Libanius

A professor of Greek rhetoric, frequent letter writer and influential social

figure, Libanius (AD 314–393) is a key author for anybody interested in Late
Antiquity, ancient rhetoric, ancient epistolography or ancient biography.
Nevertheless, he remains understudied because it is such a daunting task to
access his large and only partially translated oeuvre. This volume, which is the
first comprehensive study of Libanius, offers a critical introduction to the man,
his texts, their context and reception. Clear presentations of the orations,
progymnasmata, declamations and letters unlock the corpus, and a survey of all
available translations is provided. At the same time, the volume explores new
interpretative approaches of the texts from a variety of angles. Written by a
team of established as well as upcoming experts in the field, it substantially
reassesses works such as the Autobiography, the Julianic speeches and letters,
and Oration 30 For the Temples.
LIEVE VAN HOOF is a postdoctoral researcher at Ghent University, Belgium.
Trained as a classicist, historian and political scientist, she studies the interplay
between literature and politics, culture and power. After publishing Plutarch’s
Practical Ethics: The Social Dynamics of Philosophy (2010) and a range of
articles on the Second Sophistic, she turned her attention to Late Antiquity. She
has published several articles on Greek literature in the fourth century AD, and
is currently preparing a monograph on the letters of Libanius.
Libanius: A Critical Introduction

Edited by

Lieve Van Hoof

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit
of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of
excellence.

www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107013773
© Cambridge University Press 2014
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the
provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any
part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University
Press.

First published 2014

Printed in the United Kingdom by Clays, St Ives plc
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data
Libanius : a critical introduction / edited by Lieve van Hoof.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-107-01377-3 (hardback)
1. Libanius – Criticism and interpretation. I. Van Hoof, Lieve, editor.
PA4228.L47 2014
885′.01–dc23
2014012736
ISBN 978-1-107-01377-3 Hardback
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or
accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in
this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or
will remain, accurate or appropriate.
To Pierre-Louis Malosse († 2013)
Ὁ βίος βραχύς,
ἡ δὲ τέχνη μακρή.
 Contents
List of tables
Notes on contributors
Preface
Abbreviations

Introduction: Libanius at the margins

Lieve Van Hoof

Part I Reading Libanius

1 Libanius’ Life and life
Lieve Van Hoof
2 The historical context: the rhetoric of suffering in Libanius’ Monodies,
Letters and Autobiography
Edward Watts
3 The rhetorical context: traditions and opportunities
Raffaella Cribiore

Part II Libanius’ texts: rhetoric, self-presentation and reception

4 Libanius’ Orations
Pierre-Louis Malosse †; translated by Lieve Van Hoof
5 Libanius’ Declamations
Robert J. Penella
6 Libanius’ Progymnasmata
Craig A. Gibson
7 Libanius’ Letters
Bernadette Cabouret; translated by Lieve Van Hoof
8 The reception of Libanius: from pagan friend of Julian to (almost)
Christian saint and back
Heinz-Günther Nesselrath and Lieve Van Hoof

Part III Contexts: identity, society, tradition

9 Emperors and empire in Libanius
Hans-Ulrich Wiemer
10 Libanius’ networks
 Scott Bradbury
11 Libanius and the literary tradition
Heinz-Günther Nesselrath
12 Libanius and the ‘game’ of Hellenism
Jan R. Stenger
13 Not the last pagan: Libanius between elite rhetoric and religion
Peter Van Nuffelen
Epilogue: Libanius at the centre
Lieve Van Hoof

Appendices: survey of Libanius’ works and of available translations

Lieve Van Hoof
A Hypotheses
B Progymnasmata
C Declamations
D Orations
E Letters
References
Index locorum
General index
Tables
1 Survey of Libanius’ Autobiography
2 Survey of Libanius’ Progymnasmata
3 Survey of Libanius’ Declamations and available translations
4 Survey of Libanius’ Orations and available translations
5 Survey of available translations of Libanius’ Letters
 Notes on contributors
Scott Bradbury is Professor of Classical Languages and Literatures at
Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts. He is the author of
Selected Letters of Libanius from the Age of Constantius and Julian
(2004), as well as articles on the emperor Julian and Libanius. In
collaboration with David Moncur, he is currently preparing a translation
of the later corpus of Libanius’ letters from the years 388–393, also to
appear in Translated Texts for Historians.
Bernadette Cabouret is Professor of Roman History at the University
Jean Moulin – Lyon 3 in France. She is a member of the research group
Histoires et Sources des Mondes Antiques of the Maison de l’Orient
Méditerranéen. After a PhD on Antioch’s suburb Daphne and a research
project on late antique Syrian elites, she published a French translation of
ninety-eight Libanian letters under the title Lettres aux Hommes de son
Temps (2000). Currently, she is translating and commenting on the Letters
of Libanius at the head of an international research team. On the basis of
Libanius and other textual sources, she also studies several aspects of the
culture and society of the late Roman East.
Raffaella Cribiore is a Professor of Classics at New York University. She
is a specialist in ancient education, oratory in Late Antiquity, and
papyrology. She is the author of Writing, Teachers and Students in
Graeco-Roman Egypt (1996) and Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek
Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (2001). She has also published
two monographs on Libanius: The School of Libanius in Late Antique
Antioch (2007) and Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality and Religion in
the Fourth Century (2013). At the moment, she is preparing the translation
and commentary of twelve orations of Libanius.
Craig A. Gibson is the author of Libanius’s Progymnasmata: Model
Exercises in Greek Prose Composition and Rhetoric (2008). He has
published articles on Libanius’ hypotheses to Demosthenes’ orations,
Libanius’ Progymnasmata, and other topics in ancient Greek, Roman and
Byzantine rhetorical education. He is Professor of Classics and Collegiate
Scholar at the University of Iowa, and is the current editor of Transactions
of the American Philological Association.
Pierre-Louis Malosse († 2013) was Professor of Greek Language and
Literature at the University Paul Valéry – Montpellier 3 in France. Apart
from numerous articles, his publications on Libanius include an edition of
Oration 59 (2003), a translation of the pseudo-Libanian On Letter Form
(2004) and a volume entitled Libanios: Le premier humaniste, which he
edited together with Odile Lagacherie (2011). He was President of the
THAT Association (Textes pour l’Histoire de l’Antiquité Tardive) and
Coordinator of the Centre Libanios.
Heinz-Günther Nesselrath is Professor of Classics at the Georg-August
University of Göttingen, Germany. His interest in Libanius focuses on
Libanius’ relations with his pupils and his predominantly Christian
environment. In 2011, he was the main contributor to a new edition with
introduction, German translation, notes and interpretative essays, of
Libanius’ Oration 30 For the Temples entitled Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht
und Toleranz and in 2012, he published a short introductory monograph
on Libanius under the title Libanios: Zeuge einer schwindenden Welt.
Robert J. Penella is Professor of Classics at Fordham University, New
York. His most recent book is Man and the Word: The Orations of
Himerius (2007). He is also the contributing editor of Rhetorical Exercises
from Late Antiquity: A Translation of Choricius of Gaza’s Preliminary
Talks and Declamations (Cambridge University Press, 2009). His current
interests are ancient declamation and the School of Gaza, and he is
working on a translation of Libanius’ declamations (3–8) on
mythological subjects.
Jan R. Stenger is MacDowell Professor of Greek at the University of
Glasgow. His research on Libanius focuses on the sophist’s role in the
identity discourse of the fourth century and his conception of education. In
2009, he published a monograph on the construction of Hellenic identity
in Late Antiquity under the title Hellenische Identität in der Spätantike, in
which Libanius occupies a prominent place. Further publications include
articles on Libanius’ political communication in Antioch and his self-
definition as a teacher. Jan Stenger is currently working on a monograph
on Libanius’ student John Chrysostom.
Lieve Van Hoof is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow at Ghent University,
Belgium. She has published a monograph entitled Plutarch’s Practical
Ethics: The Social Dynamics of Philosophy (2010), and a series of articles
that examine the relation between literature and society in the second and
fourth centuries AD. Currently, she is preparing a monograph on the letters
of Libanius.
Peter Van Nuffelen is Professor of Ancient History at Ghent University,
Belgium. His main research interest is Late Antiquity, with a particular
focus on historiography and religious developments. In 2004, he
published a monograph on the church histories of Socrates and Sozomen
entitled Un héritage de paix et de piété. His most recent books are
Rethinking the Gods: Philosophical Readings of Religion in the Post-
Hellenistic Period (Cambridge University Press, 2011) and Orosius and
the Rhetoric of History (2012).
Edward Watts is Alkiviadis Vassiliadis Chair and Professor of History at
the University of California, San Diego. He has made extensive use of
Libanius’ Orations and Letters in a number of studies of late antique
education and civic life. His first two monographs, City and School in
Late Antique Athens and Alexandria (2006) and Riot in Alexandria (2010),
both examine Libanius’ student and teaching experiences in some detail.
His current book project, The Final Pagan Generation (2015) considers
Libanius’ social activities, family life and religious attitudes alongside
those of other leading figures born in the 310s.
Hans-Ulrich Wiemer is Professor of Ancient History at the University of
Erlangen-Nürnberg, Germany. He is the author of Libanios und Julian:
Studien zum Verhältnis von Rhetorik und Politik im 4. Jahrhundert nach
Christus (1995) and of several articles on the same author. He has also
published widely on other topics, authoring books on Rhodische
Traditionen in der hellenistischen Historiographie (2001), Krieg, Handel
und Piraterie: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des hellenistischen Rhodos
(2002) and Alexander der Große (2005) as well as edited volumes on
Staatlichkeit und politisches Handeln in der römischen Kaiserzeit (2006),
Feiern und Erinnern: Geschichtsbilder im Spiegel antiker Feste (2009,
with Hans Beck), and Johann Gustav Droysen: Philosophie und Politik –
Historie und Philologie (2012, with Stefan Rebenich). He is currently
writing a monograph on Theoderic the Great and editing a Companion to
Julian the Apostate (with Stefan Rebenich).
 Preface
The year 2014 is the first centenary of one of the most devastating conflicts in
world history. At the same time, it is the seventeenth centenary of the birth of
Libanius (AD 314–393), one of the most influential authors of late antiquity.
That World War One is being commemorated universally whilst almost
nobody remembers Libanius is obvious. After all, the sophist from Antioch has
been almost completely forgotten by the wider public, and is little studied even
within the world of Classics today. There were times when this was different:
Libanius, whose life spanned the entire ‘short fourth century’ from Constantine
through Julian to Theodosius, communicated with the most powerful people of
his day, provided model writings for generations of Byzantine scholars,
became a popular figure in the Western Middle Ages, was the object of a large-
scale forgery by one of the leading humanists, and seemed to be known widely
enough even in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries to be included as a
character in Henrik Ibsen’s Emperor and Galilaean and, about a century later,
Gore Vidal’s Julian. In a sense, Libanius has remained incontournable for
classicists and ancient historians until this very day: few studies on Late
Antiquity fail to mention the author who is often our best or even our only
source on particular aspects or people of fourth-century society. But what has
often gone unnoticed is that he is much more than that: an influential public
figure with a unique personal network, a pivotal point in the history of ancient
rhetoric, (auto)biography and epistolography, and a highly debated figure in
the struggle for the reception and interpretation of the clash between Graeco-
Roman and Christian culture. As a multitalented and sophisticated writer in his
own right, Libanius therefore has much to offer to any classicist or ancient
historian with an interest in topics as diverse as ancient rhetoric, social history,
biography, epistolography, religion, Late Antiquity, the Second Sophistic or
reception studies. In the last few decades, however, Libanius, although studied
by a small group of specialists, has often gone unnoticed in wider classical and
historical circles.
The reason for this general neglect is twofold. First, it is difficult to gain
access to Libanius: his variegated oeuvre is the third largest to have survived
from classical antiquity, and translations and studies, having appeared
piecemeal and in different languages, must be puzzled together. Once one does
have a grip of the material, there is, secondly, the difficulty to realize its
potential: quarrying Libanius’ oeuvre for information on particular questions,
as is still often done, fails to do justice to the richness of his texts, and thereby
carries the risk of misinterpretations and, above all, of missing out on the most
interesting insights which these rich texts can yield. As a result, a more
sophisticated approach is needed.
Having personally experienced these hurdles – I turned to Libanius after
writing my PhD and a monograph on Plutarch and the Second Sophistic – I
thought it might be a good idea to produce A Critical Introduction to Libanius:
an accessible volume introducing the author and his oeuvre, offering guidance
to translations and studies, and proposing future avenues of research; but
above all a volume demonstrating that Libanius is a vitally important author
whose complexities demand our close attention and, once so attended to, yield
unique insight into the world of Late Antiquity, but also into ancient rhetoric,
biography and epistolography, and into the reception of antiquity from
Byzantium to the present.
At the beginning of this book, I would like to express my thanks to three
groups of people without whom the production of this book would not have
been possible. First of all, I thank those who supported me during the different
stages of this book’s production. The proposal was developed during my time
as Visiting Member of the Corpus Christi Classics Centre in Oxford, when I
was funded as a Postdoctoral Researcher of the Flemish Research Council. The
project largely took shape during my time as Senior Postdoctoral Researcher
of the Humboldt Foundation based at Bonn University. Most of the editing,
finally, was done during my time as Invited Fellow of the Lichtenberg Kolleg –
the Göttingen Institute of Advanced Study, funded by the Deutsche
Forschungsgemeinschaft. I wish to thank all the organizations that funded me,
all the institutions that hosted me, and all the colleagues I had the pleasure to
work with, in particular Peter Gemeinhardt, Owen Hodkinson, Neil McLynn,
Heinz-Günther Nesselrath, Thomas Schmitz, Peter Van Deun, Peter Van
Nuffelen and Tim Whitmarsh.
Secondly, I would like to thank Michael Sharp and his team at Cambridge
University Press for their willingness to endorse this project and their help in
realizing it. A special note of thanks has to go to the Press’ anonymous
reviewers, whose incisive comments and stimulating suggestions at an early
stage have had a formative influence on this volume.
 My greatest gratitude, finally, goes to the contributors to this volume, whom
I wish to thank not only for their enthusiastic response to my proposal, but also
for their generous contributions and patient collaboration. Thank you very
much, Ed, Raffaella, Pierre-Louis, Bob, Craig, Bernadette, Heinz-Günther, Uli,
Scott, Jan and Peter! Sadly, Pierre-Louis Malosse passed away in July 2013,
after he had finalized Chapter 4 but before the volume as a whole was ready. It
is to him, as a great Libanius scholar, colleague and friend, that this volume is
dedicated.

Lieve Van Hoof

 Abbreviations
CJ Krüger P. (1877) Corpus iuris civilis. Berlin.

CTh Mommsen T., Meyer P. and Krüger P. (eds.)(1905)

Theodosiani libri XVI cum constitutionibus Sirmondianis.
Berlin. (=1962).

ELF Bidez J. and Cumont F. (1922) Imperatoris Caesaris Flavii

Claudii Iuliani Epistulae Leges Poematia Fragmenta Varia.
Paris.

FrGrHist Jacoby F. et al. (1922–) Die Fragmente der griechischen

Historiker. Leipzig and Leiden.

PG Migne J. P. (1857–1866) Patrologiae Cursus Completus:

Series Graeca. One hundred and sixty-one volumes. Paris.

PLRE Jones A.H.M., Martindale C. and Morris J. (1971)

Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire. Volume 1: A.D.
260 to 395. Cambridge.
 Introduction: Libanius at the margins
Lieve Van Hoof

Late Antiquity and rhetoric, especially of the Second Sophistic, have been two
burgeoning fields of research within Classics and Ancient History over the last
few decades. As one of the most talented, prolific and well-conserved
rhetoricians of Late Antiquity, Libanius (AD 314–393) is a crucial author for
any scholar studying either of these fields. Nevertheless, Libanius does not
figure prominently in publications on rhetoric or Late Antiquity. Studies on
rhetoric tend to present Libanius as the ‘last of the Mohicans’ – if at all, for
most studies of imperial rhetoric stop at around AD 250. Studies on Late
Antiquity, on the other hand, almost invariably refer to Libanius, but in most
cases merely in order to back up prosopographical data, document specific
facts, or provide parallel passages for other sources. Several decades ago, the
works of Libanius lay, in fact, at the basis of some of the most important and
influential studies in the field, such as Jones’ magisterial The Later Roman
Empire 284–602, Liebeschuetz’s still standard Antioch: City and Imperial
Administration in the Later Roman Empire, and the first volume of the
indispensable Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (PLRE), edited by
Jones, Martindale and Morris.1 These studies, like many others, quarry
Libanius’ letters and orations as one of their main sources of information on
the later Roman Empire. But whilst several works of Libanius are thus often
used or mentioned, the author and his oeuvre themselves largely remain at the
margins of broader scholarly interest.
The principal reason why Libanius has mainly been used as a static piece of
evidence is that he left behind an exceptionally large and rich oeuvre, the basic
instruments for exploring which were long lacking. Since Bernard Schouler’s
1984 two-volume La tradition hellénique chez Libanios, however, an
exponentially increasing number of highly specialized studies have laid the
groundwork upon which further studies can now be built: a detailed biography
of the author, albeit in German, has been composed by Jorit Wintjes; well more
than half of all Libanius’ works have been translated in various modern
languages; concordances cover his letters and orations; commentaries and
studies are available on some of the most important texts in the corpus; and a
brief, German introduction to the author has recently been published by Heinz-
Günther Nesselrath.2 A useful survey of publications on Libanius from 1990 to
2007 has been composed by Pierre-Louis Malosse.3 In the same article,
Malosse also presents the Centre Libanios, to which many scholars working on
the author are, in some way or other, attached. The Centre has been
instrumental in bringing together Libanius scholars from across the globe and
in offering them, and anybody who is interested, free access to a range of
useful resources. Yet like all ‘centres’ or ‘international societies’ dedicated to
the study of one particular author, it also entails the risk of enclosing the
author within a small circle of scholars. Indeed, with few exceptions – most
recently Raffaella Cribiore’s 2013 Libanius the Sophist, but also her 2007
study on The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch as well as Isabella
Sandwell’s 2007 Religious Identity in Late Antiquity and Hans-Ulrich
Wiemer ’s 1994 Libanios und Julian – most of the publications discussed by
Malosse have not fundamentally affected broader scholarship on, say, ancient
rhetoric or Late Antiquity.
Given the recent publication of a number of preliminary studies, it now
seems time to catapult Libanius from the relatively small world of the Centre
Libanios onto the reading desks of scholars working on ancient rhetoric and
Late Antiquity, but also on epistolography, social history, (auto)biography,
intertextuality and reception studies. This volume wishes to offer a three-step
run-up to this quantum leap. First, it argues that Libanius deserves and needs a
much more sophisticated approach than he usually gets: the systematic mining
of his oeuvre as a source of information, often based on superficial readings
and literal interpretations of selected texts, not only misrepresents the author
and his views, but also fails to realize the potential of these extraordinarily rich
texts. The three chapters that compose Part I of this volume introduce the
reader to Libanius, to his usual activities and exceptional events, to his setbacks
and successes. But above all, they demonstrate what is to be gained by a careful
literary as well as historical analysis of the ways in which Libanius constructs
his life (Chapter 1) and self-image in negative (Chapter 2) as well as positive
(Chapter 3) circumstances. If this first step hopes to convince the reader that
Libanius has much more to offer than is usually assumed, Part II wishes to help
especially those who are not specialized in Libanius to navigate his oeuvre.
Indeed, given the wide range of texts that have been conserved, Libanius is not
easy to access. Whilst a list of available translations can be found in the
Appendices, Part II of the volume offers a detailed introduction to the different
genres represented in the Libanian text corpus: orations (Chapter 4),
declamations (Chapter 5), progymnasmata (Chapter 6) and letters (Chapter 7).4
At the same time, these chapters also offer a survey of research that has already
been done on each of these genres in the Libanian text corpus, and suggest
avenues for future research. Throughout his oeuvre, Libanius was greatly
concerned about his self-presentation, and left some important clues as to the
publication of his texts. As will be shown, he ‘wrote with posterity in mind’.
The final chapter of Part II therefore brings together the threads woven in Parts
I and II in a study of Libanius’ reception (Chapter 8). Part III, finally, presents a
number of key themes and topics that recur throughout Libanius’ works in
order to show how Libanius offers an unusually, indeed a uniquely, good
opportunity to examine important issues such as interactions with and
perceptions of emperors (Chapter 9), social networks (Chapter 10),
intertextuality with literature ranging from Homer to Libanius’ own days
(Chapter 11), constructions of cultural identity (Chapter 12), and religion in
Late Antiquity (Chapter 13). Indeed, in a world that was changing fast – with
Christianity challenging ‘paganism’, Latin expanding at the expense of Greek,
law studies offering an alternative education to rhetoric, and the imperial
centres pulling powers away from individual cities such as Antioch – Libanius,
a pagan professor of Greek rhetoric hailing from an influential Antiochene
family, was a privileged witness as well as an engaged advocate.

1 Jones (1964), Liebeschuetz (1972), Jones, Martindale and Morris (1971). On

Jones, see the collection edited by Gwynn (2008); on Liebeschuetz (as well as
Brown and Matthews), see Wiemer (2013).

2 Biography: Wintjes (2005); Concordances: Fatouros, Krischer and Najock

(1987a), (1987b), (1989a), (1989b) and (1989c), Najock (1996), (2000a) and
(2000b); General introduction: Nesselrath (2012). For a list of translations of
Libanius’ works, see the Appendices.

3 Malosse (2009a). An important study that was omitted from this survey but
in which Libanius is cited more often than any other author is Brown’s brilliant
1992 Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity.
4 In addition, Libanius also composed summaries (hypotheses) of the speeches
of Demosthenes. For this part of the Libanian output, see Gibson (1999) and
www.stoa.org/projects/demos/article_libanius?page=1.
Part I Reading Libanius
 Chapter 1 Libanius’ Life and life
Lieve Van Hoof

1.1 Introduction: Libanius’ life and Lives of

Libanius
Libanius’ life is well-known.1 He was born in Antioch, one of the largest and
most important cities of the Roman Empire, in 314. Hailing from a curial and
influential, yet somewhat impoverished family, he enjoyed a good education
and decided to dedicate himself to rhetoric in his mid-teens. After thoroughly
familiarizing himself with classical rhetoric and pursuing his studies with
Diophantus in Athens from 336 to 340, he embarked upon a sophistic career.
Active at first in Constantinople, where he enjoyed great success, he left the
new capital after a few years for Nicaea. From there, he soon went on to
Nicomedia. Although the future emperor Julian, also in Nicomedia at the time,
never attended Libanius’ classes, the two men probably got to know each other
at least indirectly. In 349, Libanius returned to Constantinople, where he was
honoured by several governors, the senate and the emperor Constantius II, and
once more became a celebrated professor of Greek rhetoric. After spending
the summer of 353 in Antioch, however, he decided, against the wishes of the
emperor, to return to his home city for good. From 354 until his death, he
taught rhetoric there, first as a private teacher, but soon as the city’s official
sophist. By speaking and writing to emperors (Julian, but also Valens and
Theodosius), governors, city councillors and other people, he also took an
active part in public life, although he probably never held any official position
in the imperial administration. Libanius lived together with a woman of
socially inferior standing, by whom he had an illegitimate son called Cimon.
The latter ’s death preceded his own, which occurred in 393.
To reconstruct these and other elements of Libanius’ life, several literary
sources are available. On the one hand, scholars can draw on Libanius’ own
preserved output: his Autobiography, more than 1500 letters, and, to a lesser
extent, his orations and rhetorical exercises. On the other hand, Libanius’ life is
described in Eunapius’ Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists (16.1–2, 495–6
Giangrande (1956), 81–5), as well as in Photius’ Library (codex 90, 67b11–21)
and the tenth- or eleventh-century lexicon Suda (esp. Λ 486 Adler). Of the two
most elaborate ancient biographies of Libanius, that by the author himself and
that by Eunapius, the latter presents Libanius as an extremely ambitious
rhetorician and a versatile or even opportunistic flatterer, and suggests that
Libanius was accused of pederasty. Eunapius’ account of Libanius’ life was
written shortly after the latter ’s death2 and precedes Libanius’ works in most
codices at least since Lacapenus (fl. 1300) as well as in Richard Foerster ’s
standard edition of the text.3 Yet usually, it is dismissed in modern studies of
Libanius for being too biased. Eunapius’ self-interested admiration for his
teacher Prohaeresius, it is true, did not play out to Libanius’ advantage. His
account is therefore to be treated with great care. As a result, scholars have
turned to one text above all others for reconstructing Libanius’ life: his
Autobiography, transmitted as Oration 1 in the manuscripts of Libanius’ works
and entitled4 Life, or: On His Own Fortune (henceforth: Life). It is this text that
lies at the basis of modern accounts of Libanius’ life, such as Gottlob Reinhold
Sievers’ 1868 Das Leben des Libanius and Jorit Wintjes’ 2005 homonymous
study.5 In moving from Libanius’ Life to his life, these and other scholars have
largely taken the former at face value, as an objective reconstruction of the
latter 6. Where it can be compared with the other available sources, Libanius’
Life indeed avoids any blatant lies about his life.7
As this chapter will show, however, the relationship between Libanius’ life
and his Life is not simply mimetic – a fact taken for granted in studies on most
other (auto)biographies, but thus far not explored for Libanius. Whilst we have
no ancient theoretical discussions of autobiography as a genre,8 Cicero and
Tacitus, in their famous comments on it, consider the writing of an
autobiography ‘necessarily an exercise in self-praise’,9 and at least some
ancient autobiographers consciously played on their readers’ expectations of
bias.10 Judging by the opening passage of his Life, Libanius too seems to have
counted with expectations of bias:

Some people labour under a misapprehension in the opinions they

entertain about my fortune. There are some who, as a result of this
applause which greets my oratory, assert that I am the happiest of men;
there are, on the other hand, those who, considering my incessant perils
and pains, would have it that I am the wretchedest man alive. Now each of
these verdicts is far removed from the truth, and I must endeavour to
 correct them by a narration of my past and present circumstances, so that
all may know that heaven has granted me a mixture of fortunes, and that I
am neither the happiest nor the unhappiest of men.
(§1; transl. Norman (1992a), 53 modified)

In an almost topical way, Libanius claims to correct (ἐπανορθῶσαι) other

visions of his life: as opposed to positively or negatively biased presentations
that focus either on his successes or on his setbacks and that therefore see him
as either the happiest or the unhappiest of men, he contends to present the true
(cf. τῆς ἀλήθειας) account of his life by narrating (διηγήσει) his past and
present circumstances. The narration of historical events, however, involves
much more than merely ‘setting the record straight’: as Hayden White has
stressed, events are being emplotted, and different historical narratives emplot
the same events in different ways.11 In line with this, recent research on
autobiography considers ‘narrativity as a vital factor in the construction of
identity’,12 and emphasizes, moreover, that autobiographical emplotments tend
to be influenced by concerns at the time of writing rather than by past
experience.13 As such, then, historical and autobiographical narratives share
important characteristics with narrative fiction, and can be examined through
the lens of narratology. A careful narratological examination does not only
point out shared characteristics, though. On the contrary: as Dorrit Cohn14 and
others have emphasized in reaction to Hayden White, non-fictional texts such
as histories or autobiographies are narratologically distinct from fictional
texts, for example through the identity of author, narrator, and character, and
through the constraints placed on possible emplotments by the extra-textual
level, especially if they have to count with cognizant readers, readers, that is,
who are ‘consciously or half-consciously comparing the textual world with the
extratextual reality (which he or she may have knowledge about or have been a
witness to)’.15
As an autobiography, then, Libanius’ Life is not the straightforward text it
has often been taken to be: careful literary analysis is necessary before
historical data can be derived from it. Indeed, Bernard Schouler has noted that
the Autobiography ‘n’est pas témoignage vécu, journal, mémoires, réflexions à
bâtons rompus. Le moi ne s’y exprime jamais dans sa spontanéité. Elle ne
prétend aucunement à la sincérité’.16 Taking this not as the end point but
instead as the starting point of analysis, the following pages read Libanius’ Life
as a narrative text against the background of his life as well as against
competing narratives of that life, especially Eunapius’ Lives of the
Philosophers and Sophists. Doing so will help us to see how Libanius’ Life
functions as a literary text, what the relationship is between his Life and his life,
and what all this means for our understanding of the author and his life.
Starting from previous analyses of the Autobiography, Section 1.2 pleads for a
functional rather than a genetic approach to the text. The next three sections
offer analyses of particular passages of the text: whilst Section 1.3 argues that
the Autobiography constructs Libanius’ life, rather than merely reconstructing
it, Section 1.4 explains how this construction was influenced by Libanius’
situation at the time of writing, and Section 1.5 shows the constraints within
which he had to work. Section 1.6 examines why, notwithstanding Libanius’
clear bias in favour of himself, many readers have taken his account at face
value. The last section, finally, summarizes what the added value of this
narrative approach is, and what its implications are for studies of Libanius in
general.

1.2 Libanius’ life: towards a functional approach

Libanius’ Autobiography is a popular text. Transmitted in numerous
manuscripts,17 it is now available in a Teubner edition by Richard Foerster, an
English translation with extensive commentary by A. F. Norman, another
translation for the Loeb series by the same scholar, and a Budé edition with
French translation by Jean Martin and Paul Petit. In Foerster ’s standard edition,
it occupies 128 Teubner pages and is divided into 285 paragraphs. As scholars
have noted, the text was not written in one attempt. A first version of the Life
was written in 374. Following a century of debate, scholars now agree that this
original version ends with §155.18 Far less agreement exists on the second part
of the text, with scholars outdoing one another in finding what they see as
additional breaks in the composition of the text. Thus according to Petit,
§§156–162 were written just before AD 380, 163–170 shortly afterwards, 171–
204 in AD 382, 205–215 in AD 383, 216–234 before AD 385, 235–250 in AD
386, 251–261 in AD 388, 262–277 in AD 389/390 and 278–285 in the summer
of AD 393.19 Norman, in the introduction to his 1992 edition of the text,
largely accepts this scheme, but merges §§156–170 whilst introducing another
break between §270 and §271.20
In order to justify these divisions, Norman, Petit and others refer to the
content, style and chronology of the text. Arguments concerning the content of
the text are brought forward mainly concerning those passages where Libanius
sums up his good and bad fortune (e.g. §§155, 204, 215, 234).21 Whilst it is
indeed true that the original autobiography ends with such a balance sheet, this
does not necessarily imply that Libanius stopped writing every time a balance
sheet occurs. Quite the contrary: within the original autobiography, Libanius
repeatedly makes up a balance of his good and bad fortune (e.g. §§3, 6, 14), yet
none of these instances are taken to point towards a break in the composition
of the text. Interpreting such balance sheets as indications for textual breaks in
the second half of the text therefore entails the risk of a petitio principii.
Arguments of style or tone are to be treated with even greater care, as they
tend to be rather vague or even subjective.22 Take the following statement:

Die sich hieran [sc. §155] anschließenden Teile hingegen haben eher den
Charakter privater Tagebuchaufzeichungen; ihnen fehlt die den ersten Teil
kennzeichnende formale und stilistische Durchdringung [some secondary
references given]. Zweifellos wurden diese Aufzeichnungen zu Libanius’
Lebzeiten nicht veröffentlicht [no references given]. Dennoch fand die
Autobiographie in der vorliegenden Form Eingang in die Überlieferung;
dies ist ein sicherer Hinweis darauf, daß dem Redenkorpus keine noch
von Libanius selbst zusammengestellte Ausgabe zugrundegelegen hat
[again without references].23

The stylistic verdict given here is hardly falsifiable; nevertheless, it is used to

launch far-reaching theses. This clearly illustrates that the search for breaks in
Libanius’ Autobiography is not an innocent, philological affair: it has led to –
by now widely circulating – assumptions about the quality of the second part,
the publication of the text, and even the edition of Libanius’ rhetorical output as
a whole.
Given the problems involved in arguments of content and style, it is
worthwhile to have a closer look at arguments of chronology. As a matter of
fact, these fall apart in two categories. First, there are a number of temporal
indications that are irreconcilable, and that therefore invite an interpretation
along ‘genetic’ lines, i.e. as indications about the genesis of the text in different
stages. The clearest example is the one that separates the first from the second
part of the text: in §51, Libanius tells us that he is almost sixty years old at the
time of writing (ταυτὶ δὲ σχεδὸν ἑξήκοντα), which must therefore be located
around 374; yet the remainder of the text contains discussions of events that
clearly took place after that date. Libanius’ Life, then, was not written in one
attempt. The same argument can also be made within the second part of the text:
in §159, Festus is alive, for example, whilst the events of §§182 ff. clearly
postdate 380, when he is known to have died.24 As a result, the second part of
the text is also most likely to have been written in various stages. Irreconcilable
indications of this kind thus confirm the composition of the text in different
stages.
The same does not hold true for the second type of argument based on
chronology: ellipses and, above all, flashbacks. At the beginning of the nine
additions he recognizes, Petit points out four flashbacks (‘retour en arrière’,
§§156, 163, 171, 235) and one ellipsis (‘coupure chronologique’, §278). As
far as the latter is concerned, it is striking how the ellipsis regarding the events
of 389–391 (‘forte coupure chronologique’) is taken as an indication of a
textual break, whereas a similar ellipsis regarding the years 359–361 (between
§117 and §118) is not even mentioned. Flashbacks are likewise only partially
taken into account: whilst the flashbacks in §176 (πολὺ πρὸ τῶνδε τῶν
κακῶν) and §195 (πρὸ τοῦδε) are passed over in silence, other instances are
taken as signs of a break in the composition. An example of the latter is the
flashback in §235. After having told about several misfortunes, including the
social decline of rhetoric, Libanius states the following:

However, the gods have granted rhetoric, and will in the end ensure that
what they have granted will emerge victorious and regain the influence it
once held. Indeed, I myself have been preserved by these same gods many
a long year ago, but let me acknowledge it now, even if I have not done so
before, for the account (λόγος) will in no way be worse (οὐδὲν
ἀδικήσεται) for going against chronology (παρὰ τὸν χρόνον).25
(§§234–5, transl. Norman (1992a), 291–3 modified)

In this passage, Libanius explicitly draws attention to the fact that he is

narrating an event out of its chronological place. The same holds true in
§§156, 171, 176, 195 and most of the other places where a flashback occurs.
Whereas modern scholars have considered flashbacks as traces of the process
of composition, Libanius seems to have inserted them quite consciously.26
What is more, as he explains in §235, the inversion of order will yield a
better 27 text. Indeed, by inserting the episode about the divine protection
immediately after the description of the absolute low of Greek rhetoric in the
Autobiography, Libanius manages to alternate, and thereby counterbalance, a
negative with a positive event – exactly conforming to his stated aim of
showing that he was granted ‘a mixture of fortune’ (§1). Rather than indicating
a new stage in the composition of the text, then, the flashback contributes to
making the particular point Libanius has in mind with this text.
The arguments of content, style, and chronology usually adduced as proof
for the ‘scattered and disjointed nature’28 of the text thus do not hold true. The
same goes for the explanation offered for the ‘less satisfactory’29 character of
the additions to the original text. Indeed, whilst scholars have maintained that
§§155–285 are mere diary notes which Libanius did not have time to rework,30
these chapters were, as they themselves admit, written over the course of
twenty years, between c. 374 and 393. Barring at most the paragraphs dealing
with the year or two before his death, Libanius can therefore be assumed to
have had the chance to rework them, and his Life as a whole, as he wished.
Nevertheless, when reading the text as a whole, one notices an important shift
in the nature of the narrative kernels, that is, those events that ‘advance the
action by opening an alternative’:31 whereas the Autobiography is at first
moved forward by kernels related to Libanius’ own life, such as his youth and
education, his move to Constantinople, or his invitation to Antioch, the kernels
later in the text tend to relate to the ‘changing of the guards’ in Antioch, that is,
to the coming and going of various governors, prefects and emperors there.
This shift from personal to political kernels does not, however, set apart the
original autobiography from the later additions. Indeed, it should not be
forgotten that the shift occurs within the original autobiography, at the point in
the text when Libanius returns to Antioch for good (§95).32 The shift flows
naturally from the events, in other words. In addition, it should be emphasized
that whilst the nature of the kernels changes, the text’s Leitmotiv remains the
same, as we shall see below.
Leaving aside what is, at our current state of knowledge, an intractable
debate concerning the genesis of the text, this chapter, while acknowledging
that the Autobiography was written in different stages, therefore starts from the
text as we have it and asks how textual elements such as narrative time and
characterization contribute to Libanius’ aims in writing his Life at different
points in his life. In order to see this, we must shift the focus from a genetic
approach, which ‘relegates … oddities and inconsistencies to the production of
the text’,33 towards a functional approach, which ‘imposes order on the deviant
in terms of the ends requiring or justifying that deviance. Whatever looks odd
– about the characters, the ideas, the structure – can be motivated by the work’s
purpose’.34 Before we turn to a more detailed analysis of several passages in
Sections 1.3 to 1.5, it is useful to have a functional look at duration, the relation
‘between duration in the story (measured in minutes, hours, days, months,
years) and the length of text devoted to it (in lines and pages)’.35 An analysis of
duration in Libanius’ Life yields the following picture:36
As Table 1 shows, Libanius on average spends a bit more than three and a
half paragraphs on each year of his life, but there are significant deviations.
Five episodes draw attention because of the (much) higher speed at which they
are being told: his early life and education (1.0769 §/y), the year in Nicaea (1
§/y), the second stay in Constantinople (2.4 §/y), and the accounts of the reign
of Valens (1.7 §/y in the original version, 1.7143 §/y in the reworked parts of
the Autobiography). We shall come back to those episodes in Sections 1.3 to
1.5. For now, let us have a look at those episodes that are told at a much slower
speed than average: Libanius’ trip from Athens to Constantinople (6 §/y), his
first stay in Constantinople (6.5 §/y), his years in Nicomedia (5 §/y), his
prospective visit to Antioch (9 §/y), the reign of Julian (9 §/y), and that of
Theodosius (7.0667 §/y). On his trip from Athens to Constantinople, Libanius
successfully declaimed in various places: ‘in every town through which we
passed, we had praises and blessings showered upon us and were entitled
benefactors of Athens’ (§29). Libanius’ first stay in Constantinople, as we shall
see in more detail in Section 1.5, was a great success. His years in Nicomedia
he explicitly calls ‘the spring or flower of my life’ (§51). His holidays in
Antioch were so successful as to induce him to return to his native city for
good.37 For the years under Julian, Libanius does not content himself with
describing the great influence and prestige he enjoyed: rather, he inflates
Julian’s esteem for him in his text to the point of having Julian say that
Libanius was the reason why he travelled to Antioch, likening their friendship
to that between Marcus Aurelius and Fronto, and suggesting that they were
close from the moment Julian arrived in Antioch (§§120–121) – a claim that
has convincingly been disproved by Hans-Ulrich Wiemer.38 Theodosius,
finally, is said to have sided with Libanius (§§193, 196 and 265) and to have
honoured him (§§219, 220, 258), whilst Libanius claims credit for assuaging
the emperor in AD 387 with five speeches purportedly written during the riot of
the statues (§253) – a claim that has equally been shown to be fictitious.39 What
these six passages told at the lowest speed share, then, is their focus on what
Libanius presents as highly positive ingredients of his life. As in the case of
changes in order, then, the effect of this play with duration is to magnify these
moments of glory.4 0 Libanius’ plays with time, so we can conclude, are not
innocent games: order and duration are put at the service of a positive self-
image.

Table 1: Survey of Libanius’ Autobiography

Life
life years §/year Events
paragraphs

1–28 = 28 314– 1.0769 Early life and education

340 = 26

29–34 = 6 340 = 1 6.0000 Trip from Athens to

Constantinople

35–47 = 13 341– 6.5000 Constantinople I

342 = 2

48 = 1 343 = 1 1.0000 Nicaea

49–73 = 25 344– 5.0000 Nicomedia

349 = 5

74–85 = 12 349– 2.4000 Constantinople II

354 = 5

86–94 = 9 353– 9.0000 Visit to Antioch

354 = 1

95–117 = 23 354– 3.2857 Gallus and governors under

361 = 7 Constantius

118– 361– 9.0000 Julian

135 = 18 363 = 2

136–138 = 3 363– 3.0000 <Jovian>

364 = 1

139– 364– 1.7000 Valens – original version

155 = 17 374 = 10
 156– 364– 1.7143 Valens – additions
179 = 24 378 = 14

180– 378– 7.0667 Theodosius

285 = 106 393 = 15

1–285 = 285 314– 3.6076 Entire life – Total =

393 = 79 Average

1.3 Writing the self: autobiography as poiēsis

That Libanius treats his childhood and youth more succinctly than the adult
phases of his life should not cause surprise: the same is the case in most
modern41 (auto)biographies. What distinguishes Libanius’ Life from its
modern counterparts, however, is the relationship between childhood and
youth on the one hand and adult life on the other. Under the influence of the
nineteenth-century Bildungsroman, modern (auto)biographies tend to
emphasize psychological development and change.4 2 In this model, the child is
different from the adult: it does not yet think or behave like the latter. From the
point of view of the relation between child and adult, the conversion
autobiography is merely a variation on this Bildungsroman type of
autobiography, as the subject’s personality changes more or less suddenly
under the influence of a conversion. Most ancient (auto)biographies, by
contrast, tend to stress the continuity between childhood and adulthood:4 3 the
child is seen as a precursor of the adult.
Libanius offers a case in point. Apart from mentioning his family history,
Libanius’ account of his childhood focuses on his study of rhetoric:

We spent the greater part of the year in the countryside rather than in the
study. Four years passed by in this way, but when I was nearly fifteen my
interest was kindled and an earnest love of study began to possess me.
Hence the charms of the countryside were put aside: I sold my pigeons,
pets which are apt to get a strong hold on a boy; the chariot races and
everything to do with the stage were discarded, and I remained aloof, far
from the sight of those gladiatorial combats where men, whom you would
swear to be the pupils of the three hundred at Thermopylae, used to
 conquer or die. My attitude in this caused the greatest amazement both to
young and old. The person responsible for the presentation of these shows
was my maternal uncle, and though he invited me to the spectacle, I was in
the grip of my books. The story goes that he, all that time ago, foretold
me the position of sophist that has actually come to pass (§§4–5, transl.
Norman (1992a), 57 modified).

This passage clearly contains a conversion narrative:4 4 whereas Libanius was

initially not really interested in rhetoric, at a certain moment he saw the light,
as it were. The change in his personality implied in this conversion is
emphasized indirectly, through the amazement of all his fellow citizens at this
development. Even so, the conversion narrative is told very briefly, as well as
very early in the Life, and once ‘converted’, Libanius’ personality will remain
stable for the rest of his life, as emphasized by the comment put in the mouth of
his uncle, prophesying his future career as a sophist. Indeed, as Hartmut Leppin
and others have pointed out, Libanius consistently presents himself first and
foremost as a professional rhetorician, and, as such, a key representative of
Greek paideia:4 5 rhetoric incited him to go to Athens (§§11, 17, 23), brought
him a series of successes in Constantinople (§§30, 37, 40), Nicomedia (§§50,
53, 72), Constantinople again (§§76, 79), and Antioch (§§88–9, 97, 111–12,
127–9, 144, 189, 204, 205–10, 220, 223, 232, 253, 267, 271, 282); Libanius,
for his part, therefore always remained faithful to his ‘bride’, rhetoric (§§12,
54, 214). What is more, he presents himself as a pars pro toto for rhetoric, in
that ‘(t)he homage paid to him reflects the esteem of Greek rhetoric in
general’:46 when the world is ruled by people who value him, rhetoric
flourishes, and the world is as it should be. Other people are thus measured by
the yardstick of their esteem for Libanius and rhetoric.4 7
According to Libanius, his successful rhetorical performances are the main
reason for counting him happy (§1). As Fortune states at the end of the original
Life, Libanius was indeed famous for his ‘composition of so many orations
and their reputation for excellence, so that even in your own lifetime the
copyists of your works, many though they may be, have yet proved to be too
few for the number of your admirers … Every school of rhetoric reveals that
your works are thumbed by pupils and teachers alike’ (§155). Eunapius
confirms Libanius’ success as a rhetorician:

Very many of his works are in circulation, and any intelligent man who
reads them one by one will appreciate that charm. He had also a talent for
 administering public affairs, and in addition to his formal orations he
would confidently undertake and easily compose certain other works
more suited to please an audience in the theatre. When the later emperors
offered him the very highest of all honours – for they bade him use the
honorary title of pretorian prefect – he refused, saying that the title of
sophist was more distinguished. And this is indeed not a little to his credit,
that though he was a man who longed most ardently for renown, he
enslaved himself only to that renown which an orator can win, and held
that any other sort is vulgar and sordid (Lives of the Philosophers and
Sophists 16.2.6–9, 496 Giangrande (1956), 84–5, transl. Wright (1921),
525–7).

As Hans-Ulrich Wiemer has shown, Eunapius’ suggestion that Libanius was

offered an honorary Praetorian Prefecture is, in all probability, incorrect.4 8
Nevertheless, this passage highlights three of Libanius’ characteristics as a
rhetorician. First, it confirms that Libanius was widely read from a very early
date onwards – a fact which he himself allows to shimmer through at various
points in his oeuvre.4 9 Second, it emphasizes his ambition.50 Although
Libanius denies worldly motivations, such as the search for renown or
money,51 indications of his ambition pop up throughout the Autobiography, as
I have shown elsewhere.52 Last but not least, Eunapius draws attention to
Libanius’ socio-political influence. Thanks to his descendance from one of
Antioch’s most prominent families, thanks also to the network he was able to
build during his early career in different places as well as through his alumni,
and thanks to his public interventions, Libanius was indeed a figure to be
counted with in Antioch. Nevertheless, Eunapius emphasizes that he never
cashed in his cultural capital as a rhetorician for a political position, honorary
or other. In the Autobiography, Libanius takes great care to underline the
distance he kept towards emperors and governors.53 Thus, whilst he left
Constantinople for Antioch against the explicit wishes of Constantius, in the
case of Gallus, who neglected an accusation of magic brought against Libanius
and continued to pay tribute to him, Libanius stresses how the panegyric he had
to give was delivered ‘in fear, trying to get round him’ (§97), and how he
broke his promise to Gallus to return to Constantinople.54 In his account of his
relationship with Julian, Libanius is even more explicit, stating that he ‘asked
for nothing – for none of his treasure, for no villa, estate or office’ (§125),55
and emphasizing that he spoke out frankly on behalf of the city (παρρησίαν,
§126). These explicit statements may well have been Libanius’ defence against
accusations of profiting from his close links with Julian, as suggested by his
emphasis on the fact that Aristophanes, who was acquitted by Julian in reaction
to Libanius’ Oration 14, was innocent.56 In his treatment of the reign of Valens,
Libanius not only exaggerates the dangers he had to face, as we shall see
below, but also has it stated that he ‘did not pay more visits to any governor
than he would receive’ (§168). In the case of Theodosius, finally, Libanius
ascribes to himself an important role in resolving crises such as the AD 382–3
food crisis (§§205–11) and the 387 riot of the statues (§§252–3). All in all,
then, Libanius poses as a rhetorician remaining faithful to his calling and ready
to take up the defence of just causes, whoever be the adversary.
Apart from his lifelong dedication to rhetoric, Libanius also stresses his
loyalty to his family, friends and students. The description of his grief at the
deaths of his mother, uncle, brother, friends, students and son (§§58–9, 117–
18, 151–2, 188, 213, 218, 275, 179–80), for example, as well as his efforts to
make Cimon his heir (§§145 and 195–6) conjure up the image of a caring
family member, friend and teacher. In addition, they contribute to creating a
sense of continuity and steadfastness, in Libanius’ Life, from childhood to old
age. This self-image is diametrically opposed to the character Eunapius
ascribes to Libanius. Indeed, according to Eunapius, Libanius

was so skilled at conforming and likening himself to the other that he

made the octopus look foolish. Each individual who associated with him
thought that he saw an alter ego in him. In any case, those who
experienced him used to say that he was a canvas and wax tablet that
received the picture or imprint of all sorts of diverse characters. When
many different types of individual gathered together with him, one could
never have determined whom he enjoyed more. People who led opposite
lives would praise him for opposite qualities, and all thought that he
admired their own qualities. That’s the sort of multiform and adaptable
creature he was (Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, 16.1.10–11, 495–
6 Giangrande (1956), 83, transl. Penella (2012), 893 modified).

As Robert Penella has pointed out, Eunapius here depicts Libanius as a real
flatterer, the kind of person who, as Plutarch describes him, ‘feigns like-
mindedness, pretending to any interests or values that conform to those of the
person he is cultivating at a particular time’.57 Whom, then, should we believe
in this matter: Libanius himself or Eunapius? Eunapius wrote his Lives of the
Philosophers and Sophists around 399, some twenty-five years after Libanius’
original Autobiography, and several years after Libanius had died. Yet
according to him, people ‘who associated with’ (τῶν δὲ συγγιγνομένων
ἕκαστος) or who ‘experienced’ (οἱ πεπειραμένοι) Libanius used to say
(ἔφασκον) that Libanius was more versatile than the octopus. If this is correct,
then Libanius may have faced accusations of versatility already during his own
lifetime. The stress the Life puts on the continuity of his life and on the
steadfastness of his character may, in fact, be Libanius’ answer to such
accusations. As such, the Autobiography clearly has an apologetic aim. Yet
were the accusations correct: was Libanius a versatile flatterer, or was he a
steadfast friend? The answer depends not so much on the facts as on one’s
interpretation of those facts: whereas Libanius stages himself as a loyal friend
in relation to many individuals, Eunapius and, if he is correct, several people
during Libanius’ lifetime emphasize the fact that being a friend to many people
necessarily implies versatility, as Plutarch also stated.58 Rather than showing
the incorrectness of either Eunapius or Libanius, then, the different
presentations of Libanius’ relations with other people show that writing a life,
whether of oneself or of someone else, is about interpretation (‘emplotment’)
rather than about the mere rendering of facts: as they construct rather than re-
construct a person’s life, (auto)biographies are works of poiēsis rather than
mimēsis.
That (auto)biographies construct rather than re-construct a person’s life is
clear at an even more basic level in (auto)biographical narratives of the pre-
Bildungsroman type, such as Libanius’ Life. As stated above, such
autobiographical narratives emphasize the continuity of the subject’s life – and
such continuity almost by definition requires the Hineininterpretierung of
childhood memories in view of later adult life. Thus, whilst Norman
emphasizes that the fact ‘(t)hat the child is father to the man is especially true of
Libanius’,59 in reality, however, it is the man who fathers the child: only in
hindsight could Libanius establish the teleological force of certain childhood
and youth episodes, and only when writing his Life from 374 onwards and
constructing an image of himself as an influential sophist could he have
selected childhood and youth memories in function of this self-image.60 The
same goes, moreover, for his selection and presentation of adult anecdotes: no
less than the childhood and youth memories, they serve to construct the image
of his life which Libanius wishes to convey with his Life.

1.4 Rewriting the self: constructing the past in view

of the present
In the previous section, we saw how Libanius consciously constructed an
image of himself as a dedicated and successful orator as well as a loyal friend
throughout the course of his life. The reason for this particular self-
presentation, it was suggested, may have been apologetic:61 Libanius wished to
reply to the rather versatile impression he may have made on certain people, as
mentioned by Eunapius. This section will present a more detailed analysis of
Libanius’ motivations for presenting himself in a certain kind of light rather
than in another. In order to do so, it will examine what the Life has to say on the
reign of Valens. Libanius treats this period twice, once in the original
Autobiography and then again in the subsequent paragraphs.62 By examining
the differences between both presentations and confronting them with the
context within which each of them was written, it will lay bare some of the
guiding principles behind Libanius’ self-presentation.
As stated above, the reign of Valens receives but few paragraphs in the
original Autobiography: the ten years between 364, when Valens came to
power, and 374, when Libanius first wrote his Life, are treated in a mere
seventeen paragraphs (§§139–155), i.e. at an average speed of 1.7 paragraphs
per year. The actual speed may be even higher, in fact, given that it is not
entirely clear in Libanius’ Life when the reign of Valens starts. In §139,
Libanius mentions a first attack of gout during the Olympian games that took
place in Antioch in his fiftieth year. Whilst Valens came to power (on 28 March
364) in the course of Libanius’ fiftieth year (363–4), he is mentioned only in
§144. In the intervening paragraphs, Libanius emphasizes how bad his health
was in those years, and how that prevented him from taking part in public
life,63 though not from teaching. After a slight improvement in 367/8, Libanius
is finally cured by Asclepius at the end of his fifty-seventh year, in 371. As a
result, Libanius is fully fit again by the time Valens comes to Antioch
(November 371) and makes his entrance into the Life (τοῦ βασιλέως ἥκοντος,
§144). Although Libanius’ panegyric of the emperor is interrupted by
opponents of paideia, Libanius now becomes known to the emperor (οὐκ ἐν
ἀγνοουμένοις ἐγώ, §144). The next paragraph capitalizes on this
acquaintance between the sophist and the emperor:

Fate also helped to enact a law in favour of illegitimate offspring. I grant

that it may be attributed to the fortune shared by all who stood in need of
the law that the senior emperor devised it and made it valid by his decree;
 yet the fact that his younger colleague, who thoroughly disapproved of it,
should yet be seen to approve it and ratify it, since he saw that I required
the privilege it bestowed – this must rightly be judged as proper to my
own Fortune (§145, transl. Norman (1992a), 213 modified).

Libanius here presents the law in favour of illegitimate offspring as a special

privilege granted to him by Valens. In order to reach this effect, he not only
overemphasizes Valens’ role, as he explicitly acknowledges,64 but also inverts
the order of the emperor ’s arrival in Antioch, which took place in November
371, and the law on illegitimate offspring (CTh 4.6.4), dated 16 August 371.
Far from making a chronological mistake, Libanius thus suggests that Valens’
acquaintance with him had something to do with his notification of the law. The
next paragraphs briefly mention various attacks and subsequent punishments of
enemies in rather more general terms (§§146–7), and, somewhat more
elaborately, the retrieval of a lost copy of Thucydides (§§148–50). The
remaining paragraphs, finally, deal with the situation of rhetoric. In answer to
those who criticize the fact that he had produced but few orators, Libanius
defends himself by saying that his most promising students died an early death
(§§151–3) – an apologetic argument taken up at greater length in Oration 62.
And in reaction to the lacklustre state of rhetoric, Libanius introduces Fortune
highlighting his personal success as a professional orator, which, as she points
out, inevitably arouses envy.
All in all, then, Libanius’ original Autobiography treats Valens’ reign
briefly, but positively. Whilst Libanius’ withdrawal from public life is ascribed
to gout, Valens’ entry onto the scene is made to coincide, in Libanius’
narrative, with the restoration of good health. That the law on illegitimate
offspring is presented as a special gift to him from the emperor adds to this
positive atmosphere. Negative events, on the other hand, are minimized.
Comments and attacks of enemies are treated briefly, ascribed to their envy or
lack of culture, and offset by refutations and/or punishments. What is more,
Libanius omits several important political events that took place during the
first decade of Valens’ reign. In this respect, one thinks primarily of the
usurpation of Procopius (in 365) and the conspiracy of Theodorus (in 371),
both followed by a series of treason trials vividly described by Ammianus.65
As opposed to Ammianus, Libanius was, of course, not writing history but an
autobiography. As a result, his selection of material will have been made on
different grounds,66 and one cannot expect him to discuss political events for
their own sake. Yet according to the later paragraphs of Libanius’ Life, he was
in serious danger in the wake of these conspiracies.
Indeed, whereas Libanius’ first account of his life under Valens focuses on
personal and cultural affairs, treating political difficulties briefly and in
general terms, specific accusations levelled against Libanius, mostly of a
political nature, are the most prominent feature of Libanius’ second account of
his life under Valens: repeated accusations of divination in connection with
Martyrius (§§158–9) and Philumenus (§§161–2) are followed by an accusation
of having written a panegyric for Procopius (§§163–5), complaints
concerning Libanius’ ambition (§§167–8) and his profession (§§169–70), the
mention of his name in connection to divination in the wake of the conspiracy
of Theodorus (§§171–5), and his narrow escape from a trial in which his
letters would have been used as proof of divination (§§177–8).
In his second account of the reign of Valens, then, Libanius mentions a
number of legal challenges and serious points of criticism which he had to
face. As a result, the reign of Valens is usually seen as a highly problematic
period in Libanius’ life: scholars term this a dangerous time for Libanius,67
and have even supposed that he was ‘in erzwungenem Ruhestand’.68 As a
matter of fact, they thus privilege Libanius’ second treatment over the first:
whereas the first account, if at all taken into consideration, is dismissed for
offering a biased presentation, the second account is believed to tell the truth.
As we have seen, Libanius’ first account indeed magnifies positive events at the
expense of less glorious ones, and should therefore be interpreted with great
care. Yet neither can the second account be taken as a simple re-construction of
the truth. On the contrary, Libanius here again carefully constructs his self-
image. For a start, his second account omits particular events no less than did
his first. Whereas he mentions his own welcome speech at Valens’ arrival in
Antioch – a speech that was interrupted for its great length, and which the
emperor would never fully come to hear – Themistius’ speech, for example,
for the emperor in the same city, which seems to have been much more
successful and influential,69 is not mentioned. In line with this, Libanius offsets
every single one of the challenges he faced with a positive outcome: Martyrius
causes laughter in court after Festus has left, as nobody understands why he
would have been accused of magic; Libanius leaves the courtroom after the
Philumenus-process ‘pitying the governor for the perversity with which he saw
fit to govern’ (§162); the military officer Lupicinus saves Libanius in relation
to his panegyric on Procopius; Protasius, who had voiced complaints about
Libanius’ ambition, dies before he can do him any harm; a man named
Olympius defends Libanius’ students before they can be flogged in connection
to the complaint about the teaching profession; neither his friends (Irenaeus,
Auxentius) nor his enemies (Pergamius) involve Libanius in the conspiracy of
Theodorus; and the letters that could have been used as proof of divination
were returned to Libanius before they could be used in court. Rather than
stressing his difficulties, then, Libanius’ second account of the reign of Valens
seems designed to show how, notwithstanding some difficulties, he came out
unscathed. But there is more: it may well be that Libanius exaggerated the
difficulties he faced. Thus Norman notes that ‘Libanius probably dramatizes
his importance in Valens’ eyes’ in connection with the conspiracy of
Theodorus,70 and Hartmut Leppin has shown how ‘Libanius tries to create the
impression that he, too, was in actual danger ’ in the wake of the Theodorus
conspiracy.71 This wish to suggest more danger than he actually incurred may
well account for Libanius’ rather confused account, whereby it is not always
clear when certain accusations were levelled, thus creating the impression that
the accusation in relation to Martyrius, for example, happened in the wake of
the Theodorus conspiracy.72
Libanius’ two accounts of the reign of Valens, then, present quite different
images of the author: whereas the original Autobiography focuses on personal
and cultural events and goes out of its way to show that Valens was not as
negatively disposed towards Libanius as some people may have thought, the
second account, whilst carefully offsetting dangers by positive outcomes,
conveys the impression of a man repeatedly endangered because of unjust
accusations. Rather than assuming that Libanius speaks the truth in one of these
accounts whilst lying in the other, it is worthwhile to consider why Libanius
constructed his life so differently in 374 and a few years afterwards. In 374,
Valens was still reigning, many of the governors he had appointed were still
holding office, and the maiestas trials following the conspiracy of Theodorus
were fresh in people’s minds. Paideia (culture) does not seem to have been
particularly high on the emperor ’s agenda, and as rhetoric was therefore not
very rewarding, it did not prove very popular (cf. §154). Libanius personally
seems to have attracted both envy at his (probably continuing, albeit reduced)73
rhetorical successes (§§1, 155), and pity on account of the difficulties he faced,
possibly including accusations of involvement in the conspiracies of
Procopius and Theodorus (§§1, 156–78). Under those circumstances, Libanius
set out to write his Life. Recent politics, it will be clear, was a dangerous topic:
safer to let sleeping dogs lie. Hence Libanius’ focus on his rhetorical successes
and setbacks. His omission of crucial political events could hardly have
escaped his cognizant readers, though, as memories of these events were very
recent. It must therefore be with great irony that Libanius starts the second part
of his text by stating that he ‘has got no idea how’ (οὐκ οἶδ᾿ ὅπως) Aetherius
and Festus, who are explicitly said to have held office before Valens’ arrival in
Antioch (πρὶν ἢ Βάλεντα δεῦρ᾿ ἥκειν), could have escaped his attention. At
the start of the second part of his Autobiography, Libanius thus draws attention
to the fact that what follows is a flashback that he could not write in 374, and
that will present a rather different image of the years under Valens than the
account given before. Times had indeed changed in the meanwhile. Valens was
dead, and although official propaganda will have been less negative, a look at
Ammianus’ History, written in the 380s–390s, suffices to see that he did not
leave the best of impressions. As a result, resistance to Valens or, even better
(for avoiding any troubles with the new regime and its official account of
Valens’ reign), resistance to his governors, could now add to one’s reputation
– a fact that may have induced Libanius to maximize the dangers he ran
because of Valens’ bad advisers, whilst not exaggerating his negative verdict
on the emperor himself.74 His leeway for doing so was enhanced by the
greater distance separating the events from the time of writing, which meant
that people’s memory of them was likely to be less accurate. The reason why
Libanius could not write §§156–79 when composing his original
Autobiography in 374 may, in other words, have been not only that it risked
upsetting powerful people, but also that events were too recent and therefore
too clear to his audience for him to manipulate the image in the way he later
did.
Both the original Autobiography and the later paragraphs, so we can
conclude, adapt their presentation of Libanius’ life under the reign of Valens to
the situation at the time of writing: like all autobiographies, Libanius’ Life does
not offer ‘a definition of the writer ’s self in the past, at the time of action, but
in the present, at the time of writing’.75 As a result, Libanius’ self-presentation
in his Autobiography cannot be fully understood if the circumstances in and for
which the text was composed are not taken into account: in 374, political
contraints clearly overruled the cognizant reader; some years later, the
political situation had changed, and Libanius could satisfy a reader who by
now not only would be less cognizant (because of the greater historical
distance), but would also expect, or at least respect, a more defiant attitude
towards the former emperor. That readers thus play a major role in shaping
Libanius’ Life, will become even more clear in the next section.
1.5 Erasing parts of the self? Counting with
cognizant readers
In 349, the emperor Constantius II ordered Libanius to return to
Constantinople from Nicomedia. This imperial summons (βασιλείοις
γράμμασιν, §74) was probably part of Constantius’ efforts at the time to
promote the recently refounded city of Constantinople as a rival to Rome,
where his brother Constans held sway.76 Being summoned to the burgeoning
new capital would, of course, have been a major honour for a sophist.
Libanius, however, claims that he ‘grieved as prisoners grieve, who have lost
land and liberty and go into slavery in a foreign clime’ (§75). And although he
was to receive more official marks of esteem and ‘to be courted once again by
the city and to be engaged in all my former activities, with the sons of its
inhabitants attending me as students and the theatres filled with men of all ages’
(§79), he decided to leave the capital first for summer holidays, then for good.
What, then, caused Libanius’ negative reaction?
Libanius himself at this point in the text paints a dim picture of
Constantinopolitan culture: ‘I had either to go drinking with the men of
influence and waste the greater part of day and night at the table, or else be
regarded by them as an enemy and an object of hostility … For all that, I did
not relax in the presentation of my orations. Some came to listen to
declamations, but the majority came merely to observe my gestures in
delivery, for the Senate there was for the most part drawn from the army rather
than from the schools’77 (§§75–6). From these statements, it has been
concluded that an aversion for Constantinople lay at the basis of Libanius’
departure.78 It should not be forgotten, however, that Libanius’ picture of the
city elsewhere in the text is very different: when describing his first sophistic
performance in the city, he points out that ‘many famous men of letters, who
come from all over the world to reside there, welcomed us and gave and
received their meed of praise’ (§30), and in the account of his first stay in the
city he proudly states that its inhabitants were willing to turn from the theatre
and the chariot races to rhetoric for his sake (§37). Far from exhibiting an
almost natural aversion for Constantinople, then, Libanius changes his
presentation of the city in the course of his Life. The negative presentation of
Constantinople is thus part of the question rather than the answer: the reasons
for Libanius’ willingness to leave Constantinople as well as for his negative
presentation of the city must be found elsewhere.
 In Eunapius’ Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, one can read the
following comment on Libanius:

A scandalous charge was brought against him in connexion with his

pupils (διαβολῆς … περὶ τὰ μειράκια). I cannot allow myself to write
about it, because I am determined to record in this document only what is
worthy to be recorded. For this reason, then, he was expelled from
Constantinople, and settled at Nicomedia. When the scandalous tale
followed him there and obstinately pursued him, he was soon thrust out of
that city also, and after a time he returned to his native land and the city of
his birth.
(Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.1.7–8, 495
Giangrande (1956), 82, transl. Wright (1921), 521)

According to Eunapius, then, Libanius had to leave Constantinople in 342

because he was accused of pederasty.79 As stated in the Introduction above,
Eunapius is not an impartial source regarding Libanius. In this passage, he
indeed omits any other charges, including magic, that played a role, as well as
any reference to Libanius’ restoration and return to Constantinople. Robert
Penella therefore rightly concludes that ‘Eunapius distorts in singling out that
one charge and in failing to note the context of professional rivalry and
competitiveness within which such a charge would have been made’.80
Nevertheless, as Penella admits, accusations of pederasty were probably
levelled against Libanius: it is hard to image that Eunapius invented ex nihilo
such a serious accusation concerning a famous man who had died only a few
years before the Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists was published without
risking to lose his own credibility as an author.81 This suggests, then, that the
criticism vented by Eunapius against Libanius had at least some currency in the
second half of the fourth century.82
Two apologetic passages in Libanius’ Autobiography confirm this.83 In §79,
Libanius states that ‘some from malice, others from ignorance, were calling
my retirement from the capital what it never was, dubbing the abuse of a
wretched cabal a “punishment” (τιμωρίαν) and “an ordinance of the city”
(ψῆφον τῆς πόλεως)’. At first sight, this sentence might be thought to refer to
the accusations of magic that were levelled against Libanius. Yet apart from the
fact that Libanius is elsewhere much more open about the accusations of magic
(e.g. §§43, 62, 98, 194), his description of the accusations in §79 as ‘a scandal’
(τὸ αἰσχρόν, §79) suggests that the allegations referred to here concern
something else. More explicit is his account of his departure from
Constantinople for Nicaea (§38), where Libanius states that two rival
professors ‘were full of chagrin, and they proceeded to heap abuse upon me,
calling me violent (βίαιον), grasping (πλεονέκτην), insatiate (ἀκόρεστον),
unable to leave people in peace (οὐδαμοῦ στῆναι δυνάμενον) and similar
insults (τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀναισχυντοῦντες). Yet the fact that their students were
deserting them was not the work of my hands (χειρῶν): something else
convinced them. You would not prosecute men of good looks for rape
(βιαίων) if many people transferred their affections to them: in the same way
the attractive force of perfect oratory would not prove the author of that
perfection to be a rogue (πονηρόν)’ (§38, transl. Norman (1992a), 99
modified). Although still somewhat vague, the insults Libanius mentions in this
passage are, again, likely to be of a sexual nature: not only are several words
attested in a sexual context,84 the ensuing comparison explicitly confronts sex-
appeal with the attractive force of (in this case: verbal) power.85
What seems to have happened, then, is that Libanius was accused of
pederasty as well as magic during his first stay in Constantinople; although it
never came to a conviction,86 he fled to Nicaea, where scandalous rumours
soon caught up with him;87 this in turn incited him to move to Nicomedia,
where he managed to flourish for a couple of years. When, at Constantius’
request, he returned to Constantinople, the old rumours turned out not to have
died completely. As a result, they galled the honour of an imperial invitation
and deterred many students. If scholars have largely disregarded these
accusations as an important cause for Libanius’ departure from, and, later,
aversion for, Constantinople, it is because they have taken his Life to tell the
full truth about his life. More than any other episode told in the Life, however,
this one illustrates the importance of analyzing the text as a work of literature
before using it as a source of information on Libanius’ life. Indeed, in order to
give the best possible spin to the scandalous rumours, Libanius’ Life plays with
narrative order, duration and characterization. As far as order is concerned, we
have just seen how Libanius disperses discussion of the accusations over three
paragraphs inserted at various places into the text (§§38 and 79). In this way, he
avoids not only dedicating a specific part of his text to the reasons for his
departure from Constantinople, but also giving the impression of ‘post hoc,
ergo propter hoc’.88 Secondly, the accusations are discussed at an extremely
high speed: even taken together, they amount to no more than a few sentences
which an uninformed reader could easily pass over. Finally, characterization
too is put at the service of Libanius’ self-presentation:89 rather than discussing
any of his own acts that may have caused accusations of pederasty and refuting
them ex re, Libanius plays with characterization. On the one hand, he
emphasizes his own probity from an early age onwards by pointing out how
his mother ’s prudence (σωφροσύνη) ‘drove countless admirers from our
doors’ (§7) – a point repeated in other speeches (e.g. Oration 2.12), and which
he says members of his audience can testify to (§12). On the other hand, he
ascribes the rumours to vices of rival professionals, thus betting extra rem on
the character assassination of the accusers: when first introducing the
accusations, Libanius explicitly states that the accusers acted out of ‘chagrin,
one because he had never enjoyed any success at all, the other because he had
lost it, for the first had never even had the chance of pre-eminence and the
second had been ejected from it’ (§38), whilst rumours of ‘a punishment’ and
‘an ordinance of the city’ are ascribed to malice and ignorance (§79).
Yet if Libanius thus tried, as it were, to hide the accusations of pederasty,
why did he mention the topic at all? The answer to this question is to be found
in his readership. Indeed, it should not be forgotten that Libanius wrote his
original Autobiography in the form of a speech containing various addresses
and references to the audience (§§12, 19, 23, 141, 148, 155). For a long time,
scholars focused on the extent of the readership, arguing that it was delivered
for a small circle of people only. Recently, however, this assumption has been
rightly questioned.90 Harmut Leppin has, moreover, emphasized an important
characteristic of Libanius’ readership that can be derived from the text: they
must have possessed inside knowledge of Antiochene politics.91 As a result,
Libanius had to count with cognizant readers, readers who, because they had
been in Constantinople when the events took place, because they knew Libanius
in Antioch, or because they had heard rumours (or, in the case of posthumous
readers, read Eunapius), knew about Libanius’ accusation. In order to maintain
his credibility in the eyes of such people, Libanius could not forego referring
to this difficult episode of his life. Cognizant readers, then, put important limits
to Libanius’ authorial freedom92. Yet within the lines thus drawn, Libanius
ingeniously manipulated his narrative so as to avoid waking up sleeping dogs
and so as to give the best possible twist to the affair. If many modern,
uncognizant readers have overlooked the episode as a result of its
sophisticated presentation in Libanius’ narrative, reading the text with the
cognizant (even if biased) reader Eunapius as a guide yields a deeper
understanding of the subtle allusions in the text, of its narrative structure, and
of Libanius’ reasons for writing his Life in the way he did.

1.6 Building up credibility: (why) do we believe

Libanius?
As the previous sections have shown, Libanius’ Life presents his life in the best
possible light: positive episodes of his life receive most narrative attention,
whilst less glorious episodes are treated more briefly or given a positive twist.
To an extent, this is exactly what the reader of an autobiography expects: as
stated in the Introduction, ancient reflections on the genre by Cicero and
Tacitus emphasize its self-praising nature. As a result of this expectation of
bias, autobiographical narratives tend to be ascribed ‘less credibility, less
authority’ (accedit etiam ut minor sit fides, minor auctoritas, Cic. Letters to
Friends 5.12.8). Nevertheless, Libanius’ Life has often been taken as the
authoritative account of its author ’s life. How, then, did he build up credibility?
First of all, Libanius, as we have seen, remains within the limits of authorial
freedom, especially in view of a cognizant readership: his narrative does not
contain any blatant lies, nor does it omit difficulties that cognizant readers
would already know. As such, his work is clearly a work of non-fiction, in
which ‘emplotment … is highly constrained and controlled, subject to the
author ’s justification and the reader ’s scrutiny, with its obligatory
correspondence to the happenings it narrates overtly displayed in the text
itself’.93 Indeed, Libanius, in a second way of ensuring his credibility, at
several points overtly justifies his statements by referring to verifiable proof
in the form of witnesses (e.g. §12), official documents (e.g. §74), or
(supposedly) publicly witnessed events (e.g. §§88, 91, 259). In this way,
Libanius makes a claim for the credibility, i.e. the non-fictional character, of
his text.94 Rival versions are, on the contrary, imputed to vices such as envy or
ignorance (e.g. §§38, 79). A third way in which Libanius gains credibility
consists in inviting the reader to judge for himself, especially at the beginning
of his narrative.95 Thus after recounting his ‘conversion’ to rhetoric, Libanius
writes the following:

If you compare the present (sc. his sophistic career) with the might-have-
been – a career in local politics, for instance, or law, or even in the
imperial administration – you would have no difficulty in discovering
which would be the correct estimate of my fortune (§6, transl. Norman
 (1992a), 59).

As opposed to what Libanius suggests, many readers might well prefer one of
the alternative careers listed here to a sophistic career, as confirmed in §1. Yet
by suggesting that it is obvious (οὐ χαλεπῶς) what conclusion one should
draw, Libanius here teaches the reader to judge by his standards. It is not, then,
because Libanius leaves it to the reader to draw inductions, that he does not
steer him. A fourth reason why Libanius comes across as credible, finally, is
that he claims to describe his bad as well as his good fortune. Given the nature
of human existence, such a mixture is a priori more credible than a uniquely
positive, or, for that matter, a uniquely negative, account. Yet whilst it is indeed
true that Libanius includes negative events – e.g. the deaths of friends or family
(e.g. §117), or the fact that Valens heard only part of his panegyric (§144) –
these setbacks are invariably counterbalanced by more positive events. Under
the guise of a balanced account, Libanius thus evokes the thought that ‘all is
well that ends well’. In spite of the ‘objective’ aim stated in the opening
paragraph, then, the argument that he is not the unhappiest of men dwarfs the
opposite one.
Offering a mixture of good and bad was also an important way of avoiding
another trap: that of causing offence through self-praise. Authors before
Libanius had reflected on this: apart from Tacitus’ statement that some thought
it arrogant (adrogantiae, Agricola 1.3) to recount one’s own life, one thinks
above all of Plutarch’s treatise How to Praise Oneself Inoffensively.96 Libanius
reveals himself to be aware of the danger: not only is self-praise considered
offensive in general (§146), it also risks to destroy a speaker ’s credibility
(§37). In order to avoid these traps, he employs two strategies designed to
make his self-promotion more palatable.97 First, Libanius puts praise of
himself in other people’s mouths. In order to describe his success in
Nicomedia, for example, he states that ‘if anyone there were asked what was
the city’s proudest boast, the answer was that my declamations could be heard
in it’ (§52); when describing his initial success in Constantinople, he states that
‘someone else ought to be telling this story, for he would have no personal axe
to grind. He would recount the number and the type of orations each contestant
made, who won and who lost, who attracted the favour of the city’ (§37); and
again, when describing the salvation of Antioch after the riot of the statues, he
states that he ‘personally was held (ἐδόκουν) responsible’ (§253). The second
strategy consists in the introduction of Tychē. That Tychē is of central
importance in Libanius’ autobiography is clear from the title that was given to
the text: Life, or: On His Own Fortune.98 Scholars have already pointed out that
Tychē represents both the fickleness of (Libanius’) fortune and a guardian
goddess, a providential, benevolent goddess protecting Libanius.99 But these
two functions of Tychē do not simply coexist throughout the text: there is a
subtle transition from an emphasis on the mixed nature of Libanius’ fortune to
the special favour and protection he enjoys. In the opening paragraph, Libanius
promises to speak about his mixed fortune. In the description of the early
phases of his life and at a few points later in the text, fortune indeed appears as
a fickle force bringing good and evil (§§1, 3, 18, 95, 117, 133, 134, 152, 181,
213, 279). Soon, however, Fortune turns from a blind, fickle force into
Libanius’ tutelary goddess. Already in §26, Libanius explicitly states that he
‘was under the protection of Tychē’ (ἦν ἐν ἐπιμελείᾳ τῇ Τύχῃ, §26; cf. also
188). As such, her role throughout the Life is above all to offset setbacks with
positive events (§§12, 23, 24, 25, 26, 60, 67, 72, 78, 81, 83, 86, 87, 88, 93,
128, 136, 141, 145, 150, 155, 158, 175, 176, 186, 190, 194, 195, 210, 225,
227, 230, 240, 150, 253, 266, 270, and 283).100 As he himself puts it, ‘Fortune
banished sorrow by the provision of more and bigger blessings’ (§60).
Overall, the role of Tychē thus changes significantly in the course of the
text:101 whereas she is purportedly introduced in order to stress the mixed
nature of his fortune, she in fact becomes a symbol for Libanius’ success
notwithstanding several setbacks. In her first guise, Tychē clearly functions as
a ‘gesture of deference’, ‘the linguistic equivalent of an envy-deflecting
bow’:102 by stressing how he was allotted both good and bad fortune, Libanius
avoided the risk of sounding arrogant or evoking envy. The same holds true
for Tychē in her role of tutelary goddess, in that Libanius does not claim any
merit for his good fortune, but ascribes it to the goddess Fortune. Yet as a
providential force, Tychē also poses a ‘gesture of authority’, a speech act that
places the author in a position of authority vis à vis his public. Indeed, if it is
not Libanius, but Fortune who made Libanius succeed, then surely Fortune is
not unfavourably disposed to the ideals Libanius stands for. At a point of time
when at least some people thought Libanius to be unhappy because of the many
dangers and sufferings he had to face (§1) and when rhetoric no longer
automatically enjoyed respect (§§154, 214, 234), Libanius thus manages to
make a strong claim for his way of life by showing that Fortune is on his side,
that is, on the side of rhetoric. As such, Libanius’ treatment of Tychē
exemplifies, on a small but concrete scale, Libanius’ self-presentation in his
Life: purportedly neutral and objective, he slowly but surely transforms a
fickle force into a providential goddess, and supplants what is presented as a
mimetic reconstruction with what is in fact a poietic construction of his life.

