Gaining and Losing Imperial Favour in Late Antiquity: Representation and Reality 9004407693, 9789004407695

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Gaining and Losing Imperial Favour in Late Antiquity

Impact of Empire ROMAN EMPIRE, C. 200 B.C.–A.D. 476

Edited by Olivier Hekster (Radbound University, Nijmegen, The Netherlands) Editorial Board Stéphane Benoist Angelos Chaniotis Lien Foubert Anne Kolb Luuk de Ligt Elio Lo Cascio Bernhard Palme Michael Peachin Francisco Pina Polo Rubina Raja Christian Witschel Greg Woolf

volume 36

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/imem

Gaining and Losing Imperial Favour in Late Antiquity Representation and Reality Edited by

Kamil Cyprian Choda Maurits Sterk de Leeuw Fabian Schulz

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Missorium of Theodosius I © Reproducción, Real Academia de la Historia. The Emperor handing over a document, possibly a letter of appointment, to an official. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Choda, Kamil (Kamil Cyprian), editor. | Leeuw, Maurits Sterk de, editor. | Schulz, Fabian, editor. Title: Gaining and losing imperial favour in late antiquity : representation and reality / edited by Kamil Cyprian Choda, Maurits Sterk de Leeuw, Fabian Schulz. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2020] | Series: Impact of Empire, 1572–0500 ; 36 | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2019035689 (print) | LCCN 2019035690 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004407695 (hardback) | ISBN 9789004411791 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Emperors—Rome. | Emperors in literature. | Courts and courtiers in literature. | Rome—Politics and government—30 B.C.–476 A.D. | Rome—Court and courtiers. | Rome—History—Empire, 30 B.C.–476 A.D. | Rome—In literature. Classification: LCC DG273 .G35 2020 (print) | LCC DG273 (ebook) | DDC 937/.09—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019035689 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019035690

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. ISSN 1572-0500 isbn 978-90-04-40769-5 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-41179-1 (e-book) Copyright 2020 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Acknowledgements vii List of Figures viii Abbreviations ix Contributors x Introduction 1

Part 1 Competition at the Late-Antique Court: Structures and Effects 1 “The Greatest Glory Is Always Habitually Subject to Envy”—Competition and Conflict over Closeness to the Emperor at the Roman Court in the 4th Century 17 Isabelle Künzer 2 The Importance of Being Splendid: Competition, Ceremonial, and the Semiotics of Status at the Court of the Late Roman Emperors (4th–6th Centuries) 36 Christian Rollinger 3 The venatio in the Emperor’s Presence? The consistorium and the Military Men of the Late Roman Empire in the West 73 Vedran Bileta

Part 2 Watch Your Words: the Role of Language in Gaining or Losing Imperial Favour 4 Symmachus’ Epistolary Influence: the Rehabilitation of Nicomachus Flavianus through Recommendation Letters 105 Bruno Marien 5 Losing the Empress’s Favour: on the Margins of John Chrysostom’s Homily 48 on Matthew 125 Kamil Cyprian Choda

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6 Buying Imperial Favour: Cyril of Alexandria’s Blessings 151 Maurits Sterk de Leeuw

Part 3 Attack as the Best Defence: Resisting Unwelcome Influence 7 Kept in the Dark: Narratives of Imperial Seclusion in Late Antiquity 173 Martijn Icks 8 Jovian, an Emperor Who Did Not Bow to Heretics and Infidels? A Critical Reading of the Petitiones Arianorum 193 Fabian Schulz 9 Divining to Gain (or Lose) the Favour of Usurpers: the Case of Pamprepius of Panopolis (440–484) 219 Regina Fichera Index of Personal Names 241 Index of Geographical Names 244 Index of Primary Sources 245 Index of Subjects 252

Acknowledgements The idea to create this volume arose from the workshop “Gaining Imperial Favour: Competition and Cooperation in Late Antiquity” that we organized at Tübingen in December 2016. Our first words of thanks, therefore, are to all those who helped us organize this event and contributed to its fruitful discussions. We also express our gratitude to our colleagues visiting or based in Tübingen for providing the stimulating intellectual environment in which this book came into being. It has, without doubt, profited from the expertise in the field of late-antique studies that the University of Tübingen can boast. We are especially indebted to Olivier Hekster, who agreed to include the volume in the Impact of Empire series. The editorial team at Brill owes our recognition for formatting and producing the book; Giulia Moriconi deserves special mention for leading us through the entire process. We further thank the publishers for calling upon the expertise of two peer reviewers. Their valuable comments, observations, and recommendations enhanced the quality of individual papers and the entire book. We are also grateful for the assistance and inspiration that Raphael Hunsucker provided during his time on our project: he helped us in revising the contributions and refining our own ideas for the volume. Its texts, up to the finest details, would not have taken their final shape without the support of our student assistants David Lüllemann, Christoph Hammer, and Johannes Gradel. No less important was Adrian Lukas Smith’s contribution in proofreading the English and making it more idiomatic. Thanks to all contributors for their papers and their patience! Lastly, thanks are due to the German Research Foundation (DFG) without whose generous funding, our project “Power and Influence: Influencing Emperors between Antiquity and the Middle Ages” would not have seen the light.

Figures 2.1

The diptych of Rufus Probianus (bpk / Handschriftenabteilung, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin—Preußischer Kulturbesitz) 55 8.1 Parisinus graecus 474 f. 425a (11th century) 199 8.2 Antioch, Orontes island, New city, 3rd–5th century (Poccardi, “Antioche de Syrie” p. 1022) 205

Abbreviations ABull The Art Bulletin AJPh American Journal of Philology AntTard Antiquité Tardive ByzZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies JHSex Journal of the History of Sexuality MAAR Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome MDAI(R) Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Römische Abteilung P&P Past and Present PG Migne, J.P. (ed.), Patrologia Graeca PLRE  Jones, A.H.M./Martindale, J.R./Morris, J., The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, 3 vols., Cambridge 1971–1992 RE  Wissowa, G. et al. (eds.), Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft RAC Klauser, T. et al. (eds.), Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum

Notes on Contributors Vedran Bileta is Ph.D. student at the Central European University in Budapest. His main research interests are the socio-political and economical history of the Late Roman Empire in the West with a focus on the changing relationship between the emperor, the military, and civil elites. Kamil Cyprian Choda prepares his Ph.D. dissertation in Ancient History at the University of Tübingen. He investigates how 5th-century Christian historiography represented the influence exercised on the emperors by churchmen. Regina Fichera is postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Florence. Her main research interests lie in late-antique literature, especially in divination and miracles in Neoplatonic texts, on which she successfully defended her Ph.D thesis at the University of Pisa in 2018. Martijn Icks is lecturer in Ancient History at the University of Amsterdam. His research interests include the representation and perception of Roman imperial power, the reception of Classical culture and character assassination as an historical, cross-cultural phenomenon. Isabelle Künzer lecturer and postdoctoral researcher in Ancient History at the University of Giessen, mainly studies the field of cultural history of the Greek and Roman world. Maurits Sterk de Leeuw is a Ph.D. candidate at the Institute of Ancient History at the University of Tübingen. He is preparing a thesis on the political role of monks in late-antique Constantinople. Bruno Marien prepares a Ph.D. thesis on the recommendation letters of Libanius at KULeu­ ven/Ghent University. His research interests lie in late-antique epistolography.

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Christian Rollinger is lecturer in Ancient History at the University of Trier. He is currently working on a monograph on imperial ceremonies and political ideology at the courts of the later Roman emperors (5th–7th c.). Fabian Schulz joined the University of Tübingen as a senior researcher, after working at the Free University of Berlin and the Heidelberg Academy of Sciences and Humanities. He is not only interested in Late Roman, but also in early Greek history.

Introduction The increase in scholarly interest in the Late Antiquity over the past decades is well known, as the period has risen from a state of scholarly neglect to become a serious field of studies. However, late-antique politics, on which traditional scholarship from Gibbon up to the mid-twentieth century focused, has not received quite as much attention in modern studies, which have rather turned to areas that had earlier been overlooked. As a consequence, the state of scholarship on politics in the Late Antiquity is lagging behind somewhat, and much can be gained in this field by applying approaches from the social sciences. This is exactly what this volume aims to do: focusing on political processes of interaction and competition where the emperor’s favour is at stake, it aims to provide new insights and to test modern approaches to study the politics of this period. The foundation for this volume was laid on the 2–3 December 2016, when an international conference entitled “Gaining Imperial Favour: Competition and Cooperation in Late Antiquity” was held in Tübingen, Germany.1 After the original gathering, the contributors were asked to update and modify their papers extensively. Thanks to the collective efforts of our authors, the state of research presented in this volume is not only that of the original conference, but the result of the lively exchange of ideas in its aftermath. The fundamental aspect of late-antique politics that the papers of this volume commonly address are processes in which individuals gain or lose the favour of the emperor. Chronologically, the papers focus on such processes in the 4th and 5th centuries AD, with an exception from the 6th century, but rarely later. The chapters variably examine the processes mentioned, both in their social realities and in their representation in late-antique discourses. The latter provide valuable information about how the workings of politics were conceived, where concerns of legitimacy are particularly interesting: which rules were considered to be essential in the political field; what was acceptable as a means to exercise influence, and what was not? In studying these processes, the papers relate to a common set of sociological models and notions that allow for closer definitions and descriptions of key terms and elements. The volume does not use one theory consistently throughout all chapters—that 1  In German: “Wettbewerb um die Gunst des Herrschers: Konkurrenz und Kooperation in der Spätantike”. Papers at the conference were delivered in both German and English. For the conference report by D. Lüllemann and S. Prasse, see https://www.hsozkult.de/ conferencereport/id/tagungsberichte-7140.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_002

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would be a herculean, and perhaps even unwanted achievement for a collective volume which brings together the strengths and perspectives of its different contributors—rather, single contributions selectively apply and adapt theories tailored to the specific circumstances of their case studies. Our theoretical toolkit—the common set of theories referred to—is based on two strands of sociological theory. These are, on the one hand, sociological theories about the workings and effects of competition, finding their origin in the works of Georg Simmel (1858–1918) and, on the other hand, Bertram Raven’s (1926–) Power/ Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence, a socio-psychological theory that describes different phases and stages of interpersonal influence. We offer a brief discussion of the value of both for this volume; the contributions will highlight what bearing these theories have on the particular questions addressed in their chapters. The social dynamics of the competition for (political) favour can profitably be studied by drawing on the theories of Simmel, a founding father of German sociology. In a 1903 article, which he later worked into a chapter of his seminal book Sociology, Simmel put forward a “sociology of competition”.2 He contrasts conflict as a direct, bilateral, and destructive process, with competition, which he describes as an indirect, triangular, and stimulant phenomenon. Unlike conflict, which aims at defeating an enemy and claiming its resources, competition aims at outdoing a competitor in order to gain a prize awarded by a third party, which might be one specific person as well as a group. For society, conflict is a losing game, whereas competition leads to an increase in value, benefiting first and foremost the third party. Simmel chooses his examples from various areas of life: from commerce (where companies compete for the customer’s money), partnerships (where suitors compete for the love of a bride), religion (where confessions compete for the believer’s faith), and sports (where athletes compete for medals). With the idea that competition adds value to the overall system Simmel obviously stands in a long tradition of liberal thinking. However, the real innovation of his approach lies somewhere else, namely in the idea that competition has a powerful socializing effect by tying competitors together and establishing norms. Such norms or rules that regulate or restrict competition can be imposed either by the competing parties themselves, by the third party who awards the prize, or even by another entity otherwise not involved in the 2  There are English translations of both Simmel’s article “Soziologie der Konkurrenz” and of his main book, Soziologie. The translation of the article is by Horst Jürgen Helle, titled “Soziologie der Konkurrenz—Sociology of Competition by Georg Simmel”, introduction pp. 945–56, translation pp. 957–78.

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triangular model of competition (such as the state that passes antitrust laws for the benefit of the consumer). Simmel considered this system of competition characteristic of modern society, but it has wider applications. In fact, Simmel’s model was recently picked up by historians of Antiquity, to whom it proved a valuable heuristic tool in studying society from Archaic Greece to the Roman Principate, questioning essentialist notions like the “Greek agonistic spirit”.3 This volume aims to show how Simmel’s theory can also be beneficially applied to the study of late-antique politics, where the emperor and those of his innermost circle functioned as a third party whose favour different parties could compete for. In fact, as some contributions show, such competition could, in accordance with Simmel’s model, benefit the emperor’s position as that of the third party. The sociology of competition thus provides a valuable addition to existing theoretical frameworks used to describe the workings of a court. Most modern studies on courts, both in antiquity and later, reiterate, adapt, or revise theories put forward by the German sociologist Norbert Elias (1897–1990).4 Through a case study on Louis XIV’s court at Versailles, Elias argues that a monarch could control the nobility by canalising their potentially dangerous plans and efforts into a fixed pattern of behaviour in the form of court ceremonial. The situation at the court, with nobles striving for the king’s favour while simultaneously trying to discover and exploit the weaknesses of their peers, transformed the courtiers into acute analysers of their peers; knowledge of one’s peers meant power. Elias’s work is universally regarded as having given the defining impulse to the scholarly examination of royal courts.5 From the mid-1990s onwards, Elias’s theories were also used to bring new life to the study of the Roman imperial court, whose role in Roman society and government had been neglected for most of the 20th century.6 Since then, most work on the Roman imperial 3  Hölkeskamp, “Konsens und Konkurrenz”; Ulf, “Ancient Greek Competition“; Hölkeskamp, “Konkurrenz als Sozialer Handlungsmodus”; Nebelin, “Aristokratische Konkurrenz in der Römischen Republik“; Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz. 4  Elias, Die Höfische Gesellschaft; also available in French and English translations. 5  Smith, “Norbert Elias and the Court Society”, p. 415. 6  Pre-Eliasque exceptions to this neglect include: Alföldi, Die monarchische Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreiche and Löhken, Ordines Dignitatum. Important publications from the 1990s are: Wallace-Hadrill, “The Imperial Court”; Winterling (ed.), Zwischen ‚Haus‘ und ‚Staat‘; idem (ed.), Comitatus; idem, Aula Caesaris (pp. 12–38 offer an overview of earlier scholarship on the Roman court and analyse the reasons why its importance was downplayed by historians such as Theodor Mommsen). With McCormick, “Emperor and Court”, the court of late-antique Rome also found its way to one of the two volumes of The Cambridge Ancient History that deals with Late Antiquity, but McCormick does not offer theoretical reflections on Elias’s work as Wallace-Hadrill had done in the earlier volume on the Augustan era.

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court has appeared in collective volumes, which, by taking a diachronic comparative approach, aim to refine or revise Elias’s theories.7 In these studies of the Roman court, gaining and losing imperial favour only plays a minor role. In fact, Aloys Winterling explicitly located (discourses of) imperial favour outside the scope of his 1999 monograph. Aiming to lay bare the structuralisation and institutionalisation of the Roman court of the Principate, (competition for) imperial favour is too ephemeral a concern to deserve his interest: it had no “institutional character”, but rather tended to counteract the institutiona­ lized structures of the court he wants to illustrate.8 The contributions to this volume show that Winterling’s observation does not apply to the late-antique court, where, more often than not, competition for imperial favour in fact was a structural and institutionalized element of the court, whose rules were negotiated and established by the emperor and those looking for his favour. This volume thus rather subscribes to Andrew Wallace-Hadrill’s definition of the Roman court as “the space around the ruler within which access to imperial favour is negotiated”.9 Lastly, we introduce Raven’s Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence. This model, which the American social psychologist Raven developed, initially in cooperation with John French (1913–1995), and later refined in several articles over the course of five decades,10 describes and categorizes 7  Butz/Hirschbiegel/Willoweit (eds.), Hof und Theorie almost exclusively offers theoretical reflections on the study of courts; Spawforth (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies includes two chapters, by Paterson (pp. 121–56) and Smith (pp. 157–232), on the Roman imperial court; Duindam/Artam/Kunt (eds.), Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires equally has two contributions on the Roman imperial court, by Wallace-Hadrill (pp. 91–102) and Bang (pp. 103–28). Besides these collective volumes, important contributions on the Roman imperial court include Pani, La corte dei Cesari fra Augusto e Nerone and Smith, “Measures of Difference”. 8  Winterling, Aula Caesaris, p. 7: “Schließlich bleiben auch spezifische, den Hof bestimmende kommunikative Strukturen außer Betracht: die Bedeutung der kaiserlichen Gunst und die daraus resultierende informelle Hierarchie der Hofgesellschaft, Intrigen und Schmeichelei der am Hof Anwesenden in der Konkurrenz um diese Gunst sowie aus informeller Kaisernähe resultierende Macht außerhalb des Hofes. Entsprechende Phänomene lassen sich an Höfen vormoderner Monarchen generell feststellen, und ihnen kommt zumal Bedeutung für die politischen Funktionen des Hofes zu. Auch für sie gilt jedoch, daß sie keinerlei institutionellen Charakter hatten. Sie waren vielmehr in hohem Maße von den persönlichen Beziehungen der Beteiligten abhängig, von entsprechender Labilität und tendierten dazu, die institutionalisierten höfischen Strukturen, um deren Freilegung es in dieser Arbeit gehen wird, zu konterkarieren.” 9  Wallace-Hadrill, “The Roman Imperial Court”, p. 97. 10  French/Raven, “The Bases of Social Power”; Raven, “Social Influence” and Power; Raven, “Political Applications of the Psychology of Interpersonal Influence and Social Power”; Gold/Raven, “Interpersonal Influence Strategies”; Raven, “Kurt Lewin Address”; Raven,

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several stages of what Raven calls “an influence attempt”, i.e. an instance where an “agent” attempts to change the behaviour of his “target”. It notably takes into account both considerations, preparations, and possible actions of the agent as well as possible attitudes and reactions of the target. This interplay and reciprocity between the persons involved in an influence attempt will also prove to be important in late-antique political interactions.11 Useful, too, are Raven’s “power bases” or resources of influence: in order to exercise influence, the agent can use different means that have different consequences for himself, for the target, and for the eventual spectators of the attempt. This part of the model is particularly suitable to analyse discourses about imperial favour, as they often (re)define, defend, or question means used by the parties involved to gain the emperor’s favour. Unlike the theories of Simmel, the model of Raven has never been used by historians, despite his own attempts to apply it to historical situations.12 This volume thus constitutes the first attempt. Both models may complement each other: while Simmel can help to explain what happens between petitioners, Raven can help to explain what happens between petitioner and ruler. This volume breaks new ground by applying these sociological approaches to Late Antiquity, and to the Late Roman imperial court in particular. While retaining many similarities with the court of the Principate, this era brought “game-changing” innovations to the imperial court: the rise of Christianity and the reforms of Diocletian brought in new competitors, rules, and goals. Moreover, whereas emperors in the early empire would reside primarily in the “Power/Interaction and Interpersonal Influence”; Raven, “The Bases of Power and the Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence”. 11  It is this personal aspect of exercising influence that requires further study, earlier research having been rather centred on the investigation of the collective decision-making (Flaig, Genesis und Dynamiken der Mehrheitsentscheidung; Hoffmann-Rehnitz, “Decisions and Decision-making as a Possible Object of the Theory of History”) and the institutional framework (Delmaire, Les institutions du Bas-Empire romain). 12  In his 1990 paper (“Political Applications of the Psychology of Interpersonal Influence and Social Power”), Raven applied the model to two case studies: the interaction between Hitler and the Austrian chancellor Schuschnigg that took place on the eve of the annexation of Austria, and the 1950 Truman–MacArthur Confrontation in the context of the Korean War. Two years later, in a paper written together with Gold (“Interpersonal influence strategies”), Raven acknowledged the limitations to his reliance upon memoirs as a source in his 1990 paper. Correspondingly, he expanded his source basis (Raven, “Interpersonal influence strategies”, p. 246) when investigating a new case study: the negotiations between Churchill and Roosevelt about naval bases in 1941. Some papers in this volume show yet another approach to the question of sources by arguing that Raven’s model can be applied to study the texts whose dominant function is not to write down the past, but to convey the agenda of the author.

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imperial capital of Rome, in Late Antiquity, other cities, many located near the empire’s frontiers, would serve as (quasi-)permanent residences for multiple emperors. Eventually, a new eastern capital, Constantinople, would emerge as the principal imperial residence. This territorial rearrangement of the Later Empire and the evolution of imperial court ceremonial were important factors in causing the rise of new elites, a development some members of circles traditionally associated with political power found difficult to cope with. These changes and developments also affected the nature of the emperorship itself: Late Antiquity is famous for its (allegedly) weak emperors and usurpers. This may trigger questions about who actually held imperial power—emperors with rivalling claims, warlords like Stilicho, empresses like Eudoxia—and, consequently, who controlled imperial favour if not the emperor himself. While state politics and military matters were, of course, a major concern of the emperor and influence groups within the imperial government, Roman rulers in Late Antiquity were also confronted with religious issues concerning doctrine and church politics: the emperor’s role as arbiter and regulating authority was often called for in religious matters as well. Rather than being an entirely separate sphere, religious disputes were often closely connected with competition, conflicts, and the game of power and influence at the imperial court at large. Generally, the source material we have at our disposal for late-antique politics allows both for reconstruction of real social practices as well as of their discursive representations: who won and who lost, through what means, and how was an increase or loss of influence perceived? These circumstances rendered politics in Late Antiquity a diffuse and variegated business, where personal contacts played a pivotal role: the sociological theories mentioned above can help us to identify, describe, and evaluate processes that might escape notice with a more traditional approach to the source material. Nonetheless, a meticulous examination of those sources is fundamental to understanding the struggle for a ruler’s favour in Later Roman politics. Thus, the contributions contained in this volume both elucidate the specific (sociological) concepts outlined above, and they conduct case studies based on source material to illustrate the (perceived) workings of court politics in the Later Roman Empire. The first section of the book deals with the structures and effects of competition at court. Opening the first section, Isabelle Künzer analyses competition and rivalry between members of the imperial court in the 4th century, arguing that the hierarchy of individual courtiers was not stable, but continually recalibrated in relation to their peers. Rather than functioning as one unitary body, the court was thus characterized by constant conflict between courtiers,

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striving to gain the emperor’s intimacy and favour. Building on theoretical scholarship that is mostly not available in English, Künzer’s contribution elucidates cases drawn from authors like Ammianus, Synesius, and Zosimus. Christian Rollinger expands Künzer’s analysis, focusing on the power of the emperor as arbiter and regulating authority in the distribution of rank, titles, and privileges that indicated imperial favour. He specifically treats the applicability of insights in the functioning of pre- and early modern courts providing an extensive discussion of the aforementioned works of Simmel and Elias. Through an analysis of imperial constitutions, consular diptychs, and later literary sources like John the Lydian’s De magistratibus and the Book of Ceremonies, Rollinger stresses the importance of court titles and ceremonies in determining status and hierarchy of officials at court. Künzer’s and Rollinger’s theoretical reflections on the functioning of competition at court are supplemented by the practise-oriented contribution of Vedran Bileta, which concentrates on the military men that increasingly dominated imperial government in the West from the mid-fourth century onwards. Through a variety of cases, mainly from Ammianus Marcellinus, Bileta illustrates the competition for power and influence within the consistorium, later supplanted by the comitatus. In particular, Bileta highlights how Ammianus describes the experience of military men unfamiliar with court intrigues in terms of a venatio, a staged beast-hunt; influence was not without risk, and the court could be a dangerous place. These broad overviews of how competition and influence functioned at the late-antique Roman court provide a solid basis for zooming in more closely on individual case studies in the two latter sections of the book. The second section is about the role of language—broadly defined—in gaining or losing imperial favour. The three papers included in this section all emphasize the importance of words, formulations, and terminology to those who tried to gain imperial favour, be it in a secular, traditional sphere such as letter-writing (Marien), or in the rather new arena of ecclesiastical politics (Choda, de Leeuw). With the example of Symmachus’ letters of recommendation, Bruno Marien illustrates the influence that rhetorically trained members of the traditional elite could exert on imperial decision-making. Through his epistolary recommendations, Symmachus eventually secured the rehabilitation of his son-in-law Nicomachus (who had sided with a usurper) at the court of Honorius (395–423). Rhetorical skills, subtle manoeuvring, influential allies, and an extensive network of high-ranking officials proved to be vital assets, and the application of all these methods is exquisitely documented in the letter collection of an influential individual like Symmachus. Marien thus provides

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an insight into the often scarcely documented process of actually gaining favour and influence, also because the case of Nicomachus provides evidence of both (initial) failure and (eventual) success. Kamil Cyprian Choda analyses John Chrysostom’s homily on John the Baptist, King Herod, and his wicked wife Herodias. The homily gives insight into Chrysostom’s mental framework, consisting of the continuous use of biblically loaded language, which eventually proved to be fatal to him. Appointed as a bishop of Constantinople, the imperial capital, he failed to correctly identify the instance his life depended upon as he assimilated the contemporary empress, Eudoxia (395–404), with either Herodias or another wicked character form the Bible. In the end, John’s falling out of grace at the imperial court retrospectively validated subversive elements present in his preaching. We encounter a more pragmatic and politically successful cleric in Maurits Sterk de Leeuw’s contribution, which explores a rhetorical strategy used by Cyril of Alexandria. Cyril’s party had prevailed over Nestorius at the Council of Ephesus in 431, but the Alexandrian bishop continued to bestow lavish “blessings” on Constantinopolitan courtiers to bolster his doctrinal victory. De Leeuw examines the problems the use of gifts posed to clerics involved in late-antique politics and then shows how a redefinition of these gifts as blessings could (partially) solve such problems. The term, it appears, was a highly flexible one: where Cyril successfully stretched its meaning to include gifts, Bishop Flavian of Constantinople some fifteen years later used a narrower definition of the word to cast a request by a dogmatic and political opponent in a bad light. Cyril’s gifts and gift-networks, elucidated by de Leeuw, provide interesting parallels to Symmachus’ letters and network, treated by Marien, while his rhetorically redefined “blessings” form a striking contrast with John Chrysostom’s rigidity in sticking to biblical norms and forms of conduct, as stressed by Choda. The third section focusses on how competing stakeholders and rulers tried to fight off rival or unwelcome influence by presenting them or their means of exercising influence in a bad light. Such discourses could be used to disqualify the influence of particular groups, as the contributions of Icks and Schulz show, but they could also be directed against a particular individual, as is the case in Fichera’s study. These three contributions all serve as a welcome reminder that the agenda of our sources can affect, if not distort, what was going on in reality. The contribution of Martijn Icks underlines the fact that many members of the traditional elite felt uneasy when confronted with the changes of the late-antique emperorship. Writers of the 4th and 5th century still cherished an ideal of emperorship just as it had been expressed during the early days of

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imperial Rome. According to this model, which echoed the republican system of patronage, the emperor should be readily accessible to the members of the traditional elite. During the 4th and 5th centuries, however, this imperial accessibility could no longer be taken for granted. The idealized images of the good princeps, cultivating the illusion that the senators were his peers, were thus juxtaposed against the evermore prevailing model of a princeps clausus. In this model, the emperor was easy prey for the malign influence of eunuchs and other spiteful creatures thought to populate the imperial court. Fabian Schulz deals with the collective influencing efforts of Homoean and Nicene Christians at the important moment of a new emperor’s accession to the throne. The emperor in question, Julian’s successor Jovian (363–364), provides a particularly compelling case: he represented a drastic reversal of previous, anti-Christian policies, which different doctrinal groups were obviously keen to exploit as soon as the emperor had taken the purple. Focussing on the understudied and often misunderstood source of the so-called Petitiones Arianorum, Schulz offers a new interpretation of this document in the context of anti-Homoean lobbying efforts by Athanasius of Alexandria and his followers. The final chapter, by Regina Fichera, focuses on the political machinations of the pagan poet, grammarian, and soothsayer Pamprepius, who employed divination to gain considerable influence during the reign of Zeno (474–491). Fichera uses this example to make a case for the influential but often underestimated role of divination in political power play. Shrewdly manoeuvring between fellow pagan communities and his Christian patron, Pamprepius was able to rally political support for revolts against the emperor on both sides of the religious divide. Even as his failed prophecies alienated potential pagan supporters, his protectors continued to trust him for some time, only to become disillusioned about his capacity to predict the future at a later stage. His divinatory art, which stood at the basis of his influence, ultimately also cost him his life, when he was unmasked as a fraud. Apart from the ones already highlighted, there are other areas of interaction between chapters. Both de Leeuw and Schulz study a case where the goal is not to change imperial policy, but to assure that a previously gained favour is retained, securing it against possible threats. Moreover, the doctrinal conflicts between the Alexandrian and Nestorian parties highlighted by de Leeuw can be seen in conjunction with the Homoean-Nicene conflicts described by Schulz, where the Petitiones Arianorum constitute the literal counterpart of Nestorian polemical literature directed against Cyril. At the same time, these sets of opposing doctrinal parties (both Alexandrian vs. Nestorian and Homoean vs. Nicene), competing for the emperor’s favour, provide a vivid illustration of the

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triadic model of competition. Rollinger’s analysis of the subtle hierarchies and dynamics of influence at court can function as a backdrop for Marien’s reconstruction of Nicomachus’ gradual rehabilitation. The risk of losing imperial favour involved in exerting influence on the imperial court is exemplified by the downfall of Aetius, treated by Bileta, and the comparable cases of John Chrysostom and Pamprepius, treated by Choda and Fichera. On a larger scale, Künzer’s description of the unstable hierarchies of courtiers that continually reposition themselves vis-à-vis their peers strikes one as being fairly familiar with the favour variously enjoyed by different doctrinal factions in church politics. Both courtiers and clerics vied for the emperor’s (lasting) favour, a commodity that proved to be as rare as it was precarious and volatile. Particularly challenging were situations which involved the accession of a new emperor, competing claims to the throne of usurpers, or the considerable power held by regents and generals when the emperor was deemed week or incapable. As this brief overview demonstrates, this volume studies the workings and structure of imperial government in Late Antiquity not so much from the perspective of those in supreme power, the emperors, but, above all, from the perspective of those who strove to have their hand in imperial policy-making by gaining the emperor’s favour. The chapters highlight how competition among influential individuals in late-antique Roman politics was a result of the political system in that period. The range of cases that the single chapters treat offers a broad and nuanced treatment of different agents participating in late-antique imperial politics within the entire Roman Empire across the span of two centuries, where the participants had to act within a framework of written and unwritten rules regulating their competition. In sum, the contributions explore how fixed and flexible these rules were, and how they were conceptualized in contemporary sources. By interacting with the emperor to gain his favour, people from different social classes tried to promote their own particular interests: eunuchs, courtiers, generals, senators, clerics, and a pagan philosopher. Covering both the Eastern and the Western Roman Empire, the papers highlight chronological continuity and change within the entire Roman Empire, particularly over the course of the 4th and 5th centuries. This book may provide many opportunities for further research in what is likely to become a promising field of scholarly inquiry.13 Further research could benefit from the perspective this volume propounds, as it highlights the importance of interpersonal interactions in late-antique politics. The contributions 13  Lieve Van Hoof’s current ERC project is called “Lobbying in late antiquity. Letters, networks and decision processes (4th–5th c. A.D.)”.

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in this volume build a theoretical framework to understand competition and influence in a political sphere. However, they necessarily apply it only to a relatively small number of cases. In a follow-up to this volume, the theories proposed here could be developed still further by examining a larger number of cases from late-antique politics, not only from the stable East but also from the fractured West. Furthermore, the single contributions printed here may provide valuable impulses for new studies tracing the threads and breaks in politics of the Later Roman Empire. Reflecting its methodological setting, this volume hopes to show how Late Antiquity can be of interest to those who study the sociology of courts from a broader, diachronic perspective. Overall, numerous parallels between more intensively studied courts and the late-antique court can be drawn. The multiplication of imperial residences, for example, could be compared to the court system of early modern Spain, where the royal court in Madrid was accompanied by many vice-royal courts both in Europe and in the Americas.14 The late-antique rise of new interest groups and courtiers also provides an interesting case for comparison in diachronic studies. A well-studied example of a similar situation in early modern history is Oliver Cromwell’s (1599–1658) recruitment of new “courtiers”, not from the ranks of his traditional supporters among the military, but among civilian political leaders and his family members.15 It might even show that the circles of leaders in countries of today’s world can rather well be understood when held against the light of late-antique court politics. As long as interpersonal interactions are at the heart of a political system, which they remain in our postmodern society, the sociological dynamics of the competition for the leader’s favour are crucial to understand the politics of any age. Bibliography Alföldi, A., “Die Ausgestaltung des monarchischen Zeremoniells am römischen Kaiserhofe”, MDAI(R) 49 (1934), pp. 1–118 (repr. Darmstadt 1970: Die monarchische Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreiche). Bang, P.F., “Court and State in the Roman Empire—Domestication and Tradition in Comparative Perspective”, in J. Duindam/T. Artam/M. Kunt (eds.), Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires. A Global Perspective, Boston 2011, pp. 103–28. 14  Rodríguez, “Court Studies in the Spanish World”, p. 135. 15  Michon, “L’historiographie anglaise sur la cour”, pp. 45–6. Michon summarises the results of the study of the Cromwellian court.

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Butz, R./Hirschbiegel, J./Willoweit, D. (eds.), Hof und Theorie. Annäherungen an ein historisches Phänomen, Cologne 2004. Delmaire, R., Les institutions du Bas-Empire romain. De Constantin à Justinien, Paris 1995. Elias, N., Die höfische Gesellschaft. Untersuchungen zur Soziologie des Königtums und der höfischen Aristokratie. Mit einer Einleitung: Soziologie und Geschichtswissenschaft, Darmstadt 1969. Elias, N., La société de cour, trans. P. Kamnitzer, Paris 1974. Elias, N., The Court Society, trans. E. Jephcott, New York 1983. Flaig, E. (ed.), Genesis und Dynamiken der Mehrheitsentscheidung, Munich 2013. French, J.R.P., Jr./Raven, B., “The Bases of Social Power”, in D. Cartwright (ed.), Studies in Social Power, Oxford 1959, pp. 150–67. Gold, J.G./Raven, B., “Interpersonal influence strategies in the Churchill-Roosevelt bases-for-destroyers exchange”, Journal of Social Behavior and Personality 7.2 (1992), pp. 245–72. Helle, H.-J., “Soziologie der Konkurrenz—Sociology of Competition by Georg Simmel”, The Canadian Journal of Sociology / Cahiers Canadiens de Sociologie 33,4 (2008), pp. 945–78. Hoffmann-Rehnitz, P., “Decisions and Decision-making as a Possible Object of the Theory of History”, https://www.academia.edu/12167320/Decisions_and_Decision -making_as_a_Possible_Object_of_the_Theory_of_History_Paper_given_at_the _Conference_The_Future_of_Theory_and_Philosophy_of_History_Ghent_2013 [accessed 24.01.2019]. Hölkeskamp, K.-J., “Konkurrenz als sozialer Handlungsmodus—Positionen und Perspektiven der historischen Forschung”, in R. Jessen (ed.), Konkurrenz in der Geschichte. Praktiken—Werte—Institutionalisierungen, Frankfurt/Main 2014, pp. 33–57. Hölkeskamp, K.-J., “Konsens und Konkurrenz. Die politische Kultur der römischen Republik in neuer Sicht”, KLIO 88 (2006), pp. 360–96. Künzer, I., Kulturen der Konkurrenz. Untersuchungen zu einem senatorischen Interaktionsmodus an der Wende vom ersten zum zweiten Jahrhundert n. Chr., Bonn 2016. Löhken, H., Ordines dignitatum. Untersuchungen zur formalen Konstituierung der spätantiken Führungsschicht, Cologne 1982. McCormick, M., “Emperor and Court”, in Av. Cameron et al. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History. Late Antiquity. Empire and Successors, A.D. 425–600, vol. XIV (Cambridge 2000), pp. 135–63. Michon, C., “L’historiographie anglaise sur la cour. Entre analyse politique, remontée chronologique, vastes synthèses et large couverture géographique”, in M. Fantoni (ed.), The Court in Europe, Rome 2012, pp. 27–54.

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Nebelin, M., “Aristokratische Konkurrenz in der römischen Republik. Möglichkeitsraum—Soziale Schließung—Transformation”, in R. Jessen (ed.), Konkurrenz in der Geschichte. Praktiken—Werte—Institutionalisierungen, Frankfurt/Main 2014, pp. 141–74. Pani, M., La corte dei Cesari fra Augusto e Nerone, Rome 2003. Paterson, J., “Friends in High Places. The Creation of the Court of the Roman Emperor”, in T. Spawforth (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, Cambridge 2007, pp. 121–56. Raven, B., “Political Applications of the Psychology of Interpersonal Influence and Social Power”, Political Psychology 11 (1990), pp. 493–520. Raven, B., “The Bases of Power and the Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence”, Analyses of Social Issues and Public Policy 8,1 (2008), pp. 1–22. Raven, B., “Kurt Lewin Address. Influence, Power, Religion, and the Mechanisms of Social Control”, Journal of Social Issues 55,1 (1999), pp. 161–86. Raven, B., “Power/Interaction and Interpersonal Influence”, in J.A. Bargh/ A.Y. LeeChai (eds.), The Use and Abuse of Power. Multiple Perspectives in the Causes of Corruption, Philadelphia 2001, pp. 217–40. Raven, B., “Social Influence and Power”, in I.D. Steiner/M. Fishbein (eds.), Current Studies in Social Psychology, New York 1966, pp. 371–82. Rodríguez, M.R., “Court Studies in the Spanish World”, in M. Fantoni (ed.), The Court in Europe, Rome 2012, pp. 135–48. Simmel, G., “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, Neue Deutsche Rundschau, 14,10 (1903), pp. 1009–23. Simmel, G., Soziologie. Untersuchungen über die Formen der Vergesellschaftung, Leipzig 1908. Smith, D., “Norbert Elias and the Court Society”, in M. Fantoni (ed.), The Court in Europe, Rome 2012, pp. 415–36. Smith, R., “Measures of Difference. The Fourth-Century Transformation of the Roman Imperial Court”, AJPh 132 (2011), pp. 125–51. Smith, R., “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. AD 300–c. AD 450”, in T. Spawforth (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, Cambridge 2007, pp. 157–232. Ulf, Ch., “Ancient Greek Competition. A Modern Construct?”, in N. Fisher/H. van Wees (eds.), Competition in the Ancient World, Swansea 2011, pp. 85–111. Wallace-Hadrill, A., “The Imperial Court”, in A.K. Bowman et al. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History. The Augustan Empire, 43 BC–AD 69, revised ed., vol. X, Cambridge 1996, pp. 283–308. Wallace-Hadrill, A., “The Roman Imperial Court. Seen and Unseen in the Performance of Power”, in J. Duindam/T. Artam/M. Kunt (eds.), Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires. A Global Perspective, Boston 2011, pp. 91–102.

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Winterling, A. (ed.), “Zwischen ‚Haus‘ und ‚Staat‘. Antike Höfe im Vergleich” (Histori­ sche Zeitschrift, Beihefte 23), Berlin 1997. Winterling, A. (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998. Winterling, A., Aula Caesaris. Studien zur Institutionalisierung des römischen Kaiserhofes in der Zeit von Augustus bis Commodus (31 v. Chr.–192 n. Chr.), Munich 1999.

Part 1 Competition at the Late-Antique Court: Structures and Effects

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Chapter 1

“The Greatest Glory Is Always Habitually Subject to Envy”—Competition and Conflict over Closeness to the Emperor at the Roman Court in the 4th Century Isabelle Künzer Abstract By Late Antiquity the imperial court had evolved into the empire’s centre of power, where court members exerted their influence in a variety of ways. Personal presence at court was essential for the functional elite, because the court’s internal hierarchy was structured according to the measure of imperial favour enjoyed by each office holder at a given time. But this commodity could never be quantified exactly: it could only be calibrated in relation to imperial favour enjoyed by other courtiers. There was a decided and problematic lack of transparency to the court hierarchy. The resulting problems of differentiation and the constant worry that other court functionaries might secure the emperor’s goodwill—or even jeopardize one’s own intimacy with him—must be seen as the structural context for recurring instances of competition and conflict among members of the court elite.

“The greatest glory is always habitually subject to envy.”1 With these words, Ammianus Marcellinus explains the jealous reactions at the court of Constantius II upon receiving reports of Julian’s successful campaigning in Gaul against the Alamanni and the Franks in 357–58 AD. The historian continues his chapter with a generalising excursus in which he presents envy as a timeless human quality, almost an anthropological constant. Ammianus cites several impressive examples from Greek and Roman history to illustrate his point, ranging from Cimon and his victory over the Persians near the Eurymedon to Pompey the Great.2 It is in this context that the historian relates 1  Ammianus, Res gestae XVII 11.2: namque ut solet amplissima quaeque gloria obiecta esse semper invidiae [trans. J.C. Rolfe]. 2  Ammianus, Res gestae XVII 11.3–4.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_003

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how people at Constantius’ court reacted to Julian’s achievements. They “tried to bury his merits with shameless speeches” and claimed the young Caesar had embellished his deeds through rhetoric in order to give himself more glory than he deserved.3 In other words, they accused Julian of having claimed more prestige than was his due for his achievements in Gaul. If we leave aside Ammianus’ glowing depiction of Julian (which is certainly significant for the historian and his narrative) and his verdict on the atmosphere at the court of the easily swayed Constantius, what does this episode tell us? Julian’s successes had brought him prestige. He could demonstrate to the emperor that he was the right man for the job: sending him to Gaul had been the correct decision. The fact that Julian had proved himself strengthened the bond between Caesar and Augustus, despite the familial strain between the two men. Other members of the court would now have to worry that Julian’s closeness to the emperor, i.e. the degree of imperial favour he enjoyed, might increase further—not least for the simple reason that Constantius needed him. They had to face a possible scenario in which imperial goodwill might be invested in another, important, dignitary, leading to a potential loss of influence and status for individuals within the existing group. With his appointment as Caesar, Julian had become a potential rival for other individuals at the imperial court. It was in their own interests to try to prevent his position from becoming even stronger. Their chosen method was to malign Julian and his achievements in the eyes of Constantius II, i.e. they tried to weaken and undermine the imperial favour that Julian enjoyed by inflicting permanent damage on the bond between Caesar and Augustus. The impression given by Ammianus is that of a united group of courtiers intriguing against Julian even though his position as Caesar might at that point already have placed him essentially above them. But there are very likely to have been supporters of Julian among the courtiers although Ammianus does not mention them. They might have considered coming to an arrangement with Julian and establishing themselves close to him. So we can imagine two factions at court plotting against each other, one unfavourable to Julian and the other favouring him. This is by no means the only instance in the sources of envy and internal rivalry among members of the emperor’s intimate circle. Other cases include the rivalry between the two magistri equitum Ursicinus and Arbitio and the latter’s energetic collaboration with eunuchs and other courtiers at the court of Constantius II,4 the actions of the magister officiorum Flavius Rufinus against 3  Ammianus, Res gestae XVII 11.1. 4  Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 9.1–2; XIV 11.2–5; XV 2.1–5. For Ursicinus see PLRE 2, Ursicinus 2, pp. 985–6; for Flavius Arbitio see PLRE 1, Flavius Arbitio 2, pp. 294–5.

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the magister equitum Flavius Promotus,5 or Rufinus’ machinations against the praefectus praetorio Orientis Flavius Eutolmius Tatianus and his son Proculus, the urban prefect of Constantinople.6 Or take the eunuch Eutropius and his decisive role in the competitive atmosphere of the imperial court. Eutropius was a praepositus sacri cubiculi at the court of Arcadius who eventually rose to the rank of consul. Over the course of his career at the court of the Eastern Empire, Eutropius would repeatedly become involved in competitive situations.7 One could go on, but there would be little heuristic value in an exhaustive list of all cases of competition at the 4th-century imperial court. We must bear in mind here that the information we can glean from the literary sources must be regarded as largely speculative, because as a rule contemporaries could gain only vague insights into the closed world of the imperial court and its environment.8 While there was a great deal of interest in the empire’s political nerve centre, ancient authors generally did not have direct access to the corridors of power.9 This fact combined with the state of the literary record means 5  Zosimus, Historia nova IV 51; for Flavius Rufinus see PLRE 1, Flavius Rufinus 18, pp. 778–81; Seeck, “Rufinus 23”; Gutsfeld, “Rufinus 3”; Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel, pp. 485–7; for Flavius Promotus see PLRE 1, Flavius Promotus, pp. 750–1; Groß-Albenhausen, “Promotus”. 6  Zosimus, Historia nova IV 52; Claudian, In Rufinum I 230–3, 238–9, 243–9; Eunapius, fr. 59; Ambrose, Epistula 45; for Flavius Eutolmius Tatianus see PLRE 1, Flavius Eutolmius Tatianus 5, pp. 876–8; Enßlin, “Tatianus 3”; Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, pp. 213–6, 357–64; for Proculus see PLRE 1, Proculus 6, pp. 746–7; Enßlin, “Proculus 17”; for a possible state of competition between Rufinus, Tatianus and Proculus cf. Levy, Claudian’s In Rufinum, pp. 235–6; Paschoud, Zosime, pp. 450–1; Gutsfeld, “Tatianus 1”; and Rebenich, “Beobachtungen zum Sturz des Tatianus und des Proculus”, pp. 156–7, who stresses the importance of issues of religious policy. 7  Zosimus, Historia nova V 3.1–6; V 7.3–6; V 8.1-V 10.5; V 17.4-V 18.10; Claudian, In Eutropium I 167–170; II 557–558; Eunapius, fr. 65. For Eutropius see PLRE 2, Eutropius 1, pp. 440–4; Seeck, “Eutropius 6”; Albert, Goten in Konstantinopel, pp. 38–44, 114–6; Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe, pp. 223–7; Schlinkert, Ordo senatorius und nobilitas, pp. 266–70; Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel, pp. 487–9; for eunuchs as political actors at the imperial court in Late Antiquity see Hopkins, “The Political Power of Eunuchs”; Guyot, Eunuchen als Sklaven und Freigelassene in der griechisch-römischen Antike, pp. 130–80; Schlinkert, Ordo senatorius und nobilitas, pp. 237–84; Scholten, “Der oberste Hofeunuch”. 8  For the general development, structures and characteristics of the Late Roman court see Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”, pp. 454–82; Winterling, “Einleitung”, pp. 1–9; Gizewski, “‘Informelle Gruppenbildungen’ in unmittelbarer Umgebung des Kaisers an spätantiken Höfen”, p. 147; Noethlichs, “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, pp. 13– 49; Smith, “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. A.D. 300–c. A.D. 450”, pp. 157– 232; for the court of the 4th century AD see Smith, “Measures of Difference”; for court officials at the imperial court in Late Antiquity see Noethlichs, “Hofbeamter”; on the Severan court see Schöpe, “Der römische Kaiserhof in severischer Zeit”. 9  Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”, pp. 461–3.

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that a comparative analysis would simply not be feasible; the same is true for any attempt to focus on the emergence and development of the phenomenon of competition among courtiers in the 4th century AD. Instead, I will attempt to reconstruct the sociological and structural bases for competition and conflict at the 4th-century imperial court based on a number of examples.10 For this reason this paper is primarily concerned with interactions between different courtiers in order to gain imperial favour. It also deals with intrigues to outdo rivals. The modes of influencing the emperor and the question of what occurs between stakeholders at court and ruler will only play a minor role.11 1

Structures of Competition at the Late Roman Court

Competition in the classical sense is a type of interaction where the parties involved usually do not interact directly, but endeavour to gain the favour of a third party.12 I use ‘favour’ in the general sense of a form of benevolence or goodwill. In the majority of cases, efforts to attain the approval of a third party go hand in hand with the attempt to get close to this person.13 In the case of the imperial court this means that there was a special draw to being physically present in the vicinity of the sovereign and, ideally, being in personal contact with him. However, competition proper only emerges if this approval, and the intimacy that usually results from it, are not in general and unlimited supply, but a rare commodity that can only be attained under certain conditions.14 Crucially, in a competitive situation both opponents strive for the same prize, which is, however, not usually directly available, because it consists precisely of the approval of that third party for whose favour and for close access to whom both rivals are competing.15 It follows that in disputes whose main characteristic is competition, defeating one’s adversary is not enough because this would not achieve the actual goal, i.e. the goodwill of a third party.16 10  For the usefulness of modern theoretical approaches in shedding light on the mechanics of gaining and losing imperial favour in Late Antiquity see the introduction to this volume. 11  For these different approaches see the introduction to this volume. 12  Simmel, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, pp. 222, 226. The relevance of Simmel’s work to lateantique politics is also discussed in the introduction and in Rollinger’s paper. 13  Simmel, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, p. 226. 14  Werron, “Direkte Konflikte, indirekte Konkurrenzen”, p. 310; for the imperial court see Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 16. 15  Simmel, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, p. 222. 16  Simmel, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, p. 223.

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These premises have crucial consequences for understanding the communicative structures at the Late Roman court. We can observe what amounts to a kind of preemptive obedience in interactions with the sovereign. In a situation where members of the court society strove for the emperor’s favour, courtiers adapted their behaviour in an attempt to satisfy the assumed expectations of the person who handed out approval. Court society therefore encouraged a tendency to opportunistic behaviour. At a communicative level, this led on the one hand to insincere communication expressed in the shape of flattery vis-à-vis the emperor, and on the other in underhand machinations against and vilification of courtiers’ fellow competitors. The tendency to deploy intrigue at the imperial court in Late Antiquity may be explained by the lack of established practices for settling competition.17 These communicative structures in turn had a fundamental impact on the type of interaction between members of the court elite. Competition and conflict are expressions of this type of interaction. Viewed from a macro perspective, the emperor occupied a position at the absolute centre stage for all members of the court elite. He was the hub at the centre of the various groupings of courtiers.18 Seen from his perspective, this situation supported his power. Two elements were crucial. There was no precise demarcation between the various domains of government departments and agencies. This encouraged competition over those grey areas.19 There was also a tendency for courtiers and hangers-on to form more or less ephemeral alliances in pursuit of their own ends. Such alliances were never stable but would dissolve and re-form according to shifting interests. Steady, permanent groupings which could have had a lasting and sustainable influence on the 17  Winterling, “Einleitung”, p. 8; Winterling, “‘Hof’”, pp. 15–8; Winterling, “Vergleichende Perspektiven”, pp. 152, 162; Gizewski, “‘Informelle Gruppenbildungen’ in unmittelbarer Umgebung des Kaisers an spätantiken Höfen”, p. 146. 18  Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”, p. 479; Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, p. 75. 19  Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”, p. 464; Noethlichs, “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, pp. 31–2 n. 100, p. 48; Pfeilschifter, “Die Unmöglichkeit des Machtverlusts”, p. 141 n. 6; Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel, p. 463; with particular focus on the role played by the palace eunuchs Hopkins, “The Political Power of Eunuchs”, pp. 187–9 and Schlinkert, “Der Hofeunuch in der Spätantike”, p. 359; Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”, pp. 471–5; for overlapping areas of responsibility that restricted the praetorian prefect’s scope see Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, pp. 197–200, 208–11, 213–6, 223–4. Whether such overlaps among individual areas of authority were deliberately engineered to make it easier for the emperor to control the court, or were merely the unintentional results of a process of institutionalisation is a contentious question and one that needs to be asked even though it is probably impossible to answer.

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emperor tended therefore not to be a feature of the court. The resulting latent rivalry meant that individual stakeholders or factions would keep a close watch on each other, observing anything an opponent or potential opponent might do.20 Nevertheless, competition is not inevitable under such conditions.21 Competition happens in the eye of the beholder. For a competitive situation to be constructed as such between two or more individuals or factions at the Late Roman court, protagonists had to perceive another individual or group of individuals as rivals. Competition did not occur automatically. Based on these premises it becomes clear that when Late Roman court elites competed for the emperor’s approval, they did not do so collectively. Where rivalries developed, they always did so—viewed now as it were from a micro perspective—specific to a given situation and the perception of competing individuals or groups. We might imagine the Late Roman court as consisting of different gravitational fields that would ordinarily endeavour to gain the sovereign’s favour but that could, on occasion, be so powerful that even an emperor might find himself at the mercy of their competing forces. Powerful functionaries in their turn attracted other individuals who hoped to gain imperial favour through the mediation of elite members of the court.22 It is characteristic of most competitive situations that they tend to be indirect forms of conflict23 where the desired object is the approval of a third party. For this reason the rivals’ competitive behaviour tends not to be directed at each other, but instead towards that third party. This type of relationship

20  Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 16. For groupings at the late-antique imperial court, see Gizewski “‘Informelle Gruppenbildungen’ in unmittelbarer Umgebung des Kaisers an spätantiken Höfen”, pp. 113–49. 21  Contra Clauss, Der magister officiorum in der Spätantike, p. 157, who assumes competition between the praetorian prefect and the magister officiorum as a matter of course. For a different opinion (also contra Clauss) see Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, p. 216, and Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, pp. 92–3. Schlinkert, “Der Hofeunuch in der Spätantike”, p. 359 also assumes an inevitable and fundamental state of competition between the court eunuchs and the other members of the court elite. 22  See for example Claudian, In Eutropium II 64–68; Winterling, “‘Hof’”, pp. 16, 20; Noethlichs, “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, p. 43; for the praefectus praetorio Orientis see Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, pp. 209–12; for accusations against the praepositus sacri cubiculi Eutropius for the sale of offices, see Claudian, In Eutropium I 198–212; for the phenomenon of broker patronage in the early empire, see Flaig, Den Kaiser herausfordern, pp. 104–7. 23  Simmel, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, p. 222; see also Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, p. 20; Geiger, Konkurrenz, p. 9.

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will therefore have a triadic structure.24 It is, however, still possible for a competitive situation to escalate and turn into a direct conflict.25 In such a case the orientation towards the third party becomes less important, because the protagonists will instead turn their attention to one another, each watching the other’s moves with keen suspicion. This different type of interaction will lose the triadic structure that is, as we have seen, characteristic for competitive relationships. When the protagonists’ actions are suddenly directed towards each other and the primary focus of each shifts to their rival, the result must be considered a direct confrontation with a dyadic dynamic.26 It is therefore important to differentiate between competition and conflict: each is a distinct type of interaction with its own and, more importantly, diverging set of specifics.27 This does not mean, however, that competition cannot transform into conflict, or vice versa, as a regular part of a process of escalation.28 This is precisely the kind of latent escalation dynamic that we have seen in our examples from the 4th-century court. But, interestingly, the case of Julian at the court of Constantius II shows significant differences to the classical theory of competition according to Simmel. At the Late Roman court, rivals appear to have proceeded directly against one another fairly frequently. This is not a genuinely late-antique phenomenon, but one that we can observe quite clearly in instances of senatorial rivalry during the Principate.29 Elements that do conform to Simmel’s theory of competition include the pursuit of the emperor’s approval and attempts to stop other protagonists from attaining this precious commodity. One important way in which members of the court elite 24  Kirchhoff, “Einleitung”, pp. 13–4. 25  Geiger, Konkurrenz, pp. 10, 47–8, 50–3, 55–60; Deutsch, The Resolution of Conflict, pp. 10–1; Messmer, “Konflikt und Konfliktepisode”, pp. 105, 108–11; Werron, “Direkte Konflikte, indirekte Konkurrenzen”, pp. 304–5. A direct conflict is characterized by a sequence of reactions to an opponent’s actions due to incompatible tendencies, combined with absolute tenacity on both sides. 26  For the terminology, see Kirchhoff, “Einleitung”, pp. 13–6. For the relationship between competition and conflict, see Werron, “Direkte Konflikte, indirekte Konkurrenzen”, pp. 304–7, 311–2; Geiger, Konkurrenz, pp. 9–10; Kirchhoff, “Einleitung”, p. 14. 27  For the distinction between competition and conflict, see Deutsch, The Resolution of Conflict, pp. 10–1; Geiger, Konkurrenz, pp. 9–10, 47–8; Werron, “Direkte Konflikte, indirekte Konkurrenzen”, pp. 304–7, 311–2; for the coexistence of and the transition between competition and conflict, see Werron, “Direkte Konflikte, indirekte Konkurrenzen”, pp. 312–6. 28  For such a transformation, see Werron, “Direkte Konflikte, indirekte Konkurrenzen”, pp. 312–6; Deutsch, The Resolution of Conflict, pp. 10–1; Geiger: Konkurrenz, pp. 10, 47–8, 50–3, 55–60; for the relationship between competition and conflict, esp. senatorial cultures of competition during the Principate, see Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, pp. 47–60. 29  Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, passim.

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tried to achieve this goal was by attempting to make their position close to the emperor—whether spatially or personally—permanent. To be successful, dignitaries had to establish themselves at the court which was both the political control centre and the hub of interaction and communication with the emperor; and—not least—the place where courtiers could be in regular contact with the emperor and so publicly perform their close relationship with him, in order to impress their rivals and to reassure themselves of their own special position in the courtly pecking order. Essentially, the position of each individual member of the court elite depended on the (amount of) favour granted them by the emperor.30 This becomes remarkably clear in an episode related by Eusebius in his Life of Constantine. Constantius Chlorus ordered all members of his court to perform a sacrifice, but left the choice between two options up to them: sacrifice and continue as a member of his court (with all the attendant privileges), or refuse to sacrifice and be banished from his presence and banned from court.31 In other words, Constantius Chlorus linked the performance of sacrifice with proof of loyalty. Courtiers who would not perform a sacrifice had failed in their loyalty to the emperor; they lost his approval and had to face being removed from his presence.32 2

Closeness to the Emperor as a Source of Prestige, and the Emergence of Hierarchies at the Late Roman Court

We should bear in mind that access to the person of the emperor was a special privilege, one that was not continuously available to members of the court elite. Already during the Principate, closeness to the emperor had been regarded as a rare and precious commodity. This became particularly acute at moments of succession, which might involve a high degree of continuity in terms of personnel, but usually resulted in a great deal of shifting and changing at court. This was particularly true for those who occupied positions of trust in 30  Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 16; Winterling, “Vergleichende Perspektiven”, p. 161; Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, p. 89; Noethlichs, “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, p. 43; Schlinkert, “Dem Kaiser folgen”, p. 143; Pfeilschifter, “Die Unmöglichkeit des Machtverlusts”, pp. 140–1; Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel, p. 464. 31  Eusebius, Vita Constantini I 16.1. 32  Schlinkert, “Dem Kaiser folgen”, p. 143. For the emperor’s need to subject courtiers to repeated tests of loyalty, see Smith, “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. A.D. 300–c. A.D. 450”, pp. 205–6.

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the immediate vicinity of the sovereign.33 And of course there was no guarantee that any member of the court elite who enjoyed access to the emperor would continue to do so throughout the reign. It was even possible to fall out of imperial favour altogether: the emperor was free to bestow his favour where he pleased, and there was always a chance that he might be swayed by the competing influence of a rival.34 There was always an arbitrary and subjective element to imperial goodwill. Even though authors like Ammianus, Augustine and Zosimus might be inclined to exaggerate the risks of court life in order to depict striking and sensational stories rather than stable periods at the Late Roman court, we must keep in mind that ancient narratives had to make sense within contemporary discourses, structures, and institutionalized elements of court life. So we can assume that instability at court, competition and conflict were part of common knowledge and not just a moralizing topos for members of the elite of the 4th century AD. In his Confessions, St Augustine reports a conversation between two courtiers (agentes in rebus) out taking a walk in the grounds of a monastery, where one of them has found the Life of St Anthony and is growing increasingly enamoured of its description of an unworldly, spiritual life, which he compares with his own existence at the imperial court. He turns to his colleague and says: Tell me, please; in all these works of ours, what is it that we are aiming to achieve? What are we seeking? For whose cause are we campaigning? Can we find some higher hope than achieving the status of ‘friends of the emperor’ at court? And is anything in that environment lasting or free from dangers? How many such dangers must we pass through, just to encounter still greater danger? When will this be achieved?35 These observations suggest that we should think of closeness to the emperor as not only an extremely fluid and fragile resource, but one that needed to be constantly reaffirmed by the sovereign himself.36 For members of the imperial 33  Pfeilschifter, “Die Unmöglichkeit des Machtverlusts”, p. 142; with particular regard to the praefectus praetorio Orientis Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, p. 205. 34  Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 16; Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, pp. 89, 93. 35  Augustine, Confessiones VIII 6.15: dic, quaeso te, omnibus istis laboribus nostris quo ambimus pervenire? quid quaerimus? cuius rei causa militamus? maiorne esse poterit spes nostra in palatio, quam ut amici imperatoris simus? et ibi quid non fragile plenumque periculis? et per quot pericula pervenitur ad grandius periculum? et quando istuc erit? [trans. C.J.-B. Hammond]. 36  Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, p. 79.

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court, access to the emperor was not a permanent or indeed a reliably available means of creating a stable hierarchy.37 But the greatest problem is that there is almost no way of quantifying it as a status-determining resource, even though we know that in the shape of the comitiva there was a graded system of honours and ranks for the emperor’s immediate circle.38 What we should bear in mind here is that “den organisato­ rischen Strukturen, der administrativen und der sich im Zeremoniell ausdrückenden Hierarchie (…) ein durch die kaiserliche Gunst gesteuertes soziales Beziehungssystem regelrecht vorgelagert war”.39 And of course the court was not necessarily the same as court circles.40 Members of the court society fell into distinct categories according to how frequently they personally attended court. Aloys Winterling made the useful distinction between an outer and a more intimate, inner, court.41 A good illustration for this distinction is the position of the praetorian prefect in Late Antiquity. A central part of the post was that the praefectus praetorio functioned as a sort of link between the emperor and the provinces of each jurisdiction. As such, he had always enjoyed a certain amount of access to the emperor even though he was not usually resident at court. In Late Antiquity, the praetorian prefects’ range of activities did not as a rule require them to be near the emperor, and it was partly for this

37  Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 16. For closeness to the emperor as a criterion of hierarchisation during the Principate cf. Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, pp. 77–80, 94. 38  For the comitiva, see Seeck, “comites”; Löhken, Ordines dignitatum, pp. 99–101; Scharf, Comites und comitiva primi ordinis; Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”, pp. 467–8; Smith, “Measures of Difference”, pp. 143–4; Schlinkert, “Dem Kaiser folgen”, pp. 137–59, with discussion and literature; for the order of precedence see Smith, “Measures of Difference”, pp. 137, 140–4; for laws on rank and precedence, see Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, pp. 209–44; for elite competition over precedence and the structural backgrounds of this phenomenon, see Dillon, “The Inflation of Rank and Privilege”, pp. 42–66. 39  Winterling, “Vergleichende Perspektiven”, p. 162; see also Winterling, “Einleitung”, pp. 4–5; Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 15; Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, p. 191; Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, p. 89; and for the Principate Winterling, “‘Staat’, ‘Gesellschaft’ und politische Integration in der römischen Kaiserzeit”, pp. 107–11. Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, p. 227 points out that one of the objects of imperial laws on precedence was to counter elite heterogeneity—which was, among other criteria, based on different socioeconomic conditions—through the creation of a homogenising principle centred on the ruler. 40  Gizewski, “‘Informelle Gruppenbildungen’ in unmittelbarer Umgebung des Kaisers an spätantiken Höfen”, pp. 115, 118. 41  Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 15; also Noethlichs, “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, pp. 27, 29–31; Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, p. 77.

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reason that they were not integrated into the court structures.42 We need also to draw a distinction between posts or activities that made personal contact to the emperor necessary—a sort of in-built, systemic intimacy43—and the sort of personal intimacy that would allow individuals to be present at court and enjoy regular contact with the emperor. Functionaries like the magister officiorum,44 who was frequently present at the court itself, could interact with the sovereign on a regular basis and evidently enjoyed a close relationship with him. A magister militum meanwhile could demonstrate his military capabilities in the emperor’s service and use his tangible personal achievements to underline his close relationship to the emperor or strengthen his own position of power, even though he might not be a regular presence at the court. The praepositus sacri cubiculi indisputably enjoyed the close confidence of the sovereign and could—and indeed did— control and block access to his master, as was the case with Eusebius at the court of Constantius II, who prevented Julian from contacting the emperor.45 Eunuchs enjoyed the special “Privileg der formlosen Kommunikation” as they were subjected to a lesser degree to the rigid rules of court ceremonial.46 But how was access to the emperor at the power centre of the court quantified between different status groups and individual functionaries? Or, to put it differently, how can we map the relationships between stakeholders in terms of their relative intimacy with the emperor, when the status of each protagonist depended on their personal familiarity with and potential closeness to the emperor? The question reveals the dilemma at the structural heart of the examples I gave at the beginning of this article: individual closeness to the emperor can be measured only in terms relative to other members of the court elite, and then usually only for a particular period of time. Above all it should always be viewed as a perceived type of capital or phenomenon, so that its quantification always depends on individual perception and subjective interpretation. 42  Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, pp. 191–224; Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, pp. 77, 81–2, 84–5, 93. 43  For the term, see Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, pp. 81–5. 44  For the magister officiorum see Clauss, Der magister officiorum in der Spätantike; Groß-Albenhausen, “Magister officiorum”. 45  Julian, Epistula ad Athenienses, 274 A–C; Julian, Epistula 17b, 11 = Ammianus, Res gestae XX 8.11; Guyot, Eunuchen als Sklaven und Freigelassene in der griechisch-römischen Antike, pp. 199–201; Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe, pp. 83–5. 46  Schlinkert, “Der Hofeunuch in der Spätantike”, p. 355. See also Hopkins, “The Political Power of Eunuchs”, pp. 179, 187–9, 191; Albert, Goten in Konstantinopel, p. 38; Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe, p. 191; Scholten, “Der oberste Hofeunuch”, pp. 52–3.

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It follows that any internal differentiation of members of the court elite according to their individual closeness to the emperor could never be either clear or undisputed. Any attempt to create a transparent stratification is further hampered by the fact that individual efforts to establish and maintain terms of familiarity with the emperor cannot be compared on an equal footing. This was an extremely unstable hierarchy of prestige. Not only did the demonstrations of imperial goodwill that were its currency happen in a purely arbitrary fashion, they were also always subject to the influence of other courtiers. The threat of falling out of imperial favour loomed perpetually, with the result that degrees of closeness to the emperor could hardly ever be translated into a stable and transparent internal hierarchy. The pecking order at the Late Roman court was extremely unstable, not least because closeness to the emperor as its primary measure of differentiation was by its very nature a fundamentally ephemeral commodity.47 3

Competition as a Type of Interaction at the Imperial Court, and the Potential for Escalation of Competitive Conflict

We can now attempt to differentiate somewhat more clearly those cases of competition over closeness to the emperor that I cited at the beginning of this article. Ammianus’ report about Julian’s unnamed adversaries48 is a clear case of competitive behaviour in which the competitors endeavour to gain the favour of a third party (in this case Constantius II) in order to malign a direct rival. The ultimate objective—ideally, from their point of view—was for Julian to lose some of the emperor’s favour. It is, in other words, a classic case of triadic competition. But this form of competition was not always feasible. We can imagine access to the emperor to have been temporarily impeded because either he or a functionary was away on campaign; court members might be unable or for some other reason unwilling to establish contact. Exactly such a case is reported in one of the letters of Synesius of Cyrene: during his time as praefectus praetorio Orientis Rufinus imposed a fine on the Lydian governor Euthalius for extortion in his province. Rufinus sent praefectiani to collect the money on his behalf, but 47  Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, pp. 197–8; Winterling, “‘Hof’”, p. 16; Winterling, “Vergleichende Perspektiven”, p. 152, 161; Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, pp. 89, 93; Schlinkert, “Dem Kaiser folgen”, p. 143. 48  Ammianus, Res gestae XVII 11.1–2.

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they found out afterwards that Euthalius had tricked them, having substituted a bag of bronze obols for the original gold staters, even though the praefectiani had examined and sealed what they had taken to be the bag of gold coins. Euthalius’ trickery caused a sensation in the East and at the imperial court in Constantinople, where some courtiers clearly saw this as an opportunity to clip the wings of the praetorian prefect Rufinus. They clamoured for Euthalius to be invited to Constantinople, where he was received with great honour and placed under the protection of the emperor and several of the courtiers. This made it impossible for Rufinus further to prosecute Euthalius for extortion.49 It seems that there were very specific reasons for people’s behaviour in this situation. Sheer curiosity and the roguish appeal of the trickster aside, the court members wanted to give him protection as a way of restricting Rufinus’ powers over him. The act of bestowing honours on Euthalius was a calculated blow against the praetorian prefect, in whose jurisdiction the crafty governor had after all pulled off his swindle. Rufinus’ assertive administration had made him enemies among the court’s functional elite, the army and the Senate of Constantinople.50 When they saw an opportunity to take him down a peg, they used it. They did not concoct an intrigue to destabilize his post or eliminate him altogether, nor did they take any steps themselves to gain the favour of the emperor. In this competitive conflict situation it was enough for the courtiers to have demonstrated their superiority to themselves and, even more importantly, to a direct competitor: and to know that they had shown him the limits of his power in the struggle for prestigious court positions close to the emperor. Such cases are known by the term Distanzierungskonkurrenzen, coined by Theodor Geiger. In this type of competitive situation we find, instead of the classical triadic structure, a fixation on the rival that can be either mutual or one-sided. There is no third party and no attempt to gain the favour of any other person.51 This does not contradict the fact that possessing the emperor’s favour was essential in allowing the courtiers to strike a blow against Rufinus. The courtiers had placed Euthalius under their own patronage without even trying to gain the support of the emperor. Distanzierungskonkurrenzen are dyadic competitive relationships. But as soon as there is no longer a third party to decide who is the winner or loser in a given competitive situation, someone to exert a sort of pacifying influence, the dynamics of the dyadic relationship

49  Synesius, Epistula 127; Seeck, “Euthalios 1”; Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, p. 215 n. 122; PLRE 1, Euthalius 2, p. 314. 50  Gutsfeld, “Rufinus 3”. 51  Geiger, Konkurrenz, pp. 17, 21–3, 28–33, 41, 44, 50–1, 59–60.

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take on increasing importance for the rivals. Under these circumstances competition can escalate into direct conflict.52 Occasionally, the transition from competition to direct conflict at the lateantique imperial court could occur easily, if we go by the testimony of the literary sources. Take the case of Flavius Rufinus—the magister officiorum— and the magister equitum Flavius Promotus during the reign of Theodosius I. Rufinus was a favourite of the emperor, which earned him the envy of both Promotus, the magister equitum, and Timasius, the magister equitum et peditum.53 The two generals were, probably justifiably, annoyed that the emperor had flouted court protocol by giving Rufinus preferential treatment.54 Rufinus’ confidence grew until one day he insulted Promotus, who retaliated by striking him in the face. Rufinus told Theodosius about the incident, but this was not enough for him. Allegedly he even persuaded the emperor to send Promotus away from court and post him to Thrace, far away from the centre of interaction, where he was given the task of training troops for war. The provocateur Rufinus initially appealed to the judgement of a third party, the emperor; but he would not let the matter rest even after his rival had lost his powerful position and had been removed from court. Zosimus reports that Rufinus continued to fan the flames until the matter escalated and became a veritable conflict: on his way to Thrace, Promotus was waylaid by barbarians who may have acted on Rufinus’ orders; Promotus died in the struggle.55 Of course we have no way of knowing whether the barbarians really did attack Promotus at the behest of the magister officiorum; or indeed whether he had lost his post at court because of Rufinus’ machinations. It is just as likely that it was Theodosius himself who sent Promotus to Thrace in order to deal with marauding bands of barbarians; and it is at least possible that the magister equitum was killed during a barbarian incursion.56 Literary sources hostile to Rufinus used the incident to show him in a negative light. The authors tried to create plausible discourses that would make sense within the competitive structures at the late-antique court.57 There are numerous examples that show 52  Ibid. 53  For Flavius Promotus, see note 5; for Flavius Timasius see PLRE 1, Flavius Timasius, pp. 914–5. 54  Paschoud, Zosime, p. 448, who cites the Notitia dignitatum in partibus Orientis 1.10–11. 55  Zosimus, Historia nova IV 51. 56  Paschoud, Zosime, p. 449; for Rufinus’ effectively rather limited influence on the emperor’s decisions, see Gutsfeld, Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten, pp. 208–15, 218–23. 57  Claudian’s first invective against Rufinus puts less emphasis on Rufinus’ part in inciting the tribes than Zosimus (Zosimus, Historia nova IV 51.3), pointing out only that Rufinus prevented an attempt by Stilicho to act against the barbarians to revenge Promotus’ death (Claudian, In Rufinum I 316–320; cf. Levy, Claudian’s In Rufinum, pp. 93, 228); see also Claudian, De consulatu Stilichonis I 95–96. Symmachus and Libanius do not follow the

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the danger of competition transitioning into conflict at the Late Roman court.58 Even though there may always be doubts about the accuracy of the sources in detail, the number of cases show that there was an understanding at the time that this sort of transition of competition into conflict was a constant threat and feature of court life in the 4th century AD. One crucial aspect emerges quite clearly from these cases: a number of different criteria combined to make up hierarchies at the Late Roman imperial court. The hierarchy of rank was determined by which step on the career ladder a functionary had achieved. But there was another criterion: closeness to the emperor, a new and rather more abstract resource expressed in terms of the imperial favour enjoyed by a given courtier. Significantly, it was not always and not necessarily possible to harmonize the traditional form of stratification (rank) with the new, court-specific, one (closeness to the emperor).59 4 Conclusion We can now trace back our various cases of competition and conflict over access to the emperor at the 4th-century court to a common structural problem. Intimacy with the emperor was a prestigious resource. But the different general trend of depicting Rufinus negatively (Symmachus, Epistula III 81–91; Libanius, Epistula 981; 1029; 1052; 1106; 1110 [ed. Förster]); this might be due to opportunism, cf. Levy, Claudian’s In Rufinum, p. 234. 58  The following list is by no means exhaustive: the alleged machinations of Eusebia, the wife of Constantius II, against Helena, the wife of Julian, (Ammianus, Res gestae XVI 10.18–19; for Eusebia see PLRE 1, Eusebia, pp. 300–1; for Helena see PLRE 1, Helena 2, pp. 409– 10); the actions taken by Eutropius against the magister militum praesentalis Timasius (Zosimus, Historia nova V 8.5–9.7; for Eutropius see PLRE 2, Eutropius 1, pp. 440–4; for Flavius Timasius see PLRE 1, Flavius Timasius, pp. 914–5); Eutropius’ intrigue against Abundantius (Zosimus, Historia nova V 10.4–5; Eunapius, fr. 72; Claudian, In Eutropium I 154–155; for Flavius Abundantius see PLRE 1, Flavius Abundantius, pp. 4–5); the murder of Sopater of Apamea due to the envy of the praefectus praetorio Ablabius of Sopater‘s close relationship with Constantine the Great (Zosimus, Historia nova II 40.3; for Sopater of Apamea see PLRE 1, Sopater 1, p. 846; for Flavius Ablabius see PLRE 1, Flavius Ablabius, pp. 3–4); and the machinations of Stilicho and Gainas against Rufinus (Eunapius, fr. 64; Claudian, In Rufinum I 22–23; Zosimus, Historia nova V 4.3, 7.4–6; for Rufinus see PLRE 1, Flavius Rufinus, pp. 778–81; for Stilicho see PLRE 1, Flavius Stilicho, pp. 853–8; for Gainas see PLRE 1, Gainas, pp. 379–80). For further examples see notes 4–7 and of course the other cases discussed in this paper. 59  For the court during the Principate, see Winterling, “‘Staat’, ‘Gesellschaft’ und politische Integration in der römischen Kaiserzeit”, pp. 111–2; for the same problem in terms of the internal differentiation of the senatorial order in the early and the high empire, see Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, pp. 77–80.

