Stasis: Crowd Violence and Religious-Political Discourses in Late Antiquity 9783161626371, 3161626370

Table of contents :
Cover
Title
Acknowledgments
Table of Contents
Abbreviations
1. How to Write about Riots
2. The Dangerous Mob
2.1 Introduction
2.2 A City of Riots
2.3 Rhetorizing the City
2.4 Disruptive Teachings
2.5 Christianity and the Limits of Concord
2.6 Beyond Alexandria
2.7 Conclusion
3. Looting Churches
3.1 Introduction
3.2 How to Define Sacrilege
3.3 Witnessing Violence
3.4 If these Walls could Speak
3.5 Conclusion
4. Contested Dissent
4.1 Introduction
4.2 Julian and the Misopogon
4.3 Anger Control
4.4 Uncomfortable Truths
4.5 Conclusion
5. A City in Lockdown
5.1 Introduction
5.2 A Madness beyond Control: The Riot
5.3 The Making of a Responsive City
5.4 Engaging Emotions
5.5 Preaching Forgiveness
5.6 Conclusion
6. Concord and Communion
6.1 Introduction
6.2 The Modelling of an Ethos of Concord
6.3 Communion in Divisive Times
6.4 Conclusion
7. With All Friendship
7.1 Introduction
7.2 The Salvation of the Emperor
7.3 Exemplary Models
7.4 Violent Envy
7.5 Excursus: Salus and disciplina in Rome
7.6 Restoring the Future
7.7 Conclusion
8. The Beginning of the End
8.1 Introduction
8.2 Rufinus’s Account
8.3 The Downfall of Serapis
8.4 Theodosius’s Law
8.5 Conclusion
9. Conclusion
Bibliography
Editions and Translations
Secondary Literature
Index of Ancient Texts
Index of Modern Authors
Index of Subjects

Citation preview

Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity Herausgeber/Editors Liv Ingeborg Lied (Oslo) ∙ Christoph Markschies (Berlin) Martin Wallraff (München) ∙ Christian Wildberg (Pittsburgh) Beirat/Advisory Board Peter Brown (Princeton) ∙ Susanna Elm (Berkeley) Johannes Hahn (Münster) ∙ Emanuela Prinzivalli (Rom) Jörg Rüpke (Erfurt)

137

Jonathan Stutz

Stasis Crowd Violence and Religious-Political Discourses in Late Antiquity

Mohr Siebeck

Jonathan Stutz, born 1986; 2016 PhD; Assistant at the Faculty for Protestant Theology at the Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität in Munich; Visiting Professor at the department for Ancient Christianity at the Faculty of Theology at the Humboldt-Universität in Berlin. orcid.org/0009-0000-3204-6327

ISBN 978-3-16-162637-1 / eISBN 978-3-16-163510-6 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-163510-6 ISSN 1436-3003 / eISSN 2568-7433 (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at https://dnb.dnb.de. © 2024 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by SatzWeise in Bad Wünnenberg using Minion typeface and printed on non-aging paper and bound by AZ Druck und Datentechnik in Kempten. Printed in Germany.

Acknowledgments This book is the product of research undertaking for the Habilitation at the Evangelisch-Theologische Fakultät of the Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität in Munich. I feel deep gratitude as I look back on this period and it was an honor to be part of a vibrant community of formidable researchers and committed students. Such circumstances provided an invaluable resource during a time marked by the many challenges of a global pandemic. I feel particularly indebted to the mentoring committee, which followed and evaluated my thesis: Professors Martin Wallraff (Munich), Katharina Heyden (Bern), and Loren T. Stuckenbruck (Munich). Their support and counsel provided me with muchappreciated encouragement in my choice of topic and my decision to write this book in English. This would not of course have been possible without the good help of so many English-speaking friends and colleagues from the faculty and beyond. My gratitude goes also to the many colleagues at the Department of Church History, as well as those with whom I shared the many teaching activities and administrative duties. The steadfast support of so many people positively contributed to a research project meant to address themes that have lost nothing of their topicality and relevance. Finally, my heartfelt thanks also go to my family, to my friends in Basel and Munich, as well as to Thea, to whom the book is dedicated. Carona, Switzerland, Easter 2024

Table of Contents 1. How to Write about Riots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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2. The Dangerous Mob . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7

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3. Looting Churches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . A City of Riots . . . . . . . . . . . . Rhetorizing the City . . . . . . . . . Disruptive Teachings . . . . . . . . . Christianity and the Limits of Concord Beyond Alexandria . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Introduction . . . . . . How to Define Sacrilege Witnessing Violence . . If these Walls could Speak Conclusion . . . . . . .

4. Contested Dissent 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5

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Introduction . . . . . . Julian and the Misopogon Anger Control . . . . . Uncomfortable Truths . Conclusion . . . . . . .

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64 65 72 77 84

5. A City in Lockdown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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5.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2 A Madness beyond Control: The Riot . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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VIII 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6

Table of Contents

The Making of a Responsive City Engaging Emotions . . . . . . . Preaching Forgiveness . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . .

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90 96 105 110

6. Concord and Communion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Modelling of an Ethos of Concord Communion in Divisive Times . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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112 113 130 149

7. With All Friendship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Salvation of the Emperor . . . . Exemplary Models . . . . . . . . . . Violent Envy . . . . . . . . . . . . . Excursus: Salus and disciplina in Rome Restoring the Future . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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151 152 158 161 166 170 178

8. The Beginning of the End . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.5

Introduction . . . . . Rufinus’s Account . . . The Downfall of Serapis Theodosius’s Law . . . Conclusion . . . . . .

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180 181 187 194 201

9. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . Editions and Translations Secondary Literature . . . Index of Ancient Texts . . . Index of Modern Authors . . Index of Subjects . . . . . .

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213 213 219 241 249 253

Abbreviations AB BAAL BGU BSFE ByZ CCL CFHB CRAI CSEL GCS GRBS IRT JECS JLA JRS JTS LCL LF

NHC NPNF PG PLRE

PO RIC SC STAC TTH WUNT

Analecta Bollandiana Bulletin d’Archéologie et d’Architecture Libanaises Ägyptische Urkunden aus dem Staatlichen Museum zu Berlin: Griechische Urkunden, Berlin: Staatliche Museen, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, 1892–. Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie Byzantinische Zeitschrift Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, Vienna. Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies The Inscriptions of Roman Tripolitania, eds. J. M. Reynolds and J. B. Ward Perkins, Rome: British School, 1952. Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Late Antiquity The Journal of Roman Studies The Journal of Theological Studies Loeb Classical Library A Library of Fathers of the Holy Catholic Church anterior to the division of the East and West, transl. by members of the English Church, Oxford: Parker, 1881. Nag Hammadi Codices: The Coptic Gnostic Library: A Complete Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices, ed. James M. Robinson, 5 vols., Leiden: Brill, 2000. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, eds. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace, Edinburgh: Clark, 1886–1900. Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Graeca, ed. Jacques Paul Migne, Paris: Imprimerie Catholique, 1857–1866. The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, eds. Arnold Jones, John Robert Martindale et. al., 3 vols., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971– 1992. Patrologia Orientalis, eds. René Graffin, François Nau et. al., Paris: FirminDidot/Brepols, 1904–. The Roman Imperial Coinage, eds. Harold Mattingly et al., 10 vols., London: Spink, 1923–1994. Sources chrétiennes Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum Translated Texts for Historians Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament

X ZAC ZNTW ZThK

Abbreviations

Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

1. How to Write about Riots On that day how heavy was the gloom! How bright the calm of the present! That was the day when that fearful tribunal was set in the city, and shook the hearts of all, and made the day to seem no better than night; not because the beams of the sun were extinguished, but because that despondency and fear darkened your eyes. Wherefore, that we may reap the more pleasure, I wish to relate a few of the circumstances which then occurred; for I perceive that a narrative of these things will be serviceable to you, and to all who shall come afterwards. 1

These lines, from the beginning of John Chrysostom’s thirteenth homily on the Riot of the Statues, are quite suitable for introducing the subject of the present study: the phenomenon of crowd violence and its representations within the religious and political discourses of the fourth century. Referring to the tribunal that was set up after the disorders that had led to the toppling of imperial statues, this homily shares a characteristic with many other texts reporting on violent incidents, namely that of linking traumatic events of the past with a specific rhetorical function that in turn underwrites a specific theological or moral message. Among the more destructive crises that affected the life of an ancient or late antique city, riots certainly figure quite prominently, seconding only to natural catastrophes or war. As a manifestation of collective violence, riots deserve to be analyzed as a phenomenon in its own right. This, however, is far from being an obvious task. Other than individual acts of coercion, be they criminal or not, crowd violence did, in fact, defy exact legal definition. As Jill Harries has pointed out, “riots were not a matter of litigation between opposing parties but of policing and the preservation of public order”, being therefore almost completely omitted from the criminal section of the Theodosian Code. 2 As Harries therefore concluded, riots and their consequences can be seen as a crisis 1 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XIII, 1, ed. Migne, PG 49, 136–137: Κατὰ τὴν ἡμέραν ταύτην τὸ φοβερὸν ἐκεῖνο γέγονεν ἐν τῇ πόλει δικαστήριον, καὶ τὰς καρδίας ἁπάντων διέσεισε, καὶ νυκτὸς οὐδὲν ἄμεινον διακεῖσθαι ἐποίησε τὴν ἡμέραν, οὐ τῆς ἀκτῖνος σβεσθείσης, ἀλλὰ τῆς ἀθυμίας καὶ τοῦ φόβου πηρωσάντων ὑμῶν τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς. ἵν’ οὖν καὶ ἡμεῖς πλείονα καρπωσώμεθα τὴν ἡδονὴν, μικρὰ τῶν τότε συμβάντων διηγήσασθαι βούλομαι. Transl. P. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9 (Edinburgh: Clark, 1889), 426. 2 J. Harries, “Violence, Victims and the Legal Tradition in Late Antiquity”, in Violence in Late Antiquity. Perceptions and Practices, eds. H. A. Drake et al. (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 85–102, here 89.

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of the relationship between ruler and people, being in other words a phenomenon that is highly political in nature. While concerns for the public safety permeated the way the emperors and their officials administered the provinces of the empire, as well as the communication between the ruler and his subjects, public protests could give voice to the demands of certain segments of the population, as is exemplified in the very Riot of the Statues, which started as a protest against new tax levies. As in the historical reality, so also in the literary representations that were contemporaneous with such events, riots were considered a marker of this communication crisis. This is also true for those incidents that one wishes to term as religious riots, in which supporters of two competing religious groups were pitted against each other. As the examples that I intend to discuss in this book show, these incidents are not divorced from the interaction of the monarch with the respective communities, both by virtue of his duty as supervisor and guardian in matters of religion and because of his active involvement in many of the religious conflicts of the fourth century. The working hypothesis underpinning the following study – that of conceiving of collective violence as a literary and rhetorical event – is closely connected to the political relevance of the art of eloquence in the world of Late Antiquity. As the individual events discussed in the book will show, it was the ambivalent nature of violence itself that made it open for different definitions and interpretations which in turn were ultimately critical for the relevant political or ecclesiastical policies in times of crisis. In order to specify this aspect and to define the hermeneutical premises of this study, it is necessary to first take a closer look at the main research interests that have been tied to the phenomenon of crowd violence in Late Antiquity and, from here, to expose the methodology that I would like to apply. As a particular expression of collective violence, riots have attracted the interest of scholars of different stripes, including historians specializing in different periods and geographical areas. 3 In the case of antique and late antique Rome, scholarly research has contributed a full host of studies on the variegated aspects behind this phenomenon, focusing on the specific socio-economic background, 4 on the 3 In order to mention three contributions from the field of social and ethnic studies: P. Brass, Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997); D. Horowitz, The Deadly Ethnic Riot (Berkeley: University of California University Press, 2001), and J. L. Abu-Lughod, Race, Space, and Riots in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007). Much helpful for the understanding of modern forms of collective violence is also C. Tilly, Contentious Performances (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008) and its focus on collective action as a source for systemic change. For a groundbreaking study on urban revolts in Late Medieval Egypt and Syria, see A. Elbendary, Crowds and Sultans: Urban Protests in Late Medieval Egypt and Syria (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2015); on religious riots during the protestant reformation, see N. Z. Davis, “The Rites of Violence: Religious Riot in Sixteenth-Century France”, Past & Present 59 (1973), 51–91. 4 See H. P. Kohns, Versorgungskrisen und Hungerrevolten im spätantiken Rom, Antiquitas

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role of circus factions and theater claques, 5 or on the security maintenance in Rome and the provinces of the Roman Empire 6. Consequently, in the course of the last decades a number of misconceptions on the causes and nature of riots could have been dismissed, as some of them were supported by the classism entailed by their ancient sources themselves. 7 Picking up on sociological theories of “collective behavior”, scholars such as Paul Vanderbroeck have defied the commonly held notion of crowd violence being driven by blind irrationality, insisting instead that it should also be placed on a spectrum of recognizable behavior that entails, for example, the stage of marches, the chanting of slogans, or the selected targeting of objects or monuments. 8 Riots thus followed and still follow definite scripts, which in fact contributed to a definition of those limits within which, paradoxically, collective violence could be seen as acceptable: “Within certain limits, the crowd had a right to riot”. 9 This also means, as a corollary, that violent actions that infringed on such limits were met with the utmost severity of the authorities. Such was the case of the toppling of the imperial portraits during the aforementioned Riot of the Statues, at least in the way this act of vandalism was perceived by the imperial court. In most cases, 6 (Bonn: Habelt, 1961); P. Erdkamp, “‘A Starving Mob has no Respect’. Urban Markets and Food Riots in the Roman Word, 100 B.C.–400 A.D.”, in The Transformation of Economic Life under the Roman Empire: Proceedings of the Second Workshop of the International Network Impact of Empire (Roman Empire, 27 BC–AD 406); Nottingham, July 4–7, 2001, eds. L. de Blois and J. Rich, Impact of Empire 2 (Amsterdam: Gieben, 2002), 93–115, and P. Van Nuffelen, “Dürre Wahrheiten. Zwei Quellen des Berichts von Socrates Scholasticus über die Versorgungskrise in Antiochien 362/3”, Philologus – Zeitschrift für antike Literatur und ihre Rezeption 147 (2003), 352–356. 5 On Circus factions, see A. Cameron, Circus Factions: Blues and Greens at Rome and Byzantium (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), on theatre claques, see P. Browning, “The Riot of A.D. 387 in Antioch: The Role of the Theatrical Claques in the Later Empire”, The Journal of Roman Studies 42 (1952), 13–20. 6 See especially T. Yavetz, Plebs and Princeps (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969); P. J. Vanderbroeck, Popular Leadership and Collective Behavior in the Late Roman Republic. ca. 80 – 50 B.C., Dutch monographs on ancient history and archaeology 3 (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1987); W. Nippel, Public Order in Ancient Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); B. Kelly, “Riot Control and Imperial Ideology in the Roman Empire”, Phoenix 61 (2007), 150–176; C. Wolff, Les brigands en Orient sous le Haut-empire romain, Collection de l’École française de Rome 308 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2003); C. Brélaz, La sécurité publique en Asie Mineure sous le Principat (Ier–IIIème s. ap. J.-C.): institutions municipales et institutions impériales dans l’Orient romain, Schweizerische Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft 32 (Basel: Schwabe, 2005). See also H. Ménard, Maintenir l’ordre à Rome (IIe–IVe siècles ap. J.-C.) (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2004), and C. Fuhrmann, Policing the Roman Empire. Soldiers, Administration, and Public Order (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 7 See on this T. Yavetz, “Vitellius and the ‘Fickleness of the Mob’”, Historia. Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 18 (1969), 557–569. 8 See Vanderbroeck, Popular Leadership, 10–13, and G. S. Aldrete, “Riots”, in The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Rome, ed. P. Erdkamp (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 425–440 here, 431–433. 9 Harries, “Legal Tradition”, 89.

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however, the attack against specific objects, such as the house of the governor, could also be seen as displaying a sense of restraint on the part of the rioters, “deliberately substituting a lesser act of violence (attacking or destroying an object) for a greater one (attacking or killing a person)”. 10 Other questions related to the study of riots, however, are still a matter of debate. This is especially the case with the question as to why “ordinarily lawabiding bystanders going about their daily lives abruptly and voluntarily transform themselves into violent rioters on the spur of the moment”. 11 Gregory Aldrete offered a tentative answer by pointing out some of the factors that increased the chances that a set of pre-existent tensions would degenerate into violence. These include a provocative act or incident, the initiative of a core group of rioters leading the protest, the presence of a sufficient number of bystanders willing to join the riot, and the ability to gather in a large public space. In order for the core group of rioters to succeed in luring the bystanders into the riots, it was fundamental to find the proper way of manipulating the crowd by stirring up emotions and by directing it into collective actions through common verbal and non-verbal expressions. 12 At the same time, it has been cautioned against the attempt to make sense of the behavior of the crowd exclusively by means of materialistic factors such as issues related to taxes or shortage of grain. As Peter van Nuffelen has pointed out, such explanations fail to recognize the pivotal role played by the moral expectations that bound the crowds to their political and religious leaders and vice versa, such as the obligation to secure justice, the expectation that the governors would be willing to accept the petitions of the people, and the overall desire to re-establish the communication with the emperor in times of crisis. These observations could therefore allow for a “virtue-based” model of crowd behavior that is in fact also helpful for the understanding of the texts reporting on ancient riots. 13 In certain instances, the moral subtext is made explicit in the narrative itself. This is the case when the writer presents a riot as a vignette revealing the failed rule of an emperor or the failed administration of a governor. Tacitus, for example, accuses Nero of having stirred up the claques of the theater against each other, resulting with the disorders gaining intensity so fast that the emperor had no other choice than to occupy the theater with his soldiers. 14 Another famous episode that stood representative for the failed rule of Aldrete, “Riots”, 432. Aldrete, “Riots”, 435. 12 See Aldrete, “Riots”, 435–436. 13 See P. Van Nuffelen, “A Wise Madness. A Virtue-Based Model for Crowd Behavior in Late Antiquity”, in Reconceiving Religious Conflict. New Views from the Formative Centuries of Christianity, eds. W. Mayer and C. L. de Wet, Routledge Studies in the Early Christian World (London: Routledge, 2020), 234–258, here 239–243. 14 See Tacitus, Annales 13.25, ed. K. Wellesley (Leipzig: Teubner, 1986), here 54–55; transl. 10 11

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an emperor is that presented by the historian Procopius when relating about the Nike Riot: So as Justinian fanned the flames and openly agitated the Blues, the entire Roman Empire shook from side to side as if it had been hit by an earthquake or a flood, or as if each of its cities had been captured by an enemy army. All things in all places convulsed and nothing was left standing. In the confusion that ensued, the laws were toppled to the ground and social order collapsed. 15

Beyond the necessity of addressing hermeneutical issues related to ancient sources on crowd violence, historians working on pre-modern history also have to remain aware of the ideological problems entailed by the study of a phenomenon that should not be aligned too easily with modern riots. Such a procedure involves the risk of clinging to ideas that may have a “heuristic value” for the study of modern societies, but which may be more problematic with respect to antiquity, such as, for example, the notion of collective action as a force that promotes social and political improvement. 16 In the world of Late Antiquity, the ultimate instance of political change remained the emperor and his ability to achieve purpose through representation, delegation, and military power. This is not to say, however, that the street remained a mere passive element of imperial politics. Quite on the contrary, the urban population also had an active role in the projection of imperial power. An important contribution that takes this insight into account was recently offered in Noel Lenski’s Constantine and the Cities, which, although not specifically addressing the issue of crowd violence, still supplies us with a valuable hermeneutical approach for the understanding of this phenomenon. Picking up on modern communication and reception theories, Lenski builds his study on Constantine’s religious and political policies on the premise that the success with which such policies were able to project imperial power was also dependent on the way they were decoded by their recipients. According to the context, imperial edicts needed to be formuJ. C. Yardley, The Annals: The Reigns of Tiberius, Claudius, and Nero (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), here 283. 15 Procopius, Hist. arc. 7.6–7, ed. J. Haury, Procopii Caesariensis opera omnia. Vol. 3: Historia quae dicitur arcana (Leipzig: Teubner, 1963), 43–44: Τότε οὖν τοὺς Βενέτους αὐτοῦ ῥιπίζοντός τε καὶ διαφανῶς ἐρεθίζοντος ἅπασα κατ’ ἄκρας ἡ Ῥωμαίων ἀρχὴ ἐκινήθη ὥσπερ σεισμοῦ ἢ κατακλυσμοῦ ἐπιπεσόντος ἢ πόλεως ἑκάστης πρὸς τῶν πολεμίων ἁλούσης. πάντα γὰρ ἐν ἅπασι ξυνεταράχθη καὶ οὐδὲν ἐφ’ ἑαυτοῦ τὸ λοιπὸν ἔμεινεν, ἀλλ’ οἵ τε νόμοι καὶ ὁ τῆς πολιτείας κόσμος ξυγχύσεως ἐπιγενομένης ἐς πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἐχώρησαν. Transl. A. Kaldellis, Prokopios. The Secret History. With Related Texts (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 2010), 32. On the Nika Riot, see G. Greatrex, “The Nika Riot. A Reappraisal”, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 117 (1997), 60–86, and R. Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel. Kommunikation und Konfliktaustrag in einer spätantiken Metropole, Millennium Studien 44 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 178–210. For a different assessment on the role of the emperor, see M. Meier, “Die Inszenierung einer Katastrophe: Justinian und der Nika-Aufstand”, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 142 (2003), 273–300. 16 As pointed out by Van Nuffelen, “A Wise Madness”, 236.

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lated in such a way as to allow only one specific interpretation, while in other situations they could also encourage different readings. In a context in which Christianity was still far from being the dominant religion, this last possibility proved particularly helpful for the application of religious policies, which in many ways had to mediate between pagans and Christians. In some cases, however, the collective reading could also occur in terms contrary to the meaning encoded by the monarch, thus paving the way for expressions of dissent through public protest or even riots, as the examples discussed in this book will show. 17 Such considerations will also prove helpful for the present book’s methodological approach. In fact, although the relationship between ruler and ruled was expressed through a set of different communicative practices, I would like to direct the reader’s attention in particular to rhetoric’s pivotal role as a traditional means of interacting with imperial power, a role which I will expand upon below. 18 Another field of scholarly interest tied to the study of late antique riots is related to the study of religious conflicts. This aspect has attracted attention from different perspectives as well, and has produced an impressive amount of literature. For the sake of brevity, I would like to divide these contributions into two distinct groups. 19 A first set of studies is especially characterized by the intent to explain well known examples of religious violence, such as the destruction of pagan temples, by referring to the specific economic, ethnic and cultural tensions that were active in the background. Especially important contributions in this respect have been offered by Edward Watts and Johannes Hahn, whose rigorous studies of incidents of communal violence in the context of paganChristian relations (but also in that of inner Christian relations) reached significant conclusions for the scholarly debate on the Christianization of the Roman Empire. 20 17 See N. E. Lenski, Constantine and the Cities: Imperial Authority and Civic Politics, Empire and After (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016), 7–8. 18 See on this A. Omissi, “Rhetoric and Power. How Imperial Panegyric Allowed Civilian Elites to Access Power in the Fourth Century”, in Leadership, Ideology and Crowds in the Roman Empire of the Fourth Century AD, eds. Erika Manders and Daniëlle Slootjes, Heidelberger althistorische Beiträge und epigraphische Studien 62 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2020), 35–48. 19 This categorization does not include those contributions that presented religious violence as a cultural and anthropological category in its own right, such as T. Sizgorich, Violence and Belief in Late Antiquity. Militant Devotion in Christianity and Islam, Divinations: rereading late ancient religion (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009); B. Shaw, Sacred Violence: African Christians and Sectarian Hatred in the Age of Augustine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), and M. Gaddis, There is no Crime for those who have Christ: Religious Violence in the Christian Roman Empire, The transformation of the classical heritage 39 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005). In any case, I will relate to these studies where the context requires to. 20 Exemplary for this kind of inquiry are especially E. J. Watts, Riot in Alexandria: Tradition and Group Dynamics in Late Antique Pagan and Christian Communities, The transforma-

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At the same time, such an approach may again risk overlooking the crowd’s ability to express judgements that go beyond the realm of utilitarianism. It is therefore also helpful to mention a second group of studies that focused more closely on the nature of popular participation in the doctrinal controversies of late antique Christianity, a phenomenon that has been thoroughly analyzed by Timothy Gregory and Ramsay MacMullen. 21 Most recently, when arguing against the idea of a mere passive involvement of ordinary Christians in the theological disputes, Michel-Yves Perrin’s Civitas Confusionis has also convincingly pointed out the extent to which ecclesiastical leaders contributed to the formation of an “heresiological ethos” among early Christians who were thus supplied, for example through catechetical homilies, with the means to fend off foreign teachings and engage in debates with members of competing communities. 22 This insight will also contribute for a better understanding of those sources discussed in the different chapters of this monograph. A fundamental hermeneutical problem that I would like to address in this book is the alleged divide between the historical event and its literary representation, since in past scholarship on (religious) violence this dichotomy has encouraged approaches that either took the literary sources at face value or dismissed their historical value altogether. Furthermore, in those cases where historians claim to have been able to uncover something of the actual sequence of events beneath the polemical or apologetic layers of their sources, the relationship between event and representation is still considered problematic, as it distinguishes between those parts of the narrative that are historically useful and those that are not. For this reason, recent scholarship has rightfully called attention to the historical value of literary representations themselves, pointing out that ancient narratives of violence have a lot to say about the perception and definition of violence in a given historical and cultural context, about the limits of accepted violence, and its social and cultural function. Most notably, this approach has been at the center of a conference that gathered contributions tion of the classical heritage 46 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), and J. Hahn, Gewalt und religiöser Konflikt. Studien zu den Auseinandersetzungen zwischen Christen, Heiden und Juden im Osten des Römischen Reiches (von Konstantin bis Theodosius II.), KLIO 8 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2004). 21 See T. E. Gregory, Vox populi: Popular Opinion and Violence in the Religious Controversies of the Fifth Century A.D. (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1979); R. MacMullen, “The Historical Role of the Masses in Late Antiquity”, in Changes in the Roman Empire. Essays in the Ordinary, ed. R. MacMullen (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 250–276, and idem, The Second Church: Popular Christianity A.D. 200–400, Writings from the Greco-Roman world 1 (Atlanta: Soc. of Biblical Literature, 2009). 22 M.-Y. Perrin, Civitas Confusionis. De la participation des fidèles aux controverses doctrinales dans l’Antiquité tardive (début IIIe s.–c. 430) (Paris: Nuvis, 2017). For North Africa, see also J. C. Magalhães de Oliveira, Potestas populi. Participation populaire et action collective dans les villes de l’Afrique romaine tardive (vers 300–430 apr. J.-C.), Bibliothèque de l’antiquité tardive 24 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012).

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from well-known researchers on Late Antiquity, which were eventually published under the programmatic title Violence in Late Antiquity: Perceptions and Practices. 23 As Martin Zimmermann comments in his concluding analysis of the publication, accounts and depictions of violence fulfilled a well-defined ideological function; the representations of wars against the barbarians, for example, reassured Romans “of their own place in the world”, 24 and incidents of sectarian violence affecting the life of the Roman Empire were “depicted according to literary and iconographic narrative patterns” that were designed to solicit specific emotional responses among the readers. 25 In any case, the shift of focus from violent events themselves to the representation of violence also offers the advantage of allowing one to circumvent some major difficulties in any attempt to theorize violence, an endeavor in which we must be content with a very broad definition. 26 If approached from the perspective of literary or visual representations, the different manifestations of (collective) violence will be of relevance insofar as they have been perceived and represented as such in front of an audience that ought to be enabled to interpret specific actions as contemptible. In this present study, I would like to pick up on these considerations, foregrounding, however, those literary representations that originated in and were linked to the rhetorical practices (real or imagined) that accompanied a riot, suggesting that incidents of collective violence must be read not only as a “literary phenomenon” but also as a “rhetoric phenomenon”. Admittedly, the hermeneutical premises entailed by this idea present some consistent similarities with the approach opted for by Martin Zimmermann, since it asks about the specific functions of representations of violence. At the same time, however, the approach chosen for this study will also place emphasis on the performative quality of these literary representations, a characteristic that is inherently tied 23 Based on papers presented at the fifth biennial conference on Shifting Frontiers in Late Antiquity, held at the Univ. of California, Santa Barbara, March 20–23, 2003. 24 M. Zimmermann, “Violence in Late Antiquity Reconsidered”, in Violence in Late Antiquity. Perceptions and Practices, eds. H. A. Drake et al. (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 343–357, here 344–345. On this, see also the very useful overview of previous literature on violence in idem, “Zur Deutung von Gewaltdarstellungen”, in Extreme Formen von Gewalt in Bild und Text des Altertums, ed. M. Zimmermann, 2nd edition (München: utzverlag, 2022), 7–46. 25 Zimmermann, “Violence reconsidered”, 355. Literature on visual representations of violence is immense, see on this the bibliographical essay in S. S. Lusnia, “Representations of War and Violence in Ancient Rome”, in The Cambridge World History of Violence. Vol. 1: The Prehistoric and Ancient Worlds, eds. G. G. Fagan et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 654–683, here 682–683. 26 The debate on the feasibility of such a definition has in recent years surfaced within the fields of social studies, on which see in particular M. Eisner, “The Uses of Violence: An Examination of some Cross-Cutting Issues”, International Journal of Conflict and Violence 3 (2009), 40–59, and J. Kilby, “Theorizing Violence”, European Journal of Social Theory 16 (2013), 261–272.

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to their rhetorical quality. With this I mean that representations of violence are intended to achieve a specific purpose among the audience in a specific rhetorical context, which is defined by the orator’s intent to engage the audience with the events that are being related and to solicit a specific response. Hence I read the concept of “performativity” not only with a view to the different forms of oral execution in the act of speaking, but also as the ability of ancient rhetoric to structure and change the reality perceived by the audience, including its ability to influence “the public persona of the citizen in all walks of life”, an aspect which in recent decades has been a focus of scholarly contributions on the subject. 27 At the same time, the relevance of the performative nature of ancient rhetoric is also grounded in the inherent connection which ancient sources themselves discerned between the art of eloquence and its effectiveness in reconciling or harmonizing “the internal antagonisms that are constitutive of politics.” 28 In its various contexts, in fact, the delivery of public speeches was coupled with the theme of violence as a persistent threat to the social and political order of the polis. It is not by chance that this connection is already clear in the traditional account of rhetoric’s origin, which holds that a certain Corax formulated the first rhetorical handbook in the chaotic context of the establishment of democracy in ancient Sicily. 29 This is not to say that ancient rhetoric was intended to level out social or political inequalities. As Joy Connolly suggests, the rhetoric of concord and civilized life to which orators resorted was meant rather to distract from the latent violence entailed in the class and gender inequalities that marked the ancient polis. As such, the art of eloquence was inherently coupled with a normative discourse that was grounded in moral judgement and aimed at control27 S. Goldhill, “Rhetoric and the Second Sophistic”, in The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Rhetoric, ed. E. Gunderson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 228– 241, here 231. On the power to condition social and political behavior see also M. Fox, “Rhetoric and Literature at Rome”, in A Companion to Roman Rhetoric, eds. W. Dominik et al. (Malden [MA]: Blackwell, 2007), 369–381, here 376; M. Gleason, Making Men: Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995); and T. Habinek, The Politics of Latin Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998). On rhetoric and political power, see S. A. Takács, The Construction of Authority in Ancient Rome and Byzantium: The Rhetoric of Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). On the role of paideia as an important power broker and self-fashioning tool, see P. Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), 35–70; and T. Whitmarsh, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire. The Politics of Imitation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 90–130. On the different forms of oral performances, see E. C. Bourbouhakis, “Rhetoric and Performance”, in The Byzantine World, ed. P. Stephenson (London: Routledge, 2010), 175–187, here 176. 28 J. Connolly, “The Politics of Rhetorical Education”, in The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Rhetoric, ed. E. Gunderson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 126– 141, here 127. 29 See Connolly, “Rhetorical Education”, 128.

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ling the latent dynamics of subordination present within the polis. 30 An interesting vignette revealing the tendency to maintain the status quo is offered in an account of a failed revolt (allegedly caused by a lack of wine) relayed by Ammianus Marcellinus. While the troops that headed towards the mob feared an escalation, the prefect Leontius abstained from any violent action and even succeeded in calming down and dispersing the mob with the power of his words, making it easier to arrest the ringleader. 31 This scene may stand as representative of the challenge that any threat to the hierarchical order posed, not only for the authorities but for the art of eloquence itself. In most cases, the sources at hand (apologetic literature, homilies, orations, letters) are tied to rhetorical situations that preceded or followed the event itself. In fact, individual riots were almost never divorced from a larger concatenation of events of which rhetorical performance was a constituent part. Before the crowds took to the streets, demands and protests that were fueling the tensions – as well as concerns for public security – were already being negotiated between the authorities and the subjects, as can be seen in Constantine’s letters to Alexander of Alexandria in the context of the Arian conflict. In the aftermath of a riot, envoys representing the city were sent to the imperial court in order to plead for mercy. In other instances, an authoritative ecclesiastical figure such as Augustine was invoked by the town’s leading citizens to intercede on their behalf. But the bishop himself could also take the initiative to address the community and call for a moral reform, as was the case with John Chrysostom in the aftermath of the Riot of the Statues. Yet in other instances, the court and the local bishop entered into a fierce conflict regarding the proper consequences that should be taken in response to the riots, such as in the case of Ambrose and Theodosius. In other words, what we learn about specific instances of communal violence is consistently mediated and delimitated by the contents that underwrite the specific rhetorical performance. According to the specific situation, the narrative could focus on the issue of collective accountability when appealing to the mercy of the emperor or place particular emphasis on the unbearable acts of violence with a view to soliciting a specific emotive response from potential allies. Moreover, within the literary context of historiographical literature, recounting past incidences of collective violence could serve a specific rhetorical purpose as they provided the readers with an interpretative lens for reading the present. The following division of chapters will attempt to give visibility both to the specific rhetorical performances and to the discursive themes that emerge in the sources that have been selected for the present monograph. Where possible, the See Connolly, “Rhetorical Education”, 128–129. See Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 15.7.3–4, ed. W. Seyfarth, Römische Geschichte, 4 vols., Schriften und Quellen der Alten Welt 21 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1968–1986), here vol. 1, 134. See on this incident also Brown, Power and Persuasion, 86–87. 30 31

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chapters will roughly follow the chronological order of the events and take into account the geographical distribution of the sources as well. Following the introduction, the first chapter of this book (The Dangerous Mob) will focus on the role of the crowd in the context of public disorders, and immediately start with Alexandria, which in fact enjoyed the dubious reputation of a “riotous city”, as attested by orators of the Second Sophistic such as Dio of Prusa. A closer look at his speech to the Alexandrians will offer the opportunity to flesh out some of the concerns and preoccupations that will also prove instrumental in the communication between the emperor and the Christian leadership in the context of religious controversies. Constantine’s letter addressed to Alexander and Arius will be of particular help in pointing out some of the challenges that the Christian heresiological discourse entailed for the concern of the imperial court to safeguard the concord of the Empire. The context of the so-called Arian conflict also offers the background for the following chapter, which examines the writings of Athanasius (Looting Churches), focusing this time on some of the most famous incidents that shaped Alexandria’s religious life. Gravitating around the genre of apologetic literature, this chapter will examine how accusations of violence against church buildings and the defense from such accusations supplied the conflicting parties with a powerful narrative to employ in their attempt to dismiss the claims of the theological adversaries, while also providing later ecclesiastical writers with an appealing model to imitate. The role of the orator and the bishop as mediating instances between the emperor and the city will be in the focus of the following two chapters centered on Antioch. The first of the two chapters (Contested Dissent) will discuss one particularly ambivalent incident that affected the Syrian capital, namely the negative reception of Julian by the city’s inhabitants – an incident that not only represented the low point of the emperor’s relationship with Antioch, but was also at the origin of an invective of the latter against his subjects under the title Misopogon. Having been commonly read as a humoristic treatise, I will suggest that this invective should be read against the background of the discourse on the “anger of the ruler”. Because of its humoristic tone, it certainly defied many of the literary and rhetorical conventions that defined how orators would have been able to intercede on behalf of their cities, making the task of responding to it all the more difficult a challenge, as we can gauge from Libanius’s orations. The second chapter on Antioch (A City in Lockdown) is tied to another famous incident associated with the city, although much more dramatic with regard to its possible consequences, the Riot of the Statues. Since this event has generated a famous series of homilies delivered by the city’s foremost preacher, John Chrysostom, this chapter will be able to ask how some of the themes foregrounded in the previous chapter were translated into a homiletic program with a view to shaping a moral reform in accordance with God’s own injunctions.

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The role of the bishop within sectarian conflicts will also be in the focus of the following chapter (Concord and Communion), which will place emphasis on the struggles that affected ecclesiastical life of Constantinople in the time of Gregory of Nazianz and in the context of John Chrysostom’s deposition and exile. The texts chosen for this chapter represent two distinct, if not opposite, attempts to deal with controversies that divided the Christian community. Gregory, on the one hand, had to face religious disputes surrounding his person that were, in his opinion, dysfunctional for the unity and concord of the Church. The Oratio funebris for John Chrysostom, on the other hand, written soon after the death of the Constantinopolitan bishop, went to great lengths in defending the so-called Johannite schism, to the point of delegitimizing the attempt of the official church to reconcile with the dissenters, offering in this way an anti-dominant reading of the events it describes. The following chapter also is dedicated to two different ecclesiastical writers, Ambrose of Milan and Augustine of Hippo (With all Friendship). Both authors, in fact, chose to write about the events in the focus of this chapter by means of epistolary writing. Here, the transition from rhetorical to literary performance is quite evident and becomes therefore important for the understanding of the respective accounts. In fact, the letters at hand fulfilled their function not only within a specific rhetorical performance (transmitting, for example, the petitions or the protest of the bishop to the emperor), but also within the literary transmission of the epistles themselves, as they were being collected in epistolary collections – in the case of Ambrose by the author himself. Another literary genre that marked the movement away from the rhetorical event to that of literary discourse is historiography, which will be in the focus of the last chapter of the book and which discusses Rufinus’s Ecclesiastical History and its account on the destruction of Serapis’s cult-statue – one of the most iconic examples of anti-pagan violence in Late Antiquity (The Beginning of the End). While writing at a remove of several years from the respective incident and relying neither on his own direct experience nor on that of his audience, Rufinus built his account on his own historiographical method. In doing so, however, he not only reported about facts of the past, but also integrated them into a narrative that was designed as an epideictic praise of the one true God.

2. The Dangerous Mob 2.1 Introduction Riot narratives from Late Antiquity do not suggest a nuanced awareness of the structural problems which led to the escalation of violence, but rather present incidents of collective violence as a natural consequence of the mob’s inclination to riotous behavior. In this way, late antique sources have more to say about how these incidents were perceived among the political and intellectual elite of the time than about the events themselves. With this in mind, the present chapter builds on the premise that ancient and late antique accounts of collective violence were part of a larger discourse on “the dangerous mob”, which was concerned with the challenges that the irrational behavior of the multitude could pose for the safety of the city. In the context of Late Antiquity, an example of a city which seems to have fit particularly well with concerns expressed regarding mob violence was Alexandria. This city may not in fact have been more dangerous than other cities in regards to public order, but it was undoubtedly presented so in ancient literature, as we can see in Dio of Prusa’s speech to its inhabitants, which will be at the center of the first and second section of this chapter. In the context of political rhetoric, concerns for the maintenance of public order also become visible in the emperors’ communication with their subjects, as can be demonstrated in Constantine’s letters and edicts during the so-called Arian controversy, which will be discussed in the third section. In the emperor’s opinion, the theological dispute which emerged in Alexandria in fact soon became a substantial threat for the peace of the empire, and so obliged him to intervene in a contest which, by his own assessment, should have remained a learned debate among peers which would not engage the broader masses of simple believers. This and similar reservations about the propensity of the mob to factionalism do not necessarily reflect the frequency and intensity with which theological quarrels were translated into violence, but they do point to a new phenomenon which will mark religious disputes of the fourth and fifth centuries, namely the role of the masses within such controversies, a fact which has been highlighted also in recent research. Developing my arguments on the basis of Constantine’s letter to Arius and Alexander, which he wrote shortly before the Council of Nicaea and which was

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transmitted by the church historians of early Christianity, I will focus on how the concept of concord (ὁμονοία) came to play a central role in Constantine’s policies, as I will highlight in the fourth part. It will then become clear how the emergence of Christianity as a new factor in the political life of the Roman Empire confronted the emperor with the need to define “the terms and contents of the discourses in which to engage his subjects”. 1

2.2 A City of Riots Alexandria enjoyed an elevated status among Egyptian cities. Since the days of Octavian, Alexandrians had been granted tax privileges and a greater access to Roman citizenship. 2 But Egypt’s capital also, like other cities of the Roman Empire, had to deal with episodes of violence between the city’s various communities. There were several factors which could fuel tensions or even ignite communal violence. As with other cities, one of the factors playing a decisive role was the social structure. Because of the lack of information which can be drawn from the sources of the time, it is almost impossible to estimate the number of people belonging to the different social classes; but, due to their visibility, the urban poor (which relied on the charity enterprises organized by the public administration and, in later centuries, by the church) must have played some role in shaping the image of Alexandria’s streets and squares. 3 With respect to the religious landscape, the presence of a conspicuous Jewish community became an important factor for the city’s social dynamics. 4 Later, See Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 209. See J. Rowlandson and A. Harker, “Roman Alexandria from the Perspective of the Papyri”, in Alexandria. Real and Imagined, eds. A. Hirst and M. Silk, Centre for Hellenic Studies King’s College London Publications 5 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 79–111, here 81–84. Despite the privileges, an important element of the political life of a Greek city, Alexandria at first lacked a city council, which caused many petitions to the Roman emperors before such was finally granted during the Severan period. See A. Harker, Loyalty and Dissidence in Roman Egypt. The Case of the Acta Alexandrinorum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 6, and the discussion on the so-called “Boule Papyrus” in H. A. Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), 83–92. Literature on Roman and late antique Alexandria is extensive. Besides more detailed case studies referred to in the respective parts of this book, I use especially C. Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity. Topography and Social Conflict (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997), and E. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria, The transformation of the classical heritage 41 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), here 143–203. 3 See Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 60–61, who estimates the number of destitute inhabitants that depended on subsidies at the beginning of the seventh century at 7,500. 4 On the Jewish population in Alexandria, see J. C. Paget, “Jews and Christians in ancient Alexandria from the Ptolomies to Caracalla”, in Alexandria. Real and Imagined, eds. A. Hirst and M. Silk, Centre for Hellenic Studies King’s College London Publications 5 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 143–166, here 146–156. 1 2

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the presence of competing Christian churches created further potential for conflicts. Other forms of social organization were also focusing on specific, grouprelated interests which could come into play at the outbreak of violence, as is the case with the numerous collegia which developed on the basis of profession or cultic personnel. Because of their role in mobilizing larger groups of people, these associations had an ambiguous reputation among the sources reporting on the riotous incidents. 5 But none of this should lead us to conclude that communal violence was a mark of everyday life in this Mediterranean metropolis, or that unrest and disorder would have been less frequent in other urban centers of Late Antiquity. But the literature of the time contributed greatly to cementing the stereotype of the Alexandrian populace as particularly prone to violence and unrest. The most striking example of such is given in Dio of Prusa’s speech to the Alexandrians during his visit to the city during the reign of Vespasian or Trajan. 6 In general terms, the content of this speech can be characterized by the formula “from praise to blame”, as it uses and reverses the rhetorical conventions of ancient panegyrical discourses with which also Dio’s audience were familiar. 7 Right in the opening he brands them a frivolous people inclined by nature to laughter and immoderation, which they exhibit in any given situation. 8 He laments that one would think, even passing a courtroom or a lecture hall, that one were serving at a drinking party. 9 One kind of behavior which Dio had particularly in mind in his reprimand is that exhibited by the crowds at the hippodrome and at the theater, which ought to be “the organ of hearing of a people” but which in Alexandria is full of “uproar, buffoonery, and scurrility”. 10 Because of their capacity to accommodate large crowds from every sector of urban society and because of their location at neuralgic spots of the city, both venues served as important points of interaction between the Roman authorities and 5 See Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 57–59, and Watts, City and School, 152. For considerations of the social structure of Roman cities and their role in urban unrest see R. MacMullen, Enemies of the Roman Order: Treason, Unrest and Alienation in the Empire (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 1966), 166–185. 6 For a discussion on the possible dating, see D. Kasprzyk and C. Vendries, Spectacles et désordre à Alexandrie. Dion de Pruse. Discours aux Alexandrins: Traduction et commentaire (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2012), 81–84, who point out the topical character of many of Dio’s descriptions of the city, which makes it difficult to prove that he actually held its discourse at Alexandria. On Dio of Prusa, see also G. A. Kennedy, The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World: 300 BC–AD 300 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 566–582. 7 Kasprzyk and Vendries, Spectacles et désordre, 160–168. 8 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.1. 9 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.68. 10 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.4, ed. J. von Arnim, Dionis Prusaensis quem vocant Chrysostomum quae exstant omnia, vol. 1 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1896), 267: Δήμου γάρ ἐστιν ἀκοὴ τὸ θέατρον. εἰς τοῦτο δὲ καλὸν μὲν ἢ τίμιον οὐδὲν ὑμῖν ἢ σπανίως ποτὲ εἰσέρχεται. κρουμάτων δὲ ἀεὶ μεστόν ἐστι καὶ θορύβου καὶ βωμολοχίας καὶ σκωμμάτων οὐδὲν ἐοικότων χρυσῷ. Transl. J. W. Cohoon and H. L. Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3 (London: Heinemann, 1964), 174.

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their subjects, being at the same time also conceived of as scenes “of more violent expressions of the crowd’s will”. 11 Although the inclination of the Alexandrians to unruly behavior only partially reflects historical reality, Dio presents the danger of civic unrest as having accompanied Roman rule from its very beginning. As the orator recalls, riots provoked Roman intervention as early as the reign of Ptolemy XII Auletes, who, after being expelled from the city, was reinstalled in 58 BC with the backing of the Roman Senate. 12 Dio does not fail to give examples of riots or upheavals which had disastrous effects for the city in the recent past as well. 13 As a consequence, the constant danger which riots posed for public safety is one reason why, according to the orator, the contemporary Roman governors had to be on constant alert for the behavior of the multitude. 14 Unfortunately, Dio does not elucidate the political or social background behind the disorders he mentions, but closely links them with the Alexandrians’ proclivity towards unruly behavior displayed, for example, at the theater. 15 It is thus difficult for the modern reader to extrapolate concrete information on the circumstances and the sequence of events of these episodes of violence, and one is tempted to ask whether Dio might be indulging his own imagination. However, we may reasonably assume that he presupposes that his audience are at least somewhat familiar with the events he recalls, and so he did not need to elucidate them in detail. Other late antique sources as well are keen to present the constant danger of riots in Alexandria. The Historia Augusta (or, in this specific case, the author of the reign of Aemilianus) depicts the Alexandrian populace as responsible for bringing the city to the edge of a disaster over trivial causes:

11 Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 62–67, here 64. The theater Dio had in mind and where he was allegedly delivering his speech may be identified with the one north of the Via Canopica in the same district of the agora. Nothing remains of this theater today. The hippodrome (στάδιον) on the other hand is commonly identified with the hippodrome situated beneath the Serapis temple in the southwestern outskirt of the city. See on this Kasprzyk and Vendries, Spectacles et désordre, 84–86 and 99–101. See also R. Lim, “‘In the Temple of Laughter’. Visual and Literary Representations of Spectators at Roman Games”, Studies in the History of Arts 56 (1999), 342–365, here 356–357, as well as Cameron, Circus Factions, 183– 192 and 271–296, and G. Dagron, L’hippodrome de Constantinople. Jeux, peuple et politique (Paris: Gallimard, 2011), 151–175. 12 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.70. 13 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.70–72. 14 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.71. For a discussion of these passages, see W. D. Barry, “Aristocrats, Orators, and the ‘Mob’. Dio Chrysostom and the World of the Alexandrians”, Historia. Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 42 (1993), 82–103, here 101–103. 15 Kasprzyk and Vendries, Spectacles et désordre, 130: “Non sans tourner les dos aux réalités alexandrines, mais de façon certainment consciente, Dio ravale une émeute qui avait probablement une signification politique, sociale ou religieuse à un niveau morale et anecdotique.”

2.2 A City of Riots

17

It is the wont of the people of Egypt that like madmen and fools they are led by the most trivial matters to become highly dangerous to the commonwealth; for merely because a greeting was omitted, or a place in the baths refused, or meat and vegetables withheld, or on account of the boots of slaves or some other such things, they have broken out into riots, even to the point of becoming highly dangerous to the state, so that troops have been armed to quell them. 16

In a similar vein, the author of the Expositio totius mundi, a text originally written in Greek in the fourth century, probably during the reign of Constantius II, goes so far as to present Alexandria as a city which “imposes its will upon its governors”, which is why the imperial authorities would “enter the city with fear and trembling, as they feared the judgements of the populace”. 17 It is in this context of what Dio and other sources depict as an “unsafe city” that the imperial hierarchy was expected to uphold a tight control mechanism aiming at the prevention of possible outbreaks of disorder. Control over Egypt and its cities encompassed (as in other provinces) what Haas has called a “threefold division of authority” emanating from the emperor. 18 The critical role with which the ruler was invested for safeguarding peace also explains why he became the addressee of expectations formulated by ancient writers in their descriptions of what should distinguish a good ruler. Suetonius points out that Tiberius in the earlier years of his reign took great pains to prevent outbreaks of violence. This also implied that in the context of theater riots the emperor exiled the leaders of the different factions and refused to let the people’s entreaties move him from such harsh judgments. 19 Outside the Roman capital, the presence of the emperor was marked by the public proclamation of imperial edicts, the display of imperial portraits, and the imperial cult – most prominently, within the Alexandrian context, at the temple at the Caesareum, in the center of the city near the harbor. 20 Given the impor16 Historia Augusta, Tyr. Trig. 22.1–2, eds. E. Hohl, C. Samberger, and W. Seyfarth, Scriptores historiae Augustae, vol. 2 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1997), 121: Est hoc familiare populi Aegyptiorum ut velut furiosi ac dementes de levissimis quibus usque ad summa rei p. pericula perducantur: saepe illi ob neglectas salutationes, locum in balneis non concessum, carnem et olera sequestrata, calciamenta servilia et cetera talia usque ad summum rei p. periculum in seditiones, ita ut armarentur contra eos exercitus, pervenerunt. Transl. D. Magie, The Scriptores historiae Augustae, vol. 3 (London: Heinemann, 1968), 120. See on this passage also Kelly, “Riot Control”, 158–159. For further authors referring to the unruly nature of the Alexandrians see Nippel, Public Order, 109–110. 17 Expositio totius mundi 37, ed. J. Rougé, SC 124 (Paris: Les Éditions du CERF, 1966), 174: Iam et civitatem iudicibus bene regentem invenies; in contemptum hfacile moveti solus populus Alexandriae: iudices enim in illa civitate cum timore et tremore intrant, populi iustitiam timentes. 18 Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 69–74, quote at 69. 19 Suetonius, De vita Tiberii 37.2, ed. R. A. Kaster (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2016), 172; transl. J. C. Rolfe, Suetonius, vol. 1 (London: Heinemann, 1970), 347. See on this also Kelly, “Riot control”, 158. 20 This structure was converted into a church during the reign of Constantius II. See

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tant role which the city played in the collection and transport of grain from Egypt to Rome and Constantinople, imperial policies aimed at keeping the city safe from public disorders were also driven by state-wide interests. 21 Because of Alexandria’s strategic importance, Roman emperors more than once saw themselves compelled to intervene in the internal affairs of the city in order to enforce their edicts and policies. On a second level of the imperial administration we find the praefectus Aegypti, to whom civil authority was entrusted. As the holder of this office was not only charged with administrative matters but also with the enforcement of imperial policy, we find him involved in urban riots on several occasions, as the case of Athanasius will show in the next chapter. While in less extraordinary circumstances policing in Alexandria was entrusted to the city’s stratēgoi and their militias, the prefect also had his own armed guard, the prefectural protiktores, who could be sent to the city or even to the surrounding countryside in order to impose the authorities’ will. 22 On a third level, military control over Alexandria and its surrounding areas was guaranteed by the presence of the suburban camps at Nicopolis, its strategic position being of help not only for warding off marauding tribes but also for a prompt intervention in the city in case of civic unrest. The military control of the entire province was entrusted to the dux (or comes) Aegypti, whose task was therefore also that of keeping order in the city and in the province and that of working together with the prefect. 23 Besides the strategic practicality of such measures for effective intervention in case of skirmishes, they are also relevant on a communicative level between the governing forces and the masses, since the visible presence of troops in well frequented streets of the city conveys to the population a demonstration of the state’s resolve. 24

J. McKenzie, “The Place in Late Antique Alexandria ‘where Alchemists and Scholars sit (…) was like Stairs’”, in Alexandria: Auditoria of Kom el-Dikka and Late Antique Education, eds. T. Derda et al. (Warsaw: Warsaw Univ., 2007), 53–83, here 61. 21 See Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 73–74. 22 See Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 76. On the role of the municipal administration in maintaining public security in Asia Minor, see especially Brélaz, La sécurité publique, 69– 230. See also MacMullen, Enemies of the Roman Order, 165–166. 23 For a list of sources documenting the stationing of troops in cities across the provinces of the Roman Empire see R. MacMullen, Corruption and the Decline of Rome, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988, 209–217 (for Egypt, see 213–214), from which some of the following examples are also taken. 24 On the preventive and deterrent rather than repressive function of the Roman security apparatus, see P. Le Roux, “Armées et ordre public dans le monde romain à l’époque impériale”, in La toge et les armes. Rome entre Méditerranée et Océan; scripta varia I, ed. P. Le Roux (Rennes: Presses Univ. de Rennes, 2011), 217–237; Y. Rivière, “Les batailles de Rome: Présence militaire et guérilla urbaine à l’époque impériale”, Histoire urbaine 10 (2004), 63–87, here 72–77, and C. Ricci, Security in Roman Times: Rome, Italy and the Emperors (London: Routledge, 2018), 28.

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19

At the same time, however, the limited military resources did not allow for a tight control of the cities. The presence of military troops could in some situations even be considered a sign of insecurity. Orators such as Aelius Aristides link the safety of the empire with the felicitous fact that cities were free of garrisons and that not many troops were quartered near to urban centers. 25 The historian Zosimus will later offer a scathing critique of Constantine when reproaching him for having withdrawn entire armies from the empire’s frontiers and stationed them instead near the cities. 26 As we will see in the following chapters, this is also how Athanasius and the author of the Oratio funebris for John Chrysostom will see the troops on patrol in their respective cities – as proof of a violence gone out of control. For Dio too, the Roman army’s presence could be seen in more negative terms, and in fact he presents it as one of the natural consequences of strife, as he warns the leaders of Nicomedia that strife with the rival city of Nicaea would lead the Roman armies to intervene to the detriment of the city’s freedom. 27 It was, not surprisingly, in the context of riotous events that repressive measures became severest and most draconian, prompting in some cases summary justice. Notorious is Diocletian’s violent intervention in suppressing the rebellion in Egypt of 297–98, an event which left an iconic landmark in the city, still visible today, in the form of the victory column erected atop the hill of the Serapeum. 28 In some cases, Roman historians reporting on such measures made the monarch into a caricature of a tyrannical ruler. Cassius Dio and the Historia Augusta, for example, report that in 215–16 Antoninus Caracalla had the leaders of the city and part of the population massacred because he had been ridiculed by them. 29

25 See Aristides, Or. 26.67. On Aristides’s speech on Rome, which actually can be described as “a discourse in honor of the Roman Empire and the manner in which this empire exerted control over the Greek world”, see L. Pernot, “Aelius Aristides and Rome”, in Aelius Aristides between Greece, Rome, and the Gods, eds. W. V. Harris and B. Holmes, Columbia studies in the classical tradition 33 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 186–201, here 188–190, quotation on 189. 26 Zosimus, Historia Nova 2.34.1–2, ed. F. Paschoud, Histoire Nouvelle, vol. 1 (Paris: Sod. d’Ed. “Les Belles Lettres”, 1971), 107. 27 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 38.36. 28 For a systematic discussion of the sources presenting these events, see D. J. Thomas, “The Date of the Revolt of L. Domitius Domitianus”, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 22 (1976), 253–279, here 258–261. See also T. D. Barnes, Constantine: Dynasty, Religion and Power in the Later Roman Empire (Malden [MA]: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 17, and Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 19–21. 29 See Cassius Dio, Historia Romana 77.22–23, and Historia Augusta, Ant. Car. 6.2–3. See on this also C. Letta, “Ritorno a Cassio Dione. Caracalla e il massacro di Alessandria”, in I percorsi di un historikos. In memoria di Emilio Gabba. Atti del convegno di Pavia (18–20 settembre 2014), eds. C. Carsana and L. Troiani, Biblioteca di Athenaeum 58 (Como: New Press Edizioni, 2016), 260–272.

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As more recent contributions on public order in ancient Rome have pointed out, however, such massive measures seem to have been adopted only in extraordinary circumstances. The use of arms was usually seen as the last resort, when persuasion failed. Different factors were in play: on the one hand, military resources were not limitless, and so the emperor had to take account of the risks which an intervention could entail; on the other hand, leniency and clemency were deemed more useful for the emperor’s image as good ruler. 30 Roman generals on the ground were aware of this difficult balancing act as well. As Dio himself recounts, a certain Conon commanding the Roman troops tried to dissipate an angry mob by making fun at the hopelessness of their situation. 31 Similarly, minor disruptions and riotous behavior displayed by the crowd did not necessarily lead to bloodshed as the actors involved also showed a sense of restraint. 32 As Dio concedes in the following passage, the crowd was well aware of the dangers posed by some of its behavior and was able to anticipate the different kinds of responses which disorder can provoke from the Roman authorities: Is it not true that in the disturbance which took place the majority went only as far as jeering in their show of courage, while only a few, after one or two shots with anything at hand, like people drenching passersby with slops, quickly lay down and began to sing, and some went to fetch garlands, as if on their way to a drinking party at some festival? 33

2.3 Rhetorizing the City Besides the unruly behavior of the crowd, there is a second theme underlying Dio’s speech, which is the proper place of the art of rhetoric within the intellectual life of Alexandria. Aware that he has to promote himself in a city that accommodates intellectuals of all stripes, he goes to great lengths to set himself apart from other orators and philosophers of his day, whose aim would be to ingratiate themselves with the Alexandrians by praising them for their wisdom and for their ability to gather in thousands and pronounce unanimous judgment. In Dio’s opinion, however, the city’s inhabitants would rather be worthy See Nippel, Public Order, 90, Kelly, “Riot control”, 165. See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.72. On the problem faced by Roman magistrates during the Republic of how to define the limits within which the use of private violence could remain acceptable, see A. W. Lintott, “How High a Priority did Public Order and Public Security Have under the Republic?”, in Sécurité collective et ordre public dans les sociétés anciennes. sept exposés suivis de discussions, eds. Cédric Brélaz and Hans van Wees, Fondation Hardt, Entretiens sur l’Antiquité classique 54 (Vandoeuvres-Genève: Fondation Hardt, 2008), 205–220. 32 See Barry, “Dio Chrysostom”, 102. 33 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.71, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 1, 288: Οὐκ ἐν τῇ γενομένῃ ταραχῇ μέχρι σκωμμάτων ἐθρασύνοντο οἱ πολλοί, τινὲς δὲ ὀλίγοι βάλλοντες ὅ,τι ἔτυχον ἅπαξ ἢ δίς, ὥσπερ οἱ καταχέοντες τῶν παριόντων, κατέκειντο εὐθὺς ᾄδοντες, οἱ δ’ ἐπὶ τοὺς ὅρμους ᾔεσαν ὥσπερ ἐν ἑορτῇ πιούμενοι. Transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3, 240–242. 30 31

2.3 Rhetorizing the City

21

of praise for their ability to keep silent when listening to his critique and his moral counsels. 34 This did not preclude the risk that such appeals might eventually return against him, as Dio himself acknowledges his preoccupation with the possibility of his being faulted for his own speech: But if you wait and hear me through, all men will think you wonderful and will give you credit for acquaintance, not alone with twanging lyres and dancing feet, but with words of wisdom too, that I also may thus have a just defense to offer those who blame and condemn me for coming here; for they will blame me, you may be sure, and will say that I am a notoriety-hunter and a madman to have thus exposed myself to the mob and its hubbub. Let me, then, be able to assert that not every populace is insolent and unwilling to listen, and that not every gathering of the people must be avoided by men of cultivation. 35

The reference to different kinds of philosophers which the orator wants to set himself apart from has to be understood against the background of what Jaclyn Maxwell calls a “debate over the role of the philosopher in society” shared among the chief figures of the Second Sophistic, as can also be seen in the works of other orators such as Maximus of Tyre or Philostratus. 36 The fourth-century orator Themistius also will blame his contemporaries whose only aim was that the audience praise their performances. 37 An aspect, which is connected to this issue and which deserves further analysis, is the critical role of the listeners in the success of the orator’s rhetorical performance, which presupposes the audience’s ability and readiness to welcome frank speech: In like manner the populace is of two kinds: the one is reasonable and gentle and truly mild, disposed to accept frankness of speech and not to care to be pampered in everything, fair, magnanimous, showing respect for good men and good advice, grateful to those who admonish and instruct. […] But the more prevalent kind of people is both bold and arrogant, difficult to please in anything, fastidious, resembling tyrants or much worse than they, seeing that its vice is not that of one individual or of one kind but a jumble of the vices of thousands; and so it is a multifarious and dreadful beast. 38 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.2. Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.24, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 1, 273–274: Μείναντες δὲ καὶ ἀκούσαντες διὰ τέλους πᾶσι θαυμαστοὶ δόξετε, καὶ οὐ μόνον κρουμάτων ἔμπειροι καὶ ὀρχημάτων, ἀλλὰ καὶ λόγων φρονίμων, ἵνα κἀμοὶ πρὸς τοὺς αἰτιωμένους καὶ καταγιγνώσκοντας, ὅτι δεῦρο εἰσῆλθον, ᾖ δικαίως ἀπολογεῖσθαι· αἰτιάσονται γάρ, εὖ ἴστε, καὶ φήσουσι δοξοκόπον εἶναι καὶ μαινόμενον, ὅστις ἐμαυτὸν ὄχλῳ καὶ θορύβῳ παρέβαλον· ὅπως οὖν ἔχω λέγειν ὅτι οὐ πᾶν πλῆθος ἀσελγές ἐστιν οὐδὲ ἀνήκοον, οὐδὲ ἀπὸ παντὸς δεῖ τοὺς πεπαιδευμένους φεύγειν. Transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3, 194. 36 See J. L. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity. John Chrysostom and his Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), here 12, and Kasprzyk and Vendries, Spectacles et désordre, 152–158. 37 See Themistius, Or. 28.341a. 38 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.27–28, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 1, 273–274: Ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ δῆμος ὁ μέν τις εὐγνώμων καὶ πρᾷος καὶ γαληνὸς ὄντως, οἷος γεύσασθαι παρρησίας καὶ μὴ πάντα 34 35

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As Dio laments, the behavior of the Alexandrians has already harmed their repute among the nations of the world, although the city “is ranked second among all cities”. 39 In order to accentuate this contrast, Dio offers an eloquent ekphrasis of the city of Alexandria, reproducing several conventions known from the literary genre of the praise of cities shared by orators before and after himself. 40 But the reputation which Dio says must be defended is not one which can rely on buildings and monuments but on the virtues of its inhabitants, who are thus supposed to become the real object of praise of the orator’s panegyric: Perhaps these words of mine are pleasing to your ears and you fancy that you are being praised by me, as you are by all the rest who are always flattering you; but I was praising water and soil and harbors and places and everything except yourselves. For where have I said that you are sensible and temperate and just? Was it not quite the opposite? For when we praise human beings, it should be for their good discipline, gentleness, concord, civic order, for heeding those who give good counsel, and for not being always in search of pleasure. 41

As we see from these lines, Dio is not denying the magnificence of the city’s famous venues and topographic amenities, but is rather questioning whether they are a reason for praise. And not only are they far less important than the population’s moral behavior, they make having a good, genuinely well founded reputation all the more vital: the city’s physical magnificence puts its moral shallowness into even starker and more sobering contrast. 42 In particular, those visitors coming to Alexandria from the various corners of the inhabited world will not only, upon their return home, tell their countrymen of Alexandria’s ἐθέλειν τρυφᾶν, ἐπιεικής, μεγαλόφρων, αἰδούμενος τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς καὶ ἄνδρας καὶ λόγους, τοῖς νουθετοῦσι καὶ διδάσκουσι χάριν εἰδώς. […] οἱ δὲ πλείους [καὶ οἱ] θρασεῖς καὶ ὑπερήφανοι, δυσάρεστοι πρὸς ἅπαντα, ἁψίκοροι, τυράννοις ὅμοιοι καὶ πολὺ χείρους· οἷα δὴ τῆς κακίας αὐτῶν οὔσης οὐ μιᾶς οὐδὲ ἁπλῆς, ἀλλὰ συμπεφορημένης ἐκ μυρίων· ὥστε πάνυ ποικίλον τε καὶ δεινὸν εἶναι θηρίον. Transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3, 196–198, with variations. 39 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.35, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 1, 277; transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3, 204. 40 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.36. As Barry, “Dio Chrysostom”, 97, comments, the description of the city points out the obvious and rehearses well known praises of Alexandria’s landscape. On Dio and the praise of cities, see also Kasprzyk and Vendries, Spectacles et désordre, 160–164. 41 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.37, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 1, 277: Ἴσως οὖν χαίρετε ἀκούοντες, καὶ νομίζετε ἐπαινεῖσθαι ταῦτα ἐμοῦ λέγοντος, ὥσπερ ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ἀεὶ θωπευόντων ὑμᾶς· ἐγὼ δὲ ἐπῄνεσα ὕδωρ καὶ γῆν καὶ λιμένας καὶ τόπους καὶ πάντα μᾶλλον ἢ ὑμᾶς. ποῦ γὰρ εἶπον ὥς ἐστε φρόνιμοι καὶ σώφρονες καὶ δίκαιοι; οὐχὶ τἀναντία τούτων; ἔστι γὰρ ἀνθρώπων ἔπαινος εὐταξία, πρᾳότης, ὁμόνοια, κόσμος πολιτείας, τὸ προσέχειν τοῖς ὀρθῶς λέγουσι, τὸ μὴ πάντοτε ζητεῖν ἡδονάς. Transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3, 206. See on this Kasprzyk and Vendries, Spectacles et désordre, 162–163. 42 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.39, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 1, 278: Καὶ νῦν εἶπον τὰ περὶ τῆς πόλεως, δεῖξαι βουλόμενος ὑμῖν ὡς ὅ,τι ἂν ἀσχημονῆτε οὐ κρύφα γίγνεται τοῦτο οὐδ’ ἐν ὀλίγοις, ἀλλ’ ἐν ἅπασιν ἀνθρώποις.

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magnificent buildings, but they will also relate the unworthy behavior of the inhabitants, who “enter the theatre or the stadium, just as if drugs that would madden them lay buried there”. 43 As mentioned above, the persuasive power of the whole argumentation presupposes the audience’s familiarity with the rhetorical conventions of a laudatory speech, which allows the orator to chide his listeners for behavior which utterly tarnished the city’s reputation. So, while this oration rehearses the themes of blame and praise on several interpretative levels, it also envisages Alexandria as a moral community which can be held accountable for its negative reputation as an unruly city, allowing in this way the orator to read and interpret communitarian conflicts in ethical rather than materialistic terms. As we will see in later chapters, such themes and preoccupations will also figure prominently in Libanius or in Christian orators such as John Chrysostom. It is necessary, for the moment, to dwell briefly on Dio’s insistence on the contrast between the origin of true and false praise, the former being linked to the sense of order and concord displayed by the civic community and the latter to the public buildings. This brings us back to an important point already discussed in our introduction. As Joy Connolly suggests, in fact, the rhetoric of harmony and civilized life was inherently coupled with a normative discourse couched in the language of virtues with the aim of controlling the latent dynamics of subordination present within the polis. 44 As we can see in the passage mentioned above, Dio resorts to a well-chosen list of political virtues (“good discipline, gentleness, concord, civic order”) which he will then set in contrast to the riotous behavior and the frivolity displayed by the inhabitants at the circus and the theater. In other words, Dio is here not only rehearsing and adapting the traditional trope of ekphrasis but is taking advantage of the negative evocations of disorder associated with some of the most famous buildings of Alexandria in order to fashion the image of a community living in harmony and concord. In the following section, I would like to dwell further on this very aspect of the ancient rhetoric of concord and analyze how it shaped the communication between the emperor and the city in the context of the so-called Arian controversy.

2.4 Disruptive Teachings It would go beyond the scope and the limits of the present chapter to reconstruct the exact sequence of events leading to the Council of Nicaea, an undertaking which is also made difficult by the fact that most of our sources already 43 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 32.41, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 1, 278–279: … ὅταν δὲ εἰς τὸ θέατρον εἰσέλθωσιν ἢ τὸ στάδιον, ὥσπερ φαρμάκων αὐτοῖς ἐκεῖ κατορωρυγμένων. Transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3, 212. 44 See Connolly, “Rhetorical Education”, 129.

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reflect the Nicene perspective of later authors. 45 Following a more distinctive heresiological narrative, these authors tend to present the teachings of Arius as an innovation coming from without, presenting him, to quote the Church History of Gelasius of Caesarea, as a disloyal cleric who “began to advance certain strange notions concerning belief in Christ which had never before been expounded in public”. 46 A different perspective is offered in the works of Eusebius of Caesarea, who was contemporaneous with the events he describes (not being, however, less biased). In his opinion “envy” (φθόνος) was the cause of the dispute, as “it set even the bishops against each other, imparting divisive quarrels (στάσιν) with divine doctrines as the excuse”. 47 At the same time, another characteristic that, according to Eusebius, turned the dispute into a dangerous conflict, was the fact that it did not remain contained within the circle of the theological experts, the bishops, but on the contrary created division also among the masses of simple believers, pitting them against each other. In this way, the dispute proved detrimental to the Christian faith, as it soon become such an object of ridicule among Alexandria’s pagan population that they even satirized Christian teachings in the midst of their theaters. 48 Regardless of its polemical nature, this assessment may testify to the fact that, to the eyes of the uninvolved observer at the time, the controversy over the theological issue in question still had the appearance of an internal dispute between different opinions which were in contrast to each other but still moved within the accepted boundaries of Christian teaching about God. This also ex45 On the beginning of the Arian controversy, see W. Löhr, “Arius reconsidered (Part 1)”, ZAC 9 (2006), 524–560, who offers an accurate analysis and discussion of the main historiographical and documentary sources at our disposal, and who discusses the reconstructions offered by previous scholars such as Schwartz and Opitz. See also R. P. Hanson, The search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian controversy 318–381 (Edinburgh: Clark, 1988), 129–151, and C. Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power. Theological Controversy and Christian Leadership in the Later Roman Empire, Transformation of the Classical Heritage 51 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013), 35–64, whose reconstruction, however, should be taken cautiously, as he uncritically follows the account left by historiographical sources such as Sozomen, combining them with sources of even later date. 46 Gelasius, Hist. eccl., F11, ll. 7–8, eds. M. Wallraff, J. Stutz, and N. Marinides, Gelasius of Caesarea: Ecclesiastical History: The Extant Fragments with an Appendix Containing the Fragments from Dogmatic Writings, GCS N.F. 25 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 50: … τὰ δὲ ἄλλα δόξης καὶ καινότητος θερμὸς ἐραστής, ἤρξατο προφέρειν τινὰ ξένα περὶ τῆς εἰς Χριστὸν πίστεως, ἃ πρόσθεν εἰς μέσον οὐδέποτε ἐξετέθη. For other examples, see Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 36–37. 47 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.61.3–4, eds. E. Schwartz and F. Winkelmann, Über das Leben des Kaisers Konstantin, 2nd edition, Eusebius Werke 1,1; GCS 7.1 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1991), 72–73: Συμβάλλει δῆτα τοὺς ἐπισκόπους, στάσιν ἐμβαλὼν ἐρεσχελίας θείων προφάσει δογμάτων. Transl. A. Cameron and S. G. Hall, Eusebius. Life of Constantine (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999), 115. 48 See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.61.5.

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plains the fact that Constantine was eventually taken by surprise by the controversy when it had already gained in intensity across several cities of the Mediterranean. Having developed into a political crisis, the dispute now confronted him with a new sort of danger for the stability of his reign, as we can gauge from his own documents, most of all from his letter to Alexander and Arius from the autumn of 324, which I would like to focus on in the following section. 49 The emperor’s letter reached the two rivals as Arius and some of his followers had already been condemned to exile and the presbyter’s support network already included bishops from outside Egypt, first among whom was Eusebius of Nicomedia. 50 The document’s opening remarks hint that the conflict had already advanced considerably, and make it clear that the dispute Constantine wishes to pacify is already undermining the peace of the oikumene. At the same time, the gravity of the situation has already induced the emperor to confirm his readiness to prevent further disorders by all means, including if necessary the use of military force: My first concern was that the attitude towards the Divinity of all the provinces should be united in one consistent view, and my second that I might restore and heal the body of the republic which lay severely wounded. In making provision for these objects, I began to think out the former with the hidden eye of reason, and I tried to rectify the latter by the power of the military arm. I knew that if I were to establish a general concord among the servants of God in accordance with my prayers, the course of public affairs would also enjoy the change consonant with the pious desires of all. 51 49 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.64–72, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 74–79; transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 116–119. It is traditionally associated with Ossius’s mission to Alexandria. See Hanson, Search, 137–138, and Barnes, Constantine, 120–121. Another hypothesis advanced by scholarship is that the letter was addressed to the Council which met in Antioch early in 325, which Arius and Alexander apparently also attended. See Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 250 and 252–53, and S. G. Hall, “Some Constantinian Documents in the Vita Constantini”, in Constantine: History, Historiography and Legend, ed. S. N. C. Lieu (London: Routledge, 1998), 86–103, here 87–91. In this latter case, Constantine would have had all the bishops gathered in Antioch in mind when urging the two to be reconciled. Eusebius on the other hand would have been induced by the address directed at Arius and Alexander in Vita Constantini 2.69.1 to present them as the letter’s main recipients. On the Council of Antioch, see Hanson, Search, 146–151. 50 On the order of letters which Alexander and Arius sent to other bishops asking for support for their respective cause, see Löhr, “Arius reconsidered (Part 1)”, 533–543. On the exile, see also Urkunde 1.2, ed. H.-G. Opitz, Urkunden zur Geschichte des Arianischen Streites 318–328, Athanasius Werke 3 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1934–1935), 1. 51 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.65.1–2, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 74: Πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ τὴν ἁπάντων τῶν ἐθνῶν περὶ τὸ θεῖον πρόθεσιν ⸢εἰς⸣ μίαν ἕξεως σύστασιν ἑνῶσαι, δεύτερον δὲ τὸ τῆς κοινῆς οἰκουμένης σῶμα καθάπερ χαλεπῷ τινι τραύματι πεπονηκὸς ἀνακτήσασθαι καὶ συναρμόσαι προὐθυμήθην. ἃ δὴ προσκοπῶν ἕτερον μὲν ἀπορρήτῳ τῆς διανοίας ὀφθαλμῷ συνελογιζόμην, ἕτερον δὲ τῇ τῆς στρατιωτικῆς χειρὸς ἐξουσίᾳ κατορθοῦν ἐπειρώμην, εἰδὼς ὡς εἰ κοινὴν ἅπασι τοῖς τοῦ θεοῦ θεράπουσιν ἐπ’ εὐχαῖς ταῖς ἐμαῖς ὁμόνοιαν καταστήσαιμι, καὶ ἡ τῶν δημοσίων πραγμάτων χρεία σύνδρομον ταῖς ἁπάντων εὐσεβέσι γνώμαις τὴν μεταβολὴν καρπώσεται. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 116.

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As the following lines suggest, Constantine is here referring to well-known facts related to the so-called Donatist controversy, the “intolerable madness [which] had seized the whole of Africa, because of those who had dared with ill-considered frivolity to split the worship of the population into various factions”. 52 By the time Constantine sent the letter, however, the threat of a general chaos in North Africa had already been attenuated, not by military intervention but on the contrary by the readiness of the emperor to desist from any further attempt to force an ecclesiastical union. 53 In fact, contrary to what Constantine was hoping for, the troops which in the year 317 had been sent to Africa in order to enforce previous imperial decrees met the resistance of Donatist supporters who were ready to suffer martyrdom while defending their church buildings, just as they had already endured persecutions in the time of Diocletian, resorting “to the model of resistance that had been for them a hallmark of community formation in the face of persecution.” 54 Being obliged to step back from his initial plans to force unity, Constantine had no other option than to tolerate the existence of a dissident church body in the African province. In other words, as the political endorsement of one of the two contending churches did not yield the desired result, Constantine was left with the option of appealing to the readiness of (catholic) Christians to submit their destiny to the will of God, enduring blows inflicted by the hand of their adversaries with patience (patientia) and leaving vengeance to God. 55 As Lenski 52 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.66, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 74: Μανίας γὰρ δήπουθεν οὐκ ἀνεκτῆς ἅπασαν τὴν Ἀφρικὴν ἐπιλαβούσης‚ καὶ’ διὰ τοὺς ἀβούλῳ κουφότητι τὴν τῶν δήμων θρησκείαν εἰς διαφόρους αἱρέσεις σχίσαι τετολμηκότας. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 116. As we see from the passage just quoted, Constantine does not distinguish between “schism” and “heresy” as two different categories of theological dissent. On the contrary, in the “Decree against the heretics and schismatics” of the year 324 Constantine seems to use both terms as synonyms. See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.65.2, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 118. This is also the case in his letter to the catholic community of Cirta in North Africa of the year 330. See Optatus, App. 10, ed. K. Ziwsa, S. Optati Milevitani libri VII, CSEL 26 (Wien: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1893), here 214. See on this Perrin, Civitas Confusionis, 95–98, and – for an extensive discussion on Constantine’s edict against the heretics – M. V. Escribano Paño, “El edicto de Constantino contra los heréticos: la desviación religiosa como categoría legal”, in Constantino ¿el primer emperador cristiano?, Religión y política en el s. IV, ed. J. Vilella Masana (Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, Publicacions i Edicions, 2015), 377–392, here 383–384. 53 On this see Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 246–259, and idem, “Imperial Legislation and the Donatist Controversy. From Constantine to Honorius”, in The Donatist Schism: Controversy and Contexts, ed. R. Miles, TTH 2 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2016), 166– 196, here 171–175. For a list of the documentary sources, see T. D. Barnes, The New Empire of Diocletian and Constantine (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 1982), 238–247. 54 Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 253. 55 Optatus, App. 9, ed. Ziwsa, CSEL 26, 213. See also Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 254–55, who points out the similarity of this language to the Divine Institutes of Lactantius. On this latter point see also E. Digeser, “Lactantius, Porphyry, and the Debate over Religious Toleration”, The Journal of Roman Studies 88 (1998), 129–146, and idem, The Making of a

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has pointed out, this approach should not necessarily be interpreted as a reluctant concession to the dissident church in the face of the emergence of a new war with Licinius, for which reason he would have preferred to avoid the danger of further disorders in the region. On the contrary, Constantine continued to employ this policy of toleration in the years following the defeat of Licinius, as his response to the complaints of the catholic faction of Cirta in the year 330 illustrates. 56 Along a similar line, I propose that Constantine’s letter to Alexander and Arius is an attempt to assert a policy of forbearance. But the different nature of the conflict he now faced led him to leverage another concept which could shape his communication with the conflicting parties, namely that of concord (ὁμόνοια). Constantine’s involvement in this new conflict was prompted by several factors. One was relevant political interests: in the aftermath of his victory over his rival Licinus, after all, Constantine now saw the right moment to further unify his empire, eliminating causes of division inside the newly gained provinces in the eastern parts of the Mediterranean. But, as concerned as he was with the empire’s political stability, he also had a duty as supervisor and guardian in matters of religion. Both aspects were obviously related to each other. We can see the religious side of his self-understanding in the way he addressed the two clerics, presenting himself as their “fellow servant” (συνθεράπων). 57 As has been shown, this nomenclature can be seen as reflecting traditional religious functions which he and the emperors before him exercised in their role as pontifex maximus. 58 Rather than a break with previous traditions in imperial Christian Empire: Lactantius and Rome (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 2000), 111–114. See also M. Kahlos, Forbearance and Compulsion: The Rhetoric of Religious Tolerance and Intolerance in Late Antiquity (London: Duckworth, 2009). 56 See Optatus, App. 10, and Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 255. 57 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.65.2, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 74; transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 116. See also Eusebius, Vita Constantini, 3.24.1. On Constantine’s role as “bishop”, see D. De Decker and G. Dupuis-Masay, “L’‘épiscopat’ de l’empereur Constantin”, Byzantion 50 (1980), 118–157, esp. 146–48; C. Rapp, “Imperial Ideology in the Making: Eusebius of Caesarea on Constantine as ‘bishop’”, The Journal of Theological Studies 49 (1998), 685–695. Gale Literature Resource Center (accessed April 6, 2020), focusing on the parallels drawn by Eusebius between Constantine and Moses; P. Just, Imperator et Episcopus. Zum Verhältnis von Staatsgewalt und christlicher Kirche zwischen dem 1. Konzil von Nicaea (325) und dem 1. Konzil von Konstantinopel (381), Potsdamer altertumswissenschaftliche Beiträge 8 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2003), 21–31; and Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 72–78, esp. 75, with a list of extant sources where Constantine is presented as συνθεράπων of Christian bishops. 58 “Nous le constatons, la conduite de l’empereur vis-à-vis du christianisme ne diffère guère de son attitude à l’égard de l’ancienne religion romaine, l’une et l’autre s’expliquent comme l’exercice du souverain pontificat, dont l’empereur était investi par la constitution romaine avec l’assentiment de tous. Dans ces deux secteurs religieux, l’empereur accomplit les mêmes fonctions de législateur et de ‘gendarme’”. De Decker and Dupuis-Masay, “L’épiscopat”, Byzantion 50 (1980), 148. On the function of the emperor as guardian of the public welfare as

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self-portraiture, we find here strong elements of continuity. 59 This is also why Constantine in the present letter has a word to say in a theological matter such as the debate over the Son’s divine origin. But, unlike the Christian clerics he reprimanded, the emperor did not share the opinion that the intensity of this theological debate was justified, but rather expresses his reluctance to comprehend the reasons why his addressees would bring to the fore a debate touching on questions of such a speculative nature, on account of which “the most holy people were divided in two and forsook the concord of the common body.” 60 In Constantine’s opinion, the dispute, at the core of which were certain questions regarding the interpretation of Scripture, would have started when Alexander “demanded of the presbyters what view each of them took about a certain passage from what is written in the Law”, most probably referring to the contested biblical verses on the origin of the Son at the center of the Arian dispute. 61 Constantine does not reprove the experts for debating such questions, as debates of a hermeneutical nature were also common among philosophers. 62 What he in particular censures is the fact that speculative questions on Christ’s divinity have found their way into the public assemblies. This eventually encouraged factionalism among the simple believers, as Constantine claims in the following passage, which we quote in its entirety: With disputes of this kind, which no necessity of any law demands, but are promoted by argument in unprofitable idleness, even if they take place as some sort of gymnastic exercise, still it is our duty to shut them up inside the mind and not casually produce them in public synods, nor incautiously commit them to the hearing of the laity. For how great is any individual that he can either correctly discern or adequately explain the meaning of matters so great and so exceedingly difficult? And even supposing someone manages this easily, how many of the people is he likely to convince? Or who could sustain precise statements in such disputes without risk of dangerous mistakes? 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 the audience is incapable of reaching a correct understanding of what is

based on the Pax Dei, see M. Kahlos, Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450, Oxford Studies in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 17–24. 59 As J. Harries, Imperial Rome AD 284 to 363: The New Empire, The Edinburgh history of Ancient Rome (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2012), 159, points out, the very fact that Constantine did not attract “any serious objection from non-Christians lies in the fact that his religious policy in general operated within the boundaries set by previous emperors’ involvement with ‘religion’”. 60 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.69.1, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 75: … ὁ δὲ ἁγιώτατος λαὸς εἰς ἀμφοτέρους σχισθεὶς ἐκ τῆς τοῦ κοινοῦ σώματος ἁρμονίας ἐχωρίσθη. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 117. 61 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.69.1, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 75: … ὅτε γὰρ σύ, ὦ Ἀλέξανδρε, παρὰ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων ἐζήτεις, τί δήποτε αὐτῶν ἕκαστος ὑπέρ τινος τόπου τῶν ἐν τῷ νόμῳ γεγραμμένων. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 117. 62 See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.71.2.

