerns but eternal rewards, even more so requires defined order and method. Thus, from the outset Conference 14 simultaneously posits a fundamental divide between studies in the disciplines, which are associated with the world, and religious education, and also suggests an analogy, in that both bodies of learning are said to follow ordo and ratio.1⁷⁰ Evidently, Nesteros wants to position a religious education—one that does not lack the intellectual rigour that Cassian assumed on the part of his aristocratic readers—as the superior alternative to secular studies. In his eyes, the formation path of asceticism, or the truly Christian life, possesses a unique quality because it opens up an avenue leading out of the present world, towards the invisible mysteries and eternity, whereas classical studies are entangled with the world and thus utterly useless. Here we find again the Pauline dichotomy of wisdom of the world and wisdom of God that, as we have seen, structures the fourth-century discourse on religious education.1⁷1 Fundamental to Nesteros’ discourse on spiritalis scientia is the distinction between practical and theoretical knowledge, which, though going back to Aristotle, here rather points to Cassian’s Evagrian background.1⁷2 Practical knowledge is defined in terms of a two-stage progress, comprising of the correction of behaviour and the cleansing from vice.1⁷3 Theoretical knowledge consists in the contemplation of divine things and the understanding of most sacred thoughts. This definition leads Cassian then to outline an original theory of the fourfold division of biblical interpretation, which has fascinated most scholars.1⁷⁴ However, the core idea of Conference 14 rather lies in Nesteros’ view of the two types of learning. According to him, ethical formation is prior, both in order and in

1⁶⁹ Cassian. conl. 14.1.2 (CSEL 13.398): multa quidem scientiarum in hoc mundo sunt genera, tanta siquidem earum quanta et artium disciplinarumque varietas est. sed cum omnes aut omnino inutiles sint aut praesentis tantum vitae conmodis prosint, nulla est tamen quae non habeat proprium doctrinae suae ordinem atque rationem, per quam ab expetentibus possit adtingi. See also conl. 1.2 (CSEL 13.8). 1⁷⁰ See also Cassian. inst. 18.2. 1⁷1 1 Cor. 2. 1⁷2 Arist. Metaph. 2.1, 993b19–23. More closely, Cassian’s distinction corresponds to Evagrius’ scheme of the monk’s career, with the stage of the gnostikos following that of the praktikos. Evagr. Pont. cap. prol. 9, 1, 78, and 87 (SC 171.492, 498, 666, 678). Cassian’s profound debt to Evagrius Ponticus has often been noted, despite his complete silence on him. See Stewart 1998: 11 and, in particular, 92 and Humphries 2013: 15–16. 1⁷3 For the idea of a methodical spiritual progress see also the ascetic programme outlined by Abba Isaac in Cassian. conl. 9.2 (CSEL 13.250–2). 1⁷⁴ Cassian. conl. 14.8 (CSEL 13.404–7). Stewart 1998: 93–5, Harmless 2004: 400–1, Gemeinhardt 2018: 269–73.

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the emergence of religious education 91 logic, to theoretical understanding. Whoever wishes to attain the contemplation of divine things, he expounds, must first pursue practical knowledge, for this can be gained without theory, whereas the reverse is not true. Consequently, the discussion puts a premium on practice and experience, in whatever form of life a Christian might aspire to. The anchoritic, the coenobitic, and the active life, every path is a locus of training in the purity of heart and the eradication of vices.1⁷⁵ Following from the priority of practice, the abba enjoins Cassian and Germanus to cleanse their hearts from the contagion of passions and vices, to strip themselves of the cares of the present world (curis saeculi praesentis exuite).1⁷⁶ Only then will they be able to practise unceasing prayer and adopt the monastic reading culture that are the bedrock of the ascetic programme.1⁷⁷ We have seen already that Basil and Augustine both suggest a link between understanding of sacred things and Christian ethics, the one devising moral progress as preparation for the higher mysteries, the other wedding scientia with caritas. Cassian espouses a similar idea, but he dovetails practical ethics even more tightly with theoretical understanding, insisting on a direct correlation between ascetic progress and growth in knowledge. This nexus is also what defines Christian education and demarcates it from its secular counterpart. Advancement in spiritual knowledge is possible only if the student of the Scriptures has purified his heart from vices and made every effort to extricate himself from the world.1⁷⁸ Then he will be ready to give himself over assiduously and continuously to sacred reading, which will result in contemplation of profound and hidden secrets. On the road to that goal, classical education creates a big stumbling block. How important this idea was to Cassian can be seen from the fact that he inserts here one of the very few personal interventions in the Conferences.1⁷⁹ First, Nesteros explains at length that diligence in reading as a vehicle for gaining spiritual knowledge requires the student to get rid of any worldly concerns. He makes clear that the traditionally educated men, those who can say whatever they want elaborately and beautifully, are prevented from penetrating the heavenly sayings and comprehending the hidden mysteries. What worldly learning fails to grasp is attained through the enlightenment of the Holy Spirit.1⁸⁰ Evidence of this is that the understanding of the most sacred meanings can be revealed even in sleep, when we are free from any distracting thought (14.10.4). 1⁷⁵ Cassian. conl. 14.4–6 (CSEL 13.400–2). 1⁷⁶ Cassian. conl. 14.9.3 (CSEL 13.408). 1⁷⁷ Driver 2002: 228–33 discusses the role of reading in Conference 14, arguing that the act of reading serves to isolate us from our external circumstances and cultivate an interior disposition. 1⁷⁸ For Cassian’s idea (in the Institutes) of separation from the world see Goodrich 2007: 181–4. The monk was supposed to enter a living death, closing off anything beyond the walls of the monastery. 1⁷⁹ Cassian. conl. 14.12 (CSEL 13.413–14). 1⁸⁰ The crucial role of the Spirit in the acquisition of spiritual knowledge is emphasized in Cassian. conl. 14.9.7 and 14.16.9. See Humphries 2013: 18–22 on the importance of the indwelling Spirit in reading and understanding Scripture.

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92 education in late antiquity Then, the young Cassian, in a sudden stroke of compunction and despair, cannot but confess that his advancement to salvation is hindered not just by all those worldly afflictions mentioned by Nesteros. What ruins his scriptural meditation most is his knowledge of classical literature, which he modestly claims to have acquired to a slight degree. Whenever he wishes to pray, his mind, infected by those poems, returns to ‘the frivolous fables and narratives of wars with which it was filled in the first lessons of my studies when I was a boy’.1⁸1 Even when singing the psalms, Cassian’s mind is besieged by the recollection of poetry and daydreaming of warring heroes so that it cannot delve into higher insights.1⁸2 Nesteros’ prescription is practical, as he advises Cassian to apply the same diligence and urgency which he exhibited in worldly studies to the reading of and meditation upon spiritual writings. His zeal and interest in spiritual and divine realities will eventually cast out the fruitless and earthly ones.1⁸3 Secular learning and religious formation emerge as diametrically opposed, representing the two poles of the world and salvation. It is, then, only by the unlearning of the traditional curriculum that the would-be ascetic can give the appropriate shape to his mind and his entire being. Otherwise he cannot break away from the cultural universe of worldly studies in which he is still ensnared. If Augustine wished to counterbalance formal education with Christian love and humility, Cassian’s solution seems more radical. He, too, over and over again warns, on the basis of 1 Corinthians, against the knowledge that puffs up, the pride that inevitably results from worldly studies and teaching (esp. 14.10.1). And quite naturally, he also propagates humility, the ascetic virtue par excellence, and love as antidotes to pride. However, there is no contribution whatsoever of classical education (apart from the transferable skill of diligence) to religious education. Even a coexistence seems impossible.1⁸⁴ Every formative activity must be oriented toward, and subordinated to, spiritual progress: the more one liberates oneself from the world, the greater one’s progress is in spiritual understanding. Ascetic discipline and deeper intellectual understanding go hand in hand, until a kind of hermeneutical kinship is achieved between the mind and Scripture: as the

1⁸1 Cassian. conl. 14.12 (CSEL 13.414): . . . mens mea poeticis illis velut infecta carminibus illas fabularum nugas historiasque bellorum, quibus a parvulo primis studiorum inbuta est rudimentis. We may compare here Jerome’s defence against Rufinus that, though he had long stopped reading the pagan classics, he still retained the memory of his boyhood studies. Hier. adv. Rufin. 1.30. 1⁸2 See also Cassian. inst. 5.31 on the seductive charm of pleasant tales and Germanus’ remarks in conl. 10.13.1 (CSEL 13.306–7) on the danger that the reflection on a passage from Scripture is hindered by the mind wandering off to another text passage. 1⁸3 Cassian. conl. 14.13.1–2 (CSEL 13.414–15). Dorotheus of Gaza also makes the point that effort and devotion invested in the study of secular literature can be carried over into monastic discipline (doct. 10.105, SC 92.338–40). See Stenger 2017: 68–9. 1⁸⁴ Gemeinhardt 2018: 277–8 evaluates the relationship differently, when he concludes: ‘Erst auf der Stufe der Theoretike, der souveränen, ja virtuosen vita contemplativa, ist wieder Raum für so etwas Weltliches wie Bildung als Teil der geistlichen Existenz.’ According to Gemeinhardt, Cassian propagates a kind of ‘akkomodierter, gereinigter Bildung’.

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the emergence of religious education 93 mind is undergoing a renewal (innovatio mentis) through study, the appearance of Scripture (scripturarum facies) will also be renewed, Nesteros says, which makes possible a growth in understanding.1⁸⁵ Like Augustine, Cassian appears to have anticipated criticism of his conception of religious education. At least, he deemed it apt to have Nesteros further elaborate on the possibility of understanding vis-à-vis Christian religion. Already in the context of spiritual renewal as a condition for understanding, Nesteros has hinted that the correct interpretation of Scripture depends on correct belief because the superstitions of the Gentiles and of Judaism, as well as heretical teachings, constitute, as progressive stages, the impurities (immunditio, fornicatio) that preclude true knowledge (14.11.2–5). Then, Germanus unexpectedly brings up an issue that fundamentally questions the nexus of Christian religion and learning. Hardly has Nesteros reaffirmed the principle that the defiled soul is prevented from acquiring spiritual knowledge, when Germanus assumes the role of the sceptic demanding rational argumentation: For while it is evident that all who either by no means receive the faith of Christ or corrupt it by the sinful depravity of their doctrines are of unclean hearts, how is it that many Jews and heretics, and also Catholics who are entangled in various sins have attained perfect knowledge of the Scriptures and boast of the greatness of their spiritual learning, and on the other hand, the countless multitude of saintly men whose heart has been purified from all pollution of sins are content with the piety of simple faith and know none of the mysteries of a deeper knowledge? How then will that opinion hold good which attributes spiritual knowledge solely to purity of heart?1⁸⁶

Germanus’ objection in 14.15 throws the novelty and the paradox of Nesteros’ model of education and knowledge into high relief. His doubts point to the very heart of the concept of religious education: is there a direct and necessary link between (orthodox) religiosity and understanding? Is it really not possible for the unfaithful to acquire the essential knowledge? And conversely, can there be a truly religious person without education? He addresses the problem of whether correct faith and religious devotion are prerequisites for education as such. As Germanus’ sceptical question and also the beginning of Nesteros’ response indicate, Cassian is aiming at a theory of religious education that stands to reason, that can be argued 1⁸⁵ Cassian. conl. 14.11.1 (CSEL 13.411–12). 1⁸⁶ Cassian. conl. 14.15 (CSEL 13.417–18): cum enim omnes qui fidem Christi aut nequaquam suscipiunt aut inpia dogmatum pravitate corrumpunt inmundi cordis esse manifestum sit, quomodo multi Iudaeorum atque haereticorum vel etiam catholicorum, qui diversis vitiis involvuntur, perfectam scripturarum scientiam consecuti de spiritalis doctrinae magnitudine gloriantur, et e contra sanctorum virorum innumera multitudo, quorum cor ab omni peccatorum contagione purgatum est, simplicis fidei pietate contenta profundioris scientiae ignorat arcana? quemadmodum ergo stabit ista sententia, quae scientiam spiritalem soli cordis tribuit puritati?

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94 education in late antiquity for in the same rational manner as the liberal arts cited in the first chapter of the Conference. Taking up his earlier argument from 14.9, Nesteros attempts to refute the two objections underpinning Germanus’ question, viz. that, first, Jews and heretics also seem to possess perfect knowledge of Scripture (14.15), and second, that there are saintly men void of deeper knowledge (ibid.).1⁸⁷ Yet, despite his emphasis on rationality, Nesteros’ argument cannot escape a certain circularity. As to the first objection, he introduces the two premises (16.3) that (a) works of righteousness and gathering spiritual virtues must precede the attainment of spiritual knowledge, and (b) unclean persons cannot properly come to seek God’s testimonies. From these premises he draws the conclusion that the groups mentioned by Germanus, Jews, heretics, and Catholics entangled in sins, only possess the veneer of knowledge1⁸⁸ but not true understanding. As to the second objection, Nesteros first returns to the idea of an unbridgeable divide between secular education and true knowledge, the one barren and idle, the other vigorous and fruitful (16.6). The second, implied premise is here that it is impossible for those dominated by fleshly passions to possess spiritual knowledge (16.8).1⁸⁹ Consequently, the person who has obtained the purity of chastity is enabled to progress from vigils and fasting to chastity and, further, to knowledge (2 Cor. 6:5–6). This is what has been granted to the saintly men, even though they seem ignorant of the secrets of deeper knowledge (16.9). Instead of putting forward new arguments, Nesteros replies to Germanus’ scepticism by simply reasserting his earlier claim of the nexus between practical ethics and theoretical knowledge, this time, though, furnished with more scriptural references. For him true knowledge can be possessed, according to Colossians 2:3, only by those fully devoted to God, while those who had impressed the young Germanus are exposed as having ‘what is falsely called knowledge’ (1 Tim. 6:20).1⁹⁰ With this Nesteros’ argument comes full circle: only those who are cleansed from vices are capable of penetrating the deeper secrets of Scripture, ergo those who have attained spiritual knowledge, even without having been instructed, by necessity possess the purity of heart. Secular learning, by contrast, is inevitably stained by the filth of fleshly vices (eruditione saeculari, quae carnalium vitiorum sorde polluitur).1⁹1 By drawing a sharp line between worldly pseudo-knowledge

1⁸⁷ In 14.9.3 (CSEL 13.408), Nesteros had formulated the principle that it is impossible for the soul enmeshed in worldly distractions to receive the gift of knowledge, generate spiritual understanding, or retain the sacred readings. See also 14.10.1 (410). 1⁸⁸ Cassian. conl. 14.16.4 (CSEL 13.419): ψευδώνυμον, hoc est falsi nominis scientiam. He quotes from 1 Tim. 6:20 and gives the Greek phrase in the original. 1⁸⁹ Already Evagrius says, with reference to Basil the Great, that the knowledge given by God’s grace, as distinguished from human knowledge, is received only by those who have arrived at apatheia, i.e. been purified from passions (Gnost. 45, SC 356.178). 1⁹⁰ Cassian. conl. 14.16.1 (CSEL 13.418): etenim vera scientia non nisi a veris dei cultoribus possidetur. 1⁹1 Cassian. conl. 14.16.6 (CSEL 13.420).

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the emergence of religious education 95 and true, spiritual knowledge, Cassian establishes his notion of religious education, which is characterized by a continuum of ethical and intellectual formation. The melding of ascetic training and theoretical understanding is a strategic move to claim true education as a prerogative of orthodox Christians. To the extent that he indexes knowledge to ascesis, Cassian makes education indivisible from the religious, that is, ascetic, life. Education essentially means a radical transformation of one’s existence. On the basis of Scripture (Ps. 118:1–2) he develops his model of an ascetic education progressing in two stages, from cleansing the heart to contemplation of the higher things.1⁹2 Seen from a different angle, the erection of a barrier to impure minds means that the only acceptable kind of learning is repurposed as an index, even a proof of genuine Christianity. Cassian’s ideas underscore that religious education, defined in a strict sense, is not only about instruction in monastic practice and in a sacred text, in this case exclusively in Holy Scripture, though this is of course included. Rather, it amounts to the totalizing claim that education be inherently religious, that there be no proper learning outside the sacred realm.

2.7 Religious Education from the Alpha to the Omega Their obvious differences notwithstanding, the texts analysed in this chapter all bear witness to the emergence of a coherent discourse on religious formation in the late fourth and early fifth centuries. Their scope ranged from child education to adolescents’ reading and monastic learning; they dealt with topics as far apart as perusing poetry, name-giving, and scriptural exegesis as parts of upbringing and education; and their audiences were diverse, including youngsters, urban laypeople, clergy, and monastics. Yet, what binds these texts together is their approach and the shared goal. Theologians of the era after Constantine felt the need for an education different from that offered by established teachers and the traditional schools. Drawing on previous ideas put forward by Clement, Origen, Lactantius, and others, they adopted a positive and more productive stance on matters of paideia, to overcome the puritanical anti-intellectualism and anticulturalism championed by St Antony and his epigones. What characterizes Basil’s, Chrysostom’s, Augustine’s, and Cassian’s explorations of the educational territory is a methodical and, moreover, normative approach. They wanted to provide learners but also those responsible for upbringing and teaching with a meta-discourse, that is, a theoretical foundation of religious learning. Other churchmen tried a different tack and drafted, as Jerome in his

1⁹2 Cassian. conl. 14.16.3 (CSEL 13.419), citing Ps. 118:1–2: beati inmaculati in via: qui ambulant in lege domini. beati, qui scrutantur testimonia eius (‘Blessed are they that are undefiled in the way: who walk in the law of the Lord. Blessed are they that seek his testimonies’).

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96 education in late antiquity letter to Laeta and Amphilochius in the Iambics to Seleucus, a veritable curriculum for training Christians.1⁹3 The two Apollinarii of Laodicea are even said to have written original textbooks, poetry and prose, for instruction in faith.1⁹⁴ As some papyrus finds suggest, others seem to have experimented with the use of scriptural passages in school exercises, though the precise settings and functions of these texts are hard to determine.1⁹⁵ The theologians presented in this chapter, too, touched upon such matters, Chrysostom in particular. However, their main objective was not the establishment of a canon and a syllabus, but rather elucidation of the concept of religious education, its conditions, and purposes. They had in mind a wholesale reconceptualization of education as religious formation of existential importance. The question was: what could education mean in a Christian world and how could it contribute to the formation of Christian identity? Of fundamental importance to this debate was the Christian stance on the world. We have seen that Paul’s dichotomy of the wisdom of the world and God’s wisdom was always in the background when the late antique theologians set out to invest education with religious value. The world was not totally evil, for it was God’s creation, but life in this world was inherently imperfect and contingent. And human learning was a pillar of the present world and could therefore, in the light of the things to come and salvation, have no absolute value. As Augustine made clear with a quote from 1 Corinthians, instruction, even that of his De doctrina christiana, would ultimately cease to exist.1⁹⁶ A world riddled with imperfection and pagan errors created the necessity of an education that would allow Christians to detach themselves from that world and to enter the road to perfection and salvation. Chrysostom’s vision was to form Christians who, though living still in the world, would be saint-like citizens almost living in heaven. This diagnosis generated a rhetoric of two mutually exclusive education systems. In the footsteps of the apostle and earlier theologians, the late antique ecclesiastical writers conjured up two separate and homogeneous entities with their own texts, practices, and habits. While the classical, pagan system was available to Christians to plunder and exploit, the

1⁹3 Hier. epist. 107 (CSEL 55.290–305); Amphilochius, Iambi ad Seleucum (ed. Oberg). 1⁹⁴ See Chapter 1.3. 1⁹⁵ Eleven possible third- and fourth-century school exercises have been identified as Christian. They contain excerpts from Scripture: six include selections from six different psalms, one contains an excerpt from Matthew, another from John, and one from Acts; two contain identical scriptural passages, excerpts from the beginning of Romans (P.Oxy. II 209, early fourth century, containing most of the first seven verses in Greek and containing numerous nomina sacra; P.Mich. 926, fourth century, containing most of the first fifteen verses in Coptic). The eleven texts are listed in Cribiore 1997: 60. The two Pauline texts may have played a role in Christian education. P.Oxy. II 209 is part of an archive of a literate flax merchant from Oxyrhynchus. It can only be speculated who the actual author of the school exercises was (children, adults, catechumens, monastic novices, or scribes?), and whether they originate from a monastic setting, because outside that setting they would have used classical authors. See the discussion in Luijendijk 2010 and Strawbridge 2016. 1⁹⁶ Aug. doctr. christ. 1.39.43 (CCSL 32.31) with 1 Cor. 13:8. See Pollmann 2005: 224–5.

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the emergence of religious education 97 Christian one was inaccessible to outsiders, indexed as it was to faith, love, and divine truth. On the basis of this polarity every step in the process of education and learning had to be assessed from a theological vantage point. Thus, eschatology became the major parameter of the educational discourse. Basil’s reading of Homer’s epics was informed by the student’s longing for the other life, as Chrysostom’s ‘athlete of Christ’ eagerly anticipated the heavenly Jerusalem, be it by closing his ears to pagan fables or frequenting the dwelling places of saintly men. Likewise, Augustine’s Christian learning not only depended on the Holy Spirit and God’s grace but also reached its fulfilment only under an eschatological horizon, at the end of time, when love alone would endure. Cassian’s vision of ascetic formation was just as single-minded, its exclusive goal being forgetfulness of the world and preparation for salvation. No wonder then that education was seen as an existential process, as having impact on the entire person. On the one hand, this reorientation of education and learning constituted Christian paideia as a self-contained system, one fundamentally different from whatever pagans had considered conducive to the formation of human beings. Non-Christian learning came in a variety of forms—Egyptian, Chaldaean, Greek, and Roman, as literature, rhetoric, philosophy, and further disciplines. Christian learning, by contrast, was unique and anchored to one single goal. On the other, it meant that there was no aspect of the education process without religious significance; the eschatological perspective caused formation, studies, and instruction to be, as it were, totally absorbed by Christian religion. This is clearly indicated by the repeated assertions that outside Christianity there is neither knowledge nor education. The texts examined in this chapter evoke the image of a totalizing religious education outside of which only false knowledge and error exist. Anything undertaken without devotion to God is doomed to go awry and, even worse, detracts from the path of faith. It is no wonder that Augustine in his reprimand of the young Dioscorus and Basil in the homily cited in the beginning relished the idea of the dawn of an era in which the classical studies had simply vanished.1⁹⁷ In the course of the debate education came to be fully subsumed under religion, as a sub-system, rather than religion being an object of learning alongside others. To resume the term introduced in Chapter 2.1, it was a hypotactic model of religious education. That is the reason why Basil, Chrysostom, Augustine, and Cassian privileged method and process, instead of knowledge about religion and the outcome of the education process. They did indeed cover these dimensions, but by concentrating on the steps and operations in Christian formation they underscored that every single formative activity had to be performed in a religious manner, with a devotional attitude. Although they

1⁹⁷ For educational theorization as a catalyst for historical periodization see Chapter 6.

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98 education in late antiquity did not invoke Paul’s command to glorify God by whatever one does, this would have been a congenial title to the programmes we have studied.1⁹⁸ For them, mere instruction in faith was not sufficient. In order to raise genuine Christians, every educational act had to be transformed into a religious statement, a demonstration of faith, like the exodus from Egypt and the Passover that the student of the Bible was expected by Augustine to reperform while reading. It was this reinterpretation of paideia that allowed the theologians to incorporate from classical learning whatever they deemed useful and innocent. They introduced the strong notion of religious education, a construct that charged education, from the alpha to the omega, with a religious quality. Basil’s nephews may have read the pagan classics in similar manner as their non-Christian classmates, and Augustine’s biblical student may have known his Tully as thoroughly as the Holy Scripture, but they ideally did so in such a manner that they became constantly aware of, and manifested, their religious affiliation. Augustine, Cassian, and their Greek counterparts ruled out the option to suspend one’s Christian membership, even if only temporarily, while pursuing studies. This demand is what, though in a dream, threw Jerome into anxiety, as he was terrified of being a Ciceronian when studying the Latin authors; this is also what caused Augustine worries when he realized that his youthful folly of painstakingly avoiding linguistic errors and making rhetorical displays dragged him ever farther away from God.1⁹⁹ Yet, the flip side of the emergence of an out-and-out religious education was that the scope of paideia was contracting. If, in a totalizing vision, religion was firmly established as a sine qua non for any education, ever less room was available for other studies, even if they were not directly contrary to Christianity. Ultimately, a radically Christian education would leave no neutral or secular zone: elements of classical learning had either to be converted, decontaminated, and redefined, or to be rejected as irrelevant, erroneous, and harmful. The crux of the matter was that classical education was entangled with this world, which is why it had to be sanctified and thus sanitized in order to morph into religious education. However, the fact that traditional paideia perpetuated and enhanced the values of the society in which it was embedded was a problem that troubled educational thinkers also in other ways and engendered other solutions, as will be discussed in the next chapter.

1⁹⁸ 1 Cor. 10:31; Col. 3:23. This principle features in Chrysostom’s instruction of those seeking baptism (catech. 6.8–11, SC 50.219–22). 1⁹⁹ Hier. epist. 22.30 (CSEL 54.189–91); Aug. conf. 1.18.28–30.

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3 What Men Could Learn from Women 3.1 Ancient Schooling: A Training Ground for Elite Men The ancient school with its strong emphasis on literacy and language was inconceivable without tailor-made schoolbooks and glossaries, designed for students of different ages and stages. A good number of papyrus fragments of such didactic texts and apposite writing exercises have come down to us, so that we have a fairly clear picture of what a schoolboy was supposed to learn in the classroom.1 One fine example is a bilingual schoolbook originating probably from fourthcentury Gaul, which not only nicely illustrates the essential vocabulary and idiom with which boys learnt to read and write but also draws lively images of the pupils’ everyday life from getting up to bedtime, divided into a series of scenes.2 From this child-oriented introduction, which has become known as the Hermeneumata Celtis, we learn a great deal about school life: grammatical exercises, the training in Latin and Greek, including reading excerpts from the Iliad and the Odyssey (l. 37), further literary studies supported by a list of Latin and Greek school authors (ll. 38–9) and genres, as well as the pupil’s behaviour at home and in public.3 Particularly appealing is a scene in the Forum in three parts, a novelty in the transmitted schoolbooks. There, dignitaries with their insignia, advocates, scribes, and heralds crowd the square of a provincial centre to do legal business (ll. 70–7). The anonymous colloquium appears prima facie unremarkable, giving a specimen of what went on in schools around the Mediterranean. Yet, one feature deserves attention. In addition to providing entertaining reading exercises, the episodes depicted in dialogue, monologue, and narrative also introduce young 1 See Morgan 1998: passim, Cribiore 2001: 129–59, and Bloomer 2011: 115–38 on the use of textbooks, exercises, and writing materials in the ancient schools. See also the essays in Bloomer 2015. 2 The handbook, one of a number of so-called Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana, survives only in a copy made in 1495 by the German humanist Conrad Celtis. His copy, now in the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek in Vienna, was probably made from a ninth- or tenth-century exemplar. Some passages in the text suggest that it reached its final form somewhere in late antique Gaul. A number of words not attested before late antiquity and spelling errors point to the fourth century as the date of the final editing. Editio princeps and a brief commentary are provided by Dionisotti 1982 (123–4 on the date and place). A new edition of the colloquium part of the book and a thorough analysis with commentary can now be found in Dickey 2012–15: vol. 2. See also Ferri 2011 and Cribiore 2001: 15–17. 3 The list of authors comprises Cicero, Vergil, Persius, Lucan, Statius, Terence, Sallust, Theocritus, Thucydides, Demosthenes, Hippocrates, Xenophon, and the Cynics. The two included school scenes rather clumsily conflate two different types of schools, the elementary level and one in which the magister teaches poets, historians, and also oratory. See Dionisotti 1982: 120–1 and Dickey 2012–15: 2.160–1, who hypothesizes three sources for the school scenes.

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0004

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100 education in late antiquity readers to social expectations and acceptable norms of behaviour. Drawing the child’s world from an adult perspective, the series of scenarios, some of them presented in first-person narrative, illuminates good and bad manners, in particular with regard to eating and drinking habits. By showing people reprimanding and passing judgement on others, it demonstrates what a good boy should or should not do.⁴ The episodes of social interaction with relatives, teachers, slaves, and others furthermore make the students familiar with classes and hierarchies of the imperial society. Perhaps not particularly subtle, the Gallic schoolbook at the same time teaches the basics of reading and informs the boy’s morals, thereby reproducing established values and reinforcing the fabric of society.⁵ Whoever was contemplating the roughly contemporaneous Kimbros mosaic, which literally depicts the world of a Greek schoolboy on colourful panels, would probably have internalized similar teachings as the pupil in Gaul, for the mosaics also show a biographical narrative from Kimbros’ birth to his joining the school of a grammatikos.⁶ In the course of his upbringing and early years, Kimbros is seen conversing with friends and figures of authority, attending classes, and, most notably, being flogged by his tutor while later on apparently winning a literary competition in school. One of the vivid episodes even features in its centre personified Paideia to encapsulate the idea around which the ‘photo album’ revolves.⁷ As a visual companion to the anonymous western handbook but also to school texts of Libanius and his colleagues, the narrative cycle of the Kimbros mosaic is a didactic tool that conveys to the beholder the social lessons to be absorbed in the classroom. Both the late antique schoolbook and the Kimbros mosaic shed light on the vital but mostly implicit functions that the established education system played in the Graeco-Roman world. The student who attended the classes of the grammarian, the rhetorician, and, to a lesser degree, the philosopher not only acquired the knowledge and skills indispensable for a successful career. No less important, the young men learnt how to behave, how to interact, and what values to subscribe to: crucially, they developed a sense of their class and social standing. All this they ⁴ In particular in the altercation after a riotous dinner, in which the paterfamilias is rebuked for having drunk too much, ll. 66c–67b, spoken probably by his wife (Dickey 2012–15: 2.186): ita hoc decet sapientem patrem familias sui negotii (qui aliis consilia dat) semet ipsum regere? Non potest turpius nec ignominiosius evenire quam heri gessisti. me certe valde putet. ‘Is this a fitting way for a prudent paterfamilias who minds his own business (who gives advice to others) to conduct himself? It is not possible [for things] to happen more shamefully or more ignominiously than you acted yesterday’ (transl. Dickey). ⁵ On the elitist ideology on which ancient literate education was predicated see Morgan 1998: 19–20 and 226–33; further, Kaster 1988: 201–30. See also Bloomer 2011: 189–90 on the contribution of the hermeneumata to socialization. ⁶ Unfortunately, the provenance of the fifteen panels is not known, nor is their original number. The mosaic decorated the floor of a fifth-century building. See Marinescu et al. 2007 (with plates). Some of the panels are also reproduced in Lane Fox 2015 (plates 5–8). ⁷ Paideia extends her right hand to the teacher Alexandros, who is apparently lecturing to the other figures on the panel. Marinescu et al. 2007: 104, figure 5.5.

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what men could learn from women 101 did mostly without any teacher telling them. It was rather a sometimes subtle socializing effect of being trained together with one’s peers in the conformist schools.⁸ Since the second half of the last century, educationalists often have focused on these non-academic effects of schooling, on the ways in which the school context transmits norms that shape the students’ values and behaviour. To describe the implicitly socializing effect of schooling, the term ‘hidden curriculum’ was coined in the 1970s and soon became an important concept in the scholarly discussion.⁹ The hidden curriculum concept helps to explore how the various components of schooling, including assessment procedures, interaction, the curriculum, and its delivery, work together in shaping the students’ values and morals, and in so doing reinforce social norms and reproduce the status quo of society. The core mechanisms and patterns operating as the hidden curriculum also feature prominently in Pierre Bourdieu’s analysis of the education system of modern France.1⁰ He considered the school a habit-forming force, insofar as the pedagogic activities in the established schools engender in their students a general disposition, or a certain cast of mind, which manifests itself in thought and action.11 According to Bourdieu, schools and the entire education system are implicated in propagating a particular world view that gives an advantage to certain sections of society. Education in this view is not so much defined by what the schools teach but rather by the social functions it performs: it essentially is a mechanism of distinction and social differentiation, to the extent that schooling tends to support the reproduction of established social structures.12 The modern Western societies which educationalists and sociologists studied and their education systems differ from the late Empire and its schools in various ways, and yet similar socializing effects of schooling can be observed in Graeco-Roman society as well. The elements of the hidden curriculum were sometimes not hidden at all but often simply no longer noticed; sometimes they were openly acknowledged as the overt function of the schools. A teacher such as Libanius was proud to convey, alongside rhetorical skills, moral lessons and to inform his students’ thought and behaviour.13 And Augustine, a former teacher himself, was highly critical of the socializing effects of the schools.1⁴

⁸ For the role of socialization in Graeco-Roman education see Morgan 2011: 512–17, McWilliam 2013, and Vuolanto 2013. ⁹ See, for example, Orón Semper and Blasco 2018. 1⁰ Grenfell 2014: 94–116. 11 Bourdieu 1971: 184 and 182: ‘Men formed by a certain school have in common a certain cast of mind; shaped in the same mould they are predisposed to enter into an immediate complicity with like souls.’ 12 Bourdieu 1971 and Bourdieu and Passeron 1990. Bourdieu and Passeron 1990: 205–6 state that the traditional system of education ‘contributes irreplaceably towards perpetuating the structure of class relations and, simultaneously, legitimating it, by concealing the fact that the scholastic hierarchies it produces reproduce social hierarchies. . . . Thus, the educational system objectively tends, by concealing the objective truth of its functioning, to produce the ideological justification of the order it reproduces by its functioning.’ 13 Lib. Or. 62.41–2, cf. also 42.3–9. 1⁴ See Tornau 2002.

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102 education in late antiquity Unsurprisingly, late antique education narratives so frequently revolve around men who, after having benefitted from an elite training in literature and eloquence, demonstrated the effortless savoir faire of their class, instantly recognized each other, and effectively marshalled their paideia to the advantage of their social standing. However, not every late antique writer with an interest in paideia set out to perpetuate the image of an education that tacitly but forcefully reproduced the values, habits, and structures governing social interaction. In the mid-fifth century, the priest Gerontius gave a vivid hagiographical account of Melania the Younger (c.383–439), with whom he was intimately acquainted.1⁵ Remarkably, his Life of Melania eulogizes the female saint as an avid learner and spiritual teacher, fluent in Greek and Latin, constantly reading Scripture, meticulously writing in tiny notebooks, and instructing those around her, above all the members of her monastic community. She even enjoys the society of saintly and distinguished bishops, especially those who were famous for their learning, questioning them about divine sayings. A ‘friend of learning’ (ὡς φιλόλογος), Melania never puts her Bible down (21) and reads through the Scriptures three or four times every year. Gerontius extensively quotes his heroine’s teachings, so that readers witness the intellectual authority of the excellent teacher (37, ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθῷ διδασκάλῳ) in action and virtually find themselves among her students. Already as a young woman, Melania is shown as clearly the superior of her husband: she is keener than him to pursue the angelic life and considers herself his spiritual mother and sister while he readily obeys her advice (8).1⁶ Later on, she is seen instructing both men and women in the pure life (29; cf. 41–2). Melania’s learning and pedagogic activities make her inhabit a typically male role, as she rivals the men who hegemonized and controlled the field of higher learning in antiquity.1⁷ However, Gerontius’ portrayal suggests that Melania’s way of learning and teaching differed from what most male intellectuals practised: firstly, she was willing to acknowledge the expertise of others and to learn from them, even when she had already acquired authority herself; and secondly, her teaching aimed at not only imparting knowledge but, more importantly, shaping the lives of her disciples. Gerontius’ account thus utilizes a strikingly independent female figure to adumbrate the vision of an education that deviates from the dominant model of paideia and privileges personal formation over the acquisition of skills and the social benefits

1⁵ The Life exists in a Greek and a Latin version, which differ in some points. The Greek text is edited in SC 90 (Gorce), the Latin in Patrick Laurence (ed.), La vie latine de Sainte Mélanie (Studium Biblicum Franciscanum Collectio minor, 41) Jerusalem, 2002. An English translation is provided by Clark 1984 and White 2010. Melania’s life is briefly covered also in Palladius’ account of her grandmother’s life: Pall. h. Laus. 55. See now Greschat 2015 and the essays in Chin and Schroeder 2017. 1⁶ See Greschat 2015: 134–6 on the ascetic orientation of Melania’s learning. 1⁷ Gerontius himself acknowledges that Melania transcended her sex and assumed male qualities (prologue, 39). Schroeder 2017: 51–5 shows the ways in which Melania in the Life transcends gender boundaries and outstrips her male contemporaries by her achievements.

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what men could learn from women 103 conferred by the traditional education system.1⁸ In the role model Melania, the proper hierarchy of intellectual studies and ethical formation is restored. We will encounter in this chapter more figures like Melania who challenged and sometimes threatened the dominance of the educated male elite. These unconventional students and directors, it will be argued, served as vehicles for educational ideas. In dealing with teaching and learning from the perspectives of women, the male authors put forward concepts that were situated in distance from the schools and drew attention to the unconscious mechanisms undergirding male paideia. Although these ideas did not radically invalidate the intellectual training towards which male education gravitated, they raised the question of formation as such, of a process that engaged the whole human being. One of these unlikely students making inroads into male territory is a woman named Xenarchis, of whose astounding advance we learn from the fifth-century Life and Miracles of Thecla.1⁹ In the last but one of the forty-six miracle episodes of the female saint, who is repeatedly characterized as a lover of literature, we watch an all-female cast gathering around a married woman seemingly untouched by formal education.2⁰ In spite of the lack of even elementary skills in reading, Xenarchis is a devout lover of the holy books. She receives from St Thecla a gospel book as a gift, but accepting it with great joy, she replies that she has not learnt to read—yet it is striking how eloquently she speaks about literate education. Suddenly, as she kisses the book, she begins to read aloud, fluently and without hesitation; all the women around her are stupefied and quote John 7:15 (‘How does she know her letters without having learnt them?’).21 Thus, with her unexpectedly acquired skills, Xenarchis immediately assumes the role of a lector or teacher, her female acquaintances forming an attentive audience. What her divine inspiration unambiguously demonstrates is that in the realm of Christian saints there is no need for formal training. Although reading and eloquence, as the marvel implies, are essential for the spread of Christian faith, divine education and natural wisdom are sufficient to make good for the absence of schooling. More than that, Xenarchis and her female students seem to augur a world in which literary studies and exegesis are no longer the prerogative of men. Achieving through her breathtaking learning curve heroic stature,22 the protagonist is the perfect match for a saint 1⁸ Significantly, Melania is not only gifted by nature in her intellectual pursuits but also devises for herself an original reading programme, thereby demonstrating her intellectual independence (23). 1⁹ The work in two parts, falsely attributed to bishop Basil of Seleucia, is modelled after the Acts of Paul and Thecla. See Johnson 2006. 2⁰ Mir. 45 (406–8 Dagron). English translation in Talbot and Johnson 2012. 21 Johnson 2006: 143–4 notes the motif of wonder and astonishment, and draws attention to the parallel between Xenarchis and Christ suggested by the quote. A similar story is told about an illiterate male servant by Augustine in De doctrina christiana (prol. 4, CCSL 32.3). Cf. Cassiod. inst. prol. 7. 22 Immediately before the Xenarchis episode, the author caps his list of Thecla’s female followers with a reference to Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women (Mir. 44.45–7, 406 Dagron).

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104 education in late antiquity who is more than once presented as the champion of Greek eloquence.23 While Thecla herself appears as an accomplished scholar and is closely connected with the formal education of the elite, she favours a woman who is precisely devoid of that learned culture. Institutionalized learning, thus, can no longer be regarded as the absolute norm. The rise of women in late antiquity to literary prominence, not least in Christian writing, has attracted much interest, as have the intellectual achievements ascribed by literary texts to these women. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the sudden wealth of information on prominent female figures initially has led many scholars to mine the literary documents for information about ‘real’ women of late antiquity, their biographies, activities, and social relationships.2⁴ Often scholarship has appreciated the emancipation, empowerment, and agency that Melania the Elder and the Younger, Macrina, Hypatia, Marcella, and their late antique sisters appear to embody.2⁵ However, it is worth asking whether this reflects the experience of many women at the time. The women we know of from literary narratives are rare exceptions, after all.2⁶ Their elite background enabled them to break away from the mould that traditional family life had in store for them. We should also not forget that the very same men who deemed these women worthy of their pens almost in the same breath reviled the female sex whenever an opportunity arose. Even cultivated churchmen like Chrysostom, Ambrose, and Jerome, who themselves relished the friendship, and support, of learned women, could not free themselves from the tenacious prejudices and resentment that consigned women to subservient roles at the margins of society and the church.2⁷ Ambrose commanded virgins to close their mouth so that they safeguarded their modesty.2⁸ His words were echoed in the east by Chrysostom who, following St Paul’s authoritative ban on women speaking or even teaching in church, explained to his congregation that 23 Thecla is represented as a teacher and lover of learning (διδάσκαλος, φιλόλογος, φιλόμουσος); she always takes pleasure in those who praise her in an eloquent manner. Some of those who benefit from her miracles are intellectual professionals, orators and sophists. The saint also appreciates Homeric poetry (38). See Greschat 2015: 25–7 on the importance of education in the work. Krueger 2004: 79–92 explores Thecla’s central role for the author’s construction of his intellectual self and authorship. The success of the author, who is himself a sophist, arises from Thecla’s regular intervention. 2⁴ e.g. Petersen 1994, Rousseau 1995, Hartmann 2006. This approach has been criticized by Clark 1998. See also Munkholt Christensen 2018 on the relationship between teaching and humility in the hagiographic portrayal of women in late antique Christianity. 2⁵ Studying the letters addressed by Jerome, Augustine, and Pelagius to the women of the Anicii family, Wilkinson 2015 argues that the modesty recommended by these letters was an opportunity for women’s agency. She analyses modesty as a performance from the perspective of feminist historiography. 2⁶ Harvey 2004: 387 rightly notes that they were just the tip of an iceberg. Notwithstanding, in the context of the entire female population we are dealing with a tiny fraction. 2⁷ Clark 1993: 120–30. See also now the collection of essays in Tervahauta et al. 2017 on the relationship between women and knowledge in early Christian discourse. The overview of Lehtipuu and Dunderberg 2017 shows that ambivalence and tensions were present in Christian discourse on the knowledge of women from early times on. 2⁸ Ambr. inst. virg. 10 (66, PL 16.322). See, however, virg. 3.1–15 for a positive appreciation of female intellectual pursuits.

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what men could learn from women 105 men should have pre-eminence in every way, while the naturally talkative sex stay silent and show due deference to them. A woman’s teaching had, after all, deprived Adam of the life in Paradise.2⁹ And Jerome lumped ‘the chatty old woman’ together with wordy sophists, all teaching the Scriptures before they had learnt them. Others, he railed, were even happy to learn from such female charlatans.3⁰ Women evidently challenged the strong male control over learning. Men’s perception of women, however, was more diverse, and sometimes the same authors deigned to accept the equality of both sexes in the church.31 More generally, when studying the male perspective of educated women we must be cautious not to think of the late antique conceptualization of gender as too monolithic and uniform an entity. There were, to be sure, strong continuities with earlier centuries in the common attribution of virtues, character traits, and behaviour to both sexes. Courage and political activity were still regarded as defining features of men, while deference and household activities were associated with women.32 Notwithstanding, as recent research has illuminated, late antiquity did witness tectonic shifts in the gender discourse. For one thing, taking inspiration from gender studies we need to acknowledge that in the postclassical period there was no single and homogeneous masculinity or femininity. Rather, scholars now tend to differentiate between hegemonic and subordinated masculinities in a field of coexisting and competing gender concepts.33 It has, for example, been argued by Mathew Kuefler for the Latin west that, driven by changing patterns of Roman social and political life in late antiquity, the classical ideal for men collapsed and was supplanted by Christian thinkers with a new masculinity. The new hegemonic masculine ideal on the one hand perpetuated features of traditional social roles but also incorporated aspects that were commonly connected with the other sex, such as chastity, endurance, and self-renunciation.3⁴ However, the reconfiguration of masculinity did not necessarily imply that gender categories dissolved into nothing. Differences between men and women were created and emphasized as before, if only in new ways. Moreover, it would 2⁹ Chrys. hom. in 1 Tim. 9 (PG 62.543–8, on 1 Tim. 2:11–15), quoting also 1 Cor. 14:35 and 11:9. 3⁰ Hier. epist. 53.7.1 (CSEL 54.453), to Paulinus of Nola. Jerome’s misogynistic remark (garrula anus) seems to be an oblique reference to Proba’s Cento. For the relation between speech, or silence, and gender in Rome and Latin Christian authors of late antiquity see Wilkinson 2015: 86–116. 31 e.g. Chrys. ep. 168, 169, 170, hom. in Rom. 31.1–2 (PG 60.669). 32 See Wilkinson 2015 on female modesty, including women’s performance of modesty, and its relation to agency in late antiquity. 33 See, for example, Kuefler 2001: 4–5, Wet 2015: 74–5, 174–5. For the concept of hegemonic masculinity see Connell 1995: 77–8, who defines it as the normative masculine ideal culturally exalted at any given time. ‘It embodied the currently most honored way of being a man, it required all other men to position themselves in relation to it, and it ideologically legitimated the global subordination of women to men’ (Connell and Messerschmidt 2005: 832). It is important that the form of masculinity occupying the hegemonic position in a culture is always contestable. 3⁴ See Kuefler 2001. See also Burrus 2000, who argues that fourth-century theological discourse was the site for a new conceptualization of masculinity.

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106 education in late antiquity be wrong to assume that the social role of women in general underwent major changes. The new hegemonic norm of masculinity did not mean that patriarchal structures vanished.3⁵ Further, it needs to be borne in mind that gender cannot be considered in isolation from other categories feeding into personal identity, such as ethnicity, class, age, and religion. In the following analysis of the interplay between gender discourse and education discourse, we will therefore also pay attention to the shifting notions of gender in late antiquity. Although the conceptualization of ideal masculinity and femininity is not our main focus in this chapter, it will be important to consider how the portrayal of female teachers and learners affected the definition of the sexes. The dynamics of late antique gender constructions render a literary approach to the male representation of women sages and students more promising for our purposes. There is, it is true, considerable historical evidence of highly educated women in this period and women did have opportunities in education.3⁶ But the following pages will rather investigate the literary constructions of female intellectuals, and explore the difference made by looking at education through the eyes of women. This change of perspective, it will be argued, paved the way for a reorientation of paideia.

3.2 Leaving the Trodden Path of Conventional Education The famous Neoplatonic philosopher Hypatia of Alexandria (c.355–415) would certainly have ruffled the feathers of Jerome and Chrysostom. One of the outstanding figures in the cultural life of Alexandria, Hypatia was clearly not prepared to conform to standards imposed by men on women.3⁷ Her lecturing philosophy and exact sciences, staying a virgin throughout her life, and unabashedly moving in public are loud signals that she risked to shrug off what public opinion demanded from a decent woman. And a risk it proved to be. Hypatia’s good terms with magistrates and church leaders, her meddling in public affairs, and her ambition to teach as a professor of philosophy stirred up envy in the Alexandrian public, as the church historian Socrates tells us.3⁸ Still a century later, the philosopher Damascius could not hide his astonishment at, and perhaps anxieties about,

3⁵ As can be seen in the Christian discussion of ascetic women. Kuefler 2001: 226–38 shows that, on the one hand, male Christian authors praised these women because of their virtuous conduct as ‘honorary men’ but, on the other hand, denied them any of the privileges of actual men. Even virtuous women had to stay far removed from public life and be subjected to paternal clerical authority. 3⁶ See Cribiore 2001: 74–101; further, Clark 1993: 135, Harvey 2004, and Greschat 2015. 3⁷ For Hypatia’s life and philosophical activity, and her enormous afterlife, see Dzielska 1995, Watts 2006: 187–203, Watts 2017, and the essays in LaValle Norman and Petkas 2020. 3⁸ Socr. h.e. 7.15 (GCS 1.360–1).

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what men could learn from women 107 a female Neoplatonist of excessive visibility.3⁹ Sadly, Hypatia is perhaps most famous for her cruel end in the streets of Alexandria. Her murder by an enraged Christian mob in March 415, though greatly dependent on religious frictions in the city, can be partly attributed to her bold attempt to renounce the traditional norms of female conduct. What clearly emerges from the male responses to Hypatia is her desire to inhabit the masculine role. By engaging in formal teaching and publishing treatises on philosophy and science, she invaded a domain held firmly in the grip of male philosophers. Her dealings with prominent exponents of the Empire and the church also demonstrate that she challenged the boundary between domestic and public, which divided the sexes into different spheres.⁴⁰ That she consciously appropriated a male position might be indicated by the detail of her donning the tribon, the cloak by which the male philosopher was recognizable in public.⁴1 No doubt, Hypatia was a divisive figure, as much hated by her vocal enemies as greatly admired by her devout followers. Thanks to one of her keenest students we possess a favourable sketch of Hypatia that at the same time delineates a vision of philosophical education. In the correspondence of Synesius of Cyrene (c.370–c.414), the Neoplatonist philosopher and bishop despite himself, letters addressed to his teacher and some of her disciples occupy a prominent place and show how he manipulated Hypatia’s character to propagate his own ideal of paideia. Our discussion intends to explore how Synesius, by taking the reallife figure of the female sage and exploiting her for his own ends, suggested an educational model that would be a superior alternative to the socially dominant type of paideia. On the basis of his letters, it is safe to say that Hypatia was the unrivalled sun of his intellectual universe.⁴2 A number of Synesius’ epistles, some of them addressed to former fellow students, speak of his deep-felt veneration for his female master and indulge in the memory of their intimate relationship.⁴3 From what he says about her and writes to her, it is clear that in this relationship Synesius saw himself as her disciple. He frankly acknowledged her intellectual and spiritual influence over him and relied in decisive moments of his life on Hypatia’s advice

3⁹ Dam. Isid. fr. 43A and E Athanassiadi (fr. 102 and 105 Zintzen). His portrayal of Hypatia, which recalls the type of the Cynic philosopher, was intended as a contrast to his philosophical hero, Isidore (fr. 106A Athanassiadi). ⁴⁰ See Watts 2017: 83–7 on Hypatia’s role in the Alexandrian public. ⁴1 It needs, however, to be noted that this detail is recorded in Damascius’ later account of her (Isid. fr. 43A Athanassiadi). ⁴2 See Bregman 1982: 19–25 and Tanaseanu-Döbler 2008: 181–90 on Hypatia’s influence on Synesius. ⁴3 See Synes. ep. 133.22–4 and especially 5.305–9 (Garzya/Roques). Seven letters included in the collection are addressed to Hypatia: Synes. ep. 10, 15, 16, 46, 81, 124, 154. Further letters make reference to her: ep. 5, 137, 133, 140. See also astrolab. 4.2 (Lamoureux/Aujoulat). Harich-Schwarzbauer 2011 provides a detailed commentary on the relevant epistles. Maldonado Rivera 2017 gives an overview of the letter collection.

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108 education in late antiquity and consolation.⁴⁴ The spell that Hypatia had cast on him emanated from the transformative experience he had made in her school at Alexandria. Still some years later, when he recalled his studies, Synesius rested assured that the initiation into the mysteries of Platonism received from her instruction was life-changing, not only for himself but also for his classmates.⁴⁵ More than once, he recreates the almost mystical atmosphere of the community gathered around Hypatia as their charismatic leader (καθηγεμών).⁴⁶ In On the Gift, a letter-style essay sent to his friend Paeonius, Synesius makes no secret of how much of his learning he owed to ‘the most revered teacher’ (ἡ σεβασμιωτάτη διδάσκαλος).⁴⁷ Hypatia’s inner circle of disciples accepted her as their spiritual director and made her the catchword of their friendship and cipher for true philosophy.⁴⁸ Considering that Synesius wrote his letters, as many ancient literati, with an eye to further readers beyond the primary addressees, we can safely assume that he wanted Hypatia to become an integral part of his public self-presentation as a philosopher.⁴⁹ Even years after his studies in Hypatia’s school, towards the end of 404, Synesius relied on his teacher’s advice, as he was about to publish works that he recently had completed. The letter, notably by far the longest among those addressed to the Alexandrian philosopher, was accompanied by three of his compositions, the treatises Dion and On Dreams, which had not left the author’s house yet, as well as On the Gift, which he had written already some years earlier.⁵⁰ In the letter, Synesius asks his former master for a candid judgement of his literary merits. His request, though, is of far greater significance for his intellectual profile, for one of these works, his Dion, spells out his understanding of learning.⁵1 This, rather than the treatise’s literary merits, is also what concerns the letter writer most. In the face of his critics, who found fault with another, well-received composition of his,⁵2 Synesius insists that it is erroneous to separate philosophy from literature and rhetoric, and confesses to Hypatia that ‘I spend some of my leisure (σχολή) in purifying my tongue and sweetening my wit’, that is, wedding literary ambitions

⁴⁴ See in particular Synes. ep. 81.13–21, where he also pronouncedly acknowledges Hypatia’s ‘power’. Ep. 10 shows him desperate for a letter from her and in 46 he sees himself as her echo (a possible reference to Pl. Cri. 54d). ⁴⁵ Synes. ep. 16, 137.1–23. See Luchner 2005: 49. ⁴⁶ Synes. ep. 137.8–9: ‘the legitimate leader of the philosophical rites’. For Hypatia’s known disciples see Dzielska 1995: 27–46. See also now Watts 2017: 65–74 on her school and its representation in Synesius’ letters. ⁴⁷ Synes. astrolab. 4.2. See also ep. 5.305–8 (τὴν σεβασμιωτάτην καὶ θεοφιλεστάτην φιλόσοφον). With these phrases, he conferred a sacred aura to Hypatia. ⁴⁸ Synes. ep. 137.8–12; further, astrolab. 4.2. Synesius’ letters to his close friend Herculian are discussed by Seng 2020: 30–5. ⁴⁹ See Maldonado Rivera 2017: 209 on the dissemination of Synesius’ letters. ⁵⁰ Synes. ep. 154. See Seng 2020: 39–40 and the commentary in Harich-Schwarzbauer 2011: 96–125. ⁵1 For Synesius’ educational philosophy as presented in the Dion see Chapter 4.3. ⁵2 He refers to his Cynegetics, now no longer extant. Nothing is known about its content, but elsewhere Synesius characterizes the work as light amusement (ep. 101.9–15). See Seng 2006: 103.

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what men could learn from women 109 with philosophical pursuits.⁵3 The importance of this concept is brought out by further letters and writings that speak in the same vein.⁵⁴ The piece heading Synesius’ epistolary corpus even pronounces his belief in this broad cultural programme and firmly attaches the unity of philosophy, poetry, and rhetoric to his personal identity.⁵⁵ But now Synesius sees himself embroiled in an argument over the right way to pursue studies and contends that the fusion of eloquence with philosophy in leisure is the only acceptable avenue for a man aspiring to true learning.⁵⁶ Before he briefly turns to the second book attached to the letter, Synesius, after a critical discussion of philosophers, resumes this thought, putting it to Hypatia’s verdict: Concerning all of this I will await your judgement. If you decide that my book should be published, it will be presented to orators and philosophers together. The former it will please, and to the latter it will be useful, provided of course that it is not rejected by you, who are able to pass judgement.⁵⁷

What Synesius seeks from his teacher is not only an expert assessment of his recent book but above all her approval of his ideal of paideia. He certainly assumes that Hypatia will agree with him on that point, thereby elevating through her authority the unity of the branches of learning he is campaigning for.⁵⁸ As the Dion was indeed published, any reader of the request could know that the philosopher had authorized Synesius’ programme of paideia. Hypatia’s name became, as it were, firmly tied to it.⁵⁹ Her seal of approval, moreover, is essential for him because he is caught, or at least he says so, in a fierce struggle against his belligerent critics who accuse him of the betrayal of philosophy.

⁵3 Synes. ep. 154.10–11: νέμω τινὰ σχολὴν ἐκ τοῦ βίου τῷ καὶ τὴν γλῶτταν καθήρασθαι καὶ τὴν γνώμην ἡδίω γενέσθαι. ⁵⁴ Synes. ep. 101, 103, 138, Dion. Cf. Bregman 1982: 127–9, Luchner 2005: 53. ⁵⁵ Synes. ep. 1.1–5: Παῖδας ἐγὼ λόγους ἐγεννησάμην, τοὺς μὲν ἀπὸ τῆς σεμνοτάτης φιλοσοφίας καὶ τῆς συννάου ταύτῃ ποιητικῆς, τοὺς δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς πανδήμου ῥητορικῆς. Ἀλλ’ ἐπιγνοίη τις ἂν ὅτι πατρός εἰσιν ἑνὸς ἅπαντες, νῦν μὲν εἰς σπουδήν, νῦν δὲ εἰς ἡδονὴν ἀποκλίναντος (‘I have begotten children in my books, some from most venerable philosophy and from poetry, which resides with her in the same temple, some again from rhetoric, which is for the general public. But anyone can see that they are all from one single father, who inclines now to a serious and now to a lighter pursuit’). ⁵⁶ Synesius describes philosophical leisure (σχολή) in more detail in ep. 11. ⁵⁷ Synes. ep. 154.91–5: Ὑπὲρ δὴ τούτων ἁπάντων σε κρίνουσαν περιμενοῦμεν. Κἂν μὲν ψηφίσῃ προσοιστέον εἶναι, ῥήτορσιν ἅμα καὶ φιλοσόφοις ἐκκείσεται· τοὺς μὲν γὰρ ἥσει, τοὺς δὲ ὀνήσει πάντως γε εἰ μὴ παρὰ σοῦ τῆς δυναμένης κρίνειν διαγεγράψεται. ⁵⁸ Synesius’ request thus goes beyond just asking Hypatia to sign off on the Dion’s quality, as Watts 2017: 71 and Watts 2019: 292–3 argues. In fact, he wants her to validate his vision of learning as outlined in the Dion, as he suggests by summarizing the work’s topic and intentions. The request of ep. 1, addressed to the sophist Nicander, is very similar. See Harich-Schwarzbauer 2011: 165–6 and Watts 2019: 293–4 on the relationship between the two letters. ⁵⁹ Petkas 2020: 18 speculates, without sufficient grounds, that Synesius even wanted Hypatia to publish the treatise.

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110 education in late antiquity To explain to his addressee the importance of her backing, Synesius first inserts in his letter a scathing attack on the men ‘in white and those in dark mantle’ who lay claim to genuine philosophy unspoilt by literary ambition, and then further differentiates the groups of ignorant critics.⁶⁰ Among them, he says, are the popular teachers, know-it-alls who drown people in empty syllogisms and idle phrases, further the ‘sophists’, who pretend to be philosophers, while in fact only exhibiting the external signs of that profession, the beard and the solemn composure.⁶1 Although Synesius fails to name his critics precisely, it is clear that both groups lay claim to knowledge about the divine and to the status of philosophers. The difference is that the popular teachers discuss theology everywhere in the cities, whereas the others in their elitism keep their philosophy hidden from the public. Positioning his programmatic book on philosophical education against the loquacity of the one school and the pseudo-philosophical silence of the other, Synesius’ epistle degrades into a veritable satire of contemporary philosophical teaching. Those who represent the publicly dominant form of education appear in the common eye to make nothing but a worthless display of superficial learning, mere impersonators rather than true embodiments of paideia. In addition, presenting the Dion to Hypatia, Synesius seized the opportunity to direct her attention to the letter-like short essay that he had sent to his friend Paeonius.⁶2 The reason for attaching another text to the epistle was not only his pride in literary achievement but certainly also that the essay, entitled On the Gift, was a discourse on Synesius’ understanding of true philosophy. While only the final part (5) deals with the astrolabe that had occasioned the essay, its bulk (1–4) congratulated Paeonius for flying the flag of genuine learning. In Synesius’ eyes, the addressee deserved the highest praise for taking a stand against the charlatan intellectuals who feigned knowledge of philosophy.⁶3 These semieducated men (ἡμιπαίδευτοι), Synesius lamented, dominated the public stage and enjoyed high esteem from those who were completely devoid of education. In contrast to these impostors, Paeonius, the legitimate philosopher, would come to rescue true learning, so the letter writer hoped. What made Paeonius such a perfect poster child of Synesius’ conception of paideia was that he used his knowledge

⁶⁰ Synes. ep. 154.2–65, the quote in ll. 2–3 (τῶν ἐν λευκοῖς ἔνιοι τρίβωσι καὶ τῶν ἐν φαιοῖς). There has been considerable discussion, without reaching consensus, on the identity of those men. Scholars have suggested various groups of esoteric philosophers, wandering Cynic preachers, and Christian monks. Cf. Dion 7.1–2 (Lamoureux/Aujoulat). See Garzya and Roques 2000: 423–4, Lamoureux and Aujoulat 2004–8: 101–3, Seng 2006: 103–4, and Op de Coul 2012: 116–17. Petkas 2020: 12–15 now argues that both groups of opponents were Christians. ⁶1 The term used by Synesius for the ‘popular teachers’, δημοδιδάσκαλοι, is a hapax. They appear to be garrulous bogus philosophers and well-known figures of the cities. ⁶2 The essay, To Paeonius or On the Gift, probably belongs to the first half of 398. The addressee is mentioned by name only here in Synesius’ works, but ep. 142 seems to refer to him as a comes at Alexandria. ⁶3 In particular in Synes. astrolab. 1.1–5, 3.2–5. The allusions in 3.4–5 seem to indicate that the rival group included also pseudo-Cynics.

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what men could learn from women 111 of the exact sciences, in particular astronomy, as a stepping stone to the more august level of higher philosophy, namely mystic theology. Significantly, Synesius attributed this ideal of true learning to Hypatia, whose expertise had also gone into the astronomical instrument.⁶⁴ With the presentation of On the Gift to his teacher, Synesius not only gave another testimony to his indebtedness to Hypatia. He also asked her once more to approve his conception of paideia and suggested to later readers of the essay that she was the author of the educational ideal on behalf of which he was crusading. How much the bitter feud over true paideia occupied his mind and how closely the issue was bound up with his allegiance to Hypatia can be gleaned from another letter, addressed to his friend Herculian.⁶⁵ There, he pours scorn even more aggressively over the impostors who are utterly devoid of letters. For I know that I often met, long ago but also lately, people who, because they had rashly listened to some stately petty phrases, refused to believe themselves the laymen that they really were. Full of wind, they sullied sacred doctrines by claiming to teach what they had never succeeded in learning. They attached to themselves three or four admirers, men in no way different in their souls from the vulgar mob, and none of them such as have been trained through propaedeutic studies. This conceit of wisdom is a dangerous and guileful thing, shrinking at nothing among the ignorant, and daring all things without thinking. For what could be more audacious than ignorance?⁶⁶

If the addressee had been in doubt about Synesius’ verdict on the education system current at the time, this passage leaves nothing to be desired in terms of clarity. In remarkably strong wording, it takes aim at the typical habitus of those who were considered the masters of paideia. Where Synesius expected true learning and a cultivated soul, the faux intellectuals conceal their lack of education with a vainglorious show in public to make others believe in their feigned expertise. Critiquing the familiar performance culture of ancient pepaideumenoi, he lambastes the impression management of contemporary intellectuals, as well as the people’s credulity, the willingness to blindly acknowledge the charlatans’ authority. Paideia,

⁶⁴ Synes. astrolab. 4.2. ⁶⁵ Synes. ep. 143, sent possibly in 397 (see Seng 2020: 35). To Herculian are addressed the letters 137–46. Scholars have not been able to establish an accepted chronology of these letters. See the discussion in Tanaseanu-Döbler 2008: 190–7. ⁶⁶ Synes. ep. 143.15–27: Ἐπεί τοι συγγεγονὼς ἐγώ τισιν οἶδα καὶ πάλαι μὲν ἀτάρ τοι καὶ ἔναγχος ἀνθρώποις οἳ διὰ τὸ προαλῶς ἀκηκοέναι ῥηματίων σεμνοτέρων ἠπίστησαν ἑαυτοῖς ὅπερ ἦσαν ἰδιώταις εἶναι, καὶ φύσης ἐμπλησθέντες ἐμόλυναν θεσπέσια δόγματα μεταποιήσει διδασκαλίας ὧν οὐκ εὐτύχησαν μάθησιν. Καὶ μέντοι καὶ τοὺς θαυμασομένους τρεῖς τινας ἢ τέτταρας οὐδὲν ἀποδέοντας βαναύσους εἶναι τό γε κατὰ ψυχὰς ἀνηρτήσαντο μηδὲ διὰ τῶν προπαιδευμάτων ἐνίους ἠγμένους. Δεινὸν γὰρ ἡ δοξοσοφία καὶ ἀπατηλόν, ἐν οὐκ εἰδόσιν οὐδὲν ἀναδυομένη καὶ πάντα ἀπερισκέπτως τολμῶσα. Τί γὰρ ἂν ἀμαθίας γένοιτο θαρραλεώτερον;

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112 education in late antiquity it seems, has been perverted and made a mockery. In another letter, sent from Athens to his brother, Synesius laments that even in the Greek capital learning has degraded and become an empty vessel, while truly wise men can be found only in Egypt, thanks to Hypatia, who produced them.⁶⁷ To liberate education from the fetters of its social functions, a wholesale reorientation is needed, so that the hollow habitus of the men falsely called educated is replaced by a truly formative experience that benefits the learner. This is the training that Herculian and Synesius himself received in Hypatia’s circle, the opposite of the warped philosophizing and empty eloquence of the established schools. Consequently, Synesius reminds his friend to shun the crowd of those who are not faithful to philosophy and instead return to the sacred mysteries of philosophy (τῶν φιλοσοφίας ὀργίων), approaching them with due reverence. True learning, Synesius’ admonition makes clear, can be safeguarded only in seclusion from the stage of social competition and display. Just as his master renounces her social role and defies natural categorization, Synesius’ ideal of philosophy attached to her is presented as the superior alternative to what the half-baked intellectuals and charlatans were teaching in the schools. While these pride themselves on the mere formalities of either reasoning or eloquence, Synesius’, and Hypatia’s, philosophy is defined as a choice of life, the life according to reason, as attributed to his master in the letter discussed above.⁶⁸ This ideal can be attained only through a balanced synthesis of eloquence and philosophical pursuits, of intellect and elegance, that avoids vulgarizing the mysteries of truth. From the letters of the philosopher-bishop of Cyrene it becomes apparent that he wanted his vision of philosophical learning to be identified with his charismatic teacher. When he confronted his opponents in the intellectual fray he sought to bolster his model of paideia with Hypatia’s authority and, therefore, sent the Dion as his intellectual testament to her for the final quality control. As the extensive defence of his ideal of paideia in ep. 154 shows, his primary intention was not to receive confirmation of his literary accomplishment in the recent work but to attach Hypatia’s name to the ‘Hellenic’ education that oriented his life.⁶⁹ The female sage as the recipient of the treatise was hardly in need of a recapitulation of the Dion’s content, but further readers of Synesius’ letters would, even without knowing the Dion firsthand, immediately understand that the Alexandrian philosopher had authorized the programme of all-encompassing,

⁶⁷ Synes. ep. 136. ⁶⁸ Synes. ep. 154.59–62, 137.46–9. ⁶⁹ Pace Seng 2020: 40, who argues that in the letter Synesius tries to convince Hypatia of his position on paideia: ‘Apparently, his double role as a philosopher and as a littérateur needs special justification to Hypatia.’ For Synesius’ cultural notion of Hellenism see Cameron and Long 1993: 62–9.

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what men could learn from women 113 humanist paideia. We may speculate that it was Hypatia’s unconventional standing in the philosophical discipline, and society at large, that made her particularly suitable for Synesius’ reckoning with the then current schooling practice.⁷⁰ He needed a figure of authority that was far removed from the ubiquitous selfappointed philosophers and teachers who dominated the public face of education. Hypatia’s nature, which did not fit into ordinary drawers, is neatly summed up, in another letter, in the climactic address ‘mother, sister, teacher, and in everything benefactress, and whatsoever is honoured in name and deed’.⁷1 An extraordinary, eccentric figure like Hypatia seemed to be the perfect choice for questioning the unconscious mechanisms of education so deeply engrained in society. Her authority legitimized Synesius’ educational ideal, the pursuit of encyclopaedic learning in leisure (σχολή) and freedom, whereas the dominant narrow-minded curriculum subjected people to the norms and expectations of a society oriented towards external success.⁷2 Approaching paideia from the perspective of a female sage allowed Synesius, then, to invalidate the reproductive patterns underlying the education system and return to a humanistic vision of self-cultivation. Hypatia’s fame as an ancient female philosopher may be unrivalled, but she by no means ploughed a lonely furrow in her days. Around the same time, in the middle of the fourth century, the city of Pergamum could also boast a notable woman sage, Sosipatra (c.300–after 362).⁷3 A number of parallels make her almost Hypatia’s Asian opposite number: both were followers of the Neoplatonic sect, both attracted a suite of devout disciples, both moved assertively in public— and both women’s legacies have survived in the writings of their male admirers. Whereas Hypatia’s personality can be reconstructed with the help of multiple sources, Sosipatra’s fate, as we know it, is owed solely to the pen of the biographer Eunapius of Sardes (c.347–after 414).⁷⁴ In the same way as Hypatia’s extraordinary appearance attracted the interest, and disapproval, of eloquent male figures, Sosipatra’s exceptional life and talents caught the eye of Eunapius. His fascination for her astounding presence not only inspired him to devote a substantial section of his Lives of the Sophists to Sosipatra, in fact more pages than to most of the male philosophers included, but is also visible in the opening lines of her

⁷⁰ The reverent reference to Hypatia as ‘legitimate leader of the philosophical mysteries’ (τῆς γνησίας καθηγεμόνος τῶν φιλοσοφίας ὀργίων) in a letter sent to Herculian might imply a demarcation from rival intellectual circles and doctrines (Synes. ep. 137.8–9). ⁷1 Synes. ep. 16.2–4: μῆτερ καὶ ἀδελφὴ καὶ διδάσκαλε καὶ διὰ πάντων τούτων εὐεργετικὴ καὶ ἅπαν ὅ τι τίμιον καὶ πρᾶγμα καὶ ὄνομα. ⁷2 As Garzya 1996: 214–16 shows, σχολή, in its positive sense, in Synesius is closely linked with the ends for which it is used, in particular philosophy and intellectual pursuits. ⁷3 See Johnston 2012, Tanaseanu-Döbler 2013, Watts 2017: 97–100. ⁷⁴ See Eun. VS 6.6.5–6.10.5 (6.53–101 Goulet). There are no other ancient sources for her life or teaching.

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114 education in late antiquity biography, where he justifies her inclusion in an otherwise all-masculine series of intellectuals.⁷⁵ So far did Sosipatra’s fame (κλέος) travel, he explains, that he deemed it fit to speak at greater length of her, even in a catalogue of wise men.⁷⁶ The reason why Eunapius’ account had grown to such a length, and why Sosipatra merits mention in this chapter, is his decision to report her upbringing and education in greater detail than that of any other Neoplatonic thinker admitted into his literary hall of fame. Although we usually learn about their families and sometimes about their studies, none of them is depicted as a small child and followed through the course of his early years, as she is. Eunapius seems to have considered Sosipatra’s infancy and learning, though it stands out from the rest of the Lives, as the epitome of the Neoplatonic ascent from the cradle to the divine, because she displays many features that play a role also in the other biographies but in sharper relief. Among these features are charismatic authority, the ability of foresight, and, above all, the intimate contact with the divine realm.⁷⁷ Here, it is important to note a significant difference between Hypatia and Sosipatra: while, as we saw, Synesius merely associates his ideal of education with a female teacher, Eunapius presents a female way of education in a coherent and vivid narrative to a wider audience, advertising this as a model to his male readers. Is there, then, a closer link between the qualities that make Sosipatra such an admirable and exemplary figure and the way in which she has been raised and trained? Or to put it differently, to what extent does Sosipatra as portrayed by Eunapius embody a distinctive education path leading to the perfect life? It is in particular the close relationship with the divine that dominates the narrative of her upbringing right from the start. Already the setting in which Sosipatra is raised is strikingly different from what we can expect from ‘a prosperous family, blessed with wealth’.⁷⁸ When she was five years old, Eunapius tells us, two mysterious old men appeared at her father’s country estate and first gave a proof of their brilliant abilities by multiplying the harvest of his vineyard. Once they have caught a glimpse of the little girl, whose exceeding beauty and charm are duly mentioned, they turn their expertise in cultivation to pedagogy. They announce to her father over dinner that they will bring even greater profit if he is happy to hand over to them his daughter for education. If the intervention of two strangers

⁷⁵ Interestingly, Eunapius ignores his contemporary Hypatia completely, in all likelihood because she had no interest in the theurgic Neoplatonism of Iamblichus. See Becker 2013: 37. ⁷⁶ Eun. VS 6.6.5 (6.54 Goulet). ‘Fame’ is one of the key themes in his Lives. In his programmatic statement in 2.2.2 (2.11 Goulet), Eunapius declares that it was his intention to depict the philosophical and rhetorical life of ‘the best men’. ⁷⁷ Johnston 2012 argues that Sosipatra, despite her many unique features, serves for Eunapius’ readers as a role model of the theurgic life. For Sosipatra as a role model see also Tanaseanu-Döbler 2013. ⁷⁸ Eun. VS 6.6.6 (6.54 Goulet) on her familial background. Noble lineage and prosperity are defining characteristics of Eunapius’ philosophers.