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relationships, and especially the degree of intimacy, could be quantified only with difficulty and never completely. This was all the more true as closeness to the emperor was awarded to different people for a wide range of heterogeneous achievements that were impossible to compare. Competition at the Late Roman court occurred not so much because individuals might be temporarily unable to get close to the emperor, but because stakeholders could never be certain of their place in an insufficiently transparent court hierarchy based on imperial favour. It was probably for this reason that court members sometimes acted pre-emptively, because they believed that someone had (or was about to) become a rival who might endanger their own position. It was in these situations that the classical triadic mode of competitive interaction was sometimes abandoned in favour of direct, dyadic Distanzierungskonkurrenz which could escalate and become a veritable conflict. And so in the end we come back to Ammianus Marcellinus’ shrewd observation: “The greatest glory is always habitually subject to envy.” Bibliography

Primary Sources

Ambrose, Epistulae, eds. O. Faller/M. Zelzer, Epistulae et acta: Epistularum libri VII– VIIII (CSEL 82.2), Vienna 1990. Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae, trans. J.C. Rolfe, Ammianus Marcellinus, History, 3 vols., Cambridge, Mass. 1939–50. Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae, eds. W. Seyfarth/L. Jacob-Karau/I. Ulmann, Ammiani Marcellini rerum gestarum libri qui supersunt, Leipzig 1978. Augustine, Confessiones, ed. and trans. C.J.B. Hammond, Augustine, Confessions, 2 vols., Cambridge, Mass. 2014–16. Claudian, De consulatu Stilichonis, ed. J.B. Hall, Claudii Claudiani carmina, Leipzig 1985, pp. 190–238. Claudian, In Eutropium, ed. J.B. Hall, Claudii Claudiani carmina, Leipzig 1985, pp. 143–89. Claudian, In Rufinum, ed. J.B. Hall, Claudii Claudiani carmina, Leipzig 1985, pp. 12–51. Eunapius, Fragmenta, ed. and trans. R.C. Blockley, The Fragmentary Classicizing Historians of the Later Roman Empire, vol. 2, Liverpool 1981, pp. 1–150. Julian the Apostate, Epistula ad Athenienses, ed. and trans. J. Bidez, L’Empereur Julien. Œuvres completes, 2 vols., Paris 1924–65, (repr. Paris 2003), vol. 1.1, pp. 213–35. Julian the Apostate, Epistulae, ed. and trans. J. Bidez, L’Empereur Julien. Œuvres completes, 2 vols., Paris 1924–65, (repr. Paris 2003), vol. 1.2. Libanius, Epistulae, ed. R. Förster, Libanii opera, 12 vols., Leipzig 1903–27, vol. 11. Symmachus, Epistulae, ed. O. Seeck, Q. Aurelii Symmachi quae supersunt (Monumenta Germaniae historica, Auctores antiquissimi 6.1), Berlin 1883.

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Zosimus, Historia nova, ed. and trans. F. Paschoud, Zosime. Histoire Nouvelle, 5 vols., Paris 1979–2000, vol. 2.2.



Secondary Literature

Albert, G., Goten in Konstantinopel. Untersuchungen zur oströmischen Geschichte um das Jahr 400 n. Chr. (Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des Altertums. N.F., 1.2), Paderborn 1984. Clauss, M., Der magister officiorum in der Spätantike (4.-6. Jahrhundert). Das Amt und sein Einfluß auf die kaiserliche Politik (Vestigia, 32), Munich 1980. Deutsch, M., The Resolution of Conflict. Constructive and Destructive Processes, 2nd ed., New Haven 1977. Dillon, J.N., “The Inflation of Rank and Privilege. Regulating Precedence in the Fourth Century AD”, in J. Wienand (ed.), Contested Monarchy. Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century A.D., Oxford 2015, pp. 42–66. Enßlin, W., “Proculus 17”, in RE 23.1, Stuttgart 1957, coll. 77–8. Enßlin, W., “Tatianus 3”, in RE 4A.2, Stuttgart 1932, coll. 2463–67. Flaig, E., Den Kaiser herausfordern. Die Usurpation im Römischen Reich (Historische Studien, 7), Frankfurt am Main 1992. Geiger, Th., Konkurrenz. Eine soziologische Analyse, trans. K. Rodax, Frankfurt am Main 2012. Gizewski, Ch., “‘Informelle Gruppenbildungen’ in unmittelbarer Umgebung des Kaisers an spätantiken Höfen”, in A. Winterling (ed.), Zwischen ‘Haus’ und ‘Staat’. Antike Höfe im Vergleich (Beihefte der Historischen Zeitschrift N.F., 23), Munich 1997, pp. 113–49. Groß-Albenhausen, K., “Promotus”, in Der Neue Pauly 10, Stuttgart 2001, col. 406. Groß-Albenhausen, K., “Magister officiorum”, in Der Neue Pauly 7, Stuttgart 1999, coll. 677–9. Gutsfeld, A., “Tatianus 1”, in Der Neue Pauly 12.1, Stuttgart 2002, coll. 43–4. Gutsfeld, A., “Rufinus 3”, in Der Neue Pauly 10, Stuttgart 2001, col. 1153. Gutsfeld, A., “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, in A. Winterling (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998, pp. 75–102. Gutsfeld, A., Die Macht des Prätorianerpräfekten. Studien zum praefectus praetorio Orientis von 313 bis 395 n. Chr., Habil. FU Berlin 1996. Guyot, P., Eunuchen als Sklaven und Freigelassene in der griechisch-römischen Antike (Stuttgarter Beiträge zur Geschichte und Politik, 14), Stuttgart 1980. Hopkins, K., “The Political Power of Eunuchs”, in id., Conquerors and Slaves. Sociological Studies in Roman History, Cambridge 1978, vol. 1, pp. 172–96. Kirchhoff, Th., “Einleitung. Konkurrenz als Epochenparadigma”, in id. (ed.), Konkurrenz. Historische, strukturelle und normative Perspektiven, Bielefeld 2015, pp. 7–36.

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Künzer, I., Kulturen der Konkurrenz. Untersuchungen zu einem senatorischen Interaktionsmodus an der Wende vom ersten zum zweiten Jahrhundert n. Chr. (Antiquitas, I 68), Bonn 2016. Levy, H.L., Claudian’s In Rufinum. An Exegetical Commentary (Philological Monographs of the American Philological Association, 30), Cleveland 1971. Löhken, H., Ordines dignitatum. Untersuchungen zur formalen Konstituierung der spätantiken Führungsschicht (Kölner Historische Abhandlungen, 30), Cologne 1982. Messmer, H., “Konflikt und Konfliktepisode. Prozesse, Strukturen und Funktionen einer sozialen Form”, in Zeitschrift für Soziologie 32 (2003), pp. 98–122. Noethlichs, K.L., “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, in A. Winterling, (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998, pp. 13–49. Pfeilschifter, R., Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel. Kommunikation und Konfliktaustrag in einer spätantiken Metropole (Millennium-Studien, 44), Berlin 2013. Pfeilschifter, R., “Die Unmöglichkeit des Machtverlusts. Kontinuität und Ohnmacht der spätantiken Hofeliten”, in M. Meißner et al. (eds.), Eliten nach dem Machtverlust? Fallstudien zur Transformation von Eliten in Krisenzeiten (Impulse, 3), Berlin 2012, pp. 133–46. Rebenich, St., “Beobachtungen zum Sturz des Tatianus und des Proculus”, in: ZPE 76 (1989), pp. 153–65. Scharf, R., Comites und comitiva primi ordinis (Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur. Abhandlungen der geistes- und sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse, 1994.8), Mainz 1994. Schlinkert, D., “Dem Kaiser folgen. Kaiser, Senatsadel und höfische Funktionselite (comites consistoriani) von der ‘Tetrarchie’ Diokletians bis zum Ende der konstantinischen Dynastie”, in A. Winterling (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998, pp. 133–59. Schlinkert, D., Ordo senatorius und nobilitas. Die Konstitution des Senatsadels in der Spätantike. Mit einem Appendix über den praepositus sacri cubiculi, den ‘allmächtigen’ Eunuchen am kaiserlichen Hof (Hermes-Einzelschriften, 72), Stuttgart 1996. Schlinkert, D., “Vom Haus zum Hof. Aspekte höfischer Herrschaft in der Spätantike”, in KLIO 78 (1996), pp. 454–82. Schlinkert, D., “Der Hofeunuch in der Spätantike. Ein gefährlicher Außenseiter?”, in Hermes 122 (1994), pp. 342–59. Schmidt-Hofner, S., “Ehrensachen. Ranggesetzgebung, Elitenkonkurrenz und die Funktion des Rechts in der Spätantike”, in Chiron 40 (2010), pp. 209–44. Schöpe, B., Der römische Kaiserhof in severischer Zeit (193–235 n. Chr.) (HistoriaEinzelschriften, 231), Stuttgart 2014.

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Scholten, H., “Der oberste Hofeunuch. Die politische Effizienz eines gesellschaftlich Diskriminierten”, in A. Winterling (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998, pp. 51–73. Scholten, H., Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe. Zur politischen und sozialen Bedeutung des praepositus sacri cubiculi im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert n. Chr. (Prismata, 5), Frankfurt am Main 1995. Seeck, O., “Rufinus 23”, in RE 1A.1, Stuttgart 1914, coll. 1189–93. Seeck, O., “Euthalios 1”, in RE 6.1, Stuttgart 1907, coll. 1494–5. Seeck, O., “Eutropius 6”, in RE 6.1, Stuttgart 1907, coll. 1520–1. Seeck, O., “comites”, in RE 4.1, Stuttgart 1900, coll. 622–79. Simmel, G., “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, in id., Aufsätze und Abhandlungen. 1901–1908, vol. 1, ed. R. Kramme et al., Frankfurt am Main 1995, pp. 221–46. Smith, R., “Measures of Difference. The Fourth-Century Transformation of the Roman Imperial Court”, in AJPh 132 (2011), pp. 125–151. Smith, R., “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. A.D. 300–c. A.D. 450”, in A.J.S. Spawforth (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, Cambridge 2007, pp. 157–232. Weber, M., Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriß der verstehenden Soziologie, ed. J. Winckelmann, 5th ed., Tübingen 1980. Werron, T., “Direkte Konflikte, indirekte Konkurrenzen. Unterscheidung und Vergleich zweier Formen des Kampfes”, in Zeitschrift für Soziologie 39 (2010), pp. 302–18. Winterling, A., “‘Staat’, ‘Gesellschaft’ und politische Integration in der römischen Kaiserzeit”, in KLIO 83 (2001), pp. 93–112. Winterling, A., “Einleitung”, in id. (ed.), Zwischen ‘Haus’ und ‘Staat’. Antike Höfe im Vergleich (Beihefte der Historischen Zeitschrift N.F., 23), Munich 1997, pp. 1–9. Winterling, A., “‘Hof’. Versuch einer idealtypischen Bestimmung anhand der mittelalterlichen und frühneuzeitlichen Geschichte”, in id. (ed.), Zwischen ‘Haus’ und ‘Staat’. Antike Höfe im Vergleich (Beihefte der Historischen Zeitschrift N.F., 23), Munich 1997, pp. 11–25. Winterling, A., “Vergleichende Perspektiven”, in id. (ed.), Zwischen ‘Haus’ und ‘Staat’. Antike Höfe im Vergleich (Beihefte der Historischen Zeitschrift N.F., 23), Munich 1997, pp. 151–69.

Chapter 2

The Importance of Being Splendid: Competition, Ceremonial, and the Semiotics of Status at the Court of the Late Roman Emperors (4th–6th Centuries) Christian Rollinger Abstract With the advent of imperial monarchy, the traditional fields of competition for the Roman aristocracy gradually began to change until the ruler’s favour became the paramount (if not exclusive) object and goal of competition. It could both provide social status and guarantee advancement at court, and since it lay within the personal gift of the emperor, it could prove a positive force, strengthening the latter’s position as arbiter of competition and thus the security of his reign. This paper interprets aristocratic competition in this context as a specific form of social practice centered on the court itself, with its own rules and modes of expression. It attempts to clarify the micro-processes and discursive levels of courtly competition. Within the extremely competitive court society, the ability to communicate status and hierarchy was of fundamental importance. In Late Antiquity, court hierarchies were expressed on different and sometimes conflicting levels, perhaps the two most important of which were court titulature and questions of rank on the one hand, and formalized court ceremonial on the other.

1 Introduction The contention that Roman elite society was a distinctly competitive group throughout its existence needs no further proof at this point. Roman senators, knights, and members of the curial order under the Republic, the early and high Empire, and Late Antiquity competed for offices, influence, prestige, and wealth. Having attained these often ill-defined prizes, they undertook considerable efforts to display them. While the advent of Roman monarchy led to a diminishment of one traditional area of competition (for the senatorial order most of all)—politics—, this is not to say that competition as such disappeared. Rather, the battlefield itself changed. Political competition of the kind © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_004

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seen in the res publica libera was no longer the principal activity of the senatorial class, which over time became increasingly depoliticised in their existence as well as their self-image. The new competition for honos and dignitas hence also became apolitical, as the former ruling elite was progressively sidelined from the political centre of the empire. True, senators even of Late Antiquity continued to hold offices that, in name at least, harked back to the days of the republic. But their chief (and later their only) duty as praetors or consuls was to put on games, which, as part of senatorial representation, would be advertised to peers and the populace in different media. Likewise, the traditional pursuits of the aristocracy were important factors in constructing senatorial self-image: jewellery and garments attested to material wealth, as did sumptuous banquets in elaborate houses and palaces. Public statues and inscriptions honoured individual senators as benefactors. The strife for and display of other characteristics of aristocratic lifestyle were intensified—such as noble descent (nobilitas), philosophical erudition (paideia) and moral virtue (virtus).1 To these traditional fields of competition—now increasing in importance— the presence of the emperor added a new paramount object of competition: the ruler’s favour, which alone could now guarantee advancement and which, in Late Antiquity, was to become the ultimate indication of social rank.2 The emperor had more than ever before become the fulcrum of aristocratic competition. This view of late-antique noble society corresponds well with a classic sociological model of competition, which may aid us in better understanding aristocratic and court society. According to Georg Simmel’s “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, competition is an indirect form of fighting, wherein competitors do not directly oppose each other, but rather compete for a given (material or immaterial) resource.3 In contrast to other sociological definitions, however, Simmel’s model is not a dyadic model of non-violent fighting but triadic in 1  Näf, Standesbewusstsein, pp. 28–48. On the development of the senatorial order, see, in particular, Roda, “Nobilità burocratica”; Cracco Ruggini, “Il senato fra due crisi”; Jones, Later Roman Empire 2, pp. 523–62; Chastagnol, “L’évolution de l’ordre senatorial”; Schlinkert, Ordo senatorius; Löhken, Ordines dignitatum. 2  Thus, a 4th-century senatorial epitaph could claim “higher” honours than the traditional curriculum: laetabare prius mensae regalis honore, | principis alloquio, regis amicitia. The epitaph, consisting of two poems, was inscribed on the mausoleum of Petronius Probus (PLRE 1, Probus 5, pp. 736–40); for the text, see Schmidt, “Ambrosii carmen”, pp. 103f. (quote at p. 104). The degree of personal closeness to the emperor (Kaisernähe) that these lines evoke had by the end of the 4th century become important enough to supplant other marks of status. As the epitaph implies, the only possible betterment that one honoured by the emperor (as Petronius was) could hope for was divine favour (nunc propior Christo, sanctorum sede potitus). Cf. Löhken, Ordines dignitatum, p. 4. Matthews, Western Aristocracies, pp. 195f. 3  Simmel, “Konkurrenz”, p. 1010. Simmel’s model is also discussed in the introduction to this volume and in Künzer’s contribution.

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nature and dependent on a third party acting as an arbiter of the competition. Thus, for Simmel, competitors do not compete directly over a scarce resource but rather fight to gain the “favour” (Gunst) of a third party (Dritter) which has the power to allocate this scarce good.4 This orientation towards a third party, distinctly reminiscent of the late-antique functional nobility as described above, has a specific consequence that is relevant to our purpose here: One tends to talk of competition only in terms of its poisonous, scattering, destructive effects. (…) But right alongside this, there is this incredible effect of socialising people: it compels the competitor, who finds his fellow competitor at his side and only as a result of that really starts competing, to approach and appeal to him that is wooed, to connect to him, to find out his weaknesses and strengths and to adapt to them, to find or to build all imaginable bridges that might tie his own existence and performance to the object of his wooing.5 If we apply this model to the world of the late-antique elite or more precisely to late-antique court societies, the advantages to the monarch of keeping its members in a state of competition are readily apparent.6 In competing for imperial favour, the Late Roman nobility implicitly and explicitly accepted his role as arbiter dignitatis, thereby strengthening and supporting imperial authority. As Isabelle Künzer has rightly pointed out in her recent monographic study, it is necessary to modify Simmel’s model in the context of the wider Roman aristocracy, as the emperor was not the only third party whose favour was the object of aristocratic competition (the other one was the competitors’ peer group, senatorial society as such).7 Within the more or less closed system of the court, however, the situation presents itself differently: here, the emperor

4  Simmel, “Konkurrenz”, esp. pp. 189–91; cf. Werron, “Direkte Konflikte”, pp. 305–7 for a succinct summation. 5  Simmel, “Konkurrenz”, p. 1012 (“Man pflegt von der Konkurrenz ihre vergiftenden, zer­ sprengenden, zerstörenden Wirkungen hervorzuheben […] Daneben aber steht doch diese ungeheure vergesellschaftende Wirkung: sie zwingt den Bewerber, der einen Mitbewerber neben sich hat und häufig erst hierdurch ein eigentlicher Bewerber wird, dem Umworbenen entgegen- und nahezukommen, sich ihm zu verbinden, seine Schwächen und Stärken zu erkunden und sich ihnen anzupassen, alle Brücken aufzusuchen oder zu schlagen, die sein Sein und seine Leistungen mit jenem verbinden könnten”). Translation based on Helle, “Sociology of Competition”, p. 951, modified. 6  On the notion of a court society, see below. For a thorough discussion of Simmel’s model as well as a review of the (not very numerous) instances where its adaptation to antiquity has previously been attempted, see Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, pp. 47–71. 7  Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, pp. 53–60.

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was the only instance of adjudication and courtly competition hinged on the competitors’ relationship to him. Still, reality did not always necessarily correspond to this Idealtypus. It should be obvious that, in the face of significant political upheaval, of specific military threats, of domineering warlords and weak-willed child-emperors, the occasional intrigue (or, indeed, the odd sword-thrust) trumped the rule of courtly competition for titles and honours. As Künzer’s contribution to this volume also shows, competition could (and did) all-too-often veer into direct confrontation and, naturally, no amount of courtly influence or Kaisernähe could be of much help in the face of naked violence. Her example of Flavius Rufinus, then-magister officiorum under Theodosius, is well-chosen: Rufinus’ quarrel with Flavius Promotus certainly escalated into direct conflict (Rufinus allegedly had him assassinated)—but it is worth noting that it did so only after Rufinus had used his influence with Theodosius to remove his competitor from the court, thereby eliminating him from the arena of competition stricto sensu and impeding his capacity for response.8 Thus, while resorting to violence was not infrequent in troubled times, as a rule courtly competition was not as unpredictable as this example may imply. In this paper, I will argue that, as a) the emperor himself was the only source of that resource for which everyone involved competed and b) the imperial court was a specific venue for engaging in competition, competition itself was regulated (to a degree) by the social, cultural, and physical circumstances of the Late Roman court and court society.9 The notion of a “regulated” competition is perhaps easy to misunderstand; regulation is here understood to be a situational variable on a scale ranging from total control to sweeping de-regulation. The first makes competition impossible; the second turns it into conflict and is conducive to violence. Both, then, are ideal types, as is Simmel’s concept of competition itself, which lies in the exact (if theoretical) middle of the scale. Whether or not competition is liable to degrade into conflict (Kampf ) or not, is not rooted in universal (or anthropological) principles of competition and cannot be explained by pure theory. Rather, it is a consequence of specific cultural and social contexts in which parties compete and from which they derive 8  Zosimus, Historia nova IV 51. For further discussion of the potential of escalation inherent in competition, see Künzer’s contribution in this volume. On the other hand, Rufinus himself, as the young Arcadius’ praefectus praetorio per Orientem certainly the most influential member of the court and the imperial administration of the east, had the misfortune of having to learn the same lesson: he was assassinated by proxies of his western rival Stilicho. Neither his titles nor Kaisernähe were able to save him—he was murdered in the presence of his emperor (Zosimus, Historia nova V 7). For Rufinus, see PLRE 1, Rufinus 18, pp. 778–81, for Promotus PLRE 1, pp. 750–1. 9  Hölkeskamp, “Konkurrenz als sozialer Handlungsmodus” (“geregelte Konkurrenz”), p. 37.

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their competitive practices.10 In our case, this context is determined by the habitus and ethos of Late Roman aristocratic society as well as by the peculiarities of its social world—the imperial court, as constituted by the practices of its courtiers and the normative rules set forth by them and enshrined in formal law by imperial constitutions.11 My interpretation of competition at court is closely connected with the shifting view of the third party, i.e. the emperor himself. His agency and decisive influence in organising and dominating the court must not be overstated. To be sure, recent scholarship has shown that even late-antique emperors long held as being weak or ineffectual (including child emperors) should not necessarily be seen as mere pawns in the intrigues of other, more powerful figures.12 But, as Karl-Joachim Hölkeskamp has put it, the configuration of confrontation as competition (as outlined by Simmel) in the end remains precarious because it has to be confirmed and accepted in every instance of competition (Konkurrenz-Ereignis) and is always subject to dangers resulting from the zeal of the competitors. Just as, in theory, regulated competition can force competitors to accept the rules of the arbiter, thereby strengthening the latter’s authority, in reality, fluctuating power constellations (e.g. during a “regency” or an acute military crisis) could force rule-changes by the former on the latter: the emperor, as has been said in a recent study, may have been “the most important piece [of the game], but left to his own devices a fairly weak one” and one that had to strike a delicate balance between asserting his authority and maintaining relationships with courtiers and aristocrats.13 In detailed analyses of competition for imperial favour, careful attention must thus be paid to specific historical circumstances. Still, there is a case to be made for a more abstract model of competition at the court itself, separate from, but not incognisant of situationally shifting alliances and enmities of generals, administrators, court eunuchs, and civil servants. To facilitate such a model, I will first attempt to define and show the court as a social system that could be gamed and manipulated by both courtiers and rulers. To show aristocratic competition at the late imperial court as a social practice, it will then be necessary to analyse the micro-processes of that competition. One central aspect of gaining status within court society was the 10  Hölkeskamp, “Konkurrenz als sozialer Handlungsmodus”, pp. 38f. 11  This implies a working definition of aristocratic society as a group composed of people who could at least claim irregular contact with the imperial court and the emperor himself. 12  As is the case, e.g., with Theodosius II; cf. Meier, “Der Monarch auf der Suche”, pp. 519– 21 with earlier scholarship. For child emperors, see McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule; Doyle, Honorius. 13  Bang, “Court and State”, p. 127.

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problem of communicating this status to one’s peers. I will argue that courtly hierarchy was expressed on different and sometimes conflicting levels, one being court titulature and the other formalised court ceremonial. 2

A “Splendid Theatre”: the Late Roman Court

As has recently been remarked, it is still “difficult to say what exactly a court is”.14 Competing definitions emphasise either the court as a physical (i.e. palaces and residences) or social space (i.e. the persons associated with the court), as a political (as the locus of monarchical authority) or an administrative space (as the centre of imperial government). All are, to a degree, both correct and incomplete at the same time. The meaning of the term “court” is likely to change from each individual instance to the next, even within the ancient world itself, as e.g. the peripatetic courts of Hellenistic king and Roman tetrarchs were not identical to each other (and the more geographically fixed courts in Rome or Constantinople even less so). Most modern studies further differentiate between an “inner” and an “outer” court, composed respectively of the imperial family and the ever-present courtiers and officials, or of visiting nobles, generals, diplomats, supplicants. I will in this paper follow the definition proposed by Rolf Strootman and define the court as simultaneously “(1) the circle of persons (‘courtiers’) around a ruler”, including the “outer” court; “(2) the “larger matrix of political and economic relations converging in the ruler’s household;” and (3) the rooms and halls where the king lives, receives guests, and gives audience and banquets, and where the rituals or [sic] royalty are performed.”15 Beginning with Norbert Elias’ seminal (if now quite controversial) Die höfische Gesellschaft, conceived and written in the early 1930s but published only in 1969 (with an English translation in 1983), the field of court studies has considerably advanced and refined our understanding of medieval and (early) modern monarchies, emphasising the role particularly of political rituals and ceremonials in establishing as well as presenting political power.16 As for such ancient “rituals of royalty”, the Roman imperial court from the late 3rd century 14  Strootman, Courts and Elites, p. 31. 15  Strootman, Courts and Elites, p. 32. Winterling, “Hof” (following Kruedener, Rolle des Hofes), has additionally identified the main functions of the court as a locus of interaction and symbolic communication between the monarch and his subjects, of monarchical representation, and of political decision-making and administration. Cf. Strootman, Court and Elites, pp. 34–8. 16   See, e.g., Kruedener, Rolle des Hofes; Koziol, Begging Pardon; Winterling, Hof der Kurfürsten; Duindam, Myths of Power; Althoff, Macht der Rituale; Stollberg-Rilinger, Des

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onwards saw an increasingly formal and regulated ceremonial17 imposed on its members—and indeed on all interactions with the ruler—which rivalled or even surpassed the later ceremonial exertions by the Bourbon or Habsburg courts. While studies approaching these later monarchic courts as a socially and culturally specific sphere of ritual interaction and symbolic communication have been flourishing in neighbouring historic disciplines for some time, this is decidedly not the case for the ancient world. Astonishingly, given the preponderance of monarchic rule in antiquity and with very few notable exceptions, it is only fairly recently that similar studies have been undertaken for the various monarchic courts of the ancient world.18 Individual, smaller-scale works have attempted to adapt some of the central conceits of Elias and his immediate successors to the late imperial court, and especially the so-called Königsmechanismus.19 This term coined by Elias refers to a strategy allegedly implemented by Louis XIV, who forced the nobility into life at court, to participate in intricate ceremonial and a competition of representation and splendour. The intended and practical effect of this, in Elias’ telling, was to both Kaisers alte Kleider. Elias’ work and the development of court studies are also discussed in the introduction to this volume. 17  By which I mean a coherent set of rules and behavioural guidelines imposed on all members of the court, including the imperial family. For a definition of ceremonial, see Hartmann, Staatszeremoniell, pp. 33–41. As John Weisweiler, “Domesticating”, pp. 19–22, has recently emphasised, the changes in imperial appearance and demeanour and the introduction of a formal ceremonial were closely connected to an evolution of the Roman ideology of monarchical rule. Modes of interaction between ruler and ruled had to change accordingly, and it was primarily Diocletian and Constantine who institutionalised this change by formalising previously extant elements of imperial address and ritual. For ancient sources on Diocletian’s innovations, see Aurelius Victor, De Caesaribus 39, Eutropius, Breviarium ab urbe condita IX 26, Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 5.18. Jerome, Chronicon year 2311. For modern scholarship, see inter alia Alföldi, Repräsentation; Kolb, Herrschaftsideologie; Noreña, Imperial Ideals. On the adoratio itself, see particularly Stern, “Remarks”, and Avery, “Adoratio purpurae”. 18  Cf. Wallace-Hadrill, “Seen and Unseen”, pp. 92–3 on the long-ignored court as “the skeleton in the cupboard of Roman history”. Scholarship has long followed 19th-century conventions in ignoring the court, as Mommsen had done, “on the grounds that it was not a legally-based institution” (ibid., p. 92). Notably, A.H.M. Jones’ magisterial work on the Later Roman Empire does not include a chapter on the imperial court (his discussion of court officers is part of a chapter on the “Civil Service”, pp. 563–606). An early exception to the rule is Löhken, Ordines dignitatum, though it is by no means a detailed study of the court as such, but rather of the relationship between emperor and aristocracy. Winterling, Aula Caesaris, and Pani, Corte dei Cesari are analytical studies on the Roman court. More recently, Strootman, Court and Elites presents a systematic and well-theorised analysis of Hellenistic court societies. 19  E.g. Wallace-Hadrill, “The Imperial Court”, Paterson, “Friends in High Places”; Smith, “Imperial Court”; Smith, “Measures of Difference”; Bang, “Court and State”.

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indebt the aristocracy financially and to channel their energies away from avenues that could potentially prove dangerous to the monarch, thus successfully “domesticating” the noblesse frondeuse of France.20 A similar intention has sometimes been attributed to Late Roman emperors by scholars of the lateantique court (most notably by John Weisweiler and Peter Fibiger Bang) and, on the face of it, it is an attractive proposition.21 There are, however, significant problems with Elias’ hypothesis, which was almost exclusively based on aristocratic memoirs such as those of the Duc de Saint-Simon to the exclusion of most other available sources. In fact, Elias’ main hypothesis of a deliberate “domestication” of the nobility by the monarch is derived directly from Saint-Simon himself.22 Additionally, Elias was not primarily interested in a historical analysis of the French court of the 17th century (nor was he a historian by training, but rather a “Weber-inspired sociologist”),23 and subsequent historical scholarship has qualified or outright falsified much of his hypothesis. For one, Aloys Winterling has shown in his analysis of the court of the German electors of Cologne that Elias’ model of the French court cannot simply be applied to other courts, including absolutist ones.24 But even in the case of ancient régime France herself, Elias drastically over-estimated both the institutional and personal ability of the French king to influence his courtiers and to bend them to his will, to enclose them in the “golden cage” of Versailles, as he himself put it. Crucially, he also ignored the fact that, if the nobles were prisoners of an endless circle of ceremonies and competition, then so too was the king. In order to safeguard his supremacy, he would have been forced to spend more than his co-competitors and closely monitor ceremonies and potential digressions from prescribed rituals. 20  Elias, Höfische Gesellschaft. It must be added, however, that Elias’ hypothesis should be seen in the context of his larger work on the process of Vergesellschaftung of pre-modern societies; in this view, Louis’ social experiment with the court of Versailles was part of a longer process of the development of a bourgeois society. 21  Weisweiler, “Domesticating the Senatorial Elite”; id., “Roman Aristocracy”. Bang, “Court and State”. See also Löhken, Ordines dignitatum; Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”; Herrmann-Otto, “Kaiser und Gesellschaft”; Smith, “Imperial Court”; Rebenich, “Pars melior humani generis”, (p. 158: “Der Hof des Kaisers diente der Nobilitierung der nicht-aristokratischen Favoriten und der Domestizierung der aristokratischen Elite durch die Integration in ein vertikal differenziertes Rangsystem”). 22  Cf. Saint-Simon, Mémoires, vol. 5, p. 521. 23  Smith, “Measures of Difference”, p. 126. This is not the place for a detailed critique of Elias’ approach or his conclusions. For this, the reader is referred to the excellent discussion in Duindam, Myths of Power. Id., “Norbert Elias”, is a shorter summary of the reception of Elias’ theses. 24  Winterling, Hof der Kurfürsten.

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Because of this and the obvious differences in political and historical circumstances it would thus not be reasonable to blindly follow Elias’ model as far as the late-antique court is concerned, even if this model had proven to be completely accurate for 17th-century France.25 For one, we are ignorant of too many aspects of court life. Though court intrigues are a familiar theme in historiographers such as Ammianus, there is no late-antique Saint-Simon to give us the inside view of the courtier. From what we do know, however, there are significant differences between the court of the Sun-King and that of the Late Roman emperor. Most importantly, as Rowland Smith has rightly pointed out, the process of sidelining the traditional aristocracy (i.e. the senate) from the top rungs of politics had largely been accomplished in previous centuries. In its traditional form, it no longer presented a significant danger.26 Furthermore, while the Great Palace at Constantinople, for instance, was surely the undisputed centre of (eastern) Roman monarchy from at least the 5th century onwards (just as Versailles was that of the French), we are uncertain how many people actually lived in the palace—and who they were. In Constantinople, wealthy and influential nobles had their own palaces and were not obliged (or, indeed, allowed) to spend every moment in the presence of the king. There was furthermore less possibility of court officials being deliberately bankrupted by ceremonial demands, as Roman courtiers were salaried officials (even if, to listen to one disgruntled 6th-century official, the salary was unsatisfactory).27 Lastly, what has often (including here) been simply termed the “late-antique court” was not, in fact, a static creation by either Diocletian or Constantine. Rather, it was a constantly evolving social configuration that can be traced in repeated instances of emperor after emperor fine-tuning and adapting it to his own purposes. But, “whatever its conceptual shortcomings and empirical blind-spots (…), there are nonetheless many features of Elias’ account of the Bourbon ‘court society’ and its ‘sociogenesis’ that can hardly fail to strike students of the Late Roman court as suggestive, at least.”28 A suitably adapted version of Elias’ general idea, that goes beyond the mere statement of a “domesticating” effect, may prove a reasonable model for interpreting the Late Roman court and its 25  Cf. Schlinkert, “Vom Haus zum Hof”, esp. p. 480: “Das Modell der ‘höfischen Gesellschaft’ bedarf in der Anwendung auf die römische Kaiserzeit zumindest einiger zeitspezifischer Modifikationen”; Smith, “Measures of Difference”, p. 138. 26  Smith, “Measures of Difference”, p. 138. The closest equivalent to the potentially dangerous warrior-nobles of Elias would be the magistri militum—and here, the example of Rufinus is instructive: he was assassinated on the orders of Stilicho, against the wishes of the emperors. 27  Cf. Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, pp. 64–106. 28  Smith, “Imperial Court”, p. 166.

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relationship to the aristocratic culture of competition that was fostered and encouraged (if by no means created) by the reforms of the 4th century in particular. Bang has recently viewed the imperial court (of the High Empire) as a “Vehicle of Negotiation and Compromise” that was a necessary component of the imperial system, which could not support emperors and senatorial elite locked in perpetual opposition.29 The Roman emperor himself, as Egon Flaig’s now classic study has shown, was always challengeable, regardless of the religious authority and ceremonial pomp with which he surrounded himself.30 In light of the historical roots of imperial rule, monarch and aristocracy were co-dependent and emperors absolute rulers in name only; in such a system, the court, as Bang has said, was “an institution of government, allowing forces to be balanced against one another and the relative strength of participants to be determined, in other words, a theatre of contact and integration, where ruler and aristocracy met to negotiate the distribution of privilege, favour and power.”31 Because the person of the emperor and the notion of imperial favour became both an expression of and prerequisite to noble status in the early 4th century, by the same token, so did the imperial court become the central nexus of competition for this favour.32 Instead of “domesticating” the traditional, land-owning, wealthy elite of the old senatorial order, the specific late-antique court culture with its ostentatious competition for advancement and the concomitant social and financial spoils served as a means of strengthening imperial authority—not by pitting courtiers and nobles against each other, but rather by making the object of competition a coveted resource available only through loyalty to the emperor, and thus demonstrating the “socializing” or disciplining facet of competition as described by Simmel.33 It also had an integrative influence particularly on the new, post-Constantinian imperial aristocracy. As imperial favour was the scarce good for which everybody competed, it is only logical that the expression of this favour was closely connected to the emperor himself, as the only person within whose gift lay the bestowal of its most obvious expressions: court titles indicating Kaisernähe and ceremonial privileges. 29  Bang, “Court and State”, esp. pp. 120–1. 30  For the notion of the Roman monarchy as a system of acceptance, cf. Flaig, Den Kaiser herausfordern and especially Pfeilschifter, Kaiser und Konstantinopel for Late Antiquity. See Kaldellis, The Byzantine Republic for a similar notion even in the medieval Byzantine empire. 31  Bang, “Court and State”, p. 124. 32  This is not to say that the imperial court of the early-to-high-empire or the 3rd century was not a central institution in its own right, but court dynamics changed considerably at the beginning of what we refer to as Late Antiquity. Cf. Smith, “Measures of Difference”, pp. 131–3. On the court of the high empire, see the seminal study by Winterling, Aula Caesaris, and the short but useful summary by Pani, Corte dei Cesari. 33  Smith, “Measures of Difference”, pp. 139–45.

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Rank, Hierarchy, and Status at the Imperial Court

Among the many functions of the court, one that has been emphasised in recent scholarship is its role as a motor of upward mobility. Court offices and positions within the central palatine administration were in high demand with both senatorial nobles and homines novi, whose careers—if they were successful—would see them ascend to noble status. This was possible because a series of developments and reforms in the 3rd and 4th centuries had changed the definition of what constituted ‘nobility’. While the process was already begun by Diocletian,34 it was particularly under Constantine that the formerly separate (and competing) orders of senators and equites began to be integrated. As a consequence, not only were equestrian high officials given senatorial status, but members of the traditional senatorial aristocracy were increasingly welcomed again into the imperial service—and the imperial service gradually became attractive to senators again35—and henceforth occupied important civil offices. Within a generation, the equestrian order all but disappeared and the senatorial aristocracy was transformed into what A.H.M. Jones called a “new imperial nobility of service”.36 Instead of noble birth, service to the emperor was now the preeminent qualification for membership in this “functional nobility” (Funktionselite),37 and, simultaneously, nobility became a consequence of imperial service.38 As a result, membership of the clarissimate exploded in the 4th century and the upper strata of Roman society incorporated a large number of homines novi, a process that was considerably accelerated by the creation of a second senate in Constantinople.39 Competition was thus immeasurably increased by 34  Albeit coming from another direction, as it were: the internal rank inconsistencies of Diocletian’s administrative reforms—equites such as the praetorian prefects and the newly created vicarii were superimposed on senatorial governors, for instance—had led that emperor to promote such officials to the clarissimate. 35  Cf. e.g. Arnheim, Senatorial Aristocracy, p. 47 on the situation under Diocletian: “A man of noble birth would begin his career with one or more of the traditional republican magistracies, after which the only positions open to him were the urban curatelae, the correctorships, the governorship of Syria, the proconsulates of Africa and Asia, the urban prefecture and the ordinary consulate. From the limited range of offices open to nobles it is clear that the senatorial cursus under the tetrarchy was a cul-de-sac.” 36  Jones, Later Roman Empire, pp. 525–6 and cf. Arnheim, Senatorial Aristocracy, pp. 49– 102. See also the review of previous scholarship in Schlinkert, Ordo senatorius, pp. 16–41. Smith, “Measures of Difference”, p. 135 aptly calls these homines novi “service-senators”. 37  Schlinkert, Ordo senatorius. See also id., Dem Kaiser folgen, p. 159. 38  Smith, “Measures of Difference”, p. 135. 39  It has variously been estimated that membership of the senatorial order rose from about 600 at the start of the 4th century to about 4,000 by the end of it (cf. Jones, Later Roman Empire, p. 527 and Heather, “Senators and Senates”, pp. 184–204 for figures).

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the reforms of Constantine and the clamouring for prestige, offices, and further advancement of a large number of “new” aristocrats. A further stratification became necessary, and over the course of the century there developed a very finely graded series of titles and ranks as the emperors tried to create a unified hierarchy, which included both the traditional nobility, the new civil servants and courtiers, and the military leadership. For the societal composition of the new imperial aristocracy, this stratification was an important factor and an answer to problems created by the formation of that aristocracy, one consequence of which was the necessity of reconciling the old elite with the new one that had eclipsed it in military and civil administration. The court itself, then, with its contested titles and rules of precedence, was “a measure of social engineering, a reconfiguration of the imperial elite within a structure that modified traditional categories of social status, even if the traditional names and titles associated with them were retained”.40 In addition to the ranks and titles conferred by virtue of holding an imperial office (or conferred as a precondition of holding such as an office), Constantine also introduced a new system of honorary ranks, the comitiva.41 In creating comites ordinis primi, secundi et tertii, Constantine instituted an additional hierarchy of rank and prestige that served to indicate the degree of closeness between emperor and comes. This was particularly important for the new “service-senators”, who could not, in most cases, rely on familial wealth or most of the constituent elements of a traditionally senatorial habitus. A good example of this is John the Lydian, the famous author of a 6th-century treatise on the imperial civil service.42 Likely born to a curial background in Lydian Philadelphia—his family seems to have been well-connected both in his native home and in Constantinople, and John was given a classical education, the prerequisite for imperial service43—he travelled to the capital at the age of 21, seeking employment and advancement in the imperial service. In this, he quickly succeeded with the help of the praetorian prefect Zoticus, himself also a citizen of Philadelphia.44 Over the course of his 40-year career, John rose from lowly exceptor (short-hand clerk) to (probably) become cornicularius, the second-highest position in the judicial branch of the prefecture that would have conferred on him the comitiva primi ordinis.45 In parallel to his official 40  Smith, “Measures of Difference”, p. 139. 41  For Constantine as innovator, see Eusebius, Vita Constantini IV 1.2. For the new comitiva, see Scharf, Comites und comitiva; Schlinkert, Dem Kaiser folgen, pp. 145–9 with references. 42  For John’s career, see Maas, John Lydus, pp. 24–31 and Dubuisson/Schamp, Jean le Lydien, pp. xiii-lxxvi for the most recent summary. 43  Cf. Codex Theodosianus XIV 1.1. 44   P LRE 2, pp. 1206–7. 45  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, p. 248 with n. 11. Cf. John, De magistratibus III 30.1.

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career, however, John was also a man of letters and here, too, he was upwardly mobile. After having been invited to deliver a panegyric at court by Justinian, he was appointed as Latin grammarian, which (after 20 years of service in this post) would also have conferred on him the comitiva.46 The comitiva was so important precisely because, though it became associated with offices, it was within the gift of the emperor himself and at least seemingly denoted a degree of personal closeness (whether that was actually true is, naturally, a different matter).47 In regard to the latter—Kaisernähe—the institutional function of Late Roman titles such as the comitiva was to set up the monarch as the principal addressee and prime arbiter of aristocratic competition. As Sebastian Schmidt-Hofner has shown in a subtle analysis of imperial rank legislation, rank and court titles could be extremely powerful instruments in the hands of various emperors to simultaneously stoke and regulate competition among members of the court.48 As far as their regulatory capacity is concerned, the emperors showed themselves to be able and diligent managers of rank, assigning orders of precedence and distinct ceremonial privileges to (ex-)office-holders of the palatine and central administrations, officers in the bodyguard unit of the scholae palatinae, doctors, university lecturers, provincial delegates and even to skilled artisans.49 The intricacies of courtly protocol are impressive in their own right: a constitution dated to 1 April 382 minutely prescribes the relative position and precedence of ex-consuls without further specifications, ex-consuls who had also occupied the office either of a prefecture or of magister militum, and ex-consuls and prefects/magistri who were patricians.50 Another, dated to 31 March 413, differentiates between scholarian 46  C  odex Theodosianus VI 21.1. John, De magistratibus III 28–29. There is some doubt as to the precise nature of his post, although in his verbatim quote of Justinian’s letter of recognition on his retirement, John specifically mentions the emperor’s praise of his skill in grammatike. Cf. Dubuisson-Schamp, Jean le Lydien, 1.1, pp. xliii–xliv. 47  As such, perhaps the closest (if imperfect) modern analogy is the British honours system, which also differentiates between orders of chivalry accessible to civil servants, military professionals, and distinguished members of society at large, conferred by rote or ministerial decision, and those that lie within the personal gift of the monarch and thus denote services to the Crown or personal connection to the royal family (i.e. the Order of the Garter and the Thistle respectively, or the Royal Victorian Order). Cf. also Veyne, Bread and Circuses, p. 449 n. 210, who compares the Late Roman functional elite with the barons and counts created by Napoleon. 48   Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, p. 211. 49  Bodyguards: Codex Theodosianus VI 13.1; doctors: Codex Theodosianus VI 16.1; lecturers: Codex Theodosianus VI 21; provincial delegates: Codex Theodosianus VI 22.1.2; skilled artisans: Codex Theodosianus VI 20. 50  Codex Theodosianus VI 6.

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tribunes with and without an additional comitiva primi ordinis; both classes were assigned different ranks of precedence.51 One thing the constitutions in the Theodosian Code—including the famous edict by Valentinian I of 1 July 37252—do not do, however, is provide us with a clear picture of the internal prestige hierarchy of the late imperial court. There is no information on precedence or protocol concerning a great many of the positions and offices in the palatine, civil and military organisation. No mention is made of the protocolary relationship between members of the central/palatine administration and that, e.g., of the praetorian prefecture.53 Very rarely, rosters of offices (laterculi) are included to provide a more complete overview.54 On the whole, however, the edicts collected in Book Six of the Theodosian Code are not comparable to formal precedence lists such as parts of the Notitia Dignitatum or the later Byzantine kleterologia. They are instead, as Schmidt-Hofner has shown, imperial reactions to individual and situational problems of rank and precedence meant to solve particular disputes that arose from the practicalities of this complex system, and he is certainly right in surmising that the evidence of the Theodosian Code shows that individual laws were not part of any systematic effort of emperors to reform the courtly order of precedence, but rather were occasioned by the intercession and efforts of individual courtiers.55 Courtly elites and the nobility of the later Roman empire were thus able to appeal to the emperor as a regulating authority if matters of precedence were unclear and they seem to have done so on a number of occasions. There is some direct evidence for this, such as when edicts clearly state the motivation behind them. Thus, a law dealing with courtly precedence promulgated by 51  C  odex Theodosianus VI 13.1; 14.1. One constant concern of imperial legislative action in this field is the difference in rank and precedence between those who held their titles by virtue of official service and the honorati, who had obtained their title by buying them or through favouritism; cf. Codex Theodosianus VI 18.1 praef. and Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, pp. 211–22 for further examples. 52  Codex Theodosianus VI 7.1. 53  But see Codex Theodosianus VI 30.6. 54  Codex Theodosianus VI 30.7; cf. Codex Iustinianus XXII 23.7 for a later 6th-century update to the same roster. 55   Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, pp. 223–30, esp. p. 223: “Wie gerade diejenigen Erlasse zeigen, in denen noch der Name des ersten, unmittelbaren Benefizienten der Maßnahme bewahrt ist, wurden die Rangerhöhungen im Hinblick auf einzelne Personen oder Statusgruppen gewährt und verdankten sich zweifellos deren Einfluss.” Cf. Codex Theodosianus VI 21. On the reasons for choosing legislative activity as the preferred medium of the emperors for enforcing new hierarchies and innovating in matters or precedence, see ibid., pp. 231–40.

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Arcadius and Honorius on 25 September 399 begins with the admission that the emperors had been “reminded” of the underlying problem.56 Similarly, in a later law by Honorius and Theodosius II, the merita of the current occupant of the office motivated the emperors to decree that the praepositus sacri cubiculi should rank with the praetorian prefects and magistri militum.57 Imperial activity in this field was important for several reasons. Firstly, the administrative reforms and innovations of the 3rd–5th century saw an enormous expansion of imperial bureaucracy, which led to the creation and evolution of a great number of offices. Consequently, the relative hierarchy of individual officers was in a frequent state of flux and emperors could use their powers to re-arrange hierarchies in order to reward service and foster loyalty as well as competition for said loyalty. Schmidt-Hofner posits that this is in fact the reason for the noticeable lack of any “definite” regulatory work concerning titles and rank: emperors were eager to retain room for manoeuvre.58 This wriggle room allowed emperors to navigate their own delicate position within the system of court and government, as described by Bang: “As the aristocracy risked being decimated and humbled by the emperor, the emperor had to avoid being caught in stifling tradition and ritual which reigned in his field of action and risked rendering him superfluous.”59 In fact, the exercise of the imperial prerogative to decide matters of rank was a performative affirmation of authority: the emperor dictated hierarchy and communicated it both within court society and beyond it—to the empire (or at least its nobler classes) at large60—by means of imperial legislation.61 56  Codex Theodosianus VI 12.1: Comasii nos et Clearchi virorum spectabilium dignitas admonuit, ut eos, qui tranquillitatis nostrae consistorii dici comites meruerunt, proconsularibus aequari generaliter iuberemus. 57  Codex Theodosianus VI 8.1.1. 58   Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, p. 227: “Dem Kaiser musste der Spielraum für Gunsterweise erhalten bleiben, durch die er diese Loyalität und Konkurrenz innerhalb der Eliten erzeugen und so seine Herrschaft stabilisieren und legitimieren konnte.” 59  Bang, “Court and State”, p. 127. 60  Cf. Codex Theodosianus VI 22.8.1. 61  This in turn had its own symbolic connotations, though it is important to note that legislation rarely conferred rank as such; it mostly prescribed a specific order of precedence for titles, the possession of which resulted in rank. Thus, see the example of Codex Theodosianus VI 27.5. Records of precedence and hierarchy were kept in the laterculi—duty rosters—of each office. On the role of legislation in establishing precedence, see Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, pp. 231–40 and especially p. 238 for the symbolic dimension: “Vor allem aber wurde mit jedem neuen allgemeinverbindlichen Erlass mit hohem Autoritätsanspruch kommuniziert, dass es der Kaiser war, der Rangfragen entschied. Dieser Autoritätsanspruch war bei Ranggesetzen mit dem Anspruch der Allgemeinverbindlichkeit weit höher als bei einem personenbezogenen Einzelfallentscheid.”

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Precedence mattered also because the level of competition increased considerably with the integration of senatorial and non-senatorial careers. In facilitating administrative careers for senators, by making them attractive to members of that most noble order, Constantine intended to “encourage the ambitious among existing senators to serve”.62 Senatorial ambition, in turn, bred more competition for offices among non-senators and the ruler was well-placed to profit from this, as “an emperor could confer rank on an almost unlimited number of people” and could then subsequently react to the dynamics of rank interplay and prestige competition.63 This—i.e. his active manipulation of rank orders—confirmed his position as sole source of courtly prestige.64 John Noël Dillon has recently challenged the traditional view of an alleged “inflation” of titles—the term, as Dillon shows, is misleading because it originally referred to a finite resource, which, though scarce, imperial favour was not.65 There were certain limits to the emperor’s ability to manipulate court hierarchy at will, to be sure. After all, the protocol of the court was intended to reflect a basic and universally acknowledged, even divinely ordained societal order that the emperor had no interest in abolishing. Still, there are enough examples of emperors transcending traditional social hierarchies in favour of innovations that served their own purposes; the elevation of the praepositus sacri cubiculi to the rank of illustris is a case in point.66 Another is Ammianus’ praise of Constantius’ moderation in conferring ranks and offices, which, in its inherent conservativism, attests also to the contrasting practices of other emperors: He was exceedingly sparing in conferring the higher dignities, with few exceptions allowing no innovations in the way of additions to the administrative offices […]. Under him no leader (dux) of an army was advanced to the rank of clarissimus. […] and under him no one who was to hold a high position was appointed to a post in the palace suddenly or untried, but a man who after ten years was to be marshal of the court, or head treasurer, or to fill any similar post, was thoroughly known.67 62  Dillon, “Inflation of Rank”, p. 65. 63  Dillon, “Inflation of Rank”, p. 45. 64   Schmidt-Hofner, “Ehrensachen”, p. 227. 65  Dillon, “Inflation of Rank”, pp. 42–5. 66  Codex Theodosianus VI 8.1.1. On the social and political role of the praepositus, see Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe. 67  Ammianus, Res gestae XXI 16.1–3 (Loeb): erga tribuendas celsiores dignitates impendio parcus, nihil circa administrationum augmenta praeter pauca novari perpessus […]. Nec sub eo dux quisquam cum clarissimatu provectus est. […] et sub eo nemo celsum aliquid acturus, in regia repentinus adhibitus est vel incognitus, sed qui post decennium officiorum magisterium vel largitiones vel simile quicquam esset recturus, apertissime noscebatur.

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Perhaps the endemic sniping and bitter factionality at the court of Constantius II was a product of his strict adherence to regular titular advancement by seniority? After all, in addition to being affirmations of the emperor’s right to make such adjustments, innovations in rank and hierarchy could also serve to diffuse tensions among competing factions and individual courtiers (see below) and could in this way be conducive to the harmonisation of the palatine, civil and military branches of imperial service (at least in matters of protocol). In order to function, however, rank and hierarchy of the members of the court had to be visibly communicated. As we have seen, imperial constitutions regulating rank and precedence were one important expression of this need. Court ceremonies were another. 4

A Battle for Precedence: Ceremonies of the Imperial Court

Social status, influence, and Kaisernähe were, by their very definition, attributes that were hard to qualify and even harder to quantify, except in relation to other courtiers. They were also distinctions that derived their value from others in that they were not possessed as such, but rather ascribed externally. The prize of the whole competition, then, had to be expressed, communicated, performed—and accepted as prize by competitors—if it was to be a prize at all. Regulated by law as they were, court titles and honours were, to a certain degree, institutionalised expressions of that prize. They, too, however, had somehow to be shown and, more importantly, seen by competitors. One of the most frequently commented-on aspects of court life was the sheer theatricality of it: court was (and still is) in essence an arena of observation. Courtiers “come to see the emperor and catch his eye; or catch the eye of those who know how to catch his eye; to observe their rivals catching eyes. It is consequently a dangerous space: everyone is visible, but everyone has something to hide from someone else.”68 The court thus lent itself perfectly to performances of power (or powerlessness), both voluntary and involuntary. It was also the most obvious stage on which rivalry and competition could be performed by members of both the outer and inner court.69 In this performance at court, as well as in their interactions outside of court, members of the functional 68   Wallace-Hadrill, “Seen and Unseen”, p. 98. Cf. Gibbon, Decline and Fall, vol. 3, p. 114 for the “splendid theatre”. Cf. also ibid., 101 (the court as “the theatre where the elite of the empire assemble to watch each other, watch the power game, and take their chance”). 69  For the notion that competition (Konkurrenz) is—indeed, must be—performed for it to truly be competition, see Künzer, Kulturen der Konkurrenz, passim.

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nobility adapted and used elements of imperial imagery and participated in imperial ceremonial.70 Appointments to at least the higher offices and to honorary ranks were usually made by the emperor in person, and the official act of appointment consisted of the handing-over of an imperial codicil in a court ceremony (as famously depicted on the missorium of Theodosius). Personal appointment by the emperor was in itself a distinction that elevated the recipients above those appointed simply by letters patents.71 Depending on the specific office or rank conferred on the recipient, codicils were of different appearance and could be accompanied by official presents (largitiones) or insignia and emblems of rank, as seen in the illustrations to the Notitia Dignitatum.72 High-ranking officials were gifted with codicils bearing the imperial image.73 As the most obvious sign of the latter, the portrait of the emperor was a coveted iconographic attribute both as official emblem and in private representation. Consular diptychs, a particular late-antique form of status representation among the highest nobility, regularly included depictions of the emperor(s) 70  For aristocratic ceremonial behaviour outside of court see, for example, Ammianus’ mention of an upper-class household in Spain performing a nightly ritual: as the evening approaches and daylight fades, the servants kindle the lights and carry them to where they are needed in a procession while reciting what we may characterise as a single-word acclamation: vincamus (Ammianus, Res gestae XVI 8.9). Thanks to the same author (XIV 6.12), we know that the ancient ritual of aristocratic salutationes survived into the 4th century at least. In his well-known critique of contemporary senators, Ammianus (XXVIII 4.10) particularly criticises their behaviour during these audiences: “Some of these men, when one begins to salute them breast to breast, like menacing bulls turn to one side their heads, where they should be kissed, and offer their flatterers their knees to kiss or their hands, thinking that quite enough to ensure them a happy life” (ex his quidam cum salutari pectoribus oppositis coeperunt, osculanda capita in modum taurorum minacium obliquantes, adulatoribus offerunt genua suavianda vel manus, id illis sufficere ad beate vivendum existimantes). The allusion to imperial ceremonial is obvious. Aristocratic houses of Late Antiquity, with their tendency towards colourful marble and mosaic decorations, larger public spaces (often to the detriment of private quarters), apsidal recesses and impressive entrances, would also have provided a suitably impressive background for both salutations and lavish dinners, accompanied by music from water-organs and “lyres as large as carriages” (Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 6.18). Cf. MacMullen, Some Pictures in Ammianus Marcellinus, pp. 435–6. 71  Codex Theodosianus VI 22.8. Cf. Herrmann-Otto, “Promotionszeremoniell und Personal­ politik”, pp. 92–3. 72   Herrmann-Otto, “Promotionszeremoniell und Personalpolitik”, pp. 90–1 with n. 14 for the relevant depictions. Cf. also (e.g.) Codex Theodosianus VI 10.3. For imperial gifts, see Beyeler, Geschenke des Kaisers. 73  For an overview of the illustrations in the Notitia which feature the imperial image, see Löhken, Ordines dignitatum, p. 78 with n. 59.

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or imperial family, either as full-bodied representations of enthroned emperors or as portrait busts.74 Imperial busts also sometimes appear as decorations surmounting the consular sceptre, both in consular ivories (such as on the Halberstadt diptych) and also in the famous missorium of Aspar.75 In her systematic analysis of consular diptychs, Cecilia Olovsdotter has shown that the majority (i.e. three out of five) of diptychs showing imperial busts belong to consuls with personal connections to the imperial family.76 In other words: the presence of the imperial image signalled closeness to the emperor. Imperial imagery is also present on gifts of a different nature, such as two silver spoons discovered near Aquileia and now lost.77 One diptych (fig. 2.1) from the early 5th century now in Berlin, is worth discussing briefly, because it shows Rufus Probianus as a member of the clarissimate on one leaflet, wearing a toga contabulata, and as an imperial official—the inscription informs us that he was vicarius urbis Romae—on the other, wearing the official chlamys with campagi, and shown in the process of being acclaimed by two subordinate chlamydati.78 On both leaflets, he is depicted with the imperial codicil confirming his appointment as vicarius; his official status is further indicated by his sitting on an elevated chair of office in front of an architectural shorthand including columns and vela, which also serve to denote imperial service. The reigning emperors are present in the guise of their imperial imagines included in a bejewelled frame to Probianus’ right on both leaflets and serve to denote— again—imperial authority but also a personal connection to the emperor. Ceremonies were both splendid and highly formalised affairs and called for special costumes, the use of which was regulated.79 Though members of the clarissimate were forbidden by law to wear anything besides the traditional (if slightly changed, to fit the fashions of Late Antiquity) toga within the city 74  For a full discussion of the role of imperial portraits in the diptychs, see Olovsdotter, The Consular Image, pp. 114–9. 75  As the offering of silver dishes to celebrate important occasions seems to have been an imperial monopoly (cf. for instance the famous missorium of Theodosius), the existence of a ‘consular’ dish is remarkable and should be seen as “an imitation of the imperial practice” (Zaccagnino/Bevan/Gabov, “The Missorium of Ardabus Aspar”, pp. 438–9). Cf. Leader-Newby, Silver and Society, pp. 46. 76  Olovsdotter, The Consular Image. 77  Delbrück, Consulardiptychen remains the standard text on consular diptychs, but see also Olovsdotter, The Consular Image. For the gifting of silverware, see Leader-Newby, Silver and Society, and for largitiones as part of the consular celebration cf. Symmachus, Epistulae II 81, V 56, VII 76, IX 119–20. 78  Delbrück, Consulardiptychen Nr. 65; cf. Gerszke, “Die Chlamys in der Spätantike”, pp. 115–6 posits that the lack of a cingulum indicates that Probianus was an honoratus and did not actually serve as vicarius; more likely, the cingulum is obscured by the opened codicil. For the consul, see PLRE 2, Rufius Probianus 7, p. 909. 79  De caeremoniis I 85–86 (e.g.).

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figure 2.1 The diptych of Rufus Probianus (bpk / Handschriftenabteilung, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin—Preußischer Kulturbesitz)

limits of Constantinople, the senatorial garb, too, could bear the image of the emperor, as is attested by Ausonius for a consular trabea “on which divine Constantius (…) is woven” (in qua divus Constantius (…) intextus est).80 In any case, courtiers and acting officials for the most part wore the chlamys and military cingulum as mark of their position (as, indeed, did the emperor).81 80  Ausonius, Gratiarum actio 11.53. 81  For senatorial dress code, see Codex Theodosianus XIV 10. For late-antique official dress, see Herrmann-Otto, “Höfisches und kirchliches Zeremoniell”; Gerszke, “Die Chlamys in der Spätantike”. For the costume of the emperor himself, see Delbrück, Spätantike

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Fastened over the right shoulder with a jewelled brooch—a Crossbow Fibula (sometimes with imperial inscription)82 for courtiers or a bejewelled fibula with pendants for the imperial family—the chlamys was inlaid with decorated purple or golden segmenta, as in the famous mosaic of Justinian in the Church of S. Vitale in Ravenna. The increasing use of jewelled brooches with three pendants in private contexts is likely also a consequence of imperial models. Such brooches were closely associated with the emperor in the 3rd century and their presence and development has been traced in imperial imagery.83 One particularly striking example is a cameo with the portraits of two emperors (perhaps Diocletian and Maximianus) set in gold and three tear-shaped pendilia. Other examples include imperial coinage and medallions set in gold pendants.84 Naturally, most of the official court ceremonial focused on the figure of the emperor himself. Clad in bejewelled silks of purple and gold (as well as in ritualised silence), pearl-encrusted and remote, illuminated by artificial lights and its reflection in the precious gems and materials draped on and around him, the elusive figure of God’s vicar on earth was often hidden from all but the innermost advisors and the highest-ranking officials.85 On those occasions where courtiers were in his presence, their physical closeness to the emperor and positioning in space were regulated by precedence and the court officials responsible for ceremonial matters (the admissionales). As our sources tend to focus on extraordinary ceremonial occasions or the occasional transgressions, we are less well informed about daily and routine ceremonies. Nevertheless, what we do know shows the enormous potential of imperial ceremonial to quantify and Kaiserornat; Alföldi, Repräsentation, pp. 161–85. The imperial costume of Late Antiquity also likely influenced fashion trends among the upper classes, though there is unfortunately little direct evidence of this as only a few late-antique textiles survive to this day. Depictions and descriptions in other media, however, attest to the influence of courtly dress, as for instance in the case of the so-called Tomb of Eustorgios in Thessalonica: over a tunic with clavi and roundels, the figure of Eustorgios is clad in a reddish, perhaps purple chlamys decorated with segmenta after the fashion of the court, while his wife is richly draped in pearls (including in her hair). Cf. Mathews, Clash of Gods, pp. 35–37 with fig. 17. While purple clothes were restricted for imperial use by law (Codex Theodosianus X 21.3, Codex Iustinianus IV 40.1, 11.8), this prohibition could never be strictly enforced (cf. Codex Theodosianus X 20.18). Purple textiles were also used by the upper classes as tablecloths and as covers for dining couches (cf. Ammianus, Res gestae XVI 8.8). 82  Cf. the examples in Deppert-Lippertz, “Late Antique Crossbow Fibula”. 83  Stout, “Jewelry as a Symbol”. 84   Deppert-Lippitz, “Late Roman Splendour”, pp. 39–40 with figs. 6a–c; Stout, “Jewelry as a Symbol”, pp. 85–8 with figs. 5.12–5.15. 85  The paper by Icks in this volume further examines the history and historicity of this traditional stereotype of the Late Roman emperor as a princeps clausus.

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to make visible the status of courtiers (not of the emperor). In fact, ceremonies can be considered to be the cynosure of much—if not all—of the phenomena of status competition described above and, as Charles Pazdernik has noted, ceremonial pomp also reflected positively on the status of courtiers involved in it: “Standing in order beside the throne […] and swelling the magnificent spectacle […] bathed the Constantinopolitan bureaucrat in the reflected glory of his monarch and made him, even if only in a derivative and collective sense, an object of veneration.”86 Collective, yes; but hierarchies were not flattened, even in comparison to the figure of the emperor: questions of rank and differences of status were made physically manifest during ceremonies. In this context, it seems apposite to recall Strootman’s previously mentioned definition of the royal court as a nexus of courtiers, their social, political, and economical relations, and the physical and architectural manifestations of monarchy. In imperial pomp and circumstance, all three elements combine to render a visual and performative hierarchy expression of the underlying competition. Take, for example, the case of the appointment of new comites, as described in the 6th century by a former magister officiorum of the palace, Peter the Patrician: He [the decurion] goes away and brings him in, and the emperor hands him the codicils of the komes of admissions, and after receiving them he kisses his feet and stands in front of him. Then the emperor orders the one who has received the codicils of the komes of admissions to bring forward the one retiring, that is, the outgoing komes of admissions, and the incoming komes takes him and leads him to him, and the emperor hands him the codicil of an illoustrios, and he, after receiving it, kisses his feet. The komes of admissions takes him and leads him away and stands him in his place after the agentes and before all the honorary illoustrioi. The ranking gives them this precedence as described.87 86  Pazdernik, “Man behind the curtain”, p. 65. 87  De caeremoniis I 84 (transl. Moffatt): ὁ δὲ ἀπελθὼν φέρει αὐτὸν, καὶ ἐπιδίδωσιν αὐτῷ ὁ βασιλεὺς τὰ κωδικέλλια τοῦ κόμητος τῶν ἀδμηνσιόνον [ἐπιτρέπει ἐνεγκεῖν], καὶ λαβὼν φιλεῖ τοὺς πόδας αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἵσταται ἔμπροσθεν αὐτοῦ. αὐτῷ οὖν τῷ δεξαμένῳ τὰ κωδικέλλια τοῦ κόμητος τῶν ἀδμηνσιόνων ἐπιτρέπει ἐνεγκεῖν τὸν παυόμενον, τουτέστιν τὸν ἀπὸ κομήτων ἀδμηνσιόνων, καὶ λαβὼν αὐτὸν ὁ γενόμενος κόμης προσάγει αὐτῷ, καὶ ἐπιδίδωσιν αὐτῷ ὁ βασιλεὺς κωδικέλλιν ἰλλουστρίου, καί δεξάμενος αὐτὸς φιλεῖ τοὺς πόδας αὐτοῦ κάτω. Καὶ λαβὼν αὐτὸν ὁ κόμης τῶν ἀδμηνσιόνων ἀπάγει καὶ ἵστησιν αὐτὸν ἐν τῷ τόπῳ αὐτοῦ μετὰ τοὺς ἀγέντες πρὸ πάντων τῶν ὀνοραρίων ἰλλουστρίων. Τοῦτο γὰρ τὸ προνόμιον δίδωσιν αὐτοῖς, ὡς εἴρηται, ἡ διάταξις. References used here refer to the chapter numbering and pagination of Johannes Reiske’s 1829 edition (originally completed a half century earlier still) in the Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae, which unfortunately is still authoritative as Albert Vogt’s

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The formal character of this ceremony is heightened by the prestige of the surroundings: the appointment of a κόμης τῶν ἀδμηνσιόνων (comes admissionum) took place during audiences ἐν κονσιστωρίῳ, that is in full view of its members and other courtiers, with the imperial bodyguard arrayed in parade dress around them. A near contemporary of Peter, the poet Corippus, describes what a consistory audience may have looked like (though his description is part of a diplomatic ceremony involving foreign ambassadors and is furthermore highly stylised) and may serve to give an overall impression: The wide floor was wondrous with paving and carpets spread over it, and seats arranged in long rows adorned the splendid hall with their hanging. Hangings covered the doors. (…) When the officials had filled the decorated palace with their groups arranged in order, a glorious light shone from the inner chamber and filled all the meeting place. The emperor came forth surrounded by the great senate.88 Courtiers present at such ceremonies were thus arranged in space according to their social and courtly rank, likely by the comes admissionum.89 The care taken by Peter in describing the placement of the just-retired comes—he is positioned between agentes in rebus and honorary illustri—reflects the attention given to matters of precedence between acting officials and honorati in the imperial constitutions of the Theodosian Code. Physical closeness to the emperor emphasised personal status and in fact we can observe a careful manipulation of physical distance in a number of ceremonies. Appointments of comites of the scholae or of curopalati could also take place in the consistory, but were more customarily performed in the cubiculum, the private area of the palace. As the ritual elements of the ceremony otherwise remained the same, this did not detract from the external splendour of the ceremony and yet it is a further example of the fine gradations allowed by ceremonial. As we will see again later, the ceremonial treatment of members 1939 edition covers only chapters 1–83 of the first book. On the authorship of Peter, see Bury, The Ceremonial Book; Cameron, Construction of Court Ritual; Featherstone, Further Remarks. 88  Corippus, In laudem Iustini III 204–213 (transl. Cameron): mira pavimentis stratisque tapetibus apta / planities, longoque sedilia compta tenore / clara superpositis ornabant atria velis. / Vela tegunt postes. (…) / postquam dispositis ornata palatia turmis / officia explerunt, adytis radiavit ab imis / inclita lux, et consistoria tota replevit. / egreditur princeps magno comitante senatu. 89  Löhken, Ordines dignitatum, pp. 93–111. For the role of the comes, see Whitby, “Omission”, pp. 476–83.

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of the imperial guard (the scholae) differed from that of other courtiers and the differences in location when appointing counts of the scholae and curopalati are not surprising, as the curopalatus was connected to the scholae.90 The curopalati Ammianus mentions seem to be closely associated with the emperor as well, and perhaps the most famous curopalatus was the later emperor Justin II, who held this office until his accession.91 The official insignia of the curopalatus was a golden staff, with which he was personally invested by the emperor in the private apartments, and which was carried before the emperor in procession.92 The intimate surroundings of the ceremonies thus emphasise the personal relationship between the emperor and appointees.93 In a similar vein, to emphasise their personal relationship with the emperor and their position as part of an elite corps within the palatial service, the silentiaries were not appointed by codicil but rather by the emperor personally handing them their golden staffs of office. The fact that the silentiary-to-be is led into the presence of the emperor by the praepositus sacri cubiculi (responsible for the “private” palace staff) differentiates this occasion from other ceremonies, which are most often officiated by the magister officiorum (responsible for the “official” palatine staff). The function of the silentiaries was to assure a ritual silence in the presence of the emperor and to help create a quasi-religious mystique. They were thus an integral part of his ceremonial appearance and the close relationship between the silentiaries and the emperor found its expression in the fact that they were appointed in the cubiculum and not among the public of the court. Members of the corps of candidati, protectores, or scholae were appointed in a variety of fashions: protectores could be handed their codicils in consistory or in a distinct ceremony in an interior court of the palace (“in front of the Delphax”). During the ceremony, the emperor emphasised the right of the new protector to adore the purple by acclaiming him in the presence of the rest of the corps with the words “Adorator protector”—almost the only instance where the emperor had a “speaking role” during promotions.94 Candidati, 90  Cf. Codex Theodosianus VI 13.1. Little else about that office is known with certainty, however. 91  See Whitby, “Omission”, pp. 469–76 for a good discussion with relevant sources. 92  For the investiture ceremony, see De caeremoniis I 45 with Whitby, “Omission”, p. 475; for the appearance of golden staffs in imperial ceremonies, see De caeremoniis II 51. 93  Whitby, “Omission”, p. 476 with notes. In the 9th-century Kletorologion of Philotheus, the curopalatus is ranked immediately after the Kaisar and nobilissimus. In fact, beginning with Justin II’s appointment of his son-in-law to the post, the inherent degree of Kaisernähe was further heightened by the fact that only imperial relatives were appointed to it. 94  De caeremoniis I 86.