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said, one way or the other the people may be brought inevitably to either blasphemy or schism. 63

Contrary to later heresiologic accounts of Arius’s teachings, Constantine is therefore of the opinion that the issue at stake does not concern any new teaching which entered from without and falsified Christian doctrine about God. Nor does he believe that the issue dividing the Church is critical for the definition of the Christian faith. So he does not yield to Alexander’s attempt to have Arius’s teaching denounced. What the emperor brands as dangerous, rather, is the fact that the disputants dared to bring esoteric debates to the fore, seeing the Arian conflict as a dispute on matters that lie beyond the reach of the intelligence of ordinary Christians, which would make the prospect of schism the more deplorable. 64 Constantine still hopes that a reconciliation between the two major antagonists will dissolve the source of contention and lead most effectively to peace: Both unguarded question therefore and incautious answer require a mutual exchange of pardon equal on both sides. For the impulse of your quarrel did not arise over the chief point of the precepts in the Law, nor are you faced with the intrusion of a new doctrine concerning the worship of God, but you have one and the same mind, so that you should be able to come together in compact of fellowship. 65

If Constantine saw himself not only in the right position but also as having a duty to judge over the dispute’s doctrinal aspects, he underestimated (as has been rightly pointed out) how momentously relevant the actual issues were to 63 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.69.2–3, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 75–76: Τὰς γὰρ τοιαύτας ζητήσεις, ὁπόσας μὴ νόμου τινὸς ἀνάγκη προστάττει ἀλλ’ ἀνωφελοῦς ἀργίας ἐρεσχελία προτίθησιν, εἰ καὶ φυσικῆς τινος γυμνασίας ἕνεκα γίγνοιτο, ὅμως ὀφείλομεν εἴσω τῆς διανοίας ἐγκλείειν καὶ μὴ προχείρως εἰς δημοσίας συνόδους ἐκφέρειν, μηδὲ ταῖς τῶν δήμων ἀκοαῖς ἀπρονοήτως πιστεύειν. πόσος γάρ ἐστιν ἕκαστος, ὡς πραγμάτων οὕτω μεγάλων καὶ λίαν δυσχερῶν δύναμιν ἢ πρὸς τὸ ἀκριβὲς συνιδεῖν ἢ κατ’ ἀξίαν ἑρμηνεῦσαι; εἰ δὲ καὶ τοῦτό τις εὐχερῶς ποιεῖν νομισθείη, πόσον δήπου μέρος τοῦ δήμου πείσει; ἢ τίς ταῖς τῶν τοιούτων ζητημάτων ἀκριβείαις ἔξω τῆς ἐπικινδύνου παρολισθήσεως ἀντισταίη; οὐκοῦν ἐφεκτέον ἐστὶν ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις τὴν πολυλογίαν, ἵνα μήπως, ἢ ἡμῶν ἀσθενείᾳ φύσεως τὸ προταθὲν ἑρμηνεῦσαι μὴ δυνηθέντων, ἢ τῶν ἀκροατῶν βραδυτέρᾳ συνέσει πρὸς ἀκριβῆ τοῦ ῥηθέντος κατάληψιν ἐλθεῖν μὴ χωρησάντων, ἐξ ὁποτέρου τούτων ἢ βλασφημίας ἢ σχίσματος εἰς ἀνάγκην ὁ δῆμος περισταίη. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 117–118. 64 The letter which Constantine sent to the Church of Nicomedia in the aftermath of the Council of Nicaea is documentation that this evaluation of the soundness of Arius’s theology did undergo some changes. See Urkunden 27.13, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 61. In the same letter, however, Constantine still deplores the fact that even the pagans would not have shown such contentions among themselves. See Urkunden 27.7, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 59. 65 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.70, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 76: Διόπερ καὶ ἐρώτησις ἀπροφύλακτος καὶ ἀπόκρισις ἀπρονόητος ἴσην ἀλλήλαις ἀντιδότωσαν ἐφ’ ἑκάτερα συγγνώμην. οὐδὲ γὰρ ὑπὲρ τοῦ κορυφαίου τῶν ἐν τῷ νόμῳ παραγγελμάτων ὑμῖν ἡ τῆς φιλονεικίας ἐξήφθη πρόφασις, οὐδὲ καινή τις ὑμῖν ὑπὲρ τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ θρησκείας αἵρεσις ἀντεισήχθη, ἀλλ’ ἕνα καὶ τὸν αὐτὸν ἔχετε λογισμόν, ὡς πρὸς τὸ τῆς κοινωνίας σύνθημα δύνασθαι συνελθεῖν. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 118.

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the conflict. The letter thus shows that the dispute’s theological rationale was still uncharted territory for Constantine, as it would have been for any contemporary observer who could not yet foresee how the conflict would eventually unfold. At the same time, however, I would like to draw attention to another aspect which emerges from the lines just quoted, namely his personal assessment of the participation of ordinary Christians in this conflict. In fact, Constantine here wishes to understand the theological dispute as a debate between experts, which did not require the involvement of the simple believers. This deserves particular scrutiny, given the reality of the masses’ active participation in late antique theological debates, a fact which scholars have repeatedly pointed out in the last decades. 66 Most recently, in his eloquent monograph Civitas Confusionis Michel-Yves Perrin convincingly argues that doctrinal debates in early Christianity were in fact “un phenomène de masse” in which the believers’ discernment between right and wrong faith was as constituent an element as the preacher’s effectiveness at persuasion.

2.5 Christianity and the Limits of Concord A decisive factor behind this reality is certainly the inclusion of a broader spectrum of Roman society within Christian religion, a fact that eventually became one of the main themes of pagan criticism. It is well known that recurring accusations that Christianity allowed into its ranks “wool-workers, cobblers, laundry workers, and the most illiterate and bucolic yokels”, who would dare to oppose their teachers and masters, challenged Christian writers to refute

66 See Perrin, Civitas Confusionis, for a general assessment esp. 15–69. To this we can add previous studies such as Gregory, Vox Populi; MacMullen, “Role of the Masses”; N. B. McLynn, “Christian Controversy and Violence in the Fourth Century”, KODAI: Journal of Ancient History 3 (1992), 15–44; D. Praet, “Violence against Christians and Violence by Christians in the First Three Centuries: Direct Violence, Cultural Violence and the Debate about Christian Exclusiveness”, in Violence in Ancient Christianity. Victims and Perpetrators, eds. A. C. Geljon and R. Roukema, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 125 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 31–55, esp. 45–47; F. Winkelmann, “Der Laos und die kirchlichen Kontroversen im frühen Byzanz”, in Volk und Herrschaft im frühen Byzanz: Methodische und quellenkritische Probleme, ed. F. Winkelmann, Berliner byzantinistische Arbeiten 58 (Berlin: Akad.-Verl., 1991), 133–153, esp. 144–147; R. Lim, Public Disputation, Power, and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), esp. 109–112; and D. Slootjes, “Crowd Behavior in Late Antique Rome”, in Pagans and Christians in Late Antique Rome. Conflict, Competition, and Coexistence in the Fourth Century, eds. M. R. Salzman, M. Sághy and R. Lizzi Testa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 178–194, esp. 187–192. An excellent study for Syriac Christianity has been provided by J. Tannous, The Making of the Medieval Middle East: Religion, Society, and Simple Believers (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018).

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charges that their religion would be attractive only for the ignoramus. 67 An interesting witness in this respect is also offered by Alexander of Lycopolis, a Neoplatonist author of the late third and early fourth century, who comments as follows on the existence of different Christian sects: Since this simple philosophy [i. e. Christianity] has been split up into numerous factions by its later adherents, the number of issues has increased just as in sophistry, with the result that some of these men became even more skillful and, so to speak, more prone to creating issues than others. Indeed some of them, in the long run, became leaders of sects. Consequently, ethical instruction declined and grew dim, since none of those who wanted to be leaders of sects was able to attain theoretical precision and since the common people became more inclined to internal strife. 68

As we see, Alexander (like Constantine in the latter’s epistle) juxtaposes the origin of different Christian sects with the emergence of philosophical schools, offering an even more enlightening parallel when he deplores the negative consequences which the involvement of the masses entailed for the advancement of knowledge. By virtue of the masses’ propensity towards strife and because the many lacked the capacity for nuanced judgements, the formation of different parties would have become in fact a substantial obstacle for precise doctrinal inquiry.

67 A. Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse, Sather classical lectures 55 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 111. Quote from Origenes, Contra Celsum 3.55, ed. M. Marcovich, Origenis Contra Celsum libri VIII, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 54 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 196. On this see also G. Schöllgen, “Gebildete Christen als bessere Römer? Ein vernachlässigter Aspekt des Forschungsprogramms ‘Antike und Christentum’”, ZThK 117 (2020), 288–315, here 288–289. For Lactantius, see S. E. Antonova, Barbarian or Greek? The Charge of Barbarism and Early Christian Apologetics, Studies in the history of Christian traditions 187 (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 279–280. On the role and function of education in early Christianity, see P. Gemeinhardt, Das lateinische Christentum und die antike pagane Bildung, STAC 41 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 63–128, and C. Markschies, Kaiserzeitliche christliche Theologie und ihre Institutionen: Prolegomena zu einer Geschichte der antiken christlichen Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 43–108. 68 Alexander Lycopolitanus, Contra Manichaei Opiniones 1, ed. A. Brinkmann, Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1989), 3–4: Εἰς πλεῖστα δὲ ταύτης ὑπὸ τῶν ἐπιγενομένων μερισθείσης ζητήσεις συνέστησαν πλείονες καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἐριστικοῖς, ἀφ’ ὧν ἐντρεχεστέρους μὲν ἄλλους ἑτέρων μᾶλλον καὶ ζητητικωτέρους, ὡς ἄν τις εἴποι, γεγονέναι συμβέβηκεν, καί τινες ἤδη καὶ αἱρέσεων προὔστησαν· ἀφ’ ὧν ἡ κατὰ τὸ ἦθος ἄδηλος κατασκευὴ ἐμαραίνετο τῆς μὲν κατὰ τὸν λόγον ἀκριβείας οὐκ ἐφικνουμένων τούτων ὅσοι τῶν αἱρέσεων ἡγεῖσθαι ἠξίουν, τοῦ δὲ πολλοῦ πλήθους στασιαστικώτερον πρὸς αὑτὸ διατεθέντος. Transl. P. W. Van der Horst and J. Mansfeld, An Alexandrian Platonist against Dualism: Alexander of Lycopolis’ Treatise “Critique of the Doctrines of Manichaeus” (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 51. See also Perrin, Civitas Confusionis, 53–54, and for Alexander of Lycopolis and his treatise against the Manichaeans, U. Heil, “bloß nicht wie die Manichäer! Ein Vorschlag zu den Hintergründen des arianischen Streits”, ZAC 6 (2002), 299–319, here 315–317.

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As Constantine’s assessment of the Arian conflict, therefore, situates itself into a broader discourse on the relationship between Christian doctrine and the problem of including the masses in theological debates, also church leaders could express their preoccupations with the negative impact of doctrinal dissent on the soundness of Christian teaching, as we will see below in the chapter on Gregory of Nazianz. It was Gregory of Nyssa himself, after all, who in a famous passage lamented that even moneychangers and bakers would engage bystanders in debates on the nature of the Son. 69 For Alexander of Alexandria and Arius, in any case, who in their respective roles as teacher and priest used to engage responsive audiences, “popular involvement” was first of all a natural consequence of the “popular nature” of ecclesiastical life. 70 During liturgical services and also in the context of catechetical instruction, people from all social strata gathered in the church or in the lecture halls, which formed a pool for potential new disciples and supporters. The audience, in fact, was not merely a passive spectator in theological disputes: their support was sought after as a source of legitimacy. 71 The ecclesiastical organization of Alexandria in particular seemed to create a “competitive environment” in which priests like Arius could vie with one another for new supporters. 72 In fact, if we can trust the testimony left by Epiphanius, the presence of different churches (or lecture halls?) in the city allowed various priests such as Colluthos, Carpones or Sarmatas to gather their own loyal followers. 73 The fact that the respective followers were named after the teacher they adhered to can be seen as a reflection of the competitive nature 69 See Gregorius Nyssenus, De deitate filii et spiritus sancti, ed. E. Rhein, Gregorii Nysseni Opera X, 2 (Leiden: Brill 1996), 120. The passage is quoted and discussed in Perrin, Civitas Confusionis, 44, and McLynn, “Christian Controversy”, 33–34; the latter, however, comes to a different conclusion from the one presented here. See also R. MacMullen, “The Preacher’s Audience (AD 350–400)”, JTS 40 (1989), 503–511, here 508. 70 Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 47. On the audience’s constitutive role for the understanding of preaching in early Christianity see MacMullen, “The Preacher’s Audience”, 503–511, and P. Rousseau’s reaction in “The Preacher’s Audience: A More Optimistic View”, in Ancient History in a Modern University. Vol. 2: Early Christianity, Late Antiquity and Beyond, eds. T. W. Hillard, C. E. V. Nixon et al. (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1998), 391–400; W. Mayer, “John Chrysostom: Extraordinary Preacher, Ordinary Audience”, in Preacher and Audience. Studies in Early Christian and Byzantine Homiletics, eds. M. B. Cunningham and P. Allen, A New History of the Sermon 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 105–137; Cameron, Rhetoric of Empire, 111–12; Maxwell, Christianization, 60–62; and Tannous, Simple Believers, 21–22. 71 On this aspect of doctrinal disputes, see Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 51–64. 72 See Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 36, based on Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 1.15.12, and Epiphanius, Panarion 69.1.2, according to whom Arius was preaching at the Church of Baucalis. 73 See Epiphanius, Panarion 69.2.6. On these teachers, see also A. Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie et l’Église d’Égypte au IVe siècle (328–373), Collection de l’École Française de Rome 216 (Roma: École Française de Rome, 1996), 182–83, and H.-I. Marrou, “L’Arianisme comme phénomène Alexandrin”, CRAI 117 (1973), 533–542, here 535–538.

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which had been marking the culture of paideia in Alexandria since the second century. 74 We can observe at the same time an expansion of missionary efforts among ordinary Christians, as attested in the polemical note that Arius himself and his followers would go around the marketplaces, entangling bystanders in intricate questions on the origin of the Son. 75 Alexander too, as a matter of fact, did not hesitate to involve the public, debating the theological questions at issue “publicly” (δημοσίᾳ), as Arius tells in his letter to Eusebius of Nicomedia. 76 At the same time, the rallying of support among the broader masses was not only promoted through missionary efforts but also through didactic tools which were more to the taste of the masses at large, as the case of Arius’s hymns suggests, of which the so-called Thalia is a good example. 77 We can only speculate today how broad an audience these hymns reached outside the walls of the church, but they possess all the characteristics which would make them easy to learn by uneducated people. This is what the Anomoean church historian Philostorgius seems to suggest when he claims that Arius wrote “ballads of the sailors and millers” (ᾄσματα ναυτικά τε καὶ ἐπιμύλια), which even donkey drivers were accustomed to sing along their journeys. 78 74 See on this Watts, City and School, 152–168, esp. 162–163, on the relevance of biblical training in Christian circles. 75 See Athanasius, Or. c. Arian. 1.22.4 and 1.37.4. We should also remember the presence of Manichaean missionaries in the city, as recorded for example by Philostorgius Hist. eccl. 3.15, eds. J. Bidez and F. Winkelmann, 2nd edition, GCS 21 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1981), 46–47, who mentions – for the mid-fourth century – a certain Aphthonius, a leader (προεστώς) of the Manichaean sect whose reputation for oratorical skill was enough to lure Aetius to travel to Alexandria and challenge him. See on this Lim, Public Disputation, 87–88; Heil, “Manichäer”, 302–303; and M. Tardieu, “Les manichéens en Égypte”, BSFE 94 (1982), 5–19. On Manichaeans’ missionary efforts, see also S. Lieu, “The Diffusion, Persecution and Transformation of Manichaeism in Late Antiquity and pre-Modern China”, in Conversion in Late Antiquity: Christianity, Islam, and Beyond, eds. A. Papaconstantinou et al. (Ashgate: Farnham, 2015), 123–140. 76 Urkunden 1.2, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 2. 77 See Athanasius, Decr., 16.3, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 13; Philostorgius, Hist. eccl. 2.2a, eds. Bidez and Winkelmann, GCS 21, 13. See also Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 1.21.3. For a tentative reconstruction of the text, mainly based on quotations from Athanasius, see K. Metzler, “Ein Beitrag zur Rekonstruktion der ‘Thalia’ des Arius (mit einer Neuedition wichtiger Bezeugungen bei Athanasius)”, in Ariana et Athanasiana: Studien zur Überlieferung und zu philologischen Problemen der Werke des Athanasius von Alexandrien, eds. K. Metzler and F. Simon, Abhandlungen der Rheinisch-Westfälischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 83 (Opladen: Westdt. Verl., 1991), 11–46. See also Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 54–5, and Perrin, Civitas Confusionis, 210–15, which also gives an extensive bibliography on the Thalia hymn (n. 671). For the difficult problem of the dating of the Thalia, see Löhr, “Arius reconsidered (Part 1)”, 556–557, who proposes a later dating. According to Athanasius, Syn. 15.2, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 242, Arius “put his faith on a sheet of paper” only after being expelled from Alexandria, but we should not exclude the possibility that even in the initial years of his conflict with Alexander he was composing hymns with a similar intent. 78 Philostorgius, Hist. eccl. 2.2a, eds. Bidez and Winkelmann, GCS 21, 13. With this translation I would not go so far as Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 57–59, who

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As the debate between Arius and Alexander, through the exchange of open letters, began to involve bishops from outside Alexandria, the tone sharpened. In this context of discord, Alexander continued ever more to present the debate’s theological issue as a red line separating true believers from unbelievers. Consequently, in his letter to his fellow bishops he branded Arius and his followers as lawless men and enemies of Christ who indulged in rebellious teachings against God. 79 In a similar way, writing to his homonymous colleague in Thessalonica, Alexander presents Arius’s congregation as a robbers’ cave where his teachings against Christ resound day and night. 80 If confessional boundaries were slowly being drawn, pitting Christians against one another, we are unable to gauge from the existing evidence how far the safety of Alexandria’s streets was already affected by the theological disputes in these years prior to the Council of Nicaea. In the sources at our disposal there are only oblique references to incidents of violence involving the populace. Without mentioning any particular circumstances, Eusebius reports how bishops of different cities were fighting against each other, adding that “desperate men, out of their minds, were committing sacrilegious acts, even daring to insult the images of the Emperor”, an act which Eusebius may have included in order to denounce the uncontrolled spiraling of violence. 81 In any case, the mere fact that the troubles caused by the conflict impeded Constantine from pursuing his travel plans in the eastern parts of the empire, as alluded to in the letter’s conclusion, show how fragile the emperor considered the security of the cities to be: I was already intent on visiting you and a large part of me was already with you, when the news of this business put a stop to my plans, so that I might not be obliged to see with my eyes what I had not thought it possible I would even hear reported verbally. By the concord among you open to me now the road to the east, which you have shut by the controversies between you, and make it quickly possible for me to look with pleasure both on you and on all the other congregations. 82 claims that these songs were specifically meant for the classes of workers mentioned by Philostorgius. The use of the adjectives ναυτικά τε καὶ ἐπιμύλια rather suggests that these ballads were composed in the mode of the songs known among these workers. 79 See Urkunden 4b.2–3, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 6–7. For an English translation of the letter, see Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 4, 69–72. On this and further examples, see Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 53–54. 80 See Urkunden 14.3, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 20. 81 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.4, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 82: Προσρηγνυμένων καθ’ ἑκάστην πόλιν ἐπισκόπων ἐπισκόποις, δήμων τε δήμοις ἐπανισταμένων καὶ μόνον οὐχὶ συμπληγάσι κατακοπτόντων ἀλλήλους, ὥστ’ ἤδη φρενῶν ἐκστάσει τοὺς ἀπεγνωσμένους ἀνοσίοις ἐγχειρεῖν καὶ ταῖς βασιλέως τολμᾶν ἐνυβρίζειν εἰκόσιν. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 122. 82 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.72.2–3, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 78: Σπεύδοντι δή μοι ἤδη πρὸς ὑμᾶς καὶ τῷ πλείονι μέρει σὺν ὑμῖν ὄντι ἡ τοῦδε τοῦ ⸢πράγματος⸣ ἀγγελία πρὸς τὸ ἔμπαλιν τὸν λογισμὸν ἀνεχαίτισεν, ἵνα μὴ τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς ὁρᾶν ἀναγκασθείην, ἃ μηδὲ ταῖς ἀκοαῖς

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At the time Constantine wrote the letter, the positions of the two parties confronting each other in Alexandria and in many other cities of the empire were already entrenched. His attempt to calm the waves seem to have reached the rivals several years too late, as the question at issue had already turned out to be definitional for doctrinal self-identity. This notwithstanding, the emperor still did not intend to support one or the other theological opinion. But his attempt to bring the two sides together should not be rashly dismissed for its arguably short-sighted view on the debate’s theological intricacies. What Constantine wants his two addressees to reconsider is that the criterion for judging the current dispute must be what fosters concord (ὁμόνοια), which is the indispensable requisite for the peace of the empire. 83 What the emperor is suggesting, in other words, is that the matter of the theological debate is not worth endangering the empire’s stability and unity. Such an appeal fitted in well with the communication of the emperor with the bishops as well as with his religious policies during the years of the Arian dispute. 84 As his presence at the Council of Nicaea was motivated by his attempt to restore peace within Christianity and the empire, he reminded the bishops that internal division (στάσις) in the Church was more dangerous than war. 85 Even in the years following the council, when Eusebius of Nicomedia and his followers made several attempts to have Arius rehabilitated, Constantine still relied on the persuasive force of this appeal, inviting the Alexandrian bishop to accept the penitent priest back into communion, since the emperor alone could care for the peace and concord of the Church. 86 Constantine’s appeals to the highest good of concord were backed by and capitalized on a political culture of ὁμόνοια documented both by coin evidence

προαισθέσθαι δυνατὸν ἡγούμην. ἀνοίξατε δή μοι λοιπὸν ἐν τῇ καθ’ ὑμᾶς ὁμονοίᾳ τῆς ἑῴας τὴν ὁδόν, ἣν ταῖς πρὸς ἀλλήλους φιλονεικίαις ἀπεκλείσατε, καὶ συγχωρήσατε θᾶττον ὑμᾶς τε ὁμοῦ καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἅπαντας δήμους ἐπιδεῖν χαίροντα. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 119. On Constantine’s plans to travel to the East, see Hall, “Some Constantinian Documents”, 88–89, and Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 264. 83 As Constantine writes at the beginning of the letter, the bringing about of concord was also what he hoped to achieve in dealing with the Donatist schism. See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 2.66. 84 For an exhaustive list of references, see Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 267, n. 40. 85 See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.12.2. The term ὁμόνοια appears in another version of the speech, transmitted by Anonymus Cyzicenus, Hist. eccl. 2.7.39, ed. G. C. Hansen, GCS N.F. 9 (De Gruyter: Berlin, 2002), 41. It has been conjectured that this particular version may go back to Philippus of Side (see G. C. Hansen, “Eine fingierte Ansprache Konstantins auf dem Konzil von Nikaia”, ZAC 2 [1998], 173–198, here 193–198), but we cannot exclude the possibility that this version had already been transmitted by Gelasius of Caesarea, whose Church History served as a major source for the Cyzicene writer for large sections on the Council of Nicaea. 86 See Urkunden 32.3, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 66. See also Socrates, Hist. eccl. 1.27.5.

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and by an established rhetorical tradition during Second Sophistic Rhetoric. 87 This is notably the case in Aristides and Dio of Prusa, who dedicated entire passages of their speeches to the praise of concord, so for example in the latter’s Discourse to the Nicomedians on concord with the Nicaeans (Or. 38). 88 Facing the real threat of war, Dio reminded his audience how concord would be the greatest of human blessings, whose value would not have been questioned even by the sophists. 89 Even in the midst of war and with the prospect of gaining riches, “many have laid war aside as an evil thing and not fit to be chosen by them in preference to things of the highest value”. 90 One can therefore only express bewilderment as to how frequently men yield to the temptation of conflict. At one point he even presents the inclination to strife as one of the distinguishing characteristics of human nature, opposing it to the nature of the gods: Again, that through which all the greatest things are preserved is concord, while that through which everything is destroyed is its opposite. If, then, we human beings were not by nature a race of mortals, and if the forces which destroy us were not bound to be numerous, there would not be strife even in human affairs, just as also there is not in things divine. However, the only respect in which we fall short of the blessedness of the gods and of their indestructible permanence is this, that we are not all sensitive to concord, but on the contrary, there are those who actually love its opposite, strife, of which wars and battles constitute departments and subsidiary activities, and these things are continually at work in communities and in nations, just like the disease in our bodies. 91

87 For coinage documenting the cult of ὁμόνοια, see G. Thériault, Le Culte d’Homonoia dans les cités grecques (Lyon: Maison de l’Orient Méditerranéen, 1996), 56–61 (for Nicea, addressed by Dio. Or. 39) and 63–64 (for Alexandria). 88 For Dio (Or. 34, Or. 38, Or. 39, and Or. 40), see G. Salmeri, “Dio, Rome, and the Civic Life of Asia Minor”, in Dio Chrysostom: Politics, Letters, and Philosophy, ed. S. Swain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 53–92, esp. 77–86, for Aristides (Or. 23 and Or. 24), C. Franco, “Aelius Aristides and Rhodes: Concord and Consolation”, in Aelius Aristides between Greece, Rome, and the Gods, eds. William V. Harris and Brook Holmes, Columbia studies in the classical tradition 33 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 217–249, here 238–249. On rivalry between cities in the Greek East, see MacMullen, Enemies of the Roman Order, 185–191. 89 See Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 38.10, and Aristides, Or. 23.53. 90 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 38.16, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 2, 34: Πολλοὶ κατέθεντο τὸν πόλεμον ὡς οὐκ ἂν ὄντα οὐδὲ ἀντὶ τῶν μεγίστων αἱρεθῆναί σφισιν ἄξιον. Transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 4, 65. 91 Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 38.11, ed. Von Arnim, vol. 2, 32: Καὶ δι’ οὗ σῴζεται πάντα τὰ μέγιστα, τοῦτό [sc. ὁμόνοια] ἐστι, καὶ δι’ οὗ πάντα ἀπόλλυται, τοὐναντίον. εἰ μὲν οὖν μὴ θνητὸν ἦμεν οἱ ἄνθρωποι γένος μηδ’ ἔδει πολλὰ εἶναι τὰ φθείροντα ἡμᾶς, οὐκ ἂν ἦν οὐδὲ ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρωπίνοις ἡ στάσις, ὥσπερ οὐδὲ ἐν τοῖς θείοις ἔνεστιν. ᾧ δὲ μόνῳ τῆς εὐδαιμονίας ἀπολειπόμεθα τῆς θείας καὶ τῆς ἀφθάρτου διαμονῆς ἐκείνων, τοῦτό ἐστιν, ὅτι μὴ πάντες ὁμονοίας αἰσθανόμεθα, ἀλλ’ εἰσὶν οἱ καὶ τὴν ἐναντίαν αὐτῇ φιλοῦντες, τὴν στάσιν, ἧς μέρη καὶ ὑπουργήματα πόλεμοι καὶ μάχαι, καὶ ταῦτα ἐν τοῖς δήμοις ἀναστρέφεται καὶ τοῖς ἔθνεσιν, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς σώμασιν αἱ νόσοι. Transl. Cohoon and Crosby, Dio Chrysostom, vol. 4, 61. See on this trope also Or. 40, 38–41, where Dio contrasts human inclination to strife with the harmony that governs the life of the planets and of animated nature.

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In a way similar to Dio or Aristides, the emperor thus demanded that the bishops subordinate doctrinal arguments to the interest of ὁμόνοια. 92 Also when reminding the bishops gathered at Nicaea that strife (στάσις) is graver than war, 93 he actually cashes in on the persuasiveness of a statement to which also Aristides resorted when the latter reminded his audience that “faction is a harder thing than war to the extent that war has a successful outcome through concord, but peace is destroyed by faction.” 94 The fact that Constantine confronts the bishops with and engages them in a rhetoric that builds on the sharp contrast between στάσις and ὁμόνοια brings us back to the main question underlying the present study, which is that of identifying the performative quality of late antique rhetoric. I would like to suggest in fact that Constantine’s letter can be read as a vignette of what might be called a “communication of threat” underlying not just this particular source but also his management of the Arian conflict. This concept builds on the securitization theories advanced by the so-called Copenhagen School of security studies, recently taken up by Werner Schirmer. 95 Developing the notion that in international politics every issue can be presented as a security issue, and building on the communication theory of Niklas Luhman, Schirmer also situates within contemporary societies a set of debates on the origin and nature of specific dangers or threats for the community. The main insights of this model appear to be applicable also to the context of Late Antiquity. First, the communicative aspect inherent within danger discourse is a distinguishing feature in this model that also applies to our present issue. In fact, regardless of whether a particular danger (for example that of a riot) is real or not, it is already a social reality in that it shapes a set of discourses aimed at prompting specific responses among different actors. 96

92 This does not mean that the adoption of rhetorical tropes on concord and peace had no precedents in Christian literature. See for example H. O. Maier, Picturing Paul in Empire: Imperial Image, Text and Persuasion in Colossians, Ephesians and the Pastoral Epistles (London: Bloomsbury, 2013), 107–117, and O. M. Bakke, “Concord and Peace”: A Rhetorical Analysis of the First Letter of Clement with an Emphasis on the Language of Unity and Sedition, WUNT 143 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001). On the role which rhetorical tradition had in the development of Christian literature in cities of the Greek East during the second century, see Cameron, Rhetoric of Empire, 76–84. 93 See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.12.2. 94 Aristides, Or. 23.55, ed. B. Keil, Aelii Aristidis Smyrnaei quae supersunt omnia, vol. 2 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1898), 47: Τοσούτῳ γὰρ στάσις πολέμου χαλεπώτερον, ὅσῳ πόλεμος μὲν ἐξ ὁμονοίας κατορθοῦται, εἰρήνη δὲ στάσει διαφθείρεται. Transl. C. A. Behr, P. Aelius Aristides. The complete works. Vol. 2: Orations 17–53 (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 38. 95 See W. Schirmer, Bedrohungskommunikation. Eine gesellschaftstheoretische Studie zu Sicherheit und Unsicherheit (Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaft, 2008), for a critical assessment of the Copenhagen School, see Chapter 2. 96 See W. Schirmer, Bedrohungskommunikation, 107–116.

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Second, this communication assumes an inherent symmetry between the observer and the addressee, even where there is a gap in political or social power between them. As Schirmer points out, in fact, the communication between observer and addressee builds on the former’s opinion and fear that the danger he or she has identified will, if not averted, affect both of them. As a consequence, the observer does not simply take a neutral position from outside, but links his or her interest to that of the audience. 97 These two observations, taken together, describe well the intricate problem with which Constantine saw himself confronted during the emergence and proliferation of the so-called Arian controversy. In his traditional role as guardian of religion and in his concern for safeguarding concord, he could not help but feeling threatened by a conflict that in his perception impinged on the peace of the empire. It was thus vital that he communicate the same sense of danger to those bishops who might still be able to turn the tide and bring the conflict to a peaceful resolution. It goes without saying that the latter looked at the theological debates from a different perspective, as they were convinced that the “bond of concord and peace” such as envisaged by Scripture could only be obtained by defending the Christian faith against false doctrine. 98 While Constantine’s appeals to concord and the measures he took to establish it firmly did not suffice in the current state of affairs, the theological conflict continued therefore to force its own logic on imperial policies. Priests loyal to Arius still preached in favor of his opinions, further feeding the “flame of discord” (διχονοίας πυρσός), as Constantine laments in his letter to the Church at Nicomedia in late 325. 99 It is unclear whether the emperor with this passage was only referring to the ongoing theological disputes which, contrary to his expectation, continued to engage the clergy of Alexandria even after the condemnation of Arius, or whether he was also alluding to some concrete episodes of violence between the two parties’ followers. In any case, the course of events seemed to prove wrong even the more optimistic view shared by the bishops gathered at Nicaea who, in their letter to the Egyptian church, rejoiced that Egypt would be liberated once and for all from the blasphemy which created “division” (διάστασις) among the people. 100 W. Schirmer, Bedrohungskommunikation, 110. See for example Alexander in his letter to the bishops Urkunden 4b.1.3, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 6–7. 99 Urkunden 27.15, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 62. See also Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 99–100. 100 Urkunden 23.5, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 3, 48. The letter is transmitted, among others, by Athanasius, Decr. 36, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 35–36, and Socrates, Hist. eccl. 1,9,1–14. The prospect of further actions by the imperial administration also pressured the followers of Arius to join their forces with other dissenting churches, especially with the Melitians, who were found in great numbers in the towns of Upper Egypt, on which see Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 219–319. 97 98

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2.6 Beyond Alexandria Before bringing this chapter to a conclusion, however, I would like to briefly look at how Constantine attempted to handle the threat of public disorders in the city of Antioch in the context of the deposition of its bishop Eustathius in the year 328. 101 As historiographical sources document, the supporters of Arius succeeded in deposing the local bishop Eustathius on the basis of several accusations of civil and dogmatic nature. 102 In the account of Eusebius of Caesarea Constantine again took the matter into his own hands and tried to mediate between the conflicting parties by appealing to their shared sense of peace: He negotiated very gently with the congregations, sending the most loyal of his proven courtiers who held the rank of comes, and he exhorted them in frequent letters to adopt a pacific attitude. He taught that they should behave in a manner befitting godliness, and used persuasion and pleading in what he wrote to them, pointing out that he had personally listened to the one who caused the sedition. 103

But in the present situation as well persuasion and appeals to peace were not sufficient to remove the conflict. On the contrary, the deposition even seemed to legitimatize violent actions on both sides, so that order had to be restored by imperial troops. 104 As Eusebius writes, both parties would have been set to take up arms, “had not God’s oversight and fear of the Emperor quelled the passions of the mob”. 105 What added to the conflict was the fact that the people of Antioch and a group of bishops supporting the cause of Arius planned to nominate Eusebius of Caesarea as the new bishop of Antioch. Anticipating the highly 101 See Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 267–272. The exact date of the synod is contested, see S. Parvis, Marcellus of Ancyra and the Lost Years of the Arian Controversy. 325–345, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 101–107. 102 The sources disagree on the exact contents of the accusations which were brought forward against Eustathius. For the accusation of Sabellianism, see Socrates, Hist. eccl. 1.24.4; for the accusation of impregnating a woman, see Theodoretus, Hist. eccl. 1.21.5–8; and for the accusation of insulting the mother of the emperor, Helena, as she was travelling through the Holy Land, see Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 4.1. Philostorgius, Hist. eccl. 2.7 too knows of the deposition of Eustathius regarding the second accusation, although the passage does not go into detail (at least in Photius’s epitome). 103 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.59.3, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 112: Διεπρεσβεύετο δῆτα τοῖς λαοῖς ἡμερωτάτως, τῶν παρ’ αὐτῷ δοκίμων καὶ τῇ τῶν κομήτων ἀξίᾳ τετιμημένων ἀνδρῶν τὸν πιστότατον ἐκπέμψας, φρονεῖν τε τὰ πρὸς εἰρήνην ἐπαλλήλοις παρῄνει γράμμασιν, ἐδίδασκέ τε πράττειν θεοσεβείᾳ πρεπόντως, ἔπειθέ τε καὶ ἀπελογεῖτο δι’ ὧν πρὸς αὐτοὺς ἔγραφεν, ὡς τοῦ τῆς στάσεως αἰτίου διακηκοὼς αὐτὸς εἴη. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 147. See on this episode also Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 268. 104 On the riots in Antioch, see Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.59.1–3; Socrates, Hist. eccl. 1.24.6; Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 2.19.2, and Theodoretus, Hist. eccl. 1.21–22. See also Parvis, The Lost Years, 107–110. 105 Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.59.2, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 112: … ὡς καὶ ξιφῶν μέλλειν ἅπτεσθαι, εἰ μὴ θεοῦ τις ἐπισκοπὴ ὅ τε παρὰ βασιλέως φόβος τὰς τοῦ πλήθους ἀνέστειλεν ὁρμάς. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 147.

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dangerous consequences which this would have entailed, Eusebius refused the appointment, as we read in a letter which Constantine wrote him to compliment him on the decision. 106 It was therefore the spontaneous actions of ordinary Christians which again posed a direct source of concern for the emperor. What in fact seems to have solicited his intervention, and perhaps even required it, was the fact that the Antiochenes expressed their wish to appoint Eusebius as new bishop through acclamations which were then reported to Constantine through official reports. 107 Lenski, agreeing with Dillon, points out that this sequence of events followed a script which anticipated a law issued three years later, in 331 (CTh 1.16.6), according to which the comes was required to inform the emperor about acclamations made by the populace of the various cities. 108 It is an edict which, in the words of Dillon, allowed Constantine to open “a new source of information” on the political sentiments of the citizens of the Roman Empire and consequently to determine suitable responses. 109 As we can see in the case of the acclamations for Eusebius, however, this procedure did still not allow the emperor to comply with all his subjects’ demands. Challenged to justify his disapproval of the recent acclamation, Constantine had to remind his subjects that acclamations do not always reflect majority opinion. In matters pertaining to religion no faction can claim to know the will of God, “since all are equally committed to receiving and preserving the divine doctrines, whether they appear to be fewer or larger in number, so that one party is in no way less than the other with regard to the common principle”. 110 106 On this Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.60–62 transmits a dossier of three letters: a letter to the people of Antioch, a letter to Eusebius, and a letter to the bishops who supported the election of Eusebius. For a discussion of these letters, see Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 269–272. 107 See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.60.3. 108 See Lenski, Constantine and the Cities 269–71; J. N. Dillon, The Justice of Constantine: Law, Communication, and Control (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2012), 121– 136, and J. Harries, Law and Empire in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 58–59. On the role of acclamations, see also R. MacMullen, Voting about God in Early Church Councils (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), 13–21, here 18; idem, “Role of the Masses”, 269–270; Maxwell, Christianization, 57–60, and, for the context of circus games, J. Liebeschuetz, Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 208–218, and J. Harries, “Favor populi. Pagans, Christians and Public Entertainment in Late Antique Italy”, in Bread and Circuses: Euergetism and Municipal Patronage in Roman Italy, eds. K. Lomas and T. Cornell (London: Routledge, 2003), 125–141. 109 Dillon, Justice of Constantine, 126. 110 Eusebius, Vita Constantini, 3.60.6, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 114: Οὐδὲ γὰρ εὔλογον εἰς ἑτέρων πλεονέκτημα ποιεῖσθαι τὴν περὶ τούτων ἐπίσκεψιν, τῆς πάντων διανοίας ἐπ’ ἴσης, ἄν τ’ ἐλάττους ἄν τε μείζους εἶναι δοκοῖεν, τὰ θεῖα δόγματα ὑποδεχομένης τε καὶ φυλαττούσης, ὡς κατὰ μηδὲν τοὺς ἑτέρους τῶν ἑτέρων εἰς τὸν κοινὸν νόμον ἐλαττοῦσθαι. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 149.

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And so, instead of being able to leverage a possible source of popular support, and denied “the chance to respond as benefactor or vindicator of the people,” 111 Constantine had to limit himself to urging the Antiochenes to search for a more appropriate candidate, “setting aside all riotous and disorderly clamor”. 112 As in the letter to Arius and Alexander, so also in his correspondence with the Antiochenes the emperor could only conclude with an appeal to ὁμόνοια, this time using a rhetorical image also known from Dio: May I thus be pleasing to God and live for you in accordance with your prayers, since I love you and the haven of your calm: drive from it that filth, and by good behavior put in its place concord, making your sign secure, and steering a course towards the heavenly light, your rudder (so to speak) iron-fast. 113

2.7 Conclusion Before discussing specific examples of riots and literary accounts that developed around them, this first chapter has attempted to present one of the main characteristics underlying many if not most late antique riot narratives, namely the discourse on the dangerous nature of the mob and the necessity of taking appropriate and adequate measures to counter this threat. Admittedly, the sources that were in the focus of this chapter, the orations of Dio Chrysostom and Constantine’s letters during the Arian crisis, are not entirely suitable for comparison with each other at first sight; nevertheless, they still offer two closely related perspectives on the role of the crowd in public disturbances. The skepticism which late antique orators displayed with regard to the unruly behavior of the crowd seems in fact to run parallel to Constantine’ concerns about the dangers entailed when simple believers participate in theological disputes. At the same time, both sections of this chapter confronted us with one of the key features that emerge in rhetorical performance, namely the critical role which the audience played in enhancing but also in hampering its effectiveness. As the analysis suggested, the literary sources at our disposal can themselves be considered discursive events with their own agents and strategies. In Dio’s speeches such amounted to an attempt to change the listeners’ behavior by appealing to Alexandria’s reputation, while Constantine’s letters were intended Dillon, Justice of Constantine, 133. Eusebius, Vita Constantini, 3.60.8, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 114: … ἀποκλείσαντες πᾶσαν στασιώδη καὶ ἄτακτον βοήν. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 149. 113 Eusebius, Vita Constantini, 3.60.9, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 114–115: Οὕτως οὖν τῷ θεῷ τ’ ἀρέσαιμι καὶ ὑμῖν κατ’ εὐχάς τε τὰς ὑμετέρας διαζήσαιμι, ὡς ὑμᾶς ἀγαπῶ καὶ τὸν ὅρμον τῆς ὑμετέρας πραότητος· ἐξ οὗ τὸν ῥύπον ἐκεῖνον ἀπωσάμενοι ἀντεισηνέγκατε ἤθει ἀγαθῷ τὴν ὁμόνοιαν, βέβαιον τὸ σημεῖον ἐνθέμενοι, δρόμον τε οὐράνιον εἰς φῶς δραμόντες, πηδαλίοις θ’ ὡς ἂν εἴποι τις σιδηροῖς. Transl. Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 149. For the image of the ship, see Dio Chrysostomus, Or. 38.14. 111 112

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to fend off the danger of strife by appealing to the concord of the empire. In both cases, however, the art of rhetoric had to face its own limits, limits that to a certain extent are tied to the performative quality of rhetoric itself and to its own premises. This applies, on the one hand, to the readiness of the audience to receive the advice of the orator and to act accordingly. As Dio admits in his oration to the Alexandrians, not only the fame of the city, but also that of the orator himself would eventually depend on his audience’s responsiveness. On the other hand, the terminology and argumentation employed in the context of (political) rhetoric was not necessarily suitable for addressing the specificities of a doctrinal conflict, especially if these were determined by the inner dynamics of a controversy in which the participation of ordinary believers was a constituent part.

3. Looting Churches 3.1 Introduction The doctrinal controversies of the fourth and fifth centuries also manifested in a competition for the control of a city’s sacred topography, and Alexandria is no exception. For the episcopate of Athanasius, the sources at hand document several violent attacks against churches that were motivated by the attempt of Athanasius’s adversaries to gain access to the city’s church buildings, as is best exemplified by the military occupation of the Theonas church in 356. At the same time, also the Nicene bishop attempted to project his authority over the city and the surrounding countryside by intimidating ministers who defied his ecclesiastical politics, most notably in the so-called Ischyras affair. While late antique perceptions and concepts of space have provided scholarship with a useful lens through which to look at this phenomenon, I would like to argue that the very perception of church buildings as sacred spaces also served the rhetorical purpose of creating the sort of emotive response that antique representations of violence aimed for. Underlying this chapter will therefore be the question of what narrative strategies were employed to represent the attack on buildings that were meant to accommodate Christian worship as a particularly disdainful deed able to delegitimize the theological claims of the adversaries. The writings of Athanasius of Alexandria offer a quite fruitful means to this end as they mark the different phases of his long episcopal career: the Epistula encyclica (339), the Apologia secunda or contra Arianos (356/7), the Apologia de fuga sua (357), the Apologia ad Constantium (357) and the Historia Arianorum (357/358) all reflect the tumultuous events that led to his repeated exiles. Although reporting on a multi-layered conflict complicated by different actors and causes, the accounts on the attacks against church buildings presented in these texts served two rhetorical purposes. First, they contributed to defining a new language of sacrilege to adopt to delegitimize the theological claims of the respective adversaries. This strategy was not only employed by Athanasius himself but could also be leveraged for the polemical campaign of his adversaries, as the controversy of the Ischyras affair will show. Although this incident is not strictly related to episodes of collective violence, it still confronts us with the basilar question underlying accounts of violence to which church buildings also

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fall victim, namely that of how to represent these actions as sacrilegious in character. Second, the accounts that I will discuss were designed to manipulate the emotive response of the readers in such a way as to press them to take the side of the victims of the attacks. This was achieved by resorting to the narrative patterns with which Christian readers were most familiar, as is the case with the language of persecution, as well as to rhetorical devices appealing to the faculties of hearing and seeing. Eventually, the literary representation of violence against church buildings transformed into a visible token of war testifying to the irrational nature of the theological adversaries.

3.2 How to Define Sacrilege Athanasius’s struggle for the recognition of his legitimacy as Bishop of Alexandria had already begun with his succession to Alexander in 328, inheriting from the latter’s episcopacy the conflicts with the Melitian faction and with Eusebius of Nicomedia and his allies. The two frontlines merged when Eusebius convinced the Melitians “to produce some pretext (πρόφασιν)” for their false accusations against Athanasius. 1 This set the stage for long-standing political campaigns against the Nicene bishop in which he and his partisans were accused of different crimes, among which was the alleged attack on the house church of Ischyras, an allegation that became part of the agenda of the Synod of Tyre in 335, which also marked the beginning of Athanasius’s first exile and which continued to be referred to by his adversaries during the following years. 2 The most important text that documents the respective claims regarding this issue (as well as other accusations put into circulation) is Athanasius’s Apologia contra Arianos, an apologetic treatise that underwent several redactions and that may be termed a juristic dossier on the causa Athanasii. The main bulk of this treatise consists of two groups of documents: a dossier of letters and documents from the period between 338 and 347 (§§ 3–57) and the so-called dossier of Tyre (§§ 59–88), which was put into circulation at a much earlier date by the Alexandrian bishop for his own defense. The concluding chapters (§§ 89–90) seem to be a later addition, which already presupposed the third exile of 356. As has been suggested, this work (without the later additions of 356–357) may 1 Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 60.1, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 140; transl. D. W. Arnold, The Early Episcopal Career of Athanasius of Alexandria, Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity 6 (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991), 104. 2 See on this T. D. Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius. Theology and Politics in the Constantinian Empire (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 1993), 20–33; and H. A. Drake, “De Nicée à Tyr (325–335): le chemin chaotique vers un Empire chrétien”, Antiquité Tardive 22 (2014), 43–52.

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have constituted part of a synodical letter that Athanasius sent to Liberius of Rome in 353 to prove his innocence and justify his absence from the synod convoked by the latter in that year. 3 From what we can infer from the letters and the synodical acts collected in this treatise, the aforementioned Ischyras was a priest conducting his religious service at a private house belonging to a certain Ision when Athanasius’s presbyter Macarius violently irrupted into the church building, overthrowing the altar and breaking the sacred chalice. 4 This is not the only incident of violence with which Athanasius was associated by his adversaries. His visits to the Mareotis region in the southwest of Alexandria created a breeding ground for reports about violent acts committed by the clergy travelling with him, as documented for example by Epiphanius, who wrote about skirmishes provoked by one of his deacons. 5 Other incidents of violence are documented by the wellknown papyrus letter discovered by Harold Bell in 1924 and catalogued as London Papyrus 1914. This letter, which is attributed to a certain Callistus, lists a full host of violent attacks imputed to the bishop and mentions violence committed by his partisans against the Melitian bishop Isaac of Letopolis. It accuses Athanasius of locking clerics of the Melitian faction up in the meat market or throwing them in prison. 6 The image of Athanasius in this source is “reminiscent of a modern American gangster or big city boss,” as Timothy Barnes formulated it. 7 In a similar way, the bishops gathered at Tyre accused Athanasius of having murdered Arsenius of Hypsele, a Melitian bishop from Upper Egypt, for magical ends. 8 The allegation of having desecrated Ischyras’s house church therefore fitted in well with a much wider campaign set up against Athanasius. However, it was this particular accusation that eventually turned out to be the most durable as it 3 See Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 458–465. For a discussion of different reconstructions of the compilation history of this treatise, see W. Portmann, Zwei Schriften gegen die Arianer. ‘Verteidigungsschrift gegen die Arianer’ (Apologia contra Arianos) und ‘Geschichte der Arianer’ (Historia arianorum), Bibliothek der Griechischen Literatur 65 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 2006), 59–62. 4 On Ischyras, see Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 74.3 and 76.3; on the attack, see Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 63.4. According to the encyclical letter of the Eastern Synod at Serdica, Athanasius himself had broken the chalice and desecrated the altar. See Dokumente 43.11.7, ed. Brennecke, Athanasius Werke 3, 255. 5 See Epiphanius, Panarion 68.7.6, and Galvão-Sobrinho, Doctrine and Power, 111. For the background of these visits, see B. Isele, Kampf um Kirchen. Religiöse Gewalt, Heiliger Raum und christliche Topographie in Alexandria und Konstantinopel (4. Jh.), Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 4 (Münster: Aschendorff, 2010), 134–135. 6 See on this H. I. Bell, Jews and Christians in Egypt. The Jewish troubles in Alexandria and the Athanasian Controversy, Greek papyri in the British Museum 6 (Milano: Cisalpino, 1977), and the discussion in Arnold, Early Episcopal Career, 71–86. 7 T. D. Barnes, “The Career of Athanasius”, in Studia Patristica 21 (1989), 390–401, here 397. 8 See Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 63.

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appeared on the agenda of different synods. While accusations of murder, let us say that of Arsenius, as arbitrated at the Synod of Tyre, could be confirmed or dismissed by providing the necessary material evidence, the question of whether one may be imputed with sacrilege was dependent on the answer to the question of how to define this crime. Within the context of the Apologia contra Arianos, this question runs like a red thread through the documents assembled in the treatise. In general terms, one may observe that the defense strategy opted for by Athanasius consisted of two points. On the one hand, he still hoped to deny the allegation altogether, presenting a letter of recantation in which Ischyras allegedly confessed to having been forced by Melitian bishops to lodge the accusation. 9 The main bulk of Athanasius’s argumentation, however, was addressed to refuting the claim of the opponents that the attack on Ischyras’s property had to be regarded as an act of sacrilege on the ground that the building in which the act of vandalism occurred could not be considered a church. A representative statement in this respect can be found in the synodical letter that the Synod of Alexandria, which gathered in 338, issued in favor of Athanasius after he was restored to his episcopal see following the death of Constantine: The place where the chalice has been broken, as they say, is not a church, and the one who inhabited that place is not a presbyter. The day, on which Macarius is said to have done this, was not a Sunday. Since therefore there was no church and no priest and since the day did not require it, which sacred chalice had been broken and where and when? As it is apparent, many are the chalices in the houses and in the midst of the market place and the one who breaks one of these does not commit a sacrilege. However, the sacred chalice which makes someone a sacrilegious person, even if it [sc. the chalice] is broken unwillingly, 10 is only to be found among those who have been appointed leaders according to the law [of the church]. 11

The argumentation rests on different premises, which have already been elaborated by Isele in his analysis of the affair. Two of them should be presented here

9 See Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 64.2. On a similar line, Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 44.4, also claimed that some catechumens confessed to having been within the house church at the moment of the attack, which could only be the case if no Eucharist was being celebrated. 10 While the manuscripts here have παρ᾽ ἑκόντος (“willingly”), the translation of Portmann follows the conjecture proposed by Scheidweiler in reading παρ᾽ ἄκοντος (“unwillingly”), which fits better with the context of the sentence. 11 Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 11.5–6, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 96: Καὶ γὰρ ὁ τόπος ἐκεῖνος, ἐν ᾧ κεκλάσθαι τὸ ποτήριόν φησιν, οὐκ ἦν ἐκκλησία· πρεσβύτερος οὐκ ἦν ὁ τὸν τόπον οἰκῶν· ἡμέρα, καθ’ ἣν Μακάριον τοῦτο πεποιηκέναι φασίν, οὐκ ἦν κυριακή. μήτε τοίνυν ἐκκλησίας οὔσης ἐκεῖ μήτε τοῦ ἱερουργοῦντος μήτε τῆς ἡμέρας ἀπαιτούσης ποῖον ἢ πότε ἢ ποῦ τὸ ποτήριον κέκλασται μυστικόν; ποτήρια μὲν γὰρ εἶναι πολλὰ καὶ κατὰ τὰς οἰκίας καὶ ἐν ἀγορᾷ μέσῃ δῆλον καὶ τούτων οὐδὲν ὁ θραύων ἀσεβεῖ, τὸ δὲ μυστικὸν ποτήριον, ὃ κἂν θραυσθῇ παρ’ ἑκόντος, ἀσεβῆ ποιεῖ τὸν ἐπικεχειρηκότα, παρὰ μόνοις τοῖς νομίμως προεστῶσιν εὑρίσκεται. On this synod, see Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 37–39.

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as well. 12 The first refers to the canonical invalidity of Ischyras’s ordination as it would have been performed by Colluthus, a bishop who had been downgraded to the rank of priest at the Synod of Alexandria in 324. The second is that Athanasius also mentions the fact that Ischyras would have been appointed as a bishop by the Melitians shortly after the alleged incident in exchange for his cooperation. 13 This promotion seems to have been connected with another privilege granted to Ischyras, namely the construction of a new church at the place of his previous house church (or connected to it). 14 For the construction of this church, the presbyter even seems to have obtained imperial support, as hinted at by the letter of the officer Flavius Himerius to the exactor of the Mareotis. 15 According to Athanasius, this new church structure fulfilled a precise scope, namely that of corroborating the presbyter’s claims so that he “may look more credible” (ἀξιόπιστος φαίνηται) when speaking “about the chalice and the table.” 16 As Isele concludes, the very increase in value attached to the building supplied Athanasius’s adversaries with a decisive argument underpinning their accusations. 17 This aspect also has to be read against the backdrop of an important shift of meaning that the word ἐκκλησία underwent after the reign of Constantine, shifting away from the designation of an assembly of Christians gathered for prayer to that of the building accommodating the community. The building program promoted by the Roman emperors since Constantine obviously contributed significantly to this shift of meaning, as the construction of the new church on the site of Ischyras’s house also indicates. 18 See Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 137–138. See Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 44.5. This version of events is also the one offered by Socrates, Hist. eccl. 1.27.14–18. 14 See Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 12.3. 15 See Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 85.7. While Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 164, n. 4, dates this letter to after 339, Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 301, n. 1, dates it to 335. In this letter, we also learn that the name of the settlement was Irene Secontarurus. 16 Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 85.5, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 163. 17 See Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 138. 18 Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 139–142. The designation of a gathering place as ekklēsia can already be confirmed for the pre-Constantinian period, as the “former church” in the Egyptian village at Chysis, mentioned by P. Oxy. XXXIII. 2673 (text now also in A. Luijendijk, “Papyri from the Great Persecution. Roman and Christian Perspectives”, JECS 16 [2008], 341–369, here 366–367) suggests. See also idem, Greetings in the Lord: Early Christians and the Oxyrhynchus Papyri, Harvard theological studies 60 (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard Univ. Press, 2008), 189– 210, esp. 204–207. See also W. Rordorf, “Was wissen wir über die christlichen Gottesdiensträume der vorkonstantinischen Zeit?”, ZNTW 54 (1963), 110–128, here 117–122. At the same time, we may ask whether the utensils used for the liturgy were in some way singled out from similar objects to be found “in the houses and in the midst of the market place” and thus considered more sacred. One could argue that, already at the beginning of the third century, Christians used to decorate cups with biblical motives such as the Good Shepherd to distinguish them from similar objects used in everyday life, as testified to by Tertullian in his De Pudicitia 7.1. As the use of the same motive on terracotta lamps belonging to both Christians and pagans shows, however, the use of decorated cups can also be regarded as an adoption of 12 13

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The ambivalence of this affair further becomes evident if one also considers the juridical terminology employed by the parties involved, in particular that of sacrilege (ἀσέβεια). What was at stake in the whole affair, in fact, was the very question of how to distinguish this crime from a mere act of vandalism. This question also has to be contemplated against the background of a larger development that has been reconstructed by Mary Farag with a view to the process by which Christian church buildings came to be regarded and legally protected as sacred spaces. Although the legal identification of church buildings with res sacrae would become explicit only with the codification projects promoted by Justinian, already with “Constantine’s legalization of Christian practice in the fourth century, Christian holy places began to be slotted into a pre-existing legal category of res sacrae.” 19 This fits well, in any case, with a development that had been taking place since the first half of the fourth century, namely the dedication or inauguration of monumental basilicas sponsored by the emperor, such as was the case of the consecration of the Church of the Anastasis in Jerusalem in the context of the Synod of Tyre 335 or for the Great Church in Antioch in the context of the synod that met in the same city in 341. From the perspective of the imperial court, therefore, acts of vandalism perpetrated against church buildings could quickly lead to accusations of offending the honor of the emperor and of endangering the public order. Some of the claims that echoed back and forth in the course of the investigations of Athanasius show some interesting parallels with the legal discourse on the res sacrae. 20 As the second-century jurist Claudius Saturninus attests, the “ready-made Greco-Roman pictorial cliché[s]” (P. C. Finney, The invisible God: The Earliest Christians on Art [New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1997], 126). At the same time, even in the case that an explicit sacred character was not attached to these utensils, one may still observe that they were being stored apart by virtue of a specific liturgical function. A text from the Acta of Munatius Felix, which documents the persecutions in Cirta in Numidia in 303, presents an inventory of objects brought to the curator Munatius Felix when he “arrived at the house where the Christian gathered” (cum ventum esset ad domum, in qua christiani conveniebant), among which chalices, lamps and candlesticks were mentioned. See Optatus, App. 1, ed. Ziwsa, CSEL 26, 187; transl. M. Edwards, Optatus. Against the Donatists, TTH 27 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1997), 153–154. See also Luijendijk, “Papyri from the Great Persecution”, 350–352, and, on Munatius Felix and the list given in the acts, Y. Duval, “L’église et la communauté chrétienne de Cirta. Constantine de la Grande Persecution au process de Silvanus en 320”, in Chrétiens d’Afrique à l’aube de la paix constantinienne. Les premiers échos de la grande persecution, ed. Y. Duval, Collection des Études Augustiniennes, Série Antiquité 164 (Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2000), 13–209, here 66–71 and 74–77. On the gradual “sacralization” of Christian liturgical space, see also R. A. Markus, “How on Earth Could Places Become Holy? Origins of the Christian Idea of Holy Places”, JECS 2 (1994), 257–271, esp. 264. 19 M. K. Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred? Legal and Ritual Perspectives from Late Antiquity, The transformation of the classical heritage 63 (Oakland: University of California Press, 2021), 181. 20 On the legal definition of the res sacrae, see Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred?, 16– 18.

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distinction between sacred and profane was critical for the question of whether the use of violence against objects was to be handled as a matter of public sacrilege or simply as damage to private property: “place affects whether the same offense is theft or sacrilege and whether it calls for capital punishment or some lesser penalty.” 21 On the other hand, Roman laws did not envisage the same punishments for indiscriminate attacks on sacred buildings. Paulus, a leading jurist of the Severan period, differentiated between sacrilege against “sacred things which belong to the public,” and which are therefore punishable by death, and acts of vandalism against “sacred things in private possession or on petty shrines without guards,” which are punished with a lighter penalty. He therefore concludes that it is necessary to “consider carefully the nature of the sacred objects or whether the deed incurs a charge of sacrilege.” 22 What eventually changes the nature of things, transforming a building from profane into sacred, is the very act of consecration or dedication, which in the case of public buildings needed to be performed by the emperor himself, as attested by the jurist Ulpian. 23 Admittedly, Athanasius’s argumentation quoted above follows a somewhat different logic. What would have turned the one who breaks the chalice into a “sacrilegious person” (ἀσεβῆ) was not the quality of the building itself but the fact that the specific object belonged to someone ordained in accordance with the church canons (νομίμως). If the request for imperial support of the new church construction may therefore strengthen the suggestion to interpret the initiative of Athanasius’s adversaries as an attempt to capitalize on “Constantine’s legalization of Christian practice”, Athanasius’s claim that canon law determines the character of Christians’ gathering places can therefore also be seen as defying these most recent changes in legal practice. In any case, Athanasius’s argumentation remained a double-edged sword, as Isele pointed out. Insisting on the profane character of the house by virtue of merely formal reasons, for example by referring to the invalid ordination of the presbyter, he implicitly conceded to his adversaries that a church building did in fact possess an intrinsic sanctity. 24 21 Digest Justiniani 48.19.16.4, ed. and transl. T. Mommsen and A. Watson, The Digest of Justinian, vol. 4 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), 850–851: Locus facit, ut idem vel furtum vel sacrilegium sit et capite luendum vel minore supplicio. See also O. Robinson, “Blasphemy and Sacrilege in Roman Law”, Irish Jurist 8 (1973), 356–371, here 363. 22 Digest Justiniani 48.13.11(9).1, ed. and transl. Mommsen and Watson, vol. 4, 833–834: Sacrilegi capite puniuntur. Sunt autem sacrilegi, qui publica sacra compilaverunt. at qui privata sacra vel aediculas incustoditas temptaverunt, amplius quam fures, minus quam sacrilegi merentur. Quare quod sacrum quodve admissum in sacrilegii crimen cadat, diligenter considerandum est. See also Robinson, “Blasphemy and Sacrilege,” 363. On Paulus, see G. Mousourakis, A Legal History of Rome (London: Routledge, 2007), 119. 23 See Digest Justiniani 1.8.9. 24 “Der beharrlichen Forderung des Athanasius, den Ort des Geschehens als Privathaus zu bewerten, wohnt indes auch eine Definition von ‘Kirchenraum’ inne, die das traditionelle

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Similar conflicts of interpretation also arose with respect to those basilicas tied to the imperial cult, such as the Caesareum in Alexandria, which was the place of a direct confrontation between Athanasius and the emperor after Athanasius’s return from his second exile. As we read in Athanasius’s Apologia ad Constantium, he was soon confronted by his adversaries with the accusation of having gathered his followers inside the church of the Caesareum to perform the Easter celebration of that year (probably 352), regardless of the fact that the church was still under construction, an act that therefore amounted to defiance of the emperor. 25 This venue, located near the oriental harbor, represented a central landmark in the religious topography of the city as it was erected inside the complex originally dedicated to the imperial cult, showing as a corollary the intimate connection between this church building and the imperial authority. 26 As becomes evident from Athanasius’s writing, the defense strategy that he adopted could this time cash in on this very connection. Some of the arguments to which the bishop resorts can be read as an appeal to pragmatism, hinting for example at the circumstance that the other churches in the city did not offer enough space to accommodate the large number of Christians. 27 At the same time, he justifies his choice to use the still-unfinished construction for liturgical services by alluding to the example of the basilicas of Treviri and Aquileia (cities that Athanasius saw during his first and his second exile, respectively), which had also already hosted religious assemblies for important festivals prior to their inauguration. 28 The main bulk of the argumentation, however, leverages on the special status of the Caesareum, asserting that its walls would have vouched for the legality of the prayers within its perimeters. 29 More importantly, the prayers of the faithful were meant to secure the well-being of the emperor and the peace of the empire, for which reason it

Konzept des nicht ausschließlich religiösen Zwecken dienlichen und damit per se profanen christlichen Versammlungsraums als überkommen klassifiziert und kategorisch negiert.” Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 140. 25 See Athanasius, Ap. Const. 14–18. For the date, see Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 148 (n. 143) and 472–473. 26 See Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 148–149. Besides this possible proof for an imperial cult in Christian lore, there is substantial evidence for a continuation of this practice in pagan contexts. An emblematic example for the reign of Constantine is the town of Hispellum in Umbria, where some considerable architectural building programs contributed to the accommodation of religious festivals. See Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 121–125. For evidence concerning the reign of Constantius II, see N. P. Milner, “A new statue-base for Constantius II and the fourth-century imperial cult at Oinoanda”, Anatolian Studies 65 (2015), 181–203, esp. 190–191. 27 See Athanasius, Ap. Const. 14.4–5. 28 See Athanasius, Ap. Const. 15.4. 29 See Athanasius, Ap. Const. 17.3–4, and J. Barry, Bishops in Flight: Exile and Displacement in Late Antiquity, The Joan Palevsky imprint in classical literature (Oakland: University of California Press, 2019), 39.

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would have been an act of gross negligence to shun such a prestigious edifice sponsored by the emperor and take refuge in the desert. 30 To a certain extent, therefore, Athanasius puts the very language of the imperial cult, a language that was already familiar to previous Christian and Jewish writers, to his own use. 31 In a similar way, Philo of Alexandria argued against anti-Jewish violence by claiming that only the effective maintenance of their customs would prevent Jews from being “deprived of their means of showing their piety towards their benefactors.” 32 In the present circumstances, however, Athanasius’s insistence on the motive behind the prayers also served a specific purpose. In the context of the religious disputes of the fourth century, in fact, concerns for the spiritual well-being of the emperor could also be seen as an efficacious means by which to fend off the accusation of endangering the concord of the empire, a concept that we analyzed in the previous chapter. It will be enough, therefore, to call to mind again the way in which the divine benevolence toward the emperor and the pacification of religious disputes were closely connected, as attested to in one of the letters that Constantine sent to North Africa in the context of the so-called Donatist schism: For only then shall true and full security be possible for me, and a hope of the best and most prosperous outcome always and in everything from the unstinting benevolence of the most almighty God, when I am aware that all men worship the most holy God by the due rites of the catholic religion in harmonious and brotherly observance. 33

3.3 Witnessing Violence Different in character were the violent events that unfolded after Athanasius’s return from exile in 338 and that eventually led to his deposition and (second) exile during the spring of the following year. An episode that came to be representative of this tumultuous chapter in Athanasius’s episcopal career is the violent occupation of Alexandria’s main churches by supporters of his rival, GregSee Athanasius, Ap. Const. 17.5. So, for example, Tertullianus, Apologeticum 30.1, ed. T. Georges, Verteidigung des christlichen Glaubens, FC 62 (Freiburg i.Br.: Herder, 2015), 206: Nos enim pro salute imperatorum deum invocamus aeternum, deum verum, deum vivum, quem et ipsi imperatores propitium sibi praeter ceteros malunt. See also, for a similar argument in the East, Origen, Contra Celsum 8.73. On Christian criticism of the imperial cult before the reign of Constantine, see S. R. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 196–198 and 220–222, and idem, “Between Man and God: Sacrifice in the Roman Imperial Cult”, JRS 70 (1980), 28–43 here, 36–37. 32 See Philo, In Flaccum 48. 33 Optatus, App. III, ed. Ziwsa, CSEL 26, 206: Tunc enim revera et plenissime potero esse securus et semper de promptissima benivolentia potentissimi dei prosperrima et optima quaeque sperare, cum universos sensero debito cultu catholicae religionis sanctissimum deum concordi observantiae fraternitate venerari. Transl. Edwards, Against the Donatists, 183–184. 30 31

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ory, as narrated, for instance, in Athanasius’s Epistula encyclica, a treatise written not too long after the events to persuade his peers not to accept the newly elected bishop of Alexandria. 34 In general terms, the account that we find therein aims in particular to show how the uncanonical election of Gregory brought utter disaster upon Alexandria’s church. 35 As we read, on the instigation of the prefect Philagrius, pagans and Jews armed with swords and clubs were sent to attack the faithful gathered inside the churches to show their protest against the nomination of the new bishop – an allegation that, in the mind of Isele, served the main purpose of covering up the internal divisions within the Christian community. 36 At the same time, the narrative offered by Athanasius casts a conflict between persecuted and persecutors that is reminiscent of early Christian martyr stories. However, while martyr stories find various ways to bring the complicity of the crowd into the foreground (for example by pointing to their active role entailed in the public gaze at the theater), the civic community is now portrayed as crying out against the violence, setting in this way an example for the readers themselves: 37 What followed upon this it is by no means easy to describe: indeed it is not possible to set before you a just representation of the circumstances, nor even could one recount a small part of them without tears and lamentations. Have such deeds as these ever been made the subjects of tragedy among the ancients? Or has the like ever happened before in time of persecution or of war? The church and the holy Baptistery were set on fire, and straightaway groans, shrieks, and lamentations were heard through the city; while the 34 For attempts to reconstruct the events, see Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 403–409 (esp. 408, n. 68); Hahn, Gewalt und religiöser Konflikt, 51–54, and Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 147–148. P. Gemeinhardt (ed.), Athanasius Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 175– 179. 35 See Athanasius, Ep. enc. 2.4. 36 See Athanasius, Ep. enc. 3.2. “Dass Gregor unter dem Geleitschutz kaiserlicher Beamter und mit Zustimmung und Unterstützung des Constantius Einzug hielt, war für Athanasius willkommener Anlass, die Kräfteverhältnisse, die während der zur Rede stehenden Tage in der Stadt herrschten, zugunsten einer ungeteilten christlichen Anhängerschaft zu schönen.” Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 151. On the appointment of Philagrius, see Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 9.2–3. 37 On the alleged collusion of the persecutors with the Jewish population see, for example, the killing of the apostle James by a Jewish mob in the Second Apocalypse of James (NHC V4, 61–63, ed. and transl. J. M. Robinson, The Coptic Gnostic Library, vol. 3 [Leiden: Brill, 2000], 142–149), or the mention of the pagans and the Jews loudly calling for the death sentence against Polycarp (Martyrium Polycarpi 12.2a, ed. O. Zwierlein, Die Urfassungen der Martyria Polycarpi et Pionii und das Corpus Polycarpianum, Untersuchungen zur alten Literatur und Geschichte 116 [De Gruyter: Berlin, 2014], 30). Among the martyr stories that bring the complicity entailed by the public gaze clearly into the foreground, one may mention in particular the account of the martyrdom of Perpetua and her companions: et cum populus illos in medio postularet, ut gladio penetranti in eorum corpore oculos suos comites homicidii adiungerent. See Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis 21, ed. P. Habermehl, Perpetua und der Ägypter oder Bilder des Bösen im frühen afrikanischen Christentum. Ein Versuch zur ‘Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis’, Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur 140 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2004), 34.

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citizens in their indignation, at these enormities cried shame upon the governor, and protested against the violence. For holy and undefiled virgins were being stripped naked, and suffering treatment which is not to be named, and if they resisted, they were in danger of their lives. Monks were being trampled under foot and perishing; some were being hurled headlong; others were being destroyed with swords and clubs, others were being wounded and beaten. […] They were burning the books of Holy Scripture which they found in the church; and the Jews, the murderers of our Lord, and the godless heathen entering irreverently (O strange boldness!) the holy Baptistery, were stripping themselves naked, and acting such a disgraceful part, both by word and deed, as one is ashamed even to relate. Certain impious men also, following the examples set them in the bitterest persecutions, were seizing upon the virgins and ascetics by the hands and dragging them along, and as they were haling them, endeavored to make them blaspheme and deny the Lord; and when they refused to do so, were beating them violently and trampling them under foot. 38

This degeneration of violence was just a prelude to the pillaging that occurred when Gregory entered the city on “the day of preparation” (ἐν παρασκευῇ). As compensation for their complicity, “the church was given as a booty” (εἰς πρέδαν δέδωκε τὴν ἐκκλησίαν) to the rioters, who took the chance to lay their hands on whatever they could find, plundering the store of oil and carrying away the doors and balustrades, giving it the appearance of an undefended domestic space abandoned to the pillaging of marauding bandits. At the same time, lamps from the church were set up in the Tychaion and candles were lit in honor of the pagan gods. Not feeling any shame for such actions, the perpetrators also addressed their violence to the Christians gathered in the church, stripped the virgins of their veils and killed many among the presbyters and the laymen. 39 38 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 3.3–6, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 172: Καὶ τί γέγονεν ἐκ τούτων οὐκέτι λοιπὸν ἁπλῶς εἰπεῖν· οὔτε γὰρ ἀξίως σημᾶναι δυνατὸν οὔτε χωρὶς δακρύων καὶ θρήνων μνημονεύσειεν ἄν τις κἂν τῶν ὀλίγων. ποῖα γὰρ παρὰ τοῖς ἀρχαίοις τετραγῴδηται τοιαῦτα; ἢ τί τοιοῦτον ἐν διωγμῷ καὶ πολέμῳ γέγονέ ποτε; ἡ μὲν ἐκκλησία καὶ τὸ ἅγιον βαπτιστήριον πυρπολεῖται, εὐθέως δὲ οἰμωγαὶ καὶ ὀλολυγαὶ καὶ θρῆνος ἦν κατὰ τὴν πόλιν, ἀγανακτούντων καὶ τῶν πολιτῶν ἐπὶ τοῖς γιγνομένοις καὶ καταβοώντων τοῦ ἡγεμόνος καὶ τὴν βίαν μαρτυρομένων. παρθένοι γὰρ ἅγιαι καὶ ἀμίαντοι ἐγυμνοῦντο καὶ ἔπασχον ἃ μὴ θέμις, μὴ ἀνεχόμεναι δὲ ἐκινδύνευον· μονάζοντες κατεπατοῦντο καὶ ἀπέθνησκον, καὶ οἱ μὲν ἐδισκεύοντο, οἱ δὲ ξίφεσι καὶ ῥοπάλοις ἀνῃροῦντο, ἄλλοι δὲ ἐτραυματίζοντο. […] τὰς θείας τῶν γραφῶν βίβλους, ἃς εὕρισκον ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ, κατέκαιον. εἰς δὲ τὸ ἅγιον βαπτιστήριον, φεῦ τῆς τόλμης, οἱ κυριοκτόνοι Ἰουδαῖοι καὶ οἱ ἄθεοι ἐθνικοὶ ἀφυλάκτως εἰσερχόμενοι τοιαῦτα αἰσχρὰ διεπράττοντο καὶ ἐλάλουν γυμνοῦντες ἑαυτούς, ὡς αἰσχύνεσθαι καὶ λέγειν αὐτά. καί τινες ἀσεβεῖς ἄνδρες τὰ πικρὰ τῶν διωγμῶν μιμούμενοι παρθένων καὶ ἐγκρατῶν κρατοῦντες εἷλκον καὶ διασύροντες ἐβιάζοντο βλασφημεῖν καὶ ἀρνεῖσθαι τὸν κύριον καὶ μὴ ἀρνουμένας κατέκοπτον καὶ κατεπάτουν. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 4, 94, with minor variations. 39 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 4.1–3, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 172–173. With ἐν τῷ Τυχαίῳ, I follow the reading proposed by Opitz. The majority of manuscripts have ἐν τῷ τοιχίῳ, referring therefore to a generic wall. On the Tychaion, see Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 167. For cases of domestic theft documented by Egyptian papyri, see H.-J. Drexhage, “Eigentumsdelikte im römischen Ägypten (1.–3. Jh. n. Chr.). Ein Beitrag zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte”, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt. Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der

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As the new bishop was eventually escorted into “one of the churches” (εἰς μίαν τῶν ἐκκλησίῶν) to take possession of it, those resisting were scourged and thrown into prison. As the reader is informed, one of the virgins was still holding a copy of the Psalm book that she was using for prayer. 40 The hunt for Athanasius also continued when he, on the day of Easter, gathered his faithful “in the other church” (ἐν τῇ ἄλλῃ ἐκκλησίᾳ) where he used to take residence “in those days.” 41 Fearing, however, that his resistance would cause similar attacks on the virgins gathered there, he eventually decided to flee and leave the city. 42 From this moment on, the violence spread to the entire city and manifested a wave of persecution to which Alexandria’s sailors also fell victim, being forced to carry with them some letters in which Gregory laid out his own version of the events. 43 At the same time, Christians who remained loyal to Athanasius and who were forced out of the churches were even hunted down in their homes, where they met in secret. In this way, the language of persecution reached its climax as the newest events posed a threat not only to the physical integrity of Christians but also to their salvation: In short, not to make my letter tedious to you, a persecution rages here, and such a persecution as was never before raised against the Church. For in former instances a man at least might pray while he fled from his persecutors, and be baptized while he lay in concealment. But now their extreme cruelty has imitated the godless conduct of the Babylonians. For as they falsely accused Daniel, so does the notable Gregory now accuse before the Governor those who pray in their houses and watches every opportunity to neueren Forschung: Teil 2, Principat; Bd. 10, Politische Geschichte; Halbbd. 1 (Provinzen und Randvölker: Afrika mit Ägypten), eds. H. Temporini and W. Haase (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1988), 952–1004, esp. 971–973 (theft of oil), 976 (theft of wine) and 994–997 (theft of wood), and N. Giannakopoulos, “Violating the Security of the oikia. Thefts from Houses in the Hellenistic and Roman Imperial Periods”, in Violence and Community: Law, Space and Identity in the Ancient Eastern Mediterranean World, eds. I. K. Xydopoulos, K. Vlassopoulos, and E. Tounta (New York: Routledge, 2017), 175–193, here 179–180. For the theft of doors, see also G. Husson, Oikia: le vocabulaire de la maison privée en Égypte d’après les papyrus grecs, Publications de la Sorbonne 2 (Paris: Publ. de la Sorbonne, 1983), 97. On the evolution of the Alexandrian house, see G. Majcherek, “Notes on Alexandrian Habitat. Roman and Byzantine Houses from Kom el-Dikka”, Topoi. Orient-Occident 5 (1995), 133–150. 40 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 4.4, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 173. 41 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 5.1, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 173. The identification of the different churches mentioned in the account remains problematic. Hist. ac. 5.4 (eds. A. Martin and M. Albert, Histoire “Acéphale” et index syriaque des lettres festales d’Athanase d’Alexandrie, SC 317 [Paris: Éd. du CERF, 1985], 163) identifies at least one of them with the Dionysus church, which also accommodated the residence of the bishop. However, no further hints at its exact localization are known to us. See on this church Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 144. The same church is also mentioned by Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.11.6, who mingles his account with details of the attack in 356 on the Theonas church, located at the Western gate of the city and serving as the cathedral church before it moved to the Caesareum. The incertitude may not be resolved by the existing sources, as Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 405, concluded. 42 See Athanasius, Ep. enc. 5.2. 43 See Athanasius, Ep. enc. 5.3–5.

