Greek Literature in Late Antiquity: Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism

To James ἐσμὲν συνεργοί Contents List of Contributors vii Acknowledgments ix Note on Transliteration, Spelling, and Abbreviations xi Introduction PART 1 DYNAMISM 1 New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature, A Title Revisited Averil Cameron 2 The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century: Greek, Syriac, and Latin Adam H. Becker 3 Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity Christopher P. Jones PART 2 11 29 49 DIDACTICISM 4 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment Aaron P. Johnson 5 Instruction by Question and Answer: The Case of Late Antique and Byzantine Erotapokriseis Yannis Papadoyannakis 6 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in the Works of Chorikios of Gaza Ruth Webb PART 3 1 67 91 107 CLASSICISM 7 Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century Elizabeth Jeffreys 127 8 The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants Adrian Hollis 141 9 The St Polyeuktos Epigram (AP 1.10): A Literary Perspective Mary Whitby 159 10 Late Antique Narrative Fiction: Apocryphal Acta and the Greek Novel in the Fifth-Century Life and Miracles of Thekla Scott Fitzgerald Johnson Index 189 Contributors ADAM H. BECKER is Assistant Professor of Classics and Religious Studies at New York University. He is author of Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006). His other publications include articles on Syriac Christianity as well as Jewish-Christian relations in late antiquity. AVERIL CAMERON was Professor of Late Antique and Byzantine History at King’s College London and has been Warden of Keble College, Oxford, since 1994. She has published extensively on late antiquity, recently as an editor of the Cambridge Ancient History volumes XII–XIV, and is the author of The Byzantines (Blackwell, 2006). ADRIAN HOLLIS has been a Fellow of Keble College, Oxford, since 1967, after three years at St Andrews University. He has edited with commentary Ovid’s Metamorphoses 8 (Oxford University Press, 1970/1983) and Ars Amatoria 1 (OUP, 1977/1989) and Callimachus’ Hecale (OUP, 1990). Recently he completed Fragments of Roman Poetry c. 60 BC–AD 20 (OUP, 2007). ELIZABETH JEFFREYS is the Bywater and Sotheby Professor of Byzantine and Modern Greek Language and Literature in the University of Oxford. She has written extensively on topics to do with Byzantine literature from all periods. Her book on the Byzantine Navy, with John Pryor of Sydney University, is appearing from Brill in 2006. AARON P. JOHNSON is a Lecturer in Classics at the University of Texas at Austin. He is the author of Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica (Oxford University Press, 2006). His work has appeared in Journal of Early Christian Studies, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies, and elsewhere. SCOTT FITZGERALD JOHNSON is a Junior Fellow in the Harvard Society of Fellows. He is the author of The Life and Miracles of Thekla, A Literary Study (Center for Hellenic Studies and Harvard University Press, 2006). While he continues to research the history of apocryphal and pseudepigraphical traditions, his current project concerns the organization of knowledge in late antiquity. viii Contributors CHRISTOPHER P. JONES is George Martin Lane Professor of Classics and History, Harvard University. He recently published Philostratus: Apollonius of Tyana in the Loeb Classical Library (3 vols, Harvard University Press, 2005–2006). He is currently writing a book about the creation of new heroes in the ancient world. YANNIS PAPADOYANNAKIS is Honorary Research Fellow at the University of Birmingham. He works on the Christianization of the Roman Empire, Apologetics, and late antique and Byzantine Greek literature. He is currently preparing a monograph on the apologetics of Theodoret of Cyrrhus against the Greeks. RUTH WEBB is Honorary Research Fellow, School of History, Classics and Archaeology, Birkbeck College London and Professeur Associé, Université de Paris X–Nanterre. She has published many articles on imperial Greek education and rhetoric and on the late antique theatre. MARY WHITBY is a freelance academic, editor, and university teacher. Her publications lie in the field of late antique poetry, rhetoric, and historiography. She has edited The Propaganda of Power, a volume of essays on panegyric in late antiquity (Brill, 1998) and, in connection with work on the Prosopography of the Byzantine World project based at King’s College, London, Byzantines and Crusaders in Non-Greek Sources (OUP for the British Academy, 2006). Acknowledgments There are a several people without whom this volume would have been significantly delayed or might not have come to press at all. On behalf of the contributors, I would like to express our collective appreciation for their assistance. First and foremost among these is James George, a fellow traveler with this book who in the end was not able to be a part of its final version. Not only did he help conceive the project several years ago, but he was an important member of our original Oxford conference on which the book is based. His enthusiasm for both Greek literature and late antiquity is unflagging and it played a crucial role in moving towards publication. Out of gratitude and friendship I have chosen to dedicate this book to him. I would also like to thank Matthew Polk, who worked painstakingly with Greek fonts and bibliographical stylesheets to lay the foundation of the text you see before you. He was the first-round copy editor who dealt gently with all the idiosyncrasies of our various computers and academic proclivities. I am also grateful for his help with the index. He has been a friend and colleague in the publication process from beginning to end. Ivy Livingston was responsible for making the text look like a real book, and she did a marvelous job. As always, she was professional, courteous, and prompt. An editor simply could not ask for a more talented and affable typesetter, especially one so gifted at making thorny design problems look easy. I am grateful to my colleagues in the Society of Fellows for wide-ranging discussions that helped to shape the vision of this volume. In particular, I would like to thank David Elmer and Gregory Nagy for reading the introduction and suggesting improvements and Jonathan Bolton and Jurij Striedter for helping me to think about the concept of literary history. Finally, it is a pleasure to offer my gratitude to John Smedley, Celia Hoare, and the editorial staff at Ashgate. John was excited about this project from our very first meeting at the 2004 Byzantine Studies Conference in Baltimore. His encouraging and patient nature is enviable in any context, but particularly when one is falling significantly behind a deadline. Above all, he should be warmly thanked for what he has done to advance the knowledge of late antiquity and Byzantium in the scholarly community and beyond. My wife Carol and daughter Susanna have lived with these papers for many months. I am grateful to them and the rest of my family for their unfailing support and love during this busy season. Scott Fitzgerald Johnson Cambridge, Massachusetts November 2005 A Note on Transliteration, Spelling, and Abbreviations The question of how to render Greek words in transliteration always appears more taxing than it probably should be. In the present case I have taken the laissezfaire approach while also attempting to maintain the consistency of the volume as much as possible. Individual contributors were allowed to choose for themselves how they rendered Greek (e.g., whether to signify long vowels) and whether to Latinize proper names or not. Also, I was not doctrinaire about English spelling: this is a transatlantic venture and is reflected as such in the individual papers. Finally, short titles of classical works employed in this book can be found in the ‘Authors and Works’ sections of Liddell-Scott-Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon (rev. ed., Oxford, 1996), the Oxford Latin Dictionary (Oxford, 1996), or Lewis and Short, A Latin Dictionary (Oxford, 1879). Abbreviations for journals and series are listed below. ABBREVIATIONS BDAG F.W. Danker, ed. A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature, 3rd ed. (Chicago, 2000) BHG F. Halkin, ed. Bibliotheca hagiographica graeca, 3rd ed. (Brussels, 1969) BICS Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of London (London, 1954–) BMGS Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies (Oxford, 1975–) CQ Classical Quarterly (Oxford, 1907–) CSCO Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium (Paris, etc., 1900–) CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (Vienna, 1866–) FrGrHist F. Jacoby et al., eds. Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Leiden, 1954–) GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies (Cambridge, Mass., 1958–) GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte (Leipzig and Berlin, 1899–) HSCP Harvard Studies in Classical Philology (Cambridge, Mass., 1890–) HTR Harvard Theological Review (Cambridge, Mass., 1908–) JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies (Baltimore, 1993–) JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies (London, 1880–) JÖB Jahrbuch der österreichischen Byzantinistik (Vienna, 1969–) JRS Journal of Roman Studies (London, 1911–) JTS Journal of Theological Studies (London, 1899–) OS Ostkirchliche Studien (Würzburg, 1952–) PBSR Papers of the British School at Rome (London, 1902–) PG J.P. Migne, ed. Patrologiae cursus completus: Series Graeca, 166 vols (Paris, 1857–1866) xii PL PLRE PO RE REA REG SC SIFC SO SP TAPA VC ZKG ZNW ZPE Note on Transliteration, Spelling, and Abbreviations J.P. Migne, ed. Patrologiae cursus completus: Series Latina, 221 vols (Paris, 1844–1864) A.H.M. Jones et al., eds. Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, 3 vols (Cambridge, 1971–1992) Patrologia Orientalis (Paris and Turnhout, 1907–) A.F. von Pauly et al., eds. Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft, 49 vols (Stuttgart, 1894–1980) Revue des études anciennes (Paris, 1899–) Revue des études grecques (Paris, 1888–) Sources chrétiennes (Paris, 1941–) Studi italiani di filologia classica (Florence, 1893–) Symbolae Osloenses (Oslo, 1924–) Studia Patristica (Berlin and Leuven, 1957–) Transactions of the American Philological Association (Boston, etc., 1870–) Vigiliae Christianae (Amsterdam, 1947–) Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte (Stuttgart, 1876–) Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der Älteren Kirche (Berlin, 1900–) Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik (Bonn, 1967–) Introduction Scott Fitzgerald Johnson Harvard University I. BACKGROUND The majority of the papers in this volume were originally prepared for a conference held at Keble College, Oxford on 5 June, 2004. The conference was organized by myself and a colleague at Keble, James George, to address the topic of ‘Greek Literature in Late Antiquity’ from a definitional point of view. Our basic questions were, What are the characteristic features of Greek writing in our period? and How can late antiquity be understood through the multifarious Greek literature that period produced? We did not attempt to limit the term ‘literature’ to high literature only, such as epic poetry, but rather we let the category of literature be defined more or less for itself. After all, one of the traditional ways of denigrating late antiquity has been to claim that no great literature was produced in the period. Not only is this a spurious assertion on any standard, but it hinders the study of late antiquity’s natural ways of talking about literature and literary creation. It was an interest in these broader issues which led to asking a group of experts on the period—half established scholars and half younger innovators—to speak to our topic from specific perspectives of their own choosing. The ensuing papers and discussions on site quickly convinced us of the value of publishing the conference. There was general agreement among the speakers that too few collective efforts had been made to emphasize the vitality of Greek literature in late antiquity. Thus, with publication in mind, we commissioned three new papers to fill out the volume (Christopher Jones, Mary Whitby, and myself), and we set about trying to delineate the overarching themes of the conference. Three major categories emerged as organizing principles—Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism—which now orient the argument of the present volume. While we do not pretend that these ten papers are in toto encyclopedic for the period—such an enterprise would run the risk of leaving out critical analysis altogether—we nevertheless comfortably claim that each of the papers has something to say concerning these broad categories. The same is true of the Greek texts they discuss, which is precisely the point that we hope to convey. We believe our ‘Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism’ subtitle to be crucial to our arguments about the characteristics of Greek literature in late antiquity, and we have chosen three or four papers to illustrate the value of each of these categories. 2 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson II. PAPERS Averil Cameron’s paper, ‘New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature, A Title Revisited’, comes first in the volume and serves as something of a bibliographical introduction to our subject. In revisiting the topic of a seminal paper that she published in 1992, she illustrates the dynamic interaction of Greek literature with multiple modes of writing in late antiquity, ending with an excursus on the biographical and panegyrical modes. Throughout the paper a number of period-defining characteristics are on display: the sheer bulk of Greek writing in late antiquity, literary experimentation, theological genres, and perennial difficulties of taxonomy and nomenclature. Furthermore, for Cameron the dynamism of late antiquity includes not only Greek’s engagement with Latin—a traditional binary opposition inherited from the discipline of Classics—but also with multiple eastern Christian languages, such as Syriac, Armenian, Coptic, Georgian, and Arabic. The suggestion that we can hardly understand what ‘Greek literature’ means in late antiquity without taking account of adjacent eastern languages and literatures is corroborated by the second paper in our collection. In ‘The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century: Greek, Syriac, and Latin’, Adam Becker investigates Junillus Africanus’ sixth-century Handbook of the Basic Principles of the Divine Law (Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis) and exposes its deep roots in Syriac exegesis. The process of dissemination was facilitated by Greek and thus illuminates a little appreciated role of Greek literature in the East. Greek was a vehicle which carried eastern thought (Syriac, Armenian, etc.) to the West, and returned the favor by bringing Roman thought and institutions to the East. From the works of Theodore of Mopseustia to the Christian Topography of Cosmas Indicopleustes, the fourth to sixth centuries saw Greek continue to expand its role as avatar of what Becker has evocatively termed the ‘translinguistic Christian literary oikoumene’. The theme of cross-linguistic reception and translation continues in Christopher Jones’s paper, ‘Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity’, which considers the late antique afterlife of the itinerant philosopher-magician Apollonius of Tyana, principally through the dominant literary biography of him written by Philostratus of Athens in the 220’s AD. This seminal Greek text underwent numerous translations and conflicting evaluations from the third to sixth centuries. Jones’s survey of these reactions brings to the fore the diversity of literary opinion in late antiquity, particularly as regards the engagement between late classical, or Second-Sophistic, and early Christian literature. Apollonius clearly takes on a heightened persona in our period, and the dynamic role of Philostratus’ Greek Life, even among several writers who clearly misread or misunderstood it, is significant and is demonstrated not least by the remarkable number of Byzantine manuscripts which have preserved the work for us. In Aaron Johnson’s contribution, ‘Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment’, our focus shifts back to the Constantinian empire of the early fourth Introduction 3 century and the virulent debates between Christians and pagans. Whereas Eusebius appears earlier in Jones’s paper as the confirmed author of the polemical tract Contra Hieroclem, in Aaron Johnson’s paper we see Eusebius attempting something more constructive in his approach to pagan learning. Compiling enormous tracts from Greco-Roman philosophers—over seventy percent of the work is quotations— Eusebius achieves a new form of literary endeavor, the apologia as eisagoge. He stretches boundaries of genre and form for the sake of a new educational context and he uses texts, not so much as weapons, but as the bulwark for a new curriculum of Christian learning. As was adumbrated by Averil Cameron’s paper, the didactic context of Greek literary reception, evaluation, and manipulation appears here as a crucial aspect of the period. The educational context of Greek literature in late antiquity is invoked as well by Yannis Papadoyannakis in his paper ‘Instruction by Question and Answer: The Case of Late Antique and Byzantine Erotapokriseis’. Likewise, the accumulation of texts as a basis for late antique argument and learning is also highlighted by Papadoyannakis. The method of the erotapokriseis emerged in the technical schoolrooms of ancient philosophy, but like much else in late antique culture it broadened out, or became ‘democratized’ (see Averil Cameron’s paper). To accompany this broadening, Papadoyannakis also acknowledges the growth of encyclopedic literature, embedded in the erotapokriseis and enmeshed in their literary form. Snippets of astrological, medical, and other lore—for example, in the erotapokriseis of Ps. Caesarios from the 550’s AD—‘personalize’ the collected Greek knowledge of late antiquity. As in Aaron Johnson’s paper, the masterstudent relationship is on display in the very literary form of these dialogic Greek ‘microtexts’. With Ruth Webb’s paper, ‘Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza’, we stay within the broader didactic arena, but shift our focus to the genre that she claims bears ‘the closest relationship to the fictional and the literary’ in late antiquity. The Greek epideictic rhetoric of the orator and writer Chorikios of Gaza offers an opportunity to discuss explicit formulations of fictionality in our period, particularly through his speech In Defense of the Mimes. This speech demonstrates Chorikios’ acute awareness of the persona he is adopting in declamation and engages the ambiguities of theatrical production in a Christian empire. While declamation (oratory on set themes) in any context requires the audience’s imagination—no less for the original audience than for us—Chorikios’ speeches demonstrate a special ‘intensification’ of the innate literary nature of declamation. They also underline the ‘rich potential’ of late antique rhetoric, which ‘survived because it remained relevant’, and they allow us to read Chorikios as an internal commentator on the rhetorical art of declamation. The significance of Chorikios’ literary self-reflexivity in the late fifth century should not be underestimated: Jones’s paper also highlights the fifth century as illustrative of competing late antique receptions of earlier Greek literature. 4 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson We find this same conclusion, if pushed slightly later, in Elizabeth Jeffreys’s paper on ‘Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century’. She highlights three provincial writers—Christodorus of Coptus, Colluthus of Lykopolis, and John Malalas of Antioch—who all ended up in Constantinople under the emperor Anastasius I (AD 491–518). For Jeffreys, each of these writers takes a different approach to appropriating classical Greek literature: Christodorus, a poet, represents the full tradition personified; Colluthus, also a poet, represents a tactful, mitigated position; and Malalas, a chronicler in prose, incorporates a completely Christian reworking of classical myth. The form and style of their engagement with classical Greek literature differs substantially between the writers, but it is precisely through such a disparate selection that Jeffreys is able to demonstrate the breadth of approaches to the Greek past which were undertaken with skill and imagination in the early sixth century. Adrian Hollis’s paper, ‘The Hellenistic Epyllion and its Descendants’, expands our discussion of Greek poetry in late antiquity to consider the longue durée of the genre of the mini-epic, or epyllion. As in Jones’s and Jeffreys’s literary histories, it is in the reign of Anastasius that the epyllion shows itself to be especially strong. However, that apex is only the culmination of a long history extending back to Callimachus and Hellenistic Alexandria. While it may come as little surprise that the erudite poets of the fifth century, such as Nonnus and Musaeus, are harkening back to the aetiological poetry of Callimachus, the literary history of the epyllion has never been traced with the close attention it receives here. Greek literature is predominant in Hollis’s analysis, especially from the Roman period, but important Latin contributions to the genre are noted as well, not least of which is the Pseudo-Virgilian Ciris. Through this detailed study of the history of an enduring Hellenistic genre, Hollis demonstrates above all the elevated role that classical poetry continued to play in late antiquity. Poetry is also the object of Mary Whitby’s paper, which is entitled ‘The St. Polyeuktos Epigram (AP 1.10): A Literary Perspective’. She thus continues the theme of Jeffreys and Hollis while tackling a contested text that is as crucial as any to our understanding of the early sixth century literary world. The St. Polyeuktos epigram, surviving complete in the Greek Anthology (abbreviated AP), was originally inscribed on large blocks inside and outside the lavish Church of St. Polyeuktos, constructed in the 520s by Anicia Juliana. Whitby analyzes the themes and structure of the poem and compares it to a wealth of Greek poetry from the period in an attempt to come to a better understanding of the style, authorship, and argument of the poem. The value of the epigram rests not least in its attempt to compete on a very advanced level of literature in verse. A number of late antique comparanda are brought to bear on the question: Quintus of Smyrna, the anonymous Vision of Dorotheus, the poems of Gregory of Nazianzus, the Empress Eudocia’s paraphrase of the Martyrdom of St. Cyprian, the Dionysiaca and Paraphrase of John by Nonnus, the Paraphrase of the Psalms attributed to Apollinarius the elder, Christodorus of Coptus, John of Gaza, Paul the Silentiary’s Ekphrasis on St. Sophia, and George of Introduction 5 Pisidia. Such a cast of important poets produces not just a specialist’s inquiry into the authorship of the epigram, but comprises a profound summary article on the history and quality of original Greek poetry in late antiquity. In the final contribution our volume returns to prose and, specifically, to the late antique reception of the Greek Novel. In my own paper I consider the continued vitality of narrative fiction in the mid-fifth century and I take the experimental Life and Miracles of Thekla as my test case. I describe briefly the fundamental literary nature of this text before turning to a detailed comparison between the literary techniques of the Greek Novel (specifically, Chariton and Achilles Tatius) and those of the Life and Miracles. I note the considerable affinity in their use of authorial voice, which appears most strongly in the Life and Miracles through the character of the apostle Paul: he both recapitulates the story ‘thus far’ and predicts Thekla’s future martyrdoms and (extra-textual) reception as a female apostle. By examining the role of apostolic succession (diadoche) in the Life and Miracles, I also highlight the theme of education, religious and sexual, which is an essential theme of the Greek Novel. At the end, I note how important it is to reconsider the currently fashionable disjunction between early Christian Greek literature and late antique Greek literature. The continuity of form, evidenced by a number of the papers in this volume, directly contradicts this accepted dogma. Literary form has been neglected by scholars of Christian origins yet it is a highly significant category both for the emergence of Christian discourse and for the history of Greek literature writ large. III. CONSENSUS? In their classic textbook Theory of Literature, the literary critics René Wellek and Austin Warren include as their very last chapter a discussion of the concept and practice of ‘Literary History’. They make the following claim in the progress of that chapter: ‘The problem of writing the history of a period will be first a problem of description: we need to discern the decay of one convention and the rise of a new one.’1 Drawing on the work of Russian formalists of the 1920s and members of the Prague Linguistic Circle of the 1930s and 1940s, Wellek and Warren make a case for the practice of literary history which is based first and foremost on critical engagement with the literature itself.2 The history of the literature in a given period René Wellek and Austin Warren, Theory of Literature (London: 1993 [1963]), p. 266. Wellek was a junior member of the Prague Linguistic Circle in the 1930s and gave an important paper on literary history at one of their meetings: ‘The Theory of Literary History’, Travaux de Cercle linguistique de Prague 6 (1936), pp. 173–191. However, the major figure whom we associate with the theory of ‘literary evolution’ in Prague is Jan Mukařovský: for a survey of his thought and career, see René Wellek, ‘The Literary Theory and Aesthetics of the Prague School’, in idem, Discriminations: Further Concepts of Criticism (New Haven: 1970), pp. 275–303. For the history and conclusions of the school as a whole, see F.W. Galan, Historic 1 2 6 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson is not any more legitimately based on external forces, such as political or social movements, than it is on ‘the system of literary norms, standards, and conventions whose introduction, spread, diversification, integration, and disappearance can be traced’.3 Therefore, if we want to begin to think about the characteristics of a given period, one way of going about it is to try to understand the literature itself on its own terms: to trace conventions and norms in the period, and not to seek to impose norms from the outside. Once that (synchronic) engagement has been initiated, the connections between literary forms, genres, and subject matter can begin to be understood across time (diachronically). This is what we collectively attempt to do in this volume, our papers having arisen out of a felt absence of close readings of the literature of our period— especially qua literature and not merely as evidence for social, religious, or political phenomena. Of course, we are not the first to have attempted something in this vein: one thinks of the twenty-seventh volume of Yale Classical Studies (1982),4 the Cambridge Philological Society volumes on Nonnus (1994) and Heliodorus (1998),5 and two recent collections on biography and panegyric.6 While this heightened interest is a welcome development, it is safe to say, I think, that the field is still in its infancy, especially as regards literary criticism and analysis. As an example of late antiquity lagging behind literary scholarship on other periods, it is instructive that, in the recent multi-volume collection of studies on Greek literature edited by Gregory Nagy, only a few papers deal directly with the fourth to sixth centuries. This is not for lack of comprehensiveness or interest on the part of the editor—the collection is in nine substantial volumes—rather, there is simply too little in the way of serious literary scholarship available which could have been included.7 Returning briefly to the question of periodization, I would like to ask whether we have achieved a consensus in this volume about the characteristics of Greek Structures: The Prague School Project, 1928–1946 (London: 1985), Jan K. Broekman, Structuralism: Moscow–Prague–Paris (Dordrecht and Boston: 1974), pp. 43–69, and Jurij Striedter, Literary Structure, Evolution, and Value: Russian Formalism and Czech Structuralism Reconsidered (Cambridge, Mass.: 1989). 3 Wellek and Warren, Theory of Literature, p. 265. 4 The Yale Classical Studies volume was edited by John Winkler and Gordon Williams and is entitled Later Greek Literature. In the brief introduction, the editors note that the original call for papers was for ‘The Second Sophistic and Later Greek Literature’ (vii) but that Ewen Bowie’s contribution on ‘The Importance of Sophists’ convinced them to change the title (ix). The rhetoric of introductions notwithstanding, it is significant that there are only two papers in the volume that consider the fifth century and later. 5 Neil Hopkinson (ed.), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume 17 (Cambridge: 1994); Richard Hunter (ed.), Studies in Heliodorus, Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume 21 (Cambridge: 1998). 6 Mary Whitby (ed.), The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Leiden: 1998); Tomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau (eds), Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2000). 7 Gregory Nagy (ed.), Greek Literature (9 vols, New York: 2001), esp. vols 8–9. Introduction 7 literature in late antiquity. Is there some definable ethos which we can point to and thus claim to have discovered the soul of the period? Can we claim to have set, through literary analysis, the boundaries of late antiquity once and for all? Unsurprisingly, the answer to both questions is no. However, we do believe that the investigation of the Greek (and other) literature of late antiquity is a necessary element for the future growth and success of the field, and this neglected area of scholarship has ramifications for neighboring disciplines such as Classics, western medieval studies, Byzantine studies, and studies of the Islamic world. The specialization of a ‘late antiquist’ was not even available forty years ago, and we feel privileged now to have the opportunity to offer this volume as a sign of the maturity of the discipline. We have identified ‘Dynamism, Didacticism, and Classicism’ as three categories under which the Greek literature of late antiquity can be shown to flourish, both in its native creativity and in its interactions with other literatures, past and present. We also feel that, by concentrating on traditional genres such as epic poetry, declamations, biography, and the Greek Novel, we have demonstrated the vibrancy of classical literary reception in the period. Nevertheless, new genres and new literary experiments are also on display in this volume, as are the shadows of the huge corpora of Syriac and late antique Latin—we only wish Aramaic, Armenian, Coptic, Ethiopic, Georgian, and Arabic could have been represented as well, since all of these languages have a role to play in defining ‘Greek literature’ in our period. The question of literary value or valuation must not be neglected either, but, as with the question of periodization, it is impossible to suggest that ten separate scholars would ever be able to agree unanimously. To return to the Prague School theorists mentioned above, they argued that one way of understanding literary history is as a dialectic of attraction and repulsion: as soon as an attractive literary form becomes too predominant, new innovators react and seek ways of altering it.8 Some of these new forms are successful, of course, but others fall by the wayside. This may seem too formulaic an approach in the context of our contemporary (post-)poststructuralist cynicism, but, for the purposes of this introduction, it is a helpful schema: since, if there is any single thing that all the contributors have agreed upon, implicitly or explicitly, it is the rise and value of minor genres in late antiquity. Sometimes these genres, as perhaps with Eusebius’ apologia-cumeisagoge, the Praeparatio Evangelica, are true experiments and do not survive longer than the examples that we have, but other typically late antique genres, such as the florilegium, the erotapokriseis, or the narrative saint’s Life, achieve a prominence in Greek literary history that is significant and influential on later writers and eras. Even with the epyllion and the literary epigram, traditional genres, we see the inherited style being actively manipulated in late antiquity: in both of the latter cases the legacy appears to be that of the experimental Hellenistic world interpreted through the gigantic figure of Nonnus. 8 See Galan, Historic Structures, pp. 22–23. 8 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson Thus, in all of the papers in this volume we see evidence of literary hybridity, of compilation (or at least consolidation), of engagement with languages and literatures beyond Greek itself, of intense reception and adaptation of older literature (classical, Jewish, and early Christian), and especially of experimentation with form. It could be argued that these elements are simply signs of ‘literature’ going on and being written, rather than characteristic aspects a specific period. If so, then I think we are satisfied merely to have demonstrated the vitality of Greek literature in late antiquity—contrary to traditional evaluations—even though the pioneering papers in this volume do much more than just that. To reiterate, we have not attempted to be encyclopedic in scope, but rather to investigate the broader characteristics of late antiquity by bringing together Greek writers and literary works that have never before been analyzed side by side at this level of detail. We hope that others will find more to say on this topic and that our collective contribution here will foster new awareness and provoke fresh questions in the years to come. WORKS CITED Broekman, Jan K. Structuralism: Moscow–Prague–Paris (Dordrecht and Boston: 1974). Galan, F.W. Historic Structures: The Prague School Project, 1928–1946 (London: 1985). Hägg, Tomas and Philip Rousseau (eds). Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2000). Hopkinson, Neil (ed.). Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume 17 (Cambridge: 1994). Hunter, Richard (ed.). Studies in Heliodorus, Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume 21 (Cambridge: 1998). Nagy, Gregory (ed.). Greek Literature (9 vols, New York: 2001). Striedter, Jurij. Literary Structure, Evolution, and Value: Russian Formalism and Czech Structuralism Reconsidered (Cambridge, Mass.: 1989). Wellek, René. ‘The Theory of Literary History’, Travaux de Cercle linguistique de Prague 6 (1936), 173–191. ———. ‘The Literary Theory and Aesthetics of the Prague School’, in idem, Discriminations: Further Concepts of Criticism (New Haven: 1970), 275–303. Wellek, René and Austin Warren. Theory of Literature (London: 1993 [1963]). Whitby, Mary (ed.). The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Leiden: 1998). Winkler, John and Gordon Williams (eds). Later Greek Literature. Yale Classical Studies 27 (1982). PART 1 Dynamism Chapter 1 New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature, A Title Revisited Averil Cameron Keble College, Oxford Some years ago I published a paper with the title ‘New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature, 7th and 8th Centuries’.1 Readers commented in response that some of the characteristic literary types I pointed to were not in fact new; for example, dialogues, questions and answers and florilegia all seem to be already established in the fifth century. Dialogues and debates, moreover, were not only religious: they might also for example be philosophical.2 But the broader dating raises the question of whether one should instead posit a more continuous series of developments in Greek literary texts, from the fourth or fifth centuries onwards.3 Historians and archaeologists have spent much of their time in recent years discussing the structural and social changes of the late antique period, and it would indeed be strange if literature did not in some way also reflect them. Averil Cameron, ‘New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature, 7th and 8th Centuries’, in Averil Cameron and Lawrence I. Conrad (eds), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East I: Problems in the Literary Source Material (Princeton: 1992), pp. 81–105. The present paper draws on material presented at Cambridge and at the Central European University, Budapest, and I wish to thank Richard Miles and Peter Brown for those invitations. 2 See for example on the anonymous De politica scientia (sixth century), D. O’Meara, ‘The Justinianic Dialogue On Political Science and its Neoplatonic Sources’, in K. Ierodiakonou (ed.), Byzantine Philosophy and its Ancient Sources (Oxford: 2004), pp. 49–62, and see below n. 36. If theological writing should be regarded as literary, the same question arises with regard to philosophical writing; food for thought for example in P. Athanassiadi, Damascius: The Philosophical History [text with translation and notes] (Athens: 1999), introduction, pp. 39–42, and pp. 58–60. 3 Publications on the subject are still rare, but see John J. Winkler and Gordon Williams (eds), Later Greek Literature, Yale Classical Studies 27 (Cambridge: 1982). The terminological divide between ‘late antique’ and ‘Byzantine’ is a hindrance to anyone trying to approach this subject, and it is therefore noteworthy that despite its title P. Odorico and P.A. Agapitos (eds), Pour une nouvelle histoire de la littérature byzantine: Problèmes, méthodes, approches, propositions (Paris: 2002) contains several relevant contributions, including E. Chrysos, ‘Illuminating Darkness by Candlelight: Literature in the Dark Ages’, ibid., pp. 13–24; M. Mullett, ‘New Literary History and the History of Byzantine Literature: A Worthwhile Endeavour?’, ibid., pp. 37–60; P. Odorico, ‘L’auteur byzantin. Taxonomie et systématique: un essai de définition’, ibid., pp. 61–80. 1 12 Averil Cameron It is surely a fair question to ask where literature fits in the context of the ‘long late antiquity’—the model of the period which Wolfgang Liebeschuetz has called the multi-culturalist, which rejects decline in favour of transformation, which sees late antiquity as extending as late even as the eighth century, and as encompassing the first phase of Islam, and which prevails in current scholarship.4 It is true that in all the mass of methodological essays on the interpretation of late antiquity, literary criticism and literature per se get very little if any attention. A new French textbook on the period 312–641 covers the ‘written culture’ of the Greek East in the period in a few pages, and without linking it in any systematic way to general historical issues.5 In contrast, Liebeschuetz in his book The Decline and Fall of the Roman City is brave enough to include chapters on literature in West and East and to ask big questions about quality and/or ‘decline’,6 while H. Inglebert reads the history of late antique culture as a history of Christianization.7 I will argue here that we do need to put back consideration of late antique Greek literary culture into the general historical context. After all, late antiquity, defined as the fourth to seventh centuries, was a period which saw not only the rise to prominence of bishops,8 and the development of the cult of saints and Christian pilgrimage centres, but also the opening of a gap between East and West, and the dramatic shrinkage of educational possibilities with the collapse of eastern cities. In the East the state came under extreme pressure and had to reinvent itself. Disappointingly for us, then, the recent collection by Simon Swain and Mark Edwards, Approaching Late Antiquity, with a chapter by Alan Cameron 4 For discussion and references see Averil Cameron, ‘The Long Late Antiquity: A LateTwentieth Century Model?’, in T.P. Wiseman (ed.), Classics in Progress, British Academy Centenary series (Oxford: 2002), pp. 165–191. 5 C. Morrisson (ed.), Le monde byzantin I: L’Empire romain d’orient (330–641) (Paris: 2004); see B. Flusin, ‘La culture écrite’, pp. 255–276—this is not meant as a criticism, since it is the inevitable result of books of multiple authorship, which have to divide up the material somehow. The focus here, given the overall field of the book, is noticeably different from the common focus on the classical (see next note). 6 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, The Decline and Fall of the Roman City (Oxford: 2001), chapter 7, pp. 223–248, ‘The Transformation of Greek Literary Culture under the Influence of Christianity’. Liebeschuetz places literature firmly within general culture, and within the context of visual art, and he gives space to new features such as the rise of the kontakion (p. 241), but he sees a ‘dramatic’ change which is clear by the seventh century, brought about by the ‘excision’ of classicising literature in the second half of the sixth century in favour of a Christian and Biblical emphasis (p. 245). Since he refers to this process as ‘the end of the tradition’ (p. 239) and follows this chapter with another on ‘Conflict and Disorder in the East’, it is fair to say that he sees the process in terms of decline, though that is indeed to over-simplify a nuanced and even pioneering discussion. 7 H. Inglebert, Interpretatio Christiana: Les mutations des savoirs (cosmographie, géographie, ethnographie, histoire) dans l’Antiquité chrétienne 30–630 après J.-C. (Paris: 2001). 8 See Claudia Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2005). New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature 13 on ‘Poetry and Literary Culture in Late Antiquity’, does not go much later than 400—though admittedly its subtitle is The Transformation from Early to Late Empire.9 Periodization, and even simple nomenclature, at the moment offer many traps for the historian or literary critic concerned with late antiquity. For instance, Anthony Kaldellis, in his book on Procopius, is scathing about ‘Byzantinists’, especially British ones,10 but is Procopius and is the sixth century Byzantine or late antique? Indeed Kaldellis’s own book title refers not to Byzantium but to the ‘end of antiquity’. Conversely, Alexander Kazhdan’s history of Byzantine literature begins only with the later seventh century.11 On the other hand the hymns of Romanos in the sixth century are equally commonly taken as marking a new departure, even the beginnings of modern Greek literature.12 Likewise, Inglebert imposes a strongly chronological schema on his presentation of late antique culture. The French editors of Le monde byzantin do not worry about this question of nomenclature and periodization, but I think we must be conscious of it, even if only in judging the existing modern approaches, for while it may seem unimportant in itself, the terms ‘late antiquity’ and ‘Byzantium’ both carry a heavy charge of association and connotation, and this affects modern reactions to the texts in question. To be termed ‘Byzantine’ is all too likely indeed to be the kiss of death for an author, as Ruth Webb implies when commenting on the absence of Byzantine literature from the western canon.13 A fundamental question, of course, is what do we mean by ‘literature’?, or better, what counts as ‘literature’? Is it justifiable to consider ‘high’ literature Simon Swain and Mark Edwards (eds), Approaching Late Antiquity: The Transformation from Early to Late Empire (Oxford: 2004); see Alan Cameron, ‘Poetry and Literary Culture in Late Antiquity’, ibid., pp. 327–354; Oliver Taplin (ed.), Literature in the Greek and Roman Worlds: A New Perspective (Oxford: 2000), contains only one contribution on ‘later Greek literature’, which is mainly concerned with the imperial period; cf. introduction, p. 16: ‘by 550 CE, in the West entirely, and in the East largely, a literary “dark age” had closed in. No one could claim that more than minimal literature was being made any more’. 10 A. Kaldellis, Procopius of Caesarea. Tyranny, History and Philosophy at the End of Antiquity (Philadelphia: 2004), e.g. p. 13, p. 38 and frequently; these Byzantinists are also often equated by him with ‘positivists’. For recent scholarship on Procopius see Geoffrey Greatrex, ‘Recent Work on Procopius and the Composition of Wars VIII’, BMGS 27 (2003): 45–67. 11 Alexander Kazhdan, in collaboration with Lee Sherry and Christine Angelidi, A History of Byzantine Literature (650–850) (Athens: 1999). 12 See Margaret Alexiou, After Antiquity. Greek Language, Myth and Metaphor (Ithaca, NY: 2001); Alexiou passes from the New Testament and its legacy to Romanos and then to the twelfth century, with little coverage of the period between. But Romanos needs to be read in context, even if the poetic quality of his kontakia is given special acclaim. Romanos continues to puzzle scholars: is his work to be read as Syrian or Greek? Is he a liturgical poet or a rhetorician in the Greek tradition? Where does he stand in relation to the Justinianic regime? For a start see the excellent article by Derek Krueger, ‘Writing and Redemption in the Hymns of Romanos the Melodist’, BMGS 27 (2003): 2–44. 13 Ruth Webb, ‘Taking a Leaf from Gibbon: Appraising Byzantium’, Dialogos 6 (1999): 144– 147, at p. 146. 9 14 Averil Cameron only, in the traditional way,14 or should we include the whole range of writing in late antiquity, of which high literature is a part? Kazhdan debates this issue in some detail. He distinguishes ‘literature’ from Schrifttum, mere writing, and distinguishes between literary and non-literary texts. He is aware of the mass of modern theoretical discussion as to what constitutes literature. Literature, he says, is not ‘the accumulated mass of written texts’, but ‘the system of ways and means employed by the authors to express themselves’.15 He goes further: ‘without images and figures, there is no literature’; his own work will be a history of the development of litterarité, ‘the modes and ways of poetical expression’. He is not afraid to include religious writing such as apocalyptic, miracle stories, hagiography or hymnography, in a history of literature. He may still be on the look out for ‘real life’, but he has allowed himself to range widely. Among late antique writers in Greek the historians, both secular and ecclesiastical, have traditionally been well studied.16 But let us not approach late antique literature with an already existing agenda which says that certain sorts of literature—more ‘historical’, or realistic—are by definition more worth studying, or more worthy of the label ‘literary’. Let us abandon both these views, and take a broad approach, including in our thoughts about late antique literature all kinds of written texts, from the high-level histories to the unpretentious saint’s Life, and, moreover, admit into the realm of literature homilies, theological treatises and even conciliar acts.17 Such histories of late antique literature as have been written take a narrower focus, or separate ‘Christian’ literature as part of patristics from literature written in secular and classicising mode. Elizabeth Clark is a notable scholar who has pioneered a different approach, with her argument that literary theory also belongs in the fields previously fenced off as ‘patristics’ or ‘church history’.18 I believe we need to look beyond the binary oppositions which have seemed to be inherent in the writing of the period, especially those between Greek and Latin and pagan (or secular) and Christian, and give more attention to the striking growth of Syriac, Coptic, Georgian and Arabic as literary languages, to the complex relation between elite, high-style and highly cultured writing with less formal and often more practical types of expression,19 and (something which I think is vital) to 14 As in H. Hunger, Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der Byzantiner (2 vols, Munich: 1978). 15 Kazhdan, History of Byzantine Literature, p. 2. 16 See the useful recent collection of papers in G. Marasco (ed.), Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity, Fourth to Sixth Century A.D. (Leiden: 2003). 17 For the argument see Averil Cameron, ‘Education and Literary Culture AD 337–425’, in Averil Cameron and Peter Garnsey (eds), Cambridge Ancient History XIII (Cambridge: 1997), pp. 665–707. 18 Elizabeth Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton: 1999); History, Theory, Text: Historians and the Linguistic Turn (Cambridge, Mass.: 2004). 19 In a paper which is much more wide-ranging and relevant to our concerns here than its title suggests, Claudia Rapp also draws attention to the non-literary transmission of ideas New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature 15 the integration of theological and other religious writing into our understanding of later Greek literature in general.20 Greek literature in late antiquity has not only to be related to the availability and type of education,21 to the powerful influence of rhetoric,22 and to social and political change in general, but also to the demands of, for instance, Christian liturgy, Christian cult centres, Christian edification, homiletic and catechism. It is striking, for example, how much late antique Christian literature was actually written by monks and bishops—why was it written and for whom was it intended?23 The same bishops composed homilies and exegetical works and operated within social networks maintained not least by means of letter-writing— but if we think of Libanius, for example, or Augustine and Paulinus of Nola, we can soon see that this was not confined to Christians, nor to Greek. These competing influences were not always easy to resolve. The sixth-century epigrammatists of Agathias’ Cycle evidently had an excellent training in verse composition, and in the early seventh century, Sophronius was using quite decent anacreontics to write about Jerusalem and about the Persian invasion of Palestine. But a whole monastic literature also grew up in Greek (and other languages), from the lives and sayings of the fathers to ‘centuries’, florilegia, ascetic writings and more. Andrew Louth has recently presented the writings of John of Damascus in this light.24 The circulation of books, including classical manuscripts, is a vital subject which then find their way into written works: Claudia Rapp, ‘Hagiography and Monastic Literature between Greek East and Latin West in Late Antiquity’, in Cristianità d’Occidente e Cristianità d’Oriente (secoli VI-XI), Settimane di Studio 51 (Spoleto: 1994), pp. 1221–1280, at 1248–1266. 20 On which see Cameron, ‘Education and Literary Culture’. 21 As is done by Claudia Rapp, ‘Literary Culture under Justinian’, in M. Maas (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian (Cambridge: 2005), pp. 376–397; see also the remarks of Inglebert, Interpretatio christiana, pp. 562–563, and the paper by Elizabeth Jeffreys in this volume. 22 On which see Elizabeth Jeffreys (ed.), Rhetoric in Byzantium (Aldershot: 2003); most of the emphasis in the contributions is on later periods, but see for example the papers by Cunningham, Ljubarskij, Mullett and Mary Whitby. Rhetoric is a turn-off for modern critics, who feel the need to see beyond it: there is useful material in Stanley E. Porter (ed.), Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period (330 BC–AD 400) (Leiden: 1997), for instance W. Kinzig, ‘The Greek Christian Writers’, ibid., pp. 633–670. 23 For the place of writing in a religious life see Derek Krueger, Writing and Holiness: the Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East (Philadephia: 2004). 24 Andrew Louth, St. John Damascene. Tradition and Originality in Byzantine Theology (Oxford: 2002); for a more philosophical reading of one of the same texts see Michael Frede, ‘John of Damascus on Human Action, the Will and Human Freedom’, in K. Ierodiakonou (ed.), Byzantine Philosophy and its Ancient Sources (Oxford: 2002), pp. 63–96. For monastic literature see also B. Flusin, Saint Anastase le Perse et l’histoire de la Palestine au début du VIIe siècle (2 vols, Paris: 1992); A. Louth, ‘The Literature of the Monastic Movement’, in Frances Young, Lewis Ayres and Andrew Louth (eds), The Cambridge History of Early Christian Literature (Cambridge: 2004), pp. 373–381. 16 Averil Cameron for the period,25 but so too are the translation, rewriting and retelling of stories at all literary levels from the simplest to the quite elevated,26 and the ways in which the vast quantity of ecclesiastical and theological material was kept, maintained and controlled. Both censorship and the fabrication of texts were techniques used by ecclesiastics in our period: texts were themselves, as I have suggested, used as weapons.27 Not surprisingly, then, books were also burned by imperial order. Religion still poses problems for some critics of late antique literature. Kazhdan, a scholar who spent his formative years in the communist system, was also the editor of the Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, a great achievement in terms of the dissemination of knowledge of Byzantium, but a work low on spirituality, icons, orthodoxy and the like and strong on material culture, drains and parts of the body.28 The joint survey of the source material for the Iconoclastic period (ca. 680–850) by John Haldon and Leslie Brubaker is also determinedly secular in focus, against the norm of nearly all writing on this period.29 The first section, by Brubaker, is labelled uncompromisingly ‘Material Culture’, and begins with architecture. Icons take up only one chapter, along with manuscripts, sculpture, textiles, metalwork, coins, seals, inscriptions, archaeology and historical geography. In John Haldon’s part of the book, on the written ‘sources’, we start sternly with historiography and chronography. Hagiography is described as ‘a dangerous source’, because ‘always informed by a clear ideological programme’, but saints’ Lives and miracle collections are included because ‘they can reflect popular and unofficial views and attitudes’, or ‘beliefs, everyday life and [even] the development of the Greek language’.30 Such a principled stand is nowadays uncommon, yet it is only since the publication of Arnaldo Momigliano’s The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity See G. Cavallo, ‘La circolazione libraria nell’età di Giustiniano’, in G.G. Archi (ed.), L’Imperatore Giustiniano, storia e mito, Giornati di Studio a Ravenna, 14–16 ottobre 1976 (Milan: 1978), pp. 83–132; contrast G. Cavallo, ‘L’altra lettura, tra nuovi libri e nuovi testi’, Antiquité tardive 9 (2001): 131–138. 26 Many of the volumes in Translated Texts for Historians (Liverpool University Press), a series devoted to making late antique texts available in English translation, deal with surviving versions in several languages; see also the essays on translation in Margaret Mullett (ed.), Metaphrastes, or Gained in Translation. Essays and Translations in Honour of Robert H. Jordan (Belfast: 2004). 27 Averil Cameron, ‘Texts as Weapons: Polemic in the Byzantine Dark Ages’, in Alan K. Bowman and Greg Woolf (eds), Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (Cambridge: 1994), pp. 198–215. 28 Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (3 vols, New York: 1991); see, on Kazhdan, Alice-Mary Talbot, ‘Alexander Petrovich Kazhdan: The American Years’, Byzantinische Forschungen 27 (2002): 125–132; Anthony Cutler, ‘Some Talk of Alexander’, in Homo Byzantinus. Papers in Honor of Alexander Kazhdan, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 46 (1992): 1–4. 29 Leslie Brubaker and John Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era (c. 680–850): The Sources. An Annotated Survey, Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Monographs 7 (Aldershot: 2001). 30 Ibid., p. 199. 25 New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature 17 in the Fourth Century in 196331 (a year before A.H.M. Jones’s Later Roman Empire) that the previous separation of scholarly work in English on Christian and on secular (or of course, usually pagan) literature has been broken down. It had been a tradition which had created many difficulties, not least the constant attempt in a given author’s writing to identify the ‘classical’ and the ‘Christian’, or the often futile because inconclusive effort to determine an author’s own religious point of view in this way. Yet another obstacle to anyone attempting to find an adequate critical response to later Greek literature is the deep-seated suspicion that Christianization went along with a decline in ‘classical’ rationalism. An extreme form of this was expressed by Ramsay MacMullen, pointing to the detection of a loss of ‘rationalism’ among late antique historians.32 Equally, in discussing the hiatus in Greek secular historiography from the seventh century onwards, Michael Whitby is not alone in suggesting a contraction of horizons.33 Viewed from the perspective of secular historiography, Christianization inevitably takes on negative literary connotations; yet it has been one of the major changes of the last generation that people who would once have considered themselves ‘ancient historians’ now see Christian and other religious material as forming a central part of their concerns, indeed in some cases the central part. However, while Christianization as a subject is inseparable from the study of late antique literature, it is not identical with it. It has been suggested that this period saw an increasing ‘democratization’ of culture, with the development of literary forms less confined to the old elites, and with subject matter appealing to a wider range of the population.34 If that is true (which remains debatable) the obvious question arises as to whether this A. Momigliano (ed.), The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford: 1963); the title betrays the concerns of the time, but the collection gave an important place to Christianity and therefore to Christian writing at a time where it was generally passed over by ancient historians, especially British ones. It has been pointed out more than once that the way had already been shown by H.-I. Marrou, who is one of the contributors to the volume. 32 R. MacMullen, Christianity and Paganism in the Fourth to Eighth Centuries (New Haven: 1997), p. 100, with n. 70; for a strong statement on the supposedly increasing level of superstition and irrationality from which Constantine and Christianity profited (or of which their success was a symptom), see MacMullen, ‘Constantine and the Miraculous’, GRBS 9 (1968): 81–96. 33 See Michael Whitby, ‘Greek Historical Writing after Procopius: Variety and Vitality’, in Averil Cameron and Lawrence I. Conrad (eds),The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East I: Problems in the Literary Source Material (Princeton: 1992), pp. 25–80, with reference at pp. 70–73 to ‘general contraction’, ‘loss of contact with the past’, ‘restricted horizons’ and ‘lack of incentive’. 34 For the history of the debate since Santo Mazzarino first proposed the idea in 1960 see J.-M. Carrié, ‘Antiquité tardive et “démocratisation de la culture”: un paradigme à géométrie variable’, Antiquité tardive 9 (2001): 27–46; Averil Cameron, ‘Democratization Revisited—Culture and Late Antique and Early Byzantine Elites’, in John Haldon (ed.), Elites Old and New in the Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East, Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam (Princeton: 2004), pp. 91–107. 31 18 Averil Cameron trend was connected with Christianization (and where for example Jewish texts, or indeed Christian monastic texts, fall on the spectrum). If it is true, again, it also raises interesting questions about the relation between written texts and visual images, and about the changes in educational availability, the possibilities of travel and the existence of new foci of literary composition. Certainly the latter can be traced. Cyril Mango and others have shown the prominence of Greek writing from Palestine in the seventh century, with for example the works of such writers as Sophronius, John Moschus, Maximus Confessor and Anastasius of Sinai. Mango and others have also brought out the cultural impact that Greek monks and clergy had on Egypt, Sicily and South Italy as they left Palestine under the pressure of invasion.35 Their writings stemmed largely from monastic backgrounds, but clearly from backgrounds where, as at the S. Sabas monastery near Jerusalem, there were good libraries. Seen in this light, we can say that Greek literature spread westwards in the later part of our period, with quite striking cultural effects. And the impact of Palestinian Greek writings in Constantinople is a feature now well explored, especially through the lively debates about the chronicles of George Syncellus and Theophanes.36 Greek literature in late antiquity was dynamic and subject to considerable change, just like the historical context from which it came. But though this volume is about Greek literature, we should not forget the amount of Latin literary activity going on even in Constantinople, certainly up to the sixth century, or the interplay which still existed between Latin and Greek traditions—one can cite Marcellinus Comes, Priscian, Cassiodorus, John the Lydian, Junillus, Corippus—all active in sixth-century Constantinople and writing in Latin; however the influence of Latin literature can also be seen in Greek works, for instance the anonymous ‘On political science’,37 and would be a good subject for further work. Do we count in any survey of later Greek literature the many works originally written in Greek but now surviving only or partly in Syriac or other languages? This phenomenon Cyril Mango, ‘La culture grecque et l’Occident au VIII siècle’, in I problemi dell’Occidente nel secolo VIII, Settimane di Spoleto 20 (Spoleto: 1974), pp. 683–670, reprinted in Cyril Mango, Byzantium and its Image (Aldershot: 1984), VI. 36 See also the Life of Michael Syncellus: Mary B. Cunningham, The Life of Michael the Synkellos: Text, Translation and Commentary, Belfast Byzantine Texts and Translations (Belfast: 1991). For recent discussion and references on the Palestinian origin of George Syncellus and the possible transmission of his eastern sources to Theophanes, see William Adler and Paul Tuffin, The Chronography of George Synkellos: A Byzantine Chronicle of Universal History from the Creation (Oxford: 2002), pp. lxxxi–lxxxiii. Theophanes preserves material in common with Syriac chronicles, whether or not mediated by Syncellus. 37 Ed. Carlo-Maria Mazzucchi, Menae patricii cum Thoma referendario de scientia politica dialogus (Milan: 1982). The work draws on Cicero and cites Cato, Livy, Cicero, Seneca and Juvenal; see also A.S. Fotiou, ‘Dicaearchus and the Mixed Constitution in Sixth-Century Byzantium: New Evidence from a Treatise on “Political Science”’, Byzantion 51 (1981): 533–547. On Latin in the East see also Rapp, ‘Hagiography and Monastic Culture’, pp. 1221–1242. 35 New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature 19 is found in a wide range of literary fields, from hagiography and apocryphal texts and theological works to historiography.38 Even more important, of course, is the emergence of important literatures in Syriac, Coptic, Armenian and Georgian. But translation is also key: Eusebius, Theodoret of Cyrrhus and Severus of Antioch are only some of the authors of Greek works surviving mainly or entirely in translation, while the debate about the authorship of the Life of Antony, one of the seminal works of late antique literature, is made more difficult by the existence of an early version in Syriac and the issue of the relationship between this and the Greek and Coptic versions.39 Such permeability had other repercussions, for instance in the increasing influence of Greek on the Syriac language. It makes sense in formal terms to confine an enquiry to works in Greek, but only at cost of losing part of the bigger literary picture. Finally, if the relation between texts and translations is often difficult, so is that between text and image. Art historians of the period are highly involved with texts, using texts to explicate visual material, and constantly debating the relation of text and image; but are literary historians equally aware of images and visual art?40 There remain real problems about the interpretation of late antique literature. One such problem lies with the common perception of rhetoric as problematic or even negative. In the older view, rhetoric could be seen as a sort of add-on, bolted on to the ‘facts’—if anything, an impediment rather than a help to real reporting. Yet without rhetoric, in all senses of the word, late antique literature cannot be approached, whether it is religious or secular. It is indeed rash to speak of ‘new’ features in later Greek literature: looking at overall characteristics or developments is safer. My own view is that given where we now are, the traditional binary line between ‘classical’ and ‘non-classical’ features (which are often identified with pagan or secular) and Christian is much less useful than it used to be as a hermeneutic tool, and that it is better to start from a more open-minded position in facing an individual writer. Looking instead at what links writers in late antiquity is more likely to produce interesting results, and more likely to help locate them in their cultural background. A more nuanced idea of their individual formation and education would help in many cases too—at the moment there are just too many generalizations. 38 For the latter see Michael Whitby, ‘The Church Historians and Chalcedon’, in Marasco (ed.), Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity (Leiden: 2003), pp. 449–496. 39 See the cautious conclusions on authorship of Philip Rousseau, ‘Antony as Teacher in the Greek Life’, in Thomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau (eds), Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2000), pp. 89–106, at pp. 101–104; for this old problem see also the critical edition of the V. Ant., ed. G.J.M. Bartelink, Vie d’Antoine, Sources chrétiennes 400 (Paris: 1994). 40 A notable exception is Michael Roberts, who links literary and visual evidence in his book The Jeweled Style: Poetry and Poetics in Late Antiquity (Ithaca, NY: 1989); Patricia Cox Miller, The Poetry of Thought in Late Antiquity: Essays in Imagination and Religion (Aldershot: 2001), dares to address questions of aesthetics, which most scholars have preferred to avoid. 20 Averil Cameron For reasons of space I must leave the Roman and Greek issue for another time, and would like to focus for the rest of this paper on something which people do find difficult, yet which cuts across many types of Greek writing in late antiquity. We could perhaps call it ‘the panegyrical mode’. The recent collection by Tomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau is indeed called Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity,41 but of the two, biography has seemed much more interesting, and has received much more attention. The search for ‘the biographic’ is indeed a hallmark of current writing on late antique literature, especially since Patricia Cox Miller’s book on the subject in 1983.42 It is of course fundamental to understanding saints’ Lives. Saints’ Lives are also central to understanding late antique religious culture.43 But while the problems of using hagiography to provide historical evidence are well recognized, saints’ Lives also continue to pose literary problems right through the Byzantine period.44 It seems to me that the contribution of the panegyrical mode to this recurring dilemma still needs some work. It takes us back to the realm of ‘rhetoric’, or more exactly, rhetorical education, for panegyric, as a component of epideictic oratory, was and remained one of the basic components of Greek literary education in late antiquity and Byzantium. This recurring feature in Byzantine writing, not confined to panegyrics as such, is of course in no way new; but it is one of those ‘characteristic ways or means of expression’ which I would regard as typical of late antique writing and which find their way across genres.45 That panegyric and the concept of a panegyrical mode form a difficult subject can be seen from the fact that Kaldellis in his book on Procopius leaves the Buildings deliberately out of account in arriving at his revisionist assessment of Procopius’s views on Justinian, having dismissed the work as ‘insincere flattery’.46 41 Hägg and Rousseau (eds), Greek Biography and Panegyric, with their introduction, pp. 1–28. 42 Patricia Cox, Biography in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1983); see for instance Simon Swain, ‘Biography and Biographic in the Literature of the Roman Empire’, in M.J. Edwards and Simon Swain (eds), Portraits. Biographical Representation in the Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1997), pp. 1–17. 43 And thus essential to introductory books on Byzantine culture, for instance G. Cavallo (ed.), The Byzantines (English translation, Chicago: 1997), pp. 255–280 (by Cyril Mango). 44 See S. Hackel (ed.), The Byzantine Saint (London: 1981); M. van Uytfanghe, ‘L’hagiographie antique tardive: une littérature populaire?’, in J.-M. Carrié and Gisella Cantino Wataghin, with Paolo Demeglio (eds), La ‘démocratisation de la culture’ dans l’antiquité tardive, Antiquité tardive 9 (2001): 201–218. Derek Krueger, Symeon the Holy Fool: Leontius’s Life and the Late Antique City (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1996) is an example of how to read hagiography. 45 Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire. The Development of Christian Discourse (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1991), p. 13, also cited by Patricia Cox Miller, ‘Strategies of Representation in Collective Biography: Constructing the Subject as Holy’, in Hägg and Rousseau (eds), pp. 209–254, at p. 250. 46 Kaldellis, Procopius, pp. 51–52, 54–55, calling Procopius’s claims that it is a ‘history’ deception; he defends himself at p. 241 n. 128. Incidentally this view of the Buildings is itself revisionist, going back to Gibbon, whom Kaldellis usually dismisses. New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature 21 ‘Panegyrical’ is here a dirty word.47 Understandably, Robert Penella, in an essay on Themistius, finds it necessary to defend his subject.48 Other critics have also found Procopius’s Buildings difficult, whether in terms of genre, historical reliability or compatibility with Procopius’s other works.49 In a recent paper Jaś Elsner argued that the Buildings should be read not as a historical description of actual buildings but as a lengthy ekphrasis,50 a form of epideictic with a strong panegyrical element. Compare Paul the Silentiary on S. Sophia,51 or other contemporary descriptions of churches, for example by the early sixth century Gaza school, not to mention the poem on Anicia Juliana’s church of St. Polyeuktos52 or the inscription round the church of SS. Sergius and Bacchus,53 to name only a few sixth-century examples. Descriptions of buildings are a special case, and the question of how far they are usable by historians for the reconstruction of the actual buildings remains.54 But there is no binary opposition between literary description and historical reliability. Sabine MacCormack recognized that descriptions of buildings or physical objects had a structural role in imperial panegyric, and this is certainly true:55 Corippus provides an outstanding example of this in his poem praising Justin II, which gives us the literary equivalent of such works of art as imperial diptychs, or the Trier Ibid., p. 241 n. 25. Robert J. Penella, ‘The Rhetoric of Praise in the Private Orations of Themistius’, in Hägg and Rousseau (eds), pp. 194–208, at p. 201: ‘Oration 30: more than a trite encomium?’; see also Robert J. Penella, The Private Orations of Themistius (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2000). 49 See the papers in C. Roueché (ed.), Le De Aedificiis de Procope: le texte et les réalités documentaires, Antiquité tardive 8 (2000): 7–180, especially those by Mary Whitby, Michael Whitby (who are confused by Kaldellis) and Howard-Johnston. For the insincerity view see also G. Downey, ‘The Composition of Procopius, De Aedificiis’, TAPA 71 (1947): 171–183; this usually leads to the conclusion that the work’s ‘evidence’ is untrustworthy. 50 J. Elsner, ‘Ecphrasis as Panegyric: The Rhetoric of Buildings in Procopius’ De Aedificiis’, given at the Oxford Byzantine seminar; also Mary Whitby, ‘Procopius’ Buildings Book I: A Panegyrical Perspective’, Antiquité tardive 8 (2000): 48–57. 51 See R. Macrides and P. Magdalino, ‘The Architecture of Ekphrasis: Construction and Context of Paul the Silentiary’s Poem on Hagia Sophia’, BMGS 12 (1988): 47–82. 52 AP I.10; see the detailed discussion by Mary Whitby in this volume. 53 Ibid. I.8; Cyril Mango, ‘The Church of Saints Sergius and Bacchus at Constantinople and the Alleged Tradition of Octagonal Palatine Churches’, JÖB 21 (1972): 189–193. See Mary Whitby’s paper in this volume for further bibliography; also her earlier paper ‘The Vocabulary of Praise in Verse-Celebrations of 6th-Century Building Achievements: AP 2.398–406, AP 9.656, AP 1.10 and Paul the Silentiary’s Description of St Sophia’, in D. Accorinti and P. Chuvin (eds), Des Géants à Dionysos. Mélanges offerts à F. Vian (Alessandria: 2003), pp. 593– 606. 54 Eusebius’s descriptions of churches are a classic example of obscurity: see especially VC III.25–51 on the churches in the Holy Land; IV. 58–60, on Constantine’s mausoleum. This is perhaps why the subject has been so taken up by art historians. 55 S. MacCormack, ‘Latin Prose Panegyrics: Tradition and Discontinuity in the Later Roman Empire’, REA 22 (1976): 29–77. 47 48 22 Averil Cameron ivory, or the Ravenna mosaics.56 It is well recognized indeed that ekphrasis of a work of art, often a Christian icon, mosaic or church, is an extremely common literary form in late antiquity;57 bishops were builders, after all, and the new Christian constructions called for admiring description. Not all ekphraseis were positive about their subject: there was also an art of denigration. But much surviving ekphrasis can be seen as a particular (though elastic) example of the wider panegyrical mode.58 The market, if we put it that way, for panegyric, was lively: as well as Procopius and Corippus, both Priscian (in Latin) and Procopius of Gaza (in Greek) wrote panegyrics on Anastasius, and many others wrote on lesser men than emperors. But panegyric or encomium is also the very foundation of hagiography, from the Life of Antony onwards. The funeral oration of Basil by Gregory of Nazianzen described by George Kennedy as ‘probably the greatest piece of Greek rhetoric since the death of Demosthenes’,59 is a classic encomium, and is imitated as such in the late sixth century by Eustratius in his highly rhetorical Life of the patriarch Eutychius.60 We are fortunate that much good work has been done in recent years in the direction of understanding conventional panegyrics better.61 But if composing exercises in this mode is part of the general education of the literary elite, the panegyrical mode is not confined to writers of ‘high’ style. That holy men in hagiography are presented as iconic exemplars has much to do with the habitual turn to the panegyrical mode.62 Patricia Cox Miller traces a similar tendency in group or collective biographies such as the Lives of the Sophists by Eunapius.63 It Ed., trans. and comm. by Averil Cameron, Corippus, In laudem Iustini minoris libri quattuor (London: 1976), with discussion. 57 See the examples translated in Cyril Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 312–1453: Sources and Documents (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: 1972). 