1.7 Conclusion
This chapter has read Libanius’ Life as a narrative text against the background
of his life as well as against competing narratives of that life, especially
Eunapius’ Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists. By way of conclusion, I
summarize what this reading has added compared to previous readings of the
text. Three elements can, I think, be brought forward, relating to Libanius’ Life,
the relationship between his Life and life, and his life, respectively:
First, Libanius’ Life has turned out to be a more unified literary text than has
often been assumed. The change from personal to what could be called
‘political’ kernels, which presents the most tangible stylistic difference between
the original autobiography and the remainder of the text, occurs within the
original autobiography, and flows naturally from the course of Libanius’ life.
The catalysts or elaborations of the kernels, on the other hand, remain the same
throughout: in 374 as well as afterwards, Libanius demonstrates that,
notwithstanding several setbacks, he was, in the end, always successful. If this
does not exactly coincide with his confessed aim of offering a simple
overview of the good and evil that befell him, the shift from a neutral to a
more positively disposed perspective takes place very early in the text, as
symbolized most powerfully by the quick and effective transformation of
Tychē from a fickle force to a tutelary goddess. As for chronological gaps and
inversions, the fact that they occur and are emphasized in the original
Autobiography as well as in the parts that were written at later dates, suggests
that they are not mistakes betraying different stages in the composition of the
text, but rhetorical devices used by Libanius in order to make certain aspects of
his life outshine others. Once we abandon the genetic approach with its
positivist focus on chronology and the composition of the text, there is thus no
longer any ground to dismiss the second part of the text as being of lesser
quality. A narratological analysis of Libanius’ Life leads, in other words, to the
rehabilitation of the second part of the text.
Secondly, our narratological analysis has drawn attention to the gap that
separates Libanius’ Life from his life: far from being a mimetic reflection of
Libanius’ life, the Life constructs Libanius’ life with hindsight, under particular
circumstances, and for a specific audience. Sections 1.2 to 1.5 drew attention to
Libanius’ self-promotional and apologetic emplotment, which can be
understood against the background of the social decline of rhetoric,
reproaches about versatility, and accusations of pederasty. Sections 1.5 to 1.7,
on the other hand, emphasized the limits of Libanius’ authorial freedom: in the
face of cognizant readers, Libanius could not get away with blatant lies or
glaring omissions. Yet the fact that one such reader, Eunapius, offers an image
of Libanius that sometimes coincides, but is often quite different from
Libanius’ Life, shows clearly that the latter offers but one possible construction
of his life – albeit one that, thanks to its author ’s talents as a writer and mastery
of narrative techniques, is easily taken to offer the full truth and nothing but the
truth. Narratological analysis does not want to suggest that Libanius is lying
when telling his life; but the point is that the Life as we read it is a narrative
construction of Libanius’ life. As a result, the Autobiography (like Eunapius’
Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists) cannot be quarried as an ‘objective’
source of readily available biographical, prosopographical, or historical
information without further ado: literary analysis is a precondition.
If pointing out the gap between Libanius’ Life and life can, to some extent, be
considered a deconstructionist undertaking laying bare Libanius’ partial
representation of himself and his career, the third and final conclusion of our
narratological analysis is strongly constructivist: rather than suggesting that
the Life cannot yield any historical information, our narratological analysis
has led to a more accurate picture of Libanius and his life, and, on top of that,
allowed us to catch a glimpse of his views and values. Indeed, not only did it
become clear, for example, that Libanius’ position under Valens may have been
less difficult than is usually assumed, or that Libanius’ reasons for leaving
Constantinople may have been different from the ones he explicitly mentions,
we also learned that Libanius found it important to present himself as a cultural
hero as well as a loyal friend, a selfless public figure, and, at times, a political
hero.
The implications for the study of Libanius more generally are considerable.
The Autobiography has been transmitted as ‘Oration 1’, that is, at the head of
Libanius’ orations. As a result, the image derived from this text guides our
reading of the remaining speeches too, especially since the Autobiography is
invariably used to provide the biographical background to them. The new light
shed in this chapter on the text and, consequently, its author, is therefore also an
invitation to read Libanius’ further literary output with different eyes.

Most of the work on this chapter was done during my time as a Senior
Most of the work on this chapter was done during my time as a Senior
Postdoctoral Researcher based at Bonn University, and funded by the
Humboldt Foundation. I thank both institutions, as well as my colleagues in
Bonn, esp. Thomas Schmitz and Owen Hodkinson, for their discussions.

1 The division of the events listed here over the different paragraphs of
Libanius’ Autobiography can be found in Table 1 (Section 1.2), which gives a
survey of the text’s contents. The fullest recent biography of Libanius is
Wintjes (2005). A more succinct overview of his life and works can be found
in Jones, Martindale and Morris (1971), 505–7, Liebeschuetz (1972), 1–39 and
Nesselrath (2012), 11–36.

2 For the dating of Eunapius’ Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists between
396 and 399, see Civiletti (2007), 13, with further bibliography.

3 Foerster (1903a), 1–3.

4 As this title does not occur in all the manuscripts, it is unlikely that it stems
from Libanius himself. It does, however, capture well the importance of Tychē
in the text, as shown in Section 1.6.

5 A survey of biographical work on Libanius can be found in Wintjes (2005),

12–16, to which Foerster and Münscher (1925) and Nesselrath (2012) should
be added. Letters confirming various events recounted in the Autobiography
can be found in PLRE, 505–7.

6 Cf. Nesselrath (2012), 34: ‘die neuere Forschung <ist> mehrheitlich geneigt,
Libanios’ Selbstaussagen in erheblichem Umfang Glauben zu schenken’.

7 Cribiore (2013), 38–49 compares the Autobiography to the Letters, and

concludes that ‘[t]he letters reveal the use of some creative license in the Bios,
but on the whole they confirm the integrity of its main historical fabric’.

8 For modern discussions of ancient autobiography, see Misch (1907),

Courcelle (1957), Momigliano (1971), 57–62, Most (1989), 122–30, Lewis
(1993), Reichel (2005) and various essays in McGing and Mossman (2007),
Marincola (2007), Smith and Powell (2008) and Feldherr (2009) and (2011).
Vessey (2005), 249, in discussing Apuleius’ speech in Carthage, talks about the
‘genus semonstrativum’ and ‘autodeictic’ oratory.

9 Riggsby (2007), 267. The passages in question are Cicero’s Letters to

Friends 5.12.8 and Tacitus’ Agricola 1.3.

10 As Pelling (2009) has demonstrated, the emperor Augustus, when

composing his (now lost) Autobiography, was very much aware of the biased
nature of the genre, and turned the reader ’s obvious expectations of bias to his
own advantage: by being rather more objective in passages where readers
would expect bias, he gained credibility in other passages where he did present
a biased image.

11 White (1974), 193 defined emplotment as ‘the encodation of the facts

contained in the chronicle as components of specific kinds of plot structures, in
precisely the way that Frye has suggested is the case with “fictions” in general’.

12 Löschnigg (2010), 256. Cf. also below, Section 1.3.

13 Cf. Olney (1972), 44. Cf. also below, Section 1.4.

14 Cohn (1990). For a succinct account of the mixture of truth and fiction in
autobiography, see e.g. Eakin (1985), 3–16.

15 Shen and Xu (2007), 48. Whilst I agree with Shen and Xu (2007), 48 that
cognizant readers ‘may be totally unsought by, and unwelcome to, the
autobiographer ’, I disagree with Most (1989), 122 and n. 32, who defines
autobiography as ‘an extended first-person narrative told to strangers’ (my
italics, LVH): as will become clear below, Libanius heavily counts with
cognizant readers.

16 Schouler (1993), 322–3.

17 The fullest account of the manuscript tradition of Libanius’ Autobiography
can be found in Martin and Petit (1979), 36–92.

18 Sievers (1868), 203–4: §178; Misson (1914), 51: §175; Festugière (1959),
95: §170; L. Petit (1866), 234; Misch (1907), 357; Norman (1965), xiii; Martin
and Petit (1979), 3; and Norman (1992a), 7: §155.

19 Petit in the introduction to Martin and Petit (1979), 3–17.

20 Norman (1992a), 8–9.

21 e.g. Petit in the introduction to Martin and Petit (1979), 5, Norman (1992a),
9. On the shifting role of Tychē, which changes already in the original
Autobiography, see Section 1.6.

22 Petit in the introduction to Martin and Petit (1979), 4–5 repeatedly points
out what he sees as a ‘formule de liaison artificielle’. Yet the transition from
§204 to §205 (καίτοι καὶ ἐν αὐταῖς ταύταις ταῖς τοῦ πάθους ἡμέρας), to
take just one example, perfectly conforms to Libanius’ principle of offsetting
setbacks with successes.

23 Wintjes (2005), 17, with bracketed comments by LVH.

24 Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 7.6.11–13, 481

Giangrande (1956), 56.

25 At the end of the episode, attention is again drawn to the fact that it was
chronologically out of place (ἀλλ᾿ ἐπάνειμι δή, §239).

26 Cribiore (2013), 48–9 notices that Libanius’ Autobiography §§96–106

inverts the order of the events upon his definitive return to Antioch so as to
ennoble his behaviour in relation to Zenobius.
27 Norman (1992a, 293) translates οὐδὲν ἀδικήσεται as ‘will take no harm’,
as if the text read οὐκ ἀδικήσεται; οὐδὲν ἀδικήσεται, instead, constitutes a
stronger litotes, thus as it were suggesting that the text will actually benefit
from the chronological inversion.

28 Norman (1965), xiv.

29 Leppin (2011a), 422, but see also the above quote from Wintjes (2005), 17.

30 e.g. Norman (1965), 169.

31 Rimmon-Kenan (1983), 16. For a more detailed discussion of narrative

kernels, as opposed to catalysts but also to indices, see Barthes (1966), 8–11.

32 After his definitive return to Antioch, Libanius’ account first deals with the
rule of Gallus and various governors under the reign of Constantius, then the
reigns of Julian, and, briefly and implicitly, Jovian, next the visit of Valens, and
finally a whole series of governors holding office in the city under the reigns
of Valens and Theodosius. Cf. also Table 1 in Section 1.2.

33 Yacobi (2005), 111.

34 Yacobi (2005), 111.

35 Rimmon-Kenan (1983, 52), paraphrasing and translating Genette (1972),

123. Given the existence of different text editions, I express the length of text in
paragraphs. For the significance of duration in late antique texts, see Wallace-
Hadrill (1986, 20) on Ammianus.

36 The table follows the shift in kernels from Libanius’ life to various
emperors and governors in Antioch. In those cases where it is not clear when
exactly in the course of a year Libanius moved from one ‘stage’ of his life to
another, years of change are being counted for both the earlier and the later
‘stage’.
37 Cf. Van Hoof (2011), 201–5.

38 Wiemer (1995a), 32–47, 77–123, and 349–55; cf. also Van Hoof (2013,
403–4) for additional information on the origins of Julian’s collaboration with
Libanius in Antioch.

39 Cf. French (1998) and Leppin (2011a), 441–2.

40 Difficult episodes are, on the contrary, told at a high speed. Below, I discuss
Libanius’ treatment of the years under Valens (1.7000 §/y in the original
Autobiography, 1.7143 §/y in the subsequent treatment), his year in Nicaea (1
§/y), and his second sojourn in Constantinople (2.4 §/y).

41 Postmodern autobiography, in which ‘narratives of estrangement and

fragmentation seem to have become the dominant pattern … (with the
exception, of course, of the plethora of celebrity lives)’, is not taken into
consideration here. Cf. Löschnigg (2010), 265.

42 In a classic on the genre, Lejeune (1975, 14) defines autobiography as

the‘récit rétrospectif en prose qu’une personne réelle fait de sa propre
existence, lorsqu’elle met l’accent sur sa vie individuelle, en particulier sur
l’histoire de sa personnalité ’ (with my italics, LVH). Applied to Libanius, this
has led to the image of the older Libanius as an ‘“embittered egocentric”
whiner ’. Cf. Cribiore (2007a), 13, rightly questioning this image which Heath
(2004a, 186) had concluded from modern accounts of Libanius.

43 Cf. Pelling (1990), Most (2008). Niggl (2005, 3–4) points out that the
modern emphasis on personality development does not apply to ancient (or,
for that matter, medieval) autobiographies.

44 Likewise in §11, Libanius states that ‘the urge for this way of life came
over me’.

45 Leppin (2011a), 428.

46 Leppin (2011a), 292.

47 The clearest illustrations can be found in the series of officials that appear
in the Autobiography. Strategius, for example, was a staunch supporter of
Libanius and is introduced as having fully merited the office of Praetorian
Prefect (§106). Again, while bad rumours circulate about Hermogenes, he
becomes Libanius’ friend and turns out to be a good governor (§115).
Characterization of others is remarkably consistent throughout the Life: by
ascribing negative characteristics to those officials who did not favour him,
Libanius manages to turn their dislike for him into a mark of honour.
Regarding Festus, for example, Libanius writes that ‘he hated me and plotted
against me, but I thank Fortune for his hatred. At least she kept me from
friendship with a man who afterwards was on tenterhooks lest Maximus should
die of natural causes before he had the chance to murder him’ (§158). Like
time, then, characterization is thus used throughout the Autobiography as a
means of giving a positive presentation of what might otherwise be thought
negative events.

48 Wiemer (1995b), 92–106.

49 The fame enjoyed by Libanius’ letters is highlighted e.g. in Oration 13.52

and Letters 773.5 and 943.1

50 Cf. already Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.1.2, 495 Giangrande
(1956), 81.

51 Denial of interest in renown: §§16–17, 19–20; in money: §92. The

expectation of ‘great gains’ from a rhetorical career in §13 is placed in the
mouth of his uncle. In reality, Libanius more than earned his living as a
rhetorician. Cf. Kaster (1983) and Van Hoof (2014b).

52 Van Hoof (2011), esp. 196–7.

53 For Libanius’ emphasis, in the Autobiography, on the distance he kept vis-à-

vis Julian, see Wiemer (1995a), 349–55 and Nesselrath (2012), 80; vis-à-vis
other emperors as well, see Leppin (2011a), 436–40. The same point is
repeated e.g. in Oration 51.30 and Letters 578.4, 716.2, and 1154.3. For
Libanius’ relationship with the various emperors under whose reigns he lived,
see Chapter 9 in this volume.

54 As shown by Leppin (2011b, 190), Libanius, in his Autobiography, uses

rhetoric in order to obliterate what seems to have been a rather good
relationship that he had once had with Gallus.

55 As Wiemer points out in Chapter 9, though, ‘there were other ways for a
sophist to profit from his being close to the reigning emperor ’.

56 On the complex case of Aristophanes, including Libanius’ diverse

strategies to get him acquitted and Julian’s variegated reasons for doing so, see
Van Hoof (2013), 403–4.

57 Penella (2012), 893. On this passage, see also Chapter 3 in this volume,
Section 3.3.

58 Plutarch, How to Tell a Flatterer from a Friend 51A–52F.

59 Norman (1992a), 4.

60 Cf. Most (2008), 219–22.

61 Pace Schouler (1993), 307: ‘la visée apologétique, qui sous-tend de

nombreuses œuvres à caractère autobiographique, est absente de
l’Autobiographie’. Leppin (2011a, 440) allows for apologetics concerning
opportunism, i.e. versatility.

62 For other instances where Libanius gives two versions of the same event in
his Life, see Martin and Petit (1979), 34–5, who point out that ‘il ne s’agit donc
pas … de mensonges, mais de sincérités successives’.
63 For ill health as an excuse for retiring from public life, see also Ammianus
14.7.10 on the Praetorian Prefect Domitian. Libanius himself in his letters
famously used ill health as an excuse for retiring from Constantinople to
Antioch (Letters 393, 405, 409, 430). Cf. Van Hoof (2011), 201.

64 Κοινῆς τοῦτο ἔστω τῆς τῶν ἐν χρείᾳ νóμου καθεστηκότων τύχης

(§145).

65 Concerning the usurpation of Procopius, the conspiracy of Theodorus and

various processes concerning magic and treason under the reign of Valens, see
Wiebe (1995).

66 Cf. Plutarch’s prooemium to the Life of Alexander on the difference

between history and biography. Further references can be found in Duff
(1999), 14–22.

67 e.g. PLRE, 506 and Wintjes (2005), 176.

68 This is the title of the chapter on Libanius and Valens in Wintjes (2005),
163–76.

69 Cf. Socrates Scholasticus, Church History 4.32 and Sozomen, Church

History 6.36.6–6.37.1. Earlier in the text, he had similarly omitted Meletius’
successful speech before Constantius in Antioch in 361. On the success of that
speech, see Elm (2012), 55; on the self-evidence with which Libanius equates
his own ideals with the well-being of the world, see Chapter 13 in this volume.
The analysis presented in that chapter also explains how Libanius can close his
eyes for Christian bishops as a new kind of rivals, as noted by Leppin (2011a),
441–2. The role of Christianity in the Autobiography is discussed in López
Eire (1992).

70 Norman (1965), 201. Libanius is indeed not mentioned in other sources as

having been an object of special interest to Valens during the Theodorus
conspiracy.
71 Leppin (2011a), 439, with my italics, LVH.

72 Norman (1965), 195 already pointed out that ‘(t)he precise sequence of
events and details is obscured by tendentious allusiveness here’. In addition,
Libanius inserts the Comes largitionum per Orientem Fidelius (365–70) in his
list of consulares Syriae comprising Festus (365 or 368), Aetherius (366/7),
Protasius (before 371), and Protasius’ unnamed successor. Thus the list is not
as systematic as it appears.

73 Although the health problems that had prevented him from publicly
declaiming are explicitly said to be resolved by 371, the original
Autobiography is the only text in the conserved oeuvre of Libanius that can
securely be dated to the reign of Valens (Norman (2000), xv). This does not
signify that Libanius did not write other texts between 364 and 378: he
explicitly states, in fact, that he continued to busy himself with λόγοι (§141)
and that he held a welcome speech for Valens (§144) and a farewell speech for
Eumolpius’ brother Modestus (cf. Oration 40.17–24), and it can be inferred
that he also continued to write letters (§175). But it is telling that apart from the
Autobiography, none of the texts he composed under Valens was considered
successful or important enough to be transmitted.

74 In §171, Libanius explicitly states that Valens was not a tyrant. Both in the
original Autobiography and in the later paragraphs, Libanius suggests that
Valens’ negative attitude towards him came about under the negative influence
of malicious courtiers (e.g. §§144, 159, 172). Even Libanius’ critical verdict
on the battle of Adrianople, that Valens delivered his attack ‘with more ardour
than skill’ (§179), is diplomatically formulated.

75 Olney (1972), 44.

76 Cf. Vanderspoel (1995), 60–1, with further bibliography in n. 40. For the
early development of Constantinople, see furthermore Dagron (1974), Mango
(1985) and Vanderspoel (1995), 51–70.

77 For the development of the Constantinopolitan senate, see Skinner (2008);

for the choice of senators in Constantinople, cf. Heather (1994).

78 e.g. Schouler (2002), 155, Wintjes (2005), 97 and 99.

79 For opinions on pederasty under the Roman Empire, see Laes (2011), 246–
62. In Xenophon of Ephesus’ Ephesian Tale 3.2, a rhetor from Constantinople
is depicted as having pederastic designs on his pupils. Libanius himself
strongly condemns pederastic practices in Oration 53, esp. §§7–18, on which
see Laes (2011), 251–2. At the same time, however, he did not refrain from
referring to deviant sexual behaviour in slandering his opponents. Cf. Cribiore
(2013), 111–16. Yet whilst discussing at length the accusations of sexual
misbehaviour which Libanius directed at other people, Cribiore (2013, 46–7)
discusses neither Eunapius’ similar criticism of Libanius himself, nor the
interpretations of this passage of Eunapius or of the elements in Libanius’
Autobiography that confirm it (cf. nn. 80 and 83).

80 Cf. Penella (1990), 103, followed by Civiletti (2007), 629–630, n. 746; but
see already Giangrande (1953–1954), 389. Wintjes (2005, 86) points out in n.
62 that Eunapius apparently held the accusations to be unjustified and discusses
the accusations of magic as well as the context of Constantinopolitan riots
against the background of which all these accusations were levelled. Becker
(2013, 503) buys into Eunapius’ rhetoric that he wishes to tell only what is
‘worthy to be recorded’ (ἐς μνήμην ἀξιολόγων): referring to the ambiguity in
Eunapius’ formulation, he denies a reference to charges of pederasty. But the
fact that Eunapius opts for a vague insinuation rather than a clear description
can be explained by the fact that he is echoing rumours rather than describing a
court process, which probably never took place. Cf. the next note.

81 It should be stressed, on the other hand, that it probably never came to an

official accusation or a court process: had a process occurred, Eunapius would
have mentioned it if Libanius had lost it, Libanius himself if he had won it.

82 In the Introduction to the Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, Eunapius

indeed emphasizes that he has included and ‘fixed’ rumours that were
circulating in his days (τὰ δὲ ἐκ τῆς ἀκοῆς ὑπὸ τοῦ χρόνου κατασειόμενα
καὶ μεταβάλλοντα διαπῆξαι καὶ στηρίξαι τῇ γραφῇ, Lives of the Philosophers
and Sophists 1.6, 453 Giangrande (1956), 2). Socrates Scholasticus, Church
History 3.1.1 states that Libanius was ‘driven (ἐκβληθείς)…from
Constantinople by the city’s pedagogues (ὑπὸ τῶν παιδαγωγῶν)’. Although
Socrates does not specify any accusation, the fact that he ascribes Libanius’
flight to pedagogues rather than to Libanius’ colleagues may be taken to
confirm Eunapius’ insinuations.

83 Pace Penella (1990), 103 and Cribiore (2013), 47, I agree with Martin and
Petit (1979, 226), Norman (1965, 160 and 169) and Norman (1992a, 143, n.d.),
who all noticed in the Autobiography the veiled references to accusations of
pederasty mentioned here.

84 Both βίαιος (e.g. Odyssey 22.37) and ἀκόρεστος (e.g. Palatine Anthology
10.56.7 Palladas) are attested in contexts of sexual actions.

85 A context of accusations of a sexual nature may also be implied in

Libanius’ comparison of his flight from Constantinople to Nicaea in Letter
901 with Dionysus’ flight to the bosom of Thetis when his Bacchae were being
chased from Thrace by King Lycurgus, as Bacchae were often suspected of
licentiousness (e.g. Euripides, Bacchae 222–5).

86 Otherwise, Eunapius would not have failed to mention it, and Libanius
himself would not have had as much leeway in describing the issue in his Life.

87 Hence the extremely high speed with which Libanius passes over his stay in
Nicaea, as noted above. In §73, Libanius suggests that his detractors ‘thought
that by their calumnies (ταῖς διαβολαῖς) they made it impossible for me to live
in towns or even in the tiniest villages’.

88 Cf. Barthes (1966), 10.

89 Likewise Constantinople as a city is presented in positive terms when

Libanius flourishes, whilst the image of the city turns sour when things become
more difficult for him. For Libanius’ one-sided characterizations, see also
Liebeschuetz (1972), 32–6.
90 In the second Oration, dated to 380 or 381, Libanius rhetorically asks:
‘Have I ever mentioned my labours (πόνων) in rhetoric either here or abroad?
Or that I was invited to Athens by the governor, and escaped to take up the
chair here? Did I ever mention such things unnecessarily, and take vain pride in
them? No! I have mentioned them to my students often enough, but to
encourage them, and to this the term “tiresome” is the last that should be
applied’ (Oration 2.13, transl. Norman (1977), 17). As a result, it has been
concluded that Oration 1, which mentions exactly the items Libanius denies
having treated in public in Oration 2, was performed for a restricted audience,
probably consisting of students, friends and other supporters. As Cribiore
(2013, 41) rightly notices, though, Libanius is here talking about mentioning
such issues unnecessarily (οὐκ οὔσης ἀνάγκης). For the distribution of the
Autobiography, see Norman (1992a), 9–10, Leppin (2011a), 422–3 and
Cribiore (2013), 41; Cribiore (2013, 79–89 and 129–30) makes important
corrections to the observations on the distribution of Libanius’ speeches in
general by Petit (1956b).

91 Leppin (2011a), 422–3.

92 The influence of the reader on Libanius’ Autobiography is briefly noted by

Norman (1992a), 9, Nesselrath (2012), 34 and Cribiore (2013), 41.

93 Cohn (1990), 781.

94 These remarks referring to external ‘proof’ correspond as it were to the

perigraphic apparatus of modern non-fictional texts, which has the function of
‘mediating between the narrative text itself and its extratextual documentary
base’. Cf. Cohn (1990), 782.

95 Other examples can be found in §§14 and 18.

96 For a brief survey of the content of the treatise, see Ziegler (1951), 783–4.
Analysis and further references can be found in Pettine (1983). For a
contemporary reference, see Ammianus’ remarks on Constantius’ self-praise
in 16.12.69–70. Most (1989), 126–30 proposes that the fear to cause offence to
the public, which, according to him, has its origins in the Greek longing for
self-sufficiency, may be one of the most important elements in explaining the
relative dearth of Greek autobiography, and its tendency, at least before its
encounter with Roman biographies, to be written only in times of great
difficulty or threat. Although Libanius ultimately wishes to prove that the
balance of his life is positive, the set-up of his Life, as a kind of court speech in
which good and evil are set out, with readers being invited to judge,
corresponds to this scheme.

97 Cf. also Cicero’s remark that when one writes about oneself, one must be
more modest (verecundius ipsi de sese scribant necesse est).

98 As stated in n. 4, the title was probably added at a later date, but captures the
text’s contents rather well. For the Aristidean echoes in Libanius’ Tychē, see
Section 11.3 of Chapter 11 in this volume.

99 E.g. Liebeschuetz (2006), 269–72, Norman (1992a), 12–13, Cribiore

(2013), 41–2 and 51–2.

100 In order to maintain the same principle throughout his text, Libanius at
times almost seems to have ‘invented’ successes and setbacks, as in the case
when he mentions that his fear that he would become blind did not come to pass
(§281). Even the recovery of a manuscript is brought up in order to build up
this positive buffer – with Libanius admitting that it is a trivial matter, which
nonetheless he thinks significant (σμικρὸν τε καὶ οὐ σμικρόν, §148).

101 Cf. already Petit in the introduction to Martin and Petit (1979), 28–30. As
Petit (in the introduction to Martin and Petit (1979), 29) and Cribiore (2013,
41) point out, Tychē is also sometimes replaced or complemented, in the later
parts of the Autobiography, by ‘the gods’, ‘Zeus’, ‘Hermes’, and ‘Ares’.

102 Oliensis (1998), 3.

Chapter 2 The historical context: the rhetoric
of suffering in Libanius’ Monodies, Letters
and Autobiography
Edward Watts

2.1 Introduction
In 365, Libanius wrote a letter to Theodorus, a friend serving as the governor
of Bithynia, and thanked Theodorus for a portrait that he had sent of the
famous second-century rhetorician Aelius Aristides.1 The remarkable letter
reads like something that the leader of a modern fan club would write about a
picture of a teen idol. Libanius sat by the portrait and read a work of Aristides.
When he looked deeply at the portrait, Libanius knew that ‘it was only proper
that such a handsome man should produce such eloquence’ (Letter 1534.2). But
this was not the first painting of Aristides that Libanius had received. Four
years earlier, Libanius’ friend Italicianus had sent another portrait of Aristides,
though one that Libanius (who appears to have been a connoisseur of such
things) thought showed his idol with too much hair.2 Libanius concludes by
asking for a third picture of Aristides that shows ‘his hands and feet’ and
requesting that his friend ask some old men ‘What is the idea with the hair?’3 –
two odd requests that only the most dedicated admirer would make.4
It is fitting that Libanius felt such kinship with Aristides. Not only were both
men accomplished rhetoricians, but they each shared something of the same
character. In fact, Libanius seems at times to have modelled his self-
presentation on Aristides. Both Aristides and Libanius claimed with pride to
have kept emperors waiting before delivering welcoming discourses.5 They
also famously possessed rather delicate constitutions. Aristides’ particular
personal foibles have become well known primarily through his Sacred Tales,
a work which certainly provides an extremely exaggerated view of the
sophist’s peculiar interests.6 Libanius rarely gets the same sneering scrutiny.
Instead, scholars tend to accept Libanius’ frequent complaints about his
emotional and physical maladies as more or less accurate descriptions of his
condition at a given moment in his life. This Aristides-like Libanius comes
through strongly in Libanius’ Autobiography, a work in which one can see
some echoes of Aristides’ Sacred Tales, and appears with some frequency in
Libanius’ letters.7 At the same time, he is largely missing from the Orations.
The latter showcase a different, more confident Libanius who betrays little
doubt that he understands the situation about which he speaks, has found a
solution to it, and needs only to be listened to for the problem to be solved.
This pose was essential for an effective rhetorician and Libanius struck it well.
One type of oration proved exceptional, however: in his monodies, Libanius
deliberately lets slip the public pose of the all-confident sophist and confesses
some of the emotional anguish that appears so memorably in the letters and
Autobiography. This suggests that the textual personae that Libanius adopts
vary depending upon the context in which they appear and the rhetorical
purpose they can serve.8
This chapter treats two specific, emotionally-impactful incidents addressed
in Libanius’ letters, Autobiography and surviving orations. The first centres
upon the devastating earthquake that levelled the city of Nicomedia in 358. The
second concerns the death of Julian.9 These two events have been interpreted as
moments of near emotional and physical breakdown where the magnitude of
the disasters nearly incapacitated Libanius.10 It will be shown that Libanius
does not accurately describe his condition at these moments but instead claims
to have such emotional responses because it is rhetorically useful to him. Each
section will begin with a description of the event itself. It will then proceed
through the range of reactions shown in Libanius’ Autobiography and those of
his letters that discuss the event. It will next consider how these reactions work
rhetorically within the monody that Libanius composed to describe these
events and commemorate their victims. The chapter will conclude by
considering the degree to which Libanius’ public pronouncements reflect his
feelings about these incidents and what, more generally, this shows about the
distinctive postures Libanius adopts across his letters and orations.

2.2 Nicomedia
Libanius described Nicomedia as perhaps his favourite place in the world.
Libanius lived and taught in the city from 344 until 349, leaving only when
compelled by an imperial decree to return to Constantinople.11 Even after his
forced migration to the capital, Libanius returned to spend the summers of 350
and 351 in Nicomedia.12 The city truly enchanted him. It was a large place
(Libanius says that it had the fifth-largest population of any city in the
empire),13 and one whose beauty he found breathtaking. It stretched forth
around the harbour like arms ‘embracing the sea’ and ascended the main hill
‘by four colonnades extending the entire length. Its public buildings were
splendid, its private contiguous, rising from the lowest parts of the city up to
the citadel like the branches of a cypress, one house above the other, watered
by rivulets and surrounded by gardens’.14 Libanius particularly loved how
Nicomedia combined these wonderful physical surroundings with a citizen
body that deeply appreciated his rhetorical performances. In his
Autobiography, he writes that ‘the time spent under Demeter’s care in
Nicomedia excels them all, winning on every account … this town, which had
grown to such size and beauty and possessed every other blessing provided by
land and sea, in any recital of its glories would have prided itself on none of
these in preference to my compositions’ (Oration 1.51–2, transl. Norman
(1992a), 113–15).
During his years in Nicomedia, Libanius also developed a number of strong
personal relationships with people living around the city. The most notable of
these was with Aristaenetus, a native of Nicaea, with whom Libanius developed
a friendship that ‘surpassed them all’ (Oration 1.57). The depth of their
friendship can be seen in some of the letters that they exchanged following
Libanius’ ultimate departure from the city. Overall, Aristaenetus received over
twenty-five letters from Libanius in the middle years of the 350s touching on
subjects as diverse as the appropriate way to grieve for his lost wife and the
optimal time to serve in imperial administration.15 Aristaenetus had long
delayed accepting an administrative position but, in 358, he agreed to serve as
the Vicar of the new diocese of Pietas, a position based in Nicomedia that
allowed him to avoid travelling far from home.
Aristaenetus was in Nicomedia on 24 August 358 when a massive
earthquake hit the city. The elegant houses lining the terraced streets and
colonnades snaking up the hillside from the sea collapsed on one another
creating an avalanche of masonry that cascaded down from hill to harbour.16
Soon afterwards, the city was hit by a tsunami and then a fire that burned for
five full days.17 While the majority of people seem to have died at once, some
people ‘whose skulls had been broken or who lost arms or legs, hovered
between life and death, and were abandoned in spite of their loud cries for
help’ (Ammianus 17.7.7, transl. Rolfe (1935), 345). This sort of situation is
perhaps familiar to us because of similar modern disasters, but Nicomedia’s
spectacular natural location made this event exponentially more horrible. In
antiquity, as today, the main road passing through the city runs close by the
shore and follows an extremely narrow path on the bits of flat land that
separate the mountains from the sea on the west and south sides of the city. The
earthquake not only destroyed Nicomedia’s harbour, thus cutting off effective
aid travelling by sea, but also would have blocked this road, probably in
multiple places leading to the city.18 This difficulty of access, the lack of
modern heavy equipment, and the five days of fire meant that many ‘were
imprisoned unhurt by the sloping roofs of their houses to await an agonizing
death from starvation’19. ‘Among these was Aristaenetus … By this kind of
mishap he slowly panted out his life amid torments’ (Ammianus 17.7.6, transl.
Rolfe (1935), 345).
One struggles to imagine the emotional impact an event like this would have
on Libanius. Not only was his favourite city reduced to rubble (and, according
to Ammianus, much of the city remained a pile of rubble more than a quarter
of a century later), but one of his best friends died beneath that rubble in a
particularly excruciating way. Libanius never hides his horror at Nicomedia’s
destruction and his friend’s death, but his orations, Autobiography and letters
show him presenting his reaction slightly differently each time. We can begin
with the reaction written last, that found in the Autobiography. The Nicomedia
disaster is mentioned twice in the Autobiography, though neither mention is
particularly extensive. The first occurs when Libanius speaks about his final
departure from Nicomedia in the summer of 351. This was caused, he said, by
Fortune (Tychē) pushing him from the city because she knew that he would
have fallen victim to the earthquake. She compelled his return to
Constantinople ‘not because she wished to harm him … but so that he would
avoid some harm there’ (Oration 1.78). As a result of this, Libanius was
blessed with old age. He was also able to wipe away the charges that had forced
him from Constantinople the first time by again being courted by the city. At
this point in the Autobiography, the Nicomedian earthquake serves as a
narrative device that enables Libanius to argue that, through the vigilance of
Tychē, one of the apparent reverses in his career amounted to a positive step.
The second mention of the Nicomedian earthquake, at Oration 1.118, again
serves as a narrative point of transition emphasizing how Tychē ensured that
Libanius’ good fortune eclipsed even the worst apparent misfortune. The
section begins by juxtaposing Libanius’ great success in impressing the
Praetorian Prefect Strategius with the deaths of his mother and uncle, events
that followed close on the heels of the death of his friend Eusebius.20 Libanius
then continues: ‘There had also occurred the earthquake at Nicomedia and the
death of Aristaenetus, buried in the ruins of the city, a shocking event that
caused me such extreme grief that my hair went white all of a sudden’ (Oration
1.118). But this was quickly remedied, Libanius continues, by the accession of
Julian, an event that caused him to ‘laugh and dance, and joyfully compose and
deliver his orations’ (Oration 1.119). Libanius has carefully structured this
section and rearranged the order of the deaths so that their effect is
heightened.21 The deaths of his mother and uncle occurred last and had,
Libanius claims, the effect of stilling his pen.22 Nicomedia, the event that he
claims had the most tangible impact on him, occurred first but is mentioned
last.23 All of this misfortune, with the ever increasing negative effects it had on
Libanius, serves to set up the great blessing that was the accession of Julian.
Libanius’ suffering is undoubtedly real, on some level, but it is here described
in a way that reflects the narrative needs of the text more than Libanius’ actual
reaction to news of Nicomedia’s destruction and Aristaenetus’ death.
One sees a similar blending of description and rhetorical utility in some of
the letters that Libanius wrote in the autumn and winter of 358/9. Four of the
letters from this time are particularly notable (Letters 25, 33, 35 and 388).
Each of these is written in the immediate aftermath of the event and each treats
the Nicomedean earthquake in a unique fashion. In Letter 25, written in the
autumn of 358, Libanius mentions Nicomedia to the Constantinopolitan
physician Hygieinus, a casual friend who had written to check on the progress
of family members studying in Antioch.24 The letter betrays little evidence of
deep personal friendship and Libanius seems guarded throughout it. Libanius
begins by acknowledging that he has not upheld an agreement that he made
with Hygieinus to write to him regularly. The next section of the letter then lists
a set of troubles that prevented Libanius from writing. These include bouts of
giddiness, diarrhoea, and finally the ‘Lemnian deeds … an understatement to
describe the catastrophe at Nicomedia’ (Letter 25.2). The letter then asks for
Hygieinus’ forgiveness before reaffirming Libanius’ close relationship with
his family and providing the information about his cousin’s performance in
school that Hygieinus evidently sought. Nicomedia served only as a weak
excuse for Libanius’ failure to respond promptly to a letter and was of such
little significance that it ranked below a bout of diarrhoea in Libanius’ list of
maladies. Tellingly, these maladies combine to serve only as an apologetic
preamble for an answer to Hygieinus’ actual request.
A similar tone is adopted in a letter written to the future emperor Julian in
the winter of 358/9, Letter 35. Julian, who had been brought up and studied in
Nicomedia, had written previously to Libanius to lament the death of their
mutual friends.25 Libanius’ response begins with a note of consolation, asking
that God give Julian some relief from his grief. He continues his reassuring
tone by telling Julian that it is within his power to restore the city. But, he
continues, Nicomedia is actually blessed, despite its ruins, because Julian has
honoured it with his grief and with his honest concern that the city be restored
to what it once was.26 The letter then moves on to more mundane issues. It
discusses how Libanius had served as a friend and mentor to Helpidius, the
carrier of Julian’s original letter, before concluding with a plea for the
restoration of another friend’s property.27 The nature of this exchange shows
another way that a tragedy like this could be deployed by a cultivated man
within the context of a normal epistolary relationship. Julian had included his
lament along with a letter introducing Helpidius to Libanius, but the letter ’s
primary purpose was to facilitate a connection between the two men. Libanius
responds by adopting the same tone as Julian. Nicomedia is mentioned, though
Libanius betrays little emotion about it, before moving on to the true business
of the letter.
A more complicated reaction to the Nicomedia disaster appears in Letter 33.
This letter, sent to Demetrius in the winter following the earthquake,
accompanied copies of Libanius’ monodies on Nicomedia and on his friend
Aristaenetus.28 The letter begins with Libanius informing Demetrius that he
‘has lamented the fate of that very city which I saw most gladly, left
unwillingly, and yearned for … and before the fate of the city, I have lamented
that of Aristaenetus, who died by it and with it’ (Letter 33.1, transl. Norman
(1992a), 475). He continues by saying that ‘neither of these laments do I
consider my own: rather, both are peculiar to Grief (Lypē), for while I was out
of my mind and caused my intimates to fear that I would not survive the
disaster, Grief (Lypē) then took my hand and wrote as she willed’ (Letter 33.2,
transl. Norman (1992a), 475). While Libanius claims to have been severely
impacted by the death and devastation of the earthquake, the letter moves on
from this quickly and focuses instead upon the small audience before which the
monodies were delivered, the quick circulation of the text beyond that
audience, and an invitation to Demetrius to either read the text alone or share it
with a local audience. Libanius closes by requesting that Demetrius send him
the monody written about his brother ‘because he has formed a not altogether
displeasing association with monodies after the earthquake’ (Letter 33.5,
transl. Norman (1992a), 477). This letter serves as a careful preamble that
prefaces the two orations that accompany it: the reference to paralyzing grief
here serves to complement the orations and must be read less as a description
of Libanius’ actual condition and more as an artistic creation that reflects the
themes developed in the accompanying speeches.
One final short letter from that winter mirrors this approach. It is addressed
to Strategius, the recently retired Praetorian Prefect who was also a friend of
Aristaenetus.29 Libanius begins by describing his physical maladies that
summer. Upon learning of Nicomedia’s destruction, Libanius continues, a
second blow ‘took hold of me and it filled my soul with gloom and caused
many of my friends to sit by me for a long time trying by incantations of every
kind to save my reason’ (Letter 388.1, transl. Norman (1992a), 483). After
learning this, ‘I took no thought for meals, tossed my oratory aside, refused to
sleep, and lay for the most part in silence’ until becoming convinced to
compose ‘an oration of mourning for the city and for him who, God knows,
deserved no such death’ (Letter 388.2, transl. Norman (1992a), 483). He
concludes by saying that he would beg some further consolation from
Strategius if they were not both suffering from the same blow. Unlike the letter
to Demetrius, Libanius does not mention that the monodies on Nicomedia and
Aristaenetus accompanied this letter, but this does seem to be the case. What is
most interesting is the way in which his account of their composition in the
letter to Strategius mirrors what he describes to Demetrius. While he offers
Strategius further details of his emotional response to the earthquake, both
letters position rhetoric as the cure of his supposed emotional breakdown. It
seems reasonable to assume that one should read this letter too as a
performance piece that sets up the two monodies. It also suggests that Libanius
may be hoping to define those monodies as balms to soothe the wider
emotional effects of the earthquake. The implication seems to be that the
orations cured Libanius and they can do the same thing for others.
The monody on Aristaenetus has been lost, but the oration commemorating
Nicomedia survives as Oration 61, and it does not present Libanius’ reaction to
the disaster in the same way as his letters. It is a relatively short text but one
with a clear and tight progression.30 Libanius begins by explaining the
necessity of delivering a monody when such a city was reduced to rubble (§§1–
2). He next turns to the gods and asks of them why Nicomedia deserved to be
punished so contemptuously when others avoided this fate (§§3–6). The
oration then illustrates the glory of the city itself and contains rich descriptions
of the effect that its architecture had on those who approached it (§§7–10).
Libanius moves on to describe the departure of the gods (§§11–13) and then
recounts the disaster as it unfolded. He begins with the destruction of the initial
earthquake, moves on through the tsunami and fire, and mentions the few
remaining parts of the city that escaped (§§14–15). The oration then offers a
series of laments over what was lost. Libanius mentions the destruction of the
paths, porticoes, fountains, senate house, baths, circus, mansions and all of the
city’s inhabitants (§§17–19) before calling upon all to mourn what has been
lost (§§20–2). It is only in his conclusion, when Libanius calls for wings to
carry him so that he might console himself by viewing the ruins of the city
from above (§23), that Libanius suggests that the destruction had any real
emotional impact on him. However, this appeal to his own feelings about the
devastation again serves a clear rhetorical purpose. Libanius has, of course,
just concluded with his own bird’s eye view of the devastation in the preceding
sections and offered his audience the very cure that he now seeks. As in the
letters, then, Libanius’ claim of an emotional response to the Nicomedian
earthquake is perfectly calibrated to emphasize the curative effect of his
oration.
Libanius’ lengthy insertion of his own grief into the monody represents a
powerful break from the traditional structure of this type of oration.31 The
power of this Libanian twist can be best appreciated by comparing his monody
on Nicomedia with its probable model, Aristides’ monody on Smyrna, Oration
18.32 Aristides begins by asking of the gods how such a thing can happen (§1),
proceeds to celebrate the city’s former state (§§2–6), and then concludes with a
series of laments that, in places, mirror those that are later used by Libanius
(§§7–10).33 Libanius’ monody has all of these features, but he also amplifies
their effect by also including a description of the personal devastation that the
earthquake inflicted upon him. While unconventional, this addition makes the
oration more gripping and powerful.
Libanius must have had an emotional reaction to the first news of
Nicomedia’s destruction and Aristaenetus’ death, but it is also notable that all
of the texts that speak about Nicomedia trade on the audience’s expectation that
he would have such a reaction to make larger rhetorical points. Libanius’
actual reaction to this is, for all intents, effectively obscured by his sophistic
artistry.
2.3 Julian
The death of Julian in June of 363 represented a blow quite unlike anything
that Libanius had suffered before. Libanius had carefully nurtured his
relationship with Julian since at least the mid-350s and, by the time the
emperor left Antioch in March of 363, Libanius had come to serve as a liaison
between him and the city.34 Julian had come to Antioch with high expectations,
but his stay in Antioch did not turn out as the emperor had hoped.35 The city
proved insufficiently pious, difficult to manage, and, when the shrine of
Apollo at Daphne was mysteriously burned, borderline seditious.36 Julian
himself parodied the city mercilessly in his Misopogon, a work often read as a
satire, though one perhaps originally intended to have a very harsh edge.37
Libanius’ relationship with Julian and prominence in Antioch enabled him to
fashion himself into a mediator who could help salvage the troubled
relationship between emperor and metropolis. As a result, Libanius found
himself forwarding individual requests for imperial assistance on behalf of
associates, serving on the commission to investigate the burning of the temple
of Apollo,38 speaking with the emperor to obtain a pardon for the city after the
Misopogon’s publication,39 and eventually even composing orations that, had
they been delivered to Julian and his fellow citizens, would have charted a path
towards respectful reconciliation between the city and its emperor.4 0
Libanius had spent most of the winter of 362/3 cultivating a persona that
maintained the pretence of personal independence while simultaneously
advertising his reliability as an imperial surrogate. Aware of the risks of
pushing his own objectives too quickly, Libanius approached Julian for
favours in a measured way. He had a long list of personal favours he would
have liked to receive from the emperor, but Libanius’ foremost goal was to
ensure that his son, born of a low-status mother, was elevated to Libanius’
social status.4 1 Julian was willing to consider this and may even have given
Libanius a promise that it would be done,4 2 but Julian’s premature death on
campaign forestalled this action and shattered the carefully constructed
persona that Libanius had been creating for himself. As he probably
understood even then, the high point of his career had now passed.
As time passed and the magnitude of his personal loss sank in, Libanius’
response to the death of Julian became ever more dramatic. He endured a
difficult decade and a half under Valens, who proved unresponsive to Libanius’
efforts to recapture the public prominence that he had enjoyed under Julian.4 3
Even worse for Libanius, however, were the plots against him and
investigations of him that punctuated the period.44 When Libanius wrote the
first sections of his Autobiography in 374, he frames his reaction to the death
of Julian in a way that anticipates the events that would follow it. He explains
that, upon learning of Julian’s death, ‘my first impulse was to look to my
sword, for life would be harder to bear than any death’. But, he continues, he
then considered that ‘if I meet Julian in the other world, he would hold me
guilty for dying so … moreover I felt it my duty to honour the fallen with
funeral orations’ (Oration 1.135, transl. Norman (1992a), 203).
Libanius cannot avoid the negative turn that his narrative will take when it
reaches the reign of Valens, but he still crafts the narrative of the
Autobiography so that ill-fortune of Julian’s death is balanced by some
indications of good fortune to come. Libanius explains that, once he resolved
to write Julian’s funeral orations, good fortune returned. In the next three
chapters of the Autobiography, Libanius narrates how Tychē preserved him by
foiling a kidnap attempt and defusing a plot hatched by a military official close
to Valens. This section of the Autobiography differs dramatically from that
following the Nicomedian earthquake, but here too his dramatic reaction must
be contextualized historically and textually. Historically, in 374, Libanius had a
much clearer view of the consequences of Julian’s death than he could possibly
have had in 363 or 364. His discussion of his reaction then reflects a post
factum realization that he had just abruptly transitioned from a position of
great influence to one of great insecurity.45 At the same time, his reaction must
be understood as one that foreshadows the subsequent near-death experiences
that fortune enables him to avoid. Julian’s death and Libanius’ reaction to it are,
then, comfortably situated within the larger narration of the ebb and flow of
Fortune’s tides to which the rest of the text is devoted. And, like in the narration
about the earthquake that destroyed Nicomedia, the act of writing represented
the moment of transition between the misfortune of Julian’s death and the
subsequent moments of good fortune. One cannot assume that the
Autobiography accurately conveys Libanius’ actual response to the emperor ’s
death.
The letters that Libanius wrote immediately following the death of Julian
suggest that this caution is warranted. Although they are often read as
indications that Libanius emotionally broke down for the last half of 363,4 6
this mistakes Libanius’ rhetorical use of this grief for factual description. In the
immediate aftermath of the emperor ’s passing, Libanius adopts a pose of
mourning much like he had done in the winter of 358/9. Two letters written
soon after the tragedy describe a paralyzing depression that Libanius claims
prevented him from doing his expected social duty. Each, however, is written
in response to a letter that, so Libanius claims, raised his spirits. They must
therefore be understood not as an accurate description of Libanius’ condition
but as praise for the quality and spirit of the letter sent by his correspondent.
The first of these letters responds to Entrechius. Entrechius had written to
Libanius before he learned of Julian’s death, but his letter arrived after
Libanius had heard the terrible news.47 Libanius writes that he read the letter
with ‘a joyful heart’ because it preserved the blissful moment before ‘the tale
of woe’ reached him. Libanius explains ‘from the day that I heard the news, I
have been practically dumb with respect to speaking and I have stopped
writing’ (Letter 1424.2). After this, however, Libanius finds the will to launch
into a thirty-line mini panegyric praising Entrechius for his learning and the
virtuous way in which he governs his province. Despite his claims to the
contrary, Libanius was obviously quite capable of stirring himself to write if
the appropriate occasion manifested itself.
Later that summer, Libanius wrote a similar letter to Salutius, Julian’s
Praetorian Prefect of the East who remained in office under Jovian.48 This too
is a reply to a letter that arrived around the time of the announcement of
Julian’s death, in July 363. Libanius begins the letter in a familiar fashion.
Your letter ‘found me prostrate from that day … the noble Pricus knew this
well enough when he found me stranded on the seashore and tried to revive me
with cures for my distress of spirit’.4 9 ‘When your letter arrived … I tried little
by little to pull myself together, though I was distracted and a mere nothing’.
Libanius then shifts to respond to the substance of Salutius’ letter, which
evidently included an invitation for Libanius to visit. Libanius declines the
request, attributing his reluctance not to his continued depression over Julian’s
death but a series of headaches that make it impossible for him to travel. He
concludes with an apology for not responding sooner, a bit of news about a
mutual friend and an invitation that Salutius instead visit Libanius in Antioch.
Overall, this letter resembles the one that Libanius penned to Hygieinus
following the destruction of Nicomedia. Both describe a paralyzing depression
following the terrible event that prevented Libanius from responding promptly
to a message.
A third letter written at this time again uses Libanius’ supposed depression
over Julian for literary effect. This was a short (and rather lukewarm) letter of
introduction written to Gaianus, the governor of Phoenicia,50 and carried by an
otherwise unknown man named Beros. Libanius begins with a short sentence
that explains that he would ask how Gaianus was doing, but he knows he’s
‘been stricken’.51 Libanius then continues that he would tell Gaianus about his
own condition, but Gaianus already knows about it. ‘For a long while,’
Libanius continues, ‘I abstained from speaking and writing – silence was
best.52 But when Beros said that he was being done wrong unless he departed
here with a letter, I was moved to speech only with difficulty and only to the
extent that you see here’.53 Here again Libanius’ grief is used to literary effect,
this time to emphasize that only Beros could so move him to break his silence
and write (though, notably, he was not moved to write very much). Grief again
serves as nothing more than a conceit.
It does seem to be true that Libanius stopped delivering orations during the
summer and autumn of 363, but the letters show that he had good reason to do
so. As he had done in the aftermath of the Nicomedian disaster, Libanius seems
to have decided quickly that his next project would consist of orations that
reflected on his loss. He evidently envisioned two orations that would celebrate
the life and mourn the loss of Julian. Given Julian’s status and his controversial
nature, this was a more complicated project than the monodies Libanius
composed after the earthquake. It was also one that would take more time. The
research for what would become Orations 17 and 18 seems ultimately to have
consumed most of the autumn of 363 and winter of 363–364. The letters
written during this period show that Libanius was hard at work assembling
materials. He only mentions his grief when the occasion permits.
Two letters from the autumn of 363 show how selectively Libanius used this
motif. In October, Libanius wrote to Philagrius, an officer who had served
under Julian and was with the retreating army.54 The letter begins with a short
greeting and then passes immediately to Libanius’ request for Philagrius’
campaign journals. Libanius states: ‘I suppose it is that you look down on me,
since you have the story of the campaign written down and know that sophists
will have to approach you when they have the urge to speak of its happenings’
(Letter 1434.2, transl. Norman (1992b), 207). In the interest of friendship,
Libanius continues, ‘you will inform me of the bare facts; I will dress them in
the robes of rhetoric. You would want your actions displayed to best advantage,
as I would wish not to be ignorant of what happened’(Letter 1434.4, transl.
Norman (1992b), 207). After this clear statement of rhetoric’s power to adorn
and embellish reality, Libanius then concludes with a brief note that Salvius, the
letter carrier, be regarded as a friend. There is no mention at all of the grief
that Libanius elsewhere claims paralyzed him throughout the summer. Instead,
the casual nature of this letter even led A. F. Norman to suppose that Libanius
had now fully recovered.55
This view is belied by another letter, written in November to Scylacius. Like
the letter to Philagrius, the substance of this letter concerns a request for
information about Julian’s campaigns. The tone of the request, however, is
very different. The letter commences with a description of the paralyzing
sadness Libanius felt when learning of Julian’s death. Libanius begins as
follows: ‘When I had not yet ceased from tears you cast me into deeper
mourning by means of your letter, for you expressed so precisely those
blessings we once enjoyed and those which would have come to pass had any
of the gods restored [Julian] to us after he had won his victories’ (Letter
1220.1, transl. Norman (1992b), 223). He then describes the ‘rogues’ who
danced for joy when learning of Julian’s death and his sadness that Julian did
not return and make these people look foolish. After making a vague allusion
to attacks that he has had to endure, Libanius then moves to his proper request:
‘I have been requesting an account of the actions from my friends out of those
who have returned, and from people who are likely not to have been neglectful
of a written account of such matters’ (Letter 1220.7, transl. Norman (1992b),
227). ‘Some soldiers,’ Libanius continues, ‘previously unacquainted with me,
have given me a list of some dates, marching distances, and names of places,
but at no time have I received a fully detailed narrative of events’ (Letter
1220.8, transl. Norman (1992b), 229).
The letters to Philagrius and Scylacius request essentially the same thing, but
they go about it very differently. In approaching Philagrius, Libanius cannot
play the role of the fragile, grief-stricken rhetor because he knows that other
rhetors also seek the material that Philagrius possesses. In an age before print,
Philagrius needed to be very selective when deciding who would get a copy of
his diaries. If he suspected that Libanius would collapse into an emotional heap
before completing the oration, Philagrius would certainly pass his diaries on
to someone who would work more efficiently. Libanius takes a different tack
with Scylacius. Earlier that autumn they had exchanged letters speaking in
overly dramatic terms about their sadness at Julian’s death.56 Libanius could
continue the charade a month later without fearing that Scylacius might take
him seriously. Both men were in on the rhetorical ruse and understood the
epistolary over-dramatization of their sadness for the exaggeration that it was.
 The same careful deployment of the motif of paralyzing grief characterizes
Oration 17, the Monody on Julian that Libanius completed early in 364, and the
use of literary allusion in which will be studied in more detail in Chapter 11.57
As in his monody on Nicomedia, Libanius’ lament over the dead emperor
begins not with a meditation upon the sophist’s own loss but with one that
describes a world suddenly turned upside down. The first three chapters frame
Julian’s death as a disaster on a scale greater even than that suffered by the
Trojans. It has rendered the empire lawless, defenceless, and altogether
exposed to the ‘ravages’ of evil-doers (§§1–3). The monody’s next section
turns to the gods. As in the Nicomedian oration, it begins by asking which of
the gods are to blame, an especially poignant question because Julian honoured
all of them (§§4–5). Libanius found their absence particularly troubling
because not only did they stand aside when Julian confronted the Persians, but
their willingness to abandon Julian allows ‘a creed which we had until then
laughed to scorn, which had declared such violent, unceasing war against [the
gods], has won the day after all’ (§7). The consequences of this, Libanius
continues, are baffling. Not only does Julian’s early death seem to punish the
pious, but it also makes those who have outlived him bemoan having to ‘grow
old and live their lives in squalor ’ (§13). At its midpoint, the monody praises
what Julian accomplished and offers a rich list of achievements including
military victories along the Rhine (§14), beautifully composed letters (§16),
tireless work judging cases (§18), and the initial success of the Persian
campaign (§19). Again following the same pattern as in the Nicomedian
monody, Oration 17 transitions from these praises to the moment when the
gods decided to abandon Julian (§23) and then a long list of the people,
institutions and temples who will suffer because of his loss (§§27–35).
It is only at the oration’s conclusion that Libanius begins to speak about his
own suffering. He both mourns an emperor and the loss of a companion and
friend (§36). He regrets not having accepted Julian’s offer to recognize his son
as his heir and wonders at the irony of having been at work on a speech that
would reconcile Julian and Antioch at the time of the emperor ’s death (§37).
Then, in the final passage of the oration, Libanius claims ‘I have become quite
incapable of forming phrases, as some mothers under the influence of great
disasters become barren … and it is with much ado that I have returned to my
senses’ (§38).
As in the Nicomedian monody, Libanius concludes this lament by describing
Julian’s death as personally devastating. Here too, Libanius has deliberately
broken with the standard form of a monody. Standard monodies over people
conclude by looking to the future, discussing what opportunities have been lost
because of the death of the person, and describing the funeral and the collective
grief felt by the city.58 Libanius departs from this form by artfully telling what
effect Julian’s death had on him personally. This underlines the monody’s
intended effect of simultaneously offering praise, expressing pity, and offering
its audience a type of emotional closure.59 By the oration’s end, Libanius alone
suffers because, as the one whose expression of pity provides rhetorical
healing, he cannot benefit from his own medicine. At the same time, his
solitary suffering underlines the power of his oration. When this passage’s
rhetorical purpose is considered alongside the evidence from Libanius’ letters,
it becomes quite unlikely that Libanius here provides an accurate description of
his reaction to Julian’s death. As in the letters, the monody’s description of
Libanius’ depression serves, instead, as a powerful device designed to shape
the audience’s emotional response to his words.

2.4 Conclusion
Like his idol Aelius Aristides, Libanius has often been portrayed as an
emotionally and physically fragile character. His frequent complaints about
migraines, illnesses and paralyzing depressions have usually been taken as
literal descriptions of his personal situation. As this chapter has shown,
however, Libanius’ corpus often clearly disproves his own claims that these
physical and psychological afflictions deeply influenced his productivity: not
only does abundant correspondence and rhetorical production date from a
number of these supposedly fallow periods, but the description of such periods
is often so rhetorically useful that it becomes factually suspect. In the period
following the death of Julian, for example, we see that his letters continue at
regular intervals through 365. The number of orations composed certainly
declines in the year and a half after Julian’s death, but the amount of work he
does on them compares favourably to that done in 386 and 387, supposedly
one of the most productive periods in his career.60 The bulk of that work went
towards Oration 18, his massive Funeral Oration in Honour of Julian that drew
upon the extensive research he had been doing for most of the autumn and
winter of 363–364. Far from a near-suicidal invalid, Libanius appears quite
busy and actively engaged during this entire time.
These two monodies provide a unique opportunity to explore reality and
rhetoric in Libanius’ self-descriptions because the works explicitly highlight
moments when Libanius made skilful rhetorical use of the grief his audience
would expect him to feel. This is useful for contextualizing the monodies, but it
also enables one more readily to recognize other points in Libanius’ career
where he makes rhetorical use of grief. This is particularly appropriate to
consider late in Libanius’ life when his letters again begin to contain repeated
claims that his work has been disrupted by depression and ill-health.61 Libanius
was then in his late seventies and nearing the end of his life but, even in the
390s, these claims often perform the same rhetorical task that they did when
Libanius was a younger man. In a letter from 392, for example, Libanius
writes to Firminus, a military official who had recently retired in order to
resume the study of rhetoric.62 He had apparently sent Libanius at least two
unanswered letters and Libanius responds carefully in a way that both engages
with the content of these two letters and apologizes for responding to them
slowly. Libanius’ apology begins ‘how could I, who have been so moved by
your change of career, ever despise – to use your own words – one who has
given me this pleasure, so as not to write to you’ (Letter 1048.6). ‘You should
have looked,’ he continues, ‘for some other reason … everyone has heard of
the death of Cimon … now he is dead and I have sat in mourning for him,
touching food under duress from my friends, who tell me that I must not
embrace death and die as well. Letters arriving here I have received with tears,
and I have been quite incapable of sending any’ (Letter 1048.7). After using his
sadness at the death of his son and the (by now quite familiar) motif of its
nearly fatal effect on him to excuse his failure to return Firminus’ letter,
Libanius then concludes with a striking response: under these circumstances,
Libanius says, Firminus ought either to compose a funeral address over Cimon
or stop accusing Libanius of being an unjust friend (Letter 1048.8–9). When
faced with the charge of being impolite, then, Libanius counter-attacked with
just as much devastating rhetorical force in the 390s. In fact, the growing
plausibility of his complaints as he aged made them an even more effective
weapon. This should not, however, be read as an honest or accurate description
of Libanius’ state of mind.
Libanius certainly lived through long periods of ill health and moments of
sudden grief unlike anything that most people experience in the modern world.
He endured untreated migraines for years, had bouts of stomach trouble, and
gradually lost his sight in old age. His best friend, most important patron,
common-law wife and son all died tragically. Even if one does not take
literally his descriptions of the effect that these events had on him, the physical
and emotional pain that Libanius must have experienced for most of his adult
life was quite real and should not be minimized. At the same time, though, one
should also not think this catalogue of maladies particularly exceptional: this
was life in Antiquity, and most of his peers suffered the same (if not worse)
afflictions.63 Libanius differs from others not in the amount that he suffered or
even in his particular inability to withstand it; instead, he is notable because of
his great skill in describing these sufferings in ways that were rhetorically
useful. Libanius’ supposed sufferings absolved him of social sins,
demonstrated divine favour, and underlined the power of his oratory. He was
able regularly to transform the quotidian tragedies and traumas of ancient life
into useful components of his orations and letters. This is one of Libanius’
most interesting and least acknowledged rhetorical skills, but it is one that,
when noticed, allows one to reconstruct his life and appreciate his work in a
much more nuanced way.

1 This is Letter 1534. The addressee was Theodorus 11 (PLRE, 897), a former
student of rhetoric in Antioch and the governor of a province in the diocese of
Asia (probably Bithynia, as Norman (1992b, 294, n. a) suggests, given the
proximity to Aristides’ home in Adrianutherae). On Aelius Aristides as a
model for Libanius, see Chapter 11.

2 This is the Italicianus who received letters 642, 659, 665 and 666 while in
office.

3 Τίς ὁ νοῦς τῶν τριχῶν (Letter 1534.5).

4 Letter 1534.5.

5 Philostratus tells us that Aristides once waited four days before delivering an
oration to welcome Marcus Aurelius to Smyrna in 176 (Philostratus, Lives of
the Sophists 582–3). Libanius too kept the emperor Julian waiting before
finally delivering the oration the emperor requested, recounting the event in
his Autobiography with a narration that mirrored Philostratus’ account. On the
comparison between the two incidents see Pack (1947), 17–20.
6 For a reading of the Sacred Tales as a work of rhetorical self-presentation
rather than candid self-description see, for example, Downie (2008). For
moments where the Autobiography and Aristides’ Sacred Tales intersect see,
for example, Rafaella Cribiore’s comparison of Libanius’ return to Antioch
and Aristides’ return to Smyrna (Cribiore (2013), 48)

7 The relationship between Libanius and Aristides has long been

acknowledged. Malzacher (1918) and Boulanger (1923, 453–4 K) are among
two of the earliest examples. See also Chapter 11, esp. Section 11.3.

8 The notion that Libanius presents himself differently depending upon the
type of text one reads is not new. For a more thorough discussion of questions
of genre and their effect on Libanian self-representation see Cribiore (2013),
25–40.

9 Libanius actually composed three surviving monodies. The third (Oration

60) celebrates the temple of Apollo at Daphne. The text is corrupt, however,
and may be incomplete. While an important event, the destruction of the
temple, is treated in a different way from the other two events in Libanius’
letters and Autobiography, at no point does Libanius suggest that it was
emotionally devastating to him.

10 ‘These blows, coupled with fatigue, his recurring migraines, and a

tendency to valetudinarianism, due in part to temperament, in part to the model
offered him by the second-century sophist Aelius Aristides, sent him into a
depression verging on a nervous breakdown’. Bradbury (2004a), 8; cf.
Norman, (1992a), 2.

11 Oration 1.75.

12 Oration 1.77.

13 Τίς γὰρ ἐκείνης, μείζων μὲν οὐκ ἂν εἴποιμι, καλλίων δέ; μέτρῳ μὲν γὰρ
τεττάρων ἐλείπετο τοσοῦτον ἀτιμάσασα τοῦ μεγέθους ὅσον ἔμελλε
λυπήσειν τῶν οἰκητόρων τοὺς πόδας. (Oration 61.7).
14 εἰς δὲ κάλλους λόγον τὰς μὲν ἀπέλειπε, ταῖς δὲ ἐξισοῦτο, πάντως δὲ
οὐκ ἐκρατεῖτο δεχομένη μὲν ταῖς ἀγκάλαις τὴν θάλατταν, εἰσιοῦσα δὲ εἰς
τὴν θάλατταν ταῖς ἄκραις, ἐπιβαίνουσα μὲν τῆς χηλῆς, ἀναβαίνουσα δὲ ἐπὶ
τὸν λόφον, στοῶν δύο δυάσι διειλημμένη διηκούσαις τοῦ παντός, λάμπουσα
μὲν δημοσίοις κατασκευάσμασι, τοῖς δὲ ἰδίοις συνεχὴς ἐκ τῶν ὑπτίων ἐπὶ
τὴν ἄκραν οἷον κυπαρίττου κλάδοι ἄλλος ἐπ’ ἄλλῳ, νάμασι διαρρεομένη,
κήποις δορυφορουμένη. (Oration 61.7).

15 Lost wife: Letters 405 and 430. Imperial position: Letter 326.

16 Ammianus 17.7.

17
Tsunami: Libanius, Oration 61.15. Fire: Libanius, Oration 61.15;
Ammianus 17.7.

18 The road is described by Libanius as ‘crescent shaped and shady winding

around the edge of the bay’. (Oration 61.21). This would certainly have been
cut in the aftermath of the quake and tsunami.

19 Quosdam domorum inclinata fastigia intrinsecus servabant intactos, angore

et inedia consumendos. Ammianus, 17.7.6. It is interesting that Ammianus here
specifies death by starvation. Not only does this assume that people had water
in their homes that they consumed while waiting for rescue, but it also means
that the agony lasted for many, many days – not just the two or three that
dehydration would take.

20 Oration 1.117–18.

21 On this strategy more generally see Section 1.2 of Chapter 1 in this volume.

22 This is a dubious assertion disproven by the monody that Libanius

composed for her.

23 Nicomedia’s earthquake was 24 August, 358. Eusebius died in 359 (Letter

263). Phasganius, his uncle, died in late 359 (Letter 96), and his mother died
later that year (Letter 553, Oration 2.69).

24 The autumn date is suggested by the unseasonably late batch of grapes that
accompanied the initial letter.

25 Julian, ELF n. 7 = Bidez and Cumont (1922), 9. Cf. Bidez (1924), 4.

26 Letter 35.2–3.

27 Letter 35.3–5 (recommending Helpidius); Letter 35.7 (restoration of

property of Pompeianus).

28 The date is probably early in the winter of 358, given Libanius’ surprise
that Demetrius was able to send him grapes (Letter 33.5)

29 This is Letter 388. Strategius is Strategius Musonianus (PLRE, 611–12). His

friendship with Aristaenetus is alluded to in Letters 326, 537 and 561.

30 For a discussion of the progression of the oration see Karla (2007), 147–
55.

31 For the structure see Menander Rhetor, 2.16. Libanius follows the structure
Menander prescribes in Oration 61 until he reaches the end. For a more
thorough analysis of Oration 61 in light of Menander ’s prescriptions, see
Karla (2007). For Libanius’ grief as an animating element of the oration see
Cribiore (2013), 90–1.

32 For Aristides as a model for Libanius’ monody on Nicomedia see Behr

(1981) 358 n. 1, Karla (2007), and Bekker-Nielsen (2008), 163 n. 42.

33 For similarities between the two see, for example, the mention of the
structures destroyed at Aristides Oration 18.8, many of which appear in the list
Libanius provides in Oration 61.17–19.

34 On Libanius’ relations with Julian, see Wiemer (1994) and Chapter 9 in

this volume.

35 Julian had commented to Libanius that he hoped to remake Antioch into a

city of marble (Libanius, Oration 15.52). On the possibility that Julian may
have been hoping to make Antioch a new seat of imperial power, see
Bowersock (1978), 96–7.

36 Julian makes all of these points in the Misopogon. Impiety: Misopogon

357b–d, 361d–362d; Unmanageable: Misopogon 350, 356d, 359 c–d; Daphne:
Misopogon 361b.

37 On the Misopogon as satire, see Gleason (1986) 106–19; Elm (2012), 327–
35. See now, however, the new interpretation of the text developed by Van
Hoof and Van Nuffelen (2011), 166–84.

38 Letter 1376.

39 Oration 16.1–2. On the possibility that Libanius has fabricated this,

however, see Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen (2011), 178 n.72.

40 These are Orations 15 and 16. For discussion of their relationship to the
Misopogon, see Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen (2011), 178–83.

41 Among the other things that Libanius could hope to get from Julian was the
return of his grandfather ’s property, seized by the fisc in 303. Letter 1154 says
that Libanius never asked for this, but the mere mention of this possibility
should arouse suspicion that Libanius may have been considering such a
request. For further discussion see Watts (2015), Chapter 10.

42 Suggested in Oration 17.37, a promise perhaps reiterated by Jovian (Letter

1221.6) but a type of action opposed on principle by Valens (Oration 1.145).
43 Libanius even mentions an epic oration in praise of Valens’ Gothic
campaigns of 367–9 that was so long that it required two different meetings
for delivery. While Valens turned up for the first part of it, the second was
never delivered and Libanius was forced to send a written copy for the
emperor to read at his leisure (Oration 1.144).

44 For a description of some of these, see Oration 1.136–8. As argued in

Chapter 1, Section 1.4 (with reference to Leppin (2011a)), these potential
reverses, which were real, may have been exaggerated. Also, as argued by Van
Hoof (2014a), the idea that this caused the notable lacuna in his letter collection
is not really sustainable.

45 For the broader social and administrative changes that accompanied

Valens’ new regime see Watts (2015), Chapter 7.

46 e.g. Norman (1992b), 192–3 n. b, Cribiore (2013), 163–5.

47 Entrechius 1 (PLRE, 278–9) was serving as governor of Pisidia at that time.

48 Saturninius Secundus Salutius (PLRE, 814–817).

49 Letter 1426.1. The Neoplatonist Priscus had accompanied Julian on

campaign and just returned to Antioch. On his career, see Eunapius, Lives of
the Philosophers and Sophists 8, 481–2 Giangrande (1956), 56–9.

50 Gaianus 6 (PLRE, 378–9). He governed the province from 362–3 but seems
to have left office before the end of the year.

51 Letter 1422.1 (οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι ἐπλήγης).

52 Given the date of this letter, this silence should not be interpreted as a
response to threats on Libanius’ person. Those seem to have materialized only
after Gaianus left his position in 363.
53 Letter 1422.2 (transl. Bradbury (2004a), 173–4). πολὺν μὲν χρόνον
ἀπέστην τοῦ λέγειν καὶ γράφειν καὶ ἔστιν ἥδιστον ἡ σιγή. Βήρου δὲ
ἀδικεῖσθαι λέγοντος, εἰ μὴ καὶ ἐνθένδε μετὰ γραμμάτων ἐξίοι, μόλις τὴν
γλῶτταν ἐκίνησα καὶ πρὸς τοσοῦτον μέτρον, ὅσον ὁρᾷς.

54 Philagrius (PLRE, 693) is mentioned in Ammianus 21.4.2. Norman

(1992b), 207 dates this letter to October, 363, a date that seems plausible.

55 For this view see Norman (1992b), 207 n. a.

56 Libanius had written to Scylacius, a teacher in Berytus, in October, at

roughly the same time as he had contacted Philagrius. The letter, which again
claims that Libanius will ‘console myself with the letters that I write to you,’ is
Letter 1431.

57 The argument developed by Norman (1969, xxxiv), that Orations 17 and 18

both appeared between July 365 and the revolt of Procopius seems unlikely.
Internal references within Oration 18 may suggest a date of 365 (e.g. Oration
18.287, 290 and 292; note as well Oration 18.279, which appears to interact
with Themistius, Oration 5.66, a work dated to January, 364) or even 368 (on
which see Van Nuffelen (2006), 657–61). Oration 17, however, contains none
of this (the references to resilient Celts, Goths and Sarmatians at 17.30 marked
by Norman seem to me too vague to suggest a specific date). Socrates
Scholasticus’ dating of the orations to the reign of Jovian (Church History
3.22) is certainly possible for Oration 17, a shorter composition that required
none of the research that Libanius put into Oration 18.

58 Menander Rhetor, 2.16 (435.28–30 on the discussion of the future, 436.12–

21 on the funeral).

59 Menander Rhetor, 2.16 (434.18–19). Libanius is not unique in taking this

turn, however. Himerius’ monody over his son Rufinus (Oration 8) is even
more self-referential and probably has an earlier date than Libanius’ Julianic
monody. Unlike Himerius, however, Libanius is also trying to advertize his
personal connection to Julian. This suggests that the rhetorical technique he
here uses may have played a number of roles at once.

60 If Oration 17.37 is to be believed, Libanius was working on Oration 15 at

the time of Julian’s death. Oration 15.1 also seems to suggest a revision in the
text to account for Julian’s recent death. On this point, see Van Hoof and Van
Nuffelen (2011), 180–2. Orations 15, 17 and 18 together take up 308 Loeb
pages. For the sake of comparison, Orations 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 30, 33 and 45
(which date to 386 and 387) total 330 Loeb pages.

61 For further discussion of this period in Libanius’ life see Watts (2015),
Chapter 10.

62 Firminus 3 (PLRE, 337). The letter is Letter 1048.

63 Themistius, for example, had a strong connection to Nicomedia

(Themistius, Oration 24.302) and saw his wife and son die at roughly the same
time that the earthquake devastated the city (his son died in 357 (Lib. Letter
575); his wife had died by 360, the date of his remarriage (Lib. Letter 241)).
Himerius too lost his son prematurely (Himerius, Oration 8 is a monody
written for him).
 Chapter 3 The rhetorical context: traditions
and opportunities
Raffaella Cribiore

3.1 Introduction
At the end of the first part of his Autobiography (Oration 1), published as a
composition in its own right in 374, Libanius included a grand oratorical
speech of Fortune, who spoke ‘as if in a play’. Libanius’ tutelary deity, Tychē,
provided a convenient template that served to give unity to the whole of
Oration 1 (§§1–155). The goddess served as the mouthpiece of the sophist and
allowed him to present his life as a series of Thucydidean antitheses, an
alternation of positive and negative events in breathless succession, ending
with a half-triumphant assessment. Immediately before this ēthopoiia,1 in
§154, the reality that Libanius painted was gloomy. He was a teacher of
rhetoric but society no longer cared for that discipline. People who were
greedy for money turned to rival studies – Roman law, Latin and stenography
– that led to posts in the Imperial administration. Those who had money were
lucky, but men of culture were despised. We often meet this bitter Libanius in
his writings, a man disappointed in what he cared for most: rhetoric, the
discipline he taught his students and his beloved ‘bride’.2 But there also is
another Libanius, the man aware of his merits and proud of his
accomplishments. This is the man (less visible in the writings of the later part
of his life) who made Edward Gibbon comment in 1737 that the sophist had
and ostentatiously displayed ‘a favorable opinion of his superior merit’.3 At
the end of the first part of his Autobiography this proud man is revealed
through the words of Tychē:

You had one thing from me that makes up for them all, that you composed
so many orations and that they have a good reputation. During your life
the numerous hands of your copyists (a cause of envy) have yet proved to
be too few for the number of your admirers. Accordingly, every school
 of rhetoric shows that your works are equally in the hands of students and
teachers (Oration 1.155).