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what men could learn from women 115 were not exceptional enough, the men even claim to be ‘more truly her parents and guardians’ and forbid Sosipatra’s father to set foot on his estate as long as they are educating the girl there.⁷⁹ What they offer him as a reward for this unnatural separation adds to the eccentric childhood of the gifted girl: over the following five years, no disease would harm Sosipatra, nor would death befall her, but she would gain an existence ‘unlike a woman or human being’.⁸⁰ As these visionary words indicate, the education that the little girl is going to receive will reconfigure her existence, to the extent that ordinary categories collapse. That bold promise does not fail to materialize. Instead of learning to count, read, and write, the girl, in a kind of secretive anachoresis, is initiated by the two heroes or divine men into mysteries and consecrated with religious rites, without anyone knowing. Sosipatra’s upbringing at the hands of the enigmatic visitors is then revealed as a truly transformative experience. After the agreed period has elapsed and her father returned to the estate, he hardly recognizes his daughter, so profoundly has her nature changed. And hardly does she know him.⁸1 The almost failed recognition between father and daughter is, as Eunapius’ biography makes plain, down not simply to Sosipatra’s growing up. Rather, she has surpassed human existence. As she reveals to her father in an act of clairvoyance what has happened to him on his journey, he comes to be ‘so full of admiration that he did not merely admire her but was awestruck, and he was convinced that his daughter was a goddess’. Appropriately enough, the father then falls on his knees before the two teachers and begs them to continue their education and initiate his child into still more sacred things.⁸2 This they do, as is narrated in some detail, until the girl is fully initiated and filled with divine breath. Fittingly, the theme of amazement and wonder (θαῦμα) runs through the entire narrative. Throughout her unique life, Sosipatra time and again astounds those who encounter her, whether relatives, disciples, or the people of Pergamum. And her biographer dutifully notes all the signs of astonishment, surprise, admiration, and reverence that are paid to her wherever she lets her divine gifts shine.⁸3 Unfailing prophecies become, as it were, Sosipatra’s hallmark if we are to believe Eunapius. Her almost otherworldly talents begin to bear fruit right from infancy, and the two wanderers, initiated into Chaldaean wisdom, bring them through their pedagogy to full fruition. How far Sosipatra’s intellectual powers eclipse ⁷⁹ Eun. VS 6.6.11 (6.59 Goulet): τροφεῦσι καὶ πατράσιν ἀληθεστέροις. ⁸⁰ Eun. VS 6.6.12 (6.60 Goulet): καὶ ἡ θυγάτηρ οὐ κατὰ γυναῖκα καὶ ἄνθρωπον ἔσται μόνον, alluding to the Platonic idea of the assimilation to God (Pl. Tht. 176b–d). The passage, in particular the absence of sickness and death, recalls images of the Golden Age. ⁸1 Eun. VS 6.7.2–3 (6.64–5 Goulet). ⁸2 Eun. VS 6.7.5 (6.67 Goulet): καὶ εἰς τοσόνδε προῄει θαύματος ὁ πατήρ, ὥστε οὐκ ἐθαύμαζεν, ἀλλὰ κατεπλήττετο, καὶ θεὸν εἶναι τὴν παῖδα ἐπέπειστο. ⁸3 Hartmann 2006: 69–71 argues that Eunapius depicts Sosipatra as a divine woman to match the ‘holy men’ of late antiquity.

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116 education in late antiquity the classical training of her peers is demonstrated still after the two heroes have departed. Eunapius cannot withhold his own amazement, saying: And as she grew to the full measure of maturity, she had no other teachers but knew by heart the books of the poets, and of philosophers and orators; and all those works that others understand scarcely at all and vaguely, and then only by toil and painful drudgery, she could explain without paying much attention, easily and painlessly, and with her light touch would make their meaning clear.⁸⁴

As far as non-religious education according to the school curriculum is concerned, the child prodigy is self-taught. Eunapius wants us to believe that, in the same way as Sosipatra’s unsurpassed beauty and charm are inborn, her immense erudition and wisdom are dispensed to her by nature.⁸⁵ Not only that, she has a brilliant command of poetry, philosophy, and rhetoric, in that order. Hers is a paideia that in its comprehensiveness aspires to an all-round culture that disciplinary specialism cannot offer. Eunapius here ascribes to his heroine an intellectual breadth that we saw Synesius attaching to Hypatia. Though later in life gathering groups of students around her chair and engaging in formal instruction, Sosipatra’s larger-than-life qualities do not stem from the run-of-the-mill schools and their conservative methods. Despite her achievements in traditional learning (without which she would hardly appeal to Eunapius’ well-educated readership), Sosipatra’s upbringing is, under divine auspices, situated firmly outside conventional institutions and patterns. The extravagance of Sosipatra’s education, however, has wider ramifications. It is not only that her independent and innate learning replaces formal training, implying a contrast between natural wisdom and formal instruction. Her intellectual independence, furthermore, subverts hierarchies, first of all that of teacher and student. Subsequently, Sosipatra, as a girl as well as an adult woman, wipes out the established gender order: she rises far above her father, who cannot help but fall silent in awe; out of her own will she chooses a bridegroom, instead of being married by the head of the family; finally, she overshadows her husband, Eustathius, no mean thinker himself,⁸⁶ and later on the philosopher Aedesius, who joins her both in living and in teaching. As the frequently depicted responses by men to her outstanding abilities show, Sosipatra, by virtue of being superior to any man around her, assumes the masculine role of the divine Neoplatonic ⁸⁴ Eun. VS 6.8.2 (6.75 Goulet): ἡ δὲ προϊοῦσα εἰς μέτρον ἀκμῆς, διδασκάλων τε ἄλλων οὐ τυχοῦσα, τά τε τῶν ποιητῶν βιβλία διὰ στόματος εἶχε καὶ φιλοσόφων καὶ ῥητόρων, καὶ ὅσα γε τοῖς πεπονηκόσι καὶ τεταλαιπωρημένοις μόλις ὑπῆρχε καὶ ἀμυδρῶς εἰδέναι, ταῦτα ἐκείνη μετ’ ὀλιγωρίας ἔφραζε, εὐκόλως καὶ ἀλύπως εἰς τὸ σαφὲς ἐπιτρέχουσα. ⁸⁵ As Johnston 2012: 103 remarks with respect to Sosipatra’s achieving divine status: ‘Eunapius wishes to emphasize that Sosipatra becomes what she does without human tutelage’ (emphasis in the original). ⁸⁶ Eun. VS 6.6.5 (6.53 Goulet).

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what men could learn from women 117 philosopher, to the extent of stripping off her physical gender.⁸⁷ With this array of men outclassed by the female sage, the Life draws the reader’s attention to the unconventional standing of Sosipatra and, by extension, her paideia. Only the epic category of κλέος is able to comprehend her masculine heroism. It is perhaps a telling detail that the palpable estrangement caused by Sosipatra’s miraculous transfiguration between her and her father enhances the impression of her breaking away from social and even natural categorization. No longer father and daughter, they meet as worshipper and goddess. By showing us an independent and unsurpassable Sosipatra in comparison with men of, notably, considerable status, Eunapius’ account demonstrates the great transformative power of this specific type of upbringing and training. On the basis of a broad, initiatory education, Sosipatra gains a new existence that women were normally denied. Sosipatra’s transgressiveness then culminates in her running jointly with her partner Aedesius a school in their home, where she has the part of giving the higher lectures for advanced students. None of them fails to adore her enthusiasmos, her inspired teaching.⁸⁸ This biographic detail is significant for two reasons: for one thing, the narrator makes clear that Sosipatra’s teaching took place not in public, in a recognized school, but in her private home. While the crowning moment of a male career in philosophical education was the establishment of an institutionalized school with public visibility, the female philosopher prefers to gather a restricted circle of devout disciples. This withdrawal into the private sphere implies that the kind of philosophical education offered by Sosipatra is not concerned with status and public appearance. Secondly, the students seem to seek from their female master a profound formative experience, almost a religious illumination bestowed by a charismatic leader, rather than formal knowledge. Without doubt, Sosipatra is an expert in the methodical exegesis of texts and philosophical reasoning, but the Life indicates that Sosipatra’s paideia reaches for a more elevated goal beyond the traditional curriculum.⁸⁹ Strikingly, to throw her exceptional format into high relief, Eunapius pursues a strategy similar to what we have noticed in Synesius’ letters. Having made much of kinship and family ties, the narrative provides a coda to Sosipatra’s biography

⁸⁷ The reversal of gender roles emerges clearly from Sosipatra’s relationships with her husband Eustathius, Aedesius, and her relative Philometor, who falls in love with her. Sosipatra is the one to take the initiative and freely decides to marry Eustathius. After his death, Aedesius moves into her home, does service or honour (θεραπεύων) to her and takes over the care for her children. And Philometor is overwhelmed by Sosipatra’s intellectual abilities and divine nature, and finally has to admit his defeat in wooing her (Eun. VS 6.8.1–6.9.10, 6.74–89 Goulet). See Penella 1990: 60–1 on Eunapius’ emphasis on Sosipatra’s superiority over various men. ⁸⁸ Eun. VS 6.9.2 (6.81 Goulet). Eunapius’ words here cannot be taken as evidence for Sosipatra holding an official chair. ⁸⁹ Watts 2017: 99 in this respect contrasts Sosipatra’s teaching with Hypatia’s school, which followed more traditional patterns.

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118 education in late antiquity by briefly reporting how her sons fared in the philosophical profession. One of them, named Antoninus, lives up to his mother’s prophecy and becomes a teacher in Egypt, divinely inspired, yet not rising above humankind.⁹⁰ After him follow two sons, whose names Eunapius appropriately omits, and other adherents of a different sort. Without failing to recall, with a reference to Hesiod’s Ehoiai, Sosipatra’s heroic status,⁹1 the biographer characterizes them as a bunch of greedy impostors who constantly have Sosipatra’s name in their mouth and wear the philosopher’s cloak but, apart from that, fall utterly short of genuine philosophy. Though heavily laden with lots of books, they know nothing other than wills and contracts—these actually are their ‘booklets’ (βιβλίδια)⁹2—and populate the law courts, in the hope of making profit. Theirs is the life of material gain (in Platonic terms, the βίος χρηματιστικός), not of wisdom.⁹3 After his exuberant eulogy of Sosipatra, Eunapius’ irony and sarcasm in depicting these decrepit charlatans will not have failed to make an impression on his readers. The glaring contrast between the feminine sage and the depraved pseudo-philosophers, reminding us of Synesius’ Hypatia, once more underlines Sosipatra’s singularity. Eunapius’ hagiographic account of Sosipatra, thus, very much foregrounds the challenge that her upbringing and life pose to established, masculine patterns of intellectual activity. Deliberately placing her intellectual and religious formation outside the conventional contexts of institutional schooling, he indicates that the type of education Sosipatra has received makes further formation by formal paideia unnecessary.⁹⁴ If a human being has been equipped with divine abilities and given proper initiation into the mysteries, the stock-in-trade of classical learning comes almost automatically, with no need of human teachers. It has been argued that the absence of paideia in Sosipatra’s Life does not act as a critique of its institutions; rather, the education in philosophy and theurgy by gods and daimones, the cause and goal of Iamblichean philosophical and ritual practice, affirmed the conventional institutional paths by which men pursued the same goals.⁹⁵ However, Eunapius’ strong emphasis on the eccentricity, and tremendous success, of Sosipatra’s sacred paideia suggests that it is an alternative and superior ⁹⁰ Antoninus’ life and philosophy are closely linked with his mother’s. Eunapius recounts in detail how he was dealing with those who in droves approached him at the mouth of the Nile in philosophical and religious matters. The narrative of his life culminates in the destruction of the Serapeum in 391. Eun. VS 6.9.15–6.10.12 (6.94–118 Goulet). ⁹1 The reference is particularly apt as Eunapius, too, writes a catalogue. It is unclear whether he refers to the Great Ehoiai or the Catalogue of Women. See Becker 2013: 330. For the same motif in Christian hagiography see n. 22. ⁹2 This expression might enhance the contrast between Sosipatra and her degenerate sons as it has already been used for her philosophical and religious books (6.7.8, 6.70 Goulet). ⁹3 See Eun. VS 6.10.1–4 (6.97–100 Goulet) on their miserable βίος. Cf. 6.1.1 (6.1 Goulet). For the incompatibility of the philosophical life with the life oriented toward material gain see Pl. R. 9.580d–583a. ⁹⁴ Pace Tanaseanu-Döbler 2013: 130–2, who overstates the role of traditional paideia, in the sense of literary training, in Sosipatra’s biography. ⁹⁵ Urbano 2013: 258, further 254–5.

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what men could learn from women 119 path to human perfection. Her education is, not only in spatial terms, situated in great distance from the schools. It is the prominent role of initiation and the goal of becoming godlike that sets Sosipatra’s formation apart from the traditional educational model. The disturbing figure of the powerful female philosopher was an excellent choice for making this point because in appropriating the male role she stimulated reflection about the conditions of institutional education. She even outclassed any of the male intellectuals around her. This was not meant to abolish the established system, for Sosipatra’s integration into the collective biography of school philosophers and her many parallels with them testify to the author’s respect to the school tradition. Nonetheless, the ambivalent and thought-provoking figure of Sosipatra held out the prospect of a more valuable education leading to the perfect life. The training offered by the schools seemed only a faint glimpse of what education in the truest sense could achieve. As the female philosopher’s successful life graphically illustrated, paideia was meaningless if it did not reach for the total transformation of one’s life. An education like the one Sosipatra received was certainly not available to the average person, but as an idealized model, it served as a powerful argument for what, according to Eunapius, the philosophically-minded should aspire to.

3.3 Stripping Paideia of Its Habit-Forming Force Given the hagiographic nature of Eunapius’ portrait, it is not hard to see why modern scholarship has drawn parallels between Sosipatra and perhaps the most prominent learned female saint of Greek Christianity, Macrina the Younger (c.327–79), the older sister of Basil and Gregory of Nyssa.⁹⁶ Though there is certainly no shortage of Christian women with impressive intellectual records, Macrina, leading the vanguard of this rise to fame, is often seen as the saintly female philosopher par excellence.⁹⁷ This image of her is owed mainly to the idealized story of her life penned after her death by Gregory and further elaborated in his philosophical dialogue De anima et resurrectione, which features Macrina as Gregory’s intellectual mentor.⁹⁸ It was, of course, not his objective to write an accurate and realistic account of his sister’s life, though in the prologue he claims to do so. Rather, he set out to present an exemplary figure and for that purpose,

⁹⁶ See, for example, Urbano 2013: 250–1 and Clark 2015: 94–5. ⁹⁷ For Macrina as a learned woman see Silvas 2008, Urbano 2013: 245–72, and Greschat 2015. ⁹⁸ Gregory’s Life of Macrina was composed in c.381/2. The Greek text is edited in SC 178 (ed. Maraval). An English translation with notes is provided in Silvas 2008, who also presents further ancient evidence on Macrina in translation. The edition of the dialogue De anima is GNO 3.3 (ed. Spira). Both works were foreshadowed in Gregory’s Letter 19.6–10. Greschat 2015: 67 aptly remarks that Macrina as emerging from the Life was totally Gregory’s creation.

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120 education in late antiquity he heavily made use of the conventions of classical encomia and freely borrowed motifs from Plato’s dialogues.⁹⁹ Thus, the fact that Gregory tries to dissimulate his literary aspirations should not prevent us from discerning that the Life of Macrina targeted an upper-class audience with a refined taste.1⁰⁰ In this direction points also the preface to the work, where, in the form of an address, Gregory locates its origins in a cultivated conversation with his correspondent in Antioch and assumes on his reader’s part a keen interest in philosophy.1⁰1 Philosophy, or in broader terms learning, is then the overarching theme of the Life, though we ought to note that, because of generic conventions, Gregory could not aim at an exhaustive and systematic treatment of paideia. Having said that, no reader of Gregory’s account could fail to notice that the topic of philosophy dominates the saint’s biography from childhood to her deathbed.1⁰2 The storyline, in essence, represents one linear process of ethical formation leading towards human perfection. We see Macrina embarking on this journey in her early years, advancing through higher studies, then becoming herself the teacher and spiritual director of relatives and companions, and finally, in her last days, rising as the perfect philosopher. With her last breaths discoursing, like Socrates, about the soul and immortality, Macrina attains martyr-like stature, even though she has not suffered death for her faith.1⁰3 Her steady ascent to perfect purity is marked by decisive moments in her life: when Macrina’s proposed bridegroom suddenly dies, her brother Naucratius is tragically killed in a hunting accident, and her mother Emmelia and her brother Basil pass away, she, like the Stoic sage, every time emerges even stronger. She overcomes any onset of grief and through her own firmness teaches others to be brave. Gregory presents to his readers his sister’s trajectory as a continuous progress of attaining ever greater self-control and purity of the soul until its departure from the physical body. Considering that the author makes instruction and formation a central and integral part of the romanticized account of Macrina’s life and actions, it is worth exploring whether her formative trajectory is intended as an exemplary path of education, and assessing the difference made to the notion of paideia by adopting the perspective of a female role model. With Gregory’s choice of the hagiographic form and his attention to Macrina braving strokes of bereavement, it is hardly surprising that he makes the impassible angelic life the centrepiece of his account (esp. v. Macr. 11). From ‘the tender and ⁹⁹ See Meredith 1984, Clark 1998: 424, as well as the introduction and notes in Maraval’s edition (SC 178). 1⁰⁰ In the conclusion to the prologue Gregory in a captatio benevolentiae downplays his writing skills, pretending to tell Macrina’s story in an unstudied and simple narrative (1.30–1, SC 178.142). 1⁰1 For a possible identification of the unnamed addressee see Silvas 2008: 108. 1⁰2 Meredith 1984: 184. Terms derived from παιδεύω and φιλοσοφία are frequent in the Life. See the index in Maraval’s edition (SC 178). 1⁰3 Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 33.6–8 (SC 178.248). The dialogue on Macrina’s deathbed is modelled after Plato’s Phaedo. See Urbano 2013: 262.

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what men could learn from women 121 mouldable nature’ of the little girl to her tranquil philosophizing on the deathbed, Macrina undergoes an uninterrupted process of self-formation and liberation from passions, until her final departure frees her from any concern of the life below.1⁰⁴ Her superhuman apatheia—an expression occurring only once in the Life, at its climax—has won her the status of an angel in human form.1⁰⁵ For the male Christian observer, it almost goes without saying that Macrina by this also surpassed her female sex.1⁰⁶ This is also what the sisters of her community when surrendering to excessive grief after Macrina’s death ought to observe in order to fulfil their director’s legacy. The impassibility that puts the distinctive stamp on Macrina’s life is gained through the consequent pursuit of the ascetic existence. As already her mother Emmelia is drawn to the pure and incorrupt way of life and an apparition tells her that her daughter will be known by the name of Thecla, Macrina is destined even before birth to the life of a virgin of God.1⁰⁷ Consequently, after the premature death of her chosen bridegroom, the girl resolves to stay an unmarried ‘widow’ and is determined to renounce the lifestyle that other aristocratic women of the time happily would have embraced. She lives on a frugal diet, eschews sumptuous dress and embellishing make-up, and is not ashamed to do menial tasks like making her own bread. Gregory’s purpose in following his sister’s renunciation of worldly concerns, though, is not only to portray the exemplary life of a feminine ascetic, but he also stresses how through her conduct Macrina informed the lives of everyone who was graced with her presence. Whereas male ascetics such as St Antony sought to escape civilization to attain purity in the wilderness, Macrina establishes in her household a community of female disciples who are keen to join her way of life.1⁰⁸ Even before that, the young woman manages to redirect her brother Basil to ascetic philosophy when he returns from his studies in Athens and also profoundly transforms through her example Emmelia’s life. Once the household monastery has been inaugurated, 1⁰⁴ The nature of the child: v. Macr. 3.13 (SC 178.148). According to Gregory, perfection consists in continuous progress. See De perfectione, GNO 8.1.214 (PG 46.285). Macrina makes progress without pause towards perfect purity (v. Macr. 11.45–8, SC 178.180). See Maraval 1971: 92–8. For Gregory’s conception of self-formation see also Chapter 5.4. 1⁰⁵ Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 22.9 (SC 178.212). The entire ch. 22 about Macrina’s exceptional composure in the final moments of her life in the flesh is testimony to Gregory’s boundless admiration for her angelic tranquillity. 1⁰⁶ This is made clear to the addressee right from the prologue (v. Macr. 1.14–17, SC 178.140, again underlining the motif of nature). The trope is a reference to the angelic life, where sex does not matter (cf. Gal. 3:28, in Christ there is no man, no woman; see also Gr. Nyss. virg. 20.4.35–6, GNO 8.1.328) and Basil of Ancyra’s virg. 51 (PG 30.772) on women becoming through askesis male. See Elm 1994: 120–2; further, on this trope in the representation of learned women, Mratschek 2007. 1⁰⁷ Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 2.21–34 (SC 178.144–8), pointing out that Macrina’s secret name, Thecla, foreshadowed her choice of life. By this time, Thecla had already become a beacon of Christian virginity. See Acta Pauli et Theclae, in which Thecla’s refusal to marry is the central element; Meth. Symp. 11.292 (SC 95.321), Gr. Naz. carm. 1.2.2.190, 1.2.3.87, 1.2.10.916 (PG 37.593, 639, 746), Gr. Nyss. hom. in Cant. 14 (GNO 6.405.3). 1⁰⁸ See Elm 1994: 78–102 on the transformation of Macrina’s family into an ascetic community.

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122 education in late antiquity Macrina’s spiritual and pedagogic authority extends to other aristocratic women. Depicting their communal life, Gregory’s narrative draws attention to the lofty philosophy practised by these virgins, to their imitation of the angelic life, the absence of passions and material wealth, and also to the meditation on divine things. To cap the main points of their conduct and virtues, Gregory emphasizes that, under Macrina’s leadership, the disciples surpassed human nature and gradually ascended to incorporeal existence.1⁰⁹ Not unlike her male counterpart in the Egyptian desert, Macrina inspires many others to imitate her exemplary conduct and renunciation of the world.11⁰ Her presence and philosophical mentorship exert a transformative influence upon anyone around her, whether members of her family or aristocratic peers. If, as scholars have argued, Christian women in late antiquity won some more freedom and emancipation, it is clear to see here in Gregory’s, albeit stylized, portrait of his sister’s pedagogy.111 In eulogizing her as an independent, authoritative teacher he engaged critically with the dominant view of contemporary male Christians on women, which could not forgive them the loss of Paradise, blamed them for their proneness to passions, and demanded from them submissiveness to men. Gregory’s portrait of a female sage instructing even men, among them the erudite Basil, clearly contravened the image of the deferent woman. It would, however, be wrong for the male reader to put himself at ease by judging Macrina’s influence over her disciples purely in terms of conduct. Tellingly, at one point of his narrative Gregory borrows from the classical tradition the term phrontisterion to characterize Macrina’s activities in her convent.112 While the frequently used expression philosophia covers both reasoning and manner of life, this term unambiguously points to the intellectual dimension of her instruction.113 We must not forget that the hagiography reaches its climax when Macrina, lying on her deathbed, philosophizes about the human soul and resurrection in the same way as Plato had his hero Socrates do in the Phaedo. And we get to see even more of her intellectual accomplishments in the dialogue De anima, where she, sometimes even dogmatically, destroys the pagan philosophers’ arguments. There, Gregory is explicit that his sister-teacher has a firm command of Platonic,

1⁰⁹ Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 11 (SC 178.174–80). 11⁰ Ludlow 2015: 94–5 underlines that in the Life Macrina teaches mainly through example, whereas De anima shows her as a shrewd theologian. 111 e.g. Cameron and Long 1993: 61: ‘Christianity allowed women new scope and new status.’ 112 Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 37.2 (SC 178.258). Gregory does not, of course, want to bring the comic use of this expression in Aristophanes’ Clouds (94) to mind. The term made its way also into monastic vocabulary and was used for ‘monastery’. See Lampe 1961: 1491, s.v. φροντιστήριον, Maraval 1971: 258 n., Westergren 2018: 56. 113 For philosophia as religious meditation and search for truth in Gregory see Malingrey 1961: 245–50; further, Pelikan 1993: 177–83.

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what men could learn from women 123 Epicurean, and Stoic philosophy, and even medicine, and knows how to refute the classical authorities.11⁴ Formal knowledge and intellectual training make their presence felt early on in the Life, in Macrina’s childhood, and from then on never leave the stage. Similar to Eunapius in his account of Sosipatra, though not in such detail, Gregory’s hagiography allows us a glimpse into Macrina’s upbringing. Strikingly, the Christian girl, too, is a child prodigy. Mostly nursed in her mother’s arms, the little child is then quick to learn, as Gregory says, childish lessons (εὐμαθὴς ἦν τῶν παιδικῶν μαθημάτων), leaving the abilities of the infant age far behind. Her nature shines in whatever lessons her parents direct her. Yet, the biography insists that what her parents, in particular her mother, gave her to read and learn did not follow the syllabus of the traditional schools. Since classical poems were full of tragic passions and other topics that contribute to the corruption of character, Emmelia banned them from the home-taught curriculum. She was adamant that comical plays and stories of the Trojan War were unsuitable for the ethical formation of a Christian virgin. Therefore, the traditional reading programme of the schools was to be replaced by an unconventional canon: Instead all those books of the inspired Scripture that seem easier for the young to apprehend, these were the child’s lessons, above all the Wisdom of Solomon, and more than this all that contributed to the moral life. There was, indeed, nothing whatsoever of the Psalter that she did not know, as she went through each part of the psalmody at its proper time. When she rose from bed, when she turned to her duties or rested from them, when she took food or retired from the table, when she went to bed or rose for prayer—everywhere she kept the psalmody, like a good travelling companion who never left her side at any time.11⁵

Reading suitable books of the divine Scriptures is more conducive than the pagan classics to inculcating the values of the truly Christian life. Appropriately, little Macrina appears to be enthralled by the Psalter, so much that she incessantly meditates on the psalms. The Life thereby indicates that early education in Scripture accustoms the learner to adopt the ascetic way of life, because the Psalter,

11⁴ See e.g. anim. et res. 1 (GNO 3.3.6, Macrina sharply debunking the chatter of the Greek philosophers), 2 (GNO 3.3.8–9), 3 (GNO 3.3.32–3). In the dialogue, Macrina is repeatedly referred to as ‘teacher’ (διδάσκαλος) but only occasionally as ‘virgin’. In ep. 19.6, Gregory refers to her as ἡμῖν ἀδελφὴ τοῦ βίου διδάσκαλος, ἡ μετὰ τὴν μητέρα μήτηρ. See Ludlow 2015: 88. 11⁵ Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 3.15–26 (SC 178.150): Ἀλλ’ ὅσα τῆς θεοπνεύστου γραφῆς εὐληπτότερα ταῖς πρώταις ἡλικίαις δοκεῖ, ταῦτα ἦν τῇ παιδὶ τὰ μαθήματα καὶ μάλιστα ἡ τοῦ Σολομῶντος Σοφία καὶ ταύτης πλέον ὅσα πρὸς τὸν ἠθικὸν ἔφερε βίον. Ἀλλὰ καὶ τῆς ψαλμῳδουμένης γραφῆς οὐδ’ ὁτιοῦν ἠγνόει καιροῖς ἰδίοις ἕκαστον μέρος τῆς ψαλμῳδίας διεξιοῦσα τῆς τε κοίτης διανισταμένη καὶ τῶν σπουδαίων ἁπτομένη τε καὶ ἀναπαυομένη καὶ προσιεμένη τροφὴν καὶ ἀναχωροῦσα τραπέζης καὶ ἐπὶ κοίτην ἰοῦσα καὶ εἰς προσευχὰς διανισταμένη, πανταχοῦ τὴν ψαλμῳδίαν εἶχεν οἷόν τινα σύνοδον ἀγαθὴν μηδενὸς ἀπολιμπανομένην χρόνου.

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124 education in late antiquity like the Proverbs, was the biblical book that was deemed by Christian authors the perfect starting point for monastic paideia.11⁶ Naturally enough, when Macrina some years later takes over her mother’s place in rearing her youngest sibling, Peter, she goes down the same route even more decidedly. She not only becomes the ‘mother’ to her brother but ‘was all for the child: father, teacher, pedagogue, mother, counsellor of everything that is good’.11⁷ Under Macrina’s guidance the young boy becomes very skilful in any kind of manual craft, easily surpassing those who need to spend much time and toil on these skills. To complete his education, Peter refuses to devote energy to secular literary studies (τῆς περὶ τοὺς ἔξωθεν τῶν λόγων ἀσχολίας ὑπεριδών) and, instead fixing his eyes firmly on Macrina, follows his own nature as a sufficient teacher of good learning (ἱκανὴν δὲ διδάσκαλον παντὸς ἀγαθοῦ μαθήματος τὴν φύσιν ἔχων). In order to make clear the significance of Peter’s choice, the brief digression on his life emphasizes that through this upbringing he was able to attain virtue and join his sister in the angelic life, in no respect inferior to the great Basil. His success in making progress in the philosophical life is then evidenced by his later steep career, which saw him on the episcopal throne.11⁸ Gregory takes the similar upbringing of his two siblings as an opportunity to express his stance on the pedagogy of the traditional schools. In contrast to his brother Basil, who in his famous treatise tried to incorporate Greek letters as propaedeutic into Christian education, he appears to radically dispose of literary studies, rhetoric, and classical philosophy as inessential, even harmful, to the progress on the path to the angelic existence.11⁹ What instead smoothes the road to ascetic virtue is, apart from staying clear of pagan poetry, the innate qualities of the child. It is certainly no coincidence that Gregory’s discussions of Macrina’s and Peter’s upbringing both prominently feature nature (φύσις), as a substitute of traditional paideia. The siblings are nourished not only outside the established schools, in the household of a Christian family, but their inborn wisdom is evidently sufficient to steer them towards virtue and asceticism. Physis is, moreover, one of the main themes running through the Life of Macrina, occurring twentythree times, so that the decisive influence of this factor in education is even more in the foreground.12⁰

11⁶ See Bas. reg. fus. 15.3 (PG 31.953); Hier. epist. 107.4.1 and 12.1 (CSEL 55.294.1–2 and 302.18–19); Cassiod. in psalm. praef. 16.39–43. See O’Donnell 1979: 172–3. 11⁷ Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 12.12–14 (SC 178.182): Ἀλλὰ πάντα γενομένη τῷ νέῳ, πατήρ, διδάσκαλος, παιδαγωγός, μήτηρ, ἀγαθοῦ παντὸς σύμβουλος. We have already encountered a similar thought in Synesius’ image of his master Hypatia (Synes. ep. 16.2–4). 11⁸ Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 12–14 (SC 178.180–90). The protégé of his two older brothers Basil and Gregory, Peter was ordained priest in 371 and later appointed bishop of Sebasteia. Peter did obviously not withdraw into solitude to seek ascetic perfection but stayed with Macrina at their villa in Annisa. 11⁹ For Basil’s outline of a reading programme for Christian students see Chapter 2.3. 12⁰ The term is central in Gregory’s writings in general. For its various meanings see the overview in Zachhuber 2010.

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what men could learn from women 125 Thus, the διδάσκαλος Macrina and her student Peter embody an alternative educational trajectory, one that is situated far from the ordinary schools and the world of the male pepaideumenoi. With its radical rejection of the regular curriculum and the celebration of personal perfection, Gregory’s portrayal intimates that paideia in its true sense has to turn away from formal training in literature and eloquence, and from the social implications of schooling; genuine paideia instead puts the human being centre stage, helping the students to develop their innate potentials towards the ideal of the virtuous life. From the example of Peter receiving his education from his sister, readers can glean that Macrina’s, or rather Gregory’s, vision of paideia is neither exclusively female nor male but the perfect route for every human being. Social categories, and the expectations coming with them, have no meaning in it. Regular instruction provided by the schools, by way of contrast, loses even more ground when we look at further sketches of masculine educational paths outlined in the Life. With kinship being one of its central categories, the narrative at a number of stages opens up windows to the protagonist’s relatives, whose lives not only give proof of Macrina’s enormous influence over her family but also strengthen the profile of her distinctive way of life. What strikes the reader is how closely the male members of Macrina’s family are associated with schooling, for better or worse. Macrina’s youngest brother Peter is just one in a series of male cameo appearances in the narrative which add up to a distinct, yet somewhat restrained drawing of Greek paideia. First in order of appearance is Macrina’s envisioned bridegroom, an anonymous adolescent who has just left school (ch. 4). His family like his bride’s enjoying high repute, the young man distinguishes himself by sobriety. Apparently a perfect match for the virtuous girl, the would-be fiancé surprises us when he offers of all things his reputation in eloquence (τὴν διὰ τῶν λόγων εὐδοκίμησιν) as a wedding gift. Yet what speaks in his favour is that he puts his power in eloquence in the service of the wronged as he protects them in the law courts. This turn suggests that according to Gregory, traditional schooling is acceptable only insofar as it is made subservient to the life of virtue. More precisely, if conventional paideia has already been acquired, it needs to be reoriented towards being useful. Another example then adds to this lesson, when a less favourable impression is made by Macrina’s brother Basil after his return from many years of rhetorical studies in Athens. Sadly, all that he has gained there seems to be arrogance and vanity. Instead of honing his newly obtained expertise for the benefit of others, Basil is puffed up with pride in his eloquence and shows outrageous disrespect for the local dignitaries.121 This is in sharp contrast to Peter’s exemplary use of his

121 Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 6.1–13 (SC 178.160–2). This character flaw is not an invention by the Life. Basil himself reflects on his arrogance in ep. 150.1 (written in 373). For Basil’s defection from worldly career to the humble life see his eulogy by Gregory of Nyssa, Gr. Nyss. laud. Bas. 20 (GNO 10.1.126).

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126 education in late antiquity learning. In the twinkling of an eye, Macrina draws Basil to philosophy, so that he says farewell to the worldly show and despises the applause of the rhetorical arena. His goal now is the life where one toils even with one’s own hands, a humble life leading without impediment to virtue.122 While little Macrina learnt the vital lessons of the Christian life almost single-handedly and over night, her younger brother, the ‘eminent’ Basil, spent years and years on schooling, to no avail. Only a dramatic reversal in education that defies the expectations prevalent among the elites is able to nullify the social mechanisms of conventional paideia. Yet another, still more compelling, story of conversion from classical education to Christian virtue is told in a brief hagiographic digression on Basil’s younger brother Naucratius (chs. 8–9). Again the trope of inborn qualities comes to the fore, as the young man, like Macrina herself, surpasses everyone in good nature (φύσις, 8.2) and beauty. Although Naucratius already has given proofs of his studies in public assembly and astounded the audience, by some divine foresight he renounces all these ambitions for a life of solitude and voluntary poverty. As a hermit he lives far from the city and, notably, the oratory of the law courts, instead looking after those in need and caring for them. Macrina, it is true, has no hands in Naucratius’ total conversion, but the message sent by this digression is the same as in the main narrative: good progress towards God is not dependent on classical culture; quite the reverse, it is hindered by it. Finally, after having related Peter’s well-considered choice of life, Gregory caps the theme of education with his final conversation with Macrina. Lecturing him about thanklessness, she turns to their father’s career, underlining the narrow limitations of his worldly achievements: Our father, she said, was held in high esteem in those days for his learning, yet his reputation went only as far as the provincial law courts. Although in the end he took the lead over all others because of his sophistic art, his fame did not go beyond Pontus, but he was content with being admired in his fatherland. But you, she said, are famous in towns, peoples, and provinces. Churches send you and churches call you for support and correction. And for all that, don’t you see the gratefulness? Don’t you recognize the cause of such great goods, that the prayers of our parents raise you up to such heights, since you have nothing or little in yourself that prepares you for this task?123 Interestingly, the v. Macr. plays up Macrina’s role in Basil’s renunciation of a secular career, as Gregory does not mention Basil’s temporary stint as a teacher of rhetoric and his travels in quest for the ascetic ideal. Basil himself, in contrast, failed to acknowledge his debt to Macrina’s instruction in ep. 223.3. 122 Gregory’s account shares the central motif of humility with other hagiographic portraits of female teachers in late antique Christianity. See Munkholt Christensen 2018. 123 Gr. Nyss. v. Macr. 21.9–20 (SC 178.210–12): Πολύς, φησί, κατὰ τὴν παίδευσιν ἐν τοῖς τότε χρόνοις ὁ πατὴρ ἐνομίζετο, ἀλλὰ μέχρι τῶν ἐγχωρίων δικαστηρίων ἡ κατ’ αὐτὸν ἵστατο δόξα. Μετὰ ταῦτα δὲ τῶν λοιπῶν διὰ τῆς σοφιστικῆς αὐτοῦ καθηγουμένου οὐκ ἐξῆλθε τὸν Πόντον ἡ φήμη, ἀλλ’ ἀγαπητὸν ἦν ἐκείνῳ τὸ ἐν τῇ πατρίδι περίβλεπτον. Σὺ δέ, φησί, πόλεσι καὶ δήμοις καὶ ἔθνεσιν ὀνομαστὸς εἶ καὶ σὲ

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what men could learn from women 127 These are Macrina’s last words, her testament, on the place of secular training in literature and eloquence. She adopts the value system associated with traditional learnedness—expressed by the words ἐνομίζετο, δόξα, φήμη, περίβλεπτον, and ὀνομαστός—yet only to negate it. The man who puts a high premium on the acquisition of formal skills, even though a devout Christian, will remain entrapped in worldly pursuits. His fame earned through sophistic displays cannot lead him to the life in the hereafter. What is more, Macrina’s slight rebuke wrapped in her praise of her brother suggests to him that his own traditional education and his ambition for a career as a rhetorician might easily have led him astray, far from his true vocation. Her critical remarks expose the socializing effect of paideia, in particular the habitus of erudite men that gravitates towards public recognition like iron towards a magnet. While the traditional education system nurtures ambition and arrogance in young men, the Gregory of the Life is given by his teacher-sister a sobering lesson in humility. It is remarkable that the author Gregory was prepared to detach himself, if only superficially, from his earlier cultural aspirations.12⁴ The glimpses of biography for Macrina’s masculine relatives, thus, lay out a mosaic exhibiting the limits and dangers of Greek paideia. Her betrothed, her brothers, and her father, each in a different way, illustrate the risks posed to the angelic life by the pedagogy of the established institutions. An accomplished feminine sage, who appropriated the male role of the philosopher and educator, was certainly an excellent instrument for Gregory to make this point. If a woman ascetic was able to outrival the formally educated men and reduce their learning to nothing, then it was high time to question the entrenched patterns of classical pedagogy. However, it would be a gross misunderstanding if we took this as evidence of total enmity to Greek culture. Scholars have argued, convincingly, that the Life’s stance on the burning issue of paideia was more balanced than Athanasius’ radical contempt in the Life of St Antony.12⁵ Rather than disdaining the whole of classical learning in favour of strict asceticism, Gregory advocates a middle way, an aristocratic asceticism that bridges the Christian life with philosophical and sophistic pursuits. The religious life championed by the encomium of Macrina is by no means at odds with the philosophical life, but it subordinates formal learning, and intellectual activities in general, to the life of virtue. Methodical training in skills and the acquisition of knowledge are pushed from their throne by the cultivation of one’s nature (φύσις) and the imperative of self-perfection. In order to win over πρὸς συμμαχίαν τε καὶ διόρθωσιν ἐκκλησίαι πέμπουσι καὶ ἐκκλησίαι καλοῦσι, καὶ οὐχ ὁρᾷς τὴν χάριν; οὐδὲ ἐπιγινώσκεις τῶν τηλικούτων ἀγαθῶν τὴν αἰτίαν, ὅτι σε τῶν γονέων αἱ εὐχαὶ πρὸς ὕψος αἴρουσιν, οὐδεμίαν ἢ ὀλίγην οἴκοθεν ἔχοντα πρὸς τοῦτο παρασκευήν. 12⁴ After his studies Gregory first preferred to practise as a rhetorician before moving to a career in the church. See Meredith 1999: 3 on his education and Gregory of Nazianzus’ letter of rebuke, which lambastes Gregory of Nyssa for his turn to the teaching of rhetoric (Gr. Naz. ep. 11). 12⁵ Rubenson 2000: 126–9; further, Muehlberger 2012, although extending this claim also to De anima, which in fact is more determined than the Life in the refutation of classical philosophy.

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128 education in late antiquity his educated readers for the model of household asceticism, Gregory refrains from demanding a clean break with their upbringing and a rigid regime of the body. Aspiration to the angelic life does not require being unlettered. However, the disadvantages of traditional education have to be allayed through a humble life of labour, supported by studying the ethics of the Wisdom of Solomon and the Psalter. As the series of education narratives indicates, paideia needs to be stripped of its habit-forming force so that it can be redirected to an education that takes care of the human soul. For the ground-breaking scope of his project to become evident, Gregory presented a figure who cut across central cultural, social, and gender categories: his idealized Macrina was neither woman nor human; neither child nor mother or sister; neither devoid of education nor trained in classical literature; and neither exclusively dedicated to virtuous practice nor living in the ivory tower of pure contemplation. She was all at once.12⁶ With his vision of an integrative ascetic paideia embodied in Macrina, Gregory undermined both the pre-eminence of the educated elite men and the paradigm of the radical male ascetic. His female sage heralded a new Christian philosophy as a lifestyle appropriate for the aristocracy, combined with a novel social vision of the household.

3.4 Trailblazers of a New Model of Education Roughly at the same time as Macrina turned her parents’ estate at Annisa into a household monastery for virgins, a circle of Roman noblewomen gathered on the Aventine in quest for the same ascetic ideals. Their spiritus rector, however, was not a bride of Christ, though these female aristocrats conversed with one another as teachers and disciples. It was Jerome who, having arrived from Constantinople in 382, spiritually and intellectually steered these ladies as they made their first steps on the way towards the perfection of the Christian virgin, not unlike the philosopher Plotinus who, over a century before, had attracted a number of female followers.12⁷ In numerous letters addressing the needs and desires of Paula, Eustochium, Demetrias, and others, Jerome shone the best possible light on the authority he exercised over his feminine mentees, be it women of mature standing or little girls.12⁸ At the forefront of his mind in the provision of leadership were, perhaps unsurprisingly, education and learning. If he was to forge a circle of likeminded noblewomen driven by the desire to gain the ascetic life, Jerome had

12⁶ Cf. Elm 1994: 91. 12⁷ Porph. Plot. 9. 12⁸ For Jerome’s relationship with the Roman noblewomen and the activities of the circle see Brown 1988: 366–86, Rebenich 1992: 154–80, Feichtinger 1995, Rousseau 1995, Hinson 1997, Rebenich 2002: 31–40, Brown 2012: 262–80, Fürst 2016: 54–8.

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what men could learn from women 129 to take care of their reorientation and formation, both intellectual and ethical, because the ideal virgin was by no means what the Roman aristocracy had in mind when bringing up their daughters. Accordingly, while the topic of education is as central to Jerome’s picture of the noblewomen as it is to Gregory’s hagiography, the social implications of the women’s educational trajectories are much more prominent. Despite Jerome so eloquently trumpeting his guardianship over the women, scholars looking behind the rhetorical veil have succeeded in demolishing his flattering self-portrait, as well as in revising his portrayal of his female disciples. A good number of studies have sought to recover from Jerome’s sophisticated rhetoric the ‘real’ women in order to restore them to their deserved place in cultural history.12⁹ Others, scrutinizing in more detail the purposes of Jerome’s gallery of noblewomen, have revealed that at the time when he was writing to and about them, several important issues were at stake for him: not only did he confront opposition from Christian and pagan quarters against his unsettling model of asceticism, but he also aimed to promote his preferred method of exegesis and, linked to that, defeat his critics in the controversy over Origen’s orthodoxy.13⁰ Not least, on top of his agenda was his desire to gain access through the aristocratic ladies to the affluent and influential elites of Rome.131 This voluminous portfolio needs to be borne in mind when we explore how Jerome exploited the female ascetic scholars as vehicles for the promotion of an educational ideology. In addition to the enhancement of his personal standing, the letters concerning his aristocratic disciples proposed a new model of self-formation that purposefully broke with the social norms governing the Roman elites. As Jerome whetted his pen for the fight against his opponents on different fronts, the letters sent to his female friends and supporters were not, at least not all, private communications to be perused only by the addressees.132 Rather, some of the pieces amount to programmatic treatises and substantial manifestos on the upbringing and proper conduct of Christian virgins and widows. The writer is, moreover, in some places explicit that in composing the didactic epistles he had a far wider audience in mind.133 Still when he had long risen to fame, in a lengthy letter sent to the lady Demetrias, he concluded his detailed regulations of ascetic practice and studies with the remark, ‘this I have said to a virgin of wealth and rank, but what I am now going to say applies to you [Demetrias] alone as a virgin, that

12⁹ Feichtinger 1995 and Rousseau 1995. 13⁰ Rebenich 1992: 170–80, Rebenich 2002: 36–40, Cain 2009a. 131 For Jerome’s letter collection and the letters’ use for Jerome’s status advancement see Cain 2017. 132 See, for instance, Hier. epist. 38.5.2, 39.7.3, 54.5.2–3, 45.6.3 for common disapproval and ill will directed against his promotion of the ascetic life. 133 See also Cain 2009a: 49 and Cain 2017 on Jerome’s release of letters prior to his De viris illustribus (393 ce).

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130 education in late antiquity is, to yourself regardless of external circumstances.’13⁴ Moreover, the large overlap with the advice given to Eustochium three decades earlier indicates that Jerome was consciously using the letter form for wider dissemination of his programme of ascetic formation.13⁵ That he intended his portraits of female promoters and followers as guidelines for other women with a penchant for household asceticism is also suggested by another letter which takes the form of an encomiastic biography. On the urging and repeated request of Principia, Jerome in 412 or early 413 composed a wideranging epitaph for her intimate friend, the aristocrat Marcella, which encompasses many aspects of learning and conduct covered by the other epistles on his female acquaintances.13⁶ From the outset, the writer is explicit that his eulogy of the holy woman serves a didactic purpose, namely to instruct its readers and exhort them to imitation.13⁷ Although the opening part of the account pays tribute to Marcella’s illustrious family and beauty, Jerome’s real interest lies in those elements of her life that stood in stark contrast to her aristocratic background but, he insists, won Marcella higher nobility (1.3: facta est paupertate et humilitate nobilior).13⁸ As the letter then proceeds to relate her achievements in the monastic life, it becomes evident that a considerable part of this apparently new type of nobility is established through serious studies and philosophical interests. Emphasizing the crucial role of Marcella’s scriptural studies and intellectual activities, the letter appears to suggest a causal link between her gaining a new status outside the conventional categories of social class and a particular way of learning. Before turning to a detailed discussion of her accomplishments, Jerome sets the stage by ranking Marcella above the biblical Anna (2.2–3) and highlighting that she displayed her Christian widowhood through total rejection of everything with which women of the world were used to adorn their figures—precious jewellery, silken robes, appealing makeup, and scenting perfume (3).13⁹ The social norms and expectations that delineated the space in which a noblewoman could manoeuvre

13⁴ Hier. epist. 130.14.8–15.1 (CSEL 56.195.12–15): haec ad virginem divitem et virginem nobilem sim locutus. Nunc tantum ad virginem loquar, id est non ea, quae extra te, sed in te sunt, tantum considerans. 13⁵ Hier. epist. 22, a manual for the life of a virgin, and 108, the epitaph of Eustochium’s mother Paula the Elder. 13⁶ Hier. epist. 127 (CSEL 56.145–56). Principia is also the addressee of epist. 65, on Psalm 44. She had lived with Marcella, her role model, from 385 to 410 and was made Marcella’s heir. Principia also received a copy of Jerome’s commentary on Matthew (CCSL 77.6). See Jones et al. 1971–92: 2.904, Principia 2. See Cain 2017: 230 on the central place of biblical learning in the correspondence between Jerome and Marcella. 13⁷ Hier. epist. 127.1.1 (CSEL 56.145). 13⁸ Marcella was born around 330 and, after the death of her husband shortly after the marriage, stayed a widow for the rest of her life. After 393, she retreated with her friend Principia to one of her country estates. She was killed during the sack of Rome in 410. In 382 Marcella met Jerome, who became her trusted spiritual advisor for the following years. Eighteen of Jerome’s surviving letters are addressed to her. See Letsch-Brunner 1998, Greschat 2015: 102–15, and Fürst 2016: 211–12 on Marcella, and Cain 2009b: 68–98 and Cain 2017 on the letters sent to Marcella by Jerome. 13⁹ Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, is mentioned in Luke 2:36–8.

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what men could learn from women 131 are, as the comparison with the New Testament prophetess indicates, replaced by a biblical framework, with the implication that a formation like the one Marcella has experienced has to be judged by new and higher standards. Marcella is obviously cut from a different cloth. Her fervent love is not for shortlived physical beauty but for higher thoughts: Her fervour for the divine Scriptures was beyond belief. She was always singing: ‘I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you’, and also the passage about the perfect man: ‘but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night.’ This meditation in the law she understood not as a mere repetition of what is written, as the Jewish Pharisees think, but as carrying it out in action, obeying the apostle’s command: ‘So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God’; and also the words of the prophet: ‘Through your precepts I get understanding.’ She knew that only when she had fulfilled those precepts would she deserve to understand the Scriptures.1⁴⁰

Nicely captured by the assortment of biblical quotes put in her mouth, Marcella excels in her knowledge of the divine Scriptures, so much so that even an accomplished scholar like Jerome cannot help but be struck with admiration. Such diligent and assiduous study of the Bible was, apart from virtuous conduct, the trademark of all the women whom Jerome gathered around him when he stayed in Rome. Like Marcella, the noblewomen Paula and Eustochium could barely be satiated in their reading of the biblical books, and Jerome was certainly not the one to quell their burning love.1⁴1 Quite the contrary, the exhaustive handbook on virginity sent to Demetrias frankly encouraged the addressee, ‘to occupy your mind with the love of reading the Scripture’, only to proceed with a veritable florilegium of biblical quotes.1⁴2 The breadth and depth of their curiosity can still be judged by the letters Jerome wrote to satisfy their desire for knowledge. Some of them wanted to go back to the original texts and therefore learnt Hebrew and Greek, even becoming fluent

1⁴⁰ Hier. epist. 127.4.1 (CSEL 56.148.7–17), quoting Pss. 118:11, 1:2, 1 Cor. 10:31, and Ps. 118:104: Divinarum scripturarum ardor incredibilis, semperque cantabat: ‘in corde meo abscondi eloquia tua, ut non peccem tibi’, et illud de perfecto viro: ‘et in lege domini voluntas eius et in lege eius meditabitur die ac nocte’ meditationem legis non replicando, quae scripta sunt, ut Iudaeorum aestimant pharisaei, sed in opere intellegens iuxta illud apostolicum: ‘sive comeditis sive bibitis sive quid agitis, omnia in gloriam domini facientes’ et prophetae verba dicentis: ‘a mandatis tuis intellexi’, ut, postquam mandata conplesset, tunc se sciret mereri intellegentiam scripturarum. 1⁴1 Their interest is documented by letters in which Jerome responded to their exegetical questions. See Hier. epist. 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 33, 37. Further, Jerome’s translations of Origen’s homilies on Luke was made at the request of Paula and Eustochium. They also requested from him further commentaries. See Letsch-Brunner 1998: 88–113 on Jerome’s letters dealing with Marcella’s questions on the Old Testament, and Fürst 2016: 189–90, 212, 226–7 for references. 1⁴2 Hier. epist. 130.7.12 (CSEL 56.185.26): ut animum tuum sacrae lectionis amore occupes.

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132 education in late antiquity in these idioms.1⁴3 Marcella, Paula, and Eustochium probed into linguistic details of the Scriptures and the meaning of difficult expressions therein.1⁴⁴ Their thirst for understanding the Bible even made them commission from Jerome exegetical commentaries, in which he duly acknowledged their zeal and efforts.1⁴⁵ Fittingly, though perhaps conjuring up before our eyes too romantic an image, scholars have attached to Jerome’s female entourage the label of a ‘biblical study group’, with Marcella even earning acclaim for being the ‘star among women biblical scholars’.1⁴⁶ Such modern views aside, it is evident that Jerome wants Marcella to be seen as the embodiment of the Christian life of learning: concentrated on a set of authoritative texts, the Holy Scriptures, she wishes to make her reading a formative activity having a direct bearing on her own life. Jerome, to be sure, in extolling the ladies’ proficiency in biblical languages occasionally overstates his case.1⁴⁷ Still, it is clear that he made serious Bible studies a core ingredient of his programme of female asceticism. Reading, memorizing, translating, and exegesis were not accidental but a sine qua non for the innovative role model of the monastic aristocrat. Yet the passage from Marcella’s funeral eulogy puts the accent on a significant effect of the meditation on Scripture. Although Marcella and her peers were no doubt keen on scriptural exegesis, Jerome here foregrounds that she translated her reading into action, in contrast to the bookish erudition of the Pharisees. Already the expression ‘fervour’ (ardor) suggests a primarily personal and affective engagement with the sacred books, as if Marcella was looking for edification rather than intellectual stimulation.1⁴⁸ The following lines then speak to the same effect, when the writer more than once stresses the application of Scripture to life, based on Psalm 119:104 (‘Through thy precepts I get understanding: therefore I hate every false way’). What the letter intends to convey with these lines to Principia is the necessary correlation between constant meditation on the biblical text and ascetic conduct. Only if the female reader practises in life what she has pored over in the Bible, does she develop the appropriate understanding of Holy Scripture. Contrasting Marcella’s studies with the Pharisees’ exegesis, Jerome’s account implies a dichotomy between the purely scholastic efforts of acknowledged male experts and a type of learning that utilizes the study of texts as a stepping stone to the formation of one’s life.1⁴⁹ The former type of education is, as the reference to the Pharisees’ Jewishness

1⁴3 See Moretti 2014. 1⁴⁴ See, for example, Hier. epist. 23.1, 30, 39.1, 42, 108.10. 1⁴⁵ Hier. in Gal. 1 praef. (CCSL 77A.5–6). 1⁴⁶ Petersen 1994: 33; Hinson 1997: 322. 1⁴⁷ Hier. epist. 39.1.2–3 (CSEL 54.294), 108.26.3 (CSEL 55.344–5). 1⁴⁸ As Peter Brown remarks: ‘They [Jerome’s female companions] were driven by a search for the inner meaning of the Scriptures that was at one and the same time scholarly and mystical’ (Brown 2012: 174). 1⁴⁹ In the same letter, Jerome uses the name ‘Pharisees’ to refer to his opponents among the Roman clergy in the struggle against Rufinus over Origen (epist. 127.9). See also Hier. Didym. spir. praef. (SC 386.136–8), again with reference to the Roman clergy.

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what men could learn from women 133 (Iudaeorum . . . Pharisaei) suggests, a foreign and outdated one, and has been superseded by Christian learning. The particular interest attributed by Jerome to Marcella also comes to the fore, even more pronouncedly, in the letter addressed to the virgin Demetrias.1⁵⁰ Although a plethora of classical allusions and echoes in this epistle reveal that the addressee was no stranger to belles-lettres, a substantial section of Jerome’s manual of virginity is devoted to the direct application of scriptural passages to life.1⁵1 Signposting the section as a warning by an apprehensive monitor, Jerome overwhelms Demetrias with a barrage of morals culled from the Old and New Testament.1⁵2 On account of these and similar other passages, biblical learning in Jerome’s ascetic programme is not valued as a purely academic activity, admirable though it is. Scholarly erudition, like that of the Pharisees, will make no difference to the lives of virgins and widows, unless the perusal of Scripture is put in service of ascetic practice.1⁵3 The supposed preference of the female ascetics for virtuous deeds is commended by Jerome also elsewhere in the letters. What inspires Marcella to embrace this lifestyle is the influence of priests from Alexandria, of Athanasius and Peter, who, as Jerome tells Principia, had fled from Arian attacks to Rome.1⁵⁴ It was in conversation with the champions of the monastic movement that Marcella learnt of St Antony and the monasteries founded by Pachomius in Egypt.1⁵⁵ While ‘at that time no highborn lady in Rome knew anything of the monastic life’, Marcella immediately recognizes the enormous appeal of Antony’s precedent and becomes the trailblazer for household monasticism in the city.1⁵⁶ Her example is followed suit by Sophronia, Paula, Eustochium, and some other ladies. Jerome was not ashamed to make this bold claim, which was blatantly untrue. Already before he arrived in the eternal city and propagated his ideal of asceticism among the nobility, there had been aristocratic women who had anticipated Marcella’s

1⁵⁰ Hier. epist. 130 (CSEL 56.175–201), written in 414, when the 14-year-old Demetrias had decided to take the veil. 1⁵1 The frequent references to classical authors in his letters sent to his Roman patronesses show that, in agreement with their social background, they had received an appropriate upbringing in Latin literature. Classical echoes and allusions were also part of what was expected in cultivated letter correspondence in this milieu. 1⁵2 Hier. epist. 130.8 (CSEL 56.186–8). 1⁵3 See also van ’t Westeinde 2016, who shows that instruction in scriptural exegesis, Christian doctrine, and the perfection of the ascetic life go hand in hand in Jerome’s attempt to transform Demetrias’ aristocratic identity into an authentic Christian one. 1⁵⁴ Hier. epist. 127.5.1 (CSEL 56.149.5–13). 1⁵⁵ Cain 2009a: 54 notes that it is highly improbable that Marcella ever met Athanasius since at the time she would have been around ten years old. 1⁵⁶ Hier. epist. 127.5.1 (CSEL 56.149.5–7): Nulla eo tempore nobilium feminarum noverat Romae propositum monachorum nec audebat propter rei novitatem ignominiosum, ut tunc putabatur, et vile in populis nomen adsumere.

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134 education in late antiquity choice.1⁵⁷ Regardless of the doubtful character of Jerome’s claim, it is worth noting that Marcella’s magnified role in western asceticism allows him to draw attention to the great impact that she had on the lives of others. Marcella emerges from this passage, like Gregory’s Macrina, as a role model, a ‘teacher’ (magistra) who transforms the lives of her female ‘pupils’ (discipulae). Not content with reforming her own life through meditation on the Scriptures, she becomes responsible for the wider dissemination of the educational paradigm among further generations of noblewomen. With his admiration for Marcella’s role as pathfinder—which allows him to shine as her mentor—Jerome intimates that the noble widows and virgins through their scripturally inspired conduct achieve a high degree of emancipation and independence. This lifestyle, the epistle insists, is not a question of sex, and in the preface to the first book of his commentary on Galatians, Jerome praises Marcella accordingly for soaring above her sex and even human nature.1⁵⁸ It is certainly no coincidence that in the passage quoted above Marcella makes the biblical saying about the ‘perfect man’ (perfectus vir, Ps. 1:2) the motto of her life, the letter implying that her educational path transcends gender categories and ought to be followed also by men. Similarly, in the eulogistic letter that presents Demetrias as the archetype of Christian virginity, Jerome considers the ascetic model an opportunity for female empowerment and agency: raised to the status of a ‘soldier’ and martyr, Demetrias is widely acclaimed as a virgin. By her impeccable conduct she will be able to act against nature, or rather above nature, yet only if, as the letter admonishes her, she leaves established social norms behind.1⁵⁹ For all his appreciation of the new scope won by the learned virgins, Jerome could not free himself from the suspicion of independent, powerful women that was prevalent in the church. Although their liberation from male dominance and social constraints afforded him leverage to remodel the Roman nobility, he nonetheless evinced unease about the intellectual tools which the women around him were learning to handle. More than once his letters insist on the limitations of female understanding, with the implication that his own tutelage and control over them was legitimate. Marcella was no exception. In her encomium, Jerome managed to turn female subordination into a virtue, recommending to Principia her friend’s wise judgement of her own abilities:

1⁵⁷ For instance Marcellina, the sister of Ambrose, in the 350s. See Cain 2009a: 55. Jerome lays claim on responsibility for his patronesses’ monastic success also elsewhere, for instance in his portrait of Asella in epist. 24. 1⁵⁸ Hier. in Gal. 1 praef. (CCSL 77A.5.13). For the trope of women transcending their sex through spirituality see also Jerome’s epitaph on Paula, Hier. epist. 108.14.3 (CSEL 55.324.20–325.3). 1⁵⁹ Hier. epist. 130.5.1–5 and 10.6 (CSEL 56.179–80 and 191.2–6). Wilkinson 2015: 80 interprets the female modesty and ideal domesticity in the letter to Demetrias as a vista of opportunities for the exercise of agency and an enterprise that required the active and creative work of women. The women of the Anicii family exercised a form of agency in the very creation of modest selves (87).

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what men could learn from women 135 And, as in those days I had some reputation for scriptural learning, she never met me without asking me some question concerning the Scriptures, nor would she be content at once, but on the contrary would bring forward questions. This, however, was not for the sake of argument but that by questioning she might learn the answers to those objections that she saw could be raised. . . . Whatever I had gathered by long study and internalized through constant meditation, this she first tasted, this she learnt and made finally her own. Consequently, after my departure from Rome, if any dispute arose concerning the testimony of the Scriptures, it was referred to her to settle it. And since she was extremely wise and understood what philosophers call τὸ πρέπον, that is, propriety of conduct, even when she answered questions, she said her own opinion came not from her but from me or someone else, admitting that even in what she taught she was a pupil.1⁶⁰

Philip Rousseau has noted that Jerome’s letters show us the noble ladies as forceful initiators, time and again pressing him for answers about the biblical text and exegetical questions.1⁶1 This view is not inaccurate, yet it is incomplete. However curious and scholarly Marcella is—a quality Jerome does acknowledge— he confines her, as Demetrias and the other women, to the role of the inquisitive student drinking from the sources of his own expertise and authority.1⁶2 Rather than accepting them as biblical scholars on equal terms, Jerome is anxious to stress their need for his theological guidance.1⁶3 Cleverly he ascribes Marcella’s deference to herself, as if he took on the tasks of her mentor only at her request. The teacher–student relationship is vividly captured also in another letter, addressed to Marcella herself, in which he is seen giving her a lesson in scriptural studies.1⁶⁴ This image of the women being tied to Jerome’s exegetical authority is certainly due to his well-known tendency for self-aggrandizement. However, there is more to it. As the female scholars achieve a fair degree of intellectual independence— at least as far as the church could tolerate female authority—they are still willing to acknowledge others’ expertise and to learn, without considering this defeat 1⁶⁰ Hier. epist. 127.7.1–3 (CSEL 56.151.2–17): Et quia alicuius tunc nominis aestimabar super studio scripturarum, numquam convenit, quin de scripturis aliquid interrogaret nec statim adquiesceret, sed moveret e contrario quaestiones, non ut contenderet, sed ut quaerendo disceret earum solutiones, quas opponi posse intellegebat. . . . quicquid in nobis longo fuit studio congregatum et meditatione diuturna quasi in naturam versum, hoc illa libavit, hoc didicit atque possedit, ita ut post perfectionem nostram, si aliquo testimonio scripturarum esset oborta contentio, ad illam iudicem pergeretur. et quia valde prudens erat et noverat illud, quod appellant philosophi τὸ πρέπον, id est decere, quod facias, sic interrogata respondebat, ut etiam sua non sua diceret, sed vel mea vel cuiuslibet alterius, ut et in ipso, quod docebat, se discipulam fateretur. 1⁶1 Rousseau 1995: 139–42. 1⁶2 As a matter of fact, in the preface to the commentary on Galatians, Jerome is appreciative of Marcella’s inquisitiveness and critical judgement. Hier. in Gal. 1 praef. (CCSL 77A.5–6). 1⁶3 Cf. Brown 1988: 370. Feichtinger 1995: 174, by contrast, has a more favourable view of Jerome’s appreciation of Marcella’s intellectual qualities. 1⁶⁴ Hier. epist. 23.1 (CSEL 54.211.7–212.9).

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136 education in late antiquity or even humiliation. Theirs is a learning that has no need of the competitive zeal that pervades male intellectualism. Quite the contrary, true self-formation is impossible if not driven by humility, as exemplified by Marcella’s attribution of her learning to her teachers. The trappings of studies are then exposed in the letter to Demetrias when Jerome warns against the self-confidence and presumptuousness instilled by superficial learning, which is in stark contrast with the desirable attitude: ‘It is a good thing, therefore, to obey one’s seniors, to submit to those who have achieved perfection, to learn from others according to the rules of the Scriptures how one ought to order the path of one’s life, and not to follow the worst of teachers, one’s own self-confidence.’1⁶⁵ Jerome attempts to lay a new foundation for education, in the same way as he ventures to reorient the class ethos of the Roman nobility in general. Concern for rank, reputation, pedigree, power, and status symbols, so deeply inculcated in the aristocratic mind, had to give way to ascetic conduct and contempt for earthly things. This revolutionary lifestyle that broke with long-standing social norms necessitated a new model of education. The good life, as Marcella had led it, was in reach for the elite only if they abandoned the conventional practice of education and approached their intellectual and ethical training with an ascetic spirit. Jerome’s relationships with Roman noblewomen and the epistolary representation of these relationships no doubt served to enhance his social standing and give credentials to his biblical scholarship. However, in sculpting the literary images of his female followers, Jerome also propagated his ideal of Christian learning. Learning, teaching, and formation are an essential part of these portrayals, and the close parallels between the erudite women indicate that Jerome regarded them as representatives of a distinctive educational paradigm. Two features define this model, both of which are closely tied to the women’s gender and status. For one thing, as their formation takes place outside the male domain of the rhetorical school, the women are well-suited to propose a concept of education that focuses, not on the acquisition of skills useful for a life in public, but on the development of the person as a human being. Jerome recalibrates the priorities of textual studies and ethical formation, to the advantage of the latter. Secondly, since female members of the aristocratic families were subjected to rigid norms and expected to perpetuate the nobility’s protocol, women who broke this mould by means of an unconventional education trajectory were a powerful argument for a wholesale rethink of education. The women scholars were trailblazers of a model of self-formation that, though not dispensing with intellectual pursuits, put

1⁶⁵ Hier. epist. 130.17.2–3 (CSEL 56.198), the quote at 3 (198.16–18): bonum est igitur oboedire maioribus, parere perfectis et post regulas scripturarum vitae suae tramitem ab aliis discere nec praeceptore uti pessimo, scilicet praesumptione sua.

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what men could learn from women 137 conduct centre stage, thereby questioning the dominance of the traditional system of elite schooling.

3.5 Thinking Education ‘with’ Women Given the prominence of women in the education discourse of late antiquity, we might be tempted to think that intellectuals of the time ‘discovered’ the female learner. Even if this claim sounds exaggerated, there is a grain of truth in it: women enjoyed new and remarkable attention in educational thought of the fourth and fifth centuries, a fact that calls for an explanation. If the figures depicted, or imagined, by the texts analysed in this chapter have one characteristic in common, it is their position outside the realm of the man of letters and the professional academics. In the female sages and holy virgins sketched in literary portraits we find ‘others’, or outsiders, as learners and teachers. They are not what the educated male citizen, the main audience of the texts, was. There were no doubt erudite women in historical reality. Yet the figures discussed in this chapter are strikingly different: Hypatia, Sosipatra, Macrina, and Marcella by virtue of their excellence in learning appropriate typically male roles. The anxieties, and similarly the praise, expressed by their male contemporaries very well reflect their pioneering transgression. In the same way as they, as women imbued with philosophy and letters, occupy a marginal position in late antique society, they are extraordinary figures. The women’s intellectual and religious formation took place largely off the well-trodden paths followed by the sons of the well-to-do. Whereas their male counterparts spent years in the classes of grammarians, rhetors, and philosophers, the girls and young women seemed to assimilate what they had to know almost effortlessly, miraculously quickly, and without any need for further teachers. Their learning came naturally to them, and, in a Christian context, they discarded the baggage of classical literature and eloquence altogether. And still, though they renounced, or at least devalued, the conventional patterns of schooling, these women came to inhabit a male role, that of the philosophical guide and mentor who dramatically reoriented the lives of his disciples. As they made successful inroads into a masculine domain, the feminine sages and scholars posed, in the eyes of their writer-creators, a challenge to male pedagogy. The heretics’ crooked doctrines were doomed to failure because the Roman ladies knew how to dovetail scriptural learning with the virtuous life; likewise, Hypatia and Sosipatra saw off the male good-for-nothings, who took pleasure in sophistry and the mere appearance of a philosopher; and Macrina’s blending of biblical meditation and Christian virginity eclipsed the formal training that her kinsmen had received. There is a certain element of chance or surprise at work in these depictions: the position and status which the female sages appropriate and inhabit were not

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138 education in late antiquity planned for them in the society of the late Empire, and not available to them in the first place. It is clear that these figures do not reflect a reality true to nature; they are ideal types, giving us a glimpse of how the formation trajectory of a woman philosopher or ascetic ideally looks. Because of this, we can say that the male writers of these stories and programmes use women and girls as vehicles for their educational ideologies. For them, women were rhetorical devices ‘to think with’. What made powerful and intellectually brilliant women so well suited for these purposes was the effect they were likely to have on readers. Programmatic and intended for a wide readership as the texts were, their portrayals of these figures will have influenced readers’ minds through defamiliarization. A feminine hero like Sosipatra or Marcella was a thought-provoking emblem, shedding fresh light on the domain of education from, as it were, its periphery. These portraits invited the male reader, who was the primary audience of the texts, to a change of perspective. Instead of following the careers of highly educated men, as most sources do, readers here encountered education experiences that were markedly different from what they themselves had undergone in the classes of the grammarian and the rhetorician. Most notably, the defamiliarizing effect was achieved by an inversion of social categories. We have seen that the women sages were presented as independent personalities; learners turned teachers, they exerted powerful influence on those surrounding them, men as well as women. As they gained authority through education they turned the established gender hierarchy on its head. Their ascendency to authority raised the question of the extent to which social status and power were linked with education. Making inroads into the male domain, the successfully educated females challenged entrenched assumptions on the goals and methods of an education system designed for upper-class men, as well as stimulating reflection on the stabilizing social effects that paideia had. While the dominant male model was geared towards conformist performance in the social world, the attention drawn by the texts to formation outside the school and to the very process of education asked questions about different needs and desires to be fulfilled by education. By deviating from the well-trodden paths of conventional, current education practice, these exemplary figures laid bare the patterns and mechanisms undergirding traditional schooling. They were not only physically located mostly outside the institutions designated for teaching but also kept distance from the public arena in which the erudite gentlemen staged their performances of paideia and competed for rank and reputation. The literary portraits and guidelines discussed in this chapter were openly intended as a critique of the cherished education designed for ambitious men, and an uncovering of its flaws. Synesius and Gregory of Nyssa are candid about their aversion to formal schooling, while Eunapius and

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what men could learn from women 139 Jerome leave very little room for classical paideia in the lives of female students. Either way, the educational theorists targeted an education system that aimed at the reproduction and reinforcement of a specific habitus that determined the learner’s entire life. In doing so, they had the ambition to shed these patterns of social reproduction and called for fundamental reform. This process naturally had to start with education. For these aims, the writers manipulated the images of women; they modelled them according to their own agendas; they projected their pedagogic visions onto these extraordinary figures. The larger-than-life feminine teachers and ascetics were, thus, not direct copies of reality but ideals and utopias. They opened a space in which it was possible to start thinking about the notion of education afresh. Their protreptic function, even where not frankly stated, can hardly be missed. Having said that, intellectual studies, the turf of the grammarians and rhetoricians, were not abandoned altogether, far from it. But they were assigned a new role, as they were incorporated into the programmes only insofar as they contributed to the process of self-formation. Although we are prevented from measuring the impact that this critique had on the ground, we must not underestimate its significance. What it set out to achieve was nothing less than a reorientation of the debate on education. Where intellectuals commonly valued formal education for the competences it afforded and the benefits it promised for a career in public, the programmatic depictions of learned women shifted the balance toward ethical formation and self-perfection. Nothing could better illustrate the potential of such an education than marginal figures who through their education forged, as it were, new lives for themselves and took over a social position that normally would have been denied to them. Giving shape to lives, even transforming them, and not only one’s own but also others, moved to the centre. This priority is well captured in the recurring motif of physis. If formation helped women even to transcend their nature, then no one could overlook the transformative power of such an education. What was deemed natural, the boundary between the sexes, became porous by way of selfformation. Thus, the visible, external effects of paideia—public recognition, rank, privilege, and wealth—were reduced to nothing by an inward-looking definition of education. In the eyes of the authors studied here, the dividend of education was not paid in the currency of social success but consisted in its contribution to a morally good life, its power to lead to a higher existence. In consequence, that meant that, if the templates provided by exemplary women were followed, education ceased to be a mechanism of social reproduction and returned to its genuine function of transformation. This was a renewal of the humanistic concept of paideia. The humanism that underpins these concepts of education gives the narratives and programmes their shape, insofar as the authors foreground the ways in which

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140 education in late antiquity the learners make progress in the development of their innate potentials and invest their ethical qualities in social interactions. The next chapter will study writers who took the idea that education manifested itself in a certain comportment to a higher level, by claiming a veritable coincidence of life and learning. If paideia was capable of transforming human life into a civilized existence, then educational thinkers also had to consider the conditions and qualities that defined this form of being.

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4 The Life of Paideia 4.1 Education and Life The previous chapter has elucidated how late antique thinkers challenged the dominant male model of formal education by adopting the perspective of marginal figures. Bringing female learners and teachers into the limelight, instead of the successful pepaideumenos, they drew attention to the tacit mechanisms and reproductive patterns that made paideia a stabilizing force of society. Although stopping short of a radical annihilation of the traditional paradigm, the shift in perspective from the centre to the fringes called for a renewal of the humanistic ideal of education. The focus on the interior development of the person and on the ways in which learning shaped human life bespeaks the belief that paideia and bios were somehow intertwined. Education, if correctly pursued, could be a totalizing force in life, affecting the person’s entire existence, rather than being a circumscribed compartment of one’s being. This ideology raised the question of how this form of existence could be realized and under what conditions it could flourish. Chapter 4, therefore, now turns to educational ideologies that take this idea one step further and make the case for an equation of learning and living. The ideal of a life pervaded by learning and striving for perfection was by no means an innovation of late antiquity. Far from it, from the early stages of ethical philosophy this idea exercised a strong fascination on men who were seeking the good life. The Platonic Socrates is a fine case in point, as he preached the unity of teaching and living and by his own life demonstrated that the quest for the good required constant effort in moulding the self on the virtues. From then on, the concept of the bios philosophos, the life of contemplation, never lost its appeal to those desiring the supreme good achievable for humans.1 In the imperial era, the aspiration for a convergence of life and learning gathered momentum when the model of the philosophical life went along, and sometimes fused, with the idea that the existence of the primarily rhetorically educated citizen was the

1 In a classic study, Pierre Hadot has shown that in the Hellenistic schools and Roman times, philosophy was defined first and foremost as a way of life, as distinguished from philosophy as discourse (Hadot 1995). For the Stoics and Epicureans, philosophizing was a continuous and permanent act, identical with life itself. In Hadot’s words, ‘philosophy was a mode of existing-in-the-world, which had to be practiced at each instant, and the goal of which was to transform the whole of the individual’s life’ (265). See already Marrou 1956: 206 and 221, with regard to education in classical Greece.