58 See e.g. Ruth Webb, ‘Ekphrasis Ancient and Modern: The Invention of a Genre’, Word and Image 15 (1999): 7–18. 59 George A. Kennedy, Greek Rhetoric Under Christian Emperors (Princeton: 1983), p. 237. See also Frederick W. Norris, ‘Your Honor, My Reputation: St. Gregory of Nazianzus’s Funeral Oration on St. Basil the Great’, in Hägg and Rousseau (eds), pp. 140–159, also comparing Gregory’s eulogy of his brother Caesarius, pp. 148–149; Norris is concerned with ‘the fascinating interplay between rhetoric and history’, p. 155; see also David Konstan, ‘How to Praise a Friend’, ibid., pp. 160–179. 60 Ed. C. Laga, Corpus Christianorum Series Graeca 25 (Turnhout: 1992), p. 103 (Index fontium). 61 E.g. L. Pernot, Le rhétorique de l’éloge dans le monde gréco-romain (2 vols, Paris: 1992); M.-Cl. L’Huillier, L’empire des mots. Orateurs gaulois et empereurs romains, 3e et 4e siècles (Paris: 1992); Roger Rees, Layers of Loyalty in Latin Panegyrics, AD 289–307 (Oxford: 2002); Mary Whitby (ed.), The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Leiden: 1998); Ruth Webb, ‘Praise and Persuasion: Argumentation and Audience Response in Epideictic Oratory’, in Jeffreys (ed.), Rhetoric in Byzantium, pp. 127–135. 62 Peter Brown, ‘The Saint as Exemplar’, Representations 1.2 (1983): 1–25; Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire, pp. 141–152. 63 Cox Miller, ‘Strategies of Representation’, pp. 241–250. 56 New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature 23 also pervades other sorts of narrative, for instance historiography, as in Procopius’ presentation of Belisarius, or, inversely, of Justinian, Theodora and the Persian king Chosroes.64 The kontakia of Romanos, and the Akathistos hymn to the Virgin, are full of it.65 This pervasiveness happens at a deeper level than in overtly panegyrical works. But understandably, it leaves some works hard to classify, for example Eusebius’ Life of Constantine (biography, narrative history or panegyric?) or Corippus’ Iohannis (epic or panegyric? A recent book devotes a whole chapter to this question, considering it essential to settle it before embarking on any actual literary criticism).66 To emphasize the panegyrical mode may not strike anyone as new, but I feel that its centrality has not yet been appreciated as it should be. Some have seen a characteristic of the late antique aesthetic in fragmentation, the breaking up of styles and genres, the use of spolia, ‘an aesthetics of discontinuity’.67 Others have observed the preponderance of debate, dialogue and competition in late antique discourse.68 Against this, panegyric, in its obedience to rhetorical rules and welllearned vocabulary and imagery, represents pure and disciplined form. This form crosses over into all kinds of literature, where it might be least expected. Rhetoric is fundamental to late antique literature, and yet it does not dominate. Moreover, rhetoric has influenced (dare I say it) new forms, outside the old repertoire. Our challenge is to see how and why. WORKS CITED Adler, William and Paul Tuffin. The Chronography of George Synkellos: A Byzantine Chronicle of Universal History from the Creation (Oxford: 2002). Alexiou, Margaret. After Antiquity. Greek Language, Myth and Metaphor (Ithaca, NY: 2001). 64 For Evagrius Scholasticus in this light, see Michael Whitby, ‘Evagrius on Patriarchs and Emperors’, in Mary Whitby (ed.), The Propaganda of Power, pp. 321–344. 65 For Romanos see Krueger, ‘Writing and Redemption’, pp. 40–44. The Akathistos hymn in its earliest form is dated to the fifth century by Leena-Mari Peltomaa, The Image of the Virgin Mary in the Akathistos Hymn (Leiden: 2001). 66 V. Zarini, Rhétorique, poétique, spiritualité: La technique épique de Corippe dans la Johannide, Recherches sur les rhétoriques religieuses 4 (Turnhout: 2003). 67 For visual art see J. Elsner, ‘From the Culture of Spolia to the Cult of Relics: The Arch of Constantine and the Genesis of Late Antique Forms’, PBSR 68 (2000): 149–184; ‘Late Antique Art: The Problem of the Concept and the Cumulative Aesthetic’, in Swain and Edwards (eds), Approaching Late Antiquity, pp. 271–309, at pp. 304–309; in literature: Patricia Cox Miller, ‘“Differential Networks”: Relics and Other Fragments in Late Antiquity’, JECS 6 (1998): 113–138, at pp. 124–130; Roberts, The Jeweled Style, pp. 66–121. 68 See Richard Lim, ‘Christian Triumph and Controversy’, in G.W. Bowersock, Peter Brown and Oleg Grabar (eds), Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World (Cambridge, Mass.: 1999), pp. 196–218. 24 Averil Cameron Athanassiadi, P. Damascius: The Philosophical History (Athens: 1999). Bartelink, G.J.M. 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Odorico and P.A. Agapitos (eds), Pour une nouvelle New Themes and Styles in Greek Literature 27 histoire de la littérature byzantine: Problèmes, méthodes, approches, propositions (Paris: 2002), 37–60. ——— (ed.). Metaphrastes, or Gained in Translation. Essays and Translations in Honour of Robert H. Jordan (Belfast: 2004). Norris, Frederick W. ‘Your Honor, my Reputation: St. Gregory of Nazianzus’s Funeral Oration on St. Basil the Great’, in Thomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau (eds), Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2000), 140–159. Odorico, P. ‘L’auteur byzantin. Taxonomie et systématique: un essai de définition’, in P. Odorico and P.A. Agapitos (eds), Pour une nouvelle histoire de la littérature byzantine: Problèmes, méthodes, approches, propositions (Paris: 2002), 61–80. Odorico P. and P.A. Agapitos (eds). Pour une nouvelle histoire de la littérature byzantine: Problèmes, méthodes, approches, propositions (Paris: 2002). 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Biographical Representation in the Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1997), 1–17. 28 Averil Cameron Swain, Simon and Mark Edwards (eds). Approaching Late Antiquity: The Transformation from Early to Late Empire (Oxford: 2004). Talbot, Alice-Mary. ‘Alexander Petrovich Kazhdan: The American Years’, Byzantinische Forschungen 27 (2002): 125–132. Taplin, Oliver (ed.). Literature in the Greek and Roman Worlds: A New Perspective (Oxford: 2000). Uytfanghe, M. van. ‘L’hagiographie antique tardive: une littérature populaire?’, in J.-M. Carrié and Gisella Cantino Wataghin, with Paolo Demeglio (eds), La ‘démocratisation de la culture’ dans l’antiquité tardive, Antiquité tardive 9 (2001): 201–218. Webb, Ruth. ‘Ekphrasis Ancient and Modern: The Invention of a Genre’, Word and Image 15 (1999): 7–18. ———. ‘Taking a Leaf from Gibbon: Appraising Byzantium’, Dialogos 6 (1999): 144– 147. ———. ‘Praise and Persuasion: Argumentation and Audience Response in Epideictic Oratory’, in Elizabeth Jeffreys (ed.), Rhetoric in Byzantium (Aldershot: 2003), 127–135. Whitby, Mary (ed.). The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Leiden: 1998). ———. ‘Procopius’ Buildings Book I: A Panegyrical Perspective’, Antiquité tardive 8 (2000): 48–57. ———. ‘The Vocabulary of Praise in Verse-Celebrations of 6th-Century Building Achievements: AP 2.398–406, AP 9.656, AP 1.10 and Paul the Silentiary’s Description of St Sophia’, in D. Accorinti and P. Chuvin (eds), Des Géants à Dionysos. Mélanges offerts à F. Vian (Alessandria: 2003), 593–606. Whitby, Michael. ‘Greek Historical Writing after Procopius: Variety and Vitality’, in Averil Cameron and Lawrence I. Conrad (eds), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East I: Problems in the Literary Source Material (Princeton: 1992), 25–80. ———. ‘Evagrius on Patriarchs and Emperors’, in Mary Whitby (ed.), The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Leiden: 1998), 321–344. ———. ‘The Church Historians and Chalcedon’, in G. Marasco (ed.), Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity, Fourth to Sixth Century A.D. (Leiden: 2003), 449– 496. Winkler, John J. and Gordon Williams (eds). Later Greek Literature, Yale Classical Studies 27 (Cambridge: 1982). Zarini, V. Rhétorique, poétique, spiritualité: La technique épique de Corippe dans la Johannide, Recherches sur les rhétoriques religieuses 4 (Turnhout: 2003). Chapter 2 The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century: Greek, Syriac, and Latin Adam H. Becker New York Univesity The dynamism of Greek literature in late antiquity is evident in its broad and at times rapid dissemination into Latin and the multiple new literary languages that came into being concomitant with, and often under the influence of, Christianization.1 Late antiquity saw the birth of new literacies and new forms of Paideia throughout the Mediterranean world and well beyond, as far north as Northumbria and Ireland, south into Ethiopia, and eastwards into the Sasanian Empire and Central Asia. This movement of texts and ideas out from the Greek center created new paths for the transmission of knowledge, paths that could at times circuit back, allowing for the periphery to flow into the center in richly generative and new ways. One such instance of these movements out of and back into the dominant Greek culture of the day can be seen in the translation of the work of Theodore of Mopsuestia (d. 428) into Syriac and the subsequent influence that the Syriac version of Theodore’s thought had on the West, both Greek and Latin. At the same time that Theodore’s works and person were condemned at the fifth ecumenical council of 553, they were emulated by writers in Latin, Greek, and Syriac; this ‘Theodorism’ illustrates how wide open the intellectual oikoumene was in the sixth century, with intellectuals visiting Constantinople and Alexandria from the far west and east. In this chapter I would like to examine Theodore’s influence on Christian intellectual culture in Constantinople, Alexandria, and the Latin West via the transmission of his thought through the School of Nisibis, the East-Syrian (Syriac ‘Nestorian’) intellectual center located just across the Roman border in the Sasanian Empire. Theodore, who was a pupil of the famous rhetor Libanius and of 1 This article is based on a shorter piece, ‘Junillus Africanus, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and the “Theodorism” of the Sixth Century,’ delivered at the June 5, 2004 conference. I would like to thank the organizers and editors of the volume, as well as the Oxford Byzantine Society, which sponsored the event. I would also like to thank Edward T. Mathews, Jr. and Peter Brown for comments on an earlier version of this paper. As always, I thank Leyla B. Aker for her editorial comments. 30 Adam H. Becker the Christian exegete Diodore of Tarsus, as well as an associate of John Chrysostom, was extremely productive although most of his works do not come down to us in the original Greek. His Antiochene theology, which emphasized the duality of Christ’s nature, made him a controversial figure long after his death. Junillus Africanus, a figure in the emperor Justinian’s court, played an important role in the transmission to the Latin West of Theodore’s thought as mediated through the School of Nisibis. I will address the question of Junillus’s dependence on Theodore and attempt to resolve it by suggesting that Junillus relied on the particular version of Theodore’s thought which was emanating from the School of Nisibis in the sixth century.2 This East-Syrian ‘Theodorism’ affected Junillus as it also did the Alexandrian Greek author of the Christian Topography, known by scholars as Cosmas Indicopleustes, whom I will also address below. Junillus Africanus served as Quaestor Sacri Palatii in the court of Justinian I (527–565 CE) in the 540s, soon after the compilation of Justinian’s Corpus Iuris Civilis. Junillus composed and dedicated to Primasius of Hadrumentum the Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis, a manual in Latin concerning biblical exegesis in questionand-answer format, which would become a popular text in the Medieval West.3 The implications of the chief legal figure of the later Roman Empire having left us a prolegomenon to the study of scripture have until now not been fully addressed. This desideratum in the scholarship has been admirably fulfilled by Michael Maas’s Exegesis and Empire in the Early Byzantine Mediterranean: Junillus Africanus and the Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis (2003).4 In this volume Maas argues that the common scholarly position regarding Junillus’s dependence on Theodore of Mopsuestia is inaccurate. Rather, the Instituta should be set within the context of Justinian’s attempts at renovatio and the development of neo-Chalcedonian orthodoxy, in particular at the time of the controversy surrounding the Three Chapters (543–553 CE). Maas further asserts that Junillus’s legal training and position within Justinian’s court, as well as his close connections with Byzantine 2 On Theodore’s thought at the School of Nisibis, see Adam H. Becker, The Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Philadelphia: 2006), chap. 6. 3 The work is summarized in several places: see Wolfgang A. Bienert, ‘Die “Instituta Regularia” des Junilius (Junillus) Africanus: Ein nestorianisches Kompendium der Biblewissenschaft im Abendland’, in M. Tamcke, W. Schwaigert, and E. Schlarb (eds), Syrisches Christentum weltweit: Studium zur Syrischen Kirschengeschichte. Festschrift für Prof. W. Hage, Studien zur orientalischen Kirchengeschichte (Münster: 1995), vol. I, pp. 311–312. For a fuller summary, see Michael Maas, Exegesis and Empire in the Early Byzantine Mediterranean: Junillus Africanus and the Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis, Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity 17 (Tübingen: 2003), pp. 6–8. For the Nachleben of this text, see e.g. Bienert, ‘Die “Instituta Regularia”’, pp. 307–309. 4 In order to provide full disclosure, I should acknowledge that prior to its publication I read and commented on some of the portions in Maas’s book, which were composed by Edward T. Mathews, Jr. I thank him for sharing this material with me. The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 31 North Africa, should serve as the main interpretive lens for understanding his composition. Maas’s book is important because it provides a serious attempt at contextualizing Junillus and his project and will certainly renew the scholarly discussion of a text that is referred to more often than it is studied.5 However, Maas’s book requires more nuance in its discussion of Junillus’s dependence on Theodore. In his attempt to give new life to the study of Junillus and to displace the earlier, dominant model of reading him, Maas has downplayed Junillus’s dependence on Theodore too much: even if the biblical exegesis of Theodore of Mopsuestia is no longer to be the key to understanding the Instituta, I maintain that Theodore’s thought remains central to this text and this connection must not be lost. The modern study of Junillus and his work began with Heinrich Kihn’s study and edition of the Latin text of the Instituta published in 1880.6 As Maas points out, it was Kihn who first identified Junillus as Justinian’s Quaestor; up until that point the common opinion, deriving from the Middle Ages, was that Junillus was a bishop in Africa.7 The connections that Kihn drew between Theodore and Junillus have been followed by the majority of scholars, although at times with some qualification.8 Junillus of course nowhere states his dependence on Theodore. However, such an acknowledgment would be surprising coming from an official at a court that was busy condemning Theodore posthumously—contrary to traditional practice—in order to please miaphysite (‘Monophysite’) Christians who rejected the Chalcedonian position. The explicit clue to Junillus’s dependence on Theodore is his statement in the dedicatory letter appended to the front of the Instituta. Junillus tells Primasius, for whom the work is ostensibly written, that it is based on the Rules (regulae) of Paul the Persian, ‘who was educated at the Syrian School in the city of Nisibis, where the Divine Law is taught in a disciplined and orderly fashion by public teachers in the same way that in a secular education grammar and rhetoric are taught in our cities.’9 It has been accepted that this same Paul appeared as an interlocutor with a Manichaean by the name of Photinus at Justinian’s court in 527.10 It is 5 An earlier form of some of his arguments can be found in Michael Maas, ‘Junillus Africanus’ Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis in its Justinianic Context’, in P. Allen and E. Jeffreys (eds), The Sixth Century: End or Beginning?, Byzantina Australiensia 10 (Brisbane: 1996), pp. 131–144. 6 Heinrich Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia und Junilius Africanus als Exegeten. Nebst einer kritischen Textausgabe von des letzteren Instituta regularia divinae legis (Freiburg im Breisgau: 1880). For a summary of prior scholarship, see ibid., pp. 215–219. 7 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 4. 8 See summary of scholars’ positions in Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 11 n. 20. 9 Translation from Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 118–121 (text: 118.22–120.3). 10 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 17; the exact identity of this Paul is notoriously confused. For example, see Dimitri Gutas, ‘Paul the Persian on the Classification of the Parts of Aristotle’s Philosophy: A Milestone between Alexandria and Baghdad’, Der Islam 60 (1983): 231– 268, esp. 238–239 n. 14, for a discussion of the several Pauls. 32 Adam H. Becker then that Junillus may have met Paul and received his book of rules.11 Theodore of Mopsuestia is introduced into the calculus in as much as the School of Nisibis is often understood to be a thoroughly Theodoran institution. Thus, the working assumption has been that Junillus’s dependence on a member of the School of Nisibis implies an ultimate dependence on Theodore. The simplistic nature of this equation, which I will not wholly reject, will be addressed below. Kihn devoted a large portion of his study to delineating numerous areas where he found overlaps between Junillus’s text and the thought of Theodore. He suggested that there are formal connections between Junillus and Theodore; for example, that they share the same biblical canon12 and the same approach to scripture,13 and, more significantly, that they agree on—to use Kihn’s chapter titles to summarize— their ‘teaching on the Trinity and Christology,’ ‘the Two Katastaseis (or Conditions of the World),’ ‘Creation and the Governing of the World,’ ‘Anthropology and Pelagianism,’ and ‘Callings, Types and Foretellings.’14 In contrast, Robert Devreesse, in his influential 1948 study of Theodore, rejected Kihn’s presentation of Junillus as a thinker heavily indebted to Theodore of Mopsuestia.15 Devreesse’s position has served as the opposite pole to Kihn’s regarding the relationship between Junillus and Theodore and is wholly accepted by Maas. According to Maas, ‘Devreesse demonstrated not only that Junillus was not completely dependent upon Theodore of Mopsuestia, but that he shared neither canon nor doctrine with the fifth-century theologian.’16 However, at this point Maas, following Devreesse, notes that influence from Theodore can in fact be seen in Junillus’s ‘treatment of Psalms with messianic prefiguring.’17 Contra Maas, Devreesse hardly ‘demonstrated’ a looser connection between Theodore and Junillus; he only suggested it in his brief treatment of Junillus (pp. 273–274). Maas qualifies this claim when he states in a footnote that Devreesse ‘did not deny the connection to the School of Nisibis, but argued that Junillus had only a general relation to Theodore, except in his treatment of messianic Psalms.’18 In the midst of a discussion of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s influence on the Church of the East, Devreesse mentions the connection between Paul the Persian and Junillus’s Instituta Regularia: Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia, p. 267. Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia, pp. 344–382. 13 Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia, pp. 382–392. 14 Respectively chapters I , ‘Trinitätslehre und Christologie’ (pp. 393–409); II, ‘Die zwei Katastasen oder Weltzustände’ (pp. 410–417); III, ‘Schöpfung und Regierung der Welt’ (pp. 418–426); IV, ‘Anthropologie und pelagianischer Lehrbegriff’ (pp. 426–438); and V, ‘Berufungen, Typen und Vorhersagungen’ (pp. 438–464) of Part Three, Section Two. The last of this list I translated to match Maas’s renderings of Junillus’s vocationes, typi, and praedictiones. 15 Robert Devreesse, Essai sur Théodore de Mopsueste, Studi e Testi 141 (Vatican City: 1948). 16 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 15–16. 17 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 16. 18 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 11 n. 20. 11 12 The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 33 Quant aux Instituta Regularia de Junillus, je dois faire l’aveu qu’après les avoir lus et relus— une bien mince section peut-être mise à part, qui regarde les psaumes ‘messianiques’— je n’y découvre rien qu’on doive rattacher spécifiquement à Théodore.19 He continues in a new paragraph: Je ne me dissimule pas que cette phrase, dont je pèse tous les mots, étonnera plus d’un lecteur. Car depuis 1880, tous les patrologues repètent après Kihn que le ‘compendium’ de Junillus est l’exacte expression du système scriptuaire et théologique de Théodore en même temps que l’exposé didactique des principales thèses défendues par les maîtres de Nisibe.20 Devreesse goes on to praise Kihn’s work, but then raises an apparent contradiction. In another work, Kihn had confirmed the orthodoxy of Junillus’s text and Devreesse asks how it is possible to say that Junillus was both orthodox and dependent on Theodore for his theology considering the fact that Theodore was a heretic.21 Devreesse then goes on to suggest that Junillus’s relationship to Theodore is far less concrete. Il serait plus sage de conclure, si l’on veut absolument conclure, que les Instituta représentent tout simplement une partie ou un courant de l’enseignement des maîtres de Nisibe.22 As will become apparent below, I agree with Devreesse regarding the looser connection between Junillus and Theodore. However, his theological critique, the stricter doctrinal analysis that he presents, is misleading. A similar problem exists in Maas’s argument, which seems to take the extreme position drawn from Devreesse’s more nuanced statements. In his attempt to broaden the Western (i.e. Constantinopolitan and North African) context in which to study Junillus, Maas relies on scholarly positions (Kihn vs. Devreesse) that are, I would suggest, both obsolete. Kihn and Devreesse, despite the great learning of their respective volumes, were engaged in dogmatic history not wholly disembedded from the contemporary theological concerns of their day. My point is important and perhaps obvious: questions of intellectual history may sometimes be resolved by thoroughly disengaging them from the preceding theological disputes which served as their original framework. For example, in his study of the ancient traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption, Stephen J. Shoemaker argues that much of the confusion in the scholarship on these traditions derives from an interest in bolstering and subverting respective Devreesse, Essai sur Théodore de Mopsueste, p. 274. Ibid. 21 Ibid.; for Kihn, see ‘Junilius’, in Heinrich Joseph Wetzer and Benedikt Welte (eds), KirchenLexicon; oder, Encyklopädie der katholischen Theologie und ihrer Hilfswissenschaften (Freiburg, 1847–1860), vol. VI, p. 2021. 22 Devreesse, Essai sur Théodore de Mopsueste, p. 274. 19 20 34 Adam H. Becker theological positions that arose around the Catholic Church’s 1950 dogma regarding the Assumption of Mary.23 Likewise, the scholarship on Theodore of Mopsuestia has at times been guided by contemporary theological concerns in ways that can often be misleading. This is because Theodore, a contested figure in antiquity, has remained so in some modern scholarship. Interest in his works has often been tied to theological projects. For example, the modern coinage of ‘typology’ is often associated with him, and his supposedly more literal reading of scripture has enticed some Protestant theologians.24 An ‘historical’ or ‘literal’ approach to scripture as well as an adoptionist misunderstanding of ‘Nestorian’ Christology has made Antiochene thinkers such as Theodore more palatable to contemporary Protestants.25 Theodore’s supposed ‘anti-platonism’ has also piqued Protestant interest.26 Even some recent studies maintain a subtle theological framework in their approach to his work.27 Modern theological concerns provide a useful impetus for studying ancient authors, but can result in burdening research with questions and even value judgments that distort our perception of the author’s thought. For Devreesse Theodore is a heretic foremost because of Catholic dogma, but he then employs this anachronistic theological position in his discussion of the relationship between Junillus and Theodore. Furthermore, Devreesse’s point about the contradiction in Kihn’s acceptance of Junillus’s orthodoxy suggests a perspective that reflects the unified, rationalized view that doctrine (and of course adherents of the notion of ‘doctrine’) depicts itself as having but which may not in fact have existed among the reading public of late antiquity. In other words, systematic thinking imagines itself as systematic and then relies on presuppositions of systemicity as forms of proof. However, exceptions to this are easy to find. Take for example the relationship between Jerome and Origen. No one would deny Origen’s immense influence on Jerome, yet Jerome is certainly an acceptable figure in Catholic doctrine while Origen was condemned at the same ecumenical council that condemned Theodore. Arguments 23 Stephen J. Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption (Oxford: 2002). 24 Rudolf Bultmann, Die Exegese des Theodor von Mopsuestia (Marburg: 1912; repr. Stuttgart: 1984); idem., ‘Ursprung und Sinn der Typologie als hermeutische Methode’, Theologische Literaturzeitung 75 (1950): 205–212. 25 E.g., L. Patterson, Theodore of Mopsuestia and Modern Thought (London: 1926). 26 R.A. Norris, Manhood and Christ: A Study in the Christology of Theodore of Mopsuestia (Oxford: 1963), pp. 128–129. See also R. Greer, Theodore of Mopsuestia: Exegete and Theologian (London: 1961). 27 See, e.g. J.J. O’Keefe, ‘“A Letter that Killeth”: Toward a Reassessment of Antiochene Exegesis, or Diodore, Theodore, and Theodoret on the Psalms’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 8 (2000): 83–104. In this otherwise intellectual historical essay, O’Keefe agrees with ancient critics of the Antiochene position who argued that it was weak because of its failure to make a strong enough linkage between the two testaments. The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 35 against Junillus’s (excessive) dependence on Theodore should not be employed within a model of demonstration that derives more from the realm of theology than intellectual history. Such criticisms would only be accurate if thinkers were as consistent as theologians would like them to be. The reasons that have been put forward for distinguishing Junillus’s thought from that of Theodore need to be addressed head-on. As stated above, the one explicit link between Junillus and the School of Nisibis (and therefore Theodore of Mopsuestia) is Junillus’s statement of dependence on Paul the Persian in the preface to the Instituta. The question has been raised as to whether we should take Junillus’s statement at its word.28 However, demonstrating that the Instituta is not a translation of Paul does not prove much, especially since Junillus specifically states that he is relying on Paul but recasting whatever original text he purports to have access to. To be sure, Junillus engages in the usual modicum of prefatial humility at the beginning of the Instituta, but there is little reason to take his statement as completely literary and to understand this literariness as somehow decisive for answering the question of whether Junillus depends on Paul or not.29 If Junillus did not mean his statement literally, why mention Paul at all, especially since he was a ‘Nestorian’? It is true that Paul, if he is the same figure, may have ingratiated himself with the emperor in his public disputation with Photinus the Manichaean, but nonetheless it may still have been dangerous to ally oneself with an alumnus of the famous ‘Nestorian’ School of Nisibis, especially since the church to which it belonged was presently accommodating itself to the Persian Empire30 and at a time when its predecessor, the School of the Persians in Edessa, was regularly maligned in West-Syrian (i.e. Syriac miaphysite) sources.31 The ‘Nestorianism’ of the School of the Persians in Edessa was known even in Constantinople.32 If one accepts Kihn’s position that Junillus was heavily dependent on Theodore’s thought, then one might argue that one way Junillus could cite his sources without endangering himself or putting a blemish on his work was to refer back to Paul the Persian. However, hiding behind Paul the Persian, a ‘Nestorian’, in order to avoid connections to Theodore of Mopsuestia would seem rather foolish. In contrast, we might posit Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 19. Text at Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 122.2–12, translation, p. 123. 30 Michael Morony, Iraq after the Muslim Conquest (Princeton: 1984), pp. 334–335; on Church’s centralization under Seleucia-Ctesiphon, see William Macomber, ‘The authority of the Catholicos Patriarch of Seleucia-Ctesiphon’, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 181 (1968): 179–200. J.-M. Fiey, ‘Les étapes de la prise de conscience de son identité patriarcale par l’Église syrienne orientale’, OS 12 (1967): 3–22. 31 Letter of Simeon of Beit Arsham in Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino-Vaticana, ed. J.S. Assemani (3 vols, Rome: 1719–1728), vol. I, p. 353; John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints, ed. and tr. E.W. Brooks, Patrologia Orientalis 17: 1–307; 18: 511–698; 19: 152–285 (Paris: 1923–1926): 17:138–9 (1923). This is not to suggest that there was much originality to these accounts. John seems to be relying on Simeon as a source. 32 Theodore Anagnostes, Kirchengeschichte, ed. G.C. Hanson, GCS 54 (Berlin: 1971), pp. 122, 155. 28 29 36 Adam H. Becker that the fame of the School was not so great at this time in Constantinople and that therefore its ‘Nestorianism’ was little known. There are certainly problems with a simple acceptance of Junillus’s statement about Paul the Persian’s ‘Rules’. In what language would this have been composed? No doubt the appellation ‘Persian’ refers to the empire of Paul’s origin and does not suggest anything about his ethnicity.33 The Regulae would have been composed in Greek one assumes, since Junillus certainly did not know Syriac and Paul would have debated in Constantinople in Greek.34 There is other evidence of East Syrians going west and learning Greek on the way, but interestingly enough there is little evidence of a decent knowledge of Greek at the School of Nisibis.35 It is difficult to draw definite conclusions about Junillus’s statement about Paul the Persian; however, it certainly need not be discounted as an affectation of an age that shied away from self-presentations of originality. Furthermore, the genre in which Junillus composes does not help us resolve the issue regarding his relationship to Paul. The question-and-answer format was not yet attested in Syriac by Junillus’s day36 and he specifically states that he is rendering Paul’s text into a question-andanswer format.37 The use of questions and answers was clearly his own addition to the material.38 Another argument against Junillus’s dependence on the thought of Theodore of Mopsuestia is based upon what Maas finds to be a streak of neo-Chalcedonianism in Junillus’s work.39 If Junillus shows a theological tendency associated with Justinian and the condemnation of the Three Chapters, the argument goes, then it is unlikely that he would be relying on Theodore. Furthermore, this helps to tie Junillus more closely to Justinian.40 Even if neo-Chalcedonian characteristics would be enough to distinguish Junillus from Theodore—and I do not think they Bienert, ‘Die “Instituta Regularia”’, p. 316; note the contrast in the introduction to the Instituta between Greeks and Persians, text at Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 118.18.22, translation p. 119. 34 Bienert, ‘Die “Instituta Regularia”’, p. 312 35 Mar Aba, the future Catholicos of the Church of the East, went to Edessa, learned Greek, and then traveled through the eastern Roman Empire. See his Life in Paul Bedjan (ed.), Histoire de Mar-Jabalaha et trois autres Patriarches (Paris and Leipzig: 1895), pp. 206–287. 36 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, 20–25. 37 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, 120.13-16, translation 121: ‘I cast them in the helpful form of actual dialogue in order that students might read them aloud, briefly, one by one, and with the utmost clarity, with the students asking questions and the teacher answering.’ 38 For further discussion of the question-and-answer format of the Instituta, see Beatrice Marotta Mannino, ‘Gli Instituta di Giunilio: alcuni apsetti esegetici’, Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 8/2 (1991): 405–419. In general, see articles in Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question-and-Answer Literature in Context, Proceedings of the Utrecht Colloquium, 13–14 October 2003 (Louvain, 2004). 39 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 65–66; e.g. at text pp. 152.6–154.13, translation pp. 153– 155. 40 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 65–66. 33 The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 37 would—I disagree that this is what we find here. Junillus does not demonstrate the kind of compromise between a Cyrilline and a Chalcedonian perspective that is associated with Neo-Chalcedonianism. Certain phrases in the few Christological passages in the Instituta would suggest an adherence to Chalcedon. For example, the ‘distinct characteristics’ (inconfusas proprietates) of the divine and human natures is reminiscent of the Chalcedonian definition and its usage of the adverb ‘distinctly’ (inconfuse).41 Such phrasing was reiterated in 553.42 However, theopaschite language typical of Justinian’s attempt to please the Miaphysite party does not appear in Junillus’s text.43 The ‘assumption of the flesh’ (carnis assumptio), contrary to Maas’s interpretation, does not reflect ‘the Cyrilline notion accepted by neo-Chalcedonians that the Word actually became flesh’.44 In fact, those who wanted to emphasize the unity of the divine and human natures in the incarnation, such as Miaphysites and Neo-Chalcedonians, would perhaps have been wary of such a usage. In general, Maas’s evidence of neo-Chalcedonianism is flimsy, while his characterization of both the ‘Nestorian’ (non-Chalcedonian Dyophysite) and the ‘Monophysite’ (Miaphsyite) positions simplifies non-Chalcedonian theology.45 It is also worth noting that the same passage that Maas identifies as ‘Neo-Chalcedonian’ Kihn sees as reflecting Theodore’s Christology.46 One could certainly find a dyophysite emphasis in Junillus’s discussion of the two natures of Christ in this passage.47 Rather than being a strong voice for neo-Chalcedonianism, one might argue that Junillus is walking a fine line between a Chalcedonian position and the more questionable versions of dyophysitism. We might understand his ambiguous position lying between the moderate and the questionable as equivalent to those earlier quietist positions on the other end of the theological divide, such as those of the Henoticon of 482, Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, and Jacob of Sarug, all of Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 152.24. Cf. ‘in duabus naturis inconfuse, immutabiliter, indivise, inseparabiliter agnoscendum, nusquam sublata differentia naturarum propter unitionem magisque salva proprietate utriusque naturae et in unam personam atque subsistentiam concurrente’, Norman P. Tanner (ed.), Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils (Washington, D.C.: 1990), vol. 1, p. 86. 42 Ibid., pp. 115, 117–118. 43 E.g., Anathema 3, ibid., p. 114. 44 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 66. 45 ‘There is no suggestion that Christ’s humanity was ever separate. The biblical texts cited by Junillus all assume the Son and the Word as the subject of the incarnation. More significant than Junillus’ acceptance of two natures, however, is that he maintains at the same time the Cyrillian emphasis on the unity of the subject of the Incarnation and the realities of the two natures. This makes him more than a Chalcedonian. He is a neo-Chalcedonian’; Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 66. 46 Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia, p. 401. The ‘Nestorian’ position is not presented in Maas’s discussion of Theological diversity (Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 43–47). 47 Book I, Section 16 ‘Quot modis significatur filius?’ (Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 152.6– 154.13, translation pp. 153–155). 41 38 Adam H. Becker which strayed between miaphysite and Chalcedonian. The last of these three may provide a model of what I am suggesting here: Jacob both condemned Theodore and also relied upon his exegesis (see below). Junillus would not have sung the praises of Theodore in Justinian’s court but this does not in the least disprove that he relied on his ideas. Although he understands Junillus as a Neo-Chalcedonian and wants to unlink Junillus from Theodore of Mopsuestia, Maas several times confirms a general Antiochene background to Junillus’s work. He makes the suggestion that ‘perhaps he [Junillus] intended to show western clergymen that aspects of the Antiochene tradition were entirely compatible with Chalcedonian Christianity.’48 According to Maas, ‘the Instituta presents a more “literalist” Antiochene approach to the Bible.’49 Certainly it is correct to emphasize that an Antiochene position does not necessarily include that of Theodore of Mopsuestia. For example, Junillus’s canon conforms to ‘what was a fairly standard Antiochian New Testament canon of the fifth and sixth centuries rather than one that was unique to Theodore’.50 Furthermore, even if Junillus’s dependence on the School of Nisibis is accepted, we need bear in mind that the School of Nisibis was not necessarily Theodoran. Scholarship has recently shown the School of Nisibis was not merely reiterating the positions of Theodore of Mopsuestia.51 Theodore was not the sole intellectual authority in the School of Nisibis and the Church of the East, which with regard to the ‘Exegete’ seemed to talk the talk but failed to walk the walk. However, Maas argues his position mainly by showing that there was an anti-Theodore position at the School even in its heyday in the late sixth century.52 Things are more complex than this. This argument also limits the question of Theodore’s influence mainly to exegetical questions.53 This is especially inappropriate since this was not how Kihn framed the issue in the first place. I would suggest that many of the arguments for detaching the Instituta from the thought of Theodore of Mopsuestia are too tight, too specific. Singular inconsistencies between Junillus and Theodore do not disprove Theodore’s influence; rather, they mean that we need to qualify our usage of the word ‘influence’ and posit a more subtle connection between the two authors. Some of the arguments, such as the difference in canon, could be used to argue that the School of Nisibis itself was not influenced by Theodore, which would be wrong. One way to resolve the various inconsistencies between those who find the influence of Theodore of Mopsuestia on Junillus and those who reject this and find Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 113. Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 30; see also pp. 91–92. 50 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 87; for the whole discussion of canon, see pp. 84–89. 51 Becker, The Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom, chap. 6. 52 cf. Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 94, 102, 108–111. See the discussion of the controversy surrounding Henana of Adiabene in Becker, The Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom, chap. 9. 53 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 113. 48 49 The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 39 it only in his ‘treatment of Psalms with messianic prefiguring’54 is to distinguish between the thought of Theodore of Mopsuestia and what we might call the ‘Theodorism’ of the sixth century. Junillus was thoroughly influenced by the thought of Theodore of Mopsuestia as it was mediated through the School of Nisibis and more generally through the apparently popular ‘Theodorism’ of his day. To be sure, in a sense the issue of an author’s influence on another should always raise hermeneutical questions about how posterity (mis)reads the books of the dead (and the living). Perhaps more radical discontinuities always exist between thinkers than is normally considered in dogmatic history and the realms of influence are broader than those of the strictly doctrinal or exegetical. But my point here is a less theoretical one. In the sixth century in different places church writers of different theological positions adhered to an outlook that derived at least in part from the writings of Theodore of Mopsuestia. Some time ago Wanda Wolska posited a progressive vulgarization of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s thought in the sixth century.55 Wolska was referring to the influence of the School of Nisibis, via Mar Aba, Catholicos of the Church of the East in the mid sixth century, on Cosmas Indicopleustes in Alexandria. At approximately the same time as Junillus met in Constantinople with Paul the Persian, a member of the School of Nisibis, Cosmas Indicopleustes, the author of the Christian Topography, was learning in Alexandria from Mar Aba (d. 552), also a member of the School and the future Catholicos of the Church of the East. Cosmas’s Christian Topography, a hybrid Greek text combining geography, cosmology and, for lack of a better term, Christian science, maintains numerous ideas deriving originally from Theodore’s writings.56 By the late fifth and early sixth centuries the mark of Theodore’s exegesis of Genesis 1 is easily identifiable in the Syriac homilies (memre) on creation written by the East Syrian Narsai, head of the School of Nisibis from its foundation in 489 until his death (c. 500),57 and the West-Syrian Jacob of Sarug (d. c. 520). Jacob is an interesting example because although he is a West Syrian who condemns the Antiochene writers such as Diodore of Tarsus and Theodore of Mopsuestia58 he nonetheless shows evidence of reading Theodore in his homilies.59 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 16. Wanda Wolska, La Topographie chrétienne de Cosmas Indicopleustès, théologie et science au VIe siècle (Paris: 1962), pp. 37–62. 56 For Cosmas’s complex relationship to the East-Syrian tradition, see Maja Kominko, ‘The World of Cosmas. East-Syrian and Alexandrian sources of the Christian Topography’, in D. Taylor and A. Lahdo (eds), Symposium Aramaic—The Language of Jesus, a Symposium held 27 September–3 October 2004, Istanbul/Tur Abdin (Uppsala: forthcoming). 57 P. Gignoux (ed.), Narsai, Homélies sur la Création. Patrologia Orientalis 34.3–4 (Turnhout: 1968). See Gignoux’s introductory chapter on Narsai’s relationship to Theodore of Mopsuestia (470–495). 58 Ed. G. Olinder, Jacob of Sarug, Iacobi Sarugensis Epistulae quotquot supersunt, CSCO 110 (Paris and Louvain: 1937), pp. 58–59. 59 For the text of Jacob on creation, see P. Bedjan (ed.), Homiliae selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (5 vols, Paris and Leipzig: 1905–1910), vol. 3, pp. 1–151. See also English translation of 54 55 40 Adam H. Becker Theodore’s impact on the thought of the Church of the East need not be disputed, even if we now need to qualify claims about East-Syrian dependence on him.60 This is not the place to go into the complex issue of the East-Syrian use of Theodore’s thought.61 However, it is important to note that it seems the East Syrians proclaimed Theodore as the exegetical authority and standard more than they actually followed him. Perhaps we need to distinguish between an emic and an etic reliance on Theodore. While the East Syrians presented themselves as followers of Theodore and yet maintained positions and exegesis that are not Theodoran, certain thinkers who denied their dependence on Theodore (i.e. Jacob of Sarug) or most certainly would if asked (i.e. Junillus), were engaged with his thought. A closer comparison of Junillus and Cosmas would shed light on Junillus’ dependence on the East.62 In Cosmas, we find a figure who, like Junillus, seems to have had a significant engagement with an alumnus of the School of Nisibis when the latter visited the west and then went on to compose a text in which he fully acknowledges his debt to this East Syrian.63 A commonplace feature of East-Syrian thought, which can be found in Cosmas’s Christian Topography as well as in the Instituta, is what I have referred to elsewhere as the ‘pedagogical model’, that is, a tendency to employ metaphors from the sphere of learning to discuss the creator and his relationship with the creation, in particular with rational beings such as angels and human beings.64 For Theodore, there are two worlds, the present and the future one. We have been set in this world, bounded by mortality, so that we may be trained in the virtues. God has endowed us with free will so that we can choose either good or bad. The training of the virtues comes about through the use of our reasoning faculty which negotiates the desires and needs associated with mortality on the one hand and the commandments of the law on the other. For Theodore God instructs us in this world, which serves as an arena to test us for the world to come. homily on the first day of Creation by R. Darling Young in J.W. Trigg (ed.), Message of the Fathers of the Church (Wilmington: 1988), pp. 184–202; See T. Jansma, ‘L’Hexaméron de Jacques de Saroug’, L’Orient Syrien 4 (1959): 3–42, 129–162, 253–284. 60 Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Quelques remarques sur la tradition syriaque de l’oeuvre exégétique de Théodore de Mopsueste’, in H.J.W. Drijvers, et al. (eds), IV Symposium Syriacum 1984: Literary Genres in Syriac Literature, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229 (Rome: 1987), pp. 33–43. 61 Again, see Becker, The Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom, chap. 6. 62 It is a pity that Cosmas Indicopleustes does not appear in Maas’s book; exception: p. 87, but not relevant. 63 Wolska, La Topographie chrétienne, pp. 63–85. 64 Robert Macina, ‘L’homme à l’école de Dieu. D’Antioche à Nisibe: Profil herméneutique, théologique et kérugmatique du mouvement scoliaste nestorien’, Proche-Orient Chretien 32 (1982): 87–124, 263–301; 33 (1983): 39–103, was the first to formally analyze this core paradigm in East-Syrian thought. See also Becker, The Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom, chap. 1. The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 41 In a section on ‘What pertains to the Governance of the World’, Junillus answers the question ‘What is particular governance (gubernatio specialis)?’ with the following response: The one through which individual creatures, and especially the rational ones, are governed by God, just as was commanded regarding the Tree of Eden. For just as the power of God preserves all creation that it might endure, so too does it educate (erudit) rational beings at various opportune times in order that they may advance.65 This is not the only instance of the pedagogical model being employed in the Instituta.66 Such a set of pedagogical metaphors derives ultimately from metaphors employed by Theodore in his exegesis of Genesis 1, and can be found also in Theodore’s broader notion of the two katastaseis, which also shows up in the Instituta.67 Regarding the notion of natural law that appears in the Instituta Maas makes an interesting suggestion by tying it to the legal concepts that were being developed in contemporary civil law.68 I do not mean to suggest that Junillus’s conception of law derives solely from that of Theodore, but there are similarities between what we find in Junillus’s text and the surprisingly positive statements about law that appear occasionally in Theodore’s writings. He gave us diverse laws as an aid and those modes of conduct which are according to the choice of the spirit, with the result that we do not choose the worse, but learning the good rather we run to the choice of it (i.e. the good).69 This positive usage of ‘law’ appears in the East-Syrian tradition in general.70 Hypothetically I might suggest that if Junillus was such an important figure in Justinian’s court, then perhaps Maas is then inadvertently demonstrating Theodore’s distant influence on the Justinianic code. However, I see here a correlation rather than a genetic connection. Related to the issue of Junillus’s dependence on Paul the Persian and the thought of the School of Nisibis is the question of his use of philosophical material. Several works on Junillus have laid out his dependence on a number of Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 180.4–17, translation p. 181. Maas, Exegesis and Empire, p. 184.3–13, translation p. 185; see also p. 172.24.29, translation p. 173, for angels and humans. 67 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 228.16–230.2, translation pp. 229–231. 68 Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 67–69; he finds the Instituta itself to be organized in a legal format, see Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 71–75. 69 Theodore of Mopsuestia, In epistolas B. Pauli Commentarii, ed. Henry B. Swete (2 vols, Cambridge: 1880–1882), I:26.23–26. 70 See, for example, Mar Barḥadbešabba ‘Arabaya, Cause de la fondation des écoles, ed. A. Scher, Patrologia Orientalis 4:4 (1908): 331.4–9. 65 66 42 Adam H. Becker philosophical concepts, particularly those deriving from Aristotle.71 For example, the questions typical of the Neoplatonic prolegomena to Aristotle’s works seem to be the source for part of Junillus’s presentation of his approach to scripture and they were also employed in the East-Syrian texts from the time of Mar Aba onwards. Some scholars have held that the Aristotelian material that appears in the Instituta derives from the influence of Aristotle on the School of Antioch.72 However, this view may be contested. The commonplace position that Antiochene exegesis employed Aristotelian logic and that it then found its way to the School of Nisibis via the School of the Persians in Edessa, the fifth-century predecessor of the School of Nisibis, is wrong.73 This is not the place to engage with this rather long and convoluted issue, but the more likely explanation is that the philosophical material, and more specifically the use of Aristotelian logic, that we find in texts associated with the Church of the East bears the traces of the influx of a Neoplatonic version of Aristotle into the Syriac milieu from the late fifth and especially the early sixth centuries onwards.74 Certainly the philosophical usage we find in the Instituta could be found in other contemporary Constantinopolitan and Greek texts, but this is irrelevant.75 It is already clear that the Instituta relies on material with a Nisibene provenance. Therefore it is more likely that this philosophical material also derives from Paul the Persian and the East, even if it coincides with similar philosophical material in the contemporary West.76 In fact the philosophical material in the Instituta ultimately demonstrates Junillus’s participation in sixth-century Theodorism. It seems that one characteristic of how Theodore’s thought was received in the sixth century and onwards was its intermingling with a number of philosophical ideas. For example, the Instituta’s combination of philosophical terminology with notions found in Theodore’s exegesis of Genesis 1 is reminiscent of the description E.g. Peter Bruns, ‘Bemerkungen zur biblischen Isagogik des Junilius Africanus’, Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 68 (2000): 401–403. 72 D.S. Wallace-Hadrill, Christian Antioch: A Study of Early Christian Thought in the East (Cambridge: 1982), pp. 96–116; Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 25–26. 73 See Becker, The Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom, chaps 4 and 7. 74 Sebastian Brock noted sometime ago, for example, that there is no evidence of philosophical texts at the School of the Persians in Edessa (Sebastian Brock, ‘From Antagonism to Assimilation: Syriac Attitudes to Greek Learning’, in N.G. Garsoïan, T.F. Mathews, and R.W. Thomson (eds), East of Byzantium: Syrian and Armenia in the Formative Period [Washington, D.C.: 1984], p. 26; repr. in Sebastian P. Brock, Syriac Perspectives on Late Antiquity [London: 1984], V). However, he has often been ignored: see e.g., E. Hunter, ‘The Transmission of Greek Philosophy via the “School of Edessa”’, in Catherine Holmes and Judith Waring (eds), Literacy, Education and Manuscript Transmission in Byzantium and Beyond (Boston: 2002), pp. 225–239. 75 See for example, Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 148.11.12 (translation p. 149), 150.15–18 (translation p. 151), 154.9 (translation p. 155). 76 Kihn himself engaged in this error of attributing philosophical material to the Edessene period (Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia, p. 337), which suggests that he was not aware of the extent to which this material was being mediated through the School of Nisibis. 71 The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 43 of the creation in Barḥadbešabba’s Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, a latesixth century text from the School of Nisibis, which describes the history of the world as a series of schools.77 This kind of interpolation of Theodore’s exegesis of Genesis with numerous philosophical concepts would continue in the later East-Syrian exegetical tradition, for example, in the eighth-century Scholion of Theodore Bar Koni.78 Not only should the Instituta be read against these texts, but if we accept Junillus’s claims about Paul the Persian, then Junillus’s text offers an early attestation of this East-Syrian exegetical practice.79 At the same time that a Nisibene version of Theodore’s thought was being disseminated throughout the Church of the East, culminating in formal statements confirming his authority in the late sixth and early seventh centuries, an interest in his ideas was being propagated in the West by members of the School. The Latin translation of Theodore’s commentary on the minor Pauline Epistles has an apparent African provenance and the translator seems to have had some kind of legal background.80 The translation has been further localized to the fifthcentury circle of Primasius of Hadrumentum, who, as mentioned above, was the dedicatee of the Instituta.81 The reception of Junillus’s Instituta in the Latin West as well as the transmission of anonymous Latin translations of Theodore’s works suggest that there was a whole network of adherents to Theodore’s thought in the early medieval West. The most famous of the early readers of the Instituta was Cassiodorus (d. 585), who would exert an ongoing influence on learning in the Middle Ages.82 An affinity for Theodore’s ideas continued for some time. The commentary on the Pauline Epistles would be read for centuries to come. It was Maas, Exegesis and Empire, pp. 168.12–178.27 (translation pp. 169–79; Instituta II.ii). Barḥadbešabba ‘Arabaya, Cause de la fondation des écoles, 348.4–349.13. For several approaches to how to study this passage, see Adam H. Becker, ‘Bringing the Heavenly Academy Down to Earth: Approaches to the Imagery of Divine Pedagogy in the East-Syrian Tradition’, in Ra‘anan S. Boustan and Annette Yoshiko Reed (eds), Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities in Late Antique Religions (Cambridge: 2004), pp. 174–194. 78 On this text in general, see S.H. Griffith, ‘Theodore Bar Koni’s Scholia: A Nestorian Summa Contra Gentiles from the First Abbasid Century’, in N. Garsoïan, Th. Mathews, and R. Thompson (eds), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period (Washington, D.C.: 1982), pp. 53–72. 79 Arthur Vööbus used the Instituta for reconstructing the Nisibene curriculum as if it were a direct translation of Paul’s purported Regulae; see Arthur Vööbus, History of the School of Nisibis, CSCO 266 (Louvain: 1965), pp. 179–185. 80 Theodore of Mopsuestia, In epistolas B. Pauli Commentarii, I.xli, ‘Noteworthy also is the circumstance that in his choice of words he continually treads in the steps of the law-books and jurists. The coincidences are so marked that one might readily suspect him of having been at some time in his life engaged in the practice of the law, or of having at least received a legal education.’ 81 Ibid., I.lviii. 82 See most recently James W. Halporn, Cassiodorus: Institutions of Divine and Secular Learning and On the Soul (Liverpool: 2004). 77 44 Adam H. Becker employed, for example, by the learned Carolingian abbot and bishop Hrabanus Maurus (d. 856).83 One copy in Merovingian miniscule from the Corbie region in France, dated to c. 750–c. 800, was still being used in the twelfth century as the running titles that have been added would suggest.84 Junillus’s Instituta, along with the Christian Topography, are fine examples of how the work of a Greek author could be translated into another language and then come back full circle and influence Greek and Latin literary culture. Theodore was a contested figure whose influence could be felt across a wider span of the theological spectrum than many at the time would have liked to admit. Did Junillus actually read Theodore? Perhaps not. But, if I may introduce a modern, perhaps anachronistic analogy, how many in our own culture speak of the ‘unconscious’, the ‘id’, and the ‘superego’ and have never cracked open a single book of Sigmund Freud? Since the work of Antoine Guillaumont on the Origenism of late antiquity it has been commonly recognized that when we speak of Origenism we often mean Origen’s thought as mediated by later thinkers, such as Evagrius of Pontus.85 The equivalent study for Theodore of Mopsuestia, one that addresses how this influential thinker was received in the Greek, Latin, Syriac, and Armenian churches, has yet to be written. Theodore’s thought as mediated through the School of Nisibis and from Syriac into Latin and Greek is one of the few instances of Syriac influence on Greek (and Latin!) letters and learning, such as the seventh-century monastic writer, Isaac of Nineveh, an author who was heavily influenced by the Greek monastic writer Evagrius of Pontus, but whose works benefited from the open translinguistic Christian literary oikoumene and thus came back and affected Greek monastic spirituality. WORKS CITED ASSEM ANI , J.S. Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino-Vaticana (3 vols, Rome: 1719–1728). Becker, Adam H. ‘Bringing the Heavenly Academy Down to Earth: Approaches to the Imagery of Divine Pedagogy in the East-Syrian Tradition’, in Ra‘anan S. Boustan and Annette Yoshiko Reed (eds), Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities in Late Antique Religions (Cambridge: 2004), 174–194. ———. The Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Philadelphia: 2006). Bedjan, Paul. Histoire de Mar-Jabalaha et trois autres Patriarches (Paris and Leipzig: 1895). Theodore of Mopsuestia, In epistolas B. Pauli Commentarii, vol. 1, pp. xlviii–xlix. MS 2081 in the Schøyen Collection. This manuscript was probably copied from one of the manuscripts used by Swete for his edition of the text. 85 Antoine Guillaumont, Les ‘kephalaia gnostica’ d’Evagre le Pontique et l’histoire de l’origénisme chez les grecs et chez les syriens, Patristica Sorbonensia 5 (Paris: 1962). 83 84 The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 45 ———. Homiliae selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (5 vols, Paris and Leipzig: 1905–1910). Bienert, Wolfgang A. ‘Die “Instituta Regularia” des Junilius (Junillus) Africanus: Ein nestorianisches Kompendium der Bibelwissenschaft im Abendland’, in M. Tamcke, W. Schwaigert, and E. Schlarb (eds), Syrisches Christentum weltweit: Studium zur Syrischen Kirschengeschichte. Festschrift für Prof. W. Hage, Studien zur orientalischen Kirchengeschichte (Münster: 1995), vol. I, 307–324. Brock, Sebastian. ‘From Antagonism to Assimilation: Syriac Attitudes to Greek Learning’, in N.G. Garsoïan, T.F. Mathews, and R.W. Thomson (eds), East of Byzantium: Syrian and Armenia in the Formative Period (Washington, D.C.: 1984), 19–34. [Reprinted in Sebastian P. Brock, Syriac Perspectives on Late Antiquity (London: 1984), V.] Brooks, E.W. John of Ephesus: Lives of the Eastern Saints, Patrologia Orientalis, vols 17: 1–307; 18: 511–698; 19: 152–285 (Paris: 1923–1926). Bruns, Peter. ‘Bemerkungen zur biblischen Isagogik des Junilius Africanus’, Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 68 (2000): 401–403. Bultmann, Rudolf. Die Exegese des Theodor von Mopsuestia (Marburg: 1912; repr. Stuttgart: 1984). ———. ‘Ursprung und Sinn der Typologie als hermeutische Methode’, Theologische Literaturzeitung 75 (1950): 205–212. Devreesse, Robert. Essai sur Théodore de Mopsueste, Studi e Testi 141 (Vatican City: 1948). Fiey, J.-M. ‘Les étapes de la prise de conscience de son identité patriarcale par l’Église syrienne orientale’, OS 12 (1967): 3–22. Gignoux, P. Narsai, Homélies sur la Création. Patrologia Orientalis 34.3–4 (Turnhout: 1968). Greer, R. Theodore of Mopsuestia: Exegete and Theologian (London: 1961). Griffith, S.H. ‘Theodore Bar Koni’s Scholia: A Nestorian Summa Contra Gentiles from the First Abbasid Century’, in N.G. Garsoïan, T.F. Mathews, and R.W. Thompson (eds), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period (Washington, D.C.: 1982), 53–72. Guillaumont, Antoine. Les ‘kephalaia gnostica’ d’Evagre le Pontique et l’histoire de l’origénisme chez les grecs et chez les syriens, Patristica Sorbonensia 5 (Paris: 1962). Gutas, Dimitri. ‘Paul the Persian on the Classification of the Parts of Aristotle’s Philosophy: A Milestone between Alexandria and Baghdad’, Der Islam 60 (1983): 231–268. Halporn, James W. Cassiodorus: Institutions of Divine and Secular Learning and On the Soul (Liverpool: 2004). Hanson, G.C. Theodore Anagnostes: Kirchengeschichte, GCS 54 (Berlin: 1971). Hunter, E. ‘The Transmission of Greek Philosophy via the “School of Edessa”’, in Catherine Holmes and Judith Waring (eds), Literacy, Education and Manuscript Transmission in Byzantium and Beyond (Leiden and Boston: 2002), 225–239. Jansma, T. ‘L’Hexaméron de Jacques de Saroug’, L’Orient Syrien 4 (1959): 3–42, 129– 162, 253–284. 46 Adam H. Becker Kihn, Heinrich. Theodor von Mopsuestia und Junilius Africanus als Exegeten. Nebst einer kritischen Textausgabe von des letzteren Instituta regularia divinae legis (Freiburg im Breisgau: 1880). Kominko, Maja. ‘The World of Cosmas. East-Syrian and Alexandrian Sources of the Christian Topography’, in D. Taylor and A. Lahdo (eds), Symposium Aramaic—The Language of Jesus, a Symposium held 27 September–3 October 2004, Istanbul/Tur Abdin (Uppsala: forthcoming). Maas, Michael. ‘Junillus Africanus’ Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis in its Justinianic Context’, in P. Allen and E. Jeffreys (eds), The Sixth Century: End or Beginning?, Byzantina Australiensia 10 (Brisbane: 1996), 131–144. ———. Exegesis and Empire in the Early Byzantine Mediterranean: Junillus Africanus and the Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis, Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity 17 (Tübingen: 2003). Macina, Robert. ‘L’homme à l’école de Dieu. D’Antioche à Nisibe: Profil herméneutique, théologique et kérugmatique du mouvement scoliaste nestorien’, Proche-Orient chrétien 32 (1982): 87–124, 263–301; 33 (1983): 39–103. Macomber, William. ‘The Authority of the Catholicos Patriarch of SeleuciaCtesiphon’, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 181 (1968): 179–200. Mannino, Beatrice Marotta. ‘Gli Instituta di Giunilio: alcuni apsetti esegetici’, Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 8/2 (1991): 405–419. Morony, Michael. Iraq after the Muslim Conquest (Princeton: 1984). Norris, R.A. Manhood and Christ: A Study in the Christology of Theodore of Mopsuestia (Oxford: 1963). O’Keefe, J.J. ‘“A Letter that Killeth”: Toward a Reassessment of Antiochene Exegesis, or Diodore, Theodore, and Theodoret on the Psalms’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 8 (2000): 83–104. Olinder, G. Iacobi Sarugensis Epistulae quotquot supersunt, CSCO 110 (Paris and Louvain: 1937). Patterson, L. Theodore of Mopsuestia and Modern Thought (London: 1926). Scher, A. Mar Barḥadbešabba ‘Arabaya: Cause de la fondation des écoles, Patrologia Orientalis 4:4 (Paris: 1908). Shoemaker, Stephen J. Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption (Oxford: 2002). Swete, Henry B. In epistolas B. Pauli Commentarii (2 vols, Cambridge: 1880–1882). Tanner, Norman P. (ed.). Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils (2 vols, Washington, DC: 1990). Trigg, J.W. Biblical Interpretation, Message of the Fathers of the Church (Wilmington, Del.: 1988). Van Rompay, Lucas. ‘Quelques remarques sur la tradition syriaque de l’oeuvre exégétique de Théodore de Mopsueste’, in H.J.W. Drijvers, et al. (eds), IV Symposium Syriacum 1984: Literary Genres in Syriac Literature, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229 (Rome: 1987), 33–43. Volgers, Annelie and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Questionand-Answer Literature in Context, Proceedings of the Utrecht Colloquium, 13–14 October 2003 (Louvain: 2004). The Dynamic Reception of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Sixth Century 47 Vööbus, Arthur. History of the School of Nisibis, CSCO 266 (Louvain: 1965). Wallace-Hadrill, D.S. Christian Antioch: A Study of Early Christian Thought in the East (Cambridge: 1982). Wetzer, Heinrich Joseph and Benedikt Welte (eds). Kirchen-Lexicon; oder, Encyklopädie der katholischen Theologie und ihrer Hilfswissenschaften (12 vols, Freiburg: 1847– 1860). Wolska, Wanda. La Topographie chrétienne de Cosmas Indicopleustès, théologie et science au VIe siècle (Paris: 1962). Chapter 3 Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity Christopher P. Jones Harvard University Apollonius of Tyana, the itinerant Pythagorean of the first century, exercised a powerful hold on the imagination of later centuries. The fullest expression of this is to be found in the biography of him that Philostratus of Athens wrote approximately in the 220’s CE. Philostratus’ Life is in part a symptom and in part a cause of the transformation of Apollonius into an icon of Hellenic culture, a position in which he also entered into the debates between Christians and ‘Hellenes’. The subject of Apollonius’ afterlife in Christianity has been discussed many times,1 but for several reasons deserves a fresh consideration. The attribution of Eusebius’ Contra Hieroclem (henceforth CH), the crucial document of what may be called the Christian counter-offensive, has recently been questioned, and in general more attention should go to differences between Apollonius’ reception in the Christian East and in the Latin West, especially during the all-important fifth century. I Several commentators have found the CH to be different in form or manner from Eusebius’ other works. Thus Schwartz: ‘Die Form des Werkchens ist von einer bei E(usebius) ungewöhnliche Affektation, wozu ihn vielleicht die Lektüre Philostrats verführt hat’; similarly the latest editor, Madeline Forrat, ‘il occupe une place à part parmi les écrits d’Eusèbe’.2 In 1992 Tomas Hägg advanced the thesis that the work was not in fact by Eusebius at all, but had been included among his works either because of its ‘apologetic character’ or by confusion with another Eusebius. T.D. Barnes has embraced Hägg’s thesis, adding the further refinement that the 1 W.L. Dulière, ‘Protection permanente contre des animaux nuisibles assurée par Apollonius de Tyane’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 63 (1970), pp. 247–277; W. Speyer, ‘Zum Bild des Apollonios von Tyana bei Heiden und Christen’, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 17 (1974), pp. 47–63; C.P. Jones, ‘An Epigram on Apollonius of Tyana’, JHS 100 (1980), pp. 190–94; M. Dzielska, Apollonius of Tyana in Legend and History (Rome: 1986), pp. 153–183; M. Forrat, Eusèbe de Césarée: Contre Hiéroclès, Sources chrétiennes 333 (Paris: 1986), pp. 44–55. 2 E. Schwartz, ‘Eusebios von Caesarea’, RE 6 (1907), p. 1394 = E. Schwartz, Griechische Geschichtschreiber (Leipzig: 1957), p. 531; Forrat, Eusèbe de Césarée: Contre Hiéroclès, p. 10. 50 Christopher P. Jones author was ‘an otherwise accidental homonym, who was probably a Christian sophist active in Asia Minor’.3 Hägg has several arguments, of which some are ex silentio: the author does not indicate that Hierocles was an energetic persecutor of Christians, or cite the Bible, while the authentic Eusebius fails to cite the work in his other extant ones. These considerations are not very weighty, since Eusebius also fails to cite his gigantic Contra Porphyrium,4 and in the first six books of his Praeparatio Evangelica (henceforth PE) rarely cites the Bible in comparison to pagan writings: in the sixth book, which has several similarities to the CH, he has only one Christian citation, from the Apocryphal Prayer of Joseph (VI 11.64). There is a greater problem with Eusebius’ claim that Hierocles ‘alone among those who have ever written against us has now made a specific juxtaposition and comparison of this person [Apollonius] and our Saviour’ (CH 1.3, μόνῳ παρὰ τοὺς πώποτε καθ’ ἡμῶν γεγραφότας ἐξαίρετος νῦν τούτῳ γέγονεν ἡ τοῦδε πρὸς τὸν ἡμέτερον Σωτῆρα παράθεσίς τε καὶ σύγκρισις). Hägg objects, as have others, that Porphyry had already done so in his Adversus Christianos. But only one of the relevant ‘fragments’ in von Harnack’s collection certainly comes from Porphyry, and it concerns not Jesus but Paul and the other apostles. The other two are from the Apokritikos or Monogenes of Macarius of Magnesia, and it is far from certain that the anti-Christian arguments in this work are derived from Hierocles, as Harnack believed.5 Whatever Eusebius means by ἐξαίρετος, it is compatible with a page or two of synkrisis, not unlike the synkriseis in Plutarch’s Lives, and there is no evidence that Porphyry had done the same. The question therefore comes back to the alleged differences in form and style between Eusebius and the author of the CH. A long comparison is perhaps not necessary, but as to both form and content it is worth comparing the already mentioned sixth book of the PE.6 Here, where Eusebius’ principal target is Porphyry, 3 T. Hägg, ‘Hierocles the Lover of Truth and Eusebius the Sophist’, Symbolae Osloenses 67 (1992), pp. 138–150; T.D. Barnes, ‘Scholarship or Propaganda? Porphyry Against the Christians and its Historical Setting’, BICS 34 (1994), p. 60; cf. T.D. Barnes, ‘Eusebius von Caesarea’, in Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche 3 (1995), p. 1009: ‘von einem christlichen Sophisten gleichen Namens verfasst’. 4 For this work, O. Bardenhewer, Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur III: Die Vierte Jahrhundert mit Auschluss der Schriftsteller syrischer Zunge (Freiburg im Breisgau: 1912), p. 247; A. von Harnack, Porphyrius Gegen die Christen, Abh. Akad. Wiss. (Berlin: 1916); T.D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, Mass.: 1981), pp. 174–175; R. Goulet, Macarios de Magnésie: Le Monogénès (2 vols, Paris: 2003), pp. 1.128–131. 5 Apollonius and Paul: Jer. Tract. de Ps. LXXXI, Corpus Christianorum Latinorum 78, 89 = Harnack, Porphyrius, fr. 4. Macarius Magnes: III 1, IV 5 = frr. 63, 60. On Macarius as a source for the fragments of Porphyry, Harnack, Porphyrius, pp. 6–11 (in favor); T.D. Barnes, ‘Porphyry Against the Christians: Date and the Attribution of Fragments’, JTS 24 (1973), pp. 428– 430 (skeptical); Goulet, Macarios, pp. 1.126–136 (in favor). 6 I cite by chapter and section of E. des Places, Eusèbe de Césarée: La Préparation évangelique, Livres V.18–36–VI, Sources chrétiennes 266 (Paris: 1980). Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity 51 he uses many of the same formal devices: excerpting passages from the work in question with connecting phrases such as τούτοις ἑξῆς ἐπιλέγει, ‘next after this he adds’ (VI 18.25), cf. CH 2.28, μεθ’ ἂ καὶ ἐπιλέγει ταῦτα κατὰ λέξιν, ‘after which he adds this verbatim’; making heavy use of sarcasm and irony, e.g. PE VI 2.2, οἱ γενναῖοι θεοί, ‘the fine gods’; 6.7, οἱ θαυμασίοι θεοί, ‘the wonderful gods’; 6.73, τῶν σεπτῶν σου φιλοσόφων, ‘your venerable philosophers’, τοὺς θαυμασίους χρησμούς, ‘the marvelous oracles’; cf. CH 19.2, οὗτος ὁ θαυμάσιος συγγραφεύς, ‘this wonderful author’; 29.1, τῆς θαυμαστῆς ταύτης ὄψεώς τε καὶ ὁμιλίας, ‘this wonderful vision and conversation’. The main subject of this book is that of Destiny (Heimarmene), especially in its connection with oracular prophecy. Now the author of the CH, after going book by book through Philostratus’ Life, closes with a long section (chs. 45–48) ‘on the Fates and Destiny’ (περὶ Μοιρῶν καὶ Εἱμαρμένης). This section has several phrases in common with PE VI. These similarities are especially frequent in chapter 45.1 of the CH, which I give here with the letters A, B and C marking the parallels with the PE. Ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐν τούτοις περιγραφομένου τοῦ λόγου βραχέ’ ἄττα περὶ Μοιρῶν καὶ εἱμαρμένης φέρε διαλάβωμεν, ὅ τι καὶ βούλοιτο δι’ ὅλης αὐτῷ τῆς ὑποθέσεως ὁ λόγος (A) τὸ μὲν ἐφ’ ἡμῖν ἀναιρῶν, ἀνάγκην δὲ εἰσάγων καὶ εἱμαρμένην καὶ Μοίρας, διαθροῦντες, ταύτῃ γὰρ ἡμῖν ἐντελῶς καὶ ἡ ἐν δόγμασι ψευδοδοξία τἀνδρὸς διευθυνθήσεται. εἰ δὴ οὖν κατὰ τὸν τῆς ἀληθοῦς φιλοσοφίας λόγον “ψυχὴ πᾶσα ἀθάνατος, τὸ γὰρ ἀεικίνητον ἀθάνατον, τὸ δ’ ἄλλο κινοῦν καὶ ὑφ’ ἑτέρου κινούμενον παῦλαν ἔχον κινήσεως παῦλαν ἔχει ζῳῆς,” καὶ (B) “αἰτία ἑλομένου, θεὸς ἀναίτιος,” τίς αἱρεῖ λόγος, (C) ἄκουσαν, οὐχὶ δὲ κατὰ προαίρεσιν, ἀψύχου δίκην σώματος ἔξωθέν ποθεν κινουμένην, καὶ ὡσπερεὶ νευροσπαστουμένην ὧδε κἀκεῖσε, τὴν ἀεικίνητον ἄγεσθαι φύσιν, μηδὲν μηδαμῶς ἐξ ἰδίας ὁρμῆς καὶ κινήσεως ἐνεργοῦσαν, μηδὲ εἰς ἑαυτὴν τὴν τῶν δρωμένων ἀναφέρουσαν αἰτίαν, ταύτῃ τε μήτε φιλοσοφοῦσαν ἐπαινετέαν τυγχάνειν μήτ’ αὖ ψεκτὴν κακίας ἔμπλεων καὶ πονηρίας; Nonetheless, since the account ends with this incident, let us briefly examine a few points concerning the Fates and Destiny, scrutinizing the tendency of the whole work (A), which abolishes the principle of responsibility, and brings in Necessity, Destiny, and the Fates. By this method we will perfectly see the falsity of the man’s beliefs. Now, according to the account of true philosophy, ‘Every soul is immortal, for what is ever moving is immortal, and what moves others and is moved by others, by ceasing to move ceases to live,’ and (B) ‘The reason is in the chooser, not in God.’ How then could it follow that the ever-moving nature, (C) unwillingly and without any choice like a lifeless object, is carried by some external force back and forth like a puppet on strings, drives nothing at all by its own impulse and movement, and does not refer the cause of its actions to itself, and in this way deserves neither praise for pursuing wisdom, nor blame if it is full of evil and wickedness? With this compare (A) PE VI 1.7, τὰ ἐφ’ ἡμῖν ἀναιροῦσι (‘they abolish the principle of responsibility’); VI 6.4, τὸ ἐφ’ ἡμῖν ἀνελών (‘abolishing the principle of responsibility’); (B) PE VI 6.50, the same quotation from Plato, Rep. X 617 E; (C) PE VI 6.20, τὸ δὲ δίκην ἀψύχων λέγειν κινεῖσθαι ἡμᾶς, τῇδε καὶ τῇδε ὑπό τινος ἔξωθεν 52 Christopher P. Jones δυνάμεως νευροσπαστουμένους (‘to say that we are whirled around like lifeless things, carried by some external force back and forth like a puppet on strings’). In addition one can compare the following two passages: τί δὲ δεῖ λοιβῆς τε κνίσης τε καὶ τὸ ἐκ τούτων γέρας τοῖς μηδὲ τούτων ἀξίοις ἀπονέμειν, εἰ κατ’ οὐδὲν ἡμᾶς ὠφελεῖν δύνανται; (PE VI 3.3) Why should one devote the ‘reward of libation and savour’ [Homer, Iliad 4, 49] and what results from these to beings who are not worthy even of these, if they cannot help us in any way? τί δὲ καὶ οἷς νομίζεις θεοῖς τὰ μελιττοῦτα καὶ τὸν λιβανωτὸν εἰς μάτην ῥιπτεῖς…οὕτω δ’ ἄν σοι θεοὶ μὲν οὐκέτ’ ἂν ἦσαν καὶ εἰκότως, ἅτε μηδὲν ἀνθρώπους οἷοί τε ὠφελεῖν. (CH 45.3) Why, pray, do you pointlessly toss honey-cake and incense before your supposed gods…In that way you would no longer have gods, and rightly, since they cannot help humankind in any way. The conclusion must be that if Eusebius is not the author of the CH, that person will have to be one who employed very similar techniques and language. In addition, he will have to be close to Eusebius in date, since Hierocles has published his work ‘recently’ (nun, 1.3). It is surely easier to infer that the usual view is correct, and that Eusebius wrote the CH. The disputed question of the work’s date does not greatly affect the present discussion, but may be noted here. A passage in ch. 4 strikes a strikingly triumphal tone: ‘[Jesus] even to this day attracts countless numbers from everywhere to his divine teaching; [and] after being attacked for very many years by almost all humankind, one may say, both rulers and subjects, proved himself mightier and far stronger than the unbelievers who cruelly persecuted him.’ Though some have used this passage to argue for a terminus ante of 303 (the beginning of Diocletian’s persecution), it surely implies a terminus post of 312 (the end of persecution by Maximinus Daia and the conversion of Constantine).7 Eusebius might also have waited to launch his attack until Hierocles had vanished from the scene, and it so happens that he disappears from the historical record in the first half of 311. This ferocious persecutor might well have found himself out of favor after Galerius’ Edict of Toleration in April of that year. 8 Thus Forrat, Eusèbe de Césarée: Contre Hiéroclès, pp. 20–26. Hierocles: T.D. Barnes, The New Empire of Diocletian and Constantine (Cambridge, Mass.: 1982), p. 150. Galerius’ edict: Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius, p. 39. 7 8 Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity 53 II A recent article on Isidore of Pelusium (approx. 360/370–after 431) says of him, ‘I(sidor) ist keiner der bedeutenden Theologen der alten Kirche geworden…und die Philologen der neueren Zeit haben ihn wenig gelesen.’ Nonetheless his letters, of which a modern edition has at last begun to appear, are full of interest, not least for the reception of Greek literature.9 One of them, addressed to an otherwise unknown Zacchaeus, contains a remarkably sympathetic reference to Philostratus and Apollonius:10 Some people have deceived mankind with empty words, bringing in Apollonius of Tyana, who has produced many talismans in many places (πολλαχόσε πολλὰ τελεσάμενον),11 for the protection of dwellings, so they say. But they can show nothing of which he is the source (παρ’ ἐκείνου γενόμενον). For those who have recorded the man’s own words, and made exact note of everything about him, would not have omitted the celebrated deeds. You have Philostratus, who set out his history exactly, and you may see that in all likelihood his enemies devised an obviously false charge of magical practices (against him). Though some have thought that the writer agrees with the charges, or thinks Apollonius a magician, Wolfgang Speyer has rightly argued against this reading, and infers that this sympathetic view shows the letter to be spurious: ‘a Christian would not have given any weight to the argument that Apollonius was not a magician. On the contrary, many Christian authors called Apollonius a magician in order thus to distinguish him from Jesus the miracle-worker.’12 In making this argument Speyer appeals to the work of R. Riedinger, who in a series of articles has expressed skepticism about many of the letters, and even about the existence of Isidore himself. However, the pendulum has now swung back, and Isidore’s latest editor is inclined to accept a majority of the letters as genuine.13 Moreover, the author does not in fact deny that Apollonius was a magician, but only that he was the author of the talismans (telesmata) attributed to him. To this end, he correctly observes that Philostratus says nothing about such 9 U. Treu, ‘Isidor II (von Pelusion)’ in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 18 (1998), pp. 999–1000. Edition: P. Evieux, Isidore de Péluse—Lettres I: Lettres 1214–1413, Sources chrétiennes 422 (Paris: 1997) and Isidore de Péluse—Lettres II: Lettres 1414–1700, Sources chrétiennes 454 (Paris: 2000). 10 Letter 148 (PG 78: 406). 11 For this sense of τελέω, see lexica such as Stephanus and Sophocles; the corresponding noun, from which comes the English ‘talisman’, is τέλεσμα. 12 Speyer, ‘Zum Bild des Apollonios von Tyana bei Heiden und Christen’, p. 57. 13 R. Riedinger, ‘Neue Hypotyposen-Fragmente bei Pseudo-Caesarius und Isidor von Pelusium’, Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 51 (1960), pp. 154–192. By contrast, Evieux, Isidore de Péluse—Lettres I, pp. 102–104, and Treu, ‘Isidor II (von Pelusion)’, p. 987 cite the same article of Riedinger as an example of unwarranted skepticism. 54 Christopher P. Jones talismans: similarly Eusebius knows of magical devices passing under Apollonius’ name, but does not ascribe them to him (CH 44.2). When Isidore argues that such allegations probably go back to Apollonius’ enemies, he may well be relying again on Philostratus, who at several points of his biography represents Apollonius as falsely charged with magic, especially in his trial before Domitian.14 Nor is it true, as Speyer argues, that a Christian could not have absolved Apollonius from the charge of magic, as emerges from several authors whom Speyer himself cites. The Quaestiones et responsa of Pseudo-Justin, a work believed to be roughly contemporary with Theodoret of Cyrrhus (ca. 393–ca. 466), raises the question why, if God is the omnipotent Creator, he allows the talismans of Apollonius to work, as they evidently do. The answer is that they owe their effectiveness to his knowledge of ordinary matter and its natural properties, not to supernatural power. Since their only use is material, God did not forbid them, whereas He did silence the demon lurking in Apollonius’ statue (agalma) that gave prophecies and deceived people into thinking Apollonius a god.15 Similarly the so-called Pseudo-Nonnus, a commentator on Gregory of Nazianzus possibly contemporary with Pseudo-Justin, observes, ‘Magic differs from sorcery and sorcery from witchcraft (διαφέρει δὲ μαγεία γοητείας καὶ γοητεία φαρμακείας). Magic is summoning beneficent demons for the accomplishment of something good, as the prophecies (thespismata) of Apollonius of Tyana were for good.’16 Even Eusebius is sometimes prepared to be moderately sympathetic towards Apollonius, and considers a number of his deeds ‘not far removed from philosophy and truth’ (φιλοσοφίας καὶ ἀληθείας οὐ πόρρω, CH 12.3), for example his opposition to bloodsacrifice and his lifelong chastity. In due course, Apollonius was made a prophet of the birth of Christ, and his portrait even decorated churches.17 When it suits his purpose, however, Eusebius is fully prepared to consider Apollonius a sorcerer, and to cite Philostratus as proving that he consorted with demons (29.1, 30.1, 35.2, 39.1). Later Christians were ready to consider him a sorcerer or worse. Nilus of Ancyra, a close contemporary of Isidore of Pelusium, writes to a certain exceptor (legal secretary) called Nicander as follows: I have often told you, and I say again, that the talismans performed through magic by Apollonius of Tyana contain absolutely no heavenly benefit, nor do they bring any profit to the soul, and so they would appear to be no different from the grace (derived from) a handful of barley for wise and pious men who yearn for those things that are heavenly Vita Ap. 1.2, 4.18.1, 6.7, 8.7.7–10, 8.19.2. Ps. Justin, Quaest. et Respons. 24, ed. J.K.T. Otto, Iustini philosophi et martyris opera quae feruntur omnia 3.2: Opera Iustini subditicia (Editio tertia, Jena: 1881), pp. 34–39. 16 PG 36: 1021 C–D; section 70, p. 139 ed. J. Nimmo Smith, Pseudo-Nonniani in IV Orationes Gregorii Nazianeni Commentarii, Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca 27 (Turnhout: 1992). She characterizes the author as ‘a Christian from the Eastern Mediterranean [who] composed his Commentaries towards the beginning of the sixth century A.D.’ (p. 3). 17 On this, Speyer, ‘Zum Bild des Apollonios von Tyana bei Heiden und Christen’, 62 with n. 105. 14 15 Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity 55 and imperishable, and are not subject to dissolution. Do not therefore admire the works of sorcery, or be disturbed by them, and rid yourself of an easily shaken opinion and a juvenile way of thinking.18 Another such view is found in a work often ascribed to St. Basil of Seleuceia (archbishop from ca. 440, died after 468), but more probably anonymous, the Life and Miracles of St. Thecla. This author, however, appeals to pagan sources for confirmation.19 Anyone who knows Apollonius of Tyana from those who have written his life…knows the disgusting and accursed talismans of the man’s art of sorcery, his calling up of gods and souls, his summoning of demons and secret abominations; so that he was not eagerly received by the Gymnosophists in Egypt and India but quickly dismissed, as a person neither pure nor holy, not even a true philosopher, but with much of the pollution of sorcery about him. It is true that Philostratus several times represents Apollonius as charged with sorcery, and also makes the Naked Ones of Egypt slow to receive him (6.8), but that is because they have been persuaded by the slanders of his enemy Euphrates of Tyre (6.7); the Indians, by contrast, are reluctant to let him go (3.50). Because of these divergences from Philostratus, Speyer has argued that the PseudoBasil had consulted another source. This source he tentatively identifies as the Moeragenes dismissed by Philostratus as an unreliable authority (VA 1.3.2, 3.41.1), and Speyer finds support for this conjecture in Moeragenes’ being from ‘eastern Asia Minor’. In fact, next to nothing is known of him, though it has sometimes been suggested that he is an Athenian known to Plutarch. Philostratus alleges that he was completely ignorant about Apollonius, and Origen is the only other writer known to have consulted him directly, since Eusebius clearly borrows his reference from Philostratus.20 Philostratus’ Life presumably drove others off the market; it may have formed the basis for the versified Life of Apollonius by Soterichos of Oasis, which was probably written under Diocletian, and is perhaps connected with the emperor’s anti-Christian policies.21 Pseudo-Basil’s inaccuracy is surely due to a lapse of memory, no doubt facilitated by his dislike of Apollonius. A similar lapse occurs in Jerome, summarizing the Life in one of his letters: he puts the visits of Nil. Anc. Ep. 148, PG 79, 269; on the problems associated with Nilus’ correspondence, see B. Baldwin and A. Kazhdan, ‘Neilos of Ankyra’, Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium 2 (1991), p. 1450. 19 Ps.-Bas. Vita Theclae 22 = G. Dagron, Vie et miracles de Sainte Thècle, Subsidia Hagiographica 62 (Brussels: 1978), p. 256. 20 E.L. Bowie, ‘Apollonius of Tyana: Tradition and Reality’ in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II 16.2 (Berlin: 1978), pp. 1673–1679; D.H. Raynor, ‘Moeragenes and Philostratus: Two Views of Apollonius of Tyana’, CQ 34 (1984), 222–226; FGrHist IV A 7, 1067. Origen: Contra Celsum 6.41 = FGrHist T 3. 21 Suda Σ 877: PLRE I 850, Soterichos 1; E. Livrea, ‘Chi e l’autore di P. Oxy. 4352?’ ZPE 125 (1999), pp. 69–73. 18 56 Christopher P. Jones Apollonius to the Babylonians, Elymaeans and other Asian peoples after rather than before his visit to India.22 III Among polytheists of late antiquity, both eastern and western, the tendency to treat Apollonius as a semi-divine figure, already evident in Philostratus, becomes more marked. This is the Apollonius of Ammianus Marcellinus, Eunapius and the Historia Augusta, and doubtless of Porphyry and other Neoplatonists like Iamblichus.23 An epigram first seen in Adana in Cilicia, but now known to be from Mopsouhestia, celebrates him as one ‘named after Apollo’ who ‘extinguished the errors of men’ (ἀνθρώπων ἔσβεσεν ἀμπλακίας) and was sent by heaven (or taken up into heaven) ‘to drive out the sorrows of mortals’ (ὅπως θνητῶν ἐξελάσειε πόνους). To judge by the script this might be as late as the fifth century, rather than the third or the fourth where it is usually placed.24 Similarly what appears to be a school of Neoplatonic philosophy in Aphrodisias has produced a portrait of Apollonius, along with figures of the distant Greek past such as Pindar and Alcibiades.25 This and other items of evidence, such as the Roman ‘contorniates’ to be discussed below, have conspired with the use of Apollonius by anti-Christians such as Porphyry and Hierocles to build him up into an icon of a supposed ‘pagan resistance’ to Christianity.26 In fact such indications show him serving as an exemplar of philosophical Hellenism, but not necessarily fulfilling the function that Porphyry and Hierocles intended for him. 22 Ep. 53.1.4, ed. I. Hilberg, Hieronymus Epistularum Pars I: Epistulae I–LXX. Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 54 (2nd ed., Vienna: 1996): see further below, section V. 23 Amm. Marc. 21.14.5, 23.6.19; Eunap. VS 2.1.4, 23.1.8, pp. 346, 542 Wright; Historia Augusta, Alex. Sev. 29.2, Aurel. 24.2–9. 24 Jones, ‘An Epigram on Apollonius of Tyana’, p. 190, suggesting the third or fourth century; for later discussion, Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum 28 (1978), no. 1251; Forrat, Eusèbe de Césarée: Contre Hiéroclès, pp. 215–219; FGrHist 1064 T 6; D. Berges and J. Nollé, Tyana: Archäologisch-historische Untersuchungen zum südwestlichen Kleinasien, Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 55 (Bonn: 2000), pp. 420–422, no. 112. In C. Roueché, Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity, JRS Monograph No. 5 (London: 1989), Pl. XI 45 and XVI 64 (both ‘?fifth century?’) look fairly similar. 25 R.R.R. Smith, ‘Late Roman Philosopher portraits from Aphrodisias’, JRS 80 (1990), pp. 141–143; cf. E. Alföldi in A. and E. Alföldi, Die Kontorniat-Medaillons, Teil 2: Text, Antike Münzen und Geschnittene Steine 6.2 (Berlin: 1990), pp. 102–103. For literary references to such portraits, Historia Augusta, Aurel. 24.5, and possibly Synes. Laus Calv. 6. See also below, Section V. 26 For this term see for example H. Bloch, ‘The Pagan Revival in the West at the End of the Fourth Century’ in A. Momigliano (ed.), The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford, 1960), p. 194. Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity 57 IV A discussion involving Apollonius’ relations to Byzantine Christianity must refer to the mysterious work called the Apotelesmata (‘astrological effects’ or ‘results’) of Apollonius of Tyana. François Nau and Franz Boll produced editions of this at almost the same time, in 1907 and 1908 respectively. Boll thought the work an ‘impudent fiction’ composed shortly before Eusebius’ Reply to Hierocles, while Nau was inclined to defend it as genuine; the obviously later ingredients, such as the reference to a church built by Apollonius in Tyana, he explained as later interpolations.27 The work cannot be by Apollonius and, as Speyer has noted,28 must be much later than Boll supposed, though it is still an interesting document deserving of consideration here. It begins: The Book of Wisdom and Understanding, (that is), of the astrological effects of Apollonius of Tyana, which he wrote and taught to Dustumos Thulassos his pupil, saying thus: ‘My son, hear me, and I will reveal to you the mystery of wisdom, that to the many is unknown and unknowable and hidden, about occasions (kairoi) and times, the hours of the day and night, and the naming and influence of them, of the true wisdom that is hidden in them, and I will show you the astrological effects of the knowledge given to me by God, by which all things are influenced that God made upon the earth. For behold, I have acquired four books more precious than gold and precious stones, one of astronomy, the second of astrology, the third theoretical (scholastikē), and the fourth more valuable than all, in which there are great and fearful signs, I mean about the influencing (stoicheiōsis) of the things created and moved by God.’ Further on, the writer says: He that is destined to be born in Bethlehem of the Virgin will himself become a great teacher, and he will save the human race and destroy the temples of idols, but he will not abolish the astrology (apotelesmatikē) that I will make, for whatever the power that is in him will perform, that I have performed and predicted. And the church (naos) that I have built in Tyana, in which I have set up a golden pillar, this will be revered (proskunētos) by all. Nau observes that Philostratus refers to four books on astral prophecy (περὶ μαντείας ἀστέρων, 3.41.1) written by Apollonius, which he claims never to have seen. This claim might be questioned, since to admit the opposite might corroborate the charge of sorcery that he is concerned to dispel. Whatever the facts about this work, it cannot possibly be the present treatise. The writer reveals his Christianity F. Nau, ‘Apotelesmata Apollonii Tyanensis’, Patrologia Syriaca I.2 (Paris: 1907), pp. 1363– 1392, cf. F. Nau, ‘Apollonius de Tyane’ in Dictionnaire d’Histoire et de Géographie ecclésiastiques 3 (1924), pp. 1016–1018; F. Boll, Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum 7: Codices Germanici (Brussels: 1908), pp. 174–181. Liddell and Scott translate ἀποτέλεσμα as ‘result of certain positions of the stars on human destiny’. 28 Speyer, ‘Zum Bild des Apollonios von Tyana bei Heiden und Christen’, p. 63 n. 108. 27 58 Christopher P. Jones at every point, both in his subject-matter and in his choice of words. He thinks that Apollonius was born early enough to predict the birth of Christ, and even (if the obvious interpretation is correct) that he founded a church in Tyana. As for language, ναός denoting a Christian church is first apparently found in Eusebius, and προσκυνητός seems almost entirely a Christian usage.29 For στοιχειόω in the sense of ‘enchant’, ‘perform talismanic operations upon’, Sophocles’ Greek Lexicon of the Roman and Byzantine Periods cites no example before Theophanes Continuatus (not earlier than the ninth century). A span of 800–1200 is presumably about right for the composition of the work. It may be relevant that Tyana was an episcopal see as early as 325, and after being lost to the Arabs was recovered for the Byzantine empire in the tenth century; the site has also produced remains of a church datable to that same century.30 Though irrelevant to Apollonius’ fortunes in late antiquity, therefore, the treatise shows the same acceptance of him into Byzantine Christianity that is implied inter alia by his appearance in art as a prophet of Christ. V In the West attitudes towards Apollonius inevitably reflect a Roman conservatism, especially in senatorial circles. Certain ‘contorniates’, the New Year’s medallions struck in late fourth-century Rome, show Apollonius along with other literary figures such as Sallust and Apuleius. Some have connected these objects with a supposed ‘pagan resistance’ or ‘revival’, but they may simply celebrate a past in which all these figures had blended as culture-heroes.31 Nor is it easy to evaluate the interest that Roman aristocrats of the late fourth and early fifth centuries had in Philostratus’ Life. The sole evidence comes from a letter of Sidonius Apollinaris (8.3.1): Apollonii Pythagorici vitam, non ut Nicomachus senior e Philostrati sed ut Tascius Victorianus e Nicomachi schedio exscripsit, quia iusseras, misi; quam, dum parare festino, celeriter eiecit in tumultuarium exemplar turbida et praeceps et Opica translatio. I have sent you the Life of Apollonius the Pythagorean, since you requested it, not in the transcription that Nicomachus the Elder made from Philostratus’s copy but in the one that Tascius Victorianus made from Nicomachus’. I was in such a hurry to obey you that a crude, rushed and uncouth translation has tossed it into an improvised version. Sidonius clearly talks of three persons involved in different stages of transmission. The first, ‘the elder Nicomachus’, is the celebrated senator who at the end of his 29 See Lampe, Patristic Greek Lexicon, for both words. The few examples of προσκυνητός in Liddell and Scott are all late Christian and/or late antique. 30 Berges and Nollé, Tyana, pp. 385–393 (episcopal see), pp. 517–518 (in tenth century). 31 For the ‘pagan’ view, A. Alföldi in A. and E. Alföldi-Rosenbaum, Die Kontorniat-Medaillons, pp. 53–5; against, Alan Cameron, ibid., pp. 63–69. Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity 59 career supported Eugenius and committed suicide in 394; the second, Tascius Victorianus, is otherwise only known as an ‘editor’ of Livy associated with the Symmachi; and the third is Sidonius.32 Every possible permutation has been proposed, that Sidonius refers to three successive copies of the Greek text, or that he means a translation, whether made by Nicomachus, Tascius, or himself. The answer to this puzzle is not of great importance here, though the last solution seems the most likely; and if Sidonius did make a translation, there is no way of knowing how faithful or complete it was.33 Among Christian writers in Latin, especially those who wrote in the West, attitudes towards Apollonius, while as varied as those of their eastern counterparts, are noticeably more restrained. The first to mention him is Arnobius, who merely includes him in a list of magi.34 Lactantius had had direct experience of Hierocles from his years in Nicomedia, but even so his remarks about Apollonius in the Divine Institutes do little more than make him a magus comparable to Apuleius.35 So also his fellow-African Augustine links Apollonius and Apuleius, who is ‘better known to us Africans’, as magicians, but he too is more concerned with the absurdity of comparing them to Christ. In Augustine’s eyes, Apollonius was ‘much better than that author and perpetrator of so many sexual crimes (stupra) whom they call Jupiter’; here Apollonius’ reputation for chastity seems to have stood him in even better stead than Apuleius.36 In general, it appears, the writings of Porphyry and of Hierocles had much less effect in the West than in the East, and despite the allusions to magic there is no trace of the talismans that so bothered Greek-speaking Christians from Eusebius onwards. Attention goes rather to other items, among them Apollonius’ comportment in the face of tyranny, and especially his trial before Domitian. This note is first sounded in Lactantius. Using an argument similar to one attributed to Porphyry, Hierocles had argued that Apollonius surpassed Christ in wonderworking, since rather than submitting to trial before Domitian he ‘suddenly disappeared from the court’ (repente in iudicio non comparuit, Div. Inst. V 3.9). The same story, and much of the same language, appears in Jerome, but curiously Jerome uses this incident to rebut Marcion of Pontus, and to prove the reality of Christ’s body after the Resurrection: ‘It is written that Apollonius of Tyana, when 32 Nicomachus: PLRE I 347–348, Flavianus 15; J. J. O’Donnell, ‘The Career of Virius Nicomachus Flavianus’, Phoenix 32 (1978), pp. 129–143; Alan Cameron in Alföldi and Alföldi-Rosenbaum 66–67. Tascius: PLRE II 1160–1161, Victorianus 2. 33 See further below, Section VI. 34 Adv. gent. I 52 (PL 5: 790). 35 Inst. Div. 5.3.7–21, especially 21, Christ’s divinity was foretold by the prophets, quod neque Apollonio neque Apuleio neque cuiquam magorum potuit aut potest aliquando contingere. 36 Aug. Epp. 102, 32 (PL 33: 383; CSEL 34.2: 572), 138, 18 (PL 33: 533; CSEL 44: 145: W. Parsons, Saint Augustine: Letters III (131–164) (New York: 1953), p. 50, mistakenly translates ‘Apuleius’ in place of ‘Apollonius’). 60 Christopher P. Jones he was standing before Domitian in his consistory, suddenly disappeared’ (cum ante Domitianum staret in consistorio, repente non comparuisse).37 In one of his Letters, Jerome expresses an even more positive view of Apollonius. Giving a catalog of pagans such as Pythagoras and Plato who traveled far in search of wisdom, he observes: Apollonius of Tyana, whether he was a magician, as the vulgar say, or a philosopher, as the Pythagoreans say, entered Persia, traversed the Caucasus, Albanians, Scythians, and Massagetae, penetrated the most opulent kingdoms of India, and after crossing the very wide river Phison came to the Brahmans, so that he might hear Iarchas sitting on a golden throne and drinking from the fountain of Tantalus, and discoursing amid a few disciples about nature, about customs, and about the course of the stars. Then, returning through the Elamites, Babylonians, Chaldaeans, Assyrians, Parthians, Syrians, Phoenicians, Arabs to Palestine he reached Alexandria and approached Ethiopia, so that he might see the Gymnosophists and the very famous Table of the Sun amid the sand. Everywhere that great man (ille uir) found something to learn, so that always improving he always made himself better. Philostratus writes in great detail (plenissime) about him in eight books.38 Jerome’s summary is far from accurate (for example, Apollonius returned from India to Babylon by sea, not overland), but however well he knew Philostratus’ biography, he clearly considers its hero a worthy exemplar; in this he is close to Augustine, who thought Apollonius a ‘much better’ comparison with Christ than Jupiter. VI The last mention of Apollonius in the Christian West is also one of the most remarkable. When Sidonius Apollinaris (ca. 430–before ca. 490) undertook his translation or adaptation of Philostratus (above, section V), he was near the end of a long career. He had variously been the son-in-law of the western emperor Avitus, Prefect of the City of Rome, and bishop of Augustonemetum (Clermont-Ferrand), in which position he organized the defense of the city against the Visigoths. When the new Augustus, Julius Nepos, ceded Arvernia to the Visigothic king Euric, Sidonius was exiled to Livia (near modern Carcassonne), where his friend Leo of Narbo, a descendant of the orator Fronto and a consiliarius of Euric, commissioned him to make the already-mentioned copy or translation of Philostratus’ Life. After Sidonius had obtained his release with Leo’s help, he resumed his episcopate, and held it until his death at an unknown date in the 480s, and was later canonized.39 In Joh. Chrys. 34, PL 23: 404 C: borrowed by Ps.-Ambrose, De Trinitate 29, PL 17: 570 B. Ep. 53.1.3–4 = Hilberg, Hieronymus Epistularum, pp. 444–445. Hilberg deletes the last sentence as a gloss, but who would gloss Jerome with a reference to Philostratus? 39 For Sidonius’s career, C.E. Stevens, Sidonius Apollinaris and his Age (Oxford: 1933) and now J. Harries. Sidonius Apollinaris and the Fall of Rome, AD 407–485 (Oxford: 1994); a useful summary 37 38 Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity 61 Soon after his release, Sidonius sent his work to Leo. In his covering letter, he makes a long apology for its crudeness; among other things, he had been kept awake at night ‘by two Gothic hags’ quarreling beneath his window. Nonetheless, he is clearly proud of the results: Divest yourself somehow of your never-ending cares and steal respite of your own from the burdens and commotions of the court. You will not study advantageously and adequately the tale you have requisitioned unless you give undivided attention to the reading of it and, so to speak, travel in person along with our man of Tyana, now to the Caucasus or the Indus, now to the gymnosophists of Aethiopia and the Brahmins of India. Read of a man who—be it said with all due deference to the Catholic faith— was in most respects like you, that is, sought after by the rich but not seeking riches for himself; greedy for knowledge but chary of money-making; abstemious in feasts, clad in plain linen amid the purple-robed, severe as a censor amid luxurious perfumes; unkempt, hairy, and bristly in the midst of scented foreigners, and treasured for dignified squalor among the myrrh-scented, pumice-rubbed, cinnamon-soaked satraps of tiara’d kings; more respected than suspected in the Eastern kingdoms he traversed because he derived no article of food or clothing from an animal; and asking from the royal resources which were placed fully at his disposal only such boons as he was accustomed to accept for bestowal on others, not for retention by himself. I need say no more. If we weigh and reckon the truth of the matter, it comes to this: it may be questioned whether the philosopher’s life has found a narrator on a level with the writers of our ancestors’ time; but unquestionably this generation of mine has found in you a reader to match the subject.40 At first sight it may surprise that a Christian bishop in fifth-century Gaul should so highly praise a figure whom his contemporaries in the Greek East condemned as a sorcerer in league with the Evil One. But apart from the already mentioned differences between Apollonius’ reputation in the east and the west, Sidonius might have removed from his version of the Life elements that would have disturbed a Christian reader such as his summoning the ghost of Achilles. Drawing on the same positive elements already conceded by Eusebius, he builds Apollonius into a paradigm for Leo at the Visigothic court, a philosopher who remained true to his principles among the seductions of luxury and power. VII So various are the reactions to Apollonius in late antiquity that a summary is not easy to achieve. There is a tendency in modern scholarship to be over-influenced in W.B. Anderson, Sidonius: Poems and Letters, Loeb Classical Library (2 vols, Cambridge, Mass.: 1936–1965), vol. I, pp. xxxii–lii; PLRE II, pp. 115–118, Apollinaris 6. For the other persons mentioned see PLRE II: pp. 196–198, Eparchius Avitus 5; pp. 777–778, Iulius Nepos 3; pp. 427–428, Euricus; pp. 662–663, Leo 5. 40 Sid. Ap. Ep. 8.3.4–6, trans. Anderson, Sidonius: Poems and Letters, vol. II, pp. 411–413. 62 Christopher P. Jones by Eusebius’ Reply to Hierocles, and to suppose that Apollonius was always and everywhere the hero of a ‘pagan reaction’, and by the same token an object of fear or detestation on the part of Christians. The truth is rather that for non-Christian Greeks, and especially philosophers, he was in the first place an embodiment of their ancestral culture. Even educated Christians in both East and West recognized aspects of him that recalled the Christian ‘philosophy’, but in other ways their views diverged. In the East, belief in his talismans, shared by many of the laity, disturbed clergymen such as Isidore of Pelusium; on the other hand, the use of his memory by anti-Christians such as Hierocles had little effect, and Eusebius’ Reply is never mentioned, for example in Jerome’s De viris illustribus. It is not therefore so paradoxical as might appear that in the Byzantine realm Apollonius ends by being integrated into Christian art and thought, or that Philostratus’ Life should come down in so many copies. By contrast, his memory rested on a much slighter foundation in the West, and did not return until manuscripts of Philostratus’ Life and Eusebius’ Reply reached Italy in the late Middle Ages. The first person to conjoin the two works was Aldus Manutius, who appended Eusebius’s pamphlet to his editio princeps of Philostratus’ Life ‘so that the antidote may accompany the poison’.41 Once he had done that, the two authors began their journey together, indissolubly linked. WORKS CITED Alföldi, A. and E. Alföldi-Rosenbaum. Die Kontorniat-Medaillons. Teil 2: Text. Antike Münzen und Geschnittene Steine 6.2 (Berlin: 1990). Anderson, W.B. Sidonius: Poems and Letters, Loeb Classical Library (2 vols, Cambridge, Mass.: 1936–1965). Baldwin, B. and Α. Kazhdan. ‘Neilos of Ankyra’, Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium 2 (1991): 1450. Bardenhewer, O. Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur III: Die Vierte Jahrhundert mit Auschluss der Schriftsteller syrischer Zunge (Freiburg im Breisgau: 1912). Barnes, T.D. ‘Porphyry Against the Christians: Date and the Attribution of Fragments’, JTS 24 (1973): 424–442. ———. ‘Sossianus Hierokles and the Antecedents of the “Great Persecution”’, HSCP 80 (1976): 239-252. ———. Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, Mass.: 1981). ———. The New Empire of Diocletian and Constantine (Cambridge, Mass.: 1982). ———. ‘Scholarship or Propaganda? Porphyry Against the Christians and its Historical Setting’, BICS 34 (1994): 53–65. 41 A. Manutius, Philostrati de uita Apollonii Tyanei octo; Eusebius contra Hieroclem qui Tyaneum Christo conferre conatus fuerit (Venice: 1501–1502) (letter to ‘Zenobius Florentinus’, not paginated). Apollonius of Tyana in Late Antiquity 63 ———. ‘Eusebius von Caesarea’ in Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche 3 (1995): 1007– 1009. Berges, D. and J. Nollé. Tyana: Archäologisch-historische Untersuchungen zum südwestlichen Kleinasien, Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 55 (Bonn: 2000). Bloch, H. ‘The Pagan Revival in the West at the End of the Fourth Century’, in A. Momigliano (ed.), The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford: 1960), 193–218. Boll, F. Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum 7: Codices Germanici (Brussels: 1908). Bowie, E.L. ‘Apollonius of Tyana: Tradition and Reality’, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II 16.2 (1978): 1652–1699. Dagron, G. Vie et miracles de Sainte Thècle, Subsidia Hagiographica 62 (Brussels, 1978). Dulière, W.L. ‘Protection permanente contre des animaux nuisibles assurée par Apollonius de Tyane’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 63 (1970): 247–277. Dzielska, M. Apollonius of Tyana in Legend and History (Rome: 1986). Evieux, P. Isidore de Péluse—Lettres I: Lettres 1214–1413, Sources chrétiennes 422 (Paris: 1997). ———. Isidore de Péluse—Lettres II: Lettres 1414–1700, Sources chrétiennes 454 (Paris: 2000). Forrat, M. Eusèbe de Césarée: Contre Hiéroclès, Sources chrétiennes 333 (Paris, 1986). Goulet, R. Macarios de Magnésie: Le Monogénès (2 vols, Paris: 2003). Hägg, T. ‘Hierocles the Lover of Truth and Eusebius the Sophist’, Symbolae Osloenses 67 (2003): 138–150. Harnack, A. von. Die Chronologie der altchristlichen Litteratur bis Eusebius II: Die Chronologie von Irenaeus bis Eusebius (Leipzig: 1904). ———. Porphyrius Gegen die Christen, I, Abh. Akad. Wiss. (Berlin: 1916). ———. ‘Neue Fragmente des Werkes des Porphyrius gegen die Christen’, Sitzungsb. Akad. Berlin (1921): 266–284. Harries, J. Sidonius Apollinaris and the Fall of Rome, AD 407–485 (Oxford: 1994). Hilberg, I. Hieronymus Epistularum Pars I: Epistulae I–LXX, Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 54 (2nd ed., Vienna: 1996). Jones, C.P. ‘An Epigram on Apollonius of Tyana’, JHS 100 (1980): 190–194. Livrea, E. ‘Chi e l’autore di P. Oxy. 4352?’, ZPE 125 (1999): 69–73. Manutius, A. Philostrati de uita Apollonii Tyanei octo. Eusebius contra Hieroclem qui Tyaneum Christo conferre conatus fuerit, (Venice: 1501–1502). Nau, F. ‘Apotelesmata Apollonii Tyanensis’, Patrologia Syriaca I.2 (Paris: 1907): 1363– 1392. ———. ‘Apollonius de Tyane’, in Dictionnaire d’Histoire et de Géographie ecclésiastiques 3 (1924): 1016–1018. Nimmo Smith, J. Pseudo-Nonniani in IV Orationes Gregorii Nazianeni Commentarii, Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca 27 (Turnhout: 1992). 64 Christopher P. Jones O’Donnell, J.J. ‘The Career of Virius Nicomachus Flavianus’, Phoenix 32 (1978): 129– 143. Otto, J.K.T. Iustini philosophi et martyris opera quae feruntur omnia 3.2: Opera Iustini subditicia (Editio tertia, Jena: 1881). Parsons, W. Saint Augustine: Letters III (131–164) (New York: 1953). Places, E. des. Eusèbe de Césarée, La Préparation évangelique: Livres V.18–36–VI, Sources chrétiennes 266 (Paris: 1980). Raynor, D.H. ‘Moeragenes and Philostratus: Two Views of Apollonius of Tyana’, CQ 34 (1984): 222–226. Riedinger, R. ‘Neue Hypotyposen-Fragmente bei Pseudo-Caesarius und Isidor von Pelusium’, Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 51 (1960): 154–192. Roueché, C. Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity, JRS Monograph No. 5 (London: 1989). Schwartz, E. ‘Eusebios von Caesarea’, RE 6 (1907): 1370–1439. [Reprinted as E. Schwartz, Griechische Geschichtschreiber, 495–598.] ———. Griechische Geschichtschreiber (Leipzig: 1957). Smith, R.R.R. ‘Late Roman Philosopher portraits from Aphrodisias’, JRS 80 (1990): 127–155. Speyer, W. ‘Zum Bild des Apollonios von Tyana bei Heiden und Christen’, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 17 (1974): 47–63. Stevens, C.E. Sidonius Apollinaris and his Age (Oxford: 1933). Treu, U. ‘Isidor II (von Pelusion)’ in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 18 (1998): 982–1001. PART 2 Didacticism Chapter 4 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment Aaron P. Johnson University of Texas, Austin I Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica is a masterful work that defies easy categorization. Written between 314 and 324, soon after Eusebius had become bishop of the metropolis of Caesarea in Palestine, its fifteen books offered a sustained critique of Greek thought by the formidably erudite librarian and scholar.1 Together with its sister work, the Demonstratio Evangelica, the Praeparatio marks a monumental achievement based on Eusebius’ wide reading, comprehensive vision, and an apologetic zeal that carried a sometimes sarcastic edge. The Praeparatio, according to scholarly consensus, directed its polemical denunciations against the Greeks, in particular the defender of traditional Greek religion, Porphyry of Tyre.2 The Jews, in turn, were the primary target of the Demonstratio’s twenty books, only the first ten of which survive along with fragments of the fifteenth book.3 Together, the Praeparatio and Demonstratio formed a two-pronged assault against early Christianity’s most dangerous intellectual foes. While the apologist labored at his magisterial defense of Christianity, the second decade of the fourth century was simultaneously producing dramatic yet still uncertain changes for Church and Empire alike. The so-called ‘Edict of Milan’ had recently been issued granting religious toleration following the Great Persecution,4 See PE 4.2.10–11; J. Sirinelli and E. Des Places, Eusèbe de Césarée. La Préparation Évangélique, SC 206 (Paris: 1974), pp. 8–14; K. Mras, Eusebius Werke VIII. Die Praeparatio Evangelica, GCS 43.1 (Berlin: 1954), pp. liv–lv. 2 See T.D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA: 1981), pp. 178–182. 3 For Eusebius’ polemic against the Jews, see J. Sirinelli, Les vues historiques d’Eusèbe de Césarée durant la période prénicéene, Faculte des Lettres et Sciences Humaines, Publications de la Section de Langues et Litteratures 10 (Dakar: 1961), pp. 157–160; A. Kofsky, ‘Eusebius of Caesarea and the Christian-Jewish Polemic’, in O. Limor and G. Stroumsa (eds), Contra Iudaeos. Ancient and Medieval Polemics between Christians and Jews (Tübingen: 1996), pp. 59–83; A.P. Johnson, ‘Ancestors as Icons: The Lives of Hebrew Saints in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica’, GRBS 44 (2004): 262–263. 4 See Lactantius, Mort. Persecut. 48; Eus., HE 10.5.1–14; O. Seeck, ‘Das sogenannte Edikt von Mailand’, ZKG 12 (1891): 381–386. 1 68 Aaron P. Johnson and the defeat of the persecuting emperor Maximinus Daia at the hands of Licinius in 313 was deeply impressed upon Eusebius’ mind.5 The stability of Church and Empire was, however, short-lived. Only an uneasy peace had patched up the friction between Licinius and Constantine following their clashes at Cibalae and Adrianople in 314.6 In the East, Christians began to feel the brunt of Licinius’ withdrawal from the tolerant stance of Milan.7 The Church in the West suffered the unsuccessful attempts of Constantine to resolve the Donatist schism. It would be a number of decades before anything like a ‘Constantinian turn’ could be fully envisioned.8 Eusebius had already set high standards for himself in a diverse range of genres and in numerous areas of inquiry. At the time of Eusebius’ ascendancy to the bishopric in the previous year, he had already established himself as an historian, apologist and biblical scholar of no small merit,9 with works such as the Chronicle, an early edition of his Ecclesiastical History,10 the General Elementary Introduction (a work to which I will return), and the short and somewhat anomalous Against Hierocles.11 His mammoth apologetic project, the Praeparatio and Demonstratio Evangelica, would dwarf his previous works, as well as his predecessors in the apologetic tradition. In comparison with contemporary apologies by Athanasius and Marcellus of Ancyra,12 the massive bulk of the Praeparatio Evangelica appeared as the apology to end all apologies, and could arguably be seen as the culmination of a rich tradition of Christian apologetics. Yet, in the estimation of some modern readers the Praeparatio may have missed its mark. Approximately 71 percent of its pages consisted of verbatim quotations from earlier sources.13 A great many authors would only be HE 9.2; 9.11.5–6; see T.D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius, p. 64. See T.D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius, pp. 62–77. 7 See Eus., VC 1.49–2.5. 8 The concept itself owes much to the rhetorical articulations of Christian authors, at the forefront of whom Eusebius stands. G. Fowden judiciously warns: ‘To depict Constantine’s reign as a revolution is to do no justice to the suspensefulness of the rest of fourth-century history’ (Empire to Commonwealth [Princeton: 1993], p. 85). 9 See generally, L. Perrone, ‘Eusebius of Caesarea as a Christian Writer’, in Avner Raban and Kenneth Holum (eds), Caesarea Maritima: A Retrospective After Two Millenia (Leiden: 1996), pp. 515–530. 10 For the editions of the HE, see A. Louth, ‘The Date of Eusebius’ Historia Ecclesiastica’, JTS 41 (1990): 111–123; M.R. Beggs, ‘From Kingdom to Nation: The Transformation of a Metaphor in Eusebius’ Historia Ecclesiastica’ (PhD dissertation, University of Notre Dame: 1998), pp. 53–85. 11 The authenticity of this work has been questioned by T. Hägg, ‘Hierocles the Lover of Truth and Eusebius the Sophist’, SO 67 (1992): 138–150; his doubts at this point, however, remain insufficient to reject its authenticity. See the paper by Christopher P. Jones in this volume. 12 For the attribution of Ps.-Justin, Cohortatio ad Graecos to Marcellus, see C. Riedweg, Ps.Justin (Markell von Ankyra?), Ad Graecos de vera religione (bisher ‘Cohortatio ad Graecos’). Einleitung und Kommentar (Basel: 1994), vol. 1, pp. 167–182. 13 See J.-R. Laurin, Orientations maîtresses des apologistes chrétiens de 270 à 361, Analecta Gregoriana 61 (Rome: 1954), p. 358. 5 6 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 69 names to us if it were not for Eusebius’ concern to let these sources speak in their own voice, sometimes for many pages.14 Students of these otherwise lost works are understandably grateful for the precious fragments; evaluations of Eusebius himself have often been less kind. Eusebius is seen as the unoriginal and awkward compiler of an anthology of others’ writings. One modern account confesses, ‘[the Praeparatio] is tedious and laborious reading, made up of extracts from many authors’,15 and, ‘the reader lays [it] aside…not without a sense of relief ’.16 According to another, the Praeparatio reveals a ‘highly irregular’ author, who is ‘little inclined to investigate or solidly establish the ideas whose truth and validity he proclaims’; Eusebius has instead produced ‘a mosaic which lacks eloquence’.17 Another treatment surmises, ‘[Eusebius’] part in the work is that of an editor or compiler rather than of an original author.’18 His most important contribution thus seems to be an extravagant display of learning in order to prove that Christians did, in fact, know the works of their adversaries and had not converted to Christianity without careful consideration of the other options.19 This may be true. Yet, his excessive citations and ‘documentary anxiety’20 comprise only one element of Eusebius’ apologetic enterprise. More recent approaches to the Praeparatio have attempted to look past the Herculean citational labors and instead consider its importance for the construction of Christian, Jewish or Greek identities.21 Indeed, the early apologetic task in general was fundamentally about the construction of identities.22 Non-Christian identities were polemically construed and artfully manipulated so as to be easily castigated, dismissed or appropriated into new Christian frameworks. At the same time, the apologists sought to articulate a defensible identity of who the Christians were, where they had come from, and what sort of communal life, or politeia, they embodied in their corporate existence. 14 For the sources available to Eusebius, see A. J. Carriker, The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea (Leiden: 2003). 15 F.J. Foakes-Jackson, Eusebius Pamphili, Bishop of Caesarea in Palestine and First Christian Historian: A Study of the Man and His Writings (Cambridge: 1933), p. 122. 16 Ibid., p. 128. 17 G. Bounoure, ‘Eusèbe citateur de Diodore’, REG 95 (1982): 438. 18 E.H. Gifford, Preparation for the Gospel (Grand Rapids: 1981), vol. 1, p. xvii. 19 See J.-R. Laurin, Orientations maîtresses des apologistes chrétiens, p. 365; E. Schwartz, ‘Eusebios von Caesarea,’ RE (Stuttgart: 1909), vol. 11, col. 1393. 20 A. Puech, Histoire de la littérature grecque chrétienne (Paris: 1930), vol. 3, p. 219. 21 See the bibliographical notice at A.P. Johnson, ‘Identity, Descent and Polemic: Ethnic Argumentation in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica’, JECS 12 (2004): 25; to which should be added, J.M. Schott, ‘Founding Platonopolis: The Platonic Politeia in Eusebius, Porphyry, and Iamblichus’, JECS 11 (2003): 501–531. 22 See F. Young, ‘Greek Apologists of the Second Century’, in M.J. Edwards, M. Goodman, and S. Price (eds), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999), pp. 81–104. 70 Aaron P. Johnson II The recent attentiveness to the identity-forming mechanisms of these texts has done much in elucidating early apologetics as a social as well as literary phenomenon. While this scholarly approach needs to be pursued further, in what follows I want to focus on the literary identity of the text itself, that is, on the issue of genre. In particular, I want to consider how Eusebius pushes the literary boundaries of Christian apologia in a decidedly pedagogical direction.23 Hence, these considerations will enhance any analysis of the identities (Christian, Greek or Jewish) formulated in the text. I argue that the formation of Christian minds is at the heart of Eusebius’ apologetic undertaking; and hence, we catch a glimpse of the early fourth-century attempt to establish a Christian identity for a new age. Eusebius refers to the Praeparatio as an apologia in a number of passages throughout the text. A biblical passage from First Peter provides the starting point for his conception of the apologetic task. He quotes it twice in the programmatic statements of Book One: ‘Quite reasonably he commends all of us, “to be ready with an apologia to all who ask us for a reason (logon) in regard to the hope within us”.’24 This exhortation would be alluded to periodically throughout the Praeparatio. For instance, at 4.1.5 Eusebius writes: ‘It is time to give the reason (logon) among us and to submit an apology (apologismon) of our Savior’s evangelic system.’25 In these occurrences and others, Eusebius positions his apology as a defense of Christianity against a particular series of accusations. He had presented these accusations early on. According to Eusebius, ‘some Greek’ might reasonably want to know if the Christians were Greeks or barbarians, for they had rejected the gods and the way of life of their ancestors (a thing that was justly punishable); they had warred against the gods, and in their stead had adopted with unreasoning faith the mythologies of the Jews, who were the enemies of all the nations.26 Eusebius consistently kept these questions at the forefront throughout the Praeparatio, and especially in the other occurrences of apologia in the text. So at one point, he comments: ‘the aim of my project has proposed to submit an apology (apologismon) of our having preferred, not without reason, the Hebrew theology to the Greek philosophy.’27 In his summarizing remarks at the beginning of the last book, Eusebius claims: ‘I have wanted to refute the polytheistic error of the nations in a composition and in an apology (apologia) for our withdrawing from them…’28 23 Irenaeus may have been attempting something similar in his Demonstratio; see S.L. Graham, ‘Structure and Purpose of Irenaeus’ Epideixis’, SP 36 (2001): 210–221. 24 First Peter 3.15 ap. PE 1.3.6; and also, 1.5.2. 25 See also, PE 14.1.4. 26 PE 1.2.1–4; a passage argued to derive from Porphyry. See U. Willamowitz-Moellendorf, ‘Ein Bruchstück aus der Schrift des Porphyrius gegen die Christen’, ZNW 1 (1900): 101–105. 27 PE 10.4.31; for apologismos, see also, 4.1.5; 14.27.13. 28 PE 15.1.1; for apologia, see also, 1.3.6; 1.5.2; 5.10.13; 12.1.1; 14.1.4; 15.1.13. Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 71 Hence, through the evocation of the exhortation in First Peter and the recurrence of the terminology of apologia, Eusebius self-consciously identifies the Praeparatio as a sustained defense against the hostile accusations of Christianity’s opponents. Whatever innovations Eusebius may have seen himself as introducing, he nonetheless situated the work within the ongoing tradition of apologetics. The extensive use of verbatim citations from other authors was meant, from this standpoint, to function as the invoking of witnesses to prove the innocence of the accused Christians against the indictments of their denouncers. The witnesses summoned as testimony, however, had to be drawn from the ranks of the accusers, not from Christian sources. ‘Whence indeed’, he asks, ‘shall we confirm our proofs? Surely not from our own literature, lest we should seem to make things easy for our argument; the witnesses presented by us are from the Greeks themselves and those boasting in philosophy and those who have explored the rest of the history of the nations.’29 And so begins his citational parade of Greek sources, from Diodorus and Plutarch to Plato and Numenius of Apamea.30 Nearly every book of the Praeparatio possesses the persistent declaration that the witnesses to his case have been gathered from indigenous sources, their statements cannot be impugned as being unfairly favorable to Christianity.31 Eusebius was certainly not the first to use direct quotation from the opposition in an apologetic context. He had been preceded by the likes of Josephus, Tatian and Clement;32 and his contemporaries Marcellus of Ancyra and Lactantius found a citational form of apologetic methodology amenable to their own projects.33 The Praeparatio is distinguished from these, at the very least, by its sheer size, breadth and consistency. Beyond these distinctive marks, the Praeparatio’s sources were not meant merely to clear Christians from guilt under the charges brought against them, but were also manipulated so as to turn the accusations back against the Greeks themselves with a force unparalleled elsewhere in ancient literature. Porphyry’s writings provide both ‘testimony and refutation (elenchos)’, Eusebius wryly comments, scarcely concealing his delight at such an apt source (the virulent opponent of Christianity not only contradicted the other Greeks, but also himself); for the pagan philosopher’s works could be turned into ‘missiles PE 1.6.8. ‘…A deliberate, even ostentatious, parade of erudition’, T.D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius, p. 178. In general, see E. des Places, Eusèbe de Césarée commentateur: platonisme et écriture sainte (Paris: 1982); more specifically, see G. Bounoure, ‘Eusèbe citateur de Diodore’; J. Coman, ‘Utilisation des Stromates de Clément d’Alexandrie par Eusèbe de Césarée dans la Préparation Evangélique’, in Uberlieferungsgeschichte Untersuchungen (= TU 125; 1981): 115– 134; the relevant essays in E. des Places, Etudes Platoniciennes. 1929–1979 (Leiden: 1981). 31 See PE 2.8.13; 3.praef.2–3; 4.6.1; 4.15.7; 5.10.13; 7.8.1; 7.12.14; 8.1.3–4; 9.42.4; 10.1.8; 10.2.16; 10.9.28; 11.praef.1; 11.9.8; 14.1.2. 32 See Josephus, Contra Apionem 1.13,14,15, passim; Tatian, Cohort. 31; Clement, Protr. 2.39.1; Strom. 6.4.3. 33 See Marcellus (= Ps.-Justin), Orat. 9; Lactantius Div. Inst. 1.5. 29 30 72 Aaron P. Johnson and arrows’ against the Greeks (5.5.5).34 The weapons of Christianity’s opponents were effectively made to ricochet back onto the ranks of Greek calumniators.35 Far from being immune to the charges of impiety and misanthropy, it was the Greeks who had left the ways of piety and friendship with God, sacrificing animals or even humans, and deifying astral phenomena (at best) or their passions and sexual pleasure (at worst).36 Furthermore, far from being the sole guardians of an ancient and pristine wisdom, the Greeks had been late-comers, who had stolen the fruits of barbarian wisdom for themselves, only to spoil them through deviation and discord.37 The defense offered in the Praeparatio has turned into a prosecution; apologia has become elenchos. This emphasis on accusation and rebuttal demonstrates Eusebius’ conscious and deliberate identification with the classic apologies of the second and third centuries.38 While only the defense speeches put into the mouths of Christian martyrs at their trials were apologiai in a strict sense of a defense speech delivered at a trial,39 a number of literary works addressed to emperors by apologists such as Quadratus, Aristides and Justin Martyr were also given the appellation of apology by Eusebius in his Ecclesiastical History.40 Each of these works center upon, and relate themselves to, such forensic dealings, though at one remove, since they take their appeal for justice before the tribunal of the emperor or the Senate themselves.41 Petitions for justice by interested parties in a dispute were common between inhabitants of the eastern Mediterranean and the Roman emperor.42 The earliest apologies arose within this context, though the historicity of actual encounters, or even of the emperor reading their works, is impossible to prove. Whether these A. Kofsky, Eusebius of Caesarea Against the Pagans (Leiden: 2000), p. 241, refers to Eusebius’ ‘well-stocked arsenal’. See also, e.g., 2.6.22; 4.2.14; 4.3.14; 4.10.1–3. Eusebius would use the method elsewhere; see his comments referring to the Contra Marcellum at Eccl.Theol. praef. 35 See D. König-Ockenfels, ‘Christliche Deutung der Weltgeschichte bei Eusebs von Cäsarea,’ Saeculum 27 (1976): 355; J.–R. Laurin, Orientations maîtresses des apologistes chrétiens, p. 365. 36 On sacrifice, see 4.9–21; on various deifications, see 7.2. 37 On Greek theft, see especially Book 10; on Greek deviation and discord, see 13.14–15.52. 38 In general see the collection of essays in M.J. Edwards, M. Goodman and S. Price (eds), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999); with Averil Cameron, ‘Apologetics in the Roman Empire—A Genre of Intolerance?’, in ‘Humana Sapit.’ Études d’Antiquité tardive offertes à Lellia Cracco Ruggini, L’Antiquité Tardive 3 (2002): 219–227. 39 See M. Frede, ‘Eusebius’ Apologetic Writings’, in M.J. Edwards, M. Goodman and S. Price (eds), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999), pp. 225–227. 40 See F. Young, ‘Greek Apologists of the Second Century’, pp. 91–92; M. Frede, ‘Eusebius’ Apologetic Writings’, pp. 227–228. 41 Pace S.-P. Bernjam, ‘How to Speak About Early Christian Apologetics? Comments on the Recent Debate’, SP 36 (2001): 177–183, who sets off the ambassadorial type from the protreptic type (that is, the kind that refutes criticisms). 42 See F. Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World (London: 1977), pp. 561–566; R.M. Grant, ‘The Chronology of the Greek Apologists’, VC 9 (1955): 25–33; T.D. Barnes, ‘The Embassy of Athenagoras’, JTS 26 (1975): 111–114. 34 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 73 apologetic writings were ever actually heard by an emperor matters little here, however; the imagined forensic context defined their form and provided a site for literary self-positioning. Though not named as such by Eusebius, Origen referred to his defense against the anti-Christian assault of Celsus as an apologia.43 The prologue, in fact, explicitly recalls the trial of Christ before Pontius Pilate—an odd trial since the defendant refused to offer a verbal defense. Christ ‘returned no answer, believing that His whole life and conduct among the Jews were a better refutation than any answer to the false testimony, or than any formal defense against the accusations.’44 Whereas Christ had remained silent, however, Origen claims that he has been called upon by his patron Ambrosius to produce a written answer to the charges, even though such a written apologia would, if anything, weaken the defense already offered by Christ through the lives of his disciples, ‘which are a pre-eminent testimony, and one that rises superior to all false witness, and refutes and overthrows all unfounded accusation and charges’.45 In spite of this appeal to the effectiveness of unwritten witnesses to the truth of the Gospel, Origen sets out to meet Celsus’ accusations point by point (if he could, Origen claims, he would ‘extract each dart which wounded’ the readers of Celsus’ True Word).46 The difficulty in mapping an overall coherent order to the Contra Celsum’s structure, as well as our ability to cull a larger number of Celsus’ fragments from this work, is due in no small part to this fact.47 Throughout the Contra Celsum, Origen confines his literary horizons firmly within the limits of a detailed defense against the particular allegations of the pagan accuser. Origen’s work unproblematically joins the tradition of written rebuttals to the charges of Christianity’s opponents produced by Quadratus, Justin and others. III Eusebius’ repeated use of the term apologia in describing his work, combined with his use of quotations as witnesses for his defense, seems to establish the Praeparatio squarely within this apologetic tradition of formulating answers to the charges brought against the Christians. Yet he pushed the boundaries of apology beyond the defense genre. In his prologue, he included as his predecessors not only those Origen, C.Cels. 1.praef.1, 4, passim. See M. Frede, ‘Origen’s Treatise Against Celsus’, in M.J. Edwards, M. Goodman, and S. Price (eds), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999), pp. 135–136. 44 C.Cels. 1.praef.1 (trans. F. Crombie, Ante-Nicene Fathers series [New York: 1890]). 45 C.Cels. 1.praef.2–3. 46 C.Cels. 5.1; see also 1.41. 47 Note Origen’s comments at C.Cels. 2.1; see M. Frede, ‘Origen’s Treatise Against Celsus’, pp. 145–152. 43 74 Aaron P. Johnson who countered the hostile accusations of critics,48 but also those who wrote commentaries and philological examinations of the Scriptures and those who gave homilies on certain passages.49 Literary form, or genre in a strict sense, was not at issue.50 It was the defensive function of these quite different writings that counted towards their inclusion under a broader apologetic rubric. Even beyond this broadening of the apologetic genre to include other types of works, Eusebius boldly declares that he intends to approach the apologetic task in a way all his own. After enumerating the other apologetic approaches of those who have preceded him, Eusebius succinctly states, ‘The work in hand is fashioned by us in our own way (idiōs).’51 It has been suggested by Laurin that Eusebius’ distinctive approach lies in his thorough-going response to the charge that Christians had chosen their religion on the grounds of irrational faith.52 Alternatively, his citational methodology, quoting from the Greeks’ own sources, has recently been recommended as defining Eusebius’ novelty.53 These possibilities, however, hardly make sense of the immediate context of Eusebius’ claim, which had invoked a broad range of texts for the apologetic tradition within which he was placing himself. For this reason, others have argued that the Praeparatio’s particularity consisted in a mixing of the various genres that he had mentioned in that context: refutations of particular adversaries, exegetical commentaries, and polemical works of apologetics.54 Yet, even here, the statements that directly follow his claim to novelty (containing quotations from the epistles of Paul) have been left out of consideration.55 In addition, Eusebius, while he certainly exhibits a refusal to be confined by narrow restraints of genre as a particular literary form, hardly ventures into the genres that he claims his predecessors had used for apologetic ends. It is rather difficult to identify homiletic material (aside from various protreptic passages)56 or Unfortunately the scholiast at PE 1.3.6, who offers Eusebius’ possible predecessors in offering ‘proofs with syllogisms’ as Justin, Athenagoras, Tatian, Clement, Origen and Pamphilus, does not suggest predecessors for the other categories of commentaries and homilies; see K. Mras, Eusebius Werke VIII, vol. 2, p. 427. 49 See PE 1.3.4, 6. 50 For criticisms of a narrow approach to defining the apologetic genre, see Averil Cameron, ‘Apologetics in the Roman Empire’, pp. 219–227; S.-P. Bernjam, ‘How to Speak about Early Christian Apologetic Literature’, pp. 177–183. 51 PE 1.3.4. Eusebius claimed originality for other works as well; see HE 1.1.3; 5.praef.3–4; LC praef.2. 52 J.-R. Laurin, Orientations maîtresses des apologistes chrétiens, p. 355. 53 See A. Kofsky, Eusebius of Caesarea Against the Pagans, pp. 243–244 (in spite of his earlier claim that Eusebius’ novelty was not to be attributed to the extensive use of citation, p. 79); L. Perrone, ‘Eusebius of Caesarea as a Christian Writer’, p. 527. 54 See J. Sirinelli and E. Des Places, Eusèbe de Césarée, pp. 234–235. 55 Though see, W.J. Ferrar, The Proof of the Gospel (Grand Rapids: 1981), pp. xv–xvi; J.R. Lyman, Christology and Cosmology: Models of Divine Activity in Origen, Eusebius and Athanasius (Oxford: 1993), pp. 86–88. 56 See A.P. Johnson, ‘Ancestors as Icons’. 48 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 75 exegetical commentary (aside from brief etymological notes)57 in any depth in the Praeparatio. Nor does Eusebius provide a point-by-point response to the arguments of a pagan opponent. Grappling with Eusebius’ originality in the Praeparatio must involve the material on either side of his distinctive claim. In other words, we must first attend to issues of genre and in particular to Eusebius’ crossing of generic boundaries. Secondly, we must give proper weight to Eusebius’ argument, based upon passages from Paul, for the power of the Gospel in its spread throughout the world—that is, to Eusebius’ conceptual crossing of ethnic boundaries. Both of these boundary-crossings, I would argue, are at the heart of the Praeparatio’s innovative particularity. III.A THE PRAEPARATIO AS EISAGOGE As already noted, most readers of this text have considered it to be aimed at the Greeks. Yet even before he mentions the accusations of the Greeks, he avers that he is providing an elementary introduction for new converts to Christianity. ‘For it seems to me’, he writes, ‘that with this arrangement the discourse will proceed to the more perfect teaching of the Demonstratio Evangelica and towards the comprehension of deeper doctrines, if the material of the Praeparation might be as a guide for us, taking the place of a primer and introduction (stoicheiōseōs kai eisagōgēs), being appropriate for those from the nations recently coming [to the faith].’58 Eusebius thus wishes to push beyond the boundaries of apologia to incorporate the function of an eisagōgē or introduction. The apology offered in the Praeparatio does not pretend to be addressed to non-Christians. The defense against outside criticism is, rather, turned inward to Christianity’s own recent converts.59 Interestingly, the phrase ‘primer and introduction’ recalls the title of a work Eusebius had produced in the latter years of the Great Persecution (roughly 310 AD).60 The General Elementary Introduction survives only in part: Books 5–9 have been transmitted as Books 1–4 of the Prophetic Eclogues (a title which Eusebius himself On etymology, see 7.8.passim; 11.6.passim. The exegetical style would have normally based itself upon the isolation of problematic words or phrases of a given passage; these would be given as lemmata and then explanatory comments ranging from a brief sentence to a number of pages followed. Eusebius’ own commentaries on Isaiah and the Psalms provided excellent examples of the commentary form. Interesting treatment on the development of this literary form in the Greek philosophical tradition has been offered by D. Sedley, ‘Plato’s Auctoritas and the Rebirth of the Commentary Tradition’, in J. Barnes and M. Griffin (eds), Philosophia Togata II. Plato and Aristotle at Rome (Oxford: 1997), pp. 110–129. For the Christian tradition, see F. Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Cambridge: 1997), pp. 76–96. 58 PE 1.1.12. 59 See J. Sirinelli, in J. Sirinelli and E. Des Places, Eusèbe de Césarée, pp. 43–44. 60 See E. Schwartz, ‘Eusebios von Caesarea,’ col. 1387. 57 76 Aaron P. Johnson gives these books),61 while the tenth book may have survived as the misnamed Commentary on Luke—though this is far from certain.62 Fortunately, we have enough of this work to get an idea of what Eusebius aimed at.63 In the initial fragmentary pages of the first book of the Prophetic Eclogues (that is, the fifth book of the General Elementary Introduction) he says that his selections of prophetic passages will be like ‘the flower-cullings (apanthisma) from intellectual meadows’,64 which will contribute ‘to the truly beneficial and sound orthodoxy’.65 It is necessary to attend [to this] not only for those advanced in their disposition…but also for those who have passed over and have just now come to the divine word for the first time; and I suppose the subject under discussion will be useful in different ways to them, so that they might be able to understand precisely from this the assurance regarding the words they have been instructed in (katēchēthēsan).66 Throughout the extant portions of the General Elementary Introduction, Eusebius follows the method of quoting from select passages of Scripture and then offering brief comments, sometimes of only a line or so, on the importance of the passage in light of the incarnation and establishment of the Church. By offering only brief notes on these quotations, he claims that his treatment will be ‘like an eisagōgē’.67 In other words, Eusebius was attempting to produce something like a curricular text for students of the Hebrew scriptures; his Introduction sought to guide students through ancient texts that were surely mystifying to the new convert. Especially within a context of rival interpretations of these texts by heretics and Jews, the inexperienced recruits to the faith would have found the Hebrew writings troubling.68 Eusebius’ guide to orthodoxy was aimed at training his pupils in how to read texts. The process, as well as the results, were by no means guaranteed, as the student had to be firmly and persistently directed away from interpretive pitfalls by the master reader.69 See Gen. Elem. Intro. 1.1 (PG 22.1024B); 3.praef (PG 22.1120D). See D.S. Wallace-Hadrill, ‘Eusebius of Caesarea’s Commentary on Luke: Its Origin and Early History’, HTR 67 (1974): 55–63. Most subsequent discussions seem to take Wallace-Hadrill’s conclusions as proven, though stylistically the fragments of the so-called Commentary on Luke are rather different from those of the Prophetic Eclogues. This may merely be the result of the extraction and transmission of the fragments; but, in any case, further work needs to be done before the identification can be confirmed. 63 The Greek of the Gen. Elem. Intro. comprises roughly 125 columns of PG 22. For discussion, see T.D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius, pp. 167–174. 64 Gen. Elem. Intro. 1.1 (PG 22.1024B). 65 Gen. Elem. Intro. 1.1 (PG 22.1024C). 66 Gen. Elem. Intro. 1.1 (PG 22.1024C). 67 Gen. Elem. Intro. 1.1 (PG 22.1024D). 68 Against heretics and Jews, see Gen. Elem. Intro. 1.1 (PG 22.1025A); 1.20 (PG 22.1080AB); 2.2 (PG 22.1093B); 3.1 (PG 22.1121A); 3.19 (PG 22.1144B); 3.24 (PG 22.1149D). 69 For the process of learning to read Scriptures in early commentary literature, see F. Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture, pp. 76–96. 61 62 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 77 Introductory manuals (eisagōgai) for training students in reading a variety of texts (medical, mathematical, philosophical) became common in the Hellenistic and Roman periods in the eastern Mediterranean region.70 They could be placed at the beginning of commentaries on individual texts or could stand as independent pieces.71 Significant examples of independent isagogic texts have survived from the Platonic tradition. The Platonist teacher of Galen and sole representative of the ‘school of Gaius’, Albinus (c. 150 AD), was an important contributor to the development of a curriculum for the student of the Platonic corpus.72 Albinus’ Eisagōgē or Prologos73 commenced with a definition of ‘dialogue’ as a literary form.74 He then proceeded to classify the dialogues by ‘character’,75 and further offered his opinion on the best order of approaching Plato’s dialogues for the uninitiated reader (eschewing Thrasyllus’ tetralogical ordering).76 He thus exhibits the early struggle of developing a systematic method for approaching the dialogues that would later find canonical form in Iamblichus.77 Alcinous’ Didaskalikos took a different line (and may, in any case, have been written for the teacher, rather than the student, of Platonic texts).78 Hence, his The best overall treatment is J. Mansfeld, Prolegomena: Questions to be Settled before the Study of an Author, or a Text (Leiden: 1994). H.G. Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World (London: 2000), provides a useful survey of the use of books in the philosophical schools. See also R. Lamberton, ‘The Neoplatonists and their Books’, in M. Finkelberg and G.G. Stroumsa (eds), Homer, the Bible, and Beyond (Leiden: 2003), pp. 195–212. 71 For discussion of the schemata isagogica as prolegomena to commentaries, see L.G. Westerink, ‘The Alexandrian Commentators and the Introductions to their Commentaries’, in R. Sorabji (ed.), Aristotle Transformed (Ithaca: 1990), pp. 325–348; J. Mansfeld, Prolegemona, pp. 10–57. 72 For biographical details and relation to Gaius, see T. Göransson, Albinus, Alcinous, Arius Didymus (Göteburg: 1995), pp. 34–77. 73 That Prologos was Albinus’ title (and that it may have been the notes taken at a lecture by Gaius and forming an initial part of Albinus’ Hypotyposeis on Gaius’ lectures), while Eisagōgē was added by a scribe to indicate its function in a codex containing the works of Plato, has convincingly been shown by T. Göransson, Albinus, Alcinous, Arius Didymus, pp. 51–52. 74 Prol. 1–2 (Hermann). Origen similarly began his Commentary on John with a discussion of the definition of ‘gospel’; for the early employment of elements of what would later become the standard schemata isagogica by Origen, see J. Mansfeld, Prolegomena, pp. 11–16; R. Heine, ‘The Prologues of Origen’s Pauline Commentaries and the Schemata Isagogica of Ancient Commentary Literature’, SP 36 (2001): 421–439. 75 Prol. 3 (Hermann). 76 Prol. 4–6 (Hermann). On Thrasyllus’ arrangement, see Diogenes Laertius 3.56–61, with discussion of J. Mansfeld, Prolegomena, pp. 59–71. 77 See L.G. Westerink, Anonymous Prolegomena to Platonic Philosophy (Amsterdam: 1962), pp. xxxvii–xxxviii. 78 J. Dillon, Alcinous. The Handbook of Platonism (Oxford: 1993), pp. xiv–xv. The attribution to Alcinous (rather than Albinus) has generally been accepted, following the discussion of J. Whittaker, ‘Parisinus Graecus 1962 and the Writings of Albinus’, Phoenix 28 (1974): 320–354, 450–456; reprinted in J. Whittaker, Studies in Platonism and Patristic Thought (London: 1984), 70 78 Aaron P. Johnson introduction discussed key aspects of the philosopher’s thought under the tripartite structure of the dialectical, the theoretical (comprising both physics and theology), and the practical (or ethical), as an introduction (pros eisagōgēn)79 to Plato’s thought for his students.80 Similarly, Porphyry had composed an Eisagōgē to logic through treatment of Aristotle’s Categories, which was to have a profound effect upon medieval curricula, receiving in turn its own introductions and commentaries by later authors.81 Porphyry’s work is unique from the introductions of Albinus or Alcinous in that it sought to introduce students to the field of logic, rather than to the works or thought of an individual philosopher.82 Among Christian thinkers, the one-time head of the Aristotelian school at Alexandria and later bishop of Syrian Laodicea, Anatolius, had, according to Eusebius, composed Arithmetical Introductions, which evinced his great learning in divine things.83 If this Anatolius is identical with the teacher of Iamblichus mentioned by Eunapius, and the dedicatee of Porphyry’s Homeric Questions, then he was certainly a well-connected and influential figure in late antique intellectual circles.84 Fragments of his Arithmeticae Eisagōgai discuss answers to basic questions for the beginner in the discipline of mathematics: What is mathematics? From what does mathematics receive its name? How many parts of mathematics are there? and so on.85 Since mathematics is a branch of philosophy, Anatolius provides a survey of Aristotle’s divisions of philosophy. His students would be provided with a survey of mathematics’ place within scientific knowledge and the major figures in the history of mathematics. The relation of the Arithmeticae Eisagōgai to the Anatolian text quoted in the Theologoumena Arithmeticae (attributed to Iamblichus) and the Peri Dekados (an sections XX and XXI; see also, J. Dillon, Alcinous, pp. ix–xiii; T. Göransson, Albinus, Alcinous, Arius Didymus, pp. 13–27. 79 Didask. 36. 80 Dialectical: Didask. 5–6; theoretical: Didask. 7–26; ethical: Didask. 27–34. 81 E.g., Ammonius and Boethius; see J. Barnes, Porphyry. Introduction (Oxford: 2003), p. ix. 82 See J. Barnes, Porphyry. Introduction, pp. xiv–xvi. 83 HE 7.32.20; on his role in the school of Aristotle, see HE 7.32.6; on his ordination at Caesarea, then Laodicea, see HE 7.32.21. For his identification with the teacher of Iamblichus, see J. Dillon, Iamblichi Chalcidensis in Platonis dialogos commentariorum fragmenta (Leiden: 1973), pp. 7–9; D.J. O’Meara, Pythagoras Revived (Oxford: 1989), p. 23. 84 See Eunap. VS 5.1.2; Porph., Quaest.homer. 1.11 (Sodano). R. Goulet is skeptical of identifying this Anatolius with Eusebius’ Anatolius; see ‘Anatolius’, in R. Goulet (ed.), Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques (Paris: 1989), vol. 1, pp. 179–183. 85 The text is given at PG 10, cols 231–236; see also, J.L. Heiberg, Heronis Alexandrinis Opera (Stuttgart: 1912), vol. 4, pp. 160–168. Pace F. Hultsch, ‘Anatolius, 15’, RE (Stuttgart: 1894), vol. 1, col. 2074, followed by R. Goulet, ‘Anatolius’, pp. 180–181, who assume the Arithmeticae Eisagōgai is the title of the Anatolian material from the Theologoumena Arithmeticae and Peri Dekados and cannot be applied to the material in PG 10, since the latter is too much like a catechesis. It is precisely this point that indicates Arithmeticae Eisagōgai as the appropriate title. Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 79 epitome of Anatolius), both of which can be identified with some probability,86 is unclear. Since the Arithmeticae Eisagōgai consisted of ten books, the material from the Theol. Arithmet. and the Peri Dekados, which contain a Pythagoreanizing treatment of the first ten numbers, could be epitomized or otherwise reworked from another portion of Anatolius’ Arithmeticae Eisagōgai that sought to offer a survey of number symbolism. Whatever the case might be, Anatolius’ works represent an introduction more like Porphyry’s than those of Albinus or Alcinous. Anatolius’ subject was, after all, the discipline of arithmetic as a whole, not of an individual philosopher. At the same time, the emphasis on defining relevant terms (What is mathematics?) is shared with Albinus (What is a dialogue?). It is, in any case, evident that eisagōgai by Christian intellectuals on philosophical subjects were available to the librarian of Caesarea. These remarks on earlier eisagōgai, while scarcely exhausting the relevant material produced in the first three centuries, should exhibit the range and fluidity of introductory texts. Occupying no single literary form or rigid structure,87 these works mark the creativity and assiduity of educators in a number of subjects and within varied frameworks and intellectual projects. Eusebius’ General Elementary Introduction thus joined a thriving tradition of isagogical literature, in which he was free to experiment in his development of a Christian curriculum. In the same way that earlier introductions sought to simplify and schematize the classic texts of their philosophical traditions for the easy comprehension of beginners, the General Elementary Introduction made a distinctively Christocentric (or rather, Logocentric) approach to sometimes obscure ancient Hebrew texts accessible to those who desired to progress in their Christian understanding of the Scriptures. The focus was firmly pedagogical. Even though Eusebius never missed an opportunity to attack the interpretations of Jews and heretics, his aim was the instruction of those who had commenced their schooling in the faith. In a similar way, the Praeparatio, while offering answers to the critics of Christianity as an apologia, was directed towards Christian instruction as ‘a primer and introduction’ to a Christian understanding of pagan and Christian texts about God, the ‘so-called gods’, and the nations of the world. Both Albinus’ and Anatolius’ eisagōgai had commenced with the questions that would introduce their students to the subject at hand (What is a dialogue? What is mathematics?). Eusebius had correspondingly began the Praeparatio with the claim that he was seeking to answer the question, What is Christianity? His answer to this question took in the big picPace S.J. Bucking, ‘On Measuring the Range of Anatolian Text in the [Iamblichean] Theologoumena Arithmeticae’, Grazer Beiträge 18 (1992): 131–134, who distinguishes the Anatolian sources for each as separate works. In Bucking’s favor, however, Eusebius refers to Anatolius’ work in the plural—eisagōgai (Bucking does not avail himself of the Eusebian material). For the text of the Peri Dekados, see J.L. Heiberg, ‘Anatolius: Sur les dix premiers nombres’, Annales internationales d’Histoire (Paris: 1900), pp. 27–41. 87 Though see, E. Norden, ‘Die Composition und Literaturgattung der horazischen Epistula ad Pisones’, Hermes 40 (1905): 481–528. 86 80 Aaron P. Johnson ture—in fact, he sought to set his answer within world-historical terms, beginning with the greatest antiquity and following the histories of the nations up to his present day. Such a broad scope would require the many books of both the Praeparatio and the Demonstratio Evangelica. In each, Eusebius exercised his vast literary knowledge to guide students through the texts of numerous traditions to help them recognize in a comprehensive manner the answer to Christian identity.88 The Praeparatio guided Christian students in learning to read the texts of the religious and philosophical traditions that competed for their attention in a way that Eusebius felt would be distinctively Christian, and as such, distinctively rational, wise and pious. How was a Christian to understand the teachings of Plato or the other philosophical schools (Books 11–15)? How was a Christian to make sense of the three-fold division of theology under mythological, allegorical and political rubrics (Books 1–6)? Greek theological thought had developed in complex and seductive ways. Without ignoring the texts of this tradition and retreating into an irrational faith, how could a Christian read these texts in a way that was at once faithful to the Christian tradition and orthodoxy (as defined by Eusebius), as well as philosophically legitimate and rationally valid (again, as defined by Eusebius)? These were the questions guiding the Praeparatio, with its lengthy quotations and brief comments, its attention to contradictions between texts (even of the same author), and its constant sign-posting and observance of the structure and progression of its citational argument. The exhortation to read and understand echoes throughout the Praeparatio’s fifteen books: ‘Come, let us look…’;89 ‘let us see next…’;90 ‘listen…’;91 ‘it is good to examine this at leisure’;92 ‘you will understand when you learn…’;93 ‘take and read’.94 The hortatory subjunctive recurs with force and persistence.95 Eusebius invokes the student to read and understand these texts from within a Christian framework. Reading in the company of Eusebius, the master of ancient texts, we learn that the myths are actually histories of humans not gods, that the allegories were only embarrassed attempts to cover up this fact, that the theology of the polis cults was rooted in daemonic activity,96 that Plato 88 My remarks here can hardly do justice to the complexity of these two texts; I only aim at suggesting the overall approach and concerns of Eusebius in composing them. See further, A.P. Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica (Oxford: 2006). 89 PE 1.5.13. 90 PE 1.10.3. 91 PE 2.1.56; 2.6.23; 3.3.21; 3.6.7; 3.7.2; etc. 92 PE 3.9.6. 93 PE 3.7.5. 94 PE 3.praef.4. 95 For the use of such subjunctives in isagogic literature, see T. Göransson, Albinus, Alcinous, Arius Didymus, p. 51. 96 On Eusebius’ argument regarding this three-fold theological schema (mythological, allegorical-physical, and political theology) in PE 1–6, see A.P. Johnson, ‘Identity, Descent and Polemic’. Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 81 merely borrowed from Hebrew wisdom (though imperfectly), that the philosophical schools were riddled with contradictions and discord, that the Hebrew writings alone contained ancient wisdom and truth.97 Whether such instruction was to be undertaken alone by individual readers of Eusebius’ Praeparatio (as well as his General Elementary Introduction and his Demonstratio Evangelica), or was meant to guide a sort of ‘in class’ curriculum remains unclear. It may be that such introductions were meant to be manuals for teachers rather than students (as has been argued for Alcinous’ Didaskalikos).98 The Praeparatio was, after all, dedicated to Theodotus of Laodicea,99 whose duties as a bishop may have involved Christian education of a sort that Anatolius himself may have developed when he had been made bishop there in the late 270’s.100 Eusebius’ conscientious use of chapter headings and indices would have made the Praeparatio an ideal reference tool for teachers; and his copious citations would have been useful for those without ready access to Greek texts like those held in the library at Caesarea. Brief reflection on the curriculum of Origen may shed additional light on the potential uses of the Praeparatio and Demonstratio as they might have functioned together.101 We know that Origen’s pedagogical method involved leading students through successive stages of learning, beginning with Greek philosophy and advancing to the deeper truths of scriptural doctrines. Because of his popularity as a teacher, Origen was forced to divide the students. He entrusted the beginners to Heraclas, one of Origen’s senior students, for ‘the first introduction (eisagōgē) of elementary matters’, while the advanced students were instructed by Origen himself.102 For those who had a knack for intellectual pursuits, Origen ‘introduced’ them to the field of philosophy: leading them through the ‘preparatory studies’ (propaideumata) like geometry and arithmetic, he proceeded to instruction in the tenets of the philosophical schools, ‘commenting upon (hupomnēmatizomenos) and looking (theōrōn) into each of their writings’.103 Even the less educated were On this last point, see A.P. Johnson, ‘Ancestors as Icons’. J. Dillon, Alcinous, p. xiv. 99 PE 1.1.1; on Theodotus’ bishopric, see also, HE 7.32.23. 100 Anatolius was made bishop after having filled some sort of joint-bishopric with Theotecnus in Caesarea; see HE 7.32.21. Theotecnus himself had been ‘of the school of Origen’; see HE 7.14. For a date of 279, see Eus. Chron. ad loc.; Jerome Vir.Illust. 73; F. Hultsch, ‘Anatolius’, col. 2073 (for skepticism on Eusebius’ dating, see R. Goulet, ‘Anatolius’, p. 181). 101 One might also profitably compare the teaching methods of L. Calvenus Taurus or Plotinus; see H.G. Snyder, Teachers and Texts, pp. 111–118; R. Lamberton, ‘The Schools of Platonic Philosophy of the Roman Empire: The Evidence of the Biographies’, in Y.L. Too (ed.), Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (Leiden: 2001), pp. 433–458; J. Dillon, ‘Philosophy as a Profession in Late Antiquity’, in S. Swain and M. Edwards (eds), Approaching Late Antiquity (Oxford: 2004), pp. 401–418. 102 HE 6.15. 103 HE 6.18.3; the passage goes on to describe Origen’s training of the uneducated in the basic liberal arts (enkuklia grammata), and hence seems to refer to the period before the division of his school with Heraclas. 97 98 82 Aaron P. Johnson encouraged in the study of the ‘liberal arts’ (enkuklia grammata) as a preparation for biblical studies. Gregory Thaumaturgus presents his experience while a student of Origen as following the tripartite curricular structure of logic, physics, ethics,104 and then culminating in theological studies based upon the Scriptures.105 Engagement with the various tenets of the philosophical schools would inevitably reveal their disagreement, which would highlight the necessity of turning to the stability offered by the scriptural tradition.106 Whether from the enigmatic nature of the oracles or from human ignorance, the student of the Scriptures required a teacher proficient in these sacred writings to lead them in the correct interpretation.107 Origen was just such an expert guide. Further details on the actual day-to-day practice of Origen’s curriculum and pedagogical method elude us.108 The importance of learning to read the pagan literature from a proper perspective, as a foundation for studying the deeper truths of the scriptures, remains clear. Furthermore, while we may be unable to delineate with precision Origen’s division of his students into beginning and advanced classes, and what the exact subjects covered by each group was, we recognize the distinction of appropriate levels of learning for various students as a common feature among other ancient authors with educational aims.109 Similarly, Eusebius’ Praeparatio focused extensively on Greek thought, offering brief comments on the quotations of Greek authors as a guide for the student learning to think ‘Christianly’ and understand in a new way elements of Greek history, religion and philosophy. The Demonstratio, on the other hand, delved into the true significations of the Hebrew Scriptures, like the Prophetic Eclogues, teaching the student to comprehend these texts within a Christian framework. The Praeparatio carried, therefore, a two-fold function: to provide an introduction to understanding non-Christian (especially Greek) texts, and to deal with material that Eusebius thought was preliminary to the more advanced knowledge that would be covered in the Demonstratio—in other words, to be a ‘preparation for the Evangelic Demonstration’.110 The Praeparatio was simultaneously both ‘introduction’ and ‘preparation’. See Greg. Thaum., Pan.Or. 7–9, 13. For discussion of the spiritual and personal aspects of Origen’s school as depicted by Gregory, see R.L. Wilken, ‘Alexandria: A School for Training in Virtue’, in P. Henry (ed.), Schools of Thought in the Christian Tradition (Philadelphia: 1984), pp. 15–30. 106 Greg. Thaum., Pan.Or. 14–15. 107 Greg. Thaum., Pan.Or. 15. 108 Though see F. Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture, pp. 82–89; J. Mansfeld, Prolegomena, pp. 11–16. 109 See, e.g., Albinus, Prol. 5–6; Galen, De Sectis, 86, 102; Eus., Gen.Elem.Intro., 1.1 (PG 22.1024C); 1.4 (PG 22.1037B); cp. also, 1.7 (PG 22.1041B); 1.9 (PG 22.1052B); 1.12 (PG 22.1068B). 110 PE 6.10.49; see also, 1.1.12. For discussion, see J. Ulrich, Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden. Studien zur Rolle der Juden in der Theologie des Eusebius von Casarea (Berlin: 1999), pp. 30–31; and also, E. Schwartz, ‘Eusebios’, cols 1388–1389; A. Kofsky, Eusebius of Caesarea Against the Pagans, pp. 74–85; T.D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius, p. 182; J.-R. Laurin, Orientations maîtresses des apologistes chrétiens, pp. 345, 351. 104 105 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 83 Special emphasis needs to be given here to what Eusebius intends with a title like Praeparatio Evangelica, since there has been no little confusion about what Eusebius is doing in the Praeparatio. For too long, the Praeparatio has been deemed an argument defending the apologetic historical account of Greek wisdom as a ‘preparation for the Gospel’. Greek philosophical thought, according to this view, represented the Logos’ work in human history, preparing pagans for the incarnation—just as Moses and the prophets had served a preparatory function among the Jews. While this sort of view occurs elsewhere in early apologetic literature, attempts to find it expressed in the Praeparatio seriously misconstrue Eusebius’ position. In fact, Plato stole his best ideas from the Hebrews, according to Eusebius ‘all but translating’ the barbarian wisdom found in the writings of Moses,111 while the Greek philosophers after Plato destroyed the fruits of Plato’s transmission of such wisdom through their incessant discord and sophistries.112 The theory of progress that many have attributed to Eusebius,113 is not to be found in the Praeparatio,114 which expends great effort to narrate a story of decline into immorality and impiety among the nations.115 It is the text of the Praeparatio itself, not any philosophical developments among the Greeks, that functions as a ‘preparation’ for students of Christianity. The ‘preparation’ of the Praeparatio’s title signifies its educative roll in a curriculum for Christian students—not a theory of the relationship between Greek thought and the doctrines of Christianity. III.B LEARNING CHRISTIAN IDENTITY Emphasis on the introductory and pedagogical function of Eusebius’ Praeparatio allows us to see his claim for novelty in a new light, but it fails to exhaust his selfacclaimed originality. We do a disservice to Eusebius’ assertion of writing idiōs, See PE 12.11.1; 12.13.1. The best treatment of Eusebius’ argument is D. Ridings, The Attic Moses: The Dependency Theme in Some Early Christian Writers (Göteborg: 1995), pp. 141–196. 113 Eusebius’ theory of progress: A. Droge, Homer or Moses? Early Christian Interpretations of the History of Culture (Tübingen: 1989), pp. 168–193; R.M. Grant, ‘Civilization as a Preparation for Christianity in the Thought of Eusebius’, in F.F. Church and T. George (eds), Continuity and Discontinuity in Church History: Essays Presented to G.H. Williams (Leiden: 1979), pp. 62–70; G. Chesnut, The First Christian Histories: Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret, and Evagrius (Macon, Georgia: 1986), pp. 66–95; W. Kinzig, Novitas Christiana. Die Idee des Fortschritts in der Alten Kirche bis Eusebius (Göttingen: 1994), pp. 517–553; A. Kofsky, Eusebius of Caesarea Against the Pagans, pp. 135–136. 114 Though see HE 1.2.17–27; DE 8.praef.5–12. I discuss the notions of progress and decline in Eusebius’ writings in an appendix to Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica. 115 See, e.g., PE 1.9.13–14, 16–19; 2.5.4–5; 2.6.11–15; 7.2.1–6; cp. Eus. SC 13.16; Athan. C. Gentes 3–11 (especially 9). See, D. König-Ockenfels, ‘Christliche Deutung der Weltgeschichte bei Eusebs von Cäsarea’, pp. 354–358. 111 112 84 Aaron P. Johnson if we fail to take account of the remarks just following this claim. Here we find a boldly triumphalistic proclamation for the conquest of all nations under the sun by the teachings of Christ. While his apologetic predecessors had developed various responses to anti-Christian hostility, from commentaries to ‘philological demonstrations (grammikais apodeixesi)’, verbal or written responses were, in fact, unnecessary. The apostle Paul had, after all, declared, ‘Our speech and our preaching was not in persuasive words of wisdom, but in the demonstration of the Spirit and power.’116 Since this is so, Eusebius announces: ‘All words are superfluous, when the works are more manifest and plain than words—works which the divine and heavenly power of our Savior distinctly exhibits even now, while preaching good tidings of the divine and heavenly life to all men.’117 The works that were so manifest as to make all words superfluous are seen in the marvelous rise of Christianity and its spreading throughout the known world in spite of persecution and daemonic attacks.118 Christ’s power had wrought the demise of daemonic control over the nations of the world. Such power was exhibited not only among philosophic and brave men who had turned to the Gospel, but even women and children in the act of martyrdom, ‘showed by deeds rather than by words that the doctrine of the immortality of the soul is true’.119 The prophetic words of Christ had been confirmed as true: That the Church, which was afterwards gathered by his own power out of all nations, though not yet seen nor established in the times when he was living as man among men, should be invincible and undismayed, and should never be conquered by death, but stand and abide unshaken, settled and rooted upon his own power as upon a rock that cannot be shaken or broken.120 The Church had been created from Christ’s ‘calling of the nations’,121 and hence received the recurrent epithet of ‘the Church from the nations’.122 ‘The fame of his gospel has filled the whole world on which the sun looks down; and the proclamations concerning him ran through all nations, and are now still increasing and advancing…’123 Eusebius conceived of Christianity as essentially bound up with the act of ethnic boundary crossing. 116 PE 1.3.5, citing 1 Corinthians 2.4. J. Sirinelli and E. Des Places, Eusèbe de Césarée, p. 235, oddly claim that, ‘la citation de saint Paul, tirée de la Première Épître aux Corinthiens, n’est pas très bien adaptée au sujet.’ 117 PE 1.3.7. 118 See W.J. Ferrar, The Proof of the Gospel, pp. xv–xvi; J.R. Lyman, Christology and Cosmology, pp. 86–88, 104–106. 119 PE 1.4.14. Similarly, see PE 6.6.71; Athenag., Leg. 11. 120 PE 1.4.8. 121 PE 1.3.14. 122 This epithet derives from Paul; see Rom. 16.4; cp. DE 3.7 (138a–141b). 123 PE 1.3.10. See also 1.3.13. Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 85 Eusebius looked out upon the nations that had since ancient times practiced religious observances that were steeped in impiety and superstition and now saw flickering the flames of the true light of the Logos. Members of barbarian nations, who had once performed savage and horrific deeds of incest, cannibalism and human sacrifice, were now living lives of virtue and continence, their barbarian characters now made docile by the teaching of Christ. ‘Persians who have become his disciples no longer marry their mothers (mētrogamein),’ Eusebius avers: Nor do Scythians feed on human flesh (anthrōpoborein), because of Christ’s word which has come even unto them, nor other races (genē) of barbarians have incestuous union with daughters and sisters, nor do men madly lust after men and pursue unnatural pleasures,124 nor do those, whose practice it formerly was, now expose their dead kindred to dogs and birds, nor strangle the aged, as they did formerly, nor according to their ancient custom do they feast on the flesh (anthrōpothutein) of their dearest friends when dead, nor like the ancients offer human sacrifices to the daemons as to gods, nor slaughter their dearest friends and think it piety.125 The stereotypically barbarous behavior of these peoples could not resist the onrushing flood of the Christian message as it ran throughout the nations and overcame the ancestral customs handed down from their forefathers. Savage barbarians whom even Hellenism had been unable to civilize were domesticated through the gently illuminating rays of the Logos. The consequences of the Gospel teaching were both powerful and swift, and provided Eusebius with a more effective apologetic tool than mere words. A vision of the Church as triumphant in spite of all opposition and victorious in spite of daemonic attack was at the heart of Eusebius’ introduction to Christianity for his recently converted students. The teacher of Caesarea was not only teaching his pupils how to read texts; he was teaching them to read the world and the identities of those nations in the world, the Church and their new identity in the Church, and the history and outcome of Christ’s victory over the daemons of the nations. These identities and this history were ultimately rooted in, and conveyed by, a master narrative of great complexity and richness, woven by Eusebius from the many textual strands of his sources.126 It was a narrative that offered fledgling Christians an account of who they now were, whence they had come, and why they had abandoned the nations of their ancestors. The early chapters of the Praeparatio resound with declarations of the marvelous spread of Christ’s teachings throughout the world and the stability of a Church, consisting of men, women, children, slaves, educated and uneducated,127 The terminology here is probably an allusion to Romans 1.26–27. A broad characterization of ‘the ancient nations’ that contains reference to similar behavior occurs at PE 7.2.6. 125 1.4.6; the passage is adapted later at SC 16.9; Theoph. 3.7; 5.17. 126 See A.P. Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica. 127 See PE 1.1.6; cp. Clem. Strom. 4.8.58. 124 86 Aaron P. Johnson from all the nations under the sun, who had stood firm through the years of persecution. The nations they had left (especially Phoenicians, Egyptians and Greeks) were found wanting: the historical narratives of these nations recorded only historical belatedness, dependency upon others, and ancestors who characterized irrationality, impiety and moral and philosophical confusion.128 Even the nation of the Jews was portrayed in similarly dark colors.129 They had Egyptianized and forgotten the ways of their philosophic ancestors,130 the Hebrew ‘friends of God’, and despite Moses’ best efforts could only attain to a secondary level of piety.131 Only the Hebrew nation, whose descendants Eusebius claimed the Christians were, was found to model a primitive wisdom, clear-sightedness and ascetic purity unmatched by the other nations. Christ had restored the ancient Hebrew politeia and his teachings had quickly run through all the nations.132 It was the contours of this vision of Christians as a ‘Church out of the nations’, as well as a ‘Church between the nations’—neither Greek nor Jew—victorious despite vicissitudes, and superior to the nations historically, morally and philosophically, that Eusebius sought to forge in the minds of recent converts. His apologia in answer to hostile antagonists served simultaneously as an introduction to identity. IV Eusebius’ pushing of the boundaries of apologia to fulfill the needs of elementary Christian instruction and his fostering of a Christian identity founded on a triumphalist and world-historical vision provided powerful tools contributing to the creation and maintenance of a master narrative to shape the late antique Christian mind. Licinius would begin antagonizing the Church before Eusebius was to finish his apologetic labors, and the Church was facing divisive struggles in both the West and East (even before the explosive Arian controversy). Yet, from the account given in the Praeparatio one would never know of these political realities. His vision of the identities of Christians and others was sustained, comprehensive and total. See A.P. Johnson, ‘Identity, Descent and Polemic’, pp. 42–55. Pace J. Ulrich, Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden, pp. 79–88. See J. Sirinelli, Les vues historiques d’Eusèbe de Césarée, pp. 147–148; A. Kofsky, ‘Eusebius of Caesarea and the ChristianJewish Polemic’, pp. 59–83; M. Simon, Verus Israel: A Study of the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire AD 135–425, trans. H. McKeating (London: 1996), pp. 80–85; A.P. Johnson, ‘Ancestors as Icons’, pp. 262–263. 130 PE 7.8.37. 131 On the sharp distinction of Jews from Hebrews, see PE 7.6.1. 132 See E. Gallagher, ‘Eusebius the Apologist: The Evidence of the Preparation and the Proof’, SP 26 (1993): 256; idem, ‘Piety and Polity: Eusebius’ Defense of the Gospel’, in J. Neusner, E.S. Frerichs and A.J. Levine (eds), Religious Writings and Religious Systems (Atlanta: 1989), vol. 2, pp. 139–155, esp. 148. 128 129 Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 87 WORKS CITED Barnes, J. Porphyry. Introduction (Oxford: 2003). Barnes, T.D. ‘The Embassy of Athenagoras’, JTS 26 (1975): 111–114. ———. Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA: 1981). Beggs, M.R. ‘From Kingdom to Nation: The Transformation of a Metaphor in Eusebius’ Historia Ecclesiastica’ (PhD dissertation, University of Notre Dame: 1998). Bernjam, S.-P. ‘How to Speak about Early Christian Apologetics? Comments on the Recent Debate’, SP 36 (2001): 177–183. Bounoure, G. ‘Eusèbe citateur de Diodore’, REG 95 (1982): 433–439. Bucking, S.J. ‘On Measuring the Range of Anatolian Text in the [Iamblichean] Theologoumena Arithmeticae’, Grazer Beiträge 18 (1992): 127–148. Cameron, Averil. ‘Apologetics in the Roman Empire—A Genre of Intolerance?’ in ‘Humana Sapit.’ Études d’Antiquité tardive offertes à Lellia Cracco Ruggini, L’Antiquité Tardive 3 (2002): 219–227. Carriker, A.J. The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea (Leiden: 2003). Chesnut, G. The First Christian Histories: Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret, and Evagrius (Macon, Georgia: 1986). Coman, J. ‘Utilisation des Stromates de Clément d’Alexandrie par Eusèbe de Césarée dans la Préparation Evangélique’, in Uberlieferungsgeschichte Untersuchungen 125 (1981): 115–134. Des Places, E. Etudes Platoniciennes. 1929–1979 (Leiden: 1981). ———. Eusèbe de Césarée commentateur: platonisme et écriture sainte (Paris: 1982). Dillon, J. Iamblichi Chalcidensis in Platonis dialogos commentariorum fragmenta (Leiden: 1973). ———. Alcinous. The Handbook of Platonism (Oxford: 1993). ———. ‘Philosophy as a Profession in Late Antiquity’, in S. Swain and M. Edwards (eds), Approaching Late Antiquity (Oxford: 2004), pp. 401–418. Droge, A. Homer or Moses? Early Christian Interpretations of the History of Culture (Tübingen: 1989). Edwards, M.J., M. Goodman and S. Price (eds). Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999). Ferrar, W.J. The Proof of the Gospel (Grand Rapids: 1981). Foakes-Jackson, F.J. Eusebius Pamphili, Bishop of Caesarea in Palestine and First Christian Historian: A Study of the Man and His Writings (Cambridge: 1933). Fowden, G. Empire to Commonwealth (Princeton: 1993). Frede, M. ‘Origen’s Treatise Against Celsus’, in M.J. Edwards, M. Goodman and S. Price (eds), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999), 131–156. ———. ‘Eusebius’ Apologetic Writings’, in M.J. Edwards, M. Goodman and S. Price (eds), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999), 223–250. Gallagher, E. ‘Piety and Polity: Eusebius’ Defense of the Gospel’, in J. Neusner, E.S. Frerichs and A.J. Levine (eds), Religious Writings and Religious Systems (Atlanta: 1989), vol. 2, 139–155. 88 Aaron P. Johnson ———. ‘Eusebius the Apologist: The Evidence of the Preparation and the Proof’, SP 26 (1993): 251–260. Gifford, E. H. Preparation for the Gospel (Grand Rapids: 1981). Göransson, T. Albinus, Alcinous, Arius Didymus (Göteburg: 1995). Goulet, R. ‘Anatolius’, in R. Goulet (ed.), Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques (Paris: 1989), vol. 1, 179–183. Graham, S.L. ‘Structure and Purpose of Irenaeus’ Epideixis’, SP 36 (2001): 210–221. Grant, R.M., ‘The Chronology of the Greek Apologists’, VC 9 (1955): 25–33. ———. ‘Civilization as a Preparation for Christianity in the Thought of Eusebius’, in F.F. Church and T. George (eds), Continuity and Discontinuity in Church History: Essays Presented to G.H. Williams (Leiden: 1979), 62–70. Hägg, T. ‘Hierocles the Lover of Truth and Eusebius the Sophist’, SO 67 (1992): 138– 150. Heiberg, J.L. ‘Anatolius: Sur les dix premiers nombres’, Annales internationales d’Histoire (Paris: 1900), 27–41. ———. Heronis Alexandrinis Opera (Stuttgart: 1912). Heine, R. ‘The Prologues of Origen’s Pauline Commentaries and the Schemata Isagogica of Ancient Commentary Literature’, SP 36 (2001): 421–439. Hultsch, F. ‘Anatolius, 15’, RE (Stuttgart: 1894), vol. 1, cols 2073–2074. Johnson, A.P. ‘Ancestors as Icons: The Lives of Hebrew Saints in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica’, GRBS 44 (2004): 245–264. ———. ‘Identity, Descent and Polemic: Ethnic Argumentation in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica’, JECS 12 (2004): 23–56. ———. Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica (Oxford: forthcoming). Kinzig, W. Novitas Christiana. Die Idee des Fortschritts in der Alten Kirche bis Eusebius (Göttingen: 1994). Kofsky, A. ‘Eusebius of Caesarea and the Christian-Jewish Polemic’, in O. Limor and G. Stroumsa (eds), Contra Iudaeos. Ancient and Medieval Polemics between Christians and Jews (Tübingen: 1996), 59–83. ———. Eusebius of Caesarea Against the Pagans (Leiden: 2000). König-Ockenfels, D. ‘Christliche Deutung der Weltgeschichte bei Eusebs von Cäsarea’, Saeculum 27 (1976): 348–365. Lamberton, R. ‘The Schools of Platonic Philosophy of the Roman Empire: The Evidence of the Biographies’, in Y.L. Too (ed.), Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (Leiden: 2001), 433–458. ———. ‘The Neoplatonists and their Books’, in M. Finkelberg and G.G. Stroumsa (eds), Homer, the Bible, and Beyond (Leiden: 2003), 195–212. Laurin, J.-R. Orientations maîtresses des apologistes chrétiens de 270 à 361, Analecta Gregoriana 61 (Rome: 1954). Louth, A. ‘The Date of Eusebius’ Historia Ecclesiastica’, JTS 41 (1990): 111–123. Lyman, J.R., Christology and Cosmology: Models of Divine Activity in Origen, Eusebius and Athanasius (Oxford: 1993). Mansfeld, J. Prolegomena: Questions to be Settled before the Study of an Author, or a Text (Leiden: 1994). Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica as Literary Experiment 89 Millar, F. The Emperor in the Roman World (London: 1977). Mras, K. Eusebius Werke VIII. Die Praeparatio Evangelica, GCS 43.1 (Berlin: 1954). Norden, E. ‘Die Composition und Literaturgattung der horazischen Epistula ad Pisones’, Hermes 40 (1905): 481–528. O’Meara, D.J. Pythagoras Revived (Oxford: 1989). Perrone, L. ‘Eusebius of Caesarea as a Christian Writer’, in Avner Raban and Kenneth Holum (eds), Caesarea Maritima: A Retrospective After Two Millenia (Leiden: 1996), 515–530. Puech, A. Histoire de la littérature grecque chrétienne (Paris: 1930). Ridings, D. The Attic Moses: The Dependency Theme in Some Early Christian Writers (Göteborg: 1995). Riedweg, C. Ps.-Justin (Markell von Ankyra?), Ad Graecos de vera religione (bisher ‘Cohortatio ad Graecos’). Einleitung und Kommentar (Basel: 1994). Schott, J.M. ‘Founding Platonopolis: The Platonic Politeia in Eusebius, Porphyry, and Iamblichus’, JECS 11 (2003): 501–531. Schwartz, E. ‘Eusebios von Caesarea,’ RE (Stuttgart: 1909), vol. 11, cols 1370–1439. Sedley, D. ‘Plato’s Auctoritas and the Rebirth of the Commentary Tradition’, in J. Barnes and M. Griffin (eds), Philosophia Togata II. Plato and Aristotle at Rome (Oxford: 1997), 110–129. Seeck, O. ‘Das sogenannte Edikt von Mailand’, ZKG 12 (1891): 381–386. Simon, M. Verus Israel: A Study of the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire AD 135–425, trans. H. McKeating (London: 1996). Sirinelli, J. Les vues historiques d’Eusèbe de Césarée durant la période prénicéene, Faculté des lettres et sciences humaines, Publications de la Section de langues et littératures 10 (Dakar: 1961). Sirinelli, J. and E. Des Places, Eusèbe de Césarée. La Préparation Évangélique, SC 206 (Paris: 1974). Snyder, H.G. Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World (London: 2000). Ulrich, J. Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden. Studien zur Rolle der Juden in der Theologie des Eusebius von Casarea (Berlin: 1999). Wallace-Hadrill, D.S. ‘Eusebius of Caesarea’s Commentary on Luke: Its Origin and Early History’, HTR 67 (1974): 55–63. Westerink, L.G. Anonymous Prolegomena to Platonic Philosophy (Amsterdam: 1962). ———. ‘The Alexandrian Commentators and the Introductions to their Commentaries’, in R. Sorabji (ed.), Aristotle Transformed (Ithaca, NY: 1990), 325–348. Whittaker, J. ‘Parisinus Graecus 1962 and the Writings of Albinus’, Phoenix 28 (1974): 320–354, 450–456. [Reprinted in idem, Studies in Platonism and Patristic Thought (London: 1984), XX–XXI.] Wilken, R.L. ‘Alexandria: A School for Training in Virtue’, in P. Henry (ed.), Schools of Thought in the Christian Tradition (Philadelphia: 1984), 15–30. Willamowitz-Moellendorf, U. ‘Ein Bruchstück aus der Schrift des Porphyrius gegen die Christen’, ZNW 1 (1900): 101–105. Young, F. Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Cambridge: 1997). ———. ‘Greek Apologists of the Second Century’, in M.J. Edwards, M. Goodman, and S. Price (eds), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: 1999), 81–104. Chapter 5 Instruction by Question and Answer: The Case of Late Antique and Byzantine Erotapokriseis Yannis Papadoyannakis University of Birmingham In this contribution I would like to discuss and problematize the literary process of instruction by question and answer. This process is integral to a very littlestudied body of literature, that of the question-and-answer or otherwise known as erotapokriseis in late antiquity but also to the literary form of dialogue. Despite its enormous popularity in late antiquity there is—with few exceptions1—no recent, systematic discussion of this literature and more importantly of the literary process that informs it. To say nothing of the fact that some important texts have neither been properly edited much less translated into any modern language. This is all the more surprising since in the late antique and Byzantine literature the question and answer collections became one of the most preferred means of organizing and imparting knowledge in a number of such fields as: medicine2, See for instance the discussion by Lorenzo Perrone, ‘Sulla preistoria delle “quaestiones” nella letteratura patristica. Presupposti e sviluppi del genere letterario fino al IV sec’, Annali di Storia dell’ Esegesi 8.2 (1991): 485–505; idem, ‘Il genere delle “Quaestiones et responsiones” nella letteratura cristiana antica fino ad Agostino’, in Lorenzo Perrone, ‘De diversis quaestionibus octoginta tribus’, ‘De diversis quaestionibus ad Simplicianum’ di Agostino D’Ippona (Roma: 1996), pp. 11–44. The most recent and thorough treatment of a number of issues related to this literature is found in various contributions in the collective volume by Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question and Answer Literature in Context (Louvain: 2004). The book contains the proceedings of a conference held in Utrecht and has a number of interesting contributions that go some way towards remedying this deficiency. However some of the older studies that will be mentioned below remain still relevant and useful. For other late antique question-and-answer collections see the work of Robert Sharples on the question-and-answer collections of Alexander of Aphrodisias and on the way that they relate to the preceding philosophical tradition as well as to the rest of the corpus of Alexander writings. Robert Sharples, Alexander of Aphrodisias: Supplement to On the Soul (London, 2004), with bibliography. 2 Anna Maria Ieraci Bio, ‘L’ ἘΡΩΤΑΠΟΚΡΙΣΙΣ nella letteratura medica’, in C. Moreschini (ed.), Esegesi, parafrasi e compilazione in età tardoantica: atti del terzo Convegno dell’Associazione di studi tardoantichi (Napoli: 1995), pp. 187–207. 1 92 Yannis Papadoyannakis grammar, philosophy, theology, law.3 What has been only partly appreciated is the sustained usage of this literary form up until the present day.4 My aim is not to provide an overview but to raise some new questions and to suggest some new possible lines of future research on this very rich body of literature. In doing so I will draw selectively from different collections in order to illustrate my points. I. FORMAT The literature of erotapokriseis in late antiquity developed from its classical predecessors and was to have an extremely broad use and long afterlife. Otherwise known as problemata, zetemata, luseis, apora (aporiai) the question and answer literature has a long and important pedigree. One of the first and most famous attestations is the Ps. Aristotelian Problemata.5 Similar collections have been attributed to Democritus, Theophrastus, Chrysippus.6 In late antiquity Porphyry’s Quaestiones Homericae, and Summeikta Zetemata and Damascius’ Aporiai kai lyseis peri ton proton archon point to the continued importance of this form. Not unlike their predecessors erotapokriseis in late antiquity and Byzantium were based on and built around a number of problems, (zetemata, aporiai) of the most diverse nature.7 3 For overviews of this literature see Gustave Bardy, ‘La littérature patristique des “Quaestiones et responsiones” sur l’Ecriture Sainte’, Revue Biblique 41 (1932): 210–236; 341–369; 515–537; 42 (1933): 14–30; 211–229; 328–352. See also Georg C.F. Heinrici, Griechisch-Byzantinische Gesprächsbücher und Verwandtes aus Sammelhandschriften (Leipzig: 1911). Some broader perspective can be gained from the following entries: Heinrich Dörrie and Hermann Dörries, ‘Erotapokriseis’, Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 6 (1966): 342–370; W. Hörandner, ‘Erotapokriseis’, Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik 2 (1994): 1417–1419; and Herbert Hunger, ‘Erotapokriseis’, Lexikon des Mittelalters 3 (1986): 2183–2184. For a recent discussion of the form in collections from the classical period and their reception in the West, see Ann Blair, ‘The Problemata as a Natural Philosophical Genre’, in A. Grafton and N. Siraisi (eds), Natural Particulars. Nature and Disciplines in Renaissance Europe (Cambridge, Mass.: 1999), pp. 171–204. While the term ‘genre’ may apply to the literature that Blair discusses, to speak of a ‘genre’ when referring to late antique and Byzantine collections of questions and answers is to overdetermine the degree to which these collections follow a well-defined set of features. I prefer the term literary form with the understanding that it allows for more fluidity in the way that this literature was perceived by the ancient authors. 4 Such a very common feature as the ‘Frequently Asked Questions’ section on any website or brochure as a concept goes ultimately back to the ancient question and answer literature. See also such modern collections as Stanley S. Harakas, The Orthodox Church: 455 Questions and Answers (Minneapolis, Minn.: 1987) that are based on the same literary form of erotapokriseis and employ the same process of instruction by question and answer. 5 Blair, ‘The Problemata as a Natural Philosophical Genre’, pp. 171–714. 6 See Christian Jacob, ‘Questions sur les questions: archéologie d’une pratique intellectuelle et d’une forme discursive’, in Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question and Answer Literature in Context (Louvain: 2004), pp. 25–54. 7 Heinrici—one of the first scholars to attempt to map out the dense hinterland of this rich literature—remarked: ‛Darin aber besteht der eigentümlicher Reiz dieser Schriften, Instruction by Question and Answer 93 It is worth stressing at the outset that this literature needs to be understood both in terms of form, process8 and content as well as in the context of the practices of the philosophical schools but also the culture of conversation, debate, and disputation.9 As a process it is operative across a wide range of literary forms (epistles, lectures or dialexeis, treatises, manuals, dialogues etc.) and allows us —without deemphasizing the particularity of each of these literary forms—to get a better perspective on both this process and literature. So far as the dialogical form is concerned, it has been remarked that ‘In late antiquity, the dialogue form was seen as a suitable vehicle for carrying out the wars of sectarian rivalry among Christians and was put to use in apologetic and polemical efforts as well as in prophylactic and catechetical exercises—sometimes if only to breathe some life into tiresome, pedantic patristic florilegia of proof-texts’.10 Other scholars have advanced the term Gebrauchsliteratur or instrumental texts.11 While this may describe well a certain aspect of some texts it does not do justice to a set of other texts and it runs the risk of rendering them mere instruments. This could prevent us from considering the multiple and diverse contexts that these texts conjure up and from within which they arose as well as their performative aspect. But this is a point to which I will return. The literary form allows for considerable variation in application. A number of collections and dialogues reflect different stages in instruction ranging from rudimentary (such as grammars cast in the form of question and answer or manuals of surgery, military treatises, etc) to highly technical ones by Maximus the Confessor, Ioannes Italos etc. But we also have to acknowledge collections that defy such an easy distinction. dass Gelehrtes und Volkstümliches, Sage und wissenschaftliche Tradition in Ihnen frei verbunden sei.’ In Heinrici, Griechisch-Byzantinische Gesprächsbücher, p. 18. 8 On this see also the remarks by Claudio Zamagni, ‘Une introduction méthodologique à la littérature patristique des questions et réponses: le cas d’Eusèbe de Césarée’ in Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question and Answer Literature in Context (Louvain: 2004), pp. 1-24, esp. p. 3. 9 See Averil Cameron, ‘Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East’, in G.J. Reinink and H.L.J. Vanstiphout (eds), Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East: Forms and Types of Literary Debates in Semitic and Related Literatures (Leuven: 1991), pp. 91–108 and Averil Cameron, ‘Texts as Weapons: Polemic in the Byzantine Dark Ages’, in A.K. Bowman and G. Woolf (eds), Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (Cambridge: 1994), pp. 198–215. For the centrality of debate and disputation in late antiquity see also Richard Lim, Public Disputation, Power, and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1995). 10 Richard Lim, ‘Theodoret of Cyrus and Speakers in Greek Dialogues’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 111 (1991): 181–182. 11 Antonio Garzya, ‘Testi letterari d’uso strumentale’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 31.1 (1981): 263–287; idem, ‘Appunti sulle erotapokriseis’, Vetera Christianorum 29 (1992): 305–314. 94 Yannis Papadoyannakis II. SETTING As a literary form and process it sprang from and was used in the schoolroom of the philosophers. It was more broadly used in late antiquity. In the Vita Plotini, Porphyry ‘spent three days asking Plotinus how the soul is present to the body, he [Plotinus] kept explaining, causing a certain newcomer called Thaumasius to say that he wanted to hear him laying down principles with reference to texts and would not put up with Porphyry’s responses and inquiries. But Plotinus says, “If we do not resolve Porphyry’s difficulties when he questions us, we shall not have anything that we can put straight into the text”’.12 The literary form of erotapokriseis was adopted and adapted at a fairly early stage by Christians. Origen and Eusebius—to name but a few—made extensive use of this form.13 The loose structure and the add-on nature of this literary form account, in part, for the diverse material that they include. Ps. Justin’s Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos (hereafter QRO) is a case in point.14 In contrast to earlier collections, the QRO are concerned not with the continuous exposition of a single text, but with relatively short and self-contained sections of argument which need to be put in their context in ancient discussions generally. Being one of the first adaptations of the quaestiones in Greek Christian literature and having survived under the name of the second century AD apologist Justin, the Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos is a collection of 161 questions and answers (thus in the longer recension) and it deals with a wide range of issues. Each question and answer is numbered and forms an independent unit, linked to its nearest questions by some common theme: eschatology, cosmology, demonology, magic etc. A few questions are well known objections that ultimately go back to Celsus, Porphyry, Vita Plotini, (eds) P. Henry and H.-R. Schwyzer (3 vols, Leiden: 1951–1973) vol. 1, pp. 13, 10–17. Translation by Mark Edwards, Neoplatonic Saints: The Lives of Plotinus and Proclus by Their Students (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2000), pp. 23–24. For a perceptive discussion of erotapokriseis as an intellectual practice see Jacob, ‘Questions sur les questions’, pp. 25–54. Also for a discussion of the processes of schooling in the ancient world see Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews, and Christians (London: 2000). Pierre Thillet, ‘La pédagogie de Plotin’, in Claudia Giuffrida and Mario Mazza (eds), Le Trasformazioni della cultura nella Tarda Antichità: atti del convegno tenuto a Catania, Università degli studi, 27 sett.–2 ott. 1982 (2 vols, Catania: 1985), vol. 1, pp. 205–217, esp. pp. 212–215. 13 Bardy refers to the use of the form by Marcion in his Antitheses and Appelles in his article ‘La littérature patristique des “Quaestiones et responsiones” sur l’Ecriture Sainte” ’, Revue Biblique 41 (1932): 217–224. 14 The editions available are: Corpus apologetarum Christianorum saeculi secundi, ed. J.C.T. Otto. (3 vols, Ienae: 1876–1881), vol. 3, pp. 1–246 as a pseudonymous work of Justin the Martyr. The other edition, which is attributed falsely to Theodoret, is by A. PapadopoulosKerameus (Subsidia Byzantina 13, St. Petersburg: 1895; reprint, Leipzig: 1976) and is based on a more complete manuscript. 12 Instruction by Question and Answer 95 Porphyry and Julian.15 Following Origen’s and Eusebius’ literary precedent, a good deal of Ps. Justin’s erotapokriseis aim at refuting these criticisms and accusations using the rhetorical method of anaskeue and kataskeue.16 On account of this, there is a strong apologetic dimension in these questions and answers directed not only against pagans but also against heterodox Christians and Jews.17 But interwoven with this, is a strong didacticism that is based on the desire to probe deeper into a particular text or problem. At times the answers to the questions read like exercises in tackling difficult and not always easily solvable questions, a feature that ties them to their philosophical and philological predecessors. In doing so the resolution of problemata involves the use of several exegetical methods. Many indications imply a pedagogical process. This is obvious not only from the requests of the inquirers to the teacher (δίδαξον/teach us, διασαφήνισον/ clarify etc.) but also from the answers that are given. In Q. 159 for instance the response to the question is: ‘This question is unbecoming of either a Christian or of a Greek [i.e. pagan]. […] One must not construct an inquiry from things that are agreed upon but from disputed issues’.18 In tune with the pedagogical and didactic aims of the erotapokriseis, are also what look like rules that guide the inquiry and define its limits.19 In several collections such as Ps. Justin’s and Ps. Caesarios’ the answers take the form of longer disquisitions. An interesting feature of these collections is that the rich dialogical elements and the free association and interpretation of the scripture but also the solutions offered to various other aporiai imitate the actual performance of the teacher. This is a pervasive and calculated move. The kind of language employed is meant to create the feel of the classroom for the reader even if we are dealing with written collections of these aporiai.20 See Bardy, ‘La littérature patristique des “Quaestiones et responsiones” sur l’Ecriture Sainte’, and Giancarlo Rinaldi, ‘Tracce di controversie tra pagani e cristiani nella letteratura patristica delle “quaestiones et responsiones’’’, Annali di Storia della Esegesi 6 (1989): 99–124. 16 A point well made by Allan E. Johnson, ‘Rhetorical Criticism in Eusebius’ Gospel Questions’, Studia Patristica 18.1 (1989): 33–39. 17 Bardy, ‘La littérature patristique des “Quaestiones et responsiones” sur l’Ecriture Sainte’, and Rinaldi, ‘Tracce di controversie tra pagani e cristiani’; Averil Cameron, ‘Texts as Weapons: Polemic in the Byzantine Dark Ages’; Averil Cameron, ‘Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East’. 18 ‘ Ἀπόκρισις: Αὕτη ἡ ἐρώτησις οὒτε χριστιανῷ ταιριάζει, οὒτε Ἓλληνι· [...] οὐ χρὴ δὲ ἐκ τῶν ὁμολογουμένων κατασκευάζειν τὴν ἀπορίαν, ἀλλ’ ἐκ τῶν ἀμφιβόλων.’ Q. 159, 7–11 (ed. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Leipzig: 19752), p. 146. 19 See for example ibid., Q. 161, 9–11, p. 147. 20 This compels us to consider the question of the relation of QRO or Ps. Caesarios to any spoken performance and that of the place of delivery. Both have to remain open. Joseph Munitiz has suggested that in the case of Anastasios of Sinai some of the responses may have been read aloud in the church Joseph Munitiz, ‘Anastasios of Sinai: Speaking and Writing to the People of God’, in M.B. Cunningham and P. Allen (eds), Preacher and Audience: Studies in Early Christian and Byzantine Homiletics (Leiden: 1998), pp. 227–245, esp. p. 235. 15 96 Yannis Papadoyannakis The performative aspect and the interaction between master and disciple become more explicit in the erotapokriseis of Ps. Caesarios, a collection 218 questions and answers from the 550’s on the most diverse topics attributed pseudonymously to the brother of Gregory Nazianzen, Caesarios in the fourth century.21 According to the preface these questions were asked by several persons and answered by Caesarios in the conversations of four consecutive days while he was teaching in Constantinople. The individual inquiries are not always ascribed to each of the several persons mentioned in the title who inquire, are steered through different arguments, interrupt or ask follow-up questions or ask for further elaboration. The painstaking scholarship of the editor of the work Rudolf Riedinger has shown that the text is a compilation that was put together in the first half of the sixth century AD.22 Apart from the specific questions that interlocutors are made to pose, they remain otherwise undeveloped dramatis personae. In fact, it is fair to assume that the anonymous author has blended his own concerns and inquiries— but also other contemporary ones—with those of the dramatis personae of his dialogues. The text gives some indications of the setting of this dialogue which is meant to come across as taking place in a classroom-monastery. All four dialogues are punctuated by the interaction between a teacher/ MASTER and a circle of students/DISCIPLES. From the very beginning of the work the inquirer is asking the teacher to provide them with sound instruction in various kephalaia of the Bible lest they are misled by the fools.23 The inquirers need to be edified and strengthened in their belief. The dramatic setting and characters that the anonymous author employs to deliver his answers form part of the apparatus he employs to recast, reformat and re-organize and impart knowledge. Answers to and discussion of inquiries then, is the main means of presenting his ideas. The work is permeated by a miscellanism of an encyclopedic scope and nature manifested in the meteorological, cosmological, astrological, medical lore presented in short reading units on display. Few examples will suffice: One question (92)24 inquires into the origin of the sun, the moon, the stars and their essence whereas another (Q. 89)25 inquires into the number of heavens and the nature of the firmament (Q. 91).26 Other questions deal with such issues as the shape of heaven (spherical or flat?), such natural phenomena as the course/trajectory of the sun and how this affects the daylight during the summer and the winter (Q. The critical edition is: Pseudo-Kaisarios, Die Erotapokriseis, ed. Rudolf Riedinger (Berlin: 1989). 22 Rudolf Riedinger, Pseudo-Kaisarios: Überlieferungsgeschichte und Verfasserfrage (München: 1969), pp. 282–300. 23 Pseudo-Kaisarios, Erotapokriseis, Q. 1, 14–15, p. 9. 24 Ibid., Q. 92, 1–2, p. 71. 25 Ibid., Q. 89, 2–3, p. 69. 26 Ibid., Q. 91, 1–2, p. 70. 21 Instruction by Question and Answer 97 97 and 99).27 The author does not refrain from attempts to explain earthquakes (Q. 102)28 or to dismiss the influence of the stars in human life (Q. 106).29 It has become clear by now that by making use of this literary form and process, the authors of these collections set themselves in a long-standing didactic tradition. Even if this instruction is apologetically motivated and oriented it nevertheless becomes of broader relevance and extends to more general areas of broader significance and application. The fact that the authors of the collections come across as the purveyor of the solutions or answers brings about a “personalizing” of knowledge. In other words even when the authors are mediator/intermediary of knowledge by virtue of the fact that they are drawing tacitly on other authorities, the implied role of the master/teacher encourages discipleship on the part of the inquirer (and the reader of the collection) who come to share the teachers’ insights and positions. In the case of Ps. Justin the persona of the teacher remains less developed but other collections such as the one by Anastasios of Sinai or Michael Glykas afford us perhaps a fuller picture of the teacher at work. In many collections, the themes overlap. But it would be a mistake to assume that they are of less interest because of this. Even in the case where aporiai or zetemata (and at times their solutions) are borrowed from older tracts and commentaries, catenae etc., it is not only interesting to see how these are “re-solved” but also how the texts are recast and transmitted.30 Viewed in this light these collections can allow us to see how the texts circulated and the uses that they were put to. If instruction is the primary concern for these texts it takes the form of a dispensation of knowledge that does not preclude a skilful use of hermeneutical principles,31 even if the parameters of the debate and of the imparted instruction have changed. In fact question and answer literature becomes a literature where some authors may feel more at ease to speculate and at times innovate. Another telling indication of the setting where the same process of instruction by question and answer is employed, we find in the dialogue Ammonios by Zacharias the Rhetor that dates from the early sixth century AD.32 In the preface to the Ibid., Q. 97, 1–2, p. 74 and Q. 99, 1–2, p. 75. Ibid., Q. 102, 1–17, p. 78. 29 Ibid., Q. 106, 1–48, pp. 80–82. 30 For a good example of how the erotapokriseis of Anastasios of Sinai were copied, re-copied, excerpted, adapted and revised by later Byzantine authors until the 15th century AD, see Joseph Munitiz, ‘In the Steps of Anastasius of Sinai: Later Traces of His Erotapokriseis’, in B. Janssens, B. Roosen and P. Van Deun (eds), Philomathestatos: Studies in Greek Patristic and Byzantine Texts Presented to Jacques Noret for His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Leuven: 2005), pp. 435–454. A similar case can be made for other collections of erotapokriseis that had a long and famous career in Byzantium. 31 For a similar didactic tendency that permeates the philosophical commentaries of the time, see Ineke Sluiter, ‘Commentaries and the Didactic Tradition’ in Glenn Most (ed.), Commentaries—Kommentare (Göttingen: 1999), pp. 173–205. 32 Zacharias, Ammonio/Zacaria Scolastico, ed. Maria Minniti Colonna (Napoli: 1973). 27 28 98 Yannis Papadoyannakis dialogue Zacharias writes that he has composed this dialogue at the request of some who wanted to see certain of Ammonios’ pagan philosophical tenets refuted. The term that Zacharias uses for his reply to the objections is λύσεις/lyseis. Other terms reminiscent of the instruction by question-and-answer model, recur throughout the dialogue.33 Ammonios is a document of the highest importance for a number of reasons. Both the literary process and form as well as the content throw an interesting light on Ps. Justin’s Quaestiones et Responsiones ad Orthodoxos and alert us to a potentially similar setting for this work. There is a striking overlap in the range of concerns that are addressed in these works (demonology, resurrection, eschatology, cosmology, theodicy). Rather than aiming to ‘breathe some life into tiresome, pedantic patristic florilegia of proof-texts’ we have to see the erotapokriseis and dialogue literature as a “discursive matrix”34 intimately associated with—but not confined to—the rhetorical exercises and the schoolroom. As such it allows the discussion of a broad array of questions which are given different degrees of focus. III. CATECHESIS? Many scholars have referred to these collections as catecheses on account of the fact that they impart knowledge. But we have to ask more questions and probe deeper. Our knowledge of catechesis is limited, but—if anything—these collections allow us to see this process as longer than we have assumed. The literature of the erotapokriseis addressed a constant need for instruction in the Bible but also on a number of other issues. This accounts for the appeal of this form and its longevity. For instance in the period of Ps. Justin’s QRO, we know very little about the way that the large numbers of recently converted Christians (in the fourth, and fifth centuries) were instructed to the new faith35 or how the successive generations of Christians were instructed in religious—but also numerous other—matters. Judging from the variety of the questions asked, the persistence of these questions—questions on related themes were asked until the end of the Byzantine empire and beyond—and the variety of ways in which they are discussed in the erotapokriseis but also from the didactic aims of these collections, we have to ask whether Hirzel’s judgment about dialogues is fair. Is it ‘rohes Dogmatismus (raw Dogmatism)’36 or intense speculation and scrutiny—to be sure within carefully Ibid., 131c (1137–1139). The term is from Christian Jacob, ‘Questions sur les questions’, p. 44. 35 For a discussion of this problem in the fourth and fifth centuries, see Robert Markus, End of Ancient Christianity (Cambridge: 1990), pp 31–35. 36 Hirzel’s judgment reads as follows: ‛Der dialogische Form, die, bei ihrem ersten Hervortreten in der Geschichte, der Kritik der Meinungen und der Befreiung des Geistes gedient hatte, war in den Katechismen das Gefäss des rohesten Dogmatismus geworden. Daher besiegelt 33 34 Instruction by Question and Answer 99 delimited parameters—about fundamental tenets of Christianity? We are not in a position yet to fully assess this and any definitive conclusions have to wait, pending more detailed studies. But acknowledging this catechetical aim of some of these collections and studying these with the diligence and the care that they deserve will change our idea of catechesis. For, contrary to a tendency to keep the religious and the secular apart, we find these two interwoven in these collections. IV. EROTAPOKRISEIS AND DIALOGUES The process of instruction by question and answer is of course operative in the form of the dialogues. It is worth paying attention to Zacharias’ preface to Ammonios that serves as a reflection and comment on the enterprise. Zacharias refers to some student who began to advance his teacher’s Greek [viz. pagan] objections to some about the world. The students then, conveyed these [objections] (antitheseis) to Zacharias and once they heard the solutions they requested that they be committed to writing.37 We see the reformatting of problems/zetemata into scholarly talking points albeit in a dramatized form. Do these dialogues allow us to imagine a similar setting for and a process from which at least Ps. Justin’s QRO developed or were employed namely the philosophical/theological schooling? Photius, whose Amphilochia is a collection of more than 300 questions with their answers, some cast into dialogue form, provides us with another interesting comment about his use of dialogue in the discussion of zetemata: ‘And since in such inquiries for arguments the dialogue mode is more suitable, because the investigation of the subject is rendered more subtle by the continuous alternation of the opposing views [antitheseis], I too must undertake such a form of reasoning, having first asked the divine Word to reveal to me the spirit of truth in these matters and to grant that my reasoning may die Katechismenlitteratur das Ende des antiken Dialog’ in Rudolf Hirzel, Der Dialog, ein literarhistorischer Versuch (2 vols, Leipzig: 1895), vol. 2, p. 265 [emphasis mine]. This view still enjoys currency but does not do justice to the fact that late dialogues were adapted to meet distinctly different ends breaking, thus, away from their ancient models even in cases where late antique and Byzantine authors claim that they are following the classical model. Commenting on this phrase Daly rightly remarks that Hirzel’s judgment ‘seems to be conditioned by a predisposition to set up the best of classical Greek dialogues as the perfection, and consider others as deviations or deteriorations therefrom’. Daly goes on to say ‘these dialogues [viz. patristic dialogues] are surely not merely feeble and unsuccessful attempts at imitation of the classical dialogues, for such comparatively well educated and intelligent men as Jerome and Theodoret could certainly have done better than they did, had they had in mind the writing of a classical dialogue’. In the introduction to Lloyd W. Daly and Walther Suchier (eds), Altercatio Hadriani Augusti et Epicteti Philosophi, Illinois Studies in Language and Literature vol. 24:1–2 (Urbana, IL: 1939), p. 18. 37 Zacharias, Ammonios, Preface 3–7. 100 Yannis Papadoyannakis render the unfolding of it perspicuous. Accordingly, let the persona championing the teaching of the Fathers be signified by the letter A and the one employing the recourses of the opposition and putting forward the opposing views for the purpose of overturning the argument be indicated by the introductory letter B.’38 V. ORGANIZATION OF KNOWLEDGE From the discussion above, it has become apparent that the process of instruction by question and answer was used not only to refute but also to convey knowledge organized in various degrees of complexity. On account of this it is worth asking how this didacticism affects and is affected by the wider phenomenon of the organization of different types of knowledge in late antiquity and Byzantium as in many cases later collections compile and recompile questions (aporiai) giving different answers adding, modifying or giving new answers. Scholars have remarked on the general tendency to reduce knowledge to smaller bits in order to make its assimilation easier.39 It would be worth looking into this process in order to discover the criteria by which this happens especially in cases where these microtexts usually are the result of compilation and draw on a larger body of literature and knowledge. For example, a good case has been made recently about the way in which Aristotelian meteorological knowledge was recast and reformatted in the form of erotapokriseis in the eleventh century by such authors as Michael Psellos, Symeon Seth, and Eustratios of Nicea.40 As a result, this literature holds out one more possibility for us to consider. As ‘discursive matrix’41 that has been applied not only to different fields of knowledge but also across the centuries it is interesting to see how—if at all—this develops over time. Does it generate new knowledge?42 What does it mean to impart knowledge Amphilochia II 149, 66–75 (De vitae termino), ed. L.G. Westerink (6 vols, Leipzig: 1986), vol 5 (1986), p. 169. Photius is reproducing here verbatim a passage from Germanos of Constantinople, On Predestined Terms of Life, trans. and ed. Ch. Garton and L.G. Westerink (Buffalo: 1979), p.7. The translation is by Charles Garton and L. G Westerink with some modifications. 39 Ieraci Bio, ‘L’ ἘΡΩΤΑΠΟΚΡΙΣΙΣ nella letteratura medica’, p. 206. For the organization of knowledge in late antiquity and Byzantium see Paolo Odorico, ‘La cultura della συλλογή: 1) Il cosidetto enciclopedismo bizantino; 2) Le tavole del sapere di Giovanni Damasceno’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 83 (1990): 1–21. See also the overview by Rosa Maria Piccione, ‘ “Scegliere, raccogliere, e ordinare”. Letteratura di raccolta e trasmissione del sapere’, Humanitas 58.1 (2003): 44–63. 40 See the contribution of Ιωάννης Τελέλης, ‘Οι λόγιοι του 11ου αιώνα και ο αριστοτελισμός: Η περίπτωση των “Μετεωρολογικών”’, in Βασιλική Βλυσίδου (ed.), Η αυτοκρατορία σε κρίση; Το Βυζάντιο τον 11ο αιώνα (1025–1081) (Αθήνα: 2003), pp. 425–442. 41 Jacob, ‘Questions sur les questions’, p. 44. 42 See for instance the way that Maximos the Confessor deals with the problem of the ensoulment of the embryo in his Ambigua in the study by Marie-Hélène Congourdeau, 38 Instruction by Question and Answer 101 in this ‘dialogized’, ‘multivoiced’ form? What does this tell us about the notion of truth that is sought? As a flexible means of organizing knowledge these collections reflect the varied stages of their compilation but also contemporary concerns as well as the way in which these collections develop over time. The authors of these collections were not only interested in transmitting knowledge but also in adapting the texts to the demands of a particular time and place in relation to reading, interpretation and understanding. The fact that the texts have been abstracted from their literary context does not prevent the quaestiones from being incomparable guides to the intellectual environment within which they were compiled as well as a unique source for religious, social history.43 Considered in this light they can help us to understand how knowledge was preserved and transmitted, and enriched, but also updated and reinterpreted. In the course of time there is an increasing—explicit or implicit—reliance on authorities [e.g. Ps. Caesarios, Photios, Glykas] in order either to support the interpreter’s point of view or to help him explore the implications of an argument but this phenomenon needs to be studied further. Is it merely an anthologizing deference to the authority of the ancient sources? As a result of this it is worth studying both the way in which these collections were put together since we are dealing with collections but also the way in which they were circulated, enriched and used long after their production. Furthermore we can only profit from asking how different kinds of knowledge in these collections are appropriated, and controlled, condensed or expanded, accumulated and synthesized, centralized or dispersed.44 What are the mechanisms and criteria for the accumulation, distribution, and storage of knowledge in these collections, arranged in various ways (alphabetical, thematic order etc.)? What is the precise relationship of these collections with the original texts (homilies, catenae, doxographies, anthologies, commentaries)? What of the audience? The mixed nature of these questions defies a neat distinction between “high” or “low” versions of the questions. Furthermore for some of these texts it has been ‘L’animation de l’embryon humain chez Maxime le Confesseur’, Nouvelle Revue Théologique 111 (1989): 693–709. 43 See for example John Haldon, ‘The Works of Anastasius of Sinai: A Key Source for the History of Seventh-Century East Mediterranean Society and Belief ’, in Averil Cameron and Lawrence I. Conrad (eds), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East: Papers of the First Workshop on Late Antiquity and Early Islam (Princeton: 1992), pp. 107–147. See also Joseph Munitiz, ‘Anastasios of Sinai: Speaking and Writing to the People of God’, pp. 227–245. 44 On this see the exemplary and inspiring work of Christian Jacob, ‘La bibliothèque et le livre. Formes de l’encyclopédisme alexandrine’, Diogenes 178, vol. 45:2, summer (1997): 6485. See also the contributions in Luce Giard and Christian Jacob (eds), Des Alexandries (2 vols, Paris: 2001-2003). 102 Yannis Papadoyannakis suggested that their setting is monastic.45 If so, we have to rethink both the kind of schooling that was available at these monasteries and whether such schooling was imparted only in this setting or we have to assume a wider circulation. VI. CONCLUSION The late antique and Byzantine question and answer literature clearly developed from the classical literary form and preserved many of its features. However there are shifts in emphasis and in use and at times changes. As a result some collections are at times noticeably distinct from their predecessors. While in many cases avowedly apologetic, this literary form also reflects an aspect of instruction and paideia that deserves more attention than is conventionally given. For it offers us a way of exploring the modalities of instruction in late antiquity and Byzantium not easily recoverable from other sources. On top of providing historians with a rich body of literature to work on, further study of question and answer literature enables us to move from more recognizable, established and well studied ways of instruction acquired from commentaries, treatises etc. to literary forms that employ the question and answer process to achieve the same ends. I hope to have shown that an approach to this body of literature based upon the considerations that I have outlined above will enhance our understanding and appreciation of these works and will create a new way of looking at this literature. Combined with other forms of evidence it will illuminate both the various processes of schooling and—on a broader level—the way knowledge was organized and imparted. As a result of this it is not easy to dissociate this literature from the dynamic engagements between teacher and student or preacher and audience and the dialogical pedagogy that this implies. But more importantly through this literature we catch a glimpse of something more elusive but which almost certainly happened/took place at the time: the inquiry, the disputation, the instruction and the social realities around them. WORKS CITED Bardy, Gustave. ‘La littérature patristique des “Quaestiones et responsiones” sur l’Ecriture Sainte’, Revue Biblique 41 (1932): 210–236; 341–369; 515–537; 42 (1933): 14–30; 211–229; 328–352. 45 For instance, the editor of Ps. Caesarios’ erotapokriseis, Rudolf Riedinger, suggests a monastic setting for the compilation of this work and more specifically the monastery of the Akoimētoi in Constantinople. See R. Riedinger, ‘Akoimeten’, Theologische-Realenzyklopädie 2 (1978): 148–153, especially pp. 151–152. Instruction by Question and Answer 103 Blair, Ann. ‘The Problemata as a Natural Philosophical Genre’, in A. Grafton and N. Siraisi (eds), Natural Particulars: Nature and Disciplines in Renaissance Europe (Cambridge, Mass.: 1999), 171–204. Cameron, Averil. ‘Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East’, in G.J. Reinink and H.L.J. Vanstiphout (eds), Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East: Forms and Types of Literary Debates in Semitic and Related Literatures (Leuven: 1991), 91–108. ———. ‘Texts as Weapons: Polemic in the Byzantine Dark Ages’, in A.K. Bowman and G. Woolf (eds), Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (Cambridge: 1994), 198–215. Colonna, Maria Minniti. Ammonio/Zacaria Scolastico (Napoli: 1973). Congourdeau, Marie-Hélène. ‘L’animation de l’embryon humain chez Maxime le Confesseur’, Nouvelle Revue Théologique 111 (1989): 693–709. Daly, Lloyd W. and Walther Suchier. Altercatio Hadriani Augusti et Epicteti Philosophi, Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 24.1–2 (Urbana, IL: 1939). D’Anna, Alberto. Sulla resurrezione: Discorso cristiano del II secolo (Brescia: 2001). Dörrie, Heinrich and Hermann Dörries. ‘Erotapokriseis’, Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 6 (1966): 342–370. Edwards, Mark. Neoplatonic Saints: The Lives of Plotinus and Proclus by Their Students (Liverpool: 2000). Garton, Ch. and L.G. Westerink. On Predestined Terms of Life (Buffalo: 1979). Garzya, Antonio. ‘Testi letterari d’uso strumentale’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 31.1 (1981): 263–287. ———. ‘Appunti sulle erotapokriseis’, Vetera Christianorum 29 (1992): 305–314. Giard, Luce and Christian Jacob (eds), Des Alexandries (2 vols, Paris, 2001-2003). Haldon, John. ‘The Works of Anastasius of Sinai: A Key Source for the History of Seventh-Century East Mediterranean Society and Belief ’, in Averil Cameron and Lawrence I. Conrad (eds), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East: Papers of the First Workshop on Late Antiquity and Early Islam (Princeton: 1992), 107–147. Harakas, Stanley S. The Orthodox Church: 455 Questions and Answers (Minneapolis, Minn.: 1987). Heinrici, Georg C.F. Griechisch-Byzantinische Gesprächsbücher und Verwandtes aus Sammelhandschriften (Leipzig: 1911). Henry, P. and H.-R. Schwyzer. Vita Plotini (3 vols, Leiden: 1951–1973). Hirzel, Rudolf. Der Dialog, ein literarhistorischer Versuch (2 vols, Leipzig: 1895). Hörandner, W. ‘Erotapokriseis’, Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik 2 (1994): 1417– 1419. Hunger, Herbert. ‘Erotapokriseis’, Lexikon des Mittelalters 3 (1986): 2183–2184. Ieraci Bio, Anna Maria. ‘L’ ἘΡΩΤΑΠΟΚΡΙΣΙΣ nella letteratura medica’, in C. Moreschini (ed.), Esegesi, parafrasi e compilazione in età tardoantica: atti del terzo Convegno dell’Associazione di studi tardoantichi (Napoli: 1995), 187–207. Jacob, Christian. ‘La bibliothèque et le livre. Formes de l’encyclopédisme alexandrine’, Diogenes 178, vol. 45:2, summer (1997): 64-85. 