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insult their ministers, so that through his violent conduct, many are endangered from missing baptism and many who are in sickness and sorrow have no one to visit them, a calamity which they bitterly lament, accounting it worse than their sickness. 44

Besides the images of persecution, the liturgical setting of the Easter celebration supplied Athanasius with a lens through which to interpret the escalation of violence and present the persecutions against the background of Jesus’s trials, such as narrated by the New Testament, casting Gregory and Philagrius in the roles of Caiaphas and Pilate, who delivered Alexandria’s Christians to the rage of the armed men. 45 This kind of martyrological reading of the attacks in connection with the Easter celebration would also supply later writers with a literary model to follow, as will become evident while discussing, for example, Pseudo-Martyrius’s account of bloody Easter in Constantinople. At the same time, as it seems to me, the different church buildings mentioned throughout the account also structure the narrative in such a way as to enhance its associative meanings. Dividing the account into different scenes of violence, each of which took place in another church building, Athanasius was in fact able to draw several vignettes with recognizable images of war (killing and trampling on the bodies of the victims and looting of the inventory) and describe them in such a way as to be read as variations of the same event. By virtue of this redundancy, the narrative strategy applied by Athanasius presents some intriguing parallels to the visual and monumental representations of war scenes known from lavishly decorated columns, such as those of Trajan or Marcus Aurelius, with their manifold and repeated scenes of war from their respective military campaigns. As Stephan Faust elaborated in his PhD dissertation on these and other monuments, much of the expressivity and appealing force displayed there also builds on the redundancy and the variation of similar scenes of war applied in the storytelling. 46

44 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 5.7–8, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 174–175: Καὶ ἵνα μὴ πολὺς ἐν τῷ γράφειν γίγνωμαι, διωγμός ἐστιν ἐνταῦθα καὶ διωγμὸς οἷος οὐδέποτε γέγονε κατὰ τῆς ἐκκλησίας. ὅλως μὲν γὰρ ἐν τῷ πρὸ τούτου διωγμῷ κἂν φεύγων τις προσηύχετο καὶ κρυπτόμενος ἐβαπτίζετο, ἄρτι δὲ ἡ πολλὴ ὠμότης καὶ τὴν βαβυλωνίαν ἀθεότητα ἐνίκησεν. ὡς γὰρ οἱ τότε κατὰ τοῦ Δανιήλ, οὕτω καὶ ὁ θαυμαστὸς Γρηγόριος νῦν τοὺς ἐν ταῖς οἰκίαις προσευχομένους διαβάλλει τῷ ἡγεμόνι καὶ τοὺς λειτουργοὺς μετὰ πάσης ὕβρεως παρατηρεῖται, ὡς ἐκ τῆς τοιαύτης βίας πολλοὺς μὲν ἀβαπτίστους κινδυνεύειν, πολλοὺς δὲ χωρὶς τῶν ἐπισκεπτομένων νοσεῖν καὶ ὀδύρεσθαι πικροτέραν τῆς νόσου τὴν τοιαύτην συμφορὰν ἡγουμένους. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 4, 95. 45 See Athanasius, Ep. enc. 4.3. 46 See S. Faust, Schlachtenbilder der römischen Kaiserzeit. Erzählerische Darstellungskonzepte in der Reliefkunst von Traian bis Septimus Severus, Tübinger Archäologische Forschungen 8 (Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2012), 119–120, referring to the column of Marcus Aurelius. On the arousal of emotions in the viewer and the interest in “horror and furor” displayed by colossal monuments, see R. Von den Hoff, “Horror and Amazement: Colossal Mythological Statue Groups and the New Rhetoric of Images in Late Second and Early Third Century

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While Athanasius therefore seems to have cashed in on the expressive images provided by scenes of war, he also filled them with the characters with which he thinks it best to convey his own interpretation of the events, most notably female ascetics. 47 Their central role in the narrative is in fact underpinned by their varying postures across the sequence of vignettes or scenes, being portrayed with their veil or with a copy of the Psalm book in their hand, but also while being assailed in various ways by the attackers or forced to deny their faith. In the last vignette, the presence of the virgins is then also presented as one of the reasons for Athanasius’s decision to leave the city for the sake of their security. While the church buildings provide the account with the spatial and narrative frame for the violence, it is in particular the recurrent presence of the consecrated women that serves the function of arousing the strongest emotions in the reader and providing at the same time the interpretative lens through which to verify the blasphemous nature of the whole operation, reaching its climax, as it were, when the virgins were obliged to deny their own faith. The expressive quality and appealing force created by the violation of the virgin’s body obviously builds on a theological ideal that Athanasius adapted and put to his own use through several of his writings. There is no need at this point to insist on the pivotal role that both male and female asceticism played in the ecclesiastical politics of Athanasius, especially in the context of the Arian dispute, as epitomized in his Life of Antony but also in his ascetical letters preserved in Syriac and Coptic. As pointed out by David Brakke, the ascetic ideal of seclusion and meekness that Athanasius laid out in these latter writings offered an appealing contrast to the “tumultuous character of church-life in fourth century Alexandria.” By virtue of her life in domestic seclusion, the female ascetic in particular could be presented as an “enclosed garden” protected by her chastity and purity, with her veil marking a metaphorical space exclusively devoted to the relationship to Christ and now trampled down by the supporters of Athanasius’s rivals. 48 Beyond the visual characteristics entailed in these images of violence, Athanasius was also interested in an auditive dimension as he remarks that the Rome”, in Paideia: The World of the Second Sophistic, ed. B. Borg, Millennium-Studien 2 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2004), 105–129, esp. 117–118. 47 On the presence of women on the aforementioned columns, see S. Dillon, “Women on the Columns of Trajan and Marcus and the Visual Language of Roman Victory”, in Representations of War in Ancient Rome, eds. S. Dillon and K. E. Welch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 534–588. 48 See on this in particular D. Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism, The Oxford early Christian studies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 43–44, discussing different ascetic letters such as the Syriac Letter to the Virgins, on which see also idem, “The Authenticity of the Ascetic Athanasiana”, Orientalia. Nova Series 63 (1994), 17–56. On the ascetic life of women in the fourth century in general, see P. Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1988), 259– 284.

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violence was manifested “by word and deed,” as the quotation from above puts it, therefore entailing acts of verbal abuse targeting the virgins, an attack that found its negative climax in the order to do the same. The fact that we do not learn what words the assailant used in this context does not mean that the writer did not give them much weight. Quite on the contrary, it shows that the acts of verbal abuse were in themselves part of the assault, as suggested by Athanasius’s remark that he will not relate their content. The lack of information regarding the content of the verbal abuse is a characteristic that our account shares in any case with papyrus petitions from Roman Egypt in which individuals from the countryside sought redress for assaults to which they fell victims, as Ari Bryen pointed out in his seminal study on the subject. 49 A similar observation can be made concerning the account of the attacks against Christians gathered in the Caesareum in June 356, shortly after Athanasius was compelled to leave the city for the third time. Almost following the script of the attack in the year 339, the pagans were given free rein to pillage the church building and thus carried away the episcopal throne, the wooden altar and the church curtains. 50 At the same time, young men stoned to death the women who remained in the church and stripped the virgins of their veils, exposing their heads and kicking them with their feet. The most gruesome actions, however, were carried out in the form of insults and filthy language that violated the chastity and purity of the virgins: And these things are terrible, very terrible indeed; but what happened afterwards was even more terrible, and harder to endure than any outrage; for, because they knew about the revered status of the virgins and the purity of their ears, and also that they could endure stones and swords more than foul language, they attacked them with words of this sort. The Arians suggested this idea to the young men, and laughed while these things were being done. When the holy virgins and the other revered women fled from these shouts, as they would from the bites of asps, the enemies of Christ gave assistance to the young men and maybe even joined them in shouting. 51

49 See A. Z. Bryen, Violence in Roman Egypt. A Study in Legal Interpretation (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013), 105–106. 50 See Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 56.1. The attack on the Caesareum is discussed by C. Haas, “The Alexandrian Riots of 356 and George of Cappadocia”, GRBS 32 (1991), 281–301, here 285–290, who interprets it as a “violent demonstration in support of traditional political and religious usages perceived as threatened” by the pagans of the city, therefore protesting against the recent anti-pagan legislation of Constantius II, which also included the transformation of the Caesareum into a church. 51 Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 55.4, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 214: Δεινὰ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα καὶ λίαν ἐστὶ δεινά, ἀλλὰ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα δεινότερα καὶ πάσης ὕβρεως ἀφορητότερα γέγονεν. εἰδότες γὰρ τὸ σεμνὸν τῶν παρθένων καὶ τὸ τῆς ἀκοῆς ἄχραντον, καὶ ὅτι μᾶλλον λίθους καὶ ξίφη ἢ τὰ τῆς αἰσχρορημοσύνης φέρειν δύνανται ῥήματα, τούτοις ἐχρῶντο κατ’ αὐτῶν ἐπερχόμενοι. Ἀρειανοὶ δὲ ταῦτα τοῖς νεωτέροις ὑπέβαλλον, καὶ γὰρ ἐγέλων τούτων λεγομένων καὶ γιγνομένων. καὶ αἱ μὲν ἅγιαι παρθένοι καὶ ἄλλαι σεμναὶ γυναῖκες ὡς ἀσπίδων δήγματα τὰ τοιαῦτα φθέγματα ἔφευγον, οἱ δὲ χριστομάχοι συνήργουν, τάχα δὲ καὶ συνεφθέγγοντο τοῖς

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The emphasis that this account places on verbal abuse certainly builds on the contrast between the filthy language and the moral expectation that women in general and female ascetics in particular should remain aloof from idle talk and from interaction with men. 52 At the same time, it serves the rhetorical purpose of confronting the reader with an analogous experience of verbal abuse by the mere fact that he or she has to hear such news, as was eventually suggested by Athanasius’s lament that such an account would be unbearable for anyone hearing about the events: Oh, who could hear this and not weep? He might even stop up his ears, so as not to experience someone else relating it, thinking it harmful even to hear about such an event. 53

Through the use of the rhetorical device of apophasis, with which the writer alleges to pass over in silence events that he then refers to in every detail, the account thus succeeds in involving the audience in the events that have just been narrated. To return again to the Epistula encyclica and ask the extent to which it may display a performative nature as well, it is advisable to look more closely at its introduction, which in fact dedicates ample space to the biblical story of the rape and murder of the concubine of the Levite (Judges 19). 54 Athanasius seems in fact to give a fair account of this scandal, including the retaliation war that followed this crime, so it would be easy for readers to relate this biblical story to the present events that he was about to report. It would become evident that the attack against Alexandria’s churches was even more abominable “for in that case it was but a single woman that was injured, and one Levite who suffered wrong; now the whole Church is injured, the priesthood insulted.” 55 At the same time, the biblical story was meant to supply the reader with a vignette revealing the proper response to adopt on the part of the other churches. As the story continues, in fact, the Levite cut the body of his dead concubine into pieces and sent them to the different tribes of Israel “in order that it might be understood that an injury like this pertained not to himself only, but extended to all alike, and that, if the people sympathized with him in his sufferings, they might avenge him.” Otherwise, the entirety of Israel “might νεωτέροις. Transl. R. Flower, Imperial Invectives against Constantius II, TTH 67 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2016), 87–88. 52 Brakke, Politics of Asceticism, 72. 53 Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 56.2, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 214–215: Ὦ τίς ἀκούσας οὐ δακρύσειε, τάχα καὶ τὴν ἀκοὴν κλείσειεν, ἵνα μηδὲ ἑτέρου λέγοντος ἀνέχηται βλάβην ἡγούμενος καὶ τὸ μόνον ἀκοῦσαί τι τοιοῦτον; transl. Flower, Imperial Invectives, 88. 54 See Athanasius, Ep. enc. 1.4. 55 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 1.6, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 170: Τότε μὲν γὰρ γυνὴ μία ἦν ἡ ἀδικηθεῖσα καὶ εἷς Λευίτης ὁ τὴν βίαν παθών, νῦν δὲ ὅλη ἡ ἐκκλησία ἠδικήθη καὶ ἱερατεῖον ὑβρίσθη. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 4, 92.

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bear the disgrace of being considered thenceforth as themselves guilty of the wrong.” 56 Similarly, therefore, Athanasius’s account of the attack against Alexandria’s churches was supposed to unsettle the readers in such a way as to cause them to take action in favor of the victim. As the following analogy suggests, the encyclical letter itself is thus assimilated to the appalling act to which the Levite had to resort to testify to the crime: On that occasion the tribes were astounded, each at the sight of part of the body of one woman; but now the members of the whole Church are seen divided from one another, and are sent abroad some to you, and some to others, bringing word of the insults and injustice which they have suffered. Be ye therefore also moved, I beseech you, considering that these wrongs are done unto you no less than unto us; and let everyone lend his aid, as feeling that he is himself a sufferer, lest shortly ecclesiastical Canons, and the faith of the Church be corrupted. 57

As we can judge from later events, Athanasius’s missive certainly did not miss its goal but on the contrary succeeded in achieving its purpose. With the bishop’s flight to Rome at the latest, his own version of the events in Alexandria found a larger audience among the western bishops, most notably in the person of the Roman bishop Julius. One can in fact spot an account of the same events that echoes Athanasius’s version in the letter that Julius sent to the Eusebians in the aftermath of the Synod held in Rome early in 341, a letter that in its turn has been transmitted in Athanasius’s Apologia contra Arianos. Picking up on and at the same time expanding one of the main accusations in the encyclical letter, Julius chides his adversaries by stating that the appointment of Gregory, a candidate who was foreign to Alexandria, not only infringed on ecclesiastical canons but also drove a wedge between bishops who used to live in concord (ὁμονοία) with Athanasius, in this way connecting the discourse on concord with the charge of disrupting the peace of the church. 58 Athanasius’s need to bid for the solidarity of the other bishops becomes all the more understandable if we take into account that alternative versions of the same events were also put into circulation, as he also implicitly admits when relating about the measures

56 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 1.2, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 169: Διελὼν τὴν γυναῖκα ἀπέστειλε κατὰ πᾶσαν φυλὴν τοῦ Ἰσραήλ, ἵνα μὴ εἰς αὐτὸν μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ εἰς πάντας κοινὸν τὸ τοιοῦτον ἀδίκημα πιστευθῇ, καὶ ἵνα, ἐὰν μὲν συμπαθῶσιν, ἐκδικήσωσιν, ἐὰν δὲ παρίδωσιν, ὡς αὐτοὶ λοιπὸν ἀδικήσαντες αἰσχυνθῶσι. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 4, 92. 57 Athanasius, Ep. enc. 1.6, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 170: Καὶ τότε μὲν μιᾶς γυναικὸς ἑκάστη φυλὴ μέρος ὁρῶσα κατεπλήττετο, ἄρτι δὲ ὅλης ἐκκλησίας ὁρᾶτε μέλη διῃρημένα καὶ τοὺς μὲν πρὸς ὑμᾶς, τοὺς δὲ πρὸς ἄλλους ἀποσταλέντας τὴν ὕβριν καὶ τὴν ἀδικίαν ἣν πεπόνθασιν ἀπαγγέλλοντας. κινήθητε δὴ οὖν καὶ ὑμεῖς, παρακαλῶ, μὴ ὡς ἡμῶν μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὡς ὑμῶν ἀδικηθέντων καὶ ἕκαστος ὡς αὐτὸς παθὼν βοηθησάτω, ἵνα μὴ δι’ ὀλίγου οἱ ἐκκλησιαστικοὶ κανόνες καὶ ἡ τῆς ἐκκλησίας πίστις παραφθαρῇ. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 4, 92. 58 See Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 30.1.

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against Alexandria’s sailors. Two years later, at the Synod of Serdica, in fact, we see the bishops of the Eastern Synod accusing Athanasius of persecuting his own opponents, setting fire to the “temple of God” (templum dei) with the help of the pagans and leaving the city in a cowardly manner. 59

3.4 If these Walls could Speak While Athanasius’s account of the events of the year 339 was designed in such a way as to cast the readers in the role of witnesses to the violence, it was the Christian population itself to which Athanasius transferred this role in the account of the persecution wave that invested Alexandria’s churches in 356 and on which I would like to focus in these last paragraphs. It would be beyond the scope of this chapter to map out the concatenation of events that marked the “golden decade” of Athanasius’s rule between his return from exile in 346 and his third exile in 356. 60 Suffice it to say at this point that, after a brief period of relative safety for Athanasius, a circumstance that was also favored by the support from the Western emperor Constans, the conflict escalated further after Constantius became sole ruler, a situation that bolstered the plans carried out by the Eusebians to install George as the new bishop. 61 The conflict reached its peak in 356 with the arrival in Alexandria of the dux Syrianus, who carried with him the order to remove Athanasius from his episcopal see. The decisive events can be summarized in a few words: on the night between 8 and 9 February of that year, the general let his troops surround the Theonas church in the hope of capturing the bishop who had gathered his faithful there for the vigil prayers. The latter, however, was able to anticipate this move and successfully escaped the city unharmed. The reconstruction of the details, however, is flawed by discrepancies and by the biased nature of the respective sources. On the one hand, the Historia Acephala only presents a summary account of the events, without specifying any circumstances under which the bishop could have had escaped. 62 A different, or in any case more

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Dokumente 43.11.9, ed. Brennecke, Athanasius Werke 3, 257. For a discussion of this period, see Hahn, Gewalt und religiöser Konflikt, 56–65. On the return of Athanasius, see Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 89–91, and Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 440–442. On the events in 356, see Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 152–159; Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 466–476, and Haas, “The Alexandrian Riots.” 61 See Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 456–458. 62 See Hist. ac. 1.10–11, ed. Martin and Albert, SC 317, 144: Itaque dux Syrianus et notarius Illarius de Egipto Alexandria venerunt […] ac premittentes omnes per Egiptum ac Lybiam militum legiones ingressi sunt dux et notarius per noctem cum omni manu militari ecclesiam Theonae […]. Episcopus autem Athanasius effugit manus eorum et salvatus est. This account is echoed by Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 4.9.9. 60

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circumstantial account is again offered in two of Athanasius’s apologetic writings, the Apologia ad Constantium and the Apologia de fuga sua. 63 In the defense speech addressed to the emperor, Athanasius does not hint at any form of active resistance against the actions of the soldiers, advising the assembly on the contrary to leave the church as soon as the soldiers entered it, in this way finding a way for his own escape. 64 A different intention can be found between the lines of the account that has been transmitted in the Apologia de fuga sua, which served the purpose of fending off the accusation of having forsaken the believers during the turmoil instead of facing the danger of martyrdom. 65 With this account Athanasius fashioned a narrative on which such a prominent ecclesiastical figure as Ambrose of Milan would later be able to model his own account of the siege of the basilica in which he and his congregation retreated. In both cases, the awe-inspiring image of the soldiers encircling the church with crowds of Christians gathering around their bishop and reciting psalms made the account a compelling argument for the unfaltering loyalty of the bishop to the congregation. This applies all the more to Athanasius since he eventually found a way to slip through the lines of soldiers only after those still present in the church persuaded him to leave. 66 The attack on the faithful encapsulated within the church building therefore also served the purpose of witnessing before the audience the veracity of Athanasius’s claim to have acted in accordance with his duty as pastor. 67 This was additionally achieved by placing emphasis on the ocular testimony of those present around or in the church, underpinned for instance in the act of seeing by which the soldiers saw that the faithful had gathered within the church for the vigils (and therefore not for belligerent motives) on the one hand and the act of seeing by which the faithful saw the crimes committed by the soldiers. 68 Taken together, the testimonies of the soldiers and the faithful build a compelling argument both for the innocence of Athanasius and for the irrational nature of the violence used by the soldiers. Still another form of ocular testimony was invoked in the famous note with which the Alexandrian community protested against the attack on another 63 See Athanasius, Ap. Const. 25, and Ap. fug. 24. For a comparison of the two accounts, see Martin, Athanase d’Alexandrie, 474–475. 64 See Athanasius, Ap. Const. 25.5. 65 For the date, see Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 124. On this treatise, see also Gemeinhardt (ed.), Athanasius Handbuch, 193–197, and Barry, Bishops in Flight, 44–49. 66 See Athanasius, Ap. fug. 24.3–5. 67 See Athanasius, Ap. Const. 25.6, ed. Brennecke, Athanasius Werke 2, 299: Καὶ ἐξ ἐκείνου κατ’ ἐμαυτὸν ἔμεινα ἔχων παρρησίαν καὶ ἀπολογίαν καὶ προηγουμένως μὲν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ πρὸς τὴν σὴν εὐσέβειαν, ὅτι οὐκ ἔφυγον καταλείψας τοὺς λαούς, ἀλλὰ μάρτυρα τῆς διώξεως ἔχω τὴν ἔφοδον τοῦ στρατηλάτου. 68 Athanasius, Ap. Const. 25.4–5, ed. Brennecke, Athanasius Werke 2, 298–299: Οὕτω γὰρ ἑωράκασιν οἱ εἰσελθόντες … καὶ τοῦτο γὰρ οἱ τότε μοι συνόντες ἑωράκασιν.

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church carried out at the instigation of Syrianus, which Athanasius attached as an appendix to his Historia Arianorum. 69 In a similar way to the Epistula encyclica, this account offers a graphic description of the bloodshed and violence that were perpetrated by the troops within the church, relating that the soldiers broke down the doors and fired arrows at the worshippers, killed the virgins and eventually hid the dead bodies to cover their misdeeds. 70 This notwithstanding, the attackers were not able to hide the visible signs of the violence as the “weapons, spears and swords of the attackers” that were left behind in the church “have remained hung up in the church until now, so that those men cannot deny what happened.” 71 Embarrassed by this situation, the authorities attempted to remove the arms but met the resolute resistance of the Christians who guarded the church, who were even ready to face martyrdom to defend the tokens of war that it contained. 72 In this particular instance, the church building itself and its tokens of violence supplied the readers with a visible witness to the persecution in the public eye, probably also recalling to the mind of some of them the visible presence of war display that could adorn the facades of the domestic space, as documented for example in some of the houses excavated in Fregellae to the south-east of Rome or the famous riot scene depicted on a fresco in Pompeii. 73 Provided that such visual practices were also known in the Egyptian context, this reference once more underpins the finality of Athanasius’s representation of violence, namely that of being conceived as a token of victory for the persecuted Church.

3.5 Conclusion Among the incidents that marked the troublesome years of Athanasius’s episcopal career, attacks against church buildings typified a new form of violence which accompanied those buildings’ rise in importance as representative spaces of the Christian community. Although being part of a larger concatenation of events and remaining circumscribed to some individual examples, it was Athanasius himself who stylized these incidents as indicative of the persecutions that he and his Nicene community allegedly had to endure from his theological 69 See Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 81. Within the main body of the text itself, the attack on the Theonas church is only briefly mentioned; see Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 48.1. 70 See Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 81.6–9. 71 Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 81.10, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 230: Οὐ μικρὸς γὰρ ἔλεγχος τῆς τοιαύτης πολεμικῆς ἐφόδου τὸ ἐν τῷ κυριακῷ καταλιπεῖν τὰ παρὰ τῶν εἰσελθόντων ὅπλα καὶ βέλη καὶ ξίφη· μέχρι γὰρ νῦν ἐκρεμάσθη ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ, ἵνα μηδὲ ἀρνήσασθαι δυνηθῶσι. Transl. Flower, Imperial Invectives, 113. 72 See Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 81.11. 73 See on this Lusnia, “War and Violence”, 655–657.

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adversaries. In fact, this holds true for his opponents as well, as suggested by the Ischyras affair. Regardless of the side of the ecclesiastic or doctrinal divide, the accounts of these events were supposed to prove the irrational nature of one’s adversaries and at the same time to find an audience that would be ready to line up with the victims. Setting an example for later generations of ecclesiastical writers, Athanasius resorted to language of war that engaged the starkest images meant to horrify the reader, such as the pillaging of the church inventory and the physical and verbal abuse of consecrated women, who were therefore invoked as witnesses to a violence that, in Athanasius’s opinion, was committed not only against a specific church building but against the Church itself.

4. Contested Dissent 4.1 Introduction The following two chapters could be presented as a single section since they both address the issue of communication between the city and the emperor in the aftermath of a riot. Furthermore, both chapters also relate to the city of Antioch, which became the scene of two famous incidents documented by ancient historiographical tradition. These are the food riots of the winter 362/63 during the visit of Julian to the city and the so-called Riot of the Statues in the year 387 during the reign of Theodosius. Although these events had different causes and unfolded in different ways – in one case the emperor left the city after being made the object of public mockery and in the second case the imperial statues were tore down by an angry mob – they were both addressed, directly or indirectly, against the emperor, and in this manner significantly tested the relation between the city and its foremost benefactor. One of the challenges for rhetorical art thus consisted in restoring the relation between the ruler and his subjects and, at the same time, in appealing to the clemency of the ruler in order to again be able to demonstrate his benevolence to the city. This is a welcome opportunity, therefore, to analyze how two among the most celebrated orators of Antioch, Libanius and John Chrysostom, were up for this challenge. The discourse on “anger” (ὀργή) and “philanthropy” (φιλανθρωπία) offered a suitable script to follow for both orators, making it possible to read the argumentation of Libanius’s Orations and Chrysostom’s Homilies on the statues against a common background. The first of the two incidents, however, would not so have attracted the interest of modern scholars, if we did not have available Julian’s own treatise in response to the affront against his honor, also known as the Misopogon. Though it has been usually taken as humorous, I would like to read it against the background of the discourse concerning the ruler’s anger (ὀργὴ βασιλική), a discourse which in Late Antiquity was both an ethical and political one. As both Julian’s treatise and Libanius’s reaction show, however, it also served the rhetorical function of expressing dissent and disagreement, being instrumental for the art of invective speech. This genre had in fact repeatedly provided the emperor with an opportunity to prove his own power of speech an effective instrument for reacting to political crises.

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4.2 Julian and the Misopogon The food crisis in the year 362 was not the first instance in which Julian had to react to insubordinate cities. On the contrary, already at the time of his ascension to the throne in 361 the emperor had to intervene in Alexandria after an infuriated mob killed the Arian bishop George of Cappadocia, who was installed by Constantius II at the place of Athanasius. 1 According to the account presented by the anonymous Historia Acephala, the authorities first succeeded in removing the bishop from the rioters and putting him in jail together with other anti-pagan officials of the city. This notwithstanding, the angry mob broke into the dungeon, murdered George and his cellmates, and paraded their dead bodies through the main streets of the city. In order to prevent the Christians from gathering the relics for the sake of veneration, the mob eventually burnt the body outside the gates of the city. 2 The murder of the bishop must be understood against the background of the severe anti-pagan measures enacted by the bishop during Constantius’s reign, which were aiming to suppress temples and pagan rituals. 3 The fact that Julian refrained from retaliatory actions against the Alexandrians, has therefore been explained by referring to his pagan inclinations. In fact, as we can see in the letter that the emperor sent to Alexandria after the riot, Julian limits himself to censuring the city, accusing the inhabitants of Alexandria of having taken the law in their hands. 4 Such an interpretation, however, also has inconsistencies, as it fails, for example, to explain Julian’s more severe response with respect to the unruly behavior of the Antiochenes in the context of the food crisis of 362, which, as will be seen, also engaged the pagan segments of the population. The religious loyalties of both sides, that of the emperor and his subjects, were certainly integral to their interaction, but religion alone was not yet able to determine the outcome of the crisis in advance. In fact, the pagan background of many of those involved in the incident of 362 did not spare the city from Julian’s harsh critiques and could even be invoked by the emperor against them. At the same time, with respect to the riots in Alexandria just mentioned, the “Greek origin” of the city is not accounted for by Julian as the reason driving his decision to spare the city, but rather as the prerequisite by which the population may receive Julian’s critique 1 The incident is recounted by Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 22.11.3–11; Socrates, Hist. eccl. 3.2–3; Sozomenus, Hist. eccl., 5.7; Hist. ac. 2.9–10, and Philostorgius 7.2. On this see also Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 87–88, and idem, “The Alexandrian Riots”, 297– 299. 2 See Hist. ac. 2.10. 3 See Haas, “The Alexandrian Riots”, 291–292, and L. Kaplow, “Religious and Intercommunal Violence in Alexandria in the 4th and 5th centuries CE”, Hirundo: The McGill Journal of Classical Studies 4 (2005–2006), 2–26, here 6–9. 4 See Iulianus Apostata, Ep. 60, eds. J. Bidez and F. Cumont, Imp. Caesaris Flavii Claudii Iuliani epistulae leges poematia fragmenta varia (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1922), 378c–380d.

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favorably and thus again win his favor. What is more decisive, therefore, is the set of circumstances and argumentative resources with which the emperor could avail himself in his attempt to respond to the crisis: It is a fortunate thing for you, men of Alexandria, that this transgression of yours occurred in my reign, since by reason of my reverence for the god and out of regard for my uncle and namesake, who governed the whole of Egypt and your city also, I preserve for you the affection of a brother. For power that would be respected and a really strict and unswerving government would never overlook an outrageous action of a people, but would rather purge it away by bitter medicine, like a serious disease. But, for the reasons I have just mentioned, I administer to you the very mildest remedy, namely admonition and arguments, by which I am very sure that you will be the more convinced if you really are, as I am told, originally Greeks, and even to this day there remains in your dispositions and habits a notable and honorable impress of that illustrious descent. 5

In a similar vein, also Julian’s handling of the crisis caused by the doctrinal conflicts within the Alexandrian church was not necessarily or solely driven by his anti-Christian resentments, as the sources might suggest. As we are told by Ammianus Marcellinus, Julian would have sent back the exiled bishops (who had been removed from their episcopal seas by Constantius II) to their respective cities in order to pit the Christians against each other. In this way, so the historiographer, it would no longer have been necessary for the emperor to fear the “unity of the mob” (unanimantem plebem). 6 Such an explanation, however, may only partially reflect the intent behind Julian’s decision. Although he might indeed have hoped to weaken the opposition against his anti-Christian policies by fragmenting the Christian front in the respective cities, the possible outbreak of disorders nevertheless remained a concern for him. In fact, according to another letter of Julian addressed to the Alexandrians, the emperor allowed the bishops the return to their hometowns (πατρίδας) but not to their churches (ἐκκλησίας), as if to remind his Christian subjects that he was not going to tolerate any attempt to have their candidates installed with the use of violence, as happened in the previous years. Although the precise motivations behind this move remain a matter of speculation, the emperor in the same letter also laments that Athanasius came back to Alexan5 Iulianus Apostata, Ep. 60, eds. Bidez and Cumont, 380b–d: Εὐτύχημα γέγονεν ὑμῖν, ἄνδρες Ἀλεξανδρεῖς, ἐπ’ ἐμοῦ πλημμελῆσαι τοιοῦτό τι [πρὸς] ὑμᾶς, ὃς αἰδοῖ τῇ πρὸς τὸν θεὸν καὶ διὰ τὸν πάππον τὸν ἐμὸν καὶ ὁμώνυμον, ὃς ἦρξεν αὐτῆς τε αἰγύπτου καὶ τῆς ὑμετέρας πόλεως, ἀδελφικὴν ὑμῖν εὔνοιαν ἀποσώζω. τὸ γὰρ τῆς ἐξουσίας ἀκαταφρόνητον καὶ τὸ ἀπηνέστερον καὶ καθαρὸν τῆς ἀρχῆς οὔποτ’ ἂν δήμου περιίδοι τόλμημα μὴ καθάπερ νόσημα χαλεπὸν πικροτέρῳ διακαθᾶραι φαρμάκῳ. προσφέρω δ’ ἐγὼ ὑμῖν δι’ ἅσπερ ἔναγχος ἔφην αἰτίας τὸ προσηνέστατον, παραίνεσιν καὶ λόγους, ὑφ’ ὧν εὖ οἶδ’ ὅτι πεισθήσεσθε μᾶλλον, εἴπερ ἐστέ, καθάπερ ἀκούω, τό τε ἀρχαῖον Ἕλληνες καὶ τὰ νῦν ἔτι τῆς εὐγενείας ἐκείνης ὕπεστιν ὑμῖν ἀξιόλογος καὶ γενναῖος ἐν τῇ διανοίᾳ καὶ τοῖς ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ὁ χαρακτήρ. Transl. W. C. Wright, The Works of the Emperor Julian, vol. 3 (London: Heinemann, 1923), 67. 6 Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 22.5.3–4, ed. Seyfarth, Römische Geschichte, vol. 3, 16–17.

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dria on his own initiative, causing Julian to order his expulsion from the city as soon as the letter would have arrived in Alexandria. 7 The other well-known example of urban unrest that took place during Julian’s reign – the crisis of the winter 362/3 in Antioch – has been documented by different sources. 8 Historiographic literature tends to present the events in terms of a crisis of corn supply, caused by bad harvest and aggravated by the emperor’s incapacity to implement effective measures to alleviate the crisis. During the time the emperor was visiting the city on the Orontes river in preparation for his campaign against Persia, the shortage was aggravated by his order to lower the price of the grain, a measure which in the opinion of Ammianus Marcellinus was driven by the emperor’s “desire for popularity” (amore popularitatis). 9 Since this move, however, had the undesired effect that the merchants started to assemble the grain into storage, the discontent of the Antiochenes towards Julian became intolerable and was expressed at the public appearances of the emperor. In particular, in the context of the New Year festivities, the emperor became the object of satirical lampoons against his rustic physical appearance and his philosophic beard. Additionally, his contempt for the theater and other similar forms of amusements became the subject of gossip running through the city, causing the emperor to decide to leave Antioch and to move the court to Tarsus, a decision that obviously impinged on the prestige of the city. 10 It is in this context that the emperor composed his satirical invective known as the Misopogon (“the beard-hater”) or Antiochikos, chiding the city of Antioch 7 Iulianus Apostata, Ep. 110, eds. Bidez and Cumont, 398c–399a; transl. Wright, Works, vol. 3, 75.77, with the comments in J. Boeft, Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus XXII, Philological and historical commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus 3 (Groningen: Forsten, 1995), 59. For the Christian reception of Julian see P. Van Nuffelen, “The Christian reception of Julian”, in A Companion to Julian, eds. H.-U. Wiemer and S. Rebenich (Brill: Leiden, 2020), 356–393. 8 See Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 22.14.1–3; Socrates, Hist. eccl. 3.17; Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 5.19.1–3. On the sources, see also G. Downey, “The Economic Crisis at Antioch under Julian the Apostate”, in Studies in Roman Economic and Social History. In Honor of Allan Chester Johnson, ed. P. R. Coleman-Norton (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1951), 312–321, here 314–318; S. Elm, Sons of Hellenism, Fathers of the Church: Emperor Julian, Gregory of Nazianzus, and the Vision of Rome, The transformation of the classical heritage 49 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 327–335; G. V. Da Silva, “Is it Possible to control the Crowd? Libanius in Defense of Julian and against the Population of Antioch in the 4th century”, Heródoto 3 (2018), 394–412, here 404–409; Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 47–49; L. Van Hoof and P. Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication: Antioch A.D. 362/3 Revisited”, The Journal of Roman Studies 101 (2011), 166–184, esp. 172–174, and n. 27 for further literature. 9 Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 22.14.1, ed. Seyfarth, Römische Geschichte, vol. 3, 46. 10 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 3.17.6. On the sources of Socrates’s account on this event (the Presbeutikos of Libanius and Julian’s Misopogon), see Van Nuffelen, “Dürre Wahrheiten”.

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for her ingratitude towards the ruler. 11 If the account left by John Malalas can be believed, this pamphlet was displayed near the palace on the Tetrapylon of the Elephants, and was therefore intended for a broad audience. 12 To the modern reader it may seem like quite an unusual text because of its combination of polemic and ironic elements, responding to the insults addressed against the emperor with an invective against the Antiochenes in the form of an ironic praise of the city. Based on internal evidence, Julian must have published the Misopogon shortly before his own departure from Antioch, since he mentions that the court already left the city. 13 In any case, the population and in particular the ruling elite of the city must have been shocked by Julian’s decision to depart from Antioch. According to the notice found in Socrates, as a reaction to this decision, Libanius composed two orations, one addressed to the emperor on behalf of the city, the other one addressed to the Antiochenes, giving them counsel about how to deal with the emperor’s anger. 14 Because of its idiosyncrasies, the Misopogon has enjoyed considerable attention among modern scholarship, which has offered many different interpretations of it, presenting it as a complex psychogram of the emperor’s soul, as a piece of propaganda in favor for his Persian campaign, as a reaction against the ingratitude of the Antiochenes or even as an invective against the Christians’ opposition against his religious politics. 15 More recent contributions also fo11 See Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 371b, eds. Prato and Micalella, 80. Both titles under which the text of Julian is known are mentioned alternatively by Gregorius Nazianzenus Or. 5.41, Socrates, Hist. eccl. 3.17.9, and Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 22.14.2. The latter does not seem to be well informed about the exact sequence of events, as he presents the public slander as consequence and not cause of the Misopogon, as pointed out by Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 178. 12 See John Malalas, Chronographia 13.19. 13 See Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 370b, eds. C. Prato and D. Micalella, Giuliano imperatore. Misopogon. Edizione critica, traduzione e commento (Roma: Edizioni Ateneo e Bizzarri, 1979), here 78. See on this Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 174–175. 14 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 3.17.7. 15 To link these different approaches with some names, see G. W. Bowersock, Julian the Apostate (London: Duckworth, 1978), 103–104 (“ingratitude is the theme of the Misopogon”); G. Downey, “Julian the Apostate at Antioch”, Church History 8 (1939), 303–315, esp. 314 (Misopogon as propaganda); J. M. Alonso-Núñez, “The Emperor Julian’s ‘Misopogon’ and the Conflict between Christianity and Paganism”, Ancient Society 10 (1979), 311–324, esp. 322– 324 (reaction to Christian opposition). According to P. Athanassiadi, Julian: An Intellectual Biography (London: Routledge, 1992), 202, Julian “directed his rage against himself, and then let it burst against abstract notions, rather than against particular people, whom he felt unable to harm simply in order to indulge a personal emotion, however strong”. See also K. Rosen, “Julian in Antiochien. Wie eine Theorie in der Praxis scheitert”, in Politische Theorie und Praxis im Altertum, ed. W. Schuller (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1998), 217–230, here 222–229; H.-U. Wiemer, Libanios und Julian: Studien zum Verhältnis von Rhetorik und Politik im vierten Jahrhundert n. Chr., Vestigia 46 (München: Beck, 1995), 269–341, as well as the still useful commentary in A.-J. Festugère, Antioche païenne et chrétienne: Libanius, Chrysostome et les moines de Syrie (Paris: De Boccard, 1959), 63–89.

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cused on the many complexities regarding its literary characteristics. The fact that this text was transmitted under two titles demonstrates that it weaves together rhetorical and literary features belonging to different genres. With his ironical self-mockery on the one hand and the invectives against the city of Antioch on the other, Julian created an example of what Arnoldo Marcone called a “reversed panegyric”. 16 A further aspect that is critical for understanding Julian’s invective is the text’s communicative setting. Maud Gleason suggested seeing the text and its satirical tone as a response to the mocking lampoons addressed by the populace against the emperor at the New Year festivals, when the “Antiochenes granted themselves more licence than the emperor was willing to overlook”. 17 Through the publication of this “edict of chastisement”, as she suggests, Julian would have casted himself as a benevolent ruler, who, instead of punishing the city, limited himself to writing against those who insulted him. 18 Although the approach proposed by Gleason should be credited for situating this work in a communicative framework between the emperor and the population of Antioch, it was also made the object of critique in a contribution penned by Peter Van Nuffelen and Lieve Van Hoof, whose insights I also want to pick up and expand in my own analysis. Other than Gleason, the two authors convincingly point out that the publication of Julian’s invective did create much more perplexity and estrangement among its contemporaries than a “good-humoured reply” to the festive lampoons would have intended. The astonished reaction by an author such as Libanius can only be explained by the severity of the invective entailed by Julian’s reply and the disastrous effects for Antioch’s reputation, which his departure would have caused. 19 As such, the Misopogon must be seen as a literary expression of the emperor’s anger rather than as an official pardon.

16 See A. Marcone, “Un panegirico rovesciato: Pluralità di modelli e contaminazione letteraria nel ‘Misopogon’ giulianeo”, Revue d’Études Augustiniennes et Patristiques 30 (1984), 226–239, and H.-U. Wiemer, “Ein Kaiser verspottet sich selbst. Literarische Form und historische Bedeutung von Kaiser Julians Misopogon”, in Imperium Romanum: Studien zu Geschichte und Rezeption; Festschrift für Karl Christ zum 75. Geburtstag, eds. P. Gneißl and K. Christ (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1998), 733–755, here 740. For other contributions focusing on rhetorical analysis, see also A. J. Quiroga Puertas, “Julian’s Misopogon and the subversion of Rhetoric”, Antiquité Tardive 17 (2009), 127–135, and J. Hartman, “Invective Oratory and Julian’s Misopogon”, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 57 (2017), 1032–1057, here 1038, who proposes that the Misopogon represents an “instance of careful self-fashioning that is in dialogue with earlier oratory”, in particular through imitation of classical Athenian orators. 17 M. Gleason, “Festive Satire: Julian’s Misopogon and the New Year at Antioch”, The Journal of Roman Studies 76 (1986), 106–119, here 118. 18 See Gleason, “Festive Satire”, 116–118. 19 Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 168: “This interpretation does not in our view, fully take into account contemporary receptions of the text: contemporary receptions of the authors alike were struck by the Misopogon so much as to discuss it, and many of them pointed out that anger shimmers through.”

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This is also what Ammianus Marcellinus seems to suggest when he comments that the emperor responded to his critics by “raging against them” (in eos deinceps saeviens) and “enumerating in anger the accusations against the city” (probra civitatis infensa mente dinumerans). 20 Julian’s Misopogon as well points in this direction when making the whole population accountable for the mocking insults he had to face in Antioch, refusing therefore to overlook this incident as if it would be caused by the misbehavior of the few: But you abused me in the marketplace, in the presence of the whole populace, and with the help of citizens who were capable of composing such pleasant witticisms as yours. For you must be well aware that all of you, those who uttered the sayings about me and those who listened to them, are equally responsible; and he who listened with pleasure to those slanders, since he had an equal share of the pleasure, though he took less trouble than the speaker, must share the blame. 21

As it has been proposed by Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, the true nature of this crisis consisted in a failure of communication, which manifested itself several times during Julian’s stay in the city. 22 Most symptomatic was the annoyance caused by the Antiochenes when Julian visited the sanctuary at Daphne for the festivities of Apollo. Being received by a cheering crowd at the sanctuary, the visit could have provided the emperor with a stage to showcase his role as benefactor and benevolent ruler of the city. Julian, however, being more concerned with the religious ceremonies, showed his discontent with the crowd and with the applauses, rebuking them for not behaving as the occasion required. 23 A similar incident occurred during his visit to the theater. Upon entering the arena in order to be greeted by the population, he was received with shouts demanding measures to be taken against the food shortage. Julian, however, instead of placating the crowds in public, decided to address the matter in 20 Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 22.14.2, ed. Seyfarth, Römische Geschichte, vol. 3, 46. At the same time, however, Ammianus also presents Julian as controlling his anger, so, for example, when being confronted with the insults addressed against the number of his ritual sacrifices. See Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 22.14.3. For the presentation of anger in Ammianus, see B. Sidwell, The Portrayal and Role of Anger in the Res Gestae of Ammianus Marcellinus, Gorgias Dissertations in Classics 48 (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2010); for Julian, see esp. 145–154, 157–160 and 164–168. 21 Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 364ab, eds. Prato and Micalella, 64: Ὑμεῖς δὲ ἐπὶ τῆς ἀγορᾶς ἐν τῷ δήμῳ διὰ τῶν ἱκανῶν τὰ τοιαῦτα χαριεντίζεσθαι πολιτῶν. εὖ γὰρ ἴστε, πάντες οἱ λέγοντες κοινοῦνται πρὸς τοὺς ἀκούοντας τοὺς λόγους, καὶ ὁ ξὺν ἡδονῇ τῶν βλασφημιῶν ἀκροασάμενος, μετέχων τῆς ἴσης ἡδονῆς ἀπραγμονέστερον τοῦ λέγοντος, κοινωνός ἐστι τῆς αἰτίας. Transl. W. C. Wright, The Works of the Emperor Julian, vol. 2 (London: Heinemann, 1923), 493. 22 See Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 172–174. 23 For this passage, see Julian, Misopogon 344bc, and Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 173. On the failure of Julian’s religious restoration, see also E. Soler, Le sacré et le salut à Antioche au IVe siècle apr. J.-C.: pratiques festives et comportements religieux dans le processus de christianisation de la cité, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 176 (Beyrouth: Inst. Français du Proche-Orient, 2006), 43–64.

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private the following day in a meeting with the leaders of the city. 24 As a consequence of these incidents, Julian can’t help but resort to sarcasm and justify his decision to leave the city by chiding his own failure to rise to the level of their expectations: Next with respect to the slanders which both in private and publicly you have poured down on my head, when you ridiculed me in anapaestic verse, since I too have accused myself I permit you to employ that method with even greater frankness; for I shall never on that account do you any harm, by slaying or beating or fettering or imprisoning you or punishing you in any way. Why indeed should I? For now that in showing you myself, in company with my friends, behaving with sobriety, – a most sorry and unpleasing sight to you – I have failed to show you any beautiful spectacle, I have decided to leave this city and to retire from it. 25

At first sight such lines may be read as an attempt by Julian to practice selfrestraint and to spare the city from the consequences of his rage. This interpretation is also supported by Socrates, who suggests that Julian after “abandoning his former purpose of revenging himself on his satirists by injurious deeds, expended his wrath in reciprocating their abusive taunts” by writing the pamphlet. 26 As Van Nuffelen and Van Hoof have pointed out, however, the purported conciliatory tone of this passage should not deflect attention from the devastating effect that the departure of the court would entail for the city, a measure which confronted the population with a significant loss of prestige, not to mention the dire economic effects. 27 Julian’s announcement to leave the city brought to culmination instead the paradoxical language and sarcasm of the entire invective. As the Antiochenes would have failed in different circumstances to recognize Julian’s benign intentions for the city, they would now tragically misread Julian’s decision to leave the city as an act of clemency, while being clearly meant as “an expression of imperial anger”. 28 In the following paragraphs, I would like to pause and consider more carefully the results of these two contrasting readings of Julian’s See Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 368c. Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 364cd, eds. Prato and Micalella, 66: Ὑμεῖς μὲν δὴ τῶν βλασφημιῶν, ἃς ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ κατεχέετέ μου παίζοντες ἐν τοῖς ἀναπαίστοις, ἐμαυτοῦ προσκατηγορήσας ὑμῖν ἐπιτρέπω χρῆσθαι μετὰ μείζονος αὐτῷ παρρησίας, ὡς οὐδὲν ὑμᾶς ἐγὼ διὰ τοῦτο πώποτε δεινὸν ἐργάσομαι σφάττων ἢ τύπτων ἢ δέων ἢ ἀποκλείων ἢ κολάζων. πῶς γάρ; ὅς, ἐπείπερ ὑμῖν ἐμαυτὸν ἐπιδείξας μετὰ τῶν φίλων σωφρονοῦντα, φαυλότατον ἰδεῖν ὑμῖν καὶ ἀηδέστατον, οὐδὲν ἐπέδειξα καλὸν θέαμα, μεταστῆναι τὴν πόλιν ἔγνωκα καὶ ὑποχωρῆσαι. Transl. Wright, Works, vol. 2, 493.495. 26 Socrates, Hist. eccl. 3.17.9, ed. G. C. Hansen, Kirchengeschichte, GCS N.F. 1 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1995), 213: Ὁ βασιλεὺς δὲ ἀφέμενος ἔργοις τοὺς ὑβρικότας ἀμύνασθαι τῷ ἀντισκῶψαι τὴν ὀργὴν διελύσατο· τὸν γὰρ πεπονημένον αὐτῷ Ἀντιοχικὸν ἤτοι μισοπώγωνα λόγον διεξελθὼν στίγματα διηνεκῆ τῇ Ἀντιοχέων πόλει κατέλιπεν. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 88. For a similar presentation, see Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 5.19.3. 27 See Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 177. 28 Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 178. 24 25

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decision, and suggest that Julian’s portrayal of the benevolent ruler consciously plays with and builds on a set of notions regarding the anger of the king. On a rhetorical level, this concept is in fact related to one of the main functions of invective speech, which one could term “communication of dissent.” While this could be studied with reference to various other examples, Julian’s Misopogon is a particularly intriguing text to focus on, as he is able to weave his attacks and reprimands into the fabric of sarcasm.

4.3 Anger Control When late antique philosophers wrote about the concept of anger from an ethical perspective, they had to address a fundamental problem, namely that of defining the appropriate circumstances and situations where this affect could achieve a positive purpose. As a corollary, this also means to define those circumstances where it was appropriate to refrain from it. If applied to the ruler, the discourse on anger was also a political one, producing different treatises through the centuries. 29 Anger was considered a powerful emotion able to take hold of all aspects of human reason and action. Not all authors therefore shared the same optimism regarding the possibility of keeping this emotion under control. Seneca, for example, had to admit that ira “is equally devoid of selfcontrol, forgetful of decency, unmindful of ties, persistent and diligent in whatever it begins, closed to reason and counsel, excited by trifling causes, unfit to discern the right and true”. 30 Such an assessment of the untamable force of anger will later also be shared by John Chrysostom, who confronts his listeners with a description of the bodily manifestations of this and other emotions when they take possession of the soul: This usually happens particularly in the case of licentious desires; it happens also in time of anger and in disasters. All these things, you see, disturb both soul and bones, the pupils are dilated, and the eyes cannot see straight; as with a distracted chariot rider the horses move in erratic fashion, so when our thinking is deranged everything is confused, everything is turned upside down and loses its way. 31 29 See W. V. Harris, Restraining Rage: The Ideology of Anger Control in Classical Antiquity (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 2001), 229–263, and, with a focus on the homilies of John Chrysostom, B. Leyerle, The Narrative Shape of Emotion in the Preaching of John Chrysostom (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2020), 31–44. 30 Seneca, De ira 1.1.2, ed. M. Rosenbach, L. Annaeus Seneca. Philosophische Schriften, vol. 1 (Darmstadt: Wiss. Buchgesellschaft, 1969), 96: Quidam itaque e sapientibus viris iram dixerunt brevem insaniam; aeque enim impotens sui est, decoris oblita, necessitudinum immemor, in quod coepit pertinax et intenta, rationi consiliisque praeclusa, vanis agitata causis, ad dispectum aequi verique inhabilis, ruinis simillima quae super id quod oppressere franguntur. Transl. J. W. Basore, Moral Essays, vol. 1 (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 1928), 107. 31 Iohannes Chrysostomus, In ps. VI, 3, ed. Migne, PG 55, 75: Τοῦτο μάλιστα καὶ ἐν ἐπιθυμίαις ἀσελγείας συμβαίνειν εἴωθε· τοῦτο καὶ ἐν θυμῷ καὶ ἐν συμφοραῖς. πάντα γὰρ ταῦτα

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By this, the Antiochene preacher does not imply that affects have no utility for the ordinary Christian. In his interpretation of Psalm 4.4 (“be angry and do not sin”), he in fact comments that anger has been given not “for sinning but for checking others in their sin”, pointing out the intrinsic connection between this emotion and the moral responsibility of the believer. 32 For Seneca, instead, anger is contrary to the nature of reason and needs to be shunned altogether. The hope that anger could be controlled for some higher ends, for example, for the benefit of others, should therefore be entirely dismissed, as Seneca tells his reader with a reference to images in the world of medicine: “What then?” you say; “is not correction sometimes necessary?” Of course it is; but with discretion, not with anger. For it will not hurt, but will heal under the guise of hurting. As we apply the flame to certain spearshafts when they are crooked in order to straighten them, and compress them by driving in wedges, not to crush them, but to take out their kinks, so through pain applied to body and mind we reform the natures of men that are distorted by vice. 33

Additionally, Greek writers often discussed the consequences of anger. In his treatise On the control of anger Plutarch (with whom Julian himself was familiar) reflects on the destructive force of this emotion. When describing the damaging consequences of anger, he resorts to words that would later be quoted by Julian in his letter that he wrote to the Alexandrians, which we already introduced above: “But perhaps your anger and rage led you astray, since it often ‘turns reason out of doors and then does terrible things.’” 34 In a manner similar to Seneca, Plutarch seeks to give a series of practical tips about how to protect ταράττει καὶ ψυχὴν καὶ ὀστᾶ, καὶ αἱ κόραι διαστρέφονται, καὶ οὐδὲ οἱ ὀφθαλμοὶ κατὰ τάξιν βλέπουσιν· ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ ἡνιόχου θορυβηθέντος, ἀτάκτως οἱ ἵπποι φέρονται· οὕτω τοῦ λογισμοῦ διαταραχθέντος, πάντα συγχεῖται, πάντα διαστρέφεται καὶ τὴν ἰδίαν ὁδὸν ἀπόλλυσι. Transl. R. C. Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 1 (Brookline [MA]: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 1998), 101. 32 Iohannes Chrysostomus, In ps. IV, 7, ed. Migne, PG 55, 51: Καὶ γὰρ διὰ τοῦτο ἐνετέθη ἡμῖν ἡ ὀργὴ, οὐχ ἵνα ἁμαρτάνωμεν, ἀλλ’ ἵνα ἑτέρους ἁμαρτάνοντας κωλύωμεν. Transl. Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 1, 59. This passage will be discussed again in the next chapter. 33 Seneca, De ira 1.6.1, ed. Rosenbach, vol. 1, 108: Quid ergo? Non aliquando castigatio necessaria est? – Quidni? Sed haec sincera, cum ratione; non enim nocet sed medetur specie nocendi. Quemadmodum quaedam hastilia detorta ut corrigamus adurimus et adactis cuneis non ut frangamus sed ut explicemus elidimus, sic ingenia vitio prava dolore corporis animique corrigimus. Transl. Basore, Moral Essays, vol. 1, 119–121. 34 Iulianus Apostata, Ep. 60, eds. Bidez and Cumont, 378d: … ἀλλ’ ὀργὴ τυχὸν ἴσως ὑμᾶς ἐξηπάτησεν καὶ θυμός, ὅσπερ οὖν εἴωθεν τὰ δεινὰ πράττειν, τὰς φρένας μετοικίσας. Transl. Wright, Works, vol. 3, 63. The quotation is taken from Plutarch, De cohibenda ira 2. For the use of Plutarch by Julian, especially in his Misopogon, see L. Nicolai, “Julian, Plutarch, and the Dangers of Self-Praise”, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 57 (2017), 1058–1084, esp. 1063, and L. Van Hoof and P. Van Nuffelen, “‘No Stories for old Men’: Damophilus of Bithynia and Plutarch in Julian’s Misopogon”, in The Purpose of Rhetoric in Late Antiquity. From Performance to Exegesis, ed. A. J. Quiroga Puertas, STAC 72 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 209– 222, esp. 211–213.

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oneself against the violent fits of rage in order to prevent it from running rampant. One of the most recurrent suggestions is to seek a safe place where the lapse of time could have its beneficial effect, in order to “anchor ourselves in a calm harbor, as though we perceived a fit of epilepsy coming on, so that we may not fall, or rather may not fall upon others.” 35 For Plutarch, as can be seen, anger is of such a nature that it can be tamed only with great difficulty, making it unsuitable for ethical correction of others. This Middle Platonic philosopher had a better recommendation for those who had to deal with insubordinate subjects, suggesting that clemency and not vindictive actions could bring the disobedient back on the right track. 36 One finds a similar approach, although with variances, in Themistius, an orator and philosopher of the fourth century who was active in the time of the emperors between Constantius II and Theodosius and whose familiarity with Julian is well documented by the epistolary exchange between the two during the 350s. 37 In his famous speech On philanthropy, which he gave during the reign of Constantius, Themistius suggests in a similar manner as Seneca, but this time with an explicit reference to the ruler, that it is “dangerous enough for a private citizen to be easily seized by anger, but much more dangerous for one who could do anything once enraged.” 38 The success of a ruler would therefore reside in his ability to keep the violent waves of rage at bay. Contrary to what 35 Plutarchus, De cohibenda ira 5, eds. J. B. Dumortier and J. Defradas, Plutarque: Oeuvres Morales, vol. 7 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2003), 63–64: … ἀτρεμεῖν οὖν κράτιστον ἢ φεύγειν καὶ ἀποκρύπτειν καὶ καθορμίζειν ἑαυτοὺς εἰς ἡσυχίαν, ὥσπερ ἐπιληψίας ἀρχομένης συναισθανομένους, ἵνα μὴ πέσωμεν μᾶλλον δ’ ἐπιπέσωμεν. Transl. W. C. Helmbold, Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 6 (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 1939), 107. 36 See Plutarchus, De cohibenda ira 11. 37 On this, see T. Brauch, “Themistius and the Emperor Julian”, Byzantion 63 (1993), 79– 115, and J. Vanderspoel, Themistius and the Imperial Court. Oratory, Civic Duty, and Paideia from Constantius to Theodosius (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995), 115–134. Worthy of special mention is the letter of Themistius to Julian, which has reached us only in the form of an Arabic translation (the so called risāla), and the letter of Julian to Themistius. For a study, edition, and translation of these two texts, see Themistius, Julian, and Greek Political Theory under Rome: Texts, Translations, and Studies of Four Key Works, ed. S. Swain (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 22–107 and 132–179. 38 Themistius, Or. 1.7bc, eds. H. Schenkl, G. Downey, and A. F. Norman, Themistii orationes quae supersunt, vol. 1 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1965), 11: Σφαλερὸν μὲν γάρ που καὶ ἰδιώτῃ ῥᾳδίως ὀργῆς ἁλίσκεσθαι, σφαλερώτερον δὲ ὅτῳ ἔξεστιν ἂν ἅπαντα ποιεῖν ὀργισθέντι. Transl. P. J. Heather, Politics, Philosophy, and Empire in the Fourth Century: Selected Orations of Themistius, TTH 36 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2001), 84. On the difficulty in establishing a correct date of this oration, see Vanderspoel, Imperial Court, 73–77; M. R. Errington, “The Date of Themistius’ First Speech”, KLIO 83 (2001), 161–166, and A. Skinner, “Violence at Constantinople in A.D. 341–2 and Themistius, Oration 1”, Journal of Roman Studies 105 (2015), 234–249, esp. 241–242. See also C. Greenlee, “The Ideology of Imperial Unity in Themistius (Or. 1) and Libanius (Or. 59)”, in The Sons of Constantine: AD 337–361. In the Shadows of Constantine and Julian, eds. N. Baker-Brian and S. Tougher (Cham: Springer, 2020), 133–156.

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one might expect, the dignity of the emperor does not derive from the punishment of wrongdoers, which is a task entrusted to the executioners, but from honoring the virtuous. 39 As Alexander Skinner noted in his comments on Themistius’s orations, the restraint of anger is what distinguishes the king from the tyrant. 40 In situations of political crisis, therefore, the discourse of anger and clemency provided the ruler with a script to use in his interaction with his subjects. Against this background of what can be termed “anger control”, it is tempting to read Julian’s letter to the Alexandrians, which was introduced at the beginning of this chapter, as a personal exercise in self-restraint as is manifested in his decision to limit himself to the written reproach. 41 In this case, however, the announcement to refrain from further punitive actions is connected to a specific precondition, namely that the Alexandrians would be able to decode and respond in a suitable way to the implicit message and amend their ways. As we saw above, this premise would be warranted, in Julian’s opinion, by the shared commitment to his religious and cultural ambitions. 42 More intricate and difficult to untangle, however, is the nature of Julian’s presentation of his conflict with Antioch. In the emperor’s opinion, his relationship with the city is in fact marked by a strong contrast between their worldviews: But whether your ways or mine are more supportable is perhaps clear to the gods, for among men there is no one capable of arbitrating in our disagreement. For such is our self-love that we shall never believe him, since everyone of us naturally admires his own ways and despises those of other men. In fact he who grants indulgence to one whose aims are the opposite of his own is, in my opinion, the most considerate of men. 43

This is certainly the case when referring to the Christian elements in Antioch. Commenting on the resistance he met among the latter, Julian laments that many “overturned the altars of the gods which had only just been erected”, immediately adding that “with difficulty did my indulgent treatment teach you to keep quiet.” 44 But one must keep in mind, as mentioned above, that pagans See Themistius, Or. 1.13c. See Skinner, “Violence at Constantinople”, 237. See also Vanderspoel, Imperial Court, 79–80. 41 See Iulianus Apostata, Ep. 60. 42 On which see now H.-U. Wiemer, “Revival and Reform: The Religious Policy of Julian”, in A Companion to Julian, eds. H.-U. Wiemer and S. Rebenich (Brill: Leiden, 2020), 207–244. 43 Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 349bc, eds. Prato and Micalella, 32: Πότερα μὲν οὖν ἐστι κουφότερα, θεοῖς ἴσως δῆλον, ἐπείπερ ἀνθρώπων οὐδεὶς οἷός τε ἡμῖν ἐστιν ὑπὲρ τῶν διαφορῶν βραβεῦσαι· πεισόμεθα γὰρ οὐδαμῶς αὐτῷ διὰ φιλαυτίαν· θαυμάζειν γὰρ εἰκὸς τὰ ἑαυτοῦ ἕκαστον, ἀτιμάζειν δὲ τὰ παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις. ὁ δὲ τῷ τὰ ἐναντία ζηλοῦντι νέμων τὴν συγγνώμην εἶναί μοι δοκεῖ πρᾳότατος. Transl. Wright, Works, vol. 2, 453. 44 Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 361b, eds. Prato and Micalella, 58: Πολλοὶ μὲν ἐγειρομένους ἄρτι τοὺς βωμοὺς ἀνέτρεψαν, οὓς ἡ πρᾳότης ἡμῶν ἐδίδαξε μόλις ἡσυχάζειν. Transl. Wright, Works, vol. 2, 485. 39 40

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were also blamed by Julian for their indecorous behavior during Julian’s visit to Apollo’s shrine. Beyond the accusations lodged by the emperor against the Christians or the pagans, the misunderstanding that in his eye was most tragic was the incapacity of the Antiochenes to recognize and appreciate Julian’s intention of broadcasting himself as benevolent ruler. An enigmatic passage of the Misopogon is of particular interest in this respect, since it recapitulates the entire diagnosis by contrasting Julian’s moderation with the frivolity of the Antiochenes. The passage in question presents a complex and long series of accusations that were raised by the Antiochenes against the emperor, which are all meant to discredit Julian’s practice of σωφροσύνη. Important for the understanding of this long passage is the fact that this concept is understood here both as the ability to put up with abuses and as the willingness not to indulge in licentiousness: “What then?” you [sc. the Antiochenes] answer, “did you [sc. Julian] really suppose that your boorish manners and savage ways and clumsiness would harmonize with these things? O most ignorant and most quarrelsome of men, is it so senseless then and so stupid, that puny soul of yours, which men of poor spirit call temperate, and which you forsooth, think it your duty to adorn and deck out with temperance? You are wrong; for in the first place we do not know what temperance is and we hear its name only, while the real thing we cannot see. But if it is the sort of thing that you now practice, if it consists […] in putting up with all the annoyances that you will naturally often meet with, hatred, anger, and abuse; and then in bearing these also with firmness and not resenting them or giving way to your anger, but in training yourself as far as possible to practice temperance; and if again this also one defines as the effect of temperance that one abstains from every pleasure even though it be not excessively unbecoming or considered blameworthy when openly pursued, because you are convinced that it is impossible for a man to be temperate in his private life and in secret, if in public and openly he is willing to be licentious and delights in the theatres; if, in short, temperance is really this sort of thing, then you yourself have ruined yourself and moreover you are ruining us […]”. 45 45 Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 342d–343c, eds. Prato and Micalella, 16.18: Τὴν δὴ σὴν ἀγροικίαν καὶ ἀπανθρωπίαν καὶ σκαιότητα τούτοις ἁρμόσειν ὑπέλαβες; οὕτως ἀνόητόν ἐστί σοι καὶ φαῦλον, ὦ πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἀμαθέστατε καὶ φιλαπεχθημονέστατε, τὸ λεγόμενον ὑπὸ τῶν ἀγεννεστάτων σῶφρον τουτὶ ψυχάριον, ὃ δὴ σὺ κοσμεῖν καὶ καλλωπίζειν σωφροσύνῃ χρῆναι νομίζεις; οὐκ ὀρθῶς, ὅτι πρῶτον μὲν ἡ σωφροσύνη τι ποτ’ ἐστὶν οὐκ ἴσμεν, ὄνομα δὲ αὐτῆς ἀκούοντες μόνον ἔργον οὐχ ὁρῶμεν. εἰ δὲ ὁποῖον σὺ νῦν ἐπιτηδεύεις ἐστίν, ἐπίστασθαι μὲν ὅτι θεοῖς χρὴ δουλεύειν καὶ νόμοις, ἐκ τῶν ἴσων δὲ τοῖς ὁμοτίμοις προσφέρεσθαι, καὶ τὴν ἐν τούτοις ὑπεροχὴν φέρειν πρᾳότερον, ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καὶ προνοεῖν, ὅπως οἱ πένητες ὑπὸ τῶν πλουτούντων ἥκιστα ἀδικήσωνται, καὶ ὑπὲρ τούτου πράγματα ἔχειν, ὁποῖα εἰκός ἐστί σοι πολλάκις γενέσθαι, ἀπεχθείας, ὀργάς, λοιδορίας· εἶτα καὶ ταῦτα φέρειν ἐγκρατῶς καὶ μὴ χαλεπαίνειν μηδ’ ἐπιτρέπειν τῷ θυμῷ, παιδαγωγεῖν δὲ αὐτόν, ὡς ἐνδέχεται, καὶ σωφρονίζειν· εἰ δὲ καὶ τοῦτό τις ἔργον θοῖτο σωφροσύνης, ἀπέχεσθαι πάσης ἡδονῆς οὐ λίαν ἀπρεποῦς οὐδὲ ἐπονειδίστου δοκούσης ἐν τῷ φανερῷ, πεπεισμένος ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν ἰδίᾳ σωφρονεῖν οἴκοι καὶ λάθρᾳ τὸν δημοσίᾳ καὶ φανερῶς ἀκόλαστον εἶναι θέλοντα καὶ τερπόμενον τοῖς θεάτροις· εἰ δὴ οὖν ὄντως ἡ σωφροσύνη τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν, ἀπόλωλας μὲν αὐτός, ἀπολλύεις δὲ καὶ ἡμᾶς οὐκ ἀνεχομένους ἀκούειν πρῶτον ὄνομα δουλείας οὔτε πρὸς θεοὺς οὔτε πρὸς νόμους. Transl. Wright, Works, vol. 2, 435.437

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This long series of accusations, which Julian puts in the mouth of the Antiochenes, bears witness to his failure to cast a certain image of himself to the Antiochenes during his visit. In his opinion, the immoderation of his troublemaking subjects and their disapproval of the moderation displayed by the emperor provided the very cause for his departure. At the end of this passage, this contrast is consciously carried to extremes – or rather turns into its opposite – as Julian sarcastically insinuates that the Antiochenes would have interpreted the monarch’s moderation (instead of his anger) a threat to the civic community. Nonetheless, Julian’s decision to leave the city did not miss its target; it was the gravity of its consequences that eventually triggered the intervention of Libanius by the means of two orations, which he addressed to his city and to the emperor respectively and which were also built on the discourse on rage.

4.4 Uncomfortable Truths If Julian’s Misopogon can be understood as an enigmatic document for both contemporary readers and modern scholars, Libanius’s speech (Or. 16) to the city of Antioch is patterned more closely on earlier rhetorical models. 46 Through his intervention, Libanius sets out to persuade his fellow citizens to acknowledge their collective responsibility for their state of despondency and, as a corollary, to change their behavior in such a way as to allow the emperor to visit the city once again. The scope of this oration has to be understood, therefore, in the context of the rhetorical genre of deliberative speech in which, according to Quintilian, the orator “deliberates about the future” (de tempore futuro consultat) in order to bring about what is of benefit for the city. 47 Repeating rhetorical tropes already encountered in the chapter on Dio Chrysostom, Libanius knows where to identify the cause of the ailing and therefore the beginning of the cure, advising the Antiochenes to shut down the theaters for a short time in order to win the favor of the emperor again. 48 For the orator, in fact, the gravity of the present crisis surpasses that of previous events that afflicted the city, since it has been caused not by natural calamities or foreign enemies but by the actions of the Antiochenes themselves: Many and terrible indeed, my fellow countrymen, have been the disasters that in the past have shaken her to her foundations. Yet not one of them could I at any rate compare with the disaster that afflicts us now. In the first place, there is no comparison between disas46 On this speech, see Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 179–180. 47 Quintilianus, Inst. or. 3.8.6, eds. L. Radermacher and V. Buchheit, M. Fabi Quintiliani Institutionis oratoriae libri XII, vol. 1 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1971), 165; transl. D. A. Russell, The orator’s education, vol. 2 (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 2002), 119. 48 See Libanius, Or. 16.41.

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ters suffered at the hands of our natural foes and the hatred for us evinced by our own kith and kin and people whose good will we would normally expect to enjoy. 49

Differently from what he will argue in his embassy speech to the emperor, Libanius leaves no doubt about the collective accountability of Antioch’s population. There was no mitigating element that would have made the emperor’s rage look unjustified, not even the fact that only a few would have been directly involved in the provocations against Julian. 50 With respect to the cause of the protests, Libanius dismisses the idea that the emperor and his unsuccessful handling of the corn supply should be blamed for the crisis, accusing instead the merchants of having hoarded the supplies. 51 Also the fact that the perpetrators were allegedly strangers to the city would not add any further argument in defense of the Antiochenes. 52 One may speculate whether Libanius is here referring to some theater-claques, professional applauders cheering the crowds in favor or also against actors or magistrates who appeared on the stage. 53 If the present speech remains silent about the identity of the troublemakers, it may also have served the orator’s intention of addressing his critique to the Antiochenes for having failed to prevent the agitators from getting away with impunity. Instead, the spectators should have responded to and expressed their dissent from this unruly behavior “with anger” (ὀργιζόμενος). 54 At the same time, rather than exonerating the Antiochenes from responsibility, the foreign origin of those who attended the theater is presented as the very source of contamination of the civic community: We should have told them, “Look here, my man. You’re a Phoenician, aren’t you? Have you a home to go to? Then go there and behave yourself. If you can’t, then carry on with your lunacy at home and call your disgusting behavior a high day and a holiday. We are here unused to making such remarks or listening to them. Oh! so you want to show your

49 Libanius, Or. 16.8, ed. R. Foerster, Libanii opera, vol. 2 (Hildesheim: Olms, 1963), 163: Πολλῶν δὲ δὴ καὶ δεινῶν κατασεισάντων, ὦ ἄνδρες πολῖται, πρότερον τὴν ἡμετέραν οὐδὲ μίαν ἔγωγ’ ἂν τῇ παρούσῃ συμφορᾷ ἐξισοῦσθαι φαίην ἄν. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ οὐχ ὅμοιον ὑπὸ τῶν φύσει πολεμίων πάσχειν κακῶς ἢ παρὰ τῶν οἰκείων καὶ ὧν εἰκὸς ἦν ἀπολαύειν τῆς προνοίας, μισεῖσθαι. Transl. A. F. Norman, Libanius. Selected Works, vol. 1 (London: Heinemann, 1977), 215.217. 50 See Libanius, Or. 16.28. 51 See Libanius, Or. 16.24. 52 See Libanius, Or. 16.33. 53 What may point in this direction is the derogatory observation of Libanius found in his sermon to Timocrates, that such claqueurs would all be foreigners who escaped their home countries after being repudiated by their families for their negligence towards their duties. See Libanius, Or. 41.6. Libanius seems to imply the same kind of people in the oration addressed to the Antiochenes as well. See Or. 16.43. For the role of theater-claques in the context of the riots of 387 (which will be discussed in the following chapter), see Browning, “The Riot of A.D. 387”, esp. 16–19. 54 Libanius, Or. 16.33, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 173; transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 231.

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paces here, do you? Then you’ll pay for it with your life. Don’t you get our city community mixed up in your misdeeds! 55

In the context of this argument, the problem of collective accountability is tied to the Platonic concept of “harmony” of the civic community, such as would have been manifest in the expulsion of the unruly elements from the city. 56 This, however, does not preclude the danger of further sedition, as Libanius admits when he enjoins the magistrates to temporarily close the entertainment venues, even at the risk of stirring up segments of the population. Quite on the contrary, an unwillingness on the city council’s part to enact similar measures would render them liable to Julian’s accusation that they acted out of fear of those segments of the population who cannot do without spectacles. 57 At the same time, failure to submit to the will of the emperor would also nullify any attempt of Libanius to intercede on behalf of the city. 58 In sum, the danger of fostering further unrest, which the orator identifies in his own argument, was a problem that threatened Libanius’s own reputation. But on this issue too there was still some room for the rhetor to maneuver, as it allowed him to stage a rhetorical contest between himself and the community of Antioch, which would eventually show Libanius to have triumphed, should he prevail. Libanius’s invective may, in this way, stand representative for what Loïc Nicolas in another context has identified as the ancient rhetoric’s “agonistic paradigm,” a term he applies to the willingness in certain rhetorical performances to allow for disagreement as an opportunity to showcase one’s own power of speech. 59 55 Libanius, Or. 16.34, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 173: Ἄνθρωπε, Φοίνιξ εἶ καὶ πόλις ἔστι σοι; μάλιστα μὲν κἀκεῖ σωφρόνει, εἰ δὲ οὐ δύνασαι, μὴ παύσαιο νοσῶν οἴκοι καὶ τὴν ἀσέλγειαν ὀνομάζων ἑορτήν. ἡμεῖς δὲ οὐκ ἴσμεν τοιαῦτα οὔτε ᾄδειν οὔτε ἀκούειν. ἀλλ’ ἐπιθυμεῖς παρ’ ἡμῖν κορδακίζειν; ἀπόθνησκε καὶ μὴ τὰ σαυτοῦ κακὰ τῷ κοινῷ τῆς πόλεως προστίθει. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 231.233. 56 Libanius, Or. 16.38, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 175: Ὅλως δὲ λαμπρὰν ἔδει τῶν τρόπων γενέσθαι τὴν μετάστασιν, καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἀμείνω μεταλαβεῖν ἁρμονίαν, ὥσπερ τινὰ κιθάραν εἰς ἄκρου κιθαρῳδοῦ χεῖρας ἐλθοῦσαν, ταύτην δὲ τὴν ἁρμονίαν διὰ πάντων μὲν τῶν κοινῶν, διὰ πάντων δὲ τῶν ἰδίων τετάσθαι καὶ ψυχῶν καὶ διαίτης καὶ ἀνδρῶν καὶ παίδων καὶ γυναικῶν. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 235. For Plato’s use of harmonic imaginary in his discussion of the soul and the state, see T. A. Lynch, “‘Tuning the Lyre, Tuning the Soul’ Harmonia, Justice and the Kosmos of the Soul in Plato’s Republic and Timaeus”, Greek and Roman Musical Studies 8 (2020), 111–155. 57 See Libanius, Or. 16.43. A more positive assessment of the theater is documented in Libanius’s Defence of the Pantomimes, on which see J. Haubold and R. Miles, “Community and Theatre in Libanius’ Oration LXIV In Defence of the Pantomimes”, in Culture and Society in Later Roman Antioch, eds. I. Sandwell and J. Huskinson (Havertown: Oxbow Books, 2004), 24–34, esp. 30. On the role of the theater for the social life, see also L. Lugaresi, Il teatro di Dio. Il problema degli spettacoli nel cristianesimo antico (II–IV secolo), Supplementi Adamantius 1 (Brescia: Morcelliana, 2008), 712–721, and on criticism against it, see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 51–54, esp. n. 64. 58 See Libanius, Or. 16.46. 59 See L. Nicolas, “Using Speech to Disturb Consensus: Or, Taking Rhetoric (and its Ago-

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The other speech composed by Libanius in response to Julian’s departure, transmitted under the title Presbeutikos or “embassy speech”, is addressed to the emperor himself and aims at convincing him to return to Antioch once his military campaigns in Persia have been completed, therefore assuming a speedy victory over his enemy. 60 For the rhetorical genre represented by this speech, the logos presbeutikos, late antique manuals of rhetoric such as that penned by Menander Rhetor list several elements that must be taken into consideration in order to achieve the desired purpose. These include, for example, the description of the city’s state of distress, the appeal for mercy, and the praise of the emperor’s virtues, first among all his clemency and humanity. 61 These themes offer a well recognizable blueprint for Libanius’s speech. After the introductory section and the request to give freedom of speech to the supplicant (1–13), the orator then introduces his main request, namely that of honoring the city with his presence once again (14–19, repeated in 76–86), after which he offers an account of the measures taken by Julian against the food crisis, highlighting the detrimental role of the wealthy merchants in thwarting the effectivity of Julian’s intervention (20–24). In order to argue for his case, the orator then inserts a long praise of the philanthropy of the ruler and his ability to check his own anger, by which he would imitate both past emperors and mythological figures as well as the gods (25–44). After this, Libanius proceeds to describe the state of distress in which the city would fall if the emperor stayed away from it (45–75), as exemplified in the following quote: As any single individual, upon conviction for prostitution, is disfranchised, so, if you remain angry with us, our city is reduced to silence. Where and with whom shall we have any credit, either with visitors to us or as visitors to others? Every harbor will be closed to us, every continent, every province and if we go abroad, we shall have to conceal our place of origin and invent new birthplaces for ourselves. 62

Adopting a further rhetorical trope, Libanius recalls the bond of affection between Julian and the city of Antioch, reminding his addressee about the buildnistic Roots) Seriously”, Rivista Italiana di Filosofia del Linguaggio 10 (2016), 184–198, esp. 187–190. 60 Libanius, Or. 15.3, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 121; transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 149.151. See on this oration also Wiemer, Libanios und Julian, 217–246, for the date of composition esp., 224–225, and Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 179–180. See also Omissi, “Rhetoric and Power”, 39–41. 61 See Menander Rhetor, Peri epideiktikon 423.6–424.2, eds. D. A. Russell and N. G. Wilson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), here 180–181. According to the perspective, an embassy speech can be categorized as a subgenre both of forensic and epideictic (or laudatory) oratory. See on this A. J. Quiroga Puertas, La retórica de Libanio y de Juan Crisóstomo en la revuelta de las estatuas, Études et Textes pour l’Identité Culturelle de l’Antiquité Tardive 7 (Salerno: Helios Editrice, 2007), 50–54, opting for the second category. On this genre and its literary expressions in Late Antiquity, see also L. Pernot, Epideictic Rhetoric. Questioning the Stakes of Ancient Praise (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2015), 23–27. 62 Libanius, Or. 15.57, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 142: Ὡς γὰρ εἷς ἀνὴρ ἁλοὺς ἑταιρήσεως ἄτιμος,

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ing plans he had for the city, which would give “evidence” (τεκμήριον) enough for the emperor’s care for the city. 63 As a corollary, the description of Antioch’s state of distress also serves the function of appealing to the emperor’s commitment and love for the city, placing the mention of Antioch’s sufferings between the long list of exempla that the emperor ought to follow and the final plea for reconciliation. 64 Also in the present speech, however, the particular circumstances of the crisis did not go unmentioned. As was mentioned above, one of the particularly challenging aspects of the emperor’s reaction was his resolution to dissimulate the gravity of his decision to leave Antioch, presenting it as a favor done to the city and eluding in this way any possible hope for reconciliation. In his address to the emperor, therefore, the orator had to “unmask” Julian’s satire and present his decision to move the court to Tarsus in more unambiguous terms: Then you [sc. Julian] will ask, “Why, what are you afraid of? Confiscations? Exile? Executions?” You are making fun of men in their misfortune, Sire. You say you have no recourse to confiscation, execution or banishment, but all the time you hate us, think of us as your foes and forsake us. That is the worst punishment of all, for in one and the same breath you heap criticisms on the city. You declare that you are taking leave of a city that is crammed full of every kind of wickedness […] and are shifting to a lesser town in condemnation of the behaviour of the greater. So by leaving us still alive for all to see and pillorying us and telling us of what you have left undone, do you think to hide the manner of the punishment you inflict? 65

In other words, Julian’s reaction would cause the same catastrophic effects as the more draconic measures with which emperors used to punish a rioting city and which Libanius mentions in this passage. The emperor’s unconventional reaction would in fact hit the city in its entirety, without discrimination between οὕτως ἡ πόλις ἡμῖν, εἰ μείναις ὀργιζόμενος, ἄφωνος. ποῦ γὰρ ἔτι καὶ πρὸς τίνας σεμνυνούμεθα ἢ παρ’ ἡμᾶς ἰόντας ἢ παρ’ ἑτέρους ἰόντες; κεκλείσεται πᾶς μὲν ἡμῖν λιμήν, πᾶσα δὲ ἤπειρος, πᾶν δὲ γένος, καὶ δεήσει τοὺς ἀποδημοῦντας κρύπτειν, ὅθεν εἰσί, καὶ πλάττειν ἑαυτοῖς πατρίδας. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 185.187. I share this assessment with Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 180. 63 Libanius, Or. 15.52, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 139–140; transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 181. 64 On the utility of exempla (παραδείγματα) in a rhetorical argument, see Quintilian, Inst. Or. 5.11, and M. Van der Poel, “The use of exempla in Roman Declamation”, Rhetorica: A Journal of the History of Rhetoric 27 (2009), 332–353, esp. 334. 65 Libanius, Or. 15.55–56, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 140–141: Εἶτα ἐρήσῃ· τί γὰρ δέδιτε; ποίαν δήμευσιν οὐσίας; ποίαν φυγήν; τίνας σφαγάς; παίζεις, ὦ βασιλεῦ, πρὸς ἄνδρας ἀτυχοῦντας. τί φής; οὐ δημεύεις οὐδὲ σφάττεις οὐδὲ φυγαδεύεις, ἀλλὰ μισεῖς καὶ δυσμενεῖς νομίζεις καὶ καταλείπεις. τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν ἡ μεγίστη δίκη· πολλὰ γὰρ ἐν ταὐτῷ κατὰ τῆς πόλεως βοᾷς, ὅτι φεύγω πόλιν μεστὴν ἁπάντων κακῶν, ὕβρεως, μέθης, ἀκρασίας, ἀσεβείας, φιλοχρηματίας, θράσους καὶ μεθίσταμαι πρὸς ἐλάττω πόλιν τοῦ τῆς δυνατωτέρας τρόπου κατεγνωκώς. οὕτως οὖν λαμπρῶς ἔτι ζῶντας ἡμᾶς καὶ στηλίτας ποιῶν, ἃ παραλείπεις λέγων, οἴει κρύψειν δι’ ὧν κολάζεις. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 183.185. I take this assessment from Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 180.