If Libanius’ life and narrative of his life had ended here, the balance of good
and bad would still be positive. But his life continued with ups and downs until
he reached a venerable old age with its share of trouble: frail health, loss of
loved ones, diminution of power and decreasing numbers of students. And yet
the proud Libanius would enjoy under Theodosius a renewed freedom of
speech (parrhēsia) and great renown as a sophist that allowed him to compose
scathing attacks on governors.4 It is not insignificant that most of the orations
that have been preserved belong to this last period. In spite of his ambiguous
position as a pagan with some Christian friends and acquaintances, the Middle
Ages and the Renaissance loved Libanius and his intricate Greek and
considered him the teacher of rhetoric for generations to come. In the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, jurists and economists regarded his texts as relevant
to their interests.5 In antiquity, the criticisms of Eunapius (which we will look
at later) are isolated. In spite of them, posterity continued to regard his rhetoric
as an unsurpassable model and preferred his rather austere style, recalling that
of Demosthenes and Thucydides, to the more flamboyant writing of some of
his contemporaries.
Scholars have always considered the work of Libanius as reflecting reality
to a great extent. They have endeavoured to find in it ‘objective’ truths and
historical facts that would reveal Libanius’ connection with his times and with
the important figures with whom he was in contact. The results have been only
partially successful. In attempting to pin down the historical content of
Libanius’ oeuvre we have to be aware that what we know of him comes largely
from what he told us, as was emphasized in Chapter 1. We have to use the
different testimony of his letters against that of the orations which give us the
more public, official Libanius, the ‘sophist of the city’ as John Chrysostom
called him, and in doing this we have to exercise much caution.6 A text is not
complete in itself, but of necessity includes an extratextual context, the reaction
of the audience and what reception allows us to verify. Verification of what
Libanius tells us in different contexts against the reaction of his contemporary
and subsequent readers in a long chain of communication will allow us a
degree of access to the meaning of his discourse.
Moreover, even though the works of Libanius are permeated by historical
‘reality’, they are literary artefacts that deploy rhetorical strategies of self-
fashioning, as was shown in Chapter 2. They show how he wished to present
himself to different audiences. The speeches that concern educational matters,
on the one hand, and letters he wrote to students or parents on the other, reveal
two different sides of this sophist as educator. In the orations, Libanius presents
himself as a stern teacher reproaching his students for their laziness, apathy,
exclusive concern for future careers, and pursuit of disciplines other than
rhetoric. In the letters, he appears as a concerned and caring educator who
promotes the interests of young men even when they try to advance through
knowledge of Latin or stenography and even when we suspect that they were
not particularly good in rhetoric.7 Similar discrepancies are also apparent
when one examines what Libanius reveals about religion. It is imperative,
therefore, not to consider his oeuvre as the uniform production of a
monolithic author who expressed himself in the same way on different
occasions, in different genres and at different times.

3.2 Schools of rhetoric

As Libanius says in his Autobiography, in his youth he attended the classes of a
rhetorician in Antioch irregularly, and when he wanted to go back to him for
more serious study, the sophist, presumably Ulpianus of Ascalon in Palestine,
had died.8 Ulpianus had taught previously at Emesa in Syria, which had a good
school in spite of its proximity to the more renowned Antioch. He was an
active scholar and apparently had composed numerous rhetorical works.9 At
the time of Constantine the school of Antioch had an excellent reputation, so
that two of the sophists mentioned by Eunapius, the great friends Prohaeresius
and Hephaestion, came to study with Ulpianus before perfecting their
eloquence in Athens.10 The rivalry between Athens and Antioch as educational
centres had started already. Libanius says that Ulpianus was quite a despot with
his assistants, who had to obey him in everything, could not look him in the
face, and had to give him a share of the fees paid to them by students.11 Later in
the same oration (§12), he contrasts with Ulpianus’ his own style as head of a
school, which he described as friendly and supportive.12 Another sophist,
Zenobius, from Palestine, where rhetorical studies apparently thrived,
succeeded Ulpianus in Antioch.13 Whereas at a later time Libanius says that
Zenobius was the source of whatever eloquence he himself possessed,14 at
other times he shows that he did not have a good opinion of him. He stated in
the narrative of his life (§8) that after Ulpianus’ demise he began to frequent
the classes of the teachers at his disposal, mere ‘shadows of sophists’, so that
he chose to go back to a grammarian for five years to study and memorize the
ancient authors.15 In a later oration he also wrote that Zenobius was inferior to
Ulpianus in his rhetorical skills.16 Since Libanius, like many other students of
the upper class, then moved to Athens to study rhetoric, he must not have
stayed under the tutelage of Zenobius for long. One wonders if the origin of
his acute resentment of the students who did not continue under him goes back
to his own experience and low opinion of his teacher. But it is also possible
that the resentment created by his later, hasty attempt to succeed his ailing
teacher and the fact that Zenobius, who had called him to Antioch, subsequently
became inflexible coloured Libanius’ earlier esteem for his didaskalos.
Rhetoric pervaded the cultural fabric of the Roman East, with schools of
various size and importance located in Athens and Constantinople and all
around Anatolia.17 Letter 1080, for example, discloses the circumstances
under which a school of rhetoric was opened in Tavium, a minor city of
Galatia. The reputation of one of Libanius’ students who began to teach there
attracted another sophist, who moved to the town in the hope of improving his
standing. Opening a school was an affair of circumstance and did not require
special permissions. The limitations of the evidence (which does not include
inscriptions) and the fact that Libanius (who is a major source for the network
of schools in the fourth century) does not mention sophists he did not like or
did not know well render the information rather uneven. Eunapius, moreover,
gives colourful but partial accounts of teachers and students in Athens, which
are not always trustworthy. The fact that the letters of the philosopher
Themistius were not preserved also hampers our knowledge of schools in
Constantinople. A general overview, however, shows that rhetoric was
considered so essential in the upbringing of young males of the upper class
that even small centres organized some teaching. For students of privileged
classes the boundaries between town, city and metropolis were non-existent. A
student started learning rhetoric in a small provincial town but then usually
moved to other schools located far from home, as Gregory of Nazianzus or
Themistius did. But even for youths who were studying in large centres such as
Constantinople or Antioch, Athens always remained the coveted, ideal
destination. Libanius tried to attract young men from nearby provinces and
endeavoured to keep them in Antioch and give them a full course in rhetoric,
but his efforts were often to no avail: not only did students wish to move to
other places to learn new skills such as Latin or Roman law, but the school of
Athens continued to exercise the same irresistible pull as it had on him when he
was young.
 The three capitals for the teaching of rhetoric in the fourth-century East
were Athens, Constantinople and Antioch. After he became the official teacher
of rhetoric in Antioch, Libanius did not have many contacts with sophists in
Constantinople, with the exception of Themistius, who held the chair of
philosophy there and also was a proficient rhetor. Their correspondence
reveals hints of disaffection and rivalry. The resentment that Libanius always
manifested in his Autobiography toward the cultural environment of
Constantinople after an initial positive experience strongly tinged his
memories of the city that he described as uncultured, superficial and corrupt.18
With Athens it was a different story. The mirage of Athens as a leading place
for rhetoric was unimpaired by the fact that it had apparently lost some lustre,
at least according to a letter of Libanius written in 362 and in the opinion of
Synesius. Libanius claimed that the teachers there were old and past their
prime: ‘Some of them because of old age would need to sleep peacefully and
with their bellies full; others would perhaps need teachers themselves to teach
them first to settle things with words and not with weapons’.19 Synesius, who
probably visited the city in 399, stated that he felt obligated by its prestige to
go there but that only the historical sites and the honey made the city
venerable.20 It is possible that these testimonies were somewhat biased and yet
the schools of rhetoric there seemed to have suffered. The fame of Athens as
capital of learning rested then on philosophy.21
Libanius had been one of those young men lured to Athens by its legendary
prestige. In the narrative of his life, however, he reveals his utter
disappointment with the experience.22 It is likely that his later perception of
Athens as his prime rival in attracting students coloured his youthful
experiences as he described them in 374. The account of the sophist Eunapius
combined with the entries of the Suda (c. AD 1000) give us some sense of the
state of rhetoric in the city at the turn of the fourth century and later. Illustrious
sophists like Julianus of Cappadocia, Genethlius and Sopater taught there, but
when young Libanius arrived he found as teachers three pupils of Julianus who
were striving to succeed their master and whom he did not esteem in the least.
A very charismatic sophist also taught there, Prohaeresius, of whom Eunapius
left an idealized portrait.23 His vehement, overwhelming rhetoric, which was a
spectacle in itself and was very different from Libanius’, fascinated many
others like Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil of Caesarea. Prohaeresius had
originally studied in Antioch with Ulpianus and once in Athens attracted
adoring crowds. Libanius had a perfunctory rapport with him that perhaps
betrayed a personal dislike for that ornamented and flashy rhetoric besides
questions of rivalry. He also showed a clear antipathy for the Bithynian
Himerius who taught at intervals in Constantinople and Athens. He probably
referred to him in Letter 742, where he disclosed to a former student that the
governor of Bithynia had mocked ‘the splendidly dressed fellow from Athens’,
forced him to speak and to show his lack of power. Himerius had had among
his students not only Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil of Caesarea but also
supposedly the emperor Julian.24 He conceived of rhetoric as an elevated
genre and regarded his poetic oratory, heavily infused with mythology, as
novel and even revolutionary. He identified with Pindar and Hesiod and always
brought Apollo and the Muses onto the stage.25 The rather austere Libanius,
whose models were Demosthenes and Thucydides, could not approve the
oratory of these ‘singing’ sophists and their harmonious and rhythmical style.
No doubt Libanius was bound to feel dismayed in going to Athens if these
were the idols there.26 His vicissitudes in the city make for good reading. The
other students got hold of him, he was locked up in a small cell and was
prevented from following the classes of the teacher he had come for,
Epiphanius. After giving an oath, he was then allowed to follow the sophist
Diophantus. Though he said that he considered those teachers unprofessional
and inadequate, he was forced to feign respect but refused to participate in the
students’ battles for their teachers of which he had heard in Antioch (Oration
1.19–22). He was a very serious student, did not play ball, kept away from
‘singing girls’,27 and started to make a name for himself. His disengagement
from one specific sophist who could become his chief model and the fact that
he relied mostly on his private reading turned to his advantage because, as he
says, instead of writing like some ‘wretched and poor sophists’ (those moderns
he despised), he modelled himself on those ancient writers (Oration 1.23).
The competition among schools and traditions of rhetoric is evident from
all the sources. While teachers in minor centres inevitably had to accept that
their students would move to more eminent locations, sophists like Libanius
who taught in preeminent positions resented acutely what they called the
‘defection’ (apostasis) of their pupils. Libanius’ feelings of outrage and
dismay are clearly visible in Oration 55 For Anaxentius, a student who wished
to leave Antioch after a few years of study to respond to the call of his old
professor of rhetoric in the city of Gaza in Palestine. This sophist tried to lure
Anaxentius with the promise that he would become his assistant so that they
would ‘pasture the flock’ together. At the same time, that sophist was exerting
great pressure on the young man’s father, probably threatening to disclose that
both father and son were liable to civil service unless the young man returned.
The burden of these liturgies (which included, for example, the organization of
games or the collection of taxes) was so heavy that some people were ruined.
In this case, however, Libanius considered these to be vain threats and insisted
that Anaxentius was not ready to abandon his training and had to perfect his
knowledge to become a sophist worthy of the name. While Gaza and Caesarea
(where Gregory of Nazianzus studied) were profitable locations to learn
rhetoric and were rivals of Antioch, Libanius perceived a real threat especially
from Athens. He made every effort to supplant it as the ‘capital’ of rhetoric, for
example trying to attract the teaching of Latin and Roman law to Antioch, but
Athens always remained in the eyes of students and their families the final
destination, at least in their dreams.28

3.3 A personal style

On approaching Libanius’ prose for the first time, a reader may feel frustrated.
While the prose of his school works is more uncomplicated and flows rather
harmoniously (with some exceptions), both the letters and the orations require
much patience, for different reasons. The letters are usually brief but abound in
allusions to people and circumstances that make them difficult to understand. In
the orations, which are much more extensive, the writing may flow for a while
but suddenly become convoluted and obscure. Antithesis and hyperbaton occur
frequently, sometimes the pace accelerates and omits logical connections, and
ambiguous allusions proliferate. Contrary to the practice of some ancient
writers like Isocrates (whom he sometimes imitates), Libanius did not pay
attention to the avoidance of hiatus, and in that also differed from
Demosthenes, who used both practices but sometimes studiously avoided
hiatus. His strong disregard of accentual rhythm in ending clausulae made his
prose very different from that of the fashionable Himerius and Prohaeresius: it
must have sounded flatter and less inspired to some of his contemporaries who
liked the ‘singing’ effect.29
Demosthenes and Aeschines were the ancient writers who attracted Libanius’
studious attention in Athens and whose style he scrutinized painstakingly. He
knew both to perfection but preferred Demosthenes, and in that he was in line
with Roman tastes.30 He sometimes cited Aeschines but only in order to show
the superior ability and morality of his antagonist. The Byzantines called
Libanius ‘Demosthenes the Second’ recognizing his clear affinity with the Attic
orator. In Libanius there are few examples of full citations from Demosthenes,
but he assimilated his style and preferred to recreate it anew. His debts to
Thucydides are especially evident in those orations where history mattered, for
example in Oration 11, the encomium of Antioch, or in the Julianic orations.
Fractured periods, hyperbaton, lexical reminiscences and references to some
episodes of the Peloponnesian war occur frequently so that in these ways the
historian is present in Libanius’ works with the same frequency as Homer and
Demosthenes. The sophist actually declared his pleasure in reading Thucydides
as he reported an interesting episode of school life in the Autobiography. He
had a great copy of Thucydides’ Histories written in minuscule but clear
characters and whose size was so manageable that he could bring it to school
without help. His pleasure in reading the historian was seriously affected when
the book was stolen. He recovered his copy after much searching because a
student bought it on the used-book market, and Libanius welcomed it back ‘like
a lost child’.31 This story, which he classified as ‘little and yet not little’, shows
that he used the historian in the instruction of his students. In any case,
Libanius’ texts are replete with similar ‘little’ stories that confer vividness to
his writing and increase their interest.
In spite of the general acclaim, not everyone liked the intricate and austere
prose style of Libanius, and the historian Eunapius left a negative judgement of
it. The extreme admiration that Eunapius had for the fireworks of the ‘divine’
Prohaeresius prevented him from appreciating a style that was so different.
This is evident from the beginning of the sketch of Libanius he made in his
Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists,32 where he attributes the fact that
Libanius had not taken the classes of Prohaeresius to envy and to the desire not
to be obscured by the talent of Prohaeresius and of his capable students.
Eunapius’ unfair assessment of Libanius’ life and work unfortunately had a
great impact on Gibbon in the eighteenth century and strongly influenced the
modern opinion of the sophist. The historian’s sketch, moreover, is full of
contradictions. After approving the fact that Libanius closely imitated the
ancient writers, ‘proceeded on their footsteps and reaped the fruits of that’, he
defined the style of his declamations as ‘entirely weak, lifeless and uninspired’
and claimed that it betrayed the fact that he had failed to have a proper teacher.
Libanius – Eunapius proclaimed – did not know the most elementary rules of
declamation that even schoolboys knew. This negative portrait culminated in
attributing to the sophist a type of extreme Atticism that used obsolete,
‘precious’ words from past writers, cleaning them up and bringing them to the
light again.33 Using a simile, Eunapius suggests that Libanius was thus acting
like the slaves of a rich woman who helped her conceal the signs of old age
from her face. Eunapius’ description of Libanius’ character, moreover, is full
of ambiguities and half-truths.
It is difficult to trace the origin of all these seemingly unfair observations
considering the great reputation as a writer that Libanius had at the time. The
lack of rhythm and presence of hiatus went against the rules that Eunapius had
himself learned in Athens and can account for some of this criticism. Libanius
declared once in the context of voice-pitch and other rules for declamation that
some people criticized him ‘for being an actor more than an orator ’ and this
reputation may have reached Eunapius.34 It may also have been that in general
the historian did not appreciate those vignettes from real life that appear out of
nowhere to enliven Libanius’ compositions, as in the extraordinary finale of
the Hymn to Artemis, which will be the subject of Section 11.5 of Chapter 11 of
this volume. The claim that Libanius used obsolete, exquisite words, which
reminds one of the criticisms of the satirist Lucian in the dialogue Lexiphanes,
is unfair because it makes Libanius’ language affected and unduly
sophisticated, as the simile with the dainty maids shows.
Eunapius also asserted that the sophist assimilated himself to all the kinds of
men so that it was impossible to understand whom he preferred. Libanius was
‘multiform’ and surpassed even ‘the octopus’. Scholars have usually read the
comparison in one of two ways. Either Eunapius was alluding here to the way
Libanius presented himself, for example in Oration 2,35 as a cordial, smiling
individual who got along well with people, or the rhetor malignantly alluded to
the sophist’s lack of consistency and flattery of important people.36
I would like to advance another supposition and suggest that Eunapius may
have had some knowledge of the critical essay Demosthenes by Dionysius of
Halicarnassus, who taught rhetoric and composition in Rome in the first
century AD. The essays of Dionysius were well known in rhetorical schools,
and Libanius mentioned him a few times and reported his opinion on the
authenticity of some of the speeches of Demosthenes.37 In §§8 and 9 of his
essay, Dionysius praised the mixed style of Demosthenes, by far his favourite
author, saying that he had refused to take a single writer as a model but instead
followed in the footsteps of many illustrious predecessors. He selected from
them what he found most useful and combined many qualities, apparently
alternating simplicity and grandeur, serious and comical or sober and
emotional effects. Demosthenes’ prose thus had ‘a character similar to that of
Proteus as portrayed by the mythological poets, who was able to assume every
kind of shape with no effort’. Proteus was an early sea god who continued to
change shape; Odysseus in the Odyssey was finally able to hold him down and
make him prophesy after the god changed into a lion and other animals.38
Proteus, I suggest, is not dissimilar from the octopus of Eunapius. Upon
reading the next paragraph of Dionysius’ treatise, one more suggestion comes
to mind. In considering the similarity of the styles of Demosthenes and
Thucydides, the critic notes that they used a language divorced from the usual
and ‘containing expressions that were unfamiliar to most people’.39 Was
Eunapius inspired by Dionysius as he was writing his malignant sketch of
Libanius? Though we cannot be sure, I think that it is possible that he knew or
perhaps re-read the excursus on Demosthenes as he was getting ready to write
on a writer similar to the Attic orator. No doubt, whereas Dionysius considered
the octopus-side of Demosthenes as a positive quality that made the orator ’s
prose unique, Eunapius revisited the comment from a different point of view
and transferred the comparison to the field of ethics. The quality that was
admirable in Demosthenes’ style became detrimental in Libanius’ character.

3.4 The school of Libanius

When he came to Antioch and took over the school of Zenobius, Libanius
followed in the footsteps of some illustrious predecessors. On arriving in the
city he brought with him from Constantinople fifteen students who met with
him at his home, then moved his small school to private quarters on the side of
the market square in search of more visibility.40 Not only was he a teacher
without an official appointment, but his standing was inferior to that of other
private sophists in Antioch who taught in desacralized temples, such as the
Temple of the Muses. Finally on becoming the official sophist of the city, he
settled in a large room of the city hall. One narrow passage separated his class
from the city council. Rhetoric was considered a preparation for public life so
in that respect the school had an opportune location, even though teachers and
students could hear the noise of the public discussions and the screams of those
who were sometimes flogged in city hall.4 1 Earthquakes repeatedly destroyed
Antioch, and a modern city was built over the ancient one so that these and
other buildings are no longer visible, but descriptions in Libanius allow us to
visualize the accommodations. He says in Oration 22.31 that the city hall
possessed ‘a covered lecture room (theatron) and four colonnades, which
surrounded a courtyard that had been turned into a garden’ with a variety of
trees. Libanius thus used the ‘theatre’ for his and his students’ declamations and
for regular classes. The ending of his Hymn for Artemis takes place in this hall,
where he was expecting the arrival of his students (Oration 5.45–52). Only one
did arrive to ask the teacher ’s advice on his composition and suddenly the wall
and the door collapsed. The room was monumental and had an imposing
entrance. On one side, there were two seats: the teacher ’s imposing chair
(thronos) and another that was occasionally occupied by a student who needed
more personal assistance. It must have had other seats, even though Libanius
does not mention them, and probably rows of benches all around. All the
students of the sophist, in fact, occupied this room but they were divided in
different groups (symmoria) according to their level. Even though teachers
often used their private premises for teaching as Libanius had done at the
beginning of his career, only this room was the official didaskaleion (school).
Libanius refused to use his private quarters even when he was old and sick and
asked his slaves to transport him to city hall where he lay on a couch.
In this school Libanius taught rhetoric with the help of other rhetors. He
lamented his assistants’ pitiful financial condition in Oration 31, To the
Antiochenes for the Teachers, which he wrote in 361. At that time he had four
assistants. An investigation of their identity and character reveals that Libanius
always chose respectful individuals of mediocre standing who did not want to
or could not challenge his power and personality.4 2 In his school he was the
ultimate authority. In this oration he depicted with some pathos and rhetorical
emphasis his assistants’ miserable way of life and considered the council of
Antioch responsible for underpaying and undervaluing them. He requested for
them the same economic conditions that Zenobius had enjoyed but his
argument did not really work since these teachers were not full didaskaloi and
had subordinate positions. Thus Libanius had to take refuge in difficult issues
of competence (which could not really be tested) and in platitudes such as the
value that the Antiochenes attached to their sons’ education. As he remarked,
teachers in previous times had apparently made some money from teaching but
at that point – he said – this was no longer possible.4 3 Though sophists enjoyed
considerable immunities and were exempt for example from the heavy burden
of municipal civil service (liturgies), their income was small if they could rely
only on students’ fees. Only sophists who received a public salary and
possessed private means could in fact support themselves with ease.4 4 In this
respect Libanius did not have any concern because he came from a wealthy and
propertied family so that he could show a remarkable detachment from money
issues.45
3.5 Libanius’ chorus: the student body
The evidence from Libanius, especially his orations and letters, lets emerge a
population of students who attended his classes from the year 355 to 393,
when he presumably died. The students generally belonged to the upper class,
though among them there were a few sons of teachers and of some
unimportant decurions (members of the municipal council) who appreciated
the importance of education. Parents often sent several sons to school together
so that they could exercise some control over each other. In addition, parents
provided pedagogues who were supposed to supervise learning, make sure that
their wards did their work, assist them when they were sick and correct bad
behaviour such as indulgence in spectacles at the theatre or at chariot races.
Pedagogues were glued to young men and warded off enemies ‘like dogs’.4 6
Not all students were backed by families that could pay for the tuition and
support them. Libanius’ epistolary output also reveals some young men who
had lost one or both parents.4 7 So, for example, his student Dionysius lost his
father who was murdered by robbers and with that also his property, which his
mother and her new husband snatched away.4 8 Not only did Libanius waive the
tuition fees for him but he also found a donor who would provide a sort of
scholarship and support for some years.4 9 When the financial help was
withdrawn, the sophist protested vehemently.
On average, young men started learning rhetoric at age fourteen or fifteen,
though we are rarely told at exactly which age they arrived in the school of
Libanius. Much flexibility is needed because the records show some students
starting at eleven and others at a later age, when they already had a family.50 In
370, a law of the emperor Valentinian stipulated twenty years as the upper age-
limit for an education in rhetoric. Libanius received students from the classes
of grammarians, where they had learned poetry and grammar, and others who
had begun rhetoric at home with teachers of less renown. Though he always
insisted that many years of attendance were necessary to learn the art to
perfection and to be able to teach it, families often had a different opinion.
Several reasons that made students interrupt their studies and turn elsewhere
emerge from the texts. Family circumstances involving deaths, sickness and
necessity to earn a living sometimes required young men to become heads of
their households. For some families the tuition was too high and they could not
afford to pay it for several years. But for others this type of education had lost
some touch with reality so that they wanted their sons to learn Latin, go to
Rome to perfect it, and embark upon the study of Roman law in Berytus, which
might give them a real chance to become part of the administration. In all these
circumstances, Libanius maintained a rigid and seemingly irrational attitude
and felt personally affected when students left.
Through his letters it is in fact possible to ascertain the existence of two
different educational tracks, the two routes that Lucian in the second century
commented upon with irony and parody in his dialogue The Teacher of
Rhetoric.51 Apart from a full-fledged rhetorical education lasting for many
years, the tendency to acquire eloquence in only a few, efficient years followed
specific, cultural trends in Late Antiquity when there was a proliferation of
handbooks that recycled and summarized knowledge of various kinds,
commentaries and paraphrases that simplified the understanding of texts and
presentation of material in efficient question-and-answer format
(erōtapokriseis) which had originated in educational contexts. There was also a
gradual development of specialization that peaked in the sixth century.52 Some
people, such as Libanius, Eunapius, Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil of
Caesarea, spent an inordinate number of years learning rhetoric but the vast
majority followed a shorter course. When they had to interview (peira) for
administrative positions after a few years of study, their interviewers were
looking for sharp wits, a smattering of common culture that included
mythological references, and a good mastery of the language that included
fluent oral and written prose. Though a good education was valued to reach the
high ranks and become a governor, many years of training were superfluous.53

3.6 At the school: admission

The process of application and acceptance to a school in antiquity took place
through personal letters. These had to establish satisfactory contacts between
families and the head of a school and had to reassure the latter of the family’s
standing. Class and wealth were the most important criteria for acceptance.
This is not entirely dissimilar from what happens today in applying to the most
prestigious schools, though we pride ourselves on the fiction that effort and
talent are the exclusive reasons for acceptance. Ancient letters of application to
schools are not extant, but from the letters that Libanius sent back we can
glimpse the process. Fathers, uncles, other relatives and former students were
the writers. Three or four letters of introduction were the norm. There was not
a standard style or format for these messages, which were usually brief, but
sometimes Libanius praised the rhetorical style of a specific writer. In special
cases, when students were ‘guilty’ of previously attending the classes of a rival
of Libanius, fathers also solicited letters from acquaintances to support their
case.54 When a boy had lost his father, since mothers apparently did not write
letters of recommendation, other relatives were enlisted and previous teachers
also contributed. Confidentiality was not an issue for these letters and the
students knew their content.55 One has the impression that letters of application
did not expand much on the student in question but rather informed Libanius
about his family, social connections and home city. These are the points that the
sophist emphasizes in his letters of acceptance.
Students usually came to the school with their pedagogues in the autumn
though some arrived in the middle of the school year. They usually had not
visited the school beforehand so that Libanius then met them for the first time.
He noticed with joy the physical traits they had in common with family
members he knew but his comments were not always well accepted. Thus an
unimportant decurion apparently threatened to withdraw his son who (as
Libanius had gauchely remarked) had the family’s imposing Syrian nose.56
Most importantly, the first encounter also included a diagnostic exam of some
kind (peira, trial) that had to ascertain the student’s talents to place him in the
right class. It is unclear what this exam consisted of. Libanius may have given
the student directions to follow, tried his memory, tested his language in the
oral and written register or assigned him some logical conundrum. In any
case, this test did not affect admission but functioned as a placement test. After
that, he usually told fathers that their sons were ‘ready to receive rhetoric’ and
made some observations on their natural qualities.
Since families needed reassurance that education was giving some results
and money was not spent in vain, letters also had the function of report cards.
Libanius, who was burdened with school and scholarly work during the year,
said that in the summer he had to write most letters57 but considered report
cards a priority. Parents yearned for communications. Though Libanius may
have sent them longer messages concerning something else, the report cards
distinguish themselves for their brief compass and because they cover standard
areas such as natural endowments, effort and sometimes behaviour. Thus
Libanius for example wrote to a grandfather, ‘Your daughter ’s son is such as
his grandfather would wish: he is a lover of rhetoric but not a lover of bodies,
refrains from insolence and cultivates decorum’.58 Some of these short letters
also say that the letter carrier would expand the message, giving some
details.59 Most of the reports that are extant contain positive remarks on
students so that one wonders if parents always entrusted Libanius with
paragons of virtue. This is one of the areas in which it is possible to observe a
generic distinction between letters and speeches: the orations, in fact, present a
radically different picture of unruly young men, who did not pay attention
when their teacher declaimed, nodded to one another about horses or dancers
and even disrupted the lecture by fake ‘invitations to go to the baths before
dinner ’.60 In Oration 25.47 (On Slavery) the sophist talks about the difficult
role of any professor who was blamed when a student failed. A whole score of
relatives expected from him declarations of students’ excellence. He had to
show that they ‘were sons of the gods even if they were made of stone’.
Praising students to please their families, in fact, was apparently the norm, so
that parents sometimes doubted glowing reports and requested confirmation.
The Libanius of Oration 38.2, who writes about his student Silvanus, ‘I had to
labor with him more than with any other student since he was naturally dense
and could not understand promptly what he was told; nevertheless I thought that
even in this condition it was my duty to push him’, would sound very different
in a report.

3.7 A strict curriculum

Even though a teacher could implement the curriculum and use different
methods to teach it, it was an unchangeable entity in every school of rhetoric.
As a result, the details that emerge from Libanius can be extended to other
schools as well. Every teacher, however, enforced the style of composition that
he found most congenial, so that Libanius’ students learned to write the lean
(and somewhat difficult) prose of their master. They closely imitated him so
that the sophist said that the audience once attributed to him a certain speech
that one of his former students had composed, so similar were ‘father ’ and
‘son’. Libanius apparently did not write an Art of Rhetoric but followed some
variant of the complex theory of issues (stasis) that Hermogenes codified in
the second century.61 The end of Oration 5, the Hymn to Artemis,62 portrays the
relationship between teacher and student. The school exercises on papyrus that
have emerged from Roman Egypt also confirm the main guidelines we learn
from Syria. In Oration 34.15 (Against the Slanders of the Pedagogue), the
sophist responded to a pedagogue who had criticized the repetitive programme
that revolved around Homer and Demosthenes by saying that the reason for it
depended on the curriculum: it was not a teacher who chose the authors to read.
This passage shows that boys belonged in groups of ten or so students, had to
study a text all together under the guidance of assistant rhetors and could
proceed to composition only when everyone was ready. The sophist chose the
texts they read from a pool of mandatory authors and personally corrected
their written preliminary exercises since he considered them of great
importance in leading pupils to compose finished speeches. Libanius reiterated
that the whole chorus ‘observed the same rules, in the same school, marched
on the same path, heard the same voice and followed the same models’.63
Homer, Demosthenes and Plato were the pillars of rhetorical teaching. Students
had read the Homeric poems with a grammarian but constantly perused them in
the school of rhetoric. They studied Plato as an example of a great prose
writer, not as a philosopher. From the very beginning they learned the texts of
Demosthenes and continued with his model when they composed full orations.
The repetitiveness was such that Libanius even begged his students ‘not to hate’
the orator.64 Now and then one finds in him remarks that show that he was
saturated with exercises and wanted to engage with reality. He wrote to the
emperor Julian, ‘If we in our mock battles in the contests of declamations
know how to speak to Pericles, Cimon and Miltiades, it would be indecent if we
neglected the rules in real life.’65 This is what he did when he engaged with
current issues in some orations. It is impossible to know if he trained his
students to do the same.
Besides the canonical authors, students were exposed to the speeches of
Libanius as he declaimed in class (meletai) or in rhetorical demonstrations
(epideixis) during school events and in Antioch. In the East he was the rhetor
par excellence and we have seen at the beginning of this chapter that his works
were popular in every school. A letter shows that two new students who joined
his class after studying rhetoric with another sophist had ‘feasted’ on his
discourses already.66 While the practice of reading or declaiming one’s own
works before students was one that Isocrates had observed many centuries
before, Libanius also exposed his students to other ‘modern’ works. He was
very fond of the rhetor Aristides who had been active in the second century,
imitated him closely, collected his portraits and exchanged his works with
friends.67 He also read to students some speeches that other rhetors sent him.
According to handbooks on ancient education,68 students read poetry in the
class of the grammarian before joining a school of rhetoric where they studied
only prose works that prepared them to speak in public life. An interesting
question, however, is whether they continued with poetry at the sophist’s.69 In
the first and second centuries, prose dominated literature and yet some rhetors,
such as Aristides, who explored the generic boundaries between poetry and
prose, composed poetic hymns and epigrams. In Late Antiquity, poetry enjoyed
a phenomenal revival, as Alan Cameron has shown.70 Epigraphic dedications,
mythological and didactic poetry, and verse panegyrics honouring cities
(called patria) show huge debts to rhetoric. Libanius enjoyed poetry but was
not a poet. He was convinced he did not have a talent for poetry and some of
his attempts at composing it, which are extant, may show that this is true.71 A
few passages show that he used poetry in class, especially Homer. In a letter,
moreover, he disclosed that he also read plays, maybe those of his favourite
Euripides. ‘The usual texts were in my hands and I was thinking who could be
the proper actor for the plays’, he wrote.72 So he assigned a student the task of
reading the verses aloud. When in later years the governor Tatianus composed
an epic poem, the sophist exposed his students to it.73 This hexameter poem,
which was a combination of Homeric and original lines, was supposedly very
popular in every school of rhetoric and was used at every level. It underwent
three editions and Libanius declared that the second edition in particular had
improved his own way of composing. Poetry was still read in a school of
rhetoric even though in ways different from what took place in the class of the
grammarian, where students went through the texts very slowly, looking at
every word and glossing expressions. With that painstaking method they could
not cover much material, but compensated later on with the great amounts of
poetry (and prose) they read at the higher level of education.

3.8 Conclusion
For the first time, then, through the evidence of Libanius a whole institution of
higher education emerges fully from antiquity. We were acquainted with the
conduct of classes and the curriculum followed by Isocrates in the fourth
century BC and by the Roman Quintilian in the first century AD. Handbooks of
preliminary rhetorical exercises and theoretical accounts of the art of rhetoric
have come from antiquity, as will be discussed in Chapters 5 and 6. School
exercises from Greek and Roman Egypt are also extant and illuminate the
practice of teaching through their features and mistakes. But with Libanius we
can glimpse the whole landscape of rhetorical teaching and learning. The
Progymnasmata and the Declamations were composed by him for his students
and exemplify his methods of teaching. Some of his orations concern specific
educational issues like students’ absenteeism and laziness, the existence of
competing studies, such as Latin and Roman law, and teachers’ poor economic
condition and rivalry. His letters, moreover, let us approach the problems and
issues of many young men of the fourth century, the real protagonists of
education who were so far mostly absent. Their efforts to conquer rhetoric and
the advantages it offered are still alive in the words of the sophist.
In the next part of this volume, Chapters 4 to 7 first present these various
genres represented in Libanius’ oeuvre – orations, declamations,
progymnasmata and letters – in turn. As will become clear, all of Libanius’
texts, including not just his speeches and school exercises but also his letters,
are highly rhetorical. Many of his texts moreover implicitly or explicitly show
the great care which Libanius took of their distribution and publication. In this
way, he was greatly influential in shaping the image his contemporaries as well
as posterity would have of him. Taking its cue from Libanius’ concern for self-
presentation as discussed in Chapters 4 to 7, but also already in Chapters 1 to 3,
Chapter 8, the final chapter of Part II, then studies the reception of Libanius
from his own times until today.

1 Here Fortune has a speaking part as in one of the exercises that were part of
progymnasmata (preliminary exercises). Libanius taught this part of the
curriculum personally without relying on his assistants because he was aware
of its importance. He also composed a series of twenty-seven ethopoiiai
(speeches in character) in which (mostly mythological) figures spoke in set
situations. Cf. Foerster (1915) and Gibson (2008), 355–425.

2 See Oration 1.54.

3 Gibbon (1781=1994), 916.

4 See lately Casella (2010).

5 For other aspects of the reception of Libanius, see Chapter 8 in this volume.

6 I develop this point in Cribiore (2013), a book resulting from the Townsend
Lectures that I delivered at Cornell University in the autumn of 2010. Cf.
Schatkin (1990).
7 See Cribiore (2007a), 6–8. Cf. the dossier of the student Hyperechius 1
(Cribiore (2007a), 223–5 and 279–85), whom Libanius tried to advance in
spite of what seems a mediocre ability, and the dossier of Julianus 15 (Cribiore
(2007a), 285–6) whose expertise in Latin the sophist praises.

8 Oration 1.8.

9 He was the author of many works if he can be identified with Ulpianus 1

(PLRE, 973). See Penella (1990), 84 and n. 12.

10 Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 10.3.5, 487 Giangrande

(1956), 67.

11 See Oration 36.10.

12 See Oration 1.96 and Letters 101 and 420.

13 Zenobius followed Ulpianus as official teacher of rhetoric but other rhetors

may have taught in the school in the interval between them.

14 Oration 1.96, Letters 101 and 420.

15 For Libanius’ exceptional knowledge of, and engagement with, the classics,
see below, Chapter 11.

16 See Oration 16.11. Zenobius, moreover, was not an adequate head of the
school since he barely knew most of the teachers and kept apart from them.

17 See Cribiore (2007a), 42–82.

18 For the change from an initially positive impression of Constantinople, as

evidenced for example in Oration 1.30, where Libanius remarks that the city
was full of renowned scholars, to a negative one, see Chapter 1, Section 1.5.
19 Letter 715 (transl. Cribiore (2007a), 319). He was alluding to students’
fights on behalf of their teachers, who encouraged them.

20 Synesius of Cyrene was a Neoplatonist and bishop. In Letter 56, he wrote

that the teachers of eloquence attracted students not with their reputation but
with jars of honey.

21 See Watts (2006). One of the reasons of the decadence of the Athenian
schools of rhetoric might have been the violence that characterized school life.

22 Oration 1.16–28.

23 Eunapius Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 10, 485–93 Giangrande

(1956), 63–79.

24 Socrates, Church History 4.26.6; Van Dam (2002, 165) accepts the
identification.

25 On the orations of Himerius, see Penella (2007).

26 Of course one has to take into account that Libanius’ ways to describe his
experiences are strongly coloured by his later perceptions.

27 These were courtesans and actresses with whom students spent some
dangerous time; they are compared with Scylla, the man-eating monster.

28 The dossier of the student Titianus (Cribiore (2007a), esp. 313–20), who
was the son of an intimate friend of Libanius, is exemplary. At a certain point,
in fact, his father Acacius (a poet and a rhetor) felt that the youth should leave
Antioch to get the ‘finishing touch’ at Athens.

29 Amato and Ventrella (2009), 1–2 with bibliography.

30 On Libanius’ knowledge of Greek authors, see Schouler (1984), 441–572.
See also Norman (1964); for the Attic orators, cf. Casella (2010), 51–60.

31 Cf. Oration 1.148–50.

32 Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16, 495–6 Giangrande (1956), 81–5.

33 For more on Libanius’ Atticizing style, see Chapter 12, Section 12.2.

34 See Letter 127.5 (transl. Norman (1992b), 33), written to the father of his
student Titianus. See his dossier in Cribiore (2007a), 313–20.

35 In this oration he responded to criticism that he was ‘heavy to bear ’ and was
always praising the past and his family.

36 On this passage, see also Penella (2012).

37 Libanius, Hypotheses, Proem 20 and 24.11.

38 The whole episode is in Odyssey 4.400–570.

39 Dionysius, Demosthenes 9.

40 On different school accommodations in Late Antiquity, cf. Cribiore

(2007b). Teachers of higher education usually used their private quarters for
teaching.

41 See Oration 46.16 with the discussion of Casella (2010), 295–6.

42 Cf. Cribiore (2007a), 33–7. On Oration 31, see also Van Hoof (2014b).

43 Libanius was probably alluding to Plato, Protagoras 328b–c, where the

sophist is said to have charged 10,000 drachmas for a full course of study, a
very considerable sum.

44 Cribiore (2001), 61–5; Kaster (1988), 112–13 and 269–70.

45 He says that when teaching in Nicomedia he was robbed of an enormous

sum of money that the citizens wanted to reimburse but he declined with
nonchalance, Oration 1.61.

46 On pedagogues, see Cribiore (2001), 47–50 and 119–20; Cribiore (2007a),

117–20.

47 Libanius says (we do not know how realistically) in Letter 340 that many
of his students were poor.

48 Dionysius 6, see Cribiore (2007a), 255–9.

49 See Letter 319 and Cribiore (2007a), 256–7.

50 See Letters 634 and 1511.

51 Cf. Cribiore (2007c).

52 Cf. Averil Cameron (1998), 683.

53 See Cribiore (2009).

54 See, e.g., Letter 248 (cf. Cribiore (2007a), 248): a family friend wrote a
letter trying to soothe an angry Libanius. The family apparently feared that he
would not treat their sons like the other students. A later letter, however, reveals
that the situation was peaceful and the young men were learning (Letter 249).
55 On the public nature of Libanius’ letters, see Chapter 7, Section 7.5.

56 The gracious reply of the sophist with its Homeric reminiscences is a little
masterpiece, Letter 93.

57 Cf. Letter 650 and the comment of Wolf (1738), ad loc.

58 Letter 601 (transl. Cribiore (2007a), 260). In a report to his father

concerning the same boy, he wrote that he was ‘of the best character and strong
in rhetoric. I am informing you of the fact that he is good in both areas so that
you will praise him: because of him you belong to the company of blessed
fathers’ Letter 600 (transl. Cribiore (2007a), 259).

59 For the importance of the letter carrier, see Chapter 7, Section 7.4.

60 See Oration 3.10–14 the whole vignette of the behaviour of young men
invited to lectures.

61 Heath (1995).

62 Oration 5.46–8 shows Libanius listening to a student reading his

composition and ready to correct him. As stated above, this text will be
discussed in Section 11.5 of Chapter 11.

63 See Oration 35.21.

64 Oration 35.16.

65 Letter 369.4 (transl. Norman (1992a), 447).

66 Letter 768. Here he is reproaching a father for not sending a letter of

introduction with his sons ‘according to the custom for recommendation’. He
is happy to accept them, however, because they are familiar with his writings.
See also Letter 1098 on another student who had read Libanius previously.

67 See Cribiore (2008), and the start of Chapter 2 in this volume. For more on
Libanius’ engagement with the literary tradition, see Chapter 11.

68 Marrou (1975), 296, whose opinion remains the general consensus.

69 On the study of poetry in schools of rhetoric, see Cribiore (2007a), 155–

65.

70 See, e.g., Alan Cameron (1965) and (2004).

71 Foerster (1922), 654–5. In Letter 1347, he said he liked poetry but his
‘natural talent did not contribute’.

72 Letter 1066.2 (transl. Norman (1992b), 437).

73 Tatianus 5. Letter 990.2–3.

Part II Libanius’ texts: rhetoric, self-
presentation and reception
 Chapter 4 Libanius’ Orations
Pierre-Louis Malosse

4.1 Introduction
This chapter discusses Libanius’ Orations. The terms used in Latin and in
modern languages to denote this part of Libanius’ output – oratio, oration,
discours, Rede, orazione, discorso – risk to cause confusion as they are far too
restrictive compared to the Greek term, logos, which covers a much larger
variety of texts. Indeed, the collection of Libanius’ logoi comprises everything
that cannot be classified as letters, declamations or progymnastic exercises,1
that is, a group of texts highly diverse in terms of size, theme, addressees,
form and circumstances of publication. In Late Antiquity, logos stands not only
for literature, but also for the kind of text in which intellectuals express and
diffuse their views. The late antique logos thus straddles the boundaries
between the modern newspaper opinion, essay and even fiction. Given their
rhetorical education, contemporaries of Libanius such as Julian, but also
Christians such as Gregory of Nazianzus, all wrote ‘orations’ in view of these
various aims.
Whilst sixty-four orations have been handed down under Libanius’ name, it
is clear that he must have composed many more. In his Life (Oration 1,
Autobiography) and Letters, Libanius mentions panegyrics which he wrote for
Gallus, Valens and Phasganius, but of which we have no trace.2 In addition, we
know that Libanius regularly showed his abilities as a sophist before a public
of students, parents and the wider elite by performing either a declamation or
an oration (or sometimes both). Given his fifty-year-long activity, already his
production for those purposes only must have been very considerable.
At a certain point between the ninth and the eleventh centuries, however, a
collection came into being that consisted of no more than sixty-four orations3
– Declamation 1 (Socrates’ Apology) being erroneously included in the
collection because of its exceptional length. The Byzantine scribes who
composed the collection ordered the orations by theme and title, without much
regard for chronology. The original order was seriously disturbed when, in
the course of transmission, various quires of parchment were taken apart and
then reassembled. Nevertheless, a sense of it can be grasped at least at the
beginning of the collection. A first series of texts, beginning with the Life,
concerned Libanius as a person (Orations 1–4). After these came several moral
discourses (Orations 6–8), followed by official discourses performed at
festive occasions, culminating in the Antiochicus (Orations 9–11). Next, the
reader found a series of orations addressed to, or concerning, emperors,
which followed the order of their reigns: Constantius and Constans (now
Oration 59),4 Julian (Orations 12–18) and Theodosius (Orations 19–22 and
24).5 The following orations were dedicated to governors in office at Antioch,
as well as at the city council, the so-called Boulē. After these, as the end of the
volume comes closer, the reorganizations visibly multiply, resulting in a lack
of clear order. The archetype as described here, which lies at the basis of the
entire medieval tradition, has not been conserved. The Monacensis Graecus
483 (tenth or eleventh century, first in Augsburg, now in Munich), however,
may reflect it more or less accurately.6 Modern editors of printed editions –
Morel in the seventeenth century, but above all Johann-Jacob and Ernestine-
Christine Reiske in the eighteenth and Richard Foerster in the twentieth century
– have, with a few exceptions here and there, taken over this order. Today, the
Orations are known by their numbers in the edition of Foerster, of which the
pagination is sometimes added.7 A full survey of the sixty-four orations with
the modern translations available for them can be found in Appendix D.

4.2 Survey of the sixty-four orations

Leaving Foerster ’s order aside, there are various ways in which to present
Libanius’ orations. A chronological treatment, for example, has the advantage
of bringing out the evolution in the author ’s art and thoughts, but risks
gathering together dissimilar texts whilst separating similar ones. Moreover,
there is no certain ground for dating certain pieces, or, in the case of the moral
discourses, no ground at all. Another possibility would be to divide Libanius’
orations along the lines set out in technical treatises on logoi, distinguishing
between imperial panegyrics (basilikoi logoi), welcome speeches
(prosphōnētikoi logoi), embassy speeches (presbeutikoi logoi), deliberative
speeches (symbouleutikoi logoi), apologies, judicial speeches, city panegyrics,
requests, etc. This approach would be doomed to fail, however, as Libanius’
orations hardly ever stay within the boundaries of any one of these musters:
most orations show characteristics of several subcategories. Oration 13, for
example, is at the same time a basilikos and a prosphōnētikos, Oration 24 a
request, a panegyric, and a symbouleutikos logos, Oration 23 a reproach and a
so-called lalia, that is, a free composition. The following presentation
therefore takes into account each oration’s theme as well as its addressees and
its aims. Along these lines, Libanius’ orations can be divided into four groups:
firstly, political orations (in the modern sense of the word); secondly, orations
concerning Libanius himself; thirdly, festive orations and orations expressing
an emotion; and finally, the moral discourses.

4.2.1 The political orations

More than half of the conserved orations of Libanius (37 out of 64) concern
the government of the city of Antioch or of the Roman Empire. Not only are
these orations his best known pieces, they have also been quarried most as
sources of information on late antique history.8

4.2.1.1 The Julianic Orations

In the footsteps of A. F. Norman,9 the term ‘Julianic Orations’ can be used to
denote the well-defined group of orations dedicated to the emperor Julian,
composed either during his life or shortly after his death. The first component
of the group consists of two orations designed to be pronounced in the
presence of the emperor (AD 362–3): Oration 13, the Welcome Speech to Julian
(Prosphōnētikos), set during Julian’s arrival at Antioch,10 and Oration 12, An
Address to the Emperor Julian as Consul, pronounced when Julian took up the
consulship on 1 January 363. Except for the history of the consulate as an
institution which is given only in Oration 12, both orations cover the same
topics (barring some variations, which tell a lot about the corrections made by
Libanius, perhaps at Julian’s own suggestion): a panegyric of the emperor ’s
virtues and an account of his career. The two discourses composed after
Julian’s death are, by contrast, highly different from one another. Oration 17,
the Monody on Julian, expresses Libanius’ despair at the death of a man he
loved and admired. As befits the genre of the monody, it is a brief text. Oration
18, on the other hand, the Funeral Oration in Honour of Julian (often referred
to as the Epitaphios), was composed a little later and is the longest text we have
of Libanius (136 pages in Foerster ’s edition). It is a monument to the man
whom Libanius considers the ideal emperor as well as the greatest man of his
time. As in Orations 12 and 13, Libanius exalts his subject’s virtues and
recounts his life in an even more detailed way and until its very end; an
important part of the text is thus dedicated to an account of the military
campaign in Persia and of the emperor ’s subsequent death in the spring of 363.
In between these two groups of Julian orations, Libanius composed two
parallel discourses, which, each from the opposite perspective, tried to
reconcile Julian and the Antiochenes after the emperor left the city in anger,
menacing never to return to it: Oration 15, the Embassy to Julian and Oration
16, To the Antiochenes on the Emperor’s Anger. It is not known whether Oration
15 ever reached Julian, who was, at the time, campaigning in Persia, but in any
case, the emperor ’s death meant that it could no longer fulfil its original aim.
Finally, there is a plea which Libanius addressed to Julian during the latter ’s
stay in Antioch: Oration 14, On behalf of Aristophanes. In this speech, Libanius
argues that his friend Aristophanes, who had fallen out of imperial favour
under Constantius, had always promoted the restoration of paganism and had
secretly but actively hoped for Julian’s rise to power. In response to this
speech, Julian wrote a letter in which he contends to have been completely
convinced by it.11

4.2.1.2 On the riot of the statues (peri tas eikonas, 387)

At the end of 387 or the beginning of 388, Libanius composed five discourses
dedicated to the events that had happened at Antioch towards the end of the
preceding winter. These five speeches form a coherent series designed to
demonstrate different rhetorical treatments of one and the same important
event – thus showing off the full range of Libanius’ abilities as an orator.12
During the riot of the statues, also documented in John Chrysostom’s sermons
On the statues, the images – statues as well as portrait paintings – of the
imperial family exhibited at Antioch were smashed in reaction to a tax
augmentation. After a series of summary executions, the city feared
Theodosius’ reaction. Many citizens took flight. Two special envoys, Caesarius
and Ellebichus, were sent to Antioch by the emperor. An inquiry was carried
out as to who was responsible, and several people were condemned. Yet in the
end, Theodosius showed clemency. Libanius’ speeches were clearly composed
after the facts, but each discourse pretends to have been pronounced during the
events. Two orations are addressed to the emperor, one in order to ask
forgiveness (Oration 19, To Theodosius on the Riot), the other in order to thank
him for his clemency (Oration 20, To Theodosius after the Reconciliation).
Two further discourses (Orations 21 and 22) thank Caesarius and Ellebichus
for their sense of justice and their leniency. Oration 23, finally, Against the
Fugitives, blames those Antiochenes who left the city out of fear of retaliation:
Libanius condemns these citizens, their wives, the rich, and, finally, his own
students, who left school in order to get away from their school work rather
than from physical danger.

4.2.1.3 Deliberative speeches addressed to Theodosius

In imitation of Demosthenes, who had presented the ekklēsia of classical
Athens with general as well as concrete proposals on politics, Libanius
presents the emperor, the new locus of political decision-making, with
theoretical as well as practical advice. In doing so, Libanius adopts the role of
the orator as a political counsellor, the so-called rhētōr symbouleutikos, a
long-standing ideal and, according to Libanius, a constitutive part of his
activities as a sophist. Whether these speeches had any impact on Theodosius,
or whether they even reached him at all, is unclear.13 What matters, however, is
that Libanius presented himself as the voice of the pagan elite not only before
Theodosius, but also before the elite itself, which he considered as an
important overreader. Between 379 and 388, Libanius thus addressed
Theodosius no less than eight times.
The first discourse Libanius addressed to Theodosius is Oration 24, On
Avenging Julian, composed shortly after Theodosius’ rise to power, between
spring and autumn 379.14 Rather than defending Julian’s reign, Libanius seeks
to dispose the new emperor favourably towards the pagans amongst his
subjects by assuring him that even just a few favours will gain him their
support. Although this is indeed the course of action followed by Theodosius
during the first ten years of his reign, we cannot know for sure that Libanius’
oration played any role in this. Yet however that may be, the oration did have
the effect of gaining Libanius Theodosius’ support,15 as the sophist’s advice
coincided with the emperor ’s views. Another, even more explicit plea in favour
of religious tolerance is Oration 30, To the Emperor Theodosius for the
Temples (386), which demands that an end be put to the violence against pagan
sanctuaries by monks, fanatical bishops and overzealous officials. This
oration, which will be discussed in detail in Chapter 13, yields unique insight
into pagan reactions to the gradual elimination of their religion from public
life – a process that is otherwise known only through Christian texts.
Orations 45, On the Prisoners (386) and 50, On Forced Labour (385) draw
attention to the miserable situation of two social groups that fell victim to the
negligence and corruption of the governing class. According to Paul Petit,
these orations put Libanius in a particularly good light, as they express ‘sa
bonté et … son souci du bien public’.16 Since prisoners were deprived of any
comfort or hygiene whilst having to wait endlessly for their trials, many of
them died in prison. Those who did manage to get acquitted came out of prison
worse than they went in. Farmers coming into town in order to sell their crop,
on the other hand, were often detained there forcibly to work for people who
happened to be on good terms with the officials responsible for the city. In
order to escape this fate, other farmers stayed in the countryside, yet there
lurked another danger: in order to avoid taxes, entire villages of farmers put
themselves under the protection of a ‘patron’, a military strongman who
protected them from mighty landowners as well as from tax collectors, but
who, in return for his services, demanded that the farmers work for him and
his soldiers. Libanius objects to this practice in Oration 47, On Protection
Systems (391): as Libanius explains, such ‘protection systems’ create spaces
that fall outside the authority of city and empire, and where the only law that
counts is the survival of the fittest.
Oration 51, To the Emperor against Those Who Besiege the Magistrates and
52, To the Emperor against Those Who Enter the Houses of Magistrates, which
can both be dated to 388, seek to put an end to the partiality of governors in
judicial cases. One of the main functions of governors was indeed to
administer justice in the name of the emperor, yet they were often prey to
pressure from influential citizens privately visiting them.17 Oration 49, For the
City Councils, finally, defends the city councils, which many rich citizens tried
to avoid for two reasons. Firstly, members of the city council were subject to
liturgies: they had to pay for often expensive services such as building
maintenance works, the organization of spectacles, or even the levying of
taxes.18 And secondly, city councillors often found themselves between the
hammer of the imperial administration and the anvil of the people. Libanius
therefore demands that the emperor put an end to malpractices, enlarge the
circle of recruitment, and reject any exemptions, as the burden will be easier to
bear if shared amongst more people.

4.2.1.4 Orations for other emperors

In this subgroup, only one oration has been conserved:19 Oration 59, the
Panegyric for Constantius and Constans, which can be dated to AD 346–8, and
is thus the oldest extant discourse of Libanius.20 The difficulty Libanius faced
in writing this oration is that he had to praise both surviving sons of
Constantine in one and the same speech: Constantius who reigned in the East,
and Constans who held sway in the West. Written on command, the oration is a
work of Libanius’ youth, its praises are rather artificial, and it seeks to
embellish what was, in fact, a less than glorious situation. For this reason, this
speech, more than any of Libanius’ later orations, displays the worst side of
rhetoric, figuring, to name just one example, a sentence running over no less
than four pages in Foerster ’s edition. Nevertheless, Libanius also used the
occasion to outline his views on kingship (basileia): the emperor should
govern the empire with justice and benevolence (philanthrōpia) and in view of
his subjects’ happiness.

4.2.1.5 Orations concerning governors residing in

Antioch
This important subgroup consists of ten discourses plus Orations 51 and 52,
discussed above, Oration 10, addressed to the city council, and numerous
pieces concerning governors.21 As a rule, two imperial representatives could
be found at Antioch at any given time. On the one hand, there was the
consularis Syriae. He was responsible for the Province of Syria and for
Antioch, where he presided and controlled the city council and decided over
judicial cases. On the other hand, there was the comes Orientis, who ranked
higher and was in charge of the entire diocese of the Orient.22 Together, these
two governors exercised great influence and power over Antioch. As was
already mentioned above, Libanius sees it as the orator ’s duty to speak up to
those in power. This goes even more for these local governors than for the
emperor and his Constantinopolitan court: not only are governors closer by
and therefore more accessible as well as aware of the city’s needs,23 they are
also often replaced as a result of charges against them or even at the mere
whims of the imperial court. Given that most governors therefore stayed in
Antioch for less than a year, Libanius got to know a great many of them during
his lifetime.24
Three deliberative discourses have been preserved. Oration 26, To Icarius
(384), advises this recently installed comes Orientis not to get involved with
the supporters of his predecessor Proclus, as these represent what Libanius
considers no more than a small minority within the mass of ‘true’ Antiochenes.
The oration constitutes, as it were, Libanius’ ‘handbook for governors’: a
good governor respects the city council, distinguishes between good and bad
officials, avoids partiality and corruption, refuses private visits and invitations,
and reins in agitators without resorting to violence. Oration 40, To Eumolpius
(375–7) and Oration 41, To Timocrates (383 or 384?) are of lesser
importance. The former praises the consularis Syriae Eumolpius; the latter
advises the comes Orientis Timocrates to heed the ‘true’ Antiochenes as
represented by the council rather than the noisy mass that stirs up the theatre.
In several orations, Libanius, in an imaginary trial, accuses governors
before the emperor or his representative, before the city council, or before an
unspecified judge. In the latter case, the intention was probably to circulate the
text amongst a more or less restricted readership. Thus Icarius, who had
apparently failed to follow the friendly advice of Oration 26, is heavily
attacked in two discourses that appeared shortly afterwards (in 385). In Oration
27, Against Icarius – 1, Libanius paints an absolutely black portrait of a
governor who does not heed good advice, who suspects self-interest on the
part of those who give him such advice,25 and who acts contrary to his initial
intentions by treating the poor harshly and the rich indulgently: he closes his
eyes to his subordinates’ corruption, despises the city council, subjects to
flogging people who are, by law, exempt from such practices, and, worst of
all, he praises bad orators! Oration 28, Against Icarius – 2, is addressed to
Theodosius and focuses on Icarius’ needless flogging of city councillors: not
only does he thus flout imperial legislation, he also harms the empire by
chasing people from the council.
Five further consulares Syriae were the object of similar reproaches. In 386,
Tisamenus (Oration 33, To the Emperor Theodosius against Tisamenus) is
accused of tyrannical government as well as plotting against Antioch’s status as
metropole of Syria. The ground for this accusation was Tisamenus’ invitation
of a city councillor from Beirut to assume a liturgy at Antioch (a venatio in the
amphitheatre): surely, Libanius argues, ‘he who demotes the first city <of the
province> and places above her one that is not even the second one’26 commits
a severe offence towards the former. Libanius’ indignation does not stem
merely from excessive local chauvinism; rather, he objects to the
encroachments of the imperial administration upon civic liberty and curial
autonomy. Towards the end of his life, Libanius denounces another consularis
Syriae, Florentius, for having killed people by flogging and for having
targeted the corporation of the tavern-keepers (Oration 46, Against Florentius,
392). In the decade before, he had already accused Severus of enriching
himself through taxation (Oration 57, Against Severus, after 383). Orations 56,
Against Lucian and 54, Against Eustathius concerning the Honours27 concern
the successive consulares Syriae of 388 and 389, who are both reproached for
having despised the city council as well as for having oppressed the powerless.
After being deposed by the emperor, Lucianus returned to Antioch as an
ordinary citizen, yet his supporters behaved as if he was still in power, thus
effectively impeding his successor to take up office. Libanius first tried to
convince the city councillors to send a request that the emperor condemn
Lucianus, yet to Libanius’ regret, fear withheld the councillors from doing so.
Whilst Libanius thus at first supported Lucianus’ successor Eustathius, the
latter is soon afterwards also condemned by him for pushing through forced
enrolments in the city council and for the unequal division of liturgies to the
detriment of Libanius’ own son, Cimon, and his secretary, Thalassius.

4.2.1.6 Orations addressed to the city council of

Antioch
No less than seven times28 Libanius addressed the city council which, at least in
theory, governed the city of Antioch. In doing so, he either advised on the
political course to be followed, or criticized the council for measures already
taken. Oration 31, To the Antiochenes for the Teachers, is the oldest oration in
the group (360/1). It draws a sorry image of the situation of many teachers of
rhetoric – not of himself as a professor, but of the teaching assistants in the
city’s schools. Compared to earlier times, rhetoric has lost its prestige in
favour of more technical curricula in law, Latin and stenography, which
offered more direct access to careers in imperial administration. Libanius asks
that the city council find additional funds to pay the teaching assistants, whom
the city can count upon at any festive occasion, and particularly at the occasion
of the Olympic Games, to pronounce a festive discourse. In this way, Antioch
will show its concern for culture and respect its traditions. Oration 35, To
Those Who Do Not Speak, targets city councillors who do not speak up, and
who thereby miss the whole point of their rhetorical education: people who
have enjoyed such an education should take part in public debate and speak up
against abusive governors. In line with his words, Libanius himself in actual
practice always used words as ‘a remedy stronger than the governors’ power ’
(Oration 11.141).
Oration 10, On the Plēthron, can be dated to 383–4, and attacks the
enlargement of one of the venues of the Antiochene Olympics, the plēthron,
literally the wrestling ring. As a governor, Proclus decided to enlarge not the
actual ring, but the area reserved for the public. The reason why Libanius was
opposed to this enlargement was that the presence of more spectators risked to
destroy the silence necessary to assure the dignity of the contest. At stake, then,
was more than just the enlargement of a wrestling space: Libanius wishes the
Olympics, which draw a large audience and thereby risk becoming a popular
spectacle like mimetic dramas and pantomimes or horseracing, to remain a
religious festival. A later discourse, Oration 53, On the Invitations to Festivals
(392), shares the same concern. Indeed, Libanius here criticizes the recent habit
of inviting adolescents to the Olympic banquets at Daphne, as this entails a
moral danger: in the exclusively male setting of these dinners, the presence of
youngsters risks to introduce an element of erotic temptation. Again, then,
Libanius stresses the importance of conserving the religious purity of the
festival, maybe also in reaction to Christian reproaches concerning their
immorality.
Oration 38, Against Silvanus (after 388), vividly attacks a rich landowner
who managed to get exempted from the duties as a city councillor that had been
imposed upon him by the governors. Libanius thus not only attacks Silvanus’
escape from his curial duties, but also the fact that he thereby neglects the
governors’ decision. What is worse, Silvanus opposed Libanius’ proposal to
reduce spending on presents for the Olympics, and he studied with a Latin
rhetor. More or less contemporary, Oration 48, To the City Council, defends
the law that forbids the selling of curial estates to people who are not members
of the council. Whilst ordinary city councillors are otherwise unable to pay for
the liturgies imposed on them, the principales, that is, the leading members of
the council, had taken possession of these estates either in their own name, or
as straw men for people who were not members of the council and who were
therefore not at all entitled to buy curial estates.29 In doing so, they had
weakened the city council as a whole in pursuit of mere personal gain and
power. Oration 63, For Olympius, finally (388, maybe 389), shows us Libanius
in conflict with the city council: under the guise of defending the memory of
his friend Olympius, who stemmed from a curial family but was not a member
of the council himself as he was an honoratus (former high officials and
people distinguished by the emperor),30 Libanius turns out to defend his own
interests above all, and thus to go against the advice given in Oration 48.
Indeed, while Olympius had no children when he died, he made Libanius his
heir. In an effort to take the inheritance for itself, however, the council fights
Olympius’ will. In his speech, Libanius opposes this course of action through
judicial arguments.
4.2.2 Orations concerning Libanius himself
These orations stand apart from the orations listed above through their focus
on questions which are of direct, personal interest to Libanius.31

4.2.2.1 The Autobiography

Oration 1, Life, or: On His Own Fortune (commonly referred to as the Life),
discussed in detail in Chapter 1, is, from a chronological perspective, the
second fully preserved autobiography of Western literature, coming, as it does,
after Flavius Josephus’ autobiography, but before Augustine’s Confessions.32 It
is Libanius’ second-to-longest discourse, after the Funeral Oration in Honour
of Julian (128 pages in Foerster ’s edition). As was set out in detail in Chapter
1, Libanius, aged 60, composed a first version, covering paragraphs 1–155, in
374. In the following two decades, he repeatedly added several sections,
running over paragraphs 156–285, in which he not only recounted the
remainder of his life, but also returned to earlier events. Together, these two
parts make for a complex text with a two-fold goal. On the one hand, Libanius,
modelling himself on Demosthenes’ On the Crown, defends and promotes
himself and his choice of life. On the other hand, he also questions the sense of
his life, and of life in general, in view of the overwhelming power of Tychē
(Fortune), as the subtitle already suggests.

4.2.2.2 Orations concerning his school

In seven orations, Libanius addresses the members of his school as a
community: his students, their parents, the teachers, the pedagogues and, more
largely, all those who take an interest in his school, including the city council
which made him the city’s offical sophist. Libanius discusses events that took
place in his school, or defends himself against attacks directed at his
educational model.33
Oration 3, To the Young Men on the Oration, is, in a paradox not devoid of
humour, an oration explaining to the students why their professor … will not
perform an oration! The oration in question is the customary oration delivered
by a professor at the end of each academic year. Libanius satirically describes
his students’ disinterested attitude at such occasions. Thanks to some extremely
vivid descriptions, the oration allows us to form a good idea of these sessions,
which marked the academic year and the school’s atmosphere.
 Oration 55, To Anaxentius, addresses a student who had left the sophist’s
school in his home town Gaza, or maybe rather Bostra,34 in order to come to
Libanius’ school, which was more prestigious. As the sophist of Bostra (or
Gaza) exercised pressure over Anaxentius’ father, however, Anaxentius wishes
to return home. Libanius tries to persuade him to stay in Antioch, and seizes the
opportunity to boast about the exceptional professional advantages he enjoys
as a sophist, as well as about the quality of the education provided in his
school. The oration vividly evokes the atmosphere in Libanius’ school as well
as the strong competition between sophists to attract students. The same holds
true for Oration 43, On the Agreement, where Libanius draws a caricature of
the fickleness of the students who, with their parents’ approval, if not at their
very instigation, leave one sophist for another, and then go to yet another one,
mainly in order to avoid paying fees.35 Libanius therefore proposes to his
colleagues to conclude an agreement forbidding such ‘dumping’ by refusing
entry to such defectors.
Pedagogues were hired by parents in order to supervise their sons’
performances at school. Their tasks ranged from assuring school attendance to
helping with memorization. In Oration 58, To the Young Men on the Carpeting,
Libanius defends a pedagogue whom students had maltreated by tossing him up
and down on a carpet – a not unusual practice in ancient schools. The
pedagogue in question had attacked the rival school of a Latin rhetor, whom
Libanius accuses of having commanded the carpeting. Libanius paints a
portrait of the ideal pedagogue and commands student respect for such
pedagogues. In Oration 34, Against the Slanders of the Pedagogue, on the
other hand, Libanius presents us a very different specimen. Indeed, at a certain
point, a pedagogue had accused Libanius of having neglected his students in
favour of too many public speeches, of having taken advantage of the
confusion generated by the riot of the statues in 387 to close down his
school,36 and of being absent too often on medical grounds. Oration 62,
Against the Critics of his Educational System, refutes the criticism voiced by an
unnamed individual who contended that Libanius, although a good orator, was
not a good teacher, as none of his former students had made a career. Whilst
not denying that law or shorthand offered easier access to a career in imperial
administration than rhetoric, Libanius stresses that this is not due to any lack of
educational qualities on his part, but to imperial decisions taken by Constantius
in particular. In addition, he also lists several former students who did make a
career in imperial or local administration, as well as in court.
 Oration 36, On the Magical Practices, shows Libanius subjected to
superstitious beliefs that were not unusual in his time. Whilst experiencing an
attack of gout, he discovers a dead chameleon hidden in his classroom. One of
the animal’s legs had been torn out and put over its mouth. Libanius concluded
that this was the cause of his illness that prevented him from moving around
(cf. the torn-out leg) as well as from speaking (cf. the covered mouth). He
therefore tries to find out who bewitched him, and suggests that one of his
rivals is probably guilty.

4.2.2.3 Orations concerning Libanius’ public role

This category contains several orations that might qualify as political orations,
but that concern Libanius as a person rather than a general situation. Oration 2,
Against Those Who Call Him Tiresome, offers a reply to those who call him
barys, that is, difficult to bear with for others. As Libanius states to be 67 years
old, the oration can be dated to 380 or 381. After making clear that he cannot
be considered barys either personally or professionally, Libanius comes to the
core of his argument: if his enemies have given him this label, it is because he
criticizes the present and longs for the past. He then goes on to sketch the
numerous scandals afflicting contemporary society: sanctuaries are
abandoned, a few people get rich on the back of all the others, city councillors
are incapable of fulfilling their duties, officers steal their soldiers’ wages,
governors are corrupt and unjust, rhetoric is despised. Rhetorical devices
shore up Libanius’ indignation in this piece, which merits more attention than it
has hitherto received. At first sight, Oration 4, That He Is Not a Void Talker,
seems to belong to the same genre: in reaction to Eutropius’37 public
accusation, in 388 or 389, that Libanius is an old man who has lost his mind,
Libanius proves the opposite. Yet soon enough, the oration turns into a violent
attack against Eutropius, modelled on Demosthenes’ attack on Aeschines. The
oration cannot have been publicly performed, and was probably secretly
circulated in written form. Libanius sometimes refers to the existence of such
works of his hands and scares his opponents with the threat of publishing them.
Oration 29, In Defence of Himself because of his Plea for Antiochus, is set in
384 when Icarius, to whom Orations 26–28 are dedicated, was comes Orientis.
It concerns the conflict between the imperial administration and the
corporation of the bakers. A corrupt official, a certain Candidus, had had the
old baker Antiochus flogged. At the demand of Antiochus’ wife, Libanius took
up his defence and obtained the restitution of what had been stolen from him.
With Oration 29, Libanius replies to the charge of having meddled in a matter
that was none of his business, and, in doing so, to have given preference to a
humble baker over respectable people. At the same time, he defends himself
against the opposite charge of having taken things too easily when Antiochus’
losses were restored but Candidus was not condemned. Yet, as Libanius
explains, ‘I fight people for injustice and violation of the laws until they are
overcome, but when I see them lying low, I conclude peace’ (§36). Another
apology, Oration 32, To Nicocles on Thrasydaeus (387 or 388), offers an
original perspective on the riot of the statues. After the emperor had pardoned
the city,38 the officer in command of Syria suggests that the city council send a
delegation to Constantinople in order to thank the emperor. Given the
accusations previously addressed at them, however, the city councillors feared
imperial reprisals and therefore did not feel like going. When the job is finally
imposed upon a certain Thrasydaeus, he accuses Libanius of having concocted
this, but Libanius, with Oration 32, protests his innocence.

4.2.2.4 Private orations

Under this heading, I group four pieces with which Libanius personally
addressed a friend, even though their transmission shows that they were
publicly diffused. Oration 42, For Thalassius (390?), is somewhat particular:
whilst taking the form of a public protestation, the vehement attacks on
powerful people including the Prefect of Constantinople show that it can have
circulated only amongst Thalassius and a few other friends. Thalassius, who
also appears in Oration 54, was Libanius’ secretary, and, with his help, had
tried to get enrolled in the Constantinopolitan senate. In addition to prestige,
this would have given him exemption from his curial duties at Antioch. His
motivation was uncovered by Proclus, the current Prefect of Constantinople
who once governed Antioch, where Libanius had often indicted him.39 Oration
42 therefore also classifies as an attack against a governor.
Oration 39, the Consolation to Antiochus, was composed before 384.
Libanius expresses his sympathy for a friend of his who is also a sophist and
who had been wronged by a certain Mixidemus. Although the latter was no
military officer, Libanius accuses him of organizing a protection system like
the one denounced in Oration 47: due to Mixidemus, Antiochus had lost his
estate. Oration 44, To Eustathius of Caria, is the shortest oration we have of
Libanius. It is an early work (c. 355) that praises the personal and professional
qualities of one of his colleagues. Polycles, on the other hand, was a friend and
fellow student of Libanius. In Oration 37, To Polycles (375–7), Libanius puts
an end to their friendship because Polycles, although having been honoured by
Julian, had defamed the emperor ’s memory by publishing a discourse
suggesting that Julian had poisoned his wife Helena.

4.2.3 Panegyrics (or apologies) and monodies

4.2.3.1 The Antiochicus
In terms of length, Oration 11, the Antiochicus, occupies the third place after
the Epitaphios and the Life (99 pages in Foerster ’s edition). This panegyric of
Antioch was written in 356, at the occasion of the first Olympic Games in the
city since Libanius’ definitive return there. With this speech in honour of his
fatherland, Libanius not only wanted to thank the Antiochenes for their
enthusiasm at his return, but also to emulate similar speeches by Aelius
Aristides (Panathenaic Oration, In Praise of Rome). In the first part of the
speech, Libanius starts by praising the location and climate of Antioch, and
then focuses on its glorious past. By grounding the city’s past in the myth of Io,
Libanius extolls Antioch to the rank of cities such as Athens. After having been
part of the Persian Empire, Antioch was founded by Alexander the Great and
Seleucus I, and subsequently embellished under Seleucid rule. The Romans
receive but a brief mention within Libanius’ historical survey. The second part
of the speech is dedicated to Antioch in the present day, and starts with a
panegyric of its population: the city council, its power, its achievements and
independence, the people, its courage and loyalty, and the attraction Antioch
exercises over immigrants. After an appraisal of Antioch’s resources and its
role as an intellectual centre – particular attention goes, of course, to the logoi
– the remainder of the text offers a description of the city and its monuments,
as well as of its suburb Daphne.

4.2.3.2 Festive orations

Whilst hymns to gods had traditionally been written in verse form, the Second
Sophistic claimed the genre for prose oratory. In line with this, Libanius
composed a Hymn to Artemis (Oration 5), which, as Jean Martin has
demonstrated,40 emulates Aelius Aristides and his In Praise of Athena.
Although the difficulties facing pagan religion at the time meant that the
festival of Artemis was celebrated more or less secretly, Libanius’ oration has
an optimistic and confident feel to it. Religion also plays a role (albeit a
somewhat lesser one) in Oration 9, For the Calends, a pagan festival of
Western origin that had been successfully introduced in the East. Libanius
seizes the opportunity to celebrate the aspirations to happiness of all the
different social groups, including the poor, as well as the time of year (1st of
January) when the hardships of life are compensated by mutual generosity and
friendship.4 1
The final piece in this group is Oration 64, To Aristides for the Dancers.
This oration is exceptional, as Libanius is almost unique in his time in
defending the idea that people need moments of simple happiness and
relaxation. Although it is no longer extant, we know that Aelius Aristides had
written a discourse persuading the Spartans to chase professional dancers from
their city. These dancers practised the kind of mimetic dances that enjoyed
great popularity under the Roman Empire. Whilst paying homage to Aristides
by equally making a moral point, Libanius turns the argument upside down:
dancers are no prostitutes, and their shows do not endanger the souls of their
spectators, let alone the entire city.

4.2.3.3 Monodies
A monody is a text expressing grief at the death of a loved one or at the
occasion of a catastrophe. Libanius’ monodies stage their author ’s as well as
collective reactions to such events. Apart from the monody to Julian,42 two
monodies have been transmitted under Libanius’ name.4 3 Oration 61, Monody
on Nicomedia, was written in 358 after an earthquake destroyed the city of
Nicomedia. Libanius had a special interest in Nicomedia because he had spent
there what he would later term ‘the five happiest years’ of his life. As a
consequence, he also had many friends in the city (including his best friend
Aristaenetus), many of whom died in the earthquake.44 Both the Monody on
Julian and the Monody on Nicomedia were discussed in detail in Chapter 2.
Oration 60, Monody on the temple of Apollo in Daphne, was written in 362,
after a fire destroyed the temple of Apollo in Antioch’s suburb Daphne, and at
a time when Julian, who was then present in the city, had taken up its
reconstruction. The only remains that are left of this oration are the extracts
quoted by John Chrysostom in his Oration on Babylas and against the
Hellenes. Byzantine scribes collected these quotations and inserted them in the
manuscripts of Libanius. Although the text as we have it is therefore of a
fragmentary nature, the losses are probably not too great, as monodies tended
to be relatively short.
4.2.4 Moral discourses
Four pieces fall within the group of moral discourses: Orations 6 (On
Insatiability), 7 (That Enriching Oneself Injustly is Worse than Poverty), 8 (On
Poverty) and 25 (On Slavery). Byzantine scribes sometimes ranked these
discourses with Libanius’ declamations as they teem with topoi; yet as Libanius
clearly speaks in his own name, they qualify as logoi rather than as meletai.
Nevertheless, these texts distinguish themselves from both declamations and
what can be properly called orations. Being dialexeis, oratorical showpieces
that were – witness Philostratus – highly popular in the Second Sophistic,
Libanius’ moral discourses do not offer a concrete discussion of a particular
imaginary (as in declamations) or real (as in orations, strictly speaking) case,
but discuss general questions, in competition with philosophers.45 In Letter
405, Libanius tells us that he had composed a dialexis On Natural Gifts, but
that text has not been conserved. Orations 6, 7 and 8 are relatively short and
were designed as opening recitations before the performance of a declamation
or a speech. As such, they were sometimes termed prolaliai. Oration 25 is
longer, developing the paradoxical and amusing argument that all men,
independently of their social situation, are slaves. In all four texts, Libanius
makes ample use of rhetorical categories and commonplaces; yet
notwithstanding their light or ironical touch, these discourses often also make
a personal (e.g. the discussion of friendship in Oration 6, or the survey of
difficulties facing sophists in Oration 25) as well as a social and political point.