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0005

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142 education in late antiquity pinnacle.2 It is no accident that the times of the Second Sophistic saw an increased interest in intellectual biographies.3 Philostratus’ Lives perfectly illustrate the then current zeitgeist, as they show us the best examples of those men whose selfdefinition revolved around paideia. From his writings, as well as from speeches and inscriptions, we can glean the utmost importance of training in rhetoric to the local and imperial elites. The formal education received in school became a marker of the upper class, to the extent that the congruence of high social status and paideia was considered a natural given.⁴ Affiliation to this select circle had to be documented and acknowledged, and thus the performance of paideia became key. The sophists acted out their refined education in public, above all when they declaimed before large crowds and entered rhetorical contests with their peers. These frequent public performances communicated the characteristic habitus of the pepaideumenoi in order to validate their belonging to the educated elite and demarcate them from the uneducated masses.⁵ Their paideia also translated into euergetism, as documented by inscriptions, and functions they undertook for their hometowns. It is characteristic of socially stratified systems which purport to be based on merits that competition within the leading stratum is a central mechanism. The period of the Second Sophistic is no exception to that. Philotimia, a rivalrous spirit, was the hallmark of elite men.⁶ In rhetorical displays they vied with one another for applause, eagerly picking up their competitors’ linguistic mistakes. Demonstrable skills and competences, above all impeccable command of Attic Greek, were the proof of the educated man’s high status. Considerable rewards were in store for those who passed public scrutiny of their mastership in eloquence: the admiration of their fellow-citizens, acceptance among their social peers, and political power and offices were up for grabs. Paideia was to these men second nature, a distinctive identity that made them immediately recognizable.⁷ Importantly, this identity was a public persona, as is shown perhaps most clearly by the great weight laid on the sophists’ physical appearance.⁸ 2 Intellectuals such as Plutarch, Maximus of Tyre, and Apuleius are testament that at the time the sharp distinction between rhetoric and philosophy was being blurred. However, rhetoric then came to dominate the field of learning. See Schmitz 1997: 86–9 and Lauwers 2015. For a pro domo account of the relationship between rhetoric and philosophy see Quintilian’s view on the moral education provided by rhetoric in Quint. inst. 1 prooem. 9–20. 3 For the strong interest in the self and (auto)biographic literature in the Second Sophistic see Whitmarsh 2005: 74–85. ⁴ The principle of congruence is discussed by Schmitz 1997: 44–50. See also Gleason 1995 on the self-presentation of the sophists. Hahn 2011 gives an instructive overview of the social functions of philosophical learning in the high Empire and highlights its proximity to rhetoric. ⁵ See Whitmarsh 2005: 23–40. ⁶ Schmitz 1997: 133–5. The competitive character of the ancient education system in general is noted by Morgan 1998: 79–85. ⁷ Whitmarsh 2001: 5 regards paideia as a ‘locus for a series of competitions and debates concerning the proper way in which life should be lived’, rather than a ‘single, doctrinally coherent system’. ⁸ See Gleason 1995 on the great attention paid to the sophist’s deportment, physiognomy, and voice.

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the life of paideia 143 What we have considered so far pertains to the Greek-speaking world of the first and second centuries ce. When we look at the Latin west, we notice parallels, as far as the place of refined education in the lives of the upper-class men is concerned. Figures like the younger Pliny, Gellius, and Fronto did certainly not lag behind their Greek peers when it came to the social standing derived from literary pursuits and rhetorical accomplishment. Roman intellectuals were sceptical about rhetorical display for its own sake and without further purposes, however. The utility of their knowledge and the ethical nature of their self-presentation was, as Thomas Habinek argues, at the forefront of their mind. It was only with the fourth century that Romans, most notably Ausonius, adopted the habitus that the Greek sophists had cultivated two centuries earlier, probably because their life experience in the increasingly fragmented late Empire resembled that of the Greeks under Roman rule in the second century.⁹ However we may assess such parallels and differences between east and west, the performance culture of the educated class in the imperial age can help us to better understand what was peculiar about the late antique conception of the learned life. For we see that the values, practices, and mechanisms that were in full bloom during the Second Sophistic did not lose currency in the fourth century. The philosophical life continued to be highly valued, above all among the Neoplatonists, who promoted the life of contemplation in biographic narratives.1⁰ As before, intellectuals could become public figures and exert influence by virtue of their paideia.11 We do not have to look far to see evidence that educated men still appreciated competition or, as Christians did, condemned the competitive spirit of the sophists.12 Libanius’ life and career seemed to reach the pinnacle of success when he triumphed over rival sophists in the public arena.13 Eunapius relished depictions of sophistic contests, which he considered a cornerstone of the intellectuals’ biographies. Representatives of rhetorical education maintained and publicly reiterated the inherited ideology of the immense social rewards a highly educated man could legitimately expect, from occupying a conspicuous place in one’s hometown to influence with high imperial officers. Not even a Christian like Gregory of Nyssa, whom we have seen disparaging paideia for its social repercussions, was above such preoccupations, being enraged by an ecclesiastical

⁹ Habinek 2017. 1⁰ See Cox 1983, Hägg and Rousseau 2000, and Urbano 2013 on philosophical biographies in late antiquity. 11 Anderson 1993: 41–6 on the continuities between the sophists of the second and fourth centuries. 12 Synesius in his Dion draws a caustic, satirical portrait of the sophist who puts all his efforts into public appearances and thereby betrays his feigned education (12.5–8). Norden 1915: 351–2 adduces this passage as evidence that these habits did not change between the times of the Second Sophistic and late antiquity. 13 See in particular Lib. Or. 1, his autobiography; further, 2.14–17. See Stenger 2009: 229–30.

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144 education in late antiquity opponent who lacked noble lineage, high social rank, and refined education in eloquence.1⁴ Accordingly, great weight is put in scholarship on the interplay of paideia and power. After Peter Brown illuminated the ways in which effective speaking, both pagan and Christian, regulated political and social relations in the late Empire, students of the period have focused on the practical uses of rhetoric, the functions of education as a socio-political mechanism, ranging from patronage to mediation in conflicts and lobbying.1⁵ The picture emerging from these studies is that the functions of a monolithic paideia remained largely unaltered, even if the cast of characters changed with the advance of Christian leaders. In the light of these studies, the erudite culture of the late Empire, in particular in its eastern half, seems to be a direct offspring of the Second Sophistic movement.1⁶ The pervasiveness of formal education in the society of the Latin west has not gone unnoticed, either. On the basis of his analysis of the schools in North Africa, Konrad Vössing notes that educational topics were ubiquitous in communication, even when education was not the explicit topic of the conversation. The parlance of education pervaded a variety of genres, be it recommendations, invectives, evaluations, plaidoyers, or defence speeches. Ethical and literary values being considered a unity, the teachers’ claim to instruct intellect and morals was generally accepted. Overall, education operated as a communication code that knitted the elites together. And it meant to the upper-class men much more than that. According to Vössing, regarding this period we could speak of the school as way of life.1⁷ However, despite the persisting dominance of formal education in late antiquity, we must not overlook the diversity of the education discourse. We have seen in the previous chapters that educational thought after 300 ce was far from uniform and static. It might be more than a mere coincidence of the surviving epigraphic record that contemporaneous inscriptions celebrating the achievements of highly educated men were no longer as numerous as they had been in the imperial period. Greek inscriptions datable to late antiquity that mention rhetors and sophists do

1⁴ Gr. Nyss. ep. 1.17–19, 32–4 (transmitted among the works of Gregory of Nazianzus), addressed to bishop Flavian of Antioch. Gregory is complaining here about the rude behaviour of Helladius, his brother Basil’s successor in Caesarea. See also Vössing 1997: 600–5 on education as a means of social distinction and Christian critique thereof. 1⁵ Brown 1992. The studies in Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen 2015 explicitly adopt Brown’s approach and shed light on the functions of rhetorical expertise in political affairs and social relations. See also Rapp 2005: 178–83 on the importance of paideia for ecclesiastical leaders. 1⁶ Therefore, a number of scholars have adopted the suggestion made by Laurent Pernot that we address this period, at least for the Greek-speaking world, as the ‘Third Sophistic’. See Pernot 1993: 1.14 n. 9. Penella 2013: 2–5 draws attention to the risk that such a new periodization overemphasizes difference, despite the strong continuities between the Second and the so-called Third Sophistic. For a nuanced discussion of the problem see also Fowler and Quiroga Puertas 2014. 1⁷ Vössing 1997: 605–10, especially 607: ‘Man könnte auch von der “Schule als Lebensform” sprechen.’

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the life of paideia 145 exist, but in small numbers. And they have little to say about the public image of education or its functions, apart from the fact that rhetorical education was a status symbol worth mentioning in public. This decrease may indicate a change in attitudes. The sophists, it has been argued, were no longer the ‘stars’ or the pride of the polis; they were mere professors who no more were given the privilege of being honoured by the erection of statues.1⁸ If this is a sign of a reduced interest in intellectuals as public personae and benefactors, it appears to tie in with what we have observed in thinkers who valued education for its power to lead to the fulfilled life and personal perfection. Authors such as Synesius, Jerome, and, to a lesser degree, even the Emperor Julian were looking for an education that shaped the contours of one’s life, rather than for the social dividend that paideia held out. One revealing trope that regularly occurs in this context is the motif of the choice of lives.1⁹ The idea that a man (women do not figure prominently here) deliberately opts for and adopts a particular manner of life was a common thought in classical antiquity, not only after the sophist Prodicus in his parable of Heracles at the crossroads had lent it a memorable expression.2⁰ As the Greek hero had to make a choice between the two paths of Virtue and Vice, the trope of the choice of lives was applied especially to the highest form of existence, the philosophical life of the sage. Naturally enough, philosophical thinkers of the late Empire considered the motif particularly suitable for conveying the idea that their favourite form of paideia constituted a unique way of life, soaring high over any other human pursuit. We shall encounter a number of examples in this chapter. Here it suffices to cite the cases of Paulinus of Nola, who contrasted his own propositum, the life of the cleric, with the path of his friend Jovinus, who still embraced the liberal leisure of pagan learning;21 and of Gregory of Nazianzus, who was endlessly pondering over which form of life suited best his intellectual pursuits.22 Further, the Emperor Constantius II, when appointing Themistius as head of senate, not only endorsed his court philosopher’s paideusis, his educational programme, but, with Hesiodic echoes, invited the senators to aspire to this very mode of existence.23 Rhetoricians did not want to fall behind and, like Libanius, also claimed to pursue a distinctive form of being.2⁴ Taking this theme as a starting point, this chapter will take a look at biographic and autobiographic narratives that promote the idea of ‘education-as-life’, that is to say, the belief that education was meaningless unless it informed every fibre of one’s being. ‘Biographic’ will be taken here in a broad sense, covering not only narratives proper but also passages that depict the ways in which a person acts 1⁸ Puech 2002: 7–8. 1⁹ For the history of this trope see Harbach 2010. 2⁰ X. Mem. 2.1.21–34. 21 Paul. Nol. epist. 16. 22 See, for example, Gr. Naz. carm. 2.1.11.277–336 (his poetic autobiography); or. 2.6–7; further, carm. 1.2.8 (a comparison of different forms of life). 23 Demegoria Constantii 19b–d (Schenkl et al. 1965–74: 3.123–4), alluding to Hes. Op. 289–92. 2⁴ Lib. Or. 1.5–6, 11.

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146 education in late antiquity and behaves in everyday situations. We shall explore how such representations of the learned life relate to the dominant education system as institutionalized in the schools, how they engage with competing conceptions of paideia. It remains to be seen whether, as Vössing claims, the authors elevate the school to a way of life or, quite the reverse, suggest the life of learning as a superior alternative, perhaps even a corrective, to schooling. Our focus will be on how paideia was depicted as being acted out, not so much as a status enhancer but rather for the benefit of the educated persons and their lives. This will demonstrate that late antique thinkers conceived of education as a desirable mode of existence that put the communal aspect of paideia centre stage. What makes this approach so productive is the remarkable interest shown by late antique authors and their readers in the words and deeds of intellectuals and teachers.2⁵ Not only is the flourishing of philosophers’ biographies in this period incomparable, but also many famous thinkers like Libanius, Jerome, and Gregory of Nazianzus revisited their own lives and careers, with attention to their intellectual formation and their own teaching, and they sought to transmit images of their selves to posterity. Hardly any modern reader with only average knowledge of ancient civilization will be completely ignorant of how Augustine in his Confessions retrospectively decried his schooling and teaching career as an obstacle to finding God.2⁶ To shed light on how in such narratives life and learning intermingle, the following questions will be addressed: what were the key characteristics of ‘learning-as-life’? What were the models of education that these lives projected? And which were their ideological competitors? Our guiding hypothesis is that the quest for the learned life generated a distinctive ethos that revolved around the social dimension of paideia, that is, helping others to develop.

4.2 Leaving the Study and Reaching Out to Others Significant changes in the running of the Roman Empire since the fourth century did not leave the education sector unaffected. With the restructuring of the administration and the increase of bureaucracy came the rise of men who had acquired specific practical skills. The reformed administrative apparatus needed staff who were trained in law, Latin, and shorthand in order to fulfil the dayto-day tasks at the imperial court and the governors’ seats. As a consequence, the dominance of legal experts in the administration created a demand for suitable training paths and furthered a utilitarian approach to schooling that placed a high premium on the acquisition of skills.2⁷ Attending the leading law school of 2⁵ See Swain 1997 and Urbano 2013. 2⁶ Aug. conf. 1.12.19–1.15.24, 1.18.28–30. 2⁷ See already the comments of Gregory Thaumaturgus in the third century: Gr. Thaum. pan. Or. 1 and 5. See Petit 1955: 363, Heath 2004: 293, 328–9, Mitchell 2015: 193, 199–200, Szabat 2015: 256–8.

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the life of paideia 147 Beirut and learning Latin opened for students from less affluent backgrounds also the prospect of social advancement because the time-consuming and expensive education in literature and rhetoric, hitherto the exclusive ticket to influence, largely remained the preserve of the rich families.2⁸ Not everyone was delighted by the new attention to skills. Libanius of Antioch has given an eloquent voice to those champions of traditional paideia who dismissed concerns for applicable competence in favour of an education that produced erudite gentlemen. More than once he had occasion to bemoan the young men’s sailing off to Rome to learn Latin, frequenting in droves the legal schools, and seeking training in shorthand writing. Driven by hopes for career and profit, these sons of the Antiochene families shunned, he said, the labours and long years in the rhetorical school.2⁹ Libanius, to be sure, occasionally cooperated himself with Latin teachers and acknowledged the usefulness of skills, but what is interesting in our context is how little he has to say on the practicalities of his teaching in his defences of a more traditional education.3⁰ Instead, he focuses on the functions and effects of rhetorical studies, as demonstrated by erudite individuals who had attended the classes of grammarians and rhetors. While it is hardly surprising that Libanius composed his own Autobiography around his paideia, we may note that his speeches frequently contain literary vignettes of former students whose intellectual upbringing had won them reputation and influential positions or promised to do so.31 These depictions, some of them brief, others more elaborate, suggest that genuine paideia comes to its full in the good life of an individual—good not only in the sense of measurable success but also in ethical terms.32 For the detestable impostor who merely feigned an appearance of education was, as claimed in a defence of Libanius’ teaching, the direct negation of the tireless and diligent rhetorical student.33 This section will argue that three foremost champions of Greek paideia—Libanius, Themistius, and Himerius— propagated a broad, humanistic vision of education that celebrated learning and 2⁸ However, it needs to be stressed that formal legal study was optional for advocates and essential only at the highest levels of bureaucracy. Cf. Liebeschuetz 1972: 250–1. Further, also certain members of the propertied families considered a period of legal studies helpful for forging a career as an advocate. See Humfress 2007: 13–15 and Szabat 2015: 258. 2⁹ Lib. Or. 1.255, 3.26, 31.28 and 33, 36.8, Or. 43 passim, 48.23, 58.22, 62.21–3, 45. For his attacks against the rival studies see Petit 1955: 363–6, Liebeschuetz 1972: 242–55, Hose 2000, Cribiore 2007: 187–92, Kraus 2012, and Cribiore 2015: 22–4. 3⁰ Lib. Ep. 209, 433, 534, 539. Libanius also provided letters of recommendation for former students who wanted to study law in Beirut (Ep. 117, 175, 318, 912). Cf. Heath 2004: 293–4 on Libanius’ ambivalent stance on legal studies and 263–6 on shorthand. 31 In addition to Libanius’ Autobiography (Or. 1), see Or. 31.45–7, 34.3, 42.3–10, 62.56–62. 32 In an interesting parallel, Libanius’ Progymnasmata present men, in this case historical and mythical figures (Demosthenes, Philip, Hector), whose lives illustrate good education, including the cultivation of virtues, and the lack of it, as Gibson 2011: 70–2 argues. Used in class, these texts are intended to teach students the lesson that paideia, or its opposite apaideusia, informs the entire life of a person. 33 See the attack on his opponent in Or. 62.63–72, claiming that, like an actor, he had presented speeches bought from others.

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148 education in late antiquity teaching as a veritable way of life, and a superior one at that. They penned exemplary lives that embodied true education, with a strong emphasis on the learned ethos as a corrective to the functionalist approach to intellectual training. It was precisely the success of education that was a matter of issue, as members of the elite were evidently dissatisfied with Libanius’ teaching. When in c.382 he was facing strong criticism, he played up the controversy to the scale of a battle over genuine paideia, settling an account with those whose provocations had irked him for some time.3⁴ This was not the only occasion that he felt obliged to express his gloomy view of the rotten state of higher education and reviled men who were found wanting in questions of liberal schooling.3⁵ A virtuoso of rhetorical invective, Libanius often poured his bile and sarcasm on purportedly inferior men who, though disqualified by their ignorance, undeservedly rose to prominence.3⁶ In a speech written on behalf of his friend, secretary, and sub-teacher Thalassius, when he sought to be admitted into the senate of Constantinople, Libanius made clear from the outset that the rhetorical training that Thalassius and he himself had undergone was far from being a convenient road to the mastery of technical skills.3⁷ From childhood on, Libanius was possessed by a burning love for oratory and attached himself to studying so much that he virtually ignored everything else that used to matter to a young man of his background.3⁸ Similarly, Thalassius, though son of a landowning and manufacturing family, dedicated his entire life to studying and teaching, eager ‘to spend his life in these pursuits and for all our city to know that he dedicated his time to them’.3⁹ It is then only natural that the sub-teacher emerges from his employer’s eulogy as the epitome of true learning, commanding mastery in eloquence and endowed with unsurpassed judgement on the merits and demerits of style. What Thalassius has imbibed from Libanius’ instruction cannot be assessed in terms of rhetorical excellence alone. Rather, he is distinguished by an astounding self-restraint, barely having heard of horse races, dicing, drinking, or sexual activity. Almost needless to mention, Thalassius is also a paragon of trust, justice, goodwill, and unselfish help. These virtues qualify him not only as a member of the senate par excellence but also as a model for every citizen. ‘No parent has been so ignorant of the man’, Libanius claims, ‘as not to pray for his own sons to be

3⁴ Lib. Or. 62, Against the Critics of his Education (4.346–83 F.-R.). Cf. Heath 2004: 282. For the dating see Norman 2000: 87–8. 3⁵ See e.g. Lib. Or. 3, 31, 49.32. 3⁶ Cribiore 2013: 108–19 has drawn attention to Libanius’ bravura in invective. 3⁷ Lib. Or. 42, composed in 390 and addressed to the Emperor Theodosius, although presumably delivered only to a circle of intimate friends. Libanius’ ploy for Thalassius failed. See the introduction and translation in Norman 2000. 3⁸ Lib. Or. 42.3. This brief flattering self-portrait mirrors the longer version in his Autobiography (Or. 1.5–24). 3⁹ Lib. Or. 42.4: μισθὸς δὲ αὐτῷ τούτων τὸ ζῆν ἐν τούτοις [scil. the logoi and proper behaviour] καὶ πᾶσαν ἡμῖν ἐπίστασθαι τὴν πόλιν, ὡς ἐπὶ τούτων διατρίβοι.

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the life of paideia 149 students of Thalassius rather than of their father.’ If all members of the senate were like him, there would be nothing left to wish for the Empire.⁴⁰ To drive home his point, Libanius’ panegyric culminates in the affirmation that his protégé through immaculate conduct has earned himself the name of the philosopher.⁴1 Libanius, it is true, has good reasons for singing the praise of the aspirant senator Thalassius’ virtues before Emperor Theodosius, the nominal addressee of the speech. But still, it is significant that he, as in further speeches and numerous letters, dovetails expertise in eloquence with virtuous deportment, insisting that the type of paideia he offered in his school produced men of virtue, gentlemen who on the basis of their manner of life could rightly claim to converse with noblemen on an equal footing.⁴2 Another of Libanius’ hobby horses, the tedious lament over student misbehaviour and lack of discipline, has often been discounted by scholars as topical criticism of a disgruntled old man.⁴3 However, for all their stereotypical character, these rebukes show that he was concerned because students failed to mould themselves after such educated leaders and conform with the social expectations of the upper class.⁴⁴ Shining a light on glaring faults was meant to reassert the inseparable ensemble of learning and morals. This intention lay also behind the invectives that form the backdrop of Thalassius’ eulogy. No one could be further from the ideal pepaideumenos than Optatus, Libanius’ adversary in this case. In stark colours the speech sketches a portrait of the praefectus Augustalis Optatus as the arch-villain whose mean spirit comes out both in his ignorance and conduct.⁴⁵ Had Thalassius distinguished himself from childhood on through studious devotion, Optatus seized the earliest opportunity and fled from his letters. His deep dislike for education made him associate with the most abject people, from whom he learnt to lose all sense of shame. His steep learning curve led him to ‘shrink from nothing, from no vulgar deed, no uncultured word, no other form of indecorum, an absolute mud-stirrer’.⁴⁶ Once a good-for-nothing, always a good-for-nothing, and so in his rake’s progress Optatus as a governor ruins higher studies in the province of Egypt, in particular philosophy. He does not even refrain from flogging the philosopher Ptolemaeus, another beacon of paideia.⁴⁷ Optatus’ course of life ex negativo shines light on the way in which paideia is supposed to permeate a man’s entire existence. ⁴⁰ Lib. Or. 42.9: καὶ οὐδεὶς οὕτω τῶν πατέρων τὸν ἄνδρα ἠγνόηκεν, ὡς μὴ τοὺς παῖδας τοὺς αὑτοῦ Θαλασσίου μᾶλλον ἢ τοῦ γεγεννηκότος εὔξασθαι γενέσθαι μαθητάς. ⁴1 Lib. Or. 42.9. ⁴2 For example, Lib. Or. 34.3, 55.26, 62.41–2, Ep. 1005, 1131. ⁴3 Lib. Or. 3, 23.20, 34.12, 62.25. Heath 2004: 186 points out that we must not forget that in such passages Libanius adopts a rhetorical pose. ⁴⁴ See in particular Lib. Or. 3, especially 34–6, where Libanius warns the undisciplined students of the public disgrace that their misbehaviour brings on their families; further, Or. 34.12–14. ⁴⁵ Lib. Or. 42.11–16. ⁴⁶ Lib. Or. 42.13: τὸν οὐδέν, οὐκ ἔργον ἐξ ἀγορᾶς, οὐ ῥῆμα ἀπαίδευτον, οὐ τὴν ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀσχημοσύνην ὀκνοῦντα, βορβοροτάραξιν ἀτεχνῶς. ⁴⁷ Lib. Or. 42.15. Ptolemaeus was probably a Neoplatonic philosopher and decurion of Alexandria.

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150 education in late antiquity Proclus, the comes Orientis and Libanius’ second opponent, does not fare better, for he manages to be void of any positive quality. Hardly imaginable for a man in his position, he seems to be completely untouched by education: What kind of fellow are you promoting to office, Emperor! He is uneducated in either language and cannot claim knowledge of law to compensate for eloquence, for he is devoid of that as well. He has reached manhood through pleasures, extravagance, and drunkenness, and could never be convinced to regard solecism as a sin.⁴⁸

Libanius is struck with incredulity that such a rogue is given the opportunity to bring the misuse of language and impropriety of conduct to bear on high office. Admittedly, Libanius’ invectives must be taken for what they are, highly artistic and evil-spirited fabrications, instead of accurate portraits. Yet, with Optatus and Proclus being just two of a series of similar caricatures, these malicious depictions have a serious message, namely that a lack of proper education inevitably comes with a moral stain. Just as the erudite man won acclaim for his virtuous life, the ignoramus was illiterate not only in the literal sense but above all in morals. Even if he were not depraved through and through, the uneducated man disqualified himself, should he have learnt Latin, law, or shorthand, through an unbecoming desire for personal gain and power.⁴⁹ When Libanius publicly extolled men like Thalassius as prime products of his school, he wanted to promote the rhetorical teacher as a guardian, not only of language but of the value code of the civic upper class and even the imperial elites. To counteract the severe damages wrought by narrow specialism, he advocated liberal studies that promised to mould the sons of the affluent families into political leaders of great ability and integrity. It was a devastating mistake, as his vitriolic portrayals insinuate, to define paideia as the transmission of knowledge and skills. This is not to say that late antique rhetorical education was impractical and ignored concerns about career prospects. Far from it, formal education, as also Libanius was aware, prepared the pupils to become successful advocates,

⁴⁸ Lib. Or. 42.40: Οἷον ἄνθρωπον εἰς ἀρχὰς ἄγεις, ὦ βασιλεῦ, λόγων μὲν ἄμοιρον ἀμφοτέρων, νόμους δὲ ἀντὶ λόγων εἰπεῖν οὐκ ἔχοντα, οὐδὲ γὰρ τοῦτ’ ἔνι αὐτῷ, δι’ ἡδονῶν δὲ καὶ τρυφῆς καὶ μέθης εἰς ἀνδρὸς ἡλικίαν ἥκοντα οὐ δυνηθέντα πεισθῆναι νομίζειν τὸ σολοικίζειν κακόν. Proclus was comes Orientis in 383–4 and prefect of Constantinople from 388 to 392. See Jones et al. 1971–92: 1.746–7, Proculus 6. Norman 2000: 161 n. 53 notes that the scathing attack on Proclus was remarkable, given that he was the son of an old and influential friend of Libanius’, Tatianus, and was himself pagan and prefect of the city. He aptly comments, ‘As often in Libanius’ orations, alleged educational deficiencies are presented as a cardinal sin—indicating perhaps that such orations were restricted to the very select literary coterie of his own cronies.’ For Libanius’ ambivalent behaviour towards Proclus, which does not reflect well on the sophist’s character, see Cribiore 2013: 126–9. ⁴⁹ The speech for Thalassius also lumps together these narrow-minded specialists with other mean businesses whose practitioners despite their humble origins entered the senate (Or. 42.24–5).

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the life of paideia 151 governors, or curiales.⁵⁰ But it was the failure to produce morally good citizens that led Libanius to vilify the instruction in Latin, law, and shorthand. In actual fact, it was only the ‘teachers of the arts that make mankind blessed and happy’ who maintained the political and moral order of the Empire because they professed education as the morally good life.⁵1 When Libanius defended true paideia against its detractors he did not foreground what we may expect: the curriculum, his teaching technique, and the rhetorical skills that the students acquired in his school. Instead, he focused on the lives that had been shaped by his education. To qualify as a liberally educated man, it did not suffice to occupy oneself with studies. The truly learned man demonstrated his cultivation in guiding others and helping them to improve their lives. He was driven by a pedagogic ethos that made him a role model for the whole of society. It was as if paideia was a liturgy, a service to the community. For this, the pepaideumenos deserved ‘a crown, a public proclamation, a bronze statue, and all the money in the world’.⁵2 Should Libanius have complained in one of his letters to his colleague Themistius, both teachers certainly would have consoled each other. For His Majesty’s philosopher in Constantinople, too, was facing criticism and ill-will from members of the elite of the capital, as well as from academics.⁵3 Attacks from those who disagreed with Themistius’ educational programme were even a constant presence, ever since he moved from his native province to Constantinople. His opponents waged war on Themistius mainly for two reasons: for betraying philosophy to sophistry and for debasing it through his engagement in public affairs. In both respects he was said to innovate inappropriately. The blows dealt to Themistius in public were obviously intended to denounce his intellectual profile as a prominent philosophical teacher; the disciplines should be kept neatly apart and philosophy preserve its splendid isolation from mundane realities. Perhaps somewhat misleadingly, the transmitted speeches evoke the impression that Themistius never had a rest from arguing with his critics, as most of the pieces

⁵⁰ Cf. Humfress 2007: 111–13. This view, that paideia was valuable for its effects, in particular for gaining powerful positions, wealth, and fame, Libanius even made the topic of one of his school exercises, when in his Progymnasmata he illustrates the exercise of chreia by Isocrates’ saying that the root of education is bitter but its fruits are sweet (Lib. Prog. 3.3.12–19). ⁵1 The quoted phrase (οἱ τὰς δαιμονίους τε καὶ μακαρίους ποιούσας μαθήσεις παραδιδόντες) is applied to the teachers of literature and philosophy, for which Alexandria was renowned. They all were driven into exile by Optatus’ misconduct in office (Or. 42.16). For rhetorical education as a school of morality see also Or. 62.41–2. ⁵2 As Libanius claims in a speech that asked the councillors of Antioch to provide financial support for his assistant teachers. See Lib. Or. 31.22: ⟨ἢ⟩ μικρῶς ἐτιμᾶτε τὴν σοφίαν ἀξίαν γε οὖσαν, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, στεφάνου καὶ ἀναρρήσεως καὶ χαλκῆς εἰκόνος καὶ χρημάτων ὁπόσα ἐν γῇ. For the idea that teaching is like a liturgy a service to the community see 16–17. ⁵3 For Themistius’ struggle against his critics see Penella 2000: 15, 20–1 and Heather and Moncur 2001: 101–7.

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152 education in late antiquity in one way or another defend his educational programme and throw powerful counter-punches at his enemies.⁵⁴ In the light of Themistius’ enduring political career it may be understandable that scholars have concentrated on the public engagement of his philosophy.⁵⁵ However, I shall argue that his programmatic speeches on paideia aim at a more fundamental contribution to society than defending the politically active intellectual. They show us the good life as that of the broadly educated man whose actions are driven by a characteristic ethos throughout. An excellent, if sad, opportunity to outline his ideal of the erudite man arose with the death of Themistius’ father, Eugenius. A teacher of philosophy as well, Eugenius in the eyes of his son embodied the perfect philosophical life and thereby provided the template for Themistius’ own educational programme. Some time after Eugenius had passed away, his son dedicated a eulogy to his father’s memory. The epideictic address celebrated the deceased as the high priest of philosophy, a truly divine hero sent by the gods down to mankind.⁵⁶ On this occasion, Themistius rejected the composition of a biography proper.⁵⁷ Instead focusing on his father’s philosophical accomplishments, he presented Eugenius’ life as the incarnation of a pedagogic mission. Needless to say, Eugenius is depicted as a distinguished expert in the discipline, a thinker well versed in every domain of the field. Like Themistius himself, he shows no interest in the intellectual fights between the philosophical schools but is open to a harmonious union of the denominations, in particular a wedding of the Lyceum and the Academy. Erecting boundaries between academic subjects is not to Eugenius’ taste, and hence he is not afraid of being known as a connoisseur of belles-lettres, enjoying poetry and every other type of literature.⁵⁸ Out of his belief that poetry was akin to philosophy he did not want his discourse to be intelligible only to philosophers or rhetors and grammarians. There is obviously no room for the camp mentality of the self-appointed guardians of a pure philosophy. It is, however, not only the intellectual breadth that graces Eugenius’ paideia. What is more is that he naturally translates his philosophy into action. Reviving the old Socratic ideal of the unity of words and deeds, Eugenius prefers the practice of philosophy over the ivory tower. To profess philosophy merely in words but not in practice, he insists, is as if someone was an expert in medical theory but, falling ill, failed in the application of the drugs.⁵⁹ Unsurprisingly, Themistius does not bother to inform us about his father’s theoretical speculations but instead puts him before the audience’s eyes as a man of great virtue and firm moral principles. ⁵⁴ See in particular Or. 23 on the accusation of being a sophist and 31 and 34 against those who criticized Themistius’ political service. ⁵⁵ e.g. Vanderspoel 1995, Heather and Moncur 2001, Stenger 2007. ⁵⁶ See Stenger 2009: 216. ⁵⁷ As he indicates to his audience in the theoria to the speech (Or. 20.233c). ⁵⁸ Them. Or. 20.236b–d. ⁵⁹ Them. Or. 20.238a–239a and 239a–d on Socrates exemplifying these principles.

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the life of paideia 153 In this Eugenius resembles the teacher who, as Cicero said, called philosophy down from the heavens, Socrates, with whom he also shares the intrepid resistance to sinister enemies. The true philosopher is distinguished no less by his faultless comportment than intellectual brilliance. He resuscitates the old ideal of paideia, the humanistic union of reason and praxis, or intellectual and ethical perfection. This line of attack against the narrow-minded theoreticians amongst the intellectuals is also nicely captured by an episode in which we see Eugenius tilling with his own hands the ground and growing plants on his ‘Hellenic’ estate in his native Paphlagonia.⁶⁰ A late antique kindred spirit of Laertes, Eugenius knowledgeably cultivates the farmland, in the same way as he, as a philosopher, improves the souls, aiming at a combination of beauty and temperance.⁶1 Another facet of his pedagogic ethos comes to the fore when he affably converses with humble and high people alike, having in mind nothing but their moral well-being.⁶2 Nonetheless, Eugenius knows to keep the sacred mysteries of philosophy undefiled by vulgarization. Better than with a biography in the strict sense, Themistius has managed to convey the idea that Eugenius’ entire life was pervaded by paideia, until he was rewarded with a Platonic apotheosis. Eugenius’ life with its culmination in heroism encapsulated a pedagogic programme that in every respect outdid what the pedantic schoolteachers had on offer. It is interesting to note that Themistius underlined the usefulness of his father’s wisdom, thus engaging with the functionalist approach to education. With an allusion to Plato’s critique of the sophists in the Gorgias, the eulogy emphasizes that where other teachers produced nothing but beautiful and beguiling eloquence, Eugenius, just as he grew edible crops, made philosophical teaching a practical help for human life.⁶3 For his vision of ‘education-as-life’ Themistius even secured the highest possible approval. When he was appointed by Constantius II to the senate of Constantinople, the emperor’s letter read out in 355 to the gathered senators not only showered lavish praise on Themistius himself as the educator of the whole people but also summed up the idea of paideia that put its mark on Eugenius’ entire being: That man, whom you too would testify to have been inspired by philosophy throughout his life, that man, whom none of the ancient teachings and subjects of learning escaped, that man, who competed with himself in intellect and life, and who in either sphere, although he was superior, was defeated by himself, that man, therefore, who was the best of all men, who was the most pre-eminent of

⁶⁰ Them. Or. 20.236d–238a, where agriculture is said to be the only kind of rest suitable for a philosopher. ⁶1 See Morgan 1998: 255–9 on the analogy of agriculture and education. ⁶2 Them. Or. 20.236c–d. ⁶3 Them. Or. 20.237d–238a, employing metaphors from Pl. Grg. 462b–466a.

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154 education in late antiquity all, is considered to be equal to his son alone, and only Themistius is his successor in family as well as in philosophy.⁶⁴

Possibly based on suggestions made by Themistius himself, the imperial letter extols Eugenius, as well as his successor-son, for making a broad education the lodestar of his life. Ever striving for perfection in every respect, Eugenius is living proof that logos and bios cannot be separated, that all learning remains incomplete unless it manifests itself in every moment of one’s life. When he set out to refute his critics, Themistius revisited the main characteristics of his father’s portrait. What he professed to do in the capital was exactly the kind of philosophical education that Eugenius had engaged in throughout his life. The model of Socrates still cast a spell, and quite aptly so, as Themistius saw himself embroiled in arguments with sophists. In one of his defence speeches, which makes ample borrowings from Plato’s Apology of Socrates, Themistius expounds his pedagogic mission before his opponents.⁶⁵ The discourse, bearing the modern title On Speaking, may have been delivered after 355 or even later than 359 and was addressed to an audience of ‘few discriminating men’, probably men with philosophical inclinations.⁶⁶ For them, as well as for himself, Themistius wanted to lay down principles of the philosopher’s duties. At the same time, the defence targeted a lay audience who found fault with the speaker’s concept of education; however, not only them, but above all philosophers of Neoplatonic persuasion who he claimed advocated a totally different, and mistaken, idea of philosophy.⁶⁷ His critics’ accusations that he introduced unacceptable innovations into the discipline and that he was revealed by his practice as a sophist originated from their misconceptions about the nature of paideia. What upset his detractors was his manner of philosophical instruction. They blamed Themistius for deviating from common practice in the schools, saying ‘he does not sit quietly in his chamber and converse solely with his students; instead, he comes out into the public, has the boldness to appear in the midst of the city, and endeavours to speak before all sorts

⁶⁴ Demegoria Constantii 23a–b (Schenkl et al. 1965–74: 3.127–8): οὗτος, ὃν καὶ ὑμεῖς ἂν μαρτυρήσαιτε διὰ βίου κάτοχον γεγενῆσθαι φιλοσοφίας, οὗτος, ὃν οὐδὲν ἐξέφυγε τῶν ἀρχαίων διδαγμάτων καὶ παιδευμάτων, οὗτος ὁ πρὸς ἑαυτὸν τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τῷ βίῳ φιλονικήσας καὶ καθ’ ἑκάτερον ὑφ’ ἑαυτοῦ, καίτοι κρατῶν, ἡττώμενος, οὗτος οὖν ὁ πάντων ἄριστος γεγονώς, ὁ πάντων κορυφαιότατος, ἴσος τῷ παιδὶ μόνῳ νομίζεται, καὶ μόνος Θεμίστιος καὶ τοῦ γένους διάδοχός ἐστι καὶ φιλοσοφίας. The Greek text, transmitted together with Themistius’ speeches, is a translation of the lost Latin original that would have been read in the senate. ⁶⁵ See Stenger 2009: 227–8 on Themistius’ use of Socrates as his model. ⁶⁶ Them. Or. 26. For the dating see Penella 2000: 30–1. Themistius refers to his audience in 313a–b and 326a. Their identity, however, cannot be precisely determined, nor can the place where Themistius delivered the oration. See Vanderspoel 1995: 237. ⁶⁷ That Themistius is attacking Neoplatonists in particular becomes fairly clear in the final quarter of the speech, in which the personified city reproaches philosophy for being useless for human life and for keeping away from the masses.

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the life of paideia 155 of people’.⁶⁸ In their view, Themistius’ habit of addressing and instructing common people was something never heard of and earned him the questionable honour of being a sophist. Education had to be confined to the classroom, where the teacher imparted knowledge to his students. That, however, exposes their utterly flawed thinking and ignorance, as the speech in a lengthy excursus on the historical evolution of the arts and philosophy demonstrates. From its inception, philosophy had the mission to teach the wider public for universal benefit.⁶⁹ Neither Socrates nor Plato nor Aristotle did otherwise: they all reached out to the ordinary man of Athens to share with the people the blessings of philosophy, that is, the medicine it provides for the human soul.⁷⁰ Themistius is, therefore, perfectly entitled to ‘take philosophy—staying at home, morose, and avoiding public gatherings, as the poets say Justice does—and persuade her to come out into the open and not to begrudge the multitude her beauty’.⁷1 For the impact on the wider public to be achieved, it is imperative to unite the forces of philosophical reasoning with those of eloquence. As Plato embellished philosophy with the poetic beauty of his dialogues, so Themistius makes his teachings accessible by conveying them in skilful rhetoric.⁷2 If it were not for the instruments of rhetorical craftsmanship, philosophy would be condemned to silence. Consequently, proper instruction is to embrace the widest possible range of expertise: following in Plato’s footsteps, it aspires to a broad synthesis of all branches of philosophy, as well as wedding philosophy with poetry. If one looked for a suitable model, Aristotle’s exoteric writings had shown the way, joining utility and beauty in exemplary fashion. Despite his misgivings about contemporary attitudes to philosophy and pedagogy, Themistius here appears to make a significant concession to the prevailing zeitgeist: the fathers of Constantinople, but also the emperors, will have noticed with satisfaction that by frequent references to benefits and usefulness (ὠφέλιμον, χρήσιμον, εὖ ποιεῖν, etc.) he affirmed his commitment to the profitableness of paideia.⁷3 Having said that, he is crystal clear that true education cannot be reduced to its useful effects; it is rather a ⁶⁸ Them. Or. 26.313d: ἀδικεῖ, φασὶν ἐμὲ λέγοντες, νεωτερίζων εἰς φιλοσοφίαν, καινὰ εἰσάγων δαιμόνια. οὐ γὰρ ἡσυχῆ κάθηται ἐν τῷ δωματίῳ οὐδὲ πρὸς μόνους τοὺς ὁμιλητὰς κοινολογεῖται, ἀλλὰ καὶ εἰς φῶς πρόεισι καὶ θαρρεῖ ἐν τῷ μέσῳ τῆς πόλεως, καὶ λέγειν ἐπιχειρεῖ ἐν παντοδαποῖς ἀνθρώποις. Note the reference to Pl. Ap. 17a. ⁶⁹ For further attacks on the secluded or solitary philosophers see Them. Or. 21.254b–257c, 22.265b–c, and 28.341c. ⁷⁰ Them. Or. 26.316a–320a. The portrayal of Socrates teaching to everyone without reserve, instead of only to his pupils, in 318b exactly matches Themistius’ self-presentation. Tellingly, Socrates appears mainly instructing in statesmanship, eloquence, and literature, and emphasizing the arts’ usefulness, that is, embodying Themistius’ own concerns. For the medical metaphor see 320b and 322c–323a. ⁷1 Them. Or. 26.320b: Τί οὖν ἐγὼ καινὸν διαπράττομαι ἢ καινόν τι προσεξευρίσκω, εἰ καταλαβὼν φιλοσοφίαν οἰκουροῦσαν καὶ δυσκολαίνουσαν καὶ τὰς ἀγορὰς ἀποφεύγουσαν, ὥσπερ τὴν Δίκην φασὶν οἱ ποιηταί, πείθω εἰς τὸ ἐμφανὲς προϊέναι καὶ μὴ βασκαίνειν τοῦ κάλλους τοῖς πολλοῖς ἀνθρώποις . . . ; ⁷2 The proper relationship between philosophy and rhetoric is also the subject matter of another early speech of Themistius’, the Exhortation to the Nicomedians (Them. Or. 24). ⁷3 See e.g. Them. Or. 26.318a, 318c, 319b–d, 320a–b, 324b.

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156 education in late antiquity humanistic endeavour that unites learning in the widest possible manner with ethical perfection. How Themistius envisages philosophy to have impact on people’s lives is made explicit in a critical engagement with the ways in which parents of the upper echelons are used to care about their sons’ upbringing. In the course of his refutation he imagines philosophy gathering, as he himself does, a large crowd, a veritable political assembly, and reproaching her audience for heading in a completely wrong direction. The reason why most people are ignorant about what they ought to do is the prevailing opinion about education: You see that you yourselves and your sons have learnt letters, verbs, and nouns quite well—that is, what you consider to be a perfect education in virtue—and yet subsequently used your property no less badly. How, then, do you not look down on the education that is currently practised? How can you fail to seek out those who will free you from this lack of culture?⁷⁴

Indifference and ignorance, philosophy says, prevent the fathers from seeing what proper education is all about. While they take great care for their sons to be trained in grammar and rhetoric, the parents fail to understand that ‘perfect education’ (παιδείαν ἀρετῆς τελείαν) has nothing to do with the acquisition of linguistic and stylistic skills as imparted in the established schools. Paideia’s mission is defined in the following lines in much wider, and more meaningful, terms. Emphasizing throughout his speech the usefulness of a philosophical education that leaves the classroom, Themistius insists that the true teacher’s obligation is to uproot wrong habits and implant, as a medicine for the soul, proper moral values, justice, humanism, and philanthropy.⁷⁵ Philosophical pronouncements such as those made by Socrates and Plato, he goes on, ‘would make anyone better and more confident in the practice of virtue, whether a rhetor or a private citizen or a general, whether rich or poor, whether young or adult or elderly. For they are aids and benefits that are common to all men.’⁷⁶ Not unlike his correspondent Libanius, if from a philosophical viewpoint, Themistius argues that teaching and learning essentially cover one’s entire being, thinking and action

⁷⁴ Them. Or. 26.320d–321a: ὁρῶντες γράμματα καὶ ῥήματα καὶ ὀνόματα ὑμᾶς τε αὐτοὺς καὶ τοὺς παῖδας ὑμῶν ἱκανῶς μεμαθηκότας, ἃ δὴ παιδείαν ἀρετῆς τελείαν ἡγεῖσθε, κἄπειτα οὐδὲν ἧττον κακῶς γινομένους περὶ τὰ χρήματα, πῶς οὐ καταφρονεῖτε τῆς νῦν παιδεύσεως οὐδὲ ζητεῖτε οἵτινες ὑμᾶς παύσουσι ταύτης τῆς ἀμουσίας; ⁷⁵ See, for example, Them. Or. 26.320d–321a, 321c, 323a–c. These virtues are at the heart of Themistius’ teaching in Constantinople, also in his panegyrics of the emperors, e.g. in Or. 6, on philanthropy. ⁷⁶ Them. Or. 26.321c–d: ταῦτα γὰρ δὴ καὶ ὅσα τοιαῦτα τῶν Σωκράτους καὶ Πλάτωνος κηρυγμάτων . . . καὶ ῥήτορα καὶ ἰδιώτην καὶ στρατηγόν, πενόμενόν τε αὖ καὶ πλούσιον, νέον τε καὶ ἀκμάζοντα καὶ πρεσβύτην, βελτίους ἂν ποιήσειε καὶ θαρραλεωτέρους πρὸς ἀρετήν. κοινὰ γὰρ δὴ πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις βοηθήματα καὶ ὠφελήματα . . . .

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the life of paideia 157 alike. In contrast to the educational professionals who are content to train the young in specialist skills, the true philosopher has the ambition to inform the lives of everyone, be it a young student or an ordinary artisan. The good teacher is the one who, as a mediator between philosophy and the city, gives philosophy a public voice, so that the whole civic body can benefit from his expertise in caring for the soul.⁷⁷ For the aim of a virtual philosophical school for every citizen, the envisaged synthesis of philosophy and eloquence is essential. Themistius wants to restore education to its former state and mission, when it was valued as a form of life. The person who aspired to be truly educated was expected to not only give shape to every aspect of his or her life through learning but also lead others to virtue and perfection. For this ethos to be cultivated, a broad, humanist paideia, uniting intellectual and ethical perfection, was a sine qua non. What Themistius did in his thinly veiled self-praise of his father’s eulogy, the rhetorical teacher Himerius achieved in a lavish panegyric heaped on Hermogenes, the proconsul of Greece.⁷⁸ Just as the commemorative speech celebrated Eugenius as a divine philosopher, the laudatory address welcoming the high magistrate to Athens in the 350s showered almost hymnic praise on its subject and hailed the proconsul as a holy man.⁷⁹ The parallels between Themistius’ selffashioning and Himerius’ portrait of Hermogenes go deeper, though. Somewhat unexpectedly, the welcoming address depicts him not so much in his capacity as the incumbent proconsul but as a man of strong philosophical and pedagogic inclinations; in fact so much so that in places the praise of his intellectual pursuits eclipses his service in the ‘highest office on earth’, as Himerius claims.⁸⁰ The official functions of the oration aside, the speaker certainly intended the magistrate as a role model for his students, who were among the audience.⁸1 On a first reading of the panegyric, one is struck by the dominance of the biographic mode. Rather than merely focusing on Hermogenes’ accomplishments in office, the orator chose to follow the addressee’s life and career from his youth to the pinnacle of the present post.⁸2 What he wanted to convey with this narrative is indicated by his comments on the decisive moment in Hermogenes’ biography.

⁷⁷ See Them. Or. 26.313b, presenting Themistius as an independent citizen dedicated to both philosophy and the polis. ⁷⁸ Him. Or. 48 (ed. Colonna). Jones et al. 1971–92: 1.424–5, Fl. Hermogenes 9. See Penella 2007: 209–11 and Raimondi 2012: 164–7 on the context. Hermogenes’ proconsulship cannot be dated with certainty (see Raimondi 2012: 171). ⁷⁹ The hymnic tone culminates in the final part of the oration, where, in an address of Hermogenes, Himerius considers him worthy of hymns (34) and summons the Muses to listen to his prayer for the addressee (37). ⁸⁰ Him. Or. 48.31 (ll. 342–3). In 15, Himerius characterizes his addressee as simultaneously philosopher and strategos. ⁸1 He addresses them in Him. Or. 48.2 (l. 21) and 10 (l. 103). ⁸2 Menander Rhetor in his guidelines on the speech on arrival (epibaterios) includes the praise of the governor’s deeds and virtues, inter alia his intellectual accomplishment (Men. Rh. 377.31–382.9). Raimondi 2012: 156–64 gives a literary analysis of Himerius’ account of Hermogenes’ career.

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158 education in late antiquity Quite exceptionally for a man of his background and ambitions, Hermogenes, ‘when he became a man and reached full adulthood, at a time when wisdom shows us those who possess it by their choice of life’, resolved to say good-bye to offices and positions of power, although he already had had his foot in the door of the imperial court and made an impression on the ruler.⁸3 Walking away from a promising career, he turned to the study of philosophy, there distinguishing himself so much in virtue and learning that he recalled the memory of Plato himself. Hermogenes, if we are to believe his biographer, experienced a fullfledged conversion to philosophy, exchanging the active life for one of learning and contemplation. Yet, the notion of conversion does not do full justice to his portrait because Himerius does not miss any opportunity to stress that the whole of Hermogenes’ life was under the spell of philosophy and paideia. Fittingly, the eulogy here draws our attention to the nexus between the ethical and intellectual development of a man and his choice of life (τῆς αἱρέσεως τοῦ βίου).⁸⁴ Where other panegyrists made intellectual accomplishments only one part of a magistrate’s or ruler’s personality, Himerius depicts his subject as a scholar from top to toe. As early as in his youth, when Hermogenes acted as a philosophical advisor to the emperor, virtue and wisdom were the two beacons of his life; and later on, when he returned to the school, the young adult was not content with drinking from the sources of philosophy alone but also learnt to argue and overpower the sophists’ artful wordiness with skilful eloquence. Still more was to come, and so Hermogenes acquired profound knowledge in the exact sciences, astronomy and geography, completing his wide reading, as Plato had done, with extensive travelling so as to see the world with his own eyes.⁸⁵ Himerius’ Athenian audience will not have been surprised to hear that such a studious gentleman became fluent also in both languages of the Empire, Greek and Latin.⁸⁶ For Themistius, philosophical studies were not an end in itself, nor were they for Hermogenes. Accordingly, the encomiastic speech goes to some lengths to demonstrate that the magistrate, whatever decision he made and whatever action he took, translated his thinking into deeds and behaviour. For one thing, his posts afforded him the opportunity to exercise virtue, above all justice and humanity, at the highest political level; without blushing, Himerius elevates him to the rank of the emperor’s junior partner.⁸⁷ Moreover, Hermogenes is presented as a brilliant teacher of the people. Now moderating the emperor’s passions, now exercising his ⁸3 Him. Or. 48.19–20 (ll. 228–38, the quote at 229–31: ἀνὴρ δὲ ἤδη γενόμενος καὶ τὸ τέλειον τῆς ἡλικίας λαβών, ὅτε φρόνησις τοὺς αὐτὴν κεκτημένους ἐκ τῆς αἱρέσεως τοῦ βίου δείκνυσι). ⁸⁴ Him. Or. 48.20 (l. 231). ⁸⁵ Raimondi 2012: 160 notes the paradigmatic character of Hermogenes’ course of studies as depicted by Himerius. ⁸⁶ Him. Or. 48.20–8. ⁸⁷ Him. Or. 48.29 (ll. 322–5), comparing Hermogenes to other wise partakers in rule, such as Simonides and Themistocles. There is a striking parallel from the second century for a learned man becoming virtually co-emperor (συνεργὸν . . . τῆς βασιλείας) by virtue of his education: Cornelianus

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the life of paideia 159 jurisdiction with utmost humanity, Hermogenes’ pedagogic presence makes itself felt wherever he is active, so much so that all the subjects of his province are possessed by calm, and arrogance has completely vanished in favour of reason.⁸⁸ Like Themistius’ ideal philosopher, the governor is the embodiment of a characteristic ethos, as he not only gives shape to his own life through education but also lets everyone benefit from his humanist paideia. As Hermogenes’ virtues are a direct progeny of his training in eloquence, his pedagogic impetus drives his promotion of oratory. While also having in mind the support he personally is receiving from the governor, Himerius’ broader aim is to commend him for giving a boost to the entire profession. As Hermogenes is taking a keen interest in the liberal arts, to the extent that the orators practise under his supervision, he himself advances to the first rank of the professional rhetors, earning himself the title of ‘the leader of our discipline’.⁸⁹ The proconsul of Greece was a good example of what also Libanius and Themistius sought to achieve with their self-defences and encomiastic portrayals of the erudite life. In panegyrical depictions, both autobiographical and biographical, as well as in tendentious representations of their enemies they celebrated as an eminently public figure the man who spent his entire life in learning and teaching. Embodiments of true learning, these men devoted their lives from boyhood on to liberal studies and the transmission of knowledge and wisdom. Their conduct and engagement with others was pervaded by a cultured ethos that emanated from their paideia. As these portraits highlighted the services offered to society, they suggested that broad erudition did not equate bookish quiescence but had a strong social and communal dimension. In fact, the humanist way of life gave proof of the enormous benefits of this type of paideia both to the erudite individual and to those whom he guided.

4.3 Templates for the Life of Learning We should not discount Himerius’ praise of the governor turned teacher as shallow panegyric, entirely conditioned by the occasion. The erudite nobleman Synesius of Cyrene cherished the same ideal of paideia, in most eloquent fashion in the treatise entitled Dion. There, instructing his yet unborn son in genuine learning, Synesius took the intellectual identity of the first-century philosophical orator Dio

is said to have been appointed by Marcus Aurelius and Commodus ab epistulis in recognition of his excellent command of the Attic language (Phryn. ecloge 357 and 394). See Schmitz 1997: 52. ⁸⁸ Him. Or. 48.32 (ll. 349–53). ⁸⁹ Him. Or. 48.6 (l. 63, βασιλέα τῆς ἡμετέρας τέχνης), 12 (ll. 134–5, τὸν Μουσηγέτην). For phrases like ‘leader of the chorus’ and ‘leader of the Muses’ see, for example, Lib. Or. 1.20, 31.14, Ep. 172, 835.5, 1325.4, 1338.2, 1408.2, 1466.3–4. Literary and rhetorical studies were said to be under the protection of Hermes, Apollo as god of the Muses, and the Muses themselves.

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160 education in late antiquity Chrysostom as a starting point for a discussion of Greek learning as a distinctive way of life. Thanks to a letter sent in late 404 to his mentor Hypatia we are well informed about the circumstances of the treatise’s composition.⁹⁰ Synesius complained to the Alexandrian philosopher that he had to endure unjustified attacks from different quarters on his literary ambitions as well as on his thoughts about learning.⁹1 What his critics accused him of was that he defiled philosophy by his pleasure in eloquent diction and attachment to rhetoric. The crux of the controversy reminds us by more than pure chance of the dispute Themistius was embroiled in at Constantinople.⁹2 However, Synesius’ case was perhaps more grave than Themistius’ because he dared, to the disapproval of some philosophers, to publish works in polished style, even playing with poetry and gracing his writing with his wit. Scholars studying the Dion have been bemused by its literary form.⁹3 While the work starts as a piece of literary criticism that accuses Philostratus of a misrepresentation of the orator-cum-philosopher Dio Chrysostom, the main body is a defence of letters and their pedagogic and social value.⁹⁴ Since this apologia over long stretches elaborates Synesius’ own tenets and achievements, some scholars have labelled the work a ‘writer’s autobiography’, not in the sense of a chronologically depicted life but rather a self-presentation of the author’s ideals.⁹⁵ It has also been argued that the pamphlet is a protreptic because it advertises, though not in the established manner of similar exhortations, philosophy as the best life.⁹⁶ Each of these views being justified to a certain degree, they suggest—as a suitable starting point for our analysis—that Synesius with this literary experiment intended to integrate the course of life with paideia.⁹⁷ Towards Hypatia, Synesius declared that the Dion had as its topic ‘the choice of types of life, praising philosophy as the most philosophical of choices’. To complicate matters further, the letter added that the treatise wanted to be a display of broad learning, thus implying that, as an epideictic piece, the Dion was about praise and blame, which points to normative discourse.⁹⁸

⁹⁰ Synes. ep. 154 (Garzya/Roques). For the date see Roques 1989: 219. ⁹1 See the discussion in Chapter 3.2. ⁹2 The intellectual kinship between Synesius and Themistius has been noted by, among others, Uthemann 1997: 270–2 and Tanaseanu-Döbler 2008: 268–9. ⁹3 See Treu 1958: 20–1, Garzya 1972: 33–4, and Lamoureux and Aujoulat 2004–8: 1.107–10. ⁹⁴ Philostr. VS 1.13–15 (486–8). See Whitmarsh 2001: 238–44. ⁹⁵ Misch 1949–50: 608–11, followed by Garzya 1972: 34. Misch, though, does not categorize the Dion as a Schriftsteller-Autobiographie. ⁹⁶ Garzya 1972: 33, in contrast to Treu 1958: 20. ⁹⁷ Treu 1958: 21 points out that the work because of its playful style bears a certain resemblance to a sophistic paignion. ⁹⁸ Synes. ep. 154.56–62 (Garzya/Roques): Καὶ βούλεται μὲν πολυμαθείας οὐχ ἧττον ἐπίδειξις ἢ ἐγκώμιον εἶναι· . . . προϊὸν δὲ βίων αἱρέσεις ἐξετάζειν, ἐπαινεῖ τὴν φιλοσοφίαν ὡς φιλοσοφωτάτην αἱρέσεων.

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the life of paideia 161 Hypatia would have recognized the Dion’s key topic easily without the letter’s hint, as the treatise itself more than once refers to the trope of the choice of lives.⁹⁹ Already its title, Dion or On the Life after His Model, prepares the reader for a discussion of the best way of life.1⁰⁰ Furthermore, the critical engagement with Philostratus concentrates on the question of whether Dio underwent a conversion to philosophy, that is, whether he could be classified as either sophist or philosopher.1⁰1 The first-century intellectual in his discourses showed, Synesius claims, signs of these two walks of life (τοῖν βίοιν ἑκατέρου, 1.7) and championed either in his writings. It is certainly no coincidence that the discussion singles out among Dio’s speeches the Euboean Oration as exemplary because it taught the rich and the poor alike about the best way of life, arguing for a middle road between extremes.1⁰2 Although Dio all but disappears from the main part of the treatise, it is significant that Synesius chose a prominent historical figure to anchor his advertising discourse. This allowed him to give his preferred type of education particularity and authority, in a similar way as Themistius claimed Socrates as his forerunner. Considering that Synesius prefaced the work with a discussion of Dio’s alleged conversion, we will analyse the intersection that he posited between learning and life, with a focus on the specific qualities that made learning a distinctive bios. Who were the enemies against whom Synesius fought a battle for the Muses and sought to rescue his idea of preliminary studies, and what were their motives?1⁰3 The treatise distinguishes between two brigades against which it defends in turn. First in line are the despisers of rhetoric and poetry also mentioned in the letter to Hypatia.1⁰⁴ By blaming Synesius for his literary taste and love for belles-lettres they belie their philosophical claim because they do not understand that for philosophy to be meaningful and improve the people, the intellectual has to leave his study and mingle with others. Teaching the wider public morals requires the philosopher to whet his tongue and make skilful use of any available rhetorical instrument.1⁰⁵

⁹⁹ See e.g. Synes. Dion 1.2–3, 1.7, 2.1, 2.4 (quotes and paragraph division follow the edition in Lamoureux and Aujoulat 2004–8: vol. 1). 1⁰⁰ Δίων ἢ περὶ τῆς κατ’ αὐτὸν διαγωγῆς. Scholarship has established that the title goes back to Synesius himself. See Treu 1958: 29. 1⁰1 This issue has caused considerable debate among scholars. See Schmitt 2001: 67–113, Seng 2006, and Tanaseanu-Döbler 2008: 160–2, 285–6. 1⁰2 Synes. Dion 2.2. For Synesius’ image of Dio as a rhetor-cum-philosopher see also Quevedo Blanco 2011. Op de Coul 2012: 116 notes a close resemblance, both in life and work, between Synesius and Dio. 1⁰3 Synes. Dion 11.1 (βοηθῆσαι τοῖς προπαιδεύμασιν, ‘bringing succour to propaedeutic studies’), 12.1 (battle on behalf of the Muses). 1⁰⁴ Bregman 1982: 130–2 hypothesizes that this group comprised those authors of the Corpus Hermeticum who excluded all culture in favour of salvation, and the late antique Cynics, who were denounced by the Emperor Julian as uneducated. Cameron and Long 1993: 62–9 argue that just as the men in black robes are not just monks but also other Christians, so too the men in white are not just philosophers but professional pedants of every sort. 1⁰⁵ Synes. Dion 1.14, 5.2, 13.2, 15.2.

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162 education in late antiquity The second contingent of enemy forces is deployed against Synesius by Christian ascetics.1⁰⁶ Their flaws are of a different nature: while their aim of attaining virtue and exercising self-restraint in itself is commendable, they fail to recognize the only methodical way towards this goal. Hoping for a contemplative existence, they shun the public and inevitably become unsociable.1⁰⁷ This failure is compounded by the ascetics’ mistake to avoid everything pleasant, out of the misapprehension that this would facilitate everlasting contemplation. More fundamentally, they embrace virtue alone, at the cost of the logos, as if they could achieve freedom from passion and happiness without reasoning and methodical learning, just by a leap of ecstasy.1⁰⁸ Regarding these two groups of opponents, Jay Bregman has argued that the Dion is an appeal for humanist education, which was threatened by the extreme tendencies of a new spirituality.1⁰⁹ Although his point is valid, it cannot fully explain Synesius’ defence of his ideal of paideia. We need to take into account an additional group attacked later in the treatise. The efforts of this third group are doomed to failure because they, too, are mistaken about what genuine paideia entails. More worryingly, their professional habitus prevents learning from taking place at all. Whereas the supercilious philosophers and the Christian ascetics consider contact with the common people as antithetical to their lofty ambitions, this band of adversaries are too much dependent on the public. First, there appear to be the advocates, who squander what little education they have on the wrong audiences and let themselves be constrained by the time-limit set by the water clock (12.3–4). Then there are the sophists, who make themselves slaves of the mob because they are fixated on public performances (12.5–8). Finally, there is the life of the schoolteacher, the specialist in grammar and rhetoric.11⁰ By a déformation professionelle these educational specialists always seek to win admirers and build their reputation. In their dependence on recognition, they lose autonomy and freedom, which we will see are preconditions for the learned life. Ever jealous of potential rivals, the schoolteacher will try to monopolize learning, to the extent that his dogmatism and scholasticism chokes wisdom.111 Nowhere among these groups can genuine learning flourish. The only remedy is provided by what Synesius calls ‘our native philosopher’ or ‘the Greek way of

1⁰⁶ Synes. Dion 7.1–2. They are probably identified as ‘those with the dark cloak’ in the letter to Hypatia. See Petkas 2020: 11–13 and Chapter 3.2. 1⁰⁷ Op de Coul 2012: 121 speculates that Synesius here attacks the small number of educated monks, who also were among those who disapproved of his graceful style. That seems very unlikely considering that his criticism focuses on their being remote from any form of refined formal education. 1⁰⁸ Synes. Dion 9.6. Synesius admits that the ascent of the soul can, in principle, be achieved without philosophical method, just through inborn talent, but this remains an extremely rare exception. The average learner is in need of a study programme to begin the journey to the divine (8.1–2). 1⁰⁹ Bregman 1982: 132. 11⁰ Synes. Dion 13.3 and 14.1–3. 111 Synes. Dion 14.1–2.

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the life of paideia 163 life’.112 Any factors that preclude the haughty philosophers, the anti-intellectual ascetics, and the pedantic schoolmasters from achieving proper erudition are eliminated by the Greek teacher’s approach to learning and teaching. A wide gulf opens up between the ascetics and the erudite Greek above all in the habitus of these two ideal types. The Christian recluses, on the one hand, are by their manner of life uncivilized, avoiding social contacts and rejecting any form of pleasure and the savoir-vivre. Synesius’ perfect Hellene, on the other, aspires to a humanism that appears to encompass every notion of cultivated behaviour, fine taste, urbanity, and, most importantly, an ease of engaging with people. The liberality and civilized manner in which he turns to other humans is not only expression of his deep familiarity with human nature but also an emanation of his learning. Paideia and humanistic ethos become coterminous.113 Since it is his firm belief that wisdom needs to be shared as far as permitted by the sacred nature of philosophy, the erudite man is happy to address large audiences, instruct the public in morality, and converse with students from different segments of society. This talent was one of the hallmarks of Dio, who admonished mankind, regardless whether his addressees were kings or private citizens, masses or individuals.11⁴ The educated man’s humanity comes to the fore also in another area. Like Libanius and Themistius before him, Synesius put much emphasis on the nexus between learning and virtuous conduct. Education for him was inconceivable without excellence in virtue, first and foremost self-control. As a matter of fact, the practice of the purificatory virtues is integrated into the pedagogic process as the essential first step, as preparation for studies in higher disciplines.11⁵ On the whole, the Dion foregrounds moderation, embodied in the image of the middle road, as the master virtue to be cultivated by the man of paideia. Always aware of his human nature, the wise man will avoid any extremes, be it the exaggerated ascetic practice or the conceit of the self-professed philosophers.11⁶ His forte is, as

112 Synes. Dion 5.2 (ὁ καθ’ ἡμᾶς φιλόσοφος), 9.1 (ὁ ἡμεδαπὸς φιλόσοφος), and 9.3 (τὰ τῆς Ἑλληνικῆς διαγωγῆς, a conjecture by Terzaghi now universally accepted). Cf. 4.3 (ἀκριβῶς Ἕλληνα εἶναι, i.e. the cultured man who is able to keep touch with mankind). Synesius uses the term ‘Hellene’ as a cultural term, in a similar way as some pagan authors, for example Themistius, do. However, he does not give it a religious sense, denoting ‘pagan’, although he must have been aware of this meaning, which was common in late antiquity. See Bregman 1982: 125–7 and Cameron and Long 1993: 66–8. 113 See in particular the key passage Synes. Dion 4.3, where Synesius insists that the philosopher is anything but uncultured but should be initiated into the realm of the Graces and should be a Hellene in the true sense. He should be able to associate with humans on the basis of his thorough familiarity with literature of worth. By way of contrast, the haughty philosopher who despises literature associates with men in a vulgar way, for he is not a gentleman (5.5–6). 11⁴ Synes. Dion 1.14. 11⁵ Synes. Dion 8.2, 5, 9.1, 6–9. 11⁶ In response to the monks who neglect reason, Synesius in Dion 10.6 recommends keeping the middle course (μέσως ἔχοντες) suggested by Plato (Smp. 202a), being no longer ignorant but not yet wise, and keeping to reason, which leads to a life of moderation. The counterexample of the golden mean is Icarus’ fatal flight (10.11).

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164 education in late antiquity Synesius underscores, the observation of the mean: vis-à-vis the passions, he steers away from unnatural apathy and tries to achieve measured emotions.11⁷ Humanism is one of the key themes of the Dion. Time and again, Synesius reminds his readers that intellectual pursuits must be based on a full understanding of human nature and that civilized engagement with others is inseparable from knowledge of literature.11⁸ As the kernel of Synesius’ pedagogic programme, humanism then infuses the outline of the education process from beginning to end. Contemplation, though desirable and in fact the ultimate goal, cannot be achieved unspoilt and for ever because human beings are a composite of soul and body that precludes pure reasoning. This is the fundamental premise from which Synesius’ pedagogy starts. Accepting the limitations of human nature he devises a syllabus suitable for methodical progress towards the ideal goal. When one needs to descend from the heights of philosophical contemplation, it is vital not to sink too far into matter. Here, literature has an important role to play: He who has attained the summit should remember that he is a human being and should be able to associate with every man in good measure. Why then should anyone banish the Muses, who make it possible both to endear oneself to mankind and to keep the divine things unstained, as covered by a veil? If our human nature is variable, it will certainly grow weary of a life in contemplation, to the extent that it foregoes its greatness and descends. For we are not mind undefiled but mind in the soul of a living being. And for our own sake we must therefore go to look for the more human forms of literature, providing a resting place for our nature when it descends.11⁹

Literature in all its beauty and poetical quality provides the necessary relaxation from serious study of divine matters and ultimate truths. It does not let the reader go down to matter but rather gives the human mind the power to rise again and ascend to the realm of being. There is nothing here of the manner in which the narrow-minded schoolteachers use literature, neither the pedantic specialism nor the competitive spirit. Instead of exploiting literary texts for getting the better of one’s rivals in public recognition, Synesius uses them as sources of his development as a human being. And in contrast to his philosophical adversaries,

11⁷ Synes. Dion 6.7, preferring the Peripatetic doctrine of metriopathy over the Stoic eradication of the passions. 11⁸ See Synes. Dion 4.3–4, 6.3–4, 6.7, 10.11; cf. 5.3 on the esoteric philosophers’ deficiency in this respect. 11⁹ Synes. Dion 6.3–4: ὁ δὲ γενόμενος τῶν ἄκρων ἐπιτυχὴς μεμνήσθω καὶ ἄνθρωπος ὢν καὶ δυνάσθω συνεῖναι πρὸς μέτρον ἑκάστῳ. Τί οὖν ἄν τις ἀποκηρύττοι τὰς Μούσας, δι’ ὧν ἔστι καὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐξαρέσκεσθαι καὶ τὰ θεῖα τηρεῖν ἀκηλίδωτα, χρωμένους ἐπικαλύμματι; Εἰ δὲ καὶ ποικίλον ἡ φύσις ἡμῶν, καμεῖται δήπου πρὸς τὴν ἐν θεωρίᾳ ζωήν· ὥστε ὑφήσει τοῦ μεγέθους καὶ καταβήσεται· οὐ γάρ ἐσμεν ὁ ἀκήρατος νοῦς, ἀλλὰ νοῦς ἐν ζῴου ψυχῇ. Καὶ ἡμῶν οὖν αὐτῶν ἕνεκα μετιτέον τοὺς ἀνθρωπινωτέρους τῶν λόγων, ὑποδοχήν τινα μηχανωμένους κατιούσῃ τῇ φύσει.

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the life of paideia 165 he embraces belles-lettres as the indispensable balance to contemplation. Against those grandiloquent and worthless fellows, he upholds the pedagogic value of wide reading: he is grateful to the consummate poets, the good rhetoricians, and the noteworthy historical writers; none of those who have been beneficial to all Hellenes should go unrewarded because they have tended them from early infancy on.12⁰ The perfect philosopher, exemplified by Synesius’ own course of life and studies, aspires to a paideia as broad as possible, breaking through the constricting straightjacket of academic disciplines. His comprehensive learning (πολυμάθεια) encompasses, alongside philosophical pursuits, all types of sophisticated literature, poetry and prose writing alike, each of them fulfilling a vital function in the education process.121 Synesius allocates to literary studies, as propaedeutic, a formative function preceding the stage of higher studies. It is the central principle underlying his programme that the education process is to move along a methodical and structured path, integrating both ethical and intellectual formation. The habituation into the purificatory virtues on the first stage is accompanied by the reading of literary works; on the next stage the exact sciences follow, before the student is equipped for philosophical studies, which ultimately lead to contemplation. Against the narrow-minded yet pompous philosophers he champions the unity of paideia; and against the rigorous ascetics he insists on the need for method and reason. However, the pedagogic programme comes to fruition in one imperative quality by which the Greek man surpasses the literary professionals in particular. The Greek philosopher secures the triumph over them through his deportment, that is, the practice of his wisdom in a specific bios. Like Socrates in Plato’s Phaedrus, Synesius wants to spend his life in liberal leisure, to enjoy intellectual freedom with the privilege to instruct students only when and how many he chooses to.122 Freedom and autonomy, condensed in the image of the idyllic setting under the plane tree, are the bedrock of true erudition. This existence unites true learning and a pedagogic mission based on the philosopher’s autonomous choice.123 Rather than only refuting his disparagers, Synesius decided to address 12⁰ Synes. Dion 11.2. See also ep. 1.1–5 on Synesius’ ideal of wide reading. 121 For the ideal union of the disciplines see Dion 5.1, 15.1–2 (formulated as guidelines for his son), 15.5 (the term πολυμάθεια appears in ep. 154.57). Aujoulat in Lamoureux and Aujoulat 2004–8: 1.107–8 contrasts Synesius’ position with that of Porphyry, who held that the contemplation leading to the good has nothing to do with the accumulation of knowledge. According to Aujoulat, Synesius understood polymathy as ‘la connaissance de la rhétorique, c’est-à-dire de l’art du bien dire, et de la philosophie, prise dans son sens le plus large’ (108). 122 Synes. Dion 12–13, imitating Pl. Phdr. 230a–e. 123 The ideal is summarized in 13.4: Νυνὶ δὲ ὁπόσοις τε βούλομαι, καὶ ὁπόσα καὶ περὶ ὧν καὶ ὁπηνίκα καὶ ὅπου, τοσαῦτα καὶ οὕτως σύνειμι· καὶ ὁ μέν τις ὤνησε συγγενόμενος, ὁ δὲ αὐτὸς ὤνατο. Βουλοίμην δ’ ἂν ἐγὼ τῶν ἀγαθόν τι λεγόντων ἀκούειν μᾶλλον ἢ λέγειν αὐτός (‘I converse with as many and on as many topics as I wish, choosing the topics, the time, the place, and the manner. One interlocutor confers a benefit while the other receives it. I would rather listen to those who say anything of worth than talk myself ’). For leisure and freedom as the prerequisites for philosophy and characteristics of the philosopher see Pl. Tht. 172c–173c.

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166 education in late antiquity his treatise to his unborn heir, as a programmatic piece and his personal legacy. At the same time, he was clear that his pedagogic protreptic extended far beyond his son, to young and old alike.12⁴ Synesius turned to the figure of Dio Chrysostom as a source of authentication for his concept of the learned life. Using the firstcentury intellectual as a vehicle, he created a blueprint for the ideal bios in which the formation of the self attained perfection only in the formation of others in freedom. Such normative thinking about the only possible path to education was even more apparent in a greatly different kind of discourse. How far this line of argument, the correlation of learning and life, went can be seen in official pronouncements issued on behalf of the state. The interest of the Roman emperors of late antiquity in school matters has not gone unnoticed by modern scholars. Pride of place in the discussion on imperial edicts dealing with education has been given to Julian’s school law, which we already have studied. However, the Theodosian Code and the Code of Justinian contain a greater number of decrees regulating the teaching profession and, particularly, the teachers’ remuneration and privileges. It is not the place here to discuss the process of selection and revision that has shaped the wording of the edicts as they are transmitted in the Theodosian Code.12⁵ Nor is it my aim to revisit the debate over whether the laws are evidence of an intensified educational policy in the late Empire. For the present purposes it is sufficient to say that, while older scholarship considered the edicts to be documental evidence of a deliberate and systematic attempt to officially regulate schooling, recent research has stressed the casuistic nature of the rulings and the limitations set to any systematic policy by practical circumstances.12⁶ Konrad Vössing has convincingly argued that it was mainly the display of benefaction, the virtue of imperial liberalitas, that motivated the emperors’ intervention in the teaching profession.12⁷ As a norm, the imperial administration neither interfered in the appointment of civic instructors nor did it care about their qualifications. However, judication on schooling, despite its responding to specific requests, does have general significance. We will see that the topic did matter, not only the gesture as such. One area to look for implied intentions is the underpinning assumptions about the learned person. As the emperors of the fourth and fifth centuries wanted to make known their genuine care for the educational profession, their decrees showed a remarkable interest in matters of conduct, lifestyle, reputation, and public standing. To begin with, we have seen the Emperor Julian declaring that

12⁴ Synes. Dion 4.1, 10.9–10, 12.2. See also 14.7 on Socrates’ advanced age. 12⁵ Harries 2012 gives an instructive overview of the nature of the Theodosian Code and its implications for research. She also emphasizes the responsive nature of late antique lawmaking. 12⁶ For the older view see Marrou 1956: 306–8 and Riché 1976: 7. This opinion is persuasively refuted by Kaster 1988: 216–19 and Vössing 2002. Kaster rightly insists that ‘[i]t is difficult to discover in the evidence . . . an étatisation [Marrou] of education newly developed in late antiquity’ (229). 12⁷ Vössing 1997: 620–3, Vössing 2002, Vössing 2003: 491–5.