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innocent and guilty – as it is possible to see, Libanius here no longer argues for a universal accountability of the civic community. 66 He claims in particular that the population cannot be kept accountable for the greed of the bakers – although he too must concede that the Antiochenes proved too careless in the supervision of their fellow citizens. 67 While the necessary discrimination between innocent and culpable parts of the population would argue against Julian’s determination to humiliate the city, Libanius is more inclined, however, to make such considerations the starting point from where to remind the emperor, among others, about the frail condition of human nature: Will there be no scrap of forgiveness to help people whose natural human frailty has been carried to excess? What is the point of gods being superior to humans, if we expect mankind never to fall into error either? What city, what profession, what individual can hope for protection if such scrupulous exactitude be universally applied? 68

This change of perspective turns out to be decisive for introducing the traditional appeal to the ruler’s philanthropy, on which much has already been written. 69 The eloquent discussion of the clemency of the good ruler that follows in Libanius’s speech reproduces traditional arguments that can be found, for example, in Themistius, who claims that the ideal ruler stands above the law by virtue of his philanthropy, being able, therefore, to look with benevolence upon the wrongdoing of his subjects. 70 Given Julian’s familiarity with Themistius, it is not surprising that this concept is also found in his writings, most famously in his Letter to a Priest, where the concept of philanthropy is exemplified by a teacher who punishes his pupils “in moderation, with a view of the betterment of those punished”. 71 See Libanius, Or. 15.66. See Libanius, Or. 15.23. In another passage Libanius also promises that the culprits of the disorders would be adequately punished. See Or. 15.75. On this, see also Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 179. 68 Libanius, Or. 15.23, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 128: Καὶ τὸ τῆς συγγνώμης μέρος οὐδὲν ὀνήσει τοὺς ὃ τῆς ἀνθρωπείας ἐστὶ φύσεως πεπονθότας, ἐξενεχθέντας τοῦ δέοντος; καὶ ποῦ τὸ θεοὺς ἀνθρώπων εἶναι κρείττονας, εἰ τὸ μηδὲν ἁμαρτάνειν καὶ παρὰ τούτοις ἀξιώσομεν εἶναι; τίς δὲ πόλις ἢ ποῖον ἔθνος ἢ τίς ἀνὴρ ἕξει σωθῆναι διὰ πάντων τοιαύτης ἀκριβείας τεταμένης; transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 161.163. 69 See G. Downey, “Philanthropia in Religion and Statecraft in the Fourth Century after Christ”, Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 4 (1955), 199–208, and J. Kabiersch, Untersuchungen zum Begriff der Philanthropia bei dem Kaiser Julian, Klassisch-philologische Studien 21 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1960). 70 See Themistius, Or. 1.16a, and Wiemer, “Ein Kaiser verspottet sich selbst”, 744. 71 Iulianus Apostata, Ep. 89b, eds. Bidez and Cumont, 289b: Καὶ τὸ πεφεισμένως κολάζειν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐπὶ τῷ βελτίονι τῶν κολαζομένων, ὥσπερ οἱ διδάσκαλοι τὰ παιδία, καὶ τὸ τὰς χρείας αὐτῶν ἐπανορθοῦν, ὥσπερ οἱ θεοὶ τὰς ἡμετέρας. Transl. Wright, Works, vol. 3, 299. As Brauch, “Themistius and Julian”, 86, has noted, however, Julian does not share Themistius’s way of presenting φιλανθρωπία as a manifestation of the divine character of kingship. In other instances, Julian could also use this concept with the meaning of helping the poor, as pointed out by Wiemer, “Revival and Reform”, 230. 66 67

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One aspect of Libanius’s presentation of philanthropy deserves special mention in this context as it has to be understood against the background of the circumstances of the present crisis and in particular with a view to Julian’s argument in his Misopogon. In the orator’s embassy speech, in fact, this concept is further developed into a distinguishing feature of Hellenism, as opposed to barbarism: If I consider all the qualities which make up your humanity, first you are a Greek and rule over Greeks – for so I prefer to describe the opponents of barbarism, and the descendants of Aeneas will not reprove me for it. The barbarian, in his pride, rages and ravens like a wild beast; he slays his kinsman at his table and drinks a toast over his dead body; supplication is either fruitless or spurs him on to worse frenzy still. But with us, our chief aim is to separate ourselves as far from brute beasts as we can; our temper is wrought upon by tears and our seething rage is quenched by lamentation, and we forget our injuries when we see the sinner shamed. 72

While it is not difficult to recognize here the orator’s attempt to pick up on a central aspect of Julian’s own ideological program, this passage also reverses accusations lodged by Julian against the Antiochenes. In the Misopogon it was the emperor himself who contrasted the cultivated way of life of the Antiochenes to that of the Celts, with the latter side clearly drawing the better lot, as they proved their loyalty and admiration for the emperor on several occasions; even their shabby outer appearance would have better fitted with Julian’s own ideals. 73 We may again read this argument as a means of “disrupting consensus”, which in this particular context paradoxically amounted to dismissing Julian’s diagnosis of an irreconcilable disagreement between himself and the city, a diagnosis which also manifested itself spatially in Julian’s departure from Antioch. Basing his appeal to the monarch’s philanthropy in the latter’s own Hellenic ideals, Libanius makes clear, in fact, that he “does not agree with Julian’s interpretation of the conflict in terms of an ideological opposition,” as Van Nuffelen and Van Hoof put it. 74 Libanius’s intention to defy Julian’s own oppositional reading of the crisis may thus partially explain, on the one hand, his insistence on Antioch’s mythological and classical past as well as on Julian’s devotion to the gods, and, on the other hand, his need to point out the vital 72 Libanius, Or. 15.25–26, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 128–129: Ἐνθυμοῦμαι δέ, ὅσα σε ποιεῖ φιλάνθρωπον· πρῶτον μὲν Ἕλλην τις εἶ καὶ κρατεῖς Ἑλλήνων· οὕτω γὰρ ἥδιόν μοι καλεῖν τὸ τοῖς βαρβάροις ἀντίπαλον, καὶ οὐδέν μοι μέμψεται τὸ γένος Αἰνείου. φρονεῖ δ’ ὁ μὲν βάρβαρος μέγα λυττῶν καὶ ἀγριαίνων καὶ τὰ τῶν θηρίων μιμούμενος καὶ σφάττων ἐν δείπνῳ τὸν ὁμόφυλον καὶ πίνων ἐπὶ τοῦ νεκροῦ, κἂν ἱκετεύῃ τις, ὁ μὲν [τις] οὐδὲν ἤνυσεν, ὁ δὲ καὶ προσπαρώξυνεν. ἀλλ’ ἡμῖν ἡ μεγίστη σπουδὴ τῶν θηρίων ὅτι πλεῖστον διεστάναι καὶ θυμὸς ἐξελύθη δάκρυσι καὶ τὸ τῆς ὀργῆς ζέον ἐσβέσθη κλαυθμῷ καὶ τὴν ὧν ἔπαθε μνήμην ἐξέβαλέ τις ἰδὼν αἰσχυνόμενον τὸν ἠδικηκότα. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 163. 73 See Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 342ab and 360cd; Quiroga Puertas, “Subversion of Rhetoric”, 133, and Marcone, “Un panegirico rovesciato”, 231. 74 Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen, “Monarchy and Mass Communication”, 180.

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function of the pagan segments of the population. Such is the case when he reminds the emperor that some of the temples were still standing thanks to “the active opposition of people who disapproved of their demolition.” 75 What in Libanius’s opinion, as anticipated above, testifies most cogently against the emperor’s dissent is his own display of affection for the city: Yet why should I dwell on all this? I can adduce the most cogent of all witnesses, the only one you could not possibly reject. Whom, think you, do I refer to? Your own self. Recently, in the complaints you addressed to me about the city, you told me, “I intended to make it a city of marble.” That is the very expression you used. In that case you came with love in your heart. If you loved us, you approved of us, and your approval was not for a town that was your foe. 76

4.5 Conclusion The texts which this chapter has focused on display rhetorical characteristics which differ significantly from each other. While Julian’s Misopogon seems to defy literary conventions and thus makes any consistent appraisal of its aims a difficult task, Libanius’s speeches to the Antiochenes and to the emperor give the impression of following traditional models supplied by ancient rhetorical tradition. This notwithstanding, the events which prompted Julian’s decision to leave the city, as well as the texts themselves, are all equally important for understanding dissent as a rhetorical and hence political category within the communication between the monarch and his subjects. In the case of Libanius’s role as intercessor after the departure of Julian, this also meant arguing against the misleading interpretation that the Misopogon gives of the events which unfolded during the emperor’s visit. As in the context of the crisis of the winter 362/63, Libanius had to address again a major crisis in the city of Antioch two decades later, this time during the reign of Theodosius and in the context of the so-called Riot of the Statues. This time the opposition towards the emperor did not limit itself to vocal mockery but manifested itself in the destruction of the royal statues, amounting therefore to an act of open rebellion. Also in this context, Libanius would be challenged to rehearse those themes that have been presented in this chapter. At the same time, the sequence of events that un75 Libanius, Or. 15.53, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 140: Ἴσως τις ἀπήγγειλέ σοι μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων νεὼς ἔτι πολλούς τε καὶ μεγάλους παρ’ ἡμῖν ἑστηκότας, ὃ τῆς τῶν ἐνοικούντων εὐσεβείας ἐποιοῦ σημεῖον, ὡς τῶν μὲν βουλομένων καθαιρεῖν ὄντων, σεσωσμένων δὲ τῶν οὐ κειμένων ταῖς τῶν ἀχθομένων τῇ καθαιρέσει μάχαις. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 183. 76 Libanius, Or. 15.52, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 139: Καὶ τί δεῖ περὶ ταῦτα διατρίβειν, ᾧ μάρτυς ὑπάρχει πιστότατος, ὃν μόνον τῶν πάντων οὐκ ἂν ἐκβάλοις; τίνα δὴ λέγω τοῦτον; αὐτὸν σέ. σὺ γάρ τι τῇ πόλει πρῴην πρὸς ἐμὲ μεμφόμενος, ἐγὼ δέ, ἔφης, αὐτὴν διενοούμην ποιῆσαι μαρμαρίνην. οὕτω γὰρ εἶπες τῷ ῥήματι. οὐκοῦν ἀφίκου φιλῶν. εἰ δὲ ἐφίλεις, ἐπῄνεις. ἐπῄνεις δὲ οὐκ ἐχθράν, ἀλλ’ ἀμειβόμενος φίλτρον· Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 1, 181.

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folded in the direct aftermath of the riots of 387 will set the stage for a Christian orator, John Chrysostom, providing a good example of how the discourse on rage, dissent, and reconciliation could now be clothed in a Christian lore.

5. A City in Lockdown 5.1 Introduction The so-called Riot of the Statues, which took place in the city of Antioch in the year 387, may be counted among the most famous riots of Late Antiquity, maybe coming second only to the Nike riots. At the same time, it is also one of the riots with the largest footprint among contemporaneous writings, as documented by a series of orations penned by Libanius and by an even longer series of homilies composed by John Chrysostom, the city’s most known preacher of the fourth century. Notwithstanding the plurality of issues addressed by these texts, both authors share a concern for the themes on which our last chapter focused, namely the anger of the emperor and the need for a moral reform of the community. But the present chapter will also supply us with a further reading lens by which to read these themes as it will place special emphasis on the role which emotions, in particular that of fear, played in ancient and late antique rhetoric. The appeal to specific emotions was in fact “integral to the act of persuasion” and was therefore consciously sought by any orator who aimed at directing or manipulating the opinion or the actions of his listeners in a particular situation. 1 It may suffice at this point to hint at Quintilian as a representative voice from his guild, as he dedicates several paragraphs of his Institutio oratoria to the rhetorical value of πάθος or adfectus. 2 It is not surprising, therefore, that Christian preachers like John Chrysostom readily put this device to their own uses. The liturgical season of Lent, in which the homilies of the statues have been delivered, and its focus on divine judgement and repentance, provided, in fact, a suitable background for this effort. In this way, both the liturgical context and the biblical language of John’s homilies offered a structure of meaning through which the preacher could present to his Christian audience the traditional themes of reconciliation, on the one hand, and contribute to the Christianization of the city, on the other. 3 Before being able to better articulate 1 Y. Papadogiannakis, “Homiletics and the History of Emotions: The Case of John Chrysostom”, in Revisioning John Chrysostom. New Approaches, New Perspectives, eds. C. de Wet and W. Mayer, Leiden: Brill, 2019, 300–333, here 300. 2 See Quintilian, Inst. or. 6.2.20. 3 This question fits in well into the theme of the Christianization of Antioch (real and imagined) envisaged by recent contributions that focus on the spatial changes within Antioch’s

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this point, however, it is first of all necessary to foreground some of the main aspects of the accounts on the riot under discussion.

5.2 A Madness beyond Control: The Riot The most substantial account about the riot is offered once again by Libanius, who recounts the events in several passages throughout the discourses (Or. 19– 23) that he composed, with the exception of the Oration against the Refugees (Or. 23), in the aftermath of the entire affair. 4 As the orator suggests, the imposition of a new tax levy in connection with the tenth anniversary of the reign of Theodosius served as the triggering event for the violent protest. 5 As soon as the decree was publicized, a collective outcry followed among the citizens. Antioch’s leading citizens seem to have been a decisive factor in the riot, as can be evinced from Libanius’s observation that the courtroom (δικαστήριον) was packed with former governors, members of the city council and former soldiers, for which reason the protest soon turned “into seditious cries” (φωνὴν ἔρρηξαν στασιαστικήν). 6 As the protest gained steam and spread throughout other segments of the population, supplications turned into violent actions and to the besieging of the house of the governor, with protestors hitting so violently on topography (C. Shepardson, Controlling Contested Places: Late Antique Antioch and the Spatial Politics of Religious Controversy [Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014], 129–162) or on the transformation of the civic community into a unified religious body (J. R. Stenger, Johannes Chrysostomos und die Christianisierung der Polis, STAC 115 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019], esp. 174–237). Both authors therefore present this theme within a discursive framework that can be seen as complementary to the one followed in the present chapter. See also F. Krautheim, Das öffentliche Auftreten des Christentums im spätantiken Antiochia, STAC 109 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018). 4 Besides the many allusions and hints to be found in Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Statues, the corpus of sources for this event also include the report left by Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.23, and Theodoretus, Hist. eccl. 5.20. For a reconstruction of the events, see G. Downey, A History of Antioch in Syria from Seleucus to the Arab Conquest (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), 426–433, and F. Van de Paverd, St. John Chrysostom. The Homilies on the Statues. An Introduction (Rome: Pont. Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1991), 15–159. 5 See Libanius, Or. 22.4. The nature of the tax has been the object of different interpretations, ranging from a collatio lustralis, which fell upon the merchants and tradesmen, to the aurum coronarium, which fell upon the landowning curiales. See Browning, “The Riot of A.D. 387”, 14–15, with the bibliographical references in nn. 11–14. 6 See Libanius, Or. 19.26, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 397 (transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 285) for the courtroom packed with supplicants, and Or. 22.5, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 473 (transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 377) for the riotous cries. The exact location of the courtroom (δικαστήριον) is uncertain. Evagrius, Hist. eccl. 1.18, locates a courtroom in the proximity of the Forum of Valens. It would therefore be located within the part of the city built or refurbished under the Emperor Valens. See G. Downey, Ancient Antioch (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963), 218–219. On the forum of Valens and its representational function within the urban space of Antioch, see G. Brands, Antiochia in der Spätantike. Prolegomena zu einer archäologischen Stadtgeschichte (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016), 19–30.

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the railings and on the door that the servants feared for the worst. 7 As these actions did not bring any result, the crowd then proceeded to the residence of Bishop Flavian; however, he was not there. Others gathered at the colonnade in front of the courtroom and, in a sign of protest, stripped off their mantels. 8 As Libanius clarifies, responsibility for the spiral of violence also fell on the theater claques. In particular, it was their capacity for turning vocal slogans into violent actions which in fact contributed to the degeneration of the protest, as previous incidents in other cities would demonstrate. 9 Spurred on by the climate of general excitement, the mob went off to the baths, where they cut down the hanging lamps that were meant to illuminate the streets. 10 These acts of vandalism were only a “prelude” (προοίμιον), however, of those actions which eventually gave the name to the present riot. Considering “their usual techniques, rioting and disturbances in the factories” to be “unworthy of their manliness,” the rioters went after the images of the imperial family, first hurling stones and then tearing down the bronze statues with ropes slung around their neck, dragging them along the streets. 11 This, however, did not yet appease the rage of the demonstrators, as they went on to set fire to the house of an official who, in the eyes of the protesters, was responsible for the tax decree. As they proceeded to burn further buildings, including the palace, the archers stationed on its walls finally succeeded in dispersing the crowd. 12 The account’s topical character is obviously supported by a series of images also shared by orators or historians who relate other riotous events. This is most notably the case with Libanius’s assessment that such a crisis could only be explained by a “behaviour of a city gone mad” (μαινομένης πόλεως), 13 and by the proclivity of the mob to cause trouble as they do in their “factories” (ἐργα-

See Libanius, Or. 20.3. See Libanius, Or. 19.28, for the failed entreaty to Flavian, and Or. 22.6, for the protesters stripping off their garments. 9 See Libanius, Or. 19.28. On the power of the slogans uttered by the audience at the theater, see also Libanius, Or. 41.16. As Browning, “The Riot of A.D. 387”, 17, observes, this group of persons was able to transform into a political force in the public arena by their very ability to “formulate popular or sectional demands in rhythmical phrases and lead with voice and gesture the mass-chanting of such phrases.” 10 See Libanius, Or. 22.6. The mention of the baths may point to the fact that violence was being concentrated on the island of the river Orontes with its series of representative buildings, among which we also have to mention the hippodrome. See on the evidence offered by archaeological excavations the discussion in Brands, Antiochia in der Spätantike, 8–15. 11 Libanius, Or. 22.7–8, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 474–475: Τὸ μὲν τὰ εἰωθότα ταῦτα ποιεῖν καὶ ταράττειν καὶ συγχεῖν τἀν τοῖς ἐργαστηρίοις μικρόν τε καὶ ἀνάξιον τῆς αὑτῶν ἀνδρίας ἡγήσαντο. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 379.381. See also Libanius, Or. 19.29 and Or. 20.4. According to Theodoretus, Hist. eccl. 5.20.1, only the statue of the empress Placilla was pulled down. 12 See Libanius, Or. 22.9, and Or. 19.34–35. 13 Libanius, Or. 19.8, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 388; transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 273. 7 8

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στηρίοις). 14 As a proof of the irrationality driving the disorders, Libanius, not without a tone of complacent sarcasm, points out how the protesters even demolished the portraits of those members of the royal family who had nothing to do with the levy of the taxes. 15 Some of the actions which Libanius attributes to the mob are paralleled by similar episodes in the context of food riots, even if the outcome was not always the same. As we learn from the historian Ammianus Marcellinus in his account on the riots that took place in the year 354, a mob of coppersmiths burnt down the house of a wealthy citizen, after which they also lynched to death the governor Theophilus. 16 At the same time, if the historian felt the need to point out both the conflagration of the house and the murder of the governor, he may also have done so on the grounds that this incident went far beyond the limits inside which collective anger would have been anticipated and acceptable. Reporting about this same incident in his Misopogon, Julian, for example, comments that Constantius avenged the death of the governor by sending his troops to Antioch, not because of the protest itself, which was justified given the hardship which the population had to endure, but because “what they did exceeded all limits.” 17 Although the toppling of the statues by the rioters could therefore be seen as an attempt to channel their rage and to keep the protest within accepted boundaries, it was certainly not interpreted so by the emperor himself, for whom this action amounted to a direct attack against his authority. In order to get an idea of the gravity of the episode, it might after all be enough to remind ourselves of how Philo of Alexandria commented on the acts of vandalism against imperial signs in the context of the anti-Jewish riots of his days: I say nothing of the tributes to the emperors which were pulled down or burnt at the same time, the shields and gilded crowns and the slabs and inscriptions, consideration for which should have made them spare the rest. But they were emboldened by having no fear of the vengeance of Gaius. 18

The reaction of the imperial administration was not long in coming. Immediately after the riots, the comes Orientis entered the city with new troops in order to reinforce the contingents stationed within the walls. A martial court was instituted and death sentences were passed on those found guilty of the disorLibanius Or. 22.7, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 474; transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 379. See Libanius, Or. 22.8. 16 See Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 14.7.6, and Downey, History of Antioch, 366. 17 Iulianus Apostata, Misopogon 370c, eds. Prato and Micalella, 78; transl. Wright, Works, vol. 2, 509. 18 Philo, Legatio 133, eds. L. Cohn and P. Wendland, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 6 (Berlin: Reimer, 1915), 180: Καὶ σιωπῶ τὰς συγκαθαιρεθείσας καὶ συμπρησθείσας τῶν αὐτοκρατόρων τιμὰς ἀσπίδων καὶ στεφάνων ἐπιχρύσων καὶ στηλῶν καὶ ἐπιγραφῶν, δι’ ἃ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὤφειλον ἀνέχειν· ἀλλ’ ἐθάρρουν ἅτε τὴν ἐκ Γαΰου τίσιν οὐ δεδιότες. Transl. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whittaker, Philo, vol. 10 (London: Heinemann, 1962), 67. 14 15

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ders. 19 At the same time, Theodosius was also informed by his messengers about the upheaval. The prospect of retaliatory measures fed conflicting rumors disseminated within the city on what the emperor would decide, fearing that he would stage a massacre, take possession of private property or put to death the culprits. 20

5.3 The Making of a Responsive City It is in this climate of fear in which John’s homilies, delivered during the Lent season that followed the riot, were inserted. 21 The first sermon pronounced in the immediate aftermath of the riot still gives an idea about John’s consternation at the idea of addressing this issue in his homilies, as he taps into rhetorical tropes of humility in order to raise the stakes of his argument for his audience: What shall I say, or what shall I speak of? The present season is one for tears, and not for words; for lamentation, not for discourse; for prayer, not for preaching. Such is the magnitude of the deeds daringly done; so incurable is the wound, so deep the blow, even beyond the power of all treatment, and craving assistance from above. 22

See Libanius, Or. 19.36–37. See Libanius, Or. 20.5. 21 For an in-depth study of the homilies, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues. While the manuscript tradition does not present particular problems for the order of the first eight homilies, both the number and the order of the remaining homilies have been the object of different interpretations among the editors and commentators. For practical reasons I will follow the numbering of the Migne edition, based on the order chosen by Montfaucon. For a tabular overview of the numerations used by other editions, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 206–207. Further clarifications on this issue will be added in the relevant footnotes. A first note has to be inserted at this point with regard to the total number of homilies pertaining to this series. Together with the 21 sermons printed by most editions, the manuscripts’ corpus also transmits a further homily within the series, commonly known by its Latin incipit as Nuper dictorum or by the title chosen by modern editors as Catechesis secunda ad illuminandos, bringing it therefore to a total of 22 homilies. Montfaucon did not include this sermon in his edition, based on his conviction that it is in fact a homily being addressed to the catechumens only. Against this hypothesis, Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 216–230, convincingly argues that this sermon was held in front of a mixed audience and that, as a consequence, it should also be considered as part of the series. Since, in any case, this homily has been edited by Migne outside the series De statuis (PG 49, 231–240), we will refer to it by its Latin incipit. For an edition with German translation of this homily, see R. Kaczynski, Catecheses baptismales: Taufkatechesen, FC 6 (Freiburg i.Br.: Herder, 1992), 110–149. 22 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 1, ed. Migne, PG 49, 33: Τί εἴπω καὶ τί λαλήσω; δακρύων ὁ παρὼν καιρὸς, οὐχὶ ῥημάτων· θρήνων, οὐχὶ λόγων· εὐχῆς, οὐ δημηγορίας· τοιοῦτον τῶν τετολμημένων τὸ μέγεθος, οὕτως ἀνίατον τὸ ἕλκος, οὕτω μέγα τὸ τραῦμα, καὶ πάσης ἰατρείας μεῖζον, καὶ τῆς ἄνωθεν δεόμενον βοηθείας. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 344. See on this passage the comments in M. S. Celentano, “Giovanni Crisostomo, Sulle statue 2. Omelia e/o orazione politica?”, in La rhétorique du pouvoir. Une exploration de l’art oratoire délibératif Grec, eds. M. Edwards et al., Entretiens sur l’Antiquité Classique 62 (Genève: Fondation Hardt, 19 20

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As for the tragic figure of Job sitting on his dunghill and offering a pitiful spectacle for his friends, so also the present catastrophe brought all the cities “to come to our city and to lament with all sympathy (μετὰ συμπαθείας ἁπάσης) what has befallen us.” 23 The kind of distress that John will repeatedly allude to throughout his sermons, more than aiming at the subjective side of his audience’s perception is addressing the shared experience of the entire civic community, an experience which entailed a certain way of perceiving the city both from the outside, as this last quote suggests, but also from the inside, as the following passage suggests. Setting up what can be termed as a “topography of danger”, Chrysostom recounts how even familiar venues within the perimeters of the city walls were now being perceived as threatening places: And as it is not safe for those who are besieged to go beyond the walls, while the enemy without is encamped around; so neither, to many of those who inhabit this city, is it safe to go out of doors, or to appear openly; on account of those who are everywhere hunting for the innocent as well as the guilty; and seizing them even in the midst of the forum, and dragging them to the court of justice, without ceremony, and just as chance directs. 24

While the significance of emotions in John’s homilies will be analyzed below, I would like to foreground first of all one of the homilies’ main rhetorical functions, which was that of envisaging a moral community which would be liable for collective manifestations of sin and, therefore, also for the Antiochenes’ complicity in the revolt, as the following passage exemplifies: Behold, the crime was that of a few, but the blame comes on all! Behold, through these, we are all now placed in fear, and are ourselves suffering the punishment of what these men dared to do! But if we had taken them in time, and cast them out of the city, and chastised them, and corrected the sick member, we should not have been subjected to our present terror. 25 2016), 343–368, here 349–350. For the date of this homily, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 293–297. 23 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 1, ed. Migne, PG 49, 33: Νῦν τοῦτο τὰς πόλεις ἁπάσας τὰς κύκλῳ ποιῆσαι ἐχρῆν, καὶ πρὸς τὴν πόλιν τὴν ἡμετέραν ἐλθεῖν, καὶ θρηνῆσαι τὰ γεγενημένα μετὰ συμπαθείας ἁπάσης. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 344. On the presence of Job in the series De statuis, see L. Brottier, “L’image d’Antioche dans les homélies Sur les statues de Jean Chrysostome”, Revue des Études Grecques 106 (1993), 619–635, here 631–632. On the role of tears and ritual lamentation, see J. R. Stenger, “Staging Laughter and Tears: Libanius, Chrysostom and the Riot of the Statues”, in Greek Laughter and Tears. Antiquity and After, eds. Margaret Alexiou and Douglas Cairns, Edinburgh Leventis Studies 8 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2017), 166–186, here 177–178. 24 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 35: Καὶ καθάπερ τοὺς πολιορκουμένους οὐκ ἀσφαλὲς ὑπερβῆναι τὸ τεῖχος, τῶν πολεμίων ἔξω περικαθημένων· οὕτως οὐδὲ πολλοῖς τῶν τὴν πόλιν οἰκούντων ἀσφαλὲς ἐξελθεῖν, οὐδὲ ἐν τῷ μέσῳ φανῆναι, διὰ τοὺς πάντοθεν θηρεύοντας ἀναιτίους καὶ αἰτίους, καὶ ἐκ μέσης ἁρπάζοντας τῆς ἀγορᾶς, καὶ πρὸς τὸ δικαστήριον ἁπλῶς καὶ ὡς ἔτυχεν ἕλκοντας. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 345. 25 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 3, ed. Migne, PG 49, 38: Ἰδοὺ τὸ ἁμάρτημα γέγονεν ὀλίγων, καὶ τὸ ἔγκλημα γίνεται κοινόν· ἰδοὺ δι’ ἐκείνους ἅπαντες δεδοίκαμεν νῦν, καὶ τῶν ἐκείνοις τετολμημένων αὐτοὶ τὰς τιμωρίας ὑπομένομεν. εἰ δὲ προλαβόντες αὐτοὺς

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The insistence on a collective accountability follows a particular homiletic agenda, namely that of envisaging his congregation as a collective moral entity, which could therefore be made the recipient of his reprimands and his moral advices. This intent becomes manifest, for example, when the preacher censures his listeners for their sluggishness for not having put into practice his previous injunctions, which he had already given them in one of his former homilies, in which he invited his listeners to reprimand and chastise the blasphemers. 26 The sermon John is alluding to here transmits, in fact, the much-quoted injunction to treat these fellow Christians by the fist so to prevent them offending the heavenly king. 27 As Maxwell has pointed out in her seminal study on the relationship between John Chrysostom and his congregation, the preacher “envisioned ideal Christians acting exactly like himself when they were outside the church,” leveraging on the fact that “these people would possess the advantage of having even more frequent contact with their fellows.” 28 Such an advice may obviously surprise the modern reader for its blatant legitimation of the use of violence. Within the context of the program of John’s homilies, however, it should be read as manifesting the preacher’s concern for the moral integrity of the believer vis-à-vis the constant threat posed by any form of complicity with sin. In the words used by Chrysostom in commenting on Psalm 4.4 (“Be angry and do not sin”) anger has, in fact, been given not “for sinning but for checking others in their sin.” 29 It was the failure to put into practice such injunctions which in John’s opinion eventually opened the door for the violence. He therefore offered a similar explanation for the calamity as Libanius had already done in his speech to the Antiochenes in the aftermath of the crisis of 362, where he criticized the Antiochenes for not having shown “anger” towards those who insulted the emperor. John, on his part, puts into the mouth of Theodosius a severe reprimand against the Antiochenes for not having checked the violence of the mob. 30 Nonetheless, although they would have failed in living up to these expectations in the past, they could still do so now, as Chrysostom clarifies in the following passage, in

ἐξεβάλομεν τῆς πόλεως, καὶ ἐσωφρονίσαμεν, καὶ τὸ νενοσηκὸς διωρθώσαμεν μέλος, οὐκ ἂν τὸν παρόντα ἐφοβούμεθα φόβον. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 347. 26 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 3. 27 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis I, 12. For the chronological and thematic relation between Homily I and Homily II, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 293– 297. 28 Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 114. 29 Iohannes Chrysostomus, In ps. IV, 7, ed. Migne, PG 55, 51: Καὶ γὰρ διὰ τοῦτο ἐνετέθη ἡμῖν ἡ ὀργὴ, οὐχ ἵνα ἁμαρτάνωμεν, ἀλλ’ ἵνα ἑτέρους ἁμαρτάνοντας κω λύωμεν. Transl. Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 1, 59. See on this passage also Papadogiannakis, “History of Emotions”, 310–311, and Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion, 44–50, here esp. 46. 30 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 4.

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which he invites the Antiochenes to come back to their senses and take the precautionary measures with which to appease the anger of the emperor: Behold, he [sc. God] hath permitted the Emperor to be insulted, and peril to the utmost to hang over all, in order that we might pay by this fear the penalty of that listlessness; was it then vainly, and to no purpose I foretold these things, and assiduously urged your Charity? But nevertheless, nothing was done. Let it, however, be done now; and being chastened by our present calamity, let us now restrain the disorderly madness of these men. Let us shut up their mouths, even as we close up pestiferous fountains; and let us turn them to a contrary course, and the evils which have taken hold of the city shall undoubtedly be stayed. The Church is not a theater, that we should listen for amusement. With profit ought we to depart hence, and some fresh and great gain should we acquire ere we leave this place. 31

While John’s injunction to avoid complicity with the rioters bears clear resemblances with the moral advices mentioned above, we can also observe how he adapts his paraenetical discourse to the present circumstances by substituting the concept of sin with that of the irrational behavior of the mob (μανία), a concept which is in fact closely related to ancient representations of riots, as we shall see again below in the chapter on Pseudo-Martyrius. 32 We may understand such a parallelism as intentional or not, but for those Christians who were familiar with his moral advices offered in other homiletical contexts – for example in his first homily of the statue series – the riotous events which the community testified to were thus presented as the most imminent manifestation of sin. This also meant, as a corollary, that the permanent danger of riots could be presented by the preacher as a constant reminder of the possibility and necessity of moral agency on the part of the community. A further consideration can be inserted, therefore, also with respect to the specific place in which John addresses the community, which in fact is invoked at the end of the passage we just quoted from. 33 It is John’s opinion that the 31 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 4, ed. Migne, PG 49, 38: Ἰδοὺ συνεχώρησεν ὑβρισθῆναι βασιλέα· καὶ τὸν περὶ τῶν ἐσχάτων ἐπικρεμασθῆναι πᾶσι κίνδυνον, ἵνα ἐν τῷ φόβῳ τούτῳ τῆς ῥᾳθυμίας ἐκείνης δῶμεν δίκην. ἆρα μὴ μάτην, μηδὲ εἰκῆ ταῦτα προὔλεγον, καὶ συνεχῶς ἠνώχλουν τῇ ὑμετέρᾳ ἀγάπῃ; ἀλλ’ ὅμως οὐδὲν γέγονε πλέον, ἀλλὰ γενέσθω νῦν, καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς παρούσης σωφρονισθέντες συμφορᾶς, ἐπίσχωμεν τὴν ἄτακτον ἐκείνων μανίαν. ἐμφράξωμεν αὐτῶν τὰ στόματα, καθάπερ πηγὰς θανατηφόρους ἀποκλείσωμεν, καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἐναντίον μεταβάλωμεν, καὶ πάντως στήσεται τὰ κατειληφότα τὴν πόλιν κακά. οὐκ ἔστι θέατρον ἡ ἐκκλησία, ἵνα πρὸς τέρψιν ἀκούωμεν· ὠφεληθέντας ἐντεῦθεν ἀπιέναι χρὴ, κερδάναντάς τι πλέον καὶ μέγα, οὕτως ἀναχωρεῖν δεῖ. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 347. 32 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 1, and Libanius, Or. 23.22. In other circumstances, John can use μανία and στάσις almost as synonyms. See Hom. in acta Apost. IV, 3, ed. Migne, PG 60, 47: Οὐχὶ θυμοῖς, οὐχὶ μανίαις ὁλοκλήρων πόλεων, οὐχὶ στάσεσι καὶ ἐπιβουλαῖς προέκειντο. 33 On the role of the church as the setting for the homilies, see W. Mayer, “The Dynamics of Liturgical Space. Aspects of the Interaction between St John Chrysostom and his Audience”, Ephemerides Liturgicae 111 (1997), 104–115, esp. 111.

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church building should be singled out from landmarks intended for mundane entertainment, with its very power to transform the city into a moral community. However he does not confer to the church building an intrinsic sacred value. 34 Quite to the contrary, as the context of the homily makes clear its dignity is grounded in the capacity of the audience to become responsive to the threats of sin. This also betrays John’s own ideas on the role of rhetoric. The fact that among the many different types of entertainment venues Chrysostom singles out in particular the theater creates, in fact, not only a stark contrast between two places, but also between two different forms of oral performances that serve the purpose of moral reform and that of mere amusement, respectively, especially if we consider that the theater could also host public speeches, as we saw in the chapter on Dio Chrysostom. 35 In other words, not the applause but moral amendment was eventually decisive in certifying the preacher’s rhetoric, as the following passages suggest: What need have I of these plaudits, these cheers and tumultuous signs of approval? The praise I seek, is that ye show forth all I have said in your works. Then am I an enviable and happy man, not when ye approve, but when ye perform with all readiness, whatsoever ye hear from me? Let everyone then correct his neighbor, for “edify ye one another,” it is said, and if we do not this, the crimes of each one will bring some general and intolerable damage to the city. 36

In a similar way as for the speech delivered by Dio Chrysostom in front of the Alexandrians, the preacher and the audience are thus presented as being bound together by the prospect of a mutual benefit, provided that his injunctions will be put into practice, thus saving the city from greater danger. 37

See on this Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 134. On the different roles of the theater, see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 51–54. 36 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 4, ed. Migne, PG 49, 38: Τί μοι τῶν κρότων ὄφελος τούτων; τί δὲ τῶν ἐπαίνων καὶ τῶν θορύβων; ἔπαινος ἐμὸς τὸ διὰ τῶν ἔργων ὑμᾶς ἐπιδεῖξαι τὰ λεγόμενα ἅπαντα· τότε ἐγὼ ζηλωτὸς καὶ μακάριος, οὐχ ὅταν ἀποδέχησθε, ἀλλ’ ὅταν ποιῆτε μετὰ προθυμίας ἁπάσης, ἅπερ ἂν ἀκούσητε παρ’ ἡμῶν. ἕκαστος τὸν πλησίον διορθούσθω· οἰκοδομεῖτε γὰρ εἷς τὸν ἕνα, φησίν· ἂν γὰρ μὴ τοῦτο ποιῶμεν, ἡ παρ’ ἑκάστου γινομένη πλημμέλεια κοινήν τινα καὶ ἀφόρητον οἴσει τὴν βλάβην τῇ πόλει. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 347. 37 As Angelo Roncoroni pointed out, the theme of applause is subject to an ambivalent assessment both in Chrysostom as well as in orators of the Second and Third Sophistic. The applause could in fact both feed the orator’s craving for recognition as well as mark the appreciation of the audience for the moral teaching of the preacher. See A. Roncoroni, “Origini della retorica cristiana dell’applauso”, in Studi in onore di Ferrante Rittatore Vonwiller. Parte Seconda: Archeologia italica classica medievale, diritto, letteratura, linguistica, storia, varie, ed. by Società Archeologica Comense (Como, 1980), 411–423, here 416. On the church as place of consolation, see Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis IV, 1. 34 35

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Together with the spatial dimension of Chrysostom’s rhetoric, there is also a temporal or liturgical dimension constituted by the season of Lent, in which most of the Homilies on the Statues have been delivered. 38 A frequent image to which the preacher resorts when speaking about this particular liturgical season is that of the rhythm of agricultural life, comparing, for example, his preaching with the sowing of the seeds during spring. 39 Also in this respect, the present state of despondency should not deter the believers from amending their ways. Similarly to the farmer who looks with hope at the dark clouds towering on the horizon, and thus setting out to sow the seed in his fields, so also the Antiochenes should therefore consider not the present hardship but the benefits which can arise from it. 40 Also here Chrysostom betrays his intention to tap both into the theological discourse of sin as well as into that of the most recent events, as can be seen in the last sermon he delivered before the beginning of Lent. Alluding to the mission of Antioch’s Bishop Flavian at the court in Constantinople in the aftermath of the riots, to which we will come back below, he eventually turned to the theme of fasting and its effectiveness as a means of repentance and intercession with God: Let us not then despair of our safety, but let us pray; let us make invocation; let us supplicate; let us go on embassy to the King that is above with many tears! We have this fast too as an ally, and as an assistant in this good intercession. 41

The special character of Lent should have been in itself an incentive for promoting moral reform. Even the emperor, as Chrysostom remembers, would have showed his reverence for this season by granting a temporary moratorium on the execution of capital punishments across all the cities of the empire. 42 Also for this reason, the preacher was all the more indignant at the fact that some of his parishioners still attended horse races to the detriment of church attendance. 43 In a similar way as we observed for the value of the church building, the 38 On the liturgical services during Lent in Antioch, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 161–201. Based on the internal evidence from the homily Nuper dictorum and its relation to other homilies on the series, Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 230–233 and 250–255, suggested that in Antioch, at the end of the fourth century, Lent lasted for eight weeks, already starting therefore in what would today be the Monday of Cheesefare week. 39 So, for example, in Iohannes Chrysostomus, Hom. in Gen. II, 1, on which see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 138. For the practice and interpretation of fasting in the works of Chrysostom, see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 136–140. 40 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis IV, 1. 41 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis III, 3, ed. Migne, PG 49, 50: Μὴ τοίνυν ἀπογινώσκωμεν ὑπὲρ τῆς ἡμῶν αὐτῶν σωτηρίας, ἀλλὰ δεώμεθα, παρακαλῶμεν, ἱκετεύωμεν, πρεσβευώμεθα πρὸς τὸν ἄνω βασιλέα μετὰ πολλῶν δακρύων· ἔχομεν καὶ τὴν νηστείαν ταύτην σύμμαχον καὶ τῆς καλῆς ταύτης συνεφαπτομένην ἡμῖν πρεσβείας. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 357. 42 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis VI, 3, and De statuis XXI, 3. 43 See for example Hom. in Gen. VI, 1, on which see Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 137–138, esp. n. 100.

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practice of fasting does not display for Chrysostom an inherent sacred quality, but still needs to be filled with the spiritual commitment of the believers, also acknowledging that its success ultimately depends on God alone. 44 In particular, Chrysostom has to remind his audience that fasting does not merely consist of the abstinence from food, but rather of the abstinence from sin. Otherwise, as the example given by the Pharisees would testify to, the mere renunciation of food would be of no profit. 45

5.4 Engaging Emotions Besides the spatial context provided by the church building and the temporal one provided by the Lent season, there is also a third aspect that marks Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Statues and his attempt to solicit from the audience a change of conduct in reaction to the present crisis: that of the affections or emotions. Given the distress and anguish assailing the listeners, this third element was surely the most obvious but also the most delicate one to take into consideration for Chrysostom’s homiletic agenda. As I would like to flesh out in this section, the recurrent appeal to the emotive world with which the community was entangled was well suited for a discourse that aimed at the moral reform of the civic community. Recent scholarship on John Chrysostom has already pointed out the different ways in which the Goldmouth could capitalize on and manipulate the emotions with which certain events or places were associated, echoing a practice firmly rooted in late antique rhetorical tradition. This is not to say that the emotive appeal behind Chrysostom’s preaching would have escaped previous research, but only in recent years has the affective dimension of late antique homiletical practice and its “impact on the audience and its resultant behavior” been envisaged “as a distinct analytical category.” 46 How far the preacher’s reference to specific emotions was an integral part of the art of rhetoric can be evinced from the way he presents the diplomatic mission of Bishop Flavian at the imperial court and the reason why Flavian’s tearful entreaty eventually succeeded: For he was desirous that one feeling should be got rid of, and that another should take its place; that anger should be expelled, and sadness introduced, in order that he might thus prepare the way for the words of his apology; which indeed actually took place. 47 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis IV, 3. See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis III, 3. 46 See Papadogiannakis, “History of Emotions”, here 304. On the role of emotions in Chrysostom’s preaching, see now especially Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion. On emotions in late antique rhetoric, see also R. Cribiore, Libanius the Sophist. Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013), 89–95. 47 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 214: Ἐβούλετο γὰρ δὴ 44 45

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Given the particular circumstances, it is not surprising that most prominent among the emotions that Chrysostom dwells upon in several of his Homilies on the Statues is that of fear (φόβος). This rhetorical device was not only aimed at describing or mirroring the state of fear shared by his audience, but was rather preoccupied with the question of how to capitalize on this emotion in such a way as to mold a specific response among his listeners. As for other emotions, the reference to fear could prove a rhetorical tool both effective and ambiguous. As the preacher experienced during the weeks of Lent, in fact, the course of events exposed certain considerable challenges for any attempt at taming this emotion. The difficulties stem primarily from two problems which I will consider in the following section, namely the need for interpretation and the problem of instability. The first of these two issues emerges in several occasions throughout the homilies, as Chrysostom thought it necessary to offer a re-evaluation of the concept of fear and to orientate the mind of his listeners to what, according to the preacher, should be the proper object of fear. 48 A striking example for such a re-evaluation is offered in the homily pronounced on the Tuesday of the first week of Lent, in which Chrysostom had to address the fears fed by some of the most draconian measures that were put in place after the riot: But I have no fear of death, says one, nor of the act of dying, but of a miserable death, of being beheaded. Did John then, I ask, die miserably? for he was beheaded. Or did Stephen die miserably? for he was stoned; and all the martyrs have thus died wretchedly, according to this objection: since some have ended their lives by fire; and others by the sword; and some cast into the ocean; others down a precipice; and others into the jaws of wild beasts, have so come by their death. To die basely, O man, is not to come to one’s end by a violent death, but to die in sin! 49 πάθος τὸ μὲν ἐξενεγκεῖν, τὸ δὲ εἰσενεγκεῖν, ἐκβαλεῖν μὲν τὸν θυμὸν, εἰσαγαγεῖν δὲ ἀθυμίαν, ἵνα οὕτω προοδοποιήσῃ τοῖς τῆς ἀπολογίας ῥήμασιν· ὅπερ οὖν καὶ ἐγένετο. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 484. On the contrast between ἀθυμία and θύμος, see L. Brottier, “Un jeu de mots intraduisible: le combat entre thumos et athumia dans des homélies de Jean Chrysostom”, Revue de Philologie, de Littérature et d’Histoire Anciennes 72 (1998), 189–204. For the different connotations of ἀθυμία and its therapeutic benefits in John Chrysostom’s writings, see B. Leyerle, “The Etiology of Sorrow and its Therapeutic Benefits in the Preaching of John Chrysostom”, JLA 8 (2015), 368–385. 48 See on this Papadogiannakis, “History of Emotions”, 312. 49 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis V, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 71–72: Ἀλλ’ οὐ τὸν θάνατον δέδοικα, φησὶν, οὐδὲ τὸ ἀποθανεῖν, ἀλλὰ τὸ κακῶς ἀποθανεῖν, τὸ ἀποτμηθῆναι τὴν κεφαλήν. οὐκοῦν ὁ Ἰωάννης κακῶς ἀπέθανεν; ἀπετμήθη γάρ· οὐκοῦν ὁ Στέφανος κακῶς ἀπέθανε; κατελεύσθη γάρ· καὶ μάρτυρες οἱ δὲ πάντες ἀθλίως τὸ καθ’ ὑμᾶς ἐτελεύτησαν· ἐπειδὴ οἱ μὲν ἐν πυρὶ, οἱ δὲ σιδήρῳ τὸν βίον κατέλυσαν· καὶ οἱ μὲν εἰς πέλαγος, οἱ δὲ εἰς κρημνὸν, οἱ δὲ εἰς ὀδόντας ἐμπεσόντες θηρίων, οὕτως ἀπέθανον. οὐ τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ κακῶς ἀποθανεῖν, ἄνθρωπε, τὸ βιαίῳ τελευτῆσαι θανάτῳ, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐν ἁμαρτίαις ἀποθανεῖν. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 373. On the date of this sermon, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 298–299. The theme of sin as the only danger Christians need to fear runs through the entire sermon. On the re-evaluation of death as the lesser danger with respect to sin and divine judgement, see also

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In a similar vein, in the homily delivered on the following day, Chrysostom recalls to the mind of his listeners the frightful appearance offered by the public tribunals that had been set up by the imperial commissioners, inviting them, however, to consider the spiritual benefits that originated from their distress, which in fact succeeded to remove their sluggishness and made them more diligent in their practice of prayers and supplications. 50 While the preacher could on more than one occasion capitalize on fear’s moral utility, he was also aware of the volatile and unstable character of emotions, which could quickly change or decrease in intensity as events unfold. This problem manifested, after all, in the events that followed the shock and trepidation of the first days after the riot. In particular, the arrival of the judges Caesarius and Ellebichus marked an important turning point in the handling of the crisis. At the end of the day of the tribunal, staged on the Wednesday of the third week of Lent, the sentences pronounced by the judges included sentences of confiscation and imprisonment against some of the higher ranking citizens, leaving, however, the final decision regarding the execution of capital punishment to the emperor. 51 In a similar way as Julian 25 years earlier, Theodosius also adopted measures addressed against the prestige of Antioch, this time imposing a ban on her civic amenities, such as the theaters, the baths or the hippodrome, and reducing her metropolitan status to that of a “petty town.” 52 All in all, however, the sentence seemed to have brought relief for the Antiochenes, who had been fearing for the worst. 53 For Chrysostom, the improvement to the situation also constituted a particular challenge, no longer being able to cash in on the emotional distress of his listeners. As a consequence, the argumentation was adjusted to the new situation, such as is the case for his reference to the adolescent who also maintains an exemplary behavior after being released from the fear of his pedagogue. 54 The climate of temporary relaxation that followed the verdict is especially reflected in the group of homilies delivered in the week after the court session, in which Chrysostom opens his homilies with the invocation “blessed be God” Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion, 127–138, and idem, “John Chrysostom and the Strategic Use of Fear”, in Conflict and Social Control in Late Antiquity: The Violence of Small Worlds, eds. K. Cooper and J. Wood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 173–187, esp. 183– 184. 50 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis VI, 1. On the stimulating quality of fear in Chrysostom’s homilies, see Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion, 117–120, and idem, “Strategic Use of Fear”, 178–181. 51 Documented by Libanius, Or. 20.38 and 22.24. See also Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2. 52 See Libanius, Or. 20.6, and Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2. See also Theodoretus, Hist. eccl. 5.20.2. For a reconstruction of the trial and its consequences, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 64–82, esp. 78–80. 53 See Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 122. 54 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 1.

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(Hom. XI–XIII). 55 The last of these sermons, delivered on the Wednesday of the week after the court session, is of special interest in this respect, as it betrays the preacher’s worry for a possible decrease in tonicity among his listeners, obliging him to recount the terrifying events of the past week once again even at the present moment when “terrors have passed away” (παρέλθῃ τὰ δεινὰ). 56 For this reason, he offers a gloomy picture of the empty streets he witnessed the day when he proceeded to the court in order to find out about the processes, also remarking that the few people who dared to be seen in the streets looked with suspicion at each other, fearing to be extradited to the tribunal. 57 Most heartbreaking for the audience must have been the portrayal of the women of Antioch’s leading families approaching the judges in tears and begging them to spare the lives of their relatives. The dramatic effect created by this scene is further enhanced by the reversal of common assumptions about gender-specific places, as exemplified by the observation that mothers were forced out of the private space of their homes by their familial affections, only to be humiliated in the public eye: One sight there was, more pitiable than all; a mother, and a sister of a certain person, who was among those under trial within, sat at the very vestibule of the court of justice, rolling themselves on the pavement, and becoming a common spectacle to all the bystanders; veiling their faces, and showing no sense of shame, but that which the urgency of the calamity permitted. No maid servant, nor neighbor, nor female friend, nor any other relative accompanied them. But hemmed in by a crowd of soldiers, alone, and meanly clad, and groveling on the ground, about the very doors, they were in more pitiable case than those who were undergoing judgment within, and hearing as they did the voice of the executioners, the strokes of the scourge, the wailing of those who were being scourged, the fearful threats of the judges, they themselves endured, at every scourging, sharper pains than those who were beaten. 58

The dramatic description of the scene which unfolded outside the tribunal does not only have a descriptive purpose. On the contrary, this gloomy account is On these sermons, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 328–332. Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XIII, 1, ed. Migne, PG 49, 136. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 426. 57 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XIII, 1. 58 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XIII, 1, ed. Migne, PG 49, 137: Τὸ δὲ πάντων ἐλεεινότερον, μήτηρ μία καὶ ἀδελφὴ τῶν ἔνδον κρινομένων τινὸς, πρὸς αὐτὰ τῶν δικαζόντων ἐκάθηντο τὰ πρόθυρα, κυλινδούμεναι περὶ τὸ ἔδαφος, καὶ κοινὸν οὖσαι θέατρον τοῖς περιεστῶσιν ἅπασι, συγκαλυπτόμεναι τὰς ὄψεις, καὶ τοσοῦτον αἰσχυνόμεναι μόνον, ὅσον ἐπέτρεπεν ἡ τῆς συμφορᾶς ἀνάγκη· καὶ οὔτε θεραπαινὶς αὐταῖς παρῆν, οὔτε γείτων, οὔτε φίλη, οὐκ ἄλλη τις τῶν ἐπιτηδείων, ἀλλὰ μόναι μετὰ εὐτελῶν ἱματίων ἐν μέσῳ τοσούτων ἀπειλημμέναι στρατιωτῶν, χαμαὶ συρόμεναι περὶ τὰς θύρας αὐτὰς, τῶν ἔνδον δικαζομένων ἐλεεινότερα ἔπασχον, τῆς τῶν δημίων ἀκούουσαι φωνῆς, τοῦ κτύπου τῶν μαστίγων, τοῦ θρήνου τῶν μαστιζομένων, τῆς φοβερᾶς τῶν δικαζόντων ἀπειλῆς, καὶ καθ’ ἕκαστον τῶν παιομένων χαλεπωτέρας ἐκείνων ὑπέμενον ὀδύνας αὗται. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 426. On the inversion of roles, see Shepardson, Controlling Contested Places, 155–157. 55 56

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designed in such a way as to produce a particular affective response among his listeners in the very moment the distress is not caused anymore by the surrounding events. The anguish caused by the description must now substitute the anguish caused by the events themselves in order to continue to instill in the hearts of the listeners a certain disposition of the mind and soul: Perchance the tragedy of all I have told you has greatly softened your hearts. Do not however take it amiss. For since I am about to venture upon some more subtle thoughts and require a more sensitive state of mind on your part, I have done this intentionally, in order that by the terror of the description your minds might have shaken off all listlessness, and withdrawn themselves from all worldly cares, and might with the more readiness convey the force of the things about to be spoken into the depths of your soul. 59

At times, however, the opposite risk could appear, when an unexpected deterioration of the situation would lead to despair and thus hamper any call for moral reform. This was the experience in the background of the homily delivered at the end of the second week of Lent (Hom. XVI). 60 As can be evinced from this text, rumors that soldiers were marching against Antioch spread in the city and created fear and panic. The fact that it was the pagan prefect who eventually succeeded to calm the citizens, “blaming such ill-timed and senseless cowardice” (αἰτιωμένου τὴν ἄκαιρον ταύτην καὶ ἄλογον δειλίαν), caused much distress for Chrysostom. With this behavior, the citizens of Antioch would have jeopardized both Chrysostom’s own reputation and the Christians’ vocation as examples of fortitude, having instead “needed consolation from without” (τῆς ἔξωθεν ἐδεήθητε παρακλήσεως). 61 To a certain extent, the criticism which Chrysostom addressed to his audience is similar to that offered by Libanius in his Oration against the Refugees (Or. 23), in which he addressed his chides to those who left the city in panic, not trusting the good intentions of the emperor. This oration is particularly suitable 59 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XIII, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 139: Τάχα ἱκανῶς ὑμῶν κατεμάλαξε τὴν καρδίαν ἡ τραγῳδία τῶν εἰρημένων, ἀλλὰ μὴ δυσχεράνητε. καὶ γὰρ ἐπειδὴ μέλλω λεπτοτέρων κατατολμᾷν νοημάτων, καὶ ἁπαλωτέρας δέομαι διανοίας, ἐπίτηδες τοῦτο ἐποίησα, ὥστε τῷ φόβῳ τοῦ διηγήματος τὴν διάνοιαν ὑμῶν πᾶσαν ἀποτιναξαμένην ῥᾳθυμίαν, καὶ τῶν βιωτικῶν ἀπαναστᾶσαν ἁπάντων, μετὰ πολλῆς τῆς εὐκολίας πρὸς τὸ βάθος τῆς ψυχῆς παραπέμψαι τῶν λεγομένων τὴν δύναμιν. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 428. 60 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVI, 6. The chronological context of this sermon is disputed. While there is a general agreement on the fact that this homily follows Hom. XV, with which it forms a thematic unity, there is still disagreement on the question of whether the manuscript tradition reflects the original order given by Chrysostom. Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 322, conjectures that the two homilies were originally held after Hom. VIII and that they have been displaced to the actual position by later copyists in order to give more visibility to the thematic link between Hom. VIII, in which he announced to deal with questions about Genesis in future, and Hom. IX, in which he eventually came back to his promise. 61 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVI, 1, ed. Migne, PG 49, 161–162. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 445.

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for a comparison with the homilies of Chrysostom, as it is the only one which Libanius composed before the end of the crisis. 62 Throughout the entire speech the pagan orator develops what Silke Sitzler has termed a “discourse of fear, disloyalty, dishonor, desertion, and irrationality.” 63 Although the authorities and the military would have repeatedly shown their restraint as well as their determination to pursue the culprits only, a mass exodus started from the city. 64 What in Libanius’s mind would have most blatantly underpinned the irrational nature of this fear was the massive presence of women among the fugitives, who would have had nothing to fear given their complete lack of involvement in the riots. This notwithstanding, “through this idle fear” (διὰ τὸν μάταιον τουτονὶ φόβον) these women soon spent their small amounts of money and were not able anymore to feed their children on their flight, epitomizing in this way the vulnerability but also the foolishness of those who escaped the city. 65 To the detriment of Antioch’s safety, even the leading citizens fled the city, leaving it defenseless against the marauding bandits of the countryside, who did not miss the opportunity to pillage the private property but also the temples of the city. 66 Sitzler has already pointed out in this respect how Libanius’s invective builds on the contrast between the security that the fugitives would have found within the walls and the dangers that they eventually incurred on their flight in the hope to reach safe land, creating in this way a “geography of difference” between the outside and inside world of the city. 67 To Libanius’s bigger disappointment, at last, even his students chose to abandon the city and look for the safety of their families’ estates. 68 This led him to bring the discourse of betrayal and loyalty to a personal level – in a similar way as Chrysostom did in reproaching his listeners for their irrational fears – lamenting that by their cowardice his pupils would have manifested the lack of love for their teacher. 69 Most of all, however, Libanius presents this incident as a betrayal of the art of rhetoric itself, since the students deemed the ban on civic amenities a sufficient 62 This is what can be gauged from the internal evidence offered by Libanius at the end of the speech, in which he still awaits the punitive measures to be lifted. See Libanius, Or. 23.28. 63 S. Sitzler, “Angst and Identity in Antioch following the Riot of the Statues”, in Studies in Emotions and Power in the Late Roman World: Papers in Honour of Ron Newbold, ed. B. Sidwell (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2010), 111–126, 113. On this oration, see also P.-L. Malosse, “Libanios contre Antioche: le discours Contre les fugitifs (Disc. XXIII)”, Topoi. Orient-Occident 7 (2006), 215–230, here 219–229. 64 See Libanius, Or. 23.6. 65 See Libanius, Or. 23.7–9, and Sitzler, “Angst and Identity”, 120–121. 66 See Libanius, Or. 23.17–19. 67 See Libanius, Or. 23.1, and Sitzler, “Angst and Identity”, 123–124. 68 See Libanius, Or. 23.20–24. 69 See Libanius, Or. 23.24. On the teacher-pupil relation and the correspondence between Libanius and the fee-paying parents, see S. N. Lieu, “Libanius and Higher Education at Antioch”, in Culture and Society in Later Roman Antioch, eds. I. Sandwell and J. Huskinson (Havertown: Oxbow Books, 2004), 13–23, here 19–20.

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reason to leave the city, feeling shame for the dire state of the city. 70 In this way, the discourse on fear and betrayal is eventually transferred into a discourse of honor and shame, combined once again with that of places. It was thus necessary for Libanius to challenge the very perception that his pupils had of the most recent events and of the urban space itself: And what does this matter, you enemies of the Muses? The city has indeed been much improved, as regards eloquence, by the punishment she has undergone; and the harmful elements have been removed. None of its true blessings has suffered harm by its change of title. I personally have experienced no ill-effects as regards my usual task in consequence of it, nor yet have those of the students who stayed any cause to blame themselves for staying: their lack of bathing facilities doesn’t stop them from reaping the fruits of their books. My belief is that they will use the baths again, and will see the city once more in all its former state, and they will have proved themselves better than you by the very fact that they have shared in enduring the city’s inconveniences. But you, you will feel shame at the sight of the city, its gates, its place of learning, and of me also, unless you are even thus far lost to any sense of shame. 71

As it seems to me, we can detect a similar combination of discourses interwoven with each other in the homily (Hom. XVII), which Chrysostom dedicated to one of the events that remained impressed most deeply in the memory of the Antiochenes and which eventually became one of the best known sermons of the series De statuis. 72 Calling again to mind the frightening image of the tribunal set up by the judges sent by the emperor, Chrysostom offers an impressive account of how the monks who were living in the caves on the mountains surrounding Antioch proceeded to the city in order to support those awaiting trial. Since these monks were acting on their own accord, as Chrysostom is keen to point out, they demonstrated a loyalty with which nobody reckoned with but

70 See Libanius, Or. 23.21. Students did not always behave to Libanius’s satisfaction. In one of the letters quoted by Lieu, “Libanius and Higher Education”, 19–20 (Ep. 475), Libanius also had to reassure the father of one of his students that the latter’s interest in horse-racing was not yet infringing on his performance in class. See on this also R. Cribiore, The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007), 28. 71 Libanius, Or. 23.27–28, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 506–507: Καὶ τί τοῦτο, ὦ Μουσῶν ὑμεῖς ἐχθροί; πολὺ γὰρ δὴ βελτίων ἡ πόλις εἰς λόγους ἐν οἷς δίκην ἔδωκε γεγένηται, καὶ τὰ μὲν βλαβερὰ περιῄρηται, τῶν δ’ ὄντων ἀγαθῶν οὐδὲν τῇ μεταβολῇ τῆς προσηγορίας βέβλαπται. αὐτός γέ τοι χείρων οὐδὲν ἐντεῦθεν εἰς τοὺς εἰωθότας γέγονα πόνους. οὐδ’ ὅσοι τῶν νέων ἔμειναν, [οὐκ] ᾐτιάσαντο τὴν μονήν, οὓς οὐδὲν τὸ μὴ λοῦσθαι κωλύει καρποῦσθαι τὰ βιβλία. οἶμαι δέ, καὶ λούσονται κἀν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἅπασιν αὖθις ὄψονται τὴν πόλιν βελτίους ὑμῶν αὐτῷ τούτῳ φανέντες τῷ καὶ τὰ δυσκολώτερα τῇ πόλει συνδιενεγκεῖν. ὑμεῖς δὲ αἰσχυνεῖσθε μὲν τοὔδαφος, αἰσχυνεῖσθε δὲ τὰς πύλας, αἰσχυνεῖσθε δὲ τὸ τῶν λόγων χωρίον, αἰσχυνεῖσθε δὲ [καὶ] ἡμᾶς, εἰ μὴ καὶ τοῦτο ὑμῖν ἀπόλωλεν. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 265.267. 72 This sermon does not give explicit references to other homilies, which is why its date remains uncertain. See Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 352–354. On this homily, see also Stenger, Christianisierung der Polis, 188–200 and the translation in P. Allen and W. Mayer, John Chrysostom (London: Routledge, 1999), 104–117.

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which unmistakably gave proof of their inner fortitude. 73 As the preacher continues, the mere appearance of these men was already able to comfort those citizens who remained in the city, instilling in them contempt for the danger of death. In their fearlessness, the monks even proceeded to the courthouse where they interceded on account of those awaiting trial, reminding the judges of the philanthropy of the emperor and at the same time declaring themselves to be willing to offer their own life for that of the culprits. 74 The account given by Chrysostom builds on a similar opposition between the inner and outer world of the city as the one presented by Libanius, as is made evident by similar narrative devices that highlight the contrast between the two realms. As we read, for example, “the inhabitants of the cities fled to the mountains and the deserts, the citizens of the desert rushed to the city,” thus offering his audience what Christine Shepardson termed a “topography of transgression” between the urban and rural constituent of Antioch. 75 Unlike Libanius, however, Chrysostom remains silent on the sufferings that the fugitives had to endure on their flight. 76 Instead, he further elaborates on the contrast between the inhabitants of the desert and those of the city. On the one hand, the power and wealth of the leading citizens of Antioch were of no avail for them in the present crisis and even the familiar relations and personal connections did not protect them from false accusations in the context of the trials. On the other hand, the monks are presented as the true heroes of the moment. Notwithstanding their indigence and the unkempt appearance shaped by the harsh life in the mountains, these uncultivated men gave proof of their courage pleading for the accused at the tribunal. Recalling to mind an image which his listeners were already familiar with from previous sermons, Chrysostom comments that the selfless behavior and unsolicited loyalty displayed by the monks even exceeded the courage of the mothers who, driven by “the tyranny of nature” (ἡ τῆς φύσεως τυραννὶς) and by “the compulsion caused by giving birth” (ἡ τῶν ὠδίνων ἀνάγκη), pleaded for their sons at the doors of the courtroom. 77 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 1. See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 1. 75 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 174: Καὶ οἱ μὲν τὰς πόλεις οἰκοῦντες πρὸς τὰ ὄρη καὶ τὰς ἐρημίας ἀπέπτησαν, οἱ δὲ τῆς ἐρήμου πολῖται εἰς τὴν πόλιν εἰσήλασαν. Transl. Allen and Mayer, John Chrysostom, 108. See Shepardson, Controlling Contested Places, 147–154. This aspect can also be associated with the discourse on the rural-urban divide between Antioch and its surrounding countryside, a theme on which Chrysostom dwells on in several of his homilies pronounced at Antioch. See idem, Controlling Contested Places, 137–146. 76 He does offer, however, some hints in other sermons, observing, for example, that the fugitives become the prey of wild animals on their flight through the desert. See De statuis XXI, 3, ed. Migne, PG 49, 218. 77 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 173; transl. Allen and Mayer, John Chrysostom, 108. The scene about the intercession of the women is then again remembered in his homily Nuper dictorum 4, ed. Migne, PG 49, 238. 73 74

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This proof of the superiority of Christian virtue over natural affections is in fact grounded in the very ascetic life of the monks, who by their mortification of the flesh have already overcome the forces of nature, and are so granted overwhelming effectiveness and force in their intercession and freedom of speech: Don’t tell me that they weren’t killed or even spilled their blood, but that they availed themselves of much frank talk with the judges as is proper only for those who have given up their own lives, and that with this resolve they run down from the mountains to the law court. If they hadn’t previously prepared themselves for every kind of killing, they wouldn’t have been able to speak so freely to the judges on that occasion, or to have displayed such generosity of spirit. 78

As Chrysostom recounts, the monks even had to overcome the fears expressed by the judges regarding the consequences of releasing the accused without punishment, finally reaching an agreement on how to proceed: The judges refused to acquit the culprits but asked the monks to put their pleas down on paper for the emperor in order to be brought to court by the magistrates. 79 This show of magnanimity not only towards the culprits but also towards the judges would eventually be able to impress the emperor and contribute to the fame of the city. 80 Unlike the unstable nature of human affections, the fearlessness of the monks is thus presented by the preacher as demonstrating the ability of every virtuous Christian to stand apart from fortune’s wheel: Wisdom of soul is a thing of such magnitude, being superior to everything, and to all auspicious and sorrowful events. For neither does it become puffed up by the former, nor cast down and humiliated by the latter, but retains its equilibrium through all events, demonstrating its peculiar strength and power. 81

78 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 173: Μὴ γάρ μοι τοῦτο εἴπῃς, ὅτι οὐκ ἐσφάγησαν οὐδὲ ἐξέχεαν τὸ αἷμα, ἀλλ’ ὅτι τοσαύτῃ πρὸς τοὺς δικάζοντας ἐχρήσαντο παῤῥησίᾳ, ὅσῃ μόνους τοὺς ἀπεγνωκότας τῆς ἑαυτῶν ψυχῆς χρήσασθαι εἰκὸς ἦν, καὶ μετὰ τοιαύτης γνώμης ἀπὸ τῶν ὀρῶν ἐπὶ τὸ δικαστήριον ἔδραμον. οὐδὲ γὰρ, εἰ μὴ πρότερον ἑαυτοὺς πρὸς πᾶσαν παρεσκεύασαν σφαγὴν, οὐκ ἂν οὕτως ἴσχυσαν πρὸς τοὺς δικάζοντας ἐλευθεροστομῆσαι τότε καὶ τοσαύτην ἐπιδείξασθαι μεγαλοψυχίαν. Transl. Allen and Mayer, John Chrysostom, 108. See also De statuis XVIII, 4, ed. Migne, PG 49, 186. 79 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2. 80 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2. On this passage and Chrysostom’s attempt “to change the significance of the city for his audience”, see also I. Sandwell, Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Greeks, Jews, and Christians in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 137–139. On the special status of Antioch as the city where Christians were given their name for the first time, see Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2. 81 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XVII, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 174: Τοσοῦτόν ἐστι φιλοσοφία ψυχῆς πάντων ὑψηλοτέρα γινομένη, καὶ τῶν χρηστῶν καὶ τῶν λυπηρῶν ἁπάντων· οὔτε γὰρ ἐν ἐκείνοις χαυνοῦται, οὔτε ὑπὸ τούτων καταστέλλεται καὶ ταπεινοῦται, ἀλλὰ μένει διὰ πάντων ἴση, τὴν οἰκείαν ἰσχὺν καὶ δύναμιν ἐπιδεικνυμένη. Transl. Allen and Mayer, John Chrysostom, 108–109.

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5.5 Preaching Forgiveness The Riot of the Statues is also a story about embassies. Both Libanius and Chrysostom report on the diplomatic missions at the court of the emperor, which attempted to and eventually succeeded in reconciling the ruler to the city. The two accounts seem to be at great variance with each other as they attribute the success of the diplomatic mission to the master of the office Caesarius on the one hand, and to Antioch’s Bishop Flavian on the other. Different theories have therefore been proposed in order to reconcile and intertwine these accounts. 82 For Libanius, the successful embassy of Caesarius offered a welcomed opportunity to recognize therein a sign of the favor of the gods towards Antioch and of the concord reigning in heaven, since “faction (στάσις) and quarrels are far removed from heaven.” 83 The scene of Caesarius’s audition at the court is presented in few words, without offering too many details: after reading the report (γράμματα) about the state of affairs in Antioch, the master of the office grasped the knees of the emperor with his arms, “took up the theme of reputation” (περὶ δόξης ἐποιεῖτο τοὺς λόγους) and reminded him about the consequences that further punitive measures would entail. In particular, he begged the emperor to spare the lives of the council members, arguing that the experience of the flight from the city was already punishment enough for them. Upon hearing about the state of distress of the Antiochenes and the many dangers the fugitives had met in the desert, “the emperor began to lament and by his own tears, which involved relief from our troubles, he anticipated requests from the rest [i. e. from the other ambassadors].” 84 The account faithfully follows the script offered by the rhetorical genre suited for such occasions (logos presbeutikos), which we have already introduced in the 82 While the mission of Caesarius figures most prominently in Libanius, Or. 21.11–23, the mission of Flavian is treated in different homilies of Chrysostom. Needless to say, both accounts are driven by the interest of extolling the role of the respective hero. For a rhetorical analysis of Libanius’s oration, see Quiroga Puertas, La retórica, 85–89. For a discussion of different attempts to reconcile the two versions, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 135–149. Van de Paverd suggests that Flavian anticipated Caesarius and that he already succeeded in reconciling Theodosius to Antioch before Caesarius would have arrived at the capital. The master of the offices, on his part, arriving at the court with the intent of delivering a report on the outcome of the tribunal, also pleaded for the members of the city councils. Only at this point would the emperor have delivered the official letter of pardon to Flavian who brought it himself back to Antioch, where he was able to announce the good news before Easter. 83 Libanius, Or. 21.19, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 459: Ὁμόνοια μὲν γὰρ ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ τὸ τὰ αὐτὰ φρονεῖν, στάσις δὲ καὶ τὸ διαφέρεσθαι πόρρω μὲν οὐρανοῦ. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 363. 84 Libanius, Or. 21.20, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 460: Ὁ δ’ ἀπὸ τοιαύτης ἀκοῆς ἐπὶ τὸν θρῆνον ὁρμήσας τὰς παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων δεήσεις ἔφθασε τοῖς παρ’ ἑαυτοῦ δάκρυσιν, ἐν οἷς ἦν τῶν λυπηρῶν ἡ λύσις. Transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 363.365

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previous chapter. Apart from this representative scene, such a script can also be recognized in Libanius’s (fictional) speech, which he purportedly addressed to the emperor in an embassy mission for which the orator claims to have been commissioned by his own city (Or. 19). 85 As Alberto Quiroga has demonstrated in his rhetorical analysis of this text, the structure of Libanius’s speech seems almost to be modeled on the template set up, for example, by Menander Rhetor, offering a description of the actual state of distress of the city (5–10 and 51–61), the appeal for mercy (11–24 and 45–50), and, at the center of this circular structure, a historical account of the facts relating to the riot and its consequences (25–44). 86 Being passed over in silence by Libanius, notices about Flavian and his mission to the capital are spread throughout different sermons pronounced by Chrysostom. A first mention of Flavian’s mission can already be found in a homily delivered soon after the riot (Hom. III). Since only some days have passed since Flavian’s departure to Constantinople, Chrysostom was not yet able to share any information on the mission itself, which is why the relevant passages are fully dedicated to the praise of the bishop, who took on himself the dangers and the fatigue of the long journey between the two cities. Not even familial affections and the care for his dying sister withheld him from the journey; instead, in his unsolicited sacrifice offered for his flock, he ultimately followed the example of Christ. 87 Other Biblical images are invoked as well, such as is the case with Esther who saved her people from the murderous plans of the viceroy of Persia Haman. 88 At the same time, the authority of his own priestly function is also supposed to support him, “for if he hath received authority to loose sins committed against God, much more will he be able to take away and blot out those which have been committed against a man”. 89

Libanius, Or. 19.1, ed. Foerster, vol. 2, 385; transl. Norman, Selected Works, vol. 2, 269. See Quiroga Puertas, La retórica, 50–51, and Menander Rhetor, Peri epideiktikon 423.6–424.2, eds. Russell and Wilson, 180–181. 87 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis III, 1. For the date of this homily, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 297–298. Alberto Quiroga suggests that the strong emphasis on Flavian’s role as father, teacher and shepherd has to be read against the backdrop of the schism that had been affecting the church of Antioch since the deposition of Eustathius and which was still pitching against each other the followers of Flavian, who succeeded to the contested bishop Meletius, and those of Evagrius, who followed Paulinus. In this way, Chrysostom’s presentation of Flavian can also be circumscribed as an attempt to legitimize Flavian’s episcopacy. See A. J. Quirogua Puertas, “Deflecting Attention”, 144–148. On the schism between Meletius/Flavian and Paulinus/Evagrius, see also Soler, Le sacré et le salut, 152–164. 88 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis III, 2. See on this comparison also Brottier, “L’image d’Antioche”, 631. 89 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis III, 2, ed. Migne, PG 49, 50: Εἰ γὰρ τὰς εἰς Θεὸν ἁμαρτίας λύειν ἔλαβεν ἐξουσίαν, πολλῷ μᾶλλον τὰς εἰς ἄνθρωπον γενομένας ἀνελεῖν καὶ ἀφανίσαι δυνήσεται. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 356. 85 86

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In the weeks following the departure of Flavian, given the long distance separating him from the city, Chrysostom was not able to do more than to spoonfeed his audience with snippets of information coming from abroad. Whenever possible, however, he took the opportunity to comfort his listeners whenever good news succeeded in reaching his ears. In the homily pronounced on the Wednesday of the first week of Lent (Hom. VI) he was, for example, able to announce that the emissaries who had been sent to court shortly after the departure of Flavian were hindered by several obstacles on their way, for which reason they had to delay their audience with the emperor, therefore giving the bishop the opportunity to anticipate the emissaries. 90 For the rest, Chrysostom needed to resort to his fantasy and his own ability as orator in order to keep his audience updated concerning the content of Flavian’s meeting with the emperor, putting in the bishop’s mouth a speech that the latter was predicted to deliver after his arrival to the capital. The argumentation of this speech mostly gravitates around the traditional theme of philanthropy (with its emphasis on the glory which the ruler would be able to derive from it) which is now clothed, however, in a Christian lore, as it documents the power of Christianity to move the hearts of the rulers to compassion. In the words that Chrysostom puts into the mouth of his bishop: This philanthropy and these words we now stand in need of. To conquer enemies, doth not render kings so illustrious, as to conquer wrath and anger; for in the former case, the success is due to arms and soldiers; but here the trophy is simply thine own, and thou hast no one to divide with thee the glory of thy moral wisdom. Thou hast overcome barbarian war, overcome also Imperial wrath! Let all unbelievers learn that the fear of Christ is able to bridle every kind of authority. Glorify thy Lord by forgiving the trespasses of thy fellow-servants; that He also may glorify thee the more; that at the Day of Judgment, He may bend on thee an Eye merciful and serene, being mindful of this thy lovingkindness! 91

See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis VI, 2. Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis VI, 3, ed. Migne, PG 49, 84: Ταύτης δεόμεθα τῆς φιλανθρωπίας, τούτων δεόμεθα τῶν ῥημάτων νῦν. οὐχ οὕτω τὸ κρατῆσαι πολεμίων λαμπροὺς ποιεῖ τοὺς βασιλεύοντας, ὡς τὸ κρατῆσαι θυμοῦ καὶ ὀργῆς· ἐκεῖ μὲν γὰρ τῶν ὅπλων καὶ τῶν στρατιωτῶν τὸ κατόρθωμα γίνεται, ἐνταῦθα δὲ γυμνὸν σόν ἐστι τὸ τρόπαιον, καὶ οὐδένα ἔχεις τὸν μεριζόμενον μετὰ σοῦ τὴν τῆς φιλοσοφίας δόξαν. ἐκράτησας πολέμου βαρβαρικοῦ, κράτησον καὶ θυμοῦ βασιλικοῦ· μαθέτωσαν οἱ ἄπιστοι πάντες ὅτι ὁ τοῦ χριστοῦ φόβος πᾶσαν ἐξουσίαν δύναται χαλινοῦν· δόξασόν σου τὸν δεσπότην, τοῖς συνδούλοις ἀφεὶς τὰ ἁμαρτήματα, ἵνα καὶ αὐτός σε δοξάσῃ μειζόνως, ἵνα ἥμερόν σοι κατὰ τὴν τῆς κρίσεως ἡμέραν δείξῃ τὸ ὄμμα καὶ γαληνὸν, ταύτης μεμνημένος σου τῆς φιλανθρωπίας. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 383. For a similar passage, see De statuis XXI, 3. On the apologetic and anti-pagan scope of this passage, see D. G. Hunter, “Preaching and Propaganda in Fourth Century Antioch: John Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Statues”, in Preaching in the Patristic Age. Studies in Honor of Walter J. Burghardt, S.J., ed. D. G. Hunter (New York: Paulist Pr., 1989), 119–138, here 124– 125. 90 91

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It was not until the bishop’s return from the capital shortly before Easter that the Antiochenes received confirmation of the positive outcome of Flavian’s mission. Chrysostom himself took up the news in the sermon delivered on Easter Sunday (Hom. XXI), some days after Flavian’s return to Antioch, which had therefore already been decorated with garlands and lamps for the occasion. 92 Knowing the result of Flavian’s embassy, Chrysostom was now in the position of presenting a more detailed account on Flavian’s mission and focusing more closely on the theme of forgiveness and the restoration of the relationship between the ruler and Antioch. In the speech, which the preacher puts into the mouth of the emperor, Theodosius laments that Antioch through her ingratitude betrayed the care that he had displayed for her and which should have been visible to all in the many benefits the emperor had previously granted to the city, echoing, therefore, similar reproaches that Julian had addressed to the Antiochenes. 93 This theme is also premised in Flavian’s apology which followed. As we read, the bishop does not deny that the afflictions following the riot would have been deserved, giving credit therefore to Theodosius’s argument and the logic inherent in it. At the same time, however, he also tries to convince the emperor that it was demoniac forces which drove a wedge between the ruler and his subjects, thus tearing apart their mutual affection. As a corollary, continuing to dwell on the paragon offered by salvation history, not punishment but pardon would offer an effective cure able to restore the relation between the emperor and Antioch to its original condition. 94 It is on the basis of this argument that Chrysostom is able to usher in the theme of the glory that forgiveness would confer to the ruler, an argument also deployed by Caesarius, as we saw. In the words allegedly used by Flavian, forgiveness would in fact procure Theodosius “a crown, more honorable and splendid” than his own diadem. 95 As required by the genre, Flavian resorts to a series of historical exempla, also returning to an anecdote about Constantine, according to which he was said to have left perpetrators unpunished after they pelted his statue with stones. 96 This reference was supposed to lend plausibility to Flavian’s suggestion that there was an inherent connection between the philanthropy of the king and his reputation, such as expressed for example in the 92 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 4. On this sermon, which is also known under its Latin title In episcopi Flaviani reditum, see Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 132–134, and Stenger, Christianisierung der Polis, 223–237, esp. 233–234 on the concept of philanthropia. 93 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 2. 94 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 3. 95 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 3, ed. Migne, PG 49, 216: Ἀλλ’ ἐὰν θέλῃς, ὦ φιλανθρωπότατε καὶ φιλοσοφώτατε καὶ πολλῆς εὐσεβείας γέμων, τοῦ διαδήματος τούτου μείζονά σοι καὶ λαμπρότερον ἡ ὕβρις αὕτη περιθήσει στέφανον. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 485. 96 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 3.

