Simplicity and Humility in Late Antique Christian Thought: Elites and the Challenges of Apostolic Life 9781108832267, 9781108935739, 2021000454, 2021000455, 1108832261

Table of contents :
Cover
Half-title page
Title page
Copyright page
Dedication
Contents
Acknowledgments
List of Abbreviations
Introduction
Chapter 1 Roman and Early Christian Attitudes toward Social and Economic Divisions
Chapter 2 Christian Attitudes toward Social and Economic Divisions in Late Antiquity
Chapter 3 Tentmakers and Fishermen: The Apostles’ Social Status in Late Antiquity
Chapter 4 Apostolic Simplicity and Elite Education in Late Antique Theological Controversies
Chapter 5 The Virtue of Humility in Late Antiquity
Conclusions
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

S I M PL I CI T Y A N D HU M I LI T Y I N LA T E A N T I QU E C H R I S T I A N TH O U G H T

The social values of upper-class Christians in Late Antiquity often contrasted with the modest backgrounds of their religion’s founders – the apostles – and the virtues they exemplified. Drawing on examples from the Cappadocian Fathers, John Chrysostom, and other late antique authors, this book examines attitudes toward the apostles’ status as manual workers and their virtues of simplicity and humility. Due to the strong connection between these traits and low socioeconomic status, late antique bishops often allowed their own high standing to influence how they understood these matters. The virtues of simplicity and humility had been a natural fit for tentmakers and fishermen but posed a significant challenge to Christians born into the elite and trained in prestigious schools. This volume examines the socioeconomic implications of Christianity in the Roman Empire by considering how the first wave of powerful, upper-class church leaders interpreted the socially radical elements of their religion. jaclyn l. maxwell is Associate Professor of History and Classics/Religious Studies at Ohio University. She is the author of Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity: John Chrysostom and His Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge, 2006) and has received fellowships from Dumbarton Oaks and the American Council of Learned Societies.

SIMPLICITY AND HUMILITY IN LATE ANTIQUE CHRISTIAN THOUGHT Elites and the Challenges of Apostolic Life

JACLYN L. MAXWELL Ohio University

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06–04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108832267 doi: 10.1017/9781108935739 © Jaclyn L. Maxwell 2021 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2021 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data names: Maxwell, Jaclyn LaRae, 1973– author. title: Simplicity and humility in late antique Christian thought / Jaclyn L. Maxwell, Ohio University. description: Cambridge ; New York : Cambridge University Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. identifiers: lccn 2021000454 (print) | lccn 2021000455 (ebook) | isbn 9781108832267 (hardback) | isbn 9781108935739 (ebook) subjects: lcsh: Simplicity – Religious aspects – Christianity. | Humility – Religious aspects – Christianity. | Church history – Primitive and early church, ca. 30-600. | Social classes – Rome. | Social values – Rome. classification: lcc bv4647.s48 m365 2021 (print) | lcc bv4647.s48 (ebook) | ddc 261.809/015–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021000454 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021000455 isbn 978-1-108-83226-7 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To Oscar and Kevin

Contents

Acknowledgments List of Abbreviations

page viii x 1

Introduction 1

Roman and Early Christian Attitudes toward Social and Economic Divisions

12

2 Christian Attitudes toward Social and Economic Divisions in Late Antiquity

34

3 Tentmakers and Fishermen: The Apostles’ Social Status in Late Antiquity

56

4 Apostolic Simplicity and Elite Education in Late Antique Theological Controversies

85

5 The Virtue of Humility in Late Antiquity

119 158

Conclusions

164 190

Bibliography Index

vii

Acknowledgments

This book began with my interest in what I perceived to be instances of class snobbery among Christian writers in Late Antiquity. In previous work, I had noticed references in these texts, sometimes positive but often negative, to manual workers and lower-class people in general and wondered how these views related to the development of Christian doctrines and ideals. Gradually, I began to focus on these authors’ discussions of the apostles’ lower socioeconomic standing and the closely associated virtues of simplicity and humility. I decided to write about several late antique authors and genres in order to demonstrate patterns and variations in how upper-class Christians wrote about the lower classes, but without attempting an exhaustive analysis of all of the potentially relevant works. As the recent surge in scholarship on wealth and poverty has taught us, Late Antiquity was a pivotal period in the history of ideas about socioeconomic differences. I hope this book will encourage other scholars and students to think more about the history of ideas about and representations of workers, the poor, and the less educated and, especially, how contempt for these groups (and comfort with socioeconomic inequality) could persist within a religious tradition founded by tentmakers and fishermen. During the long process of research, writing, and revision, I have received a great deal of help from friends, colleagues, and institutions. I am thankful to my colleagues and friends in the departments of history and classics and religious studies at Ohio University and for the Faculty Fellowship Leave that allowed me to focus on research. I would also like to thank Peter Brown, David Hunter, Christopher MacEvitt, Bruce O’Brien, Philip Rousseau, Tina Sessa, Tina Shepardson, Joshua Sosin, Kathleen Sullivan, and Michael Williams for their comments and encouragement over the years. I am especially grateful to Michael Sharp and to the anonymous readers, whose suggestions helped immensely. In addition to the resources of Ohio University’s Alden Library and the OhioLink and InterLibrary Loan systems, I was fortunate to be able to visit the library at viii

Acknowledgments

ix

Dumbarton Oaks as well as the John Miller Burnham Classics Library at the University of Cincinnati. At an early stage of research, I benefited from a sabbatical year affiliated with the classics department at Duke University. “The North American Patristics Society Conference,” the “International Conference on Patristics Studies at Oxford,” and the “Regional Late Antiquity Consortium” provided welcome opportunities to present this research along the way. Amron Gravett from Wild Clover Book Services compiled the index on short notice during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic. Some of the quotations of late antique texts are drawn from recent translations of texts (and cited as such), while the rest of the translations are my own. Any errors in the book are also my own. I have been lucky to have the support of friends in Athens, Ohio, as well as my family and long-time friends in Oklahoma, Texas, North Carolina, Virginia, and beyond. During the years of research, writing, and revising, my son, Oscar, transformed from a baby into a teenager who is now taller than I am. I am dedicating this book to him and to Kevin, who has been and continues to be a wonderful colleague, friend, co-parent, and husband.

Abbreviations

Adv. opp. vit. mon. AP C. Th. Carm. Const. Apost. Contra Eun. Contra Iud. et gent. De incompr. De laud. Paul. De Laz. De profect. evang. De stat. De vir. illust. ep. FOTC GNaz GNys HE hom. In Matt. In 1 Cor. In Act. apost. In Eph. In Gen. In Rom. JECS LCL LR Or.

Adversus oppugnatores vitae monasticae Apophthegmata patrum Codex Theodosianus Carmina Constitutiones apostolorum Contra Eunomium Contra Iudaeos et gentiles quod Christus sit Deus De incomprehensibili Dei natura De laudibus sancti Pauli apostoli De Lazaro De profectu evangelii De statuis De viris illustribus epistola Fathers of the Church Gregory of Nazianzus Gregory of Nyssa Historia Ecclesiastica homilia In Matthaeum In epistulam I ad Corinthios In Acta apostolorum In epistulam ad Ephesios In Genesim In epistulam ad Romanos Journal of Early Christian Studies Loeb Classical Library Long Rules; Regulae fusius tractatae Oratione x

List of Abbreviations Pan. PG PL RM Ruf. SC Soc. Soz. StP Theod. Vit. Macr.

xi

Panarion Patrologiae cursus completus, series Graeca, Migne Patrologiae cursus completus series Latina, Migne regulae morales Rufinus Sources Chrétiennes Socrates Sozomenus Scholasticus Studia Patristica Theodoret Vita Macrinae

Introduction

During the lengthy, complex, and uneven process of Christianization in Late Antiquity, various aspects of “common sense” were changing.1 Recent studies of attitudes about sexuality, wealth and poverty, and slavery have examined how worldviews adjusted while traditional Roman culture was absorbing Christian values, and vice versa.2 This book aims to contribute to these discussions by examining the friction between the traditional social values of the Roman elite and the potential social radicalism of Christian teachings.3 How did upper-class Christian authorities make sense of their own social, economic, and cultural privileges while embracing a religious tradition founded by carpenters and fishermen? What social values did well-born Christian writers exhibit or promote when they addressed each other and laypeople in their letters and treatises? What social values did they exhibit or promote when they addressed laypeople in their sermons? Certain elements inherited from Judaism and key aspects of the New Testament – such as the championing of the poor and humble, the condemnation of the wealthy and exalted, and the rejection of worldly wisdom – would not easily fit into traditional worldviews among the elite in the Roman Empire.4 Many of the central figures in the founding of 1

2 3

4

See Clifford Geertz on “common sense” as a system of thought drawing on a coherent cultural system, “Common Sense as a Cultural System,” in Local Knowledge: Further Essays in Interpretive Anthropology, 3rd ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2000). See Peter Brown’s use of the term in Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350–550 AD (Princeton University Press, 2012), 54–8. See, for instance, K. Harper, From Shame to Sin: The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013). In this book, I use the terms “elite” and “upper class” interchangeably to refer to the minority of people who were affluent enough to live comfortably (well above subsistence level), be influential in their communities, and to afford advanced education for their sons. On early Jewish and Christian texts on the theme of social reversal, see H. Rhee, “Wealth, Poverty, and Eschatology: Pre-Constantine Christian Social Thought and the Hope for the World to Come,” in J. Leemans, B. J. Matz, and J. Verstraeten (eds.), Reading Patristic Texts on Social Ethics: Issues and Challenges for Twenty-First-Century Christian Social Thought (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2011), 64–84, at 68–75.

1

2

Introduction

Christianity, including Jesus himself, were remembered as manual workers, a group that was traditionally viewed with scorn by upper-class Greeks and Romans. Christian writers, however, did not ignore these challenges to the status quo. Instead, based on these biblical models, sometimes they promoted respect and admiration for lower-class people and their signature virtues of humility and simplicity. Or, they found ways to translate these ideas into terms that were more easily accepted by the emerging Christian elite. Sometimes, they did a little of both. Their responses to potential challenges to elite dominance would then influence how later generations of Christians understood these potentially subversive biblical passages. During the period studied in this book – the second half of the fourth century and the first decades of the fifth century – Christian beliefs and virtues were not yet “common sense,” even though the religion was becoming not only mainstream but also dominant. While Christian “common sense” was taking shape, several interconnected developments influenced how upper-class Christians understood their place in society. During this period, educated men began to dominate the episcopacy. Unlike previous generations of church leaders, these men were consistently drawn from the leading families of their regions.5 At the same time, ascetic virtue played an increasingly important role in determining and expressing spiritual authority, while almsgiving became crucial for Christian communities, which were growing in numbers and wealth. In all of these matters – episcopal leadership, asceticism, and almsgiving – biblical teachings about wealth, poverty, work, power, and inequality called into question certain aspects of elite worldviews. While discussions of the social implications of Christian teachings would continue through the centuries, this book is focused on the decades when Christian leaders were first settling into their dominant roles in their society. In order to examine the changing social attitudes in detail, this book centers on selected Greek authors from the Eastern Roman Empire: primarily the Cappadocian Fathers (Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory of Nazianzus) and John Chrysostom. These men were influential in their own day as theologians, preachers, and bishops; starting 5

C. Rapp, “The Elite Status of Bishops in Late Antiquity in Ecclesiastical, Spiritual, and Social Contexts,” Arethusa, 33.3 (2000), 379–99; F. Gilliard, “Senatorial Bishops in the Fourth Century,” Harvard Theological Review, 77.2 (1984), 153–75; T. Kopecek, “The Social Class of the Cappadocian Fathers,” Church History, 42.4 (1973), 453–66. On Gregory of Nazianzus as an example of the clergy becoming an appealing option for upper-class men, see N. McLynn, “Curiales into Churchmen: The Case of Gregory of Nazianzen,” in R. Lizzi Testa (ed.), Le Trasformazioni delle Élites in Età Tardoantica, Atti del Convegno Internazionale Perugia, 15–16 Marzo 2004 (Rome: L’Erma di Bretscheider, 2006), 277–96.

Introduction

3

around the year 500, Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus, and John Chrysostom were included in the Western lists of the Doctors of the Church and portrayed in Byzantine texts and images as the “Three Holy Hierarchs” (Gregory of Nyssa, although not part of this exclusive group, was acknowledged as a saint).6 Their theological commentaries, sermons, and letters would have a lasting influence on later Christian thought. The church histories by Rufinus, Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoret provide additional perspectives on the interplay between Christian ideals and the upper-class culture of church leaders in the midst of theological controversies. All of these authors, based mostly in Antioch, Constantinople, and Cappadocia, were part of the wave of educated men who dominated church leadership during this period: their writings reflect how they understood Christian social values and the extent to which upper-class assumptions colored their views and their teachings. These texts frequently reflect the social and economic disparities of their day – in the authors’ references to the world around them and in their assumptions about social, economic, and cultural hierarchies. By examining how certain Greek theologians and historians understood the social challenges posed by the Bible – in particular, how they viewed the apostles’ simplicity and humility – this book will hopefully spark interest in further analysis of the social and economic context of Christian worldviews in Late Antiquity. Studies of the social attitudes expressed by church leaders in the Latin West, Egypt, and the Syriac East would complement (and possibly complicate) the discussions offered here; for example, the writings of Ambrose and Jerome provide additional examples of the worldviews of upper-class churchmen, while the works of Shenoute of Atripe reflect the perspective of a church leader who aligned himself with the poor.7

6 7

See R. Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?: Saints and Worshippers From the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton University Press, 2013), 186–8. Several important recent studies of changing social values and ideas focus on Latin authors. See Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle and The Ransom of the Soul: Afterlife and Wealth in Early Western Christianity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015); J. C. M. de Oliveira, Potestas Populi: Participation Populaire et Action Collective dans les Villes de l’Afrique Romaine Tardive: vers 300–430 apr. J.-C. (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012); C. Freu, Les Figures du Pauvre dans les Sources Italiennes de l’Antiquité Tardive (Paris: De Boccard, 2007); J.-M. Salamito, Les Virtuoses et la Multitude. Aspects Sociaux de la Controverse entre Augustin et les Pélagiens (Grenoble: Millon, 2005); M. R. Salzman, The Making of a Christian Aristocracy: Social and Religious Change in the Western Roman Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002). On Shenoute, see A. López, Shenoute of Atripe and the Uses of Poverty: Rural Patronage, Religious Conflict, and Monasticism in Late Antique Egypt (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013).

4

Introduction

By examining multiple authors’ understandings of the apostles and their virtues of simplicity and humility, it is possible to find similarities among them, as well as some noteworthy divergences. The differences among the authors discussed here – and the range of ideas that can be found within a single author’s writings – show how Christian social teachings and traditional elite (and often elitist) sentiments could combine or resist each other in various ways, and how these views could shift depending on individual circumstances and personalities. Moreover, the Cappadocian Fathers allow us to see the inner workings of a rural, yet cosmopolitan, elite family, while John Chrysostom, having spent his adult life as an ascetic and then as a clergyman in Antioch and Constantinople, was situated firmly within an urban setting and was much less involved with his relatives. The study of these influential bishops and church historians can tell us how the social milieu of educated men from well-off families influenced their religious beliefs, their understanding of their own privileges, and their views of lower-status people.

Social Relations, Christian Virtues, and Aristocratic Mentality A surge of scholarly attention in recent years has revealed many of the complexities of Christian views about wealth and poverty in Late Antiquity. We have learned that the focus on the poor in numerous genres, especially homilies, was not due to rising inequality, but rather to a shift in the “social imagination” regarding the meaning of poverty and almsgiving.8 The Christian emphasis on providing for “the poor” in particular (rather than for citizens, as Greeks and Romans had traditionally done) introduced a new dimension to social relations. New religious institutions, such as hospitals and almshouses, arose in tandem with greater esteem for the familiar virtues of piety, hospitality, and giving.9 This book aims to contribute to the growing body of scholarship on the “social 8

9

On the relationship between traditional euergetism and Christian almsgiving, see E. Patlagean, Pauvreté Économique et Pauvreté Sociale à Byzance, 4e-7e Siècle (Paris: Mouton, 1977; repr. Berlin: DeGruyter, 2017), and, more recently, R. Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice (313–450) (Oxford University Press, 2006), 32–3. On the change in “social imagination” rather than economic realities, see P. Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 2002), 74. P. Van Nuffelen, “Social Ethics and Moral Discourse in Late Antiquity,” in Reading Patristic Texts on Social Ethics, 45–63. On hospitals, see A. Crislip, From Monastery to Hospital: Christian Monasticism and the Transformation of Health Care in Late Antiquity (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2005).

Social Relations, Christian Virtues, and Aristocratic Mentality

5

imagination” of Late Antiquity by continuing to focus on the encounter between religious beliefs and social and economic structures, while at the same time shifting attention away from poverty and, instead, toward the Christian virtues of humility and simplicity. Like poverty, both simplicity and humility were closely associated with lower-class, lower-status, and less-educated people. The emergence of these traits as Christian virtues traced back to the Bible, and in particular, the social contexts of Jesus and the apostles as manual workers with little or no formal education. With these lowly traits now touted as estimable virtues, questions arose about the Christian elite’s self-definition and how they should regard their social inferiors. What did prominent bishops make of the apostles’ social and economic backgrounds? How would educated, well-connected Christians understand simplicity and humility? Elizabeth Clark has observed that these seemingly contradictory identities and values coexisted, rather than one replacing the other: [O]nce “simplicity” had been accepted as a prime Christian virtue, its cultivation was encouraged by and for all believers, even those who were far from “simple.” For sophisticated writers such as Augustine and John Chrysostom, the “simple” Christian virtues were to be pursued after the acquisition of paideia – not in place of it.10

Jean-Marie Salamito and Michele Salzman have made similar observations about the reaction of the economic and cultural elite to a religion with such humble beginnings.11 To what extent were members of the upper classes won over to Christianity by its teachings, and to what extent were Christian teachings adjusted to fit elite values?12 Drawing mostly on Latin authors in his studies, Salamito calls attention to how upper-class church authorities expressed new views about social hierarchy, asserting that Christian virtues led to a “mental revolution” for the elite.13 For 10 11

12

E. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton University Press, 1999) 55. M. R. Salzman, “Elite Realities and Mentalités: The Making of a Western Christian Aristocracy,” Arethusa, 33.3 (2000), 347–62; J.-M. Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles de la Vie Sociale,” in C. Pietri and L. Pietri (eds.), Histoire du Christianisme: des Origines à nos Jours. Tome 2: Naissance d’une Chrétienté (250–430) (Paris: Désclee, 1995), 675–717; “Prédication Chrétienne et Mentalité Aristocratique: Aspects Occidentaux d’une Confrontation (IVe-Ve Siècle),” in J. Santos and R. Teja (eds.), El Cristianismo: Aspectos Históricos de su Origen y Difusión en Hispania. Actas del Symposium de Vitoria-Gasteiz (November 25–27, 1996) (Vitoria-Gasteiz: Universidad de País Vasco, 2000), 37–52; “Christianisation et Démocratisation de la Culture: Aspects Aristocratiques et Aspects Populaires de l’Être-Chrétien aux IIIe et IVe Siècles,” Antiquité Tardive 9 (2002), 165–78. Salamito also examines the connections between spiritual merit and worldly social standing in his book on the Pelagian controversy, Les Virtuoses et la Multitude. Salamito, “Prédication Chrétienne,” 38. 13 Ibid., 44.

6

Introduction

instance, Ambrose’s view of humanity as dependent “day-workers of God” contrasted starkly with typical aristocratic values of leisure and autonomy.14 Salzman’s research on Western aristocratic Christians emphasizes the resilience of elitist worldviews and how bishops shaped the Christian message to fit upper-class expectations.15 Both of these scholars have observed how conceptions of virtue and nobility became intertwined in a way that tended to cede spiritual advantages to elite Christians.16 These discussions of the merging of Christianity with a late antique aristocratic mentalité demonstrate that there is much more to learn about the shifts in common sense regarding social identity and virtue: how deeply did the Christian “mental revolution” reach?

The Sociology of Elites and Their Adaptations of New Social Values By explicitly treating late antique figures such as the Cappadocian Fathers in terms of both their elite worldly standing and their ecclesiastical roles, we can observe how they viewed the implications of Christian teachings through the lens of their own social standing; the strength of these lenses varied depending on the context and the individual.17 Many leading church authorities were distinguished by their wealth, education, church office, and social networks.18 In a time of episcopal rivalries and theological controversies, they could not take their authority and influence for granted: they faced competition from rival bishops, theologians, and ascetics. While upper-class men were increasingly the ones with theological expertise and church offices in Late Antiquity, there were other individuals with spiritual mystique but without traditional social credentials who were also claiming these resources and vying with the educated, well-connected men for influence in their communities.19 As we shall see, the church authorities’ concerns about protecting their own standing in the church 14 16 17

18

19

Ibid., 43, citing Ambrose De Tobia, 24.92. 15 Salzman, “Elite Realities,” 355–62. Ibid., 358–9; Salamito,“Prédication Chrétienne,” 46–51. Pauline Allen makes a similar point in “Challenges in Approaching Patristic Texts from the Perspective of Contemporary Catholic Social Teaching,” in Reading Patristic Texts on Social Ethics, 30–42, at 33. On the shared culture of pagan and Christian elites, see S. Elm, Sons of Hellenism, Fathers of the Church: Emperor Julian, Gregory of Nazianzus, and the Vision of Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012). On how theological controversies increased episcopal power, see C. Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power: Theological Controversy and Christian Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013).

The Sociology of Elites and Their Adaptations of New Social Values

7

and in the broader society led them to condemn these charismatic upstarts. The social and cultural dimension of these rivalries would then affect their understanding of spiritual leadership and how it related to an individual’s socioeconomic background. Alongside the problems posed by rival spiritual leaders, elites within and outside of the church were facing other challenges to their authority. Constantine’s establishment of a new senate in Constantinople had disrupted the higher levels of the social hierarchy in the Roman East. “New men” were making their way to the top ranks of society, obtaining imperial offices through education and personal recognition, rather than relying on inherited wealth and family connections.20 In addition to these factors, the church was becoming an increasingly powerful institution and another source of status in its own right. As part of a new hierarchy within late Roman society, clerical and monastic leaders were another elite group, often possessing “spiritual capital” in addition to wealth and political power.21 Like any elite group, they aimed to control access to the resources that were valuable to them and protect their claims from rivals. But the resources they aimed to control were somewhat different from those of other powerful groups. Even prosperous and refined men needed at least to appear to base their claims to ecclesiastical power on spiritual virtue rather than on wealth, status, or education. Paradoxically, espousing the typically lower-class traits of humility and simplicity as virtues allowed upper-class Christians to claim greater spiritual authority. But did this mean that they would need to hide or diminish their prestige and education, which were otherwise so highly valued? This book tries to understand how certain leading Christians responded to this shift in ideas about virtue and to what extent they embraced ideas that would be problematic to any elite – the idealization of simplicity and humility. A contemporary comparison might help us to appreciate the complexity of elite self-understanding within a culture that rejects or has low regard for the criteria by which the elite is identified. Many of today’s social, economic, and cultural elites often use the language of equality and meritocracy to describe their success and standing in society. In doing so, they are responding to the widespread embrace of these values by claiming (and presumably, for many, believing) that their achievements come from their own hard work and talent. At the same time, they downplay their 20 21

Brown, “The Study of Elites in Late Antiquity,” Arethusa, 33.3 (2000), 321–46. On “spiritual capital,” see B. Verter, “Spiritual Capital: Theorizing Religion with Bourdieu against Bourdieu,” Sociological Theory, 21:2 (June 2003), 150–74.

8

Introduction

privileges or deny that the deck was stacked in their favor due to their socioeconomic origins and access to elite education.22 Along the same lines, elites in a society that idealizes middle-class values might avoid acknowledging their membership in the upper class (imagining only those with even higher incomes as “truly wealthy”), while also claiming to deserve their good fortune because of their hard work and good manners (i.e. their middle-class virtues).23 While today’s elites present themselves as success stories in a meritocracy, late antique ecclesiastical elites presented their authority as based on their spiritual virtue. In both cases, we can see individuals downplaying certain privileges, including access to education and family connections, but all the while continuing to rely on these advantages that they claim are unimportant. These sociological studies highlight the anxiety and defensiveness that result from these tensions for some contemporary elites. In the examples examined in this book, we will see how similar tensions influenced how upper-class Christian leaders viewed their society, and how they understood their religion’s social teachings. In addition to drawing on “the sociology of elites” as a framework for understanding late antique social attitudes, social psychology can also help to explain why upper-class values were so resistant to change. For instance, when Christian elites continued to cherish their education and family connections despite scriptural passages favoring the meek over the exalted, this could be seen as a form of “confirmation bias” or “motivated reasoning.” Often discussed in the context of the spread of conspiracy theories or the problem of bias in the scientific method, these terms refer to the tendency to focus on information that supports one’s preexisting beliefs and to ignore information that runs counter to those beliefs.24 When we apply these concepts to Late Antiquity, we can observe how this tendency played out when educated, upper-class church authorities interpreted elements of their religious tradition that seemed to promote social equality or even social reversal. Their conflicting beliefs would have created a sort of cognitive dissonance.25 That is, when faced with dissonant beliefs about the 22 23

24 25

S. Rahman Khan, “The Sociology of Elites,” Annual Review of Sociology, 38 (2012), 361–77. See R. Sherman, Uneasy Street: The Anxieties of Affluence (Princeton University Press, 2017). On the anxiety of the elite regarding their own privileges and their wish for ritual or symbolic status reversal (which ultimately reinforces social hierarchies), see V. Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and AntiStructure (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977), 201. Z. Kunda, “The Case for Motivated Reasoning,” Psychological Bulletin, 108.3 (1990), 480–98. According to Leon Festinger’s theory of cognitive dissonance, when a belief or a behavior conflicts with one’s view of the world, “if the cognitive elements do not correspond with a certain reality which impinges, certain pressures must exist.” A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance (Stanford University Press, 1957), 11.

Overview of Chapters

9

world (e.g. high status and education are essential for leaders; at the same time, the apostles were manual workers and yet ideal spiritual leaders), they could not easily hold onto both worldviews. According to cognitive dissonance theory, the pressure of conflicting beliefs results in psychological discomfort, which leads people to try to resolve the conflict, sometimes through “motivated” or biased reasoning that can in turn lead to self-deception. In these cases, people resolve the conflict by ignoring evidence that goes against their preexisting inclinations.26 According to the social psychologist Leon Festinger, this selective decision-making is due to a drive for consistency and is largely, if not entirely, subconscious.27 So, when we find bishops articulating elite values that seem to go against biblical teachings, biased reasoning and cognitive dissonance are, I would argue, more useful ways to understand the inconsistency, rather than simply attributing it to hypocrisy or a deliberate attempt to “aristocratize” their religion.28

Overview of Chapters Although numerous Christian authors devoted treatises, sermons, and letters to the issues of wealth, poverty, and almsgiving, their writings reflect a less systematic approach to other aspects of social relations. There are few direct discussions of how high-status, educated Christians should treat each other and their social inferiors in light of the biblical promise that “those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”29 Instead of systematic examinations of the implications of biblical teachings about social status, their references to this topic are found scattered across different sermons, letters, histories, and theological treatises.30 With the exception of homilies and treatises on poverty and almsgiving, social attitudes and social relations were not often in the spotlight of patristic discussions. These discussions usually 26 27 28

29 30

D. Scott-Kakures, “Unsettling Questions: Cognitive Dissonance in Self-Deception,” Social Theory & Practice, 35.1 (2009), 73–106, at 73–5. Festinger, Cognitive Dissonance, 6. For examples of beliefs that seem to conflict, see Nonna Verna Harrison’s discussion of Gregory of Nyssa and John Chrysostom’s belief in fundamental equality of humans as well as their acceptance of earthly inequality: “Greek Patristic Perspectives on the Origins of Social Injustice,” in N. V. Harrison and D. G. Hunter (eds.), Suffering and Evil in Early Christian Thought (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2016), 81–96. Mt. 23:12. A rare example of an extended discussion of virtue and social standing, focused on how upper-class Christians should transform their behavior, can be found in Clement of Alexandria’s (c. 150–215) Paedagogus.

10

Introduction

remained in the background: in the references to the apostles and other biblical role models, in discussions of how Christian values differed from pagan values, in contrasts between worldly and spiritual matters, and in critiques of rivals in theological controversies. By examining these references and anecdotes, we can observe how traditional elite social values affected these authors’ understanding of their religion, and vice versa. In order to understand the prevailing “common sense” about social and economic class in Late Antiquity that determined much of how church leaders viewed their world, the first two chapters provide overviews of Roman, early Christian, and late antique Christian attitudes toward social and economic inequality, manual labor, and elite status-markers (such as formal education). The introduction of Christian values and role models changed social expectations in some respects – such as the new emphasis on the practice of almsgiving – but did not completely transform older assumptions about social hierarchy. This background will help us to understand the context of upper-class bishops and theologians’ social attitudes and thus their starting point from which they understood the social implications of Christian teachings. The subsequent chapters examine the tension between traditional elite values based on wealth, education, and prestige versus the apostolic ideals of hard work, simplicity, and humility. Chapter 3 demonstrates how virtues associated with the apostles introduced new social values in a variety of contexts. In particular, the tentmakers and fishermen influenced how church leaders envisioned the qualities of the ideal bishop as well as how they considered the role of educated discourse in discussions among Christians. In some contexts, inspired by the apostles, church leaders expressed their admiration for a simple, uneducated faith and for the virtues of manual workers. In other cases, however, they professed more traditional values, preferring educated, well-connected men in positions of church leadership. The apostles would remain role models for Christian leaders in some respects, but their social, economic, and educational standing were qualities that were not often emulated or promoted. Chapter 4 turns to the theological controversies of this period and how the virtue of simplicity became a complicated, even dangerous, issue. In addition to articulating their understanding of Christian doctrine and way of life, bishops and theologians had to defend themselves amid theological divisions. In this context, a simple statement of faith would not suffice. Church authorities’ attacks against enemies and praise for their friends often revealed their assumptions about education and social values –

Overview of Chapters

11

sometimes they promoted simplicity as a key virtue, but they also attacked their enemies for their lack of social and cultural credentials. In many cases, participants in theological rivalries could not follow the example, or even recommend following the example, of the “uneducated and ordinary” apostles (agrammatoi kai idiōtai: Acts 4:13). Chapter 5 turns to the virtue of humility, which may have been one of the most difficult concepts for upper-class Christians to embrace. In some cases, biblical passages as well as the social standing of New Testament figures were presented as guides for a new style of social relations among spiritual equals. But in other cases, humility became, paradoxically, a virtue that the elite could claim as their own exclusive prerogative. By examining several authors’ discussions of humility across different modes of communication – treatises, hagiography, homilies, and letters – we can see that the importance of this virtue was always clear, but its connections to low social status were imagined in very different ways. Christian leaders in Late Antiquity were far from consistent in how they envisioned ideal social relations. Alongside the promotion of almsgiving and love for the poor, pride and condescension toward their perceived social inferiors persisted among elite Christians. The attitudes of church authorities toward the less educated and lower-status members of their communities were neither simply an extension of conventional social relations, nor wholly derived from a new set of Christian values. The intent of this book is to study these attitudes as examples of a society and worldviews that were changing – but not completely transformed – in response to the growing dominance of Christian teachings.

chapter 1

Roman and Early Christian Attitudes toward Social and Economic Divisions

In Roman society, the upper classes operated according to their own social “common sense” that determined how they viewed themselves in contrast to people with less money, less prestige, and less power. Their social values and self-presentation, which would later be at odds with certain Christian teachings, were not monolithic: in some contexts, Roman writers idealized austere peasants and criticized the extravagantly wealthy; at other times, any association with agricultural or manual labor would be an easy way to attack an enemy or dismiss a rival. Roman writers of the first and second centuries CE reflected (and helped to establish) the conventional ideas about social and economic status, which would be the starting points for upper-class worldviews in Late Antiquity. In addition to sharing much of the mindset of the broader society, Christian writers in the early Empire also drew upon Jewish and Christian sacred texts when they discussed issues related to economic disparity and social hierarchy. This chapter will examine these conventional Roman social attitudes and then turn to focus on the early Christians. The contrast between how upper-class Roman writers and early Christian writers (many of whom were also from well-off backgrounds) viewed social and economic divisions – such as the value they placed on manual labor – will provide the basis for examining how the social “common sense” would change in Late Antiquity.

Social and Economic Divisions – and Middle Groups – in the Roman Empire During the early Empire, the old distinction between patricians and plebeians gave way to honestiores and humiliores, while the division between rich and poor continued throughout the Roman period.1 Through the use 1

Although the precise origins of the split between patricians and plebeians is unknown, by the time of the early Empire, Romans believed that this division traced back to the origins of Rome; see J.-

12

Social & Economic Divisions – & Middle Groups – in Roman Empire 13 of these dichotomies, however, Roman elites understated the complexity of their own society and highlighted their own distinction within it. When a writer refers to “the young” and “the old,” we know that, in reality, people of all ages existed. Likewise, middling groups are elided by binary social and economic categories, even though they comprised the majority. When we attempt to describe Roman society according to the terms used by the Romans, however, we find little or no vocabulary for middle groups.2 While people with a wide range of social and economic standing were lumped together as the “poor” or “plebs,” the only finely tuned vocabularies of social status or economic class were those that detailed the steps of distinction within the elite minority, from the decurions of each city to the senators of Rome.3 Wealthy sub-elites (the fictional character Trimalchio being the most famous example) and not-sowealthy public officials do not fit neatly into these categories. In reality, the honestiores encompassed groups ranging from the extremely wealthy down to local leading families of small provincial towns, while the humiliores included even the wealthiest merchants and artisans in addition to poor workers, small farmers, and the destitute.4 In addition to imagining their society as divided by these categories, Roman writers downplayed the possibility of social mobility. When

2

3

4

C. Richard, “Patricians and Plebeians: The Origins of a Social Dichotomy,” in K. A. Raaflaub (ed.), Social Struggles in Archaic Rome: New Perspectives on the Conflict of the Orders, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), 107–27. Although the term “middle class” has modern connotations as a descriptor favored by the majority in contemporary American society, for example, and as a term for the bourgeois driving force of social change in the early modern and modern periods, it would, in a general sense, apply to many of the “plebs.” See Brown, “The Study of Elites,” 339. For an extensive argument in favor of the use of the term “middle class,” see E. Mayer, The Ancient Middle Classes: Urban Life and Aesthetics in the Roman Empire, 100 BCE–250 CE (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012), 1–25. On the “vocabulary of privilege,” see P. Garnsey, Social Status and Legal Privilege in the Roman Empire (Oxford University Press, 1970), 221–33. On the Roman terms for the lower classes, see Z. Yavetz, Plebs and Princeps (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), 7, 141–55; Paul Veyne, “La ‘Plèbe Moyenne’ sous le Haut-Empire Romain,” Annales HSS 6, November–December (2000), 1169–99, at 1170, footnotes 6–8 and 1181; C. R. Whittaker, “The Poor in the City of Rome” in C. R. Whittaker (ed.), Land, City, and Trade in the Roman Empire (Aldershot: Variorum, 1993), 1–25, at 6; N. Horsfall, “The Cultural Horizons of the ‘Plebs Romana,’ Appendix A: Cicero’s Classification of Intellectual Caliber,” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome, 41 (1996), 101–19, at 117; R. MacMullen, Appendix B: “The Lexicon of Snobbery,” in Roman Social Relations 50 B.C. to A. D. 284 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974), 138–41; Z. Yavetz, “Plebs Sordida,” Athenaeum, 43 (1965), 295–311. Géza Alföldy considers public office rather than wealth as the key dividing line between elites and the masses: The Social History of Rome, D. Braund and F. Pollock (trans.) (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1988), 106–19; Alföldy also recognizes the wide range of people included among the humiliores: 204–6. Garnsey emphasizes that this dichotomy does not reflect the complexity of Roman society: Social Status and Legal Privilege, 280.

14

Roman and Early Christian Attitudes

upwardly mobile individuals became too prominent to ignore, the (usually elite) writers described them as isolated cases. But social and economic climbing happened often enough to appear in the epigraphical record.5 Other texts sometimes refer to the humble origins of public officials, or even emperors, as a way to discredit them.6 This disapproval of ambitious lower-class people, however, is a clear indication that social mobility could happen; when it did happen, it threatened the neat divisions between honestiores and humiliores. The Romans’ perception of their society as divided between the rich and the poor was accurate to the extent that even well-off artisans and shopkeepers were poor compared to the wealthy and at risk of falling into destitution.7 In Roman literature, people who are not rich are described as poor: genres ranging from philosophical treatises to rhetorical exercises split the world into these groups, without articulating a category for those who were in between.8 But even if the Romans put destitute beggars in the same category as well-off merchants, we should think in terms of subcategories for people such as the “less-poor” members of collegia and “respectable poor” clients of the rich. The term plebs media – used in antiquity to refer to the wealthiest plebs – provides one way to add texture to our understanding of Roman society.9 Despite the difficulties of terminology, 5

6

7 8

9

J. Andreau, “Mobilité Sociale et Activités Commerciales et Financières,” in E. Frézouls (ed.), La Mobilité Sociale dans le Monde Romain: Actes du Colloque Organisé a Strasbourg (November 1988), (Strasbourg: AECR, 1992), 21–32, at 21–3. Based on epigraphical evidence, Andreau estimates that around 4 percent of bankers had children or grandchildren who rose into a higher social order: 24–5. Cf. MacMullen, Roman Social Relations, 43–4. For a recent study of disruption of the Roman social hierarchy, see E. Hartmann, Ordnung in Unordnung: Kommunikation, Konsum, und Konkurrenz in der Stadtrömischen Gesellschaft der Frühen Kaiserzeit (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2016). On elite disapproval of social mobility, see Alföldy, Social History, 176–7. On the evidence for social mobility, see Alföldy, “Soziale Mobilität im Römischen Kaiserreich: Eine Datenbank in Heidelberg,” in La Mobilité Sociale, 71–9; E. Frézouls, “Aspects de la Mobilité Sociale dans l’Asie Mineure Romaine,” in La Mobilité Sociale, 231–52. On widespread conjunctural poverty, see Whittaker, “The Poor in the City of Rome,” 7; on the wide range of people considered to be pauperes: 14–18. G. Woolf, “Writing Poverty in Rome,” in M. Atkins and R. Osborne (eds.), Poverty in the Roman World (Cambridge University Press, 2006), 83–99, at 88–90. Woolf points out that in Juvenal’s satires, people are either in a wealthy person’s entourage or pushed down by it: 86. Veyne, “Plèbe Moyenne,” 1170. On the original use of the term, see C. Virlouvet, La Plèbe Frumentaire dans les Témoinages Épigraphiques: Essai d’Histoire Sociale et Administrative du Peuple de Rome Antique, Collection de L’École Française de Rome 414 (Rome: École Française de Rome, 2009), 1–2. C. Courrier considers this term to refer to the middle level of the plebs: La Plèbe de Rome et sa Culture (fin du IIe Siècle av. J.-C. – fin du Ier Siècle ap. J.-C.), Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 353 (Rome: École Française de Rome, 2014), 299–314. For examples of plebs media as a term for a middling socioeconomic group, see A. Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and Society in Pompeii and Herculaneum (Princeton University Press, 1994), 73; É. Rebillard, The Care of the Dead in Late Antiquity, E. Rawlings and J. Routier-Pucci (trans.), (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009), 56 and note 75.

Social & Economic Divisions – & Middle Groups – in Roman Empire 15 however, it is clear that middling socioeconomic groups existed (even if they were not conscious of any sort of shared identity): Roman writers refer to people such as non-elite slave owners, small landlords, and a surprising case of a wealthy mule-driver, while the epigraphical evidence preserves numerous inscriptions by non-elites (especially freedmen and freedwomen), who expressed pride in freedom, prosperity, and their lines of work.10 Other nonliterary sources also undermine the notion of a rigid social hierarchy. For example, while literary sources describe distinct social roles at banquets discernible by one’s posture, depictions of banquets in artwork show more nuanced status distinctions that were contingent on a variety of factors.11 Moreover, in recent years, archaeologists have uncovered an increasing amount of evidence for a continuum of economic levels between the rich and the poor, as well as a continuum of social prestige. Inscriptions referring to the receipt of the grain dole reveal information about these middling classes, including the use of the grain dole as a badge of distinction among non-elites.12 Syrian villages flourished during the imperial period, while some Egyptian villages had the means to support resident goldsmiths.13 Despite Roman writers’ references to clear divisions in their society between those with or those without public honors, or between the rich and the poor, we can see that there was indeed a “middle class” – not the unified, self-aware identity of a “class” in the modern sense, but rather a group (probably the majority of the population) that fell between two social and economic extremes.14 10

11

12 13 14

Veyne, “Plèbe Moyenne,” 1173–4 (mule driver), 1178–7 (epigraphy). On epigraphic evidence for Rome, see Whittaker, “The Poor in the City of Rome,” 5; L. Ross Taylor, “Freedmen and Freeborn in the Epitaphs of Imperial Rome,” American Journal of Philology, 82 (1961), 113–32; H. Mouritsen, “Freedmen and Decurions: Epitaphs and Social History in Imperial Italy,” Journal of Roman Studies, 95 (2005), 38–63. M. Roller, Dining Posture in Ancient Rome: Bodies, Values, and Status (Princeton University Press, 2006). For evidence of cross-sections of society at dinner parties, with equal treatment of guests idealized, even when social differences were otherwise emphasized, see J. H. D’Arms, “The Roman Convivium and the Idea of Equality,” in O. Murray (ed.), Sympotica: A Symposium on the Symposium (Oxford University Press, 1990), 308–20. On democratic aspects of dinner parties, see G. J. D. Aalders, “Ideas about Human Equality and Inequality in the Roman Empire: Plutarch and Some of his Contemporaries,” in I. Kajanto (ed.), Equality and Inequality of Man in Ancient Thought, Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum 75 (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1984), 55–72 at 62. Virlouvet, La Plèbe Frumentaire, 1–5, 81–2, 273–4. On different aspects of sub-elites’ competition with others for status and display of status, see Hartmann, Ordnung und Unordnung. W. Scheidel, “Stratification, Deprivation and Quality of Life,” in Poverty in the Roman World, 40–59; at 45, for goldsmiths. Scheidel estimates that 20–25 percent of farmers had enough land to belong in the middle: “Stratification,” 49–51; Greg Woolf notes that the term “poor” erases the differences between a rich person with financial problems and the truly destitute: “Writing Poverty in Rome,” in

16

Roman and Early Christian Attitudes

Roman Attitudes toward the Poor Along with the wealthy and middle groups, truly destitute people could be found begging in the streets of Roman cities. Although the Romans’ civic generosity was directed to fellow-citizens rather than to the poor, they did not ignore beggars altogether. The Stoics believed that helping beggars was the decent response to seeing someone in need; the donor, however, should be motivated by a reasonable level of pity or sympathy, rather than by strong emotions stemming from love or fear about one’s fate in the afterlife.15 Philosophers were not the only ones who expressed concern: most alms were probably from non-elite donors – people who would have been one misfortune away from living on the streets themselves.16 Even without social or religious pressure to give alms, it is easy to imagine people responding to the sentiment: “There but for the grace of [God/the gods/ fate] go I.” Although the disparity of wealth was accepted as a fact of life, generosity was one way to alleviate some of the suffering. Well-off Romans could imagine that the poor were content with their lot, while also believing them to be at fault for their economic straits. According to some writers, “the poor” tended to engage in cheating and hustling; they were assumed to be desperate to obtain wealth that they, by definition, did not have.17 In sum, the attitudes toward the destitute poor were far from consistent and generally more negative than they were positive.

Roman Attitudes toward Manual Labor and Commerce Elite Roman writers also expressed disdain for manual labor and commerce: other than working one’s own land and engaging in public service, other types of work were to be avoided if possible. According to this

15

16

17

Poverty in the Roman World, 83–99, at 93–4. See also MacMullen, Roman Social Relations, 92; Mayer, Ancient Middle Classes, 24–5. R. Osborne, “Roman Poverty in Context,” in Poverty in the Roman World, 3. Regarding which types of poor people were viewed as most deserving of help, see C. Grey and A. Parkin, “Controlling the Urban Mob: The Colonatus Perpetuus of CTh 14.18.1,” Phoenix, 57 (2003), 284–99, at 290. A. Parkin, “‘You Do Him no Service’: An Exploration of Pagan Almsgiving,” in Poverty in the Roman World, 60–82, at 65; on non-elite donors, 69–73. On the similarities of pagan and Christian thought on these matters, see P. Allen, B. Neil, and W. Mayer, Preaching Poverty in the Late Antiquity: Perceptions and Realities (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2009), 110–11. Whittaker, “The Poor in the City of Rome,” 2–3, 6–7. On the perceived immorality of the plebs, see J. Toner, Leisure and Ancient Rome (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995), 69–72. Toner also notes how these sentiments have continued in modern scholarship. On the association of the extremes of wealth and poverty with moral corruption, see Osborne, “Roman Poverty,” 15. On negative stereotypes and mistrust of the “poor,” see Grey and Parkin, “Controlling the Urban Mob,” 289–90.

Roman Attitudes toward Manual Labor and Commerce

17

worldview, commerce made people greedy, manual labor deadened the intellect, and any position subordinate to another person verged on slavery. Additionally, work left no time for definitive upper-class activities: intellectual engagement, cultural pursuits, and political offices all required plenty of leisure. This condescending attitude toward labor, shared by elites of other eras as well, has colored our picture of the social and economic standing of merchants and artisans.18 Roman authors were so united and emphatic in their contempt for work that it can be considered a definitive trait of the mentality of the Roman elites.19 What is less straightforward, however, is whether non-elite Romans shared this attitude. Or, for that matter, did elite Romans really follow this line of thinking when some types of work promised great wealth as a return? While Roman writers clearly associated inherited, land-based wealth with respectability, a different value system emerges from nonliterary sources. For the middle groups, hard work was nothing to be embarrassed about. At the same time, many in these less prestigious groups liked to imagine members of the wealthiest classes as greedy and unhappy, which is another indication of a different value system.20 (As a comparison, many working-class Americans in the 1970s tended to disparage middle- and upper-class lifestyles, rather than expressing the respect or envy that the middle and upper classes might have expected.21) Elite prejudice against labor and commerce did not prevent people from making their fortunes in a variety of fields, but it did influence how wealthy people managed their property and represented their own social standing.22 The ostentatious, fictional freedman Trimalchio has been examined closely for insight into 18

19

20

21 22

For examples of upper-class writers’ disdain for work, see F. De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori nel Mondo Romano (Bari: Adriatica Editrice, 1963), 23, note 8. See R. Hock’s summary of ancient contempt for work in The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry: Tentmaking and Apostleship (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1980), 35–6. For a range of ancient views about socioeconomic class, see K. Wengst, Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated: The Transformation of an Attitude and Its Social Relevance in Graeco-Roman, Old Testament-Jewish and Early Christian Tradition, J. Bowden (trans.) (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1988), 4–15. De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 24. For an overview of how elite disdain for commerce has been dealt with by social historians, see J. D’Arms, Commerce and Social Standing in Ancient Rome (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981), 11–16. Veyne, “La ‘Plèbe Moyenne’,” 1182; T. Morgan, Popular Morality in the Early Roman Empire (Cambridge University Press, 2007), 47–8; P. A. Brunt, “Aspects of the Social Thought of Dio Chrysostom and of the Stoics,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society, New Series 19 (1973), 9–34, at 14. E. E. LeMasters, Blue-Collar Aristocrats: Life-Styles at a Working-Class Tavern (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1975), 19–35. D’Arms, Commerce and Social Standing, 46–7. On evidence for widespread pride in work in inscriptions and other evidence, see De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 24–46. Morgan points to several moral texts that celebrate honest hard work: Popular Morality, 92, 153.

18

Roman and Early Christian Attitudes

these attitudes: in particular, his acquisition of land has been cited as evidence of his conformity to elite values. But Trimalchio was not embarrassed about being a merchant – land was just one of his many investments.23 Elite contempt for various occupations did not determine the outlook of other social groups – in fact, it failed to determine elite conduct. Nevertheless, this contempt shaped the social worldviews and self-representation of the Roman upper classes.

Roman Philosophers on Human Equality and Social Hierarchy Even in a society that placed such an emphasis on social hierarchy, some thinkers were able to conceptualize the essential equality of all humans and questioned the importance of differences based on one’s gender and social, legal, or economic status.24 Among Stoic and Cynic philosophers, some postulated that the only distinction that mattered was the one between ignorance and wisdom or between morality and immorality.25 While no philosophers attempted to apply these concepts by setting up formal schools for the masses, Cynics in particular were known for street preaching and the accessibility of their ideas.26 In contrast to the prevailing elite mentality that considered manual labor an obstacle to the leisure necessary for serious thought and the development of virtues, for most Stoic- and Cynic-influenced writers who addressed the issue, poverty and wealth did not necessarily have negative or positive effects on the individual. Far from being a real disadvantage, poverty or living from one’s own labor were ways to be self-sufficient and therefore virtuous.27 While certain types of work were deemed immoral 23 24

25

26

27

On Petronius, see D’Arms, Commerce and Social Standing, 97–120. G. B. Kerferd, “The Concept of Equality in the Thought of the Sophistic Movement,” in Equality and Inequality, 7–16; W. Kullman, “Equality in Aristotle’s Political Thought,” in Equality and Inequality, 31–44, at 44; J. L. Moles, “‘Honestius quam Ambitiosius?’ An Exploration of the Cynic’s Attitude to Moral Corruption in His Fellow Men,” Journal of Hellenic Studies, 103 (1983), 103–23, at 114. On the “golden rule” as an idea that promoted egalitarian views in both philosophical and early Christian traditions, see A. Dihle, Die Goldene Regel: Eine Einführung in die Geschichte der Antiken und Frühchristlichen Vulgärethik (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1962). Moles, “‘Honestius quam Ambitiosius?’,”114. On Dio Chrysostom, for whom the important distinction was morality and immorality, see Aalders, “Ideas about Human Equality and Inequality in the Roman Empire,” 55–71, at 65–6. J. Christensen, “Equality of Man and Stoic Social Thought,” in Equality and Inequality, 45–54, at 45–6, 51; Aalders, “Ideas about Human Equality and Inequality,” 56–7, 69; Moles, “‘Honestius quam Ambitiosius?’,” 111–12. On Seneca’s views that poor people are “in no way sadder or more anxious than the rich” (ad Helv. 2.1), see Whittaker, “The Poor in the City of Rome,” 6. On Dio Chrysostom’s view that poverty and wealth were indifferent, see F. Brenk, “Dio on the Simple and Self-Sufficient Life,” in S. Swain (ed.),

Social and Economic Status within the Earliest Christian Communities 19 due to their association with unnecessary luxury (gourmet food preparation, for example), most work could be consistent with a good life; philosophical discussions could even take place within the workshop.28 Some philosophers had started off as artisans, laborers, or even slaves, which may have contributed to their inclusive perspectives on labor and non-elite social standing.29 Epictetus, for example, insisted that people should praise God while ploughing and that people could live principled lives and die well, regardless of whether they are a consul, a farmer, a manual worker, or a merchant.30 Greek and Roman intellectuals, however, were not consistent in their promotion of a simple life or their devaluation of wealth and elite social standing – even the Cynics expressed contempt for the masses at times.31 Although the Stoics’ and Cynics’ worldviews allowed for the possibility for lower-class people to be virtuous, they tended to assume that most of them were dishonorable.32 As we shall see, upper-class Christians would also have mixed feelings about their social inferiors.