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however, were appointed in a ceremony that was less formal—or, rather: in a formal ceremony explicitly intended to purvey a spontaneous and personal nature.95 As was the case with the silentiaries, they were not presented with a codicil, but instead with a sign of their function; in this case a torques:96 When the emperor is going up to the Hippodrome, or when he is proceeding in some procession or other, the magistros should get ready a komes of the sixth or seventh schole, the primikerioi of the kandidatoi, and a torque. When the emperor is going up to the Hippodrome, the one who is about to be made a kandidatos wears a red pectoral and white chlamys […]. As the emperor goes in, the komes of the schole, if he is present—but if he is not present, the primikerios—hands the magistros the torque. The magistros, standing to the right of the emperor, holds it with both hands and brings it to the emperor, and the emperor hands it to the kandidatos, and he kisses his feet and stands up.97 The fact that an alternative is provided for cases where no comes of the scholae is present may indicate a further hierarchical element, in that we can imagine that the lower-ranking primikerios was deputised to fulfil this ceremonial role in cases where the appointee was of somehow lower status. The candidatus, in any case, is made a praesentalis and the ceremonies involving the imperial guards—including their tribunes being entertained at imperial banquets98— in general strive to emphasise a degree of Kaisernähe that is absent in most ceremonies involving other officials.99 Contrast this with the distinct lack of personal closeness as an element in ceremonies involving officials of the civil administration (as opposed to the palatine offices). We are again fortunate to have the testimony of John the 95   Herrmann-Otto, “Promotionszeremoniell und Personalpolitik”, p. 99 strikingly calls it “fast flüchtig”. 96  On the torques as insignia of bodyguard units, see von Rummel, Habitus Barbarus, pp. 213–31; for ceremonial functions of guards in general, see Rollinger, “Changing the Guard” and id., “Specie dominationis”. 97  De caeremoniis I 86 (p. 391–2 Reiske): ἀνιόντος τοῦ βασιλέως εἰς τὸ ἱππικὸν, ἢ προϊόντος εἰς οἱονδήποτε πρόκενσον, χρὴ τὸν μάγιστρον προευτρεπίσαι τὸν κόμητα τῆς ἕκτης ἢ ἑβδόμης σχολῆς καὶ τοὺς πριμικηρίους τῶν κανδιδάτων καὶ μανιάκιν. Καὶ αὐτὸν τὸν μελλοντα γίνεσθαι κανδιδάτον, φοροῦντα ῥούσεον πεκτοράριν καὶ λευκὸν χλαμίδιν, ἀνιόντος τοῦ βασιλέως εἰς τὸ ἱππικὸν […]. Καὶ ἅμα εἰσέλθῃ ὁ βασιλεὺς, ὁ κόμης τῆς σχόλης, ἐάν παρῇ, εἰ δὲ μὴ πάρεστιν, ὁ πριμικήριος, ἐπιδίδωσιν τῷ μαγίστρῳ τὸ μανιάκιν· καὶ ὁ μάγιστρος, ἑστὼς ἐκ τῶν δεξιῶν τοῦ βασιλέως, κρατεῖ ταῖς δύο χερσὶν, καὶ προσφέρει τῷ βασιλεῖ, καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς ἐπιδίδωσιν αὐτῷ τῷ κανδιδάτῳ, καί φιλεῖ τοὺς πόδας αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀνίσταται. 98  Codex Theodosianus VI 13.1. 99  Compare for instance De caeremoniis I 68 (p. 390 Reiske).

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Lydian, who describes his own retirement from the office of the praetorian prefect in Constantinople. Even as he grumbles about the unsatisfactory financial settlement, he emphasises that “honour and the respect of the mighty” were his reward and that his service had made him “an object of respect […] and one not unworthy of honour in the sight of the authorities”: In the first place, when I mounted upon the tribunal of the prefecture— you know, in accordance with that custom of giving thanks to one’s superior and laying down one’s office— prefect, as a mark of honour, […] got to his feet and warmly returned my salutation. After embracing me, the first thing he did was to give me with his own hands the order requiring delivery of an allowance in provisions, with an expression of his gratitude. Then, after countless expressions of praise, with the entire staff in attendance, he read out a decree.100 It is relevant to our interpretation of this account, that, firstly, this is not imperial ritual but rather an administrative one, performed not by the emperor but by the praetorian prefect as John’s direct superior. As such, it is not performed in the imperial palace, but rather at the praetorium. Secondly, though it seems modelled after imperial rituals, important and inevitable changes had to be made to the ritual: the praetorian prefect receives John in a traditional salutatio which involved his rising to his feet and the exchange of kisses. As part of the official act, a highly complimentary decree was read out in the presence of John’s peers, which publicly praised his years of service, his erudition, and his diligence. Though it is hardly noticeable from his abbreviated account, John was not the only person resigning his position on this day. He mentions “men who were in every way most dear” to him and who accompanied him in a formal procession to the imperial palace, where an ancillary ceremony was performed in an audience with the emperor who handed them codicils granting the “title customarily conferred upon those who complete their service”.101 John does not describe this last ceremony at all; likely, it was a more formal and distant affair, as the imperial court and the praetorium of the praetorian

100  John, De magistratibus III 30.2: […] ἔτυχον δὲ τιμῆς καὶ τῆς ἀπὸ τῶν κρατούντων αἰδοῦς […]. 3: αἰδέσιμον […] τοῖς δὲ ἄρχουσιν οὐκ ἀπάξιον τιμῆς. 4: Πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ ἀναβάντα με ἐπί τοῦ βήματος τῆς ἐπαρχότητος, κατὰ τοῦτο δὴ τὸ σύνηθες, εὐχαριστῆσαι τῷ κρείττονι καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀπώσασθαι, τιμήσας ὕπαρχος […] ἐγερθεὶς ἀντησπάσατό με λιπαρῶς, καί περιβαλὼν αὐτίκα μὲν τὸ πρόσταγμα τῶν ἀννωνῶν χερσὶν ἰδίαις ἐπιδίδωσιν εὐχαριστῶν, μετὰ δὲ μυρίους ἐπαίνους, πάσης τῆς τάξεως παρούσης, ψῆφον ἀνέγνω ἔχουσαν. 101  John, De magistratibus III 30.10. For John’s colleagues, see Dubuisson/Schamp, Jean le Lydien, 3, p. 81 with n. 118.

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prefect were distinct social systems that had little overlap, though, by virtue of the prefect’s position at the very top of the civil administration, the office of the praetorian prefecture resembled that of the emperor in certain regards. The praetorian bureaux were, however, separated from the palatine ones and there seems to have been little day-to-day contact or exchange between members of either one. In addition, there was a subtle gradation of status and prestige between palatine and civil servants.102 In fact, this remarkable distance between imperial and praetorian circles was further emphasised by an elaborate ceremonial that John the Lydian alleges to have been performed each time the prefect appeared at the palace: on his approach, the emperor personally left the palace to greet him. The practice was abolished by Theodosius II, from whose time an imperial image was sent out to greet him instead.103 On the prefect’s arrival at court, high notables, including military commanders, made obeisance to him.104 How, then, did this discrepancy in status inform the ceremonial of retirement of a high-ranking civil servant such as John? We may get an impression from the proceedings on the occasion of appointing or dismissing an augoustalios (i.e. a praefectus augustalis, the vicarius of the Egyptian diocese and likewise part of the civil bureaucracy of the prefecture): the emperor hands over the codicil in the presence of the praetorian prefect, but he “is not thanked” (οὐκ εὐχαριστεῖται), as was obviously the case with other officials. The new official is then created a comes consistorianus by virtue of his office, but as to his ceremonial position, Peter only mentions vaguely that he stands among the comites (μετὰ τῶν κομήτων), without giving further details of placement. Upon conferment of the comitiva, he leaves the imperial presence together with the praetorian prefect but is not acclaimed by the members of the palatine scrinia, as seems to have been the case with similarly high-ranking palatine officials.105 Both he and the prefect then ride the latter’s official carriage to the praetorium where he retires.106 5 Conclusion Starting with the introduction of a new, formalised ceremonial by Diocletian and the beginning of a conscious process of creating a new imperial elite that 102  Cf. Cassiodorus Variae VI 3.5. 103  John, De magistratibus II 9.2–3. The same honour was paid to the urban prefect. 104  John, De magistratibus II 9.2. Cf. Cassiodorus Variae VI 3.4. 105  See, e.g., Codex Theodosianus VI 9.2.1. 106  De caeremoniis I 85.

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integrated imperial officials of both senatorial and non-senatorial descent by 4th-century emperors, the Late Roman imperial court and the ceremonial that governed the interactions of both emperors and courtiers with each other and among the court society as a whole, were an important part of imperial ideology and the practical exercise of imperial authority. Indubitably influenced by the experiences of the 3rd century, Diocletian’s hieratic and strictly hierarchic ceremonial served to reinforce and to emphasise the mystique of imperial majesty, its divinely ordained powers, and its absolute ascendancy over even the most influential, wealthy, or powerful subjects—an autocratic ruler towering over them. This ideology was perpetuated by his successors and increasingly modified to accommodate Christian sentiments. Perhaps its best and final (Roman) expression is a further innovation by a later emperor, Justinian. In his Secret History, Procopius famously describes a new degree of ritual abasement that this emperor (and, to add insult to injury, at least in Procopius’ view, his empress) inflicted on the highest-ranking of subjects: the traditional adoration of the purple introduced by Diocletian was replaced by the complete prostration of senators and even of patricians, combined with the kissing of the imperial feet.107 In this telling, the honour of adoratio had become the humiliation of proskynesis. According to Pazdernik, authors such as Procopius and John Lydian should be read as opposing this “flattening” of “hierarchies of honorific and official protocol by ignoring or suppressing distinctions of rank and title” of an elite that gave in to its most self-abasing and servile traits.108 In this view, ceremonies intend to show an unbridgeable distance between the emperor and everyone else, and this is certainly the case. But it would be naïve to assume that the ceremonial exaltation of the emperor always corresponded with his actual power or to suppose that ceremonies were enough to ascertain the authority of the throne. However, ceremonies and all their constituent aspects certainly played their part, not only in presenting the emperor as a quasi-religious figure far-removed from the “normal” people he governed, but also as a means of accommodating the ambitions of a vast and influential bureaucratic elite who, through their participation in ceremonies, were presented and seen as the “objects of imperial mastery”.109 Offices, court titles, and their attached ceremonial privileges were the prime medium by which success or failure in the aristocratic competition for status was communicated. The advantage of fostering and regulating this competition 107  Procopius, Anecdota 30.21–24. 108  Pazdernik, “Man behind the curtain”. For an analysis of Procopius’ polemic against the master-slave model implicit in Justinian and Theodora’s ceremonial reforms, see esp. ibid., pp. 66–77 with n. 18 and 29. 109  Pazdernik, “Man behind the curtain”, p. 63.

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for the emperor lay not in “distracting” courtiers and nobles by keeping them suspended in never-ending cycles of competition and one-upmanship, thus “domesticating” them and preventing them from banding together and developing potentially dangerous power bases.110 More importantly, this competition had a “socializing” effect. Its prize, the scarce resource for which courtiers and nobles competed, was imperial favour, which alone could lead to an increase in prestige, or, rather, in a specific figuration of social capital that could be called “courtly” or “aulic” capital, as it found its primary expression and relevance solely within the context of the monarch’s court. In contrast to the now widely-accepted concept of social (or symbolic) capital as described by Pierre Bourdieu, which, in the case of a late-antique noble would have derived from a mixture of material wealth, education and erudition, habitus, political offices and public liberality (as discussed above) and would have formed the basis of his position within the wider context of Roman society, courtly capital was an essential part of one’s position and influence at court.111 This position was reflected in ceremonial, which thus functioned as a finely-graded indicator of the totality of one’s position, both social and in the context of court society. For instance, while the mostly low birth, physical encumbrance, and social stigma of eunuchs occupying the position of praepositus sacri cubiculi would have ordinarily prevented them from being upwardly mobile, their influential position as doorkeepers to the imperial cubiculum and the bestowal upon them of the rank of illustres by the emperor, transcended their inferior circumstance. Their influence at court, in practice informal rather than official, was reflected in their ceremonial roles, which likewise saw them within the context of the “private” apartments of the palace. Procopius provides us with another example of the nuances of imperial ceremonial and the role it played in aristocratic competition. While in the Secret History he polemicizes against the flattening of hierarchies in ceremonial, it is worth noting that the Justinianic “reforms” only applied to the highest rungs of the elite, which were now also called on to venerate the imperial feet. And while this self-abasement with regard to the emperor follows the internal logic of ceremonial, this does not mean that ceremonies no longer respected and accentuated differences in status among courtiers. In the Wars, for instance, there emerges a picture of high complexity. After his recall from Italy, Belisarius was appointed to the command of the imperial guard in addition to his role as magister utriusque militiae per Orientem and was thus assigned a specific (high) position within the ceremonial hierarchy, though there were 110  This may have been an occasional side-effect, though even that is difficult to gauge. 111  For the concept of social capital, see Bourdieu, “Soziales Kapital”.

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other courtiers who outranked him. Nevertheless, Procopius refers to him as “first among all the Romans in dignity” (ἦν τε τῷ ἀξιώματι πρῶτος […] Ῥωμαίων ἁπάντων)112 and this dignity influenced the behaviour of the court. Though they surpassed him in official rank hierarchy, other courtiers, including ex-consuls and those who had been enrolled among the patricians before him, yielded precedence to him, “being ashamed in view of his achievements to cite the law and claim the right that it conferred”.113 The sensitiveness of the elite with regard to status was finely-tuned enough to allow for considerable flexibility and nuance in matters regarding competition among themselves—perhaps precisely because the distance between the emperor and even the highest of patricians was so unbridgeable. As we have seen, imperial constitutions regulating court titles and matters of precedence were not uncommon in the late 4th and 5th centuries and were an expression of imperial power. They were, however, not instrumental in regulating competition among the courtiers—or at least they were not intended to be so. Rather, they mainly served the purpose of communicating imperial authority to prescribe rank and hierarchy. Though these were an exceedingly important part of courtly competition, day-to-day configurations of status were not expressed in legislation but rather in the guise of performing imperial ceremonial. And while the emperor and his proxy, the magister officiorum, were important regulators of ceremonial, they were not the only ones. As the example of Belisarius shows, ceremonial performances could also be an expression of a self-regulating court society, which not only valued formal rank but also actual power and influence. We need thus not imagine individual emperors—least of all the more ineffectual or inexperienced ones—reacting to disagreements over precedence with scalpel-like precision and ever-present will to dominate and to legitimise their rule. This may have happened. But it need not have happened all the time, not always consciously, and not in each and every instance. At times, in fact, it could be advantageous for the emperor to adapt a more laissez-faire approach. We should not forget that the regulation of precedence created not only winners but also losers: each time a specific office or individual was elevated in rank, another’s rank was by necessity diminished. It may not always have been in the imperial interest to show a clear preference or to adopt a discernible position. In the case of Belisarius, Procopius explicitly adds that the deference of higher-ranking courtiers to the conqueror of Africa and Italy greatly pleased the emperor—as we may well 112  Procopius, Bella VIII 21.2. 113  Procopius, Bella VIII 21.3: αἰσχυνόμενοι κατὰ τῆς ἀρετῆς τῷ νόμῳ χρῆσθαι καὶ τὸ ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ δικαίωμα περιβάλλεσθαι.

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believe. The honourable treatment of Belisarius may have been a consequence of his virtue, as Procopius claims, but it was certainly also closely connected to the obvious favour in which Justinian held the general and the desire by the courtiers to ingratiate themselves with both. As is often the case in monarchic courts, flattery was ubiquitous and could also influence the performance of status. Thus, imperial favour could also function in an informal, roundabout way, transcending established rules of precedence. In any case, emperors profited from the competition among their subjects, which, in the end, led to appeals to their own imperial majesty to adjudicate matters in one form or another. This was an implicit affirmation of his authority as emperor as the sole instance of appeal that, in turn, perpetuated courtly competition for imperial favour. This, then, was the “domesticating” effect of status competition within court society, a competition that was expressed in court dress and aristocratic habitus, in the quest for court titles and precedence, and for ceremonial privileges that indicated the most sought-after resource of all: Kaisernähe and favour. This competition among the new imperial service aristocracy was both a consequence of changes in imperial ideology and the increasing ceremonial remoteness of the emperor—which made a scarce good even scarcer—and a necessary support of imperial authority, though not necessarily to the detriment of the nobility’s position. “Domestication” in this context, then, is a very different animal than that suggested by Elias. Bibliography

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Chapter 3

The venatio in the Emperor’s Presence? The consistorium and the Military Men of the Late Roman Empire in the West Vedran Bileta Abstract This article focuses on the role that the powerful and professional social group the magistri militum played in the politics of the imperial privy council (the consistorium) and explores their impact on the redefinition of Late Roman imperial office. These men were experienced battle commanders, skilled in matters of war and warfare. However, they were often unprepared for the social environment of the consistorium, which was characterized by a wide array of competitive relationships between specific power groups. First, this article portrays the function of the fourth-century consistorium, and its relationship with the emperor, by using the accounts of Ammianus Marcellinus. The second part explores the issue of venatio, intra-factional competition and cooperation within the privy council, and the consequences it had for the military men involved. Lastly, the article deals with the shift of military power from the emperor to the generals which happened at the turn of the fourth century. This allowed the magister militum to step into the emperor’s traditional role of commander-in-chief and monopolize control of the military. This monopoly gave the holder control over the government, making him the most powerful man in the empire. The analysis is set within the “barbarization” discourse, as the article presents the hostility between the individuals or groups as a part of factional manoeuvrings, rather than a backlash towards the nonRoman origin of the military commanders. Finally, by setting the analysis within the wider context of socio-political changes in Late Roman society, the article explores the impact that the competitive relationships in the emperor’s proximity had on the government of the Roman empire in the West.

As Aetius was explaining the finances and calculating tax revenues, with a shout Valentinian suddenly leaped up from his throne and cried out that he would no longer endure to be abused by such treacheries (…) While Aetius was stunned by this unexpected rage and was attempting to calm his irrational outburst, Valentinian drew his sword from the scabbard and together with Heracleius, who was carrying the cleaver ready under his cloak (for he was a head chamberlain), fell upon him (…) After © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_005

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destroying Aetius, Valentinian also killed Boethius the prefect, who had been high in Aetius’ favour.1 This account of a 5th-century historian offers us a rare glimpse into a complex situation of court politics in the last century of the Roman empire in the West. The demise of an important imperial official, who was at the time the undisputed master of the Western part of the empire (magister militum Flavius Aetius), provides us with valuable insights into the role of the magister militum and his position at the imperial court in the last decades of the Empire in the West as well as the inner workings of the emperor’s privy council—the con­ sistorium. Aetius held a military office, but at the time of his assassination he also acted as a head of the government, and he was thus a principal member of the small council of the emperor Valentinian III (425–455).2 Valentinian sat on the imperial throne, but he was ruler only in name, with his domain increasingly shrinking and limited to the core region of Italy and parts of Gaul, Spain, and Illyricum. Even in these troubled circumstances, the emperor could still, albeit with some difficulty, project his role of the leader of the Roman world. When addressing his subjects, he could emulate an image such as the one presented by the poet Ausonius, half a century earlier, who compared an imperial audience with standing before God, inspiring “dread and a reverent awe”.3 The real power, however, rested in the hands of those standing around the throne, members of the consistorium, spearheaded by Aetius. It was them, the men who held a position closest to the centre, the potestates of Ammianus, who governed the state and who could influence the emperor’s will for their own personal aims.4 This small group of “great men”, composed from the 1  Priscus, fr. 30.1.13–27; fr. 30.1.39–40, trans. Blockley: ὡς δὲ τὰ περὶ τῶν πόρων Ἀέτιος προύθηκε καὶ ἀναλογισμὸν ἐποιεῖτο τω̑ ν ἐκ τῆς εἰσφορᾶς ἀθροισθέντων χρημάτων, ἀθρόον ὁ Βαλεντινιανὸς ἀνακραγὼν ἀνέθορέ τε του̑ θάκου καὶ οὐκέτι ἔφη οἴσειν τοσαύταις ἐμπαροινούμενος μοχθηρίαις (…) τὸ δὲ παράδοξον τῆς ὀργῆς ὡς ἀπεθαύμαζεν ὁ Ἀέτιος καὶ ἐπειρᾶτο τῆς ἀλόγου κινήσεως ἀπαγαγεῖν αὐτόν, σπασάμενον ὁ Βαλεντινιανὸς τοῦ κολεοῦ τὸ ξίφος σὺν τῷ Ἡρακλείῳ ὥρμησεν, ἤδη καὶ αὐτοῦ τὴν κοπίδα εὐτρεπῆ ὑπὸ τὴν χλαμύδα φέροντος· πριμικήριος γὰρ τῶν κοιτώνων ἦν. (…) μετὰ δὲ τὸν Ἀετίου φόνον, καὶ Βοήθιον ὁ Βαλεντινιανός, ὑπάρχον ὄντα ὰνεῖλεν, ἐκεινῳ ἐς τὰ μάλιστα κεχαρισμένον. 2  Twyman, “Aetius and Aristocracy”, pp. 480–503. Stickler, Aetius. Gestaltungsspielräume eines Heermeisters im ausgehenden Weströmischen Reich, pp. 70–5, 294–5. Heather, The Fall of the Roman Empire. A New History. 3  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, p. 192. Ausonius, Gratiarum Actio 1.2. See also McCormick, Eternal Victory. Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West, pp. 252–8. PLRE 2, Aetius 7, pp. 21–9. PLRE 2, Placidus Valentinianus 4, pp. 1138–9. 4  Brown, Power and Persuasion in the Late Antiquity, p. 10; Kelly, Ruling the Late Roman Empire, p. 193, Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 1.10; cf. XXVIII 6.9 potestates celsae.

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high-ranking officeholders, generals, and influential members of the imperial household—the proximi (“those who are nearest”)—shaped and reshaped the policies of the 4th- and 5th-century Roman West, including the most important domain: control of the considerable armed forces indispensable for the empire’s survival.5 This article aims to explore the role of the men who controlled and directed the imperial military: the powerful and professional social group of the magistri militum.6 The focus is on the role they played in the politics of the consistorium, as well as their impact on redefining the role of the Late Roman emperor. First, the article will make use of the most detailed account we have about the matter, the work of the 4th-century historian and soldier Ammianus Marcellinus, to present the inner workings of the consistorium, as well as the role that the emperor played.7 The second part explores the issue of intra-factional competition and cooperation within the small council (and the consequences it had for the military men involved). Such power play is presented by Ammianus in vivid terms as a venatio—an experience of staged beast hunts. Experienced battle commanders, skilled in matters of war and warfare, often found themselves unprepared to participate in what was for them an alien world: the imperial court. Thirdly, the article will explore the shift of military power from the emperor to the magister militum which occurred at the turn of the 4th century. The absence of the emperor from military affairs opened up an opportunity for ambitious generals to step in and monopolize control not only over the military, but also over the government. This resulted in the consistorium being supplanted by the influential proximi, members of the comitatus, now under the control of the magister militum. Military men now ruled the empire, but, as 5  For the emperor relying on his intimates’ advice, see Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 11.1, XV 8.2, XXX 4.1. The last case is of particular interest as it shows the emperor’s amici being able to exert great influence and manipulate the emperor Valens, see den Boeft et al. (eds.), Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol 30, pp. 60–1. See also Gutsfeld, “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, pp. 88–9. It is interesting that the very term that Ammianus is using, proximi, points to the source from where those men derived their power and influence: Ammianus, Res gestae XXI 14.2. 6  For the creation of this office under Constantine, Zosimus, Historia nova II 33.3. The best work on the topic is still Demandt, “Magister militum”, pp. 553–788. See also Crump, “Ammianus and the Late Roman Army”, pp. 91–103. The earliest named magister militum was Hermogenes in the East, recorded in active service in 342. PLRE 1, Hermogenes 1, pp. 422–3. See Demandt, “Magister militum”, p. 564. Ammianus mentions the son of Hermogenes, Heraclianus, at Res gestae XIV 10.2. 7  Ammianus was closely involved in the empire’s military matters. See Crump, Ammianus Marcellinus as a Military Historian; Austin, Ammianus on Warfare. An Investigation into Ammianus’ Military Knowledge.

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Aetius’ case has shown, they could still fall victim to court intrigues. Although the period considered in the article is a time of increased influx of non-Romans into the highest levels of the Roman hierarchy, I aim to present the hostility between different groups as a consequence of factional manoeuvrings rather than as a backlash against the non-Roman origin of military commanders. Finally, placing my analysis within the wider context of socio-political changes in Late Roman society, I will address the impact that the competitive relationships in the emperor’s proximity had on the government of the Roman empire in the West. 1

All the Emperor’s Men and Matters of Warfare

In the words of Wolf Liebeschuetz, the Late Roman Empire was a place in which “the idea of the emperor loomed powerfully and fearfully”.8 Yet, despite their claims or representations, the Late Roman emperors were not omnipotent monarchs. As in any other pre-modern state, the structural limitations to the practical power of the ruler were simply too great. To pass a command or a proclamation to the multitude of subjects, considerable distances had to be traversed, and to maintain a hold on power both political and military support was required.9 The brute strength of the legions had to be complemented by paideia—the “glue” that kept the Roman educated elite together—a prerequisite for the emperor if he wanted the elite’s support, indispensable in the government of a vast territorial empire.10 As the 4th-century emperors were more accustomed to military camp life than to the protocols of the court, they came

8  Liebeschuetz, Antioch. City and Imperial Administration in the Late Roman Empire, p. 106. Although Liebeschuetz is making this statement specifically in relation to Antioch, the notion can be applied to the imperial provinces in general. However, as the author argued, the omnipresent image of the emperor did not mean that its impact was always successful. The case of Antioch does show us that the emperor’s ability to convey his commands was limited, even in one of the largest urban centres and imperial cities. Conversely, that ability would then be even more constrained in rural and frontier areas. 9  Kelly, Ruling the Late Roman Empire, pp. 115–7. 10   For the connection between paideia and political culture, see Brown, Power and Persuasion, Power and Persuasion in the Late Antiquity towards a Christian Empire, ch. 2. Even Valentinian I, who was proud of his low-brow military background, recognized the importance of a good education, and appointed Ausonius as a tutor for his son. See Matthews, Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court AD 364–425, p. 51. For high-empire and the importance of the local elites in governing the empire see Hadrill, “The Roman Imperial Court: Seen and Unseen in the Performance of Power” pp. 100–2.

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to rely on a small council for efficient rule, and the men who formed that body became some of the most powerful men in the empire.11 The Late Roman imperial court was not a static institution, but it was a constantly fluctuating one. Imperial politics were court politics, and the proximity to power, more than official status, defined one’s influence, which was most apparent in the environs of the consistorium—the emperor’s privy council and the central body of the Late Roman government.12 Like the rest of the court, the small council was not a regulated institution, as the decisions were made by the emperor’s chief ministers and officers of the highest rank who happened to be in the ruler’s vicinity. They could be major civilian officials, members of the emperor’s family, or high-ranking military officers.13 Following the reforms 11  The military pride of the 4th-century emperors is attested by contemporaries. Symmachus praised Valentinian’s ability to endure the rugged camp life, and Ammianus confirms that this was more than rhetoric, noting that on a campaign for the emperor “a rug and a rough blanket sufficed for such as shelter” Symmachus, Oratio 1.14. cf. Ammianus, Res gestae XXIX 4.5. On another occasion, in a speech delivered at the accession of his underage son, Valentinian supposedly excused Gratian’s lack of military experience, saying “He has not, like us, had a harsh upbringing from his very cradle and been inured to the endurance of hardship”. Ammianus, Res gestae XXVII 6.8. In a similar vein, the military education of Theodosius I is extolled, particularly his youth spent in the confines of the military camp accompanying his soldier-father. Panegyrici Latini (as used in bibliography) 2(12).8.1. The only exception is the Constantinian dynasty, in particular the emperors Constantius II and Julian, who were praised for their good education. 12  The consistorium got its name from the way the meetings were conducted. All the members of the small council were standing (consisto), except for the emperor. The first mention of the consistorium can be found during the reign of Constantius II. There was, however, a long tradition of the ruler having a small council. From the reign of Augustus this function was carried out by the consilium principis but unlike its Later Roman successor, there was no fixed membership of this body. It was probably under Constantine that this group became more formalized with membership now being made up of the emperor’s senior officials, as well of the influential or experienced men who were in his vicinity at the moment. For the consistorium under Constantius II, see Vogler, Constance II et l’Ad­ ministration Imperiale, pp. 216–20. See also Harries, “The Roman Imperial Quaestor from Constantine to Theodosius II”, pp. 155–6; Jones, The Later Roman Empire, vol 1, pp. 333–4. For the predecessor, see Crook, Consilium Principis. Imperial Councils and Counsellors from Augustus to Diocletian. 13  Another important figure who initially did not have a formal place at the imperial court, but who by the end of the 4th century rose to be one of the influential figures in imperial politics was the bishop. The case of Ambrose of Milan is the most instructive here, as it was his outsider position that made it possible for Ambrose to serve as mediator for several emperors (and usurpers), which culminated in his close involvement in the court politics during the reign of Theodosius I. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan. Church and Court in the Christian Capital, pp. 291–341. Ambrose’s case does not represent the status of a bishop in general in the 4th century. Nevertheless, it does give us some insight into the complex and ever-changing role of the bishop during that period. A role and level of influence that

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of Constantine, the role of the consistorium increased as the number of office positions (and conversely their status) rose.14 This was particularly valid in the case of military office-holders. As the emperor continued to rely on his small council for all military matters, at the beginning of the 4th century, the con­ sistorium was enlarged with the military commanders who held a permanent post (ex officio), such as the comes domesticorum (commander of protectores domestici) and two magistri militum (commanders of the infantry and cavalry), who led the new field armies attached to the emperor (praesentales).15 In addition, there was a larger number of non-official members, both civilian and military, men who found themselves in the presence of the ruler in a particular emergency.16 As the influence of the emperor’s proximi grew and the emperor’s own power diminished, by the end of the 4th century, the consistorium would gradually change into a platform for the display of deference and ceremony, but in the period discussed here it was a forum where the most important decisions were made. The role of the consistorium in decision-making regarding military affairs is best recorded by the soldier-turned-historian, Ammianus Marcellinus.17 One must be aware of the nature of his work and the style, as well of the historian’s tendency to adapt the facts to support a broader narrative.18 Ammianus was not recording the day-to-day workings of the imperial administration, nor giving a description of the political hierarchy. His account is often strongly would become even more important as the nature of imperial power changed during the 5th century. 14  Besides the high-ranking military officers, the principal members of the consistorium while in office (ex officio) were the master of offices (magister officiorum), the praetorian prefect (praefectus praetorio), the quaestor (quaestor sacri palatii). Jones, The Later Roman Empire, vol 1, pp. 333–41. Codex Iustinianus XII 16.1 (415). 15  Greatrex, “Government and Mechanisms of Control. East and West”, pp. 29–31; Corcoran, The Empire of the Tetrarchs. Imperial Pronouncements and Government 284–324, pp. 255–6, 260–3. The formalization of the small council seems to follow the ceremonialization of the court under Diocletian. 16  On membership of the consistorium see Jones, Later Roman Empire, vol. 1, pp. 105–106. See also 333, 526 (comites intra consistorium). 17  The best work on Ammianus is Matthews, The Roman Empire of Ammianus. For recent interpretations of Ammianus’ work, see Drijvers/Hunt, The Late Roman World and Its Historian; Barnes, Ammianus Marcellinus and the Representation of Historical Reality; Kelly, Ammianus Marcellinus. The Allusive Historian; Brodka, Ammianus Marcellinus. Studien zum Geschichtsdenken im vierten Jahrhundert n. Chr. For the military perspective, see note 7, above. 18  For the Ammianus’ narrative, and his style of writing, see Kelly, Ammianus Marcellinus. The Allusive Historian; Weisweiler, “Unreliable Witness: Failings of the Narrative in Ammianus Marcellinus”, pp. 103–33.

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partial to his patron and commander, Ursicinus, magister equitum in the East, and emperor Julian.19 However, as it pertains to military matters and reoccurring details, the accounts offer a rare opportunity to see how the council was organized, and how it responded to the military challenges of the mid-4th century. In 357 the emperor Julian was urged by his advisers, led by the praetorian prefect Florentius (a senior civic official), to confront the Alamanni at Strasbourg.20 Two years later it was the same Florentius, now accompanied by the magister equitum Lupicinus, who hurried to Mainz for a meeting of the consistorium that had been summoned to discuss the tribune Hariobaudes’ report on the Alamanni.21 Both men argued in favour of crossing the Rhine in the vicinity, but Julian refused to take their advice for fear of upsetting the local Alamanni who had already been subdued.22 In 368, while approaching Paris, Valentinian I was notified of an attack on the Rhenian limes by the Alamanni as well as the usurpation of Procopius in the East.23 The information on the revolt lacked details, and it was presented to the emperor by the comes rei mi­ litaris for Illyricum, Aequitius. This senior military officer obtained the report in its incomplete form from a tribune stationed in Serdica.24 Upon hearing the news, the consistorium advised Valentinian to stay in Gaul, which was under threat from Alamanni once again, and to allow Aequitius, now promoted to magister militum, to defend the lower Danube from possible attacks from the East.25 But the suggestions of the council were not always unanimous. Of particular interest is Ammianus’ account of the meeting of Valens’ proximi at the eve of the battle of Adrianople in 378, where the supporters of magister pedi­ tum Sebastianus urged an immediate engagement, while magister equitum Victor and others advised the emperor to wait for the arrival of his imperial colleague Gratian and Gallic reinforcements.26 19  For the literary techniques used by Ammianus to defend both himself and figures like Ursicinus and Julian, see Kelly, Ammianus Marcellinus, pp. 31–103. 20  The praetorian prefect Florentius was instrumental in advising Julian’s privy council at the eve of battle. Ammianus, Res gestae XVI 12.14. PLRE 1, Florentius 10, p. 365. 21   P LRE 1, Lupicinus 6, pp. 520–1; Hariobaudes, p. 408. 22  Ammianus, Res gestae XVIII 2.7. 23  Ammianus, Res gestae XXVI 5.7–8, XXVII 1. cf. Zosimus, Historia nova IV 9. Lenski, Failure of Empire. Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A.D., p. 76. PLRE 1, Flavius Valentinianus 7, pp. 933–4. 24  Initially, Valentinian did not know if his brother was even alive. Ammianus, Res gestae XXVI 5.9–10. Zosimus, Historia nova IV 7.3. Symmachus, Oratio 1.17 suggests that the emperor decided not to act until he received more reliable information. 25  Ammianus, Res gestae XXVI 7.11–12. 26  Ammianus, Res gestae XXXI 12.6. However, Zosimus reports that it was Sebastianus who wanted to wait but was overruled. Zosimus, Historia nova IV 23.6–24.1. Lenski, Failure of

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The meetings described above share a number of things, which may give us an idea of the challenges for whose resolution the emperor required the advice of the consistorium. In almost all the cases, the information about the military emergency was incomplete, and what was known was of poor quality. For instance, according to Ammianus, when trying to estimate the nature of the threat at the Rhenian limes, Julian and his advisers had no detailed information and were merely responding to a situation as it developed. In Julian’s case, the emergency was close to his command post, but Valentinian had to act based on a vague report about events in the remote East. Even when the danger was in the immediate vicinity, as at Adrianople, the emperor could not count on a detailed report and had to rely on incomplete information. In all the cases the consistorium was summoned to respond to the immediate danger; there was no long-term planning. The emperor’s decision had to be quick and immediate, based on what little information he had. The issue was further complicated by the differing interests, both professional and personal, of the men or parties in the proximity of the throne. The need for a rapid response, coupled by the lack of information, only increased the importance of the men in the emperor’s vicinity, allowing them not only to influence the emperor, but also to use the opportunity, and act against the opposing party. After a short and often animated discussion, a suggestion would be presented to the emperor, who had the final say on the matter. This moment could be portentous for the individual, as in some cases the emperor’s refusal would signify the rise or downfall of the individual. When the emperor Constantius II was informed of Julian’s arrogance in leadership, which left his army besieged for several months at Sens in 356, he opted to believe in Julian’s version of events and replaced Marcellus, the magister equitum who warned the emperor of Julian’s flawed leadership. Marcellus, who was recently promoted to a generalship by the same emperor, was now removed from command and exiled. His place was taken by a general favoured by Julian, Severus.27 With the recipient being excluded from the court, following the final decision, the Empire, p. 363. See den Hengst et al. (eds.), Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 31, pp. 203–4. Victor is specifically praised by Ammianus as being a prudent man (cunctator et cautus). Cf. Eun. fr. 45, for Sebastianus being a capable general. PLRE 1, Sebastianus 2, pp. 812–3; Victor 4, pp. 957–8. 27  Marcellus was sacked and replaced, despite his attempts in front of the consistorium to warn the emperor that Julian was ready to “fly too high”. Ammianus, Res gestae XVI 7.1–3. See Drinkwater, The Alamanni and Rome, pp. 223–5; Matthews, The Roman Empire of Ammianus, pp. 268, 459–60; Potter, The Roman Empire at Bay AD 180–395, p. 501. PLRE 1, Marcellus 3, pp. 550–1. Marcellus’ case could be singled out by Ammianus, as he was a rival of his patron, Ursicinus. PLRE 1, Severus 8, p. 832.

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emperor would entrust his subordinates to perform it, often the very members of the consistorium. The act of delegating imperial power to close associates had the benefit of facilitating control of the empire, as, due to the immense size of the territory and the wide range of duties expected from him, the emperor could not be at all places at once.28 The delegation of power had a downside, as every handover further limited the emperor’s authority and control.29 The “cruelty of distance”, common for all the pre-modern states, and the inability to effectively control his subordinates allowed for the possibility of corruption, while the communication breakdown in some cases could have far-reaching consequences. The story of the infamous comes Romanus, the regional commander in Northern Africa, is well known: in the 360s, he was able to use his influence among the emperor’s proximi to manipulate Valentinian I, by turning the emperor against the very people who reported Romanus for corruption and negligence of his duties.30 The incident was probably more complex, as most of the evidence of Romanus’ actions comes from Ammianus, who himself drew on sources that were hostile to the general.31 Furthermore, the historian is known for disagreeing with Valentinian’s policies, and the Romanus affair provides a motive for a later rebellion led by Firmus; and as such is used in a larger narrative on bad emperorship.32 Later sources paint a more positive image of the general.33 However, for this study, the culprit is actually irrelevant, as the delay in the 28  The best work on information gathering in the Late Roman Empire, as well on the geographical limits of Roman imperial power, is Lee, Information and Frontiers. Roman Foreign Relations in Late Antiquity, pp. 81–161. 29  Kelly, Ruling the Late Roman Empire, p. 191. 30  Ammianus, Res gestae XXVIII 6.1–24; Matthews, The Roman Empire of Ammianus, pp. 383–7. See also Ammianus, Res gestae XXIX 5.2, where the magister officiorum (and Romanus’ relative) Remigius uses his power in court to prevent Firmus’ report of Romanus reaching the emperor. PLRE 1, Romanus 3, p. 768. 31  It seems that Ammianus drew on official records of the general Theodosius’ campaigns against Firmus, such as a dossier or a report he sent to the emperor. Matthews, The Roman Empire of Ammianus, pp. 381–2. 32  After Romanus and the African incident are introduced, the historian commented on Valentinian punishing lower-ranking soldiers for their misdeeds, while showing leniency when addressing much graver crimes committed by senior military officials—which only encouraged them to increase their crimes. Ammianus, Res gestae XXVII 9.4. Barnes, Ammianus Marcellinus and the Representation of Historical Reality, pp. 182–3. 33  For instance, for Augustine, who was a local, Romanus was a person who did his duty and followed the law. Augustine was writing three decades after the incident took place, but his claim that the manner of Romanus’ handling of Donatists is a known fact (constat), is plausible. Augustine, Contra litteras Petiliani libri tres III 25.29. That Augustine did not consider providing further evidence of Romanus’ approprate conduct suggests that his readers had a much more positive view of the officer than Ammianus.

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imperial response, and the ability of the proximi to thwart facts, only confirm the difficulties in ruling from a distance, and the power that members of the consistorium could have over the emperor. The story of the Romanus affair serves as a textbook example of the powerplay of different factions grouped around the emperor. What seemed corrupt to one group, could be perfectly legitimate and normal, even profitable, for another. As Kelly has noted, “illegality offers only one possible definition of corruption … A society can equally well be made up of a series of competing ideals; ideals which impinge upon how power is—or may be—exercised appropriately.”34 Another case that reveals the limits of the emperor’s control, which allows the officials he appointed to thwart and misguide the emperor’s will, is the Gothic incident of 376. Lupicinus (the same officer who had advised Julian in Mainz more than a decade earlier, now a commander of the forces on the lower Danube), exploited the absence of emperor Valens and mistreated the Goths who were demanding asylum in Roman territory.35 There is a moralizing aspect in this account, and it is possible that Lupicinus acted pre-emptively in his failed elimination of Gothic leadership, but the corruptive and ruthless acts of Roman officials should not be downplayed.36 Nonetheless, the inability of the emperor to react promptly and prevent such an action in the first place, resulted in a Gothic revolt and the grave defeat of the Roman Eastern field army at Adrianople in 378, including the loss of the emperor’s life. The inescapable necessity of delegating power to the men whose acts the emperor could not fully control was illustrated neatly in the work of a late 4th-century aristocrat. In his De Regno, Synesius of Cyrene portrays the officials as essential cogs in a machine that carries out the emperor’s policy.37 For their work, the officials would be rewarded, while the ones who acted against the will of the emperor, would be punished. However, the machine was easy to tamper with, as imperial power was often at risk of being used by officials 34  Kelly, Ruling the Late Roman Empire, p. 4. 35  Ammianus, Res gestae XXXI 4.11; cf. XXXI 6.5. Eunapius, fr. 42; Zosimus, Historia nova IV 20.6. Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 31, pp. 85–90. 36  The best modern analysis is Lenski, Failure of Empire, pp. 326–30. At the time of the crossing, Valens was occupied at the Persian front, which shows the danger of limited communications and oversight. 37  “Now to seek to know each place, each man, and each dispute would require a very thorough survey, and not even Dionysius [of Syracuse], who established his rule over a single island—and not even the whole of that—would have been capable of performing this task. But through a few officials it is possible to pay attention to many concerns.” Kelly, Ruling the Late Roman Empire, p. 190. For source text, Synesius, De Regno 27. Ammianus compares Constantius II with Dionysius, but in an unflattering way, as a tyrant. Ammianus, Res gestae XVI 8.10, XV 5.37.

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(both in his presence, and in the provinces) for their own aims, and could pose a risk not only to the emperor’s oversight, but also jeopardize the security of the empire. 2

“Thrown to the Beasts”?—the Emperor Strikes Back

The emperors of the 4th century could not control what happened at the lower levels, and their oversight over the acts of their close advisers, to whom power was delegated, was tenuous at best. However, the emperors could maintain their supreme authority and remind their proximi (and their clients) who held real power, through the regular turn-over of senior personnel and by maintaining several highly competitive positions, with the emperors themselves as the ones who made the final decision.38 During the 4th century, which saw the establishment of some relatively stable, and long-lasting dynasties, the emperors solidified their power by relying on their compatriots, or by granting promotion to the provincial associates of the family of an already established official.39 This could present a problem, especially in the eyes of the educated elite, as the highest military ranks were increasingly filled by men of humble origins, many of them coming from the other side of the limes. The outrage of the traditional aristocracy is expressed through Ammianus’ protests against emperor Valentinian who was castigated for favouring military men, some of them not of Roman origin.40 What Ammianus and the 38  There was no objective system of appointment or promotion to high office at the court. In the later Roman empire the means by which power was organized and regulated shifted and came to involve a variety of tactics, from utilizing networks of influence to the payment of money, Millar, A Greek Roman Empire, p. 209. Kelly, Ruling the Empire, pp. 179–85; Barnish/Lee/Whitby “Government and administration”, pp. 200–3. Such a volatile system of access to and promotion within the court should not be perceived as undermining imperial power. Indeed, as Kelly has argued, while emperors tried to regulate the system it was to their advantage to undermine or obscure their own legislation to display their authority in terms of access to and promotion within the administration. 39  Valentinian I favoured the Pannonians, Gratian supported Aquitanians, while Theodosius favoured Spaniards. Matthews, Western Aristocracies: for Pannonians, pp. 35–9; for Aquitanians (Gaul), pp. 69–77, and Spaniards, pp. 94–6. See also Matthews, Roman Empire of Ammianus, pp. 271–3; Lenski, Failure of Empire, pp. 56–67. 40  Valentinian elevated members of the senior military command, his fellow Pannonians, to the prestigious status of clarissimi, which formed the top of the Roman hierarchical pyramid. The outrage at Valentinian’s misguided policy is reflected in Ammianus, Res gestae XXVII 9.4. Ammianus claims that Valentinian “was the first emperor to foster the arrogance of the military to the detriment of the state by advancing them notably in standing and wealth”. The outrage of Ammianus, a soldier but also an erudite Easterner, can be

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traditional elites could not recognize is that, in the wake of Julian’s Persian debacle of 363 and emerging crises alongside the frontier, a strong army was required, which in turn meant the direct supervision of the emperor.41 Although unacceptable to a man like Ammianus, the system promoted by Valentinian rewarded those whose service was valued (or required) most, regardless of their status in society.42 The “illiterate military men” of Ammianus were in reality mainly educated professionals, men with a background in court bureaucracy.43 To this we should add that—despite the outrage—the emperor’s act should not be seen as something revolutionary, nor something new. The rise of military aristocracy started with the emperor Gallienus, and it was only reversed under Constantine, who again set senators at the highest position.44 Further, in appointing his fellow Pannonians to the top positions, Valentinian followed a well-established tradition.45 The end of every 4th-century ruler’s reign was accompanied by the turnover of his proximi.46 However, even during the emperor’s reign, few high officials would remain in their high-ranking position for long. The rapid turnover of personnel was a powerful tool at the emperor’s disposal to prevent the powerful from becoming entrenched in their positions. What is more important, it underlined the significance of the emperor as a key person who could distribute the offices.47 glimpsed in his juxtaposition of the wrong deed of Valentinian with the acceptable action of Constantius, a traditional villain of the Ammianus narrative, who is, in this case, praised for keeping the military aristocracy at the lower level of perfectissimi. Ammianus, Res gestae XXI 16.1–3. For evidence in the law from 372, see: Codex Theodosianus VI 7.1, VI 9.1, VI 14.1; and VI 22.4. 41  Lenski, Failure of Empire, p. 64. 42  Such was the case of the promotion of Aequitus, whom Valentinian raised to position of magister militum per Illyricum, with the task to better organize the forces against Procopius’ possible attack in that crucial area. Ammianus, Res gestae XXVI 5.8–13. 43  Matthews, Western Aristocracies, pp. 44–5. 44  Aurelius Victor, De Caesaribus 33–34. See Dixon/Southern, The Roman Cavalry. From the First to the Third Century, pp. 27–8. 45  The case of Valentinian is particularly interesting, as, unlike his predecessors, he came to the throne as a compromise-choice and was thus initially forced to accept existing senior staff. However, once he was established as a legitimate ruler, he followed his predecessors in appointing his men for the most important governmental positions. For the special position of the Pannonians, or Illyriciani, as a powerful clique in the 3rd, and second half of the 4th century see Brizzi, “Ancora su Illyriciani e ‘Soldatenkaiser’. Qualche ulteriore proposta per una messa a fuoco del problema”, pp. 319–42. 46  Kelly, “Emperors, Government and Bureaucracy”, p. 153. The change of guard often happened in a violent way. Such was the case of the closest associates of Constantius II, who were exposed to a violent purge after Julian took the throne in 361. 47  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, p. 192. However, the decisions about office appointments as well as removals from influential positions were often done with the aid of the proximi, which left a possibility for manipulation.

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While civilian officials could be easily removed and replaced, military officers, often backed by the armed forces under their command, were a much harder challenge, even for a competent emperor. Even with all its faults, once again it is Ammianus who presents us with the most detailed account of the experience of the military men within the small council, as well of the consequences of its decisions. Ammianus presents the court as a world of smoke and mirrors, a shifty, treacherous place where nothing is quite what it seems. This is a place where even the walls of an empty room are feared in case they might overhear a secret.48 And within the court, it is the consistorium where the power of the emperor could be undermined or manipulated by inadequate or deliberately false information, where officials, no matter their standing, might be too afraid to offer any real advice.49 It is the place where any shift in configuration could have far-reaching repercussions for imperial politics.50 This experience of the unpredictable shifts in the emperor’s deportment, which caught military men (used to the ways of the battlefield, but not to the intrigues of the court) unprepared, was described by Ammianus in terms of venatio—the staged fights between gladiators and wild animals in the amphitheatre, which were particularly popular in the Late Empire.51 The image used by the historian is striking, as hunting was traditionally considered by Roman elites as good preparation for military service. However, in the venatio, which was a staged spectacle, the hunter is deprived of agency and becomes the hunted. Besides his light armour, his only advantage is his speed

48  Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 1.7. Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, p. 193. 49  Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 5.4–5. Constantius was flattered by his courtiers, who encouraged his cruelty. Even Ammianus was sometimes at pains to justify arbitrary acts of Julian: XXII 10.6–7. When trying to choose his imperial colleague, Gratian could hardly receive honest advice. Williams/Friell, Theodosius. The Empire at Bay, pp. 8–9. 50  Barnes, Ammianus Marcellinus, p. 63. 51  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 3.3. Particularly XV 5.23: Et quamquam ut bestiarii obiceremur intractabilibus feris (…), On this imagery, see Matthews, Roman Empire of Ammianus, pp. 258–61; MacMullen “Some Pictures in Ammianus Marcellinus”, pp. 441–5; Barnes, Ammianus Marcellinus, pp. 107–10. The very term—venatio—is mentioned by Ammianus, but in a different context, when the pursuit of Pap, the king of Armenia, is compared to a beast hunt. Ammianus, Res gestae XXX 1.15. Although in the other cases the term vena­ tio is not mentioned, by its description one can assume that Ammianus is considering such imagery while setting it in his account. This can be seen specifically when describing the emperor’s uncontrolled rage, as in Ammianus, Res gestae XXIX 1.27: in modum arenariae ferae, si admotus quisquam fabricae diffugisset (…), where the second part of the sentence could be understood only by those who were familiar with venationes. For a detailed explanation, see den Boeft et al. (eds.), Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 29, pp. 43–4.

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and agility.52 The grimness of Ammianus’ picture is completed by the fact that the venatio was often used for the execution of the worst criminals and slaves, the convicts (damnati) who were sentenced ad bestias.53 Thus, the imagery used by Ammianus is appropriate to investigate the “looking-glass world”, the complex and treacherous workings of the small council, and the effect that the powerplay between its members had on unprepared military men. And what is a better case to examine such an experience than the revolt of a powerful military commander, which caught the imperial court unprepared and required the intervention of Ammianus’ beloved superior, Ursicinus?54 Now, we must be aware that Ammianus accounts are partial in favour of Ursicinus, but it is hard not to imagine how a capable general, a veteran of the Gaul and Persian front, would feel once he entered into the theatrical, and carefully organized world of the imperial court—where civilian court-officials wore military-style uniforms, and joined fictive “regiments”.55 At first, this could look like a comic scene, but these people wielded power that could deprive a man of his command, and even life. When a powerful general, magister peditum Silvanus, revolted in 355, it was Ursicinus who was sent to Gaul to crush the revolt.56 The parable of venatio used by the historian to describe the atmosphere at the court is apt, as both Silvanus and Ursicinus were ‘thrown to the beasts’, with only limited manoeuvring space. From the very start, the command in Gaul is shown as a dangerous one, as it was under threat from 52  Being “cast before ravenous beasts”, venatores who wore no armour (unlike other stage fighters) had to rely upon their own speed and agility rather than the protection afforded by armour. One must always be prepared for the unexpected, as the beasts would enter the stage in an unusual way, shattering the back doors of their cage—which had undesirable and dangerous consequences for the venator. The very image of a beast unleashed from the cage is provided by Ammianus, albeit in a different context. Ammianus, Res gestae XIX 6.4. For an excellent discussion on Ammianus’ employment of animal imagery when describing the fighting spirit of Gallic soldiers, De Jonge (ed.), Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 19, pp. 106–9. See also, Ammianus, Res gestae XXXI 8.9. For more on venationes, see Dunkle, Gladiator. Violence and Spectacle in Ancient Rome; Epplet, “Roman Beast Hunts”, pp. 514–6. The best recent work on the subject of beast hunts is an unpublished PhD thesis, Sparreboom, Venationes Africanae. Hunting Spectacles in Roman North Africa. Cultural Significance and Social Function; see in particular pp. 141–84, for the popularity of games in the empire and for the social position of the venatores. 53  Dunkle, Gladiator, pp. 207–44. Also, Epplet, Spectacular Executions in the Roman World, pp. 520, 529. See also Potter, “Performance, Power, and Justice in the High Empire”, pp. 129–60. 54   P LRE 1, Ursicinus 2, pp. 985–6. 55  Smith, Fourth Century Imperial Court, pp. 139–140. 56  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5. See below, p. 13, for the issue of the veracity of this episode. PLRE 1, Silvanus 2, pp. 840–1.

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Silvanus’ rival, and allegedly the principal influence behind the throne, ma­ gister equitum Arbitio.57 By using his influence, Arbitio was able to convince the emperor to dismiss the defence case offered by Silvanus’ fellow Frank, the officer Malarich, whose attempt to warn Constantius about the dangers of the conspiracy fell on deaf ears.58 Ammianus’ account presents the revolt as a last resort, as it happened only after the failed inquiry into the false allegation of Silvanus’ corruption, allegations that were fabricated by the very members of the small council.59 Silvanus’ usurpation caught the emperor unprepared and the consistorium had to be convoked in a rush, in the middle of the night, to discuss how to deal with this urgent matter. The news was all the more unwelcome in the light of Silvanus’ demonstration of loyalty to the dynasty four years earlier, by his conspicuous desertion of Magnentius’ forces before the conflict at Mursa, a move for which the grateful emperor rewarded him with the high command in Gaul.60 Finally, the decision to appoint general Ursicinus on the spot, and to give him temporary command over the Gallic field army, affirms the urgency of the situation. The experience of venatio was reserved not only for the usurper. Ursicinus accepted his command from the position of a disgraced officer who was earlier exposed to similar machinations within the emperor’s inner circle. As in the case of Silvanus, his accuser was Arbitio, which shows that the factional interest could cross the military/civic divide.61 Ammianus presented both the 57  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.2. For the context, see Blockley, “Constantius II and His Generals”, pp. 467–86. PLRE 1, Flavius Arbitio 2, pp. 94–5. 58  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.6. It may be that Malarich recognized the threat to the Frankish power group, which by then dominated the court. PLRE 1, Malarichus, p. 538. 59  One of the principal plotters against Silvanus was the praetorian prefect Lampadius, who accused him of attempting to usurp power. Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.4 Other ministers implicated in the Silvanus plot included Eusebius, the comes rei privatae, Aedesius, a former magister memoriae, and Dynamius, described by Ammianus as an actuarius sarcinalium principis iumentorum: the superintendent of the emperor’s pack-animals. In the ensuing investigation Silvanus was partly cleared of the charges, but, according to Ammianus, the fear of an ongoing plot against him forced the general to submit to the demands of his soldiers (albeit unwillingly) and take the purple. 60  Silvanus revolted against the emperor “despite the fact that he held Constantius under an obligation of gratitude, for his timely defection to him with his soldiers before the battle of Mursa”. In Ammianus’ worldview, under normal circumstances, Silvanus could rely on coming to no harm at the emperor’s hands despite the intrigues of his enemies. For Silvanus’ action in Mursa, see Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.33. 61  Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 9.1, XIV 11.4–5. Due to his close involvement with the fallen Caesar Gallus, Ursicinus was placed under suspicion by the emperor Constantius and was detained at the court. His primary opponent at the court was Arbitio, who was pursuing an agenda to accuse Ursicinus and his family of disloyalty. Ammianus, Res gestae XV 2.4.

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choices of Silvanus and Ursicinus as a fait accompli, one as the regrettable end of a loyal general who was forced into rebellion due to the machinations by the small council, and the other as the only choice of a general whose alternative in the case of failure was his own downfall.62 Ammianus’ agenda, and personal interests of the consistorium members in the downfall of at least one of the prominent military men, are a matter of debate, but what is important for this discussion is that the mechanism described above was a relatively safe way for the emperor to get rid of at least one of the troublesome commanders, and thus solidify his power. No matter if this was an attempt of failed usurpation or the spectacular backfiring of an attempt by Constantius to swap his top commanders, as Drinkwater suggested, it is certain that the emperor had the power to remove a powerful, but problematic military man from his position.63 Prior to being sent to Gaul, the disgraced Ursicinus was summoned to the emperor’s presence and was offered the imperial purple to kiss “more graciously than before”.64 The ritual of adoratio that Ursicinus performed was a clear sign to all present that once again the emperor held his command in high regard.65 Even with this little glimpse into the ceremonial and deliberations of the con­ sistorium, Ammianus gives a clear message of the emperor’s ability to keep the balance between his highest ranking officers. He could use his power to police and punish a powerful official, but he could also bring them back to his grace. What can be clearly seen from Ammianus’ account is an interplay of influences, often conflicting, among a disparate group of the emperor’s advisors, some of whom could use their proximity to power to advance their own agenda. This competition among the principal court factions is often seen as based on the ethnic divide. The fall of Silvanus, who was a Frank, and the similarly rapid downfall of the powerful military men of non-Roman origin, like Gainas 62  Ursicinus’ rivals were reportedly encouraged by the thought that, even if he were unsuccessful in bringing down Silvanus, he would at least destroy himself. Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.19. 63  For the failed manouvre, see Drinkwater, “Silvanus, Ursicinus and Ammianus. Fact or Fiction?”, pp. 568–76. Recently Kulikowski argued that the entire episode was a later invention, created as an excuse to rid Constantius II of his problematic general before he became a threat. He is basing the argument on the lack of numismatic evidence, since to this date no coin has yet been found with Silvanus’ image. Kulikowski, The Triumph of Empire, pp. 297–9. However, there is a possibility that Trier, the nearest minting centre to Colonia Agrippina (Cologne), closed its gates to Silvanus, thus depriving him of access to the mint (if there was even an operating mint in 355). The best analysis of this episode is presented by Hunt, “The Outsider Inside. Ammianus on the Rebellion of Silvanus”, pp. 46–56. See also Weisweiler, Unreliable Witness, pp. 108–15. 64  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.18. 65  Smith, Fourth-century Roman Imperial Court, p. 147.

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or Stilicho in the 5th century, was presented by traditional historians as a result of increased anti-barbarian sentiment in Late Roman society.66 It was seen as a reaction against the omnipresent and ever-increasing “barbarization” of the empire, in which non-Romans filled high-ranking posts, predominantly in the military, but also in the proximity of the imperial throne. To see those shifts through the simplistic lens of ethnic conflict would be wrong. Roman identity was based primarily on political allegiance, on the degree of loyalty of a person, or a group, towards the emperor and his cause. As the imperial government was the only proper ruling body, (failed) usurpers and rebels were branded as barbarians.67 Unfortunately, we lack any authentic account from the Germanic side, but we have rare glimpses in Roman accounts, of how men of foreign origin employed in the Roman world could be perceived by their own kinsmen. When Silvanus contemplated fleeing back to his kinsmen, a fellow Frank and friend, the tribune Laniogaisus, openly told him that they would sell him back to the emperor or kill him outright.68 When the divide was crossed, for a non-Roman general there was nowhere else to go. Malarich seemed to be aware of the danger, as he tried to warn the emperor of the influence that a certain clique was having over him, and of the role of Arbitio, who was of Germanic origin.69 Furthermore, the army acted as a powerful agent of “Romanization”. Through incorporation rituals, such as the imperial oath, and participation in the institutional life of the unit, a specific esprit de corps was 66  For a detailed discussion on the “barbarization” of the Late Roman army, see MacMullen, Corruption and the Decline of Rome, pp. 176–8; Ladner, “On Roman Attitudes toward Barbarians in Late Antiquity”, p. 8. 67  Halsall, Barbarian Migrations and the Roman West, 376–56, p. 55; Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe. Following his demise at Frigidus in 394, Eugenius was branded a “barbarian” and usurper, due to his connection to the Roman general Arbogast, who was of Frankish origin. The image is even more striking if we consider the fact that prior to the failed bid for power, Eugenius held the position of magister scrinorum. Furthermore, he held the post of teacher of grammar and rhetoric, which made him an ideal Roman vir—a man of higher learning and an embodiment of the Roman intellectual tradition. PLRE 1, Eugenius, p. 293. And yet, his failed usurpation allowed Theodosius, the winner of the struggle, to tarnish the name of his opponent. Instead, it was Theodosius who was presented as a model Roman emperor; even if he had a large contingent of Goths fighting on his side: Panegyrici Latini 2(12).32.3–4. Thus, it was not one’s origin, but the act of rebellion against the established order which could eject one from the Roman world and lead to one being categorized as “other”. Here, I would like to invoke Shaw’s image of the Roman brigand as a man of violence operating outside those controls, a phenomenon created by “the shifting frontiers of the definition of authority within the state itself”. Shaw, “Bandits in the Roman Empire”, pp. 3–52. 68  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.16. 69  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.6. For Arbitio’s background, see PLRE 1, Arbitio, pp. 94–5.

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created among fellow soldiers, which identified them as Roman.70 Instead of looking through the “barbarization” lenses, we should consider the removal of powerful military men as a part of factional politics that permeated Late Roman society at all levels, and purges of their adherents as the outcome of their patron’s involvement in the dubious activities.71 The fall of senior military officers could be the final act of a venatio, of court intrigue, but it also served as a powerful reminder to the others of the imperial prerogative, the fragility of their positions as well as their dependence on the emperor. To add to the complexity of such interplay, one should consider the actors involved in the venatio. Ammianus blamed powerful civilian dignitaries, and close confidants of the emperor, as the main culprits for the troubles of Silvanus or Ursicinus.72 As noted above, one of the men instrumental in the plot was a soldier, Arbitio. The same general was probably involved in the elimination of another military man, magister peditum Barbatio, in 359.73 In 354, Barbatio had played a decisive role in the removal of a member of the imperial family, Caesar Gallus.74 In 391, the general Promotus was removed from the court of Theodosius I on the instigation of the powerful official Rufinus.75 The prompt removal and the general’s death show the extent of influence that a man like Rufinus could wield. But this act cannot be seen as a two-sided struggle between civil and military groups, as it opened the road to Stilicho, who was probably involved in the affair, and was allowed access to the consistorium 70  Other incentives, such as regular pay, promises of booty, and the possibility of achieving the highest ranks in imperial society, assured a soldier’s loyalty only further. Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe, pp. 128–55; cf. Nicasie, Twilight of Empire. The Roman Army from the Reign of Diocletian until the Battle of Adrianople, pp. 93–4. See also Southern/ Dixon, The Late Roman Army, pp. 68–9. 71  Flavius Stilicho, a powerful general and politician, was disdained by traditional Roman nobility because of his Vandal origin. One of the leading intellectual figures of that time, Jerome calls him semibarbarus. But as Elton argues, Stilicho should be regarded more Roman than any one of his opposition, for the very reason that it is thanks to him, rather than a conservative and ineffective Roman senate, that the Roman state endured for a few more years. Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe, pp. 141–2. For the source text, see Jerome, Epistula 123.17. 72  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 3.4. Earlier, Paul the Chain is blamed for the fall of Gallus, Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 5.6. According to Ammianus, both Paul and the comes rei pri­ vatae Eusebius, caused the fall of Ursicinus. Ammianus, Res gestae XX 2. See also note 52, above. 73  Following his fall from grace, Barbatio was executed. Ammianus, Res gestae XVI 18.3. PLRE 1, Barbatio, pp. 146–7. 74  Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 11. 75  The removal of the military officer followed a tense debate, which ended with Promotus slapping Rufinus. Zosimus, Historia nova IV 51.1–3. PLRE 1, Flavius Promotus, pp. 750–1; Flavius Rufinus, pp. 778–81.

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following the incident. Similarly, in 408, Stilicho was removed by the magis­ ter officiorum Olympius, another high-ranking civic official who was able to persuade emperor Honorius to remove his opponent.76 As Stilicho’s death was followed by the systematic purge of his supporters within both civic and military ranks, one can conclude that, to carry out such a plan, Olympius had to cooperate with prominent military officers. Thus, the competition within the circle of proximi should not be considered as an ethnic conflict, nor as a two-sided civic/military struggle, since the downfall of a powerful military figure required close cooperation between high-ranking officials on both sides, whose allegiance to the emperor and his cause identified them and their supporters as Romans. However, the removal of Stilicho signalled change within the consistorium, a change that Ammianus probably could not have imagined. 3

Magister militum Triumphant

As noted above, the emperor’s monopoly on the (re)distribution of key posts, as well his hold on supreme power, which made both military and civil officials dependent on the proximity to the throne (pitting them one against another), allowed for the replacement of problematic generals. What was described by Ammianus in terms of a venatio could be interpreted as a highly efficient system that assured the loyalty of high-ranking officials to the throne and confirmed the supremacy of the emperor in all government affairs, including the military. However, the last decades of the 4th century saw the waning of the emperor’s power and influence, and with it the loss of his ability to replace troublesome key personnel. This inability to keep the increasingly powerful military men in check spelled disastrous results for the sons of Valentinian, the emperor who perhaps more than any of his predecessors identified the military as the primary pillar of the throne. Although he was elected with the approval of the soldiers, Gratian was not able to capitalize on it and was powerless to remove general Merobaudes, who openly challenged his military decisions.77 Unlike 76  See below, p. 93. 77  Merobaudes countermanded the emperor’s order to send the Gallic field army eastward to help Valens against the Goths. Ammianus, Res gestae XXXI 7.3–4. See McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, pp. 112–3. Merobaudes could have been counting on the regional affiliation of the field army to achieve support for his plan or was fearful of the possible response from disgruntled soldiers. This issue mirrored the problem of Constantius II, as well as that of Julian. Yet, Merobaudes should be credited with securing an orderly succession following the death of Valentinian I, as it was he who sent the ambitious commander Sebastianus to an isolated post, and supported Gratian

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his elder brother, who had some military experience as well as leadership potential, Valentinian II was from the very start of his reign deprived of much needed military exposure, which left him under the influence of the powerful magister militum Arbogast, who probably acted on the instructions of his superior, the emperor Theodosius I.78 The powerlessness of the young rulers to replace their troublesome generals, unthinkable for Constantius’ reign, ultimately ended in their own deaths.79 Following the death of Theodosius in 395, the waning of the emperor’s power continued. The youth and inexperience of his successors weakened the influence of the consistorium and supplanted it with comitatus, a circle of the emperor’s closest friends, amici, which itself developed from the 4th-century mobile emperor’s household.80 Less formal than the consistorium, it was the comitatus that had a monopoly on decision-making, leaving the remaining members of the privy council with little choice but to approve them.81 As the emperors during the 5th century became increasingly tied to a particular place, the power of individual members of the emperor’s comitatus increased. Influential military men—magistri militum—took control not only of the Western imperial military assets, but of the government as well. The military monopoly in the West is attested in the creation of a new office under Stilicho, magister utriusque militiae (commander of both branches of the military).82 The success of Stilicho very well illustrates the interconnectedness and imas the new emperor. Ammianus, Res gestae XXX 10.3. See also, Den Boeft, Philological and Historical Commentary, vol. 30, p. 201. While he was getting rid of the potential competitor, Merobaudes took the potential troublemaker, the Gallic army, to the Rhine. PLRE 1, Flavius Merobaudes 2, pp. 598–9. 78  The events that preceded the conflict between Valentinian II and Arbogast are quite telling of Theodosius’ relationship to his young imperial colleague. Valentinian is moved to Rome, to prevent him from partaking in the imperial victory. See McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 92–5. Zosimus, Historia nova IV 45.4. According to Eunapius, Arbogast was appointed as a guardian by Theodosius due to his firmness, incorruptibility, and exemplary rectitude: Eunapius, fr. 58.1. PLRE 1, Arbogastes, pp. 95–7. 79  McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, p. 86. For the defection of Merobaudes only after he realized that Gratian had alienated his troops, see O’Flynn, Generalissimos of the Western Roman Empire, pp. 3–4. For the death of Valentinian, McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 98–9. McEvoy assumes that Valentinian killed himself without knowledge of Arbogast, as it is difficult to see what Arbogast would have hoped to get from the death of the emperor who had legitimized his position. Cf. O’Flynn, Generalissimos, p. 10. 80  Comitatus started to gain importance as an imperial household, to which the emperor would often turn to for advice, and which would follow him during his peripatetic reign. See Smith, The Imperial court, pp. 196–8. 81  Codex Theodosianus I 14.8 (446). Smith, The Imperial court, p. 198. 82  Codex Theodosianus VII 13. 18 (407) Eunapius, fr. 62. PLRE 1, Stilicho, pp. 853–8. In the Notitia Dignitatum the commands of both parts of the army are divided: Not. Dig. Occ. 5 and 6. PLRE 1, Flavius Stilicho, pp. 853–9.