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erection of new statues in his honor. 97 Most of all, however, only through an act of mercy would the emperor be able to conquer the hearts of his subjects and of those who will hear about such events: A monarch might expend his treasures, or put innumerable troops in motion, or do what else he pleased, but still he would not be able to draw the affections of so many men towards himself as may now very easily be done. For they who have been kindly dealt with, and those who hear of it too, will be well affected towards you, even as the recipients of the benefit. 98

On a concluding note, the capacity of the ruler to win his subjects over to his side was not an unfamiliar theme for late antique orators. However, while Themistius or Libanius integrate the concept of philanthropy or anger control into a discourse on the virtues of the monarch, Chrysostom also envisages the theme of forgiveness and mercy as a pastoral and ethical issue gravitating around Christianity’s discourse on forgiveness. This connection is particularly prominent in the homily pronounced on the 40th day of Lent (Hom. XX), also known by its Latin incipit as Ad finem ieiunii. 99 Because of its particular liturgical context toward the end of the Lent season, this homily presents itself as an encouragement to forgive others and to overcome one’s reticence or sense of pride, inviting the listeners to entrust one’s enemies to God. 100 What will probably strike the modern reader is the apodictic character of some of his injunctions. He suggests, for example, that it would not be enough to forego wrath and renounce acts of vengeance if one is not ready to See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 3. Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XXI, 3, ed. Migne, PG 49, 218: Κἂν μυρία τις ἀναλώσῃ χρήματα, κἂν μυρία κινήσῃ στρατόπεδα, κἂν ὁτιοῦν ἐργάσηται, οὐκ εὐκόλως τοσούτων ἀνθρώπων διάθεσιν πρὸς ἑαυτὸν ἐπισπάσασθαι δυνήσεται, ὃ νῦν ῥᾴδιον ἔσται καὶ εὔκολον. οἵ τε γὰρ εὐεργετηθέντες, οἵ τε ἀκούσαντες ὁμοίως τοῖς εὐεργετηθεῖσι περὶ σὲ διακείσονται. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 487. 99 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XX, 9. See, for the date of this homily, Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 359–360, and, for a discussion of this sermon, Stenger, Christianisierung der Polis, 212–223. Different opinions have been brought forward for the original order of the sermons following Hom. XVIII, as the manuscripts present substantial disagreement in this respect. As Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 248–249, has pointed out, among the 14 manuscripts transmitting Ad finem ieiunii, at least two (both dating to the tenth century, belonging therefore to the oldest manuscripts) insert it after Hom. XVIII. The situation is, however, still more complicated. According to the introduction given by Montfaucon to his edition, in fact, a further homily (In epulis ss. martyrum) has been pronounced between Hom. XVIII and Ad finem ieiunii, although the same Montfaucon later came to regard it as a sermon pronounced on the Sunday before Ascension (and therefore not belonging to the series De statuis). Against this, Van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 233–247, argues that In epulis does belong to the series De statuis, placing it, however, after Ad finem ieiunii. Since the Migne edition followed Montfaucon’s original hypothesis, In epulis does compare there as Hom. XIX and Ad finem as Hom. XX. 100 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XX, 4. On the Christian adaptation of the concept of philanthropy as an attribute of God, in both liturgy and theology, see Downey, “Philanthropia”, 204–207. 97 98

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eradicate even the slightest rancor against the offender from one’s mind. 101 Inviting his listeners to recall the days when the culprits were dragged to the tribunal, Chrysostom threatens that God himself will have no mercy with those who are not ready to dismiss their resentments towards others. 102 At the same time, the preacher also directs the attention of the congregation to the latest rumors about the decision of the emperor to forgive the city (which reached Antioch while the bishop was still on the way back from the capital), presenting, therefore, the ruler as an exemplum for his own rhetorical argument: Let us show our reverence for the present feast, by doing all that has been said; and those same favors which we think to obtain from the Emperor on account of the feast, let us ourselves enable others to enjoy. For I hear, indeed, many saying, that the Emperor, out of his reverence for the Holy Passover, will be reconciled to the city and will pardon all its offences. 103

5.6 Conclusion With Libanius and Chrysostom, the city of Antioch was able to exhibit its own luminaries in the art of rhetoric, standing representative for the traditional rhetorical education and, respectively, for its adaptation to the ecclesiastical context. Both orators can also stand representative for the ability of the art of rhetoric to come to the city’s aid in a time of crisis. The unfriendly reception of the emperor Julian and the toppling of the statues of Theodosius both amounted to an act of defiance against the ruler and his prerogatives as the benefactor of the city, an act which could therefore be met but with the most intense severity. Among the incidents analyzed in this book, these two events may thus come closest to what Noel Lenski has termed as an “oppositional reading” with regard to the hegemony of the emperor. 104 Such dissonance provided the background against which Libanius and John Chrysostom invoked the mercy of the emperor and called for a moral reform of the civic community with a view to reconciling the ruler with his subjects. In the homilies that John Chrysostom delivered after the Riot of the Statues, the communicative dissonance between the emperor and his subjects is recast in a theological framework with God in the role of the all-powerful ruler offended by human sin. Here, the theme of God’s anger served a theological function, marking an ethos to be See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XX, 2. See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XX, 3. 103 Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XX, 7, ed. Migne, PG 49, 208: Καὶ τὴν παροῦσαν ἑορτὴν μετὰ τῶν εἰρημένων αἰδεσθῶμεν πάντων, καὶ ὧν παρὰ τοῦ βασιλέως δι’ ἐκείνην ἀξιοῦμεν τυχεῖν, τούτων καὶ ἡμεῖς ἀπολαῦσαι δῶμεν ἑτέροις. καὶ γὰρ πολλῶν ἀκούω λεγόντων, ὅτι πάντως ὁ βασιλεὺς τὸ Πάσχα τὸ ἱερὸν αἰδεσθεὶς τῇ πόλει καταλλαγήσεται καὶ τὰ ἁμαρτήματα ἀφήσει πάντα. Transl. Schaff, NPNF1, vol. 9, 479. 104 Lenski, Constantine and the Cities, 8. 101 102

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adopted by the ordinary believers in their responsibility to check sin. On a similar line, the pardon that the emperor eventually granted to the city is presented by the preacher not as a prerogative of the ruler, but as an example of virtue to be followed by every believer.

6. Concord and Communion 6.1 Introduction An anecdote from the church historian Socrates suggests that the wall separating the imperial court from the experience of ordinary believers was highly porous: he recounts that soon after the death of Constantine the imperial family embraced the teachings of Arius from a presbyter acting on behalf of Athanasius’s adversaries. After pointing out that the priest was initially able to win the eunuchs and guards over to his cause, and then the empress and the emperor, Socrates comments that word of these events spread throughout the city’s population, causing a furor which quickly spread to other cities. 1 The image that the church historian thus offers of the imperial religious politics is one of ineptitude in controlling how internal changes of allegiances could affect religious peace outside the palace. Like Alexandria and Antioch, Constantinople also accommodated different Christian communities which competed for the city’s urban topography, but the presence of the imperial court further complicated such conflicts. The rise of the city’s bishops to a preeminent status within the empire and their proximity to the center of power meant that divisions within the capital’s Christian community could also play out in other cities of the empire and that, at the same time, conflicts affecting other regions or ambitions of their respective church leaders also radiated to the Christian population in the capital, as both incidents discussed in this chapter will show. In the first section, after a short discussion of the religious conflicts that affected the capital during the fourth century, the literary output of Gregory of Nazianz will offer a vivid description of the controversies which the theologian from Cappadocia had to cope with during the years of his appointment as leader of the small Nicaean community of Constantinople. Most famously, this conflict became manifest in the attack on the Anastasia Church, where Gregory and his congregation were gathered in the shadow of the capital’s more monumental churches. While Gregory touches upon the incident briefly in his autobiographical poem (and hints at it in some of his letters), the theological orations of this period seem to be concerned instead with the dynamics that feed religious strife. Advocating for what I would like to term an “ethos of 1

See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.2. See on this also MacMullen, “Preacher’s Audience”, 508.

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concord”, his orations of this period reveal the image of an ecclesiastical leader who was well acquainted with the argumentative appeal of the rhetoric of concord, which, as we saw, had been promoted by the royal court since the days of Constantine; this is in contrast to the image of a preacher detached from any political affairs, as suggested at times by Gregory’s own writings. In the second part of the chapter, which is dedicated to the conflicts leading to John Chrysostom’s deposition and eventually to the separation of his followers from the official church, I will discuss the funerary speech in Chrysostom’s honor, attributed (erroneously) to Martyrius of Antioch. While this document has attracted considerable interest for what it can offer for the reconstruction of the conflicts surrounding John’s deposition and exile, it has only recently received the attention it deserves as a literary text in its own right. Having its very specific rhetorical function it was in fact designed for coping with the crisis it purports to describe, and reflected the experience of a community isolated both by the imperial court and by the communion of the empire-wide church.

6.2 The Modelling of an Ethos of Concord The arrival of Gregory of Nazianz in Constantinople in 379 marked the beginning of a transitional phase which would eventually lead to the victory of the Nicene Creed in Constantinople and in the Roman Empire. By this time the capital’s Christian community was looking back over a turbulent history, with several violent incidents affecting the reign of the emperors after Constantine. Most famous in this respect are probably the disorders which broke out during the winter of 341/342 after the death of Eusebius of Nicomedia, the city’s bishop and one of the staunchest supporters of the homoiousian party. The election of a successor rekindled animosities between the supporters of two local priests, Paul (who had already had to leave his post to Eusebius in 337) and Macedonius. 2 As the church historian Socrates writes, Constantius sent his general 2 The incident is reported by, among others, Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.12, and Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 3.7. See also Hist. ac. 1.4, eds. Martin and Albert, SC 317, 138.140. On Paul of Constantinople and the events discussed in this section, see especially Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 212–217; G. Dagron, Naissance d’une capitale. Constantinople et ses institutions de 330 à 451, Bibliothèque byzantine 7 (Paris: Presses Univ. de France, 1974), 425–442; Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 33–50, and R. S. Falcasantos, Constantinople. Ritual, Violence, and Memory in the Making of a Christian Imperial Capital, Christianity in late antiquity 9 (Oakland: University of California Press, 2020), 74–109. While Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.10.4–5, mentions a separate church in which Macedonius was assembling his followers, Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.12.2, limits himself to observing that Macedonius was consecrated there by the Arians. The church is also documented by the Notitia Urbis Constantinopolitanae, reg. vii. ed. O. Seeck (Berlin: Weidmann, 1876), 235, from the early fifth century. Later, the relics of Paul were transferred to this same building. See Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.10.4–5, and Socrates, Hist. eccl. 5.9.1–2. See on this also Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 101–102.

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Hermogenes to quell the disorders, expel Paul from the city, and re-establish order. The menacing appearance of the soldiers, however, simply enflamed the rioters further, to the point where they killed the general and burned down his house. Only at this point did the emperor leave Antioch and rush back to Constantinople. Reproducing classical tropes from other ancient authors, Socrates blames the mob for having responded to the military intervention with “irrational assaults” against the general. 3 We might doubt whether Hermogenes charged into Constantinople with his army in full gear, thus provoking the exasperated reaction of the mob, or whether he entered the city with the sole intent of removing Paul from his church and then found himself easily outnumbered by his followers. Plausibility might be added to the latter hypothesis by a further episode of violence related to the conflict between Paul and Macedonius (and which convulsed the city in 349) where the prefect Philippus was assigned the task of expelling Paul from the city without the visible deployment of troops. 4 In his attempt to avoid a popular uprising, the prefect lured the bishop into the baths of Zeuxippus, between the hippodrome and the imperial palace, and confronted him with the order of the emperor to leave the city. As Socrates observes, however, Paul’s followers had already begun to fill the streets outside the baths after rumors of the plan had spread throughout the city. As a consequence, Philippus was obliged to escort the bishop from the baths through the door leading to the palace, and thence to the ship which would bring him to Thessaloniki, inaugurating a series of exiles which would last until Paul’s death in Cappadocia. 5 If Paul’s removal might have ultimately staved off further chaos, this was not the case for the ordination of Macedonius in the church of Hagia Irene, which stands within walking distance of the above bath complex. This time the new bishop’s public appearance with Philippus and an escort provoked supporters of both parties to rush to the church and crowd the entrance. 6 As the multitude could not move back or forth, the soldiers were unable to open their way into the church and, believing that the crowd would offer resistance, began a massacre that resulted in more than three thousand casualties. 7

3 Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.13.3, ed. Hansen, GCS N.F. 1, 104: Ὡς δὲ ἐπέκειτο ὁ Ἑρμογένης βουλόμενος διὰ στρατιωτικῆς χειρὸς ἀπελάσαι τὸν Παῦλον, παροξυνθὲν τότε τὸ πλῆθος, οἷα ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις φιλεῖ γίνεσθαι, ἀλογωτέρας ἐποιεῖτο κατ’ αὐτοῦ τὰς ὁρμάς, καὶ ἐμπιπρῶσιν μὲν αὐτοῦ τὴν οἰκίαν. 4 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.16. On this episode, see Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 214. On Philippus, see PLRE I, 696–697. 5 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.16.1–6. 6 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.16.7–9. The fact that Socrates is here referring to the church of Hagia Irene can be inferred from the fact that this account follows that of the scenes which take place at the bath complex. 7 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.16.10–14.

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We can read these episodes as vignettes revealing Constantius’s situational approach to religious conflicts. 8 The involvement of the emperor was in fact subject to strategic changes as events in the city unfolded: he first acted through his intermediaries while still at Antioch, blaming both parties for their riotous behavior, and eventually took the side of Macedonius (although for reasons we can no longer reconstruct). 9 Notwithstanding the gravity of the murder of Hermogenes, the emperor’s response was relatively mild, as he limited himself to expelling Paul from the city and halving the capital’s grain dole. 10 The religious convictions of Macedonius, as most scholars now suggest, were not at the forefront in this phase of the doctrinal conflict, contrary to what generations of church historians in the fifth century would like to suggest. 11 At the same time, Constantius’s relationship with his new bishop remained strained. We read, in fact, that his followers were also accused of complicity in the riots following the death of Eusebius. 12 A similar accusation would eventually bring about his own deposition after he removed the remains of Constantine from the Church of the Apostles, which provoked heavy clashes between those in favor of and opposed to this action. 13 Constantius’s reaction to the ongoing disputes over episcopal succession were those of a monarch aiming to establish order in his capital, and not yet that of a ruler forcing a particular religious agenda on his Christian subjects. This rather pragmatic and situational approach is also attested by Libanius, who refers to the riots of 341 in his panegyric on Constantius and Constans (Or. 59), one of the earliest speeches of his public career. 14 Building on a theme 8 See S. Diefenbach, “Constantius II. und die ‘Reichskirche’ – ein Beitrag zum Verhältnis von kaiserlicher Kirchenpolitik und politischer Integration im 4. Jh”, Millennium 9 (2012), 59– 122, here 92–94. For an abridged version in English, see idem, “A Vain Quest for Unity: Creeds and Political (Dis)Integration in the Reign of Constantius II”, in Contested Monarchy. Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD, eds. J. Wienand and B. Bleckmann (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 353–378. 9 For some probable explanations, see Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 46, n. 118. 10 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.13.5. Various hypotheses have been offered on the place of exile(s) imposed on Paul. While Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, 213–214, proposes the Pontus region and Thessalonica as the places of his two exiles, Dagron, Naissance d’une capitale, 430, conjectures that he would have already been exiled to Thessalonica in 337, after being replaced by Eusebius, but that he still remained in the city after the riots of 341, guiding the Nicene community in the underground. On Hermogenes, see Art. Hermogenes 1, PLRE I 422–423. On the grain dole, see P. Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Hanover [NH]: University Press of New England, 2002), 32. 11 See Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 35–41, esp. 38–39. 12 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.13.6. 13 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.38.33–43 and 2.42.3, and Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 4.21.36 and 4.24.3. See on this also Diefenbach, “Constantius II. und die Reichskirche”, 90, and, for a larger discussion, Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 51–79. 14 See on this also Skinner, “Violence at Constantinople”, 235, and, on this oration, A. J. Ross, “Libanius the Historian? Praise and the Presentation of the Past in Or. 59”, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 56 (2016), 293–320, esp. 300–304, and K. Grammatiki, “Libanius’

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already discussed in our chapter on Julian, Libanius praises his panegyric’s addressee for the self-restraint he proved to possess, and for the rhetorical skills with which he won the Senate over to his side. 15 If the conjecture proposed by Alexander Skinner is correct, this is also the immediate context for the famous oration of Themistius on the theme of philanthropy (Or. 1). 16 Although this oration does not offer any specific hints, Themistius would in any case have Constantius’s mild reaction in mind when praising the emperor for having abolished the death penalty in his territories. 17 Obviously, such conjecture must remain inferential and cannot be fully proven or disproven, in the same way that the date of Themistius’s oration is still obscured by several problems. 18 Constantius, in any case, had to rely on this rather pragmatic approach to religious conflicts also in the later years of his reign, even as he strengthened efforts towards doctrinal unity. Such efforts translated into the convocation of the two synods of Ariminum and Seleucia in 359, and in the creed signed in Constantinople the following year. 19 Reflecting his new political and religious agenda, but at the same time also in line with the politics of his father, Constantius reminded the bishops assembled at Ariminum of the necessity of seeking the unity of faith (de fide atque unitate tractari) in order to safeguard concord (concordia fida servabitur). 20 In a similar way as for Constantine, however, Constantius’s appeal to concord betrays some of the more substantial problems entailed in his religious policies. While scholarship on religious conflicts of the fourth century has often reduced the implementation of peace to the administrative and personal resources of the emperor, Steffen Diefenbach has convincingly pointed out that the cause of the inefficacy of Constantius’s religious policies did also lie in their very dysfunctional nature, such as manifested for example in the attempt to force ecclesiastical unity on the basis of a shared confession of faith. Other than the confession of faith within the liturgical context of Baptism, in fact, theological creeds display a declarative function aimed at creating a demarcation to the outside, alimenting therefore further conflicts. 21 Their opposition to the theological declarations promoted by Constantius meant that Christians loyal to the creed of Imperial Speech to Constantius II and Constans (Or. 59): Context, Tradition, and Innovation”, in Imperial Panegyric from Diocletian to Honorius, eds. A. Omissi and A. J. Ross, TTH 3 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2020), 67–90. 15 See Libanius, Or. 59.97. See on this passage Skinner, “Violence at Constantinople”, 235. 16 See Skinner, “Violence at Constantinople”, 238. 17 See Themistius, Or. 1.14bc. 18 While Skinner, “Violence at Constantinople”, 238–244, esp. 241–242, argues that the riots of Constantinople of 341/342 would have offered the most plausible context for the oration, later dates have been proposed by Vanderspoel, Imperial Court, 73–77, and Errington, “The Date”, 161–166. 19 See on this the discussion in Diefenbach, “Constantius II. und die Reichskirche”, 83–91. 20 Dokumente 59.1.1, ed. Brennecke, Athanasius Werke 3, 447. 21 See Diefenbach, “Constantius II. und die Reichskirche”, esp. 96–100.

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Nicaea remained isolated by the religious politics of the emperor, and continued to languish in the shadow of Constantinople’s monumental churches, such as the new cathedral church, the Hagia Sophia, completed in 360. After the deposition of Macedonius and the election of the Antiochian Bishop Eudoxius as his successor, the Nicene community continued to occupy a marginal place within the city. 22 A change of fortune could only be brought about by the ascension of Theodosius, inaugurating a new phase of the Trinitarian conflict marked by the official sanctioning of the Nicene Creed through both the Cunctos populos edict and the calling of the Council at Constantinople. It is generally assumed that the local context of the capital continued to play an important role also with a view to the formulation of the edict. In fact, it is to this city that, according to Sozomen, this document, which declared Nicene Christianity as the normative teaching, was addressed; the emperor “well knowing that the rescript would speedily become public to all the other cities, if issued from that city, which is as a citadel of the whole empire”. 23 It is with the victory of the Nicene confession in mind that Gregory of Nazianz, while writing his autobiographical poem, looks back at the events he witnessed during his stay in Constantinople between 379 and 381. 24 The 22 See Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 4.14, and Diefenbach, “Constantius II. und die Reichskirche”, 83–86. A precondition for the nomination as Bishop of Constantinople must have been the subscription of the latter to the condemnation of Aetius issued at the synod in Constantinople. See Theodoretus, Hist. eccl. 2.27.13–16. 23 Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.4.5, eds. J. Bidez and G. C. Hansen, Kirchengeschichte, 2nd edition, GCS N.F. 4 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1995), 305: Συνεῖδε γὰρ ἐνθένδε ὡς ἀπό τινος ἀκροπόλεως τῆς πάσης ὑπηκόου καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι δήλην ἔσεσθαι ἐν τάχει τὴν γραφήν. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 378. On this, see W. Kinzig, “Herrschaft und Bekenntnis. Überlegungen zur imperialen Normierung des christlichen Glaubens in der Spätantike”, Historische Zeitschrift 303 (2016), 621–642, here 627. The aim of the edict “to attend to the perceived problems of the church in Constantinople and so prepare the way for an imperial residence in the city” has also been highlighted by M. R. Errington, Roman Imperial Policy from Julian to Theodosius (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 2006), 218. See also J. Gaudemet, “L’Édit de Thessalonique: police locale ou déclaration de principe?”, in Aspects of the Fourth Century A.D. Proceedings of the symposium Power & possession: State, society, and church in the fourth century A.D., eds. H. W. Pleket and A. M. F. W. Verhoogt (Leiden: AGAPE, 1997), 43–51. 24 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 607–1395, ed. A. Tuilier and G. Bady, Saint Grégoire de Nazianze. Oeuvres Poétiques. Poèmes Personels II, 1, 1–11, Collection des universités de France 433 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2004), here 83–114. On this poem and its context of origin, see N. B. McLynn, “A Self-Made Holy Man: The Case of Gregory Nazianzen”, Journal of Early Christian Studies 6 (1998), 463–483, esp. 474–482, and idem, “The Voice of Conscience. Gregory Nazianzen in Retirement”, in Vescovi e pastori in epoca Teodosiana. Vol. 2: Padri Greci e Latini, Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 58 (Roma: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1997), 299–308. For a broader discussion on the literary production which, after retirement from his episcopal duties in the capital, aimed at restoring his ecclesiastical authority, see B. K. Storin, “In a Silent Way: Asceticism and Literature in the Rehabilitation of Gregory of Nazianzus”, Journal of Early Christian Studies 19 (2011), 225–257, esp. 251–257, and N. Baumann, “Götter in Gottes Hand”. Die Darstellung zeitgenössischer Kaiser bei Gregor

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changes brought about in this short period of time also marked Gregory’s career during his ministry in the capital. Initially assigned to the care of the small Nicene congregation of the city, which had been gathering on a private estate renamed for the occasion as the Anastasia Church (“the Resurrection”), he became a witness to the various conflicts affecting his community from both within and without, and most famously the violence at the Anastasia Church during the Easter vigil of 379. 25 Only meager information on the attack can be gathered from the extant sources. Gregory’s autobiographical poem only reports his ironic note that the bricks missed their target, and so he survived. 26 Additional information is offered in a letter addressed to Theodore, where we read that a mob of monks, maidens, and poor people were at the forefront of the attack, while Gregory stood between the attackers and those at the baptismal fount, most probably a hint at the rites performed at the Easter vigil. 27 The scanty information provided by these passages poses several problems, as pointed out in previous research. One of these concerns the identity of the perpetrators themselves. The involvement of the monks in the attack has, for example, led Dagron to conjecture that the rioters had a Macedonianist background, an idea which in fact takes account of the comment by Sozomen that Macedonius introduced monasticism to the city. 28 It has to be noted, as pointed out by Martin Wallraff, that information on the early history of monasticism in the capital remains mostly left blank in both Socrates and Sozomen, although the latter clearly shows interest in the ascetic movement in other parts of the Roman empire. This makes any sure assessment of the identity of the monks mentioned in our source problematic, to say the least. 29 von Nazianz, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 15 (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2018), 329–345, on De vita sua, see esp. 336–338. 25 On the localization of the church, situated on the crossroads between the Mese and the Porticus of Maurianos, see J. Bernardi, La prédication des pères Cappadociens. Le prédicateur et son auditoire, Publications de la Faculté des Lettres et Sciences Humaines de l’Université de Montpellier 30 (Paris: Pr. Univ. de France, 1968), 142–143. On Gregory’s ministry and career in Constantinople, see Baumann, Götter in Gottes Hand, 301–323. 26 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 665–68. 27 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Ep. 77.3, ed. P. Gallay, Briefe, GCS 53 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016): Ὑβρισθῆναι θυσιαστήρια, συγχυθῆναι μυστήρια, μέσους ἡμᾶς ἑστάναι τῶν τελουμένων καὶ τῶν λιθαζόντων, καὶ φάρμακον ποιεῖσθαι κατὰ τῶν λιθασμῶν τὰς ἐντεύξεις, αἰδῶ παρθένων ἐπιλησθῆναι, μοναστῶν εὐκοσμίαν, πτωχῶν συμφοράν, ζημιωθέντων ἐκ τῆς τραχύτητος καὶ τὸν ἔλεον. On the “Easter fracas”, see also J. McGuckin, Saint Gregory of Nazianzus. An Intellectual Biography (Crestwood [NY]: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2001), 257–258. 28 See G. Dagron, “Les Moines et la ville: le monachisme à Constantinople jusqu’au concile de Chalcédoine (451)”, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), 229–276, here 262, and Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 4.2.3. Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 83, suggests that they must have come from the Homoian party. 29 See M. Wallraff, “Rabiate Diener Gottes? Das spätantike Mönchtum und seine Rolle bei der Zurückdrängung paganer Kulte”, in Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht und Toleranz. Libanios’

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Gregory, for his part, does not explicitly blame a particular faction for the attack, limiting himself to vague allusions. This unsatisfying picture led Neil McLynn to postulate that the attack originated from an escalating conflict within the community itself, which was in fact much more heterogeneous in its composition than suggested by the extant sources. Among the evidence McLynn adduces in favor of his argument, Gregory’s letter to Theotecnus, who was injured during the assault, deserves particular attention. The fact that Gregory advises his addressee to entrust “the man” to God and his vengeance gives the appearance that the latter may have been acquainted with one of the attackers, and that they must both have been members of the same community. He therefore had to be reminded not to besmirch the grace of baptism through retaliatory actions which would cause further bloodshed. Instead, the present occasion would prove itself a happy opportunity “to gain a merciful judge by showing ourselves to be merciful”. 30 Information on the religious makeup of Constantinople’s population is offered in several of Gregory’s writings. Beginning with his autobiographic poem, he mentions, for example, the strong presence of the followers of Apollinaris of Laodicea and their efforts to propagate his teaching among Nicene Christians. 31 At the same time, the climate of religious competition continued to be fed by the presence of the non-Nicene community, which had been under the leadership of its Bishop Demophilus since 370, and which still occupied the most important churches of the city. 32 The bishop, although forced to give up his post Rede für den Erhalt der heidnischen Tempel, eds. H.-G. Nesselrath et al., Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam REligionemque pertinentia 18 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 159– 177, here 162–163. 30 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Ep. 78.4–5, ed. Gallay, 68: Ἀφῶμεν τῷ Θεῷ τὸν ἄνθρωπον καὶ τοῖς ἐκεῖθεν κολαστηρίοις· ἡμεῖς δὲ φιλάνθρωπον κτησώμεθα τὸν κριτήν, αὐτοὶ φανέντες φιλάνθρωποι, καὶ συγχωρήσωμεν ἵνα συγχωρηθῶμεν. See McLynn, “Christian Controversy”, 28–33. 31 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 609–630, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 83–84; transl. T. Halton and D. M. Meehan, St. Gregory of Nazianzus. Three Poems. Concerning His Own Affairs, Concerning Himself and the Bishops, and Concerning His Own Life, The Fathers of the Church 75 (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1987), 77–130, here 94– 95. A glimpse of the way the ideas of Apollinaris were dividing Gregory’s own community is offered in Or. 22.13. See on this also Storin, “In a silent way”, 236–237. 32 On the beginning and end of his episcopacy in Constantinople, see Socrates, Hist. eccl. 4.14 and 5.7, and Philostorgius, Hist. eccl. 9.10 and 9.19. Also worthy of mention, although Gregory does not refer to them in the present passage, is the presence of the Novatian community, which could boast a significant membership among the wealthy citizens of the city, on which see Isele, Kampf um Kirchen, 90–98. On the question of whether the church historian Socrates could also be included among the members of that community, see M. Wallraff, Der Kirchenhistoriker Sokrates. Untersuchungen zu Geschichtsdarstellung, Methode und Person, Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 68 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), 235–257, esp. 253, and P. Van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix et de piété: étude sur les histoires ecclésiastiques de Socrate et de Sozomène, Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta 142 (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 42–46.

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upon Theodosius’s entry into the city in 380, could still count on the support of large segments of the population. 33 In other words, the position and status of the Nicene community within the capital were still very much contested by the confident claims of its rivals. In one of his orations delivered after the attack, Gregory was able to appeal to the audience’s own experience when claiming that the missionary efforts of his main theological adversaries succeeded in “tear[ing] the flock apart with their divisive and inflammatory words”. 34 In the opening lines of his speech against Eunomius, Gregory lists several places within the city which would have been affected by such missionary efforts, and also dwells on rhetorical tropes familiar to us from previous chapters, such as that of the applause of the masses: They are like the promoters of wrestling-bouts in the theaters, and not even the sort of bouts which are conducted in accordance with the rules of the sport and lead to the victory of one of the antagonists, but the sort which are stage-managed to give the uncritical spectators visual sensations and compel their applause. Every square in the city has to buzz with their arguments, every party must be made tedious by their boring nonsense. No feast, no funeral is free from them: their wranglings bring gloom and misery to the feasters, and console the mourners with the example of an affliction graver than death. Even women in the drawing-room, that sanctuary of innocence, are assailed, and the flower of modesty is despoiled by this rushing into controversy. 35

As Gregory seems to imply some lines below, even his own congregation was not safe from troubles created by the “spies” (κατάσκοποι) from the side of the Eunomians. 36 Ultimately the most substantial damage resulting from this behavior was to Christian doctrine itself. In Gregory’s view, the approach taken by 33 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 660. On the forced demission of Demophilus after refusing to accept the Nicene definition of faith, see Errington, Roman Imperial Policy, 220–221. 34 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 26.3, ed. J. Mossay, Grégoire de Nazianze. Discours, SC 284 (Paris: Éd. du CERF, 1985), 228.230: Τὴν ποίμνην σπαράξωσι λόγοις συναρπακτικοῖς καὶ βιαίοις. Transl. M. Vinson, St. Gregory of Nazianzus. Select Orations, The Fathers of the Church 107 (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2003), 177. See on this passage also McLynn, “Christian controversy”, 31. 35 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 27.2, ed. Gallay, SC 250, 72.74: Καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς θεάτροις οἱ τὰ παλαίσματα δημοσιεύοντες, καὶ τῶν παλαισμάτων οὐχ ὅσα πρὸς νίκην φέρει κατὰ νόμους ἀθλήσεως, ἀλλ’ ὅσα τὴν ὄψιν κλέπτει τῶν ἀμαθῶν τὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ συναρπάζει τὸν ἐπαινέτην –, καὶ δεῖ πᾶσαν μὲν ἀγορὰν περιβομβεῖσθαι τοῖς τούτων λόγοις, πᾶν δὲ συμπόσιον ἀποκναίεσθαι φλυαρίᾳ καὶ ἀηδίᾳ, πᾶσαν δὲ ἑορτὴν καὶ πένθος ἅπαν τὴν μὲν ἀνέορτον εἶναι καὶ μεστὴν κατηφείας, τὸ δὲ παραμυθεῖσθαι συμφορᾷ μείζονι τοῖς ζητήμασι, πᾶσαν δὲ διοχλεῖσθαι γυναικωνῖτιν, ἁπλότητι σύντροφον, καὶ τὸ τῆς αἰδοῦς ἄνθος ἀποσυλᾶσθαι τῇ περὶ λόγον ταχύτητι. Transl. L. Wickham and F. Williams, Faith Gives Fullness to Reasoning. The Five Theological Orations of Gregory Nazianzen, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 13 (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 217. 36 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 27.2. See on this the relevant footnote in Gallay’s edition (SC 250, 74) and McLynn, “Christian Controversy”, 32. On the presence of Eunomians in Constantinople, see also Philostorgius, Hist. eccl. 9.18.

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the most zealous debaters would, in fact, transform the sublimity of teachings about God into “a petty craft” (τεχνύδριον), to the detriment of Christian doctrine itself. 37 However, the struggles within the Nicene camp posed the most substantial threat to its integrity. This may be one reason Gregory devotes a fair amount of space in his autobiographic poem to the failed attempt by the Egyptian Maximus to secure the episcopal see of Constantinople, an enterprise which ended with Maximus’s flight first to Thessaloniki, where the emperor was residing with his troops, and ultimately to Egypt to his mentor Peter of Alexandria. 38 In a cloak-and-dagger operation, the Egyptian’s partisans rushed to the cathedral, “bringing a gang of hirelings from the fleet, from which Alexandria is most easily inflamed” and set out to ordain Maximus. 39 As Gregory suggests, the plan was thwarted at the last moment by the courageous intervention of the lay people and other priests alarmed by the rumors which quickly spread through the city; this forced the followers of Maximus to withdraw and perform the ordination in a shabby hut. 40 The incident eventually also cast suspicion on Gregory for his having been on friendly terms with the Egyptian, an allegation which he could not simply dismiss out of hand, as he acknowledges when admitting the “irresponsibility” (εὐχέρεια) which he had previously displayed in courting this person, and the “ignorance” (ἄγνοια) through which he could be deceived, like Adam, by the beauty of external appearances. 41 Against this background it is worth again returning to the discourse on homonoia, which was introduced in the chapter on Constantine, paying particular attention to how it informed Gregory’s 37 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 27.2. Wickham and Williams, Theological Orations, 217, translate this term with “social accomplishment”. As the comment by F. W. Norris (in the same volume p. 87) points out, derivatives of τεχνολογέω are also employed in other orations (29.15 and 21; 31.18) to distinguish the artful and cunning argumentative approach of the Arians. 38 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 750–1029, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 88–99. As McLynn, “A Self-Made Holy Man”, 475, observes, “the affair can be related to the confusions caused by Gregory’s informal status as a visiting bishop, with Maximus seeking to exploit (or, on a more charitable reading, to resolve) a hierarchical ambiguity”. On the whole affair and its echo in Gregory’s orations, see also Bernardi, La prédication, 168–181. 39 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 887–890, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 94: Οἱ δ’ ὥσπερ λύκοι κλέπται φανέντες ἀθρόως μάνδρας ἔσω, πολλοὺς ἔχοντες μισθίους ἐκ τοῦ στόλου, ἐξ ὧν Ἀλεξάνδρεια ῥᾷστ’ ἀνάπτεται. Transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 102, with modifications. 40 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 898–923. On the hypothesis that we may identify this Maximus with the homonymous philosopher addressed by Gregory’s panegyric oration delivered in Constantinople in 380 (Or. 25), see M. Tetz, “Das kritische Wort vom Kreuz und die Christologie bei Athanasius von Alexandrien”, in Theologia crucis – signum crucis. Festschrift für Erich Dinkler zum 70. Geburtstag, eds. C. Andresen, E. Dinkler, G. Klein (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979), 447–465, here 452–455. 41 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 954–967, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 97.

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preaching during his stay in Constantinople. The political and conciliatory scope entailed in the concept of concord, as we will see, allowed Gregory not only to stylize his own preaching, but also to claim that such an ideal was best correlated with the nature of the Christian faith itself, transcending factional interests and personal ambitions. Generally speaking, one is not always sure whether Gregory is lodging his accusations against the heretics (or those outside the Nicene community) or his own congregation. He is in fact rather interested in locating the origin of divisive behavior in human nature itself and its propensity for unchecked “zeal” (ζῆλος), an illness from which even the clergy were not immune, but which, on the contrary, also affected the ministers of the church. 42 In order to stress how much his own congregation suffered under the dysfunctional nature of this behavior, Gregory refers to Paul’s own experience in Corinth: At this stage an intense dissension flared up in my group. I was being torn between Paul and Apollo. They never became incarnate for me, or showed their blood in memorable sufferings, and am I to be named after them, not after the Savior? The opposition created confusion and turbulence everywhere, as if everything else would go off well in the church. But when a harmful element tilts the balance against discipline, how can there be stability in a ship, a city, an army, a troupe of dancers, a household? 43

Similar concerns had already been voiced in a sermon pronounced during the same year of the attack, and dedicated to the inadequateness of theological disputes among ordinary believers (Or. 32). Interrogating his audience about “the most beautiful feature” of Christianity, Gregory offers a concise answer, namely “peace” (εἰρήνη), 44 emphasizing at the same time that “discord” (διχόνοια) is the most dangerous threat to peace and has in many instances “divided brothers, thrown cities into confusion, […] turned priests and kings against one another”. 45 Drawing on medical metaphors, Gregory also compares discord to 42 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 815–816, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 91. See also Or. 22.5, ed. Mossay, SC 270, 229, where love of power (φιλαρχία) and of money (φιλοχρηματία), envy (φθόνος), hate (μῖσος), and arrogance (ὑπεροψία) are blamed for causing division within the church. 43 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 679–688, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 86: Ἔπειτα δεινὸς τῶν ἐμῶν οἰδεῖ φθόνος // εἰς Παῦλον ἑλκόντων με κἀπολλώ τινα, // τοὺς μήτε σαρκωθέντας ἡμῖν πώποτε // μήτ’ ἐκχέαντας αἷμα τιμίου πάθους· // ἀφ’ ὧν καλούμεθ’, οὐχὶ τοῦ σεσωκότος· // οἷς συνδονεῖται πάντα καὶ συσσείεται // ὡς εὐδρομούσης τἆλλα τῆς ἐκκλησίας. // πῶς δ’ ἄν ποτ’ ἢ ναῦς ἢ πόλις, πῶς δ’ ἂν στρατός // ἢ καὶ χοροῦ πλήρωμα, πῶς δ’ οἶκος φίλος // σταίη πλέον τὸ βλάπτον ἢ κρατοῦν ἔχων; transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 96, with some modifications. On Paul’s rhetorical strategies in countering the problems faced by the Corinthian community, see M. M. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation. An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians, Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie 28 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991). 44 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 32.2, ed. Moreschini, SC 318, 86. 45 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 32.4, ed. Moreschini, SC 318, 88.90: Καὶ τοῦτό ἐστιν, ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον, ὃ διέσπασε μέλη, διέστησεν ἀδελφοὺς, πόλεις ἐτάραξε, δήμους ἐξέμηνεν,

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an illness which must be diagnosed and cured with the appropriate diligence. 46 Rather than resembling a city at war with itself, the church must live up to its calling to be the body of Christ, in which every limb and every part fulfills its own duties, supplying the needs of the others, “with a view to the happy concord and advantage of the members as a whole” (πρὸς τὴν τοῦ παντὸς εὐαρμοστίαν καὶ τὸ συμφέρον). 47 A similar diagnosis is offered in one of his so-called orations on peace (Or. 22), in which he laments that the divisions among Christians would contrast sharply against the civilized manners in which politicians, grammarians or philosophers use to debate: For I shall not mention the equitable distribution of legacies, political parties, the orderly succession of offices and public services according to law, and of course our much touted sophistic, or grammatic (not to say philosophy), a pursuit that is all the rage among our young people and rarely shows dissension but is for the most part a peaceful enterprise. We, on the other hand, are bound by no common bond or cause and can never reach agreement nor does there appear to be any way to cure our malady; we behave instead as though we were initiators and initiates not of virtue but of vice, fanning the flames of division while showing little or no interest at all in unity. 48

While the image of the body of Christ follows biblical models, the medical language to which Gregory here resorts presupposes familiarity (also among the readers) with the heresiological discourses of Early Christianity, in which such metaphors were in fact in high demand, most famously in Epiphanius of Salamis’s Panarion (“medicine-chest”). 49 The connotations of the semantics related to the art of healing were a constitutive part of what Michel-Yves Perrin has termed as a “heresiological ethos”, meaning an inner disposition of the mind ὥπλισεν ἔθνη, βασιλεῖς ἐπανέστησεν, ἱερεῖς λαῷ καὶ ἀλλήλοις, λαὸν ἑαυτῷ καὶ ἱερεῦσι. Transl. Vinson, Select Orations, 193. On this oration, see Bernardi, La prédication, 148–154. 46 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 32.2. 47 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 32.10, ed. Moreschini, SC 318, 106; transl. Vinson, Select Orations, 198. 48 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 22.3, ed. Mossay, SC 270, 224.226: Ἐῶ γὰρ λέγειν κλήρους ἐξ ἴσου διαιρουμένους, καὶ πολιτείας ἀντιθέτους, καὶ διαδοχὰς λειτουργιῶν καὶ ἀρχῶν, τάξει προϊούσας καὶ νόμῳ καὶ τὴν πολυύμνητον δὴ ταύτην σοφιστικὴν ἢ γραμματικὴν, ἵνα μὴ λέγω φιλοσοφίαν περὶ ἣν νέων φιλοτιμία λυσσᾷ τε καὶ μέμηνε· ταύτην μὲν ὁρᾷν ὀλίγα μὲν στασιάζουσαν, τὰ πλείω δὲ εἰρηνεύουσαν· ἡμᾶς δὲ ἀσυνθέτους εἶναι καὶ ἀσυνδέτους, καὶ μήποτε δύνασθαι εἰς ταυτὸν ἐλθεῖν, μηδέ τινα λόγον φανῆναι τῆς νόσου ταύτης θεραπευτὴν, ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ κακίας μυσταγωγοὺς καὶ μύστας ὄντας, οὐκ ἀρετῆς, πολλὰ μὲν ποιεῖσθαι τὰ τῆς διαστάσεως ὑπεκκαύματα, μικρὰ δὲ, ἢ μηδόλως τῆς ὁμονοίας φροντίζειν. Transl. Vinson, Select Orations, 119. On this oration, see also Bernardi, La prédication, 143–148, and McGuckin, An Intellectual Biography, 249–251. 49 On Epiphanius, see R. Flower, “Medicalizing Heresy: Doctors and Patients in Epiphanius of Salamis”, Journal of Late Antiquity 11 (2018), 251–273. The medical language is also of importance for the source discussed in the second part of this chapter. See J. Barry, “Diagnosing Heresy: Ps.-Martyrius’s Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom”, Journal of Early Christian Studies 24 (2016), 395–418.

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and a specific behavior, be it individual or collective, which was supposed to mold the self-understanding of early Christians. As Perrin pointed out, such a goal was achieved most prominently by catechetical homilies, addressed to future Christians who were thus supposed to build a resilience against foreign teachings, being also encouraged to keep away from interaction with the heretics. This also entailed the rejection of any physical contact or even the exchange of gifts, which was considered a source of impurity for the faithful. 50 Such an heresiological ethos is also asserted in an oration which Gregory delivered in 380 in Constantinople (Or. 33), and in which he appeals to the ability of his listeners to discern the familiar voice of their pastor, resorting to the metaphors with which the Gospel of John circumscribes Jesus’s own relationship with his disciples. 51 Considerations of this kind, however, are built on the premise that ordinary Christians would be able to spot the demarcation line between orthodoxy and heresy. The heresiological discourse was, in other words, designed with a view to those standing outside the flock. As soon as the same defensive attitude is turned inward pitting members of the same community against one another, however, it will bring devastating consequences for the unity of the church, as Gregory deplores in his aforementioned oration on the theme of peace: We exchange blows without limit not only against those who hold different views and stand apart from us on the definition of the faith – which would be less troubling since one could excuse the behavior on the grounds of religious zeal, a praiseworthy thing, provided it stays without bounds – but now even against those who profess the same faith (ὁμοδόξοις) and with whom we share a common enemy on common issues: this is what is most dreadful and deplorable. 52

Gregory does not intend to raise an argument against the active involvement of the faithful in matters pertaining to doctrine, as he has to clarify with a view to possible critics, but nonetheless he advises his listeners against “assuming a combative posture” when engaging in debates about Christian doctrine. 53 The teachings of Christianity would in fact provide common ground for different 50 See M.-Y. Perrin, “The Limits of the Heresiological Ethos in Late Antiquity”, in Religious Diversity in Late Antiquity, eds. D. M. Gwynn and S. Bangert, Late antique archaeology 6 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 201–227, here 204–208, with more examples. On the polluting influence ascribed to heretics, see also Kahlos, Religious Dissent, 129–131. 51 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 33.16, and Perrin, “Heresiological Ethos”, 203. 52 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 22.4, ed. Mossay, SC 270, 226.228: Ἡμῖν δ’ οὐδεὶς ὅρος τοῦ βάλλειν καὶ βάλλεσθαι, οὐ τοῖς ἑτεροδοξοῦσι μόνον καὶ κατὰ τὸν τῆς πίστεως λόγον διεστηκόσιν – ἧττον γὰρ ἂν ἦν ἀλγεινὸν καὶ ὁ ζῆλος, ἀπολογία πραγμάτων ἐπαινουμένων, ἐὰν ἐν ὅροις ἵσταται –, ἤδη δὲ καὶ τοῖς ὁμοδόξοις καὶ πρὸς τοὺς αὐτοὺς καὶ ὑπὲρ τῶν αὐτῶν στασιάζουσι· τοῦτο γὰρ τὸ μοχθηρότατον ἢ ἐλεεινότατον. Transl. Vinson, Select Orations, 120. Gregory offers a similar thought some passages later, when he warns that the abusive language of the insults which Christians hurl against each other would eventually offer a weapon to the enemy. See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 22.6. 53 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 32.20, ed. Moreschini, SC 318, 126: Οὐ σιωπᾷν διακε-

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theological sensibilities. Following an analogue logic such as the one we can detect in Constantine’s letter to Alexander and Arius, he articulates the most basilar elements of the Christian faith, which everybody in his congregation should be content to agree with, namely “the recognition of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, and the confession of our highest hope”. 54 The reference to the Trinitarian faith, which was in fact at the core of the theological conflict, is the more striking if one is reminded that, shortly after the composition of this oration, Thedosius’s edict used a similar formulation when sanctioning the faith professed by the Nicene bishops. 55 Gregory continues to dwell on the theme of peace and the Trinitarian faith in an oration delivered between 379 and 380 (Or. 23). In this speech he again expresses his fear that the disputes among his followers would eventually provoke a scornful reaction among the enemies of the true faith, therefore renewing his appeal for concord. 56 Once again, as we saw with reference to his autobiographic poem, Gregory also blames the excessive zeal displayed by church leaders for the dire state of affairs within the Nicene community. 57 What distinguishes this oration from the others discussed so far is the fact that the reference to the Trinitarian faith now also provides a theological argument in favor of peace, establishing a link between the indivisible nature of God’s divinity – a cantus firmus in the theological argumentation of the supporters of the Nicene creed – and the necessity to profess a common creed, as he wishes to suggest on the ground of a famous story from the Old Testament: They [those who built the tower of Babel] were unanimous in their pursuit of an evil end, whereas our efforts towards harmony have as their object every highest good, the exalting of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, with one heart and one voice that it may be said of us, and not only said, but also believed, that God is really among us, who unites those who unite him and exalts those who exalt him. 58 λεύομαι, ὦ σοφώτατε, ἀλλὰ μὴ φιλονείκως ἵστασθαι· οὐ κρύπτειν τὴν ἀλήθειαν, ἀλλὰ μὴ διδάσκειν παρὰ τὸν νόμον. Transl. Vinson, Select Orations, 205. 54 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 32.23, ed. Moreschini, SC 318, 134: Τὸ μέγιστον, ἡ Πατρὸς, καὶ Υἱοῦ, καὶ ἁγίου Πνεύματος ἐπίγνωσις καὶ ὁμολογία τῆς πρώτης ἡμῶν ἐλπίδος. τούτων τί μεῖζον; τί δαὶ κοινότερον; transl. Vinson, Select Orations, 207–208. 55 CTh XVI 1.2, eds. T. Mommsen and J. Rougé, Les lois religieuses des empereurs romains de Constantin à Théodose II (312–438). Vol. 1: Code Théodosien livre XVI, SC 497 (Paris: Éd. du Cerf, 2005), 114: Ut secundum apostolicam disciplinam evangelicamque doctrinam patris et filii et spiritus sancti unam deitatem sub parili maiestate et sub pia trinitate credamus. On the Theodosian laws against the heretics, see F. Rotiroti, “Religion and the Construction of a Christian Roman Polity. Insanity, Identity, and Exclusion in the Religious Legislation of the Theodosian Code”, Studies in Late Antiquity 4 (2020), 76–113. 56 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 23.4. Several solutions have been advanced regarding the exact date of this oration. For a discussion of the different arguments, see the comments of Mossay in his edition of Gregory’s orations 20–23 (SC 270, 269–275). 57 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 23.4. 58 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 23.4, ed. Mossay, SC 270, 286: Οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἐπὶ κακῷ συνεφρόνουν· ἡμῖν δὲ ἐπὶ παντὶ βελτίστῳ τὰ τῆς ὁμονοίας ἵν’ ὁμοθυμαδὸν ἐν ἑνὶ στόματι δοξάζω-

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Gregory’s repeated appeals for concord have more than just one specific event in mind, and could have been tailored to fit both the imminent context of Constantinople and that of the empire-wide church. This would explain the difficulty in interpreting some of the hints offered throughout his sermons, such as in his allusion to the “rivalry of thrones” which would be fanning the flames of division among ordinary Christians, a way of describing both the struggles over the episcopal see of Constantinople or alternatively the conflict over the episcopal succession in Antioch. 59 For those opting for this second interpretation, this passage already anticipates the argument attested in the very speech Gregory delivered in front of the council which met in Constantinople, after having replaced Meletius in the role of president of the assembly. 60 When addressing the Antiochene schism, he warns the participants of the council about belittling the effect of this issue on the unity of Christianity. 61 The antagonisms surrounding the episcopal succession in Antioch, in fact, were already succeeding at pitting the Eastern bishops against their colleagues in the West, as Gregory succinctly laments. 62 As a consequence, the quarrel had in the meantime risen to a “worldwide upheaval” (κοσμικὸς σάλος) with the risk of uprooting the true Christian doctrine “as a result of dissension”. 63 The way doctrinal dissent was bearing on the life of Gregory’s congregation is reflected in a further element which emerges from his writings, in particular μεν τὸν Πατέρα, καὶ τὸν Υἱὸν, καὶ τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον καὶ τοῦτο λέγηται περὶ ἡμῶν ὅτι ὄντως ὁ Θεὸς ἐν ἡμῖν ἐστιν, ὁ τοὺς ἑνοῦντας ἑνῶν καὶ δοξάζων τοὺς δοξάζοντας. Transl. Vinson, Select Orations, 133. See also Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 22.14. On the theme of peace and its theological setting in Gregory’s Constantinopolitan orations, see also O. B. Langworthy, Gregory of Nazianzus’ Soteriological Pneumatology, STAC 117 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 106–109. 59 Gregorius Nazianzenus, Or. 22.13, ed. Mossay, SC 270, 248: Καὶ τοσοῦτον τὸ περιὸν ἡμῖν τοῦ στασιώδους, ὥστε καὶ ταῖς τῶν ἄλλων φιλοτιμίαις τοῦτο ἐχρήσαμεν, καὶ ὑπὲρ ἀλλοτρίων θρόνων ἰδίας ἔχθρας ἀναιρούμεθα. While the hypothesis that this passage would refer to the Meletian schism has already been propounded by Tillemont (Mémoires IX, 436), both the schism at Antioch and the Apollinarist controversy are mentioned as possible backgrounds in P. Gallay, La vie de Saint Grégoire de Nazianze (Lyon/Paris: E. Vitte, 1943), 139–143, concluding therefore that the discourse still belongs to the initial phase of his ministry in Constantinople. Bernardi, La prédication, 146–148, on the other hand, conjectures that the present version of the text is the result of a later redaction from the year 381, which would have updated the earlier version and which would take into account the antagonisms between East and West with regard to the Antiochene question. 60 On the schism and the way it was handled at the Council of Constantinople, see A. M. Ritter, Das Konzil von Konstantinopel und sein Symbol. Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des II. Ökumenischen Konzils (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1965), 53–68, and Errington, Roman Imperial Policy, 221–230. 61 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1595–1610. 62 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1560–1571. 63 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1645–1647, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 123–124: Ἐπὶ ξυροῦ βέβηκεν ἢ σῴζεσθ’ ἔτι // τὸ σεμνὸν ἡμῶν δόγμα καὶ σεβάσμιον, // ἢ μηκέτ’ εἶναι τῇ στάσει διαρρυέν. Transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 122.

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from his autobiographical poem: namely his own role as orator and leader. Shocked by the intrigue staged by Maximus, with whom he shared “roof, table, teaching, and plans”, 64 Gregory chalked up his own failures to his being inexperienced with the art of conspiracy, having instead been trained only for the exposition of Scriptures. In a sectarian environment like that of Constantinople, only the wicked can prevail, as he has to concede in the following, paradoxical statement: I should like to describe a novel feature of wicked behavior. It would be much simpler if everyone maintained a consistent character, either innocent of evil, or steeped in evil. People would do less injury to one another, because they would either side with one another or be openly at variance. But the good are the prey of the wicked, as it is. What a confusion of the human pattern this is, and how very unfair God allows our associations to be. What man of reason can discern the miscreant as he plots, intrigues, contrives, continually uses every possible artifice to remain hidden? The disposition with a slant towards evil is constantly watchful and keeps an eye on opportunity, whereas the one disposed to virtue is naturally slow and reluctant to suspect evil. And so honesty is easily trapped. 65

His negative experience also confronted him with the need to clarify his own understanding of preaching in front of his congregation, and the way in which his rhetoric differed from that of his rivals. From what we can evince from the poem, he was confronted with different kinds of attacks against his style of preaching. On the one hand, we find him being accused due to the strictness with which he stuck to the orthodox faith, an accusation he counters by arguing that his strictness contrasts sharply with the flattery and volatility of his rivals. What Gregory puts into the mouth of his adversaries is illustrative in this respect, suggesting that they accused him because he refused to give in to the changing mood of the masses and to adapt his message to the taste of his audience. In this way, according to the accusation, Gregory’s preaching would eventually have a polarizing effect on his own listeners, obliging them to line up or behind or against him, “a magnet in one instance, a dangerous adversary in the other” (τοῖς μὲν λίθον μάγνητα, τοῖς δὲ σφενδόνην). 66

64 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 810–812, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 91: Τίς οὕτως ὡς ἔμοιγε Μάξιμος // στέγης, τραπέζης, δογμάτων, βουλευμάτων // κοινωνός;. 65 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 791–806, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 90–91: Καινόν τιν’ εἰπεῖν ἐν κακοῖς θέλω λόγον· // ἐχρῆν τὸν αὐτὸν πᾶσιν εἶναι δὴ τρόπον, // ἢ τὸν κακῶν ἄπειρον ἢ τὸν ποικίλον. // ἧττον γὰρ ἐβλάπτοντ’ ἂν ἔκ τινών τινες // ἀντιζυγούντων ἢ συνεστώτων τρόπων· // νῦν δ’ εἰσὶ θήρα τῶν κακῶν οἱ βελτίους. // τίς ἡ τοσαύτη σύγχυσις τοῦ πλάσματος; // ὡς σφόδρ’ ἀνίσως ἐζύγημεν ἐκ θεοῦ. // τίς τὸν κάκιστον ὄψεται τῶν μετρίων // δολοῦντα, συμπλέκοντα, μηχανώμενον, // κλέπτονθ’ ἑαυτὸν μυρίαις ἀεὶ στροφαῖς; // τὸ μὲν γὰρ εὐκίνητον εἰς μοχθηρίαν // τηρεῖ τὰ πάντα καὶ βλέπει τὰ καίρια· // τὸ δ’ εἰς ἀρετὴν πρόχειρον εἰς ὑποψίαν // τῶν χειρόνων ἀργόν τε καὶ νωθὲς φύσει. // οὕτως ἁλίσκετ’ εὐχερῶς ἡ χρηστότης. Transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 99–100, with modifications. 66 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 703–720.

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At the same time, however, Gregory himself could also be accused of flattery by those who did not view highly the success he could boast of for his rhetorical skills, luring even non-orthodox believers into his congregation. In order to debunk this claim, he now has to point out that his preaching distinguishes itself from that of his adversaries insofar as it builds exclusively on the mildness and honesty of its argument and not on power or cunning tricks: But in those days was there anyone of these people so steadfast as not to bend an ear to my teaching? Some were influenced by the force of what I had to say, others became tractable because of the way in which I said it. For I chose my language very carefully, avoiding controversy or ridicule. I spoke in sorrow, did not lash out, did not (like some people) capitalize on easy and smooth opportunities. For power (κράτος) and persuasion have nothing in common. Nor did I try to conceal bad reasoning with bluff – this is a very tricky performance, squirting up ink from the depths like a cuttlefish and routing my critics by a smoke screen. On the contrary, I was gentle and suave in my preaching, regarding myself as the proponent of a doctrine that is sympathetic and mild, and smites no one. For yielding is reasonable, and winning is much more admirable when someone is drawn to God by the force of persuasion. 67

If the allusion to the mixed audience in his congregation is made plain by the immediate context of the passage, one may also ask whether the contraposition between “persuasion” and “power” may allude between the lines to the ambivalence which was underlying the role of the emperor in the conflict between the different Christian communities in the capital and beyond. Such an ambivalence was perceived, in any case, by some later historians who, as did Sozomen, needed to clear Theodosius from the suspicion of imposing his own faith against the will of his subjects. 68 Admittedly, Gregory’s evaluation of Theodosius’s policies is more difficult to decipher, as becomes manifest in the section of his autobiographical poem in which he recounts his meeting with the emperor after the latter’s entry into the city, and his installation as Bishop of Constantinople. On the one hand, Gregory 67 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1188–1206, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 106: Τούτων δὲ τίς ἦν οὕτως ἀκίνητος τότε, // ὡς μὴ τὸ οὖς γε τοῖς ἐμοῖς κλίνειν λόγοις; // τοὺς μὲν γὰρ ᾕρει τὸ κράτος τῶν δογμάτων, // οἱ δ’ ἡμεροῦντο τῷ τρόπῳ τῆς λέξεως. // οὐ γὰρ μετ’ ἔχθρας οὐδὲ λοιδόρως πλέον // ἢ κηδεμονικῶς τοὺς λόγους προήγομεν, // ἀλγοῦντες, οὐ παίοντες οὐδ’ ἐπηρμένοι // καιρῷ ῥέοντι καὶ πλάνῳ καθώς τινες – // τίς γὰρ λόγῳ τε καὶ κράτει κοινωνία; – // οὐδὲ πρόβλημα τὸ θράσος ποιούμενοι // τῆς ἀλογίας, – δεινῶς γὰρ ἔντεχνον τόδε // καὶ σηπιῶδες, τὸ μέλαν ἐκ βάθους ἐμεῖν, // ὡς τοὺς ἐλέγχους ἐκδιδράσκειν τῷ ζόφῳ –, // ἀλλ’ ἡμέρως τε τοῖς λόγοις καὶ προσφόρως // ἐντυγχάνοντες ὡς λόγου συνήγοροι // τοῦ συμπαθοῦς τε καὶ πράου καὶ μηδένα // πλήσσοντος· ἐξ οὗ καὶ τὸ νικᾶσθαι λόγος, // καὶ τὸ κρατεῖν δὲ τιμιώτερον πολύ // πειθοῖ βιαίᾳ τῷ θεῷ προσκτώμενον. Transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 110. 68 See Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.4.5, eds. Bidez and Hansen, GCS N.F. 4, 305: Λογισάμενος δὲ ἄμεινον εἶναι προαγορεῦσαι τοῖς ὑπηκόοις ἣν ἔχει περὶ τὸ θεῖον δόξαν, ὥστε μὴ βιάζεσθαι δοκεῖν ἀθρόον ἐπιτάττοντα παρὰ γνώμην θρησκεύειν, νόμον ἐκ Θεσσαλονίκης προσεφώνησε τῷ δήμῳ Κωνσταντινουπόλεως· συνεῖδε γὰρ ἐνθένδε ὡς ἀπό τινος ἀκροπόλεως τῆς πάσης ὑπηκόου καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι δήλην ἔσεσθαι ἐν τάχει τὴν γραφήν.

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is keen to praise the emperor’s zeal for the Nicene faith, as he “was wondrously devoted to the Trinity” (τῆς τριάδος ὑπερφυῶς ἡττώμενος). In his opinion, however, the emperor was not able to put his zeal to use when dealing with the problems which manifested during his reign, and failed to display the necessary “audacity” (θάρσος) and “circumspection” (προμήθεια) to face the challenges. 69 The cryptic meaning of such words does not allow for a closer interpretation of what Gregory is alluding to. Nonetheless, they still offer a background against which to understand his praise of one of Theodosius’s alleged qualities, namely his efforts to turn his wishes “into a written law of persuasion”. 70 While it has already been noted by Susanna Elm that such expression has to be referred to the emperor’s conviction that “persuasion (as practiced by Gregory) and not coercion were the way to deal with those of heretical opinion”, 71 one has to note that Gregory’s explicit reference to this noble trait of the emperor is still part of the critique above (including syntactically). 72 It is certainly true that, in this context, praise and critique are not necessarily exclusive, as any critique of the emperor still needed to be couched in the proper language. 73 At the same time, the main point of Gregory’s accusation against the emperor is to have naively lured into the episcopal office – through persuasion – a candidate who eventually proved unfit for the political games and power struggles of the capital. In Gregory’s retrospective view, the installation in the cathedral had already brought to the fore the new bishop’s unease and the indisposition regarding the whole situation. Knowing, in fact, that the city’s population did not receive his nomination well, he proceeded to the church in apprehension, walking between the general and the soldiers who had been sent to secure the procession route. 74 Only the prodigious sign of light with which God filled the church at the moment the emperor joined the newly installed bishop in the sanctuary behind the chancel succeeded in appeasing the crowd, 75 conferring a sense of sublimity on the entire scene, which, however, did not turn the tide. On the contrary, Gregory’s evaluation of some of the various incidents which marked his short tenure as bishop of the capital eventually merged into the 69 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1284–1292, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 110; transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 113. 70 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1303–1304, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 110; transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 113. 71 S. Elm, “Emperors and Priests. Gregory’s Theodosius and the Macedonians”, in Re-reading Gregory of Nazianzus: Essays on History, Theology, and Culture, ed. C. A. Beeley (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2012), 236–251, here 242. 72 M. R. Errington, “Church and State in the First Years of Theodosius I”, Chiron 27 (1997), 21–72, here 40, proposed to read therein a critique addressed against Theodosius’s attempt to “persuade” Demophilus to accept the Nicene creed before meeting Gregory, who was therefore not Theodosius’s first priority. 73 As pointed out by Baumann, Götter in Gottes Hand, 337–338. 74 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1336–1341. 75 See Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1353–1370.

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disillusioned insight that proximity to the center of power was at the very root of the ecclesiastical divisions in the city: I want to make it clear, in the first place, that I was not attributing more to the favorable turn of events than to the power of God. Why should I, who had as my soundest adviser common sense, seek counsel from an august source? Everyone courts the majesty of those in power, particularly those with a confidential position, people who are devoid of manhood except where money is concerned. Is there any point in describing the style and artifices of those who cleave to the very doors of the palace, laying accusations, pilfering outrageously, making wretched traffic out of religion, being generally shameless, to put it in a nutshell? I was alone in choosing to be loved rather than hated. I won respect by keeping to myself, and devoting myself for the most part to God and the pursuit of perfection. The doors of the mighty I left to others. 76

6.3 Communion in Divisive Times In order to convey an idea about the way religious conflicts were able to shape the perception of the urban space, I would like to introduce this section with a suggestive description of Constantinople offered by Pseudo-Martyrius’s funerary oration for John Chrysostom, the source on which I would like to focus in the second part of this chapter. Although not passing over the splendor radiating from the symbols of political power in silence, the perception of the cityscape is clearly dominated by the visible presence of soldiers and police forces: Seeing a great and populous city, greater than all those that lie under the sun, inferior to one city alone – I speak here of the city of Constantinople, the daughter of Rome, in which is set the throne of the emperor, which persuades those from everywhere who need help to look to it, where there is a multitude of magistrates since the emperor is present, and crowds of soldiers, and of men bearing shields and spears, whose units one would not easily count. 77 76 Gregorius Nazianzenus, De vita sua 1420–1435, eds. Tuilier and Bady, 115: Πρῶτον μέν, ὡς δείξαιμι μὴ καιροῦ φορᾷ // νέμων τὸ πλεῖον ἢ κράτει τῷ τοῦ θεοῦ, // τί νουθετοῦμαι τῷ καλῷ παραινέτῃ, // λόγον δ’ ἔχω σύμβουλον ἀσφαλέστατον; // πάντων σεβόντων τὴν ὀφρὺν τῶν ἐν τέλει, // τούτων μάλιστα τοὺς ἔσω παραστάτας // οἳ πάντ’ ἄνανδροι τἆλλα πλὴν εἰς χρήματα, // τί δ’ ἄν τις εἴποι, πῶς τε καὶ τέχναις ὅσαις // αὐτοῖς πυλῶσι βασιλικοῖς προσκειμένων, // κατηγορούντων, λαμβανόντων ἐκτόπως, // τῆς εὐσεβείας ἐμφορουμένων κακῶς, // ἀσχημονούντων, ὥς γε συντόμως φράσαι, // μόνος ποθεῖσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ μισεῖσθ’ ἔγνων // καὶ τῷ σπανίῳ τὸ σεμνὸν ἠμπολησάμην // θεῷ τὰ πολλὰ καὶ καθάρσει προσνέμων, // τῶν δὲ κρατούντων τὰς θύρας ἄλλοις διδούς. Transl. Halton and Meehan, Three Poems, 113. 77 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 13, eds. M. Wallraff and C. Ricci, Oratio funebris in laudem Sancti Iohannis Chrysostomi. Epitaffio attribuito a Martirio di Antiochia (BHG 871, CPG 6517), Quaderni della Rivista di Bizantinistica 12 (Spoleto: Fondazione Centro Ital. di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo, 2007), 56.58: Καὶ ἰδὼν πόλιν μεγάλην καὶ πολυάνθρωπον, πασῶν μὲν τῶν ὑφ’ ἡλίῳ κειμένων μείζονα μιᾶς δὲ ἐλαττουμένην μόνης – περὶ τῆς Κωνσταντίνου πόλεώς φημι, τῆς θυγατρὸς Ῥώμης, ἐν ᾗ βασιλέως μὲν ἵδρυται θρόνος τοὺς ἁπανταχόθεν βοηθείας δεομένους εἰς αὐτὸν πείθων ὁρᾶν, πλῆθός τε ἀρχόντων, ὡς βασιλέως παρόντος, στρατιωτῶν δὲ καὶ ὑπασπιστῶν καὶ δορυφόρων δῆμοι, ὧν οὐδὲ τὰ τάγματά τις ἀριθμήσαιτο ῥᾴδιον. Transl.

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Standing in stark contrast to this image of a war-torn city, John Chrysostom, the “bestower of concord” (βραβευτὴς ὁμονοίας), is cast as the true hero of the story which is about to be narrated. Upon his installation as Bishop of Constantinople in fact, “for the first and only time did the inheritance of Christ truly visit the earth”, as he succeeded in sorting out the theological disputes which have long divided the churches between West and the East. At the same time, with a view to the outcome of the troubles in which he was involved, the author of the funerary speech instantly adds that peace “flew off once again from the earth” after the preacher was removed from the city. 78 The following account on the conflicts that marked John’s stay in Constantinople offers much food for thought with a view to the intention of this present book. Although many of the events narrated in this text became an integral part of historiographical tradition, its singularity evidently lies in its rhetorical function. 79 Having been written shortly after the death of John Chrysostom in September 407, the anonymous writer of the funerary speech had in fact to deal with a critical moment in the life of the Johannite community, taking into account both the ongoing investigations into the past episodes of violence and the intensified efforts made by the official church to reintegrate the Johannites into communion. 80 The following sections would like to highlight the two focal T. D. Barnes and G. Bevan, The Funerary Speech for John Chrysostom, TTH 60 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2013), 45. 78 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 19, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 66: Ἐν ᾧ μὲν γὰρ ἔτι τῆς ἐπισκοπῆς ὁ ἅγιος ἐπέβη, τότε πρῶτον καὶ μόνον γνησίως ἐπὶ γῆς ἐφοίτησεν ἡ τοῦ Χριστοῦ κληρονομία […] ἐν ᾧ δ’ αὖ τῆς πόλεως ὁ δίκαιος ἤρθη βιαίως, ἀπέπτη πάλιν ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς ἡ εἰρήνη. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 49–50. The text is probably hinting at the (preliminary) end of the Meletian schism in Antioch, which pitted the followers of Meletius’s successor Flavian and those of his rival Evagrius against each other on the one hand, and the respective episcopal sees supporting one of the two candidates on the other. See on this F. Cavallera, Le schisme d’Antioche (IVe–Ve siècle) (Paris: Alphonse Picard et Fils, 1905), 289. 79 On the events surrounding the deposition of Chrysostom and a discussion of the relevant literary sources, see F. Van Ommeslaeghe, “Jean Chrysostome et le peuple de Constantinople”, Analecta Bollandiana 99 (1981), 329–349, Gregory, Vox populi, 41–79; C. Tiersch, Johannes Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel (398–404). Weltsicht und Wirken eines Bischofs in der Hauptstadt des oströmischen Reiches, STAC 6 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); Pfeilschifter, Der Kaiser und Konstantinopel, 301–306 and 383–394, and Barry, Bishops in Flight, 103–131. See now also J. M. Pigott, New Rome wasn’t built in a Day. Rethinking Councils and Controversy at Early Constantinople 381–451, Studia antiqua Australiensia 9 (Turnhout: Breopls, 2019). On Chrysostom’s biography, see J. Kelly, Golden Mouth. The story of John Chrysostom – ascetic, preacher, bishop (London: Duckworth, 1995), and R. Brändle, Johannes Chrysostomus: Bischof, Reformer, Märtyrer (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1999). 80 I share this approach with P. Van Nuffelen, “Palladius and the Johannite Schism”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 64 (2013), 1–21, here 3–4, who applied it to the other extant sources on the life of John Chrysostom, as is the case for the Dialogues of Palladius on which his article focuses. On the date of composition, see F. Van Ommeslaeghe, “La valeur historique de la Vie de S. Jean Chrysostome attribuée à Martyrius d’Antioche (BHG 871)”, Studia Patristica 12 (1975), 478–483, here 481–483. See also the introduction to the edition of the Oratio funebris by Martin Wallraff and Cristina Ricci.

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points around which the narrative of the funerary speech gravitates, namely its aim in exonerating John Chrysostom from any accusation lodged against him, and its intention to strengthen the commitment of his followers against succumbing to the pressure of the official church to dissociate from their former leader. One of the literary and rhetorical devices of the funerary speech which still deserves further inquiry is the extensive use of biblical images, which its anonymous author inserted in the narrative in order to model the life of John Chrysostom on the example left by biblical figures. The story of Job and his trials not only figures prominently, but, in my opinion, also provides a hermeneutical key for the understanding of the text itself. After briefly relating the initial successes of John Chrysostom’s ministry in the capital, the author in fact sets out to introduce the main part of his work by presenting a heavenly dialogue between Satan and God, the subject of which was the blessings with which John’s preaching was endowed. With this allusion to the opening scene of the biblical book of Job, Pseudo-Martyrius has the evil angel demanding that God deliver the bishop and his community into his hands in order to test their loyalty to their preacher, arguing that those now applauding him would not hesitate to dissociate from him in times of hardship. 81 In this way, Satan is cast as the true source of the “madness” (μανία) which unfolded from this moment, while, as a corollary, all figures on the stage of human history are thus presented as acting on his behalf. 82 The Alexandrian bishop Theophilus in particular, “a man little inferior to the Devil by nature” is accused of having incited other bishops “to work with him in his inordinate madness” (εἰς τὸ συνεργεῖν αὐτῷ πρὸς τὴν ἔκτοπον μανίαν). 83 With this the account quickly moves on to the facts. Once the Alexandrian bishop reached Constantinople in order to execute his schemes against John, he gathered around him “those who because of their evil characters are distressed by a situation of quiet, but are nourished by strife”, therefore increasing room for manoeuvre in the schemes of the devil. 84 As known, the actions of Theophilus See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 27. Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 35, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 86; transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 58–59. 83 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 38–39, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 90; transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 60–61. 84 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 44, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 94: Καὶ καθάπερ τις ἐπὶ τυραννίδα σπεύδων ἐκείνους μάλιστα συνάγει τε καὶ φιλεῖ, οὓς διὰ κακοτροπίαν ἀνιᾷ μὲν ἡ τῶν πραγμάτων ἡσυχία, τρέφουσι δὲ στάσεις καὶ νεωτερισμοὶ καὶ ἀνθρώπων ἀρχαὶ βίαιοι καὶ ἀλόγιστοι […]. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 64, with modifications. In this section of the oration the author also gives an account of the so-called affair of the Tall Brothers, a group of Egyptian monks who found shelter in Constantinople from what they experienced as the bullying methods of the Alexandrian bishop, therefore causing John Chrysostom 81 82

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culminated in the gathering of the Council of the Oak, in which the enemies of the Constantinopolitan bishop succeeded in formalizing his deposition, offering the “most obvious proof of their madness”. 85 The choice of words employed to characterize John Chrysostom’s enemies needs some further comments at this point. The concept of “madness” is not coincidental but seems to premise the readers’ familiarity with the different subtexts it could display in Christian literature. On the one hand, its occurrence in the very context of ancient riot narratives could engage concepts of violence and disorder, as testified, for example, by John’s Homilies on the Statues, in which he decries the “disorderly madness” (ἄτακτος μανία) accountable for the catastrophe. 86 At the same time, the religious politics of the emperors could also associate the presence of dissenting Christian groups with the danger of violence. Such fears are best exemplified in the edict which Theodosius and his co-regents issued for Illyricum on 10 January 381 in their attempt to break the resistance of the heretical communities that were still defying the Nicene creed: They shall be removed absolutely from the threshold of every church, since we forbid all heretics to conduct meetings within the cities, and, should any violence break out, we order them to be expelled from the city walls, thus ejecting their madness (exterminato furore), so that catholic churches in the whole world might be restored to all orthodox bishops who hold the Nicene faith. 87

Without anticipating later events, it is interesting to note that a similar choice of words is also employed in the context of one of the most sensitive phases of the conflict surrounding the deposition of John Chrysostom, this time endowing this concept with a positive meaning. As Pseudo-Martyrius comments when depicting the state of affairs in the city after John had been forced into exile for the second time, the adversaries were fearing the “wise madness” (τὴν σώto also be part of a conflict with the latter. The affair is also reported by Socrates, Hist. eccl. 6.7 and 9, and Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.12–13. See on this also Kelly, Golden Mouth, 191–202. 85 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 54, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 106: Οὐδὲ γὰρ τοῦτο παρήσω, ἀνόνητον μὲν νῦν ἴσως εἶναι δοκοῦν τοῖς πολλοῖς, δεῖγμα δὲ ὂν τῆς αὐτῶν μανίας σαφέστατον. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 70. On this synod, see Kelly, Golden Mouth, 211–227, and Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 327–353. 86 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis II, 4. 87 CTh 16.5.6.3, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 236: Ab omnium submoti ecclesiarum limine penitus arceantur, cum omnes haereticos inlicitas agere intra oppida congregationes vetemus ac, si quid eruptio factiosa temptaverit, ab ipsis etiam urbium moenibus exterminato furore propelli iubeamus, ut cunctis orthodoxis episcopis, qui Nicaenam fidem tenent, catholicae ecclesiae toto orbe reddantur. Translation from Errington, Roman Imperial Policy, 222–223. Although the edict was intended for Illyricum, as Errington reminds against R. Lizzi Testa, “La politica religiosa di Teodosio I. Miti storiografici e realtà storica”, Rendiconti. Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Classe Scienze Morali 7 (1996), 323–362, here 348, the measures that the edict contemplated would not have been different if applied to other cities as well. For a discussion of the association of religious heterodoxy with insanity testified by the Theodosian code, see Rotiroti, “Christian Roman Polity”, 94–103.

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φρονα μανίαν) of his followers, sensing the impending danger of unrest which then in fact materialized in the burning of the Hagia Sophia. 88 The attempt to turn to good effect such charges of destructive violence was obviously part of the rhetorical argument, which is why it would be problematic at best to use this source for an objective reconstruction of the convulsions of those years. This is already manifest in the context of John’s first expulsion from the city after the council of the Oak in 403, an event known through different, and at times contradictory, accounts. Palladius on the one hand explains that military forces were assigned with the task of removing the bishop from his church, reacting in this way to popular insurrections in support of John Chrysostom. 89 If we are to believe Sozomen, in fact, the people of Constantinople “rose up in sedition” and ran to the church, demanding that a larger council should investigate the matter. John, however, being worried that such behavior would substantiate the accusation of having “excited an insurrection among the people”, decided to leave the city without notice. 90 Although being less circumstantial than Sozomen, this is also the image which the funerary oration wishes to convey to its readers, commenting that the bishop departed the city taking care to avoid the attention of the people. 91 Such a presentation, however, is contrasted by the testimony which John Chrysostom himself left in his letter to Innocent, where he implies that he was forced out of the city after being separated from the crowd that had gathered around the church building. 92 Should this version better reflect the actual course of events, it may offer evidence of John Chrysostom’s hope that the visible support of the masses could still prevent the order of deposition being executed. The more irenic presentation opted for by the funerary speech (and followed by Palladius and Sozomen) may indeed have been meant as a way to shield the bishop from the accusation of having offered resistance against the authorities. Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 110, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 166. See Palladius, Dialogus IX, 256–258, ed. A.-M. Malingrey, Dialogue sur la vie de Jean Chrysostome, SC 341 (Paris: Éd. du CERF, 1988), here 180. 90 Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.18.2, eds. Bidez and Hansen, GCS N.F. 4, 373: Ὁ δὲ δείσας, μή τι ἕτερον αὐτῷ ἔγκλημα πλακείη ὡς βασιλεῖ ἀπειθοῦντι ἢ τὸν δῆμον ταράττοντι, ἡμέρᾳ τρίτῃ μετὰ τὴν καθαίρεσιν διασπαρέντος τοῦ πλήθους περὶ μεσημβρίαν λαθὼν ἀπέλιπε τὴν ἐκκλησίαν. ἤδη δὲ αὐτοῦ ἀπαγομένου χαλεπῶς ὁ λαὸς ἐστασίαζε, βασιλέα τε καὶ τὴν σύνοδον καὶ μάλιστα Θεόφιλον καὶ Σευηριανὸν ἐλοιδόρουν. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 410. See also Socrates, Hist. eccl. 6.15.21. For the violence which broke out after the condemnation of John, see also Van Ommeslaeghe, “Peuple de Constantinople”, 333–335. 91 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 58. 92 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, Ep.1 ad Inn. 90–97, ed. A.-M. Malingrey, Dialogue sur la vie de Jean Chrysostome, SC 342 (Paris: Éd. du CERF, 1988), here, 76.78. For a discussion of this source, see also W. Mayer, “John Chrysostom as Crisis Manager. The Years in Constantinople”, in Ancient Jewish and Christian Texts as Crisis Management Literature. Thematic Studies from the Centre for Early Christian Studies, eds. D. Sim and P. Allen, Library of New Testament studies 445 (London: T&T Clark, 2012), 129–143, here 131–136. 88 89

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Moving back to the events described by the funerary oration, we can see Pseudo-Martyrius’s insistence on clearing John of any accusations of complicity in the violence that continued to assail the city. The danger of new commotions in the city played a major role in the court’s decision to call John back from exile. Although presenting the miscarriage of Eudoxia as the main reason for the emperor’s change of mind, Pseudo-Martyrius suggests that it was the imminent danger of tumults which worried the authorities, who were suspecting “a great civil disturbance being planned in secret” (ὑπομελετωμένης δὲ καὶ μεγάλης στάσεως) so that letters were sent to the bishop demanding his return. 93 Such an assessment also seems to be confirmed by Socrates, who refers to disorders in the city ignited by the preaching of Severian of Gabala in the absence of the bishop, thus causing the emperor to look after Chrysostom through his emissaries. 94 At the same time, the church historian also presents an account of commotions between “Alexandrians” and “Constantinopolitans” in the street of the capital, eventually causing Theophilus to flee the city. 95 Pseudo-Martyrius, on his turn, even goes one step further by claiming that John’s rivals were responsible for a violent attack against his own followers during his absence from the city, filling the place of baptism with the blood of children. 96 The diverging accounts presented by the other sources means that it remains difficult to localize this incident with more precision. If we are to believe the testimony of Zosimus, the attackers have to be identified with a group of monks who acted at the instigation of John’s adversaries, and were then hunted down by the troops sent in by the emperor. 97 One source attributed to John Chrysostom, the Sermo post reditum a priore exilio II (CPG 4399) which the deposed bishop purportedly delivered after his return from exile, offers an invaluable perspective on this intermezzo, but its authenticity is still disputed. 98 Clearing John’s followers of any accusation of active involvement in the vio93 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 79, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 132; transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 83. For the miscarriage of Eudoxia, see Oratio funebris 66–67. 94 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 6.16.4–6. A similar account is offered by Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.18.3. On the conflict between John Chrysostom and Severian and its presentation by PseudoMartyrius, see P. Van Nuffelen, “Boundless Ambition or a Friendship that went Wrong? Narrating the Conflict between John Chrysostom and Severian of Gabala”, in John Chrysostom and Severian of Gabala. Homilists, Exegetes and Theologians, eds. J. Leemans, G. Roskam and J. Segers, Bibliothèque de Byzantion 20 (Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 245–257, here 246–248. 95 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 6.17. This report, however, presupposes that John has already returned from exile. 96 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 79. 97 Zosimus, Historia Nova 5.23.4–5, ed. Paschoud, vol. 3, 35. 98 See E. Bonfiglio, John Chrysostom’s Discourses on his First Exile. Prolegomena to a Critical Edition of the Sermo antequam iret in exsilium and of the Sermo cum iret in exsilium (unpublished dissertation) (Oxford, 2011), and Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 17– 18. In the relevant section of his letter to Innocence, Ep. 1 ad Inn. 105–113, Chrysostom does not specify the exact circumstances which were at the origin of his recall from exile.