Social and Economic Status within the Earliest Christian Communities The New Testament’s references to the social status and social worldviews of Jesus, his apostles, and their earliest followers have been interpreted in various ways. Much of the variation depends on whether references to poor and wealthy people in the New Testament are interpreted as representing

28 29

30 31

32

Dio Chrysostom: Politics, Letters and Philosophy (Oxford University Press, 2000), 261–78, at 262–3. On the virtue of the poor, see Brunt, “Aspects of the Social Thought of Dio Chrysostom.” On Christian and Cynic views associating poverty with virtue, see F. G. Downing, Cynics and Christian Origins (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), 9–13; W. Desmond, Greek Praise of Poverty: Origins of Ancient Cynicism (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 2006). Brunt, “Aspects of the Social Thought of Dio Chrysostom,” 10–17; Hock, Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 40–1; 55–6. On the appeal of Cynic philosophy to the rich and poor, see M.-O. Goulet-Cazé, “Le Cynisme à l’Époque Impériale,” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt II, 36.4 (1990), 2720–833, at 2734–6. On the social origins of philosophers, see Hock, Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 37–42. Epictetus, I. 16, 16; IV. 10, 11; discussed in Brunt, “Aspects of the Social Thought of Dio Chrysostom,” 26. J. L. Moles, “Cynic Cosmopolitanism,” in R. Bracht Branham and M.-O. Goulet Cazé (eds.), The Cynics: The Cynic Movement in Antiquity and Its Legacy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 105–20, at 115–16. On Lucian’s complaints about slaves and wage earners passing themselves off as philosophers, see Downing, Cynics and Christian Origins, 96. De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 23. On the Stoic and Cynic view that virtue is possible for all people, see Moles, “‘Honestius quam Ambitiosius?’” 116–18. On the ambivalent attitude of the rich toward the poor, Whittaker, “Poor in the City of Rome,” 19–20. On negative terms used by Seneca and others for the masses, see Yavetz, Plebs and Princeps, 150–1.

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Roman and Early Christian Attitudes

the exceptions or the norms. A great deal of debate has centered on the Apostle Paul: a Jewish tentmaker who was also a Roman citizen fluent in Greek and capable of attracting followers with his theological reflections and moral instructions. Questions about the social background of New Testament figures and their immediate successors became a central focus of biblical studies in the 1970s due to the increased attention to social history in general as well as a particular interest in the socially radical aspects of early Christianity.33 This wave of scholarship introduced or furthered sociological approaches to biblical studies, calling attention to the social and economic standing of people who were drawn to the teachings of Jesus and the apostles, while also examining how the traveling preachers found financial support and how they fit in to the broader society of Palestine and other Roman territories. The representation of Jesus in the gospels gives us a complicated picture of his earthly education and social status. Despite humble origins, he impressed the teachers in Jerusalem: “Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers” (Lk 2:47). The story of the young Jesus in the temple indicates that he was not formally educated but was still able to hold his own in erudite circles.34 The social and economic background of Jesus was one of the key questions addressed by the Jesus Seminar during the late twentieth century and the subject of several books, but for our purposes here, it is sufficient to say that the gospels describe Jesus as emerging from a relatively humble background as a popular teacher whose lessons challenged the status quo.35 As we shall see, Christian writers in Late Antiquity also considered Jesus as having lived in lowly social and economic circumstances. There is a long scholarly tradition of viewing earliest Christianity as a proletarian movement inspired as much by social and economic oppression as by specifically religious hopes and beliefs. While this view was prevalent in the 1960s and 1970s, later research aimed to correct, or at least 33

34

35

For examples, see J. Gager, Kingdom and Community: The Social World of Early Christianity (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1975); R. M. Grant, Early Christianity and Society: Seven Studies (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1977); A. J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1983); G. Theissen, Sociology of Early Palestinian Christianity, J. Bowden (trans.) (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1978). Jesus and his followers could be seen as “noble proletariats” or as part of mainstream society: see E. A. Judge, “The Early Christians as a Scholastic Community,” in J. Harrison (ed.), The First Christians in the Roman World: Augustan and New Testament Essays (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 526–52, at 533. For example, see J. D. Crossan’s The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco, CA: Harper, 1991) and Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (San Francisco, CA: Harper, 1994).

Social and Economic Status within the Earliest Christian Communities 21 add nuance to, the assumption that the earliest Christians were primarily poor and downtrodden.36 The presence of relatively well-off individuals within this group is now generally accepted, but their significance is still debated.37 In these discussions, key texts have been interpreted to mean the opposite things. For instance, Paul writes that “not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth” (1 Cor. 1:26). Reading the passage in a straightforward way, it seems to mean that few of Paul’s followers were highly educated and/or from the upper classes, implying that most were from lower classes. But it is possible to use this passage to emphasize the presence of prosperous people in this group.38 Along these lines, Wayne Meeks and others have argued that Christianity appealed to the provincial urban upper classes in part because they were prevented from rising higher in the imperial social hierarchy.39 Others have argued that the early church’s social structure was similar to that of the collegia: solidly based in a middling economic group, neither elite nor poor.40 Overall, despite some of the differences in interpretation, there is a general agreement that the New Testament figures and their followers included ordinary workers as well as relatively prosperous people. 36

37

38

39

40

See H. O. Maier’s critique of Gager’s view of early Christianity as a proletarian movement: The Social Setting of the Ministry as Reflected in the Writings of Hermas, Clement and Ignatius (Waterloo, Canada: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1991; repr. 2002), 9–10. P. Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom: Triumph and Diversity, A.D. 200–1000, 2nd ed. (Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell, 2003), 63. For a recent examination of early Christians from the orders of senators, equestrians, and decurions, see A. Weiß, Soziale Elite und Christentum: Studien zu Ordo-Angehö rigen unter den Frü hen Christen (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2015). E. A. Judge, The Social Pattern of the Christian Groups in the First Century: Some Prolegomena to the Study of New Testament Ideas of Social Obligation (London: Tyndale Press, 1960), 60; Judge argues against the idea that Paul and his group represented the “noble proletariat” resisting corrupt Roman culture: “The Early Christians as a Scholastic Community,” 526. Maier points to evidence of Paul’s letters and the Shepherd of Hermas being addressed to wealthy Christians: The Social Setting of the Ministry, 44–7; cf. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 29–31; 75–7. Grant, Early Christianity and Society, 11. Using the concept of “status inconsistency,” Wayne Meeks argues that people with high status in one aspect of their identity and low status in another (e.g. a wealthy woman) would be more likely to join an alternative community like the early Christians: The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul, 2nd ed. (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003). See also W. Meeks, “Taking Stock and Moving on,” in T. Still and D. Horrell (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Communities Twenty-Five Years Later (London: Continuum, 2009), 134–46. For a comparison of the egalitarianism of the Pauline churches and collegia, see J. S. Kloppenborg, “Egalitarianism in the Myth and Rhetoric of Pauline Churches,” in E. Castelli and H. Taussig (eds.), Reimagining Christian Origins: A Colloquium Honoring Burton L. Mack (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996), 247–63. Malherbe considers the direct connection between collegia and churches to be overstated: Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 86–9. Theissen views the earliest Christians as part of the “marginal middle class”: Sociology of Early Palestinian Christianity, 46; 116.

22

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Paul’s Education and Social Standing As we shall see in the following chapters, later church leaders’ awareness of the apostles as “uneducated and ordinary men” (Acts 4:13) would influence their understanding of these figures and the virtues they embodied. In the case of Paul, however, the references to him in Acts of the Apostles and his own letters make his social and economic background particularly difficult to categorize. Acts 22:3 states that Paul had received a traditional Jewish education, but the extent to which Paul was influenced by Jewish tradition versus the schools of Greek philosophers and sophists is somewhat ambiguous.41 Likewise, Paul’s literary skill has been subject to varying interpretations, resulting in conclusions that range from viewing him as on par with Greek and Roman philosophers to a pretender with a low style.42 Paul himself criticized his opponents as sophists who had learned tricks in rhetorical schools and claimed that his own arguments were not due to that type of training.43 While these claims could be taken at face value, they are more likely a rhetorical stance and therefore an indication of rhetorical training, or at least an awareness of rhetorical strategies.44 The most persuasive conclusion that takes all of these factors into account is one that acknowledges both Jewish and Greco-Roman influences on Paul’s intellectual formation.45 Tied to these questions about Paul’s education, his status as a tentmaker (Acts 18:3) has also been carefully examined. Was he a lowly tentmaking manual laborer or a successful businessman overseeing the production of tents? The work of a tentmaker, as we have seen, carried the stigma of lowstatus labor in Roman society, but it could also be the work of a wealthy businessman.46 As a result of these ambiguities, Paul can be seen as 41

42 43 44

45 46

T. D. Still, “Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor? Revisiting the Work of Ronald F. Hock on the Apostle’s Tentmaking and Social Class,” Journal of Biblical Literature, 125.4 (2006), 781–95, at 785; Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 25. Most recently, see A. Hilton, Illiterate Apostles: Uneducated Early Christians and the Literates Who Loved Them (London: Bloomsbury, 2018). Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 34–35; 57–8. Paul condemns the sophistical approach in 1 Cor. 1.1–4 and responds to critics in 2 Cor. 10–13. Judge, “Early Christians as a Scholastic Community,” 551–2; “The Conflict of Educational Aims in the New Testamant,” in The First Christians, 693–708, at 707; and “The Reaction against Classical Education in the New Testament,” 713–14; Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 56–9. On Paul’s self-effacement as an aspect of his charisma, see Maier, The Social Setting of the Ministry, 169. J. A. Harrill, Paul the Apostle: His Life and Legacy in Their Roman Context (Cambridge University Press, 2012), 25. S. Stowers, “Social Status, Public Speaking and Private Teaching: The Circumstances of Paul’s Preaching Activity,” Novum Testamentum, 26.1 (1984), 59–82, 74–5; Hock, Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 20ff. On workshops such as Paul’s involving people from different backgrounds, see Harrill, Paul the Apostle, 50–1.

Paul’s Attitude toward Labor

23

a member of the upper class with a proper Greek education, functioning among the higher strata of society like a Greek philosopher or sophist. But he can also be seen as a self-taught manual worker, with a Jewish rather than Greek intellectual background, firmly a member of the non-elite who spoke to and socialized with other non-elites.47 The vague category of “popular philosophers” is one reason why interpretations of Paul’s educational background vary so much. As a traveling teacher who was involved, to some extent, with manual labor, Paul had a lot in common with Cynics and other itinerant philosophers. But, in other ways, his way of life and his activities were similar to the higher-status (non-popular?) philosophers and sophists. For instance, he found patrons and taught in private homes.48 But this particular debate, in my view, is based on unnecessary distinctions between “popular philosophy” and proper philosophy.49 Philosophers, rhetors, and sophists were always attacking each other with accusations of “false philosophy” or sophistry or quackery, in contrast to “true” wisdom. There was a spectrum of philosophers, prophets, and teachers coming from varying social levels, among Greeks and Jews. The disagreement about how exactly to label Paul demonstrates that he fits into this spectrum but not at its extremes.

Paul’s Attitude toward Labor Instead of trying to align Paul with either the elite or the impoverished, we should consider him to have been somewhere in the middle, as someone living above subsistence level who may have voluntarily given up his economic security.50 Having a sense of Paul’s own social 47

48 49

50

Judge views Paul as not among the highest level of philosophers but more of a sophist or “popular philosopher” offering practical advice to his followers: “First Impressions of St. Paul,” in The First Christians, 410–15. Cf. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 45–8, 55–6. Stowers, “Social Status, Public Speaking and Private Teaching,” 59–62 and74–5; cf. Hock, Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 20. See Downing, Cynics and Christian Origins, 24. Most recently see Heidi Wendt’s study of popular “self-authorized experts”: At the Temple Gates: The Religion of Freelance Experts in the Early Roman Empire (Oxford University Press, 2016). Writing on Paul’s discussions of poverty, Bruce Longenecker argues that Paul’s followers were not destitute but above subsistence level: “Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale for the Study of Early Urban Christianity,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament, 31.3 (2009), 243–78. Hock proposes that Paul was born as an aristocrat and then decided to become a lowly worker: The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 35. For more discussion of Paul’s social origins: 47–59. Hock argues against Judge’s view that Paul was entrenched in the wealthy households: 64–5. Additional discussions of these topics are also in Longenecker’s Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Grand Rapids, MI: W. B. Eerdmans, 2010).

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status is especially important when interpreting his statements about the value of manual labor. In his letters, Paul does not elaborate on the exact nature of his trade. And while his discussions of manual labor offer clues about his social origins, his views cannot be pinned down as corresponding to a single social or cultural background. When Paul tells the Thessalonians to engage in manual labor and stay economically independent (1 Thess. 4:9–12), this could indicate a Jewish embrace of the virtue of work, a Greco-Roman non-elite embrace of the virtue of work, or a Greco-Roman philosophical embrace of the virtue of work.51 Moreover, Paul has also been interpreted as viewing labor as degrading and servile, with the references to the value of work attributed to later, deutero-Pauline texts.52 In any case, Paul’s encouragement of manual labor was part of a discussion with his contemporaries who disagreed with him.53 Categorizing Paul and his views as either Greco-Roman or Jewish, or as aligning with a single economic class is, ultimately, impossible: none of these groups were monolithic in their outlook, and individuals could draw their views from more than one source.54 Paul did not idealize the life of a worker – but that in itself might be an indication that he was a real worker, not an aristocrat idealizing the happy life of the self-sufficient worker. Overall, considering Paul’s network of associates, it seems reasonable to consider Paul’s attitudes to be more reflective of workers, rather than the upper class. Later on, however, Patristic writers in Late Antiquity would read these texts through the lens of their own understanding of manual labor. 51

52

53 54

These issues are taken up in debates over the extent to which Paul’s intellectual background was more Greco-Roman or Jewish. See Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 24–6; Hock, Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 11–12, 20–3, 42–7; “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class,” Journal of Biblical Literature, 97 (1978), 555–64; “Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” in J. P. Sampley (ed.), Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, 2 vols. (London: T&T Clark, 2016), vol. I, 198–208. Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 66–7. Still argues that Hock came to this conclusion because he ignored Jewish sources that portray work positively: Still, “Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor?” 791–2. On the work-friendly Jewish views and their influence, see A. T. Geoghegan, The Attitude Towards Labor in Early Christianity and Ancient Culture (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1945), 73–84; D. Schnall, By the Sweat of Your Brow: Reflections on Work and the Workplace in Classic Jewish Thought (New York: Michael Scharf Publication Trust of Yeshiva University Press, 2001); De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 42–6. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity, 27–8, citing 1 Cor. 4:12; 2 Cor. 11:7–11. Todd Still challenges the view that Paul was aligned with the upper classes: “Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor?” 781–95. Hock’s argument is also critiqued by J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 88; Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 119; M. Volf, Work in the Spirit: Toward a Theology of Work (Oxford University Press, 1991; repr., Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2001), 71–3.

Equals in Christ: Egalitarianism or Inclusivity in the New Testament? 25

Equals in Christ: Egalitarianism or Inclusivity in the New Testament? If it is clear that the earliest followers of Jesus included a cross-section of society, it is less clear how these different groups were expected to relate to each other and whether their communities developed distinctive social norms. Certain New Testament passages challenged mainstream social, economic, cultural, ethnic, and gender hierarchies, but it is not always clear whether these passages endorsed egalitarianism (all Christians are equals) or inclusiveness (all can be Christians despite inequalities); whether new social relations were envisioned within the community; or if a new social order was expected to take shape only after the final judgment. Certain New Testament passages emphasize the equality of all people who are baptized.55 In some cases, the biblical texts go beyond egalitarianism or inclusiveness and become reversals. In the gospel of Luke, when Jesus observes people vying for seats of honor at a dinner table, he tells them to choose the lowliest positions, “For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” (Lk 14:11).56 Other passages indicate that wealthy people will have difficulty getting into heaven and that the only true wealth is from good works.57 Paul draws on Isaiah (Isa. 29.14) to convey God’s warning: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate” (1 Cor. 1:19). He relates this statement to his fellow Christians’ lack of social status, power, and education: “Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things . . . ” (1 Cor. 1:26–28). The extent to which these passages promoted social and economic equality (or even social reversals) among the earliest followers of Jesus is still a subject of debate. On one side of the issue, some have argued against 55

56

57

1 Cor. 12:13; Col. 3:10–12; Gal. 3:27–29. For an argument that these passages focus on resolving ethnic differences, see B. Hansen, All of You are One: The Social Vision of Galatians 3:28, 1 Corinthians 12:13 and Colossians 3:11 (New York: T&T Clark, 2010). Cf. Lk 18:14: Jesus addresses those “who looked down on everyone else” in terms of vaunting their own virtue and warns of a reversal and God’s preference for the humble. In Mt. 23:8–12, Jesus offers the same warning to people valuing titles such as “teacher” or “rabbi.” On Jewish and earliest Christian texts on the theme of social reversal, see H. Rhee, “Wealth, Poverty, and Eschatology,” 68–75. Mt. 19:23–26; Mt. 6:19–21; Lk 11:34–36; 12:22–34; 1 Tim. 6:17–19.

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the notion that the New Testament encourages an egalitarian society. Instead, “equality” in antiquity (including the context of the New Testament) always meant equality within particular groups.58 Others interpret the status reversals and related passages as envisioning a new society without hierarchies or economic disparities – a utopian vision that built on ideas that had already developed among Greek and Roman philosophers and in Jewish tradition.59 According to this view, the biblical challenges to social hierarchies were not metaphorical; instead, the ideal of an egalitarian society was at the heart of Jesus’ teachings.60 Likewise, certain passages in Paul’s letters also call for people to disregard for social, ethnic, and gender differences. Although Galatians 3:28 – “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” – can be read as strictly about the inclusive (but not social-leveling) nature of baptism, it is easy to see how it could also be interpreted as a radical statement envisioning an egalitarian society.61 Given that Paul used the terms of mundane social divisions, the most straightforward reading, in my view, is that the message was meant to have both eschatological and social implications. As we shall see in the following section, however, later Christian writers tended to interpret these passages as referring to God’s kingdom rather than demanding change in earthly societies. Still, the inclusiveness of early Christian communities and the scriptural passages that advocated some sort of status reversal – whether earthly or spiritual, literal or metaphorical – introduced a set of ideals that would challenge the traditional social values and attitudes of the upper classes in Late Antiquity and beyond. 58

59 60

61

Questions about ethnic and gender equality are also tied to these passages and discussions about them. For an overview of the debates about egalitarianism in the New Testament, see M. Beavis, “Christian Origins, Egalitarianism, and Utopia,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, 23.2 (2007), 27–49. This article addresses arguments made by J. H. Elliott in “Jesus Was Not an Egalitarian: A Critique of an Anachronistic and Idealist Theory,” Biblical Theology Bulletin, 32 (2002), 75–91. D. Dawson, Cities of the Gods: Communist Utopias in Greek Thought (Oxford University Press, 1992), 258–63. See Crossan, The Historical Jesus and Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography. For an overview of scholarship on this topic, see D. Aune, “Galatians 3:28 and the Problem of Equality in the Church and Society,” in P. Walters (ed.), From Judaism to Christianity: Tradition and Transition: A Festschrift for Thomas H. Tobin, S.J. on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 153–83, at 156–7. Aune, “Galatians 3:28 and the Problem of Equality,” 162–82. On gender as a part of this inclusive and/or egalitarian vision, see E. Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1983), 205–41. For an argument that the status reversal passages in Luke did question the status quo of earthly society, see A. Miller, Rumors of Resistance: Status Reversals and Hidden Transcripts in the Gospel of Luke (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2014).

Christian Social Attitudes in the Second and Third Centuries

27

Christian Social Attitudes in the Second and Third Centuries In the second and third centuries, some of the discussions of Christian apologists and their pagan opponents reflected concerns about the religious implications of socioeconomic divisions. From the Christian texts of this period, we can see that even if the earliest Christian communities had aimed to overturn, or even just to diminish, social hierarchies, this was already being toned down by the late second century.62 For example, on the subject of economic disparity, Clement of Alexandria (c. 150–215) and Tertullian (c. 160–220) argued that the scripture’s calls to give up property (Mt. 19:21; Lk 12:33) did not mean all of one’s property; rather, they interpreted the references to giving up one’s wealth as promoting generous almsgiving rather than complete divestment.63 Clement reasoned that the renunciation of private property was required for the apostles, but later generations of Christians should focus on renouncing their passions instead.64 Although Clement did not call for wealthy Christians to become poor, he criticized their indulgence in luxuries and highlighted the injustice of stark economic disparity: “God has given us the power to use our possessions, I admit, but only to the extent it is necessary: He wishes them to be in common. It is unbecoming that one man live in luxury when there are so many who labor in poverty.”65 Clement also discussed the value of labor when he addressed wealthy people: he encouraged women to work within their homes and men to engage in physical labor. In this case, labor was not just a necessity or neutral, 62

63

64

65

At least one group, known as the Carpocratians, apparently did require its members to give up their property, but they were broadly denounced as heretics and were accused of worshipping philosophers alongside Jesus and also extending the sharing of property to the sharing of wives. See Dawson, Cities of the Gods, 265–7; G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, “Early Christian Attitudes to Property and Slavery,” [originally in Studies in Church History 12 (1975): 1–38, at 32–3], reprinted in M. Whitby and J. Streeter (eds.), Christian Persecution, Martyrdom, and Orthodoxy (Oxford University Press, 2006), 328–71, at 365–6. Dawson, Cities of the Gods, 276–9; H. Stander, “Economics in the Church Fathers,” in P. Oslington, (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Christianity and Economics (Oxford University Press, 2014), 22–43, at 25–8; Rhee, Loving the Poor and Saving the Rich: Wealth, Poverty, and Early Christian Formation (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2012). Clement disassociated salvation from giving up one’s wealth, whereas Origen (185–254) and Cyprian of Carthage (200–58) considered the call to renounce private property as something to be taken literally. See Dawson’s discussion of Clement’s “Who is the Rich Man Who Can Be Saved?,” Cities of the Gods, 278–80; L. W. Countryman, The Rich Christian in the Church of the Early Empire: Contradictions and Accommodations (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1980), 54–63; Rhee, Loving the Poor, 77–88. Clement, Paedagogus 2.12.120 (trans. Wood, 192–3).

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but rather it was dignified and virtuous.66 In Clement’s writings, we can see not only a move away from the gospel’s call to give up one’s property and the model set by the apostles (Acts 2:45; 4:34) but also a clear shift away from typical elite attitudes toward manual work. By the third century, the interpretation of scriptural passages prophesying the salvation of the pious poor and the punishment of the wicked rich had developed into something quite different. Third-century Christians expected God’s judgment to be disconnected from economic status: “future rewards and punishments now corresponded to distinctions between the righteous and unrighteous rich rather than to distinctions between the pious poor and oppressive rich.”67 The dominant interpretation of the biblical passages about wealth and poverty had shifted from social and economic leveling (or reversal) to almsgiving. Insofar as the distribution of wealth remained a moral issue, it had become less a matter of social justice and more a matter of how riches affected the spiritual wellbeing of the wealthy, and how the wealthy could attain virtue.68 In addition to preserving economic hierarchies, Christian writers maintained upper-class norms in their attitudes toward fellow Christians from lower social and economic strata. The language of patrons and clients and social honor and privilege appeared very early on in Christian writings, including Clement of Rome and Hermas in the late first and early second centuries.69 Over time, the general acceptance, or even embrace, of social and economic inequality among Christians can be discerned in the growing influence of wealthy Christians and in the development of beliefs that the rich should aid the poor and, in exchange, the poor should be thankful to the rich and pray for them.70 In response to pagan critics, Tertullian defended the notion that the church accepted adherents from all social and economic levels, but maintained that this inclusiveness did not threaten existing social and economic hierarchies. In his Apology, he explains that Christians, unlike the leisured Indian Brahmans, carry on business in the marketplace, go to public baths, workshops, and inns, sail ships, fight, farm, and engage in trade.71 While 66 67 69 70 71

On Clement’s ridicule and condemnation of wealthy people’s reliance on slaves and avoidance of work: Paedagogus 3.4–5, 11. See Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 146–9. Rhee, “Wealth, Poverty, and Eschatology,” 76. 68 Ibid., 83–4. D. Rankin, “Class Distinction as a Way of Doing Church: The Early Fathers and the Christian Plebs,” Vigiliae Christianae, 58 (2004), 298–315; at 300–1, 306–9. On the roles of the rich and poor in Hermas, see Rankin, “Class Distinction,” 306; on the increasing influence of wealthy Christians, 306–15. Tertullian, Apology 42.1–3. See Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 137–9; Alföldy, “Soziale Mobilität,” 71–9, esp. 77–9. On Tertullian’s references to the economic class of the Christians in

Christian Social Attitudes in the Second and Third Centuries

29

Tertullian singled out some occupations as dishonorable, his derision was not based on issues related to class distinctions or humiliation but on morality and idolatry.72 He maintained that Christians should embrace the “simple, rude, uncultured and untaught” (simplices, imprudentes et idiotae) whose lives were spent in “the road, the street, the workshop.” Simplicity made such people “more capable of attaining true wisdom” than traditional elite education.73 The apologist’s descriptions of the Christian masses, however, are not always positive: Tertullian depicts them in terms that might have had negative connotations, even going so far as referring to them as a herd of animals (grex, pecus), which almost certainly was meant pejoratively. With this scornful language, he marked the difference between the clergy and the laity as ordo and plebs. Still, he accepted “the herd” as legitimate members of the Christian community, if not as social equals.74 Tertullian’s attitude, therefore, can be seen as inclusive but not egalitarian, and as an indication of how educated Christians of this period viewed their coreligionists. To a greater extent than other writers of his time, Origen of Alexandria (185–254) addressed the issue that most Christians were lowly and uneducated. According to Origen, God had given basic doctrines to the simple people, while advanced theology was only accessible to a few.75 Simple people would have to be persuaded with rhetoric or won over by miracles because philosophical argumentation would go over their heads. While irrational faith was better than no faith at all, it was not a virtue. It was a deficiency, but it was nevertheless a fact of life.76 Origen viewed his community as divided between the philosophically minded Christians and everyone else, using words such as “the many,” “childlike,” and “simple” for the latter. On occasion, Origen used terms such as “cattle,” “little

72 73 74

75 76

North Africa as well as his own social standing, see D. Wilhite, Tertullian the African: An Anthropological Reading of Tertullian’s Context and Identities (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2007), 103–19. Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 139–42. Tertullian, Against Praxeas 3. See Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 143. On Tertullian’s use of terms such as plebs and pecus, see Rankin, “Class Distinction,” 302–4 and also Tertullian and the Church (Cambridge University Press, 1995), 131–3. In Rankin’s view, simplices did not necessarily have a pejorative meaning, unlike the words associated with livestock. H. J. Carpenter considers these terms to be condescending: “Popular Christianity and the Theologians in the Early Centuries,” Journal of Theological Studies, 14 (1963), 294–310, at 294; likewise: K. Eshleman, The Social World of Intellectuals in the Roman Empire: Sophists, Philosophers, and Christians (Cambridge University Press, 2012), 91, note 1. G. Hällström, Fides Simpliciorum according to Origen of Alexandria, Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum 76 (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1984), 7–8. Origen recognized that not everyone had time for philosophizing: Hällström, Fides Simpliciorum, 28. On Origen’s awareness that most Christians were not theologians, see Carpenter, “Popular Christianity,” 309.

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dogs,” and “irrational animals” to refer to ordinary Christians.77 In his view, “not even a stupid person would praise the poor indiscriminately; the majority of them have very bad characters.”78 In other contexts, Origen expressed a more positive view of his coreligionists. His response to the pagan critic Celsus is one of the few direct discussions of attitudes toward labor and social class in Christian texts from this period. Celsus had aimed to embarrass Christians by publicizing that Jesus “came from a Jewish village and from a poor country woman who earned her living by spinning . . . she was driven out by her husband, who was a carpenter by trade . . . ”79 Furthermore, Celsus claimed, the religion was spreading among lowlifes: In private houses also we see wool-workers, cobblers, laundry-workers, and the most illiterate and bucolic yokels (apaideutotatous te kai agroikotatous), who would not dare to say anything at all in front of their elders and more intelligent masters. But whenever they get hold of children in private and some stupid women with them, they let out some astounding statements as, for example that they must not pay any attention to their father and school teachers . . .80

In response to Celsus’ class-based attack, Origen did not deny the poverty and lack of learning of Jesus and his followers: this was not an embarrassment to Christians because it proved that Christian wisdom came from God, not from traditional education. “Paul the tentmaker and Peter the fisherman, and John who left his father’s nets” had not needed to rely on philosophers such as Plato for wisdom.81 Therefore, the lowliness of the earliest Christian teachers, he argued, actually demonstrated their superiority to the pagans. Along the same lines, the writers of the third-century Didascalia Apostolorum as well as the pseudo-Clementine homilies embraced workers as part of the Christian community, and work itself as a virtue.82 But in other contexts, Origen considered simple, uneducated Christians to be lazy.83 Moreover, they created opportunities for heretical teachers who were easily able to lead them astray.84 Meanwhile, Origen’s opponents 77 78 80 81 82 83 84

Hällström, Fides Simpliciorum, 13–17, 46–7, 57. Against Celsus 6.16 (trans. Chadwick, 330). 79 Against Celsus 1.28 (trans. Chadwick, 28). Against Celsus 3.55 (trans. Chadwick, 165). See Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 149; De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 42; Stowers, “Social Status, Public Speaking, and Private Teaching,” 71. Against Celsus 6.7 (trans. Chadwick, 321). See Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 152–60; De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 44–6. Hällström, Fides Simpliciorum, 20–3, 44, 27–8, 34–5. Despite his many disagreements with the simple Christians, Origen had no complaints about the morality of simple believers: 40. Hällström, Fides Simpliciorum, 39.

Christian Social Attitudes in the Second and Third Centuries

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within the Christian community in Alexandria (who most likely outnumbered his supporters) claimed simplicity to be a virtue and tarred his intellectual approach to Scripture as “wordiness.”85 Both approaches to the faith – the emphasis on deep theological engagement and also the ideal of simplicity – would continue to be conflicting values for Christians during the following centuries. Like Origen, one of the earliest known Latin apologists, Minucius Felix (fl. 200–240) also addressed the accusation from pagan critics that Christians were low class and uneducated. He responded by agreeing with the accusation and praising the lowly: all human beings, without respect to age, sex, or rank, are born capable of and fit for reasoning and understanding; they do not acquire wisdom by good fortune, but receive it as an innate gift from nature . . . while the rich, ensnared by their wealth, were wont to have their minds fixed more on gold than on heaven, poor people of our class have discovered the true wisdom and handed on its teaching. Hence it follows that talents are not furnished by wealth or obtained through studies, but are begotten with the very fashioning of the mind.86

The apologist follows up on this pronouncement that all humans are equal in their potential by defending the “common man”: “There is, then, no reason for indignation or grief if a common man makes inquiries into things divine and holds and pronounces his views on the subject, since it is not the authority in the discussing person, but the truth in his discussion, that matters.”87 Moreover, he argued, their simple beliefs were clear and well-argued because they did not depend on the “display of eloquence and graceful style.”88 In order to respond to class-based attacks on Christians, Minucius emphasized spiritual equality and the ultimate unimportance of social differences and traditional education, while also managing to incorporate a classic jab against sophists into his discussion. These texts from the second and third centuries show how economic and social class, education, and intellectual authority were important issues in the critiques and defenses of Christianity. The idea of unqualified people taking philosophy into their own hands was sometimes alarming to members of the traditional learned elite. The pagans’ class-based attacks on 85 86

87

Ibid., 25 and 30. Minucius Felix, Octavius 16.5 (trans. Arbesmann, 348). See G. W. Clarke, “The Historical Setting of the Octavius of Minucius Felix,” in E. Ferguson (ed.), Literature of the Early Church, Studies in early Christianity, 3 vols. (New York: Garland, 1993), vol. II, 145–64; Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 143–5; Hilton, Illiterate Apostles, 47–50. Minucius Felix, Octavius 16.6 (trans. Arbesmann, 348). 88 Ibid.

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Roman and Early Christian Attitudes

Christianity reflected real fears. Whereas the scandalous accusations against Christians (as incestuous, cannibalistic, etc.) were widespread, the accusation against Christians as uneducated and low class originated from pagan intellectuals. They tarred Christian teachers with this particular brush, not merely because they were following a rhetorical guidebook’s list of attacks to make against one’s enemies, but because they were concerned about Christianity as a rival philosophical school that threatened elite structures. Pagan intellectuals’ polemics focused on education and social class because they aimed to discredit the Christians’ claims to intellectual authority.89 The Christian responses to these class-based attacks varied: they acknowledged that their communities included illiterate people, poor people, and old women. They defended the Bible against charges that it was a subliterary work and also defended Jesus and the apostles from the smear tactics against carpenters and fishermen. Through their own work as intellectuals, the second- and third-century apologists refuted the notion that all Christians were illiterate.90 The role of education and socioeconomic status in Christian culture, however, remained problematic. On the one hand, Jesus and the apostles had been workers, and the religion was in fact open to all social groups. On the other hand, the intellectuals who responded to these accusations were, as educated, upper-class men, quite unlike the apostles. Later, as we shall see in Chapter 4, the polemics shifted from debates with pagans to conflicts among Christians with opposing theological views. Discussions of education would fluctuate between embracing the illiteracy of the apostles to making the same old accusations against other rivals: by the fourth century, leading Christians would be discrediting rival Christian theologians as “ignoramuses from the lowest dregs of society.”91

Conclusions It is difficult to find a scholarly consensus regarding the social class and social attitudes of the New Testament figures and the communities they 89

90 91

See K. Pietzner’s discussion in Bildung, Elite und Konkurrenz: Heiden und Christen vor der Zeit Constantins, Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 77 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 383–7. On both pagan and Christian concerns about intellectual authority, see Eshleman, The Social World of Intellectuals. Later, in the fourth century, Jerome would compose On Illustrious Men, profiles of all the Christian intellectuals, in order to dispel the lingering stereotype of Christians as uneducated and low class. Minucius Felix portrays pagans using these terms against Christians: Octavius 8.4. Cf. Nicene Christians’ class-based attacks against Eunomius and his associates: see R. Vaggione, Eunomius of Cyzicus and the Nicene Revolution (Oxford University Press, 2000), 3–16.

Conclusions

33

established. The divergent interpretations that have tried to corral early Christians on one side or the other – elite or non-elite, educated or uneducated, idealizing manual labor or vilifying it – can be resolved, to some degree, if we acknowledge the existence of middle socioeconomic groups and the possibility that people could hold inconsistent ideas and multiple identities simultaneously. The New Testament’s references to labor, social status, education, and wealth not only provide clues about the social world of Jesus and the apostles, but they also formed a set of teachings and examples that later Christians would draw upon – either to imitate or to reinterpret. These models would continue to influence Christian understandings of their communities, which would expand to include most of Roman society during the fourth and fifth centuries. The later understandings of these passages in the Bible – such as the call to renounce property and references to the apostles’ lack of education – would be influenced, to some degree, by Roman social structures and attitudes. Christian social attitudes did not replace ancient worldviews, nor were they entirely subsumed by existing attitudes.92 Instead, social teachings of the Bible added new dimensions to how Roman Christians understood themselves and their world. For the lower and middle levels of society, biblical passages that related to socioeconomic status probably confirmed certain existing attitudes, such as pride in one’s work, while adding a greater general awareness of the suffering of the destitute. Unfortunately, there is very little evidence from such groups to show how ordinary people’s worldviews changed. We do, however, have a great deal of material that reflects the attitudes of the educated upper classes, and specifically those who became leaders in the church. The following chapters will examine the interplay between traditional elite worldviews in the later Roman Empire and Christian teachings that challenged them. For educated, upper-class Christians, it must have been disorienting at times to revere tentmakers and fishermen as role models in a culture that did not value labor, to promote simplicity as a virtue in a culture that cherished education, and to encourage humility in a culture that emphasized honor. As we shall see, the clash of value systems led to the transformation of some Christian teachings into ideas that would better fit the status quo, but it also led to new ways of understanding the meaning of social status, as church authorities pivoted between the different aspects of their social identities and worldviews. 92

Rankin, “Class Distinction as a Way of Doing Church,” 314–15.

chapter 2

Christian Attitudes toward Social and Economic Divisions in Late Antiquity

Christian scriptures raised questions about the prevailing social order by proclaiming that the meek would inherit the earth, the exalted would be humbled, and the wise of this world would be cast down. Jesus’ message was initially spread by manual laborers who lacked the credentials that typically proved one’s spiritual or cultural authority. But, by the mid-fourth century, Christianity did not seem to pose a threat to the status quo. Well-off Christians continued to maintain their high status and to express their advantages through their behavior and appearance.1 Likewise, Christian communities did not rally for social reversals on earth, nor did they expect their leaders to be manual laborers like the apostles. The domestication of socially disruptive Christian teachings that had begun with the second- and third-century apologists continued in the late fourth and early fifth centuries, when a generation of influential church leaders produced what would become the standard answers to many questions on doctrine and biblical interpretation. In order to understand the factors at play when these theologians and preachers dealt with the social critique embedded within their religious tradition, it is necessary to take into account their social and economic backgrounds, as well as the prevailing upper-class attitudes toward wealth, poverty, social status, and manual labor. The introduction of new values into mainstream Roman consciousness by Christianity is a topic that has been well-studied in recent years. In particular, almsgiving, wealth, and poverty have been the subjects of numerous excellent studies that cover changing views and practices across the Empire. The aim of this chapter is to build on these studies in order to examine how the changing social norms and religious beliefs involving wealth and poverty were connected to other matters of status and culture, which will be examined in subsequent chapters. In other words, how did 1

See Michele Salzman’s insightful essay on how this played out among Western elites, “Elite Realities and Mentalités,” 348–50.

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Late Antique Christian Writers and Their Socioeconomic Contexts

35

upper-class Christians understand their privileges, including their prestige and education, as well as their wealth? In order to address these questions, and to set the stage for the rest of the book, this chapter will begin with profiles of the bishops, preachers, and historians who are the focus of subsequent chapters, and establish their particular socioeconomic backgrounds. Next, this chapter will examine attitudes toward social and economic hierarchies in Late Antiquity, and the extent to which we can see changes in these attitudes resulting from Christian teachings.

Late Antique Christian Writers and Their Socioeconomic Contexts An overview of the social and economic backgrounds of the authors examined in this book, here at the outset, will help up us to see how their social positions influenced their understandings of Christian virtues and social relations. Although not members of the imperial or senatorial elite, these men’s roots were in the upper echelons of their cities or regions; they were from financially secure families that had the resources and the inclination to invest in their sons’ educations. In other words, none of them were raised by tentmakers or fishermen. The Cappadocian Fathers – the brothers Basil of Caesarea (330–379) and Gregory of Nyssa (335–394) and their friend Gregory of Nazianzus (329– 390) – were influential bishops and theologians from well-connected provincial families who owned vast estates in central Anatolia.2 The social status and ambitions of the two families can be seen in their efforts to send both Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil abroad to study among the most prestigious young men of the Eastern Empire. Basil’s parents sent him to study with pagan rhetoricians in Constantinople and Athens. Basil then passed on some of his training to his younger brother Gregory of Nyssa, who worked for a while as a rhetoric teacher before entering the clergy.3 2

3

On the Cappadocian Fathers’ families, wealth, and social standing, see V. Limberis, Architects of Piety: The Cappadocian Fathers and the Cult of the Martyrs (Oxford University Press, 2011), 110–32; R. Van Dam, Becoming Christian: The Conversion of Roman Cappadocia (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003) 58; R. Teja, Organización Económica y Social de Capadocia en el Siglo IV, según los Padres Capadocios (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1974), 88–96; Kopecek, “The Social Class of the Cappadocian Fathers,” 457; McLynn, “Curiales into Churchmen,” 277–96. On the importance of education to the Cappadocian Fathers, see R. Van Dam, Families and Friends in Late Roman Cappadocia (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 20–4, 43–4, 68–70. On Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil’s education, see P. Rousseau, Basil of Caesarea (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 31–42; 70–1; S. Elm, Sons of Hellenism, 9–27.

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Christian Attitudes in Late Antiquity

The son of the bishop of the small town of Nazianzus, Gregory of Nazianzus began his studies under his uncle in the Cappadocian capital of Caesarea before continuing his education in Palestine, Alexandria, and finally in Athens, where he became friends with Basil. Nazianzen taught rhetoric in Athens for a brief period and then returned to Cappadocia, where he joined Basil at one of his family’s estates for an ascetic retreat before entering the clergy. The ideals of Christian asceticism flourished alongside the Cappadocian Fathers’ “curial class-consciousness.”4 When they renounced their worldly ambitions, they lived more like leisured philosophers than like the monks of the Egyptian desert.5 Raised with economic security and a sense of cultural and social superiority, the three men would also claim spiritual authority as bishops and as influential figures in the theological controversies of the time. John Chrysostom’s (c. 349–407) family was less illustrious than those of the Cappadocian Fathers, but he appears to have grown up within a relatively well-off household. His father had been a civil servant in the Roman army. After he died, Chrysostom’s devout mother remained a widow, raising him and supporting his advanced studies in Antioch with an orator (who was most likely the pagan rhetorician Libanius), providing him with the opportunity to pursue a career as an educated man. The church historian Socrates reports that Chrysostom had trained to become a lawyer, but soon after he finished his studies, he dedicated his life to his religion, starting as an assistant to his bishop and as a lector, followed by several years living an ascetic life in and around Antioch, after which he served as a priest and often took on the duty of preaching (386–397).6 He became so well known for his eloquence that Jerome included Chrysostom in his who’s who of prominent, educated Christian thinkers, On Illustrious Men (393), and he was chosen by the imperial court as bishop of Constantinople (398–405).7 The bishop Epiphanius of Salamis (c. 315–403) was from a somewhat less prominent background, but still obtained a certain amount of advanced education. Born in a village in Palestine in the early fourth century, he was well known in his time for his handbook on heresies, the Panarion. 4 5 6

7

T. Kopecek, “The Social Class of the Cappadocian Fathers,” 457; on other bishops from this area drawn from the curiales: 458–9. Rousseau, Basil, 79–80. Soc., HE 6.3.2. For an overview of Chrysostom’s life, see W. Mayer and P. Allen, John Chrysostom (London; New York: Routledge, 2000) and J. N. D. Kelly, Golden Mouth: The Story of John Chrysostom—Ascetic, Preacher, Bishop (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995). Jerome, De vir. ill. 129; Kelly notes that Jerome was in Antioch from 376/7 until 380: Golden Mouth, 49.

Late Antique Christian Writers and Their Socioeconomic Contexts

37

Although neither Sozomen nor Jerome mentions this in their overviews of his career, the bishop’s fifth-century vita describes him as converting to Christianity from Judaism as a teenager after an encounter with a monk.8 Although almost nothing is known about his family, we do know that his parents had the means to send him to Alexandria for his education, which included some rhetorical training. While studying in Egypt, he joined a monastic community, becoming an adherent of the anti-Origen camp. He returned to Palestine and founded a monastery near Gaza before becoming bishop of Salamis in Cyprus in 366. Later judgments of his writing style have concluded that his stint in rhetoric school was not very effective.9 Rufinus of Aquileia (345–410), Socrates Scholasticus (c. 380–440), Sozomen (c. 400–450), and Theodoret of Cyrrhus (393–c. 457) all wrote continuations of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History, covering the events of the fourth and early fifth centuries and focused mostly on church affairs in the Eastern Empire. For all of these writers, the limited biographical information we have combined with the erudition displayed in their writings point toward at least somewhat affluent backgrounds. Rufinus finished his education in Rome, and later studied under the monk Didymus the Blind in Alexandria (c. 372–80) before cofounding a monastery in Jerusalem with the ascetic heiress Melania the Elder.10 We know very little about either Socrates or Sozomen.11 Socrates refers to his own education by pagan grammar teachers in Constantinople and demonstrates his knowledge of classical works throughout his History, in his allusions to classical 8

9

10

11

On the topic of Epiphanius’ Jewish origins as depicted in the fifth century vita and later texts, see A. Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016), 234–59. On Epiphanius’ early life and education, see Y. R. Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2015), 17–22; on his selfpresentation and attitudes toward Greek education, 63–7; Jacobs, Epiphanius, 8–13, 52–6. On Epiphanius’ ancient and modern detractors, Kim, Epiphanius, 3–6; Jacobs, Epiphanius, 1–3, 54. See P. Amidon’s introduction to The Church History of Rufinus of Aquileia, P. Amidon (trans.) (Oxford University Press, 1997), vii–xi; F. Murphy, Rufinus of Aquileia (345–411): His Life and Works (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1945), 3–4. Socrates is also known as “scholasticus,” which could indicate that he was a lawyer. In recent studies, this has been interpreted to mean simply “a learned man”: see T. Urbainczyk, Socrates of Constantinople, Historian of Church and State (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1997), 13–19; P. Van Nuffelen, Un Héritage de Paix et de Piété: Étude sur les Histoires Ecclésiastiques de Socrate et de Sozomène (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 8–9. On the view that Socrates and Sozomen were laymen, see F. Young, From Nicaea to Chalcedon: A Guide to the Literature and Its Background, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2010), 26 and Van Nuffelen, Un Héritage de Paix et de Piété, 83. H. Leppin suggests that they were both members of the clergy: “The Church Historians (I): Socrates, Sozomenus, and Theodoretus,” in G. Marasco (ed.),Greek & Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 219–54, at 226.

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Christian Attitudes in Late Antiquity

and contemporary literature and in his defense of classical culture against Christians who condemned it as too closely tied to the worship of the old gods.12 Sozomen was born in Palestine, studied law (possibly in Beirut), and moved to Constantinople to work as a lawyer. He does not appear to have been a part of any well-known intellectual circles or to have had any contacts with the imperial court.13 Although Sozomen does not demonstrate the same level of classical learning as Socrates, his history is written in a more rhetorically stylized fashion.14 In both cases, although we know almost nothing about their personal backgrounds, we can see that the writers came from families who could pay for advanced education for their sons. The other church historian discussed here, Theodoret of Cyrrhus, was born in Antioch to a mother who lived an ascetic life. Although we do not know the precise nature of Theodoret’s education, his writings demonstrate that he knew Syriac, Greek, and Hebrew, and that he was well versed in Greek philosophy and literature. After his parents died, he left his estate to the poor and became a monk, and was later ordained as the bishop of Cyrrhus, a city near the Euphrates. Theodoret indicates the high standing of his family in a reference to how the “whole of the east” was aware that he had given up his inheritance.15 Unlike the other church historians of this time, Theodoret was also a bishop and was involved in the Nestorian controversy, even participating in the Council of Ephesus in 431.16 These men, whose writings form the basis of the following chapters, were influenced by their well-to-do families, all of whom emphasized education for their sons as a way to display and perpetuate their privileged status. For these men and their social peers, their modes of thinking and acting in the world remained, to some extent, embedded in traditional social norms. But certain aspects of these social norms and the traditional ways of understanding one’s place in society were also challenged and transformed by new social dynamics inspired by Christian practices and teachings – such as the adoption of an ascetic life, their admiration for

12 13 14 15

16

Soc., HE 5.16.9. On Socrates’ high level of education, see Urbainczyk, Socrates of Constantinople, 13–19. On Sozomen’s career, education, and social standing, see Van Nuffelen, Un Héritage de Paix et de Piété, 1–10 and 46–59. Leppin, ‘The Church Historians,” 223–4; Young, From Nicaea to Chalcedon, 34–5. On Theodoret’s background, see I. Pásztori-Kupán, Theodoret of Cyrus (London: Routledge, 2006), 3–6; T. Urbainczyk, Theodoret of Cyrrhus: The Bishop and the Holy Man (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2002), 18–21. Urbainczyk, Theodoret, 21–8.

Christian Attitudes toward Social Divisions and Social Mobility

39

simple confessors prevailing over philosophers, and their reverence for a certain group of carpenters, tentmakers, and fishermen.