4.3 What to keep in mind when reading an oration

of Libanius
Every Libanian oration develops an argument,4 6 and that argument is the
guiding principle of the text, which overrules all other considerations. Thus
one emperor (Constantius II) is praised because he was prepared from
childhood onwards to become a ruler, another emperor (Julian) receives
praise because the fact that he grew up as an ordinary citizen allowed him to
get inside knowledge of the empire. Far from presenting a contradiction, the
divergence between these two statements derives from the rhetorical context.47
As a result, it is of utmost importance to take this into account if one is not to
go wrong in one’s interpretation of a Libanian oration. Whether or not
Libanius mentions a fact, a person, an event, an opinion depends on the
particular point or argument he is developing, and cannot be read without
taking this into account. For as Libanius himself states, ‘it is the historian’s task
to explore the detail of any action, but the panegyrist’s task not to forget any
form of praise, whilst not necessarily going through the events one by one’.4 8
This does not imply that Libanius is lying, making things up, or being
insincere; on the contrary, he often professes his search for truth and
sincerity.4 9 But the point is that selection, presentation, and stylistic effect have
an overarching impact.50
Often51, the argument to be developed in an oration clearly appears in its
title52 or is specified at the very beginning, if the sophist defines it in the
prooemium. Yet the specific point to be made is almost always built upon one
or more general ideas that recur throughout Libanius’ output: the value of a
rhetorical education, the protection of paganism, the importance of cities and
their councils, justice and the fight against corruption, a refusal of violence,
social cohesion, and absolute monarchy being kept under the rule of law.
These ideas keep recurring even in those orations that seem to treat much
smaller questions. Thus the point made in the oration On the Plēthron by far
exceeds the question of the size of a wrestling ring to include the survival of
paganism. As a result, it sometimes happens that the proclaimed goal of an
oration does not exactly coincide with its real agenda, or that it is at best of
secondary importance. Thus like Julian and Themistius (but maybe to a lesser
extent), Libanius uses imperial panegyrics in order to try and steer imperial
policy: often, the qualities ascribed to an emperor are wishful thinking rather
than a description of reality (Oration 59). Again, both panegyrics for Julian
when he was alive (Orations 12 and 13) mirror imperial propaganda. Or again,
one and the same oration sometimes defends two quite separate, sometimes
even seemingly contradictory points, as is the case with Oration 29.53 And
while Oration 24 claims, in its title and prooemium, to demand vengeance for
Julian, it actually aims to defend freedom of religion.
The addressee of any individual oration is another element to be taken into
account if one is to come to a correct interpretation. It will be clear, indeed, that
Libanius cannot address an emperor, his representatives, the city council, a
friend, or a student in the same way. Nor will Libanius address, say, different
emperors in the same way. Depending on the person he is addressing, Libanius
enjoys more or less freedom of speech, as reflected in tone (respectful,
colloquial, paternalistic …), style (high or simple), and formulation: whilst he
feels confident enough to threaten his students, personal enemies or even the
city council (e.g. in the conclusion of Oration 31), threats to the powerful,
especially if he is not on close terms with them, always need to be disguised.
Again, Libanius chooses his arguments in view of the addressee of an oration,
taking into account not only his social position, but also his preferences and
values in so far as they are known to him.54 The adaptation of the arguments to
the addressee can be seen exceptionally well in the various orations concerning
the riot of the statues (Orations 19–23, 387), which treat the same material but
address four different people. In the case of Ellebichus, for example, Libanius
writes an oration steeped in paganism, in that of Caesarius, he treads much
more carefully. When addressing the Christian emperor Theodosius, who
seems to have been somewhat superstitious, he mentions – albeit carefully:
witness the cautious formulation (‘They also say that … ’, Oration 19.30) –
several demonic, supernatural interventions that are not mentioned in any of
the other orations. It would, then, be wrong to use Oration 19 to ascribe
superstitious beliefs to Libanius personally. Likewise, Libanius’ approving
remarks concerning Julian’s religious policies whenever he addressed him
cannot be taken as proof that Libanius supported these policies in all their
details. As a result, Eunapius already pointed out that Libanius ‘was so clever
in adapting and assimilating himself to all sorts of men that he made the very
octopus look foolish’.55
Barring a few exceptions, orations are, moreover, public texts, comparable
to ‘Open Letters’ published in today’s newspapers: apart from the nominal
addressee, Libanius counts as much, and sometimes even more, with an
overreader. These overreaders can be divided into two categories: on the one
hand the audience, on the other hand possible indirect addressees. The audience
consists of the public present during the performance of an oration as well as
of the readers of the subsequently circulated written version. These mostly
belong to the pagan elites of Antioch, the East, and maybe beyond.56 Libanius
positions himself as their voice and counsellor: many of his works either
present Libanius as their spokesman, or present the audience with a model to
follow when dealing with imperial and local officials. As Libanius explicitly
remarks, this audience can be used to exercise pressure over the addressee:
whilst the addressee could refuse a request made privately, ‘he shall consider
that thousands of people will accuse him if he rejects the advice he has heard in
their presence, whilst if he gives in and lets himself be convinced, as many
people will sing his praises’.57 The indirect addressees, on the other hand, are
highly diverse. To start with, there are obvious indirect addressees: when a
professor praises or blames a student, the latter ’s parents as well as those of
prospective students should also be reckoned with. Or again, when Libanius
tells young men about the dedication of their pedagogues, he may well hope
that this praise reaches the latters’ ears and incites them to behave accordingly.
But there may also be less welcome indirect addressees: in a society where
spies and accusations are rife, anything a sophist says (and even anything that
can be read into his words) may be used against him by the powerful even if
they are not present. It is therefore not inconceivable that Libanius here and
there turned a seemingly unfavourable situation to his hand in order to present
himself in a better light or to incriminate his enemies. Such remarks would be
very credible indeed to the extent that they were seemingly made in passing. A
last group that can be distinguished amongst Libanius’ audience or readership
is formed by friends who shared his ideas and values: it is for them that
Libanius inserted disguised intentions, coded messages, more or less ironic
remarks. This latter aspect should not be forgotten, indeed: Libanius often has
a preference for a discreet form of irony that sometimes verges on real
sarcasm. Oration 23, for example, although covering a serious subject, is a
case in point.
Just like poetry and novels, orations make use of intertextuality in order to
play with tradition and innovation: not only do Libanius’ orations often allude
to earlier texts, as will be discussed in detail in Chapter 11, they also play with
topoi. (Late) antique audiences loved such topoi,58 and were interested in
seeing how the author would work them out. As rhetorical texts, which aim to
persuade their audience, will want to satisfy the audience’s expectations in
order to dispose it favourably, they abound with topoi. Far from shrinking
from commonplaces, Libanius therefore consciously integrates them into his
orations: not for him the modern dislike of trodden paths. When reading
Libanius, we should therefore keep our eyes open for topoi, and evaluate them
on the basis of a comparison with previous, and above all classically Athenian,
elaborations of the same topos. On the one hand, we shall thus avoid the error
of taking for original an idea that was already voiced by, say, Thucydides. On
the other hand, two observations should be kept in mind: first, the presence of
topoi does not imply that Libanius is insincere, as topoi are as good a way of
getting a message across as anything; and secondly, it is not necessarily the
case that topoi have no present relevance because they have a long history. On
the contrary, they often contain deep, universal truths. Thus the Antiochicus,
which displays all the traditional topoi of a city panegyric may not be original
in treating any of these points, but it does express Libanius’ deep admiration
for Antioch and his pride at belonging to the city. As archaeological
excavations have shown, moreover, his description of the city is particular to
Antioch and precise to the point that it can serve as a guidebook for
excavations.59
Keeping in mind the rhetorical context as set out above – the overarching
influence of the argument to be developed, the adaptation to various
addressees, audiences and readers, the use of irony, the presence of hidden
agendas, and the play with topoi – is thus a necessary precondition for a
correct understanding of Libanius’ orations. We should, in other words, never
forget that Libanius did not write for us, but for a specific late antique target
group, in view of a particular aim, and within the socio-historical conditions
of their times. Yet that being said, the survival of a great part of his output
suggests that Libanius may well have hoped for a posthumous readership too.

4.4 Structure and characteristics of Libanius’

orations
Due to the large variety of subjects treated and to Libanius’ talents as a writer,
there is no one formula that fits all the orations. Nevertheless, several elements
keep returning. The basic structure of Libanius’ orations betrays the influence
of judicial rhetoric as it was formalized in technical writings and transmitted in
schools: prooemium, narration (possibly preceded by a brief exposition,
katastasis, or pre-narration, prodiēgēsis), proof, and epilogue. Yet whilst this
basic structure can be clearly seen in several of Libanius’ more traditional
orations (apologies, accusation speeches etc.), Libanius never follows it
slavishly: most of the time, the structure is adapted in function of the theme and
treatment. Thus in some cases the narration is reduced to an absolute minimum
or is absent altogether (as is the case in the moral discourses), in others proof
is merged with narration or is limited to a few sentences just before the
epilogue. Still other orations have a more complex structure. This is the case,
for example, in Oration 19, where two narrations can be found, each followed
by proof and a kind of epilogue. In some more solemn pieces, the prooemium
is doubled up, whilst in some others the epilogue, which is typically quite short
and sharp in Libanius, is preceded by a final battery of proofs. The proof itself,
finally, ranges from an orderly, sophistic catalogue, as in Oration 25, which
surveys various social ranks in order to prove that none escapes constraint, to
an apparently chaotic flow of arguments that seems to have spontaneously
flown from Libanius’ heart (but which has, in reality, been constructed with
great care). This is the case, for example, in the monodies as well as in Oration
23, which blames the Antiochenes who had left the city. In matters of
composition, then, Libanius does not stand out from other sophists or from the
rules set out in theoretical handbooks, if not through his great mastery of all
the possibilities.
Three characteristics do, however, make Libanius stand out: his vivid
narrations, his concrete and nuanced reflections, and his exceptional skills in
formulation and elaboration. First, Libanius’ orations are literary masterpieces
when Libanius recounts events which he witnessed or which have been
reported to him: in a few words, he manages to evoke the atmosphere in the
streets of Antioch following Theodosius’ pardon after the riot of the statues
(Oration 22.37–8), or the night-time battle of Singara when Roman soldiers
are hit by Persian arrows (Oration 59.112). On a completely different note, he
is able to make his reader laugh at the ridiculous fate of the usurper Eugenius
(Oration 20.18–19). Libanius has an eye for detail, is sensitive to all the
different aspects of human and even animal life – witness his description of the
mules braying under pressure of the excessive weight placed on their backs
when rich Antiochenes are flying the city (Oration 23.18), or the donkeys who
have to transport building materials across the city (Oration 50.24). A quick
comparison with Themistius suffices to see the vivid nature of Libanius’
descriptions. Secondly, even when dealing with serious questions of general
interest and invoking moral and political principles, Libanius never forgets the
concrete effect which the political errors and misbehaviour of the powerful
may have on the daily lives of the less powerful. This can clearly be seen in the
description of the miserable condition of prisoners waiting for their trial under
horrible conditions. When proposing solutions to a problem, Libanius does
not limit himself to general principles, but makes specific suggestions. In this,
he again surpasses Themistius. Finally, Libanius distinguishes himself through
a moderate use of rhetoric: although he perfectly masters the construction of
smooth-running periods, the game of alliteration, metaphors, hyperboles and
so on, he uses these rhetorical devices with discretion. Eunapius, who idolized
the more exuberant celebrities of Athens, therefore found Libanius rather
dull.60 Yet comparison with Himerius, his contemporary, shows how much
Libanius puts content before form.

4.5 Bibliographical survey and suggestions for

further research
Whilst the standard edition for the vast majority of orations remains that of
Foerster (volumes 1–4), several orations have been recently re-edited: for the
fragmentary Oration 60, there is now M. A. Schatkin (1990), and Orations 1,
2–10, 11 (forthcoming), and 59 have appeared in the Collection des
Universités de France.
Whilst by far not all orations have been translated into any modern
language, there are numerous translations of (groups of) orations, sometimes
accompanied by a revised text. A list can be found in Appendix D. As will be
clear from that list, translators have had a marked preference for a relatively
restricted group of orations including the Life (Oration 1), the Antiochicus
(Oration 11), the To the Emperor Theodosius for the temples (Oration 30) and
the Julianic orations (Orations 12–18 and, by extension, 24). This preference is
mirrored in studies on Libanius’ orations, which for a long time mainly
quarried his oeuvre as a source of historical information. Recently, however,
scholars have started to study other works of Libanius, as well as to look at
familiar works from a new perspective. Further studies along these new lines
would be welcome.
To date, no general, systematic study of Libanius’ collected orations exists.
Coming closest are Petit (1955) and Schouler (1984), who, however, deal with
the whole of Libanius’ output rather than with just the orations and do so from
a specific perspective. Whilst Petit adopted a historical perspective, Schouler,
who was interested in the literary and rhetorical aspects above all, focused on
the declamations and progymnastic exercises. What is also missing is a
systematic study of the language and style of Libanius’ orations: the
dissertations of Foerster ’s students Heitmann (1912), Kruse (1915) and Rother
(1915) are no longer considered valid, whilst the more recent study of López
Eire (1991) covers only a limited amount of material.
The majority of studies on the orations either focus on a particular textual
passage, or else on a particular theme, more specifically on a particular aspect
of Libanius as a historical source, on his ideas, or on his art as it can be seen in
some or all of his orations (and often also in his letters or declamations, or
even in Libanius and other authors of his time). Examples of this second type
are Festugière (1959) and Criscuolo (1990) and (1993) on religion, Wolf
(1952) and Cribiore (2007a) on matters of education, Wintjes (2005) on
Libanius’ life, Petit (1956b) on the publication and circulation of Libanius’
discourses, Cabouret (2002) and (2004) on governors in Antioch, De Salvo
(1996) on judicial questions, Henry (1985) and Van Nuffelen (2006) on
earthquakes in the fourth century, or Wiemer (1994) on Julian. Studies of
particular textual passages include the articles of De Salvo (2001) on Oration
57.51, Quiroga Puertas (2005b) on Oration 22.22, Rivolta (1987) concerning
Oration 12.8–21, and Schouler (1999) on Oration 23.20–2. The Julianic
Orations have proven most popular for study as a group: Criscuolo (1982),
Rivolta (1985), Scholl (1994), Malosse (1995a) and Wiemer (1995a). The
orations concerning the riot of the statues are discussed in Quiroga Puertas
(2007a). Other orations have been studied individually, if at all.61 Whilst some
of these studies have presented innovative interpretations of the orations in
question, still a lot of work remains to be done.

1 Nor, of course, amongst the summaries of the orations of Demosthenes. The

difference between logoi and meletai (declamations) is quite clear: whilst
Libanius speaks in his own name in the former, in the latter he impersonates
the historical or imaginary speaker involved in the topic under discussion.

2 Oration 1.97 and 144, Letter 283.

3 It is impossible to know whether a selection was made on purpose, or

whether these were the only orations left at the time.

4 Whilst the Panegyric to Constantius and Constans should have come

between the Antiochicus and the Julianic Orations, Förster placed it at number
59 for the sole reason that he gained access to the text only at a very late stage
in his work. That the Hymn to Artemis (Oration 5) is separated from the other
festive discourses (Orations 9, 10 and 11), on the other hand, is due to errors
in the manuscript tradition.

5 Orations 21 and 22 are, in fact, addressed to Theodosius’ representatives at

the time of the riot of the statues. They were followed immediately by On
Avenging Julian, now Oration 24.

6 In modern editions, this manuscript is designated as A, as it was originally

an Augustanus.
7 Older studies sometimes refer to the edition of Reiske.

8 For more in-depth discussion of Libanius’ speeches to various emperors,

see Chapter 9.

9 In contrast to Norman, I do not include Oration 24 in this group, as it is an

oration for Theodosius rather than one about Julian. Oration 37, on the other
hand, which will be discussed with the private orations, also concerns Julian.

10 Whilst Wiemer (1995a) has suggested that the oration was not really
pronounced during Julian’s arrival in Antioch, what matters is that it pretends
to have been so.

11 Julian, Letter 97 Bidez.

12 In his Life (Oration 1.253), Libanius evokes ‘the numerous orations on the
same theme, each having their own form, which were clearly well received’
(τοὺς πολλοὺς λόγους περὶ μὲν τὴν αὐτὴν πεποιημένους ὑπόθεσιν, μορφὴν
ἄλλην ἄλλος ἔχων, δόξαντας δὲ εὖ ἔχειν).

13 For a discussion of the possible impact of Libanius’ speeches on

Theodosius, see also Chapter 9 in this volume.

14 See Malosse (2010), 127–31.

15 Witness Libanius’ numerous addresses to Theodosius, which he might not

have written had he had no hope that they might be favourably received, and
the honorary quaestorship possibly accorded to him by that emperor.

16 Petit in Martin and Petit (1979), xxxv. One could also mention Libanius’
interventions in favour of the bakers as evoked in Oration 29.

17 On the basis of his Life and Letters, it is, however, clear that Libanius too
visited governors. As he presents it, though, he never did so in order to ruin
anybody, but in order to save an innocent man from being condemned, or in
order to get someone’s merits acknowledged, and even then only at these
people’s own request.

18 See Petit (1955), 45–62.

19 Had they survived, the panegyrics to Gallus and to Valens would have fallen
in this category.

20 See Malosse (2001a).

21 e.g. Orations 32 and 50.

22 On the administration of the Roman Empire, see Liebeschuetz (1972), 110–

14, Cabouret (2004), and, for a clear but very brief survey, Bradbury (2004a),
16–18. Since they are not histories or official reports, Libanius’ orations
almost never specify the precise position of the governors they mention. When
Libanius does wish to distinguish between the comes Orientis and the
consularis Syriae, he speaks of μείζων θρόνος or μείζων ἀρχή (Oration 1.210,
25.6, 33.27) as well as of ὁ ἄρχων τῶν ἐθνῶν (Oration 19.36) for the former,
and of ἐλάττων ἀρχή (Oration 27.6) for the latter.

23 Gallus, Constantius, Julian, and Valens all spent major periods of time in
Antioch, yet except for Julian (with whom Libanius had a special relation, cf.
Chapter 9), we do not have any discourses delivered by Libanius before an
emperor in residence at Antioch.

24 For a survey of the governors of Antioch in the fourth century, see the
relevant Fasti in PLRE, 1041–127; in Libanius’ days, see Cabouret (2002) and
(2004).

25 Amongst those, Libanius himself, of course, occupied pride of place.

26 Oration 33.22.

27 Whilst the beginning and original title of this oration were lost at a very
early stage, a scribe later added the following title in the manuscripts:
<Address> to (πρὸς) Eustathios on the Honours. Since this is manifestly wrong
– Eustathius is not the addressee of the oration, but is accused in it – the
original title probably started with kata, ‘against’. As for the addition
‘concerning the honours’ (peri tōn timōn), it refers to the honours Eustathius
claimed to have bestowed upon Libanius.

28 Eight, if one includes Oration 16, which was discussed above with the
Julianic orations.

29 In order to assure an income for the council and its members, a law forbade
the selling of curial estates to anybody who was not a member of the council.
Yet certain principales forced their less affluent colleagues into selling their
estates, which they then sold on secretly to rich Antiochenes who did not
belong to the council. The latter are referred to as hoi en dynamei (Oration
48.37), which corresponds to the Latin term potentes, usually used to denote
the honorati (cf. note 30) or upstarts. On Libanius’ presentation of the
principales, see Petit (1955) 82–91.

30 Pace Wiemer (1995b), Libanius himself became an honoratus when he was

awarded the honorary quaestorship by Theodosius. Whilst this newly created
class, which originated in Late Antiquity, ranked above the city councillors,
they were exempt from the duties which the latter were obliged to undertake.
On this topic, see Liebeschuetz (1972), 187–91.

31 Oration 63, which has just been discussed, could be added to this group.

32 Of course, we also have Xenophon’s Anabasis, Isocrates’ On the Exchange,

and Augustus’ Res Gestae, yet these do not recount their author ’s lives, and
therefore do not qualify as autobiographies.

33 Oration 31, discussed above, also concerns Libanius’ school.

34 Whilst scholars traditionally took this to be the Palestinian town of Gaza,
Pierre-Louis Gatier (1982) has convincingly argued for Bostra, in Arabia.

35 Whilst official sophists such as Libanius received an income from the

emperor (in Constantinople) and from the council of their home city, their
main income seems to have stemmed from student fees. See Kaster (1988) and
Cribiore (2007a), 183–91.

36 See above. According to Libanius’ account in Oration 23, however, it was

the students who fled, whilst he himself continued teaching the small number of
students who had remained.

37 The identity of Eutropius is not entirely clear. See Martin (1988), 105–8. It
does seem clear, however, that the Eutropius in question is not identical with
the historian Eutropius.

38 See above, where the orations concerning the riot of the statues were
discussed.

39 See also Oration 10.

40 Martin (1988), 132–5. But see also Section 11.5 of Chapter 11 in this
volume.

41 Amongst Libanius’ Progymnasmata, which will be discussed in Chapter 6,

there is also a description of this festival (Ekphrasis 5). John Chrysostom’s
Homily on the Calends is in all probability a reply to Libanius’ oration.

42 See the discussion above on the Julianic orations.

43 That Libanius composed more is clear from Oration 1.189, where Libanius
refers to an oration he had written at the occasion of the death of his favourite
pupil Eusebius. This must clearly have been a monody.
44 See in particular Letter 388 (transl. Norman (1992a), 483): ‘How do you
think I felt when I learned that this dearest of cities had collapsed on the heads
of the dearest of men? I refused to take food, I neglected literature (logoi), I
could not sleep, and spent most of my time in silence. I shed tears for them, my
dear ones for me, until I was advised to voice, in the form of an oration
(logois), the grief for the city and for the man who, by Zeus, did not deserve
such an end’.

45 On the dialexis, its history, its forms, and its uses by Libanius, see Schouler
(1973), 22–37. Cf. also the analysis of the individual moral discourses in the
same volume, pp. 63–131.

46 Strictly speaking, the moral discourses do not make an argument

(hypothesis) but defend a position (thesis). Indeed, ancient rhetoric
distinguished between an argument (hypothesis), which deals with a specific
situation, and a position (thesis), which concerns a general case. A canonical
example, found in several ancient technical treatises, illustrates the difference
well: ‘Socrates should marry’ is a hypothesis; ‘A man (in general) should
marry’ is a thesis.

47 The same goes for a governor who is attacked by Libanius in an oration

but praised by him in a letter with which he hopes to obtain a favour from him.
In addition, one should take into account chronology: some people may have
disappointed Libanius, others may have positively surprised him over the
course of time.

48 Oration 59.57.

49 See Schouler (1984), 938–9. To some extent, this is of course a topos

intended to shore up Libanius’ authority as an orator. Yet Libanius also sees his
role as a professor in truly moral terms: as opposed to stenography or Roman
law, a rhetorical education offers not merely technical skills, but moral
formation. Libanius therefore sees himself as an educator rather than as an
instructor, and accordingly has to behave in an exemplary way.
50 For a survey of the devices used by Libanius in order to defend difficult
cases without recurring to lies, see Malosse (2000a).

51 But see Carrié (1976) on Oration 47 and Van Nuffelen in Chapter 13 of this
volume on Oration 30.

52 The opening preposition of a title, for example, is already telling: whereas

eis followed by the name of the addressee signals a panegyric, kata signals an
attack, and hyper an apology, whilst pros can be followed by either a positive
or a negative account.

53 See above, where this oration was discussed.

54 Rhetoric is concerned with specific cases. As opposed to a philosophical

treatise or a work of history, an oration does not target just any reader or
audience, nor even some ‘ideal reader ’, but one or more well-defined people.

55 Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, 16.1.10, 495 Giangrande

(1956), 83, transl. Wright (1921), 523 modified. On this passage, see also
Penella (2012) and Cribiore in Chapter 3 of this volume (Section 3.3).

56 It cannot be excluded, moreover, that Libanius also had in mind people who
had not enjoyed the best of educations, and even moderate Christians. The
range of the audience depends, of course, on the kind of oration and on its
subject. The orations concerning his school, for example, tend to target a more
restricted public. On the publication and circulation of Libanius’ speeches, see
also Petit (1956b).

57 Oration 31.39.

58 Libanius shows himself to be well aware of the audience’s preference for

topoi. In Oration 59.53, for example, before comparing Constantius and
Constans to model kings, he explicitly (and, it should be said, ironically or
even slightly arrogantly) declares that ‘at this point (in the oration), I think that
some would like to hear me say that our emperors surpassed Alexander … ’

59 e.g. Saliou (2006a) and (2006b).

60 Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, 16.2.1, 496 Giangrande

(1956), 83.

61 The main studies of Libanius’ Orations are the following: Oration 1: López
Eire (1992), Van Hoof (2011); Oration 2: González Gálvez (1999); Oration 9:
Quiroga Puertas (2003); Oration 11: Downey (1959), Dareggi (1983–1984),
Saliou (2006a), (2006b) and (2011), Ventura da Silva (2011); Oration 13:
Criscuolo (1994b); Orations 15 and 16: Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen (2011);
Oration 18: Bliembach (1976), Benedetti-Martig (1981) and (1990), Criscuolo
(1998), Felgentreu (2007); Oration 19: Malosse (2007); Oration 23: Malosse
(2006a); Oration 24: Malosse (2010); Oration 29: Wiemer (1996b), Malosse
(2009b); Oration 30: Nesselrath (ed.)(2011); Oration 31: Van Hoof (2014b);
Oration 36: Marasco (2002); Oration 37: Cribiore (2011); Oration 45: Matter
(2004), Lagacherie (2006); Oration 50: Lagacherie (2006); Oration 47: Carrié
(1976); Oration 59: Callu (1987), Malosse (2000b), (2001a) and (2003);
Oration 64: Schouler (2001), Savarese (2003).
 Chapter 5 Libanius’ Declamations
Robert J. Penella

5.1 Introduction
Most scholars who have come to Libanius have not been likely to engage with
the Declamations. They are rhetorical exercises, and until recently rhetoric in
general has not had a good press in modern times. They are pieces on
imaginary themes primarily associated with the school curriculum. Why go to
them when we have Libanius’ orations on real-life themes and his letters, both
filled with a wealth of contemporary political, social, prosopographical and
cultural information? Nor does one have to visit the declamations to see
Libanius’ oratorical skills in full swing; they are fully visible in the orations on
real-life themes. Yet to neglect the declamations is to overlook a segment of
his work that apparently he himself, as well as his ancient and Byzantine
editors, wanted to be part of his literary legacy. This in itself should draw our
attention to the declamations. Nor is Libanius the only ancient rhetor or sophist
whose literary legacy includes declamations. Aelius Aristides’ corpus includes
twelve (Orations 5–16 Lenz-Behr), and we know of other lost declamations of
his that he might have been happy to have had preserved.1 Among Himerius’
orations there are five declamations, although we have only excerpts of them
(Orations 1–5 Colonna). The corpus of Choricius of Gaza includes twelve
declamations. Even Lucian’s varied oeuvre has four straight sophistic
declamations: Phalaris I and II, Tyrannicide and Abdicatus. In its many articles
on imperial sophists, the Suda (c. AD 1000) often mentions declamations
(meletai) among their works, as it does in its article on Libanius (Λ 486
Adler); occasionally it mentions only a sophist’s declamations.2

5.2 The importance of declamation

Why were declamations an important part of the oeuvre of Libanius and other
imperial sophists? First, let us be more precise about what they were. I have
only briefly defined them as exercises on imaginary themes primarily
associated with the school curriculum. They are either deliberative orations,
arguing for or against a course of action, or judicial orations of prosecution
or defence.3 They impersonate either a generic character, for example a
tyrannicide, a war-hero, or a miser; or they impersonate a specific figure from
history or myth-history, with historical-fictional details allowed and common.
In the educational system that had its roots in the Hellenistic period and
persisted through the centuries of the Roman Empire, declamation was, in
Donald Russell’s words, ‘the crown of the curriculum’.4 That literary-
rhetorical curriculum may be thought of as consisting of three stages. The first
or elementary stage had as its goal the acquisition of basic reading and writing
skills along with some arithmetic. The second or intermediate stage, typically
and traditionally thought of as the province of the grammatikos or
grammarian, focused on the close reading and explication of classical poetic
texts, especially Homer, Hesiod, Euripides and Menander. Here, the literary
part of the literary-rhetorical curriculum dominated. The completion of this
stage made one a cultured individual, but full closure was not reached until
completion of the third or advanced stage, typically and traditionally thought
of as the province of the sophist. This third stage was predominantly rhetorical.
Reading continued, here mostly in the classical orators and historians. But
prose composition was the central task and, ideally, the compositions were to
be orally delivered. Prose composition began with a series of graded exercises
called progymnasmata – literally, ‘preliminary exercises’. There were times
and places when and where the less difficult of the progymnasmata were taken
up under the grammarian.5 Having left us sample progymnasmata,6 which will
be discussed in Chapter 6, as well as declamations, Libanius perhaps was
making a statement, that, despite varying practice in the schools, the
progymnasmatic part of the curriculum belonged properly to the sophist. In
any case, with the progymnasmata completed, the student was ready to proceed
to declamation. The dissemination of a sophist’s own declamations would have
been a good way for him to advertise his skill in ‘the crown of the curriculum’
to prospective students and to their parents and grammarians; copies of his
declamations could have been closely studied as models by students; and the
preservation of his declamations as part of his literary legacy would serve to
memorialize his professorial abilities.
Declamation in the Roman world was not, however, only for students. The
rhetorical tastes of adult audiences included declamation. At various public
gatherings, and sometimes competitively, sophists declaimed on imaginary
subjects before audiences of mixed educational background, some of them
more, some less equipped to appreciate all the subtleties of the speakers’
rhetorical art. These displays were entertaining, and the sophist’s performance
involved far more than an argumentative text: appearance, voice, movement
and gesture were all important as he represented the character of the
impersonated figure.7 Ideally, a declaimer would be able to appropriate some
of the panache of the actor without incurring the opprobrium commonly
associated with the stage.8 We happen to know that Libanius’ Declamation 46,
in which a disowned son defends himself, was delivered as a non-scholastic,
public display of eloquence, apparently in a competitive setting. A number of
its manuscripts tell us that its subject is ‘a problem that Pompeianus proposed’
(Foerster (1913), 545–50). Libanius seems to allude in Letter 742 to a
competitive display of eloquence organized by Pompeianus at Nicomedia
while he was there, perhaps the one in which he delivered Declamation 46; and
Himerius may also have participated in this contest with the lost oration (53
Colonna) mentioned in Photius (Library, codex 165, 108b), as delivered ‘in
Nicomedia when he was urged on by Pompeianus, who was governor there’.9
Public displays of declamatory eloquence such as this one could bring honour
to a sophist, especially if he was the sole invited speaker or the winner of a
rhetorical contest, and they also attested to the broad interest in and respect for
eloquence in the Roman world. No wonder, then, that the texts of such
declamations were circulated and found their way into the literary legacies of
sophists.
In the preface to his Lives of the Sophists, Philostratus discusses declamation
as a distinctive feature of the Second Sophistic, that period of rhetorical-
sophistic culture that we commonly think of as extending roughly from the
middle of the first century AD to the middle of the third, although Philostratus
actually considers its founder to have been the Athenian orator Aeschines, who
died c. 322 BC. The Second Sophistic, Philostratus says, ‘presented poor men
and rich men, war-heroes and tyrants, and themes with specifically named
individuals to which history leads us’ (Lives of the Sophists 481). The
reference here is to the two types of declamation, those with generic characters
and those with specific characters drawn from history. Although Philostratus
does not make Aeschines the inventor of declamation, an anonymous life of
Aeschines10 and Photius’ entry on him11 do just that, assigning the invention to
the period of his teaching in exile on Rhodes late in his life. According to
Quintilian, Institutes of Oratory 2.4.41, declamations first appeared circa
Demetrium Phalerea – either ‘around the time of’ or ‘in the circle of
Demetrius of Phalerum’, whose life went from c. 350 to after 282 BC. Yet there
are examples of what we would call declamation from before the late phase of
Aeschines’ life or the time of Demetrius.12 Behind the traditions on
declamation found in the anonymous life of Aeschines, Photius’ entry on him
and Quintilian, however, lurks an interest, not in the earliest Greek examples of
declamation or in declamation generally, but in the emergence, as we move
into the Hellenistic period, of declamation as a fixed part of the school
curriculum. That, and also declamation as a performance before adult
audiences, were established features of the rhetorical scene in the Second
Sophistic and continued to be so in Late Antiquity.

5.3 The Libanian Corpus of Declamations

The standard edition of Libanius by Richard Foerster includes, in volumes V to
VII, which appeared in 1909, 1911 and 1913, fifty-one declamations ascribed
to him. Nineteen of these are available in translation into a modern language –
as it happens, all in English.13 A full list of all these declamations and the
modern translations that have appeared of them can be found in Appendix C.
There are also fragments of two additional declamations in volume XI of
Foerster ’s edition, published in 1922.
An immediate qualification is required, however: on various traditional
philological grounds, Foerster judged some of the fifty-one declamations to be
spurious or at least of doubtful authorship; nor was he the first to do so. He
confidently regarded the following as spurious: 18, 34, 40, 43, 45, 49 and
51.14 He expressed less confident doubts about the following: 2, 15, 16, 20, 23
and 29.15 In an encyclopedia article on Libanius that he co-authored with Karl
Münscher, Foerster offered what we may regard as his final, revised
judgement – he was deceased by the time the article appeared – on the
genuineness of the declamations (Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2509–18). He
now was willing, with Münscher, to accept Declamation 2 as genuine, but a
juvenile work.16 He added Declamation 6 to the list of dubious works. And he
branded 20, 23 and 29 as spurious rather than merely dubious.17
A recent study of the problem of the authorship of the Libanian declamations
by Dietmar Najock (2007) uses a statistical analysis of various features of
language and style, many of which would have seemed alien or at least oddly
categorized to a philologist of Foerster ’s times. Najock appreciates the
difficulty of interpreting his data. One has, for example, to take account of a
declaimer ’s linguistic and stylistic evolution over time, of the possibility that
he may not have always reached his ideal standards, and of how the
declamatory situation and the character portrayed may have led him
deliberately to alter his normal standards. In any case, Najock’s final
considered judgement on the thirty declamations that statistically claim his
attention – the others are presumed authentic – is expressed in a five-pronged
scheme: authentic (1, 3, 4, 13, 19, 26, 30, 32, 37, 38, 44, 47), probably
authentic but not entirely free from doubts (28, 51), doubtful (24, 29), very
doubtful to not authentic (2, 6, 12, 15, 16, 18, 20, 23, 25, 34, 45), not authentic
(40, 43, 49).
My own views on the question of authenticity are not well formed;
furthermore, in what follows I want to survey the whole Libanian corpus of
declamations, because they are all valuable examples of ancient declamation
even when they are not genuinely Libanian. When Foerster and Münscher and
Najock agree that a declamation is spurious (Foerster–Münscher) or very
doubtful/not authentic (Najock) – that is, in the cases of 18, 20, 23, 34, 40, 43,
45 and 49 – I shall henceforth put the declamation number in square brackets
thus: [18], [20], etc. For lesser doubts or non-unanimity in naming a
declamation spurious or very doubtful/not authentic (2, 6, 12, 15, 16, 24, 25,
28, 29, 51), I shall put the declamation number in parentheses thus: (2), (6), etc.
Let us begin our survey of the declamations in the Libanian corpus with
those that have generic characters. I proceed by highlighting recurring themes,
motifs and character types. The theme of self-denunciation (prosangelia), by
which a person requests permission to commit suicide because he finds
himself in an unbearable situation, appears in Declamations 26, (28), (29), 30,
31, 32, 35 and 50. Supposedly made in accordance with a law (see 26.4), the
request is normally addressed to the city council or, in one case, (28), to
jurors. In 50, in a somewhat different twist, a son, charged by his father with
conspiracy against him, wants to avail himself of a law that will allow him to
be put to death by his father untried. Russell regards all declamatory self-
denunciations as logoi eschēmatismenoi or figured speeches, that is, as ironic
pleas intended to precipitate some other action before the petitioner could
actually kill himself, because no one really wants to die.18 This is too confident
a general assumption: pseudo-Quintilian, in a comment (sermo) on his Minor
Declamations 337, in a scenario in which someone presents the senate with his
reasons for wishing to die, certainly assumes that the individual in question
really does want to die (cf. also Quintilian, Institutes of Oratory 9.2.85–6).
Self-denunciation also appears among the declamations that have historically
specific themes, (12), 19 and [20].
 Another recurring theme in the Libanian corpus is a father ’s disowning
(apokēryxis) of his son.19 It is found in Declamations 27, 33, [34], 46, 47 and
48. In 27, a morose father disowns his son when the father falls and the son
laughs at this. In 33 and [34], the fathers are misers. The first father disowns
his war-hero son for asking for nothing more than a crown of wild olive as his
reward. The second father takes the same action because his son promised
Asclepius a talent if the father recovered from an illness; the father has
recovered and is pained by the monetary loss. In the opening remarks to his
translations of 27 and 33, Russell (1996) interprets both declamations as
figured speeches: the fathers do not really want to disown their sons, but to
make them morose and miserly, respectively. This is precisely how the
protheōria, or preliminary explanatory comment20, of [34] explains the
situation: ‘the father is not truly disowning his son … He is correcting his son,
with a view to the future, so that he will not make grandiose promises’. In 27,
33 and [34], the fathers are pleading their cases; in 46 and 47, the sons speak,
arguing against ratification of their fathers’ pleas to disown them. Declamation
48 has a variation on the theme. Here, a father has disowned one of two sons.
The second son, having become a war-hero, asks as his prize the restoration of
his brother. When the father refuses, the war-hero son asks that he, too, be
disowned. The theme of disowning also appears in the historically specific
pair, Declamations 9 and 10.
Along with self-denunciators and disowners, we have tyrants, tyrannicides
and war-heroes, and the prizes that tyrannicides and war-heroes may claim.
Two declamations that involve war-heroes (33 and 48) were just mentioned
above because they also feature disowning fathers: in both cases, the fathers
find the prizes that their war-hero sons request to be unacceptable. In 37 war-
heroism and tyranny are found together: a rich war-hero three times over is
defending himself against the charge of aiming at tyranny (τυραννίδος
ἐπίθεσις, what in Latin declamation is called tyrannis adfectata, e.g., Pseudo-
Quintilian, Minor Declamations 254). He has used his three prizes to cultivate a
clientele to support his bid for power. In [43], we find a female tyrannicide, the
tyrant’s wife, just as in Calpurnius Flaccus, Declamation 1 (cf. Quintilian,
Institutes of Oratory 7.7.5). As her reward for killing the tyrant, she asks
through a male advocate that her children be exempted from the law that a
tyrant’s offspring be killed along with him (cf. Cicero, On Rhetorical Invention
2.49 [144]). In 42, the speaker is defending himself against a charge of
murder: he had put his son to death to save him from a tyrant who had attacked
the speaker ’s city because of his sexual interest in the boy. In 44, after a tyrant
is overthrown, a general defends himself from the charge of having helped
him come to power.
Conflict between rich and poor is found in Declamations 35 and 36. In 35, a
rich man will rescue his city from famine only if the city hands over to him his
poor enemy; the city refuses to do so, and the poor man asks to be allowed to
die. In 36, a rich man wishes to silence a poor orator who is his political
enemy. The rich man promises to save the city from siege if it allows him to
cut out the poor orator ’s tongue. In this case the city grants permission; but
when the poor man could do nothing but weep as the militarily successful rich
man orated, the people stoned the latter to death. In the declamation, an
advocate defends the tongueless poor man against a charge of inciting riot and
strife. In 30, a poor man cannot tolerate the fact that his neighbour has
suddenly become wealthy, and so he denounces himself. Finally, the alleged
adultery in 38 seems more insolent because it is a rich man who is accused of
committing the act with the wife of a poor man.
Misers or ‘lovers of money’ (philargyroi) appear in five declamations of the
Libanian collection. I have already mentioned four of them as containing acts
of self-denunciation and disowning. In 31, a miser denounces himself because
he cannot bear to pay the tax demanded of one who finds a treasure (in this
case, twice the amount of the treasure’s value); in 32, because he cannot face
paying a prostitute her fee. In 33 and [34], misers disown sons because the
latter are failing to augment the household’s wealth. In (51), a miser laments
the theft of a treasure he had hidden in the ground. We may associate with these
misers the morose men (dyskoloi) of 26 and 27, intolerant of wife and of son,
respectively, and, in (12), which has a historically specific theme, the
misanthrope Timon.
Intrafamilial dysfunction and crime also make appearances in the
declamations. In both 38 and 39, the allegedly cuckolded victims of adultery
are speaking. In the latter declamation, the suspicion is that a father has seduced
his daughter-in-law. In both cases the victims propose that it be lawful to kill
adulterers without trial. In [40], a father defends himself against the charge of
murdering his daughter and son-in-law. The son-in-law had repeatedly
entrapped his wife into what she thought was adultery – her rendezvous was
actually with him – and this allowed him to obtain control of her dowry and
shamed her father into providing her with a new one. Adultery also appears as
a theme in the historically specific Declamations 3 and (25). In [49], a son is
defending himself against the charge of murdering his father, naming his
stepmother as the perpetrator. And under the rubric ‘intrafamilial dysfunction’
we may also think of the declamations on the disowning of a son.
Although there is endless variation in the specific details of declamatory
cases, virtually all the larger themes, motifs and character types highlighted
above are traditional and keep recurring in imperial declamation, sometimes
in combination.21 Declaimers were doubtless inspired by and emulated earlier
practitioners. If we are unable to identify specific earlier declamations that
inspired any of Libanius’ own generic ones, we can note that Libanius’ myth-
historically specific Declamation 5, in which Achilles responds to Odysseus’
attempt to put an end to his wrath, was likely composed under the influence of
Aelius Aristides’ declamatory Oration 16 Lenz-Behr, the speech of an
unidentified Greek who makes the argument to Achilles to return to the
fighting.22 And Declamation 1, a defence of Socrates against the charges that
led to his death, if not a reply to the fictitious accusation of Socrates by
Polycrates from the early fourth century BC is probably at least influenced by
it.23
We turn now to the declamations with historically specific themes. Of the
twenty-seven pieces in this category (including the two fragments), six ([18]–
[23]) are concerned with Demosthenes and have as their premise King Philip’s
desire to have Demosthenes handed over to him. In one case, [18], Philip offers
to buy him after he has been found guilty of usurping civic rights.24 Hyperides
speaks in opposition to Demades, who wants Demosthenes sold to Philip,
proposing instead that he be made a state slave of Athens. In 21, Demosthenes
asks, after the Battle of Chaeronea, that he be handed over to Philip, who has
promised in turn to release two thousand captives. In 19 and [20], each with
exactly the same theme, Demosthenes asks permission to die rather than being
handed over. In 22, he has been handed over, after being dragged from the
Altar of Mercy, and then released; he asks the Athenians to destroy the altar. In
[23], again handed over and released, he now defends himself from the charge
of not taking part in public life. Demosthenes’ opponent Aeschines is the
subject of 17: an Athenian citizen brings him to court for not having stood up
to Philip when, after the defeat of the Phocians, he assumed their place in the
Amphictyonic Council.
A range of other fifth- and fourth-century figures appear in the Libanian
declamations. Themistocles’ father Neocles argues for the nullification of his
disowning of his son, after the latter ’s success at the Battle of Salamis, in 9;
Themistocles opposes the nullification in 10. Cimon asks the Athenians to let
him be jailed in place of his father Miltiades in 11. Fragment 49 is a proposal
that the Athenians go to war against the Thebans for their having stoned Pindar
to death. The famous Athenian misanthrope Timon asks permission to die to
escape from his passion for Alcibiades in (12). In fragment 50 Alcibiades is
being charged with impiety. In 13, the Corinthians accuse the Athenians of
impiety for forcing the Potidaeans to resort to cannibalism during the Athenian
siege of Potidaea in 430 BC. Declamations often present laws in conflict25: in
14, the Athenian tyrant Critias’ father Callaeschrus, having killed his son, asks,
as a reward, that he be allowed to bury him, there being laws mandating a
reward for tyrannicides and prohibiting the burial of a tyrant. Socrates’ last
days are the subject of Declamations 1 and (2): in the first, an advocate defends
Socrates against charges raised against him by Anytus after Socrates himself
has spoken, thus offering a deuterologia, or reinforcing speech, after Socrates’
own apology; in the second, someone speaks against the silence imposed on
Socrates in prison. Declamations (15) and (16) present Aristophon of Azenia
and Cephalus of Colyttus arguing about which of them deserves a reward for
living a good life. In (24), the Spartan Archidamus defends himself when he is
brought to court after the Battle of Leuctra, for speaking publicly, in violation
of a law banning those under thirty years of age from doing so. Finally, the
theme of (25) is the Corinthian courtesan Lais. The speaker opposes her recall,
which was proposed after adultery increased in Corinth upon her banishment.
Although all the above declamations make use of solid historical tradition,
they are predominantly based on fictitious premises.26 The predilection in
them for Athenian/Attic themes from classical Greece (fifth and fourth
centuries BC) is in line with tastes that were fixed in the East by the early
imperial period.27 Declamations impersonating or concerning classical
Athenian orators, especially Demosthenes, such as those in the Libanian
corpus, will naturally have had an inherent appeal to imperial Greek
sophists;28 Libanius, author of hypotheses to Demosthenes’ orations,29 knew
that master orator intimately.30 His Declamations 1 and (2) are the only
surviving ones on Socratic themes.31
Of special interest are the six Libanian declamations on myth-historical
themes. In two of them, 7 and 8, Olympic gods speak: Poseidon charges Ares
with the murder of his son Halirrhothius, with the gods sitting in judgement,
and then Ares defends himself. Given the tradition that Ares was the first to be
tried on the Areopagus,32 these two declamations incidentally memorialize an
important event in judicial myth-history. So does Declamation (6), in which
Orestes defends himself against the charge of matricide, a myth-historical case
recalled in antiquity in conjunction with that of Ares.33 Three Libanian
declamations involve the Trojan War: Menelaus in 3 and then Odysseus in 4
ask the Trojans to return Helen, and in 5 Achilles responds to Odysseus’ plea
that he put aside his anger and re-enter battle. Declamations 7 and 8 are the
only known ancient examples of the genre in which Olympic gods speak, and
declamations in which figures from the Trojan War era spoke appear to have
been rare.34 Is this due merely to the accidents of transmission of declamatory
texts and titles? Or was there a reluctance at least in some circles – though not
in that of Libanius – to let gods and heroes declaim? It is worth considering the
latter alternative, in circles that maintained that, even if a natural rhetoric was
evidenced, for example, in Homer ’s characters, there was no formal rhetoric,
no technē or art of rhetoric, before Corax and Tisias in the fifth century BC.35
Those who held such views may have insisted that declaimers should pay
tribute to the technē introduced in the fifth century BC and to the rhetorical
tradition that issued directly from it and not allow gods and heroes into their
declamations. Against this hypothesis one could note the common appearance
of gods and heroes as speakers in the ēthopoiia, one of the progymnasmatic
exercises, in which one verbally represented the character of a person speaking
in a specific situation.36 But the reluctance to let gods and heroes speak may
have been felt, or felt more, only in the more advanced arena of declamation.
There is potentially another problem with gods and declamation: the
protheōria of Declamation (6) explains that the tradition that Orestes defended
himself before a jury of gods is to be rejected because it wrongly assumes that
‘these high powers did not know what was right till they had heard the case’
(transl. Russell (1996), 69). Orestes here is made to plead before mortal
jurors, apparently Argives.37 Yet Libanius allows the gods to hear Ares’ case
in Declamations 7 and 8. This contradiction may strengthen the doubts raised,
on other grounds, against the authenticity of Declamation (6).38

5.4 Declamatory skills

Upon reaching declamation, the student attempted to bring together into a
symphonic whole all the linguistic and rhetorical skills he had acquired over
the years, as he rose to the new challenge before him. I comment here on three
skills that were of central importance for this new challenge: correct
identification and handling of the stasis of the case, proper structuring of the
oration, and competent representation of the ēthos or character of the
individual being impersonated. Much rhetorical theory on such matters existed
in antiquity; it is not uniform, and it can be complex and scholastic in the
negative sense of that latter term. A successful ancient declaimer will have had
a theoretic grounding, but will not have followed rules rigidly; a flexible
approach to the case at hand always worked best.
The stasis (in Latin, status) is the key issue of the case.39 The origin of the
term, whose root meaning is ‘to stand’, was debated in antiquity. It may have
referred to the combative ‘stand’ one party in a case took against the other or
to what made a case ‘stand’ or hold together.4 0 Stasis theory got seriously off
the ground in the second century BC, when Hermagoras of Temnos made a key
contribution to the field. By the second century AD this theorizing, which is
primarily concerned with judicial rather than deliberative cases, reached a
peak, and the system of that century’s Hermogenes of Tarsus, with its thirteen
staseis, became the most popular by the end of antiquity. There were three
fundamental staseis, those of conjecture (stochasmos), definition (horos) and
quality (poiotēs). Conjecture is the issue of fact, where the question is whether
or not a defendant actually did what he or she is accused of. Some facts need to
be defined (e.g., is persuading a tyrant to abdicate equivalent to tyrannicide and
hence deserving of the reward for tyrannicide?). If there is no dispute about
fact or definition, then one moves to quality, that is, evaluation of the act.
Hermogenes differentiated a number of subdivisions of quality. One of them,
the ‘pragmatic’ stasis, embraced all deliberative orations; in this stasis it is
argued that a proposed course of action can be recommended (or not) on
grounds of legality, justice, advantage, feasibility, honour or consequence. If
quality is irrelevant, there is yet another judicial Hermogenic stasis, objection
(metalēpsis), a challenge to the legal validity of the proceedings.4 1 Bernard
Schouler offers an analysis of the staseis of Libanius, Declamations 1
(conjecture), 4 (quality: pragmatic), (6) (quality: counteraccusation
[antenklēma], in which the accused transfers blame for an act to the victim), 33
and 36 (both of the latter are quality: counterplea [antilēpsis], in which the
defendant argues that there is nothing objectionable in what he is accused of);4 2
and Heath an analysis of those of 36 (quality: counterplea) and 44
(conjecture).4 3 Russell (1996) also has some comments on the staseis of the
declamations he translates. The declaimer ’s task was to identify the stasis – or
staseis (Quintilian, Institutes of Oratory 3.6.94) – and then to ‘divide the
question’, that is, to argue it under a number of recommended heads. Sopater ’s
Division of Questions, probably of the fourth century, is an important post-
Hermogenic example of how to do this.4 4 Determining the stasis was not
always easy. The hypothesis that came down to us along with the classical
Greek orator Lycurgus’ Against Leocrates gives three different views of what
the stasis of the case was. In his Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists
(10.6.15, 491 Giangrande (1956), 76), Eunapius reports that a Roman official
poked fun at Greek sophists for not being able to agree on the stasis of a case.
Let us next consider overall structure. A declamation typically, and most
basically, has a four-part structure: prooemium, narration of the facts of the
case, the proof and an epilogue.45 The On Invention (Περὶ εὑρέσεως),
ascribed to Hermogenes, is an important ancient discussion of the first three
parts. The prooemium seeks to make the audience well-disposed and receptive
to the speaker ’s case. Multiple prooemia were not uncommon; see, for
example, Schouler ’s analysis of the multiple prooemia of Libanius’
Declamations 1 and 374 6 or Johansson’s analysis of those of 9 and 10.4 7 The
arguments of the proof can be positive or demolitions (lyseis) of the
anticipated or already raised objections (antitheseis) of one’s opponent.4 8 The
epilogue (or multiple epilogic assertions) recapitulates and stirs up positive
feelings towards the speaker and negative feelings towards his opponent.
While this structure is normally thought of as a judicial scheme,4 9 it also
occurs in deliberative orations, for example, in Libanius, Declamation 22 or
(25).50 Russell (1996) provides structural outlines for each of the fourteen
Libanian declamations he translates; Johansson analyses the structure of 9 and
10.51 The protheōria of pseudo-Libanius, Declamation [45], is sensitive to
getting the parts of the oration right: ‘Whether we have handled every aspect of
the situation properly and vigorously, whether we have made the prooemia
emotional, the narration pitiful, and the antitheseis as they should be, reserving
most of the emotion for the epilogues and putting pity … at the end, and
whether we have moved through everything with care, those who can offer
praise based on professional expertise will not fail to know’.
Finally, the declaimer strove to represent convincingly the character of the
individual he was impersonating. Before coming to declamation, students had
exercised themselves in a short progymnasmatic exercise called ēthopoiia, in
which one was to maintain throughout ‘what is distinctive and appropriate to
the persons imagined as speaking and to the occasions; for the speech of a
young man differs from that of an old man, and that of one who rejoices from
that of one who grieves’.52 Among Libanius’ own ēthopoiiai, for example, is
one titled ‘What words would Odysseus say upon being trapped in the cave of
the Cyclops?’ In a declamation, however, one had to sustain the character
representation longer and in the context of a full deliberative or judicial
argument. The protheōriai prefixed to some of the Libanian declamations are
helpful in appreciating the ancient declaimer ’s concern with character
representation, despite the fact that many of them are attached to declamations
judged spurious or of doubtful authenticity. The protheōria of [34] ends with
the words ‘It belongs to you [my audience] to determine whether we have
given the miser [of the declamation] words that fit him and have been true to
his character (ēthos) throughout the declamation’. In Declamation (12), Timon,
a misanthrope who has fallen in love, is the imagined speaker. The protheōria
comments on the difficulty of representing such a character, who is in fact ‘two
opposite characters’. In some declamations, as the protheōriai of [40], [45] and
46 note, a high level of emotion is appropriate. The speaking style of the
individual whom the declaimer is personifying is not irrelevant to a correct
portrayal of character: the purpose of Declamations 3 and 4, as the protheōria
of 3 explains, is to represent Menelaus speaking laconically and Odysseus
speaking amply, in accordance with Homer ’s description of their speaking
styles; and the protheōria of (24), worrying that Archidamus is not speaking
laconically enough for a Spartan in the declamation that follows, explains that,
even when Spartans need to speak longer than they might like, they will still
not say more than they need to. The protheōria of (6) notes that, in defending
himself against the charge of matricide, a ‘pathetic’ case, a vehement style is
appropriate. Russell has noted the liberty declaimers had of representing, for
amusement, characters who would be unlikely to win the sympathy of jurors in
a real courtroom. He thinks specifically of the morose men of Libanius,
Declamations 26 and 27, of the envious man of 30 and of the misers of 31, 32
and 33. Declamatory characters might even insult the jurors and criticize the
laws.53 But declamation was not only for amusement; it also trained young men
for real courtrooms. It is thus not surprising to find the Libanian protheōriai
sometimes commenting on how to construct characters who can win the case at
hand. So, for example, Orestes must not revile his mother excessively or he
will alienate the jurors in (6), and the convicted speaker of [45] must show
gratitude to the judges, some of whom have already been milder on him, if he
wishes to profit further from them in the decision about his punishment.
In his biographical sketch of Libanius, the sophist Eunapius of Sardis asserts
that the style of Libanius’ declamations was ‘utterly weak, dead and without
spirit. It is clear that he had not had a teacher; for in his declamations he was
ignorant of most of the ordinary things that even a schoolboy knows’ (Lives of
Philosophers and Sophists 16.2.1, 496 Giangrande (1956), 83). Libanius had
studied rhetoric at Athens, a major and prestigious centre for such studies in
the fourth century. Eunapius’ assertion that he did not have a teacher refers
back to his account of how, as a student of the sophist Diophantus at Athens –
of whom, in any case, Eunapius had a low opinion (Lives of the Philosophers
and Sophists 12, 494 Giangrande (1956), 80) – Libanius was often absent from
class and preferred to work alone (Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists
16.1.2–5, 495 Giangrande (1956), 81). But even if Eunapius had noticed
features of some Libanian declamations that displeased him – what they might
have been he does not say – his overall judgement of Libanius’ declamatory
skills is defamatory. It, along with other ambiguous and negative judgements in
his life of Libanius, was doubtless affected by his abiding resentment over the
fact that the emperor Julian had been ill-disposed towards his own beloved
Athenian teacher of rhetoric, Prohaeresius, whom he extols in the Lives of the
Philosophers and Sophists, and had favoured Libanius over Prohaeresius.54
Posterity, in any case, would belie Eunapius’ negative judgement: as will be
discussed in Chapter 8, imitations of, and responses (antilogiai) to, Libanius’
declamations were produced from Late Antiquity through to the seventeenth
century.

5.5 Future study and interpretation of the Libanian

declamations
Much work remains to be done on the Libanian declamations. The times,
though, are propitious for progress. In the post-modern world, rhetoric can
again be taken seriously and approached with sympathy.55 Libanian studies in
general have been on the rise56 and can now be situated in what is being called
the Third Sophistic, a conceptualization that may be viewed as resulting from
the combined effect of forty years of Second Sophistic and Late Ancient
studies.57 Although text-critical improvements are always possible, we are
fortunate to have, in Foerster ’s Teubner edition,58 a solid critical edition of the
declamations. The basic access provided by translations, however – ideally
with critical introductions and annotations, if not full commentaries – is
limited: only nineteen of the fifty-one fully preserved declamations have been
translated into a modern language. But there are some new translation projects
in progress.
The study and appreciation of Libanius’ declamations must be undertaken
with reference to ancient declamation as a whole. In recent decades there has
been a modest surge of interest in this genre,59 boosted by a new interest in
ancient education in general. But it is mainly Latin declamation that has
profited from this surge.60 Nonetheless, even if the results of these studies
cannot fully be applied to Greek declamation, some of them can; otherwise,
these studies can at least inspire and point the way for students of Greek
declamation.
Declamation was, in the first instance, a rhetorical exercise. And that is how
it should initially be approached – with the aid of ancient rhetorical theory, no
easy body of texts to master. But we may then ask if declamation is a cultural
artefact that had wider, transrhetorical significance. To the extent that it did, it
would deserve a scholarly audience broader than that of specialists in rhetoric.
I want to conclude with some remarks on four such transrhetorical approaches
to Greek, and therefore to Libanian, declamation that recommend themselves.
Declamation and/as literature. Greek literature had an influence on Greek
declamation; in a sense, the whole of the classical canon hovered over
declamation as a resource to draw from, be inspired by, and allude to. But if we
look for a fundamental tonal indebtedness to the classics – apart from the
obvious indebtedness to classical oratory – Greek New Comedy has to be
singled out for the declamations with generic characters, like those in the
Libanian collection.61 Stock characterization can sometimes affect specific
historical themes, too, as in Declamation (12) on Timon the misanthrope.
While acknowledging the debt to comedy, one does not want to go as far as
Theodor Kock, who attempted, as noted in Foerster ’s critical apparatus (1911
and 1913),62 to reconstruct lines of lost comedy from the text of Libanius.
There are, of course, many tragic events in declamatory situations, so a tragic
tone can easily set in. Declamation (6) is on Orestes’ matricide; its protheōria
refers to ‘the dreadful stories of which the stage is full and from which
tragedies are composed’63 that figure in it. In [40] a father has been driven to
kill his daughter and son-in-law. The protheōria describes him as the most
unfortunate of fathers (dystychestatos), who in the declamation will groan and
lament. The protheōria of [43] implies that it was common in declamation to
ektragōidein the acts of a tyrant: perhaps ‘to describe in tragic language’.
Further study of the contacts between Greek declamation and Greek literature
may prove fruitful; in her recent study of Latin declamation, Danielle van Mal-
Maeder (2007) has noted the appearance in it of dramatic and other poetic
(Virgilian and Ovidian), mimic, tragic and novelistic elements. We should
think, too, about the influence of declamation on non-declamatory imperial
literature as well as that of the latter on the former, an aspect of the larger issue
of the influence of rhetoric on literature. Some affinities between declamation
and literary genres, though, (e.g., between declamation and the novel) may be
better thought of as ‘expressions of a common culture’64 than as a more
narrowly conceived influencing of one by the other.
Next, we may go from considering the influence of non-declamatory
literature on declamation to regarding at least some examples of declamation
as having reached a level of aesthetic sophistication that we routinely associate
with non-declamatory literature. As for Libanius himself, Russell’s judgement
is that ‘the tendency of the exercise [of declamation] to become literature, … a
dramatic monologue with a plot [,] … reaches its peak in Libanius, in whom
ēthos predominates over everything else, and we get a corpus of speeches
intended … to endure as literature’.65 Ruth Webb, writing on the later sophist
Choricius, remarks that ‘[o]f all the rhetorical genres of antiquity, declamation
has the closest relationship to the fictional and to “the literary”’ in features
such as ‘description, characterization, and the mastery of linguistic style [,] …
the creation of a coherent, fictional world … [and] the exploration … of the
psychological motivation of both the speakers and the other characters’.66 If
not all of Libanius’ declamations merit the designation ‘aesthetically
sophisticated’ or ‘literary’, at least some of them do. In these, there is
something more than mere rhetorical technē. The characterizations are
memorable. Such declamations are often humorously entertaining. An example
is Declamation 26, The Morose Man and His Talkative Wife, in which a morose
man asks the council permission to die because his loquacious wife is driving
him mad. Both Libanius’ personification of the husband and the husband’s
description of his wife are equally amusing. The husband does not like to hear
anyone talking, not even the members of the council whom he is petitioning.
As for his wife’s chatter: ‘I am stuffed full of foolish words, battered by
interminable stretches of speech, drowned in idle talk, victim of an aching
tongue. My wife’s flood swamps me. I am mad. I feel dizzy, I’ve got vertigo’.67
This declamation was apparently very successful in antiquity and beyond.
Reference to it found its way already into the spurious correspondence of
Libanius and Basil of Caesarea. Pseudo-Basil writes to Libanius that ‘I seem to
see the morose man of your oration in the presence of his talkative wife. For
Libanius on earth has written a living oration (empnoun logon), he who alone
has given soul to his words’ (Pseudo-Basil, Letter 353 Courtonne). As will be
discussed in Chapter 8, the same declamation would later provide inspiration
for seventeenth-century English theatre.
 Declaimers speaking through their fictitious characters. Once we think of
declaimers as ‘writers’, it becomes easier to ask what they might be saying in
their own persons behind the masks of some of their impersonated speakers.
Thus, Declamation 1, the defence of Socrates, has been thought to be a covert
defence of Hellenism and of the emperor Julian’s efforts on its behalf.68
Libanius not only compared Julian on his deathbed to Socrates (Oration
18.272); in a letter of 362 to the philosopher Maximus (694.1–2), he had also
called the emperor a devotee of Socrates and likened his own present attitude
towards Julian to what it would have been towards Socrates when he was
brought to trial. Similarly, Declamation (2), a plea that Socrates be allowed to
speak in prison, has been understood as ‘a protest against Christian
encroachment upon the old pagan education. Socrates is not meant to be the
historical figure, but a symbol of pagan intellectual paideia’.69 Pierre-Louis
Malosse and Bernard Schouler have taken a different approach to Declamation
1, but one that still sees Libanius’ contemporary preoccupations alluded to in
the words of the impersonated defender of Socrates: he maintains that Socrates
should be free to criticize the poets (who are not the best educators), that in
Athens logoi are unimpeded, and that the Athenian philosopher cannot be held
responsible for the failures of his auditors.70 A late ancient Antiochene teacher
of rhetoric would also have welcomed such a defence. And in Declamations 3
and 4 might Libanius not implicitly be leaving his audience food for thought?
In these orations Menelaus and Odysseus plead with the Trojans to restore
Helen and avert a terrible war. She is, of course, not restored, and war is not
averted. One is left meditating on the limits of rhetoric’s persuasiveness in a
good cause.71
Greek declamation and Greek history. Late twentieth-century studies of the
Second Sophistic and, more generally, of the Greeks under Rome have shown
how important the Greek past was for the cultural identity of Greeks in the
eastern Empire.72 Greek declamations on historical themes will have helped to
form a Hellenic identity in the young and to reinforce it in adults. Even
declamations on generic themes are not irrelevant here, because they have the
‘feel’ of a classical Greek city. Thomas Schmitz thinks of declamatory
impersonations of well-known figures from the Greek past as performances of
history. These performances ‘gave their public a tangible sign which
manifested the greatness and normativeness of the classical heritage, thus
allowing them to make this glorified past into a meaningful and coherent
explanation of their own existence’.73 It is probably not a mere accident of
survival that, among extant ancient declamations, we have far more Greek
examples of the genre with specific Greek historical themes than Latin
examples with specific Roman historical themes.74 Greek historical
declamation filled a cultural need in the East that was much less felt in the West.
When Libanius impersonated Achilles, Themistocles, or Demosthenes, he too
was responding to this need.
Moral and psycho-social functions of declamation. Declamatory topics
presented the student with many examples of behaviour to emulate and to
avoid, thus continuing to keep the moral dimension of education alive. One
example that gets our attention because of its frequency and limited relevance
in the imperial period is the appearance in declamation, including those of
Libanius, of city tyrants and tyrannicides modelled on those of classical
Greece75; one way in which we may regard this theme is as a warning, which
could be made obliquely precisely because of its historical distance, to the elite
students of sophists, in the final stage of their education, to avoid ‘tyrannical’
behaviour as adult curiales76 or imperial officials. That declamations could
have played a role in the psycho-social maturation of young men, both those
they composed themselves and those of fellow students and of adult orators, is
a more controversial – but, to me, attractive – idea. Declamatory themes
offered many examples of ‘appropriate’ and ‘inappropriate’ male behaviour
and kept raising the issue of autonomy, for example in themes involving
conflict with one’s father. Extreme cases are not uncommon. Consider, for
example, the frequency of the theme of the disowning of a son by his father –
hardly the normal way to separate from father! The theme of disowning
appears in eight Libanian declamations. In the make-believe world of
declamation such extreme scenarios – cases of serious familial conflict and
dysfunction (disowning being one of them) and of seriously inappropriate
male behaviour were common – caused no real harm to anyone. But they
raised, often in an exaggerated way, issues and anxieties that had to be faced in
the process of maturation. Playing the role of various kinds of advocate and
leader, generic and historical, in declamation was an anticipation of similar
roles that elite young men would eventually assume themselves. ‘Declamation’,
Gunderson has written of Latin specimens of the genre, ‘acts as a place where
one rehearses the transition into fatherhood’, where one could ‘practice the
grammar and syntax of Romanness’.77 Also, playing the role of a poor man or
declaiming on issues involving women, children or slaves encouraged young
declaimers to think about categories of subordinates with whom they would be
dealing as adults and provided a safe opportunity for them to give those
subordinates a voice. In the Libanian corpus, Declamation 36 is a defence of a
poor man, delivered by an advocate, in a case that began with a rich man’s
cutting out of the poor man’s tongue; and 38 is a poor man’s speech of
accusation against a rich man. In [43] an advocate pleads on behalf of a
woman. In (24) a young man defends his right to speak publicly; and in 39, 46,
47, 48 and [49] sons take action against fathers or, in one case, [49], against a
stepmother.
Future research on Libanius’ declamations will deepen our understanding
both of Libanius as declaimer and of the ancient genre as a whole.

I am grateful to Mikael Johansson for his comments on an earlier draft of this

chapter.

1 See Behr (1986), 413, 415, 421–3.

2 Declamations among other works: I find about fifteen examples by

searching in the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae. Only a sophist’s declamations: E
3750, I 348, Π 2375, Σ 189.

3 Deliberative and judicial elements can sometimes be mixed. Libanius,

Declamations 3 and 4, are mainly deliberative, Menelaus and Odysseus
respectively urging the Trojans to see to it that Helen and whatever else Paris
had taken from Sparta be returned. But the speakers are also informally
accusing Paris of unjust actions before the Trojans. Libanius, Declamation 39,
is deliberative, urging the passage of a law; but in it a son also obliquely
accuses his father of adultery.

4 Russell (1983), 12.

5 Cf. Marrou (1975), 258, Webb (2001), 296–8.

6 So did other imperial rhetors and sophists, according to the Suda (E 2741, N
394, O 327, Π 809, Σ 475). It is possible, though, that the word progymnasmata
in these articles refers to a theoretical work rather than to a collection of
elaborated examples. And there is a tertium quid: a work that contains both
theory and elaborated examples, like Aphthonius’ Progymnasmata.

7 Cf. Walden (1909), 218–64, Bonner (1949), 39–40, Schmitz (1997), 160–
75, Cribiore (2001), 238–40 and Maxwell (2006), 43–7.

8 Cf. Gunderson (2000), 111–48 and Lada-Richards (2007), 116–20 and 141–
6.

9 But for possible problems with this reconstruction, see Wintjes (2006), 235–
7 and Penella (2007), 6–7.

10 Cf. Martin and de Budé (1952), 7.

11 Library, codex 61, 20a.

12 Cf. Russell (1983), 16–19.

13 Declamations 36 and 44 in Heath (1995), 160–75 and 198–208; 1, 2, 6, 12,

22, 25–8, 31–3, 39 and 42 in Russell (1996); 41 in Ogden (2002), 290–99; 9
and 10 in Johansson (2006). A Danish (Heiberg 1918) and a French (Lucassen
1955) translation of Declamation 26 predate Ogden’s English translation, and
see now, in Swedish, Johansson (2012).

14 In Norman’s passing remark (1969, xlviii) that 17, 34, 40, 43, 45, 49 and
51 are spurious, ‘17’ must be a typographical error for ‘18’.

15 Cf. Bielski (1914), 78–90.

16 In fact, he already expressed this view in (1909), 123, n., but was more
doubtful in (1911), 110 n. and 291. For the view that Declamation 2 is genuine
and a late work, see Crosby and Calder (1960), 197–202.
17 He calls Declamation 23 probably spurious (‘Unechtheit wahrscheinlich’),
but he does put brackets around it, as he does for the declamations he athetizes
with confidence.

18 Russell (1996), 10 and 82.

19 See Johansson (2006), 66–9.

20 Protheōriai comment on technical features of the oration, such as the theme

and its treatment, the oration’s structure, the declamatory characters, style,
audience and occasion. Twelve of the Libanian declamations have them.
Examples may also be found, e.g., in Themistius (Orations 2, 4, 20, 26) and in
Himerius (Orations 1, 3, 9, 10 Colonna), some of the latter only fragmentary.
Eleven of Choricius’s twelve declamations have them. They were either
provided by the author or supplied (e.g., that of Themistius, Oration 4) by a
later editor. When we are unsure about authorship, the burden of proof is on
those who would deny their genuineness. Nor should stylometric arguments be
applied simplistically: the same stylistic level was not demanded for a technical
protheōria as for the oration itself.

21 See Russell (1983), 22–37 for comment on some of the standard motifs. Cf.
also Russell (2001), volume V, 363–4 and Malosse (2006b), 164–71. Many
parallels could easily be found in non-Libanian declamations and declamation
titles (see Lucian, Tyrannicide, Abdicatus; Himerius, Oration 4 Colonna;
Sopater, Division of Questions; Seneca, Controversiae; Pseudo-Quintilian,
Major and Minor Declamations; Calpurnius Flaccus). It was easy to let a few
exemplary recurring motifs stand for declamation with generic characters as a
whole: Petronius thinks of pirates, tyrants and oracles demanding the sacrifice
of virgins to end plagues (Satyricon 1); Quintilian, of magi, plagues, oracles
and cruel stepmothers (Institutes of Oratory 2.10.5), of ‘filii patres divites
senes asperi lenes avari, denique superstitiosi timidi derisores’ (Institutes of
Oratory 3.8.51); Tacitus, of rewards for tyrannicides, raped women’s options,
remedies for plague and incestuous mothers (Dialogue 35); Juvenal, of tyrants,
rape, poison, evil and ungrateful husbands and cures for blindness (7.150–77);
Philostratus, of poor men and rich men, war-heroes and tyrants (Lives of the
Sophists 481). The case of Declamation 41 has a magus and an oracle
promising the end of a plague if the people sacrifice the son of one of the
citizens. The circumstances of 46 feature pirates; those of [49] feature poison
and a suspected stepmother. For the misers who appear in five Libanian
declamations, cf. Sopater, Division of Questions, in Walz (1832–36), volume 1,
308–309 and Choricius, Declamations 5 [XX] and 6 [XXIII] Foerster and
Richtsteig (1929). For the discovery of a treasure in Libanius, Declamations 31
and (51), cf. Sopater, Division of Questions, in Walz (1832–36), volume I, 308
and 315. For parasites in Libanius, Declamations (28) and (29), see Pseudo-
Quintilian, Minor Declamations 252, 296, 298, 379 and Quintilian, Institutes
of Oratory 4.2.95.

22 Cf. Cribiore (2007a), 23, Johnson (2011).

23 Cf. Russell (1996), 17–18.

24 Cf. Romaniello (2008), 127.

25 Cf. Declamation [43], in which a woman kills her husband tyrant and asks
for the lives of her children as her reward, there being laws mandating a
reward for tyrannicides and demanding the death of a tyrant’s children along
with him. Conflict of law (antinomia) was one of the thirteen canonical staseis
or issues (see below).

26 See Russell (1983), 113–28.

27 Cf. Bowie (1970), 6–9.

28 Cf. Kohl (1915), 60–82.

29 Cf. Gibson (1999).

30 Cf. Schouler (1984), 542–53 and Johansson (2011). To Schouler (1984),

543, n. 568, add Bielski (1914).
31 See Kohl (1915), 31, 48–50.

32 Cf. Lucian, The Dance 39; Pausanias 1.28.5.

33 E.g. Demosthenes 23.66, Aelius Aristides, Oration 1.45–8 Lenz–Behr,

Pausanias 1.28.5, Himerius, Oration 6.8 Colonna.

34 Cf. Kohl (1915), 8–13.

35 Cf. Kennedy (1957).

36 Amato and Ventrella (2005). Cf. the ethopoeic poems of Greek Anthology
9.449–80.

37 Cf. Russell (1996), 67 and Schouler (1984), 758.

38 Cf. Foerster and Münscher (1925) and Najock (2007).

39 Cf. Russell (1983), 40–73, Schouler (1984), 170–221, Heath (1995),

Russell (1996), 11–14 and Patillon (2009).

40 Cf. Calboli Montefusco (1986), 1–2.

41 Cf. Heath (1995), 71–3.

42 Schouler (1984), 200–16.

43 Heath (1995), 156–60 and 194–7.

44 Cf. Weissenberger (2010).

45 For variations, see Heath (1995), 9–10. In general, see Martin (1974), 52–
166; Johansson (2006), 21–64.

46 Schouler (1984), 141–8.

47 Johansson (2006), 136–45 and 231–9.

48 Cf. Heath (2004b), 381–2.

49 Cf. Martin (1974), 52–166.

50 Russell (1996), 94 and 103.

51 Johansson (2006), 135–283.

52 Pseudo-Hermogenes, Progymnasmata 9.5 Patillon (transl. Kennedy (2003),

85).

53 Cf. Russell (1983), 87–102.

54 Cf. Penella (1990), 83–108 and (2012).

55 Dugan (2007), 14–17.

56 Cf. Malosse (2009a).

57 Quiroga Puertas (2007b) and Malosse and Schouler (2009). But see van
Hoof’s important objections (2010) to the term ‘Third Sophistic’.

58 Foerster (1909), (1911) and (1913).

59 Cf. Dugan (2007), 17–18.

60 e.g. Beard (1993), Bloomer (1997), Connolly (1998), Imber (2001), Kaster
(2001), Gunderson (2003), Habinek (2005), 60–78, Corbeill (2007), van Mal-
Maeder (2007), Brescia and Lentano (2009) with further bibliography on
pp. 193–202.

61 Foerster thinks of the influence of mime and charaktērismos in conjunction

with that of comedy (1911, 494 n., 546 n., 565 n. and 1913, 73 n.). Cf. Bonner
(1949), 37–8. See García Soler (1990) and (1991–1992).

62 See Foerster ’s apparatus on Declamations 30.8, 16, 23–4, 25, 32, 44, 53,
55–6; 31.14, 39, 45; 32.31, 35, 42.

63 Transl. Russell (1996), 69.

64 Russell (1983), 38.

65 Russell (1983), 15.

66 Webb (2006), 108 and 111.

67 Transl. Russell (1996), 118.

68 Markowski (1910), 169–70, Norman (1969), 463 n., Russell (1996), 19 and
Calder et al. (2002), 40.

69 Crosby and Calder (1960), 199–200.

70 Malosse and Schouler (2009), 186–90. For more on the self-referentiality

of a ‘Libanianized’ Socrates in Declamation 1, see Schouler (2010).
71 Penella (2011b). Pernot (2007) urges us to be on the alert for implied
contemporary allusions in ancient declamation.

72 Cf. Bowie (1970), Swain (1996), 65–100.

73 Schmitz (1999), 91–2.

74 Kohl (1915). Latin declamations with Greek historical themes are probably
just adoptions of themes found in Greek models.