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lence, the author blames Theophilus instead for having instigated such actions, and praises his community for having refrained from the use of violence. 99 The sense of restraint shown by John’s supporters in times of persecution would have made it evident to everybody that “sedition is to be found on their side, while zeal is what is to be found among you”. 100 It is worth mentioning in this regard that Sozomen also briefly mentions a homily which John Chrysostom would have delivered immediately after his return to Constantinople, offering some striking parallels with the extant text of the homily at hand. As he finishes the short summary, Sozomen even observes that Chrysostom had to leave his speech half complete, since he stirred up loud applause among his listeners. 101 Although the historical and philological value of this testimony remains problematic, it hints in any case at the fact that, by the midst of the fifth century, a homily of similar content as that just discussed had already been circulating under the name of John Chrysostom. In a similar way to the funerary speech, it responded to the need to absolve the deposed bishop of the accusation of complicity in the tumults in one of the most heated phases of the conflict. In order to offer a suitable background against which to read Pseudo-Martyrius’s account of the events which unfolded after John’s return from exile, it may be of help to take into consideration a particular characteristic of the Oratio funebris, namely that of identifying the λαός of Constantinople as one of the main protagonists of the whole affair. I leave this word untranslated as it functions on different registers being therefore able to carry different meanings according to the specific context. As Martin Wallraff and Cristina Ricci pointed out in the introduction to their edition of the funerary speech, the word λαός is often employed by the anonymous author in order to denote an indistinct group of people, denoting at the same time an inner plurality in terms of both numbers and social background, as can be seen in the repeated use of the plural form. 102 A search through the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae quickly shows that the homilies of John Chrysostom normally employ the Greek λαός and its derivatives within quotations taken from the Greek Old Testament, where it refers to a particular group of people delimited by common ethnic boundaries, such as the different peoples inhabiting the Levant region in Biblical times or the people of See Iohannes Chrysostomus, Sermo post reditum a priore exilio II, 3. Iohannes Chrysostomus, Sermo post reditum a priore exilio II, 5, ed. Migne, PG 52, 446: Στάσις γὰρ τὰ ἐκείνων, τὰ δὲ ὑμέτερα ζῆλος. 101 See Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.18.8. Parallels are especially visible in the comparison between Theophilus and the Egyptian pharaoh who contemplated violating Abraham’s wife Sarah, the praise of the emperor and the empress, and the appeal to the congregation’s zeal. 102 For the funerary speech, see §10 (θεωροῦντες); 95 (συνελθόντες); 126 (συνεξιόντες). See Wallraff and Ricci, Epitaffio, 25, n. 99. 99

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Israel itself. Where the preacher resorts to this word in his own formulations, he may refer to both the crowd in general, when hinting, for example, at its multitude or baseness, but also to the Christian assembly or congregation. 103 In the specific context of the funerary speech, the term λαός can also refer to the “Christian population” of a city (as suggested by Barnes in his translation), such as premised when describing the success of the preaching of Chrysostom in Antioch. 104 Given this diversity of connotations, it would be advisable therefore to resort to different translations according to the specific context and use. As will become evident through the quotations chosen in the next pages, the funerary speech often employs the term λαός in such a way as to leave some room for ambiguity, referring both to John’s congregation and to Constantinople’s (Christian) population itself. This ambiguity is not accidental but is part of Pseudo-Martyrius’s aim of assimilating the faction of John’s schismatic followers into the city’s population. In doing so, the funerary speech not only asserts the claim of the Johannite community to represent the (Christian) population of the city, but also grounds the fame and authority radiating from Constantinople in the example of virtue left by John’s followers. The second aspect also finds an interesting parallel with a passage from the sermon allegedly pronounced after his return from exile, a passage in which the fame of Constantinople and that of the Johannite community are almost presented as being interchangeable: What need is there of words? The stones cry out loud, the walls send forth their voice. Depart to the royal halls and you will hear straightway “The people of Constantinople” (οὶ λαοὶ Κωνσταντινουπόλεως). Reach the sea, the desert, the hills, the houses, your praise is engraved everywhere. With which arrows did you conquer? Not through works, but through faith! Oh people who love the teacher, oh people who love the father! Fortunate city not because of its pillars and golden ceilings, but because of your virtue! 105

The resumption of the conflict between Chrysostom and Eudoxia and the disputes surrounding the canonical legitimacy of Chrysostom’s reinstallation pres-

103 For an instance where λαός designates his own congregation, see Iohannes Chrysostomus, De statuis XIX, 1, ed. Migne, PG 49, 188: Λαὸς κατὰ μὲν τὴν γλῶτταν ἡμῖν ἐνηλλαγμένος, κατὰ δὲ τὴν πίστιν ἡμῖν συμφωνῶν, λαὸς ἀπραγμοσύνῃ συζῶν, βίον σώφρονα καὶ σεμνὸν ἔχων. For an example in which this word is used to designate the larger mass of people, see Ad Stagirium I, 8, ed. Migne, PG 47, 443: … ὁ πολὺς καὶ χυδαῖος λαός. 104 See for example Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 10 and 12. 105 Iohannes Chrysostomus, Sermo post reditum a priore exilio II, 3, ed. Migne, PG 52, 444: Τίς χρεία λόγων; οἱ λίθοι βοῶσιν· οἱ τοῖχοι φωνὴν ἀφιᾶσιν. ἄπελθε εἰς βασιλικὰς αὐλὰς, καὶ ἀκούεις εὐθέως· οἱ λαοὶ κωνσταντινουπόλεως. ἄπελθε εἰς τὴν θάλατταν, εἰς τὴν ἔρημον, εἰς τὰ ὄρη, εἰς τὰς οἰκίας, τὸ ἐγκώμιον ὑμῶν ἀναγέγραπται. ἐν τίνι ἐνικήσατε; οὐ χρήμασιν, ἀλλὰ πίστει. ὢ λαὸς φιλοδιδάσκαλος, ὢ λαὸς φιλοπάτωρ, μακαρία ἡ πόλις, οὐ διὰ κίονας καὶ χρυσοῦν ὄροφον, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν ὑμετέραν ἀρετήν.

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sured the imperial court into allowing a new trial against John, which eventually renewed the previous sentence of deposition. 106 The prospect of a schism and the fears of further violence, however, complicated the emperor’s plans to guarantee a peaceful transition phase, which should have seen, among other things, the installation of a new bishop. Again, such circumstances demanded a great deal of pragmatism. PseudoMartyrius reports that the emperor thought it best to entrust the liturgical functions of Lent to those “in the middle” who have not yet sided with either party of the conflict, hoping therefore to drive a wedge between the followers of the deposed bishop and drag the people into communion with the new leadership: At the beginning of Lent they spread word throughout the city that the emperor thought after all that he ought to entrust the divine liturgy to those in the middle, who were in communion with neither party, until the verdict which was constantly expected but which would never be delivered. (They called the city mobs which had long inclined to side with them “those in the middle”.) They acted as follows: for the present they dragged John’s congregation into communion with those who had not to be sure wronged the man, but who would later appeal to their illegal action in earlier matters, in the expectation that all those who had entered into communion with them by compulsion would remain in communion once it existed. 107

Within the logic of Pseudo-Martyrius’s narrative, this note has the function of introducing the account of the origin of the Johannite schism which ensued, and which is not coincidentally set in the language of (liturgical) communion that permeates this, admittedly, convoluted passage. As the emperor himself would have anticipated, the loyalty of Constantinople’s Christians to their former bishop could only be bypassed by an act that conferred apparent legitimacy on the clergy installed by the monarch, even as the injustice suffered by John Chrysostom would lay bare their illegitimacy. At the same time, this passage also insinuates that the true followers of the bishop would be able to justify the rupture of communion with the official hierarchy by invoking the injustices and

106 Compare Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 86–88, and Palladius, Dialogus IX, 132– 138. See also Socrates, Hist. eccl. 6.18.1–12, and Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.21.1. On the conflict with Eudoxia, see W. Mayer, “Doing Violence to the Image of an Empress. The Destruction of Eudoxia’s Reputation”, in Violence in Late Antiquity. Perceptions and Practices, eds. H. A. Drake et al. (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 205–213. 107 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 89, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 144: Ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς νηστείας κατασπείρουσιν ἀνὰ τὴν πόλιν λόγον, ὡς ἄρα τοῖς μέσοις ὁ βασιλεὺς τὴν λειτουργίαν ᾠήθη δεῖν ἐγχειρεῖν, τοῖς μηδετέρῳ μέρει κεκοινωνηκόσι, μέχρι τῆς κρίσεως τῆς ἀεὶ μὲν προσδοκωμένης, οὐδέποτε δὲ γενησομένης, μέσους καλοῦντες τοὺς ὄχλους τοὺς πάλαι ἑαυτοὺς προσκεκλικότας ἐκείνοις. ἐποίουν δὲ τοῦτο τέως μὲν ἐπὶ τὴν τῶν μηδὲν δῆθεν ἠδικηκότων τὸν ἄνδρα τὸν λαὸν ἕλκοντες κοινωνίαν, αὐτῶν δὲ ἐκείνων ὕστερον τῇ τῶν προτέρων παρανομίᾳ χρησομένων, πάντας τοὺς κεκοινωνηκότας ἀνάγκῃ τῇ φθασάσῃ γενέσθαι ἐλπίζοντες ἐμμενεῖν κοινωνίᾳ. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 89.

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violence which unfolded in the course of the events that Pseudo-Martyrius is about to relate, and which culminated in the so-called bloody Easter. 108 Taking advantage of the densely packed crowds filling the churches for the vigil service, the adversaries of John smuggled their own priests into the churches located throughout the city. In this way, the Christians loyal to Chrysostom would have been lured into communion with his opponents, not being able to see in the dark who was officiating, or having no other church buildings were to go. The plan failed, however, and the people (ὁ λαός) began running around the churches in search of priests still loyal to their former bishop. 109 Since the plans of the new Christian leadership did not bear the desired fruit, the events quickly turned violent when soldiers were dispatched to the churches. In reporting on the atrocities which followed, the author of the funerary speech thus goes to great lengths to unmask the tyranny of John’s adversaries, presenting it as evidence of the blind and irrational violence displayed by those very forces who were supposed to safeguard order: When some of those who had come to the holy rites of initiation had just emerged from the pool of the baptismal font […] a solid mass of soldiers entered with swords and clubs, who were chosen since they were ignorant of the mysteries, so that they might not spare those being baptized out of reverence for the rite being performed; they beat and drove out those who lacked both clothing and sin (because of which we humans needed clothes), sparing no-one, not even woman-folk, whom nature has taught especially to feel shame at being naked. 110

In its general lines, this account is paralleled by the testimony left by the letter which John Chrysostom wrote to Pope Innocence. 111 If we are to believe this document, the atrocities committed against defenseless Christians would even have awakened the sympathy of the non-Christian inhabitants of the capital, so 108 On the sources of this event, see F. Van Ommeslaeghe, “Chrysostomica. La nuit de Pâques 404”, Analecta Bollandiana 110 (1992), 123–134, esp. 129–132, highlighting the similarities between the funerary speech and the account to be found in Sozomen, who probably depended on the latter. 109 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 91, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 146; transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 90. 110 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 93, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 148: Τῶν γὰρ ἐπὶ τὴν ἱερὰν ἡκόντων μυσταγωγίαν, τῶν μὲν ἄρτι τῶν τῆς κολυμβήθρας ἐκπεπηδηκότων λαγόνων, τῶν δὲ ἐν αὐταῖς ὄντων, τῶν δὲ ἑτοίμων ὄντων εἰσδῦναι, ἀθρόον τι πλῆθος εἰσελθὸν στρατιωτῶν σὺν ξίφεσί τε καὶ ῥοπάλοις, οὓς ἐξελέξαντο τῶν μυστηρίων ἀγνῶτας, ὡς ἂν μὴ τῇ τῶν τελουμένων αἰδοῖ φείδοιντο τῶν νηπίων, οὕτω τοὺς μὲν γυμνοὺς ἱματίων τε καὶ ἁμαρτίας, δι’ ἣν ἐδεήθημεν ἱματίων, παίοντες ἀπήλαυνον, φειδόμενοι οὐδενὸς οὐδὲ γυναικῶν γένους, ἃς μάλιστα ἐπὶ τῇ γυμνότητι αἰδεῖσθαι ἡ φύσις ἐδίδαξεν. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 91. 111 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, Ep. 1 ad Inn. 146–182. The account of Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.21.1–4 seems to be influenced by Pseudo-Martyrius. See on this F. Van Ommeslaeghe, De lijkrede voor Johannes Chrysostomus, toegeschreven aan Martyrius van Antiochie: tekstuitgave met commentaar, hoofdstukken uit de historische kritiek (unpublished dissertation), Leuven, 1974, 301–313, esp. 304–305.

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that the entire city was filled with disorder and disturbances. 112 It goes without saying that the image of the authorities such as presented by both sources is flawed by their respective interest in staging a scene of persecution against the followers of John Chrysostom, rehearsing similar motives as those known from the writings of Athanasius. Interestingly, it is another pro-Chrysostomian source, Palladius’s Dialogues, which seems to suggest in his account that the civil authorities had little interest in a spiral of violence, attributing the main initiative for the hard line approach instead to Acacius and Antiochus. 113 These two clerics in fact considered it an affront that the “affection of the population” (εὐνοία τοῦ λαοῦ) for Chrysostom emptied the churches of the city where his adversaries were officiating, attempting therefore to spur the authorities on to disperse their meetings by force. 114 As Palladius recounts, then, the master of offices also refused to follow their advice at first, fearing that such actions would further aggravate the situation. Only after much insistence was the task eventually entrusted to the pagan Lucius. 115 Regardless of whether the massacre had been planned beforehand, the main goal of Pseudo-Martyrius’s narrative remains that of providing a foundational narrative for the schism of the Johannite community, as the following passage on the developments following the massacre exemplifies: When the day broke, the congregation (ὁ λαός), full of blood and wounds, came together with the newly baptized, saw those who had committed adultery with their mother milling around, and created the schism in the church which Leontius and Ammonius had long feared (if indeed one ought to call it a schism at all). For abandoning only the walls and the men who were more irrational than the walls and the perpetrators of the illegality, they ran to the building of the founder of the city. There they assembled the spiritual building of our father which was under attack. And a work of pious men came into existence, one that contained another work, a work made of stone containing a work composed of grace and faith, a work which Constantine had wrought for the care of bodies, but which had become one for the healing of souls. 116 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, Ep. 1 ad Inn. 173–178. The answer which Palladius puts into the mouths of the two clerics after being approached by the emperor is again indicative of the polemical scope of the dialogue, echoing the sentence of condemnation pronounced against Jesus (Matth. 27.25): “O Emperor, the deposition of John be upon our heads!” Palladius, Dialogus IX, 147, ed. Malingrey, SC 341, 194. 114 Palladius, Dialogus IX, 172–177, ed. Malingrey, SC 341, 196. 115 See Palladius, Dialogus IX, 166–181. Palladius’s account differs in the fact that it seems to anticipate later events when stating that the military operation was conducted at the baths of Constantius where the followers of John were meeting for the Easter vigils. See on this below. 116 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 95, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 150: Ἡμέρας δὲ φανείσης, αἱμάτων τε καὶ τραυμάτων γέμοντες, συνελθόντες ὁ λαὸς μετὰ τῶν ἀρτιτόκων καὶ τοὺς μοιχοὺς περὶ τὴν μητέρα στρεφομένους ὁρῶντες, τὸ πάλαι ἐκείνοις φοβερὸν σχίσμα τῆς ἐκκλησίας εἰργάσαντο, εἴ γε τὸ ὅλον σχίσμα δεῖ καλεῖν. μόνους γὰρ ἀφέντες τοὺς τοίχους τε καὶ τοὺς τῶν τοίχων ἀλογωτέρους ἀνθρώπους καὶ τοὺς τῆς παρανομίας ἐργάτας, ἐπὶ τὴν οἰκοδομὴν ἔδραμον τοῦ τῆς πόλεως οἰκιστοῦ. κἀκεῖ τὴν οἰκοδομὴν τοῦ πατρὸς τὴν πνευματικὴν πολε112 113

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These lines conflate different elements which are all highly expressive at the symbolic level. The mention of the newly baptized who gathered outside the church in order to continue the liturgical service creates a striking analogy between the new birth of the Christian in the waters of baptism and the birth of the Johannite congregation in the waters of the blood shed in the massacre of the previous night. At the same time, the reference to Constantine ideologically links the birth of the community with the founding of the new capital of the Roman empire. The bath complexes to which this passage refers, although named after the founder of the city, were in fact initiated by Constantius in 345, and came to completion in the year 427, as documented in the Chronicon Paschale from the beginning of the seventh century. 117 We may only speculate therefore whether this meant that the followers of John would thus have assembled in a still unfinished construction site, or whether the baths were already in use by that time. In any case, by the time Socrates and Sozomen wrote their Church Histories, the bath complex had already been marked as the place where his followers were denominated “Johannites” for the first time. 118 Last, but not least, the mention of this venue is also of interest when one takes into account the negative associations it was able to evoke in previous riot narratives, as the account on the conflict between Paul and Macedonius again confirmed. It can be remembered that John Chrysostom, in one of his homilies on Acts, also cashed in on such negative associations when vilifying the theater, the baths, the processions and the market place as the breeding grounds for tumult (θόρυβος). 119 μουμένην συνήγαγον. καὶ γίνεται ἀνδρῶν εὐσεβῶν ἔργον ἔργου δοχεῖον, ἔργον ἐκ λίθου πεποιημένον ἔργου χάριτι συγκειμένου καὶ πίστει, ἔργον εἰς θεραπείαν μὲν ἐκείνῳ σωμάτων εἰργασμένον, γεγενημένον δὲ εἰς ψυχῶν ἰατρείαν. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 92. 117 See Chronicon Paschale, Olymp. 301, M. Whitby and M. Whitby, Chronicon Paschale. 284–628 AD, TTH 7 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1989), 70. The baths were located in the district called Konstantianae which covered the area between the Church of the Apostles to the north, the column of Marcian to the west and the Zeugma to the south east on the Golden Horn. See on this R. Janin, Constantinople byzantine. Développement urbain et répertoire topographique, 2nd edition, Archives de l’Orient chrétien 4A (Paris: Inst. Français d’Études Byzantines, 1964), 219–220 and 372–373. 118 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 6.18.14–15, and Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.21.4. It was only during the episcopate of Proclus (434–446) that the Johannites would again be incorporated into the official church. See on this Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 374 and 419. 119 See Iohannes Chrysostomus, Hom. in acta Apost. XXX, 3–4, ed. Migne, PG 60, 227: Θεάτροις ἐπιτήδειος ὁ θόρυβος καὶ βαλανείοις καὶ πομπαῖς καὶ ἀγοραῖς. The fears of factionalism or violent behavior associated with public bath complexes could even have a direct bearing on the topographic disposition of the structures themselves. As we know from the case of the city of Tyros, for example, the area around the hippodrome was designed in order to accommodate a bathing house for each of the two opposing circus factions of the city. See on this H. Kahwagi-Janho, “Les Bains des Bleus de l’hippodrome de Tyr”, BAAL 11 (2007), 25– 56, esp. 28.

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In order to understand the purpose of the topographic localization of the schism, it should also be pointed out that such a choice of place stands in contrast to the natural movement of proscribed faith communities away from the public spaces of the city towards the regions outside the walls. The community of the Johannite believers may also not have been exempted from this development, as we may infer from the testimony of Sozomen: Although the whole city was this filled with trouble and lamentation, the affection of the people for John still remained the same, and they refrained from appearing in public. Many of them absented themselves from the market-place and public baths, while others, not considering themselves safe in their own houses, fled the city. 120

In a similar way as for Antioch with its training fields, Constantinople also offered ample space outside its walls for the accommodation of large gatherings. If we are to believe the account offered by Palladius, the sheer numbers of neophytes crowding the fields between the Pempton gate and the homonymous locality at five miles from the Milion covered the plain in white, causing the emperor to watch the scene in amazement when he approached the area for physical practice. 121 John Chrysostom remains more vague, and only mentions that “the entire city migrated outside the walls under the trees in the woodland”. 122 In a similar way to Sozomen, the funerary speech also implies that the Johannites were eventually left with no other choice than to leave the city in order to gather for worship. The reader is in fact told at a later point that “the congregation (ὁ λαός) ran to the hippodrome, not at all ashamed at leaving the walls undefended”. 123 Given the parallel testimony left by Palladius, one may infer, as Timothy Barnes did in the relevant footnotes, that Pseudo-Martyrius is here referring to the hippodrome outside the city walls. But, although situated outside the city gate, it was still possible for the author of the funerary oration to associate this new meeting place of the Johannite community with Constantinople’s more famous circus inside the city walls, as the following passage shows: Before he built the city, the blessed Constantine had once made that place a hippodrome, so that it appears to me that it is due to this man (scil. John Chrysostom) that all Con120 Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.23.3–4, ed. Bidez and Hansen, GCS N.F. 4, 380: Μεγίστης δὲ ταραχῆς καὶ οἰμωγῆς ἀνὰ τὴν πόλιν συμβάσης οὐδ’ οὕτως μετέθεντο τοῦ περὶ Ἰωάννην φίλτρου. δημοσίᾳ δὲ οὐκέτι συνῄεσαν, πολλοὶ δὲ οὔτε εἰς ἀγορὰν οὔτε εἰς βαλανεῖα ἐφοίτων, τισὶ δὲ καὶ τὸ οἴκοι μένειν οὐκ ἀκίνδυνον ἦν, καὶ φυγὴν ἑαυτοῖς ἐπιτάξαντες τῆς πόλεως ἐξῆλθον. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 414. 121 See Palladius, Dialogus IX, 218–229. See on this Janin, Constantinople byzantine, 280–281 and 452. 122 Iohannes Chrysostomus, Ep. 1 ad Inn. 183–184, ed. Malingrey, SC 342, 88: Ἡμέρας δὲ γενομένης, πᾶσα ἡ πόλις ἕξω τῶν τειχῶν μετῳκίζετο ὑπὸ δένδρα καὶ νάπας, καθάπερ πρόβατα διεσπαρμένα τὴν ἑορτὴν ἐπιτελοῦντες. 123 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 97, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 152: Ἔπειτα ἐν τῇ μετ’ ἐκείνην ἔδραμεν ὁ λαὸς ἐπὶ τὸν ἱππόδρομον, οὐδὲν ἐρημίαν αἰσχυνόμενοι τοίχων ἐν ἁμαρτίας φυγῇ […]. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 93.

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stantine’s works became churches – the colonnades, the marketplace, the city, the baths, the hippodrome, all of which had been filled with prayers while the holy father was present, but reverted to their former status after he had departed, including the church itself, which has taken the name and function of a public square. 124

In other words, the presence of John Chrysostom and his community conferred on the public venues and even churches of the city their true meaning and status, not the other way round. Reflecting, therefore, the self-understanding of the Johannites as the true representatives of Constantinople’s religious and civic community, the city is thus presented as the place of a binary conflict between those who remained loyal to John, being thus pressed into hiding, and those who deserted him and were now controlling the public venues of the city. That such a dichotomy risks blurring the more active and violent resistance of John’s partisans can be gauged from Sozomen’s statement that “the most zealous of the people” (οἱ τοῦ λαοῦ σπουδαιότεροι) stood guard at the episcopal residence, where the bishop was confined after the sentence of deposition. 125 This note in fact hints that a more combative attitude was still coming from within the circle of John’s supporters. A similar conclusion may be drawn from Pseudo-Martyrius’s account of the successful intervention of John’s supporters which thwarted repeated plots of assassination against the deposed bishop. 126 As the authorities went on to finalize the expulsion of the bishop from the city, these more militant elements within the Johannite faction were eventually responsible for the burning of the Hagia Sophia, as Pseudo-Martyrius also had to admit, although only halfheartedly: They [sc. the enemies of John Chrysostom] secretly infiltrated destructive and unknown individuals and through them they scattered inflammatory words among John’s fol124 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 97, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 152: Τὸν δὲ χῶρον ἐκεῖνον πρὶν ἢ τὴν πόλιν οἰκῆσαι ἱππόδρομόν ποτε ἐπεποίητο ὁ μακάριος Κωνσταντῖνος, ὥστε μοι δοκεῖν ὀφείλεσθαι τἀνδρὶ τὸ ἅπαντα αὐτοῦ τὰ ἔργα ἐκκλησίας γενέσθαι, τὰς στοάς, τὴν ἀγοράν, τὴν πόλιν, τὰ λουτρά, τὸν ἱππόδρομον – ἅπερ ἅπαντα τοῦ μὲν ἁγίου πατρὸς παρόντος εὐχῶν ἐπεπλήρωτο, ἐκβάντος δὲ ἐκείνου ἐπὶ τὴν προτέραν ἀξίαν ἐπανῆλθεν – καὶ τὴν ἐκκλησίαν δὲ αὐτήν, ἥτις ἀγορᾶς προσείληφεν ὄνομά τε καὶ πρᾶγμα. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 93. On the “foundation gesture” entailed by the construction of the hippodrome, see Dagron, Naissance d’une capitale, 305. The Chronicon Paschale transmits an interesting note in this regard, stating that the followers of John were hence named Xylocircites, referring to the wooden circus outside the gate (ξυλόκερκος). See Chronicon Paschale, Olymp. 296. See on this also Janin, Constantinople byzantine, 195, 440–441 and map I. The note found in Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.21.4 seems to presuppose knowledge of Pseudo-Martyrius. 125 Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.22.1, ed. Bidez and Hansen, GCS N.F. 4, 378; transl. Schaff NPNF2, vol. 2, 413. 126 As the author explains at the end of the respective account, the prefect eventually punished the assailant in order “to mollify the people” (εἰς θεραπείαν τοῦ δήμου), therefore fearing an escalation of violence caused by John’s supporters. See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 105–106.

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lowers designed to inflame anger. They said that it was just to set the city and the church ablaze when our father was being thrown out. I am persuaded that some of those who were genuinely ablaze with zeal were among those who did this; but from the freedom of speech which John’s enemies as a group had taken against those who were for a time frightening to them, I am not convinced that it was John’s supporters who alone started the fire. 127

Socrates will be less reluctant to place direct responsibility upon the Johannites themselves, also informing the reader that the strong wind even led the fire to destroy the nearby Senate House. 128 Nonetheless, Pseudo-Martyrius is all the more resolute in defending John Chrysostom from the allegation of having stolen the treasures of the church and then set fire to it in order to cover up the misdeed. Quite on the contrary, the fire itself would have spared the room in which the treasures were still being stored, therefore proving his innocence. 129 The intention of the funerary speech to dissociate from the most zealous members of the Johannite faction by simultaneously defending the bishop’s integrity may be explained by the harsh response that the authorities set in motion after the destruction of the church, and which was aimed both at clearing up the incident and the isolation of John Chrysostom. 130 This notwithstanding, the measures were not all punitive in scope, but also aimed for the restoration of the public order, as can be observed in an edict from August 404 specifically addressed against “tumultuous assemblies” attended by priests. 131 This effort was also translated into the ecclesiastical politics of the court and became manifest in the election of Arsacius as the new Bishop of Constantinople. 132 We 127 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 111, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 166: Ὑπομίξαντες ἀνθρώπους φθόρους ἀγνῶτας, ὑποσπείρουσι δι’ ἐκείνων εἰς αὐτοὺς ῥήματα ὀργῆς ὑπεκκαύματα, λεγόντων ὅτι δίκαιόν ἐστιν ἐκβαλλομένου τοῦ πατρὸς ἐμπρῆσαι τὴν πόλιν καὶ τὴν ἐκκλησίαν. ἐγὼ δὲ εἶναι μέν τινας τῶν σφόδρα πεπυρωμένων τῷ ζήλῳ μετὰ τῶν τοῦτο πεποιηκότων πείθομαι· ἐκ δὲ ἧς ἀθρόον μετέλαβον παρρησίας ἐκεῖνοι κατὰ τῶν τέως ὄντων αὐτοῖς φοβερῶν, αὐτοὺς εἶναι μόνους τοὺς τὸν ἐμπρησμὸν ἐργασαμένους μεταπείθομαι. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 100. On these events, see Kelly, Golden Mouth, 250–254, and Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 379–380. 128 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 6.18.18. On the conflagration of the church and the Senate house, see also Palladius, Dialogus X, 83–121. 129 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 113. 130 For a reconstruction and discussion of these events, see Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 379–387. 131 CTh XVI 2.37, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 192.194: Quoniam personae ad inquisitionem perpetrati incendii, ut tui culminis suggestio patefecit, nequeunt inveniri, clericos carceris custodia relaxamus, ita ut navibus inpositi ad lares proprios revertantur. Nec proscriptionis periculo domus careant, quas episcopos vel clericos peregrinos post publicationem edictorum et nostrae serenitatis adfatus probabitur suscepisse, pari forma servanda, si qua domus cives clericos nova ac tumultuosa conventicula extra ecclesiam celebrantes susceperit. Ad obserandos si quidem seditionis aditus id nostro sedet arbitrio, ut omnes episcopi et clerici peregrini ab hac sacratissima urbe pellantur. See also CTh XVI 4.5. See on this Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 382 and 387, n. 41, and Gregory, Vox populi, 64–65. 132 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 115.

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might conjecture from the polemical comments of Palladius against the new bishop’s inertia and lack of authority that the choice of the candidate may in fact express the hope of the imperial administration in entrusting the post to someone who will create fewer problems than his predecessor. 133 It is with the election of a new bishop, in any case, that a further but significant step towards the consolidation of the schism was achieved, a step which was also formalized through an edict from the emperor ordering the followers of John Chrysostom to accept communion with Arsacius. 134 Pseudo-Martyrius is more specific in this respect when he refers to an accusation letter against John Chrysostom which would have been put in circulation in the public squares and submitted for signature with the obligation not to communicate with the former bishop, “neither in prayer nor in a church service”, should he ever return to the city. 135 Those who refused to comply were charged with having set fire to the church, thus being forced to choose whether to opt for an amnesty or their loyalty to the deposed bishop. Interestingly, this presentation, which reflects the Johannites’ concern for a mass apostasy among their own ranks, stands in stark contrast with the more pragmatic, but to some extent also cryptic, advice which Palladius puts into the mouth of John Chrysostom before being convened to the Synod of the Oak. As if having a presentiment of future events, the accused bishop there advised his peers that they should accept communion, although not signing his deposition, in order not to divide the church. 136 It goes without saying that this development was ultimately expected to weaken the inner cohesion of the Johannite community. Within the narrative presented by the funerary speech, such a pressure exerted on the faithful could only be answered by highlighting the example left by martyrs who were able to stand out by virtue of their unwavering loyalty to the deposed bishop. One of these models was, for example, the cantor Eutropius whom the prefect Optatus tortured to death without being able to extort from him the names of the cul-

See Palladius, Dialogus XI, 18–30. See CTh XVI 4.6, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 224: Rectores provinciarum moneantur, ut conventus eorum arceantur inliciti, qui orthodoxarum religione subfulti spretis sacrosanctis ecclesiis alio convenire conantur: his, qui ab Arsaci Theofili Porfyri reverentissimorum sacrae legis antistitum communione dissentiunt, ab ecclesia procul dubio repellendis. 135 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 118, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 172: Κἄπειτα συνθέντες γραμματεῖον, ὃ χειρὶ μὲν ἔγραψαν ἀνθρωπίνῃ […] ὅρκους τε ἀθέσμους κατά τε τῆς ἁγίας τριάδος καὶ κατὰ τῆς τῶν βασιλευόντων σωτηρίας, ἴσον ποιοῦντες τὸν φόβον ἀνθρώπων τε καὶ θεοῦ, ὡς μήτε εὐχῇ μήτε συνάξει πλησιάσαι μήτε μὴν ἐλπίσαι ἐπάνοδόν ποτε γενέσθαι τοῦ δικαίου, μήτε δέ, γενομένης, κοινωνῆσαι ἐθελῆσαι. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 103. 136 See Palladius, Dialogus VIII, 142–143, ed. Malingrey, SC 341, 168: Κoινωνήσατε μέν, ἵνα μὴ σχίσητε τὴν ἐκκλησίαν, μὴ ὑπoγράψητε δέ. Quote from Van Nuffelen, “Johannite Schism”, 11. 133 134

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prits involved in the arson. 137 It is not a coincidence that the pagan prefect was eventually offended by the sign of the cross which the cantor made on himself, therefore casting the reader’s mind back to the time of the persecutions and presenting the Johannite community as the legitimate heir of the ancient martyrs’ faith. 138 If the repressive measures put the inner cohesion of the Johannites to a severe test, the relaxation of the measures that followed the death of John Chrysostom in 407 and the new course of action inaugurated by Bishop Atticus paradoxically even aggravated their situation. Initially, the election of the new bishop early in 406 did not bring a substantial change from the hard line of his predecessor. 139 After all, he still had to cope with the authority which John Chrysostom continued to radiate from his location in exile and the active diplomatic efforts initiated by the western bishops with the backing of the emperor Honorius. 140 Driven by his commitment to the “peace of the church and of our kingdom”, the western emperor found himself in a similar position as Constance when he had to intervene in favor of Athanasius. 141 In a desperate move, Atticus solicited the court to disrupt the diplomatic mission from Rome and to send Chrysostom to even more remote regions. It was on the way to this destination that, on 14 September 407, he succumbed to the excessive strain of 137 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 115; Palladius, Dialogus XX, 99–106, and Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 8.24.1–3. On Optatus, see PLRE I, Optatus I, 649–650. 138 See also Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 389: “Weder die Kirchenhistoriker noch Ps.-Martyrius lassen Zweifel daran, dass das Ziel dieser Untersuchungen keineswegs die zweckfreie Klärung der Brandursache war, sondern dass die Beschuldigung der Brandstiftung nunmehr als legitimatorischer Vorwand für massiven Terror diente, um die öffentliche Ordnung ungehindert wiederherzustellen.“ Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 387, n. 43, and Dagron, Naissance d’une capitale, 291–294, point out that information on the religious affiliation of the Constantinopolitan prefects is often flawed due to the bias of the respective sources. For the specific case of Optatus Tiersch also calls to mind the testimony of Libanius, Or. 42.49, who accuses the prefect of lack of commitment for the pagan cult. 139 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 134. According to Palladius, Dialogus XI, 31–62, it was through Atticus’s own initiative that many bishops who refused to enter into communion with him were sent into exile while the dignitaries of the court who did the same lost their grades. See also Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 392–393. 140 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 134. On the letters which Chrysostom sent from exile and which he addressed to his supporters among the senatorial class, see W. Mayer, “The Bishop as a Crisis Manager. An Exploration of Early Fifth-Century Episcopal Strategy”, in Studies of Religion and Politics in the Early Christian Centuries, eds. D. Luckensmeyer and P. Allen, Early Christian Studies 13 (Strathfield [NSW]: St Pauls Publication, 2010), 159–171. On the council gathered by Honorius and the letter which he sent to his brother Arcadius, see Palladius, Dialogus III, 119–157. On the whole affair, see also Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 393–395. 141 Palladius, Dialogus III, 136–137, ed. Malingrey, SC 341, 82: … ὅθεν πάλιν ἐπέστειλα διὰ τῶν ἐπισκόπων καὶ πρεσβυτέρων, πάνυ φροντίζων τῆς ἐκκλησιαστικῆς εἰρήνης, δι’ ἧς καὶ ἡ ἡμῶν εἰρηνεύεται βασιλεία, ἵνα καταξιώσῃς προστάξαι ἐν Θεσσαλονίκῃ συνελθεῖν τοὺς τῆς ἑῴας ἐπισκόπους.

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the journey, also inaugurating a new chapter in the development of the Johannite schism. 142 The author of the funerary speech is quite straightforward in marking out the cesura which followed. After news of the death of the exiled bishop reached the capital, Atticus “donned the garb of philanthropy and began to trot around to everyone, to anoint and to soothe with words those whom he had torn to pieces through his actions”. 143 Although polemical in tone, or precisely because of it, Pseudo-Martyrius’s negative image of Atticus conveys an idea of the dilemma in which the Johannites found themselves in this situation, being pressured by the rhetoric of reconciliation (“to soothe with words”) into adjusting to the new reality. After all, it was John Chrysostom who succeeded in reconciling the emperor with the city of Antioch by tapping in on the same argument of philanthropy which was now used by his adversaries. How could the author of the funerary speech now persuade his readers to defy such invitations? As in previous instances, the literary evidence from later sources advises caution with regard to the allegations made by Pseudo-Martyrius, although not dismissing his claims altogether. While the funerary speech, in fact, gives the appearance of having been written not too long after the first news about Chrysostom’s death reached the city, at the point of being able to hypothesize that he still survives, 144 other sources in fact seem to suggest that such a change of policy was only introduced gradually. As we learn from a letter written by Synesius of Cyrene to the Alexandrian bishop Theophilus in 411 or 412, the latter in fact still had to advise Atticus to receive “certain men” into communion again, referring to “the amnesty and the reconciliation” granted to the schismatics two years earlier. 145 The condonation mentioned by Synesius entailed two elements, namely the return of exiled bishops to their former sees and the dropping of previous measures, such as the obligation to subscribe to John’s 142 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 135–136. On the diplomatic mission of western and eastern Bishops to Constantinople, see Palladius, Dialogus IV, 1–68. 143 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 137, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 194.196: Φιλανθρωπίαν ἐνδύς, ἤρξατο περιτρέχειν ἅπαντας, ἀλείφειν τε καὶ θεραπεύειν λόγοις οὓς κατέτεμνεν ἔργοις. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 114. For a more positive evaluation of Atticus’s personality, see Socrates, Hist. eccl. 7.2, who praises Atticus for his learning and prudence. 144 See Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 136. 145 Synesius, Ep. 67, ed. A. Garzya, Synésios de Cyrène. Vol. 3: Correspondance: lettres LXIV – CLVI, Collection des universités de France 397 (Paris: Soc. d’Éd. “Les Belles Lettres”, 2000), 187–188: Ἴδιον δὲ ἢ μετ’ ὀλίγων ὅτι τουτὶ μὲν ἔτος ἤδη τρίτον ἐξήκει μετὰ τὴν ἀμνηστίαν καὶ τὰς διαλλαγάς, ὁ δὲ οὐκ ἐβάδισε τὴν εὐθὺ βιθυνίας οὐδὲ τῆς συλλαχούσης αὐτῷ καθέδρας ἐλάβετο. Transl. A. Fitzgerald, The Letters of Synesius of Cyrene (London: Oxford University Press, 1926), 148. In this letter Synesius confronted Theophilus with some canonical questions regarding the proper reception of a certain Alexander who was ordained by Chrysostom as Bishop of Basinupolis in Bithynia. On the letter, the amnesty and the problem of dating, see also Van Nuffelen, “Johannite Schism”, 6–9, who argues that the amnesty can be dated only in an imprecise way, “between the second half of 408 at the very earliest and the end of 409 at the latest”.

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deposition, since it became clear that the Johannites had no intention of electing a new successor. 146 While this source therefore seems to offer further evidence for an improvement of the situation in the capital after the death of Chrysostom, PseudoMartyrius’s polemical presentation of Atticus gives the appearance of being driven by his fear that John’s former congregants might feel tempted to make peace with the official church. As the author laments, such behavior would be tantamount to the killing of their martyr: And so it seems to me that those who are entering into communion with his enemies because the blessed man has passed away have for a long time been urging them to murder him and are teaching everyone who come after these events (and it is likely that many will be revealed as such, since such is life) that, whenever they want to drive away a just man and the matter troubles and scatters the flock, they kill him quickly so that the flocks are reunited by his killing. 147

With a view to the developments which followed the composition of the funerary speech, the worst fears expressed by its author did not come true. On the contrary, resistance against the official church remained tenacious, as can be inferred from a letter which Atticus addressed to Cyrill of Alexandria, who followed Theophilus on the episcopal throne of the Egyptian metropolis. 148 The situation portrayed by the Constantinopolitan bishop is dominated by the resolute opposition of the Johannites and by their capacity to destabilize public safety. As Atticus laments, the whole affair was still creating a rift within the population of the capital and the followers of the dead bishop were still holding large gatherings outside the walls. 149 By this time, the prospect of having the name of John Chrysostom reintegrated in the diptychs of the church also gave an additional boost to the opposition. Such a request had already been advocated by the Antiochene bishop Alexander during his visit to the capital, mak146 See Van Nuffelen, “Johannite Schism”, 8, and Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 416–417. In her reconstruction of the events, what would have proved more decisive for a change in policy was the passing away of Arcadius in 408 and the role played by Pulcheria in the religious politics of the court after the dismissal of the praetorian prefect Flavius Anthemius in 414. On Pulcheria, see K. G. Holum, Theodosian Empresses. Women and Imperial Dominion in Late Antiquity, The transformation of the classical heritage 3 (Berkeley: California University Press, 1982), 79–111, and now also Pigott, Councils and Controversy, 115–117. 147 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 138, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 194.196: Ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν δοκοῦσιν οἱ διὰ τὴν κοίμησιν τοῦ μακαρίου τῇ κοινωνίᾳ προσιόντες τῇ τούτων πάλαι αὐτοὺς ἐπὶ τὸν φόνον ὠθεῖν, διδάσκειν τε τοὺς μετὰ ταῦτα ἅπαντας – εἰκὸς δὲ πολλοὺς ὡς ἐν τοιούτῳ βίῳ δειχθήσεσθαι τοιούτους –, ἵν’, ὅταν θέλωσιν ἀπελάσαι δίκαιον καὶ λυπῆσαν τὸ πρᾶγμα διασπείρῃ τὰ πρόβατα, ταχέως αὐτὸν ἀνέλωσιν, ὥστε τῇ ἀναιρέσει συναχθῆναι τὰ ποίμνια. Transl. Barnes and Bevan, The Funerary Speech, 115. 148 Cyril of Alexandria, Ep. 75, ed. Migne, PG 77, 348–352. The date of the letter cannot be ascertained with certainty. The mention of Theodotus as Bishop of Antioch (417–429) can, in any case, circumscribe the date of composition to the time of the latter’s tenure. 149 See Cyril of Alexandria, Ep. 75, ed. Migne, PG 77, 349B.

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ing it clear therefore that the whole affair was still impinging on the peace of the church outside the capital. At the same time, the letter also tells us about a failed attempt by Alexander’s successor Theodotus to have John’s name again deleted from the diptychs. As soon as news about this event reached Constantinople, the Johannites stirred up a commotion. 150 One may conclude, therefore, that the resilience of the Johannite opposition was able to rely not only on the ability to round up supporters from inside the city, but also on the fact that this conflict disseminated to other cities as well. John Chrysostom himself could already point out that the deposition and condemnation of his allies had prompted violent commotions which spread from the capital to the other cities of the Empire, like a rheum would spread from the head to the limbs of the body, where Christians and clerics were pitted against each other, “while among the congregations (λαοί) some separated from each other while others were about to do so.” 151 The emperor in this way came to understand that it would be wise to advise the bishop to follow the request of the people for the sake of tranquility and the concord and peace of the churches. 152

6.4 Conclusion This chapter approached two figures who are not often discussed within the same thematic unit, although both of them are biographically connected to the fate of the Christian community of Constantinople. There are several reasons, in fact, why the conflicts surrounding Gregory of Nazianz and John Chrysostom have to be taken each in their own right. This notwithstanding, the respective sources which have been chosen for the analysis – in the one case penned by Gregory himself, in the other by a member or a sympathizer of the Johannite opposition – can be inserted into a shared discourse on the limits and legitimacy of religious dissent. In particular, both authors provide an insight into the self-understanding of a religious community which defined itself by its opposition to competing groups, or by its dissent towards the official church. The relevance of both writers in this respect involves their ability to address communities which, in their opinion, were threatened by the very dynamics in 150 See Cyril of Alexandria, Ep. 75, ed. Migne, PG 77, 349CD. See on this Tiersch, Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel, 417–418. 151 Iohannes Chrysostomus, Ep. 1 ad Inn. 200–201, ed. Malingrey, SC 342, 88: Καθάπερ γὰρ ἀπὸ κεφαλῆς πονηροῦ ῥεύματος ἐκχυθέντος, τὰ λοιπὰ διαφθείρεται μέρη, οὕτω δὴ καὶ νῦν ὥσπερ ἐκ πηγῆς τῆς μεγάλης ταύτης πόλεως τῶν κακῶν ἀρξαμένων, ὁδῷ τὰ τῶν θορύβων πανταχοῦ προέβη, καὶ κλῆροι πανταχοῦ ἐπανέστησαν ἐπισκόποις, καὶ ἐπίσκοποι ἐπισκόπων, καὶ λαοὶ μὲν λαῶν διεσχίσθησαν, οἱ δὲ μέλλουσι, καὶ πανταχοῦ τῶν κακῶν ὠδῖνες, καὶ τῆς οἰκουμένης ἁπάσης ἀνατροπή. 152 See Cyril of Alexandria, Ep. 75, ed. Migne, PG 77, 352A.

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which the climate of religious conflict unfolded. Gregory of Nazianz, as we saw, was particularly concerned with the overtly aggressive zeal of some members of his congregation. In particular, the combative gesture behind the “heresiological ethos”, which correlated with the identification of a clear demarcation line between orthodoxy and heresy, could prove dysfunctional for the inner cohesion of the community whenever this gesture turned inward. In addressing this problem, Gregory contrasted such behavior by promoting an “ethos of concord”, availing himself therefore of a discourse which had marked the political communication between the court and Christian leaders since the reign of Constantine. On the other hand, the conflict surrounding the deposition of John Chrysostom and the Johannite schism can be read as an event that put this ideal of homonoia to a severe test. The conflagration of the Hagia Sophia church was but the most obvious confirmation of the destructive nature of religious dissent. The funerary speech of Pseudo-Martyrius offers an interesting contribution in this respect, as it takes upon itself the perspective of a dissenting group which was held accountable for endangering the concord of the church and the Empire, offering therefore for modern scholarship an example of what is usually termed antidominant reading. Even in the very early phase of the Johannite schism it therefore had to cope with the challenge of wresting the memory and legacy of John Chrysostom both from the compromising events which unfolded during the conflict, and from the grip of the civil and ecclesiastical authorities.

7. With All Friendship 7.1 Introduction As we saw in the previous chapters, written accounts about riots originated from within specific rhetorical contexts in which city representatives, orators, or bishops modulated a set of themes and argumentative strategies provided by ancient rhetorical tradition. This is certainly also the case for the incidents which I would like to focus in this chapter and which affected the episcopal tenure of Ambrose of Milan and Augustine of Hippo respectively – the riots of Callinicum and Thessalonica, the dispute over Milan’s basilicas, and the riots of Calama. As one may expect, much ink has been spilled about these events and their religious and political background, stylizing in particular the conflicts in which Ambrose was involved as a new stage within the history of the relations between church and state. Other studies, on the other hand, shifted their main interest to the analysis of the rhetorical strategies of the relevant letters written by the bishops in these contexts. Picking up the main insights that have been gathered in this respect, I would like to dwell further on the rhetorical practices that are related with the literary genre in question for these sources, namely that of epistolography. Ambrose’s letters to the emperor and Augustine’s epistolary exchange with Nectarius have, after all, also been formulated according to the conventions patterned by the letter collections of Cicero or Seneca and later imitated also by Christian writers such as Paulinus of Nola or Sidonius Apollinaris. As recent studies on ancient epistolography have pointed out, ancient letters were not only meant for the sharing of information but also entailed a set of literary practices that enabled the writers to display their friendship and mutual affection. As I would like to suggest by examining Ambrose’s and Augustine’s letters, this performative quality could also be employed with a view to providing a rhetorical tool with which to address and solve a particular conflict or political crisis.

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7.2 The Salvation of the Emperor Regardless of whether the letters discussed in the following section were designed for being read aloud at court or pronounced in church, they eventually became part of Ambrose’s Collectio and were included within the tenth (and the last) book of this epistolary collection, with the Callinicum letter (Ep. 74) being found almost at its center. As for the rest, Book 10 encompasses a set of doctrinal documents on the Arian conflict, letters from the famous Symmachus affair (Epp. 72, 72a, 73) as well as the dossier on the Milan basilicas (Epp. 75, 75a, 76), concluding with the account on the discovery of the relics of the martyrs Gervasius and Protasius (Ep. 77). Standing out both for its content and its genre, one may then also be surprised to find, inserted between Ep. 76 and Ep. 77, Ambrose’s funerary speech for Theodosius with its account of the discovery of the Cross by Constantine and Helena. 1 There are a host of problems inherent in the analysis of Ambrose’s collection, which would demand a separate study. Beyond the question of whether Ambrose himself can be considered the redactor of the collection, a hypothesis I would like to follow, they also include the issue about the purported readership, the criteria used for the selection of letters and the rationale behind the inner organization of the collection. 2 Given the historical relevance of these documents, it is not surprising that the collection has already received theological interpretations of various kinds. As has been suggested, for example, this editorial project “aimed to outline a doctrine of the relation between church and empire by defining the respective roles of the bishop and emperor and asserting the supremacy of Nicene Christianity among the plurality of beliefs prevalent in the empire.” 3 Although such interpretations are usually flawed by their propensity to generalize, they certainly apply to some of the claims brought forward in these documents, as can be evinced from some of the passages quoted below. Although the answers to such questions must remain hypothetical, a closer focus on the transmission context may in any case help consider their content from a different angle. I would like in fact to read these sources against the 1 See G. Nauroy, “The Letter Collection of Ambrose of Milan”, in Late Antique Letter Collections. A Critical Introduction and Reference Guide, eds. C. Sogno, B. K. Storn and E. J. Watts (Oakland: University of California Press, 2017), 146–160, here 154–155, and idem, “Qui a organisé le Livre X de la Correspondance d’Ambroise de Milan?”, Revue d’études tardo-antiques (RET), Supplément 2 (2014), 15–30, here 23–29. 2 For a discussion supporting the hypothesis, already brought forward by the editor Michaela Zelzer, that Ambrose himself organized and published the ten books of the Collectio, see Nauroy, “The Letter Collection of Ambrose”. 3 Nauroy, “The Letter Collection of Ambrose”, 155. On a similar line, see also G. Visonà, “Lo status quaestionis della ricerca ambrosiana”, in Nec Timeo mori. Atti del Congresso Internazionale di Studi Ambrosiani nel XVI Centenario della Morte di Sant’ Ambrogio, Milano, 4–11 Aprile 1997, ed. L. F. Pizzolato, Studia patristica Mediolanensia 21 (Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 1998), 31–71, here 33.

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background of the tradition of ancient friendship letters, a tradition represented by authoritative writers such as Cicero, Seneca, and Pliny and also emulated by several Christian writers ranging from Paulinus of Nola to Sidonius Apollinaris. 4 Although these letters and letter collections touched on a variety of topics and fulfilled different roles, they also “provide a vivid demonstration of how letters might be self-consciously wielded as both the medium for friendship and the means of its display”. 5 Regardless of the specific topic of a letter or its biographical background, epistolary writing was therefore also endowed with a specific performative quality, as it was aimed at reciprocating affection or displaying loyalty. The way this scope bears on the semantic level is exemplified in the following passage from one of Cicero’s letters to Quintus Ligarius: Be assured that I am devoting all my effort, all my time, attention, and energy to your restitution. I have always had the greatest regard (dilexi) for you, and the conspicuous family loyalty (pietas) and fraternal affection (amor) shown by your brothers, whose friendship (benevolentia) I have embraced no less warmly than your own, do not permit me to omit any act or occasion of service and good will towards you. 6

In a certain way, therefore, epistle writing can be seen as a rhetorical performance in its own right and with its own purposes that could also be exploited by Christian writers who, like Ambrose or Augustine, were familiar with Cicero’s writings thanks to their classical education. This holds true for the theme of friendship itself. It is well known that the Milanese bishop touched upon this issue in the final part of his De officiis, a work which shares not only the title with Cicero’s homonymous treatise. For the moment, however, I would like to envisage the concept of friendship as a rhetorical reality entailed by the genre of epistolary writing; I do so building 4 With this approach I would like to resume and further develop the suggestions proposed by G. M. Müller, “Le traitement des conflits politiques et religieux dans les lettres d’Ambroise de Milan”, in Conflits et polémiques dans l’épistolaire, eds. E. Gavoille and F. Guillaumont (Tours: Presses universitaires François-Rabelais, 2015), 207–221, here 209. 5 A. Wilcox, The Gift of Correspondence in Classical Rome. Friendship in Cicero’s “Ad familiares” and Seneca’s “Moral epistles” (Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2012), 8. On the performative qualities of Cicero’s De amicitia, see J. R. McDonie, Friendship and Rhetoric in the Middle Ages: The Linguistic Performance of Intimacy from Cicero to Aelred (New York: Routledge, 2020), 13–41. For the theme of amicitia among Christian writers of the fourth century, see C. White, Christian Friendship in the Fourth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), and McDonie, Friendship and Rhetoric, 42–64. 6 Cicero, Ep. fam. 6.14.1, ed. D. R. Shackleton Bailey, vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 78: Me scito omnem meum laborem, omnem operam, curam, studium in tua salute consumere. nam cum te semper maxime dilexi tum fratrum tuorum, quos aeque atque te summa benevolentia sum complexus, singularis pietas amorque fraternus nullum me patitur offici erga te studique munus aut tempus praetermittere. Transl. D. R. Shackleton Bailey, Letters to Friends, vol. 2 (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 2001), 325.7. See on this L. Grillo, “Reading Cicero’s Ad Familiares 1 as a Collection”, The Classical Quarterly 65 (2015), 655–668, here 662–663.

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on the premise that Ambrose too employs epistolary writing as a means to perpetuate friendship, as the following passage from one of his letters to Sabinus exemplifies: But while your judgement of my book is still in suspense, let us entertain each other by letters; the advantage whereof is that although severed from each other by distance of space we may be united in affection; for by this means the absent have the image of each other’s presence reflected back upon them, and conversation by writing unites the severed. By this means also we interchange thoughts with our friend, and transpose our mind into his. 7

The letters which will be the focus of the following sections all originated in specific situations of conflict, which we will treat separately but which will all bring us back to the question of how these letters were supposed to contribute to solving the relevant crisis. Starting with the Callinicum affair, it is obviously necessary, first of all, to foreground the most important aspects of this crisis as well as Ambrose’s involvement therein. The obvious fact that our understanding of specific episodes of religious violence is obfuscated by the biased accounts of the extant sources especially applies to the destruction of the synagogue of Callinicum in 388, having at our disposal only the letters written by the Milanese bishop. 8 The content of Ambrose’s intervention with the emperor, whom he chides for having the local bishop bear the costs of the reconstruction of the synagogue, has been preserved in two (almost identical) versions, one of them being included in the Collectio (Ep. 74), while the other one having been transmitted separately (Ep. ex. coll. 1a), as it was not meant for public circulation, at least during his own lifetime. A similar fate was shared by the letter written to his sister Marcellina (Ep. ex. coll. 1) in which he recounts how he succeeded to obtain from the ruler the promise to desist from any punitive measure against Callinicum’s Christians. 9 As has already been pointed out by previous commentators, the backbone of Ambrose’s intervention in Ep. 74 gravitates around the problem of a Christian ruler promoting the reconstruction of a synagogue at the expense of the Church. The letter goes so far as to insinuate that the measures adopted by Theodosius would bring him closer to the example of Julian, whose reign was 7 Ambrosius, Ep. 37.4, ed. M. Zelzer, Sancti Ambrosii opera X.3, CSEL, 82/3 (Wien: HölderPichler-Tempsky, 1982), 21: Tamen dum adhuc habes de libris iudicium, interludamus epistolis, quarum eiusmodi usus est, ut disiuncti locorum intervallis affectu adhaereamus, in quibus inter absentes imago refulget praesentiae et collocutio scripta separatos copulat, in quibus etiam cum amico miscemus animum et mentem ei nostram infundimus. Transl. LF, 313. For Ambrose and the theme of amicitia, see White, Christian Friendship, 111–128, and McDonie, Friendship and Rhetoric, 44–47. 8 On the event, see N. B. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan. Church and Court in a Christian Capital, The transformation of the classical heritage 22 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 298–315, and Sizgorich, Violence and Belief, 82–86. 9 See the discussion of Liebeschuetz in the introduction to the relevant letters.

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marked by a wave of attacks against Christian churches. 10 In this way, the emperor would thus become liable for pressuring a Christian bishop into martyrdom. 11 One might add, however, that Ambrose’s critique, as bold as it may have appeared to those contemporaneous with the events, was also meant to consolidate Theodosius’s authority. From a rhetorical point of view, in fact, the reference to Julian introduces a negative exemplum that would paradoxically serve the purpose of praising the emperor for his loyalty to the Christian faith, warning him against falling away. At the same time, he also reminds the emperor about his past display of piety when pardoning Antioch for having given offence to him by the toppling of his portraits. 12 Besides the rhetorical argumentation, also the discursive construction of the letter deserves some comment. In Ambrose’s opinion, the religious obligation (religio) of pardoning those responsible for the destruction of the synagogue follows a different logic than the one implied by the emperor’s insistence on the maintenance of public order (disciplina), which in fact would have justified the restoration of the Jewish place of worship. 13 The opposition between religio and disciplina can easily induce the modern reader to wrong assumptions regarding an alleged dichotomous relationship between the “secular” and “religious” power. Harold Drake has convincingly pointed out in this respect that Ambrose was still very much indebted to the late antique idea that the emperor’s piety was instrumental for the fortune of the empire itself. 14 With this 10 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.21, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 67: Si Iulianus non est ultus ecclesiam quia praevaricator erat, tu, imperator, ulcisceris synagogae iniuriam quia Christianus es? Transl. J. H. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters and Speeches, TTH 43 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2005), 105. On this, see also C. M. Chin, “‘Built from the Plunder of Christians’: Words, Places, and Competing Powers in Milan and Callinicum”, in Religious Competition in the Greco-Roman World, eds. N. P. DesRosiers and L. C. Vuong, Writings from the Greco-Roman World Supplements Ser. 10 (Atlanta GA: SBL Press, 2016), 63–75, here 66–70. 11 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.7, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 59: Necesse erit igitur, ut aut praevaricatorem aut martyrem faciat; utrumque alienum temporibus tuis, utrumque persecutionis instar, si aut praevaricari cogatur aut subire martyrium. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 99. For this passage, see the considerations in H. A. Drake, “Intolerance, Religious Violence, and Political Legitimacy in Late Antiquity”, Journal of the American Academy of Religion 79 (2011), 193– 235, here 203–206. On the martyr as cultural model for a radical opposition to the imperial order, see also Diefenbach, “Constantius II. und die Reichskirche”, 96, n. 111. See also Sizgorich, Violence and Belief, 82–83. 12 See Ambrosius, Ep. 74.32. 13 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.11, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 61: Quid igitur est amplius, disciplinae species an causa religionis? Cedat oportet censura devotioni. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 101. 14 See Drake, “Political Legitimacy”, 214–215. Similarly, also E. Baltrusch, “Jüdische Räume: Der Mailänder Synagogenstreit von 388 und seine historische Einordnung”, in Rom und Mailand in der Spätantike: Repräsentationen städtischer Räume in Literatur, Architektur und Kunst, ed. T. Fuhrer, Topoi 4 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), 379–392, here 386–387, who dismisses the idea that the letter has to be read in terms of conflict between emperor and bishop, pointing out, instead, that clementia is the main theme of the text.

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clarification in mind, the letter can be read therefore as an attempt to advise the ruler on religious duties that in fact emanate from long-standing concepts of political power. Other recent contributions on this incident have pinpointed in particular Ambrose’s strategies in casting himself as legitimate advisor of the emperor. 15 One of the themes that articulates this rhetorical strategy in the Callinicum letter is the care for the salvation of the ruler, as can be seen already at the beginning of the letter: I am not therefore being a nuisance by intervening where I ought not, intruding on another’s business, but doing my duty, obeying the commands of our God. And I am doing this chiefly from love of you (tui amore), for your sake, desiring to preserve your salvation. 16

The reassurance that Ambrose’s protest was ultimately motivated by his sincere concern for the emperor’s soul also serves a rhetorical purpose. As Irene van Renswoude has pointed out, it is the priest’s privileged access to God, after all, that enables him to pray for the spiritual well-being of the emperor and to claim therefore for himself the traditional right to free speech (parrhesia) that was normally accorded to his advisors. 17 In this way, Ambrose’s main concern can be seen as that of securing for himself access to the court by virtue of his specific competence or role as advisor on matters pertaining to God: Nevertheless, if I were speaking of political issues, although justice is to be observed in that area as well, I would not be gripped by such anxiety if I were not heard. But in a case involving God, whom will you listen to if you not hear the bishop, who incurs greater danger by his sin. Who will dare tell you the truth, if the bishop does not? 18

Beyond the imminent rhetorical context provided by Ambrose’s purported appeal to the emperor, there are some elements in the argumentation that already 15 See I. Van Renswoude, The Rhetoric of Free Speech in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 87–108, and F. Schulz, “Ambrosius, die Kaiser und das Ideal des christlichen Ratgebers”, Historia: Zeitschrift für alte Geschichte 63 (2014), 214–242. 16 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.3, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 56: Non ergo importunus indebitis me intersero, alienis ingero, sed debitis obtempero, mandatis dei nostri oboedio. Quod facio primum tui amore, tui gratia, tuae studio conservandae salutis. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 98, with modifications. 17 Van Renswoude, The Rhetoric of Free Speech, 102. On a similar line, see Schulz, “Christlicher Ratgeber”, esp. 218–219. On the concept of parrhesia in early Christianity, see also C. Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition, The transformation of the classical heritage 37 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 260–273. 18 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.4, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 57: Et tamen si in causis rei publicae loquar quamvis etiam illic iustitia servanda sit, non tanto astringar metu si non audiar; in causa vero dei quem audies, si sacerdotem non audies, cuius maiore peccatur periculo? Quis tibi verum audebit dicere si sacerdos non audeat? Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 98.

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transcend this context. As one of the opening remarks of the letter premises, in fact, Theodosius has already given in to Ambrose’s request to withdraw the order to rebuild the synagogue at the expense of the local bishop, a circumstance which led Wolfgang Liebeschuetz to the conclusion that the letter looks like a “set piece [of] rhetorical argument”. 19 In any case, this observation does reveal that the letter went through a series of editorial revisions before being integrated into Ambrose’s Collectio. The existence of two different versions of the same letter addressed to the emperor provides further evidence in this direction. While the two versions present only minor variants, the one that was eventually included in the collection ends with a final note in which the bishop warns the emperor that he is ready to challenge him in church during a religious service in case he should not lift the sanctions against the rioters. 20 It is not clear, however, why Ambrose then decided not to include into the same collection the letter to his sister Marcellina, in which he reported about how he made good on his threat, succeeding to obtain from him the promise that he would no longer hold on to the punitive measures. Obviously, we can only guess about the reasons that led the bishop to this editorial decision, although it may be reasonable to conjecture that it may have been of pragmatic nature. After all, knowledge among the readers about the outcome of the Callinicum affair may have prompted the redactor to limit himself to the hint offered in the conclusion of the letter to Theodosius, without the need to further dwell on this aspect. Regardless of these questions, we also need to ask whether the wording of the letter itself may disclose some rhetorical functions more closely related to the genre of epistle writing, in particular that of emphasizing the mutual bond of affection. It is not surprising, in fact, that the bishop introduces his letter by using conventional language of friendship, as it is already found in the above mentioned passage from Cicero: Nobody speaks out more confidently than he who loves (diligit) sincerely (ex affectu). Nobody, at any rate ought to injure somebody who has his interest at heart. I need not therefore fear to lose in one moment the favour, which every bishop must have, and which I have enjoyed for many years. Nevertheless I am not pleading to avert the loss of your favour, but the danger of your salvation (periculum salutis). 21

19 See especially Ambrosius, Ep. 74.9, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 60: Rogavi enim clementiam tuam et licet ipse hoc revocatum adhuc non legerim revocatum tamen constituamus. See Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 96. 20 See Ambrosius, Ep. 74.33, and also Nauroy, “The Letter Collection of Ambrose”, 148– 149, and idem, “Le livre X”, 21–22. 21 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.25, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 70: Nemo maiore fiducia utitur quam qui ex affectu diligit, nemo certe debet laedere qui sibi consulit, ne tot annorum conceptam cuiuscumque sacerdotis gratiam uno momento amittam. Et tamen non damnum gratiae deprecor sed salutis periculum. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 107–108.

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Expressing his care for the salvation of the emperor, Ambrose underpins his intention to engage concepts of intimacy and friendship, signaling in this way to the reader of the letter collection the quality but also the singularity of the bond of affection between the emperor and the bishop. One may ask at this point whether the difference in rank between the two still allowed for this form of interaction, which in fact presupposed the idea of partnership between equals. This is not, however, the way Ambrose would conceive of friendship. As Jörg Ernesti comments in his analysis of his De officiis, friendship is in fact defined by the very capacity to admonish one another on the ground of mutual affection (adfectu caritatis) rather than on social standing. Quite in contrast, therefore, friendly advice or even criticism is recommended also when addressed to someone with higher political status. 22 The only obstacle to friendship according to Ambrose is impiety, as he succinctly points out when claiming that it is not possible to become friends with someone “who has become disloyal (infidus) to God”, and that, instead of condoning unbelief, friendship should be seen as the “guardian of loyalty” (pietas), urging both friends to align behaviors and values. 23 Against this background, Ambrose’s demonstrative care for the salus of the emperor may be ultimately seen as correlating to the bishop’s undivided loyalty (pietas) to Theodosius as well as to his hope that by coming to the aid of his faith, also their mutual bond of affection would be saved, an issue which will again be at stake after the massacre of Thessalonica.

7.3 Exemplary Models As the letter on the Callinicum affair, Ambrose’s intervention after the massacre of Thessalonica also can be read as an attempt to solve the crisis by invoking the “memory of the old friendship” with Theodosius. 24 The humiliation entailed by the act of public penance that the emperor was supposed to take upon himself 22 Ambrosius, De officiis 3.22.133, ed. M. Testard, Sancti Ambrosii Mediolanensis. De Officiis, CCL 15 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), 203–204: Nec auctoritas desit inferiori si res poposcerit, nec humilitas superiori; audiat quasi parem, quasi aequalem; et ille quasi amicus moneat, obiurget, non iactantiae studio sed adfectu caritatis. On this passage, see also J. Ernesti, Princeps christianus und Kaiser aller Römer. Theodosius der Große im Lichte zeitgenössischer Quellen, Paderborner Theologische Studien 25 (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1998), 175–177. 23 Ambrosius, De officiis 3.22.133, ed. Testard, CCL 15, 203: Hic est amicitiae fructus; non ut fides propter amicitiam destruatur. Non potest enim homini amicus esse, qui Deo fuerit infidus. Pietatis custos amicitia est et aequalitatis magistra ut superior inferiori se exhibeat aequalem, inferior superiori. Inter dispares enim mores non potest esse amicitia et ideo convenire sibi utriusque debet gratia. 24 Ambrosius, Ep. ex. coll. 11.1, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 212: Et veteris amicitiae dulcis mihi recordatio est et beneficiorum. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 263.

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has traditionally been read as an act of subordination of the emperor under the authority of the Milanese bishop. However, as the seminal study of McLynn has convincingly shown, Ambrose’s initiative, rather than compromising the image of the monarch, paved the way for a rehabilitation by offering him new margins of manoeuvre after the disastrous outcome of the military expedition to Thessalonica. 25 As a matter of fact, Ambrose solemnly reassures the emperor that the humiliation entailed by public penance will lift the stain of sin from his crown. 26 The way that Ambrose’s pastoral care also translated itself into rhetorical tactfulness can be seen in the way he attempted to untangle the knot created by the highly ambivalent consequences that public penitence entailed for the ruler. Since this also meant, most notably, exclusion from communion, Ambrose goes to great lengths to reassure him that the humble prayer of the penitent will be accepted by God as a worthy substitution for the sacrifice on the altar. 27 As such, the extensive evocation of David was supposed to remind Theodosius not only about the necessity to redeem one’s soul before God but also about the possibility of restoring one’s reputation as a God fearing monarch. 28 The example of David may in fact be seen as definitive in Ambrose’s attempt to couch the Christian language of sin and repentance into a political ethics that might still appeal to the Roman elite and in particular the emperor. The question of how to do so also guided his own pastoral activity as a preacher, as reflected in his two Apologies on David. As Hartmut Leppin has emphasized, the theme of the Israelite King’s penance was central to Ambrose’s aim at addressing the pressing question of how to confront a Christian audience with the possibility that a biblical hero might actually be enticed into sin. 29 A decisive element of the bishop’s approach to this exegetical problem was that of extolling a very particular virtue embodied by David, that of humilitas, as manifested in his readiness to submit to God’s laws. Such is also expressed by the very etymol-

25 McLynn, Ambrose of Milan, 327. See on a similar line Ernesti, Princeps christianus, 173–192. 26 Ambrosius, Ep. ex. coll. 11.11, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 216: Haec ideo scripsi non ut te confundam, sed ut regum exempla provocent ut tollas hoc peccatum de regno tuo; tolles autem humiliando deo animam tuam. On this, see M. A. Boytsov, “The Good Sinful Ruler: Ambrose of Milan and Theodosius I”, in The Good Christian Ruler in the First Millennium. Views From the Wider Mediterranean World in Conversation, eds. P. M. Forness, A. Hasse-Ungeheuer and H. Leppin, Millennium-Studien 92 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), 65–86, esp. 86: “For the first time in the context of imperial ideology the Christian humiliatio became exaltatio”. 27 See Ambrosius, Ep. ex. coll. 11.15, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 217. 28 See Ambrosius, Ep. ex. coll. 11.7–10, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 214–216. 29 See H. Leppin, “Das Alte Testament und der Erfahrungsraum der Christen. Davids Buße in den Apologien des Ambrosius”, in Die Bibel als politisches Argument. Voraussetzungen und Folgen biblizistischer Herrschaftslegitimation in der Vormoderne, eds. A. Pecar und K. Trampedach, Historische Zeitschrift Beihefte N.F. 43 (München: De Gruyter Oldenbourg, 2007), 119– 133, here 121.

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ogy of the Hebrew name of the Israelite King, which according to Ambrose should in fact be translated with humiliatus. 30 In the present letter on the Thessalonica affair, Ambrose is also preoccupied with the consequences that the whole affair had for his friendship with the emperor. In fact, the positive outcome of the crisis also provided the bishop with a new opportunity to foster his connection with the ruler, which had deteriorated in the years following the Callinicum affair. As Irene von Renswoude suggested, Ambrose’s decision not to intervene at an earlier stage of the crisis, immediately after the decision of the emperor to send a contingent of soldiers to Thessalonica, was caused by a series of misunderstandings that also left their imprint in the letter on the Thessalonica affair. As its opening passage implies, in fact, Theodosius at a certain point even denied Ambrose access to information pertaining to affairs of the court, stripping him of his faculty of free speech. 31 Ambrose, however, excuses his more passive behavior displayed before the massacre by pointing out his desire not to provoke the irascibility and excessive zeal of the emperor. 32 At the same time – and this seems to me the decisive argument – he also claims to have given proof of his own humbleness (humilitas) and devotion to the ruler, choosing not to confront him in the public eye. 33 The choice of words is not coincidental, as it eventually serves the purpose of introducing the invitation to redeem the guilt he incurred by the massacre through an act of penitence that entailed therefore the imitation of the bishop’s own humility. As a corollary, Ambrose’s intervention can also be read as an invitation to reciprocate his love for the monarch in front of the bishop’s own peers: When the news [sc. about the massacre committed by the soldiers] was first heard a synod had assembled because of the arrival of the Gallic bishops: no one was there who did not lament, nobody who took it lightly. Your being in communion with Ambrose was not seen as a ground for acquitting you. No, the indignation at your deed would swell still further, if no one was saying that you would need to be reconciled to God. 34

30 See Ambrosius, Ap. Dav. II, 7.39, ed. K. Schenkl, Sancti Ambrosii opera II, CSEL 32/2 (Wien: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1897), 299–355, here 383, and Leppin, “Davids Buße”, 123. 31 See on this aspect the very useful analysis in Van Renswoude, Rhetoric of Free Speech, 90–97. 32 See Ambrosius, Ep. ex. coll. 11.4–5. 33 See Ambrosius, Ep. ex. coll. 11.5, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 213: Itaque malui officio meo aliquid deesse quam humilitati et requiri in me ab aliis sacerdotii auctoritatem quam a te desiderari in me amantissimi honorificentiam, ut represso impetu integra esset consilii eligendi facultas. 34 Ambrosius, Ep. ex. coll. 11.6, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 214: Quando primum auditum est, propter adventum Gallorum episcoporum synodus convenerat, nemo non ingemuit, nullus mediocriter accepit, non erat facti tui absolutio in Ambrosii communione, immo etiam amplius commissi exaggeraretur invidia si nemo diceret dei nostri reconciliationem fore necessariam. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 265.

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Theodosius’s image as a humble monarch is eventually echoed in Ambrose’s funerary oration for the emperor, which, differently from the letter on the Thessalonica affair, has been included in the letter collection. Following the example of David, Ambrose writes, the emperor “attained salvation through humility”, a reference to the act of public penance advocated in the letter. 35 In a similar way as for the letter on the Callinicum affair included in the collection, therefore, Ambrose seems to have been content with this shorter reference to the emperor’s penitence, maybe taking for granted that the readership would still have knowledge about the event. 36 Notwithstanding his public humiliation, or precisely because of it, Theodosius could in any case be presented as worthy successor of Constantine, in whose days the relics of the Cross, the vexillum salutis, came to light in order to adorn the crown of the Roman emperors. 37 If the invitation to a public gesture of humiliation certainly remained an unusual step to take for a bishop, it still reflected Ambrose’s way of conceiving of friendship as a mutual commitment to aligning behaviors and values, including humilitas.

7.4 Violent Envy While in Ambrose’s Collectio the Callinicum affair is documented by one letter only and the massacre of Thessalonica is hinted at merely by a short reference within the funerary oration for Theodosius, the conflict over Milan’s basilicas of the year 385/6 is represented by three different documents: the letter of Ambrose to Valentinian II (Ep. 75), the sermon Contra Auxentium (Ep. 75a), and a letter to his sister Marcellina (Ep. 76), the latter document transmitting a dramatic account about the siege of the basilica, in which Ambrose and his community entrenched themselves during Easter week. The identification of the various churches mentioned in these documents as well as the chronological order of the letters have been controversial among scholars to the present day, among other reasons because such a task has to untangle a profusion of diverging claims that cannot be discussed in detail in the present context. 38 35 Ambrosius, De obitu Theodosii 27, ed. V. Zimmerl-Panagl, Orationes funebres, CSEL 106 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), 157–243, here 232: Bene hoc dicit, qui regnum suum Deo subiecit, et paenitentiam gessit et peccatum suum confessus veniam postulavit. Ipse per humilitatem pervenit ad salutem. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 190. 36 As Irene van Renswoude mentioned, the Callinicum letter “may have been considered more suitable for authors looking for a model letter of admonition than the now much more famous Thessalonica letter”. Van Renswoude, The Rhetoric of Free Speech, 99. 37 Ambrosius, De obitu Theodosii 43, ed. Zimmerl-Panagl, CSEL 106, 238. 38 While T. D. Barnes, “Ambrose and the Basilicas of Milan in 385 and 386: The Primary Documents and their Implications”, ZAC 4 (2000), 282–299, and, seconding him, M. S. Williams, The Politics of Heresy in Ambrose of Milan. Community and Consensus in Late-Antique Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 226–239, follow the traditional chronology (proposed by the Maurists) in dating the letter to Marcellina (and the siege de-

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While Ambrose presents this conflict as an event that brought the city of Milan on the edge of “a public uprising” (publica perturbatio), 39 and insinuates that the emperor aimed at interfering with ecclesiastical affairs, it seems more likely that the conflict mainly gravitated around the right of the court to dispose at least of one of Milan’s church buildings for its own use. 40 It is not clear which factors eventually hampered the plans of the court to occupy Ambrose’s basilica. According to his famous account, it was the behavior of the soldiers themselves that eventually turned the tables in favor of the catholic community. Against all expectations, the imperial troops not only were not able to prevent Ambrose’s supporters from crowding the basilica that was being prepared for the emperor, but even entered the nearby basilica in which Ambrose was officiating and, in their desire to “associate” (convenire) with his congregation, caused the whole operation to fail. 41 Ambrose’s frequent references to Scripture reflect his overall tendency to inform the reader about the ongoing liturgical activities taking place within the church during the siege, but they also offer a suitable context for casting the conflict with the emperor in theological terms, reenacting salvation history in the light of the present experience. We find him being welcomed at church by the acclamation of his supporters after the court demanded the surrender of the basilicas (Ep. 76.3), teaching the Creed to the catechumens and celebrating mass on Palm Sunday when he was informed about the abduction of a homoean priest by his catholic supporters (Ep. 76.4–5), reading the lessons and preaching on the Book of Job some days later when the soldiers surrounded and entered the nearby basilica (Ep. 76.13–14), reciting psalms with his congregation while also his church was being surrounded by the soldiers (Ep. 76.24), and preaching on the Book of Jonah on Thursday when the siege was eventually lifted (Ep. 76.25), which coincided with the last day of Lent, “when we are released from penance in the Church”, causing the bishop to thank God for saving the city from destruction, as he did during the times of the prophet Jonah. 42 scribed therein) to 385 and the other two documents to 386, alternative reconstructions dating all the documents to 386 have been offered for example by McLynn, Ambrose of Milan, 185– 186, and Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 124–136. For a discussion of the methodological problems, see also G. Nauroy, “La crise milanaise de 386 et les lettres d’Ambroise. Difficultés d’interprétation et limites d’un témoignage épistolaire”, MOM Éditions 40 (2009), 227–258. 39 Ambrosius, Ep. 76.15, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 116. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 166. 40 “Ambrose has succeeded in drawing for posterity a firm distinction between emperor and church, which lends plausibility to his designation of any imperial intervention in ecclesiastical affairs as an invasion”. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan, 173. 41 Ambrosius, Ep. 76.13, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 114–115. 42 See Ambrosius, Ep. 76.25–26, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 124: Erat autem dies quo sese dominus pro nobis tradidit, quo in ecclesia poenitentia relaxatur. Certatim hoc nuntiare milites irruentes in altaria osculis significare pacis insigne. Tunc agnovi quod deus vermem antelucanum percusserat ut tota civitas servaretur. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 172. For a

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In Ambrose’s opinion, responsibility for the crisis ultimately fell on the emperor’s entourage and in particular on the empress Justina, whom Ambrose casts in the role of Job’s wife and Eve for testing the faith of their male consorts, or in the role of Jezebel and Herodias, who instigated the king against the prophets of God. 43 Most of all, however, it was the presence of the homoean bishop Auxentius of Durostorum that eventually came to bear on the antagonism between Ambrose and the court, turning therefore the conflict into a crisis that was marked by an overlapping of different interests, including the individual aspirations of the rival bishops. 44 As has been suggested, Auxentius was probably involved, in fact, in formulating the edict from January 386, which accorded freedom of assembly to those Christians professing the faith of the Council of Rimini. 45 This new law was probably also meant to put Ambrose and his supporters on the defensive, not only as it condemned the “authors of sedition” (seditionis auctores) but also because it reclaimed for the rival church the same rights as those invoked by Ambrose for his community. 46 At the same time, the privileged access to the imperial court put Auxentius in a position from which he could exercise greater leverage against Ambrose. Figuring most prominently among the accusations brought forward against the latter was that of lavishing the wealth of the church

discussion on this and other sources testifying to the Easter celebrations in Milan and northern Italy in the fourth century, see M. F. Connell, “Heresy and Heortology in the Early Church: Arianism and the Emergence of the Triduum”, Worship 72 (1998), 117–140. On Ambrose, see also B. P. Dunkle, Enchantment and Creed in the Hymns of Ambrose of Milan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 136. 43 See Ambrosius, Ep. 76.17–18, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 117–118. On the way “the Old Testament scene that Ambrose describes being reenacted in Milan has influenced all subsequent interpretations of this episode”, see McLynn, Ambrose of Milan, 171. 44 While scholars generally agree on this assessment, there is still an ongoing debate regarding the motivations that brought Auxentius to Milan as well as regarding his connection with the court. While McLynn, Ambrose of Milan, 184–185, may stand representative for the commonly accepted opinion that Auxentius planned to gain a foothold within the non-Nicene community of Milan, Williams, Politics of Heresy, 250–257, doubts whether there was any considerable homoean community left within the city, and suggests instead that Auxentius’s presence “offered an alternative and a counterweight to Ambrose’s authority as bishop”, aiming therefore at the leading position of Milan’s Christian community in its entirety. See on this also M. S. Williams, “No Arians in Milan? Ambrose on the Basilica Crisis of 385/6”, Historia: Zeitschrift für alte Geschichte 67 (2018), 346–365. On Auxentius and his role at court, see also R. Lizzi Testa, “La certatio fra Ambrogio e Mercurino Aussenzio, ovvero a proposito di una deposizione mancata”, Studia Ambrosiana 3 (2009), 39–68. 45 See CTh 16.1.4, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 118–120, and Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.24, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 97. 46 In the words of Williams, Politics of Heresy, 257: “Whereas the previous year he had been able to cast the whole dispute as a conflict between church and state, and so to manoeuvre the emperor into the role of a biblical tyrant persecuting the faithful, the terms of the new law, by insisting on the right of the emperor to worship in accordance with his own Christian faith, would make it far more difficult for Ambrose to adopt such a pose”.