Christian Attitudes toward Social Divisions and Social Mobility As with the high Roman Empire, the social and economic structure was more complex in Late Antiquity than a simple division between elites and masses. Despite the value placed on family names and a senatorial elite that could trace their honors through many generations, the composition of the Roman upper classes had been in flux for a long time.17 Moreover, the legal distinction between honestiores and humiliores suggests that society was divided into two discrete groups, but, as we have seen, these terms do not tell us much about the socioeconomic standing of most people.18 Looking beyond these legal terms, recent research on the social structure of the Later Roman Empire points toward the importance of “middling groups” and the fluidity of social and economic status, with people from all levels of society striving for advancement.19 The higher ranks of society still generally viewed artisans and other laborers with contempt, but aggressive attempts to keep these workers in their proper places reveal that some level of social mobility was possible.20 For the curiales, the local elites of each city, education was often the key to their upward mobility into imperial offices.21 Numerous letters of 17

18

19

20

21

On the shifting demographics during the High Roman Empire, see P. Horden and N. Purcell, Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000), 89–112, 342–400, esp. 377–83. MacMullen estimates that 0.2 percent of the population were honestiores: “The Historical Role of the Masses in Late Antiquity,” in Changes in the Roman Empire: Essays in the Ordinary (Princeton University Press, 1990), 250–76, at 257. On the term’s usefulness for discerning degrees of prestige among the highest levels of society, see P. Brown, Poverty and Leadership, 51–4, 58. A. Jones, Social Mobility in Late Antique Gaul: Strategies and Opportunities for the Non-Elite (Cambridge University Press, 2009), 130–1; M. K. Hopkins, “Social Mobility in the Later Roman Empire: The Evidence of Ausonius,” The Classical Quarterly, New Series, 11.2 (1961), 239–49; L. Schachner, “Social Life in Late Antiquity: A Bibliographic Essay,” in W. Bowden, A. Gutteridge, and C. Machado (eds.), Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 41–93, at 46–8. On the possibility of social and economic advancement for artisans, see J. H. W. G. Liebeschuetz, Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 59–61; S. Hübner, Der Klerus in der Gesellschaft des Spätantiken Kleinasiens, Altertumswissenschaftliches Kolloquium 15 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2005), 106–7. For an overview of debates about social mobility in Late Antiquity, see A. Skinner, “Political Mobility in the Later Roman Empire,” Past and Present, 218.1 (2013), 17–53. Skinner views the upper ranks of society in terms of political rather than social mobility (20) and considers the rise from the curial and imperial elite to be an “internal oligarchic phenomenon” (32).

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Christian Attitudes in Late Antiquity

recommendation among such men survive from Late Antiquity, especially from bishops and teachers helping out friends and students. They used witty remarks and allusions to classical literature to impress powerful people when they asked for favors for themselves, for their friends, and sometimes for their broader communities.22 The importance of education for a promising career can be seen in John Chrysostom’s critique of ambitious parents pressuring their sons to learn rhetoric: “When we wish to educate them in rhetoric, we hire pedagogues and teachers, providing leisure from other activities, by shouting to them more frequently than coaches do in the Olympic games that poverty comes from lack of education and that wealth comes from education.”23 These frantic parents knew that rhetorical skills were not just something to show off at parties or to add panache to letters – higher education was an important marker of social status and wealth, but it was also a source of social status and wealth. Although it was possible to obtain wealth or imperial offices without a formal education, and vice versa, many families prioritized education if they had the means to do so – and the Christian writers profiled earlier in this chapter were all from such families.24 In exceptional cases, elites would accept someone from humble origins who climbed the ranks, either through self-education or the financial support of families that were well off but lacking prestige. At the same time, powerful officials could be mocked if they lacked this education.25 Starting in the third century, education and individual competence became increasingly important for success in military, bureaucratic, and ecclesiastical careers.26 Men on the outer edges of the honestiores who aimed to follow their fathers’ footsteps or to climb even higher needed to master the language and manners of the elite in order to make and maintain social connections with their superiors. Although formal education, wealth, and high social status were not always bundled together, the general expectation was that these three traits were all desirable and 22

23 24

25

26

R. Rees, “Letters of Recommendation and the Rhetoric of Praise,” in R. Morello and A. D. Morrison (eds.), Ancient Letters: Classical and Late Antique Epistolography (Oxford University Press, 2007), 149–68. Adv. opp. vit. mon. 3.8 (PG 47, 363; trans. Hunter, 142–3). On Greek education and culture as a factor in careers in the fourth century, see L. Van Hoof, “Performing Paideia: Greek Culture as an Instrument for Social Promotion in the Fourth Century A.D.,” Classical Quarterly, 63.1 (2013), 387–406. Salzman, “Elite Realities and Mentalités,” 353–4. On “new men” accepted by aristocrats, see Jones, Social Mobility in Late Antique Gaul, 105–8; on non-elites who became prominent in church: 144–8, 166, 339–40. On the importance of education in late Roman society, see G. Alföldy, Social History of Rome, 189–91, 214.

Christian Attitudes toward the Poor

41

complementary. If, for instance, a high-status and wealthy man lacked education, he would probably make sure that his sons would obtain the cultural capital expected of the upper classes. The enduring cultural emphasis on education meant that classical paideia would remain important among well-off Christians, despite concerns that this training was a part of “pagan” tradition or that it conflicted with the model provided by the uneducated apostles.27

Christian Attitudes toward the Poor In Late Antiquity, Christian writers devoted an unprecedented amount of attention to the extremes of wealth and poverty. In the cities, the contrast between the affluence of the elite and the suffering of the destitute was especially striking.28 Poverty, however, had not increased dramatically during the late Empire – the increase in discussions of the disparity of wealth was due to cultural and religious shifts rather than to major economic or demographic changes. The tendency of Christian authors to refer to “the poor” as synonymous with beggars gives the false impression that their community was divided between wealthy almsgivers and desperate recipients of those alms.29 In some cases, there are hints about the diverse situations obscured by the sweeping terms “rich” and “poor”: a “poor” person might be somewhat prosperous, but just down on his or her luck, or merely poorer than his associates.30 For example, in Constantinople, John Chrysostom was concerned about alms being distributed to such people, whom he did not considered to be truly impoverished.31 In some cases – what Peter Brown 27 28

29

30

31

For a persuasive argument against the view that classical education and culture was losing its importance in Late Antiquity, see Van Hoof, “Performing Paideia.” Freu, Les Figures du Pauvre, 25–8; On Rome in particular: B. Lançon, Rome in Late Antiquity: Everyday Life and Urban Change 312–609, A. Nevill, (trans.) (Edinburgh University Press, 2000), 63–7, 104. Brown, Poverty and Leadership, 14, 45–8. For contemporary acknowledgement of middling economic groups, see the Pelagian text, De Div. 5.1, and John Chrysostom, In Matt. hom. 66/67 (PG 58, 630). On the archaeological evidence for the “middle class” and the poor in Late Antiquity, see the essays in Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity and L. Dossey, Peasant and Empire in Christian North Africa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010). For examples of poverty as relative rather than absolute, see W. Mayer, “Poverty and Society in the World of John Chrysostom,” in Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity, 465–84, at 470–4, 481; C. Grey, “Salvian, the Ideal Christian Community and the Fate of the Poor in Fifth-century Gaul,” in Poverty in the Roman World, 162–82, at 180; R. Finn, “Portraying the Poor: Poverty in Christian Texts from the Late Roman Empire,” in Poverty in the Roman World, 130–44, at 143. On the language about poverty used in Late Antiquity, see Freu, Les Figures du Pauvre; S. Holman, The Hungry are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia (Oxford University Press, 2001), 3–5. Mayer, “Poverty and Society,” 474. Chrysostom’s refusal to see self-sufficient or wealthy people as “poor” might mean that his understanding of who was “poor” in Antioch corresponds more or less

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calls the “upward slippage” of understandings of poverty – the term “poor” appears to refer to the “non-elite,” or even the equivalent of the “demos,” taking on the civic term’s function to refer to the majority of free people.32 Even the law codes could be ambiguous, using a range of overlapping terms to describe different types of poverty.33 In contrast to the actual level of poverty, the attitudes toward poverty and the proper use of wealth did change as a result of the growing influence of Christianity. By the late fourth century, aiding the poor was widely hailed as an important Christian virtue, to the extent that beggars could be idealized as the “riches of the church.”34 While many aspects of late Roman life and society went unchanged, or only superficially changed, by Christianization, the beliefs in the virtue of almsgiving and the love of the poor were markedly different from traditional Roman ideals and social behavior.35 As with so many of the developments in this period, Christian almsgiving was not entirely disconnected from the practices of Jewish and pagan communities.36 Although there were similarities with pagan civic euergetism directed at fellow-citizens, the range of people involved in giving and receiving among Christians was different: people with any means at all were expected to give alms that would be distributed to “the poor” rather than to the citizens in general. The precise difference between Christian almsgiving and traditional euergetism, in both its motives and its effects, was

32 33

34

35

36

to our categorizations. On the “gentrification” of poverty, see S. Holman, “Constructed and Consumed: Everyday Life of the Poor in 4th c. Cappadocia” in Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity, 441–64, at 458–60. Brown, Poverty and Leadership, 71–2. D. Grodzynski, “Pauvres et Indigents, Vils et Plébéiens (Une Étude Terminologique sur le Vocabulaire des Petites Gens dans le Code Théodosien),” Studia et Documenta Historiae et Iuris, 53 (Rome: Apollinaris, 1987), 140–218, at 140–6. For another extensive discussion of the terms used for the rich and poor, see Freu, Les Figures du Pauvre, 23–118. L. Grig, “Throwing Parties for the Poor: Poverty and Splendour in the Late Antique Church,” in Poverty in the Roman World, 145–61. R. Finn demonstrates how the non-poor were encouraged to “collapse the social distance” between themselves and the poor: “Portraying the Poor,” 131. For a collection of early Christian and late antique texts on this subject, see H. Rhee, Wealth and Poverty in Early Christianity, Ad Fontes: Early Christian Sources (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2017). On almsgiving as distinctive and important to the spread of Christianity, see Brown, Poverty and Leadership, 2–3; G. Clark, Christianity and Roman Society (Cambridge University Press, 2004) 23–4 and 107–8; P. Garnsey and C. Humfress, The Evolution of the Late Antique World (Oxford: Orchard Academic, 2001), 107–31; Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 696. On empathy and pity for the poor as a transformation of emotions and social values, see P. Blowers, “Pity, Empathy, and the Tragic Spectacle of Human Suffering: Exploring the Emotional Culture of Compassion in Late Ancient Christianity,” JECS, 18.1 (2009), 1–27. See G. E. Gardner on Jewish communities’ institutional support for the poor – soup kitchens for the destitute and charity funds for wealthier people down on their luck – in second- and third-century rabbinic texts: The Origins of Organized Charity in Rabbinic Judaism (Cambridge University Press, 2015). On pagans’ attitudes toward beggars, see Parkin, “‘You do him no service’,” 60–82.

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not always clear-cut.37 Christian almsgiving sometimes looked much like a traditional Roman social interaction (a large donation by a wealthy patron of the church, which was then commemorated), and, at other times, almsgiving was distinctively Christian (a small donation by a relatively poor layperson for the support of virgins and widows). Certainly, the desire to make a display of one’s generosity was in keeping with old Roman traditions.38 Christian writers even reminded their readers that care for the less fortunate was part of traditional Roman mores regarding social responsibility.39 The new, specifically Christian aspects of almsgiving can be found in the frequency of these discussions, the spiritual importance attached to these beliefs and actions, and the effort to put these ideals into widespread practice.40 In sermons and letters, exhortations to give alms often focused on the spiritual profit for the almsgiver rather than on the earthly relief for the suffering poor.41 It is easy to imagine that many people were motivated in this way because of the self-interest inherent in any gift interaction – the hope of reciprocity in this case taking a spiritual form.42 But the preoccupation with the souls of the wealthy was not necessarily due to a belief that they were the only ones who mattered. Rather, Christian leaders often relied on the notion of spiritual profit as an incentive (or threat) to further the cause of actually helping the poor.43 In addition to promising spiritual benefits or repercussions, Christian writers and preachers also aimed to inspire sympathy for the poor – this compassion would be another aspect of the almsgiver’s virtue.44 37 38

39 40 41 42

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On care for the “poor” helping the middling classes rather than the economically poor, see Brown, Poverty and Leadership, 57; Holman, The Hungry are Dying, 32–4. For an emphasis on the distinctiveness of Christian giving to the poor, see R. Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire. On the influence of pagan notions of generosity on Christian charity, see Van Nuffelen, “Social Ethics and Moral Discourse in Late Antiquity,” 45–63. On the Christian use of examples from the early Republic regarding the common good, see C. Grey, “Salvian, the Ideal Christian Community and the Fate of the Poor,” 168–9. Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 714. Salzman, “Elite Realities and Mentalités,” 355–8; Van Nuffelen, “Social Ethics and Moral Discourse,” 59–60. S. Sitzler, “Identity: The Indigent and the Wealthy in the Homilies of John Chrysostom,” Vigiliae Christianae, 63.5 (2009), 468–79; Holman, The Hungry are Dying, 21–5; 54–5. On the gift-giving dynamic, see B. Neil, “Models of Gift-Giving in the Preaching of Leo the Great,” JECS, 18.2 (2010), 225–59. Brian Matz refers to this approach as an aspect of Christian “reprogramming the wealthy”: “Alleviating Economic Injustice in Gregory of Nyssa’s Contra Usurarios,” Studia Patristica, 44 (2010), 549–53, at 549. For examples of concern for the poor (rather than the souls of the rich), see Grig, “Throwing Parties for the Poor,” 155; the Pelagian text, On the Christian Life, 11.1, in The Letters of Pelagius and His Followers, B. R. Rees, trans. (Woodbridge, England: Boydell, 1991), 119; Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, 317–21. The promotion of sympathy for the poor was a frequent topic in John Chrysostom’s sermons: see W. Mayer, “John Chrysostom on Poverty,” in Preaching Poverty in Late Antiquity, 69–118, at 107–9. For more examples of pathos in descriptions of the poor, see Finn, “Portraying the Poor,” 140–1.

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Christian Attitudes toward Wealth and Private Property The sins associated with the misuse of wealth mirrored the virtues of renouncing wealth and giving alms. For example, John Chrysostom told his congregation in Antioch that the rich drove thieves to lives of crime, their wealth rightfully belonged to the poor, and that God would judge the wealthy more rigorously for their sins.45 Basil of Caesarea’s sermon To the Rich features a lengthy condemnation of the sins of wealthy people who profited from injustice and greed.46 Basil singled out the “tasteless newly rich individuals,” telling them that they would not go to heaven. He condemned them for competing with other wealthy families: “the newly rich, after they have acquired much, desire even more . . . Like those who ascend a ladder, climbing from rung to rung without stopping until they reach the top . . .”47 Relinquishing wealth was the only possible way for these people to be saved because Jesus “became poor for us so that he might make us rich through his poverty.”48 Although Basil condemned wealth in blanket statements (gold is just a mineral; desiring it is as irrational as a pregnant woman’s cravings), the newly rich were clearly the worst offenders. Compared to simply being rich, becoming rich through business deals was more sinful because it took ambition and arrogance. Contempt for the newly rich was also part of preexisting elite social worldviews: it was easy for Basil to combine old and new ways of thinking about wealth when venting against the nouveaux riche in 45

46

47

In 1 Cor. hom. 21.5 (PG 61, 176); in Matt. hom. 77.3–5 (PG 58, 705–9). On the punishment of the wealthy: de Laz. 1.7 (PG 48, 971); in Matt. hom. 75.5 (PG 58, 692–3). See B. Leyerle, “John Chrysostom on Almsgiving and the Use of Money,” Harvard Theological Review, 87.1 (1994), 29–47. On the particularly forceful critiques of wealth that can be found in Pelagian texts such as De Divitiis, see Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, 308–21; P. Garnsey, “The Originality and Origins of Anonymous, De Divitiis,” in H. Amirav and B. H. Romeny (eds.), From Rome to Constantinople: Studies in Honour of Averil Cameron (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 29–45. On even the Pelagians’ failure to envision community of property, see G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, “Early Christian Attitudes to Property and Slavery,” [originally in Studies in Church History 12 (1975): 1–38], reprinted in M. Whitby and J. Streeter (eds.), Christian Persecution, Martyrdom, and Orthodoxy (Oxford University Press, 2006), 328–71, at 367. Basil, hom. 7.1–4. Paul Fedwick dates the Homilia in Divites (hom. 7) along with the other homiliae morales to Basil’s time as presbyter and bishop (363–78), without any indication of a more precise date: “A Chronology of the Life and Works of Basil of Caesarea,” in P. J. Fedwick (ed.), Basil of Caesarea: Christian, Humanist, Ascetic, 2 vols. (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1981), vol. I, 3–19, at 9. On Basil’s discussions of and efforts regarding wealth and poverty as key to his work as a bishop, see Rousseau, Basil, 136–44. On Ambrose’s treatise inspired by Basil’s Hom. 7, see V. R. Vasey, The Social Ideas in the Works of St. Ambrose: A Study on De Nabuthe, Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 17 (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1982). Basil, Hom. 7.4–5 (trans. Schroeder, 49–50). 48 Basil, Hom. 7.9 citing 2 Cor. 8.9.

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particular. Similar critiques of wealth can be found among Greek and Roman moralists, but the spiritual consequences of wealth were significantly different in a Christian context. As we have seen, second- and third-century Christian authors did not call for an end to private property in response to Jesus’ statement, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven” (Mt. 19:21). But in the fourth century, the renunciation of property resurfaced as a central aspect of ascetic morality and shaped the development of monasticism. Antony of Egypt was said to have been inspired by Jesus’ statement to the rich man in Matthew 19:21, but his literal interpretation was not adopted as a model for typical Christians.49 Indeed, even proponents of asceticism did not consider the renunciation of private property to be an ideal that could or should become widespread.50 The seemingly straightforward instruction to “go and sell what you have and give to the poor” was interpreted in different ways, reflecting the disagreements among Christians about the moral implications of wealth. Despite the emphasis on giving to the poor and the criticism of those who misused their wealth, the Church Fathers did not envision economic equality as part of an ideal Christian society.51 Wealth and poverty played a role in God’s plan: poverty taught virtue to the poor, and the rich possessed wealth in order to help the poor. Moreover, in most patristic discussions, the unequal distribution of wealth was not the problem; the attitude toward wealth and the use of it was what mattered.52 The integration of Christian teachings with Roman social values led to the preservation of most of the traditional structures of power, but Christian teachings did encourage shifts in how people thought about their advantages or disadvantages. 49 50

51

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Athanasius, Life of Antony 2. For example, see Theodoret of Cyrrhus’ defense of economic disparity in Theod., On Divine Providence 6.23–30. See discussions of this aspect of the text in R. Bieringer, “Texts That Create a Future: The Function of Ancient Texts for Theology Today,” in Reading Patristic Texts on Social Ethics, 23–8 and Holman, The Hungry Are Dying, 32. Numerous studies have made the point that, despite their efforts encouraging almsgiving, the Church Fathers were not social revolutionaries: Rousseau, Basil, 139; Grig, “Throwing Parties for the Poor,” 152–4; Matz, “Alleviating Economic Injustice,” 549; P. Allen, “Challenges in Approaching Patristic Texts,” 36–7; Bieringer, “Texts That Create a Future,” 25. But, symbolic equality was an important bond among monks: see C. Rapp, Brother-Making in Late Antiquity and Byzantium: Monks, Laymen, and Christian Ritual (Oxford University Press, 2016). For examples, see P. Allen, “Challenges in Approaching Patristic Texts,” 36–8; A. Karayiannis and S. Drakopoulou Dodd, “The Greek Christian Fathers,” in S. T. Lowry and B. Gordon (eds.), Ancient and Medieval Economic Ideas and Concepts of Social Justice (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 163–208, at 171–96.

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Christian Contempt for the Poor Despite the emphasis on almsgiving, the sentiment of loving the poor was neither entirely ingrained nor unconditional for many Christians in Late Antiquity (and later periods). Instead, the willingness to give alms coexisted with other ideas about social norms and social relations. In a telling anecdote, Basil observed that beggars should look needy but not too needy, lest they repel would-be almsgivers.53 This comment reflects ambivalence about beggars among Basil’s congregation, rather than the bishop’s view. But, as we shall see in later chapters, people from impoverished or even middling backgrounds were not always embraced by Basil and his peers: the love of the poor as the recipients of alms did not lead to a sense of social equality or to the rejection of elite privileges – it was a condescending type of love, distinct from the bond of friendship among peers. Contempt was, arguably, a factor in the very idea that the “love of the poor” was a virtue: this love could only be a virtue (as opposed to an unexceptional state of mind) if the poor were inherently unlovable. A wealthy person could display his or her righteousness by voluntarily interacting with the poor.54 If simply withholding contempt was lauded as a virtue, then, it seems, typical social attitudes and relations were not fully infused with the love of the poor. Indeed, for many people, not all of the poor were equally deserving of alms or love. Suspicions about the undeserving or lazy poor reflected the mindset of at least part of the Christian communities. The limited tolerance for beggars was also codified in the Theodosian Code, which stipulated that abled-bodied beggars could be forced into perpetual serfdom.55 It is also doubtful whether the love of the poor would be a virtue that poor people themselves could practice – in order for this attitude to be notable or admirable, it seems, there had to be social distance between the lover and the beloved. Moreover, church authorities prioritized the urban poor over the rural poor as recipients of this care, especially when church finances were based on rents from 53

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Basil, Hom. 21 (PG 31, 556); Finn, “Portraying the Poor,” 138–9; Grig, “Throwing Parties for the Poor,” 160. See J. Maxwell, “Fraudulent Beggars and Fake Monks: Unease about Almsgiving in Late Antiquity,” in L. Brubaker, A. J. Kelley, and F. Vanni (eds.), Peasants and Poverty in Byzantium (Cambridge University Press, in press). Grey, “Salvian, the Ideal Christian Community and the Fate of the Poor,” 164. On Jerome’s praise for wealthy people for giving to the poor, see Grig, “Throwing Parties for the Poor,” 155. For examples of contempt for the masses expressed by Christian authors, see MacMullen, “The Historical Role of the Masses,” 265, 271. C. Th. 14.18.1. Grey and Parkin argue that this law was the result of upper-class anxiety about a part of the urban population outside of their control, “Controlling the Urban Mob,” 284.

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relatively poor farmers.56 In general, not all of those in need were treated with equal consideration.57 Even though the poor were “the riches of the church,” some Christians still suspected them of being innately less virtuous than their social and economic superiors. For instance, the sins of the poor were considered less significant than those of the wealthy, who were expected to behave better naturally.58 Educated churchmen sometimes disparaged beliefs and practices they disapproved of by associating them with peasants, the urban poor, and uneducated people; they also attacked their enemies’ lower-class origins, forgetting in this context the “love of the poor.”59 Christian ideals of almsgiving and the love of the poor raised new questions about the treatment of disadvantaged groups, but they did not overturn all of the old prejudices and stereotypes. Later chapters will discuss in greater detail this tension between old, condescending attitudes and new, more egalitarian ideals when looking at discussions of the apostolic virtues of simplicity and humility.

Christian Attitudes toward Work and Workers Although the social imagination of the upper classes still cherished the independent farmer and denigrated other types of labor, new questions about work arose in Late Antiquity. Should certain types of work be forbidden to all Christians? Should the clergy and ascetics be required to work? If so, what kind of work was permissible?60 The answers to these questions were not uniform. The Apostolic Constitutions, a fourth-century collection of instructions claiming to be from the apostles themselves, explicitly state that Christians should follow the example of the apostles 56 57 58

59

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Finn, “Portraying the Poor,” 142–3. Grig, “Throwing Parties for the Poor,” 158; Grey and Parkin, “Controlling the Urban Mob,” 292. J. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity: John Chrysostom and his Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge University Press, 2006), 127–8; Grey, “Salvian, the Ideal Christian Community, and the Fate of the Poor,” 174. Even Pelagian texts that are very critical of the wealthy make disparaging generalizations about the masses: To Celantia 8–13, in The Letters of Pelagius and His Followers, 131. B. Filotas, Pagan Survivals, Superstitions and Popular Cultures in Early Medieval Pastoral Literature (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 2005), 28; V. Neri, I Marginali nell’Occidente Tardantico: Poveri, ‘Infames’ e Criminali nella Nascente Società Cristiana (Bari: Edipuglia, 1998), 279–81, 284–5. Vaggione cites examples of Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory of Nazianzus, Theodore Mopsuestia, and Jerome making fun of rivals’ poverty in Eunomius of Cyzicus, 4. Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 705; De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 76–83. See W. Eck, “Handelstätigkeit Christlicher Kleriker in der Spätantike,” Memorias de Historia Antigua, 4 (1980), 127–38, at 127–8. On the social status of different types of workers in Late Antiquity, see Lançon, Rome in Late Antiquity, 79–86.

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and engage in work.61 Some types of employment were problematic but still permissible for lay Christians: working as a teacher of a nonChristian curriculum was allowed as a last resort, as was military service.62 In addition to particular restrictions on the clergy, Christian authorities agreed that all Christians were forbidden from working as charioteers, prostitutes, innkeepers, or actors.63 At the same time, in addition to concerns about sinful work, traditional upper-class expectations regarding what types of work were respectable would also influence patristic discussions. Various letters, saints’ lives, and laws provide examples of members of the clergy, including bishops, with backgrounds in manual labor.64 The Theodosian Code recognized that some clerics worked in trades and gave their earnings to the poor.65 The Apostolic Constitutions aimed to prevent merchants from influencing the clergy, assuming that the latter would be financially needy: bishops were required to refuse gifts from merchants, and merchants could not become protectors of the church.66 Over time, instead of following Paul’s instructions that teachers should support themselves as he had, it became increasingly common for Christian communities to support their clergy.67 In villages and smaller cities, the clergy, especially those ranking below the bishop, worked in a wide variety of trades. In her study of the clergy (excluding bishops) in Asia Minor, Sabine Hübner examines a group of late fourth- to sixth-century inscriptions that indicate numerous individuals’ occupations and their ecclesiastical offices. Here, the clergy included oil merchants, a doctor, a miller, a market-huckster, wine-dealer, an apple cider vendor, a maker of fishing nets, a maker of linen, a butcher, a potter, a gem-cutter, a goldsmith, and a money lender. The inscriptions also indicate that other clerics came from families of smiths, sculptors, bakers,

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Const. Apost. 2.63. Geoghegan, Attitude Towards Labor, 182. On the different attitudes toward labor that developed in Egypt (ascetics should work) and in Syria (ascetics should be free from work), see P. Brown, Treasure in Heaven: The Holy Poor in Early Christianity (Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2016), 51–118. For an overview of the mostly positive early Christian views of labor, its relationship to God’s “work” as creator, as a pleasant activity in the prelapsarian world, as a cure for idleness, and as a practical way to support oneself, see G. Ovitt, Jr., “The Cultural Context of Western Technology: Early Christian Attitudes toward Manual Labor,” Technology and Culture, 27.3 (1986), 477–500. Const. Apost. 8.32. Geoghegan, Attitude Towards Labor, 185; On Maximus of Turin’s defense of various types of work, see Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 704. Lançon, Rome in Late Antiquity, 80; Geoghegan, Attitude Towards Labor, 184. Geoghegan, Attitude Towards Labor, 220–2. 65 C. Th. 16.2.10. 66 Const. Apost. 4.6.2. Eck, “Handelstätigkeit Christlicher Kleriker,” 129.

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and shoemakers.68 References in the letters of the Cappadocian Fathers and the Theodosian Code confirm this picture of clergymen as workers.69 The associations of different types of work with virtue and social status continued to be informed by traditional social norms. In their letters and treatises, upper-class bishops expressed a range of views about reputable and disreputable work. Sometimes, they shifted away from traditional disdain for paid labor, because they could see economic dependence as parallel to the dependence of humans on God. They also observed how physical labor kept people away from sinful behavior.70 Additionally, occupations that were traditionally scorned by the upper classes were seen in a new light when discussed in connection with the biblical tentmakers, fishermen, carpenters, and shepherds.71 Not all Christians, however, made the connection between the occupations of biblical figures and the respectability of such groups in their own day. For instance, in a list of occupations that disqualified men from joining the Roman army from the late fourth or early fifth century, fishermen are described as lacking virtue because their work catered to the desire for luxury, and was therefore “insufficiently masculine” and immoral.72 The author of this text, Vegetius, expressed traditional views of different kinds of labor: farmers (rustici) were the most likely to be good, honest men, while any trade associated with women or with luxuries was suspect.73 Other Christian writers also condemned involvement in luxury trades, because they facilitated bad behavior. This assessment, rooted in the promotion of asceticism, aligned with the views of traditional Greek and Roman moralists.74 As the ideas about the moral function of different types 68

69 70 71 72

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Hübner, Der Klerus in der Gesellschaft, 93–9, 106–12. Cf. inscriptions from Tyre and Athens: J. P. Rey-Coquais, Inscriptions Grecques et Latines Découvertes dans les Fouilles de Tyr 1: Inscriptions de la Nécropole (Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient A. Maisonnueve, 1977); E. Sironen, The Late Roman and Early Byzantine Inscriptions of Athens and Attica (Helsinki: Hakapaino Oy, 1997). Although the clergy in Hübner’s study included a moneylender, in other places, this would be grounds for depriving a cleric of his title: Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 704. Hübner, Der Klerus in der Gesellschaft, 132–8. Salamito, “Prédication Chrétienne,” 43–6; Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 194. For instance, see John Chrysostom, In Illud: Salutate Priscillam et Aquilam 1.2 (PG 51, 189). This topic will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter 3. See M. B. Charles, “Unseemly Professions and Recruitment in Late Antiquity: Piscatores and Vegetius’ Epitoma 1.7:1–2,” American Journal of Philology, 131 (2010), 101–20, at 101–2, 108–11. For an example of a bishop’s derision toward fishermen, see Synesius of Cyrene, Ep. 57, Against Andronicus, The Letters of Synesius of Cyrene, A. Fitzgerald, trans. (Oxford University Press, 1926), 135. Fishing was considered to be among the lowliest professions also because of its association with filth and stench: see J. Toner, Popular Culture in Ancient Rome (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2009), 128–9. Charles, “Unseemly Professions,” 104–6. 74 Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 189.

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of work shifted – among Christians, dependence and busyness were becoming more acceptable, while luxury and pleasure were more often denounced – certain old ideas still resonated. In some contexts, Christian writers expressed concern about professions that aimed to accrue wealth. For instance, Gregory of Nazianzus was concerned that his brother, Caesarius, would be perceived as working as an imperial official in Constantinople for the sake of money, power, and fame. Gregory reasoned that he had no good reason to work for money because their family already had sufficient means. Gregory warned his brother that he could either succeed in public life or as a “genuine” Christian – he could not follow both paths at once.75 Gregory’s unease was based on old ideals of owning land as the most honorable way to support oneself, as well as on a Christian critique of the possession of excess wealth. But money-making per se was not universally condemned: both Theodoret and John Chrysostom viewed trade and other types of work positively, because of the fellowship that resulted from the exchange and cooperation.76 Overall, Christian writers in this period reflect the development of new positive associations between work and virtue, which did not completely override older views that denigrated physical labor. As we shall see in later chapters, various attitudes toward work and social status could come to the surface in different ways, depending on the context of each discussion. The variety of attitudes that coexisted can perhaps best be thought of as a patchwork of an embedded contempt for manual labor overlaid with a Christian appreciation for it.

Christian Attitudes toward Ascetic Work and Leisure Christian teachings had the greatest impact on attitudes toward work in the context of monasticism. Among ascetics, work could be a virtue in itself or an aid to becoming more virtuous. In the earliest Christian ascetic communities in Egypt, work was a way to support oneself and earn enough to engage in almsgiving. Lowly professions did not bar anyone from joining the movement – the earliest monks included a wide variety of artisans, from tailors to camel drivers.77 Most of the proponents of 75 76

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GNaz, Ep. 7, To Caesarius. Eck, “Handelstätigkeit Christlicher Kleriker,” 129; On Chrysostom’s positive view of work, see E. Osborn, Ethical Patterns in Early Christian Thought (Cambridge University Press, 1976), 121–2, 137. On Augustine’s view that most types of work were morally neutral, see S. MacCormack, “The Virtue of Work: An Augustinian Transformation,” Antiquité Tardive, 9 (2001), 219–37, at 225. Palladius, Lausiac History 32.2, 32.9; Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 164–70.

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asceticism inspired by the Egyptians also emphasized work as a spiritual good: in a striking example illustrating the ascetic virtue of manual labor, Cassian tells us that when Abbot Paul was unable to sell his handiwork because of his remote location, he continued to make baskets and then burned them.78 Along these lines, Jerome claimed to support himself with labor in imitation of the apostles. In a letter to a wealthy Roman noblewoman, Demetrias, Jerome instructed her that as an ascetic, her social status did not exempt her from working with her hands: “you must labor with the rest.”79 In several instances, aristocratic female ascetics received praise for joining their slaves in their daily work.80 The fact that they did not need to work made their toil all the more impressive: wealthy ascetics could acquire virtue, in addition to their daily bread, through work, which could include everything from farming and manual labor to copying manuscripts.81 Of course, we do not know how hard these upper-class ascetics actually worked, but just the idea that they should work is significantly different from traditional expectations. Between the mid-fourth and mid-fifth century, manual labor became a source of contention among Christian ascetics because not everyone followed the pattern of the diligent Egyptian monks. Some ascetics promoted a life of prayer and teaching and supported themselves by begging or seeking patronage and, as a result, were condemned as heretics and referred to as “Messalians.”82 Some of the earliest ascetics in Syria took this approach, claiming to follow the example of the apostles by abandoning work. These so-called Messalians upheld beggars as the spiritual elite, as opposed to beggars being the means for others to become, through almsgiving, the spiritual elite.83 The condemnation of this form of free-ranging asceticism was largely due to upper-class anxiety about lower-class people crossing social boundaries. 78 79 80

81 82 83

Cassian, Institutes 10.24; Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 168–9. On the value of work for early Egyptian ascetics, see Brown, Treasure in Heaven, 71–108. Jerome, Ep. 130.15. For Jerome’s claim that he works like an apostle: Ep. 17.2; references to other clergy who worked: Eps. 24.4, 125.11, 66.13, 108.20. Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 196–201. Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor 172–3, 201–5; E. Clark, “Authority and Humility: A Conflict of Values in Fourth-Century Female Monasticism,” in E. Clark, Ascetic Piety and Women’s Faith: Essays on Late Ancient Christianity (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1986), 209–28. Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 175–81, 212–19. Epiphanius, Pan. 80. Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 172–3; J. Meyendorff, “St. Basil, Messalianism, and Byzantine Christianity,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly, 24 (1980), 219–34. The “Messalians” were not a coherent or organized group, but rather Christians who practiced this sort of apostolic-inspired asceticism. See D. Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 19–35, 50–5, 83–7.

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This fear can be seen in Nilus of Ancyra’s (fl. c. 390–430) complaint about lowly monks reaching beyond their station in life: “For who would not ridicule the man who just yesterday fetched water for the tavern, when today he is seen accompanied by disciples as a teacher of virtue? or having withdrawn from his morning’s mischief in the city, in the evening struts through every marketplace with a multitude of disciples?”84 Nilus worried about the possibility that social origins could be completely erased in the case of a charismatic ascetic leader and that poor people might profit from this, and even live a life of ease. In order to avoid the association between Christian ascetics and ordinary beggars or social parasites, over time, the church authorities solidified their official stance that monasteries should be self-sufficient rather than soliciting donations.85 Both sides of the argument – those arguing for the necessity of work and those arguing for the irrelevance of work – could cite scriptural support. Some, such as the “Messalians,” followed the exhortation of John 6:27: “Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.” But others pointed to Paul’s instructions that teachers must support themselves: “the one who is unwilling to work shall not eat” (2 Thess. 3:10). Both John Chrysostom and Augustine privileged the scriptural passages that promoted work and self-sufficiency, arguing that the other passages that seemed to reject work were not to be taken literally.86 In reaction to ascetics who claimed to be occupied with spiritual work and thus exempt from manual labor, Augustine cited Paul’s discussion of physical labor and the professions of other apostles and associates of Jesus and condemned lower-class monks who refused to work as pseudo-monks looking for an easy life.87 Augustine conceded, however, that monks from wealthy families did not 84

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86 87

Nilus, de Monastica Exercitatione 22 (PG 79, 749); quoted and translated in Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, 185. Caner observes that Nilus of Ancyra’s “sensitivity to the behavior and low social status of his urban counterparts derived partly from his discomfort at having to compete for patronage with such vulgar parvenus”, 189. Cf. Palladius’ depiction of the monk Isaac, a rival of John Chrysostom, as “the little Syrian swindler and leader of pseudo-monks”: Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom 6. Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, 3–10, 88, 206–7. Caner points out that this fear of rogue ascetics was in the same vein as Lucian’s attacks on fraudulent philosophers who lived off of their followers: 185; Brown, Poverty and Leadership, 36–7. Regarding the concern that monks should be distinguishable from beggars: 177–90. On the positive connotations of labor in monastic rules of Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages, see Ovitt, “Cultural Context of Western Technology,” 495–9. Augustine, On the Work of Monks, 22.25; Chrysostom, In Ioannem hom. 44 (PG 59, 247–50); Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, 117–25. Brown, Treasure in Heaven, 79 Augustine, On the Work of Monks, 28.36; Caner compares this to suspicion of Cynic preachers: Wandering, Begging Monks, 1–3; Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 122–4.

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have to engage in physical labor, nor did the ones who were engaged in teaching.88 When Basil emphasized the importance of work to the monastic life, he also expressed suspicion of anyone who appeared to avoid work “on the pretext of the prayers.”89 In contrast to Augustine’s treatise On the Work of Monks (c. 400), though, Basil’s earlier monastic rules, which were compiled in the 360s and 370s, expected physical labor even from upper-class ascetics: if a monk did not already have a skill, one would be assigned to him. Basil’s instructions specify: it is especially necessary when someone of higher social rank aspires to humility in the likeness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to prescribe for him some task that is reckoned particularly distasteful to those outside and to observe whether “he presents himself to God” with full assurance “as a worker who has no need to be ashamed.” (2 Tim. 2:15)90

This strategy was perhaps influenced by Basil’s own experience: he and several other family members had lived as ascetics on a family estate, inspired by his sister Macrina, who was known for sharing household work with her slaves.91 Indeed, most of Basil’s discussion of work and workers centered on the ascetic life, but his own experience of ascetic – but financially secure – labor was quite different from that of someone born and raised as a worker. Still, even Basil’s voluntary ascetic labor appears to have made him inclined to include workers in his understanding of the world. As a bishop, Basil addressed laborers in his congregation, and, in his sermons, he described God as a metalworker and potter.92 Basil’s attitude toward labor was clearly different from traditional elite views in some ways: manual work had become a virtue associated with God and his messengers and it was a core element of ascetic piety. He instructed ascetics from all 88 89 90

91

92

On the Work of Monks, 25. On Augustine’s thoughts regarding the moral value of work for monks, see MacCormack, “The Virtue of Work,” 226–30. Basil, LR 37 (PG 31, 1012; trans. Silvas, 244); Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks, 104–6. Basil, LR 10 (PG 31, 945; trans. Silvas, 195); A. Dinan, “Manual Labor in the Life and Thought of St. Basil the Great,” Logos, 12:4 (2009), 133–57, at 144. On the development of Basil’s ascetic rules, see Silvas, The Asketikon, 1–4; Rousseau, Basil, 354–9. GNyss, V. Macr. 6–7; Gregory of Nazianzus reflects on their harsh living conditions: Ep. 5 and 6. Andrew Dinan’s overview of Basil’s comments on labor does not distinguish elite voluntary labor from ordinary labor: “Manual Labor,” 145. On Macrina, see A. Momigliano, “The Life of St. Macrina by Gregory of Nyssa,” in On Pagans, Jews, and Christians (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1987), 206–21; A. Silvas, Macrina the Younger, Philosopher of God (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008). Dinan, “Manual Labor,” 142–3; J. L. Illanes, “El Trabajo en las Homilias sobre el Hexamerón de San Basilio de Cesarea,” in H. R. Drobner and C. Kloch (eds.), Studien zu Gregor Von Nyssa und der Christlichen Spätantike (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 299–310.

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social backgrounds to engage in work, and for the privileged to seek out humiliating work. But, as we will see in later chapters, this positive view did not extend to all contexts – Basil and his peers would still revert to old stereotypes and prejudices about workers when engaged in rhetorical battles with their ecclesiastical rivals.

Conclusions In Late Antiquity, Christianity became increasingly aligned with mainstream Roman society. At the same time, certain Christian teachings – almsgiving, the moral problems of excess wealth, and the virtue of physical labor – challenged traditional social values and behavioral norms. Christian worldviews did not make clean breaks with the past, but there were enough radical notions in Christian scripture to make ideas about wealth and status more complex. Christianity’s potential for social radicalism did not, however, noticeably affect the prevailing social structure or the relations between different classes in mainstream (i.e. nonascetic) society in Late Antiquity.93 Instead, the distinctive social attitudes expressed in the New Testament were often channeled into discussions of almsgiving and into understandings of the proper life for ascetics, who rejected civic honors, wealth, and family structures, and lived under the authority of abbots and bishops, and did not threaten worldly social dynamics.94 Among the ascetics, we can see the transformation of social attitudes, with their emphases on the virtue of labor, renunciation of wealth, the support of the poor, and the inversion of social status through humility. Although Christian teachings had the potential to challenge dominant social values and structures, religious authorities tended to downplay these particular elements of the ascendant religion, interpret them as allegorical, or else confine these values to ascetic communities. Innumerable instances of individual preachers and theologians interpreting their religious texts culminated in these broader patterns that downplayed the biblical challenges to the dominance of “the exalted.” But even if they were not revolutionary in social or economic terms, Christian leaders had responsibilities as spiritual guides and as providers for the poor, which distinguished them from traditional officials. Almsgiving 93

94

For discussions of the Christian challenges to the social structure and their limitations, see Garnsey and Humfress, Evolution of the Late Antique World, 213; MacMullen, “What Difference Did Christianity Make?” Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte, 35.3 (1986), 322–43; G. Clark, Christianity and Roman Society, 117; Stander, “Economics in the Church Fathers,” 40. G. Clark, Christianity and Roman Society, 23–4.

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emerged as a new Christian religious value and institution that affected Roman attitudes toward social and economic relations. The “love of the poor” by Christian communities in general, and by elites in particular, did not replace traditional social assumptions, but merged with old values of patronage, creating a new way of understanding economic inequality. In addition to the changes in ideas and practices related to poverty in Late Antiquity, Christian teachings affected upper-class attitudes toward the lower classes more generally, in terms of their ideas about people who engaged in manual labor and/or lacked a formal education. Christian writers’ views of the lower classes were built upon the positive and negative stereotypes held by Romans about workers as well as their understanding of the tentmakers, fishermen, carpenters, and shepherds of the New Testament. The mere fact that these biblical figures were known to have been workers would add new layers to the social attitudes of upper-class church authorities (and all the Christians influenced by them). Chapter 3 will examine how discussions of the apostles in Late Antiquity raised questions about the nature of Christian society and its leadership: how closely should bishops – or any Christian, for that matter – try to emulate the apostles? Would their admiration for the apostles have any implications for attitudes toward their contemporaries with the same lowly occupations?

chapter 3

Tentmakers and Fishermen The Apostles’ Social Status in Late Antiquity

Some of the teachings of the New Testament were far from intuitive for members of the Roman upper class. For instance, Paul’s attention to the social position of God’s messengers might have seemed peculiar to well-off, educated bishops in Late Antiquity: Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.1

While this passage likely provided comfort and inspiration for most Christians, who were not born to privilege, these ideas must have puzzled many of the educated, rich, and powerful Christians. For instance, how did upper-class people imagine the recipients of blessings in the Sermon of the Mount? Did they think of “the poor in spirit” (hoi ptōchoi tō pneumati) (Mt. 5.3) or “the meek” (hoi praeis) (Mt. 5.5) in terms of socioeconomic class? Did the status of the apostles cause them to look at their lower-class neighbors in a different light? As the upper classes converted to Christianity and the church leadership became more and more rooted in their social strata, they developed ways to respond to these potentially subversive aspects of the Bible.2 Not surprisingly, the idea of shaming the wise and the powerful and exalting the lowly did not always remain at the forefront of church leaders’ minds. Instead, patristic authors often displayed a great deal of continuity with 1 2

1 Cor. 1:26–9. Salamito examines aspects of this tension between a religion with humble beginnings and the economic and cultural elite church authorities in several noteworthy articles: “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 675–717; “Prédication Chrétienne,” 37–52; and “Christianisation et Démocratisation de la Culture,” 165–78.

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the past in their acceptance of elite privileges and in their condescension toward social inferiors.3 But, even though the leadership of the church was increasingly drawn from the upper classes, church offices were not exactly the same as the town council or imperial offices. Christian leaders could not ignore the challenges in Scriptures to traditional elite credentials. To some extent, they had to question (and then defend) the relevance of their birth, wealth, education, and social connections as part of their claims to virtue and authority. Henry Chadwick noted the paradoxical position of high-status and learned bishops: “[they] identified with a community which included many individuals of high culture but was not as such a body intended for the diffusion of high culture and indeed often regarded high culture as aristocratic and elitist . . . the bishop’s right to be listened to lies in his being the successor of God’s fishermen.”4 Even though they saw themselves as the successors of fishermen, many bishops still held onto their credentials as educated men and tried to emulate two different models of leadership, despite their inconsistencies.5 The uneasy relationship between Christianity and classical paideia has usually been discussed in terms of Christian intellectuals’ reaction to the pagan content of Greek and Roman education.6 In addition to this debate (which, among Greek patristic authors, generally favored accepting rather than rejecting the Classics), the social and economic aspects of elite rhetorical and philosophical education were quite different from the public teaching exemplified in the New Testament. Among Christians, “true philosophy” did not require books or intellectual training; instead, it could be found in the simplicity and asceticism of holy people, some of 3 4

5

6

On Ambrose as an example of an aristocratic bishop with unsurprisingly aristocratic manners, see MacMullen, “The Historical Role of the Masses,” in Late Antiquity,” 265. H. Chadwick, The Role of the Christian Bishop in Ancient Society: Protocol of the Thirty-fifth Colloquy, 25 February 1979/ the Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture (Berkeley: The Center, 1980), 14. See the discussion of cognitive dissonance in the introduction and also P. Veyne’s chapter on the “Balkanization of the brain” regarding the results of holding various potentially contradictory beliefs simultaneously: Did the Greeks Believe in their Myths? An Essay on the Constitutive Imagination, P. Wissing (trans.) (University of Chicago Press, 1983), 52–68. See F. Young, “Towards a Christian Paideia,” in M. Mitchell and F. Young (eds.), The Cambridge History of Christianity, 9 vols. (Cambridge University Press, 2006), vol. I, 484–500. On the roles of classical and nascent Christian paideia in fourth-century hagiography, see S. Rubenson, “Philosophy and Simplicity: The Problem of Classical Education in Early Christian Biography,” in T. Hägg and P. Rousseau (eds.), Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 110–39; for classic essays on Christian (and especially the Cappadocians’) adaptation of ancient learning, see W. Jaeger, Early Christianity and Greek Paideia (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1961).

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whom were illiterate.7 At the same time, the writers who praised these men and critiqued classical culture were themselves classically educated and expected their peers who engaged in philosophical or theological matters to have similar credentials.8 This chapter will look more closely at this ambiguity by examining how upper-class Christian leaders discussed the apostles and how closely they expected Christians (and especially bishops) to imitate them. In the examples from Gregory of Nazianzus, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom, we can see patterns emerge as well as variations. Elite social values did not lead them to suppress the model of the simple, illiterate apostles. Instead, Christian leaders had to find new ways of thinking about and displaying social status and education, even while they largely held onto old prejudices toward their social and cultural inferiors.

The Lowly Apostles and Upper-Class Attitudes As we have seen in Chapter 1, pagan polemics against Christianity in the second and third centuries aimed to discredit the new religion from various angles: they ridiculed core Christian teachings, such as the physical resurrection of the dead; they repeated scandalous rumors of incest and cannibalism and made ad hominem attacks, mocking the Christians for being uneducated, overly credulous, and from the lowest dregs of society.9 Christian apologists defended their doctrine and dispelled the most outrageous rumors, but their responses to insults related to education and social class were more complicated because these accusations were, in part, true. Even well after the dangers of the persecutions were over, Christian writers were still rankled by these attacks and often dealt with the topic of the apostles’ social background and lack of education in a defensive manner. 7

8

9

John Chrysostom claims the rural monks are the Christians’ philosophers: De Stat. 19.1 (PG 49, 189). On “true philosophy,” see D. Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy: The Coherence of His Theology and Preaching (Oxford University Press, 2014), 31–7, esp. 36–7 on Chrysostom’s comparison of the apostles to Greek philosophers. On Jerome’s references to the apostles’ education and social status in comparison to the philosophers, see E. Auerbach, Literary Language and Its Public in Late Latin Antiquity and in the Middle Ages, R. Manheim (trans.) (London, Routledge, 1965), 43–4. Averil Cameron has observed that the condemnation of education by educated Christians “is indicative of an area of deep ambiguity and uncertainty in contemporary Christian culture.” Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: the Development of Christian Discourse (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 179. See also S. Rappe, “The New Math: How to Add and to Subtract Pagan Elements in Christian Education,” in Y. Lee Too (ed.), Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 405–32, at 414–20. K. Pietzner, Bildung, Elite und Konkurrenz, 1–13.

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The apostles’ low social status and lack of formal education were wellknown aspects of the New Testament narrative.10 It is not surprising that opponents of Christianity seized on this as a weakness to exploit: carpenters, tentmakers, and fishermen as religious or even philosophical leaders provided an easy target. The philosopher Porphyry ridiculed the apostles as “rustic and poor people [who] performed miracles by magical arts since they possessed nothing whatsoever.”11 Another pagan polemicist called Peter and Paul “liars, yokels, sorcerers” (anthrōpoi pseustai kai apaideutoi kai goētes) who exaggerated the deeds of Jesus, in contrast to pagan writers who “reached a very high level of culture and honored truth.”12 These jabs at the apostles were motivated by the general tendency of intellectuals to attack opponents as poorly educated, but at the same time these insults were based on the New Testament’s clear references to these men as uneducated workers. Christians who responded to these attacks had to acknowledge this and defend the apostles’ authority anyway. In some cases, Christian writers defended the simple style as ideal because it was accessible enough for anyone to read.13 The apostles’ low social status could demonstrate the universal appeal of Christianity. But this did not mean that Christian writers would defend all unlettered, ignorant people who tried to discuss religious matters – for some Christians, low social status and lack of education were still weaknesses that could disqualify one from seeking leadership positions in the church. For many late antique church leaders, the lessons that could be learned from the apostles’ social standing – the superiority of Christians over philosophers, the accessibility of Christian teachings, and the importance of humility – were also embodied by the early ascetics in Egypt, whose humble origins pushed their admirers to reconsider traditional assumptions about education and status. According to the collections known as the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, the social status of the early Egyptian monks ranged from poor shepherds to men of senatorial rank. Their level 10

11 12 13

Origen, Rufinus, Theodoret, and Chrysostom considered Paul to be a shoemaker; Chrysostom and Gregory of Nyssa also described him as a tentmaker; others interpreted him as a scene-painter: see Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 20–1. Most recently, see Hilton’s discussion of the pagan critics and Christian apologists’ views of the apostles’ lack of education: Illiterate Apostles. Porphyry, Contra Christianos (Harnack, fragment 4; trans. Berchman, 167); discussed in T. D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981), 177. Eusebius, Against Hierocles 2 (trans. Jones, 159); Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius, 166. MacMullen, “A Note on Sermo Humilis,” Journal of Theological Studies, 17.1 (1966), 108–112. On Augustine’s use of classical rhetoric and advocacy for simplicity, see Auerbach, Literary Language and Its Public, 45–9. On Ambrosiaster’s response to pagan accusations that Christians were unintelligent, see S. Lunn-Rockliffe, Ambrosiaster’s Political Theology (Oxford University Press, 2007), 60, 115.