75 Amande (1993–1994), esp. 565–7, contrasts the tyrant of Libanius’

declamations with the portrait of the demagogic governor-tyrant that emerges
from his ‘real-life’ orations.

76 Cf. Lepelley (1983).

77 Gunderson (2003), 228.

 Chapter 6 Libanius’ Progymnasmata
Craig A. Gibson

6.1 Introduction
From the late Hellenistic period to Late Antiquity and beyond, elite young men
in the Greek and Roman worlds studied a literary-rhetorical curriculum
consisting of learning to read and interpret classical poetry and prose,
composing their own brief prose texts, and composing and delivering
declamations (meletai), fictional judicial speeches in which they impersonated
mythological, historical or stereotyped characters. They learned prose
composition primarily through the progymnasmata, or ‘preliminary exercises,’
which prepared them for the more advanced study of stasis theory (a method
of determining precisely what is at issue in a case and constructing one’s
speech accordingly) and declamation.1 Although their number and sequence
varied, the progymnasmata consisted of up to fourteen exercises, generally
proceeding from simpler to more complex tasks: fable (mythos), narration
(diēgēma), anecdote (chreia), maxim (gnōmē), refutation (anaskeuē),
confirmation (kataskeuē), common topics (koinos topos), encomium
(enkōmion), invective (psogos), comparison (synkrisis), speech in character
(ēthopoiia), description (ekphrasis), thesis (thesis) and introduction of a law
(eisphora tou nomou).2 These progymnasmata not only show us how written
composition was taught in the Greek-speaking world for more than a thousand
years, but also illustrate one important method by which each successive
generation of the elite became ‘completely educated’ (pepaideumenoi).
Greek progymnasmata have been transmitted to us in three ways. Firstly,
there are treatises written for teachers and/or students, which contain
instructions, suggest themes for composition, and provide fully or partially
elaborated examples of the exercises. We have four of these: those by Theon
(first or fifth century AD), Pseudo-Hermogenes (second or third century),
Aphthonius (a student of Libanius, fourth century)3 and Nicolaus of Myra (fifth
century).4 Secondly, there are several late antique and Byzantine collections of
progymnasmata, including the important collection by Libanius.5 A third
important category of evidence consists of introductions, summaries and
commentaries on Aphthonius’ treatise, which was the dominant treatise from
the sixth century onward.6 Of the collections of model progymnasmata that
survive from antiquity and the Byzantine period, the collection attributed to
Libanius is the largest, consisting of 144 exercises from the fourteen standard
Aphthonian types.7 A full list can be found in Appendix B.
The key word here, however, is ‘attributed’. Nothing is known about the
circumstances of the collection and publication of Libanius’ progymnasmata. It
has been suggested that they were collected and published after his death in
393.8 This is not an unreasonable suggestion, but it does rely on an argument
from silence: in contrast to his frequent references to his own declamations
and orations, Libanius does not elsewhere mention that he composed
progymnasmata. Although he elaborated his model exercises in great detail,
often going well beyond the basic requirements for each exercise, these were,
after all, still only minor productions in comparison to his declamations and
orations. It is reasonable, then, to speculate that he considered writing them
merely a necessary part of his job as a teacher, and thus perhaps worth no
more attention from his contemporaries or posterity than a present-day
professor ’s study guides and lecture outlines. Theon, in his treatise on
progymnasmata, instructs teachers to provide their students with model
exercises to study and emulate; some of these, he says, the teachers should
collect from classical Greek poetry and prose (65.30–66.1, 72.9–16), and
others they should compose themselves (70.32–71.1). The examples in
Aphthonius’ treatise, especially when compared to Libanius’ exercises on the
same themes, show that it was possible for a teacher ’s own model exercises to
illustrate the recommended order and content of the headings and yet be lean
and economical, even sparing. Libanius’s model exercises are anything but.
During Libanius’s lifetime, his progymnasmata may never have circulated
outside the confines of his classroom. At some point the progymnasmata of
several other late-antique rhetoricians were collected with his published
exercises. Scholars have questioned the authenticity of the following items:
Fable 1–3; Narration 1–41; Anecdote 4; Maxim 1–3; Refutation 2;
Confirmation 3; Encomium 8–9; Invective 8; Speech in Character 7, 9, 13, 16–
17, 19–20, 22 and 24–7; Description 8–30; Thesis 2–3; and Law 1.9 One of
these other rhetoricians is Pseudo-Nicolaus, the fifth-century author of a large
collection of model progymnasmata (Walz, Rh. Gr. 1.263–420); he is
apparently not identical with Nicolaus of Myra, the fifth-century author of one
of the four extant treatises on the progymnasmata.10 Richard Foerster and Karl
Münscher suggest that this Pseudo-Nicolaus composed the following items in
the collection attributed to Libanius: Narration 19, 22, 24, 31–2, 34 and 36–9;
Encomium 9; Invective 8; Speech in Character 26; Description 8–28; Thesis 2–
3; and Law 1.11 The other named author is Severus of Alexandria, a student of
Libanius who also composed his own collection of model fables and
narrations (Walz 1.534–48).12 Severus may be the author of Speech in
Character 26 and 27 in Libanius’ collection.13 As for anonymous authors
represented in the collection, Foerster and Münscher suggest that Anecdote 4,
Maxim 3, Refutation 2 and Confirmation 3 were composed by the same
author.14 They also point out that Description 29 seems to be dependent on
Choricius of Gaza (sixth century), and they identify Description 30 as
belonging to the school of Gaza, a rhetorical school prominent in the late fifth
and early sixth centuries.15
In the remainder of this chapter, I shall first offer a survey of the model
exercises composed by Libanius, analyzing them according to the precepts of
the four extant ancient treatises on the progymnasmata, and then describe trends
in research on Libanius’ progymnasmata, including some suggestions for
further research.

6.2 Libanius’ Progymnasmata in the light of ancient

rhetorical theory
Libanius seems not to have written a treatise on the progymnasmata. If he had,
its precepts would have corresponded closely to those found in the treatises by
Pseudo-Hermogenes and Aphthonius. In this section I describe the purpose and
content of each type of exercise and the subjects of Libanius’ model exercises,
and I compare Libanius’ implicit theoretical framework with the explicit
precepts offered by the four extant ancient theorists. Late-antique teachers of
rhetoric believed that the progymnasmata gave students practice in the skills
they would need to compose fictional declamations, speeches in the three
genres of oratory (judicial, deliberative and epideictic), and a wide range of
written texts including histories and letters.16
Fable: This exercise is a brief fictional story containing a moral truth. The
three examples, which were accepted as genuine by Foerster and Münscher but
rejected by A. F. Norman, are the fables of the wolves and the sheep (1), the
horse and the tortoise (2), and the jackdaw and the beauty contest (3). All three
would be classified as Aesopic fables, and all three state the moral at the end
rather than at the beginning. Fables 1–2 have morals that address the reader
directly, telling him how not to behave; Fable 3 draws a moralizing conclusion
without addressing the reader. As for characters, Fables 1–2 feature animals
only; Fable 3 also includes two gods, Zeus and Hermes; and there are no
human characters. As ancient theorists recommend, Libanius plausibly assigns
the appropriate virtues and vices to the animal characters: his wolves are
duplicitous and bent on murder; his sheep gullible; his horse is decadent, in
contrast to the hard-working tortoise; his jackdaw is boastful and proud,
seeking the undeserved rewards of false beauty. Libanius also illustrates one of
the recommended techniques for expanding the basic narrative of a fable by
assigning a speech to the wolves in Fable 1, thus turning the simple exercise
into a more advanced one.
Narration: This exercise, which has practical applications in all kinds of
oratory and written texts, offers a realistic description of a real or unreal event.
Foerster and Münscher accept only Narrations 1–3, but Norman rejects all
forty-one examples. Narrations 1–3 are brief, clear accounts of the
competition of Heracles and the river god Achelous for Deianira and the birth
of the Sirens from the river god’s blood (1); the competition of Zephyr and
Apollo for Hyacinthus, the young man’s resulting death, and the birth of his
eponymous flower (2); and a sweet and very concise account of the river
Alpheus’ love for Arethusa (3). These examples are typical of the genre’s
emphasis on stories dealing with love and/or metamorphosis. Ancient critics
would describe them as mythical or dramatic narrations presented in a direct
declarative style. Historical narrations (e.g. the story of Arion from Herodotus
1.23–4), which are far less common in collections of model exercises, are not
represented among Libanius’ genuine exercises at all, but considering the
prominence of historical themes among his declamations (9–23), it is safe to
assume that he did assign such themes for narration in his school.
Anecdote: This exercise recalls a noteworthy statement, action, or
combination of statement and action by a famous person. Libanius’ examples
are varied: in answer to someone’s question where he keeps his treasures,
Alexander the Great points to his friends (1); the Cynic philosopher Diogenes
strikes a pedagogue and reproaches him for the bad behaviour exhibited by his
young charge (2); the philosopher and orator Isocrates claims that education
has a bitter root and sweet fruits; no context or addressee is indicated for this
exercise, and it is only the inclusion of Isocrates’ name that makes it an
anecdote rather than an anonymized maxim (3). Anecdote 4 has been rejected
as spurious. In elaborating these anecdotes, Libanius follows the outline of
headings recommended by Pseudo-Hermogenes and Aphthonius: a brief praise
of the person represented as speaking or acting, a paraphrase of the anecdote, a
discussion of the rationale for it, an elaboration by contrast, an elaboration by
comparison, discussion of relevant parallels from history or mythology,
citation of ancient authorities who support the idea, and a brief epilogue urging
the reader to follow the example set out in the anecdote. Anecdote 2 omits the
citation of ancient authorities.
Maxim: This exercise offers a pithy, universal statement urging the reader
toward or away from a particular action or attitude. Unlike anecdotes, maxims
are mere statements alone, without a context or speaker, are always universal,
and are always morally useful. Foerster and Münscher accepted only Maxim 1
(‘A man who is a counselor should not sleep all night’ from Homer, Iliad
2.24), but Norman rejected all three. Maxims are elaborated in the same way as
anecdotes, and Maxim 1 follows the outline recommended by Pseudo-
Hermogenes and Aphthonius.
Refutation and confirmation: Refutation and confirmation, which according
to Aphthonius contain ‘all the power of the art’ of rhetoric (V 2, VI 2), are
treated as exercises in their own right by Pseudo-Hermogenes, Aphthonius and
Nicolaus, but only as skills to be applied to other exercises by Theon (e.g. one
can refute a fable or an anecdote). In order to refute a mythological or other
narrative, ancient theorists recommend arguing that the transmitted account is
unclear, implausible, impossible, illogical or inconsistent, morally
inappropriate and inexpedient, using only the relevant topics and placing them
in the most effective order. To confirm the account, one would use the opposite
headings. Most examples outside of Libanius’ collection recite a brief
narration about a particular mythological character for examination (e.g.
Daphne’s parentage, flight from Apollo and metamorphosis into a laurel in
Aphthonius V 3–10, VI 3–9), displaying a marked preference for stories of
love and/or metamorphosis. Libanius’ examples are more ambitious, focusing
on complex events from the Trojan War and often engaging more directly with
famous literary accounts: the priest Chryses’ petition to the Greeks to release
his daughter (Refutation 1) and Achilles’ subsequent withdrawal from battle
(Confirmation 2), both drawing on Homer ’s Iliad; Locrian Ajax’s unpunished
rape of Cassandra (Refutation 2, if genuine); and the judgement of the arms of
Achilles (Confirmation 1), drawing on Sophocles’ Ajax. Confirmation 3, a
reply to the disputed Refutation 2, has been rejected as spurious.
Common topics: This exercise either attacks a stereotyped, anonymous
evildoer, such as a murderer, or (much less frequently) speaks in support of a
stereotyped benefactor, such as a tyrant-killer, in a quasi-judicial setting. In
these exercises, there is no doubt about what the person did or how his actions
are to be interpreted. By studying such ‘common’ topics, the ancient theorists
say, students could more easily learn to compose speeches for or against
particular individuals. Four of the five subjects in Libanius’ collection (the
murderer (1), traitor (2), tyrant (4) and tyrant-killer (5)) are standard figures in
the treatises and other collections of model exercises, but Libanius’
denunciation of a doctor who poisons his patients (3) is found in no other
common topics exercise.17 The poisoning doctor is also an example of a
‘double common topics,’ a type in which either both components are criminal
(e.g. murdering thief) or, as here, one component complicates the other (e.g.
temple-robbing priest). Libanius also makes use of three other popular subjects
of common topics exercises within his examples 1, 2 and 4: the adulterer, the
temple robber and the tomb robber.
Ancient theorists do not entirely agree about which headings should be
included and in what order they should be presented, and Libanius’ practice,
though quite similar to those of Pseudo-Hermogenes and Aphthonius, does not
match either one precisely. This exercise set thus provides one of the best
opportunities within this corpus of exercises to see the innovative teacher and
orator at work. Libanius’ sample exercises can be outlined as follows: brief
introduction; argument from the opposite of the act; exposition of the act,
including a discussion of the subject’s state of mind, a vivid description of the
act and an assessment of its results; argument from comparison to other acts,
including a statement about the comprehensive nature of the act; argument
from antecedent acts; criticism of the subject’s way of thinking (or praise of it
(5));18 rejection of pity (or an appeal for pity (5)), using topics chosen from
the legal, just, expedient, possible, appropriate, honorable and result (which the
ancient theorists call final headings, tēlika kephalaia19); and ending with a
vivid description of the act (1), a brief exhortation to the jurors (3, 4), or both
(2, 5). Some of these headings may be unfamiliar, so I shall illustrate them with
reference to Libanius’ exercise against a traitor (2). In this speech, the speaker
praises the audience for their patriotic benefactions, participation in local
government, military service and respect for both human and divine law
(argument from the opposite of treason). He argues that treason is a worse
crime than adultery, murder, temple-robbery, tomb-robbery and tyranny, both
individually and because it combines all these crimes and inflicts them on all
citizens (argument from comparison and from the comprehensive nature of
treason). The traitor ’s past crimes of theft, adultery and temple robbery went
unpunished, asserts the speaker, and encouraged him to commit worse crimes
(argument from antecedent acts leading to treason). The speaker says that the
defendant could have been a farmer, a sailor, or pursued a career in town;
instead, his greed led him to commit treason (criticism of the traitor ’s way of
thinking).
Libanius’ method of organizing the headings differs from the one
recommended by Pseudo-Hermogenes, in that Libanius seems to have
expanded Pseudo-Hermogenes’ heading of the exposition of the act to include
discussion of the subject’s state of mind; Libanius is followed by Aphthonius in
this apparent modification. Libanius’ outline also differs from the outlines of
both Pseudo-Hermogenes and Aphthonius in that he has reversed the order of
two headings: the argument from antecedent acts and the criticism of the
subject’s way of thinking. And it differs from the outline of Aphthonius, whose
recommendations and sample exercise present an epilogue consisting only of
the final headings, without an exhortation or vivid description of the act.
Therefore, even though Libanius did not write his own treatise on how to
compose the progymnasmata, we can reconstruct his theory from his model
exercises in order to see how he adapted his source text (Pseudo-Hermogenes)
and how closely his student (Aphthonius) followed him in his own teaching
and practice.
Encomium and invective: In Libanius’ collection, encomium is a celebration
of persons (Diomedes (1), Odysseus (2), Achilles (3), Thersites (4),
Demosthenes (5)), abstracts (justice (6)), animals (the ox (8), if genuine) and
activities (farming (7)). The encomium of a person, which had immediate
relevance to the delivery of panegyric speeches, praises the subject’s origin,
nurture and upbringing, actions, death and subsequent events. It makes an
explicit comparison between the honorand and someone or something else to
show that the honorand is superior. This outline could be adapted to other types
of encomia. In the case of animals, ancient theory prescribes praising the
places in which they are found and the gods associated with them, their nurture,
their minds and bodies, their functions and usefulness, and the length of their
lives. For activities, theory recommends praising their inventors and
practitioners, with emphasis on the minds and bodies of the latter; the training
involved in them; and their usefulness and benefits to humans. Invective is an
attack on any of the things listed above as subjects for encomium, using the
same outline. Libanius’ genuine exercises include invectives against persons
(Achilles (1), Hector (2), Philip (3), Aeschines (4)) and abstracts (wealth (5),
poverty (6), anger (7)). They do not include encomia and invectives directed at
occasions (such as seasons) and plants, as mentioned in the treatises and found
in other collections; the encomium of the apple tree and date palm (9) and the
invective against the grapevine (8) attributed to Libanius are spurious. Doubts
have also been raised about the authenticity of the encomium of the ox (8),
which would remove the only encomium or invective in the collection that
takes an animal as its subject. Libanius’ encomia and invectives of persons
engage closely with major literary texts: Homer ’s Iliad (Encomium 1–4;
Invective 1–2) and Odyssey (Encomium 2) and Demosthenes’ orations
(Encomium 5; Invective 3–4).
Comparison: In theory, this exercise can take the form of a double
encomium, double invective, or a combination of encomium and invective. In
Libanius’ collection, as in most other extant exercises, all the comparison
exercises are a combination of encomium and invective: Achilles and
Diomedes, in favour of Diomedes (1); Ajax and Achilles, in favour of Ajax
(2); Demosthenes and Aeschines, in favour of Demosthenes (3); seafaring and
farming, in favour of farming (4); country and city, in favour of country (5).
Libanius’ prologues to Comparisons 1 and 2 state that the arguments of these
exercises run counter to a common preference for Achilles; the only good
qualities he will admit in Achilles are his lineage and education (1.2–3, 2.2),
and he gives only grudging acknowledgement to some of his achievements in
battle, which he goes on to show are actually inferior to the achievements of
Diomedes and Ajax and are outweighed by his many instances of bad
behaviour. The outline of this exercise follows the outline of encomium and
invective, omitting the separate heading of comparison, and provides a point-
by-point comparison of the two persons or things. Comparisons 1 and 2 rely
heavily on Homer ’s Iliad, and Comparison 3 on Demosthenes’ orations.
Speech in character: This exercise in impersonation, which was especially
applicable to declamation and letter-writing, presents an imitation of a
character speaking in an emotional situation. All the examples attributed to
Libanius are of the mixed type, emphasizing both character and emotion.
Omitting the disputed examples (7, 9, 13, 16–17, 19–20, 22 and 24–7),
Libanius’ exercises include thirteen based on the sufferings of particular
characters from myth (Medea (1), Andromache (2), Niobe (8), Bellerophon
(10), Chiron (14), Menelaus (21), Odysseus (23), Ajax (5–6) and Achilles (3–
4, 12, 15)), and two based on general types (a painter (11) and a prostitute
(18)). Libanius’ outline matches Pseudo-Hermogenes’ recommendation (which
is also followed by Aphthonius) to organize the speeches by the three times: a
reaction to the present suffering, contrasted with an account of past happiness,
and ending with a prediction of worse things to come in the future.
Description: This exercise is intended to describe something so vividly as to
bring it before the eyes of the reader or listener. The theorists list many
possible subjects for this exercise. Libanius’ genuine exercises include
descriptions of times, including a festival (Calends (5)) and a season (spring
(7)), an event (an infantry battle (1)), paintings (2–4, with one on a theme from
the Iliad (3)) and a person (a drunk man (6)). There are no exercises
concerning places or plants, and the exercises attributed to Libanius on animals
(24; cf. 21, 27), places (8, 9 and 25) and statues (12–20, 22–3, 26–8; cf. 25) are
spurious.
Thesis: This exercise examines a general proposition applied to human
beings as a whole. It does not deal with particular individuals (in contrast to a
hypothesis, the culmination of the young orator ’s training) or already settled
questions (in contrast to Common Topics), and it does not deal with the natural
world or the gods, subjects that were left to the philosophical schools.
‘Whether one should marry’ was perhaps the most popular theme for this
exercise, and it is the subject of Libanius’ single genuine exercise (1), to which
I shall return in the next section. The other two examples attributed to Libanius
(whether one should build a wall (2), whether one should sail (3)) are
spurious.20 Libanius’ practice follows the recommendation of Pseudo-
Hermogenes (which is also followed by Aphthonius) to elaborate a thesis
according to the ‘final headings,’ including the just, advantageous, possible,
legal and appropriate. Nicolaus objects that these headings are illusory; thesis,
he says, is actually built on arguments arising from the headings of encomium.
So he outlines the exercise as follows: introduction, origin (inventors and
early practitioners, such as gods or heroes), the results of participating in the
activity and the advantages of doing so (72.7–74.2). Just as Nicolaus
recommends, both Libanius and Aphthonius include praise of the inventors and
early practitioners of marriage in their model exercises. Aphthonius does so in
his introduction, saying that marriage came from heaven, where it produced
eternal gods, down to earth, where it preserves the human race from
generation to generation (XIII 5). Libanius, however, uses his introduction
(1.1–2) to chide those who avoid marriage and announce his intent to change
either their minds or their behaviour, and then goes on at length to argue that
marriage is just and good (note the final headings) because the gods sponsor
and participate in it, and that anyone who acknowledges these facts but still
avoids marriage is arrogant and impious (1.3–8). So it would seem that
Nicolaus’ interpretation of thesis as being based on encomiastic headings is
compatible with the recommendations of Pseudo-Hermogenes and Aphthonius,
and with the practice of Aphthonius and Libanius as well. In addition, ancient
theory says that a thesis should also include rebuttals of objections (Aphthonius
XIII 3; Nicolaus 74.3–75.12); Libanius mentions the fear of adultery and the
death of children as reasons for men to decline to marry (1.26), the same two
objections that Nicolaus gives as examples (75.6).
Introduction of a law: This exercise had the student speak for or against a
proposed fictitious law in a quasi-judicial setting and thus was applicable to
judicial oratory. Unfortunately the single example attributed to Libanius is
spurious.
Thanks to the variety and extent of the Libanian corpus, scholars have an
unequalled opportunity to examine how Libanius’ training in the
progymnasmata influenced the composition of both his fictional declamations
and his real-world orations.21 In addition, Libanius’ model exercises
influenced the composers of model progymnasmata in Late Antiquity and the
Byzantine period.22 More research remains to be done in both areas.

6.3 Past, present and future directions of research

In this section I would like to discuss some past, present and possible future
directions in research on Libanius’ progymnasmata. Until the end of the
twentieth century, progymnasmata in general received little scholarly attention
outside of handbooks on ancient rhetoric and education.23 In the first
comprehensive study of Libanius’ progymnasmata, Bernard Schouler, one of
the great pioneers of Libanian studies, examined the collection in the light of
recommendations made in the ancient treatises on the subject.24 Some of
Schouler ’s concern with the rhetorical analysis of the exercises has been
continued and extended into the realm of literary appreciation in a recent edited
volume of articles on ēthopoiia (speech in character). In this book, Gianluca
Ventrella analyzes one of Libanius’ ēthopoiiae on Medea (1) in the light of
ancient theoretical discussions,25 Jesús Ureña Bracero shows how Libanius
transformed poetic literary texts into prose ēthopoiiae,26 and Schouler himself
discusses the poetics of five ēthopoiiae that aimed to please and not merely
persuade readers, much as the exercise in ekphrasis (description) does.27 In
several articles and a recent book, Ruth Webb has used model descriptions
attributed to Libanius among other sources to try to move the modern
scholarly discussion of ekphrasis from what she convincingly argues has been
misunderstood as a genre (i.e. a verbal description of a work of art) to a
broader rhetorical technique intended to bring a scene vividly before the eyes
of the reader or listener.28 In addition to these rhetorical and literary analyses,
the progymnasmata of Libanius and others are also being used as new sources
for literary reception studies. I have shown elsewhere how Libanius and other
authors used the biographical tradition on Demosthenes to present him as an
ideal role model for young men engaged in rhetorical training, from his
disadvantaged youth and unswerving dedication to his studies, to his adult life
as a respected orator and political leader.29 Ruth Webb has examined Libanius’
use of themes from Homer throughout his progymnasmata in order to
illuminate how Homer ’s poems were read and repurposed in late-antique
schools.30 Future research along similar lines could use the progymnasmata of
Libanius and other authors to examine the reception histories of particular
characters (e.g. Alexander the Great, Diogenes), authors (e.g. Hesiod, Plato),
or texts, as they were presented to impressionable young men in the
schoolrooms of the Roman East.
Because they are based on widely used themes that draw on a common store
of timeless literary classics, Libanius’ progymnasmata seem individually
resistant to any historically contextualized analysis. There are a few exceptions.
From their titles, Descriptions 2 and 4 are of paintings that Libanius saw in the
Bouleutērion of Antioch; this is a detail about the building’s decorative scheme
that we would not otherwise know. Max Harris has used Description 5,
Libanius’ description of the contemporary Calends festival in Antioch, along
with his Oration 9 to better understand the Calends and related festivals.31
Roger Pack suggested (implausibly, to my mind) that Libanius’ Common
Topics exercise against the poisoning physician (3) might have had a
particular historical resonance for Libanius.32 Beyond these few examples, it is
doubtful that Libanius’ progymnasmata can be used to illuminate the political,
military or socio-economic history of the period.
However, broader cultural historical investigations may prove productive. In
order to compose progymnasmata, students needed a good knowledge of the
most popular stories of Greek mythology in their most popular versions, the
plot lines and favourite quotations from important literary works (especially
those of Homer, Hesiod and the tragedians), and the major figures and events
of classical Athenian history. It was very much a curriculum built upon
‘highlights,’ the most beloved characters, ideas and texts that the educated elite
wanted to transmit to succeeding generations. This curriculum taught students
to take their cultural inheritance – its myths, heroes and ethical values – and
turn it to the service of their own arguments. It thus not only influenced how
students spoke and wrote, but also encouraged them to view themselves as
living heirs to a tried-and-true cultural legacy.
In addition to building rhetorical competence, this educational process
aimed to build up moral character. As students learned to compose their own
prose texts, they were taught to view myth, classical Greek history and the
world around them through moral lenses. Which actions of famous figures are
noble, just and appropriate? Which is preferable – farming or seafaring,
wealth or poverty, Diomedes or Achilles? Learning to make moral judgements
and incorporate them into persuasive writing and speech, I would suggest, was
an important part of becoming a man who could credibly present himself as a
moral authority in society.33 Nor was the moral component mere window-
dressing: the question of how one should live was implicit in this curriculum.
For example, Heather Waddell Gruber has examined a variety of educational
texts on marriage, including Libanius’ exercise ‘whether one should marry’
(Thesis 1), in order to illuminate the attitudes fostered toward women and
marriage in late-antique classrooms.34 In my recent study of how Libanius and
other rhetoricians portray education in the progymnasmata, I argued that these
exercises encouraged students to avoid the behavioural pitfalls (excess eating,
drinking and sleeping) that could prevent them from achieving their
educational goals, to dedicate themselves unstintingly to their rhetorical
training, and to look forward confidently to the day when, as certifiably
educated elite men, they might enjoy the public and private fruits of their
labours.35 Future research in this area could use the progymnasmata to
investigate the construction and portrayal of ethical concepts (e.g. justice,
desire) and cultural values and practices (e.g. leadership, death, wealth and
poverty) in the late-antique classroom in order to write richer literary and
cultural histories of Late Antiquity.
As a small offering of the kind of literary-cultural study that one might
conduct with Libanius’ progymnasmata, I would now like to consider how
Libanius portrays the virtue of self-control (sōphrosynē) in his progymnasmata
and what moral lessons his more attentive students might have seen modelled
in their teacher ’s own writing and speaking.36 First, no one is born with self-
control; it must be instilled in him by an authority figure. In Anecdote 2, the
philosopher Diogenes chastens a pedagogue who has lost control of the
undisciplined youth in his charge, adding an explanation after he strikes him so
that the pedagogue will not go away ignorant of what he has done wrong
(3.2.4). This chastening (sōphronizein) is then to be transferred down the chain
of command: the pedagogue – an instructor after Libanius’ own heart – must
verbally and physically dissuade the boy from excessive drinking, sleep and
laziness, and ‘monitor his facial expressions and bearing and speech’ (3.2.10).
The pedagogue may then rightly expect compliments from the parents when
the boy successfully exhibits the expected self-control (3.2.15). This
hierarchical process of chastening can continue into adulthood. Generals, we
are told, chasten their subordinates in order to improve them, and when these
soldiers prove themselves by successfully applying their training in battle, they
receive praise and honour (4.1.7). The same military practice held true in the
world of Homer. The general Agamemnon had to chasten his subordinate
Achilles, ‘teaching him and trying to make him better by removing the girl’
(9.1.9). (The reader may be forgiven for never having noticed this alleged
educational intent, but an interpretation of Iliad 1 slanted in favour of
Agamemnon is not out of place in an extended attack on Achilles.37) Nor does
such chastening require an actual superior in rank. The ugly rabble-rouser
Thersites, humorously characterized by Libanius as a forerunner of
Demosthenes, wisely and fearlessly spoke truth to power when he denounced
the behaviour of wealthy leaders in the Greek camp38; he knew that the
common men’s lack of luxurious living, on the other hand, would confer upon
them self-control (8.4.7–9). Did Libanius intend this as a reminder for young
men burdened by privilege? In any case, as long as necessary, the young man’s
nascent self-discipline must be augmented and reinforced by the master ’s close
supervision, which entails both physical and verbal correction (see esp. 3.2).
External chastening must gradually become internalized as self-discipline if it
is to endure and achieve its full fruition, as famously displayed in the life of the
orator Demosthenes (3.3.29–34).
So clearly any self-control that a man gains can be lost. Anger can cause him
to lose self-control, even to the point that he will curse the gods (9.7.28).
Immoderate drinking can make him lose self-control and become angry with
everyone around him (12.6.2). Wealth discourages self-control because it
encourages him to lust for more (9.5.14). Worse yet, an atmosphere of wealth
and drinking and other vices, such as the one in which Philip II was raised at
Macedon, effectively prevents the acquisition of self-control in the first place.
Philip’s was a home ‘in which there was no love of music, no practice of
wisdom, no desire for rhetoric [!], no thought for self-control, where what was
valued was not righteousness, but a lot of wine, drunkenness, gluttony,
indulging in sex, and shrinking from none of the most disgraceful behaviors’
(9.3.3). On the other hand, there are other atmospheric factors that can foster
self-control. As a fictional prosecutor of a tyrant asserts, ‘those under
democratic governance live with self-control, as there is nothing to compel
them to violence, but they live free’ (7.4.9); this is of course the opposite of the
decadent political and moral atmosphere at Macedon. A personal pursuit of
righteous behaviour is a prerequisite for self-control (8.6.12), and a history of
moderation, patriotism and mental and physical exercise along with self-
control contribute to the development of the most exalted stereotype, the tyrant-
killer (7.5.10).
Self-control in the progymnasmata, however, is most often figured as
specifically sexual continence. In myth, Bellerophon showed self-control in
resisting another man’s wife and was punished for it (11.10.1, 2, 7), while
Medea is the self-proclaimed teacher of self-control to Jason and all other
Greek husbands (11.17.4, if genuine). Daphne, in the form of laurel wood
(daphnē), resists even having a picture of Apollo painted on her because of her
eternal pursuit of sexual continence (11.11.1). Hypothetically, Locrian Ajax
could have shown sexual self-control and been rewarded for it by hiding
Cassandra in his tent and then asking for her in the division of booty, instead of
raping her in Athena’s temple – but of course he did not (5.2.6, if genuine). A
recently reformed prostitute declares her intent to teach self-control to other
prostitutes by posting a law forbidding prostitution and declaring her intent to
destroy the brothel (11.18.3). Libanius’ most highly praised practitioners of
sexual continence, however, are farmers and other country dwellers: ‘ … for
no prostitutes or revelers or pimps or bouts of drunkenness provoke them
toward Aphrodite; for these are not native to the countryside, but they devote
attention to their wives and attend only to rightful intercourse for the
production of children’ (8.7.5; cf. 10.5.8).
Sexuality within marriage, then, as Bellerophon, Medea and the reformed
prostitute would agree, is the ideal. Achilles’ father Peleus was famed for his
prudence (9.1.2), and Zeus rewarded him for it with a marriage to Thetis
(11.14.2). In fact, the virtue of sexual self-control appears throughout the most
advanced authentic exercise in Libanius’ collection, the thesis ‘whether one
should marry’ (Thesis 1). First off, Libanius asserts that anyone who opposes
nature’s plan to marry and reproduce must be opposed to self-control (13.1.9);
local gossip will slander an unmarried man for not possessing self-control,
even if he really does (13.1.25). Far better to possess it: a man’s matchmaker
can then use it as a selling point in discussions with the girl’s father (13.1.22).
Once he is married, the young man will benefit from gossip in his favour; the
public will perceive him as having increased his self-control through marriage
(13.1.23), and besides, ‘a wife provides a great obligation to show self-control’
(13.1.25). Nor is self-control the husband’s alone: adultery is said to be rare
because of women’s self-control (13.1.26), and the husband’s advice to his wife
will bolster her sexual self-control (13.1.27), in the unlikely event that she does
not already possess it (13.1.13).
Thus the progymnasmata show the importance of a continuous pursuit of
self-control, fully exampled in myth and history, which will guide the young
man from the cultivation of a broad range of proper behaviour under the strict
supervision of his pedagogue to his life as an adult, including the highly
encouraged decision to marry.39 It is a virtue practised under the public eye and
strongly subject to public perceptions, a virtue in which men and women alike
can share, and one that finds its fruition in the institution of marriage. Libanius’
emphasis on self-control in his progymnasmata, and especially on sexual self-
control, may therefore have a particular relevance for his students at their
present stage of life. No longer needing a pedagogue to guide their behaviour,
they are on the verge of becoming adults and, ideally, married men. Self-
control has helped ensure their success in the classroom and beyond. Thus
Libanius shows that rhetorical training and timely moral instruction work in
concert to make the man.

I wish to thank Jeffrey Beneker and Neil Bernstein for their comments and
suggestions.

1 On Greek progymnasmata, see Penella (2011a), Kraus (2009), Webb (2001)

and Kennedy (1983), 52. On ancient and Byzantine collections of
progymnasmata, see Hunger (1978), 92–120. On progymnasmata in the papyri,
see Cribiore (2001), 220–30 and Morgan (1998), 190–226.

2 This is the order of the exercises in Aphthonius; for other orderings, see
Kennedy (2003), xiii.
3 Cf. Hock and O’Neil (2002), 122–3, Rabe (1907b) and Cribiore (2007a),
59–60.

4 On Theon, see Stegemann (1934), Butts (1986). The text was edited by
Patillon and Bolognesi (1997). Heath (2002–3) argues for a fifth-century date.
On Pseudo-Hermogenes, see Radermacher (1912), Rabe (1907a). A text
edition can be found in Patillon (2008). Heath (2002–3, 158–60) suggests that
the author of the treatise attributed to Hermogenes may be Minucianus. On
Aphthonius, see Brzoska (1884), and the text edited by Patillon (2008). On
Nicolaus, see Stegemann (1936). The text can be found in Felten (1913). All
four treatises have been translated by Kennedy (2003).

5 See the survey in Hunger (1978).

6 For the later influence of Aphthonius, see Hock and O’Neil (1986), 212–16.

7 On Libanius’ progymnasmata, the study of Schouler (1984), volume I, 27

and 51–138 is still essential. See also Cribiore (2007a), 143–7. The text was
edited by Foerster (1915). A translation can be found in Gibson (2008), with
other translations noted ad loc.

8 Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2518.

9 On the authenticity of individual items in the collection, see Norman (1977),

1: xlix; Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2518–2522. Hunger (1978), 105
declared Encomium 8 spurious.

10 On the date and authorship of the progymnasmata of Pseudo-Nicolaus, see

Gibson (2009a), with further bibliography. Wilkinson (2009) and (2010)
argues that Palladas is writing earlier in the fourth century and at
Constantinople rather than at Alexandria. If he is correct, the Alexandrian
Tychaion was not converted into a tavern in c. 391, and the date for Pseudo-
Nicolaus advanced in my article would therefore need to be revised to the fifth
century (before 488), instead of a date between c. 391 and 488.
11 Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2518–22. Stegemann (1936), 448–9,
attributes the following texts in Libanius’ collection to Nicolaus: Narrations
19, 22, 24, 31 and 37–9 (omitting Foerster and Münscher ’s examples 32, 34
and 36); Speech in Character 26; and Description 8–17 (omitting Foerster and
Münscher ’s examples 18–28). On the authorship of the Descriptions, cf. Hebert
(1983), 8–9. Speech in Character 26 has also been attributed to Severus of
Alexandria (see below).

12 On Severus and his progymnasmata, see Hock and O’Neil (1986), 121–2,
Gerth (1956) and Schissel (1929–30). The text can be found in Amato (2009a).
Amato and Ventrella (2009, 6–12) argue that the author is the sixth-century
patriarch Severus of Antioch.

13 Amato (2006). Schissel (1934, 6 n.1) first assigned Speech in Character 26

to Severus; Foerster and Münscher (1925, 2521) and Stegemann (1936, 449)
assign it to Pseudo-Nicolaus. For the authorship of Speech in Character 27, see
Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2521.

14 Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2520, followed by Hock and O’Neil

(2002), 136–7.

15 Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2522.

16 Cf. Kraus (2009), 1398, 1400–3, Penella (2011a), 83–8.

17 It is, however, frequently found in both Greek and Latin declamation. See
Gibson (2013).

18 See Gibson (2009b), 141–5.

19 Or as Penella (2011a, 84) helpfully explains them, ‘the headings that are
concerned with the ends of human actions’.

20 Cf. Aphthonius XIII 1, who lists these three themes as examples of political
theses.

21 The notes in Foerster ’s edition of Libanius will be a helpful starting point

for such investigations.

22 See the introductory note to each exercise in Gibson (2008) for a guide to
many of these borrowings.

23 Cf. Kraus (2009), 1397–1398.

24 Schouler (1984), 51–138.

25 Ventrella (2005).

26 Ureña Bracero (2005) discusses speeches 5, 6, 12, 21 and five exercises of

doubtful authorship.

27 Schouler (2005) discusses speeches 1, 2, 11, 12 and 18.

28 Webb (2009).

29 Gibson (2011), 76–79.

30 Webb (2010).

31 Harris (2011), esp. 12.

32 Pack (1948), 302–4.

33 See also Gibson (2014).

34 Gruber (2010), especially 294–5 on Libanius, Thesis 1. Libanius himself
chose not to marry (see Oration 1.54), but did have a long-term relationship
with a woman with whom he produced a son, Cimon.

35 Gibson (2011). Libanius urged his students to work hard, skimp on sleep,
avoid excess food and drink, and devote themselves as he did to the pleasures
of work and learning. See Cribiore (2007a), 16–20, 128–34 and 156 and
Schouler (1984), 964–70. The best comprehensive treatment of Libanius’
school is Cribiore (2007a), which is based on the evidence of Libanius’
orations and letters.

36 I have omitted references to sanity/insanity (8.1.5, 8.4.12, 11.5.1, 11.6.1) and

to statements labelled as prudent (3.1.2, 3.3.36, 6.2.10). Libanius also says that
seasonal streams show more self-control in the spring (12.7.6).

37 Achilles elsewhere faults Agamemnon for the latter ’s alleged lack of self-
control in regard to this same event (11.4.1, 8), this time in a speech intended
accurately to represent Achilles as he appears in Homer.

38 As Nesselrath argues in Section 11.3 of Chapter 11 in this volume,

Libanius’ positive presentation of Thersites may be a literary reply to
Aristides’ (and, obviously, Homer ’s) negative implementation of the same
character.

39 North (1966, 343) explains that in pagan epideictic literature of the fourth
century, a man is praised for ‘control of the appetites and the passions’,
specifically in his ‘youthful career at the university’ and ‘at the apex of his
career – usually as a ruler of some kind – when his personal sophrosyne
serves as an example to his subjects’.
 Chapter 7 Libanius’ Letters
Bernadette Cabouret

7.1 Introduction
After the presentations of Libanius’ Orations, Declamations and
Progymnasmata in the preceding chapters, this chapter presents the last great
part of Libanius’ oeuvre: his Letters. Like the other works, the letters present a
paradox in the sense that they were as famous and popular from Libanius’
lifetime through the Renaissance and beyond (cf. Chapter 8) as they are
obscure and neglected today: while late antique, Byzantine and humanist
scholars used Libanius’ letters as models, modern scholarship has not yet
produced a complete translation nor an in-depth overall study of Libanius’
letters from a literary or historical point of view.1 The reason for this neglect
is twofold. On the one hand, accessing the text itself can be rather challenging:
Libanius’ letters are highly complex texts, and by far not all of them are, as yet,
available in translation. On the other hand, as classical studies have long
neglected epistolography as a minor genre whilst studies of Late Antiquity
have had a marked preference for Christian texts, no overall study of Libanius’
letters is, as yet, available. Times, however, are changing: epistolography and
Late Antiquity in its widest sense have become hot topics of study, and
Libanius’ letters fully merit their share in this double revival: not only is
Libanius’ letter collection the largest one to have come down to us from
classical antiquity, it is also one of the few and earliest ancient Greek letter
collections to have come down to us at all.2
Translations of the letters have thus far been selective: a full list of available
translations can be found in Appendix E.3 But a good edition of all the letters is
available in volumes X and XI of Foerster ’s monumental Teubner edition.
Foerster presents the letters in the order in which they can be found in the
principal Byzantine manuscripts.4 Most studies, on the contrary, have taken
what could be called a historical approach. By focusing on chronology or
prosopography, for example, scholars such as Otto Seeck, Paul Petit and Scott
Bradbury have highlighted the importance of Libanius’ variegated networks
(cf. Chapter 10).5 In line with this, Libanius’ letters have also been quarried as
sources of historical information, for example on late antique Antioch or on
Libanius’ engagement with the Hellenic tradition.6 In 2007, Raffaella Cribiore
considerably enlarged the scope of study in her monograph on The School of
Libanius in Late Antique Antioch, which studies the historical and personal
context of Libanius’ letters, their representational character, as well as their
expectation horizon both in antiquity and today. Libanius’ letters are thus no
longer read as straightforward, objective, or unequivocal historical
documents:7 they are elaborate literary texts as well as complex historical
documents that offer a window on Libanius in action and in interaction, as well
as on our own contemporary reading practices and interpretations.
Cribiore’s book not only has the merit of having raised awareness of the
importance of Libanius amongst the wider community of late antiquity
scholars, it is also a large step towards a new approach to, and a good
illustration of the recent upsurge in work on, Libanius’ letters. Most
importantly, perhaps, two complete translations of all of Libanius’ letters are
now in progress, in one case including Foerster ’s Greek text as well as a range
of linguistic, prosopographical, historical and institutional metadata.8 At the
same time, research topics such as the social network of Libanius and the
composition of his letter collection are being examined anew in the light of
recent methodological and epistolographical insights.9 The twenty-first
century may thus be well on its way to putting Libanius’ letters back onto the
research map. By offering an introduction and a survey of the richness of
Libanius’ letter collection, the current chapter hopes to show that it is
worthwhile to do so.

7.2 The letter collection and the manuscript

tradition
Libanius’ letter collection as we have it today consists of 1,544 letters. Taken
together, these letters cover the years 355 to 365 on the one hand, and the years
388 until Libanius’ death, traditionally thought to have occurred in 393, on the
other. Within the later letters, there is a lacuna for the period between the end of
388 (Letter 914) and the summer of 391 (Letter 915). Some twenty isolated
letters may date from before 355 10 as well as from the period between 365 and
388,11 and from 390. The start of the letter collection in 355 coincides with
Libanius’ definitive settlement in Antioch. At that time, he not only developed a
lively correspondence with friends and acquaintances from afar in different
places whom he now saw much less often, but he also used letters in order to
promote his school (cf. Chapter 3).
Barring three exceptions,12 all 1,544 letters can be found in three principal
manuscripts (V, Va and Vo). The first of these manuscripts, V (Vaticanus
graecus 83), contains 1,528 letters.13 The other two manuscripts, Va (Vaticanus
graecus 85) and Vo (Vossianus graecus 83), which are close to one another,
contain fewer letters.14 None of these three manuscripts is dated prior to the
eleventh century. The oldest manuscript containing letters of Libanius dates
from the tenth century: Ambrosianus B4 sup., folio 117 contains twenty letters
of Libanius in juxtaposition to some letters of Julian. Afterwards, no less than
419 manuscripts ranging from the eleventh to the eighteenth century contain
selections that vary in size and quality. Particularly noteworthy amongst these
because of its marginal scholia is the fifteenth-century Berolinensis graecus
3.15
The three principal manuscripts go back to a common archetype α. This is
clear from the fact that they contain the letters in the same order, most notably
also in those places where chronological gaps appear: Letter 840 (dating from
388) follows immediately upon Letter 839 (dating from 363), and Letter 915
(from summer 391) follows immediately upon Letter 914 (from the end of
388). This suggests that Libanius’ letters had already been organized into a
collection before they were copied by Byzantine scribes. The question is, of
course, who organized the letters. It may well be that Libanius himself, who
diligently kept copies of the letters he sent, prepared his letters for publication.
In fact, Va and Vo present three distinct sections of letters,16 the second of
which collects Libanius’ most polished and most representative letters.17 This
second part, consisting of letters 19 to 607, dating from 355 to 361, is divided
into six books of about a hundred letters each.18 Each of these books probably
represents a batch of copies.19 Indeed, Libanius had his secretary make a copy
before a letter was sent off. In this process, the date, addressee and subject of
the letter were carefully noted down. So although the letter collection that has
come down to us is, all in all, a composite text compiled by different people
and at different dates with inevitable incoherences in detail, its oldest part
almost exactly reproduces the original assortment of letters which Libanius
may well have personally prepared for publication. We shall come back to the
question why we clearly do not have all the letters Libanius wrote in more
detail in the next section, but in addition to his own selection criteria, one must
reckon with the accidents of transmission as well as with possible later
selections – all of which are difficult to pin down.
For now, it is important to note that the order in which the letters were
transmitted is not the chronological order which many twentieth-century
scholars, interested in the letters as a source of historical information, have
favoured. The reconstruction of the chronological order of Libanius’ letters is,
in fact, not an easy task. In his edition, Foerster, whilst printing the letters in the
manuscript order, included a (certain or possible) date for each letter. Before
Foerster, Seeck had already proposed a detailed chronological reconstruction
on the basis of the prosopography of people addressed and named in Libanius’
letters.20 Later, Petit proposed several revisions to this chronology.21
Libanius most certainly knew that his letters would survive him. Maybe that
is why he – if, at least, this decision goes back to him rather than to a Byzantine
scribe – decided to place the long Letter 19, which, as we shall see in more
detail below, breaks the stylistic rule of brevity, at the head of the collection.
Dating from 358–9 and addressing the powerful Prefect Anatolius, this letter,
with its discussion of panegyric, may indeed fulfil a programmatic role at the
start of the collection: by starting his letter collection with an enactment of
parrhēsia, freedom of speech, Libanius (if it was indeed he who placed Letter
19 at the head of the collection) presents himself as a man speaking his mind
freely in the face of those in power. As A. F. Norman has suggested, Letter 19
thus functions as the ‘keynote’ to the remainder of the collection.22

7.3 The problem of the lacuna

As will be clear from the previous section, the two periods of Libanius’ life
which are documented through his letters, 355 to 365 on the one hand and 388
to 393 on the other, are separated by a huge gap. In view of the accidents of
transmission that always need to be taken into account for ancient texts, the
most straightforward explanation for this gap is that part of the original
collection disappeared in the course of time: this accidental loss would explain
the unequal coverage of different periods of Libanius’ life in his letters. It is,
however, tempting to look beyond the mere accidents of transmission,
especially since the beginning of the gap coincides more or less with the
beginning of the reign of Valens (364), a difficult period for Libanius.23 Given
that Libanius repeatedly had to endure accusations of magic, scholars have
explained the absence of letters from this period as an act of self-censorship: in
a climate where pagan intellectuals were often harassed,24 Libanius, so it has
been suggested, either did not keep copies of his letters or made sure to
destroy them, lest his letters be used against him as proof of his religious or
political convictions. The problem with this explanation, however, is that the
gap continues for another ten years after the death of Valens (378). Surely the
reign of Theodosius was not always an easy time for Libanius either, but under
the new emperor, Libanius enjoyed remarkable personal and intellectual
authority (e.g. Oration 2), and displayed great polemic audacity as well as an
acute understanding of what was at stake in the late fourth century (Theodosian
discourses). So what about the gap in the letters?
Recently, Lieve Van Hoof proposed a new interpretation in which the key is
not so much self-censorship as a concern for self-presentation.25 Whilst Van
Hoof agrees with previous scholars on the fact that the reign of Valens was a
difficult and dangerous time for Libanius, she highlights Libanius’ statement,
in his Autobiography,26 that he adapted the formulations of his letters so as to
minimize the risk that they be used against him. In addition, Van Hoof stresses
that it took Libanius several years after the emperor ’s death to build up a new
network and regain his former authority. If, then, Libanius decided to leave out
the letters from these years when preparing his letter collection, this was,
according to Van Hoof, not so much because they would have been dangerous,
but because they were, on the contrary, a rather cowardly and unimpressive lot.
By leaving these letters out of his collection, Libanius thus sought to minimize
the importance of these rather bleak years, just like he did in the Autobiography
(cf. Chapter 1). The corollary of Van Hoof’s interpretation of the gap as an
instrument of self-presentation rather than of self-preservation is, of course,
that Libanius himself designed his whole letter collection. One of the
arguments she adduces to support this is Libanius’ highlighting of a new
epistolographical start in the first letter of 388: the first sentence of Letter 840
indeed refers to ‘the first (πρώτων) letter ’ which Libanius got from his
addressee Tatianus ‘at the start of his term of office (ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς ἀρχῆς)’.27
Whether or not one agrees to reading this sentence as the sign of a new
epistolary start, Van Hoof’s interpretation has the advantage of doing away
with the hypothetical ‘secretary as executor ’ of Libanius’ letter collection,
based on the model of Cicero’s Tiro: whilst it is well-attested that Libanius had
such secretaries (Eusebius, Thalassius), there is no indication whatsoever that
these secretaries would have played a role in the editorial process of the letter
collection.
 Van Hoof’s emphasis on self-presentation does not exclude self-preservation
as traditionally emphasized as she explicitly states: in the atmosphere full of
(real or imagined) suspicions of the second half of the fourth century, Libanius
preferred to write rather conventional letters,28 which he subsequently did not
think it worthwhile to conserve. But whatever the precise role of self-
preservation and of self-presentation in causing the gap in Libanius’ letter
collection, it remains striking that we have almost no letters dating from the
years 365 to 388, whereas some other years of Libanius’ life are covered by
more than a hundred letters.29 The fact that so many letters were conserved –
Libanius’ is, as indicated above, the largest letter collection to have come down
to us from antiquity – implies that they were designed and used as epistolary
models (cf. Chapter 8).30 This has everything to do not only with their refined
literary style, but also with the fact that letters were conceived as ‘vehicles of
friendship’.

7.4 The delivery of letters and the role of the letter

carrier
Letters constitute, in a sense, a dialogue: they convey information about the
events, people, ideas and opinions that characterize the epoch in which they
originated. Insofar as it is only one-way, however, the epistolary dialogue is
always imperfect. An element of exchange is nevertheless present in the person
of the letter carrier, who complements the information or recommendation
made in the letter,31 and who, in some cases, can even be the only source of a
piece of information or advice left out of a letter. With the exception of
government administrators and state agents who could use the cursus
publicus,32 late antique letter writers could not make use of any form of postal
service. As a result, letter bearers – mostly friends or acquaintances coming or
going on a trip – were very important:33 the letter is an exchange of thoughts
between writer and addressee, but it can set out a framework for oral
conversation between addressee and letter carrier. Insofar as Libanius prepares
and steers this conversation, this real dialogue in a sense includes him, though
absent, as well. Since Libanius conceives of the carrier as an integral part of
the letter and integrates him into it,34 the result is a triangular relation with the
letter at its centre: the absence of the letter writer is compensated by the
presence of the carrier, but it is the letter that provides the background for, and
thus steers the interpretation of, the information he transmits. One could
compare it to an opera and its libretto: just like the letter, it is the opera that is
the real work of art, which moves the senses and the soul, whilst the opera
libretto, like the carrier of a letter, is there to provide stage directions. So if the
information is delivered by the letter carrier, what is the function of the letter
itself?

7.5 The letter as a ‘vehicle of friendship’

Nowadays, letters are considered as highly private texts, not only in the sense
that no one but the addressee can open a letter, but also in the sense that they
contain the writer ’s innermost opinions, feelings, or confessions. In antiquity,
this was very different: once delivered to its addressee by the carrier, a letter,
as the writer knew, was read by the recipient to his friends. What Libanius had
written would thus set the tone for the conversation that would begin between
the addressee who interrogated and the carrier who responded and explained.
Nevertheless, letters did not merely serve as introductions. As will be discussed
in the next section, they could hold different functions, but two elements were
always fundamental: first, the letter was above all an expression of friendship,
and second, it therefore needed to be beautiful, as it was presented as a gift.
Epistolary communication was, in other words, not conceived as an exchange
of information, but experienced as an encounter.
The exchange of letters was an important aspect of friendship (philia),
which, in turn, was an essential element in structuring social relationships in
antiquity.35 Letters, indeed, make up for the distance separating writer and
addressee: they find each other in a common (Attic) language, a common way
of thinking and a common set of values, the sharing of all of which is
confirmed in the very act of writing. Often, an allusion, a stylistic choice, a
quotation which only the well-educated will recognize, or the remembrance of
a literary or cultural event will suffice to bring writer and addressee together
in a world of shared cultural, moral and aesthetic values. No less than
conversation, correspondence is a refined art that brings together those who
master it. The key notion in this respect is charis,36 which denotes both ‘grace’
and ‘favour ’: correspondents do each other a favour by exchanging ‘graces’:
whilst the writer sends his addressee a graceful letter, the recipient is supposed
to do the writer the favour of being persuaded and granting the favour. To act
against the rules dictated by charis is considered extremely rude and impolite:
it is an offence against friendship as well as against courtesy.37
 Letters often adopt meta-language in order to talk about the topic of
‘correspondence’. A letter that has been received calls for a response, for
example, whilst the lack of a response can reveal a reproach.38 In the rare cases
where Libanius first writes to a correspondent whom he has not met before, he
immediately comments upon this unusual situation, thus carefully staging the
inauguration of a new epistolary friendship.39 Such introductions are
significant: insofar as letters represent a dialogue, a connection between two
persons, the absence or interruption of this connection calls for discussion.

7.6 Letters for all circumstances

The letters of Libanius take many different forms: one finds recommendation
letters, administrative letters, newsletters … – in short, letters for all
circumstances.4 0 Some letters fit within one of these categories, many into
more than one. As a result, it is not only impossible but also unhelpful to try
and define the precise genre of each letter: what is really interesting is not to
classify the letters into different groups, but to see how each one of them fits
into its socio-cultural, political and specific context. Although Libanius’
opinions and feelings sometimes shine through, the letters are not private
documents in the sense that they evoke the writer ’s innermost feelings: his
correspondence has a social and cultural use. In the following pages, I discuss
three important functions which the letters thus fulfil.
First of all, letters are ‘vehicles of friendship’: they enact and confirm an
intellectual understanding which separation and distance have interrupted. This
can be seen very clearly if one looks at the beginning of Libanius’
correspondence: the collection starts (or starts again) at the very moment when
Libanius definitively establishes himself at Antioch, and therefore needs to
keep in touch with his friends and acquaintances. His move to Antioch is also
the moment when he establishes a school for which he needs to recruit
students: the letters are living proof and publicity for their writer ’s rhetorical
talent.4 1
As a teacher, secondly, Libanius writes to his students’ parents:4 2 he keeps
fathers up-to-date on their sons’ development, tells them about their rhetorical
progress, or informs them about their laziness. He writes to powerful people in
the imperial administration, such as governors, in order to recommend his
students as assistants, often the starting point of a brilliant career. Again, he
writes to those alumni who are already established in such a career in order to
recommend new students. And again, the friendship which linked him to most
of his alumni allowed him to continue instructing them on an intellectual,
moral and political level through advice, allusions and literary quotations
which his addressees were able to understand and appreciate.43 Moral and
spiritual values are transmitted through the contents of the letter.
If letters are a (culturally elitist) ingredient and instrument of social relations
of friendship or patronage, it is not difficult to see that they can also function,
thirdly, as introductions: they can help to get someone a position, for example
in the imperial administration.4 4 There are, indeed, numerous
recommendation letters. Some of them may be rather conventional and
insignificant, but some others are highly suggestive. Whilst it is easy to think
that all letters are similar, tapping into conventional appraisals, little
differences can, in fact, make a big change. It takes the refinement of a master
rhetorician like Libanius to find the right word for the right person, place and
time. Indeed, the promotion of a student or client varies in style and
argumentation depending on different criteria: to whom is the letter addressed,
how well does Libanius know this person, to what extent does this person owe
him a favour, what are the circumstances, what are the recommendee, his
family, and his merits like, and who is the carrier, who is often the one to be
recommended. The result is that we can infer a subtle play with, and interplay
of, different ‘means of pressure’: whilst there were fixed templates for
recommendation letters, as shown in epistolary handbooks,45 Libanius
manages to produce variations on this theme. As a result, his letters are
personalized compositions that honour both addressee and recommendee, the
latter often the carrier.46
At the same time, though, letters are not mere formalities between two
parties: as a ‘vehicle of friendship’, they always have a personal aspect,
midway, as it were, between confession and public discourse. In some letters,
for example, Libanius, who strongly felt the tensions of his times, shares his
difficulties, doubts or regrets with his friends. His tone in these letters is less
virulent than in the highly rhetorical, invective orations; his intentions are
often more sincere and expressive here. In this respect, Libanius’ letters ‘reveal
the character of their writer ’ and ‘mirror his soul’, as suggested by the
epistolary theorist Demetrius.4 7 Indeed, the letters reflect Libanius’
temperament in allusions about his physical and mental health, often in
digressions (the traditional valedictory formula at the end of the letter is often
turned into a discussion of his own, mostly bad, health), well-chosen
formulations, ironic, enthusiastic or bitter tone. It is precisely the presence of
these many layers that makes these letters so fascinating.
Libanius’ letters, so we can conclude, cannot be easily classified according
to well-determined typologies: they often belong to more than one genre, and
explicitly or implicitly pursue various goals.48 It is up to the reader to discern
these various purposes behind the often highly polished and sophisticated
stylistic appearance of the individual letters.

7.7 The style of the letters

Libanius is a child of his time and representative of its literary preferences: his
interest in the classical tradition (cf. Chapter 11) and his choice for the Attic
language of Isocrates or Demosthenes (cf. Chapter 12) make him the prime
representative of Attic Greek for generations of Byzantine scholars.4 9 As such,
Libanius resembles his model Aelius Aristides. Both this linguistic choice and
the numerous implicit and explicit imitations of, and allusions to, previous
authors are thus an important aspect of Libanius’ epistolary style. Libanius
never merely copies his models, though: he transcends them in the sense that
his diction is often more condensed, with a preference for ellipses and
brachylogies, which, of course, makes his letters difficult to read for modern
readers, and they were perhaps already quite challenging for ancient readers,
too.
Insofar as the letter is designed to convey information concerning its
recommendee, and to convince the addressee of his merits, the process of
persuasion follows a logical template: exposition, request, final exhortation – a
template elaborately discussed by Antonio López Eire.50
Although brevity, together with clarity and harmony between subject and
expression, belongs to the basic rules of ancient epistolography,51 the length of
letters varies greatly depending on addressee and subject. It is not by accident
that the letter placed at the head of the collection (Letter 19) is a programmatic
one: it discusses epistolary panegyric and constitutes an example of how to
write to an influential addressee.52 In addressing the Prefect Anatolius,
Libanius obeys the rule of harmony between style on the one hand and subject
and addressee on the other, but he refuses to obey the rule of brevity.53
Likewise, the letter brims with irony concerning the ambitious and uneducated
Prefect: Libanius seizes the opportunity of stating that a speech of praise has to
pass over the subject’s defects in order to enumerate Anatolius’
shortcomings.54 Praise and its counterpart blame are, indeed, very important in
many letters. Whilst Libanius’ appraisals are often rather conventional,
together, they paint a portrait not only of the logios anēr, the well-educated
man, the ideal which the elite inherited from the rich classical tradition, but
also of the ideal governor and ruler.55
The aim of most letters is indeed to influence the addressee: Libanius
requires a favour and tries to incite the addressee to comply. The art of
rhetoric aims at persuasion, but as Aristotle brilliantly highlighted in
examining the process of persuasion, persuasion is always the persuasion of a
given person. As a result, a speech, apart from providing proof, also has to
present the speaker (ēthos) as being credible as well as to dispose the reader
favourably (pathos). As a letter-writer, Libanius fully masters this art: whilst
appearing effortless and amiable, he knows exactly how to turn his letter in
order to persuade the reader and get what he wants.
In those cases where Libanius’ appraisal is over the top, on the other hand,
the interpreter should proceed with care, as irony may not be far off. Libanius’
letters to Themistius, for example, whom Libanius considered a court
philosopher who had betrayed his ideals by putting himself at the service of
those in power, are mockingly full of disdain for the all too ambitious
philosopher. Exaggerations, antiphrasis (ironical contradictions), fictive
dialogues – a range of means is employed in order to urge, respond, or
provoke. As a result, Libanius’ statements concerning people and events always
need to be interpreted in the light of his intentions (in so far as these can be
known) as well as of his presentation.

7.8 Putting pressure on others and presenting the

self
The rhetoric which Libanius uses in view of the typically Greek rules of
courtesy and sophistication gives a polite and friendly face to what is, in
reality, pressure exercised in order to get someone a good position or a social
promotion. As is clear from Oration 35.3, Libanius was clearly aware of the
power of the spoken word: the one who practises rhetoric not only opposes the
voice of reason (τὸ βουλεύειν) to the voice of power, but also ‘inspires fear
(τὸ φοβεῖν) rather than having fear (δεδιέναι) himself’.56 In comparison with
manipulations by political factions or with strong patronage networks, the
(written and oral) rhetoric of the letters is by far the most elegant and
distinguished form of pressure: it is a cultured way of exercising pressure,
legitimizing a request, giving it a noble aspect, of gaining privileged access. In
the absence of other selection criteria, it is the given word, sanctioned by the
authority of a cultural expert, who is supposed to be able to judge merit
(aretē), that carries weight and power. As Peter Brown pointed out, rhetoric
remained the ‘Queen of Subjects’ ‘because it dealt with what still mattered in
the public life of Late Antiquity – with the manner in which notables related,
face to face through the spoken word, with their official superiors, with their
peers, and with those subject to their power and protection’.57
At the same time, however, demonstrating the value of rhetoric becomes an
absolute necessity for those who, like Libanius, still believe in this cultural
heritage in the fourth-century cultural context of the Eastern Roman Empire.
The promotion of rhetoric becomes, in fact, an affirmation of Hellenic identity
and culture (cf. Chapter 12) against those who use rhetoric to spread the
message of Christ. Libanius puts his extraordinary rhetorical skills at the
service of his students and friends above all. As he writes in a letter to
Themistius, ‘it would be too bad if the powers of my companions are of no use
to my friends’.58 At the same time, he also places them at his own service:
epistolary self-presentation is put at the service of rhetoric, the art of which
Libanius was one of the most prominent representatives. Indeed, throughout the
multifarious subjects and forms of the letters, Libanius discreetly promotes his
rhetorical qualities. This message is all the more effective given that the
addressees of Libanius’ letters are well-educated men who are therefore able to
understand Libanius’ sophisticated rhetoric and explain it to others around
them. The addressee himself is honoured as he receives from Libanius, as
token of his friendship, a letter embodying the very art for which Libanius was
so famous. In Letter 559, for example, Libanius recounts how he received and
read out a letter from the Master of the Letters (magister epistularum)
Eugnomonius that was so well written that Libanius’ friends at first thought that
it was one of his own letters.59 As this anecdote shows, letters were, in a sense,
‘published’ by being read out to the recipients’ friends, who submitted them to
extensive critical discussion. In this particular case, the bystanders come to the
wrong conclusions, as they think that only Libanius can produce such ‘a thing
of beauty’ (to kallos). By recounting the anecdote, then, Libanius ironically
compliments Eugnomonius by suggesting that he writes letters that are as
beautiful as those of the best letter writer of the time. At the same time,
however, he also presents himself as the standard by which letters are
measured, and as superior, at least as far as letter-writing is concerned, to a
man as powerful as the Master of the Letters Eugnomonius.
Although Libanius was thus fully conscious of his capacity to charm, to
astonish and to seduce, he did not practise the art of writing as a means for
exultant self-celebration. His letters always have one or more aims, the most
obvious one of which is not always the most important.

7.9 Conclusion
Libanius did not consider his participation in society, of which letters
exchanged between cultured friends was the highest expression, as a
contribution to a courtly ritual: instead, he saw it as a fierce means of action.
What is at stake in this combat, is the defence of his students, friends and
family: it is at their service that he employs his rhetorical art. By questioning
those in authority, by admonishing or flattering those in power, Libanius plays
a truly political role. As such, his letters go far beyond the mere rules of grace,
towards a more noble, social imperative: Libanius defends his city, culture, the
autonomy and well-being 60 of the cities within the empire, literary education
and municipal civic-mindedness. Through his letters, Libanius weaves a web of
relations (cf. Chapter 10) but also of moral and social pressures and, in a
sense, of social control: by politely attributing praise and blame, he can hope
to influence decisions and recruitments, and to fight against injustice,
corruption and nepotism. Surely those whom Libanius wishes to persuade to
hire cultured assistants, to mend injustices, or to assist the municipal councils,
were often already convinced, and thus did not need Libanius in order to act.
But by these incitations, pressures and criticisms, by the mirrors he holds out
to them by painting the portrait of the ideal governor, he creates in a sense an
expectation horizon: he places the mighty in the public eye, exposes them to the
general public as well as to their peers, who now expect them to conform to
what is required of them and to match the portrait which the letters have
painted.
Because of their elaborate style, Libanius’ letters are not easy to access; but
they are so rich in information about society, people, ideas, mindsets, and, in
short, about their times, that one easily forgives Libanius for hearing himself
write. All the more so as this self-confidence has probably contributed to no
small extent to the conservation of his oeuvre. Libanius should therefore be
seen as a man passionately engaged in the society surrounding him, who chose
to live and communicate this passion through words and texts that constituted a
powerful means of action within that society.

1 It should be noted, however, that Libanius’ letters provided much of the

material on which the studies of Petit (1955, 1956a and 1994), Downey (1961)
and the PLRE were based.

2 Contemporary letter collections are those of Symmachus (902 letters) on the

pagan Latin side, those of Basil of Caesarea (364 letters), Gregory of
Nazianzus (242 letters), Gregory of Nyssa (30 letters) and John Chrysostom
(240 letters) on the Christian side in Greek and that of Augustine (270 letters)
on the Christian side in Latin. On Latin epistolography, see the series Epistulae
antiquae, published in Tours, which presents the acts of a regularly organized
seminar. The seventh and most recent volume in the series, Guillaumont and
Laurence (eds.) (2012), concerned the place of history in ancient
epistolography.

3 Fatouros and Krischer (1980) translated 84 letters into German, Norman

(1992a) and (1992b) 193 into English, Cabouret (2000) 98 into French,
Bradbury (2004a) 183 into English (with a useful prosopographical appendix
covering Libanius’ main correspondents during the years 355–65), Cribiore
(2007a) 206 into English. Two complete translations of all the letters are now
in progress (cf. n. 8), and Bradbury and Moncur are currently preparing a
translation of Letters 840–1112, dating from 388 to 393.

4 Foerster (1921) and (1922). As stated by Martin in his comments on the

manuscript tradition in Martin and Petit (1979, 39), ‘le mérite de cette grande
œuvre n’est pas d’être définitive, mais d’avoir fourni une base indispensable à
tout progrès futur ’.

5 Cf. Seeck (1906), Petit (1955 and 1994) and Bradbury (2004a).

6 Late antique Antioch: Petit (1955); Libanius and the Hellenic tradition:
Schouler (1984). Cf. also Cabouret (2001) and Delmaire, Desmulliez and
Gatier (2009).
7 For Cribiore’s objections to Petit’s positivist approach, see Cribiore
(2007a), 9–10.

8 A complete translation into Spanish, the first volume of which has appeared
as González Gálvez (2005), is on its way. In addition, a team of scholars lead
by Bernadette Cabouret and including Andrea Pellizzari is now preparing an
innovative, online translation into French and Italian by link. It is to be expected
that the image of Libanius and his letters will change considerably once all his
letters, rather than specific selections (cf. n. 3) are taken into account.

9 Building on digital social network analysis as well as recent publications on

ancient epistolography (e.g. Gibson 2012), Lieve Van Hoof is currently
preparing a monograph on the letters of Libanius in which the letter collection
as a collection and social networking will be dominant themes.

10 Six letters may go back to this period, when Libanius studied at Athens and
lectured at Constantinople, Nicaea and Nicomedia (cf. Chapter 1 in this
volume): Letters 10 (353 or 354), 11 (353 or 354, but maybe 356), 13 (353 or
354, but maybe 363), 14 (353), 15 (352 or 354) and 16 (352 or 353). It is
possible that these letters were included into the text on the basis of the original
letters as they were held by their recipients. The other letters which Libanius
may have written before 355 were either not selected for publication or were
subsequently lost.

11 The letters in question are 1 (372/3 or 382/84), 2 (383 or 387), 3 and 4

(372/3 or 382/4), 5 (382/4) and 12 (380). Letter 18 dates from 388. The short
letters 608 to 614 are almost impossible to date, with the exception of Letter
610, which is addressed to the emperor Julian and has been dated to 362.

12 Letter 18 is derived from Baroccianus gr. 50, whilst Letters 1543 et 1544,
the last two letters in Foerster ’s edition, were transmitted in different
manuscripts (La. Marc. Bar. Bodl. Burn. Laurent.).

13 Whilst V is the most important manuscript, it was almost reduced to half in

the eleventh century. When the lost half was later replaced on the basis of a
closely related manuscript, a table of contents and a division in five books of
three hundred letters each was added, with the remainder grouped in a sixth
book. Cf. Foerster and Richtsteig (1927), 52–60. For an English résumé, see
Norman (1992a), 35–6.

14 Both Va and Vo are incomplete: Letters 1006 to 1112 are missing in Va,
Letters 411 to 498 in Vo. Although they are thus complementary, even between
them, Vo and Va contain some 450 letters less than V, as Letters 1113 to 1542,
dating from 363 to 365, are missing in both.

15 Cf. Foerster and Richtsteig (1927), 169.

16 Section 1 contains Letters 1 to 17 (of various dates, cf. nn. 10 and 11),
Section 2 Letters 19 to 607 (dating from 355 to 361), Section 3 Letters 615 to
1112 (dating partly from 361 to 363, partly from 388 to 393).

17 For the popularity of Libanius’ letters in Byzantium, see also Chapter 8.

18 For a survey of this division into books, which may have been designed by
Libanius himself, see Schouler 1984, 47, Norman (1992a), 38, or Bradbury
(2004a), 21–2.

19 For references to such copies (τὰ ἀντίγραφα), see Letters 88, 1218, 1307.
Cf. Foerster and Richtsteig (1927), 49, Norman (1992a), 29 and Cabouret
(2009).

20 Seeck (1906). Although Seeck’s hypothesis that Libanius published a

collection of letters during the reign of Julian has been rejected (cf. Norman
1992a, 40), Seeck’s study, which was reprinted in 1963, remains a classic.

21 Petit (1994).

22 Norman (1992a), 39. Cf. already Silomon (1909), 28.

23 Petit and Martin (1979, xiii) have spoken, in this respect, of ‘une traversée
du désert’. For Libanius’ life under the reign of Valens, see also Chapter 1, esp.
Section 1.4.

24 Cf. Petit and Martin (1979), xiii, 255 and 258, Norman (1992a), 32 and
Cabouret (2009), passim.

25 Van Hoof (2014a).

26 See in particular §§171–8.

27 ‘To Tatianus 1. Your first letter reached me right at the start of your term of
office and then was followed by no more. This occasioned surprise among my
friends and inquiries as to why this came to pass. 2. I would not let them remain
in their puzzlement, or think that this marked a change of feeling on your part,
for that is not your way. The grounds for your silence I attributed to the
grounds of complaint preferred against me – of my alleged disloyalty towards
our rulers. I told them that normal practice forbade people in your position to
write to those in mine. “When this accusation is proved baseless”, said I, “you
will see his letters.”’ (Transl. Norman (1992b), 303–5.)

28 The real contents could always be transmitted by the letter bearer. Cf. the
next section of this chapter.

29 Even for those years, however, it is far from certain that we have all letters:
it has been suggested that Libanius wrote three to four letters per day. Cf.
Fatouros and Krischer (1980), 221.

30 The Byzantine intellectual and theologian Demetrius Cydones, who, as

Martin has pointed out in Martin and Petit (1979, 51), was ‘nourri de
Libanios’, for example, made an annotation on the first page of Vaticanus
graecus 83.

31 E.g. Letter 1429: ‘The good Diodotus will tell you more than is in the
letter ’, or Letter 561: ‘Back then, the bearer made me cut short my letter: he
could tell you about me in detail. If I told the whole story, I would offend the
bearer.’

32 As shown by the example of Obodianus (Letter 702, of 362), city

ambassadors were allowed to make use of the cursus publicus during their
embassy, and bishops during councils were sometimes given permission to do
so as well. For the right to use the cursus publicus, see Kolb (2000), 71–122.

33 Cf. Fatouros and Krischer (1980), 224–9, Cabouret (2000), 20, Ellis and
Kidner (2004), passim.

34 Fatouros and Krischer (1980, 227) emphasize indeed that ‘die Rolle, die
Libanios dem Überbringer zuweist, nicht etwas dem Brief Äußerliches ist,
sondern etwas, das ihn mitformt’.

35 Cf. Bruggisser (1993) on Symmachus and Bernard (2013) on Cicero. For

the importance of friendship within Libanius’ discourse on Hellenism, see
Chapter 12, Section 12.4. For an account of late antique society in the Greek
East, see now Cabouret (ed.) (2014).

36 Norman (1992a), 23–4: ‘charis is inescapable, since it was embedded in the

language and inextricably woven into the exercise and institutions of patronage
by which the world wagged’.

37 For the importance of reciprocity in Libanius’ letters, see Chapter 10,

Section 10.3.

38 At the start of Letter 840, for example, Libanius comments on the fact that
Tatianus’ first letter to him was followed by silence.

39 E.g. Letter 559 to the powerful Master of Offices Musonius: ‘Although it

occurred to me even before to write to you – the praises sung about your
nature persuaded me of this too – I was deterred by the thought that it was
presumptuous to write before meeting you. But since Spectatus has written that
there is at your side some place for a recollection of me, and that, if I should
write, it will be to an eager recipient, I quickly complied, considering it a gain,
if you should not accuse me of rashness, and no harm if you should, since
Spectatus will pay for it!’ (transl. Bradbury (2004a), 61).

40 Cf. Malosse (2004). As opposed to Christian authors, Libanius did not write
moral epistles, even though he did defend his own ideals throughout his letters.

41 Cf. Cribiore (2009).

42 On Libanius’ letters concerning his school, see Festugière (1959) and

Cribiore (2007a). For the importance of the correspondence for Libanius’
school, see also Chapter 10, esp. Sections 10.1 and 10.2.

43 Cf. Cabouret (2013).

44 For the role of patronage as a way of making a career in imperial

administration, see Chapter 10, Section 10.4.

45 As a most important epistolary model, Libanius would later be considered

to be the author of the Characteres epistolici. Cf. Foerster and Richtsteig
(1927), 1–47.

46 Cf. Cabouret (2010) and (2011). On Symmachus’ recommendation letters,

see Roda (1986).

47 On Style, 227.

48 Cf. Cribiore (2007a), 5: ‘most often, letters do not serve only a single
communicative function, but rather discharge a multiplicity of clear (or
hidden) roles’.
49 As Norman (1992a), 20 points out, Eunapius considered Libanius to be ‘the
foremost exponent of this refined Attic style in his day’.

50 López Eire (1996) distinguishes an ‘identification formula’ intended to

present the recommendee, an ‘explanation formula’ to set out the
circumstances that encouraged the writer to ask for the favour, and a ‘petition
formula’ that introduces the specific request. Cf. also Cabouret (2010).

51 As is clear from Gregory Nazianzus’ Letter 51.4 to Eubulus, brevity is an

essential virtue of ancient letters. Cf. López Eire (1996), 207, n. 1. For brevity,
see Demetrius, On Style, 224–32. For clarity, see Demetrius, On Style §226 and
Libanius Letter 716.3, where he praises Julian for having ‘united force with
clarity’ (ἰσχὺν … συνεκέρασε σαφηνείᾳ, transl. Norman (1992b), 105). For
harmony, see Demetrius, On Style, 229 and Libanius, Letter 606.