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portance of proximity to power in 5th-century imperial politics.83 Although he did not take the purple, he was able, as a guardian of the young emperor, to marry into the imperial family, which in turn allowed him to fill both the military and the government with his close associates.84 However, Stilicho’s status as a leading member of the emperor’s comitatus meant that he—and not the emperor—fell in 408, when a rift with the emperor left him without protection and a series of military troubles weakened his position, leaving him vulnerable.85 The extent of his control over the Western Roman government can be seen in the names of the officials killed in the purge following his fall, as his enemies eliminated almost the entirety of the emperor Honorius’ consistorium.86 The increasing weakness of the power that consistorium held in the West, as well of the emperor, is best displayed during the regime of Aetius, another powerful magister militum. It was Aetius who, following the defeat of his main rival Bonifatius in 433, assumed the leading role in the comitatus of Valentinian III, and achieved unrivaled control over the government and the military in the Roman West.87 Such an incredible feat was made possible by Aetius’ exclusive access to a unique source of power, which was beyond the empire’s control: his private army of Hunnic followers, loyal only to him.88 The supremacy of Aetius 83  Nevertheless, it does seem that Stilicho was not as capable a commander as Claudian portrays him. See Cameron, Claudian. Poetry and Propaganda at the Court of Honorius, pp. 54–5. See also McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 140–50. 84  For marriage and appointments, see McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 160–1 (Maria), 180–1 (Thermantia), 144 (Stilicho’s wife Serena). It is possible that Stilicho planned for his own son Eucherius to accede to the western throne, as Honorius was unable to produce heirs. Zosimus, Historia nova V 32.1–2; Olympiodorus, fr. 5.2.12–21. See McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, p. 183. 85  Matthews, Western Aristocracies, p. 280, McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 183–5. 86  Matthews, Western Aristocracies, pp. 280–1. See also McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 183– 4. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, p. 344. Among the officials killed in the purge were praetorian prefects of Italy and Gaul, the magister officiorum, and the quaestor, which shows the extent to which a man like Stilicho could monopolize the government. The list suggests that they had received their positions through the patronage of the general and not the emperor. Similarly, Stilicho’s control over the military is reflected in the assassination of at least seven senior officers (practically, the leadership of the Western Roman field army) during the army’s mutiny at Ticinum: Zosimus, Historia nova V 32.4–5. 87  On Aetius as the son of a magister equitum, see Gregory of Tours, Historia Francorum II 8; Jordanes, Getica 176. On Aetius’ background and the sources see PLRE 2, Aetius, pp. 21–9; Oost, Galla Placidia Augusta. A Bibliographical Essay, pp. 212–4; O’Flynn, Generalissimos, p. 77. On the final battle between Aetius and Boniface as the battle between two private armies, see Wijnendaele, The Last of the Romans. Bonifatius—Warlord and comes Africae, pp. 100–2. 88  McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 246–7. Aetius’ Hunnic retinue forced the eastern government to accept him in a prominent position in the West. A similar situation occurred

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in the imperial hierarchy and the safety within the court that he enjoyed are attested in his continuous Gallic campaigns, a feat impossible without securing the allegiance of the members of the small council, and the land-owning aristocracy of Italy.89 His influence in all matters, not only military, is reflected in an equestrian statue erected and dedicated to him by the Senate of Rome, which confirms the ability of Aetius to gather allies on both sides.90 Even if he never intermarried into the imperial family, the title of patricius, which indicates his intimacy with the emperor, and his third consulship in 446 show the apex of his influence, which went far beyond its official remit.91 The gathering of such extraordinary influence in the hands of an ambitious military man was partly made possible by the military inexperience and continued isolation from military affairs of Theodosius’ successors. This left the soldiers in need of a new leader, one who shared their esprit de corps, their interests, and their specific set of identities, such as their warlike qualities and “barbarian” customs or habits, which were consciously set in opposition with the traditional civic or court elite.92 At the same time, the high military in the case of Bonifatius, who, prior to his fatal skirmish with Aetius, used his private army to defeat several imperial punitive expeditions, and was able to use this resource as a bargaining chip to impose his reconcilement with the Western government. O’Flynn, Generalissimos, pp. 78–9; Oost, Galla Placidia, pp. 222–3; Bonifatius also used a private military to achieve his aims., see PLRE 2, Bonifatius, pp. 237–40. See also Wijnendaele, The Last of the Romans, pp. 72–4. 89  For the Gallic campaigns of Aetius, Jones, Later Roman Empire, vol. 1, p. 189; Matthews, Western Aristocracies, pp. 329–30; Stickler, Aetius, ch. 3. His successes in Gaul must have brought him considerable loyalty from the army that fought alongside him, and scholars have suggested that he must have built up a substantial personal following within Gaul itself as a result of his long-term campaigning, Matthews, Western Aristocracies, p. 360; McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, p. 244. 90  Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum VI 41389. The location where the statue base dedicated to Aetius was found is particularly interesting, as it lies in the political centre of the late imperial forum, namely in the area immediately behind the curia, which is identified as the late-antique atrium libertatis, a space associated with the Senate. Machado, “Building the Past. Monuments and Memory in the Forum Romanum”, pp. 162–3. The statue marks Aetius as patricius. See also Bauer, Stadt, Platz und Denkmal in der Spätantike. Untersuchungen zur Ausstattung des öffentlichen Raums in den spätantiken Städten Rom, Konstantinopel und Ephesos. 91  The third consulship was a remarkable favour of the emperor, since this honour was normally reserved only for the emperor himself. The only other magister militum who reached such a position was Constantius III, who was able to take the final step and become emperor. However, Aetius’ influence went well beyond that of the emperor. For patricius, the old honorific title revived by Constantius and imbued with more important meaning see, Zosimus, Historia nova II 40.2 See also Barnes, “Patricii under Valentinian III”, pp. 165–6. O’Flynn, Generalissimos, pp. 65–6. 92  Such is the case of palatine auxiliary units with “ancient” ethnic names such as Cimbri, Celtae or Sabini. Sabini: Not. Dig. Occ. 5.195=7.22; Celtae: Not. Dig. Occ. 5. 161=7.12,

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posts that conferred membership ex officio were barred for the old senatorial families, or the rest of the civic aristocracy. This left military men with exclusive access to the highest status.93 Through the command of the imperial army, the powerful and influential magistri militum, like Stilicho and Aetius, were able to convert their monopoly of military power into rare social capital, and to assume control over the government removing themselves from the venatio experience in the environs of the court. Their lead position in the emperor’s comitatus overshadowed the need for a consistorium, as it removed the emperor from his role as the manager of his senior officials and close associates. Yet, by excluding the rest of the emperor’s ambitious proximi from access to supreme power, they exposed themselves to a significant risk, as a change in court could be possible only by their removal. The best evidence for Aetius’ unparalleled influence in both the military and the civic sphere is the episode of his assassination.94 The assassination described in the introductory paragraph caught Aetius on the apex of his power, unprepared, as it was undertaken during a meeting of the consistorium, where Aetius enjoyed a dominant position. McEvoy presented it as a last-ditch attempt to restore imperial power, and perhaps to restore the long abandoned military command.95 The manner of the emperor’s attack on Aetius is significant for our understanding of the evolution of the consistorium, and its 5th-century form. It was the emperor Valentinian III who carried out the sentence himself, with the help of his eunuch Heracleius, the primicerius sacri cubiculi, as there were very few among his proximi whom he could rely on.96 The immediate killing of Boethius, the praetorian prefect, and one of the most important imperial officials, shows the extent to which Aetius’ men filled the imperial government.97 Furthermore, the episode shows the change of the 5.205=7.141. Or the comitatensian units with warlike or animalistic names: Cornuti, Leones, Feroces or Victores. Not. Dig. Occ. 5–6. 93  This became even more significant following a ban on the civilian use of arms in 364 AD. Codex Theodosianus XV 15 (364). 94  Prior to his assassination, he was able to break the marriage of the emperor’s daughter to Majorian, and to force the emperor into a public declaration of loyalty. Prior to his demise, Aetius planned to marry his son Gaudentius into the imperial family. McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 291–3. PLRE 2, Gaudentius, p. 494. 95  McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, pp. 299–300. Following the death of Aetius, Valentinian III attempted, albeit unsucesfully, to regain control over military affairs. He appointed his own comes domesticorum and engaged in diplomacy with barbarians. 96   P LRE 1, Heraclius 3, p. 541. 97  McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule, p. 298. It should be stated that there is a significant difference between the elimination of Stilicho, which was followed by the wholesale purge of his supporters, and the assassination of Aetius, in which Boethius seems to have been a rare victim of the general’s fall. While Stilicho was the victim of a plot organized by a

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consistorium from the 4th-century place where decisions were made, the place where Ammianus’ generals were confronted with the experience of venatio, to the 5th-century place where decisions were merely manifested, with the emperor now being the venator, his position being weakened by a half-century of inactivity. This weakness of the mid-5th-century imperial office is reflected in Valentinian’s inability to remove Aetius’ supporters from key positions. It denied him control of the army, the result being his own demise shortly after Aetius’ death. Valentinian was killed during a review of the troops, by the hands of Aetius’ former bodyguards.98 His successors, although attempting to engage themselves in military matters, could not counter the influence of powerful magistri militum such as Ricimer, still loyal to the idea of the empire, but in the role of a manager, not of a subordinate. They were not afraid to resort to armed conflict to pursue their own aims.99 4

Putting the Beast Back into the Cage—the venatio Reconsidered

The Late Roman emperor was undoubtedly a powerful ruler, with a strong military force under his command. However, due to the limitations of his vast territorial empire, he was forced to rely on a close circle of advisors who facilitated his ability to rule. Even if the emperor delegated considerable power to members of the small council, which limited his ability to control their actions, the consistorium never governed the empire. This is attested in the meetings regarding military matters, recorded by Ammianus, in which it was the emperor who made the final decision. Decisions were made in the highly competitive setting of the small council, within which its members moved with caution, as a wrong step could spell the end of a career or life of an adviser who found himself on the wrong side. Contemporaries like Ammianus described this atmosphere in terms of a venatio, and presented the court setting as an arena where the emperors would often act like unchained wild beasts, being manipulated for the worst by those closest to them. As I have argued here, we should rather see the ongoing competition between those in their inner circle as an efficient way for the emperors to powerful intimate of the emperor, Olympius, Valentinian seems to have been acting on his own, and could not even remove Aetius’ son Gaudentius. 98  For Valentinian’s death at the hands of his own soldiers, see Priscus, fr. 30.1.51–7. Also, Priscus, fr. 30.1.58–72. 99  From Ricimer’s acts during the entirety of his regime one can see patterns of italo-centric policy, which brought him in conflict with all the emperors who, in attempts to restore lost imperial territories, had to compete with him for the limited military assets of the Western Roman Empire.

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safeguard and justify their own position. The struggle for influence should not be perceived as an ethnic conflict, nor as a competition based on a civil/military divide. Officials and generals did not choose permanent sides; they moved within both worlds and shifted their allegiances as it suited their interest. What was paramount to maintain their lofty position, and also to assure their survival, was loyalty to the emperor. Therefore, Simmel’s sociology of competition applies to this situation in so far that the struggles among members of the emperor’s inner circle benefited the emperor himself as the third party, whose favour the competing individuals were all trying to gain and hold on to. What is different from Simmel’s model, however, is that there was no socialising effect of this competition: assuring the emperor of one’s loyalty was the condition necessary even for maintaining the status quo. The consistorium could never pursue an independent policy, as its membership changed rapidly. Even if it was difficult to remove its military members, it could be done, at least during the 4th century. As the power of 5th-century emperors declined due to their alienation from the military and their youth and inexperience, the government and control over members of the consistorium in the West were taken over by prominent members of that same body—the magistri militum. With the backing of the troops, men like Stilicho or Aetius were not only able to reach the apex of the social hierarchy, but could also take the lead on imperial politics, supplanting the emperor. However, in removing the emperor, they unleashed a different kind of beast. By bypassing the role of the consistorium in decision-making, they took a significant risk, as every failure that would be ascribed to the emperor was now their own and could result in their downfall. By removing the moderating role of the emperor, the consistorium became a forum for the display of imperial decisions rather than their initiator. At the same time, the exclusive access of military men to the highest levels of power caused infighting among ambitious members of the inner circle, which gradually eroded the powers of the emperor’s office, leaving the leadership of the shrinking government in the hands of the soldiers-turned-rulers. Bibliography

Primary Sources

Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae, trans. J.C. Rolfe, History, 3 vols., Cambridge, Mass. 1939–50 (repr. 1970–71). Augustine, Contra litteras Petiliani libri tres, ed. M. Petschenig, Sancti Aureli Augustini scripta contra Donatistas (CSEL 52), Vienna 1909. Aurelius Victor, De Caesaribus, trans. H.W. Bird, Liverpool 1994.

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Ausonius, Gratiarum Actio, ed. R.P.H. Green, Decimi Magni Ausonii Opera, Oxford 1999. Codex Iustinianus, ed. B.W. Frier et al., The Codex of Justinian. A New Annotated Translation, with Parallel Latin and Greek, Cambridge 2016. Codex Theodosianus, ed. and trans. C. Pharr, The Theodosian Code and Novels, and the Sirmondian Constitutions, Princeton 1952. Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, ed. G. Reimerum, 36 vols, Berlin 1862–93. Eunapius, Fragmenta, ed. and trans. R.C. Blockley, The Fragmentary Classicizing Historians of the Later Roman Empire, vol. 2, Liverpool 1981, pp. 1–150. Gregory of Tours, Historia Francorum, transl. L. Thorpe, The History of the Franks, London 1974. Jerome, Epistulae, ed. I. Hilberg, CSEL 56 (1918). Jordanes, Getica, trans. C.C. Mierow, The Gothic History of Jordanes, New York 1915 (repr. Cambridge 1966). Notitia Dignitatum ed. O. Seeck, Notitia dignitatum. Accedunt notitia urbis Constanti­ nopolitanae et Latercula Prouinciarum, Frankfurt am Main 1876 (repr. Frankfurt am Main 1962). Olympiodorus, Fragmenta, ed. and trans. R.C. Blockley, The Fragmentary Classicizing Historians of the Later Roman Empire, vol. 2, Liverpool 1981, pp. 151–220. Panegyrici Latini, trans. C.E.V. Nixon/B. Saylor Rodgers, In Praise of Later Roman Emperors. The Panegyrici Latini. Introduction, Translation and Historical Commentary, Berkeley 1994. Priscus, Fragmenta, ed. and trans. R.C. Blockley, The Fragmentary Classicizing Historians of the Later Roman Empire, vol. 2, Liverpool 1981, pp. 221–400. Symmachus, Oratio 1, ed. O. Seeck, Symmachus, Berlin 1883. Synesius of Cyrene, De regno, ed. A. Garzya, Opere di Sinesio di Cirene, Turin 1989. Zosimus, Historia nova, ed. and trans. R.T. Ridley, Zosimus: New History, Canberra 1982.



Secondary Literature

Austin, N.J.E., Ammianus on Warfare. An Investigation into Ammianus’ Military Knowledge, Brussels 1979. Barnes, T., “Patricii under Valentinian III”, Phoenix 29.2 (1975), pp. 155–70. Barnes, T., Ammianus Marcellinus and the Representation of Historical Reality (Cornell Studies in Classical Philology 56), Ithaca, NY 1998. Barnish, S./Lee, A.D./Whitby, M., “Government and administration”, in A. Cameron et al. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History vol. 14: Late Antiquity, Empire and Its Successors, AD 425–600. (2000), pp. 164–206. Bauer, F.A., Stadt, Platz und Denkmal in der Spätantike. Untersuchungen zur Ausstattung des öffentlichen Raums in den spätantiken Städten Rom, Konstantinopel und Ephesos, Mainz 1996.

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Blockley, R.C., “Constantius II and His Generals”, in C. Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History 2 (Collection Latomus, 168), Brussels 1980, pp. 467–86. Brizzi, G., Ancora su “Illyriciani e ‘Soldatenkaiser’. Qualche ulteriore proposta per una messa a fuoco del problema” in G. Urso et al. (eds.) Dall’Adriatico al Danubio. L’Illirico nell’età greca e romana. Atti del convegno internazionale, Cividale del Friuli, 25–27 settembre 2003, Pisa 2004, pp. 319–42. Brodka, D., Ammianus Marcellinus. Studien zum Geschichtsdenken im vierten Jahrhundert n. Chr., Krakow 2009. Brown, P., Power and Persuasion in the Late Antiquity. Towards a Christian Empire, Madison, Wisc. 1992. Cameron, A., Claudian. Poetry and Propaganda at the Court of Honorius, Oxford 1970. Corcoran, S., The Empire of the Tetrarchs. Imperial Pronouncements and Government 284–324, Oxford 2000. Crook, J., Consilium Principis. Imperial Councils and Counsellors from Augustus to Diocletian, Cambridge 1955. Coskun, A., “Der Comes Romanus, der Heermeister Theodosius, und die drei letzten Akte der Lepcis-Magna Affair (A. 373–377)”, AntTard 12 (2004), pp. 293–308. Crump, G.A., “Ammianus and the Late Roman Army.” Historia 22 (1973), pp. 91–103. Crump, G.A., Ammianus Marcellinus as a Military Historian, Wiesbaden 1975. De Jonge, P., Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 19, Groningen 1982. Den Boeft, J. et al. (eds.), Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 29, Leiden 2013. Den Boeft, J. et al. (eds.), Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 30, Leiden 2015. Den Hengst, D., et al. (eds.), Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus, vol. 31, Leiden 2013. Demandt, A. “Magister militum”, in RE, Supplementband 12, coll. 553–790. Deroux, C., Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History 7 (Collection Latomus, 227), Brussels 1994. Dixon, K.R./Southern, P., The Roman Cavalry. From the First to the Third Century, London 1992. Drijvers, J./Hunt, D., Late Roman World and Its Historian. Interpreting Ammianus Marcellinus, London 1999. Drinkwater, J.F., “Silvanus, Ursicinus and Ammianus. Fact or Fiction?”, in C. Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History 7 (Collection Latomus, 227), Brussels 1994. Dunkle, R., Gladiator. Violence and Spectacle in Ancient Rome, London 2008. Elton, H., Warfare in Roman Europe, AD 350–425, Oxford 1998.

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Epplet, C., “Roman Beast Hunts”, in P. Christensen/D.G. Kyle (eds.), A Companion to Sport and Spectacle in Greek and Roman Antiquity, Oxford 2013, pp. 509–19. Epplet, C., “Spectacular Executions in the Roman World”, in P. Christensen/D.G. Kyle (eds.), A Companion to Sport and Spectacle in Greek and Roman Antiquity, Oxford 2013, pp. 520–32. Greatrex, G., “Government and Mechanisms of Control. East and West”, in M. Maas (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Attila, New York 2015, pp. 26–44. Gutsfeld, A., “Der Prätorianerpräfekt und der kaiserliche Hof im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, in A. Winterling (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998, pp. 75–102. Hadrill, A.W., “The Roman Imperial Court: Seen and Unseen in the Performance of Power”, in A.J.S. Spawforth (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, Cambridge 2007, pp. 91–102. Halsall, G., Barbarian Migrations and the Roman West, 376–568, Cambridge 2007. Harries, J., “The Roman Imperial Quaestor from Constantine to Theodosius II”, The Journal of Roman Studies 78 (1988), pp. 148–72. Heather, P., The Fall of the Roman Empire. A New History, Oxford 2005. Hebblewhite, M., The Emperor and the Army in the Later Roman Empire, AD 235–395, London 2017. Hunt, D., “The Outsider Inside. Ammianus on the Rebellion of Silvanus” in J.W. Drijvers/D. Hunt (eds.), The Late Roman World and Its Historian. Interpreting Ammianus Marcellinus, London 1999. Jones, A.H.M., The Later Roman Empire 284–602. A Social, Economic, and Administrative Survey, vol. 1, Baltimore, MD 1986. Kelly, C., “Emperors, Government and Bureaucracy”, in A. Cameron et al. (eds), The Cambridge Ancient History 13 (1998), pp. 138–83. Kelly, C., Ruling the Later Roman Empire, Cambridge, Mass. 2004. Kelly, G., Ammianus Marcellinus. The Allusive Historian, Cambridge, Mass. 2008. Kulikowski, M., “The Failure of Roman Arms”, in J. Lipps/C. Machado/P. von Rummel (eds.), The Sack of Rome in 410 AD. The Event, Its Context and Its Impact, Wiesbaden 2013, pp. 77–86. Kulikowski, M., The Triumph of Empire. The Roman World from Hadrian to Constantine, Cambridge, Mass. 2016. Ladner, G.B., “On Roman Attitudes toward Barbarians in Late Antiquity”, Viator 7 (1976), pp. 1–25. Lee, A.D., Information and Frontiers. Roman Foreign Relations in Late Antiquity, New York 1993. Lenski, N., Failure of Empire. Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A.D., Berkeley 2002.

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Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G., Antioch. City and Imperial Administration in the Late Roman Empire, Oxford 1972. Machado, C., “Building the Past. Monuments and Memory in the Forum Romanum”, in W. Bowden/A. Gutteridge/C. Machado (eds.), Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity, Leiden 2006, pp. 157–92. MacMullen, R., “Some Pictures in Ammianus Marcellinus”, ABull 46.4 (1964), pp. 435–55. MacMullen, R., “The emperor’s largesses.” Latomus 21 (1962), pp. 159–66. MacMullen, R., Corruption and the Decline of Rome, New Haven 1988. Matthews, J., The Roman Empire of Ammianus, Baltimore 1989. Matthews, J., Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court AD 364–425, Oxford 1975. McCormick, M., Eternal Victory. Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West, Cambridge 1986. McEvoy, M.A., Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, Oxford 2013. McLynn, N., Ambrose of Milan. Church and Court in the Christian Capital, Berkley 1994. Millar, F., A Greek Roman Empire. Power and Belief Under Theodosius II, Berkeley 2006. Nicasie, M., Twilight of Empire. The Roman Army from the Reign of Diocletian until the Battle of Adrianople, Amsterdam 1998. O’ Flynn, J.M., Generalissimos of the Western Roman Empire, Edmonton 1983. Oost, S.I., Galla Placidia Augusta. A Bibliographical Essay, Chicago 1968. Potter, D., “Performance, Power, and Justice in the High Empire”, in W. Slater (ed.), Roman Theater and Society, Ann Arbor 1996, pp. 129–60. Potter, D., The Roman Empire at Bay AD 180–395, New York 2004. Reece, R., “Coins and Politics in the Late Roman World”, Late Antique Archaeology 3.1 (2006), pp. 113–37. Shaw, B.D., “Bandits in the Roman Empire”, P&P 105.1 (1984), pp. 3–52. Smith, R., “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. AD 300–c. AD 450.” In A.J.S. Spawforth (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, Cambridge 2007, pp. 157–232. Southern, P./Dixon, K., The Late Roman Army, London 1996. Sparreboom, A., Venationes Africanae. Hunting Spectacles in Roman North Africa. Cultural Significance and Social Function, Amsterdam 2016. Spawforth, A.J.S. (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, Cambridge 2007. Stickler, T., Aetius. Gestaltungsspielräume eines Heermeisters im ausgehenden Weströmischen Reich, Munich 2002. Twyman, B.L., “Aetius and Aristocracy”, Historia 19 (1970), pp. 480–503. Vogler, C., Constance II et l’Administration Imperiale, Strasbourg 1979. Wijnendaele, J.W.P., The Last of the Romans. Bonifatius—Warlord and comes Africae, London 2015. Williams, S./Friell, G., Theodosius. The Empire at Bay, London 1995.

Part 2 Watch Your Words: the Role of Language in Gaining or Losing Imperial Favour

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Chapter 4

Symmachus’ Epistolary Influence: the Rehabilitation of Nicomachus Flavianus through Recommendation Letters Bruno Marien Abstract Symmachus promoted the interests of his protégés through recommendations. These letters exhibit a strong link between friendship and letter exchange. Nicomachus, Symmachus’ son-in-law, had chosen the wrong side during Eugenius’ usurpation. The letters demonstrate that Nicomachus’ return to political life was due to Symmachus’ influence and network. The interventions of 395 present Nicomachus’ case from a financial angle. The letters were successful, since Nicomachus was exempted from reimbursement. The complete rehabilitation did not come about immediately. The letters of 398 indicate that the decision process did not run smoothly. Symmachus approached several members of the consistorium. Stilicho was instrumental in the process of rehabilitation, as the letter of thanks attests. Symmachus used epistolary themes and rhetorical means to exert pressure or to convey his message. The process of seeking imperial favour extended over several years and was not wholly undisputed. In this process Symmachus sought the collaboration of several people.

1

Introduction: Recommendation Letters in Symmachus’ Correspondence1,2

Symmachus,3 who was born into one of the most influential families in Rome, was an avid epistolographer, as his monumental letter corpus attests. 1  I would like to cordially thank the organizers of the conference Gaining Imperial Favour. Competition and Cooperation in Late Antiquity for providing me with the opportunity to present a paper. This paper is based on the contribution presented at that conference. In completing this paper, I benefited from their comments. 2  Unless indicated otherwise, the translations in this paper are my own. Sections 1 and 4 elaborate upon ideas developed in Marien, “Symmachus as an Active Power Broker: What Do his Recommendation Letters Reveal about the Writer’s Network?”. 3  P LRE 1, Symmachus 4, pp. 865–70.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_006

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Marien

Promoting the interests of his friends and relatives was one of the main objectives of Symmachus’ correspondence. Recommendation letters thus constitute an important part of the collection. From a total of 902 letters, I identified approximately 230 recommendation letters.4 Recommendation letters were a common letter type in ancient epistolography.5 In very general terms, a recommendation letter6 is a request which is addressed to someone belonging to the writer’s network (the addressee)7 on 4  See also Matthews, “The Letters of Symmachus”, p. 61: “Over a quarter of the nine hundred concern the recommendation of protégés to well-placed acquaintances, brief notes for which the reputation of the writer was clearly of greater significance than anything he actually said of the candidate.” 5  (i) Within the letter corpus of late-antique epistolographers, I identified a number of recommendation letters: Augustine, 22 recommendations (out of 310 letters)—Ciccarese, “La tipologia delle lettere di S. Agostino”, pp. 497–503 discusses eight recommendation letters, but admits that “tuttavia, essa si ritrova più volte, nell’epistolario agostiano, con caraterre di aggiunta marginale, quasi sempre alla conclusine di una lettera che svolge tutt’altro argomento”—the website www.scrinium.umk.pl, accessed on 27 November 2017, lists 11 recommendation letters and 11 requests for support; Basil, 46 recommendations (out of 366 letters); Gregory of Nazianzus, 61 recommendations (out of 249 letters); Synesius, 37 recommendations (out of 159 letters)—Roques, “Les lettres de Synésios de Cyrene. Problématique et méthodes”, p. 537 distinguishes 22 recommendations letters, whereas Garzya and Roques, in their translation of Synesius’ Letters, volume I, p. LVI, n. 136, mention 32 such letters—and Libanius, 520 (out of 1544 letters). Unless mistaken of my part, Libanius’ recommendations have never been listed before. Stowers, Letter writing in Greco-Roman antiquity, p. 165 counted considerably less recommendations in the corpus of late-antique epistolographers. (ii) Other testimonies also point to the recommendation letter as a distinct epistolary category. The recommendation letter was a part of ancient epistolary theory. The inclusion of the recommendation letter in the epistolary treatises of Pseudo-Demetrius’ Formae epistolicae and Pseudo-Libanius’ Characteres epistolici indicates that this letter type was a well-known form in epistolography. Iulius Victor, Ars rhetorica XXVII 36–37 devoted—within the treatment of the familiar letter—a few lines to the recommendation letter. Codex Theodosianus II 31.2 also proves that a strong link existed between the familiar, personal letter ( familiaris epistola) and the recommendation. Interesting remarks about the value of a recommendation letter are found in Libanius, Epistula 62.7 and P. Michigan. VIII, 468, 38–41. (iii) Roman law made provisions about recommendation letters: Digesta, XVII 1.12, XXXII 11.2, and XLVII 2.67 (66). 6  Malosse, Lettres pour toutes circonstances: les traités épistolaires du pseudo-Libanios et du pseudo-Démétrios de Phalère, p. 13: “Ce sont avant tout des manuels pratiques, qui s’étendent peu (…) sur les questions stilistiques et qui ont pour principale function de fournir des modèles adaptables à toute situation épistolaire.” Cotton, Documentary Letters of Recommendation in Latin from the Roman Empire, p. 6: “In all periods and places, the letter of recommendation was first and foremost a testimonial: it testified to the recommendee’s good character and trustworthiness. It guaranteed that the request came from an honourable man. It staked the writer’s own reputation and integrity, for he stood surety for the recommended by the very act of writing the letter.” As explained in the previous footnote, two epistolary treatises discuss the recommendation letter. 7  Ancient recommendation letters, contrary to contemporary counterparts, were normally only written when the letter writer and the recipient of the letter were acquainted with each other.

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behalf of a third person (the recommendee),8 who is normally of lower status. Accordingly, such a letter can be considered a means of bridging a physical, hierarchical, and / or mental distance between a recommendee and an addressee.9 The recommendation letter is an instrument that exhibits asymmetries of power and knowledge, and it permits communication in a mediated way with a person who was usually more powerful than the recommendee himself: “Recommendation letters by their nature would establish a complex social relationship involving three participants: the recommendee, the author and the recipient of the letter. The interaction involving these three determines the outcome of the recommendation.”10 Recommendations can be used in a variety of circumstances, according to the aim they want to achieve. They can introduce someone in a place where he is unknown to others and, if necessary, ask for protection. A second and limited category contains those letters that aim to endorse someone as worthy of, or competent for, a certain position or office.11 A third and very small class constitute the letters that as part of a marital strategy seek betrothal arrangements for a prospective bride or groom,12 and finally the fourth type—and this is the category I want to focus on in this paper—are the letters which ask for assistance, help, or support; generally speaking, these are intervention letters. It has to be understood that

8  An interesting exception is Symmachus, Epistula I 19, in which Symmachus basically uses the recommendation letter to promote his own interests. In this way, the recommendee becomes the recommending person and vice versa: Nam fratri meo Potito hac condicione litteras dedi, ut eas ipse commendet. (…) qui ubi te conpotem fecerit praesentiae suae, vereor ne excusatio mea ignoscenda non sit.—“I have given a letter to my brother Potitus on the condition that he himself should recommend it. (…) And when he has made you part of his presence, I fear that my excusing myself will not be forgivable.” (transl. Salzman and Roberts). Sogno, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, p. 7: “under the present circumstances Symmachus needed the recommendation of his protégé in order to make Ausonius accept his apologies.” 9  It could occur whenever the person who needed help, protection, etc. might not make a request orally or deemed it inappropriate to approach the addressee directly. Libanius, Epistula 908.1 mentions that the recipient of the letter had assisted many people, although he knew barely anything about them. 10  Mratschek, “A Living Relic for the Vicar of Rome: Strategies of Visualisation in a Civil Case”, p. 136. 11  Liebeschuetz, Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire, p. 194. “The government had to be informed in some way about the candidates for governmental posts, and in the absence of a system of examinations, patronage in the field of appointments is inevitable.” Yet, Augustine refused writing such letters during his bishopric. See Chadwick, Augustine of Hippo: A Life, p. 66: “There was one practice normally expected of bishops which he declined to perform, namely to write references or letters of commendation to powerful patrons to fix appointments for people.” 12  Pliny, Augustine, and Symmachus wrote such recommendation letters.

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these types sometimes overlap. A recommendation can thus belong to more than one group. Regarding Symmachus’ recommendation letters, the majority of these letters do not recommend a person for a specific position or activity, but can be regarded more as introduction letters. This suggests that the letter was a supporting document for the recommendee, who was expected to orally explain the aim of his visit.13 However, a fairly considerable portion can be read as interventions in which Symmachus requests aid or support on behalf of his protégé. In the majority of the cases, the recommendation letters are rather short documents, the length of which does not exceed three paragraphs.14 “Symmachus’ letters, cultivating amicitia, were primarily intended not to inform but to manipulate, to produce results.”15 Symmachus’ influence as an important public figure is mainly demonstrated by his letters. “It was Symmachus’ prestige as senator, which also lay behind Symmachus’ public career, that was the real basis of his patronage and influence.”16 Thus, without pursuing a full analysis along the lines of Raven’s Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence,17 we can observe that, generally speaking in every single recommendation letter, the social power that is the potential for influence, is based on Symmachus’ high prestige as senator. Some variables of Raven’s extended model, such as manipulation or time perspective, might also be present. 2

Symmachus and the Nicomachi

The aim of this paper is to discuss a group of ten (mostly recommendation) letters that Symmachus wrote in 395, 398, and 399, and that were intended to rehabilitate Nicomachus Flavianus, the son-in-law of the epistolographer.18 13  See also Bruggisser, Symmaque ou le rituel épistolaire de l’amitié littéraire: recherches sur le premier livre de la correspondance, p. 290. 14  Marcone, “Due epistolari a confronto: corpus pliniano e corpus simmachiano”, pp. 144–5. 15  Matthews, “The Letters of Symmachus”, p. 64. 16  Matthews, “The Letters of Symmachus”, p. 79. 17  See the introduction to this volume on Raven’s model and further references. 18  Not much is known about Symmachus’ daughter. Sogno, “The Letter Collection of Quintus Aurelius Symmachus”, pp. 177–8: “Symmachus’s two children (…) were married into the family of the Nicomachi, who shared not only social ties, but also financial interests with the Symmachi. If Symmachus followed a rather traditional and conservative strategy in the marriages of his children, his letters show him to have been an adroit and influential marriage broker in promoting the interests of his protégés. (…) Symmachus is notoriously tight-lipped about the women in his family and never refers to his wife or daughter by name in his letter collection.” Sogno, “Roman Matchmaking”, p. 71: Symmachus’ recommendation letters for a prospective groom “are remarkably practical and display an

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I will argue that these letters unmistakably illustrate Symmachus’ influence and powerful network, and thus enabled Nicomachus’ gradual return to political life. The letters will also demonstrate that Symmachus used a variety of epistolographical themes and rhetorical or psychological means that were meant to convey the letter writer’s message and/or exert pressure on the addressee. The documents dating to 395 were addressed to two important court officials, the brothers Protadius and Florentinus; the letters in 398 were written to six similar leading figures, probably members of the consistorium; and finally, some months later in 398–399, Symmachus twice approached Stilicho, the most powerful person of the Western court and guardian of the emperor Honorius, who was still a child.19 Nicomachus Flavianus20 and his father Virius Nicomachus Flavianus21 were very prominent figures in the 4th–5th century AD. Both chose the side of the usurper Eugenius (393–394).22 On Eugenius’ defeat (5 September 394), Virius Nicomachus Flavianus committed suicide. Nicomachus’ rehabilitation had begun under emperor Theodosius in 395 and was almost completed in late 398, when, at the initiative of Stilicho,23 emperor Honorius invited him to attend the celebrations for Flavius Manlius Theodorus24 as new consul for 399. The imperial pardons meant that “figures such as Nicomachus Flavianus were placed in a position of debt to Honorius and Stilicho.”25 Such a position of debt was the result of much-needed protection. “Aristocratic families like the Nicomachi, which had been on the wrong side, were vulnerable to the attacks of their competitive peers, and the only way to survive such attacks was relying on the protection of strong and well-connected relatives and friends.”26

eminently utilitarian view of marriage (…) The letters reconfirm beyond any doubt the importance of marriage in the formation of family alliances.” The underlying ideas about marriage that transpire from such recommendation letters were most probably also those on which the marriage of Symmachus’ daughter was based. 19  McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, p. 143: “In effect, the extent of the power that Stilicho would exercise between 395 and 408 certainly does amount to what we would recognize in modern terms as a regency.” 20   P LRE 1, Nicomachus Flavianus 14, pp. 345–7. 21   P LRE 1, Virius Nicomachus Flavianus 15, pp. 347–8. 22  Prior to the period of usurpation, Virius Nicomachus Flavianus already held important offices: quaestor sacri palatii (389–390) and praefectus praetorio Orientis (390–392). 23  See Symmachus, Epistulae VI 10 and 36.2, auctoritate praecelsi viri—“under the authority of an outstanding man”, or IV 6.2: honorabilis evocatio, quam testimonii tui iuvit auctoritas—“an honourable invitation which is backed by your authoritative testimony” (see Section 5 of this paper). 24  Symmachus addressed the recommendation letter IV 6 to him. See Section 5 of this paper. 25  McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, p. 148. 26  Sogno, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, p. 82.

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However, Nicomachus took a hesitant attitude. It seems that for a long time he doubted whether he would accept the invitation. More than once Symmachus strongly advised him not to decline the invitation, but to take part in the consular celebration:27 “Take only this advice from me: under no circumstances can you despise the honour that this invitation provides to you.”28 It can be assumed that Nicomachus eventually assisted at the consular celebration. It is probable that Nicomachus’ hesitation in accepting the invitation, which is the expression of a lack of enthusiasm, would have found little or no sympathy with the entourage of the emperor. This would have been one of the reasons why there was until the last moment opposition against the complete rehabilitation of Flavianus until the last moment.29 Eventually, Symmachus’ triumph came when Flavianus was appointed as praefectus urbi Romae in 399. For the sake of completeness, it is important to add that Symmachus wrote a few letters to Nicomachus in 397, urging him to take part in a senatorial delegation to the emperor. As Symmachus explained, this senatorial embassy presented a suitable occasion to mend his fortunes. It seems, however, that Nicomachus did not listen to Symmachus’ appeals. Nicomachus’ attitude would mean that he considered that the time was not yet ripe for any personal initiative, but that it was preferable for him to rely more on the aid of powerful others.30 Since Symmachus had stayed aloof from the political scene during the usurpation, he could afford “to lend vigorous and effective help to the friends who had actively supported the usurper and were experiencing difficulties in the restoration.”31 Because Symmachus had skilfully maintained his distance from Eugenius, it would certainly lend more credibility to his support of those who had actively sided with the usurper. Moreover, Symmachus’ active assistance in Nicomachus’ rehabilitation can hardly be seen apart from the fact that the

27  This is the ceremonial appearance of the consul on assuming office. The technical Latin term for this ceremony is processus consularis. 28  Unum hoc (…) de meo sume consilio nulla ratione te posse evocationis honorificentiam de­ precari (Symmachus, Epistula VI 35.1). Other examples are Epistulae VI 10 and 36.2. 29  See Section 4 of this paper. 30  This refusal gave rise to some tensions between Symmachus and his son-in-law, to which Epistula VI 59 refers; see also Sogno, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, p. 83. 31  Sogno, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, p. 79. Matthews, “The Letters of Symmachus”, p. 85: “It seems that his contact with the usurping régime did not affect Symmachus’ subsequent relations with the imperial court.” The author makes a distinction between “active support for a usurping régime and the regular contact of due social courtesies with its members”.

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epistolographer himself asked for the help of the Nicomachi when he experienced hard times after his support for the usurper Maximus.32 3

Epistulae IV 19 and 51 (395)

Both letters are written to important court officials, the brothers Protadius and Florentinus, quaestor sacri palatii.33 It is important to note that over a (rather) limited period (395–402) Symmachus addressed several letters to Protadius.34 Nicomachus was ordered to pay back the wages of his father when holding the office of praefectus praetorio under Eugenius. Symmachus asks his addressee to intervene with the emperor, in order to repeal the reimbursement.35 Undoubtedly, given their position, both brothers must have had easy access to the emperor. The two letters mention the ongoing rehabilitation and, additionally, stress that the claim largely exceeds Nicomachus’ financial abilities: “(…) the wages were valued particularly high, and his meagre properties do not meet such a heavy weight.”36 and “He is still (…) strangled by an unfortunate knot, since he has a meagre fortune and now he is highly exhausted by a shrinking patrimony (…).”37

32  Maximus died in August 388 and it was only in 390 that Symmachus was fully rehabilitated. 33   P LRE 1, Protadius 1, pp. 751–2 and Florentinus 2, p. 362. Sogno, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, p. 83: “They were well known to Symmachus: Protadius had been a correspondent since at least 379, and his brother Florentinus was the same urban prefect who in 397 would request that Flavianus take part in a senatorial embassy.” 34  The letter corpus contains 18 letters (Epistulae IV 17–34) which all (except one) date to between 395 and 402. Many letters do not carry any specific request and only refer to friendship, letter exchange or the absence of it. These features suggest that Protadius was a very important contact for Symmachus, but that the relationship between both did not always run very smoothly. In addition, the frequent use of such epistolary themes may point to Protadius’ literary culture to which Epistulae IV 18 and 36 seem to allude. It can also be assumed that in these cases the request was transmitted orally by the letter carrier. 35  McLynn, Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital, p. 361: “Symmachus put a lifetime of diplomatic experience to work assembling a posse of likely sympathizers to assist the younger Flavianus, undoubtedly compromised by his own tenure and his father’s treachery.” McLynn also deems that “the demand to repay the salary was of particular concern for Symmachus”, as it reminded him of “a similar punishment imposed on another friend, one Marcianus.” (pp. 361–3). 36  (…) taxatione pretiorum graviter aggerata, neque census exilis tanto oneri convenit (Symmachus, Epistula IV 19.1). 37  uno adhuc, (…) nodo infortunii strangulatur, quod homo tenuis et nunc labe patrimonii graviter exhaustus (…) (Symmachus, Epistula IV 51.1).

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The letter writer therefore expects that the new emperor will follow the lines set out by his father, Theodosius:38 “Consequently, we hope that the young Augustus may follow the benefactions of his father (…)”39 and “What the humanity of the emperor returned to the many (…), will be granted by a much fairer indulgence, when it is requested in the name of his father.”40 The exemplary role of the father, by whom an (inexperienced) son is educated, is a theme that frequently appears in ancient biographies and—related to it—encomiastic literature, the parents and forebears of the praised person being one of the topoi of a laudatio.41 Probably, the reader of the letter would immediately have grasped the whole context of this idea. By taking up this widespread idea in his letter, Symmachus could easily hint at what was to be expected from the new emperor in relation to his father. Finally, the imperial measures seeking to compensate for a loss of fortune are hailed favourably by Symmachus: “Make sure that the rightness and humanity of the current times save a wretched house”42 and “This appeasement will also contribute to the glory of our times.”43 The extant legislation actually suggests that the measures promulgated by Theodosius’ successors were aimed at reconciliation.44 Another—very subtle—means of pressure is found in Epistula IV 51, where Symmachus explains that the peers of Florentinus might help Nicomachus: “Consequently, he asks that the ruin which threatens 38  Theodosius died in January 395 from the effects of a wound that he incurred in the Battle of the Frigidus against Eugenius (September 394). 39  Sequetur, ut spes est, paterna benefacta iuvenis Augustus (…) (Symmachus, Epistula IV 19.2). 40  Nam quod plerisque (…) imperialis remisit humanitas, id patris nomine postulatum multo aequior venia relaxabit (Symmachus, Epistula IV 51.2). 41  Examples are Cornelius Nepos, Atticus I, 2 (the father’s role as a teacher and model is stressed, see Hägg, The Art of Biography in Antiquity, p. 119); Tacitus, De vita Iulii Agricolae IV 4 (the moderating and decisive influence of his mother); Libanius, Oratio 59, In Constantem et Constantium, 31, 34, and 37–39 (the father personally devoted a lot of his time to the children’s education); Themistius, On Brotherly Love (Oratio 6) 81d (the brothers Valens and Valentianus are prompted to follow the example of their father); Ambrose, De obitu Theodosii, 4−5 (the emperor’s sons received imperial glory from their father). An example from contemporary litterae christianae is Jerome, Epistula 107.3 (Paula’s parents are advised to give their daughter an education that suits her birth). 42  Fac igitur, (…) ut adflictae domui pia temporum parcat humanitas (Symmachus, Epistula IV 19.2). 43  Proficiet ista concessio etiam temporum gloriae (Symmachus, Epistula IV 51.2). 44  For example, Codex Theodosianus XV 14.9–12. Sogno, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, p. 88: “The policy of reconciliation rather than prosecution adopted by Honorius in the aftermath of Eugenius’ usurpation, is a direct consequence of Stilicho’s need to strengthen his regency.”

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him be removed by your help and that of your peers.”45 Probably, this kind of peer pressure was meant to bolster Symmachus’ argument.46 It is striking that Symmachus stresses Nicomachus’ poor financial situation so much. I suggest that his so-called dire situation does not correspond to reality. Nicomachus owned estates in Sicily and the vicinity of Naples, which—as far as we know—were not seized by the new régime.47 Accordingly, the repayment would not have meant a heavy financial burden for Nicomachus. Maybe, by presenting the case from a purely financial angle, Symmachus intended to divert the focus from the more important or “political” role the Nicomachi had during the usurpation.48 Symmachus’ interventions produced the effect he was hoping for, since Flavianus was exempted from repaying the salary.49 4

Epistulae IV 39, V 6, VII 47, 95, VII 102, and IX 47 (398)

In 398 Symmachus wrote six short and quite similar introductions that do not carry any specific request. It is first of all interesting to compare the different offices that each of the addressees held in 398. All were without any exception high state officials: comes sacrarum largitionum,50 praefectus praetorio Illyrici, Italiae et Africae,51 magister officiorum (probably),52 comes privatarum largi45  E rgo per te ac tui similes amoliri postulat inminentem ruinam (Symmachus, Epistula IV 51.2). 46  Symmachus also resorted to peer pressure in other letters. An eloquent example are the interventions Epistulae VII 108 (to Patruinus) and VII 109 (to Petronius) in favour of Caecilianus. Both addressees were brothers (see also Section 3 of this paper). 47   P LRE 1, p. 346, Nicomachus only had to repay the salary of his father and did not suffer otherwise. If Augustine (De civitate Dei V 26) is to be believed—who of course had every interest to underscore the clemency of the Christian emperor Theodosius—the emperor “did not deprive them of their property; in fact, he heaped honours upon them, and he never allowed victory to be followed by private feuds.” (transl. Bettenson). For the estates, see Symmachus, Epistulae II 30, II 60, VI 57, and VI 66. 48  This bears resemblance to a way of communication often used by modern mass-media and politics: framing. A story is framed when media focus attention on certain events and then place them within a field of meaning. 49  Sogno, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, p. 81. 50  Symmachus, Epistula IV 39: to Minervius (PLRE 1, Minervius 2, p. 603). Minervius had two brothers, Protadius and Florentinus, to whom Symmachus addressed Epistulae IV 19 and 51 (see Section 2 of this paper). It is probably not an accident that the letters to the three brothers are grouped together in book IV (Epistulae IV 17–55). 51  Symmachus, Epistula V 6: to Flavius Mallius Theodorus (PLRE 1, Flavius Mallius Theodorus 27, pp. 900–3). 52  Symmachus, Epistula VII 47: to Rufus Synesius Hadrianus (probably) (PLRE 1, Hadrianus 2, p. 406). Bonney, “A New Friend for Symmachus?”, p. 370—followed by Callu in his

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tionum,53 two other influential people at court,54 and an unnamed person.55 Later in this chapter, I will explain how these offices are pertinent for the interpretation of Symmachus’ intervention. The six introductions letters clearly have some features in common. An important element is the existence of strong ties between either Nicomachus or Symmachus and the addressee. These ties, which are the expression of a (strong) engagement, are aimed at giving the message that Symmachus’ démarche cannot be seen as noncommittal. They are expressed in different ways that are in some way related to each other. Firstly, the argument of friendship frequently constitutes the basis for an intervention: “Therefore, you should have such an attitude towards him as the long-standing friendship would promise to you”;56 “(…) since he started to honour you more than is measured by the size of my affection”57 and “If you grant me something, then embrace, I beg you, the friendship of my son, lord Flavianus (…).”58 Symmachus also expects his addressee to maintain an existing friendship: “I ask you, make sure, once you have shown your affection towards him, that it remains uninterrupted”;59 “Previously you thought it fitting to embrace the friendship of my son, lord Flavianus. But now the occasion has come to give him the proof of a real commitment.”60 and “There is not much to say on behalf of those whom one knows and esteems.”61 Hence it follows

edition of Symmachus’ Letters (henceforth Callu (ed.)), volume III, p. 69, n. 1 of letter 46 and p. 179, n. 1 of page 67—proposed “to identify [Rufus Synesius] Hadrianus as the addressee of all eighteen ‘anonymous’ letters in Book 7. As a group, they hang together surprisingly well. The letters that are datable derive, like so much of his correspon­ dence, from the last half dozen years of Symmachus’ life (397–401). No less than eleven are recommendations.” 53  Symmachus, Epistula VII 95: to Flavius Macrobius Longinianus, (see PLRE 2, pp. 686–7). 54  Symmachus, Epistula VII 102: to the brothers Petronius and Patruinus (PLRE 2, Petronius 1, pp. 862–3 and 843–4). 55  Symmachus, Epistula IX 47. The letter indicates that this unnamed addressee had easy access to the emperor. 56  Talis igitur in eum esse dignare, qualem te vetus amicitia pollicetur (Symmachus, Epistula VII 47). 57  Cum et ipse te colere supra mensuram diligentiae meae coeperit (…) (Symmachus, Epistula IV 39). 58  Si quid igitur mihi tribuis, amplectere, quaeso te, amicitias domini et filii mei Flaviani (…) (Symmachus, Epistula IX 47). 59  Serva igitur, oro, depromptae in eum benignitatis tenorem (Symmachus, Epistula VI 6). 60  Amplecti amicitias domini et filii mei Flaviani ante dignatus es. Sed nunc tempus datur, ut illi documenta verae familiaritatis exhibeas (Symmachus, Epistula VII 95). 61  Pro cognitis et probatis pauca dicenda sunt (Symmachus, Epistula VII 2).

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that friendship is often the source of reciprocal favours:62 “My main point is that, once he is back in his home town, he will have brought for himself your continuous affection, and for me your mutual greetings in return”63 and “For, if friendship consists of a mutual exchange of favours, it will be easy for me to judge your feelings by his emotions (…).”64 The focus on an existing friendship or the need for reciprocal favours can be seen as a means to influence the recipient of the letter. In other letters, this friendship is expressed by means of a triangulation. A triangulation means the integration of the three parties (letter writer, recommendee, and addressee).65 Such a triangulation can be seen as the expression of strong and reciprocal ties between the different parties in the recommendation letters. “Triangulation aimed to configure inherent and mutual obligations. It was then more persuasive as an argument than the bald assertion of the relationship between the writer and the recommendee or between the writer and the addressee.”66 Symmachus puts it as follows: “This is my main wish that he should find in your heart an affection that is similar to mine”67 62  The idea that friendship consists of the exchange of favours is omnipresent in ancient literature. Verboven, The Economy of Friends: Economic Aspects of amicitia and Patronage in the Late Republic, pp. 37–38. “Suffice to say that reciprocity was a central principle gover­ ning interpersonal relations in the ancient world. The offer of a favour carried with it the imperative appeal for a counter-favour. (…) A beneficium entailed a commitment on the part of the giver. It symbolized a personal relationship and, therefore, served as a pledge for future beneficia. The result—and often the object of this chain of mutual favours— was the establishment of a more or less lasting personal relationship.” See also Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World, p. 123: “The evacuation of emotional content from the concept of friendship was facilitated by the Roman concern with reciprocity. Like the Greek kharis, the Latin term gratia refers to both the return that is due for a service one has received, and to the sense of debt or gratitude that is morally incumbent on the beneficiary.” Poster, “A conversation halved: epistolary theory in Greco-Roman antiquity”, p. 26: “Especially by the fourth century (…) people who shared the same cultural heritage of paideia (…) owed to each other all the obligations conveyed by the reciprocal notion of friendship.” See the paper by de Leeuw in this volume on the (problematic) exchange of favours within the context of church politics. 63  Mei sermonis haec summa est, ut in patriam redux sibi perpetuum amorem vestrum, mihi mutuam reportet salutationem (Symmachus, Epistula VII 102). 64  Nam si amicitia de mutuis constat officiis, facile erit, ut ex illius animo tuum metiar (…) (Symmachus, Epistula IV 39). 65  Triangulation is found in the letters of most ancient epistolographers; it is also present in the sample letter of the two epistolary manuals. 66  Rees, “Letters of Recommendation and the Rhetoric of Praise”, pp. 156–9, who specifically discusses triangulation in letters by Cicero, Pliny, and Fronto. 67  Haec autem summa est desiderii mei, ut in animo tuo reperiat amorem meo similem (Symmachus, Epistula VII 95).

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and “Give your affection to my son, lord Flavianus, so much as you think that I should wish, and if this is possible, enter into a contest with me about his affection.”68 In this letter, he uses the metaphor of the contest to underscore the importance of the tie with Nicomachus. Friendship as a basis for intervention or conferment of reciprocal favours is a theme that very frequently appears in late-antique epistolography. It would lead too far to list even just a few examples of each letter writer. Moreover, these themes can also be found in earlier Latin letters (Cicero, Pliny, Fronto). Symmachus emphasizes that in some cases a recommendation is not needed: “I do not know if I have to recommend him, for whom you were author of an utmost joy”;69 “(…) nor (can I) add anything, since your attention for him does not allow for an increase”70 and “For that reason, I do not have to take pains to (…) recommend the merits of Flavianus to your excellencies, since an old friendship returns to a happier use.”71 At face value, this would suggest that the recommendee already belongs to the friends of the addressee. Yet, the letter corpus does not provide any evidence of this particular recommendee already being part of the recipient’s network.72 Therefore, these passages have to be read in a more rhetorical way. By stressing the addressee’s affection and friendship with the recommendee, Symmachus urges the recipient to have special attention for this case. Furthermore, if this affection was of recent date or even nearly non-existent, Symmachus’ statements would have created—at least in his presentation—des faits accomplis, forcing the letter recipient to behave in a way similar to the affection Symmachus ascribed to him. At another moment, Symmachus stresses the value of his recommendation, as if he wants to confer more weight on his intervention: “(…) nor do I doubt the weight of a recommendation of intimates, when it is addressed to him who is attentive for his friends.”73 The reason why in these cases Symmachus

68  A  ma Flavianum dominum et filium meum, quantum me velle interpretaris, et si fieri potest, certamen mecum de amore eius ingredere (Symmachus, Epistula IV 39). 69  Nescio, an eum commendare tibi debeam, cui summi gaudii auctor fuisti (Symmachus, Epistula V 6). 70  (… possum) nec aliquid adiungere, quia tua erga eum diligentia non recipit augmentum (Symmachus, Epistula VII 47). 71  Quapropter laborare non debeo, ut (…) praestantiae vestrae Flaviani merita commendem, siquidem vetus inter vos amicitia revertetur ad usum feliciorem (Symmachus, Epistula VII 102). 72  No other letter written to the same addressee in favour of the same recommendee has been preserved (except for Symmachus, Epistula VII 104 for Nicomachus Flavianus). 73  (…) nec in dubium venit, quid habeat ponderis pignorum commendatio apud eum, qui suos diligit (Symmachus, Epistula VII 95).

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explicitly underscores his intervention, is that he had come to the conclusion that not everyone was equally convinced of the soundness of his request. This will be explained in more detail in the conclusion of the current chapter. In the same vein, Symmachus subtly expresses doubts on whether his addressee would abide by his request. When he explicitly confirms that a loyal attitude does not give rise to any doubt, it would mean that Symmachus still harbours some doubts: “For the loyalty that comes from a voluntary affection does not raise any doubts.”74 A similar approach can be seen in another letter, where the clear stress on the addressee’s attitude intends to conceal Symmachus’ doubts about it: “(he will provide an occasion) where his own merits become evident to your judgement and your affection for him comes into view.”75 Finally, the letters also hint at the great influence the addressees could deploy: “Your rank in the hierarchy has added that you affirm to be capable of what his interest needs you to endeavour.”76 This flattery is once again a means of pressure on the addressee, as the letter writer hints at the high expectations placed on the recipient of the letter. As mentioned previously, the addressees were all high officials in the imperial administration. At least three addressees (and probably four or five) sat on the consistorium, and were certainly ex officio members.77 “In the fourth century the consistorium was an effective council of state, which dealt with matters of administration and high policy and advised the emperor upon them.”78 Consequently, the case of Nicomachus Flavianus’ rehabilitation would have been discussed by the consistorium. Further, from Epistula 51 of Ambrose to emperor Theodosius we learn that the bishop gained knowledge about ongoing discussions in the consistorium.79 Accordingly, I 74  In dubium enim voluntarii amoris fides non venit (Symmachus, Epistula V 6). 75  (occasionem dabit,) qua et ipsius meritum iudicio tuo pateat et tua in eum clarescat adfectio (Symmachus, Epistula VII 95). 76  Cui adiecit honoris tui gradus, ut quae pro eo velle debes, posse te non neges (Symmachus, Epistula VII 47). 77  Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284–602: A Social, Economic and Administrative Survey, volume II, p. 333: “The chief civilian ministers of the comitatus, the comes et quaestor, comes et magister officiorum, comes sacrarum largitionum and comes rei privatae (…) were certainly ex officio members. The praetorian prefect who was in comitatu must also have had a seat. (…) In addition to these ex officio members there was a large number of non-official members.” Elsewhere in this volume, Rollinger discusses the relative worth of such ranks. 78  Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284–602: A Social, Economic and Administrative Survey, volume II, pp. 334–6. See the paper by Bileta in this volume for a discussion of the function and development of the consistorium over the 4th and 5th centuries. 79  Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome, p. 64: “Emperor Theodosius gave strict orders that Ambrose was even not to be told what was being discussed in the consistory.”

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do not exclude the possibility that Symmachus was regularly updated about Nicomachus’ case. It is interesting to note that three letters refer to the invitation for Nicomachus to attend the consular celebrations: “Your consulate brings my son Flavianus back to the fore”;80 “Invited to the accession to office of the noble consul by the letters of His Majesty, our most venerable Lord Honorius (…)”81 and “Although (…) his invitation increased the kindness (…).”82 Most probably, it is not accidental that Symmachus avoids mentioning the half-hearted attitude of Nicomachus in these letters. Symmachus would reckon that it was in Nicomachus’ interest not to draw attention to this sensitive issue. When the six letters are read together, they reveal a certain uneasiness on the part of Symmachus. It looks as if Symmachus struggled to make his point, and, accordingly, used several means to convince his addressees. All of the addressees received more than one letter from Symmachus. The number of remnant letters and the subject matter can yield some interesting conclusions: the most interesting contacts for Symmachus were the brothers Petronius and Patruinus, to whom, over a limited period of five years (387/398–402), he addressed 27 letters,83 of which at least 17 were recommendations and some others requests. Second to them are the addressees Rufus Synesius Hadrianus (probably)84 and Minervius.85 The significant number of recommendations undoubtedly suggest that these people were very useful contacts within the consistorium for Symmachus. An important question is why Symmachus would write six letters. This suggests that Symmachus was seemingly convinced that approaching only one or two addressees would not produce the result he was hoping for. And it can also be asked why, in every single letter, Symmachus remained silent about what he was requesting. This silence is striking when compared to the letters from 395. I would therefore suggest that the decision-making process regarding the complete rehabilitation did not run smoothly and/or that the decision was not undisputed. During the discussions of the consistorium, one or more member(s) might have opposed the measure. This opposition would probably point to the fact that some members were reluctant to openly associate themselves with

80  F ilium meum Flavianum consulatus tuus revocat in lucem (Symmachus, Epistula V 6). 81  Sacris enim Domini nostri Honori augustissimi principis litteris ad officium magnifici consulis evocatus (…) (Symmachus, Epistula VII 95). 82  Licet (…) ad cumulum lenitatis adiecta sit evocatio (…) (Symmachus, Epistula IX 47). 83  Epistulae VII 102–28. 84  18 letters (Epistulae VII 42–59). At least half of them are recommendation letters. 85  14 letters (Epistulae IV 35–49). More than half are recommendation letters.

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someone who had supported the usurper.86 They would refrain from doing anything that might endanger their own position.87 Since Symmachus would have been updated about the positions of the different members, he could have come to the conclusion that there was no explicit, full-hearted support in the consistorium for a complete rehabilitation of Nicomachus. Rather, some members would have shown strong reluctance. In order to combat or to neutralize any individual resistance, Symmachus considered it preferable to individually approach each of the involved people (or at least the majority of them). There is maybe a very simple reason why he did not put his request in writing. As the risk existed that the letter would fall into the wrong hands, he manifestly preferred the request to be orally conveyed by the letter carrier. Symmachus probably refrained from putting sensitive content in a letter, since he knew that the document might be intercepted.88 Why Symmachus pursued rehabilitation when Nicomachus was still exhibiting a reluctant attitude remains an open question, as the letters remain silent about it. However, some interrelated hypotheses can be adduced. Probably, strong links between both families would have compelled Symmachus to continue the course he had embarked on. Also, by not heeding Nicomachus’ hesitancy, whose attitude would undoubtedly have been known to others, Symmachus publicly acknowledged that he considered this issue unimportant. By contrast, if he had publicly recognized Nicomachus’ reluctance, it would have fuelled internal opposition. 5

Epistulae IV 6 and 4 to Stilicho (398–99)

Finally, it is interesting to examine two letters written to Stilicho89 against the background of the previous six introductions.90 At that moment, Stilicho 86  Such a reluctant attitude probably points to inherent weaknesses of the regime. Such weaknesses are discussed in detail in McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, pp. 148–52. 87  Matthews, Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court, A.D. 364–425, pp. 258–62 highlights the “Theodosian“ background of Honorius’ principal courtiers. The general pardons of 395 (Codex Theodosianus XV 14.9 and 11) suggest that a not insignificant portion of the office holders was involved in Eugenius’ revolt. 88  Examples are Epistulae III 30 and VI 18. 89   P LRE 1, Flavius Stilicho, pp. 853–8. 90  Some years earlier (probably in 389–390), Symmachus wrote an introduction for his son-in-law to Stilicho. He emphasizes that the recommendee has sufficient support from “important people” and underlines that Nicomachus’ multiple merits render any

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was the main figure of the western court.91 The importance of Stilicho in Symmachus’ network can also be inferred from the placement of Stilicho’s letters92 in Symmachus’ letter collection.93 The first letter (Epistula IV 6), which was written in 398 (approximately) at the same time as the six recommendations discussed in Section 4, can be seen as a letter of (relative) thanks, in which expectations of new favours are skillfully interwoven. Symmachus underscores the decisive role of Stilicho in the ongoing rehabilitation of Nicomachus: “(…) no virtue other than yours is more prompt to rehabilitate individual fortunes.”94 The letter writer also refers to the invitation to the consular celebrations, which came about due to the addressee’s initiative: “And in addition comes an honourable invitation which is backed by your authoritative testimony.”95 Symmachus skilfully leaves Nicomachus’ half-hearted attitude aside, as this would harm the recommendee’s chances. Finally, Symmachus—without saying so openly—expects Stilicho to be receptive to future requests: “You find new levels in your favours and consider friendship inconsistent, when it does not increase.”96 He lavishly praises Stilicho as someone who takes the lead in promoting Nicomachus’ interests: “I do not know what more I should want for Flavianus, as you spontaneously precede us and make us feel impudent, when we have another

recommendation superfluous. By skilfully manipulating the theme of a recommendation, Symmachus intends to emphasize the importance of this case. 91  McLynn, Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital, p. 356: “Despite his Vandal ancestry he was connected to the imperial house by marriage with Theodosius’ niece Serena. No sooner was the emperor dead than Stilicho made a striking announcement: Theodosius had appointed him guardian over not only Honorius, but also his elder brother Arcadius. There was no legal basis for a regency over the eighteen-year-old Arcadius.” McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, p. 142 “His marriage tie with the imperial house gave him an advantage he was very ready to exploit to make his own position more secure than that of any of the individuals who had attempted to manage boy-emperors before him.” 92  Fourteen letters to Stilicho have been preserved, mostly dating to between 397 and 402. Most of the documents deal with official business. 93  Cameron, “Were Pagans Afraid?”, p. 95: “There is thus fairly clear evidence of ring composition (i→vii; ii→vi). Note too that letters to Stilicho, the most important (then) living person included, are placed precisely in the centre, at the beginning of Bk iv.” 94  (…) nihil esse ad integrandas fortunas hominum virtutibus tuis promptius (Symmachus, Epistula IV 6.1). 95  Nunc adiecta est ei honorabilis evocatio, quam testimonii tui iuvit auctoritas (Symmachus, Epistula IV 6.2). 96  Novos beneficiorum gradus invenis et inconstantem putas amorem, qui incrementa non accipit (Symmachus, Epistula IV 6.2).

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request.”97 Maybe this open flattery means that Symmachus was keeping “all his options open”, as he anticipated that at the very last moment an unforeseen hurdle might occur. In that case, Stilicho’s help would urgently be needed to overcome the obstacle. In 399 the rehabilitation of Nicomachus was completed. In a long letter (Epistula IV 4) Symmachus gives his effusive thanks to Stilicho for the services he had rendered: “In every regard, I feel unable to thank you on behalf of my son Flavianus and (…) my words cannot be compared with your important kindness.”98 He underscores that Stilicho was instrumental in rehabilitating Nicomachus: “To restore a dignity is more important than to have granted one (…).”99 More than half of the letter is devoted to the important role Stilicho had played in the rehabilitation. Symmachus almost goes so far as to suggest that a complete rehabilitation would not have been possible without Stilicho. The effusive thanks and the (almost exuberant) praise of Stilicho were also intended to make up for Nicomachus’ former attitude which, probably, had greatly annoyed the addressee. Yet, this letter is not the only moment of thanks that Symmachus conveyed to the emperor after the rehabilitation was completed.100 This suggests that the epistolographer wanted to make sure that his message (eventually) reached the emperor. These precautions clearly point to a situation in which, as I demonstrated earlier in this paper, the full rehabilitation had met with some internal opposition, also because some of Symmachus’ contacts were hesitant to support someone who was tainted by the usurper’s regime. Apparently, it took some time and effort to overcome the resistance. Given his previous experience, Symmachus wanted to prevent at any cost the message of thanks being blocked in the inner administrative circle. 6 Conclusions Symmachus promoted the interests of his relatives and friends largely through interventions and other recommendations. His recommendation 97  Q  uid Flaviano meo amplius velim, nescio, cum tu sponte praecurrens inpudentes nos facias aestimari, si adhuc aliquid optamus (Symmachus, Epistula IV 6.2). 98  Agendis tibi gratiis pro Flaviano filio meo usquequaque me inparem sentio, et (…) beneficii tui magnitudinem dictis aequare non possum (Symmachus, Epistula IV 4.1). 99  Maius quiddam est honorem restituere quam dedisse (…) (Symmachus, Epistula IV 4.2). 100  In Epistulae VII 104 and VIII 29 he asks the addressees (Patruinus, Petronius, and Salvius) to transmit his thanks to the emperor, the auctor of this favour; see Callu (ed.), volume II, p. 233, n. 1 of page 86.

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letters exhibit a strong link between friendship, intervention and letter exchange. Nicomachus, who had chosen the wrong side during the usurpation of Eugenius, was vulnerable to attacks from his aristocratic peers. He therefore needed active support from well-connected individuals to overcome these attacks. The letters discussed above clearly demonstrate that Nicomachus’ gradual return to political life was largely due to Symmachus’ influence and network of powerful friends. The interventions of 395 present Nicomachus’ case from a purely financial angle. The letters proved to be successful, since Nicomachus was exempted from reimbursing the wages that his father had received during the usurpation. However, complete rehabilitation did not come about immediately. The six letters of 398 are an indication that the decision process did not run smoothly. Symmachus realized that the rehabilitation encountered some resistance, probably due to political calculations of individual office holders and to Nicomachus’ attitude towards the invitation for the processus consularis. Therefore, he individually approached several members of the consistorium, skilfully avoiding to mention what Nicomachus could be reproached for. Stilicho played a very important role in the process of rehabilitation, as the letter of thanks fully attests. The letters also show that Symmachus used several epistolary themes and rhetorical or psychological means in order to exert pressure on and/or to transmit his message to the addressee: he could overplay minor aspects of a case, resort to peer pressure, use themes from Roman literature, stress an existing tie, point to the need of reciprocal favours, exploit the great expectations in the addressee, communicate his negative feelings by stating the opposite, and, finally, underscore the importance of his intervention in order to convince others who did not share his own view. In summary, Symmachus’ letters written on behalf of his son-in-law prove that the epistolographer had embarked on a process of seeking imperial favour which would extend over several years and was not wholly undisputed. In this matter he sought the collaboration of several people and had to forestall resistance from others. Bibliography

Primary Sources

Ambrosius, De obitu Theodosii, ed. O. Faller, Explanatio symboli, De sacramentis, De mysteriis, De paenitientia, De excessu fratris, De obitu Valentiniani, De obitu Theodosii (CSEL 73), Vienna 1955. Augustine of Hippo, De civitate dei, trans. H. Bettenson, The City of God: Concerning the City of God against the Pagans, Harmondsworth 1984.

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Codex Theodosianus, ed. and trans. C. Pharr, The Theodosian Code and Novels and the Sirmondian Constitutions, Princeton 1952. Digesta Iustiniani augusti, eds. T. Mommsen/P. Krueger, Berlin 1870; transl. A. Watson, The Digest of Justinian, Philadelphia 1985. Jerome, Epistulae, ed. J. Duff, The Letters of Saint Jerome, Dublin 1942. Libanius, Epistulae, ed. R. Foerster, Opera. Epistulae 1–839, Hildesheim 1963. Libanius, Orationes, ed. P.-L. Malosse, Discours, Paris 2003. Papyrus Michiganensis, ed. P. Cugusi, Corpus epistularum Latinarum: Papyris tabulis ostracis servatarum, Firenze 1992. Quintus Aurelius Symmachus, Epistulae, ed. J.P. Callu, Symmaque. Lettres, Paris 1972–2002. Synesius of Cyrene, Epistulae, ed. A. Garzya/D. Roques, Correspondance: Lettres I– CLVI, Paris 2000. Tacitus, De vita Iulii Agricolae, ed. E. de Saint-Denis, Vie d’Agricola, Paris 1985. Themistius, On Brotherly Love, trans. P.J. Heather/D. Moncur, Politics, Philosophy, and Empire in the Fourth Century: Select Orations of Themistius, Liverpool 2001. Iulius Victor, Ars rhetorica, ed. C. Halm, Rhetores Latini minores, Leipzig 1863.



Secondary Literature

Bonney, R., “A New Friend for Symmachus?”, Historia 2 (1975), pp. 357–74. Bruggisser, P., Symmaque ou le rituel épistolaire de l’amitié littéraire: recherches sur le premier livre de la correspondance, Fribourg 1993. Cameron, A., “Were Pagans Afraid to Speak their Minds in a Christian World? The Correspondence of Symmachus”, in M. Salzman/M. Sághy/R.L. Testa (eds.), Pagans and Christians in Late Antique Rome: Conflict, Competition, and Coexistence in the Fourth Century, Cambridge 2015, pp. 64–111. Cameron, A., The Last Pagans of Rome, Oxford 2011. Chadwick, H., Augustine of Hippo. A life, Oxford 2009. Ciccarese, M.P., “La tipologia delle lettere di S. Agostino”, Augustinianum 11 (1971), pp. 471–507. Cotton, H.M., Documentary Letters of Recommendation in Latin from the Roman Empire, Königstein 1981. Hägg, T., The Art of Biography in Antiquity, New York 2012. Jones, A.H.M., The Later Roman Empire, 284–602: A Social, Economic and Administrative Survey, Oxford 1964. Konstan, D., Friendship in the Classical World, Cambridge 1997. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G., Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire, Oxford 1972. Malosse, P.-L., Lettres pour toutes circonstances: les traités épistolaires du pseudo-Libanios et du pseudo-Démétrios de Phalère, Paris 2004.

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Marcone, A., “Due epistolari a confronto: corpus pliniano e corpus simmachiano” in E. Gabba (ed.), Studi di storia e storiografia antiche per Emilio Gabba, Como 1988, pp. 143–54. Marien, B., “Symmachus as an active power broker: What do his recommendation letters reveal about the writer’s network?”, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 161 (2018), pp. 184–235. Matthews, J.F., “The letters of Symmachus” in J.W. Binns (ed.), Latin literature of the fourth century, London 1974, pp. 58–99. Matthews, J.F., Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court, A.D. 364–425, Oxford 1990. McEvoy, M., Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, Oxford 2013. McLynn, N.B., Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital, Berkeley 1994. Mratschek, S., “A Living Relic for the Vicar of Rome: Strategies of Visualisation in a Civil Case”, in L. Van Hoof/P. Van Nuffelen (eds.), Literature and Society in the Fourth Century AD: Performing paideia, Constructing the Present, Presenting the Self, Leiden 2015, pp. 134–56. Poster, C., “A Conversation Halved: Epistolary Theory in Greco-Roman Antiquity”, in C. Poster/L.C. Mitchell (eds.), Letter-Writing Manuals and Instruction from Antiquity to the Present: Historical and Bibliographical Studies, Columbia, S.C. 2007, pp. 21–51. Rees, R., “Letters of Recommendation and the Rhetoric of Praise”, in R. Morello/ A.D. Morrison (eds.), Ancient Letters: Classical and Late Antique Epistolography, Oxford 2007, pp. 149–68. Roques, D., “Les lettres de Synésios de Cyrene. Problématique et méthodes”, in R. Delmaire/J. Desmulliez/P.-L. Gatier (eds.), Correspondances: documents pour l’histoire de l’antiquité tardive, Lyon 2009, pp. 515–52. Salzman, M.R./ Roberts, M., The Letters of Symmachus, book I, Leiden 2012. Sogno, C., “The Letter Collection of Quintus Aurelius Symmachus”, in C. Sogno/ B.K. Storin/E.J. Watts (eds.), Late Antique Letter Collections: A Critical Introduction and Reference Guide, Oakland 2017, pp. 175–89. Sogno, C., “Roman Matchmaking”, in S. Mcgill/C. Sogno/E.J. Watts (eds.), From the Tetrarchs to the Theodosians: Later Roman History and Culture, 284–450 CE, Cambridge 2010, pp. 55–71. Sogno, C., Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, Ann Arbor 2006. Stowers, S.K., Letter Writing in Greco-Roman Antiquity, Philadelphia 1986. Verboven, K., The Economy of Friends: Economic Aspects of amicitia and Patronage in the Late Republic, Brussels 2002.

Chapter 5

Losing the Empress’s Favour: on the Margins of John Chrysostom’s Homily 48 on Matthew Kamil Cyprian Choda Abstract This chapter examines in detail the Homilia 48 on Matthew delivered by John Chrysostom at Antioch in the year 390. This homily, dealing with the biblical personages of John the Baptist, Herod and his wife Herodias is especially interesting in the context of the later life of John Chrysostom. Elevated to the episcopal see of Constantinople, he is reported to have verbally abused the empress Eudoxia, equating her with wicked female characters from the Bible, an assault that resulted in his banishment from the imperial capital. The homily is representative of a mental framework that enabled a swift translation of biblical characters and episodes into a contemporary setting, where the audience could be asked to both imitate the biblical heroes and to abstain from vices of the villains of old. While John’s audience acclaimed his preaching and was prepared to be challenged, some at Constantinople found both his preaching and his habits unacceptable. That in turn contributed to the polarisation of the ecclesiastical milieu in the capital and opened the way for the fall of John. While the sources on John’s exile and death are far from being unanimous, a verbal confrontation with the empress Eudoxia that sealed his fate is likely to have happened. Having failed to correctly identify and adequately approach the person upon whose favour his position depended, John approached the empress with the very biblically-loaded rhetoric he used habitually as a preacher.