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the life of paideia 167 the comportment of civic teachers, their mores, by all means had priority in their appointment, overriding considerations of academic expertise.12⁸ This concern for the morality of those who wanted to instruct the young in grammar and rhetoric was, as we noted, well-established thinking. Yet, where Julian went further than classical thinkers was the top position given to adequacy of character. Apparently, his line of reasoning resonated with his Christian successors, for when Theodosius II in March 425 issued an edict on the award of honours to the professors of the school in Capitolio at Constantinople, he resumed the idea that public teaching required sound morals: In regard to this matter if any other persons should be reported as appointed to that kind of teaching which each one professes, if they have shown that they are living a life praiseworthy in itself, with proper morals, if they have demonstrated their skill in teaching and eloquence in speaking, their exactness in interpretation, their fluency in discoursing, and if they have been deemed worthy by the judgement of the most honourable assembly . . . these men shall enjoy the same rank as the persons mentioned above.12⁹

To be conferred the title of comes primi ordinis, the professors of the Constantinopolitan institution were supposed not only to demonstrate their professional expertise but also win universal public approval for their conduct of life. After Valentinian and Valens following Julian’s death had slightly reduced the strong emphasis on morals, Theodosius II renewed the hierarchy of conduct and expertise.13⁰ It is important to note that the award of the honours depended on public recognition of the candidate’s ethical merits, although the precise criteria and procedure are not spelt out in the edict. The rationale behind the ruling was evidently to impose on the teaching profession a moral code, a set of universally accepted norms of behaviour. If the education sector was to rest on firm moral foundations, matters of discipline could not stop with the professors, but had to include the students as well. Thus, in March 370 the Emperors Valentinian, Valens, and Gratian jointly decreed that all students travelling to Rome for higher education were subject to strict control by the authorities. Immediately after their arrival, the students were 12⁸ See Chapter 1.3. 12⁹ Cod. Theod. 6.21.1 (15 March 425), issued at Constantinople, to Theophilus, prefect of the city: qua in re quicumque alii ad id doctrinae genus, quod unusquisque profitetur, ordinati prodentur, si laudabilem in se probis moribus vitam esse monstraverint, si docendi peritiam facundiamque dicendi, interpretandi subtilitatem, copiam disserendi se habere patefecerint et coetu amplissimo iudicante digni fuerint aestimati . . . isdem, quibus praedicti viri, dignitatibus perfruantur. See Schlange-Schöningen 1995: 114–21 on the emperor’s motives for issuing this edict; further, Vössing 1997: 331. 13⁰ See Cod. Theod. 13.3.6 (11 January 364): Si qui erudiendis adulescentibus vita pariter et facundia idoneus erit, vel novum instituat auditorium vel repetat intermissum (‘If any man should be found suitable for teaching the youth equally in character and eloquence, he may either establish a new auditorium or take possession of one that has been abandoned’). Cf. Cod. Theod. 13.3.7 (19 January 369), which with the phrase a probatissimis adprobati might also refer to moral requirements.

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168 education in late antiquity expected to produce to the magister census an official travel permit issued by the governor of their home provinces. Apart from evaluating their study achievements recorded in the document, the officer was also assigned the right and duty to keep the young men’s manners under surveillance. These same officials of tax assessment shall warn the students that they shall individually conduct themselves in their assemblies as persons should who consider it their duty to avoid a shameful and dishonourable reputation and bad associations, all of which we consider as next to criminality. Nor shall the students attend shows too frequently nor commonly take part in unseasonable parties. We indeed grant to you the authority that, if any student should fail to conduct himself in the city as the dignity of liberal studies demands, he shall be publicly flogged, immediately taken on board a ship, expelled from the city, and returned home.131

The students were to behave orderly in their gatherings, spend their time only on their studies, and abstain from student clubs, spectacles, and parties. This edict, it is true, reflected the well-known imperial concern about unrest (and also tax evasion), and it is open to question to what extent the law was implemented in practice. Nonetheless, it is unambiguous evidence that the rulers imposed on students moral norms that defined the well-behaved citizen and deferent subject. The strong bond between higher learning and the virtuous life was to be maintained and reinforced by the highest powers. In addition, the severe punishment announced for infringement was meant to force the adolescents into compliance with the ethical norms governing the social and political elite. The tenacity of these expectations was proved once more when the Germanic kings who replaced Roman rulers made pronouncements in a similar vein. King Theoderic not only wanted his care for studies to be known but also alluded to the nexus between learning and virtue when he dealt with the discipline of students.132 And his grandson Athalaric, extolling grammar as ornatrix humani generis, associated eloquence and grammar with boni mores, which added another layer to his view that learning distinguished Romans from barbarians.133 When

131 Cod. Theod. 14.9.1 (12 March 370), issued at Trier, to Olybrius, prefect of the city: idem inmineant censuales, ut singuli eorum tales se in conventibus praebeant, quales esse debent, qui turpem inhonestamque famam et consociationes, quas proximas putamus esse criminibus, aestiment fugiendas neve spectacula frequentius adeant aut adpetant vulgo intempestiva convivia. quin etiam tribuimus potestatem, ut, si quis de his non ita in urbe se gesserit, quemadmodum liberalium rerum dignitas poscat, publice verberibus adfectus statimque navigio superpositus abiciatur urbe domumque redeat. 132 Cassiod. var. 4.6. 133 Cassiod. var. 9.21 (533 ce), addressed to the senate of Rome. Note that the king suggests an analogy between the training in eloquence and moral sense (3). At the threshold to late antiquity, in 297/8, the panegyrist Eumenius of Autun attributed the same ideology to the Roman rulers (Paneg. 9[4].8).

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the life of paideia 169 upon the appointment to the praetorian prefecture he lauded Cassiodorus and reviewed his impressive career, the king also stressed the senator’s wedding of learning with virtue. Cassiodorus had proved through his conduct that erudition was incompatible with vice—an achievement deservedly recognized by his official posts.13⁴ Such official pronouncements and the imperial jurisdiction promulgated the ideology of learning as coterminous with the virtuous life. Although they are not biographic narratives proper, these documents officially endorsed the view that true paideia primarily found expression in a particular manner of life. More than that, as monarchical proclamations, they elevated this ideology to binding norms. The rulers’ views on the virtues by which a genuinely educated man could be recognized were certainly anything but revolutionary. Yet the very act of making such authoritative statements fixed in the public imagination the idea that the educated ethos was a kind of gold standard of civilization. There were also subtler modes for codifying expectations and imposing norms of behaviour on teachers and learners. A fine example of these probably no less effective channels of communicating social standards is the treasure house of late antique antiquarianism, Macrobius’ Saturnalia. Written in the 430s, this lively literary banquet has often been mined for its wealth of information on a wide range of subjects and in recent years caused debate on its possible religious implications.13⁵ It would, however, be unwise to ignore the author’s dedication of the work to his young son. We have already seen that Synesius adopted the role of his son’s instructor to expound his convictions about true education, and we may reasonably surmise that his Roman peer intended the seven books of the Saturnalia both as a compilation of knowledge for his child Eustathius and as a guidebook on how to behave as a learned and noble man.13⁶ Macrobius certainly chose to condense the fruits of his learning in the form of a feast during the holidays not purely for reasons of entertainment—important though this aim is—but wanted his heir to benefit from the dialogic presentation as well. Over the three days of the festival of the Saturnalia prominent Roman noblemen of the late fourth century, including Vettius Agorius Praetextatus, Quintus Aurelius Symmachus, and Nicomachus Flavianus, gather in light mood, together with some scholars like the young grammarian Servius, to celebrate the occasion not with sumptuous feasting but learned conversation. On the first day, the participants, twelve in total, start discussing multifarious antiquarian subjects, such as Roman chronology, before turning on the following two days to what is dearest to their hearts, the poet Vergil. The writer of the Aeneid in the course of 13⁴ Cassiod. var. 9.24 (1 September 533). See in particular 9.24.3, 5–7. 13⁵ Cameron 2011: 231–72 has argued most insistently against the view that Macrobius wanted to defend Roman paganism against Christian pressure. See also Kaster 1988: 88–9, König 2012: 201–2, and Jones 2014: 151–7 on Macrobius’ religious affiliation. 13⁶ The aim of furnishing Eustathius with things worth knowing is stated in the preface (Macr. Sat. praef. 4 and 10–11). For a discussion of the preface see Chapter 5.2.

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170 education in late antiquity the banquet gains the gathering’s admiration not only as the pinnacle of Roman poetry but also for his astounding erudition in all sorts of learning. To lighten up the atmosphere, the participants weave into their serious talks discussion of topics suitable for a convivium, ranging from jokes and anecdotes to extravagance in dining. Given that the contributions to the joint exegesis of the Roman national poet often amount to short lectures on various academic disciplines, we can say that Macrobius, although he did not write a commentary proper, wanted to furnish his son with a compendium of knowledge anchored to Vergil.13⁷ Teaching the young Eustathius grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, and other things worth learning was, however, not Macrobius’ sole purpose. This aim he could have achieved more easily with theoretical discussion and handbooks. Instead, he decided to add his work to the tradition of the literary dialogue and, more specifically, the genre of the table talk. By doing so, Macrobius could assign the contributions to different figures and at the same time depict how the participants deal with the subject matters and engage with one another. Consequently, the way the speakers are behaving towards their partners, how they are responding to statements and questions, colours the learned conversation from beginning to end. And Macrobius, indeed, did his best to show us different characters of flesh and blood in interaction, as Robert Kaster has illuminated.13⁸ Although the gathering is set in a largely aristocratic, that is, socially homogeneous milieu, there is considerable variation: while the hosts Praetextatus and Symmachus are the cream of Roman aristocracy, Avienus is a young man who is clearly their inferior, both in knowledge and savoir faire. Evangelus, an uninvited intruder, is already upon his entrance shown as a person who is not fully at ease in such a dignified company, whereas Servius, a teacher from a lower social background, carefully watches his behaviour, so as not to offend anyone. Robert Kaster has drawn attention to the values that the speakers at Macrobius’ symposium embody and has shown that the Saturnalia are pervaded by a distinctive ethos in which knowing one’s place is paramount.13⁹ This characteristic ideology is predicated on the belief that morals and learning should go together and ideally form a union. Kaster’s observations open an excellent path to the Saturnalia’s pedagogic programme. Praetextatus, for example, is depicted by the narrator in such a fashion that he appears as the epitome of the erudite gentleman: his contributions to the various investigations show him as a man of broad learning, well versed in almost any branch of the liberal arts, with a clear preference for literary studies. His cultivation finds expression also in his manners, for he is an 13⁷ Goldlust 2010 and Olmos 2012, among others, have emphasized the encyclopaedic nature of the work. 13⁸ Kaster 1980 and Kaster 1988: 60–2. See also Dorfbauer 2009. 13⁹ Succinctly stated in Kaster 2011: 1.xlii–xliii: ‘The ability of each member (save Evangelus) instinctively and automatically to define and assume his proper place is the essence of the ethos that dominates the dialogue.’

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the life of paideia 171 exemplar of politeness, tactfulness, and modesty, and maintains a tranquil mind even when offended by the outrageous misbehaviour of others.1⁴⁰ The diligent observation of propriety is not unique to the host. The other members of the group, too, by what they say and how they behave display a remarkable sense of decorum, at any moment making clear that they have fully internalized the values and norms that regulated the comportment of the Roman upper class. How deeply engrained these norms were in Macrobius’ and his peers’ thinking is indicated by the fact that the character who outstandingly illustrates these virtues does not even belong to the nobility. Already upon his entrance, the grammarian Servius’ striking self-effacement can be observed in action, as he, only recently established as a teacher, enters with his eyes upon the ground, almost as if he tried to hide. Here and elsewhere in the Saturnalia the young man stays true to his main character traits, being admirable for his learning and likeable for his modesty (iuxta doctrina mirabilis et amabilis verecundia).1⁴1 Tellingly, these core values are embodied by the poet Vergil as well.1⁴2 In every situation Servius knows how to behave appropriately, now showing due deference to his elders and the nobiles, now sharing his expert knowledge with the others, just as the moment requires. Respectful, decorous comportment essentially comes with and, indeed, coincides with learning. Even when it is his turn to amuse the gathering with a joke, Servius’ great verecundia makes him hesitate, so as not to be caught in an awkward situation. But then the unthinkable happens: while at first Servius out of shyness prefers silence, Evangelus snarls at him in extremely combative and rude fashion, accusing the grammaticus of haughtiness and hypocritical shamefulness.1⁴3 Evangelus’ unprovoked outburst against the grammarian stands out from the peaceful sharing of witticisms as a gross breach of etiquette. Macrobius has given his readers every opportunity to see Evangelus for what he is: a social misfit and an oppositional figure.1⁴⁴ No sooner has Evangelus entered the stage, without being invited, that he reveals his hostility towards the group, and he continues throughout with personal attacks on the others.1⁴⁵ His intellectual and aesthetic preferences also set him apart from the other characters. He is the only one to show scorn for the group’s exalted view of Vergil, for which he deservedly receives Symmachus’ reproach that 1⁴⁰ See Macr. Sat. 1.7.5, where the narrator characterizes Praetextatus as ad omnem patientiam constanter animi tranquillitate firmus, after Evangelus has demonstrated his rudeness already at his first appearance. 1⁴1 Macr. Sat. 1.2.15. The general significance of the union of erudition and morals is underlined by the narrator telling in the same paragraph that Symmachus and Caecina Albinus were bound together as friends by their characters and pursuits (moribus ac studiis). 1⁴2 Macr. Sat. 1.16.44 (idem poeta doctrina ac verecundia iuxta nobilis). 1⁴3 Macr. Sat. 2.2.12–13. See Kaster 1980: 226–79. 1⁴⁴ See also König 2012: 224–5. 1⁴⁵ Macr. Sat. 1.7.1–10. Significantly, the narrator tells us how the group responded to Evangelus’ unexpected interruption: most of them frowned and found his intrusion disagreeable and ill-suited to the placid nature of their gathering.

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172 education in late antiquity his understanding of the poet does not exceed that of a schoolboy.1⁴⁶ Evangelus failed to make the leap from the child’s acquisition of knowledge to the life shaped by true learning. As a disagreeable outsider he deeply challenges both the ethical and cultural values defining the lives of the gathered men. To drive home his point, the author included in the symposium a figure that emerges as a veritable anti-Evangelus. The young Avienus as not yet having completed his studies but highly curious and docile is certainly the character with whom Macrobius’ son could identify most easily. Significantly, Avienus is also the only one among the cast to undergo a development in the course of the talks.1⁴⁷ No doubt he is a positive figure and has all the potential to find his place within the circles of the erudite noblemen. He has read his Vergil but is still considering whether he should pursue the path of proper rhetorical studies. Understandably for a student of his age, Avienus at first occasionally transgresses the limits of the decorum, being carried away by youthful ebullience and interrupting the others.1⁴⁸ Yet, gradually he assumes the proper way of behaviour until his eagerness to learn is matched also by due deference.1⁴⁹ Avienus perfectly exemplifies the way in which a young person, in interaction with learned men, assimilates the social norms and protocol that regulate the life of learning. With the sympotic conversation Macrobius intended to impart to his audience, first and foremost the young Eustathius, insight into an area of knowledge and simultaneously to demonstrate the appropriate mode in which knowledge is established, shared, and performed. One of the distinguishing characteristics of Macrobius’ dialogue is that he has an eye for the subtleties of social interaction, the signals given by verbal and non-verbal responses. These, too, were part of his pedagogic undertaking—the hidden curriculum, as it were—because such details taught Macrobius’ son that learning was so much more than the acquisition of theoretical knowledge. In his father’s eyes, genuine education translated into the civilized conduct of a gentleman and manifested itself in the cultured exchange with others. It was anything but a self-contained pursuit; in fact, it was inherently communal. Only the dialogue form, dramatizing erudition and lending individuality to it, could guarantee that this message was not lost on the keen student. By virtually watching education in practice, the young reader of the Saturnalia, while absorbing the essentials of grammar, rhetoric, literature, and philosophy, almost imperceptibly adopted the ethos expected from the well-mannered elite man. What young Eustathius was to gain Macrobius made explicit right from the start: as the second-order narrator Postumianus, who reports the dialogue from written notes, says, ‘I thought to myself that I was entering on the type of life enjoyed by those whom wise men call blessed’.1⁵⁰ 1⁴⁶ Macr. Sat. 1.24.2–9. 1⁴⁷ Cf. Gerth 2013: 100–1. 1⁴⁸ Macr. Sat. 1.6.3 and 2.3.14–15. 1⁴⁹ See Kaster 1980: 242–3. 1⁵⁰ Macr. Sat. 1.2.13 (ad eorum mihi vitam qui beati a sapientibus dicerentur accedere videbar).

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the life of paideia 173

4.4 Towards a Christian Liberal Leisure For the peaceful learned conversation among cultivated men to take place one crucial prerequisite was the liberal leisure enjoyed by the participants, the otium, as Macrobius calls it in traditional manner, which did not admit the aggressiveness and impertinence of someone like Evangelus.1⁵1 Similarly, Synesius held that in order to practise the most fruitful teaching in a small class, the Hellenic philosopher above all needed σχολή, captured in the ambience of Plato’s Phaedrus, far from the obligations and disturbances of the life overly absorbed by public affairs.1⁵2 However, their models of a leisure conducive to the learned life was firmly rooted in the lifestyle honoured by the Graeco-Roman elites for centuries. It was not automatically equally well suited for men of deeper Christian belief and higher religious aspirations. Those men, if they wanted to find a mode of living congenial to both faith and erudition, had to leave the well-trodden paths of otium, or at least to take a side track. Therefore, we will now turn to Christian thinkers who, in engagement with classical models, developed a new paradigm of ‘learningas-life’. Although the gospels had gone to considerable lengths to depict Christ as a teacher and the Old Testament knew of figures who were highly praised for their wisdom, Christian thinkers had to look elsewhere for precursors who succeeded in blending the life of faith with sophisticated education and disseminated this kind of learning among their followers. One obvious place to look for was the Alexandria of the imperial era, where first Clement and then Origen had given proof that Christians were capable of serious scholarship and professional teaching. For a later churchman who, like Eusebius of Caesarea, venerated Origen as the ne plus ultra of Christian paideia it was, therefore, an obvious choice to project his ideal of the erudite life onto the third-century theologian. How dear the image of Origen as the master scholar was to Eusebius can easily be seen from his most innovative literary achievement, the path-breaking Ecclesiastical History in ten books. While, on the whole, Eusebius’ intention was to give an account of the history of the church, covering the main events and ecclesiastical leaders, from the days of the apostles to his own times, he included a detailed biography of his theological idol in the narrative; as a matter of fact, he devoted an entire book, Book 6, to the course of Origen’s life and career, with the main focus on his accomplishments as a scholar.1⁵3

1⁵1 Macr. Sat. 1.7.2. 1⁵2 Synes. Dion 12.9–10, cf. 5.6; further, ep. 11.9–17, 41.94–5, 100.7–10, 148.66–7 (Garzya/Roques). The tension between the active and the contemplative life, as well as the leisure of the philosopher, is a central concern in Synesius’ thinking. See ep. 41, 101, and 103. Treu 1958: 105–6 and Garzya 1996: 214–15. 1⁵3 For the programme of the Ecclesiastical History and the author’s claim to originality see Eus. h.e. 1.1.

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174 education in late antiquity It hardly needs to be pointed out that Eusebius with his portrait of Origen did not write an impartial record of the theologian’s positions, doings, and achievements, but composed an idealized narrative to illuminate a saintly life firmly anchored in Christian orthodoxy.1⁵⁴ The author’s agenda, together with the conventional template of the philosophical bios, also shaped the way in which Origen’s progress as learner and teacher is recounted. From his early years on, Origen’s defining trait is inborn talent, paired with natural curiosity. Although following obediently the course of studies devised by his father, the young boy happens to switch roles when he instructs his father on martyrdom. Moreover, the student, not satisfied with studying the Holy Scriptures in the customary manner, already seeks for a hidden, deeper meaning and longs for learning beyond his age.1⁵⁵ Significantly, the child prodigy’s keen interest is inflamed not by the usual liberal education, which he also receives, but by sacred studies, which are to determine Origen’s scholarship later in life. First, however, the young Origen upon his father’s death seems to travel the easy road when he intensifies his study of Greek literature, so that he earns his living from expertise in philology. That he embarks on the career of a professional schoolteacher clearly reflects the situation at the time, when the profession of a Christian scholar had not been established yet. It did not take long before Origen decided to teach others in the faith, thus filling a glaring gap in Alexandria. Having taken charge of the catechetical school at the age of eighteen, Origen soon acquires impressive fame for his instruction, so much so that his teaching even attracts numerous pagans.1⁵⁶ What sets his school apart from ordinary catechetical instruction is the composite curriculum, which appears as the hallmark of Origen’s intellect. Instead of teaching his students the elements of faith alone, he includes in the course of studies, at least for those with superior intelligence, the liberal disciplines and, on the basis of this propaedeutic, higher philosophical studies. On account of his philosophical exegesis, Origen even wins the admiration of the Greeks themselves. Secular schooling is not only for the brighter students, though. Those endowed with lesser abilities are provided by him with instruction in encyclical studies because Origen considers secular and philosophical learning as useful for the understanding of the Divine Scriptures.1⁵⁷ The Ecclesiastical History adumbrates in Origen’s teaching a Christian curriculum that is open to the incorporation of the traditional disciplines, as long as they are subservient to the study of Scripture and instruction in the faith. However, it is clear that the fusion of both types of teaching is not without its difficulties, for once he has been entrusted with catechetical instruction, Origen deems training in grammar incompatible with training in divine learning and 1⁵⁴ Cf. Urbano 2013: 152–3. Cox 1983: 69–101 in her analysis of Eusebius’ portrayal points out that Origen is presented as a godlike philosopher rather than an ecclesiastical figure (esp. 100). 1⁵⁵ Eus. h.e. 6.2.6–9. 1⁵⁶ Eus. h.e. 6.3.3. 1⁵⁷ Eus. h.e. 6.18–19.

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the life of paideia 175 even regards grammatical schooling (τὴν τῶν γραμματικῶν λόγων διατριβήν) as opposed to sacred learning.1⁵⁸ His initial rejection, though, does not prevent him from afterwards embracing a paideia as broad as possible. Just as he himself aspires to πολυμάθεια and πολυπειρία, Origen integrates an encyclopaedic curriculum of secular subjects into the course of sacred studies.1⁵⁹ Later in his life, when he has settled in Caesarea in Palestine, his pedagogic abilities are tested once more, as he, though not ordained, is entrusted with the task of preaching and expounding the Scriptures publicly to the common people.1⁶⁰ Eusebius’ portrayal, however, celebrates its subject not only for his sharpness of mind, philological scholarship, and aptitude for teaching. While attracting droves of young men with his scholarly expertise, Origen casts a peculiar spell on his disciples with his way of life. Heading the Alexandrian school, Eusebius relates, Origen attracted a ‘multitude who approached through him the divine instruction. For the manner of his life yielded truly admirable achievements of the most genuine philosophy.’1⁶1 Origen’s manner of life is in accordance with his doctrine, and his doctrine with his life.1⁶2 In the combination of assiduous study of the Bible and ascetic labour, he achieves the heights of the philosophical life (φιλόσοφος βίος).1⁶3 Significantly, Eusebius here states that Origen’s teaching of divine matters is coextensive with ascetic toil, thereby indicating that learning coincides with life. Consequently, Origen earns his astounding fame as much for his ascetic conduct as for his intellectual rigour, demonstrating that life and teaching form an inseparable union. To underscore the impact of this ideal, Eusebius adds that two preferred students of Origen’s, the siblings Plutarch and Heraclas, gave abundant evidence of a philosophical and ascetic life. Evidently, Origen inspires his students to the choice of a specific life, that of the well-trained Christian whose philosophy prepares him for, and reaches its consummation in, divine martyrdom.1⁶⁴ To a pagan fanatic, the appropriation of Greek scholarship and philosophy for the ascetic life must have been a sacrilege.1⁶⁵ Yet, for the Christian biographer the 1⁵⁸ Eus. h.e. 6.3.8–9. 1⁵⁹ For Origen’s breadth of learning see Eus. h.e. 6.19.9–13. 1⁶⁰ Eus. h.e. 6.19.16–18. 1⁶1 Eus. h.e. 6.3.6: . . . τῆς πληθύος ἕνεκεν τῶν δι’ αὐτοῦ τῇ θείᾳ προσιόντων διδασκαλίᾳ· ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ κατὰ πρᾶξιν ἔργα αὐτῷ γνησιωτάτης φιλοσοφίας κατορθώματα εὖ μάλα θαυμαστὰ περιεῖχεν. 1⁶2 Eus. h.e. 6.3.7: οἷον γοῦν τὸν λόγον, τοιόνδε, φασίν, τὸν τρόπον καὶ οἷον τὸν τρόπον, τοιόνδε τὸν λόγον ἐπεδείκνυτο (cf. Pl. R. 3.400d); further, 6.3.13 on Origen stimulating a large number of pupils and even pagans to zeal for the philosophical life by the pattern of his own life. See Cox 1983: 86–8 on Origen’s asceticism in Eusebius’ account. 1⁶3 Eus. h.e. 6.3.9, juxtaposing Origen’s night-time scriptural studies and the ascetic lifestyle (βίῳ τε ὡς ἔνι μάλιστα ἐγκαρτερῶν φιλοσοφωτάτῳ), and 6.3.13. 1⁶⁴ Eus. h.e. 6.3.1–2. See Urbano 2013: 157. 1⁶⁵ Eusebius’ aim to present Origen as accomplished both in classical education and Christian forms of philosophy is also reflected in the vocabulary applied to his pedagogic pursuits. On the one hand, Eusebius uses the established terms to describe Origen’s job and put him on a par with the Greek teachers and philosophers (παιδεία, ἡ τῶν ἐγκυκλίων παιδεία, μαθήματα, θεωρία, διδασκαλία, φοιτητής, γράμματα, ἀκρόασις, προπαιδεύματα, τὰ ἐγκύκλια γράμματα, πολυμάθεια, φιλολογέω). On the other hand, he employs words and phrases that point to the ascetic life and a unique Christian way of instruction (ἀσκέω, ἄσκησις, διατριβή, ἡ τοῦ κατηχεῖν διατριβή, φιλόκαλος).

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176 education in late antiquity pagan assaults on Origen were an absolute gift, as he could cite with pleasure Porphyry’s criticism that Origen had perverted Greek philosophy by choosing the wrong, that is, Christian, course of life. Even the fiercest enemies had to acknowledge that Origen was forging an unseen and challenging manner of life.1⁶⁶ This type of existence marked, despite its traditional ingredients, a departure from the usages and convictions of the educated elite, a move nicely illustrated by Origen’s abandonment of grammatical teaching as a hindrance to sacred learning and his disposal of whatever books of classical literature he possessed.1⁶⁷ The inclusion of this detail, furthermore, indicates that the theologian was still on a threshold, in a transitional stage, before he reached a satisfactory settlement between Hellenic culture and Christian belief. Arch-enemy of Christianity that he was, the philosopher Porphyry deemed it outrageous that a man brought up as a Greek in Greek literature should defect to a life contrary to established customs and try to blend Hellenic paideia with Christian doctrines, or rather ‘myths’. Unlike the pagan critic, Eusebius by giving such a prominent place in his Ecclesiastical History to Origen’s exemplary biography presented to his Christian readers the apologetic proof that a pioneering and superior mode of life was heralded by the revered theologian. Even Porphyry’s own words bore witness that Origen’s studious existence was a distinctive way of life, albeit a bios detested by the pagan thinker.1⁶⁸ If St Antony sought the truly Christian existence in the withdrawal from society and hostility to culture, Origen paved the way for a harmonious wedding of ascetic philosophy and Greek erudition, for the benefit of the whole church. In doing so, the perfect Christian teacher created a new habitus for upper-class men with high aspirations. Origen’s devotion to divine studies and the instruction of his pupils gave the σχολή of the respectable citizen a new direction.1⁶⁹ The leisure that characterized the erudite Christian was to be spent on understanding the Scriptures and guiding others to the philosophical life, as two sides of a single coin. Scholarship alone was not enough. Rather, the learned man’s existence was informed through and through by a pedagogic ethos. The Origen portrayed by the Ecclesiastical History showed its readers that paideia did not consist in books, intellectual studies, and sophisticated reasoning. All that was certainly part and parcel of education. But the Alexandrian scholar’s biography was a powerful, living demonstration that true education was essentially a form of life, the more so in a Christian context, where intellectual pursuits 1⁶⁶ Eus. h.e. 6.19.2–9. Porph. Chr. fr. 6F Becker (fr. 39 Harnack). 1⁶⁷ Eus. h.e. 6.3.8–9. 1⁶⁸ Eus. h.e. 6.19.6: εἰς δὲ τὴν ὀρθὴν τοῦ βίου προαίρεσιν τὴν ἐναντίαν ἐκείνῳ πορείαν ἐποιήσατο. 1⁶⁹ Eus. h.e. 6.8.6: τότε γε μὴν ὁ Ὠριγένης ἐπὶ τῆς Ἀλεξανδρείας τὸ τῆς θείας διδασκαλίας ἔργον εἰς ἅπαντας ἀφυλάκτως τοὺς προσιόντας νύκτωρ καὶ μεθ’ ἡμέραν ἐπετέλει, τοῖς θείοις ἀόκνως μαθήμασιν καὶ τοῖς ὡς αὐτὸν φοιτῶσιν τὴν πᾶσαν ἀνατιθεὶς σχολήν (‘But at this time Origen continued without regard for himself to practise the work of divine instruction at Alexandria by day and night for all who came to him, devoting his entire leisure without hesitation to divine studies and to his pupils’). See also 6.15 on the leisure required for serious divine studies.

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the life of paideia 177 counted nothing without pious conduct. To make that point, Eusebius followed the course of his idol’s life, as an illustration of how learning could be turned into a Christian existence. In this way, the church father introduced something new, even if including traditional elements, and thus his Origen emerges as a transitional figure. On the one hand, he retained the pattern of the philosophical life and also the encyclopaedic disciplines of classical learning; on the other, the idea of ‘learning-as-life’ was given a new meaning, as Origen’s paideia came to its full only in shaping others’ lives and inspiring them to the ascetic φιλόσοφος βίος. The pedagogic ethos that put the distinguishing mark on Origen’s biography found its perfect environment in the leisure (σχολή) devoted to joint learning. In this ambience, the learned Christian could, as it were, act out his paideia. Eusebius was not a lonely fighter for the Christian scholar driven by a distinctive pedagogic impetus. Augustine no less helped to put this novel figure on the map. We have already seen in Synesius’ Dion that it was not a light challenge to synthesize the life of leisure with the pedagogic mission of a philosophical teacher. In Synesius’ eyes, the schoolteachers’ miserable existence sent a strong warning against giving up one’s independence for professional teaching.1⁷⁰ With similar intentions, the young Augustine sought to bridge the gap between the profession of the teacher and the life of contemplation essential for one’s own perfection. Yet, to him the problem was existential and caused a deep personal crisis. At the same time, this decisive moment, which threatened Augustine’s entire life planning, created a unique opportunity to settle, for the moment, the question of the best way in which the Christian person should deal with education. Somewhat paradoxically, it was higher education that triggered Augustine’s near breakdown.1⁷1 In late summer 386, during the vintage vacation, the aspiring teacher of rhetoric at Milan found himself struggling not only with issues of physical health that were hard to diagnose but also with mental problems. The blame for his suffering lay squarely with his job. What was depressing him was the great pressure he felt while playing the customary game of ancient rhetoricians and sophists: not only that Augustine, as a ‘salesman of words’, had to teach his students things that rang to him hollow, superficial, and hypocritical; he also began to question whether the hunt for applause, reputation, and friendship with influential men was really worth it.1⁷2 Surely that could not have been everything in his life, and even less so since he had become increasingly dissatisfied with Manichaeism and converted to Catholic Christianity. With this new religious identity the treadmill of the rhetorical school was incompatible, and so the young professor said farewell to the bright prospects of a spectacular career. For a while,

1⁷⁰ Synes. Dion 12–14. 1⁷1 Augustine relates this phase of his life in conf. 8.6.14–9.6.14. For the events see Brown 1967: 108–20, Fuhrer 2014, Lane Fox 2015: 297–306. 1⁷2 Aug. conf. 9.5.13, 4.2.2, 8.6.13.

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178 education in late antiquity though, it seemed advisable before handing in his formal resignation and receiving baptism to retreat for the duration of the holidays to a country estate owned by his acquaintance, the grammarian Verecundus. There, in Cassiciacum close to Milan, we find Augustine from November 386 to early 387 spending the days with his mother Monica, his son Adeodatus, and a number of relatives and friends whom he had persuaded to try out, at least for some weeks, a different, more gratifying way of living. This period ended when he returned to the city and was baptized by bishop Ambrose. Catherine Conybeare has pointed out that Augustine at this time was torn between two poles, or two very different courses of life, the secular career as the respected chair of rhetoric and the wholehearted dedication to the church. As she puts it:1⁷3 Augustine at Cassiciacum was self-consciously on the threshold of something new, and he set out to make that sense of liminality public with the composition of his dialogues there—for, as he explained in De Ordine, ‘quite a few people suddenly convert to a wonderfully good life, and until they draw attention to it with some more conspicuous actions, everyone believes them to be the same sort of people as they used to be’.

It is this sense of liminality that also informs the pedagogy adumbrated in the writings composed during the country retreat. In terms of Augustine’s launching of a career as a writer, the stay at Verecundus’ estate proved very fruitful. Alongside a number of letters, he produced there a handful of philosophical dialogues, Contra Academicos, De ordine, and De beata vita, further the highly innovative Soliloquia, the first intimate self-portrait in ancient literature.1⁷⁴ These works are known for their borrowings from Cicero’s philosophical works, with the lost Hortensius holding a prominent place and being cited openly.1⁷⁵ Another conspicuous feature, often noted by scholars, is their strongly autobiographic character. For one thing, the dialogues suggest the identity between the author Augustine and the narrator, and speaker, of the reported conversations. The sense of authenticity is enhanced by frequent remarks that the written versions derive from notes immediately taken while the dialogues were taking place.1⁷⁶ Further, the reader is instantly struck by the great number of passages in which Augustine looks back on his career up to the resignation and reflects on his 1⁷3 Conybeare 2005: 49, quoting Aug. ord. 2.10.29. 1⁷⁴ See the discussion in Fuhrer 2012. 1⁷⁵ References to the Hortensius are made, for example, in c. acad. 1.1.4, 3.4.7, beat. vit. 1.4, and soliloq. 1.10.17. For the enormous impulse that Cicero’s protreptic gave to Augustine’s intellectual formation see conf. 3.4.7–8, 8.7.17. 1⁷⁶ See Augustine’s remarks on the note-taking in, for example, Aug. c. acad. 1.5.15, ord. 1.2.5, 1.8.26, 1.8.27. It needs to be stressed that for all their appearance of authenticity, the Cassiciacum dialogues are no doubt stylized representations of the historical conversations. Trelenberg 2009: 375–85 has a sensible discussion of the historicity of the Cassiciacum dialogues.

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the life of paideia 179 motivations for the dramatic break with his past. Arguably, these self-reflective comments have wider significance and can be regarded as paradigmatic, in the way they engage the reader, above all Augustine’s munificent patron Romanianus. Less often, scholars have appreciated that the Cassiciacum dialogues form a veritable pedagogic manifesto and extensively discuss the conditions of teaching and learning. Therese Fuhrer has emphasized that the works together outline an education programme, most systematically in De ordine, which with its theorization of the liberal disciplines provides the basis for Augustine’s plans, never completed, to compose a series of treatises devoted to each of the disciplines.1⁷⁷ The Contra Academicos first draws attention to the process and possibility of the discovery of truth; in De beata vita we then see the dialogue partners embarking on the quest for the happy life; third, De ordine explores the proper order of learning; and finally, in the Soliloquia Augustine in conversation with Reason reflects on the right method for gaining knowledge of God. It is important to note that Augustine by means of these four works was aiming at more than imparting to his readers theoretical knowledge on these topics. His ultimate goal was, it will be argued, to shape their lives according to his educational ideals; to show them the way to the good life, which he considered a life of learning. This purpose is made explicit in the proems of the first two books of Contra Academicos, in which Augustine, taking up the recent misfortunes and hardship of his addressee Romanianus, exhorts him to the life in philosophy.1⁷⁸ In essence, the report of the conversations at Cassiciacum is to put before the eyes of Romanianus, who already has philosophical inclinations, an image of a joint enquiry into learning and knowledge that ideally leads to the safe harbour of philosophy, the happy life free from passions.1⁷⁹ If only Romanianus liberated himself from the entanglement in the tribulations of the active life, like Augustine had recently done, he would be able to give a reorientation to his entire existence. From his intimate familiarity with his patron’s psyche, Augustine can point him to a mode of living that promises happiness and fulfilment, one inextricably linked to eruditio and doctrina. Right from the beginning of Contra Academicos, addressing Romanianus, Augustine establishes the close association of the good or happy life and the search for wisdom and knowledge that characterizes the philosophically-minded gentleman, as he is perfectly embodied by the addressee himself. This theme is then the thread giving coherence to the following three books. To underscore this point, the proem to the second book, returning to Augustine’s autobiographic reflections, explains to Romanianus that the philosophical retirement, so graphically depicted in the published dialogue, is the only avenue to the happy life. While from the vantage point of the retreat Augustine appears to interpret his entire life up to this point as an educational journey, 1⁷⁷ Fuhrer 2012: 274–5. 1⁷⁸ Aug. c. acad. 1.1.1–4 and 2.1.1–2.3.9. 1⁷⁹ Aug. c. acad. 2.1.1. See also the proem of De beata vita, beat. vit. 1.1.

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180 education in late antiquity defined by teaching and learning, the leisurely discussions at Cassiciacum now take his formation to a higher level. ‘I did not consider any fortune prosperous, except that which would give leisure for philosophy; no life happy, except that which lives in philosophy’, he declares to his addressee, who, though a devout adherent of this existence, is still prevented from pursuing it.1⁸⁰ In stark contrast to the otium philosophandi, the busy days of his school teaching were filled with worldly things, vanity, arrogance, and ambition. If the quest for philosophy and truth is to give shape to one’s entire being, it is necessary to exchange the education practised in the established schools for the path of the philosophical life. From this point of view, learning appears not as a circumscribed intellectual activity or a fixed period in one’s life, but as a whole manner of existence, something that occupies the mind night and day. The way education is undertaken in the school even seems to be an impediment to education as a way of life. Interwoven with classical echoes and references to Cicero and Vergil as the Cassiciacum dialogues are, they easily could induce us to overlook their Christian layer. Although devoid of biblical allusions, the works nonetheless bear the clear marks of their author’s recent decision to set his hopes on Catholic Christianity. Inevitably, the appeal of the religious life also informed Augustine’s answer to the question of how to gain happiness by means of self-formation. The autobiographic retrospect just mentioned gave him the opportunity to advise his Manichean friend Romanianus on the crucial part played by faith in the choice of the otium philosophandi. As he was accustoming himself to the amenities of leisure, Augustine simultaneously returned to the faith of his childhood and began, eagerly though still hesitantly, to peruse the writings of the apostle Paul.1⁸1 Years later, when in the Confessions he reviewed the course of his fortunes, he stated in even clearer terms that the conversion to the educated life went in parallel, and was inseparable from, the renunciation of worldly concerns and the study of the Scriptures.1⁸2 Thus, the pleasant search for wisdom and truth in the company of friends could not be achieved if not on the foundation of Christianity. The argument comes full circle when the monologue concluding Contra Academicos ceremonially declares that there is but one system of really true philosophy that ensures what Augustine desperately wished for: only the philosophy of the other world, Christianity, was able to merge eruditio, doctrina, and mores.1⁸3 But how was the leisurely learning of the Christian academic to be envisioned? With their wealth of graphic details on the setting of the conversations and the lively characterization of the interlocutors, the Cassiciacum dialogues, like their Platonic and Ciceronian precursors, manage to recreate the enjoyable atmosphere 1⁸⁰ Aug. c. acad. 2.2.4: . . . nullam mihi videri prosperam fortunam, nisi quae otium philosophandi daret, nullam beatam vitam, nisi qua in philosophia viveretur. 1⁸1 Aug. c. acad. 2.2.5. 1⁸2 Aug. conf. 8.6.13–14; further, 7.21.27, 8.12.28–30. See also retract. 1.1.1. 1⁸3 Aug. c. acad. 3.19.42–20.43.

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the life of paideia 181 which on the country estate inspired the teacher Augustine and the mixed bunch of his students to make progress on the path to wisdom. Nothing could be further from the anguish the academic teacher suffered in Milan than the months spent in the stimulating natural environment of Verecundus’ estate. Contra Academicos and De ordine in particular conjure up the image of a circle of close friends enjoying for days regular philosophical disputations, every now and then interrupted by meals and some practical work on the farm.1⁸⁴ The meadows and baths of the rural villa create a comfortable context for fruitful dialogues. Far from the bustling city, in the peace of the countryside, Augustine and his relatives and young friends pursue intellectual activities in an alternation of concentrated discussion, in which Augustine takes the lead, and leisure. There is time for reading the Latin classics, whether individually or together, time to attempt some verse-making themselves, and time to tend to their correspondence. The otium of the autumn and winter provides for contemplation and thinking about God and the world, with philosophy complemented by intense biblical studies and joint prayer. As befits a company pervaded by the spirit of amicitia and the ambience of the place, the talks of the group are marked by urbanity, the shared pleasure in joking and quoting from the Aeneid and other poems—a reminder of the erudite drinking party in distant Rome depicted by Macrobius. Augustine’s vivid representation of the conversations draws a lively picture of the characteristic ethos of the life of learning. The composition of the gathering at Cassiciacum certainly contributed to the success of the learned leisure. At first glance, we might be surprised that none of Augustine’s elite acquaintances in Milan joined the circle for philosophical contemplation. We know from the Confessions that Augustine was not alone in his desire for withdrawal from the world of business and activities. Flavius Mallius Theodorus, a man of far-reaching philosophical and administrative talents, who had a great impact upon the development of Augustine’s thought, had temporarily retired from an active life.1⁸⁵ Other Milanese friends of Augustine’s who were also playing with the idea of philosophical retreat did not follow to the country estate, either. Instead, Augustine’s retirement brought together friends of mixed backgrounds and abilities. Among them was the author’s 15-year-old son, as well as his untrained brother; Licentius, the young son of his patron Romanianus; two North African cousins who had barely started their education; and even Monica, Augustine’s elderly mother, who was completely untouched by formal

1⁸⁴ See, for example, the references to the group’s activities and the amenities of the country life in Aug. c. acad. 1.4.10, 1.5.15, 2.4.10, 2.11.25, 3.1.1, ord. 1.2.5, 1.8.25, 1.8.26, 2.1.1. 1⁸⁵ Aug. conf. 7.9.13, ord. 1.11.31. Flavius Mallius Theodorus, a Christian, was consul in 399, author of a work on the origins of the cosmos and the soul and of astronomic topics. See Trout 1988: 134–5 and Jones et al. 1971–92: 1.900–1, Flavius Mallius Theodorus 27.

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182 education in late antiquity education.1⁸⁶ It was the variation in age, social standing, and intellectual training that made these people a perfect example of Augustine’s pedagogic ideal at the time. He himself undoubtedly was the one guiding the other speakers and wrote into the dialogues for himself the role of the pedagogic authority and mentor of his younger companions.1⁸⁷ However, the differences in intellectual abilities notwithstanding, they are all seen in a harmonious exchange, sometimes instructing the others, sometimes learning from them. Their joint search for the truth in an unassuming manner was a far cry from the zeal and competitiveness Augustine had known as a student and professor of rhetoric. Only in this atmosphere could one truly progress in learning—at times rather painfully, as the two young learners Licentius and Trygetius in particular illustrate. Licentius, who is said to share enthusiastically the life in philosophy with Augustine,1⁸⁸ under his mentorship gradually turns away from the follies of youth toward advancing in the philosophical life. Therefore, he is held up as a suitable role model for his father Romanianus.1⁸⁹ For the kind of protreptic Augustine had in mind the philosophical dialogue was the most suitable literary form, for it allowed him to represent in action the form of existence that he wanted his audience to adopt, as an ideal come true in the shared practice of a group of learners.1⁹⁰ The record of the conversations, that is, of Augustine’s own schola, dramatizes pedagogy, showcasing the dialogue as a living model for education.1⁹1 Depicting search and progress as a fruit of the leisure time enjoyed by a circle of simple believers and intellectuals, the Cassiciacum writings graphically display the practices, thinking, and arguments of the Christian philosopher, his devotion to learning and wisdom on the basis of faith.1⁹2 Similarly to Macrobius, Augustine wanted the literary form to be part of the pedagogic message in order to win over his readers for the life in philosophy. From the notes taken in Cassiciacum, Romanianus, Mallius Theodorus, the dedicatee of De beata vita, Zenobius, the one of De ordine, and further readers envisaged by Augustine could imagine how it felt to devote one’s time, every thought, and every conversation to learning and the joint search for truth. They could learn that

1⁸⁶ In Aug. ord. 1.11.31, Monica assumes that women have no place in philosophy, but Augustine makes clear that philosophy is the love of wisdom and women, too, can love wisdom. As Augustine states in conf. 9.9.21, God was her inner teacher in the school of her heart. For her education and her engagement in the discussions depicted in Augustine’s dialogues see Clark 2015: 80–115. 1⁸⁷ e.g. Aug. c. acad. 1.3.8, 1.9.25, 2.7.17, and the concluding monologue of Book 3. 1⁸⁸ Aug. c. acad. 1.1.4, reiterated in 1.9.25. 1⁸⁹ Cf. Cary 1998, noting parallels between Licentius’ and Augustine’s own development. 1⁹⁰ See Steppat 1980: 92, who highlights as a defining feature of the educational philosophy in De ordine the education and learning in a community (‘erziehende Lebensgemeinschaft der Lernenden’). 1⁹1 Aug. c. acad. 3.4.7 and ord. 1.3.7 call the gathering at Cassiciacum schola nostra, in direct opposition to the rhetorical school. 1⁹2 The pedagogic intention behind the choice of the dialogue form is clearly spelt out to the addressee Zenobius in Aug. ord. 1.2.4.

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the life of paideia 183 otium was the indispensable precondition for this form of eruditio.1⁹3 If the readers should have missed this point, the frequent occurrence of the catchword otium and its cognates constantly reminded them of the mode of life that made true learning possible.1⁹⁴ Augustine, it is true, was at the time by no means the only well-trained Roman who was fascinated by the centuries-old ideal of the leisure enjoyed from time to time by the affluent noblemen. In addition to Theodorus, Christian writers of the end of the fourth century, among them Paulinus of Nola and Prudentius, were also drawn by the call of the traditional otium honestum, as has been pointed out by Dennis Trout.1⁹⁵ However, I would like to suggest that Augustine took the tradition of the retreat to the countryside one crucial step further. When Cicero and other leading men of the Republican era exchanged the busy and tumultuous capital with their country estates, they, too, turned to urbane and learned conversations and philosophical enquiries for which the negotium in the city left no time. But after a while they, of course, returned to the active life to pursue again their business and political activities. With the young Augustine it was a different matter. While for the traditional aristocracy otium, as an exceptional interval, reinforced the validity of the life of negotium, the rhetorical professor wanted to try out an entirely different way of life. There was, as he had firmly resolved, no return ticket. Instead, the liberal leisure of Verecundus’ estate was embraced as a new form of being, marked by a dramatic turn in Augustine’s career and the spatial distance from his former life. To be considered a type of existence, the leisure spent in communal learning and teaching had to be a permanent mode of living. For Augustine, the welcome experience of shared learning and philosophizing provided a key impulse to his self-formation, and he was convinced that this was the superior way, the only one possible for a Christian philosophy.1⁹⁶ More than that, liberated from the fetters of superfluous desires, Augustine saw the otium philosophandi as a return to himself and to happiness.1⁹⁷ The schola of Cassiciacum promised an integrated kind of education, as becomes apparent from the opening of De ordine. There it is emphasized that gaining insight into the order of things is

1⁹3 Already Plato regards leisure as the locus of philosophical activity (Pl. Tht. 172c–d, 175d–e, Plt. 272b–c, Phd. 66d). According to Aristotle, the life of contemplation guarantees happiness, happiness being connected with leisure (Arist. EN 10.7, 1177b4–6, 16–25). 1⁹⁴ e.g. Aug. c. acad. 1.1.3, 1.6.16, 1.9.24, 2.2.4, soliloq. 1.11.18. See also conf. 6.14.24 on Augustine’s and his friends’ project of jointly living a life in contemplative leisure. 1⁹⁵ Trout 1988. 1⁹⁶ Oroz Reta 1996 regards as the main difference of Augustine’s conception of otium its Christian character, the goal of the knowledge of God. For the relationship between Augustine’s notion of the Christian leisure and the classical otium see also Schlapbach 2013: 366–7 and Kirchner 2018: 229–32. Weber 2017 notes in the Cassiciacum dialogues, in contrast to the Confessions, a tension or rivalry between two concepts. There, otium means being free from philosophical discussions, while negotium is having discussions (e.g. c. acad. 1.6.16, 2.4.10). 1⁹⁷ Aug. c. acad. 2.2.4, expressing his enthusiasm about his current leisure and his deep sense of gratitude to his patron Romanianus for making it happen. Cf. conf. 7.10.16.

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184 education in late antiquity impossible without possessing both vitae meritum and habitus eruditionis, that is, an ethos that overcomes the separation of instruction in the disciplines and ethical formation.1⁹⁸ Thus, the programme of the Cassiciacum dialogues made clear that doctrina and studia were to dominate the entire life if one wanted to make progress in wisdom and gain knowledge of God. Just a temporary hiatus, a short-lived step back from the daily grind, would not do. There is a paradox inherent in what Augustine later, in the review of his writings, called the christianae vitae otium: all the ambitions, efforts, and doings of the academic teacher had led to nothing.1⁹⁹ The classical institution of education, the rhetorical school, was evidently no place for true learning and self-formation. For education in the sense of Augustine’s new-found Christian faith to take place, it was necessary to make a clean break with academia and practise learning in a different environment, with different people—and as a different person. In this respect, the young teacher in retirement differs from his contemporary Synesius, who stopped short of banning rhetoric and literary frivolities from his philosophical leisure. However, Augustine eventually returned to Milan for baptism, and in more than one sense this was a significant step. At the turn from 386 to 387 he was pondering the idea of the Christian scholar as the best path of education and formation, a figure sitting on the threshold between tradition and innovation. Yet, later he was highly critical of the elements of classical learning that he as a young writer had retained back then.2⁰⁰ Still in 395, his enthusiastic disciple Licentius was contemplating the key question of Cassiciacum, the retreat to the liberal otium, and he continued making eclectic verses, a literary dilettantism seen by Augustine with some disapproval already during their sojourn on the estate. Augustine’s letter response to him shows that his attitude to the life of learning had changed: now he considered a harmony of poetry and philosophy, and of pagan literature and the Christian life impossible.2⁰1 The learned leisure of the Christian wisdom-seeker, he later stated with disillusionment, still bore too many signs of the ‘school of pride’ he had hoped to replace.2⁰2 But for now, Augustine had shown the way to a Christian learned otium and elevated learning to a legitimate form of Christian life.

1⁹⁸ Aug. ord. 1.1.1. In 2.8.25–9.26 Augustine returns to this thought, outlining a catalogue of virtues that characterize the wise man and putting stress on this man’s way of living and conduct. 1⁹⁹ Aug. retract. 1.1.1, said on his Contra Academicos. Significantly, Augustine does not use this phrase in the Cassiciacum dialogues themselves but only expressions such as otium philosophandi. 2⁰⁰ See his self-evaluation in retract. 1.3.2 (criticizing that he gave too much space to the liberal disciplines), 1.1.2, 1.2.2, and 1.3.2 (excessive use of pagan terminology and praise of pagan philosophers). In 1.3.7 Augustine denies the unreserved praise of ord. 1.11.31 for philosophers as combining ingenium and virtus because the pagan who does not possess true piety cannot have virtuousness. Cf. Trelenberg 2009: 163. 2⁰1 Aug. epist. 26. Augustine castigates Licentius for not being a proper Christian because he takes less care for his soul than for the metrical accuracy of his poems. Cf. Brown 1967: 112. 2⁰2 Aug. conf. 9.4.7.

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the life of paideia 185

4.5 The Educated Ethos Augustine’s struggles bear witness to the difficulties in resolving the question of the learned life in relation to Christian faith. The problem continued to trouble his mind when he wrote De doctrina christiana and warned young men not to indiscriminately embrace the liberal disciplines as if these could secure the happiness of the Christian life.2⁰3 The preoccupation with the relationship between education and the happy life was, however, not exclusive to Christian thinkers but a dominant concern in general pedagogic thinking of this period. Time and again, educational philosophy revisited the theme of the choice of lives in order to explore the intersection of learning and different modes of living. This issue gained particular prominence as thinkers, tapping into a wider trend of late antiquity, were turning their interest to individuals and their biographies. In literary representations of the ubiquitous, and contested, figure of the educated man they shed light on the ways in which learning and teaching shaped individual lives, on the challenges that arose from the interdependence of paideia and bios, and on the benefits of erudition and wisdom-seeking to happiness and fulfilment. To examine fully the coincidence of education and life, the texts analysed in this chapter put the figure of the learned man centre stage, showing us his intellectual pursuits, conduct, and actions. In doing so, they make the point that paideia is consequential at every moment of his life, as all his decisions and ways of behaviour are determined by the training and formation he has undergone. It is as if education has become inseparable from his personality. Far more compelling than with a theoretical discourse on education this argument could be made by holding up living examples and depicting how learning translated into praxis. To put it differently, the biographic mode was part of the message. A veritable mode of life, paideia could be shown appropriately only in its embodiment. Many a writer and teacher looked back upon their lives and felt that the decision to dedicate themselves to studies was the point that turned their fortunes, or was tantamount to a conversion. This feeling was shared by numerous members of the upper classes; apart from those examined here, we could make mention of Gregory of Nazianzus, Eunapius of Sardes, and Ennodius.2⁰⁴ Life thus became a locus for debate about correct education, its contents, and purposes. The narratives and dramatizations of the studious man bespoke strong beliefs about what education was. It is more than idle display and contentiousness that the authors more than once take aim at opponents and critics. If learning and formation were literally vital, then it was paramount to choose an 2⁰3 Aug. doctr. christ. 2.39.58 (CCSL 32.72). 2⁰⁴ See in particular Gregory’s poem De vita sua (carm. 2.1.11.101–236, as well as the idealized account of his stay in Athens in or. 43.14–24), Eunapius’ autobiographic sketch in VS 10.1–2 (10.1–17 Goulet), and Ennodius’ opusc. 5 on his decision to abandon literary studies altogether in favour of the life as a cleric.

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186 education in late antiquity education path conducive to this aim. Unthinkingly attending the grammarian’s and rhetorican’s classes, only because everyone did, was not an option. One had to become clear about what education was for. Was paideia or eruditio a set of knowledge, doctrines, and skills that could be acquired from academic teachers to be exploited in one’s career and in public activities? Or was it something more profound and august, giving sense and direction to one’s existence? The authors we have discussed clearly opted for the latter. They targeted the narrow conception of education as schooling and promoted as a corrective a broad, humanistic vision of education that neglected none of the branches of civilization. Since they believed that studies were irreducible to theorization and reasoning, the authors propagated a unity of intellectual and ethical perfection in which everything taught, learnt, and then practised was an expression of a civilized mind. The distance from the school and social competition found expression in the prominent idea of learned leisure. Eusebius, Augustine, Synesius, and Macrobius considered σχολή or otium a precondition for ‘learning-as-life’. Looking at the life of the educated man, they discussed the qualities that defined leisure as the prime realization of the studious bios. What was required for intellectual activities was not only a period of time free from occupations and duties but rather a space, both in the physical and the metaphorical sense, in which the curious man could exercise his intellectual powers in freedom and autonomy. Synesius in particular ventilated the idea that for self-perfection and fulfilment, freedom from social constraints, independence, and autonomy were a sine qua non. His and Augustine’s references to the idyllic locus amoenus intended to evoke in their readers a vivid and appealing picture of the exceptional setting in which the life of learning could come true. In one respect, Augustine and Synesius took the concept of leisure one step further than their classical predecessors: leisure was not to be practised and enjoyed parttime in intervals, as if it validated negotium or vice versa, but it had to be turned into a permanent state. Finally, the theme of σχολή or otium brings us to the feature that gives the conception of paideia as a way of life its unique fingerprint. Aiming for the leisure apposite to learning did not entail withdrawal from the world and total isolation. That would have fitted ill with the thinkers’ humanistic pretensions. Significantly, the idealized image of learning studied in this chapter show us men who not only dedicated themselves to studies but also helped others to make progress toward perfection. The leisure had to be spent not in solipsistic contemplation but in learned conversation with other minds and in a liberal exchange of ideas, as vividly dramatized by Macrobius and Augustine. Teaching was a core part of this way of life, in the sense of shaping the lives of others, helping them to develop their personality, and guiding them to the good life. Synesius, Macrobius, and Augustine departed from the model of classical schooling, insofar as they favoured an open-minded intellectual exchange in which the roles of teachers and students were not carved in stone but constantly shifting. Mentoring and discipleship were

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the life of paideia 187 important, suggesting that it was paramount for the true pedagogue to mould the lives of his juniors after his ideal. The educated man worked on himself in order to be a role model for his students. His ethos was the expression of the humanism that pervaded the whole concept of education. Now that we have investigated the conditions and practices that constituted the life of learning, it is time to discuss a key idea in the debate on the right method for realizing the transformative experience that learning ideally was.

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5 Moulding the Self and the World 5.1 The Never-Ending Process of Bildung In the previous chapter we have studied how late antique thinkers extended the notion of education in order to correlate learning with the quest for the fulfilled life. According to them true paideia went far beyond the acquisition of knowledge in institutionalized environments and rather was an ethos that informed an individual’s entire being. Education was seen as an existential experience, a process giving shape to one’s entire being. While this idea was most aptly expressed in biographical and autobiographical writing, the Neoplatonic philosopher Iamblichus took this a step further by writing a work that was a hybrid between a philosophical biography and a treatise on education. His De vita Pythagorica, though roughly chronicling the famous sage’s life, intended to illustrate the intellectual and ethical profile of the community that revered Pythagoras as their founder.1 Testifying to the ongoing appeal of the Pythagorean way of life, the work was also a propaedeutic preparing students for the curriculum taught in Iamblichus’ own school. To guide the beginners to the art of philosophizing, Iamblichus instead of focusing on the Samian philosopher’s doctrines, foregrounded the ways in which Pythagoras had acquired his formation and passed on his learning not only to his disciples but also to the civic communities of the Greek world. Thus, in the De vita Pythagorica we follow the philosopher travelling around the Mediterranean, absorbing foreign wisdom, and harvesting the best each people had to offer. From the Egyptians, he learnt geometry and asceticism; from the Phoenicians, mathematics; and from the Chaldaeans, the art of contemplating the sky.2 Pythagoras appears to virtually embrace the entire world in its diversity, satisfying his curiosity in any intellectual pursuit, from music to geometry and from physics to theology. Iamblichus’ vivid account conveys an image of the sage and his students in which they were constantly giving shape to their minds and personalities and assimilating whatever humankind and the natural world had to offer. As both humanity and the world are extremely varied in every respect, the philosopher and his circle harness precisely the variation of natures and situations to complete their

1 See Urbano 2013: 91–9. 2 Iamb. VP 4.18–19. This motif holds a central place also in Porphyry’s Life of Pythagoras (Porph. VP 67).

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0006

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190 education in late antiquity formative trajectory. They can take in what they receive from the peoples and places on their travels and transform it into a means by which they can attain their ultimate goal—divinity.3 Unsurprisingly, Iamblichus’ idealized depiction of the Pythagorean life not only puts learning centre stage but also addresses the question of how the individual makes progress in self-improvement through continually encountering others and the world, if not the cosmos as a whole, in all its diversity. Human relationships, physical nature, heaven, and the divine all provide formative experiences to the receptive and curious. Taking the Pythagorean community as imagined by a late antique Neoplatonist as a starting point, this chapter explores how thinkers theorized the path of all-round self-perfection. How did they deal with the fact that formation took place in a sociocultural, and natural, context and depended on what was located outside the learning subject? Unlike what was drilled into students in the established schools, there was no single blueprint for the most promising method for uncovering, and developing, one’s true self. Yet, as this chapter shall demonstrate, it was the very idea of formative encounters that inspired writers of the period, both Christian and pagan, to look for existential modes of paideia not available in the classroom. The picture of the educated ethos given in the previous chapter will now be filled in with an exploration of the methods suggested by late antique thinkers for attaining this high-minded purpose. With their attention to the formation of the self, the authors made interventions in a wider and vibrant discourse that we see in this era revolving around the notion of the self, self-construction, and individuality. The exploration of this topic was dominated by two—sometimes overlapping—perspectives, that of Christianity and that of Neoplatonism.⁴ In Christian contexts, important new conceptions emerged as ideas of the ascetic self and the human subject as a sufferer gained currency.⁵ Further, interiority became a central dimension of the self, most prominently in Augustine, foreshadowing, as it seems, modern thinking on selfhood and personality.⁶ Following the questions of the Platonic dialogue Alcibiades 1, Plotinus and other Neoplatonic thinkers focused on the relationship between soul and body. One of their main concerns was the definition of the true self and the awakening to its true destiny.⁷ While late antique self-fashioning and constructions of individuality implied a dimension of introspection and self-awareness, exteriority also played a role, because thinkers often took into consideration the

3 Iamb. VP 8.43–4, 12.58–9 (καλὴ μὲν οὖν καὶ αὕτη παιδείας ἦν ἐπιμέλεια ἡ συντείνουσα αὐτῷ [Pythagoras] πρὸς τὴν τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐπανόρθωσιν), and 16.70 on purification of the mind as the goal of education. ⁴ See Chadwick 1999 and the essays in Niehoff and Levinson 2019. The literature on this topic has become vast. ⁵ Perkins 1995. ⁶ See, for example, Cary 2000, Stock 2017, and Cary 2020. ⁷ See Reemes 2008: 99–133.

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moulding the self and the world 191 self ’s awareness of the environment and social embeddedness.⁸ It will become clear in our analysis that the authors discussed in this chapter shared some of these ideas and assumptions. They were on a quest for the true self; they sought to return to what the self once was and to combat every distraction that could divert oneself from this interior journey; finally, they explored the duality of the material realm and the interior dimension of the person. However, their primary interest was the process and method of self-formation. This added an essential facet to the debate. To modern eyes, Pythagoras’ attempt to imbibe the variety of the world and relate it to the development of his self has a curious ring of humanism to it. We may envisage the Greek sage almost as a kindred soul of the Humboldt brothers, who, each from his distinct perspective, sought to absorb for the benefit of their souls whatever the world and human company proffered. While Alexander (1769–1859), ever restless, travelled the Americas and central Asia, his older brother Wilhelm (1767–1835), though not as widely travelled, went to considerable lengths to study humanity in the widest possible sense and to reap formative benefits from all the relationships he enjoyed, be it with the intellectual giants Goethe and Schiller or with lesser minds.⁹ What is more, Wilhelm von Humboldt turned his own formative experiences into theoretical writing when he, in particular at the beginning of his career, made attempts at formulating the principles of what from then on became the epitome of Bildung in Germany.1⁰ His groundbreaking ideas, building on the insights of German idealism, were to inform the entire pedagogic discourse, at least in Germany, to the present day and they still loom large in the debate about the future of higher education.11 What makes Humboldt’s notion of Bildung so attractive as a heuristic device is that, rather than considering schooling and the teaching of skills alone, he entertained a broad vision of self-perfection, one that pointed to the heart of what it means to be human. In one of his early texts, written in 1792, in which he tried to define from a liberal viewpoint the limits of the state, Humboldt circumscribed the state’s powers by his conception of man as being defined by the ability to be formed. Man’s purpose, as prescribed by reason, Humboldt says, is ‘the highest and most harmonious formation of his capabilities into a unified whole’.12 The two conditions for a successful process of formation are freedom and a variety of experiences, both of which are intertwined. In more detail he returns to this

⁸ Miller 2005 discusses the polarity of inwardness and outwardness in Christian and Neoplatonic conceptions of the self. ⁹ Maurer 2016 has shown in his biography that Wilhelm von Humboldt wanted his personal relationships to have a formative influence on himself and related his studies in various fields to his anthropological ideas. 1⁰ See, for example, Gjesdal 2015. 11 See Wulf 2003 and Schneider 2012. 12 ‘Der wahre Zwek des Menschen—nicht der, welchen die wechselnde Neigung, sondern welchen die ewig unveränderliche Vernunft ihm vorschreibt—ist die höchste und proportionirlichste Bildung seiner Kräfte zu einem Ganzen’ (Ideen zu einem Versuch, die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staats zu bestimmen, 1792; von Humboldt 1903: 106).

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192 education in late antiquity tenet in a contemporary, fragmentary text on the theory of the formation of man, where the impulse for his enquiry is the concern of what the progress in knowledge can contribute to the development of the human mind.13 Although, as Humboldt observes, many things have been achieved around us, little has been improved within us. Therefore, he looks for a peculiar way in which we can give the notion of humanity within ourselves its full meaning, both in life and beyond, by means of our creative activity. This task, he claims, can be completed only through the connection of our ‘I’ with the world, equated to nature, in a process of free and stimulating interplay. A few years later, his Berlin acquaintance Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768–1834) articulated similar ideas on self-formation as the full development of humanity, though with greater emphasis on the social dimension. In his theory of sociable conduct, Schleiermacher stressed that for achieving the higher purpose of humanity, for realizing one’s capabilities, the individual was in need of manifold encounters with different perspectives; to access and assimilate other world views, it was essential to engage in complete freedom with sensible persons mutually giving shape to one another.1⁴ The general tenor of Humboldt’s concept of self-formation was not entirely unique. About the same time, Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803) held that the individual rose to full humanity through culture. In autonomous activity, man was supposed to develop individually all his capacities into a harmonious whole, in a process that was understood as never ending but also never to be given up.1⁵ Humboldt’s merit, however, was that he conceptualized this activity leading to inner perfection in more precise and detailed terms. He recognized that in order to bring his human nature to fulfilment the individual needed an object on which he could exercise his powers, or to put it differently, for this purpose man needed a world outside himself. Having said that, it is essential that the engagement with the objective world can never be about the world in its own right, but it is necessary to reflect back into one’s innermost being the light of everything that is undertaken outside oneself.1⁶ Consequently, the question of how the individual relates to the outside world through externalization, viz. thought and action, becomes crucial. When applying oneself and one’s faculties to manifold situations, one develops them ever further, stimulated by the very diversity of situations. Yet, if man is required to constantly engage with something that is not himself, there is by necessity a degree of alienation: in forming a conception of nature, man to a certain extent distances himself from his previous state. Humboldt accordingly insists that

13 Theorie der Bildung des Menschen, 1793. Von Humboldt 1903: 282–3. 1⁴ Versuch einer Theorie des geselligen Betragens, 1798/9. Schleiermacher 1913: 1–31, in particular 3–4 and 13. 1⁵ Herder outlined his ideas on Bildung already in his early Journal meiner Reise im Jahr 1769. See esp. Herder 1878: 386. For Herder, the concept of Bildung focuses on the individual’s process of inner self-development, self-cultivation. See Gjesdal 2015: 702–3. 1⁶ Theorie der Bildung des Menschen, 1793. Von Humboldt 1903: 283.

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moulding the self and the world 193 it is vital not to lose oneself in this process but bind everything back to one’s inner being. In doing so, man is to bring the mass of objects closer to himself, impress the character of his mind on them, and make both, mind and object, similar to each other. Or, as Humboldt states elsewhere in assigning a key role to classical studies, ‘the person who is forming an understanding needs to become similar to the object of understanding. This results in exercising all powers in equal manner.’1⁷ It is the element of dialogic assimilation in Humboldt’s Bildungsideal, essentially a process of understanding, that suggests a hermeneutical approach and will prove particularly fruitful when we enrich it with the hermeneutical concept of ‘fusion of horizons’. The philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer in his chef-d’œuvre, Wahrheit und Methode, introduces his theory of hermeneutics by outlining the relationship between the humanities and the natural sciences. He argues that the idea of selfformation, education, and cultivation was central to the model of the human sciences devised in the nineteenth century.1⁸ Crucially, Bildung as an ongoing experience of transformation depends on becoming receptive to ways of being that differ from and even challenge one’s own horizon, the metaphor of the horizon meaning our historical situatedness. Already Humboldt was fully aware that in the formative contact with the other, in particular with people, there must be a certain degree of difference, a difference not so wide to preclude comprehension but neither so small as to preclude the admiration for what the other possesses and a wish to transfer it to oneself.1⁹ Following the hermeneutical tradition of nineteenthcentury scholars such as Friedrich Schleiermacher and Wilhelm Dilthey, Gadamer sees understanding as a conversation, not only between people but also involving texts. At the heart of this dialogue lies the encounter of different horizons, namely those of the interpreting subject and the object of understanding.2⁰ Understanding, as it occurs in the human sciences, is essentially historical, insofar as we bring with us to the hermeneutical situation our prejudices and expectations, that is, the horizon of a particular present. We would, however, be mistaken to assume that this horizon of the present consists of a fixed set of opinions, and that the otherness of the past appears as equally fixed against this backdrop. In fact, Gadamer argues, the horizon of the present is continually in the process of being formed, for in the encounter with the past we constantly have to test our prejudices. Hence, the horizon of the present cannot be formed without the past, in a productive tension between the text and the present. ‘There is no more an isolated horizon of the present in itself than there are historical horizons which have to be acquired. 1⁷ ‘Der Auffassende muss sich immer dem auf gewisse Weise ähnlich machen, das er auffassen will. Daher entsteht also grössere Uebung, alle Kräfte gleichmässig anzuspannen, eine Uebung, die den Menschen so vorzüglich bildet’ (Über das Studium des Alterthums, und des Griechischen insbesondre, 1793; von Humboldt 1903: 262). 1⁸ Gadamer 2004 (first 1960). 1⁹ Ideen zu einem Versuch, die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staats zu bestimmen, 1792. Von Humboldt 1903: 107. See also Gadamer 2004: 13 and 16. 2⁰ Gadamer 2004: 316–20.

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194 education in late antiquity Rather, understanding is always the fusion of these horizons supposedly existing by themselves.’21 When we conceive of self-formation as an encounter of an individual situated in the present with a different, ‘challenging’ object, i.e. figures, situations, and texts of the past, Gadamer’s concept of the fusion of horizons may be a useful category that allows us to understand how late antique thinkers conceptualized the dynamic and transformative enterprise of moulding the self.22 These ideas taken from German educational philosophy and hermeneutics can provide an interpretive framework when we now turn to selected texts of late antiquity that put forward ideas on self-cultivation bearing resemblance to what Iamblichus defined as the Pythagorean model of philosophy. The analysis of texts from the fourth to sixth centuries—Themistius, Gregory of Nyssa, Macrobius, and Boethius—will demonstrate that there was considerable discussion on holistic formation beyond the school level; that thinkers were ruminating on pathways to self-improvement through both thought and action; and that they reflected on the challenges posed by formative encounters with exigent objects in order to find the right method for developing one’s potentials.23 My guiding hypothesis is that, apart from their contribution to the education discourse proper, these matters were a vehicle for thinking about humanity in broader terms, about man’s nature, and the self and its relation to the world. As we examine the works of these four authors we will recognize some recurring themes which structured, and integrated, theorization of the formation process: the formative encounter of the subject with the objective world; the risks involved in this engagement; specific reading habits; and the quest for the true self.

21 Gadamer 2004: 317 (emphasis in the original). 22 Compare also the role of readers’ expectations (Erwartungshorizont) in the process of understanding a text as theorized in Hans Robert Jauss’s model of reception aesthetics. According to Jauss, readers approach a new literary work with expectations formed by previous reading experiences; in the encounter with the new work the readers’ cultural knowledge, assumptions, and expectations can be confirmed but also challenged and transformed (Horizontwandel). The reconstruction of a work’s original Erwartungshorizont heightens the awareness of the hermeneutical difference between the historical and the modern understanding of a literary text. See Jauss 1967. 23 We may note here that, naturally enough, modern studies have drawn a direct line from classical concepts of paideia to humanist ideas of education. This line of argument underpins Jaeger’s and Marrou’s accounts of Greek education and was intended by them as a call for reform of education in the twentieth century. Jaeger sought to reduce the whole of Greek culture to one single principle, that is, his humanistic ideal of paideia. In his view, Plato was the main advocate of true paideia as he attempted to restore the wholeness in areté, as an antidote to specialism. See Jaeger 1943–5: esp. 3.46–7 and 224–5. Marrou considered education in the Hellenistic period as the unsurpassed climax of education, being what we mean by classical education in its mature, definitive form. He claimed that during this time, an educative impetus undergirded the entire culture of Greece: ‘For Hellenistic man the sole aim of human existence was the achievement of the fullest and most perfect development of the personality.’ The prime task was to model, like a sculptor, oneself, to make the man who is fully a man. All Greeks were devoted to a single ideal of human perfection. Marrou 1956: 97–100, 217–26, the quote at 98.