52 ‘To Anatolius 7. (…) Just listen, and I will explain my methods of

panegyric. 8. If there is anyone who is impervious to money but subservient to
pleasure, then I will give due credit for the first and draw a veil over this last
… 10. Look! If I compose a speech for you, supposing you have prevailed
upon me to do so, do you think that the topics to be commended would present
themselves to the composer from all points of the compass? You might think
so, but the case is very different. I would refer to your industry, your vigilance,
your exertions, your correct judgement, your foresightedness, your upright
character, keen intellect, powerful eloquence, and so on; but I would never call
you handsome and tall. Your physical characteristics are not like that. 11. If I
mention money, I would say that you are far removed from speculation, but I
would not assert that you enjoy no reward for your ability, for you possess
gifts from the emperor and your long period of office has made your villas
into towns! You have done wrong to no one, but you do gather things to
yourself. You would be a much better man if you had not, for the acquisition of
a fame brought by poverty is more splendid than all the pillars granted by a
prince.’ (transl. Norman (1992a), 489–91).

53 Whilst Libanius’ practice of choosing the most effective argument and

formulation in each letter in view of its addressee, topic or recommendee may
explain why Eunapius depicted Libanius as a multiform and adaptable creature
(Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.1.10–11, 495–6 Giangrande (1956),
83, transl. Penella (2012), 893 modified; cf. above, Chapter 3, Section 3.3), his
decision not to obey the rule of brevity in Letter 19 also demonstrates the
limits of that compliancy.

54 Cf. Bradbury (2000).

55 Cf. Cabouret (2002).

56 ἀντιστῆσαι ταῖς ἀπὸ τοῦ θρόνου φωναῖς τὰς ἀπὸ τοῦ βουλεύειν, τὸ
φοβεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ δεδιέναι ἐκ ῥητορείας ἔχειν.

57 Brown (1992), 42. As Paul Petit (1955, 361, 368, 370 and Appendix IV)
has demonstrated, up to 70 per cent of prefects, vicarii and provincial
governors had enjoyed a rhetorical education.

58 Letter 309.5: καὶ γὰρ ἂν εἴη δεινόν, εἰ μὴ τοῖς ἐμοῖς φίλοις αἱ τῶν ἐμῶν
ἑταίρων δυνάμεις ὠφελείας φέροιεν.

59 Letter 859 is the last in a series of letters accompanying Letoius on his

embassy from Antioch to the court of Constantius II in Rome (aurum
coronarium). Its addressee Eugnomonius, who had studied in Athens together
with Libanius, had composed the letter with which the emperor invited the
Antiochenes to send an embassy to Rome. His letters were so beautiful that the
audience mistook them for letters of Libanius: ‘some of those who had heard
the letter and who have an appréciation for éloquence happened upon me and
said, “We heard your letter !” “What do you mean « mine » ?” I said. “By Zeus”
they replied, “it was exactly the sort of thing you work up !” And they
proceeded to praise its beauty and the fact that that beauty was not marred by
excessive length. Now to my mind this conferred some honour on me, but you
must yourself consider whether it involves some insult to you !’ (transl.
Bradbury (2004a), 60).

60 Cf. Pellizzari (2011).

 Chapter 8 The reception of Libanius: from
pagan friend of Julian to (almost) Christian
saint and back
Heinz-Günther Nesselrath and Lieve Van Hoof

8.1 Preparing for posterity

This chapter is concerned with the reception of Libanius.1 If it has its place in
Part II of this volume, dedicated to the works of Libanius, and not, as is often
the case in books concerning ancient authors, in a separate part about the
author ’s Nachleben placed at the end of the volume, this is because the
fascinating story of the reception of Libanius starts, in an important sense, with
Libanius himself. Indeed, a striking red thread that runs through the preceding
chapters of this volume is Libanius’ overarching concern for his self-
presentation. The most obvious text that comes to mind in this respect is the
Autobiography, which Libanius kept reworking during almost two decades and
with which he explicitly sought to shape and reshape the image he would leave
behind. An equally strong concern for his public image lies behind the various
orations which he held about himself, his school and his public role. What is
more: several orations that deal with topics seemingly unrelated to Libanius as
a person seem to have been inspired by very similar concerns. As was pointed
out in Chapter 4, for example, Libanius composed his speeches on the riot of
the statues (Orations 19–23) after the facts, their main aim thus being not so
much to influence the actual course of events as to show off the full range of
his rhetorical abilities, perhaps in competition with John Chrysostom, and to
suggest his influence on the emperor Theodosius.
More generally, of course, the public performance of an oration or a
declamation always affected the public image of the performer,2 whether his
honour be increased by an exceptional success in a rhetorical competition or
diminished by a (below-)average performance. Libanius indeed reveals
himself to take pride in public shows of approval for his speeches. In Oration
3.14, for example, he reproaches his students for not showing any enthusiasm
for his speeches, and in particular for ‘spoiling genuine applause with the slow
hand-clap’.3 In Letter 758.2–4, conversely, Libanius admits taking great pride
in Julian’s enthusiastic response to Oration 14 For Aristophanes: ‘I feel that,
even if I sipped nectar, my joy would be no greater than now, when an
emperor, whom Plato sought long ago and found at last, has commended my
resolution and admired my oration … Your letter, then, will be attached to the
oration informing the sons of Greece that my bolt was not discharged in
vain’.4 As this quote shows, Libanius not only took pride in positive reactions
to his speeches, he also cared for their publication. Further research will be
needed in order to determine to what extent Libanius himself had a hand in the
publication of his text corpus as we have it today. Whilst it may not be possible
to come up with a definitive answer for all parts of the corpus – as pointed out
in Chapter 6, it is not clear, for example, how the progymnasmata were
collected and published5 – Libanius seems to have left more clues than most
other ancient authors to the publication process. In some cases, the process of
publication will have been beyond his own control: at repeated points in his
oeuvre, Libanius recounts, for example, how his audience memorized parts of
his speech and subsequently spread his text to others.6 Whenever he could,
however, Libanius himself seems to have tried to ensure publication in the best
possible form. Thus several speeches were clearly reworked after delivery but
before being published.7 And when Aristophanes, whom Julian had
rehabilitated as a result of Libanius’ Oration 14, asked Libanius to send him his
correspondence with the emperor, for example, Libanius replied that he would
send him some letters, but withhold others: ‘it will be a matter of judgement,
for though there is no harm in publishing some of them, there may perhaps be,
in the case of others’. The care in publishing his letters revealed in this passage
may well be typical for Libanius’ hand in preparing his texts for publication.
As a result, we can conclude, with Liebeschuetz, that ‘Libanius wrote with
posterity in mind’.8
Libanius, then, took care of his self-presentation both explicitly, through his
autobiography and other comments about himself, and implicitly, through the
careful selection and preparation of many of his texts for publication. But just
as he did not have a monopoly on publishing his texts, he also did not have a
monopoly on shaping his image. Almost all preceding chapters have referred,
in this respect, to Eunapius’ portrait of Libanius in his Lives of the Sophists and
Philosophers. Bringing together the threads woven in those different chapters,
it can be said that Eunapius’ presentation of Libanius is remarkably ambivalent.
On the one hand, Eunapius clearly tries to discredit Libanius: he mentions
accusations of pederasty, and suggests that Libanius was a flatterer. In addition,
he speaks disparagingly of Libanius’ declamations and the lack of education
which they would betray. In addition to the explanations that have already been
mentioned – Eunapius’ preference for his own teacher Prohaeresius, and
possibly, in the case of flattery, a desire for literary imitation of Dionysius of
Halicarnassus9 – it should not be forgotten that Eunapius has a Neoplatonist
inclination, and therefore favours Neoplatonist philosophers in his Lives of the
Philosophers and Sophists.10 Yet notwithstanding his obvious desire to
discredit Libanius, Eunapius cannot avoid praising him: ‘[I]n his letters and
other familiar addresses he … rises to the levels of the ancient models. His
writings are full of charm and facetious wit, while a refined elegance pervades
the whole and is at the service of his eloquence … In his orations you will find
the most profound erudition and the widest possible reading … For these
reasons the most divine Julian also admired him, and indeed every man alive
admired the charm of his oratory. Very many of his works are in circulation,
and any intelligent man who reads them one by one will appreciate that charm’
(Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.2.2–6, 496 Giangrande
(1956), 83–4, transl. Wright (1921), 523–5).
From a very early date, then, Libanius’ works started circulating on a large
scale. A celebrity during his lifetime, the author himself prepared for posterity,
but did not, of course, have complete control over the publication of his works
or the image people would have of him. Eunapius, on the other hand, tried to
divulge a different image of Libanius. Whilst his bias against the author is not
always fair, the very fact that he nonetheless included him in his survey of
famous sophists proves that even those who did not like him could not get
around him: Libanius, though not uncontested, was incontournable.

8.2 From popularity to paradox

Eunapius’ statement that Libanius’ works were in wide circulation is confirmed
by the huge number of manuscripts that contain them: there are still almost 500
manuscripts in which larger or smaller parts of Libanius’ works can be found.
For the letters alone, for example, Richard Foerster has counted more than two
hundred textual witnesses.11 As a result of this rich manuscript tradition, a
great part of Libanius’ writings have been preserved, and Libanius is amongst
the best conserved ancient authors.
 That many subsequent readers shared Eunapius’ admiration for Libanius’
speeches and letters, and appreciated his declamations and progymnasmata as
well, is clear from explicit comments. The fifth-century abbot Isidore of
Pelusium, for example, states that Libanius is ‘famous among all because of
his eloquence’12, and places him as a ‘classical’ writer of prose on the same
level as the Christian author John Chrysostom. The ninth-century patriarch
Photius calls Libanius the ‘canon and norm of Attic speech’13, highlighting
most of all his rhetorical school writings as useful and singling out the letters
as models worth imitating.14 And the tenth-century poet Johannes Geometres
dedicated to him a famous epigram: ‘Your name, which fits you, Libanius,
wells up from your speeches like drops of honey’15 – ‘drops of honey’ (λιβὰς
μέλιτος) clearly being a (well-meaning) pun on Libanius’ name.
Another sign of the great popularity of Libanius’ oeuvre are the many
imitations. Several imitations of Libanius’ letters will be discussed in Sections
8.3 and 8.4. As far as the Orations are concerned, the Antiochicus (Oration 11),
for example, served as a model both for the ekphrasis of the same city by the
twelfth-century traveller and writer John Phocas16 and for the description of
the Church of the Apostles in Constantinople by his contemporary Nicolaus
Mesarites.17 Again, more than a thousand years after it had been written, the
Monody on Julian (Oration 17) provided the young Bessarion, who later
became an important cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church, with a model for
his monody on the death of the Byzantine emperor Manuel II Palaeologus, who
died in 1425.18 The imitation of Libanius in a speech concerning Manuel II
may have been particularly apt, as the emperor himself, who was highly
educated and literate, emulated Libanius as a writer of declamations: he wrote a
speech purportedly made by the Trojan Antenor, and conceived as a response
to Libanius’ Declamation 4, the Embassy speech of Odysseus to the Trojans
concerning Helen. By imitating Libanius’ declamations in his own speech, the
emperor not only revealed himself to have an intimate knowledge of Libanius,
but also placed himself in a long line of Libanius-reception.19 Two centuries
earlier, for example, the Constantinopolitan patriarch Gregory II of Cyprus
had already composed responses (Antilogiai) to Libanius’ Declamations 13
and [34].20 Going back another two centuries, the monk and rhetor John
Doxapatres made use of Libanius’ declamations in his commentaries on the
rhetorical textbooks by Hermogenes, and he also referred to some
declamations that are no longer extant.21 But the most famous imitations of
Libanius’ declamations are probably by Choricius, one of the main
representatives of the important sixth-century rhetorical school at Gaza:
Choricius used Libanius’ Declamation 11 (Cimon Asks to Be Imprisoned
instead of His Father) as a model for his own Declamation 4 (Miltiades).22 For
his Declamation 6 (The Miserly Old Man) Choricius had several Libanian
models on which he could (and did) draw, namely the famous Declamation 26
(Complaint of a Morose Man about his Talkative Wife: the speaker, unable to
stand his garrulous wife any longer, gives himself up to justice in order to be
condemned to death), Declamation 31 (A Miser’s Demand for Execution: the
speaker is in despair, because for finding a treasure he has to pay his city a
larger sum of money than the treasure is actually worth) and Declamation 33
(The Disowning of a Son who Asked for an Olive Crown: a miser has
disinherited his son, because after a glorious deed in war he asked his city only
for an immaterial reward). Likewise Choricius’ Declamation 9 (The Child-
Killer) has two Libanian models: Declamation 42 (Defence of a Father Having
Killed his Child: the speaker has to defend himself, because he killed his son in
order to save him from the concupiscence of a foreign tyrant) and
Declamation 46 (Defence of the Disowned Son: a father disinherits his son,
because he refuses to remarry after the death of his beloved first wife). Just
like the letters, the orations and the declamations, Libanius’ progymnasmata
found imitators too. In the twelfth century, for example, the historiographer
John Cinnamus imitated the eleventh ethopoiia in the first part of an ethopoiia
entitled What speech would a painter have made, if he tried to paint Apollo on a
board of bay-wood and the board did not let him do it?23 Notwithstanding
Eunapius’ sneering remarks, then, Libanius’ rhetorical school writings
provided powerful models for subsequent writers.24
At first sight, Libanius’ great popularity in Late Antiquity and Byzantium
may seem logical: after all, Libanius had studied the classics extremely
thoroughly, wrote a beautiful Atticizing Greek, and, as will be shown in detail
in Chapter 11, frequently and creatively plays with the full range of preceding
Greek literature. Yet it should not be forgotten that – with the exception of
Eunapius – all of Libanius’ admirers were Christians.25 The responses of
Christian authors to classical and classicizing literature were, of course, varied
in nature: by no means did all Christians unconditionally reject the Greek
literary tradition. But Libanius was a special case: a steadfast follower of the
traditional pagan cults, he felt himself in agreement, to a large extent, with the
emperor Julian and his policies of reinstating these cults into their former
position and prominence.26 Moreover, he kept up his loyalty and veneration
for this last pagan emperor for a long time after Julian’s death.27 Christian
authors clearly perceived Libanius’ unequivocal position in matters of religion
both during his lifetime and after it. Thus the fifth-century Church Historians
Socrates and Sozomen very explicitly point out the close relationship between
Libanius and Julian:28 Socrates draws attention to their early connections
(Church History 3.1.13–15), closely and critically scrutinizes Libanius’
Epitaphios on Julian, and most of all comments on the passages in which
Libanius expresses his appreciation of Julian’s anti-Christian work Contra
Galilaeos (Church History 3.22.10–23.11, 40–4, 48, 59, 61). Sozomen, too,
characterizes Libanius as a close confidant and friend of Julian (Church
History 6.1.14), and in Church History 6.1.15–6 quotes verbatim from
Libanius’ Funeral Oration in Honour of Julian (the so-called Epitaphios)
Libanius’ insinuation that Julian might have been killed by a Christian (Oration
18.274–5): what is more, Sozomen explicitly subscribes to this suggestion in
Church History 6.2.1!
In the light of Libanius’ unequivocally pagan position and its just as clear
perception by Christians, then, Libanius’ immense popularity in Late Antiquity
and Byzantium becomes, in a sense, a paradox: how could Christian authors
justify an admiration that often verged on veneration for an author who had
been so close to one of the Church’s worst enemies ever?

8.3 From paradox to miracle

In his famous ninth-century characterization of Libanius as the ‘canon and
norm of Attic speech’29 that was already mentioned above, Photius breathes
not a word about the author ’s deep-seated pagan beliefs or his idealization of
Julian the Apostate. At first sight, it may be tempting to read this silence as a
sign that Libanius’ religious and political allegiances had been forgotten, or at
least no longer mattered for a Byzantine intellectual like Photius. Considering
the intervening centuries, however, it becomes clear that quite the opposite is
true: the reason why Photius and other Byzantine authors had no problems
whatsoever in according Libanius pride of place amongst ancient writers is
that Libanius was, in a sense, no longer a pagan. The story of what can be
called Libanius’ conversion is, in fact, one of the most astonishing
transformations in the history of ancient literature.
In the beginning was (in all probability) a letter. Or rather, three letters,
handed down in two different collections: amongst the collection of Libanius’
letters, two are addressed to ‘Basil’, whilst one of the Church father Gregory
of Nazianzus’ letters is addressed to ‘Libanius the sophist’30. In both cases, the
identity of the addressee is unsure: nothing in Libanius’ letters to ‘Basil’
betrays that the addressee would be Basil the Great, bishop of Caesarea, and the
Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (PLRE) lists at least one other
fourth-century rhetor called Libanius.31 Whilst nothing thus guarantees an
epistolary connection between Libanius and two contemporary fathers of the
Eastern Church, the letters were inevitably taken to refer to three of the most
famous men of their times, who could therefore henceforth be linked. Building
on these and other famous letters – notably several letters of yet another Father
of the Eastern Church, Gregory of Nyssa – a group of letters started to
circulate perhaps as early as the fifth century that purported to be a genuine
correspondence between Libanius and Basil the Great. The oldest sources for it
are manuscripts containing the works of Basil,32 and until recent times at least
parts of it have been believed to be authentic.33 However, the intentions of the
forger(s) of these letters are all too plain:34 on the one hand their purpose is to
document the close bonds existing between the two writers, who both are
prominent representatives of their respective cultural and religious milieus; on
the other hand, and even more importantly, they are to demonstrate that Basil is
the better of the two and that Libanius acknowledges this – implying that the
greatest non-Christian representative of traditional Greek rhetoric and paideia
admits and recognizes the superiority of the rhetoric as well as the ‘ideology’
represented by Basil.35
Perhaps taking their clue from some or all of these letters written by or
ascribed to Libanius, Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of Nyssa, the
church historians Socrates and Sozomen, both writing before 450, present
Libanius as the most important teacher of the most important men of the
Eastern Church: Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus and Theodorus of Mopsuestia
would all have been taught by Libanius in Antioch.36 Libanius’ most famous
pupil, however, was reckoned to be John Chrysostom,37 the famous Christian
preacher of Antioch in the 380s and 390s and later patriarch of
Constantinople. According to Sozomen (Church History 8.2.2), Libanius
himself acknowledged John to be his best pupil: ‘When he [Libanius] lay on his
deathbed and his friends asked him, who should take his place, he allegedly
said: “John, if the Christians had not snatched him away!”’ Surely this beautiful
scene never took place in real life, but the anecdote was to enjoy widespread
circulation in later texts up to the thirteenth century.38 Moreover, it is important
to remember that it cannot be excluded that John really was Libanius’ pupil at
some point, although this has recently been vehemently contested.39 In the cases
of Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus and Theodorus of Mopsuestia, on the other
hand, it is very doubtful that they ever were pupils of Libanius. If they really
were, then definitely not in Antioch, as Socrates and Sozomen wrongly claim.
What matters, however, is the remarkable fact that a mere two generations after
Libanius’ death, serious Christian historians could entertain the notion that
Libanius had taught the greatest thinkers of Eastern Christianity.
These, however, were only the first major steps in the process of drawing
Libanius deeper and deeper into the Christian cosmos. Indeed, the forged
epistolary exchange between Libanius and Basil may also have been the point
of origin for a pious legend according to which Libanius would become a
Christian himself thanks to his association with Basil. The first source to
mention Libanius’ conversion is the Life of Basil, a biography of Basil
allegedly written by Amphilochius, who was bishop of Iconium from 374 to
about 395 and who had, in fact, been a pupil of Libanius. The Life of Basil
contains so many factual errors, not least concerning the life of Libanius, that
it is well-nigh impossible that the historic Amphilochius should have written it.
Thus the date of its composition is very much a matter of guesswork; but it is
not implausible that it might already have been written in fifth-century
Cappadocia.4 0 In the Life of Basil,4 1 we first come across Libanius when Basil
visits him in Antioch and gives a kind of ‘guest lecture’ at his school. Later, we
meet Libanius again when he accompanies the emperor Julian on his
expedition against Persia. After having witnessed the emperor ’s unexpected
death, Libanius seeks out Basil in his episcopal see at Cappadocian Caesarea,
and now something unique happens. ‘When he [i.e. Libanius] heard that the
people had assembled in the church, he went there and made known to them the
most abominable death of the tyrant Julian. Then he threw himself at the feets
of the archbishop [i.e. Basil] and begged to receive from him the “seal in
Christ”; and after he had been blessed with it he henceforth lived together with
Basilius under the same roof … ’4 2
One should think that with Libanius becoming a Christian things really could
not have moved any further, but this conversion was in fact only the beginning
of Libanius’ new life as a Christian. Latin translations of the Life of Basil by
Pseudo-Amphilochius made sure that the story of Libanius’ christening
travelled to the Western half of the former Roman Empire, where it found a
place in the famous and widely disseminated Speculum historiale (14.43f.),
produced by Vincent of Beauvais around the middle of the thirteenth century.
This work, in turn, prepared the ground for the legend of Basil and Libanius to
appear in the Miracles de Nostre Dame par personnages, a series of religious
plays dramatizing legends about miraculous deeds of the Virgin Mary, written
in French vernacular in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.43 One of these
plays presents a remarkable tale About the Emperor Julian, whom Saint
Mercury killed at the behest of Our Lady, and about his seneschal Libanius,
who saw this in a vision, let himself be baptized by Saint Basil and became a
hermit …4 4 As this long title suggests, the text pushes the legend about the
divine punishment of the apostate emperor Julian even further, but centre-
stage, we find nobody else but Libanius. It will therefore be worthwhile to have
a closer look at the play. The story of the first half of the play (vv. 1–710),
although more elaborate and vivid than the descriptions in the Life of Basil, is
already familiar. On his way to Persia, Julian passes by Caesarea and threatens
to destroy the city and kill all its Christian inhabitants after his victorious
return. Basil gathers his flock in the Church, and they pray to the Virgin Mary
for deliverance. Mary comes down from heaven and summons St Mercury,
who rides forth and kills the emperor. The second part of the play (vv. 711–
1140) begins with a deeply shaken Libanius who, in a dream vision, has
witnessed Mary’s intervention and Julian’s killing. As a result, he decides to go
to Caesarea and ask Basil to christen him. Having reported Julian’s death to
Basil and his people in vivid and horrid detail, his baptism is immediately
enacted. This, however, is not enough for him: the last and most astonishing
part of the play (vv. 1141–1588) depicts his quest to acquire the love of the
Virgin Mary. To achieve this, Libanius decides to become a hermit and asks the
Virgin what he must do to see her once again. To test his devotion, Mary asks
for his left eye in return for another vision. Libanius immediately consents,
gets his second vision, and his eye is taken. As his desire for the Virgin is not
yet satisfied, the same procedure is repeated resulting in the loss of his right
eye, too. Still, his desire is not quenched, but even more kindled, and to have
yet another vision he offers to have his hand hacked off. Seeing such great
devotion, Mary finally not only restores his eyes to him, but even offers
Libanius a place in heaven itself: ‘I don’t want you to return to your hermitage,
but to come now with me: I will lead you to sojourn in another place, which I
will give to you. There I will meet you and visit you often, my dear friend’ (vv.
1563–70).4 5 Thus the man who had once been such a vocal advocate of
paganism and friend of Julian comes very close indeed to ascending to the
glory of a Christian saint.4 6
8.4 Rediscovering and (yet again) reinventing
Libanius
With the Speculum historiale and the Miracles de Nostre Dame par
personnages, Libanius made it to the West. Or rather: the West was introduced
to a Christian reinterpretation of Libanius, going back, ultimately, to early
fifth-century ‘testimonies’, forgeries and accounts. It is significant, in this
respect, that the forged epistolary exchange between Libanius and Basil was
amongst the earliest ‘Libanian’ works to become known in the West: translated
into Latin in the course of the fifteenth century4 7 and included in an anthology
of letters of famous men by Aldus Manutius in 1499,4 8 it was the first part of
‘Libanius’’ oeuvre to be committed to print!
During the first half of the fifteenth century, several manuscripts containing
genuine works of Libanius found their way into Italy4 9 – just in time to escape
the destructions following (and, to an extent, preceding) the Ottoman conquest
of Constantinople in 1453. Thus already in 1418, the Italian monk and
geographer Cristoforo Buondelmonti bought a Libanius codex containing
declamations in Crete for Cosimo de’ Medici.50 Two years later, Francesco
Barbaro imported another manuscript, containing, inter alia, letters by
Libanius. In 1427, Francesco Filelfo brought a manuscript with speeches. And
in 1433, the Dominican monk and papal legate John of Ragusa (Ivan
Stojković) bought a manuscript with letters in Constantinople for the library of
his fellow Dominicans. Thanks to these and other acquisitions as well as copies
that were made of them, many bigger libraries in the Latin West possessed one
or more manuscripts of Libanius by the year 1500.
This rediscovery of Libanius went hand in hand with an upsurge in humanist
interest in the author. Perhaps the clearest sign of Libanius’ exceptional
popularity amongst humanists is the composition of several forgeries under
his name. Thus already in 1424, the important humanist Giovanni Aurispa
‘translated’ a version of Lucian’s famous twenty-fifth Dialogue of the Dead that
had allegedly been expanded by Libanius, but the expansion had, in fact, been
composed (and not translated) by Aurispa himself.51 But by far the largest and
most famous accretion of all to ‘Libanius’’ oeuvre – and, indeed, one of the
most massive forgeries ever – is that of the Italian humanist Francesco
Zambeccari (c. 1443– after 1475 52). In the early 1460s, Zambeccari had stayed
in Greece for five years in order to collect the letters of Libanius. Although he
claimed to have found a corpus of more than 1500 letters,53 it was not from
this corpus, but from a select edition54 that he obtained the material for his
‘translations’. The quotation marks are more than justified in this case, because
of the altogether 528 letters which Zambeccari presented in Latin in three
instalments between 1473 and 1475,55 only 109 are real translations,56 whilst
all others were fabricated by Zambeccari himself. Ironically enough, this
massive forgery was again amongst the earliest ‘Libanian’ works to appear in
print: Zambeccari’s ‘translations’ were first published by Johann Sommerfeldt
(Aesticampianus) in the Polish city of Cracow in 1504.57 Until well into the
nineteenth century, the Zambeccari letters would thus be used as ‘authentic’
sources for Libanius’ writing and thinking,58 until Foerster, as we shall see
below, finally unmasked Zambeccari’s bluff.
Forgeries such as Aurispa’s and especially Zambeccari’s powerfully
reinvented Libanius once again. That they thought it worthwhile to do so
confirms the author ’s popularity: it was only because manuscripts of Libanius
were circulating and the author was becoming more and more famous, that it
paid off to produce a forgery under his name. The fact that Aurispa and
Zambeccari could get away with their forgeries shows, however, that the
author and his oeuvre were not very well known as yet. This, of course, had
everything to do with the lack of printed editions and translations: Aurispa, for
example, published his ‘translation’ before any genuine Libanian works had
been translated, whilst Zambeccari’s ‘translations’ were printed before the
genuine Libanian letters. Although a full edition of Libanius would only appear
in the twentieth century and a full translation is still a desideratum even today,
other humanists laid the foundations upon which further work could be built.
The first genuine Libanian works to appear in print were the Hypotheses to
the Speeches of Demosthenes, which Aldus Manutius included in his 1504
edition of the great Athenian orator. Next, in 1517, Soterianos Kapsalis, basing
himself on two manuscripts, published twenty-four declamations, twelve
speeches and a number of progymnasmata.59 The next collective edition was
published by F(r)édéric Morel between 1606 and 1627: based upon more
manuscripts, it contains, in two volumes, 38 of the 64 speeches we know today
as well as several dozens of declamations and progymnasmata.60
Already before the middle of the fifteenth century, humanists also started to
publish the first translations of Libanius into Latin. As is often the case with
translations of Libanius even today, these early translations were highly
selective, and often small-scale: Benedetto Bursa and Lionello Chierigato, for
example, each translated one declamation,61 whereas the eminent humanist
Niccolò Perotti translated Libanius’ Monody on Julian (Oration 17),62 and
some decades later no less a figure than Erasmus von Rotterdam Declamation
3 and two Libanian ethopoiiai.63
Thanks to the publication of translations, Libanius also came to be
appreciated by a wider public. A good example is Declamation 26, the famous
Complaint of a Morose Man about his Talkative Wife, which had already been
praised by ‘Basil’ in the forged epistolary exchange with Libanius and imitated
by Choricius in the sixth century.64 In 1501, Wigand von Salza produced a
Latin translation of this piece, which was reprinted in 1517.65 Such
translations, in turn, inspired the famous seventeenth-century English dramatist
Ben Jonson. In his Volpone, first produced in 1606, Lady Would-Be drives the
title hero into a rage by her incessant talking – a clear but rather general and
limited parallel with Libanius.66 Three years later, Jonson engaged much more
thoroughly with Libanius’ piece: in his play Epicoene, or The Silent Woman, he
virtually transforms Libanius’ declamation into a full-fledged dramatic plot.
Indeed, the main male character of the play, who bears the telling name
‘Morose’, is a rich old man with a pathological aversion to all kinds of noise.
When Morose plans to disinherit his nephew Dauphine, the latter sets in motion
a counter-intrigue: he induces Morose to marry a woman, the ‘Epicoene’ of the
play’s title, who he thinks will be a demure and quiet wife. After the marriage,
however, she turns out to be an all-day chattering and nagging domestic evil.
Whilst the references to the morose man and his talkative wife of Libanius’
Declamation 26 are clear, other elements of this play draw upon further
Libanian declamations. The scheming nephew who is in danger of being
disinherited, for example, may well be inspired by Declamation 27, in which a
cantankerous and grumpy father wants to disinherit his son because he had
laughed when his father slipped and fell.
While we thus find the contents of an authentic declamation of Libanius
transferred to the theatre stage at the beginning of the seventeenth century,
Libanius himself becomes a character within plays that were written at more or
less the same time. Indeed, in the Summa der Tragoedien von Keyser Juliano
dem Abtrünnigen of the Jesuit Jeremias Drexel67, published at Ingolstadt in
1608, Libanius, together with other famous pagans, is introduced as an
instrument of the devil for the corruption of Julian.68 Drexel here clearly uses
the tradition that stresses Libanius’ role as the intimate pagan friend of the
apostate Julian. Another Jesuit play, produced in 1699, on the other hand,
draws on the pious legend originating in Ps-Amphilochius’ Life of Basil (see
above, pp. 168–9): in the fourth scene of the fourth act of this play Libanius
converts to Christianity.69 If these literary fictions go back to later
interpretations – be they negative or positive – of Libanius rather than to the
author ’s own works, it should not be forgotten that they were written in the
seventeenth century. Whilst the forged epistolary exchange between Libanius
and Basil as well as Zambeccari’s extensive forgery had been printed at the end
of the fifteenth and at the very beginning of the sixteenth century respectively,
Libanius’ genuine works were only selectively available in print.
Only in the eighteenth century would this change. In 1738, Johann Christoph
Wolf (1683–1739) published the first comprehensive edition of the letters of
Libanius, accompanied by a Latin translation. On top of the genuine letters, his
edition also included Zambeccari’s forgeries: Wolf noted that no Greek
originals could be found, but acquiesced in the assumption that those originals
might simply have been lost and printed merely Zambeccari’s forgeries.70 The
first (almost) complete edition of the orations and declamations appeared at the
very end of the eighteenth century: published in 1791–7, Johann Jacob Reiske’s
(1716–74) edition contained 63 of the 64 speeches known today71 and 47 of the
51 declamations transmitted under Libanius’ name,72 all accompanied by Latin
translations. In a letter to the great German writer and philosopher Gotthold
Ephraim Lessing, Reiske wrote as follows:

I cannot tell you enough about how highly I esteem this author. In his
delicate and elegant style of letter-writing he reaches Pliny and sometimes
even surpasses him. Among the ancients I know no one else who can
express compliments so civilizedly and graciously. His declamations are
so full of whimsical humour, biting satire and felicitous characterization
(and all this in the veritable language of Demosthenes himself, i.e. in the
most exquisite Greek) that I never cease to be surprised how such a man –
from whom our finer spirits could have learned much or in whom they
could have found at least very ancient models of traits which nowadays
are considered brand-new – could have remained hidden to such an extent
that very many people, who are reasonably familiar with Horace or
Terence or similar phenomena, might almost be frightened by his name.73

Although not as popular as other ancient authors, then, Libanius was present in
the ‘facts’ as well as the ‘fiction’ from the Renaissance to the French
Revolution. Alongside the Christianized Libanius whom the Latin West had
inherited from the Greek East and who was, as it were, confirmed in his
existence through the early Aldine publication of the forged epistolary
exchange between Libanius and Basil as well as through later reenactments and
rewritings of the script, scholars from the Renaissance onwards not only
started to rediscover Libanius through manuscripts, editions and translations of
his own works, but also reinvented him and his works, yet again, through
forgeries and newly developed fictions.

8.5 Libanius reborn as a child of the nineteenth

century
With more or less all of Libanius’ works finally edited, one would have
expected the author, who had, in one form or another, enjoyed great popularity
from his own lifetime onwards, to become an important object of study for
nineteenth-century Altertumswissenschaft. Barring a few exceptions, including
Sievers’ (unfinished) study of Libanius’ life,74 however, this did not happen.
More than Reiske’s enthusiastic letter quoted above, it is Gibbon’s almost
contemporary but much more negative verdict that set the tone for the
scholarly appreciation of Libanius in the nineteenth century: ‘the voluminous
writings of Libanius are the vain and idle compositions of an orator … the
productions of a recluse student, whose mind … was incessantly fixed on the
Trojan war and the Athenian commonwealth’.75 This negative verdict will be
echoed by leading figures of classical scholarship well into the first half of the
twentieth century: Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1848–1931), for
example, says that everything written by Libanius is oppressed by ‘an
atmosphere of bookish dust, a haze of platitudes and boredom’ (‘eine
Atmosphäre von Bücherstaub, Phrasendunst und Langerweile’),76 and Wilhelm
Schmid (1859–1951) states that Libanius ‘is nothing more (nor does he want to
be anything more) but a formal artist of prose speech within the strict confines
of severe classicism’ (‘ist nichts anderes und will nichts anderes sein als
Formkünstler der Prosarede im Sinn des strengen Klassizismus’).77
Whereas Reiske’s enthusiasm had been based on years of careful study of
Libanius’ works, the author ’s negative reception in the nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries may have more to do with contemporary preferences and
prejudices than with the author himself. On the one hand, the nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries are well known to have had a marked preference for
the ‘classical’ periods of Ancient History. Later literature, and especially the
Greek literature written under the Roman Empire, was concomitantly
dismissed for being secondary and weltabgewandt. At the same time, scholars
of the nineteenth and first half of the twentieth centuries tended to have a
disparaging opinion of rhetoric, which they considered idle wordmongering,
if not outright lies or flattery. It is not difficult to understand how studies of
Libanius, a late antique orator, did not thrive in such an environment.
Nevertheless, the early twentieth century bequeathed subsequent generations
of scholars what is perhaps the single most important academic publication on
Libanius: Foerster ’s complete, critical edition of all of Libanius’ works,
published between 1903 and 1927. Based on decades-long preliminary
studies,78 this edition is not only the first to contain all of Libanius’ surviving
works, it is also the first one that decidedly discards Zambeccari’s forgery
from the corpus. Indeed, Foerster convincingly showed that Zambeccari’s
fabrications exhibit so many discrepancies vis-à-vis authentic Libanian texts
that they simply cannot be genuine.79 Whilst Foerster was still working at his
edition, Otto Seeck published a first monograph on the letters of Libanius,
entitled Die Briefe des Libanios, zeitlich geordnet (1906). In this study, Seeck
not only offered a prosopographical survey of Libanius’ correspondents, he
also tried to date Libanius’ letters. Luckily for subsequent generations of
scholars, Foerster had the wisdom not only to include the dates in his edition,
but also nevertheless to print the letters in the manuscript order rather than
reordering them chronologically,80 as Tyrrell and Purser famously – or, as
scholars nowadays see it: ‘infamously’81 – did for Cicero’s letters, for
example.
Foerster ’s magisterial edition, which is unlikely to be replaced in the
foreseeable future, thus delimited the genuine Libanian works and made
available for scholars whatever we have left of the historical Libanius. As a
result, scholars began to study Libanius more carefully. In line with nineteenth-
century Quellenforschung, they first of all examined Libanius’ sources. As will
be shown in Chapter 11, Foerster ’s own list of Libanius’ sources would later be
expanded, detailed, and, to an extent, corrected by A. F. Norman and especially
by Bernard Schouler ’s 1984 two-volume Libanios et la tradition hellénique. At
the same time, scholars also started mining Libanius’ texts for information on
late antique society, and on two aspects of it in particular. First, they followed
up on Seeck in carrying out prosopographical studies. Smaller case studies by
scholars such as Paul Petit culminated in the Prosopography of the Later Roman
Empire (PLRE). The second research topic for which Libanius proved to be a
crucial source was the city of Antioch. After several studies by Downey,
research in this field culminated in Wolfgang Liebeschuetz’ 1972 Antioch: City
and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire. Given the crucial role
of Libanius in what would become some of the most influential instruments
and studies on Late Antiquity, scholars started to appreciate the author
especially as a source of information on late antique society.
Throughout the nineteenth and first half of the twentieth century, Libanius
also continued to inspire non-academic writers. Thus in 1864, Libanius turns
up again as a close friend and confidant of the last pagan Roman emperor
Julian in Friedrich Lübker ’s82 novel Kaiser Julians Kampf und Ende. Eine
Erzählung aus dem vierten christlichen Jahrhundert für die reifere Jugend. In
chapter 3, Libanius talks with Julian about how to bring down Christianity, in
chapter 4 with Bishop Meletius about Christians reading pagan literature, and
in chapter 5 with Julian and the converted Jew Sosicrates about Jewish–
Christian relations – a question of increasing importance in mid-nineteenth-
century Europe. In addition, Libanius himself is the topic of a conversation in
chapter 4, where Anthusa, the mother of John Chrysostom, consults with
Meletius about how to free John from the influence of Libanius.83 At about the
same time, Libanius also appears on the theatre stage again, most famously in
Henrik Ibsen’s Emperor and Galilaean, a ‘world drama in two parts’ written
between 1864 and 1873 which the author repeatedly called his best piece. The
piece, which reflects on core Ibsenian issues such as religion, power and
friendship, stages Julian as a tragic instrument of the ‘will of the world’: his
conversion to paganism, rise to power of a ‘third kingdom’ (after Cain and
Christ), failing religious policies, and eventual murder by a former Christian
friend. Libanius occurs in the first and second acts of the first part, where he
has the role of a strong catalyst: not only is he the teacher Julian longs for in
his thirst to do away with his old religious beliefs, he is also the one who seals
the fate of his pupil’s apostasy by (inadvertently) directing him to the ‘mystic’
Maximus.84
At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Austrian novelist and poet
Marie von Najmájer (1844–1904) wrote the play Kaiser Julian. Ein
Trauerspiel in fünf Akten. Written in the year of her death, it was her last major
work. In it, von Najmájer depicts a Libanius very different from Ibsen’s. The
first scene of the fourth act of this play presents an interesting confrontation
between Libanius and Julian’s mystic mentor Maximus: while Maximus
proudly proclaims that his magical tricks have made Julian the leading force
for the restoration of paganism, Libanius refuses to believe that such ploys will
really revive a religion that he regards as more or less dead: ‘Do you not
experience more and more in Antioch,’ he asks Maximus, ‘that the belief in
gods – which Julian thought was in its last flowering here – is dead?’85 The
second scene is just as interesting: Libanius meets his former pupil Basil (an
after-effect of late antique anecdotes according to which Libanius would have
taught Basil?), and their brief dialogue shows that Libanius is affectionately
disposed to both his pupils Basil and Julian, although they have chosen such
different paths: ‘You were my most beloved pupils in Athens, both of equally
high-flying spirit … O my friends, disciples of Plato – what divides you?’86 In
the third scene, Libanius brings Julian and Basil together for a brief re-union,
but they cannot but acknowledge their deep differences now. All in all, the play
is notable for its sympathetic presentation of both major pagan and Christian
figures, with the exception of the wheedling trickster Maximus.
Libanius also plays a major role in what may be called the most prominent
novelistic treatment of Julian’s life written in the 20 th century: Gore Vidal’s
Julian of 1964. The novel begins with an exchange of letters, dramatically
situated in the year 380, between Libanius and the Neoplatonic philosopher
Priscus, who had been a close confidant of the pagan emperor until his death
on the banks of the Tigris almost twenty years earlier. Libanius asks Priscus to
send him a copy of Julian’s memoirs. On the basis of these memoirs Libanius
wants to publish a biography of the dead emperor, because he has heard that the
new emperor Theodosius, who had come to power in 379, has published an
edict declaring orthodox Christianity the only licit religion for the empire.87
Priscus thinks that Libanius’ publishing project is not a good idea, but he
nevertheless sends Libanius the memoirs. Their text constitutes the main part of
Vidal’s book, but is occasionally enriched by comments of Priscus, which are
commented on in turn by Libanius. But Libanius also independently inserts
comments into the memoirs, and in these additions significant differences
between the two commentators are detectable: in Libanius’ eyes, Priscus has no
sensitivity at all for religious sentiments. Priscus’ description of the Eleusinian
Mysteries, for example, is downright scandalous according to Libanius.
Vidal’s Libanius himself turns out to be a great worshipper of the god Mithras
and thus seems to be nearer to Julian’s religious orientation than seems to have
been the case with the historic Libanius.88 Shortly before Julian’s memoirs
break off in Vidal’s book, Julian pays a particular compliment to Libanius’
stylistic qualities: ‘Listening to him is like being read to from a very long
book, but what a splendid book!’89 The last part of Vidal’s book then focuses
on a ‘war diary’ allegedly kept by Julian until the very evening before his
death. Julian’s death is then described by Priscus. Vidal’s book ends with a
remarkable scene narrated by Libanius, who has addressed a request to the
imperial court, asking permission to publish a biography of Julian that will
contain new material which has recently come to his knowledge. The court,
however, denies his request. Shortly thereafter Libanius, by now very much
harrowed by gout and half-blind, takes part in the funeral of his friend, bishop
(!) Meletius, which takes place in the main Christian church of Antioch. There
he meets his former pupil John Chrysostom, the new preacher of the Church.90
But although John utters remarkably positive and tactful remarks about
Libanius’ idol Julian, the former teacher and the former pupil soon have to
recognize that their respective views of the world are totally irreconcilable.
The book ends with Libanius sitting at home at the end of this day, reading
Plotinus and having to confess to himself that his former world has by now
vanished completely.
No less than before, then, Libanius continued to be, in the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries, both an object of study and a fictional character. Whilst
scholars reconstructed ‘the full Libanius and nothing but Libanius’ – or at least,
those works of his that the intervening centuries had thought worthwhile to
preserve – the fictional reception of Libanius continued to be influenced by
earlier reinterpretations of the author: not only did we encounter a possible
echo of the specific legend according to which famous Christians would have
studied with Libanius, but dramatic and fictional depictions of Libanius in
general continued to focus on Libanius’ pagan beliefs and his friendship with
Julian – exactly the elements that had already been highlighted by late antique
church historians, that had been reelaborated in Byzantium and the medieval
West, and that had been revis(it)ed by generations of dramatists before.
Nevertheless, the nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Libanius was also
very much a child of his time. Indeed, writers now based their works upon a
meticulous, almost positivist study of the sources, including works of Libanius
himself. The image of Libanius as a convert to Christianity and a friend of
Basil faded away in order to allow more room again for Libanius as a pagan
and friend of Julian. At the same time, this religious stance was no longer a
reason for dismissing the author. On the contrary, nineteenth- and early
twentieth-century authors use Libanius’ (and Julian’s) paganism in order to
explore contemporary issues such as the relation between religion and state,
the effects of the clash of different religions, and the impact of political and
religious differences on personal relationships.
8.6 Back to the future
In the previous section, we have discussed Libanius’ appearance in Gore
Vidal’s 1964 novel Julian. As a fictional character, Vidal’s Libanius stands at
what seems to be the end point of a long tradition of reinterpretations of
Libanius. Indeed, after Vidal, Libanius does not seem to have inspired any new
fictional rewritings of his persona. In this respect, it is significant, for example,
that the stage-adaptation of Ibsen’s Emperor and Galilean for the 2011 London
performance – the first performance ever in English – simply left out Libanius.
Whilst this decision may have been inspired primarily by a desire to cut down
drastically the exceptional length of Ibsen’s play, it nevertheless involved a
significant selection: Libanius was left out, whereas Maximus the philosopher
and Gregory of Nazianzus, for example, were not. Libanius, then, no longer
seems to occupy the prominent place he occupied in the minds and writings of
cultured men from his own lifetime well into the twentieth century.
Whilst this contemporary lack of interest for Libanius in wider circles can,
to a large extent, be explained by the dwindling importance of ‘the classics’ in
the postmodern world in general, it is, nevertheless, remarkable in the sense
that it occurs at a point in time when Libanius is being studied more intensively
than ever before. Indeed, in 1965, Norman edited Libanius’ Autobiography with
a translation and commentary. Published barely a year after Gore Vidal’s
novel, Norman’s study stands at the beginning of an important and ever
intensifying line of publications on Libanius. All of Libanius’ progymnasmata
and hypotheses, more than half of his orations and letters, and more than a
third of his declamations are now available in translation.91 At the same time,
the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries have also seen the publication
of a growing number of studies on Libanius and his works. A clear example is
the much-needed biography of the author that was published by Jorit Wintjes in
2005 to replace Sievers’ outdated study.92 Other examples, in addition to an
ever increasing stream of yearly articles, are Hans-Ulrich Wiemer ’s 1994
Libanius und Julian, Raffaella Cribiore’s (2007a) The School of Libanius, and
the essays edited by Odile Lagacherie and Pierre-Louis Malosse in 2011.
Notwithstanding the resulting advances in the accessibility of Libanius’ texts
and our understanding of the author and his oeuvre, though, Libanius often
remains under-represented in wider circles of classicists and ancient historians.
For a long time, the neglect of Libanius could be understood on the basis of
nineteenth-century prejudices against postclassical literature and against
rhetoric. One of the strongest currents in the scholarship of the late twentieth
and early twenty-first centuries, by contrast, is an upsurge in interest precisely
in the non-classical periods of antiquity as well in rhetoric: the booming field
of Late Antiquity has replaced the paradigm of an inevitable decline with one
of a dynamic transformation, and rhetoric is now being taken seriously. As this
volume hopes to show, Libanius himself would definitely benefit from being
included in these vibrant streams of contemporary research: all too often, he is
still being seen, implicitly or explicitly, through Gibbon’s double lens of
inevitable decline and hollow rhetoric. At the same time, however, Libanius
also holds great potential for enriching research in Late Antiquity and ancient
rhetoric by making a bridge between both fields. Indeed, if Libanius offers
unique possibilities for exploring Late Antiquity, it is not in spite of his
rhetoric, but precisely because of it: rather than merely offering bits and pieces
of readily available information, Libanius’ rhetoric shows late antique society
in action. His rhetoric – whether it be in his speeches, letters, or school texts –
embodies tensions and convergences, innovation and tradition, literature and
society. For historians of Late Antiquity, then, taking Libanius’ rhetoric
seriously does not mean that Libanius can no longer yield historical
information, but instead that he will yield a much richer kind of insight. For
students of ancient rhetoric, on the other hand, it means that politically engaged
rhetoric can be traced much longer than is usually assumed.
More than many other ancient authors, then, Libanius requires a reading that
is at once rhetorical and historical. If the preceding chapters have tried to show
the necessity of such a double perspective, the following chapters hope to show
the unique insights that such a reading may yield.

Sections 8.2 to 8.4 and major parts of Section 8.5 of this chapter present a
revised and enlarged version of a chapter on Libanius’ Nachleben in
Nesselrath (2012). Lieve Van Hoof wrote Sections 8.1 and 8.6 as well as part of
Section 8.5, and added further analysis to the intervening sections. The authors
thank the University of Göttingen and its Lichtenberg Kolleg, as well as the
Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, for enabling them to collaborate on this
chapter.

1 Some starting points for the reception of Libanius can also be found on the
website of the Centre Libanios at http://recherche.univ-
montp3.fr/cercam/article.php3?id_article=501 (accessed 6 July 2013).
2 Cf. Chapter 5 above, Section 5.2.

3 Transl. Norman (2000), 188.

4 Transl. Norman (1992b), 131–3. For Libanius’ careful preparations in order

to secure the success of Oration 14, see Van Hoof (2013), 403–4.

5 Cf. Chapter 6 above, Section 6.1.

6 e.g. Orations 1.55, 1.88, 3.17.

7 Oration 15, for example, although purportedly an embassy speech to Julian

on his glorious return from a victorious campaign in Persia, was clearly
reworked after the emperor ’s death. Cf. Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen (2011),
180–1.

8 Liebeschuetz (1972), 22.

9 See above, Sections 1.1, 3.3 and 5.4.

10 This may be one of the main reasons why Eunapius does not mention
Themistius, who was not only Libanius’ greatest rival in rhetoric, but also a
philosopher of considerable standing – but not, alas, of the Neoplatonist
orientation that Eunapius so visibly favours in his work.

11 On the number of manuscripts see Schmid (1924), 999. Moreover,

preceding each single speech (and the other works as well) Foerster has
registered and described the relevant manuscripts in his edition. On the letters,
see Foerster (1876b), 493.

12 Isidore of Pelusium, Letter 2.42.

13 Photius, Library, codex 90, 67b19. Henry (1959–1977).

14 Photius, Library, codex 90, 67b20.

15 See Cramer (1841), 312: Ἡ κλῆσις ἁρμόζουσα, Λιβάνιέ, σοι, / ὥσπερ

λιβὰς μέλιτος ἐκ λόγων ῥέει.

16 The full title of Phocas’ Ekphrasis is Ἔκφρασις ἐν συνόψει τῶν ἀπ’

Ἀντιοχείας μέχρις Ἱεροσολύμων κάστρων καὶ χωρῶν Συρίας, Φοινίκης καὶ
τῶν κατὰ Παλαιστίνην ἁγίων τόπων. On this work see Hunger (1978), 172
and, more recently, Külzer (2003), especially 198–9 and 203–8.

17 See Downey (1957). For his discussion of Nicolaus’ borrowings from

Libanius, see especially note 1 on chapter three, p. 862. On this and many other
traces of the speech in Byzantine authors see Foerster and Münscher (1925),
2544.

18 A translation of this monody can be found in PG 161, 615–20.

19 On the reception of Libanius’ declamations see Russell (1996), 14, 113,

158 and 178.

20 On the inauthenticity of Declamation 34, see Chapter 5 in this volume,

Section 5.3, with further references.

21 See Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2543.

22 See Schouler (2006). A detailed overview of the use of Libanius’

declamations by Choricius is given by Rother (1912), 4–53 (with a summary
on p. 72); see also Russell (1983), 102–5. The closeness of the two authors
may also be demonstrated by the fact that some works of Choricius have been
ascribed to Libanius: see Amato (2009b), 268 n. 36, 280 n. 89, 283 with n. 98,
290, 292 and 295 n. 147.

23 Ποίους ἂν εἶπε λόγους ζωγράφος ζωγραφῶν τὸν Ἀπόλλωνα ἐν δαφνίνῳ

πίνακι, καὶ μὴ συγχωροῦντος τοῦ πίνακος; Cf. Bánhegyi (1943). The
mythological background to this theme is, of course, that a young girl called
Daphne was once pursued by the god Apollo who wanted to make love to her,
and Daphne could preserve her virginity only by being transformed into a bay-
tree (δάφνη). For John’s imitation of Libanius’ eleventh ethopoiia in this text,
see Hunger (1978), 113.

24 Numerous references to Libanius can also be found in lexica such as the

Suda, the Etymologicum Magnum, the Fragmentum Lexici Graeci (ed. G.
Hermann), the Lexicon Syntacticum (ed. L. Massa Positano / M. Arco Magrì),
Lexicon Vindobonense (ed. A. Nauck), the Ecloga nominum et verborum
Atticorum of Thomas Magister, as well as in Eustathius’ commentaries on the
Homeric Iliad and Odyssey (ed. van der Valk (1971–87)). Cf. also Foerster
(1903a), 73 and Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2543.

25 See Schmid (1924), 999.

26 It should be stressed, however, that Libanius did not share all the
philosophical presuppositions underlying Julian’s version of pagan religion.
For more details on Libanius’ religious position, see Chapter 13.

27 See Nesselrath (2012), 54–64 and 74–94.

28 In Theodoret, Libanius appears just once (Church History 3.23), but there,
too, he is depicted as a prominent and familiar friend of Julian whose most
ardent wish is Julian’s final victory over Christianity, but to whom a Christian
pedagogue then foretells Julian’s imminent death.

29 Photius, Library, codex 90, 67b19.

30 Libanius, Letters 501 and 647 and Gregory of Nazianzus, Letter 236. On
these letters, see also Nesselrath (2012), 112–13.

31 PLRE, 507. Cf. Van Hoof (2015).

32 See Foerster and Richtsteig (1927), 205–9.

33 See, e.g., Wintjes (2005), 24 n. 47.

34 See already Markowski (1913) and Foerster (1927), 205; more recently,
see Nesselrath (2010), 351 and Van Hoof (2015).

35 Similarly, several other letters that were added to Libanius’ letter collection
as numbers 1547 to 1551 in Foerster ’s numbering contain unmistakably
monotheistic and sometimes even downright Christian overtones, which the
‘authentic’ Libanius would never have committed to writing. See, e.g., Letter
1547.2: ‘People must pray to God about the things that are to benefit them,
because all our affairs are dependent upon him, and he alone knows what is
beneficial to us’ (Εὔχεσθαι μὲν δεῖ τῷ θεῷ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους περὶ τῶν αὑτοῖς
συμφερόντων, εἰς γὰρ ἐκεῖνον τὰ ἡμέτερα πάντα ἀνήρτηται, καὶ τῶν
ὠφελίμων ἡμῖν αὐτὸς μόνος ἔχει τὴν ἐπιστήμην); 1550.4 ‘as a wise man and
foster-child of the fear of God, bravely bear what has happened and give
thanks to God who provides for everyone’s salvation’ (ὡς οὖν σοφὸς καὶ
θεοσεβείας τρόφιμος ὢν φέρε γενναίως τὸ συμβὰν καὶ εὐχαρίστει τῷ θεῷ
τῷ τῆς ἑκάστου προνοουμένῳ σωτηρίας); 1551.1 ‘God, the good and all-
wise physician of our souls and bodies, brings upon us confiscations,
afflictions, fears, captivities, losses, diseases and various kinds of death, (but
only) to effect in many ways our salvation’ (ὁ ἀγαθὸς καὶ πάνσοφος τῶν
ψυχῶν καὶ σωμάτων ἰατρὸς θεὸς ἐπάγει δημεύσεις <καὶ> θλίψεις καὶ
φόβους καὶ αἰχμαλωσίας καὶ ζημίας καὶ νόσους καὶ θανάτους διαφόρους εἰς
ἡμῶν παντοίαν σωτηρίαν).

36 Socrates, Church History 4.26.6, 6.3.4–5; Sozomen, Church History 6.17.1,

8.2.7.

37 See (again) Socrates, Church History 6.3.1–5; Sozomen, Church History

8.2.5, 7.

38 See Theophanes Confessor, Chronographia p. 75, 28–32 de Boor;

Georgius Monachus, Chronicon p. 593, 16–21 de Boor–Wirth (1904–1978);
Symeon Logothetes, Chronographia p. 105, 20–23 Bekker; Georgius
Cedrenus, Compendium Historiarum I p. 574, 14–17 Bekker; Michael Glycas,
Annales p. 479, 2–6 Bekker.

39 See Malosse (2008). See now, however, Nesselrath (forthcoming).

40 For this conjecture, see Fitzgerald (1981), 552.

41 See Pseudo-Amphilochius, Life of Basil §3, 169D–172A as well as §9,

182B and 183D. The text can be found in Combefis (1644), 155–225; a
bilingual (Greek – German) edition of these excerpts with comments can be
found in Nesselrath (2009).

42 Life of Basil §9, 184AB: εἰσῆλθεν ἐν τῇ πόλει· καὶ μαθὼν τὸ τοῦ λαοῦ
ἄθροισμα ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ, ἐκεῖσε παρεγένετο, ἐπαγγέλλων τὸν ἔχθιστον
θάνατον Ἰουλιανοῦ τοῦ τυράννου· καὶ προσπεσὼν τοῖς γόνασι τοῦ
ἀρχιερέως, ἠξίου δέξασθαι τὴν ἐν Χριστῷ σφραγῖδα, καὶ | (B) ταύτης τυχὼν,
ὁμόστεγoς γέγονε Βασιλείου …

43 On this, see Foerster (1905), 17–19, who also points out that the text in the
Miracle dealing with Libanius may also have as a basis an older, thirteenth-
century French translation of the Latin Life of Basil.

44 The original title is De l’empereur Julien que S. Mercure tua du

conmandement N.D., et Libanius son seneschal qui cela vit en avision, se fist
baptiser a S. Basille et devint hermite. For an edition of this play, see Paris and
Robert (1877), 171–226. Excerpts from this play are cited by the verse
numbering used in this edition.

45 ‘A ton hermitage / Ne vueil je plus que tu retournes. / Mais d’avec moy

venir t’aournes: / En un autre lieu te menray / Demourer, que je te donray; / La
tenray j’avec toi convent; / La te visiteray souvent, / Mon chier ami.’

46 As Foerster (1905, 18–19) put it: ‘So fehlte nicht viel, daß der beredteste
Anwalt des absterbenden Heidentums und verbissenste Gegner des
Christentums ein christlicher Heiliger wurde.’

47 This translation, by John Argyropoulos (1415–87), has unfortunately been

lost. See Foerster (1878), 44 and Breen (1964), 51 with n. 17.

48 The title of the anthology is Epistolae diversorum philosophorum oratorum

rhetorum sex et viginti.

49 See Foerster (1876a), 224 n. 34, Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2545 and
Breen (1964), 50.

50 This is the later Laurentianus 57.21.

51 In earlier numerations, this was Dialogue number 12, in which Alexander

the Great and Hannibal argue which of them is the best military commander.
Cf. Foerster (1876a), 219–25 and Breen (1964), 50 with n. 14.

52 On his life, see Breen (1964), 46–9, 53–60, 62–7 and 75.

53 Foerster (1878), 50 believed this might have been the manuscript Vaticanus
Graecus 83; see also Breen (1964), 50.

54 See Breen (1964), 68–9.

55 Foerster (1878), 39–40, Breen (1964), 61–7.

56 See Foerster (1878), 58–9, 122.

57 They went under the title Libanii graeci declamatoris disertissimi B.

Iohannis Chrysostomi praeceptoris epistolae. When in 1738 Johann Christoph
Wolf published the first comprehensive edition of Libanius’ letters (see below),
he reprinted Sommerfeldt’s edition and enlarged it from two manuscripts
containing Zambeccari’s ‘translations’ (see Foerster (1878), 51).

58 Foerster (1878), 152–4.

59 Kapsalis’ edition goes back to two manuscripts. On the one hand, he based
himself on a fifteenth-century manuscript which he obtained from Arsenios
Apostolides, which contains twenty-four declamations and ten speeches
(Orations 1, 3, 5, 6, 14, 15, 61, 12, 17 and 56), and which in 1710 found its way
into the Herzog August Library at Wolfenbüttel (cf. Foerster (1903a), 64–7).
The two other speeches and the progymnasmata that can also be found in this
editio princeps Kapsalis apparently obtained from another manuscript. See
Foerster (1903a), 66 with n. 1.

60 The first volume was entitled Libanii Sophistae Praeludia Oratoria LXXII.
Declamationes XLV et Dissertationes Morales; later on the three Dissertationes
Morales at the end of the volume will be reckoned among the speeches. The
second volume was entitled Libanii Sophistae Operum Tomus II. Orationes
XXXVI. Quae Historiae Augustae a Constantino Magno usque ad Theodosium M.
eiúsque liberos Impp. arcana hactenus ignorata, ac Iuris prudentiae atque
ἐγκυκλοπαιδείας ἀξιώματα, continent. His accedunt Monodiae, Invectivae,
Ecphrases, novae.

61 Bursa, who became Professor in Ferrara in 1442, translated Declamation

24, in which the young Spartan Archidamus has to defend himself against the
charge that he ventured into politics too early, as the law forbade anyone under
the age of thirty to do so; Chierigato, on the other hand, in 1464 opted for
Declamation 37, in which a rich man has to fend off the accusation that he is
aiming to become tyrant.

62 See Foerster (1878), 43, Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2514, 2516, 2545
and Breen (1964), 50f. Perotti was secretary of Bessarion, archbishop of
Siponto, translator of a number of other Greek authors, and author himself of
one the earliest and most widespread Latin school grammars of the
Renaissance, the Rudimenta Grammatices.
63 See Foerster (1915), 369.

64 On ‘Basil’s’ praise, see above, Chapter 5, Section 5.5.

65 See Foerster (1911), 507–8 and Foerster and Münscher (1925), 2514.

66 Act 3, scene 4.

67 Drexel (1581–1638) was a preacher at the Munich court of the dukes of

Wittelsbach and very popular at that time as a writer of devotional literature.

68 Act 1, scene 10. Further on in the play, Libanius is depicted as a sorcerer,

performing magic rituals in the ‘chapel of the idols’ in order to make spirits
appear. At a later point (act 5, scene 2) Libanius, the ‘pagan philosopher ’ meets
Quirinus, a Christian carpenter and mockingly asks him what ‘the Galilaean’ is
building at the moment – this episode is clearly taken from the one passage of
Theodoret’s Church History in which Libanius appears briefly (see above,
n. 28).

69 See Foerster (1905), 35.

70 See Foerster (1878), 147 and 150–1.

71 Volume I: Orations 1–21; Volume II: Orations 22, 24–8, 30–5, 23, 36–7, 29,
38–48, 50, 49, 51; Volume III: Declamation 1, Orations 52–61, 64,
Declamation 17, Oration 62; among the 47 declamations edited in Volume IV,
there are several which have in the meantime been attributed to Choricius
(Patroclus, The Child-Killer).

72 Libanii Sophistae Orationes et Declamationes. Reiske’s edition was

published posthumously thanks to the efforts of his learned and intelligent wife
Ernestine Christine in 1784 (volume I) and 1791–7 (volumes II–IV).
73 ‘Ich kann Ihnen nicht genug sagen, wie große Stücke ich auf diesen
Autorem halte. In dem feinen und galanten Briefstyl kommt er dem Plinius bey,
ja je zuweilen übertrifft er ihn. Unter den Alten kenne ich keinen, der mit
Wolanstand und grace so Complimente schneiden könne. Seine Deklamationen
stecken so voll drolliger Laune, beissender Satyre und treffender Charaktere
(und das alles in der wahrhaften Sprache des Demosthenes, das ist, in dem
ausgelesensten Griechischen), daß ich mich nicht genug wundern kann, wie ein
Mann, von dem unsere schönen Geister gar vieles hätten lernen, oder bey dem
sie doch wenigstens uralte Muster solcher Züge, die man für nagelneu hält,
hätten finden können, so sehr hat verborgen bleiben können, daß gar viele,
welche doch mit Horaz und Terenz, und was dem ähnlich ist, gar wohl bekannt
sind, vor seinem Namen beinahe erschrecken dürften.’ Quoted from Foerster
(ed.)(1897), 851–2. The letter was written soon after 26 May 1772.

74 As Wintjes (2005), 12 points out, Sievers’ (1811–1866) Das Leben des

Libanios was published posthumously by his son, who gathered together the
material his father had not finalized yet into a great number of appendices.

75 Gibbon (1781=1994), 916–17. The fourth volume of the History of the

Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which discusses Libanius in Chapter
XXIV (pp. 134–7), first appeared in 1781, i.e. before Reiske’s edition saw the
light of day, but after Reiske’s enthusiastic letter to Lessing, which, however,
Gibbon probably did not know. Gibbon would, in fact, never get to see
Reiske’s full edition.

76 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1912), 289.

77 Schmid (1924), 996.

78 It was in 1869 that Rudolf Hercher pointed out to the then twenty-six-year-
old Foerster that a new edition of Libanius’ works was one of the major
desiderata of classical studies; see Groß (2012), 405.

79 See Foerster (1878), 158–225 and Breen (1964), 70–4.

80 See Chapter 7, supra.

81 For the dramatic consequences of this rearrangement, see Beard (2002).

82 Lübker (1811–67) was a classical scholar who would later be awarded an

honorary degree by the Theological Faculty of the University of Göttingen.

83 See Foerster (1905), 63 n. 1.

84 See Foerster (1905), 72–4.

85 ‘Erfährst du nicht immer mehr in Antiochia, daß der Götterglaube tot ist,
den Julian hier noch in seiner letzten Blüte wähnte?’

86 ‘Wart ihr doch meine liebsten Schüler in Athen, beide gleich

hochfliegenden Geistes … O meine Freunde, Schüler Platos – was trennt
euch?’

87 This edict has become known as the Edict Cunctos populos.

88 On Libanius’ religious stance see e.g. Nesselrath (2012), 54–9. See also
below, Chapter 13.

89 Vidal (1972=1964), 343.

90 John Chrysostom in fact was ordained a priest about 386.

91 For a full list of available translations, see the Appendices.

92 In addition to the fact that Sievers had not fully finished his study when he
died (cf. above, n. 74), it also appeared before Foerster ’s standard text edition,
and did not make full use of the letters in order to reconstruct Libanius’ life.
Cf. Wintjes (2005), 12.
Part III Contexts: identity, society,
tradition
 Chapter 9 Emperors and empire in Libanius
Hans-Ulrich Wiemer

9.1 Introduction
Libanius’ long and fairly successful career both as an orator and as an
instructor began in 340 when the memory of Constantine the Great was still
fresh, and lasted into the final years of Theodosius the Great, coming to a
close around 393.1 During this half-century he was subject to no less than six
emperors ruling in the Eastern part of the Roman Empire in which he was born
and lived: Constantius II (337–61), Gallus (353–5), Julian (361–3), Jovian
(363–4), Valens (364–78) and Theodosius I (379–95). During Julian’s sole
reign Libanius acquired a position of influence at court that he had never
enjoyed before and was never to enjoy again after Julian’s death. Throughout
his career, however, Libanius tried to win the favour of the powerful –
provincial governors, vicars and prefects, high officials at court, generals and
emperors – and after the accession of Theodosius he even composed a whole
series of speeches formally addressed to the reigning emperor. To reconstruct
Libanius’ relations with the emperors to whom he was subject is thus one of the
main aims of this chapter: how did a confessed pagan manage to obtain and
hold a salaried professorship of rhetoric despite the fact that his religion was
out of favour with the reigning emperors?
There is, however, another dimension to the subject. Libanius was not only
constantly trying to win the favour of the emperor and his functionaries on
whom his success as a sophist ultimately depended. In dozens of speeches and
hundreds of letters he directly or indirectly refers to the emperor himself;
several of these speeches even have an emperor as their subject and/or
addressee. Some are imperial panegyrics, others belong to the genre of
symbouleutic oratory, drawing the emperor ’s attention to practices that
Libanius thought needed correction. Although none of these texts gives
anything like a systematic account of the emperor as an institution or the
empire as an administrative structure, it is possible to deduce from them some
basic and recurrent ideas about what kind of behaviour Libanius expected from
a good emperor, be he pagan or Christian. Libanius’ speeches and letters also
contain highly personal comments on how the Roman Empire actually was
governed by the emperor and his functionaries at all levels. In the studies
referred to above, and in many others, these passages have been cited as
evidence for particular patterns of social behaviour that can be equated with
historical reality. Here, however, they will be read as expressions of a
distinctive vision of what the empire is and how the imperial administration
works, or rather, should work. To sketch the contours of what might be called
the ‘Roman Empire of Libanius’ will thus be the other main aim of this chapter.

9.2 Libanius and his emperors

One of the crucial facts about Libanius’ life is that most of the evidence for it is
provided by the sophist himself.2 As Part I of this volume has emphasized, we
thus have to take into account the manifold self-representations that the sophist
was creating for himself. First of all, as with all rhetorical texts, every
statement can only be properly assessed if it is interpreted within the context of
the speech in which it is made and compared to other statements relating to the
same issue but made in other contexts: rhetoric does not aim at presenting the
facts fully and impartially, but uses them selectively to impress certain views
on the audience. Secondly, the more than 1500 letters from the years 355–65
and 388–93 give access to aspects of Libanius’ activity that are distorted or
concealed in the speeches because the letters furnish strictly contemporary and
direct evidence on the networks of patronage that Libanius was trying to build
and maintain. Thirdly, our general knowledge of late Roman society allows us
to define patterns of behaviour for particular groups of persons, for sophists
and members of the curial class, for provincial governors and praetorian
prefects, for high officials at court and even for emperors. This often allows
us to put Libanius’ statements in a historical context that for some reason he
either omits entirely or depicts in a partial way.
The main dilemma of Libanius’ public life was created by the Constantinian
revolution: how to succeed in a profession that was public by its very nature as
the unconverted adherent of a religion whose practice was at best tolerated by
the emperor and, as time went on, became more and more restricted?3 When
Libanius was born in 314 this dilemma had not yet existed, as in Antioch the
last persecution of the Christians had only come to an end the year before.
When in 324, however, Constantine defeated Licinius and thus became sole
emperor of the Roman East, the urban elites in Antioch and elsewhere had to
learn quickly that the traditional cults so closely connected with their public
roles would no longer be sponsored by imperial subsidies and that being one
of their priests would no longer be rewarded with privileges. Although
Constantine did not bar pagans from his court or from the imperial
administration, he made it clear that he wished all his subjects to share his
religious convictions.4 Devotion to the ancestral gods thereby became a
liability if one wanted to make a career in the emperor ’s service or to enlist his
support in defending one’s status against rivals and enemies. Many members of
the urban elites were prepared to pay this price, and they continued to do so
well into Theodosius’ reign. Until the late 380s, imperial legislation did not
impose a total ban on all forms of worship that together made up the old
religion, and there was no systematic attempt to bring about conversion to
Christianity by force. Even under Theodosius, pagans were still prominent at
court and appointed to high office. At the local level much depended on the
degree to which the urban elites were determined to keep their ranks closed
despite religious differences. In many cities of the Eastern provinces the
worship of the old gods continued in some way or other. In the late 380s,
however, Theodosius increasingly gave way to the pressure of those radical
Christians who believed that it was high time the emperor ordered their
sanctuaries to be closed or destroyed.5

9.2.1 Constantius and Gallus

Libanius, born in 314, was in his early twenties when in 337 Constantius
succeeded Constantine as ruler of the Roman East. Like his father, Constantius
supported Christianity with generous donations, acting as benevolent protector
of the Christian church. Having defeated Magnentius (353) and thus become
master of the Western part of the empire, he began to pass legislation
forbidding any form of worshipping the gods.6 It was under this emperor that
Libanius started on a career as an orator. He had left his home town, Antioch in
Syria,7 in 336 to carry on his studies of Greek rhetoric in Athens where he
stayed for four years, until he moved on to Constantine’s foundation at the
Bosporus in 340. Here, in a city claiming to be the New Rome and growing at
the expense of Greek cities that had until then felt to be second only to Rome
on the Tiber,8 Libanius first began teaching; within a couple of months he had
more than 80 pupils. He did not, however, become appointed to one of the two
imperial chairs of rhetoric; his school was a private establishment financed by
fees charged on his pupils (Oration 1.37). When being investigated for magic
and slandered as a pederast,9 Libanius accepted without hesitation an invitation
by the city council of Nicaea to take up a salaried professorship of Greek
rhetoric in their city (Oration 1.48). Soon afterwards he moved on to
Nicomedia where he spent five years that in retrospect he counted as being
among the most happy times of his life (344–9). In Nicomedia, Libanius was
highly respected as the holder of the public chair of rhetoric and attracted
pupils from far away provinces; while attacked by professional rivals he made
friends with prominent members of the local elites and won admirers among
the imperial functionaries responsible for this part of the empire. In 348, or so
it seems, a governor or vicar prompted him to compose a panegyric on the
emperors Constantius and Constans that after oral delivery was distributed in
written form. In this speech, Libanius proved himself to be a loyal subject of
the reigning emperors, heaping praise on their life and deeds. At the same
time, however, he refrained from passing any comment on the emperor ’s
commitment to Christianity, thus keeping his distance from the religion
Constantine and his sons promoted.10
Although Libanius enjoyed living in Nicomedia, he returned to
Constantinople in 349, when he was summoned by the emperor himself. This
time, however, Libanius was to get one of the two chairs that were salaried out
of imperial funds; he thus rose to a position of considerable wealth and social
standing.11 Although Libanius spent some five years in Constantinople (349–
54, interrupted in 353), he is unlikely ever to have met Constantius in person
as during these years the emperor was most of the time far away from the city.
Libanius felt uncomfortable in the New Rome, which, in his view now, was
home to uncouth upstarts and debauched opportunists, and began to think about
ways of returning home to Antioch. The obstacles to this ambitious plan were
high: Libanius could not leave his position in Constantinople without
Constantius’ approval and he had to oust Zenobius, his old teacher, who held
the Antiochene chair of rhetoric that he hoped to gain for himself. After much
manoeuvring, Libanius managed to achieve his aim, being appointed as
official sophist of the city of Antioch. He even contrived to have the imperial
salary that he drew as a professor in Constantinople transferred to his new
position in Antioch12 as Constantius, although at first opposed to Libanius’
moving to Antioch, finally consented to an already accomplished fact.
To escape from Constantinople was one thing, to establish oneself in
Antioch another. When Libanius in 354 came back to his home town for the
second time, the city was in turmoil and Gallus, a half-brother of Julian who
had newly been appointed Caesar (second-rank emperor) for the Eastern
provinces, accused the city council of disloyalty; also among the accused was
Libanius’ old teacher Zenobius. The details are unclear, but we know that the
councillors had to spend a night in jail and that some were sentenced to death.13
As Libanius could not afford to oppose either the city council or the emperor,
he had to walk a tightrope and in this he succeeded brilliantly. On the one hand,
he paid a visit to his imprisoned compatriots, on the other, he accepted an
invitation to deliver a speech in praise of Gallus and on this occasion even put
in a good word for Zenobius. Gallus was pleased with the sophist’s
performance and treated him respectfully on later occasions, too, refusing to
accept an accusation of treason brought up against Libanius and honouring
him with personal words of farewell on leaving the city in the autumn of 354
(Oration 1.98–100). Gallus’ days, however, were counted by then, as he had
fallen from favour with Constantius; on his way to the latter ’s court he was
taken into custody and finally executed before the year 354 came to a close.
Antioch was not to be visited again by an emperor until December 360.
Libanius, on the other hand, did not leave his home town again after 354.
Between 354 and 360, therefore, the city in which he lived was remote from
the mobile centre of power. By letter, however, Libanius entertained fairly
good relations with several high officials at Constantius’ court, which, in these
years, was moving to and fro between Sirmium and Milan, with Anatolius, the
Praetorian Prefect of Illyricum being the most influential among the sophist’s
correspondents.14 In the winter of 358/9 Libanius was even invited to come to
court himself and deliver a speech of praise on Constantius. The sophist
excused himself with his bad health, but promised to honour the emperor with
a speech as soon as he would come to Antioch. Even further away from
Antioch than Constantius was Julian, a half-brother of Gallus, who was made
emperor (with the rank of Caesar) in November 355 and then sent to Gaul to
fight off barbarian incursions into the westernmost parts of the empire.
Libanius knew Julian from the time when he was teaching in Nicomedia and
had later on exchanged letters with him; his accession may thus have
encouraged hopes for a brighter future as Constantius was still without an heir
to the throne. It seems unlikely, however, that the sophist was privy to the small
circle of those who knew about Julian’s secret conversion to paganism or that
he was prepared to risk his life in treasonable activities for the benefit of a
distant ruler of unknowable intentions.15 Libanius was highly dependent on
being known to enjoy the favour of Constantius and his functionaries to whom
he owed not only his salaries, but also his personal security as it lay within
their discretion whether or not to accept the accusations of magic and treason
that throughout his life were raised against him by rivals and enemies.16
Furthermore, he would have forfeited the capacity to act as a patron for his
friends and pupils if his devotion to the reigning Augustus were cast into
serious doubt. A sophist could not afford to be unloyal to the emperor.
Constantius did eventually come to Antioch in late 360, but by this time the
political situation had changed completely: Julian had risen in rebellion against
Constantius, and a civil war must have seemed unavoidable. It seems clear that
in this conflict Libanius’ sympathies lay with Julian. Although he took care not
to give any grounds for suspicion, he was out of favour with Constantius’
court. The panegyric promised in 358/9 was never delivered, and the doors of
the imperial palace remained closed to Libanius. What was even worse:
Helpidius, the new Praetorian Perfect of the East, cut the salary that Libanius
drew from the imperial treasury.17 When in November 361 news reached
Antioch that Constantius had suddenly died before his army had come to blows
with Julian’s, Libanius could claim more persuasively than many others that he
had always been on Julian’s side.