The remarkable scene of Herod’s anniversary banquet, at which an impressive (and possibly erotic) dancing performance by the daughter of Herodias, the wife of the tetrarch, led to the execution of the prophet John the Baptist has attracted the attention of readers of the New Testament ever since it was recorded by Mark and Matthew. John Chrysostom was by no means an exception and his Antiochean public had the opportunity to hear his sermon (Homilia 48 on the Gospel of Matthew) on this biblical story in 390. However, he was somehow exceptional, as at a later stage of his life he came to be identified— or possibly even to identify himself with John the Baptist persecuted by a

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_007

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modern Herodias—a role assigned to the empress Eudoxia. As some of our sources claim, John, unlike other ancient Christian writers, neither entrusted this shocking idea to a small circle of his friends, nor did he wait till the person he thus attacked was dead. Instead, he used a public sermon in a main church as a platform to deliver his message—or so we are told. Should we dismiss the whole story as a later fabrication as some ancient sources as well as modern scholars affirm? Summoned to Constantinople from the outside, acclaimed as a distinguished preacher untainted by the politics of the capital, he could have assured himself the continuous favour of the imperial family. Instead, not only was he exiled from the imperial centre, but, having been allowed to return, he swiftly lost the newly regained acceptance by verbally assaulting the empress. The stormy 4th century, which had been troubled by the Christological controversies, had already come to an end. With it, the time when men of the Church allowed themselves to insult the incumbent and dead emperors (the latter strategy owed its much greater popularity to the lower risk associated with it) whose religion they criticized seemed to be gone, too. In light of this, the case of John Chrysostom appears worth rereading. Were there perhaps either some preconditions that caused John Chrysostom to lose his position in Constantinople due to an inopportune use of a biblical example to which he resorted, or was there something about the bishop himself that would have rendered him a person likely to act in that manner in the eyes of both his friends and foes?1 In order to answer these questions one needs to examine how John Chrysostom and his public related to the person of John the Baptist and his persecutors. References to the new testamental episode narrating the death of the prophet are spread through various works of John Chrysostom and it would have been impossible to analyse all of them in detail, given the formal limitations of this paper. Instead, the aim of the paper is to look closer at Homilia 48, one of the longest and most substantial texts John Chrysostom devoted to his namesake and his foes2 and to discern if the verbal assault on the empress Eudoxia could be understood in the context of John Chrysostom’s earlier attempts to place himself and his potential enemies within the biblical framework. In other words: is it possible that John Chrysostom had been 1  That the early career of John Chrysostom was by no means devoid of the political theorizing has been demonstrated by Stephens, “Religion and Power in the Early Thought of John Chrysostom”, pp. 181–8. 2  It is telling that of the 32 pages the monograph about the female figures in the oeuvre of John Chrysostom devotes to representations of Herodias and Salome, no less than 11 deal with Homilia 48 (Broc-Schmetzer, Les figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome, pp. 323–34).

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progressively identifying himself with John the Baptist? Did he become a prisoner of the biblical models that had stood at the centre of his life?3 Or did he disregard the norms that applied to the communication at the imperial court and approached the ruling pair just as he could have approached his flock, falsely identifying the third party his position depended on? Homilia 48 constitutes a good point of departure as a case study. Not only does it contain many passages relevant to the topic of the current paper, but it was pronounced in the year 390, also at a relatively early point in Chrysostom’s career. If some signals allowing for a positive answer to the question posed in the present paper can be discerned already in this homily, a future examination of other writings of John Chrysostom that employ the characters of John the Baptist, Herodias and Herod will perhaps make it possible to track down his development that ultimately cost him his position. And because the assault on Eudoxia was either expressed in public or did not take long to become a public affair the possible reactions and thoughts of the Antiochean public back in 390 (as far as they can be retrieved from both the historical context and the homily itself) are worth examining. Those who came to read Homilia 48 after the exile and death of its author would have done so in a context different from that of the immediate public in Antioch to which the sermon was initially delivered. As some doubts concerning the authenticity of John Chrysostom’s sharp criticism of Eudoxia were raised, they need to be answered, too.4 It is hardly surprising that John Chrysostom (c. 349–407),5 a native of Antioch, espoused the exegetical tradition of the city of his birth, which was passed on to him by his friend Theodore of Mopsuestia and his teacher Diodorus of Tarsus.6 Unlike the Alexandrian exegetes, the followers of the Antiochean tradition tended towards literal exegesis, thus making efforts to render the historical (as opposed to allegorical) meaning of the commented passages more intelligible. Needless to say, their notion of what was historical differed from the contemporary one. Contrary to contemporary exegetes, they saw all the events narrated in the Bible as having literally taken place in the past. John Chrysostom’s commentary of the Gospel of Matthew originated as a series of expository sermons on this particular Gospel that were preached in 3  John Chrysostom is reported by Palladius as having memorized the entire Bible in his early years, as a lone ascetic living in a cave, see Kelly, Golden Mouth, p. 32. 4  As of April 2019, Emilio Bonfiglio’s book John Chrysostom’s Homilies Before his First Exile: State—Church Conflicts and Manipulation of Media in Late Antiquity, which is bound to shed more light on the topic of this paper, has not yet been published. 5  On the life of John Chrysostom see Kelly, Golden Mouth. 6  Kelly, Golden Mouth, p. 60 and 95.

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Antioch in the year 390.7 At that point, John Chrysostom was already extremely popular and the population of Antioch found delight in listening to his sermons. At the time the sermon addressing the execution of John the Baptist was delivered, the Antiochean Church had already been suffering from a schism for many years.8 As a result, there would have been members of both parties among the flock the so-called “golden-mouthed orator” was addressing. The presence of “heretics” and pagans cannot be excluded either, and neither can that of Jews or Judaizers.9 The homily analysed in the present paper, however, presupposes an audience that shares the fundamental theological convictions of the preacher, who treats his members as if they were all Christians. No mention of inter-Christian religious differences is made and there are some anti-Jewish accents too. Notwithstanding the presupposed lack of religious divide, there were social differences that characterized the audience of John Chrysostom. While the notion that John Chrysostom only addressed the local elite has been refuted, and with good reason, the presence of listeners of various educational and cultural backgrounds has to be taken into account.10 It has been furthermore observed that even the uneducated were likely to be experienced listeners.11 It is important to notice that women were also present in the church when John Chrysostom preached.12 The reading public was envisaged too, for the stenographers took care to note the words of the homily. Some of their notes would in turn be revised and published by Chrysostom, while other sermons were published without being polished by the preacher himself. The sermons even contain references to reactions by the audience ranging from applause to boredom, thus betraying the fact that the sermons were presented and probably even composed orally.13 Another possibility would have been that pre-existing texts of the homilies were enhanced to reflect the preacher’s interaction with his audience. This would have taken place while the homilies were being preached, and as a result makes it possible for us to learn something about the interaction between the preacher and his flock. It is however entirely 7  Kelly, Golden Mouth, p. 100; von Bonsdorff, Zur Predigttätigkeit des Johannes Chrysostomus, pp. 14–25. 8  Canivet, “Meletian Schism”, p. 476. The schism resulted from the episcopal see of Antioch having been claimed by various bishops representing different theological opinions. This in turn led to the existence of distinct Christian communities in the city. 9  Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in the Late Antiquity, pp. 84–6. 10  Ibid., pp. 66–7. 11  Ibid., p. 43. 12  Ibid., p. 80. 13  Ibid., pp. 6–7.

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conceivable that the editors of the homilies (either John Chrysostom himself or his followers) would have suppressed or modified the preacher’s reaction to the behaviour of his audience as witnessed by the stenographical notes. In that case, the ultimate shape of the homilies would bear witness not just to the reactions of the audience, but also to the purposes of the editors. Homilia 4814 opens not with the story of the execution of John the Baptist, but with the one concerning the rejection of Jesus by the people of Nazareth. John Chrysostom points to the fact that Jesus consciously limited the number of miracles he performed at his home town. He would do this out of concern for the eternal fate of his neighbours: a greater number of signs would leave the people of Nazareth with no excuse for rejecting Jesus and this was, according to John Chrysostom, precisely what the Saviour knew was going to happen.15 Although the people of Nazareth were Jews who had forfeited their eternal life, the mostly Christian audience of John Chrysostom was by no means immune from losing their salvation either. Thus, at the very beginning of the sermon, they were reminded that the matters discussed touched on the questions of (everlasting) life and (second) death. One was well advised to pay attention. The proper story as retold by John Chrysostom begins with Herod the Tetrarch learning about Jesus and identifying him with John the Baptist whom he had killed. The picture that John Chrysostom draws of Herod, a man responsible for slaying the prophet who dared to admonish him, is, in a way, the opposite of the ideal prince. For Herod is a prince, although a minor one. In fact, John Chrysostom calls him a tetrarch (τετράρχης) while reserving the definitely more prestigious title of king for his father.16 One needs to remember that the word βασιλεύς (king), as used by a late 4th-century Christian author commenting on a 1st-century text that originated under very different political circumstances, could have been very ambiguous. βασιλεύς Herod, the father of the Tetrarch, was only a minor client of Rome, whereas the βασιλεύς of the late 4th century was none other than the reigning Christian emperor.17 By following the title convention of Matthew (and Luke, as opposed to Mark, who calls him βασιλεύς)18 John Chrysostom would remove any possible association of the personage in question with the contemporary Christian ruler. But how would Herod the Tetrarch have fitted into the mental landscape of the people who came to listen to the homily? As a Jewish or at least a Jewish-like figure? 14  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, pp. 487–96. 15  Ibid., pp. 487–8. 16  Ibid., p. 488. 17  Kazhdan, Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, p. 264. This use of the word goes back to the times of Constantine. 18  Mark 6:14, Matt. 14:1, Luke 9:7. See Gillman, Herodias. At Home in That Fox’s Den, p. 38.

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As a barbarian ruler of a small vassal kingdom of Rome—perhaps Armenia, a Roman client state integrated more fully into the Empire after the year 387, constituted a good 4th-century analogy?19 In any case, they would probably have seen him as a distant figure and would not have been likely to treat Herod as someone occupying a position similar to the Christian βασιλεύς who ruled over them. It is noteworthy that in his later years John Chrysostom himself never drew the line so far. Even the sources that depict his uttermost criticism of Eudoxia (which this paper will address later) did not extend the parallel to include her husband as well.20 However, John Chrysostom leaves some space for contemporary parallels. He criticises Herod for learning about the person of Jesus relatively late and goes on to generalize on the entire ruling elite. The sense of contemporaneity is made even more visible by the use of the present tense: “For such are those who are in places of power, and who are encompassed with much pomp: they learn these things late, because they do not make much account of them.”21 Those spiritual matters (“these things”) are induced with the word ταῦτα, which refers both to the actions of Jesus and to similar workings of God that are still to be discerned in the world in which the preacher and his audience live. Thus, although Herod is not directly compared to any contemporary political figure, his arrogant behaviour is extended to all the ruling class (“those who are in places of power”), be it the 1st-century Jewish-Palestinian or the 4th-century Roman elite. Some of the people in the audience, especially office-holders, would probably have taken this as a personal assault, while others would have understood that the preacher was criticising the city elite and may even have derived some spiritual consolation from the fact that the criticism did not

19  Kazhdan, Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, p. 171. For the complicated relations between Armenia, Rome and Persia, see Garsoïan, “The Aršakuni Dynasty”, pp. 63–94. 20  Kelly, Golden Mouth, p. 246 notes that the emperor had no “special animus against John”. That would have hardly been the case, had the bishop insulted him personally. On the other hand, it does not seem very likely that the criticism directed against his wife would have made no negative impression on the ruler himself. Barnes and Bevan who dismiss the story about John Chrysostom equating Eudoxia with Herodias believe that the preacher managed to turn both the emperor as well as the empress against himself in criticizing the imperial politics (Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, pp. 24–32). However, the anonymous author of the funerary oration focuses his criticism almost exclusively on Eudoxia (Barry, “Diagnosing Heresy: Ps.-Martyrius’s Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom”, p. 403). 21  Translated by G. Prevost. In Greek: Τοιοῦτοι γὰρ οἱ ἐν δυναστείαις καὶ πολὺν τὸν ὄγκον περιβεβλημένοι· ὀψὲ ταῦτα μανθάνουσι, διὰ τὸ μὴ πολὺν αὐτῶν ποιεῖσθαι λόγον. John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 488.

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encompass them.22 However, the elite charged with the burden of political power was not only the Antiochean establishment. While not himself a king, Herod was a ruler, and thus a member of a class whose characteristic it was to ignore God’s messengers and whose representative, comes Orientis, resided at Antioch.23 It was, furthermore, class at the top of which, in the world of John Chrysostom, was the emperor himself. The preacher was obviously equipping his audience with discursive tools of criticism of state power, including its highest instance. It was, however, his initiative to generalize the negative attitude of Herod while applying it to the ruling class as a whole, an initiative he presented as originating from the New Testament itself. The distance separating Herod from the contemporary reality of Chrysostom’s audience would have been increased by their lack of understanding of the criticism to which John the Baptist subjected Herod and his wife. The story of John the Baptist and his foes constitutes the very core of Homilia 48. The ascetic prophet acts as to fulfil the requirements of his divinely imposed role and castigates Herod for a crime he had committed. It is the character of Herod’s crime that John Chrysostom believes his audience would have failed to grasp.24 Neither Mark nor Matthew give details of the reason why John the Baptist criticized Herod. Instead, Matthew 14:4 only records John saying: “It is not lawful for you to have her.”, while Mark 6:18 makes him say: “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.”25 It is from Josephus26 that we learn that the marriage of Herod and Herodias was treated as mutual adultery: not only did Herod Antipas divorce his wife to marry a new woman, but it was also Herodias who divorced her husband to marry his brother. For many Jews who continued to be faithful to their tradition, this was scandalous in and of itself. Gillman points to the fact that the urban, non-priestly elites of Palestine 22  The rich entering a church had not only to face poorer members of the congregation who were by no means bound to like them, but could also be exposed to public shaming by the preacher (Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350–550 AD, p. 142). 23  See Seeck, “Comites 64”. 24  Ibid., p. 489. 25  English translations of the Bible verses are taken from the New International Version (https://www.biblestudytools.com/niv/). 26  Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae XVIII 136, p. 165. See Gillman, Herodias. At Home in That Fox’s Den, p. 44. The writings of Josephus were known to John Chrysostom, who in another homily on Matthew even advised his audience to collect from him supplementary information (John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 75, PG 58, p. 690; see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in the Late Antiquity, p. 99). However, in Homilia 48 he makes no use of him to shed more light on the story depicted in the Gospel of Matthew.

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were allowed more freedom and that cases of women initiating divorce were not unprecedented.27 However, it would have been extremely unlikely for the historical John the Baptist to acquiesce in the elite customs of his age while ignoring Jewish Law. But there was also a second reason for the admonishment, that would have been valid even if John the Baptist had proven himself ready to accept the elite custom. The Mosaic Law prohibited men from marrying their brother’s wife, which was precisely what Herod did.28 He could have been excused on the grounds of the so-called law of levirate but it is the unjustified application of this law that caused the moral evil of the marriage in the eyes of John Chrysostom.29 This law, rooted in Deuteronomy, required the brother of a married man who had deceased without leaving a male heir to marry his brother’s wife: the first (male) child born of this union was to be treated as a child of the dead brother. Thus, his family was to be prevented from dying out.30 Now, Chrysostom sees the reason for John’s criticism in the fact that Herod, having married the sister of his brother who had a child with him, transgressed the law of Moses. Although the preacher does not mention explicitly that he thought Herod’s brother was dead, he most probably espoused this view. This can be inferred from his recapitulation of the essence of the transgression: “Forasmuch then as Herod had married his brother’s wife, while she had a child; therefore John blames him, and blames him with moderation, showing together with his boldness, his consideration also.”31 The fact that Herodias had a child with Herod’s brother is stressed as being the reason for the prophet’s criticism. However, it must be taken into account that the law of levirate could only be fulfilled when a male child was produced, which Herodias had not. Thus, John Chrysostom was inducing his audience to follow his understanding of the 27  Gillman, Herodias. At Home in That Fox’s Den, pp. 44–8. 28  Lev. 18:16: ἀσχημοσύνην γυναικὸς ἀδελφοῦ σου οὐκ ἀποκαλύψεις· ἀσχημοσύνη ἀδελφοῦ σού ἐστιν (Septuagint quotations are taken from the 2006 Rahlfs/Hanhart edition). See Broc-Schmetzer, Les figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome, p. 325. 29  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, pp. 489–90. 30  Deut. 25:5–6: Εὰν δὲ κατοικῶσιν ἀδελφοὶ ἐπὶ τὸ αὐτὸ καὶ ἀποθάνῃ εἷς ἐξ αὐτῶν, σπέρμα δὲ μὴ ᾖ αὐτῷ, οὐκ ἔσται ἡ γυνὴ τοῦ τεθνηκότος ἔξω ἀνδρὶ μὴ ἐγγίζοντι· ὁ ἀδελφὸς τοῦ ἀνδρὸς αὐτῆς εἰσελεύσεται πρὸς αὐτὴν καὶ λήμψεται αὐτὴν ἑαυτῷ γυναῖκα καὶ συνοικήσει αὐτῇ. καὶ ἔσται τὸ παιδίον, ὃ ἐὰν τέκῃ, κατασταθήσεται ἐκ τοῦ ὀνόματος τοῦ τετελευτηκότος, καὶ οὐκ ἐξαλειφθήσεται τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ ἐξ Ισραηλ. See Gillman, Herodias. At Home in That Fox’s Den, pp. 44–50, which contains both an analysis of the grounds on which the historical John the Baptist most probably condemned the marriage and the views the Evangelists held about the motivation of John. 31  Translated by G. Prevost. In Greek: Ἐπεὶ οὖν ὁ Ἡρώδης παιδίον ἔχουσαν τὴν γυναῖκα τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ ἔγημε, διὰ τοῦτο ἐγκαλεῖ ὁ Ἰωάννης, καὶ ἐγκαλεῖ συμμέτρως, μετὰ τῆς παρρησίας καὶ τὴν ἐπιείκειαν ἐπιδεικνύμενος, John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 490.

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reasons behind the behaviour of John the Baptist. This understanding not only fails to match the knowledge available to modern-day scholars, but also could have been refuted in the days of John Chrysostom on the basis of sources (the Bible and Josephus) available to the Antiochean preacher. John Chrysostom uses this explication to underline the distance between him, a teacher and a Bible expert, and his audience, to many members of which he imputes lack of knowledge regarding the reason for John’s actions (“But as I think many are ignorant of the grievance itself, whence the murder had its origin, I must declare this too, that you may learn the wisdom of the lawgiver.”32). This ignorance imputed by the preacher to his audience was to be remedied, however. As distant and obscure as the knowledge of the details of Jewish legislation was, at least in John Chrysostom’s eyes, to the people in his audience, they were blessed with a teacher able to show them the correct understanding of those obscure passages. However incorrect this understanding originating from Chrysostom limiting himself to the text of the Bible alone and his refusal to take into account the version of Josephus33 may be, there can be no doubt that for him John acts as an agent of God and the Law he gave to Moses. The power relations at the beginning of the episode are as follows: John admonishes Herod that it is illicit for him to have his brother’s wife. He addresses the Tetrarch and not his wife, for it is Herod who is κυριώτερος (having higher power and authority) than his spouse,34 a word that designates his prominent place not only as a ruler, but also, in a sharp contrast with Herodias, as a male. The effect the prophet aims at is the repentance of the ruler, an act that, from a Christian perspective of the Antiochean preacher, could only benefit Herod. The Gospels depict John as not being able to achieve this goal. Now Chrysostom tells his audience that this failure of John was caused by the action taken by the wife of Herod. It is Herodias who becomes angry with the prophet and is able to incarcerate him. This is however not her ultimate goal. John’s attempt at influencing Herod by admonishing him having failed, the stage is set for the elimination of the prophet, as Herod is about to celebrate his anniversary banquet.35

32  Translated by G. Prevost. In Greek: Ἐπειδὴ δὲ πολλοὺς ἡγοῦμαι καὶ τοῦ ἐγκλήματος, ὅθεν ὁ φόνος ἐτέχθη, τὴν ὑπόθεσιν ἀγνοεῖν, ἀναγκαῖον καὶ τοῦτο ἐξειπεῖν, ἵνα μάθητε τοῦ νομοθέτου τὴν σύνεσιν, John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 489. 33  It seems unlikely though that there were many in his audience who would have noticed it. For the majority of listeners, John Chrysostom’s status as a Bible expert would not have been compromised by his incorrect understating of the motivation of John the Baptist. 34  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 489. 35  Ibid.

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The banquet at which the daughter of Herodias dances is portrayed as a feast of luxuriousness and heavy drinking.36 While Chrysostom’s use of the word τρυφή (luxury) may be, within the framework of the homily, justified by his moral evaluation of dance as such,37 the Gospels do not mention either heavy drinking or luxury. Thus, John Chrysostom goes beyond what the text he is commenting on says explicitly. Herod is utterly impressed by the dance. Although it is the daughter of Herodias that performs it, John Chrysostom leaves no doubts as to the fact that it is Herodias herself who is responsible for the ensuing demand to execute John. Her motivation is to avoid being depicted as an adulteress. While she is portrayed as being manipulative in exploiting Herod’s hasty declaration to give to her daughter whatever she demands, her daughter is depicted as being placed by Herod himself in a legitimate position to ask for virtually anything, including half of his kingdom. John Chrysostom expresses contempt for the tetrarch for having allowed this.38 Yielding to his lust, he, being in a higher position (which results from him being a man, an adult and a ruler) becomes submissive to a person occupying a significantly lower position as a woman, a youth, and a dancer. Herod, being himself κυριώτερος than his adult wife, now makes the girl κυρία (the empowered one). This well suits the image of him that is drawn in the course of the sermon, as a man subdued to contradictory passions and eager to change his opinions to please his subjects. The situation is even more improper, because the girl honoured by Herodes is portrayed by Chrysostom as maddened and drunk with passion.39 This drunkenness is probably best understood as the passion for dance that overwhelms the girl. It is more difficult to say how the word μαινομένη (maddened) is to be understood. Perhaps her dance is proof of her folly because it does not correspond to her social position and—what is even more serious—makes her susceptible to the influence of the devil. The word μαινομένη itself and its derivatives are associated with the Bacchae, the female worshippers of Dionysus prone to violence and even murder when engaged in frenetic worship, as well as with Erinyes who resemble the former in their mercilessness.40 Thus, the use of the word μαινομένη would have provided one additional characteristic of the girl that was easy to grasp for those in the audience who were better acquainted with 36  Ibid., p. 490. 37  John Chrysostom classifies dance as diabolic par excellence in the course of the homily (John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 491). 38  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, pp. 490–91. 39  Ibid., p. 491. 40  See Perdicoyianni-Paleologou, “The Vocabulary of Madness from Homer to Hippocrates. Part 1: The Verbal Group of µαίνοµαι”, pp. 311–39.

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the classical tradition. Either way, it is the dance itself that is to be understood as folly with possibly lethal consequences. This detail invented by the preacher goes beyond any allegorical and spiritual meaning. John Chrysostom visibly thought he was in a position to supplement the biblical account with his own creatively invented details and to pass them on to his public without arousing any protests. We know that the homilies were stenographed and then published, the stenographers being likely to transmit John Chrysostom’s answers to the spontaneous reaction of his audience.41 Their absence in the text makes it therefore probable that the golden-mouthed preacher was right in assuming his creativity would not encounter criticism from his flock. Those who were enough versed in the Bible to be able to immediately identify the new element introduced by the preacher either saw this practice as legitimate or chose to remain silent. However, as already stated, it is impossible to exclude the possibility that such reactions were suppressed by the editor(s) of the Homiliae in Matthaeum. This kind of editing in turn would have set the admissible limits in the context of the Antiochean preaching as practiced by John Chrysostom. On the other hand, it is difficult to imagine the preacher failing to come up with what he would deem an adequate answer (e.g. involving the assimilation of different vices) to such criticism. Thus, the observation sheds some light on the way the biblical exegesis could have been conducted and popularised in 4th-century Antioch. The emphasis John Chrysostom puts on the dubious morality of the girl makes her a partner in crime of her mother. However, the commentator excuses to a certain extent both the tetrarch and the daughter of Herodias, for he had been manipulated by the girl, and she in turn had acted under the nefarious influence of her mother.42 Still, the fact that the morals of the girl are denigrated to make her appear as at the very least a partially wilful partner in crime, is not without significance for the evaluation of Herodias, the chief perpetrator. For she, the mother, emerges as worse, not in comparison with a merely mislead and abused girl, but with a person bearing personal guilt for her immoral behaviour. This, in turn, makes Herodias look even worse. At the end it is she who bears the responsibility for the death of the prophet, at least in human terms. It is furthermore Herodias who turns her husband, who had previously been “only” an adulterer (according to Johannine standards) into a murderer.43

41  Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in the Late Antiquity, pp. 6–7. 42  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 491. 43  Ibid., p. 492.

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John, representing the interests of God, is thus silenced at the order of a male ruler who has fallen under the charm of a licentious girl. She, however, does not act alone, neither is her mother alone her partner in crime. The girl had become the devil’s property,44 something that could possibly lessen her responsibility for the crime, for it was, as John Chrysostom later reveals, in fact the devil himself who danced through her.45 Thus, being the devil’s passive victim, she is not as guilty as her mother is. As for Herodias, the devil is her συνήγορος, an “advocate” of her case,46 and their relationship presupposes conscious consideration on the part of Herodias. The moral judgment to which the wife of Herod is subjected could hardly have been harsher. The motivation John Chrysostom attributes to Herodias is her wish to secure her positive image that had been threatened by the accusation of John the Baptist who presented her marriage as illicit.47 The cure she makes her daughter obtain from Herod, that is, the execution of John the Baptist, proves to be worse than the disease (even if the judgement is to be made from her own perspective). Firstly, the head of John the Baptist is brought to the banquet and presented to the participants who, as John Chrysostom suggests, are terrified48—a reaction that shows that, the criticism the preacher directs at them notwithstanding, their moral standing is far above the standards espoused by the trio (or the gang of four, if the devil is to be counted) of perpetrators. The act of parading the head of the prophet at the banquet is a detail that the Scriptures do not mention. Mark and Matthew do mention that the head of John the Baptist is given to the daughter of Herodias, who in turn hands it over to her mother. This addition of details not present in the Scripture amplifies the horror of the scene. Ultimately, the attempt to silence John fails as the news of the reason behind his execution (that is, his criticism of the adulterous marriage of Herodias) is spread among the population by the prophet’s disciples, who were unwilling to divulge the sin of Herod as long as John the Baptist was kept alive in the tetrarch’s prison. Had Herodias not arranged for the execution of her accuser, her crime and the accusation of John the Baptist would have remained an affair known only to the few individuals who were directly involved.49 In the 44  Ibid., p. 491. 45  Ibid., p. 493. 46  Ibid., p. 491. 47  Ibid., pp. 491–2. 48  Ibid., p. 492. 49  Ibid.

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end, the beheaded prophet emerges as the winner, whose influence extends beyond the grave. The ultimate reason behind the preaching of John Chrysostom was persuasion. The listeners present in the church as well as the future readers of the Homiliae were to draw moral and spiritual lessons from the homily. Some of those lessons were named explicitly.50 There was, however, a subtler game that Chrysostom was playing with his congregation. In extolling the parrhesia51 (the freedom to speak and even to criticize others regardless of their possible higher social standing) of John the Baptist vis-à-vis Herod and his wife, Chrysostom was accustoming his audience to the idea that the men of God had the right to admonish the rulers and their relatives. Would his audience assimilate their preacher with John already at this relatively early point of his career at which he had not yet entered into a conflict with a man of power resembling Herod? We will never know it, but what we can do is to analyse Homilia 48 while paying attention both to the historical context in which it was delivered as well as to the mental framework responsible both for its production (on the part of the preacher) and its perception (on the part of his audience in Antioch and later readership). The mental framework that made it possible to draw parallels or even to identify contemporary people with the characters from the Bible was to be found in the writings of Paul, who saw many of the Old Testament characters and acts as “types” announcing their fulfilment in the “antitypes” of the New Testament. This exegetical method was applied not only by the exegetes writing in the tradition of the school of Alexandria; the Antiochean tradition also accepted it, although it remained more focussed on the literal exegesis.52 For example, Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac was a type that came into fulfilment with 50   Broc-Schmetzer, Les figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome, pp. 326–7 commenting on the parts of the homily having to do with Salome (she, unlike John Chrysostom, uses this name) observes: “Il est évident que le commentaire de Chrystostome est ici déterminé par l’application pratique qu’il envisage (…)”. This observation can be applied to Homilia 48 as a whole. The moral lessons the public was to draw from the homily were a) not to be scandalized by evil in the world b) to beware of prostitutes c) to confess one’s sins and to repent for them d) to abstain from malicious gossip (Broc-Schmetzer, Les figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome, pp. 330–4). 51  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 490. For Chrysostom’s positive opinion about the (possibly politically loaded, not unlike in the case of John the Baptist) use of parrhesia in the context of the preaching of the apostles, see Pavlík, “Funkce výrazu ΠΑΡΡΗΣIΑ a charakteristické příklady jeho uplatnění v homiliích Jana Chrýsostoma na Skutky apoštolů”, pp. 91–117. 52  Hall, “Typologie”, pp. 208–24.

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the death of Christ on Golgotha, which, in turn, was an antitype of Abraham’s sacrifice of old. Christian writers roughly contemporary to John Chrysostom made frequent use of this exegetical device that sometimes ended up transformed into a tool of politico-religious struggle. To stay with the feminine examples, it suffices to mention the equations of the Western empress Justina with Herodias and Jezebel, the wicked idolatrous wife of King Ahab, suggested by Ambrose of Milan, who in turn identified himself with both Elijah and John the Baptist.53 At the time John Chrysostom was preaching on Matthew, the very theme of Herodias had already been employed by Athanasius in his anti-Arian and anti-imperial polemic, although in a different context.54 This precedent of the employment of the episode as a means to criticize the emperor would most probably have been known at least to those in John Chrysostom’s audience who were acquainted with the Christian literary tradition.55 And the Pauline pattern of types and antitypes was certainly even more widespread than the knowledge of Athanasius’ writings. Thus, there was certainly a mental framework that could easily legitimize drawing such parallels. In the context of John Chrysostom’s possible later identification with John the Baptist, it is interesting to take a closer look at John Chrysostom’s early work making polemical use of John the Baptist. In In Babylam ac contra Julianum et Gentiles (written between 378 and 379), John Chrysostom equals the 3rd-century martyr Babylas who denies an unnamed emperor’s right to enter a church and is martyred by him with John the Baptist.56 This emperor represents the past. On the other hand, already the title of the work betrays the polemical string of this text directed at present developments: the figure of the 3rd-century martyr Babylas, whose earthly remains were replaced by emperor Julian, is used to combat the paganism contemporary to John Chrysostom and the emperor who had embraced it.57 In contrast to this earlier work, Homilia 48 does not offer any other contemporary re-enactment of the episode than a spiritual one. It is no longer 53  Ambrose, Epistula 76.18, p. 146. Ambrose does not call the empress by name, but it would be obvious to his audience that it was she whom he targeted. 54  Athanasius, Historia Arrianorum 52, p. 212 equates Constantius II with Herod, who is submissive to heretical bishops performing a dance analogous to that performed by the daughter of Herodias. 55  On the structure of the audience, see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in the Late Antiquity, pp. 83–86. 56  Grillet/Schatkin, Jean Chrysostome, Discours sur Babylas/Suivi de Homélie sur Babylas, p. 128. See also: Broc-Schmezer, Les figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome, pp. 343–4. 57  See Grillet/Schatkin, Jean Chrysostome, Discours sur Babylas/Suivi de Homélie sur Babylas, pp. 15–40.

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the body that is afflicted by pain, as was the case with John the Baptist, to whom his execution did no real harm whatsoever: nowadays (that is, in the times of John Chrysostom), we learn, the souls of the Christians who gather at banquets are being destroyed by their immoral behaviour.58 This detachment from the contemporary political situation was something not unusual for the commentators of the John the Baptist episode who were writing roughly in the times of John Chrysostom.59 This apparent political “innocence” suffers however from the generalized criticism addressed at the ruling elite of the empire who ignore the most important spiritual events, such as the beginning of the public activity of Christ.60 The generalisation, which equalled the tetrarch with other members of the ruling elite (including those contemporary to John Chrysostom and his audience), opened the possibility of interpreting the biblical scene of a wicked, satanic banquet filled with lust, drunkenness and the illegitimate use of interpersonal influence that culminated in the slaying of the prophet as something that could also happen in the late 4th-century Christian empire. As we will see, later on, John Chrysostom’s disdain for banquets and his habit of eating alone would raise criticism and fuel controversy. The ruling elite, especially the elite women accounted for one part of the parallel between the biblical “then” and the late-antique “now”. The sources portraying the end of John’s career conclude that female influence and agency were among the most important devices that came to be used to connect the biblical accounts with the reality of the Christian empire of the early 5th century. During the 4th century, Antioch was not far removed from imperial politics at the highest level, for the city served as the imperial residence on various occasions, the process having begun already under the tetrarchy,61 with the celebration of the decennalia of Valens (373),62 witnessed by the middle-aged listeners of John Chrysostom. When they were not physically present in the city, the emperors would try to inspire awe and fear in the hearts of its inhabitants.63 Still more importantly, in the year the homily was delivered (390) only three years had passed since the power of the emperor had made 58  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, pp. 493–94. 59  For example, both Hilary of Poitiers and Jerome wrote commentaries on Matthew in which they did not attempt to exploit the political dimension of the episode. 60  John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 48, PG 58, p. 488. 61  Wienand, “The Empire’s Golden Shade. Icons of Sovereignty in an Age of Transition”, pp. 428–9. 62  Downey, History of Antioch in Syria, p. 402 63  Liebeschuetz, Antioch. City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire, p. 106. The author observes however (ibid., p. 107), that despite those imperial efforts the local administration would at times ignore edicts coming from the imperial centre.

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itself terrifyingly visible in Antioch. In early 387 the Antiocheans, upon hearing that a new, high tax had been imposed on them rioted, destroying, among others, the statues of emperor Theodosius and his family. The outrage was reported to Constantinople and Antioch began to be filled with rumours about the terrible retribution that was to be expected from the emperor. The decision of the imperial officials sent to the city for the sake of investigation confirmed these fears: Antioch was to lose its status of metropolis, many public buildings were to be closed, and the distribution of bread to the poor was to cease. Some of the city counsellors were sentenced to death, but their execution was deferred to give Theodosius more time to examine the case. In the weeks to come John Chrysostom delivered sermons that later on came to be known as the Homilies on the Statues (Homiliae XXI de Statuis ad populum Antiochenum habitae). The sermons contained not only traditional moral Christian teaching adapted for the dramatic circumstances, urging the Antiocheans to repent, but were also aimed at comforting (or even partially exculpating) the people of Antioch waiting for the final verdict of the emperor. In the end, the atmosphere of terror masterfully orchestrated by the emperor and his officials gave way to the pardon given both to the city and to sentenced officials.64 However, three years after those events had taken place, both the menace coming from Constantinople and the role played by John Chrysostom in dealing with it would have remained a living memory of the people of Antioch. Although at this point John Chrysostom did not speak out against the emperor (which would have been hardly conceivable anyway), his homilies, not only rebuking the Antiocheans but also giving them hope, were an attempt to neutralize and counterbalance the menace coming from the imperial centre. There were, too, some similarities between the two Johns that the audience of John Chrysostom might have been sensitive to. While any unambiguous link to the imperial family was absent from Homilia 48, there was still the imposing figure of John the Baptist, whose name alone could have been understood as an invitation to draw parallels between the Baptist and the man who preached about him. What precisely could have justified such parallels? Like John the Baptist, considered by the later tradition a prototypical anchorite, John Chrysostom was an experienced ascetic. Like the Baptist, who did not limit himself to the solitude of the desert, Chrysostom, too, returned to active life having weakened his physical health while exercising his spirit under extreme conditions.65 Moreover, John Chrysostom had an advantage over his predecessor: he lived in the era of the New Testament. John the Baptist, on 64  Kelly, Golden Mouth, pp. 72–82. 65  Ibid., pp. 32–4.

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the other hand, was a figure that, although building a bridge between the two Testaments, belonged to the Old Covenant. This is at least what many Christian writers, John Chrysostom included, could infer from the Bible (Matthew 11:11).66 Unlike John the Baptist, the author of the Homiliae in Matthaeum did not only belong to the New Covenant: at the time he was preaching on Matthew he was already an ordained priest,67 which made it possible for him to approach divine mysteries in a way that was simply inaccessible to John the Baptist. It has been pointed out that for John Chrysostom the difference between an ordained priest and a bishop was not very significant, for they shared the ability to celebrate the Eucharist.68 Similarly, he insisted on the fact that priests were able to remit sins. As Christ transferred his own authority to them, their power is neither equalled by any earthly, nor by those of angels and archangels.69 Thus, already at the time he was delivering his Homiliae in Matthaeum, John Chrysostom came almost as close as he could to the greatest dignity accessible to men, at least in his own opinion. But this high esteem in which the sacerdotal office was held was by no means limited to those who exercised it themselves. The people of Antioch saw priests as a separate category of men, who were ex officio bound to deepen their spirituality.70 On the other hand, it was one of the aims of John Chrysostom to teach his audience how to be a proper Christian. One may be surprised about the massive effort the 4th-and-5th-century preachers made not only to teach their flock Christian morals but also to give them enough tools to discern and adequately react to the threat posed by the heresies.71 Far from being an exception, John Chrysostom is one of the examples that give substance to this view. His continuous insistence on the responsibility the faithful had for their Christian lives allowed every member of his congregation to integrate themselves into the biblical story. The homilies on the statues delivered at Antioch express the view that even lay Christians were expected to imitate the good traits of John the Baptist.72 It seems therefore that, while there were some pre-existing implicit features of John Chrysostom’s preaching that could have rendered 66  In Homilia 37 on Matthew, John Chrysostom elaborates on the difference between John and Jesus, who is the fulfilment of the prophecies of old and with whom the era of the old testamental prophecies ends (John Chrysostom, Homilia in Matthaeum 37, PG 57, pp. 419–28). 67  Kelly, Golden Mouth, p. 55 identifies 386 as the year of his ordination. 68  Malingrey, “Le ministère épiscopal dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome”, p. 76. 69  John Chrysostom, De sacerdotio 3,5, pp. 146–50. 70  See Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in the Late Antiquity, pp. 130–3. 71  For a detailed analysis of this phenomenon, see Perrin, M.-Y., Civitas confusionis. De la participation des fidèles aux controverses doctrinales dans l’Antiquité. 72  John Chrysostom, Homilia I de Statuis ad populum Antiochenum, PG 49, p. 33.

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assimilating him with his biblical namesake imaginable, everyone at Antioch was invited to live up to the ideal set by the decapitated prophet. Everything that could cause John Chrysostom to be associated with the other John in a more exclusive manner could have remained dormant, had it not been triggered. It is to this process that we will pay closer attention now. As has already been shown, the sermon on the narration about the events that led to the execution of John the Baptist was hardly the first attempt of John Chrysostom to deal with the subject of the brave prophet and the wicked royal family. The comparison of the unnamed Roman ruler with Herod the tetrarch appears already in the oration in praise of the martyr Babylas73 to give more substance to a vision of a Christian saint challenging an emperor. It has traditionally been assumed that it was the use of the analogy taken from the biblical episode involving Herod (an episode that attracted the attention of the Antiochean during his entire career) that ultimately led to the second exile (from which he would not return),74 as he decided to compare the empress Eudoxia with Herodias, the wife of Herod, to rebuke the former for her lavishness.75 Some doubts, however, have been raised as to the authenticity of the sources in which this story is to be found. The only witnesses (apocryphal homilies of John Chrysostom put aside) of this rant are the church historians Socrates and Sozomen. Socrates records that John Chrysostom got irritated by public festivals celebrated near the statue of Eudoxia erected close to the Church of Holy Wisdom (Hagia Sophia). As it was the erection of the statue that provided the opportunity for the celebrations, John Chrysostom interpreted the situation as an insult to the Church. Instead of trying to calmly persuade the authorities to deal with the situation, he recurred to his parrhesia and chose aggressive language. As the empress learned about this, she took John Chrysostom’s criticism personally and started preparing a council that would condemn him. Upon hearing about this, we learn 73  Grillet/Schatkin, Jean Chrysostome, Discours sur Babylas/Suivi de Homélie sur Babylas, p. 162. 74  One is well advised neither to overestimate the unifying power of the religious bound nor to see the lack thereof as an irremovable impediment for two conflicted parties to reconciliate. John Chrysostom, Eudoxia’s coreligionist eventually alienated her, while Nicomachus Flavianus, a member of the pagan Roman elite was ultimately restored to the favour of a Christian prince, as the paper of Bruno Marien (see pp. 105–124 above) clearly demonstrates. Interestingly, the question of religion seems to have played no role in the manoeuvres leading to the restoration of Nicomachus Flavianus. 75  Kelly, Golden Mouth, pp. 237–24. Broc-Schmetzer, Les figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome, pp. 321–53 devotes an entire chapter to the theme of John the Baptist, Herodias, her husband and daughter that reoccurs in many works of the golden-mouthed preacher.

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from Socrates, the golden-mouthed preacher “pronounced that celebrated oration beginning with the words: Again Herodias raves; again she is troubled; she dances again; and again she desires to receive John’s head in a charger.”76 This testimony was deemed by van Ommeslaeghe77 to be a mere invention due to the lack of references to the statue in Palladius and the anonymous funerary speech for John Chrysostom traditionally but falsely attributed to Martyrius (two contemporary sources dealing with the life of the hierarch), and also due to the fact that the alleged homily equating Eudoxia with Herodias has not survived. The story of John Chrysostom insulting Eudoxia would have originated from his sermons criticizing women in general, the sermons which, in the retelling of the bishop’s enemies, were directed explicitly against the empress.78 This is basically the line of reasoning to be found in the work of Palladius (see below). Kelly, however, has pointed to the fact that the copyists of the homilies of John Chrysostom would have had to suppress such a compromising piece of evidence from wide circulation.79 This could be an explanation for the fact that the homily has not survived. This reasoning presupposes that the existence of such a homily would have been embarrassing to the followers of John. Barnes and Bevan suggest however that apart from its subversive content, the homily contains an embarrassing mistake: However, John was steeped in the Bible and surely would not have confused the daughter, Salome, who danced for Herod with her mother, Herodias, who instigated her demand for the head of John the Baptist. We believe, therefore, that the story in Socrates depends on a homily which was invented after c. 420 and falsely attributed to John.80 However, as this paper has tried to show, in the eyes of John Chrysostom it was ultimately Herodias (though inspired by the devil himself) who orchestrated the dance of her daughter that led to the execution of John the Baptist.

76   Αἰσθόμενος δὲ ὁ ᾽Ιωάννης τὴν περιβόητον ἐκείνην ἐπὶ τῆς ἐκκλησίας διεξῆλθεν ὁμιλίαν, ἧς ἡ ἀρχή· Πάλιν Ἡρωδιὰς μαίνεται {πάλιν ταράσσεται}, πάλιν ὀρχεῖται, πάλιν τὴν κεφαλὴν Ἰωάννου ἐπὶ πίνακος ζητεῖ λαβεῖν. Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica VI 18.5 (observe the use of the verb μαίνομαι, a form of which Chrysostom applies in Homilia 48 to the daughter of Herodias). The same story is to be found in Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica VIII 20). 77  van Ommeslaeghe, “Jean Chrysostome en conflit avec l’impératrice Eudoxie”, pp. 131–59. 78  Ibid., pp. 155–6. 79  Kelly, Golden Mouth, p. 240. 80  Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, p. 27.

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Ascribing the actions performed by a proxy to an agent that was ultimately behind it could have been understood by the Constantinopolitan audience of John Chrysostom as a means of emphasis and would not have been necessarily taken at face value. Had the homily been forged, would it not have been an intuitive strategy of the forger to get his biblical facts right to avoid running the risk of being exposed as a fraud?81 The information transmitted by the two church historians should not, therefore, be too easily dismissed. The apocryphal homily,82 forged as it is, captures something essential about the use of biblical imagery typical for the preaching of John Chrysostom. While it begins with the evocation of Herodias, the author uses many other examples of wicked women to make his point. This was a strategy the supposed author of the homi­ly resorted to very often. Although John Chrysostom devoted much attention to his biblical namesake, the examples taken from the story of John the Baptist hardly dominate his preaching. Neither was Herodias the only female character suitable for transmitting the criticism of an empowered woman. According to Palladius, the enemies of John accused him of the crime of lèse-majesté for having compared Eudoxia with Jezebel, the nefarious wife of the biblical king Ahab.83 If this version is to be believed, John Chrysostom would have only made use of another biblical example conveying an analogous meaning. Just as Herodias and her wicked husband were challenged by John the Baptist, so were the quintessential villains of the Old Testament, Queen Jezebel and King Ahab, at odds with the prophet Elijah. These two groups of characters belonged to the Christian repository of biblical characters that could be used both to express criticism of the imperial family and to strengthen it with the authority of the Scripture.84 Had John Chrysostom spoken of Jezebel instead of Herodias, he would have nonetheless remained within the same mental framework.85 81  Ehrman’s book Forgery and Counterforgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics adduces examples showing that many forgers would try to envisage and answer to the issues some of their readers would have with recognising their forgeries as authentic. 82   Pseudo-John Chrysostom, In decollationem Precursoris et Baptistae Joannis, et in Herodiadem, PG 59, pp. 485–90. 83  Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, p. 28. According to Palladius, the story was used by the enemies of John Chrysostom: Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom 8.246–7. The funeral oration by Pseudo-Martyrius also contains references to Jezebel without claiming that John himself actually resorted to them. 84  See above for the use Ambrose made of those characters. 85  On the Christian use of typology, see below. Interestingly enough, the apocryphal homi­ ly known under its Latin title Antequam iret in exilium (PG 52, pp. 427–32) names both Jezebel and Herodias as well as John the Baptist while the sermon Cum iret in exilium

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He shared this framework with both his friends and foes. In the account of Palladius, John the Baptist is an important but hardly a unique biblical hero that John Chrysostom is associated with. At first glance it may therefore appear that the later emphasis on the Eudoxia-Herodias pair triggering the similar equation between the two Johns had been chosen rather randomly over many other biblical examples. To be sure, in the work of Palladius the banquets are universally dismissed with the example of the fate of John the Baptist used to make the point; similarly, John the Baptist calling the Jews a generation of vipers is used to justify the degree of parrhesia deemed excessive and insulting by some. On the other hand, John the Baptist is far from being the only biblical character that features in those examples, which seems to support the thesis that the version featuring Herodias was chosen somehow indiscriminately. However, one important detail underlining a closer bond between the two Johns stands out in the account of Palladius: there were rumours that the enemies of the bishop wished that he be decapitated.86 As we can see, the bishop of Constantinople was not the only person that operated within these biblically inspired schemes of thought. If Barnes and Bevan are right in affirming that the origin of the conflict between the imperial power and John Chrysostom is to be seen in the critique the latter subjected the imperial politics to, and that John Chrysostom’s biblical analogies insulting Eudoxia were invented and circulated by his enemies,87 there were some among the bishop’s followers who did not deem this manner of speaking unworthy of him. Even if the notion of John Chrysostom calling the empress Herodias or Jezebel originated from his enemies, it became swiftly revaluated and reintegrated into the positive image of the archbishop cherished by his followers. As Wendy Mayer observes, both the Johannite and anti-Johannite party may have been interested in portraying John Chrysostom as a detractor of the empress, although for different reasons.88 For the followers of John Chrysostom it was conceivable to present him as a new John the Baptist (or Elijah) challenging the rotten power structures run by people as wicked as only murderous villains of biblical narrative could be. In the funerary oration composed in 407, shortly after the death of John (ibid., pp. 436–8), whilst mentioning those three characters, expands the catalogue of righteous males persecuted by women with the prophet Elijah (persecuted by Jezebel) as well as with Joseph, the innocent victim of Potiphar’s wife (see Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, p. 28). 86  Palladius, Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom 8.115. 87  Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, pp. 24–32. 88  Mayer, “Media Manipulation as a Tool in Religious Conflict: Controlling the Narrative Surrounding the Deposition of John Chrysostom”, pp. 160–2.

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Chrysostom,89 it is the devil himself who, considering various possible means of eliminating the patriarch, comes to the conclusion that the empress whom he already controls would be the most apt tool to accomplish this task. Where the anonymous author lets the devil equal Eudoxia with Jezebel, the analogy is very close to John Chrysostom’s portrayal of Herodias, herself also a devil’s puppet.90 Moreover, the anonymous author mentions John Chrysostom’s conversation with Eudoxia in the course of which the bishop made an analogy between her behaviour and that of the biblical Eve, an analogy the empress understood as a personal insult.91 Eudoxia encouraged John to leave the imperial capital, he however insisted that fleeing from his flock would constitute a sin. As Eudoxia offered to assume full responsibility for it, John replied that analogous behaviour did not change the fate of Adam and Eve who ended up punished by God. Putting aside the veracity of the story, it is crucial that it is not dismissed altogether as embarrassing. Instead, a distinction is made between what John says and how his words are interpreted by Eudoxia. On the literal level, the words uttered by John need to be seen as a means to influence Eudoxia so that he, the shepherd is allowed to stay with his flock, so that the faithful may continue to benefit from his presence. By resorting to the biblical example, John implicitly emphasised his role as a spiritual authority and religious expert. The analogy with Eve itself was, on the other hand, threatening. And indeed, the empress saw it as not only threatening but also insulting: the bishop clearly failed to predict the possible outcome.92 However, one needs to be cautious in assessing John’s treatment of Eudoxia as an instance of interpersonal influence. On the one hand, according to Pseudo-Martyrius, John had at that point already embarked on the path to martyrdom and his conversation with the empress was a decisive step towards his death. The negative outcome would have been therefore divinely arranged. On the other hand, we are dealing here with a text produced by an ardent partisan of John whom one would expect to manipulate and possibly invent parts of the story he is telling. With this in mind, it needs to be stressed that this account differs greatly from that of Palladius, who rejects John’s use of the analogy with Jezebel altogether. Unlike him, the anonymous author of the funeral oration without any sign of embarrassment actually portrays John as having used this particular example to illustrate his point. He does not dismiss the story, he just makes Eudoxia responsible for drawing the conclusion that John equalled her and her husband with Adam and Eve trying to excuse their fall only to comment that the 89  Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, p. 5. 90  Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, pp. 59–60. 91  Barnes/Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, p. 88. 92  This short analysis of the failed attempt to influence is inspired by Raven’s model.

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empress was hardly better than the first female character of the Bible. Thus, already at this early date we have confirmation that a kind of parrhesia that may have been (mis)interpreted as offence to the imperial family was accepted as legitimate and non-detrimental to the holiness of John at least by some of his followers. Conclusion The series of expository Homiliae in Matthaeum predates the elevation of John Chrysostom to the position of patriarch of Constantinople and his conflict with the imperial family. The ultimate result of that conflict was John’s banishment and subsequent death. When in early 438 Emperor Theodosius II allowed the patriarch Proclus of Constantinople to bring the bodily remains of the exiled John Chrysostom to the imperial capital (where his actions were still remembered and his sermons read), to be deposited at the Church of the Holy Apostles he expressed grief for the injustice done to the patriarch by his parents.93 He thus conceded him a posthumous triumph that in the eyes of the people of Constantinople may have appeared not dissimilar to the victory ascribed by the preacher to John the Baptist. Already in the Antiochean sermon John was more or less directly accustoming his public to the idea that there was something inherently wrong in the supreme state power as such, and that a negative potential capable of transforming an anniversary banquet into the martyrdom of a saint and moral downfall of his powerful persecutors was present in the hearts of those endowed with power, possibly even more if they happened to be women (it was, after all, Herodias who orchestrated the execution). Additionally, the Christian use of biblical typology as well as John Chrysostom’s own biblical meditations seem to have made the idea of identifying himself and his enemies with biblical characters something the preacher would not easily dismiss. It needs to be stressed though, that there was nothing inevitable about how the career of John was going to end. If some credit is to be given either to John’s supporters or to his detractors, an inopportune use of a biblical analogy helped to seal the fate of John. There is something of a bitter irony when the anonymous author writing shortly after the death of the bishop pictures the use of a biblical image as being the immediate cause of John’s fall in a funeral oration that is itself heavily loaded with scriptural references. To be sure, the author was neither speaking in public, nor was he addressing the audience likely to challenge him, nor was the empress he insulted alive. As for John, one needs to conclude that 93  Kelly, Golden Mouth, pp. 289–90.

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the bishop failed to differentiate between the way his flock was to be addressed and possibly even challenged and the way one was expected to address the ruling family. To apply the powerful biblical imaginary at Antioch was clearly something different from resorting to it to criticise the rulers at the imperial capital of Constantinople. Similarly, assuring the attention and enthusiasm of the faithful was not the same as preserving imperial favour. The appointment of John Chrysostom as the bishop had already placed him in a privileged position. Instead of competing for the episcopate, he could focus on strengthening his bonds with those whose favour he enjoyed. However, his actions, all while being acclaimed by the lay faithful and some of the clergymen, antagonised other parts of the clergy and, even more importantly, the empress. While the first would accept being challenged with the biblically-loaded preaching style of John, the application of this very style to the empress cost John his position. He did not only fail to differentiate between different third parties that constituted his power bases, but also contributed to the emergence of different parties among the clergy itself, only to find himself on the losing side. Far from having a socialising effect the competition led to increased polarisation. What could have been about assuring John’s position as the privileged party was transformed into the struggle of competing parties that ended with the banishment of John, who thus lost the episcopate for which he hardly competed.94 Bibliography

Primary Sources

Ambrose, Epistulae, ed. G. Benterle, Sancti Ambrosii Episcopi Mediolanensis Opera, Milan 1988. Athanasius, Historia Arrianorum, ed. H.-G. Opitz, Werke / Athanasius. Bd. 2. Die Apologien, Berlin 1935–2006. Anonymous Author (= Pseudo-Martyrius), Oratio funebris in laudem sancti Iohannis Chrysostomi, eds. T.D. Barnes/G. Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom (Translated Texts for Historians 60), Liverpool 2013. Anonymous Author (= Pseudo-Martyrius), Oratio funebris in laudem sancti Iohannis Chrysostomi: epitaffio attribuito a Martirio di Antiochia, eds. Wallraff/C. Ricci, Spoleto 2007. 94  As a rule, those deemed to actively seek to become bishops were dismissed as unworthy of the office; a good bishop was someone elected against his will who would accept his position only reluctantly. Put in Simmel’s terms, in this case a merchant increased his chances by claiming he had no merchandise whatsoever (see Simmel, “Sociology of Competition”, p. 974).

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John Chrysostom, De s. Babyla contra Iulianum et gentiles, eds. B. Grillet/M.A. Schatkin, Discours sur Babylas/Suivi de Homélie sur Babylas (Sources chrétiennes, 362), Paris 1990. John Chrysostom, De sacerdotio, ed. A.-M. Malingrey, Sur le sacerdoce: dialogue et homélie (Sources chrétiennes, 272), Paris 1980. John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of Saint Matthew, translated by G. Prevost (A Select Library of [the] Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, 10), Grand Rapids 1888 (repr. 1978). John Chrysostom, Opuscula, PG, vol. 52. John Chrysostom, Homiliae XXI de Statuis ad populum Antiochenum habitae, PG, vol. 49. John Chrysostom, Homiliae in Matthaeum, PG, vol. 57. John Chrysostom, Homiliae in Matthaeum, PG, vol. 58. Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae, ed. B. Niese, Flavii Josephi Opera. Antiquitatum judaicarum libri XVI–XX et vita, Berlin 1890. Palladius, Dialogus de vita S. Joannis Chrysostomi, eds. A.-M. Malingrey/P. Leclercq, Dialogue sur la vie de Jean Chrysostome, tome I (Sources chrétiennes, 341), Paris 1988. Septuaginta: id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes, eds. A. Rahlfs/R. Hanhart, Stuttgart 2006. Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica, ed. P. Maraval, Histoire ecclésiastique. Livres IV–VI, (Sources chrétiennes, 505), Paris 2006. Socrates Scholasticus, Church History, translated by A.C. Zenos., Socrates, Sozomenus: Church Histories (A Select Library of [the] Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, 2), New York 1890. Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica, eds. J. Bidez/G.C. Hansen, Histoire ecclésiastique. Livres VII–IX, (Sources chrétiennes, 516), Paris 2008.



Secondary Literature

Barry, J., “Diagnosing Heresy: Ps.-Martyrius’s Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom”, JECS 24,3 (2016), pp. 395–418. Broc-Schmezer, C., Les figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome, Paris 2010. Brown, P., Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350–550 AD, Princeton 2012. Canivet, P., “Meletian Schism”, in T. Carson/J. Cerrito (eds.), New Catholic Encyclopedia in Association with the Catholic University of America, Washington, D.C. 2003, p. 476. Downey, G., History of Antioch in Syria, Princeton 1961. Ehrman, B.D., Forgery and Counterforgery. The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics, Oxford 2013. Garsoïan, N.G., “The Aršakuni Dynasty”, in R.G. Hovannisian (ed.), The Armenian People from Ancient to Modern Times, vol. 1, New York 1997, pp. 63–94.

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Gillman, F.M., Herodias. At Home in that Fox’s Den, Collegeville 2003. Hall, S.G., “Typologie”, Theologische Realenzyklopädie 34 (2002), pp. 208–224. Kazhdan, A.P., Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, Oxford 1991. Kelly, J.N.D., Golden Mouth: the Story of John Chrysostom—Ascetic, Preacher, Bishop, London 1995. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G., Antioch. City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire, Oxford 1972. Malingrey, A.-M., “Le ministère épiscopal dans l’œuvre de Jean Chrysostome”, in C. Kannengiesser (ed.), Jean Chrysostome et Augustin: actes du colloque de Chantilly, 22–24 septembre 1974, Paris 1975, pp. 75–89. Maxwell, J.L., Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity. John Chrysostom and his Congregation in Antioch, Cambridge 2006. Mayer, W., “Media Manipulation as a Tool in Religious Conflict: Controlling the Narrative Surrounding the Deposition of John Chrysostom”, in W. Mayer (ed.), Religious Conflict from Early Christianity to the Rise of Islam, Berlin 2013, pp. 151–168. Pavlík, J., “Funkce výrazu ΠΑΡΡΗΣIΑ a charakteristické příklady jeho uplatnění v homiliích Jana Chrýsostoma na Skutky apoštolů” [Values of the Expression παρρησία and Specific Instances of its use in John Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Acts of the Apostles], in THEOLOGICA 6,2 (2016), pp. 91–117. Perdicoyianni-Paléologou, H., “The Vocabulary of Madness from Homer to Hippocrates. Part 1: The Verbal Group of µαίνοµαι”, History of Psychiatry 20,3 (2009), pp. 311–339. Perrin, M.-Y., Civitas confusionis. De la participation des fidèles aux controverses doctrinales dans l’Antiquité, Paris 2017. Seeck, O., “Comites 64”, in: Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissen­ schaft, Suppl. X (1900) col. 660. Simmel, G./Helle, H.J. (introduction and translation), “Soziologie der Konkurrenz— Sociology of Competition by Georg Simmel”, The Canadian Journal of Sociology / Cahiers Canadiens de Sociologie 33.4 (2008), introduction pp. 945–56, translation pp. 957–78. Stephens, J., “Religion and Power in the Early Thought of John Chrysostom” in A. Cain/N. Lenski (eds.), The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity, Farnham 2009, pp. 181–8. Van Ommeslaeghe, F., “Jean Chrysostome en conflit avec l’impératrice Eudoxie. Le dossier et les origines d’une légende”, Analecta Bollandiana 97 (1979), pp. 131–59. Von Bonsdorff, M., Zur Predigttätigkeit des Johannes Chrysostomus. Biograph.-chronolog. Studien ueber s. Homilienserien zu neutestamentlichen Buechern, Helsingfors 1922. Wienand, J., “The Empire’s Golden Shade. Icons of Sovereignty in an Age of Transition”, in J. Wienand (ed.), Contested Monarchy: Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD, Oxford 2015, pp. 423–51.

Chapter 6

Buying Imperial Favour: Cyril of Alexandria’s Blessings Maurits Sterk de Leeuw Abstract To gain and hold imperial favour for his theological party in the aftermath of the Council of Ephesus in 431, Cyril of Alexandria bestowed blessings on high-ranking courtiers in Constantinople. His theological adversaries aimed to reveal that these blessings were nothing less than ordinary bribes and that, consequently, Cyril’s victory in the Christological controversy was won through corruption. This paper analyses Cyril’s use of a terminology of “blessings” to show that it legitimized and enhanced his gifts as a resource to exercise influence on the imperial court. The late-antique world, where gifts and fees were becoming increasingly important as (institutionalized) instruments to gain access to power, posed a problem to clerics who wanted to partake in these political transactions. Their authority was based on their independence from worldly rulers, which the exchanging of gifts would compromise; nor was the Bible (or the exegetic tradition) particular approving of gifts as a means to further even the good of the Church. Yet, the Gospels also provided a solution, which allowed Cyril to redefine his material means to secure imperial favour into “blessings”. The paper concludes by considering a parallel case around the inauguration of Flavian as bishop of Constantinople that shows how the openness of the term “blessing” could also be exploited to disqualify the legitimacy of the opposing party.

In the aftermath of the Council of Ephesus in 431, Cyril, the bishop of Alexandria and the leader of the theological party whose doctrine the Council had confirmed, employed “blessings” to secure his victory. He wanted to be assured of imperial favour in the heated competition with his doctrinal enemy, Nestorius, who had been removed from his see in Constantinople and whose teachings had been denounced. In his apologetic work The Bazaar of Heracleides (originally in Greek, but transmitted only in a Syriac version), Nestorius himself accused Cyril of having used such blessings to gain support for his cause among the clergy of Constantinople: “… thou [addressing Cyril] was paying for them with the things which are called benedictiones [i.e., “blessings”, Syriac

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bûrkthâ].”1 Cyril’s use of blessings at a higher level of the capital’s society is also attested in two letters sent from Alexandria to Constantinople, containing instructions on which courtier should receive what blessings.2 The blessings are detailed as stacks of costly furniture and sums of money, which had to ensure that the influential figures at the receiving end kept supporting Cyril’s party and would not change their or the emperor’s mind. Cyril’s peculiar use of the word “blessing” here, to denote a gift from a bishop to a worldly official, will be the focus of this paper. It propounds that Cyril employed the word to (re)define the political influence he attempted to exercise to his own advantage. The sociological models of Bertram Raven and Georg Simmel, which play a central role throughout this volume, allow us to better understand how Cyril’s blessings worked. With Simmel’s theories, we can describe the conflict between Nestorius and Cyril as a competition for imperial favour, in which the ways to gain favour were restricted by certain rules. Cyril redefined those rules when he sent his gifts as blessings to Constantinople: the terminology legitimized a dubious means to (indirectly) guarantee imperial favour. By examining Cyril’s blessings with Raven’s model of interpersonal influence, we can see how exactly the term enhanced the value of Cyril’s gifts as a resource of influence. But these analyses cannot do without a contextualisation of Cyril’s use of gifts and his use of the term “blessing” itself. Traditionally, scholars have considered Cyril’s use of “blessing” as a mere euphemism for the word “bribe”.3 However, as Christopher Kelly shows in his Ruling the Later Roman Empire, Cyril’s use of gifts to increase his (political) influence was not at all unique: in the later Roman Empire, gifts were a widespread and, in many cases, accepted currency for political power.4 Still, for (prominent) clerics such as Cyril, this 1  Translation by Driver/Hodgson, pp. 288–9. Further accusations of bribery by Cyril on pp. 279–82 and 349–51. This paper was not presented at the conference in Tübingen; it is an expanded and adapted version of a paper presented at the workshop of the Postgraduate and Early Career Late Antiquity Network in London on 15 September 2017. I thank its organizers for giving me the opportunity to present this paper and to receive valuable feedback on it. 2  Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum, in the edition by Schwartz, (henceforth ACO) I.4, pp. 222–4 and ACO I.4, 224–5; trans. McEnerney, pp. 151–3 and 188–92. 3  Driver/Hodgson (on the cited passage) n. 142 in the online edition; MacMullen, Voting About God, p. 66; id., Corruption and the Decline of Rome, pp. 165–6; McEnerney, p. 152 n.4 and p. 190 n.16 (notes to the translation); Stuiber, ‘Eulogia’, RAC 6, pp. 900–28, there 924–5. 4  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire. On Cyril’s gifts: pp. 171–2. Watson, The Rhetoric of Corruption, propounds a new interpretation of the worries about and rejection of widespread corruption in contemporary politics that elite pagan and Christian figures expressed. He argues that this rhetoric formed a “tool of fashioning self and group identity” (p. v) for the traditional upper classes. Unfortunately, I have not been able to consult Watson’s Greed,

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paper argues, the use of gifts as an instrument to gain influence in matters of religious politics was not an easily available option.5 Negative connotations of material gifts in the Bible and the perceived independence from worldly authorities that guaranteed the influence of a cleric made the straightforward use of gifts problematic. As a means to gain political favour, gifts were outside the range of what was considered to be legitimate. However, the alternative theological frame of the blessing allowed Cyril to turn them into an acceptable and even effective means to exercise influence.6 As a point of comparison to illustrate just how flexibly the term “blessing” could be used in 5th-century religious politics, we will end by considering a parallel case of conflict that also involved the use of blessings by a bishop. But let us start by considering what the sources tell us about Cyril’s blessings. 1

Cyril’s Blessings

Cyril’s use of blessings is attested in two rather tendentious sources, for his doctrinal enemies had a hand in the creation of both. As we have seen, one was written by his enemy Nestorius; the other, which contains the two letters, consists of a collection of documents, assembled by an ally of Nestorius. However, due to the letters’ special status as quoted originals from Cyril’s circle, the letters very likely form an independent confirmation of Nestorius’ complaint that his rival in Alexandria had used gifts that he called blessings to gain political influence. These letters are preserved at the end of a text known as the Tragedy, a document composed by a certain Irenaeus who held the rank of comes from 431 to 435.7 As an influential friend of Nestorius, Irenaeus supported his cause against Cyril even before emperor Theodosius II himself.8 Simultaneously with Nestorius, he was stripped of his office and possessions and sent into exile Luxury and Imperial Degeneracy: The Rhetoric of Vice and Virtue in Late Antiquity, which was still to be published during the final stages of the preparation of this paper. 5  Huebner, “Currencies of Power”, pp. 175–7, makes a similar point for the unease that was felt during the 4th century regarding the sale of church offices. Over the course of the 5th and 6th centuries, however, this venality became “widespread and accepted”. Differently Rist, “Kirchenpolitik und/oder Bestechung”, who ascribes the problematic nature of Cyril’s gifts as a means to gain influence to the “Vehemenz ihres Einsatzes”, p. 59. 6  We do not know whether Cyril was the first to use this terminology in a religious-political context of giving; ultimately, as we will see below, he would have pointed out that he used the term in the same way as in the Gospel. 7  P LRE 2, Irenaeus 2, pp. 624–5. 8  ACO I.1.5, pp. 135–6 contains a letter by Irenaeus himself on his mission to Constantinople.

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when their doctrine was finally denounced in 435. His Tragedy, which he wrote during his exile in Petra, was a history in Greek of the Nestorian controversy.9 In the Eusebian tradition of ecclesiastical history, it contained many extensive quotations of documents to illustrate the times that the work describes. Unfortunately, Irenaeus’ original text has not been transmitted: the only version that is known to us is an abbreviated Latin translation that a deacon named Rusticus made in Constantinople in 565.10 This drastically abbreviated account of Irenaeus’ own narrative and comments, known as the Synodicum, consists almost exclusively of the (translated) documents that Irenaeus quoted. We do not know to what extent the parts that Rusticus did include in his translation form a faithful rendering of the words of Irenaeus or the quoted documents. Still, it is assumed that the letters discussed here, by breaking with the chronological order of the other documents quoted, formed the climactic end to Irenaeus’ Tragedy. With the final revelation of the base strategies— bribing prominent courtiers with rich and exotic gifts—through which Cyril prevailed in the doctrinal dispute, Irenaeus would have tried to scandalize the Alexandrian.11 The two letters are closely related, as they complement each other: the second letter functions as an attachment or appendix to the first. In the first letter, Cyril’s acolyte Epiphanius, who presents himself as his archidiaco­ nus and syncellus, writes in the name of the bishop himself, who has fallen ill after news of the addressee’s lack of support for Cyril’s cause had reached the Egyptian metropolis. The addressee is none other than the new bishop of Constantinople, Maximian, whom Epiphanius urges: “[d]irect all your zeal to this [i.e., Cyril’s] cause.”12 He then reveals to Maximian what (considerable) measures the Alexandrian patriarch has already taken to persuade several courtiers of his cause. Maximian is asked to appeal to the emperor’s sister, Pulcheria Augusta,13 who does not (yet) seem to receive a blessing from Cyril personally.14 She, at least, is not named as a recipient of blessings in the second letter, which might reflect a concern that the imperial family themselves should remain independent—or, in this case, incorruptible. Otherwise, the second letter lists specifically which blessings were destined for which people. 9  Krismanek, Das Briefkorpus Kyrills, p. 18 n. 42. 10  Rist, “Kirchenpolitik und/oder Bestechung”, pp. 54–5. 11  Millar, A Greek Roman Empire, pp. 170–1 on the Tragedy as a source, pp. 219–21 on Cyril’s letters. 12  impone tibi omne in hac causa studium. ACO I.4, p. 223 l. 5, trans. McEnerney. 13   P LRE 2, Aelia Pulcheria, pp. 929–30. 14  Cyril did send letters to Pulcheria and to another Augusta, Eudocia (Theodosius’ wife): see ACO I.1.1, pp. 42–72.

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We will look at the part of the first letter that deals with the addressees and aims of the blessings and at an example from the second letter that illustrates what the blessings looked like: For a letter has been written by my lord [Cyril], your brother, both to the most reverend servant of God, the lady Pulcheria, to Paul the praeposi­ tus, to Romanus the cubicularius, to lady Marcella the cubicularia, and to lady Droseria, and worthy blessings have been dispatched to them. And to him who is against the Church, to Chryseros, the praepositus, the most magnificent Aristolaus has been prepared to write about some things which your messenger ought to obtain; and to him himself worthy blessings indeed have been sent. Moreover, my lord, your most holy brother, also wrote to lord Scholasticius and to the most magnificent Artabas, so that they should meet with and persuade Chryseros to desist at last from his assault on the Church; and to them worthy blessings have been dispatched. Hasten, therefore, you also, most holy one, to beg the servant of God, lady Pulcheria Augusta, so that she pay heed to Christ our Lord (for I think that now there is not sufficient care of your most holy brother Cyril) and so that you ask all who are in the palace and whatever is lacking to their avarice,15 although there are not lacking different blessings for them also (…)16 And to the other cubicularii customary suppliant blessings have been dispatched. 15  This mention of the recipients’ avarice either reflects Cyril’s pragmatic, if not cynical attitude in this matter, or it could be an addition or adaptation of Epiphanius’ original words by Irenaeus to emphasize how Cyril looked down upon the courtiers. 16  scriptum enim est a domino meo fratre uestro et dominae ancillae dei reuerentissimae Pulcheriae et praeposito Paulo et Romano cubiculario et domnae Marcellae cubiculariae et domnae Droseriae, et directae sunt benedictiones dignae eis. et ei qui contra ecclesiam est, Chryseroti praeposito magnificentissimus Aristolaus paratus est scribere de nonnullis quae angelus tuus debeat impetrare; et ipsi uero dignae transmissae sunt eulogiae. scripsit autem dominus meus sanctissimus frater uester et domno Scholasticio et magnificentissi­ mo Artabae, ut ipsi conueniant et persuadant Chrysoreti [sic Schwartz] tandem desistere ab oppugnatione ecclesiae; et ipsis uero benedictiones dignae directae sunt. festina igitur et tu ipse, sanctissime, supplicare dominae ancillae dei Pulcheriae Augustae ut iterum ponat animam suam pro domino Christo (puto enim quod nunc non satis curet pro sanctissimo uestro fratre Cyrillo), et ut omnes qui sunt in palatio, roges et quicquid auaritiae eorum deest, , quamquam non desint et ipsis diuersae benedictiones, (…). ACO I.4, p. 223, ll. 5–17, trans. McEnerney with adaptations by Millar, A Greek Roman Empire, p. 220.

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To Romanus the cubicularius: four larger wool rugs, four place covers, four bila, four stool covers, six covers for chairs, two caldrons, two ivory chairs; and so that he would aid in our cause: thirty pounds of gold.17 If we accept these documents as trustworthy translations of original letters by Cyril’s agents—which no scholar has doubted they are18—they present a unique view of religious politics behind the scenes. Aside from the puzzling use of the term blessing (both the Latin benedictio and the transcribed Greek eulogia are used in the Latin translation), the nature of the blessings themselves also requires our attention. Romanus is but one example of a courtier who receives substantial units of furniture, which, among the various recipients, differ more in quantity than in quality.19 Thus, most blessings are bestowed on the recalcitrant Chryseros,20 who, as praepositus sacri cubiculi, was a high-ranking figure at the imperial court with easy access to the emperor. Cyril goes to large expenses to curb his resistance, “that he would cease to oppose us [Cyril and his allies].”21

17  e t aliis uero cubiculariis eulogiae consuetudinariae supplices destinatae sunt. Romano cu­ biculario tapetes maiores IIII, accubitalia IIII, bila IIII, scamnalia IIII, in cathedris VI, cor­ tinae II, cathedrae eburneae duo, et ut nos adiuuet in causa, auri libras XXX. ACO I.4, p. 224, ll. 28–31, trans. McEnerney with adaptations by the author. 18  Mostly without argumentation, but Rist, “Kirchenpolitik und/oder Bestechung”, p. 58 offers a recent (though very brief) evaluation in favour of authenticity. 19  Batiffol, “Les présents de Saint Cyrille”, pp. 253–61 discusses the addressees and every single type of object given; a more recent identification of the addressees is available in the prosopographic appendix in Krismanek, Das Briefkorpus Kyrills, pp. 223–66. The exact nature of some of the sent objects remains unclear, which accounts for differences between translations and treatments of the passage. Brown, Power and Persuasion, p. 16 makes the total sum of the blessings: “[o]ne thousand eighty pounds of gold (…), 24 carpets, 25 woolen tapestries, 14 hanging carpets, 24 silken veils, 18 curtains, 28 cushions, 60 stools (8 of ivory), 14 ivory high-backed thrones, 36 throne covers, 12 door hangings, and 22 tablecloths”. 20   P LRE 2, Chryseros 1, p. 297. 21  ut nos impugnare desinat, ACO I.4, p. 224, l. 14. Bold statements in the other letter equal Cyril’s party with the Church itself, which Chryseros is said to oppose: qui contra ecclesi­ am est and desistere ab expugnatione ecclesiae. It is somewhat surprising that no mention is made of Chryseros being a eunuch, for eunuchs topically acted out of avarice and exercised bad influence on the emperor: on the stereotypical (negative) role eunuchs played in (late-)antiquity, see Guyot, Eunuchen; Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe; Stevenson, “The Rise of Eunuchs”. Perhaps this negative stereotype was implied by the mere identification of Chryseros as praepositus, a function that was always held by eunuchs; perhaps extended invective was simply out of place in this letter—particularly considering the fact that Cyril was exploiting the eunuch’s (and others’) avarice (see above, n. 15).