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of education varied accordingly: some ascetics wrote prolifically, while others were completely illiterate.14 In the collections of Sayings, illiteracy was not condemned and literacy was not particularly praised. In some cases, the books they possessed – even books of Scripture – were problematic because they were valuable objects, which could be sold for money to give as alms.15 There was no attempt to present a consistent view on the virtue or danger of education – it seems, on the balance, to have been seen as neutral.16 For bishops and theologians of the fourth and fifth centuries, the ascetic communities would reinforce the model provided by the apostles of lowly people whose faith made them wiser than philosophers. The desert ascetics’ influence was growing at the same time that highly educated, upper-class men were beginning to dominate the most powerful positions within the clergy. These educated Christians were able to defend and admire the tentmakers and fishermen, while continuing to value their own quite different social standing. The apostles’ social background sometimes became a topic of discussion in sermons and treatises from this period. The authors selected here – Gregory of Nazianzus, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom – addressed these issues in multiple contexts: in letters, poems, and homilies addressing groups ranging from the laypeople of the small town of Nazianzus to the Emperor and his court in Constantinople. By examining their references to the apostles in these different situations, it is possible to see a fuller picture of how the tentmakers and fishermen influenced their understanding of Christian leadership and Christian society. In their discussions of the apostles’ social backgrounds and lack of education, they often had to walk a fine line, embracing a radical new ideal of illiterate apostles as role models while also maintaining their places 14

15 16

On the presence and influence of educated people among the early monks in Egypt, see E. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton University Press, 1999), 53–6. Regarding books as valuable objects that monks should not possess: Theodore of Pherme 1; Serapion 2 (AP Alphabetical Collection). Bessarion is described as free from desire, including the desire to read books: Bessarion 12 (AP Alphabetical Collection) while Epiphanius the bishop of Cyprus is described as an educated man, who taught that reading Scriptures and other Christian books – “and even the mere sight of the books” – makes people less inclined to sin (Epiphanius 8, AP Alphabetical Collection). Poemen the Shepherd refused even to speak about the Scriptures, much less to read them (Poemen 8, AP Alphabetical Collection). Pambo, one of the most well-known Egyptian monks, refused to interpret Scriptures (Pambo 9; AP Alphabetical Collection). The Systematic Collection of the Sayings of the Desert Fathers includes additional examples of monks rejecting education in and/or an intellectual approach to the Scriptures: 15.4, 15.7, 15.24 (AP Systematic Collection).

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in society as educated, eloquent, well-connected men and as authority figures within the church.

Gregory of Nazianzus on the Apostles and Education Gregory of Nazianzus’ writings provide fascinating examples of how an upper-class, educated Christian in Late Antiquity thought about the lowly apostles. At times, he acknowledged or even emphasized the apostles’ social origins, but sometimes he suppressed, or even denied, the notion that they were lowborn, manual workers, with little or no formal education.17 When he was engaged in polemics, Gregory drew on the idea that Jesus had chosen unpretentious men as his disciples – he aimed to portray Nicene Christians as promoting the simplicity of the apostles, as opposed to the sophistry of heretics or pagans. The lowly roots of Christian teachers, however, would not always serve as a useful template for someone like Gregory. In one of his earliest orations in 362, he refers to the apostles as “the little people,” in order to highlight the contrast between the insignificance of their stature and the greatness of their message.18 While their low status is only hinted at here, he speaks more directly about the apostles’ social origins in his second invective Against Julian in 363, which was not presented as a sermon in front of the entire Christian congregation but rather was aimed at an educated Christian audience.19 Here, he contrasts Julian’s sophistry with the teachings that “among us, the fishermen and rustics proclaim . . . ”20 Gregory associates himself and Christians in general with unpolished and earthy workers, as a way to underline the contrast with Julian’s overly sophisticated (and therefore ridiculous) way of expressing himself. In this scenario, the apostles’ ordinary speech helps Gregory to distance himself from Julian’s educated discourse, even though both men had studied philosophy in the same social circles in Athens during the 350s. Gregory’s polemics are tied to the perennial dispute between philosophers and sophists, but his invocation of the apostles’ low standing was a new twist. In the context of this speech, aligning himself with “the fishermen and rustics” was not so much an attempt to express 17

18

On Gregory’s orations, his approach to teaching his congregations, and his concerns about the magnitude of a priest’s responsibilities, see B. Daley, Gregory of Nazianzus (London: Routledge, 2006) 52–63; R. Radford Ruether, Gregory of Nazianzus, Rhetor and Philosopher (Oxford University Press, 1969), 42–4. Some of the following examples are also examined in J. Maxwell, “The Attitudes of the Cappadocian Fathers toward Uneducated Christians,” Studia Patristica, 47 (Leuven, Belgium: Peeters, 2010), 117–22. Or. 2.24. 19 Elm, Sons of Hellenism, 342–3, 469–70. 20 Or. 5.30.

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solidarity with workers, but it was a way of taking the high road as a philosopher in contrast to the sophists. Gregory highlights the apostles’ social origins in another oration that was presented in Nazianzus during a local food crisis in 373. Gregory addresses the anxious townspeople in place of his father, the bishop, and begins by praising his father’s virtuous life and straightforward manner of speaking. The latter, naturally, is juxtaposed with the empty figures of speech of sophists. Gregory develops this contrast between wise, straightforward language and useless, ornate rhetoric by invoking the apostles as his father’s forerunners: “the low-born have been glorified, the despised have been honored, and with [simple language] the fishermen have enmeshed the whole world in the net of the Gospel . . . ”21 While framing his father as the antithesis of a sophist and aligning him with the apostles, Gregory clearly portrays the apostles as plainspoken, lowborn fishermen. A year or so later, Gregory returned to this trait in his funeral oration for his father, praising Gregory the Elder as a simple man who had been at ease with his rustic congregation. As a bishop, he avoided “sophistical language” and “remained remarkably accessible in conversation.”22 Later on in his career, addressing his congregation in the Anastasia Church of Constantinople, Gregory of Nazianzus also praises Maximus the Cynic for avoiding the “Hellenic smugness” of philosophers and commends Athanasius, the Nicene bishop of Alexandria, for being “lowly in mind” and a guide to the simple people.23 Gregory also describes Basil of Caesarea in terms that associated him with the virtues of the apostles. In his funeral oration for Basil (presented in 382), Gregory compares his friend’s way of life to the “frugality and simplicity of all the disciples” and claims that the prominent bishop had served as a guide for simple men.24 Gregory also cites the apostles’ simplicity as a way to highlight the contrast between the truth of Nicene Christianity and the falsehoods contrived by both pagans and heretics. In an oration aimed at settling divisions among Nicene Christians in Constantinople, he wanted to discourage further heated debates and disagreements. He aligned his own approach to theological discussions 21 23

24

Or. 16.2 (PG 35, 936–7). 22 Or. 18.16, 23 (PG 35, 1004; 1012). On Maximus: Or. 25.5; Cf. Or. 2.69: priests should be simple and modest. On Athanasius: Or. 21.9–10. Athanasius was able to handle both the speculative and the simple approaches to Christian doctrine: “simple folk [should praise] their guide (hoi tēs haplotētos, ton hodēgon), the speculative [should praise] their theologian (hoi tēs theōrias, ton theologon).” On Gregory’s praise for Athanasius, see J.-R. Pouchet, “Athanase d’Alexandrie, Modèle de l’Évêque selon Grégoire de Nazianze, Discours 21,” in Vescovi e Pastori in Epoca Teodosiana: Padri Greci e Latini, Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 58, 2 vols. (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1997), vol. II, 347–57. On simplicity and frugality: Or. 43.76; guide for simple men: Or. 43.81.

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with the apostles rather than with philosophers: the fisherman speaks for your benefit, but “the Aristotelian” speaks to entertain or confuse you.25 He returns to the antithesis of the lowly apostles’ teachings and pagan or heretical sophistry in his first Theological Oration, also presented to the Nicene congregation in Constantinople. Here, he begins his attack on the semiArian Eunomius by ridiculing him with a quick succession of accusations of sophistry: he delights in “profane babble,” contrived reasoning, and “word battles.” Gregory juxtaposes Eunomius’ rhetorical excess with Paul, “the teacher of the fishermen,” who spoke and wrote with clarity.26 By setting up these contrasts, Gregory presented himself and the people he praised on the side of the apostles, and his opponents, from Julian the Apostate to Eunomius, as sophists. “The fishermen” became shorthand for apostles and also for “not-sophists”; this association provided a way for Gregory and the men he praised to be seen as closer to ordinary Christians than the sophists/heretics, even though the orthodox leaders’ social standing and education were quite different from that of most fishermen. Despite their extensive educations, Gregory, Basil, and men like them could still claim to be following in the footsteps of the apostles if they professed orthodox doctrine and aimed to communicate clearly with the Christian community.

Gregory of Nazianzus and the Limits of the Apostolic Model In general, Gregory’s acclaim for the triumph of fishermen over philosophers and for simplicity over sophistry was disconnected from other aspects of the apostles’ social standing. The plainspoken style that he associated with fishermen and their sort could have practical and spiritual benefits for a bishop, making him less likely to fall into heresy and more likely to have a good rapport with his congregation. Otherwise, traits associated with the lower classes mostly inspired Gregory’s contempt, especially when he needed fuel for his invectives against personal or theological enemies. In these cases, humble backgrounds provided opportunities for ridicule and marked his enemies as unqualified to participate in theological discussions.27 25 26

27

Or. 23.12. See J. A. McGuckin, St. Gregory of Nazianzus: An Intellectual Biography (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2001), 262–4. Or. 27.1; 27.8. Gregory of Nyssa also made similar attacks: “who would not properly burst out laughing upon seeing the tastelessness in his selection of words and figures of speech, and the aimless effort without any proper model?” Contra Eun. 3.10. See also Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 94. On the attacks based on the family backgrounds of George of Cappadocia (bishop of Alexandria 356–61), Aetius and Eunomius, which seem to have been fairly humble but with some access to

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Just as Gregory contrasted the good, plainspoken apostles with the deceptive sophists throughout his orations, he also insisted, somewhat paradoxically, that Christian leaders needed formal training in order to engage in theological discussions. In his view, uneducated men could not possibly be qualified for the responsibilities of the higher clergy. In one of his earliest discussions of these matters, he warns that preaching was not “within the power of every man’s intellect.”28 He also indicates that his father’s simplicity, although praiseworthy, had led to problems: it had led Gregory the Elder to be less alert to others’ heresies, and had made him vulnerable to accusations of heresy.29 As Chapter 4 will illustrate in greater detail, the simple proclamation of faith was a way to avoid heresy, but if believers lacked awareness of the potential counterarguments, they could easily fall into heresy by accident. Gregory wavered between idealizing a bishop’s solidarity with the laypeople and embracing a stricter hierarchy. In his funeral oration for his father, Gregory proposes that the selection of bishops should be left to “the select and most pure portions of the people,” and not be subject to the will of the “violent and unreasonable portion of the people.”30 He also addresses these issues in an oration presented not long after his father’s death in 374, which explicitly addresses the different groups within his congregation – men and women, rich and poor, townspeople and rustics, private citizens and public leaders – and encourages them to practice Christian virtues in ways that are accessible to them.31 He reminds them to remember their proper place as laypeople and not to “assume the role of pastor towards your pastors or try to exalt yourselves above your station . . . Seek not to judge your judges or give laws to the lawgivers . . . ”32 He goes on to explain that despite the fundamental equality among people, there was also an overriding hierarchy: we are all made of the same clay, but some

28 29 30 31

32

financial resources and education, see Vaggione, Eunomius of Cyzicus, 3–16; Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 16–19, 26–9, 33–8. Or. 2.35. This oration was presented in Nazianzus in 362. Or. 12.3; Or. 18.18, 24–5 (PG 35, 1005–8; 1013–16). Or. 18.35 (PG 35, 1032). On popular participation in episcopal elections, see P. Norton, Episcopal Elections 250–600: Hierarchy and Popular Will in Late Antiquity (Oxford University Press, 2007). Or. 19.6–8 (PG 35, 1049–52). In exchange for tax exemptions, Julian the tax adjuster, an old school friend of Gregory’s, had asked Gregory to present an oration for him while he was in town. Gregory fulfilled this obligation during a sermon when his town was gathered for a martyr’s festival (Or. 19.5). For more on Gregory and Julian the tax adjuster, see Gregory, Ep. 67–69; J. Bernardi, La Prédication des Pères Cappodociens: le Prédicateur et son Auditoire, Publications de la Faculté des Lettres et Sciences Humaine de l’Université de Montpellier 30 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1968), 131–9. Or. 19.10 (PG 35, 1053; trans. Vinson, 100).

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of us are rulers, and others are subjects.33 Here, he does not bring the apostles into the discussion, because the image of authoritative fishermen did not help him to affirm hierarchies. On the contrary, the apostles could inspire simple, homespun Christians to argue against their bishops. During his time in Constantinople, Gregory continued to worry about Christians who did not recognize their own ignorance and who insisted on claiming theological expertise. In an oration presented in Constantinople in 379 or 380 known by the lengthy title “On Discipline in Theological Discourse and that Discoursing about God is not for Everyone or for Every Occasion” (Or. 32), Gregory emphasizes that most people were not cut out for theological discussions – sheep should not try to be shepherds. Although Christians are unified by one spirit, he maintains that certain individuals are simply better educated, and, as Paul had explained, different people had different gifts.34 Some people teach, some learn, and others should focus on manual labor. Teaching, moreover, should be done in “a dignified way.”35 Gregory was pushing back against laypeople who wanted to engage in theological discussions when he told his listeners “let us not all try to be apostles . . . ”36 As the leader of the Nicene church in Constantinople, Gregory was trying to convince his listeners to stay unified against the heretics. He criticizes overconfident believers who thought they could be Christian teachers just because they had managed to “memorize at random two or three phrases of Scripture, and these hopelessly out of context . . . ”37 Gregory tells them to stick to the basics: they should use the words they had known since childhood, but “leave sophisticated language to the more advanced.”38 Quoting from Proverbs, Gregory notes that “the man poor in words and understanding, who uses simple expressions and clings to them as to a flimsy raft in his effort to survive, is better than the unctuous fool who in his ignorance takes pride in feats of logic.”39 Throughout this discussion, Gregory not only expresses his preference for simplicity in theological discussions but also indicates that only “the more advanced” (i.e. educated men like himself) could be relied on to explain these matters without confusion. Gregory was engaging in damage control in a community that had embraced the appealing image of the 33 34

35 37 39

Or. 19.13 (PG 35, 1057). Or. 32.10–11. B. Daley dates this oration to the winter of 380: Gregory of Nazianzus, 16. Cf. Gregory’s Funeral Oration for Basil, Or. 43.26, presented in 382: just as rowers should not try to be captains, simple believers should not try to be teachers. Or. 32.12 (trans. Vinson, 199). 36 Or. 32.12 (trans. Vinson, 200). Or. 32.17 (trans. Vinson, 203). 38 Or. 32.21 (trans. Vinson, 206). Or. 32.26, quoting Proverbs 19:1 (trans. Vinson, 210).

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simple apostles who had attained a greater wisdom than philosophers, which was why he had felt compelled to present an oration on the topic of “discoursing about God is not for everyone.” In this case, we can see that ordinary Christians were imitating the apostles, to the extent that their enthusiasm (and the threat to the church hierarchy posed by ordinary people’s biblical interpretation) alarmed their bishop. Although Gregory certainly admired the apostles and was aware of their social origins, this had little or no impact on his view that church leaders should come from well-off families. We can see this in Gregory of Nazianzus’ attacks on other churchmen in theological controversies. For example, in his panegyric for Athanasius, Gregory denounced Athanasius’ Arian counterpart, George of Cappadocia, in terms based squarely on social class and education: George was “some Cappadocian monster, who had his start in our furthest reaches, of low birth, and lower intelligence, who was not entirely a free man, but of mixed blood.”40 Gregory claims that this bishop had started off as a contractor of pork for military rations, and was “a good for nothing, who never had a liberal education, [and] who lacked fluency in conversation.”41 Gregory makes it clear that low social standing and lack of education should have disqualified George from the episcopacy and from engaging in theological discussions. In order to undermine his enemy, Gregory drew on stock insults (provincial, lower class, uneducated), seemingly unaware of their striking resemblance to the apostles’ key traits.42 As we can see, the association between heresy and sophistry, on the one hand, and orthodoxy and the simple teaching of the apostles, on the other, did not prevent an additional and contradictory association of heresy with low birth and lack of education.43 Likewise, the admiration for the apostles as uneducated yet holy men did not lead to a higher regard for lower-class people more generally. 40 42

43

Or. 21.16, presented in 380 in Constantinople. 41 Or. 21.16. A. Louth notes Gregory’s “aristocratic horror” regarding less qualified bishops: “St. Gregory Nazianzen on Bishops and the Episcopate,” in Vescovi e Pastori in Epoca Teodosiana, 281–5, at 282–3. In the same collection of essays, see K. Demoen, “Acteurs de Pantomimes, Trafiquants du Christ, Flatteurs de Femmes . . . Les Évêques dans les Poèmes Autobiographiques de Grégoire de Nazianze,” 287–98; and N. McLynn, “The Voice of Conscience: Gregory Nazianzen in Retirement,” 299–308. Also on Gregory of Nazianzus’ views of bishops with humble backgrounds, see C. Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: the Nature of Leadership in an Age of Transition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 173–6 and R. Teja, “Valores Aristocráticos en la Configuración de la Imagen del Obispo Tardoantiguo: Basilio de Cesarea y la Oratio 43 de Gregorio de Nacianzo,” in J.-M. Carrié and R. Lizzi Testa (eds.), “Humana Sapit:” Études d’Antiquité Tardive Offertes à Lellia Cracco Ruggini (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), 283–9, at 288–9. On the topic of education in polemical attacks, see R. Kaster on Jerome in Guardians of Language: The Grammarian and Society in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 74–5. This will be covered in more detail in Chapter 4.

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Gregory’s wish for the episcopacy to be limited to distinguished and educated men is on full display in one of his poems when he lashes out against the bishops who had forced him to resign from the episcopate in Constantinople in 381. In his view, less prominent bishops had attacked him out of jealousy.44 Moreover, he did not want to be associated with them anyway, because those bishops were former tax collectors, farmers, soldiers, sailors, and even slaves. In this passage, Gregory uses strikingly harsh class-based imagery to denigrate his opponents: Then there are those who, as yet, have not washed the soot of their fiery occupations from their persons, slave material who ought to be in the mills. In the old days, before they could scrape together a ransom for their masters they would get little enough respite from hard labor. But now you can’t hold them back, and either by persuasion or intimidation they’ve succeeded in filching away a section of the people. So these heaven-bound dung beetles continue their ascent; but their vehicle is no longer from the dung-heap . . . They think they have the power of heavenly beings themselves, and keep spouting pernicious stuff, though they’re unable to count their hands or their feet.45

In Gregory’s view, grimy workers could not legitimately become church authorities. This attitude is not surprising coming from a highly educated, upper-class man. But here, Christian teachings added a new element to old prejudices: Gregory felt compelled to defend his elitist views. He knew that the apostles had been uneducated workers and that other people knew this too and would object to his class-based attacks: “such a line of argument is very ready on the lips of many.”46 Gregory responds to this argument by downplaying the social background of the apostles – the apostles’ virtues were what was important, he contends, but their other characteristics did not matter. Emphasis on the fact that they were workers was misguided, like a painter who aimed to exaggerate “the blemishes and defects of a beautiful model.”47 Their humble backgrounds were in fact defects, and should not be highlighted, celebrated, or replicated. Gregory goes on to argue that the authors of the biblical texts must have been educated men, 44

45

46

De Seipso et de Episcopis = Carm. 2,1.12, v. 136–47. On Gregory’s attack on the rusticity of these bishops, see Demoen, “Acteurs de Pantomimes,” 292; Louth, “St. Gregory Nazianzen on Bishops,” 282–3; Rapp, Holy Bishops, 173; Teja, “Valores Aristocráticos,” 288–9; J. Maxwell, “Education, Humility and Choosing Ideal Bishops,” in J. Leemans et al. (eds.), Episcopal Elections in Late Antiquity (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 449–62, at 456–60. Carm. 2,1.12, v. 163–75 (trans. Meehan, 54). On the clergy who engaged in manual labor and trade in Late Antiquity, see Eck, “Handelstätigkiet Christlicher Kleriker,” 129–37; Hübner, Der Klerus in der Gesellschaft, 260–7. Carm. 2,1.12, v. 194–7 (trans. Meehan, 55). 47 Carm. 2,1.12, v. 227–9 (trans. Meehan, 56).

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in addition to having the inspiration of the Holy Spirit: “Those men were well-trained, outstandingly so, but not in the sense of making a display.”48 So, instead of having been uneducated men who outshone philosophers, they were educated men who avoided sophistry. In this particular text, Gregory attempted to reframe the apostles according to his own experience as a highly educated bishop. This interpretation of the apostles contradicted several of his other comments that highlighted their social standing, such as when he marveled in a public oration that the fishermen had won over the world, “the low-born have been glorified, and the despised have been given the highest honors.”49 Here, in his poetry, the difference in his mindset corresponded to the type of audience he addressed: the literate circles with whom he shared his poetry were different from the public audience in the church of Nazianzus. Moreover, the would-be theologians among the laypeople in Constantinople – the ones he had warned that “discoursing about God is not for everyone” – and, especially, the lowerstatus bishops who had aligned against him were the immediate inspiration for his reconceived notion of the apostles and their teaching credentials.

Gregory of Nazianzus on His Own Leadership Style Between valuing education – especially for bishops – and valuing the apostles’ triumph over philosophers, Gregory did not always present a consistent image of Christian leadership. When Gregory reflected on his own education and intellectual abilities, he tried to have it both ways.50 He wanted his self-presentation to fit with his praise for the apostles’ simplicity, yet he could not hide (and did not want to hide) the fact that he was a highly educated man.51 In several of his orations in Constantinople, Gregory praised the simple style of speaking that would be comprehensible to the crowds.52 Even in his poems, Gregory described himself as using simple language, claiming that in addition to rejecting 48 49 50

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Carm. 2,1.12, v. 262–6 (trans. Meehan, 57). Or. 16.2 (PG 35, 936), from 373 in Nazianzus, see above. On the paradoxical expectation of bishops to exhibit skillful, yet somehow humble, rhetoric, see Chadwick, The Role of the Christian Bishop, 13–14. On Christian rhetoric more generally, see Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire; on Basil’s combination of classical rhetoric with simplicitas, 144. On Gregory’s wish to be seen as someone who could “operate within a rhetorical milieu without becoming part of it,” see N. McLynn, “Among the Hellenists: Gregory and the Sophists,” in J. Børtnes and T. Hägg (eds.), Gregory of Nazianzus: Images and Reflections (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), 213–38, at 224. Or. 32.26; Or. 36.2; Or. 37.3. On the accessibility of his rhetorical style, see Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 101–4.

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extravagant food and clothing, he also avoided heavy rhetoric.53 Here, ornate language was a luxury that, in the spirit of asceticism, he would do without. But his understanding of his own rhetorical style and its connection to the apostles were more complicated than this, and he explores this topic at length in one of the few surviving orations he presented during his brief tenure as bishop of Constantinople in 380. Gregory presented Oration 36, known as “On Himself and to those Who Claim that it was He Who wanted the See of Constantinople,” in the Church of the Holy Apostles to an audience that included the emperor. In this oration, Gregory attempts to explain his priorities as the new patriarch, and above all, he encourages his listeners to agree on a basic, simple creed.54 Gregory begins by expressing wonder at his congregation’s devotion to his sermons and, echoing Socrates, demurs that his wisdom was due to his awareness that he had not attained ultimate wisdom. He also claims that his teaching was accessible to all. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he maintains, he refused to turn their “simple and unsophisticated” (haplos kai atechnos) religion into something confusing or incomprehensible.55 Gregory observes that what people liked the most about him was that he was not arrogant, pretentious, or pompous. Instead, he was serious and lived a philosophic life – not a showy philosophic life, but one followed in simplicity.56 From this discussion of his own self-presentation, we can see that he wanted to be seen as a simple philosopher. But not too simple: in the next section of the oration, he notes that people liked his speaking style, especially the fact that he was trained in both pagan and Christian learning.57 He aimed to be down to earth, but he also wanted people to know that his intellectual credentials were as good as or better than anyone else’s. If he spoke simply, his listeners should know that it was by choice, not necessity. Presumably, he was reflecting what the laypeople wanted from their leaders. This balancing act of a simple philosopher was based on the tensions within intellectual circles since the time of Socrates’ critiques of sophistry but with the addition of the role model of the apostles, who tipped the scales even more toward simplicity as an ideal. Here, Gregory’s self-presentation tries to have the best of both worlds – to be like the apostles and also to be a member of the social and cultural elite, and thus not at all like an uneducated fisherman. 53 54 55

Carm. 2.1.12, v. 295–8, 307–8. On the context of this oration, see Daley, Gregory of Nazianzus, 21; McGuckin, St. Gregory, 118–19. Or. 36.1–2. 56 Or. 36.3. 57 Or. 36.4.

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Later in the same oration, Gregory poses the question: why did he even participate in theological disputations? Why not just proclaim his simple faith and leave it at that? Gregory offers a fascinating answer that reflects how he must have thought a great deal about his dissimilarity to the apostles. He states that most people’s faith lacked a basis in reason, and he would have also settled for teaching along these lines if he had been a fisherman: “if, instead of my eloquence, I had been given the power to work miracles.”58 Despite Gregory’s claims that simple faith was sufficient, it clearly was not enough for him. This passage demonstrates his view that the lowly apostles were truly exceptional and that their social standing had no relevance for future Christian leadership: lowly fishermen had been authorized to teach only due to extremely special – miraculous – circumstances. Gregory’s representation of the apostles depended on the particular point he was trying to make. The apostles could be presented as proof of the superiority and universal reach of Christianity, in contrast to the limited reach of pagan philosophers. Gregory referred to the apostles when he wanted to promote clarity and simplicity (as opposed to sophistry) or praise the virtuous humility of his friends and colleagues. But when he defended the episcopal office from lowborn upstarts, he reconceived the apostles as learned men, or as extraordinary men chosen by God, whose social status was irrelevant. Gregory’s shifting understanding of the apostles’ social status was not necessarily a conscious attempt to divert attention away from this aspect of the New Testament figures. Instead, his inconsistency was due to the conceptual challenge the apostles presented to the entrenched elitism of educated people such as himself: it was difficult or impossible for elites to recognize uneducated workers as role models or to recognize the broader implications of this in their social worldviews. Despite Gregory’s appreciation of the apostles as teachers in some contexts, he fundamentally did not consider manual work to be ideal, or even acceptable, for Christian leaders in his own day.

Gregory of Nyssa, the Church of Nicomedia, and the Apostles The apostles, not surprisingly, were an important factor in late antique discussions of the role of bishops. For earlier generations, it might have 58

Or. 36.4 (trans. Vinson, 223). Here, the French translator, C. Moreschini, notes the contradiction of how apostles were the basis for anti-intellectualist attitudes expressed by highly educated men (SC 318, 250–1, footnote 2). Cf. Or. 23.12. See also Kaster, Guardians of Language, 77.

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been easier to reconcile the attributes of the apostles with the process of choosing bishops. But once highly educated men began to compete for these positions, the expectations regarding the social and economic backgrounds of bishops invariably became more complicated. These different expectations – and the contrast between apostolic models and traditional leadership qualities – shaped Gregory of Nyssa’s advice to the Christians of Nicomedia, a city not far from Constantinople, when they requested help in the selection of a new bishop (c. 385). In his letter to the Nicomedians, Gregory of Nyssa refers back to the apostles as the models to keep in mind when choosing a bishop.59 Recalling the apostles’ social and economic backgrounds, he emphasizes that wealth and high status were not requirements for bishops. But, they were not necessarily bad traits – wealth and high status were “honorable endowments” and if bishops happened to have them, these qualities should be seen as “a shadow that happens to follow along.”60 In this way, Gregory reassured the people of Nicomedia that there was no need to penalize men for their prominence; social status should be considered a neutral factor. But, when considering candidates for bishop, people should remember the examples from the Bible: Why the prophet Amos was a goat-herd. Peter was a fisherman, and his brother Andrew was of the same trade. So also was the sublime John. Paul was a tent-maker, Matthew a tax-collector, and it was the same way with all the others. They were not of consular rank or generals or prefects or noted for rhetoric and philosophy, but poor and common (penētes kai idiōtai) folk who began in the humbler occupations.61

Nyssen goes on to quote Paul’s words to his fellow disciples: “not many mighty, not many noble were called, but God chose the foolish things of the world.”62 Following this quote, he continues to emphasize the disjuncture between earthly status and spiritual achievements: Perhaps even now it is thought rather foolish, as things appear to human eyes, if one is not able to do much because of poverty (penias), or is slighted because of humble parentage (dysgeneian). But who knows whether the horn

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GNys., Ep. 17. On this letter, see J. Maxwell, “Education, Humility and Choosing Ideal Bishops,” 453–4; J. Daniélou, “L’Évêque d’après une Lettre de Grégoire de Nysse (Lettre 17 aux Prêtres de Nicomédie),” Euntes Docete, 20 (1967), 85–97. Ep. 17.10 (trans. Silvas, 165). Van Dam observes that Gregory of Nyssa’s recommendation that bishops should be unconcerned with pedigree, wealth, and reputation actually favored the elite, “because only the elite was above the need for money.” Becoming Christian, 57. Ep. 17.11 (trans. Silvas, 165). 62 Ep. 17.12, citing 1 Cor. 1:26–27 (trans. Silvas, 165).

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Gregory asks, rhetorically, whether it was better for the church in Rome to be presided over by “some high-born and pompous senator of consular rank, or Peter the fisherman who had none of this world’s trappings to attract esteem?”64 Peter had no slaves or wealth, he reminds them, but he had God. Gregory then turns to other examples: in Mesopotamia, Crete, Jerusalem, and Cappadocia, Christian communities had chosen leaders with ordinary backgrounds rather than members of the ruling class. He observes that, “one may find throughout the whole Church that those who are great according to God are preferred to those who are illustrious according to the world.”65 Then he turns back to the matter at hand and advises the Nicomedians to value spiritual qualifications in order to revive their church. He goes on to elaborate on the qualifications for a good bishop: an ability to communicate doctrine to others and a virtuous life that sets an example for others.66 Bishops should be “humble-minded, calm in manner, moderate, superior to the love of money-making, wise in things divine and trained to virtue and fairness.”67 He contrasts a man qualified to become a bishop with a typical educated, elite man, concluding that the selection of a spiritual leader should not be concerned with reputation, powerful friends, public offices, wealth, or noble ancestry.68 Gregory of Nyssa was not, however, aiming to provide disinterested or general advice about bishops: in this letter, he hoped to prevent the selection of Gerontius, a high-profile doctor from Milan, as bishop.69 This letter, then, can be seen as making an argument against Gerontius and, presumably, in favor of another candidate with less prestigious credentials. In this case, it was useful for Nyssen to cite the low social status of the apostles when his preferred candidate was less wellconnected. But in other cases, when his enemies were the ones with less 63 65 66 67 68 69

Ep. 17.13 (trans. Silvas, 165). 64 Ep. 17.14 (trans. Silvas, 165). Ep. 17.15 (trans. Silvas, 166). Spiritual qualifications: Ep. 17.16; communication and virtuous life: Ep. 17.21–24. Ep.17.25 (trans. Silvas, 168). Ep. 17.28. Gregory of Nyssa also discusses the corrupting effects of traditional paideia in his Life of Macrina, which will be discussed in detail in Chapter 5. Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 62–3; see also the comments by the French translator P. Maraval (SC 363, 39–40). According to Sozomen, the bishop Helladius of Caesarea supported Gerontius’ election. On Gerontius, see Soz., HE 8.6, 2–8; Daniélou, “L’Évêque d’après une Lettre,” 85–97. On Gregory of Nazianzus’ reaction to a slight from Helladius, see Kopecek, “The Social Class of Cappadocian Fathers,” 455.

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prestige, he did not consider the apostles’ lack of learning and low social standing. Instead, like Gregory of Nazianzus, Gregory of Nyssa aimed to discredit and humiliate his rivals by calling attention to (or fabricating) their lack of learning and low social standing. For example, a few years before his letter advising the Nicodemians, he had expressed a very different view on class, status, and leadership in his description of the early career of Aetius, a theologian affiliated with Arianism, in his treatise Against Eunomius (381): “having escaped from slavery . . . he became at first a smith, having his hands full with this sweaty, mechanical trade, sitting under his goat’s-hair tent with a small hammer and tiny anvil, through such shabby work he managed to obtain the necessities of life.”70 Gregory shows his contempt for both the type of work and the amount of money that could be made from it, as well as expressing disapproval of a man’s decision to leave farm work in order to find a trade. This passage goes on to accuse Aetius of fraud and theft, and other disreputable pursuits.71 Here, low social status and manual labor are entirely negative attributes, which are meant to be seen as undermining Aetius’ claims to theological expertise. One way to reconcile these two views about the social status of Christian leaders is to consider that Gregory of Nyssa and his contemporaries thought about a bishop’s public persona or disposition as separate from his actual social and economic background. If a “spiritual leader should not be concerned with reputation, powerful friends, public offices, wealth, noble ancestry,” that does not mean the leader should not possess any impressive qualifications. In his letter to the Nicodemians, Gregory of Nyssa could be recommending a potential bishop from a socially respectable background but with a less worldly attitude. If he had indeed found a candidate who lacked prestige and wealth, this type of man would need influential friends. In any case, his advocacy for a less prestigious man and the connections he made between episcopal authority and apostolic lowliness did not prevent Gregory of Nyssa from attacking enemies in terms of their lowliness. In the latter instance, it seems that when the apostles were not at the forefront of his mind, his 70 71

Contra Eun. 1.6. On Gregory of Nyssa’s attacks against Eunomius and Aetius in the Contra Eunomium, which focused on their technical use of arguments and their lack of education, see M. Cassin, L’Écriture de la Controverse chez Grégoire de Nysse: Polémique Littéraire et Exégèse dans le Contre Eunome (Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2012), 83–8; T. A. Goggin, The Times of St. Gregory of Nyssa as Reflected in the Letters and the Contra Eunomium, Patristic Studies 79 (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1947), 20–1; 67–8; 71–6; 107.

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attitudes toward class and status reverted to a default position of condescension and contempt for workers.

John Chrysostom on the Apostles’ Education and Social Class John Chrysostom’s discussions of the apostles’ social and economic background differ significantly from what we have seen so far – compared to the Cappadocians, he was far less conflicted about the non-elite aspects of the apostles. His attentiveness to the apostles’ status as workers must have been related to his pastoral work among the tradespeople and artisans in Antioch, where he presented the majority of his surviving sermons during his time as a priest (386–397).72 It is conceivable that his lack of involvement in an extended family network like the Cappadocians led him to be less influenced by elite mindsets. For Chrysostom, the apostles’ low social status was not just a way to highlight the divine source of their teachings, but he also drew on the idea of holy tentmakers and fishermen as an inspiration for the workers in his congregation.73 In a sermon that can be dated to early on in his priesthood (387), Chrysostom explicitly refers to the apostles’ social origins as a way to reassure the lower-class Antiochene Christians, reminding them that Paul was a worker too and telling them that they should be able to emulate the most prominent of the apostles: And what prevents you from becoming like Paul? Was he not poor (penēs)? Was he not a tent-maker? Was he not a common man (idiōtēs)? For if he had been rich and well-born, the poor would use their poverty as an excuse when called on to match his zeal. But now they cannot say anything like this, for the man was a manual worker who supported himself by his daily labors.74

In another sermon a few years later, Chrysostom singled out manual workers again to tell them that their social status should not hold them back from being full participants in Christian life: as workers, they were 72

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For an overview of Chrysostom’s works from this period, see Kelly, Golden Mouth, 55–103. W. Mayer presents a detailed critique of the reasoning for the traditional dates for Chrysostom’s sermons: The Homilies of St. John Chrysostom. Provenance: Reshaping the Foundations, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 273 (Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 2005). On the social and economic groups within Chrysostom’s sermons in Antioch, see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 72–6; W. Mayer, “John Chrysostom: Extraordinary Preacher, Ordinary Audience,” in M. B. Cunningham and P. Allen (eds.), Preacher and Audience: Studies in Early Christian and Byzantine Homiletics (Brepols: Brill, 1998), 105–37. De stat. hom. 5.2 (PG 49, 71). On Chrysostom’s references to Paul as a model teacher, see Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, 204–8.

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like the people who had gathered to learn from the apostles.75 According to Chrysostom, low standing in society did not make anyone inferior as a Christian; the biblical proof of this – the carpenters, tentmakers, and fishermen – was straightforward. When addressing the better-off segments of his congregation during the same sermon, Chrysostom presented the apostles’ social origins as a lens through which the upper class should view the common people. The fact that Jesus and the apostles were workers meant that the workers of their own day should not be mistreated. Chrysostom commands the more prestigious members of his congregation to respect social inferiors as equal (or even superior) Christians: Do not say that so and so is a shoemaker, or that another is a dyer, or another is a coppersmith: but consider that he is a believer and a brother. For we are the disciples of those fishermen, those tax-collectors, those tent-makers, of the one who was raised in the house of a carpenter, deeming the betrothed wife of the carpenter worthy to be his mother and lying in a manger for his crib . . . But consider the tent-maker to be your brother, as well as the one who travels in a carriage and has innumerable servants and struts in the market-place: but prefer the former to the latter. For “brother” would be the term for the one with the greatest resemblance. Who resembles the fishermen? The one who is supported by his daily work and does not have a servant or a home and is persecuted from every side, or that man who has surrounded himself with vanities, acting in ways that are the opposite of God’s laws? Do not look down upon the one who is more of a brother, for he is nearer to the apostolic image.76

Here, Chrysostom draws a clear line that connects the apostles with the social and economic situation of workers in his own time. He encouraged workers to find validation and inspiration in their similarity to Jesus and the apostles, while making the wealthy aware that they did not reflect the “apostolic image” in this respect. Chrysostom discouraged his listeners from assigning importance to social distinctions: workers and the less well-off should feel unashamed, while the wealthier should not feel proud. He also pointed to the monastic communities as places where Christians could experience social equality: monks did not evaluate people according to their social position. Spending time among the ascetics would help to cure the powerful of their pride and 75

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In 1 Cor. hom. 20 (PG 61, 168). Concern for workers was not unique to Christians: cf. Libanius’ defense of artisans in Or. 46, 11–13, 24; Liebeschuetz, Antioch, 53. On the date of this series of sermons as 392/3, see Kelly, Golden Mouth, 91. Since only one sermon from this series (In 1 Cor. hom. 21) provides a clear indication for its date, Mayer suggests that we should not assume that this applies to the series as a whole: Provenance, 510–13. In 1 Cor. hom. 20.6 (PG 61, 168).

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reassure the lowly of their worth.77 The apostles, with their combination of religious authority and low social status, were the touchstone for this new ideal. In the context of education, the social position of the apostles also affirmed the value of ordinary people and called elite privileges into question. Chrysostom did not dedicate a systematic treatise to the topic, but the apostles’ lack of education figures prominently in several of his works. In an early apologetic treatise entitled “Demonstration against the Pagans that Christ is God,” he describes the apostles as: unlettered, ignorant, ineloquent, undistinguished, and poor. They could not rely on the fame of their homelands, on any abundance of wealth, or strength of body, or glorious reputation, or illustrious ancestry. They were neither forceful nor clever in speech; they could make no parade of knowledge. They were fishermen and tentmakers, men of a foreign tongue.78

Here, as a retort to standard pagan attacks on Christians’ lack of education, he embraces the low status of the apostles as a strength. Earlier in the same treatise, Chrysostom highlights the humble social origins of the apostles when describing the honors paid to their tombs: At Rome, the most imperial of cities, emperors, consuls, and generals put all else aside and hurried to the tombs of the fisherman and the tentmaker. And in Constantinople, those who were crowned with royal diadems did not wish their bodies buried close to the apostles but outside the church, alongside the entrance. In this way, emperors became door-keepers for the fishermen. Even in death, both the emperors themselves and their children feel no disgrace in this but even consider it an honor.79

Here, the reverence of an emperor for a fisherman is an example of the biblical social reversals, the humble being exalted and vice versa. Although there is no indication that this led to more positive treatment of workers in 77

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In Matt. hom. 69 (PG 58, 650–3); Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 132. The sermons on Matthew are usually dated to 390, in Antioch. Mayer discusses and questions the basis of this dating: Provenance, 176–8. Despite this ideal of equality within monastic communities, socioeconomic origins continued to matter. On aristocratic ascetic communities, see Mayer, “Poverty and Generosity towards the Poor in the Time of John Chrysostom,” in S. Holman (ed.), Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society, Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2008), 140–58, at 143–9. On the mistrust of lower-class ascetics, see P. C. Dilley, Monasteries and the Care of Souls in Late Antique Christianity: Cognition and Discipline (Cambridge University Press, 2017), 58–62. Contra Iud. et gent. 12.9 (PG 48, 830; trans. Harkins, 240–1). On the uncertain date or provenance of this treatise, see Mayer, Provenance, 181–4. Kelly dates it to Chrysostom’s diaconate (381–6): Golden Mouth, 42. Cf. Chrysostom’s depiction of the apostles in De Laz. 3 (PG 48, 994). Chrysostom, Contra Iud. et gent. 9.6 (PG 48, 813–38; trans. Harkins, 225–6).

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general, the social dynamics Chrysostom describes did challenge the usual ways of thinking about dignity and status, and it offered a new dimension to the self-perception of the workers themselves. In several instances, in his sermons presented in Antioch, Chrysostom emphasized that the apostles were unlearned, ignorant men and were the opposite of, and superior to, “those who are wise and skilled in rhetoric.”80 In particular, Paul’s lack of education made his preaching even more powerful and served as proof that he was divinely inspired.81 Chrysostom also claimed that the illiterate apostles’ triumph over philosophers had inspired all sorts of people, including barbarians and the lower classes, to seek higher knowledge.82 In a lengthy passage of a homily on Paul’s letter to the Romans, Chrysostom explores the implications of the apostle’s lack of education. He begins by clarifying that all Christians were equals and had the same dignity: addressing the rich Christians in his congregation, he tells them that he was concerned for everyone equally. He points out how the Greek philosophers, and Plato in particular, had not amounted to much, yet “the tentmaker” had converted many, even while he “sewed skins and superintended his workshop.” Paul preached to all, with “no distinction of rank,” addressing barbarians and even “foolish and ignorant men.” This was possible because the tentmaker’s teaching required faith and not reasoning; it was “comprehensible to all.”83 In these statements, Chrysostom emphasized that Christian teachings and the apostles themselves went against traditional understandings of what true “education” was, who could attain it, and what kind of person was capable of teaching. In one particularly interesting sermon, Chrysostom refers to pagan attacks on Christianity by describing a debate between a pagan and a Christian about the apostles’ lack of education. The defender of Christianity in this anecdote had not wanted his religion to be associated with illiteracy, but Chrysostom tells his audience to embrace this aspect of their tradition: I heard some Christian debating with a Greek in a ridiculous way: in the battle against each other, they were dismissing their own cases. For the Greek was 80 81

82 83

In Matt. hom. 33 (PG 57, 391); cf. Adv. opp. vit. mon. 3.12 (PG 47, 368). De laud. Paul. 4. Cf. De Laz. 6.9 (PG 48, 1041). On Chrysostom’s discussions of the apostles’ educations, especially Paul’s, see Rylaarsdam, Divine Pedagogy, 159–61; 196–9. On Chrysostom’s downplaying of Paul’s rhetoric, and the irony of his use of rhetorical training to praise the uneducated, see M. Mitchell, The Heavenly Trumpet: John Chrysostom and the Art of Pauline Interpretation (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck), 221–5; 274–6. In Gen. hom. 28 (PG 53, 258). In Rom. hom. 2 (PG 60, 407); cf. In Matt. hom. 33 (PG 57, 392). On the usual dating of the homilies on Romans to Antioch in 392, see Mayer’s overview and critique: Provenance, 179–81.

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Tentmakers and Fishermen saying the things that the Christian needed to say, and the things fitting for the Greek to say, the Christian set forth. The question was regarding Paul and Plato: the Greek aimed to show that Paul was uneducated and unskilled. The Christian, due to his foolishness, was eager to prove that Paul was more learned than Plato. So the victory went to the Greek, because his argument was superior. For if Paul was more learned than Plato, it would be fitting to argue that he prevailed not by grace but by eloquence . . . So in order to avoid suffering these losses and being laughed at when we argue like this against the Greeks when we have a contest against them, let us accuse the apostles of being unlearned. For this accusation is praise.84

He goes on to tell his listeners to play up the apostles’ illiteracy and ignorance for all it was worth. Instead of downplaying or hiding this aspect of their religion’s founders, Christians should be boasting about it: “And whenever they say that the apostles were yokels (agroikoi), we should add to that and say that they were also unlearned (amatheis), illiterate (agrammatoi), poor (penētes), shabby (euteleis), unintelligent (asynetoi), and unknown (aphaneis).”85 This would further humiliate the pagans who were “embarrassed whenever they are inferior to anyone in wisdom, they hide their faces in shame when they see the artisan and the man from the market philosophizing better than they do.”86 Unlike Gregory of Nazianzus, Chrysostom did not see the social status of the apostles as a unique case, as an exception to the rule that only those who could afford formal educations could attain wisdom – rather, they were the inspiration for a new way of thinking about the relationship between wisdom and socioeconomic class. While he was a preacher in Antioch, Chrysostom encouraged the artisans and merchants to think about their similarity to the apostles and to act accordingly. In Chrysostom’s view, the apostles’ status as workers meant that they were natural role models for the workers of his city and he hoped that this would affect social and religious dynamics. The apostles’ combination of wisdom and illiteracy was also found among the ascetics: Chrysostom, like other Christian authors at the time, considered the monks to be his community’s philosophers.87 He emphasized their lack of education: these Christian philosophers were “completely lacking worldly education . . . Let us not look down upon them because of their appearance, but let us be amazed by their inner thoughts.”88 Like the apostles’ abilities, the monks’ spiritual wisdom 84 85 87 88

In 1 Cor. hom. 3.8 (PG 61, 27); cf. In 1 Cor. hom. 5.1 (PG 61, 39). In 1 Cor. hom. 3.9 (PG 61, 28). 86 In 1 Cor. hom. 5.2 (PG 61, 40). In Eph. hom. 21.3 (PG 62, 152–3); De stat. hom. 17.2 (PG 49, 174); De stat. hom. 19.1 (PG 49, 189); Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 32–3. De stat. hom. 19.4 (PG 49, 189–90).

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demonstrated the power of Christ – because they functioned outside of the context of traditional education, there was no other possible source for their wisdom. Whereas traditional education had not greatly benefited the pagan philosophers and their limited circle of students, “the disciples of Christ, the fishermen, the tax-collectors, the tent-makers, stirred up the whole world in pursuit of the truth.” They even taught “ordinary people, farm workers and shepherds to be lovers of wisdom.”89 In spiritual matters, illiteracy could be an advantage, rather than an embarrassment: “the wise do not profit at all from wisdom, the unlearned are not hindered by ignorance . . . The shepherd and rustic will accept [these teachings] sooner.”90 He even encouraged ordinary, uneducated Christians to engage in teaching and doctrinal discussions: “Do not consider this sort of exercise to be foreign to you because you are an artisan. For Paul was a tentmaker . . . ”91 In addition to directly telling them not to be ashamed of their occupations, Chrysostom built up the workers’ confidence by emphasizing their superiority over the idle rich and associating their living conditions with the ascetic life: “For to support oneself entirely by working is the definition of philosophy. The souls of such men are more pure and their minds are more vigorous . . . Therefore let us not despise men who support themselves with manual labor, but rather we should congratulate them on this account.”92 By invoking the social status of the apostles in these sermons, Chrysostom was able to praise the ascetics, redefine what it meant to be “a philosopher,” shame the rich, and empower lower-class Christians. Chrysostom’s sermons indicate that Christians in Antioch were aware of jibes about the apostles’ backgrounds from pagans, or, at the very least, that there was anxiety about this issue. Chrysostom’s emphasis on how the apostles were “untrained” and “illiterate” was a way of presenting the apostles as role models for uneducated laypeople. But, as we will see later, this did not mean that he expected wealthier people to reject the rhetorical education he himself had benefited from. The lowliness of the apostles served two primary purposes: in the time of the apostles themselves, their status allowed the divine teachings to stay in the spotlight (rather than a learned man’s eloquence or reputation). Second, the apostles’ socioeconomic origins meant that ordinary Christians in later periods could imitate them. In contrast to Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of 89 91

De stat. hom. 19.5 (PG 49, 190). In 1 Cor. hom. 5.11 (PG 61, 46).

90 92

In 1 Cor. hom. 4.4 (PG 61, 32–3). In 1 Cor. hom. 5.11 (PG 61, 47).

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Nyssa, Chrysostom did not think of the apostles as primarily models for bishops; instead he invoked them, with a deliberate emphasis on their lower-class backgrounds, as a way to encourage new social attitudes and behaviors among lay Christians in his own congregation.