9.2.2 Julian
When Libanius in 374 looked back on his life – he was 60 years old at the time
– he depicted the short sole reign of Julian as the high-point of his life. After
several blows of fate that had hit his personal life after the return to Antioch, he
had resumed hope when Julian

restored to popularity, as though from exile, the things that had fallen out
of favour. I laughed and danced, joyfully composed and delivered my
orations, for the altars received their blood offerings, smoke carried the
savour of burnt sacrifice up to heaven, the gods were honoured with their
festivals which only a few old men were left to remember, the art of
prophecy came again into its own, that of oratory to be admired; Romans
plucked up heart, and barbarians were either vanquished or soon to be so.
(Oration 1.118–19, transl. Norman (1992a), 185)

Even though in retrospect Libanius chose to ignore that it had taken him
several months to get access to the inner circle of Julian’s close friends,18 his
enthusiasm for Julian was sincere. It goes without saying that this relationship
was not entirely disinterested even if the only material benefit Libanius reaped
from it was the restoration of his imperial salary. But there were other ways
for a sophist to profit from being close to the reigning emperor: he was a
welcome guest to the imperial palace during the eight months when Julian
resided in Antioch. The emperor was wont to address him as his ‘companion’
(hetairos) or ‘friend’ (philos) in speech and writing and expressed his high
esteem for him in many other ways, too. Libanius, on the other hand, made
sure that word got around as to how the emperor was disposed towards him.19
When by a clever plea (Oration 14) he succeeded in obtaining for
Aristophanes, an old friend who was compromised by his having served as an
agens in rebus for Constantius, a lucrative position in the imperial
administration, he published the speech together with the letter that Julian wrote
to ask Libanius for a suggestion as to which office should be conferred on
Aristophanes.20 This was not the only occasion when Libanius intervened with
Julian in the interests of friends and clients, even though not always
successfully. Above all, he was commissioned to deliver on 1 January 363
before a hand-picked audience assembled for the celebration of Julian’s fourth
consulate a panegyric on the emperor (Oration 12) in which he set out the
official line of imperial policy.21 The imperial favour that Libanius was seen
to enjoy raised him high above the local elites and made it possible for him to
act as a mediator when the emperor and the Antiochenes clashed. Julian was
disappointed about the lack of enthusiasm shown by the Antiochenes for
restoring the cults of the gods, and he was firmly convinced that the famous
temple of Apollo in the suburb of Daphne had been put on fire by Christians.
Libanius belonged to a committee of three men that was commissioned to
investigate the case but did not find anyone guilty of arson,22 and he defended
the city councillors when they were accused of sabotaging the enforcement of
maximum prices that the emperor had ordained during a food crisis. Libanius
proved unable to prevent the emperor from withdrawing his favour from the
city after he had been publicly lampooned during the boisterous New Year
revelries,23 but he was the only Antiochene to be excluded from the sentence of
condemnation that Julian passed on the city’s inhabitants in his Misopogon and
he continued to be highly esteemed by the emperor. All hope of being able to
placate the emperor who had left the city in anger on 5 March 363 therefore
rested on Libanius, who set to work immediately composing a plea for his
home town (Oration 15) that he planned to deliver on the emperor ’s return
from the Persian campaign. At the same time, however, he wrote a speech that
was addressed to the councillors of Antioch advising them to show regret at
what had happened and to support Julian’s policies without any reservation
(Oration 16).24
Although Libanius benefited from being close to Julian, he did not
significantly enrich himself. He even refrained from accepting an honorary
office that would have made him equal in rank to members of the imperial
elites.25 He was anxious not to be regarded as an obsequious flatterer of the
emperor and preferred to play the role of an independent advisor. There is no
doubt that the admiration Libanius felt for Julian was based on shared beliefs in
areas of fundamental importance for the sophist. For him, Julian was the
emperor who would revive the hiera, the cultic worship of the gods, restore
Greek education (logoi) to its former glory and cause the cities to prosper
again. Despite this fundamental agreement, however, there were differences of
opinion mostly with regard to the ways of achieving these shared aims.
Libanius was opposed to coercion as a means of fostering the pagan cause, and
he withheld praise for the so-called school law that banished Christians from
teaching Greek literature. As Julian had threatened never to visit Antioch again,
the sophist’s future standing at the imperial court depended on whether he
would be able to persuade Julian to reconsider his decision. The outcome
could not be foreseen at the time.

9.2.3 Jovian and Valens

Julian’s death on 26 June 363 robbed Libanius of great expectations and
plunged him into deep despair. Christians rejoiced at the death of the ‘Apostate’
who had been smitten by God’s just retribution, and in Antioch the exultation
was particularly loud. Libanius was exposed to hostilities and barely escaped
an assault on his life instigated by people believing that Libanius had harmed
their interests while Julian was alive. Libanius, however, refused to be
intimidated, being convinced that it was his personal duty to defend the
memory of the dead Julian. In spring 364 he composed a speech of lament on
Julian (Oration 17);26 in the summer of 365, at the earliest, he completed a
panegyrical biography of the emperor in the guise of a funeral speech.27
Julian’s army had elected a Christian to be Julian’s successor, a senior army
officer (protector domesticus) named Jovian, who came to Antioch in autumn
363. Libanius despised him secretly, but nevertheless tried to elicit a personal
favour from him because he had an eight-year-old son who had been born of a
woman of unfree status and thus was legally barred from inheriting his father ’s
fortune.28 For this reason, the only way for Libanius to confer his fortune on
the only male offspring he had was to obtain an imperial privilege. Julian had
promised to grant such a privilege, but he had died before he could keep his
word. When Libanius now made the same request to Jovian, he was told to be
content to wait.29 Libanius believed he knew the reason why – his mourning
Julian – and he was convinced that he owed it to the advocacy of a courtier that
Jovian let him live (Oration 1.138). To Libanius it must have been good news
when Jovian announced that he would leave Antioch and go to Constantinople;
on the way there, the emperor died on 17 February 364.
Jovian’s successor in the East was Valens, a former protector domesticus and
a Christian like Jovian, and on top of that, a Pannonian unable to understand
Greek. As Valens was campaigning on the Danube during the first years of his
reign, he often resided in Constantinople. He gladly availed himself of
Themistius, an old friend and rival of Libanius, to act as a kind of spokesman
in his dealings with the senators of the New Rome. Under these circumstances,
Libanius was unlikely to wield much influence at the imperial court. The
constellation changed in autumn 371, however, when Valens came to Antioch,
where he was to spend every winter until 378: from then on a personal
encounter was possible, if not inevitable.30 In fact, Libanius was among the
crowd that greeted the emperor ’s entry into Antioch on 10 November 371. A
few days later he was invited to deliver a panegyric on Valens in the presence
of emperor and court. Its reception, however, was disappointing, since delivery
of the second part of the speech was first postponed on the grounds that the
emperor was short of time and finally cancelled altogether (Oration 1.144). As
already discussed in Chapter 1, this failure is played down in the first part of
Libanius’ Autobiography that was written in 374 for a wider audience, as the
sophist had no interest in depicting himself publicly as a persona non grata at
the imperial court. For this reason he even asserts that Valens had taken over a
law of his brother Valentinian that allowed illegitimate sons under certain
conditions to inherit from their natural fathers only because he wanted to do
Libanius a favour (Oration 1.145). In the later additions to his Autobiography,
the sophist could afford to be more frank: here he made no effort to conceal
that relations with Valens and his court were strained.31 Libanius felt persecuted
and surmised that the emperor was desperately searching for a way of
convicting him of treason; had it not been for a concatenation of accidents, the
sophist would not have survived (Oration 1.171–181). Although some of the
imperial functionaries who resided in Antioch in the 370s treated Libanius with
respect, many others made life difficult for him (Oration 1.156–70). It seems
symptomatic that Valens invited Themistius to come to Antioch for the task of
announcing a new, tolerant line of religious policy.32 Libanius presumably
breathed a sigh of relief when Valens left Antioch in March 378 to lead his
army to Thrace, where Gothic warrior groups had been wreaking havoc for
some time. Fighting them, the emperor died on 9 August 378.

9.2.4 Theodosius I
Valens was the last Roman emperor ever to be met by Libanius. As his
successor, the Spaniard Theodosius, never came to Antioch, the sophist never
got the chance to address him personally.33 Nevertheless, Libanius was not
unknown to Theodosius. Libanius himself testifies to the emperor ’s repeatedly
having attended to matters that were of great concern to the sophist, and to his
having taken decisions in his favour. The most important decision was taken
soon after Theodosius had become emperor of the Eastern provinces on 19
January 379. Libanius relates in his Autobiography that the city council of
Antioch in 381/382 requested of Theodosius that he permit Libanius to confer
his property on his son Cimon – the law issued by Valentinian and taken over
by Valens had evidently been rescinded in the meantime. According to
Libanius, the matter was debated in the imperial council (consistorium), before
the emperor granted the desired privilege:

Our city council approached our good emperor and, with the backing and
favour of some of his friends, the one enthroned consented to bestow the
favour and the legality of the grant was upheld. The law which caused me
the greatest worry was rescinded and my property will go to my son
without let or hindrance and will remain firmly in his possession. Happy
indeed is such a man who departs his life with such an assurance.
(Oration 1.196, transl. Norman (1992a), 259)34

Libanius, who for many years had vainly striven for his only son’s future
material security, was deeply grateful for the honour awarded by this decision,
to which he refers in several other passages, too.35 In one of them, he explicitly
calls it the greatest ‘honour ’ (timē) that Theodosius had ever bestowed on him.
His testimony runs contrary to the view of many modern scholars according to
which Libanius received from Theodosius the rank of honorary Praetorian
Prefect. As honorary Praetorian Prefects held the highest rank bestowed in this
period, that of illustris, this rise in rank would have allowed Libanius to pull
rank on the local elites, putting him on a par with the highest functionaries of
the emperor.36
This far-reaching hypothesis should, however, be abandoned as the evidence
adduced for it on close inspection turns out to be simply non-existent. Libanius
only once in all of his voluminous writings refers to an office being offered to
him by an emperor whose name is not stated (Oration 2.7–8). Even if the
emperor in question really were Theodosius – which is unlikely as the speech
in which the statement is made was written within a year of Theodosius’
accession (380/381) – the text is explicit in saying that Libanius refused to
accept the offer. Eunapius, on the other hand, who is often cited as giving
support to the idea that Libanius held the rank of former imperial functionary
(honoratus) seems to elaborate on precisely this passage of Libanius when in
his short and inaccurate biography of Libanius he asserts that Libanius
declined an honorary Prefecture offered by Julian’s successors.37 But even if
in this passage Eunapius were not dependent on Libanius but on other sources,
the passage would obviously say the exact opposite of what it is made to prove.
There is thus no justification whatsoever to suggest that passages about an
unspecified honour bestowed on Libanius by Theodosius would refer to the
award of a Praetorian Prefecture, which is nowhere unequivocally attested.
It follows from this that Libanius’ social status never rested on high rank
bestowed by the emperor. Rather, it was based on his position as holder of the
public chair of rhetoric in one of the greatest cities of the empire and on the
reputation that he had gained by his successes as an instructor and as an orator
far beyond the confines of his home town. Precisely for this reason Libanius
had to struggle again and again to be treated by governors and other imperial
functionaries with the respect that he thought was due to him. A letter from the
emperor could be a useful weapon in this never-ending struggle for respect
and influence. Nevertheless, Libanius’ expectations were often frustrated by
governors coming to Antioch, as he himself vividly attests. Because he was
neither curialis nor honoratus, his relationship with the city council of Antioch
remained ambiguous. On the one hand, he stemmed from a family of curiales
and never tired of stressing the solidarity he felt towards that class. On the
other hand, however, he did not share the burdens that were placed on the
members of the city council because as holder of a public chair he held
immunity from such obligations (munera). Furthermore, he supported friends
and clients as well as his own son in their attempts to free themselves from
these obligations towards the city.38 This ambiguity allowed him a degree of
independence from the local elites that he would not have otherwise had. It also
meant, however, that his standing had no legal protection and thus was open to
attack from rivals and enemies.
Although Theodosius did not elevate Libanius to a rank that would have
made him a member of the imperial elites, he was well-disposed towards the
sophist and repeatedly bestowed favours on him. On the instigation of the
commander-in-chief (magister militum) Richomer in 383, he wrote a letter to
Libanius inviting him to join in the celebration of Richomer ’s consulate. This
clearly was very important for the sophist as he registered receipt of the letter
in his Autobiography (Oration 1.219–20). Libanius at this time was held high in
esteem at the emperor ’s court, as not only Richomer but also the Praetorian
Prefect Maternus Cynegius treated him with respect. When Theodosius in 387
sent two high-ranking dignitaries, Caesarius and Ellebichus, to Antioch to
investigate the causes of a riot, both of them showed reverence to the sophist.39
And when the city council later in that year tried to win Theodosius’ support
for their attempt to force Libanius to fulfil the obligations of a curialis towards
his home town, the emperor confirmed the sophist’s immunity, writing him
another letter whose receipt is again registered in the Autobiography (Oration
1.257–8). The last time we hear of Theodosius attending to Libanius is when in
388 the emperor refused to investigate allegations that the sophist was
conspiring with the usurper Magnus Maximus.40
The spatial distance between Libanius and Theodosius increased
considerably when, in spring 388, the emperor moved his court and army to
the West to crush Maximus. Having succeeded in this aim, Theodosius stayed
in Italy for three years, returning to Constantinople in the summer of 391. In
his absence, the East was theoretically ruled by Theodosius’ son Arcadius. As
Arcadius was still a minor, however, power lay with the high dignitaries at
court. For Libanius, this constellation had its advantages as Theodosius had
appointed Tatianus, a pagan from Cilicia and old friend of Libanius, to be
Praetorian Prefect of the East. Tatianus held this office until summer 392 when
he fell from grace and was replaced by the Christian Rufinus, a Latin-speaker
from Gaul.4 1
The honourable treatment accorded by Theodosius gave Libanius a
tremendous boost in confidence. While under Valens he had given up
delivering speeches in public almost entirely, soon after Theodosius’ accession
he came to the fore with speeches discussing issues of political importance and
often offering specific advice. Many of these speeches are addressed to the
emperor.42 As set out in Chapter 4, the series begins with a speech asking
Theodosius to search out and punish the murderers of Julian (Oration 24) and
continues into the last years of Libanius’ life; the sum total is no less than 14
(or 16 if one counts in Orations 19 and 23). Among them are speeches in
which Libanius accuses a governor of abusing his position and demands his
deposition – Against Icarius – Second Speech (Oration 28), To the Emperor
Theodosius against Tisamenus (Oration 33) and Against Florentius (Oration
46) – but also speeches pleading for the abolition of practices that Libanius
considered to be abuses. For example, he requested a legal ban on the transport
services imposed on peasants coming into the city of Antioch (Oration 50) and
a law against informal visits to governors (Orations 51 and 52). He petitioned
Theodosius to see to it that condemned criminals were put to death without
delay and that innocent people were released from prison immediately, as the
law prescribed (Oration 45), and he advocated the enforcement of existing
laws against patronage exercised by military men (Oration 47). In another
speech he accused the leading city councillors of Antioch of obstructing the
enforcement of laws intended to strengthen the city council as an institution
because they did not want to be impeded in abusing their standing and influence
for their personal interests (Oration 49). The most famous of all these
speeches of reform is his plea For the temples (Oration 30), in which Libanius
calls upon Theodosius to prohibit assaults on pagan sanctuaries, arguing that
they were contrary to the existing laws.4 3
It seems clear that none of these speeches was delivered before Theodosius.
There are, however, hints that some of them reached the emperor or at least his
court. Libanius was generally known to exchange letters with Theodosius,
otherwise he would have been unable to prevent a governor from felling the
cypresses in the suburb of Daphne by threatening that he would write to the
emperor.44 Whether Libanius really was able to achieve his aims seems
doubtful, though. There is no positive proof of this, and especially in the field
of religion Theodosius in the early 390s took a line of policy that was
diametrically opposed to Libanius’ hopes and wishes. In those years the sophist
had the frustrating experience that his influence at the centre of power was
narrowly circumscribed: within a short span of time his former assistant
teacher Thalassius was denied access to the senate of Constantinople and his
own son Cimon’s request for a governorship turned down.45 Although
Libanius tried to the last to win the mighty over for his cause, he was
increasingly being marginalized.

9.3 The Roman Empire of Libanius

9.3.1 Constantius and Julian as model emperors
Orators praising an emperor were not expected to express their personal
convictions.4 6 The communicative functions of panegyrics were dependent on
the occasion and audience of delivery and also on the speaker ’s status. Praising
the emperor in his majesty’s presence could be a way of drawing his attention
to expectations and wishes his subjects entertained. Imperial panegyrics could
also, and simultaneously, serve to promote slogans devised at court, to explain
recent events or to canvass support for decisions about to be taken. If such a
speech, however, was held without the emperor and his court being present, its
communicative functions would obviously be different. A speech delivered
before a provincial governor or an assembly of urban dignitaries was unsuited
for influencing opinion at court or for propagating official ideas among the
imperial elites. Rather, it provided the speaker with an opportunity of proving
his rhetorical skill and of proving himself to be a loyal subject. At the same
time, praising imperial virtues was a means of building or strengthening a
consensus on how a good ruler should act; it served to reinforce shared values
and expectations.
When praising an emperor, one had to choose one’s words carefully. Public
criticism was out of the question. But orators were free to emphasize what they
thought was important and to pass over in silence actions or aspects they felt
unable to praise. Under Constantine and his sons, religion was a conspicuous
feature of the emperor ’s public persona that pagans usually chose to ignore
when they raised their voices in public. To treat Christianity as non-existent
was the measure of freedom accorded to those members of the elites that still
regarded the cult of the gods as an integral part of the cultural heritage with
which they identified.
Libanius’ panegyric of the emperors Constantius and Constans is a typical
example of this particular situation. Held at the instigation of a provincial
governor or some other imperial functionary, the speech largely consists of an
account of military deeds based on official reports. Libanius prudently follows
the directives governing public discourse on the reigning dynasty, treating
sons of Constantine who had meanwhile been killed as if they had never existed
and refraining from defining the emperor ’s piety.4 7 Praise of his virtues is
short and highly conventional: Constantius shows the cardinal virtues of justice
and moderation, being self-controlled, clement and accessible. He knows how
to reward loyalty and when to forgive faults; he accepts advice from his
entourage and is judicious in the choice of his friends. He defends what is
rightfully his, but would not start a war for the sake of gaining more. He is
eager to help those in need and feels no envy towards the rich. His personal life
is a model of chastity as he eats very little, spends his free time in military
exercises, including riding and archery, and prefers chariot races over
theatrical shows. In war, he puts his trust not in the number of his soldiers, but
in divine support. Need limits the amount of the taxes he imposes.48
Constantius is shown in the guise of a good emperor acting as a benefactor
and a judge, but also excelling as a military commander and a warrior. He
converses with courtiers carefully chosen and gives heed to their advice. His
private life corresponds to strict rules. Comparison with other sources shows
that even where Libanius might seem to add personal traits to the
acknowledged ideal of a ruler, he adheres closely to the representation
disseminated by Constantius himself: chastity and fondness for riding and
archery.4 9
While praising Constantius was for Libanius a matter of duty, his praise of
Julian came from the heart. This is not to say, however, that in the Julianic
orations Libanius broke the unwritten rules for public speaking about an
emperor. When the sophist first was invited to deliver a speech at Julian’s
court, he was not yet a member of the inner circle of the emperor ’s friends and
thus uncertain as to exactly how the emperor wished his life and deeds to be
represented. Thus in composing the Welcome Speech to Julian (Oration 13),
Libanius had to rely on the self-representation of the emperor as it had become
known in Antioch and the Eastern provinces by official pronouncements,
including Julian’s Letter to the Athenians. Libanius’ status at Julian’s court had
changed completely by the time he was commissioned to be one of the
speakers for the celebration of Julian’s consulate on 1 January 363. In An
Address to the Emperor Julian as Consul (Oration 12), delivered before a
carefully chosen audience of high-ranking imperial dignitaries, including
members of both senates, Libanius set out the ideal picture of a priestly
emperor personally offering sacrifice to the gods every day. Libanius lauded
Julian as an emperor steeped in both rhetoric and philosophy who was firmly
determined to restore the cult of the gods that had been neglected or even
forbidden under his predecessors. This was in the public interest because only
divine support could assure the military strength of the empire and thus
safeguard the security and prosperity of the cities that together made up the
empire. Libanius went on telling his audience that the emperor, though not
accountable to humans, was fully aware that he acted under the supervision of
the gods.50
 After Julian’s death, Libanius developed this idealized picture of a model
emperor into a kind of saint’s life. Thus, while formally a funeral oration,
Oration 18 is in fact a detailed biographical account exalting Julian as a
superhuman figure and investing him with all the attributes of a pagan holy
man.51 Here again Libanius portrays Julian as a highly educated ruler who
worked day and night for the welfare of his subjects.52 As in An Address to the
Emperor Julian as Consul, worshipping the gods takes priority over everything
else: the emperor first of all attends to the ‘things holy’ (hiera) because they
are the secure foundation on which civilized life – which to Libanius is
synonymous with life in cities – rests. But Julian is not content to have the
public cult of the gods restored all over the empire;53 he personally sees to it
that the soldiers convert to the ancestral religion and he offers sacrifice daily
with his own hands. The emperor communicates directly with the gods as they
respond to his constant prayers with signs and visions.54 Like a Christian saint,
Julian is even able to work miracles, bringing to a halt, by his prayers, an
earthquake that rocked Constantinople (Oration 18.177). Julian’s conduct as a
commander is also exemplary. He willingly shares the toils and dangers of
warfare and personally leads his soldiers into battle. In each and every
encounter with the enemy he emerges victorious55 until the gods all of a
sudden decide to call him home into heaven. Julian’s supernatural nature
becomes fully evident when after his death he is not only raised by decree of
the senate to the status of a god of the Roman state – as all ‘good’ emperors
had been before – but turns into a fully active god answering prayers that are
addressed to him.56
In the Funeral Oration in Honour of Julian Libanius frankly expresses the
idea that a perfect emperor cannot at the same time be a Christian, even if he is
at pains to underline that Julian deliberately refrained from using force to
bring about conversions.57 The cultic worship of the gods was an integral part
of Greek culture as Libanius saw it, for which the emperor was personally
responsible since the sotēria, the welfare and security, of humanity could not
be safeguarded in any other way. Julian fully measures up to this ideal, because
he was, as Libanius puts it, ‘priest, author of speeches, seer, judge, and soldier
at the same time, and in everything he does, a saviour (sotēr)’.58

9.3.2 Theodosius as a good, albeit Christian,

emperor
All of Julian’s successors were Christians, and as such they necessarily lacked
the essential quality that in Libanius’ view a perfect emperor needed to have:
they were unable to secure divine support for the empire, even if to some
degree they tolerated the gods’ being worshipped by others. Under Jovian,
Valens and Theodosius, the model ruler depicted in the Oration 18 thus could
not possibly serve as a point of reference in public discourse. For pagans
hoping to influence decisions at the imperial court there was only one
discursive strategy left that offered any hope of succeeding: appealing to
normative concepts that for pagans and Christians were equally acceptable.
This involved divesting the ideal of an emperor of its religious features, thus
in a way neutralizing what by tradition had been heavily charged with religious
meaning. Themistius had already taken this course from the beginning of his
public career under Constantius.59 Libanius now followed his lead. Having
vainly tried to persuade the new emperor from Spain that the disasters that had
befallen the empire after Julian’s death were the gods’ revenge for Julian’s
murder having gone unpunished (Oration 24),60 he quickly realized that
Theodosius was not amenable to arguments based on a pagan theology of
history. All the speeches subsequently addressed to Theodosius try to commit
the emperor to normative ideas that were considered binding by pagans and
Christians alike.
The Theodosian orations, although formally speeches of advice, not
panegyrics, are full of explicit statements and implicit assumptions about how
an emperor ought to behave that allow us to reconstruct the expectations that a
pagan member of the provincial elites held towards a Christian emperor. These
ideas are not, however, developed in a coherent way, but are always devices in
an argumentative strategy, and thus do not add up to something like a theory of
rulership. They rather indicate what Libanius was concerned about, and how he
formulated these concerns with words and concepts derived from the tradition
of Greek rhetoric.
The ideal ruler of the Julianic orations is a priest and, accordingly, his most
important virtue is piety (eusebeia). In the Theodosian orations this imperial
virtue had to give way to justice (dikaiosynē). Theodosius is first and foremost
conceived of as the guardian of law and order and as an active legislator. Time
and again Libanius refers to the prevailing legal situation which he deduces
from particular laws that he represents as generally known and universally
binding. In many instances he calls upon the emperor either to have existing
laws enforced or to replace them by better ones.61 The laws are in his view one
of the two pillars on which the Roman Empire rests. Thus he declares:

Everyone would agree, I believe, that among the forces holding together
your empire two are of the utmost importance: the force of the weapons
and that of the laws. One enables us to overcome our enemies, the other
makes it possible for us to attain what is ours by right. The laws, however,
need judges who will do as they say. Laws have neither feet nor hands; if
someone calls for them, they will neither hear him calling nor come to
help him. Their help comes through the judges. Of humans, however,
some are made just by fear, the others, however, are made better by being
punished. If the enemies are held in check and the laws prevail, it is
possible to live happily.
(Oration 51.2–3)62

It hardly needs pointing out that in speaking of law and the laws Libanius could
and did not appeal to indefeasible rights of man or to constitutional rules
binding a monarch, even if he does on occasion state that even the emperor is
not allowed to do everything.63 These statements are not, however, meant to
express the idea that the emperor ’s freedom of action is limited by inviolable
norms or by independent institutions; they merely convey the expectation that
out of his own choosing he will not act contrary to what justice demands.
Although Libanius never calls the emperor the ‘living law’ (nomos empsychos),
as Themistius was wont to do, he did not advocate the idea that the emperor
was accountable to men, and expressly acknowledged that the emperor ’s will
had the force of law, even in the field of religion.64 If Theodosius refrains
from commanding his pagan subjects to worship, Libanius argues, this is only
because he knows that by using force he would bring about nothing but feigned
conversions:

You could have issued an edict, Sir: ‘Let none of my subjects revere or
honour the gods, or invoke them for any blessing either for himself or
for his children, save in silence and in secret. Let everyone worship the
one that I adore, go share in his rites, pray as he did, and bow his head
under the hand of the director of the people.’ It would have been easy for
you to promulgate such an edict, yet you have refused to do so, nor have
you imposed this yoke upon the conscience of men. You regard your
religion as better than the other, but it is no act of impiety nor yet just
cause for punishment either.
 (Oration 30.52–53, transl. Norman (1977), 149)

As long as laws are valid, however, Libanius argues, even the emperor is
bound to observe them: unlike the tyrant, he doesn’t ride roughshot over laws.
And it is his duty to make the others observe them, too. In Libanius’ view,
violations of the law need to be duly punished. Only fear of punishment deters
people from doing wrong and for those who cannot thus be held in check
punishment is the only way to make them better people.65 Libanius does,
however, admit one exception to this general rule: the emperor ’s right to
mitigate or rescind a penalty. For Libanius, clemency – he calls it
philanthrōpia – was an imperial virtue par excellence.
The religiously neutral emperor to whom Libanius appeals in his
Theodosian orations has four main tasks to fulfil. First of all, he has to defend
his subjects against attacks from exterior enemies; for this purpose he needs to
sustain an army.66 And as soldiers have to be paid, taxes must be raised.67
Libanius expects the emperor ’s generals to fight bravely and to confine their
activities to the military sphere; they are not to abuse their power, interfering
with the affairs of civilians and ousting decurions as patrons of the lower
classes in city and country.68 The second major task of the good emperor is to
safeguard law and order within the empire. He does so by enacting laws and by
watching over their implementation. As he cannot personally be present
everywhere, he appoints governors who are to dispense justice in his stead and
to punish infringements of the laws.69 If governors do not do their duty, this
reflects badly on the emperor who appointed them – unless he deposes and
punishes them severely:

But when you, Your Majesty, propose proper legislation and when the
appointed magistrates take little notice of it and give validity to their own
decisions instead of to your decrees, it is not right either for you to be
unware of this or, if you are aware of it, to be complacent about it. You
must class such persons as rebels against your authority and loathe them,
just as you do rebels. In fact, these people rob you of your own, as far as
in them lies, for they bring into disrepute the work of those who live and
labour for the provinces, and by their actions they undo it.
(Oration 45.33)70

The governors for Libanius are thus first and foremost judges who implement
laws enacted by the emperor. The sophist insists on the principle that no
governor is entitled to execute a person who has not formally been sentenced
to death in a court (Oration 45.2). For Libanius, the only qualification a
governor must have to do his job as he should is moral: he needs to be just and
incorruptible. These qualities are all the more necessary as the other main
activity of governors is to oversee the collection of taxes, a task the
significance of which Libanius fully acknowledges, even if without
enthusiasm.71 For Libanius it is essential that governors, having a general
oversight over the cities in their provinces, avoid unnecessary brutality in the
exercise of their authority, even when dealing with members of the lower
classes. To have councillors flogged is to him an outrage deserving the
severest penalties. Members of the local elites (like himself) are to be treated
with the respect due to their station: their proposals and wishes therefore
deserve careful consideration, especially when it comes to filling official
positions and to granting privileges.72
The third task that a good emperor fulfils is providing for the prosperity of
the cities. His benefactions to the cities will not, however, be restricted to
donating buildings or making financial allowances of some other kind.
Libanius is convinced that the cities can only flourish if the emperor sees to it
that the city councils remain fully functioning. This aim, however, can only be
reached if he wards off attacks on the social status and the economic wealth of
the curial class. The city council is for Libanius the ‘soul’ of the city and its
members are entitled to the special attention and protection of the emperor.73
Fourth and last, the good emperor is responsible for education, too. This
does not of course mean that Libanius envisions something like a state-funded
educational system for every citizen of the empire: his concern was for Greek
rhetoric as it was taught to members of the local and provincial elites. As he
grew older, he increasingly felt that the time-honoured study of Greek
literature was in danger of being ousted by the rival studies of Latin and
Roman law that seemed to offer a more practical preparation for a career in
the imperial service. For Libanius, who firmly believed in the educational
value of Greek rhetoric and who was a professor of Greek rhetoric himself, it
was essential that the emperor used his powers to prevent this from happening.
To achieve this end, every means was legitimate in Libanius’ eyes, including a
general ban on sons of councillors from attending schools where one of those
pernicious subjects was taught.74
How can an emperor live up to this standard? In the Julianic orations,
especially in the Funeral Oration in Honour of Julian, the emperor appears as
an indefatigable ruler who governs the empire almost single-handedly and is
always in full control of everything. He spends the morning receiving
embassies and answering letters; after a short break he goes on doing
paperwork until late in the evening. Julian formulates letters to cities, to
civilian officials and military commanders and personal friends, and he reads
letters and examines petitions that are addressed to him. In this he is assisted by
secretaries taking his dictation even if at the beginning of his sole reign he has
removed from office most of the notarii employed by his predecessor
Constantius.75 He is not dependent on human counsel as he possesses
philosophical insight (phronēsis) and gets advice directly from the gods
(Oration 18.173).
The image of an emperor working day and night for the security and
welfare of his subjects, familiar from the self-representation of many an
emperor,76 is here taken to extremes. Reading Oration 18, one could easily
forget that every late Roman emperor, Julian included, had to rely on a large
number of people in his service in order to govern his huge realm. Apart from
the army, however, these friends and officials are almost totally hidden from
view. The only time they surface is when Libanius needs scapegoats to explain
why Julian despite his supernatural qualities had enemies (Oration 18.200–
203). Apart from this reference to ‘false friends’, however, the Julian of
Oration 18 is an emperor who holds the reins of power firmly in his hands.
In the Theodosian orations, the workings of monarchical rule are shown in a
different and more realistic light. This is partly due to the fact that it would
have been politically difficult to blame a reigning emperor for shortcomings
and abuses that Libanius hoped could be corrected. It was possible, however, to
put the blame on his advisors and/or functionaries, even if this involved
considerable risk for the orator, at least as long as those attacked still held
office. Addressing the court of Theodosius, Libanius presupposes that the
emperor reaches decisions in consultation with his courtiers, and he explicitly
warns against the influence of bad advisors.77 The emperor constantly runs the
risk of being misinformed, or even deceived on purpose, as in many cases he
cannot possibly form an opinion by personal experience. It hardly needs
pointing out that this image is fully consonant with Libanius’ practice of
writing letters to members of Theodosius’ court and high-ranking dignitaries
in Constantinople when trying to bring about decisions advantageous to him or
his friends and clients.
 Libanius takes it for granted that the Roman Empire is ruled monarchically.
Once only, in An Address to the Emperor Julian as Consul, does he reflect on
the development of the Roman constitution, describing the republican form of
government as a sort of interlude between the reign of the early kings that had
degenerated into tyranny and the reign of the emperors lasting until the present
(Oration 12.8–9). Rome holds a very small place in Libanius’ vision of the
past: most of his historical examples come from the pre-Roman past of the
Greeks. He takes no notice of the fact that monarchical rule in the Roman
Empire had a peculiar form that set it apart from other forms of monarchy
both past and contemporary, such as the Sassanid monarchy, for example. They
are all subsumed under the notion of basileia, and every monarch is called
basileus. Roman emperors are treated as belonging to a line of historical
continuity that stretches back to the ‘kings’ of Homer; Constantius, Julian and
Theodosius are set on a par with Alexander the Great, the Persian king Cyrus
and Agamemnon, the Achaeans’ leader in the Trojan war. Being monarchs,
they can all be judged against the same standard of behaviour even if the
historical circumstances might have changed.78
For Libanius, there is no conflict between monarchy and freedom. To be
sure, he regarded the Athenian prose-writers of the fifth and fourth centuries
BC as a source of lasting cultural values, and idolized Demosthenes as a model
citizen. He also had a remarkably good knowledge of the political institutions
of classical Athens.79 Greek democracy, however, was for him a thing of the
past that could be evoked in the classroom but had no relevance for public
affairs in his own time. Parrhēsia was for him no longer a legal right inherent
in belonging to the citizen-body as it had been in classical Athens, where
parrhēsia meant the citizen’s right to free speech in the assembly, but a
personal quality derived from moral conduct.80 Libanius seems completely
indifferent to the fact that the polis had once been a fully fledged state
struggling hard for independence from kings and every other foreign power.
He harbours no nostalgia for the long-gone world of constantly warring city-
states. He accepts the subordination to a monarch as a matter of course but
expects rulers to be protectors and benefactors of cities. In his Antiochicus
(Oration 11), he stresses that his hometown had (allegedly) been founded by
Alexander and fostered by Seleucus and his successors, depicting the
relationship between city and ruler as a kind of symbiosis advantageous to both
sides. He points out that when Antioch in 63 BC became part of the Roman
province of Syria, the Romans had preserved and even enhanced the city’s
status (Oration 11.130). The establishment of Roman rule thus meant little
more than a change of dynasty.81 While Libanius emphatically defines himself
as a Greek, he shows no anti-Roman bias; he never broaches the issue of
Greeks being ruled by emperors who considered themselves to be Romans.
Libanius is very concerned about infringements of municipal autonomy by
governors who, in his view, overstep the limits set to their authority. He does
not, however, claim a legal right for the city’s representatives to oppose a
governor ’s decision unless they act in contravention of the law. In his view,
councillors have a moral duty to check abuses of bad governors, and good
governors seek and heed the advice that city councillors give them:

Our council does not make its appearance before the governors
cringingly; when they are due to make their decisions they are careful to
invite it to appear, so as to be put to the test among them as men of
intelligence, not easily influenced. If there is any infringement of justice
they resist resolutely; if justice is upheld, they are loud in their praises. It
counts a great deal for a governor ’s career that the council should be of
the opinion that his decisions have been just … So when the council
opposes the magistrates, though I would not deny that they have their
differences, I would insist that their differences arise from their concern
for the common good.
(Oration 11.142 and 144, transl. Norman (2000), 35)

9.3.3 Cities, provinces and imperial administration

Throughout his writings Libanius conceives the Roman Empire as a network
of cities protected by an absolute monarch. To the sophist, the development of
civilization is tantamount to the emergence of cities (Oration 30.4); and no
civilized life is possible outside cities. His speech on Antioch is an encomium
on the amenities that only cities can provide, from public entertainment to
Greek education.82 Monumental buildings like baths, theatres, and
hippodromes not only adorn a city’s fabric but also provide a venue for social
activities and events. The magnificent colonnaded streets that traversed Antioch
and many other cities of the Roman East provide encapsulate the sophist’s ideal
of urban culture:

In my opinion, the most pleasant feature of cities, I would go so far as to

say the most beneficial too, lies in social intercourse and association.
Indeed where you have this in plenty, there you have a real city. For to
 have something to say is good; to have something to hear is better; to
impart some counsel is best of all, and so is the opportunity of making a
fitting contribution to the lives of our friends by sharing their pleasures
and their sorrows, and receiving from them the like in return … Thus the
extent of the colonnades has made its contribution not only towards
human pleasure, but especially to human wellbeing. Attached to them are
the hippodrome, the theatre, and the baths. The hippodrome, big enough to
satisfy the fastest of horses, has plenty of seats and gives accommodation
for seating the mass of the townspeople. The theatre resounds with
contests of flute, lyre and voice and the manifold delights of the stage.
Who would ever succeed in narrating the diverse forms of entertainments
in the theatre, the contests of athletes, or of men against beasts, all in the
heart of the city not spoiling the pleasure by the long journey to them?
And who would not find delight in the baths?
(Oration 11.213–14 and 218–20, transl. Norman (2000), 50–2)

Libanius distinguishes between great and small cities and he singles out a few
cities as belonging to the top of this hierarchy: Rome is the biggest city of all,
with Constantinople coming second, and Antioch third. He does not, however,
concede the rank of capital (basileuousa polis) to a single city, thus denying the
claims staked for both the Old and the New Rome. Libanius here parted
company with his life-long rival Themistius, who became a senator of
Constantinople in 355 and on many occasions raised his voice as a member of
this institution.83
Libanius’ outlook is urban in the sense that the countryside to him is merely
an annex of the city. He knows full well that the majority of people belonging
to a city in the administrative sense were not city-dwellers at all but peasants
living in villages scattered over the city’s territory. Being owner of several
estates himself, he sees the relationship between city and country as one of
social dependence, with members of the urban elites acting as the rightful
patrons of the villages belonging to their city. As such he is prepared to plead
the cause of peasants that are forced to bring building rubble out of the city of
Antioch. The line of argument he takes is revealing: villages are indispensable
to both cities and empire, he argues, because for life in the city one needs
goods produced by agriculture and also because the bulk of taxes collected for
the emperor is levied on the land. Being one of the few explicit statements
from a Greco-Roman writer on the fundamental importance of agriculture the
passage deserves to be cited:
 One can assert that cities are founded on the country and that this is their
firm footing, providing them with wheat, barley, grapes, wine, oil, and the
nourishment of man and other living beings. Unless oxen, ploughs, seed,
plants and herds of cattle existed, cities would not have come into being at
all. And, once they existed, they have depended upon the fortunes of the
countryside, and the good and ill they experience arise therefrom … And
you too, Sire, obtain tribute from it. In your rescripts you hold converse
with the cities about it, and their payment of it comes from the land. So
whoever assists the peasantry assists you, and ill-treatment of them is
disloyal to you. So you must put a stop to this ill-treatment, Sire, by law,
punishment and edicts, and in your enthusiasm for the matter under
discussion, you must encourage all to speak up for the peasants.
(Oration 50.34 and 36, transl. Norman (1977), 87 and 89)

As befitted a Greek sophist, Libanius treated the Eastern half of the Roman
Empire as a culturally unified whole. A city is by definition a Greek city:
Samosata, Emesa, Bostra, Petra and Palmyra no less so than Antioch or Athens.
From Libanius’ speeches and letters one would not even guess that in his
lifetime Edessa was the centre of a literary culture that was Christian in content
and Syriac in form.84 As a rule, Libanius simply ignores cultural phenomena
that cannot be integrated within his vision of an all-encompassing network of
Greek cities. This holds true equally for non-Greek cults, semitic languages or
Judaism. The gods of the North Syrian countryside with their semitic epithets
and unclassical iconography never show up in his writings, and there is only
one passing mention of Syriac as a spoken language.85 The sophist must have
been acquainted with Jewish customs and institutions, as he had Jewish tenants
and corresponded with the Jewish patriarch in Palestine, but in his writings he
chose to gloss over any kind of cultural difference between him and them.
There is only one major exception to the rule: Christianity is for Libanius
simply the negation of culture and as such comes in for violent polemics.86
If Libanius recognizes regional or local identities at all, they are never
derived from sources incompatible with Greek tradition. To be sure, he
classifies his pupils, friends and correspondents according to the province in
which their place of residence was located, calling inhabitants of the province
of Arabia Arabians, those of the province of Phoenicia Phoenicians and
himself a Syrian. But these are pseudo-ethnics derived from the administrative
geography of the later Roman Empire, not markers of cultural differences.87
The Western provinces come into view in letters addressed to court officials
resident in this area and in speeches dealing with emperors who reigned there
(as Constans in Oration 59 or Julian in Orations 12, 13 and 18). Libanius was
of course cognizant of the existence of a literary culture in Latin, heaping
praise on the eloquence of Symmachus and congratulating his compatriot
Ammianus on his success in reciting parts of a historical work written in Latin.
He was, however, unwilling to learn Latin himself, declaring that the command
of Latin was useful only to those who wanted to become advocates or
notaries.88
Being in regular contact with governors and urban elites, Libanius was
thoroughly familiar with the administrative structure of the empire. His
stylistic ideal, however, forced him to describe it with circumlocutions, thus
avoiding technical vocabulary: between emperor and city stands a three-tiered
hierarchy of Praetorian Prefect, Vicar, and Governor. The Praetorian Prefect
comes immediately below the emperor; he is often present at court and thus
able to influence the emperor directly, even if imperial laws have a stronger
binding force than edicts passed by the second-in-command. Subordinated to
the Praetorian Prefect of the East is an official – in official parlance styled
comes Orientis – who supervises several provinces, thus being superior to the
governor of the province of Syria.89
The emperor reads reports coming in from his functionaries in the
provinces. He also gives a hearing to embassies from cities.90 His decisions
are communicated by letters addressed to officials, cities, or private
individuals.91 Libanius points out that imperial laws have often been repealed
in the past (Oration 48.26). The sophist is not blind, however, to the fact that
social reality can be very different from what the laws prescribe. In theory, the
emperor is almighty. In practice, however, his will is often neglected. In the
Theodosian orations, Libanius often accuses governors of ignoring legal
regulations or deliberately acting contrary to the law. In his letters, he
frequently admonishes governors to see to it that the laws are put into
practice.92 But members of the urban elites also take part in flouting the
emperor ’s will, if it suits their interests. According to Libanius, a law relevant
to the city council of Antioch remained unpublished for precisely this reason.
And he complains about imperial functionaries invoking the emperor ’s will
without any legal basis for it. In his speech For the Temples, a Praetorian
Prefect, possibly Cynegius, is accused of wrongly claiming the emperor ’s
authorization for the destruction of pagan sanctuaries.93
9.3.4 Conclusions
In the Theodosian orations of Libanius the later Roman Empire appears in a
sombre light. Libanius time and again accuses the functionaries of Theodosius
of corruption and abuse of authority, and asks the emperor to put a stop to their
malpractices by deposing them and holding them accountable for their
misdeeds. These allegations have often been cited in support of the notion that
coercion and corruption were distinctive features of late Roman
administration. Against this, more recent scholarship has pointed out that
taking Libanius’ allegations at face value is methodologically unsound because
his testimony cannot, as a rule, be checked against independent evidence and is
open to the suspicion that he used rhetorical invective as a means to take
revenge on governors who had slighted him.94
One of the arguments put forward is the simple fact that in letters addressed
to imperial functionaries, particularly provincial governors, the sophist often
draws a completely different picture from that of the so-called speeches of
reform, even when dealing with the very same persons. Furthermore,
inscriptions and statues raised in honour of provincial governors demonstrate
that the standards of behaviour to which Libanius appealed were almost
universally accepted. The same conclusion is suggested by the constant flow of
imperial legislation against malfeasance, especially corruption, as these laws
not only show that norms were transgressed but also that the emperors were
committed to having their transgression punished. These observations do not,
of course, prove that late Roman administration was either disinterested or
efficient, but they should warn against accepting uncritically the testimony of a
witness who was both unable and unwilling to take into account the structural
framework that conditioned and limited the activities of late Roman governors.
For Libanius, governors could only be knights or knaves.95 This urges to
caution in using Libanius as evidence for assessing the record of particular
governors or the character of late Roman administration.
Libanius viewed both emperor and empire from the perspective of a
cultured city-dweller. He regarded the imperial elites as executive agencies of
the emperor ’s will: for him the emperor reigned supreme over all his subjects,
including the senators of Rome and Constantinople to whom he did not
concede a privileged position over and above the elites of cities like Antioch.
As he grew up in a time when the empire had many ‘capitals’ he never
reconciled himself to the reality of a second Rome implanted within the realm
of Greek culture; Constantinople was for him a constant source of vexation.
Unlike Symmachus or Themistius, the sophist from Antioch did not cherish
senatorial traditions or hark back to republican ideals. He made use of
philosophical teachings as far as they had entered the common stock of
rhetorical devices; but he refused to enter into a dialogue with the
contemporary philosophy of neoplatonism, openly avowing the tradition of
Greek rhetoric.96
Christianity as an institution and a mass movement left Libanius perplexed.
He never seriously engages with either the theological or ethical teachings of
Christianity, and unlike his hero Julian shows no awareness of the church as a
charitable institution. The rise of the ascetic movement that inspired the
teachings of his pupil John Chrysostom filled him with horror and disgust. As
will be argued in detail in Chapter 13, Libanius chose to interpret his world
within the framework of categories hallowed by a cultural tradition that for
him had reached its definite and unsurpassable form in classical Athens. While
Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nazianzus argued that Greek rhetoric could
be dissociated from belief in Homer ’s gods, Libanius regarded religion an
integral part of a cultural tradition that encompassed every aspect of human
life and as a Greek sophist he felt bound to defend it.97 Nevertheless, Libanius
throughout his life insisted that despite religious dissent he was a loyal subject
of Christian emperors and never tired of appealing to values shared by pagans
and Christians alike. As a pagan who held a municipal chair of rhetoric under
Christian emperors he stressed the religious neutrality of the emperor, thus
making a stand against Christian interpretations of the emperor ’s role, such as
had first been voiced by Eusebius of Caesarea. The view that a Christian
emperor was bound to act according to the precepts taught by the Church was
in Libanius’ lifetime continually gaining ground and in the late 380s came to
dominate Theodosius’ court.98
For Libanius the emperor is neither a supernatural being nor an almighty
monarch. Although he is legally free to do as he sees fit, he is in practice
dependent on the active support of many people. He is not hermetically closed
off from his subjects, as his subjects entertain the hope of reaching him by
petitions and even by proposals for legislation, even if this presupposes
extensive wire-pulling at court. The empire is conceived of as a network of
cities which the emperor has to defend against attacks from external enemies.
His main domestic task is to safeguard law and order, but he also takes care of
the city councils and of higher education. Libanius does not envisage the
emperor as conducting policies informed by long-term programmes or as
systematically trying to shape society. In this respect, his view of the emperor ’s
role is remarkably close to the model proposed by Fergus Millar.99 The
emperor as he should be is not, however, merely responding to petitions or
requests addressed to him by subjects or functionaries. Libanius views the
emperor as an active legislator who is concerned about maintaining the
institutions and values on which civilized life is based. For the sophist, the
main purpose of legislation is to prevent social and cultural change from
happening, and reform means preserving or restoring what he believed had
been inherited from the forefathers but in his day was threatened by ruin.

This chapter is an improved version of an article on the same subject in

German: Wiemer (2011b). I have added some thoughts on points of methods
and included material left out in this earlier version. I should like to thank
Lieve Van Hoof for her helpful comments on an earlier draft.

1 For an up-to-date biography of Libanius see Wintjes (2005). Nesselrath

(2008) and Nesselrath (2012) are useful introductions to his life and writings.
On Libanius’ writings as a historical source Liebeschuetz (1972), 1–39 is
unsurpassed.

2 Standard accounts of Libanius’ life often amount to little more than a

paraphrase of the sophist’s Autobiography (Oration 1) – edited with translation
and commentary by Norman (1965) and Martin and Petit (1979), translated
with helpful notes by Wolf (1967) – expanded by passages taken from other
texts written by himself. For more sophisticated readings of Oration 1 see
Liebeschuetz (2006), Leppin (2011a) and Chapter 1 in this volume.

3 On fourth century anti-pagan legislation see Noethlichs (1986), 1150–65,

Delmaire (2004) and Sandwell (2005). For a detailed analysis of Libanius’
religious stance and the importance of religion in his life, see Chapter 13 in
this volume.

4 This is not the place to discuss the enormous literature on Constantine the
Great. That I do not share the views of Barnes (2010) or Girardet (2010) will
be clear from the above. For more balanced interpretations see, e.g., Brandt
(2006), Van Dam (2007) or Lenski (2007). On the religious affiliations of
Constantine’s functionaries see von Haehling (1978) even if his statistics are
deceptive as shown by Barnes (1995).

5 On the religious policies of Theodosius see Lizzi Testa (1996), Errington

(1997), Leppin (2003), 67–86 and 153–66 and Errington (2006), 212–59. His
laws against pagan sacrifice date from 391: CTh 16.10.10–12. On Libanius’
speech For the Temples (Oration 30) see the literature cited in note 43, as well
as Chapter 13 in this volume.

6 Although the laws preserved in the Theodosian Code (CTh 16.10.4–6) all
refer to the West, it is clear from literary sources, especially Libanius and
Julian, that cultic worship of the gods was also penalized in the East: see
Leppin (1999a). There is no satisfactory comprehensive account of
Constantius’ reign.

7 On the social history of Antioch, Petit (1955) and Liebeschuetz (1972)

remain fundamental. Religious conflicts and discourses are discussed in Hahn
(2004), 121–190 and Sandwell (2007a). For the architectural and political
history of the city see also Downey (1961).

8 On early Constantinople, see Petit (1957), Dagron (1974), Mango (1985)

and Chantraine (1992). For Libanius’ view of Constantinople, see Petit (1955),
167–9 and Chapter 1, Section 1.5 in this volume. The classical expression of
the views on Rome which Greek urban elites held in the high Empire is Aelius
Aristides’ speech To Rome (Oration 26), analyzed by Swain (1996), 274–84.

9 Investigation for magic: Oration 1.43–7. Charge of pederasty: Eunapius,

Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.1.7–8, 495 Giangrande (1956), 82;
cf. Oration 1.79. See further Penella (1990), 102–3, Van Hoof (2011), 199–200
and Chapter 1, Section 1.5 in this volume.

10 The date (between 344/345 and 348/349) is controversial: for discussion,

see Malosse (2001a) and Malosse (2003), 7–11. Delivery in Nicomedia:
Oration 59.72 and 171; cf. Wiemer (1994), 513.
11 Imperial summons: Oration 1.74 (cf. 197). Imperial salary: Oration 1.80.

12 On Libanius’ salaries, see Kaster (1983) and Cribiore (2007a), 184–5.

Libanius used the imperial salary for paying his assistant teachers: Oration
31.20. On Libanius’ school, see Wolf (1952), Petit (1956a), Festugière (1959)
and Cribiore (2007a).

13 On Gallus, see Bleckmann (2008). On Ammianus’ account of the crisis, see

Matthews (1989), 406–9. Libanius mentions the events in Oration 1.96–7, in
Oration 19.47 and in two of his letters (Letters 283 and 391).

14 The evidence is cited in Wiemer (1995a), 27–28. On the Praetorian Prefect

Anatolius see Norman (1960) and Bradbury (2000). Invitation to the imperial
court: Letter 48.

15 See Wiemer (1995a), 15–27 and Malosse (1995b). The earliest extant letter
to Julian seems to date from 353: Letter 13, discussed by Wiemer (1996a).
Biographies of Julian: Bidez (1930), Bowersock (1978), Bringmann (2004)
and Rosen (2006).

16 Accusations of magic were common among grammarians and sophists: cf.

Brown (1972). Accusations of magic form a constant theme in Libanius’
Autobiography (Oration 1.43–47, 50, 62–64, 71, 98–100, 194 and 245–250);
cf. Sandwell (2005), 111–118. A speech from 386 was prompted by an evil
spell he believed was cast on him: Oration 36, discussed by Bonner (1932).
Late Byzantine authors report a rumour that Libanius had used an oracle under
Valens to find out the name of the next emperor: Cedrenus 548 PG 121, 597
and Zonaras 13.16.37–44 PG 134, 1168: see Wiebe (1995), 156.

17 Letters 28 and 740. On Helpidius 4 see PLRE, 414, Petit (1994), 87–9,
number 83.

18 Wiemer (1995a), 32–47. The Prosphonetikos (Oration 13) was a failure:

Wiemer (1995a), 77–123. Letter 610 is a cover note accompanying the written
text of this speech.
19 Wiemer (1995a), 57–69. Imperial salary restored: Letter 740.1.

20 On Oration 14, see Wiemer (1995a), 125–50. Julian’s letter: Letter 97

Bidez. Libanius’ reply: Letter 758.

21 On Oration 12, see Wiemer (1995a), 151–88.

22 Letter 1376. Julian had no doubt that the fire was laid by Christians – cf.
Julian, Misopogon 346B and 361C – and for this reason had the local cathedral
closed down. Cf. Downey (1961), 388. This belief is implicitly denied by
Ammianus 22.13.1–3 when he relates a rumour that the fire had been sparked
accidentally by a pagan philosopher.

23 On the lampoons, see Wiemer (1995a), 190–7 and Van Hoof and Van
Nuffelen (2011); on the food crisis, see Petit (1955), 109–18 and Wiemer
(1995a), 269–340; on the religious conflicts, see Brennecke (1988), 87–157
and Hahn (2004), 161–77; on the Misopogon, consult Gleason (1986), Wiemer
(1998), and Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen (2011).

24 On Orations 15 and 16, see Wiemer (1995a), 189–246 and Van Hoof and
Van Nuffelen (2011), 178–211.

25 Oration 2.7–8, as interpreted by Wiemer (1995b), 106–14. This did not of

course save Libanius from being accused of abusing his influence with Julian:
Letters 797 and 1154.2–3 and Oration 1.125. Cf. Suda s. v. Libanius =
Eunapius, Universal History, Fragment 26.2 Blockley (1981), 103 and (1983),
38–9.

26 Assaults on Libanius’ life: Oration 1.136–7 (cf. Letters 1220 and 1453). On
Oration 17, see Wiemer (1995a), 247–59.

27 The date of Oration 18 is debated, with Wiemer (1995a), 260–6 arguing

for 365, Felgentreu (2004) for early 366 and Van Nuffelen (2006) for 11
October 368 as a terminus post quem.
28 Orations 1.278 and 17.37 and Letters 625.6, 959.2, 1063.5 and 1221.6;
Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.1.12, 496 Giangrande
(1956), 83. On Cimon II see Seeck (1906), 81–2, PLRE, 92–3 and Petit (1994),
66–8, number 62.

29 Julian’s promise: Oration 17.37. Jovian’s reply: Letter 1221.6; cf. Letter
1114.5.

30 The best comprehensive account of Valens is Lenski (2002); on his

religous policies see also Wiebe (1995) and Errington (2006), 175–88. On
Themistius as a spin doctor of Valens see Heather and Moncur (2001), 1–68
rather than Vanderspoel (1995), 155–85.

31 Accepting the view of Norman, Petit and Wolf that Libanius wrote the later
parts of his Autobiography for himself, I regard attempts to read these chapters
as self-fashioning – thus Leppin (2011a), 438–40 and Chapter 1, Section 1.4 in
this volume – as unpersuasive. Valentinian’s law on illegitimate sons is
presumably to be identified with CTh 4.6.4 on which see Gualandi (1959),
esp. 19–21.

32 Socrates, Church History 4.32.2; Hieronymus, Chronicon ad annum 378.

33 The best biography of Theodosius is Leppin (2003). For his religious

policies see the literature cited above (n. 5). Ernesti (1998) is useful as a guide
to the literary sources.

34 Cf. Oration 32.7. As Libanius here describes a meeting of the imperial

council in which everybody except the emperor had to stand, the expression ὁ
καθήμενος must refer to Theodosius himself, not to a governor or prefect as
all translations take it and as I myself formerly believed: Wiemer (1995b),
100.

35 Privilege of appointing Cimon as heir: Letter 845.4; cf. Letter 959.4–5 and
Oration 32.7. References to an unspecified honour awarded by Theodosius:
Orations 30.1, 45.1 and 47.16.
36 For the view contested here see, e.g., Petit (1951), PLRE, 506, Norman
(1977), 96–7. The case against it was first argued in detail by Wiemer (1995b),
whose arguments have since been accepted by Swain (2004), 383, Wintjes
(2005), 212, Stenger (2009), 210 n. 93, Nesselrath (2012), 28 and Becker
(2013), 512–13. The suggestion put forward by Martin (1988), 248–50 that
Theodosius invested Libanius with the rank of a quaestor sacri palatii flies in
the face of the evidence.

37 Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.2.8, 496 Giangrande

(1956), 84: τὸν γὰρ τῆς αὐλῆς ἔπαρχον μέχρι προηγορίας ἔχειν ἐκέλευον.

38 The fundamental study is Pack (1951) with addenda and corrigenda in

Liebeschuetz (1972), 277.

39 For Richomer, a general of Frankish extraction, see Seeck (1906), 251 and
PLRE, 765–6. On Maternus Cynegius, see PLRE, 236–7, Petit (1994), 57–8,
number 66. His respect for Libanius: Orations 1.231 and 52.40. Caesarius 6
was magister officiorum in 386–7: PLRE, 171, Petit (1994), 57–8, number 51.
(H)ellebichus served as magister militum from 383 to 388: Seeck (1906), 167–
8, PLRE, 277–8. On Libanius’ role in the aftermath of the so-called riot of the
statues, see the brilliant discussion of Leppin (1999b).

40 See Swain (2004), 384 and Wintjes (2005), 222 and 232.

41 On Tatianus I/5, see Seeck (1906), 285–8, PLRE, 876–8, Petit (1994), 240–
3, number 277; on his overthrow, Rebenich (1989). For Rufinus XII/18 see
Seeck (1906), 255–62, PLRE, 778–81 and Petit (1994), 222–4, number 262.

42 For an overview see Ernesti (1998), 400–43. Most, but not all of the
speeches written under Theodosius are available in English translation: see
Appendix D.

43 I have set out my interpretation of Oration 30 in Wiemer (1995b), 123–9

(date) and Wiemer (2011a). For a different view, see Chapter 13, Sections 13.3
and 13.4 in this volume.
44 Oration 1.262–3; cf. Oration 36.5 and Letters 916.1–3 and 957.3.

45 For Thalassius 4/iv see Seeck (1906), 291 and PLRE, 888. His tale is told
in Oration 42. On Cimon see Wintjes (2005), 219–38.

46 On panegyrics as a means of communication between rulers and ruled, see

Ronning (2007) and the contributions assembled in Whitby (1998). The
rhetorical techniques used are analyzed by Malosse (2000a); cf. Chapter 4,
Section 4.3 in this volume.

47 On education as a topos of praise for emperors, see Wickert (1954), 2253–

8 and Schlange-Schöningen (1995), 10–39.

48 Oration 59.122–3, analyzed by Malosse (2003), 49–72. Contrast Oration

62.8–11.

49 Julian, Oration 1.7.10C–D and 1.11.15D–16C, Ammianus 21.16.7: equitandi

et iaculandi maximeque perite dirigendi sagittas artiumque armaturae
pedestris perquam scientissimus. Frugality and chastity: §§5–6; careful choice
of courtiers: §3.

50 Rhetoric and philosophy: Oration 12.29–30 and 91–7. Cult of the gods as a
source of military strength and of prosperity for the cities: Oration 12.69–90,
esp. 69–70, 79 and 87–90. Accountable to the gods only: Oration 12.24–5.

51 This is well brought out by Stenger (2009), 165–91. On pagan holy men,
see Fowden (1982).

52 Education: Oration 18.11–15 and 21 (rhetoric, philosophy, poetry); cf. 29–

30, 72, 157, 175, 178. Tireless work: Oration 18.174–6.

53 Oration 18.114–16 (Athens), 121–6, 129, 159 and 161–3.

54 Oration 18.103–5, 127, 162, 171–3 (visions), 179–80 (Julian as a seer),
252 (celestial signs) and 261; cf. Oration 12.32 and 80–2.

55 Oration 18.42, 75–9, 87–9 and 204–66, esp. 58, 68, 216, 226, 236 and 266.
See further Benedetti-Martig (1990), 51–110.

56 Oration 18.304 with Nock (1957).

57 Oration 18.121–3, 125, 167–8. Libanius had already taken this view when
Julian was alive and sole emperor: see Wiemer (1995a), 65–8 where the
evidence is cited.

58 Oration 18.176; cf. Oration 12.80.

59 On Themistius’ political ideas, Dagron (1968) is fundamental; on his

relations with Libanius, see also Bouchery (1936) and Wintjes (2005), 135–50.

60 Italian translation and commentary of Oration 24: Criscuolo (1994a). For a

stimulating analysis, see now Malosse (2010). In Oration 37 Libanius defends
Julian against the charge of having had his wife poisoned: cf. Cribiore (2011).

61 Emperor as lawgiver: Orations 1.27 and 145, 2.66, 15.21, 18.148, 151, 193
and 195, 19.19, 20.13, 27.13, 28.4 and 24, 30.15 and 52–3, 33.15–17 and 42,
45.2 and 32–3, 47.35–8, 48.15–16, 23, and 26–7, 49.5–6 and 27, 50.6, 12, 14,
17 and 36–7, 51.2–3, 17–19 and 32, 52.2–3, 18, 46–7 and 50, 56.24, and 62.8;
Letter 115.6.

62 Cf. Orations 50.14 and 52.2.

63 Orations 50.19 and 51.19.

64 Orations 12.24–25, 18.100 and 184, 19.50, 59.162. On ‘bad’ emperors in

Libanius, see Malosse (2002). For Themistius and the emperor as ‘living law’,
see Dagron (1968), esp. 127–34.

65 Orations 17.2 (νόμοι δὲ κωλυταὶ κακουργημάτων), 24.28, 28.27, 33.18,

45.2, 28 and 33, 47.26 and 37–38, 50.36, 51.2 and 32 and 52.2–3.

66 Orations 2.40, 20.47, 24 esp. 1 and 38–41, 30.14, 47.27, 50.14–15, 51.2–3;
cf. Orations 12.20–1 and 46–53 and 18.42–71, 75–81, 87–9 and 204–66. The
emperor protects the cities: Orations 12.50–1, 18.81 and 49.32; Letters 410.4
and 1006.4.

67 Orations 2.37–40, 20.31, 22.4 and 47.10.

68 Oration 47, esp. 25–34; discussed by Harmand (1955), Liebeschuetz

(1972), 201–7, Carrié (1976) and Krause (1987), 83–7.

69 Oration 51.3; cf. Oration 50.27. Governors as guardians of the law: Oration
45.28, Letters 5.2, 238.4, 773.1, 1049.3, 1350.3 and 1364.3.

70 Cf. Orations 45.1, 12 and 51.24.

71 Orations 33.13–15 and 32, 45.17 and 23–4 and 62.43.

72 Orations 11.139–46 and 35.5–11. Patronage of urban craftsmen: Oration

29, discussed by Wiemer (1996b) and by Malosse (2009b).

73 Orations 18.146–50, 2.33, 28.4 and 23, 48.3–4 and 25 and 49.2–3.

74 Ban on Latin and law: Oration 49.27. Libanius’ complaints about their
increasing appeal are discussed by Petit (1955), 363–70, Petit (1957), 179–85,
Liebeschuetz (1972), 242–55 and Cribiore (2007a), 206–12.

75 Oration 18.174; cf. Orations 17.18 and 18.151 (legislation). Notaries:

Oration 18.131–4; cf. Oration 2.58. Julian also dissolved the semi-military
corps of the agentes in rebus that was responsible for carrying despatches
from the emperor and for collecting information on his officials and subjects.
Cf. Oration 18.135–42; cf. Oration 2.58. For the drastic reduction of the
imperial post (cursus velox) see Oration 18.143–5.

76 Béranger (1953), 169–217 and Mause (1994), 228–9. The idea has roots in
Stoic philosophy: Wickert (1954), 2229–30.

77 Orations 27.41, 30.1–3 and 46–8, 45.2, 47.2, 48.1, 52.1 and 62.9; cf.
Orations 14.3, 18.152, 30.7 and 62.9 (on Constantius). Examples from
Libanius’ correspondence: Letters 48.3, 794, 796, 846.4–5, 916, 1185.3 and
1459.2.

78 Malosse (2002), 166–7. Libanius also often chooses to ignore the fact that
in his lifetime the empire was mostly formally divided between several rulers.
Thus, in the Theodosian orations, Libanius takes no account of the fact that
from 383 to 392 Theodosius had two co-rulers who, as Augusti, formally
were on a par with him (his son Arcadius and his nephew Valentinian II). The
brothers Valens and Valentinian, on the other hand, are spoken of as joint
rulers of the empire: Orations 19.15, 20.25 and 30.7, Letters 1124.3, 1216.1,
1223.2, 1336.2–3, 1467.3 and 1520.3; cf. Letters 1216.1–2 and 1263.2; cf.
Orations 1.145, 24.10–11 (Julian’s grave) and 47.21.

79 Schouler (1984), vol. 2, 542–61 (Demosthenes) and 573–607 (classical

Athens).

80 Orations 1.7, 14.21, 18.211, 53.22 and 62.71 with Wiemer (2006), 390 and
397.

81 Pre-Roman past of Antioch: Oration 11.42–130, interpreted by Wiemer

(2003). Antioch as imperial residence: Oration 11.176–80, discussed by
Malosse (2001b).

82 Oration 11.196–271, discussed by Nock (1954) and Saliou (2006a).

Antioch the most beautiful of all cities: Orations 11.270–1 and 18.292.
Colonnades in the Roman East: Segal (1997).

83 Big and small cities: Orations 11.271 and 50.35. Rome bigger than
Constantinople: Orations 18.11, 30.5 and 59.94, Letter 1061.4; cf. Dagron
(1974), 55–60. Rome a bulwark of paganism: Oration 30.33–4. Rome
exceptionally called βασιλεύουσα πόλις: Oration 39.19. Antioch third largest:
Orations 15.59, 20.40 and 33.24. Antioch μητρόπολις Ἀσίας: Oration 11.130
and 187.

84 Samosata: Letter 1361. Emesa: Letter 846. Bostra: Letter 763 and Oration
55 with Gatier (1982). Petra: Letter 321. Palmyra: Letters 1006.4 and 1078
(Longinus’ speech on Odaenathus). Edessa: Orations 19.48 and 20.27. For
Syriac culture in Edessa see Segal (1970), on the Roman East in general Millar
(1993).

85 Indigenous Cults of Northern Syria: Trombley (2004), 60–6 and Wiemer

(2011a), 168. Reference to Syriac language: Oration 42.31.

86 On Jews in Libanius’ correspondence and in Oration 47 see Meeks and

Wilken (1978), 59–82, Stern (1980), 580–99, n. 495a–504 and Millar (2007),
169–73. For his view of Christianity see Misson (1920), Nesselrath (2012),
64–73, and Chapter 13 in this volume.

87 Millar (2007), 173–8. Libanius calling himself a Syrian: Orations 1.16,

18.242 and 64.9; cf. Letter 391.13. For Hellenic identity in Libanius, see
Chapter 12.

88 Symmachus: Letter 1004 with Brugisser (1990); cf. Letter 1036, addressed
in 392 to the Roman senator Postumianus 3 (PLRE, 718–19). Ammianus:
Letter 1063 with Matthews (1994).

89 Many examples cited in Wiemer (2011b), 149 and 154. For more on
Libanius’ relations with people in these various functions, see Chapter 10.
90 Reports from officials: Oration 48.19–21 (vicarius Ponticae); Oration
56.21 (Praetorian Prefect); Oration 21.20 (magister officorum). Embassies are
listed in Petit (1955), 415–41 and Liebeschuetz (1972), 265–9.

91 e.g. Orations 11.147 and 180, 14.25–26, 17.37, 18.147 and 50.22; Letter
959.4. Imperial despatches (γράμματα) and letters (ἐπιστολαί) in Libanius’
correspondence: Letters 169.2, 144.3, 169.2, 214.4, 265.1, 271.3, 796.1, 958.3,
1201.2, 1221.6, 1225.1 and 1459.1; cf. Letter 230.2–3.

92 Oration 45.32; cf. Orations 1.69, 15.67, 28.27, 29.29, 33.18 and 49.19;
Letters 144.3, 214.3–4, 265.2, 271, 543.2, 635.1, 659.2, 747.2, 1201.2 and
1273.3.

93 Obstruction: Oration 49, esp. 1–3 and 5–6. Unpublished law: Oration
48.15–16. Emperor ’s will abused as a pretext: Oration 30.49–51; cf. Oration
18.131–2 and 139. For the identity of the Praetorian Prefect referred to in
Oration 30, see Chapter 13, Section 13.3, with further references.

94 Cabouret (2002). See also Swain (2004), 385–93 on the vicissitudes of

Libanius’ relationship with Proculus, the son of Tatianus (above n. 41).

95 Statues and inscriptions: Robert (1948) and Slootjes (2006), 129–54. Laws
against malfeasance: Noethlichs (1981) and Harries (1999), 153–73.

96 Themistius: Dagron (1968). Symmachus: Sogno (2006) and Matthews

(2010). Neoplatonism: O’Meara (2003), cf. Wiemer (1995a), 55.

97 For Julian’s concept of philanthropia see Kabiersch (1960), compared to

Libanius’ by Wiemer (1995a), 232–6. Social ideas of John Chrysostom: Baur
(1929), 252–321, Wiemer (2006), 390–9 and Liebeschuetz (2011), 97–215.
Paideia in Basilius: Wilson (1975) and Rousseau (1994), 48–57, in Gregory:
Elm (2012).

98 On Eusebius’ Panegyric to Constantine, see Drake (1976) and Maraval

(2001). On the religious policy of Theodosius, see above n. 5.

99 Millar (1992). For discussion, see the papers collected in Wiemer (2006)
and Schmidt-Hofner (2008).
 Chapter 10 Libanius’ networks
Scott Bradbury

10.1 Introduction
Libanius had the most extensive personal network known from any period of
antiquity. After the Theodosian Code, Libanius stands out as the single most
important source for the Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (PLRE) or
‘Who’s Who’ of the Eastern Roman Empire in the fourth century AD. The
principal source for documenting the network is the collection of some 1,544
extant letters: 1,269 written in the decade 355–65, 250 in the period 388–393.
Nearly 700 people appear in the letters, including court officials of all ranks
from the emperor on down, prefects and governors, lawyers and doctors,
army generals and sophists, city councillors, old schoolmates and both present
and former pupils. The letters suggest a world constantly travelling and
making and maintaining connections. Due to the difficulty of Libanius’ Greek
and the absence of a complete translation (cf. Chapter 7), the breadth of his
connections, and the relative absence of up-to-date scholarly aids, the letters,
which are the richest source for patronage studies from the ancient world,
remain little studied.1
After an eighteen-year absence for study and teaching, Libanius returned to
his native Antioch in 354, never again to journey a major distance from the
city gates. Antioch would become the centre of his social world and
geographical hub of his personal network. It was an excellent place from
which to develop and maintain a far-flung network: cosmopolitan and wealthy,
it was often in the fourth century an imperial residence, and at mid-century it
was headquarters not only to the governor of Syria, but also to the comes
Orientis (Count of the East) and the praefectus praetorio Orientis (Praetorian
Prefect of the East). It was thus a city top-heavy with government officials and
a magnet for people in pursuit of social and political advancement. Libanius
possessed a set of personal networking skills that doubtless served him well in
the face-to-face encounters of daily life in Antioch, whether with close friends
or at the daily receptions (eisodoi) of the imperial officials who dominated the
city. We can infer as much from Eunapius of Sardis’ back-handed compliment
that Libanius had the knack of being ‘all things to all men’ and that men of the
most divergent characters praised totally opposite qualities in him and that in a
crowded gathering ‘everyone was convinced that it was his views that Libanius
admired’ (Eunapius, Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.1.11, 495
Giangrande (1956), 83, transl. Wright (1921), 523). As was already pointed
out in several earlier chapters, Eunapius’ comment is intentionally unflattering,
but it suggests great personal charisma and an adaptable personality.
Moreover, Libanius was a superb communicator. Through face-to-face
encounters in Antioch and through prolific letter-writing, Libanius worked
unstintingly to cultivate and preserve his far-flung network with two
fundamental goals in mind: recruitment of students for his school, which was
the centre of his working life, and promotion of the interests of his pupils, his
‘friends’ and whoever else could prevail upon him for a letter. His fame as a
teacher and man of letters, his reputation for having influence in high places
and his ability to recruit and promote his students are all intimately inter-
connected. His school, for example, had neither administration that helped
recruit students nor any institutional status really beyond his charismatic
presence.
It is important to stress that Libanius’ letters document a personal network,
that is, a network with a single actor at its centre and multiple lines of
connection emanating from this single hub. The letter collection does not
preserve letters written to him and, unfortunately, the collection has little
chronological overlap with the major letter collections of his contemporaries,
Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nazianzus and Synesius of Cyrene.2 If we had
other letter collections with overlapping correspondents, or archival materials,
then we might be able to produce a social network analysis with multiple hubs
and many actors communicating with one another.3 We would be able to
identify the people who linked separate provincial networks. The absence of
such sources, however, is partially remedied by the sheer number of letters, the
fact that the chronological order of the letters could be identified and the fact
that the letter carriers are so frequently named.
Three scholars laid the groundwork that makes possible study of Libanius’
networks. First, Otto Seeck (1906), whose Die Briefe des Libanius zeitlich
geordnet set out the chronological order of the vast letter collection and
disentangled the complicated prosopography of the 700 persons appearing
therein. Though antiquated, it remains the only comprehensive
prosopographical treatment of the letter collection. Second, Paul Petit, who, in
addition to his monumental Libanius et la vie municipale à Antioche au IVe
siècle après J.-C (1955), published two works of great value to the study of
Libanius’ networks: Les Etudiants de Libanius (1956a) and Les Fonctionnaires
dans l’oeuvre de Libanius: Analyse prosopographique, published posthumously
in 1994. Finally, A. F. Norman deserves notice because he made so many
works of Libanius available in modern translation for the first time and
because he played an important role in compiling the many Libanius-based
entries in the indispensable reference work, The Prosopography of the Later
Roman Empire (PLRE). The people in Libanius’ network are referred to with
their names followed by their numbers in the first volume of the PLRE (Arabic
numerals) and in Seeck (1906) (Roman numerals)4 . Thus Olympius 3 can be
found in the first volume of the PLRE as Olympius 3, while Quirinus i can be
found in Seeck (1906) as Quirinus i.