104 Yannis Papadoyannakis ———. ‘Questions sur les questions: archéologie d’une pratique intellectuelle et d’une forme discursive’, in Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question and Answer Literature in Context (Louvain: 2004), 25–54. Johnson, Allan E. ‘Rhetorical Criticism in Eusebius’ Gospel Questions’, Studia Patristica 18.1 (1989): 33–39. Lim, Richard. ‘Theodoret of Cyrus and Speakers in Greek Dialogues’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 111 (1991): 181–182. ———. Public Disputation, Power, and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1995). Markus, Robert. End of Ancient Christianity (Cambridge: 1990). Munitiz, Joseph. ‘Anastasios of Sinai: Speaking and Writing to the People of God’, in M.B. Cunningham and P. Allen (eds), Preacher and Audience: Studies in Early Christian and Byzantine Homiletics (Leiden: 1998), 227–245. ———. ‘In the Steps of Anastasius of Sinai: Later Traces of His Erotapokriseis’, in B. Janssens, B. Roosen and P. Van Deun (eds), Philomathestatos: Studies in Greek Patristic and Byzantine Texts Presented to Jacques Noret for His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Leuven: 2005), 435–454. Odorico, Paolo. ‘La cultura della συλλογή: 1) Il cosidetto enciclopedismo bizantino; 2) Le tavole del sapere di Giovanni Damasceno’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 83 (1990): 1–21. Otto, J.C.T. Corpus apologetarum Christianorum saeculi secundi (3 vols, Ienae: 1876– 1881). Papadopoulos-Kerameus, A. [Theodoret of Cyrrhus:] Ad quaestiones cuiusdam Aegyptii episcopi responsioni, Subsidia Byzantina 13 (St. Petersburg: 1895; reprint Leipzig: 1976). Perrone, Lorenzo. ‘Sulla preistoria delle “quaestiones” nelle letteratura patristica. Presupposti e sviluppi del genere letterario fino al IV sec’, Annali di Storia dell’ Esegesi 8.2 (1991): 485–505. ———. ‘De diversis quaestionibus octoginta tribus’, ‘De diversis quaestionibus ad Simplicianum’ di Agostino D’Ippona (Roma: 1996). Piccione, Rosa Maria. ‘“Scegliere, raccogliere, e ordinare”. Letteratura di raccolta e trasmissione del sapere’, Humanitas 58.1 (2003): 44–63. Riedinger, Rudolf (ed.). Pseudo-Kaisarios: Überlieferungsgeschichte und Verfasserfrage (München: 1969). ———. ‘Akoimeten’, Theologische-Realenzyklopädie 2 (1978): 148–153. ———. Die Erotapokriseis (Berlin: 1989). Rinaldi, Giancarlo. ‘Tracce di controversie tra pagani e cristiani nella letteratura patristica delle “quaestiones et responsiones’’’, Annali di Storia della Esegesi 6 (1989): 99–124. Sharples, Robert. Alexander of Aphrodisias: Supplement to On the Soul (London, 2004). Sluiter, Ineke. ‘Commentaries and the Didactic Tradition’, in Glenn Most (ed.), Commentaries–Kommentare (Göttingen: 1999), 173–205. Snyder, Gregory. Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews, and Christians (London: 2000). Instruction by Question and Answer 105 Τελέλης, Ιωάννης. ‘Οι λόγιοι του 11ου αιώνα και ο αριστοτελισμός: Η περίπτωση των “Μετεωρολογικών”’ in Βασιλική Βλυσίδου (ed.), Η αυτοκρατορία σε κρίση; Το Βυζάντιο τον 11ο αιώνα (1025–1081) (Αθήνα: 2003), 425–442. Thillet, Pierre. ‘La pédagogie de Plotin’, in Claudia Giuffrida and Mario Mazza (eds), Le Trasformazioni della cultura nella Tarda Antichità: atti del convegno tenuto a Catania, Università degli studi, 27 sett.–2 ott. 1982 (2 vols, Catania: 1985), vol. 1, 205–217. Volgers, Annelie and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question and Answer Literature in Context (Louvain: 2004). Westerink, L.G. and B. Laourdas. Photii Patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et Amphilochia (6 vols, Leipzig: 1983–1988). [‘De vitae termino’ = Amphilochia II 149, 66–75] Zamagni, Claudio. ‘Une introduction méthodologique à la littérature patristique des questions et réponses: le cas d’Eusèbe de Césarée’, in Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni (eds), Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question and Answer Literature in Context (Louvain: 2004), 1-24. Chapter 6 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza Ruth Webb Birkbeck, University of London Université de Paris X–Nanterre The surviving works of Chorikios of Gaza encompass the main genres of post-classical Greek rhetoric. He is probably best known for his panegyrical descriptions of two churches in Gaza containing some of the most prominent early examples of the ekphrasis of church buildings.1 But he also left examples of other epideictic speeches marking moments in the lives and the deaths of members of his community, like the funeral speech for his teacher, Prokopios of Gaza. Then there are his declamations, twelve speeches which have been preserved together with their introductory discourses (dialexeis) and theoretical introductions (theōriai), para-rhetorical material that provides us with an invaluable commentary on the main speeches.2 Chorikios’ rhetorical corpus underlines one of the main problems involved in discussing ‘Late Antique Literature’: the fact that there is very little that falls easily into the category of literature as commonly understood. Any definition is highly problematic, but it is safe to say that the aesthetic plays an important role in our general conception of ‘literature’ and ‘the literary’ and that ‘literature’ is most readily exemplified for the modern reader by fiction and poetry, genres which either create worlds (like the visual arts), or make artistic use of language, or both.3 Both of these definitions of the ‘literary’ tend to imply a degree of disinterestedness. As Gérard Genette has pointed out, a work of fiction creates through statements that are neither true nor false.4 As Genette also points out, this definition Laudationes Marciani (I and II = Or. 1 and 2 F.-R). Partial English translation in C. Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire 312–1453 (Toronto: 1986), pp. 60–72. Chorikios’ works are cited in the edition by R. Förster and E. Richtsteig (Stuttgart: 1929), abbreviated as F.-R. 2 Very little attention has been paid to these declamations, see now B. Schouler, ‘Choricius déclamateur’, forthcoming in C. Saliou (ed.), Gaza dans l’Antiquité Tardive: Archéologie, rhétorique, histoire (with some references to earlier discussions). I am very grateful to Professor Schouler for allowing me to see the text of this article before publication. 3 Peter Widdowson has recently noted the importance of the aesthetic in definitions of literature as in this one from the Oxford English Dictionary: ‘Now also in a more restricted sense, applied to writing which has a claim to consideration on the ground of beauty of form or emotional effect…’ P. Widdowson, Literature (London: 1999), p. 6, see also p. 34. 4 G. Genette, Fiction and Diction (Ithaca, NY: 1993), p. 10. 1 108 Ruth Webb of fiction goes hand in glove with the idea that the literary is disengaged, that it exists within an aesthetic sphere that is removed from reality. Such a conception of literature leaves rhetorical productions, like those of Chorikios, in an ambiguous position. Oratory is anything but disengaged and the importance of argumentation to any rhetorical work (even epideictic speeches) sits uneasily with the emphasis on the aesthetic that underlies our idea of ‘literature’. There is also a common assumption, though this is not always articulated, that ‘literature’ is written. Widdowson has emphasised the importance of the idea of reproducibility to the modern conception (and reality) of literature: ‘the fact that the determinate medium of literature since the invention of printing has been that it appears in print means that the “original” work is expected to be extensively reproducible without damaging or detracting from the experience of the work itself ’.5 The definition of any ancient or medieval texts as ‘literature’ would, of course, be affected by this statement. It raises significant difficulties, however, in the case of oratory, where the subsequent written versions of a speech are clearly removed from the ‘original’ moment of performance. All the speeches of Chorikios (or any other orator) whether introductory lectures (dialexeis), declamations or examples of epideictic were first and foremost oral performances, designed for a specific occasion and a specific context. This is most clear in the case of the epideictic speeches that celebrate or lament particular places, people and events.6 Unlike a novel or a poem designed to be read where all readers share the same stance relative to the imaginary world evoked within the text, the reader of an epideictic speech is constantly aware of the missed occasion and that when the speaker says ‘now’ or ‘here’ these terms refer to a specific juncture time and place that is irrecoverable.7 Of all the rhetorical genres of antiquity, declamation has the closest relationship to the fictional and to ‘the literary’. The speeches themselves may be uttered by voices that are anything but disengaged, arguing passionately for one side of a case or another, but the cases themselves and the characters are fictional, as the rhetor adopts the role of some historical or generic character for the duration of the speech. Chorikios’ declamations, for example, illustrate the full range of personae: characters from the Trojan War (Priam, Polydamas and Patroklos), characters from classical history (Miltiades and a Spartan contemporary of PraxiWiddowson, Literature, p. 123. F. Dupont, L’invention de la littérature: de l’ivresse grecque au texte latin (Paris: 1994) discusses the contrast between oral and written transmission in Antiquity. 6 See the general comments of B. Flusin, ‘La culture écrite’ in C. Morrisson (ed.), Le Monde Byzantin I: l’Empire romain d’Orient (330–641) (Paris: 2004), p. 257. 7 Certain texts make a conscious play with this phenomenon. In his Eikones, for example, the Elder Philostratos creates a fictional time and place and fictional live performance. See R. Webb, ‘The Imagines as Fictional Text: Ekphrasis, Apatē and Illusion’ in S. Rolet (ed.), Philostrate, Callistrate et les énigmes de l’image sophistique, forthcoming volume of La Licorne (Poitiers). 5 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 109 teles), and generic characters who inhabit a generalised idea of the classical polis (a young hero, his miser father, a general, an orator). Their original status as oral performance, often improvised, may exclude these declamations from the general conception of ‘literature’. But, in contrast to the epideictic speeches, the relationship of the modern reader to the content of the text is very similar to that of the original audience: we are all faced with fictional characters inhabiting a fictional world. Furthermore, many declamations have a complex relation to ‘the literary’ in that their scenarios are based on the canonical texts of classical Greece—the historians, orators and Homer—all of which had already enjoyed a long afterlife as written texts. It is therefore particularly interesting to consider Chorikios’ declamations as examples of ‘literature’ both in the broadest meaning of the term as ‘text’, and in the more specific sense in which the term is commonly understood. I. DECLAMATION The declamations (meletai) belong to a centuries long tradition of practice rhetorical speeches where the speaker took on the role of a particular character facing a particular legal or moral conundrum and had to make an appropriate speech. Traditionally, the situations were either drawn from Greek history (a category that could include the Trojan War), or from a set of typical scenarios involving stock characters—the miser, the hero, the tyrant slayer—arguing about imaginary laws. One recurrent example that we find in Chorikios’ repertoire involves the conflicts arising from an imaginary law that gives the hero his choice of reward for saving his city. Two of Chorikios’ declamations treat the conflict arising from the young hero’s choice of marriage to a poor girl as his reward, against the wishes of his miserly father. Chorikios presents the young man’s arguments first (Declamation 5), then, by popular request he claims, the father’s (Declamation 6). Four more of Chorikios’ surviving declamations use the traditional character-types and situations. These fictional themes (plasmata) are, as was customary, set in the non-specific city of the past that Russell has characterised as ‘Sophistopolis’.8 In one (Declamation 7), a theme treated also by Lucian, a man who caused a Tyrant to commit suicide by killing his only son argues that he should receive the traditional reward for the Tyrannicide, even if the act was indirect.9 In another (Declamation 9), a father who killed his daughter to save her from a Tyrant’s advances is held responsible for her young lover’s death after he commits suicide. D.A. Russell, Greek Declamation (Cambridge: 1983). For full summaries of Chorikios’ declamations with discussion and analysis see Schouler, ‘Choricius déclamateur’. 9 For a comparison of Chorikios’ treatment of the theme with that of Lucian see M. Heath, Hermogenes On Issues: Strategies of Argument in Later Greek Rhetoric (Oxford: 1995), pp. 175– 179. 8 110 Ruth Webb One of the Homeric speeches (Declamation 10) represents Patroklos’ imagined words to Achilles when he begs him to return to battle. The episode is based on Iliad 16 and, as often, the subject requires the declaimer to work around a well known text and to think himself into a situation in order to find and develop the appropriate arguments. There is no attempt to recreate Homeric language, except in the most generalised way, but there are very close allusions to the text which an educated audience was no doubt intended to recognise and appreciate.10 The other two Trojan War speeches (Declamations 1 and 2) are inspired by non-Iliadic material: the story, versions of which are found in Servius and in the fictional accounts attributed to Diktys and Dares, that Achilles fell in love with Priam’s daughter, Polyxena, and offered an alliance with the Trojans in return for her hand in marriage.11 In the first speech Polydamas argues for Achilles’ qualifications as an in-law and an ally, in the second Priam presents the counter-arguments based on Achilles’ portrayal in the Iliad. As Chorikios explains in his introduction (theōria) Priam needs to blacken Achilles’ character as Demosthenes does with Philip (3) and therefore to stress his arrogance, his love affairs, his unstable character, his lack of respect for authority, his irreverence and his mistreatment of Hector.12 The speech is an excellent example of the way in which declaimers engaged with the literary tradition. The Iliad provides a wealth of material on which the speaker representing Priam could draw, selecting those details that best suited his argument. Moreover, the text provides a common point of reference shared by speaker and audience who, as long as they are familiar with the poem, are able to judge both the validity and the ingenuity of Priam’s arguments and the skill of Chorikios in composing the speech. But it also provides a point of contact between the speaker and the persona he adopts for the duration of the speech, for the events of the Iliad, known to the speaker from his reading, are understood as part of the experience of the character, Priam, and his fictional addressees. As this example suggests, the stories and characters of classical literature and mythology continued to be a vital source of material for rhetorical manipulation. II. DECLAMATION AS FICTION As Malcolm Heath has recently stressed, the art of declamation was an effective way of teaching skills of argumentation that remained relevant throughout late antiquity.13 Particularly at its highest level, declamation also encompassed skills 10 See, for example, Declamation 10, 1 (p. 437, ll. 11–14 F.-R.) with its echo of Homer, Iliad, 16, ll. 7–10. 11 See T. Gantz, Early Greek Myth: A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources (Baltimore: 1996) vol. 2, p. 628. 12 Chorikios, Declamation 2, Theōria (p. 153, ll. 14–17 F.-R.). 13 M. Heath, Menander: A Rhetor in Context (Oxford: 2004). Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 111 that we might properly consider to be ‘literary’ such as description, characterisation, and the mastery of linguistic style. In terms of content, dramatic and romantic plots had always been a feature of declamation. The taste for stories of young heroes, pirates, thwarted desire and rape was no doubt influenced by the need to attract the attention of students, but many of these themes, as Robert Kaster and others have recently argued, had a wider social significance.14 Chorikios’ corpus is no exception. The theme of sexual desire leading either to marriage or the threat of rape is evident in a high proportion of Chorikios’ declamations: there is Achilles’ desire for Polyxena, the miser’s son’s love for a beautiful but poverty-stricken young girl glimpsed at a festival and the triangular relationship of the girl desired both by the tyrant and by the young man who kills himself on her death. In addition to qualities that could be described as ‘literary’, the practice of declamation itself demanded the creation of a coherent, fictional world. The reliance of ancient techniques of argumentation on the plausible and the likely meant that practice speeches had to be set in a world where the actions of a particular character could be judged as likely or unlikely and where there was a similar set of moral values to those pertaining in the real world of speaker and audience. The result is a self-contained universe, peopled by characters whose ethos and whose actions are largely dictated by the historical and literary tradition from which they derive.15 In Chorikios’ corpus the speeches of Polydamas and Priam illustrate this phenomenon well since the fictional speakers’ claims about the character of Achilles can be judged by the real audience, whether ancient or modern, against their own knowledge of the background derived from literature and tradition. The audience is also able to judge the skill of the real speaker, Chorikios, in selecting the appropriate arguments and examples for and against Achilles. The particular interest of Chorikios’ declamations is that they show an intensification of the ‘literary’ aspects of declamation. This is not to say that they are devoid of argumentation, but that the exploration of the ēthos and of the psychological motivation of both the speakers and the other characters is of paramount interest to the declaimer. Chorikios’ interest in character and motivation is also evident in the technical introductions (theōriai) which focus not on the technical issue at stake in each speech and the argumentative strategies he will use, but rather on the ēthos that is to be created for each character.16 He even elaborates on See, for example, R.A. Kaster, ‘Controlling Reason: Declamation in Rhetorical Education at Rome’ in Y.L. Too (ed.), Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (Leiden: 2001), pp. 317–337. Thomas Schmitz has argued convincingly for the social significance of the practice of declamation in the second century context in Bildung und Macht: zur sozialen und politischen Funktion der zweiten Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit (Munich: 1997). 15 As Hermogenes On Issues, 33, notes, one cannot make Socrates a frequenter of brothels, for example. See Heath, Hermogenes On Issues, p. 31. 16 The same applies to Libanios’ introductions. Heath, Menander, p. 238 suggests that this may be because they were aimed at the most advanced students who would not have needed help to discern the structure of the speech. 14 112 Ruth Webb the ēthos of the speaker’s opponent, who can only be portrayed indirectly through the speaker’s own words. In his introduction to the Orator’s speech (Declamation 12) where he tells us that he envisages the speaker’s opponent (the General who claims credit for the victory) as being like the soldier Thrasonides from Menander’s Misoumenos. Similarly, in the introduction to the Tyrannicide (Declamation 7), where the speaker must argue that causing the Tyrant to commit suicide by killing his only son is equivalent to killing the Tyrant himself, Chorikios speculates on the argumentative nature of the hero’s opponent who has tried to prevent him claiming the Tyrannicide’s reward.17 This interest in character and in motivation is evident in the speeches themselves. Again in the Tyrannicide speech, Chorikios makes his speaker explain the thoughts and feelings that went through his mind just before he killed the Tyrant’s son.18 One of the most striking examples occurs in the speech of the General who dressed as a woman (Declamation 11). This speech is given by a victorious General who has saved his city by dressing as a woman to fool the enemy troops. It is the imaginary tradition in this imaginary polis to commemorate victories in an honorific painting that will preserve the details for posterity. Our General’s rival (who previously failed to defeat the enemy by traditional military means, forcing the speaker to take his drastic action) has proposed this embarrassing ‘reward’ of being depicted in female dress and the General now has to argue against it. In one passage the speaker elaborates on the state of mind that made him cross this particularly sensitive boundary:19 For I saw that, as our troops’ strength was waning and that of the enemy increasing, the situation required me to come up with a clever stratagem, and, picturing (anaplasas) in my mind the capture of the city I thought of all the terrible things that capture usually (eiōthe) brings with it, and, most bitter of all, the outrages that enemies usually (sunēthē) commit when they take a city, defiling bridal chambers, raping unmarried girls, not sparing young boys. It was because of this mental image, he explains, that he adopted his disguise, concealing his true nature (phusis) to protect the women and young people of the city. This passage is an example of topos with a long tradition in history, poetry and oratory alike: the ekphrasis of the sack of a city.20 It was frequently used to inspire Declamation 7, Theōria 1 (p. 284 F.-R.). Declamation 7, 7–10 (p. 287 F.-R.) 19 Chorikios, Declamation 11, 33 (p. 486–487 F.-R.): εἶδον οὖν, ὅτι ῥώμης συνεσταλμένης τοῖς ἡμετέροις, ηὐξημένης δὲ τοῖς ἐναντίοις μηχανῆς μοι δεῖται τὰ πράγματα, καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἁλοῦσαν ἀναπλάσας τῷ λογισμῷ τά τε ἄλλα διενοούμην, ὅσα ποιεῖν ἅλωσις εἴωθε δυσχερῆ, καὶ τὸ πάντων πικρότατον, τὴν συνήθη τῶν ἐν πόλει κρατούντων ἐχθρῶν ἀκρασίαν, παστάδα λυμαινομένων, παρθένους βιαζομένων, παίδων ὥρας οὐ φειδομένων. ฀ 20 See G.M. Paul, ‘Urbs Capta: Sketch of an Ancient Literary Motif ’, Phoenix 36 (1982): 144– 155. 17 18 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 113 feelings of pity for the victims or outrage against the perpetrator, but here it is used to express the inner thoughts of the character and to make the audience share, not an actual experience, but the character’s imagination of what might happen.21 In rhetorical terms, this strategy is an example of sugnomē or metastasis, where the speaker acknowledges the act but appeals to mitigating circumstances to explain his actions.22 The speaker’s presentation of his mental image as reflecting ‘what usually happens’, shows the importance of the creation of a consistent world in which the characters of declamation can operate. This makes it possible for the audience to judge their choices and their actions: such outrages occur in this imaginary world (as in the real one) and the General’s fears can therefore be seen as reasonable. But, at the same time, ‘what usually happens’ is a generic statement, referring to the literary and rhetorical tradition itself so that the phrase gives us a glimpse of the authorial voice through the words of the character. Something similar occurs in Priam’s speech (Declamation 2) where the Trojan King in his attack on Achilles’ character shows an intimate knowledge of events in the Greek camp that would be readily available to a reader of Homer’s Iliad, like Chorikios himself, but not to the character, Priam, besieged in the city of Troy. This interest in character, which is also evident in Libanios’ declamations, may be a sign of the heightened interest in lives and in the individual in late antiquity that Averil Cameron has pointed out. As Cameron stresses, this tendency is ‘not to be dismissed as indicative of a general softening of the intellect’.23 It is true, however, that characterisation and the exploration of motives and intentions are a more or less important feature of declamation, and of oratory in general, in all periods. What really distinguishes Chorikios’ corpus is the emphasis within the speeches themselves on the themes of artistic representation and of disguise. In the eighth declamation a Spartan argues against a sculpture of Aphrodite by Praxiteles being used as a cult offering to the goddess. In this fictional scenario, the Spartans have commissioned the sculpture as an offering to appease the goddess and put an end to the plague of ugliness that she has inflicted on their daughters. However, as Praxiteles has modeled this particular statue on his mistress, the courtesan Phryne, the speaker argues that it is inappropriate to use what is in effect a portrait of a prostitute as a cult statue. The Spartan’s speech, not surprisingly, dwells on the relation of the subject and its representation. It explores the question of how the subject of a statue is defined when the speaker argues that visual resemblance, whether through features or attributes, is the key issue (26) and that simply supplying a title, which can be replaced and changed, is not enough. He On its use in oratory see for example, Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, 8.3.67 with discussion in R. Webb, ‘Imagination and the Arousal of the Emotions’, in S. Braund and C. Gill (eds), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature (Cambridge: 1997), pp. 112–127. 22 See Heath, Hermogenes on Issues, pp. 256 and 260 (‘Mitigation’ and ‘Transference’). 23 A. Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1991), p. 147. 21 114 Ruth Webb also touches on the representation of the divine (39–40), citing the story of the Homeric inspiration for Pheidias’ great statue of Zeus at Olympia discussed by Dio Chrysostom (Or. 12), and on the difference that setting makes to the meaning of a work of art (33). Artistic representation and its interpretation are also major themes of the General’s speech (Declamation 11) as he must argue against the (apparently flattering) proposal that his deed be represented. One particularly interesting argument against the painting concerns the future reception of the work. Its function is ostensibly to preserve memory of the deed for the future and the General’s strongest arguments concern the responses of future viewers who will see the work outside its temporal context. He imagines a foreigner visiting the city and interpreting what appears to be an image of a woman saving the city as a sign that the city lacked weapons and armed men (41) which will, he warns, force the people to reveal his opponent’s failure to defeat the enemy by conventional means. Further on he speaks of the embarrassment the image will cause him as people’s memories of the danger fade, and of the possibility that future generations will not know the real reasons behind his actions and will understand his stratagem as a result of his own weakness and failure (64–66). In both cases, he argues, what is intended as an honorific monument will provoke dishonour because of the potential viewers’ lack of knowledge and the inherent ambiguity of the image itself. The theme of artistic mimesis occurs in at least one other Greek declamation theme discussed by Hermogenes (a painter is prosecuted after his painting of a shipwreck is displayed in a harbour and puts ships off entering).24 There are, of course, many ekphraseis of paintings and sculptures in the collection of elementary exercises attributed to Libanios. Elsewhere, the theme of artistic mimesis provides material for model ēthopoiiai, like Libanios’s speech in the persona of a coward who sees a painting of a battle in his own home, or his artist in love with a painted girl.25 But the relative frequency of these motifs in Chorikios’ work is enough to provoke further reflection on their significance. Rather than seeing them simply as a sign of the personal or collective interest of Chorikios and the ‘School of Gaza’ in the arts, I would suggest that there may be a generic significance: the theme of artistic representation serves as a figure for the art of declamation itself. It draws attention to Chorikios’ own project, to the way in which he creates imaginary worlds and their inhabitants and is thus as much a ‘plastēs’ ‘modeller, sculptor’ as the character of Praxiteles whom he represents.26 Chorikios himself makes precisely this point Hermogenes, On Issues, 65, translation in Heath, Hermogenes on Issues, p. 46. Heath cites some further examples in his notes on this passage, ibid., p. 118. 25 Libanios, Progymnasmata in Opera, ed. Forster, vol. 8, pp. 417–419 and 435–437. 26 On the connection between the notion of plasma ‘fiction’ and platto ‘to model’ see B. Cassin, L’effet sophistique (Paris: 1995), pp. 473–487. G. Rispoli, Lo spazio del verisimile: Il racconto, la storia e il mito, (Naples: 1988). See also, J. Romm, ‘Wax, Stone, and Promethean Clay: Lucian as Plastic Artist’, Classical Antiquity 9 (1990): 74–98. 24 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 115 in one of his introductory ‘talks’ (Dialexis 21) where he explicitly compares his own craft as a speaker to the visual arts which made such famous representations of character as Lysippos’ Alexander. It is thoroughly appropriate for declamation that both of the speeches on artistic themes dwell on questions of interpretation and definition, for these problems lay at the heart of many declamation themes and were thus intrinsic to the art itself. Disguise, and the identity or dissonance between a person’s outward appearance and their inner nature, is another recurring theme within Chorikios’ corpus of declamations. In addition to the General’s speech, which combines the themes of disguise and artistic representation in its discussion of whether his deceptive stratagem should be represented, there is a further example in one of the historical speeches, Declamation 3, The Lydians. The speech is set in the time of Cyrus and is based on an episode from Herodotos, History, 1.155. After their defeat by Cyrus, the Lydians have been ordered to dress in women’s clothes and to spend their time playing music instead of their traditional martial pursuits. Now that Cyrus needs military help, he has asked them to put down their lyres and take up their weapons again but their representative argues against a return to their former life style. This speech, as Chorikios explains in his introduction, is figured (eschēmatismenos), that is, the real intention of the speaker is the opposite of his apparent intention. The Lydians are to be understood as desperate to throw off their robes and pick up their weapons again but afraid that Cyrus will see them as a continuing threat if they say so openly. By arguing against a return to the martial life they hope to convince Cyrus that they have been so thoroughly feminised and pacified that they no longer represent a danger. These two declamations explore the related themes of representation and of impersonation with the Lydian’s speech in particular asking questions about the relation of appearance and reality and about the effect of habit on character. The Lydians attempt to argue that their artistic and ‘feminine’ pursuits have brought about an irrevocable change in their nature and that they are living proof that ‘manners maketh man’. Their argument had a firm basis in ancient thought about the ability of education to mould the individual, reflected in the idea that repeated imitation could have a lasting effect on the soul.27 However, it is made clear in the introduction that the Lydian speaker is playing a role. Although he argues that appearance represents reality, in fact his effeminate appearance hides an unaltered nature, just as the General stresses that his female disguise did not affect his phusis. Again, there is a certain congruence between these fictional speakers and the activity of the declaimer himself. Each one adopts a persona in response to the demands of a particular moment, whether a public performance or the need to mislead an enemy. Chorikios is aware that the practice of declamation requires 27 See, e.g. Plato, Republic 3, 395, d–e and Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, 1.11.2. 116 Ruth Webb him to engage actively in mimesis, not only depicting a character acting in a world but actually embodying that character in his performance. In the introduction to the sixth declamation he discusses the difficulty of pretending to be an elderly miser, stating that his art (technē) gives him the means to effect this mimēsis.28 In another striking passage he compares himself to Homer who acts out his characters, a reference to Plato’s distinction between the mimetic passages where the poet or reciter takes on the character of Achilles or whoever, and the narrative passages where he simply tells us what happened in his own voice.29 Alongside this classical comparison Chorikios also compares himself to the contemporary pantomime performer who is also able to persuade the audience that he is what he is not.30 In adopting the persona of a character like the Lydian who is cloaked simultaneously in the physical disguise of his effeminate costume and the rhetorical disguise of his deceptive speech, Chorikios brings out clearly the fictive nature of declamation. III. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF CHORIKIOS’ DECLAMATIONS Chorikios’ corpus of declamations shows the rich potential of this rhetorical genre. Declamation provided a demanding training in analysis, presentation and argumentation, as is abundantly clear from the complex theoretical treatises that have survived from later antiquity. But at its highest level it also required speakers to create a consistent character inhabiting a vivid and consistent world whom they were required to embody convincingly. In these particular speeches, Chorikios is exploiting what might properly be called the literary features of the traditional art of declamation. As if to underline this, he gives pride of place to themes of representation and impersonation and to the problems of interpretation that they raise. So it is possible to read Chorikios’ declamations themselves as a form of commentary on the art of declamation. These are not examples of his everyday teaching but were occasional performance pieces, as is clear from his reference to his annual declamation in Dialexis 22. They were an opportunity for Chorikios to display his rhetorical wares and such events could be vital to a teacher’s career. It would be entirely appropriate for the performer to offer a commentary on his art on such occasions. This reference to yearly performance is also a reminder that Chorikios, Declamation 6, Theōria, 6 (p. 253 F.-R.). Plato, Republic 3, 392d–393c. 30 Chorikios, Dialexis 12 (p. 248 F.-R.) cf. Lucian, On the Dance, 65 also comparing declamation and pantomime. Chorikios also uses the analogy with rhetoric and other arts as part of his defence of the mimes, 13 (picking up a point made by Libanios in his defence of the pantomime as noted by L.R. Cresci, ‘Imitatio e realia nella polemica di Coricio sul mimo (Or. 32 Förster-Richtsteig)’, Koinonia 10 (1986), p. 53). 28 29 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 117 these speeches were pronounced for a particular audience in a particular time and place and were not confined to the scholar’s private study. It is easy to dismiss Chorikios’ declamations as the result of a cultural conservatism, continuing ancient traditions in a city that was cut off from the main stream. This is the picture presented by Downey who ascribes ‘excellence in belles-lettres’ such as we see in Chorikios’ corpus to the physical setting which made Gaza ‘an eminently pleasant residence for academic folk’.31 But, however venerable the tradition, each performance of declamation took place in a particular cultural context. Recent studies have tended to emphasise the engagement of declamation and declamatory performance with society in contrast to the long-standing view that these were school pieces, thoroughly removed from the real world. As Mary Beard has argued for Roman declamation, these speeches can be seen as vehicles for addressing tensions and ambiguities in their society.32 So, though it may well be true that the prestige of tradition had a great deal to do with the survival of the art of declamation, this is not enough in itself to explain the huge outlay of time, effort and money demanded. The intensive study of rhetoric survived because it remained relevant, providing essential skills for advocates and others. And in the case of Chorikios’ performance pieces, I would suggest that these particular declamations represented a response to the needs of the time and that the creative, fictive aspect of declamation that is foregrounded in several of the speeches is a feature of this wider significance. The significance of this aspect of declamation appears far more clearly if we read Chorikios’ declamations alongside another speech in which he engages with a very contemporary issue: the place of theatrical performance in society. This is the subject of his speech In Defense of the Mimes, or, to give the work its full title, Speech on behalf of those who represent life in the house of Dionysos which contains precious information about the subjects and techniques of sixth-century mime and shows that this theatrical form was still flourishing, despite centuries of opposition from the Church.33 G. Downey, Gaza in the early Sixth Century (Norman: 1963), pp. 112–113. M. Beard, ‘Looking (Harder) for Roman Myth: Dumézil, Declamation and the Problems of Definition’ in F. Graf (ed.), Mythos in mythenloser Gesellschaft: Das Paradigma Roms (Stuttgart and Leipzig: 1993), pp. 44–64. 33 Apologia mimorum (XXXII = Or. 8 F.-R.). On the speech see: U. Albini, ‘Il mimo a Gaza tra il V e il VI sec. d. Cr’ SIFC 15 (1997): 116–122; Cresci, ‘Imitatio e realia’, pp. 49–66; B. Schouler, ‘Un ultime hommage à Dionysos’, in M.-H. Garelli-François and P. Sauzeau (eds), D’un ‘genre’ à l’autre, Cahiers du GITA, 14 (Montpellier: 2002), pp. 249–280; On the Church’s opposition to the theatre see for example: K. Sallmann, ‘Christen vor dem Theater’, in J. Blänsdorf (ed.), Theater und Gesellschaft im Imperium Romanum (Tübingen: 1990), pp. 243–259; T.D. Barnes, ‘Christians and the Theater’ in W.J. Slater (ed.), Roman Theater and Society (Ann Arbor: 1996), pp. 161–180; W. Weismann, Kirche und Schauspiele: die Schauspiele im Urteil der lateinischen Kirchenväter under besonderer Berücksichtigung von Augustin (Würzburg: 1972). 31 32 118 Ruth Webb IV. CHORIKIOS ON THE MIME Chorikios’ speech in defence of the mime is itself a type of rhetorical exercise. The speaker presents it as a response to the challenge of rescuing actors from unfair accusations, despite the risks to his own reputation, ‘for I think a contest involving risk is the greatest test for an orator’.34 The fact that the speech can be considered a type of exercise does not mean that its arguments can be dismissed. Even a rhetorical exercise needed to strike its listeners as plausible and to achieve this the arguments had to be acceptable and recognisable to the audience. The speech on the mime is couched as a response to an anonymous opponent to whom a variety of objections are ascribed, ranging from the subject matter of the plays to the morality of the players themselves and the supposed negative effect that they had on their audiences. In response to the charge that the subject matter is immoral Chorikios points out briskly that not all plays deal with adultery (108–110), and even those that do show the victory of moral order at the end (55). To the charge that mime performance had a negative impact on the audience he counters with what he claims as empirical evidence that people seem to leave the theatres quite unscathed (50–51), and just experience a pleasant feeling of hēdonē. Indeed, he suggests, they may even benefit psychologically from the experience of watching these plays (102 and 113). A great deal of the argumentative thrust of the speech is devoted to the question of the actor’s identity. To the charge that the actors were like the morally compromised characters they played on stage, Chorikios points out that they are just acting, they do not become their characters: Whom do you think the acting harms? Tell me, do you think it emasculates the actor himself or the spectator? You will say both, I will say neither of these. For a soul does not change along with clothes even if one utters words that fit the disguise. The lion’s skin did not make Aristophanes’ Xanthias into a brave man, nor did female dress make Peleus’ son [i.e. Achilles] a coward, and if I take off this orator’s dress and take up military equipment I will not become a warlike man.35 We have already noted the prevalence of the theme of disguise in Chorikios’ declamations, and his acute awareness that he himself is adopting a persona when he performs. In this passage there is a clear echo of Declamation 3 (The Lydians) where the speaker presents the mirror image of the argument from the Apology: Chorikios, In Defense of the Mimes (Apologia mimorum), 1 (p. 345 F.-R.). Chorikios, In Defense of the Mimes, 76–77 (p. 361 F.-R.): τίνα δὴ βλάπτειν ἡγῇ τὴν ὑπόκρισιν; αὐτόν, εἰπέ μοι, τὸν κεχρημένον ἢ τὸν θεώμενον οἴει θηλύνειν; σὺ μὲν ἀμφοτέρους ἐρεῖς, ἐγὼ δὲ τούτων οὐδέτερον. οὐ γὰρ συναλλοιοῦται τοῖς ἐσθήμασιν ἡ ψυχή, κἂν συνᾴδοντά τις τῷ σχήματι φθέγξηται. οὔτε γὰρ ἀνδρεῖον ἡ λεοντῆ τὸν Ἀριστοφάνους ἐποίει Ξανθίαν οὔτε δειλὸν ἡ γυναικεία στολὴ τὸν Πηλέως, κἂν ἐγὼ τὸ σχῆμα τοῦτο τῆς ἀγωνιστικῆς ἀποθέμενος ἀναλάβω στρατιώτου σκευήν, οὐ γενήσομαί τις πολεμικός. 34 35 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 119 ‘a man puts down his courage along with his armour’.36 Where the speaker in the Apology argues for a dissociation between costume and character, the anonymous Lydian argues for a direct effect. But his argument is itself a ploy, as we know. The echoes in theme between this and other declamations and the speech on the mimes help to remind us of the dangers of attributing all the views expressed in the latter speech to Chorikios himself. As Malcolm Heath has pointed out with respect to Libanios, orators were adept at taking on personae to suit the occasion.37 But I would suggest that the resonances go further and that the Apology, with its thoroughly contemporary theme, may shed light on Chorikios’ project in the declamations. What Chorikios argues for, above all, in the speech on the mime is an acceptance of a fictional realm, partially removed from daily life, but with an intimate relation to the everyday. An actor takes on a role for the duration of a play, but does not become that role. The audience respond and may even be affected psychologically (Chorikios only admits change for the better) but they get on with their lives. It is possible, he argues, for an actor to pretend to be someone else for a short while and for the audience to enter into that pretence temporarily. But the transformation is only partial and fleeting. The mime therefore does exactly what Chorikios does in his declamations: in both types of performance a coherent fictional world is created for the audience. This world belongs to the domain of likeness, of ‘as if ’, which is neither true nor false. Chorikios’ arguments in defence of the mime are so commonsensical by our own standards that it can be hard to see how they could have been controversial in their day. However, the views attributed to his imaginary opponent in the speech were held by many, as the intensity of anti-theatrical polemic in late antiquity shows. The identification of actor and act is rarely as explicit as it is in the mouth of Chorikios’ interlocutor but it is an assumption that underlies a great deal of the polemic.38 John Chrysostom’s arguments against the theatre in general often rely on the close identification of actor and act, whether the ‘effeminate’ pantomimes or the ‘wanton’ actresses with their lewd songs and shameless movements. He also describes the way in which audiences returned from the theatre transformed by what they saw there.39 Closer to Chorikios’ day, Severus of Antioch argued that anyone dressing for a traditional festival was in effect joining in an act of pagan 36 Chorikios, Declamation 3, 6 (p. 182): ἅμα γὰρ ὅπλοις ἐκδυομένοις συνεκδύεται καὶ τὸν θυμὸν ἀνήρ. 37 Heath, Menander, p. 166. 38 On this identification with reference to pantomime in particular see R. Webb, ‘The Protean Performer: Mimesis and Identity in Late Antique Discussions of the Theater’ in L. Del Giudice and N. Van Deusen (eds), Performing Ecstasies: Music, Dance, and Ritual in the Mediterranean (Ottawa: 2005), pp. 3–11. 39 John Chrysostom, In sanctum Barlaam martyrem, PG 50 682. 120 Ruth Webb worship.40 For him, external appearance did matter and the adoption of a costume worked a profound effect on the soul. Throughout his speech in defence of the mimes, Chorikios insists on the dissociation between actor and character, between a person’s costume and appearance and their inner nature. The world of the play is an autonomous zone of likeness and make-believe. Just like the worlds and characters created by the declaimer, the mime presented scenarios that were like reality, neither identical to it, nor complete fancy or untruth. The products of mime and declamation were therefore inherently ambiguous, neither true nor false, but in an intermediate domain. Through the interrelated themes of visual representation and cross-dressing Chorikios’ declamations explore the problem of likeness and its ambiguities: the painting that shows a true event that is not what it seems, the Lydians whose feminised appearance is a charade that provides a means for them to recover their warlike identity, the statue that may or may not represent the woman whose likeness it is. In the declamations, Chorikios is performing an elite version of his vision of the mime and in the process he sketches out a domain of the imagination, that we might recognise as literary, in a culture that had no word for ‘literature’. We have become used to calling this domain ‘fiction’, but there was no single term in antiquity for this dual state of being but not being, of being like but not identical to. Indeed, when we begin to consider what is involved in the notion of ‘fiction’ and in the practice of reading it, it can become as strange as the notion of ‘literature’. I would suggest therefore that Chorikios’ speech in defense of the mimes and his corpus of declamations represent a body of work that grapples with the idea of the fictional and, in the case of the declamations, the literary and that Chorikios recognised that these ideas were potentially transgressive, like the pantomime to whom he compares himself, or the mimetic function of the poet within Plato’s critique, or the very act of cross-dressing which serves as a paradigm for his fictional enterprise. V. MIME, DECLAMATION, AND THE SECULAR I have suggested elsewhere that Chorikios had a project of very contemporary relevance in the speech on the mime, that is, to define a form of entertainment that was not in itself Christian but was not incompatible with Christianity.41 It is noticeable that he only argues for the mime. These plays and skits involving several actors were very different from the solo pantomime. Though mime provoked disapproval throughout its long history for its explicit scenarios, its slapstick violence and its female performers, it was never as dangerous or controversial as the solo pantomime. Its staple was the ‘imitation of life’, plays set in vaguely contemporary 40 41 Severus of Antioch, Homily 95, PO 25, p. 94. Webb, ‘Female Entertainers’, pp. 299–300. Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 121 urban settings, involving contemporary types.42 Pantomime, the danced depiction of the old myths, aroused passions and was the subject of frequent imperial bans one of which, imposed by Anastasios, was celebrated by Chorikios’ teacher, Prokopios of Gaza.43 To my knowledge, no bans were ever directed against the mime in general, though the mimic portrayal of certain Christian subjects was forbidden by Justinian.44 Chorikios’ choice of the mime, rather than the more problematic pantomime, is thus significant. The rhetorical contest he engaged in this speech may have been imaginary, but it was one he had some chance of winning. I would suggest therefore that, despite its classicising form, Chorikios’ speech on the mimes is a response to a real cultural challenge and to a continuing source of tension and ambiguity within his own culture. Though it is not necessary to agree with Barnes’ argument that the author of a speech in defence of the mimes could not have been Christian, his point is a very important one and reminds us that the place of theatre in society was fraught with contradictions. The fifth-century correspondence of Barsanuphios of Gaza reveals the real tensions that existed between the social importance of the theatre in late antique cities and the Christian opposition to attending the theatre.45 I suggest that part of Chorikios’ project is to define an art form that is potentially compatible with Christianity, not Christian, but not ‘anti-’ or ‘non-’ Christian either. He is doing this without a straightforward vocabulary to do so and without an unambiguous concept of the ‘secular’. In the speech on the mime, Chorikios is also outlining a concept of ‘innocent entertainment’ that may seem self-evident to the modern reader but that was in fact an innovative concept in a culture where the vocabulary of entertainment, including such terms as psuchagōgia and apatē, suggested a relationship of power and seduction. The very idea of fiction could be just as controversial (and in certain contexts still is today). The rejection of fiction in the name of the Church and the refusal to counter a third category of resemblance, somewhere between truth and lies, could not be clearer than in Tertullian’s critique of the theatre. In the name of the Christian God he identifies fiction (omne quod fingitur) clearly with falsehood (falsum), closing off the possibility of any third term between the true and the false, and equates it with the transgressive act of adultery, which is itself a form of feigning.46 42 On the Greek mime see H. Wiemken, Der griechische Mimus (Bremen: 1972). For an interpretation of the significance of mime see R. Webb, ‘Logiques du mime dans l’Antiquité Tardive’, forthcoming in Pallas. 43 Prokopios of Gaza, Panegyric of Anastasios, 16. 44 Justinian, Cod. Just. Nov. 123, 44. 45 Barsanuphios and John of Gaza, Correspondance, tr. L. Regnault, P. Lemaire, and B. Outtier (Sablé-sur-Sarthe, 1971), 836 (V 840) and 837 (V 841) (p. 504). I am very grateful to Peter Brown for this reference. 46 Tertullian, De spectaculis, 23.5: ‘non amat falsum auctor veritatis; adulterium est apud illum omne quod fingitur’. 122 Ruth Webb In his speech on the mime and in his own practice as a declaimer Chorikios is pointing towards concepts that appear natural to us—literature, fiction, secular entertainment—but for which there were no words in his vocabulary and which were not clearly defined as concepts in his society. Richard Lim has argued for the development of an Imperial-secular domain in late antiquity, particularly in the reigns of Justin and Justinian.47 I would suggest that Chorikios is adumbrating a private counterpart in his rhetorical practice. It may be significant that the declamations seem to have been given at the annual festival of the Rosalia, one of the traditional festivals that survived because it was not overtly pagan in character and could therefore be described itself as ‘secular’. The festival occasion is marked in two of the introductory discourses, dialexeis, which present variations on the theme of Aphrodite, Adonis and the Rose.48 In another speech, Chorikios celebrates a different festival, the Brumalia, that survived for the same reason. The ban on the Brumalia by the Council in Trullo, however, shows that this category of ‘secular’ or ‘neutral’ festival was also ambiguous and unstable.49 There is therefore both a practical and a conceptual connection between Chorikios’ practice as a creator of fictions and the secular domain. The practical connection is the festival of the Rosalia that provided a context for the speeches. The conceptual connection is the way in which, like the fictional, the ‘secular’ can be seen as a third term between two polarities that partakes of both but is neither. It is interesting in addition to consider the theme of transvestism that is so prominent in Chorikios’ declamations in this context, for here too we see the creation through artifice of a third term between the ultimate polarities of male and female. It is possible therefore to see the declamations as both a figure for and an enactment of the secular. Wolfgang Iser has emphasised the importance of the act of creating fictional worlds in and of itself, pointing out that ‘the reality represented in the text is not meant to represent reality; it is a pointer to something that it is not, although its function is to make that something conceivable’.50 As with the theatre, the important function of declamation was the poetic function (in the original Greek sense of poiēsis) of making things which do not exist appear to exist, creating a world of ‘as if ’. Chorikios is presenting directly (in the speech for the mimes) and indirectly (in his own rhetorical practice) an argument for the validity of mimesis and of fiction in itself. I would suggest that what his fictions ‘point to’ is the very existence of the intermediary and the ambiguous. See R. Lim, ‘Consensus and Dissensus on Roman Games in Early Byzantium’, Byzantinische Forschungen 24 (1997): 159–179. 48 Specific references to the Rosalia in Dialexeis 9 (pp. 196–197 F.-R.) and 24 (pp. 476–478). Declamation 8, The Spartan, with its discussion of the statue of Aphrodite is dedicated to the goddess (Theōria, 5 p. 315, ll. 21–3 F.-R.). 49 See Lim, ‘Consensus and Dissensus’. 50 W. Iser, The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology (Baltimore: 1993), p. 13. 47 Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in Chorikios of Gaza 123 In his celebration of the poetic power of language Chorikios emphasises the creative and mimetic function of texts. He is, in effect, pointing towards the idea of the ‘literary’ as an autonomous zone where worlds can be created, as defined at the beginning of this chapter. It is, however, only possible to define the declamations as ‘literature’ if one acknowledges the problematic nature of the term and allows for the engagement of ‘the literary’ with society and culture. The explicit and implicit parallels between Chorikios’ declamatory art and the art of the mimes and pantomimes serve as a powerful reminder that his was a practice rooted in its cultural context and that a classical form could be used to address very current concerns. WORKS CITED Albini, Umberto. ‘Il mimo a Gaza tra il V e il VI sec. d. Cr.’, SIFC 15 (1997): 116–122. Barnes, Timothy D. ‘Christians and the Theater’, in William J. Slater (ed.), Roman Theater and Society (Ann Arbor: 1996), 161–180. Beard, Mary. ‘Looking (Harder) for Roman Myth: Dumézil, Declamation, and the Problems of Definition’, in Fritz Graf (ed.), Mythos in mythenloser Gesellschaft: Das Paradigma Roms (Stuttgart and Leipzig: 1993), 44–64. Cameron, Averil. Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1991). Cassin, Barbara. L’effet sophistique (Paris: 1995). Cresci, Lia Raffaela. ‘Imitatio e realia nella polemica di Coricio sul mimo (Or. 32 Förster-Richtsteig)’, Koinonia 10 (1986): 49–66. Downey, Glanville. Gaza in the Early Sixth Century (Norman: 1963). Dupont, Florence. L’invention de la littérature: De l’ivresse grecque au texte latin (Paris: 1994). Flusin, Bernard. ‘La culture écrite’, in Cécile Morrisson (ed.), Le Monde Byzantin I: l’Empire romain d’Orient (330–641) (Paris: 2004), 255–275. Foerster, R. and E. Richststeig. Choricii Gazaei opera (Leipzig: 1929). Gantz, Timothy. Early Greek Myth: A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources (Baltimore: 1996). Genette, Gérard. Fiction and Diction (Ithaca, NY: 1993). Heath, Malcolm. Hermogenes On Issues: Strategies of Argument in Late Greek Rhetoric (Oxford: 1995). ———. Menander: A Rhetor in Context (Oxford: 2004). Iser, Wolfgang. The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology (Baltimore: 1993). Kaster, Robert A. ‘Controlling Reason: Declamation in Rhetorical Education at Rome’, in Yun Lee Too (ed.), Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (Leiden: 2001), 317–337. Lim, Richard. ‘Consensus and Dissensus on Roman Games in Early Byzantium’, Byzantinische Forschungen 24 (1997): 159–179. 124 Ruth Webb Mango, Cyril. The Art of the Byzantine Empire 312–1453 (Toronto: 1986). Paul, George M. ‘Urbs Capta: Sketch of an Ancient Literary Motif ’, Phoenix 36 (1982): 144–155. Regnault, L., P. Lemaire, and B. Outtier. Barsanuphe et Jean de Gaza: Correspondance (Sablé-sur-Sarthe: 1971). Rispoli, Gioia. Lo spazio del verisimile: Il racconto, la storia e il mito (Naples: 1988). Romm, James. ‘Wax, Stone, and Promethean Clay: Lucian as Plastic Artist’, Classical Antiquity 9 (1990): 74–98. Russell, Donald A. Greek Declamation (Cambridge: 1983). Sallmann, Klaus. ‘Christen vor dem Theater’, in J. Blänsdorf (ed.), Theater und Gesellschaft im Imperium Romanum (Tübingen: 1990), 243–259. Schmitz, Thomas. Bildung und Macht: Zur sozialen und politischen Funktion der zweite Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit (Munich: 1997). Schouler, Bernard. ‘Un ultime hommage à Dionysos’, in Marie-Hélène GarelliFrançois and Pierre Sauzeau (eds), D’un ‘genre’ à l’autre (Montpellier: 2002), 249–280. ———. ‘Choricius déclamateur’, in Catherine Saliou (ed.), Gaza dans l’Antiquité Tardive: Archéologie, rhétorique, histoire (Salerno: forthcoming). Webb, Ruth. ‘Imagination and the Arousal of the Emotions’, in Susanna Braund and Chris Gill (eds), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature (Cambridge: 1997), 112–127. ———. ‘The Protean Performer: Mimesis and Identity in Late Antique Discussions of the Theater’, in Luisa Del Giudice and Nancy Van Deusen (eds), Performing Ecstasies: Music, Dance, and Ritual in the Mediterranean (Ottawa: 2005), 3–11. ———. ‘Logiques du mime dans l’Antiquité Tardive’, Pallas (forthcoming). ———. ‘The Imagines as Fictional Text: Ekphrasis, Apatē and Illusion’, in Stéphane Rolet (ed.), Philostrate, Callistrate et les énigmes de l’image sophistique, volume of La Licorne (Poitiers: forthcoming). Weismann, Werner. Kirche und Schauspiele: Die Schauspiele im Urteil der lateinischen Kirchenväter under besonderer Berücksichtigung von Augustin (Würzburg: 1972). Widdowson, Peter. Literature (London: 1999). Wiemken, Helmut. Der griechische Mimus; Dokumente zur Geschichte des antiken Volkstheaters (Bremen: 1972). PART 3 Classicism Chapter 7 Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century Elizabeth Jeffreys Exeter College, Oxford This paper takes as its starting point three passages that have to do with Helen of Troy and her seducer Paris: Ἐν δέ τοῖς χρόνοις τοῦ Δαβίδ ἐβασίλευσεν τοῦ Ἰλίου, ἤτοι τῆς Φρυγῶν χώρας, Πρίαμος, ὑιὸς Λαομέδοντος, ἐν δὲ τῇ αὐτοῦ βασιλείᾳ τότε καὶ τὸ Ἵλιον καὶ τὸ Δάρδανον καὶ ἡ Τροία καὶ πᾶσα ἡ χώρα τῆς Φρυγίας πορθεῖται ὑπὸ τῶν Ἀχαιῶν· ἐν οἷς ἱστορεῖται Ἀγαμέμνων καὶ Ἀχιλλεὺς καὶ Μενέλαος καὶ οἱ λοιποὶ σὺν τῷ Νεοπτολέμῷ Πύρρῳ, ὅσοι ἐπεστράτευσαν κατὰ τοῦ Ἰλίου διὰ τὴν ὑπὸ Πάριδος τοῦ καὶ Ἀλεξάνδρου κλοπὴν τῆς Ἑλένης· ἐτρώθη γὰρ εἰς αὐτὴν. ἡ γὰρ Ἑλένη ἦν τελεία, εὔστολος, εὔμασθος, λευκὴ ὡς χιών, εὔοφρυς, εὔρινος, εὐχαράκτηρος, οὐλόθριξ, ὑπόξανθος, μεγάλους ἔχουσα ὀφθαλμούς, εὔχαρις, καλλίφωνος, φοβερὸν θέαμα εἰς γυναῖκας· ἦν δὲ ἐνιαυτῶν κς´. (Malalas, Chronographia 5, §1)1 Οἰνώνη δὲ χόλῳ φρένας ἔζεεν, ἔζεε πικρῷ ζήλῳ θυμὸν ἔδουσα, Πάριν δ᾽ ἐδόκευε λαθοῦσα ὄμματι μαινομένῳ· κρυφίην δ᾽ ἤγγειλεν ἀπείλην, δεξιτερῇ βαρύποτμον ἀναινομένη παρακοίτην, αἰδομένῳ μὲν ἔοικεν ὁ βουκόλος, εἶχε δ᾽ ὀπωπὴν πλαζομένην ἑτέρωσε δυσίμερος· αἴδετο γάρ που Οἰνώνην βαρύδακρυν ἰδεῖν, Κεβρηνίδα νύμφην. (Christodorus, Greek Anthology, Book 2, lines 215–221)2 Ed. I. Thurn (Berlin: 2000). ‘In the time of David, Priam, son of Laomedon, reigned over Ilion, of the land of the Phrygians. In his reign Ilion and Dardanon and Troy and the whole land of Phrygia were laid waste then by Achaians, amongst whom are recorded Agamemnon, Menelaos and the rest together with Neoptolemos Pyrrhos, all of whom joined the expedition against Ilion because of the abduction of Helen by Paris Alexander; for he had fallen in love with her. Helen was well grown, with a good figure and good breasts; she was white as snow, with good eyebrows, a good nose, good features, curly fairish hair, and large eyes; she was charming, with a lovely voice and was a tremendous sight among women. She was 26 years old.’ (trans, E. Jeffreys, M. Jeffreys, R. Scott, The Chronicle of John Malalas: A Translation [Melbourne: 1986]). 2 W.R. Paton, The Greek Anthology, vol. 1 (Cambridge, Mass.: 1916): ‘Oenone was boiling over with anger—boiling, eating out her heart with bitter jealousy. She was furtively watching Paris with her wild eyes and conveyed to him secret threats, spurning her ill-fated lord 1 128 Elizabeth Jeffreys ἡ δὲ φιλοξείνων θαλάμων κληῖδας ἀνεῖσα ἐξαπίνης Ἑλένη μετεκίαθε δώματος αὐλὴν καὶ θαλερῶν προπάροιθεν ὀπιπεύουσα θυράων ὡς ἴδεν, ὣς ἐκάλεσσε καὶ ἐς μυχὸν ἤγαγεν οἴκου καί μιν ἐφεδρήσσειν νεοπηγέος ὑψόθεν ἕδρης ἀργυρέης ἐπέτελλε· κόρον δ᾽ οὐκ εἶχεν ὀπωπῆς ἄλλοτε δὴ χρύσειον οἰσαμένη Κυθερείης κοῦρον ὀπιπεύειν θαλαμηπόλον· ὀψὲ δ᾽ ἀνέγνω, ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν ῎Ερως· βέλων δ᾽ οὐκ εἶδε φαρέωτρην· πολλάκι δ᾽ ἀγλαΐῃσιν ἐυγλήνοισι προσώπων παπταίνειν ἐδόκευε τὸν ἡμερίδων βασιλῆα· ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἡμερίδων θαλερὴν ἐδόκευεν ὀπώρην πεπταμένην χαρίεντος ἐπὶ χθνοχῇσι καρήνου. ὀψὲ δὲ θαμβήσασα τόσην ἀνενείκατο φωνήν· ξεῖνε, πόθεν τελέθεις; … (Colluthus, The Rape of Helen, lines 249–277)3 Of these writers the first, Malalas, is using prose to write a substantial chronicle, an overview of world history from Creation to the sixth century. The other two are using hexameters to produce short works with, broadly speaking, a Hellenic mythological setting—Christodorus depicting a display of statuary in Constantinople, and Colluthus recounting the abduction of Helen. I want to use the divergences and similarities of these three to set out briefly some thoughts on the nature of the literary culture in Constantinople in the last years of the fifth century and the early years of the sixth—that is, who was writing what and for whom during the reign of the emperor Anastasius I (491–518).4 First, the dates of these writers. As with very many of the literary figures from late antiquity we know little about any of these as individuals. Christodorus, however, has left a clear sign of his involvement with Anastasius, for in his with her right hand. The cowherd seemed ashamed, and he was looking the other way, unfortunate lover, for he feared to look on Oenone in tears, his bride of Kebrene’. 3 E. Livrea, Il Ratto di Elena (Bologna: 1968); A.W. Mair, Oppian, Colluthus, Tryphiodorus (Cambridge, Mass.: 1928), p. 561: ‘And Helen unbarred the bolts of her hospitable bower and suddenly went to the court of the house and, looking in front of the goodly doors, soon as she saw, so soon she called him and led him within the house and bade him sit on a newwrought chair of silver. And she could not satisfy her eyes with gazing, now deeming that she looked on the golden youth that attends on Cytheria—and late she recognised that it was not Eros; she saw no quiver of arrows—and often in the beauty of his face and eyes she looked to see the king of the vine; but no blooming fruit of the vine did she behold spread upon the meeting of his brows. And after a long time, amazed she uttered her voice and said: ‘Stranger, whence art thou? …’ 4 For a discussion focussing on the classicizing writers of this period, see F. Nicks, ‘Literary Culture in the Reign of Anastasius’, in S. Mitchell and G. Greatrex (eds), Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity (London: 2000), pp. 183–204. Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century 129 description of the statues displayed in the public gymnasium of Zeuxippos (in the heart of Constantinople, close to the imperial palace) he refers to a figure of Pompey, trampling underfoot Isaurian swords, explicitly comparing Anastasius’ achievements with Pompey’s and incidentally implying that Anastasius had caused the statue to be erected. Pompey was a name current in Anastasius’ family and Christodorus is here allusively leading to potential panegyric.5 He is also implying that he had seen the statue collection with his own eyes. As for Colluthus, an entry in the Suda has him writing on Anastasius’ military campaigns, in works that have not survived.6 So these two are unproblematically to be located as working at the turn of the fifth to the sixth century. The situation is less clear for Malalas. The first edition of his chronicle arguably ran to 527 and was completed some time around 530.7 However, Malalas was a compiler—he cut and pasted; he had, also arguably, reached early maturity and begun his career under Anastasius. He certainly drew on writers like Eustathius of Epiphaneia (now lost but whose history went to 503) and a Greek text which underpins the surviving Latin farrago known as the Excerpta Barbari and which was originally compiled some time around 502. For the part of the chronicle which covers the Trojan war narrative, and includes the passage on Helen quoted above, Malalas was—again arguably—taking his material from a shadowy figure conventionally known as Domninos, whom one can reconstruct as a patridographer of Antioch. Domninos was perhaps writing in the mid-fifth century. So, even if the first edition of his chronicle is put early in the second quarter of the sixth century, Malalas can be taken to reflect the literary environments of an earlier period, and to have this in common with Christodorus and Colluthus.8 These writers also share another feature. This is that, despite their connections with the Constantinopolitan centre—Christodorus and Colluthus had both produced what were presumably epic-panegyrics on the emperor’s campaigns, and in the final editions the last book of Malalas’ chronicle focussed on the capital—all three writers came originally from the edges of the empire, or at the very least, from outside Constantinople itself: Christodorus from Coptos in Egypt, Colluthus from Lykopolis and Malalas from Antioch. This reflects what became almost a Greek Anthology 2, lines 398–406; J.R. Martindale (ed.), Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (= PLRE, Cambridge: 1980), vol. 2, Pompeius 2; S. Bassett, The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople (Cambridge: 2004), p. 182. 6 Suda, s.v. Κόλουθος. In addition to the Persika, presumably on Anastasius’ Persian wars, the Suda entry states that Colluthus wrote Kalydoniaka in six books and encomia; cf. the biographical notice in Par. Suppl. Gr. 388 (Livrea, pp. xxiv–xv). 7 B. Croke, ‘Malalas, the man and his work’, in E. Jeffreys (ed.), Studies in John Malalas (Melbourne: 1990), pp. 1–26, at 17–21. 8 On Malalas’ use of sources, see E. Jeffreys, ‘Malalas’ sources’, in Studies in John Malalas, pp. 167–216. On the Excerpta Barbari, see most recently, J.-L. Jouanaud, ‘Barbarus, Malalas et le bissextus: Pistes de recherches’, in J. Beaucamp (ed.), Recherches sur la Chronique de Jean Malalas (Paris: 2004), pp. 164–180. 5 130 Elizabeth Jeffreys cliché in later Byzantium—with the loss of cultural centres such as Alexandria or Beirut the only place for the successful pursuit of a career based on literary achievements became Constantinople. With Alexandria, Gaza, Antioch and Beirut still flourishing, as other studies in this volume make clear, migration to the centre at this time reflects the increasing concentration of authority and the potential role of the emperor as a major patron; in Malalas’ case the reorganization of the administrative unit to which he was—once more arguably—attached would have been relevant.9 Let us briefly consider the form in which these examples appear. Two are of a piece. Christodorus and Colluthus use hexameters, with a reasonable observance of the ancient quantities, something that by this period ran counter to the normal rhythms of speech and could only be achieved after instruction and by careful lexical observation.10 The poems from which the passages are taken are roughly the same length: about 400 lines. Malalas, on the other hand, uses prose, of a kind that allows much—to our ears—inartistic repetition, exemplified in the passage quoted above by the phrases referring to Helen (elsewhere there is much use of redundant ‘aforementioneds’ and ‘so-calleds’).11 Malalas employs a largely paratactic syntax (though in the sample passage there is a relative clause), and vocabulary that would not please the grammarians.12 The sample demonstrates his matter-offact tone, while the staccato description of Helen has parallels in descriptions of emperors with roots ultimately in legal notices about runaway slaves in Egypt.13 The chronicle as a whole covers 321 large parchment folios in the late eleventhcentury manuscript that is its chief witness today. This represents a considerable quantity of expensive material. The book would have consumed even more sheepskins, and been even more expensive, in its initial uncial format.14 So the physical reproduction of this text, unlike the brief—in comparison—works of Christodorus and Colluthus, would demand sufficient material investment to make both initial composition and subsequent copying a serious proposition. This leads us to consider the reasons for the production of these three texts, and the audiences at which they were aimed. E. Jeffreys, ‘Chronological Structures’, in Studies, pp. 111–166, at 161–162. A much discussed topic, especially in connection with the Nonnian hexameter; for recent pertinent comments on the issues, see Mary Whitby, ‘From Moschos to Nonnos: the evolution of the Nonnian style’, in N. Hopkinson (ed.), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus (Cambridge: 1994), pp. 99–155 and Alan Cameron, ‘Poetry and literary culture in late antiquity’, in S. Swain and M. Edwards (eds), Approaching Late Antiquity: The Transformation from Early to Late Empire (Oxford: 2004), pp. 327–354, at 346–349. 11 A.W. James, M. Jeffreys, E. Jeffreys, ‘Malalas’ Language’, in Studies, pp. 217–244. 12 G. Horrocks, Greek: A History of the Language and its Speakers (London: 1997), pp. 179–183. 13 M. Kokoszko, Descriptions of Personal Appearance in John Malalas’ Chronicle (Lodz: 1998). 14 On issues to do with book production in late antiquity, see the papers in C. Holmes and J. Waring (eds), Literacy, Education, and Manuscript Transmission in Byzantium and Beyond (Leiden: 2002). 9 10 Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century 131 There are different factors at work, some clear, others not. Let us take the two hexameter poets. They can both be considered late examples of the phenomenon that Alan Cameron famously named the Wandering Poet.15 The Wandering Poets were itinerant writers and performers in the late fourth and fifth centuries, most of them hailing from Egypt, who practised their craft for a living, praising men and cities on commission throughout the Greek-speaking Mediterranean. Little of their work survives, but enough does, together with names and hints, to understand the framework within which they functioned. Christodorus fits. His lost Isaurica must have celebrated Anastasius’ successful campaigns against the turbulent hill-tribes; he also celebrated cities other than Constantinople; and he celebrated prominent citizens of Anastasius’ home town of Dyrrachium.16 This is precisely the sort of publications list one would expect from a competent itinerant poet. The poem from which the quotation at the start of this paper comes is his ekphrasis of the statues in the Baths of Zeuxippos, a collection initially brought together in the early years of the City’s foundation and slightly augmented subsequently; the ekphrasis is predicated on his presence, so, as said earlier, he had wandered from Coptos to Constantinople. Colluthus follows a similar pattern (with his lost Persika on Anastasius’ Persian campaigns, which ended with a seven-year truce in 506), 17 though his connections with Anastasius are not neatly demonstrated in his Abduction of Helen as are those of Christodorus in his Zeuxippos poem. One way of looking at these pieces is to consider them as ‘master pieces’, in the medieval sense; that is, they are polished specimens of an artist’s, or perhaps better, an artisan’s skills to demonstrate his competence to future employers and patrons.18 Both writers are proving that they can control a complicated metrical medium, that they command a detailed and allusive knowledge of Greek legends and mythology and that they are deeply aware of their predecessors in this medium— whether Homer, or perhaps more pertinently Nonnos or Quintus Smyrnaeus, or even Callimachos. The scene of Paris and Oenone, for example, captured by Christodorus and quoted above, involving presumably two related free-standing figures or perhaps a plaque, refers to Paris’ return to Mount Ida and his abandoned wife Oenone after he had been wounded by Philoktetes in the aftermath of the sack of Troy; she sent him away. It has its textual precedents in Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca and the tenth book of Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica, that is, this episode is part Alan Cameron, ‘Wandering Poets: A Literary Movement in Byzantine Egypt’, Historia 14: 470–509; idem, ‘The Empress and the Poet’, Yale Classical Studies 27 (1982): 217–289; idem, ‘Poetry and Literary Culture’, at pp. 339–340. 16 E.g. John of Epidamnus (PLRE 2, Ioannes 29): cf. Greek Anthology 7, nos. 697–698. 17 See note 6 above. 18 Peter Heather’s remarks on the pressure of financial benefits as a factor supporting classical literacy come in the context of the Latin west, but are applicable, mutatis mutandis, in the Greek East: ‘Literacy and Power in the Migration Period’, in A. Bowman and G. Woolf (eds), Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (Cambridge: 1994), pp. 177–197, at 196. Cameron, ‘Poetry and Literary Culture’, pp. 344–346. 15 132 Elizabeth Jeffreys of the mythographers’ attempts to fill in the lacunae in the Homeric narratives.19 As it happens, it is not a scene that was often represented visually: apart from this textual account the handbooks list only a fragmentary wall-painting at Pompei.20 As with the depiction of other figures included in the Zeuxippos collection, some well-known, some obscure, Christodorus is attempting to show his ability to turn an appropriate phrase, to elucidate an allusive scene. As for Colluthus, the allusiveness is entirely of his own making: he sets up the abduction of Helen with a series of set-piece, highly visual scenes which fall short of a full narrative and demand the complicity of the audience to appreciate his purpose. In the sample passage given above Helen and Paris meet face to face: Paris has been built up in the preceding lines as a handsome dandy who was reluctant to dirty his feet on the dusty road or ruffle his hair under his helmet, so we are prepared for his impact on Helen—he could be Eros or Dionysos. Colluthus does not shy away from introducing the Olympian gods. These allusions are straightforward; less obvious are the Nonnian verbal echoes: νεοπηγέος (‘new-wrought’), κόρον δ᾽ οὐκ εῖχεν ὀπωπῆς (‘she could not satisfy her eyes with gazing’).21 Were his audience expected to resonate to these phrases, or were they simply part of the embedded tools for his trade? Before turning to Malalas, it is perhaps appropriate to consider the mechanisms for the publication of these texts. It was commented earlier that these poems are perhaps best explained as show-pieces to attract the attention of a potential patron. In that case, would publication and publicity be in written form, or by some sort of performance or declamation? At about 400 lines, both of these are units of performable length.22 However, it is legitimate to wonder just how widely the detail of literary skills of this sort demonstrated by both Colluthus and Christodorus were appreciated—this is, of course, the perennial problem with high style writing at any phase of Byzantine culture. Both of the passages quoted here, and indeed the works as a whole, take their effect from a full knowledge of the Trojan stories and what has been left out, together with a deep awareness of epic vocabulary and imagery. How many members of the Constantinopolitan court circle, whom one must take to have been the primary target as source of commission, would have picked up on every point, either linguistically or over details of the legend?23 19 E.g. Apollodorus, III.xii.6; Quintus Smyrnaeus X.253–488; cf. F. Vian, Quintus de Smyrne, La Suite d’Homère, vol. 3 (Paris: 1969), pp. 6–12. 