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moulding the self and the world 195

5.2 The Art of Reading the World We have already seen that the Roman writer Macrobius adopted the form of the sympotic dialogue as a suitable format for introducing his young son to the distinctive ethos, the combination of doctrina and mores, that he considered the hallmark of the cultivated elite.2⁴ In this chapter we will now focus on a different aspect of the Saturnalia’s pedagogic programme, the theoretical foundations on which the vision of the ethos of the upper class rested. Macrobius’ interest in pedagogy has only recently attracted greater scholarly attention, but surprisingly scholars have failed to appreciate the contribution made in the programmatic preface to the ancient educational discourse.2⁵ One reason why Macrobius’ reflections on education have been underestimated is that scholarship still cannot free itself from the tyranny of the religious question, that is, the debate whether the work pursues any religious agenda and can be addressed as pagan, Christian, or neither.2⁶ Whatever its religious mission was, if there was any, the work has acquired fame for its antiquarianism and what may be labelled an obsession with the past. However, this has been sometimes reduced to late antique ‘nostalgia’, a sombre longing for the glorious achievements of a bygone era.2⁷ Such a judgement, though not incorrect, has unfortunately obscured the fact that Macrobius’ attitude toward the historical past is much more sophisticated. The following analysis shall demonstrate that his view of the relation between past and present is key to the way in which he theorized the process of self-cultivation. This also requires revisiting the question of Macrobius’ chosen form of presentation, as a literary symposium does not prima facie lend itself to methodical instruction. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Macrobius has received negative comments for his handling of the dialogue form.2⁸ Right at the beginning of the Saturnalia, in the preface addressed to his son, Macrobius points to the link between education and the past when he outlines his intentions, saying that by studying the books of both Greek and Roman writers, notably in search for historia, he gathered the material suitable for the perfection (perfectionem) of Eustathius’ education.2⁹ Taken as an accurate characterization of his enterprise, this statement does not sound like the nostalgic glance backwards ascribed to Macrobius by Alan Cameron but suggests that the sympotic compendium of ‘things worth knowing’ hopes to put the past to the service of the

2⁴ Kaster 2011: 1.xliii–xlv. See Chapter 4.3. 2⁵ For educational aspects of the work see Gerth 2011, Olmos 2012, and Gerth 2013. 2⁶ Goldlust 2007 and Cameron 2011: 231–72. 2⁷ Cameron 1966: 36. Cameron 2011: 256 notes the ‘relaxed, nostalgic tone’ of the conversation held in the Saturnalia and, in general, stresses the antiquarian character of the work. 2⁸ Kaster 2011: 1.xxxviii. For a nuanced image of Macrobius as sympotic author see König 2012: 201–28. 2⁹ Macr. Sat. praef. 2.

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196 education in late antiquity present.3⁰ This task necessitated careful consideration, and although he is generally not credited with originality, Macrobius proves to be open to it. Yet, despite the declaration of his pedagogic goals, the author in the preface appears to primarily be concerned with the method of composition, the way in which the learned banquet at Praetextatus’ villa received its characteristic form. The Saturnalia, he underlines, owes its existence, in terms of content at least, not so much to the inventive genius of its author but to what others have collected and written in distant centuries. From their works, Greek or Latin, Macrobius has assembled anything by acquaintance of which Eustathius can make his mind more active, his memory better equipped, his eloquence more versatile, and his language more refined.31 How much Macrobius, indeed, owes to the literary tradition can be easily gleaned from the following seven books of the Saturnalia. They not only openly make use of classical poets, above all Vergil, but also present generous, often verbatim borrowings, without acknowledging them, from direct predecessors in miscellany writing, in particular Plutarch and Gellius. As if with a knowing wink to the appreciative reader, the preface itself unabashedly plunders one of Seneca’s letters to Lucilius to explain Macrobius’ principles of composition.32 The express statement of his technique, fittingly labelled by scholarship ‘cultural borrowing’,33 should not lead us to consider the Saturnalia a slavish and unimaginative anthology of ready-made set pieces.3⁴ Macrobius himself at least thinks otherwise: even though he, not unlike Vergil himself, has taken the mass of insights, teachings, and exempla from earlier writers, he claims to have transformed them into something new. Not content with a dull compilation, he has organized, ‘as though in a body’, the diverse subjects found in various authors throughout history, arranging the notes he has taken while reading, so that they come together into an organic whole (in ordinem instar membrorum cohaerentia convenirent).3⁵ Modern readers of his literary banquet will concur with his view, repeatedly stressed in the preface, that he succeeded in welding what he encountered in the warehouse of

3⁰ Macr. Sat. praef. 3–4, characterizing the content as digna memoratu and noscendorum congeries. 31 Macr. Sat. praef. 11. 32 A large chunk of the preface is a tacit reworking of Seneca’s Letter 84, which addresses the relation between writing and reading, and also deals with the question of literary imitation. Macrobius’ choice of this model was well considered, insofar as Seneca had discussed the very topics that were central to Macrobius’ own composition. The prominent imagery used in the preface—bees, digestion, and the harmony of a chorus—had already been used by Seneca. 33 Kaster 2011: 1.xlv. For Macrobius’ terminology of literary borrowing see Novokhatko 2010. 3⁴ For cultural borrowing as one of the main characteristics of the Saturnalia see Kaster 2011: 1. xliii–xlv. In 6.1.2–6 Macrobius, through the mouth of Rufius Albinus, projects this practice also on to Vergil, who freely borrowed from earlier writers, as also others had done in ‘sharing and mutual exchange of material’ (societas et rerum communio). 3⁵ Macr. Sat. praef. 3. See Goldlust 2010: 71–3 on Macrobius’ borrowing from Gellius (Gell. praef. 2) in this passage. Fabricius Hansen 2003: 168–72 notes a close correspondence between Macrobius’ technique of borrowing and reorganizing older material and the aesthetics of the late antique architecture of spolia.

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moulding the self and the world 197 Graeco-Roman literature into a seamless, smoothly running conversation.3⁶ The major challenge that he was facing in the composition, though, is only alluded to in the explanation to his son. As it was his declared purpose to make Eustathius familiar with the ancients and their knowledge, Macrobius had to deal with material presented by widely different authors and a confusing compound of periods. In other words, the compiler’s task was not only to select relevant works and passages but to put together these fragments produced over the course of several centuries and under sundry conditions in such a way that they formed a homogeneous whole. What made Seneca’s letter to Lucilius such an attractive model for Macrobius’ prefatory comments was the idea that writing and reading are but two sides of a single coin. While the philosopher directed his addressee’s attention to the alternation of writing and reading, the author of the Saturnalia implied that his practice of compiling the classical material was inseparable from, if not coterminous with, his habit of reading. Recently Aaron Pelttari has emphasized the indissoluble link of writing and reading in the Saturnalia’s engagement with earlier poetry and prose, arguing that Macrobius endorsed a theory of originality that is consciously informed by the transmission of the past.3⁷ This attitude also pervades the preface, not least in the memorable imagery applied to Macrobius’ technique. When he draws a parallel between his own activity and honey-gathering bees, the digestion of food in the human body, and the harmonious sound produced by a polyphonous chorus, he articulates the general idea that composing a work imbued with the literary tradition, as the Saturnalia is, is essentially a process of searching, selecting, gathering, arranging, and finally processing existent material, so as to transform it into a new product. Considering that these thoughts prelude a compilation of knowledge intended to educate the reader, it is safe to say that Macrobius has found in these images a way to express his views on learning and formation. Just as the father has widely read the canonical authors and condensed their insights in an entertaining symposium, his son is to pore over the compendium in order to internalize, and thereby renew, the finest thoughts of the great Greek and Roman classics. Strikingly, Macrobius illuminates his reading, or study, habits throughout the preface, albeit from different angles. In doing so, he underlines that a reading that keeps the goal of self-formation in mind consists in an engagement with a broad range of things, as encompassed in earlier writings, and notably with what the human mind conceived in the distant past. To begin with, the notion of an encyclopaedic, almost overwhelming mass of diverse topics is evoked by

3⁶ For Macrobius’ model Seneca, imitation requires a change in the actual material: by reshaping the material, the author conceals the borrowing (epist. 84.7–8). Macrobius, however, does not conceal anything; he incorporates Seneca’s exact material, but in a new way. 3⁷ Pelttari 2014: 25–32.

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198 education in late antiquity recurring terms denoting diversity and multitude, for example the multitude of different voices in a chorus. This quality is also what immediately fascinates readers of the seven books of the Saturnalia, which leave almost no branch of Graeco-Roman learning untouched. Scholars have therefore, rightly, pointed out the encyclopaedic nature of the compilation and stressed that Macrobius evidently wanted to furnish his readers with things that traditional schooling could not teach.3⁸ Yet it is important to note that encyclopaedism, the sheer accumulation of knowledge, is not what is at the forefront of Macrobius’ mind. Neither can the skills Eustathius was supposed to acquire, eloquence, memory, and linguistic correctness, important though they are, exhaust the Saturnalia’s brief. Rather, all this has to come together in the formation of the mind. This is indicated in the preface, when Macrobius wants Eustathius to train his ingenium, but without ignoring voluptas and cultus.3⁹ In addition, in the first book the author has Decius Albinus, the addressee of the narrator Postumianus’ second-hand account of the discussions, stating that what the banqueters discussed over the holidays were, apart from diverse teachings, plenty of models for shaping one’s life.⁴⁰ To that we can add another passage from the first book, in which Praetextatus, in a discussion about the significance of his own name, makes mention of the Delphic maxim, ‘know thyself ’, indicating that their conversation about customs, words, and other antiquarian lore is far from being a purely academic pastime.⁴1 In emblematic fashion this remark signals to the reader that this stupendous erudition is ideally brought to bear on knowledge of the self. Macrobius, therefore, endeavoured to write a wide-ranging compendium that would equip the Roman reader for this purpose with a broad general education, rather than, as was perhaps more common in his times, publishing a specialist handbook on a single discipline.⁴2 The second constituent of Macrobius’ education programme, alongside its encyclopaedic breadth, is its engagement with the past. Since learning for Macrobius, as for the Roman elite in general, meant becoming familiar with what the classical thinkers of previous centuries had researched and transmitted in writing, it will not take us by surprise that he equates the knowledge which Eustathius is to acquire with notitia vetustatis, the things handed down in the words of the antiqui.⁴3 Just 3⁸ Eigler 2003: 62; Goldlust 2007 and 2010; Dorfbauer 2009: 282; Olmos 2012. 3⁹ Macr. Sat. praef. 10. ⁴⁰ Macr. Sat. 1.2.8: Vnde igitur illa tibi nota sunt quae tum iucunde et comiter ad instituendam vitam exemplis, ut audio, rerum copiosissimis et variae doctrinae ubertate prolata digestaque sunt? (‘How then did you come to know of the things that were presented and discussed delightfully and in a friendly atmosphere on that occasion, with, as I have heard, plenty of models for the conduct of life and with an abundance of diverse learning?’) ⁴1 Macr. Sat. 1.6.6. ⁴2 With this wide scope he followed in the footsteps of Cicero’s and Quintilian’s educational ideal. See Olmos 2012. ⁴3 Macr. Sat. praef. 4. For the importance of the past to late antique education see the discussion in Chapter 6.1.

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moulding the self and the world 199 as any Roman schoolboy was supposed to train his tongue, refine his aesthetic judgement, and cultivate his intellect on the creations of Vergil, so the guests at Macrobius’ banquet study, if on a higher level, the verses of the Mantuan bard, as well as of other ancient poets, in order to gain insight into Roman religion and customs, cultural traditions, the physical world, and not least, the Latin language.⁴⁴ Antiquity, the heritage of distant generations, thus has a central role to play in Macrobius’ instruction and the attitude with which the student is expected to approach the classical texts is one not only of curiosity but also, as Catherine Chin has stressed, of piety.⁴⁵ At one point in the conversation, the participant Rufius Albinus, a gentleman well versed in the ancient traditions, authoritatively sums up the ethos of his peers, insisting, ‘we must always revere antiquity if we have any sense’.⁴⁶ If Eustathius was to mould himself and nourish his wisdom through becoming thoroughly familiar with Vergil and the other antiqui, then the prime mode of learning was to study canonical literature, as had been done in the schools. That is what the learned symposium so vividly captures: it is their vast erudition— acquired through reading poetry, philosophy, and other prose—that the Roman noblemen and their friends display to one another over the days of the festival.⁴⁷ For them reading literary masterpieces is the primary pathway to the world in all its diversity and a means of opening up the world. While the banqueters through Vergil’s poetry explore questions of religion, augury, oratory, philosophy, and other fields of learning, the social misfit, Evangelus, is the only member of the group to oppose the use of the Roman master poet for the nourishment of one’s wisdom. He alone objects to the reading practices of the others, who admire Vergil as a theologian and philosopher, and accepts only the poetic sense of Vergil’s work, thus testifying e contrario to the appropriate engagement with classical texts.⁴⁸ Macrobius’ interpretation of the past through canonical writers is more complex than may seem at first glance. We have already noted his emphasis on the multitude and diversity of authors of the past, which intriguingly matches the diversity of subject matters his son is expected to study. Against the backdrop of this confusing mix of materials from various centuries, the task of the compendium writer far exceeds that of a slavish compiler, as Macrobius illuminates with an analogy:

⁴⁴ For the praise of Vergil’s abundant knowledge see e.g. Macr. Sat. 5.2.2. ⁴⁵ Chin 2008: 54–60 on Macrobius’ literary reverence. See also Kaster 1980: 230–2. ⁴⁶ Macr. Sat. 3.14.2: vetustas quidem nobis semper, si sapimus, adoranda est. In 3.14.1 Albinus, prefect of Rome in 389–91, is characterized by the narrator as antiquitatis . . . peritus. ⁴⁷ This idea is succinctly stated in the dialogue between Praetextatus and Caecina in 1.2.20–1.3.1. Curtius 1953: 443–5 points out that Macrobius’ conception of Vergil as the embodiment of universal knowledge prefigured the understanding of poetry in the Middle Ages. ⁴⁸ Macr. Sat. 1.24.2–4 and 8–10. Consequently, Symmachus accuses Evangelus of reading Vergil like a boy at school (1.24.5). Pelttari 2014: 39 points out that Macrobius introduces Evangelus into his dialogue in order to explain and defend the interpretive methods of his group.

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200 education in late antiquity We ought to imitate bees, so to speak: wandering about and sampling the flowers, they arrange whatever they have gathered, distributing it among the honeycombs; by mixing in the peculiar character of their own spirit they transform the diverse nectar into a single taste.⁴⁹

With this familiar image Macrobius has captured well his practice of fragmentation and recontextualization, of taking useful passages from a large reservoir of texts and blending them into a new, organic whole, so that the outcome is more than the sum of its parts. The analogies used by the author of the Saturnalia, apart from the bees, the digestion of food and a human chorus, show that he was aware of the challenge lurking behind the encounter between the interpreting subject and the objects of understanding. Passive reception, the superficial acquaintance resulting from mere reading, can hardly lead to true understanding. Rather, Macrobius’ favoured reading habit is an active engagement, a constructive activity that brings the subject’s background to the object. Only if the student has formed in advance an idea of what he is looking for and what his needs are, will he be able to recognize the texts or passages conducive to his formation, interpret them appropriately, and incorporate them into the new texture emerging from the Saturnalia’s tour through the canon. The lines quoted intimate that the literature from the past, when accessed as a path to self-formation, does not present itself to the student as an open book or as a given and stable object. Rather, it is constructed through the lens of the interpreters. They are the ones who create a coherent body, where before there has been a puzzling farrago. Yet, although the preface speaks, seemingly offhandedly, of notitia vetustatis, as if antiquity could easily be uncovered, Macrobius’ ruminations suggest a subtler notion of the past. When he, more than once, claims to have generated unity and harmony, he hints at the fluidity and malleability of the past. What his son Eustathius will study as the past, is far from being objective and carved in stone. It is, conversely, the product of his father’s understanding and Eustathius in turn will, from his own standpoint, construct an image of antiquity while reading. As the quote with the phrase mixtura quadam et proprietate spiritus sui suggests, the learner blends in elements of his mind, he brings to the process his own qualities, so that the enquiry into vetustas will generate something that is at once different and one’s own. This is also indicated by a passage further down in the preface: Things are better preserved in the mind if they are made distinct. And the very process of distinction comes with a kind of fermentation that seasons the whole, ⁴⁹ Macr. Sat. praef. 5: Apes enim quodammodo debemus imitari, quae vagantur et flores carpunt, deinde quicquid attulere disponunt ac per favos dividunt et sucum varium in unum saporem mixtura quadam et proprietate spiritus sui mutant. See Novokhatko 2010; further, Gnilka 1984: 119–21 on the image and Macrobius’ model, Seneca. Gnilka, however, insists that Macrobius adopted from Seneca only the idea of imitation.

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moulding the self and the world 201 blending the varied tastes so that we experience a single flavour. Even if some item’s origin should be clear, it nonetheless seems different from its known origin. We see that nature does exactly that in our body, with no effort on our own part: as long as the foods we take in remain in their own qualities, floating as solid material, they are an unpleasant burden for the stomach. But when they have been transformed from what they were, only then do they become sources of strength and blood. We should perform the same task in the case of things that nourish our intellect. We should not let what we have imbibed remain intact and alien but should digest it into an orderly distribution; otherwise it can pass into memory but not become part of our thought.⁵⁰

With the digestion of food Macrobius has found in Seneca’s letter a congenial way to characterize the process of reconfiguring and homogenizing the past for needs of the present.⁵1 The understanding subject, the animus, will fully internalize the various materials found in the external world so as to ferment them to the extent that the sources of support (omnia quibus est adiutus) can no longer be recognized for what they have been.⁵2 And then out comes the particular image of the revered past that is meant to be in service of the present. A fine case in point is the very way in which Macrobius handles the symposium that allegedly took place in Praetextatus’ house. To the bewilderment of some scholars, Macrobius has concocted an encounter of men that eludes any sense of historical accuracy, and he even tells us frankly that he, like Plato in his dialogues, has twisted historical reality to make it fit for his educative purposes.⁵3 Any notion of the past is a product of understanding depending on a specific viewpoint and the interests of the subject looking to that past. In the process of understanding there is a convergence of subject and object, a negotiation of these two poles which allows neither to be unchanged. As is the case in the digestion of food, the individual making progress in self-cultivation will be different after the interaction with the authorities of the past. Distance and proximity, otherness and likeness approximate each other, and necessarily so, because without this dialogic assimilation or synthesis true understanding cannot take place. The wealth of the forefathers’ learning has to become truly

⁵⁰ Macr. Sat. praef. 6–7: nam et in animo melius distincta servantur, et ipsa distinctio non sine quodam fermento, quo conditur universitas, in unius saporis usum varia libamenta confundit, ut etiam si quid apparuerit unde sumptum sit, aliud tamen esse quam unde sumptum noscetur appareat. quod in corpore nostro videmus sine ulla opera nostra facere naturam: alimenta quae accipimus, quamdiu in sua qualitate perseverant et solida innatant, male stomacho oneri sunt; at cum ex eo quod erant mutata sunt, tum demum in vires et sanguinem transeunt. idem in his quibus aluntur ingenia praestemus, ut quaecumque hausimus non patiamur integra esse, ne aliena sint, sed in quandam digeriem concoquantur: alioquin in memoriam ire possunt, non in ingenium. ⁵1 Cf. Sen. epist. 84.5–7. ⁵2 Macr. Sat. praef. 8. ⁵3 Macr. Sat. 1.1.4–7. See the extremely detailed discussion of the identity of the interlocutors and the dramatic date of the symposium in Cameron 2011: 239–64.

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202 education in late antiquity one’s own, like food that is totally transformed in the stomach. It is then the habit of appropriative reading that allows the student to bridge the distance between past and present, the continuous negotiation of otherness and likeness in a hermeneutical process.⁵⁴ Seeing the world through the eyes of the ancients and assimilating their views, the individual can, as Macrobius promises, gain in experiential richness, expressive sophistication, and cognitive depth. Now we can better understand why Macrobius decided to present to Eustathius his learning, not in the form of one or more specialist handbooks, but as a sympotic conversation of individual characters. For one thing, as we have noticed in Chapter 4.3, the literary dialogue was well suited to convey the distinctive ethos to which the boy was to become habituated. What is more, Eustathius in reading the Saturnalia encountered a polyphony of viewpoints, opinions, and approaches to a variety of subject matters. Each of the guests at the symposium brings his own expertise and level of understanding to the discussion; like the work’s author himself, they display practices of recontextualization and reading experiences; and they demonstrate that for gaining insight one crucially depends on the dialogue with other minds.⁵⁵ This ideal of approaching the richness of the world through the mediation of others is also valorized as the preferred method of learning in the outline of communal philosophizing in Book 7, when the Greek guest Eustathius not only champions the mutual sharing of expertise in astrology, dialectic, and other such fields but also envisages travellers dispensing their manifold experiences; these men, as ideal teachers, have a passion for making others see what they have seen for themselves (quae ipsi viderant aliorum oculis obicere).⁵⁶ Moreover, the characteristic atmosphere of the Saturnalia is a testament to Macrobius’ ideal of education. In a study of the ancient literary symposium, Jason König has shown that the Saturnalia are pervaded by a sense of harmony and consensus, downplaying the agonistic element found in other literary symposia.⁵⁷ In this respect the banqueters at Praetextatus’ villa perfectly embody the approach to the past promoted by Macrobius. Out of a multitude of traditions they create a harmonious whole so that in the end the different sources flow together into one undistinguishable unity. Thus, the Saturnalia are far from being a mere knowledge compilation; rather, they instruct in the right method of self-formation, outlining the principles and conditions that determine the formative ‘digestion’ of the world’s diversity.

⁵⁴ The term ‘appropriative reading’ (Pelttari 2014: 25) seems particularly suitable for Macrobius’ technique, for in 6.1.2 he has Rufius Albinus label Vergil’s borrowing from earlier writers usurpatio. ⁵⁵ Cf. Macr. Sat. 1.2.4. See Dorfbauer 2009 on the didactic functions of the Saturnalia’s dialogue form. ⁵⁶ Macr. Sat. 7.2.6. Cf. Plu. Quaest. conv. 2.2 (Mor. 630b–c). ⁵⁷ König 2012: 218–19. See also Kaster 1980: 232. For the emphasis on harmony and peaceful exchange of opinions see e.g. Macr. Sat. 1.2.3–4, 1.16.44, 7.1.9, 7.1.13, and 7.2.3–4.

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moulding the self and the world 203

5.3 The Armchair Traveller While Macrobius’ son, after his school education, absorbed the world in its totality by poring over his father’s compendium, many a student in late antiquity, as well as a great number of teachers and scholars, undertook long journeys in search for knowledge—and in hope for valuable connections. Young men ventured to leave their homes in the provincial towns to enrol at the renowned ‘universities’ and study with famous sophists. The young Augustine, for example, went from Thagaste to Madaura and then to Carthage, Jerome made his way from his hometown of Stridon to Rome to acquire from Aelius Donatus knowledge and skills, while Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil, as well as Eunapius of Sardes, left Asia Minor for Athens to become initiated in the mysteries of Hermes.⁵⁸ Widespread student travel in the fourth century is very well attested in the addresses of Himerius, the Athenian professor, to his pupils and in the letters of his colleague Libanius of Antioch, which inform students’ fathers about the progress of their sons, and recommend alumni for jobs elsewhere.⁵⁹ Himerius’ and Libanius’ catchment area encompassed large swathes of the Greek-speaking world. The reasons for the jeunesse dorée’s travelling are not hard to discern: as the letters of recommendation evidence, studying with a leader in the discipline and networking was a great boost for the career of a graduate; and these opportunities were offered mainly in the major education centres. Therefore, parents were prepared to make considerable financial sacrifices. It is almost exclusively the well-trained intellectuals whose literary works survive—and who like talking about themselves—so it is no wonder that we find a good number of first-person accounts of student travel in the writings of sophists, philosophers, and ecclesiastical authors. To stay in the Greek east, Libanius in his Autobiography speaks about his overwhelming desire to attend the lectures of the Athenian masters; Gregory of Nazianzus in his epitaph of his friend Basil indulges in recollections about their studies in the Greek capital; some years later, Eunapius inserted his own student experience in his Lives of the Sophists; and Synesius of Cyrene reported to his brother about his journey from North Africa to the schools in Athens.⁶⁰ Even what we might call ‘philosophical fiction’, Marinus’ hagiographic Life of Proclus and Aeneas of Gaza’s dialogue Theophrastus, no less reworks the experience of young men keen to study abroad. Strikingly, what runs as a thread through these narratives, both autobiographical and fictional, is the motif of utter

⁵⁸ For educational geography in the imperial age and late antiquity see Kaster 1988: 20–3 and Szabat 2015. See also Watts 2004 on late antique student travel. ⁵⁹ The practice of sending one’s children first to one of the schools closer to home and then, once they are older and have advanced, to the big cities so that there they pursue higher studies is mentioned by Asterius in one of his homilies (Ast. Soph. hom. in Ps. 29.19). ⁶⁰ Lib. Or. 1.11–12; Greg. Naz. or. 43.13–24; Eun. VS 10.1–2 (10.1–17 Goulet); Synes. ep. 54 and 136.

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204 education in late antiquity disillusionment.⁶1 Neither Libanius nor Gregory, Synesius, and Eunapius were spared the bitter disappointment when they finally had arrived at the Piraeus. Nor were Aeneas’ curious student Euxitheus and the ambitious Proclus. What they had hoped for and eagerly anticipated, inspired by the cherished image of classical Athens, did not materialize on the ground. Students were superficial, lazy, and even repellently riotous, while the teachers in Athens did not live up to acceptable intellectual standards. The late antique Bildungsreise appears to be bound up with dissatisfaction. Students did learn something in Athens, but evidently in a sense different from what they expected. In this section, we will see how the idea of a journey, so closely associated with the student experience, was critically reviewed and reinterpreted as a metaphor for the method of self-formation. The common narrative of student journeys is testament to a widespread belief that gaining experiences abroad was an important step in intellectual and personal formation. However, not everyone agreed. At an unknown date the philosopher Themistius delivered before an audience, probably students, an oration entitled On the Need to Give Thought, Not to the Places [Where We Study], but to the Men [Who Will Teach Us] (Or. 27).⁶2 The text itself does not give any conclusive indication about its date and place, but it was likely presented early in Themistius’ career and somewhere in Paphlagonia, possibly in his father’s native city.⁶3 What we do know for sure is that the audience included a young man who had irritated Themistius by belittling the local rhetorical schools because of their lack of prestige. Thus, the argument was about the reputation of seemingly second-rate establishments in the provinces compared to the late antique ‘Ivy League’. To rebut the challenge, Themistius argued that the bold young critic was under the misapprehension that place was the criterion for the evaluation of rhetorical achievement. While his opponent was obsessed with the big shots in the discipline and with spectacular attractions of the metropolis, the orator insisted that, as common experience in any field of expertise showed, we seek out the accomplished experts in every art no matter where they are based. There was, Themistius claimed, no point in moving to Athens following the lure of its ancient prestige when excellent training by a skilled rhetor was available also in obscure places across the Empire. The speech has been overlooked by scholars, for it neither sheds light on Themistius’ political career— the main point of scholarly interest—nor illuminates his philosophical pursuits. Considering its lack of any specific references to the context, we might even be tempted to regard it as a school exercise, a model for rhetorical argumentation. Yet, the following discussion shall demonstrate that this undervalued discourse does possess great significance for Themistius’ notion of paideia.

⁶1 See Stenger 2020 on this theme in narratives of student travel to Athens. ⁶2 Περὶ τοῦ μὴ δεῖν τοῖς τόποις ἀλλὰ τοῖς ἀνδράσι προσέχειν (Schenkl et al. 1965–74: 2.153–67). The commentary of Wilhelm 1927–8 is still useful on the speech’s sources. ⁶3 See Wilhelm 1927–8: 451–3 and Penella 2000: 31.

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moulding the self and the world 205 Right from the start of his address Themistius underlines the general importance of the controversy, emphasizing that his opponent is but one of those who make misjudgements about the nature of learning.⁶⁴ As we follow the line of his argument, it becomes apparent that the speaker gives the debate a significant twist, for he pays much more attention to travel experiences and their effects than would have been necessary for proving the universal availability of paideia. The speech, indeed, amounts to a tour d’horizon surveying manifold journeys, and their motivations. In keeping with this emphasis, key themes are journeys of varying length, marvels, sights, and attractions to be visited en route, and the link between places and achievements in culture, the arts, crafts, and agriculture. By unfolding before our eyes a kaleidoscopic range of, so to speak, travel souvenirs Themistius intimates that the key question of the argument is not simply whether or not the student should seek renowned centres of learning, but more broadly, whether and how the experience of the world, in particular the material world, can contribute to a person’s ethical and intellectual formation. Does it make a difference to one’s personality whether one has seen Phidias’ Zeus at Olympia or wheat grains in Attica, where Triptolemus first vouchsafed them to human beings?⁶⁵ Themistius’ answer is no, because human reason and learning do not need a famous homeland. To argue this point, he contrasts two paradigms of paideia, only one of which can be considered right. The first, his critic’s, is that of the traveller. He is the person who, misguided by the common high opinion of world-famous places, is drawn by cities instead of logoi. His desire for studying in a hotspot like Athens is driven not by the acknowledged excellence of its teachers but by the city’s status as the place to be for aspiring, young orators. Young men embarking on the ships to the Piraeus have fallen under, and are misled by, the irresistible magic spell that Athens cast from the classical era onwards. In addition, it was a well-known fact that oratory originated in fifth-century Athens and reached its peak there, as the Athenians themselves never failed to emphasize so eloquently.⁶⁶ Therefore, adolescents from the well-off elite are heading in droves to Attica to drink from the very sources of rhetoric. However, Themistius makes clear, rhetoric, though having come to light in Athens, is not confined to its birthplace, no more than wheat and vines are.⁶⁷ Another motive for travelling is the seductive allure exercised by wondrous tales about foreign places. Popular narratives and literary tales appear to have made the young man believe that ‘the grass is greener on the other side’. If these misapprehensions can be ascribed to youthful fancy, another accusation is more serious. In the final part of the speech Themistius suggests that his

⁶⁴ Them. Or. 27.331d–332a. ⁶⁵ Them. Or. 27.336c–337c. ⁶⁶ Them. Or. 27.336c–d. See, for example, Isoc. 4.47–50. ⁶⁷ Them. Or. 27.336c–337a. Themistius is alluding here to the image propagated of Athens by the funeral orations and epideictic praise of the city, such as Aelius Aristides’.

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206 education in late antiquity opponent’s wanderlust is inflamed by his keen interest in material gain.⁶⁸ What the student seeks to learn in the prestigious schools is how to make a fortune as a speaker. The acclaimed stars of the art, so he hopes, will teach him the skills which will enable him to reap profit from speaking in the law courts and public assemblies. Now, if that sounds familiar, this is no coincidence, for Themistius is obviously indebted to Plato’s malign misrepresentation of the sophists. Indeed, with an echo of Plato’s Menexenus, the oration frankly associates the opponent with them.⁶⁹ Themistius casts the young critic as a typical traveller, someone who, like a merchant, sets sail in pursuit of material profit or, as a sophist, wanders from city to city to sell his hair-splitting rhetoric to anyone who is willing to hire him. For these reasons, he is one of the ignorant crowd who seek out rare, exotic plants solely for their external features, instead of their practical use: ‘In their ignorance and inexperience of this gain, people concern themselves only with the leaves; they marvel at them and believe that the plant consists entirely of them.’⁷⁰ Themistius’ biased representation accuses his opponent of being completely determined by the outside world. The young man, lacking both understanding and guidance, does not know what to look for because he is ignorant about the purposes of proper education. Since he misrecognizes logoi, studies, he is attracted to fame, wealth, and physical objects, eventually engulfed by the temptations of pleasure, as the reference to the story of Circe suggests.⁷1 Themistius, to be sure, does not condemn travelling per se; he himself was sent by his father to a teacher on the outskirts of Pontus.⁷2 But it is the most excellent intellectuals that the student ought to seek, not famous places. The dispute, thus, is about the appropriate way of engaging with the world in order to cultivate oneself. While the critic is glued to the mere appearance of things and to matter, the sensible student acknowledges the limited use for self-formation of the material world. In almost every one of his so-called private orations Themistius expounds his vision of an education that unites philosophy with rhetoric for the benefit of the individual and the Roman Empire as a whole.⁷3 Often these programmatic discussions revive the antagonism between true philosophers and sophists of the fifth century bce, so lively depicted in Plato’s dialogues.⁷⁴ Similarly, the challenges of the young man’s scorn for local schools gave Themistius the opportunity to ⁶⁸ Them. Or. 27.339b–d. ⁶⁹ Them. Or. 27.339d. Cf. Pl. Mx. 235c. The negative stereotype of the sophist is a staple of Themistius’ orations. See in particular Or. 23 and 29. ⁷⁰ Them. Or. 27.340a, criticizing those who mistake the ‘heavenly plant’ assisting in selfimprovement for a real plant: νῦν δὲ ἀγνοίᾳ τούτου τοῦ κέρδους καὶ ἀπειρίᾳ περὶ τὰ φύλλα στρέφονται, κἀκεῖνα θαυμάζουσι καὶ μόνα ἡγοῦνται. Cf. Pl. Ti. 90a and Them. Or. 13.170b. ⁷1 Them. Or. 27.335c–d, 339c. For the reference to Circe enslaving Odysseus’ companions to the folly of pleasure (Hom. Od. 10.203–399) see 340a–b. The critic’s ignorance of the higher goals of education is also highlighted in 332c–d. ⁷2 See the brief autobiographical excursus in 332d–333b. The place has not been identified. See Penella 2000: 165 n. 2. ⁷3 See Chapter 4.2. ⁷⁴ See Stenger 2009: 220–1.

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moulding the self and the world 207 campaign for true paideia and pay tribute to his admired model Plato. This becomes apparent when he contrasts good eloquence with the profit-making rhetoric of the sophists. In the context of this well-known dualism, he propagates what we may call the Laertes paradigm. Following the myth of Prometheus, in which he already touched upon the topic of farming, Themistius draws an analogy between the logoi, that is, his own profession, and agriculture: ‘A certain skill, though, is required for this [eloquence], just as a knowledge of agriculture is required for growing things. Consider how both endeavours resemble each other.’⁷⁵ Then he goes on to flesh this kinship out, explaining that it is necessary to first prepare the soul through learning and attentiveness, then to sow and plant it, and to free it of weeds. Above all, he says: you should take care neither to sow randomly nor to plant things from which you will reap nothing useful. For among speeches, like among plants, there are many that are pleasing and lush, but fruitless and without benefit . . . . So be selective and look out for those seeds which are useful.⁷⁶

The analogy of the cultivation of the soul, an idea articulated by Plato and many others, captures well what Themistius tried to convey to his students throughout his teaching career.⁷⁷ A fundamental principle of his educational theory was that it was vital, and legitimate, to make good use of rhetorical skills for the dissemination of philosophy. While the sophists with their beguiling eloquence aimed merely at pleasing the audience, the true orator had the moral progress of the individual and society in mind. Furthermore, his rhetorical skills were, as Plato had demanded, governed by virtue and justice. With the analogy taken from rural life Themistius underlines that training in true paideia resembles a long-lasting cultivation process, requiring much effort and perseverance. And in a manner similar to Macrobius’ image of the selective bees, the passage implies that the person who wants to cultivate his or her mind needs to have formed beforehand an idea of the nature and goal of the formation process in order to select only what will benefit the soul. Seen against the backdrop of Themistius’ derogatory remarks on the merchant-traveller, the imagery of

⁷⁵ Them. Or. 27.338d: δεῖ μέντοι ἐπὶ τούτων καὶ τέχνης τινός, καθάπερ ἐπ’ ἐκείνων γεωργικῆς. σκοπεῖν δὲ ὡς ἄμφω τὰ ἔργα σφόδρα ἐμφερῶς ἔχει πρὸς ἄλληλα. ⁷⁶ Them. Or. 27.339a–b: μάλιστα δὲ ἁπάντων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι μήτε σπείρειν ἁπλῶς μήτε φυτεύειν ἐξ ὅσων οὐδέν τι χρήσιμον ἀποδρέψεται. εἰσὶ γὰρ καὶ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐν τοῖς φυτοῖς, πολλοὶ χαρίεντες μὲν καὶ ἀμφιλαφεῖς, ἄκαρποι δὲ καὶ ἀνόνητοι, . . . ἀλλ’ ἐκλέγεσθαι καὶ σκοπεῖν, ὁπόσα χρήσιμα τῶν σπερμάτων. ⁷⁷ Cf. Pl. R. 6.492a, Phdr. 276b–277a. The comparison between farming and education is made by Ps.-Plu. De lib. educ. 4 and 6 (Mor. 2a–c, 4c). For the analogy of cultivation of the soil and cultivation of the soul in Latin literature see Cic. Hort. fr. 53, de orat. 2.131, Brut. 16, Lact. inst. 6.15.8, epit. 55.5, and Boeth. cons. 3. carm. 1.1–4. For further parallels see Wilhelm 1927–8: 474–5. See also Morgan 1998: 255–9 on the agricultural metaphor in educational thinking.

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208 education in late antiquity agriculture also implies that a successful learning process depends on the stability of place. Instead of entrusting one’s life to the unsteady sea in pursuit of riches, one ought to focus on one small plot of land and pay attention to every tender plant, almost in ascetic withdrawal from the busy traffic of cities and harbours. Despite his enduring career, and involvement in high-profile politics, in the capital Constantinople, the notion of rural, peasant-like philosophy was dear to Themistius. It is particularly prominent in his eulogy of his deceased father Eugenius, a philosopher himself, who is portrayed as a second Laertes, cultivating the soil, probably on the edges of Paphlagonia, and at the same time nourishing his soul with virtue.⁷⁸ The encomium re-evaluates husbandry as a philosophical activity and claims that divine philosophy is rooted in the countryside, thereby cutting across the entrenched divide between the polis and the uncivilized hinterland. We may add here that Themistius’ surviving works also include a rhetorical exercise on the thesis Should One Engage in Farming?⁷⁹ This piece, too, rehearses familiar arguments in favour of the virtue of the countryside and the wholesome influence of farming on ethical conduct. Returning to the antagonism of agriculture and travelling in Oration 27, I suggest that Themistius sets out to challenge the widespread belief that equates the learning process with a path, be it a literal or a figurative one. The main reason why he is sceptical about the Odysseus-style travel paradigm is that his preferred type of teaching centres upon the care for the human soul instead of imparting skills. In his view, true paideia cannot be defined in terms of knowledge and skills alone. Rather, if a student really wishes to make progress, he is to consider how to care for his soul and to become a better person.⁸⁰ The knowledge that he acquires in school has then to be oriented to the goal of selfperfection. To make this point, the speech throughout makes reference to the dichotomy of internal and external. While the young critic mistakes education for a material commodity to be found in notable places, true learning is internalized and unalienable, for the logoi belong to humans themselves, not to the outside world. Immaterial as they are, they equip, as it were, the human soul with wings so that it can ascend.⁸1 This concern for the soul is very well captured by the opposition of the brothers Epimetheus, who is assigned by the gods the task of adorning the earth with living creatures and material commodities, and Prometheus, who receives a mixing bowl brimming with intellection and good judgement. These immaterial commodities

⁷⁸ Them. Or. 20.236d–237d. See Chapter 4.2. ⁷⁹ Them. Or. 30. ⁸⁰ Them. Or. 27.339d; further, 341a. ⁸1 Them. Or. 27.336a–c, 338d. The dualism of external attractions and qualities of the soul, in relation to education, is also the key theme in Or. 24.305c–308b (also with reference to travelling). The background to Themistius’ view on the soul here is Plato’s image of the winged philosopher in Pl. Phdr. 248c–249d. For the same idea in Boethius see Chapter 5.5.

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moulding the self and the world 209 can grow nowhere but in the soul. Consequently, Themistius caps the mythical tale with the conclusion: Man, it seems, is the only receptacle for and site of learning and reason. Therefore, for raising pulses and other plants, one place is better than another; but eloquence is the fruit of human souls, and it is in these that one must search for superior or inferior eloquence.⁸2

Highlighting the narrative’s key point, the spatial metaphor (ὑποδοχή τις καὶ χώρα) makes clear that education takes place nowhere but inside the subject himself; it is an interior process, the direct opposite of limitless turning to the exterior world. The logoi, if properly used, are grounded in virtue, as this and other passages of the speech indicate. What the sophists propagate instead is a crooked eloquence, one that seeks to please and lacks the guidance of reason and virtue. In another discourse, which even features natural Philosophy and artificial Rhetoric as personifications, Themistius elaborates further on the antagonism of the two professions. There, strikingly again with reference to travelling, he draws a sharp line between the external attractions that are on offer for the audience of the sophistic orator and the attractions of the soul in the realm of philosophy.⁸3 If this, then, is Themistius’ vision of paideia, we see why he discounts travelling. Since knowledge and wisdom are immaterial, residing nowhere but in the soul, they cannot be tied to any particular site. On this point, Themistius is, of course, in accord with the philosophical mainstream, and Plato’s Socrates had already given the definitive answer when he said that ‘places and trees cannot teach anything, but men in the cities can’.⁸⁴ As the human soul qua site of learning outdoes geographical places, the person who is keen to make philosophical progress might as well stay at home, instead of sailing far. This is true also for the more mundane realities of ancient education, the rhetorical skills: stylistic qualities, Themistius insists, can be taken with you wherever you go. Thus, he champions a universal paideia, an education independent from any physical base and defying parochial thinking. His ideal learner will concentrate on his self, the inner person, in order to become a better person, rather than seeking distractions in breathtaking sights.

⁸2 Them. Or. 27.338c–d: γέγονε γὰρ ἄνθρωπος μόνος, ὡς ἔοικε, ὑποδοχή τις καὶ χώρα παιδείας καὶ λόγου, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ὄσπρια μὲν καὶ φυτὰ ἕτερον χωρίον ἑτέρου γενναιότερον ἐκτρέφει, οἱ λόγοι δέ εἰσι καρπὸς ψυχῶν ἀνθρωπίνων, καὶ ἐν ταύταις ζητητέον τούς τε ἀμείνους καὶ τοὺς χείρους αὐτῶν. Themistius in his retelling of the famous myth differs from Plato’s version in Pl. Prt. 320c–322d. ⁸3 Them. Or. 24.305c–308b, pointing out the difference between ‘good qualities of the soul’ and ‘cleverly fabricated externals’. Themistius insists that he has made the long journey to Nicomedia, where he is delivering the speech, not because of the amenities and beautiful features of the city and its surroundings, but because of the ‘noble and inherited attraction’ which inhabits the Nicomedians’ souls. The opposition of the external beauty of a city and the citizens’ virtues was a topos. See, for example, D.Chr. 32.35–8, Aristid. Or. 1.25. ⁸⁴ Pl. Phdr. 230d.

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210 education in late antiquity To drive home the lesson, the speech concludes with an allegorical exegesis of the famous Homeric herb moly given to Odysseus by the god Hermes. While it is essential, even life-saving, to obtain this plant, it does not matter whether you will be sailing by Circe’s island or to any other destination: ‘Does Egypt or some distant Homeric island produce this root, and do you have to undertake longer travels for it? Well, if you want to understand the words of the epic, you will be able to dig up the remedy right here.’⁸⁵ There is, however, more to this allegory than just the belief that the learning useful for the cultivation of the self is universal and independent from the constraints of place. On a methodical level, Themistius with his reading of the Odyssey also underscores that the benefit for the soul crucially hinges on an appropriate, and sophisticated, understanding of literary masterpieces. Here, it is worth returning to the presentation style of Themistius’ address. Like most of his orations, this speech is a cornucopia of literary references, allusions, echoes, and quotes, which all bear testimony to the speaker’s wide learning.⁸⁶ The classics, Homer, Plato, and Herodotus, hold pride of place. Hesiod, the ‘polymath’ Xenophon, and other writers complete the roll call.⁸⁷ Well-known myths, too, make an appearance, for example those of the Argo and Odysseus’ travels; the tale of Epimetheus and Prometheus, as we have seen, even receives detailed consideration. The speech spreads out an endless horizon of erudite literary references, and the thoughts presented by Themistius are largely derivative. How important it was for Themistius to be known as well-read can also be gleaned from the eulogy of his father, which highlights the late Eugenius’ great familiarity with both philosophical writing and the world of letters.⁸⁸ Themistius’ wide reading, though, is not exclusively a matter of more or less explicit referencing. Equally important is the range of topics that his discourse brings up. He manages to cover in this rather short speech vast ground, discussing gods and cults, various peoples, geography, botany, animals, crafts, customs, and institutions. In doing so, he conveys the impression of himself as being knowledgeable about all sorts of things, whether he is asked about horse-breeding or the practices of the Indian Brahmans, as if he were a walking encyclopaedia.⁸⁹ ⁸⁵ Them. Or. 27.340c: ἆρ’ οὖν Αἴγυπτος φέρει τὴν ῥίζαν ἐκείνην ἤ τις Ὁμήρου νῆσος πόρρωθεν ἀπῳκισμένη, καὶ δεῖ σοι πάλιν μακροτέρας ἀποδημίας; ἀλλ’ εἰ ξυνιέναι τῶν ἐπῶν ἐθέλεις, κἀνταῦθα ὀρύττειν οἷός τε ἔσῃ τὸ φάρμακον. The allegory implies that the ‘useful’ plant, embodying virtue, is an effective antidote against desires, represented by Circe. Cf. Hom. Od. 10.203–399, esp. 302–6 (on moly). Themistius’ ideal is the person who unconditionally desires learning as such, the φιλομαθής or φιλόλογος (335c–d, after Pl. R. 5.475b–d). ⁸⁶ To what extent Themistius’ knowledge was based on first-hand reading or on existing florilegia does not need to concern us here. See Colpi 1987 on Themistius’ familiarity with classical authors. ⁸⁷ Them. Or. 27.335d: ὁ πάντα σοφὸς Ξενοφῶν. For the references to the classics see the apparatus in Schenkl et al. 1965–74, Wilhelm 1927–8, and the notes in Penella 2000: 164–74. ⁸⁸ See Chapter 4.2. ⁸⁹ For the correlation between reading and wide-ranging learning see also Themistius’ reference to his own reading of Homer in 334c–d. There it is suggested that the study of Homer’s epics leads to deeper insight into human nature and education.

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moulding the self and the world 211 The image of the orator conjured up by the speech is that of an armchair traveller. What the numerous tributes to the classical authors demonstrate is that, merely through his reading, Themistius is capable of wandering the entire world, unhindered by the sea, mountains, or adverse climates. He is virtually ubiquitous, and he takes us with him on his Hellenocentric exploration of the world. Yet it is important to note that Themistius’ commanding knowledge of the oecumene is derived from literary works. Nowhere does he suggest that his learning is based on being an actual globetrotter. And even when he encourages, though with irony, his opponent to sail about, he indicates that whatever one will see in exotic countries is ‘stories’: ‘You can come back from there and tell us about serpents and elephants instead of petty tales with which everyone is familiar. You will encounter the Indian ant, a big creature—and a tall tale!’⁹⁰ By this gesture Themistius explains that the formative engagement with the world is a mediated and thus detached one, a reflective interaction that does not require close proximity to it. Further, by implication, it is a constructive activity because the student approaches the ‘other’, be it remote places, historical events, or figures, through the lens of those who have written about them before. This comes with an additional benefit, exemplified by the discourse itself: it is only through reading a wide range of texts that the student is able to create in his mind an encompassing picture of the whole, integrating disparate objects into a coherent panorama. In this respect, Themistius’ vision is not far away from the suggestion of his colleague Eumenius some decades earlier, who envisaged how students in the school of Autun every day would contemplate in its porticoes a large-scale map of the Empire and thereby, from a characteristically Roman perspective, relate to the world in its multiple layers.⁹1 By approaching the otherness of the world from reflective distance the student is not so much to acquire factual knowledge for its own sake as to cultivate his self, to make progress in virtue. Only when perceived and selected under the imperative of care for the self (πρὸς ἑαυτὸν ὁρᾷς καὶ ὅπως σεαυτοῦ ἔσῃ βελτίων, 339d), do external objects become meaningful and have the ability to be internalized, if the soul has been prepared beforehand. Then will the student be able, like Themistius and his philosophical idols, to see the objects for what they are so that he becomes aware of man’s nature and place in the world.

⁹⁰ Them. Or. 27.337c: ἵνα ἡμῖν ἐκεῖθεν ἐπανελθὼν μὴ σμικρὰ καὶ πολυθρύλητα λέγῃς, ἀλλ’ ὑπὲρ δρακόντων καὶ ἐλεφάντων. ἔσται δέ σοι καὶ μύρμηξ ὁ Ἰνδός, μέγα καὶ ζῷον καὶ διήγημα. Cf. Hdt. 3.102.2 on the fabulous Indian ants; Aristid. Or. 13 (163.6 D., 102 J.); D.Chr. 35.23. See also, for example, 332d: ὅπου καὶ τὴν Ἀργὼ σωθεῖσαν ἐκ Θεσσαλίας ποιηταὶ ἐθαύμασαν (‘the Argo arrived safely from Thessaly, as the poets have told in amazement’; my emphasis). ⁹1 Paneg. 9(4).20–21: Videat praeterea in illis porticibus iuventus et cotidie spectet omnes terras et cuncta maria et quidquid invictissimi principes urbium gentium nationum aut pietate restituunt aut virtute devincunt aut terrore devinciunt (20.2, ‘And in these porticoes, let the young men see and contemplate daily every land and all the seas and whatever cities, peoples, and nations the most unconquerable rulers either restore by affection or conquer by valour or restrain by fear’). See La Bua 2010: 313–14.

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212 education in late antiquity By juxtaposing two ways of interaction with the objective world, Themistius problematizes the delicate balance of the subject and object in the existential process of self-formation. On the one hand, there is the paradigm of merchanttravelling, which is driven by too keen an interest in the material world and therefore fails to nurture the human soul; the individual is completely absorbed by external things and does not know how to relate them back to the self. On the other hand, whoever truly wants to become a better person is to complete a different kind of journey, one that through reading provides access to the diversity of the world but ultimately leads toward knowledge of the self. Only the latter is genuine paideia because the student, focused on the goal of self-perfection, will interact with the cultural memory of the past and a diversity of perspectives in such a way that it becomes a consequential resource for the development of the soul.

5.4 Kicking Away the Ladder The idea of imitation was central to pedagogic theory and practice in any period of Graeco-Roman antiquity. However, under the conditions of an increasingly Christianized society the belief that an individual could nurture his or her potentials best through imitating role models gained new significance, as the discourse of exemplars extended beyond the social elite to wider segments of society. Humble people who suffered martyrdom had, so it seemed, given proof that men and women of the lower strata, too, were able to attain perfection in virtue. The message of numerous commemorative sermons was that every Christian was called to mould him- or herself after these embodiments of the saintly life. Already Paul had exhorted his addressees to follow him, just as he had followed Christ, and many a Christian preacher in late antiquity reiterated his command, in particular when congregations gathered in honour of one of the saints.⁹2 In many cases both festive and exegetical sermons, for example those of John Chrysostom, take the mimesis of role models as a rather straightforward matter, as if the believer simply had to translate the saint’s virtues into his or her daily life.⁹3 If there was any challenge, it was due to the weakness of the individual Christian to be reformed. Some churchmen, though, saw mimetic pedagogy jeopardized by a more fundamental problem, a factor inherent in the very idea of imitation. Gregory of Nyssa, when he composed an idealized account of the life of Moses as protreptic

⁹2 1 Cor. 11:1. ⁹3 See e.g. Chrys. stat. 2.5 (PG 49.40.47–60), Philogon. 1 (PG 48.747.36–749.11). Representative also is Basil’s discussion of the pedagogic mimesis of biblical figures in Bas. ep. 2.3, where he likens the biblical figures to ‘living images’ and ‘moving statues’, thus highlighting the role of vision in the imitation. For the idea of martyrs as role models see e.g. Leemans 2000 and the general introduction in Leemans et al. 2003.

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moulding the self and the world 213 to the philosophical life, was fully aware of the intricate nature of mimesis.⁹⁴ If he wanted his readers to follow the biblical figure, he had to give some thought to the question of how the late antique audience could successfully model themselves after the exemplar. The introductory section to the Life thus not only expressly states the purpose of encouraging the addressee to the life of virtue and furnishing him with principles to apply to his own life but also raises the methodological issue of the possibility of imitation: ‘What then?’, someone will say, ‘How shall I put myself in the same rank as one of them, since I am not a Chaldaean as Abraham is said to have been, nor was I nourished by the daughter of the Egyptian as the account teaches about Moses, and in general I do not have in these matters anything in my life corresponding to anyone of the ancients? How shall I put myself in the same rank, when I do not know how to imitate anyone so far removed by the ways of his life?’⁹⁵

With remarkable insight, this imagined dialogue with the reader of the Life addresses the foundation of pedagogic mimesis, pointing us to the hermeneutical problem that is too often ignored. In what ways can formative mimesis take place if the object, the model, is distant, if, in other words, its otherness creates a barrier too high to overcome? Or in general terms, how is it possible in the first place to relate to the object that an individual needs for self-formation? Gregory’s reflective approach to the task of the philosophical mentor once more demonstrates that the topic of Christian paideia was more complex than the tenacious narrative of a tension between faith and Hellenic culture suggests. In Gregory’s eyes, the challenge implied in the concept of imitation was one of fundamental importance to Christian existence because, as the Life later on states, man was by nature educable and supposed to mould himself according to a preconceived idea; even more, humans were responsible for their own formation.⁹⁶ What Gregory intended to provide with the Life was, as I shall demonstrate, nothing less than a guidebook to the process of self-formation. We will see that according to him, otherness was crucial to this process, though it posed a serious risk in two different ways.⁹⁷ In Gregory’s case the modern term ‘self-formation’ is particularly appropriate, for at the end of his account of Moses’ life he likens the Old Testament lawgiver to

⁹⁴ Gregory discusses the translation of the model to one’s own life and the idea of mimesis in v. Mos. 1.3 and 2.319 (GNO 7.1.2 and 143–4). ⁹⁵ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 1.14 (GNO 7.1.6): τί οὖν, ἐρεῖ τις, εἰ μήτε Χαλδαῖος ἐγὼ ὥσπερ ὁ Ἀβραὰμ μνημονεύεται, μήτε τῆς θυγατρὸς τοῦ Αἰγυπτίου τρόφιμος ὡς περὶ τοῦ Μωϋσέως ὁ λόγος κατέχει, μηδ’ ὅλως ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις πρός τινα τῶν ἀρχαίων ἔχω τι κατὰ τὸν βίον κατάλληλον, πῶς εἰς τὴν αὐτὴν τάξιν ἑνὶ τούτων ἐμαυτὸν καταστήσω μὴ ἔχων ὅπως τὸν τοσοῦτον ἀφεστῶτα διὰ τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων μιμήσωμαι; ⁹⁶ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.3 (GNO 7.1.34). ⁹⁷ Elsewhere, I have discussed the formative role of otherness in the Life of Moses more fully. See Stenger forthcoming c.

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214 education in late antiquity a knowledgeable sculptor ‘who has fashioned well the statue of his own life’, and elsewhere, also in the context of education, Gregory returns to analogies taken from the fine arts, comparing the Christian who moulds himself after a model to a painter of his own life.⁹⁸ In the light of these analogies, I will demonstrate that it is too simplistic to see Gregory’s notion of education as one structured by an antagonism between anthropocentric Hellenic paideia and God-oriented Christian formation.⁹⁹ While it is undeniable that Gregory’s ideal of formation is tied to God and Christ as the focal point, man’s free will is operative, too, and the human subject, though not completely autonomous, ought to reform himself.1⁰⁰ For an accurate understanding of paideia in Gregory’s writings we may start from the observations, still useful, made by one of the promoters of Gregorian studies in the middle of the twentieth century. It was Werner Jaeger, the initiator of the modern critical edition of Gregory’s works, who in his lectures on early Christianity and Greek paideia drew attention to the centrality of morphosis in Nyssen’s thinking. Jaeger, who understood the Life of Moses as a programmatic response to criticism of the Christian use of the Hellenic cultural tradition,1⁰1 highlighted that Gregory valued the element of malleability in the process of paideia, perfectly encapsulated in the identity of all educational activity and the work of the creative artist, as intimated by the Greek term morphosis.1⁰2 In addition, Jaeger individuated in particular three characteristics of Gregory’s conception: first, divine assistance, the intervention of the Spirit, as a sine qua non of any Christian understanding of human development; second, the fundamental limitlessness of the formative effort, as human perfection had to be sought in lifelong endeavour but could never be fully attained; and third, and most crucially in our context, the role of the object of learning as the mould by which the subject is shaped. In Jaeger’s words: ‘One essential feature of Greek paideia that made it unique among all the different conceptions of human education in other nations is that it not only contemplated the process of development in the human subject but also took into account the influence of the object of learning.’1⁰3

⁹⁸ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.313 (GNO 7.1.141); perf. PG 46.272 (GNO 8.1.195–6). See also the image of the painter used by his brother Basil in Bas. ep. 2.3, also applied to the imitation of biblical role models. The metaphor of transformation (μεταμορφοῦσθε) is already in Rom. 12:2. ⁹⁹ Pace Lengerich 1994, who overemphasizes the differences between the allegedly two separate cultures. He argues that the pagan individual forms himself, while the Christian lets himself be formed by God in the figure of Christ (20–4, 295). 1⁰⁰ Gr. Nyss. anim. et res. PG 46.120 (GNO 3.3.90–1) emphasizes the faculty of free choice that belongs to the human soul. See also hom. in Eccl. 2 (GNO 5.301–2). For the place of human freedom in Gregory’s conception of the soul see Leuenberger-Wenger 2008: 190–6 and Ramelli 2018: 130–3. 1⁰1 Jaeger 1961: 80–1. 1⁰2 Jaeger 1961: 86–93. 1⁰3 Jaeger 1961: 91. This thought owes much to Jaeger’s earlier magnum opus, Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture (Ger. orig., in three volumes, 1933–47). According to Jaeger 1943–5: 1.xxii–xxiii, the idea of deliberately moulding human character in accordance with an ideal is the essence of education in the Greek sense.

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moulding the self and the world 215 Leaving aside Jaeger’s claim of its uniqueness, this idea, which has not received in recent scholarship the attention it deserves, opens an avenue to Gregory’s contribution to the ancient educational discourse. The following discussion will concentrate on two of Gregory’s works that illuminate his concept of a Christian self-formation depending on specific subject–object relationships. Our main source will be the Life of Moses, already mentioned, while the Life of Gregory Thaumaturgus can shed additional light on the question of Christian paideia. The former was composed in the late 380s or early 390s and addressed to an unknown Caesarius, probably a monk; the latter was publicly delivered, probably on the feast day of the saint, 17 November 379.1⁰⁴ Both biographic accounts were intended to promote the Christian life of virtue and thus bear close resemblance to each other, as well as to further discussions of Christian formation.1⁰⁵ The Life of Moses is, however, unique insofar as it falls into two parts, the biography proper (historia), according to the Old Testament, and an allegorical exegesis of it (theoria).1⁰⁶ First, a brief outline of the main lines of Nyssen’s theory of formation is in order. For Gregory, the life of contemplation, the philosophical life, is the highest form of human existence and, moreover, it is the truly Christian life, yet it is not accessible to philosophers alone.1⁰⁷ The premise on which the goal of the perfect Christian existence rests is man’s likeness to God, his status as imago Dei.1⁰⁸ Man has, however, contravened the kinship with God by falling prey to sin and passions, and through his entanglement with the world. Hence, the Christian ought to shake off this state of estrangement through the imitation of God, that is, the return to his true fatherland.1⁰⁹ The cornerstone of this ‘restorative’ paideia is theoria, contemplation of God in liberation from passions and the material, as also illustrated in Moses’ encounter with God. For progress on this path, God has provided in Christ a model: as an archetype of the Christian life, a kind of Platonic

1⁰⁴ Gregory of Nyssa, Life of Moses (SC 1, also GNO 7.1). For the date see the introduction in this edition (Daniélou 1968: 14–16) and Geljon 2002: 63. Life of Gregory Thaumaturgus (GNO 10.1 and SC 573). For the occasion and date of its delivery see Maraval 2014: 14–23. 1⁰⁵ These works are De instituto Christiano, De professione Christiana, and De perfectione, all edited in GNO 8.1 (ed. Jaeger). The coherence of Gregory’s works on the ascetic life has been pointed out by Jaeger 1954. 1⁰⁶ In his allegorical reading Gregory had as a model Philo of Alexandria’s Life of Moses, which also interprets Moses’ life as that of the philosopher. For Philo’s influence on Gregory’s interpretation see Geljon 2002. 1⁰⁷ See also Gr. Nyss. laud. Bas. 20 (GNO 10.1.125–6). 1⁰⁸ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.318 (GNO 7.1.143). The idea has a central role in Gregory’s Christian anthropology. See perf. PG 46.269–72 (GNO 8.1.194–5), prof. Chr. PG 46.244–5 (GNO 8.1.135–8). See Jaeger 1954: 73–6 and Boersma 2013: 104. Accordingly, the Delphic maxim ‘know thyself ’ is fundamental to Gregory’s theory of self-cultivation, as the quest for the good life presupposes knowledge of man’s nature. See the imperative in mort. PG 46.508 (GNO 9.40.1–4). 1⁰⁹ The Platonic notion of homoiosis theo is central to Gregory’s anthropology and conception of selfformation. According to Gregory, man is defined by realizing his likeness to God, and human virtue consists in assimilation to the divine. See, for example, Gr. Nyss. hom. in Eccl. 1 (GNO 5.284) and beat. 1 (GNO 7.2.82). See Merki 1952, Böhm 1996: 205–11, and Leuenberger-Wenger 2008: 180–90.

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216 education in late antiquity idea, Christ is the mould to which the believer has to assimilate himself.11⁰ The terms used by Gregory in this context, μορφή, χαρακτήρ, ἀρχέτυπος, and cognate words, neatly characterize the nature of the formation process. It is, Gregory explains, necessary for Christians to become what the name ‘Christ’ implies, and, then, to adapt themselves to the title.111 However, as we have seen, if formation is understood as moulding oneself after a model, one inevitably faces the hermeneutical challenge of negotiating self and otherness. Gregory’s detailed discussion of Christ’s names and their educative value suggests that models of the perfect life are made accessible, if not exclusively, through verbal representations. In addition, the remarkably long reflection on epideictic rhetoric in the introduction to the Life of Gregory Thaumaturgus says as much.112 We may add that, as Jaeger has stressed, the whole idea of morphosis as imitatio Christi is based on the formative effect of the unceasing study of the Scriptures.113 In the case of the idealized Christian Life, that implies that commemorative discourse is the medium for establishing a relationship with a model that offers some resistance, namely figures and events situated in the distant past. The act of commemoration is envisaged by Gregory as a joint enterprise of the panegyrist and his audience, both taking equal care for unearthing the path toward the good. Only then can the saintly life’s radiance reach the believer’s soul and inflame the naturally given desire to take possession of the praiseworthy and valuable. Importantly, Gregory’s argument that humans by nature want to assimilate and possess the object of admiration hints at the nature of the formative reception of role models: rather than merely passive listening, the endeavour of verbal commemoration is an active engagement leading to ever greater assimilation of the subject and the object.11⁴ That is what Gregory as a biographer himself does in the Life of Moses, when he, instead of simply reading the Pentateuch, subjects it to an allegorical exegesis in order to distil from the biblical account the elements of the virtuous life that can be incorporated into the reader’s own conduct. That he intended his own reading practice as a model for the audience emerges clearly from passages that illuminate the hermeneutical principle on which the formative encounter with the object is predicated.11⁵ Inserted in Gregory’s allegorical interpretation of Moses’ biography, these comments make readers aware that the study of the biblical figure involves a continuous negotiation of their perspective and the text, with the readers’ understanding now comprehending the narrative as a whole, now focusing on its 11⁰ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.318 (GNO 7.1.143); perf. PG 46.256, 260 (GNO 8.1.178, 181). 111 Gr. Nyss. perf. PG 46.260 (GNO 8.1.181). See Ludlow 2018: 175–6. 112 Gr. Nyss. v. Gr. Thaum. 1–7 (GNO 10.1.3–6), suggesting that the representation through discourse, the commemoration, puts the late antique Christian in the position of the Wonderworker’s contemporaries, thereby establishing a relationship with him. 113 Jaeger 1961: 93. See Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 1.11 (GNO 7.1.5) on Scripture as the guide toward virtue. 11⁴ Gr. Nyss. v. Gr. Thaum. 2 (GNO 10.1.4). 11⁵ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.48–9 (GNO 7.1.46–7), 2.65 (7.1.51–2).

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moulding the self and the world 217 individual elements, in order to reach ever closer to an accurate understanding of the whole. For the full meaning of the allegorical narrative to be grasped, the subject of understanding first needs to form a preliminary idea of the whole, determined by the goal (σκοπός) of the formation process, before approaching the details.11⁶ Only then will the moral teaching be disclosed to the reader as an aid in living the virtuous life. These methodological comments indicate that Gregory envisions the way in which the subject establishes a relationship with role models of the past as a selective, interpretive, and constructive operation: the interpreting subject enters an assimilative ‘communication’ with the type without which the gap of otherness cannot be closed.11⁷ Gregory does not stop with abstract instruction in the right approach to the imitation of religious role models, for he aims to cast both Moses and Gregory Thaumaturgus as perfect embodiments of the life of contemplation, that is, to teach his audience by way of example. For this aim the narratives focus on the two men’s techniques of self-perfection and related practices. Largely conforming to the genre of the philosophical life, both accounts not only comprise the protagonists’ deeds and achievements but also chronicle the phase of intellectual and ethical maturation, as an explanation of their exceptional and exemplary status. At first glance, Gregory Thaumaturgus hardly seems to be in need of further education, as he, still a little boy, is already complete in the possession of virtue and instinctively embarks on the best way of life.11⁸ Yet, despite their extraordinary innate talents, both he and Moses undergo a formation period, in which they also encounter foreign cultural traditions.11⁹ Before we look more closely at this, it should be recalled that Gregory does not regard this process as an exclusively human, self-reliant activity but underlines the necessity of divine assistance, or alliance

11⁶ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.48 (7.1.46), 2.65 (7.1.51–2). Cf. instit. (GNO 8.1.50) on the imitation of Christ as a Platonic homoiosis theo. For the preconceived goal that must guide the imitation of role models see also virg. (GNO 8.1.339) and laud. Bas. 20 (GNO 10.1.126). In the latter text, a commemorative speech, Gregory’s brother Basil is repeatedly likened to Moses and his life is presented as an imitation of Moses’ (GNO 10.1.110, 125–30). See Damgaard 2013: 183–201. 11⁷ Gregory suggests the process of assimilation at a crucial point in his account, when he makes the transition to the allegorical reading of Moses’ biography. There he says: καιρὸς δ’ ἂν εἴη πρὸς τὸν προκείμενον ἡμῖν τοῦ λόγου σκοπὸν ἐφαρμόσαι τὸν μνημονευθέντα βίον, ὡς ἄν τις γένοιτο ἡμῖν ἐκ τῶν προειρημένων πρὸς τὸν κατ’ ἀρετὴν βίον συνεισφορά (‘Now it is time for us to adapt the life which we have called to mind to main objective of our study so that we gain some profit from the things mentioned for the life according to virtue’, 1.77, GNO 7.1.33). See further 2.48–50 (GNO 7.1.46–7) on the interpretive activity of aligning the model with the goal of the formative endeavour. 11⁸ Gr. Nyss. v. Gr. Thaum. 11 (GNO 10.1.8–9). Gregory draws here on the well-known literary topos of the puer senex, which was also employed by Christian authors, for example in Athanasius’ Life of St Antony. See Horn and Martens 2009: 325–6 on the use of the motif in Christian literature. 11⁹ The passage cited in the previous footnote seems prima facie contradictory, as the narrator, with the analogy of seedlings, states that young Gregory, though already giving a glimpse of his future maturity, still had to grow to realize his potentials, while a few lines later he stresses the boy’s ‘completeness’. The account here is evidently indebted to the traditional trope, common in ancient biography, that a person’s physis reaches the acme only through paideia.

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218 education in late antiquity (συμμαχία), so that the formation results from a synergy of human effort and intervention of God and the Holy Spirit.12⁰ As he relates the upbringing of Moses and Gregory Thaumaturgus and then the events of their adulthood, Gregory draws attention to his protagonists’ varied experiences, encounters, and discoveries, as well as to their teaching activity. First, Moses at the Pharaoh’s court receives training in ‘external’, that is, Egyptian, education, before he later leaves the visible realm behind to gain knowledge of God and acquire virtues. Once descended, Moses, now purified, dispenses his insights to the Israelites.121 It is, however, important that Moses, before he is able to ascend to the higher form of wisdom, has to train his rational faculty and to complete studies in various subject matters. In a highly original allegorical reading, Gregory interprets the ark in which the baby Moses was put as education in different disciplines, which holds its precious freight above the waves of life, that is, the turmoil of the world of materiality.122 What the allegorical exegesis of this passage teaches is that wide-ranging paideusis, based on the exercise of rational thought, supports the individual to grow in goodness. More than that, education protects Moses from the onslaughts of the earthly life. While the narration of Moses’ formation was limited by the information available from the Old Testament, Gregory in the Life of Gregory Thaumaturgus could provide greater detail on intellectual and ethical training because the Wonderworker’s time at the Alexandrian school was fairly well documented and allowed for greater narrative freedom than a biblical figure. Thus, we see Gregory Thaumaturgus travelling, like many youths, to the Egyptian capital in search for higher learning. There, he studies philosophy, yet is set apart from his student mates through his Christian conduct, the purity of his life.123 Soon he sees through the Greek philosophers’ shallowness, taking offence at their contradictions and inconsistencies. The frustration of his wishes becomes the starting point for his decisive turn to the wisdom of faith. He therefore leaves Greek philosophy behind in favour of the study of the gospel. The significance of this step in the account of the life can hardly be overestimated. To drive home his point, the narrator brackets the Wonderworker’s learning experience with two biblical parallels. One of them is the patriarch Abraham, ‘who was learned in Chaldaean philosophy and understood the harmonious and orderly disposition and movement of the stars, to use the knowledge of these things as

12⁰ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.44 (GNO 7.1.45). Further, v. Gr. Thaum. 1 (GNO 10.1.3) on the Holy Spirit as the foundation of the formation of life and instit. (GNO 8.1.47), also using the term συμμαχία, on man’s dependence in the process of perfection. 121 Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 1.18 (GNO 7.1.7–8), 1.46–56 (7.1.22–6). 122 Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.7–8 (GNO 7.1.35). Philo in his Life of Moses has a different interpretation, considering the basket a symbol of the body. See Geljon 2002: 85–6. 123 Gr. Nyss. v. Gr. Thaum. 15–20 (GNO 10.1.10–13).

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moulding the self and the world 219 a stepping stone to the superior contemplation of the good.’12⁴ Inspired by the Old Testament precursor, the student Gregory easily transcends human learning toward the things above human knowledge, which can be grasped by faith alone. The second parallel is, unsurprisingly, Moses himself, who was schooled in all the wisdom of the Egyptians,12⁵ but again this model motivates the young man to abandon Greek philosophy, useful though it may be, for the sake of becoming a disciple of the gospel. It is this move, from deficient pagan learning to the solid doctrine of faith, and from the perceptible world to the immaterial realm, that gives the narrative of Gregory’s formation its coherence. The reader becomes a witness of how the saint goes through several stages of perfection, until he attains full self-awareness and the purity necessary for contemplation of the divine. The involvement in the world has to give way to withdrawal, so that the struggles with enemies and problems, the separation from the perceptible sphere and the liberation from the passions emerge as but steps on the limitless path toward the true fatherland of deificatio.12⁶ After having drawn attention in the introduction to the challenge of formative mimesis, Gregory first recounts the course of Moses’ life according to the Old Testament. To attenuate the problematic otherness of the lawgiver’s biography and make it applicable to late antique lives, he then furnishes his audience with an allegorical interpretation that elucidates the general principles to be deduced from the biblical narrative. In addition, to further illustrate the role of otherness in formation, Moses, like the Wonderworker, is the prime example of a person encountering during his formative years various traditions and alien cultures. Yet Moses’ engagement with foreign learning also pointed to a different type of otherness, one that perhaps posed a more serious challenge. For many of Gregory’s readers the crux of the matter perhaps lay not in the difficulty of imitating distant models. Rather, what was perturbing the minds of Greek Christians in the late fourth century, at least those of the upper echelons, was the compatibility of faith and Hellenic culture.12⁷ This issue was also to be the litmus test of Gregory’s

12⁴ Gr. Nyss. v. Gr. Thaum. 12 (GNO 10.1.9): τῆς Χαλδαϊκῆς φιλοσοφίας ἐν ἐπιστήμῃ γενόμενον καὶ τὴν ἐναρμόνιόν τε καὶ τεταγμένην τῶν ἄστρων κατανοήσαντα θέσιν τε καὶ κίνησιν ὑποβάθρᾳ χρήσασθαι τῇ περὶ ταῦτα γνώσει πρὸς τὴν τοῦ ὑπερκειμένου ἀγαθοῦ θεωρίαν. Gregory Thaumaturgus himself reviews the course of his intellectual formation in ch. 5 of his Address of Thanksgiving to Origen. 12⁵ Gr. Nyss. v. Gr. Thaum. 14 (GNO 10.1.10). See Acts 7:22 and Philo, De vita Mosis 1.21. See also the Wonderworker’s own judgement on the insufficiency of pagan philosophy in Gr. Thaum. pan. Or. 14. 12⁶ For the limitlessness of the effort see Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 1.6–8 and 10 (GNO 7.1.3–5), where Gregory points out that, since virtue is limitless, the pursuit of the life in virtue by necessity is a lifelong process. The perfection of human nature consists in its growth in goodness. See further 1.5 (7.1.3), 2.225 (112), and the recapitulation of Moses’ life in 2.305–14 (138–41) on the idea of perfection lying in progressive, limitless growth. Gregory is influenced here by Phil. 3:12–14. Boersma 2013: 231–44 highlights the centrality of ἐπέκτασις (infinite progress) to the Life of Moses. According to him, Moses is an illustration of the perfection consisting in continuous growth in virtue. See also Böhm 1996: 37–63 on the infinite nature of virtue and the limitless pursuit of the good. 12⁷ See Chapter 2.1.