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The sheer volume and mass of the objects that were sent to Constantinople makes it hard to imagine that they were part of a clandestine exchange, secretly smuggled to each of the addressees. In fact, the objects that constitute the blessings seem to be things meant to be displayed rather than kept hidden. The cited example from the list of blessings also illustrates a difference in function between money and objects as part of the blessings. Whereas the objects appear ready to be presented unconditionally, the gifting of gold each time has a particular aim—often circumscribed, as in Romanus’ case, with the rather vague final clause “that he may help us”. Possibly, this indicates that the objects on the one hand and the money on the other were not given under the same condition: the gold was given as a reward for the recipient’s service, but the objects were given (also) for the sake of display. By putting these objects on show, they testify not only to the owner’s riches, but also to his connection to the prominent and revered bishop that Cyril was (in the eyes of many).22 Moreover, they are the actual evidence of the blessing that their owner has received, which, as we will see, is no less than a sign of divine favour towards the recipient. Nevertheless, their qualitative and quantitative value was definitely important as well, as the repeated use of the adjective dignae, “worthy”, appears to indicate. Apart from being ineffective, it would have been inappropriate or even offensive to send these rich courtiers such humble items as bread or fruit, although they might have better corresponded to the original concept of the blessing.23 When the objects that constituted the blessings were meant to be seen, the scandal that these letters reveal can hardly concern the giving itself. Daniel Caner argues that the use of so many and costly blessings for such clear aims “represented the abuse of [the] ideal [of the late-antique blessing]” to Nestorius and his allies,24 which is probably the point Irenaeus tries to make by ending his Tragedy with these letters. Obviously, Irenaeus did not succeed in incriminating Cyril to such an extent that it threatened his victory, for Cyril’s use of blessings was not unanimously regarded as clandestine corruption. From 22  For the importance of display (of wealth) in the late-antique world, see Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, pp. 28–9. The objects of which the blessings consisted, particularly the woven ones (tapestries and furniture cloths) with an iconographic program, could thus emphasize the relationship between the donor and the recipient in ways similar to gifted clothing: see Rollason, Gifts of Clothing, passim. The absence of clothing among Cyril’s blessings is noteworthy in as far as Rollason shows that it was often used for diplomatic interactions (pp. 55–88). 23  Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, pp. 345 and 358; see also pp. 165–7 below on the case of Flavian’s humble blessings. 24  Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, pp. 357–8.

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responses to Cyril’s victory, Kelly rightly concludes that “opinion was divided on the use of money to purchase advantage.”25 In this affair, I argue, Cyril’s use of the term “blessing” actually formed a strategy to counter accusations of bribery and corruption that could have seriously endangered his position as one of the empire’s most prominent clerics. Surely, a hypothetical hagiography of Cyril’s life would have presented his actions to persuade the imperial court in a somewhat more flattering way than these letters26—if only to counter the Nestorian accusations of bribery. But the terminology of the blessing formed a first line of defence against those who took offence against the use of material gifts by clerics. The part of this paper that follows shows what risks had to be confronted and how Cyril’s terminology dealt with these dangers. 2

The Problem of Clerical Presents

Roman society in the first two centuries of our era has been described as a “genial, oily, present-giving world”.27 In Late Antiquity, it changed into a less genial world, where practices of giving material or monetary presents became an institutionalized part of the political system. That, at least, is the general argument of Kelly’s Ruling the Later Roman Empire, across which we have come a couple of times already. Especially in the second part of his book, Kelly discusses how bureaucrats could buy offices for fixed prices, and how “charge sheets”, put up on public display, listed the costs for specific bureaucratic actions.28 Money and gifts29 became accepted currencies for exercising influence: to emphasize this point, Kelly names them “fees”. This does not mean, however, that all such practices of what we would call “corruption” were always cast in an entirely positive light. In fact, late-antique juridical corpora abound in laws formulated in a highly rhetorical manner that aimed to counter practices of corruption.30 In political invective, too, accusations of bribery and venality were (still) effective as rhetorical topoi. Many accepted the risk of being 25  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, pp. 174–5. 26  McEnerney’s comment is telling (p. 188 n. 1): “the letter is quite blunt, even too frank, in a situation where Cyril might have been more diplomatic.” 27  MacMullen, Corruption and the Decline of Rome, p. 126. 28  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, pp. 107–246. 29  Kelly does not make a clear distinction between these two. The differences between money and material objects as institutionalized gifts, touched upon in this paper, deserve more extensive treatment. For now, it suffices to observe that gifts in both monetary and material form became a (more) accepted currency for power in late-antique politics. 30  Bond, “The Corrupting Sea”.

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subjected to such accusations as a consequence of using money and gifts for political aims; others, such as church and monastic leaders, would have been more concerned about keeping a clean record.31 Simultaneously, over the course of the 4th century, Christianity consolidated its position as the dominant religion of the empire, and, as a consequence, the power of clerics rapidly increased. As peoples, cities, and single rulers favoured one type of Christianity over the other, matters of doctrine could have far-reaching worldly implications, and doctrinal differences continuously divided late-antique society. Clerics involved in the disputes tried to gain the support of prominent political actors, if not directly the support of the emperor himself.32 Simmel’s sociology of competition provides a useful model to describe this competition among clerics: two opposing parties (the differing doctrinal groups) compete for the favour of the third party (the ones in power), whereby the opposing groups try to outdo each other in winning over the powerful rather than to annihilate the other. Simmel’s model is particularly instructive here as it postulates that the means by which competition occurs is subject to certain rules.33 Applying this model to our late-antique competition between clerics, we see that such rules could be defined through canon law: at the council of Serdica, for example, restrictions were imposed on bishops visiting the imperial court in order to check undue influence on the emperor.34 But, in most cases, the restrictions—less absolutely defined than Simmel proposes—were the subject of discussion among the rivalling doctrinal parties themselves. As the position of the Church vis-à-vis imperial politics was still to be defined in the 4th and 5th centuries, differing doctrinal parties could exploit the flexibility of the norms by defining them to their advantage. One party could claim that the opposing party had intruded upon certain moral standards, thus showing that the other’s means—as well as their cause, which, as a mistaken doctrine, lacked legitimacy per definition—to exercise influence was illegitimate.35

31  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, pp. 165–81. 32  Hess, The Early Development, pp. 201–2. 33  In his original 1903 paper, Simmel talks about the “interindividuelle und die überindividuelle Beschränkung der Konkurrenzmittel”; the latter consists of law and morals (“Recht und Moral”). 34  Hess, The Early Development, pp. 201–9 (discussion) and pp. 216–21 (relevant Latin canons, accompanied by an English translation). 35  Along these lines, Schulz’ contribution on the Petitiones Arianorum in this volume examines this document as an attempt by Athanasius of Alexandria to disqualify the opposing party’s influence on the emperor.

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Accusations of corruption or bribery were a potent way to frame the other’s means of influence as illegitimate.36 Much as clerics might have wanted (or perhaps even needed) to exercise political influence through the exchange of fees,37 they had to be very careful in doing so. Lay persons could participate in the political world through material exchanges without serious consequences: accusations of corruption, although unwelcome, did not fundamentally affect their basis of power. This was different, however, for clerics: we can point out two specific reasons why a reputation of corruption formed an essential threat to the cleric’s position. First, negative examples from the Gospels provided a basis on which to build accusations of corruption targeted at doctrinal enemies. The Holy Scripture generally denounces the use of money or gifts for religious purposes, let alone practicing clandestine business,38 but two famous figures stand out. Judas Iscariot’s betrayal (Matt. 26:15) was the negative example par excellence for those corrupted by greed. Gregory of Nazianzus used this passage to contrast his moral superiority in rejecting the importance of worldly possessions to the corrupted ways of his enemy Maximus the Cynic, whom he compared to Judas.39 But even the use of money for those who spread the word of God could be dangerous. In this respect, the most infamous biblical figure was Simon Magus, who offered Peter money in exchange for receiving the power to give people the Holy Ghost through the laying of hands (Acts 8:9–24). After his example, the practice of selling church offices was named simony, a practice that church councils from the 4th century onwards severely denounced.40 Moreover, the late-antique orthodox tradition branded Simon as the origin of many, if not all heresies.41 In terms of competition, this invention of Simon as a biblical “founder” of illegitimate influence per se was an attempt to outlaw

36  See Schulz, “Beyond the veil”, on accusations of bribery against Athanasius of Alexandria to disclaim his influence. 37  Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, p. 180 on Cyril’s use of blessings: “As Cyril of Alexandria appreciated, not everyone always recognized that holiness was more persuasive than money. Promises of rewards in the world to come often needed to be buttressed by immediate and more-tangible [sic] blessings.” 38  An example of another interesting passage adduced in an atmosphere of competition would be Micah 3:11, to which Palladius’ Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom (15.39–41) refers. 39  Gregory of Nazianzus, Oratio 26.16; see Watson, The Rhetoric of Corruption, pp. 192–3 for a discussion of this comparison. 40  Ferreiro, Simon Magus, p. 45. 41  Huebner, “Currencies of Power”, p. 175.

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any means or strategy heretics might employ in pursuing their cause.42 Thus, although perhaps not every single material gift would immediately make a saint a heretic, clerics definitely had to think twice before participating in the institutionalized “fee-market” that had become so important to late-antique politics.43 Any gift could and would be used against them. A second problem was the fact that late-antique clerics derived their (religious) authority from their perceived independence from worldly authorities. The key word here is parrhesia, literally meaning “the ability to say everything”, but perhaps best translated as “unobstructed access”. Traditionally held by pagan philosophers, bishops and holy men appropriated this special status, which allowed them to speak freely and give independent counsel to those in power.44 Their parrhesia worked in two ways: parrhesia with God—which holy men, due to their observed closeness to heaven, in particular were perceived to have—granted them authority in worldly affairs, so that they had parrhesia even in the face of the emperor. Within this system, clerics became “mediators for the dispensation of divine favours for the emperor through [their] parrhesia with God”.45 However, this independent position of a cleric could come under threat through accusations of being involved in worldly affairs with money or goods.46 We find this idea expressed, for example, in the works of Gregory of Nazianzus. He describes (himself as) an ideal “philosopher-bishop” as a man who should remain “free of the compromising ties of court patronage”, thus renouncing the

42  Of course, heretics would typically be accused of corruption: Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, p. 169 n. 106. Influence by pagans and Jews could also be negatively stereotyped as bribery: see e.g. the Life of Saint Porphyry of Gaza 27 for bribes used by pagans and the Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom 15.35–7 on (institutionalized) corruption among the Jews. 43  The Life of Melania 11–13 provides an interesting parallel case of a delicate donation of blessings by a holy saint at around the same time Cyril was active. To gain the empress Serena’s favour, Melania and her husband Pinianus bring along rich blessings for the empress and her attendants in Rome—crystal vases, ornaments, rings, silver, and silks. The hagiographer seems to anticipate any suggestion that this might not be a proper way for a holy woman to exercise influence by a) drawing a parallel between Melania’s blessings and the Widow’s Mite in the New Testament (Mk 12:41–44, Lk 21:1–4); b) having the empress reject the blessings in recognition of Melania’s sainthood; c) using the term eulogiai for the gifts in a similar way as Cyril (see my conclusion below). See Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire, pp. 179–80 and Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, p. 358 on this passage. 44  Brown, Power and Persuasion, pp. 61–8; 107. 45  Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity, pp. 267–9. 46  Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, pp. 355–6.

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personal influence those might bring.47 Palladius’ Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom also thematizes this tension in a context of competition for imperial favour by opposing the political parrhesia of its hero, John Chrysostom, to the too worldly engagement of his doctrinal antagonist, Theophilus of Alexandria.48 Palladius’ point is that a corrupt cleric of the likes of Theophilus lacks a legitimate base for exercising influence, which parrhesia does bring. Within this context, then, should we place the accusations of corruption that Nestorius and Irenaeus raised against Cyril. However, as will be shown in the following section, Cyril’s naming of gifts as “blessings” allowed him to preserve his parrhesia by framing their gifts in such a way that those, like the words they transferred to the rulers, also appeared to be passed on from God through the cleric as an intermediary. The basis for Cyril’s reframing can also be found in the Gospel: another biblical passage formed the foundation for a terminology that upgraded gifts to a legitimate resource of influence. 3

The Blessing as an Upgraded Gift

Before we examine how exactly the terminology of the blessing changed the nature of gifts as a resource of influence, a brief introduction of Raven’s Power/ Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence49 is in place, as it provides a useful model to understand how the giving of gifts could be upgraded in such a way that it became an acceptable means to exercise influence for politically active clerics like Cyril. The Power/Interaction Model describes different aspects of an interaction between two people in which one makes an attempt to influence the other. It allows for the systematic analysis of five aspects of an attempt to exercise influence, on the part of both the agent as well as the target of the attempt. The relevant part for the purposes of this paper is what Raven calls “resources of influence” from the perspective of the agent. In this category, Raven distinguishes nine different resources of influence: of interest to us here are “reward resources” and “legitimacy”. Rewards are a straightforward means in an attempt to exercise influence: the agent can offer the target a reward, material or immaterial, in exchange for the behavior that he expects of his target. For legitimacy as a resource of influence, Raven makes a further differentiation, distinguishing four types of legitimate power. Of relevance to us 47  Watson, The Rhetoric of Corruption, p. 213; see e.g. Gregory of Nazianzus, Autobiographical Poems 1876–78. 48  Elm, “The Dog that Did Not Bark”, p. 73. 49  The most recent publication is Raven, “The Bases of Power”, which contains references to earlier literature. The following discussion is based on this and older publications by Raven.

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are the first two: “position” and “reciprocity”. Raven defines “legitimate position power” as the power that someone of a higher rank has over his subordinates, while “[l]egitimate power of reciprocity (…) is based on an often powerful social norm that says that when someone does something for us, we should feel obliged to do something for them in return.”50 The late-antique practice of giving gifts to exercise influence would typically be an example of a material reward resource. In as much as a gift obliges the receiver to return the favour,51 it also appeals to the legitimate power of reciprocity. Closely related to the resources of influence in Raven’s model is the assessment that the agent makes of the resources available to him to exercise influence and of his preferences and inhibitions in doing so. This part of the model covers the clerics’ dilemma with the giving of gifts. As we have seen, gifts were an effective and more or less accepted resource of influence in late-antique politics. But the harm that the giving of gifts could do to a cleric’s reputation, credibility, and position, restricted their use for clerics in particular—for laymen, the potential loss of reputation was less imminent and definitive. Therefore, a politically involved cleric such as Cyril sought to frame his gifts differently by changing the way in which gifts worked as a tool to exercise influence. Cyril could present his gifts in a favourable light by appropriating a particular terminology. The basis for this terminology is a passage from Paul’s second epistle to the Corinthians, where he admonishes fellow Christians to give generously in support of the community of apostles in Jerusalem.52 For these gifts, he uses the word eulogia, which, from its original meaning of “fine language” or “praise” in classical literature, came to acquire a different meaning in the Bible:53 The point is this: he who sows sparingly sparingly will reap, and he who sows in blessings/gifts in blessings/gifts will reap (ὁ σπείρων ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίαις ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίαις καὶ θερίσει). [Let] everyone [do this] as he has decided in his heart, not with grief or under compulsion: for God loves a cheerful giver. (…) In every way [you are] enriched [by God] for every generosity, which through us produces thanksgiving to God.54

50  Raven, “Power/Interaction and Interpersonal Influence”, p. 220. 51  Seminally formulated in this way by Mauss, Essai sur le don, for pre-modern societies in general; recently confirmed in Osteen, The Question of the Gift, also specifically for classical Antiquity. 52  Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, p. 337. 53  Liddell, A Greek-English Lexicon, s.v. εὐλογία. 54  τοῦτο δέ, ὁ σπείρων φειδομένως φειδομένως καὶ θερίσει, καὶ ὁ σπείρων ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίαις ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίαις καὶ θερίσει. ἕκαστος καθὼς προῄρηται τῇ καρδίᾳ, μὴ ἐκ λύπης ἢ ἐξ ἀνάγκης· ἱλαρὸν γὰρ δότην ἀγαπᾷ

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Through this passage, Paul coined eulogia, along with its Latin (benedictio) and Syriac (bûrkthâ) pendants as Christian words for a “blessing”, or a “(divine) gift”, with a “rich semantic field for further development”.55 In the context of late-antique religious politics, the terminology of “blessings” enabled clerics to represent their gifts as a legitimate tool to exercise influence. This blend of the sphere of “commerce and treasure with the sphere of religion [which] now strikes us as a joining of incompatibles so inappropriate as to seem almost an off-color joke” was not at all felt to be inappropriate to the late-antique observer, as Peter Brown shows.56 In this case, naming material gifts blessings emphasized and enhanced the appeal to reciprocity while it downplayed the function as a reward resource of an ordinary gift. The terminology also denies the self-interest of the donor: as a blessing could only originate from the Almighty, the cleric who presented the blessing to a recipient became an intermediary agent—just as he mediated between the heavenly ruler and the rulers on earth when he gave his advice from his position of parrhesia. This has two consequences for the nature of the resource of influence that a cleric employs by “blessing” someone with material gifts. First, he enhances the quality of a gift, as a blessing fundamentally differs from the material items that are normally exchanged in political transactions. By presenting an item as a blessing, it gains an immaterial quality through its divine origin in addition to or even altogether replacing its material value. This could turn even an object of little material value such as a loaf of bread into an object of great (spiritual) worth.57 The second and probably even more important change is the transfer of the status of donor from the cleric, who now acts as an intermediary with divine approval, to God. This shift not only diminishes the cleric’s personal role and involvement in the attempt to exercise influence, which, as we have seen, could be considered problematic. It also enforces the power of reciprocity and adds position power to the interaction. The recipient of a blessing can hardly refuse to return the favour: that would be to refuse fulfilling an obligation due to God himself. In fact, the blessing serves as an appeal to the recipient to be generous in return for his having received a blessing, in accordance with Paul’s words. And what better way to return the favour than to do what the cleric, the ὁ θεός. (…) ἐν παντὶ πλουτιζόμενοι εἰς πᾶσαν ἁπλότητα, ἥτις κατεργάζεται δι’ ἡμῶν εὐχαριστίαν τῷ θεῷ· 2 Cor 9:6–7, 11, trans. Caner with adaptations by the author. 55  Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, p. 338. 56  Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, pp. 84–5. 57  Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, pp. 340–52.

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intermediary and executor of the divine will, expects the recipient to do? Thus, the cleric’s (societal) position becomes irrelevant to the recipient, as God himself calls upon him by granting him a blessing. Finally, this also implies that the cleric who passes on the blessing enjoys divine support: God would not distribute his blessings through those who are unworthy. Of course, both the Alexandrian and the Nestorian parties were certain they had God on their side as they competed for imperial power to support their doctrinal cause. But in addition to this prerequisite, Cyril employed the riches of the Alexandrian patriarchal see to give substance to the divine favour he enjoyed. The gifts he richly bestowed on the Constantinopolitan courtiers in exchange for their support were tailored to their wishes and expectations. The furniture that was shipped to the capital as a blessing from Alexandria was meant to be displayed, as it attested to the fact that the recipient had been blessed. Nestorius and his ally Irenaeus complained about Cyril’s unorthodox— from their perspective in the literal sense of the word—approach, but Cyril’s blessings proved to be effective, perhaps even decisive, in guaranteeing his doctrinal victory. His blessings allowed Cyril to participate in the world of late-antique politics in which the exchange of money and gifts played such an important role. By naming his bribes blessings, Cyril circumvented objections that the use of gifts in the political sphere had for late-antique clerics, while he simultaneously upgraded his resources and legitimized his actions. Thus, despite Nestorius’ complaints, Cyril’s terminology successfully redefined the rules for what was allowed in the theological-ecclesiastical competition for Theodosius’ favour. 4

Further Blessings: Flavian and Chrysaphius

Cyril exploited the openness of the term “blessing” to his advantage to redefine the norms of what was considered legitimate influence on the emperor by a cleric. A counterpart to Cyril’s use of blessings can show that this semantic flexibility could also be put to use in the other direction for religious-political ends, that is by narrowing down the definition of a blessing. The case in point concerns a conflict in Constantinople some fifteen years after the Council of Ephesus—admittedly not (directly) over imperial favour—that is of interest because it also involved the use of blessings. In this case, a bishop disclaimed his participation in the (common) exchange of material gifts, thereby placing the opposing party’s request for costly gifts in an illegitimate light. As we have already seen in passing, a blessing from the Church could be anything, from

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as simple a thing as a loaf of bread to a pound of gold. It was exactly this flexibility of the term that Flavian, bishop of Constantinople in the later years of Theodosius’ reign (446–449), exploited. When Flavian was appointed bishop in the capital, he received a request from Theodosius’ most influential minister in those years, the eunuch Chrysaphius who served as praepositus sacri cubiculi from 443,58 to send blessings, eulogiai, to the emperor. That is, at least, what the 9th-century Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor tells us: In this year [i.e., 447/8] Chrysaphius, a eunuch who exercised power over the palace and the emperor Theodosios and who was jealous of Flavian for his ordination, suggested to the emperor, who was quite innocent and staying in Chalcedon, that he should instruct the patriarch [of Constantinople] to send him eulogiai on the occasion of his appointment. So Flavian sent him pure loaves by way of eulogiai. But Chrysaphius sent these back, declaring [falsely] that the emperor wanted eulogiai of gold. The bishop stated in reply that he did not have any money to send ‘unless I use some of the sacred vessels’.59 The use of the term eulogiai in Theophanes’ Chronicle here likely reflects the original use of the term in his 5th- or 6th-century sources.60 These (orthodox) sources were strongly biased against Chrysaphius (as was Theophanes himself), who was claimed to have supported Eutyches’ monophysite heresy and to have ruined the Roman state out of self-interest when he controlled the spineless Theodosius and governed in his name. His continuing feud against Flavian, which began with this incident, resulted in the bishop’s deposition and replacement by Eutyches in 449. Apart from associating him with heretics,

58   P LRE 2, Chrysaphius qui et Ztummas, pp. 295–7. 59  Τούτῳ τῷ ἔτει Χρυσάφιος εὐνοῦχος τοῦ τε παλατίου καὶ τοῦ βασιλέως Θεοδοσίου κρατῶν, τῇ Φλαβιανοῦ χειροτονίᾳ φθονήσας, ὑπέθετο τῷ βασιλεῖ ἀκάκῳ ὄντι καὶ εἰς Χαλκηδόνα διάγοντι δηλῶσαι τῷ πατριάρχῃ ἀποστεῖλαι τὰς ὑπὲρ τῆς χειροτονίας εὐλογίας. ὁ δὲ Φλαβιανὸς καθαροὺς ἄρτους ἀπέστειλεν εὐλογίας. ὁ δὲ Χρυσάφιος ἀποστρέψας ταύτας ἐδήλωσε χρυσᾶς εὐλογίας ζητεῖν τὸν βασιλέα. ὁ δὲ ἐπίσκοπος ἀντεδήλου μὴ ἔχειν χρήματα ἀποστεῖλαι, εἰ μή τισι χρήσομαι τῶν ἱερῶν σκευῶν. Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5940, trans. Mango/Scott. Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica II.2 recounts the same story, but in less detail, and without using the term eulogiai. If indeed the exploitation of the term eulogia is to be ascribed to Flavian or his supporters, we might speculate that the absence of this word in Evagrius reflects his use of sources that were more favourable to Chrysaphius than those Theophanes used. Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy”, pp. 352–60 also discusses the passage from Theophanes, which he analyses as outright “abuse of the ideal (of a blessing)” by Chrysaphius. 60  Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy” p. 352 n. 85.

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sources also defamed Chrysaphius by playing out the entire spectre of slander that late-antique authors could topically employ against eunuchs,61 avarice being one characteristic typically ascribed to them.62 It is against this background, then, that we should interpret our passage from Theophanes, whose implication is clearly that the eulogiai Chrysaphius asks of Flavian should partially, if not entirely, benefit the praepositus himself. Chrysaphius’ initial request that Flavian send eulogiai to the emperor at the moment he obtained the episcopal see was not as outrageous as it might seem: for the 6th century, at least, price lists are transmitted that specify how much a new bishop had to pay to the emperor on acceding to a particular see.63 By asking Flavian for blessings—if indeed this happened exactly as Theophanes recounts—Chrysaphius must have expected to receive some monetary gifts from the very start; he might, indeed, have used the term “blessings” not to compromise the cleric Flavian by straightforwardly asking a cleric to pay his fee for reaching the top of the ecclesiastical hierarchy in Constantinople. Flavian, however, did not play along: rather, by sending loaves as blessings, he exploited the openness of the term eulogiai, which could, indeed, apply to something as simple as a loaf of bread.64 Thus, Flavian appeared to naively bypass Chrysaphius’ expectations, while his understanding of a blessing simultaneously proved his own humility. On the basis of the evidence from Theophanes only, we cannot tell whether it had been Flavian’s own intent to outmanoeuvre Chrysaphius or whether this was projected onto the episode by sources hostile to the eunuch and favourable to the bishop. In any case, after Flavian had downtuned the blessings to bread, Chrysaphius’ reaction hardly appeared legitimate. By rejecting the bread and straightforwardly asking for gold, his avaricious intentions are unveiled: Flavian’s humble definition of a blessing had sidelined Chrysaphius, who now seemed to be extorting money from the Church instead of asking the bishop for his due fee. 5 Conclusion Where Cyril, for his political purposes, had stretched the meaning of a “blessing” to include and upgrade his material gifts as a resource of influence, Flavian disqualified the request of Chrysaphius and emphasized his own humility by

61  See n. 21 above. 62  Guyot, Eunuchen, pp. 165–6. 63  Novellae 123.3 and 16, with Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire pp. 163–4. 64  See pp. 163–4 above.

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using a narrower understanding of a blessing. In making these points, this paper hopes to have shown how (parts of) the models by Raven and Simmel can be used (in combination) to analyse discourses of late-antique religious politics. Simmel’s conception of competition can help us describe late-antique conflicts between clerics adhering to different doctrines of Christianity that vied for imperial favour. Most significantly, it allows us to see how competing parties presupposed that the means to exercise influence were restricted by certain rules, which could be (re)defined in order to further one’s own cause or to bring that of the other into disrepute. Additionally, the Power/Interaction model of Interpersonal Influence draws attention to an actor’s considerations in exercising influence—mostly concerns of legitimacy, in this paper—and provides a tool to differentiate and evaluate resources of influence. Of course, in using these theories, one has to be wary of over-rationalising the intentions and aims of the historical persons under survey, which we can reconstruct only with a large degree of uncertainty. To return to the subject of this paper: it can only be speculated as to where on a scale of political rationalism Cyril’s use of blessings stands, with pragmatic Machiavellianism at the one end and a heartfelt belief in the bishop’s intermediating power at the other. However, our sources do allow us to make assumptions on how Cyril or his opponents—or the two parties in any late-antique religious-political conflict—aimed to present their intentions, as it affected how they expressed themselves. It is the discourse of such conflict that we may analyse, and this discourse determines how people later decide on who was right and who was wrong: Cyril’s gifts, in (the orthodox version of) the end, outbid the cause of Nestorius and secured that his learnings and legacy never lost their imperial blessing. Bibliography

Primary Sources

Acts of the Ecumenical Council of Ephesus, ed. E. Schwartz, Acta conciliorum oecumeni­ corum I.1.1–5, Berlin 1927. Cyril of Alexandria, Letters 51–110, trans. J.I. McEnerney, St. Cyril of Alexandria (The fathers of the Church, 77), Washington 1987. Evagrius Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History, ed. and trans. A. Hübner, Historia ecclesi­ astica vol. 1 (Fontes Christiani, 57.1), Turnhout 2007. Gerontius, Life of Melania the Younger, ed. and trans. D. Gorce, Vie de Sainte Mélanie (Sources Chrétiennes, 90), Paris 1962.

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Gregory of Nazianzus, Oration 26, ed. and trans. J. Mossey, Grégoire de Nazianze: Discours 24–26 (Sources Chrétiennes, 284), Paris 1981. Gregory of Nazianzus, Autobiographical Poems, ed. and trans. C. White, Cambridge 1996. Marc the Deacon, Life of Saint Porphyry of Gaza, ed. and trans. A. Lampadaridi, La con­ version de Gaza au christianisme (Subsidia hagiographica, 95), Brussels 2016. Nestorius, The Bazaar of Heracleides, trans. G.R. Driver/L. Hodgson, Liber Heraclidis, Oxford 1925 (also consulted online: http://www.tertullian.org/fathers/index. htm#Bazaar_of_Heracleides). Novellae constitutiones, eds. R. Schöll/W. Kroll, Corpus iuris civilis vol. 3: Novellae, Berlin 1954. Palladius, Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom, eds. and trans. A.-M. Malingrey/ P. Leclercq, Dialogue sur la vie de Jean Chrysostome 2 vols. (Sources Chrétiennes, 341–342), Paris 1988. Rusticus, Synodicum, ed. E. Schwartz, Collectio Casinensis (Acta conciliorum oecume­ nicorum, I.4), Berlin 1922–23. Theophanes the Confessor, Chronographia, ed. C. de Boor, Theophanis Chronographia vol. 1: Textum Graecum continens, Leipzig 1883; trans. C. Mango/R. Scott, The Chro­ nicle of Theophanes Confessor: Byzantine and Near Eastern history, A.D. 284–813, Oxford 1997.



Secondary Literature

Batiffol, P.H., “Les présents de Saint Cyrille à la cour de Constantinople”, Bulletin d’an­ cienne littérature et d’archéologie chrétienne 1 (1911), pp. 247–64. Bond, S.E., “The Corrupting Sea: Law, Violence and Compulsory Professions in Late Antiquity”, in R. Kroeze/A. Vitória/G. Geltner (eds.), Anticorruption in History: From Antiquity to the Modern Era, Oxford 2017, pp. 49–61. Brown, P., Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350–550 AD, Princeton 2012. Brown, P., Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire, Madison 1992. Caner, D.F., “Towards a Miraculous Economy: Christian Gifts and Material ‘Blessings’ in Late Antiquity”, JECS 14.3 (2006), pp. 329–77. Elm, S., “The Dog that Did Not Bark: Doctrine and Patriarchal Authority in the Conflict between Theophilus of Alexandria and John Chrysostom of Constantinople”, in L. Ayres/G. Jones (eds.), Christian Origins: Theology, Rhetoric and Community, London 1998, pp. 68–93. Ferreiro, A., Simon Magus in Patristic, Medieval and Early Modern Traditions, Leiden 2005.

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Guyot, P., Eunuchen als Sklaven und Freigelassene in der griechisch-römischen Antike, Stuttgart 1980. Hess, H., The Early Development of Canon Law and the Council of Serdica, New York 2002. Huebner, S.R., “Currencies of Power: The Venality of Offices in the Later Roman Empire”, in A. Cain/N. Lenski (eds.), The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity, Farnham 2009, pp. 167–80. Kelly, C., Ruling the Later Roman Empire, Cambridge, Massachusetts 2005. Krismanek, H.-B., Das Briefkorpus Kyrills von Alexandrien als Quelle des antiken Mönchtums. Kirchenpolitik, Christologie und Pastoral (Patrologia. Beiträge zum Studium der Kirchenväter, 24), Frankfurt am Main 2010. Liddell, H.G./Scott, R./Jones, H.S., A Greek-English Lexicon, Oxford, 1940. MacMullen, R., Voting About God in Early Church Councils, New Haven 2006. MacMullen, R., Corruption and the Decline of Rome, New Haven 1988. Mauss, M., “Essai sur le don: Forme et raison de l’échange dans les sociétés achaïques”, L’Année sociologique (1923–24), pp. 31–186. Millar, F., A Greek Roman Empire: Power and Belief under Theodosius II (408–50), Berkeley 2006. Osteen, M., The Question of the Gift: Essays Across Disciplines, London 2002. Rapp, C., Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition (The transformation of the classical heritage, 37), Berkeley 2005. Raven, B.H., “The Bases of Power and the Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence”, Analyses of Social Issues and Public Policy 8.1 (2008), pp. 1–22. Raven, B.H., “Power/Interaction and Interpersonal Influence: Experimental Investi­ gations and Case Studies”, in A.Y. Lee-Chai/J.A. Bargh (eds.), The Use and Abuse of Power: Multiple Perspectives on the Causes of Corruption, Philadelphia 2001, pp. 217–40. Rist, J., “Kirchenpolitik und/oder Bestechung: Die Geschenke des Kyrill von Alexandrien and den kaiserlichen Hof”, in M. Vinzent (ed.), Studia Patristica vol. 16 (From the Fifth Century Onwards), Leuven 2013, pp. 51–9. Rollason, N.K., Gifts of Clothing in Late Antique Literature, London 2016. Scholten, H., Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe. Zur politischen und sozialen Bedeutung des praepositus sacri cubiculi im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert n. Chr., Frankfurt am Main 1995. Schulz, F., “Beyond the veil: Athanasius at Constans’ court”, forthcoming. Simmel, G., “Soziologie der Konkurrenz“, Neue Deutsche Rundschau 14 (1903), pp. 1009– 1023 (consulted online: http://socio.ch/sim/soziologie/soz_4.htm, 4 April 2019). Stevenson, W., “The Rise of Eunuchs in Greco-Roman Antiquity”, JHSex 5 (1995), pp. 495–511. Watson, T.W., The Rhetoric of Corruption in Late Antiquity, diss. University of California, Riverside 2010.

Part 3 Attack as the Best Defence: Resisting Unwelcome Influence

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Chapter 7

Kept in the Dark: Narratives of Imperial Seclusion in Late Antiquity Martijn Icks Abstract This paper explores the role of imperial accessibility in late-antique panegyric and historiography, focusing on the late 4th and early 5th centuries. In particular, it discusses complaints about increased imperial seclusion in the works of Pacatus, Synesius, Ammianus Marcellinus, the Historia Augusta biographer, and others. These authors and orators developed the image of the princeps clausus: the aloof, secluded ruler who dwells at the heart of a highly ceremonious court and stands under the influence of malicious eunuchs. Although this image is highly exaggerated, it reflects genuine elite concerns. Whereas the “good” emperors of the Principate had been relatively accessible to members of the senatorial class, allowing them to compete for imperial favour and hence to gain power and status, the imperial court of Late Antiquity emphasized the social distance between the monarch and elite groups. At the same time, a new class of professional courtiers gained power and prestige from their proximity to the emperor. This prompted anxiety in senatorial aristocrats and other elites that their ties to the emperor were under pressure, potentially leading to a loss of influence and social status.

Roman elites competed for imperial favour since the days of Augustus. As Georg Simmel has argued, such competition has strong socializing effects, establishing common norms between the competitors and the party whose favour they are trying to gain.1 This was certainly true for the Roman Empire. Literary sources show the development of a normative discourse defining the proper roles of emperors, senators, and courtiers in the never-ending negotiations of power, status and honour that took place at the imperial court and beyond. As this discourse makes clear, imperial accessibility was of great concern to members of the Roman elite. After all, one could only hope to influence an emperor if one was allowed to get close to him. For this reason, “good” 1  Simmel, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, pp. 1012–3; Helle, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, p. 951.

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emperors tend to be characterised as highly visible and approachable in the literary sources of the Principate, while the “bad” ones typically display the opposite qualities. In Late Antiquity, the competition for imperial favour continued unabated. However, clues in the literary discourse indicate that some authors, at least, felt that the long-established rules of the game were under pressure. This paper will explore the role of imperial accessibility in late antique panegyric and historiography. In particular, it will discuss how recurring complaints about increased imperial seclusion reflect the concerns and anxieties of senators and other members of elite groups. The importance of the emperor’s presence among his subjects is expressed well in Pacatus’ panegyric on Theodosius. The Gallic rhetorician delivered this speech in the Roman Senate in 389 AD, after Theodosius had come from Constantinople to free the West from the usurper Magnus Maximus.2 It goes without saying that the emperor was lauded for his military exploits, but Pacatus also dwelt on his visibility and accessibility: (…) you frequently emerge and you show yourself to the waiting people [crebere egressu exspectantibus populis te fateris], and being willing not only to let yourself be seen, but to be approached readily [nec videri modo patiens, sed facilis adiri], you listen to the entreaties of your subjects at close quarters, so that no matter who consults you, even if he should have earned a refusal (which is rare), he goes away with the consciousness of having seen the divinity [visi numinis].3 Of course, we need to consider these remarks in context. The image of an emperor who moved freely among his people will have had special resonance in Rome, the cradle of the principate, where rulers were ideally seen as father figures who stood close to the populus Romanus, displaying civilitas.4 Although Pacatus’ use of the word numen leaves no doubt about Theodosius’ superhuman status, the emperor’s accessibility allows even common citizens to approach him and make requests—most of which are granted, as the orator makes a

2  See Leppin, Theodosius der Große, pp. 87–133 for the usurpation and defeat of Maximus. See Nixon/Rodgers, In Praise of Later Roman Emperors: The Panegyrici Latini, pp. 437–47 for the historical context and circumstances of the speech. 3  Panegyricus Latinus 2(12).21.2. 4  Wallace-Hadrill, “Civilis Princeps: Between Citizen and King”. Civilitas is also a key virtue of Trajan in Pliny’s Panegyricus, which claims that the emperor entered Rome on foot and freely mingled with the crowd, accessible to all (23.2). The passage in Pacatus may well have been inspired by Pliny’s remarks.

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point of mentioning. However, he immediately adds that not all late-antique rulers were as willing to show themselves as Theodosius was: But how different the custom of other Emperors (you know of whom I speak) who considered their royal majesty diminished and cheapened unless they were shut up within some remote part of the palace [qui maiestatem regiam imminui et vulgari putabant, nisi eos intra repositum palatinae aedis inclusos], as if in some sanctuary of Vesta, to be consulted with reverence and in secret [veneratio occulta], and unless a carefully arranged solitude and widely imposed silence protected them like a rampart as they lay buried in the shade of their abode [nisi intra domesticam umbram iacentes solitudo provisa et silentia late conciliata vallassent]. And on the occasions when they ventured into the light and could bear to face the day, they were carried in sedan chairs and carriages and, covered on all sides and overhead by a very dense screen of men and weapons, they were moved along slowly and at a measured tread. At such times the people were driven far away, and the busy hand of the lictor repelled the plebs with a lash, so that they were isolated even in public [ut secretum esset in publico].5 In short, these anonymous tyrants made every possible effort to distance themselves from their subjects, both physically and socially. Their secretive, secluded lifestyles and insistence on reverential treatment posed serious barriers to anyone who wished to approach them and make a request. Whereas the “good” Theodosius stood at the service of his subjects, these “bad” rulers seemed only to care about their elevated status. 1

The Discourse of Imperial Seclusion

Pacatus’ remarks do not stand by themselves. In late-antique oratory and literature, we frequently encounter the figure of the princeps clausus: the invisible, secluded ruler who is out of touch with his subjects.6 In Synesius of Cyrene’s 5  Panegyricus Latinus 2(12).21.3–4. 6  The term appears to originate with Sulpicius Alexander (cited in Gregory of Tours, Historia Francorum II 9), who mentions that “Valentinian [II] the emperor was shut up in Vienne in the palace” [clauso apud Viennam palatii aedibus principe Valentiniano]. For a detailed discussion of the princeps clausus in 4th and 5th-century sources, see Icks, “Of Lizards and Peacocks: Criticism of the princeps clausus in Fourth- and Fifth-Century Sources”; also Stroheker, “Princeps clausus. Zu einigen Berührungen der Literatur des fünften Jahrhunderts mit der Historia Augusta”; Chastagnol, “Autour du thème du princeps clausus”.

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speech De regno, which presents itself as a critical address to Arcadius, the emperor and his predecessors from the recent past are scorned because they have given up military campaigning and have grown estranged from the soldiers, preferring instead to waste their time pursuing pleasure at their luxurious courts.7 Around the same time, Claudian stressed the importance of imperial visibility in his panegyric on Honorius’ fourth consulate (398 AD). The orator put his words in the form of stern fatherly advice, presumably spoken by Theodosius, urging Honorius to always be visible, so that he can prove to his subjects that he is worthy to rule them and will win their support. After all, the old emperor admonishes his young son, it is the hallmark of tyrants that they live “hedged about with swords and fenced with poisons”; a beloved ruler will be safer from harm than one who needs to be constantly guarded.8 Authors like Ammianus Marcellinus and the Historia Augusta biographer, among others, likewise allude to emperors living in isolation from their subjects. Although the details vary from case to case, principes clausi are often portrayed as secluded, elevated figures, surrounded with excessive pomp and circumstance, who prefer a life of indolence and comfort over military toil. To make matters worse, they tend to fall under the spell of malicious courtiers, often eunuchs, who feed them false information about the outside world and set them up against their friends.9 The Historia Augusta emphasizes how vulnerable secluded rulers are to deception: “Four or five men gather together and form one plan for deceiving the emperor, and then they tell him to what he must give his approval.”10 Such schemes could have disastrous consequences for those outside the inner circle. Ammianus records several cases of good men who fell victim to the slanders of courtiers, such as the magister militum Silvanus, who was forced to revolt against Constantius II because the latter had been made to believe (wrongly) that he aspired to the imperial purple;11 7  The offensive tone of the speech makes it highly unlikely that it was actually performed in Arcadius’ presence. It was probably aimed at disgruntled courtiers; see Cameron/ Long, Barbarians and Politics at the Court of Arcadius. With a Contribution by Lee Sherry, pp. 127–42. 8  Claudian, Panegyricus dictus Honorio Augusto quartum consuli 255–295. Cf. Synesius, De regno 9.3. The trope can also be found in Pliny, Panegyricus 49.2: Trajan “finds protection in popularity instead of cruelty, and seeks the thronging crowds of his subjects instead of solitude behind locked doors [non solitudine et claustris]”. 9  For eunuchs at the late-antique court, see Hopkins, “Eunuchs and Politics in the Later Roman Empire”; Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe. Zur politischen und sozialen Bedeutung des praepositus sacri cubiculi im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert n. Chr.; and Stevenson, “The Rise of Eunuchs in Greco-Roman Antiquity”. 10  Historia Augusta, Vita Aureliani 43.3–4. 11  Ammianus, Res gestae XV 5.1–16. PLRE 1, Silvanus 2, pp. 840–1; see also Hunt, “The Outsider Inside: Ammianus on the Rebellion of Silvanus” for Silvanus’ revolt.

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and of course Ammianus’ own commander, Ursicinus, whose good name was dragged through the mud by eunuchs after his defeat at Amida, leading to his forced retirement.12 It is clear that the hostile depictions of so-called principes clausi in lateantique sources are prone to no small degree of exaggeration. We should hardly imagine that rulers indeed sealed themselves off in their palaces and became invisible to their subjects.13 Nevertheless, the discourse of imperial seclusion emerging from the late 4th century onwards reflects genuine concerns. It developed in a time when sedentary emperorship increasingly became the norm and most emperors stopped leading their armies in person. Instead, they took up a loftier position, presenting themselves as splendid, superhuman figures at the centre of highly ceremonious courts. The degree and nature of this ceremonization differed between eastern and western courts, as well as between individual reigns.14 Even in Constantinople, where it flourished to its fullest extent, the emperor did not always present himself as a remote, exalted figure, dressed in splendour, but on occasion also emphasized his Christian humility.15 There was even still a place for imperial displays of civilitas, as Pacatus’ characterization of Theodosius’ conduct in his 389 AD speech makes clear.16 On the whole, though, it is fair to say that new modes of imperial representation gained ground in Late Antiquity which stood in stark contrast to the ideal of the modest, accessible princeps that the likes of Augustus and Trajan symbolized. Inevitably, these changes affected the relationship between the emperor and elite groups, such as senators, high military officials, and curiales or provincial 12  Ammianus, Res gestae XVIII 4.1–6; 5.4–5; XX 2.1–5. PLRE 2, Ursicinus 2, pp. 985–6. 13  Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel. Kommunikation und Konfliktaustrag in einer spätantiken Metropole, pp. 99–105 (focusing on Constantinople). 14  See Smith, “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. AD 300–c. AD 450” for the development of the late-antique imperial court. For late-antique court ceremony, see Alföldi, Die monarchische Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreiche; MacCormack, Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity; and Kolb, Herrscherideologie in der Spätantike, pp. 38– 54. Sedentary emperorship in East and West is discussed by Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel. Kommunikation und Konfliktaustrag in einer spätantiken Metropole and McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455 (with a focus on child emperors) respectively. 15  Harries, “Pius princeps: Theodosius II and Fifth-Century Constantinople”; Diefenbach, “Zwischen Liturgie und ‘civilitas’: Konstantinopel im 5. Jahrhundert und die Etablierung eines städtischen Kaisertums”; Meier, “Die Demut des Kaisers. Aspekte der religiösen Selbstinszenierung bei Theodosius II. (408–450 n. Chr.)”; Kelly, “Stooping to Conquer: The Power of Imperial Humility”. 16  Lejdegård, Honorius and the City of Rome: Authority and Legitimacy in Late Antiquity, pp. 35–8 (focus on Rome); Smith, “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. AD 300–c. AD 450”, pp. 208–9; Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel. Kommunikation und Konfliktaustrag in einer spätantiken Metropole, pp. 99–104.

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elites. Senators in particular were used to gaining prestige from their close association with the emperor. The disgruntlement with allegedly secluded rulers expressed in late-antique sources betrays a sense of alienation on the part of some elite members, who felt they were no longer as close to the emperor as they should be. This hindered them in their efforts to compete for his favour. Narratives of inclusion and exclusion were constructed around the locus of the imperial court, the place where emperors were supposed to have withdrawn to. In order to gain a better understanding of this discourse, I will make a brief excursion to the imperial court of the Principate and the role it played in defining the relationship between the emperor and the senatorial elite. In particular, I will touch on the idealized characterization of Trajan’s court as a communis domus in Pliny’s Panegyricus. Next, I will consider the late-antique court and how its changing power dynamics fed into elite anxieties about the visibility and accessibility of late-antique emperors. 2

Senators and the Imperial Court in the Principate

In an influential study on the imperial court, Aloys Winterling has remarked that the rulers of the Principate lived in a “Hof ohne Staat”, a court without a state.17 The situation arose out of the peculiar way in which the monarchy had evolved from the Roman Republic. By the time Augustus and his successors managed to carve out a quasi-monarchical position for themselves, a senatorial aristocracy had been in place for centuries. This aristocracy had developed its own social hierarchy and rules of competition for status and power, based on such distinguishing markers as ancestry, proper moral conduct, the fulfilment of political office, rhetorical abilities, and military achievements.18 In other words, the upper stratum of Roman society functioned according to a value system that was completely independent of a monarchic court. Emperors were well aware that they could not simply abolish this system overnight and replace it with one in which social rank was wholly dependent on imperial favour. At best, they could interfere in the social hierarchy by granting political office to some senators and not to others, but they could not change the fact

17  Winterling, “Hof ohne ‘Staat’. Die aula Caesaris im 1. und 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”. 18  See Lendon, Empire of Honour, pp. 30–106 for an analysis of the way honour and social standing were constructed among Rome’s elite in the late Republic and early Empire.

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that a proconsul held more prestige in aristocratic circles than a procurator, regardless which of them had the closest ties to the person of the emperor.19 However, different values held sway at court, where proximity to the emperor was the most important marker of status and power. Regardless of their rank in the outside world, people like the eques Sejanus and even Claudius’ freedmen could secure favours and prestige through their personal bond with the sovereign. Over time various ranks of imperial amici developed, defined by the frequency and intimacy of their contacts with the emperor.20 In Simmel’s terms, we could say that an alternative system of competition was established, with the sovereign as the third party determining who “won” or “lost”. Ritualized and highly symbolic meetings between emperors and senators at the palace, such as banquets and the daily salutationes, signalled who enjoyed the ruler’s favour. Nevertheless, even on these occasions, “good” emperors took care to present themselves as the first among equals, stressing their accessibility and amicability.21 In this sense, the imperial court of the 1st and 2nd centuries AD was notably distinct from Louis XIV’s court at Versailles. In Norbert Elias’ model of the latter, aristocrats were “tamed” through their competition for the favour of the Sun King in a never-ending game of ritual and etiquette. As Elias argues, it was not so much a nobleman’s formal rank that determined his social status at court, but whether or not the monarch had expressed his affection and approval through the bestowal of some token privilege, such as the honour of helping him dress in the morning or serving him at dinner.22 In contrast, Roman emperors, at least the so-called “good” ones, were keenly aware that they could not treat senators as mere courtiers, but had to meet them on their own terms in order not to lose their vital support. We can see these principles exemplified in Pliny’s famous panegyric to Trajan, pronounced in the Senate in 100 AD, when Pliny was granted the 19  Winterling, “Hof ohne ‘Staat’. Die aula Caesaris im 1. und 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”. Other notable studies on the imperial court of the Principate include Saller, Personal Patronage, pp. 41–78; Wallace-Hadrill, “The Imperial Court”; Winterling, Aula Caesaris; and Paterson, “Friends in High Places”. See Eich, “Aristokratie und Monarchie” for the relationship between monarchy and aristocracy in the Principate. 20  Winterling, “Hof ohne ‘Staat’. Die aula Caesaris im 1. und 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr.”, pp. 101–4. 21  For imperial banquets, see Vössing, Mensa regia. Das Bankett beim hellenistischen König und beim römischen Kaiser. For imperial salutationes, see Alföldi, Die monarchische Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreiche, pp. 40–5. 22  Elias, Die höfische Gesellschaft. Untersuchungen zur Soziologie des Königtums und der höfischen Aristokratie mit einer Einleitung: Soziologie und Geschichtswissenschaft. For criticism of Elias’ court model, see Duindam, Myths of Power: Norbert Elias and the Early Modern European Court, who contends that Elias overestimates the king’s ability to domesticate the nobles through court etiquette.

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consulship. Rather than describing the emperor’s Palatine residence as an aula, a court, the orator invokes the language of the private home, emphasizing the emperor’s hospitality and accessibility to his senatorial peers. “No forum, no temple is so free of access [tam reserata]: not even the Capitol and the very site of your adoption are more public and open to all [magis publica magis omnium],” Pliny remarks.23 Although Trajan is a very busy man, he is always there to await and greet his visitors in person, while excusing those who have urgent business elsewhere. The senators consider it a pleasure to meet the emperor and do so out of their own free will. They gather round him “carefree and happy, coming when it suits us” and “stay behind to linger on as if in a home we share [ut in communi domo]” after they have paid their respects.24 In short, the orator downplays the monarchical connotations of the court as much as possible. Trajan is presented as a patron receiving his clients, just as other patrons were doing in salutationes all over the city. No mention is made of ceremony or of dividing the visitors up in ranks. On the contrary, the whole affair takes place in a relaxed, informal atmosphere and the mutual bonds of affection expressed by the ritual are genuine. However, it had not always been thus. Pliny conjures up the apparition of the tyrant Domitian, who only a short while ago had hosted very different meetings in the palace: (…) this is the place where recently that fearful monster built his defences with untold terrors, where lurking in his den [specu inclusa] he licked up the blood of his murdered relatives or emerged to plot the massacre and destruction of his most distinguished subjects. Menaces and horror were the sentinels at his doors, and the fears alike of admission and rejection; then himself in person, dreadful to see and to meet, with arrogance on his brow and fury in his eye, a womanish pallor spread over his body but a deep flush to match the shameless expression on his face. None dared approach him, none dared speak; always he sought darkness and mystery [tenebras semper secretumque captantem], and only emerged from the desert of his solitude to create another.25

23  Pliny, Panegyricus 47.5. In other words, the palace is presented not as the private possession of a wealthy monarch, but as a public space belonging to the entire Roman community. 24  Pliny, Panegyricus 48.1–3. 25  Pliny, Panegyricus 48.3–5.

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In many respects, this passage seems like a foreshadowing of later images of the princeps clausus, except that Pliny does not paint a picture of the emperor as an exalted figure living in a golden cage, but rather depicts him as a savage animal lurking in a dark den. What both images share, however, is the notion of a ruler who shuts himself off from the outside world and is very difficult to approach. 3

Senators and the Late-Antique Imperial Court

By the 4th century, the relatively open court of the Principate had blossomed into something altogether more grand. In places like Constantinople, Milan and Ravenna, the imperial court became a distinct society in its own right, governed by elaborate ceremony, and peopled by professional courtiers whose rank and function were fully determined by court life. An estimated 6,000 people were part of the imperial comitatus in the 4th century, including guards, eunuchs and other servants, the members of the imperial consistory, and a whole host of civic and military functionaries.26 At the same time, the senatorial elite had become much more diffuse than it had been in the first two centuries AD. On the one hand, there was the old senatorial aristocracy, a group that was not clearly defined in a legal sense, but distinguished itself through such markers of prestige as high birth, wealth, political accomplishments, virtus and paideia. On the other hand, there was the Funktionselite or Dienstadel, a varied group which encompassed everyone who had managed to climb the social ladder through their service at the court, the army or the civil administration.27 These social climbers could not only achieve the old senatorial rank of clarissimi, but also the newly created ranks of spectabiles and illustres, the elite among the elite. This meant that high court officials such as the magister officiorum and the praepositus sacri cubiculi not only wielded great prestige within the confines of the palace, but could also 26  Smith, “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. AD 300–c. AD 450”, pp. 196–9. For the late-antique court, see also Winterling, Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes. 27  Rebenich, “‘Pars melior humani generis’—Aristokratie(n) in der Spätantike”, pp. 154–5, 158–9. There is extensive scholarship on late-antique elites; see for instance Matthews, Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court A.D. 364–425; Salzman/Rapp, Elites in Late Antiquity; Salzman, The Making of a Christian Aristocracy; Badel, La Noblesse de l’Empire romain. Les masques et la vertu; and Lizzi Testa, Le Trasformazioni delle élites in età tardoantica. Atti del convegno internazionale, Perugia, 15–16 marzo 2004.

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claim a place at the top of the senatorial hierarchy, despite their often humble origins and status as eunuchs.28 Indeed, Arcadius’ grand chamberlain and right-hand man Eutropius even gained the consulship and was allowed to celebrate a military triumph.29 From the end of the 4th century, the traditional cursus honorum lost its importance, so that senators who wished to achieve high posts in the imperial administration could only do so by first fulfilling offices at the imperial court.30 Both in the Eastern and Western Empire, proximity to the emperor and services rendered to the emperor became the decisive factors that determined one’s place in the social hierarchy.31 In this brave new world, it made sense for rulers to claim a more elevated position. For one thing, they had to inspire loyalty in the members of a vastly expanded imperial bureaucracy, many of whom did not adhere to traditional senatorial values. The new Dienstadel of Late Antiquity did not expect or need the emperor to behave as a primus inter pares.32 For another, the introduction of elaborate court ceremony and reliance on eunuchs and other social climbers allowed emperors to keep a certain distance from traditional elites. With the return to sedentary emperorship in the late 4th and 5th centuries, the senatorial aristocracy with its high status, vast wealth and powerful connections once again became a force to be reckoned with. Emphasizing one’s unique superhuman status as ruler was a prudent strategy to limit the threat posed by potential rivals.33 At the same time, new elites risen in the service of

28  However, their formal status as illustres did not earn them the respect of the traditional elite, who continued to despise them as creatures without honour: Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe. Zur politischen und sozialen Bedeutung des praepositus sacri cubiculi im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert n. Chr., pp. 184–5; Idem, “Der oberste Hofeunuch. Die politische Effizienz eines gesellschaftlich Diskriminierten”, pp. 64–7. 29  Liebeschuetz, Barbarians and Bishops: Army, Church, and State in the Age of Arcadius and Chrysostom, pp. 93–103. 30  Noethlichs, “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, p. 20. 31  Noethlichs, “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, pp. 33–4; Rebenich, “‘Pars melior humani generis’—Aristokratie(n) in der Spätantike”, pp. 157–8. 32  Matthews, The Roman Empire of Ammianus, p. 249; Smith, “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. AD 300–c. AD 450”, pp. 174–5. 33  See Börm, “Herrscher und Eliten in der Spätantike” for imperial strategies of dealing with powerful elites (comparison between late-antique emperors and Sasanian kings). Also Scholten, “Der oberste Hofeunuch. Die politische Effizienz eines gesellschaftlich Diskriminierten”, pp. 71–2. See Matthews, Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court A.D. 364–425 for the importance of the senatorial aristocracy of the West. Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel. Kommunikation und Konfliktaustrag in einer spätantiken Metropole, pp. 452–65 argues that the senatorial aristocracy of Constantinople did not form a cohesive group that pursued its interests collectively.

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the Empire—men like Rufinus,34 Eutropius,35 and Stilicho36—sought to encroach on the power of weak rulers, forcing them into a mostly ceremonious position.37 Perhaps even more than during the Principate, then, the imperial court was a battleground where various parties competed to influence or even control the emperor. 4

Unapproachable Emperors

With these things in mind, let us now return to some of the concerns expressed in late-antique discourse with regard to imperial accessibility. Even though it had been well over two hundred years since Pliny imagined Trajan’s palace as a shared house which senators could wander in and out of at their leisure, the notion of an open court still retained some appeal. For instance, the panegyrist Mamertinus complimented Julian on maintaining the friends he had made in his private life, remarking that “no one has been thrust from his position, no one debarred from access to him, the doors of the palace are closed to no one [nulli palatii fores clausae sunt]”.38 Likewise, Theodosius received praise from Themistius because “no one comes into the palace with pounding heart, chattering teeth and pale with fear but with confident and upstanding thoughts as if entering the sanctuary of a holy place [ὥσπερ εἰς τὰ ἄσυλα τῶν ἱερῶν]”. In fact, the emperor’s very sight was “enough to dispel all fear from the spirit”.39 By implication, of course, not all rulers were so easily approachable. We have already seen how the principes clausi described by Pacatus preferred to stay hidden “within some remote part of the palace”, shielding themselves off through silence and solitude. Synesius complained that only a few senators were fortunate enough to be able to behold the emperor lawfully, while Arcadius’ lowly sycophants could apparently enter the palace with less trepidation than the generals who commanded the imperial armies.40 Even though we should not take such complaints literally, they appeal to negative sentiments which must 34   P LRE 1, Flavius Rufinus 18, pp. 778–81. 35   P LRE 2, Eutropius 1, pp. 440–4. 36   P LRE 1, Stilicho, pp. 853–8. 37  See McEvoy, Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455 for the child emperors of the West. 38  Panegyricus Latinus 3(11).26.4. 39  Themistius, Orationes 15.190c. Compare Panegyricus Latinus 4(10).5.1–3, where Nazarius praises Constantine’s appearance as much less intimidating than the splendour of the tetrarchs. 40  Panegyricus Latinus 2(12).21.3; Synesius, De regno 11.3; 10.4.

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have existed at the time. Eager to gain imperial favour, senators, generals and local elites like Synesius himself evidently felt that they were not sufficiently able to interact with their sovereign. Changing relations between emperors and elites fuelled these concerns. Whereas senators in Pliny’s day could probably gain admittance to the court with relative ease, in Late Antiquity access to the monarch was strictly controlled by the magister officiorum and the praepositus sacri cubiculi.41 A famous case records how bishop Ambrose sought to arrange a private audience with the usurper Maximus to negotiate on behalf of Valentinian II, but was turned down by the emperor’s chamberlain, who replied that he could only be heard in the consistory.42 It is not surprising that Ambrose preferred a private meeting, since formal audiences with the sovereign were highly ritualized affairs, where the enthroned monarch was concealed behind curtains, which opened to reveal him in all his majesty. Visitors were then allowed to approach him in order of rank and perform adoratio, prostrating themselves before the emperor and kissing the imperial purple.43 During these meetings, even senators and high military officials would have to follow the instructions of the magister officiorum, the silentiarii and others who directed the proceedings, obstructing them from interacting freely and spontaneously with the monarch. Contrary to the salutatio of the Principate, then, late-antique audiences emphasized the insurmountable social distance between the emperor and even the most esteemed members of the elite. Any pretence that this was a meeting between equals was deliberately quashed. Resentment against the ceremonization of the imperial office is well recorded in 4th- and 5th-century sources. Eutropius scorned Diocletian’s splendid adornment and above all the ritual of prostration, which the emperor was supposed to have introduced and which was “suited rather to royal usages than to Roman liberty” [regiae consuetudinis formam magis quam Romanae libertatis].44 Themistius remarked that many panegyric orators focused on the emperor’s crown and glittering robe, but failed to realize that the true qualities 41  Paterson, “Friends in High Places: The Creation of the Court of the Roman Emperor”, p. 123; Scholten, “Der oberste Hofeunuch. Die politische Effizienz eines gesellschaftlich Diskriminierten”, pp. 51–4. The magister officiorum regulated access to imperial audiences and the consistory, while the praepositus sacri cubiculi determined who was allowed to enter the even more exclusive inner court, i.e. the emperor’s private quarters. 42  Ambrose, Epistula 24.2. 43  For the ritual of adoratio, see Avery, “The ‘adoratio purpurae’ and the Importance of the Imperial Purple in the Fourth Century of the Christian Era”; and Smith, “The Imperial Court of the Late Roman Empire, c. AD 300–c. AD 450”, pp. 214–20. In this volume, Fabian Schulz provides a detailed discussion of bishop Athanasius’ audience with Constans. 44  Eutropius, Breviarium ab urbe condita IX 26. According to Lactantius, De mortibus persecutorum 21.2, it was Galerius who first introduced prostration, while the Historia Augusta

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of a good leader were not so easily visible.45 In particular, excessive pomp and ceremony could be associated with palace-bound emperors. Synesius mocked Arcadius and his predecessors for dressing as splendidly as peacocks, inquiring rhetorically whether things had not been better when they had still been leading armies in the field, “blackened by the sun”, while behaving themselves “in all other respects simply and artlessly” [ἀφελῶς τε καὶ αὐτοσκευῶς]. Likewise Claudian, in his panegyric on Honorius’ fourth consulship, had Theodosius press upon his son that it was all well and good for the tiara-adorned King of Parthia to while away his time in idle luxury, but that a Roman emperor could not keep his virtue “overwhelmed in darkness” [submersa tenebris]: rather than to “overstep the limits established for mankind” [praescriptos homini transcendere fines], he should respect his inferiors, obey the laws he himself has set and lead armies to battle.46 Both authors, then, are making a case for a merit-based emperorship in which the ruler does not isolate himself in elevated splendour, but leaves the confines of the palace to actively serve the interests of the res publica. 5

Insiders and Outsiders

If the difficulty of getting close to the emperor was an important concern expressed in late-antique discourse, an additional concern was no less pressing: the fear that other people were on familiar terms with the sovereign and could influence his decisions. These were the eunuchs and other servants at court who had unrestricted access to the imperial presence. Naturally, our elite sources assume that the influence low-born courtiers had on the emperor could never amount to anything good. In the competition for imperial favour, they were unwelcome rivals. The Historia Augusta, in its depiction of Severus Alexander as an ideal prince, praises the young ruler for chasing all eunuchs from the palace, characterising their presence as un-Roman: These creatures alone cause the downfall of emperors, for they wish them to live in the manner of foreign nations or as the kings of the Persians, and keep them well removed from the people and from their friends [a populo et amicis summovent], and they are go-betweens, often delivering blames it on Elagabalus (Vita Severi Alexandri 18.3). All three authors associate the ritual with the Persians and hence stress its “un-Romanness”. 45  Themistius, Orationes 1.2a–b. 46  Synesius, De regno 11.2, 11.5; Claudian, Panegyricus dictus Honorio Augusto quartum consuli 214–224, 296–305, 320–352.

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messages other than the emperor’s reply, hedging him about [claudentes principem], and aiming, above all things, to keep knowledge from him.47 Although the passage occurs in the biography of an early 3rd-century emperor, it is likely to voice the author’s contemporary concerns, as is the remark that Alexander surrounded himself with friends who were “upright and revered, not spiteful, or thieving, or seditious, or crafty, or leagued together for evil, or haters of the righteous, or lustful, or cruel, or deceivers of their prince, or mockers, or desirous of hoodwinking him like a fool”, and who “sold nothing, who lied in nothing, who falsified nothing, and who never fell short of the expectations of their prince but were always devoted to him.”48 The author does not specify who these suitable companions were, but it is not a far-fetched guess that he is thinking of upper-class men with staunch morals and impeccable pedigrees. Late-antique sources provide many examples of eunuchs or other courtiers who supposedly controlled emperors, such as the grand chamberlain Eusebius, who had Constantius II under his thumb,49 the grand chamberlain Eutropius, who “ruled Arcadius like a fatted animal”,50 and the magister officiorum Olympius, who held sway over the court of Ravenna after Stilicho’s demise.51 We have already seen that courtiers with close links to the emperor could pose a serious threat to outsiders, destroying their careers or even their lives by throwing suspicion on them.52 The young Gratian and Valentinian II, for instance, were allegedly “not able to think for themselves, and were controlled by the slanders of the eunuch chamberlains”, while Valens was “ready to listen to informers without distinguishing truth from falsity”—not to mention Constantius II, whose “anxious ears” were “always attentive and open to such gossip” [expositas semper eius modi rumoribus et patentes].53 Significantly, Ammianus often stresses the intimate, secretive atmosphere in which eunuchs wove their webs of intrigue, speaking of “secret whispers” [arcanos susurros], “muttering” [mussitare] and “whispered slanders” [mordaces susurrus]. These were scenes taking place in the emperor’s private quarters—a place from 47  Historia Augusta, Vita Severi Alexandri 66.3. Perhaps the author had Julian in mind, who likewise expelled all his predecessor’s corrupt attendants from the palace: Ammianus, Res gestae XXII 4.1–10. 48  Historia Augusta, Vita Severi Alexandri 66.2. 49  Libanius, Oratio 18.152; PLRE 1, Eusebius 11, pp. 302–3. 50  Zosimus, Historia nova V 12.1. 51  Zosimus, Historia nova V 35.1. PLRE 2, Olympius 2, pp. 801–2. 52  See notes 11 and 12 for the examples of Silvanus and Ursicinus as victims of malicious courtiers. 53  Zosimus, Historia nova IV 22.4; Ammianus, Res gestae XXXI 14.6; XIV 11.4.

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which senators and generals were usually barred entrance, but where they feared their fates might be decided.54 The fact that low-born courtiers wielded so much power and prestige was grating to members of the upper classes, who considered these privileges to be rightfully theirs. Claudian put it succinctly in his first invective on Eutropius: “He who was not suffered to perform the duties of a slave is admitted to the administration of an empire; him whom a private house scorned as a servant, a palace tolerates as its lord.”55 Reminiscing about the bad old days before Julian became emperor, Libanius recalled how “we used to fall on our faces, as though struck by lightning” when encountering eunuchs and other palace servants. In similar fashion, Mamertinus reflected on the undignified behaviour many nobles displayed to win political office: “you would see men of patrician family bowing at the doors of those who ministered to the royal desire [qui regiis cupiditatibus serviebant]”.56 As stand-ins for the emperor, these ministers were not just rivals in the competition for imperial favour, but could distribute favours themselves. Most authors and orators took it for granted that courtiers were unworthy of the political power placed in their hands and would abuse it at every possible turn. Railing against the corruption of Rufinus, Claudian described practices that many of his contemporaries would probably not have considered untypical for the goings-on at a late-antique court: “Everything had its price. He betrayed secrets, deceived dependents, and sold honours that had been wheedled from the emperor.”57 After all, what else could one expect of such upstart riff-raff? 6 Conclusion Late-antique narratives about imperial seclusion express a range of elite concerns regarding the changing relationship between ruler and ruled. The image of the secluded, inaccessible monarch is the representation of these concerns. Although imperial seclusion was not exclusively addressed in works of the senatorial aristocracy, the theme as such is heavily informed by the senatorial discourse on imperial civilitas from the time of the Principate. The image of an 54  Ammianus, Res gestae XIV 11.3; XX 2.1. See also Icks, “Of Lizards and Peacocks: Criticism of the princeps clausus in Fourth- and Fifth-Century Sources”, p. 480. 55  Claudian, In Eutropium I 142–144. 56  Libanius, Oratio 18.150; Panegyricus Latinus 3(11).20.4. Under Julian, these indignities had presumably ended: now the emperor himself approached men he deemed fit for political office (21.4–5). 57  Claudian, In Rufinum I 179–180.

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amicable, approachable princeps who nurtures close bonds with senators and the Roman people at large, perhaps best epitomized in Pliny’s panegyric to Trajan, serves as a counterpoint to the distant, elevated autocrat we encounter in late-antique texts. For many authors, the latter was a figure of scorn and resentment, because he did not adhere to the long-established norms regulating the competition for imperial favour. Traditional elites held strong views on who should be able to compete and on which terms the competition should take place. Those views often clashed with the realities of the late-antique court. Of course, imperial inaccessibility and unworthy favourites had been causes of concern since the days of the Julio-Claudians, as accounts of Tiberius’ withdrawal to Capri and Claudius’ influential freedmen attest. We should be careful not to view the differences between the Principate and Late Antiquity in black-and-white terms. Nevertheless, the gradual development of a monarchic court, and the vast imperial bureaucracy that developed alongside it, confronted senators and other elite groups with a society and a space that did not function according to traditional aristocratic norms and values, but had a habitus and hierarchy of its own, where lineage, social rank and political accomplishments did not matter as much as proximity to the monarch. In Late Antiquity, the latter was of tremendous importance as a source of elite power and status. At the same time, emperors no longer downplayed, but rather emphasized the social distance which had always existed between themselves and members of the upper classes. The consequences were not just symbolic. The emerging class of professional courtiers who regulated court ceremony, controlled access to the emperor, and were always in his vicinity infringed on privileges that aristocrats had long claimed for themselves. Although channels of communication between emperors and elites remained open, the rules of the game had changed. Palace meetings between the monarch and members of the upper classes became much more formalized occasions than the salutationes of the Principate had been, leaving less room for spontaneous interaction. Complaints about aloof, secluded rulers were a response to these changes. At least some senators and other elites felt that their ties to the emperor were under pressure, potentially leading to a loss of influence and social status. It is small wonder that they looked with envy and dismay at eunuchs and other palace-dwellers, who were under no illusion that they were the equals of their sovereign, but profited from their intimate acquaintance with the master of the Roman world and could snuff out the careers or even the lives of distinguished senators and military officers. Confronted with this privileged inner circle, men of high status might well feel uneasy, unsure about the extent to which they were being kept in the dark.

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Lendon, J.E., Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World, Oxford 1997. Leppin, H., Theodosius der Große, Darmstadt 2003. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G., Barbarians and Bishops: Army, Church, and State in the Age of Arcadius and Chrysostom, Oxford 1990. Lizzi Testa, R. (ed.), Le Trasformazioni delle élites in età tardoantica. Atti del convegno internazionale, Perugia, 15–16 marzo 2004, Rome 2006. MacCormack, S., Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity, Berkeley 1981. Matthews, J., Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court A.D. 364–425, Oxford 1975. Matthews, J., The Roman Empire of Ammianus, London 1989. McEvoy, M.A., Child Emperor Rule in the Late Roman West, AD 367–455, Oxford 2013. Meier, M., “Die Demut des Kaisers. Aspekte der religiösen Selbstinszenierung bei Theodosius II. (408–450 n. Chr.)”, in A. Pečar/K. Trampedach (eds.), Die Bibel als politisches Argument. Voraussetzungen und Folgen biblizistischer Herrschaftslegitimation in der Vormoderne, Munich 2007, pp. 135–58. Nixon, C.E.V./B.S. Rodgers (eds. & trans.), In Praise of Later Roman Emperors: The Panegyrici Latini, Berkeley 1994. Noethlichs, K.L., “Strukturen und Funktionen des spätantiken Kaiserhofes”, in A. Winterling (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998, pp. 13–49. Paterson, J., “Friends in High Places: The Creation of the Court of the Roman Emperor”, in A.J.S. Spawforth (ed.), The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, Cambridge 2007, pp. 121–56. Pfeilschifter, R., Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel. Kommunikation und Konfliktaustrag in einer spätantiken Metropole, Berlin 2013. Rebenich, S., 2008. “‘Pars melior humani generis’—Aristokratie(n) in der Spätantike”, in H. Beck/P. Scholz/U. Walter (eds.), Die Macht der Wenigen. Aristokratische Herrschaftspraxis, Kommunikation und ‚edler‘ Lebensstil in Antike und Früher Neuzeit, Munich 2008, pp. 153–75. Saller, R.P., Personal Patronage under the Early Empire, Cambridge 1982. Salzman, M.R., The Making of a Christian Aristocracy: Social and Religious Change in the Western Roman Empire, Cambridge, MA/London 2002. Salzman, M.R./C. Rapp (eds.), Elites in Late Antiquity, Baltimore, MD 2000. Scholten, H., Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe. Zur politischen und sozialen Bedeutung des praepositus sacri cubiculi im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert n. Chr., Frankfurt am Main 1995. Scholten, H., “Der oberste Hofeunuch. Die politische Effizienz eines gesellschaftlich Diskriminierten”, in A. Winterling (ed.), Comitatus. Beiträge zur Erforschung des spätantiken Kaiserhofes, Berlin 1998, pp. 51–73. Simmel, G., “Soziologie der Konkurrenz (Sociology of Competition)”, Neue Deutsche Rundschau 14 (1903), pp. 1009–1023.