John Chrysostom on the Apostles and Christian Education During his time in Antioch, probably while he was a deacon (381–386), Chrysostom composed his treatise Against the Opponents of the Monastic Life, which encouraged parents to send their sons to monasteries rather than to rhetoric school. He addressed pagan and Christian parents who could afford a formal education for their sons in order to convince them to take a different path. Even though this treatise was aimed at well-to-do readers, the social status and lack of education of the apostles appeared as a prominent theme. The model of the apostles was clearly an important influence that shaped Chrysostom’s understanding of what education should be like in a Christian context. In this treatise, Chrysostom attempts to persuade Christian parents that concerns about morality and protection from bad influences should supersede their preparations for a young man’s career. A monastic life would offer an education that would lead to true (spiritual) wealth, if not to a prosperous career.93 Chrysostom points to the earliest Christians to make his case that traditional education was not necessary. He explains that the apostles were not even literate and that the next generation of Christians had been educated at a basic level but had not studied rhetoric. Although some Christians eventually studied rhetoric, the earliest Christians had functioned perfectly well without any of this training: “they surpassed the most skilled orators, making the orators look worse than uneducated children.”94 These “unlettered and ignorant” men had been able to persuade others without formal rhetoric, outdoing philosophers in their wisdom. Chrysostom pronounces, “Thus true wisdom and true education is nothing other than the fear of God.”95 In addition, rhetoric school could be dangerous without moral training and self-control. Even pagans agreed, he claims: some philosophers had rejected this type of education and focused entirely on correct behavior.96 93 94 96

Adv. opp. vit. mon. 3.11 (PG 47, 366–8). Adv. opp. vit. mon. 3.12 (PG 47, 368; trans. Hunter, 151). 95 Ibid. He seems to be referring to Cynics but cites Socrates as an example of this approach: Adv. opp. vit. mon. 3.11. (PG 47, 366–8). Cf. In Eph. hom. 21 (PG 62, 152), where Chrysostom claims that rhetoric

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But then, after seeming to reject one of the pillars of elite identity, he backpedals: he clarifies that he is not saying that children should remain uneducated. Traditional education was not useless; it was just inferior to Christian moral education. He addresses upper-class Christian parents and describes education with an architectural metaphor: moral instruction was the foundation of the building, while letters and rhetoric would be the decoration that would adorn it. He also offers the story of a boy who kept his monastic education a secret from his father. This boy was not obviously different from others in public. Because he had a strong moral grounding from his monastic teacher, Chrysostom had encouraged the boy to study rhetoric and benefit his companions in the schools of Antioch.97 Part of Chrysostom’s point in this anecdote was to assure parents that monastic education would not make their children unemployable. He also emphasizes that the boy looked normal compared to the other rhetoric students: “he had no wild or rough demeanor, nor did he wear an unusual cloak, but he was like the rest in clothing, expression, voice and all other respects. For this reason he was able to capture many of his comrades within his nets, since on the inside he concealed much philosophy.”98 But in private, he was like a monk, studying holy books, praying, and fasting.99 Chrysostom envisioned this upper-class young man having the best of both worlds: a monastic education inspired by the illiterate apostles and the mainstream rhetorical education expected in elite circles. Here, we can see how he might have understood himself, as a rhetorically skilled Christian who admired the illiterate apostles. Meanwhile, lower-class Christians could find their role models in the apostles, and had no need to worry about any further refinement. Chrysostom did not make a radical attempt to take privileges away from the elite or to remove social distinctions.100 At the same time, he affirmed the dignity of workers and called on the upper classes to treat fellow Christians as equals without condescension. His sermons, therefore, were is not necessarily harmful, but it is useless without philosophy. Libanius also stressed the importance of morality in study of rhetoric: see A. J. Festugière, Antioche Païenne et Chrétienne: Libanius, Chrysostome et les Moines de Syrie (Paris: Editions de Boccard, 1959), 113–14. 97 98 Adv. opp. vit. mon. 3.12 (PG 47, 368). Ibid.; trans. Hunter, 153. 99 On elite Christians who did not want to stand out from the rest of society as the target audience of adv. opp. vit. mon., see I. Sandwell, Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Greeks, Jews and Christians in Antioch (Cambridge University Press, 2007), 256. 100 For more on Chrysostom’s advice about education, see J. Maxwell, “Attitudes about Social Hierarchy in a Late Antique City: The Case of Libanius and John Chrysostom’s Antioch,” in Y. R. Kim and A. T. McLaughlin (eds.), Leadership and Community in Late Antiquity: Essays in Honour of Raymond Van Dam (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020).

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not meant to encourage an end to social hierarchies, but they did attempt to change the attitudes toward social and economic distinctions. Chrysostom tried to convince Christians across the social spectrum that these distinctions did not mean what they thought they meant: wealth and high status were unimportant, rhetorical education was unnecessary and possibly harmful, while manual labor and illiteracy could serve as a head start to understanding and emulating the apostles.

Conclusions Starting in the fourth century, bishops claimed increasing levels of authority over and responsibility for their communities, serving as patrons by interceding with their social peers and superiors. They needed the social and cultural clout that enabled them to face political authorities with parrhesia.101 Depending on the circumstances, bishops could use their ecclesiastical office, their socioeconomic status, their education, or all of the above to make appeals on behalf of their communities.102 As a result, the bishops’ relationships with their congregations were closely connected to the traditional social relationships between local elites and their cities.103 Even the rivalries among different bishops and theological sects can be seen as part of a larger culture of elite competition and public displays of one’s credentials. Although we can observe this “aristocratization” of the clergy in many ways, this does not mean it was a simple or complete process. As upperclass men began to dominate the higher clergy, some of their social values were difficult to reconcile with certain aspects of Christian tradition. They sometimes grappled with these tensions in their discussions of the apostles. 101

102

103

See S. Elm, “A Programmatic Life: Gregory of Nazianzus’ Orations 42 and 43 and the Constantinopolitan Elites,” Arethusa, 33.3 (2000), 411–27, at 427; Teja, “Valores Aristocráticos,” 283–89. On parrhesia and leadership, see P. Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire (Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), 61–70. For an example of a bishop who emphasized his common traits (classical culture, Christian faith, or Roman identity) with the people he was seeking favor from, see A. Schor, “Patronage Performance and Social Strategy in the Letters of Theodoret, Bishop of Cyrrhus,” Journal of Late Antiquity, 2.2 (2009), 274–99, at 277–83. On the Cappadocians’ use of their elite standing and education in the service of the poor, see B. Daley, “Building a New City: The Cappadocian Fathers and the Rhetoric of Philanthropy,” JECS, 7.3 (1999), 431–61. On the continuity of traditional social relations in Christian society, see MacMullen’s classic essay “What Difference Did Christianity Make?” On the similarity of church offices and worldly appointments, see Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 58–9. On the social tensions faced by bishops and their interactions with various levels of society, see L. Cracco Ruggini, “I Vescovi e il Dinamismo Sociale nel Mondo Citadino di Basilio di Cesarea,” in Basilio di Cesarea: la sua Età, la sua Opera e il Basilianesimo in Sicilia, Atti del Congresso Internazionale, Messina, 3–6 XII 1979 (Messina: Centro di Studi Umanistici, 1983), 97–123; Brown, “The Study of Elites,” 345.

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Educated Christian leaders did not forget or ignore that these New Testament figures had been uneducated workers. Indeed, the social setting of the New Testament provided an illustration of Christianity’s universality and a way for Christian intellectuals to claim superiority over Greek philosophers. The challenge that the apostles posed to traditional norms, however, was defused in part by educated men who claimed to follow their example but without any resemblance to the apostles’ actual occupations, social origins, or level of education. In the cases examined here, we can see how educated church leaders in Late Antiquity could interpret the apostles’ social status in different ways. In John Chrysostom’s reassurance to the workers in his congregation and in Gregory of Nyssa’s advice to Nicomedia, we see them thinking in terms quite different from traditional elite worldviews. Gregory of Nazianzus, on the other hand, resisted the notion that uneducated workers could provide a good model for leaders. But even then, he had to defend his views and explain why traditional education and social standing still mattered, given that Jesus had chosen workers as his apostles. While this does not represent a complete overhaul of social attitudes, we can say that the needle moved: the apostles affected Christian thinkers’ assumptions about class and social status. Educated, upper-class leaders were gaining (sometimes grudgingly) respect for their social inferiors as fellow Christians. The differences among these authors are also telling: Chrysostom’s affirmations of lower-class Christians are especially striking when compared to the Cappadocians’ more hesitant discussions of the apostles’ backgrounds. Through these examples, we can see that the reception of this aspect of the New Testament was not uniform, and that it was open to interpretation. These variations were due in part to the different audiences they were addressing. Chrysostom’s statements sympathetic to workers were made in the context of public sermons, while his concessions to the rich (regarding rhetorical education) were in a treatise more specifically aimed at wealthy Christians. Gregory of Nyssa expressed support for the apostolic model in an exchange that probably would have been known to the broader Christian community in Nicomedia, while his class-based attacks in Against Eunomius are likely to have had a smaller readership. Moreover, Gregory of Nazianzus’ most incisive class-based attacks are found in his poems, which were aimed at an even smaller circle of educated readers. The social and economic makeup of their audiences appears to have affected their discourses about the apostles and about elite privilege. But even taking the original audiences into account, we can also observe the distinctiveness of Chrysostom’s lack of anxiety about the idea that lower-class people might aim to engage in theological discussions.

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In all of these instances, the tentmakers and fishermen affected how leading church authorities discussed the connections between spiritual authority and social standing. Two different value systems coexisted, with Roman culture and social hierarchy predominating in certain contexts, and biblical examples becoming central in others. These two models of authority, and specifically spiritual authority, could not collapse into a single, coherent worldview. As we will see in Chapter 4, Christian authors were sometimes inspired by the apostles to praise simplicity as a virtue, but at other times they celebrated education and expressed condescension or contempt for the uneducated. With illiterate heroes coexisting with their respect for learned culture, different values would come to the surface depending on the particular context and neither way of thinking would totally win out over the other.

chapter 4

Apostolic Simplicity and Elite Education in Late Antique Theological Controversies

In a letter included in Eusebius’ Life of Constantine and in Socrates’ Ecclesiastical History, the emperor expressed his concern about widespread discussions of theology. Constantine viewed the debates as the result of “unprofitable idleness.” If qualified authorities wanted to examine theological questions, they needed to do so in private: and not casually produce them in public synods, nor incautiously commit them to the hearing of the laity . . . We must therefore avoid being talkative in such matters; otherwise, whether because by our natural limitations we cannot explain properly what is propounded, or because with their slower intellect (bradytera synesei) the audience is incapable of reaching a correct understanding of what is said, one way or the other the people may be brought inevitably to either blasphemy or schism.1

Constantine was not alone in his pessimism about the possibility of educating the Christian masses about these matters. The incompetence of would-be teachers and the “slower intellect” of the laity were central to how late antique authors viewed the theological disagreements of their time. Because of the ease with which people could be led astray, church authorities worried about the extent to which theologians should engage in educated discourse, and how closely Christians should adhere to the simple faith of the “uneducated and ordinary” apostles. The role of education in Christian culture became increasingly problematic during the theological controversies of the fourth and early fifth centuries. Some writers believed that highly educated Christians tended to overintellectualize their beliefs, which could lead to heretical teachings. At the same time, the failure to defend orthodox views convincingly could encourage laypeople to believe someone else’s heretical teachings. The uneducated masses could not be trusted to discern orthodoxy from heresy 1

Eusebius, Life of Constantine 2.69 (trans. Cameron and Hall, 117–18); cf. Soc., HE 1.7.6.

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if they were easily convinced by impressive-sounding arguments, especially if these arguments appeared to have scriptural support. Because rival doctrines could not be discredited with the recital of a creed, church authorities could not always adhere to the ideal of theological simplicity (haplotēs): they had to expose their rivals’ inconsistencies and make an argument for the superiority of their own positions. The tension between educated discourse and the ideal of simplicity was not an issue confined to members of the clergy. Theological controversies were public matters that shook the cities, especially in the East, with uprisings in this period. People rioted (or threatened to riot) over contested episcopal elections and when their favorite bishops were banished due to doctrinal matters. In some cities, Christians were divided into separate communities based on theological differences.2 The ideal of a simple, universal faith originally taught by fishermen and tentmakers – a true philosophy that was both superior to and more accessible than what pagans had come up with – had been an important claim since the time of the early apologists. But this ideal had to be reconsidered when the primary threats to Christian unity and identity were not pagans but other Christians. This chapter will examine the tensions between the apostolic ideal of simple faith, on the one hand, and the learned approach of theologians who were ready to out-argue any opponent, on the other.3 In order to examine the attitudes toward simple faith versus sophisticated theology, this chapter will begin with an overview of the public’s engagement in theological discussions before moving on to the authors who described these controversies. In his guide to heresies, Epiphanius of Salamis portrayed many of the men he considered to be heretics in terms of their level of education. The church historians Rufinus, Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoret also recounted the theological controversies of their times. For these authors, education or the lack of education played a role in their evaluation of the leaders of various sects, as well as their understanding of why people joined them. In all of these discussions, the embrace of simplicity as a Christian virtue sometimes came to the fore and sometimes receded to the background, depending on whether the “heretical” leaders or the “orthodox” leaders were the ones described as being 2

3

See Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power. For a discussion of how cities could be spatially divided by theological controversies, see C. Shepardson, Controlling Contested Places: Late Antique Antioch and the Spatial Politics of Religious Controversy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014). For a study of similar issues in the period following the Council of Chalcedon in 451 and through the introduction of Islam in the seventh century, see J. Tannous, The Making of the Medieval Middle East: Religion, Society, and Simple Believers (Princeton University Press, 2018).

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eloquent and persuasive. In some cases, Christian authors expressed traditional attitudes that valued educated discourse as part of upper-class life and identity. But, at the same time, these writers were also aware of what had made Christian teachers superior to the philosophers: as we have seen in Chapter 3, Christians did not need educated discourse, because “the disciples of Christ, the fishermen, the publicans, the tent-makers, in a few years brought the whole world to the truth.”4

Theology and Society In the fourth and fifth centuries, theological discussions were difficult to avoid: these divisions dominated church politics, church councils, and canon law, as well as the relationship between secular and ecclesiastical authorities. The struggle over defining correct Christian doctrine overshadowed the old debates between pagans and Christians. The fine distinctions between different versions of Christian theology, though, are not the sort of issues we expect ordinary laypeople to have been engaged with: the abstract concepts and technical terminology are quite different from what we would usually consider to be popular religion or popular culture. Nevertheless, these theological discussions became an important part of the identity of Christian communities.5 Although the depth of ordinary Christians’ engagement with theological questions cannot be determined – whether they carefully weighed different arguments before choosing sides, or if they simply followed their bishop’s preferences, perhaps memorizing appropriate slogans at his request – it is clear that the debates were widespread and divisive.6 Ramsay MacMullen has argued that the general public was primarily concerned with the power of divine help and retribution and chose their bishops based on their social class, wealth, and ability to act as patrons.7 But although these concerns were undoubtedly important, numerous sources indicate that ordinary Christians were actively engaged with theological controversies, and that

4 5

6

7

John Chrysostom, De stat. 19.5 (PG 49, 190). See J. Maxwell, “Popular Theology in Late Antiquity,” in L. Grig (ed.), Popular Culture in the Ancient World (Cambridge University Press, 2017), 277–95. In the same volume, see J. C. Magalhães de Oliveira, “Communication and Plebeian Sociability in Late Antiquity: The View from North Africa in the Age of Augustine,” 296–317; Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 1, 47. On theology as a matter for the church hierarchy and not the majority of laypeople, see MacMullen, The Second Church: Popular Christianity A.D. 200–400 (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009), 50 and “The Historical Role of the Masses,” 271–4. MacMullen, “The Historical Role of the Masses,” 274.

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bishops could not afford to be indifferent to the laity’s beliefs in a time of sectarian competition.8 Perhaps the most obvious indication that theology was a popular concern can be found in bishops’ complaints about widespread theological discussions. In a well-known passage from a sermon presented in Constantinople in 380, Gregory of Nazianzus remarks disparagingly about such debates: “Every square in the city has to buzz with their arguments, every party must be made tedious by their boring nonsense . . . Even women in the drawing-room, that sanctuary of innocence, are assailed . . . ”9 Gregory addressed this complaint to an audience at the Church of Anastasia, which included theologians and adherents from the rival Eunomian and Homoian groups in the first of a series of high-stakes presentations meant to win over members of the Constantinopolitan elite to Nicene Christianity.10 Three years later, Gregory of Nyssa made a similar comment about the unseemly popularity of theological discussions in Constantinople: Throughout the city everything is taken up by such discussions: the alleyways, the marketplaces, the broad avenues and city streets; the hawkers of clothing, the money-changers, those selling us food. If you ask about small change, someone would philosophize to you about the Begotten and the Unbegotten. If you inquire about the price of bread, the reply comes: “The Father is greater and the Son is a dependent.” If you should ask: “Is the bath prepared?” someone would reply, “The Son was created from not-being.”11

In this case, Gregory of Nyssa was addressing an audience that included the emperor Theodosius, leaders from different Christian factions, as well as members of the laity. In these passages, both Gregory of Nazianus and Gregory of Nyssa were attempting to associate non-Nicene beliefs with the lower classes, and, in turn, to associate Nicene beliefs with eloquent, educated discourse.12 They were appealing to the self-regard of their elite listeners, while also evoking the social disorder that could result from ongoing theological disunity. In order for this imagery to be effective, 8

On the efforts of bishops to win over lay audiences, see Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 47; on popular preaching: 48–65. 9 GNaz., Or. 27.2 (trans. Wickham and Williams) 217. On the date and setting of this orations, see McGuckin, Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, 277–8; on the church of the Anastasia, where Gregory spoke: 241–3. 10 See Elm, Sons of Hellenism, 403–13; McGuckin, Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, 277–84. 11 GNys., De deitate filii et spiritus oratio (PG 46, 557B), trans. in R. Lim, Public Disputation, Power and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 149. 12 See J. Bernardi, La Prédication des Pères Cappodociens, 327–330; Bernardi notes Gregory’s haughty, aristocratic attitude: 328.

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though, it had to be based on fears stemming from some level of real interest in theological arguments among the populace.13 The church historian Socrates also reports widespread theological discussions in his description of how the Arians gained influence in Constantinople following the death of Constantine. He explains that it began in the imperial court, passing from eunuchs to empress to emperor, and then spread beyond the palace and reached “the whole population of the city” and soon “in the family of every citizen there was a war of dialectics.”14 Although we do not need to take him at his word about the exact trajectory of these ideas or the extent to which it aggravated the home life of each Constantinopolitan, his exaggeration points to an underlying truth about widespread interest in these matters. Socrates also refers to the popular interest in theological positions being strong nearly a century later in his description of the selection of Nestorius as bishop of Constantinople. He writes that the emperor Theodosius II chose the (future heretic) Nestorius as bishop because his rhetorical skill would be useful for instructing the people. Socrates goes on to describe Nestorius’ initial strong stance against heretics as popular with many, while better-educated people recognized his flimsy assertions and his self-aggrandizing rhetoric.15 Socrates, like Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of Nyssa before him, connects popular interest in theology with heresy and with social disorder. These authors’ disapproval of the public’s engagement in theological discussions does not necessarily tell us much about the intellectual capabilities of ordinary Christians; rather, it tells us about the authors’ own selfperceived superiority over uneducated people and, at the same time, about the popularity of theological discussions.16 Part of the anxiety about uneducated, lower-status people engaging in theological discussions stemmed from the assumption that they were getting in over their heads: would-be theologians risked siding with heretics or starting a new heresy. One way for church leaders to intervene was to provide theological arguments that were deliberately designed to be accessible to the masses, such as 13

14 16

See M. Cassin, “De Deitate Filii et Spiritus Sancto et In Abraham,” in V. H. Drecoll and M. Berghaus (eds.), Gregory of Nyssa: The Minor Treatises on Trinitarian Theology and Apollinarism, Proceedings of the 11th International Colloquium on Gregory of Nyssa (Tübingen, 17–20 September 2008) (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 277–311, at 285–8. Cassin sees the comment as being, for the most part, a rhetorical exaggeration, which, however, “ne soit pas totalement sans fondement.” Soc., HE 2.2.7–8. 15 Soc., HE 7.29. On the continued interest in theological disputations during this period, see P. Van Nuffelen, “The End of Open Competition? Religious Disputations in Late Antiquity,” in P. Van Nuffelen and D. Engels (eds.), Religious Competition in Antiquity, Collection Latomus 343 (Brussels: Éditions Latomus, 2014), 149–72.

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Arius’ songs for sailors and millers in Alexandria or Augustine’s antiDonatist songs and pamphlets that were easy to memorize. In these contexts, as in Constantinople, popular interest in theology could be influenced, but not necessarily controlled, by church authorities.17 In other instances, church leaders attempted to persuade the Christian public that they should give up these debates because the truth was unknowable.18 This emphasis on the limits of human knowledge and the primacy of simple faith did not, however, prevent the development of increasingly complex Christian theological discussions. Theological expertise was too appealing for many Christian intellectuals to pass up, especially because they did not want to leave their rivals unanswered. They engaged with complicated theological problems, but still considered these discussions to be inappropriate for most people. As Gregory of Nazianzus warned his listeners in Constantinople: Discussion of theology is not for everyone, I tell you, not for everyone – it is no such inexpensive or effortless pursuit. Nor, I would add, is it for every occasion, or every audience; neither are all its aspects open to inquiry. It must be reserved for certain occasions, for certain audiences, and certain limits must be observed. It is not for all men, but only for those who have been tested and have found a sound footing in study, and, more importantly, have undergone, or at the very least are undergoing, purification of body and soul.19

For church authorities, theological discussions were disturbingly popular and had very high stakes. Although a simple, unquestioning faith was the ideal (at least for the laypeople), it could not be enforced, especially if rival teachers were recruiting followers. As we can see from Epiphanius’ account of heresies and their origins, there was no shortage of competing doctrines in this period. 17

18

19

On Arius’ songs, see Philostorgius, HE 2.2; C. Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997), 268–77; Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 54–7. On Augustine’s anti-Donatist songs and pamphlets, see Magalhães de Oliveira, “Communication and Plebeian Sociability,” 296–317, at 310–14 and B. Shaw, Sacred Violence: African Christians and Sectarian Hatred in the Age of Augustine (Cambridge University Press, 2011), 475–89. On the efforts by church leaders such as the Cappadocian fathers and John Chrysostom to discourage popular debates and speculation by presenting divine truths as “unknowable,” see Lim, Public Disputation, 152–7, 168; K. Demoen, “Incomprehensibility, Ineffability and Untranslatability. The Poverty of Language and the Abundance of Heresy in Fourth-Century Greek Patristic Thought,” in J. Verheyden and H. Teule (eds.), Heretics and Heresies in the Ancient Church and in Eastern Christianity (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 105–26. GNaz., Or. 27.3 (trans. Wickham and Williams, 218); also discussed in Lim, Public Disputation, 159–60.

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Education and Heresy in Epiphanius of Salamis’ Panarion In his handbook to heresies, the Panarion, Epiphanius of Salamis (c. 315–403) aimed to provide Christian leaders with knowledge about the many heretical interpretations of Christianity and how to refute them. This work provides an interesting perspective on the connections between intellectual discourse and theological controversies.20 Although Epiphanius’ comments on the role of intellectual discourse were not systematic, his discussions of heresies often centered on problems related to, on the hand, ignorance and gullibility and, on the other hand, excessive philosophical reasoning. Epiphanius was well known among his contemporaries for the Panarion, which he composed in the 370s in response to questions from two lower-ranking clerics from Syria.21 Each section begins with a short biography of a heresy’s founder and ends with a comparison of the heresy to a vicious animal.22 The book was an immediate success. Epiphanius’ reputation as an expert on heresies brought him the social connections that made him an important figure in various theological controversies.23 The church historian Sozomen remarked that “I think that he is the most famous man under the sun.”24 As a bishop of a minor city who lacked the extensive classical education shared by many of the most prominent bishops, however, he had not been well positioned to become a leading church figure beyond his see. Epiphanius made up for these deficiencies by becoming an expert on heresies and, along the way, claiming superiority over fellow bishops by calling their orthodoxy into question.25 In several cases, Epiphanius explicitly blamed classical education, especially philosophical argumentation, as the root of heresy. His hostility to education appears to have been sincere; it also seems that his contemporaries perceived him as less erudite than other leading bishops. Despite including Epiphanius as a learned man in his book On Illustrious Men, Jerome remarked that his books were “eagerly read by the learned, on 20 21 22

23 24 25

Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus, 63–7, 178, 186–7; Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus, 52–6, 83–5. Kim, “Reading the Panarion as Collective Biography: The Heresiarch as Unholy Man,” Vigiliae Christianae, 64 (2010), 382–413, at 401. On the comparisons to animals (mostly reptiles), see J. Verheyden, “Epiphanius of Salamis on Beasts and Heretics: Some Introductory Comments,” in Heretics and Heresies in the Ancient Church, 143–73. F. Williams notes that “Of all the church fathers, Epiphanius is the most generally disliked” because of his reliance on name-calling and other insults: The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis. Book I (Sects 1–46) (Leiden: Brill, 2009; 2nd ed.), xxxi. On Epiphanius’ engagement in various controversies, see Kim, Epiphanius, 204–36. Soz., HE 6.32.4; On Epiphanius’ popularity, see Kim, “Reading the Panarion,” 402, note 65. Kim, “Reading the Panarion,” 384–5; E. Clark, The Origenist Controversy: the Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate (Princeton University Press, 1992), 86–104.

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account of their subject matter, and also by the plain people, on account of their language.”26 Jerome puts it gently: educated people were interested in the content of the handbook – they needed this information. “Plain people,” on the other hand, appreciated its accessibility.27 Jerome’s remarks lend credence to Epiphanius’ own description of his writing style. In his preface, Epiphanius states that he wanted his heresiology to be read by simple monks and so he had used plain speech.28 This sort of statement often served as polite self-deprecation, but Epiphanius’ claim was not just a rhetorical move: the accessibility of his writing is in line with the hostility he expresses toward intellectual show-offs who had led so many astray.29 For Epiphanius, the conflict between heresy and orthodoxy was also a conflict between stupidity and intelligence and between excessive education and admirable simplicity. Epiphanius derided most heresies for being insane and obviously wrong. He described their doctrines with a colorful variety of unsubtle terms: crazy nonsense, uncommon silliness, lunacy, strangeness and foolishness, deadly poison, vulgar teaching and chatter, scummy obscenity. The heretical teachers were deluded, deranged, lamebrains. One is singled out as “the craziest man in the world.”30 Although the doctrines were insane, silly, and stupid, the actual root of heresy was not ignorance. Sometimes the ideas sprang from madness or demonic influence, but false teachings more often originated from a combination of classical education and the arrogance and ambition that this education inspired. Once a heresy began, it spread due to the weak-mindedness of most people, transmitted like a disease from teacher to student. Many of the heretical teachers were able to win converts because of their persuasive arguments and rhetoric, which worked on gullible, ordinary people. For Epiphanius, classical education was not just a tool used by the heretics for persuasion, but it was the original false doctrine and part of the mindset that led people to ask too many questions in the first place, which culminated in 26 27 28 29

30

Jerome, De viris illust. 114. Jerome’s remark about the interest taken by less educated people in heresies is yet another indication of the widespread engagement in these disputes. Epiphanius, Proem II. 2.5. Later in the work, he refers again to his preference for clarity over rhetorical writing: Pan. 31.51.1. Verheyden, “Epiphanius of Salamis on Beasts and Heretics,” 146; Kim, Epiphanius, 20–1. Williams, in his introduction to the translation of the Panarion, offers a back-handed compliment: “The poorness of the Panarion’s style must not lead us to suppose that Epiphanius was an uneducated lout.” The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis. Book I, xxviii. Pan. 24.10.1 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 83). For examples of the other epithets and insults: Pan. 16.3.1 (crazy nonsense); Pan. 16.3.3 (uncommon silliness); Pan. 19.6.1 (lunacy, deadly poison, vulgar teaching, and chatter); Pan. 18.3.5 (strangeness and foolishness); Pan. 26.3.5 (mucky perversity of the scummy obscenity).

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their rejection of orthodoxy. In his view, all false doctrines could be traced back to a basic human flaw of relying on reason: discussing the origins of idolatry, Epiphanius explains that “human reason invented evil for itself and, with this freedom, reason and intellect, invented transgression instead of goodness . . . ”31 From this perspective, Greek philosophy was as bad as magic and idolatry. Moving on from the philosophers, Epiphanius lumped various cultural experts together – “poets, prose authors, historians, astronomers” – and blamed them for confusing people and making them accustomed to “bad cases and arguments.”32 Dangerous, complicated arguments had also misled the Jews in the distant past: they had first strayed from God due to the teaching of each person who “thought he was proficient in the letter [of scripture] and could expound it to suit himself.”33 He pointed to a Jewish heretic, Dositheus: “foremost in legal education and mishnahs, and was ambitious for the highest rank,” he sought personal success among the Samaritans. Dositheus began a sect due to his “excess of would-be wisdom.”34 These were the same motives and the same kind of training that would later cultivate Christian heresies. Epiphanius, following the lead of previous experts on these matters, pinpointed Simon Magus as the first Christian heretic. Simon and his immediate successors were motivated by ambition, as well as hopes of becoming rich by fooling people.35 For many of the heretics, their education played a role in positioning them as teachers and leading them down the path of making new arguments and doctrines. Even lower-class teachers were noted for their education: for example, Theodotus was “a shoemaker by trade, but a man of broad learning.” During the persecutions, Theodotus had given in and denied Christ. As a result of his learned mindset, though, he defended these actions with complicated arguments about Christology, arguing that he had denied only “the man Christ.”36 Epiphanius did not find any fault in the fact that he was a shoemaker; rather, it was his education and the resulting tendency to make arguments that was a problem. Epiphanius provides several examples of heretics whose careers and frame of mind stemmed directly from their educations.37 In the case of 31 32 34 35

36 37

Pan. 3.3.4 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 18). Epiphanius especially disliked the Stoics: see Pan. 5.2.4–5.3.2. Pan. 8.2.1 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 25). 33 Pan. 8.9.4 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 32). Pan. 13.1.3, 4 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 39). Pan. 21.1.2–5; On Simon as “the hybridization of demonic magic, sexual immorality, Gnostic theology, and classical Greek myth,” see Kim, “Reading the Panarion,” 406–9. On ambition as a cause of apostasy and heresy, cf. Theodoret, on Julian’s ambition: HE 3.3.5; on Eudoxius’ ambition: Theod., HE 2.30.12. Pan. 54.1.3–7 (trans. Williams, vol. II, 73). His examples include Valentinus, Epiphanes, and Hieracas: see Kim, “Reading the Panarion,” 406–9.

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Epiphanes, “It was because of the excess of his education, both in the arts and in Platonic philosophy that the whole deceit came to them from him . . . ”38 In his account of Aetius’ life, the influence of Aristotle led him and his followers away from the simplicity exemplified by the apostles. Epiphanius addresses the intellectual heretic by highlighting the difference between philosophers and the apostles: I cannot be told to become a disciple of your master Aristotle, and abandon of the fishermen who, though “learned and ignorant men,” were enlightened in the Spirit of God, and by God’s power were heralds of the truth as it was vouchsafed them. For the kingdom of heaven is not in syllogistic speech and boastful talk, but in power and truth.39

By contrasting Aetius’ love of Aristotle with the apostles’ unlearned faith, Epiphanius made a case that knowledge and methods of argumentation rooted in traditional education were not only unnecessary, but diametrically opposed to orthodoxy. True knowledge and correct doctrine came from following the simple faith of the apostles, which had nothing to do with philosophical reasoning. Epiphanius’ views of the relationship between intellectual complexity, simple faith, and heresy also came to the surface in his discussion of the Origenist controversy. In short, Anti-Origenists accused Origen and his followers of making innovations that were not based on Scriptural authority. Origenists responded by accusing the Anti-Origenists of being so literal-minded that they believed that God had human characteristics.40 In turn, Epiphanius, a leading Anti-Origenist, attacked the Origenists by associating them with other heresies related to Arianism.41 In the Panarion, Epiphanius condemned Origen’s classical training and drew a direct line connecting education with the “malicious reasoning” that culminated in false doctrines.42 Later, Epiphanius called attention again to his own “lack of education,” in order to contrast himself with Origen.43 In the case of Origen and his followers, education was not merely a contributing factor, or a tool used wrongly, but a cause of heresy. 38 39 40 41

42

Pan. 32.3.8 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 211). Pan. 76.37.16 (trans. Williams, vol. II, 556); also discussed by Kim, “Reading the Panarion,” 411–12. See Rufinus, Apologia contra Hieronymum 1.18. For an insightful overview of this conflict and the different parties involved, see Clark, Origenist Controversy. Kim, “Reading the Panarion,” 395–6, 400–5. By relating them to Arianism via Origen, they also trace back to Simon Magus. Eusebius (HE 6.2.15–3.13) implies Origen’s secular education prepared him for service and inspired many to the faith. On the conflict between Origen’s education and his humble asceticism, see J. R. Lyman, “The Making of a Heretic: The Life of Origen in Epiphanius’ Panarion 64,” Studia Patristica, 31 (1997), 445–51. Pan. 64.11; Kim, “Reading the Panarion,” 410–11. 43 Pan. 64.72.2.

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Epiphanius claimed that correct doctrine was easy enough for anyone to grasp and much more accessible than what the heretics had to offer: “the truth guides its sons in a straight path with short, simple words, and . . . disperses, overturns, and gets rid of things that are jarring and loud, though dressed up with much ingenuity. The truth goes softly . . . ”44 By contrast, the heretics “waste their energy on cleverness and invent long-winded verbiage to their own deception . . . ”45 According to this view, the clarity and accessibility of orthodoxy should have prevented the rise of competing theologies. The success of the heresies, though, was due to their very fancifulness, which, apparently, attracted people’s interest. Even though they were convoluted and long-winded and created by overeducated sophists, they appealed to unsuspecting listeners: a complete fool will “be swept off his feet by the lie,” Epiphanius warned. The “person of understanding and sound reason,” however, will laugh at these false doctrines.46 In this analysis, silly people are attracted to ideas that seem too complicated to understand, while sound-minded people accept the simple truth. For Epiphanius, it was necessary to achieve a state distinct from the overeducated sophists and their ignorant, weak-minded dupes. He refers to this preferred state as “a sound mind,” a “mind trained in truth,” a “godly enlightenment of mind,” a “person of understanding and sound reason,” or simply being wise.47 But if the true faith was simple, it was not always easy to convince the laity of this. Epiphanius was generally lenient when he described the ordinary followers of heretical teachers: for the most part, he assumed that they had been tricked. He described them as simple, innocent, misguided, weakminded, ignorant, or, at worst duped, or simply stupid. He recognized that it could be difficult or impossible for ordinary people to discern truth on their own. He consistently distinguished between the active evil of the leaders and the unfortunate vulnerability of the followers.48 Although he rejected traditional education, Epiphanius appeared to expect some form of instruction, such as his Panarion itself, to be a tool that could protect people from false teachings. 44 46 47 48

Pan. 35.3.2 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 255). 45 Pan. 35.3.3. (trans. Williams, vol. I, 255). Pan. 33.8.5–6 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 222); cf. Pan. 26.12.5; 28.7.8. Pan. 33.8.5–6 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 222); 28.7.8 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 122); 24.2.1 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 77). For example: “join me, all you servants of God and lovers of the truth, and laugh at the fraud and tramp Colorbasus! Or rather, mourn for those who have been deceived,” Pan. 35.3.1 (trans. Williams, vol. I, 254–5).

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As someone with a relatively modest background (compared to men such as the Cappadocian Fathers) and without an impressive education, Epiphanius is an unusual voice from this period. Instead of being embarrassed by his background, he openly condemned classical education. His (unsystematic) arguments about heresy attempted to disconnect the concepts of intelligence and rationality (or “sound reason”) from any association with classical education and philosophical argumentation. At the same time, he dissociated “stupidity” and “foolishness” from simplicity, and, instead, attributed stupidity to those who admired overly educated men. His ideas were not simply a reversal of attitudes toward education: he also often contradicted himself. He blamed rationality as a source of heresy, and then accused heretics of being irrational and applauded orthodox Christians for being of sound mind and listening to reason. Epiphanius did not aim to solve or even to address these inconsistencies: he was busy collecting and condemning heresies. But the inconsistencies tell us that the relationship between intellectual argumentation, apostolic simplicity, and deceptive heretics was complicated. There was no easy way to explain the success of heretics or to counter their arguments while consistently upholding the natural, universal appeal of the simple faith that had been taught by the apostles.

Simplicity, Education, and Heresy in the Church Historians Like Epiphanius, the church historians Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoret made theological controversies the centerpiece of their works. They chronicled the rivalries among leading bishops, the involvement of emperors on all sides, and how the divisions played out in major cities. In their accounts, the ability of theologians to produce complicated arguments and express them persuasively played a central role in these conflicts. Each sect attempted to make the case that its particular theological views were correct and the others were wrong. The problem was that most of the sects had eloquent spokesmen capable of persuading the public. The church historians’ understanding of these conflicts was similar to Epiphanius’: they depicted illegitimate theologians as attracting followers because the masses were vulnerable to persuasive speech and deceptive reasoning. But, in contrast to Epiphanius, they also considered persuasive speech and adept argumentation as key skills for the orthodox leaders. In the original Ecclesiastical History, Eusebius of Caesarea (c. 260–340) did not focus on heresies to the extent that his Greek successors would.49 Covering 49

For an overview, see Young, From Nicaea to Chalcedon, 6–7.

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the developments in the church from the first century until the time of Constantine, Eusebius frequently highlighted the intellectual credentials of key figures but did not focus on the connections between education, the origins of heresies, and vulnerability to heresies. In 402 or 403, Rufinus of Aquileia translated Eusebius’ history into Latin and added an account of the period from the reign of Constantine to 395. Rufinus was particularly concerned with salvaging the reputation of Origen and his admirers (such as himself) from accusations of heresy.50 In order to avoid the problems caused by Origen’s more controversial statements, Rufinus highlighted the central importance of simple faith and argued that only the most basic of Christian beliefs should be submitted to the test for orthodoxy.51 As a result, Rufinus’ historical narrative steered clear of the doctrinal details of theological controversies, emphasizing instead events that could be seen as signs from God.52 The other three church historians from this period covered ecclesiastical developments from Constantine until their time of writing in the second quarter of the fifth century. The earliest of these histories, written between 438 and 443, is by Socrates Scholasticus, who was a layman and perhaps a lawyer in Constantinople, educated by both pagan and Christian teachers.53 Socrates defended the value of traditional literary and philosophical education for Christians.54 He wrote his history from the perspective of the Nicene church, but was sympathetic to the Novatians, a group that differed over the issues of penance and second marriage, but not over the creed. Sozomen’s background was similar to Socrates’: he was a lawyer in Constantinople, educated in classics and Christian texts. Much of his church history was based upon Socrates’ History, which had been completed not long before Sozomen began his project.55 As such, Sozomen’s History also centered on theological controversies, yet he remained less partisan than one might expect. Sozomen acknowledged that his attempt at neutral reporting might seem (literally) unorthodox, because he even had praise for some of the heretics: “I concede 50

51

52 53 55

Although acknowledged for his role in the transmission of texts from the East to the West, Rufinus has suffered from a tarnished reputation due to Jerome’s attacks. See Murphy, Rufinus of Aquileia, 174. F. Thelamon reevaluated Rufinus’ History, discerning a consistent theme and approach in the place of the arbitrariness and lack of proportion perceived by other readers, in Païens et Chrétiens au IV e Siècle: L’apport de l’ “Histoire ecclésiastique” de Rufin d’Aquilée (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1981). See also Thelamon, “Rufin, Historien de son Temps,” in Rufino di Concordia e il suo Tempo, Antichità Altoadriatiche 31, 2 vols. (Udine: Arti Grafiche Friulane, 1987), vol. I, 41–59. Rufinus translated Pamphilus’ defense of Origen. In his preface, he clarifies his own orthodox stance on the Trinity and resurrection: Rufinus, Prologus in Apologeticum Pamphili Martyris pro Origene (SC 464, 24–8). See Thelamon, Païens et Chrétiens, 24–5, 425–7. Urbainczyk, Socrates of Constantinople, 13–20. 54 Soc., HE 3.16. See Leppin, “The Church Historians,” 224.

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that they are admirable on account of their eloquence and the cleverness of their discourses. But let their doctrines be judged by those who have the right to do so.”56 Finally, Theodoret of Cyrrhus was educated by Christian ascetics in both classics and Christian texts. His church history (written in the 440s, covering events up to 429) recounts roughly the same period, and also refers to the use and abuse of education by theologians. Theodoret drew on the histories written by Sozomen and Rufinus, among other sources.57 Taken together, the church historians’ accounts of theological controversies, especially their descriptions of leading figures from various theological sects, provide numerous examples of the tensions between apostolic simplicity and traditional education in Christian culture. Like Epiphanius, they often depicted leading heretics as overly educated men who misled the masses. But, on some occasions, unorthodox teachers could be attacked from the opposite direction, for being poorly educated and the orthodox leaders would be the ones with intellectual training. The portrayal of the laypeople’s ability to understand the controversies also varies in these accounts: ordinary Christians were alternately praiseworthy for upholding a simple faith, or criticized as simpletons vulnerable to false doctrines. The rest of this chapter will address the different ways in which the church historians depicted education (and its association with higher social status) in their accounts of theological controversies. For both the Christian leaders and the laity, emulating the simplicity of the apostles could be a virtue or it could be a major problem because simple Christians could too easily be persuaded to adopt heretical views. At the same time, prestigious education and eloquent speaking were associated with Nicene heroes, but in some cases, too many questions, too many complicated ideas could lead people astray.

Aetius and Eunomius: Bad Education as the Cause of Heresy According to the church historians, the vulnerability of ordinary, uneducated people to persuasive speakers was a key factor in church conflicts. In the context of the Origenist controversy, Socrates described, sympathetically, how the “more simple ascetics” believed that God had a physical body. These monks were “sincere but untrained as speakers, the greater part of whom were uneducated.”58 From Socrates’ perspective, they were wrong 56 58

Soz., HE 3.15.10. 57 On Theodoret’s early life, see Urbainczyk, Theodoret of Cyrrhus, 10–21. Soc., HE 6.7.21 (SC 505, 292): τοὺς πλείστους τῶν μοναχῶν, ἀνθρώπους ἀκεραίους μέν, ἰδιώτας δὲ τῷ λόγῳ, τοὺς πολλοὺς δὲ ἀγραμμάτους ὄντας . . . Here, Socrates echoes 2 Cor. 11:6.

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about God’s physicality, but he recognized that they simply did not know any better. Socrates then explained, disapprovingly, how Theophilus, the bishop of Alexandria, had manipulated the monks: “By a sophism he [Theophilus] took advantage of most of these monks.” The more educated monks were not tricked, “but the simpler (haplousteroi) who were greater in numbers and were intensely zealous, immediately withdrew from their brethren.”59 In this case, we see a problem that might be found in any mass movement: uneducated people with “intense zeal” about things they did not understand completely, who were “sincere, but rude in speech.” In other words, the lack of sound education was the reason why well-meaning people could be misled in these controversies and why certain doctrines could become popular. According to Socrates, Theophilus was aware of his intellectual advantage and had purposefully used sophistic speech to mislead vulnerable, simple monks. In some cases, the men starting the heresies were themselves uneducated, or at least their credentials were highly suspect. For established church authorities, the most dangerous kind of uneducated or undereducated Christian was the one who acted like an expert without having real credentials, dabbling just enough in dialectics and philosophy to get into trouble. This is how the church historians and other writers described two of the most notorious nonNicene theologians of this time: Aetius and Eunomius. Both were from humble social backgrounds and had acquired their educations in nontraditional ways. According to their Nicene critics, their flawed reasoning led them to false conclusions about the nature of the divine, while their rhetoric pandered to popular tastes in order to mislead and win over the crowds. Socrates described Aetius as educated and overly complicated in his approach to theology, yet, paradoxically, his flaws were ultimately due to the poor quality of his education. He was able to “astonish those who conversed with him with his unfamiliar words” and corrupt Christian simplicity.60 Socrates traces the heretic’s errors back to his lower-class origins and his bad education. Socrates’ account (and similar accounts by other Nicene authors) dwelled on how he had passed himself off as learned by arguing in an overly complicated way. After a brief education in Alexandria, he was ordained deacon in Antioch, where he impressed people 59 60

Soc., HE 6.7.24–6. Socrates did not agree with Theophilus’ stance on Origen and depicts him negatively. Soc., HE 2.35.6. For additional sources on Aetius’ early life and education, see Philostorgius, HE 3.15 [F. Winkelmann (post J. Bidez), Philostorgius. Kirchengeschichte, 3rd ed. Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1981)]; GNys., Contra Eun. 1.42–4; Epiphanius, Pan. 76.2.1. These sources are discussed in detail by Vaggione, Eunomius of Cyzicus, 15–18, 24–5.

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with his discourses based on Aristotle’s Categories.61 But Socrates claims that Aetius did not truly understand Aristotle: “He had not learned the meaning of Aristotle from experts,” and so he did not realize he was deceiving himself and others with bad arguments.62 According to the church historian, Aristotle had meant for his Categories to be an exercise for his students which would train them to use subtle arguments to defend philosophy from sophists, but Aetius had completely missed the point and was making up subtle, sophistic arguments to attack the true philosophy. Despite the fact that Aetius’ knowledge of Aristotle impressed many people, Socrates made a point to describe his poor education in detail: “Aetius, who did not have a teacher who thought critically, was content with the sophisms of the Categories . . . In fact, Aetius was so uneducated and uninitiated in the sacred Scriptures that he only found success in making arguments, just as some yokel (agroikos) might do . . . ”63 Here, Socrates faults Aetius for failing to understand Aristotle and rejects his claims to any sort of knowledge, and concludes, oddly enough, by comparing his love of debate to the tendencies of uneducated rural folk. Socrates goes on to explain that Aetius was known for “weaving together tedious disputes in order to practice his sophistical exercises,” and eventually was rejected even by his fellow heretics.64 In this case, theological discussions by an unqualified person were unseemly, vain, and led to heresy. This is strikingly different from Epiphanius’ portrayal of Aetius’ education: Epiphanius referred to Aetius as pursuing worldly education as an adult by learning from an Aristotelian philosopher and a sophist and studying day and night to develop and teach his doctrine. Epiphanius did not attack him for his lowly origins and did not doubt his abilities as a sophist who was “sharpening his tongue each day against the Son of God and the Holy Spirit.”65 Here we can see how an individual’s education and social background could be evaluated (and attacked) in very different ways, depending on the commentator’s attitude toward traditional education. Perhaps not surprisingly, Aetius’ education and background is depicted very differently in the church history by Philostorgius (c. 364–439), a non-Nicene writer whose history covers the period from Constantine to 425. Like the other accounts, this historian also reports 61 63

64

Soc., HE 2.35.5; cf. Soz., HE 4.12; 4.23–24. 62 Soc., HE 2.35.6. Soc., HE 2.35.9–10. The notion that an “agroikos” would be inclined to disputation fits together with the Cappadocian Fathers’ complaints about the widespread theological discussions. Or, does this passage refer to rural people being generally disagreeable or argumentative? Soc., HE 2.35.11. 65 Epiphanius, Pan. 6.76.2.1–3.

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that Aetius was from a poor family and worked in low-status jobs but does not use this as ammunition against him. Philostorgius describes Aetius as working as a goldsmith to support his mother, and then as a pedagogue and as an assistant to a grammarian, finding ways to further his education along the way. In Philostorgius’ portrayal, earning a living as an artisan or servant while continuing one’s studies is not depicted as shameful, but as pragmatic. Philostorgius describes the life of the workertheologian: “if he ever lacked for necessities, he would go to one of his fellow craftsmen by night, so as not to be taken away from higher pursuits by day, and quickly execute whatever work needed the goldsmith’s hand, thus earning from his fellow craftsmen what he needed to live on.”66 Moreover, he reports that Aetius’ success made him a target for the jealousy of others.67 According to Philostorgius, after Aetius was ordained as deacon in Antioch and allowed to teach, he outshone others to the extent that Nicene bishops tried to avoid engaging in debate with him, using his rank as deacon as an excuse.68 Based on Philostorgius’ account and the Nicene authors’ descriptions of the self-made theologian, Aetius appears to have been from a curial family in economic straits. In addition to probably being younger than his opponents, his relative poverty was a weakness that his opponents used against him. These attacks reflect the abiding social prejudices, as well as a striking obliviousness to the notion of the “uneducated and ordinary” apostles.69 Similarly, an associate of Aetius, George of Cappadocia (bishop of Alexandria 357–361), also received the same negative treatment from Nicene authors, who vilified him for his low socioeconomic origins and suspect education.70 Socrates also characterized Eunomius, a disciple of Aetius, as a man who used sophistical reasoning and rhetorical speech as a way of hiding his lack of knowledge and training. His abilities gave him confidence and ambition, even though “he was ignorant of the Scriptures and 66

67 69

70

Philostorgius, HE 3.15 (trans. Amidon, 54). On Philostorgius’ account of Aetius’ origins and education, see J.-M. Prieur, “Aèce selon l’Histoire ecclésiastique de Philostorge,” Revue d’Histoire et de Philosophie Religieuses 85 (2005), 529–52, at 531–5. Philostorgius, HE 3.15–16. 68 Philostorgius, HE 3.17; 4.12. See T. Kopecek, A History of Neo-Arianism, Patristic Monograph Series 8, 2 vols. (Cambridge, MA: Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1979), vol. I, 65–6. On the different sources describing Aetius, see 61–132. On Nicene attacks against Aetius and Eunomius based squarely on their socioeconomic origins and self-education, while also portraying them as parasites, drunks, and buffoons, see R. Vaggione, “Of Monks and Lounge Lizards: ‘Arians’, Polemics and Asceticism in the Roman East,” in M. Barnes and D. Williams (eds.), Arianism after Arius: Essays on the Development of the Fourth Century Trinitarian Conflicts (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 181–214, at 181–6. Kopecek, History of Neo-Arianism, vol. I, 138–42.