20 Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (Zurich: 1981–1999), vol. 7.1, pp. 23–26; Basset, Urban Image, p. 179. 21 Cf. Livrea, ed., passim, here on lines 254 and 257. 22 Alan Cameron assumes publication by performance: ‘Poetry and Literary Culture’, pp. 347–349. 23 On the publication processes and the literary attainments of potential audiences later in the sixth century, see the perceptive comments of Claudia Rapp (‘Literary Culture under Justinian’, in M. Maas (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian, [Cambridge: 2005], pp. 376–397, at 377–382), which are equally applicable to the previous reigns; Rapp takes a Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century 133 This is where the case of Malalas is instructive. He came, he tells us, from Antioch. This is a Syriac-speaking region; the Syriac root to his name, ‘mll’, has connotations of eloquence and learning and could be interpreted as ‘rhetor’; it has also been quite convincingly suggested that, to judge from his interests and the documents he must have been able to access, Malalas would have served in the office of the comes Orientis.24 He can be viewed as an older contemporary in Antioch of the mid-sixth-century erudite Constantinopolitan John Lydus, but functioning at a lower rank. All this implies a certain level of both legal and literary training. A number of points can be made. His chronicle is long, but there is no sign of any patron who commissioned it. It ran into several editions or versions; though it could be that, given the financial investment each re-copying entailed, these simply represent each copy that was made; it was widely excerpted by the end of the sixth century so must have met some need. What then was its purpose? Apart from a contributory eschatological impulse, Malalas attempted to reconcile into one narrative the three streams that, for the world of late antiquity, made up the Roman past—the Judaeo-Christian, the Hellenic mythological and the secular Roman. So the first half of the chronicle is intensely interested in correlating Old Testament narratives with the stories associated with major Hellenic figures, both mythological and legendary. Hence, Book 5, headed in the eleventh-century manuscript in which the bulk of the chronicle survives, ‘The Time of the Trojans’, opens with the synchronization, given in the passage quoted above, of Priam son of Laomedon and the time of David; this, we learn later, is 4755 years from Adam and Creation. The lengthy narrative given in Book 5 arguably is drawn from Domninos and acknowledges, amongst others the second-century euhemerizing account of Diktys of Crete—for once there are convincing parallels between Malalas’ version and an independently surviving text (most of Malalas’ citations are spurious). It is striking that Book 5 in Malalas is disproportionately long. One can perhaps conclude from this that, amongst the unknowable number of Malalas’ potential readers and audience who had passed through more than the basic stages of paideia in Greek, there was an awareness of the centrality of the Homeric stories to the Byzantine cultural heritage, in both literature and as political symbols. The role of the Trojan Aeneas as founder of Rome was one that resonated throughout the Greek, as well as the Latin, middle ages.25 But what, of course, above all else, the version of Diktys achieves is—like the film Troy (2004)—to write out the Olympian gods; unlike the goddesses in Colluthus’ account of the Judgment of Paris, who are given a vivid physicality, those in Malalas, via Diktys, are allegorised into Paris’ encomium on Desire, for which Aphrodite is taken as a personified synonym. helpfully broad perspective and, as this paper also attempts on a smaller scale, views the literary output without restrictions of genre. 24 Croke, ‘Malalas, the Man and his Work’, p. 11. 25 There is a vast literature on this. Amongst recent studies, see A. Erskine, Troy between Greece and Rome: Local Tradition and Imperial Power (Oxford: 2001), and the comments in Basset, Urban Image, pp. 68–69. 134 Elizabeth Jeffreys For many reasons which cannot be gone into here, but not least of which is his assumed position in the well-populated ranks of the civil bureaucracy, it is probably not unreasonable to take the views that come through in Malalas as representative of a middle order of Byzantine society. If one were to try to equate Christodorus, Colluthus and Malalas in terms of their linguistic and thematic acceptability to a broader public, it is clear that on issues of style there can be no comparison—Malalas must have been far more widely intelligible that the two poets. But on questions of content, however, I would suggest that Christodorus and Malalas would find much in common: for example, Christodorus devotes his longest description to Homer (lines 311–350), and has space for only three Olympian gods (that, of course, begs many questions about the contents of the Zeuxippos collection). Colluthus, however, is working within a stylistically refined framework that has made no concessions to a changing environment, whether on matters of language use, aesthetic taste or religious cult; he was to have few successors in this manner of writing. Now this discussion has been hung on the appearance in three writers of passages involving Helen of Troy: she was taken exempli gratia. The underlying questions have been about the accessibility and acceptability of different ways of writing (elaborate poetic styles versus plain prose) and about content, where the subtext is wondering how far down a largely Christianised society went detailed knowledge of abstruse literary texts with a pagan background. It should, of course, be pointed out that accidents of survival throw Colluthus’ somewhat precious classicizing into higher relief that might have been apparent to his contemporaries; we should not forget Musaios’ more subtle Hero and Leander, which again is predicated on a nuanced awareness of the epic and background, whether of Homer or Nonnos. There are also epigrams, largely honorific for individuals, and more significantly, panegyric to Anastasius where, fascinatingly, the paradigms of excellence are Homeric or taken from the period of the Greek city-states. 26 But here one comes to a wider point—which is that there is a great diversity of literary products in Greek at this time, which we are inclined to overlook if we focus on one aspect at the expense of another. If we remain with poetic styles for the moment, the type of poetry that would have reached the widest audience of all would without question have been that of contemporary hymnography. Of which the most striking form was that of the kontakion. Its metrical complexity rivaled that of the hexameters of Colluthus or Christodorus, but with one major difference—the metre was rhythmic and reflected the stress patterns of the spoken language. Its origins clearly affected by Syriac poetic practice, the chief exponent of this form was Romanos the Melode. A. Chauvot, Procope de Gaza, Priscien de Cesarée, Panegyriques de l’ empereur Anastase Ier (Bonn: 1986), pp. 11, 13 for a list of comparanda from classical antiquity, both mythological and historical, where no historical figure is later in date than Philip of Macedon. 26 Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century 135 His dates are uncertain but he was born in the latter years of the fifth century and lived on until the 50s of the sixth century, so his greatest achievements come technically outside the time-frame taken for this paper.27 However he was building on work of others and recent studies on the Akathistos Hymn, perhaps the masterpiece of this genre, have definitively taken it away from Romanos and pushed its date of composition back to the middle or later years of the fifth century;28 and Romanos had other predecessors. Characteristic of the kontakion, apart from the rhythmic complexities, are a lively retelling of Biblical narrative, of which Romanos’ Christmas Kontakion is a good example, combined with elaborate rhymes and assonances, and word-play. The Akathistos Hymn abounds in these. To return to the writing of history, Malalas may be presenting a Christianized and euhemerized world view that, the evidence suggests, met with broad acceptance. There was another historian from the turn of the century who reacted rather differently to an increasingly Christianised environment. This is Zosimus, author of the New History. Like Malalas—though on more explicit grounds—he was a member of the civil bureaucracy, at a rather higher level than has been suggested for Malalas: he served as an advocatus fisci, a well-paid office marking the climax of a legal career although it is not known to which court he was attached. His history ends abruptly in 410 (whether through the author’s death or impaired transmission is not clear—the version that Photios knew in the ninth century was no longer);29 internal evidence suggests that he was writing nearly a century later, after 498 and before 503. The evidence for the 503 date is clear, that for 498 is debatable.30 But the current orthodoxy is that Zosimus is to be placed under Anastasius, tempting though it might be to see him as a contemporary of the ecclesiastical historians Socrates and Sozomen, writing some fifty years previously.31 The thesis he puts forward allows no equivocation: since the officers of state had ceased to perform the customary rituals, since the emperors were no longer also Pontifex 27 Most recent edition: R. Maisano, Cantici di Romano il Melodo, (2 vols, Turin: 2002); most recent study on literary rather than formal aspects of Romanos’ writings, D. Krueger, Writing and Holiness: The Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East (Philadelphia: 2004), pp. 159–189. 28 L.M. Peltomaa, The Image of the Virgin Mary in the Akathistos Hymn (Leiden: 2001). 29 Biblioteca, Codex 98. 30 503: Evagrius states (5.24) that Zosimus was used by Eustathius of Epiphaneia, whose (now lost) history, cut short by his death, broke off in the twelfth year of Anastasius. 498: the year of the repeal by Anastasius of the chrysargyron tax, the last of Constantine’s financial iniquities; for the dating evidence cf. F. Paschoud, Zosime, Histoire Nouvelle, vol. 1 (Paris: 1971), xiv. 31 I owe this thought to fruitful discussions with Brian Croke. Most recently on Zosimus see W. Liebeschuetz, ‘Pagan Historiography and the Decline of Empire’, in G. Marasco (ed.), Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity, Fourth to Sixth Century A.D. (Leiden: 2003), pp. 176–217, at 206–215; Liebeschuetz is also inclined to see Zosimus as more appropriately placed earlier than the conventional date. 136 Elizabeth Jeffreys Maximus, the empire had gone from bad to worse: the rot had definitively set in with Constantine’s refusal to hold the Saecular Games in 313. However, if Zosimus is correctly placed under Anastasius, and if the argument is allowed that much of Malalas’ material dates from early in the sixth century, then here we have a nice set of parallels. Two members of the civil bureaucracy are writing histories from opposing stand-points. Malalas starts from Creation but continues to his own lifetime. Zosimus refers to Troy and Alexander, leaps to potted history with Augustus and develops a fuller narrative from the early third century; presumably he too intended to reach his own day, though he might have had difficulties of sustaining an argument that the Roman state under Anastasius was in total decline. Both make extensive and not always critical use of their predecessors.32 But while Zosimus focuses on the Roman polity, and the world order in which he wishes to place it is confined to its own tradition, Malalas has a wider perspective: he is writing salvation history with the Incarnation as the pivotal point. His was the version of world events that won through in the tradition. A case can be made that Zosimus’ history is ‘New’ because it responds to the ecclesiastical histories of the mid-fifth century, but perhaps the more creative tension should be seen to be with Malalas’ cosmically Christianizing chronicle. But for whom was Zosimus writing? Following points made in connection with Malalas, he would have been targeting his fellow advocates and members of the civil bureaucracy, and would then be evidence for the survival of a pool of classicizing non-Christian die-hards. Like Malalas, Zosimus makes no reference to a patron who had prompted his composition. This paper has pointed to several important strands in the literary scene under Anastasius. There are more. There is more verse: iambic paraphrases of Theocritus (now lost) by the ex-consul Marianus of Eleutheropolis, amongst others.33 There is more prose: secular history, for example, of which the most tantalising is the lost narrative of Eustathios of Epiphaneia referred to earlier, which may have moulded much of Malalas’ account of Zeno and the early years of Anastasius; ecclesiastical history, such as that of John Diakrinomenos which, surviving in fragments, appears to have reached the controversies of Anastasius’ reign;34 hagiography, or biographies of holy men drawing on secular patterns but redirected: from this period the outstanding example is the Life of Daniel the Stylite.35 Nor should it be forgotten that—although the focus of this collection of papers is the Greek literature of late antiquity—Constantinople of the early sixth century 32 Zosimus’ use of Eunapius was notoriously wholesale, as noted from Photios onwards (R.C. Blockley, The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire, vol. 1 [Liverpool: 1981], pp. 1–26) while his switch to Olympiodorus, from around Book 5.34 onwards, left some incongruities, e.g. in his presentation of Stilicho. 33 Suda, s.v. Μαριανός; PLRE 2, Marianus 3. 34 PLRE 2, Ioannes (Diacrinomenus) 52. 35 BHG 2099. For a thoughtful recent discussion, see R. Lane Fox, ‘The Life of Daniel’, in M.J. Edwards and S. Swain (eds), Portraits (Oxford: 1997), pp. 175–225. Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century 137 was still, and remained so for most of the next century, a home for writing in Latin. Priscian’s encomium of Anastasius is one example,36 and the chronicle of Marcellinus Comes is another.37 Note too that although the majority of the statues described by Christodorus were of Greek heroes, legendary or historical, not a few, perhaps unsurprisingly, were of Latin worthies—Virgil, Apuleius, Julius Caesar as well as Pompey. Was the period under Anastasius particularly fertile? Perhaps. Anastasius, a former silentarius and with problematic religious convictions, was commended in his life time by his panegyrist Priscian, in a not over-subtle hint, for his generosity to the learned, though similar terms are used of him much later by John Lydus.38 But panegyrics (paid for by whom?) demand scepticism and Anastasius does not appear to have been associated with the seemingly patronless large-scale historical works to which reference has been made in this paper. Nevertheless it seems likely that far fewer literary names can be placed in the reigns of Zeno and Justin, his predecessor and his successor, both primarily military men. So, in conclusion, I would like to suggest that at the turn of the fifth to the sixth century late Roman—or early Byzantine—literary culture could tolerate a wide range of tastes, styles and attitudes; that writers could move between traditional genres and more innovative ones; that history could be composed either in a framework that Polybius could have comprehended (as exemplified by Zosimus) or in one which was predicated on the Christian revolution (in the case of Malalas); that poetry, according to context, could either look back to a Callimachean epyllion (as did Colluthus) or across the plateia to an incense redolent cathedral (for the hymns of Romanos). However, Byzantine linguistic conservatism had begun to set in. While one might argue, as has been done here, that the widest and most fully comprehending audience would be for the rhythmic kontakion rather than the quantatative hexameter, the social pressures that demanded elegant composition as a career ticket meant that the hexameters would be produced for some time to come,39 though it would not be unfair to wonder how widely they were read. There is much work still to be done on the economics of book production and the implications for the circulation of texts. To return to Helen with whom we began. The three quotations represent three phases of the reception of classical antiquity at this time and the literary transition into medieval Byzantium. Colluthus is emblematic of the full tradition, Christodorus shows the world on a cusp—looking knowledgably at an image but 36 See Chauvot, Procope de Gaza, Priscien de Cesarée; R.H. Robins, The Byzantine Grammarians: Their Place in History (Berlin: 1993), pp. 87–110 (‘Priscian: The Latin Grammarian of Constantinople’). 37 See the comprehensive study by B. Croke, Count Marcellinus and his Chronicle (Oxford: 2001). 38 De magistratibus 3.47. 39 See the comments of Heather and Cameron adduced in note 18 above. 138 Elizabeth Jeffreys giving a tactful account, guaranteed not to offend, while Malalas (or his source) has assimilated and recast the legendary past of the Graeco-Roman cultural world within his Christianized view of the developed Roman polity. All three are equally valid aspects of their contemporary society. WORKS CITED Ackermann, H.C. and J.-R. Gisler (eds). Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (8 vols, Zurich: 1981–1999). Bassett, S. The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople (Cambridge: 2004). Blockley, R.C. The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire (2 vols, Liverpool: 1981–1983). 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Literacy, Education, and Manuscript Transmission in Byzantium and Beyond (Leiden: 2002). Horrocks, G. Greek: A History of the Language and its Speakers (London: 1997). James, A.W., M. Jeffreys, and E. Jeffreys, ‘Malalas’ Language’, in E. Jeffreys (ed.), Studies in John Malalas (Melbourne: 1990), 217–244. Jeffreys, E. ‘Malalas’ Sources’, in E. Jeffreys (ed.), Studies in John Malalas (Melbourne: 1990), 167–216. ———. ‘Chronological structures’, in E. Jeffreys (ed.), Studies in John Malalas (Melbourne: 1990), 111–166. Jeffreys, E., M. Jeffreys, and R. Scott. The Chronicle of John Malalas: A Translation (Melbourne: 1986). Jones, A.H.M., J.R. Martindale, and J. Morris. Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (3 vols, Cambridge: 1971–1992). Jouanaud, J.-L. ‘Barbarus, Malalas et le bissextus: Pistes de recherches’, in J. Beaucamp (ed.), Recherches sur la Chronique de Jean Malalas (Paris: 2004), 164–180. Kokoszko, M. Descriptions of Personal Appearance in John Malalas’ Chronicle (Lodz: 1998). Writers and Audiences in the Early Sixth Century 139 Krueger, D. Writing and Holiness: The Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East (Philadelphia: 2004). Lane Fox, R. ‘The Life of Daniel’, in M.J. Edwards and S. Swain (eds), Portraits (Oxford: 1997), 175–225. Liebeschuetz, W. ‘Pagan Historiography and the Decline of Empire’, in G. Marasco (ed.), Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity, Fourth to Sixth Century A.D. (Leiden: 2003), 176–217. Livrea, E. Il Ratto di Elena (Bologna: 1968). Mair, A.W. Oppian, Colluthus, Tryphiodorus (Cambridge, Mass.: 1928). Maisano, R. Cantici di Romano il Melodo (2 vols, Turin: 2002). Nicks, F. ‘Literary Culture in the Reign of Anastasius’, in S. Mitchell and G. Greatrex (eds), Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity (London: 2000). Paschoud, F. Zosime, Histoire Nouvelle (3 vols, Paris: 1971–1989). Paton, W.R. The Greek Anthology (5 vols, Cambridge, Mass.: 1916–1918). Peltomaa, L.M. The Image of the Virgin Mary in the Akathistos Hymn (Leiden: 2001). Rapp, Claudia. ‘Literary Culture under Justinian’, in M. Maas (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian (Cambridge: 2005), 376–397. Robins, R.H. The Byzantine Grammarians: Their Place in History (Berlin: 1993). Thurn, I. Chronographia Ioannis Malalae. (Berlin: 2000). Vian, F. Quintus de Smyrne, La Suite d’Homère (3 vols, Paris: 1963–1969). Whitby, Mary. ‘From Moschos to Nonnos: The Evolution of the Nonnian Style’, in N. Hopkinson (ed.), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus (Cambridge: 1994), 99–155. Chapter 8 The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants Adrian Hollis Keble College, Oxford In a volume dedicated to the Greek literature of late antiquity and the early Byzantine period it may seem strange to start this contribution from Alexandria in the third century BC. Yet many have sensed a certain community of spirit between Alexandria and Constantinople, and my purpose here is to trace one of the most interesting continuities. The Hellenistic ‘miniature epic’ or ‘epyllion’1 is defined by the Oxford Classical Dictionary (third edition, p. 550) as a narrative poem of up to c. 600 hexameters, usually about an episode from the life of a mythological hero or heroine. Some have questioned the very existence of this genre—either in Greek, or in Latin, or in both languages.2 Everyone knows that the ancients did not use the term in the way that is familiar from modern scholarship, but (in my opinion) it remains useful and does describe a genuine type of poem. We shall here follow the history of the epyllion from the third century BC, as it goes underground for long periods and finally re-emerges c. AD 500 in the Constantinople of the emperor Anastasius. It is a history of strange transformations and combinations with a wide range of other literary genres. We shall alight in most of the intervening centuries, including the third century AD, which seems relatively barren in poetic terms. I will deal with Latin as well as Greek;3 at different times the one language, and then the other, seizes the initiative. K.J. Gutzwiller, Studies in the Hellenistic Epyllion (Königstein: 1981); R.L. Hunter, ‘Epic in a Minor Key’, in M. Fantuzzi and R. Hunter (eds), Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry (Cambridge: 2004), pp. 191–245. 2 W. Allen, ‘The Epyllion’, TAPA 71 (1940): 1–26, was very negative. The discovery of new evidence has thrown a different light on some of the issues which were of concern to Allen. Although the ancients did not use ‘epyllion’ in the same sense as do modern scholars, the term is still useful provided that certain pitfalls are avoided: e.g. the Greek word epos should often be translated ‘hexameter poem(s)’ or ‘hexameter verse’ rather than ‘epic’ (which makes us think of a work in many books). I would resist the application of ‘epyllion’ to poems written in metres other than hexametric, even though Eratosthenes’ elegiac Erigone (A. Rosokoki, Die Erigone des Eratosthenes [Heidelberg: 1995]) and Callimachus’ own account of the old man Molorcus who entertained Heracles (‘Victoria Berenices’, see H. Lloyd-Jones and P.J. Parsons, Supplementum Hellenisticum [Berlin: 1983], 254–268 C) have much in common with Callimachus’ Hecale. 3 I have become increasingly doubtful whether later Greek poets were significantly influenced by earlier Latin poets; perhaps (as some older scholars thought) similarities between 1 142 Adrian Hollis If we had to choose one poem to represent the epyllion, it would surely be Callimachus’ Hecale.4 The subject matter is heroic (Theseus’ victory over the monstrous Bull of Marathon) but focuses more on the old woman Hecale, who entertained the hero in her cottage near Marathon. Callimachus’ learning is shown by his adoption of a little-known foundation myth of a small and obscure Attic deme, and his recreation of everyday life in the Attic countryside, with the aid of Old Comedy, commentaries thereon and specialist monographs.5 Enough survives to show that the Hecale combined learning with strong emotion, fantasy and humour. Its influence was enormous and can be discerned in later epyllia, Latin (e.g. Catullus 64 and the pseudo-Virgilian Ciris)6 as much as Greek. Above all, Callimachus popularized the hospitality theme (entertainment of a god or hero by a poor old person or couple in the countryside).7 Composed in Egyptian Alexandria, the poem was known as far away as Alexandria of Arachosia (modern Kandahar in Afghanistan);8 it was still being copied on papyrus about AD 6009 and may have survived intact until AD 1205.10 We can only estimate the length of the Hecale, but it seems likely to have been of at least 1000 lines—perhaps appreciably longer.11 An interesting comparison is now available: the hexameter Hermes12 by Callimachus’ pupil Eratosthenes contained between 1540 and 1670 lines,13 more than the average for a book of ApolNonnus and Catullus (or Ovid) should rather be explained by common use of Hellenistic models. 4 Gregory Hutchinson, ‘Hellenistic Epic and Homeric Form’ (forthcoming in the volume in honour of Jasper Griffin) stresses the importance of the Hecale; he regards its ‘most obvious and natural category’ as epic. There may have been one or two substantial Hellenistic hexameter poems which predate the Hecale, e.g. the Hermes of Philetas (frs. 5–9, Powell, Collectanea Alexandrina (Oxford: 1925); frs. 1–5, Spanoudakis, Philitas of Cos (Leiden: 2002)). 5 A.S. Hollis, Callimachus, Hecale (Oxford: 1990), pp. 5–10. 6 Hollis, Hecale, p. 32. 7 Hollis, Hecale, Appendix III. 8 See P. Bernard, G.-J. Pinault and G. Rougemont, ‘Deux nouvelles inscriptions grecques de l’Asie centrale,’ Journal des Savants (2004): 227–332. The items almost certainly borrowed from Callimachus are κοκύαι = ‘ancestors’ (Hecale fr. 137 H. = 340 Pfeiffer) and τυννόc = ‘small’ (see my ‘Hecale’s Babies’, in Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 148 (2004): 115–116). 9 I have in mind P. Oxy. 2258 (pap. 37 Pfeiffer = 2 Hollis (Hecale)), written in the sixth or seventh century and furnished with rich scholia. 10 The last owner was probably Michael Choniates (see my Hecale, pp. 38–40, with later thoughts based on Michael in ZPE 115 (1997): 55–56 and ZPE 130 (2000): 16). 11 Hollis, Hecale, Appendix II. Contrast Oxford Classical Dictionary3 on the typical length of an epyllion, ‘up to c. 600 lines’. 12 Difficult to classify generically: we seem to find elements of an epyllion, a hymn and a scientific/philosophical poem. The only substantial fragment (16 Powell, Coll. Alex., augmented in Suppl. Hell. 397 A) is closely imitated by Virgil, Georgics 1.233 ff. 13 Greater exactitude is not possible because of the damaged state of P. Oxy. 3000 (Suppl. Hell. 397). One may suspect that some of the mythological hexameter poems by Euphorion of Chalcis were on a similarly generous scale, but proof is lacking. The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 143 lonius’ Argonautica. Should we put these two poems in the same basket as (to take an extreme example) the mere 75 lines of Theocritus 13 (Hylas), which is indeed regularly classified as an epyllion?14 Of the other comparable poems by Theocritus, most charming is 24 (Heracliscus, 186 lines but not complete). The picture of Alcmena putting her babies to sleep in her husband’s shield15 combines the heroic and the intimate (24.1–7): Ἡρακλέα δεκάμηνον ἐόντα ποχ’ ἁ Μιδεᾶτιc Ἀλκμήνα καὶ νυκτὶ νεώτερον Ἰφικλῆα, ἀμφοτέρουc λούcαcα καὶ ἐμπλήcαcα γάλακτοc, χαλκείαν κατέθηκεν ἐc ἀcπίδα τὰν Πτερελάου Ἀμφιτρύων καλὸν ὅπλον ἀπεcκύλευcε πεcόντοc. ἁπτομένα δὲ γυνὰ κεφαλᾶc μυθήcατο παίδων · “εὕδετ’, ἐμὰ βρέφεα, γλυκερὸν καὶ ἐγέρcιμον ὕπνον.” One night, when Heracles was ten months old, Alcmena, the lady of Midea, bathed him and his brother Iphicles who was younger by one night, gave them their fill of milk and laid them to rest in the bronze shield, that fair piece of armour of which Amphitryon had spoiled Pterelaus when he fell. And, stroking the boys’ heads, she said, ‘Sleep sweetly, my babies, and wake again’. The most interesting to me of these poems is Theocritus 25, ‘Heracles the Lionslayer’ (281 lines, but, in my unfashionable opinion, seriously defective).16 Many scholars have denied the poem to Theocritus, whether because of the lack of papyrus fragments and grammatical citations which might confirm the authorship, or the differences from Theocritus’ normal style, or a low estimate of the poem’s quality.17 That the style should be more Homeric than Theocritus’ norm is no great surprise—the same could be said of Callimachus’ Hecale. As to the quality, my own subjective judgment is closer to that of A.S.F. Gow:18 ‘Unlike the other poems dubiously ascribed to Theocritus it would, if its authenticity were secure, add appreciably to his stature’. There are many links with Callimachus, more with the Molorcus episode in Aetia book 319 than with the Hecale. An (unfulfilled) hint of the hospital- On these smaller poems, see Richard Hunter (n. 1 above). This caught the fancy of Ovid (Fasti 3.227–228). We now know that Callimachus’ Hecale, far from remaining unmarried, had been the mother of two boys (for a possible new fragment, see ZPE 148 (n. 8 above)). 16 Can one really accept ‘And to him the old ploughman who guarded the cattle made reply’ as a satisfactory first line? For an argument that one can, see Hunter (n. 1 above), p. 211 n. 91. Contrast the very conventional opening of Callimachus’ Hecale (fr. 1 H.), ‘Once there lived an Actaean woman in the hill-country of Erectheus’. 17 Thus (generally) P.J. Parsons in ZPE 25 (1977): 1–50. 18 Theocritus (Cambridge: 1950), vol. II, p. 440. 19 Illustrated by Parsons (n. 17 above), p. 44. 14 15 144 Adrian Hollis ity theme is adumbrated when the unnamed old countryman leads Heracles to his steading, boisterously greeted by the dogs (25.60–77). Thus it seems that substantial epyllia, as long as a book of epic poetry, may have been a feature of the third century BC. At the same time, however, there grew up a tradition of much slighter hexameter poems, represented by Theocritus 13, 22, 24, 26.20 This was continued in the second century by works such as the Europa of Moschus,21 which owes less to Callimachus22 than to Apollonius Rhodius. The way in which the girl casts off troubling thoughts from the previous night and joins her companions in more cheerful mood (Europa 20 ff.) strongly recalls Argonautica 3.828 ff. In the first century BC we would like to know more about the hexameter poems of Parthenius of Nicaea,23 but the main interest shifts from Greek to Latin. We have two complete specimens: Catullus 64 and the pseudo-Virgilian Ciris.24 Also we hear of several epyllia by poets associated with Catullus: the Smyrna of Helvius Cinna, Io of Licinius Calvus, Glaucus of Cornificius. All these myths recur in Ovid’s Metamorphoses; at least the Smyrna and the Io have left a considerable afterglow.25 The same century saw a new development: combination of the manner and matter of an epyllion with quite different poetic genres. Let us start with didactic poetry. The best-known example is in Virgil’s fourth Georgic, an episode of 244 lines (315–558), linking the myth of Aristaeus with that of Orpheus and Eurydice by means of a connexion which Virgil himself may have invented: while trying to escape from Aristaeus’ pursuit Eurydice failed to see a huge snake (458 ‘immanem…hydrum’).26 It is worth noting that Aristaeus, benefactor of mankind and inventor of much rural technology, often appears in learned Greek poetry (Callimachus, Apollonius, Euphorion, pseudo-Oppian and Nonnus). Brief mythological digressions are found I omit Theocritus 25 because of uncertainty about its original length. The Oxford Classical Text of the Bucolici Graeci includes other (inferior) poems such as [Moschus], Megara and [Bion], Epithalamium of Achilles and Deidamia, of unknown authorship but similar style and perhaps the same period. 22 Though it has a few very rare words and some recondite mythical genealogy—also what may be a typical feature of the epyllion (compare Catullus 64.50 ff.), use of a work of art (Europa’s basket) to introduce a subsidiary myth (Io). 23 Edited by J.L. Lightfoot (Oxford: 1999). 24 Whatever its date, purpose and authorship, the latter (edited by R.O.A.M. Lyne [Cambridge: 1978]) plausibly recreates what we might imagine as the prevailing style of c. 45 BC, when Alexandrian influence on Latin poetry may have been at its height. Another work in the Appendix Vergiliana, Culex, though inferior, has some pretensions to learning, e.g. describing the trees in the wood by reference to their mythological prehistory (Culex 123 ff., cf. Catullus 64.290–291). 25 There are several passages in Augustan poetry which treat Io in a similarly humorous/ ironical manner; they all may go back to Calvus’ epyllion, as I shall argue in my forthcoming Fragments of Roman Poetry c. 60 B.C.–A.D. 20 (Oxford). 26 Perhaps suggested by the πελώριοc…ὕδροc of Euphorion fr. 58.3 Powell. 20 21 The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 145 in the didactic poems of Hesiod, Aratus and Nicander; Virgil seems to have expanded this element in the manner of a Hellenistic epyllion. Perhaps, however, there was an earlier Latin instance of an epyllion-like section in a didactic poem. A scholiast on Bellum Civile 9.70127 informs us that Lucan’s account of African snakes is indebted to the Theriaca of Aemilius Macer.28 Lucan, in a passage of 81 lines (9.619–699) describes the origin of these snakes from blood which dripped from the severed head of the Gorgon Medusa, carried aloft by Perseus as he flew over Libya. Several features of this passage suggest an epyllion, starting with a rather academic debate about the reliability of the poet’s information (621–623): non cura laborque noster scire valet, nisi quod volgata per orbem fabula pro vera decepit saecula causa. His statement that the mythical explanation is false by no means stops the poet from relating it in full.29 ‘Volgata’ strikes a note of intellectual disdain (cf. Virgil, Georgics 3.4 ‘omnia iam vulgata’), while ‘decepit’ recalls the common charge against poets of deliberately misleading the public. Even the versification resembles that with which we are familiar from Catullus 64 and the Ciris: hexameters forming a senseunit, with a molossic word (three long syllables) following the masculine caesura (e.g. 667–668 ‘Persea Phoebeos converti iussit ad ortus/Gorgonos averso sulcantem regna volatu’) and the careful arrangement of two nouns at the end of the line, each with its epithet at the beginning (677 ‘lata colubriferi rumpens confinia colli’).30 As observed by Richard Hunter,31 the inclusion of epyllion-like material in a heroic context cannot unreasonably be said to start during Callimachus’ lifetime with certain episodes of Apollonius’ Argonautica. Hunter cites Cyzicus and Cleite,32 which begins (1.936) with a geographical ecphrasis and ends (like Callimachus’ Hecale) in the explanation of an annual religious custom (1.1075–1077). The nicest example (though relatively brief at 50 lines) of an epyllion within a martial epic33 is Silius Italicus’ aetiological account of the origin of the Falernian vineyards (PuFr. 6 of Aemilius Macer in E. Courtney, The Fragmentary Latin Poets (Oxford: 1993), p. 295. A young Ovid (Tristia 4.10.43–44) used to hear an elderly Macer recite this poem. 29 One might compare [Virgil], Ciris 54 ff.: although Scylla daughter of Nisus is not to be identified with the sea-monster, the poet continues with multiple opinions as to why the latter was transformed. 30 Also worthy of note are the hemiepes ‘Ampitryoniades’ occupying the first half of 644 and the refined anaphora in 662–663 ‘et subitus praepes Cyllenida sustulit harpen,/harpen alterius monstri iam caede rubentem’. 31 n. 1 (above), pp. 192–193. 32 Other epyllion-like sections of the Argonautica are those involving Hypsipyle (1.609– 909), Hylas (1.1207–1357), Amycus and the Bebrycians (2.1–163), Jason and Medea in Phaeacia (4.982–1222). 33 Virgil had to some extent prepared the way when he sent Aeneas to be entertained by Evander (Aeneid 8.90 ff.). 27 28 146 Adrian Hollis nica 7.162–211), a theoxeny of Dionysus. The obvious Latin model for this would be Ovid’s tale of Baucis and Philemon in Metamorphoses 8.626 ff., which itself goes back to Callimachus’ Hecale.34 But an even closer fit is the Erigone of Callimachus’ pupil Eratosthenes (see n. 2 above), which described Dionysus’ visit to the old man Icarius and his daughter Erigone. Although written in elegiacs, the Erigone seems in other respects to conform to the traditions of the epyllion. An interesting possible Greek counterpart to Silius’ theoxeny of Bacchus enclosed within a martial epic may perhaps be recognized in the second or third-century Bassarica by Dionysius.35 These epyllion-like intrusions into poems of a different genre are mostly of about 80 lines (appreciably shorter than a self-standing epyllion); one could add 81 lines of Manilius on Andromeda (5.538–618) and 78 lines of Valerius Flaccus on Io (4.344–421). A rare glimpse of Greek hexameter poetry in the early second century AD under the patronage of the cultured Hadrian is afforded by the poet Pancrates. His theme was contemporary, not mythological, but cleverly tailored to please an emperor who delighted in poets such as Antimachus of Colophon and Parthenius of Nicaea—no doubt also Callimachus and Euphorion. His poem on the lion-hunt of Hadrian and Antinous would perhaps invite comparison with Theocritus 25 (though in talent Pancrates was far inferior); it included a flower sprung from the blood of the lion, perhaps also a catasterism. We have papyrus fragments suggesting a poem grandiose in style but of fairly modest length;36 at the end of the papyrus the lion seems about to expire. One cannot, however, be entirely sure that the unnamed author is the Pancrates from whom Athenaeus (15.677d–f) quotes four quite pretty lines: οὔλην ἕρπυλλον, λευκὸν κρίνον ἠδ’ ὑάκινθον πορφυρέην γλαύκου τε χελιδονίοιο πέτηλα καὶ ῥόδον εἰαρινοῖcιν ἀνοιγόμενον ζεφύροιcιν · οὔπω γὰρ φύεν ἄνθοc ἐπώνυμον Ἀντινόοιο. Of course it was not so hard to write prettily in a catalogue of attractive flowers, but these lines show that something of the Hellenistic masters lingered in Hadrian’s Ovid too may have glanced at Eratosthenes’ Erigone, since the wine-miracle by which Jupiter and Mercury announce their divinity (Met. 8.679 ff.) is even more appropriate to Dionysus (thus Silius 7.187 ff.). 35 Appendix II in my edition of Ovid, Metamorphoses 8 (Oxford: 1970). It is unclear whether this particular papyrus fragment belongs to Bassarica or Gigantias; for a complete edition, see E. Livrea, Dionysii Bassaricon et Gigantiadis Fragmenta (Rome: 1973). Livrea does not comment on the context of this fragment (his 81 verso), which he gives to the Gigantias—in that case the domestic scene would be all the more striking. 36 Text in E. Heitsch, Die griechischen Dichterfragmente der romischen Kaiserzeit (1961), pp. 51– 54, and D.L. Page, Greek Literary Papyri, Loeb Classical Library (London: 1942), pp. 516–519. 34 The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 147 Alexandria; the fourth line particularly recalls Euphorion.37 In fact the whole episode of Hadrian and Antinous in Alexandria has a Callimachean air.38 According to Athenaeus (15.677e) the Emperor was so pleased that he enrolled Pancrates in the Alexandrian Museum. The name of the poet whom we call pseudo-Oppian is unknown.39 Despite his low reputation, I would suggest that (after Virgil) he provides the two most interesting examples of the epyllion-style intruding into a didactic poem. Virgil was concerned with bugonia, the alleged production of bees from the carcase of a calf (Georgics 4.281–558), [Oppian] (Cyn. 2.100–158) with the origin of Syrian bulls, fancifully said to descend from those which Heracles captured from Geryon in the far west and gave to his friend Archippus, king of Pella/Apamea (114)—though the city of Apamea-on-the-Orontes was only founded by Seleucus Nicator in approximately 300 BC! The myth is introduced in the best Alexandrian manner (109): κεῖνοι, τοὺc φάτιc ἔcκε Διὸc γόνον Ἡρακλῆα…40 The flooding by Orontes of the plain of Pella is ascribed to the river-god’s hopeless passion for a water-nymph (Meliboea); rescue came when Heracles cut through the surrounding hills and directed Orontes towards the sea (134–136). Topographical references abound, none of them known otherwise: the mountains (Emblonus from the West, Diocleion from the East); a ‘plain of Heracles’ (149) and a shrine of Memnon (152–153). The poet speaks with pride of his own city (127 ἐμὴν πόλιν). In concluding he makes his literary position clearer by promising to write a future poem on the glories of his homeland (156–7): ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν41 κατὰ κόcμον ἀείcομεν εὐρέα κάλλη πάτρηc ἡμετέρηc ἐρατῆι Πιμπληΐδι μολπῆι 37 Compare fr. 40 Powell (Hyacinthus) for a flower springing from blood, and fr. 84.3 for the ‘not yet…’ motif. 38 Sharing motifs with the Victoria Berenices (see Parsons, n. 17 above). In both cases the lion may have been catasterized. For fuller discussion see my ‘Myth in the Service of Kings and Emperors’, in J.A. López Férez (ed.), Mitos en la literatura griega helenística e imperial (Madrid: 2003), pp. 1–14. 39 He is definitely not pretending to be the Oppian of Cilicia who wrote Halieutica; his similarity of subject matter (Cynegetica) has produced the false ascription. Pseudo-Oppian came from Apamea in Syria and wrote his poem on hunting under Caracalla, probably after AD 212. Almost all the external testimonia (whether or not to be believed) refer to the author of Hal. rather than that of Cyn. The poem on fishing is generally judged to be far superior; Cyn. does indeed have more technical defects (e.g. a distressing insensitivity to Hermann’s Bridge), but also—in my opinion—more positive merits than is commonly allowed. See further my ‘[Oppian], Cyn. 2.100–158 and the Mythical Past of Apamea-on-the-Orontes’, ZPE 102 (1994): 153–66. 40 Note the spondaic fifth foot, a mannerism of the learned Hellenistic poets and their Roman admirers, and the stress upon inherited tradition (φάτιc). 148 Adrian Hollis In familiar fashion the poet, while appearing to promise something for the future, in fact emphasizes what he is doing at this moment. Poems on the history of cities and states, especially their foundation (κτίcιc) start from the third century BC; they gave ample opportunity for mythical narrative (e.g. Apollonius Rhodius fr. 12 Powell, from the Foundation of Lesbos, on the love of Peisidice for her country’s enemy Achilles), even if—as here—the mythology had to be made up or introduced from elsewhere because the foundation was too recent.42 A final thought on Apamea: much of what [Oppian] writes is in harmony with the learned poets of the third century BC, and perhaps it is worth mentioning that Euphorion of Chalcis, after moving to become royal librarian to Antiochus III of Syria, is said43 to have died and been buried in Apamea-on-the-Orontes. Could he have helped to create some of the local mythology? We remarked earlier that Aristaeus plays a considerable part in the Greek poetry of the Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods (as well as in Virgil’s Fourth Georgic). He is very much to the fore in my second passage of pseudo-Oppian, more substantial at 90 lines (Cyn. 4.230–319) and even more clearly breathing the atmosphere of a Hellenistic epyllion. The starting point is that leopards can be caught more easily when intoxicated, since they were once wine-loving devotees of Bacchus.44 The scene is set first in Thebes, where Pentheus already rages and tyrannizes. Dionysus is still an infant and must quickly be removed from the city by his aunts, who here—contrast Euripides, Bacchae 26—play quite a positive role. From time to time we are reminded of Euripides.45 For example, when the Bacchants implore Dionysus to punish Pentheus (302–303): ἅπτε cέλαc φλογερὸν πατρώϊον, ἂν δ’ ἐλέλιξον γαῖαν, ἀταρτηροῦ δ’ ὄπαcον τίcιν ὦκα τυράννου one cannot fail to remember Bacchae 594–595 ἅπτε κεραύνιον αἴθοπα λαμπάδα·/ cύμφλεγε cύμφλεγε δώματα Πενθέοc. As the narrative progresses we find many motifs at home in a learned epyllion: an etymology of Mount Mēros (241, so named because Dionysus was born from his father’s thigh), concealment of the child in a ἀλλὰ τὰ μέν or καὶ τὰ μέν are well-established ways of breaking off a narrative in learned poetry (Pfeiffer on Callimachus fr. 12.6 collects examples). 42 E.g. Apollonius in his Foundation of Alexandria included the story of Perseus shedding drops of Gorgon’s blood (from which sprang snakes) as he flew over Libya. 43 By the Suda (Ε 3801 Adler); others said Antioch. We know practically nothing about Euphorion’s years in Syria, except that he gave currency to the tale that Seleucus Nicator’s mother, before her son’s birth, foresaw that he would become lord of Asia (fr. 174 Powell, from Tertullian). 44 The transformations of the women into leopards and Pentheus himself into a bull are not mentioned by P.M.C. Forbes Irving in his Metamorphosis in Greek Myths (Oxford: 1990). 45 It is worth recalling that, of the three great tragedians, Euripides exerted much the most influence upon Hellenistic poetry. 41 The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 149 basket or chest (244, compare Callimachus, Hecale fr. 70.14 and fr. 166 H.), growing of a vine where it was previously unknown (253–4, cf. Eratosthenes, Erigone and Silius’ Falernus), performance of new religious rites and their communication to the locals (246,46 248–250), the kindly old person (in 258 a fisherman, compare Hecale, Molorcus, Icarius, Baucis and Philemon, Falernus, Brongus) who accepts and welcomes the strangers though quite unaware of their importance. Aristaeus (265 ff.) is introduced as the First Inventor (πρῶτοc εὑρετήc) of countless pastoral and agricultural techniques, as in Virgil,47 Georgics 4.315 ff. ‘Quis deus hanc, Musae, quis nobis extudit artem?/unde nova ingressus hominum experientia cepit?/ pastor Aristaeus…etc.’ The transformation of the women into leopards and Pentheus himself into a bull is described in a manner which seems to us very ‘Ovidian’48—we watch it happening item by item (309–313): Πενθέα μὲν δὴ ταῦρον ἐδείξατο φοίνιον ὄμμα, αὐχένα τ’ ἠιώρηcε, κέραc τ’ ἀνέτειλε μετώπου · ταῖcι δὲ γλαυκιόωcαν ἐθήκατο θηρὸc ὀπωπήν, καὶ γένυαc θώρηξε, κατέγραψεν δ’ ἐπὶ νώτου ῥινὸν ὅπωc νεβροῖcι, καὶ ἄγρια θήκατο φῦλα. Pentheus he made a bull of deadly eye and arched his neck and made horns spring from his forehead. But to the women he gave the grey eyes of a wild beast and armed their jaws and on their back put a spotted hide like that of fawns, and made them a savage race. The most strikingly Callimachean element in the whole episode is the brief literary/mythical polemic at the end (316–319); to this we shall return. Meanwhile one or two small details: note that seven of the ninety hexameters in this episode have a spondaic fifth foot—a proportion not comparable with that in some thirdcentury BC poets,49 but still significant. Among pseudo-Oppian’s vocabulary, one may single out the epithets ‘Aonian’ = Boeotian (250, 276) and ‘Inoan’ (274), both perhaps invented (and certainly made popular) by Callimachus.50 We now know for certain51 something which several scholars had earlier argued on metrical grounds, that Triphiodorus is a predecessor of Nonnus, not a Line 246 περὶ παῖδα τὸ μυcτικὸν ὠρχήcαντο may faintly echo Eratosthenes, Erigone fr. 22 Powell τόθι πρῶτα περὶ τράγον ὠρχήcαντο (the invention of tragedy). 47 Often, too, in Nonnus. Aristaeus is invoked (but not named) in Georgics 1.14–15. 48 Later to be found in Nonnus. It is regrettable that the many Hellenistic transformation poems (such as the Heteroeumena of Nicander) have perished almost completely. 49 For statistics see my Hecale, Introduction, p. 18. 50 Respectively fr. 2a.30 (Pfeiffer vol. II p. 103) and Supplementum Hellenisticum 275. 51 Through the dating of P.Oxy. vol. 41, no. 2946 (third to fourth century). 46 150 Adrian Hollis follower.52 He achieved the Sack of Ilion in almost 700 lines. The poem has quite a good reputation.53 I would like to touch on just one point. We have repeatedly seen the strong influence which Callimachus’ Hecale exercised upon the writers of later epyllia, and that is still discernible in Triphiodorus, whose debt to Hellenistic poetry is relatively small.54 When, after the fall of the city, Menelaus saves the family of his erstwhile host Antenor (657–658): μειλιχίηc προτέρηc μεμνήμενοc ἠδὲ τραπέζηc κείνηc,55 ἧι μιν ἔδεκτο γυνὴ πρηεῖα Θεανώ, he must have in mind Hecale fr. 80.1–2 (probably uttered by the neighbours at Hecale’s funeral): ἴθι, πρηεῖα γυναικῶν τὴν ὁδόν, ἣν ἀνίαι θυμαλγέεc οὐ περόωcι Go, gentle among women, on the road along which heartbreaking pains do not penetrate.56 Much the most remarkable figure among Greek poets of the late Imperial/early Byzantine period is Nonnus. A native of Panopolis in Egypt, he composed his poetry in Alexandria.57 He was probably raised as a Christian,58 and made a hexameter paraphrase,59 longer than the original, of St John’s Gospel, showing deeper and more detailed knowledge of Christian theology than would be required of someone who had merely accepted a commission. The forty-eight books of Nonnus’ 52 B. Gerlaud, Triphiodore, la Prise d’Ilion (ed. Budé, Paris: 1982), p. 9, dates T. between the middle of the third century and the beginning of the fourth. 53 No doubt I am wrong to find it less interesting and attractive than Colluthus’ Rape of Helen. 54 One cannot miss the allusion to Apollonius Rhodius in Triph. 503–505. 55 I prefer the emphatic κείνηc (compare the passages of Nonnus and Michael Choniates quoted as part of Hecale fr. 82 H.) to the κοινῆc printed by Gerlaud. 56 No doubt by contrast with the sufferings of Hecale’s life—the death of her husband and two sons, and the loss of her property. 57 Anth. Pal. 9.198. This raises the question of where and how Nonnus gained his obvious familiarity with poets such as Callimachus, Apollonius, Euphorion, Nicander and Parthenius, since it seems now to be generally agreed among scholars that the two most important libraries in Alexandria had perished long before the Arab conquest; see Mostafa El-Abbadi, ‘The Alexandrian Library in History’, in A. Hirst and M. Silk (eds), Alexandria, Real and Imagined (Ashgate: 2004), p. 174. 58 The Dionysiaca may seem very pagan in spirit, but Nonnus’ paganism could be merely a reflection of his literary culture—a common uncertainty in that period (Nonnus seems to have flourished c. 450–470). 59 There can hardly be any doubt about the identity of authorship; one indication is that the same bits of learned Hellenistic poetry have left their mark on both the Paraphrase and the Dionysiaca (see my Callimachus, Hecale, p. 35). The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 151 Dionysiaca represent not only the longest Greek epic surviving from antiquity, but also the most astonishingly varied—the poet’s initial invocation of Proteus (Dion. 1.13 ff.) is appropriate stylistically as well as geographically.60 Many episodes in the Dionysiaca reflect both the manner and the matter of a Hellenistic epyllion,61 and the vast scale of Nonnus’ undertaking allows some of them to be treated at considerable length. Examples: Dion. 5.212–551 (Aristaeus and Actaeon); 38.1–434 (Phaethon); 47.1–264 (Erigone); 17.37–86 (rustic hospitality of Brongus). The last-mentioned imitates Callimachus’ Hecale (and perhaps Eratosthenes’ Erigone) and is explicitly compared to Callimachus’ Molorcus62 (Dion. 17.52–54): οἷα Κλεωναίοιο φατίζεται ἀμφὶ Μολόρκου κεῖνα, τά περ cπεύδοντι λεοντοφόνουc ἐc ἀγῶναc ὥπλιcεν Ἡρακλῆι Such as they say Molorcus in Cleonae provided for Heracles as he hastened on his way to fight the lion.63 Let us pause for a moment on Dionysiaca 15.169–16.405 (altogether 659 lines, a respectable number for an old-style epyllion). We find here a foundation myth (a category mentioned earlier) of Nicaea in Bithynia,64 presented as a pastoral epyllion65 with all the proper mannerisms, including—astonishingly for an epic poem— a refrain (15.399, 403, 409, 413): Βούτηc καλὸc ὄλωλε, καλὴ δέ μιν ἔκτανε κούρη the fair herdsman has perished; a beautiful girl has killed him The latter because Proteus’ mythical island of Pharos was conventionally identified with the island just off the coast of Alexandria, on which stood the famous lighthouse. 61 In this, as in some other respects, the closest surviving parallel would be Ovid’s Metamorphoses, though I hesitate to claim that Nonnus made use of Ovid’s poem (see n. 3 above). 62 From the ‘Victoria Berenices’ (Suppl. Hell. 254–268C) which we now know to have opened Aetia book 3 (including what was previously Call. fr. 177 Pf., on the old man setting his mousetraps). 63 The immediately following reference to olives (line 55) clearly comes from Call., Hecale fr. 36 H. 64 Incidentally the patria of the poet Parthenius (we have no evidence that P. handled this myth). Nicaea in fact was named in the early Hellenistic period after the first wife of Lysimachus, daughter of Antipater. For such invention of myth where the historical reality has been forgotten, see P. Chuvin, Mythologie et géographie dionysiaques: Recherches sur l’oeuvre de Nonnus de Panopolis (Clermont-Ferrand: 1991), p. 149 n. 4. 65 The Io of Calvus (n. 25 above) must have had a strongly pastoral flavour in places; one could also view Ovid’s Pan and Syrinx (Met. 1.689–712) as a pastoral digression in an Io-epyllion. 60 152 Adrian Hollis which ‘seemed’ (398 ἔοικε) to come from the mouth of a cow! This takes ad absurdum the pastoral convention that Nature joins humanity in lamenting the deceased. In fact the whole episode is written in a light style, almost amounting to a parody of the traditional bucolic lament. One feature of the learned epyllion-style which persisted up to the time of Nonnus is literary and mythological polemic. Callimachus’ Hecale preserves just a hint of it: οἵ νυ καὶ Ἀπόλλωνα παναρκέοc Ἠελίοιο/χῶρι διατμήγουcι καὶ εὔποδα Δηωίνην/Ἀρτέμιδοc (fr. 103 H.). The speaker seems to express disapproval of those who ‘part asunder both Apollo from the all-shining sun and Deo’s fleet-footed daughter [Persephone] from Artemis’. Puzzling, since (at least in the second case) it was much more common to make the distinction than to deny it. In Euphorion fr. 40 Powell,66 Πορφυρέη ὑάκινθε, cὲ μὲν μία φῆμιc ἀοιδῶν ‘Ροιτείειc ἀμάθοιcι δεδουπότοc Αἰακίδαο εἴαροc ἀντέλλειν γεγραμμένα κωκύουcαν Purple hyacinth, one story of poets is that, on the Rhoetean [Trojan] sands, after the fall of the descendant [Ajax] of Aeacus, you sprang up from his blood with a lament in your inscription we may suspect that, having mentioned the better-known story of the hyacinth’s origin, Euphorion will go on to reject it in favour of the other, more obscure, myth about the Spartan boy whom Apollo accidentally killed with a discus. The pseudo-Virgilian Ciris provides two nice examples: on the question whether or not Scylla daughter of Nisus should be identified with the sea-monster (54 ff.): complures illam magni, Messalla, poetae67 (nam verum fateamur: amat Polyhymnia verum) longe alia perhibent mutatam membra figura Scyllaeum monstro saxum infestasse voraci… …(62) sed neque Maioniae patiuntur credere chartae… In the sequel we encounter the academic perversity deliberately cultivated in such a context: having decided that the daughter of Nisus is not to be identified with the sea-monster, nonetheless the poet cannot resist adding 23 lines (66–68) on various reasons for the sea-monster’s transformation.68 The second passage of the Ciris ranges learning against sentiment: Carme’s daughter Britomartis did indeed Perhaps the opening words of Euphorion’s poem entitled Hyacinthus? It is unclear whether these ‘several great poets’ are Hellenistic or (as Oliver Lyne favoured in his commentary) Roman. 68 One might compare Callimachus, fr. 75: after rebuking himself for inability to control his tongue (lines 4–9) the learned poet tells Xenomedes’ story of Acontius and Cydippe—then he adds a speedy summary of all the other things to be found in Xenomedes’ chronicle (fr. 75.53–77)! 66 67 The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 153 escape Minos’ amorous pursuit, and may even have achieved divine status—but as far as her mother is concerned she is simply lost (303–306): unde alii fugisse ferunt et nomen Aphaeae virginis assignant; alii, quo notior esses, Dictynnam dixere tuo de nomine lunam.69 sint haec vera velim; mihi certe, nata, peristi. Rival poets, who hold different views, may not merely be mistaken; often they are accused of deliberately misleading the public. Thus at the end of his narrative about Pentheus and the Bacchants [Oppian] waxes indignant (Cyn. 4.316–319): τοίαδ’ ἀείδοιμεν, τοῖα φρεcὶ πιcτεύοιμεν · ὅccα Κιθαιρῶνοc δὲ κατὰ πτύχαc ἔργα γυναικῶν ἢ μυcαρὰc κείναc, τὰc ἀλλοτρίαc Διονύcου, μητέραc οὐχ ὁcίωc ψευδηγορέουcιν ἀοιδωί Such things let us sing, such things let us believe in our hearts! But as for the deeds of the women in the glens of Cithaeron, or the tales told of those wicked mothers, alien to Dionysus, these are the impious falsehoods of poets. The cause of [Oppian]’s ire is clearly that, in the version which he condemns, the rending of Pentheus takes place with all participants in human form. That would be impious; on the other hand O.’s version (for which we have no parallel), according to which the Bacchants have been transformed into leopards and Pentheus into a bull, is apparently acceptable. Unusually, we may be able to identify a target of O.’s polemic. Having described the bloodstained return of Pentheus’ mother and aunts from Cithaeron, Theocritus expresses total indifference—nor would he be any more concerned if the victim were a child of eight or nine years (26.27–30):70 οὐκ ἀλέγω · μηδ’ ἄλλοc ἀπεχθομένω Διονύcωι φροντίζοι, μηδ’ εἰ χαλεπώτερα τῶνδε μογήcαι, εἴη δ’ ἐννεατὴc ἢ καὶ δεκάτω ἐπιβαίνοι · αὐτὸc δ’ εὐαγέοιμι καὶ εὐαγέεccιν ἅδοιμι. I care not. And let not another care for an enemy of Dionysus— not though he suffer a fate more grievous than this and be in his ninth year or entering his tenth. But may I myself be pure, and pleasing in the eyes of the pure. 69 Rather similar is the anonymous fr. 10 in E. Courtney, The Fragmentary Latin Poets (Oxford: 1993), p. 458 (some have wondered about the Dictynna of Valerius Cato). 70 A strange and disturbing passage; see A.S.F. Gow’s Theocritus (Cambridge: 1950), vol. II, pp. 480 ff. for discussion. 154 Adrian Hollis Nonnus too enters literary-polemical mode, after describing the mass catasterism which concludes his episode of Erigone (Dion. 47.256 ff.): καὶ τὰ μὲν71 ἔπλαcε μῦθοc Ἀχαιικὸc ἠθάδα πειθώ ψεύδεϊ cυγκεράcαc · τὸ δ’ ἐτήτυμον… Such is the fiction of the Achaean story, mingling as usual persuasion with falsehood; but the truth is… Three categories are recognized here: fiction, plausibility and truth. Thus Callimachus, after rejecting the standard account of the sons of Cronos drawing lots for their spheres of rule, expresses the hope that he could lie more plausibly (hymn. 1.65 ψευδοίμην ἀίοντοc ἅ κεν πεπίθοιεν ἀκουήν). In fact, parts of Nonnus’ ‘true’ version are far from clear; things might be different if we possessed Eratosthenes’ Erigone.72 Even one or two generations after Nonnus the early Byzantines were still in touch with their Hellenistic inheritance: during the reign of the emperor Anastasius (491–518) Marianus of Eleutheropolis73 paraphrased Callimachus’ Hecale, Hymns, Aetia and Epigrams in 6,810 iambics; in Egypt Callimachus’ poems were still being copied and annotated.74 The same period saw the composition of what can reasonably be described as the last two Greek epyllia: the Rape of Helen by Colluthus and Hero and Leander by Musaeus, of 394 and 343 lines respectively. Just as, by comparing Catullus 64 and the pseudo-Virgilian Ciris, we may be able to appreciate the characteristic style and versification of a Latin epyllion in the first century BC, so Colluthus and Musaeus exhibit a common style of Greek hexameter writing—that of Nonnus, who had evolved a metre with even tighter rules than those of Callimachus.75 Of the two, I confess to warmer feelings for the Rape of Helen.76 It is certainly the more learned poem, in the Alexandrian tradition. For example, from where did Colluthus learn that the timber used to build Paris’ ships came from the peak of Mount Ida which was called Phalacra? As far as we can tell, only from Lycophron (Alexandra 24) or possibly Callimachus (fr. 34 Pfeiffer). In 174–5 Colluthus combines two Callimachean reminiscences: See n. 41 above. One could have fun debating, in the spirit of an Alexandrian ζήτημα (quaestio) whether, in Nonnus, Erigone’s dog was catasterized as Sirius or as Canis Minor. 73 Call. testimonium 24 Pf. 74 See n. 9 above (on P.Oxy. 2258). 75 See F. Vian in the Budé Nonnus, vol. I (Paris: 1976), pp. l–lv; M.L. West, Greek Metre (Oxford: 1982), pp. 177 ff. 76 That is not the majority view. In fact I derive pleasure from several poems discussed in this paper which are often disparaged—Theocritus (or [Theocritus]) 25, the pseudo-Virgilian Ciris, [Oppian], Cynegetica, Colluthus, Rape of Helen. 71 72 The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 155 φαcί cε, μῆτερ Ἄρηοc, ὑπ’ ὠδίνεccιν ἀέξειν ἠυκόμων Χαρίτων ἱερὸν χορόν They say that you, mother of Ares, brought forth with birth-pangs the sacred band of the fair-tressed Graces. The phrase in the vocative case, ‘mother of Ares’,77 appears identically placed in the hexameter of Callimachus, fr. 634,78 and Hera’s parenting of the Graces was just one of several opinions put forward by the poet himself. As another possible sign of Hellenistic influence, note Colluthus 240–248 on the Spartan boy Hyacinthus, perhaps in imitation of Euphorion.79 Colluthus also restores one small but significant feature of the epyllion (both Greek and Latin) which is totally absent from Nonnus and Musaeus: the spondaic fifth foot.80 Clearly there were readers in Colluthus’ time capable of appreciating such subtleties. In Musaeus, on the other hand, I have found no more than one substantial and wholly convincing imitation of Callimachus.81 When Musaeus describes Hero and Leander as ἀμφοτέρων πολίων περικαλλέεc ἀcτέρεc ἄμφω (22, ‘both outstandingly beautiful stars of their two cities’), he clearly has in mind Callimachus’ Acontius and Cydippe, καλοὶ νηcάων ἀcτέρεc ἀμφότεροι (fr. 67.8). It would not be surprising if Musaeus turned out to have made more extensive use of the two Callimachean love stories, Acontius and Cydippe (frs. 67–75 Pf.) and Phrygius and Pieria (frs. 80–83). Musaeus is generally thought also to have used an unknown Hellenistic model with which Ovid too was familiar.82 We have traced the Greek epyllion, in various forms and combinations, up to approximately AD 500. Could the same be done for Latin? A century earlier Latin poetry enjoyed a significant revival in the hands of such as Claudian, Prudentius, Ausonius, and Rutilius Namatianus. None of these, however, wrote anything that could remotely be described as an epyllion; ‘The Rape of Proserpina’ was a possible subject, but Claudian’s treatment of it is unmistakably epic. The best that I can do83 for the time of Anastasius is to summon up an inferior figHera was not universally considered to have been Ares’ mother (another candidate was Enyo). 78 In view of the context in Colluthus one might wonder whether Call. fr. 634 came from the debate about the parentage of the Graces in Aetia, book I. Call. himself proposed, as his first suggestion, that they were children of Zeus and Hera, but the Muse Clio declared that their parents were Dionysus and the Naxian nymph Coronis (see the Florentine Scholia, Pfeiffer vol. I, p. 13, lines 29–35). Clio’s view, perhaps direct from Callimachus’ Aetia, is supported by Libanius, Epist. 217.6 F. 79 Fr. 40 Powell, quoted earlier. 80 There are 19 examples in Colluthus’ 394 lines. 81 K. Kost in his 1971 edition of Musaeus, p. 602 s.v. Kallimachos, has a longer list of parallels, most of them fairly general. 82 It is uncertain whether Supplementum Hellenisticum 901 A and 951 could contain fragments of such a poem. 83 Worth a footnote is the ‘Barcelona Alcestis’ (122 hexameters on the myth of Admetus 77 156 Adrian Hollis ure84 who lived in Carthage rather than Rome, Blossius Aemilius Dracontius. Some of his subjects are traditional to the epyllion (e.g. Hylas, The Rape of Helen) and he wrote on a scale which matched some Greek epyllia of the third century BC (974 lines on Orestes, 655 on Helen). Dracontius occasionally shows himself capable of the ingenious surprises which we might hope for in a learned poet, for example in the unique setting of the love affair: Menelaus has indeed gone to Crete (441), but Paris and Helen meet not in Sparta but in Cyprus. Helen has gone there, in her husband’s absence, to celebrate a festival of Venus (435–441) and Paris has been driven by adverse gales (425–429). It would, however, be unjust to even the lesser poets whom we have been considering to mention Dracontius in the same breath. WORKS CITED Allen, W. ‘The Epyllion,’ Transactions of the American Philological Association 71 (1940): 1–26. Bernard, P., G.-J. Pinault and G. Rougemont. ‘Deux nouvelles inscriptions grecques de l’Asie centrale,’ Journal des Savants (2004): 227–332. Chuvin, P. Mythologie et géographie dionysiaques: Recherches sur l’oeuvre de Nonnus de Panopolis (Clermont-Ferrand: 1991). Courtney, E. The Fragmentary Latin Poets (Oxford: 1993). El-Abbadi, Mostafa. ‘The Alexandrian Library in History’, in A. Hirst and M. Silk (eds), Alexandria, Real and Imagined (Ashgate: 2004), 167–183. Forbes Irving, P.M.C. Metamorphosis in Greek Myths (Oxford: 1990). Gerlaud, B. Triphiodore, la Prise d’Ilion, ed. Budé (Paris: 1982). Gow, A.S.F. Theocritus (Cambridge: 1950). Gutzwiller, K.J. Studies in the Hellenistic Epyllion (Königstein: 1981). Heitsch, E. Die griechischen Dichterfragmente der romischen Kaiserzeit (2nd ed., Göttingen: 1963). Hollis, A.S. Metamorphoses. Book VIII (Oxford: 1970). ———. Callimachus: Hecale (Oxford: 1990). ———. ‘[Oppian], Cyn. 2.100–158 and the Mythical Past of Apamea-on-the-Orontes’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 102 (1994): 153–166. ———. ‘Myth in the Service of Kings and Emperors’, in J.A. López Férez (ed.), Mitos en la literatura griega helenística e imperial (Madrid: 2003), 1–14. and Alcestis), of uncertain date, perhaps around 400. ‘The poem combines ethopoea and mythological narrative; the type is familiar from the Hylas and Orestis Tragoedia of Dracontius’ (Hutchinson, Nisbet and Parsons in ZPE 52 (1983): 31–36 at 31). One may allow this to be a better poem than it seemed to its first editor, but it surely remains very mediocre. 84 He has occasional moments, but is technically far from competent; his prosody is particularly appalling—mainly but not solely with respect to Greek proper names (e.g. ‘Pylades’ is regularly scanned – – ˘). The Hellenistic Epyllion and Its Descendants 157 ———. ‘Hecale’s Babies’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 148 (2004): 115– 116. ———. Fragments of Roman Poetry c. 80 BC–AD 20 (Oxford: forthcoming 2007). Hunter, R.L. ‘Epic in a Minor Key’, in M. Fantuzzi and R. Hunter (eds), Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry (Cambridge: 2004), 191–245. Hutchinson, G., R.G.M. Nisbet, and P.J. Parsons. ‘Alcestis in Barcelona’, ZPE 52 (1983): 31–36. Kost, K. Musaios, Hero und Leander (Bonn: 1971). Lightfoot, J.L. Parthenius of Nicaea (Oxford: 1999). Livrea, E. Dionysii Bassaricon et Gigantiadis Fragmenta (Rome: 1973). Lloyd-Jones, H. and P.J. Parsons. Supplementum Hellenisticum (Berlin: 1983). Lyne, R.O.A.M. Ciris: A Poem Attributed to Virgil (Cambridge: 1978). Page, D.L. Greek Literary Papyri, Loeb Classical Library (London: 1942). Pfeiffer, R. Callimachus (Oxford: vol. 1 [Fragments] 1949; vol. 2 [Hymns and Epigrams] 1953). Powell, J.U. Collectanea Alexandrina (Oxford: 1925). Rosokoki, A. Die Erigone des Eratosthenes (Heidelberg: 1995). Spanoudakis, Konstantinos. Philitas of Cos (Leiden: 2002). West, M.L. Greek Metre (Oxford: 1982). Chapter 9 The St Polyeuktos Epigram (AP 1.10): A Literary Perspective1 Mary Whitby Oxford Anicia Juliana’s magnificent church of St Polyeuktos, constructed on an elevated site in the centre of Constantinople in the 520s,2 has rightly attracted great attention since its remains were first discovered by accident in 1960. Exciting work has been done, and is still being done, on the plan of the church and its relationship to the Temple of Solomon and/or the visionary Temple described by Ezekiel, on its lavish sculptural decoration and iconography, and on its political symbolism.3 I am grateful to Jonathan Bardill for inspiring my interest in this poem, for commenting on this paper, providing bibliography, discussing problems and for allowing me to use his unpublished work on St Polyeuktos. In particular I reproduce his presentation of Anthologia Palatina (AP) 1.10 and a slightly emended version of his translation, which is adapted from that in R.M. Harrison, Excavations at Saraçhane in Istanbul, vol. 1 (New Jersey and Washington, DC: 1986), pp. 6–7, based on H. Stadtmueller’s text (Leipzig: 1894). This paper is based on talks given in Oxford in 2002 and Newcastle in 2004. I am grateful for the invitations to speak and for comments from the audiences. Katerina Carvounis read the final version with an eagle eye and made numerous improvements; Claudia Rapp’s observations opened fresh perspectives on a text that I thought I knew. I am particularly indebted to Scott Johnson for pressing me to write up this material and for waiting while I did so. 2 The church was dated on literary evidence to AD 524–527 by C. Mango and I. Ševčenko, ‘Remains of the Church of St. Polyeuktos at Constantinople’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 15 (1961): 243–247, at pp. 244–245. For the archaeological evidence, see Harrison, Saraçhane, vol. 1, pp. 111–112. On the evidence of brickstamps, J. Bardill dates the construction of the superstructure to AD 519–522 and suggests that the substructures may have been begun as early as AD 506–512: J. Bardill, Brickstamps of Constantinople (Oxford: 2004), vol. 1, pp. 62–64, 111–116. 3 I have seen the following important studies: R.M. Harrison, ‘The Church of St. Polyeuktos in Istanbul and the Temple of Solomon’, Harvard Ukrainian Studies 7 = C. Mango and O. Pritsak (eds), Okeanos: Essays Presented to Ihor Ševčenko on his Sixtieth Birthday by his Colleagues and Students (1983), pp. 276–279; M. Harrison, A Temple for Byzantium (Austin, Texas: 1989), pp. 137–139; P. Speck, ‘Juliana Anicia, Konstantin der Grosse und die Polyeuktoskirche in Konstantinopel’, Poikila Byzantina 11, Varia 3 (Bonn: 1991): 133–147; Christine Milner, ‘The Image of the Rightful Ruler: Anicia Juliana’s Constantine Mosaic in the Church of Hagios Polyeuktos’, in Paul Magdalino (ed.), New Constantines (Aldershot: 1994), pp. 73–81: Garth Fowden, ‘Constantine, Silvester, and the Church of S. Polyeuctus in Constantinople’, Journal of Roman Archaeology 7 (1994): 274–284; J. McKenzie, ‘The Architectural Style of Roman and Byzantine Alexandria and Egypt’, in D.M. Bailey (ed.), Archaeological Research in Roman Egypt, 1 160 Mary Whitby The church was originally identified by the discovery of inscribed blocks which Ihor Ševčenko recognized contained phrases from the 76-line poem preserved in the Greek Anthology as AP 1.10, where a lemma ties it to the ‘church of the holy martyr Polyeuktos’. 4 This paper is concerned with that poem. I shall comment on its themes and intention, its metre and style, relate it to other contemporary inscribed poetry and discuss whether it is possible to identify who wrote it. I. THE TEXT In the manuscript of the Anthology (Palatinus 23, 10th c., now split between Heidelberg and Paris) the poem is divided into two parts, lines 1–41 and 42–76. A marginal note adjacent to lines 30–32 (where a new scribe takes over writing the manuscript) states: ‘These things are written round in a circle inside the church’ (ταῦτα μὲν ἐν τῷ ναῷ ἔνδοθεν κύκλῳ περιγράφονται); an asterisk in the manuscript after verse 41 indicates that the comment refers to the first 41 lines of the poem. This is confirmed by the archaeological evidence: the surviving inscribed blocks come from the interior of the church and contain fragments from the first half of the poem only; it ran around the entablature of the nave, starting in the south-east corner.5 The location and arrangement of the second half of the poem are less secure: a marginal note at the end of verse 41 reads ‘at the entrance of the same church’ (ἐν τῇ εἰσόδῳ τοῦ αὐτοῦ ναοῦ). This note has been supplemented in a different hand with the phrase ‘outside the narthex’ (ἔξωθεν τοῦ νάρθηκος) followed by an abbreviated phrase which includes the word ‘arch’ or ‘arches’ (προς τ̑ αψιδ). A further marginal note beside verses 59–61 refers to four plaques on which five or six lines each are inscribed, and asterisks in the text divide lines 42–61 into four blocks of four to six lines each. Finally, a note beside lines 63–65 describes a ‘last plaque on the right-hand side of the entrance, on which these things are inscribed’ (ἔσχατός ἐστι πίναξ ὁ πρὸς τοῖς δεξιοῖς μέρεσι τῆς εἰσόδου ἐν ᾧ ἐπιγέγραπται ταῦτα); this refers to the final lines of the poem, lines 62–76.6 It is likely that these lemmata are Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplement 19 (Ann Arbor: 1996): 128–142, at pp. 140–142; A.M.V. Pizzone, ‘Da Melitene a Costantinopoli: S. Polieucto nella politica dinastica di Giuliana Anicia: alcune osservazioni in margine ad A.P. I 10’, Maia 55.1 (2003): 107–132; J. Bardill, ‘A New Temple for Byzantium: Anicia Juliana, King Solomon, and the Gilded Ceiling of the Church of St. Polyeuktos in Constantinople’, in W. Bowden, A. Gutteridge, C. Machado (eds), The Social and Political Archaeology of Late Antiquity (Leiden: forthcoming); J. Bardill, King Solomon Surpassed (in preparation). 4 Mango and Ševčenko, ‘Remains’. 5 Harrison, Saraçhane, vol. 1, p. 407; Bardill, ‘A New Temple’, at n. 107. 6 See Mango and Ševčenko, ‘Remains’, pp. 245f. For detail about the hands of the lemma at line 41, I am indebted to Bardill, Solomon Surpassed. For alternative proposals about the plaques and their arrangement, see Speck, ‘Juliana Anicia’; C. Mango, ‘Notes d’épigraphie et d’archéologie: Constantinople, Nicée’, Travaux et Mémoires 12 (1994): The St Polyeuktos Epigram 161 based on first-hand observation by the scribes of the manuscript of the Palatine Anthology who copied the poem in the tenth century, when the church of St Polyeuktos still stood,7 and hence that this evidence that lines 42–76 were inscribed on a series of plaques at the entrance to the church is reliable. No archaeological fragments from this second section of the poem have been recovered. I am not here concerned with the debate about the exact location and arrangement of the plaques. But I would stress that, except at line 50, the division of the lines between the different plaques as described in the lemmata does not coincide with a strong grammatical break. Hence the plaques must have been close together and lines 42–76 read as a continuous poem. It is likely, however, that this is a distinct poem from lines 1–41, as Harrison suggested:8 certainly, located as it was outside the church, it would have been seen by the visitor before lines 1–41 inscribed around the interior nave entablature.9 I set out below the text and a translation of the poem,10 arranged to reflect its presentation inside and outside the church as described above, but retaining the order of the text as preserved in the Palatine Anthology, that is, beginning with lines 1–41 from inside the church: On the south side of the nave: Εὐδοκίη μὲν ἄνασσα, Θεὸν σπεύδουσα γεραίρειν, πρώτη νηὸν ἔτευξε θεοφραδέος Πολυεύκτου· ἀλλ’ οὐ τοῖον ἔτευξε καὶ οὐ τόσον· οὔ τινι φειδοῖ, οὐ κτεάτων χατέουσα (τίνος βασίλεια χατίζει;) ἀλλ’ ὡς θυμὸν ἔχουσα θεοπρόπον, ὅττι γενέθλην καλλείψει δεδαυῖαν ἀμείνονα κόσμον ὀπάζειν. ἔνθεν Ἰουλιανή, ζαθέων ἀμάρυγμα τοκήων, τέτρατον ἐκ κείνων βασιλήιον αἷμα λαχοῦσα, ἐλπίδας οὐκ ἔψευσεν ἀριστώδινος ἀνάσσης, ἀλλά μιν ἐκ βαιοῖο μέγαν καὶ τοῖον ἐγείρει, κῦδος ἀεξήσασα πολυσκήπτρων γενετήρων· (5) (10) 343–357, at pp. 345–347; C.L. Connor, ‘The Epigram in the Church of Hagios Polyeuktos in Constantinople and its Byzantine Response’, Byzantion 69 (1999): 479–527, at pp. 493–500. These are carefully discussed, and rejected, by Bardill, Solomon Surpassed. 