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Chapter 8

Jovian, an Emperor Who Did Not Bow to Heretics and Infidels? A Critical Reading of the Petitiones Arianorum Fabian Schulz Abstract The Arian controversy was a series of religious disputes that shook the Christian Church and Roman Empire during the 4th century AD. The dispute was conducted by theologians, lay people, and even emperors. Leading bishops therefore not only tried to refute false doctrine, but also to win public opinion. In this endeavour, Athanasius of Alexandria, who spent years in exile, was particularly successful and reckless. The so-called Petitiones Arianorum, which are transmitted among his writings, take the polemics to the extreme: they depict Emperor Jovian, who had just taken office, not only rejecting the ‘Arians’ from Alexandria, who beg him not to pardon Athanasius, but also asking them to convert to the bishop’s doctrine. This little studied and even less understood document is not an authentic protocol of an actual encounter, as has sometimes been assumed, but a masterpiece of negative campaigning. As Athanasius was about to reclaim his see, the document was to make clear who enjoyed imperial support and who did not. Jovian’s alleged siding is however highly dubious. This topic is indebted to recent scholarship on Athanasius and his polemics, which it hopes to complement by bringing Jovian, a ‘good’ emperor, into the picture.

Emperors were not only approached by individuals about personal matters, but also by groups about collective issues. When different groups had colliding interests, they had to compete for the emperor’s favour. There is particular heuristic potential for the study of these practices in accessions to the throne, especially if they promise a change of policy: interest groups become active, the marginalized want to rise, and the privileged strive to maintain their position. The attempts to gain the ruler’s favour reveal patterns of influence that are otherwise hidden. In addition, competition between interest groups generates emotions—the hope of those in the ascendency on the one hand and the fear of those being relegated on the other—which are reflected in communication. In order to strengthen support from the public and decision-makers and to

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_010

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weaken the support of their opponents, competitors present their own camp and its goals in a positive light and carry out campaigns to fling dirt at the other party. Usually, it is the winner’s point of view that goes down in history. A particularly illustrative case is the accession to power of Jovian, who turned from commander to emperor on the battlefield in 363, after his predecessor Julian had died fighting the Persians.1 Although the change came suddenly and occurred in a remote area, representatives of various interest groups introduced themselves to the new emperor as soon as Jovian had Roman soil under his feet. The church historian Socrates quite aptly describes the situation as a race.2 The rush was fuelled by high expectations: Jovian’s accession to power promised change; for unlike Julian, the new emperor was a Christian. Christians therefore had justified hopes that the privileged position enjoyed by their religion since the times of Constantine’s reign would be restored. Nevertheless, the question of which Christian faction the new emperor would prefer was completely open. There were, in fact, different groups facing each other. This created a triangular situation that can be understood in terms of Georg Simmel’s sociology of competition: the Christian factions were the competitors, the emperor was the third party, that awarded the prize, namely his favour.3 These groups, who each considered the other to be heretical, had formed in the course of dogmatic differences. The core of the dispute, which remained a burning issue throughout the 4th century, was whether the relationship between God and Christ could be described as equal, similar or dissimilar. These differences mattered to the Christians of Late Antiquity because they had implications for soteriology, the doctrine of the redemption of people through the vicarious atonement death of Christ. The Trinitarian controversy began in Egypt and over time took hold of the entire empire. The dispute was not only conducted by theologians, but also occupied lay people and even the emperors. The settlement was complicated by the fact that there was no church law for the imperial scale and that various rulers supported different groups. At first it seemed as if the advocates of equality—called Homoousians, according 1  Historians and theologians rarely deal with Jovian, except for Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, pp. 158–81; Drijvers “Jovian between History and Myth”; Karmann, Meletius von Antiochien, pp. 330–40; Lee, From Rome to Byzantium, pp. 42–3; Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, pp. 574–89. 2  Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 24.1: “Those who presided over the churches endeavoured to anticipate each other, in the hope that the emperor would attach himself to their own tenets.” Οἱ γὰρ προεστῶτες τῶν ἐκκλησιῶν προστρέχειν ἐσπούδαζον, προσδοκῶντες ἕκαστος τῇ ἑαυτῶν πίστει προσθήσεσθαι τὸν βασιλέα. 3  See Simmel, “Soziologie der Konkurrenz” and the introduction to this volume.

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to the Greek word for equal, or Nicenes, after the city in which their fundamental council had met—would win, supported by Constantine. Then the followers of similarity gained the upper hand thanks to the support of Constantius II. They are now called Homoeans, according to the Greek word for similar; in ancient sources they are mostly called Arians, a polemic term. I here use both terms to distinguish the historical agents from their distorted image. In order to eliminate the competition, Constantius II deposed and banished leading Nicenes, as well as followers of dissimilarity (Anhomoeans) and similarity of essence (Homoeousians). Constantius’ successor Julian, who followed the ancient cults, then enabled many bishops to return from exile, which provided for a certain balance between the parties. A prominent bishop, however, was soon banished again: Athanasius of Alexandria, champion of the Nicenes. What would Jovian do? According to the sources Nicenes and Anhomoeans engaged in a race to intercept the emperor as he was travelling from the Persian frontier to the imperial residence city of Antioch in Syria. The Anhomoeans were faster. Two of their bishops, who came from Lydia and Ionia, managed to meet the emperor in Edessa, the capital of the province of Osrhoene; they wanted, as it is said, to forestall Athanasius.4 Athanasius, who first had to make his way to Egypt from his hideaway, met the emperor only in Hierapolis in the province of Euphratensis, as we learn from Egyptian archives.5 This race was questionable under church law, as bishops’ visits to the ruler on their own behalf and long absences from their bishoprics were actually forbidden.6 Whether this ban extended to inaugural visits is unclear. At any rate, as a deposed bishop Athanasius had little to lose. Nevertheless, his writings and those of other Nicenes leave out his journey to Hierapolis.7 It is also claimed that the Homoeousians made the first step.8 In fact, though, the Homoeousians practiced restraint. They wrote to the emperor explaining that they did not appear 4  Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica VIII 6. 5  According to the index of Athanasius’ festal letters (Index of Festal Letters 35–36, ed. Martin; only extant in a Syriac version, which Schwartz, “Zur Geschichte des Athanasius I–IV”, pp. 342–3 translates into Greek) and Historia acephala 4.4 (which shortens the event) Athanasius set off from Alexandria on September 6, 363, as soon as he had learned of the change of rulers. 6  Synod of Antioch (328), canon 11; Council of Serdica (343), canons 8 and 14 (Latin); canons VII and XI (Greek); see Hess, The Early Development of Canon Law, pp. 216–7, 222–3, 230–1, and 234–5. 7  According to Sozomen, there was a difference of opinion on whether Athanasius travelled to Antioch on his own initiative or at the invitation of the emperor (Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica VI 5). In case of the earlier trip to Hierapolis, an invitation is highly unlikely. 8  Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 25.4–5 and 19.

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in person, so as not to annoy him; if he summoned them, they would be happy to come.9 They probably hoped that the emperor would reward them for their patience and punish the other parties for their impertinence. Eduard Schwartz mistook this strategy for resignation.10 On the other hand, the Homoeans who had formed the Imperial Church under Constantius did not move.11 Although we have many sources, Jovian’s reaction is difficult to judge and therefore controversial.12 Various parties claimed that Jovian had sided with them.13 The emperor, however, who was unprepared for his new role as sovereign, probably signaled openness to all sides in order to gain time and be able to sound out the situation.14 One thing is certain: the Homoeousians, who had ostentatiously abided by the rules, had little to gain from their restraint. Interestingly this outcome cannot fully be explained in terms of Simmel, because one would assume that the third party would reward the only competitor who played by the rules. The emperor probably felt or wanted to display that he was above the rules. But Jovian made a momentous decision: he allowed Athanasius in writing to return to Alexandria.15 Athanasius celebrated this as 9  According to Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica VI 4.3–5. 10  Schwartz, “Zur Kirchengeschichte des vierten Jahrhunderts”, p. 156: “It is characteristic of their tired resignation that they only negotiated with Jovian in writing and voluntarily refrained from sending delegates to him.” (my translation). 11  Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, pp. 167–8, note 65 and Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 87, note 11. 12  Brennecke has questioned the master narrative of the Nicenes, according to which Jovian sided with them, for good reasons (Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, pp. 169–73, 178–81). Lenski, Failure of Empire, pp. 236–8 follows Brennecke. Karmann, on the other hand, criticizes this position as hypercritical (Karmann, Meletius von Antiochien, pp. 338–40). 13  Not only the Homoousians/Nicenes (see notes 14 and 15), but also the Anhomoeans, in a new interpretation of Philostorgius, which is more based on the Artemii Passio than on the Photius excerpts; see Bleckmann/Stein, Philostorgios Kirchengeschichte ad Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica VIII 6 and VIII 6a. 14  Jovian probably asked prominent representatives of all the factions to send him a creed, not only Athanasius (according to Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, p. 576, followed by Lenski, Failure of Empire, p. 237 with note 146). Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, pp. 178–81 on Jovian’s neutrality, of which other sources bear witness. Philostorgius is probably to be excluded from these authors (see note 13). 15  Jovian, Epistula ad Athanasium; translated by Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 89. In the manuscripts Jovian’s letter comes after Athanasius’ letter to the emperor (Ad Jovianum), even though the former preceded the latter in time. In the Epistula ad Athanasium the bishop is called orthodox, however the letter’s authenticity and meaning remain controversial: the letter, which Brennecke considered to be false (Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer p. 171, note 82), is heavily used by Karmann for his interpretation (Karmann, Meletius von Antiochien, p. 335, with note 14, 337). Stockhausen maintains its authenticity without wanting to overstate the content (Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 96).

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a triumph and presented Jovian’s individual-related choice as a fundamental church-political decision.16 This interpretation went down in history because the dogmatic position of Athanasius prevailed.17 However, other factors such as the number and mobilization of the followers of Athanasius were probably decisive for the emperor.18 Moreover, Jovian seems to have allowed all the bishops who had been banished by Constantius and had not been pardoned by Julian to return.19 Instead of returning directly to Alexandria, Athanasius followed the emperor to Antioch, the capital of the diocese Oriens, where he stopped for a while.20 There a second meeting took place, which the corpus Athanasianum also neglects.21 At the same time, Homoeans from Alexandria, who had long been in conflict with the Nicenes there,22 apparently also tried to contact the ruler in order to persuade him to revoke Athanasius’ pardon. However, the

16  Athanasius, Epistula ad Jovianum. 17  Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, pp. 179–80 on the sources; at Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 24.2 it is said that Jovian sided from the beginning with the Homoousians/Nicenes. 18  Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, p. 172 and Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien“, p. 87 think that in Alexandria Athanasius’ followers formed the majority; Watts, Riot in Alexandria, pp. 163–82 about the means by which Athanasius formed his following. 19  Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 24. Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, pp. 178–81, Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, p. 173, note 93 argues: even before and after Jovian emperors recalled or confirmed the Alexandrian bishop without becoming Nicenes, like Constantius II and Valens. In my eyes the first comparison is uneven, because Constantius was under massive external pressure which Jovian was not. 20  Ammianus, Res gestae XXV 10.4: Moratum paulisper Antiochiae. Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, on Athanasius’ stay in Antioch. 21  In a fragment of a letter, which has been preserved only in a Coptic manuscript, Athanasius writes from Antioch to Alexandria that he had visited the court, seen the emperor and thanked God for it. The edition of Papyrus Berolinensis 11948, which Pieper presented in 1938 and provided with a German translation, is still fundamental, but his interpretation is outdated; see Camplani, “Atanasio e Eusebio tra Alessandria e Antiochia (362–363)”, which Martin follows in Athanase d’Alexandrie, p. 587. Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 96 thinks that at this meeting the letter Ad Jovianum was handed over. The Petitiones also presuppose Athanasius’ presence. Sozomen (Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica VI 5.1) also reports contact between the emperor and Athanasius in Antioch. Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 90 supposes that the meeting was about the schism of Antioch. 22  When Athanasius had returned to Alexandria at the beginning of Julian’s reign, tensions arose between his followers and those of the newly consecrated Lucius (Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 4.2 and Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica V 7.1). Concerning earlier conflicts with Lucius’ predecessor George see note 73.

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information about these attempts should be treated with caution, as they are only found in or under the writings of Athanasius and the authors who refer to them.23 1

Petitiones Arianorum

The main source are the so-called Petitiones Arianorum, which deal with the requests of the Homoeans and their apparent rejection by the emperor.24 The fact that the original title and the text speak of “Arians” is already a clear sign of the document’s tendency.25 Furthermore, in the Greek manuscripts, the Petitiones are attached to the correspondence between Jovian and Athanasius (Fig. 8.1).26 The function of this arrangement is obvious: the success of Athanasius is to contrast with the failure of the Arians. The Petitiones, which are almost 800 words long and have been available in a new edition since 2006,27 are discussed by theologians here and there, but are hardly noticed by historians. Patricia Just’s examination of Athanasius’ relation 23  Petitiones Arianorum and Historia acephala 4.7; see also Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica VI 5.2–4 and Encomio di Atanasio, lines 408–13. This praise of Athanasius, surviving only in the Coptic tradition, contains the remains of a letter from Jovian to Athanasius, apparently spun out of the Petitiones; see Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, pp. 110–1. The few testimonies of the Homoeans that have survived are silent on this matter (Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, p. 179). 24  The Greek title is: ᾽Εντυχία γενομένη ἐν Ἀντιοχείᾳ Ἰωβιανῷ βασιλεῖ, παρὰ Λουκίου καὶ Βερνικιανοῦ καὶ ἑτέρων τινῶν Ἀρειανῶν κατὰ Ἀθανασίου ἐπισκόπου Ἀλεξανδρείας. The Greek text can also be found at http://www.athanasius.theologie.uni-erlangen.de/pett.html. Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, translates excerpts. English translations can be found at Coleman-Norton, Roman State and Christian Church, No. 124 and in the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (http://www.tertullian.org/fathers2/NPNF2-04/Npnf2-04-110.htm). In the Coptic Athanasius manuscript, which is mentioned above (note 21) and also contains the beginning of the Petitiones, the title differs slightly: “On the 3rd Hathor, Lucius and Bernicianus and others from the Arians brought an action in Antioch. They filed their first complaint when the king left (…)” Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, calls the Greek title secondary (to the Coptic one). 25  Furthermore, the Arians are called “unbelievers” (ἄπιστοι) once (fourth petition). 26  In the Coptic Athanasius manuscript, the Petitiones follow another letter that has not been preserved in Greek (notes 21 and 23). Whether the Petitiones were originally attached to the letter or in the Coptic collection only, is uncertain; Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 100 points to a separator sign. In any case, they somehow found their way to the Alexandrian chancellery where they were revised and inserted into the collection α. 27  Brennecke/Heil/Stockhausen, Athanasius. Werke, vol. 2, pp. 358–61.

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figure 8.1 Parisinus graecus 474 f. 425a (11th century)

to rulers reaches only until Constantius, so that Jovian is missing. Richard Flower and David Gwynn, who have presented important studies on the polemics of Athanasius and his colleagues, do not deal with the Petitiones, or only marginally, as they focus on criticism of the rulers.28 Idealization, however, is the counterpart of invective. In addition, their discourse analyses largely ignore the historical context. I would like to analyse the Petitiones from a historical perspective and, firstly, to examine their authenticity by comparing them with genuine petitions and by locating the events on the city plan of Antioch; secondly, to work out the strategies of invective and idealization on the basis of Athanasius’ work and contemporary discourses; thirdly, to determine the function of the Petitiones in the context of church politics. This case study aims to show how far apart representation and reality can be from each other, how to deal with this problem and why it is worth the effort to learn more about these discourses and practices. In the following, I will present the initiatives of the Arians and the reactions of the ruler, which are interwoven in the text, successively and synoptically. This will facilitate the application of the Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence, developed by Bertram Raven for both the agent(s) and the target of influence.29 But first, I will address the fundamental question of authenticity and give a short outline of the content. 28  Flower, Emperors and Bishops in Late Roman Invective has a chapter called “Praise and blame in the Roman world”, but it is more about “blame”. 29  See Raven, “Political Applications of the Psychology of Interpersonal Influence and Social Power” and introduction to the volume.

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Authenticity and Authorship

Authenticity and authorship of the Petitiones are contested in research. For a long time they were regarded as notarial pieces and were even included in a collection of laws; to this day, scholars still see them as more or less authentic protocols.30 Since early on, on the other hand, inconsistencies were identified and attributed to a tendentious revision, the extent of which is estimated differently.31 Recently, however, Thomas Karmann has once again spoken out in favour of the authenticity of the Petitiones: “Es ist aber doch fraglich, ob überhaupt und, wenn ja, welche Aussagen dieses Textes mit guten Gründen bezweifelt werden können.”32 It is also controversial whether Athanasius himself or another author produced (or edited) the protocol. The fact that opinions are so far apart is due to the ambivalent character of the text: some elements seem very authentic, some very constructed. In addition to those already highlighted in the previous chapter, further indications of a tendentious presentation of events can be discerned. The fact that Jovian in the end asks the Arians to convert to Athanasius’ teaching is particularly suspect.33 There are 30  Batiffol, “Le Syndicon de S. Athanase”, pp. 133–4, with note 1, thinks of notarial pieces despite orthodox modifications (see note 31): “Et cependant il y a la tant de traits d’une precision, d’une nature, d’un imprevu si pittoresque, qu’on ne peut se refuser à voir dans ces „actes” comme un proces verbal (…)”; Fromen, Athanasii historia acephala, pp. 48–9: “jemand aus der Begleitung des Kaisers, diese Unterredung wortgetreu festgelegt”; Coleman-Norton, Roman State and Christian Church, No. 124 justifies inclusion in the collection, which normally does not include inquiries to emperors, with the supposed authenticity of the document which Athanasius himself preserved. Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, pp. 159–60 calls the Petitiones “documentary or quasi-documentary.” Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, pp. 97–9 speaks of protocols—Athanasius would have drawn up the extract from official protocols himself or had it drawn up; likewise Brennecke/Heil/Stockhausen, Athanasius. Werke, vol. 2, p. 358. 31  Batiffol, “Le Syndicon de S. Athanase”, pp. 133–4 points to orthodox modifications, e.g. the praise of Julian; Batiffol is followed by Fromen, Athanasii historia acephala p. 49. Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, pp. 172–3 speaks of a “protocol” (in hyphens), which was strongly edited by Athanasius himself or posthumously by his followers. According to Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, pp. 588–9: “le recit tourne les partisans de Lucius en derison et exalte implicitement à travers l’empereur Jovien la reconnaissance officielle d’Athanase et de sa foie.” Saliou, “Le palais impérial d’Antioche et son contexte à l’époque de Julien” identifies the author as Pseudo-Athanasius. 32  Karmann, Meletius von Antiochien, p. 336, note 15: “Extracts of protocols”; p. 339, with note 21: ultimately positive despite some reservations. Karmann uses the Petitiones as a source to prove Jovian’s alleged friendship with the Nicenes. 33  According to Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, p. 173 with note 92, Jovian assured the Homoeans of freedom of worship (referring to Petitiones Arianorum 3,2: “Go

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no independent indications that Jovian had pursued an anti-Homoean church policy during his (obviously short) reign.34 So, who drew these modified protocols up: Athanasius or one of his supporters who came with him to Antioch? The latter is more likely, because the Petitiones contain many words unattested in Athanasius’ works.35 3

Character, Structure, and Content

The text is divided by headings into four meetings. The language of the dialogues is clumsy and formulaic. There are also omissions in terms of content. The Coptic version dates at least the first meeting to 31 October, 363.36 How much time passes between the following meetings is unclear (the third attempt refers to “tomorrow and the day after tomorrow”). The first and the last petition are set in front of the gates of the palace, the two middle ones are not located. The crowd of people at the third also points to the outside, but the torture of the eunuchs in the fourth rather to the inside of the palace. These changes of location, which are not indicated, are accompanied by changes of speaker. In the case of the Homoeans, it is sometimes unclear who speaks exactly. These omissions make the text appear unfinished. The Greek title already makes clear that the Petitiones take place in Antioch, but revolve around Alexandria.37 The petitioners come from the Egyptian city and are concerned about their episcopal see. The Schism of Antioch is present in the background only (at the end of the third petition a group of local Nicenes appears, and at the end of the fourth the Homoean Bishop of Antioch). The Petitiones were sent or brought to Alexandria by Athanasius or one of his disciples. In any case, they were kept in the archives of the bishopric. From there they reached the editions of Athanasius’ writings and local history. In Alexandria, therefore, we must also look for the target group of the Petitiones, whom I will narrow down further towards the end of this chapter.

away and keep peace!” ἀπέλθετε καὶ εἰρηνεύετε); but in the same breath, Jovian recommends to the Arians to be taught by Athanasius! 34  Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, p. 173, note 93, points out that Jovian, as far as we know, did not rescind Homoean resolutions or depose their bishops. 35  Müller, Lexicon Athanasianum, s.v. “ἀείμνηστος”, “ἀρκετόν”, “αὔριον”, “Κυνικοί”, “πτερνίζω”, “σχολαστικός”, “τέμενος”, “ὑπόλοιπος”, “φέρι”. 36  See note 24. 37  See note 24.

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Arian Attempts/Agents of Influence

On the part of the Arians there are different protagonists. In the Greek title Bernicianus, who is otherwise unknown,38 and Lucius, the opposing bishop in Alexandria,39 are identified as leaders. The Alexandrian Arians are supported by Euzoius, the Homoean Bishop of Antioch (fourth attempt), and two scholars attached to the ancient cults (third end). At the end, eunuchs, who were particularly close to the emperors of Late Antiquity and were sometimes influential, come into action. The Arians clearly state their motivation: they reject Athanasius and demand a (Homoean) bishop for Alexandria (first and third beginning). This gives the impression that Lucius was ousted by Julian. This is most likely a polemical assertion that makes Athanasius’ claim seem unrivalled.40 The Arians use various means to convince, which Raven would call power bases: at the outset, they speak of accusations and evidence and recall the fact that Athanasius had already been banished several times by Jovian’s predecessors (first and second). If Athanasius returned, they predict, the city would suffer and the bishop would be without support (third beginning). At the same time, they claim that Athanasius was disingenuous. Furthermore, they feel slandered and disparaged (third middle), while the author and his addressees undoubtedly shared their description as heretics. They also say that Athanasius had taken away districts of the Church. The accusation of the nameless scholar (third end) points in a similar direction: the katholikos, an imperial official called rationalis in Latin, has taken his houses away from him at Athanasius’ instigation (προφάσει). This accusation weighed heavily, because the rationales only became active after judicial decisions.41 This claim, however, is not silly, as Athanasius seems to have used secular force to persecute his opponents earlier.42 Finally, as a last resort, Euzoius, the Homoean bishop of Antioch, calls 38  The name is extremely rare and listed only once in Fraser/Matthews, A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, vol. 3A, p. 90. 39  Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, p. 160, with note 56: “Lucius (…) was recognized outside Egypt (…)” [Reference to: Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 4.2; IV 1.14; Historia acephala 4.7]. Lippold, “Lucius 5a” collects the few facts that are known about Lucius. Siding with the orthodox camp Historia acephala 4.7 calls him a presbyter. 40  In the secondary Greek title, Athanasius appears as Bishop of Alexandria; in the primary Coptic title he does not (note 24). 41   Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, and Coleman-Norton, Roman State and Christian Church equate katholikos with rationalis; on the various types and their competences, see Delmaire, Les institutions civiles palatines, pp. 193–206; especially p. 201. 42  Gwynn, The Eusebians, pp. 70 and 166. Gwynn calls Papyrus London 1914 “a rare contemporary Melitian letter that refers to the imprisonment and abuse of Melitian clergy by Athanasius’ supporters.”

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Probatius and other court eunuchs to help (fourth).43 So in Raven’s terms, they rely on information or manipulation—depending on the perspective—and on third parties. Let’s turn to mode: The Arians and their allies ask humbly and use fixed formulas when approaching the ruler. Almost every sentence begins with the words “We beg you”, even if nothing concrete is asked or even when answering a question (third middle and fourth); here “to listen to us” is to be added. Furthermore, the ruler is addressed with a number of attributes, ranging from one to three at the same time. The first salutation is the longest: “We beg by your power, your kingship,44 and your piety”45 (δεόμεθά σου τοῦ κράτους καὶ τοῦ βασιλείου σου καὶ τῆς εὐσεβείας σου). This form of address matches the necessary etiquette46 and has many parallels in the inscribed petitions (libelli) to rulers, of whose great number only a few examples have survived.47 There, the preces always contain the verb “to beg” (δεῖσθαι) or the noun derived from it, which is sometimes accompanied by a ruler’s attribute (in the genitive).48 On one occasion, this attribute is even “kingship” (βασιλεία), almost as in the Petitiones (βασίλειον). It occurs in an 43  According to Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica IV 5.1 the eunuch Probatius was proposed for the episcopate by Euzoius; according to Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, p. 172, with note 85, this is an error or slander. Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 99 presumes that Probatius may have been praepositus sacri cubiculi already at the court of Julian; see PLRE 1, Probatius 2, p. 733. 44   Most of the meanings of βασίλειον are quite concrete (see Liddell/Scott/Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon, vol. 1, p. 309 and Diccionario griego-español, vol. 3, p. 689). Here, the meaning is more abstract, as Müller, Lexicon Athanasianum, col. 192 rightly notes: regnum. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon, p. 292, s. v. βασίλειον also lists “sovereign authority” and “kingdom, empire”. The juncture κράτος (…) βασίλειον is not attested in other salutations, but Daniel addressing Nebuchadnezzar comes suspiciously close: σύ, βασιλεῦ βασιλεὺς βασιλέων, καὶ σοὶ ὁ κύριος τοῦ οὐρανοῦ τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ τὴν βασιλείαν καὶ τὴν ἰσχὺν καὶ τὴν τιμὴν καὶ τὴν δόξαν ἔδωκεν (LXX Dan. 2.25.37). 45  The formula, which introduces almost every salutation (not only that of the Arians), is only tripartite here. Piety (εὐσέβεια), which is missing below, was a part of the ruler’s virtues already before Christian times: see Kolb, Herrscherideologie in der Spätantike, pp. 55–6 and 88. 46  Alföldi, Die monarchische Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreiche, p. 45 and Karamboula, Von Diokletian zu Justinian, pp. 89–90. 47  Feissel, “Pétitions aux empereurs et formes du rescrit” offers a chronological list of petitions in Annex I. From the 4th century only 11 have been preserved, mostly on papyrus; the Petitiones Arianorum are therefore very valuable. The Codex Theodosianus and Iustinianus only contain the answers to petitions. Harries, Law and Empire in Late Antiquity, chapter “petitions and disputes”. 48  Hauken, Petition and Response, p. 262; the preces are always placed at the end. See e.g. a petition to Commodus, dated 181–182 (Hauken, part I 1, number 1): [Quae res co]mpulit nos miserrimos homi/[nes iam rur]sum divinae providentiae / [tuae supli]care et ideo ro­ gamus sa/cratissime Imp(erator) subvenias—“[This situation] has compelled us, (who

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inscription from the province of Lydia (Diocese of Asia) dating probably from the Severan dynasty, in which the villagers turn to one or two emperors: In this state of fear, the only help the above mentioned village could envisage was to join with me (their representative)49 in petitioning your great, heavenly and [most sacred] kingship (…)50 If, in the Petitiones Arianorum, lay people from a metropolis adopt a tone in speaking that provincial villagers used in writing, this may have been so, but it is unlikely that the bishops among them (especially in petitio four) should have done the same. In oral communication, municipal bishops could undoubtedly allow themselves a different, more personal tone, which corresponded to their position. In any case, they actually had other communication channels open to them like formal audiences or private meetings.51 The begging-formulae thus probably function as markers illustrating the alleged distance between Homoean leadership and the emperor. The location of the plot (or scene in Raven’s words) has a similar function: the first request is made “in the Roman gate” (῾Ρωμανησίᾳ πύλῃ),52 when the ruler is on his way to the campus, the military training ground, where probably the army that had just returned from Persia camped;53 the fourth “at the gate of the palace.” In a thorough investigation of the literary testimonies, Catherine Saliou has made a sound argument that both gates are identical.54 The Roman gate was thus located on the north side of the palace and opened to a bridge that led over the Orontes. On the other side was the campus (Fig. 8.2). Saliou believes that the Roman gate was the best place for personal requests.55 are) reduced to destitution, to beseech your divine providence again; and therefore we ask you, most sacred emperor, help us!” 49  Hauken, Petition and Response, p. 70. 50  Squeeze, edition and translation in Hauken, Petition and Response, part I 1, number 4, lines 5–8: Μόνη[ν ἐν φ]όβω̣ τῶ̣[δε ταύτην βο]ήθιαν ἐπενόησεν ἡ προσδηλουμένη κώμη συν[δεηθεῖ] σα δι’ ἐμοῦ τῆς μεγάλης ὑμῶν καὶ οὐρανίου κα[ὶ ἱερωτάτη]ς βασιλείας. Editio princeps: Keil/ Premerstein, “Bericht”, number 55. 51  There were different ways to reach the ruler. Which one was open to an individual depended on that person’s own position; see Hauken, Petition and Response, p. 263. 52  Trapp, Lexikon zur byzantinischen Gräzität, vol. 2, p. 1516, s.v.”Ῥωμανήσιος” (lat. Romanensis). 53  According to John of Antioch the whole army was present (John of Antioch, Fragmentum 273.1.16), according to Zosimus, only his body guard, while the main army attended on Julian’s body (Zosimus, Historia nova III 34.3). 54  Saliou, “Le palais impérial d’Antioche et son contexte à l’époque de Julien”, pp. 244–6. 55  Saliou, “Le palais impérial d’Antioche et son contexte à l’époque de Julien”, p. 248; perhaps already in complementary function to the Hippodrome, the place for contact with the common people.

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figure 8.2 Antioch, Orontes island, New city, 3rd–5th century (Poccardi, “Antioche de Syrie” p. 1022)

I think that the place is meant to show above all that the Arians, in contrast to Athanasius, were not welcome beyond the gates i.e. at court. In the Coptic manuscript tradition, the Petitiones Arianorum follow the letter which speaks of a second meeting of the emperor with Athanasius. According to Historia acephala, a Homoean synod resolved that Lucius should speak to the ruler in the palace—the Petitiones apparently want to show that this did not work out.56 How likely the failure is, remains questionable: Lucius was after all a bishop (Athanasius being restituted or not)!

56  Historia acephala 4.7: constituerunt Lucium, presbyterum Georgii, interpellare imperatorem Jovianum in palatio.

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Arians in the Works of Athanasius

The image of the Arians corresponds to the polemics contained in Athanasius’ earlier writings.57 Stubborn heretics slander Athanasius out of base motives and try to manipulate the ruler. The Arians allegedly conspire systematically with sneaky eunuchs, who most of the time were probably scapegoats.58 The eunuchs around Probatius are described in the Petitiones as successors of Eusebius59 and Bardio60 (fourth attempt), two influential eunuchs under Constantius. Particularly with Eusebius, Nicene circles were not on good terms. According to Athanasius, this eunuch had tried to persuade the Bishop of Rome to sign against him by order of the Emperor and at the instigation of the Arians.61 Furthermore, Athanasius constantly accuses the Arians of making common cause with the pagans.62 In the Petitiones they collude with two scholars (σχολαστικοί) attached to the ancient cults (third end). In the case of the Homoeans of Alexandria this collusion is particularly unlikely, for their leader George had been killed by pagans whose shrines he had destroyed.63 Interestingly, one of these scholars is identified as belonging to the Cynics (τις σχολαστικὸς τῶν κυνικῶν). The alleged collaboration of Cynics and Homoeans is suspicious, since we do not know anything about such contacts, but from the point of view of the Athanasian camp it is useful. In fact Julian, the predecessor of Jovian, whom all Christians hated, had stood up for “true” cynicism and had assimilated “false” Cynics to the Christians he despised, a comparison that had tradition.64 In the Petitiones, this inner pagan polemic is apparently 57  Gwynn, The Eusebians and Flower, Emperors and Bishops in Late Roman Invective. 58  Stockhausen, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 99, with note 59; Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica VI 5.2–4 also reports on eunuchs attempting to influence the emperor, but he twists the facts somewhat, making the eunuchs appear as instigators. 59  Eusebius was the emperor’s praepositus sacri cubiculi, see Tougher, The Eunuch in Byzantine History and Society, p. 145; Appendix 2 no. 67: PLRE 1, Eusebius 11, pp. 302–3; Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe, pp. 212–3. 60  According to Athanasius, Historia Arianorum 22.1 Bardio was one of the comites most trusted by Constantius. Tougher, The Eunuch in Byzantine History and Society, p. 137; Appendix 2 no. 20; PLRE 1, Bardio, pp. 147–8; Scholten, Der Eunuch in Kaisernähe, pp. 244–5. 61  In the Historia Arianorum, the Arians frame Liberius in front of Constantius, who then sents Eusebius to Rome to persuade Liberius by means of gifts and threats to sign against Athanasius (Athanasius, Historia Arianorum 35.4–5). 62  Gwynn, The Eusebians, chapter “Church and state: ‘Arians’, officials, and emperors.” 63  Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, pp. 119 and 155. 64  Julian’s relationship to cynicism was ambivalent (see Billerbeck “The Ideal Cynic from Epictetus to Julian” and Döring, “Kaiser Julians Plädoyer für den Kynismus”): He worshipped Diogenes of Sinope, but criticized the contemporary adepts for having turned

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adapted to an inner Christian struggle. The Christians are so divided that they do not unanimously reject the assimilation of Christians and Cynics. Instead, the Orthodox (according to their own claim) reject the allegation and accuse the supposed heretics of being close to the Cynics (whether the false or the true ones). 6

Reactions of Emperor Jovian, the Target of Influence

How an emperor responded to petitioners was minutely observed by his subjects. If he took petitions seriously, this brought him credit, if he did not, loathing. This connection is illustrated by anecdotes about rulers. Plutarch reports about the Macedonians, that once, when Demetrius I Poliorcetes rode out, people gathered and petitioned him. He put the documents neatly in his coat, but threw them off the next bridge. There, the Macedonians thought wistfully of the late Philip II. He had refused an old woman’s request with the comment “No time”, but then changed his mind when she blamed him: “Then do not be king!”65 The anecdote about king Philip was being told about general Antipater and emperor Hadrian, too.66 The Petitiones are in the tradition of such mirrors of princes, but they have a different message. At the first meeting, the emperor listens to the Arian crowd and asks them questions as a good ruler should do; in other words, he fulfils the role-requirements. Furthermore, he informs them that his decision has already been taken. This means that his motivation to maintain the current state is high. When the Arians insist, he rides away without a word. The next time he rejects the accusations against Athanasius as old and empty. According to a Nicene source, Jovian rejected a request from the Homoeousians in a similarly abrupt way.67 At the third attempt he gets angry and orders his soldiers to dissolve the crowd. To the author and his addressees the fact that the ruler loses his patience and uses violence probably seemed understandable and legitimate given the Arians’ impertinence and stubbornness. Athanasius himself,

away from their forefather. His work “Against the uneducated cynics” bears witness to this. In it he compares the pseudo-cynics to Christian monks. Julian’s cynicism was strongly idealized and resembled the emperor’s own philosophical principles. 65  Plutarch, Demetrius, 42.4–5. 66  Stobaeus, Anthologium III 13.48 and Cassius Dio, Historiae Romanae LXIX 6.3. Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World pp. 3–4 discusses these versions. I owe this reference to Henning Börm. 67  Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 25.4.

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though, had once stood in the way of an emperor, not allowing himself to be rejected, and had won the emperor’s favour through this display of courage.68 Jovian then refers to the thorough examination on which his judgement on Athanasius is based and responds to the doubts of the Arians with counter-arguments: “When he (sc. Athanasius) teaches and speaks well with his tongue, but thinks badly with his soul, it concerns God. For as human beings we hear the word, but God knows the things of the heart”.69 The emperor thus attributes to the heretics a lack of confidence in the divine punishment that threatens cheaters. Furthermore, Jovian declares Athanasius an authority in matters of faith and recommends that the Arians go to Athanasius and be instructed by him (third middle).70 When the emperor makes no secret of his Christian beliefs, but refers to the bishop in higher theological questions, he behaves like an ideal ruler. The Nicenes themselves would certainly have refused to tolerate such interference. When in the same paragraph the emperor alleges that the Arians have material interests, this inverts their accusations towards Athanasius.71 Not only the Arians have supporters. A soldier who is possibly a bodyguard provides the emperor with background information: the Arian people are a minority of backward troublemakers (first). The group of Athanasius’ supporters from Alexandria expresses an almost identical accusation (third); they specify that George, Lucius’ predecessor, destroyed the province (namely Egypt) and drove the councillors out of the cities—a strong argument in front of the emperor, since the members of city councils collected the taxes.72 At that time, there had been violent clashes between the followers of Athanasius and those of George.73 A group of Antiochene Nicenes seizes Lucius and leads him in front of the emperor (third end). This act of violence, which is also legitimate in the eyes of the author and his addressees, seems to open the emperor’s eyes. In the following meeting he curses the helpers of Lucius (fourth): 68  Athanasius, Apologia contra Arianos 86 hands down a letter from Constantine to the bishops of Tyre who had condemned Athanasius in 335. In it Constantine describes how he met Athanasius on the way back to Constantinople (6–8). Gwynn, The Eusebians, p. 74, with note 46, discusses the question of authenticity. 69  Petitiones Arianorum 3.1: εἰ δὲ τῇ γλώσσῃ καλῶς διδάσκει καὶ λέγει, τῇ δὲ ψυχῇ κακῶς φρονεῖ, πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἔχει. ἄνθρωποι γὰρ ὄντες τὸν λόγον ἀκούομεν, τὰ δὲ ἐγκάρδια ὁ θεὸς οἶδεν. 70  According to Historia acephala 4.7 Athanasius has already returned to Alexandria. 71  Watts, Riot in Alexandria, p. 174, with note 67. 72  Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, pp. 56–60 and Lee, From Rome to Byzantium, pp. 202–4. 73  Historia acephala 2.3–4: Athanasian mob expels George for a short time. The Homoeans accused the Athanasians of George’s assassination, although the evidence pointed more to pagans.

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The God of the world and comet, sun and moon may be angry with those who sailed with you because they did not cast you into the sea. And that ship shall have no favourable winds for all eternity, and shall not receive a port in the storm with the passengers.74 Key to interpreting this strange passage about the wrath of God and celestial bodies is the historical context. Pagans who missed Emperor Julian claimed that during Jovian’s stay in Antioch disastrous signs appeared, among others a comet.75 In the Petitiones, this pagan polemic against the Christian Jovian is related by the emperor himself to the sailors who shipped the heretic Lucius. The bad omina, therefore, are not called into question by the Nicenes, but diverted. This technique is similar to the assimilation of anti-cynic polemics (see above). All in all, the petitioning Arians fail spectacularly: instead of winning the emperor over, they earn his wrath. To speak with Raven: the effect of the influence attempt is negative influence and the side-effect is that the target alters his perception of the agent. To the initiatives of the Arian allies, the emperor’s response is no less determined. When the first scholar claims that Athanasius had expropriated him with the help of a katholikos or rationalis, the emperor rejects the accusation and thus stands behind his civil servant (third end), who, of course, would not be the first corrupt officer. To the complaint of the scholar Patalas he replies: “And you, what do you have to do with the Christians, for you are a pagan?”76 This rhetorical question contradicts Jovian’s moderate pagan policy.77 Finally, Jovian reveals the conspiracy of the eunuchs by having them tortured (fourth). Before leaving, he threatens: “If anyone wants to make a request against Christians (i. e. orthodox Christians), he should suffer such penalty.”78 The implication that torture threatens every possible petitioner is dubious. Although torturing slaves was common, the torture of citizens was not, even though it 74  Petitiones Arianorum 4.1: ὁ θεὸς τοῦ κόσμου καὶ κομήτης, ἥλιος καὶ σελήνη ὀργισθείη αὐτοῖς ἐκείνοις τοῖς ἐμπλέουσιν ἅμα σοι, ὅτι οὐκ ἔρριψάν σε εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν· καὶ ἡ ναῦς δὲ ἐκείνη μὴ ἴσχῃ εἰς τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον εὐδρόμους πνοὰς μήτε χειμαζομένη μετὰ τῶν ἐμπλεόντων λιμένος τύχοι. 75  Ammianus, Res gestae XXV 10.2: “Here one saw, as if the deity were offended, for days on end many horrible things, the sad consequences of which were predicted by experts of signs.” Stockhausen refers to this passage in “Athanasius in Antiochien”, p. 97. The comet cannot be dated exactly, see den Boeft/Drijvers/den Hengst/Teitler, Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus ad locum. 76  Petitiones Arianorum 3.3: καὶ σύ, τί κοινὸν ἔχεις πρὸς Χριστιανοὺς Ἕλλην ὤν. 77  Lee, From Rome to Byzantium, pp. 39–42; Heather, “Ammianus on Jovian”, pp. 99–100. 78  Petitiones Arianorum 4.1: εἴ τις ἐντυχεῖν βούλεται κατὰ Χριστιανῶν, τοιαῦτα πάθοι.

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was imposed more frequently in the 4th century.79 This harsh yet improbable threat is the moral of the story. 7

Good (and Bad) Rulers in Athanasius

That an emperor resists the Arian temptations is rare in the corpus Athanasianum, where weak rulers abound, whom the bishop of Alexandria had fallen out with during his life. The Jovian of the Petitiones foreshadows the ideal of the most Christian ruler (imperator christianissimus), to be found in the writings of the bishops Ambrose and John Chrysostom, who were half a century younger than Athanasius. He is accessible, strong in faith, sees through falseness, cannot be misled and fights with just anger against heretics.80 In the second request, the Arians call the two emperors Constantine and Constantius “of eternal memory” (ἀπὸ τῶν ἀειμνήστων Κωνσταντίνου καὶ Κωνσταντίου), which sounds suspicious. The Homoeans undoubtedly had a good relationship with Constantius, but the memory of Constantine was probably ambivalent. On the one hand, he had organized the Council of Nicaea and banished Arius, on the other hand he had pardoned Arius later on and sent Athanasius into exile. In the works of Athanasius it is the other way around: Constantine appears as a good emperor who gets caught in the clutches of the Arians and nevertheless does his utmost to protect the bishop.81 Constantius, on the other hand, is sometimes the disastrous antichrist, sometimes a fool who is manipulated, even controlled, by heretical bishops and eunuchs. This weak Constantius is the counter-image of the Jovian of the Petitiones. 8

Julian as Counter-Image of Jovian

The good Jovian of the Petitiones has a second counter-image: his pagan predecessor Julian. This is indicated by the following passage: the Arians, who are said to cooperate with Cynics (see above), call Julian the “most god-loved, most philosophical and happiest”82 (second attempt)—three superlatives, 79  Bowersock/Brown/Grabar, Late Antiquity, p. 729. 80   Groß-Albenhausen, “Imperator christianissimus” and Schulz, “Ambrosius, die Kaiser und das Ideal des christlichen Ratgebers”, pp. 236–8. 81  Just, Imperator et episcopus, p. 52, Gwynn, The Eusebians, pp. 154–5, Flower, Emperors and Bishops in Late Roman Invective, p. 92. 82  Petitiones Arianorum 2: ἐπὶ τοῦ θεοφιλεστάτου καὶ φιλοσοφωτάτου καὶ μακαριωτάτου Ἰουλιανοῦ.

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which the Homoeans, who had suffered particularly at the hands of Julian,83 would of course never have used.84 No other text goes so far as to imply that the Homoeans had sympathies for Julian. This peculiarity can be understood when one considers that the Petitiones are closely linked to Alexandria, where Julian was perhaps hated even more than elsewhere. I would like to conclude by arguing that the Petitiones are trying to cope with the previous conflicts with Julian. Julian’s letter of 362, in which he imposed banishment on Athanasius, had criticized the bishop for acting arbitrarily and had recalled his previous convictions: “He who had been expelled by very many royal ordinances of also many emperors (…)”.85 In the Petitiones the Arians argue in a similar way, but Jovian rejects the accusations. When a group of Alexandrians asked Julian a few months later in a petition to pardon Athanasius, in an open letter (rescriptio) he gave them a harsh rejection (362, Nov. or Dec., from Antioch): But if you have made these requests through being in love with the different subtlety of Athanasius—for I learn that the man is clever—know that because of this very reason he has been expelled from the city, for a meddlesome man is by nature unsuitable to be a leader of the people; but if he is not even a man, but a mean mannikin, like this great one who supposes that he hazards his head, this indeed gives a source for disturbance. Wherefore, lest such a thing should happen concerning you, long ago we have declared publicly to him to leave the city, but now also all Egypt. Let this be published to our Alexandrian citizens.86 In short, instead of pardoning Athanasius, Julian aggravated his punishment because the bishop endangered order through his cunning. It should be borne 83  Brennecke, Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer, p. 88. 84  So rightly Batiffol, “Le Syndicon de S. Athanase”, pp. 133–4. Coleman-Norton, Roman State and Christian Church p. 297, on the other hand, criticizes the Arians for this “inappropriate term.” For Brennecke/Heil/Stockhausen, Athanasius. Werke, vol. 2, p. 359, these designations of Julian are not unusual since he had been consecrated. 85  Julian, Epistula 110, 398C (trans. Coleman-Norton no. 115) from Constantinople: τὸν ἐξελαθέντα βασιλικοῖς πολλοῖς πάνυ καὶ πολλῶν αὐτοκρατόρων προστάγμασιν (…) 86  Julian, Epistula 111, 435B–C (trans. Coleman-Norton no. 122): Εἰ δὲ τῆς ἄλλης ἐντρεχείας ἐρῶντες Ἀθανασίου (πανοῦργον γὰρ εἶναι τὸν ἄνδρα πάλαι πυνθάνομαι) ταύτας ἐποιήσασθε τὰς δεήσεις, ἴστε διὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸν ἀπεληλαμένον τῆς πόλεως· ἀνεπιτήδειος γὰρ φύσει προστατεύειν δήμου πολυπράγμων ἀνήρ· εἰ δὲ μηδὲ ἀνήρ, ἀλλ’ ἀνθρωπίσκος εὐτελής, καθάπερ οὗτος ὁ μέγα οἰόμενος περὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς κινδυνεύειν, τοῦτο δὴ δίδωσιν ἀταξίας ἀρχήν. Ὅθεν οὖν, ἵνα μὴ γένηται τοιοῦτο πρὸς ὑμᾶς μηθέν, ἀπελθεῖν αὐτῷ προηγορεύσαμεν τῆς πόλεως πάλαι, νυνὶ δὲ καὶ Αἰγύπτου πάσης. Προτεθήτω τοῖς ἡμετέροις πολίταις Ἀλεξανδρεῦσιν.

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in mind that, as the last sentence suggests, this reply was set up in a central position carved in stone, perhaps together with the initial request (as in the above-mentioned petition).87 That equals public humiliation. The fact that an emperor rejects a petition so harshly is unusual and testifies to the course of confrontation Julian pursued; unwelcome requests were normally ignored or kindly rejected.88 The Petitiones Arianorum can be understood as an answer to these actions, as a fictitious compensation. Julian’s accusation that Athanasius was cunning is taken up by the Arians and rejected by Jovian (third beginning). The emperor arrives at the conclusion that order is not threatened by Athanasius, but by Lucius, the successor of the notorious George (fourth). So Julian was wrongly angry with the Nicenes, and Jovian is rightly angry with the Arians. Jovian, hero of the Nicenes and friend of Athanasius, is thus styled as the opposite of Julian, an enemy of Athanasius and a friend of the Arians. The Petitiones are therefore trying to restore the morale of the Nicene community of Alexandria, whom Julian had humiliated, and strengthen it for their ongoing fight against the Homoeans.89 9 Conclusion In the so-called Petitiones Arianorum, handed down among Athanasius’ writings, Homoeans from Alexandria turn to the newly enthroned Jovian several times to prevent the return of the Nicene Athanasius. The emperor refuses to take back the bishop’s pardon. These requests, which continue to figure as largely authentic protocols to this day, are in reality counterfeits originating in Athanasius’ circles. A closer look reveals that the Arians (in their villainy, slander, unholy alliances, impertinence) are portrayed in a way largely corresponding to Athanasius’ own polemics; in some places their portrayal even surpasses Athanasius’ own 87  Hauken, Petition and Response, pp. 299–301. 88  Symmachus was not allowed to see Gratian (Symmachus, Relatio 3.1) and was rejected by Valentinian II (Ambrose, Epistula 10 ex 2–3). If the emperors had rejected the senator’s petitions in a similarly abrupt fashion, their letters would certainly have been cited by Christian sources. Eugenius rejected Symmachus’ request, too, but gave gifts (Ambrose, Epistula 10 ex 6). 89  It can be assumed that the conflicts between Athanasius’ and Lucius’ followers that had existed for some time (note 22) flared up again, even if the sources do not directly testify to this. At some point, then, Lucius must have been expelled. According to Socrates, however, Lucius was present in Alexandria after Jovian’s death (Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica IV 1.14). For concrete conflicts with his predecessor, see note 73.

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representation (in the Arians’ unlikely worship of Julian). Furthermore, polemics that were circulating among pagans (against Cynics) and were composed by pagans against Christians (disastrous signs) are taken up and adapted for the inner-Christian struggle. As sources, the Petitiones are not only valuable for a history of discourse, as they show where and how one approached the ruler in practice, in an effort to authenticate their narrative representation. The spatial location at the palace gate and the submissive language serve, of course, to distance the Homoean leadership from the emperor. Moreover, in the unswerving Jovian, who vehemently advocates Orthodoxy, the Petitiones show an ideal ruler, rarely found in Athanasius’ work where bad rulers abound. So, praise and invective go hand in hand. Jovian’s “just” anger breaks with the traditional ideal of self-control, which was also expected from rulers. Constantius, who was allegedly seduced by the Arians, and Julian, who had taken action against Athanasius, are evoked as counter-images. The author of the Petitiones seems to process and reverse the previous humiliation of Athanasius and his followers by Julian. The moral of the story is clearly not to mess with Athanasius and the orthodox camp. Despite all the fabrication the Petitiones are not entirely void of truth. It is very likely that Homoeans approached the ruler and possible that they used the quoted arguments, among other ones. If one wanted to persuade a ruler to withdraw a decision that had already been taken, one naturally had to come up with even better arguments.90 It is also certain that the ruler rejected the complaints of the Homoeans, but it is hard to believe that he dismissed them and their leadership and recommended them conversion. The Petitiones are in line with Athanasius’ anti-Arian writings, which are different from his dogmatic works in terms of approach and audience. The latter are about theology and address clerics, the former stress the malice of the opponents and address lay people, foremost Athanasius’ Egyptian followers, whose support was so vital to him. The Petitiones’ circle of addressees is so narrow that some Arian and pagan key figures are not attested elsewhere. The fact that a text originating from the surroundings of Athanasius celebrates the rejection of the Homoeans and not the success of Athanasius is in keeping with his old strategy. Most of the time, Athanasius had veiled his influence on rulers91 in order to be able to insinuate that his opponents were successful 90  A good example of this is Symmachus’ third Relatio, which asks Valentinian II to restore the Altar of Victory to the Senate. 91  The contribution by de Leeuw in this volume explores a similar ‘veiling of influence’ at the imperial court by a later bishop of Alexandria, Cyril, who was also involved in Christological conflicts within Christianity.

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only with the emperor’s help.92 The Petitiones want to show that the wind has turned and are lending Athanasius support, while he was preparing to return to Alexandria, where the followers of Lucius were waiting for him. Overall, the model-based approach was fruitful. Simmel’s sociology of competition helped to analyse the strife between Christian factions for the emperor’s favour. Interestingly, Jovian’s discretion was beyond the model’s logic. Raven’s Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence proved to be a useful guideline for analysing this particular influence attempt, although its application to a historical case was not straightforward. Identifying the corresponding items—for example the role-requirements of a Christian ruler— requires background knowledge. Furthermore, the source material cannot be taken at face value, identifying biases takes a lot of double and cross-checking. With these caveats in mind, the model can help to analyse a situation more fully when identifying gaps in our information or imagining alternative scenarios and outcomes. In the case of the Petitiones, we learned that the text is completely embedded in the historical context. Only by examining the interplay between the situation, location, practices and discourses can we meaningfully investigate late-antique influencing. Bibliography

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Schwartz, E., “Zur Geschichte des Athanasius I–IV”, Nachrichten von der Königlichen Gesellschaft zu Göttingen, Philologisch-historische Klasse, Göttingen 1904, pp. 333–547. Schwartz, E., “Zur Kirchengeschichte des vierten Jahrhunderts”, Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche 34 (1935), pp. 129–212. Simmel, G., “Soziologie der Konkurrenz”, Neue Deutsche Rundschau 14,10 (1903), 1009–23. Stockhausen, A. von, “Athanasius in Antiochien”, Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 10 (2006), pp. 86–102. Tougher, S., The Eunuch in Byzantine History and Society, London 2008. Trapp, E. (ed.), Lexikon zur byzantinischen Gräzität, besonders des 9.–12. Jahrhunderts, 2 vols., Wien 1994–2017. Watts, E., Riot in Alexandria. Tradition and Group Dynamics in Late Antique Pagan and Christian Communities (The Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 46), Berkeley 2010.

Chapter 9

Divining to Gain (or Lose) the Favour of Usurpers: the Case of Pamprepius of Panopolis (440–484) Regina Fichera Abstract This paper focuses on the significance of divination in the struggle for political power under Zeno’s reign. Specifically, it draws attention to the role of prophecies uttered by the poet and grammarian Pamprepius of Panopolis, which seems to have been crucial in the progress of his political career as well as his downfall. The charm of Pamprepius’ reassuring predictions influenced even a pro-Chalcedonian Christian like Illus, magister militum of the emperor Zeno: by supporting Illus’ political plans, he obtained the constant protection of the Byzantine general as well as several political posts. But when Pamprepius’ prophecies failed, he lost his benefits and faced the hostility of their own supporters. Therefore, divination transformed from a means to gain the ruler’s favour into the cause of his own death sentence. Moreover, the study also shows how Pamprepius’ divinatory art gave rise to religious competition or to political collaboration even among opposing religious.

The pagan Pamprepius of Panopolis was one of the most shadowy characters living in the 5th century AD. Known as a grammarian, poet, and “magician”, he was involved in politics in Athens, Constantinople and Alexandria. Although he is not known as one of the major poets of that period nor as a proper professional politician, he still exercised a decisive influence both on the life of the Alexandrian intellectual circles and on sensitive political events in the Constantinopolitan Empire. The first important study on him is a 1913 article by Rudolf Asmus, who tried to free the pagan poet from the negative image handed down from his late-antique peers, who had made him a sort of martyr of paganism.1 After this study, Pamprepius has enjoyed (too) little scholarly attention. The character’s ambiguity and the fragmented nature of the sources make it impossible to reconstruct historical events of his life with certainty. Four fragmentary poems preserved in the papyrological record that Gerstinger attributed to the Panopolitan poet in 19282 1  Asmus, “Pamprepios”. 2  P. Gr. Vindob. 29788 A–C; Gerstinger, Pamprepios von Panopolis. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004411791_011

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could provide us with some interesting biographical data, as Enrico Livrea has claimed.3 The combination of different kinds of sources4 allows us to reconstruct the main points of his conflicting profile. We know that he was the author of the historical poem Isaurika (fr.1v–r–2 Livrea)5 as well as of an ekphrastic epyllion that Heitsch entitled Descriptio diei autumnalis6 (fr. 3 Livrea); he also composed an encomium Εἰς τὸν πατρίκ[ιον Θ]εαγένη ἰχθ [̣ (fr. 4 Livrea) and a work on Etymologies which denotes his Neoplatonic education.7 However, it is hard to say whether his poetic talent was more significant in his life than his political or divinatory qualities. What I want to focus on and highlight in this paper is the importance of Pamprepius’ divinatory art in his personal and political affairs. In accordance with the increasing relevance of divination within the life of intellectuals in Late Antiquity (in particular within Neoplatonist circles),8 it played a key role in the life of Pamprepius and deeply influenced the political power struggles involving the poet and the Constantinopolitan court under Zeno’s reign as a tool for gaining or losing political and social status: in the case of Pamprepius, indeed, divination was at first useful for earning the ruler’s favour and seeking the cooperation of different parties, but it then led to many religious and political conflicts and finally to the loss of his privileges. The pagan poet Pamprepius was born in the Egyptian city of Panopolis9 in 440.10 He was a γραμματικός in Egypt until the age of 32.11 He then left for Athens, 3  See Livrea, “Pamprepio ed il P. Vindob. 29788 A–C” and Livrea, “The Last Pagan at the Court of Zeno” for a more detailed explication of this fragments’ attribution and for their chronology. 4  Among the sources of Pamprepius’ life we find the historians Candidus of Isauria (5th century AD), Malchus of Philadelphia (5th–6th century), John of Antioch (7th century), the chroniclers Joshua the Stylite (5th–6th century), John Malalas (6th century), Theophanes the Confessor (8th–9th century), Zacharias Rhetor (5th–6th century), the philosopher Damascius (5th–6th century), and the astrologer Rethorius (6th century). 5  Livrea does not agree with McCail’s attribution to an anonymous poet (McCail, “P. Gr. Vindob. 29788C”); he thinks Pamprepius wrote the poem after 478 AD at the court of Zeno. 6  Heitsch, Die griechischen Dichterfragmente der römischen Kaiserzeit, pp. 111–2. 7  See Suda s.v. “Παμπρέπιος”, Π.136. For his talent for poetry, see Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 112B ed. Athanassiadi. 8  See Addey, Divination and Theurgy in Neoplatonism; Athanassiadi, Philosophers and Oracles; Busine, Paroles d’Apollon; Fowden, The Pagan Holy Man; Marmodoro-Viltanioti, Divine Powers in Late Antiquity; Saffrey, Les néoplatoniciens et les oracles chaldaïque. 9  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77D 112B ed. Athanassiadi; John of Antioch, fr. 234.2, ed. Mariev = 211.2, ed. Müller; Suda Π.136. According to Malchus of Philadelphia (fr. 20.1–2, ed. Cresci) and the astrologer Rhetorius [Capitula selecta (ex Rhetorii Thesauris) (e cod. Paris. gr. 2425, fol. 88v) = Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum VIII 4, ed. Boudreaux, (henceforth “Rhetorius”) p. 221.1] his hometown was Thebes. 10  Rhetorius p. 221.8. See Delatte/Stroobant, “L’horoscope de Pamprepios”, p. 62 and Neugebauer/Van Hoesen, “Greek Horoscopes”, No. L 440, p. 140. 11  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77C, ed. Athanassiadi; John of Antioch, fr. 234.2, ed. Mariev = 211.2, ed. Müller; Rhetorius, pp. 221.2 and 223.3.

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where he studied under the philosopher Proclus12 and was a professor of grammar until 476.13 Then, he moved to Constantinople,14 where he won the favour of the Isaurian general Illus. Illus was like a patron for the Egyptian grammarian, providing him with constant protection: first, he offered Pamprepius the public chair of grammar at the university of Constantinople, subsidized partly by Illus himself15 with the possibility of choosing his students;16 then, when in 478 Pamprepius was banished from the city on the charge of using magic and divination against the emperor Zeno and forced to take refuge in Pergamon,17 Illus summoned him to Isauria and made him his confidante and a member of his household.18 In 479, Illus also procured Pamprepius’ appointment to the high post of quaestor, consul, and patricius.19 Pamprepius’ success is odder as we know that in Late Antiquity the grammarians “do not appear to have had notable success in gaining other, richer rewards”; so, as Robert Kaster claims, “Pamprepius can be said with any confidence to have reached his position still fresh from his profession as a grammarian”.20 The benevolence offered by such a powerful character as Illus aroused suspicion. Illus was, indeed, sole consul, patricius, magister officiorum, and magister militum per Orientem21 of the Byzantine emperor Zeno. He played an influential role in Zeno’s reign: first he supported the revolt of the usurper Basiliscus against Zeno; then, he helped the emperor regain his empire and defeat the usurper Flavius Marcian; and finally, he switched sides again, by inducing the designation of another usurper, Leontius, as emperor.22

12  Malchus, fr. 20.5–6 ed. Cresci. 13  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77D and 112C ed. Athanassiadi; Malchus, fr. 20.4 ed. Cresci. 14  Malchus, fr. 20.8–9 ed. Cresci; Rhetorius, p. 224. 15  Malchus, fr. 20.11–17 ed. Cresci. 16  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77D ed. Athanassiadi. 17  Malchus, fr. 20.17–21 ed. Cresci (see below n. 37). We can assume, together with Livrea (“The Last Pagan at the Court of Zeno”, p. 10 n. 28) and Feld (“Pamprepius”, p. 264), that on that occasion he came into contact with members of the philosophical school of the city (founded by the Iamblichean Aidesius of Cappadocia), who may have further influenced Pamprepius’ oracular practices. 18  σύμβουλόν τε αὐτὸν καὶ σύνοικον ποιεῖται, Malchus, fr. 20.24–25 ed. Cresci; see also Anonymi Historia Imperatorum II 4495–4496 (Παμπρέπειον τὸν συγκλητικόν, ὃν καὶ διέβαλον ὡς μαγικὸν καὶ μαγγανοποιόν). 19  He obtained these three titles after Illus returned from Isauria to Constantinople, see Rhetorius, pp. 221 and 224; John of Antioch, fr. 234.3, ed. Mariev = 211.3, ed. Müller; John Malalas, Excerpta de insidiis fr. 35, ed. De Boor, pp. 165, 16–17. 20  Kaster, Guardians of Language, p. 130. 21  For the sources, see PLRE 2, Illus 1, pp. 586–90. 22  John of Antioch, fr. 233 and 237, ed. Mariev = 210 and 214, ed. Müller; Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5969; John Malalas, Chronographia XV 12–14.

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There are different opinions about the causes of this close intimacy between Illus and Pamprepius. According to the historian Malchus of Philadelphia,23 Pamprepius captivated Illus by reading a poem in public. The philosopher Damascius specifies that thanks to an elegant speech, Pamprepius offered an infallible solution to a discordant and confused philosophical discussion about the soul.24 Given Illus’ aptitude for literature,25 it is plausible that Pamprepius’ ability to put an end to the ἀσυμφωνία (“lack of unanimity”) of opinions struck Illus at their first encounter. However, it is hard to believe that the trust and the empowerment Illus gave the poet was founded on Pamprepius’ philosophical skills. We have no evidence for Pamprepius’ philosophical activity, but rather he seems to stand out just in poetry and rhetoric. Moreover, Damascius seems to doubt Pamprepius’ philosophical wisdom26 as well as the honesty of the poet: the philosopher attributes to him the rhetorical ability to persuade and he also claims that Illus was deceived by Pamprepius’ “well-studied prattle”.27 So, one might infer that, maybe, in this proximity lies something more. According to Pamprepius’ horoscope written by the Egyptian Rhetorius in the 6th century AD,28 Pamprepius joined Illus and obtained public offices, introducing himself as a magician or initiate: “and then fleeing to Byzantium (scil. Pamprepius) was associated with a great man, and, pretending to be a wizard

23  σ υσταθέντα δὲ αὐτὸν ὁ Ἴλλους μάγιστρος ἡδέως δέχεται, καί τι καὶ δημοσίᾳ ποίημα ἀναγνόντα λαμπρῶς τε ἐτίμησε καὶ σύνταξιν ἔδωκε, τὴν μὲν αὐτὸς ἰδίᾳ, τὴν δὲ ὡς διδασκάλῳ καὶ ἐκ δημοσίου (Malchus, fr. 20.13–17, ed. Cresci). 24  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77D, ed. Athanassiadi. For the power of the speech of the sage, see Iamblichus, De Vita Pythagorica VI 30 where it is said that Pythagoras converted over two thousand people, just by reading a speech. According to Feld, “Pamprepius”, p. 270, Illus wanted to surround himself with a learned like Pamprepius, in order to free himself from the charge of barbarism, generally addressed to the Isaurians. For this prejudice against the Isaurians, see Wood, “The Invention of History”. 25  This is documented by John of Antioch, fr. 237.6, ed. Mariev = 214.6, ed. Müller, and Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 112B, ed. Athanassiadi. 26  Damascius (Vita Isidori fr. 112B, ed. Athanassiadi) claims that “he could not even come near him (scil. Proclus) in wisdom” (τῆς δὲ οὐχ οἶός τε ἦν οὐδὲ ἅπτεσθαι τῆς σοφίας) and also that Pamprepius was λογιμώτατος and πολυμαθέστατος just in προπαιδεία, which means, according to Kaster, Guardians of Language p. 331, “all areas of the literary culture short of philosophy”. 27  φενακισθεὶς Ἴλλους μεμεριμνημένῃ στωμυλίᾳ, Vita Isidori fr. 77D, ed. Athanassiadi. See below n. 100. 28  Rhetorius, p. 221.4; cf. Delatte-Stroobant, “L’horoscope de Pamprepios”; Neugebauer/ Van Hoesen, “Greek Horoscopes” No. L 440, pp. 140–1 and 187–8; Pingree, “Political Horoscopes”.

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or one initiated, he became quaestor, then consul, then patrician.”29 Actually, the centrality of divinatory art in the life of Pamprepius is so well underlined by the sources that he might indeed have gained Illus’ favour thanks to his talent for divination. Pamprepius is defined ἀγύρτης (“vagabond”) and φιλομαντευτής (“one who takes note of divinations”) by Damascius,30 and he is known as “a magician”, rather than as a poet, by Christians (with the formula “the so-called magician”).31 The charge of magic must be referring to the field of divination, as it falls into the common Christian tendency to equate theurgists and magicians, by matching the anti-pagan polemic with the anti-magic one.32 More explicit evidence for the predominance of clairvoyance in his role as Illus’ counsellor is quoted by Malchus: when in 479 Flavius Marcian revolted trying in vain to dethrone Zeno33 and after that Illus lost heart, Pamprepius got Illus to act by declaring that providence was on their side; as the prediction was confirmed by the events, he was deemed—by “the wise men”34—as divinely inspired by an obscure foreknowledge: When, during the revolt of Marcian, Illus was at a loss, Pamprepius encouraged him by saying, ‘the decrees of Providence are on our side’, and this led those who heard him to suspect that he was divining this from some secret knowledge.35 29  κ αὶ λοιπὸν φυγὼν ἐν Βυζαντίῳ ἐκολλήθη ἀνδρὶ μεγάλῳ, ὑποκριθεὶς ἑαυτὸν ὡς γόητα ἤτοι τελεστὴν γέγονε κουέστωρ, εἶτα ὕπατος, εἶτα πατρίκιος (Rhetorius, pp. 221–4; transl. Neugebauer/van Hoesen, pp. 140–1). 30  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 88B–C, ed. Athanassiadi. 31  Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5976: πολέμου δὲ συρραγέντος σφοδροῦ, Ἴλλος τε καὶ Λεόντιος ἡττηθέντες εἰς τὸ Παπυρίου καστέλλιν ἔφυγον σὺν Παμπρεπίῳ μαγίστρῳ, γόητι λεγομένῳ εἶναι (“a violent battle took place in which Illos and Leontios were defeated and fled to the fortress of Papyrios, along with the magister Pamprepius, who was said to be a magician”, trans. Mango/ Scott) and Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5976: ἀπατώμενοι ὑπὸ Παμπρεπίου μαγίστρου τοῦ γόητος (“deceived by the magister Pamprepios, the magician”, trans. Mango/Scott). See also Zacharias Rhetor, Vita Isaiae, p. 7 (henceforth all emphasized phrases are mine). 32  For this equivalence see Augustine, De civitate Dei X 9.1 (PL 41, p. 286). For other examples cf. Bologna, “Natura, miracolo, magia”, p. 265, in particular note 38. 33  By attempting to dethrone Zeno, Marcian wanted to claim his imperial lineage, as he was son-in-law of the empress Verina, since he had married her daughter Leontia (see Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica III 26 and PLRE 2, Marcianus 17, pp. 717–8). 34  οὕτω μὲν οἱ σώφρονες περὶ αὐτοῦ εἴκαζον (Malchus, fr. 20.36, ed. Cresci). 35  καὶ ὅτε ἐγένετο ἡ Μαρκιανοῦ σύστασις, ἀποροῦντα τὸν Ἴλλουν αὐτὸς ἐπεθάρσυνε, καὶ τοσοῦτόν γε εἰπών ὅτι τὰ τῆς προνοίας μεθ’ ἡμῶν ἐστι τεταγμένα, παρέσχεν ὑποψίαν τοῖς τότε ὑπακούσασιν ὡς ἔκ τινος ἀδήλου ταῦτα θειάζοι προγνώσεως (Malchus, fr. 20.28–32, ed. Cresci = 23.24–27, ed. Blockley, trans. Blockley).

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Malchus adds that Illus used to consult with him “in the same way” first, both on the big things and on the smallest ones: When a thing turned out as it did, they compared his words with the outcome and they considered, after the manner of the common herd, that he was the sole cause of what seemed to have happened contrary to their expectations. (…) If there was some other explanation, I have no strong grounds for or against. But Illus likewise consulted with him first on matters great and small.36 This habit our source talks about is not surprising if we think that he was exiled the year before, because he delivered prophecies to Illus against the emperor.37 So, when divination was the pillar of this collaboration, one might wonder to what extent and for what purpose Pamprepius used it. His prophecies seem to have had a very strong impact on the personal political activity of Illus, as well as on the political and religious events of the entire empire. Pamprepius’ role was closely connected with Illus’ political ambitions which were constantly encouraged by his predictions and thus his fortunes were bound up with those of Illus. As we know, the Isaurian general had been interested in personal power— rather than in the emperor’s—since the moment of his accession, as his constant turnabouts against or in favour of Zeno prove.38 Despite this, Illus kept his position alongside the emperor for a long time, thanks to the profound leverage he exerted over him.39 But when Zeno appointed him Master of Soldiers in 36  κ αὶ ἐκβάντος, ὥσπερ δὴ καὶ ἐξέβη, τοῦ τέλους, πρὸς τὴν τύχην τὸν λόγον ἐκείνου συμβάλλοντες, αὐτὸν πάντων αἴτιον, οἷα φιλεῖ ὅμιλος, μόνον ὑπελάμβανον τῶν παραδόξως αὐτοῖς ἀποβαίνειν δοκούντων. (…) εἰ δέ τι καὶ ἄλλο ἦν, οὔτε ἰσχυρῶς ἀνελεῖν οὔτε πείθεσθαι ἔχω· ἀλλ’ ὁμοίως καὶ μέγα καὶ ἐλάχιστον αὐτῷ πρώτῳ ἀνεκοινοῦτο (Malchus, fr. 20.32–39, ed. Cresci). For the English translation see the edition of Blockley (Malchus, fr. 23.27–30). Blockley does not include the last two phrases of Cresci’s edition, which are usually considered to be ge­ nuine, nor does he include the earlier part of Suda Π 137 (= Malchus fr. 23); he assigns these phrases to an anonymous author (Anonymus VII 1–3); see Blockley p. 461 n. 63 and p. 482 n. 9. 37  καὶ ἀπελθόντος δὲ αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τὴν Ἰσαυρίαν, οἱ βασκαίνοντες αὐτῷ συνθέντες διαβολὴν τήν τε ἐκ τῆς θρησκείας καὶ ὅτι μαγγανεύοι καὶ μαντεύοιτο τῷ Ἴλλου κατὰ τοῦ βασιλέως, πείθουσι τὸν Ζήνωνα καὶ τὴν Βηρίναν τότε μέγιστα δυναμένην τῆς πόλεως ἐκπέμψαι, Malchus, fr. 20.17–20, ed. Cresci = 23.14–17 ed. Blockley (“when Illus went off to Isauria, Pamprepius’ disparagers contrived the charge against him both that he was a pagan and that he was practising witchcraft and prophecy against the Emperor on behalf of Illus’ party, and they persuaded Zeno and Verina, who was then at the height of her power, to expel him from the city” trans. Blockley). See above n. 17. 38  See above n. 22. 39  This influence also depended on the fact that Illus had held Longinus, Zeno’s brother, hostage since the time of the revolt of Basiliscus (John of Antioch, fr. 237.1, ed. Mariev =

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the East in 481,40 Illus proceeded to Antioch,41 where his quest for power culminated in a revolt against the emperor, with the aim of overthrowing him.42 Pamprepius was one of the main adherents of this rebellion,43 for which he used both his political and divinatory arts. First, he attempted to find anti-Zenonian alliances with Persians,44 and then he also tried to win the support of the Egyptians during a diplomatic mission to his native land, between 482 and 483.45 In particular, he took advantage of the religious struggle for the patriarchal throne in Alexandria between the supporters of the miaphysite Peter Mongus, protected by Zeno, and those of the Chalcedonian John Talaia, backed by Illus, in order to bring about a strange and “unnatural rapprochement”—as Livrea defined it46—between the dyophysite groups and the pagan intellectuals47 (both of them against Zeno and in favour of Illus).48 From two 214, ed. Müller; Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5975; Anonymi Historia Imperatorum II 4540–4542). 40  John Malalas, Chronographia XV 13; Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica, III 27; Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5972; Joshua the Stylite, Chronica 12. For the date of this appointment see Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire II, p. 19 n. 1. 41  Antioch was the capital of the anti-Zenonian forces, thanks to the support of the bishop Kalandion. 42  Illus and Zeno broke off their relationship when Illus refused to turn the hostage Longinus to his brother Zeno. The emperor stripped Illus of his belongings and replaced him with John the Scythian (John of Antioch, fr. 237.1, ed. Mariev = 214.1, ed. Müller). 43  The other main followers of this rebellion were Marsus, an Isaurian officer, and the patrician Leontius. See Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77B and 115A, ed. Athanassiadi; Joshua the Stylite, Chronica 15; Zacharias Rhetor, Vita Severi, p. 40; Idem, Historia ecclesiastica, V 6 and VI 6; Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica III 16.27; Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5972 and 5976. 44  Joshua the Stylite, Chronica 15. This military action was complementary to that of Illus, who asked for help from Odoacer and Armenians (cf. John of Antioch, fr. 237.2, ed. Mariev = 214.2, ed. Müller; Procopius of Caesarea, De aedificiis III 1.25). 45  Rhetorius, p. 222.13 and Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 112A, ed. Athanassiadi placed his arrival in Egypt in the spring of 482. 46  Livrea, “The Last Pagan at the Court of Zeno”, p. 12 (see also note 36, where Livrea quotes the different opinions of some scholars who believe that Pamprepius’ mission was simply a power-struggle without any religious pretexts). For a general overview of the intellectual tension between Neoplatonism and Christianity, see Momigliano, The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity; Blumenthal/Markus, Neoplatonism and Early Christian Thought; O’Meara, Neoplatonism and Christian Thought; Perrot, Les Chrétiens et l’Hellenisme. 47  Such alliances were likely to be exploited in the internal Christian polemics. The self-proclaimed “orthodox” would not hesitate to assimilate the opposing party that approached non-Christian agents to the latter (see the paper of Schulz contained in this volume). 48  According to Alan Cameron, Wandering Poets, p. 156, the only religious factor involved in this revolt was opposition to Zeno’s compromise Henotikon, with which the emperor tried to reconcile the differences between Chalcedonians and miaphysites.