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unable to understand them, yet he poured out words, always repeating the same thoughts in different terms, unable to succeed in explaining his point.”71 Despite these alleged limitations, Eunomius wrote seven books on Paul’s letter to the Romans as well as other commentaries. Sozomen reports that when Eunomius was ordained as bishop of Cyzicus, his supporters chose him because they hoped “that because he was a skilled speaker, he would easily draw the people of Cyzicus over to his creed by persuading them.”72 According to Socrates, as a bishop, his use of dialectic reasoning divided the city and the people soon rejected him.73 Like Aetius, he only appeared to have intellectual credentials: “Many considered Eunomius and others on the side of the Arians to be eloquent, but when [Eunomius and the other Arians] conversed with Gregory and Basil, they were proven to be completely uneducated (apaideutoi).”74 Like Aetius, Eunomius appears to have been from a family of some means in a small village in Cappadocia.75 After an initial education with a local priest, he went on to study shorthand and worked as a pedagogue in Constantinople before becoming well known as a theologian. Philostorgius’ account of Eunomius’ background and education generally corresponds with the derogatory accounts by Nicene authors. Philostorgius, however, did not present Eunomius’ social origins or education in a pejorative way. While he did not suggest that studying shorthand should disqualify someone from theological debates, he did offer criticism of Eunomius’ speaking style – his “verbose and impure” language made his discourses “disagreeable, ridiculous and untidy.”76 Unlike Epiphanius’ tendency to associate education with heresy, it is notable that other Nicene writers depicted Aetius and Eunomius as lacking education, even though it was precisely their rhetorical and reasoning skills that had made them successful, popular, and thus problematic. Consciously or not, many of the proponents of orthodoxy appear to have focused on the issue of education in order to defend classical training for their own use. Gregory Nyssa dismissed Eunomius as unable to rise above his station (as a worker) and unequipped to discuss theology any better 71

72 75 76

Soc., HE 4.7.6; on Eunomius, cf. Soz., HE 6.26; 7.6; 7.17. On Eunomius’ origins, see Vaggione, Eunomius of Cyzicus, 2–15, 24; J.-M. Prieur, “Eunome selon l’Histoire ecclésiastique de Philostorge,” Revue d’Histoire et de Philosophie Religieuses, 86 (2006), 171–82, at 172–3. On the Cappadocian Fathers’ rivalry with Eunomius, see Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 15–45; on their attacks on Eunomius’ education and socioeconomic origins, 16–17. Soz., HE 6.8.7. 73 Soc., HE 4.7.10–12. 74 Soc., HE 4.26.10. Vaggione notes that Gregory of Nazianzus accused Eunomius of having a rural accent, and that Eunomius appears to have slighted Gregory of Nyssa for the same thing: Eunomius of Cyzicus, 3. Philostorgius, HE 6.2.

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than a leather worker in his family’s factory.77 The fixation on discrediting their opponents’ intellectual training was one way to defend philosophy and rhetoric and to build the case that proper education (such as many Nicene leaders possessed) did not compromise one’s claims to be an orthodox Christian. In this vein, Nestorius’ heresy was also attributed to “his great ignorance,” even though he appeared to be learned.78 Socrates explained that “Being naturally eloquent, [Nestorius] was considered to be well-educated, but in truth, he was ill-trained.”79 Natural ability and, apparently, his supporters’ lack of discernment allowed him to pass himself off as possessing paideia. Real paideia, however, would have provided reasoning and communication skills without opening up this particular pathway to heresy. In addition to men with questionable credentials, there are also a few cases of conventionally educated men who were denounced as heretics. Socrates describes two men, both presbyters, who had solid educations but still ended up straying from the Nicene fold: one was educated in traditional Greek texts, whereas the other had studied Origen. Given their backgrounds, Socrates expresses surprise that they would veer into non-Nicene ideas: [I]t is astonishing to me that these two men persisted in upholding the creed of the Arians: one of them always having Plato’s books in his hands, and the other immersed in Origen’s works. For Plato does not say that the second and third cause, as he usually calls them, had a beginning of existence, and Origen everywhere declares that the Son is co-eternal with the Father.80

They erred despite their education – more or less the opposite of Epiphanius’ view of the relationship between paideia and heresy. Socrates goes on to report that these educated men “unconsciously improved the Arian Creed, because their own teachings replaced many of the blasphemies of Arius.”81 Socrates also describes, with surprising neutrality, a father and son who 77

78 79 80

GNys., Contra Eun. 3.10.54. Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 36; Van Dam observes how social and economic status colored the Cappadocians’ theological views: “preferring the terminology of ‘begatting’ and ‘birth’ and Eunomius [preferring] the equally biblical language of ‘creating’ and ‘making.’ In a similar fashion, Basil and Gregory always projected a sense of entitlement about the respect and honor that was theirs by birth, and they could not cope with the self-made success of an upstart like Eunomius. The formula eventually adopted as the orthodox doctrine to describe the Son could hence also serve as a reassertion of the normal source of prestige and influence in local provincial society: ‘begotten, not made’.” Becoming Christian, 17. On the attacks on Eunomius boosting the reputations of both Basil and Gregory of Nyssa, see Van Dam, Families and Friends, 30–3. Soc., HE 7.32.10. Soc., HE 7.32.10 (SC 506, 116): Φυσικῶς γὰρ εὔλαλος ὢν πεπαιδεῦσθαι μὲν ἐνομίζετο, τῇ δὲ ἀληθείᾳ ἀνάγωγος ἦν. Soc., HE 7.6.7–8. 81 Soc., HE 7.6.9.

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broke away from the Nicene church and expresses his approval of their project of translating Christian texts into classical literary forms.82 The two men did not start their own sect until after they were excommunicated by their bishop due to their refusal to stop associating with a pagan sophist.83 When heretical leaders were well known for their eloquence and skillful argumentation, their critics tended to explain that they only appeared to know a lot. They could speak well enough to gain followers without really understanding what they were talking about. The Nicene historians’ descriptions of Aetius and Eunomius were careful not to condemn rhetorical or sophistic education per se. Instead, they constructed an image of men from humble origins who misused their dubiously obtained intellectual skills in order to manipulate the ignorant masses. Their low social origins were closely tied to their faulty educations. This is the point that I find especially interesting: the men perceived as the most dangerous threat to the simple faith of the lowly apostles would be attacked specifically in terms of their low social origins and unimpressive credentials.

Simplicity as a Nicene Ideal Illiterate Holy People versus Heretical Sophists The Nicene faith was consistently presented by its supporters as simple and straightforward, in contrast to the confusing, convoluted sophisms of heretics. Rufinus states this clearly: the Arians were “clever in disputation and therefore opposed to the simplicity of faith.”84 Proponents of the Nicene Creed had to win the hearts and minds of ordinary Christians, and one way of doing so was to present their beliefs as clear and obvious, based only on scriptures and not involving new ideas or complicated reasoning.85 This was another dimension of the impact of the apostles as 82 83

84 85

Soc., HE 3.16. Soc., HE 2.46. Cf. Rufinus’ account of a bishop in Syria who was “quite well educated but who had a great weakness for making arguments and enjoyed going against whatever anyone said . . . ” Ruf., HE 11.20 (trans., Amidon, 77–8). Ruf., HE 10.2 (trans. Amidon, 10). For Christian arguments in favor of simple language, see P. Auksi, Christian Plain Style: The Evolution of a Spiritual Ideal (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1995), 164–70. On simplicity as an approach to disputations, see Lim, Public Disputation, 191–4. On the various meanings of “simplicity” – clarity in speech, guileless behavior, and/or being uncultured or uneducated – see J. Amstutz, Haplotes: Eine Begriffsgeschichtliche Studie zum Jüdisch-Christlichen Griechisch (Bonn: Peter Hanstein Verlag, 1968), 155–7. On the different views of the connections between expertise and orthodoxy among second-century Christian writers, see Eshleman, The Social World of Intellectuals, 91–124.

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models for later Christian communities. Hagiographic texts as well as the church histories celebrated holy men and women for their humility, simplicity, and, sometimes, specifically for their lack of learning. In addition to emulating the apostles, they stood as counterpoints to the heretics’ sophistry. The church historians depicted the Council of Nicaea in 325 as a contest between simple Christianity and the deceptive reasoning of heretics. In addition to more than 300 bishops assembled for the first time at the council, philosophers and laypeople had gathered to take part in and listen to disputations: “Many laymen were also present, who had experience with disputations, each eager to advocate the cause of his own party.”86 Socrates describes a scene of popular discussion before the bishops’ assembly began. “Dialecticians” were engaged in “preparatory logical contests,” which drew a crowd of listeners who loved speeches. Then, a simple holy man showed up to put an end to this: one of the laity, a confessor, with an uncontaminated mind, reprimanded these dialecticians, and told them that Christ and his apostles did not hand down to us dialectical skill or “empty tricks,” but unadorned knowledge, which is preserved by faith and good works. As he said this, all present were amazed by the speaker and accepted what he said; the dialecticians quieted down, acting with more honesty after hearing his simple statement of the truth. Then the disturbance caused by these logical debates was thus suppressed at this time.87

This narrative depicts the speakers and the audience on all sides as won over (and silenced) by the unsophisticated confessor. They all appreciated rhetoric and subtle arguments, but his plain statement of truth convinced them. Sozomen’s account of the disputations at the Council of Nicaea includes some additional details. He describes the bishops as having a variety of qualifications: “Some were notable for their learning, eloquence, their knowledge of holy books, and other disciplines; some for their virtuous way of life, and others were esteemed for all of these qualities.”88 In addition to the bishops and other members of the clergy, there were also men who were trained in dialectics who offered to help during the discussions. The bishops were divided on the question of how to approach the discussions: “Some, especially those whose simple manner led them to accept faith in God without critical examination, advised against making innovations to the faith that was originally handed down; others, however, insisted that it was not necessary to follow the older doctrines without questioning.”89 The most influential members of the clergy, however, were 86 89

Soc., HE 1.8.13. Soz., HE 1.17.6.

87

Soc., HE 1.8.15–17: cf. Ruf., HE 10.3; Soz., HE 1.18.

88

Soz., HE 1.17.2.

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the ones who stood out for their dialectical and rhetorical skills, such as Athanasius, who was then a deacon in Alexandria. The group who championed the “simplicity of doctrine,” however, would need nothing short of a miracle to avoid being out-argued. At this point, Sozomen depicts the showdown between the philosophers and the simple confessor as taking place alongside the bishops’ assembly. Sozomen specifies that the philosophers were pagans and their involvement in the discussion was partially due to curiosity about doctrine and partially due to resentment. Some of them aimed to create confusion and dissension among the bishops, and one of the most esteemed philosophers ridiculed the clergy. This is when the “simple old man,” the confessor, stepped in: Although lacking experience in this sort of sophistry and quibbling arguments, he undertook to speak against [the philosopher]. The situation led some of the less tactful men who knew the confessor to laugh, but the more restrained men feared that he would seem ridiculous opposing a man skilled in rhetoric. Nevertheless, they let him speak as he wanted (for they respected this man too much to resist him) . . .90

The confessor then presented his creed, ending with the statement “We believe these things to be true without questioning them. Do not exert yourself in vain trying to prove what is established by faith . . . ” His opponent, the philosopher, then agreed with the creed and began to teach this belief to others, not because he was convinced by arguments or evidence but due to a “certain inexplicable power.”91 Sozomen reports a similar disputation just after his account of the Council of Nicaea: a miracle aided another Christian in his contest with philosophers. In this case, pagan philosophers successfully petitioned Constantine for permission to hold a disputation with Alexander, the bishop of Constantinople, who was “unskilled in such argumentative contests.” At the disputation, Alexander asked the philosophers to choose a representative to dispute with him, and then commanded that man in the name of Jesus Christ not to speak. The man was silenced, and Alexander won the disputation by default.92 Rufinus also provides a version of the confessor at the Council of Nicaea. In his account, the pagan philosophers were intellectually skillful men who were “like a slippery snake,” and presented dialectical arguments until confronted by “a man of the simplest character who knew only Christ Jesus and him crucified.” In contrast to the bishops who feared 90

Soz., HE 1.18.2–3.

91

Soz., HE 1.18.3–4.

92

Soz., HE 1.18.5–7.

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embarrassing themselves intellectually in front of the pagans, the simple man was a voice for the Nicene Creed. Like Sozomen, Rufinus expresses the power of this straightforward statement of belief by depicting the pagan opponent as stupefied and unable to argue with the uneducated man and immediately converted to true philosophy.93 Elsewhere in his History, Rufinus describes simple confessors who had suffered in the persecutions as having the power of the apostles.94 In one instance, he tells the story of Spyridon, a bishop in Cyprus who continued to work as a shepherd and also performed miracles, such as stopping thieves (temporarily) with invisible bonds.95 Rufinus’ simple heroes were often ascetics. His church history gives a sense of the diversity of backgrounds among the monks in Egypt: while some were “men steeped in Christian learning,” many others “worked the signs and wonders of apostles in simplicity of life and sincerity of heart.”96 Rufinus tended to downplay the importance of church councils in the discernment of orthodoxy, in favor of the miraculous events that showed that “the kingdom of God is based on power rather than speech.”97 In these instances, God could work through uneducated people who impressed others with their piety and their connection with God, rather than with arguments. The other church historians also describe simple ascetics, highlighting their ability to express their faith without any reference to theological arguments. Theodoret depicts imperial officials who, while assessing the situation in Antioch after a riot, were impressed by a holy man who “knew nothing about worldly things and was altogether ignorant of the Holy Scriptures.”98 In a case from Socrates’ History, an illiterate man heard just the first verse of Psalm 38 at a Bible lesson and departed without needing to hear anything else, satisfied with its single instruction: “I will take heed to my ways, that I offend not with my tongue.”99 We also learn of Maximian, a bishop of Constantinople, who was an ascetic and “rude in speech” (idiōtēs tō logō).100 93

94 96

97 100

Ruf., HE 10.3 (trans. Amidon, 10). On the importance of ordinary people in Rufinus’ History, see T. Fuhrer, “Rufins Historia Ecclesiastica: ‘Geschichte’ und Geschichten von Kämpfen und Siegen der Orthodoxie,” in B. Bäbler and H.-G. Nesselrath (eds.), Die Welt des Sokrates von Konstantinopel: Studien zu Politik, Religion, und Kultur im Späten 4. und Frühen 5. Jh. n. Chr. (Munich: K. G. Saur, 2001), 60–70, esp. at 70. 95 Ruf., HE 10.4; cf. HE 11.4. Ruf., HE 10.5. Ruf., HE 11.8 (trans. Amidon, 70). Rufinus treated the conflict between Nicene Christians and Julian as another demonstration of the superiority of simplicitas fidei as opposed to cleverness, since the philosopher-emperor, the callidior caeteris persecutor, personified cleverness. Rufinus, HE 10.32–6; Thelamon, Païens et Chrétiens, 281–322. 98 99 Ruf., HE 10.3 (trans. Amidon, 10). Theod. HE 5.20.5. Soc., HE 4.23.22. Soc., HE 7.35.4.

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In a striking case of a mass conversion, we see the limits of a simple holy person’s ability to explain Christian doctrines. Four overlapping accounts by the church historians tell the story of a captive ascetic woman who converted her captors, the Georgians, through healing miracles.101 After she gained their attention by working miracles, she explained Christian doctrines as well as she could and told the royal family to send an embassy to Rome asking for priests. In Theodoret’s account, the ascetic woman received miraculous expertise in architecture from the Holy Spirit, which enabled her to plan a church. Interestingly, she did not receive similar expertise in theology: the Georgians had to save their doctrinal questions until the arrival of the priests from Rome.102 In these examples, uneducated holy people could triumph over pagan philosophers and heretical theologians and even convert people along the way simply by stating the creed or working miracles, bypassing any need for argumentation. They could serve as models for ordinary Christians, leading them away from seeking detailed explanations about theology. These figures unmistakably emulated the apostles’ approach to teaching. At the same time, admiration for the simple holy person and the idealization of a simple faith could call into question the need for the expertise of educated Christians: if simple holy people were so exemplary, what was the purpose of acknowledging certain bishops as experts in theology? Weren’t skillful argumentation and theological expertise traits mostly associated with the heretics?

Simplicity as a Nicene Problem Simple Christians Fooled by Sophistical Heretics Despite the ideal of the simple apostolic faith that could win over heretics and philosophers, ordinary people and even bishops could be swayed by charismatic teachers in a time of widespread theological debates. The counterpart of the sophisticated heretical teacher was the easily persuaded Christian layperson. Heretics “skillful in deception” could ruin people 101

102

Rufinus’ version, HE 10.11, was the source for the other three: Soc., HE 1.20; Soz., HE 2.7; Theod. HE 1.24. See Thelamon, Païens et Chrétiens, 460–1. For a detailed discussion, see A. Sterk’s articles, “Mission from Below: Captive Women and Conversion on the East Roman Frontiers,” Church History, 79.1 (2010), 1–39 and “‘Representing’ Mission from Below: Historians as Interpreters and Agents of Christianization,” Church History, 79: 2 (2010), 271–304. Rufinus also describes a different miracle related to the building of the church and reports that she only taught doctrine “as far as it was lawful for a woman to disclose such things.” Ruf., HE 10.11.

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who were otherwise devoted to “the simple and pure faith.”103 Despite the straightforward authority exemplified by the simple confessor at the Council of Nicaea, simplicity was simultaneously a strength and a weakness – uneducated Christians were by nature susceptible to heresy. Compared to the showdowns with pagan philosophers, the church historians presented the disputations against heretics as much more difficult for ordinary Christians to follow. Rufinus’ description of the Council of Rimini (359) pits the sophisticated Eastern bishops against the less adept Westerners. The Greek speakers easily tricked the Westerners by asking them, “What do you prefer to adore and worship, the homoousios or Christ?” Because the Latin clerics did not understand the Greek word, the answer seemed easy: they said they believed in Christ, not homoousios, unwittingly opening themselves up to accusations of heresy. Rufinus describes this situation as more challenging than the great persecutions because this test was much more difficult for well-meaning Christians to understand.104 Instead of a clear choice of allegiance to either pagan or Christian worship, in this case, the clever enemies were Christian heretics, who were accused of infecting the simplicity of the orthodox Christians. To Rufinus (like Epiphanius), heresy stemmed from the misuse of human intellectual powers, which led people to think they knew more about God than God had revealed.105 Soon after the Council of Nicaea, the Arians again found easy targets at a synod in Nica, Thrace: they either deceived or bullied “simple men” into changing certain phrases in their creed.106 Arius’ supporters also planned to hold another Council of Nicaea, and formulate a new “Nicene Creed” in order to deceive people. Elsewhere, Theodoret complains about people who were misled by heretics, and argues that the creed should not be changed by persuasion and “word battles.”107 Socrates’ account also reflects the same concerns about attempts to win over the laity. As we have seen, he reports that Eunomius was chosen as bishop because his eloquence was expected to attract the general public to the Arians’ side.108 In another case, Socrates reports that the simple laity of the Novatian sect was deceived by a priest who added a new phrase to a gospel reading, which changed the 103 104 105 106 107

Theod., HE 1.3; Theodoret describes one preacher as hiding his true meaning and luring simple people to their ruin, like rocks that ships are liable to crash into: HE 2.8. Ruf., HE 10.22 (trans. Amidon, 33). Cf. Theod. HE 2.15; Soc., HE 2.37.64. Thelamon, Païens et Chrétiens, 419. Theod., HE 2.21.1; cf. Theod., HE 5.10.6 (SC 530, 380): on the persuasion of “less stable” (kouphoterous); Soc., HE 2.37.96 (SC 493, 188): the “simpler” people (haplousterous). Theod., HE 4.3.12. 108 Soc., HE 4.7.1.

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date of Easter celebrations. In this case, people who were already members of a sect were pulled even further afield by a deceptive leader.109 Socrates provides an especially interesting example of an authority figure misled by one of his associates: Epiphanius, the heresy-hunter himself. Socrates does not question Epiphanius’ intent or his adherence to orthodoxy, but makes it clear that his otherwise admirable simplicity made him susceptible to mistakes: “On account of his extraordinary piety, Epiphanius had the manner of a simple man and was under the sway of Theophilus’ letters.”110 In the midst of theological controversies, influential members of the clergy could not always afford to aim for the virtue of true simplicity – they had to be able to understand and respond to their sophistical, heretical enemies and convey that message to the laypeople. In contrast to Epiphanius’ blanket condemnation of traditional literary and rhetorical education, the church historians generally considered rhetoric to be a tool that was good or bad depending on which side was using it. Depicting theological controversies as a struggle between simple faith and deceptive heresy was useful to Nicene Christians on a number of levels. It meant that people did not choose their affiliation with nonNicene groups based on reliable information. Instead, they were fooled by men using arguments that went over their heads, dazzling and confusing them. This understanding of heresy provided an explanation for the success of rival doctrines, while addressing a real problem for a religion that claimed to teach universal truth: people who believed in the Nicene Creed might switch to a different creed.111 The only possible reason for this, from the Nicene perspective, was ignorance and confusion caused by teachers with bad intents. The idealization of the “simple faith” of ordinary Christians was inclusive, embracing all social classes, men and women, but the flip side was that these people were by definition vulnerable to heretics because they would not be capable of discerning faulty arguments.

Educated Bishops as Another Nicene Ideal Uneducated, simple faith was not, however, promoted as an ideal for all Christians. Some leading Christians believed it was necessary to hold their own in competition with the pagans and refused to cede education and 109 111

Soc., HE 7.5. 110 Soc., HE 6.10.4. See Tannous, Making of the Medieval Middle East, 50–3.

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culture to their rivals. In his collection of Christian biographies On Illustrious Men, Jerome focuses on publicizing the intellectual and literary achievements of his fellow Christians as a way to counter pagan characterizations of Christians as uneducated: Let Celsus, Porphyry, and Julian learn, rabid as they are against Christ, let their followers, they who think the church has had no philosophers or orators or men of learning, learn how many and what sort of men founded, built and adorned it, and cease to accuse our faith of such rustic simplicity and recognize their own ignorance.112

It is clear that Jerome was not concerned about reconciling this project with the ideal of apostolic simplicity. His pride in his educated coreligionists seems to reflect what many Christians expected from the men in charge of the church. In a similar vein, the church historians commented favorably on the numerous bishops who used their intellectual training to take on their rivals’ arguments. As we have seen, the church historians sometimes followed Epiphanius’ pattern of associating heresy with education and associating orthodoxy with simplicity, but this did not keep them from also noting the many examples of learned, orthodox men. Most of the anecdotes about educated church leaders center on bishops who used their intellectual skills in the fight against heresies. We find an early example of this in Eusebius’ description of a synod in Antioch in the late 260s during which the assembled bishops attempted to condemn Paul of Samosata for heretical teachings and unauthorized changes to the liturgy. But in order to succeed in their arguments against Paul, they needed the skills of a priest named Malchion. Eusebius describes Malchion as: a learned man, who was also head of a school of rhetoric, one of the Greek educational establishments at Antioch; and, moreover, for the surpassing sincerity of his faith in Christ he had been deemed worthy of the presbyterate of that community. In fact, this man had stenographers to take notes as he held a disputation with Paul, which we know to be extant even to this day; and he, alone of them all, was able to unmask that crafty and deceitful person.113 112 113

De vir. illust., praef. This motive led Jerome to put concerns about heresies aside and add as many illustrious Christians as possible to his list. Eusebius, HE 7.29 (trans. Oulton, vol. II, 213). On the conflict between Malchion and Paul of Samosata in the 260s and how theological conflict could challenge bishops’ claims to authority, see Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 13–14; C. Humfress, Orthodoxy and the Courts in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 224–5.

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In this case, the bishops needed Malchion to use his sophistical skills to expose heresy; a simple believer explaining the basics of the faith would not have been able to expose why Paul of Samosata’s views were faulty. Bishops in particular needed to be able to steer clear of false teachings and guide their followers down the correct path. In a key moment in 363, educated bishops helped the Nicene cause during a tense period with the Emperor Jovian. After the emperor asked for an explanation of Christian doctrine, Athanasius gathered the “most notable” bishops to meet with him when he composed his letter to the emperor.114 Theodoret does not specify that the bishops were classically educated, but the situation clearly called for the construction of persuasive arguments in a high-stakes moment. Socrates describes how a Novatian priest was able to win over the emperor Valens: this priest was “pious and eloquent” and served as the grammar teacher for the emperor’s daughters.115 In yet another instance, Theodoret specifies the type of education involved when a bishop was able to win over his opponents. The bishop succeeded because “he had been trained in a comprehensive Greek education and had been brought up with the divine doctrines.”116 In some cases, church leaders could draw on both ascetic virtue and traditional education at the same time. Didymus the Blind (c. 310–395) was another well-known Christian polymath. Rufinus reports that he was educated in theology, dialectic, and astronomy: “No philosopher could ever defeat him or reduce him to silence by proposing any question from these arts.”117 Rufinus also includes Basil and Gregory Nazianzus in his account, both of whom studied in Athens before spending thirteen years studying scriptures and earlier Christian writers.118 Theodoret describes Alexander (Bishop of Antioch, 413–421) as being known for his philosophy and eloquence as well as his self-discipline. Theodoret also notes that this bishop’s intellect intimidated the Jews, Arians, and pagans alike.119 A solid education was essential for several aspects of episcopal leadership. For instance, Flavian (Bishop of Antioch, 381–404) helped his priests learn the ropes of theological disputation. Theodoret reports that Flavian did not preach, but he supplied arguments and passages of scripture to the preachers to use in their fight against heresy: “They aimed their arrows at the 114 115

116 119

Theod., HE 4.2.5. Soc., HE 4.9.4–5. On Socrates’ discussions of philosophical training of Christians, see C. Eucken, “Philosophie und Dialektik in der Kirchengeschichte des Sokrates,” in Die Welt des Sokrates von Konstantinopel, 96–110. Theod., HE 5.3.19. 117 Ruf., HE 11.7 (trans. Amidon, 69). 118 Ruf., HE 11.9. Theod., HE 5.35.3. Theodoret also refers in this passage to Alexander’s predecessor, Porphyrius, as being known for his shrewd intellect. Cf. description of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s brother Polychronius as known for “his grace in speaking and his eminence of his life,” Theod., HE 5.40.2.

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blasphemy of Arius; as if from an armory, he offered them weapons from his intelligence. Discoursing alike in private and public, he easily tore apart the heretics’ nets and showed their defenses to be mere spiders webs.”120 In Constantinople, the bishop Atticus (405–425) pulled all-nighters to prepare for these intellectual confrontations: “he worked on the lectures of the ancients, staying up all night. And thus he could not be confused by the philosophers or the sophists. Besides this, he was charming and entertaining in conversation.”121 In this case, Socrates sketches out the abilities and background of a bishop who was not a rhetorical or intellectual superstar like his more famous contemporaries, but was recognized for working hard in order to be able to compete. Socrates writes at some length about Atticus’ passable, if not outstanding, efforts as a Christian orator: “Earlier, when he was a presbyter, he worked hard and memorized the sermons that he then recited in church; later on, with painstaking labor, he acquired confidence and was able to teach eloquently and extemporaneously. Truly, however, his discourses were not the kind that were valued by listeners or committed to writing.”122 Here, Socrates highlights the intellectual work that went into preaching, which was an important aspect of bishops’ authority over their congregations, and also calls attention to the bishop’s concern about the congregation’s reception of the sermons. Other bishops were noted for their eloquence: this is what drew attention to John Chrysostom and led to his election as bishop of Constantinople.123 Socrates also praises Ablabius as an eminent orator who composed impressive sermons; he later became the Novatian bishop of Nicaea, while still teaching rhetoric on the side.124 Rufinus describes the bishop Hilary, who wrote books against heretics, as “naturally gentle and peaceful and at the same time learned and most adept at persuasion.”125 Rhetorical skill also mattered in the selection of missionaries to the Goths: Theodoret tells us that “good speakers” were sent along with interpreters.126 Sisinnius, a Novatian bishop of Constantinople (426–427), stands out in Socrates’ account as a particularly educated man, who “had learned philosophy exceedingly well.” Socrates is sympathetic to the Novatians, presenting Sisinnius as an admirable intellectual whose facility with logic allowed him to intimidate Eunomius: “[Sisinnius was] eloquent and understood philosophy perfectly. He was especially adept in dialectics and was able to interpret the holy Scriptures precisely, insomuch that the heretic Eunomius often retreated 120 124 125

Theod., HE 4.25.7–8. 121 Soc., HE 7.2.3–4. 122 Soc., HE 7.2.5–7. 123 Soc., HE 6.2–3. Soc., HE 7.12.10–11. Cf. Socrates’ description of two provincial bishops, who raised money for their sees while preaching in Constantinople: Soc., HE 6.11.4–5. Ruf., HE 10.32 (trans. Amidon, 38). 126 Theod., HE 5.31.2.

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due to [Sisinnius’] capacity for reasoning.”127 Socrates goes on to describe the impression Sissinius made on his ecclesiastical and social peers. Surprisingly, he was so impressive that his appeal transcended the sectarian divide: [Sisinnius was] celebrated for his learning, and on account of it all the bishops who succeeded him loved and honored him; and not only they but all the leading members of the senate also esteemed and admired him and were amazed by him. . . . He was more admired as a speaker [than for his books]; for there was dignity in his face and voice . . . and in all the movements of his body. On account of these features he was loved by all the sects . . .128

Educated Christians could also draw on their intellectual training while working as missionaries. In one case, two young men educated in philosophy ended up spreading their faith in India.129 After they were shipwrecked abroad, their acquaintance with philosophy was part of what enabled them to catch the attention of people in their new home. In a similar situation, a group of Nicene clerics were exiled to a largely pagan town. One of them, because of his education, started a school in his new home, teaching pagan boys to write in shorthand while also conveying the basics of Christian doctrine. Later, the same man was sent back to this town as its bishop.130 Although a simple holy man, such as the semi-legendary confessor at the Council of Nicaea, could tell rivals to stop arguing and have faith in the creed, this approach could not dismantle opposing arguments. Furthermore, laypeople, including those wavering between different sects, were an important factor motivating church leaders to present themselves as educated men. Bishops needed to hold their own against opponents and impress their peers as well as the broader Christian public.

The Indistinct Line between Educated and Uneducated Discourse The contrast between educated discourse and simplicity was sometimes ambiguous. In one instance, Theodoret describes Ephraim the Syrian (c. 306–373) as speaking Syriac and “not having had a taste of Greek education,” but he still had the benefits associated with this sort of education: he was able to “refute the complicated errors of the Greeks, and lay bare the 127 129

130

Soc., HE 6.22.2. 128 Soc., HE 6.22.20–3. Soc., HE 1.19; Soz., HE 2.24. Rufinus reports that a philosopher named Metrodorus arrived first as a sightseer, then a philosopher of Tyre named Meropius went with two young students: Ruf., HE 10.9–10. Theod., HE 4.18.

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weakness of the heretics’ tricks.”131 In the same brief section, Theodoret praises Didymus the Blind for the opposite reason: he was educated in poetry, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, the logic of Aristotle, and the eloquence of Plato. These subjects were useful “because they could be weapons for the truth against falsehood.”132 Both Ephraim and Didymus were able to argue against their opponents, but one was praised for his lack of Greek education, and the other for his extensive Greek education. Clearly, Theodoret was not trying to present a systematic view of the value of traditional education for Christian leaders. In his History, Rufinus describes Didymus’ training in philosophy and ability to defeat philosophers but also emphasizes that many ascetics in the desert achieved the same results by exhibiting “the signs and wonders of apostles” through their simple, ascetic lives.133 In contrast to Epiphanius, the church historians praised the uneducated Christians who exemplified a new ideal whose origins could be traced back to the apostles, while also endorsing the value of classical education. As long as the leaders promoted orthodoxy, simple believers and sophisticated polymaths alike were praiseworthy on their own terms. The distinction between what was perceived as “educated” and “simple” discourse is sometimes unclear in the historians’ descriptions of public theological discussions. For example, the same teaching method is attributed to an educated and well-connected bishop, Amphilochius of Iconium, in one account, and, in another, to a “simple and unworldly” priest of an obscure city.134 In Theodoret’s version, the “very wise” Amphilochius greets the Emperor Theodosius and his son Arcadius by saluting the father but not the son. Theodosius objects, warning that “dishonor to his son is rudeness to himself.” Amphilochius then reveals that this was his point, and that this lesson should make the emperor better understand the relationship between the father and the son in the Trinity.135 In Sozomen’s account (written first), the same method and lesson are demonstrated successfully by a man described as a simple priest.136 There is no way of knowing the exact origins of this story, but it is significant that the same innovative attempt to convey theology to non-theologians was imagined as coming from very different sorts of people. 131 134

135

Theod., HE 4.30.1. 132 Theod., HE 4.29.3. 133 Ruf., HE 11.8 (trans. Amidon, 70). Amphilochius was a cousin of Gregory of Nazianzus and friend of Basil of Caesarea, educated in rhetoric at the School of Libanius in Antioch. For a study of this lesser-known Cappadocian, see K. Holl, Amphilochius von Ikonium in seinem Verhältnis zu den Grossen Kappadoziern (Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1969). Theod., HE 5.16. 136 Soz., HE 7.6.4–7.

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Two other notable instances of what we might call “catchy” theology were featured in the church histories. In these cases, the methods are similar but presented differently because one was heretical whereas the other was orthodox. Eudoxius, an Arian associate of Aetius and Eunomius, announced in his church in Constantinople that “The Father is impious, the Son is pious.” He caught everyone’s attention with this seemingly blasphemous statement and his congregation was immediately upset. The bishop then explained: “the Father is impious, because he worships no person; but the Son is pious because he worships the Father.” Socrates writes that the church filled with laughter, and that people continued to laugh about this even in his day. Socrates notes that this was not uncommon, “Indeed, the heresiarchs engaged in sophistry in such ways and using such phrases, they tore the church apart.”137 In this example, Eudoxius boiled down doctrine to a memorable saying, but to Nicene writers, this was not admirable simplicity, but insidious sophistry. But heretics were not the only ones who could capture the attention of the congregation in an inventive way. All four of the historians describe an orthodox version of unusual preaching on the Trinity. When electing a new bishop in Antioch in 360, the Arians favored Meletius because “of his competence in persuasive speaking and his good way of life,” which would attract people to their cause. But when Meletius revealed himself as a believer in the Nicene Creed in front of the congregation, an archdeacon covered Meletius’ mouth. Muffled by the cleric, [H]e explained his sentiments more clearly with his hand than he could with his voice. He extended only three fingers conspicuously, closed them, and then left only one finger extended, and thus expressed by a hand signal to the crowds just what he thought but was prevented from saying out loud.138

Then the archdeacon seized his hand, but that left his mouth free and he began speaking loudly to urge his listeners to accept Nicene Christianity. Meletius knew how to express his theology in the most basic of ways: the church historians depict his Trinitarian gestures as resourceful and clear communication, well-pitched for his audience and perfect for the situation. By contrast, the memorable saying by the Arian was depicted as the opposite: a sophism meant to trick people into agreement. A comparison of these anecdotes reveals a fairly obvious point: the merit of theological teaching was always in the eye of the beholder. Bishops could be praised 137 138

Soc., HE 2.43.11–15; cf. Soz., HE 4.26. Soz., HE 4.28.7; Soc., HE 2.44. Also on Meletius: Ruf., HE 10.25; Theod., HE 2.32 (31).

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or reviled for the same sorts of arguments and skills, depending on their sectarian allegiances. A Nicene bishop’s simple demonstration using hand gestures or metaphors would be seen as a trick if used by anyone perceived as a heretic. Still, we are able to see that the ideals of admirable simplicity allowed Christians to express pride in less educated leaders, even though they still esteemed educated orthodox men, despite their closer resemblance to sophists than to apostles.

Conclusions The depiction of theological controversies by late antique authors reveals that a wide range of people were involved in these discussions: the laity could engage in debates, illiterate holy people could be exemplars of the simple faith, self-taught men could rise to prominence (or notoriety), and influential bishops had to compete in the public arena to maintain their influence over their communities. But, at the same time, some social dynamics remained the same as ever: less educated people were seen as susceptible to being persuaded by sophisticated speakers, while traditional education continued to be an important quality for leaders and a mark of prestige. During the theological controversies, the ideal of Christian simplicity was threatened by the possibility that persuasive arguments from other sects would win over the unsophisticated masses. Epiphanius’ response to this problem was to emphasize the importance of simple faith, while blaming the heresies on overeducated, ambitious men. For the church historians, this admiration for simple faith coexisted with enthusiasm for orthodox leaders trained both in Greek philosophy as well as Christian texts. Christian doctrines should be simple and easily comprehensible, if they adhered to the model of the apostles’ teaching. At the same time, Christian communities also needed sharp thinkers and arguments to defend themselves against rivals. Furthermore, educated Christians, such as the church historians themselves, had a reflexive appreciation of others with impressive educations. Consequently, there was no consistent view among late antique authors about the value of an educated approach to theology versus the promotion of a simple faith. In the historians’ descriptions of orthodox and heretical teachers and followers, we can see traditional education functioning as usual when eloquence and skilled argumentation helped to build a bishop’s reputation and career. We also see that the social connotations related to education were unsettled: sometimes, the lack of education was an indication of

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spiritual power like the apostles’; at other times, a lack of education was an indication of unworthiness. Praise and insults related to education, lack of education, eloquence, or simplicity were made on an ad hominem basis. A smart argument by a heretic was sophistry, but a smart argument by a member of one’s own sect was wise and useful. Also, in many cases, the praise or condemnation of a certain figure’s education was linked to assumptions about social and economic standing. In many ways, the old opposition between virtuous philosophers and morally suspect sophists lived on, but in the context of Christian theological controversies, the impact of these divisions was no longer confined to the circles of philosophers and rhetoricians. The complicated relationship between educated expertise and apostolic simplicity reflects how Roman social and cultural values related to education were carried over into the new context of conflicts among Christians. Traditional expectations, which equated leadership with education and high socioeconomic status, would largely determine how bishops would be selected, but the broader understanding of Christian leadership and role models was still open to the possibility of unconventional leaders who were “uneducated and ordinary.” While Epiphanius’ disregard for elite education did not catch on among the bishops or the church historians of this period, admiration for illiterate and untrained confessors and ascetics became a part of how people understood the potential forms that Christian leadership could take. In Chapter 5, we will see how traditional Roman social attitudes collided and interacted with another aspect of apostolic virtue: humility. Given the fundamental disconnect between elite values that hinged on the desire for social recognition and the biblical examples of lowliness, the virtue of humility would not be an easy fit for upper-class Christians in Late Antiquity.

chapter 5

The Virtue of Humility in Late Antiquity

Late antique authors sometimes described humility (tapeinophrosynē; humilitas) as the key to all other virtues and good deeds. John Chrysostom’s praise for this virtue was particularly emphatic: humility was the “mother, and root, and nurse, and foundation, and bond of all good things: without this we are abominable, and execrable, and polluted.”1 The admonitions of the Jewish prophets made the importance of this virtue clear, and the central narrative of the New Testament reinforced it. The belief that God humbled himself by becoming human and then chose working-class people as his messengers was at the core of the Christian understanding of humility.2 But just as the simple faith of the apostles was difficult to emulate during theological controversies, the virtue of humility also posed a problem for church leaders and prominent laypeople. Bishops wanted their followers to be humble, but they themselves could not be humble in the same way: as leaders, they needed to maintain their authority over others. Moreover, humility was not merely a personality trait or set of behaviors that could either be cultivated or not: it was also an expression of one’s place in society. The only type of humility endorsed by Roman society was the deference to one’s superiors.3 But the humility called for in the Bible went beyond this sort of proper 1

2

3

John Chrysostom, In Act. apost. hom. 30.3 (PG 60, 225). For additional examples of patristic authors on humility, see A. Louf’s collection of late antique and medieval excerpts: The Way of Humility, Lawrence Cunningham, trans. (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2007). On the incarnation as humility, see R. Canning, “Mark God’s Humility. The Humility of God and the Humility of the Teacher: Augustine’s De Catechizandis Rudibus,” in W. Mayer, P. Allen, and L. Cross (eds.), Prayer and Spirituality in the Early Church Vol. 4: the Spiritual Life (Melbourne: St. Paul’s Publications, 2006), 311–25; A. Verwilghen, “Jesus Christ: Source of Christian Humility,” in P. Bright (ed.), Augustine and the Bible (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1999), 301–12; K. Wengst, Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, The Transformation of an Attitude and Its Social Relevance in Graeco-Roman, Old Testament-Jewish and Early Christian Tradition (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1988), 50–1. On humility as a “characteristically Christian virtue,” see D. Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism (Oxford University Press, 1993), 236; G. Clark, Christianity and Roman Society, 75.

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behavior. Like poverty and simplicity, the virtue of humility was tied to the biblical promise (or threat) of leveling or reversing the social order and making all believers equal before God. Poverty was the basic state of being for many, while most others teetered on the edge of it. Likewise, everyone was expected to defer to their superiors, so the higher-up people would be the ones facing the greatest challenge if they wanted to become humble. How would prominent church leaders reconcile the virtue of humility with their competitive and hierarchical society? Would these men question their own prominence? Would Christian elites obey a scriptural command that they adopt behaviors and attitudes associated with the non-elite? Church Fathers who wrote and preached on the topic of humility were themselves, of course, embedded in a society built around displays of status and wealth. Not surprisingly, their understandings of humility as a virtue were usually intertwined with their attitudes toward lower-class people: their ideas about humility sometimes reinforced typical social relations and at other times questioned these relations. In this chapter, after an overview of the origins of humility as a Christian virtue, the focus will turn to selected examples from the Cappadocian Fathers and John Chrysostom that express a range of ideas about humility – as an ascetic achievement, as a virtue expected of all Christians, as something that would come naturally to the lower classes, and as a trait for the upper classes to cultivate. Basil’s discussions of humility aimed at the Christian community in general differed from how he dealt with this virtue when addressing his social peers and superiors in his letters. Two biographical texts (Gregory of Nazianzus’ funeral oration for Basil and Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina) provide additional perspectives, revealing how the Cappadocians thought about the relationship between humility and elite identity within their own families. After these Cappadocian texts, we turn to John Chrysostom, who, not surprisingly, frequently discussed humility in his sermons in both Antioch and Constantinople. His works provide a contrast to the Cappadocians, because he thought about lowliness more consistently in social terms and often addressed workers when he endorsed this virtue. These case studies allow us to see several different understandings of the meaning of humility, and how it related to ideals for Christian social relations.

Humility among the Greeks and Romans The idea of humility as a virtue clashed with the core “common sense” of Roman society, arguably more so than other Christian virtues. Many philosophers, well aware of the moral pitfalls of wealth and power, had considered

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a simple or moderate lifestyle as the most conducive to virtue.4 But being humiliated and subjected to another was only desirable in the context of a humble demeanor before the gods. Moreover, the association of low social standing, with slavery as its extreme, with the lack of virtue can be found as early as Homer.5 At the same time, the positive value placed on honor, meaning either personal reputation or the prestige of public offices, was fundamental to Greek and Roman society, especially for the upper classes.6 These attitudes appear to have been shared by the society in general: even among the non-elite, honor and competition were prized, while weakness or dependence were to be avoided if possible.7 Ancient proverbs and fables sometimes criticized the excesses of the wealthy, but they never suggested that poverty or weakness were positive traits. Instead, these ancient texts indicate an element of schadenfreude when it came to comparing oneself with others: “it is cheering to find someone even less important than oneself.”8 A positive notion of humility, in the sense of embracing – not merely tolerating – low social standing, was in opposition to mainstream values and, if promoted among the elite, could challenge the basis of the social order itself.

Humility in Ancient Jewish Texts In contrast to Greek and Roman social norms and values, the Jewish prophets indicated that God wanted people to show humility. This humility would not be confined to acknowledging God’s superiority but would also require an end to social competition. In other words, among humans, there was no legitimate dominance or lowliness. Humility before God was correct and virtuous, while humility before other people was a result of being forced unjustly into submission. When people were oppressed, God 4

5 6

7

8

For a chronological study of the idea of moderation and self-control as a virtue in antiquity, see H. North, Sophrosyne: Self-Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1966). Wengst, Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, 4–6. See J. E. Lendon, Empire of Honour: the Art of Government in the Roman World (Oxford University Press, 1997). Seth Schwartz critiques Lendon for being too broad about what he means by “honor”: Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? Reciprocity and Solidarity in Ancient Judaism (Princeton University Press, 2010), 140. On popular morality that supports social hierarchy as appropriate and avoids upsetting the social status quo, see T. Morgan, Popular Morality in the Early Roman Empire (Cambridge University Press, 2007), 42–5; 63–8; 73–4, 95–8, 118. On the widespread embrace of honor and competition, see M. Peachin, “Introduction,” in M. Peachin (ed.), Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman (Oxford University Press, 2011), 22–3. Morgan, Popular Morality, 66–7.

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would take the side of the lowly and punish the arrogant. Jewish prophetic texts aimed to mitigate social differences by prohibiting the accumulation of land and thereby preventing the establishment of an aristocracy. Priests were forbidden from owning land, which also hindered the concentration of wealth and power into the hands of a few.9 When ancient Jewish society strayed from these ideals, the prophets admonished the powerful for their arrogance and their abuse of the weaker, warning them of an ultimate reversal of statuses. Psalm 37 describes the ultimate fate in store for the wealthy, due to their arrogance and injustice: The wicked draw the sword and bend the bow to bring down the poor and needy, to slay those whose ways are upright. But their swords will pierce their own hearts, and their bows will be broken. Better the little that the righteous have than the wealth of many wicked; for the power of the wicked will be broken, but the Lord upholds the righteous.10

In these texts, it does not seem that humility was initially a virtue, per se. God, however, was consistently on the side of the humiliated, and so humility became associated with God’s favor and, thus, with virtue.11 Power and ambition, on the other hand, were tied to the wrongdoings of the rich and powerful. Seth Schwartz’s study of ancient Jewish social attitudes emphasizes the radical nature of this early Jewish notion of humility as “a rejection of social ambition or social competition, a contentedness with being non-descript, an acceptance of being looked down upon by others. A lack of regard for social rank.”12 The notion of God’s support for the oppressed gradually developed into something more palatable to the prosperous and powerful classes. In the book of Proverbs, humility is presented as a virtue that all social classes (not just the downtrodden) could obtain: the elite could be “lowly in spirit” even if they were not lowly in society.13 In Hellenistic Jewish wisdom literature, Ben Sira addresses people with the means to support and protect others, urging them to be humble and to be generous to the poor and 9 10 11 12 13

Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society?, 25–33. Ps. 37.14–17. Cf. Jer. 9.23–24; 1 Sam. 2.7–9; Isaiah 29.14–19; Prov. 3.34; 1 Cor. 1:27–30. See Wengst, Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, 16–21; Amos 2.6; Isaiah 11.3b-5. Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society?, 140. Wengst, Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, 30. Schwartz points to the change from the “utopian” social vision of the Torah to later texts, such as Ben Sira (Sirach), Josephus, and the Palestinian rabbis, which reflect Jewish accommodations to the social and economic realities of Greek and Roman societies: Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society?, 31. In contrast, J. Dickson and B. Rosner argue that humility was a theological concern and not a social concern throughout the Hebrew Bible: “Humility as a Social Virtue in the Hebrew Bible?” Vetus Testamentum, 54.4. (2004), 259–79.

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clarifying that “Riches are good if they are free from sin.”14 At this point, the original social position of the humble was eclipsed by the moral value of humility: the wealthy (who were not humble in terms of socioeconomic status) could be humble in terms of virtue, while powerless people did not necessarily possess this virtue merely as a result of their social standing.15 In this way, humility as a virtue would not pose as much of a challenge to the dominant groups in a society divided by wealth and social status.16

Humility in the New Testament The gospels present Jesus as carrying on the Jewish prophets’ ideal of social solidarity, cheering the lowly and warning the rich and powerful of future social reversals: “For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”17 Early on in Luke’s gospel, Mary describes how God “scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down the rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.”18 Jesus addresses “all you who are weary and burdened,” presenting himself as “gentle and humble of heart.”19 As we have seen in Chapter 1, the social context and social implications of the New Testament texts have been subject to various interpretations. It is, however, clear that Jesus presented himself as lowly, spoke about the future triumph of the lowly, and called on the non-humble to humble themselves. The message of the future triumph of the lowly could also be seen in the apostles themselves because Jesus had selected manual workers as his disciples. The Acts of the Apostles describe the surprise of the Jewish priests when they realized that Jesus’ followers were “uneducated and ordinary men.”20 In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul wrote about how the low-status followers of Jesus fulfilled Isaiah’s call for the end of the 14

15 16 17 19

20

Sirach 4.1–10; 13.24. For the book of Sirach (Ben Sira) as a key example of the compromises between the social ideals of the Torah and the reality of social dependence and dominance, see Schwartz’s appendices on “Ben Sira on the Social Hierarchy” (179–84) and “Josephus on Memory and Benefaction” (185–9) in Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? On Ben Sira’s discussion of social dependency and acknowledgement that society did not always match the Torah’s prescriptions, Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society?, 74–8. Wengst demonstrates how, over time, the Jewish concept of humility expanded to include a “virtue of respectable modesty, not exploiting power.” Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, 33. Lk 14:11 and 18:14; Mt. 23:12. 18 Lk 1:51–53. Mt. 11:28–29; Although the traditional interpretation considers “the burden” referred to here to be upholding Jewish law, Wengst argues that in the original context, the burden is physical labor: Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, 38–9. Acts 4:13.

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wisdom of the wise: “God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.”21 Paul’s letters also include instructions that discarded the notion of a social, economic, or cultural hierarchy: in addition to repeating Isaiah’s rejection of the wisdom of the wise, he told people to disregard all sorts of distinctions that seem to make one group superior to another: all are equal in baptism – slaves and free; Jews, Greeks, and barbarians; males and females.22 Because of this unity, all of the baptized should show “compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.”23 Humility, in contrast to competition or pride in one’s distinction, would allow people to accept and treat each other as equals. This understanding of humility as a social attitude (rather than the result of one’s social status) meant that it could be disconnected from a low standing in society and become a trait for the rich and powerful as well.24 Eventually, humility would also become a virtue that fostered inequality by discouraging social mobility and by encouraging obedience to one’s higher-ups. This last type of humility – humility as obedience to human superiors – emerged in Christian texts as early as the letter known as 1 Clement from the end of the first century.25 Nevertheless, the earliest Scriptural notions of a revolutionary humility that favored the lower classes did not disappear. The socially humble backgrounds of key role models – Jesus, Mary, the apostles, as well as some martyrs and early ascetics – was not forgotten. In Late Antiquity, the power of these models and the importance of humility in the Bible would require prominent, non-humble Christians to 21 22

23 24

25

1 Cor. 1:28–29; cf. Is. 29:14. On Paul’s teaching on humility, see Wengst, Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, 45–50. On rejecting the wisdom of the wise: Is. 29:14; 1 Cor. 3:18–20, referencing Job 5:13 and Ps 94:11; Romans 1:22; on the equality effected by baptism: 1 Cor. 12:12–31 (the baptized as parts of one body); Col. 3:11; Gal. 3:27–29; cf. Eph. 6:7–9. Col. 3:12. On the inclusion of the wealthy in the Epistle of James, see M. Kamell, “The Economics of Humility: The Rich and the Humble in James,” in B. W. Longenecker and K. Liebengood (eds.), Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2009), 157–75. On the history of the virtue in antiquity and modern times, with an emphasis on intellectual humility, see S. Pardue, The Mind of Christ: Humility and the Intellect in Early Christian Theology (London: T&T Clark, 2013). For a historical overview of humility and a call for contemporary Christians to pay more attention to this virtue, see J. Foulcher, Reclaiming Humility: Four Studies in the Monastic Tradition, Cistercian Studies Series 255 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2015). In Wengst’s view, the obedient humility of the lower classes would go on to replace the original, socially subversive praise for humility of ancient Judaism and earliest Christianity: Humility: Solidarity of the Humiliated, 55–9.