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220 education in late antiquity concept of a Christian paideia, and a touchstone of his own way of life.12⁸ As a consequence, he spent much consideration on the role of ‘external’ learning in Moses’ and the Wonderworker’s lives. His solution assigned to pagan studies a place that allowed Christians to simultaneously benefit and distance themselves from them. We have already seen that Gregory in his biographical accounts has Moses and his namesake, Gregory Thaumaturgus, but also Abraham, becoming imbued with the wisdom of the Egyptians and the Chaldaeans, and in the Wonderworker’s case, of the Greeks. One feature that immediately catches the reader’s eye is that the discussion of these men’s engagement with different cultural traditions puts much emphasis on the foreignness of those traditions. In the narrative of Moses’ life the opposition between what is foreign and what is one’s own comes to dominate over a considerable part of the text, both in the historia and in the allegorical theoria. Even as a small baby, we are told, when discovered by the Egyptian princess, Moses spurns the nourishment of a stranger. As soon as he has reached boyhood, he is introduced to ‘outside’ education, but Moses comes to despise the things held in high esteem by the foreigners and rejects his Egyptian stepmother in favour of his natural mother and his own kinsmen.12⁹ This antagonism between things foreign and native is revisited in the second, allegorical part, when Gregory elaborates on the identification of Moses’ ark with paideusis and the Egyptian princess with pagan philosophy.13⁰ The Life’s remarkable association of pagan and Christian wisdom with ethnic categories indicates the author’s attempt to objectify Greek paideia, as Arthur Urbano has pointed out. It remains, however, to be seen what this interpretive gesture implies. Unlike older scholarship, we have come to appreciate that Christianity was far from being ‘the other’ of Hellenic culture, however hard ancient apologetics tried to inculcate this belief. Rather, Christian religion, its Jewish roots notwithstanding, from the outset formed part of Graeco-Roman civilization. This fact has led Urbano to criticize Gregory for a misrecognition of pagan learning, arguing that he failed to recognize how Christianity was woven into the fabric of classical antiquity.131 We will, however, see that this view fails to grasp the import of Gregory’s intellectual operation, which was a deliberate construct, not an innocent misunderstanding. Let us, therefore, have a closer look at Moses’ intellectual formation, his training in philosophy and the disciplines, which, as Gregory’s diction shows, is evaluated

12⁸ Unlike his brother Basil, Gregory did not attend one of the renowned schools and received his intellectual formation largely from Basil. For Gregory’s training in classical rhetoric and philosophy see Meredith 1999: 3–4. 12⁹ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 1.17–18 (GNO 7.1.7–8). 13⁰ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.10–13 (GNO 7.1.36–7). 131 Urbano 2013: 119.

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moulding the self and the world 221 from an unequivocally Christian viewpoint.132 After he has moved to the allegorical interpretation of Moses’ life, Gregory devotes a substantial part of his exegesis to expounding the relationship between Moses and his Egyptian stepmother: If the king’s daughter, being childless and barren (I think she is properly understood to represent the external philosophy), arranged to be called his mother by bringing the child in as her own, the account concedes that the relationship with her who is falsely called mother should not be rejected until one recognizes one’s own immaturity. But he who has already ascended to the heights, as we have learnt about Moses, will consider it a disgrace to be called the son of a woman who is childless by nature.133

We can hardly fail to notice that this reading does indeed objectify ‘external’ philosophy, which Gregory’s contemporaries must have understood as the philosophical tradition of the Greeks. Gregory highlights, also in the following paragraphs, the foreign character of pagan learning, its otherness, which puts a barrier between Moses and his destination. Moreover, the tendentious exegesis reduces the Greek philosophers’ achievements, devalorizing pagan philosophy as something feigned, immature, and condemned to sterility. What Moses, a mirror image of the fourthcentury Christian intellectual, experiences in his upbringing is a fundamental tension between otherness and likeness, between distance and proximity. Some lines further down Gregory calls this tension even a battle, stating that the person examining, like Moses, external doctrines and the doctrines of the fathers will inevitably find himself caught between two enemies.13⁴ Yet, Gregory’s interpretation differs in one crucial respect from radical Christian rejection of pagan learning. As the adoption by the Egyptian princess and the following upbringing in a foreign culture were integral part of the Old Testament narrative, so engagement with profane learning appears as an essential, if preliminary, step on the road toward Christian perfection. External paideusis, Scripture suggests, is destined to ever remain infertile and fall short of the knowledge of God. Thus, the person who stays in the sphere of pagan philosophy is never able to become, in the full sense, human, since this requires awareness of the divine. Nonetheless, Moses had to go through this preparatory stage to recognize his own 132 See, for example, the phrase παιδευθεὶς τὴν ἔξωθεν παίδευσιν in v. Mos. 1.18 (GNO 7.1.8). For the application by Christian writers of the label ‘outside, external’ see Chapter 2.3. 133 Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.10 (GNO 7.1.36): εἰ δὲ ἡ ἄγονός τε καὶ στεῖρα βασιλέως οὖσα θυγάτηρ (ἣν οἶμαι τὴν ἔξωθεν κυρίως νοεῖσθαι φιλοσοφίαν) ὑποβαλλομένη τὸν νέον μήτηρ τοῦ τοιούτου κληθῆναι κατασκευάσειεν, ἕως τότε συγχωρεῖ ὁ λόγος μὴ ἀπωθεῖσθαι τὴν τῆς ψευδωνύμου μητρὸς οἰκειότητα, ἕως ἄν τις τὸ ἀτελὲς τῆς ἡλικίας ἐν ἑαυτῷ βλέπῃ. ὁ δὲ πρὸς ὕψος ἤδη ἀναδραμών, ὡς περὶ τοῦ Μωϋσέως ἐμάθομεν, αἰσχύνην ἡγήσεται τῆς κατὰ φύσιν ἀγόνου παῖς ὀνομάζεσθαι. See also laud. Bas. 20 (GNO 10.1.126). 13⁴ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.13 (GNO 7.1.37). See also the representation of Basil’s upbringing as mirroring Moses’ in laud. Bas. 1 (GNO 10.1.110).

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222 education in late antiquity immaturity, and crucially, his true nature. He eventually returns to his biological mother and kinsfolk. Therefore, Gregory concludes, ‘if we should be involved with external teachings in the time of our education, we should not separate ourselves from the church’s milk, which nourishes us.’13⁵ The foreign object, to put it differently, is essential for becoming aware of one’s own nature and self, as the indispensable precondition for the ascent to the imperceptible realm. The distant element, as a foil for understanding, has to be related to what is truly one’s own, which requires having an idea of one’s true being. With this preconceived notion of the goal in mind it is then possible to make appropriate use of worldly learning. Once more underscoring the dichotomy of foreignness and kinship, Gregory, with reference to the trope of just use, argues that Christians know better than pagans how to deal with external wisdom. Since the pagans’ use of wisdom is illegitimate, Christians are justified in wrestling paideusis from them.13⁶ A common theme in late antique Christianity, the idea of χρῆσις, the proper use, is then further elaborated by the image of spoliation that was already used by Origen to delineate the Christian attitude to pagan culture.13⁷ The allegorical explanation of the episode of Moses using the foreign wealth of the Egyptians, according to Gregory, is that Christians in their pursuit of the virtuous life are entitled to equip themselves with the treasures of pagan learning, that is, to borrow moral and natural philosophy, geometry, astronomy, dialectic, and whatever else outside the church may be profitable in beautifying with reason the divine temple of mystery.13⁸ Earlier on, in his interpretation of Moses taking a foreign wife, Gregory has outlined the Christian use of pagan education, with the additional qualification that the appropriation of external paideia can only be a temporal and preliminary one. For some time it may be a comrade, friend, and a companion of life to the higher form of existence, but then it has to be transcended and abandoned.13⁹ Its foreignness has to be recognized so that the impure and harmful can be removed. The challenging equipoise between otherness and likeness in the object of understanding helps to better comprehend one’s own nature and identify more clearly the goal of the path of virtue.

13⁵ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 12 (GNO 7.1.37): εἰ τοῖς ἔξωθεν λόγοις καθομιλοίημεν ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τῆς παιδεύσεως, μὴ χωρίζεσθαι τοῦ ὑποτρέφοντος ἡμᾶς τῆς ἐκκλησίας γάλακτος. See also laud. Bas. 20 (GNO 10.1.126). For the connection between nourishment and the formation of the soul in Christian thought see 1 Cor. 3:1–3. The theme of nourishment in Gregory’s theory of the formation of the human person is discussed by Penniman 2015 (507–12 on the Life of Moses, reprinted in Penniman 2017: 138–64). 13⁶ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.17 (GNO 7.1.38.). 13⁷ See Gnilka 1984: 78–9, who emphasizes the use of the term χρῆσις and its cognates, with their semantics of ‘borrowing’ and ‘using’, in the Life. See also Allen 2008: 218–33. 13⁸ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.112–16 (GNO 7.1.107–9). See Exod. 12:35–6. For the Christian idea of spoliation see Chapter 2.5. 13⁹ Gr. Nyss. v. Mos. 2.37 (GNO 7.1.43). See Exod. 2:16–22 and 4:19–27 on Moses’ marriage with Zipporah, the daughter of the priest Jethro. For the relationship between studies in the disciplines and higher wisdom see also De infantibus praemature abreptis (GNO 3.2.86–7).

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moulding the self and the world 223 In Gregory’s theory of a Christian paideia, ‘outside’ philosophy and the liberal disciplines play an important, albeit circumscribed, role. His depictions of exemplary lives exploit the familiar rhetoric of difference, the representation of Christianity and Hellenic culture as two separate entities which do not easily coalesce. Yet, Gregory’s use of this trope differs from that of other ecclesiastical authors, for he revisits the difference so as to make it productive for his idea of Christian morphosis. While in general church fathers magnified the otherness of pagan learning to argue for a critical, selective adaptation of it, Gregory in addition aimed at a re-evaluation of the difference from a pedagogic perspective. His original idea was that the otherness of the object of understanding was less of a threat, although it was that too, than a catalyst for self-perfection. Moulding oneself, as the core of any educational endeavour, meant to shape one’s life in an endless imitatio Christi toward the likeness of God. For this aim the Christian had to imitate suitable role models, such as Moses and the Wonderworker, yet such imitation by necessity involved a negotiation of distance and proximity, otherness and likeness. Hence the need for an object that was sufficiently different so as to make self-formation possible but could also be partially appropriated and internalized, so that the individual was raised to a higher level. This is the first type of otherness, a positive and productive challenge that ultimately leads to appropriation, when the subject moulds himself after the distant role model. However, Gregory is aware of a second, potentially harmful type of otherness, and he addresses this challenge more directly than the other authors discussed in this chapter. The otherness that the Christian person faces specifically is an ambivalent one because, on the one hand, the foreignness of pagan paideia fulfils a vital role as a facilitator of the development of one’s true self. On the other hand, for all its formative value, it necessarily entails the risk of alienation, of losing the self to something that is contrary to the higher goal of perfection; it therefore has to be used critically and ultimately left behind. To articulate the idea of foreign learning as just a stepping stone in the ascent to a higher form of knowledge, Gregory found a felicitous metaphor, when he discussed the Wonderworker’s imitation of Abraham. Gregory Thaumaturgus was said to have made critical use of worldly philosophy in the same way as the Old Testament patriarch had acquired Chaldaean wisdom, namely as a plinth (ὑποβάθρα) from which to reach upwards to more elevated things.1⁴⁰ In the process of morphosis the challenging object fulfilled the function of a ladder which, once the higher level was attained, could simply be kicked away.

1⁴⁰ Gr. Nyss. v. Gr. Thaum. 12 (GNO 10.1.9). For the metaphorical use of the term ‘ladder’ see also the interpretation in v. Mos. 2.224–7 (GNO 7.1.113) about Moses’ infinite progress and the soul’s rise to heaven (there Gregory explicitly refers to Jacob’s dream of the ladder connecting earth and heaven, Gen. 28:12); laud. Bas. 4 (GNO 10.1.112); virg. 11 (GNO 8.1.292); hom in Cant. 5 (GNO 6.158). See Jaeger 1954: 79. The image was traditional. Cf. Pl. Smp. 211b7–d1, Max. Tyr. 40.2, Plot. 1.6.1.20, 6.3.4.

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224 education in late antiquity

5.5 ‘I Shall Equip Your Mind with Wings’ While Gregory Thaumaturgus preferred not to become too intimately involved in Alexandrian school life because of his belief in the superiority of Christian doctrine, the young Augustine defected from the Milanese school rather out of dissatisfaction with the restlessness of academic ambition and the shallowness of rhetorical culture. During a severe mental crisis, he sought refuge in the pastoral ambience of the countryside at Cassiciacum to regain his mental health through philosophical studies, in the company of friends searching for the happy life.1⁴1 As he confessed to his patron Romanianus, the estrangement he was feeling in the daily grind of life triggered in him a deeply felt desire for self-understanding through studia, through enquiring into human nature and happiness.1⁴2 To document the new state reached in the otium of the countryside, Augustine had to invent a new genre, the literary soliloquy. It was in the internal dialogue with Ratio, an instantiation of his own mind, in the Soliloquia that he explored the conditions of learning and the student’s progress, as though the encounter with a different aspect of his self facilitated the process of self-formation.1⁴3 In a glaringly different kind of leisure, one brutally imposed on him, Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius (c.480–524) was brought back to similar issues, among them the beata vita, the path of self-perfection, and the knowledge of God. He, too, chose the conversation with an alter ego when, in the year 524, he found himself imprisoned by King Theoderic under the suspicion of high treason.1⁴⁴ We will see that this existential threat made Boethius ponder the formative relationship between the self and the external world; in forced seclusion, he reassessed education as a lifelong activity consisting in constant negotiation of different perspectives. Once, Boethius had produced a commanding array of treatises and translations of a more scholastic quality, as a compendium of the liberal disciplines never to be completed. Now, reduced to his own intellectual resources and beset with the fear of execution, he sought remedy in his learning.1⁴⁵ In the months leading up to his death, Boethius wrote a true masterpiece, the Consolation of Philosophy, which reworked the author’s tormenting hardship in the form of a dialogue between

1⁴1 See Chapter 4.4. 1⁴2 See in particular Aug. c. acad. 2.1.1–2.3.9. 1⁴3 The dialogue with Ratio gives Augustine the opportunity to look back on his life and evaluate the progress he has made. See Aug. soliloq. 1.10.17–1.11.19. 1⁴⁴ For Boethius’ life and career see Marenbon 2003: 7–10 and Gruber 2006: 1–14. 1⁴⁵ For Boethius’ scholarly enterprise and the fruits of these pursuits see Marenbon 2003: 14–16 and Gruber 2006: 5–9. He announces his project to make available to Roman citizens Greek wisdom in Boeth. in categ. comm. 2 praef. (PL 61.201b). According to his commentary on Aristotle’s De interpretatione, Boethius wanted to translate the whole of Plato and Aristotle into Latin (in herm. comm. sec., 2.79–80).

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moulding the self and the world 225 personified Philosophy and his literary persona, the prisoner.1⁴⁶ For a member of the leading class, who had made a foray into theological writing, it may have seemed obvious to seek consolation in Christian religion or faith, but Boethius, to the dismay of modern scholars, decided to turn for help to classical philosophy.1⁴⁷ Intriguingly, Boethius’ distress was not due to his dramatic downfall alone. At least as important as imprisonment and the loss of power was a sense of estrangement, the fact that the prisoner, as Philosophy diagnosed, had lost his identity. Hence the prominence of the word aliena and related terms in the Consolation.1⁴⁸ It was primarily because Boethius was unaware of himself, and of human nature in general, that he was unable to bear his fate and, as the opening elegy of the work so poignantly laments, was drowning in sadness.1⁴⁹ As Philosophy and the prisoner gradually establish a diagnosis so as to find a cure, it transpires that his loss of self-consciousness is intricately linked to his intellectual and ethical formation. Becoming oblivious of himself amounts to forgetting what he once learnt, so that Philosophy, the magistra, in the course of a therapeutic conversation has to unearth her alumnus’s former learning. In contrast to the other authors studied in this chapter, Boethius’ conception of self-formation is born out of a state of utter despondency and self-loss. If it were not for the somewhat unconventional literary form, the regular alternation of prose and poetry, the Consolation would probably not cause much controversy among scholars. The absence of explicit Christian doctrine from the work has, to be sure, generated considerable debate over the general meaning, in particular over whether Philosophy succeeds in healing Boethius’ mind. But the issue seems to be exacerbated by the fact that the dialogue follows the pattern of the Menippean Satire and thus appears to subtly undermine the message of the work’s surface. Therefore, Joel Relihan and others have proposed an ironic reading of the Consolation, according to which the author wanted to challenge the value of encyclopaedic knowledge and, moreover, expose the failure of classical philosophy.1⁵⁰ In a more moderate analysis it has been argued that Boethius’

1⁴⁶ Henceforth I will use ‘the prisoner’ or Boethius (in italics) to refer to the literary figure in the Consolation, as distinguished from its author, the historical Boethius. 1⁴⁷ The question of the Christianity of the Consolation, and its author, has troubled Boethian scholarship since its beginning. See Hagendahl 1983: 108–9, Marenbon 2003: 154–9, Shanzer 2009, and Donato 2013: 163–96. 1⁴⁸ The repeated use of the word aliena reinforces the split between the self and the other: throughout the Consolation the word describes those external goods which, by directing man towards others, alienate him from himself. See Lerer 1985: 132. 1⁴⁹ Boeth. cons. 1. carm. 1. 1⁵⁰ Relihan 1993: 187–94, further developed in Relihan 2007. According to him, Philosophy’s promise to take the prisoner to his true home is never fulfilled, and against her intention to raise him up on her wings, she is forced by his questions and the ensuing byways to remain on the ground without completing the journey (Relihan 2007: 4–5, 15, 39). Relihan argues that the Consolation does not offer a reconciliation of faith and learning; the point of the work is the limitations of learning. Shanzer 2009: 235–6 strongly argues against this view.

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226 education in late antiquity final piece aimed to reveal the limitations of philosophical reasoning, nudging the reader in the direction of superior Christian wisdom.1⁵1 Due to the dominance of these questions, scholars have tended to underestimate the Consolation’s educational theorization. This could take us by surprise, considering that the consolatory conversation is conducted by a teacher and her disciple and is a summa of Boethius’ erudite enquiries. An exception is Seth Lerer, who argued that ‘Boethius’ work . . . tells of the education of the prisoner, while it offers an education to the reader’.1⁵2 More recently, Wendy Helleman has studied the way Boethius presents Philosophy in the role of a teacher of wisdom; however, her prime interest is in whether this role reflects a particularly feminine enterprise.1⁵3 And from a comparative perspective, Paul Olson reads the Consolation as a representative of an ideal model of education, that is, the idea of the transformation of the self and of one’s life through knowledge of reality.1⁵⁴ In what follows I would like to develop this thought further and demonstrate that Boethius dramatizes a process of self-formation as a self-reflexive activity that depends on engagement with the world. It is, in fact, hard to miss education as one of the integrating themes of the Consolation, for throughout the dialogue questions of learning and self-cultivation are present in one form or another. To begin with, on a rather superficial level, Philosophy and the prisoner address each other as teacher and student, thereby defining the entire therapeutic conversation as a teaching setting.1⁵⁵ Further, the author has gone out of his way to cover, both in form and content, almost everything that was taught in the schools. Not only does he make a display of his wide-ranging reading, borrowing from the major poets including Vergil, Ovid, Horace, and Seneca, as well as from the philosophers, above all Plato.1⁵⁶ He also employs various forms of argument that were trained in the ancient schools. Scholars have noted that, for example, Boethius has the prisoner in the first book deliver a proper defence speech according to rhetorical precepts; that Philosophy presents a full-blown prosopopoeia of Fortune; that Book 4 adopts the Platonic dialogue form; and that there are formalized syllogisms bringing school exercises

1⁵1 Marenbon 2003: 159–63 and Donato 2013: 189. 1⁵2 Lerer 1985: 167. 1⁵3 Helleman 2009: 159–69. 1⁵⁴ Olson 1995. Olson’s main interest is in an ideal of education as a structured journey of the self leading to the love of nature; this education is referential insofar as it relates to the real structure of things. Olson traces back this ideal to Plato and the Platonic tradition. According to him, education is a process of self-discovery and a lifelong endeavour to discover the transcendent order on which society can be based. 1⁵⁵ Boeth. cons. 1.3.3–4, 3.9.28, 3.11.40. Pace Relihan 2007: 40. 1⁵⁶ The references and allusions are meticulously documented in Gruber’s commentary (Gruber 2006). For Boethius’ use of earlier poetry, in particular of Seneca’s tragedies, see Lerer 1985: 237–53 and O’Daly 1991. Boethius expresses his attachment to Plato in 3.12.1; see further 1.3.6, 3.9.32, and 5.6.14.

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moulding the self and the world 227 to mind.1⁵⁷ In addition, references to theories of learning and cognition abound, as well as to Boethius’ former studies.1⁵⁸ More significantly, the Consolation, though markedly departing from protreptics such as Aristotle’s or Cicero’s Hortensius, evidently stands in the tradition of exhortations to philosophy, i.e. an eminently didactic genre.1⁵⁹ On the one hand, then, it is a work about education, be it literary, rhetorical, or philosophical (and, of course, about much more than education). On the other, however, there are signs that education cannot be simply identified with what students practised in the schools. For one thing, Philosophy right at the beginning chases away the Muses of entertaining poetry, from whom the prisoner first sought help for his suffering, because elegies in Ovidian manner and similar poetic finger exercises only intensify in the writer the passions he should banish from the soul.1⁶⁰ Further, at one point Philosophy dismisses the prisoner’s attachment to his library because what she is looking for is an active mind, not books; and immediately after that, she candidly expresses her dissatisfaction with the trite textbook answer he has given to the question about the definition of man.1⁶1 What readers should rather expect from the prison dialogue is a kind of education that, surpassing formal schooling, reforms and pervades one’s entire being. It is, after all, less the loss of factual knowledge that has thrown Boethius into ineluctable despair than the inability to shape his life in agreement with the philosophical formation he once received. Even in the state of self-forgetfulness he still retains a scintilla of what his philosophical nature once meant to him: the pursuit of the life of wisdom, he recalls, informed everything he was doing. Philosophy was the guide of his entire life; she was dwelling in his heart and provided him with principles for proper conduct; and she was moulding him to attain the excellence which would make him godlike.1⁶2 Therefore, Philosophy’s therapy now entails the urgent injunction to recuperate his former intellectual and ethical shape, albeit on a higher level, so as to overcome this debilitating estrangement. The treatment of Boethius’ mental illness has, of course, to start from a proper diagnosis. Before applying first gentler, then stronger remedies, Philosophy as a good physician of the soul diagnoses her patient with lethargy: that he is stupefied when she appears to him in almost divine epiphany and remains silent is a clear

1⁵⁷ See Boeth. cons. 1.4 (defence), 2.2 (prosopopoeia), 4.2, 4, and 7 (Platonic dialogue), 3.10.22–6 (formal syllogism). 1⁵⁸ In Boeth. cons. 1. carm. 2 Philosophy reviews his former academic pursuits. 1⁵⁹ See Gruber 2006: 29–32. 1⁶⁰ Boeth. cons. 1.1.7–12. 1⁶1 Boeth. cons. 1.5.6, 1.6.14–18. For the opposition of books and thoughts cf. X. Mem. 4.2.1, D.L. 6.3, Petr. Chrys. serm. 58 (PL 52.361b), Hier. epist. 60.10, Rufin. Orig. in gen. 2.6, p. 173c, Cassiod. inst. 1.5.2; Sen. epist. 2 is similar. 1⁶2 Boeth. cons. 1.4.38–9. Boethius here highlights the Pythagorean dictum ἕπου θεῷ and the Platonic principle of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ as his intellectual lodestars. See Gruber 2006: ad loc. Significantly, Boethius uses the term componere, ‘to mould’, to characterize Philosophy’s pedagogic influence.

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228 education in late antiquity sign of his condition. Penetrating deeper into the recesses of Boethius’ mind she then discovers that his demoralized, lethargic state is essentially a state of alienation and loss of the self, captured in the image of the exile to which he is subjected.1⁶3 At first, Boethius in his torpor only seems to be unable to identify Philosophy, but then it emerges that self-understanding and understanding of Philosophy are one and the same.1⁶⁴ The prisoner is forgetful of himself, she suddenly understands. As Philosophy proceeds probing into the dark of Boethius’ oblivion, she poses three ‘simple’ questions to him, to find out what he still remembers about the world, God, and providence. Barely is he able to understand what she asks him in the first place and finally he cannot avoid accepting his complete lack of self-awareness: Can you then define what man is?—Are you asking this, if I know that I am a rational and mortal creature? This I know, and I acknowledge it.—And she asked: But don’t you know that you are something more?—No.—Now I know, she said, the further, and most important, cause of your illness: you no longer know what you are.1⁶⁵

Fallen from grace and stripped of his office and rank, the prisoner might be forgiven for blaming external circumstances, the haphazardness of fortune, for his forgetfulness. Yet, Philosophy forces him to acknowledge that his malady is a selfinflicted one.1⁶⁶ Firstly, his entanglement with, or excessive regard for, the active life and the values of the elite caused him to deviate from the path of philosophy. Secondly, and concomitantly, Boethius has become enslaved to his passions, above all to grief and mental sickness, which also hinder his pursuit of philosophy. In these respects, he bears some resemblance to Augustine’s patron Romanianus, except that the latter was not on the verge of dying.1⁶⁷ Significantly, in Book 2 Fortune, the tutelary spirit of Boethius’ worldly career, claims to have been his nurse and teacher, a claim that is proven false by the Consolation as a whole.1⁶⁸ In fact, it was his unwarranted trust in fortune that led him astray, while his true mother and guide, Philosophy, helped him to gain knowledge about the world and himself. When we consider the two opposing claims to education together, we see that the dialogue suggests an antagonism of two trajectories of formation: one is

1⁶3 Boeth. cons. 1.1.13, 1.2.6. 1⁶⁴ See Gruber 2006: ad 1.2.6. 1⁶⁵ Boeth. cons. 1.6.15–17: Quid igitur homo sit poterisne proferre?—Hocine interrogas, an esse me sciam rationale animal atque mortale? Scio, et id me esse confiteor.—Et illa: Nihilne aliud te esse novisti?— Nihil.—Iam scio, inquit, morbi tui aliam vel maximam causam; quid ipse sis nosse desisti. The definition of man is repeated in 5.4.35. 1⁶⁶ As stated in very clear terms in Boeth. cons. 1.5.3. 1⁶⁷ In 3.12.1 Boethius acknowledges the two causes of his alienation. For Augustine’s discussion of Romanianus’ state see Aug. c. acad. 2.1.2–2.2.3. 1⁶⁸ Boeth. cons. 2.2.4–5. Soon after Fortune’s speech Boethius, as an implicit refutation of her claim, addresses Philosophy as his nutrix. Cf. 1.2.2.

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moulding the self and the world 229 revealed as too close an attachment to the things of the active life and the material world, whereas the other, the genuine one, establishes a formative relationship with the self and the world. How difficult it is to tread a fine line here is indicated by a number of warnings made by Philosophy about losing oneself to the objective world.1⁶⁹ The aim of her restorative therapy then must be to recalibrate Boethius’ engagement with what lies outside himself, so that he can regain his philosophical formation. In order to shake off his depression and re-establish a proper relationship with the world, the prisoner thus needs to retrieve his knowledge about his identity as a human being and about his true fatherland, the destiny of the formation trajectory.1⁷⁰ For that reason the joint effort of Philosophy and her patient focuses on his self and his inner being. Already the dialogue with a projection of his own mind—for that is what the figure Philosophy represents—puts much weight on self-reflexive thinking, the split of the self into the interpreting subject and the object of understanding. In this regard, Boethius, like Augustine in the Soliloquia, took meditation as practised by Marcus Aurelius to a higher level.1⁷1 Accordingly, the theme of inwardness holds a central place in the conversation between the prisoner and his healer. When Fortune in her defence has dismissed Boethius’ accusations of fickleness as groundless, Philosophy reminds him that, contrary to his previous, erroneous belief, true happiness resides nowhere if not within himself, an insight only buried by human error and ignorance. There is nothing more precious to him, she insists, than himself and, as long as he is in command of himself, he possesses something that he never will be deprived of.1⁷2 Knowledge of the self goes hand in hand with the acknowledgement of the human condition. Hence Philosophy’s questions revive the prisoner’s awareness of the ultimate goal of human beings, viz. becoming one with God. In the course of the dialogue Boethius comes to realize, once again, that reason is of divine origin, and to understand the complex relationship between God’s providence and human free will. For this knowledge he needs to turn toward his innermost self, where he finds the good and God, and at once becomes God.1⁷3

1⁶⁹ See, for example, Boeth. cons. 2.1.8–11, 3. carm. 11, 5.2, 5. carm. 3. The adequate relationship with the things of the material world is thrown into high relief in 5.2.11–16, when Philosophy criticizes man for embracing external goods as if they were his, whereas in actual fact they are set apart from him. 1⁷⁰ The patria is the heavenly origin of his soul (1.5.3, 3.12.9, 4.1.9). See Baltes 1980 on the notion of the return to the fatherland in the Consolation. Courcelle 1974–5: 199–203 discusses the theme of knowledge of the self in the work. 1⁷1 For parallels in the handling of the dialogue form between Boethius and Augustine’s dialogues see Lerer 1985: 46–56. 1⁷2 Boeth. cons. 2.4.22–5: Igitur si tui compos fueris, possidebis quod nec tu amittere umquam velis nec fortuna possit auferre. See Baltes 1980: 327. The same thoughts are already expressed in Arist. Protr. fr. 2–3 D. See Gruber 2006: ad loc. for further references. 1⁷3 The turn to the inner man is described in poetic terms in 3. carm. 11. For the goal of becoming God see 4.3.10.

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230 education in late antiquity What permeates the exploration of human nature is, for one thing, the key theme of man’s position between God and animals, implying that everything that Boethius discusses with his mentor-physician is subordinated, and related, to the understanding of humanity per se. When they together contemplate nature’s order or turn their gaze at the stars, they do so in order to relate their observations to the conditions of human existence. In addition, the prisoner is constantly reminded of the inseparability of his identity and philosophical enquiry. Not only does the imagery of motherhood and nourishment suggest philosophy as the breath of life, but the philosophical nature of his mind also emerges as his authentic being, his original home, like a citadel that has only temporarily faltered under the attacks of evil.1⁷⁴ Philosophical formation and humanity appear as an indissoluble unity and are almost coextensive to the extent that human fulfilment is achieved only in the philosophical life.1⁷⁵ Conversely, if a person is expelled from the seat of philosophy and has fallen under the tyranny of desires, he loses his human nature and sinks down to the rank of animals.1⁷⁶ Applied to Boethius’ condition, that means that his philosophical upbringing is the only ember that remains of his identity as a human being, but it needs to be rekindled as the essential precondition for the return to the fatherland. Without the recovery of his philosophical shape there will be no restoration of his self.1⁷⁷ What form does the formative therapy then take? It is an outstanding feature of the Consolation that it theorizes about formation and, at the same time, makes a display of Boethius’ consummate erudition. Particularly illuminating is a passage in Book 2 which gives a veritable outline of the breadth of his intellectual horizon. When the prisoner insists on the honourable intentions of his political involvement, Philosophy still suspects that his activities might have been motivated by the desire for glory and therefore embarks on a lengthy disquisition on the triviality of human fame (2.7). In what we may label a tour through his mind she brings to his attention various facts, phenomena, events, and figures putting human ambition, and by implication human existence, into perspective. First, Philosophy reminds Boethius of his astronomical studies as an excellent instrument for recognizing the limits of human preoccupations. Then she turns to his knowledge of geography, derived from Ptolemy, and widens the perspective to consider the entire world, inhabited as it is by numerous nations with various languages, customs, manners of life, and ways of trade. Cicero is cited as evidence, and also the glory of the 1⁷⁴ The image of the citadel is exploited in Boeth. cons. 1.3.13, 4. carm. 3.33–4, 4.6.8. 1⁷⁵ Philosophy’s dismissal of worldly fame in Boeth. cons. 3.6.3 suggests that it is self-awareness (conscientia) and the truth of self-knowledge (conscientiae veritas) that give worth to man’s life. See also 2.5.29 and 1. carm. 4, the praise of the sage’s life. 1⁷⁶ Boeth. cons. 2.5.29, 4.3.16–21 (followed by 4. carm. 3, a poem on Circe’s powers to transform humans into animals), 4.4.1. 1⁷⁷ See also Boethius’ commentary in Porphyry’s Isagoge, where he identifies the pursuit of wisdom with the self-reflexive activity of the mind and the longing for divinity (Boeth. in Porph. comm. pr. 1.3, PL 64.11).

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moulding the self and the world 231 Roman state is drawn in to make the prisoner aware of glory’s narrow confines. ‘If you address your minds to the boundless extents of eternity’, she asks, ‘what reason have you to celebrate a lasting fame?’1⁷⁸ Philosophy’s contemplation encourages her student to turn his mind to manifold situations and things, wandering from the stars to human customs, and from the dimension of time to the arrogance of charlatan philosophers. To sum up her argument, she asks Boethius to adopt a viewpoint fitting for the man of philosophy and virtue: ‘But if the mind is happily self-aware, released from its earthly prison, and in freedom is seeking heaven, does it not disdain all earthly business and in the enjoyment of heaven rejoices at having been relieved of earthly concerns?’1⁷⁹ The elevated vantage point, the Olympian view from above, is what the Consolation celebrates as the philosopher’s approach. At the beginning of Book 4, in a brief summary of Boethius’ formative trajectory, Philosophy promises to furnish his mind with wings that it may soar upwards (Pennas etiam tuae menti quibus se in altum tollere possit adfigam), and the following poem graphically describes the flight of the mens on wings back to its origin.1⁸⁰ The prisoner ought to evaluate what happens in the human sphere from the enlightened perspective of the ascended soul. For this task he brings to bear his immense and wide-ranging learning.1⁸1 His erudition essentially brings to him the entire world and the cosmos, as he is reminded in the second poem of Book 1.1⁸2 There, Philosophy recalls his scientific studies, the contemplation of the stars, the heavens and the universe, as well as geography, biology, and Roman history, not to forget mythology.1⁸3 In an encyclopaedic enterprise Boethius, notably through recollection, visits the world in its various appearances but, as Philosophy underlines, always intent to relate his encounters back to his self.1⁸⁴ In so doing, he both moves beyond the separate 1⁷⁸ Boeth. cons. 2.7.15: Quod si ad aeternitatis infinita spatia pertractes, quid habes quod de nominis tui diuturnitate laeteris? 1⁷⁹ Boeth. cons. 2.7.23: Sin vero bene sibi mens conscia terreno carcere resoluta caelum libera petit, nonne omne terrenum negotium spernat, quae se caelo fruens terrenis gaudet exemptam? See Gruber 2006: ad loc. for the philosophical background of the notion bona scientia and of the idea of the human body as prison of the soul. 1⁸⁰ Boeth. cons. 4.1.9 and 4. carm. 1. See also 1. carm. 2.9–16 on his former scientific enquiries as the mind’s journey through the heavenly regions, 2.7.23, 4.6.30 (on divine Providence, as 5.6.17), 5. carm. 3.26, and 5.4.32. For the image of the flying soul see Pl. Phdr. 246b–e and Aug. soliloq. 1.14.24. See Hadot 1995: 238–50 and 98–9 on the different implications of this motif in ancient literature and philosophy. One central aspect is that the things that do not depend on us are reduced to their true dimensions when considered from the viewpoint of universality. 1⁸1 Here I disagree with Relihan 2007: 4, who argues that, acting as a philosopher, the prisoner deprives himself of Philosophy’s great gift of heavenly vision and, therefore, she gives up her attempt. 1⁸2 Relihan 2007: 35–6 sees the Consolation as an attempt to encompass the whole world within the limits of a single book and to integrate the human and the cosmic perspectives. 1⁸3 Boeth. cons. 1. carm. 2. O’Daly 1991: 108–19 discusses how in this poem natural images, in particular those of light and darkness and the seasonal changes, reflect Boethius’ mental state and also human life. 1⁸⁴ O’Daly 1991 has shown how this approach informs the poems of the Consolation in general, in which phenomena of the material universe reflect, often metaphorically, man’s preoccupations and morals.

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232 education in late antiquity treatment of the liberal disciplines, to which he dedicated the series of tractates and translations, and exhibits an education unlike that of contemporary peers, for example that of the rhetorically-minded Ennodius.1⁸⁵ Scholarship as an end in itself, however, is not what Philosophy advocates as a pathway to the true fatherland. Instead, as the fact of imprisonment so painfully illuminates, the external world for Boethius becomes his inner world. Nature is the point of reference against which the subject’s degree of ethical maturity may be measured. Yet, that has been his approach to the objective world not only now that his academic pursuits merely seem a distant memory: Is this the library, the place in my house which you chose as truly your own? Were you not often closeted with me there, discoursing on knowledge of things human and divine? Was this my comportment and this my countenance when together with you I investigated the secrets of nature, when you marked out for me with your rod the paths of the stars, when you shaped my character and the course of my entire life according to the patterns of the order of heaven?1⁸⁶

Already back then it was the philosopher-scientist’s habit to investigate nature’s operations and laws in order to tie these insights back to the course of his life. The secrets of nature and the paths of the stars for all their otherness, or rather because of it, become for man a means of giving form to his being. Formation is envisaged then as a constant to and fro, a movement from the self to the world of nature and backwards again, as the individual’s cognition crosses the boundary between internal and external. Thus, we should not be taken by surprise that the Consolation in the context of learning and epistemology so frequently refers to the inner–outer dichotomy, thereby hinting at the activity characteristic of the formation process.1⁸⁷ Knowledge of the self needs to be acquired through one’s 1⁸⁵ Boethius explains the relationship between philosophy and the disciplines of the quadrivium in his De arithmetica, saying that the specialist knowledge acquired in the disciplines is necessary for the study of philosophy, preparing a comprehensive understanding of reality (Boeth. arithm. 1.1). We may note here that Boethius repeatedly expresses his disdain for his contemporaries’ level of education and evinces a rather elitist view of scholarship. See, for example, the preface to his De trinitate, ll. 5–21 (ed. Moreschini). For Boethius’ place in the educational landscape of Ostrogothic Italy see McOmish 2011: 82–91, Donato 2013: 9–14, and Lozovsky 2016: 331–6. 1⁸⁶ Boeth. cons. 1.4.3–4: Haecine est bibliotheca, quam certissimam tibi sedem nostris in laribus ipsa delegeras, in qua mecum saepe residens de humanarum divinarumque rerum scientia disserebas? Talis habitus talisque vultus erat, cum tecum naturae secreta rimarer, cum mihi siderum vias radio describeres, cum mores nostros totiusque vitae rationem ad caelestis ordinis exempla formares? 1⁸⁷ See, for example, Boeth. cons. 1.4.38, 2.4.22, 2.5.14, 2.5.24, 3. carm. 11. Particularly illuminating on the characteristic operation of analysing the human mind through the filter of the natural world are the discussions in 3.11 and 2.5–7. In 3.11, Philosophy and the prisoner consider the desire for survival and unity in living creatures, and the attraction of inanimate objects to what is appropriate for each, as a heuristic for understanding the human desire for the good. And in 2.5–7 an extensive enquiry is conducted into the value of Fortune’s gifts, reputation and material possessions, by looking at various features of the world, including, inter alia, physical properties of jewels, the effects of bug bites, and the nature of time.

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moulding the self and the world 233 cognition of the world, but with the proviso that the engagement is regulated by a preconceived sense of the ultimate goal of human fulfilment.1⁸⁸ If this conception of self-cultivation puts Boethius on a par with Macrobius, Themistius, and Gregory of Nyssa, there is one element that adds another layer of meaning to his pedagogic thinking. Here we must return to the exceptional form of the Consolation. We have already noticed that Boethius stages his self-recovery as a kind of drama, an at first mystifying encounter with Philosophy that soon turns out to be an inner dialogue with an aspect of his self in a more advanced state.1⁸⁹ With this gesture Boethius articulates the idea that for the self to be fully developed there must be a certain externalization or an object, without the otherness becoming so great as to prevent comprehending. This is nicely captured by the prisoner looking into Philosophy’s face (facies) and suddenly recognizing her.1⁹⁰ In the course of the therapeutic session philosophizing is presented as a selfreflexive activity, more precisely as a critical engagement with the self of the past and the learning one has acquired—hence the numerous autobiographical comments in the Consolation. Reduced in prison to his bare self, Boethius in the process of anamnesis is permanently encouraged to bring together his current state of mind with that of the past, to reflect on the progress he has made, and on his failures. The same and not the same, the prisoner’s former self serves as the horizon against which Boethius’ understanding takes place while he is reactivating his learning. Yet, to the reflection on his self Boethius adds another dimension. In his analysis of Book 4 Seth Lerer has highlighted the role of practices of reading and rewriting as two intertwined processes. According to him, Boethius learns to see himself through the texts he has read, whether they are narratives of Homeric epic or Roman verse: ‘Book Four becomes a book of rewritings, as Boethius adapts texts written by himself and others to chronicle the education of his prisoner and his audience.’1⁹1 We can take this observation one step further and say that revisiting the self of the past quintessentially means a constant review of what the subject has learnt through reading. When forced by Philosophy to scrutinize his mind, Boethius returns to his former studies, in particular his readings of Plato and

1⁸⁸ As formulated in Boeth. cons. 3.3.1: Vos quoque, o terrena animalia, tenui licet imagine vestrum tamen principium somniatis verumque illum beatitudinis finem licet minime perspicaci qualicumque tamen cogitatione prospicitis, eoque vos et ad verum bonum naturalis ducit intentio et ab eodem multiplex error abducit (‘And you, earthly creatures, see, though in a faint image, your beginning in a dream; and you look—though with by no means a clear imagination, even if with some inkling—at that true end of your happiness. Your natural intention draws you towards the true good, but various distractions lead you away from it’). 1⁸⁹ See Relihan 2007: 63–4. According to Marenbon 2003: 153–4, Philosophy personifies the tradition of philosophical thinking in which Boethius was educated. 1⁹⁰ Boeth. cons. 1.3.1–2. We may adduce Augustine beholding the face of Philosophy in Aug. c. acad. 2.2.6 (the personification of philosophy is further elaborated, with mention of her face and voice, in 2.3.7). 1⁹1 Lerer 1985: 167–8 (the quote at 168).

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234 education in late antiquity Aristotle, which already formed the bedrock of his commentary writing. Likewise, Roman poets, above all Seneca, are a constant presence in the Consolation, so that the conversation in places becomes a meditation on classical writers. It is, however, important to note that he is not content with reproducing what earlier authors have said, as a mere display of wide reading. Rather, when he reworks choral songs from Seneca’s dramas or the myths of Orpheus and Odysseus, he does so in order to learn something about himself and convey to the reader his state of mind.1⁹2 The mythical examples of Orpheus, Odysseus, and Heracles illuminate Boethius’ own spiritual journey and their fate reflects the prisoner’s movement upwards.1⁹3 Thus, the rereading of classical texts that were meaningful to him allows him to reconstruct his self in such a way that he becomes able to make sense of his life. And, furthermore, while reading his former self through the lens of his reading experiences, Boethius initiates a fusion of horizons, with the two instantiations of his personality, the past and the current, both being transformed in a process of assimilation. The examination of the theme of education recovers a layer of Boethius’ masterpiece that has been obscured by the one-sided interest of the scholarship in possible satirical and religious messages. What the Consolation over its five books records is more than Philosophy’s therapy of the prisoner’s depression. In fact, the work more generally explores the possibility and conditions of selfformation, as the cornerstone of Boethius’ recovery of his mental health. While his well-intended, but insufficiently considered, interaction with the world has fatally brought him to his knees, the philosophical return to himself enables him to work out an appropriate subject–object relationship of existential importance. The hermeneutical process of constantly negotiating different perspectives helps the prisoner to overcome the estrangement that by necessity results from a misguided attachment to worldly things. The desperate prisoner may seem completely cut off from the external world as he is awaiting his verdict. But Philosophy furnishes him with the wings that enable his mind to cast from safe distance an eye over the entire cosmos, that he may nourish his self through encountering the world. It is this self-reflexive act that facilitates the restoration of the subject’s integrity and, by extension, the full sense of humanity.

5.6 Cultivating the Self Modern scholarship has averred that schooling in late antiquity came at the high price of an exclusion of the real world because teaching focused on an avowedly bookish kind of learning, with the highly artificial form of the declamation as the

1⁹2 See Lerer 1985: 180–202.

1⁹3 Boeth. cons. 3. carm. 12.5–51, 4. carm. 7.8–31.

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moulding the self and the world 235 apogee of formal education.1⁹⁴ That view certainly has some truth in it, and yet there were also those who were of the firm belief that genuine paideia meant more than memorizing the figures of speech and the verses of Homer and Vergil. In Gaul the rhetorician Eumenius, when, in 297/8, he asked the authorities to rebuild the school of Autun, was primarily interested in having in the midst of the public a place where the sons of the provincial elite could train skills in eloquence. But he also wanted the building to be decorated with paintings and maps to open to the students a panorama of the Roman world, that they might get a feel, and a mental image, of the dimensions, diversity, and depth of what was outside their classroom.1⁹⁵ We may surmise that beholding pictorial representations of various countries, seas, peoples, and customs the young men would adopt a different perspective on their own place and reflect on their intellectual formation. On a higher level, the aspiring teacher Augustine in Cassiciacum dramatically became aware that studia had to take place outside the schools. They should tackle, ideally in conversation with other minds, much broader questions of human life and the world. The texts that we have analysed in this chapter, though linked to established school education, addressed these issues in order to devise methods for formative practices that would take the subject far beyond the schoolish acquisition of knowledge. Studies in the traditional disciplines were a matter of fact, and none of the authors we have been dealing with denied their importance for the intellectual development of young men. Nonetheless, Themistius, Gregory of Nyssa, and Boethius felt that the goal of a bona fide education was primarily perfection of the self, so that one became human in the fullest sense of the word. Even the Roman Macrobius, whose Saturnalia do not bother to conceal how much they owe to the schools, tried to convey to his son the idea that perfectio of education required the habituation into a distinctive ethos. Gregory’s and Boethius’ ambitions were considerably higher as they, under the influence of Platonic doctrine, held out the promise of becoming godlike through restoring the divine element in man. For that reason, their educational thinking focuses, not on what one should learn, but on the human self and the ways in which the subject could nourish their innate potentials. Therefore, knowledge of the self and of the human condition becomes paramount. If one is to approach the perfection attainable to a human being, it is indispensable to first find out what the true nature of man is and what the limits of human existence are. As a consequence, the texts speak less about the acquisition of factual knowledge—that is presupposed as a given—than about the constant effort to cultivate oneself: to foster in the soul the virtues, to give shape to the mind, and to strive for a higher form of existence. The most felicitous expression for the existential process of self-formation was coined by Gregory when, drawing

1⁹⁴ Kaster 1988 and Browning 2000.

1⁹⁵ Paneg. 9(4).20–1.

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236 education in late antiquity on earlier ideas, he put morphosis centre stage, the moulding of one’s personality after an archetype. Consideration of education thus becomes an exploration of humanity. Gaining an understanding of what it means to be human is, however, not sufficient for successful self-formation. There needs to be a suitable method, an approach that takes into consideration both the ultimate goal of the formative journey and the conditions of human nature. It is there that our four writers make a significant contribution to ancient educational thinking. For they all display full awareness that self-perfection is not an autonomous and self-reliant activity, as though the subject were solipsistically engaged in the improvement of the soul. For the self to come to fulfilment and harmonic unity, the individual depends by necessity on an object with which he can interact in such a way that the interaction challenges the subject’s mental abilities, beliefs, attitudes, values, and habits. As Wilhelm von Humboldt many centuries later, and under widely different cultural conditions, formulated, the individual is to turn to something that is ‘not-man’ (Nicht-Mensch), in a way different and, thus, provoking the subject’s senses into a response.1⁹⁶ This is, according to our late antique authors, the core of any formative activity. Macrobius envisages devotion to the study of wide-ranging knowledge offered by the classics; Themistius asks his audience to embark on a virtual travel that juxtaposes all sorts of things, from the exotic far east to mundane dog breeding; Gregory of Nyssa has his idols Gregory Thaumaturgus and Moses absorb foreign traditions; and Boethius, though trapped in his prison, is roaming over vast distances, reaching to the stars but also following Orpheus to the underworld. What these encyclopaedic, indeed panoramic, tours suggest is that in order to be stimulated and challenged the subject is in need of the objective world, and the world in its full diversity, at that. It is, then, no coincidence that the authors attach considerable weight to variety and to the range of disciplines that have informed their intellectual horizons. Yet, it is precisely the involvement with the objective world that jeopardizes the outcome of the formation process. If, first, the individual is to embrace the model after which he ought to mould himself, the question is raised as to how the subject can relate to this model in the first place. Gregory of Nyssa is the one to articulate this fundamental challenge most lucidly. The object’s otherness, caused by temporal distance, cultural difference, or simply its characteristic properties, may make it seem impossible to establish a connection. If, second, the subject, like Themistius’ critic but also Boethius, too eagerly embraces the things of the world and becomes too much entangled in them, there is the risk of losing oneself, becoming heteronomous, in estrangement and forgetfulness. Thus, man is to walk a fine line: on the one hand, he must leave the comfort zone of the self, to seek the

1⁹⁶ Theorie der Bildung des Menschen, 1793. Von Humboldt 1903: 283.

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moulding the self and the world 237 confrontation with different perspectives, norms, values, and expectations; on the other, the turn toward the other has to be balanced by the return to the self, that is, the other has to be perceived and utilized sub specie sui. This insight led the late antique thinkers to conceptualize the subject–object relationship as a hermeneutical activity. To establish a meaningful relationship with the object requires bridging the gap between likeness and otherness, most importantly between the subject in the present and what humans experienced and achieved in the distant past. Otherwise the encounter would break down in complete incomprehension. On that account, assimilation and adaptation hold a prominent place in the theories. While Macrobius suggests the practice of appropriative reading and cultural borrowing as a mechanism for productive reception, Boethius brings two aspects of his self into dialogue, his former and his present persona, in order to resuscitate his philosophical personality. For Themistius, too, reading is the pathway to the objective world, which enables him to perceive everything through the filter of the great writers; mediation of their writings helps him to assimilate the confusing manifoldness of the world. Perhaps Gregory has captured this idea most neatly, in that he couches the relationship in terms of ethnicity and kinship, intimating that one has to negotiate the foreign and one’s true origin for the eventual return to one’s home. For all their different emphases, our four writers all envisage productive and creative processes, which we might adequately grasp through Gadamer’s ‘fusion of horizons’. Far from being a passive reception of something that has been thought before, formation in this sense results in giving shape to oneself and simultaneously to the world.

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6 The Making of the Late Antique Mind 6.1 Education and History To learn in the Graeco-Roman world was to encounter the past. Ever since formal literate education had become available to the scions of the upper classes of classical Greece, boys and adolescents were introduced by their teachers to the great poets and prose writers of previous centuries. Homer was at the heart of the curriculum, as testified by Plato’s stern critique of the Athenian education system in the Republic. In Rome, Vergil dominated the canon of literary authorities with which every member of the educated elite was expected to be conversant. The writers included in Ps.-Plutarch’s On the Education of Children and the catalogue of authors worth studying suggested in Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria are evidence of how deeply rooted in educational thinking the idea was that literate, but also moral, training was best provided by the ‘ancients’, however vague that term might be.1 The more formalized Greek and Roman schooling became over the course of the Hellenistic and imperial eras, the stronger the tyranny of the ἀρχαῖοι or antiqui became; for grammarians and rhetors were committed to imposing on their students the linguistic and stylistic norms that had been formulated centuries before.2 The Atticist movement, so prevalent in the Second Sophistic with its production of lexica and the ubiquitous practice of declamation, perfectly

1 Plu. Mor. 1a–14c, referencing, among others, Lycurgus, Phocylides, Euripides, Socrates, and Plato; see in particular 8b (‘it is useful, or rather it is necessary, not to be indifferent about acquiring the works of earlier writers [τῶν παλαιῶν συγγραμμάτων], but to make a collection of these, like a set of tools in farming. For the corresponding tool of education is the use of books, and by their means it has come to pass that we are able to study knowledge at its source’). See Morgan 1998: 148–9 and the full discussion in Bloomer 2011: 58–80 (though with problematic overemphasis of the role of ‘eugenics’ in the tractate). Quint. inst. 10.1.46–131. It needs, however, to be stressed that Quintilian’s reading list is not confined to the writers of a distant past but also includes more recent ones. See also Plutarch’s On Listening to Lectures (Mor. 14d–37b) for the centrality of reading the classics in the ancient curriculum, for which see Xenophontos 2015; further, Connolly 2001: 353–7 on the use of historical exempla in Ps.-Plutarch’s On the Education of Children. Dio Chrysostom provides a reading list for the rhetorical student in Or. 18, and Theon in Prog. 13 (102–5 P.). The preference for the ancients is also reflected in the numbers of literary papyri found in Egypt. See Cribiore 1996: 46–51, Morgan 1998: 90–119 (with tables in the Appendix), and Cribiore 2001: 134–46 and 192–204. See also Heath 2004: 239–43 on the reading programme in imperial rhetorical education. 2 See Morgan 1998: 152–89 on the scheme of grammar teaching in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, including the correlation between normative grammar and a particular type of language, namely a normative version of classical literary Attic or classical literary Latin.

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0007

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240 education in late antiquity illustrates that the acquisition of literate competence went hand in hand with a predilection for imitating the works and authors of bygone days.3 Once universally adopted and accepted as the royal road to education, the curriculum and its concomitant methods proved remarkably persistent. Neither teachers nor parents of late antiquity saw the need for a fundamental revision of schooling but continued to refer the young men to Homer and Demosthenes, or Vergil and Cicero.⁴ So strong was the grip of the ancients that the grammarian Aelius Donatus (c.320–80) in his commentary on the greatest Roman poet preferred to faithfully preserve the voice of ancient authority (sinceram vocem priscae auctoritatis) over boldly asserting his own expertise.⁵ This statement illustrates that the bias towards the veteres even prevailed in scholarly literature. Donatus’ method of reproducing quotations from earlier scholars would certainly have met the approval of Macrobius when he was devising a programme of education for his son. As we have seen in the previous chapter, the overall aim of Macrobius’ Saturnalia was to impart notitia vetustatis through a tapestry of quotes from the veteres, connected through the learned comments of the banqueters.⁶ We must not underestimate the corollaries of this entrenched educational habit: while teaching the classics, the grammarians and rhetors at the same time conjured an image of the distant past embodied by the great writers. For the Latin west in late antiquity, Ulrich Eigler has convincingly argued that it was the study of ancient poets and prose writers that generated the common image of ancient Roman history.⁷ What the members of the educated class knew about regnal or republican Rome was, characteristically, in Eigler’s phrase a ‘Bildungsbild’, that is, an image drawn by the authoritative writers studied in school.⁸ Accordingly, history largely fell into the remit of the grammarian, so much so that Augustine in De musica

3 See Schmitz 1997: 67–96 and Whitmarsh 2005: 41–9 on the ideal of linguistic purity and lexicography in the Second Sophistic. ⁴ The fourth-century grammarian Troilus states himself the aversion to change: Παράδειγμα δὲ αὐτῆς ὁ γραμματιστὴς ἤτοι ὁ χαμαιδιδάσκαλος· ἀεὶ γὰρ τὴν διδασκαλίαν ποιεῖται μηδὲν μετατρέπων τῶν εἰθισμένων (‘An example of this [knowledge of a discipline] is the grammatistes or elementary schoolteacher, for he always gives instruction without changing anything that is customary’, Prolegomena in Hermogenis artem rhetoricam, ed. C. Walz, Rhetores Graeci, vol. 6, p. 43.6–9). See Cribiore 1996: 37. ⁵ Don. epist. ll. 6–9 (Colin Hardie, ed., Vitae Vergilianae antiquae: Vita Donati, Vita Servii, Vita Probiana, Vita Focae, S. Hieronymi excerpta. Editio altera, Oxford: Clarendon, 1966, p. 5): agnosce igitur saepe in hoc munere collaticio sinceram vocem priscae auctoritatis. cum enim liceret usquequaque nostra interponere, maluimus optima fide, quorum res fuerant, eorum etiam verba servare (‘In this compendium, you may frequently recognize the authentic voice of an ancient authority. Of course I was free to put in my own views: but I have preferred in good faith to retain the words also of those to whom the ideas belonged’). See MacCormack 1998: 81–2. ⁶ For notitia vetustatis see Macr. Sat. praef. 4. ⁷ Eigler 2003. See also Vössing 1997: 598–9, who identifies the uncertainties generated by the thirdcentury crisis of the Empire as a major factor for the importance of tradition in late antique schooling. For a similar view see Brown 1992: 40. ⁸ Eigler 2003: 76.

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the making of the late antique mind 241 aptly called grammar custodia historiae.⁹ However, as Robert Kaster has pointed out, since the grammarian’s method was to isolate fragmented passages from the classical texts and rearrange them for linguistic purposes, ‘the man emerging from the schools of grammar and rhetoric would have no overall view of history, only a memory of disjointed but edifying vignettes’.1⁰ This chapter will explore how late antique pedagogic thinking and practice shaped a specific perspective on the past and in doing so, occasioned a characteristic awareness of one’s own place in time. It will be argued that conceptualizations of education thematized the negotiation of the temporal gap that separated the late antique subject from the classical past. Thus, educational thought assisted the birth of a postclassical Epochenbewusstsein, a sense of living in a late period. Despite the ubiquitous statements made by late antique teachers and educationalists about the unrivalled status of the antiqui, the relationship between past and present that comes to the fore in commentaries and pedagogic discourse is more nuanced than might seem on the surface.11 The discussion of literary matters and linguistic norms, so vividly depicted in Macrobius’ fictive banquet, almost automatically brought up the relationship between past and present, between the auctoritas of the classical models and the habit of contemporary usage (consuetudo). For Macrobius it has been shown by Kaster that the reverence paid by his characters to the ancients did not preclude self-confidence and even allowed for criticism of vetustas.12 What Macrobius’ banqueters projected as an ideal onto the poet Vergil was the willingness to preserve the past while blending it with the present, showing due respect for both periods.13 A deep ambivalence about the classical tradition was, furthermore, characteristic of the literary culture of late antiquity in general.1⁴ Late antique letter writers sometimes felt the need to define the right balance between old and new with regard to learned practice. Around 380 ce, the senator Symmachus fought a battle against his friend Siburius over the correct formula for the opening greeting in an epistolary exchange. To defend his own habit, he invoked the usage of the periods following the maiores. Ironically he objected to his friend’s criticism that, if he had such a fervent love for old age (si tibi vetustatis ⁹ Aug. mus. 2.1.1: Atqui scias velim totam illam scientiam, quae grammatica graece, latine autem litteratura nominatur, historiae custodiam profiteri. See also Aug. ord. 2.12.37 and Kaster 1980: 219. 1⁰ Kaster 1988: 12. 11 This is also valid for the elite culture of the Second Sophistic, as the sophists of the imperial age did not make slavish and pedantic use of the classical past (see, for example, Lucian’s satirical views in Rh. Pr. 10). Of course, they admired the classical models and strove for pure Attic language, but their presentation of historical facts in exercises and declamations shows that historical accuracy was not their main concern. They sometimes made a flexible and creative use of history that clearly reflects the school practice of the time. See Schmitz 1997: 200–5 on invented and imagined traditions, Connolly 2001: 353–7 on misreading the past in Ps.-Plutarch’s education treatise, and Webb 2017: 145–6, who observes ‘the freedom with which classical models (particularly Homer) are rewritten, questioned, and subverted’ (146). 12 Kaster 1980: 231–2, 251, followed by Pelttari 2014: 28–9. 13 Macr. Sat. 1.16.44. 1⁴ As Elsner and Lobato 2017a rightly point out. However, it is simplistic to reduce this ambivalence to the Christian anxieties about the pagan past, as they tend to do.

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242 education in late antiquity tantus est amor), they would have to return to the ancient phrases (verba prisca) which the Salii or the augurs pronounced and in which the Twelve Tables had been written down.1⁵ Over a century later, in the Greek east, the sophist Procopius of Gaza was caught in a similar skirmish over ancient and modern linguistic usage and opted for the ἀρχαῖος νόμος instead of τὴν νῦν ἐπιπολάζουσαν . . . συνήθειαν.1⁶ Questions of literate education, these episodes show, prompted explorations of the relation between history and present, or ancients and moderns, though perhaps not with the same zeal as in the much later querelle des anciens et des modernes in seventeenth-century France. Educated men of late antiquity apparently came to perceive a nexus between literate studies and a turn towards the cultural past, notably a turn that entailed a sense of posterity. It is perhaps no coincidence that Greek intellectuals, such as Synesius, Aeneas, and Procopius of Gaza, in their musings about paideia occasionally display a sombre mood. While still maintaining their admiration for the culture of classical Athens, they sensed that they were living in a different age and that the heyday of Athenian erudition had long passed.1⁷ Arriving in Athens, Synesius was sobered to find that philosophy had departed from the city long ago with nothing left but the names evoking its former glory.1⁸ Similarly, it has been argued for fourth-century Latin authors, such as Ausonius, that they are characterized by ‘a sense of displacement and deracination and a perceived need to reconnect with a lost past through erudition’. They evoked a classical past from which they were separated by an unbridgeable temporal gap.1⁹ Discussions, sometimes polemical, about the education of the traditional schools and the results it produced appear to have inspired people of the late Roman Empire to position themselves vis-à-vis the past, trying to fathom the gap that separated the ancient authorities from contemporary times. Eager to reconnect with antiquity, the learned men came to recognize that straightforward imitation of vetustas was neither possible nor useful.2⁰ In his speech of thanksgiving to Gratian (379), Ausonius reflected on his role as the emperor’s tutor, and used the occasion to contemplate his position within the space of history. To interpret his pedagogic employment and underscore its unique importance, he looked back to the past for predecessors who also had taught royal pupils. Though the Constantini tempora, the immediate past, offered examples, Ausonius chose to go further back, to teachers of a more distant age, Seneca,

1⁵ Symm. epist. 3.44. 1⁶ Procop. Gaz. Ep. 91, to his friend Hieronymus. The argument arose from the order of names in the greeting formula. His friend had accused him of arrogance because of putting his own name first. Procopius defended the ancient custom, putting it in the wider context of the differences between Atticism and Asianism. 1⁷ For example, Aen. Gaz. Ep. 18, Procop. Gaz. Ep. 13. See Stenger 2020. 1⁸ Synes. ep. 54 and 136. 1⁹ Habinek 2017: 32–4, the quote at 32. 2⁰ Elsewhere, I have argued that the ambivalent attitude to the classical past, the combination of a desire for reconnection and deliberate departures from tradition, was a characteristic of fourth-century Greek literature. See Stenger 2009: 393–6.

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the making of the late antique mind 243 Quintilian, and Fronto. Yet he also adumbrated the gulf that lay between their times and his own days by emphasizing the qualities that distinguished him from the veteres, the ancient tutors.21 We perceive an echo of the ambivalent attitude to history fostered by pedagogy also in an imagined scene of child education described in Claudian’s panegyric of the fourth consulate of Emperor Honorius.22 At the time of composition, the imperial addressee was still a youth of fourteen years, but the poet in his eulogy went back to the days when the emperor’s father, Theodosius I, was still alive and preparing his 10-year-old son for the highest office. In a virtual mirror of princes embedded in the panegyric (ll. 214–418), Theodosius instructs Honorius on what and how to study in order to become a powerful military leader. One can hardly fail to hear the Graeco-Roman schoolmasters in the exhortations put into Theodosius’ mouth: Meanwhile, cultivate the Muses while your mind is yet pliant; read of deeds you soon may rival; never may Greece’s old age, never may Rome’s, cease to speak with you. Peruse the books on ancient leaders and accustom yourself for future wars. Go back to the Latin age.23

The old emperor in Claudian’s poem advises his young heir, as was common in classical pedagogy, to imitate ancient exemplars, to mould himself after famous role models. Immediately after these introductory lines follows a long list of heroes taken from regnal and republican Rome whose virtues one day will enable Honorius to fulfil the role of the ruler of a vast empire (ll. 401–18). Ulrich Eigler in his insightful analysis of this excursus has emphasized that, apart from drawing heavily on the catalogues of Aeneid Book 6 and 8, Claudian’s imaginative report of Theodosius’ advice clearly reflects what was practised in the grammarian’s school.2⁴ Honorius is, as the reference to the Muses and the verbs legas and evolve make clear, to peruse the classics, in the same way as boys studied the literary greats in class. Significantly, Theodosius in his recourse to Vergil calls to mind exclusively figures of the distant past while ignoring outstanding leaders from more recent periods of Roman history, of whom there was certainly no dearth. The old emperor of Claudian’s panegyric, like the grammarian in his decontextualizing readings, constructs from fragments a sketchy image of a glorious bygone era to propose this 21 Auson. 21.7. 22 Claud. 8, composed in 398. 23 Claud. 8.396–400: interea Musis, animus, dum mollior, instes et quae mox imitere legas; nec desinat umquam tecum Graia loqui, tecum Romana vetustas. antiquos evolve duces, adsuesce futurae militiae, Latium retro te confer in aevum. 2⁴ Eigler 2003: 12–21.

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244 education in late antiquity idealized past as the gold standard of the imperial office. As if the heroes of olden days could be transported to the late fourth century, Honorius ought to absorb the ideals of the past through reading. More importantly, he will even enter a conversation with them: Roman vetustas ‘speaks’ if the student diligently reads the classics. What the pedagogic inset of Claudian’s eulogy suggests is that educational practices locate the learning subject in relation to the distant past. The student, as it were, travels back (retro te confer) to the Latin age to reconnect with a Rome that was not in want of formidable commanders. This vignette can open the avenue to an investigation into the correlation of educational habits and the attitude to the past in the postclassical world. Prima facie little more than an epigonal reworking of Vergil’s pageant of Roman heroes in the Aeneid, Theodosius’ advice perhaps reveals a characteristic trait of the late antique mentality. We may wonder whether the idea that the student, through educational practice, entered a personal relationship with his cultural heritage was typical of the late period, insofar as it reified antiquity and contemporary times as separate entities. Claudian’s seemingly conservative ‘manifesto’ of Roman pedagogy raises a number of important issues, including the idealizing construction of a chronologically vaguely located era, the deliberate selection of a specific segment of the past, a sense of temporal distance, and the desire for a revival of historical memories. To what extent, we may ask, was this interconnectedness of pedagogy and self-positioning vis-à-vis antiquity emblematic of the postclassical era? Departing from these observations on Claudian’s poem, this chapter will argue that educational thinking in late antiquity became a forum for the negotiation of the gap between past and present. The historical discourse that was facilitated by consideration of educational matters produced classical antiquity and the postclassical age as clearly distinct but interrelated periods of history. What emerged from this intellectual operation was a heightened sense of being ‘late’, that is, of living in an age of posterity. We are going to see that the pedagogic debate made a significant contribution to the genesis of the late antique mind. The new historical consciousness helped the late Romans make sense of their times. With this claim our discussion is placed in recent research on late antiquity, which has become increasingly perceptive to the distinct, non-classical character of late Roman culture. Following Michael Roberts’s seminal study on the ‘Jeweled Style’ of Latin poetry, many scholars have advanced our understanding of the specifically late antique aesthetics, which, though unmistakeably indebted to classical literature, did not in every respect follow the classical norms of beauty, harmony, and unity.2⁵ There is growing consensus that late antique literature, in particular that of the Latin world, displayed a unique character, preferring discontinuity or fragmentation and the effects of patterning and recomposition over the realistic 2⁵ Roberts 1989. More recent attempts to assess the literary aesthetics of late antiquity include Formisano 2007, Pelttari 2014, and the essays in Stenger 2015a and in Elsner and Lobato 2017b.

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the making of the late antique mind 245 representation, coherence, and uniformity prized in classical aesthetics.2⁶ This paradigm may even have informed the late antique conceptualization of time, insofar as structured sequences of time were superseded by non-sequential, fragmented vistas.2⁷ Similar tendencies, among them the abandonment of naturalism and the vogue for spolia, have been discovered by archaeological research in the domain of arts and architecture, which has resulted in a re-evaluation of a period that, since the art historian Alois Riegl put Spätantike on the map, suffered from prejudices of decline and sterility.2⁸ More to the point of our topic, Catherine Chin in her monograph on the discipline of grammar has argued that the grammatical artes of late antiquity promoted in their content the idea of a past and a present separated by a temporal break. In so doing, they established a fundamental historical narrative, namely, that of the lateness of late antiquity itself. The fourth-century grammatical works are seen by Chin as not merely evidence for the literary culture of late antiquity but as generically responsible for the reader’s perception of that lateness, at least in literary terms.2⁹ The following analysis can build on Chin’s observations but will go beyond them, demonstrating that education more widely generated a historical consciousness that can be considered peculiar to late antiquity. Having said that, we should add two caveats: first, it is impossible to postulate that late antique educationalists abandoned ideas of continuity with the classical past and imitation of classical models altogether. As before, many educational theorists

2⁶ See in particular Roberts 1989: 66–121. Roberts argues, ‘[i]n late antiquity . . . the referential function of language/art lost some of its preeminence; signifier asserts itself at the expense of signified . . . in literature it means a tendency for constituents to break loose from syntactic structure and to ‘wander’, demanding attention disproportionate to or at odds with their logical role in the economy of the sentence’ (72). Elsner and Lobato 2017a attempt to outline the specific qualities of the aesthetic paradigm of late antique literature and art. However, they magnify the anti-classical tendencies and downplay continuities with previous aesthetic models in order to establish late antique culture as totally ‘other’. They also exaggerate the importance of the religious factor in the emergence of a late antique aesthetics, considering the end of pagan antiquity and the Christian hegemony, and the identity crisis resulting from this, a major driver behind the cultural shifts. Also Miller 1998: 124–30, on the aesthetics of discontinuity in Latin poems. 2⁷ As has been argued by Gutteridge 2006, who concludes (593): ‘The temporal landscape of Late Antiquity exhibits repeated tendencies towards fragmentation and reassembly, where non-sequential vistas are increasingly fundamental in making sense of the world.’ 2⁸ Riegl 1893 and 1901. For significant changes and tendencies in late antique art and aesthetics, and the scholarly debate of them, see, for example, Elsner 2006 and Fabricius Hansen 2003 (in particular on the reuse of older materials). Elsner 2006: 304 has noted a trend in the aesthetics of late antiquity akin to what Kaster has argued for Macrobius’ cultural ideal, as mentioned above: ‘The cumulative aesthetic of late antique art allowed these pieces [spolia] both to be themselves and to become parts of a new whole. This enabled the new work to make a delicate gesture of continuity with earlier eras whereby the past could be respected in the integrity of its original pieces but transformed through a new framing. This was as true of small-scale works as it was of the Arch of Constantine.’ He speaks of ‘a specific aesthetic of bricolage’ (307). 2⁹ Chin 2008: 37–8. See also Pelttari 2014: 150 on the effects of the use of classical models in late Latin poetry. He argues that the poets played with the cultural distance between the contemporary context and their classical sources: ‘Ausonius and his contemporaries imagined themselves as separate from their classical models.’

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246 education in late antiquity and practitioners continued to subscribe to the unquestioned authority of the classics. Second, ‘history’ could mean different things to different people. Ancient Roman history had a significance and importance to educated men in the west that differed from that of the Hellenic past for easterners; and, as we will see, Christians developed notions of time different from pagan ones.3⁰ Yet, notwithstanding the diversity of the educational field, I hope it will become clear that pedagogic discourse invited the learning subjects to perceive themselves as being located at a specific, late point in the passage of time. That admiration for the great classics did not preclude the awakening of a postclassical self-consciousness is exemplified by Themistius’ Oration 26, On Speaking, which we have already looked at in detail in another context.31 Not unlike his predecessors in the Second Sophistic, Themistius exhibits in his private orations a strong predilection for the culture of classical Athens. In particular when he promotes, and defends, his way of teaching philosophy, Plato’s Academy and Aristotle’s Lyceum are never far off. Themistius likes to see himself as a Socrates redivivus, or at least a follower of Plato, and stylizes the intellectual struggle against his enemies in Constantinople as the feud between Socratic philosophy and the sophists.32 Occasionally, close reworkings of Platonic passages add weight to the idea that the past was the perfect choice for interpreting the present. In a similar vein, Procopius of Gaza also rehearsed the old battles between Platonic philosophy and sophistry as a hermeneutical tool, sometimes with ironic undertones.33 As he defended against critics his acceptance of a high political office, Themistius presented a lengthy account of the history of philosophy, starting with Solon and Lycurgus and culminating in Aristotle, in order to interpret and vindicate his decision.3⁴ Such passages, which abound in his speeches, are a testament to the fact that, for Themistius, present educational practice could be accurately understood only if it was seen through the lens of history. Standing on the shoulders of intellectual giants, the fourth-century philosophical teacher undertook his profession against the backdrop of the classical tradition. This was, crucially, a hermeneutical relationship with the past, rather than the simple copying of ancient models. In Oration 26 the argument with his opponents gave rise to a more fundamental discussion of the relationship between old and new.3⁵ What started as a 3⁰ That images of the past, or rather pasts, were created and used in late antiquity for various ideological purposes has been shown by, among others, Cameron 1999. She notes (16), ‘We see in late antiquity a mass of experimentation, new ways being tried and new adjustments made. The process of myth-making and development of new identities inevitably implied the shaping of the past according to current preoccupations. . . . During late antiquity the past had been remade, but it had been remade in many different ways, and the effort continued.’ 31 See Chapter 4.2. 32 See in particular Them. Or. 23.285b, 26.313c–314a, 317d–318c, 31.352c. See Stenger 2009: 220–2. 33 e.g. Procop. Gaz. Ep. 38 and 91. 3⁴ Them. Or. 34.2–6. 3⁵ Already in the protheoria to the speech Themistius establishes a close link between the topic, philosophical instruction, and the classical past by suggesting a parallel with the ancient Areopagus and the Athenian law courts (311c–d).