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on the poor in order to rally the masses in his support. 47 Such insinuations were not too far-fetched. As Ambrose himself concedes, the crowd that he was able to marshal to his own aid was strong enough to intimidate the imperial troops, having thwarted for example the plans of the court to take possession of the Portiana basilica the year before (superiore anno). 48 It was only a matter of time, therefore, before Ambrose was invited to leave the city. 49 The rhetorical strategy that Ambrose marshalled to his own aid in order to untangle this complicated situation exploited a particular term that could also be related to the language of friendship, attributing the cause of the crisis to the hatred or ill-will (invidia) towards Ambrose, which Auxentius and others at court had instilled into Valentinian. 50 The accusation of having bought himself the support of the crowd with the sacred vessels of the church, refusing at the same time to hand them over to the imperial officials, obviously had much weight, since the accusation of misappropriation could also be assimilated to that of treason. On a similar line as in the letter on the Callinicum affair, Ambrose excuses this act of defiance, pointing to his intention to safeguard “the salvation (salus) of the emperor”, who would thus have been shielded from the sin of sacrilege. 51 At the same time, the aforementioned theme of invidia proved a starting point from where to look for a new ally in the crisis, namely the Milanese population and the poor, for the sake of whom he now declares to be ready to suffer the ill-will of the emperor: However, they stir up ill-will against me because gold is being spent. But that kind of illwill does not frighten me, I have riches of my own. The poor of Christ are my riches. This is a treasure that I know how to amass. I only wish that they may always charge me with expending gold on the poor. But if their charge is that I look to the poor as bodyguard, I will not repudiate it. I even vaunt it. I do indeed use them as a bodyguard, but my defense lies in their prayers. Though blind and lame, weak and old, they are stronger than vigorous warriors. The fact is that gifts to the poor put God under an obligation to us. 52 See Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.33. See Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.29. 49 See Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.1. 50 Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.29–30, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 101–103. The word invidia is repeated six times. For an instance in which Ambrose uses the term in direct proximity to the term amicitia, see Ambrosius, De officiis 3.22.135, ed. Testard, CCL 15, 204: Verum est quidquid defertur pauperi, huius amicitia invidia vacat. 51 Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.5, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 85: Templo Dei nihil posse decerpere, nec tradere illud, quod custodiendum, non tradendum acceperim. Deinde consulere me etiam imperatoris saluti. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 145. 52 Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.33, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 105: Sed invidiam faciunt quia aurum erogatur. Nec ego hanc invidiam perhorresco. Habeo aerarios, aerarii mei pauperes Christi sunt, hunc novi congregare thesaurum. Utinam hoc mihi semper crimen ascribant, quia aurum pauperibus erogatur! Quod si obiciunt quod defensionem ab his requiram non nego sed etiam ambio. Habeo defensionem sed in orationibus pauperum. Caeci illi et claudi, debiles et senes robustis bellatoribus fortiores sunt. Denique munera pauperum deum obligant. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 158. 47 48

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This change of perspective can also be understood against the background of Cicero’s use of the theme of invidia as found in the first of his Catiline Orations, which in fact seem to have provided a rhetorical model for Ambrose’s Contra Auxentium. 53 There, the term invidia is employed in order to express the displeasure of the populace at Cicero and his initiative in having Catilina expelled from the city, a sentiment which the Roman consul, however, was more than willing to take upon himself in order to spare the city from further violence, not considering as ill-will the “ill-will caused by virtue”. 54 Ambrose seems to imitate this very attitude as he looks back on the conflict at the time of writing his De officiis, casting the accusations of misappropriation as an example of how benevolence towards the poor and compassion could be met with hatred (invidia). 55 As if to compensate for the resentments between Ambrose and the court, the invective against Auxentius draws an image of a selfless priest and spiritual father who cares for the spiritual well-being of his congregation, whom the devil would now try to snatch away from him: From me too he wanted to take away my riches which I possess in you, and he desired to squander that inheritance represented by your serenity. And yourselves too, my good sons, he was eager to snatch from me, you for whom I daily renew the sacrifice. He was trying to entangle you in the fallout of the ruins of a public uprising. 56

This idealized picture might also have answered a problem that the crisis brought about inside Ambrose’s own community. As the opening address of the sermon against Auxentius suggests between the lines, in fact, the bishop’s uncompromising loyalty to the faith (fides) of Nicaea seems to have been met with incomprehension by at least some of the community members, making them fear that their leader would eventually be ready to go into exile and leave the flock behind. The bishop has to go to great lengths, therefore, to reassure his audience that he would never desert them willingly, unless force would be used

53 See in particular M. Testard, “Observations sur la rhétorique d’une harangue au peuple dans le ‘Sermo contra Auxentium’ de saint Ambroise”, Revue des études latines 63 (1985), 193– 209, here 207–209, referring to the fourth oration in particular. 54 Cicero, Or. in Cat. 1.29, ed. A. C. Clark, M. Tulli Ciceronis orationes, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2017), 199: Tamen hoc animo fui semper ut invidiam virtute partam gloriam, non invidiam putarem. Within the first oration, the term invidia figures eleven times and may refer both to the hatred of the populace against Catilina and to that against Cicero. 55 Ambrosius, De officiis 2.28.136, ed. Testard, CCL 15, 146: Melius est enim pro misericordia causas praestare vel invidiam perpeti quam praetendere inclementiam ut nos aliquando in invidiam incidimus quod confregerimus vasa mystica ut captivos redimeremus, quod arianis displicere potuerat. 56 Ambrosius, Ep. 76.15, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 116: Et mihi meas divitias, quas in vobis habeo, volebat auferre et hoc tranquillitatis vestrae patrimonium dissipare cupiebat. Vos quoque ipsos mihi bonos filios gestiebat eripere, pro quibus ego cottidie instauro sacrificium; vos ruinis quibusdam publicae perturbationis conabatur involvere. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 166.

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against him. 57 At the same time, he solemnly declares that, although the menacing clashing of weapons of the soldiers that were surrounding the church would not deter him from championing the orthodox faith, only the danger of the safety (salus) of his community would worry his mind in such a way as to move him to leave the city. 58 In case no other option would be left than that of exile, Ambrose’s love and care for his community could therefore only be reciprocated by their willingness to let their bishop adorn himself with the crown of martyrdom, proving in this way that their display of love for the bishop was greater than any human affection: If anyone were to object, because, for example, love of this life motivated their refusal, or inertia or flesh and blood, or even human affection, for it does seem that there may perhaps be some people here who are fond of me, his instructions would surely still be that they were to say the Lord has need of it. But anyone among you who loves me (diligit), would show his love much more, if he would allow me to be a sacrifice for Christ. 59

7.5 Excursus: Salus and disciplina in Rome Ambrose’s contrast between religio and disciplina, which he employs in his letter on the Callinicum affair, needs some further considerations with respect to the implementation of public security in the ancient Roman capital and its role in times of religious conflicts. As in other cities of the empire, the task of maintaining the disciplina publica was delegated to the emperor’s representatives, in this case Rome’s city prefect (praefectus urbi), who fulfilled this task with the help of his urban cohorts (cohortes urbanae). His competences were both clearly delimitated and broad in scope. As we read in a famous passage from the Severan jurist Ulpian, one of his responsibilities was that of “keeping the peace among the citizens” during public events, making sure to “keep military guardsmen stationed at various places” of the city. Such a responsibility obviously encompassed a wide range of secondary tasks, as there were different sources of unrest lingering in the political and social life of a million-person city like Rome. 60 See Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.2. See Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.4. 59 Ambrosius, Ep. 75a.8, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 86–87: Nonne si ab aliquo resistatur dicent: Dominus operam eius desiderat? Si resistat vel vitae huius cupiditas, si resistat caro et sanguis, si resistat conversatio corporalis, quia aliquibus forsitan grati videmur. Sed qui nos hic diligit, multo amplius diligit, si sinat fieri hostiam Christi. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 146. 60 Digest Justiniani 1.12.1.12, ed. and transl. Mommsen and Watson, 29: Quies quoque popularium et disciplina spectaculorum ad praefecti urbi curam pertinere videtur: et sane debet etiam dispositos milites stationarios habere ad tuendam popularium quietem et ad referendum sibi quid ubi agatur. See quote in Kelly, “Riot Control”, 157, and Rivière, “Les batailles de Rome”, 73. On this office, whose power even matched that of the governor, see also idem, 57 58

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As in the cities of the East or North Africa, also in the ancient capital the social and religious developments of the fourth century posed severe challenges for the safeguarding of public order. At the same time, structural changes within the security apparatus itself also affected the way Roman authorities had to come to grips with violent conflicts. For example, after the dismissal of the cohortes urbanae during the reign of Constantine, the city prefects of Rome had to rely on their persuasion skills and on the help of their clients and assistants in order to hold in check the discontent of the crowd in times of famine. 61 Also religious violence obviously added to the problem, as the conflict between the supporters of Damasus and those of Ursinus made blatantly manifest. Aided by the dispute over the succession of pope Liberius, this strife pitted supporters against each other from both ecclesiastical parties and eventually led, in October of the year 367, to a massacre in a church that has commonly been identified, according to the source, with the Basilica of Sicininus or the Basilica Liberiana. 62 Interestingly, the Roman historian Ammianus Marcellinus limits himself to reading the incident in terms of endangering and restoring public security, casting therefore the two urban prefects who held office during these years, Viventius and Praetextatus, as the main protagonists of the whole affair. As if to mark an example of failure and one of success in safeguarding public order, he criticizes the former for not having been able to check the violence, retiring instead to the suburbs. 63 The second, on the other hand, is praised as the restorer of Rome’s safety as he succeeded in taking the appropriate measures: Through his authority and his decisions based upon justice and truth the outbreak which was stirred up by the quarrels of the Christians was quelled, and after the banishment of “Compétence territoriale, exercice de la coercition, et pouvoirs juridictionnels du préfet de la Ville (I–IV siècle ap. J.-C.)”, Mediterraneo antico 12 (2009), 227–256, here 228–235, and, on the cohortes urbanae, H. Freis, Die cohortes urbanae, Epigraphische Studien 2 (Köln: Böhlau, 1967), and R. Sablayrolles, “La rue, le soldat et le pouvoir: la garnison de Rome de César à Pertinax”, Pallas 55 (2001), 127–153, here 133–135. 61 For some episodes in Ammianus Marcellinus, see Res gestae 15.7.2–5; 27.3.3 and 27.3. Similar incidents showcasing the weakness of Rome’s city prefects were also known to Ambrose, see Ep. 74.13, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 61. See also Rivière, “Compétence territorial”, 251– 256. On the loss of the urban cohorts’ military function under Constantine, see J. Wienand, Der Kaiser als Sieger: Metamorphosen triumphaler Herrschaft unter Constantin I., Klio N.F. 19 (Berlin: Akad.-Verl., 2012), 230–231. 62 See Coll. Avell. 1.4–7, ed. O. Guenther, Epistulae imperatorum pontificum aliorum. Avellana quae dicitur collectio. Pars I: prolegomena, epistulae I–CIV, CSEL 35 (Wien: Tempsky, 1895), 2–3, and Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 27.3.12–13. For discussions on this conflict, see R. Lizzi Testa, Senatori, popolo, papi: il governo di Roma al tempo dei Valentiniani (Bari: Edipuglia, 2004), 129–170; Ménard, Maintenir l’ordre, 204–212, and N. B. McLynn, “Damasus of Rome. A Fourth-Century Pope in Context”, in Rom und Mailand in der Spätantike: Repräsentationen städtischer Räume in Literatur, Architektur und Kunst, ed. T. Fuhrer, Topoi 4 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), 305–325. 63 See Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 27.3.12.

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Ursinus profound quiet reigned, which most suited the wish of the citizens of Rome; and the fame of this illustrious ruler increased because of his many salutary measures. 64

Besides Ammianus Marcellinus, the most important source for the reconstruction of the events is a dossier of documents that have been transmitted in the so called Collectio Avellana, itself being a larger compilation of imperial letters dating to the 4th–6th centuries. With respect to the conflict between Damasus and Ursinus, most of the imperial rescripts preserved in the collection are addressed to Rome’s urban prefects and vicars in charge in those years, offering therefore valuable insights into the way the conflict was perceived at the imperial court. 65 What emerges from these documents is a pressing anxiety about preserving or restoring public order, while dogmatic sympathies may have played only a secondary role in the handling of the conflict. These would hardly make plausible, in any case, why the emperor Valentinian, after having exiled Ursinus and two of his deacons to exile, again called the contender back to the city. 66 At the same time, the emperor also gave instruction to Praetextatus to return a church, which had been occupied by the Ursinian dissidents in the meantime, to Damasus and to expel Ursinus from the city a second time. 67 As McLynn has suggested, this particular event offers an intriguing example of a pattern of petition and response underlying this order. As we can gauge from the text of the rescript, the emperor was in fact reacting to an official request that Damasus seems to have previously addressed to the prefect and that the latter forwarded to Valentinian. The prefect’s decision to pass Damasus’s petition upward instead of dealing with an issue that primarily fell within his sphere of competence can be interpreted, according to McLynn, as serving the strategical purpose of “obliging the pope to submit (and be seen to submit) to the stately rhythms of due process.” 68 It reminded him in other words that the legitimacy of his requests still needed to align with the court’s interests in safeguarding public order. Against this background, Ambrose’s letter on the Callinicum affair seems to 64 Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 27.9.9, ed. Seyfarth, Römische Geschichte, vol. 4, 80: Cuius auctoritate iustisque veritatis suffragiis, tumultu lenito, quem Christianorum iurgia concitarunt, pulsoque Ursino, alta quies est parta, proposito civium Romanorum aptissima, et adulescebat gloria praeclari rectoris, plura et utilia disponentis. Transl. J. C. Rolfe, Ammianus Marcellinus: History, vol. 3 (Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 2014), 61.63. 65 On the place and function of these documents within the Collectio Avellana, see J. Torres, “The Presence of Damasus, Ursinus and the Luciferians in the Collectio Avellana: Stylistic or Thematic Reasons?”, in The Collectio Avellana and its Revivals, eds. R. Lizzi Testa and G. Marconi (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2019), 29–49. 66 See Coll. Avell. 1.10, ed. Guenther, CSEL 35, 3, and Coll. Avell. 5, ed. Guenther, CSEL 35, 48. On this, see especially Ménard, Maintenir l’ordre, 210–211. 67 See Coll. Avell. 6.2, for the return of the church, and 7.1, for the expulsion of the Ursinians, ed. Guenther, CSEL 35, 49. 68 McLynn, “Damasus of Rome”, 315.

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defy this logic. Any political action that claims to secure public safety (salus) but that would prove harmful to the interest of the Christian community reflects, in Ambrose’s opinion, a distinctive trait of the illegitimate ruler, such as personified by the usurper Maximus, who ordered the reconstruction of a synagogue in Rome that had previously been destroyed by Christian rioters. 69 Engaging concepts of safety and security, the term salus deserves some further consideration at this point. Although in a Christian context the theological and eschatological meaning of “salvation” eventually became predominant, the lexeme still continued to display its general meaning of safety from “external aggression and internal discord”, as documented, for example, by an inscription from Roman Tripolitania (355–360 CE) in honor of the governor Flavius Archontius Nilius. 70 Numismatic evidence as well suggests that Theodosius could cast himself as guarantor of public safety (Salvs Rei Publicae). The fact that this legend figures together with the Christian chi-rho symbol (displayed between the inscription and the portrait of the emperor) can be interpreted in different ways. Among others, it may also reassure the Christian subjects that the safety of the empire was ultimately warranted by the Christian faith of the monarch. 71 The close connection between the salus of the empire and the true worship of God is also attested by Ambrose in the opening section of his letter to Valentinian II, which he wrote in the context of the dispute over the altar of Victoria: As all people that are under the dominion of Rome serve you, emperors and princes of this world, so you yourselves serve almighty God and the holy faith. There is no way that salvation can be assured other than that everyone truly worships the true God, that is the God of the Christians, by whom all things are governed. 72 69 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.23, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 68–69; transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 106–107. 70 IRT 563, eds. J. M. Reynolds and J. B. Ward Perkins, The Inscriptions of Roman Tripolitania (Rome: British School, 1952), 149: Nilii. Vigiliis adque consilio domi f[o]risque pr[a]estanti integritate praecipuo iustitia et iu[dic]i[o]rum mo[d]eratione perpenso instauratori moenium publicorum [ordi]nis ciu[iumque] omnium] salut[is pr]ouide[ntissimo custod[i ueritatis honestat]is et f[idei a]micissimo (first part of the inscription). See J. T. Hamilton, Security: Politics, Humanity, and the Philology of Care (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013), 59. Already before the conversion of Constantine to Christianity the term could also refer to the destiny of the individual ruler in the hereafter, reproducing in this way a trend of Hellenistic influence “to identify collective salvation with [the] individual salvation” of the monarch. Ricci, Security in Roman Times, 45. See on this also S. Cole, Cicero and the Rise of Deification at Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 121–122. 71 RIC IX, Rome, no. 64: The Roman Imperial Coinage, eds. H. Mattingly, J. W. Pearce et al., vol. 9 (London: Spink, 1972), 133–134. Reference from M. R. Salzman, On Roman Time. The codex-calendar of 354 and the Rhythms of Urban Life in Late Antiquity, The transformation of the classical heritage 17 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 154. 72 Ambrosius, Ep. 72.1, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 11: Cum omnes homines qui sub dicione Romana sunt vobis militent imperatoribus terrarum atque principibus, tum ipsi vos omnipotenti deo et sacrae fidei militatis. Aliter enim salus tuta esse non poterit, nisi unusquisque deum verum

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If we can assume that Ambrose resorted to similar rhetorical devises in addressing the emperors he was advising, regardless of their specific confessional allegiances, then the public protests lodged against Theodosius’s policies can also be seen as picking up on the sort of language attested in this letter to Valentinian. The inherent connection between Ambrose’s role as advisor and his invocation of the safety of the empire is in fact again foregrounded by the conclusion of the letter on the Callinicum affair: Here are persons in your treatment [sc. those responsible for the riots] of whom you still need to invite and earn the mercy of the Lord God towards the Roman Empire. Here are persons for whom you must have greater concern than you have for yourself. May their gratitude and their safety be brought home to you by this speech. 73

7.6 Restoring the Future In a similar way to the controversies presented thus far, the anti-Christian riots in the North African town of Calama during the first days of June in 408 lie at the center of an epistolary exchange that can be analyzed against the background of ancient epistolography. The letters that the two correspondents, Augustine and Nectarius, exchanged in this context (epp. 90–91 and 103–104) have attracted considerable scholarly interest, as they offer an intriguing vignette revealing Augustine’s view on pardon, punishment and torture, as well as his role as mediator between the civic community and the political authorities. 74 Because the epistolary exchange originated in and gravitated around Nectarius’s bid for leniency towards Calama’s citizens, the letters attest to the increased political and social standing that a bishop of the early fifth century could leverage. As Claudia Rapp has pointed out in her seminal study on episcopal authority in Late Antiquity, such a privileged position was ultimately grounded in the bishop’s “link to the divine realm”, being thus invoked not only by the emperors for the prosperity of the empire but also by its leading citizens. 75 After all, in Nectarius’s own words, the duty of a bishop was “to secure

hoc est deum Christianorum, a quo cuncta reguntur, veraciter colat. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 63. 73 Ambrosius, Ep. 74.31, ed. Zelzer, CSEL 82/3, 72: Habes in quibus domini adhuc debes circa imperium Romanum invitare clementiam, habes quibus amplius quam tibi speres, illorum gratia, illorum salus te in hoc sermone conveniat. Transl. Liebeschuetz, Political Letters, 110. 74 See in particular R. Dodaro, “Augustine’s Secular City”, in Augustine and his Critics. Essays in Honour of Gerald Bonner, ed. R. Dodaro (Routledge: London, 2000), 231–259; E. Hermanowicz, Possidius of Calama. A Study of the North African Episcopate at the Time of Augustine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 156–187, and P. I. Kaufman, “Patience and/or Politics: Augustine and the Crisis at Calama, 408–409”, Vigiliae Christianae 57 (2003), 22–35. 75 Rapp, Holy Bishops, 278.

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salvation for men, to be their advocate on the better side in their trials, and to merit from Almighty God pardon for the sins of others”. 76 As in Ambrose’s letters, Augustine’s argumentation against Nectarius is integral to a rhetorical performance that is both enabled and delimited by the literary genre of epistle writing. What I want to show in this section is the central role played in this context by the idea of giving thought to and deliberating about (consulere) the welfare of the civic community. This theme is in fact well suited for an epistolary exchange between statesmen, who in this way were able to display their shared commitment for the res publica as a token of their friendship. 77 It is not a coincidence, therefore, that Nectarius himself picks up on this theme at the very outset of the first of his two letters to Augustine, claiming credit for his undivided care for his fatherland as he invokes the bishop’s help. 78 In his answer to Nectarius, Augustine too dwells on the theme of deliberation. Admittedly, he only meets his correspondent halfway as he does not show an inclination to view all punitive (or, in Augustine’s words, corrective) measures as unbearable. However, he does not so much show a lack of recognition of Nectarius’s commitment for his homeland, but rather defies the latter’s attempt to stylize loyalty to one’s fatherland in such a way as to oblige Augustine himself to follow suit. Instead of sparing the culprits from all punitive measures, the bishop in both letters insists on the necessity of a different kind of deliberation, namely that of advising Calama’s citizens with a view to attaining salvation. It might be helpful at the beginning to point out the most important aspects on the riot of Calama. Also in the present case, we only have one side of the story. Information about the incident itself and about the damages caused by the attacks must be deduced from the account that Augustine himself offers in his first answer to Nectarius. 79 According to the bishop, it was a pagan procession that stood at the beginning of the riots. As he recounts, some of the participants started to display a provocative behavior by attacking a church that happened to be situated on the route of the procession, hurling stones at the building and intimidating a priest who attempted to intervene. Although the blame for the incident could therefore go to the unsolicitous behavior of some participants, the protest of the local bishop remained without 76 Nectarius to Augustinus, Ep. 90, ed. K.-D. Daur, CCL 31A, 153: Sed episcopum fas non est nisi salutem hominibus impertire, et pro statu meliore causis adesse, et apud omnipotentem Deum veniam aliorum mereri delictis. Transl. W. Parsons, Letters, vol. 2 (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1953), 41. 77 See, for example, Cicero, Ep. fam. 4.1.1; 5.20.5; 11.23.1; 13.4.1. On the importance of the art of political deliberation (consilium) for the stability of the res publica, see M. Schofield, Cicero. Political Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021), 75–78. 78 See Nectarius to Augustinus, Ep. 90, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 153: Cui si ullus esset consulendi modus aut finis bonis, digne iam ab eius muneribus meruimus excusari. 79 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.8, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 157–158.

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consequences. On the contrary, a mob again gathered with stones outside the church some days later, causing even greater damage than before. After the renewed protest of the church leaders did not yield the desired fruits, in addition to a third throwing of stones that followed the next day, the church’s roof was set on fire. The violence also spread to the neighbourhood and caused the bishop Possidius, who remains unnamed throughout the account, to hide from the mob. As if to further highlight the complicit silence of the authorities who could have easily quelled the violence, Augustine then recounts the courageous intervention of a stranger who rescued the victims of the attacks from the rioters and protected private property from looters, even succeeding in restraining the rage of the mob. We are not informed about the measures that were immediately taken, or at least contemplated, after the riots. As can be evinced from the epistolary correspondence, in any case, Augustine soon travelled by road to Calama, probably at the invitation of Possidius, in order to comfort the Christian population and, as one may guess, to consult with the local bishop about the next steps to take, as he seems to have continued to meet difficulties in bringing his case before the authorities. This may be the reason why we find Calama’s bishop travelling through Italy by the time Augustine answered Nectarius’s second letter in March 409, hinting at a possible diplomatic mission at the court of Ravenna meant to lodge a legal complaint at the imperial court. 80 The fear of punitive measures against Calama’s citizens and the hope that influential church leaders such as Augustine may still be heard by the authorities set the tone for Nectarius’s plea. As he declares in the opening lines of his first letter, love for his native country (caritas patriae), which even surpasses that of his parents, would urge him not to leave this earthly life before having made his “fatherland safe and in flower”. 81 With this allusion to Cicero’s De re publica, 82 Nectarius justifies his request for a mild punishment of the culprits, proposing to settle the matter by a fine, which would compensate for the material losses caused by the attacks. 83 It is interesting to note that such a proposal was not new to Augustine. Already in 399, after the inhabitants of Sufes turned on the Christians in response to the defacement of an image of Hercules, the bishop refused to accept from the pagans a compensation in money, arguing 80 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.1, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 37. On Possidius’s trip, see the discussion in Hermanowicz, Possidius of Calama, 168–170. 81 Nectarius to Augustinus, Ep. 90, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 153: Sed quoniam crescit in dies singulos dilectus et gratia civitatis, quantumque aetas fini proxima est, tantum incolumem ac florentem relinquere patriam cupit. Transl. Parsons, Letters, vol. 2, 41. 82 See in particular Cicero, De re publica 1.1, ed. K. Ziegler, M. Tvlli Ciceronis scripta qvae manservnt omnia. Fasc. 39: De re publica librorum sex quae manserunt (Leipzig: Teubner, 1960), 1: Sic, quoniam plura beneficia continet patria, et est antiquior parens quam is qui creavit, maior ei profecto quam parenti debetur gratia. 83 See Nectarius to Augustinus, Ep. 90, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 153.

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that the killing of people stands in no comparison to the damages caused to a statue. 84 Augustine’s answer to the pleas of Nectarius is both engaging and sympathetic. He displays a willingness to desist from capital punishment and torture, demanding instead that the wealthy citizens be stripped of their possessions. But he also airs his reluctance to engage with the argumentation brought forward by Nectarius and to condone the actions of his clients on account of an alleged equality of all sins, insisting instead on the need of deterring potential imitators from repeating similar crimes. 85 The epistolary exchange between the two has therefore been interpreted as documenting “the chasm that had opened between Calama materialism [sic!] and Christian altruism”, which would therefore attest to contrasting visions for society pushed by the two respective writers. 86 Regardless of whether such conclusions can be agreed upon or not, Augustine and Nectarius certainly employed two different rhetorical strategies, the one arguing on the basis of Cicero and Stoic philosophy, the other on the basis of Biblical concepts of sin and repentance. 87 Although complimenting Nectarius on his commitment to his fatherland, he also reminds him about the priority of the heavenly country, which every individual, including Nectarius himself, must struggle to attain with all one’s strength. 88 At the same time, even the safety and prosperity of the earthly fatherland cannot be achieved without the punishment of the wicked, unless one wishes the country to bloom “with lawlessness”. 89 In Augustine’s opinion, Cicero himself admitted that temperance, frugality, loyalty and upright conduct are necessary preconditions for the well-being of the state. 90 In opposition to the pagan myths and their examples of moral depravity, the bishop continues, only a commitment to a virtuous life and the worship of God can promote prosperity and bear fruit in the thereafter. 91 Such considerations allow the bishop to formulate the main point of his answer, namely his intention to reconcile 84 See Augustinus, Ep. 50, ed. Daur, CCL 31, 214. On the riot of Sufes, see Shaw, Sacred Violence, 249–251. 85 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.7, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 157. 86 Kaufman, “Patience and/or Politics”, 28. 87 This circumstance taken by itself does not yet offer substantial evidence of the religious affiliation of Nectarius. Augustine as well, after all, referred to the works of Cicero in his argumentation. The evidence from the letters can be interpreted in different directions. While Augustine, Ep. 91.2, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 154, hopes that Nectarius would, like his father, also die as a Christian, premising therefore that he was still a pagan, one may also speculate with Hermanowicz, Possidius of Calama, 167, that Nectarius was already baptized and that such a remark was actually “engaging in emotional blackmail by questioning Nectarius’s loyalty”. 88 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.1, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 154. 89 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.2, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 155. 90 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.3, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 155, and Cicero, De re publica 4.7, ed. Ziegler, 111. 91 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.5–6, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 156–157.

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the long-standing tension between mildness and discipline, casting clemency as a means for moral reform: Therefore, it is our dearest wish not to give up the policy of Christian mildness, but, on the other hand, not to leave in that city an example which would be harmful to others. God will see how we can do this, if He is not too deeply angry with them. Otherwise, the mildness which we wish to preserve, and the discipline which we aim to use in moderation, can be hampered, if God has some other secret design. 92

At the first moment, Augustine’s wish to see the wealthy stripped of their possessions does not seem to have worried Nectarius too much. The reassurance that Christians would not demand any vengeance from the authorities may in fact have been all that Nectarius needed to hear. During the eight months that followed this first exchange of letters, however, prospects of a smooth settlement of the incident again deteriorated, causing Nectarius to resume his writing. While we can only speculate what prompted this second letter, Augustine’s answer seems to refer to some news about Possidius’s mission to the court, which may in fact have alerted Nectarius. 93 Erika Hermanowicz suggested that one of the laws promulgated in the interval of time between the two letters, Constitutiones Sirmondianae 14 (dated to 15 January 409), 94 may have originated in the context of this mission, ordering the punishment of those responsible for crimes against the church representatives, also referring to a particular incident. Although the wording of the document does not identify the place where such violence happened, it mentions a bishop attacked by an angry mob while the local authorities remained passive, lending therefore plausibility to the hypothesis that the incident has to be identified with the riots at Calama. 95 Given the lack of further details, it is difficult to prove or disprove such a claim. What can be said, in any case, is that the main theme of the second exchange of letters is now dominated by Nectarius’s concern for the wealthy citizens, arguing that the confiscation of their possessions would bring ruin on them and even be worse than death. 96 The decisive misunderstanding, which Augustine spots in Nectarius’s objection, is the fact that he wrongly interprets the bishop’s suggestions in terms of punishment instead of prevention and moral reform. His concerns for the wealthy citizens are not only unjustified, given the fact that the bishop never de92 Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.6, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 157: Nobis itaque cordi est neque christianam amittere mansuetudinem, neque perniciosum ceteris imitationis exemplum in illa civitate relinquere. Quomodo id agamus aderit Deus, si eis non ita graviter indignetur. Alioquin et mansuetudo quam servare cupimus, et disciplina qua uti moderate nitimur impediri potest, si Deo aliud in occulto placet. Transl. Parsons, Letters, vol. 2, 46. 93 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.1, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 37. 94 See Const. Sirm. 14, eds. T. Mommsen and P. M. Meyer (Berlin: Weidmann, 1905), 918– 919. 95 See Hermanowicz, Possidius of Calama, 174–176. 96 See Nectarius to Augustinus, Ep. 103.3, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 35.

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manded that the rich should be deprived of all the necessary means for livelihood. They also miss the point of Augustine’s request, namely that of stripping the wealthy of their luxurious means only, which in fact would incite them to sin and idolatry. 97 Instead of yielding to the materialistic aspirations (voluntas) of his clients, Nectarius must be taking care (consulat) to ensure their benefit (utilitas). 98 How does Augustine, however, define what is beneficial and detrimental for Nectarius’s clients? In the context of this epistolary exchange, this question is closely connected to the theme of sin and forgiveness, and therefore of salvation. Answering to Nectarius’s claim that all sins are equal and that all deserve therefore the same treatment, the bishop clarifies that such an approach is grounded in a misunderstanding that eventually fails to correct the sinner: ‘It makes no difference,’ you say, ‘what sort of sin it is for which pardon is asked.’ You could say this with truth if there were questions of punishing rather than of reclaiming men. The Christian must keep far from his heart any lust of vengeance when someone is subjected to punishment. […] Above all, he must not hate the offender, nor return evil for evil, nor burn with a desire of injuring him, nor seek satisfaction in vengeance even when it is legally owed to him. On the contrary, he must look out for the interest of the offender, think of his future, and restrain him from evil. 99

This passage offers an important clue for understanding Augustine’s reticence towards the Stoic idea that all sins are equal, which is invoked by Nectarius. Robert Dodaro has pointed out that in the bishop’s opinion such an idea would in fact stand in contrast to the “Christian view that human beings ought to pardon each other because all are equally sinners”. 100 In other words, Augustine’s argumentation has to be understood against the background of his own experience of conversion which “results from a self-knowledge deepened through confession of moral and spiritual failure”, grounding the Christian injunction to forgive others not in an alleged equality of sins, but in a shared experience of human sinfulness. 101 There is, however, a further aspect that deserves mention. As the opening line of the passage just quoted shows, Augus97

On this latter point, see Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.4–5, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 39–

40. 98 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.7, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 41: Et ubi est, quod et vestrae litterae illum laudant patriae rectorem, qui populi utilitati magis consulat quam voluntati? The passage refers to Cicero, Or. pro Sulla 8, ed. A. C. Clark, M. Tulli Ciceronis orationes, vol. 6 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2017), 55. 99 Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.8, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 41–42: Nihil interest, inquis, quale videatur esse peccatum, cum indulgentia postulatur. Recte hoc diceres, si de puniendis, non de corrigendis hominibus ageretur. Absit enim a corde christiano, ut libidine ulciscendi ad poenam cuiusque rapiatur; […] sed hoc utique ne oderit hominem, ne malum pro malo retribuat, ne nocendi inflammetur ardore, ne vindicta etiam lege debita pasci desideret, non autem ne consulat, ne prospiciat, ne compescat a malis. Transl. Parsons, Letters, vol. 2, 187. 100 R. Dodaro, Christ and the Just Society in the Thought of Augustine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 198, and idem, “Augustine’s Secular City”, 246. 101 Dodaro, “Augustine’s Secular City”, 245.

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tine is not so much contesting the view that all sins are equal, but he rather points out the way this view could be misunderstood. He admits that with a view to punishment (de puniendis) or to the obligation of Christians to forgive offenses, sins cannot be discriminated based on their type or gravity. At the same time, however, they cannot be considered equal with respect to the corrective actions (de corrigendis) that need to follow pardon. In fact, Christians are also invited to care (consulere) for the benefit of the offenders themselves. In particular, forgiveness of sins has to deal with the problem of not allowing sin to be repeated or imitated in the future, justifying in this case the partial confiscation of the material possessions. The two different approaches also relate to the concept of repentance. While Nectarius insists on his conviction that the chance for repentance should be made accessible for Christians and pagans alike, Augustine inevitably disappoints such expectations. He clarifies that true and effective repentance can only be performed when it “reflects on the future judgement of God”, while for those outside the Christian faith the desire of being absolved from one’s faults is mainly motivated by “fear of present inconvenience”. 102 As long as Nectarius’s clients would remain attached to paganism, so Augustine’s hope, the prospect of being stripped of their wealth will prove more beneficial for their future salvation, since it may eventually win them over to the Christian faith. 103 Augustine’s reply in this way aims at exposing the inaptitude of Nectarius’s civic ideals (the nobility of which the bishop does not disclaim) to be couched in the vocabulary of the Christian discourse on the salvation of the soul. Invoking the teachings of the Stoics, on the other hand, would even contradict the premises of Nectarius’s own argument, since they would declare compassion a human weakness based on sentimentalism rather than on reason. 104 Already in his first letter the bishop cautions his addressee from granting legitimacy to his request on the ground of his civic commitment: I do not wonder that your heart glows with love of your country as old age slows down your body, and I praise you, both for remembering and for showing forth in your life and your character that there is no limit or legitimate restriction to our duty to serve our country. This I admit without objection, or, rather, wholeheartedly. But there is a certain heavenly country, for whose holy love, according to our modest ability, we struggle and toil among those whom we are helping to attain it; of it we should like to see you such a devoted citizen that you should think no limit or restriction of service possible. 105 102 Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.9, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 42: Nam et poenitentia, sicut scribis, impetrat veniam et purgat admissum sed illa, quae in vera religione agitur, quae futurum iudicium Dei cogitat, non illa, quae ad horam hominibus aut exhibetur aut fingitur, non ut a delicto anima purgetur in aeternum, sed ut interim a praesenti metu molestiae vita cito peritura liberetur. Transl. Parsons, Letters, vol. 2, 187–188. 103 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.9, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 42. 104 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.16, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 46. 105 Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.1, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 154: Iam senio frigescentibus

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While Nectarius boasts about his undivided devotion for the prosperity of his fatherland, the duty to which Augustine feels obligated to is that of taking care for the future salvation (in futurum consulendo) of the souls of Calama’s inhabitants, as he puts it in another passage of the same letter. 106 This service will eventually become more profitable (utilius) for them, as it will help them to achieve higher goods. 107 It is obviously tempting to assume that Augustine’s response already anticipates some thoughts developed in his De civitate Dei. However, his two letters to Nectarius were not attempting to formulate a theory concerning the dichotomous relation between earthly and heavenly civitas, a distinction which he will expound more systematically in his response to the events of 410. In that context, he will also distinguish between the examples of civic virtue of statesmen who extended the glory of the Roman empire, on the one hand, and the examples of Christian virtue of those seeking the heavenly fatherland, on the other. 108 For Augustine, the challenge entailed by the correspondence on the Calama affair was rather that of claiming for himself the right to act as a Christian counselor and advise Nectarius and Calama’s inhabitants with a view to their future salvation. It is, in fact, not the task of the advisor to “do what we are asked” but, on the contrary, to “do what is not harmful to our petitioners”. 109 In a similar way as a doctor or a teacher, an influential citizen like Nectarius should have thus given proof of his civic duty by paying heed to what is expedient for his clients. 110 In order to show that Augustine’s response can also be taken as exemplary of a theological concern that emerged with the Christianization of Roman society, one may again recall Ambrose’s influential De officiis. Although underpinned membris fervere animum tuum patriae caritate nec miror et laudo, teque non tantum tenere memoriter verum etiam vita ac moribus demonstrare, quod nullus sit patriae consulendi modus aut finis bonis, non invitus immo etiam libens accipio. Unde supernae cuiusdam patriae, in cuius sancto amore pro nostro modulo inter eos, quibus ad illam capessendam consulimus, periclitamur atque laboramus, talem etiam te ipsum civem habere vellemus, ut eius portiunculae in hac terra peregrinanti nullum consulendi modum finemque censeres. Transl. Parsons, Letters, vol. 2, 42. 106 Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 91.9, ed. Daur, CCL 31A, 159: Non praeterita vindicando pascere iram nostram studemus; sed misericorditer in futurum consulendo satagimus. 107 Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.9, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 43: Ecce quanto eos, quibus nos arbitraris irasci, pace tua dixerim, ordinatius quam tu utiliusque diligimus, pro quibus et ad evitanda tanto maiora mala et ad consequenda tanto maiora bona deprecamur. 108 See Augustinus, De civ. Dei 5.16, eds. B. Dombart and A. Kalb, Sancti Aurelii Augustini de civitate dei, vol. 1, CCL 47 (Brepols: Turnhout, 1955), 149. 109 Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.7, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 41: Non tunc benefici sumus, cum id quod a nobis petitur facimus, sed cum id facimus, quod non obsit petentibus. Transl. Parsons, Letters, vol. 2, 186. 110 See Augustinus to Nectarius, Ep. 104.7, ed. Daur, CCL 31B, 41: Si praeterita neglegis, quae fieri iam infecta non possunt, aliquantum prospice in posterum; non quid cupiant, qui te rogant, sed quid eis expediat, prudenter attende.

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by theological rationales that differed from those of Augustine, the Milanese bishop can still be seen as being concerned with conceding to the Christian discourse of salvation its rightful place. Following Cicero’s identification of what is “useful” (utile) with what is “honorable” (honestum), he could in fact remind his readers to strive for those benefits which will await them in the future: For ourselves, we have no interest in anything unless it is seemly and honorable, and we measure that by the standard of the future, not the present. Nor do we recognize anything to be beneficial unless it helps us attain the grace of eternal life. 111

Insofar as Ambrose’s considerations are also relevant for his understanding of the role and function of a Christian advisor, they also attest to the aim shared among Christian preachers of the fourth century to define the ultimate goal of the art of persuasion.

7.7 Conclusion The events discussed in this chapter touch on different conflicts marking the religious and political life of Roman society at the end of the fourth century and have therefore been relevant for historians from different fields. Nonetheless, they all share the peculiarity of having been transmitted to posterity by the means of epistolary writings, echoing the importance of this literary genre both in the classical and early Christian period. Being therefore familiar with its conventional language, Ambrose and Augustine were also aware of the rhetorical qualities of this genre, including that of constructing an argument on the basis of the literary performance of friendship. Against this background, Ambrose’s epistolary intervention after the riot in Callinicum or after the massacre of Thessalonica as well as Augustine’s exchange of letters with Nectarius after the riots in Calama can be read as an attempt of the respective writers (including Nectarius) to employ this literary genre with a view to crisis management. According to the circumstances, this aim translated itself into different rhetorical strategies, which the different sections of this chapter attempted to foreground. While Theodosius’s handling of the riots in Callinicum prompted 111 Ambrosius, De officiis 1.9.28, ed. Testard, CCL 15, 10–11: Nos autem nihil omnino nisi quod deceat et honestum sit, futurorum magis quam praesentium metimur formula; nihilque utile nisi quod ad vitae illius aeternae prosit gratiam definimus, non quod ad delectationem praesentis. Transl. I. J. Davidson, Ambrose. De Officiis, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 133. For a further discussion on the concept of utilitas in Ambrose’s De officiis, see W. Steidle, “Beobachtungen zum Gedankengang im 2. Buch von Ambrosius, ‘De officiis’”, Vigiliae Christianae 39 (1985), 280–298, here 280–283. See also S. Vollbracht, Die normative Kraft des Decorum. Angemessenheit bei Cicero, Ambrosius und Augustinus (Tübingen: Narr Francke Attempto Verlag, 2019), 112–124.

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the Milanese bishop to adopt a harsher tone, assimilating the ruler to the very example of Julian, he nonetheless grounded his protest on his reassurance to care for the salvation of the emperor and therefore on the bishop’s responsibility to those he loves. On a similar line, one of the episodes that continues to fascinate modern readers, namely Ambrose’s challenge to Theodosius to amend his sins by an act of public penance, was again grounded in his attempt to care for the rehabilitation of the ruler, this time describing his own example of humility as an example to imitate. At the same time, the much-discussed siege of Milan’s basilicas not only foregrounds the conflict between Ambrose and the emperor but also the mutual affection between Ambrose and his congregation. Still another rhetorical strategy is employed by Nectarius in his intention to secure Augustine’s intercession for Calamas’s inhabitants, invoking their shared responsibility for the well-being of the commonwealth. As the North African bishop, however, defies this attempt at being “pocketed” by his correspondent, he also took the opportunity to expound his own ideas of what this responsibility should look like in Christian terms.

8. The Beginning of the End 8.1 Introduction With this final chapter, I would like to close the circle of this book and turn again to Alexandria, focusing this time on what is commonly presented as the “destruction of the Serapeum”, or the “downfall of Serapis”. This episode not only marked a crucial step in the Christianization of the city but also affected its image in a way very few other events did. A full host of studies penned by historians of different stripes have dealt both with the reconstruction of this event and with the problems related to the different extant sources. 1 With a view to this book, this incident offers the opportunity to extend the inquiry to a literary genre which has not yet been treated in its own right in the previous chapters, namely the Ecclesiastical History written by Rufinus of Aquileia. As other historiographical works, also this particular source can be read as a rhetorical text, as it was preoccupied with inserting the events or conflicts it reported into a specific narrative with which to influence the reader’s perception. 1 For this event, see in particular F. Thélamon, Paiens et chrétiens au IVe. siècle. L’apport de l’“Histoire ecclésiastique” de Rufin d’Aquilée (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1981), 157–279; J. Hahn, “The Conversion of the Cult Statues: The Destruction of the Serapeum 392 A.D. and the Transformation of Alexandria into the ‘Christ-Loving’ City”, in From Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 163 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 335–365; U. Gotter, “Rechtgläubige – Pagane – Häretiker. Tempelzerstörungen in der Kirchengeschichtsschreibung und das Bild der Christlichen Kaiser”, in From Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 163 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 43–89, A. Martin, “Serapis et les chrétiens d’Alexandrie: un reéxamen”, in Alexandrie médiévale 3, eds. J.-Y. Empereur and Christian Décobert, Études alexandrines 16 (Cairo: Institut français d’Archéologie Orientale, 2008), 41–57, S. Schmidt, “Der Sturz des Serapis. Zur Bedeutung Paganer Götterbilder in der Spätantiken Gesellschaft Alexandrias”, in Alexandria, eds. T. Georges, F. Albrecht and R. Feldmeier (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 149–172, J. Stutz, “Mocking Parades and the Place of Pagan Statuary in Late Antique Alexandria”, ZAC 24 (2020), 270–288, and J. H. F. Dijkstra, “Crowd Behaviour and the Destruction of the Serapeum at Alexandria in 391/392 CE”, in Religious Violence in the Ancient World. From Classical Athens to Late Antiquity, eds. J. H. F. Dijkstra and C. R. Raschle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 286–305. For the Apophthegmata Patrum collections, see N. Marinides, “Religious Toleration in the Apophthegmata Patrum”, Journal of Early Christian Studies 20 (2012), 235–268, esp. 254 and 262, discussing sayings about religious violence that involved the Serapeum incident.

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In a certain way, historiographical literature inverts the natural development from rhetoric to literature premised for the other texts that this book focused on. Here, it is the literary text itself which formed the rhetorical occasion, structuring the narrative argument and composition in such a way as to be able to rely on a captivating performance. 2 Beyond the methodological and literary characteristics which stand representative of the historiographical genre, the work of Rufinus also presents its own peculiarities which need to be taken into account. Being both conceived as a translation of Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History and as a continuation up to the reign of Theodosius I, the account on the destruction of the Serapis statue is therefore inserted into a historiographical narrative that is explicitly modeled on that of Eusebius. At the same time, we see Rufinus also working as a compiler and redactor in his own right, harnessing a host of other written sources and relying on his own memory. 3 Given the rich diversity of studies on the end of Serapis’s public cult in Alexandria, it will be mandatory to offer a brief overview of the research done so far and of the different assessments about the historical reliability of Rufinus’s account. The main part of the chapter will then deal with the destruction of the Serapis statue as a historiographical narrative with its own associative meanings. This approach offers the advantage of dispensing with a hierarchy between “originality” or “plagiarism”, which would prioritize whatever information appears to show no sign of dependency on external sources over those elements of his account which do. Quite on the contrary, the historiographer’s productive contribution remains visible throughout all the different steps succeeding each other in the process of collecting, redacting, and compiling the appropriate source material.

8.2 Rufinus’s Account By the end of the fourth century, the Christianization of Alexandria’s cityscape did not entirely suppress the city’s pagan topography. Although in decline, traditional cults were still present in the urban landscape in the form of temples, statues, and other vestiges attesting to its religious history. 4 After all, also the See Bourbouhakis, “Rhetoric and Performance”, 177. Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 10. pr., ed. T. Mommsen, Rufinus. Historia ecclesiastica, Eusebius Werke 2,2, GCS N.F. 6,2 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 21999), 957: Cetera vero, quae usque ad praesens tempus per ordinem subsecuta sunt, quae vel in maiorum litteris repperimus vel nostra memoria attigit. 4 On the different steps in the Christianization of the city’s landscape, which can be seen as culminating in the conversion of the site of the Serapeum into a Christian space, see McKenzie, “The Place in Late Antique Alexandria”, 59–65. On the complex nature of the responses to pagan statues as testified by archaeological evidence in the case of Alexandria, see T. M. Kristensen, Making and Breaking the Gods: Christian Responses to Pagan Sculpture in Late Antiq2 3

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most prominent place within Alexandria’s religious topography was still occupied by the Serapeum and the cult statue of Serapis. Although it stood at a remove on the southeastern outskirts of the city, this temple complex was perhaps the city’s foremost landmark – elevated on a limestone ridge, commanding a view over the harbor and the city, and shaping the skyline for those getting their first glimpse of the city from the sea. 5 At the same time, however, it has to be noted that this landmark did not provide Rufinus with the setting of the beginning of the disorders, which eventually caused its dismantling. It was rather the discovery of “some hidden grottoes and underground chambers” on the site of a decrepit church under renovation that provoked the pagans’ attack against the Christians. 6 Although they outnumbered the pagans, they had to account for the far bigger losses among their ranks due to being “rendered less violent by religious restraint”. 7 The violence eventually led to a retreat of the attackers to the Serapeum with their Christian hostages, transforming it into a place of martyrdom where atrocities were committed against the believers. Only at this point did “those charged with maintaining the laws of Rome” intervene, not being able, however, neither to calm the situation nor to find out the reasons for the agitation. 8 Sozomen, whose account closely follows that of Rufinus, identifies the two officials acting on behalf of the Roman authority as Romanus, general of the Egyptian legions, and Evagrius, the prefect of the city. 9 After being informed by his uity, Aarhus Studies in Mediterranean Antiquity 12 (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2013), 107–135, and idem, “Religious Conflict in Late Antique Alexandria: Christian Responses to ‘Pagan Statues’ in the Fourth and Fifth Centuries CE”, in Alexandria: A Cultural and Religious Melting Pot, eds. G. Hinge and J. A. Krasilnikoff (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2009), 158– 175. 5 See Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, 28. On the Serapeum, see in particular M. Sabottka, Das Serapeum in Alexandria. Untersuchungen zur Architektur und Baugeschichte des Heiligtums von der frühen ptolemäischen Zeit bis zur Zerstörung 391 n. Chr., Études Alexandrines 15 (Cairo: Institut français d’Archéologie Orientale, 2008), and J. S. McKenzie, S. Gibson, G. Grimm, and A. T. Reyes, “Reconstructing the Serapeum in Alexandria from the Archaeological Evidence”, JRS 94 (2004), 73–121. 6 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.22, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1025: Reperta in loco sunt antra quaedam latentia et terrae defossa latrociniis et sceleribus magis quam caeremoniis apta. Transl. P. R. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia. History of the Church, The Fathers of the Church (Washington D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2016), 463. While Rufinus identifies this church with a basilica that Constantius previously donated to the Arians, Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.15.2, identifies it with the former temple of Dionysus. 7 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.22, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1025: At nostri numero et potentia multo plures, sed modestia religionis minus feroces erant. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 463. 8 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.22, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1026: At hi, quibus Romanarum legum custodia iurisque dicendi cura permissa est, cognitis quae gesta fuerant, turbati atque perterriti ad templum convolant, causas audaciae percontantur, et quid sibi vellet ille concursus. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 463. 9 See Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.15.5. On the date of composition of Sozomen’s Ecclesiastical

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generals about the incident, the emperor sent an edict to Alexandria in which he ordered to spare the lives of those who barricaded themselves in the temple, ordering by the same decree, however, the destruction of the pagan statues of the city. 10 In this way, the letter acted as a starting signal for an iconoclastic wave of destruction holding sway over Alexandria, the most prominent victim being the statue of Serapis itself. If we are to believe the account offered by Rufinus, it was the spontaneous initiative of a soldier to break the statue into pieces with an axe. The limbs were then dragged apart, pulled with a rope through the city, and burnt in the public eye at different places of the city, with the trunk being given to flames in the nearby amphitheater. 11 On the site of the temple complex, which according to Rufinus was leveled by the rioters, a shrine and a church were erected on its sides. 12 At the same time, this wave of iconoclasm was also accompanied by a purification of the domestic space, as Rufinus highlights when narrating how busts of Serapis were being removed from doorposts and windows of private homes and replaced with crosses. This caused many more conversions to Christianity since many would have come to acknowledge the similarity of this Christian symbol with the hieroglyphic ankh symbol with which Egyptians were quite familiar. 13 In other words, the religious map of Alexandria with the Serapeum at its center provided Rufinus with a spatial framework in which to narrate the end of paganism in Alexandria, being at the same time able to marshal to his own aid what in the words of Johannes Hahn can be termed as “a paradigm for the final subordination of paganism”, 14 as the following passage eloquently epitomizes: But after the death of Serapis, who had never been alive, which temples of any other demon could remain standing? It would hardly be enough to say that all the untended shrines in Alexandria, of whichever demon, came down almost column by column. In fact, in all the cities of Egypt, the settlements, the villages, the countryside everywhere, the riverbanks, even the desert, wherever shrines, or rather graveyards, could be found, the persistence of several bishops resulted in their being wrecked and razed to the ground. 15 History, see H. Leppin, “The Church Historians (I): Socrates, Sozomenus, and Theodoretus”, in Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity. Fourth to Sixth Century A.D., ed. G. Marasco (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 219–256, here 224–225, and Van Nuffelen, “Un Héritage de Paix”, 59–61. 10 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.22. 11 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.23. 12 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.27, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1033: Nam in Serapis sepulchro, profanis aedibus conplanatis, ex uno latere martyrium, ex altero consurgit ecclesia. 13 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.29. 14 Hahn, “Conversion”, 345. See also F. Thélamon, “Destruction du paganisme et construction du royaume de Dieu d’après Rufin et Augustin”, Cristianesimo nella Storia 11 (1990), 523–544, here 526–534. 15 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.28, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1034: Sed post occasum Serapis,

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The time lapse between the event which the historian purports to describe and the date of composition of the work itself only amounts to about ten years, making the relevant chapter in Rufinus’s Ecclesiastical History almost a contemporary witness. As it is known, it had been composed between 402 and 403 upon the request of Chromatius, the bishop of Aquileia, serving the purpose of alleviating the sorrows of Christians caused by Alaric’s military campaigns against the Romans in northern Italy. 16 Over the past decades, the issue of the historic accuracy of Rufinus’s account has led scholars to different and to some extent contrasting conclusions. While Thélamon relies heavily on his testimony for the reconstruction of the events, other scholars such as Schwartz and Martin have cautioned too optimistic assessments by referring to the remarkably heterogeneous character of his account, which in fact seems to conflate previous violent incidents in Alexandria. 17 Other contributions such as those offered by Johannes Hahn pointed out that no extant law would be able to substantiate Rufinus’s claim that the emperor ordered the dismantling of pagan temples by his own edict. 18 A legal text that has often been quoted to support Rufinus’s account, the decree from 16 June 391, and addressed to Evagrius and Romanus, does indeed refer to a series of anti-pagan measures, but merely orders the closure of temples and the interdiction of sacrifices, without entailing therefore their physical destruction. 19 A similar law, which also explicitly forbids the veneration of cult statues, had already been issued in February of the same year for the city of Rome and was addressed to the Urban Prefect Albinus, hinting therefore to analogue motiva-

qui numquam vixerat, quae iam alterius daemonis stare delubra potuerunt? parum dixerim, si omnes, quae erant Alexandriae, per singulas paene columnas cuiuscumque daemonis aediculae incultae ceciderunt. sed per cunctas Aegypti urbes, per castella, per vicos, per omne rus, per ripas fluminis, per heremum quoque, si qua fana vel potius busta repperiri potuerunt, instantia uniuscuiusque episcopi subruta et ad solum deducta sunt. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 475. 16 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. pr., ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 951: Cuius lectione animus audientium vinctus, dum notitiam rerum gestarum avidius petit, oblivionem quodammodo malorum quae gererentur acciperet. 17 See J. Schwartz, “La fin du Serapeum d’Alexandrie”, in Essays in honor of C. Bradford Welles (New Haven: American Soc. of Papyrologists, 1966), 97–111, here 101, and Martin, “Serapis et les chrétiens d’Alexandrie”, 45. See on this also below at the beginning of the fourth section. 18 See especially Hahn, “Conversion”, 339–345, and idem, “Gewaltanwendung ad maiorem gloriam dei? Religiöse Intoleranz in der Spätantike, in Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht und Toleranz. Libanios’ Rede für den Erhalt der heidnischen Tempel, eds. H.-G. Nesselrath et al., Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam REligionemque pertinentia 18 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 227–251, here 241–245. 19 CTh 16.10.11, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 440: Nulli sacrificandi tribuatur potestas, nemo templa circumeat, nemo delubra suspiciat. Interclusos sibi nostrae legis obstaculo profanos aditus recognoscant adeo, ut, si qui vel de diis aliquid contra vetitum sacrisque molietur, nullis exuendum se indulgentiis recognoscat.

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tions behind the emperor’s religious policies of this year. 20 Since the law issued for the city of Alexandria does not offer any hint at the disorders, in any case, the date of its promulgation can serve as a terminus post quem for the riots narrated by our source. 21 As a consequence, Hahn suggests prioritizing the alternative version offered by Socrates, who in fact earned himself the reputation for being a meticulous historian by virtue of his more transparent indication of his sources. Also for the Alexandrian riots, as we read, Socrates purports to have been able to rely on the oral witness of two pagan grammarians who fled to Constantinople. 22 In his account, for example, it was Alexandria’s bishop Theophilus who provoked the violent reaction of the pagans by demolishing their shrines and displaying the cultic symbols which were found at the Mithreum. 23 In a similar vein, the imperial edict, which Theophilus was able to marshal to his own aid, is not presented as a consequence of the disorders but as its cause. Other than in Rufinus, there is no mention of a retreat to the Serapeum and no hint therefore to the imperial intervention which put an end to the violence, which, on the contrary, only stopped after “satiety of bloodshed put an end to it”. 24 Socrates being therefore openly at variance with his predecessor, one of his main contributions is certainly that of recasting Alexandria’s bishop Theophilus as the main protagonist of the events, also putting emphasis on his role in support of the sponsoring of new churches. 25 As he comments, in fact, the images of the gods were melted

20 CTh 16.10.10, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 438: Nemo se hostiis polluat, nemo insontem victimam caedat, nemo delubra adeat, templa perlustret et mortali opere formata simulacra suspiciat, ne divinis atque humanis sanctionibus reus fiat. 21 On the date, see J. Hahn, “Vetustus error extinctus est. Wann wurde das Sarapeion von Alexandria zerstört?”, Zeitschrift für alte Geschichte 55 (2006), 368–383, here 371–374. For the determination of a terminus ante quem, Hahn and others have usually referred to the so-called “Alexandrian World Chronicle”, in which the destruction of the Serapeum is mentioned in the entry for the year 392. On the margin of the respective papyrus leaf, the reader also finds an image of the victorious bishop Theophilus on top of the Serapeum. While the compilation of this fragmentary codex has normally been dated to the year 412 CE, more detailed studies dated the papyrus to the second half of the sixth century, being therefore “significantly removed in time from the event”. J. H. F. Dijkstra, “Religious Violence in Late Antique Egypt Reconsidered. The Cases of Alexandria, Panopolis, and Philae”, in Reconceiving Religious Conflict. New Views from the Formative Centuries of Christianity, eds. W. Mayer and C. L. de Wet, Routledge studies in the early Christian world (London: Routledge, 2018), 211–233, here 216– 217. See also J. H. F. Dijkstra and R. W. Burgess, “The ‘Alexandrian World Chronicle’, its Consularia and the Date of the Destruction of the Serapeum (with an Appendix on the List of Praefecti Augustales)”, Millennium 10 (2013), 39–114, esp. 96–102. 22 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 5.16.9. 23 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 5.16.3. 24 Socrates, Hist. eccl. 5.16.5, ed. Hansen, GCS N.F. 1, 290: Ἠμύνοντο δὲ καὶ οἱ Χριστιανοί, καὶ πᾶν κακὸν ἐπηκολούθει κακῷ, ἕως τε τοσούτου ἐξετάθη ἡ μάχη, ἕως οὗ κόρος τῶν φόνων τὸ γινόμενον ἔπαυσεν. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 126. 25 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 5.17.1.

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down and recast as utensils for the liturgy, hinting therefore at the new material wealth of Alexandria’s Church. 26 Recent contributions have cautioned against the temptation to dismiss the narrative of Rufinus altogether. Notwithstanding its polemical intent and its heterogeneous character, it can still contribute to the reconstruction of the general bulk of the event. In a similar way as other episodes of collective violence, this event may in fact have also started with smaller skirmishes, which then grew out of control and eventually caused concern for the local officials and the emperor himself. 27 Archaeological evidence as well, although putting some of the claims made by Rufinus in their place, does not disclaim them altogether. In fact, some wall foundations have been found to the west of the colonnaded court, supporting therefore Rufinus’s information about the construction of new church sites beside the temple complex. 28 As a consequence, the building fabric of the temple and in particular the courtyard, rather than being razed to the ground, as the pagan writer Eunapius would suggest, came now to serve a new purpose, being integrated into the new church complex. 29 This is also what Jerome seems to premise when commenting that “Serapis has been Christianized” (Aegyptius Serapis factus est Christianus). 30 Taking all these considerations into account, Annick Martin offers a reconstruction of the events that can be summarized in the following way. According to this scenario, Rufinus would therefore still offer a reliable source for the identification of the general bulk of the episode, while Socrates may be of help to foreground certain aspects which Rufinus may have intentionally omitted, such as the leading role played by Theophilus: 31 1. Riots in Alexandria between pagans and Christians caused by provocative actions by the latter. 2. Edict of Theodosius ordering the closure of temples.

26 See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 5.16.11, ed. Hansen, GCS N.F. 1, 290. See on this Hahn, “Conversion”, 354–355. 27 See Dijkstra, “Religious violence”, esp. 214–215. 28 See McKenzie, “Reconstructing the Serapeum”, 107–110, who also refers to later sources that hint at both the accessibility of the atrium and the existence of a monumental church building beside it. More problematic, in this way, is Sozomen’s claim that a church has been built inside the temple enclosure. See Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 7.15.10, and Dijkstra, “Religious violence”, 216. 29 Eunapius, Vita Soph. 6.111, ed. R. Goulet, Vies de philosophes et de sophistes, Collection des universités de France 508 (Paris: Ed. Belles Lettres, 2014), 40: Τοῦ δὲ Σεραπείου μόνον τὸ ἔδαφος οὐχ ὑφείλοντο διὰ βάρος τῶν λίθων, οὐ γὰρ ἦσαν εὐμετακίνητοι. 30 Hieronymus, Ep. 107.2, eds. I. Hilberg and S. Reiter, S. Eusebii Hieronymi Opera. Vol. 1,2: Epistulae 71–120, CSEL 55 (New York: Johnson, 1961), 292. In the same passage, Jerome also mentions the destruction of the temple of Marnas in Gaza (eversionem templi). See on this Schwartz, “La fin”, 99. 31 A. Martin, Serapis et les chrétiens d’Alexandrie, 54–55.

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3. As the edict was executed by the civil authorities, Theophilus sets out to destroy the cult statue of Serapis in front of the population. The treasury of the temple is pillaged and its riches used for the construction of the churches on the site of the Serapeum. 4. Rise of the Nile and reassurance of the population (see more on this below). Regardless of the problem of the historical reliability of our sources, I would like to come back to two aspects of Rufinus’s account: the destruction of the Serapis statue and the role assigned to the emperor. In both cases, as I would like to show in the following two sections, Rufinus taps into Christian discourses on paganism that, in his opinion, would help him insert the end of Serapis into the historiographical paradigm set by Eusebius.

8.3 The Downfall of Serapis The appeal and prominence of Rufinus’s account could rely on the fact that his readers were still familiar with the importance the cult of Serapis enjoyed in Alexandria, as he observes at the beginning of his description of the Serapis statue. 32 It is not a coincidence therefore that this event found mention both among pagan and Christian writers such as Eunapius and Jerome respectively. Previous research has also drawn attention to Sophronius’s (lost) work De subversione Serapis, the existence of which is in fact attested by Jerome in his prosopographical treatise on the famous authors of his time. 33 Conjectures about the content of this work, to which Rufinus would have had access during his travels to Egypt, have to remain speculative since they mostly rely on the parallels offered by the accounts of Rufinus and Theodoret. 34 As it seems to me, however, there is also a third witness which deserves to be taken into account in this respect. I am referring to the work of the ninth century historian Georgius Monachus, an admittedly late source, but which has repeatedly attracted the interest of scholarship by virtue of its connections with Rufinus’s Ecclesiastical History. 35 While the chronicle of Georgius Monachus 32 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.23, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1026: Serapis apud Alexandriam templum auditum quidem omnibus puto, plerisque vero etiam notum. 33 Hieronymus, De viris illustribus 134, ed. C. Barthold, Hieronymus. Berühmte Männer (Mülheim/Mosel: Carthusianus-Verl., 2011), 260. 34 This hypothesis has been contemplated or subscribed to by Schwartz, “La fin”, 98–99; Thélamon, Paiens et Chrétiens, 161–162; A. Baldini, “Problemi della tradizione sulla ‘distruzione’ del Serapeo di Alessandria”, Rivista storica dell’Antichità 15 (1985), 97–152, esp. 122– 123, and Martin, “Serapis et les chrétiens d’Alexandrie”, 47. For a hypothetical reconstruction of Sophronius’s work, see Schwartz, “La fin” 110, n. 61. With regard to Theodoret, Martin, “Serapis et les chrétiens d’Alexandrie”, 47, hypothesized that the work of Sophronius must have been circulating in Syria too. 35 See on this D. Afinogenov, “Le manuscript grec Coislin. 305. La version primitive de la

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was commonly supposed to make extensive use of Rufinus’s work (or of a Greek translation thereof), more recent studies have shown that this chronicle has been transmitted in two different recensions, both being penned by the same author within an interval of some thirty years but displaying quite a different choice of sources. The so-called vulgate recension edited by De Boor contains extensive verbatim parallels with Book 11 of Rufinus’s Ecclesiastical History, which quite certainly served as a source for the Byzantine historian. This is not the case, however, for the text of the first recension, which is represented by the manuscript Parisinus Coislinianus 305 (abbreviated as P in De Boor’s edition). 36 One striking characteristic of this earlier version is the fact that the account on the downfall of Serapis shows some manifest similarities or even word for word parallels with the respective sections in Rufinus, displaying at the same time substantial differences from the latter, pointing therefore to the use of a common source between Rufinus, Theodoret, and Georgius Monachus – a source which may or may not be identified with Sophronius’s work. 37 While the word for word parallels are to be found especially in the description of the cult statue of Serapis, Georgius Monachus only briefly mentions its demolition, attributing its responsibility to the Alexandrian bishop. 38 Other than Rufinus and in a similar way as Theodoret, however, the Byzantine historian does not Chronique de Georges le Moine”, Revue des études byzantins 62 (2004), 239–246. Since the connection between Rufinus and Georgius Monachus is also of relevance for the intricate question about the dependency of Rufinus upon Gelasius of Caesarea, I also refer to the introduction to Gelasius, Hist. eccl. eds. Wallraff, Stutz, and Marinides, GCS N.F. 25, lxxiii– lxxviii. 36 See on this Afinogenov, “La version primitive”, esp. 241–242. This earlier version is also represented by a Slavonic translation found in the Letovnik, a Serbian text of the fourteenth century. 37 The question about the relation between the early version of Georgius Monachus’s Chronicle and other witnesses is complicated by the fact that the former also seems to have shortened the text of his sources, leaving several gaps in the narrative flow. In this way, for example, the Byzantine historian, other than Rufinus, directly introduces the section on the machinations installed in the Serapeum by presenting “another kind of deception” (ἐν ᾧ πλάνης εἶδος ἕτερον), without informing the reader about the previous one. 38 See Gregorius Monachus, Chronicon, ed. C. de Boor, vol. 2 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1904), 583–585. The text of P is printed in the footnotes to the relevant section of Mommsen’s edition of Rufinus’s Ecclesiastical History (ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1029). The account offered in this earlier version could be summarized in the following way: demonstration of Theodosius’s piety in ascribing the rise of the Nile to the Christian God, short note on Theophilus’s active role in the destruction of the Serapeum and its transformation into a church; discovery of hieroglyphs inside the temple; description of the temple and the statue of Serapis; destruction of the statue with an axe by Theophilus. In the vulgate recension, this material has been rearranged and at times even expanded. The dependency of Theodoret upon the common source may be evinced by the fact that the Antiochene historian as well casts Theophilus as the main protagonist behind the demolition of the Serapis statue, ordering a bystander with an axe in his hand to strike the statue. See Theodoretus, Hist. eccl. 5.22.4.

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report about the disorders which preceded the destruction of the statue, an event for which Rufinus seems to have had access to other sources or to the memory of direct witnesses. The description of the cult statue of Serapis clearly aimed at the denigration of the pagan god by unmasking the materiality and therefore the inefficacy of its image, as epitomized in Rufinus’s observation that Serapis’s statue is nothing but a “deformed figure put together by metals and woods of all kinds”. 39 The emphasis on the materiality of the statue reveals an apologetic intent, which was quite common in early Christian literature and which in fact is also echoed in Clement of Alexandria’s explanation that the statue of Serapis was commissioned by the king Sesostris and carried out by Bryaxis who worked with different materials. 40 Mareile Haase foregrounded a further aspect of Rufinus’s antipagan polemic, stating that the historian “plays on the cult image’s anthropomorphism” when emphasizing the way Serapis’s statue was torn apart “limb by limb” (membratim) by the mob, eventually also serving as a model for the account on the mutilation of Hypatia’s body in the riots on which Socrates would later report. 41 With a view to the possible associations that Rufinus may have wished to evoke among his readers, there is a further aspect which I would like to dwell on, drawing attention to some parallels which can be observed between Rufinus’s account on the destruction of Serapis’s cult statue and those on the mutilation of imperial images staged in the context of the so-called damnatio memoriae, a phenomenon which has been analyzed as a backdrop for anti-pagan statue destruction by Peter Stewart. 42 The political connotations entailed by this 39 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.23, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1027: Monstrum ex omnibus generibus metallorum lignorumque conpositum. See on this P. Stewart, Statues in Roman Society. Representation and Response, Oxford studies in ancient culture and representation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 59–64, and R. Garland, The Eye of the Beholder: Deformity and Disability in the Graeco-Roman World (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 46–48. On the machinations present in the temple, which Rufinus presents to his readers in order to remind them about the deceitful nature of the pagan cult, see Thélamon, Paiens et chrétiens, 181–185, and H. Fragaki, “Automates et statues merveilleuses dans l’Alexandrie antique”, Journal des Savants 1 (2012), 29–67, here 58–59. 40 Clemens Alexandrinus, Protrepticus 48.5, ed. M. Marcovich, Clementis Alexandrini Protrepticus, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 34 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 74. See on this also B. Caseau, “Rire des Dieux”, in La Derision au Moyen Âge. De la Pratique Sociale au Ritual Politique, eds. É. Crouzet-Pavan and J. Verger (Paris: PUPS, 2007), 117–141, esp. 125–126. 41 M. Haase, “The Shattered Icon: An Alternative Reading of Hypatia’s Killing (Socrates, Hist. eccl. 7.15.5–7, John of Nikiu, Chron. 84.100–103, and Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.23)”, in Hypatia of Alexandria: Her Context and Legacy, eds. D. LaValle Norman, A. Petkas and W. F. Beers, STAC 119 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 87–117, here 101. 42 P. Stewart, “The Destruction of Statues in Late Antiquity”, in Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, ed. R. Miles, Routledge classical monographs (New York: Routledge, 1999), 159–189. With a view to the destruction of the Serapeum, this approach has also been taken up by C. Luckritz Marquis, Death of the Desert. Monastic Memory and the Loss of Egypt’s

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example of manipulation of historical memory are attested to for example by a papyrus document of the third century which decrees the effacement of “the whole memory” (πάσαν μνήμην) of the emperor Geta, hinting therefore at the erasure of all visible or written records. 43 Rufinus’s account of what happened after the emperor’s rescript has been read in front of the crowd presents in fact some interesting similarities with the collective rituals which Peter Stewart identified within literary representations of damnatio memoriae and which could encompass the toppling, mutilation, dragging, and public disposal of imperial images: Thus with repeated strokes he [sc. the soldier] felled the smoke-grimed deity of rotten wood, which, upon being thrown down, burned as easily as dry wood when it was kindled. After this the head was wrenched from the neck and from the bushel, which was discarded, and dragged off, then the feet and the other members were chopped off with axes and dragged apart with ropes attached, and piece by piece, each in a different place, the decrepit dotard was burned to ashes before the eyes of the Alexandrians which worshipped him. Last of all the torso which was left was put to the torch in the amphitheater, and that was the end of the vain superstition and ancient error of Serapis. 44

Instrumental for the scripts followed in the destruction of Serapis’s cult statue and that of imperial images is the principle of substitutability between person/ god and his image, a principle which also finds expression in the anthropomorphism projected onto the image. Among the examples showcasing this analogy, the case of Commodus is particularly instructive. As we read in Cassius Dio, after having been declared a public enemy by Pertinax, the populace “wanted to drag off his body and tear it from limb to limb, as they did do, in fact, with his statues”. 45 Similarly, the Roman historian also portrays those who assaulted Golden Age, Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2022), 77–83. 43 P. 21619, ed. H. Maehler, BGU XI 2056, dated to the year 212. See on this T. Pekáry, Das römische Kaiserbildnis in Staat, Kult und Gesellschaft, Das römische Herrscherbild 3.5 (Berlin: Mann, 1985), 137. While Pekáry, Das römische Kaiserbildnis, 139–142, distinguishes between the “official” damnatio memoriae orchestrated from above and the “spontaneous” forms of statue destruction initiated from below, Stewart, Statues in Roman Society, 269–270, expresses reservations about such categorizations, pointing out that in most instances the crowd acted simultaneously with or even in anticipation of senatorial decrees. 44 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.23, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1028–1029: Inde iterum atque iterum repetens, putris ligni fumosum genium caedit, quodque deiectum, igni adhibito tam facile quam lignum aridum conflagravit. post hoc revulsum cervicibus et depresso modio trahitur caput, tum pedes aliaque membra caesa securibus et rapta funibus distrahuntur, ac per singula loca membratim in conspectu cultricis Alexandriae senex veternosus exuritur. ad ultimum truncus qui superfuerat in anphitheatro concrematur vanaeque superstitionis et erroris antiqui Serapis hic finis fuit. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 468–469. On the different steps involved in the damnatio memoriae, see Stewart, Statues in Roman Society, 272–277. 45 Cassius Dio, Historia Romana 73.2.1, ed. U. P. Boissevain, Cassii Dionis Cocceiani Historiarum Romanarum quae supersunt, vol. 3 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1955), 307; transl. E. Cary, Dio’s Roman history, vol. 9 (London: Heinemann, 2007), 125. See on the archaeological evi-

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Sejanus’s images as if they were attacking the man himself. 46 Among the several limbs to which literary sources pay particular attention, the head (caput) of the statue clearly strikes out, being violently removed from its torso (truncus), signifying therefore in the most brutal way the death of the person or divinity represented by the image. It is not a coincidence that a Christian writer and contemporary of Rufinus like Jerome could employ the connotations of this action in order to visualize the downfall of Beelzebub, the head (caput) of the pagan daemons, and of the various pagan monarchs (principes) under his rule: The most clement God, who has sent death among the heads of the unjust and has tightened the bond around their neck, to our amazement eventually severed the heads of the powerful, so that he first separates the princes from their subjects, as if he removes the head from the body. And where the head has been worse, there he places again the most excellent head. It is as if, when a tyrant is slain, his statues and images are also toppled, and the head is removed and changed only in respect to the face: the victor’s features are placed upon it, so that the body remains and the head is cut off at the front, and another head is put in its place. 47

As has been pointed out by Peter Stewart, these analogies between accounts of iconoclasm and those of mutilation of imperial images have to challenge the modern distinction between “religious” idols on the one hand and “secular” portraits of emperors on the other. 48 An emblematic case in point which showcases the difficulty in differentiating between the two types of images is offered by a graffito in the Via Paisiello hypogeum (probably dating to the late fourth century) which portrays the scene of a statue-destruction in very similar terms as described here by Jerome. The fact that this scene can be read both as an act of Christian iconoclasm and as destruction of an imperial portrait does in fact confirm once more the similarity of connotations entailed by the two actions. 49 As a corollary, literary representations of iconoclasm like that of Rufinus could

dence of such mutilations E. R. Varner, Mutilation and Transformation. Damnatio memoriae and Roman Imperial Portraiture, Monumenta Graeca et Romana 10 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 138– 139. For this and other examples, see Stewart, Statues in Roman Society, 275. 46 See Cassius Dio, Historia Romana 58.11.3. 47 Hieronymus, In Abacuc 2.3.14.16, ed. S. Mantelli, Commentarii in prophetas minores: commentarius in Abacuc, CCL 76A (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018), 87: Deus itaque clementissimus qui miserat in capita iniquorum mortem, qui suscitaverat vincula usque ad collum, in finem dividit etiam capita potentium in stupore, ut primum principes separet a subiectis, et quasi corpus decollet a capite, et ubi caput pessimum fuerat, ibi caput optimum reponatur. Ponamus exemplum, ut quod dicimus manifestius fiat: si quando tyrannus obtruncatur, imagines quoque eius deponuntur, et statuae; et vultu tantummodo commutato, ablatoque capite, eius qui vicerit, facies superponitur, ut manente corpore, capitibusque praecisis, caput aliud commutetur. First part of the translation mine, second part from Stewart, Statues in Roman Society, 281. 48 See Stewart, Statues in Roman Society, 296–298. Among the examples, Rufinus and his account on the downfall of Serapis are not mentioned. 49 See Stewart, Statues in Roman Society, 292–295.

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be employed to greater effect in the measure they succeeded to engage the familiarity of the reader with the political connotations of such scenes. There are elements in Rufinus’s narrative, however, which seem to defy attempts to read the destruction of the image of Serapis in terms of damnatio memoriae, such as the idea that the divinity represented by the image was still alive and therefore able to punish the perpetrators. As we read in Rufinus, for example, the conviction that the pagan divinity was still capable of punishing those attacking his honor remained so deeply rooted in the heads of the Alexandrians as to cause them to believe that the destruction of Serapis’s image would lead to the end of the world. 50 Such fears may also have reflected historical realities. Even if closed or abandoned, temples and cult statues could still be perceived as menacing remnants of the pagan past by certain segments of the Christian population. 51 This should not, however, be seen as an argument against reading Christian statue destruction in the context of late antique practices of damnatio memoriae. As Christine Luckritz Marquis has convincingly argued in her monograph on ascetic violence, mutilation of statuary was not primarily aimed at erasing the memory of the one represented by the image (the emperor or the god), but rather at dishonoring his or her memory. The violence was in fact enacted in such a way as to leave several traces of the defacement of the god’s honor, as attested by the visible signs of mutilation or by the presence of Christian buildings and symbols. 52 In the words of Luckritz Marquis, Theophilus thus intentionally took the necessary measures “to invite the Alexandrian populace to remember to forget Alexandria’s pagan past.” 53 The stronger the remaining power of the ancient gods to defy the attempt to control the memory of the pagan past, the more active was the act of forgetting. In the particular case of Egypt, the lingering power of the ancient gods was inevitably linked with the fear that they could still encroach on the rise of the Nile, which has always served as the lifeline of the country. One may sense the fears of Alexandria’s Christians when Rufinus reassures the reader that also in the aftermath of the destruction of the statue, God gave proof of his power by initiating a “succession of floods as never before recorded”. 54 This caused the See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.23. See Caseau, “Rire”, 134; D. Frankfurter, “Iconoclasm and Christianization in Late Antique Egypt”, in From Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 163 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 135–159, here 140, and Kristensen, “Christian Responses”, 160. 52 See Luckritz Marquis, Death of the Desert, 74–77, with reference to L. H. Petersen, “The Presence of ‘Damnatio Memoriae’ in Roman Art”, Source: Notes in the History of Art 30 (2011), 1–8. 53 Luckritz Marquis, Death of the Desert, 83. 54 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.30, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1035: Sed ut ostenderet Deus non Serapin, qui multo erat Nilo posterior, sed se esse, qui aquas fluminis temporibus suis iuberet excrescere, tanta ex eo et deinceps fuit inundatio, quantam fuisse prius aetas nulla meminerat. 50 51

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amazement of the emperor who therefore offered thanks to Christ for having shown that the demolition of Alexandria’s most important shrine had caused no harm to the city. 55 The dismissal of such fears also served the purpose of addressing the halting faith of newly converted Christians or even of rebutting objections made by pagan writers. Such were brought forward for example by Libanius in his attempt to impress Theodosius by reminding him, in his famous oration on the preservation of temples, about the vital function of Serapis in ensuring the annual floods. 56 Since by the time of writing the temple of Serapis was still standing, the orator could still express his desire that it would not share the same fate as many other shrines in the countryside that were attacked by Christian zealots. 57 At the same time, the context of Libanius’s plea for the preservation of the pagan shrines does not fail to display an underlying political message, in particular when assimilating the violence against temples to the violation of the authority of the emperor. 58 Since Theodosius himself would warrant for their physical integrity through his decrees, he would eventually override the law itself by failing to curb the behavior of Christian zealots, resembling nothing but the figure of a tyrant. 59 It goes without saying that Rufinus’s presentation of an emperor who ordered the destruction of the pagan statues and thus invested his authority for the suppression of the traditional cult stands in stark contrast to the ideals advocated by Libanius. But Rufinus also employs a different strategy in order to make his point. While in fact both Libanius and Rufinus cast the role of the emperor as being instrumental for the outcome of the conflict 55 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.30. Georgius Monachus gives a similar but slightly different version of the story, claiming that the Nile did in fact fail to flood the land. Yet, since the emperor remained firm in his faith, God eventually rewarded his loyalty by causing the Nile to rise anew (ed. De Boor, 585). Because this version is more elaborate than the one presented by Rufinus, it again supports the hypothesis of a shared source. On the Christianization of the cult surrounding the annual rise of the Nile, see D. Bonneau, La crue du Nil. Divinité égyptienne. À travers mille ans d’histoire (332 av.–641 ap. J.-C.). D’après les auteurs grecs et latins, et les documents des époques ptolémaïque, romaine et byzantine, Études et commentaires 52 (Paris: Klincksieck, 1964), 421–439. 56 See Libanius, Or. 30.35, ed. H.-G. Nesselrath, Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht und Toleranz. Libanios’ Rede für den Erhalt der heidnischen Tempel, Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam REligionemque pertinentia 18 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 42–91, here 62. The theme of the utility of the pagan gods is also attested in later pagan writers such as Olympiodorus and Zosimus. See on this W. Treadgold, “The Diplomatic Career and Historical Work of Olympiodorus of Thebes”, in Studies in Byzantine Cultural History. Warren Treadgold, eds. B.-P. Maleon and A.-E. Maleon, Florilegium magistrorum historiae archaeologiaeque 19 (Bucarest: Editura Academiei Române, 2015), 125–153, here 151–152. 57 See Libanius, Or. 30.44. 58 Libanius, Or. 30.8 and 30.50, ed. Nesselrath, Für Religionsfreiheit, 46.72. 59 See on this in particular H.-U. Wiemer, “Kaiser und Kaisertum bei Libanios”, in Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht und Toleranz. Libanios’ Rede für den Erhalt der heidnischen Tempel, eds. H.-G. Nesselrath et al., Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam REligionemque pertinentia 18 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 127–158, here 147–148.