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figure out new ways of understanding themselves and their relationships with people from other social strata. At the same time, the growing importance of almsgiving and the ascetic movement kept the more revolutionary aspects of humility at the center of attention for many church leaders.

The Apostolic Life, the Desert Fathers, and Christian Humility in Late Antiquity In Late Antiquity, Christian society mirrored the structure of the rest of society and leadership positions in the clergy went to the wealthier, more prestigious men. Christians were not radically, or even noticeably, different from other Romans in their social relations. They certainly did not live as equals: they observed the social distinctions of Roman society; they honored important people; they owned slaves. They carried on with their social and economic lives more or less the same as their pagan ancestors and neighbors.26 But the stories, moral examples, and warnings they heard from their religious leaders raised questions about these social norms and challenged people to remember the ephemeral nature of earthly inequality. In addition to upholding the tentmakers and fishermen as role models, the idea of humility as a great virtue probably resonated with lowly people and provided some sort of respite from the disparagement they endured from their social superiors. Members of the upper classes, on the other hand, might have been open to these ideas as a way to escape high society life: the church offered a break from the demands of public honor and competition.27 In the terms used by the anthropologist Victor Turner, “the structurally well-endowed” can seek temporary release from the pressures of their stations through ritual or symbolic status reversal, which ultimately serves to reinforce social hierarchies.28 We can see an example of such a “release,” perhaps, in the anecdote of the Emperor Theodosius II taking a break from imperial honors and the stresses of court life in order to enjoy bread and water with a monk. The monk, of course, retreated from being honored by the emperor.29 26

27 28 29

On the continuity of social relations, see MacMullen, “What difference did Christianity make?” On slavery in Late Antiquity, see K. Harper, Slavery in the Late Roman World, AD 275–425 (Cambridge University Press, 2011). For a study of the pervasiveness of ideas about slavery in late antique worldviews, see C. De Wet, Preaching Bondage: John Chrysostom and the Discourse of Slavery in Early Christianity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2015). See Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, 87. V. Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977), 201. AP (systematic collection) 15.66.

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With the rise of Christian asceticism in the fourth century, an influential minority of Christians aimed to embody the virtues of the apostles in a radical way by rejecting private property, family life, and/or society in general. Not surprisingly, the early desert ascetics in Egypt embraced humility as an important virtue, one so powerful that it could even ward off demons.30 According to the desert mothers, Syncletica and Theodora, humility was necessary for salvation.31 In the collections of the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, the early ascetics offered numerous explanations of what they meant by “humility”: it could be the forgiveness of someone who wronged you before he asks for forgiveness; doing good for the person who wronged you; or, admitting to your inability to know all the answers about theology.32 Other instances of humility centered on a monk’s awareness of his place in the social hierarchy and his lack of desire to move upward. For example, the monk Olympius accepted his status as a slave, and, even after he was freed, insisted on bringing his earnings to his former owners anyway.33 This acceptance of the status quo can also be seen in Antony’s advice that people should not worry about why some are poor and others are rich or why bad rich people can oppress good poor people.34 Humility could also be expressed in the rejection of formal education,35 a preference for the wisdom of an uneducated farmer,36 the avoidance of honors such as ordination or spiritual leadership among the monks, and the denial of having any special understanding of scriptures.37 Perhaps the monk Motius summed it up most concisely: “Wherever you live, follow the same manner of life as everyone else . . . For this is humility: to see yourself to be the same as the rest.”38 An anecdote about the monk Arsenius illustrates the connection between socioeconomic privilege and ascetic humility, as well as the subjective nature of this virtue. As an educated man of senatorial rank, 30

31 32 34 36 37 38

On the desert fathers’ sayings regarding humility, see Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert, 236–60. On humility as the most important virtue, AP (systematic collection) 15.22–23; AP (alphabetical collection) Macarius 35; Theodora 6. On humility as a way to prevail over demons: AP (systematic collection) 15.3, 15.14, 15.68–71. Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert, 256–8. On humility as a key virtue in the monastic training in sixth-century Palestine, see M. Champion, “Paideia as Humility and Becoming God-like in Dorotheos of Gaza,” JECS, 25:3 (2017), 441–69. AP (alphabetical collection) Syncletica 26; Theodora 6. AP (systematic collection) 15.4, 15.60, 15.63. 33 AP (systematic collection) 15.31. AP (systematic collection) 15.1; cf. 15.62. 35 AP (systematic collection) 15.51. AP (systematic collection) 15.7. AP (systematic collection) 15.27; 15.50; 15.52; 15.56; 15.82; AP (alphabetical collection): Abba Motius; Theodore of Pherme; Matoes. AP (alphabetical collection) Motius 1; The Sayings of the Desert Fathers: the Alphabetical Collection, B. Ward, trans. (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Press, 1975), 148.

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Arsenius’ clothes were of high quality and his cell was well appointed, with a bed and pillow. When another monk was shocked by these comparative luxuries, Arsenius pointed out that his own rich upbringing made him weaker than his colleague who had previously worked as a herdsman and was already accustomed to sleeping on the bare ground and eating simple food. The former herdsman then understood that humility was more than just objective living conditions.39 Here, a starting point in a rich and prestigious household gave Arsenius a wider range of potential humility than someone rooted in the bottom of the social hierarchy. As the ascetic movement spread, a few wealthy people went to the extremes of giving up all their property, while many more gave up a portion of their wealth in response to teachings about poverty and almsgiving. In connection with the biblical calls for humility, we should imagine the Christians who were less extreme than the ascetics, but who aimed to become humble without renouncing all of their privileges and claims to prestige. This is probably how we would categorize most of the Church Fathers themselves, including the Cappadocians and John Chrysostom, because their writings reveal that they did not entirely renounce their own upper-class identities and elite values.40 Yet, their faith and ideals were influenced by the extreme renunciation of the early desert ascetics, and they often discussed the importance of humility. The tension between their upper-class identity and the humility they aimed for can be seen in the texts examined here.

Basil’s Homily “On Humility” and the Moralia At some point during his time as a presbyter and then bishop of Caesarea, Basil devoted a homily to the topic of humility, in which he advocated for a radical, socially disruptive change in attitudes.41 While he urged everyone to embrace humility, his discussion focused on those who tended not to be 39 40

41

AP (alphabetical collection): Arsenius 1. See Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert, 246–7; Foulcher, Reclaiming Humility, 44–6; on Arsenius, 51–9. For a discussion of the contrast between humility and traditional upper-class morals, see S. Leuenberger-Wenger, Ethik und Christliche Identität bei Gregor von Nyssa, Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 49 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 205–7. Basil of Caesarea’s hom. 20 “On Humility” (peri tapeinophrosynēs) (PG 31, 525–40) is difficult to pin down chronologically: it has been dated to between his ordination as presbyter in 362 and his death on January 1, 379. For a list of Basil’s works and discussions of the dating: see A. Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea: A Guide to his Life and Doctrine (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2012) 151–9 and Fedwick, “A Chronology of the Life and Works of Basil of Caesarea,” 3–19. Another interesting discussion of humility appears in a sermon known as “On the Renunciation of the World and Spiritual Perfection” (PG 31, 625–48), which has, however, been found to be a somewhat later text by

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humble, namely, the rich and powerful. Although they should be humble and not take pride in their possessions or honors, Basil knew that this was not how the privileged tended to view themselves: If the populace confer upon them a distinction, if it honor them with some office of authority . . . they look upon themselves as well-nigh seated on the very clouds and regard the men beneath them as their footstool. They lord it over those who raised them to such honor and exalt themselves over the very ones at whose hands they received their sham distinctions.42

Here, Basil condemns the basic social structure as well as the attitudes grounded on relationships between patrons and clients, officials and the populace, the dominant and the dominated. He denies that public honors are based on truly notable characteristics or deeds. In order to persuade the upper classes to embrace humility, Basil encourages them to disregard these fake honors, focus on Christian virtues instead, and to provide charity for their community without regard to popular acclaim. To make his case, Basil provides biblical examples of well-positioned men who were put in their proper place by God, demonstrating that earthly power, wisdom, and wealth were useless. He cites the superiority of the publican over the Pharisee as well as the warnings repeated in the Old and New Testaments that the humble are preferred by God.43 Basil points out that not only did God cut the powerful down to size, but he also made the true superiority of the lowly evident in the Incarnation.44 Basil explicitly describes the Incarnation as the selfhumiliation of God, “who descended from heaven to utter lowliness (eschatēn tapeinotēta) and who was, in turn, raised to the height that befitted Him.”45 The socioeconomic details of the nativity provided further “lessons in humility” (tapeinophrosynēn paideuonta).46 As an infant, Christ was put in a manger by parents who were clearly not members of the elite: “In the house of a carpenter and of a mother who was poor, He was subject to His mother and her spouse.”47 Here, the direct connection between economic poverty and humility is significant: one of the key

42 43 44 45 47

a different author that was added to Basil’s ascetic works: see J. Gribomont, “L’Exhortation au Renoncement Attribuée à Saint Basile,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 21 (1955), 375–98. Hom. 20 (PG 31, 525; trans. Wagner, 476). Hom. 20 (PG 31, 533; trans. Wagner, 482), citing 1 Pet. 5.5, James 4.6, and Luke 14.11. On the Incarnation as an example of humility, see Canning, “Mark God’s Humility”; Verwilghen, “Jesus Christ: Source of Christian Humility.” Hom. 20 (PG 31, 536; trans. Wagner, 483). 46 Ibid. Ibid. Augustine also highlights Mary’s low social status in order to make a similar point. See Canning, “Mark God’s Humility,” 316.

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“lessons in humility” is that low standing in society facilitates, or even forms the basis of, this virtue. Basil describes the apostles in similar terms, emphasizing their low social position in order to make his point: “poor and destitute, they passed through this world, not adorned with the knowledge of rhetoric, not accompanied by a throng of followers, but unattended, as wanderers and solitaries, traveling on land and sea, scourged, stoned, hunted, and, finally, slain.”48 Rather than focusing on the humility of all humans compared to God, Basil draws attention to the precise social and economic level of Jesus and the apostles in this world – the house of a carpenter and a poor mother; the itinerant, uneducated apostles. He emphasizes the low social status of New Testament figures in order to provide models for earthly social relations and social attitudes. Basil singles out people who were not already humble in society – he imagines his listeners asking, “But how shall we, casting off the deadly weight of pride, descend to saving humility?”49 He is not addressing a sin of pride that any random person might have, but the particular social and economic-based pride that resulted from being a member of the upper classes. To cure their arrogance, Basil instructs the wealthy Christians to adopt simple clothes, housing, and food, in imitation of the humble lifestyles of Jesus and his apostles. In addition, they should also practice simple walking, sitting, speaking, and singing: “Your manner . . . should aim at modesty rather than pretentiousness.” In addition, he tells them to tone down their flowery language and songs, and to avoid anything that might seem pompous.50 Throughout this homily “On Humility,” Basil’s discussion is grounded in social and economic lowliness, in terms of both his explanation of the biblical origins of the virtue and his recommendations for how it should be enacted. He does not try to make humility into a spiritualized, purely inward disposition, cut off from its social meaning. His recommendations for simple clothes and lowly manners might appear like standard expectations for ascetics, but to his listeners, the changes Basil was proposing would call to mind the living conditions and manners of local farm workers or slaves rather than Egyptian hermits. Basil addresses humility and its implications in other works but in a less systematic way. In his list of rules aimed at Christians in general (not just professed ascetics), the Moralia, he devotes several sections to issues related 48 49 50

Hom. 20 (PG 31, 537; trans. Wagner, 484). Ibid. This particular sermon seems to be directed at people who did not have humble lifestyles. Basil makes no mention of ordinary Christians who are naturally lowly due to their place in society. Hom. 20 (PG 31, 537; trans. Wagner, 484–5).

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to humility and includes supporting scriptural references.51 For example, according to chapter 45, social relations could determine one’s salvation: “they cannot be deemed worthy of the kingdom of heaven who do not imitate in their relations with one another the equality which is observed by children among themselves.”52 Basil reaffirms this notion of equality and the resulting transformation of social relations in other sections of the Moralia: “no one should entertain exalted notions of himself because of his own good deeds and hold others in disdain.”53 Christians should not acknowledge glory or honor from men. Instead, they should “correct those who accord him such honor or who think too highly of him.”54 In particular, they should not look down upon the clergy (presumably Basil is referring to clergymen from lower-class backgrounds), because God favors them for their lowliness.55 In a slightly different vein, Chapter 48 states, “we should not be rich but poor.”56 Here, Basil does not mean that Christians should all become destitute beggars, but rather self-sufficient workers. He cites examples from the New Testament referring to manual labor: “the workman is worthy of his meat” (Mt. 10:10); “laboring, you ought to support the weak” (Acts 20:35); “let him labor, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have something to give to him that suffereth need” (Eph. 4:28); “if any man will not work, neither let him eat” (2 Thess. 3:10).57 Engaging in manual labor would be a dramatic step for a prosperous person; such a choice would go against the traditional understanding of the relationship between work, leisure, and morality. Other instructions in Basil’s Moralia, though, indicate his fundamental acceptance of the existing social order. Overall, instead of abolishing hierarchy, he called for an adjustment of attitudes. All people should be summoned to hear the Gospel, and there should be no strife, envy, or rivalry among them.58 But this harmony could be achieved through one’s disposition rather than through equal standing: slaves should obey their 51

52 53 54 55 56 57 58

Basil’s Moralia or Regulae Morales (RM) (PG 31, 700–869). Rousseau evaluates this text as being an early work, from 359–361, addressed to “the widest possible audience,” Basil, 228; Clarke dates it to 362–5: The Ascetic Works, 16; Fedwick dates it to the 370s: “A Chronology of the Life and Works,” 14–8. RM 45 (PG 31, 764; trans. Wagner, 122), citing Mt. 18.3–4; Mt. 20.26; Mark 10.44, Phil 2.3. RM 57 (PG 31, 788; trans. Wagner, 140), citing Luke 18.9–14. RM 59 (PG 31, 792; trans. Wagner, 144). RM 61 (PG 31, 796), citing Mt. 11.25–6 and 1 Cor. 1.26–29. RM 48.2 (PG 31, 768; trans. Wagner, 125). RM 48.7 (PG 31, 772–3; trans. Wagner, 128–9). On Basil’s discussions of manual labor, see A. Dinan, “Manual Labor in the Life and Thought of St. Basil the Great,” Logos, 12:4 (2009), 133–57. RM 70.13 (PG 31, 828); 70.25 (PG 31, 837).

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masters and subjects must regard their rulers as the “custodians of the decrees of God.”59 These hierarchical relationships would remain valid and appropriate, but the tone of these relationships would change if people observed Basil’s moral instructions. In the Moralia, Basil prioritized giving advice to upper-class Christians, presumably because they were the ones seeking his advice, or because he tended to think more about his social peers and superiors. At the same time, the lower classes did not need to change their self-understanding or behavior to become humble. Social realities had given them a head start when it came to imitating the humility of Jesus and the apostles. But it is unclear whether social and economic humility was seen as a virtue when it was not chosen voluntarily. Overall, however, Basil’s Moralia grounded the virtue of humility in social and economic terms, with the assumption that the elite could lower themselves and reject honors while still preserving their (muted?) authority over others and maintaining social order.60

Humility and Honor in Basil’s Correspondence In his letters, Basil refers to humility when giving advice, praising others, and while crafting his own self-presentation. Because he addressed a wide variety of people and topics, his discussions and passing references to humility and social status in the letters were often quite different from the complete rejection of “sham distinctions” he calls for in his homily On Humility.61 The point here is not to catch Basil’s inconsistencies in order to call his sincerity into question. Instead, variations in his views of – and 59

60

61

RM 75 (PG 31, 856) and 79 (PG 31, 860). On Basil’s view that slavery could be beneficial to the enslaved, see I. Ramelli, Social Justice and the Legitimacy of Slavery: The Role of Philosophical Asceticism from Ancient Judaism to Late Antiquity (Oxford University Press, 2016), 163–4; Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 702. On Basil’s general lack of engagement regarding the issue of slavery, see Teja, “San Basilio y la Esclavitud: Teoría y Praxis,” in Basil of Caesarea: Christian, Humanist, Ascetic, vol. I, 393–403. This insistence on preserving certain aspects of hierarchy, even while expressing a belief in equality, can also be seen in the works of certain American revolutionary leaders – perhaps most dramatically, Thomas Jefferson. See P. S. Onuf’s discussion of the contradictions of Jefferson’s views about equality and race in The Mind of Thomas Jefferson (Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2007), 205–12. On the formation of the collection, see A. Radde-Gallwitz, “The Letter Collection of Basil of Caesarea,” in C. Sogno, B. K. Storin, and E. J. Watts (eds.), Late Antique Letter Collections: A Critical Introduction and Reference Guide (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2017), 69–80. Fedwick dates the letters discussed here to Basil’s episcopacy (370–78), with a few of them narrowed down to a specific year: “Chronology of the Life and Works,” 3–19. On Basil’s emphasis on his common ground in his correspondence with civic elites, clergy, and ascetics, see Schor, “Becoming Bishop in the Letters of Basil and Synesius: Tracing Patterns of Social Signaling across Two Full Epistolary Collections,” Journal of Late Antiquity, 7.2 (2014), 298–328, at 302–3, 308–16.

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participation in – social and economic privilege and hierarchy reveal the difficulties posed by the biblical social teachings, especially when, for practical reasons, a bishop would need to make appeals to his peers and superiors: bishops like Basil still had to function in their society.62 Basil’s letters display a type of humility that was traditional for educated men, regardless of religious affiliation: the polite modesty that prefaced letters or literary works, by which authors claimed that they were not worthy of the task they had undertaken or that they were inferior to the person they were addressing. Even as bishop of Caesarea (370–378), Basil responded to his correspondents’ deference by presenting himself as “insignificant and lowly” (mikroi kai tapeinoi).63 In one instance, Basil tries to temper a monk’s reverence by reminding him that everyone was basically equal: “we know that every person is by nature equal in honor (homotimia), and that our superiority is not based on our family, nor excess wealth, nor the condition of our bodies, but it is based on the superiority of our fear of God.”64 Basil even concedes, humbly, that the monk he was addressing might exceed him, the bishop, in greatness. In these instances, the rhetorical modesty of learned men could blend seamlessly with Christian humility. In other cases, the idea of humility as a great virtue functioned as a way to encourage others to be submissive to authority. In the context of rivalries over smaller episcopal sees in 374, Basil reminds another bishop of “the great reward that accrues to the saints from humility,” and that, among Christians, “it is he who has consented to hold an inferior place that is crowned.”65 Here, Basil praises the other bishop for not obstructing his plans and offers him the consolation that God will reward him for ceding his authority. Similarly, in a letter to the clergy of another town, Basil reminds them that “he is great before God who has humbly given in to his neighbor,” as a way to encourage them to resolve internal disputes.66 In a different type of letter, however, humility required the rejection of social and economic privileges. Basil instructed an upper-class, ascetic woman to practice manual labor and dress modestly in order to achieve “perfection in humility (tapeinophrosynē teleion), so that we shall not 62 63

64 66

As Rousseau observes, “It takes but a moment to discover his correspondence is littered with appeals to the eminent and refined.” Basil, 159. Ep. 251, dated to early 377; cf. ep. 194. Cf. Schor’s study of Theodoret’s self-effacement in letters to near equals: “Patronage Performance and Social Strategy,” 292. On the “literary rhetoric of debasement,” see E. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton University Press, 1999), 56. Ep. 262, dated to early 377. 65 Ep. 191 (trans. Deferrari, vol. III, 78). Ep. 219, to the clergy of Samosata (trans. Deferrari, vol. III, 273).

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remember the glory of our ancestors, and, if we have any natural advantage in our bodies or minds, we will not be proud of this, nor will others’ opinions of us provide any reason for pride or celebration.”67 As an ascetic, this woman could privately reject her family privileges. As a bishop (and as an individual from a prominent family), however, Basil was not always able to follow his own advice. Often, in correspondence with his peers and superiors, he expresses respect for nobility, shifting away from the disregard for earthly honors he recommended in his Moralia and On Humility. For example, in a letter to his friend and fellow bishop Amphilochius of Iconium (who was also Gregory of Nazianzus’ cousin), Basil explains social differences in a way that was closer to Stoic thought than to his statements in On Humility or his advice to the ascetic woman. Writing to Amphilochius, he describes honor and dishonor, along with wealth, poverty, health, and sickness, as neither intrinsically good nor bad. Honor, wealth, and health could be good insofar as they brought happiness, but people should not be preoccupied with them.68 This worldview allowed for the possession of and the appreciation of honor and wealth, as long as they were not given too much importance. In this way, it was possible for the upper classes to aim for humility as an attitude adjustment instead of radical change. In another letter written during his time as bishop, Basil addresses a scholar, referring to how impressive it would be if he were to leave “a great house and an illustrious family” in order to “practice the humility proper to a Christian.” Basil cites Matthew 11:29: “Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart,” telling the young man that all of his possessions and concerns (wealth, glory, pursuit of arts, even eloquence) were nothing, while virtue was the only meaningful possession and the only honor worth having was from God.69 Basil’s nod to the man’s social background is striking. It could have been a formality meant to gain his reader’s good will, or perhaps it was meant to create a contrast between his distinguished family and the transformation that would result from a humble life. In another case, the lack of conflict between earthly honor and spiritual honor was explicit to the extent that they could be spoken of as parallels: Basil greeted a prominent man with this hope: “just as you have been thought worthy of renown in this world, so you may also enjoy high dignity with the Heavenly King.”70 67 69 70

Ep. 173. 68 Ep. 236. Ep. 277 (after Deferrari trans., vol. IV, 160). Cf. Basil’s use of both “your nobility” and “holy and guileless soul” as compliments in ep. 124. Ep. 327 (trans. Deferrari, vol. IV, 276); cf. Basil’s praise for a prominent man’s “simplicity, nobility, and generosity of character,” in ep. 51 (trans. Deferrari, vol. I, 325). Also, in ep. 152 and ep. 326, civic honor and heavenly honor go together without any conflict.

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In some cases, Basil’s acknowledgment of and praise for high social class were practical. When trying to gain the good will of one of his peers or superiors, any critique of prestige, or even a failure to acknowledge prestige, would have been counterproductive.71 For example, in a letter to a praetorian prefect with whom he had a personal history, Basil is careful to acknowledge the man’s prominence before asking him for help.72 Writing to another powerful man, a general who had supported the Nicene Christians, the bishop offers traditional praise: “[his] name is on the lips of everyone . . . [he surpasses] in loftiness of his honours almost all who dwell on earth.” Later he refers to how God had honored this man and would continue to do so after death.73 Writing to a different general in 374, Basil recommends a man he described as “distinguished through long lineage and through his ancestors” but notable for the “inherent gentleness of his character.”74 In cases like these, Basil not only praised earthly honor but also reminded his correspondent of heavenly glory; the two types of honor were not identical, but were not necessarily in conflict with each other. The more radical view he expressed in On Humility, that earthly honors were “sham distinctions,” was overshadowed in many letters by the matter at hand – the need to impress an important person. When he wrote as a subordinate seeking favors, Basil (sensibly) did not discuss the meaninglessness of earthly honors. We, of course, cannot know whether Basil cringed while writing these letters, bowing to authority purely out of pragmatism, or whether he did not mind exalting the exalted when necessary, or whether he was even aware of the inconsistency.

The Case of the Insolent Slave and the Case of the “Slave Worth Only a Few Obols” in Basil’s Letters Two of Basil’s letters from his episcopacy (370–378) detail his involvement in a personal dispute over the punishment of a slave, and his attempt to balance Christian ideals with problems rooted in fragile egos concerned 71

72

73 74

Cf. Schor’s discussion of Theodoret’s emphasis on his common ground (social status, classical culture, or Christianity) in his interactions with members of the elite: “Patronage Performance and Social Strategy,” 274–99. Ep. 104: Modestus was a praetorian prefect under Valens. He became ill after Valens sent him against Basil and was later reconciled with Basil. Basil asked him for help on several occasions: eps. 110, 111, 279, 280 and 281. Rousseau, Basil, 159; Schor, “Becoming Bishop in the Letters of Basil and Synesius,” 309–10. Ep. 152 (trans. Deferrari, vol. II, 375). Ep. 179 (trans. Deferrari, vol. II, 465). On Basil’s “two levels of appeal” when addressing the wealthy, see Rousseau, Basil, 179.

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about honor and proper social hierarchy. They are worth examining in detail because they reveal how ideas about humility and social order played out on the ground. In this instance, a layman, Callisthenes, had asked Basil to help him address a conflict with “the most eloquent Eustochius,” because slaves belonging to the latter had been disrespectful to him.75 Basil wrote to a friend, suggesting that he ask Eustochius to threaten his slaves and leave it at that. Basil also wrote back to Callisthenes, attempting to persuade him to be lenient. Basil greets the aggrieved man respectfully, “we value highly association with the best men,” and prays for him: “what else is left than to invoke blessings upon you – that you may be most pleasing to your friends, formidable to your enemies, and respected by all alike . . . ”76 Basil encourages Callisthenes to be gentle, promising that God would reward him if he dealt with the slaves according to divine law rather than civil laws. He does not, however, try to convince Callisthenes of the virtue of being humiliated. Instead, Basil invokes both traditional honor and Christian salvation: if Callisthenes would allow Basil to deal with the slaves, it would bring honor to Callisthenes and respect for Basil. Additionally, Basil promises Callisthenes a hope of salvation in return. The bishop hoped that the man would be won over by either honor or salvation, or a combination of the two – he did not need to choose just one path to a powerful (and easily offended) man’s heart. Basil ends the letter by referring again to honor and reputation: “most honoured and true son of the Church, confirm [your reputation for] . . . moderation and gentleness, and command to depart from us at once the soldier, who up to now has omitted nothing in the way of annoyance and insolence, since he chooses rather to avoid offending you than to have us all as his devoted friends.”77 Here, in addition to a subtle complaint about a soldier’s disrespect, Basil is trying to prevent violence, and (humbly) uses the language of honor and respect to achieve this. In another letter, when the reputation and career of his younger brother, Gregory of Nyssa, was at stake, Basil’s language about social status and prestige leaned even more toward traditional attitudes. When writing to another bishop about the conflict that had driven his brother from his episcopal see in 376, Basil condemns Gregory’s enemies, charging that “upon wretched men, slaves, the name of bishop has now fallen . . . ”78 In this instance, Basil was outraged by the insult to his brother and responded 75 76 78

Ep. 72 (trans. Deferrari, vol. II, 59). See Rousseau, Basil, 171–2. Ep. 73 (trans. Deferrari, vol. II 61–3). 77 Ep. 73 (trans. Deferrari, vol. II, 67). Ep. 239 (trans. Deferrari, vol. III, 415–17). This letter is addressed to the bishop Eusebius of Samosata, a Nicene ally of the Cappadocian fathers.

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by attacking his enemies in terms of their low social standing. He claims that Gregory had been driven out and replaced by “a man, or a rather a slave, worth only a few obols.” In the same letter, he refers to a village where “a wretched person, an orphans’ domestic, who ran away from his masters” became a bishop.79 He condemns his brother’s rivals – the men who were appointing these low-class bishops – as “arrogant characters [who] when honored become more disdainful.” In response to the wrong sort of men becoming bishops, Basil assures his correspondent that “the excellent Sanctissimus . . . gathers from each of the notables signatures and letters.”80 In this instance, Basil’s concern about his brother, his own good name, and the dignity of the episcopacy show the limits of his advocacy for humility. In another context, Basil might have described the lowliness of a slave as a model for virtue, but in this case, the image of slavery was a way to emphasize that particular men were unfit for the episcopacy. Additionally, Basil did not hesitate to align himself with men of distinction, when it came to gathering signatures and letters of support. In this conflict, Basil’s response is completely disconnected from his usual discourse about the virtue of humility and much more in line with how an aristocratic man might inspire his allies and attack his enemies.81 This letter provides a glimpse of how much his family’s good name meant to Basil, even though he considered such concerns to have been annulled by Christian humility. The following examples – Gregory of Nazianzus’ funeral oration for Basil and Gregory of Nyssa’s vita of his sister Macrina – provide additional illustrations of how difficult it was, even for ascetic bishops, to let go of social prestige.

A Case Study of Humble Nobility: Gregory of Nazianzus’ Funeral Oration for Basil The tension between traditional elite self-understanding and Christian teachings is apparent throughout Gregory of Nazianzus’ funeral oration for his friend Basil, presented in Caesarea on the anniversary of the bishop’s death in 382.82 According to the rules for this sort of oration, he had to 79 81 82

Ep. 239 (trans. Deferrari, vol. III, 417). 80 Ep. 239 (trans. Deferrari, vol. III, 419). On Basil’s maintenance of both his aristocratic and his episcopal worldviews, see Rousseau, Basil, 43. On Gregory’s concern about how the oration would affect his own reputation, see F. Norris, “Your Honor, My Reputation: St. Gregory of Nazianzus’s Funeral Oration on St. Basil the Great,” in Greek Biography and Panegyric, 140–60. In the same volume, see D. Konstan, “How to Praise a Friend: St. Gregory of Nazianzus’s Funeral Oration for St. Basil the Great,” 160–79. On the elite qualities of good bishops in this oration, see Teja, “Valores Aristocráticos,” 283–9.

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begin the oration by praising the deceased’s family background and education.83 In this section, Gregory carefully notes that neither he nor Basil thought an illustrious family was important: this was a “petty object of pride to men who have their eyes fixed upon the ground” (instead of on heaven).84 But, Gregory then explains, if Basil had been proud of his birth and the privileges that came with it, there would be many stories to tell about the greatness of Basil’s ancestors. Gregory proceeds to mention some of the stories of Basil’s great family that Basil had not considered important. We learn that Basil’s family was distinguished on both his father’s and his mother’s side: “As for military commands, high civil offices, and power in imperial courts, and again, as to wealth and lofty thrones and public honors, and splendors of eloquence, what family has been more often or more highly distinguished?”85 Gregory claims that Basil’s family was more impressive than the most ancient, famous noble families of classical Greece, because these others had relied on mythical founders for their esteem. Gregory then backtracks, “My speech is about a man who claimed that a man’s nobility is to be gauged by individual worth.”86 That is, true nobility did not derive from illustrious families, such as the one he had just described. Gregory estimates that only a few of Basil’s virtues were due to noble birth and that his greatness was mainly due to his own merit. Then, Gregory offers more details of the greatness of Basil’s noble family. As Christians, they had lived through the persecutions. In his description of their suffering, Gregory explains that hiding in the mountains had been especially difficult for an elite family. Even worse than enduring the hardship of the cold and rain was the solitude: they were “without friends and social intercourse, which assuredly must have been a grievous burden to those accustomed to throngs to attend and honor them.”87 It is not surprising for an author to admire people for enduring a hardship, but here, Gregory is calling attention to a hardship that could only be suffered by the elite. Next, Gregory tells the story of a very strange miracle. After some time in exile, “filled with distaste for their poor food, these noble men longed for something more palatable.”88 They began to discuss the story of God

83 84 86 88

For panegyric formulas, see D. A. Russell and N. G. Wilson (eds. and trans.), Menander Rhetor, (Oxford University Press, 1981); Konstan, “How to Praise a Friend,” 166–8. GNaz., Or. 43.3 (trans. MacCauley, 29). 85 GNaz., Or. 43.3 (trans. McCauley, 29). GNaz., Or. 43.4 (trans. McCauley, 30). 87 GNaz., Or. 43.6 (trans. McCauley, 31). GNaz., Or. 43.7 (trans. McCauley, 31).

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providing food for the Israelites while they wandered in the desert. They then observed that: “[M]any wild beasts that have escaped the tables of the rich, such as we once had, lurk in these mountains. Many succulent birds fly above us who long for them. What one of them but could be captured, if only Thou [God] willed it?’’ So they spoke, and game was at hand, food spontaneously offered, a banquet prepared without toil, deer suddenly appearing in herds from the hills! How magnificent they were! How sleek! How ready for the slaughter! It almost seemed that [the deer] were annoyed that they had not been summoned sooner. Some [deer] drew others after them by signs, and the rest followed.89

Through the power of prayer, the noble family was miraculously able to enjoy nice banquets while hiding in the mountains. The implication is that God enabled them to maintain some aspects of their upper-class life while in exile. So far in the funeral oration, Gregory sends mixed messages about the meaning of and importance of noble status. We also get the sense that Gregory expected his readers/listeners to sympathize with the misery unique to this sort of family: ordinary food and a lack of slave entourage was a form of suffering for elites in exile. Following this anecdote, Gregory has a great deal to say about Basil’s education. Unlike his denial of the importance of nobility, he does not claim that elite education is irrelevant. Instead, Gregory defends its value against detractors: “all intelligent men” recognized the importance of traditional education for Christians.90 Gregory specifies that he means both the Christians’ “nobler form” of religious education, as well as rhetorical training. Along the way, he defends Basil’s (and his own) education against the objections of certain Christians whom he dismissed as “ignorant and uncultured” men who wished to drag everyone else down to their level.91 Gregory represents Basil’s intelligence and his success in school as indisputably admirable. Illiteracy, for Gregory, was a deformity, like being a one-eyed man: it was a sad state of being, and also somewhat repulsive.92 Far from being illiterate, Basil was an orator, a philosopher, and an expert in Christian learning and worship. When he left his hometown for more advanced studies, “he was sent by God and by his noble craving for learning to Athens, the home of eloquence.”93 Gregory refuses 89 91 92

GNaz., Or. 43.7 (trans. McCauley, 32). 90 GNaz., Or. 43.11 (trans. McCauley, 35). GNaz., Or. 43.11 (trans. McCauley, 36): skaious kai apaideutous. GNaz., Or. 43.12 (trans. McCauley, 37). 93 GNaz., Or. 43.14 (trans. McCauley, 38).

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to be embarrassed by traditional education. Mentioning God’s involvement in the trip to Athens made it more consistent with Christian values. And, as with the miraculous venison banquet for the exiled nobles, God was helping the elite maintain their style of living by sending Basil to Athens. Gregory’s description of university life in Athens also reflects his concerns about social status. In this section, he expresses more anxiety about social standing than about the threat of pagan culture: “At Athens, most of the young men, and the more foolish, are mad after sophists, and not only the ignoble and obscure, but even the noble and illustrious.”94 These rhetoric students in Athens were like fans at the horse races, with their leaping and shouting; they were “Often poor and needy fellows, without the means of support for a single day.”95 Their public excitement about rhetoric was meant to bring in more students (and more money) for their teachers. Gregory emphasizes that Basil was more serious than these others, but also, by implication, Basil was nobler and without financial worries. Even though, in a religious context, Gregory considered family background to be unimportant, his portrait of Basil frequently refers to his noble family, his resources, and his prestigious education. At the end of the description of Basil’s education, Gregory hedges a little. Basil, because of his character and innate intelligence, had not really needed this education. He had studied broadly, even science and medicine, but had not gotten too caught up in it. Likewise, he avoided sophistry and, instead, spoke with clarity.96 For men of Gregory and Basil’s social class, education was expected, but Gregory found it important to note that Basil did not become overeducated or convoluted in his language. This very precise praise was related to old traditions privileging philosophers over sophists, but it is likely that this was connected to Christian ideas about humility and simplicity as well. Moving on to Basil’s career in the church, Gregory explains that Basil was known for dealing with opponents “without flattery or servility, but with great courage and nobility.”97 As a “guardian and protector of the community,” Basil was known for his care for the poor, especially when his community was struck by a major famine.98 These attributes – confidence in dealings with powerful men, his lack of servility, his role as a patron – were all clear indications of a high-status man. According to Gregory, Basil 94 96 97

GNaz., Or. 43.15 (trans. McCauley, 39). 95 Ibid. On the breadth of Basil’s education: GNaz., Or. 43.23; on the clarity of Basil’s speaking: GNaz., Or. 43.65. GNaz., Or. 43.40 (trans. McCauley, 61). 98 GNaz., Or. 43.42 (trans. McCauley, 63).

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taught that bishops “are reasonable and more submissive than anyone else . . . We do not show ourselves to be supercilious to such high authority or even to any ordinary person.”99 Gregory also tells us that Basil was “poor and unkempt, without any trace of pride.”100 The most striking example of this humility was his work with lepers: [Basil] did not disdain to honor disease with his lips, that noble man of noble family and dazzling renown, but he greeted the sick like brothers, but not, as one might think, from vainglory. For who was further from that sentiment? . . . Others had their cooks and rich tables and enchanting refinements of cuisine, and elegant carriages, and soft flowing garments. Basil had his sick, and the dressing of their wounds, and the imitation of Christ, cleansing leprosy not by word but in deed.101

Here, after mentioning the lepers, Gregory indicates that Basil was accused of pride and haughtiness but brushes off the claim as ridiculous. Serving the poor and kissing lepers should inoculate bishops against such charges. Gregory’s funeral oration for Basil offers a window into how the virtue of humility was being processed by a well-educated, elite bishop. In the oration, Gregory aims to impress people by traditional measures (family, education, public life) and also by Christian measures (humility, service to the needy). He wants to emphasize Basil’s traditional education but also clarify that this education had not been necessary. In a format designed for showing off, Gregory claims that he is not showing off. The tension between traditional elite culture and Christian values is on full display in this oration, but we have no way of knowing whether this tension was obvious to Gregory and his contemporaries.102 Like the miracle of the banquet in exile, they might have thought that these worldviews could be reconciled, that one could be humble by claiming to be humble, without giving up the privileges of being high class.

A Case Study of Humble Nobility: Gregory of Nyssa’s Vita of His Sister Macrina As we have seen, Basil of Caesarea was from a family of prominent, pious landowners. His brother, Gregory of Nyssa, provides another view into 99 100 101 102

GNaz., Or. 43.50 (SC 384, 230; trans. McCauley, 69): καὶ παντὸς ἄλλου ταπεινότεροι, τοῦτο τῆς ἐντολῆς κελευούσης . . . ἀλλὰ μηδὲ τῶν τυχόντων ἑνὶ τὴν ὀφρὺν αἴροντες. GNaz., Or. 43.60 (SC 384, 256; trans. McCauley, 78): ἀφιλότιμος δέ, πένης ἦν καὶ ἀνήροτος. GNaz., Or. 43.63 (trans. McCauley, 81). For another example of elite values appearing prominently in discussions of Christian matters, see Gregory of Nyssa’s reaction to insults from another bishop: GNys, ep. 1; Van Dam, Becoming Christian, 61–2; Maxwell, “Education, Humility and Ideal Bishops,” 453–6.

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their family in his account of their ascetic sister, Macrina.103 After his sister’s death in 379, Gregory commemorated her life in the form of a philosophical biography, which he wrote in 382/383 for an audience of aspiring ascetics. In his Life of Saint Macrina, Gregory describes his sister’s life and character, as well as her influence on other members of their family.104 Throughout the text, we can see how Macrina’s promotion of humility and simplicity inspired her family to give up luxuries and privileges, without requiring them to downplay their distinguished reputation. Their family possessed numerous estates, her father had been a prominent man in the region, her fiancé had been a promising rhetorician and advocate before his early death, and her four brothers (Gregory, Basil, Naucratius, and Peter) were educated men with careers in the church. In Gregory’s account, their family’s social prominence and wealth was very much connected to what made Macrina’s humble, ascetic lifestyle so inspiring.105 Macrina’s first step toward an ascetic Christian life stemmed from her mother’s decision to educate her with the scriptures rather than with the classics. But Macrina really began to forge her own way of life when she took on servile work within her own home. Gregory relates that in addition to helping their mother with the management of their estates, she made bread “with her own hands,” even though a woman of her status normally would have left this work to her slaves.106 Macrina persuaded their mother to renounce some of the advantages of living in prosperity: “to give up the 103

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Introductions to and translations of this text are in A. Silvas, Macrina the Younger: Philosopher of God, Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts 22 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008) and C. White (trans. and ed.), Lives of Roman Christian Women (London: Penguin Books, 2010). For additional discussions, see E. Muehlberger, “Salvage: Macrina and the Christian Project of Cultural Reclamation,” Church History 81:2 (2012): 273–97; Rousseau, “The Pious Household and the Virgin Chorus: Reflections on Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina,” JECS 13:2 (2005): 165–86; S. Elm, “Virgins of God”: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity (Oxford University Press, 1994), 78–105; Momigliano, “The Life of St. Macrina,” 206–21. For a discussion of Macrina in connection with other aristocratic ascetic women of her time, see P. Laurence, “Les Moniales de l’Aristocratie: Grandeur et Humilité,” Vigiliae Christianae, 51.2 (1997), 140–57. Cf. Gregory’s oration on his brother, Basil, which does not describe their family or mention that they were brothers. See A. Meredith, “Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of Nyssa on Basil,” Studia Patristica 32 (1997), 163–9. On Gregory of Nyssa’s understanding of humility in an ascetic context, see Leuenberger-Wenger, Ethik und Christliche Identität, 203–11; J. Maxwell, “How Level is the Playing Field? Virtue and Socio-Economic Standing in the Works of Gregory of Nyssa,” in M. Flexsenhar, S. J. Friesen, and G. A. Keddie (eds.), The Struggle over Class: Socioeconomic Analysis of Ancient Christian Texts (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2021). GNys, Vit. Macr. 5 (trans. Silvas, 116). Silvas describes Macrina’s work as “a curious mix of humble manual labor and executive responsibility”: Macrina, 33. On the social significance of this kind of work, see Elm, Virgins, 46.

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life she had been used to and the more ostentatious manner and the services of domestics to which she had long been accustomed, and to put herself in her mind on the same level with the many, and to share a common way of life with the virgins, making sisters and equals of the slave girls and domestics who were with her.”107 Eventually, Macrina prepared their mother to transform her life entirely, which Gregory describes in terms of becoming equals to the household slaves: Weaning her [mother] from all that she had been accustomed to, [Macrina] led her down to her own standard of humility, showing her how to live in equality with the whole body of virgins, that is, by sharing with them the one table, the same kind of bed, and all the necessities of life on an equal basis, with every distinction of rank removed from their life.108

This is clearly inspired by the biblical teachings about equality and humility, and recalls Basil’s instructions in his homily “On Humility.” Instead of humility as a disposition or a personality trait, Gregory describes Macrina putting it into practice and modeling her life after the socially humble people who lived in their household: the slaves. The slaves, however, do not get any praise or acknowledgment for enduring a humble lifestyle. Also, it is unclear in this text what exactly living as equals with their slaves meant in a legal sense: some have assumed that the household slaves were manumitted. But Macrina and her mother’s self-humiliation did not require them to raise up their slaves to a higher standing. In any case, it is unlikely that the slaves had any choice regarding their participation in the ascetic household.109 Gregory also describes Macrina’s influence on her brothers. When Basil returned from his studies in Athens, he was proud of his rhetorical training and was “excessively puffed up with the thought of his own eloquence and was disdainful of local dignities, since in his own inflated opinion he surpassed all the leading luminaries.”110 Under his sister’s influence, though, he gave up his desire for acclaim as an orator and began to live by his own manual labor. Through labor and poverty, he would be led to 107 108 109

110

GNys, Vit. Macr. 9 (trans. Silvas, 118). On the emphasis on women’s humility versus their leadership of monastic communities, see E. Clark, “Authority and Humility.” GNys, Vit. Macr. 11 (trans. Silvas, 121). In a discussion of the different types of manumission, Elm views this situation as, at best, an informal manumission and the continuation of a subordinate relationship: Elm, Virgins, 84–8. Leuenberger-Wenger notes that the status of the slaves is unclear and that some inequality in power would have remained in the ascetic community: Ethik und Christliche Identität, 109, note 56. Most recently, Ramelli has argued that the slaves had been freed: Social Justice and the Legitimacy of Slavery, 190–4. GNys, Vit. Macr. 6 (trans. Silvas, 117).

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virtue. She also inspired her brother Naucratius, who was gifted in rhetoric, to give up his worldly opportunities and take on a life of poverty. He moved together with a slave to a place in the country, where he cared for a group of old impoverished people “with his own hands.”111 Gregory credits Macrina with leading her family members to free themselves from the sins of anger, envy, hatred, and arrogance. They were no longer subject to the typical upper-class drive for honor and glory. Instead, they lived the reverse of a normal elite life: “Their luxury was in self-control and their glory in being unknown. Their wealth was in dispossession and in shaking off all material superfluity as so much dust from their bodies.”112 The family distinguished itself with new kinds of public honors based on ecclesiastical offices. Gregory describes their brother Basil as “the common glory of the family,” who, at the end of his life, was known “throughout the whole world.”113 But the old forms of prominence remained important enough to be worth mentioning. When, during his final conversation with his sister, Gregory expressed his despair over his problems, she reminded him that he had surpassed his ancestors in prominence: “Compare your lot with that of our parents, although, as far as this world is concerned, it is true that we are proud of being well born and coming from a good family.” While their father had had a good reputation for his education, his eloquence, and his work in the law courts, he had only been well known within his own province. By contrast, she pointed out, Gregory was known to “cities and peoples and provinces. Churches send you as ally and reformer and churches summon you,” and their parents’ prayers were lifting Gregory to the highest levels.114 This was a particularly Christian kind of distinction, but the old elite values of acclaim and leadership were still playing a role in how they viewed themselves, their society, and their legacies. Gregory also acknowledges the importance of traditional social values in his description of Macrina’s funeral when he made special note of the highstatus attendants. He describes one of the nuns, Vetiana, as the daughter of a senator and widow of a distinguished man, who was known for her wealth, noble birth, and beauty.115 Gregory reports that he conferred with 111 113 114 115

GNys, Vit. Macr. 8 (trans. Silvas, 119). 112 GNys, Vit. Macr. 11 (trans. Silvas, 121). GNys, Vit. Macr. 14 (trans. Silvas, 125). Gregory also describes Basil’s ordination of their brother Peter in terms of “dignity and holiness”: Vit. Macr. 14. GNys., Vit. Macr. 21 (trans. Silvas 131). GNys., Vit. Macr. 28. Momigliano also remarks on the high social status of Macrina’s associates: “Life of St. Macrina,” 219. On Vetiana, see Elm, Virgins, 93–96. On the discussion of Macrina’s burial clothes, see Rousseau, “The Pious Household,” 173, 184.

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her about properly dressing Macrina’s body for the burial. In his description of the funeral preparations, Gregory makes it clear that Macrina had wished for nothing fancy, but he could not go along with that plan and dressed her in fine linens. He describes the local bishop conducting the ceremony, the crowds at the funeral, and the procession to his family’s impressive tomb at a martyrs’ shrine. He ends his account of his sister with a miracle story, told to him by an important military officer. By noting the senatorial nun, the distinguished military official, the prominent tomb, and the well-attended funeral, Gregory’s account demonstrates that social prominence was still quite meaningful to him and his family, and that this prominence could be Christianized. In this description of an ascetic and her family, we see how a dedicated Christian who embraced humility and poverty – who aimed to live on par with her slaves – still valued her prominence and family name. This mix of lowliness and privilege is an example of how biblical ideals of humility could become interwoven with elite worldviews and lifestyles.

John Chrysostom on Humility In the Cappadocian Fathers’ discussions of humility, they were mostly concerned with the behavior and attitudes of the elite, with little or no reference to how this concept related to people who were already humble by circumstance. Especially in his correspondence, Basil focused on elite attitudes and behaviors because he was a leader of his community, intervening with other bishops and political officials, resolving disputes, writing letters of recommendation, or acting as a spiritual advisor. In all of the cases examined earlier, their discussions of humility centered on what this meant for the least humble members of his society. Their concerns about humility were often eclipsed by the need to interact with or function as members of the upper classes. In part this was due to context of and genres of these texts: Basil’s homily On Humility challenges elite prestige and lifestyle more than his letters, and more so than the Gregory of Nazianzus’ funeral oration for Basil or Gregory Nyssa’s Life of Macrina. But it is striking that in all of these texts, the Cappadocian Fathers were thinking in terms of upper-class Christians and how they might be able to attain the virtue of humility. They do not discuss what any of this meant for lower-class Christians. By contrast, John Chrysostom’s discussions of humility as a virtue were often grounded in references to people of lower social status, even when he addressed upper-class Christians. Chrysostom’s understanding of humility

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drew on his awareness of social realities; he knew that most people already lived in humble circumstances and he often addressed these groups directly. He acknowledged the connection between the socioeconomic positions of the apostles and their virtues of simplicity and humility. Chrysostom then made the leap (which the Cappadocians largely did not make) to seeing the connection between the apostles’ social status and the lower-status Christians within his congregations. Like other moralists before him, Chrysostom argued that only virtues mattered, not worldly honors or privileges: a slave could be nobler than a free person and one’s family background had no intrinsic connection to virtue. In a series of sermons presented in Antioch on the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man, Chrysostom encourages his listeners to rethink their value systems and consider that, at the final judgment, the rich and the poor would be equals.116 From this perspective, society could, theoretically, be turned upside down: “the person of high rank belongs to the lowest class if he has a slavish disposition.”117 Many other thinkers had advised withdrawal from public life as a key to wisdom, but Chrysostom differed from them by citing ordinary, lowly people, for whom humility was a fact of life, as models. For the underprivileged, poverty served as an “unavoidable teacher of wisdom.”118 Wealthy people could achieve this state of mind only if they rejected social pressures and expectations. Chrysostom frequently made observations about humility as a virtue and its relation to social standing, often with implications for both the lowly and for the exalted in his congregation. Like Basil, he composed a sermon devoted to this theme, which will be examined here along with other sermons with a particular emphasis on this topic. In addition to addressing Christians from various social and economic backgrounds in these sermons, he also described his own struggle with reconciling his social position with the ideal of humility.