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the making of the late antique mind 247 controversy over the nature of paideia and the philosopher’s role in public soon escalated into a battle between conservatives and innovators. On this occasion Themistius also went back to classical Athens to look for historical guidance. Throughout, the speech couches the conflict in terms of the trial of Socrates, modelling the opponents on the accusers of the ancient philosopher. In the same way as Anytus and Meletus had done in 399 bce, Themistius’ critics, he says, accuse him of inappropriate novelty and introducing new deities, as it were, by speaking in public.3⁶ Consequently, Themistius sarcastically denounces them as ‘guardians of custom’ (τῆς συνηθείας οἱ φύλακες) because they appear to be annoyed at the introduction of any innovation or change.3⁷ With the shift of the argument to the opposition of tradition versus innovation Themistius’ defence becomes a discussion of how philosophical instruction should position itself in relation to the classical past. As in Oration 34, he gives an account of the history of his profession to make the point that his method of teaching is completely consistent with what his great forebears, from Thales to Aristotle, were practising. Then Themistius even blends his own voice into Socrates’, quoting verbatim, with some modifications, an entire passage from the Platonic Clitopho.3⁸ He seems to virtually delve into the Athenian past, in a move to historicize his own pedagogic practice. There is though more to Themistius’ going back to the roots. Making sense of the present in light of the classical past affords him the opportunity to define his stance on the past, to outline his image of antiquity. The refutation of his critics is based on the conviction that in fact their understanding of philosophy is a misconception while Themistius himself faithfully upholds the tradition. Contrary to what the accusers believe, philosophy and the arts in general never have stood still: If everything that is at variance with custom is an offence, why don’t they accuse and call to account all the arts? The arts have never remained in and been contented with their initial state, when they were invented. Instead, they constantly make progress, still developing up to the present and always interweaving the old with something new.3⁹

To corroborate this bold claim Themistius proceeds to outline a history of Greek culture from Daedalus’ alterations to sculptural images and Terpander’s contributions to lyre-playing to the innovative Aristotelian logic. What Themistius as a publicly speaking philosopher does is, therefore, the true preservation of tradition. 3⁶ In Them. Or. 26.313d–314a he echoes the accusation of Socrates as recorded in Plato’s Apology (24b). Other Platonic quotes in this passage include Pl. Ap. 17a and 19b. 3⁷ Them. Or. 26.315c. 3⁸ Them. Or. 26.320d–321b. Here, Themistius addresses parents and chastises them for their neglect of their sons’ training. The whole passage is closely modelled after Pl. Clit. 407a–408b. 3⁹ Them. Or. 26.316a: εἰ γὰρ δὴ ἅπαν ἀδίκημα τὸ ἔξω τοῦ ἔθους, διὰ τί οὐχ ἁπάσαις ταῖς τέχναις αἰτιῶνται καὶ εὐθύνουσιν, ὅτι οὐκ ἐνέμειναν οὐδὲ ἠγάπησαν ἐπὶ τῇ πρώτῃ εὑρέσει, ἀλλ’ αὔξοντες ἔτι καὶ ἐς τόδε ἐπιδιδόασι, καινόν τι ἀεὶ προσυφαίνοντες τοῖς ἀρχαίοις.

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248 education in late antiquity Never remaining in the same place, the disciplines over the course of centuries have always adapted, made changes, and introduced stunning innovations, so that Themistius’ addresses to a wider audience are anything but illegitimate. His defence speech exposes fossilized paideia as a misguided imitation of the ancients and promotes instead a new attitude to the classics: the preservation of the essence of the past through departure from tradition, paradoxical though it seems. It was the paragon of philosophy, Socrates, who embodied this attitude; his ambition, Themistius explains, was not merely to make some minor revisions but to transform completely the subject of philosophical discourse.⁴⁰ Themistius’ counterstrike against his critics is a fine example of pedagogic discourse as an arena where the relationship between past and present was played out. The public controversy over correct paideia acted as a catalyst for defining one’s stance on remote and contemporary times. Themistius here proposed a response that simultaneously acknowledged a debt to the figures of bygone days and asserted the distinctiveness of his own days. As he also put forward in Oration 34, he believed in the idea of progress in cultural or intellectual activities and saw the need for a revival of the achievements of the past.⁴1 However, this could be done only in retrospect, in a temporal position separated from classical antiquity. Instead of slavish imitation of the classics, which seemed no longer possible, the situation of the late fourth century required a departure from the old models. Thus, Themistius’ viewpoint was a professedly late one, fully aware of the gap that lay between his own times and the era of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. Admiration for the ancients was beyond question; any of his speeches bears witness to his reverence for the classics. Yet, this was no hindrance to the acknowledgement of lateness, paired with a certain self-assertion. While the ἄνδρες σεμνοὶ καὶ ἀρχαῖοι, as he calls the classics, had laid the foundations, posterity had to refurbish the building to accommodate present needs.⁴2

6.2 Museumizing Antiquity Hardly was there in late antiquity a panegyrist of Athens as staunch as the sophist Himerius. Though he hailed from Bithynian Prusa, Himerius never tired of eulogizing the city where he opened his school of rhetoric, even extolling his son Rufinus as the epitome of the Athenian citizen.⁴3 Yet, for all his fervour for the ⁴⁰ Them. Or. 26.317d–318c. ⁴1 Them. Or. 34.4 formulates the idea that the arts, in particular philosophy, are characterized by progress. In 34.7 Themistius argues that Emperor Theodosius in appointing the philosopher to public office has restored philosophy’s ancestral mission and revived the endeavours of former philosophers and rulers. ⁴2 For the phrase see Them. Or. 26.315d. ⁴3 Him. Or. 7 and 8, the former speech pleading before the Areopagus for the free status of his son, the latter lamenting his premature death. Himerius is keen to stress Rufinus’ close links with Athens

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the making of the late antique mind 249 capital of Greece, it was classical Athens, rather than the contemporary polis, that captured his imagination. In light of his frequent references to the Acropolis, the Areopagus, the Panathenaea, Plato, and Demosthenes, we would not be completely wrong to characterize Himerius as an Athenian nostalgist. More generally, the classical past arguably is a constant presence in his orations. There is hardly any dialexis or oration of his, not to mention the historical declamations, that does not feature a quote from Homer, Pindar, and other classical verse-makers, an allusion to Plato and the great Attic orators, or a reference to venerable customs and traditions of ancient times.⁴⁴ It was, therefore, not without reason that the Byzantine patriarch Photius when excerpting Himerius’ speeches claimed that ‘his writings are filled with examples from history and from various myths, either to prove something or to make a comparison, or to add pleasure and beauty to what he says’.⁴⁵ Robert Penella, the first English translator of Himerius, highlights the pervasive use made by the orator of history for comparison with his present and for the assertion of Greek cultural identity. ‘This surrealistic world’, Penella says, ‘in which past and present are melded, as in a dream, typical of the Greeks under Rome, is richly on display in Himerius’s orations.’⁴⁶ Indeed, Himerius’ works are a treasure trove of historical data, with a local focus on Athens, and also his practice of citation, with classical quotes inserted like architectural spolia in his addresses, suggests that instruction in rhetoric naturally comes with a strong historical flavour, that an idealized image of the past even is at the heart of schooling. An alumnus of Himerius’ institution must have had an understanding of Greek history that, as we have seen, Eigler terms a Bildungsbild. In this section, we shall examine whether the Athenian rhetorician’s pedagogic approach to the past really immersed his students in a dreamlike vision in which temporal differences collapsed. The analysis of one of his school speeches will demonstrate that his teaching aimed at conveying a sense of temporality characteristic of the period. At first glance, the conspicuous historical mode of Himerius’ discourses could give the impression that the sophist was living in the past and striving for a close imitation of the canonical models. Yet in fact he was not a mere mimicker of the ancients but more often than not he displays a more nuanced interpretation of the past. When we look more closely at the way in which Himerius introduces the various anecdotes and the lore of classical culture, it becomes apparent that he frequently draws his audience’s attention to the distance lying between figures such as Socrates and Themistocles and their own days. Characteristically, Himerius through his maternal ancestors (cf. 7.4, l. 16, ‘they are truly the nobility of Attica’). See Stenger 2009: 232–3. ⁴⁴ For the plethora of classical quotes, echoes, and exempla see the comments in Völker 2003 and Penella 2007. Unfortunately for him, Himerius’ fondness for classical quotes has lead scholars to view his work primarily as a mine of ancient literature. ⁴⁵ Phot. Bibl. cod. 165.108b: Παραδείγμασι δὲ ἐξ ἱστορίας τε καὶ ἐκ μύθων παντοδαπῶν μεστὰ αὐτοῦ τυγχάνει τὰ γράμματα, ἢ πρὸς ἀπόδειξιν ἢ πρὸς ὁμοιότητα ἢ πρὸς ἡδονὴν καὶ κάλλος ὧν λέγει. ⁴⁶ Penella 2007: 12–14, the quote at 14.

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250 education in late antiquity inserts phrases like ‘there was a time when . . . ’, ‘I hear that’, and ‘they say’ before relating historical narratives, thereby reminding his listeners that what they know of classical Athens and Greece is the content of oral and written tradition, handed down through the centuries.⁴⁷ Himerius’ orations, therefore, are anything but a surreal melange of past and present. For example, when Himerius before the proconsul of Greece, Cervonius, briefly outlined the history of his own profession, he not only pointed to the temporal gap by introducing the account with the formula ‘there was a time when . . .’ and by saying ‘I hear that back then . . . ’, but also twice characterizes the narrative excursus as an ‘Attic tale’ (Ἀττικὸν διήγημα).⁴⁸ With these expressions, which highlight the temporal distance and feature history as an exercise of the rhetorical textbook, Himerius intimates that the practice of the school is informed by a historical consciousness: the study of eloquence locates the students in the history of the discipline, and of Hellenic culture more broadly, so that they become aware of the interval that separates antiquity from the times in which they live.⁴⁹ To enhance this sense of lateness, the address to the proconsul, rather than giving an impartial account, interprets the history of eloquence as a process of steady decline and finally greets with enthusiasm the reawakening and reinvigoration brought about by the magistrate.⁵⁰ This feeling of temporality and decline is also prominent in a self-reflexive oration on Himerius’ own art. There, the sophist once again tries to make sense of the present through learning from ‘past times’ (ἔξεστι δὲ ταῦτα κἀκ τῶν ἄνω χρόνων τεκμήρασθαι) and assigns to his school the historical mission of rekindling the whole of eloquence, even of the essence of the city.⁵1 If the alleged drought of rhetorical studies is not enough to situate the students in relation to the past, the teacher introduces the catalogue of historical examples with an assertion of his agenda regarding old and new: This firebrand would rise up and shine upon everything if the creators of words would not always be content with the ancient models and instead would keep conceiving and contriving a new work of art. For the invention of new works, as

⁴⁷ e.g. Him. Or. 38.3 and 5 (ll. 26, 35); 48.18, 21, 26 (ll. 215, 238, 287, 289); 60.4 (ll. 28–9). The selfreflexivity of Himerius’ discourse has been largely overlooked by scholars. ⁴⁸ Him. Or. 38.3–7 (ll. 26–65): Ἀττικὸν ὑμῖν ἀποτείνω διήγημα. ἦν χρόνος, ὅτε Ἀθηναῖοι μάλιστα ἀνθρώπων ἁπάντων τοὺς [σοφιστὰς ἠσπάζοντο . . . ἀκούω τότε | καὶ Σωκράτην γενέσθαι . . . τουτὶ μὲν ὑμῖν, ὦ παῖδες, | τὸ Ἀττικὸν διήγημα. ⁴⁹ For narrative (diegesis, diegema) as a rhetorical exercise see Theon Prog. 5 (78–96), Hermog. Prog. 2 (4–6), Aphth. Prog. 2 (22), and Nicol. Prog. 3 (11–17). ⁵⁰ Him. Or. 38.9 (ll. 77–80). ⁵1 In Him. Or. 68.1 (ll. 8–9), eloquence is identified as the hallmark of Athens: καρπὸς δὲ τῆσδε τῆς πόλεως λόγος καὶ ἄνθρωπος.

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the making of the late antique mind 251 it were, strengthened the natural talent of Phidias and the creative genius of all the other craftsmen whose hands are admired for their skill.⁵2

Himerius then goes on to paint a broad canvas of a chronologically unspecified distant age in which skilful innovation brought the arts to fruition. The sculptor Phidias, the mythological representation of the god Dionysus, the divine creation of nature, the poet Homer, Apollo’s oracles, Proteus, and Protagoras’ myth-making are all invoked in procession to situate Himerius’ teaching historically. In a call for innovation, echoing that of his colleague Themistius, he deploys a constructed image of the distant past for interpreting present usage.⁵3 In doing so, the sophist disentangles a vague historical era from contemporary times but simultaneously puts both periods in a relationship. Slavish imitation of the classics is not what Himerius demands for the revival of rhetorical studies in the fourth century. Rather, the present conditions call for a practice that, though historically informed, departs from tradition. The notion of living in a late age that required a reflective approach to antiquity also came to the fore when Himerius at some point welcomed prospective students from Ionia.⁵⁴ The short and playful address delivered on that occasion is a showpiece of the central idea that history and cultural patrimony serve as a gateway to education, as if it were impossible to properly study without a sense of one’s place in history. As also elsewhere, the teacher exploits the historical link that existed between Athens and Ionia from the era of the Greek colonization.⁵⁵ It was this link that gave him the opportunity to forge a strong bond between the new students and the school and at the same time to define the relationship between past and present. Stating right at the beginning that the Ionian young men are in fact of Attic origin, the speech puts the motif of ancestry (τὰ τῶν πατέρων) centre stage.⁵⁶ Subsequently, it concentrates on episodes from Athenian history, including the Persian Wars and the myth of Poseidon and Athena vying for control over the ⁵2 Him. Or. 68.3 (ll. 21–7): αἴροιτο δ’ ἂν ὁ πυρσὸς οὗτος ἄνω καὶ καταυγάζοι τὰ σύμπαντα, εἰ μὴ τοῖς ἀρχαίοις ἀεὶ τύποις οἱ ποιηταὶ τῶν λόγων στέργοιεν, ἀλλ’ ἀεί τι δαίδαλμα νέον ἐπινοοῦντες τεκταίνοιντο. ἐπεὶ καὶ τὴν Φειδίου φύσιν καὶ τὰς τῶν ἄλλων δημιουργῶν τέχνας, ὧν αἱ χεῖρες ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ θαυμάζονται, ἡ τῶν νέων εὕρεσις ἔργων ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἐκράτυνεν. The topic of the oration is the encouragement to use variation in speeches. ⁵3 Hadjittofi 2014: 237 briefly touches upon the hermeneutical function of history in Himerius’ speeches. She argues that Himerius, as is typical of late antique intellectuals, is in a ‘metaphorical frame of mind’: everything needs to be compared to something (preferably ancient), and needs to have a precedent, an analogy. ⁵⁴ Him. Or. 59, identified by the scholion as a dialexis, i.e. an informal talk. It was followed on the next day by Or. 60, whose first lines make reference to it. See Penella 2007: 111. Himerius addresses the young men as ‘guests’ but also as ‘boys’. Perhaps they were not yet regular students of his, but he wanted to attract them. ⁵⁵ See Or. 26. This, as it were, colonial discourse is also strong in Or. 41 on the relationship between Athens and Constantinople. ⁵⁶ The theme is continued in Or. 60.

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252 education in late antiquity city.⁵⁷ During his excursion into the distant past Himerius not only foregrounds the motif of the ancestral tradition in order to connect the students with antiquity but also points out that this tradition is a mediated one, the object of stories and myths the sophist is telling.⁵⁸ As we have just pointed out, this perspective is fairly common in Himerius’ speeches, but here it is somewhat shifted, insofar that the theme of ancestry suggests a very personal engagement with the past. Though the topics touched upon by the address are far from being original, the way in which the teacher presents them is a fine specimen of his imagination. For the idea of an excursion into the past is taken by Himerius quite literally. Instead of just recounting historical events, he takes his students on a virtual sightseeing tour through Athens. ‘Come, let us show them through words their mother-city, instead of the cicada brooch’, he says, ‘I will guide you to the great monuments of your forefathers.’⁵⁹ He will first show them the Stoa Poikile with its paintings of the heroes of the battle of Salamis;⁶⁰ then the students will mount the Acropolis, where they will be able ‘to fill themselves with numerous stories’ (ἔνθα μυρίων ὑμῖν ὑπάρξει διηγημάτων ἐμπίμπλασθαι); after that, the next stop on the tour will be the Areopagus, before Himerius finally depicts a statue of the god Apollo, Ion’s father, so as to join the Ionian colonists to their mother-city. We may speculate that Himerius was inspired to his verbal sightseeing tour by a passage in Aeschines’ speech Against Ctesiphon. There the situation is similar, as Aeschines takes his audience on a virtual tour to examine the monuments in the agora, singling out in particular the Stoa Poikile with its depictions of famous warriors.⁶1 However, should the late antique sophist have reworked the lines of his classical predecessor, the sheer passage of time between the fourth century bce and the fourth century ce gives the idea a new direction. For when he delivered his brief dialexis, the face of Athens had changed over the centuries, and dramatically so. And yet, from Himerius’ words we would not infer that the city centre had undergone significant transformations, demolitions, and rebuilding since Aeschines took his case to the law courts. The image of Athens drawn by the cicerone Himerius seems almost ‘frozen’ in time, assembled from monuments and

⁵⁷ See also Or. 6.7 (ll. 75–87) for an account of the myth. ⁵⁸ See Him. Or. 59.3 (ll. 15, 21, 22: διηγημάτων ἐμπίμπλασθαι, μυθολογῶν, τῷ διηγήματι). ⁵⁹ Him. Or. 59.1 (ll. 2–6): φέρε αὐτοῖς πρὸ τοῦ τέττιγος τὴν μητρόπολιν τῷ λόγῳ δείξωμεν. . . . ἐγὼ ξεναγήσω μὲν ὑμᾶς καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ μεγάλα τῶν πατέρων γνωρίσματα. The cicada brooch is a reference to ancient Athenian custom (Th. 1.6.3). See Penella 2007: 133 n. 84. ⁶⁰ In an exercise piece, the epitaph delivered by the polemarch, he also deals with the Battle of Marathon and refers to the heroes who were depicted in the Stoa Poikile (Or. 6.21, ll. 231–7). The images of the Stoa are also mentioned in the declamation Or. 2.17, ll. 101–3 (Demosthenes speaking on behalf of Aeschines). It seems that soon after Himerius delivered the address to the Ionian students, the painted panels were removed from their original place. This is reported by Synesius during his visit to the city in 396 (ep. 54 and 136). See Frantz 1988: 55–6. For a description of the Stoa in the imperial era see Paus. 1.15.3. ⁶1 Aeschin. 3.186.

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the making of the late antique mind 253 memories exclusively originating from the archaic and classical periods. Traces of more recent times, of Hellenistic and imperial Athens, are glaringly absent. Had the students joined an actual guided tour through the city, they would have seen a different Athens. It is true, Christianity had almost no impact on the built cityscape in the fourth century, and pagan temples and religious institutions remained largely intact.⁶2 Nonetheless, after the Herulian sack in 267 ce the polis no longer looked the same. After new fortifications had been erected in the wake of the disaster, the Old Agora lay outside the city walls.⁶3 Moreover, the Athenians did not rebuild every destroyed structure. However, in the fourth century there was, despite the city’s diminished importance, some revival and reconstruction, both by officials and by private persons. The Theatre of Dionysus was rehabilitated and continued to be used, as did the Tholos. The Metroon did not regain its former grandeur but was at least partially restored. Stoas along the Panathenaic way were reconstructed or newly erected, as noted by Himerius elsewhere.⁶⁴ Large houses and several baths show signs of construction or renovation in the fourth century. By contrast, no Christian church is archaeologically attested before the fifth century. Thus, the Athenians’ dealing with the cityscape reflects an interest in resuscitating traditions and in selected monuments of the past.⁶⁵ We may therefore conclude that the fourth-century appearance of the city at least provided some points to peg Himerius’ idealized image on. Notwithstanding, the fact alone that the Old Agora was now outside the perimeter of the fortifications highlights that Himerius’ tour is a nostalgic and discursive construction. His audience must have felt the discrepancy between the agora’s former glory and its marginalized position in contemporary Athens. The comparison between the archaeological record and Himerius’ rhetorical representation allows us to discern that his image of the Ionians’ mother-city is a highly stylized and redacted version of an Athens anchored in a remote past. Offering a merely verbal tour instead of a real one afforded him the opportunity to select from the cityscape with its various layers of history fragments that he deemed suitable for identity-building. His ecphrasis did not aim at complete coverage, which was impossible to achieve anyway, but took isolated monuments and related memories out of the urban context in order to weave them into a

⁶2 See Frantz 1988: 1–56; Camp 2001: 223–38. See also Watts 2006: 38–40 on the damage and (limited) rebuilding of Athens after the Herulian sack, 80–7 on the prosperity of the upper class and their private and public building activities in the late fourth century. Some comfortable houses on the slope of the Areopagus above the Old Agora have been identified by Frantz 1988: 44–7 and Camp 2001: 227–8 as philosophical schools or residences of wealthy teachers. Castrén 1994: 8, however, considers them just villas of well-to-do citizens. ⁶3 Camp 2001: 225. For a general picture of Athenian life after the Herulian sack see also Castrén 1994. ⁶⁴ Him. Or. 47.12 (ll. 99–110). See Frantz 1988: 23–4, 26–7. ⁶⁵ Frantz 1988: 22 concludes ‘that from at least as early as the second quarter of the 4th century interest was being shown on a high level in reviving the city of Athens’.

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254 education in late antiquity new tapestry. In similar way as the Arch of Constantine in Rome was adorned with spolia recovered from former times, Himerius’ idealized image of Athens was an assemblage of recuperated fragments, a reconstruction from some scattered remains.⁶⁶ In his rhetorical showpiece, the school and a specific image of the past entered an intimate relationship: rhetorical schooling, he suggested, brought the students into contact with a bygone age, so that they could ‘fill themselves’ with it; it bridged the gap over whatever incidents had disfigured the face of the classical city, to bring a however vaguely located past back to life. Himerius’ suggestion of a correlation between educational practice and the engagement with the cultural patrimony appears to be matched by a passage in the roughly contemporary Expositio totius mundi et gentium, which in a brief description of the province of Achaea identifies the characteristics of Athens as follows: ‘Athens has the centres of learning and ancient historical monuments and something worthy of special mention, the Acropolis, where by means of so many standing statues it is wonderful to see the so-called war of the ancients.’⁶⁷ Although it is hard to pinpoint what the anonymous author precisely had in mind, this passage can support our analysis of Himerius’ address to the Ionian students. We find here the same ensemble of studies, ancient monuments, and admiration for antiquity that pervades the oration. In the eyes of the sophist guide, the Athenian cityscape resembles a museum of isolated artefacts that evoke images of a distant past that is only indeterminately located in time but shines as a Golden Age when human heroes and pagan gods made Athens great. In terms of modern educational discourse we could say that Himerius’ welcome address to the prospective students has a ‘hidden curriculum’, that is, besides instruction in skilled rhetoric, the sophist in the classroom also conveys norms, values, and beliefs that are not a recognized part of his brief. With his penchant for a time when Hellenic civilization was in its heyday Himerius attempts to instil in his students a particular attitude to the glorious past, a habit of veneration, and, as in the case of the Ionians, a longing for reconnection. As he considers the daily teaching business of his school, the sophist comes also to reflect on the relationship between past and present. The historical consciousness that his teaching generates in the students is a characteristically ambivalent one: on the one hand, antiquity as constructed and made accessible by the rhetor’s art is of direct relevance to the students;⁶⁸ it is their ancestry, as he makes clear, and traces of that can still be seen ⁶⁶ For the use of spolia in the Arch of Constantine see Fabricius Hansen 2003: 19–21 and Elsner 2006: 288–92. ⁶⁷ Expos. mundi 52 (SC 124.188): Athenas vero ⟨studia⟩ et historias antiquas et aliquid dignum nominatum, arc⟨e⟩m ubi multis statuis stantibus mirabile est videre dicendum antiquorum bellum. (The transmitted text has arcum.) The Latin text of this anonymous geographical work is probably a translation of a Greek original dating to the 350s and now lost. ⁶⁸ The fact that it is his discourse that provides access to the past is repeatedly underlined in the oration through references to λόγος, διήγημα, and storytelling (Or. 59.1, 3–4 and 6, ll. 3–4, 15, 20–2, 26–7, 34).

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the making of the late antique mind 255 because the past is physically present in the form of tangible fragments in the space of late antiquity. On the other hand, Himerius’ ‘museumizing’ approach produces classical antiquity as a distant entity, an era that needs to be commemorated because it is no longer lived reality. The ancient past appears in the eyes of the student of rhetoric like a faraway continent filled with cherished monuments of deeds which the present cannot equal. There is evidently no continuity between old Athenian history and contemporary lives, which is why the ancient monuments need to be shown by the teacher and brought back to life. However, the ancient deeds are inevitably looked at from the vantage point of posterity, mediated through literary studies. Thus, Himerius’ induction of the freshmen into membership of his school produces the temporal break between the classical age and the times in which they live as an entity in itself. Implicitly, the speech points to this sense of lateness and separation right at the start, when Himerius decides to show the newcomers the mother-city, not by putting on a cicada brooch, but by giving a verbal tour. The piece of jewellery invokes an archaic past, the mythic days of King Cecrops, yet it is impossible for the late antique sophist to pretend that they are living in the olden days.⁶⁹ He must, by necessity, look back with historical interest, mingled with nostalgia, from a later period, like the visitor in a museum.

6.3 Sounding the Death Knell for the Classics We noted in Chapter 1.2 that ecclesiastics such as Chrysostom and Augustine liked to see their regular preaching as a pedagogic, school-like activity, and not without reason. Attending church service may have felt for the congregants as if they had been thrown back to their school days, listening to a teacher expounding canonical texts. The first sermons in Chrysostom’s homiletic series on the Gospel of John are a fine case in point.⁷⁰ In these three homilies, pedagogy takes centre stage, and it does so in two ways: for one thing, educational matters come up time and again, as the preacher censures the traditional upbringing of children, discusses school education, and celebrates the evangelist as an unlettered man. On the whole, Chrysostom from the first to the third homily displays a strong dislike for Greek sophists, philosophical instruction, and the social implications of Hellenic paideia, the antagonist of teaching within the church.⁷1 In addition, the sermons are a showcase for practised Christian pedagogy, clearly intended as ⁶⁹ See also Or. 12.30 (ll. 126–9) and 44.4 (ll. 29–30) with Völker’s 2003 comment. ⁷⁰ Chrys. hom. in Jo. 1 (PG 59.23–9), 2 (PG 59.29–38), and 3 (PG 59.37–46). ⁷1 As Allen and Mayer 1995 have shown, we cannot be sure that the homilies transmitted as a series actually belong together and were preached by Chrysostom in a row. However, his frequent return to the topic of pedagogy and cross-references, in particular in the beginning of the third homily, make it likely that homilies 1–3 on John were preached in one single place and one after the other.

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256 education in late antiquity an alternative to the traditional schools. As he is expounding the passage John 1:1, Chrysostom explains that his teaching addresses, and benefits, everyone, be it men, women, or youngsters.⁷2 He almost suggests that the congregants adopt the role of children undertaking training and habituation. In consonance with his schoolish approach, the second homily in the series closely resembles a philosophical lecture dealing with the nature of God, the Creation, and the human soul, in some places bringing doxographical notes in philosophical commentaries to mind. Significantly, Chrysostom treats the gospel as a textbook, as if the Scriptures were the new syllabus. His listeners will, he says, first learn exactly the gospel’s principles and doctrines (τὰς ἀρχὰς καὶ ὑποθέσεις) in order not to require much close study (πραγματεία) afterwards; then they will be in a position to become themselves teachers of others.⁷3 How important this idea is for the preacher can be gleaned from the fact that it takes him very long, as he himself concedes, before he gets to the exegesis proper. The first homily and a large part of the second are devoted to introductory comments on the person of the evangelist and on philosophical teaching. Only then does he arrive at the explanation of verse 1:1, ‘In the beginning was the Word’. With this lengthy prologue Chrysostom sets the stage for his instruction on the basis of John. Among other things, he contrasts the setting of the church service with sophistic displays in public, discusses the evangelist’s humble upbringing and lack of formal education, ridicules the pagan philosophers for their ignorance, and illuminates John’s pedagogic method. Should the emphasis on the pedagogic dimension of the gospel and its explanation still have escaped the audience, the introduction of the third homily returns to the comparison between the entrenched way of child upbringing and the ethical formation Chrysostom intends to put in its place, not only for children but also for adults. It is, as our discussion will show, this polemical antagonism of two types of education that gives rise to a historical model that encourages late antique Christians to determine their temporal location. Since the homilies intend to hold up John as the Christian teacher par excellence, Chrysostom speaks at length about his origins, the milieu in which he grew up, and the training, or rather the lack of it, that he received.⁷⁴ This biographic approach was also in keeping with Chrysostom’s exegetical practice and, more generally, with that of the Antiochene school.⁷⁵ Furthermore, considering the ⁷2 Hom. in Jo. 3.1 (PG 59.38.15–19), with a cross-reference to the previous sermon. In the second homily, John himself is also credited with such accessible teaching. See hom. in Jo. 2.3 (PG 59.32.42–4). ⁷3 Hom. in Jo. 2.5 (PG 59.36.22–7). ⁷⁴ Hom. in Jo. 1.2 (PG 59.26) introduces John first and foremost as a teacher; his students are both the angels and Chrysostom’s congregation. It is worth mentioning here that Chrysostom, as other church fathers, conflates John the Evangelist and John the Apostle. ⁷⁵ For Antiochene exegesis, especially its focus on literal and historical interpretation, see Hidal 1996: 543–68 (esp. 557–62 on Chrysostom’s exegetical principles) and Inglebert 2001: 243–6. Haar Romeny 1997: 141 stresses that the roots of the Antiochene method are in the educational system of the late

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the making of the late antique mind 257 lecture-like style of the second homily, it might not be far-fetched to think of the philosophical curriculum, in which the systematic exposition of doctrines could be prefaced by the philosopher’s biography, as for example in Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus.⁷⁶ Chrysostom in this part of the second homily is not content with providing the historical information available on John’s childhood and early years but gives the biographic excursus a telling twist. What interests the preacher most in his subject is John’s total lack of literate education: ‘As for foreign education, we can learn from these facts that he had none whatsoever.’ The preacher adds supportive evidence from Acts that John was not only an idiotes, that is to say, untouched by Hellenic paideia, but even absolutely unlettered.⁷⁷ As the son of a poor fisherman and born into an utterly poor, mean, and ignorant milieu, John shunned the public assemblies, had no dealings with men of respectability, and moved only among fishmongers and cooks—the diametrical opposite of the Greek polis citizen.⁷⁸ To drum this point home Chrysostom returns to John’s humble status and ignorance ad nauseam. Apparently, he wants the congregants to realize the enormous gap that separates the evangelist’s upbringing from the school experience many of them will have had. Thus, historical contextualization combines with the preacher’s pastoral agenda.⁷⁹ Through the theme of education the homily opens up a window to the times of the early followers of Christ. It marks the gospel as the product of a specific historical period and social milieu. However, Chrysostom takes the historical element one step further. In order to foreground the superiority of John’s unlettered yet divine wisdom he first compares his teachings generically with the representatives of Greek intellectual culture: ‘Tell me, do these doctrines belong to a fisherman? Do they belong to a rhetorician at all? To a sophist or philosopher? To everyone trained in the foreign wisdom?’⁸⁰ But then the preacher goes on to draw a more specific comparison. ‘Some of these things were indeed investigated by the disciples of Plato and Pythagoras. Of the other philosophers we need make absolutely no mention because they have all since become so excessively

Hellenistic and imperial era; he regards the Antiochene aversion to allegorism as the protest of rhetoric against the methods of the philosophical schools. Already Schäublin 1974: 27–33 had argued that the Antiochene type of exegesis was shaped by the practice of the secular schools. ⁷⁶ The biography and comments on the arrangement of Plotinus’ works preceded Porphyry’s edition of the Enneads. See Porph. Plot. 24–6. See Urbano 2018: 238. ⁷⁷ Hom. in Jo. 2.1 (PG 59.29.53–30.20): Παιδείας δὲ ἕνεκεν τῆς ἔξωθεν, ἔστι μὲν καὶ ἐκ τούτων μαθεῖν, ὅτι οὐδ’ ὁτιοῦν αὐτῷ μετῆν. Ἄλλως δὲ καὶ ὁ Λουκᾶς μαρτυρεῖ γράφων, ὅτι οὐ μόνον ἰδιώτης, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀγράμματος ἦν· εἰκότως. See Acts 4:13. ⁷⁸ In these respects, John matches Chrysostom’s portrayal of Christian monks elsewhere. For Chrysostom, the rustic monks of the countryside embody the uncultured wisdom as the superior alternative to the traditional polis elite. See Stenger 2016c. ⁷⁹ The same point about the superiority of the fisherman, Peter, over Platonic philosophy is made in hom. in 1 Cor. 4, esp. 4.3 (PG 61.34) and hom. in Ac. 4.3–4 (PG 60.47–9). ⁸⁰ Chrys. hom. in Jo. 2.1 (PG 59.30.42–4): Ταῦτα οὖν ἁλιέως, εἰπέ μοι; ῥήτορος δὲ ὅλως; σοφιστοῦ δὲ ἢ φιλοσόφου; παντὸς δὲ τοῦ τὴν ἔξωθεν πεπαιδευμένου σοφίαν; Οὐδαμῶς.

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258 education in late antiquity ridiculous.’⁸1 Since he has presented John as a figure located in a defined historical period, Chrysostom now situates him in the history of philosophy, contrasting the evangelist’s higher philosophy with counterparts from classical Greece. It was common practice among the Christian apologists to oppose Christian doctrines to those of the great pagan philosophers.⁸2 Justin, Tatian, Athenagoras, and later Augustine disparaged the teachings of Pythagoras, Anaxagoras, Plato, and the like for their inconsistencies and errors.⁸3 Chrysostom inherits this apologetic tradition but by developing his argument from the biographic excursus he lends to it a strongly historical orientation. Yet the image that Chrysostom draws of the history of pagan philosophy is neither very detailed nor specific. He mentions Plato and Pythagoras a couple of times, even briefly referring to the former’s travels to Sicily and the latter’s ‘sorcery’ in Magna Graecia. However, apart from these two beacons of Greek wisdom the homily does not mention any intellectual or school by name but only speaks in general terms of the philosophers and doctrines that emerged at some unspecified point in the past. Omitting further historical data, Chrysostom conveys to his congregation the image of an era in the distant past which saw figures such as Plato and their disciples occupying the intellectual stage. It fits this impressionistic painting that, though the homily occasionally alludes to Plato’s Republic, Empedocles’ doctrines, and the Socrates of the Apology, the whole of Hellenic philosophy is generously lumped together, as if there had been no significant differences between the Academy, the Lyceum, the Stoics, and the Epicureans.⁸⁴ For Chrysostom’s polemical purposes it is more conducive to target a generic enemy than to do justice to actual divergences. Therefore, he creates a homogeneous classical past without nuances in order to accentuate Christianity’s superior truth. In a sense, he was helped in this by the practice of the traditional schools because these also preferred to review the doctrines of ancient authorities instead of contemporary thinkers.⁸⁵ Homogenizing the classical past is, though, only an intermediate step in Chrysostom’s pedagogic agenda. Right from the first, prefatory homily the ⁸1 Chrys. hom. in Jo. 2.2 (PG 59.30.54–7): Τούτων γὰρ ἔνια ἐζήτησαν μὲν οἱ περὶ Πλάτωνα καὶ Πυθαγόραν· τῶν γὰρ ἄλλων οὐδὲ ἁπλῶς μνημονευτέον ἡμῖν φιλοσόφων· οὕτω καταγέλαστοι ἐντεῦθεν μεθ’ ὑπερβολῆς γεγόνασιν ἅπαντες. ⁸2 Jerome draws the same comparison between the ignorant fisherman John and Plato (as well as Demosthenes) with all his learning in epist. 53.4.1–2 (CSEL 54.449–50), addressed to Paulinus. ⁸3 For references to Pythagoras and Pythagoreans in Christian writings, in particular within apologetic arguments, see Pevarello 2018: 258–62. ⁸⁴ For references to the Republic’s abolition of marriage and ‘ridiculous laws’ and Empedocles’ doctrine of the transmigration of the soul see hom. in Jo. 2.2 (PG 59.30–1). Cf. D.L. 8.2 on Empedocles. Socrates’ rejection of skilful eloquence in Apology 17b–c is quoted and paraphrased in 2.3 (PG 59.32–3). The same scathing critique of Plato’s political utopia and the doctrine of metempsychosis is made, in greater detail, in hom. in Ac. 4.3–4 (PG 60.47–9). ⁸⁵ One may think of doxographical works such as Cicero’s Academici libri and On the Nature of the Gods, Philodemus’ writings, Diogenes Laertius, and, in a Christian context, Clement’s Stromateis. For doxographies and the use of the views of classical philosophers in late antiquity see Betegh 2010.

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the making of the late antique mind 259 preacher adumbrates a polarity, or rather a clash, of two antagonistic civilizations. On one side, we find the Hellenic world, populated by games, theatre spectacles, sophistic displays, the established schools, and the ancient philosophers. It is the culture of the classical polis that Chrysostom habitually tore to shreds throughout his career.⁸⁶ On the other side, the simple fishermen, the evangelist John, and the divine doctrines represent the Christian culture. The homily, however, not only outlines a confrontation between the two camps or ideologies but puts a significant spin on this image. ‘This barbarian’, Chrysostom says about John, ‘with his writing of the gospel, has taken hold of the whole oecumene. With his body he has seized the centre of Asia, where formerly all of the Hellenic party used to philosophize.’⁸⁷ In this triumphant claim the phrase τὸ παλαιόν suggests a temporal succession, a historical process. John’s writing of the gospel ushered in a new era that dethroned the entire philosophical profession. Pagan philosophy henceforth was a matter of an antiquated age. If this bold statement is only a hint at the historical narrative undergirding Chrysostom’s exegesis of the gospel, the following comments add further weight to the progress from pagan error to Christian truth. Having added that John quenched the darkness of the Greek philosophers, the preacher relishes the triumph that the pagan era has irreversibly come to an end: And as for the teachings of the Greeks, they are all snuffed out and vanished, but this man’s [John’s] shine brighter day by day. For from the time that he and the other fishermen lived, since then the doctrines of Pythagoras and Plato, which previously seemed to hold sway, have been silenced, and most people do not know them even by name.⁸⁸

Chrysostom here concocts a tendentious, Christian version of intellectual history, suggesting a competition over the image of the past. While the teachers of the Graeco-Roman schools treated the ancient classics as if they still mattered and were the unquestioned norm, the historical narrative promoted by the homily consigns the classical thinkers to a bygone era. Pagan philosophy clearly has fallen into oblivion and has ceased to be spoken of. To drive this point home, Chrysostom

⁸⁶ See Stenger 2019a on Chrysostom’s attacks on the life of the classical city dominated by its traditional elite; further, Chapter 2.4. ⁸⁷ Hom. in Jo. 2.2 (PG 59.31.44–8): Οὗτος δὴ οὖν ὁ βάρβαρος, τῇ μὲν τοῦ εὐαγγελίου γραφῇ τὴν οἰκουμένην κατέλαβεν ἅπασαν, τῷ δὲ σώματι μέσην κατέσχε τὴν Ἀσίαν, ἔνθα τὸ παλαιὸν ἐφιλοσόφουν οἱ τῆς Ἑλληνικῆς συμμορίας ἅπαντες. It may be added that the term συμμορία denotes a profession and can also mean ‘class’ at school (see Lib. Or. 1.44, Ep. 139.2). ⁸⁸ Hom. in Jo. 2.2 (PG 59.31.52–7): Καὶ τὰ μὲν Ἑλλήνων ἔσβεσται ἅπαντα καὶ ἠφάνισται, τὰ δὲ τούτου καθ’ ἑκάστην λαμπρότερα γίνεται. Ἐξ ὅτου γὰρ καὶ οὗτος καὶ οἱ λοιποὶ ἁλιεῖς, ἐξ ἐκείνου τὰ μὲν Πυθαγόρου σεσίγηται καὶ τὰ Πλάτωνος, δοκοῦντα πρότερον κρατεῖν, καὶ οὐδὲ ἐξ ὀνόματος αὐτοὺς ἴσασιν οἱ πολλοί. See also Jud. 5.3 (PG 48.886), where he claims that Zeno, Plato, Socrates, Diagoras, Pythagoras, and countless other philosophers are unknown to the masses even by name.

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260 education in late antiquity even a few lines further into the homily reasserts his claim: ‘Are not all these things with good cause extinct and completely vanished? With good cause and reasonably. But not so the words of him who was ignorant and unlettered.’⁸⁹ After the Christian apologists had tried hard to establish Christianity as the true philosophy surpassing pagan thinking, Chrysostom throws the historical dimension of the antagonism into high relief. He creates a narrative that is meant to challenge the audience’s cultural beliefs. Had the educated members of his congregation learnt in the grammarian’s class to hold the ancients in high regard, they now came to discover that the authorities of old had long been wiped out by superior minds. For this lesson Chrysostom found a memorable image, suggesting that ‘as if you uncover those tombs that are covered on the outside with white plaster, you will see that they are full of lymph and stench, and rotten bones; so too the doctrines of the philosopher, if you strip them of their beautiful style, you will see them to be full of filth’.⁹⁰ Contrary to what the schoolmasters were teaching, the ancient theories are consigned to the rubbish heap of history.⁹1 The physicality of Chrysostom’s graphic depiction makes the congregants sense vividly the pastness, if not the very extinction, of Hellenic intellectualism. Chrysostom’s overconfident claim about the demise of Hellenic learning is blatantly untrue; after all, he himself presupposes on the part of his listeners some familiarity with Plato’s writings and philosophical doctrines. But the point is that he invites his audience to look at their own intellectual upbringing from a fresh angle. Listening to the preacher’s counter-narrative, they are made to re-evaluate the cherished notion of the ‘ancients’, so that all of a sudden they realize their very pastness. Plato, Pythagoras, Socrates, and their epigones not only lived centuries ago, but their teachings, like rotten bones, are lifeless. By contrast, the new era inaugurated by the coming of Christ and his evangelist John has conquered the whole world and is, notably, still living and vigorous. ‘Every age after John’ (πᾶς ὁ μετ’ ἐκεῖνον χρόνος) bears witness to his triumph; he has freed our lives, Chrysostom somewhat bombastically proclaims.⁹2 Not only is Christianity the true fulfilment of philosophy, as faith had achieved what the pagan thinkers failed

⁸⁹ Hom. in Jo. 2.2 (PG 59.32.17–19): Ἆρ’ οὐκ εἰκότως πάντα ἐσβέσθη ἐκεῖνα, καὶ ἠφανίσθη τέλεον; Εἰκότως, καὶ κατὰ λόγον. Ἀλλ’ οὐ τὰ τοῦ ἰδιώτου καὶ ἀγραμμάτου οὕτως. ⁹⁰ Hom. in Jo. 2.3 (PG 59.33.10–15): Καὶ καθάπερ τῶν τάφων τοὺς ἔξωθεν κεκονιαμένους, ἂν ἀπαμφιάσῃς, ἰχῶρος, καὶ δυσωδίας, καὶ διεφθορότων ὄψει γέμοντας ὀστῶν· οὕτω καὶ τὰ τοῦ φιλοσόφου δόγματα, ἂν τῆς κατὰ τὴν λέξιν ἀπογυμνώσῃς ὥρας, πολλῆς ὄψει τῆς βδελυγμίας πεπληρωμένα. For the comparison with whitened tombs which appear beautiful on the outside but are within full of bones and uncleanness see Matt. 23:27. ⁹1 See also hom. in Ac. 4.3 (PG 60.47), where he declares that the sophists, rhetors, and philosophers have pined away in the Academy and the Peripatos and that Plato has been reduced to silence, while Peter’s, the true philosopher’s, voice is heard in the farthest parts of the world (‘Where now is the vanity of Greece? Where the name of Athens? Where the nonsense of the philosophers?’). See also Homilia habita postquam presbyter Gothus concionatus fuerat 1 (PG 63.500–1) on the feebleness and disappearance of Greek philosophy, in particular that of Pythagoras and Plato. ⁹2 Hom. in Jo. 2.3 (PG 59.32).

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the making of the late antique mind 261 to deliver;⁹3 but more importantly, Christianity has formulated a new historical framework into which the believer is inserted.⁹⁴ Through the polemical comparison between Hellenic and Christian paideia, the introductory homilies on John manufacture a historical narrative that requires the congregation to make a choice, to position themselves in relation to two successive periods. Chrysostom’s malevolent caricature of the pagan philosophers produces Greek culture as the distant past, an obsolete era without relevance to late antique lives. Its demise coincides, and is caused by, the advent of Christianity and the dissemination of the gospel across the oecumene. Far from being a historical phenomenon, the Christian era is the one inhabited by Chrysostom’s congregation. As they are learning the doctrines taught by John, the congregants indeed can connect with the evangelist, feel his presence. The preacher’s emphasis on the teacher John’s living presence, on the listener’s conversation with the evangelist, is no mere rhetorical fancy; instead it is part of Chrysostom’s effort to bring the times of the gospel closer to the fourth-century audience.⁹⁵ It is this, as we may call it, ‘rhetoric of presence’ that suggests to the Christians the definitive answer to the question ‘which past?’ They are encouraged to abandon the outdated myths of Greek learning and in turn ‘touch our doctrines’, the physicality of this phrase underlining the close attachment to the new age.⁹⁶ Chrysostom’s half-hearted concession in the beginning of the third homily that he does not intend to take the children away from their worldly studies is an indication that his demand was anything but uncontroversial in his days.⁹⁷ Against all the odds, however, Chrysostom wants his listeners to radically disown their Hellenic patrimony, to cast Plato and the classical thinkers into the oblivion of history. Then they will fully embrace the present, the age of Christian truth. If Chrysostom shared with Themistius and Himerius the idea that educational practices generated two separate historical periods, classical antiquity and a postclassical age, his evaluation of the remote past was worlds apart from theirs. His aim was to sound the death knell for the classics of long ago, to dissociate the late antique Christians from an age that seemed only a faint memory, like the sepulchres of distant ancestors on the outskirts of the Christian polis.

⁹3 This trope is very much in the foreground of Chrys. stat. 19.1–2 (PG 49.187–90). ⁹⁴ It may be added here that, in the context of his comparison of John with pagan philosophy, Chrysostom makes explicit that pagans and Christians have divergent conceptions of time and history. While the Greeks posit certain time periods and assign to them older and younger gods, the Christians have nothing of this sort (hom. in Jo. 2.4, PG 59.34). ⁹⁵ In several places Chrysostom suggests the evangelist’s presence and a direct encounter with him. He says, for example, that John ‘comes forward to us now’ (οὗτος ἡμῖν εἰσέρχεται νῦν), that he will appear before us (1.1, PG 59.25), that he is coming to bring philosophy to us (2.1, PG 59.30). ⁹⁶ Hom. in Jo. 2.3 (PG 59.33.28–9): Διὰ ταῦτα ἀφέντες τοὺς ἐκείνων μύθους, τῶν ἡμετέρων ἁψώμεθα δογμάτων. ⁹⁷ Hom. in Jo. 3.1 (PG 59.37). In this passage Chrysostom rebukes the parents for allowing their children to attend theatrical spectacles and other amusements while pretending their sons could not devote themselves to the worship of God because of their studies.

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262 education in late antiquity

6.4 Historicizing the veteres The image of collapsing tombs as emblems of an antiquated period captured the imagination of some Christian thinkers in Chrysostom’s days, for Augustine also found the idea of a culture’s death highly attractive. In his epistolary tractate sent in 410 to the Greek student Dioscorus, Augustine casts a sepulchral pall over the classics to divert the young addressee from his pretensions to elite education.⁹⁸ History, however, was to the bishop of Hippo of greater importance in the field of learning than merely furnishing evocative imagery. As we have seen in the discussion of religious education, Augustine, in the famous allegory of the Egyptian spoliation, invited his readers to recreate virtually the Hebrews’ experience in the foreign country and to wrestle the liberal arts from the pagans, who use them perversely. In their acquisition of knowledge and skills Christian students were expected to reperform the original Passover, to immerse themselves in the biblical past.⁹⁹ Augustine wanted them to enter through higher studies a close, personal relationship with a remote period and thereby bridge the vast temporal gap. This interplay of learning and the historical dimension was eased, as he knew well, by the practice of the established schools, in which the knowledge of past events was the grammarian’s turf. In the De ordine, Augustine stated that historia belonged to the discipline of grammar and that it was the grammarian’s task, rather than the historian’s, to till this field.1⁰⁰ Ulrich Eigler has demonstrated that this view was typical of the late Latin approach to history, insofar as the members of the educated class acquired their image of the Roman past not so much from historiography as through reading the literary classics.1⁰1 In contrast to contemporary laypersons, the bishop was no longer thrilled by learning about Aeneas, Numa, Brutus, and other celebrated men from regnal and republican Rome.1⁰2 The reason why he included historia in the programme of the arts outlined in De doctrina christiana was rather that familiarity with distant periods and events enabled Christians to gain a proper understanding of Scripture.1⁰3 Since Augustine admitted liberal studies only if and insofar as they could be made subservient to exegesis, history too received attention primarily because it helped to demarcate Christianity from paganism. The chronological framework accepted outside the church, that is, dating after Olympiads and eponymous consuls, may be useful for understanding the narrative of the gospels, but Augustine leaves no

⁹⁸ Aug. epist. 118.12 (CCSL 31B.120). See the discussion of the letter in Chapter 2.5. ⁹⁹ See Chapter 2.5. 1⁰⁰ Aug. ord. 2.37: huic disciplinae [scil. grammaticae] accessit historia, non tam ipsis historicis quam grammaticis laboriosa. See also his remark in De musica, quoted in Chapter 6.1. 1⁰1 Eigler 2003: esp. 76. See also MacCormack 1998: 180–3. 1⁰2 Cf. Aug. conf. 1.13.20–2. 1⁰3 It has been counted that Augustine uses the term historia 240 times; one-third of that amount occurs in De civitate Dei, which reflects his interest in history for the sake of apologetics and the history of salvation. See Müller 2004–10: esp. 368.

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the making of the late antique mind 263 doubt that the historia gentium is something alien to the evangelium.1⁰⁴ Thus, the enquiry into historical matters contributes to the production of Christianity and paganism as two separate entities. Significantly, De doctrina christiana suggests in addition an interrelation between the study of the past and discussion of educational matters. History is considered by Augustine as particularly useful because it has settled one serious issue, the pagans’ allegation that Christ had taken all his learning simply from the works of Plato. While the chronology of Jesus and Plato is hardly reversible, Augustine follows Ambrose in arguing that Plato on his trip to Egypt was introduced to ‘our literature’ (nostrae litterae), the Hebrew texts, by Jeremiah and then adopted their doctrines. So it is easier to believe, he concludes, that the pagans took everything that is good and true in their writings from our literature than that the Lord Jesus Christ took his from Plato.1⁰⁵ Such a refutation shows that not only was it vital to learn about what happened in remote periods but that Christian learning per se had to be undertaken sub specie temporis. What the Christian student practised inevitably placed him in a historical process. In our discussion of De doctrina christiana we built on Catherine Chin’s observation that Augustine in this work creates through grammatical practices Christianity as a free-standing conceptual entity opposed to paganism.1⁰⁶ While Chin’s argument focuses on the dislocation process implied in the spoliation episode, I would like to take this idea a step further by arguing that the church father’s construction of the two categories, Christianity and paganism, is an act of historicization that urges Christians to take a stance vis-à-vis antiquity and the present. This historicizing operation, as I hope will become clear, emerges as a kind of byproduct of pedagogic practices. When the bishop of Hippo received the request from the aspiring Dioscorus, he was greatly annoyed by the student’s wish and made no secret of his exasperation.1⁰⁷ Augustine’s irritation may have been partly rooted in his own youth, for what Dioscorus wanted to gain was clearly reminiscent of what the young Augustine had felt in his school days. Just as he had done in the classroom in

1⁰⁴ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.28.42 (CCSL 32.62). Augustine here explicitly refers to the teaching of history in the schools (etiamsi praeter Ecclesiam puerili eruditione discatur). See Müller 2004–10: 370–1 on Augustine’s view of history as a discipline. For Augustine’s philosophy of history, in particular in De civitate Dei, see Bittner 1999. Bittner emphasizes the narrative character of the concept of history in Augustine’s thought. He also rejects the strict distinction between sacred and profane history often attributed to Augustine. 1⁰⁵ Aug. doctr. christ. 2.28.43 (CCSL 32.63), again highlighting the non-Christian character of suchlike historical enquiries (historia gentium). The polarity is strengthened by the opposition of noster Ambrosius and Platonis lectores et dilectores, suggesting two rivalling bodies of authorities. Augustine here made a mistake in claiming that Ambrose considered Plato and Jeremiah contemporaries. See Aug. retract. 2.4.2; cf. civ. 8.11. 1⁰⁶ Chin 2008: 88–93. 1⁰⁷ See also the letter accompanying Dioscorus’ catalogue of his, as he calls them, interrogatiunculae (Aug. epist. 117, CCSL 31B.110–11).

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264 education in late antiquity Thagaste and Madauros, Dioscorus hoped to build his social standing through learning.1⁰⁸ The letter writer in his reading of Cicero’s philosophical and rhetorical writings had stumbled upon some puzzling problems and asked the eminent cleric and scholar for answers. What he had in mind was, however, not illumination but primarily avoiding embarrassment and derision for being illiterate. He simply wanted to gain among his acquaintances social cachet as an erudite man, to be accepted as one of their peers. It comes as no surprise that Augustine was not inclined to gratify the young man’s desire and assist his vainglorious curiosity. To steer the addressee back to the road of Christian humility and insight, the tractate-style letter explains that learning is a quest for truth and insight, not one for enhancement of one’s reputation. Augustine orders Dioscorus to undertake his education only in combination with Christian faith, to unequivocally align his intellectual activities with his religious identity.1⁰⁹ It seems that in a sense Dioscorus’ impertinent request gave Augustine a welcome opportunity to explore a matter of general relevance. The ambitious young man interested him as a typical alumnus of the Roman schools and, thus, the letter grew into a systematic disquisition on secular and Christian pedagogy aimed at a wider audience.11⁰ If Dioscorus had expected a list of specific answers to his questions only to be mortified by the bishop’s stern rebuke, he will have been surprised to find that Augustine treated him to a veritable philosophical lecture which halfway fulfilled his wishes.111 As he craved higher education evidently for the wrong ends, the letter covered considerable ground to demonstrate that more or less all the respectable philosophers had failed to grasp the highest good, whereas only Christianity arrived at truth and attained wisdom. Not unlike Chrysostom in the homily on John but perhaps more in the fashion of Cicero’s philosophical dialogues, Augustine at length reviews the doctrines of the eminent philosophical schools in order to prove them wrong. In a historical survey he compares what the Platonists, the Stoics, and the Epicureans claimed to know about the highest possible good and exposes the contradictions in the classical teachings. However, it gradually transpires that the doxographical part of the epistle, apart from refuting the pagan intellectuals, pursues a further goal. In a telling remark Augustine announces to his addressee that he will introduce him to the principles of truth so that he himself will be able to overthrow all falsehood;

1⁰⁸ Cf. Aug. conf. 1.16.26, 1.18.28–1.19.31 and the autobiographical reference in epist. 118.9 (CCSL 31B.117–18). See Tornau 2006: 31–4 on Augustine’s criticism of the social effects of schooling. Augustine’s strongly critical view on the social dimension of education may have been conditioned by his own milieu because he was not born into the aristocracy, the usual bearers of the cultural tradition. This background may, as Marrou 1938: 652–3 suggests, have allowed him to cast a fresh glance on school education. 1⁰⁹ For the importance of Christian identity in the letter see Rebillard 2012: 79–81. 11⁰ The letter’s focus on schooling and pedagogy has been noted by Tornau 2006: 49–51. 111 As pointed out by Augustine himself in the conclusion (epist. 118.34, CCSL 31B.136). Augustine only refused to respond to the questions concerning Cicero’s rhetorical works.

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the making of the late antique mind 265 by doing so, Dioscorus will be prevented from cherishing a contemptible opinion: ‘that you are learned and intelligent if you have studied the outdated and decrepit falsehoods of many writers with a zeal that is more vainglorious than sensible’.112 What Augustine teaches the young man is not only the nullity of the whole of pagan philosophical speculation but the fact that their falsehoods are decrepit and debilitated by old age. To believe that one could appear intelligent by knowing such antiquated opinions is stupid, if not shameful—a belief that Augustine leniently assumes Dioscorus has already left behind. If the addressee had undertaken his learning with his eye on the advance of time and placed the ancient philosophers in historical perspective, the comment suggests, he would have come to realize that their erroneous teachings belong to olden days, to an unenlightened period in the history of human intellect. What Dioscorus in his obsession with worldly goods, such as reputation and wealth, has failed to recognize is that it is through learning that a student defines his or her stance on history. Without knowing, Dioscorus has attached himself to a period that in retrospect can be discerned as an obsolete stage of humankind. As a result, Augustine’s examination of pagan doctrines moves to a historical enquiry and invites the reader to locate the philosophical schools temporally. The image of the past that the letter adumbrates is made up of famous authorities and their circles. Repeatedly, the account namechecks Greek intellectuals, including Anaxagoras, Anaximenes, Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato.113 Juxtaposing these great names, as well as the renowned schools, creates an image of an era that represented the acme of Greek thinking. More recent thinkers are notably absent, with the exception of the Roman Cicero.11⁴ Without bothering with historical details or providing context, Augustine conveys the idea that the philosophers mentioned belonged to roughly the same period and that there has been no significant progress since then. Admittedly, his narrative allows for some nuance: Augustine acknowledges a certain degree of intellectual development among the philosophers and the succession of the leading teachers.11⁵ However, the lists of ancient authorities whom he has already located in bygone times conjures up an image of a stable, chronologically vaguely situated era, a time that is clearly set apart from the late antique present. Dioscorus and other students of philosophy were, of course, familiar with the doxographical method which was part and parcel

112 Aug. epist. 118.7 (CCSL 31B.117.167–70): ne quod falsum et pudendum est, si multorum annosas et decrepitas falsitates studio iactantiore quam prudentiore didiceris, doctum atque intellegentem te esse arbitreris! Quod iam non existimo videri tibi. 113 See Aug. epist. 118.12, 16, 20, 23–4. See also, for example, civ. 18.41. 11⁴ Only in 118.33 (CCSL 31B.135), shortly before the conclusion, does Augustine mention the school of Plotinus, but only to make the point that some of the Neoplatonists were misguided by their interest in magic, while others acknowledged the superiority of Jesus Christ and defected to the church. See also Aug. civ. 8.5 (CCSL 47.221), where he concedes that no one has come closer to the Christians than the Platonists. 11⁵ Aug. epist. 118.16 (CCSL 31B.123–4) on the succession of teachers in the Academy.

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266 education in late antiquity of teaching; but Augustine exploits this pedagogic method only to highlight that pagan intellectual culture is dated (annosas et decrepitas falsitates). Projecting classical Greek philosophy into a time past is, though, but one side of the coin. As we have seen in Chrysostom’s homily, the idea that the pagan intellectuals lived in a distant period raised the question of their successors and the cause of their demise. Like his Antiochene counterpart, the bishop of Hippo subscribed to the apologetic claim that the promises of philosophy were truly fulfilled only by Christianity. While Chrysostom attributes the historic turning point to the evangelist, John, Augustine identifies the watershed with the emergence of the apostle Paul. Although he acknowledges that the Platonists went out of their way to overthrow the errors in which the other schools were trapped, he is crystal clear that it was only with the advent of Christ that mankind was enlightened.11⁶ As the followers of Plato were content with refuting others and were hiding their own opinions—which were not divine, anyway—the philosophical controversies continued rolling on over the course of centuries. ‘Even at the commencement of the Christian era’, Augustine adds, ‘the Epicureans and Stoics themselves are found in the Acts of the Apostles to have contradicted the blessed apostle Paul, who was sowing the seed of the same faith among the gentiles.’11⁷ To hammer this point into Dioscorus, Augustine in the following lines immediately repeats his claim that the pagan errors persisted until the tempora christiana, thereby proposing a new historical framework. Despite all the efforts of the more reasonable Platonists, pagan thinkers of the bygone era were mired in the darkness of their errors. It required the beginning of a new epoch, facilitated by the apostles’ evangelization, to shed falsities and ignorance. It is remarkable that Augustine not only explains to his youthful addressee the superiority of divine wisdom over pagan intellectualism but also teaches him a lesson in history. After having denounced the annosae falsitates he speaks in the course of his historical account of the successio temporum, the christiana aetas, the tempora christiana, the litterata vetustas of Anaxagoras’ teachings, and the tempora of Democritus.11⁸ The frequency with which such chronological terms occur in the epistle reinterprets the familiar antagonism between the teachings of the pagans and Christian doctrines as a historical process: according to God’s planning, the coming of Jesus Christ rendered Greek philosophy a purely historical phenomenon, so that, as Augustine finally stresses once more, the authors Dioscorus is so occupied with are now truly veteres, antiquated and dead.11⁹ 11⁶ Aug. epist. 118.17 (CCSL 31B.124), foregrounding the historical moment (opportunissimo tempore). 11⁷ Aug. epist. 118.20 (CCSL 31B.126.475–81): ut christianae iam aetatis exordio . . . beato apostolo Paulo, qui eandem fidem gentibus praeseminabat, idem ipsi Epicurei et Stoici in actibus apostolorum contradixisse inveniantur. Cf. Acts 17:18. 11⁸ Aug. epist. 118.20–1, 26–7 (CCSL 31B.126, 130–1). 11⁹ Aug. epist. 118.32 (CCSL 31B.134.775–135.759): eos autem solos ex veteribus praeter christianum nomen in conventiculis suis aliquanto frequentius perdurare, qui scripturas eas tenent, per quas

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the making of the late antique mind 267 Since the student is not able to free himself from the intellectual cosmos of the traditional school and its ideological ramifications, Augustine asks him to reassess his learning in the light of temporality. If Dioscorus adopts the perspective of old versus new, he cannot help but realize that what his life has been revolving around is nothing but a shadow of history. He is to invest the notion of the veteres, so familiar from schooling, with a new meaning, to re-evaluate the antiquity of their teachings. Augustine’s pedagogic reflection on the content and aims of learning thus produces two discrete historical entities, the distant tempora of the Greek philosophers and the christiana aetas that has superseded the ancient authorities. His approach to the antagonism of the schools and Christianity makes clear that by choosing a specific curriculum, either pagan or Christian, the student takes a position in relation to these two periods. Augustine inserts Dioscorus in the new historical framework. Captivated as the young man is by the universe of the schools, the letter goes to some lengths to produce evidence for its narrative. As he outlines the succession of the two historical periods, Augustine significantly makes the connection to the contemporary situation: Thus I think that I have sufficiently proved that the errors of the pagans in ethics, natural philosophy, and the mode of seeking truth, however many and manifold they were, were conspicuously represented in these two sects, and that they persisted even down to the Christian times, although the learned assailed them most vehemently and destroyed them with great subtlety and fluency. Yet we see now in our time that these errors have been already so completely silenced that now in the schools of rhetoric the question as to what their opinions were is hardly ever mentioned; and these controversies have been now so completely eradicated or suppressed even in the Greek schools, where chatter is especially rife, that whenever any sect of error rises against the truth, i.e. against the church of Christ, it dares not leap into battle except under the cover of the Christian name.12⁰

annuntiatum esse ipsum dominum Iesum Christum se intellegere et videre dissimulant (‘of all who, belonging to the ancient times, now remain outside of the Christian name, those alone hold out in their assemblies in somewhat greater number who retain those scriptures by which the Lord Jesus Christ Himself was announced, even though they pretend not to see or understand it’). 12⁰ Aug. epist. 118.21 (CCSL 31B.126.482–94): Qua in re satis mihi videtur esse demonstratum errores gentium sive de moribus sive de natura rerum sive de ratione investigandae veritatis, qui quamvis essent multi atque multiplices, in his tamen maxime duabus sectis eminebant, expugnantibus doctis et tanta disserendi subtilitate atque copia subvertentibus durasse tamen usque in tempora christiana. Quos iam certe nostra aetate sic obmutuisse conspicimus, ut vix iam in scholis rhetorum commemoretur tantum, quae fuerint illorum sententiae, certamina tamen etiam de loquacissimis Graecorum gymnasiis eradicata atque compressa sint, ita ut, si qua nunc erroris secta contra veritatem, hoc est, contra ecclesiam Christi emerserit, nisi nomine cooperta christiano ad pugnandum prosilire non audeat.

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268 education in late antiquity Here we find the idea that we already encountered in Chrysostom’s preaching: in nostra aetas, the gentiles’ teachings, in whatever branch of philosophical learning, have sunk into utter silence. Even from the places where they are supposed to be thriving, the rhetorical schools and the Greek centres of learning, the pagan doctrines have completely disappeared. Augustine evokes the impression that the whole of classical philosophy has become in their days exclusively a matter of memory (memoria), so much so that its teachings seem totally foreign (peregrina), as if remnants of a distant culture.121 Wherever one looks for contemporary interest in Anaxagoras, Plato, or the Stoics, one will find silence: Both in this place, where you came to learn these things, and at Rome, you know by experience how little attention is paid to them, and that, for that reason, they are neither taught nor learnt; and in Africa, you would be so far from being troubled by any such inquirer, that you would not find anyone who would be troubled with your questions, and because of this lack you are forced to send them to bishops for explanation.122

Dioscorus is more likely to hear jackdaws in Africa than philosophical debates in Greece and the east, let alone in Rome and Carthage. Augustine in this passage draws the image of an intellectual culture buried by oblivion, at best living only in recollection.123 In whatever corner the student is looking for signs of contemporary dealings with pagan rhetoric or philosophy, he will discover that these studies have long lost their vigour: the ashes of the Stoics and Epicureans are so cold that no one could strike out of them a single spark against Christian faith, and examining the opinions of Anaximenes and others would mean reheating controversies that lay dormant for ages.12⁴ No wonder, then, that Augustine pretends he would not be able to find a single manuscript of the works of Cicero, even if he wanted to respond to Dioscorus’ questions.12⁵ 121 Aug. epist. 118.9 (CCSL 31B.118): in memoria durare . . . si aliqua ex eis in animis eorum nimia consuetudine remanerent . . . recordata. 122 Aug. epist. 118.9 (CCSL 31B.117.192–6): quando quidem hic, quo ad ea discenda venisti, et Romae expertus es, quam neglegenter habeantur et ob hoc neque doceantur neque discantur; et in Africa usque adeo de his interrogatorem pateris neminem, ut nec te ipsum quis patiatur invenias eaque inopia episcopis exponenda ea mittere cogaris. 123 The same triumphant image is outlined by Jerome in the preface to Book 3 of his Commentary in Galatians, dedicated in 386 to his disciples Paula and Eustochium. Contrasting the Greek philosophers with the Christian peasants and fishermen and denouncing the vanity of the learned men of the world, Jerome claims that there are few who now read Aristotle or know the name of Plato, whereas the whole world echoes the words of the apostles. Hier. in Gal. 3 praef. ll. 53–87 (CCSL 77A.159–60): Quotusquisque nunc Aristotelem legit? Quanti Platonis vel libros novere vel nomen? 12⁴ Aug. epist. 118.12 (CCSL 31B.120): ne ipsorum quidem multo recentiorum multumque loquacium Stoicorum aut Epicureorum cineres caleant unde aliqua contra fidem christianam scintilla excitetur . . . olim sopitas lites inani curiositate recoquere. For the phrase ‘ashes of the Stoics’ see also Aug. c. acad. 3.18.41. 12⁵ Rohmann’s reading of the letter misses the point of Augustine’s polemical distortion of the history of pagan philosophy (Rohmann 2016: 163–74). He takes the letter as evidence of the suppression

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the making of the late antique mind 269 Where Chrysostom uses the analogy of collapsing graves, Augustine does his best to demonstrate that in his times the pagan teachings have become extinct and totally ceased to be spoken of. His fabricated periodization aims to show that there is no continuity between classical antiquity and the early fifth century because the Christian era has terminated the ancient times.12⁶ Once the Christian student has internalized this historical narrative he will come to learn that the truth of Christian doctrine has no need of knowledge of Cicero’s dialogues.12⁷ He ought to dissociate himself from classical literature or, even better, not to read the classics in the first place so that he need not afterwards unlearn their teachings (quod dediscendum est). According to the letter’s tenor, it is essential to distance oneself from pagan studies not only ideologically but also temporally, to consign them to an unenlightened phase in history. Late antique schooling implied a correlation between reading classical literature and the image of old Roman history: the literary works studied in school shaped the authoritative version of the glorious past. Augustine’s argument seeks to break up this nexus and replace it with a new model. With the rejection of Cicero and other textbooks the students also reject the cherished notion of antiquity. The vacuum left by the divorce from the classical patrimony will be filled by a new canonical text, the Bible, and the conception of time encapsulated by it. Not unlike Chrysostom, the bishop of Hippo engineers the textual past imparted by the schools to suit the needs of his late antique Christian audience. Both ecclesiastics’ engineering relies on carefully devised misreadings of classical texts and concepts. With their reuse and reinterpretation of historical exempla—a controlled misreading of the past—they expose the dissonance between the ancient ideals encapsulated in schooling and the needs and conditions of the present. Éric Rebillard argues that Augustine’s Letter 118 is a rebuke of a student for not giving absolute priority to his religious affiliation; contrary to the bishop, Dioscorus did not want to subordinate every aspect of his life to his Christian membership.12⁸ The question of religious identity is certainly the backdrop against which Augustine’s argument is made. However, the call for a divorce from non-Christian learning is concerned not only with religious identity but also, and related to that, with generating a temporal identity. The letter proposes of materialist philosophy caused by Christianity and argues that Augustine was worried that these philosophical ideas might survive. Rohmann accepts Augustine’s statements about the demise of pagan philosophy and its kinship with Christian heresies at face value, without sufficiently taking into account the bishop’s pedagogic purposes. He even speculates about the letter’s negative impact on the further transmission of philosophical opinions. 12⁶ In Aug. epist. 118.22–3 (CCSL 31B.127–8) Augustine explains to Dioscorus that Christian religion, in particular humility, has become, as it were, the only school subject and replaced the pagan disciplines. 12⁷ Aug. epist. 118.11 (CCSL 31B.120.267–9): non opus est ei [christianae doctrinae] cognitione dialogorum Ciceronis et collectione emendicatarum discordantium sententiarum alienarum procurari auditores. 12⁸ Rebillard 2012: 80.

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270 education in late antiquity an interconnectedness between educational practices and a specific historical consciousness. The texts one studies as canonical and the value one attaches to their authors reveal how the student locates himself in relation to past and present. Dioscorus’ misguided embracement of the pagan thinkers, which has been inculcated by the schools, engenders, according to Augustine, a mistaken commitment to the veteres as unquestioned authorities. As a consequence, he is under the misapprehension that his own times still stand in a continuity with the age of ‘the ancients’. Approaching one’s studies from a Christian perspective, by contrast, generates an awareness of the very pastness of the classics. Consequently, the student will recognize his own belonging to the Christian era extending to his own days. In this sense, Dioscorus by the disavowal of pagan philosophy will become truly ‘contemporaneous’, bringing his intellectual pursuits in line with the times in which he lives. Thus, Augustine’s enquiry into school education is a catalyst for the mental operation of periodization and historicization. Learning produces classical antiquity and the aetas christiana as separate epochs in the course of time. From the vantage point of the Christian present the days of pagan civilization are reinterpreted as a historical phenomenon, in a process that at the same time imposes a choice. By opting for the Scriptures the student emancipates himself from the classical authorities and the times to which they are anchored.

6.5 Through the Lens of Modernity Cassiodorus, a successful politician before founding a monastery, has often been seen as a pivotal figure, emblematic of the threshold between antiquity and the Middle Ages. What has awarded him this reputation is above all the scholarly spirit pervading his writings and activities, in particular the setup of the community at Vivarium in Calabria. According to Pierre Riché, Cassiodorus remained a scholar in the monastery that he established in the mid-550s and was there a teacher of grammar and rhetoric in all but name.12⁹ The Institutes, a kind of charter of the coenobium, breathes the air of serious scholarship, in particular philology, and reveals its mission through the frequent use of pedagogic terminology, such as schola, magister, and institutio, as Reinhard Schlieben has noted.13⁰ Since Cassiodorus’ blending of traditional learning and monasticism appeared to secure the survival of classical culture for the centuries to come, modern readers often celebrated him for a vision that they considered foundational for European civilization. Concomitantly, his far-sighted preservation of classical literature and liberal studies won him the accolade of ‘Christian humanism’.131

12⁹ Riché 1976: 167–8. 13⁰ Schlieben 1979: 174–5, with references. 131 Schlieben 1979: 218, 225; Weissengruber 1993: 72.

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the making of the late antique mind 271 However, this image, which has been shaped from the perspective of the Middle Ages, has come under challenge, with scholars emphasizing that Cassiodorus displayed no enthusiasm for the classical authors, quite the reverse, and that his enterprise bore almost no fruit after his death.132 Although the idealizing picture of Cassiodorus’ academic enterprise has been rightly dismantled, it is still worth investigating the intimate link suggested by his writings between higher learning and the relationship with the past. For, as we will see, Cassiodorus did attribute to studies a historical dimension, though one that transcends the simple notion of ‘preservation’. Preservation implies a rather unproblematic, direct access to the classics, as if something old, such as a painting, could be straightforwardly transported unaltered to new times and another location. Yet Cassiodorus’ dealing with the ancient past will emerge as more complex, and in that as postclassical. His interest in the cultural tradition was sparked not only when he established the monastic community at Vivarium and was considering the curriculum for its members. Already during his secular career, while he was serving the Gothic king Theoderic, the relationship between old and new had a prominent role to play.133 So great was the ruler’s, and his magistrate’s, respect for ancestral custom that antiquitas can be considered one of the key themes of political ideology at the time.13⁴ Throughout more than thirty years, Cassiodorus penned the official correspondence of Theoderic and his successors, Athalaric and Amalasuintha, Theodahad, and Witigis. Afterwards he gathered, on the request of other leading statesmen, many of these documents for the purpose of instruction in a twelvebooks collection entitled Variae.13⁵ This compilation of 468 diverse addresses and missives covering the entire range of governmental activities bears unique witness to the image that the Germanic kings wanted to project of their rule and to the principles that governed their policies. It is not without reason that James O’Donnell has attributed to the Variae a propagandistic purpose and considered it an effort in panegyric.13⁶ In his capacity as communicator of Theoderic’s policies, Cassiodorus did his best to exploit the theme of old and new in order to legitimize the king’s rule over Italy. Recent scholarship has established that the official documents frequently broadcast the ideology that Theoderic’s mission was to restore ancient traditions 132 O’Donnell 1979: 171–2; Halporn and Vessey 2004: 6; cf. Pollmann 2017: 87–8. 133 For Cassiodorus’ service as quaestor sacri palatii, magister officiorum, and praetorian prefect see O’Donnell 1979: 33–64 and Bjornlie 2013: 17–18. 13⁴ See Bjornlie 2013: 222–3, especially on Theoderic’s reverence for the Roman legal tradition. 13⁵ See Cassiodorus’ comments on the genesis and rationale of the collection in Cassiod. var. praef., esp. 8 and 15–16. The addressee Felix and his family also had a strong interest in learning and the liberal arts. See O’Donnell 1979: 56–7, 69–74 and Bjornlie 2013: 19–26, who also discusses intended audience and purposes (189–99). Bjornlie 2014 highlights Cassiodorus’ literary ambitions in compiling the Variae and argues that it pursues a rhetorical strategy, namely an ideological defence of the bureaucratic elite who had served under the Gothic kings; he posits multiple intended audiences for the collection (191–3). For the historical and literary context of the letter collection see Bjornlie 2017. 13⁶ O’Donnell 1979: 85.