7 So Bardill, Solomon Surpassed, following Alan Cameron, The Greek Anthology from Meleager to Planudes (Oxford, 1993), pp. 113–116. 8 Harrison, Saraçhane, vol. 1, pp. 7f.; cf. Speck, ‘Juliana Anicia’, pp. 133f.; Fowden, ‘Constantine’, p. 276; Bardill, ‘A New Temple’. 9 As noted by Connor, ‘Epigram’, p. 496. 10 I have adopted from H. Beckby, Anthologia Graeca, vol. 1 (2nd ed., Munich: 1965), pp. 126–131, minor improvements to the punctuation of Stadtmueller’s edition, at lines 4, 52 and 57 (but preferred Stadtmueller’s punctuation at 47, 50 and 73). At 69 I follow J. Bardill’s suggestion (‘A New Temple’, n. 106) of deleting the comma after περίδρομον and reading it as a noun. At 70 I tentatively adopt Stadtmueller’s conjecture of ἔνθεν for the awkward ἔνθ’ ἵνα, since Nonnus admits elided ἔνθα only once (D. 3.284), with a proper name. The translation is based on that of Martin Harrison (see n. 1) adapted by J. Bardill and then by myself. 162 Mary Whitby πάντα γάρ, ὅσσα τέλεσσεν, ὑπέρτερα τεῦξε τοκήων, ὀρθὴν πίστιν ἔχουσα φιλοχρίστοιο μενοινῆς. τίς γὰρ Ἰουλιανὴν οὐκ ἔκλυεν, ὅττι καὶ αὐτοὺς εὐκαμάτοις ἔργοισιν ἑοὺς φαίδρυνε τοκῆας, εὐσεβίης ἀλέγουσα; μόνη δ’ ἱδρῶτι δικαίῳ ἄξιον οἶκον ἔτευξεν ἀειζώῳ Πολυεύκτῳ. καὶ γὰρ ἀεὶ δεδάηκεν ἀμεμφέα δῶρα κομίζειν πᾶσιν ἀεθλητῆρσιν ἐπουρανίου βασιλῆος. πᾶσα χθὼν βοάᾳ, πᾶσα πτόλις, ὅττι τοκῆας φαιδροτέρους ποίησεν ἀρειοτέροισιν ἐπ’ ἔργοις. (15) (20) The empress Eudocia, in her eagerness to honour God, was the first to build a temple to the divinely inspired Polyeuktos; but she did not make it like this or so large, not from any thrift or lack of resources—for what can a queen lack?—(5) but because she had a divine premonition that she would leave a family which would know how to provide a better embellishment. From this stock Juliana, bright light of blessed parents, sharing their royal blood in the fourth generation, did not cheat the hopes of that queen, who was mother of the finest children, (10) but raised this building from its small original to its present size and form, increasing the glory of her many-sceptred ancestors. All that she completed she made more excellent than her parents, having the true faith of a Christ-loving purpose. For who has not heard of Juliana, that, heeding piety, she glorified even her parents by her finely-laboured works? (16) She alone by her righteous sweat has made a worthy house for the ever-living Polyeuktos. For indeed she always knew how to provide blameless gifts to all athletes of the heavenly King. (20) The whole earth, every city, cries out that she has made her parents more glorious by these better works. On the north side of the nave: ποῦ γὰρ Ἰουλιανὴν ἁγίοις οὐκ ἔστιν ἰδέσθαι νηὸν ἀναστήσασαν ἀγακλέα; ποῦ σέο μούνης εὐσεβέων οὐκ ἔστιν ἰδεῖν σημήια χειρῶν; ποῖος δ’ ἔπλετο χῶρος, ὃς οὐ μάθε σεῖο μενοινὴν εὐσεβίης πλήθουσαν; ὅλης χθονὸς ἐνναετῆρες σοὺς καμάτους μέλπουσιν ἀειμνήστους γεγαῶτας. ἔργα γὰρ εὐσεβίης οὐ κρύπτεται· οὐ γὰρ ἀέθλους λήθη ἀποσβέννυσιν ἀριστοπόνων ἀρετάων. ὅσσα δὲ σὴ παλάμη θεοπειθέα δώματα τεύχει οὐδ’ αὐτὴ δεδάηκας· ἀμετρήτους γάρ, ὀίω, μούνη σὺ ξύμπασαν ἀνὰ χθόνα δείμαο νηούς, οὐρανίου θεράποντας ἀεὶ τρομέουσα Θεοῖο. Ἴχνεσι δ’ εὐκαμάτοισιν ἐφεσπομένη γενετήρων πᾶσιν ἀεὶ ζώουσαν ἑὴν τεκτήνατο φύτλην, εὐσεβίης ξύμπασαν ἀεὶ πατέουσα πορείην. τοὔνεκά μιν θεράποντες ἐπουρανίου βασιλῆος, ὅσσοις δῶρα δίδωσιν, ὅσοις δωμήσατο νηούς, προφρονέως ἐρύεσθε σὺν υἱέι τοῖό τε κούραις· μίμνοι δ’ ἄσπετον εὖχος ἀριστοπόνοιο γενέθλης, εἰσόκεν ἠέλιος πυριλαμπέα δίφρον ἐλαύνει. (25) (30) (35) (40) The St Polyeuktos Epigram 163 For where is it not possible to see that Juliana has raised up a glorious temple to the saints? Where is it not possible to see signs of the pious hands of you alone? (25) What place was there which did not learn that your purpose is full of piety? The inhabitants of the whole world sing your labours, which are always remembered. For the works of piety are not hidden; oblivion does not wipe out the contests of industrious virtue. (30) Even you do not know how many houses dedicated to God your hand has made; for you alone, I think, have built innumerable temples throughout the whole earth, always revering the servants of the heavenly God. Following on all the well-labouring footsteps of her ancestors, (35) she fashioned her ever-living stock, always treading the whole path of piety. Wherefore may the servants of the heavenly King, to whom she gives gifts and for whom she built temples, protect her readily with her son and his daughters. (40) And may the unutterable glory of the family of excellent toils survive as long as the Sun drives his fiery chariot. At the entrance of the church, outside the narthex, on five plaques (42–46, 47–50, 51–56, 57–61, 62–76): Ποῖος Ἰουλιανῆς χορὸς ἄρκιός ἐστιν ἀέθλοις, ἣ μετὰ Κωνσταντῖνον, ἑῆς κοσμήτορα Ῥώμης, καὶ μετὰ Θευδοσίου παγχρύσεον ἱερὸν ὄμμα καὶ μετὰ τοσσατίων προγόνων βασιληίδα ῥίζαν, ἄξιον ἧς γενεῆς καὶ ὑπέρτερον ἤνυσεν ἔργον εἰν ὀλίγοις ἐτέεσσι; χρόνον δ’ ἐβιήσατο μούνη, καὶ σοφίην παρέλασσεν ἀειδομένου Σολομῶνος, νηὸν ἀναστήσασα θεηδόχον, οὗ μέγας αἰὼν οὐ δύναται μέλψαι χαρίτων πολυδαίδαλον αἴγλην· οἷος μὲν προβέβηκε βαθυρρίζοισι θεμέθλοις, νέρθεν ἀναθρώσκων καὶ αἰθέρος ἄστρα διώκων. οἷος δ’ ἀντολίης μηκύνεται ἐς δύσιν ἕρπων, ἀρρήτοις Φαέθοντος ὑπαστράπτων ἀμαρυγαῖς τῇ καὶ τῇ πλευρῇσι· μέσης δ’ ἑκάτερθε πορείης κίονες ἀρρήκτοις ἐπὶ κίοσιν ἑστηῶτες χρυσορόφου ἀκτῖνας ἀερτάζουσι καλύπτρης· κόλποι δ’ ἀμφοτέρωθεν ἐπ’ ἀψίδεσσι χυθέντες φέγγος ἀειδίνητον ἐμαιώσαντο σελήνης· τοῖχοι δ’ ἀντιπέρηθεν ἀμετρήτοισι κελεύθοις θεσπεσίους λειμῶνας ἀνεζώσαντο μετάλλων, οὓς φύσις ἀνθήσασα μέσοις ἐνὶ βένθεσι πέτρης ἀγλαΐην ἔκλεπτε, Θεοῦ δ’ ἐφύλασσε μελάθροις δῶρον Ἰουλιανῆς, ἵνα θέσκελα ἔργα τελέσσῃ, ἀχράντοις κραδίης ὑπὸ νεύμασι ταῦτα καμοῦσα. τίς δὲ φέρων θοὸν ἴχνος ἐπὶ ζεφυρηίδας αὔρας ὑμνοπόλος σοφίης, ἑκατὸν βλεφάροισι πεποιθώς, τοξεύσει ἑκάτερθε πολύτροπα δήνεα τέχνης, οἶκον ἰδὼν λάμποντα, περίδρομον ἄλλον ἐπ’ ἄλλῳ, (45) (50) (55) (60) (65) 164 Mary Whitby ἔνθεν καὶ γραφίδων ἱερῶν ὑπὲρ ἄντυγος αὐλῆς ἔστιν ἰδεῖν μέγα θαῦμα, πολύφρονα Κωνσταντῖνον, πῶς προφυγὼν εἴδωλα θεημάχον ἔσβεσε λύσσαν καὶ Τριάδος φάος εὗρ<εν> ἐν ὕδασι γυῖα καθήρας. Τοῖον Ἰουλιανή, μετὰ μυρίον ἑσμὸν ἀέθλων, ἤνυσε τοῦτον ἄεθλον ὑπὲρ ψυχῆς γενετήρων καὶ σφετέρου βιότοιο καὶ ἐσσομένων καὶ ἐόντων. (70) (75) What choir is sufficient to sing the contests of Juliana who, after Constantine, embellisher of his Rome, after the holy all-golden light of Theodosius, (45) and after royal descent from so many forebears, accomplished a work worthy of her family, and more than worthy in a few years? She alone has overpowered time and surpassed the wisdom of the celebrated Solomon, raising a temple to receive God, the richly wrought and gracious splendour of which a great epoch cannot celebrate. (51) How it stands forth on deep-rooted foundations, springing up from below and pursuing the stars of heaven, and how too it extends from the west, stretching to the east, glittering with the indescribable brightness of the sun (55) on this side and on that! On either side of the central nave, columns standing upon sturdy columns support the rays of the golden-roofed covering. On both sides recesses hollowed out in arches have given birth to the ever-revolving light of the moon. (60) The walls, opposite each other in measureless paths, have put on marvellous meadows of marble, which nature caused to flower in the very depths of the rock, concealing their brightness and guarding Juliana’s gift for the halls of God, so that she might accomplish divine works, (65) labouring at these things in the immaculate promptings of her heart. What singer of wisdom, moving swiftly on the breath of the west wind and trusting in a hundred eyes, will pinpoint on each side the manifold counsels of art, seeing the shining house, one ambulatory upon another? (70) Thence, it is possible to see above the rim of the hall a great marvel of sacred depiction, the wise Constantine, how escaping the idols he overcame the God-fighting fury, and found the light of the Trinity by purifying his limbs in water. Such is the contest that Juliana, after a countless swarm of labours, accomplished for the souls of her ancestors, and for her own life, and for those who are to come and those that already are. This is a very long poem indeed to find inscribed on stone.11 Other surviving verseinscriptions from sixth-century Constantinople are much shorter. For example, the epigram on the entablature of Justinian and Theodora’s church of Sts Sergius and Bacchus, constructed a decade or so after Anicia Juliana’s church in the period AD 527–536, runs to twelve lines,12 Agathias’ poem honouring Justinian’s bridge Connor, ‘Epigram’, p. 485, n. 19 discusses parallels: Latin verse inscriptions tend to be more prolix than Greek. 12 The text is conveniently printed by Connor, ‘Epigram’, Appendix 5, p. 522. On the date and content of the epigram in Sts Sergius and Bacchus, see C. Mango, ‘The Church of Saints 11 The St Polyeuktos Epigram 165 over the river Sangarios (AP 9.641; dated about AD 560), which was carved on one of its stone pillars, to six.13 Also preserved in the Palatine Anthology is a rather longer anonymous poem of 21 lines (AP 9.656) about the Chalke or bronze vestibule to the Great Palace, which was restored by the Emperor Anastasius, perhaps about AD 510.14 Here the building itself boasts in the first person of its surpassing splendour which outdoes the seven wonders of the world: this, combined with the fact that the poem is preserved anonymously, suggests that it was inscribed in situ.15 But the Polyeuktos inscription is more than three times as long as this imperial epigraph. The most pertinent comparison is perhaps that recently singled out by Alan Cameron—the two Latin elegiac poems, forty-eight lines in all, inscribed on the tomb of the Christian plutocrat S. Petronius Probus.16 Both Probus and Anicia Juliana used inscribed stone as a visible and enduring manifesto of their enormous wealth and power. II. THEMES Furthermore the Polyeuktos poems draw on traditional themes for imperial praise, as set out in the treatise of Menander Rhetor on the basilikos logos.17 The lines inscribed inside the church along the south side of the nave (1–21) begin by celebrating Anicia Juliana’s imperial ancestor, her great-grandmother Eudocia, wife of Theodosius II, who built the first church of St Polyeuktos, and go on to compliment Anicia Juliana on her illustrious imperial ancestry—Eudocia’s daughter Eudoxia was married to the Emperor Valentinian III, while Juliana’s parents were Placidia and the western emperor Olybrius. This glittering genealogy generSergius and Bacchus at Constantinople and the Alleged Tradition of Octagonal Palatine Churches’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 21 (1972): 189–193 = C. Mango, Studies in Constantinople (Aldershot: 1993), XIII; translation of epigram, p. 190; see also ibid. XIV; J. Bardill, ‘The Church of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus in Constantinople and the Monophysite Refugees’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 54 (2000): 1–11, argues for a date between AD 530 and 533. 13 The epigram is also preserved at Const. Porph. De them. 1 (3.27.8ff. ed. Bonn) and Zonaras 14.7.5 (3.159.5–13 Bonn); Const. Porph. mentions that it was inscribed on the bridge. See further Averil and Alan Cameron , ‘The Cycle of Agathias’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 86 (1966): 6–25, at p. 9 (including discussion of date). 14 Beckby ad loc. Certainly the poem postdates the final defeat of the Isaurian rebels in AD 498, to which it refers: C. Mango, The Brazen House (Copenhagen: 1959), p. 27. Francesco Tissoni, Christodoro, un’introduzione e un commento (Alessandria: 2000), p. 31, suggests that this poem postdates the defeat of Vitalian in AD 515. 15 Cf. Cameron, Greek Anthology, p. 110. I shall return to this poem and other inscribed epigrams from Constantinople in the last section of this paper. 16 Alan Cameron, ‘Poetry and Literary Culture in Late Antiquity’, in Simon Swain and Mark Edwards (eds), Approaching Late Antiquity (Oxford: 2004), pp. 327–354, at pp. 331f. 17 Ed. D.A. Russell and N.G. Wilson (Oxford: 1981), pp. 76–95. Connor, ‘Epigram’, pp. 486– 493 also analyses the themes of the poem. 166 Mary Whitby ates the novel epithet πολυσκήπτρων (‘many-sceptred’) in a sonorous four-word line at the mid-point (line 11) of this first section of the poem. The poet goes on to celebrate Anicia Juliana’s orthodoxy (13 ὀρθὴν πίστιν), sharply differentiating her Chalcedonian faith from that of the monophysite Emperor Anastasius, just as her illustrious ancestry contrasts with his rather less distinguished one and that of Justin I, a Thracian peasant.18 He concludes (14–21) by elaborating on her worldwide fame, achieved through her pious programme of church-building, which glorifies her parents. According to Menander, praise of the honorand’s ancestry should precede celebration of achievements, the latter categorized according to virtues.19 Juliana’s outstanding virtue is her orthodox Christian piety which has generated her programme of church-building. The lines on the north side of the nave (22–41) elaborate on Juliana’s worldwide fame and piety in a sequence of three rhetorical questions which culminate in another grand four-word line at 29: Juliana’s pious works secure her from oblivion. Even Juliana herself, it is suggested, has lost count of the number of churches that she single-handedly (μούνη) built throughout the world (30–32): one wonders if these words still rankled in Justinian’s mind when 30 years later he asked Procopius to record his building achievements in the De aedificiis? After stressing once again Juliana’s industrious ancestors (34), this part of the poem elegantly concludes (35–41) by comparing Juliana’s churches to an immortal family: the saints whom she has honoured are invoked to protect her, her son Olybrius and his daughters,20 with a concluding prayer that the glory of her family survive as long as the sun. The idea of Juliana’s immortal family of churches (35) is the culmination of a strong emphasis on family in this first part of the poem (5, 7-9, 11-12, 15, 20-21, 34-35, 39-40), an emphasis that not only challenges the genealogy of Anastasius and Justin I but (as Claudia Rapp points out to me) modulates the basilikos logos to suit a female honorand. The closing prayer recalls Menander Rhetor’s instructions for the epilogue of the basilikos logos: In this, you will speak of the prosperity and good fortune of the cities…piety towards God is increased…After this, you must utter a prayer, beseeching God that the emperor’s reign may endure long, and the throne be handed down to his children and his descendants.21 18 Bardill, Brickstamps, pp. 115f. argues that St Polyeuktos may have been conceived by Juliana’s husband, Areobindus and completed by her as a pro-Chalcedonian challenge to Anastasius’ monophysite rule; cf. Bardill, ‘New Temple’. On Anastasius’ background, see Alan Cameron, ‘The House of Anastasius’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 19 (1978): 259–276. Justin I: PLRE 2, pp. 648–651, s.v. Iustinus 4. 19 Menander Rhetor, pp. 80–93 Russell and Wilson. 20 Areobindus is not heard of after 512 and was presumably dead. Olybrius was married to Irene, the niece of Anastasius I: PLRE vol. 2, p. 626, s.v. Irene. 21 Extracts from pp. 93–95, tr. Russell and Wilson. The St Polyeuktos Epigram 167 These two sections of the poem together, then, constitute a skeletal basilikos logos, running through the themes of ancestry, outstanding virtue of piety exemplified in building achievements and concluding prayer for longevity. The lines inscribed on the plaques outside (42–76) open a new theme: Anicia Juliana’s achievement is now related to that of the great imperial builders Constantine and Theodosius, again using a dramatic rhetorical question. Furthermore she has conquered time and surpassed the wisdom of Solomon with her temple/ church: the Greek word νηόν (49) was used in the classical period of pagan temples and in late-antique high poetry of Christian churches. We now know that this is not mere vainglory, since the plan and measurements of St Polyeuktos were designed to evoke those of the biblical Temple.22 The final section (lines 51–76) is a brief formal ekphrasis or description of the interior of the church: its firm foundations, height, size and brightness are described in exclamatory tones, then the interior design, golden roof and marble revetted walls. The poet then breaks off with a traditional rhetorical plea of inadequacy, asking what ‘singer of wisdom’ could properly describe the building, and ends (71–73) with a reference to a depiction of the baptism of Constantine, with whom the second part of the poem had begun (line 43).23 Three lines (74–76) sum up Juliana’s achievement, accomplished for the souls of her parents, herself, and everyone present and future. Juliana’s name is repeated three times in this part of the poem (42, 64, 74), as in the first (7, 14, 22), always at the same point in the line.24 This last section of the poem, inscribed outside the church, was intended to introduce the visitor to the splendours he would see within. The interior spectacle of the church is literally inscribed on the outside and its brilliance included in the exterior view. A very similar combination of panegyric of the founder and ekphrasis of the church was developed at much greater length (1029 lines) by Paul the Silentiary in his poem for the second dedication of Justinian’s church of St Sophia in 562/3.25 In building St Sophia, Justinian aimed to surpass Anicia Juliana,26 and Paul’s poem in several places consciously echoes the Polyeuktos epigram.27 Paul delivered his See bibliography cited in n. 3 above. For discussion of the significance of this image, see Speck, ‘Juliana Anicia’; Milner, ‘Image’; Fowden, ‘Constantine’. 24 Connor, ‘Epigram’, p. 500 suggests that a semi-literate observer might at least be able to pick out the grand names, including Juliana’s. 25 Ed. P. Friedländer, Johannes von Gaza und Paulus Silentiarius, Kunstbeschreibungen Justinianischer Zeit (Leipzig and Berlin: 1912; repr. Hildesheim and New York: 1969). 26 It is said that on entering the church Justinian exclaimed, ‘O Solomon I have surpassed thee’, Anon. Descr. S. Soph., ch. 27, p. 105.1–5 Preger; cf. Harrison, ‘Church of St. Polyeuktos’, p. 279. 27 See further Connor, ‘Epigram’, pp. 514–515; Mary Whitby, ‘The Vocabulary of Praise in Verse-Celebrations of 6th-century Building Achievements: AP 2.398–406, AP 9.656, AP 1.10, and Paul the Silentiary’s Description of St Sophia’, in D. Accorinti and P. Chuvin (eds), Des géants à Dionysos. Mélanges offerts à F. Vian (Alessandria: 2003), pp. 593–606. 22 23 168 Mary Whitby poem at a grand ceremonial occasion to mark the rededication of St Sophia:28 we might speculate that in commissioning it Justinian sought to outdo Anicia Juliana’s proud stone manifesto. And, but for the preservation of Anicia Juliana’s inscribed texts in the Palatine Anthology, Justinian might successfully have outdone his rival with his poetic monumentum aere perennius, since Paul’s poem survives intact, as does (more or less) St Sophia. As it happens, Paul’s poem has come down to us only in the very Heidelberg manuscript (Palatinus 23) which also contains the Palatine Anthology. III. AP 1.10 AND THE TRADITION OF LATE GREEK HEXAMETER POETRY I have been suggesting that AP 1.10 needs to be considered within the context of hexameter poetry of the fifth and sixth centuries AD, whether inscribed or transmitted by manuscript. In the next two sections of this paper I examine samples of metrical, linguistic and stylistic features of AP 1.10 and compare them with other works of this period in order to evaluate the quality of Anicia Juliana’s poem and to see if there is a distinction between its two parts, inscribed respectively inside and outside the church. III.A METRE One of the most important means of assessing the style of hexameter poetry of the imperial period is by studying metrical practice. The benchmark is the work of Nonnus of Panopolis, who about AD 450 composed two massive hexameter poems, a 48-book Dionysiaca and a Paraphrase of St John’s Gospel in 21 books.29 It has been 28 Mary Whitby, ‘The Occasion of Paul the Silentiary’s Ekphrasis of St Sophia’, Classical Quarterly 35 (1985): 215–228; R. Macrides and P. Magdalino, ‘The Architecture of Ekphrasis: Construction and Context of Paul the Silentiary’s Poem on Hagia Sophia’, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 12 (1988): 47–82. 29 One book for each chapter of the Gospel. I have no doubt that both of these poems were written by Nonnus, although Lee Sherry has argued that the Paraphrase is a cento of the Dionysiaca by another poet: ‘The Hexameter Paraphrase of St. John attributed to Nonnus of Panopolis: Prolegomenon and Translation’ (PhD dissertation, Columbia University: 1991); ‘The Paraphrase of St. John attributed to Nonnus’, Byzantion 66 (1996): 409–430; Bernard Coulie, Lee Francis Sherry, and Cetedoc, Thesaurus Pseudo-Nonni Quondam Panopolitani (Turnhout: 1995), pp. vii–ix. Livrea and the Italians who have worked on the commentary of different books of the Paraphrase attribute both poems to Nonnus: for detailed recent discussion and earlier bibliography, see Gianfranco Agosti (ed.), Nonno di Panopoli, Parafrasi del Vangelo di San Giovanni, Canto Quinto (Florence: 2003), pp. 175–178, 196–205; Gianfranco Agosti and Fabrizio Gonnelli, ‘Materiali per la storia dell’esametro nei poeti cristiani greci’, in M. Fantuzzi and R. Pretagostini (eds), Struttura e storia dell’esametro greco (Rome: 1995), vol. 1, pp. 289–434, at 341–348. Alan Cameron has agreed that this view is correct: ‘The Poet, the The St Polyeuktos Epigram 169 shown that Nonnus strictly controlled the shape of the classical hexameter in order to emphasize its rhythm. His purpose was to assimilate that rhythm, which was based on syllable length, to contemporary pronunciation, which no longer distinguished long and short syllables and substituted a stress accent for a tonal one.30 Michael Jeffreys has cogently suggested that the Nonnian hexameter represents a transitional moment between quantitative and accent-based rhythms and was designed to prolong the survival of the hexameter as a means of communication.31 Line-end is clearly denoted: word-accent regularly falls on the second-last syllable (never the third last) and the last word is characteristically strong, usually a noun or verb; accent at the mid-line caesura is also controlled. Scholars have identified an elaborate system of caesuras (points where word-end is allowed) and bridges (where it is not allowed), and poets can be stylistically defined by the strictness or laxity of their observance of particular features. 32 Nonnus developed further a trend that began with poets like Callimachus in the Alexandrian period, in limiting the permutations of dactyl and spondee in the line and the places where long syllables were permitted. The outcome was an increasingly strict patterning of the line. So, for example, whereas Homer allows 32 different patterns of dactyl and spondee, Nonnus admits only nine and Paul the Silentiary in the mid-sixth century only six. Hence the extent to which a particular poet adheres to Nonnus’ principles remains a useful way of individualizing technique. Understanding of the late Greek hexameter has been enhanced by an important study by Gianfranco Agosti and Fabrizio Gonnelli (1995),33 which examines metrical practice in four major Christian poets. Two, the papyrus Vision of Dorotheus and the hexameters of Gregory of Nazianzus, date from the later fourth century and two, a verse paraphrase of the Psalms incorrectly attributed to Apollinarius of Laodicea (who lived at the time of the Emperor Julian, AD 360–363) and the Empress Eudocia’s poem on St Cyprian, are roughly contemporary with Nonnus in the midfifth. This Eudocia is Anicia Juliana’s great-grandmother, celebrated at the beginning of AP 1.10 for building the first church of St Polyeuktos. Agosti-Gonnelli’s analysis indicates that these four Christian texts demonstrate great variety, often remaining outside general trends identified in the secular predecessors of Nonnus. Bishop and the Harlot’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 41 (2000): 175–188, at 175–181. Francis Vian has convincingly demonstrated that the Paraphrase is probably the earlier of the two works, ‘Μάρτυς chez Nonnos de Panopolis: Étude de sémantique et de chronologie’, Revue des études grecques 110 (1997): 143–160. 30 So F. Vian (ed.), Nonnos de Panopolis, Les Dionysiaques, t. 1, chants 1–2 (Paris: 1976), p. L. 31 Michael Jeffreys, ‘Byzantine Metrics: Non-literary Strata’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 31.1 (1981): 313–334. 32 Brief accounts of Callimachus’ and Nonnus’ metrical practice in Paul Maas, Greek Metre, tr. H. Lloyd-Jones (Oxford: 1962), pp. 61–65; M.L. West, Greek Metre (Oxford: 1982), pp. 177– 180. The classic analysis of Nonnus is R. Keydell, Nonni Panopolitani Dionysiaca (2 vols, Berlin: 1959), vol. 1, pp. 35*–42*; see also Vian, Nonnos, t. 1, pp. li–lv. 33 Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’. 170 Mary Whitby Gregory and ps.-Apollinarius diverge significantly from Nonnus,34 but Eudocia’s poem in particular is remarkable for its strongly archaizing Homeric features and corresponding rejection or ignorance of rules observed by poets like Callimachus and Nonnus. For example, Eudocia has a very low percentage (50.6%) of third-foot feminine mid-line caesuras, in striking divergence from a steadily increasing preference for this line-break among secular poets from Callimachus on.35 In the light of Agosti-Gonnelli’s study, which highlights the wide variety in metrical practice of Christian poetry up to the time of Nonnus in the mid-fifth century, the St Polyeuktos poem offers an interesting text case for later developments. At the time it was composed, roughly AD 520, secular poets such as Christodorus of Coptus and John of Gaza were observing Nonnian metrics in their ekphrastic descriptions of works of art; as we have seen, Paul the Silentiary in his Description of St Sophia (AD 562/3) was especially rigorous.36 The main difficulty for such an investigation is that AP 1.10 is very short compared with the much larger samples studied by Agosti and Gonnelli, a problem which is enhanced if it is divided into two discrete poems. Results must therefore be treated with caution. In what follows I build on the study of Agosti and Gonnelli, and on their explicit observations about AP 1.10. I apply some of their major tests for Nonnian practice: limitation of patterns of the hexameter; preference for the third-foot feminine trochaic caesura; use of the so-called ‘bucolic caesura’ (word-end at the end of the fourth foot); other restrictions on the placing of word-end; control of accent at the line-end. Results are set out in Tables 1 and 2, which also include figures for the anonymous epigram on the Chalke of Anastasius (AP 9.656) mentioned above,37 and for the more substantial and near-contemporary Description of the Statues in the Public Gymnasium of the Baths of Zeuxippus by Christodorus of Coptus (= AP 2; 416 lines).38 These are not explicitly Christian in theme, but they will be relevant to the final section of this paper on authorship of the Polyeuktos epigram. General comments on these two poets: Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, pp. 407f. Alan Cameron (‘Poetry and Literary Culture’, pp. 338–339) suggests that Gregory deliberately ignored classical syllabic quantities in line with the pronunciation of his own day, a view analogous to Michael Jeffreys’ suggestion for Nonnus (‘Byzantine Metrics’). 35 Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, p. 314. Agosti observes, however (‘Materiali’, pp. 319f., cf. Parafrasi, Canto Quinto, pp. 186f.), that the 38-line apologia, which in some manuscripts prefaces the Homerocentos attributed to Eudocia, has a much higher proportion of feminine caesuras (68%). 36 For John and Paul, see Friedländer, Johannes, pp. 117–118; for Christodorus, Tissoni, Cristodoro, pp. 69–73. 37 For the date of AP 9.656, see n. 14 above. 38 Tissoni, Cristodoro, p. 21f. dates Christodorus’ poem to AD 503; Alan Cameron, Porphyrius the Charioteer (Oxford: 1973), p. 154, suggests circa AD 500. Christodorus’ poem actually consists of a series of short epigrams on individual statues or groups. His choice of the ekphrastic medium and his use of the past tense make it unlikely that the poems were actually inscribed on the statue bases. Excavations at the Zeuxippus baths in 1928 revealed two statue bases inscribed respectively with the names ‘Hekabe’ and ‘Aeschenes’ (sic), as well as 34 The St Polyeuktos Epigram 171 Table 1 compares results of Agosti-Gonnelli for a range of features of the hexameter with figures for the three poems preserved in the Palatine Anthology. It is immediately clear that as regards the number of different patterns of dactyl and spondee admitted in the hexameter, the three Anthology poems are much closer to Nonnus than the four poets studied by Agosti and Gonnelli. Table 2 shows the nine patterns of dactyl and spondee admitted by Nonnus, which give a strongly dactylic movement: he never allows more than two spondees in one line and only very occasionally two in succession (see Table 2, no. 9). Agosti-Gonnelli’s poets admit between 18 and 24 different patterns,39 but AP 1.10 has only 12, of which three occur only once. Of these three, one (line 52) has a double spondee in the second and third foot, as occasionally in Nonnus (see Table 2, no. 9). The other two one-off patterns, both (perhaps significantly) in the second part of the poem (56 dsddss; 71 ddddss) are lines ending with double spondee, the so-called ‘spondeiazon’ an affectation favoured by some Hellenistic poets and also admitted by the poets of Agosti-Gonnelli’s Christian corpus, but eschewed by Nonnus (See Table 1).40 Twice AP 1.10 opens a line with a double spondee (lines 32, 55), a pattern that Nonnus admits once only in the whole poem (D. 14.187), whereas Christodorus, in his much shorter poem, allows it twice (AP 2.72, 145); in both Nonnus and Christodorus it is used with a proper name and for sonorous effect: sonority is likewise intended in the Polyeuktos poem.41 The Polyeuktos poem also diverges significantly from Nonnus’ practice in use of lines with more than one spondee: the patterns dsdsd (14.47%) and sddsd (9.21%: see Table 2, nos. 4 and 6) constitute a much higher percentage of verses than in either of Nonnus’ poems, the former, AP 1.10’s third most common pattern, taking precedence over Nonnus’ dddsd. Finally the three spondees in the spondeiazon AP 1.10.56 flout Nonnian convention. a base with no inscription but identical to the Hekabe base, see S. Casson and D. Talbot Rice, Second Report upon the Excavations Carried Out in and near the Hippodrome of Constantinople in 1928 (London: 1929), pp. 18–21, figs. 8–12; S. Bassett, The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople (Cambridge: 2004), plates 8 and 17–18. 39 But it should be noted that in Met. Ps. Nonnus’ nine forms occupy 95.31% and in Greg. Naz. 91.77% of the sample studied (Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, p. 374). 40 Homer admits 3.82% spondeiazons, but Callimachus 6.27%; other Hellenistic poets have higher figures: see West, Greek Metre, p. 154. Among Nonnus’ followers, Colluthus allows spondeiazons. 41 Tissoni, Christodoro, pp. 70f. One might compare AP 1.8.3 (Anon.), an epigram inscribed in Justinian’s church for Peter and Paul in the palace of Hormisdas, dated AD 518–519 (Mango, ‘Sts Sergius and Bacchus’, p. 189). On this poem, see further below. 172 TABLE 1 Comparative figures (Figures for Nonnus and earlier poets assembled from Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’ and those for Christodorus from Tissoni, Cristodoro, p. 71f.) AP 2 Christod. AP 9.656 Books 1–14: 3650 6615 76 416 21 18 9 9 12 11 8 (3 x1, 2 x2) 1.9 3.82 0 0 2.63 0 0 45.10 78.82 62.13 81.10 79.95 73.68 80.49 (pt 1) 62.86 (pt. 2) 73.79 66.66 46.36 40.88 65.52 40.60 no figure 57 46.05 43.90 (pt. 1) 48.57 (pt. 2) 64.33 42.8 1:61 1:75 1:52 1:35 1:15 1:30 (p. 324) 1:34 (p. 382) 1:11 1:14 1:21 Eud. Greg. Naz. Met. Ps. Nonn., D. Lines 245 900 3000 1330 Forms of Hexameter 19 24 20 Spondeiazons (%) 3.65 3 Feminine Caesura (%) 66.89 Bucolic Caesura (%) Tetracola Nonn., Par. Mary Whitby AP 1.10 Dor. 173 The St Polyeuktos Epigram TABLE 2 Preferred forms of hexameter (Figures for Nonnus and Christodorus from Tissoni, Cristodoro, p. 70. For the spondeiazon, see Table 1) Nonn., D. Nonn., Par. AP 1.10 Christod. AP 9.656 1. ddddd 38.07% 35.70% 30.26% 31.25% 23.80% 2. dsddd 23.32% 21.37% 17.11% 26.44% 28.57% 3. dddsd 14.45% 11.70% 6.58% 10.33% 9.52% 4. dsdsd 8.97% 6.97% 14.47% 6.49% 14.28% 5. sdddd 8.54% 14.45% 7.89% 14.42% 9.52% 6. sddsd 3.56% 5.24% 9.21% 4.80% 4.76% 7. ddsdd 2.16% 2.51% 3.95% 2.40% 4.76% 8. sdsdd 0.5% 1.4% 3.95% 0.72% — 9. dssdd 0.43% 0.66% 1.32% 2.64% — A second feature of Nonnus’ hexameters is his strong preference for placing the main caesura in the third foot after the trochee, the so-called feminine caesura. The very high percentage of feminine caesuras in both the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase (81.10% and 79.95% respectively) again differentiate his work sharply from three of the four Agosti-Gonnelli poets, although Gregory of Nazianzus is in this characteristic close to Nonnus (78.82%; see Table 1). The overall figure for AP 1.10 is quite high at 73.68%, but here there is a significant distinction between the two parts of the poem, 80.49% (i.e. 8 masculine caesuras) for part one (lines 1–41) setting it on a par with Nonnus, while the 62.86% (i.e. 12 masculine caesuras) in part two (lines 42–76) is closer to ps.-Apollinarius’ Psalm paraphrase. The three lines in each half of the poem that include Juliana’s name (7, 14, 22; 42, 64, 74) each have a masculine caesura, but this does not affect the proportion between the two halves. This distinction seems significant, but it is important to keep in mind that these figures are based on a very small sample text. 174 Mary Whitby Like Callimachus, Nonnus also favours a second break in the line, word-end after the fourth foot, the so-called ‘bucolic caesura’: the figure for the Paraphrase is 57%, closer to Callimachus’ 63% than Homer’s 47%.42 The idiosyncratic Gregory of Nazianzus has a high 65.52%, but Agosti-Gonnelli’s other poets use the bucolic caesura less than Homer with percentages in the low forties (see Table 1). Here AP 1.10 is closer to this archaizing trend: 35 of its 76 lines have bucolic caesura, giving an overall percentage of only 46.05. The figure for lines 1–41 is 43.90 per cent, that for lines 42–76 a little higher at 48.57 per cent. In this case the second part of the poem is only marginally distinct from the first and the individual figures are all low by Nonnus’ standards. Nonnus’ hexameters are further characterized by strict regulation on the placing of word-end, so that certain points in the line become ‘bridges’ or places where word-end is not permitted. Widely respected bridges are those of Hermann (after the fourth trochee), Naeke (no word-end after a fourth-foot spondee) and Hillberg (no word-end after a second-foot spondee). In AP 1.10, Hermann’s bridge, widely observed in late antiquity, is weakly infringed three times, in each case with elided δέ; and all in the second half of the poem (lines 47, 55, 63).43 There are three infringements of Naeke’s Law, this time in the first half, after καί, δ’, οὐκ (lines 10, 16, 22), cases regarded by Gonnelli as minor.44 As for Hillberg’s law, there is a single weak infringement, again in the first half, after οὐκ (24).45 All of these infringements are minor,46 but the distinction in observation between the two halves of AP 1.10 is noteworthy, perhaps suggesting composition by two poets of slightly different metrical taste. As for accentuation at the line-end, AP 1.10 accords closely with Nonnus’ practice. Where Nonnus has 90% of lines ending in a long syllable, the epigram has 84.21%; Nonnus’ figure of 72% of lines accented on the penultimate syllable (paroxytone) is exceeded in AP 1.10 with 89.47%. Neither poet ever allows the accent to fall three syllables from the end of the line. Agosti-Gonnelli’s poets are much 42 Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, pp. 321, 380; figures for Homer and Callimachus: West, Greek Metre, p. 154. 43 See Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, p. 325 (serious infringements in both Dorotheus and Eudocia) and p. 383 (two grave infringements in Greg. Naz., none in the Psalm paraphrase). 44 Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, pp. 383–385. Naeke’s law is also observed in Met. Ps., but less stringently by Gregory and Dor.; Eudocia appears ignorant of this restraint: Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’ loc. cit. and p. 326 with n. 134 (Triphiodorus, Dioscorus, Colluthus). Christodorus has one infringement, Tissoni, Cristodoro p. 71 n. 72. 45 Eudocia is again the most oblivious (10 infringements), low figures for the Vision of Dorotheus (4 strong infringements), the Psalmist (6), and in this case Gregory too (0.2%); see further Agosti-Gonnelli ‘Materiali’, pp. 326, 384f. Christodorus has three infringements, each after a monosyllable (in one instance οὐ), regarded as a mitigating factor by Tissoni, p. 71 n. 71. 46 Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, p. 385 disregard these cases: ‘non vi sono eccezioni già in AP 1.10’. The St Polyeuktos Epigram 175 freer in treatment of the line-end: all, even Met. Ps., admit a significant number of proparoxytone lines.47 Much more could be said on matters metrical, but the above sketch is sufficient to indicate the clear allegiance of AP 1.10 to Nonnus’ practice as regards limitation of the patterns of the hexameter, preference for feminine caesura (especially in the first half), and control of the accent at line-end. The two spondaic line-ends constitute the most striking divergence and the low percentage of lines with bucolic caesura is also anomalous. There is some evidence that the second half of the poem is rather less rigorous than the first (the two spondeiazon lines, low figure for feminine caesura, minor infringements of Hermann’s bridge). Agosti-Gonnelli felt that this distinction warranted the hypothesis of different authors for the two parts of the poem.48 This is an issue to which I shall return in the next section. Overall, however, the work is metrically of high quality, composed by an author or authors aware of and skilled in the ‘modern’ technique of hexameter composition as represented by the poems of Nonnus. It is clear, then, that Nonnus’ influence has permeated explicitly Christian poetry by this period and that Anicia Juliana chose a high-class poet, or poets, to commemorate her magnificent church. III.B LANGUAGE AND STYLE Is this impression of high quality corroborated by examination of linguistic and stylistic aspects of the poem? I offer here some initial soundings based on epithets and line-ends. Nonnus’ concern to achieve a strong line-end, indicated by his regulation of accent there, is also demonstrated in the avoidance of weak language at this point: his lines usually end with a two- or three-syllable noun or verb, sometimes with a participle or pronoun; but weak epithets and particles are largely avoided.49 AP 1.10 generally complies with this norm, and indeed the majority of its line-ends have direct parallels or echoes in Nonnus, either in cadence (e.g ὅττι at the bucolic caesura followed by a noun or pronoun as at 5, 14, 20) or vocabulary (e.g. μενοινῆς 47 Proparoxytone line-ends: Dor. and Eud. more than 30%, Greg. Naz. 40%, Met. Ps. 10%. Figures for Nonnus and further discussion: Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, pp. 329f., 389–393. 48 Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, p. 378 n. 338 (commenting on difference in caesura between the two halves); they also observe (p. 376 n. 332) three cases of irregular hiatus in the second half (52, 57, 68: final long not shortened in hiatus). Their analysis is superior to that of Sherry, ‘Hexameter Paraphrase’, pp. 70f., who identifies the second half of the poem as definitely Nonnian by contrast with the first. 49 An exception is a line with bucolic caesura followed by choriambic epithet and monosyllabic particle with enjambment, e.g. Par. 1.183 ἀγχιπόρῳ δέ; Nonnus also permits a limited number of monosyllabic nouns at line-end after bucolic caesura. See Keydell, Dionysiaca, vol. 1, p. 36*, no. 6; Mary Whitby, ‘From Moschus to Nonnus: The Evolution of the Nonnian Style’, in Neil Hopkinson (ed.), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume 17 (Cambridge: 1994), pp. 99–155, at 103f. 176 Mary Whitby 13, 25; πορείην 36, 55). Two lines in the first part of the poem stand out, however, as uncharacteristically weak. The first is 16 ἱδρῶτι δικαίωͺ, where the epithet follows its noun in the Homeric manner rather than preceding it, and is in itself unexciting.50 Nonnus does not use δίκαιος anywhere in the Dionysiaca and only once, as a vocative, in the Paraphrase, at 17.87, where it is taken from the text of John’s Gospel. This gives the clue to its use in AP 1.10: by this period δίκαιος has Christian overtones, and the poet’s desire to comment on the energy of Juliana’s Christian endeavours has encouraged this deviation from Nonnus’ practice, although it might have been avoided by a line-end such as ἱδρῶτι μερίμνης (AP 4.3B.65), used by Agathias to describe his effort in compiling his Cycle of poems. The second weak line-end, also in the first half of the poem, is 31 ἀμετρήτους γὰρ, ὀίω, where the particle and parenthetical ὀίω are feeble. Nonnus entirely avoids active ὀίω; this line-end is, however, paralleled in the early books of Quintus of Smyrna.51 I shall return to this point in the last section of this paper. In the context of line-ends, the two spondeiazons already mentioned deserve comment. They occur in the second part of the poem at 56 and 71, that is in the ekphrasis of the church and its decoration which begins at line 51. At 56 the ending ἐπὶ κίοσιν ἑστηῶτες arguably achieves a sonorous effect, slowing the pace of the line to reflect the grandeur of the subject-matter, the two storeys of columns on either side of the nave. The rhythm of line 55 is also unusual with its opening double spondee and minor infringement of Hermann’s Bridge. 52 The case that these are deliberate special effects is strengthened by the associated clustering in this area of tetracola, verses composed of four words only: lines 54, 57, 59 and 61 all have this form, while line 56 has only five words. The clustering of tetracola in ‘purple’ passages is a characteristic of other later poets such as Dionysius Periegetes, Triphiodorus and Nonnus’ Dionysiaca.53 Our poet combines this sophisticated technique with un-Nonnian metrical features in this ekphrasis of the church. Three further tetracola fall in the first part of the poem, at 11, 19, and 29, celebrating respectively the magnitude, virtue and endurance of Juliana’s church-building programme. These seven tetracola in 76 lines give a statistically high incidence for 50 Cf. Od. 3.52 ἀνδρὶ δικαίῳ, etc.; the adjective is not used by the Oppians or Quintus. This is also one of the three lines in AP 1.10 that offends against Naeke’s law. 51 ὀίω occurs fifteen times at line-end in Quintus, though only once (13.515) after Book 7; cf. οὐ γὰρ ὀίω, 2.59, 3.502, etc. 52 Cf. above at n. 43. 53 Mary Whitby, ‘From Moschus to Nonnus’, pp. 107, 136 n. 81 (figures for imperial poets), 146 n. 211. Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, pp. 322–324, 381f. note erratic clustering in Greg. Naz. and observe that the two paraphrase poems, Nonnus’ and that of the Psalms, have a surprisingly low ratio of tetracola, 1:30/1:34 (different figures are given for Nonnus’ Paraphrase on pp. 324 and 382) and 1:35 respectively; they attribute this to the presence of the biblical model. Cf. F. Vian, Nonnos de Panopolis, Les Dionysiaques, t. 18, chant 48 (Paris: 2003), pp. 215–219, on the high incidence and clustering of tetracola in D. 48 (1:9) where they are used for ironic effect as well as for elevation. The St Polyeuktos Epigram 177 the poem as a whole by comparison with Nonnus, 1 in every 11 lines as opposed to 1 in 15 for the Dionysiaca (see Table 1), but the clustering of tetracola in the ekphrasis passage contributes to the high overall figure.54 The second spondaic line-end occurs at 71 on the name Κωνσταντῖνον, whereas at 43 the same name is placed before the caesura where the metre can accommodate it. Poets often admit metrical anomalies in connection with names,55 but elsewhere in AP 1.10 proper names are handled skilfully: at 44 the form Θευδοσίου is used, parallel to Κωνσταντῖνον (43), since this is the only way to scan Theodosius’ name in a hexameter; others are readily accommodated—Eudocia in the first foot at line 1, Polyeuktos twice at line-end (2, 17) and of course Juliana herself, whose name echoes through the poem, lest we forget.56 A further well-known feature of Nonnus’ style is his prolific use of epithets. In the Paraphrase of St John’s Gospel, for example, the 15 adjectives in 31 verses of chapter 20 in the original are increased to 159 adjectives (excluding participles used adjectivally) in 144 lines in Nonnus’ rendition; chapter 5 of the Gospel has 16 adjectives, which Nonnus increases to 224 (including adjectival participles) in 182 lines. Nonnus frequently reuses Homeric epithets, although he seldom locates them at the same point in the line and often changes their meaning; he also includes a vast number of other colourful compounds, many of his own coining, while others also occur in Hellenistic and imperial poets.57 Even a superficial inspection indicates that the epithets of AP 1.10 fall short of Nonnus in respect of flamboyance and originality. I have counted a total of 104 adjectives in the 76 lines of the poem,58 but a great many are unremarkable, τοῖον, τόσον (3), μέγαν, τοῖον (10), πᾶσα (19, 20), ξύμπασαν (32, 36), μέσος (62), ἄλλος (69), and so on. Several of the compound adjectives are used more than once, e.g. εὐκάματος (15, 34), ἀριστοπόνος (29, 40), ἀμέτρητος (31, 60), perhaps suggesting a limited inspiration on the part of the writer(s). Choice of compound adjectives (which are usually located after the caesura) is for the most part unremarkable: all but a few occur in Nonnus. I examine here those that do not. Two, ἀγακλέα (23) and πολύφρονα (71), are Homeric and also found 1:11 is the figure for tetracola in AP 4.3B (Agath.) and for the proem to the Psalm paraphrase: Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, pp. 322 n. 122, 381. At 85 and 110 lines respectively, these poems are comparable in length to AP 1.10: shorter poems are likely to have a higher ratio of tetracola. 55 E.g. the single instance already mentioned of a line opening with double spondee in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, see above at n. 41. 56 Always immediately before the (masculine) caesura: see above at n. 24 and p. 173–174. 57 Figures and detailed discussions: D. Accorinti, Parafrasi del Vangelo di S. Giovanni, Canto 20 (Pisa: 1996), pp. 51–52; Agosti, Parafrasi, pp. 156–162. Homeric epithets per hundred lines: 68 in D., 69 in Par.; 52 in Homer, 27 in Apollonius, while Virgil is much closer to Nonnus with 61. (Figures from K.H. Wójtowicz, quoted by Accorinti, Canto 20, p. 51.) 58 61 in lines 1–41, 43 in lines 42–76 (= 34 lines). I include participles used adjectivally and possessive, qualitative and interrogative adjectives. 54 178 Mary Whitby in imperial poetry, though πολύφρων is rare.59 It is striking that both also occur in other epigrams of the early sixth century: ἀγακλής is found at AP 1.12.9 ἀγακλέι μητρὶ τεκούσης (Anon.), a poem which was inscribed in another church associated with Anicia Juliana, that of St Euphemia in Ta Olybriou. The theme of AP 1.12 is analogous to that of the first part of AP 1.10: it celebrates the three generations of Juliana’s family who were involved in the construction and decoration of the church, and the phrase quoted refers to Juliana’s maternal grandmother Eudoxia, daughter of the Eudocia mentioned at the opening of the Polyeuktos epigram.60 In the epigram inscribed in Justinian’s church of the Apostles at the Hormisdas (AP 1.8.2),61 ἀγακλέα qualifies νηόν, as it does in AP 1.10.23; very similar to AP 1.8.2 is AP 9.820.1 (Anon.) ἀγακλέα δείματο χῶρον, an inscription from Justinian’s palace of Heraion at Chalcedon;62 at AP 16.377.1 (Anon.) ἀγακλέι is used of a victory of the charioteer Uranius.63 In late hexameters, apart from the isolated instance in Quintus, I have found πολύφρων only in Christodorus’ poem on the statues in the baths of Zeuxippus in Constantinople, where it describes Alcibiades, πολύφρονα μῆτιν ἀγείρων (‘gathering wise counsel’, AP 2.85).64 Also rare in hexameters is βαθύρριζος (51): in earlier poetry it is used of trees, first in tragedy, later by Apollonius and Quintus in this sedes, 65 but it is not adopted by Nonnus, even though he has a number of βαθυ- compounds, nor is it extant in other late poets. Hence its metaphorical application to the church’s foundations in the Polyeuktos poem appears to be strikingly innovative, and also particularly apposite since Juliana’s church stood on a high platform.66 Another compound found first in tragedy is ἀείμνηστος (27); common in prose at all periods, it is rare in ἀγακλέης: AP 9.26.5 (Ant. Thess.); Dionysius Periegetes 554; QS 2.268; Manetho 2.362, al.; AP 8.104.7, 161. 5 (Greg. Naz.); Eudocia, Homerocentos apol. 9. P. Sil., Descr. 434 has the form ἀγακλήεις. Πολύφρων: QS 1.727. 60 There are other thematic and linguistic overlaps between AP 1.12 and the Polyeuktos epigram (especially the first part of 1.10), e.g. 1.12.6 possible deficiencies of original church, cf. 1.10.3f.; 1.12.7–10 Juliana’s honour to the various generations of her family and surpassing achievement, cf. 1.10.11f., 34; 1.12.8 ὑπέρτατον ὤπασε κῦδος, cf. 1.10.6 ἀμείμονα κόσμον ὀπάζειν; 1.12.11 κόσμον ἀεξήσασα, cf. 1.10.11 κῦδος ἀεξήσασα. Fuller discussion, Connor, ‘Epigram’ pp. 502–504. On Ta Olybriou, named after Anicia Juliana’s father Olybrius (PLRE 2, pp. 796–798, s.v. Olybrius 6), see R. Janin, Constantinople byzantine (2nd ed., Paris: 1964), pp. 398–399, and cf. Michael Whitby and Mary Whitby, Chronicon Paschale 284-628 AD, Translated Texts for Historians 7 (Liverpool: 1989), p. 86 with n. 283. 61 Contemporary with St Polyeuktos, see above n. 41. 62 Mentioned by Procopius, Aed. 1.11.16f.; both this epigram and AP 1.8 include Justinian’s name which does not properly scan in hexameters, cf. R.C. McCail, ‘The Cycle of Agathias: New Identifications Scrutinised’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 89 (1969): 87–96, at p. 96. 63 Alan Cameron, Porphyrius, p. 214, suggests that Uranius flourished in the reigns of Justin I and Justinian; see further ibid. pp. 141–143 on the Uranius epigrams. 64 Also at Synesius, Hymn 20.6. 65 S. Trach. 1195 δρυός, al.; A.R. 1.1199 βάθυρρίζόν περ ἐοῦσα (of a pine), Q.S. 4.202 βαθυρρίζοιο μυρίκης. The term is common in Theophrastus’ botanical works. 66 Harrison, Saraçhane, vol. 1, p. 112. 59 The St Polyeuktos Epigram 179 poetry, except in the Anthology.67 Like ἀγακλέης, ἀείμνηστος was adopted by sixthcentury poets: it appears in the same sedes in one of the anonymous charioteer epigrams (AP 15.43.5) which describes the posthumous monument set up for Constantine, a contemporary of Porphyrius.68 And Leontius Scholasticus, who knew the charioteer epigrams,69 picks up the adjective in an epitaph for the virtuous Rhode, AP 7.575.3, describing Rhode’s husband, Gemellus, formerly professor of law in Constantinople. It is also used in connection with a proposed depiction in gold of a magistrate named Theodore (AP 16.45.2), preserved in a sequence of anonymous inscribed epigrams. The only clue to the identity of Theodore is that the dedication was to have been made by rhetors, but a sixth-century date is entirely possible.70 The last epithet to be considered here, πολύσκηπτρος (11), can be dealt with briefly since it appears to be a new formation, coined to celebrate Anicia Juliana’s illustrious imperial ancestry—she was daughter and granddaughter of emperors of the west, great-granddaughter of Theodosius II and Eudocia; her son Olybrius was married to Anastasius’ niece.71 It was taken up by Paul the Silentiary in his Description of St Sophia and transferred to Justinian in a tetracolon line (281 μῆτιν ἀριστώδινα πολυσκήπτρου βασιλῆος) clearly intended to refute the claims of the Polyeuktos poem; it was later applied to Justin II by Agathias (AP 4.3B.17), while Dioscoros of Aphrodito, in his encomium to celebrate the arrival in the Thebaid of an image of Justin II, calls the new emperor νέον υἷα πολυσκήπτρου παλλατίου (fr. 1r, line 7).72 A preliminary judgement on the stylistic quality of the poem, based on these very limited soundings, might be of a poet or poets working at the limit of his/their capacities. In style as in metrical usage, the writer is familiar with and more or less sustains Nonnian principles, but lapses from time to time, perhaps particularly at moments when he does not have a poetic model for the sentiments he wishes to express—such as Juliana’s ‘just sweat’ (16). The second weak line-end identified also occurs in the first part of the poem (31). In the second part of the poem the passage of ekphrasis of the church (51–73) combines resonant Nonnian effects with some metrical unease. The majority of epithets are neither remarkable nor novel, but the AP 5.202.6 (Ascl. or Pos.), 12.257.5 (Mel.; the concluding poem of his Garland). Alan Cameron, Porphyrius, pp. 136–141. 69 Alan Cameron, Porphyrius, pp. 113–116. 70 Averil and Alan Cameron, ‘Cycle’, pp. 22f. identify two mid 6th-century Theodores who were associated with Agathias: the son of Peter the Patrician and the decurion to whom Agathias dedicated his Cycle. In ‘Theodorus τρισέπαρχος’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 17 (1976): 269–286, Alan Cameron associates AP 9.696–697 and AP 1.97–98 with a third, earlier Theodore, appointed city prefect of Constantinople for the third time in 520. He notes that the line-end of AP 1.98.3 uses the adjective ἀμέτρητος in the same position as at AP 1.10.60 (cf. 31), and that the poems are roughly contemporary. AP 16.45.2, also to a magistrate named Theodore, has another linguistic link with AP 1.10. But there is insufficient evidence to argue that its subject is the Theodore who was city prefect. Cf. n. 85 below. 71 PLRE vol. 2, p. 635, s.v. Anicia Iuliana 3; cf. n. 20 above. 72 Cf. Mary Whitby, ‘The Vocabulary of Praise’, p. 602 (where the Dioscorus example mentioned here should be added). 67 68 180 Mary Whitby sample of more unusual terms here studied reveals close links with contemporary poems—Christodorus’ poem on the Zeuxippus statues, the charioteer epigrams and epigrams inscribed in churches; some of these unusual epithets are reused by the poets of Agathias’ Cycle, who were writing roughly in the period AD 530–570.73 They occur in both parts of the poem, three in the first (11 πολυσκήπτρων, 23 ἀγακλέα, 28 ἀείμνηστος) and two in the second (51 βαθύρριζος, 71 πολύφρονα). This selective stylistic analysis can be no more than indicative, but I will suggest in the next section that it may assist discussion of the possible author or authors of AP 1.10. IV. AUTHORSHIP Two possible authors have been proposed in recent years. One is Anicia Juliana herself.74 Here there is really very little to go on, since no attested works by her are known. The assumption seems to be that Juliana may have inherited her greatgrandmother Eudocia’s literary talents as well as her interest in church-building. It is true that Juliana was cultured and a patroness of literature as well as architecture—she may well have commissioned the famous uncial Dioscorides manuscript, dated circa AD 512.75 This manuscript in fact includes a rather unsophisticated little poem in her praise written in isocolic lines whose initial letters spell out Juliana’s name in an acrostic: it seems very unlikely that both this poem and AP 1.10 are Anicia Juliana’s work, as Carolyn Connor has suggested, since their difference in length, style and execution are very great. 76 The second proposal on authorship deserves closer consideration. This is the recent suggestion of Francesco Tissoni77 that AP 1.10 as well as AP 9.656 (on Anastasius’ Chalke) are both the work of Christodorus of Coptus, whose 416-line poem describing the statues in the Baths of Zeuxippus has already been mentioned more than once.78 Tissoni’s suggestion that Christodorus also wrote the Juliana poem is based in part on probability: Christodorus was working in Constantinople under imperial patronage in the early years of the sixth century and a case can be made that he was still active between 510 and 520.79 The Polyeuktos epigram would then have been a product of his later years. Tissoni argues that its metrical characterAveril and Alan Cameron, ‘The Cycle of Agathias’, p. 24. Fowden, ‘Constantine’, p. 275; Connor, ‘Epigram’, p. 516. 75 PLRE vol. 2, p. 636. 76 The epigram is quoted and discussed by Connor, ‘Epigram’, pp. 507–509: I do not agree with her high estimate of its quality. 77 Cristodoro, p. 22f. 78 See n. 38 above on the date and character of AP 2. Christodoran authorship of AP 9.656 was first suggested by F. Baumgarten, ‘De Christodoro poeta Thebano’ (dissertation, University of Bonn: 1881), quoted by Tissoni, p. 30. 79 AP 9.656 may belong after 515; AP 7.697–8, certainly Christodorus’ work, may be linked to 517: Tissoni, Cristodoro, pp. 31, 24. 73 74 The St Polyeuktos Epigram 181 istics are compatible with those of AP 2 and that there is a striking similarity of vocabulary, including metaphor.80 The metrical evidence does not seem to me decisive (see Table 1). Christodorus admits eleven different patterns of hexameter, but two (ssddd (72) and sssdd (145)) only once, which brings the figure down to Nonnus’ nine, much as AP 1.10, which has twelve patterns, but three of them only once, all three in the second half of the poem (see above at n. 39). And the two poems have an almost identical percentage of feminine caesuras, 73.79% in Christodorus, 73.68 in AP 1.10. However, in frequency of the top six patterns of spondee and dactyl, Christodorus is close to Nonnus’ Paraphrase but diverges from AP 1.10; as for bucolic caesura, Christodorus has a figure higher than Nonnus, and 18% above that of AP 1.10. Christodorus also has a lower incidence of tetracola than AP 1.10, 1 in fourteen lines being close to the figure for the Dionysiaca.81 In contrast to the Polyeuktos poem, Christodorus admits one proparoxytone line-end in his 416-line poem,82 but entirely avoids spondaic line-ends. Linguistically Christodorus’ line-ends are usually akin to those of Nonnus, most often ending strongly with a noun or verb.83 Sometimes he ends a line with an epithet, but again prefers epithets admitted by Nonnus at line-end.84 There are, however, one or two interesting exceptions: a couple of lines end with adjectives which do not occur at line-end in the Dionysiaca (246 δεινήν, 254 δοιάς), and two end with two adjacent weak words (220 αἴδετο γάρ που, 299 εἴχε γὰρ ἤδη). Perhaps most significantly, Christodorus three times ends with the phrase ὡς γὰρ ὀίω (112, 123, 161) which provides some parallel for AP 1.10.31 ἀμετρήτους, γὰρ, ὀίω, one of the two line-ends in the Juliana poem that seemed to me most un-Nonnian.85 Lineends in ὀίω, as mentioned in that context, are characteristic of the early books of Quintus.86 The two rare epithets in the second part of the Polyeuktos poem, βαθύρριζος (51) and πολύφρων (71) occur in late poetry only in Quintus, the latter Cristodoro, p. 23 n. 36. However, I have noted (above at nn. 53–54) that the high figure for the Juliana epigram is partly due to clustering in the ekphrasis passage, and that short poems often have a high ratio. 82 386 μέλισσαι: bees were said to have settled on Pindar’s mouth at birth. As in the case of other metrical infringements (e.g. elision: Tissoni, p. 73), the anomaly may be due to a literary imitation, cf. AP 9.187.1 (Anon., on Menander); 9.363.22 [Mel.]; 16.210.6 (Plato). Proparoxytones in other Nonnians: Colluthus 4.56%, also in Cyrus of Panopolis: see further Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, p. 329 n. 152. 83 But also admitting monosyllabic particle with preceding choriambic epithet, such as δεξιτερῇ δέ (9, etc.) or very occasionally a monosyllabic noun (10 μαινομένη χείρ, 320 ἰσόθεος φώς). Both features are also admitted by Nonnus, but neither occurs in AP 1.10: see n. 49 above. 84 E.g. 79 γυμνή, 215 πικρῷ, 235 πυκνοῖς, 256 χαλκῷ, 355 μοῦνος. 85 ἀμέτρητος, here and at 60, is also used by Christodorus (AP 2.93) but is common in Nonnus in this sedes, e.g. D. 48.95, al., Par. 6.129; cf. AP 9.656.13 (the anonymous poem on Anastasius’ Chalke); cf. n. 70 above. 86 See n. 51 above. 80 81 182 Mary Whitby only elsewhere in Quintus and Christodorus.87 It is therefore noteworthy that Tissoni identifies allegiance to Quintus as one of the distinctive characteristics of Christodorus.88 In general, there does seem to be significant affinity in line-ends between Christodorus and the Polyeuktos poems: both broadly follow Nonnus’ principles, but with occasional idiosyncrasies which have something in common. As regards choice of epithets, however, Tissoni comments on Christodorus’ liking for eye-catching neologisms and his reuse of Homeric and Nonnian hapax legomena,89 features shared by AP 1.10 only to a rather limited extent.90 These Christodoran affinities are not limited to one part of the Polyeuktos poem, which presents problems for the view that the two halves are by different authors. In principle it seems to me that metrical evidence should count for more than linguistic similarity in assessing authorship, since linguistic imitation and echoing of other poets’ work is a recognized feature of the small circle of Nonnian poets,91 whereas metrical practice is more idiosyncratic. But even here there are difficulties, since in authors whose corpus was composed over a long period metrical practice changes with time, as has been demonstrated in the case of Quintus, George of Pisidia and perhaps Gregory of Nazianzus.92 And, as already emphasized, statistics for AP 1.10 and related poems are based on a very small sample, and hence potentially misleading. In addition, of course, only a small fraction of late-antique poetry has come down to us. Despite the proximity between AP 1.10 and Christodorus in number of patterns for the hexameter and percentage of feminine caesura, the absence of spondeiazons from the much longer poem of Christodorus, together with the differences in percentage of bucolic caesura seem to me to present difficulties for identity of authorship. One would have to fall back on the twenty-year time gap between the Zeuxippus and Polyeuktos poems to account for them. Christodorus’ poem is one of showy if superficial erudition:93 if AP 1.10 is a work of his later years, See nn. 59 and 65 above. These epithets both occur in the early part of the Posthomerica, where the ὀίω endings also occur. 88 Tissoni, Cristodoro, p. 68: Christodorus imitates Quintus both in language and content. 89 Tissoni, Cristodoro, pp. 61f. 90 One neologism, πολύσκηπτρος (11); two Homeric terms subsequently rare (ἀγακλέα, πολύφρων); innovative use of βαθύρριζος: see the discussion of epithets above. 91 E.g. Paul Sil. Descr. 930, 932 and AP 9.641.5, 3 (Agathias); cf. Mary Whitby, ‘Vocabulary of Praise’ on Paul the Silentiary’s imitation of AP 1.10. Triphiodorus is similar to Nonnus linguistically, but much further apart metrically: a papyrus (P. Oxy. 2946) now proves that he is mid third to early fourth century, hence antedating Nonnus. Tissoni’s evidence (p. 23 n. 36) for links between Christodorus’ poem and AP 1.10 is chiefly linguistic, but (i) not all the parallels are very close and (ii) many are shared with Nonnus, D., where the same epithet also occurs in eadem sede. 92 Quintus: West, Greek Metre, p. 177; George of Pisidia: ibid., p. 184; Gregory of Nazianzus, Agosti-Gonnelli, ‘Materiali’, pp. 376f. 93 Tissoni, Cristodoro, p. 60: ‘un esercizio di brillante retorica che permette a Cristodoro di sfoggiare la sua erudizione che raramente valica i confini di una discreta competenza grammaticale’. 87 The St Polyeuktos Epigram 183 it looks as if he had lost his touch, though the ‘purple passage’ at the beginning of the ekphrasis (51–61), with its clustered tetracola, spondeiazons and innovative βαθύρριζος (but also metrical anomalies) is carefully crafted.94 However, on the limited evidence discussed here, the case for identity of authorship remains in my view unproven, although the links with Quintus in both the Polyeuktos poem and AP 2 make Christodoran authorship of AP 1.10 or one part of it (?the second) an attractive hypothesis. Closer examination of linguistic affinities might yield more decisive results. Christodorus is possibly the only Nonnian poet active in Constantinople in the early decades of the sixth century whose name and work survive. But a number of other poems from about this time are preserved in the Greek Anthology. All were originally inscribed in situ like AP 1.10 and so are likewise anonymous, but much shorter, seldom as long as ten lines. They suggest a range of poetic talent. AP 1.12 has already been mentioned because it shares with 1.10 the rare epithet ἀγακλέα.95 This poem belongs in a sequence of six short epigrams (AP 1.12–17) in the church of St Euphemia in Ta Olybriou. These poems have other features in common with the Polyeuktos epigram, both linguistic and thematic: Juliana’s surpassing her ancestors, the possible deficiency in earlier edifices.96 They observe Nonnus’ rules for accent at line-end, and reiterate Juliana’s own name at the same place in the line.97 However, the hexameter lines98 show a preference for masculine caesura and even more so for bucolic caesura quite uncharacteristic of the Polyeuktos epigram.99 This metrical taste, and the use of elegiacs as well as hexameters, would suggest that these epigrams are by another, or several other, hands. But once more it must be stressed that, since this group of poems total 26 lines only, it is a very small sample on which to base statistics. The epigram still to be seen inscribed in Justinian and Theodora’s church of Sts Sergius and Bacchus, datable to the period AD 527–536,100 has often been seen as a response to the Polyeuktos poem.101 Its 12 lines have a high proportion of femi94 Compare the clustered tetracola for pathetic effect in the description of Creusa at AP 2.148–154. 95 See above at n. 60. 96 On 1.12, see n. 60 above. For surpassing achievement cf. also 1.13–15, with Connor, ‘Epigram’, pp. 502–504. At 1.17 Juliana is said to have surpassed the wonders of the ancients, cf. AP 9.656.10–18 (on Anastasius’ Chalke); AP 1.3.5 (Justin II surpasses Justin I’s achievement in the church at Blachernae); cf. Mary Whitby, ‘Vocabulary of praise’. 97 AP 1.12.8, 1.14.2, 1.15.4, 1.16.2 (pentameter), 1.17.3. 98 AP 1.13 and 14 (perhaps a single poem) and AP 1.16 are in elegiacs. 99 AP 1.12, 15, 17 together comprise 18 hexameters, of which 12 have masculine caesura (66.67%) and 15 bucolic caesura (83.33%). Figures for AP 1.10: see Table 1. Both the hexameters of AP 1.13 and 14 (elegiacs) have bucolic caesura, AP 1.13.1 has feminine caesura, 1.14.1 has masculine. AP 1.16 (elegiacs) is closer to AP 1.10: two feminine caesuras, opening tetracolon, line 3 τοῖόν τε τόσον, cf. 1.10.3. 100 Date: n. 12 above. 101 E.g. Connor, ‘Epigram’, pp. 511f. The epigram emphasizes Justinian’s piety, line 3 εὐσεβίην ἀέξων, cf. AP 1.10.11 (for the phrase with ἀέξω); 16, 24, 26, 28, 36 (for Juliana’s piety). The 184 Mary Whitby nine caesuras (nine), but rather fewer bucolic caesuras (five). It uses seven different forms of hexameter, all Nonnian, one of them (dsddd) five times, giving an unusually high proportion (cf. Table 2, no. 2) perhaps to the point of monotony. Two tetracola (lines 3, 9) highlight the piety (3) and vigilance (9) of Justinian. The inclusion of Justinian’s name involves metrical licence,102 and there is some grammatical awkwardness in lines 11–12,103 but strong line-ends and good scattering of interesting epithets suggest a technically respectable piece. On the other hand, AP 1.8 (seven lines long) on Justinian’s church of Peter and Paul in Ta Hormisdou, which includes the rare epithet ἀγακλέα (2) is technically less accomplished, with an unusual rhythm at 3 and an awkward line-end at 6, as well as the licence with Justinian’s name at 2.104 Turning to secular poems, four epigrams (AP 9.696–697, 1.97–98) that celebrate the building work of a Theodore who was an honorary consul and three times city prefect in AD 524 are likewise technically flawed.105 However, Alan Cameron has described the cycle of 54 charioteer epigrams (totalling 288 lines) from the first three decades of the century that were inscribed on monuments in the Constantinople Hippodrome as technically ‘of uniformly high order’.106 Two of the rare epithets that appear in AP 1.10, ἀγακλεής and ἀείμνηστος, are also found in the charioteer epigrams and there are other linguistic connections.107 Like the Polyeuktos poem the charioteer epigrams were inscribed high up, in this case on the spina of the Hippodrome, perhaps 20 feet above the ground and hence not easily legible.108 Unlike AP 1.10, however, the majority are in elegiacs, the metre generally used by the poets of Agathias’ Cycle whom Cameron demonstrates made use of the charioteer epigrams in the middle decades of the sixth century.109 verb ἀέξω is repeated in the Sergius epigram at 10 κράτος αὐξήσειε in a prayer for Theodora, whose piety is also mentioned and whose toil (11) and ἀγῶνες (12) for the poor are perhaps thought superior to Juliana’s endeavours (ἀέθλους, AP 1.10.28, 74) in church-building. The brilliance (αἴγλη) of both churches is picked out (line 4 of the Sergius epigram, cf. AP 1.10.50) and the saints honoured in the respective churches are called ‘servants’ of God/Christ (Sergius line 4, AP 1.10.33, 37). 102 Above n. 62. 103 ἧς πόνος αἰεὶ/ ἀκτεάνων θρεπτῆρες ἀφειδεές εἰσιν ἀγῶνες. 104 See n. 41 above for the date and the rhythm of 3 and text at n. 61 on ἀγακλέα. Its language and themes have much in common with AP 1.10 and the Sergius and Bacchus epigram, e.g. language of toil (1) and honour (1, 4), saints as servants (3), brilliance of the building (7). 105 Cameron, ‘Theodore’. AP 1.97.1 ends with a proparoxytone word; licence in accommodating Justinian’s name, 1.97.4, 1.98.2. Cf. nn. 70 and 85 above. 106 Porphyrius, p. 112. The epigrams are preserved as AP 15.41–50 and 16. 335–387. See above at nn. 63 and 68. Cf., for example, the μοῦνος motif at AP 16.352.6 and AP 1.10.16, with Mary Whitby, ‘Vocabulary of Praise’, pp. 603f. 107 See above at nn. 63 and 68. Cf., for example, the μοῦνος motif at AP 16.352.6 and AP 1.10.16, with Mary Whitby, ‘Vocabulary of Praise’, pp. 603f. 108 Cameron, Porphyrius, p. 111. 109 Porphyrius, pp. 113–116. The St Polyeuktos Epigram 185 To sum up. We have a remarkable number of inscribed poems from Constantinople from the early decades of the sixth century, the majority of them short, several located high up as part of a larger monument. Assessed in terms of allegiance to Nonnus, their quality is variable, but some are high-class, and linguistic links demonstrate that the respective authors knew one another’s work. Christodorus, the one named poet working in Constantinople in the first decades of the sixth century whose work is extant and substantial, is a possible but not indubitable candidate for authorship of one or both parts of the Polyeuktos poem. Although metrical evidence is inconclusive, shared allegiance to Quintus and the capacity to produce a work of some length makes the hypothesis attractive—especially for the second half of it where rare Quintan epithets occur and the central section (51–61) is artfully crafted; yet a Christodoran line-end (31) occurs in the first part of the poem. Alternatively AP 1.10 might have been written by one or two of the poets who wrote the charioteer epigrams: closer analysis might yield more decisive results. There is, however, a serious difficulty in defining a metrical pedigree for short poems of uncertain authorship, while stylistic reminiscence is a less secure criterion for identity of authorship. Hence it is perhaps misguided to hope that the author(s) of the Polyeuktos poem(s) can be certainly identified. But we can say that, while Anicia Juliana probably did not write AP 1.10 herself, she took care to search out a top-quality wordsmith in a world where not all poets were of such a high calibre. WORKS CITED Accorinti, D. Parafrasi del Vangelo di S. Giovanni, Canto 20 (Pisa: 1996). Agosti, Gianfranco. Nonno di Panopoli, Parafrasi del Vangelo di San Giovanni, Canto Quinto (Florence: 2003). Agosti, Gianfranco and Fabrizio Gonnelli. ‘Materiali per la storia dell’esametro nei poeti cristiani greci’, in M. Fantuzzi and R. Pretagostini (eds), Struttura e storia dell’esametro greco (Rome: 1995), vol. 1, 289–434. Bardill, J. ‘The Church of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus in Constantinople and the Monophysite Refugees’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 54 (2000): 1–11. ———. Brickstamps of Constantinople (2 vols, Oxford: 2004). ———. ‘A New Temple for Byzantium: Anicia Juliana, King Solomon, and the Gilded Ceiling of the Church of St. Polyeuktos in Constantinople’, in W. Bowden, A. Gutteridge, C. Machado (eds), The Social and Political Archaeology of Late Antiquity (Leiden: forthcoming). ———. King Solomon Surpassed (in preparation). Bassett, S. The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople (Cambridge: 2004). Baumgarten, F. ‘De Christodoro poeta Thebano’ (dissertation, University of Bonn: 1881). Beckby, H. Anthologia Graeca (4 vols, 2nd ed., Munich: 1965). Cameron, Alan. Porphyrius the Charioteer (Oxford: 1973). 