John Chrysostom’s On Humility of Mind and Other Sermons Early on as a priest in Antioch in 387, John Chrysostom presented a homily centered on the virtue of humility. He began by repeating the main lesson from a recent sermon on the pharisee and publican: “how great is the gain 116 117 118

De Laz. 2.1 (PG 48, 981); cf. On Almsgiving 6 (PG 51, 270). On the view that these sermons were presented in Antioch, see Mayer’s overview in Provenance, 172–3; Kelly, Golden Mouth, 88. De Laz. 6.7 (PG 48, 1037; trans. Roth, 112). This view of slavery can also be found in Libanius Or. 25, On Slavery. De Laz. 6 (PG 48, 1031): didaskalon katēnagkasmenon tēs philosophias tēn penian.

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of humbleness of mind, and how great the damage of pride.”119 Although speaking in general terms about humility and pride, Chrysostom kept his attention on social differences and prejudices – for him, the virtue of humility was connected to the interactions of daily life. In this sermon, he aims to bring the privileged down to earth by reorienting their attitudes toward those who were unambiguously lowly in society: Do not tell me that so and so is a runaway slave, a robber, a thief, and brimming with countless evils, or that he is destitute, an outcast, insignificant, and unworthy of mention. But consider that Christ died even for this man . . . Consider what sort of man he must be, whom Christ honored so much that he did not spare his own blood.120

Chrysostom then describes how Paul aimed to correct “those who despise their brethren, and look down upon them as being weak.” Moreover, he explains, Paul did not merely preach humility, but practiced it in his relationship with Phoebe, Priscilla, and Aquila. In Chrysostom’s reading of Paul, the apostle rejected social inequality when he taught that a person who is superior in some way should descend “to the lowlier position of all.”121 Chrysostom ends this sermon with the example of the Canaanite woman who, despite her low social position as a female foreigner, had the nerve to approach Jesus, who recognized her as a woman of great faith.122 This type of biblical commentary and interpretation, rooted in social context, is an aspect of what is known as the “literal” Antiochene school of exegesis.123 At the same time, this emphasis on social context is also an aspect of Chrysostom’s adherence to the radical critique of social relations found in the Bible. In this sermon, he rejects the humility valued in mainstream society – the humility of the lowly who knew their place and deferred to superiors – just as much as he rejected the arrogance of highstatus people. If Christians repudiated these social norms, they would achieve the mindset of spiritual equals, which, for Chrysostom, was at the core of the New Testament instructions for Christian communities. 119

120 121 122 123

De Profectu Evangelii, also referred to as Hom. in Phil. 1:18 (PG 51, 311ff), subtitled “On Humility of Mind” (peri tapeinophrosynēs). The recent sermon he refers to was De incompr. hom. 5. This sermon has been dated to 387; on the traditional reasoning for this date, see Mayer, Provenance, 112–13. De Profect. Evang. 5 (PG 51, 315). De Profect. Evang. 7 (PG 51, 316). On Chrysostom’s emphasis on Paul’s humility, which imitated Christ’s descent, see Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, 163–4. De Profect. Evang. 12 (PG 51, 319). In contrast to the long-standing notion that there was a clear division between Antiochene and Alexandrian exegesis, see Schor’s discussion of a more fluid boundary that still accepts that a group of theologians aligned with each other and identified themselves as “Antiochene”: A. Schor, “Theodoret on the ‘School of Antioch’: A Network Approach,” JECS 15.4 (2007), 517–62.

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In his sermons on Paul’s letter to the Romans, which he presented in Antioch, Chrysostom encourages all Christians to live “in lowliness of mind, in contempt of glory.”124 Regarding Paul’s warning to the Romans that they should not think highly of themselves, Chrysostom taught that this was directed to all people: “to the governor and to the governed, to the slave and to the free, to the unlearned and to the wise, to the woman and to the man, to the young and to the old. For the Law is common to all as being the Lord’s.”125 This sort of lowliness of mind would lead to the blessings that were promised to the poor in spirit. The right mindset of humility did not just save the privileged from the sin of pride, but it could also uplift the lowly when they realized they were not worth less than their so-called superiors. In both cases, the outward social relations (occupations, slavery, distribution of wealth, etc.) among Christians would not necessarily change, but their attitudes toward social differences would be transformed. In many of his homilies, Chrysostom added a tangible application to the Bible’s teachings about humility: becoming humble meant embracing the lower-status people who lived in one’s city. The virtue was not just an interior mindset, but it was also the basis for living in society. In a homily on the gospel of Matthew, Chrysostom describes Jesus’ choice of social status on earth as sending a clear message for humans: When he was about to be born, he did not seek an illustrious house or a rich and prominent mother, but a poor woman who was betrothed to a craftsman; and he was born in a shed and placed in a manger. And, when choosing his disciples, he did not pick orators and wise men, or the wealthy and well-born, but he chose poor men from poor families, men who were completely undistinguished.126

Chrysostom goes on to note Jesus’ humble food (barley loaves), lack of house or furniture, and his cheap clothing.127 Chrysostom’s understanding of the New Testament figures as grounded in a particular social and economic context comes across in several of his homilies. In a discussion of I Corinthians, Chrysostom addresses the more well-to-do Christians in Antioch, telling them that there is no excuse for abusing lower-class people: Do not say that so and so is a shoemaker, or that another is a dyer, or another is a coppersmith: but consider that he is a believer and a brother. For we are 124 126

In Rom. hom. 20.3 (PG 60, 598). 125 In Rom. hom. 20.3, citing Mt. 5:3 (PG 60, 599). In Matt. hom. 66.2/67.2 (PG 58, 628). 127 Ibid.

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Chrysostom explains that the social status of Jesus and the apostles provided instructions for how members of his congregation should treat each other: they should consider workers as their brothers and acknowledge that the workers resemble the apostles more closely than any rich person could.129 In response to a (hypothetical) interlocutor objecting that the humble person does not imitate the apostles by design, but “by compulsion,” Chrysostom argues that virtuous, low-status people hold wealth in contempt. He insists on a direct connection between Jesus’ regard for the apostles and respect for the workers and the poor in his own day: “Whenever then you see someone cutting wood, working with a hammer and nail, covered with soot, do not look down upon him for this reason, but admire him for this reason.”130 Chrysostom follows up this statement about admiring workers with reminders that Peter remained a fisherman and Paul kept making tents, even though they were active on a cosmic scale, intimidating demons and impressing angels.131 In a sermon dedicated to praising Paul, Chrysostom tells his listeners to admire the apostle especially in terms of his social status as a laborer: the man who hung around the market, and stood in a workshop, and took in hand a knife, himself came to teach and practice such a great philosophy, and persuaded others, even nations, both cities and countryside despite the fact that he did not demonstrate the power of eloquence, but, to the utter contrary, was unlearned, to the lowest degree of poor learning . . .132

In contrast to contemporary debates within Pauline scholarship, Chrysostom was confident that the apostle had not been wealthy and had not been from a distinguished family: “For how could he be, having such a trade?”133 The assumptions about honor and certain types of work remained strong enough to be useful reference points for Chrysostom to 128 129 132 133

In 1 Cor. hom. 20 (PG 61, 168). See also the discussion of this passage in Chapter 3. 131 In 1 Cor. hom. 20 (PG 61, 168). 130 Ibid. Ibid. De laud. Paul. hom. 4.10 (trans. Mitchell, 462). On this homily’s Antiochene origins, see Mayer, Provenance, 511. This passage is also discussed by Geoghegan, Attitude towards Labor, 190–2. De laud. Paul. hom. 4.10. Chrysostom also praised Paul’s achievement of ideal poverty: he went beyond merely giving up possessions because he worked day and night in order to support himself while teaching: In Act. apost. hom. 45.2 (PG 60, 316). Chrysostom’s In Rom. hom. 2 examines Paul’s humble-mindedness at length: Paul did not claim credit for his teaching because it came from the Holy Spirit; he did not present himself to disciples as their superior; and he submitted unquestioningly to the authority of God’s commands.

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invoke. It is noteworthy that Chrysostom does not attempt to depict Paul as being closer to his own socioeconomic background or level of education – he appears to be more comfortable with the social distance between himself and the apostles than, for instance, Gregory of Nazianzus had been. In his discussions of humility, Chrysostom does not prioritize the rich. Their worldly importance does not make him more concerned about them than others. He illustrates this point by describing the success of Paul in comparison with Plato. While Plato, an esteemed philosopher, had been unable to convince a single king to let him build a community in Sicily, Paul the tentmaker had converted all of Greece as well as barbarian lands. Paul did not downplay or hide his low social status, rather, “while preaching too he desisted not from his art, but even then sewed skins, and superintended the workshop.”134 Chrysostom emphasizes that Paul’s teaching was universal and accessible: “even foolish and ignorant men” and barbarians were addressed. His preaching “knows no distinction of rank” and does not require analysis because it is “readily admissible and easy and comprehensible to all.” This was the approach of the apostles because God did not prioritize the earthly elite, but gave his blessings “to all in common.”135 Here, Chrysostom was not just admonishing the rich to be humble. He was addressing the people who were already socially and economically humble in order to tell them that the apostles were socially and economically like them, and that their teaching was made for them. Humility (and Christianity) was not only for the rich and powerful. Chrysostom tells the rich and powerful to treat lower-status people as they would their social peers. “Lowliness of mind” should not just be an internal disposition; it should be the basis of social relations and result in different behavior: “Bring yourself down to their humble condition, associate with them, walk with them, do not be humbled in mind only, but help them also.” He cites Paul, “being bound with them that are in bonds” (Heb. 13:3), as a way to tell the rich and powerful to build relationships with the people whom they usually treated with contempt.136 Chrysostom does not want high-ranking people to claim to be humble-minded without actually interacting with low-status people. Members of the upper classes could, he suggests, work hard and achieve virtue, despite their relative disadvantages.137 Or, if hard times hit and they lost their wealth, they 134 136

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In Rom. hom. 2.5 (PG 60, 407). 135 Ibid. In Rom. hom. 22.2 (PG 60, 610–11). Chrysostom clarified that it is not just spiritual disposition of lowliness, but actual social-economic lowliness: “But here he means by those of low estate not merely the lowly-minded, but those of a low rank, and which one is likely to scorn.” In Act. apost. hom. 37.3 (PG 60, 268).

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would become “gentle and lowly” and aware of their limitations.138 Like other disasters, such as demon possession or the death of a loved one, downward economic mobility could be a blessing that could help to lead people toward the virtue of lowliness.139 Although Chrysostom emphasized spiritual equality and raised questions about economic and social hierarchies, he endorsed the most basic elements of social order. Husbands would still have authority over wives, wives over slaves, male slaves over their wives, and parents over children. Even if slavery was not “true” slavery (that is, slavery to sin) and slaves and slave-owners were all united in Christ, a slave should still submit willingly. A wife should still “fear and revere” her husband, even though she was his equal in spiritual terms. Living according to these social bonds, Chrysostom argues, did not degrade people: “It is not a sign of low birth (dysgeneia) but of the highest nobility (eugeneia) to understand how to lower ourselves . . . ”140 As equals in Christ, submission to social order was a way of turning the other cheek, a demonstration of the “high philosophy” of a person who voluntarily gives even more to a robber after being robbed.141 This voluntary compliance empowered the one who chose it. If everyone acted properly, these hierarchies would not be a burden to anyone. In another case, he preached that humility, “the mother of blessings,” would provide slaves with true freedom, while leading slave owners to be gentle and realize that “the best distinction is to be loved by God.”142 Chrysostom envisioned a new attitude, not a new social order: humility from above, and an embrace of submission from below. And with new attitudes, people would endure and even benefit from the seeming inequality of this world, while waiting for their fully realized equality in the next world. In another discussion of the true value of social status, Chrysostom followed a strand of Stoic and Cynic philosophy that redefined slavery as a state of mind: desire for wealth and honor was the “mother of evils,” and to be a slave to honors was to be enslaved by everyone, including people higher up and lower in social status. In this discussion, Chrysostom validated typical attitudes toward social status in a way that is disconcerting, given the social critique found elsewhere in his works. In the context of 138 139 140 141 142

In Act. apost. hom. 16 (PG 60, 127–34). In Act. apost. hom. 41 (PG 60, 293): demons make us humble; In Act. apost. hom. 42 (PG 60, 295–301): all kinds of affliction are good for the soul. In Eph. hom. 22.1 (PG 62, 155). Ibid. Here he is discussing Paul’s words on the obedience of slaves in Ephesians 6:5–8. In Rom. hom. 1.3 (PG 60, 399).

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steering Christians away from seeking honor, he told them that seeking praise from a crowd was worse than prostitution, because the lowlifes in the crowd were so despicable. An honorable man should not serve the masses; slaves should look up to masters; hired men should look up to their employers; and students should look up to their teachers. Christians should be looking up to God, and not seeking approval from the “worst kind of people.” He cites John the Baptist and Stephen as biblical examples of the virtue of ignoring public opinion.143 In this discussion, he criticizes important men for valuing public acclaim and honors, but his reasoning, with its derogatory comments about the masses, contrasts with his other teachings about humility. This particular dynamic – the interactions between public speakers and their audiences – was something he knew from personal experience, and he was critical of both the speakers who wanted glory and the crowds who cheered. Chrysostom continued to discuss these issues throughout his career. In one of his homilies on Acts of the Apostles presented in 400 or 401 as Bishop of Constantinople, he considers the different kinds of humility: “There are many kinds of humility, in word and in action, towards rulers, and toward the ruled . . . . There are some who are lowly towards those who are lowly, and high towards the high: this is not the character of humility.”144 He recognized that, for most people, their behavior depended on the social context, whereas Christian humility should be constant. He was aware that this virtue would be most problematic to people who were accustomed to inspiring humility in others, but he did not focus solely on addressing upper-class Christians. In several of his homilies on Acts of the Apostles, Chrysostom describes the apostles as humble and modest, refusing to accept honors or deference from their followers.145 He depicts the apostles as walking a fine line: they had to avoid too much humility, lest they appear to be showing off and trying to impress people.146 They also had to communicate with church elders and teach without claiming to be important. He describes the apostles as having been inspired by the Old Testament’s injunction about “hating pride” (Exod. 18:21) and Jesus’ proclamation that “Blessed 143 144 145

146

In Rom. hom. 17.5 (PG 60, 572). For an in-depth discussion of Chrysostom’s Christianized “doulology,” see de Wet, Preaching Bondage. In Act. apost. hom. 44.1 (PG 60, 308). On the dating of this series of homilies to Chrysostom’s time in Constantinople in 400 or 401, see Mayer, Provenance, 192–5; Kelly, Golden Mouth, 116. Peter and other apostles did not let others bow before them (In Act. apost. hom. 23); John rejects honors with humility (In Act. apost. hom. 29); the apostles did not take credit for their teaching, they ascribed their power to God (In Act. apost. hom. 30). In Act. apost. hom. 31.2 (PG 60, 230).

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are the poor in spirit” (Mt. 5:3). On these bases, hating pride and loving humility were the “groundwork for all that is good.”147 As teachers who wished for people to heed their words, though, this put them in an awkward position, which is something Chrysostom could certainly relate to (and will be discussed in the next section). In his homilies centered on the apostles, Chrysostom repeatedly calls attention to the relationships between people of higher and lower social statuses. Noting how Peter stayed many days with Simon the tanner (Acts 5:42–3), Chrysostom urges his listeners to pay close attention to this social interaction: “Observe Peter’s modesty and moderation, how he does not stay with this lady, or with any other person of distinction, but he stays with the tanner: through all of his actions, he leads us to humility, neither permitting the lowly to be ashamed, nor the great to be exalted.”148 In this case, we see another example of Chrysostom using humility to dignify lower-status people like the tanner and, at the same time, to guide higherstatus people away from arrogance. Chrysostom’s sermons tend to consider the issue of humility from the point of view of the socially disadvantaged and addressed the implications of this for the rich and powerful. When discussing almsgiving, Chrysostom avoids over-congratulating the wealthy people who gave to the poor: he warns them not to think too highly of themselves and to admit that they gave alms for their own benefit.149 When discussing the beatitudes, he argues that lowly people generally led more virtuous lives than the rich and could obey the teachings of Jesus with greater ease. “Blessed are the lowly” did not inspire the preacher to explain to the rich how they might become lowly; instead, he commanded everyone to respect the lowliest people in society and to consider them as spiritually superior. In a particularly striking passage, he paints the picture of a face-off between a disabled beggar and a rich, powerful man: Let one of the beggars be brought from the market-place, let him be disabled, maimed, crippled; and then some other person, handsome to look at, strong in body, vigorous in every way, dripping with wealth; let him be from an illustrious family, and possess great power. Then let us bring both of them to the school of philosophy, and we would see which one is more receptive to the lessons. So let the first precept be: “Be humble and moderate” (for Christ commands this). Who will be able to better to fulfill this precept, the first man or the second one?150 147 149

In Act. apost. hom. 44.1 (PG 60, 308). In Act. apost. hom. 30.3 (PG 60, 225).

148 150

In Act. apost. hom. 21.3 (PG 60, 167). In Act. apost. hom. 13.4 (PG 60, 111).

John Chrysostom on the Problem of Humility for a Public Speaker 153 In Chrysostom’s view, the blessings referred to in the Sermon on the Mount would be relatively easy for low-status and impoverished people to acquire but would require great effort from those who were better off. Overall, poverty and low social status led to virtue, while wealth and prestige led to the evils of vanity, lust, passion, and envy.151 For Chrysostom, sin and virtue were not just matters of personal discipline; they were also, at least in part, results of one’s socioeconomic condition. Rich people simply tended to be more sinful.

John Chrysostom on the Problem of Humility for a Public Speaker Humility, in addition to conflicting with elite status and wealth, was also difficult to reconcile with church leadership roles: how could one be a lowly public orator or a lowly bishop, especially in an important city? Chrysostom offers a glimpse of how he struggled with his own public standing as bishop of Constantinople and, particularly, his relationship with a congregation who cheered for him. In a sermon on Acts of the Apostles, Chrysostom appears to rebuke himself while preaching on humility. After describing humility as the “mother, and root, and nurse, and foundation, and bond of all good things,” he addresses a hypothetical orator who takes pride in his speaking skills: “Why do you think great things about yourself? Because you teach with words? But it is easy to philosophize in words: teach me through your life: that is the best teaching.”152 He tells the orator to be silent because he was a danger to others and to himself because applause could be both addictive and destructive: “Many men work hard in order to stand in public and present a long speech; and if they happen to get applause from the crowd, this is as good as if they had gained the kingdom [of heaven]. But if there is silence when they end their speech, the despondency caused by this silence is harder for them to bear than hell itself!”153 He then switches to the first person plural to convey his own perspective as a speaker under this kind of pressure and facing these temptations: “This has upset the churches, because you do not want to hear 151 153

In Act. apost. hom. 41.4 (PG 60, 293). 152 In Act. apost. hom. 30.3 (PG 60, 225). Ibid. For other discussions of the problem of applause and recognition, see Canning’s discussion of Augustine’s De catechizandis rudibus, “Mark God’s Humility,” 311–25; cf. Gregory of Nyssa’s description of Gregory Thaumaturgus’ preference for silence as a way to avoid acclaim: Life of Gregory the Wonder-Worker 24 (PG 46, 908); cf. the anecdote about a monk who aims to avoid feeling pleasure from being praised: AP (systematic collection) 15.54.

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a sermon that pierces your heart, but rather one that delights you with the sound and composition of its words, like listening to singers and musicians. And we are heartless and miserable, because we submit to your desires, when we need to put an end to them.”154 Chrysostom compares this dynamic to a father who allows his unhealthy child to eat as much cake as he pleases, against the doctor’s orders, in order to avoid hearing the child cry. Similarly, the orator/preacher finds himself to be overly concerned with the beauty and rhythms of his speech in order to please his listeners and be rewarded with applause. Chrysostom confesses that he was guilty of this: “Believe me, I am not saying anything different: when I receive applause while speaking, I experience it in the moment like a man (for why would I not say the truth?): I relax and rejoice.”155 Chrysostom goes on to describe realizing his failure later, after the sermon, and weeping. He then proposes a rule against applause during anyone’s discourse, only to have his suggestion met with . . . applause: “Why did you applaud? I am laying down a law against this . . . ”156 After this, he provides more details about the importance of silence for learning and compares his ideal to the silence of a painter’s studio. He pleads with his listeners, explaining that he does not want praise from them and does not want them to encourage him to show off his eloquence, only to find himself interrupted yet again: “What is this? You are applauding again?”157 For Chrysostom, humility was simultaneously a virtue and a social condition. He emphasized that Jesus’ humble status on earth and his selection of workers as his apostles were lessons teaching people to disregard earthly social hierarchies in church and to think differently about them outside of church. The low social standing of Jesus and the apostles was a guide for social relations among Christians. Even at a time when poverty and almsgiving were important issues for many church leaders, Chrysostom consistently outdid his peers in his emphasis on these topics.158 The same could be said for Chrysostom’s repeated rejection of the traditional value placed on power, prestige, family lineage, and wealth. This attitude must have been connected to his apparent detachment from his own family during his ecclesiastical career. Compared to the Cappadocian Fathers, who all remained deeply involved with their extended families during their episcopal careers, we know 154 155 156 158

In Act. apost. hom. 30.3 (PG 60, 225). In Act. apost. hom. 30.3 (PG 60, 226). Cf. his concern about being perceived as having an “excessive love of display,” In Act. apost. hom. 44.4 (PG 60, 312–13). In Act. apost. hom. 30.3 (PG 60, 226). 157 In Act. apost. hom. 30.4 (PG 60, 227–8). On the different aspects of poverty addressed in Chrysostom’s sermons, see W. Mayer, “John Chrysostom on Poverty.”

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almost nothing about Chrysostom’s family. In addition to his particular inclination to appeal to the ordinary working people in his congregations, his fatherless upbringing as well as lack of discernible connections with his extended family are likely to have made him less attached to ideas of family honor or prestige (while pride in his eloquence was what he struggled with).159 For him, these concerns stood in the way of true Christian virtues. Humility would allow the spiritual equality of all Christians to be experienced more fully. If all people actually behaved as if heavenly honors were more important than earthly honors, the elite would gain in much-needed virtue, and everyone else would benefit from the former’s lack of abuse and contempt.

Conclusions In the examples illustrating how upper-class Christians understood humility, we can see a variety of ways that they promoted this virtue, as well as the limits of their attempts to put it into practice. Basil not only promoted humility as essential for Christians but also recognized the importance of social prestige in his correspondence. Gregory of Nazianzus aimed to reconcile his friend Basil’s role (and his own role) in the existing social hierarchy with the spiritual equality envisioned in Christian Scriptures. Gregory of Nyssa was proud of how his sister and other family members had rejected the problems (luxury, worldly careers) related to their social standing. They managed to preserve their social connections and cultural credentials while accepting, to some degree, the lowly apostles as their models. For the Cappadocian Fathers, the problem of balancing humility with social prominence was resolved by allowing humility and elite identity to coexist. Rather than the two characteristics being mutually exclusive, the humility of the nobles was not only possible, but it could be seen as the definitive form of humility because only the upper class could choose to be humble.160 By contrast, John Chrysostom’s views were quite different: for him, the privileges of the elite were only detrimental, and people weighed down with honors and wealth should try to be more like the lower classes. Chrysostom’s advice for upper-class Christians was as much about calling 159

160

The small amount of information we have about Chrysostom’s family comes mostly from his biographer Palladius rather than from the preacher’s voluminous corpus. See Kelly, Golden Mouth, 4–6. On discussions of noble humility in the Latin West, see Salzman, “Elite Realities and Mentalités,” 359–62. On the senatorial bishop Paulinus of Nola’s thoughts on ascetic elites and how Jesus’ humility was “stunning because he was God,” see Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, 221–2.

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out their mistreatment of their neighbors as it was about telling them how to become more virtuous for their own benefit. As educated, upper-class Christians tried to rework their understanding of their social status, privileges, and honors, the virtue of humility became something much more moderate than a social reversal. For them, earthly nobility still had to count for something, and earthly humility was too daunting, maybe unthinkable. As a result, earthly nobility, far from losing its power, became a pre-requisite for humility in some cases. The humility of an ascetic life did not require its high-born adherents to identify with or experience the humility of the lower classes. Instead, ascetic renunciation became something special for people who had a lot to give up. The gap between elite status and ascetic humility could be seen as a parallel to God becoming man: the magnitude of the jump was what was impressive.161 The humility of elite Christians was not a rejection of their prominence in society, but, as Peter Brown puts it, a benevolent and generous “stepping down.”162 This took a form similar to the voluntary downsizing or opting-out of philosophers.163 According to this way of thinking, ordinary people could not hope to have the same claim to humility as a virtue because lowliness was simply their lot in society – they had nothing to step down from. Being forced by necessity to live a certain way was shameful; this notion was at the core of the elite view that labor was degrading.164 In the same way, the virtues of humility and poverty could be dulled by necessity and enhanced by free choice. Being lowly or poor by choice fulfilled the commands of the Bible by imitating Christ; that was what would earn a spot in heaven. This merging of aristocratic and ascetic ideals made the clash between aristocratic values and Christian ideals a nonproblem.165 In addition to the examples seen here from the Cappadocian Fathers, some of the most well-documented cases of this surprising combination of nobility and humility can be found among the upper-class female ascetics of Rome. For them and their spiritual advisors, Christian teachings did not challenge class distinctions or require a redistribution of wealth; instead, the upper class were expected to think about wealth and status differently.166 161 163 164 165 166

Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, 222–3 162 Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, 222. On the parallels between a bishop’s career and the philosophical life, see Elm, “A Programmatic Life: Gregory of Nazianzus’ Orations 42 and 43,”411–27 and Sons of Hellenism. Salamito, “La Christianisation et les Nouvelles Règles,” 705; De Robertis, Lavoro e Lavoratori, 76–83. See Salzman, “Elite Realities and Mentalités,” 357–9. See E. Clark, “Authority and Humility”; P. Laurence, “Les Moniales de l’Aristocratie”; B. Neil, “On True Humility: An Anonymous Letter on Poverty and the Female Ascetic,” in Prayer and Spirituality in the Early Church, 233–46. On the wealthy women in Jerome’s circle, see F. Consolino, “Sante o Patrone? Le Aristocratiche Tardoantiche e il Potere della Carità,” Studi Storici, 30.4 (1989), 969–91.

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For upper-class Christians, prestige was an even trickier moral problem than wealth. Christian authorities offered straightforward exhortations to give up (at least some of) their wealth; they were told that their wealth weighed them down and exposed them to sins and that almsgiving was a way to solve the problem. But humility was less clearly defined, and difficult even for the Church Fathers to achieve. While Basil and his contemporaries had much to gain by persuading the rich to relinquish their wealth to the church, they would probably not have benefited from haranguing friendly public officeholders to relinquish their offices. But the difference went beyond this – it was simply more difficult to fathom that the high status that came from a good family, a good education, and public offices could or should be rejected. Instead, in the case of the Cappadocians, they thought in terms of how these privileges could coexist with Christ-like or apostolic humility. They could be charitable to the poor, but they did not aim to live in a classless society without cultural distinctions. Likewise, they did not think that honors and privileges needed to be renounced; instead, they required an attitude adjustment. Outside of systematic discussions of humility, which tended to reach more radical conclusions about social distinctions, the Cappadocians (and Chrysostom to a lesser extent) consciously or subconsciously chose to promote coexistence and accommodation between biblical social reversals and the reality of social hierarchies, regardless of the gap we might see between the two.

Conclusions

When church leaders discussed the apostles and called attention to their low social standing, they were dealing with new ideas about equality and respect for lower-class people – new, that is, to Greek and Roman social thought. The social values and understanding of virtue based on biblical teachings meant that upper-class, educated Christian leaders sometimes promoted ideas that challenged their own claims to authority. In many cases, though, in addition to their development of new social ideas, we also see how upper-class Christian leaders in Late Antiquity tended to accommodate the Bible’s most radical social critiques or proclamations (such as the call to renounce private property or to reject worldly wisdom) into something less threatening to existing social, economic, and cultural hierarchies. Instead of attempting to dismantle their own society, they could point to the emerging ascetic movement as the right way to enact the egalitarian ideals of the Bible. The potential upheaval of honoring the lowly and asking the elite to renounce their power and prestige could instead be ordered within the confines of ascetic communities and overseen by church authorities. Asceticism made the new virtues of a simple life and a humble attitude more accessible to upper-class Christians and less threatening to social order. Consequently, one of the most significant changes in ideas about social status and economic class during the period was the growing admiration for ascetics who had ostensibly renounced society, the greatest of whom were the ones who had given up earthly honors for heavenly honors. These upper-class ascetics embodied the virtue of humility when they deigned to engage in manual labor. But the church leaders’ awareness of the social standing and occupations of the apostles also changed how they discussed social issues with their congregations. The idealization of simplicity, humility, and even manual labor can be seen in numerous discussions of the apostles and ascetics in homilies, hagiography, and histories, presented to mainstream, nonascetic Christian congregations. When Basil told the 158

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wealthy to scale down their enjoyment of luxuries and behave more like simple workers, when Chrysostom told his upper-class listeners to show respect to the lowly, or when the church historians described simple, illiterate Christians as heroes, they were presenting new ways of understanding their society. They offered new ideas about the dignity of ordinary people with lowly trades, holding them up as models even for upper-class Christians. The apostles’ position in society and the virtues associated with them played an important role in the development of these new “common sense” attitudes within Christian society. Even though these examples did not always deflate the elite’s high self-regard, the elevation of the apostles and other workers as heroes and role models can be seen as part of an attitude adjustment – this was a real change in worldview, if not a radical “mental revolution.” As far as what we can tell about these writers’ personal understandings of the apostolic virtues of humility and simplicity, their level of respect for workers, or their belief in the possibility of earthly equality among Christians, it seems that these ideas penetrated to varying degrees. Among the writers discussed in this book, their admiration for the apostles and their lessons on humility did not always lead to a comprehensive change in their own attitudes toward their economic, social, and cultural inferiors. The three Cappadocian Fathers often thought in terms of their own social, economic, and cultural superiority, even when they consciously rejected certain earthly honors and luxuries that were their birthright. The church historians also appear unified in their endorsement of traditional, upper-class, educated bishops, and took traditional credentials for granted as the way leaders should be chosen, while also acknowledging the piety of humble holy men and women. John Chrysostom, however, stands out: he consistently saw a clear connection between biblical teachings and the need for a change in social manners and beliefs, if not in the existing social and economic structure. None of these writers completely renounced social hierarchy on earth – instead, they demoted the importance of earthly honors in favor of a new “nobility” based on specifically Christian virtues and layered these virtues, however awkwardly, onto old notions of elite identity and traditional social relations. Just as it was difficult or impossible for upper-class Christians to let go of family prominence, church leaders also tended to cling to their identities as educated men, because of the way education could signify an individual’s or a family’s socioeconomic position, resources, and qualifications for positions of ecclesiastical authority. The value they placed on their education was potentially challenged by the example of the apostles, but, as we have seen,

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the ability to out-argue opponents was too valuable to deny during theological controversies. The possibility of a different way of thinking can be seen in Epiphanius’ disregard for these cultural credentials. The church historians, on the other hand, display what would become a standard view: in their accounts of competing sects, they were impressed by and interested in the social standing and education of church leaders, and found men such as Aetius and Eunomius to be doubly reprehensible as social upstarts and as heretics. But even in this context, their inclusion of illiterate holy people, such as the confessor at the Council of Nicaea, reflects their broader understanding of the kinds of people who had played important roles in the history of the church. The adoption of egalitarian ideas from the Bible clearly had its limits. But the point here is not to argue that the Church Fathers consciously angled to remake the tenets of Christianity to fit their social worldviews. Instead, we can see that the Cappadocians and John Chrysostom grappled with the social implications of their religion, and often promoted more egalitarian ways of thinking and raised questions about social norms and expectations. At the same time, they were ultimately unable to extricate themselves completely from the mainstream assumptions and behaviors of their social, economic, and cultural milieu.1 The social-psychological studies discussed in the introduction can help us to understand how they coped with contradictory values and attitudes. When Christian elites continued to cherish their education and family connections and successfully ignored or reinterpreted challenges posed by their scriptures, this could be seen in terms of “confirmation bias” or “motivated reasoning” that lead people to favor information that supports preexisting beliefs and to ignore (or, rather, fail to perceive) information that runs counter to these beliefs.2 For many Christian leaders, certain biblical passages – about tentmakers and fishermen, about the exalted and the humble, about camels and eyes of needles – conflicted with their preexisting beliefs and experiences as members of the upper classes. They honored the simplicity and humility of the lowly apostles, while also revealing typical elite attitudes when they expressed contempt for such lowliness in other contexts (e.g. the classbased attacks on Aetius and Eunomius).3 As a comparison, we can also 1

2 3

This can also be seen as an attempt to address the question posed by G. E. M. de Ste. Croix: “Why did early Christianity so signally fail to produce any important change for the better in Graeco-Roman society?” in “Early Christian Attitudes to Property and Slavery,” 368. Z. Kunda, “The Case for Motivated Reasoning;” Festinger, Cognitive Dissonance, 11; D. ScottKakures, “Unsettling Questions: Cognitive Dissonance in Self-Deception,” 73–5. An excellent discussion of this sort of conflicting worldview can be found in Philip Rousseau’s portrayal of Basil’s difficult balance between his elite identity and his pastoral duties: Basil, 40–58.

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consider Jörg Rüpke’s discussion of Cicero’s simultaneous skepticism and acceptance of divination: “This is neither hypocrisy nor consciously to have one’s cake and eat it.”4 In his essay “Did the Greeks Believe their Myths?,” Paul Veyne made a similar observation when he called the ability to hold conflicting views “mental Balkanization,” noting both Cicero’s and Galen’s “capacity to simultaneously believe in incompatible truths.”5 Here, we can see this phenomenon in the educated bishops’ simultaneous belief in both human equality and in the superiority of the socioeconomic elite. The same “Balkanization” is also at play in their simultaneous admiration for the apostles and their refusal to accept illiterate and untrained men of their own times as peers or leaders. Most of the leading bishops and theologians of this period developed their understanding of the Christian virtues of humility and simplicity from the vantage point of relatively high social and cultural status. They tended to think of these ideals in terms that reflected the experiences of their social and economic peers – in this way, Christian discourse was “embedded” in the world of the elite, and as a result, Christian teachings were shaped in part by preexisting social values.6 Bishops from wellconnected families understood themselves as successors to the illiterate manual workers Jesus had chosen as his apostles. Learned men commented on biblical texts that instructed them to reject worldly wisdom and embrace simplicity. They used their rhetorical training to praise the simplicity of Christian tradition and to accuse their enemies of sophistry. Christian authorities also exhorted their followers to love the poor and held up humility as the highest virtue. But the “embeddedness” of these thinkers in their social and economic roles often prevented them from imagining the possibility of social and economic equality, or even what unqualified and consistent respect for workers might be like. It was much easier for them to find ways to accommodate elite values even when they praised humility, such as when Gregory of Nyssa celebrated his sister’s willingness to bake bread alongside her slaves without reflecting on how it had never occurred to him to marvel at the slaves for doing the same work. The latter half of the fourth and the early fifth century was a pivotal time for many aspects of Christianity – the composition of numerous detailed 4 5

6

J. Rüpke, Religion of the Romans, Richard Gordon, trans. (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2007), 124–5. P. Veyne, Did the Greeks Believe in their Myths?, 56. Or, perhaps F. Scott Fitzgerald’s observation is also relevant: “the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.” “The Crack-Up,” Esquire (February) 1936. See Van Nuffelen, “Social Ethics and Moral Discourse in Late Antiquity,” 62–3. On the continuity of elite worldviews in Christian almsgiving, see, for instance, B. Neil, “Models of Gift-Giving.”

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biblical commentaries, homilies, and treatises shaped how later Christians would understand their scriptures. During this period, the rise of asceticism and various theological controversies influenced how bishops, preachers, and theologians understood the implications of these texts for their society. Certain passages about equality or social reversal that might have promoted social or economic justice were thought of mostly in terms of ascetic virtue. Simplicity became a useful recommendation for the laity but not a challenge to upper-class cultural dominance. Humility became a virtue especially suited to the highborn. At the same time, the cases examined in this book have shown us that church leaders also developed a new appreciation for the unpretentious ways of the lower classes: the virtues associated with the earliest followers of Jesus were clearly connected to their social and economic milieu. This was another aspect of the transformation of classical mentality: with tentmakers and fishermen as their role models, simplicity and humility became traits that even upperclass Christians were expected to strive for. But, as was the case with new values related to wealth and poverty, these new ideals did not replace all of the old ways of thinking and living. Instead, the repertoire of ideas expanded: both simple faith and educated discourse could be appropriate, depending on the context; likewise, both humility and nobility could be praised. The authors examined here incorporated these Christian values into their own self-conceptions and into their recommendations to their peers and to the general laity. No doubt, studies of other Eastern writers and Latin writers from this period would find additional variations and patterns in the development of Christian ideas about social, economic, and cultural hierarchies. It is clear, however, that this was a period when thinkers were incorporating new strands of thought into their understandings of social and economic divisions. The impact of Christian values on elite social attitudes (and vice versa) examined here was part of a larger transformation of social and cultural worldviews. Christianity did transform many aspects of classical mentality, but as studies on topics such as slavery, wealth, poverty, and sexuality have made clear, these changes were not absolute. Christians developed new critiques of slavery, without calling for an end to it altogether. They drew on religious teachings to criticize the excesses of the wealthy and encourage almsgiving, without suggesting that economic divisions ought to be leveled. Social critiques rooted in the Bible affected attitudes and discourses in many ways, but without revolutionary changes on the ground: there was no abolishment of slavery or equal distribution of wealth. Likewise, as the previous chapters have illustrated, there was no end to the educated feeling

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superior to the uneducated and no end to the condescension of the leisured elite toward manual laborers. But new holes appeared in the logic of elite claims to social and cultural dominance in Late Antiquity: Christian teachings offered new examples that could inspire respect or even reverence for uneducated and ordinary laborers. The attitudes of upper-class theologians and bishops toward education, social class, and spiritual authority reflect the complexity of a religion that started with tentmakers and fishermen and later drew its leadership from the upper levels of Roman society. Despite their tendencies to defuse the challenges to their own privileges, church authorities upheld the notion of the equality of Christians, at least in spiritual terms. The apostles would still be remembered as workers, and their qualities as “uneducated and ordinary men” would play an important role in shaping Christian understandings of both humility and simplicity as virtues. The biblical social critique and the apostles’ low social status were sometimes downplayed, explained away, or reinterpreted, but these challenges to elite dominance would endure within Christian traditions and continue to provide openings for critiques of prevailing socioeconomic and cultural hierarchies.

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Index

Aetius, 73, 99–101, 160 Against Eunomius (Gregory of Nyssa), 73, 83 Against Julian (Gregory of Nazianzus), 61 Against the Opponents of the Monastic Life (Chrysostom), 80 Alexander (bishop of Constantinople), 106, 112 almsgiving, 2, 16, 41–3, 54–5, see also beggars; poverty Ambrose (bishop of Milan), 3, 6 Amphilochius (bishop of Iconium), 115, 133 Antony of Egypt (ascetic), 45 Apology (Tertullian), 28 Apophthegmata patrum. See Sayings of the Desert Fathers apostles Gregory of Nazianzus on, 61–3 socioeconomic background of, 19–21, 58–61, 74–80, 82–4 as “uneducated and ordinary,” 10, 20, 85, 100–1, 123 see also fishermen; Paul (apostle); tentmakers Apostolic Constitutions, The, 47, 48 Aristotle, 93–4, 100 Arius (theologian), 90, 103, 109, 113 Arsenius (ascetic), 126–7 asceticism, 2, 45, 49, 50–4, 127, see also humility; Messalians; poverty; Sayings of the Desert Fathers; simplicity Atticus (bishop of Constantinople), 113 Augustine (bishop of Hippo), 5, 52–4, 90

Rufinus on, 112 To the Rich, 44–5 on wealth, 44–5 on work, 53–4 beggars, 16, 41–3 Basil on the appearance of, 46 Chrysostom on, 152 concerns about fraudulence of, 52 biased reasoning of elite leadership, 8–9, 160 bishops, as Nicene ideal, 110–14, see also episcopal leadership Brown, Peter, 41, 156

Basil of Caesarea, 2, 129–31 background of, 35 on beggars, 46 correspondence on humility and honor, 131–4 correspondence on the punishment of a slave, 134–6 Gregory of Nazianzus on, 62, 136–40 on Gregory of Nyssa, 135–6 Moralia, 158–9

Caesarius (brother of Gregory of Nazianzus), 50 Callisthenes, 135 Cappadocian Fathers, 6–7, 35–6, 154, 159, see also Basil of Caesarea; Gregory of Nazianzus; Gregory of Nyssa Cassian, 51 Categories (Aristotle), 100 Celsus, 30, 111 Chadwick, Henry, 57 Christian social teachings and attitudes, overview, 1–4, 9–10, 11, 54–5, 158–63 Cicero, 160–1 Clark, Elizabeth, 5 Clement of Alexandria, 27–8 Clement of Rome, 28 cognitive dissonance, 8–9 collegia, 14, 21 commerce, Roman attitudes on, 16–18 common sense, 1, 2 confirmation bias. See motivated reasoning Constantine, 85, 106 Constantinople, social order and hierarchy in, 7, see also socioeconomic divisions Council of Nicaea (325), 105–6 Council of Rimini (359), 109 Didymus the Blind, 112, 115 Dositheus, 93

190

Index Ecclesiastical History (Eusebius), 96–7 Ecclesiastical History (Socrates), 85 economic divisions. See socioeconomic divisions education of apostles, 58–61 of bishops, as Nicene ideal, 110–14 Chrysostom on, 40, 76–8, 80–2 Gregory of Nazianzus on, 61–3 of elites, 39–41 theological discourse on simple vs. educated, 114–17 elites, 1–4, 10 on apostles’ social status, 58–61, 82–4 attitudes on manual labor and commerce by, 16–18 on poverty, 16 sociology of, 6–9 see also Cappadocian Fathers; education; episcopal leadership Ephraim the Syrian, 114–15 Epictetus, 19 Epiphanius (bishop of Salamis), 36–7, 86, 91–6, 110, 160 episcopal leadership, 2, 10, 110–14, see also bishops, as Nicene ideal; education; elites equality, 18–19, 25–6, 158–63 Basil on, 158–63 Gregory of Nazianzus on, 63–4 John Chrysostom on, 75, 148–50 of Macrina and her slaves, 140–4 see also inclusivity; socioeconomic divisions Eudoxius (bishop of Antioch and Constantinople), 116 euergetism, 42–3, see also almsgiving Eunomius (bishop of Cyzicus), 63, 99, 101–2, 113–14, 160 Eusebius (bishop of Caesarea), 85, 96–7, 111–12 farmers, 19, 47, 49, 67, 126, see also manual labor Festinger, Leon, 9 fishermen, 10, 49, 57, 61–2, see also manual labor Flavian (bishop of Antioch), 112–13 George of Cappadocia (bishop of Alexandria), 101 Gregory of Nazianzus, 2 accusations of heresy and, 63–4 Against Julian, 61 on apostles and education, 61–3 apostolic models and, 63–8 background of, 36 on his own eloquence, 69 on Basil, 62, 136–40 on personal leadership style, 68–70 on popularity of theological discourse, 88, 90

191

Rufinus on, 112 on work, 50 Gregory of Nyssa, 2 Against Eunomius, 73, 83 on apostles as models, 70–4 background of, 35 Basil on, 135–6 on Macrina, 140–4, 155, 161 on popularity of theological discourse, 88–9, 102–3 sociology and adaptations of, 6–7 heresy bishops role in exposing, 110–14 Epiphanius on, 91–6 Gregory of Nazianzus and, 63–4 by Nestorius, 103 Rufinus on, 97 Socrates on, 89 theological discourse and, 85–6 of uneducated Christians, 108–10 Hermas, 28 hierarchy, 12–15, 18–19, see also socioeconomic divisions Homer, 121 honestiores, 12–14, 39, 40 honor, 28, 33, 131–4 Hübner, Sabine, 48 humiliores, 12–14, 39 humility, 11, 155–7 among the Greeks and Romans, 120–1 ancient Jewish texts on, 1, 121–3 as virtue in Late Antiquity, 119–20, 125–7 Basil’s correspondence on honor and, 131–4 Basil’s Moralia on, 129–31 Basil’s On Humility, 127–9 Chrysostom on, 119, 120, 144–55, 159 emergence as virtue in Christianity, 5 in Gregory of Nazianzus’ Funeral Oration for Basil, 136–40 in Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina, 140–4 in the New Testament, 1, 123–5 Jesus on, 25 Paul and, 123–4, 146, 147 as virtue in Late Antiquity, 76–7 see also asceticism; simplicity illiteracy. See education inclusivity, 25–6, see also equality Isaiah (prophet), 123–4 Jerome, 3 on ascetic work, 51 On Illustrious Men, 36, 91–2, 111

192

Index

Jesus Chrysostom on, 147–8, 154 on humility, 25, 123 on property and wealth, 45 scholarship on background of, 20–1 Jewish texts, humility in, 1, 121–3 John Chrysostom (bishop of Constantinople), 2, 4 Against the Opponents of the Monastic Life, 80 on almsgiving, 41–2 background of, 36 on education, 40, 80–2 on humility, 119, 120, 144–55, 159 on socioeconomic divisions, 74–80, 149–50, 159 on wealth, 44 on work, 50, 52, 75 Life of Constantine (Eusebius), 85 Life of Saint Macrina (Gregory of Nyssa), 140–4 MacMullen, Ramsay, 87 Macrina (sister of Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nyssa, 140–4, 155, 161 Malchion, 111–12 manual labor Augustine on, 52–3 Basil on, 53–4, 129–31, 158–9 Christian attitudes on, 47–54 Chrysostom on, 50, 52, 75 Clement of Alexandria on, 27–8 Paul on, 23–4, 52 Roman attitudes on, 16–18 Meeks, Wayne, 21 Meletius (bishop of Antioch), 116–17 Messalians, 51–2 Minucius Felix, 31 Moralia (Basil), 129–31 Motius (ascetic), 126 motivated reasoning, 8–9, 160 Nestorius (bishop of Constantinople), 89, 103 New Testament on humility, 1, 119, 123–5 on socioeconomic divisions, 20, 25–6, 33 see also apostles Nicomedia, episcopal election in, 72 Nilus of Ancyra (ascetic), 52 Olympius (ascetic), 126 On Humility (Basil), 127–9 On Illustrious Men (Jerome), 36, 91–2, 111 Oration (Gregory of Nazianzus), 69 Origen of Alexandria, 29–30, 94

Panarion (Epiphanius), 36, 91–6 Paul (apostle) background of, 20, 22–3, 77 humility and, 123–4, 146, 147, 148–9 on manual labor, 23–4, 52 on socioeconomic background of disciples, 21, 56, 71 on socioeconomic divisions, 25, 26 see also apostles Peter (apostle), 30, 59, 72, 148, 152 Philostorgius (church historian), 100–1, 102 Plato, 77, 103–4 plebs media, 14 Porphyry, 59 poverty, 16, 41–3, 46–7, see also almsgiving; asceticism; beggars; socioeconomic divisions; wealth property, 27–8, 33, 44–5, see also asceticism; wealth Roman society, socioeconomic divisions in, 12–15 Roman worldviews on equality and hierarchy, 18–19 on manual labor and commerce, 16–18 Origen on philosophers of, 30 on poverty, 16 Rufinus of Aquileia (monk, church historian), 3, 86 background of, 37 on educated bishops, 97, 112, 113 on heresy, 109 on simplicity, 104, 107 Rüpke, Jörg, 160–1 Salamito, Jean-Marie, 5–6 Salzman, Michele, 5–6 Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 59–60, 126, see also Arsenius (ascetic); Motius (ascetic); Olympius (ascetic); Syncletica (ascetic) Schwartz, Seth, 122 Simon Magus, 93 simplicity drawbacks of, 108–10 emergence as virtue in Christianity, 5, 30–1 idealization of, 85–7, 104–8, 162 see also asceticism; humility Sira, Ben, 122–3 Sisinnius (bishop of Constantinople), 113–14 slave case study, 134–6 social imagination, 4–6 social mobility, 13–14 socioeconomic divisions, 31–3 Chrysostom on, 74–80, 149–50, 159 Clement of Alexandria on, 27–8 in Constantinople, 7

Index

193

Late Antique Christians on, 39–41 of apostles and elites, 58–61 Origen on, 29–30 Paul on, 25, 26, 56 in Roman Empire, 12–15 Tertullian on, 28–9 see also equality; poverty; wealth Socrates Scholasticus (church historian), 3, 37–8, 113 on Aetius, 99–101 background of, 37, 85 on Chrysostom, 36 on educated bishops, 112, 113 on Epiphanius, 110 on Eudoxius, 116 on Eunomius, 102 on simplicity, 105–6, 107 on theological controversies, 86, 89, 97, 98–9, 103–4 Sozomen (church historian), 3, 37 on Amphilochius, 115 background of, 38 on Eunomius, 102 on Nicene simplicity, 105–6 on theological controversies, 86, 97–8 Syncletica (ascetic), 126

on Amphilochius, 115 on conversion of Georgians by ascetic woman, 108 on educated bishops, 112–13, 114–15 on theological controversies, 86, 98, 107 on work, 50 Theodosian Code, 46, 48 Theodosius II (emperor), 125 Theodotus, 93 theological controversies, 86–7, 117–18 church historians on, 87–90, 96–8 and educated bishops, 110–17 and simple laypeople, 108–10 see also Socrates Scholasticus (church historian); Sozomen (church historian); Theodoret (bishop of Cyrrhus, church historian) Theophilus (bishop of Alexandria), 99 To the Rich (Basil), 44–5 Trimalchio (character), 13 Turner, Victor, 125

tentmakers, 10, see also manual labor; Paul (apostle) Tertullian, 27–9 Theodora, 126 Theodoret (bishop of Cyrrhus, church historian), 3, 37, 38

Vegetius, 49 Veyne, Paul, 161 wealth, 27–8, 44–5, see also poverty; socioeconomic divisions work. See manual labor