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passages of Zacharias Rhetor’s works, we can deduce which techniques of persuasion Pamprepius used. We read that the defeat of Zeno was announced by many oracles and promises which instilled the hope that Christianity would disappear and that pagan shrines would be re-opened. In the first piece of evidence it seems clear that, according to Zacharias, the author of this deceptus was Pamprepius “the magician”: At the time of Illus and Pamprepius’s rebellion, undertaken by them against the emperor Zeno, who ended his life piously, we came to Illus, disquieted as we were by him, who was said to have been deceived by Pamprepius the magician and to have turned towards paganism (they hoped that if those men had won the war against Zeno, they would have opened the temples of demons to pagans).49 In the second one, we also learn that Paralius of Aphrodisias in Caria, a student already converted to Christianity, tried to change the faith of his two pagan brothers, Democares and Proclus, by reminding them of the inefficacy of the oracles in attaining the goals of Illus, Leontius and Pamprepius’ revolt: Remember how many sacrifices we offered when we were pagans in Caria, to the gods of the pagans, when we put in questions to those supposed gods, and we cut open livers and inspected them by magic, to learn if we—Leontius, Illus, Pamprepius and those who rebelled with them— would overcome the emperor Zeno, of pious end. We received a myriad of oracles at the same time with signs that the emperor Zeno would not be able to meet their attack, but that the time had come when Christianity would be destroyed and pass away, and when pagan worship was going to reco­ ver. However, the outcome of their consultation of these oracles showed they were false, like those given by Apollo to Croesus the Lydian and to Pyrrhus the Epirote.50 49  T  empore defectionis Illi et Pamprepii, quae ab eis contra Zenonem regem qui religiose vitam finivit facta est, propter hunc ipsum Illum conturbati, qui a Pamprepio mago deceptus esse et ad paganismum declinasse dicebatur (et expectabant homines eos, si bello contra Zenonem gesto victores fierent, templa demonum paganis aperturos), ad eum venimus (Zacharias Rhetor, Vita Isaiae p. 7). 50  Zacharias Rhetor, Vita Severi, p. 40; trans. Brock/Fitzgerald. The Life of Severus was originally written in Greek, but it is survived only in a Syriac translation; therefore, I propose here just the English translation. About the σύγκρισις with Croesus and Pyrrhus, as an example of the presumption and arrogance, see Ammianus, Res gestae XXIII 5.9 (see Chuvin, Chronique, p. 103).

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Despite Pamprepius’ divinatory support and his great political intelligence,51 the Egyptian mission of Pamprepius failed when Peter Mongus seized the patriarchal throne. So, one can fully understand the reasons why Pamprepius lost the trust of the pagan community, who had been encouraged to think that the dethronement of Zeno would lead to the restoration of paganism, as Damascius also claimed.52 The consequences of his failure in Egypt were catastrophic: pagans became targets of violent miaphysite persecutions and arrests,53 as in the case of Heraiskus and his nephew Horapollon,54 and some of them were forced into exile.55 This explains the hostility of pagans to Pamprepius,56 whom they considered as ambiguous57 and even unworthy to be called a man.58 Thus, since the rebels lost the support of Egypt as well as of his learned Pagans in fighting Zeno, direct military intervention was necessary. Pamprepius caught up with his colleagues in Antioch, where they finally decided to take military action: in 484, Illus made the dowager Empress Verina (Zeno’s mother-in-law)— held by him as prisoner59—proclaim the patrician Leontius as emperor.60 According to Damascius, the military tactics adopted by the rebels depended on Pamprepius’ prophecies: ἀλλ ἴσως καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἐκράτουν οἱ Παμπρεπίου χρησμοὶ βλακεύοντες ἀεὶ καὶ ἀναβάλλοντες εἰς χρόνους τὸν πόλεμον (“but perhaps here, too, the prophecies of Pamprepius prevailed, counselling inaction and constantly putting off the war to a future date”).61 Once again Pamprepius’ divinatory art 51  ἦν γὰρ πολιτικῆς συνέσεως ἔμπλεως (Malchus, fr. 20.25–26, ed. Cresci). 52  “The majority were raised up by their hopes for a restoration of the good old way of life” (οἱ δὲ πλεῖστοι ὠρθοῦντο πρὸς τὰ ἀρχαῖα ταῖς ἐλπίσιν, Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113C, ed. and trans. Athanassiadi). 53   For the repressive actions against pagans, led by the imperial envoy Nicomedes, see Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 117B–C, 126C, ed. Athanassiadi. See also Athanassiadi, Damascius. The Philosophical History, pp. 25–7; Athanassiadi, “Persecution”; Feld, “Pamprepius”, p. 267. 54  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 117B–C, ed. Athanassiadi. 55  According to Harl, “Sacrifice”, p. 22, the major instance of forced conversion occurred after Pamprepius’ attempt to rally pagan support for their rebellion. 56  See also Cameron, Wandering Poets, p. 157. 57  For this negative assessment of Pamprepius by the pagan intelligentsia, see notes 72–75. 58  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 66A, ed. Athanassiadi: τίς δέ, ἔφη, οὐκ οἶδεν, ὡς οὔτ’ ἐγὼ πώποτε θεὸς ἐγενόμην οὔτε σὺ ἄνθρωπος (“everyone knows that I (scil. Sallustius) have not yet become a god, nor you (scil. Pamprepius) a man”, trans. Athanassiadi). 59  Verina was delivered by Zeno as prisoner to Illus, when the latter discovered she was behind an assassination attempt on him (John of Antioch, fr. 234, ed. Mariev = 211, ed. Müller; John Malalas, Chronographia XV 12; Evagrius, Historia ecclesiastica III 27; Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5972). 60  Leontius was initially sent by Zeno against Illus who, instead, managed to persuade the patricius Leontius to come over to their part (Joshua the Stylite, Chronica 14). 61  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113L (transl. Athanassiadi).

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supported Illus’ ambitious project and, as in the case of Marcian’s revolt, here too his predictions were decisive. From Damascius’ words it can be concluded that military intervention was delayed for a while by Pamprepius, but it is not clear to what ends he did it. Further evidence of this can be found in a little-known source. From the Egyptian astrologer Palchus (5th century AD), we learn that the coronation of Leontius was encouraged by a catarchic horoscope drawn up in 484 by two astrologers,62 who astrologically determined the favourable moment to crown him: He was crowned at a time elected by two astrologers, and at once lost both his kingdom and his luck.63 If we consider that it was highly likely—as John Bagnell Bury claimed64—that one of them was Pamprepius, we can understand what Damascius is referring to when he said that Pamprepius’ prophecies put the war off to a future: most likely to a propitious moment for the stars. Secondly, we might probably suppose that it was not a coincidence that in the same year Pamprepius was appointed ma­ gister officiorum by Leontius.65 Therefore, not only did divination endorse Illus’ personal plan, but it also ensured Pamprepius his political achievement, providing him power and honours: firstly, the three above-mentioned appointments (quaestorship, consulship, and patriciate) he gained in 479 were the prize for his introduction alongside Illus; secondly, he became his first counsellor by predicting the results of Marcian’s revolt; and finally he gained the important office of Master of Soldiers by raising positive expectations in Leontius’ success. Unfortunately, on the occasion of Illus’ revolt Pamprepius’ prognostication proved to be wrong and his power fell with him:66 the rebels were defeated by the army of Zeno, headed by John the Scythian who drove and blockaded them in the fortress of Papyrios for four years. Despite this, they remained faithful to 62  See Neugebauer/van Hoesen, “Greek Horoscopes”, No. L 484, pp. 147–8 = Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum 1, p. 107,1–2 and Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum 6, p. 66,16–67,7; see also Cumont, “L’astrologue Palchos”, pp. 1–12. Catarchic astrology determines whether or not a chosen moment is astrologically conducive to the success of a course of action begun in it. 63  οὗτος ἀπὸ δύο μαθηματικῶν λαβών καταρχὴν ἐστέφθη καὶ εὐθέως ἐξέπεσε τῆς βασιλείας καὶ τῆς τύχης. (Cod. Angel. 29, fol. 129r = Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum 1, p. 107,1– 2). See also Pingree, “Political Horoscopes”, p. 140. 64  Bury, History of the Later Roman Empire, pp. 397–8. 65  John Malalas, Excerpta de insidiis fr. 35, ed. De Boor, p. 166; Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5976. This important office, created under the reign of Constantine I, comprised civilian and military tasks: the magister officiorum, like a minister of the Interior, coordinated the links between the palace and the provinces; like a minister for foreign affairs, he was an intermediary between the empire and the foreign sovereigns (see Delmaire, Les Institutions, pp. 75–95). We can assume that knowledge of the future could be of great help in particular to making the right strategic decisions about foreign policy. 66  Having analysed the horoscope, Palchus explains two astrologers had failed because they overlooked some data (see Beck, A Brief History, pp. 95–7).

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Pamprepius even under siege, until, at some point, Pamprepius was suspected of betrayal and he was beheaded by his fellows, who threw him from the fortress’ walls.67 The reasons for this murder are not clear. According to various sources, Illus and his fellows started to be suspicious of Pamprepius’ loyalty to them when Illus’ brother, Trokundos, departed to make a levy among barbarians and never returned.68 But when they learned of Trokundos’ death, they killed Pamprepius “as a traitor”, believing they were deceived.69 We also know from Theophanes that Trokundos died at the hands of John the Scythian. Therefore, if Pamprepius was not Trokundos’ murderer, what did the betrayal consist of precisely? Alan Cameron believes that Pamprepius had played a double game, “trying to save his own skin”,70 but I share other scholars’ doubts about any possible attempt by Pamprepius to reconcile himself with Zeno.71 Actually, we know from Damascius that Pamprepius gave the Alexandrian philosopher Isidore the impression of being unfair to Illus, even at the time of his mission in Egypt;72 but not just towards Illus. On that occasion, “his attitude towards some of the members of the philosophical circle was devious, not at all sound”;73 he was also considered by them to be unreliable and he was soon ignored.74 Furthermore, “he already looked like a potential

67  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 115C, ed. Athanassiadi. 68  John Malalas, Chronographia XV 14 and Rhetorius, pp. 221, 223–4 talk explicitly about treason. Joshua the Stylite, Chronica 11 attributes Pamprepius’ death to the fact that Trokundos had failed to return. 69  τοῦτον δὲ Ἴλλος καὶ Λεόντιος ἐπὶ τέσσαρα ἔτη φρουρούμενοι ἀνέμενον ἀπατώμενοι ὑπὸ Παμπρεπίου μαγίστρου τοῦ γόητος. ὅθεν τὴν τούτου ἀναίρεσιν μαθόντες Παμπρέπιον ὡς ἀπατεῶνα ἀποτεμόντες τοῦ τείχους κατεκρήμνισαν (Theophanes, Chronographia AM 5976). Rhetorius, p. 221: καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα ὡς προδότης ἐν κάστρῳ ἐσφάγη ἐτῶν μδʹ ἕκτον (cf. also Rhetorius, p. 223: ριεʹ, Περὶ τοῦ εἶναι αὐτὸν προδότην); John Malalas, Chronographia XV 14: Παμπρέπιος δέ τις ὡς προδότης μετ’αὐτῶν ὢν ἐσφάγη ἄνω καὶ ἐρρίφη τὸ λείψανον αὐτοῦ εἰς τὰ ὄρη. A problem about the date of Pamprepius’ death arises: if we accept the date proposed by Rhetorius’ horoscope (and accepted by Livrea, “The Last Pagan at the Court of Zeno”, p. 2), that is November 484, we cannot explain how Pamprepius would have been killed four years after the start of the revolt (which occurred in 484), as Theophanes claims. 70  Cameron A., Wandering Poets, p. 27; see also Nagy, Greek Literature, p. 42. 71  Livrea, “The Last Pagan at the Court of Zeno”, p. 15 and Feld, “Pamprepius”, pp. 267–8. 72  ὁ δὲ Παμπρέπιος κατὰ τὴν Αἴγυπτον παραγεγονὼς Ἰσιδώρῳ παρέσχεν ἐκ τῶν λόγων αἴσθησιν ὡς οὐχ ὑγιαίνοι πρὸς Ἴλλουν (“arriving in Egypt, Pamprepius gave Isidore the impression through his words that his attitude to Illus was unsound”, Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113O, trans. Athanassiadi). 73  ὁ δὲ πρός τινας τῶν γνωρίμων ὑπούλως τε καὶ οὐχ ὑγιῶς ἔσχεν (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113J, ed. Athanassiadi). 74  ὁ δὲ Παμπρέπιος τούτοις ἀμφίβολος ὀφθείς, βραχὺ παρεωρᾶτο (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113K, ed. Athanassiadi).

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traitor who was carefully watching the turn of events in the Roman Empire”.75 So, his unreliability was a constant and it cannot be explained by a rescue attempt, because even during the time of his stay in Alexandria his safety was not being called into question. Probably, Isidore as well as the entire circle of Alexandrian philosophers-theurgists realized, thanks to their great divinatory wisdom, that Pamprepius’ divinatory skills were “contrived” in order to keep his position alongside Illus. That would explain the sharp criticism of Damascius, who glorifies in his work the pattern of moral perfection embodied by his divine teacher Isidore, by condemning all the examples of negative virtue.76 In this perspective, Pamprepius’ greed for power jarred the ethical dimension of the ideal sage proposed by the Damascene author, who in fact described the Egyptian poet as the embodiment of the Typhonian life, in contrast to Sarapio, Zeus-like philosopher and example of Cronian life.77 Pamprepius was one of the men responsible for the moral decline of the Alexandrian pagan intellectuals, denounced by Damascius. I therefore think that the end of Pamprepius can be related to his careerism rather than to an alleged plot with Zeno to rescue himself from the siege. His ambitious and dishonest nature was already evident before his transfer to Constantinople in 476: Pamprepius was surely among the deceitful flatterers— as Damascius defined them78—around the Athenian patrician Theagenes, since the latter charged the pagan poet with a knavery greater than one befitting a teacher.79 And this is all the more likely since, according to Damascius, Theagenes was a man who “spurned and spat upon (…) those who appeared 75  ἀ λλ’ ἤδη προδωσείοντι ἔοικε, καὶ μέντοι καὶ περιορωμένῳ τὴν Ῥωμαίων βασιλείαν (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113P). 76  That was the goal of his Vita Isidori, as is well demonstrated by O’Meara’s “Patterns of Perfection”. 77  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 111–112A, ed. Athanassiadi. See below n. 107. By commenting with sarcasm the end of Illus and his allies, Damascius says: “the outcome of the business would provide true mirth even for those who are not at all inclined to laughter” (Vita Isidori fr. 115B, ed. and trans. Athanassiadi). 78   κόλακας ἀπατηλοὺς (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 100A). 79  ὑβρισθεὶς ὑπ’ ἐκείνου καὶ μείζονος ἢ ἐχρῆν διδάσκαλον ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ πειραθεὶς σκευωρίας (Malchus, fr. 20.7–8, ed. Cresci). For this reason, Pamprepius was manhandled and he went to Byzantium (see Feld, “Pamprepius”, p. 262). About the difficult interpretation of the meaning of σκευωρία, see Livrea, “The Last Pagan at the Court of Zeno”, p. 7 n. 16. For the connection between Pamprepius and Theagenes, see Graindor, “Pamprépios”. For a detailed discussion about the patron Theagenes in the context of the Neoplatonic school of Athens, see Watts, City and the School, pp. 119–20. Another hypothesis in this respect can be read in Di Branco, La città dei filosofi, p. 161 n. 304, who connects Proclus’ exile from Athens—caused by πνεύματα τυφώνεια blowing against him (Marinus, Vita Procli 15)—with the departure of the τυφώνειος Pamprepius (see notes 77 and 107) from Athens: Pamprepius may have been the cause of political turmoil in Athens.

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powerful and were eager to distinguish themselves in government posts”.80 Moreover, Damascius claims that Pamprepius “bewitched his public no less— if not more—than Homer’s Odysseus did the Pheacians”,81 and his oracles are “always loose”,82 exceeding the limits of absolute rubbish like the babble of old women with which Socrates alludes to the Sophistic.83 One might conclude that, thanks to his prophecies, Pamprepius initially led his fellows to think they were going to defeat Zeno; then, he probably kept their hopes of rescue alive during the siege in Papyrios, by promising the return of Trokundos. His words must have been very important for them, because they promised the return of Trokundos, which would have meant the arrival of aid for the besieged. Despite the fragmentary nature of the evidence, which of course prevents us from assuming with certainty our reconstruction, one can acknowledge that the criticism of Pamprepius is directed at the unreliability of his words as well as at his clear (for those who met and described him) attempt to hide something or to simulate false skills from the very beginning of his introduction to the Constantinopolitan court. So, if Pamprepius boasted a deceitful philosophical wisdom, it is not far-fetched to imagine that he did the same with divinatory art, thus becoming the perfect target for Damascius’ polemic against the vanity of rhetoric.84 Our hypothesis might be confirmed by a passage taken from a much later work (11th century AD). Even though its posteriority and its vernacular style may make it a less authoritative source, the Anonymi Historia Imperatorum, deriving from the same source used by Maximus Planudes and Constantine Manasses,85 could report important information taken from a lost piece of evidence. The report of the anonymous author corresponds accurately to the 80  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 100A, ed. Athanassiadi. 81  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113A, ed. Athanassiadi. 82  βλακεύοντες ἀεὶ (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113L, ed. Athanassiadi). See n. 61 above. 83  Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113M, ed. Athanassiadi. 84  For Damascius’ attack against rhetoric, see Athanassiadi, “Damascius. The Philosophical History”, p. 39f. Some examples of this can be read in Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 48B, 137B, ed. Athanassiadi. 85  The work, considered by Praechter (“Eine vulgargriechische Paraphrase”, pp. 272–313) as a paraphrase of Constantine Manasses’ Chronicle, seems to derive instead from the same source used by Manasses. From that source probably also derive some of the Excerpta Planudea (Kugéas, “Analekta Planudea”, p. 135), the collection of excerpts on Roman history, written in Constantinople by the monk Maximus Planudes (13th century). It is very interesting to note that, in constituting his collection, Planudes gleaned the information from this source (Excerpta Planudea 1–2), as well as from John of Antioch (Excerpta Planudea 6–44; see also Roberto, Ioannis Antiocheni fragmenta, p. CV): in this way he gave the same authority to the source of Historia Imperatorum and to John of Antioch who, as we know, is the main source of the life of Pamprepius.

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account of the above-mentioned sources, with the only difference being that it explicitly explains the reasons of Pamprepius’ betrayal, by confirming what the other fragmentary evidence seems to implicitly suggest: Illus and Leontius shut themselves up in the castle of Papyrios, together with the magister Pamprepius, who was said to be a magician. Then, John captured Trokundos, Illus’ brother, who was going around to enlist Saracens coming to their aid, and he beheaded him. Illus and Leontius did not know how Trokundos was lost, and they remained for four years, waiting patiently for him. The Master and magician Pamprepius, indeed, misled them and told them that finally Trokundos would be back. But, when they learned of Trokundos’ death, they slew Pamprepius as an impostor and threw him from the tower of the castle.86 The story of Pamprepius is an example of the important role divination could play in Late Antiquity. Apart from its role in everyday matters, it was practiced in particular by philosophers and penetrated the life of intellectuals who tried to find the answers to their questions within the super-rational and wondrous sphere.87 The French scholar Pierre Chuvin refers to the second half of the 5th century as “les temps des devins”, when divination was an influential means to gain power: “[la divination] aide à conquérir et à garder le pouvoir; c’est une science du gouvernement”.88 Rulers held different ideas about divinatory art: some emperors considered this mysterious science as a political danger because it could reveal their destiny. This fear is nicely illustrated by the case of the philosopher Demetrius Cythras: during the trial of Scythopolis, which took place under Constantius II in 359, the philosopher was saved from death because he claimed to have made sacrifices only to propitiate the gods and not to know the future.89 At other times, as in the case of Pamprepius, divination was seen as an advantageous resource in winning the trust of the rulers. For example, the emperor of West Anthemius—officially a Christian, but trained 86  Ὁ  Ἴλλος καὶ ὁ Λεόντιος καὶ ἀπεκλείσθησαν εἰς τὸ παλάτιον τοῦ Παπουρίου μετὰ Παμπρεπίου μαγίστρου, ὃν καὶ ἔλεγον μάγον εἶναι. Τότε καὶ Τροκόνδον, τὸν ἀδελφὸν τοῦ Ἴλλου, διαβαίνοντα διὰ νὰ συνάξει Σαρακηνοὺς εἰς βοήθειαν τοὺς ἐπίασεν αὐτὸν ὁ Ἰωάννης καὶ ἀπεκεφάλισεν τόν. Ὁ δὲ Ἴλλος καὶ ὁ Λεόντιος οὐκ ἐμάθασιν τὸ πῶς ἐχάθη ὁ Τροκόνδος καὶ ἐκάθεντο χρόνους δʹ (τέσσαρα) καὶ ἐκαρτεροῦσαν τόν. Ἐπλάνει γὰρ αὐτοὺς μάγιστρος ὁ Παμπρέπιος ὁ καὶ μάγος καὶ ἔλεγεν τοὺς ὅτι ἔρχεται ὕστερον. Ὡς δὲ ἐμάθασιν τὸν θάνατον τοῦ Τροκόνδου, ἔσφαξαν καὶ τὸν Παμπρέπιον ὡς πλάνον καὶ ἔρριψαν τὸν ἀπὸ τὸν πύργον τοῦ κάστρου ἔξω (Anonymi Historia Imperatorum II 4554–4566). 87  See n. 8 above. 88  See Chuvin, Chronique, pp. 123–5. 89  Ammianus, Res gestae XIX 12.12.

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at the school of Neoplatonist Proclus (together with Pamprepius)—stayed connected to his fellow student Messius Phoebus Severus, who was an expert in divinatory practices: he bestowed upon him the honour of the consulate, the rank of a patricius and the office of the praefectus urbi. As Pamprepius, Severus boasted special interpretative powers and he witnessed various prodigious visions.90 Because of his proximity to the “devotee of the idols” Severus, Photius even considered Anthemius a pagan with a secret plan to restore “the abomination of idolatry”.91 The relevance of divinatory skills in building a political career as well as a relationship of trust with rulers was such that it could turn into a cause of death, in case predictions proved to be ineffective. Like Pamprepius, the Neoplatonic philosopher Maximus of Ephesus won the favour of the emperor Julian, thanks to his theurgical abilities.92 But, unable to give up his political ambitions, he was deaf to the divine bad omens which dissuaded Julian’s Persian campaign in 363;93 he tried to force the course of events and he led his party to the debacle, thereby also disappointing their hopes for the restoration of paganism. So, after Julian’s fatal campaign, Maximus was the only one sentenced by Valentinian and Valens to pay a very large sum of money and was sent by them to Asia where he was tortured.94 Then, after being rescued by the proconsul of Asia Clearchus, he returned to Constantinople, where he was not well-liked and he fell victim of a court intrigue: he was consulted as an interpreter of an obscure oracle which prophesied Valens’ death and his failure to attain burial and was thus involved in Theodorus’ affair against the emperor Valens (371/72), which cost him his life.95 One last example is offered by the end of the Roman general Marcellinus. He was a fellow disciple of Pamprepius, Severus, and Anthemius under Proclus in Athens as well as a devout pagan and an expert in divination. He held the post of magister militum Dalmatiae until 468, when he was appointed patricius by the emperor Anthemius. In the same year, he was given command of the forces of the western empire in the campaign against the 90  For example, he saw his horse emitting many huge sparks from its body as an omen of his consulate in Rome: Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 7 and 51. 91   Photius compares Anthemius’ relation with Severus to the one that tied Illus to Pamprepius: Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77A. 92  Eunapius, Vitae sophistarum VII 20–27. 93  Eunapius, Vitae sophistarum VII 37–40. 94  On the contrary, the philosopher Priscus, who took part in Julian’s expedition in the same way as Maximus, was recognized as “a good man” and he was allowed to return to Greece (Eunapius, Vitae sophistarum VII 55). 95  Eunapius, Vitae sophistarum VII 72–77; Ammianus, Res gestae XXIX 1; Socrates Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica III 1.16; Zosimus, Historia nova IV 15.

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Vandals in Sicily, but during this military action he was murdered by his allies.96 Actually, we know that Marcellinus supported the plan for pagan restoration wanted by the graecus imperator Anthemius, together with his praefectus urbi Severus and the cynic Salustius.97 So, we can assume that, like Pamprepius, Marcellinus deceived his fellow, most likely because of his wrong prophecy: his faith in divine matters, as Damascius claims, had inspired sure hopes in them.98 Therefore, we can understand that Pamprepius’ sentence of death was not an isolated case. When the hopes instilled both in the power-hungry general and the pagan intelligentsia proved to be false, Illus and the other rebels realized that Pamprepius was their downfall. Indeed, he was the one to whom Joshua the Stylite attributed their failure: “But there was in their following a certain rascally conjuror, by name Pamprepius, who confounded and upset all their plans by his perfidy.”99 Pamprepius did not deceive his fellows only in the epilogue of their revolt, but he had a premeditated plan from the very beginning: with his “well studied prattle”—Damascius says—he deceived Illus on their first meeting, by ushering in the beginnings of his prosperity and, simultaneously, of many misfortunes for the state: After spending a long time in Greece because of his marriage, he was brought to Illus by Marsus and he delivered an elegantly composed speech on the soul which had been written some time before and, since Plato’s words, the ignorant appears more plausible than the knowledgeable to the ignorant, Illus was deceived by his well-studied prattle and pronounced him the most learned of all the teachers in Constantinople. So, giving him substantial public support, he bade him educate those who frequented the schools as he thought fit. Such were the beginnings of his prosperity, which was the cause of many misfortunes for the state.100

96  See PLRE 2, Marcellinus 6, pp. 708–10 and Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 69A–D. 97  Cf. Athanassiadi, “Persecution”, p. 18 for the sources. 98  τοσοῦτον αὐτοῖς ἐνεποίει τῆς βεβαίας ἐλπίδος ἡ τοῦ Μαρκελλίνου περὶ τὰ θεῖα πιστότης (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 69E). 99  Joshua the Stylite, Chronica 15. See also Candidus of Isauria, who says that because of the friendship with Pamprepius, Illus’ affairs gradually deteriorated (ὡς Παμπρεπίῳ τῷ δυσσεβεῖ διὰ Μάρσου Ἴλλους φιλωθεὶς ἅπαντα κατὰ μικρὸν συνέχει τὰ ἀυτοῦ, fr. 1.94–6, ed. Blockley). For Candidus’ and Malchus’ different opinion of Pamprepius, see Baldwin, “Malchus”, p. 102. 100  ἀχθεὶς οὖν παρὰ Μάρσου πρὸς Ἴλλουν καὶ διελθὼν λόγον περὶ ψυχῆς ἐκ χρόνου κομψῶς πεφροντισμένον, ἐπεὶ ὁ οὐκ εἰδὼς τοῦ εἰδότος ἐν οὐκ εἰδόσι, ὡς εἶπε Πλάτων (Gorg. 459 D 6), πιθανώτερος ὑπάρχει, φενακισθεὶς Ἴλλους μεμεριμνημένῃ στωμυλίᾳ, λογιώτερον αὐτὸν πάντων ἔκρινε τῶν παιδευτῶν τοῦ Βυζαντίου. διὸ καὶ πολλὴν δοὺς αὐτῷ ἐκ δημοσίων παραμυθίαν, τοὺς φοιτῶντας ἐς μουσεῖα κατ’ ἐκλογὴν ἐκέλευσε παιδεύειν. ἡ μὲν οὖν εὐδαιμονία τούτου τοιαύτην ἀφρορμὴν λαβοῦσα πολλῶν αἰτία ἀτυχημάτων γέγονε τῇ πολιτείᾳ. (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77D, ed. Athanassiadi).

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Conclusion Pamprepius took advantage of the encounter with the powerful Illus, and he did it with naked greed rather than with the wisdom and the nobility appropriate for a pupil of Proclus. Faced with the prospect of a new fortune, he became contemptible.101 From that moment on, displaying his (false) divinatory competence, the pagan Pamprepius became the closest collaborator of Illus, a staunch Christian dyophysite, who was accused of deviating from his faith due to their proximity.102 By means of his oracles, Pamprepius attempted to aggregate the pagan Alexandrian intellectuals with the Christian dyophysites in order to overthrow the emperor: he promised the former to restore paganism and the latter to obstruct the edict Henotikon, with which Zeno had made important concessions to the miaphysites. Thus, on the one hand, his false ability provoked the rebels’ defeat; on the other hand, it induced the miaphysite persecutions of Alexandrian intellectuals by raising competition among the pagans themselves. His allies killed him; the pagans, instead, firm believers in divination, attacked Pamprepius vehemently, in order to release this noble pagan art from the charge of false magic.103 In particular, the intransigent Damascius portrayed Pamprepius as the antitype of the theios philosophos: a man of dark complexion and repellent appearance,104 a Typhonian beast,105 an instrument of that Necessity which opposes the good,106 a Panic misfortune.107 Highlighting the absence

101  τ έως μὲν τοίνυν ἐτιμᾶτο πρὸς τῶν Ἀθηναίων, οἷα διδάσκαλος οὐκ ἀγεννής· μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἀρχὴ ἑτέρων πραγμάτων αὐτὸν διαδέχεται μεγίστων τε καὶ κακίστων, ἵνα μάθωμεν τὰς τῆς τύχης μεταβολὰς ἐλεγχούσας ἑκάστοτε τῶν ψυχῶν τὰς παντοίας προαιρέσεις οὐδὲ μιᾶς ἧττον μέθης συμποτικῆς (“and until recently he was honoured by the Athenians as a teacher who was far from contemptible. But after this came other things both splendid and pernicious, from which we may learn how the changes of fortune expose the various inclinations of the soul no less than a state of drunkenness at a party” Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 112B, ed. Athanassiadi). 102  See (as above, n. 49) Zacharias Rhetor, Vita Isaiae, p. 7. On Illus’ dubious conversion to paganism, see Vallejo-Girvés, “Empress Verina”, pp. 52–4. 103  In this respect, Polymnia Athanassiadi, Philosophical History, p. 26 claims: “Deviation from the norm—indeed heresy—is a greater danger to the pagan community than any attack from the outside”. 104  ἦν δὲ οὗτος μέλας τὴν χροιάν, εἰδεχθὴς τὰς ὄψεις (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 77D, ed. Athanassiadi). 105  ὁ δὲ Τυφώνειος, καὶ Τυφῶνος ἔτι πολυπλοκώτερον θηρίον καὶ μᾶλλον ἐπιτεθυμμένον (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 112A, ed. Athanassiadi). 106  ὄργανον ὁ Παμπρέπιος ἐπιτήδειον τῆς πρὸς τὸ κάλλιον ἀντιπνεούσης ἀνάγκης ἦν (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 113D, ed. Athanassiadi). 107  ὁ δὲ φιλοσοφῶν ἀνεμποδίστως εἰς ἐπίδοσιν διετέλει καὶ ἐπεδίδου κατὰ πῆχυν, ὡς φάναι ἀτεχνῶς, ἄχρι τοῦ πανικοῦ δυστυχήματος (Damascius, Vita Isidori fr. 110B, ed. Athanassiadi).

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of ethical virtues in Pamprepius, Damascius firmly rejects the possibility of an acquisition of theurgical ones (according to the gradual scale of Neoplatonic virtues) which would have allowed him the divinatory skills.108 Having dissociated himself from his fellow pagans who deemed his influence illegitimate, Pamprepius could still resort to his supposed divinatory skills. It was only when his political patrons implicitly acknowledged the criticism of the pagan professionals that they killed him, as his prophecies failed to come to pass. Pamprepius’ influence, which, seen through Raven’s model, was based on expertise, lasted as long as his patrons believed he was the expert he pretended to be.109 Raven’s model also predicts that expertise can be dismantled as a power base when information is presented that calls the expert’s knowledge into question.110 Consequently, as soon as his expertise was no longer accepted, Pamprepius lost not only his political influence but also his life. In conclusion, the fate of the court officials, of the intellectuals’ circle, and of the entire empire depended on Pamprepius’ divinatory utterances: when his prophecies were unmasked, the usurpation attempt and the hope of a triumph of paganism ended. The story of Pamprepius points to the great role and the profound influence divination had at the court of Zeno: for the poet from Panopolis, divination was a tool for acquiring political power, an opportunity for achieving compromises and collaborations between different parties, and, last but not least, a cause of competition and death.111

108  In the same way we can see Palchus’ attempt to explain—post eventum—the astrological mistakes which implicated the false prognostication (if we believe one of the two astrologers was Pamprepius): in so doing, he would have defended the world of astrologers, with the aim of restoring their consideration, which had been weakened by events such as Pamprepius’ death. 109  For the importance of preparations needed to act as an expert, see Raven “Power/ Interaction and Interpersonal Influence”, pp. 223–4. 110  Raven, “Social Influence and Power”, p. 374. 111  For the importance of the prophecies for the acquisition of power in the Roman Empire, see Potter, Prophets and Emperors, in particular pp. 158–70, where the author provides several examples of the increasing political significance astrologers acquired at court. Of particular interest is the case of Thrasyllus, chosen by Tiberius as personal guide to the stars: during his search for a suitable person, Tiberius threw those suspected of fraud from a cliff; but when he experienced Thrasyllus’ accurate prognostication, the emperor kept him by his side throughout his life (see Tacitus, Annales VI 20.2–21; Suetonius, Tiberius XIV 4).

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Index of Personal Names This index is an alphabetic list of ancient and modern names that appear in the running text. The most common English spelling is used. Abraham 137 Adam 146 Aequitius 79 Aetius 73–74, 93–97 Ahab 138, 144 Ambrose of Milan 117, 138, 184, 210 Ammianus Marcellinus 17–18, 25, 28, 32, 44, 51, 59, 73–75, 78, 80–81, 83–91, 96, 173, 176–177, 186 Anthemius 232–234 Antipater 207 Arbitio  18, 87, 89–90 Arbogast 92 Arcadius 19, 50, 176, 182–183, 185–186 Aristolaus 155 Artabas 155 Asmus, Rudolf 219 Aspar 54 Athanasius of Alexandria 138, 193, 195–202, 205–213 Augustine of Hippo 25 Augustus 173, 177–178 Ausonius 55, 74

Claudian 176, 185, 187 Claudius I 179, 188 Clearchus 233 Constantine 44, 46–47, 51, 78, 84, 194–195, 210 Constantine Manasses 231 Constantius I Chlorus 24 Constantius II 17–18, 23, 27–28, 51–52, 55, 80, 87–88, 92, 176, 186, 195–197, 199, 206, 210, 213, 232 Corippus 58 Cyril of Alexandria 151–158, 162–163, 165, 167–168 Damascius 222–223, 227–231, 234–236 Demetrius Cythras 232 Demetrius I Poliorcetes 207 Dillon, John N. 51 Diocletian 44, 46, 56, 62–63, 184 Diodorus of Tarsus 127 Domitian 180 Droseria 155

Babylas 138, 142 Bang, Peter Fibinger 43, 45, 50 Barbatio 90 Bardio 206 Barnes, Timothy D. 143, 145 Basiliscus 221 Belisarius 64–66 Bernicianus 202 Bevan, George 143, 145 Boethius 74, 95 Bonifatius 93–94 Bourdieu, Pierre 64 Brown, Peter 164 Bury, John Bagnell 228

Elias, Norbert 3, 41–44, 66, 179 Elijah 138, 144–145 Epiphanius (archidiaconus and syncellus of Cyril) 154 Eudoxia 125–127, 139, 142–146 Eugenius 105, 109–110, 122 Eusebius (chamberlain under Constantius II) 27, 186, 206 Eusebius (of Caesarea) 24 Euthalius 28–29 Eutolmius Tatianus, Flavius 19 Eutropius 19, 182–184, 186–187 Eutyches 166 Euzoius 202 Eve 146

Cameron, Alan 229 Caner, Daniel 157 Chrysaphius 166–167 Chryseros 155–156 Chuvin, Pierre 232

Firmus 81 Flaig, Egon 45 Flavian 166–167 Flavianus see Nicomachus Flavianus Florentinus 109, 111–112

242 Florentius 79 Flower, Richard 199 Gainas 88 Gallienus 84 Gaudentius (Aetius’ son) 95–96 Gallus (Caesar) 90 Geiger, Theodor 29 George (bishop of Alexandria) 206, 208 Gerstinger, Hans 219 Gibbon, Edward 1, 52 Gillman, Florence M. 131 Gratian 79, 91, 186 Gregory of Nazianzus 160–161 Gwynn, David 199 Hadrian 207 Hariobaudes 79 Heitsch, Ernst 220 Heraclius (primicerius sacri cubiculi under Valentinian III) 74, 95 Herod Antipas (the Tetrarch) 125, 127, 129–134, 136–137, 142 Herodias 125–127, 131–136, 138, 142–146 Hölkeskamp, Karl-Joachim 40 Honorius 50, 91, 93, 109, 118, 176, 185 Illus 219, 221–230, 232, 234–235 Irenaeus (comes) 153–154, 157–158, 162, 165 Isaac (son of Abraham) 137 Isidore (Alexandrian philosopher) 229–230 Jesus 129–130 Jezebel 138, 144–146 John Chrysostom 125–148, 162, 210 John Talaia 225 John the Baptist 125, 127–134, 136–147 John the Lydian 47–48, 60–63 John the Scythian 228–229, 232 Jones, Arnold H.M. 46 Josephus, Flavius 131, 133 Joshua the Stylite 234 Jovian 193–198, 200–202, 206–214 Judas Iscariot 160 Julian 17–18, 23, 27–28, 79–80, 84, 183, 187, 194–195, 197, 202, 206, 209–213, 233 Justin II 59 Justina 138 Justinian I 48, 56, 63–64, 66 Just, Patricia 198

Index of Personal Names Karmann, Thomas 200 Kaster, Robert  221 Kelly, Christopher 82, 152, 158 Kelly, John N.D. 143 Laniogaisus 89 Leontius 221, 226–228 Libanius 187 Liebeschuetz, Wolf 76 Livrea, Enrico  219, 225 Lucius (bishop of Alexandria) 202, 205, 208–209, 212, 214 Luke (evangelist) 129 Lupicinus 79, 82 Magnentius 87 Magnus Maximus 174 Malarich 87, 89 Malchus of Philadelphia 222–224 Mamertinus 183, 187 Manlius Theodorus, Flavius 109 Marcella 155 Marcellinus (magister militum Dalmatiae) 233–234 Marcellus (magister equitum) 80 Marcian, Flavius 221, 223, 228 Mark (evangelist) 129, 131, 136 Marsus 234 Martyrius 143 Matthew (evangelist) 125, 127, 129, 131, 136 Maximian (bishop of Constantinople) 154 Maximianus 56 Maximus (usurper) 111, 184 Maximus of Ephesus 233 Maximus Planudes 231 Maximus the Cynic 160 Mayer, Wendy 145 McEvoy, Meaghan A. 95 Merobaudes 91 Minervius 118 Nestorius 151, 153, 157–158, 162, 165, 168 Nicomachus Flavianus 105, 108–114, 116–122 Olovsdotter, Cecilia 54 Olympius 91, 186 Pacatus 173–175, 177, 183 Palchus 228

243

Index of Personal Names Palladius 143–146, 162 Pamprepius of Panopolis 219–236 Paralius of Aphrodisias 226 Patalas 209 Patruinus 118 Paul (apostle) 137–138, 163–164 Paul (praepositus) 155 Pazdernik, Charles 57, 63 Peter (apostle) 160 Peter Mongus 225, 227 Peter the Patrician 57–58 Petronius 118 Philip II 207 Phoebus Severus, Messius 233 Photius 233 Pliny the Younger 178–181, 183–184, 188 Plutarch 207 Probatius 203, 206 Probianus, Rufus 54–55 Proclus (philosopher in Athens) 221, 233, 235 Proclus of Constantinople 147 Procopius (of Caesarea) 63–66 Procopius (usurper) 79 Proculus (urban prefect of Constantinople) 19 Promotus, Flavius 19, 30, 39, 90 Protadius 109, 111 Pulcheria Augusta 154–155 Raven, Bertram 2, 4–5, 108, 152, 162–163, 168, 199, 202–204, 209, 214, 236 Rhetorius 222 Ricimer 96 Romanus (comes) 81–82 Romanus (cubicularius) 155–157 Rufinus, Flavius 18–19, 28–30, 39, 90, 183, 187 Rufus Synesius Hadrianus 118 Rusticus (deacon) 154 Saliou, Catherine 204 Salustius (cynic philosopher) 234 Schmidt-Hofner, Sebastian 48–50 Scholasticius 155 Schwartz, Eduard 196 Sebastianus (magister peditum) 79 Sejanus 179 Severus (general under Constantius II) 80

Severus (praefectus urbi) 233–234 Severus Alexander 185–186 Silvanus 86–90, 176 Simmel, Georg 2–3, 23, 37–40, 45, 97, 152, 159, 168, 173, 179, 194, 196, 214 Simon Magus 160 Smith, Rowland 44 Socrates (church historian) 142–143, 194 Sozomen 142 Stilicho 89–93, 95, 97, 105, 109, 119–121, 183, 186 Strootman, Rolf 41, 57 Symmachus 105–106, 108–122 Synesius of Cyrene 28, 82, 173, 175, 183–185 Theagenes 230 Themistius 183–184 Theodore of Mopsuestia 127 Theodorus 233 Theodosius I 30, 39, 53, 90, 92, 94, 109, 112, 117, 140, 174–177, 183, 185 Theodosius II 49–50, 62, 147, 153, 165–166 Theophanes Confessor 166–167, 229 Theophilus of Alexandria 162 Tiberius 188 Timasius 30 Trajan 177–180, 183, 188 Trokundos 229, 231–232 Ursicinus 18, 79, 86–88, 90, 177 Valens 79, 82, 139, 186, 233 Valentinian I 49, 79–81, 83–84, 91, 233 Valentinian II 92, 184, 186 Valentinian III 73–74, 93, 95–96 van Ommeslaeghe, Florent 143 Verina 227 Victor 79 Virius Nicomachus Flavianus 109 Weisweiler, John 43 Winterling, Aloys 26, 43, 178 Zacharias Rhetor 226 Zeno (emperor) 219–221, 223–229, 231, 236 Zosimus 25, 30 Zoticus 47

Index of Geographical Names This index contains ancient and modern sites in an alphabetical order following the most common English spelling. The index is not exhaustive but rather lists all relevant mentions where substantial information regarding the place is given (e.g. most mentions of “court of Constantinople”, “council of Chalcedon” and other general notions are not listed below). Adrianople 79–80, 82 Alexandria 127, 137, 153, 196, 201, 211, 219, 230 Amida 177 Antioch 125, 127, 131, 135, 137, 139–140, 148, 195, 197, 199–201, 204–205, 209, 225, 227 Aquileia 54 Armenia 130 Athens 219–220 Capri 188 Caria 226 Chalcedon 166 Constantinople 41, 44, 47, 125–126, 143, 148, 157, 177, 181, 219, 221 Danube 79, 82 Edessa 195 Gaul 17–18, 79, 87–88 Hierapolis 195 Illyricum 79 Isauria 221 Lydia 28

Mainz 79, 82 Milan 181 Mursa 87 Naples 113 Nicaea 195 Palestine 131 Panopolis 220 Papyrios 229, 231 Paris 79 Pergamon 221 Persia 195, 204 Petra 154 Philadelphia (Lydia) 47 Ravenna 56, 181 Rhine 79 Rome 41, 174 Sens 80 Serdica 79 Sicily 113, 234 Strasbourg 79 Thrace 30

Index of Primary Sources Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum I.4, pp. 222–5 152, 154–6 I.1.5, pp. 135–6 153 I.1.1, pp. 42–72 154 I.14, p. 224, l. 14 156 II.5–17, pp. 155 155 II.28–31 156 Ambrose De obitu Theodosii 4–5 Epistulae 45 51 76,18 24,2 10 ex.

112 19 117 138 184 212

Ammianus Marcellinus Res gestae XIV 1.7 85 XIV 1.10 74 XIV 5.4–5 85 XIV 5.6 90 XIV 5.18 42 XIV 6.12 53 XIV 6.18 53 XIV 9.1–2 18, 87 XIV 10.2 75 XIV 11 75, 87, 90, 186–187 XV 176 XV 2.1–5 18 XV 2.4 87 XV 3.3–4 85, 90 XV 5 82, 85–87, 88, 89 XV 8.2 75 XVI 7.1–3 80 XVI 8.8–10 53, 56, 82 XVI 10.18–19 31 XVI 12.14 79 XVI 18.3 90 XVII 11.1–4 17–18, 28 XVIII 2.7 79 XVIII 4.1–6 177



XVIII 5.4–5 XIX 6.4 XIX 12.12 XX 2 XX 8.11 XXI 14.2 XXI 16.1–3 XXII 4.1–10 XXII 10.6–7 XXIII 5.9 XXV 10.2 XXV 10.4 XXVI 5.7–13 XXVI 7.11–12 XXVII 1 XXVII 6.8 XXVII 9.4 XXVIII 4.10 XXVIII 6.1–24 XXIX 1 XXIX 4.5 XXIX 5.2 XXX 1.15 XXX 4.1 XXX 10.3 XXXI 4.11 XXXI 6.5 XXXI 7.3–4 XXXI 8.9 XXXI 12.6 XXXI 14.6

177 86 232 90, 177, 187 27 75 51, 84 186 85 226 209 197 79, 84 79 79 77 81, 83 53 74, 81 85, 233 77 81 85 75 92 82 82 91 86 79 186

Athanasius Apologia contra Arianos 86 208 Epistula ad Jovianum 197 Historia Arianorum 22 206 35 206 52 138 Index of Festal Letters 35–36 195

246

Index of Primary Sources

Augustine of Hippo Confessiones VIII 6.15 25 Contra litteras Petiliani libri tres III 25 81 De civitate Dei V 26 113 X 9 223 Epistulae 106–107 Aurelius Victor De Caesaribus 39 33–34

42 84

Ausonius Gratiarum actio ad Gratianum imperatorem 1 74 11 55 Bible Acts 8:9–24 Cor. 9:6–11 Dan. 2.25.37 Deut. 25:5–6 Lev. 18:16 Luke 9:7 Luke 21:1–4 Micah 3:11 Mark 6:14 Mark 6:18 Mark 12:41–44 Matt. 11:11 Matt. 14:1 Matt. 14:4 Matt. 26:15

160 164 203 132 132 129 161 160 129 131 161 141 129 131 160

Cassiodorus Variae VI 3

62

Cassius Dio Historiae Romanae LXIX 6.3 207 Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum VI 41389 94

Claudian De consulatu Stilichonis I 95–96 30 In Eutropium I 142–144 187 I 154–155 31 I 167–170 19 I 198–212 22 II 64–68 22 II 557–558 19 In Rufinum I 22–23 31 I 179–180 187 I 230–233 19 I 238–239 19 I 243–249 19 I 316–320 30 Panegyricus dictus Honorio Augusto quartum consuli 255–295 176 214–224 185 296–305 185 320–352 185 Codex Iustinianus IV 11.8 IV 40.1 XII 16.1 XXII 23.7

56 56 78 49

Codex Theodosianus I 14.8 II 31.2 VI 6 VI 7.1 VI 8.1.1 VI 9.1 VI 9.2.1 VI 10.3 VI 12.1 VI 13.1 VI 14.1 VI 16.1 VI 18.1 VI 20 VI 21 VI 22.1.2 VI 22.4

92 106 48 49, 84 50–51 84 62 53 50 48–49, 59–60 49, 84 48 49 48 48–49 48 84

247

Index of Primary Sources

VI 22.8 50, 53 VI 27.5 50 VI 30.6–7 49 VII 13.18 92 X 21.3 56 X 20.18 56 XIV 1.1 47 XIV 10 55 XV 14.9–12 112, 119 XV 15 95



fr. 113K fr. 113L fr. 113M fr. 113O fr. 113P fr. 115A fr. 115B fr. 115C fr. 117B-C fr. 137B

229 227, 231 231 229 230 225 230 229 227 231

Constantine Porphyrogennetus De caeremoniis I 45 59 I 68 60 I 84 57 I 85–86 54, 59–60, 62 II 51 59

Digesta Iustiniani XVII 1.12 XXXII 11.2 XLVII 2.67

Corippus In laudem Iustini Augusti minoris III 204–213 58

Eunapius Fragmenta historica 42 82 58.1 92 59 19 62 92 64 31 65 19 72 31 Vitae sophistarum VII 20–27 233 VII 37–40 233 VII 55 233 VII 72–77 233

Cyril of Alexandria Epistulae see Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum I.4, pp. 222–5 Damascius Vita Isidori fr. 7 fr. 48B fr. 51 fr. 66A fr. 69A–E fr. 77A fr. 77B fr. 77C fr. 77D fr. 88B-C fr. 100A fr. 110B fr. 111–112A fr. 112B fr. 112C fr. 113A fr. 113C fr. 113D fr. 113J

233 231 233 227 234 233 225 220 220–222, 234–235 223 230–231 235 225, 230, 235 220, 222, 235 221 231 227 235 229

106 106 106

Encomio di Athanasio 408–13 198

Eusebius Vita Constantini I 16.1 IV 1.2

24 47

Eutropius Breviarium ab urbe condita IX 26 42, 184 Evagrius Scholasticus Historia ecclesiastica II 2 166 III 16.27 225 III 26–27 223, 225, 227

248

Index of Primary Sources

Gerontius Life of Melania the Younger 11–13 161 Gregory of Nazianzus Autobiographical Poems 1876–78 162 Epistulae 106 Orationes 26.16 160 Gregory of Tours Historia Francorum II 8 93 II 9 175 Historia acephala 2.3–4 208 4.4 195 4.7 198, 202, 205, 208 Historia Augusta Vita Severi Alexandri 18.3 185 66.2–3 186 Vita Aureliani 43.3–4 176 Historia imperatorum II 4495–4496 221 II 4540–4542 225 II 4554–4566 232 Iamblichus De Vita Pythagorica VI 30 222 Index of Festal Letters 35–36 195 Jerome Chronicon year 2311 Epistulae 123.17 John Chrysostom De sacerdotio 3.5, pp. 146–50

De s. Babyla contra Iulianum et gentiles pp. 15–40 138 p. 128 138 p. 162 142 Homiliae in Matthaeum 37, PG 57, pp. 419–28 141 48, PG 58, pp. 487–96 129, 130, 132–135, 137, 139 75, PG 58, p. 690 131 Homiliae XXI de Statuis ad populum Antiochenum habitae PG 49, p. 33 141 Antequam iret in exilium PG 52, pp. 427–32 144 Cum iret in exilium PG 52, pp. 436–8 144–145 Pseudo-, In decollationem Precursoris et Baptistae Joannis, et in Herodiadem PG 59, pp. 485–90 144 John Malalas Chronographia XV 12–14 Excerpta de insidiis fr. 35

221, 225, 227, 229 221, 228

John of Antioch Excerpta Planudea 1–2 231 6–44 231 Fragmenta 233 221 234 220–221, 227 237 221–222, 224–225 273.1.16 204

90

John the Lydian De magistratibus II 9.2–3 III 28–29 III 30.1–4 III 30.10

62 48 47, 61 61

141

Jordanes Getica 176

93

42

249

Index of Primary Sources Josephus Antiquitates Judaicae XVIII 136, p. 165

131

Joshua the Stylite Chronica 11 229 12 225 14 227 15 225 Jovian Epistula ad Athanasium 196 Julian the Apostate Epistulae ad Athenienses 274 A–C 27 17b,11 27 110, 398C 211 111, 435B–C 211 Lactantius De mortibus persecutorum 21.2 184 Libanius Epistulae 106 62.6 106 908.1 107 981 31 1029 31 1052 31 1106 31 1110 31 Orationes 18.150–152 186 59.31 112 59.34 112 59.37–39 112 Malchus Fragmenta 20.1–2 20.7–8 20.17–20 20.25–26 20.28–39 23.27–30

220 230 224 227 223–224 224

Marc the Deacon Life of Saint Porphyry of Gaza 27 161 Marinus Vita Procli 15

230

Martyrius Pseudo-, Oratio funebris in laudem sancti Iohannis Chrysostomi p. 5 146 pp. 24–32 130, 144–145 pp. 59–60 146 p. 88 146 Nestorius The Bazaar of Heracleides pp. 288–9 152 Notitia Dignitatum 53 Occ. 5–6 92 Orient. 1.10–11 30 Novellae constitutiones 123.3 123.16

167 167

Olympiodorus Fragmenta 5.2.12–21

93

Palladius Dialogus de vita S. Joannis Chrysostomi 8.115 145 8.246–7 144 15.35–7 161 15.39–41 160 Panegyrici Latini 2(12).8.1 2(12).21.2–4 2(12).32.3–4 3(11).26.4 3(11).20.4 3(11).21.4–5 4(10).5.1–3

77 174, 175, 183 89 183 187 187 183

250

Index of Primary Sources

Petitiones Arianorum primary title 198, 201, 202 secondary title 202 1 201, 202, 204, 207, 208 2 201, 205, 210 3 201–203, 206–209, 212 4 198, 201–204, 206, 208–209, 212 Philostorgius Historia ecclesiastica VIII 6–6a 195, 196 Pliny the Younger Panegyricus 23.2 47.5 48.1–5 49.2

174, 176, 180 174 180 180 176

Plutarch Demetrius 42.4–5

207

Priscus Fragmenta 30.1.13–27 30.1.39–40 30.1.51–72

74, 96 74 74 96

Procopius of Caesarea Anecdota 30.21–24 Bella VIII 21.2–3 De aedificiis III 1.25

63 65 225

Rhetorius Capitula selecta (ex Rhetorii Thesauris) = Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum VIII.4 p. 221–224 220–223, 225, 229

Rusticus Synodicum 154 Saint-Simon Mémoires vol. 5, p. 521

43

Septuaginta see: Bible Socrates Scholasticus Historia ecclesiastica III 1.16 233 III 4.2 197, 202 III 24 194, 197 III 25.4–5 195, 207 III 25.19 195 IV 1.14 202, 212 VI 18 143 Sozomen Historia ecclesiasica IV 5.1 203 V 7.1 197 VI 4.3–5 196 VI 5 195, 197–198, 206 VIII 20 143 Stobaeus Anthologium III.13.48 207 Suda Lexicon Π.136–7

220, 224

Symmachus Epistulae I 19 II 30 II 60 II 81 III 30 III 81–91 IV 4 IV 6

107 113 113 54 119 31 119, 121 109, 119–121

251

Index of Primary Sources IV 17–34 111–113 IV 35–49 111, 113–116, 118 IV 51 111–113 V 6 113, 116–118 V 56 54 VI 6 114 VI 10 109–110 VI 18 119 VI 35.1 110 VI 36.2 109–110 VI 57 113 VI 66 113 VII 2 114 VII 42–59 113, 116–118 VII 76 54 VII 95 114–118 VII 102–28 113–116, 121 VIII 29 121 IX 47 113–114, 118 IX 119–20 54 Orationes 1.14 77 1.17 79 Relatio 3.1 212 Synesius of Cyrene De Regno 9.3 176 10.4 183 11.2–3 183, 185 11.5 185 27 82 Epistulae 106 127 29 Themistius Orationes 1.2a–b 6.81d 15.190c

185 112 183

Theophanes the Confessor Chronographia AM 5940 166 AM 5969 221 AM 5972 225, 227 AM 5975 225 AM 5976 223, 225, 228–229 Zacharias Rhetor Vita Isaiae monachi p. 7 223, 226, 235 Vita Severi p. 40 225–226 Historia ecclesiastica V 6 225 VI 6 225 Zosimus Historia nova II 33.3 II 40.2–3 III 34.3 IV 7.3 IV 9 IV 15 IV 20.6 IV 23.6–24.1 IV 45.4 IV 51–52 V 3.1–6 V 4.3 V 7 V 8.1–10.5 V 17.4–18.10 V 32.1–2 V 32.4–5

75 31, 94 204 79 79 233 82 79 92 19, 30, 39, 90 19 31 19, 31, 39 19, 31 19 93 93

Index of Subjects Administration, bureaucracy, government civil 47, 60–2 imperial 6–7, 10, 41, 46–51, 60, 62, 78, 83–4, 117, 121, 182 Late Roman changes in 5–6, 19 n. 8, 46–7, 49–51, 78 n. 15, 83 n. 38, 181–3, 188 local 139 n. 63 military 47 Arian(s), Arianism, Arian controversy 138, 193–5, 198–203, 205–13 Aristocracy, nobility 3, 36–8, 42–7, 49–50, 53, 66, 90 n. 71 functional 38, 46, 52–3 Army see Military Audience (in the sense of “public”; for “reception”, see “Emperor, audience with”) 128–41, 144, 147, 213 Authority 6–7, 21 n. 19, 38, 40–1, 45, 49–50, 54, 63, 65–6, 81, 83, 89 n. 67, 109 n. 23, 133, 141, 144, 146, 151, 161, 203 n. 44, 208 Avarice, greed 155–6, 160, 167, 235 Bible, use of 8, 125–7, 131, 133, 135, 137, 139, 141–8, 151, 153, 160, 162–3 Bishop 8, 77 n. 13, 126, 128 n. 8, 130 n. 20, 138 n. 54, 141, 143, 145–8, 151–4, 157, 159, 161, 165–8, 184, 193, 195–7, 201–2, 204–6, 208, 210–3, 225 n. 41 Blessing, benedictio, eulogia 8, 151–68 Bribes, bribery 8, 151–2, 158, 160–1, 165 Ceremonial, ceremony, ceremonious 3, 6–7, 27, 36, 41–5, 48, 52–4, 56–66, 78, 88, 110 n. 27, 173, 177, 180–5, 188 Clerics, clergy (see also “Bishop”, “Priest”) 8, 10, 47, 126, 148, 151–3, 158–65, 167–8, 213 comes (different types) 47, 58, 60, 62, 78–9, 81, 85, 87 n. 59, 90 n. 72, 93 n. 87, 95 n. 95, 113, 117 n. 77, 131, 153 comitatus 7, 75, 92–3, 95–6, 181 comitiva 26, 47–9; 62 Competition 1–7, 10–1, 19–23, 25–6, 28, 30–2, 36–40, 42–3, 45–6, 50–2, 57, 63–6, 75, 88, 91, 96–7, 148, 151–2, 159,

160, 162, 165, 168, 173–4, 179, 185, 187, 193, 195, 235–6 arbiter, third party in 2–3, 6–7, 20, 22–3, 28–30, 38, 40, 48, 97, 127, 148, 159, 179, 194, 196 negative campaigning in 193–4 rules and regulations to 1–2, 4–5, 10, 39–40, 48, 63, 65, 152, 159, 165, 168, 174, 178, 188, 196 socializing effect of 2, 38, 45, 63–4, 66, 97, 148, 173 Conflict 2, 6, 9, 17, 20–5, 29–32, 36, 39, 41, 87–9, 92 n. 78, 96–7, 137, 142 n. 74, 145, 147, 152–3, 165, 168, 197, 211–3, 220 consistorium 7, 58, 73–5, 77–82, 85, 87–8, 903, 95–7, 105, 109, 117–9, 122 Consul, consulate 7, 19, 37, 48, 53–5, 65, 94, 109–10, 118, 120, 176, 180, 182, 185, 221, 223, 228, 233 Corruption 81–2, 87, 151–2, 157–8, 160–2, 186 n. 47, 187, 209 Church (as the institution) 6, 10, 115 n. 62, 128, 142, 156 n. 21, 159–60, 165–7, 196–7, 199, 201–2 (as a physical building) 56, 126, 128, 131 n. 22, 137–8, 142 Church council 160 of Antioch (328 AD) 195 of Ephesus 8, 151, 165 of Nicaea 195, 210 of Serdica 159 Court (imperial) 3–6, 8–10, 17–22, 25, 28–31, 39–42, 45–6, 49, 52, 61, 63, 74–5, 77, 86, 110 n. 31, 127, 151, 156, 158–9, 174, 177–9, 181–3, 213 n. 91 (as a place) 5–6, 11, 17, 41, 201, 204–5 Court dress 54–6, 58, 66, 185 Courtier 3, 6, 8, 10–1, 17–8, 20–1, 24–5, 28–9, 31, 40–1, 43–5, 47, 49, 52, 55–9, 63–6, 85, 119 n. 87, 151–2, 154–7, 165, 173, 176, 179, 181, 185–8 cubicularius see praepositus (sacri cubiculi) curopalatus 58–9

253

index of subjects Dance 134–6, 138 n. 54, 143 Diptych (consular) 7, 53–55 Divination 9, 219–21, 223–4, 228, 232–3, 235–6 Doctrine, doctrinal conflict 6, 8–10, 151, 153–4, 159–60, 162, 165, 168, 193–4 Elite (excerpt) 6–9, 17, 21–9, 36–8, 41, 45–9, 59, 62–5, 76, 83–5, 94, 128, 130–2, 139, 173–4, 178, 181–2, 184–5, 187–8 connection with 48 n. 47, 54, 89 n. 67, 157, 182, 207, 230 n. 79 functional 17, 29, 48 n. 47 Emperor accessibility of 4, 8–9, 24–8, 31, 111, 156, 173–4, 177–80, 183–5, 187–8, 204, 207, 210 accedes to the throne 9–10, 59, 193–4 audience with 41, 53 n. 70, 58, 61, 74, 128–35, 137–44, 147, 184, 204 civilitas of 174, 177, 187 image of 9, 53–6, 62, 76 n. 8, 173–4, 181, 187, 199, 207–13 proximity, closeness to, intimacy with  7, 17–8, 20, 24–32, 37 n. 2, 39, 45, 47–8, 52, 54, 56, 58–60, 66, 74–84, 88–96, 173, 178–9, 182, 185–6, 188, 202 princeps clausus 9, 56 n. 85, 175–7, 181, 183 seclusion of 19, 174–8, 187–8 visibility of 174, 176, 178, 185 Empress 6, 8, 63, 125–6, 130 n. 20, 138, 142–3, 145–8, 161 n. 43, 223 n. 33, 227 Ethnicity, ethnic conflict 88–9, 91, 94 n. 92, 97 Eunuch 9–10, 18–9, 21–2, 27, 40, 64, 95, 156 n. 21, 166–7, 176–7, 181–2, 185–8, 201–3, 206, 209–10 Exegesis 127, 135, 137–8, 151 Expert, expertise 133, 146, 209 n. 75, 233, 236 Favour divine 37 n. 2, 157, 161–2, 165 exchange of, reciprocal 115–6, 120–2, 163–4 of the emperor, ruler 1, 3–11, 17–8, 20–2, 24–5, 29–32, 36–8, 40, 45, 51, 64, 66, 80, 83, 94 n. 91, 97, 105, 122, 125–6, 142 n. 74,

148, 151–2, 159, 161, 165, 173–4, 178–9, 184–6, 188, 193–4, 208, 214, 219–20, 233 of powerful men, third parties 2–3, 20, 28–9, 38, 74, 97, 153, 159, 186, 221, 223 Friendship 105, 111 n. 34, 114–6, 120, 122, 200 n. 32, 234 n. 99. General 10, 30, 40–41, 66, 73, 75, 79–81, 86–97, 183–84, 187, 207, 219, 221, 224, 233–4 Gifts, gifting 8, 53–4, 151–4, 157–65, 167–8, 206 n. 61, 212 n. 88 Henotikon 225 n. 48, 235 Hierarchy, stratification 6–7, 10, 17, 24, 26–8, 31–2, 41, 46–7, 49–52, 63–5, 76, 78, 83 n. 40, 94, 97, 107, 117, 167, 178, 182, 188 visibility of 36, 41, 52, 57, 60 Horoscope 222, 228–9 Influence, exercise of 1–11, 17–8, 21–22, 25, 28–30, 36, 39, 40, 43, 45, 52, 64–6, 74–5, 77–8, 80–1, 83 n. 38, 87–92, 94–7, 105, 108–9, 112 n. 41, 122, 134, 135, 137, 139, 146, 156 n. 21, 159–62, 164, 173, 183, 185, 188, 193, 199, 202, 206–7, 209, 213–4, 219, 224 n. 39, 236 resource of (see also “Power, base of”) 5, 7, 9, 115, 117, 151–3, 158, 162–5, 167–8, 220, 236 Intellectual 89–90, 219–20, 225, 227, 230, 232, 234–6 Interaction 1, 5, 10–11, 20–1, 23–4, 28, 30, 32, 41–2, 52, 63, 107, 128, 157 n. 22, 162, 164, 188 Intervention 105, 107–8, 113–7, 121–122 military 86, 227–8 Intrigue, machinations 7, 9, 19–21, 29–31, 39–40, 44, 76, 85, 87–8, 90, 186, 233 Jew, Jewish 128–33, 145, 161 n. 42 Law, legislation 3, 40, 48–50, 54, 56 n. 81, 65, 83–4, 106 n. 5, 112, 132–3, 158–9, 200 canon, church 159, 194–5 of court titles 46–52

254 Law, legislation (cont.) of precedence 26 nn. 38–9, 30 n. 54, 49–50, 56–8 in response to petitions 49, 200, 211–2 Letter 28, 109–11, 113–4, 117–9, 122, 152–8, 195 n. 5, 212 n. 88 of appointment 53 of recommendation 7–8, 105–108, 115–116, 121 thanks in 120–122 magister officiorum 18, 22 n. 21, 27, 30, 39, 57, 59, 65, 78 n. 14, 81 n. 30, 91, 93 n. 86, 113, 117 n. 77, 181, 184, 186, 221, 228 magister militum 27, 31 n. 58, 44 n. 26, 48, 50, 73–75, 78–79, 84 n. 42, 91–7, 224, 228 Military 6, 11, 41, 47–9, 51–2, 62, 73–97, 176–7, 181, 184, 188, 204, 227–8 Military men 7, 73, 75, 78, 83–6, 88, 90–2, 94–5, 97 missorium 53–4 Money 2, 28, 83 n. 38, 152, 157–61, 165–7, 233 Moralization 25, 82 Network 7–8, 83 n. 38, 105–6, 109, 116, 120, 122 Officials 7, 19 n. 8, 41, 44, 46, 53, 55–6, 58, 60, 62–3, 77, 81–6, 91, 93, 95, 97, 109, 111, 113, 117, 140, 177, 181, 184, 236 Oracle, prophecy, prophecies 9, 141 n. 66, 219, 224, 226–8, 231, 233–6 Pagan, paganism 9–10, 128, 138, 142 n. 74, 152 n. 4, 161 n. 42, 206, 208–10, 213, 219–20, 225–7, 230, 233–6 Palace (imperial) 41, 57–9, 61–2, 179–80, 183, 186 n. 47, 201, 204–5 parrhesia 137, 142, 145, 147, 161–2, 164 patricius 48, 63, 65, 94, 221, 227 n. 60, 230, 233 Petition, petitioner 199, 203–4, 207, 209, 211–2 Philosopher 10, 161, 220–2, 229–30, 232–3 Polemic(s) 9, 63–4, 138, 199, 202, 206, 209, 212–3, 223, 225, 231

index of subjects Power (political) 3, 6, 7, 9–10, 19, 21–2, 27, 29–30, 40–1, 45, 50, 52, 63, 65, 74–8, 81–97, 107–10, 122, 130–1, 133, 137, 139, 145, 147, 152, 158–9, 165, 173, 178–9, 183, 187–8, 220–1, 224–5, 228, 230, 232, 236 base of (see also “Influence, resource of”) 5, 64, 148, 160, 162–3, 202, 236 Power/Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence (see also “Raven” in Index of Personal Names) 2, 4, 108, 162, 168, 199, 214 praefectiani 28–9 praefectus augustalis 62 praefectus praetorio 19, 21–2, 25–6, 28–9, 31 n. 58, 39 n. 8, 46–50, 61–2, 74, 78–9, 87 n. 59, 93 n. 86, 95, 109 n. 22, 111, 113, 117 praefectus urbi 19, 62 n. 103, 110–1, 233–4 praepositus (sacri cubiculi) 19, 22, 27, 50–1, 59, 64, 155–6, 166–7, 181, 184, 203, 206 Precedence 26 nn. 38–9, 30 n. 54, 47–52, 56–8, 65–6 Prestige 18, 28, 36, 47, 51, 58, 62, 64, 108, 178–9, 181, 187 Priest 141 proconsul 46 n. 35, 179, 233 Promotion 46 n. 34, 59, 79–80, 83–4 proximi 75, 78–9, 81–84, 91, 95 quaestor (sacri palatii) 78 n. 14, 93 n. 86, 109 n. 22, 111, 221, 223, 228 Rehabilitation 7, 10, 108–111, 117–122 Revolt 9, 79, 82, 86–7, 119, 176, 221, 223–9, 234 Ritual 41–3, 50, 53 n. 70, 56, 58–9, 61, 63, 88–9, 179–80, 184–5 Rival 6, 8, 18–25, 28–32, 39 n. 8, 52, 80 n. 27, 86–8, 93, 153, 159, 182, 185, 187 Sale of offices 22 n. 22, 153 n. 5, 158, 160 Senate, senator(ial) 9–10, 23, 29, 31, 36–8, 44–7, 51, 53 n. 70, 55, 63, 84, 90, 94–95, 108, 110, 173–4, 177–84, 187–8, 212–3 building 94 n. 90, 174, 179, 213 n. 90 silentiarius, silentiary 59–60, 184

255

index of subjects Sociological theories see “Power/ Interaction Model of Interpersonal Influence”, “Sociology of Competition”; also “Elias”, “Raven”, “Simmel” (in Index of Personal Names) Sociology of Competition (see also “Simmel”) 2–3, 37, 97, 159, 194, 196, 214 Typology (theological) 137–8, 144–145, 147

Usurper, usurpation 6–7, 10, 77 n. 13, 79, 87–9, 109–13, 119, 121, 174, 184, 221, 236 venatio 7, 75, 85–7, 90–1, 93, 95–6 vicarius 46, 54, 62 Warlord 6, 39