186 Mary Whitby ———. ‘Theodorus τρισέπαρχος’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 17 (1976): 269– 286. ———. ‘The House of Anastasius’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 19 (1978): 259– 276. ———. The Greek Anthology from Meleager to Planudes (Oxford, 1993). ———. ‘The Poet, the Bishop and the Harlot’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 41 (2000): 175–188. ———. ‘Poetry and Literary Culture in Late Antiquity’, in Simon Swain and Mark Edwards (eds), Approaching Late Antiquity (Oxford: 2004), 327–354. Cameron, Averil and Alan. ‘The Cycle of Agathias’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 86 (1966): 6–25. Casson, S. and D. Talbot Rice. Second Report upon the Excavations Carried Out in and near the Hippodrome of Constantinople in 1928 (London: 1929). Connor, C.L. ‘The Epigram in the Church of Hagios Polyeuktos in Constantinople and its Byzantine Response’, Byzantion 69 (1999): 479–527. Coulie, B., L.F. Sherry, and Cetedoc. Thesaurus Pseudo-Nonni Quondam Panopolitani (Turnhout: 1995). Fowden, Garth. ‘Constantine, Silvester, and the Church of St Polyeuctus in Constantinople’, Journal of Roman Archaeology 7 (1994): 274–284. Friedländer, P. Johannes von Gaza und Paulus Silentiarius, Kunstbeschreibungen Justinianischer Zeit (Leipzig and Berlin: 1912; repr. Hildesheim and New York: 1969). Harrison, R.M. ‘The Church of St. Polyeuktos in Istanbul and the Temple of Solomon’, in C. Mango and O. Pritsak (eds), Okeanos: Essays Presented to Ihor Ševčenko on his Sixtieth Birthday by his Colleagues and Students, Harvard Ukrainian Studies 7 (Cambridge, Mass.: 1983), 276–279. ———. Excavations at Saraçhane in Istanbul (vol. 1, Princeton and Washington, DC: 1986). ———. A Temple for Byzantium (Austin, Texas: 1989). Janin, R. Constantinople byzantine (2nd ed., Paris: 1964). Jeffreys, Michael. ‘Byzantine Metrics: Non-literary Strata’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 31.1 (1981): 313–334. Keydell, R. Nonni Panopolitani Dionysiaca (2 vols, Berlin: 1959). Maas, Paul. Greek Metre, trans. H. Lloyd-Jones (Oxford: 1962). Macrides, R. and P. Magdalino. ‘The Architecture of Ekphrasis: Construction and Context of Paul the Silentiary’s Poem on Hagia Sophia’, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 12 (1988): 47–82. Mango, C. The Brazen House (Copenhagen: 1959). ———. ‘The Church of Saints Sergius and Bacchus at Constantinople and the Alleged Tradition of Octagonal Palatine Churches’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 21 (1972): 189–193. [Reprinted in C. Mango, Studies in Constantinople (Aldershot: 1993), XIII.] ———. ‘Notes d’épigraphie et d’archéologie: Constantinople, Nicée’, Travaux et Mémoires 12 (1994): 343–357. The St Polyeuktos Epigram 187 Mango, C. and I. Ševčenko. ‘Remains of the Church of St. Polyeuktos at Constantinople’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 15 (1961): 243–247. McCail, R.C. ‘The Cycle of Agathias: New Identifications Scrutinised’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 89 (1969): 87–96. McKenzie, J. ‘The Architectural Style of Roman and Byzantine Alexandria and Egypt’, in D.M. Bailey (ed.), Archaeological Research in Roman Egypt, Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplement 19 (Ann Arbor: 1996), 128–142. Milner, Christine. ‘The Image of the Rightful Ruler: Anicia Juliana’s Constantine Mosaic in the Church of Hagios Polyeuktos’, in Paul Magdalino (ed.), New Constantines (Aldershot: 1994), 73–81. Pizzone, A.M.V. ‘Da Melitene a Costantinopoli: S. Polieucto nella politica dinastica di Giuliana Anicia: alcune osservazioni in margine ad A.P. I 10’, Maia 55.1 (2003): 107–132. Russell, D.A. and N.G. Wilson. Menander Rhetor (Oxford: 1981). Sherry, L.F. ‘The Hexameter Paraphrase of St. John attributed to Nonnus of Panopolis: Prolegomenon and Translation’ (PhD dissertation, Columbia University: 1991). ———. ‘The Paraphrase of St. John Attributed to Nonnus’, Byzantion 66 (1996): 409– 430. Speck, P. ‘Juliana Anicia, Konstantin der Grosse und die Polyeuktoskirche in Konstantinopel’, Poikila Byzantina 11, Varia 3 (Bonn: 1991): 133–147. Stadtmueller, H. Anthologia Graeca epigrammatum Palatina cum Planudea (3 vols., Leipzig: 1894). Tissoni, Francesco. Christodoro, un’introduzione e un commento (Alessandria: 2000). Vian, Francis. Nonnos de Panopolis, Les Dionysiaques, t. 1, chants 1–2 (Paris: 1976). ———. ‘Μάρτυς chez Nonnos de Panopolis: Étude de sémantique et de chronologie’, Revue des études grecques 110 (1997): 143–160. ———. Nonnos de Panopolis, Les Dionysiaques, t. 18, chant 48 (Paris: 2003). West, M.L. Greek Metre (Oxford: 1982). Whitby, Mary. ‘The Occasion of Paul the Silentiary’s Ekphrasis of St Sophia’, Classical Quarterly 35 (1985): 215–228. ———. ‘From Moschus to Nonnus: The Evolution of the Nonnian Style’, in Neil Hopkinson (ed.), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume 17 (Cambridge: 1994), 99–155. ———. ‘The Vocabulary of Praise in Verse-Celebrations of 6th-century Building Achievements: AP 2.398–406, AP 9.656, AP 1.10, and Paul the Silentiary’s Description of St Sophia’, in D. Accorinti and P. Chuvin (eds), Des géants à Dionysos. Mélanges offerts à F. Vian (Alessandria: 2003), 593–606. Whitby, Michael and Mary Whitby. Chronicon Paschale 284-628 AD, Translated Texts for Historians 7 (Liverpool: 1989). Chapter 10 Late Antique Narrative Fiction: Apocryphal Acta and the Greek Novel in the Fifth-Century Life and Miracles of Thekla Scott Fitzgerald Johnson Harvard University ‘The popular demand in fiction is always for a mixed form.’1 I. INTRODUCTION When it comes to the question of Christianity and narrative fiction, one is frequently presented with the apparent dilemma of faith and falsity. If one believes that the Gospels are true, or that the Lives of the saints are essentially true, then this often prohibits an analysis of the form of the texts—out of concern that treating them as literature implies that they are merely literature. On the other hand, if one is convinced such texts are substantially false, then it is often the case that they are deemed unworthy of concern for the history of literature—perhaps because they often do make claims about reality and history. Both approaches assume their beginning with the quest for verifiable truth. However, whether the Gospels and the Lives of the saints are verifiably true or false has no necessary bearing, I suggest, on the literary techniques which their authors chose to employ in writing them.2 Moreover, I would claim that it is less likely that a reader will be able to Northop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (Princeton: 1957), p. 305. Early versions of this paper were presented to the Oxford Byzantine Seminar and to the Ancient Fiction Group of the Society of Biblical Literature (November, 2003, Atlanta). I would like to thank my audiences in those settings for their patience with work in progress and for their pertinent suggestions for improvement. I would also like to thank Averil Cameron and Charles Weiss for commenting on the final version. 2 However, the question of verifiable truth has much to do with how one chooses to interpret them: see Frank Kermode, ‘The Argument about Canons’, in idem, An Appetite for Poetry (Cambridge, Mass.: 1989), pp. 189–207. Cf. Glen Bowersock, Fiction and History: Nero to Julian, Sather Classical Lectures 58 (Berkeley and Los Angeles), p. 123: ‘The material in the Gospel narratives, as well as in the Acts of the Apostles, constituted a kind of narrative fiction in the form of history (ἔν εἴδει ἱστορίας, as [the emperor] Julian was to say) that was essentially new to the Greco-Roman world.’ This is an important statement, but I disagree that the Gospels are sui generis in their blending of history with fictional narrative: they are preceded by older biblical narratives in this vein (Daniel, Esther, etc.) and also 1 190 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson understand the story, argument, or achievement of the text (truth claims or no) unless he or she has taken the time, first and foremost, to seek to understand how the texts were written, and why they have the effects that they do. Scholarship on the Gospels has come to terms over time with this important question of literary first principles. In this article I take cues from the field of New Testament studies and am indebted to certain scholars in particular who have appropriated with success the tools of Redaction Criticism (Redaktionsgeschichte), Narratology, and Reader-Response Criticism.3 However, my interest in this chapter is temporally later than that of these scholars, and I am not as closely tied to a specific theoretical school as they. My interest is in the historical reception of early Christian literature and the literary techniques passed on to later generations. The second-to fourth-century Apocryphal Acta—narrative texts dealing with the lives and afterlives of early apostles and saints—had a profound impact, I contend, on the formation of Greek saints’ Lives in late antiquity (fourth-to-sixth centuries), and it was through them that the literary techniques of the Greek Novel can been seen to work in these Lives.4 I take as my test case the sophisticated and experimental Life and Miracles of Thekla (c. 470; hereafter LM) because the first half of that work is a paraphrase of the second-century Acts of Paul and Thekla (c. 190; hereafter ATh), a text which has long been seen as the archetypal early-Christian attempt at novelistic writing.5 by substantial intertestamental Jewish literature (e.g. Tobit, Judith, Artapanus’ On Moses, the Tobiad Romance). In the sense that the Gospels achieved an unprecedented level of dissemination in the Greco-Roman world (for novelistic texts), I am in full agreement. 3 Redaction Criticism: Norman Perrin, What is Redaction Criticism? (Philadelphia: 1969); idem, The New Testament: An Introduction (New York: 1974); Werner Kelber, Mark’s Story of Jesus (Philadelphia: 1979). Narratology: Elizabeth Struthers Malborn, ‘Narrative Criticism: How Does a Story Mean?’, in Janice C. Anderson and Stephen D. Moore (eds), Mark and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies (Minneapolis: 1992), pp. 23–49; Stephen D. Moore, Literary Criticism and the Gospels (New Haven: 1989), chapters 1–5. Reader-Response: Robert M. Fowler, ‘Reader-Response Criticism: Figuring Mark’s Reader’, in Anderson and Moore, Mark and Method, pp. 50–83; Moore, Literary Criticism, chapters 6–8. See also the collection edited by Elizabeth A. Castelli et al., The Postmodern Bible: The Bible and Culture Collective (New Haven: 1995).(NB: many more references could be cited in each of these categories; I have only listed representative, introductory studies for each.) 4 I would hesitate, however, to depend too heavily on a chronological model for this phenomenon. I will conclude below with some thoughts on the continuity of Christian literature from the New Testament through late antiquity, and I believe shared dependence on novelistic forms underscores that continuity, across genres and across religious, social, or doctrinal divisions. 5 Thomas Hägg, The Novel in Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1983), chapter 6; Kate Cooper, The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass.: 1996), pp. 50–56. For the Life and Miracles of Thekla, see the critical text of Gilbert Dagron, Vie et miracles de Sainte Thècle: Texte grec, traduction, et commentaire, Subsidia Hagiographica 62 (Brussels: 1978). Late Antique Narrative Fiction 191 The LM provides a bridge, therefore, between the early Christian (second-century) world and the late antique (fifth-century) world. The literary goals of the LM are manifold, and on close examination it proves to be a very complicated work of narrative Greek writing.6 The main goal of the text, however, is to attempt to connect Thekla’s early, popular legend to her fifth-century pilgrimage and cult site in southeastern Asia Minor, at Seleukeia on the Kalykadnos river. To achieve this goal the author of the LM (who remains anonymous throughout) adds to his paraphrase a large collection of 46 miracles which Thekla worked just before and during the composition of the collection itself. Indeed, she is depicted as caring intensely about the propagation of her own miracles and the increase of her fame in the region. In the process of writing the LM its author connects his career to Thekla’s fame, and the LM as a whole begins to take on the dual-purpose role of promoting Thekla and, in turn, promoting his own literary and ecclesiastical ambitions in the region. Since space is limited, in this article I shall concentrate my analysis on the aspects of the LM which demonstrate an acquaintance with the techniques of novelistic writing, and I will seek to provide comparative examples from the ancient Greek novels which can place these techniques in a literaryhistorical context. I will nevertheless seek to draw on some of the broader themes of the work to provide a sense (in short compass) of how it works as a whole. II. LATE ANTIQUITY IN THE HISTORY OF THE NOVEL It is well known that middle-Byzantine writers took to the novel with aplomb and produced excellent examples of a genre that they consciously recognized as classical (even specifically Roman or Second Sophistic) in origin. Medieval Greek texts such as the ‘epic’ or ‘proto-romance’ Digenes Akrites (written around 1100), the four Greek romances of the twefth century, and the five vernacular Greek romances of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries continued the novel tradition, incorporating Christian elements in various creative ways while generally attempting at the same time to maintain the standard set by the five major classical novelists whose texts have come down to us more or less extant: Chariton, Xenophon of Ephesus, Achilles Tatius, Longus, and Heliodorus. Roderick Beaton has demonstrated as much in his book on the Medieval Greek Romance (London: 1996), so there is no need to go into detail here. It is, however, the intervening period—from the Aithiopika of Heliodorus (whether we place that work in the third or the fourth century)7 until the twelfth century—that is at issue, and, in particular, it is the late antique transition into what Ramsay MacMullen and others have effectively labeled the ‘dark ages’ of Greek 6 For a detailed analysis of this work, see Scott Fitzgerald Johnson, The Life and Miracles of Thekla, A Literary Study (Washington, DC and Cambridge, Mass.: 2006). 7 See Bowersock, Fiction and History, appendix B, pp. 149–160. 192 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson fiction which I intend to address here.8 The question of whether a taste for the novel (at the very least) continued into the fourth and fifth century can be answered in the affirmative for three reasons. First, Egyptian papyri of various Greek novels have been found to date from this period, indicating that a readership continued.9 Second, there is no question that the Apocryphal Acta, which are rightly read as part of the novelistic literary milieu, remained popular throughout the fourth and fifth centuries: during late antiquity many Acta were either rewritten (e.g. the Acts of Paul and Thekla or the Acts of John), written from scratch (e.g. the Acts of Philip), or translated (e.g. into Latin or Syriac).10 Third, the LM seems to employ devices from the novels in a manner which betrays an awareness of their literary value for the novelists—the topic of the present paper. Therefore, in strict chronological terms I would argue that MacMullen and the others have overlooked a great deal of evidence that is problematic for a strict ending to novelistic writing. While I will readily admit that nothing on the artistic level of Heliodorus was produced in late antiquity (assuming Theagenes and Charikleia itself is not late antique!), it is In his 1986 article, ‘What Difference Did Christianity Make?’ (Historia 35: 322–343), Ramsay MacMullen states explicitly that Christian morality and taste (or lack thereof) in late antiquity brought about the death of classical forms of literature such as the novel. He writes, ‘There were demonstrable changes in literature, too. Nothing similar to Heliodorus’, Apuleius’, or Petronius’ novels could be published, nor poetry like Catullus’ or Ovid’s. There was a difference!’ (p. 342; emphasis original). MacMullen is unfortunately not a lone voice on this question. Other similar claims have been made by specialists in the novel: Ben Edwin Perry, The Ancient Romances: A Literary-historical Account of their Origins, Sather Classical Lectures 37 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1967), p. 124; B.P. Reardon, ‘The Greek Novel’, Phoenix 3 (1969), p. 294 (but compare idem, The Form of the Greek Romance (Princeton: 1991), pp. 167–168); Judith Perkins, ‘Representation in Greek Saints’ Lives’, in J.R. Morgan and Richard Stoneman (eds), Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context (London: 1994), p. 257; Roderick Beaton, The Medieval Greek Romance (2nd ed., London: 1996), p. 54. Despite Glen Bowersock’s critique of MacMullen’s assertion in Fiction as History (esp. p. 142), the tide is not turning: compare the massive collection of articles on ancient novels recently edited by Gareth Schmeling—The Novel in the Ancient World (rev. ed., Leiden: 2003)—which includes only one article on the period between the ancient world and Byzantium: Richard Pervo, ‘The Ancient Novel Becomes Christian’, pp. 685–711. Pervo himself only discusses (briefly) one text written after the third century (Xanthippe and Polyxena, fourth or fifth century; see below), thus leaving a gap of some seven centuries—up to the twelfth-century Byzantine novels— that remains completely unexamined (and tacitly condemned) by Schmeling’s collection. 9 Susan Stephens and John Winkler, Ancient Greek Novels: The Fragments (Princeton: 1995), pp. 481–482. Admittedly, these scraps are from trash heaps in Oxyrhynchus and the Fayum area. 10 Acts of John: Eric Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum 1 and 2 (Turnhout: 1983). Acts of Philip: F. Bovon, B. Bouvier, and F. Amsler, Acta Philippi, Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum 11 and 12 (Turnhout: 1999). Latin translations: Christine Thomas, The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature, and the Ancient Novel: Rewriting the Past (New York: 2003). Syriac translations: William Wright, Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (2 vols, Hildesheim: 1990 [1871]). 8 Late Antique Narrative Fiction 193 misleading to suggest that Christian writers of the period were neither interested in the novel nor able to incorporate novelistic literary techniques.11 It hardly needs reiterating that Augustine had read Apuleius or that the Confessions and the City of God both reveal the hand of a gifted storyteller.12 Much more, however, could be said about the role of narrative in the imaginative world of early Christianity. If Frank Kermode’s engaging study of the Gospel of Mark, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Harvard, 1979), has not produced a Kermode-school in New Testament scholarship, his and Robert Alter’s contributions to the understanding of religious narrative, Christian and Jewish, still stand as tantalizing windows into the thought processes of confessional writers steeped in received, authoritative texts.13 The hagiographers of late antiquity are hardly different from the biblical authors in their attempts to interpret narrative with more narrative. In the same vein as contemporary late antique midrash or targum, the writers of Greek saints’ Lives acted as interpreters on earlier traditions, bringing disparate strands from the hoary apostolic past to bear on contemporary holy figures. To borrow from Kermode: ‘By midrash the interpreter, either by rewriting the story or explaining it in a more acceptable sense, bridges the gap between an original and a modern audience.’14 That these late antique hagiographers chose as their mode of interpretation the genre of the ancient novel should not surprise us. The novel was not only still very popular, but its ‘popular’ element was the very fact that it could be applied to a variety of stories in a variety of religious and secular contexts, and has been read as exegesis in its own right.15 The viability of the form was entangled with its success in a I have not sought here to bring to bear the third-century Pseudo-Clementine texts, the Homilies and the Recognitions, which have been profitably read amongst the ancient novels: see Mark J. Edwards, ‘The Clementina: A Christian Response to the Pagan Novel’, Classical Quarterly 42 (1992), pp. 459–474. From the perspective of the present chapter, these texts could be situated either as pinnacle examples of the oeuvre of Apocryphal Acta or, more suggestively, as precursors to the narrative hagiography that begins in earnest in the midfourth century with the Life of Antony: for the latter view, see Averil M. Cameron, ‘Form and Meaning: The Vita Constantini and the Vita Antonii’, in Tomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau (eds), Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2000), p. 74. 12 Stephen J. Harrison, Apuleius: A Latin Sophist (Oxford: 2000), p. 1 (with references) and p. 179. I am indebted to Richard Dobbins for many delightful conversations about the literary aspects of the Confessions. 13 For an introduction to their ways of reading biblical literature, see Frank Kermode and Robert Alter (eds), The Literary Guide to the Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: 1987). A recent study in their mould is Glenn W. Most, Doubting Thomas (Cambridge, Mass.: 2005). 14 Frank Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Cambridge, Mass.: 1979), p. x. 15 Consider, for example, the demonstrable popularity of the Jewish novel in the Hellenistic and Roman periods: Erich S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, Mass.: 2002), chapters 5 and 6; Laurence M. Wills, The Jewish Novel in the Ancient World (Ithaca, NY: 1995). 11 194 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson complex and inextricable manner. In other words, narrative fiction’s ability to be ‘mixed’ with religious concerns of the utmost importance to the writer and audience was certainly not a hindrance to its success (as one might be tempted to say if one is offended by the often heavily stylized character of the Christian examples). Rather, the mixed form attests to the attractiveness of the novel (or romance) genre among pagan, Jewish, and Christian writers alike. Let us turn now to the text I have chosen as an example of this form, the fifthcentury Life and Miracles of Thekla, which serves in numerous ways as a prime example of the continuity and vitality of novelistic writing in late antique Christianity. III. A LATE ANTIQUE NOVEL? Each half of the Life and Miracles, the paraphrase and the collection, is heavily dependent on its literary form for the presentation of content and ostensible meaning. The effect of the juxtaposition of these (somewhat discordant) tones is difficult to measure unless one sits and reads the entire work together. However, in terms of the novel, these tones can be said to identify certain positions taken on how the author has set himself the task of telling a story or stories. First, the paraphrase retains a tone of nostalgia for the past, and in this sense it could be called a ‘nostalgic history’ of the apostolic period. The historical novels, classical and Byzantine, as Beaton and others have explained, also retain this characteristic, and the sense of recreating a past world, is very strong in these texts. Thus the sense of bringing the past into the present (in the words of sociologist Edward Shils) is preeminent in the Life, much more so than in the ATh.16 However, as historian David Lowenthal has noted, nostalgia is always more about contemporary meaning than ancient, no matter how antiquarian it may seem.17 Therefore, I would suggest that paraphrase essentially represents an interpretative mode, a kind of exegesis on the source text, and is routinely read as such by historians of Jewish interpretation like Geza Vermes and James Kugel.18 The miracle collection, as a complement, retains a tone of the ‘golden age’ in the pastoral sense, and in this way resembles much more Longus’ novel Daphnis and Chloe, as well as the Theocritean or bucolic ideal on which that work draws. The endings of all the novels, moreover, point towards an untroubled (albeit undescribed) future: for instance, when Anthia and Habrocomes return to Ephesus at the end of Xenophon of Ephesus’ novel, the narrator remarks that, ‘the rest of Edward Shils, Tradition (London: 1981), p. 77; see also Johnson, Life and Miracles, pp. 16–18. 17 David Lowenthal, The Past is a Foreign Country (Cambridge: 1985). 18 Geza Vermes, Post-Biblical Jewish Studies (Leiden: 1975); James L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge, Mass.: 1998), p. 23 and passim; see also Johnson, Life and Miracles, pp. 78–86. 16 Late Antique Narrative Fiction 195 life was one long festival’ for the lovers and their families (5.15). I would argue from this point of view that the lack of structure and overarching narrative in the Miracles actually reveals its literary character and generic associations. The impression of what Jacques Derrida called the ‘provisional indetermination’ of the archive—that is, the inability of the archivist ever to complete his archive and the archive’s vulnerability to infinite interpretations—is at the forefront of Thekla’s Miracles and it drives what there is of narrative.19 To put it in summary terms, the overarching theme of the LM as a whole is one of ‘memory’, and the persistent reiteration of the memories—both the paraphrase of an ‘apostolic’ text and the individual miracle-stories—proves very successful in its construction of Thekla’s nostalgic presence in Seleukeia. In the original ATh the saint is said to die in Seleukeia at the end of her teaching career; however, in the LM she does not die, but descends into the ground alive—emphatically not dying—and works miracles in Seleukeia forever, as captured by the second half of the work. Thus, her rewritten death—rewritten into a non-death—provides the author his opportunity to create and establish his vision of a spiritual landscape, in which Thekla moves and works—‘haunts’ (ἐπιφοιτάω) is, in fact, his favorite word to describe her miraculous activities. The focus of the collection as a whole is therefore on the future, not simply on the past Life, and not simply on the present Miracles. The linguistic movement of the collection constantly returns the starting point of memory, or memorializing: a rhetorical tool that projects the indeterminacy of the archive, or the bucolic ideal, far into the future.20 There is no sense that Thekla will ever stop working miracles, nor is there a sense that there will ever come a time when someone who has been healed or helped by her will not be able to tell of it. This ‘indetermination’ of the collection (and indeed of the LM as a whole) comes to a crescendo at the end of the Miracles when the author prays to Thekla that she would grant his work a positive reception (Mir. epilogue 9–15).21 In his words, this is the ‘one further miracle’ that he wants her to work on his behalf. This appeal for success and permanence in the burgeoning canon of Apocrypha and Lives is necessarily indeterminate and confirms the essential literary characteristic of his work. It also confirms the relationship he has constructed between himself and the saint throughout the text. She has been his patron and he has been her publicist, but ultimately it is up to her whether his work gets the fair hearing it deserves. Intriguingly, he also leaves it up to her whether he will be professionally accepted by his peers: 19 Jacques Derrida, Archive Fever: A Fruedian Impression, trans. E. Prenowitz (Chicago: 1996 [1995]); see also Johnson, Life and Miracles, pp. 216–217. 20 See Johnson, Life and Miracles, pp. 115–116 on the paratactic style and memorializing in Herodotus and the LM. 21 See Johnson, Life and Miracles, p. 12 and pp. 219–220. 196 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson Along with these things, Virgin [Thekla], grant that…I may be seen again to bring to harvest (κομιζομένους) that which I am accustomed to harvest, namely, the persuasion (πειθώ) of my listeners, respect (αἰδώ), the progress (προκοπήν) of the congregation, and the increase of faith and piety (τῆς εὐσεβείας). For, as you know, I was confident of the supremacy of that gift of teaching which came because of you (διὰ σέ), and that it is also because of you (διὰ σέ) that applause and acclamation has come to me, as well as having a reputation among the orators, who are as many as they are amazing (θαυμασίοις). (Mir. epilogue 31–41.) The language in this passage is very significant. The author is associating himself with the succession of apostolic teachers to which Thekla herself belongs. The word εὐσέβεια (‘piety’) is the central theme of the entire text, serving as it does in the Life to solidify Thekla’s dependence upon the apostle Paul and, eventually, her apostolic status. Likewise, the phrase ‘because of you’ is one we will see again shortly: at the end of the Life Thekla claims that it is ‘because of you [Paul]’ that she has achieved the status of martyr and apostle. With this internal resonance in mind, it becomes clear that the author of the LM is asking that Thekla grant to himself something like apostolic succession, as Paul granted to her in Myra (Life 26). Thus, in order to understand the conclusion of the LM, we must venture back to the beginning, to the Acts of Paul and Thekla. I intend on the basis of the summary analysis just presented to demonstrate that the (novelistic) relationship between Paul and Thekla plays a crucial role for this late antique hagiographer, not only as the mode of apostolic nostalgia, but as a pattern of religious narrative and authorship. IV. THE APOSTLE PAUL IN THE LIFE AND MIRACLES The novelistic aspect of the LM which I would like to consider after having set up this broader framework is the use made of the character of Paul in the first half of the LM. In the Life the two foci around which Paul and Thekla’s relationship revolves are 1) romance and 2) training (or education) in ‘piety’ (εὐσέβεια); these two elements are only touched on in the ATh (the source text), but they are brought to the fore in the Life (the paraphrase) and made to bear a great deal of argumentative weight. Let us begin with romance. From the first time that the two characters meet in the Life—in the prison at night in Iconium—their romantic, forbidden liaison is highlighted. Thus, Thekla’s secretive entry into the prison is described as an adventure fraught with danger, with gates to be passed and jailers to be bribed. The narrator emphasizes Thekla’s uncommon daring: [Thekla] conceived and carried out a deed very rash for a young girl, very courageous for an older woman, and even very zealous for a Christian initiate (Life 8.15–17). Late Antique Narrative Fiction 197 Paul’s speech to Thekla in the jail, not present in the ATh, highlights further aspects of her unyielding attraction to the apostle. He says, for instance, that she has been ‘inflamed’ (ἀναφλεχθῆναι) by the ‘small and indistinct spark (σπινθῆρος) of my words’ (9.14–15). This theme of young lust is here transformed into a lust for Paul’s teaching and for the ‘evangelistic course’ (τὸν εὐαγγελικὸν δρόμον) that has compelled her to renounce her mother, her family reputation, her wealth, her fiancé and to ‘take up the cross’ (echoing Matthew 16:24). Paul’s recounting of these difficult barriers through which Thekla has come serves to focus the reader’s attention on her incomparable desire for the apostle himself. Furthermore, after this recapitulation by Paul of Thekla’s deeds thus far—a device not uncommon in the novels, as we shall see—the apostle transitions into a prediction of her future trials and success: [The devil] will indulge countless vain fancies against you, through words, through deeds, through promises, through whips, through flattery and fawning, through fire, beasts, judges, demes, and executioners. However, if he recognizes even the slightest bit of your vigor and power in Christ, he will make a speedy retreat and will escape faster than speech; he will flee you more than the famous Job, to whom the devil granted victory (against his will), when he attacked him with a thousand evils. (Life 9.30–38) Thekla’s romantic drive is linked in this passage to her upcoming training and inevitable victory: Paul predicts the very details of the story to come. In fact, he goes so far as to predict at the end of his speech her reputation after the closing of the original story: For you will teach many others and you will lead them to your bridegroom, like Peter, like John, like each of we apostles, among whom you yourself will certainly be counted, I know this well. (Life 9.77–80) Paul’s premonition is reminiscent of the closing words of the Miracles (quoted above) in which the author prays to Thekla for a positive reception of his work. Thus it is fair to say that the author uses Paul’s character in the Life as an authorial voice in his attempt to bring out the greater significance of these first steps of Thekla’s ‘course’. He does this through the literary techniques of foreshadowing and what could be called ‘pre-capitulation’, foreshadowing in explicit details (already known by the reader). Paul does not have so significant a role in the ATh, yet the LM appears to have taken the opportunity of this not-fully-fleshed-out Paul to incorporate creatively a new voice, an authorial voice which employs novelistic techniques. Moreover, Paul’s role here in the LM de-emphasizes the mystery of what will happen to Thekla in the rest of the story—a side effect that could be interpreted as perhaps anti-novelistic. However, as I will show in a moment, this type of rhetorical device may actually reveal his acquaintance with that tradition. Skipping ahead to the end of the Life, Thekla’s romantic relationship with Paul is again couched in terms of her training; this time, however, it is her theological 198 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson education that is at stake. When Thekla surprises Paul at Myra, in the final stage of her journey before going on alone to Seleukeia, her training seems finished and the rashness she revealed by coming into the jail at Iconium is now described as a perfected part of her character: ‘[Paul] marveled (ἐθαύμασε) at the virgin for her endurance, her perseverance, and her courage’ (Life 25.38–39). Thekla’s response to Paul likewise speaks of the accomplishment that she has achieved through the course of the story. She begins with a summary of what Paul has meant to her: ‘Teacher, the things that have accrued to me through you and your teaching are manifold and greater than speech’ (26.1–2). She then proceeds to recount a litany of technical Trinitarian formulae which are much more Cappadocian than Pauline in terms of their vocabulary.22 For example: And I learnt through you the ineffable (ἄφραστον), inaccessible (ἀποριστόν), unchangeable (ἀναλλοίωτον), incomprehensible (ἀκατάληπτον) nature of the power (δυνάμεως) that is in the Trinity (Τριάδι). (Life 26.8–10) Then, at the end of this litany, she closes with a key phrase that she makes to stand for the whole of Paul’s teaching: ‘Simply put, I have learned through you the prizes and honors that come to those who love the whole piety (εὐσεβείας) and way of life (πολιτείας) in Christ’ (26.43–45). ‘Way of life’ (πολιτεία) is, of course, a programmatic term for late antique and Byzantine saints’ Lives, but the word ‘piety’ represents the key programmatic term for the Life of Thekla as a literary unit.23 Paul’s response at Myra to Thekla’s declaration of faith is one of satisfaction. He sends her off to Seleukeia with nothing more to teach her. You now lack nothing for apostleship and inheritance of the divine preaching (πρὸς ἀποστολὴν καὶ διαδοχὴν τοῦ θείου κηρύγματος). Therefore, go away, teach the word, complete the evangelistic course (τὸν εὐαγγελικὸν δρόμον), and share my zeal for Christ. On account of this Christ chose you through me (δι’ ἐμοῦ), in order that he might move you into apostleship (εἰς ἀποσολήν) and might put in your hands certain cities yet uncatechized (τῶν ἔτι ἀκατηχήτων πόλεων). For it is necessary for you to multiply your talents. (Life 26.61–67; cf. Matthew 25:14–29) This prophetic passage closes the face-to-face relationship between Paul and Thekla, but the virgin still longs after him after they have separated. She returns to Iconium on her way to Seleukeia and visits, like a pilgrim, the site in her neighbors’ On the Trinitarian language in the LM, see Johnson, Life and Miracles, pp. 32–35. On πολιτεία, see e.g. Athanasius of Alexandria, Life of Antony, 14; Theodoret of Cyrrhus, History of the Monks of Syria, 1; Palladius, Lausiac History, preface 33; History of the Monks in Egypt, preface 10. While πολιτεία in this sense is characteristically late antique and Byzantine, the word had taken on its basic Christian sense from an early point: e.g. 1 Clement 2.8; Martyrdom of Polycarp 13.2. There are, however, no uses of the word in this sense in the New Testament. See BDAG (definition 3) and Lampe (definition 3d), s.v. ‘πολιτεία’. 22 23 Late Antique Narrative Fiction 199 house where Paul first taught her about εὐσέβεια. In a prayer at the site she promises God never to cease to fight ‘on behalf of the piety and faith (εὐσεβείας καὶ πίστεως)’ which was revealed to her through Paul (27.18–19). When looked at as a narrative whole, the Life’s picture of the relationship between Paul and Thekla is constructed from an awareness of what Thekla later becomes (historically) and from a desire to emphasize her apostolic stardom from the beginning. This latter effect is achieved through Paul’s premonitory voice which, again, is not present in the original ATh. Paul pushes Thekla through a training which he presupposes she will complete with flying colors. In his various invented speeches he both re-capitulates the story thus far and pre-capitulates (or foreshadows explicitly) the details of what is left, including her future reception into the company of apostles. Thekla’s speech at Myra, full as it is of Trinitarian formulae, is directly imitative of a final speech Paul gives before the judge at Iconium (Life 7), which I have not quoted but which is also Cappadocian in character. The general rhetorical effect of the characterization of their romantic student-teacher relationship is, of course, further to attach Thekla to the unassailable reputation and memory of Paul—perhaps because her own status had come under attack in late antiquity (though this happened mainly in the West).24 From a literary point of view, however, this effect is achieved through the use of certain novelistic devices: such as, the use of suspenseful narration for Thekla’s infiltration into the prison at Iconium; the illicit, young-lust character of Paul and Thekla’s secret liaison and their discovery in the morning; Paul’s recapitulations; and, finally, Paul as an authorial voice. Those elements just mentioned that are present in nascent form in the ATh are clearly written-up in the Life, and those that are invented from scratch, such as several of Paul and Thekla’s speeches (particularly the ones containing Trinitarian language), all contribute to a view that the author is well acquainted with the techniques of the Greek novel or novelistic literature generally. V. A BRIEF COMPARISON WITH THE GREEK NOVEL This association between the Life and the novels can be confirmed through brief examples from the ancient novels themselves. First, the playful romance between Paul and Thekla and, in particular, the exaggerated drama of their illicit, secretive liaison in the Iconian prison, is reminiscent (just to take one example) of Leukippe and Clitophon’s attempt to consummate their secret affair in Book 2 of Achilles Tatius. The latter two lovers conspire with the help of their servants Clio and Satyros to meet one night in Leukippe’s bedroom, a daring affair which is written in a tone of high suspense and which is only accomplished through deceit and under cover of darkness: 24 See Johnson, Life and Miracles, pp. 3–5 and pp. 221–226. 200 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson As [Satryos] was speaking, we arrived at the doors guarding my beloved. He remained outside while I entered, Clio admitting me without a sound. I felt a double tremor, of simultaneous pleasure and fear: my fear of the danger was perturbing the hopes of my soul, while my hope of success was overwhelming my fear with pleasure; thus the hopeful part of me was terrified and the anxious part ecstatic.25 (2.23) Once this scene is set, and just at the moment when Clitophon slips quietly into her bed, Leukippe’s mother Pantheia, having been disturbed by a nightmare, bursts into the room anxious to see that her daughter is safe and sound. The pattern which is shared by both the Life of Thekla and Leukippe and Clitophon is the following: first, a heightened sense of suspense and danger, which is caused by an illicit (and apparently sexual) meeting at night; second, the actual meeting of the lovers; third, the sudden interruption of the affair by the entry of a figure of authority—in Thekla’s case her fiancé Thamyris. In Achilles Tatius the lovers admittedly get away with it and are not actually discovered, but the ultimate effect of the liaison is the same: the couple is forced to flee and is ultimately separated, specifically because of the attempted consummation. Furthermore, the assumption that Paul and Thekla’s nocturnal meeting was primarily sexual (as assumed by Thamyris, her mother, and the townspeople) is not made explicit in the ATh, as it is in the Life (further confirming that the author of the Life was playing up the novelistic elements). Second, the use of invented speeches within historical narrative, a device familiar from ancient historiography, is found in all of the major Greek novels: for example, there are two court scenes with rhetorical speeches at the end of Achilles Tatius (7.7–12; 8.8–11) and one in Persia at the end of Chariton’s novel (5.4–8). The speeches of Paul and Thekla mentioned above are only a few of the many speeches in the Life that are either significantly extended from their ATh form or written afresh. Most of these are speeches at a court or in front of a magistrate, and a few include excurses on the natural world in the manner of Heliodorus or, again, Achilles Tatius.26 Third, the use of recapitulation by Chariton, Xenophon of Ephesus, and Achilles Tatius has been thoroughly analyzed by Tomas Hägg and does not need to be rehearsed here.27 It will be enough to quote a characteristic use of this device by Chariton, who includes two main recapitulations at the beginning of Book 5 and the beginning of Book 8: How Chaereas, suspecting that Callirhoe had been handed over to Dionysius and desiring to revenge himself on the king, had deserted to the pharaoh; how he had been appointed Trans. Tim Whitmarsh, Achilles Tatius: Leukippe and Clitophon, Oxford World’s Classics (Oxford: 2001). 26 Shadi Bartsch, Decoding the Ancient Novel: The Reader and the Role of Description in Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius (Princeton: 1989). 27 Tomas Hägg, Narrative Technique in Ancient Greek Romances: Studies of Chariton, Xenophon Ephesius, and Achilles Tatius (Stockholm: 1971), chapter 7. 25 Late Antique Narrative Fiction 201 admiral and gained control of the sea; how after his victory he captured Aradus, where the king had secluded his wife and all her retinue, Callirhoe included: this has been described in the preceding book.28 (8.1) Paul’s recapitulation of Thekla’s success at renouncing her family, wealth, and fiancé (as mentioned above) is very similar in form and function to the recapitulations in the novels. They serve to highlight for the reader the significant elements of the story, often in simplified and direct language; and they can be emotionally tinged, in the sense of bringing to mind again the more difficult aspects of the journey thus far. Fourth, it has been suggested that the theme of the education or training of the lovers is central to the conception of the ancient novel, particularly in the sense that some authors seem to have modeled their works on, or at least taken inspiration from, Xenophon of Athens’ Education of Cyrus (fourth century BC). Longus’ pastoral Daphnis and Chloe and Apuleius’ Latin Metamorphoses have both been read as following a course of education for its central figures, leading to a point of conversion, either religious, sexual, or both.29 It is not necessary here to recount or evaluate the arguments for specific novels but only to point out the obvious importance of this theme for every novel on some level, as well as for the LM. Thekla’s education is effected through the character of Paul who could be read, perhaps, as a lover—who is educated by Thekla about her own successes—or a version of Lycaenion in Daphnis and Chloe, the woman wise in the ways of sex who tutors Daphnis, or as Eros himself, who in one way or another catalyzes the education of the lovers in all the novels. Fifth and finally, foreshadowing the events to come is also a common device in the Greek novels, usually in the form of cryptic predictions, such as dreams or oracles. To take an instance again from the beginning of Achilles Tatius’ novel, Clitophon is engaged to marry his half-sister Calligone but grows eager to avoid this marriage because of his love for Leukippe. One night, a year before his marriage—and just before he first meets Leukippe—Clitophon has a prophetic dream that his lower parts are fused with those of his bride, while their upper bodies are still separate and individual. Suddenly, a ‘huge and terrifying’ woman appears and chops off his bride’s trunk with a sickle (1.3). Upon waking from the nightmare, Clitophon does not offer an initial interpretation, but coming as it does between the discussion of his upcoming marriage and his first meeting of Leukippe, the first opportunity Trans. G.P. Goold, Chariton: Callirhoe, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Mass.: 1995). Most education-conversion interpretations of the ideal novel depend (in one way or another) on R. Reitzenstein, Hellenistische Wunderzählungen (Leipzig: 1906), where it is argued that Apuleius’ Metamorphoses more accurately transmits the original Ur-Novel, which was essentially a conversion narrative; see also R. Merkelbach, Roman und Mysterium in der Antike (Munich: 1962), R. Beck, ‘Mystery Religions, Aretalogy, and the Ancient Novel’, in Schmeling (ed.), Novel in the Ancient World, pp. 131–150, and N. Shumate, Crisis and Conversion in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (Ann Arbor: 1996). 28 29 202 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson for narrative fulfillment of the nightmare is at the breakup of Clitophon and Calligone’s engagement when she is felicitously abducted by Callisthenes in 2.18, leaving Clitophon free to marry his true love Leukippe. This would be a natural interpretation by the reader, considering the narrative thus far. However, what the nightmare really seems to predict comes at 2.23: the abrupt separation of Clitophon and Leukippe during their attempted sexual encounter, as just described above.30 Thus, for the innocent reader, this dream foreshadows Calligone’s abduction, but, as the story progresses, a surprise is offered, perhaps in the manner of a modern detective story. The correct interpretation of a nightmare is not a happy one, but a truly nightmarish interpretation of a nightmare, because of Clitophon and Leukippe’s eventual separation due to their attempted consummation. Of course, their separation is not final, but the nightmare, rightly interpreted, provides the impetus for the bulk of the novel and its final resolution. If the first interpretation had been correct, the novel would certainly have been a short one. The duplicity of Clitophon’s nightmare in the context of narrative revelation and reader-response is not a unique example; many such oracles open to misinterpretation can be found, especially in Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus, and John Winkler has shown in detail how the process of consistent misinterpretation of oracles by the character Kalasiris in Heliodorus’ Aithiopika is used by the author to propel the narrative to its (successful and happy) resolution.31 It might be suggested, on this basis, that my argument—that Paul’s predictive pre-capitulations in the Life of Thekla are novelistic techniques—is missing the point. Is it not the case that the attempt by Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus to play with the reader’s assumptions is what the Greek Novel (at its height) is really all about? In responding to this question, I would emphasize that the author of the LM does not appear ignorant of narrative misdirections of this sort. In particular, in a passage from the prologue to the Miracles, the author explains that he is unwilling to engage in what he calls ‘oracular tricks’. Citing the Delphic prophecy that ‘in crossing the Halys river Croesus will destroy a great kingdom’ (Mir. preface 50; cf. Herodotus 1.53), he claims in a mode of deprecation that ‘in puzzles and riddles lies the whole honor of the oracles’ (preface 36–37). He next proceeds to compare these devious oracles to the ‘healings and oracular sayings (ἰάματα καὶ θεσπίσματα)’ of the saints, which he says are ‘wise, true, complete, holy, perfect, and truly worthy of the God who has given them’ (preface 75–77). Would it be wise of us to suspend the hermeneutic of suspicion in this case? While this programmatic passage is couched in emulation of Herodotus, in literary terms these comments could equally be applied to the novels. Perhaps in using the character of Paul to predict (so blatantly) the future events of the Life and Thekla’s Bartsch, Decoding the Ancient Novel, p. 87. John Winkler, ‘The Mendacity of Kalasiris and the Narrative Strategy of Heliodorus’ Aithiopika’, in Simon Swain (ed.), Oxford Readings in the Greek Novel (Oxford: 1999 [1982]), pp. 286–350. See also Bowersock, Fiction as History, chapter 4. 30 31 Late Antique Narrative Fiction 203 subsequent career at Seleukeia, the author of the LM is being intentional about his use of narrative foreshadowing. Perhaps he is being intentionally transparent, following upon his ideas about the ethics of devious oracles. To put it another way, the foreshadowing which seems to remove the mystery of the upcoming events of the story is his way of self-consciously separating himself from a mode of writing that he finds morally reprehensible (while making use of the novel for the critique). Of course, this specific case has much to do with the chosen form, in the sense that any paraphrase presumes to some degree a basic knowledge of the underlying story. The key, however, is that both the form and the mode of narration are conscious choices which have repercussions for how the story is told. In the case of the LM an awareness of novelistic techniques is evident both in the techniques the author has chosen to employ and in those he explicitly condemns or has modified for his own purposes. VI. CONCLUSION The role of Paul in the LM provides a way of seeing the assumptions of the novel at work in Greek hagiography. As Mark Edwards has noted with regard to the Pseudo-Clementine texts of two centuries earlier, a Christian acquaintance with the ancient novel can often lead to a sophisticated reworking of the assumptions of the genre.32 Paul’s pre-capitulations could thus be seen as anti-novelistic in their transparent foreshadowing of future events. At the same time, however, I would like to add that the enhanced character of Paul in the LM brings the ATh back into line with the balance of hero and heroine typical of the novel: the devaluing of Paul that occurs at multiple points in the ATh is consistently revised in the LM, and Paul’s character is made more central to the argument of the whole work, as shown above.33 The parallel adventures of Paul and Thekla, as a couple indissolubly linked, provide now the opportunity to discern the model of the novel lurking in the background of the LM. The versatility of the novel form—ideal, historical, or otherwise—is also evident in the LM, particularly in its ability to mix elements of biography, Gospel, exegesis, and even panegyric into an essentially fictional-narrative structure. This combination can be seen also in the Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena, a twopart work (most likely) from the late fourth or fifth century that bears similar marks of the Christian appropriation of the novel. This text’s bipartite structure 32 Edwards, ‘The Clementina’, p. 474: ‘The Clementina acknowledge, without obeying them, the constraints of a pagan genre’. 33 On the negative portrayal of Paul in the ATh, see Melissa Aubin, ‘Reversing Romance? The Acts of Thekla and the Ancient Novel’, in Ronald F. Hock, J. Bradley Chance, and Judith Perkins (eds), Ancient Fiction and Early Christian Narrative (Atlanta: 1998), pp. 257–272. On the revision of Paul’s character in the LM, see Johnson, Life and Miracles, pp. 42–45 and 45–48. 204 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson presages early Byzantine saints’ Lives in its discordant (if standard) combination of Bios in the first half with Praxeis/Politeia in the second.34 The imposed unity of a conventional conversion story with a ‘goings and doings’ episodic narrative is not insignificant for the present argument: this exact structure is shared by the first-century Jewish novel Joseph and Aseneth, the canonical Acts of the Apostles, and the LM itself. A bipartate structure is, of course, not shared with ideal novels such as those by Chariton and Achilles Tatius, who employed eight books for their narratives (likewise, Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana). However, the metageneric association (with the novel) of the Christian texts is clear enough, even if they have developed a formal tradition-within-a-tradition that changes/mixes the narrative structure for its own purposes. Eventually more will need to be said about the continuity between early Christian and late antique literature. It has been fashionable for some time to emphasize the discontinuity between the disparate, often (enticingly) ‘heretical’ early Church and the conventional, authoritarian late antique Church.35 This dichotomy may retain some truth in terms of socio-cultural development, but when the question of literary form is taken up in earnest, much more striking than any discontinuity are the shared tools and techniques of Christian story-telling across the centuries, and between Christians, Jews, and ‘pagans’ alike. Kermode and Alter have emphasized in their Literary Guide to the Bible (and in various individual studies) that the ability to interpret narrative with more narrative is characteristic of biblical literature throughout the canon. Geza Vermes and James Kugel have said as much for intertestamental, Qumranic, and rabbinic literatures.36 It will be important in the future for scholars of Christian literature to explore further how malleable forms like the novel provided opportunities for saints’ Lives and other ‘popular’ genres, such as the sermon, to imitate earlier forms, such as the Gospels, and thus participate in a cross-generational literary tradition of great importance for the development of ancient thought and literature. 34 See Pervo, ‘Ancient Novel Becomes Christian’, pp. 707–708. On the date of Xanthippe and Polyxena, see Eric Junod, ‘Vie et conduite des saintes femmes Xanthippe, Polyxene et Rebecca’, in Damaskinos Papandreou, Wolfgang A. Bienert, and Knut Schäferdiek (eds), Oecumenica et Patristica: Festschritf für Wilhelm Schneemelcher zum 75. Geburtstag (Stuttgart: 1989), 83–105. 35 Witness the Da Vinci Code phenomenon and more scholarly books such as Elaine Pagels, Beyond Belief: The Secret Gospel of Thomas (New York: 2003). 36 Vermes, Post-Biblical Jewish Studies; Kugel, Traditions of the Bible. See also the review of Kugel by Kermode, ‘The Bible as it Was’, in idem, Pleasing Myself: From Beowolf to Philip Roth (London: 2001), pp. 153–166 [first published as ‘The Midrash Mishmash’, New York Review of Books 45.7 (April 23, 1998)]. Late Antique Narrative Fiction 205 WORKS CITED Aubin, Melissa. ‘Reversing Romance? The Acts of Thekla and the Ancient Novel’, in Ronald F. Hock, J. Bradley Chance, and Judith Perkins (eds), Ancient Fiction and Early Christian Narrative (Atlanta: 1998), 257–272. Bartsch, Shadi. Decoding the Ancient Novel: The Reader and the Role of Description in Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius (Princeton: 1989). Beaton, Roderick. The Medieval Greek Romance (2nd ed., London: 1996). Beck, R. ‘Mystery Religions, Aretalogy, and the Ancient Novel’, in G. Schmeling (ed.), The Novel in the Ancient World (rev. ed., Leiden: 2003), 131–150. Bovon, F., B. Bouvier, and F. Amsler, Acta Philippi, Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum 11 and 12 (Turnhout: 1999). Bowersock, Glen. Fiction and History: Nero to Julian, Sather Classical Lectures 58 (Berkeley and Los Angeles). Cameron, Averil M. ‘Form and Meaning: The Vita Constantini and the Vita Antonii’, in Tomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau (eds), Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 2000), 72–88. Castelli, Elizabeth, et al. (eds). The Postmodern Bible: The Bible and Culture Collective (New Haven: 1995). Cooper, Kate. The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass.: 1996). Dagron, Gilbert. Vie et miracles de Sainte Thècle: Texte grec, traduction, et commentaire, Subsidia Hagiographica 62 (Brussels: 1978). Derrida, Jacques. Archive Fever: A Fruedian Impression, trans. E. Prenowitz (Chicago: 1996 [1995]). Edwards, Mark J. ‘The Clementina: A Christian Response to the Pagan Novel’, Classical Quarterly 42 (1992), 459–474. Fowler, Robert M. ‘Reader-Response Criticism: Figuring Mark’s Reader’, in Janice C. Anderson and Stephen D. Moore (eds), Mark and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies (Minneapolis: 1992), 50–83. Frye, Northop. Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (Princeton: 1957). Goold, G.P. Chariton: Callirhoe, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Mass.: 1995). Gruen, Erich S. Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, Mass.: 2002). Hägg, Tomas. Narrative Technique in Ancient Greek Romances: Studies of Chariton, Xenophon Ephesius, and Achilles Tatius (Stockholm: 1971). ———. The Novel in Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1983). Harrison, Stephen J. Apuleius: A Latin Sophist (Oxford: 2000). Johnson, Scott Fitzgerald. The Life and Miracles of Thekla, A Literary Study (Washington, DC and Cambridge, Mass.: 2006). Junod, Eric. ‘Vie et conduite des saintes femmes Xanthippe, Polyxene et Rebecca’, in Damaskinos Papandreou, Wolfgang A. Bienert, and Knut Schäferdiek (eds), Oecumenica et Patristica: Festschritf für Wilhelm Schneemelcher zum 75. Geburtstag (Stuttgart: 1989), 83–105. Junod, Eric and J.-D. Kaestli. Acta Iohannis, Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum 1 and 2 (Turnhout: 1983). 206 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson Kelber, Werner. Mark’s Story of Jesus (Philadelphia: 1979). Kermode, Frank. The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative, Charles Eliot Norton Lectures (Cambridge, Mass.: 1979). ———. ‘The Argument about Canons’, in idem, An Appetite for Poetry (Cambridge, Mass.: 1989), 189–207. ———. ‘The Bible as it Was’, in idem, Pleasing Myself: From Beowolf to Philip Roth (London: 2001), 153–166. [first published as ‘The Midrash Mishmash’, New York Review of Books 45.7 (April 23, 1998)]. Kermode, Frank and Robert Alter (eds). The Literary Guide to the Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: 1987). Kugel, James L. Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge, Mass.: 1998). Lowenthal, David. The Past is a Foreign Country (Cambridge: 1985). MacMullen, Ramsay. ‘What Difference Did Christianity Make?’, Historia 35 (1986): 322–343. Malborn, Elizabeth Struthers. ‘Narrative Criticism: How Does a Story Mean?’, in Janice C. Anderson and Stephen D. Moore (eds), Mark and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies (Minneapolis: 1992), 23–49. Merkelbach, R. Roman und Mysterium in der Antike (Munich: 1962). Moore, Stephen D. Literary Criticism and the Gospels (New Haven: 1989). Pagels, Elaine. Beyond Belief: The Secret Gospel of Thomas (New York: 2003). Perkins, Judith. ‘Representation in Greek Saints’ Lives’, in J.R. Morgan and Richard Stoneman (eds), Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context (London: 1994), 255– 271. Perrin, Norman. What is Redaction Criticism? (Philadelphia: 1969). ———. The New Testament: An Introduction (New York: 1974). Perry, Ben Edwin. The Ancient Romances: A Literary-historical Account of their Origins Sather Classical Lectures 37 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1967). Pervo, Richard. ‘The Ancient Novel Becomes Christian’, in Gareth Schmeling (ed.), The Novel in the Ancient World (rev. ed., Leiden: 2003), 685–711. Reardon, B.P. ‘The Greek Novel’, Phoenix 3 (1969), 291–309. ———. The Form of the Greek Romance (Princeton: 1991). Reitzenstein, R. Hellenistische Wunderzählungen (Leipzig: 1906). Schmeling, Gareth (ed.). The Novel in the Ancient World (rev. ed., Leiden: 2003). Shils, Edward. Tradition (London: 1981). Stephens, Susan and John Winkler, Ancient Greek Novels: The Fragments (Princeton: 1995). Shumate, N. Crisis and Conversion in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (Ann Arbor: 1996). Thomas, Christine. The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature, and the Ancient Novel: Rewriting the Past (New York: 2003). Vermes, Geza. Post-Biblical Jewish Studies (Leiden: 1975). Whitmarsh, Tim. Achilles Tatius: Leukippe and Clitophon, Oxford World’s Classics (Oxford: 2001). Wills, Laurence M. The Jewish Novel in the Ancient World (Ithaca, NY: 1995). Late Antique Narrative Fiction 207 Winkler, John. ‘The Mendacity of Kalasiris and the Narrative Strategy of Heliodorus’ Aithiopika’, in Simon Swain (ed.), Oxford Readings in the Greek Novel (Oxford: 1999 [1982]), 286–350. Wright, William. Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (2 vols, Hildesheim: 1990 [1871]). Index Achilles 61, 110–111, 113, 116, 118, 148 Achilles Tatius 5, 191, 199–202, 204 Acts of John (apocryphal) 192 Acts of Philip (apocryphal) 192 Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena 192 n. 8, 203, 204 n. 34 Adonis 122 Aemilius Macer (Theriaca) 145 Agathias (Cycle) 15, 164, 176, 179, 180, 182 n. 91, 184 Akathistos hymn 23, 135 Albinus (Eisagoge or Prologos) 77, 78, 79, 82 n. 109 Alcibiades 56, 178 Alcinous (Didaskalikos) 77, 78, 79, 81 Alcmena 143 Aldus Manutius 62 Alexander of Aphrodisias 91 n. 1 Alexander the Great 115, 136 Alexandria 4, 29, 30, 39, 60, 78, 130, 141, 142, 144 n. 24, 147, 150, 151 n. 60, 154, 169; see also Egypt/Egyptians Ammianus Marcellinus 56 Ammonius (dialogue of) 97–99; see also literary genres/dialogue Anastasius I (emperor) 4, 22, 121, 128–129, 131, 134–137, 141, 154, 155, 165, 166, 170, 179, 180 Anastasius of Sinai 18, 95 n. 20, 97 Anatolius, bishop of Syrian Laodicea (Arithmeticae Eisagōgai) 78–79, 81 Andromeda 146 Anicia Juliana 4, 21, 159, 162–165, 165–168, 169, 173, 175–180, 183, 184 n. 101, 185 Antenor 150 Antimachus of Colophon 146 Antinous 146, 147 Antioch 4, 19, 30, 34, 38, 39, 42, 119, 129, 130, 133, 148 n. 43 Antiochus III of Syria 148 Aphrodite 113, 122, 133; see also Venus Apollinarius the Elder, of Laodicea (Paraphrase of the Psalms) 4, 169, 170, 172–173 Apollo 56, 152 Apollodorus (Bibliotheca) 131, 132 n. 19 Apollonius of Rhodes (Argonautica) 142–143, 144, 145, 148, 150 n. 54, 177 n. 57, 178 Apollonius of Tyana 2, 49–62, 204; see also Philostratus of Athens Apotelesmata of Apollonius of Tyana (anon.) 57 210 Index Appendix Vergiliana (Culex) 144 n. 24 Apuleius of Madaurus 58, 59, 137, 192 n. 8, 193, 201 Arabic language 2, 7, 14 Aramaic language 7 Aratus 145 Areobindus (husband of Anicia Juliana) 166 nn. 18 and 20 Arianism 86 Aristaeus 144, 148, 149, 151 Aristides 72 Aristotle 42, 78, 100 Aristophanes 118 Armenia/Armenian language 2, 7, 19, 44 Arnobius 59 Artemis 152 Athanasius 68, 198 n. 23 Athenaeus 146, 147 Athenagoras 74 n. 48 Augustine 15, 59, 60, 193 Augustus 136 Ausonius 155 Avitus (emperor) 60 Barḥadbešabba ‘Arabaya (Cause of the Foundation of the Schools) 43 Barsanuphios of Gaza 121 Basil of Caesarea 22 Basil of Seleucia 55; see also Thekla/Life and Miracles of Thekla basilikos logos 165–167 Belisarius 23 Bible (books of) Acts of the Apostles 204 Daniel 189 Esther 189 Ezekiel 159 Genesis 39, 41, 42, 43 Gospel of Mark 193 Gospel of Matthew 197, 198 Gospel of John 150, 176; see also Nonnus/Paraphrase of John Isaiah 75 n. 57 1 Peter 70, 71 Psalms 32, 39, 75 n. 57; see also Apollinarius the Elder Romans 85 n. 124 bishops/clergy 12, 15, 18, 22, 31, 38, 44, 55, 60, 61, 62, 67, 68, 78, 81 Index 211 Caesarea Maritima (library of) 79, 81, 85 Caesarius (brother of Gregory Nazianzus) 22 n. 59, 96 Callimachus 4, 131, 137, 144–147, 153, 155, 169, 170, 171 n. 40, 174 Aetia 143, 151 n. 62, 154, 155 n. 78 Epigrams 154 Hecale 141 n. 2, 142, 143, 145, 146, 149–152, 154 Hymns 154 Calvenus Taurus (Lucius) 81 n. 101 Caracalla (emperor) 147 n. 39 Cassiodorus 18, 43 Catullus 142, 144, 145, 154 Celsus 73, 94 Chalcedon/Chalcedonian 30, 31, 36, 37, 38, 166, 178; see also literary genres/ conciliar acta Chariton 5, 191, 200, 204 Chorikios of Gaza 3, 107–123 Chosroes (king of Persia) 23; see also Persia/Persians ‘Christianization’ 12, 17, 18, 29 Christodorus of Coptus 4, 127–132, 134, 137, 170–173, 178, 180–183, 185 Christology 32, 34, 37 Chrysippus 92 Ciris (Ps.-Virgil) 4, 142, 144, 145, 152, 154 Claudian 155, 156 Clement of Alexandria 71, 74 n. 48 1 Clement 198 n. 23 Clementina (Ps.) 193, 203 Colluthus of Lykopolis 4, 128–134, 137, 150 n. 53, 154, 155, 171 n. 40, 174 n. 44, 181 n. 82 Constantine I (emperor) 17 n. 32, 21 n. 54, 52, 68, 135 n. 30, 136, 164, 167, 179; see also Eusebius, Life of Constantine Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus (emperor) 165 n. 13 Constantinople 4, 18, 29, 33, 35, 36, 39, 42, 96, 102 n. 45, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 136, 141, 159, 164, 178, 179, 180, 183, 184, 185 Coptic language 2, 7, 14, 19 Corippus 18, 21, 22, 23 Cornificius (Glaucus) 144 Cosmas Indicopleustes (Christian Topography) 2, 30, 39, 40, 44 Cyrus the Great of Persia 115 Damascius 92 Democritus 92 Demosthenes 22, 110 Digenes Akrites 191 212 Index Diktys of Crete 110, 133 Dio Chrysostom 114 Diocletian (emperor) 52, 55 Diodore of Tarsus 30, 39 Diodorus Siculus 71 Dionysius the Areopagite (Ps.-) 37 Dionysius Periegetes 146, 176, 178 n. 59 Dionysos/Bacchus 117, 132, 146, 148, 149, 153, 155 n. 78 Dioscorides manuscript 180 Dioscorus of Aphrodito 179 Domitian (emperor) 54, 59, 60 Domninos (patridographer of Antioch) 129, 133 Donatists 68 Dracontius (Blossius Aemilius) 156 Edessa 35, 36 n. 35, 42 Edict of Milan 67, 68 Egypt/Egyptians 18, 55, 86, 129, 130, 131, 150, 154, 192; see also Alexandria Eratosthenes 141 n. 2, 142, 146, 149, 151, 154 Eros 128 n. 3, 132, 201 Ethiopia, Ethiopic language 7, 29, 60, 61 Eudocia (empress and poet) 4, 162, 165, 169, 170–180 Eudoxia (empress) 165, 178 Eugenius (usurper) 59 Eunapius 22, 56, 78, 136 n. 32 Euphorion of Chalcis 142 n. 13, 144, 146, 147, 148, 150 n. 57, 152, 155 Euphrates of Tyre 55 Euric (Visigothic king) 60 Euripides 148 Eurydice 144 Eusebius of Caesarea 2, 3, 7, 19, 21 n. 54, 23, 50, 52, 54–55, 58–59, 61, 62, 67–86, 94, 95 Chronicle 68 Commentary on Luke 76 Contra Hieroclem 3, 49, 50–52, 54, 57, 62, 68 Demonstratio Evangelica 67, 68, 75, 80, 81, 82 Ecclesiastical History 68, 72 General Elementary Introduction 68, 75–76, 79, 81 Life of Constantine 23 Praeparatio Evangelica 2, 7, 50–52, 67–86 Prophetic Eclogues 75–76, 82 Eustathius of Epiphaneia 129, 135 n. 30, 136 Eustratios of Nicea 100 Index 213 Eustratius (Life of Eutychius) 22 Evagrius of Pontus 44, 135 n. 30 Excerpta Barbari 129 Fronto 60 Galen 77, 82 n. 109 Galerius (emperor) 52 Galla Placidia (empress) 165 Gaza 21, 114, 117, 130 George of Pisidia 4, 182 George Syncellus 18 Georgian language 2, 7, 14, 19 Germanos of Constantinople 100 n. 38 gospels (canonical) 189–190; see also Bible (books of) Great Persecution 52, 67, 75 Greek Anthology 4, 127, 129 n. 5, 131 n. 16, 160, 161, 165, 168, 171–180, 181–185 Greek Novel 5, 7, 189–204 Gregory of Nazianzus 4, 22, 54, 169, 170, 172–174, 175 n. 47, 182 Gregory Thaumaturgus 82 Hadrian (emperor) 146, 147 Hector 110 Helen 127, 128, 129, 130, 132, 134, 137, 156 Heliodorus 6, 191, 192, 200, 202 Helvius Cinna (Smyrna) 144 Henana of Adiabene 38 n. 52 Henoticon 37 Heraclas 81 Heracles 141 n. 2, 143, 144, 147, 151 Hermogenes 111 n. 15, 114 Herodotus 115, 195 n. 20, 202 Hesiod 145 Hierocles 50, 52, 56, 59, 62 Historia Augusta 56 Homer 52, 109, 110, 113, 114, 116, 131–134, 143, 169, 170, 171 n. 40, 174, 176, 177, 182 Hormisdas (Church of the Apostles at) 171 n. 41, 178, 184 Iamblichus 56, 77–79 Iconoclasm 16 India 55, 56, 60, 61 Ireland 29 214 Index Irenaeus of Lyon 70 n. 23 Isaac of Nineveh 44 Isidore of Pelusium 53, 54, 62 Italy 18, 62; see also Rome/Romans Jacob of Sarug 37, 38, 39, 40 Jerome 34, 55, 59, 60, 62, 81 n. 100, 99 n. 36 Jerusalem 15, 18 Jews/Jewish literature 8, 18, 67, 69, 70, 73, 76, 79, 81, 82, 83, 86, 95, 190 n. 2, 193, 194, 204 John Chrysostom 30, 119 John of Damascus 15 John Diakrinomenos 136 John of Gaza 4, 121 n. 45, 170 John Italos 93 John Lydus 18, 133, 137 John Moschus 18, 144 Joseph and Aseneth 204 Josephus 71 Julian (emperor) 95, 169 Julius Caesar 137 Julius Nepos (emperor) 60 Junillus Africanus 2, 18, 30–44 Justin I (emperor) 122, 137, 166, 178 n. 63, 183 n. 96 Justin II (emperor) 21, 179, 183 n. 96 Justin Martyr 72, 73, 74 n. 48, 94 Justinian (emperor) 13 n. 12, 15, 20, 23, 30, 31, 36, 37, 38, 41, 121, 122, 164, 166, 167, 168, 171 n. 41, 178, 179, 183, 184 Lactantius (Divine Institutes) 59, 67 n. 4, 71 Latin language and literature: 2, 4, 7, 14, 18, 22, 29, 30, 31, 43, 44, 49, 59, 129, 133, 137, 141–142, 144–146, 154, 155, 164 n. 11, 165, 192, 201 Leo of Narbo 60–61 Leontius Scholasticus 179 Libanius 15, 29, 111 n. 16, 113, 114, 116 n. 30, 119, 155 n. 78 libraries 18, 67, 79, 81, 148, 150 n. 57 Licinius (emperor) 68, 86 Licinius Calvus (Io) 144, 151 n. 65 Life of Antony (Vita Antonii) 19, 22, 193 n. 11, 198 n. 23 Life of Daniel the Stylite 136 literature (definition of) 11–23, 107–109, 120, 123 literary genres 70–73, 92 n. 3 apocalyptic 14 Index 215 apocrypha 19, 50, 190, 192, 193 n. 11, 195 apology 3, 7, 67, 68, 69, 70–75, 79, 83, 84, 85, 86, 93, 94, 95, 102, 118, 119 ascetic writings 15 biography 2, 6, 7, 20, 22, 23, 49, 54, 60, 136, 203 chronography 16, 127 conciliar acta 14 declamation 3, 7, 107, 108, 109–116, 117-123, 132 dialogue 11, 23, 77, 79, 91, 93, 96, 97, 98, 99; see also literary genres/questions and answers ecclesiastical history 14 eisagoge 3, 7, 75–83 ekphrasis 4, 21, 22, 107, 112, 114, 131, 167, 170, 176–177, 179, 181 n. 81, 183 epideictic oratory 3, 20, 21, 107, 108, 109 epigram 4, 5, 7, 15, 56, 134, 154, 159–187 epyllion 4, 7, 137, 141–156 erotapokriseis; see literary genres/questions and answers exegesis 2, 30, 31, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 74, 75, 193–194, 203 florilegia 7, 11, 15, 93, 98 hagiography/saints’ Lives/miracle collections 7, 14, 16, 19, 20, 22, 136, 189– 204 historiography 16, 17, 19, 200 homilies 14, 15, 39, 40 n. 59, 74, 101, 193 n. 11 hymnography 14, 134; see also Romanos the Melodist novel; see Greek Novel panegyric 2, 6, 20, 21, 22, 23, 107, 129, 134, 137, 167, 203 questions and answers 3, 7, 11, 30, 36, 91–102; see also literary genres/dialogue theological treatises 2, 11 n. 2, 14, 15, 16, 19, 78 literary history 5–8 Livy 18 n. 37, 59 Longus 191, 194, 201 Lucan 145 Lucian 109, 116 n. 30 Lycophron (Alexandra) 154 Lysippos 115 Macarius of Magnesia 50 magic, magicians 53, 54, 59, 60, 94 Malalas, John, of Antioch 4, 127, 128–130, 132–138 Manichaeans 31, 35 Manilius 146 Mar Aba (Catholicos of the Church of the East) 36 n. 35, 39, 42 Marcellinus Comes 18, 137 216 Index Marcellus of Ancyra 68, 71 Marcion of Pontus 59, 94 n. 13 Marianus of Eleutheropolis 136, 154 Martyrdom of Polycarp 198 n. 23 Mary (Virgin) 23, 33–34, 57 mathematics 77, 78, 79, 81 Maximinus Daia (emperor) 52, 68 Maximus Confessor 18, 93, 100 n. 42 Medusa 145 Memnon 147 Menander (Misoumenos) 112, 181 n. 82 Menander Rhetor 165, 166 Menelaus 150, 156 Merovingian miniscule 44 miaphysite 31, 35, 37, 38, 166 Michael Choniates 142 n. 10, 150 n. 55 Michael Glykas 97, 101 Michael Psellos 100 Moeragenes 55; see also Philostratus of Athens Molorcus 141 n. 2, 143, 149, 151 monks and monasticism 15, 18, 44, 96, 102, 198 n. 23 ‘monophysite’; see miaphysite Moschus of Syracuse 144 Moses 83, 86, 190 n. 2 Musaeus 4, 134, 154, 155 Narsai 39 Neoplatonism 41, 42, 56 ‘Nestorian’/‘Nestorianism’ 29, 34, 35, 36, 37 Nicander 145, 149 n. 48, 150 n. 57 Nicomachus the Elder 58–59 Nilus of Ancyra 54–55 Nisibis (School of) 29–33, 35–36, 38–39, 40, 41–42, 43–44 Nonnus 4, 6, 7, 130 n. 10, 131, 132, 134, 142 n. 3, 144, 149, 150, 152, 154, 155, 161 n. 10, 168–171, 175, 178, 179, 181–185 Dionysiaca 4, 150 n. 58, 151, 154, 161 n. 10, 168, 171, 172–174, 176–177, 181, 182 n. 91 Paraphrase of John 4, 149, 150, 168, 172–174, 175 n. 49, 176–177, 181 North Africa 31, 33, 43, 59, 145, 148 n. 42 Numenius of Apamea 71 Oenone 127 n. 2, 131 Olybrius (emperor) 165, 166, 178 n. 60, 179 Index 217 Olympiodorus 136 n. 32 On political science (anon.) 18 Oppian 147 n. 39, 176 n. 50; see also Ps.-Oppian Origen 34, 44, 55, 73, 74 n. 48, 77 n. 74, 81, 82, 94, 95 Orpheus 144 Ovid 142 n. 3, 143 n. 15, 144, 145 n. 28, 146, 149, 151 n. 61, 155 Palatine Anthology (AP); see Greek Anthology Palestine 15, 18, 60, 67 Palladius 198 n. 23 Pamphilus 74 n. 48 Pancrates 146, 147 Paris/Alexandros 127, 131, 132, 133, 154, 156 Parthenius of Nicaea 144, 146, 150 n. 57, 151 n. 64 Patroklos 108, 110 Paul (apostle) 5, 43, 50, 74, 75, 84, 196–199, 200, 201, 202, 203 Paul the Persian 31, 32, 35, 36, 39, 41, 42, 43 Paul the Silentiary (Ekphrasis on St. Sophia) 4, 21, 167–169, 170, 178 n. 59, 179, 182 n. 91 Paulinus of Nola 15 Pentheus 148, 149, 153 periodization (of late antiquity) 6–7, 13 Perseus 145, 148 n. 42 Persia/Persians 15, 23, 35, 36 n. 33, 42, 60, 85, 129 n. 6, 131, 200 Peter the Patrician 179 n. 70 Petronius Probus (Sextus) 165 Pheidias 114 Philetas (Hermes) 142 n. 4 Philip of Macedon 110, 134 n. 26 Philoktetes 131 Philostratus of Athens 2, 49, 51, 53–57, 60, 62, 204 Photinus 31, 35 Photius 99, 100 n. 38, 101, 135, 136 n. 32 Pindar 56, 181 n. 82 Plato/Platonism 34, 51, 60, 71, 77, 78, 80, 83, 115 n. 27, 116, 120, 181 n. 82 Plotinus 81 n. 101, 94 Plutarch 50, 55, 71 Polydamas 108, 110, 111 Polyxena 110, 111 Pompey 129, 137 Pontius Pilate 73 Porphyry 50, 56, 59, 67, 70 n. 26, 71, 78, 79, 92, 94, 95 Prague Linguistic Circle 5, 7 218 Index Praxiteles (sculptor) 108–109, 113, 114 Prayer of Joseph (apocryphal) 50 Priam 108, 110–111, 113, 127 n. 1, 133 Primasius of Hadrumentum 30, 31, 43 Priscian 18, 22, 137 Procopius of Caesarea 13, 20, 21, 22, 23, 166, 178 n. 62 Procopius of Gaza 22, 107, 121 Proteus 151 Prudentius 155 Ps.-Aristotelian Problemata 92 Ps.-Caesarios 3, 95, 96, 101, 102 n. 45 Ps.-Justin (Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos) 54, 68 n. 12, 71 n. 33, 94, 95, 97–99 Ps.-Nonnus 54 Ps.-Oppian 144, 147, 148, 149, 153, 154 n. 76, 176 n. 50 Ps.-Virgil; see Ciris Pythagoras/Pythagoreans 49, 58, 60, 79 Quadratus 72, 73 Quintilian (Institutio oratoria) 113 n. 21, 115 n. 27 Quintus of Smyrna (Posthomerica) 4, 131, 132 n. 19, 176, 178, 181–183, 185 Ravenna 22 rhetoric (both technical and general usage) 3, 13 n. 12, 15, 19, 20, 22, 23, 31, 68 n. 8, 95, 98, 107–123, 167, 195, 197, 199, 200 Rome/Romans 2, 3, 4, 12, 20, 29, 30, 56, 58, 72, 77, 117, 133, 136, 137, 138, 147 n. 40, 148, 152 n. 67, 191, 193 n. 15 Romanos the Melode 13, 23, 134, 135, 137 Russian Formalism 5 Rutilius Numatianus 155 St. Euphemia (church in Ta Olybriou) 178, 183 St. Polyeuktos (church and epigram) 4, 21, 159–185 St. Sabas (monastery) 18 Sts. Sergius and Bacchus (church) 21, 164, 183 St. Sophia (church) 21, 167, 168; see also Paul the Silentiary Sallust 58 Sasanian Empire 29 Second Sophistic 2, 6 n. 4, 191 Seleucus Nicator 147, 148 n. 43 Seleukeia-on-the-Kalykadnos 191, 195, 198, 203 Servius 110 Severus of Antioch 19, 119, 120 n. 40 Index Sicily 18 Sidonius Apollinaris 58–59, 60–61 Silius Italicus 145, 146, 149 Simeon of Beit Arsham 35 n. 31 Socrates (ecclesiastical historian) 135 Socrates (philosopher) 111 n. 15 Solomon (Temple of) 159, 164, 167 Sophronius 15, 18 Soterichos of Oasis (Life of Apollonius) 55; see also Philostratus of Athens Sozomen (ecclesiastical historian) 135 Suda 55 n. 21, 129, 136 n. 33, 148 n. 43 Symeon Seth 100 Symmachi 59 Syriac language 2, 7, 14, 18, 19, 29–44, 133, 134, 192 Tascius Victorianus 58–59 Tatian 71, 74 n. 48 Tertullian 121, 148 n. 43 Thekla (saint) 191, 195–201, 203 Acts of Paul and Thekla 190, 192, 194–197, 199, 200, 203 Life and Miracles of Thekla 5, 55, 189–204 Themistius 21 Theocritus 136, 143, 144, 146, 153, 154 n. 76, 194 Theodora (empress) 23, 164, 183 Theodore Anagnostes 35 n. 32 Theodore Bar Koni (Scholion) 43 Theodore of Mopsuestia 2, 29–44 Theodoret of Cyrrhus 19, 54, 94 n. 14, 99 n. 36, 198 n. 23 Theodosius I (emperor) 164, 167, 177 Theodosius II (emperor) 165, 179 Theodotus of Laodicea 81 Theophanes the Confessor 18, 58 Theophrastus 92, 178 n. 65 Theotecnus (bishop of Caesarea) 81 n. 100 Theseus 142 Thrasyllus 77 Three Chapters 30, 36 Trier 21 Triphiodorus 149, 150, 174 n. 44, 176, 182 n. 91 Troy/Trojan War 108, 109, 110, 113, 127, 129, 131, 132, 133, 136, 152 Uranius 178 n. 63 219 220 Index Valentinian III (emperor) 165 Valerius Flaccus 146 Venus 156; see also Aphrodite Virgil 137, 142 n. 12, 144, 145, 147, 148, 149, 177 n. 57 Visigoths 60, 61 Vision of Dorotheus 4, 169, 172, 174 n. 43, 175 n. 47 Xenomedes 152 n. 68 Xenophon of Athens 201 Xenophon of Ephesus 191, 194, 200 Zacharias the Rhetor; see Ammonius (dialogue of) Zeno (emperor) 136, 137 Zeuxippos (gymnasium/baths of) 129, 131, 132, 134, 170, 178, 180, 182 Zonaras 165 n. 13 Zosimus 135, 136, 137