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between pagans and Christians, and while Libanius resorts to a juridical argumentation, the narrative script related to accounts on demolition of imperial statues allowed Rufinus to associate the end of paganism with the rule of Theodosius. This latter aspect should be deepened in the next and last section of this chapter.

8.4 Theodosius’s Law The account of the Alexandrian riots lays out the narrative frame with which Rufinus inserts the downfall of Serapis and the end of paganism in Egypt into the historiographical narrative of Book 11. As we mentioned above, the report about the violence between pagans and Christians does not seem to have been drawn from Sophronius’s work. It may rather be Rufinus’s very own creation, or at least it was accessible to him through the oral testimony of his informants. It has been pointed out that Rufinus conflated more than one incident into a single narrative. In particular, some of the details bear striking resemblances with the account on the violence of the year 358 that was provoked by the decision of Alexandria’s bishop George to parade the cult objects found in the former Mithreum, in this way causing the pagans to rush on the Christians with swords and stones. However, such a redundancy is rather caused by Sozomen, who reports the incident, while Rufinus omits it in the relevant section. 60 This brings us to ask how far the question of the internal coherence of Rufinus’s translation/continuation of Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History might also serve for discerning the associative meanings in his account of the downfall of Serapis, focusing in particular on the role of the Roman emperors in the context of the conflict between Christianity and paganism. Rufinus presents the disorders that “broke out against the church” as an exceptional event, being introduced to the reader as a renewal of long-forgotten anti-Christian violence “contrary to the faith of the times”. 61 While this assessment may in fact reflect the perspective of a church historian writing at a remove of almost one hundred years from the end of the persecutions, it remains striking that Rufinus offers relatively scant information on the key events which marked the demise of paganism and the rise of Christianity under Constantine. 60 See Schwartz, “La fin”, 101, and Martin, “Serapis et les chrétiens d’Alexandrie”, 45. For the account, see Sozomenus, Hist. eccl. 5.7.5–7. Baldini, “La distruzione del Serapeo”, 130– 131, is right in pointing out that “quanto narrato nel cap. 22 di Rufino non può essere considerato duplicazione interna, poiché la sua Storia Ecclesiastica non ha nulla di simile nella parte su Giuliano, che pure costituisce polo negativo di attenzione”. 61 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.22, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1025: Interea apud Alexandriam novi motus et contra temporum fidem adversum ecclesiam concitantur. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 462.

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As it is known, for example, the Latin version of Eusebius’s tenth book omits the so-called Edict of Milan. 62 But it also bypasses symbolically important texts such as the panegyric for the consecration of the church at Tyre in which Eusebius praises God for having caused the Roman emperors to “spit on the face of the dead gods” and “ridicule the old deceit inherited from the fathers”. 63 In a similar vein, Rufinus in his continuation does not report about the antipagan measures which Constantine took against the temple of Aphrodite at Aphaca or against the cult practices performed at Heliopolis in Phoenicia, all of which were documented by Eusebius’s Life of Constantine and later mentioned by Socrates and Sozomen. 64 In those cases where Rufinus reports about the demolition of pagan shrines, such information remains secondary to the main intent of the respective narratives, as is the case with the demolition of the Venus-temple in Jerusalem in the context of the finding of the Cross. 65 In another instance, the account on the demolition of a temple on the island of the Nile and the construction of a church at its place is preceded by the conversion of the daughter of the priest at the hand of monks sent into exile to that island. 66 Such stories seem to be motivated by Rufinus’s intention of showcasing the superiority of the Christian God over the false gods of paganism but do not necessarily serve the purpose of referring to a state of general decline of paganism, as can be evinced from the fact that similar episodes are also placed prior to Constantine’s conversion. This is the case with one of Rufinus’s most significant additions to Eusebius’s original work, namely the longer excursus on the miraculous deeds of Gregory the Wonderworker, which he inserted in Book 7 and which reports about the miraculous silencing of Apollo by Gregory and the conversion of the priest at his temple. 67 In contrast to this, the episode involving 62 For a discussion on Rufinus’s additions and omissions, see M. Humphries, “Rufinus’s Eusebius: Translation, Continuation, and Edition in the Latin Ecclesiastical History”, JECS 16 (2008), 143–164, here 155. 63 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 10.4.16, ed. E. Schwartz, Eusebius Werke 2,1–3, GCS N.F. 6.1–3 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 21999), 867–868: Ὥστε ἤδη, ὃ μηδὲ ἄλλοτέ πω, τοὺς πάντων ἀνωτάτω βασιλέας ἧς λελόγχασι παρ’ αὐτοῦ τιμῆς συνῃσθημένως νεκρῶν μὲν εἰδώλων καταπτύειν προσώποις, πατεῖν δ’ ἄθεσμα δαιμόνων θέσμια καὶ παλαιᾶς ἀπάτης πατροπαραδότου καταγελᾶν, ἕνα δὲ αὐτὸν μόνον θεὸν τὸν κοινὸν ἁπάντων καὶ ἑαυτῶν εὐεργέτην γνωρίζειν Χριστόν τε τοῦ θεοῦ παῖδα παμβασιλέα τῶν ὅλων ὁμολογεῖν σωτῆρά τε αὐτὸν ἐν στήλαις ἀναγορεύειν, ἀνεξαλείπτῳ μνήμῃ τὰ κατορθώματα καὶ τὰς κατὰ τῶν ἀσεβῶν αὐτοῦ νίκας μέσῃ τῇ βασιλευούσῃ τῶν ἐπὶ γῆς πόλει βασιλικοῖς χαρακτῆρσι προσεγγράφοντας. See on this Stewart, Statues in Roman Society, 296, and, for a discussion of the rhetorical qualities of this text, C. Smith, “Christian Rhetoric in Eusebius’ Panegyric at Tyre”, Vigiliae Christianae 43 (1989), 226–247. 64 See Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.51–58, ed. Winkelmann, GCS 7, 105–111. For a tabular overview on reports of temple destructions transmitted by ancient church historians from Eusebius to Sozomen, see Gotter, “Tempelzerstörungen”, 87. 65 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 10.7–8. 66 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.4. 67 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 7.28.2. On this, see S. Mitchell, “The Life and Lives of Gregory

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the arson of Apollo’s temple in Daphne during the visit of the emperor Julian would have fit in well with Rufinus’s intent to exemplify the decline of paganism after the conversion of Constantine, if he had wished so. Instead, the church historian only mentions the emperor’s order to remove Babylas’s tomb from the precinct of the temple (which in later accounts of the event led to the arson of the building). 68 These and other editorial decisions have to be understood also against the background of the general composition and aim of Rufinus’s work. As Mark Humphries has pointed out, the two main aspects of his composition, namely that of being a translation and continuation of Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History, have to be regarded as a unity, or better, as “integral parts of a single endeavor”. 69 This also means, as a corollary, that the way Rufinus arranged the transition between Eusebius’s original work and his own continuation also allowed for a different conclusion from that provided by Eusebius, now casting Theodosius as “a true champion of Christianity”. 70 The prominent role of Theodosius’s reign is made manifest by the convergence of two trajectories. On the one hand, the Nicene faith could finally hold sway thanks to the emperor’s decision to restore contended church buildings to the Catholics. 71 On the other hand, “the worship of idols, which, following upon Constantine’s initiative, had begun to be neglected and demolished, collapsed during his reign”, as manifested in the end of Serapis’s cult. 72 The fact that with the exception of Julian all Roman emperors defended the Christian faith against paganism, does not seem to have hindered Rufinus from creating a narrative about a church that continued to be under attack before the reign of Theodosius. Quite on the contrary, the absence of persecutions and the lack of threats coming from without Christianity provided a negative foil against which Thaumaturgus”, in Portraits of Spiritual Authority. Religious Power in Early Christianity, Byzantium and the Christian Orient, eds. J. W. Drijvers and J. W. Watt, Religions in the GraecoRoman World 137 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 99–138, and Humphries, “Rufinus’s Eusebius”, 160– 161. 68 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 10.36–37. 69 Humphries, “Rufinus’s Eusebius”, 163. On Rufinus’s translation and continuation of Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History, see now also M. J. Hollerich, Making Christian History. Eusebius of Caesarea and his Readers, Christianity in Late Antiquity 11 (Oakland: University of California Press, 2021), 56–59. 70 Humphries, “Rufinus’s Eusebius”, 156. 71 See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.19. As Rufinus admits when referring to the issue of the Meletian schism in Antioch, however, the victory of the Catholic faith did not put an end to internal divisions. See Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 10.21. On the importance of Rufinus’s Ecclesiastical History for the establishment of a “Nicene historiography”, see T. C. Ferguson, The Past is Prologue. The Revolution of Nicene Historiography, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 75 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), esp. 81–96. 72 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.19, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1023: Idolorum cultus, qui Constantini institutione et deinceps neglegi et destrui coeptus fuerat, eodem imperante conlapsus est. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 460.

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to present the attacks launched against the Nicene faith from within as the main theme of his continuation. In the opening lines of Book 10 and with a view to the situation in Alexandria, for example, Rufinus laments that soon after the end of the persecutions, “the favorable state of our affairs was upset by a disagreement among us”, suggesting therefore a continuity between the earlier persecutions and the doctrinal conflicts excited by the heretics. 73 This notwithstanding, at the end of the fourth century, paganism was far from being obliterated. Readers in the Western part of the empire were certainly able to recognize the political connotations created by the pagan insurrection in Alexandria insofar as they may still have remembered the short-lived hopes for a revival of the traditional cult fostered by the usurpation of the throne by Flavius Eugenius. This crisis and the miraculous intervention in favor of Theodosius offered a welcomed opportunity for the historian to link the defeat of the usurper with the faith of the emperor, who “put his stock not so much in arms and weapons as in fasts and prayers”. 74 In a similar way, the account on the end of paganism in the Egyptian capital extols the emperor for his Christian virtues, being “more inclined to correct than to destroy the errant because of his great clemency”, therefore also referring to the decree which he issued in order to shut down the pagan temples. 75 Although reflecting Rufinus’s idiosyncratic interpretation of the events, such a claim still has some historical value insofar as it echoes defined expectations expressed by ecclesiastical writers towards imperial legislation with respect to its alleged purpose in promoting the advance of Christianity. Because of their importance in documenting the religious transformations of the fourth century, the so-called anti-pagan edicts emanated by the Roman emperors have been discussed from different angles. Although some of the issues at stake remain highly contested to this day, it has nonetheless become 73 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 10.1, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 960: Cum apud Alexandriam post Achillan, qui Petro martyri successerat, Alexander sacerdotium suscepisset, quia pax nostris et quies a persecutionibus erat atque ecclesiarum gloria confessorum meritis gaudebat, prosperitas rerum nostrarum domestica contentione turbatur. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 379. 74 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.33, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1037: Igitur praeparatur ad bellum non tam armorum telorumque quam ieiuniorum orationumque subsidiis. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 479.On this event and its reception by Rufinus and other contemporary writers, see A. Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 93–131, and T. Fuhrer, “Rufins Historia Ecclesiastica: ‘Geschichte’ und Geschichten von Kämpfen und Siegen der Orthodoxie”, in Die Welt des Sokrates von Konstantinopel. Studien zu Politik, Religion und Kultur im späten 4. und frühen 5. Jh. n. Chr.; zu Ehren von Christoph Schäublin, eds. B. Bäbler und H.-G. Nesselrath (München: Saur, 2001), 60–70. 75 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 10.22, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1026: Ille, qui ingenita mentis clementia errantes mallet emendare quam perdere, rescribit illorum quidem vindictam, quos ante aras sanguis fusus martyres fecit, non esse poscendam, in quibus dolorem interitus superaverit gloria meritorum. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 464. As Martin, “Serapis et les chrétiens d’Alexandrie”, 46, has suggested, this image may be seen as an echo of Julian’s clemency which he displayed after the murder of George by a mob in Alexandria in 361.

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clear that the extant edicts at hand do not reflect any visible intention of the Roman emperors to eradicate paganism altogether. While it is certainly true that the scope and nature of the measures addressed against traditional cult practices varied in time, the main concerns of such interventions were the most problematic aspects of the traditional cults such as magical practices and blood sacrifices. For this reason also, the two edicts of the year 391, which we already mentioned above, reiterated the content of previous decrees. 76 Most importantly, they were driven by the intention to limit and curb religious violence. Because of their situational character, the laws were embedded within a communicative “process of petition and response” that in fact provided the emperor with an instrument by which to adjust to the expectations of his Christian subjects without allowing matters, however, to get out of hand. In this way, the edicts also proved instrumental in reminding “freelance Christian enforcers” about the necessity of safeguarding the physical integrity of temples. 77 We just need to recall Libanius’s denigratory words about Christian monks “clothed in black” (μελανειμονοῦντες) who would roam the countryside pillaging and looting the temples, acting in this way against the authority of the laws and of the emperor himself. 78 One of the main rationales behind efforts to preserve pagan shrines consisted in their aesthetic value, as documented by a law from the year 382 which al76 See on this M. Hebblewhite, Theodosius and the Limits of Empire (London: Routledge, 2020), 117–118. For a discussion on the evolution of anti-pagan legislation, see Shaw, Sacred Violence, 222–235, foregrounding the impact these laws had on religious conflicts in North Africa. On the contested question as to whether the ban on sacrifices can already be attested for Constantine, see, among others, S. Bradbury, “Constantine and the Problem of Anti-Pagan Legislation in the Fourth Century”, Classical philology 98 (1994), 120–139, and O. Behrends, “Libanius’ Rede Pro Templis in rechtshistorischer Sicht”, in Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht und Toleranz. Libanios’ Rede für den Erhalt der heidnischen Tempel, eds. H.-G. Nesselrath et al., Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam REligionemque pertinentia 18 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 95–126, here 117–125, focusing in particular on Libanius’s claim that Roman emperors would have continued to allow incense sacrifices. For further aspects, see Lizzi Testa, “La politica religiosa”; M. R. Salzman, “‘Superstitio’ in the ‘Codex Theodosianus’ and the Persecution of Pagans”, Vigiliae Christianae 41 (1987), 172–188; idem, “The Evidence for the Conversion of the Roman Empire to Christianity in Book 16 of the ‘Theodosian Code’”, Historia: Zeitschrift für alte Geschichte 42 (1993), 362–378; D. Hunt, “Christianising the Roman Empire: The Evidence of the Code”, in The Theodosian Code. Studies in the Imperial Law of Late Antiquity, eds. J. Harries and I. Wood (London: Bristol Classical Press, 2010), 143–158; R. MacMullen, Christianizing the Roman Empire (A.D. 100–400) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 86–101, and idem, Christianity and Paganism in the Fourth to Eighth Century (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), 32–73. 77 Shaw, Sacred Violence, 223–224. It has to be observed, as a side note, that there were also less dramatic factors which exposed temples to looting and vandalism, among which was the simple lack of interest in preserving public buildings, especially in smaller towns. See H. Saradi-Mendelovici, “Christian Attitudes toward Pagan Monuments in Late Antiquity and Their Legacy in Later Byzantine Centuries”, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44 (1990), 47–61, here 51. 78 Libanius, Or. 30.8 and 30.50, ed. Nesselrath, Für Religionsfreiheit, 46.72.

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lowed a temple in the city of Osroene in Mesopotamia to remain open by virtue of its decorative function. Warning against any attempt to infringe on previous imperial decrees, this law also had to tackle a problem that undermined the authority of the emperor himself, namely the surreptitious procuration of rescripts which would allegedly legitimize violent actions. 79 Similarly, a law from the year 399 addressed to the vicars of Spain and southern Gaul dealt with the problem of acts of vandalism committed on behalf of “some authority”. 80 Regardless of the specific circumstances to which these two edicts refer, they do in any case point to the ability of Christian leaders to manipulate the procedural mechanisms in their favor. With regard to Alexandria and the destruction of the Serapeum, it has already been speculated whether Theophilus could have “acquired wind of the law” which had been issued for the city of Rome some months earlier (CTh 16.10.10), pressing therefore the imperial court into formulating a rescript for Alexandria as well, of which CTh 16.10.11 would be the result. 81 That Theophilus could boast of privileged access to official channels of communication and that this would have enabled him to carry such an edict like a monstrance in front of him is what Socrates himself seems to assume when he mentions an edict which would have allowed the bishop to proceed to the destruction of Alexandria’s shrines. A further problem entailed by the production of legislative texts is that of their possible misinterpretations or even distortions. While, in fact, imperial decrees aimed at the removal of “the specific element in the temples that was at the heart of their sacral nature”, ill-intentioned Christian zealots could easily understand such proclamations as responding to their wish to eradicate any visible sign of paganism altogether. 82 At the same time, the execution of imperial orders continued to be connected with the danger of violence. This may explain after all why certain laws also had to explicitly warn against any use of 79 CTh 16.10.8, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 436: Aedem olim frequentiae dedicatam coetui et iam populo quoque communem, in qua simulacra feruntur posita artis pretio quam divinitate metienda iugiter patere publici consilii auctoritate decernimus neque huic rei obreptiuum officere sinimus oraculum. On the preservation of statues by virtue of their aesthetic value, see Y. Thomas, “Les ornements, la cité, le patrimoine”, in Images romaines. Actes de la table ronde, organisée à l’École normale supérieure (24–26 octobre 1996), eds. F. Dupont and C. Auvray-Assayas, Études de littérature ancienne 9 (Paris: Presses de l’École Normale Supérieure, 1998), 263–284; C. M. D’Annoville, “Rome and Imagery in Late Antiquity. Perception and Use of Statues”, in Pagans and Christians in Late Antique Rome. Conflict, Competition, and Coexistence in the Fourth Century, eds. M. R. Salzman, M. Sághy and R. Lizzi Testa (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 343–357, esp. 347–351, and A. Bravi, Griechische Kunstwerke im politischen Leben Roms und Konstantinopels, KLIO 21 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 253–256 and 280–282. 80 CTh 16.10.15, eds. Mommsen and Rougé, SC 497, 450: Ac ne sibi aliqua auctoritate blandiantur, qui ea conantur evertere, si quod rescriptum, si qua lex forte praetenditur. 81 M. R. Errington, “Christian Accounts of the Religious Legislation of Theodosius I”, KLIO 79 (1997), 398–443, here 427, n. 145. 82 Shaw, Sacred Violence, 227.

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physical coercion, such as, for example, the edict of the year 399, which prescribed the dismantling of temples of the countryside, admonishing its addressee, however, to make sure to enact this order without throngs and disorder. 83 By ordering the closure of Alexandria’s temples, the edict addressed to Evagrius and Romanus also served the purpose of reminding the inhabitants of the city that the emperor was not intentioned to go beyond the measures adopted in previous decades against paganism. This can also be understood as an attempt to again provide legal certainty in those provinces where the actions of the former Praetorian Prefect of the East, Maternus Cynegius, were held accountable for the escalation of violence against pagans, as Libanius decries in his speech addressed to Theodosius. 84 Against this background, the wording of the edict mentioned by Rufinus or any other law of similar content could hardly provide the Christians of Alexandria with a legitimation of their violent actions. On the contrary, pagan writers were still able to claim the contrary, such as is the case for the aforementioned Eunapius, who accused the official representatives Evagrius and Romanus for not having complied with their duty of safeguarding the public order, not conducting themselves as befitted their office: These warlike and honorable men, after they had thrown everything into confusion and disorder and had thrust out hands, unstained indeed by blood but not pure from greed, boasted that they had overcome the gods, and reckoned their sacrilege and impiety a thing to glory in. 85

The positive role attributed by Rufinus (and Sozomen) to these two officials runs therefore contrary to the interpretation given by Eunapius. While the latter follows the argument brought forward by Libanius, blaming the Christians for their irrational behavior, Rufinus puts into reverse the accusation claiming that the imperial rescript would confirm the idea that paganism itself is “the cause of the evils and the roots of the discord”. 86 What we can observe, in other words, is an attempt by the Latin church historian to cast the downfall of Serapis as a vignette revealing the proper function that imperial legislation was supposed to fulfill in securing not only the privileged access of Christianity to power but also the peace and unity of the empire. 83

See CTh 16.10.16. See Libanius, Or. 30.44–47, and Hebblewhite, Limits of Empire, 114–115. 85 Eunapius, Vita Soph. 6.111, ed. Goulet, Vies de philosophes 40: Οἱ πολεμικώτατοι καὶ γενναῖοι, καὶ τὰς χεῖρας ἀναιμάκτους μέν, οὐκ ἀφιλοχρημάτους δὲ προτείναντες, τούς τε θεοὺς ἔφασαν νενικηκέναι καὶ τὴν ἱεροσυλίαν καὶ τὴν ἀσέβειαν εἰς ἔπαινον σφῶν αὐτῶν κατελογίζοντο. Transl. W. C. Wright, Philostratus and Eunapius: The Lives of the Sophists, LCL (London: Heinemann, 1922), 423. 86 Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 11.22, ed. Mommsen, GCS N.F. 6, 1026: De cetero vero malorum causam radicesque discordiae, quae pro simulacrorum defensione veniebant, penitus debere succidi, quibus exterminatis etiam bellorum causa pariter conquiesceret. Transl. Amidon, Rufinus of Aquileia, 464. 84

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Although later church historians like Socrates disapproved of some of Rufinus’s chronological choices or doubted the accuracy of some of his accounts, the latter continued to provide later generations of historians with invaluable information on the developments of the fourth century, information which was then accommodated to the methodology and general narrative of the respective historians. The Serapeum incident was no exception to that. While his account on the end of paganism in Alexandria was echoed by Sozomen and to a certain degree also by Theodoret, it was also challenged by alternative versions that could boast of firsthand witnesses, as was the case for Socrates. Such a credential may have eventually been a decisive factor behind the decision of the compilers of the Historia Tripartita at the outset of Late Antiquity to use Socrates’s version for the general bulk of the narrative on the end of paganism in Alexandria. 87

8.5 Conclusion In this chapter, the rise of ecclesiastical historiography as a new genre within early Christian literature offered the opportunity to look at how an episode of religious violence was recounted within a communicative context that, on the one hand, was divorced from the imminent historical context in which the reported event took place, and, on the other hand, was provided by the transmission of historical knowledge itself. The Serapeum incident and its coverage by Rufinus and his successors offer a valuable case study in this respect. The heterogeneous character of his documentation on the end of paganism in the Egyptian capital intertwines narratives with different backgrounds, creating therefore new associative meanings that would be understood by the readers. Most importantly, the riot which shook the city and which ended with the mutilation of Egypt’s foremost God, provided a narrative frame with which to interpret the decline of paganism in the context of a Christian empire, and with which to continue Eusebius’s historiographical legacy.

87 Cassiodorus, Historia tripartita 9.27–29, ed. R. Hanslik, Cassiodori-Epiphanii historia ecclesiastica tripartita: historiae ecclesiasticae ex Socrate Sozomeno et Theodorito in unum collectae et nuper de Graeco in Latinum translatae libri numero duodecim, CSEL 71 (Wien: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1952), 536–540. Theodoret’s report about the destruction of the Serapis statue has been sandwiched in between.

9. Conclusion As this book attempted to show in its individual chapters, episodes of collective violence were in many respects productive rather than destructive events. They originated rhetorical performances in which some of the core values of Roman society were debated, contested, and eventually also stabilized and perpetuated. The rhetorical performances and their different actors that were in the focus of this book, ranging from embassy speeches to historiography, provided a set of meaningful resources with which the political order of Rome could strip off the detrimental consequences that a “state of emergency” would have provoked, thus repeatedly proving its resilience and reliability in times of crisis. It is against the background of this “paradigm of normality” that late antique sources cast and interpreted the momentary upheaval of the social order. At the same time, one must not forget that the texts that were discussed in this book owe their existence to a process of literary production and transmission, whose purpose was also to transcend the “fickle effect of a rhetorical event”. 1 This aspect in particular has been foregrounded in more recent scholarship on ancient rhetoric, which has seen a movement from the study of rhetoric as a mere phenomenon of eloquence to its perception as an integral part of the literary production of Roman culture. As a consequence, rhetoric has to be envisaged as “a launching point to investigate other aspects of the ancient world which it influenced.” 2 This is also what this book attempted to do in its different parts, looking at how riots, through their literary representations, affected the political and religious discourses of the fourth century. In order to gather the most important insights in this respect and being aware of the risk of oversimplification, I would like to individuate three different perspectives offered by the topics discussed in this book. I) It is first of all recommendable to engage in some reflection on the conceptual framing within which episodes of collective violence are presented by ancient and late antique narratives. In particular, the sources that were in the focus of See on this in particular, Fox, “Rhetoric and Literature”, here 370. For the following assessment and a discussion of several trends within modern scholarly research on ancient rhetoric, see J. Dugan, “Modern Critical Approaches to Roman Rhetoric”, in A Companion to Roman Rhetoric, eds. W. Dominik et al. (Malden [MA]: Blackwell, 2007), 9– 22, here 16. 1 2

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the individual chapters interpreted the problem of collective violence within the dichotomy of stasis and homonoia. The former concept, as we saw, did not necessarily refer to the manifestation of physical violence, but rather served the rhetorical function of denoting a specific threat: to the public order and the concord of the state, and – in the context of doctrinal conflicts – to the unity of the Church. As suggested by the orations of Dio Chrysostom or Aristides, longstanding tropes on the riotous character of the crowd owed much to the conventions of ancient rhetoric and to the classism or elitism of its adepts. This threat could even be presented as inherent to the very nature of political life. One of the most important consequences of this dichotomy, however, is that it allowed the respective orators to read and interpret communitarian conflicts in moralistic terms, thus connecting their speeches with the expectation of a moral reform. While it is true that the accounts on collective violence placed much emphasis on the irrational nature of crowd violence, qualifying it as “madness”, orators such as Libanius could still premise the assumption that their appeals to concord will be accepted by the audience. At the same time, the moral or ethical character of the “rhetoric of concord” could also be integrated into the political communication between the monarch and his subjects and provide an appealing argument for unity in times of crisis, as the analysis of Constantine’s letter to Alexander and Arius pointed out. In fact, the resilience and argumentative appeal that the concept of homonoia could display in the context of tenacious doctrinal conflicts also transpire in one of the letters that Constantius sent to Alexandria in order to instruct the Christian population about the proper way to receive Athanasius back from one of his many exiles: Having received him with your usual and becoming courtesy, and constituted him the assistant of your prayers to God, exert yourselves to maintain at all times, according to the ecclesiastical canon, concord (ὁμόνοιαν) and peace, which will be alike honorable to yourselves, and grateful to us. For it is unreasonable that any dissension (διχόνοιαν) or faction (στάσιν) should be excited among you, hostile to the prosperity of our times; and we trust that such a misfortune will be wholly removed from you. 3

As I tried to show in the section on Constantine and the Arian dispute, the imperial politics had to face some substantial shortcomings or dysfunctionalities in applying the language of concord to the resolution of doctrinal conflicts. While the emperor lodged his appeal to concord on the premise that doctrinal differences may live side by side on account of their common reference to a higher truth, he misconceived the idiosyncrasies of the heresiological discourse 3 Athanasius, Ap. c. Ar. 55.2–3, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 135: Τοῦτον συνήθως καὶ προσηκόντως ὑποδεξάμενοι καὶ ταῖς πρὸς θεὸν εὐχαῖς βοηθὸν προστησάμενοι τὴν ὑμῖν τε πρέπουσαν καὶ ἡμῖν ἀρίστην ὁμόνοιαν καὶ εἰρήνην κατὰ τὸν τῆς ἐκκλησίας θεσμὸν διαρκῆ φυλάττειν σπουδάσατε. οὐδὲ γὰρ εὔλογόν ἐστι διχόνοιάν τινα ἢ στάσιν ἐν ὑμῖν κινηθῆναι ὑπεναντίον τῆς τῶν ἡμετέρων καιρῶν εὐμοιρίας. The letter is also quoted by Socrates, Hist. eccl. 2.23.49–56, the translation of which (Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 52) I here refer to.

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that already shaped the Arian conflict. It goes without saying that Athanasius had an important share in this development, as he presents the disputes with his adversaries as a conflict between the defenders and adversaries of the Nicene faith, casting himself as its foremost advocate. Later writers such as Ambrose and Pseudo-Martyrius will also find this opposition useful for their argumentation in their conflicts with the imperial court, converting in this way charges of disruptive behavior into claims of truth. In the case of the Milanese bishop, past scholarship has already noticed more than once that, contrary to what the bishop would like to suggest, the conflict over Milan’s churches was not a dispute between orthodoxy and heresy, but rather touched on questions of practical or ceremonial nature. In the opinion of the anonymous author of the Oratio funebris for John Chrysostom, on the other hand, true peace could only manifest in the communion of the people of Constantinople with the deposed bishop, as if this communion were to substitute the loyalty to Christ during times of persecution, thus legitimizing the schism that the imperial court and the official church wanted to heal. In the respective sources at hand, the heresiological and martyrological discourses thus obfuscated many of the characteristics that shaped the religious landscape of late antique cities. One may expect that a larger part of the Christian population did not necessarily align with one of the two or more contending groups. In order to secure peace, it may have sufficed in many cases for the authorities to install their own candidates in the relevant ecclesiastic positions of the city. In some rare, but significant cases, this can be concluded from those very texts that adopt a clearly biased perspective on the events on which they report. We see, for example, the Historia Arianorum admitting that during Athanasius’s exile, “many people” (πολλοί) readily defected to the other side, reassuring its readers that this happened only “outwardly”, in order not to suffer persecution, while remaining “inwardly” loyal to their bishop. 4 Another interesting note in this respect is offered by the aforementioned funerary oration for John Chrysostom, in which we learn about the plan of the authorities to drive a wedge between the banned bishop and the Christians of Constantinople by entrusting the liturgy “to those in the middle”, hoping therefore to choose the path of least resistance. 5 When read against the grain, the accounts discussed in this book can be seen as instructing their readers on the necessity to position themselves in favor of one of the conflicting parties, whose struggles are being related to in the account. This intention reflects, in a certain way, a similar motivation to that of catechetical and homiletical writings that were meant to promote the above 4 Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 27.2, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 197–198: Πολλοὶ καὶ τῶν μὴ προαιρέσει, ἀλλ’ ἀνάγκῃ μετὰ τῶν Ἀρειανῶν ὄντες ἐρχόμενοι. Transl. Flower, Imperial Invectives, 62. 5 Ps.-Martyrius, Oratio funebris 89, eds. Wallraff and Ricci, 144.

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mentioned “heresiological ethos”. At the same time, they also went beyond this function. While catechetical homilies aimed at the instruction of ordinary Christians on proper norms of conduct with respect to the orthodox teaching, in view of avoiding contact and contamination with foreign doctrines, the narrative accounts that have been in the focus of this study also provided the readers with the certainty that the use of violence has already unmasked the false pretentions of the theological adversaries. This was eventually also meant to reassure the audience that only communion with the orthodox bishop could eventually warrant peace. This last claim may be epitomized in the way Athanasius himself presented to his readers the behavior of Alexandria’s population at his return from exile: Both the clergy and the laity gathered on his way to escort him into the city, young men and single women, overwhelmed by the spectacle, consecrated themselves to monastic life, the residents of the city “roused each other to virtue”, so that “one would believe every household and every home to be a church because of its inhabitants”. Consequently, as Athanasius concludes, “there was a profound and marvellous peace in the churches.” 6 Within the boundaries of this dichotomous discourse, there was not much room left in order to accommodate an ideal in which the common good of public safety was as important a factor as the search for doctrinal soundness. Such considerations fit well with the conclusions reached by scholarly discourse on the phenomenon of religious violence in Late Antiquity, which contributed much to a better understanding of how militant behavior became a “crucial resource for communal self-fashioning among early Christians”. 7 This is not to say, however, that all ecclesiastical writers of the fourth century espoused a similar stance on the defense of orthodoxy. On the contrary, Gregory of Nazianz, for instance, although championing the (neo)Nicene faith, left ample space in his sermons to his warnings against the dangers entailed by overzealous behavior, and he did so while having in mind as a point of reference the very ideal of concord, which in his homilies is presented in a Christian lore and even as emanating from his own Trinitarian theology. Writing in the fifth century but still remaining an indispensable source for the church history of the fourth century, Socrates of Constantinople also appears to be more sympathetic towards the intrinsic value of concord as a normative factor within the doctrinal disputations. As has been pointed out, “Socrates’s conviction that disputation was the chief cause of Christian theological 6 Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 25, ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke 2, 196–97: Καὶ ὅλως τοσαύτη ἦν ἅμιλλα περὶ ἀρετήν, ὡς ἑκάστην οἰκίαν καὶ οἶκον ἑκάστου νομίζειν ἐκκλησίαν εἶναι διὰ τὴν τῶν ἐνοικούντων φιλοκαλίαν τε καὶ τὴν πρὸς τὸν θεὸν εὐχήν. εἰρήνη τε ἦν ἐν ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις βαθεῖα καὶ θαυμαστὴ γραφόντων τῶν πανταχόθεν ἐπισκόπων καὶ δεχομένων παρὰ Ἀθανασίου τὰ συνήθη τῆς εἰρήνης γράμματα. Transl. Flower, Imperial Invectives, 60. 7 Sizgorich, Violence and Belief, 4.

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controversies pervaded his treatment of historical material”, offering an evaluation of the nature of doctrinal conflicts that differed from that of the ecclesiastical leaders in his day, which in his opinion promoted a more sectarian interpretation. 8 An interesting vignette of Socrates’s unease with such behavior is offered in his account on the attempt of several bishops to win the favor and support of Jovian for their respective creeds. As we read, the emperor dismissed all of their entreaties and supplications, answering instead: “I abominate contentiousness; but I love honor and those who exert themselves to promote unanimity”. 9 A different – but to some extent also similar – friction of discourses can be observed with regard to incidents of collective violence that originated in the context of conflicts between pagans and Christians. Here as well, the authority of the emperor manifested by virtue of his role as legislator, a function that was aimed at maintaining public order – which could be achieved by situational laws designed to curtail the initiatives of the more zealous Christian circles. While ecclesiastical writers such as Rufinus added their own perspective on what they perceived as a license to fight the visible remnants of the pagan past, writers such as Libanius were still able to invoke the duty of the emperor to vouch for the safety of temples on the grounds of their vital symbolic importance. However, we can also find Christian writers or preachers actively engaging in what has been termed as an attempt to “demobilize the militant impetus of a crowd”. 10 As it is known, Augustine had to remind his listeners to make sure that the idols were destroyed in the hearts of the pagans, as the official law prevented Christians from resorting to the use of violence. 11 Another situation in which the North African bishop was obliged to express a similar concern arose in the year 401, when a group of zealous Christians vandalized a statue of Hercules in Carthage after it had been restored to its former beauty by the order of the governor. Here too Augustine was in need of finding an adequate response to the actions of his coreligionists: while congratulating his listeners for seeking God’s will, he also expressed his reservations about their modalities of action. 12 Lim, Public Disputation, 201. Socrates, Hist. eccl. 3.25.4, ed. Hansen, GCS N.F. 1, 225: Ἐγώ, ἔφη, φιλονεικίαν μισῶ, τοὺς δὲ τῇ ὁμονοίᾳ προστρέχοντας ἀγαπῶ καὶ τιμῶ. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 94. 10 J. C. Magalhães De Oliveira, “Controller of Crowds? Popular Mobilization and Episcopal Leadership in Late Roman North Africa”, in Leadership, Ideology and Crowds in the Roman Empire of the Fourth Century AD, eds. E. Manders and D. Slootjes, Heidelberger althistorische Beiträge und epigraphische Studien 62 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2020), 151– 161, here 156. 11 Augustinus, Sermo 62.11, ed. Migne, PL 38, 422–423: Ubi nobis non est data potestas, non facimus; ubi data est, non praetermittimus. multi pagani habent istas abminationes in fundis suis: numquid accedimus, et confringimus? prius enim agimus, ut idola in eorum corde frangamus. See also Shaw, Sacred Violence, 229–230. 12 Augustinus, Sermo 24.5, ed. C. Lambot, Sancti Aurelii Augustini Sermones de Vetere 8 9

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Admittedly, one reason behind such calls for restraint was the harm similar actions would cause to the reputation of Christianity. For pagan authors wishing to find fault with the behavior of Christians, attacks against ancient shrines could in fact offer a welcomed opportunity to lodge their accusations. But we can gauge from the disconcerted words, with which Socrates commented on the murder of Hypatia, to what extent militant behavior could alienate ecclesiastical writers too, since “nothing can be farther from the spirit of Christianity than the allowance of massacres, fights, and transactions of that sort”. 13 II) A second aspect which I would like to highlight is the performative nature of ancient and late antique accounts on violence. Relating about violent incidents was not simply meant for informative purposes, since it interpreted and manipulated the events in such a way as to oblige the listener or the reader to behave in a way that conformed to this new reality. While ordinary Christians of Alexandria or Antioch did not necessarily perceive themselves as being part of the “Nicene” or the “Arian” community, they were addressed as such by Athanasius’s writings or John Chrysostom’s homilies, and were solicited to act accordingly. This could be achieved by virtue of various characteristics that were in fact inherent to several of the rhetorical genres represented by the texts in the focus of this study. On the one hand, orators attempted in different ways to cast themselves not as neutral observers but as part of the community they were addressing, engaging therefore in what Maria Celentano termed a “discourse of shared consensus”. 14 This aspect could be enhanced in different ways according to the specific rhetorical situation. While Dio of Prusa confessed to throwing the weight of his reputation behind his arguments, we saw Constantine underwriting his appeal to concord with his role as the guarantor of peace in the empire. A Christian preacher like John Chrysostom accompanied his moral injunctions with the request to act in his place or as his extended arm in checking sin. Finally, a discourse on shared consensus could also be premised in rhetorical performances that were meant to manifest dissent, most notably in the case of invective rhetoric. After all, it was the disruption of consensus and the necessity of its restoration that provided the invective with its own dramatic note and cogency. On the other hand, the attempt of literary representations of violence to manipulate the perception and behavior of the audience could also be made by cashing in on the affective and emotive potential entailed by the ancient art of Testamento I–L, CCL 41 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1961), 330: Quoniam voluntas agendi de his de quibus acclamastis, una est et nostra et vestra – modus vero agendi par esse non potest. 13 Socrates Hist. eccl. 7.15.6, ed. Hansen, GCS N.F. 1, 361: Ἀλλότριον γὰρ παντελῶς τῶν φρονούντων τὰ Χριστοῦ φόνοι καὶ μάχαι καὶ τὰ τούτοις παραπλήσια. Transl. Schaff, NPNF2, vol. 2, 160. 14 Celentano, “Orazione politica”, 354.

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persuasion. This may concern both the narrative structure of the accounts and the selection of themes. With respect to the first aspect, the texts discussed in this book revealed their tendency not to spare details about the monstrosities committed by the attackers. As I highlighted in the chapter on Athanasius, literary representations of violence consciously resorted to redundancy and expressive images of war meant to underpin the cruelty of the adversaries, displaying therefore some of the characteristics that can also be observed in visual representations of war, such as exhibited on monumental columns or sarcophagi. At the same time, the affective power of these sanguinary scenes may also be underpinned with the conscious insertions of allusions to the unsettling experience that hearing or reading such a report could cause to the audience. This latter characteristic is obviously linked to the fact that both in antiquity and in Byzantine time rhetorical performances have to be regarded as “oral performances whose contents were bound up with their aural effects”, regardless of whether we are dealing with the oral delivery of the speech itself or its written text. 15 At the same time, however, the interconnectedness between oral performance and aural effects also attests to the critical role of the reader or listener of such reports in the understanding of texts on religious violence. The orator therefore needed to point out to the audience those aspects or details that are meant to unsettle him or her, guiding in this way his or her interpretation of the events. Among the themes that Christian writers evoked in re-imagining such events, that of persecution and martyrdom figured most prominently. This choice presented, after all, some considerable advantages in describing scenes of violence that were supposed to mark the visible boundaries between victims and perpetrators, and therefore between the Church and her enemies. In this way, such accounts fulfilled a function that according to Jonathan Conant was integral to early Christian martyr stories themselves: “the reality that they sought to convey about the past was fundamentally emotional rather than historical”. 16 The language of martyrdom that permeated Athanasius’s, Ambrose’s or Pseudo-Martyrius’s accounts consciously took advantage of this potential when they casted rival bishops or imperial officials as the new persecutors of the Christian faith. The insistence on the language of martyrdom, however, remained an ambiguous matter also for late antique Christians. On the one hand, it is very much representative of the writers’ confidence that the readers would readily accept this interpretation and accommodate this binary language into their own worldview. Such an expectation was not too far-fetched, given the fact that Bourbouhakis, “Rhetoric and Performance”, 180. J. R. Conant, “Memories of Trauma and the Formation of a Christian Identity”, in Memories of Utopia. The Revision of Histories and Landscapes in Late Antiquity, eds. B. Neil and K. Simic (London: Routledge, 2020), 33–56, here 48. 15 16

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martyr stories widely circulated within the Christian community of the fourth century. One might also be reminded that Julian’s decision to refrain from coercive methods against Christians was also motivated by his willingness not to produce new martyrs, being aware of the Christians’ inclination to look for new heroes of faith. Also attesting to the popularity of the martyrological ethos is the account about Valens’s visit to Edessa, where he attempted to clear the shrine of the Apostle Thomas in order to pray there. As the (Nicene) Christians refused to do so, troops were sent with the prefect to enforce the emperor’s command. This measure, however, further galvanized the resistance and even encouraged a woman to charge into the scene together with her own child, letting know to the prefect that it was the very prospect of martyrdom that encouraged her to resort to such extreme means. 17 On the other hand, it is also true that the reference to the ideal of martyrdom did not necessarily produce the desired result. A famous incident related in Socrates’s Ecclesiastical History and discussed by Harold Drake offers an expressive vignette revealing the reluctance on the part of ordinary Christians to assimilate the behavior of some of the more zealous members of their community to the example left by the early heroes of the Christian faith. 18 As the church historian reports about the conflict between Cyril of Alexandria and the prefect Orestes, he writes that the populace came to the aid of the official and offered resistance to a mob of monks from the desert who were about to assail the prefect. While the ensuing punishment and death of one of the monks, Ammonius, furnished Cyril with a valid argument in his plan to declare the monk a martyr, the Christians continued to offer resistance, being of the opinion that the overzealous monk deserved the punishment for his violent behavior. 19 At the same time, the language of persecution confronted the writers with another challenge that may have impinged on the efficacy with which to cast themselves or their followers as victims of the violence. With this I am referring in particular to the negative role that narratives of persecution tend to project on the authorities, most notably the emperor. As we saw in several instances, the awareness of the problematic consequences of such interpretations has led Christian writers to deflect the most straightforward blames away from the monarch, accusing instead his representatives on the ground. We can observe this strategy in the note of protest with which the Alexandrians appealed to Constantius in the aftermath of the events of 356 and expressed their conviction that the events did not take place “in accordance with the will” of the emperor, insisting that the dux Syrianus was to blame instead. 20 Ecclesiastical leaders such as Ambrose and the anonymous writer of the Oratio funebris were more 17 18 19 20

See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 4.18, and Drake, “Political Legitimacy” 204. Drake, “Political Legitimacy”, 199–200. See Socrates, Hist. eccl. 7.14. See Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 81.3.

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circumstantial in this respect and to a certain extent also more cryptic in blaming particular figures for the uproars. In particular, the reference to Biblical female figures such as Eve, Jezebel or Salome could direct the accusation of instigating violence against Christians to the respective female consort or coruler. Eventually, the devil himself was casted as the ultimate source of division, reading in this way dramatic events such as the destruction of the Hagia Sophia as the culmination point of a plot that has already been schemed in heaven. The decisive question that arises from the reading of these sources, and to which we can only give a tentative answer, concerns the factors that led Christian writers to depict particular events of collective violence in terms of persecution and martyrdom. After all, the implicit message conveyed by these accounts is that instead of originating from within the Christian community, violence was rather directed against it from without. The active role that the authorities undeniably had in some of the conflicts described in this book may certainly have favored such an interpretation. At the same time, such a negative assessment of the rulers also built on the implicit expectation that imperial authorities would be responsible for the maintenance of peace, an expectation that ecclesiastical writers readily turned into its opposite by claiming that the monarch actually fanned the flames of violence. In this sense, Christian sources of the fourth century seem to run parallel to the negative assessment of later Byzantine historians such as that of Procopius who designed their accounts on riots as vignettes revealing the emperor’s failure to secure the safety of the cities. This notwithstanding, the language of persecution remains a distinctively polemical feature of the texts analyzed in this book. In fact, such language can be seen as adapting to the dynamics inherent to the respective conflicts. In the case of Athanasius, as we saw, the allegations about the complicity of the prefect with the chaos that invested the church of Alexandria underpinned his critique against any form of interference from outside in matters of canon law. When Ambrose reported about the crisis that in his view brought Milan to the edge of a popular insurrection, he came to a similar conclusion, presenting the entire affair of the occupation of his basilica as an attempt to interfere in matters of faith. Also touching on the problem of defining the prerogatives of the monarch, the Callinicum affair presents the proper terminology with which one may individuate the diverging interests that were at play in conflicts between bishop and emperor. As has been pointed out in that context, a problem that was instrumental in the divergence of opinion between Ambrose and Theodosius touched on the claim and duty of the ruler to implement those measures that in the opinion of the emperor were necessary for the maintenance and restoration of public order (disciplina). Whereas in Ambrose’s view these considerations collided with the prerogatives of religion, such as in the case of the order to provide the necessary funds for the reconstruction of Callinicum’s Synagogue,

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Christians were left with no option other than opposition and martyrdom on the one hand, or obedience and apostasy on the other. The difficult task to strike a balance between disciplina and religio proved particularly tenacious and complex in the context of the doctrinal controversies on which this book also focused. As we saw, both Constantine and Constantius were confronted with the problem in mediating between considerations pertaining to these two aspects. The grey zone in between not only generated many of the violent incidents and conflicts that were at the center of this book, but also allowed for oppositional readings. In some cases, however, the very language of martyrdom could also restore the communication between the monarch and his servants, since it provided a source of authority for the bishop that warranted privileged access to the emperor, reassuring him for example about his readiness to make an offering of his own body and to pray for the salvation of the monarch. 21 This brings me to the third point. III) If riots put the public safety to a severe test, and even risked to upturn the social order, it is also true that the traditional channels of communication between the emperor and his subjects proved to be reliable means for the restoration of peace. This characteristic favored, and was accompanied by, rhetorical practices meant to reconcile the emperor with the cities that had fallen foul of him, and to solicit the orators to address the civic community with appeals to a moral reform. This lays bare a structure shared by many riots of late antiquity and which Peter van Nuffelen described in the following words: “they drift from insults to acclamations, from a rupture of the relationship with the leader to its re-establishment.” 22 If we are to use this structure as a template of the “conventional riot”, the Riot of the Statues in Antioch definitely comes most close to it. With respect to the rhetorical practices that unfolded in the aftermath of a riot, the scripts to which the different actors involved in the process resorted were closely patterned after the rhetorical genres required for the moment. Most notably, the presbeutikos logos supplied ancient orators with rhetorical conventions designed in such a way as to move the ruler to mercy and reconcile him with the city. For those who have been trained in the art of rhetoric, the formulation of such speeches could amount to a rehearsal of conventional tropes and themes such as the evocation of the dire state of the city, the praise of the emperor’s philanthropy, and eventually the appeal to his mercy, regardless of whether the argumentation was couched in traditional vocabulary or whether it integrated biblical language. In some instances, however, the texts produced in these contexts also manifested a departure from the conventional, which is all the more interesting for 21 22

See Ambrosius, Ep. 76.23, and Athanasius, Ap. Const. 10. Van Nuffelen, “A Wise Madness”, 241.

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modern scholars. As we saw, the unfortunate outcome of Julian’s visit to Antioch is representative of a crisis of both the relationship between the emperor and the city and, at the same time, the traditional communication script that was supposed to be applied in similar situations. In other instances, the prospect of reconciliation was hampered or even nullified by the uncontrolled spiral of violence, as was the case with the devastating outcome of Theodosius’s handling of the uprising in Thessaloniki. In this way, Ambrose’s intervention has also to be seen as an attempt by the Milanese bishop to restore the reputation of the emperor with a public gesture that would amend for his sin. Regardless of the unprecedented novelty of Ambrose’s request to perform an act of public penance, it still responded to the traditional idea that the emperor’s privileged access to the realm of the divine was instrumental in his ability to project his authority. Almost in parallel to the diplomatic missions that were sent to the imperial court, riots also generated rhetoric practices in which the city itself became the addressee of appeals of moral reform that were driven by the prospect of reconciliation with the emperor. This holds true both for pagan and Christian orators. For the latter, as we saw, such appeals also fit in nicely with the homiletical agenda of John Chrysostom, who picked up on the events that followed the Riot of the Statues as well as on the fears and despondency of the Antiochenes, with a view to carving out a discourse on God’s judgement and repentance – two themes closely tied to the season during which the homilies of this series were being delivered. At the same time, not only did the riot provide a fruitful reference for considerations of various nature about the moral responsibility of Christians in checking evil, but the prolonged uncertainty with regard to the outcome of the investigations and to the diplomatic mission also obliged, or allowed, John Chrysostom to modulate the focus of his homilies according to the most recent events and news. The ethical discourse promoted by Christian preachers was also reflective of long-standing tensions inherent to the crisis management put in place by the imperial court, most notably the tension between mildness and discipline. Ecclesiastical writers such as Augustine could not help but formulate their ideas on God’s mercy in ways that were reminiscent of the terms employed in the communication between the emperor and his subjects. Against the backdrop of these considerations, it would not do justice to the rhetorical and literary qualities of the texts that were in the focus of this study, if one would make use of them with a view to proving an alleged predisposition of the religious conflicts of the fourth and fifth centuries to degenerate into violence. Instead, the individual chapters of this book rather attest to the “predisposition” of Roman literature to envisage violence and the danger thereof, real or imagined, as a reality that offers a structure of meaning with which to interpret and act upon the conflicts that the respective writers, listeners and readers were involved in.

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Index of Ancient Texts Acta Alexandrinorum 14 Alexander Lycopolitanus Contra Manichaeos 1 31 Ambrosius Apologia David altera 7.39 160 De obitu Theodosii 27 161 43 161

76.13 76.15 76.17–18 76.23 76.25–26

162 162, 165 163 211 162

ex. coll. 1.1 ex. coll. 11.4–5 ex. coll. 11.5 ex. coll. 11.6 ex. coll. 11.7–8 ex. coll. 11.11 ex. coll. 11.15

158 160 160 160 158 158 158

Ammianus Marcellinus

De officiis 1.9.28 2.28.136 3.22.133 3.22.135

178 165 158 164

Epistulae 37.4 72.1 74.3 74.4 74.7 74.9 74.11 74.21 74.23 74.25 74.31 74.32 74.33 75a.1 75a.2 75a.4 75a.5 75a.8 75a.24 75a.29 75a.29–30 75a.33

154 169 156 156 155 57 155 155 169 157 170 155 157 164 166 166 164 166 163 164 164 164

Res gestae 14.7.6 15.7.3–4 22.5.3–4 22.11.3–11 22.14.1–3 22.14.2 22.14.3 27.3.12–13 27.9.9

89 10 66 65 67 68, 70 70 167 168

Anonymus Cyzicenus Historia ecclesiastica 2.7.39 35 Aristides Orationes 23.53 23.55 26.67

36 37 19

Athanasius Apologia contra Arianos 11.5–6 46 12.3 47 30.1 59

242 44.4 44.5 55.2–3 60.1 63.4 64.2 74.3 76.3 85.5 85.7

Index of Ancient Texts 46 47 203 44 45 46 45 45 47 47

Apologia ad Constantium 10 211 14–18 50 14.4–5 50 15.4 50 17.3–4 50 17.5 51 25 61 25.4–5 61 25.5 61 25.6 61 Apologia de fuga sua 24 61 24.3–5 61 De decretis Nicaenae synodi 16.3 33 De synodis Arimini et Seleuciae 15.2 33 36 38 Epistula encyclica 1.2 59 1.4 58 1.6 58–59 2.4 52 3.2 52 3.3–6 53 4.1–3 53 4.3 55 4.4 54 5.1 54 5.3–5 54 5.7–8 55 9.2–3 52 Historia Arianorum 4.1 39 25 205 27.2 204 48.1 62 55.4 57 56.1 57

56.2 81 81.3 81.6–9 81.11

58 62 209 62 62

Oratio contra Arianos 1.2.4 33 1.37.4 33 Augustinus De civitate Dei 5.16 177 Epistulae 50 90 91.1 91.2 91.3 91.5–6 91.6 91.7 91.8 91.9 103.3 104.1 104.4–5 104.7 104.8 104.9 104.16

173 171–172 173, 176 173 173 173 174 173 171 177 174 172, 174 175 175–177 175 176–177 176

Sermones 24.5 62.11

206 206

Cassiodorus Historia ecclesiastica 9.27–29 201 Cassius Dio Historia 58.11.3 73.2.1 77.22–23

191 190 19

Chronicon Paschale Olymp. 301 Olymp. 296

141 143

243

Index of Ancient Texts Cicero

Dio Chrysostomus

De re publica 1.1 172 4.7 173

Orationes 32.1 32.2 32.4 32.24 32.27 32.27–28 32.35 32.36 32.39 32.41 32.68 32.70 32.71 32.70–72 32.72 38.10 38.11 38.14 38.16 38.36

Epistulae ad familiares 4.1.1 171 5.20.5 171 6.14.1 153 11.23.1 171 13.4.1 171 Orationes in Catilinam 1.29 165 Oratio pro P. Sulla 8 175 Clemens Alexandrinus Protrepticus 48.5

189

Codex Theodosianus 1.16.6 16.1.2 16.1.4 16.2.37 16.4.5 16.4.6 16.5.6 16.10.8 16.10.10 16.10.11 16.10.15 16.10.16

40 125 163 144 144 145 133 199 185, 199 184, 199 199 200

Collectio Avellana 1.4–7 1.10 5 6.2

167 168 168 168

Cyrillus Alexandrinus Epistulae 75

148–149

Digest Justiniani 1.8.9 1.12.1.12 48.13.11(9).1 48.19.16.4

49 166 49 49

15 21 15 21 22 21 22 22 22 23 15 16 16, 20 16 20 36 36 41 36 19

Eunapius Vitae sophistarum 6.111 186, 200 Eusebius Historia ecclesiastica 10.4.16 195 Vita Constantini 2.61.3–4 24 2.61.5 24 2.64–72 25 2.65.1–2 25 2.65.2 27 2.66 26, 35 2.69.1 28 2.69.2–3 29 2.70 29 2.71.2 28 2.72.2–3 34 3.4 34 3.12.2 35, 37 3.24.1 27 3.51–58 195 3.59.1–3 39 3.59.2 39 3.59.3 39 3.60–62 40 3.60.3 40

244 3.60.6 3.60.8 3.60.9 3.65.2

Index of Ancient Texts 40 41 41 26

Expositio totius mundi 37

17

32.2 32.4 32.10 32.20 32.23 33.16

122–123 122 123 124 125 124

Gregorius Nyssenus

Gelasius of Caesarea

De deitate filii 32

Historia ecclesiastica F11.7–8 24

Hieronymus

Gregorius Monachus Chronicon

188

Gregorius Nazianzenus De vita sua 607–1395 660 665–668 679–688 703–720 750–1029 791–806 810–812 815–816 887–890 898–923 954–967 1188–1206 1284–1292 1303–1304 1336–1341 1353–1370 1420–1435 1560–1571 1595–1610 1645–1647

117 120 118 122 127 121 127 127 122 121 121 121 128 129 129 129 129 130 126 126 126

Epistulae 77.3 78.4–5

118 119

Orationes 5.41 22.3 22.6 22.13 22.14 23.4 26.3 27.2

68 123 124 126 126 125 120 120–121

De viris illustribus 134 187 Epistulae 107.2

186

In Abacuc 2.3.14.16

191

Historia acephala 1.4 1.10–11 2.9–10 5.4

113 60 65 54

Historia Augusta Ant. Car. 6.2–3 19 Tyr. Trig. 22.1–2 17 Iohannes Chrysostomus Ad Stagirium I, 8 137 Epistula prima ad Innocentium papam 90–97 134 146–182 139 173–178 140 183–184 142 200–201 149 De statuis homiliae I, 12 92 II, 1 90–91, 93 II, 2 91 II, 3 91–92 II, 4 92–94, 133 III, 1 106 III, 2 106 III, 3 95–96 IV, 1 94–95 IV, 3 96 V, 2 97

245

Index of Ancient Texts VI, 1 VI, 2 VI, 3 XIII, 1 XIII, 2 XVI, 1 XVI, 6 XVII, 1 XVII, 2 XIX, 1 XX, 2 XX, 3 XX, 4 XX, 7 XX, 9 XXI, 2 XXI, 3 XXI, 4

98 107 95, 107 1, 99 100 100 100 98, 103 98, 103–104 137 110 110 109 110 109 96, 108 108–109 108

Homiliae in Genesim II, 1 95 In acta apostolorum homiliae XXX, 3–4 141 In psalmos homiliae IV, 7 73, 92 VI, 3 72 Nuper dictorum 4 103 Sermo post reditum a priore exilio II 3 136–137 5 136 Iulianus Apostata Epistulae 60.378c–380d 60.378d 60.380b–d 89b 110.398c–399a Misopogon 342ab 342d–343c 349bc 360cd 361b 364ab 364cd 368c 370b 370c 371b

65 73 66 82 67 83 76 75 83 75 70 71 71 68 89 68

Libanius Orationes 15.3 15.23 15.25–26 15.52 15.53 15.55–56 15.57 15.66 16.8 16.24 16.28 16.33 16.34 16.38 16.41 16.43 16.46 19.1 19.26 19.28 19.29 19.34–35 19.36–37 20.3 20.4 20.5 20.6 20.38 21.11–23 21.19 21.20 22.4 22.6 22.7–8 22.8 22.9 22.24 23.1 23.6 23.7–9 23.17–19 23.21 23.23–24 23.22 23.24 23.27–28 23.28 30.8 30.35 30.44 30.44–47

80 82 83 81, 84 84 81 80 82 78 78 78 78 79 79 77 79 79 106 87 88 88 88 90 88 88 90 98 98 105 105 105 87 88 88 89 88 98 101 101 101 101 102 101 93 101 102 101 193, 198 193 193 200

246 30.50 41.6 41.16 42.49 59.97

Index of Ancient Texts 193, 198 78 88 146 116

Martyrium Polycarpi 12.2a

52

3 9 10 Origenes

Contra Celsum 3.55 31 8.73 51

Ps.-Martyrius

Palladius

Oratio funebris 10 137 12 137 13 130–131 19 131 27 132 35 132 39–39 132 44 132 54 133 58 134 66–67 135 79 110 86–88 138 89 138, 204 91 139 93 139 95 140 97 142–143 105–106 143 110 134 111 144 113 144 115 144, 146 118 145 134 146 135–136 147 136 147 137 147 138 148

Dialogus III, 119–157 III, 136–137 IV, 1–68 VIII, 142–143 IX, 132–138 IX, 147 IX, 166–181 IX, 172–177 IX, 218–229 IX, 256–258 X, 83–121 XI, 18–30 XI, 31–62 XX, 99–106

Menander Rhetor Peri epideiktikon 423.6–424.2 80, 106 Notitia Urbis Constantinopolitanae reg. vii

113

Optatus Milevitanus Appendix 1 48

51 26 26–27

146 146 147 145 138 140 140 140 142 134 144 145 146 146

Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis 21

52

Philo Alexandrinus In Flaccum 48

51

Legatio 133

89

Philostorgius Historia ecclesiastica 2.7 39 9.10 119 9.18 120 9.19 119 22a 33 Plutarchus De cohibenda ira 5 74 11 74

247

Index of Ancient Texts Procopius Historia arcana 7.6–7 5 Quintilianus Institutio oratoria 3.8.6 77 Rufinus Historia ecclesiastica pr. 184 7.28.2 195 10.1 197 10.7–8 195 10.21 196 10.22 197 10.36–37 196 11.4 195 11.10 181 11.19 196 11.22 182–183, 194, 200 11.23 183, 187, 189–190, 192 11.27 183 11.28 183 11.29 183 11.30 192–193 11.33 197 Seneca De ira 1.1.2 1.6.1

2.23.49–56 2.38.33–43 2.42.3 3.2–3 3.17 3.17.6 3.17.7 3.17.9 3.25.4 4.14 4.18 5.7 5.9.1–2 5.16.3 5.16.5 5.16.9 5.16.11 5.17.1 6.7 6.9 6.15.21 6.16.4–6 6.17 6.18.1–12 6.18.14–15 6.18.18 7.2 7.14 7.15.5–7

203 115 115 65 67 67 68 68, 71 206 119 209 119 113 185 185 185 186 185 133 133 134 135 135 138 141 144 147 209 189

Sozomenus 72 73

Socrates Historia ecclesiastica 1.9.1–14 38 1.24.4 39 1.24.6 39 1.27.5 35 1.27.14–18 47 2.2 112 2.11.6 54 2.12 113 2.12.2 113 2.13.3 114 2.13.5 115 2.13.6 115 2.16 114 2.16.1–6 114 2.16.7–9 114 2.16.10–14 114

Historia ecclesiastica 1.15.12 32 1.22.3 33 2.19.2 39 3.7 113 4.2.3 118 4.9.9 60 4.14 117 4.21.36 115 5.7 65 5.7.5–7 194 5.19.1–3 67 5.19.3 71 7.4.5 117, 128 7.10.4–5 113 7.15.5 182 7.15.10 186 7.23 87 8.12–13 133 8.18.2 134 8.18.3 135 8.18.8 136

248 8.21.1 8.21.1–4 8.21.4 8.22.1 8.23.3–4 8.24.1–3

Index of Ancient Texts 138 139 141, 143 143 142 146

Suetonius De vita Tiberii 37.2 17

Theodoretus Historia ecclesiastica 1.21.5–8 39 1.21–22 39 2.27.13–16 117 5.20 87 5.20.1 88 5.20.2 98 5.22.4 188 Themistius

Synesius Epistulae 67

147

Tacitus Annales 13.25

4

Tertullianus Apologeticum 30.1 51

Orationes 1.7bc 1.13c 1.14bc 1.16a 28.341a

74 75 116 82 21

Zosimus Historia nova 2.34.1–2 19 5.23.4–5 135

Index of Modern Authors Abu-Lughod, Janet 2 Afinogenov, Dmitri 187–188 Aldrete, Gregory S. 3–4 Alonso-Núñez, José Miguel 68 Annoville, Caroline Michel d’ 199 Antonova, Stamenka E. 31 Arnold, Duane W.–H. 44–45 Athanassiadi, Polymnia 68

Cavallera, Ferdinand 131 Celentano, Maria Silvana 90, 207 Chin, Catherine M. 155 Cole, Spencer 169 Conant, Jonathan R. 208 Connell, Martin 163 Connolly, Joy 9–10, 23 Cribiore, Raffaella 96, 102

Bakke, Odd M. 37 Baldini, Alessandro 187, 194 Baltrusch, Ernst 155 Barnes, Timothy D. 19, 25–26, 44–47, 60– 61, 113–115, 161 Barry, Jennifer 50, 61, 123, 131 Barry, William D. 16, 20, 22 Baumann, Notker 117–118, 129 Behrends, Okko 198 Bell, Harold Idris 45 Bernardi, Jean 118, 121, 123, 126 Boeft, Jan den 67 Bonfiglio, Emilio 135 Bonneau, Danielle 193 Bourbouhakis, Emmanuel C. 9, 181, 208 Bowersock, Glen Warren 68 Boytsov, Mikhail A. 159 Bradbury, Scott 198 Brakke, David 56, 58 Brändle, Rudolf 131 Brands, Gunnar 87–88 Brass, Paul 2 Brauch, Thomas 74, 82 Bravi, Alessandra 199 Brélaz, Cédric 3, 18 Brottier, Laurence 91, 97, 106 Brown, Peter 9–10, 56, 115 Browning, Peter 3, 78, 87–88 Bryen, Ari Z. 57 Burgess, Richard W. 185

Dagron, Gilbert 16, 113, 115, 118, 143, 146 Da Silva, Gilvan Ventura 67 Davis, Natalie Zemon 2 De Decker, Daniel 27 Diefenbach, Steffen 115–117, 155 Digeser, Elisabeth DePalma 26–27 Dijkstra, Jitse H. F. 180, 185–186 Dillon, John N. 40–41 Dillon, Sheila 56 Dodaro, Robert 170, 175 Downey, Glanville 67–68, 74, 82, 87, 89, 109 Drake, Harold 44, 155, 209 Drexhage, H.-J. 53 Dugan, John 202 Dunkle, Brian P. SJ 163 Dupuis-Masay, Ginette 27 Duval, Yvette 48

Cameron, Alan 3, 16, 197 Cameron, Averil 31–32, 37 Caseau, Béatrice 189, 192

Eisner, Manuel 8 Elbendary, Amina 2 Elm, Susanna 67, 129 Erdkamp, Paul 3 Ernesti, Jörg 158–159 Errington, Malcolm R. 74, 116–117, 120, 126, 129, 133, 199 Escribano Paño, María Victoria 26 Falcasantos, Rebecca Stephens 113 Farag, Mary K. 48 Faust, Stephan 55 Ferguson, Thomas C. 196 Festugère, Andre-Jean 68 Finney, Paul C. 48 Flower, Richard 123

250

Index of Modern Authors

Fox, Matthew 9, 202 Fragaki, Hélène 189 Franco, Carlo 36 Frankfurter, David 192 Freis, Helmut 167 Fuhrer, Therese 197 Fuhrmann, Christopher 3 Gaddis, Michael 6 Gallay, Paul 126 Galvão-Sobrinho, Carlos 24, 32–34, 38, 45 Garland, Robert 189 Gaudemet, Jean 117 Gemeinhardt, Peter 31, 52, 61 Giannakopoulos, Nikolaos 54 Gibson, Sheila 182, 186 Gleason, Maud 9, 69 Goldhill, Simon 9 Gotter, Ulrich 180, 195 Grammatiki, Karla 115–116 Greatrex, Geoffrey 5 Greenlee, Christine 74 Gregory, Timothy E. 7, 30, 131, 144 Grillo, Luca 153 Grimm, Günter 182, 186 Haas, Christopher 14–19, 53, 57, 60, 65, 182 Haase, Mareile 189 Habinek, Thomas 9 Hahn, Johannes 6–7, 52, 60, 180, 183–186, 192 Hall, Stuart G. 25, 35 Hamilton, John T. 169 Hansen, Günther C. 35 Hanson, Richard P. C. 24–25 Harker, Andrew 14 Harries, Jill 1, 3, 28, 40 Harris, William V. 7 Hartman, Joshua 69 Haubold, Johannes 79 Hebblewhite, Mark 198, 200 Heil, Uta 31, 33 Hermanowicz, Erika 170, 172–174 Hollerich, Michael J. 196 Holum, Kenneth G. 148 Horowitz, Donald 2 Humphries, Mark 195–196 Hunt, David 198 Hunter, David 107 Husson, Geneviève 54 Isele, Bernd 45, 47, 50, 52, 60, 113, 115, 118– 119

Janin, Raymond 141–143 Just, Patricia 27 Kabiersch, Jürgen 82 Kahlos, Maijastina 27–28, 124 Kahwagi-Janho, Hany 141 Kaplow, Lauren 65 Kaufman, Peter I. 170, 173 Kelly, Benjamin 3, 17, 20, 166 Kelly, John 131–133, 144 Kennedy, George Alexander 15 Kilby, Jane 8 Kinzig, Wolfram 117 Kohns, Hans Peter 2 Krautheim, Frauke 87 Kristensen, Troels M. 181, 192 Langworthy, Oliver B. 126 Lenski, Noel E. 6, 14, 26–27, 35, 39–40, 50, 110 Leppin, Hartmut 159–160, 183 Le Roux, Patrick 18 Letta, Cesare 19 Leyerle, Blake 72, 92, 96–98 Liebeschuetz, John H. W. G. 40 Lieu, Samuel N. C. 33, 101–102 Lim, Richard 16, 30, 33, 206 Lintott, Andrew W. 20 Lizzi Testa, Rita 133, 163, 167, 198 Löhr, Winrich 24–25, 33 Luckritz Marquis, Christine 189, 192 Lugaresi, Leonardo 79 Luijendijk, Annemarie 47–48 Lusnia, Susann S. 8, 62 Lynch, Tosca A. C. 79 MacMullen, Ramsay 7, 15, 18, 30, 32, 36, 40, 112, 198 Magalhães de Oliveira, Julio Cesar 7, 206 Maier, Harry O. 37 Majcherek, Grzegorz 54 Malosse, Pierre-Louis 101 Marcone, Arnoldo 69, 83 Marinides, Nicholas 180 Markschies, Christoph 31 Markus, Robert A. 48 Marrou, Henri-Irénée 32 Martin, Annick 32, 38, 45, 50, 52, 54, 60–61, 180, 184, 186–187, 194, 197 Maxwell, Jaclyn L. 21, 32, 40, 67, 79, 92, 94– 95 Mayer, Wendy 32, 93, 134, 138, 146 McDonie, Jacob R. 153–154

Index of Modern Authors McGuckin, John 18, 123 McKenzie, Judith S. 18, 181–182, 186 McLynn, Neil B. 30, 32, 117, 119–121, 154, 159, 162–163, 167–168 Meier, Mischa 5 Ménard, Hélène 3, 167–168 Metzler, Karin 33 Miles, Richard 79 Milner, N. P. 50 Mitchell, Margaret M. 122 Mitchell, Stephen 195 Mousourakis, George 49 Müller, Gernot M. 153 Nauroy, Gérard 152, 157, 162 Nicolai, Lea 73 Nicolas, Loïc 79 Nippel, Wilfried 3, 17, 20 Omissi, Adrastos 6, 80 Paget, James Carleton 14 Papadogiannakis, Yannis 86, 92, 96–97 Parvis, Sara 39 Pekáry, Thomas 190 Pernot, Laurent 19, 80 Perrin, Michel-Yves 7, 26, 30–33, 124 Petersen, Lauren Hackworth 192 Pfeilschifter, Rene 5, 131 Pigott, Justin M. 131, 148 Praet, Danny 30 Price, S. R. F. 51 Quiroga Puertas, Alberto J. 69, 73, 80, 83, 105–106 Rapp, Claudia 27, 156, 170 Reyes, Andres T. 182, 186 Ricci, Cecilia 18, 169 Ritter, Adolf Martin 126 Rivière, Yann 18, 166–167 Robinson, Olivia 49 Roncoroni, Angelo 94 Rordorf, Willy 47 Rosen, Klaus 68 Ross, Alan J. 115 Rotiroti, Francesco 125, 133 Rousseau, Philip 32 Rowlandson, Jane 14 Sablayrolles, Robert 167 Sabottka, Michael 182 Salmeri, Giovanni 36

251

Salzman, Michele R. 169, 198 Sandwell, Isabella 104 Saradi-Mendelovici, Helen 198 Schirmer, Werner 37–38 Schmidt, Stefan 180 Schofield, Malcolm 171 Schöllgen, Georg 31 Schulz, Fabian 156 Schwartz, Jacques 184, 186–187, 194 Shaw, Brent D. 6, 173, 198–199, 206 Shepardson, Christine 87, 99, 103 Sidwell, Barbara 70 Sitzler, Silke 101 Sizgorich, Thomas 6, 154–155, 205 Skinner, Alexander 74–75, 115–116 Slootjes, Daniëlle 6, 30 Smith, Christine 195 Soler, Emmanuel 70, 106 Steidle, Wolf 178 Stenger, Jan R. 87, 91, 102, 108–109 Stewart, Peter 189–191, 195 Storin, Bradley K. 117, 119 Stutz, Jonathan 180 Takács, Sarolta A. 9 Tannous, Jack 30, 32 Tardieu, Michel 33 Testard, Maurice 165 Tetz, Martin 121 Thélamon, Françoise 180, 183, 187, 189 Thériault, Gaétan 36 Thomas, David J. 19 Thomas, Yan 199 Tiersch, Claudia 131, 133, 141, 144, 146, 148–149 Tillemont, Louis-Sébastien Le Nain de 126 Tilly, Charles 2 Torres, Juana 168 Treadgold, Warren 193 Van de Paverd, Frans 87, 90–92, 95, 97–100, 102, 105–106, 108–109 Vanderbroeck, Paul J. 3 Van der Poel, Marc 81 Vanderspoel, John 74–75, 116 Van Hoof, Lieve 67–71, 73, 77, 80–83 Van Nuffelen, Peter 3–5, 67–71, 73, 77, 80– 83, 119, 131, 135, 145, 147–148, 183, 211 Van Ommeslaeghe, Florent 131, 134, 139 Van Renswoude, Irene 156, 160–161 Varner, Eric R. 191 Visonà, Giuseppe 152

252

Index of Modern Authors

Vollbracht, Sophia 178 Von den Hoff, Ralf 55 Wallraff, Martin 118–119 Watts, Edward J. 6, 14–15, 33 White, Carolinne 153–154 Whitmarsh, Tim 9 Wiemer, Hans-Ulrich 68–69, 75, 80, 82, 193 Wienand, Johannes 167

Wilcox, Amanda 153 Williams, Michael S. 161, 163 Winkelmann, Friedhelm 30 Wolff, Catherine 3 Yavetz, Tsevi 3 Zimmermann, Martin 8

Index of Subjects Abraham 136 Alexander, b. of Alexandria 10–11, 13, 25, 27–29, 31–32, 34, 38, 41, 44, 125, 203 Alexander, b. of Antioch 148–149 Alexander, b. of Lycopolis 31 Alexandria 10–11, 13–20, 22–25, 31–36, 38– 39, 41–42, 43–47, 50–61, 65–67, 73–75, 89, 94, 112, 121, 132, 135, 147, 148–149, 180–190, 192–194, 197, 199–201, 203, 205, 207, 209–210 Ambrose, b. of Milan 12, 61, 151, 153–171, 177–179, 204, 208, 209, 210, 212 Ammianus Marcellinus 10, 66–67, 70, 89, 167 Anger, see ὀργή Antioch 11, 25, 39–41, 48, 64–65, 67–71, 73, 75–84, 86–89, 91–93, 95, 98, 99–106,108, 110, 112–115, 117, 126, 130–131, 137, 140, 142, 147–148, 155, 188, 196, 207, 211– 212 – Antiochene schism, see Meletius of Antioch Arcadius (emperor) 146, 148 Aristides 19, 36–37, 203 Arius 11, 13, 24–25, 27, 29, 32–35, 38–39, 41, 112, 125, 203 Athanasius, b. of Alexandria 11, 18–19, 43– 52, 54–63, 65, 66, 112, 140, 146, 203–205, 207–208, 210 Atticus, b. of Constantinople 146–148 Augustine, b. of Hippo 10, 12, 151, 153, 170– 179, 206, 212 Auxentius, b. of Milan 163–165 Baptistery 52–53 Baths 17, 88, 98, 102, 114, 140–141, 142– 143 Cassiodorus 201 Cassius Dio 19, 190 Chrysostomus (John) 1, 10–12, 19, 23, 64, 72, 77, 86–87, 91–92, 94–98, 100–111, 130–140, 142–150, 203–204, 208, 212

Church buildings – in general 11, 43–44, 47–49, 62–63, 92– 96, 196 – in Alexandria 20, 32, 50–62, 182–183, 185–187, 195 – in Antioch 48 – in Constantinople 112–115, 117–119, 129, 134, 139–141, 143–145, 150 – in Jerusalem 48 – in Milan 48, 50, 61, 151–152, 157, 161– 162, 164. 166, 179, 204, 210 – in North Africa 26, 171–172 – in Rome 167–168 – of Ischyras (house church of) 44–47 Church Councils: – of Antioch (325) 25 – of Constantinople (381) 117, 126 – of Nicaea (325) 13, 23, 29, 34–35, 117 – of the Oak (403) 133–134 – of Rimini (359) 163 – of Tyros (335) 44 Cicero 151, 153, 157, 165, 172, 173, 178 Clemency, see mercy Concordia, see ὁμόνοια Constans (emperor) 60, 115–116 Constantine (emperor) 5, 10, 11, 13–14, 19, 25–32, 34–35, 37–41, 46–49, 51, 108, 112– 113, 115–116, 121, 125, 140, 141–142, 150, 152, 161, 167, 169, 194–196, 198, 203, 207, 211 Constantinople 12, 55, 95, 106, 112–114, 116, 118–122, 124, 126–128, 130–132, 134, 136–138, 141–144, 147, 149, 185, 204 Constantius II (emperor) 60, 65–66, 74, 89, 113, 115–116, 140–141, 182, 203, 211 Crowd 3–4, 7, 10–11, 15, 20, 41, 52, 61, 70, 78, 88, 99, 114, 129–130, 134, 142, 162, 164, 167, 190, 203, 206 – crowd violence 1–3, 5 Damasus, b. of Rome 167–168 damnatio memoriae 189–190, 192 David 159, 161

254

Index of Subjects

Dio of Prusa 13, 15–17, 19–23, 36, 41–42, 77, 94, 207 Diocletian 19, 26 ἔκφρασις 22–23 Epistolography 12, 151, 153, 157, 170 – friendship letters 153 – letter collection 151–153, 157–158, 161, 168 Eudoxia (empress) 135, 137 exempla (rhetoric) 81, 108 Helena (mother of Constantine) 39, 152 Honorius (emperor) 146 Ischyras, see church buildings Job 91, 132, 162 Julian (emperor) 11, 64–84, 89, 98, 108, 110, 116, 154–155, 179, 196–197, 209, 212 Justinian (emperor) 5, 48 Libanius 23, 64, 68.69, 77–84, 86–92, 100– 103, 105–106, 109–110, 115–116, 146, 193–194, 198, 200, 203, 206 Madness, see μανία μανία/furor 26, 93, 132–133, 203 Meletius of Antioch 106, 126, 131 – Antiochene schism 106, 131 Melitians, Melitian schism 38, 44–47 Menander Rhetor 80, 106 Mercy (of the emperor) 10, 80, 106, 109– 110, 211 Milan 151–154, 159, 161–164, 178–179, 204, 210, 212 – Edict of Milan 195 Mob, see crowd Nectarius 170–179 ὁμόνοια/concordia 9, 11, 14, 22–23, 25, 27, 28, 30–31, 34–38, 41–42, 51, 59, 105, 113, 116, 123, 125, 149–150, 203, 205, 207 ὀργή/ira 11, 80, 86, 89, 92–93, 96, 107, 109– 110 patientia 26 Philanthropy, see φιλανθρωπία Possidius of Calama 172, 174 Praetextatus 167–168

Rhetoric genres – embassy speech 80, 105, 211 – invective speech 11, 64, 68–69, 71, 72, 79, 101, 165, 207 Rufinus 12, 180–197, 200–20, 206 Seneca 72–74, 151 Serapis 180–183, 186–194, 196, 200 – Serapeum 19, 180–183, 185, 187–189, 199, 201 Temple – in general 181, 183–184, 186, 192–193, 197–200, 206 – in Osroene 199 – of Aphrodite (Aphaca) 195 – of Apollo (Daphne) 196 – of Dionysus (Alexandria) 182 – of Marnas (Gaza) 186 – of Serapis (Alexandria) 182–183, 186– 189, 193 – of Venus (Jerusalem) 195 Theater 4, 15–17, 23–24, 52, 67, 70, 77–79, 93–94, 98, 120, 141, 183, 190 – theater claques 4, 78, 88 Themistius 21, 74–75, 82, 109, 116 Theodosius (emperor) 10, 64, 74, 84, 87, 90, 92, 98, 105, 108, 110, 117, 120, 128, 129, 133, 152, 154–155, 157–158, 159, 160–161, 169, 170, 178–179, 181, 186, 188, 193, 194, 196, 197, 200, 210, 212 Theodotus of Antioch 149 φιλανθρωπία 64, 80, 82, 83, 103, 107–109, 147, 211 Vandalism, see violence Valens (emperor) 87, 209 Valentinian I (emperor) 168 Valentinian II (emperor) 161, 164, 169 Violence: – against church buildings 43–44, 46, 48– 49, 52–55, 58–59, 62, 112, 118–119, 140, 144, 155, 171, 210 – against people 45, 52, 54, 57, 61, 82, 135, 172, 174 – against statues 12, 84, 181, 183, 187, 189– 193, 201 – against temples 180, 184–185, 186, 188, 193, 195, 199 – against synagogues 154–155 – collective violence 1–3, 8, 10, 13, 43, 186, 202–203, 206 – vandalism 3, 46, 48–49, 88–89, 198–199

Quintilian 77, 86 Ursinus, b. of Rome 167–168