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272 education in late antiquity after a period of decay and in so doing to preserve order.13⁷ In particular in the context of building activities, terms like antiquitas, vetustas, pristinus, and novitas come up time and again, often in close connection. As the monarch’s own pronouncement put it, it was his resolution ‘to erect new structures but even more to preserve the old’ because things safeguarded earned no less praise than things newly invented.13⁸ When, as is often the case, the correspondence makes reference to old age and modern times, Theoderic wants to be seen as a king who rediscovers ancient tradition or rather a venerable, but chronologically unspecified past. The documents formulated by Cassiodorus promote the idea that new things are acceptable only if they resemble old ones, if they reinstate the glory of old age. As Shane Bjornlie has argued, the same idea of an old-fashioned respect for Roman custom runs through Theoderic’s legal discourse, propagating a blend of nature, antiquity, and political and moral order.13⁹ In the light of the sheer frequency with which the parlance of antiquitas occurs in the Variae, it is plausible to assume that the ideology of restoration was not the king’s idiosyncratic preoccupation but rather reflective of a zeitgeist. Cassiodorus lent his voice to a specific sensibility: the feeling that, after a vaguely delineated period of decline, it was high time to recuperate what was left from an ideal past. Whatever its political purposes were, such an idea was based on the assumption that the current times, the sixth century, were markedly different from a remote, mythical past yet somehow related to and defined by that past. To think of novitas almost automatically prompted thinking about one’s position on antiquity. The new had the right to stay only in as much as it was consistent with the old, without marking a complete rupture. This Janus-faced mentality is also manifest in the salient use of the word modernus in Cassiodorus’ works. It has been noted that Cassiodorus is the first author in late antiquity to regularly use the adjective, as a means to distinguish the times in which he and his contemporaries lived from an earlier, ‘ancient’ period.1⁴⁰ This usage appears to reflect an important shift in sentiment insofar as it indicates an awareness that the old age is qualitatively different from contemporary times. To put it in Mark Vessey’s words, Cassiodorus ‘becomes one of the first of the (last) Romans to observe the relative posterity of his own age, a man who could look back on “antiquity” and embrace the realities of a different present and possible future’.1⁴1 13⁷ La Rocca 2001 and Bjornlie 2013. 13⁸ Cassiod. var. 3.9.1 (CCSL 96.104.3–5): Propositi quidem nostri est nova construere, sed amplius vetusta servare, quia non minorem laudem de inventis quam de rebus possumus adquirere custoditis. 13⁹ Bjornlie 2013: 228–9. 1⁴⁰ See O’Donnell 1979: 235 n. 9, Halporn and Vessey 2004: 6, Moorhead 2006, Bjornlie 2013: 245, Pollmann 2017: 85. The discussion of Cassiodorus’ ‘geschichtlichen Epochenbewußtseins’ in Gössmann 1974: 23–9 is still helpful. She argues that Cassiodorus’ image of his age varies, depending on whether he speaks as official, inaugurator of a study programme, grammarian, or theologian. 1⁴1 Halporn and Vessey 2004: 6.

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the making of the late antique mind 273 A good example of the new sensibility is provided by a piece in the Variae addressing the patrician Symmachus (c.510/12).1⁴2 It is characteristic of the ideology promoted by the collection that Theoderic in this document used the nobleman’s building activities as a springboard for defining the official stance on the past. In the king’s eyes, the reconstruction of the Theatre of Pompey in Rome to be undertaken by Symmachus embodied the desired attitude because in him the most accurate imitation of the ancients coincided with the noblest foundation of modern works (antiquorum diligentissimus imitator, modernorum nobilissimus institutor).1⁴3 Theoderic’s main objective in commending the addressee for his efforts in the physical rebuilding of Rome’s glory seems to have been to once more advertise the motto of his rule: without hesitation the king supported Symmachus with funds from his treasury so that, as the conclusion declares, ‘in our times antiquity is appropriately renovated’.1⁴⁴ Interestingly, the official letter hints that such innovation-as-restoration correlates with refined education, as Theoderic himself and Symmachus possessed it. In a lengthy digression making up the bulk of the document the Gothic king, or rather his ghostwriter Cassiodorus, outlines the history of theatre shows from the Athenian tragedies to the late antique mimes and pantomimes; and he justifies this learned excursus—one of many in the Variae—with an explicit reference to Symmachus’ erudition.1⁴⁵ In so doing, he intimates that the wish to reconnect with antiquity through restoration is driven by intellectual research. As a nobleman with a literary education Symmachus is cognizant of the decline that has beset the performing arts since their glorious origins in Athens and thus he is inspired to reinstate the venerable institution, to heal the break between antiquity and his own late age. Learning produced the historical memory without which the sixth century could not reinvent itself as the return of antiquity. It seems that Theoderic kept a lookout for men who epitomized his ideology of a learned revival of the past. Another opportunity arose when he promoted Fl.

1⁴2 Cassiod. var. 4.51 (CCSL 96.177–9). For the addressee, Quintus Aurelius Memmius Symmachus, see Jones et al. 1971–92: 2.1044–6, Symmachus 9 and Fauvinet-Ranson 2006: 138–41. 1⁴3 Cassiod. var. 4.51.2 (CCSL 96.177.11–12). See Fauvinet-Ranson 2006: 136–41 on the restoration of the theatre. Bjornlie’s 2013: 170–1 and Deliyannis’s 2016: 249 view that Theoderic’s praise of Symmachus’ building activities is satirical and in fact an accusation of his unproportionate efforts seems to me unlikely. Although the digression presents an ambivalent image of the Graeco-Roman stage, pointing out moral decline, the close connection between the eulogy of Symmachus’ efforts in construction, the commendation of his erudition and care of antiquity, and the king’s ideology of restoration does not suggest an overall subversive reading. Fauvinet-Ranson 2006: 354–5 considers the remark on the moral decline merely a brief nod to the traditional Christian aversion to the stage. 1⁴⁴ Cassiod. var. 4.51.12 (CCSL 96.179.80–2): ut . . . nostris temporibus videatur antiquitas decentius innovata. Cf. the phrase nova vetustatis gloria in 7.15. See La Rocca 2001: 419. 1⁴⁵ Cassiod. var. 4.51.5 (CCSL 96.177.28–30): Sed quia nobis sermo probatur esse cum docto, libet repetere, cur antiquitas rudis legatur haec moenia condidisse (‘But since my discourse is clearly with a learned man, it is a pleasure to recollect why, as we read, uncultivated antiquity set up these monuments’). See also the praise of Symmachus’ learning in Boeth. cons. 2.4.5 and Lozovsky 2016: 326–7 on his literary interests.

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274 education in late antiquity Importunus, a member of an old aristocratic family, to the rank of patricius.1⁴⁶ In the letter of appointment addressed to the Roman senate the king reflected on the interplay of learning, ancestry, and the glorious past in a way similar to what we have seen in Himerius’ oration. Right at the beginning of the document, when he explains his policy of appointing new senators, the king alludes to the fruitful combination of innovation and adherence to established customs. The theme of ancestral traditions and origins then comes to the fore, as he turns to the young appointee, who apparently traced his origins back to the ancient Decii.1⁴⁷ Extolling the qualities that this high-born family has exhibited through the centuries, Theoderic proceeds to the young man’s physical grace, which reflects his noble lineage, and, more importantly, to his intellectual abilities (mentis pulchritudo). What above all graces the mind of the heir of the Decii antiqui is a particular kind of learning: But at the same time, he has adorned these natural gifts with the marks of learning, so that, sharpened on the whetstone of the great arts, he gleams all the more in the sanctuary of the intellect. In the books of the men of old he has learnt of the ancient Decii, a noble race, still living thanks to their glorious deaths.1⁴⁸

Theoderic’s eulogy not only praises Importunus for being a scion of a family that greatly augmented Rome’s erstwhile glory but underlines that his intimate link with the forebears is made possible by literary studies. Nature alone is not sufficient for the appointee to guarantee his likeness to the men of bygone days. It has to be supplemented and enhanced by reading the veteres, as he will have done in school. There is, however, one aspect that goes beyond the grammarian’s classroom: the personal element. In school, the students read Vergil, Cicero, and other classics as textbooks in order to learn factual content, acquire linguistic competence, and imitate classical style. This young man, by contrast, wishes to get access to the patrimony of his ancestors so as to bring it back to life in the present. His learning, family history, and the Roman past enter a union that causes the king to exalt the appointee for his studies: Truly, it was the happiest labour of studies because he happened to learn the poetry of the ancients through his forefathers and to educate his tender breast from the first beginnings on the glory of his ancestors. It is a pleasure to recount 1⁴⁶ Cassiod. var. 3.6 (c.510/12). See Jones et al. 1971–92: 2.592, Importunus. Cassiod. var. 3.5 also deals with his promotion, which can be dated to the beginning of 510. See Kakridi 2005: 286. 1⁴⁷ Cassiodorus will have had in mind the father, son, and grandson Publius Decius Mus, who devoted themselves in battles to secure the victory of the Romans (in 340, 295, and 279 bce). See Liv. 7.34–5, 8.9, 10.28. 1⁴⁸ Cassiod. var. 3.6.3 (CCSL 96.102.28–31): Verum haec naturae bona litterarum decoravit insignibus, ut cote magnarum artium detersus mentis penetralibus plus luceret. In libris veterum Decios cognovit antiquos nobilemque progeniem gloriosae mortis beneficio viventem.

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the making of the late antique mind 275 how, during a great display, the eyes of the entire school were turned to him. Hearing the ancestor, they quickly looked at his heir, in the hope that it would be possible to confirm, through the latter’s resemblance, what they had heard the progenitor say.1⁴⁹

It is through the ancient poets, the prisci, that Importunus comes into contact with the glorious achievements of his ancestors—and vice versa, the family tradition paves the way for reading the ancients, so that the past is at hand as a model on which the young man can mould his character. Strikingly, he then becomes himself a teacher of his fellow students in school and virtually impersonates his forebears, thereby making the past present. On behalf of Theoderic, Cassiodorus makes explicit that the rhetorical school is the place where ancient tradition is given a new lease of life. The connection with the past is inseparable from learning and teaching. Without the school, the sixth-century Romans would risk losing their memory and their connection with bygone days, a flaw that marks unworthy posterity (indigna posteritas).1⁵⁰ That the school of rhetoric is the locus of the right balance between old and new, viz. innovation-as-restoration, is then nicely captured by the image of the flame of genius rekindled by teaching (in auditorii officina ingeniorum flamma recalente).1⁵1 The present instruction by the young man even validates the veracity of the textual tradition, as the audience seems to recognize in his features what they have learnt from literature about the ancients. While the document is all about the revival of antiquity, it at the same time makes the patres conscripti aware of the passage of time, of the enormous gulf between the origins and the late age. It is remarkable how Cassiodorus’ diction draws attention to the historical dimension and the relative posterity of their own times: phrases such as tot annis continuis, in tam longo stemmate, in libris veterum, posteritas, and antiqui generis evoke the image that the appointee, and the Roman public through his instruction, is constantly engaged in a conversation with a distant, almost mythical past.1⁵2 While past deeds are accessible only through study of the veteres and thus located in temporal distance, the student’s reading practices insert them as models into contemporary reality. The panegyrical letter intimates that antiquity and ‘modernity’ are constituted as separate entities, and brought into a conversational relationship, primarily through literary studies and the practice of learning.

1⁴⁹ Cassiod. var. 3.6.4 (CCSL 96.102.32–8): Felicissimus profecto studiorum labor, cui priscorum carmen contigit discere per parentes et de avita laude primordia teneri pectoris erudire. Libet referre quam magno tunc spectaculo totius scholae in eum convertebatur aspectus: quae cum audiret parentem, illa mox intendebat heredem quaerens, ut quae auctorem cognoverat dicere, per huius posset similitudines approbare. 1⁵⁰ Cassiod. var. 3.6.5 (CCSL 96.102.38). 1⁵1 Cassiod. var. 3.6.5 (CCSL 96.102.41–2). 1⁵2 Cassiod. var. 3.6.2–3, 5 (CCSL 96.102.16–18, 30, 38).

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276 education in late antiquity When, in the 550s, Cassiodorus returned from Constantinople to Italy and the monastic community he had established at Vivarium, an excellent opportunity arose to put into practice the idea of education as a path to a relationship with history. Although his modest aim was ‘to instruct simple and uneducated brothers’ by furnishing them with a bibliographic guide, the detailed reference book that he compiled for this purpose, the Institutes, was also about cultivating the proper attitude toward past and present.1⁵3 Already the preface explains to the monastics that Christian education has to be seen in comparison with the traditional schools and in historical perspective. What motivated Cassiodorus to reinterpret the institution of the coenobium as a scholarly community was his disappointment at the lack of designated Christian schools. After hopes to implement a system of confessional schools had failed to materialize, he decided to at least install a monastery with a strong educational focus, comparable to institutions in Alexandria and Syrian Nisibis.1⁵⁴ In founding his community Cassiodorus not only looked to the past for suitable models but also situated it in the history of learning. Essentially, respect for tradition was the principle on which the whole enterprise was based, as the opening passage of the Institutes makes clear. To prepare his brothers for the divine and secular studies outlined in two books, Cassiodorus states the limited scope of his guide to literature: ‘I commend in [these introductory books] not my own teaching but the words of ancient writers that we justly praise and gloriously proclaim to later generations. For the words taken from the ancients in the midst of praising the Lord is not considered vile boasting.’1⁵⁵ Cassiodorus for the instruction of monks deliberately turns to ancient models and is, like the grammarian Donatus, content with the role of a transmitter.1⁵⁶ Instead of intellectual originality, the readers will find in the Institutes the teachings of ancient commentators and scholars. This claim is certainly not merely the pose of modesty, for indeed Book 1 amounts to a reading list that recommends to the brothers a host of authors from the past, from Augustine to Hilary and from Cyprian to Jerome. The programmatic statement is not only an explanation of the work’s rationale, though. At the same time, it aims to instil an attitude or habit. Cassiodorus here propagates a feeling of reverence and obligation as the right way to approach the authoritative books. What is required from the student is more than zeal for study and intellectual aptitude. It is, rather, a question of morality, as the rejection of 1⁵3 The definitive two-book version seems to have been produced near the end of Cassiodorus’ life, in the 580s, but goes back to much earlier experiments of the 530s. See Halporn and Vessey 2004: 23–4, 36, 40–2. For Cassiodorus’ intentions and the audience see, among other passages, Cassiod. inst. praef. 3, 1.8.11, 1.15.1, 1.21.2, 1.27.1. 1⁵⁴ Cassiod. inst. praef. 1. 1⁵⁵ Cassiod. inst. praef. 1: in quibus non propriam doctrinam sed priscorum dicta commendo, quae posteris laudare fas est et praedicare gloriosum, quoniam quicquid de priscis sub laude Domini dicitur, odiosa iactantia non putatur. 1⁵⁶ For Donatus’ programmatic statement see Chapter 6.1.

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the making of the late antique mind 277 odiosa iactantia suggests. More than that, the prisci are even paired with praise of the Lord, so that the study of the ancients becomes a religious duty. Cassiodorus’ position as a mediator between earlier writers and later generations comprises both intellectual instruction and positioning the students in relation to past and present. Contrasting the ancient teachers (magistri antiqui) with the modern ones (novelli), he advises the brothers, ‘it will be better for you not to fill yourselves with presumptuous novelty but to satisfy yourselves at the spring of the ancients’.1⁵⁷ Here we see the same suspiciousness at work that in the Variae characterizes the attitude to novelty for its own sake. Cassiodorus does not want to appear as an innovator, to be deluded by ‘modern presumption’, and urges his readers to adopt the same moral position on ancients and moderns.1⁵⁸ He strongly rejects overconfidence in the innovative power of modernity because it necessarily comes with a rupture, the separation from tradition. Prima facie, this attitude leaves little room for an original engagement with the past.1⁵⁹ However, as our analysis of the Variae already has suggested, educational practices in Cassiodorus insert the student in a fruitful interplay, a dialectic relationship, of old and new. As long as the monks at Vivarium were studying the Scriptures and reading ecclesiastical writers, they were expected to give preference to the ancient commentators and deal with the modern ones carefully in order to stay clear of heresies. But the Institutes also prescribed a secular curriculum, above all the study of the seven liberal arts. It was in this field that the monks, but also any Christian, set foot on dangerous territory. Chrysostom and Augustine solved this problem by strictly divorcing Christian students from the classical past. Cassiodorus did not want to go down that road, though he followed Augustine’s pedagogic principles in many respects. What seemed to him more promising was to bring the pagan writers of the past and Christian learning into the right balance. This idea had occupied him for some time before he dared to wed secular scholarship with monasticism. How could the risk of pagan learning be circumvented in such a way that the liberal arts need not be abandoned and consigned to an antiquated past? Cassiodorus in the programmatic preface proposes a solution that is also built on a historical narrative but overcomes the rigid binary of pagan and Christian learning. In the middle of the preface he explains the division of the Institutes into two books, the one presenting the Christian teachers of a former age (antiqui saeculi 1⁵⁷ Cassiod. inst. praef. 4: nam et vobis erit quoque praestantius praesumpta novitate non imbui sed priscorum fonte satiari. 1⁵⁸ For the phrase see also Cassiod. var. 3.31.4. 1⁵⁹ In his late work, the De orthographia, however, Cassiodorus presents himself as a critical reader of the tradition, stating that it is appropriate to discard what is useless and preserving only what still can be used (Cassiod. gramm. praef. 27–8, 145.14–18 Keil). Yet even for his stance on old and new he appropriates the voice of a previous writer, the grammarian Phocas, whose lines he quotes at the end of the preface (146 Keil). See Gössmann 1974: 26–7. The De orthographia was produced at the request of the monks at Vivarium. See O’Donnell 1979: 235.

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278 education in late antiquity magistri), the other introducing the readers to the secular arts and disciplines. The reason why the trivium and the quadrivium of the arts are included in a monastic study programme is that the divine Scriptures, especially their presentation form, can be better understood if one has prior acquaintance with the liberal arts. ‘It is well-known’, Cassiodorus says almost casually, ‘that, at the beginning of spiritual wisdom, indications of these subjects were sowed, as it were, that the secular teachers afterwards wisely transferred to their own rules. This I have perhaps demonstrated at the suitable places in my commentary on the Psalms.’1⁶⁰ As if it were hardly a controversial matter, this statement with one stroke rewrites the entire history of learning. What Cassiodorus here confidently claims is that grammar, rhetoric, logic, geometry, arithmetic, music, and astronomy—the septem artes liberales—were not invented by the pagan thinkers of ancient Greece but had their origin in Christian wisdom, in the Scriptures; it was only much later that the masters of secular learning appropriated them and passed them off as their own brainchild. Therefore, the monks of the Vivarium have to be reminded of the biblical origins of their secular studies in order that they recuperate them. As Cassiodorus later in Book 1 insists, it is an act of devotion to call back to the service of correct understanding and truth what was pilfered by the pagans from the Scriptures.1⁶1 With this move the Institutes legitimize the Christian use of secular learning and the inclusion of the liberal arts in Cassiodorus’ curriculum. On the surface, Cassiodorus’ theory appears as an offspring of the apologetic argument derived from the spoliation of the Egyptians as recounted in Exodus. And indeed, he quotes with approval from Augustine’s De doctrina christiana the passage about Christian fathers taking, like Moses, pagan learning with them, in analogy to the Egyptian vessels. To Augustine’s list of Cyprian, Lactantius, Victorinus, Optatus, and Hilary he adds Ambrose, Augustine himself, Jerome, and ‘many other’ Greek writers to invoke a whole body of ancient Christian authors as witnesses to his educational scheme.1⁶2 In fact, Cassiodorus goes further than Augustine and other Christian thinkers. As Karla Pollmann rightly argues, instead of the Augustinian model of usurpation, he postulates a model of reappropriation of the liberal arts, as they are truly of biblical and hence of Christian origin.1⁶3 Secretly, the Bible in this model assumes the status attributed to Homer and Vergil in GraecoRoman education. Just as Macrobius and his colleagues considered Homer the origin of all learning and Vergil’s poems a veritable encyclopaedia, the Bible was now relaunched as the source of the arts.1⁶⁴ Against this backdrop, the pedagogic 1⁶⁰ Cassiod. inst. praef. 6: constat enim quasi in origine spiritalis sapientiae rerum istarum indicia fuisse seminata, quae postea doctores saecularium litterarum ad suas regulas prudentissime transtulerunt; quod apto loco in expositione Psalterii fortasse probavimus. 1⁶1 Cassiod. inst. 1.27.2. 1⁶2 Cassiod. inst. 1.28.4. See Aug. doctr. christ. 2.40.61 (CCSL 32.74–5) with my discussion in Chapter 2.5. 1⁶3 Pollmann 2017: 80. 1⁶⁴ Cf. Schlieben 1979: 224–6.

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the making of the late antique mind 279 project of the Institutes can be seen as a lesson in history: it is not sufficient for the monks to simply imbibe knowledge in the liberal disciplines from authoritative handbooks; rather, they ought to pursue these studies with historical awareness, constantly considering the temporal priority of the Bible. Although Cassiodorus argues that the arts came into being first in the Scriptures, it is not possible to go straight back to the roots, to recover, as it were, the primordial state of learning. This is made clear by the Exposition of the Psalms, to which he refers his brothers. The voluminous exegesis of the Psalter, though completed some years earlier than the Institutes, relates to the monastic study programme as practice to theory, for it is a showcase for scriptural reading informed by traditional scholarship.1⁶⁵ It has even been argued, not without reason, that the commentary on the Psalms is a ‘Schulbuch’, a textbook, offering a course in the artes liberales.1⁶⁶ Not only does the schoolish nature of Cassiodorus’ exegesis leap from every page of the Exposition, as the author throughout employs the categories and vocabulary of the liberal disciplines, in particular rhetoric. Thus, no reader will miss the fact that the commentary, which addresses ‘those educated in the classroom of Christ’, repositions the Psalter as schola caelestis, eruditio vitalis, auditorium veritatis, disciplina certissime singularis, a veritable ersatz school for lifelong learning.1⁶⁷ The author also justifies his approach in the introduction, when he explains that the divine law is clothed in definitions adorned by figures, marked by its special vocabulary, equipped with the conclusions of syllogisms, and gleaming with forms of instruction. However, we would be mistaken to think that the Scriptures borrowed these features from elsewhere: Those skilled in the secular disciplines, who clearly lived long after the time when the divine books were first penned, transferred these [techniques] to the collections of arguments which the Greeks call topics and to the arts of dialectic and rhetoric. Thus it is crystal clear to all that, in order to express the truth, the minds of the just were earlier given the techniques which the gentiles afterwards decided should be accommodated to human wisdom.1⁶⁸

1⁶⁵ The commentary was written in the 540s. See O’Donnell 1979: xv and 134–6, Pollmann 2017: 78 (around 537/40–547/50). 1⁶⁶ Schlieben 1974: 63–8 and 1979: 168–71, followed by O’Donnell 1979: 158. Walsh 1990–1: 14 remarks: ‘It accordingly becomes clear that Cassiodorus deploys the psalms not only for the purposes of instruction in theology and hermeneutics but also to inculcate a general education in eloquence.’ 1⁶⁷ Cassiod. in psalm. 79.1 (CCSL 98.740.2–3) on his readership (Doctis viris et in auditorio Christi salutariter eruditis si quis usitata repetere conetur, offendit). In 132 Cassiodorus indicates that he targets a wider audience beyond monastics (CCSL 98.1205.5–11). The quote is taken from the exegesis of Psalm 15, conclusion (CCSL 97.142.235–6). 1⁶⁸ Cassiod. in psalm. praef. 15 (CCSL 97.19.65–71): Haec mundanarum artium periti, quos tamen multo posterius ab exordio divinorum librorum exstitisse manifestum est, ad collectiones argumentorum, quae Graeci topica dicunt, et ad artem dialecticam et rhetoricam transtulerunt; ut cunctis evidenter appareat, prius ad exprimendam veritatem iustis mentibus datum, quod postea gentiles humanae sapientiae aptandum esse putaverunt.

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280 education in late antiquity Here Cassiodorus sets out in clear terms a historical narrative that gives shape to the peculiar style of his exegesis. According to his model, it is absolutely appropriate to look in the psalms for syllogisms and figures of speech because all of them have their origins not, as is generally assumed, in the pagan education system but in the divine Scriptures. Liberal learning is therefore not an alien element that the exegete illegitimately brings to the text of the Psalter. Similarly to the accusation of plagiarism common in Christian apologetics, the Exposition outlines a history of human learning according to which the pagan teachers, living in a later period, drank from the sources of scriptural wisdom.1⁶⁹ After citing De doctrina christiana in support for his approach, Cassiodorus claims that in Locutiones in Heptateuchum Augustine showed that the various figures belonging to secular literature were found in the sacred books and declared that there were other modes peculiar to divine eloquence which grammarians and rhetors had not mentioned at all.1⁷⁰ To lend further authority to his theory, Cassiodorus invokes the auctores nostri, citing Jerome, Ambrose, and Hilary, whom he claims to faithfully follow (pedissequi esse videamur).1⁷1 As in the Institutes, it is his declared aim to avoid presumptuous novelty and instead practise learning in the footsteps of the ancient fathers. Cassiodorus’ historical, almost archaeological approach to biblical studies is, however, not a straightforward return to the roots of liberal learning. The claim that the teachings of the secular masters are all present in Scripture could give rise to a serious objection, as he anticipates: nowhere do we find in the psalms the parts of the syllogism, the terms of rhetorical schemata, or the names of the disciplines. If the Bible were the source of all the arts, we would expect the whole scholarly apparatus in the biblical books.1⁷2 Cassiodorus’ response to this objection allows him to refine the historical model. What is taught by the secular teachers in the schools is in fact present in the psalms, but it is so only by virtue, without the categories and the technical vocabulary (in virtute sensuum, non in effatione verborum).1⁷3 In other words, after the Scriptures had sown the seeds of the disciplines, the magistri saecularium litterarum much later channelled these teachings to their schools and, in addition, developed a methodology and terminology. That is to say, the later period made significant contributions that the late antique student of the Bible cannot, and should not, ignore. The users of Cassiodorus’ commentary will then read the Psalter legitimately equipped with the arguments, definitions, and categories furnished later by the secular scholars. 1⁶⁹ See Ridings 1995 for the apologetic accusation of pagan plagiarism. 1⁷⁰ Cassiod. in psalm. praef. 15 (CCSL 97.20.77–91). See Aug. doctr. christ. 3.29.40. Cf. Halporn and Vessey 2004: 31–2. 1⁷1 In fact, as Schlieben 1979: 205 points out, Cassiodorus goes a step beyond his predecessors by verifying the synthesis of the classical school and Christian theology that Augustine had demanded. 1⁷2 Cassiod. in psalm. praef. 15 (CCSL 97.20.92–4): Sed dicit aliquis: nec partes ipsae syllogismorum, nec nomina schematum, nec vocabula disciplinarum, nec alia huiuscemodi ullatenus inveniuntur in psalmis. 1⁷3 See also his comments on Pss. 80:4 (CCSL 98.750–1) and 31:11 (CCSL 97.281–2).

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the making of the late antique mind 281 In contrast to Chrysostom’s and Augustine’s rejection of pagan antiquity in favour of the Christian era, Cassiodorus postulates a three-phase historical model: in the beginning the liberal disciplines were present in the Bible only virtually (virtute); afterwards, at a much later time, the teachers of the saeculares litterae transferred them to their own writings and created the system and vocabulary, before finally Christian scholars of late antiquity practically applied the arts in the service of the Scriptures.1⁷⁴ Christian students thus need not abandon the period of pagan learning as an antiquated past but are rather encouraged to valorize the contributions of both eras, the Christian and the pagan one, even if the former is no doubt more valuable.1⁷⁵ As a result, the age of Graeco-Roman learning is incorporated in the Christian historical framework, so that students do not have to make a stark choice. Cassiodorus’ dual programme of divine and secular studies assigns a key role to historical awareness. Rather than memorizing names, facts, and rules, learning is concerned with the right way to relate to the cultural patrimony. Proper methodical study of the Bible, the church fathers, and the liberal disciplines can be done only if the students are constantly reflecting on the then and now, on the relationship between the temporally prior and the posterior. Approaching one’s studies in this way reifies two historical periods, a distant biblical past and a more recent age of pagan learning, which are then synthesized in the late antique reader. On the surface, this historicizing attitude to learning initiates a recuperation process, as the Christian students restore to truth and correct understanding what the pagan teachers have appropriated in the interval between the biblical times and late antiquity.1⁷⁶ By referring to the past in such a way as to underline the difference between the prior state of the arts and their later use, Cassiodorus creates a student who constantly navigates the temporal distance, going back and forth in time. Essentially, learning means negotiating this distance in an operation that generates historical concepts, the idea of antiquity and contemporary times. Rather than positing a simple opposition of antiquity and modernity, the educational practices devised by Cassiodorus propose a dialectic of old and new, in which both times are conceptualized as clearly different yet closely interrelated. The learning subject is constantly reminded of the interval that sets him apart from the distant past and thus becomes aware of the very lateness of late antiquity. Since ancient learning has gone through a long process of transmission, it is impossible for the postclassical student to bypass later transformations and additions with the aim of directly

1⁷⁴ Cf. Schlieben 1979: 231–2, with a slightly different definition of the third stage. 1⁷⁵ Pace Astell 1999: 40–1, who argues that Cassiodorus’ view required a process of purification and transformation, a double movement of affirmation and denial. 1⁷⁶ Pollmann 2017: 80 and 86 emphasizes that Cassiodorus manages to absorb all previous culture into the Christian framework and thereby accepts pagan scholarship as one possible mode of a Christian lifestyle.

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282 education in late antiquity recuperating the original state.1⁷⁷ What Cassiodorus’ three-phase model suggests instead is that the old by necessity is refracted through the prism of modernity. The access to the distant past is thus a priori a mediated one, with the student located on one side of the temporal gap but reaching out to the other side.

6.6 Towards a Postclassical Mentality Education in late antiquity engaged with history in various ways. Students were introduced by the grammarian to the diction of the antiqui; philosophical and literary commentators made the ancient authorities accessible and secured their survival; declaiming cases from classical Athens and republican Rome, the sons of the elites immersed themselves in an imaginary past. It was through such practices that the schools conveyed versions of remote periods and promoted historical narratives. However, it is characteristic that education processes also opened up specific paths to bygone days that simultaneously defined the learner’s position in the present. The analysis of educationalists, both pagan and Christian, has revealed that educational practices were conceptualized as vehicles for self-positioning visà-vis temporality. Studying, in particular reading practices, was seen as correlating with historical consciousness. The way in which one studied authors of previous centuries not only produced an image of the past but at the same time generated a specific position toward history and contemporary times. This did not necessarily result in a precise sense of chronology and analytical periodization. Instead we have seen that for these effects to be generated it was often sufficient to adumbrate a temporally unspecified past and to group interchangeable well-known figures as representatives of a certain age. What rather was important was to position a temporal gap that separated antiquity from the late antique reader. In the background of this discourse were some fundamental, if implicit, questions: how far were the ancients still relevant? Who were these ancients in the first place? And what was the essence of antiquity? If we pay attention to the preoccupation with old and new, it becomes apparent that pedagogy in late antiquity operated as an exploration of historical consciousness. Educational thinkers such as Himerius, Chrysostom, Augustine, and Cassiodorus took, as it were, the spade of the archaeologist in order to dig deep into the layers of their cultural patrimony and interpret the traces that the ancient forefathers had left. Learning per se was turned into a historical and reconstructive enquiry. There was, of course, variation. While Themistius and Himerius

1⁷⁷ Thus, O’Donnell 1979: 180 remarks: ‘If they [the rhetorical principles] were originally Christian, as he would claim, he had them only at second hand, after a filtering through the centuries of ancient pagan tradition.’

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the making of the late antique mind 283 advocated rhetorical instruction as an avenue to an idealized Athens, Chrysostom and Augustine encouraged their audiences to abandon classical antiquity in favour of Christian times. Notwithstanding, they shared the idea that educational practices created in the learning subject a historical awareness—the sense of living in a postclassical age. It is important to note that learning, and the theorization of it, was not only concerned with the topics to be taught and learnt; the texts investigated in this chapter show relatively little interest in the historical facts that students should learn. Rather, they aimed at cultivating attitudes. Learning, they suggested, invited the students to take a stance on past and present, to make choices and, in the extreme, to disown certain segments of the past. Reverence and obligation or, on the other hand, disavowal and dissociation were the responses demanded by secular and ecclesiastical thinkers. We may say that there was a hidden curriculum at work in late antique pedagogy: while studying works of previous centuries, learners were supposed to acquire a sense of temporality and determine their standpoint with regard to intellectual history. If the poet Claudian envisaged the young Honorius entering a conversation with ancient Roman history, Himerius expected his students to pay a visit to classical Athens, as to a museum, so that they could reconnect with the ancestral tradition. In a similar vein, Cassiodorus’ Variae advocated as the true modern spirit a dialogue with the glorious past facilitated by the school. Education thus became a forum for determining one’s temporal identity, creating a temporal matrix in which the student was inserted. Even though the secular rhetoricians and the church fathers notably differed in their evaluation of classical antiquity, the historical models they promoted exhibit a significant common denominator. From their narrative construals of the passage of time emerges a sense of living in a late age, of being situated in an era of posterity. As the students turn to the ἀρχαῖοι or veteres, locating the classics in relation to contemporary times, antiquity and modernity are reified as distinct but interrelated entities. Reading the ancient authors is not only a question of acknowledging authority but it also simultaneously produces a historical period embodied by these authorities as being different from the times in which the late antique readers live. It is no accident that Themistius, Himerius, and Cassiodorus deny the possibility of a seamless continuity with the ancient times while at the same time maintaining the hope for reconnection. This attitude reflects a mentality characteristic of a postclassical age. Chrysostom and Augustine take this sensibility to a higher level when they ask their audiences to definitely consign the pagan classics to the space of an outdated past. With this temporal gesture the educational thinkers assist the birth of the late antique mind, in the sense that educational practices become responsible for the learners’ perception of the very lateness of late antiquity. We may speak here of a late antique mentality avant la lettre, but at least Cassiodorus with the modernus discourse tries to articulate the new temporal

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284 education in late antiquity consciousness. Historians commonly look out for defining markers to demarcate historical epochs from one another. Yet such markers need not be memorable turning points. In the educational discourse of late antiquity we observe the emergence of an Epochenbewusstsein, the sense of being separated from, yet related to, a previous age.

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7 Conclusion

Chrysostom’s and Augustine’s exploitation of education for the construction of a temporal model relating the present to the classical past was anything but disinterested. The two church fathers mobilized ideals of learning and teaching in a war against pagan culture and its societal repercussions. In a similar vein, Emperor Julian, some decades earlier, dug deep into the layers of intellectual history and laid claim to a superior form of paideia when he charged at his archenemies, the ‘Galilaeans’, as he called them. Indeed, higher education and studies held a key place in his polemic against the Christians. Not content with contrasting the intellectual achievements of both camps, the ruler firmly declared what true education was all about and what it could accomplish. Studying the right body of writings, the Hellenic ones, made everyone better, even if he were without natural aptitude. ‘When a man is naturally well endowed’, Julian averred, ‘and moreover receives an education in our writings, he absolutely becomes a gift of the gods to mankind, either by kindling the light of knowledge, or by implementing a form of political government, or by routing many enemies, or by travelling far over the earth and sea, and thus proving himself to be a heroic man.’1 However important it was in the religious fray to claim ownership of poetry, prose literature, the liberal disciplines, and other forms of knowledge, the true essence of paideia lay in the perfection of the human being and helping him to become as it were a saviour. The erudite man was for the emperor a figure to project lofty ideals on and, moreover, an important weapon in an ideological battle. In like manner, though not as polemically, the Neoplatonist biographer Marinus lauded his teacher, Proclus, as a beacon of philosophical paideia. Following the ethical formation and intellectual pursuits of his hero from the cradle to the grave, Marinus showed his readers a life pervaded by learning in which studies were inseparable from, even tantamount to, ethical virtues.2 What is more, as Julian had envisioned, the path of intellectual and moral formation led Proclus straight to a higher form of existence, with the blessed man all but departing from his physical

,

1 Jul. Gal. fr. 55.229d–e: ἐκ δὲ τῶν παρ ἡμῖν αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ πᾶς ἂν γένοιτο καλλίων, εἰ καὶ παντάπασιν ἀφυής τις εἴη. φύσεως δὲ ἔχων εὖ καὶ τὰς ἐκ τούτων προσλαβὼν παιδείας ἀτεχνῶς γίνεται τῶν θεῶν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις δῶρον, ἤτοι φῶς ἀνάψας ἐπιστήμης ἢ πολιτείας γένος ⟨καταστησάμενος⟩ ἢ πολεμίους πολλοὺς τρεψάμενος καὶ πολλὴν μὲν γῆν, πολλὴν δὲ ἐπελθὼν θάλασσαν καὶ τούτῳ φανεὶς ἡρωικός. 2 Marin. Procl. 4 and 8.

Education in Late Antiquity: Challenges, Dynamism, and Reinterpretation, 300–550 ce. Jan R. Stenger, Oxford University Press. © Jan R. Stenger 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198869788.003.0008

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286 education in late antiquity body and finally assuming divine status.3 Marinus’ portrayal of an outstanding, charismatic scholar was no doubt an avowed act of personal piety, but it was far more than that. Perfect paideia, as incarnated in the astounding trajectory of Proclus’ career, was firmly embedded in the ideology of a pagan Neoplatonism that desperately tried to stem the tide of an increasingly intolerant Christian empire. In this monograph we have studied explicit theories of education alongside implicit theorization, such as Marinus’ narrative, produced between c.300 and 550 ce. Departing from the received image of an utterly conservative education system in late antiquity, this study has tried to establish a more nuanced picture, by revealing the principles and methodical considerations underpinning the practice of instruction and learning. In the course of our analysis we have seen, in both Christian and non-Christian circles, in both the Latin west and the Greek east, an impressively broad range of interpretations, assuming widely different views of the nature of education, its conditions, methods, and goals, yet a discourse held together by shared arguments and lines of thought. We have encountered figures like Marinus’ Proclus, men and women whose ascent to a higher form of life would have been inconceivable without them purposefully moulding themselves. To recall but some outstanding examples, Origen as depicted by Eusebius, the philosopher Eugenius commemorated by his son Themistius, Gregory of Nyssa’s Macrina, and the magistrate Hermogenes eulogized by Himerius, they all were living proof that, according to their literary portraitists, education, if pursued in the right fashion, was capable of elevating the individual to an exalted, sublime plane of existence. Such portrayals and the assumptions underlying them reflect a desire for education to serve the specific needs of their times, to address the preoccupations characteristic of late antiquity. It is not hard to see why education was closely interwoven with broader systems of thought that, on a larger scale, fulfilled late antique people’s longing for meaning and orientation, above all Christianity, Neoplatonic philosophy, and the ascetic tendencies. If these spiritual and intellectual movements were confident that it was possible to create new and exceptional persons, then processes of education and self-cultivation had a central role to play. The idea that education not only transformed lives but was instrumental in attaining a fulfilled, more elevated life evidently resonated with many late antique thinkers. When discussing upbringing, intellectual training, and moral instruction, the writers display a characteristic willingness to tackle big questions. In their views, education was about the development of the self, the perfection of the person, and answering the core questions of human life. Paideia, understood as the cultivation of the self in its intellectual and ethical dimensions, was valorized by them as the avenue to happiness and the good life. When the young Augustine

3 Marin. Procl. 21, 25, and 32.

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conclusion 287 nearly suffered a breakdown, notably because of his job as a teacher, he sought to turn around his life through nothing other than eruditio and doctrina, albeit in a form widely different from the rhetorical schools. And Themistius, a teacher himself, was of the firm belief that broad learning had paved the way for his father’s apotheosis and that, in general, paideia helped people to become better persons. To some, even man’s earthly existence could be left behind and the boundary between humans and the divine became porous thanks to self-formation. Christian intellectuals, such as Basil, his brother Gregory, and Jerome, promoted the idea that methodical efforts in moulding oneself enabled humans to live saintly lives and prepared them for the other life, restoring them to the likeness of God. Boethius’ last thoughts before his execution are testament that, for a Christian Platonist, what was left after everything external had been stripped away was learning, as the core of his being. It would be wrong to assume that only high-flying intellectuals such as Christian philosophers and Neoplatonists defined education in such terms. In fact, more traditional, down-to-earth branches of the discipline were influenced by this trend also. Teachers of rhetoric, it is true, always marketed their profession as training for a successful life. Still, it is significant that in late antiquity teachers and erudite men of a more traditional type joined the philosophers in aiming higher, attributing to studies more important and nobler functions. Although their teaching concentrated on imparting rhetorical technique and models of literary style, Libanius and Himerius publicly declared that the true purpose of paideia was to give shape to a man’s life, to nurture the moral qualities that raised him above the uncultured and base mob. Their instruction may have been firmly rooted in this world here, but if a young man passed through the school with proper dedication, he was destined to reap the reward of a fulfilled life, and become an exemplar for others to emulate. Likewise, learned men of a more conventional kind, such as Macrobius and Sidonius, were keen to invest literate education with deeper meaning, repositioning it as either a way of life distinguished by a superior ethos or as the stable core of the Roman way of life amid the backdrop of a collapsing empire. Traditional education could no longer, or not always, be taken for granted as it came under challenge and was threatened—at least in the perception of some of the authors. Therefore, they sought to legitimize it by giving it higher dignity and worth, and heightening its relevance for individuals and society. Even a seemingly dry study programme as that devised by Cassiodorus for his monastery claimed to get more out of education than knowledge and skills. Integrated into a theological framework, studies in the humanities, from grammar to dialectics, were re-evaluated as but a stepping stone to higher things.⁴

⁴ See in particular the conclusion to his Institutes.

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288 education in late antiquity The wish to make education a truly formative force in a person’s life found expression above all in the humanistic scope that unites many of the programmes and visions that we have studied. The majority of them did not confine themselves to consideration of a limited segment of learning and knowledge but rather tried to define education in such comprehensive terms that it addressed the individual’s potentials as broadly as possible. Strict disciplinary boundaries stood in the way of such a humanistic approach, and thus a good number of the authors straddled rhetoric, literary studies, and philosophy, even if their specialism was primarily in one of these areas. If paideia or eruditio was to gain a better life and even to raise the subject above earthly existence, it had to cater for all human faculties, in full cognizance of man’s nature. Therefore, Themistius and Synesius demanded that the boundaries between philosophy, eloquence, and literature be torn down, while Macrobius favoured encyclopaedism over narrow-minded specialism. Essentially, every activity, every encounter with the diversity of the world could be turned into an opportunity for self-cultivation, as theorization of the subject’s formative engagement with the objective world expounded. Accordingly, it was the process of formation and its methods that took centre stage, not only in childhood and adolescence but at all stages of human life. Every element in this process had to be oriented toward the development of the notion of humanity within the person, as perfectly illustrated in Synesius’ manifesto and Boethius’ Consolation, both of which correlate self-formation with the full understanding of human nature. It is then only logical that education did not consist in the acquisition of a command of a circumscribed field of knowledge but was conceptualized as a determining force in life. Revolving around the notion of humanity, it also extended beyond the individual, to other human beings, ideally transforming their lives too. Figures like Macrina and Hypatia but also the Augustine of the Cassiciacum dialogues perfectly embodied this humanistic ethos. Considering the whole of late antique education as functionalist in a narrow sense, that is to say, as geared toward practical effects would therefore be wide off the mark. What we have seen in explicit and implicit theorization is rather a revival of the original meaning of paideia, the classical concept of humanism, albeit adapted to the new conditions of the period. The late antique thinkers were inspired by a strong confidence in man’s educability, in the ability of human beings to reform themselves in order to become fully human. Gregory of Nyssa’s concept of morphosis with its sculptural associations captures this idea well. We may draw here a line to the then burgeoning ascetic movement, which believed in the possibility of attaining sanctity and perfection through constant labour on the self. This determinedly humanistic orientation of the education discourse involved by necessity thinking about man’s place in the world, in all its essential dimensions. In the same way as the Delphic maxim ‘know thyself ’ was regarded as the first step in philosophy, reflection about humanistic formation required self-knowledge and knowledge of human nature for determining the methods conducive to the

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conclusion 289 ultimate goal.⁵ Therefore, the speeches and writings that we have analysed in one way or another all explored the whole human being regarding all constitutive aspects. Most importantly, educational thinkers addressed the fundamental question of the self, as a prerequisite for their conceptions of the learned life and the process of self-cultivation (Chapters 3, 4, and 5). Widening the perspective beyond the individual, the discussions considered the relationships of the subject with other persons, with communities and society at large (Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4). Man’s situation in the material world and in the cosmos was taken into account in order to explain how the individual could draw in the manifoldness surrounding him as a resource for the perfection of his self (Chapter 5). To locate the human being, it was also vital to give thought to one’s stance vis-à-vis temporality, to clarify the relationship with past and present, not least because the classical past was part and parcel of Graeco-Roman education (Chapter 6). Last but not least, as education was discussed to a large extent from a religious viewpoint, man’s relationship to the divine had a central role to play (Chapters 2, 3, and 5). In all these areas, the ways in which human beings were trained, cultivated virtues, and moulded their selves had a great impact, to the extent that education processes, of whatever kind, were seen to affect and shape these relationships that defined the human being. Late antique thinkers, above all those with a philosophical background, were aware that any education, if it was to develop a sense of humanity, could not ignore these parameters and concentrate on intellectual training alone. Consequently, education came to be understood in much broader terms than just schooling. Against this backdrop it is intelligible why the theories and programmes often had a fraught relationship with formal education as offered by the conventional schools. The status quo felt unsatisfactory, as it was obvious that the schools failed to equip their students for the journey to human fulfilment. Dissatisfaction did not mean total rejection, though. Learning grammar and rhetoric, studying classical literature, and training in the liberal disciplines did have their functions and uses, but these were re-evaluated in the light of the ultimate goal. Themistius, Basil, Gregory, Jerome, Augustine, and others were clear that the curriculum was by no means useless. Yet it had to be subordinated and adapted, as a means to the higher end of the good or saintly life. Anything that was an obstacle or even dangerous had to be discarded, in particular the unwelcome corollaries resulting from the social functions of the schools. Often the authors directly challenged the established education system and what parents expected from the grammarian’s and rhetorician’s training. Overall, the education discourse displayed an ambivalent

⁵ As a matter of fact, Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses and Boethius’ Consolation make knowledge of the self the cornerstone of the process of the return to one’s true being through self-cultivation. The link between self-formation and the maxim γνῶθι σαυτόν is also made in Gr. Nyss. mort. (GNO 9.40.1–4); see also Boeth. cons. 1.6.15–18 and Macr. Sat. 1.6.6. See Courcelle 1974–5: 199–203 on Boethius.

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290 education in late antiquity attitude to the school, mostly accepting it as indispensable but clearly departing from it. Factual knowledge and skills, the mainstay of conventional teaching, were definitely not the thinkers’ main concern. Instead they had the ambition to outline utopias and sketch ideal types of what education, if undertaken correctly, could achieve and how it ought to be approached. This general direction might explain why the late antique education discourse had a very limited effect on what was going on in pedagogy at the time. Apart from some Christian leaders, the educationalists hardly made any detailed suggestions for practical reforms of curriculum, syllabus, and pedagogic methods. Their aim was rather to reshape the foundations of education, defining its functions and modelling the perception of it. It was precisely the broad scope, the willingness to address central questions of human life that made education such a prominent and pervasive topic. We have seen that the intellectuals did not withdraw into the ivory tower, discussing with their peers the subtleties of sophisticated theories, but mostly came forward in public to disseminate their views on the ways in which education affected individual lives, culture, society, and religion. Some of them, for instance Chrysostom, Basil, and Cassiodorus, explicitly addressed students and parents. However, more often than not the discussions targeted wider segments of the imperial society, from ordinary Christian congregants to the imperial court. Sermons and speeches on paideia deliberately sought the public arena and engaged an audience beyond specialists. In these fora, from church services to public orations and written publications, educational theories and visions often aimed to make the adult members of the upper class reflect on, and assess, their own upbringing and formation. Chrysostom is certainly a prime example of a thinker who questioned parents’ beliefs about the education system they were accustomed to; but also Themistius and Synesius urged the members of the educated class to critically evaluate their cherished ideal of paideia. Hence, education became an eminently public topic, pervading literature, thought, and society. Given the thought-provoking character of a good number of the discussions, it is not hard to see why the topic frequently generated controversy. The religious question was certainly the greatest challenge to traditional learning and training, but it was by no means the only one. The furore caused by Julian’s school edict is but the most prominent example of the impact of religious division on education theory and practice. However, ecclesiastical leaders called the principles of conventional education into question in various ways. Yet, not every ordinary believer was happy to abandon received habits, let alone pagans who detested Christian ignorance. Battles were fought on other fronts as well. Themistius, Libanius, and Synesius had to fend off criticism of their preferred type of paideia and, as they came under attack, they formulated their ideals of studies and learned culture. These and other examples show that education programmes on the one hand faced challenges and criticism, and on the other, frequently articulated criticism themselves, as they were intended as remedies of misguided practices. The controversies around

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conclusion 291 the best way to train and mould students became a seedbed of new ways of thinking. Disagreement bred dynamism. Whether Jerome’s controversial ascetic education scheme, a provocative female sage like Sosipatra, or the study retreat at Cassiciacum, such novel approaches suggest that we give up the long-standing notion of sclerotic uniformity and stagnation usually associated with education in the late Empire. However tenacious the traditional schools were, there was no universal consensus on the foundations of education. These, at times, fierce controversies turned the domain of education into a field of intense competition, virtually a marketplace for rivalling ideologies. In this arena, the philosophers, rhetorical teachers, and churchmen offered their differing programmes and visions as adaptations, alternatives, or replacements of the established system. Nothing could reflect better the attitude with which they ventured into the competition than the remarkable expression ‘correct education’, which we encountered several times in one form or another. The proponents of such bold programmes held very strong views on what was proper paideia and what was not. Greek writers such as Themistius, Libanius, and Julian in this respect differed not much from their western counterparts, John Cassian, Macrobius, or Boethius. The reasons why they rejected other paths certainly varied, not least on religious grounds, but they shared the firm belief that they themselves were the champions of a superior road to knowledge and self-perfection. Such black-andwhite certainties bespeak normative approaches, even dogmatism, as if orthodoxy and heresy were at stake. This brings us back to the point made above about the higher goals attributed to education, for the divisions were due to the very fact that the debate was dominated by questions of happiness, the good life, and ethical perfection. While the practicalities of teaching were of secondary importance—though they did come up—the educational thinkers propagated veritable, comprehensive ideologies on what upbringing and formation ideally looked like. By doing so, they made public statements about their world views, including their stance on human nature, society, the world, and the divine. We have briefly touched upon this aspect above, with mention of Julian’s and Marinus’ paragons of pagan erudition. We will therefore not go wrong if we state that within these broader ideologies, education assumed the status of an explanatory system, a category of thought for generating sense and giving orientation. As such, it claimed to make sense of human existence and locate the human being in the given world. Education, to put it that way, represented a Weltanschauung. By virtue of this quality, education ideologies percolated into, and were intimately tied to, core discourses and other systems of thought at the time, including Christianity, asceticism, the place of philosophy within society, and the relationship with the past. To put this into perspective, it helps to recall that in late antiquity issues such as the Creation, fate, providence, astrology, and exegesis could become a battleground for opposing world views, viz. pagan Neoplatonism

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292 education in late antiquity and Christianity. The whole domain of education—questions of learning, teaching, and self-formation—was another locus for formulating wide-ranging explanatory systems. Though being central to the debate, this crucial quality of education in late antiquity has hitherto not been fully understood because scholarship on late antique education has tended to deal with pagan, Christian, Greek, and Roman approaches separately. It is by exploring the reflections on upbringing, instruction, and formation, from the fourth into the sixth century ce, that we can recapture the immense fascination that education held for late antique society.

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Index Abba Arsenius 11 Abba Nesteros 89–94 Abraham 25, 218, 220, 223 Acts of Philip 58 Aeneas of Gaza 203–4, 242 Aeschines 252 alienation 192, 223, 225, 228, 236–7 allegory 41, 83–4, 209–10, 215–16, 218–19 Amalasuintha 1, 271 Ambrose 104, 178, 263, 278, 280 Ammianus Marcellinus 37 Amphilochius of Iconium 96 ancient and modern 242, 247, 271–2, 275–6, 281–2 ancients 196–9, 201, 239–44, 247–8, 259–60, 269–70, 275–7, 282, see also veteres angelic life 24–5, 102, 120, 122, 124, 127–8 Antiochene exegesis 256–7 Antony, St 82, 95, 121, 133, 176 Apollinarius of Laodicea 37–8, 96 Aristotle 155, 246 arrogance, as result of education 29–31, 82–3, 85, 92, 125, 136 asceticism 70–1, 78, 88, 90–2, 94–5, 128–9, 132–4, 136, 175–7 ascetics 11, 41, 78, 162–5 Athalaric 1–2, 9, 168, 271 Athens 111–12, 157, 203–5, 248–9 classical 3–5, 9, 62, 203–5, 242, 246–52 democracy 3 in late antiquity 252–4 Stoa Poikile 252 Atticism 239 Augustine 8, 11–13, 26–32, 80–8, 101, 177–84, 190, 224, 240–1, 278, 280 at Cassiciacum 178, 224 concept of religious education 86–7 construction of history 266–9 Contra Academicos 178–81 creation of temporal identity 269 De catechizandis rudibus 27–30 De doctrina christiana 80–8, 262–3 education programme 179 historia 262 Letter 118 87, 262–70 on conversion of knowledge 85–6

on educated ethos 181, 183 on education as religious practice 86–7 on history 262–70 on leisure 179–84 self 224 Soliloquia 224 tempora christiana 266–7 Ausonius 42, 143, 242 Avitus 43, 52–3 Avot, tractate 65 banquet 45, 169, 195–6 baptismal instruction 23–4, see also catechesis barbarians 2, 47–9, 52–4 barbarism 46–7, 52 Basil of Caesarea 69–75, 121–2, 125–6 Address to the Young 69–75 concept of religious education 74–5 on education as religious practice 74–5 on principle of selection 69–70, 72–4 bees, image of 71, 197, 200 Beirut, law school 146 Bible 21–2, 25, 28–32, 36, 55, 57, 280 biblical studies 81–2, 174, 180–1, 280 hidden meaning of 82, 84–5, 174 interpretation of 81–6, 90 kinship with classical teachings 72 pagan imitation of 73 use of in education 37, 69, 78, 83, 123–4, 216–17, 256 Bildung 13, 15, 191–3 Bingham, Jeffrey 68 biography 142–3, 145–6, 185 Bjornlie, Shane 272 Boethius 20, 224–34 alienation of 227–8 Consolation 224–34 estrangement of 225, 227, 234 Fortune in 228–9 loss of self 225, 227–9 on elevated vantage point 231 on reading 233–4 on return to the fatherland 229–30 scholarly activities of 224–5, 230–2 self-reflexivity in 226, 229, 233–4 Bourdieu, Pierre 101

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320 index Bregman, Jay 162 Brown, Peter 17, 144 Browning, Robert 6 Cameron, Alan 195 canon, literary 34, 36–8, 49–50, 55 Cassiodorus 9, 12, 59, 169, 270–84, 287, 290 antiquitas 271–2 construction of intellectual history 277–8, 280 Exposition of the Psalms 279–82 Institutes 270, 276–80 on biblical origins of the arts 279–81 on liberal arts 277–8 on monastic curriculum 277–8 on monasticism and learning 270, 277, 297, 303, 305 use of modernus 272 Variae 9–10, 168–9, 271–2, 277, 283 Variae 3.6 273–5 Variae 4.51 273 catechesis 9, 11, 20–32, 59 Chaldaean Oracles 63 Chaldaean wisdom 72, 115–16, 218–20, 223 charlatan intellectuals 110–12, 146 Chin, Catherine 84, 199, 245 χρῆσις 59, 222 Christ as teacher 68, 173 Christian culture 59, 81 Christianity 286, 291–2 and classical culture 34–5, 58, 70–1, 220 and education 11–13, 57–98 Christianization 7, 11, 57–8 religious instruction 59–60 church service 9, 11, 59–60, 255–6 church statutes 10–11 Cicero 178, 183, 227, 230, 264, 269 citadel, image of 230 city, image of 78–80 classics 51, 197, 210, 240–1, 243–4, 246, 248–9, 259–60, 262, 269–70, 273–4, 283 imitation of 245–6, 248 Claudian 243–4 Claudianus Mamertus 49–50, 53 Clement of Alexandria 67–9, 173 communities 19–20, 33, 36–7, 53–5 community 44–5, see also education, as service to community and individual 54 consciousness, historical 244–6, 250, 254–5, 269–70, 281–3, see also Epochenbewusstsein; lateness; periodization Constantius II 145, 153 conversion 157–8, 161, 180, 185

Conybeare, Catherine 178 countryside 23, 208 Cribiore, Raffaella 6 curriculum 2, 6, 8, 13, 17–18, 57 Christian 174–5 Cyril of Jerusalem 21, 25 Damascius 37, 64, 106 Daniel 72 Demetrias 128–9, 131, 133–6 Deogratias 26–8, 30–1 Deuteronomy 65 digestion, image of 197, 200–2 Dio Chrysostom 159–61, 163, 166 Donatus, Aelius 203, 240, 276 Dorotheus of Gaza 11 education and morals 4, 148–53, 158, 163–4, 166–8, 170–2, 185–6, 285–6 and social status 142–4 as commodity 48, 52, 208 as habit-forming force 101, 127 as religious practice 60–1, 97–8 as service to community 151, 154–7, 158–9 161–3 as transformation 119, 133–4, 139, 286 as universal 40, 42, 54, 205, 210 broad 18, 34, 45, 109, 116, 147–8, 152, 154–7, 160, 165, 170–1, 175, 186, 288 communal aspect of 172, 183, 186–7, 288 notion of true education 33, 38, 41, 53–4, 156, 291 performance of 142–3, 162 religious 57–98 social functions of 112–13, 126–7, 137–8, 141, 144 educational community 20, 35–6, 53–5 educational ideologies 2, 286, 290–1 Eigler, Ulrich 240, 243, 249, 262 Ennodius 185 Epimetheus 208–9 Epochenbewusstsein 15, 241, 284 ethos 185–7, 287–8 Eugenius, Themistius’ father 152–4 Eumenius of Autun 211, 235 Eunapius 18, 113–19, 143, 203 Eusebius of Caesarea 173–7 on broad education 175, 177 on educated ethos 176–7 on leisure 176–7 portrait of Origen 174–7 Eustathius, son of Macrobius 169–70, 172, 195–202

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index 321 Eustochium 129–31 exegesis 36, 55, 82, 132, 256–7, 262–3 Expositio totius mundi 254 faith 42, 67–8, 74, 78, 82–4, 93–4, 96, 173–5, 180, 218–20, 264, 268 farming 23–4, 153–4, 207–8 flight of the mind 230–1 foreignness 219–23 fruit, image of 71–2 Fuhrer, Therese 179 fusion of horizons 193–4, 234, 237 Gadamer, Hans-Georg 193–4, 237 Gaul 42–53 aristocracy of 43–4 literary culture of 43–5 gender, see also women concept 105–6 roles 104–7 Gerontius, Life of Melania 102–3 Gibbon, Edward 1 God as teacher 65, 68 grammar 85, 168–9, 174–5, 240–1, 245, 262, 277–8 grammarians 26, 29, 33–4, 239–41, 243–4, 262, 279 Gratian 167, 242 Greek language 38–40 Gregory of Nazianzus 10, 33, 145, 185, 203–4 discussion of logos 38–40 Oration 4 38–42 Gregory of Nyssa 8, 10, 13, 119–28, 143–4, 212–23 De anima 122–3 Life of Gregory Thaumaturgus 215–19 Life of Macrina 119–28 Life of Moses 214–22 on divine assistance 214, 217–18 on free will 214 on humans created in likeness of God 215, 222–3 on imitation of Christ 217 on morphosis 214, 223 on physis 124–5, 127 Gregory of Tours 43 Gregory Thaumaturgus 67, 217–19, 223 group affiliation 23, 33, 42, 54 group identity 19–20, 36–8, 54–6 Habinek, Thomas 143 Harmless, William 21 Helleman, Wendy 226 Heracles at the crossroads 145

Herder, Johann Gottfried 192 Hermeneumata Celtis 99–100 hermeneutics 81–2, 85, 193–4, 216–17 hidden curriculum 2, 101, 172, 254, 283 Himerius 157–9, 203, 248–55 image of Athens 253–4 motif of ancestry in 251–2, 254–5 on educated ethos 159 Oration 48 157–9 Oration 59 251–5 Oration 68 250–1 use of the past 248–9 view of the past 250–1 Hirshman, Marc 65 Homer 35, 210, 239, 278 homoiosis theo 62, 215–16, 227, 229–30 Honorius 243–4 human nature 162–4, 229–30, 234, 288–9 humanism 112–13, 139–40, 155–7, 164, 186–7, 191, 288–9 Christian 59, 270 humanistic education 159, 162, 186, 288–9 humanistic ethos 163 humanistic ideal 14 humanity, notion of 4, 192, 194, 230, 234–6, 288 Humboldt, Alexander von 191 Humboldt, Wilhelm von 191–3, 236 humility 30, 85–6, 92, 127, 135–6 Hypatia 18, 106–13, 159–61 Iamblichus 189–90 idealism, German 191 identity 106, 142, 225, 229–230, see also group identity Christian 59, 70, 80, 82, 87–8, 96 communal 19–20 religious 264, 269–70 Importunus, Flavius 274–5 individuality 190–1 inner–outer dichotomy 232–3 innovation, cultural 39, 154, 247–8, 251 inscriptions 144–5 interiority 190, 209, 229–30, 232 Irenaeus of Lyons 68 Isidore of Pelusium 9 Isocrates 4 Jaeger, Werner 55, 67, 214–16 Jerome 10, 12–13, 42, 95–6, 98, 104–5, 128–37 and female aristocrats 128–9 Letter 127 130–7 Letter 130 133, 135–6 letters 128–9, 131

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322 index John Cassian 88–95 concept of religious education 94–5 Conference 14 89–95 Conferences 89 Institutes 88–9 model of ascetic education 94–5 on knowledge of classical literature 92 on secular education 89–95 on spiritual knowledge 88–95 on theoretical knowledge 89–91, 94 on unlearning of traditional curriculum 92 John Chrysostom 11, 22–6, 75–80, 104, 212, 255–61 Against the Opponents 75 baptismal instruction 22–6 concept of religious education 79 Homilies on John 255–61 image of the past 258–61 on education as world-negation 78–9 On Vainglory 75–80 view of the classical polis 76–77, 258–9 John the Evangelist 256–8 Josephus 66 Judaism 21, 65–6 education 65 rabbinic 65, 66 Second Temple period 65 Julian, Emperor 10, 32, 64, 285 Against the Galilaeans 35–6 anti-Christian polemic of 34, 36–7, 285 Letter 61c 33–35 teaching edict 32–47, 166–7 Kaster, Robert 6, 84, 170, 241 Kimbros mosaic 100 knowledge of the self 229, 232–3, 235–6, 288–9 König, Jason 202 Kuefler, Mathew 105 Lactantius 67–8 language 39–41 late antiquity 6–7, 14 aesthetics of 14, 244–5 discontinuity of 244–5 lateness of 245–6, 281, 283–4 mentality of 14, 244, 283 lateness, sense of 247–8, 250–1, 255 Latin language 46–9, 52, 146–7, 150–1 Latin learning 48–9 Latin letters 45, 49, 51 legal studies 146–7, 150–1 legislation 8–9, 32, 165–8 leisure 108–9, 113, 165, 173, 176, 179–84 Lerer, Seth 226, 233

letters of recommendation 203 Libanius 5–6, 9–10, 37, 101, 143, 145–51, 203–4 Autobiography 147 on educated ethos 151 on paideia as liturgy 151 Oration 42 148–51 liberal arts 83–5, 174–5, 224, 231–2, 277–81 life choice of 112, 144–5, 158, 160–1, 185 Christian 70, 75, 90, 215 philosophical 127, 141–3, 145, 160, 173, 175–7, 179–80, 182, 230 Pythagorean 189–90 the good life 4, 8, 13, 139, 141, 151, 179–80, 186–7, 287, 289, 291 the happy life 179–80, 185, 224, 287 way of 25, 51, 161, 175–6, 178, 180, 183, 287 Life and Miracles of Thecla 103–4 linguistic correctness 29–31, 40, 142, 198 literary studies 40, 45–7, 49, 50–1 love, Christian 83, 85–7, 92, 97 Macrina 13, 120–8 as philosopher 120 asceticism of 121 pedagogic authority of 121–2, 123–4 reading 123–4 transcending her sex 121 upbringing of 123 Macrobius 169–72, 195–202, 240–1 appropriative reading 202 cultural borrowing 196 encyclopaedism of 197–8 engagement with the past 198–201 ethos in 170, 172, 195, 199, 202 on broad education 170–1 on reading and writing 197–8 Marcella 130–6 as promoter of monasticism 133–4 as teacher 134 biblical studies of 130–3 transcending her sex 134 Marinus 64, 203, 285–6 Marius Victorinus 28 Markus, Robert 81 Marrou, Henri-Irénée 5, 57, 81 Mathisen, Ralph 43 Melania the Younger 102–3 Menippean Satire 225 mimesis, in education 212–13, 219 monasticism 11, 88 Monica 178, 181–2 monks 23–5, 75, 78 Morgan, Teresa 57

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index 323 Moses 66–7, 72, 212–23 multitude, uncultured 24, 46–8, 52–3 name-giving 80 nature 134, 139 Neoplatonism 63–5, 113, 143, 190, 286, 291 curriculum 63 nourishment, image of 222, 230 O’Donnell, James 271 Olson, Paul 226 Origen 67, 69, 73, 173–7 otherness 54, 193, 201–2, 211–13, 216–17, 219, 221–3, 232–3, 236–7 otium, see leisure ‘outside’ learning 66, 70–2, 74, 218, 220–3 pagan learning, as propaedeutic 67, 70, 73–4, 123–4 pagan literature 69–71, 74 paganism 35–7, 40, 42, 62, 64 paideia Christian 25, 41, 75, 80, 97, 213, 220, 223, 261 classical 32, 59, 71, 74 Greek 39, 41, 176, 214, 220, 222, 255, 257, 260 monastic 59, 89, 124 ownership of 40 pagan 36, 54, 221, 223, 255–6, 260 Paideia (personified) 100 painter, image of 214 papyri 2, 5–6, 17, 96, 99 Passover 84–7 past 195–6, 198 and education 14–15, 239–84 and present 195, 201, 241, 244–6, 248, 251–2, 254–5, 262, 269–70, 275–7, 283, 289 longing for 49–50 Paul, the apostle 25, 77, 85, 96, 104, 212, 266 Paula 131 Paulinus of Nola 145 Pelttari, Aaron 197 Penella, Robert 249 periodization 269–70 Pharisees 131–3 Philo of Alexandria 65 philosophers 24, 41–2, 83, 257–8, 264–6 faux 110–12, 117 pagan 122–3 philosophy 66–8, 110, 120, 268 Christian 24–6, 78–9, 87–8, 260 classical 225 Greek 175–6, 218–19, 266–7 pagan 220–2

Philosophy (personified) 155–6, 209, 224–33 Philostratus 142, 160–1 Photius 249 ϕύσις, see Gregory of Nyssa; human nature plant, image of 206, 210 Plato 3, 62, 67, 122, 153–5, 165, 206–7, 246, 258, 263 Platonists 83, 264, 266 Plotinus 63, 128, 190 Plutarch 4 Pollmann, Karla 83, 278 πoλυμάθεια 165, 175 Porphyry 176 posterity, sense of 242, 244, 255, 272, 275, 283, see also lateness preaching 11, 21–2, 25–6 Proclus 285–6 Procopius of Caesarea 1, 2 Procopius of Gaza 242, 246 Prodicus 145 Prometheus 207–8, 210 protreptic 160, 166, 227 Ps.-Clement 66 Ps.-Plutarch, On the Education of Children 239 Psalter 123, 279–80 Pythagoras 189, 257–8 Quintilian 4, 239 Qumran 65 Ragnahild, Queen 48 reading habits 20, 28, 30–1, 35, 38, 53, 55, 74, 200, 202 Rebillard, Éric 80, 269 religion 11 and education 12, 19–20, 35–6, 59 definition of 59–61 embeddedness of 61, 63 religious affiliation 32, 42, 64, 69, 75, 70–80, 87–8, 98, 269 religious education definition of 59–61 totalizing 61, 79–80, 94–5, 97–8 types of 60 Relihan, Joel 225 reproduction of values 76, 100–2, 138–40 rhetoric 26, 205, 210, 267–8 and philosophy 8, 207 knowledge of 11, 142, 148 rhetorical schooling 43 rhetorical schools 7–8, 29–30, 147, 268, 275 rhetorical teaching 5, 13, 18, 30 Rhetoric (personified) 209 Riché, Pierre 270

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324 index Roberts, Michael 244 role models 151, 157, 187, 212, 216–17, 223, 243 Roman identity 48, 51 Rousseau, Philip 69, 135 Rufinus 10, 12 Ruricius of Limoges 43 Salutius 37, 64 Salvian 43 Schleiermacher, Friedrich 192–3 Schlieben, Reinhard 270 schola christiana 26 σχoλή, see leisure schooling 2, 11, 20–1, 26, 28, 35, 54, 101, 103, 125, 136–7, 146, 227, 268 schools 7–8, 10, 15, 17–18, 22–3, 27–9, 53–4, 67, 99–101, 124–5, 226, 235, 263–4, 267, 274–6, 289–90 analogy to church service 11, 21–2 as habit-forming force 101 Christian 37–8, 57 critique of 13, 123–4, 290 prestige of 204 school exercises 96, 99–100, 227 social functions of 101 schoolteachers 162 sculptor, image of 214 Second Sophistic 5, 14, 62, 142–4, 239 secular 80–1, 98 secular learning 61 self 190–1, 198, 209–12, 222, 225, 229–37, 288–9 self-cultivation 8, 112–13, 194, 201–2, 210, 226, 286, 288–9 self-formation 120–1, 136–7, 139, 225–6, 234, 236 self-perfection 120, 127–8, 138–9, 190–1, 194, 208, 212, 217, 223, 235–6, 286–7 self-transformation 226 Seneca 196–7 Servius 169–71 shorthand 146, 150–1 Sidonius Apollinaris 10, 42–53 and the past 49 lament about cultural decline 43, 46–7 Letter 2.10 46–7, 50–1 on barbarians 47–8 skills training 3–4, 8, 34, 126–8, 142, 146–51, 156 socialization 2, 29–30, 60–1, 100–2 Socrates 3–4, 71–2, 141, 153–6, 165, 246–8 soliloquy 224, 232–3 sophists 3–4, 206, 246 Sosipatra 113–19

and the divine 114–15 broad learning of 115 surpassing human existence 115 teaching of 117 transcending her sex 114, 116 upbringing of 113–14 soul 208–10, 231, 235–6 and body 120, 164, 190–1 as site of learning 209 care for 73, 208, 211 cultivation of 207–8 spoliation of the Egyptians 67, 83–5, 221, 278 Stock, Brian 19 student conduct 167–8 student experience 203–4 student life 2, 17 student travel 203, 218 subject–object relationship 194, 200–1, 212, 215–16, 232, 234, 236–7 Symmachus 241 synagogue 65–6 Synesius 10, 13, 18, 107–13, 159–66, 203, 242 as Hypatia’s disciple 107–8 critics of 109–10, 159–62 Dion 108–9, 111–12, 159–66 ideal of education 109, 111–12 Letter 138 107–13, 160 letters 107–8 on broad education 165 on figure of the Hellenic philosopher 163, 165, 173 on function of literature 163–5 on Hellenic education 112–13 on humanism 162–4 on intellectual freedom 162–3, 165–6 on leisure 109, 112–13, 165–6, 173 on propaedeutic 164–5 On the Gift 108–11 teachers 33–4, 36 appointment of 32, 166–7 Christian 33 public 32, 36, 167 temporality, sense of 249–50, 255, 283, 289 Tertullian 58, 66 texts, authoritative 25–6, 31–3, 36–8, 54 textual community 19–20 textual practices 19–20, 31, 44, 53 Thecla, St 103–4, 121 Themistius 8–10, 18, 145, 151–9, 204–12, 236–7, 246–8 critics of 151, 154–5 on broad education 152–3, 155, 157 on educated ethos 153, 157

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index 325 on reading 210–12 Oration 20 152–3 Oration 26 154–7, 247–8 Oration 27 204–11 Oration 30 208 Oration 34 248 view of culture 246–8 Theoderic 1, 9, 168, 224, 271–5 Theodorus, Flavius Mallius 181–3 Theodosian Code 32, 166 Theodosius I 149, 243–4 Theodosius II 167 theurgy 64 tomb, image of 260, 262 Torah 65 travel 158, 189–90, 202–12, 236 Trier 42–3, 47 Trout, Dennis 183 truth, Christian 67, 69, 71–4, 96–7, 264 understanding 90–3, 95, 193–4, 200–2 Urbano, Arthur 220 usus iustus 59, 84

Valens 167 Valentinian I 167 Vergil 169–72, 180, 196, 199, 226, 239–41, 243–4, 278 Vessey, Mark 272 veteres 240, 243, 266–7, 270, 274–5, 283, see also ancients vetustas 49–50, 198–200, 240–4, 266, 272 Vivarium 12, 59, 270–1, 276–8 Vössing, Konrad 144, 146, 166 wisdom, Christian 225–6 women 8 in late antique literature 103–4 in the late antique church 104–5 inhabiting a male role 102–3, 107, 116, 118, 127, 136–7 intellectual 103–37 pedagogic authority of 137 world diversity of 189–92, 199, 201–2, 230–2, 236, 288 function in formation 189–93, 205–6, 211–12, 226, 228–9, 232, 288