10.2 School recruitment

Working in the 1950s without the help of modern translations, Petit read
Libanius’ difficult and often elusive Greek with uncanny acumen, extracting
for his study on Libanius’ students a remarkable amount of data about the
social and geographical origins, religious affiliations and career paths of the
196 students appearing in the letters.5 Libanius’ students came from the three
classes at the apex of the late empire’s steep social pyramid. Of the 105 boys
whose social origins could be determined, Petit found that 48 per cent were
sons of city councillors (curiales, decurions), 36 per cent sons of imperial
officials, 16 per cent sons of members of the ‘liberal professions’, such as
lawyers, doctors, teachers or men of letters, and, in a handful of cases, army
officers. After their schooling, Libanius’ pupils would pursue careers
appropriate to this social elite, though not necessarily the same career as the
father. The sons of peasants, artisans and merchants had little access to the
rhetorical education Libanius offered and are absent from the networks
observable in the letter collection.6 In religion, the boys seemed to be
overwhelmingly pagan, except for those from Cappadocia, who were mostly
Christian.7 Their geographical origins were widespread. In Oration 62, entitled
Against Critics of his Educational System, Libanius boasts that he has filled
three continents with orators and, in reviewing the regions from which he drew
students, mentions every province in the Greek East (§§27–28). The surviving
letters confirm for the most part this remarkable claim. Of the 196 documented
students, we can know the home province of 167. Not surprisingly, Antioch and
Syria furnish the largest contingent in the school, probably over half the
school’s 50 to 80 pupils. But the letters reveal remarkably large contingents of
students from quite distant provinces, as the following list of geographical
origins makes clear: Antioch/Syria (36), Armenia (20), Galatia (16), Phoenicia
(15), Cilicia (14), Cappadocia (12), Constantinople (10), Palestine (8),
Euphratensis (7), Mesopotamia (5), Bithynia (5) and other provinces (fewer
than 5).8 Despite the fame and allure of Athens, whose sophists appear to have
divided the Eastern provinces into recruiting sectors, Libanius was quite
successful in recruiting students from distant places.9 Constantinople too
would have been a stiff competitor for students from Asia Minor, and keeping
a son closer to home with teachers who were competent, if not famous, was
always an option.
How could Libanius persuade parents from Galatia, Cappadocia and
Armenia, for example, to send their sons to Antioch? In part, his recruitment
provinces correspond to his own travels for study and teaching, from his
native Antioch to Athens (336–40), Constantinople (340–2; 350–3), Nicaea
(342–4) and Nicomedia (344–9). But that is only part of the answer. We can
infer from the letters something about how eighty-six of these pupils came to
enrol in his school. Leaving aside Libanius’ four young kinsmen, of the
remaining eighty-two pupils, thirty-two (twenty-two sons, ten others) came at
the urging of former schoolmates or ‘companions’ of Libanius, whether from
Antioch or Athens. In Libanius’ terminology, all who have studied with the
same teacher are ‘companions’ (hetairoi). His own students are his hetairoi,
members of his ‘chorus’ or ‘holy circle’. They have all dwelled in the ‘garden
of the Muses’ and ‘drunk from the same wine bowl’ (kratēr), and they owe one
another particular loyalty throughout their lives. ‘Companions’ were a critical
element in each young man’s personal ‘friendship’ network, and older
companions were expected to assist the younger ones. As Libanius says, ‘It
would be a terrible thing if the influence wielded by my companions should
fail to bring help to my friends’ (Letter 309). Among Libanius’ connections we
find some thirty-eight old schoolmates, whether from his youth in Antioch or
the Athens years, and they appear to have remained loyal supporters. A few of
these ‘companions’ are among his most intimate friends in Antioch.10
Old schoolmates, old friends and former pupils of Libanius are all central to
Libanius’ decades-long effort to keep his classroom full. In the best-
documented regions, nearly all the boys who study with Libanius can be linked
together. They usually belong to a series of extended, intermarrying families,
who send many (if not all) of their sons to Libanius. In Cilicia, ten out of
fourteen boys can be linked in such a network of local, prominent families; in
Galatia, ten out of sixteen; in Armenia, eighteen out of twenty.11 Brothers or
cousins are often sent to Libanius in pairs for mutual support. Their studies
completed, they may return home and marry their cousins’ sisters. We may
surmise that these kinship and family networks of local notables offer one
another mutual encouragement to overcome reservations about sending sons
so far away for study. The more families choose to send sons to Libanius, the
more other families may make the same choice. As Libanius gazed down at the
sea of faces in his classroom, he would see family resemblances. When a new
boy arrived from Armenia in 358, Libanius thought he could detect in the
boy’s face the hint of an old schoolmate. Yes, the boy confirmed, he was indeed
Eusebius’ nephew (Letter 249). Whether we are witnessing the creation of
family traditions over generations is less likely. The 1,244 letters from 355–
65 offer a snapshot of Libanius in mid-life (aged 41–51) and at the height of
his powers. When the letters resume after a twenty-three-year gap12, it appears
that the recruiting networks in distant provinces have withered away. There is
almost no overlap in correspondents between the earlier corpus and the letters
written in 388–393, when Libanius was aged 74–9.
The letters reveal that these discrete family networks in adjacent provinces
were inter-connected through marriage alliances, landholdings in other
provinces and, most significantly, patterns of office-holding. The former two
are attested only sporadically, but office-holding is richly documented in the
letters. Legally forbidden to govern their home province, governors in the
fourth century normally served their year or two in office in a province
adjacent to or near their home province.13 Office-holding thus allowed
ambitious men to extend their personal networks through contact with the
leading families of adjacent provinces. Provincials and governors both
regarded good relations as socially desirable and politically prudent. Local
families respected and feared the governor ’s powers, particularly as supreme
judge in the province, and sought good relations in order to secure their local
standing. Governors, on the other hand, needed to understand local power
dynamics, particularly the hidden pockets of influence with connections
outside the province, in order to avoid falling foul of powerful interests.14 All
the governors of Syria in the late 350s faced trouble after office and two of
Libanius’ close friends, Olympius 3 and Sabinus 5, refused to serve again after
being attacked. People should not be permitted, argued Libanius, to ‘tear
governors to pieces when they leave office’ (Letter 83). Libanius wrote
numerous letters of introduction that allowed governors and provincials to
‘befriend’ one another, to establish alliances and to extend their personal
networks.
Libanius’ letters to the governors of Galatia at mid-century illustrate well
these interactions. The five known governors, Ecdicius (360), Anatolius 4
(prior to 361), Acacius 8 (361–2), Maximus 19 (362–4) and Leontius 9 (364–
5), received a combined total of twenty-six letters while in office in Galatia.
Remarkably, three of these five governors, Ecdicius, Anatolius and Acacius,
had sons in Libanius’ school between the years 355 and 365. Thus, their sons’
schooling might serve as an immediate bond between them and Ankara’s
notables. Of the five governors, only one, Acacius, was not a friend of
Libanius prior to his governorship. He had attended sophistic performances by
Libanius in Antioch, but he seems to have supported opponents of Libanius
(Letter 298). Nonetheless, Libanius wrote to him immediately on his
appointment as governor, to recommend the family of Maximus and his sons,
and Acacius proved very obliging: a later letter carefully reports Maximus’
gratitude for a conspicuous ‘honour ’ paid to him as well as the frequent
invitations to his son, Hyperechius, to dinners in the governor ’s villa (Letter
732). As Libanius wrote to Acacius’ successor as governor, ‘Although Acacius
and I hadn’t previously been friends, we became friends due to his enthusiasm
for Hyperechius, and now there isn’t any charge Acacius might give me that
he’ll not find me doing more, for I believe I owe him a lot’ (Letter 779).
Acacius’ successor was Maximus 19, originally from Palestine, but married
to an Antiochene and owning properties in both Antioch and Ankara. He was a
sophistic devotee and good friend of Libanius, who sent him thirty letters in
three successive governorships. A posting to Armenia (359–61) gave him the
opportunity to meet Libanius’ Armenian connections (‘I presume that by now
the sophist Leontius has become a friend of yours’, Letter 280), after which he
became governor of Galatia (362–3), where he had Libanius’ Ancyrene friends
particularly recommended to him, both in person in Antioch prior to setting
out (Letter 779) and via fifteen letters to Galatia. He responded by publicly
honouring the families and thereby extended his own network of friends and
cemented his close bond with Libanius (see esp. Letters 779, 791, 808, 834,
1350).
Maximus’ successor was Leontius 9, the Armenian sophist who was
Libanius’ old schoolmate and a key player in the Armenian recruiting network.
He had served as governor of Palestine in 362–3 and then became governor of
Galatia in 364–5. Libanius’ first letter to him in Galatia begins, ‘perhaps
you’ve already looked after my friends, having learned who they are, and
you’ve caused them to feel gratitude toward you. But if this hasn’t happened
yet, then let it happen now, my good fellow’ (Letter 1267). What is striking is
how the social relations between the local notables of a region and their
temporary governors intersect with Libanius’ recruiting network involving old
schoolmates, old friends and parents of former pupils. Galatia may be
exceptional, for though he had spent only three to four months there in 350–1,
it had a special place in Libanius’ heart, as he explains to an old schoolmate, ‘I
have such a strong memory of those who drank from the same wine bowl [with
me] and especially of [my] Galatians, who always get a bit more from me …’
(Letter 355). What is not exceptional, however, is the pattern by which the most
ambitious and successful provincials govern each other ’s nearby provinces
and thereby extend their own personal networks.

10.3 Friendship
In Libanius’ letters we enter a world in which everyone is seeking connections,
and friendship is the principal glue that binds personal networks together. The
‘companions’ described above are thus an inner circle of the broader circle of
one’s ‘friends’. Letters were regarded in antiquity as a ‘friendship’ genre, and a
central goal of an epistolary network is the cultivation and maintenance of
friendship15. Greek has no abstract noun used exclusively for ‘friendship’ in
the modern sense. Greek ‘friendship’ words, philia, philos and cognates, like
Latin amicitia, have a wide semantic range. Philos as an adjective means
‘dear ’; as a noun it means ‘dear one’. In Greek, those who are ‘dear ’ to you are
typically your kinfolk and your friends in ever-receding circles of intimacy.
But in some cases whole categories of people are ‘dear ’ to you, all lovers of
poetry and rhetoric perhaps, or even all your fellow citizens. The point is that
these ‘friendship’ words designate love, affection and sympathy of many types.
Greek usage at all periods is very flexible and includes the whole spectrum of
possible friendships, from the most intimate and selfless to purely utilitarian
ones involving exchanges of favours with minimal or no emotional charge.16
Ideally, friendship was based on the mutual admiration of the virtues in one
another ’s characters. A capacity for friendship is one of the fruits of a good
education and men of paideia are expected to recognize and appreciate one
another ’s qualities. Of Apellio, for example, Libanius writes, ‘You’ll marvel at
his gentleness, his sincerity, his capacity for friendship, his ignorance of
dishonest gain’ (Letter 396). But Greek thought also placed a strong emphasis
on reciprocity and assumed that real friendship manifests itself in actions.
Friends were expected to assist one another in the mutual exchange of favours.
Greek proverbs stressed that the ‘possessions of friends are in common’, that a
‘friend is obligated to assist’, and that a friend doesn’t ‘avoid a friend in
distress’. Mythological models, Theseus and Heracles, Theseus and Pirithous,
or Achilles and Patroclus, are cited again and again to reinforce the obligation
to provide active assistance to friends. The best friendships were thus
reciprocal between people of roughly equal status, because rough equals are in
a better position to give and receive favours of equal value. Moreover, loyalty
in friendship is a central quality that makes a man worthy of recommendation,
whether to a rough equal or to a more influential figure, and Libanius
mentions this character trait in some of his strongest recommendations. Of
young Anthius, he writes, ‘I have found him an ally who would walk through
fire even to do me a favour ’ (Letter 395), and of his old friend Olympius, he
says, ‘So loyal a friend is he that he would even march side by side against the
Gorgons for the sake of a friend’ (Letter 413).

10.4 Patronage
Status inequalities make friendship harder, since reciprocity in the exchange of
favours is harder. At some ill-defined tipping point, we move from friendship
to patronage, which has been called ‘asymmetrical friendship’, since one party
is in a position to grant requests and favours that the other party cannot
possibly reciprocate. Most research on patronage in antiquity has focused on
the Roman Republic, because the Romans had specific vocabulary for patron–
client relationships (patronus, cliens, patronatus), and there has been
considerable debate over the overall importance of patronage in Roman
political and social life.17 Despite the existence of a vocabulary of patronage,
however, Roman writers often discreetly mask its workings. Richard Saller
observed that ‘usage [of the label cliens] was more fluid than usually supposed
and the connotations of amicus, cliens and patronus were subtly and variously
manipulated in different circumstances’.18 Greek, by contrast, has no explicit
vocabulary for patronage, preferring to use friendship language, which tends
to mask patronage’s less pleasant aspects. But patronage continued to be central
to the social and political life of the late empire, and a question Andrew
Wallace-Hadrill posed of the Republic and early empire applies equally well to
the late empire: How effectively could any individual or group gain access to
the resources controlled by the Roman state (of whatever sort, judgement,
privilege, status, power, money) except through personal links of patronage?19
The prodigious growth of ‘big government’ in the fourth century created
thousands of career opportunities that had not existed in earlier eras. The few
hundred paid officials of the early empire mushroomed to more than 30,000
in the fourth century.20 Antioch alone may have had about 1,700 officials, if
A.H.M. Jones’ estimates are correct of the imperial officials headquartered
there: the staffs of the Praetorian Prefect (1,000), comes Orientis (600),
governor of Syria (100).21 The growth of the church hierarchy and the army,
and the expansion of the senate in Constantinople from 300 to 2,000 senators
also created new opportunities and challenges for the ambitious. The social
and political structures of the age were intensely hierarchical.22
The primary beneficiaries of these new opportunities were the curial class,23
which itself was increasingly hierarchical. Libanius’ letters suggest that
Antioch’s council was divided into three or four grades (Letters 252.5, 1277.3–
4). Curials of all income levels, from the small elite of first families (prōtoi or
principales) to the humblest decurions, contributed to the erosion of the
financial health of the councils by abandoning curial duties in favour of more
attractive alternatives, usually government service or the law. The imperial
government, the principal employer of these ‘fleeing’ decurions, periodically
recognized the financial drain from the cities and thundered that decurions
were to return to their councils, but these edicts appear to have had little effect:
curial ‘flight’ remained a conspicuous feature of the age. In Libanius’ view, a
strong council was the ‘soul’ of a city (Oration 18.147) and he always
denounced abandonment of curial duties (Orations 47–8), but his own students
were very much involved in this social trend. Some 50 per cent of his students
were of curial origin, while only about 21 per cent actually took up curial
duties.24 The very education that Libanius provided was a ticket to a more
appealing career path, and Libanius intervened on many occasions to get them
released from curial duties. Similarly, Libanius loathed the new senate in
Constantinople and branded it fit for ‘nonentities’ (Letter 34), but some of his
close friends and former students became senators. In fact, most of what we
know about entry into the senate in the late 350s comes from Libanius’
repeated interventions with Themistius on behalf of his lifelong friend,
Olympius 3.25
Promotion in the administration was achieved primarily through patronage.
As Wolfgang Liebeschuetz wrote, ‘The government had to be informed in
some way about men who were candidates for posts in the government service,
and in the absence of a system of examinations, patronage in the field of
appointments was inevitable.’26 Access to posts required manipulation of a
network to get to the people with the power and influence to award those posts.
Consider the example of provincial governorships. For most wealthy,
ambitious provincials of the sort that sent sons to Libanius’ school,
governorships would have been the pinnacle of their political careers. But
there were only twenty governorships in the Greek East at mid-century, when
our evidence is richest, and they were typically one- to two-year posts. The
potential candidates may have numbered in the few hundreds. So despite the
expansion of government, governorships remained a ‘scarce resource’ and a
handful of powerful officials controlled access to them. In theory, the emperor
awarded governorships and, in fact, a new governor was actually handed the
codicils of office by the emperor himself. But emperors in their isolation
could not know the pool of candidates and relied on their officials and
courtiers to select deserving candidates. In the East, the key officials below the
emperor were the Praetorian Prefect (praefectus praetorio Orientis), the
Prefect of Constantinople (praefectus urbis Constantinopolitanae), the Count
of the East (comes Orientis), the vicarii of the various dioceses of the East
(Oriens) and the provincial governors. At court, the most influential officials
were the Master of Offices (magister officiorum), the Count of Private
Properties (comes rei privatae), the Count of Sacred Largesses (comes
sacrarum largitionum) and, at least under Constantius II, the head of the corps
of Imperial Secretaries (primicerius notariorum)27. In addition, there were
always at court churchmen and former officials, perhaps manoeuvring for the
next office, perhaps wielding unofficial influence by virtue of high rank and
access to those who determined imperial policy. For example, Libanius’ most
reliable patron in the late 350s, Anatolius 3/i, turned down the Prefecture of
Rome and continued to lobby at court before he got the post he wanted, the
Prefecture of Illyricum (357–60).28 All such people were potential patrons for
the upwardly mobile, and unofficial influence could be as effective as official
influence. How these powerful men lobbied for their nominees in the imperial
consistory is not described. ‘For Ammianus,’ notes Christopher Kelly, ‘the
endless rivalry and jockeying for position were reminiscent of the staged
fights between gladiators and wild beasts in the amphitheatre.’29 In order to
reduce faction fighting at court, key officials may have been awarded a fixed
number of governorships to allot. At any rate, Libanius seems to address a
Praetorian Prefect or Master of Offices as personally responsible for a
governor ’s appointment with no caveat such as ‘pending imperial approval’.30
The task for the ambitious and upwardly mobile was to win the support of
these patrons.
Patronage was thus a fact of life and necessary for the orderly promotion of
deserving men, but who were the ‘deserving’? High birth, wealth and social
prestige always counted for a lot. Libanius also recommends many men, young
and old, for virtues that are regarded as the fruits of paideia: capacity for hard
work, shown especially by a man’s skill at oratory, self-control or sophrosyne,
the cardinal virtue of Greek culture at all times, graciousness or charm
(χάρις), gentleness (πρᾳóτης, ἡμερóτης and their derivatives) and courtesy or
perhaps, fair-dealing (ἐπιείκεια). Of his favourite former student, Libanius
informs a governor, ‘This Hyperechius, due to his birth, natural disposition
for oratory, orderly way of life, and imitation of an old man’s prudence in
youth, has received more attention and affection from me than is a pupil’s due’
(Letter 1443). Araxius, the Prefect of Constantinople, is assured by Libanius
that young Malchus displays excellent qualities: ‘self-control, courtesy, a
desire for studying, and diligence at his studies. He wouldn’t think it right to
improve his position by pestering, and on improving it, he would forget his
own name before he forgot the favour ’ (Letter 482). Libanius’ old friend
Pelagius is praised as ‘the most courteous of the Syrians … I praise him for
that – not that he doesn’t have a good family, and moreover eloquence,
influence in his city, and other things by which one might be distinguished –
but I praise him because he has made a name for himself by the gentleness of
his character more than by those other means, and consequently he lives amidst
great wealth and even more affection’ (Letter 562). We should add that these
virtues are routinely contrasted with the cash payments that other men
allegedly make to attain office. Outright purchase of office, yet another factor
in the operation of patronage networks, became increasingly common in the
second half of the fourth century.31
If Libanius had had his way, social and political advancement would have
been reserved exclusively for those groomed by the traditional paideia that he
himself dispensed: in his view, no other cultural formation was acceptable in
the governing class. In reality, however, paideia had competitors in the fourth
century.32 In Oration 18.130–45, Libanius pours scorn on the state of the
government that Julian inherited from his cousin Constantius II. Apart from a
palace staff bloated with idle gluttons, good-for-nothings and eunuchs ‘more
numerous than flies about the flocks in springtime’, the government was
afflicted by the scourge of the imperial secretaries (notarii), shorthand experts
who kept records of important government business. Armed with this skill ‘fit
for menials’, these ‘many-headed hell-hounds’ made free with everyone’s
property. Resistance was useless, since it only led to accusations of murder and
magic. Thus, the cities were plundered so that ‘fullers’ sons could have houses
more splendid than palaces’. Julian sent them all packing, as he did the special
couriers (agentes in rebus), so-called ‘King’s Eyes’, who were entrusted with
sensitive missions requiring intelligence gathering and investigation.
Ostensibly protectors of the realm, they were really, claims Libanius, greedy
hucksters responsible for all sorts of criminal conduct. In later years, Libanius’
anger would focus on other evils undermining Greek civic life, particularly
the study of law and Latin.33
Libanius’ masterful invective reveals his resentment of what Peter Garnsey
has called ‘rival channels of influence’.34 An increasing number of parents,
including Libanius’ close friends, made sure that their sons supplemented their
study of rhetoric with shorthand, law or Latin, which were increasingly valued
by the imperial administration, and they were eager to see their sons become
secretaries or special couriers.35 It would imprudent to draw conclusions from
such passages about Libanius’ social relations and the people he included in his
network. His own family illustrates well the divergent cultural, religious and
political choices faced by his contemporaries. It had two branches, one
staunchly municipal, represented by Libanius and his uncle Phasganius, the
other office-holding, represented by an uncle Panolbius.36 The municipal
branch disappeared with the death of Libanius himself. Panolbius’ branch, by
contrast, married children of the Praetorian Prefects, Thalassius 1 and
Helpidius 4, both conspicuous examples of the Christian aristocracy of service
that had prospered under Constantius. Helpidius had come up through the ranks
of the secretaries (notarii). That branch of the family became Christian and
office-holding; they owned properties across several provinces, and, despite
setbacks under Julian and Valens, they prospered and produced a Consul in
404. Moreover, Libanius’ most trusted letter carrier and his principal contact at
court in the 350s was a cousin from that branch, Spectatus 1, who held the rank
of tribune and secretary (tribunus et notarius).

10.5 Approaches to power

Libanius’ letters contain hundreds of requests for favours from people of
‘influence’, usually high officials. As a provincial sophist without institutional
authority, his powers as a patron are, as he often stresses37, insubstantial. But
his skill and discipline as an epistolographer make him a formidable broker.
He requests many favours of a wide range of Eastern governors, writing to
them confidently and ‘horizontally’, as it were, without fear of status
imbalance. Some 315 of the total 1,544 letters were written to governors of
Eastern provinces while they were in office. If we added in the number of
letters written when these men were out of office, the total would not be
dramatically higher. Libanius has an ability to turn his epistolary network on
and off with cool efficiency, depending on who can perform needed favours.
When a former pupil or close friend achieves high office, Libanius may
unleash a spate of letters. Priscianus 1 received only two letters between 355
and 359, but twenty-six letters as governor of Euphratensis in 360–1.
Andronicus 3 also received twenty-six letters in his first governorship. The
network can also be switched off very abruptly. Clematius 2, a special courier
(agens in rebus) and passionate devotee of sophistic pursuits, was a key courier
for Libanius in the 350s. In Antioch, he and Libanius were ‘The Inseparables’,
and the appearance of one without the other would prompt the Prefect to quip,
‘Where’s your other half?’ (Letter 435). Yet whilst he received fourteen letters
as governor of Palestine in 357–8, he disappears completely from the corpus
afterwards. Similarly, Libanius’ cousin Spectatus 1 is critical until 361, when
he vanishes from history. Political disgrace or sudden death may explain some
disappearances, while others are probably to be explained by Libanius’
disciplined focus on those who are in positions of influence.
Geographically, the letters to governors are distributed as follows:
Phoenicia (69), Palestine (51), Euphratensis (41), Cilicia (31), Syria (27),
Galatia (27), Armenia (22), Arabia (16), Isauria (15), all other Eastern
provinces (0–5). The distribution is by no means random, since large numbers
of letters to a few recipients can distort the totals. Nonetheless, the numbers
correspond to what we might expect, if we allow for Libanius’ particular
attentiveness to distant Galatia and Armenia. Most letters are dispatched to
governors near Syria, in part because of Libanius’ connections, in part because
people needing favours will seek out brokers nearby. People in more distant
provinces will normally seek an avenue to influence closer to home.
Libanius does not himself have the power and authority to dispense the sorts
of favours people are typically seeking: a political office, a position as a
lawyer or advocate at a governor ’s court, relief from curial duties, a judge’s
benevolence in a court case, some vague protection, an encouraging reception,
or just ‘some good thing’.38 ‘If I had influence, he would benefit from it, but
since I don’t have any … ’ explains Libanius (Letter 1142). ‘I’m under every
compulsion to repay the old man, and I would repay him if I could employ
your influence – for my own is pretty insubstantial’ (Letter 365). Libanius’
role is rather to provide access to people who do have that power, either
personally or in league with a faction or clique that can deliver them. Whether
his letters succeed in that goal, we do not usually learn. Officials were deluged
with requests and might feel ‘oppressed’ by their correspondence and they
might just throw it away (Letters 1113, 1310). Libanius himself was besieged
by people he scarcely knew, but who needed access to people of influence.
Understandably, his emotional investment in his letters varied, as he concedes
to the Master of Offices Florentius 3:

The letters I send to you on behalf of their bearers may use the same
language but their intent isn’t the same. Sometimes I write when I can’t
avoid people’s insistent requests, and if they get nothing good from them,
I’m not concerned. But in the cases when I write with all my heart, and I
add my prayers to the letter, if they enjoy your support, the gain is mine.
(Letter 97)

The body of roughly 175 letters addressed to the imperial court (about 14 per
cent of the 1,269 letters from 355–65) illustrate particularly well the limits of
Libanius’ ability to advance the interests of himself and his friends. The court
is the epicentre of political life, but it poses particular problems of access to
influence and power. These 175 letters were carried in roughly 50 separate
journeys to court, wherever it happened to be, and they preserve the names of
38 named letter-carriers, some well-known from the letter corpus, while
others are mere names. These letters usually stand next to one another in the
manuscript tradition, on average three to four letters in a series, but a few
series preserve as many as ten letters or more. In the longest series, only a few
letters will be ultimately destined for persons at court, while others are for
friends strung out along the central artery of Libanius’ epistolary network,
stretching from Antioch to Tarsus, Ankara, Nicomedia, Constantinople and
westward. That ‘westward’ is important because the court was in the west for
the whole of the 350s.
In the steeply hierarchical structure of the court, status imbalance is a
constant issue for Libanius. In summer 355, when our letter collection begins,
Libanius had no close contacts with high officials at court, and yet, he had a
serious problem because he had abandoned his chair of rhetoric in
Constantinople without imperial approval. Although he hated to write ‘cold’ to
high officials, that is, without a prior face-to-face meeting and some
expression of goodwill, necessity forced him in 355 and 356 to write to a
range of influential people at court in an effort to secure permission for the
move to Antioch. Two letter-carriers played a critical role in gaining Libanius
access to court officials in these and the coming years: first, his cousin
Spectatus, a secretary (tribunus et notarius, Ammianus 17.5.15) from the
office-holding branch of Libanius’ family and deeply involved in negotiations
with Persia in the 350s (he was one of the three envoys sent to Persia in 358 to
try to avert war); second, the ‘inseparable’ Clematius 2, the special courier
(agens in rebus) and sophistic devotee mentioned above. Both Spectatus and
Clematius made multiple journeys between East and West in the 350s, and
through them Libanius obtained access to senior notarii, three successive
Masters of Offices, and other influential people at court. They not only carried
letters, they often issued the initial invitation or encouraged Libanius to write,
then functioned as mediators and interpreters.39
The other conspicuous group of letter-carriers to court are the envoys
dispatched by Antioch for ceremonial occasions, such as Constantius’
Vicennalia in 357, or the elevation of Caesars and emperors: Julian, Jovian,
Valentinian and Valens. Seven embassies are documented in the collection.40
The envoys were drawn from the closely-connected, intermarrying families
that shouldered the city’s most burdensome duties: the Olympic games, the
Syriarchy and the costly and arduous embassies to court. These first families
of Antioch provided Libanius with many of his strongest supporters
throughout his career, promoting enrolment in his school and furnishing an
enthusiastic audience for sophistic performances.4 1 We have little evidence of
the day-to-day relations of these men, but when they travel on embassy,
carrying the city’s gold crown or searching for assistance with their costly
liturgies, they carry some of the warmest, most heartfelt letters of introduction
in the entire corpus. In winter 355/6, for example, Clematius travelled with two
Antiochene envoys to court at Milan, their saddlebags stuffed with twenty-three
letters for addressees stretching from Ankara to Milan (Letters 430–52).
Similarly, Letoius travelled to the Vicennalia in Rome in 357 with ten letters of
introduction (Letters 550–9).
On balance, what is striking about the many letters sent to Constantius’ court
is how few conspicuous successes are visible in them and how many
approaches to officials went unanswered. Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised.
Officials were constantly besieged with requests from all sides, most had no
personal ties with Libanius and they might well feel diffident about trading
epistolary gems in flawlessly classicizing Greek. But Libanius fared little
better even with chancellery officials, such as an old schoolmate
Eugnomonius, to whom he writes in 357:

Do you still recall the ‘bitch’ and the ‘old hag’ and what you used to call
Socrates – all those times we had in Athens? Or have you grown proud
toward me and have nothing to say of the old times?
(Letter 559)

In a follow-up letter, Libanius tweaks him for failing to reply, though his job
title is derived from letter writing (Letter 382). After two false starts, Libanius
fell silent, as he normally did when he was given no encouragement to write.
Nonetheless, two influential patrons at court did emerge for Libanius: first,
the Christian courtier Datianus, the éminence grise of Constantius’ court,
eclipsed under Julian, but quickly restored under Jovian. Consul in 358, he
played ‘Nestor’, says Libanius, to Constantius’ ‘Agamemnon’ (Letter 114). He
was an Antiochene, but distant and imperious. There are twenty letters to him
clustered at the beginning and end of the corpus (355–65), and the early letters
to him are more servile in tone than any other letters in the collection. It was
Datianus who secured permission for Libanius to remain in Antioch, not out of
friendship, Libanius would write, but simply to demonstrate that he could
prevail in whatever he undertook (Letter 490; Oration 1.94). He was too distant
to be asked routine favours. The court official who proved most helpful to
Libanius and his friends was the Master of Offices, Florentius 3, acting Master
in 355 and full Master in 359–61. He was from a powerful Antiochene family
(his father had been consul in 350), but Libanius had not known him in
Antioch. After a rather awkward initial approach (‘I haven’t been very long
amongst your close acquaintances and now I’m hunting for friendship through
a letter, not that I may reap a benefit from your influence, for that would be the
mark of a merchant, not a man eager for friendship … ’ Letter 510), Libanius
received a warm response, which gave him the confidence to write him a total
of twelve letters and to speak on a few occasions with surprising frankness
(Letters 218–19). Florentius was responsible for the appointment in 360 of
Libanius’ close friend, Priscianus 1, to the first of three successive
governorships (Letter 61). He also encouraged Libanius to come to court, an
invitation that was declined (Letter 48).
 Patrons need to calculate the value of the men to whom they grant favours.
Birth, wealth, rank and proven merits are certainly weighed up. If status
imbalance is not too severe, Libanius may invoke friendship: ‘consider that
you will not only be doing a favour for me, but that you yourself will also be
acquiring a friend’ (Letter 240). Many letters, however, stress the patron’s duty
to act because he has ‘influence’, while it is Libanius and the protégé’s role to
‘broadcast’ the favour (‘If I knew how to twist and turn about the doors of the
powerful, I too would be one of the powerful. As things stand, I’m weak
though not at all ashamed – it’s enough for me, as for the nightingale, to sing,’
Letter 617). That duty is traditional. The giver of a favour remains silent, while
the recipient ‘raises a shout and broadcasts whatever he has received’ (Letter
651). This duty is part of the promotion and maintenance of a patron’s public
reputation. The letters allude frequently to conversations arising about the
excellence of governors and the praise of specific officials. ‘There were five
of us present when I heard him [the Praetorian Prefect of the East, Strategius]
tell this story,’ explains Libanius to Anatolius 3/i, the Prefect of Illyricum, who
had made a fine, brave speech before the emperor, ‘but everybody has heard
me repeat it’ (Letter 552). The broadcasting of favours, whether in agora talk
or in private gatherings, is part of the control of public discourse. It is an
indicator of whose stocks are up, whose down, and it is critical to the
preservation of one’s influence. As Andrew Wallace-Hadrill has observed,
‘your standing depends on appearances, what people are seen to think of you; it
is never put to the polls, and yet you are on trial every minute … It is a jittery
system like the stock market, not a system of occasional major tests like
democratic elections.’4 2
Libanius is himself extremely attentive to shifts in his standing as a broker
(‘don’t be surprised if Marcellus couples my letter with Strategius’ letter for
the rumour has it that I’ve very great influence with you,’ Letter 362). The
letters to Spectatus are particularly revealing because he is a family member
and Libanius can write to him with a bluntness he can’t use with other
correspondents:

Sabinus needs a higher rank, so that he isn’t left behind by people to

whom he is superior in learning, and so that he won’t seem to have
friends weaker than other people. It’s intolerable for me and disgraceful
for you if his case offers any grounds for criticism of you and me.
(Letter 545)
Spectatus seems ready enough with promises, but nonchalant in carrying them
out, as in this instance from 358, when he has failed to intervene with his
supervisor, the head of the corps of secretaries (notarii), on behalf of a close
family friend:

Why on earth will you not do what you promised? … is it that your
influence is insufficient for the favour we’re requesting? And yet, you
made fun of Quirinus and … insinuated that you could perform favours of
that sort even in your sleep!
(Letter 365)

Concern over loss of influence also lies behind this vignette about the etiquette
of epistolary exchange:

I was sitting and conversing in the evening with Celsus, the governor of
Syria, when one of the slaves rushed in and said ‘Dius is downstairs and is
requesting a letter!’ At Celsus’ bidding, Dius came up and when I learned
who the man was, that he had come from you, and that he was racing back
to you, I said emphatically that, being ignorant of these things, I had been
wronged on both counts – I would have written had I known! ‘Well,’ said
Dius, ‘you haven’t lost your chance for a letter. I had intended to mount up
before midnight, but for your sake I’ll wait until daybreak …’
(Letter 1113)

Libanius goes on briefly to acknowledge the recipient’s burdensome workload

and to pardon his failure to write to Libanius though he had written to others
(‘if I’m regarded as a friend, I think that’s enough’). The letter contains no
news per se.43 Libanius had Dius wait until dawn before saddling up not
because he had news to report, but in order to keep an important line in his
network open and active. The letter ’s recipient was Count of Private Properties
Caesarius 1, one of the two most important financial officials at court and thus
powerfully positioned to help his friends, which was doubly important during
the anti-pagan reaction after Julian’s death, when many Hellenes lost influence
and were dismissed from office. Yet the increasingly antagonized tone of the
fourteen letters for Caesarius as Count of Private Properties reveal that he
proved frustratingly unhelpful to his friends. When they should have been
‘running before the wind’ due to Caesarius’ ‘influence’ (dynamis), they were
instead in the ‘doldrums’ (Letter 1459). Letter 1113 fits into a series of letters
revealing a highly-placed official failing to assist his ‘friends’ on matters of
real importance and at a politically difficult moment. As Isabella Sandwell
observes, when Libanius’ powerful correspondents fail to reply to his letters, it
implies a ‘weakening of Libanius’ social position, a marginalization of his
person and so weakening of his network.’44 Julian’s death in particular led to a
serious decline in his personal influence. As one friend tactlessly put it, ‘he no
longer had people to kow-tow to him’ (Letter 1154). His letters, he says, are
now ‘weaker than shadows and a hindrance to those who take them’ (Letter
1148).
Libanius’ difficulties in making inroads at the court of Constantius do not of
course imply that he lacked access to influence in those years. The absence of
the court in the west in the 350s was a serious problem. A Greek proverb
claimed that ‘letters are second best’, and although the proverb alludes to the
presence/absence of a friend, it applies as well to the pursuit of advancement.
Face-to-face contact is far preferable and most of Libanius’ networking was
carried out face-to-face in Antioch, which, as we noted above, was top-heavy in
these years with imperial officials. He attended their daily receptions (eisodoi)
well into old age, when he had lost influence, at which point he attacked them
as instruments of corruption (Orations 51–2). The Prefect Strategius, he
reports, granted some of his requests while denying others (Oration 1.108).
Since Julian spent most of his reign in Antioch, Libanius’ contact with that
emperor and his officials was all face-to-face. This was the only period of his
life when the doors of the imperial palace were open to him, and his fame and
stature grew tremendously as he became the emperor ’s prize sophist and the
city’s principal spokesman and intercessor. It was the highpoint of his career
and his services were more than ever sought after. Correspondence with the
court in this period is understandably minimal: a mere five letters to Julian as
emperor and a single letter to Julian’s Master of Offices45, but he was besieged
by requests for letters to governors and officials in Constantinople. Many new
correspondents appear in the corpus at this time; in fact, for the years 363–5,
the rate of surviving letters is almost double what it had been in earlier years.
He was much better connected now than he had been in 355 and he writes more
letters to more officials under Jovian and his successors than he had done
under Constantius. Moreover, he writes with greater confidence and more
familiarity than he had done a decade earlier. He had come to know many of
these officials at Julian’s court and subsequent emperors kept them on.
10.6 Conclusion
We began this chapter by exploring school recruitment and we found that in the
best-documented provinces, most of the boys can be linked in a series of inter-
connected, inter-marrying prominent families. We observed further that these
prominent families are linked across provinces through marriage, land-
holding and office-holding. In Libanius’ letters introducing new governors to
prominent provincials, we can see how the most prestigious families cultivated
social networks in surrounding provinces. School recruitment and the
cultivation of social and political connections were all intimately connected in
Libanius’ network. ‘Companions’ (hetairoi) and ‘friends’ were the two most
important categories in the network, and the letter collection offers hundreds
of examples of Libanius writing ‘horizontally’ and confidently to a range of
officials from whom he requests favours. The letters to the court of
Constantius II, by contrast, offer good examples of the limits to the political
and social reach of a provincial sophist in the steeply hierarchical world of a
distant imperial court. The success rate of Libanius as a broker cannot be
calculated, but the remarkable number of surviving letters, roughly 120 letters
per year in the earlier period (355–65) when Libanius was in his 40s, 70 per
year when he was in his later 70s (388–93), suggests that his contemporaries
valued him highly. If Libanius composed letters at a similar rate in the 23-year
period 365–88, then some 2,000 letters or more have been lost. As this chapter
has demonstrated, however, even the 1,544 letters of Libanius which we do
have offer a great opportunity to study social networks in the fourth century
AD.

1 On the long neglect of, but current upsurge in research on, Libanius’ letters,
see Chapter 7. For a survey of the translations available for each letter, see
Appendix E.

2 Of Basil’s 365 surviving letters, only 1–22 appear to have been written
between 357 and 365, when Libanius’ corpus breaks off. Of Gregory’s 249,
only 1–10 were composed between 359 and 365. There are a handful of
overlapping correspondents, e.g. Themistius 1, Eustathius 1, Sophronius 3.
Synesius’ 156 letters were written between 399 and 413.
3 For recent studies employing social network analysis, see Ruffini (2008)
and Schor (2011). Mullett (1997) is a good study of a single epistolary
network.

4 Petit (1994) did not develop his own numbering, but included both previous
numbering systems.

5 For an up-to-date study of Libanius’ school, see Cribiore (2007a), with

occasional adjustments to Petit’s conclusions.

6 As a landowner, Libanius did have a network in the countryside. Oration 47

describes challenges for him as a rural patron.

7 Libanius is very reticent on matters of religion and inferences about

religious affiliation should be regarded as tentative.

8 Petit (1956a), 114.

9 Watts (2006), 56, on recruitment at Athens.

10 Petit (1956a), 193 for list of schoolmates; Priscianus 1 and Antiochus ii are
close friends.

11 Petit (1956a), 122–4 (Cilicia), 129–32 (Galatia), 132–4 (Armenia).

12 On this gap in Libanius’ letter collection, see Chapter 7, Section 7.3.

13 On governors in the Later Roman Empire, see Slootjes (2006).

14 Brown (1992), 3–34, esp. 24.

15 See also Chapter 7, Section 7.5.

16 On the semantic range of philia and cognates, see Konstan (1996) and
(1997), 75–7, with bibliography on previous discussions. On Libanius’ use of
friendship themes in the letters, see Bradbury (2006).

17 Garnsey (2010) is a good study of Roman patronage from the Republic to

the later empire (with survey of previous scholarship).

18 Saller (1989), 57.

19 Wallace-Hadrill (1989), 78.

20 Jones (1966), 211 (30,000); MacMullen (1988), 144 (30,000–35,000);

Heather (1994), 18–21 (23,000).

21 Jones (1964), 586–96.

22 Kelly (2008) on the structure and character of the imperial government.

23 Heather (1994), 23.

24 Petit (1956a), 170–2.

25 Letters 70, 99, 251–3, 265, with Heather (2008) on the senates in the fourth
century.

26 Liebeschuetz (1972), 194.

27 For a concise introduction to late Roman government in the Greek East, see
Bradbury (2004a), 12–18.

28 For Libanius’ relations with this powerful patron, see Bradbury (2000).
29 Kelly (2008), 160.

30 e.g. Letter 64 on Florentius 3, the new Master of Offices in 359, ‘singing a

noble opening song’ by ‘summoning’ Priscianus 1 to be governor of
Euphratensis in 360–1; Letter 563 to Anatolius 3, the Prefect of Illyricum:
‘You can be sure that you’ve made me governor of Palestine by dispatching
Clematius there … ’

31 Letters 64 and 215, with Kelly (2004) and Garnsey (2010), 53.

32 Brown (1992), chapter 2 on ‘Paideia and Power ’ is excellent.

33 Oration 62.21 on the study of Roman law, once a ‘mark of lower status’;
Oration 49.29, on Phasganius’ excellence and ignorance of Latin.

34 Garnsey (2010), 51.

35 On the rival studies, Liebeschuetz (1972), 242–55 and Bradbury (2004a),

201–4. See also Letters 359, 365–6 for Libanius’ intervention with the head of
the corps of notarii on behalf of a close friend, Quirinus, who has enrolled his
son, Honoratus 3, in the corps of notarii; Letter 362 for a similar case of a son
enrolled as an agens in rebus.

36 PLRE, 1141, Stemma 18.

37 For examples, see the next paragraph but one.

38 Petit (1956a), 160.

39 Through them Libanius approached the Masters of Offices, Palladius 4

(351/4 under Gallus), Musonius 1 (356–7) and Florentius 3 (359–61), as well
as the Head Notaries, Bassus 5 (358) and Jovianus 1 (363). There are only
three letters to Palladius, two to Musonius, two to Jovianus, and three to
Bassus, despite the fact that Bassus’ son studied with Libanius from 356 to 358.

40 Liebeschuetz (1972), 266–7, numbers 3–9.

41 At Oration 31.47 Libanius invokes Antioch’s dominant councillors in 361:

Eubulus 2, Obodianus, an unnamed cousin, Hilarius 8, Letoius i, Arsenius 3.

42 Wallace-Hadrill (1989), 83.

43 For the lack of ‘news’ in many Libanian letters, see also Chapter 7, Section
7.4.

44 Sandwell (2007b), 141.

45 A letter introducing his close friend Olympius 3 to the Master of Offices

Anatolius 5 en route to Mt Casius with the emperor to sacrifice to Zeus (Letter
739).
Chapter 11 Libanius and the literary tradition
Heinz-Günther Nesselrath

11.1 Introduction
Quellenforschung, a mainstay of philological studies in the nineteenth century,
has long since gone out of favour, but it may be considered an important
ancestor of today’s intertextual studies or ‘intertextuality’: both
Quellenforschung and intertextuality deal with the relationship(s) between older
and more recent texts, but while nineteenth-century Quellenforscher were more
interested in reconstructing sources, thus privileging the older – and most of
the time lost – texts over the more recent ones, intertextuality focuses on the
reception and significance of sources for a new text, thus giving this text its
due, while not neglecting the traditions it builds on. Having thus inherited
Quellenforschung’s diachronic perspective, but turning it to a new purpose,
intertextuality provides important answers to significant questions: what an
author or people in a certain era thought were important literary examples to
use, or which previous authors an author could suppose (or would at least like)
his readers to know. The conscious (re-)use of earlier texts often adds extra
layers of meaning to what an author wants to say, because a quote or an
allusion points the reader or listener to the original context of the quote or
allusion, thus evoking associations which he would not notice if the quote or
allusion was not there or went unnoticed.
For such questions, the copious works of Libanius, steeped as they are in
allusions to earlier literature, are an exceptionally rewarding object of study.
First of all, Libanius allows us to catch a unique glimpse of a variety of late
antique attitudes and practices vis-à-vis the literary tradition by explicitly
reflecting upon the importance which the Greek literary past holds for him: his
thorough engagement with earlier Greek literature, whilst fully in line with that
of the great authors of the Second Sophistic, seems to have been perceived as
extraordinary in the fourth century. In the second place, the sheer variety and
chronological range of texts to which Libanius refers is astonishing: he refers
not only to classical and Hellenistic texts, but also to texts of the Second
Sophistic and beyond. Libanius thus yields unique insights into the process of
canonization of post-Hellenistic, early imperial as well as late antique, Greek
literature. Last but not least, Libanius’ references to other works of Greek
literature exemplify the range of uses to which literary allusions could be put:
whilst often providing additional ornamentation to Libanius’ carefully crafted
style, they also add significant undertones to the contents of his texts. Because
of these characteristics, Libanius merits being on the reading list of anybody
interested in ancient intertextuality. Yet whilst scholars over the last two
decades or so have frequently applied intertextual methodologies to imitations
of the classical past in Greek literature of the first and second centuries AD, the
dynamics of literary references in the oeuvre of Libanius have not yet been the
subject of such a systematic intertextual approach.
This chapter aims to lay solid foundations for such a study by presenting
Libanius’ reflections on his engagement with the literary tradition, providing
an overview of the authors and texts he alluded to in his oeuvre, and proposing
two case studies that explore the function of literary allusions in Libanius’
texts. Section 11.2 shows how Libanius made it a lifelong goal to stay in touch
with the literary past. Section 11.3 tries to determine the range as well as the
limits of his literary studies. After this, Section 11.4 looks at his use of more
recent and even contemporary authors. Sections 11.5 and 11.6, in turn, offer
concrete examples of how Libanius employs earlier authors to enhance and
enrich his texts, by looking at his Hymn to Artemis and his Lament for Julian.
Section 11.7, finally, concludes with remarks about how sharing literary
reminiscences with his audience or recipients is an important means for
Libanius to build and preserve bonds of Hellenic identity with them.

11.2 A lifelong engagement with the literary past

Over the last two decades or so, several studies have fundamentally altered our
assessment of the Second Sophistic:1 whereas in earlier times the Greek
literature of the first two centuries AD, with its frequent references to the
classical past, had long been dismissed as unoriginal and weltabgewandt
(‘detached from the world’), it is now acknowledged to have produced some of
the most fascinating texts that have come down to us from antiquity. At the
basis of this reassessment lies above all the observation that references to the
literary tradition, far from being the result of a lack of inspiration or the sign
of a moribund culture, can be powerful loci for debating contemporary issues
and constructing Greek identity under Roman domination: political power and
literary culture were intimately connected in the Roman Empire.2 In order to
partake in literary culture and thus in political power, elite men therefore
needed to acquire in-depth knowledge of, as well as the ability to play with, the
literary tradition. If education thus opened the door to power, thorough
familiarization with the literary tradition and the skill to reuse that tradition
creatively were of paramount importance within the curriculum.
Studies of the Second Sophistic usually stop at around AD 250. Nevertheless,
as Greek culture remained the lingua franca of the empire’s elites,3 the great
majority of elite young men continued to study the literary tradition: after
having learned to read and write with a grammatistēs, they familiarized
themselves with ‘the classics’ under the guidance of the grammatikos, until they
finally learned to put their knowledge creatively into practice with a teacher of
rhetoric.4 Given his descent from one of Antioch’s leading families, it was
almost written in the stars that Libanius would start to study rhetoric. It is,
indeed, almost in passing that Libanius mentions in his Autobiography that his
mother, after the premature death of his father, paid fees for Libanius to get
such an education (Oration 1.4). As he later points out, this was the ideal
preparation for a career in local politics, as a lawyer, or even in the imperial
administration (Oration 1.6). Yet however ordinary his initial education and
however common its expected outcome, Libanius’ further career and
engagement with the literary tradition would prove exceptional.
For a start, Libanius did not content himself with one of the expected
professions for which the educational system usually prepared young men: he
chose, instead, to dedicate his life to rhetoric and became a professor.5 In his
Autobiography, he recounts how, after an initial period in which he did not
have a great interest in rhetoric, he was seized by a ‘piercing love for logoi’
shortly before turning 15 (Oration 1.5). From that moment on, so he claims, he
refused to attend even the gladiatorial shows which his own uncle had
organized. In order to underline the exceptional nature of his dedication to
rhetoric, Libanius points out that his attitude ‘caused the greatest amazement
both to young and old’ (ibid.), and that his choice of a career in rhetoric met
with considerable resistance from several members of his family (Oration
1.13).
As a result of this choice, Libanius’ involvement with the literary tradition
was to last for about sixty-five years, that is, more or less a whole lifetime.6
Yet even within the field of rhetoric, Libanius’ engagement with the literary
tradition was to prove exceptional. First of all, circumstances brought it about
that young Libanius devoted much more of his time to studying earlier authors.
In Antioch, he had at first had a very good teacher of rhetoric,7 but did not visit
him regularly enough. When this man had died, Libanius found other teachers
most deficient (Oration 1.8), so he preferred to concentrate on getting
thoroughly acquainted with the ancient authors. He did this with the help, it
seems, of a well-versed grammarian: ‘I acquired by heart the contents of the
ancient writers by attending the lessons of a man who had a most excellent
memory and was able to make his pupils become thoroughly acquainted with
the treasures of those authors’ (ibid.). He kept up this strenuous study of
literary models for five whole years (Oration 1.9) until about the age of 20. He
also tells a most remarkable story (ibid.), which – even if it is not literally true
– in any case very vividly illustrates his remarkable devotion to studying
earlier literary models: while he was engrossed in Aristophanes’ Acharnians
together with his teacher, he got hit (he claims) by a thunderbolt, but he did not
tell doctors of this, because he did not want to interrupt his routine of studying!
A second reason why Libanius became exceptionally well-acquainted with
the literary tradition was that he did not find a really good role model among
the teachers even in Athens, the city which he moved to in order to prepare
himself for a professional career in rhetoric. As a result, he once again kept to
the writers of old and later was quite happy about that (Oration 1.23): ‘If, in my
study of rhetoric [at Athens], I had become an imitator of the man to whom I
used to go – for such an attachment would have brought this about – I would
have followed in the tracks of people whom you know well enough, but whom
it is better for me to keep under the veil of silence. What sort of speaker would
I be, if I reminded you – instead of those of which I remind you now in my
speeches – of Mr. X, a mean and poor rhetorician?’ In this way he spent five
years at Athens (Oration 1.25) studying the classics – an exceptionally long
period of study8 – until he moved to Constantinople and turned from a student
into a teacher of rhetoric himself (Oration 1.27–31).
If we may trust these parts of the Autobiography, then, the young Libanius
employed almost a decade of his life to familiarize himself thoroughly with
older Greek literature. He surely did not read anything and everything, but
already in the first five years quite purposefully targeted his reading list
‘towards those authors … who were admired above all the others for their
rhetorical power ’ (Oration 1.11). We must keep this in mind, when we ask
which authors and works Libanius really got acquainted with and which not.
It also has to be emphasized that Libanius did not stop acquiring familiarity
with earlier authors after this decade between the ages of 15 and 25, but kept on
reading them and thus became ever more familiar with them. Two episodes
related in the Autobiography indicate this well enough. Towards the end of the
original part (composed in 374) of this work (Oration 1.148–150) – so this
incident must have happened in the early 370s – Libanius tells us the story of a
very small and neat copy of Thucydides, which belonged to him and which he
always carried with him, because it gave him so much pleasure that he
preferred to study Thucydides in this copy rather than in any other; so his
distress was very great when it was stolen from him, and his joy all the greater
when it unexpectedly returned. In a yet later part of the Autobiography,9 but
describing an incident that had happened ‘many years before’ (Oration 1.235),
Libanius stages himself attentively reading Demosthenes in an hour of leisure
around noon (Oration 1.237). Thus also in his later years Libanius kept
studying the authors he deemed to be of importance for his rhetorical
profession.
That Libanius’ engagement with the literary tradition was exceptional is
confirmed by Eunapius (Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 16.1.3–5, 495
Giangrande (1956), 81–2): ‘Only rarely did he attend the lectures and lessons
of the school [in Athens] … It was by himself that he concentrated on rhetorical
exercises, and he made great efforts to acquire the ancient style of writing,
working to mould both his soul and his manner of discourse after it. And like
those who often shoot at a mark sometimes really hit it – as their continuous
practice and exercising of their instruments in most cases brings forth, to be
sure, no absolute mastery in well-aimed shooting but at least a good skill – so
Libanius, because of his fervent application to reproduction of his models, was
inseparable from the ancient authors, attached himself very closely to excellent
guides, following both the ancients and those that one should follow, and thus
he trod in the footsteps of the best and profited from the expectable benefits of
that course’. As with other aspects of Libanius’ life, then, Eunapius here again
confirms the facts of Libanius’ life which are presented positively in the
Autobiography, whereas Eunapius casts them in a rather negative light.

11.3 The range and limits of Libanius’ literary

studies
About 135 years ago, Richard Foerster called Libanius ‘the one who is best
acquainted with the works of Greek authors not only among the writers of his
own age, but also among those of subsequent centuries’.10 He then went on to
give a list of the authors of whom he found Libanius so knowledgeable: first of
all Demosthenes, then Homer (without the Homeric Hymns), Herodotus,
Thucydides, Aelius Aristides, Hesiod, Theognis, Pindar (especially the
Olympian and Pythian Odes), Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes
(especially Clouds and Acharnians), New Comedy (especially Menander),
Xenophon (Hellenica, Memorabilia, Anabasis, Cynegeticus), Plato, Lysias,
Isocrates, Aeschines, the rhetorical writings of Dionysius of Halicarnassus,
Aratus, Aesop’s fables, Lucian, works of Philostratus (Imagines, Lives of the
Sophists, Life of Apollonius), Porphyry’s Against the Christians and even The
Jewish War by Flavius Josephus.11 Throughout his edition, Foerster also
furnishes a most valuable apparatus fontium giving references to the works
cited or alluded to by Libanius, still a mine of information for any
commentarial work on this author.
About eighty-seven years later, A. F. Norman, who just like Foerster devoted
a lifetime of study to Libanius, made another very thorough effort to attain a
survey of Libanius’ knowledge of the literary tradition and arrived at partly
similar, but partly also quite different results.12 Indeed, Norman confirms the
paramount importance of Demosthenes, Plato and Homer for Libanius, as well
as that of drama, Hesiod, Aesop and Theognis, but then adds: ‘Thereafter, the
count becomes strangely small.’13 The most conspicuous divergence from
Foerster consists in Norman’s denial that Libanius knew much – or indeed
anything – of Hellenistic poetry: ‘Only Aratus appears in direct citation, but
even here in words and sentiment such as had long provided material for
rhetoric. Of Callimachus there is no evidence of any actual acquaintance.’14
Very much the same holds (in Norman’s eyes) for earlier Greek lyric: ‘the
mention of Anacreon, Archilochus, Praxilla, Simonides and Stesichorus
disguises the fact that allusion is made only to an anecdote or proverb … Of
references to Alcaeus, Sappho or Tyrtaeus, the only one that is basic … is so
anecdotal in tone as to belie direct knowledge. Of Phocylides, citations are
proverbial and can be traced through intermediaries. Bacchylides remains
unmentioned and almost certainly unused. It is with Pindar that he makes most
consistent play.’15 Even regarding Pindar, however, Norman grants Libanius
less knowledge than Foerster did: ‘Even with the Pythians acquaintance is
doubtful … His knowledge of Pindar, and of lyric, begins and virtually ends
with the Olympians.’16 In the realm of classical drama, too, Norman considers
Libanius’ knowledge much more limited than Foerster granted him: almost no
Aeschylus, apart from the Oresteia; somewhat more Sophocles (especially the
Theban plays); while Euripides, surely the most rhetorical of the Big Three, is
unsurprisingly also the most favoured by Libanius, with Orestes, Medea,
Phoenissae, Hecuba and Alcestis claiming most of his attention. Thus, Norman
sees Libanius already on his way to the typical Byzantine selection.17 As for
Old Comedy, Norman doubts that Libanius knew more than Aristophanes’ still
extant plays,18 while regarding New Comedy he is not even willing to grant
him a direct reading of Menander’s plays: ‘Even with the Dyscolus … it must
still remain an open question whether it was ever primary. In view of Libanius’
general practice, it is much more likely that his inspiration came from the
collections current in antiquity …’19 Turning to prose writers, Norman
concludes – in accordance with Foerster – that Libanius was very well
acquainted with the historians Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, but ‘all
the rest are mere shadows’.20 Polybius, for example, held no great interest for
Libanius, because he was not interested in the period that Polybius described.
Interestingly, Norman (probably rightly) grants Libanius more acquaintance
with Plutarch’s writings (both Moralia and Lives) than Foerster apparently was
willing to.21 An intimate knowledge of the Attic orators is for Libanius, of
course, a primary professional requirement, and in the case of Demosthenes,
one of Libanius’ earliest known works, the Hypotheses of Demosthenes22 of
352, ‘present the divergent views of the scholars who had preceded him.
Libanius clearly had other commentaries besides that of Dionysius [of
Halicarnassus], and Didymus … was most probably one of these.’23 Of
philosophical authors ‘he knew his Plato thoroughly. With others the situation
is more uncertain … Aristotle is rarely mentioned, Theophrastus never, and
while Stoics and Epicureans are also absent, Diogenes and the Cynics appear,
but only for their anecdotal value … To him … philosophy consisted of
Pythagoras, Plato and Socrates, and if other pre-Socratics appear from time to
time, it is mainly in the form of truisms and epigrams. The remaining
philosophical literature consists merely of Xenophon and the Socratic
letters.’24 Together with Foerster, however, Norman thinks it probable that
Libanius read Porphyry’s Against the Christians.
As for Imperial or Second Sophistic Greek authors, Norman’s picture is
very much in accordance with Foerster ’s: both agree that Aelius Aristides’
works are of paramount importance for him, that he made much use of the
works by Philostratus25 already mentioned by Foerster and that ‘acquaintance
with Lucian … is more than probable’.26 Norman grants Libanius even
knowledge of some Imperial authors not mentioned by Foerster – Aelian
(Letters, Varia Historia), Alciphron27 – and he rightly draws our attention to
the fact that Libanius in various letters requested copies of lesser-known
writers of whom only fragments are nowadays extant.28 Rather interesting (and
somewhat ambiguous) is the case of Dio Chrysostom: Norman points out that
he is nowhere explicitly mentioned, but that ‘there are significant parallels
between the orations to Julian and the collection of orations ascribed to Dio’.29
From this he concludes that Dio’s (unacknowledged) presence in the Julianic
speeches may have been prompted by Julian’s admiration for Dio. If this is
right, it would show that Libanius in his more mature years was still prepared
to extend his literary canon if he saw good reasons for it.
Going beyond Foerster’s list, Norman detects traces of influence of the
Greek novel in Libanius’ writings (e.g. in the declamations, but also in the
Autobiography), not least a ‘notable identity of expression with Heliodorus and
the rest’.30 Even contemporary authors like Julian himself and Themistius can
be found.31
Twenty years after Norman, Bernard Schouler’s massive study on La
tradition hellénique chez Libanios has provided us with yet another very
thorough survey of Libanius’ acquaintance with the literary past, in many
respects confirming his predecessors, but in some also correcting or defining
more precisely previous assumptions.32 Starting with the poets, Schouler
confirms the outstanding importance of Homer for Libanius33 and documents
his use of Hesiod,34 Aristophanes,35 Aeschylus,36 Euripides,37 Menander,38
Pindar,39 Sappho 4 0 and Sophocles.4 1 Among prose authors, Schouler confirms
the rather frequent presence of Herodotus,42 but he draws special attention,
more so than his predecessors, to the fact that the most important classical
historian for Libanius is Thucydides.4 3 Among the Attic orators, Demosthenes
naturally takes pride of place;4 4 next, albeit with a long distance, comes
Aeschines,4 5 with Isocrates4 6 a distant third and Lysias4 7 almost non-existent.
Finally, Schouler corroborates the outstanding presence of Plato 4 8 among
philosophical authors, while Xenophon comes up only sporadically,4 9 and
Aristotle50 even less.
Schouler’s survey has the merit of bringing out clearly that the number of
authors with a more extensive presence in Libanius’ oeuvre is in fact rather
small: Homer,51 Hesiod, Pindar, Euripides among the poets and Plato,52
Demosthenes, Thucydides and Herodotus among the prose writers make up the
large bulk of literary reminiscences.53 Libanius himself, in fact, does refer
several times to a combination of some of these authors, when he wants to
stress the importance of classical authors in general. When trying to comfort
Seleucus, a former high religious official in Julian’s reign, who has been
banished to the Black Sea, Libanius points out that there is still literature to
console him, ‘for how could Plato and Demosthenes and that chorus ever leave
you? … With these, then, engage your conversation and write up the war that
you promised … this alleviated the burden of exile also for Thucydides’
(Letter 1508.5–6, of 365). As poetic material for consolatory speeches he
refers to ‘these quotations from Pindar and Simonides and all the passages
which we use to bring in from tragedies as remedies for grief’ (Letter 405.2,
of 355). In 388, he accuses a father of having dragged away his son ‘from
Homer and Demosthenes and Plato to horses and chariots and charioteers’
(Letter 910.2). Libanius’ most explicit ‘catalogue’ of authors representing the
best of classical literature is found in a letter of 392 to the noble Roman
Postumianus, whom he takes to task because he has written to him in Latin,
although he has filled his soul ‘with Homer and Hesiod and the other poets,
with Demosthenes and Lysias and the other orators, and Herodotus and
Thucydides, and the whole chorus of those writers might say that they have a
place in your mind’ (Letter 1036.4–5). Thus, Libanius himself repeatedly
confirms the importance of these comparatively few authors for his rhetorical
practice.
Four years after Schouler, Jean Martin, in his edition of Oration 2, tried
once more (in the footsteps of Foerster and against Norman) to make Libanius’
use of Hellenistic poetry plausible;54 this question will be dealt with in greater
detail below.
In recent years, Libanius’ engagement with Aelius Aristides55 has received
some further attention.56 The number of works in which Libanius takes up, or
reacts to, Aristides is quite impressive, first of all among his so-called ‘public’
speeches.57 For Libanius’ address To His Students about his Speech (Oration 3,
written after 387), Raffaella Cribiore58 has shown that to a considerable extent
its model is Aristides’ address To Those Who Accuse Him of Not Giving
Declamations (Oration 33). Libanius’ prose hymn to the goddess Artemis
(Oration 5, written after 364) has, of course, a number of predecessors in
Aristides’ prose hymns to several gods (Orations 37–46), but most of all in
Aristides’ Hymn to Athena (Oration 37), as Martin has shown.59 The
Antiochicus of 356 (Oration 11) has a model in Aristides’ Panathenaicus. The
Monody on Nicomedia (Oration 61) of 359 and the Monody on the Temple of
Apollo in Daphne (Oration 60) of late 362 have as their prototype Aristides’
Monody on Smyrna (Oration 18). The speech To Aristides for the Dancers
(Oration 64), which is dated to 361 or soon after,60 is conceived as a reply to
Aristides’ lost speech Against the Pantomimes; but even though Libanius’ aim
here is to refute Aristides’ arguments, he professes his sincere love and
admiration for Aristides’ achievements at the beginning of his own speech61
and even presents his undertaking to argue against him as a homage to, and
preservation of, Aristides’ spirit.62 Last but not least, the chapters on Libanius’
often poor health in the Autobiography are clearly influenced by Aristides’
Sacred Tales, and the large role a tutelary deity plays there is also reminiscent
of Aristides’ work.63
Libanius vied with Aristides not only in the above-mentioned speeches, but
also in the works he wrote for his school. One extant example for this is
Declamation 5 (Achilles’ reply to Odysseus’ speech during the supplicatory
embassy), which not only takes up the well-known situation of Iliad 9, but also
reacts to a declamation by Aristides (Oration 16), in which he had rephrased
Odysseus’ appeal to Achilles. Libanius also included a speech in praise of that
famous Homeric anti-hero Thersites within the encomia section (Oration 4) of
his progymnasmata, which was probably conceived as a response to a psogos
of Thersites by Aristides.64
The extraordinary interest Libanius took in Aristides and his works can, last
but not least, be seen in a number of letters in which Aristides plays a
prominent part. In Letter 615.3 (of 361) Libanius mentions another counter-
piece of his own against one of Aristides’ speeches;65 in Letter 1262.1 (of 364)
he acknowledges with satisfaction that his addressee Fortunatianus has finally
discovered the qualities of Aristides and praises Aristides as a ‘man who both
has power and grants it to whoever wants to make use of him’.66 The most
interesting of his letters concerning Aristides is, however, Letter 1534 (of
365).67 In this letter, Libanius gratefully acknowledges the receipt of a portrait
of Aristides that Theodorus, the then governor of Bithynia,68 had sent to him.
He goes on to tell his addressee that this is not the first portrait he requested;
but the one he got earlier did not live up to his expectations (1534.3: ‘for his
face seemed not fitting to his long illness, and the hair seemed to indicate
another person’), and so he asked Theodorus for another portrait, which,
however, did confirm the likeness of the earlier one (1534.4). But even this is
not enough for Libanius: he wants to receive a third portrait from Theodorus
which will also show him Aristides’ hands and feet, and, furthermore, he wants
Theodorus to make inquiries among the old men of his region about traditions
concerning Aristides’ hair (1534.5)!
These quite extraordinary requests show the depth of Libanius’ interest for
Aristides: apparently he wants to get as close to the man as possible. One
reason for this might be that Aristides may in various respects be considered
the ‘most Demosthenic’ of the orators of the Second Sophistic: in fact,
Aristides himself dreamt of both emulating and surpassing his great rhetorical
predecessor, as several passages in the Sacred Tales show.69 As Libanius
followed in the footsteps of, and at the same time competed with, both
Demosthenes and Aristides, he may very well have regarded himself as
standing in a straight-lined tradition, which started with Demosthenes, was
renewed by Aristides, and last but not least was preserved by himself.
At the end of this survey at least one major absence within Libanius’
enormous range of interest in earlier literature has to be pointed out: Latin
literature. By the beginning of the fourth century, Latin had made some inroads
into the Greek East: the emperor Diocletian had made considerable efforts to
foster and enhance the use of Latin in the eastern half of the Empire,70 and not
far from Libanius’ native city Antioch there flourished the famous school of
Roman Law in Beirut, which required, of course, advanced knowledge of Latin
and surely also provided the means to learn it. So, Libanius surely could have
learned Latin, had he wanted to do so, but apparently he never felt any
inclination for this, and in his adult years he increasingly regarded – and he
publicly said so, in speeches as well as in many letters – Latin as a downright
enemy of his own profession, because he felt that Roman Law more and more
deprived him of promising students whom he would have liked to teach ‘his’
rhetoric, which he still regarded as the unsurpassable apogee of a good
traditional education.71 Thus the total absence of Latin literature in Libanius’
written work is the logical consequence of his disdain (but also fear) of Latin
as the rival of his beloved Greek.

11.4 Libanius’ use of more recent and contemporary

authors: some suggestions
Already Norman72 drew attention to the fact that Libanius had no inhibitions in
making use of authors not belonging to the great classics and even more recent
than the times of Aelius Aristides. Of his two most important contemporary
rivals in rhetoric, Himerius clearly was no favourite of Libanius’, who
characterized the Athenian sophist quite disparagingly on various occasions.73
Themistius, however, is quite another case. He and Libanius probably first met
in 350, when both were in Constantinople, and this was the beginning of a
decade-long relationship attested by 44 letters Libanius addressed to
Themistius between 355 and 365.74 Their relations were not always cordial,75
but they clearly respected each other as more or less equal in their rhetorical
abilities: in one letter of early 365 Libanius shows himself quite pleased at
being told that Themistius had explicitly praised Libanius’ Attic style – adding
that this in fact amounted to a sort of self-praise, because his own and
Themistius’ style were so similar!76 With this being the case, it seems only
natural that Libanius and Themistius repeatedly (and possibly regularly)
exchanged texts they had produced. In late 356 or early 357 Libanius expresses
his regret that Themistius (who had just been at Antioch for a certain time) had
not been able to stay a bit longer to listen to one of Libanius’ declamations and
give his judgement on it, but Libanius promises that he will send both this text
and others to Themistius, ‘for nobody else will be more apt to improve the
parts that are flawed and to praise what has been said well’ (Letter 551.1–2).
And vice versa, Libanius in several letters refers to speeches by Themistius,
which Themistius had sent to him;77 in October or November 363, for
example, Libanius acknowledged78 how Themistius’ eulogy on the dead
emperor Julian had both impressed and shaken him.79
Possibly the most interesting case of a contemporary author being both
praised and used by Libanius is the emperor Julian.80 One reason for this is
certainly the fact that, as in the case of Themistius, Libanius found Julian’s
style remarkably similar to his own, and for this he gave an explanation that
was most flattering to himself: that Julian was actually regarded – by Libanius
as well as by others, including Julian himself – as Libanius’ pupil.81 Already in
358, Libanius somewhat flatteringly writes to Julian that by his own speech
celebrating a big military triumph in Gaul he has in fact surpassed the
rhetorical powers of his teacher.82 So Libanius certainly felt no inhibition to
make use of Julian’s Misopogon when he tried to reconcile his fellow
Antiochenes with Julian by writing Oration 15, or to use Julian’s Letter to the
Athenians for his great Funeral Oration in Honour of Julian, the so-called
Epitaphios (Oration 18) on the dead emperor.
Libanius’ interests in contemporary literature extended also to poetry and
even, in a very singular case, to a Christian text. It seems to be proven beyond
reasonable doubt83 that he utilized Eusebius’ Life of Constantine to produce his
own panegyric on the emperors Constantius II and Constans (Oration 59). It
may reasonably be assumed that Libanius did not turn to Eusebius because he
admired the style or contents of his work – he simply needed the information
contained in it.84 And a similar straightforward reason can at least not be
excluded for the fulsome praise Libanius bestows upon the ‘Homeric’ poem
composed by Flavius Eutolmius Tatianus, praetorian praefect of 388–392 and
consul of 391,85 claiming that it was in constant use in his classes:86 as
Tatianus was the politically highest-ranking pagan in the Eastern Roman
Empire during those years, Libanius probably thought it a good idea to ensure
his continuing benevolence by praising his poetry.
Although Libanius thus had a clear interest in contemporary literary texts,87
it should not be overrated: in the cases of Eusebius and Tatianus the reasons for
it seem rather utilitarian, and in the cases of Themistius and Julian, Libanius
probably felt comforted by their approach to rhetoric which seemed rather
similar (if not altogether identical) to his own. What really mattered for his
own texts were the great authors of the literary past.

11.5 Libanius’ use of earlier authors I: the Hymn to

Artemis
In the preceding sections, we have seen which authors Libanius favoured most
when evoking the great literary heritage of the Greeks. But how did he actually
put his declarations of faith in them into practice and use them in his own
writings? To demonstrate this, we shall have a closer look at two of his
speeches, which may give us an inkling of how he proceeded.
Our first case shall be the Hymn to Artemis (Oration 5),88 which, as we have
already seen, takes up a genre that had been amply developed by Libanius’
Second Sophistic model Aelius Aristides. This text is also the chief witness for
those who believe that Libanius made active use of Hellenistic poets; but closer
inspection will show this to be a rather doubtful claim (see below).
The very first sentence of the hymn, in which Libanius points out that
Artemis is responsible for the fact that he is still alive and can in fact
pronounce this hymn in prose as an act of gratitude for the goddess’ help, ends
with two Homeric reminiscences: the expression ‘she rescued and saved me’
(ἐρρύσατο καὶ διέσωσεν)89 is modelled after Iliad 15.290 (ἐρρύσατο καὶ
ἐσάωσεν), where a Greek warrior refers to the miraculous reappearance of the
Trojan hero Hector on the battlefield after he had been gravely wounded by
Ajax. The immediately preceding words ‘from the very doors of death’ (ἐξ
αὐτῶν τῶν τοῦ θανάτου πυλῶν)90 may hark back to Iliad 5.646 (πύλας
Ἀΐδαο)91, where the Greek warrior Tlepolemus threatens his adversary
Sarpedon that he will make him ‘pass the gates of Hades’.
The statement (in §2) that a rhetorician can render thanks to a deity by
composing a hymn in prose (ἄνευ μέτρου) is a direct reference to Aristides’
Hymn to Zeus (Oration 43.2: ‘promising to pronounce a hymn to Zeus, and this
in prose’, ἄνευ μέτρου). So Libanius may here evoke the literary ancestry of
his text.
The main part of the hymn deals with Artemis’ powers and achievements
(Oration 5.4–41). Narrating her birth in §4, Libanius follows the version
which is also found in the Library of Apollodorus (1.22 [1.4.1]) but which
interestingly diverges from Aristides’ account in his Hymn to Athena (Oration
37.18).92
In §8, Libanius may in fact have got his reference slightly wrong, when he
states that Artemis swore by her father Zeus’ head that she would remain a
virgin: in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite it is Hestia who does that (vv. 21–8),
but interestingly enough Artemis is mentioned there just before this passage
(vv. 16–20). Still in §8, Homer is explicitly cited as the best authority on
Artemis’ great beauty: Libanius refers to both Odyssey 6.102–9 (where the
beautiful maiden Nausicaa is compared to Artemis) and 17.37 (where Penelope
is compared to both Artemis and Aphrodite).
In §9 Libanius states that the Paphlagonian river Parthenius got its name
because Artemis bathed in it. In the Scholia to Apollonius Rhodius (ad Arg.
2.936–9 p. 195 Wendel) this very same information is attributed to the
historian Callisthenes (FGrHist 124 F 40), and we may wonder whether
Libanius got this ‘fact’ from directly reading him or a commentary to
Apollonius Rhodius. Martin (1988, 298) also cites as further parallels
Callimachus (fr. 75.25 Pfeiffer) and Apollonius Rhodius (Arg. 2.936–9 and
3.876–9): both poets mention Artemis bathing in the Parthenius, but they do not
say that the river ’s name had its origin in this fact, so Libanius need not really
refer to these poets here. Martin (1988, 298) also thinks that Libanius (still in
§9) derived his short notice how Orion was slain by Artemis from Aratus’
Phaenomena (1.636–44); but there are no really convincing common details
for this, and Libanius could surely have got the story from other sources.93
 At the beginning of §11, where Libanius states that Artemis finds no pleasure
in ‘womanly’ activities like ‘loom and wool and wool-spinning’ (ἱστὸν καὶ
ἔρια καὶ ταλασίαν), another Homeric reminiscence comes in (Odyssey
1.356f.), where Telemachus admonishes his mother: ‘go into the house and
attend to your own duties, loom and distaff’ (τὰ σ’ αὐτῆς ἔργα … ἱστόν τ’
ἠλακάτην τε), which Libanius combines with the Homeric phrase ἔργα
γυναικῶν.94
As Artemis’ weapons are bow and arrows, Libanius has included in §§16–19
a remarkable encomium of the utility of these weapons also in human warfare,
and his inspiration this time seems to come from Amphitryon’s encomium of
archers (vis-à-vis hoplites) in Euripides’ Heracles (vv. 188–203).95
In §21, Libanius explicitly appeals to Xenophon’s Cynegeticus (1.1–2) for
enumerating well-renowned hunters, and in §22 he also alludes to the famous
women huntresses whom Xenophon mentions at the end of his treatise (13.18).
In §24 Libanius, pointing out the importance of Artemis vis-à-vis the other
gods, takes up a thought that matters also for Aristides in his Hymn to Athena
(Oration 37.22). In §26 he stresses the paramount importance of Artemis for
women giving birth to healthy children; Martin (1988), 300 connects this with
Callimachus’ Hymn to Artemis (vv. 126–128), but there are no real verbal
correspondences (nor does Martin give any) to make this plausible.
In §31, Libanius tries to present Artemis also as an important healer
goddess, and for this he appeals explicitly (once again) to Homer, who in Iliad
5.447–8 relates how Leto and Artemis cared for the wounded Aeneas.
When arguing (in §34) that Artemis not only bestows benefits on humans
but also punishes them, Libanius adduces (in §35) the parallel case of her
brother Apollo, relating how in Iliad I this god both started and finished the
plague in the Greek army’s camp to lend support to his priest.
In §37, Libanius enumerates the cases in which Artemis punished those
humans who had too little regard for her or her honour: Niobe, Actaeon,
Oeneus. Martin (1988, 304) would, again, like to believe that Libanius here
was inspired by the catalogue of those who wronged Artemis at the end of
Callimachus’ hymn to the goddess (vv. 260–7), but both the contents and the
order of this catalogue are quite different (there we have Oeneus, Agamemnon,
Otos, Orion, Hippo).
As an example for Artemis being sometimes a stern teacher, Libanius in §38
adduces the story how she disciplined Agamemnon at Aulis, after he had
boasted that he could hunt down a hind better than she; when in this context he
calls Artemis a better manager of winds than the Homeric ‘controller of winds’
(ταμίας ἀνέμων) Aeolus, he may have got the idea from Aristides, who does
the same regarding Sarapis in his hymn to the god (Oration 45.29).
Libanius goes on to recount a similar story of a human claiming
blasphemously to be a better hunter than Artemis (§39); here again Martin
(1988), 305 toys with the idea that Libanius’ rendering of the story may have
been inspired by Callimachus (fr. 96 Pfeiffer), but this assumption is based on
a verse fragment containing only a bit more than a hexameter, which shows no
verbal correspondence at all with Libanius’ text, and on a short prose summary
(from the Florentine diēgēseis of Callimachus), which, admittedly, presents a
similar outline of the story as Libanius does, but the same might be said of the
presentation of this story in Diodorus 4.22.3. Within this same story, the
expression ‘an extremely big item of a boar ’ (συὸς χρῆμα μέγιστον) is a
direct borrowing from Herodotus (1.36.1: ὑὸς χρῆμα μέγιστον) or from
Sophocles (fr. 401 Radt: συὸς μέγιστον χρῆμ’) or both.
What is then (§40) related about the Athenians’ vow to Artemis before the
battle of Marathon – that they would sacrifice to her as many he-goats as they
would slay enemies – could well come from Plutarch (On the Malice of
Herodotus 26, 862B), because the wording is rather similar. In this case, Martin
(1988), 306 has clearly shown how Libanius combines several accounts of
divine intervention during the battle96 and then places Artemis on top.
In the final part of this text (§§43–52), Libanius describes how he himself
has on one recent occasion been saved by Artemis. In §52, Homer is cited one
more time, evoking the saving presence of the goddess (Odyssey 4.444): ‘but
she herself brought salvation’, ἀλλ’ αὐτὴ ἐσάωσε. In their original place,
these words refer to Eidothea saving Odysseus.97 Libanius thus establishes a
ring composition with the initiatory statement (in §1, see above) that the
goddess saved him.
All in all, the literary texts which Libanius most frequently either alludes to
or a few times even cites explicitly are the Homeric epics, with other authors
added occasionally (Xenophon, explicitly; Euripides; Herodotus; Aristides;
Plutarch; more doubtful cases: Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Achilles
Tatius); what has turned out, however, to be at least unprovable (and I would
even say, quite improbable) is that Libanius should actually have drawn
inspiration from Hellenistic poets like Callimachus, Apollonius Rhodius,
Aratus or Nicander: in the passages of this hymn that have been cited as
support for the thesis that Libanius used Hellenistic poetry, neither wording
nor content provide us with incontrovertible evidence that this poetry is really
Libanius’ model here (divergences of content seem in fact to prove the
contrary in a number of these passages). Where Libanius cites earlier authors
explicitly (Homer in §§8, 31 and 52, Xenophon in §21), he clearly adduces
them as authorities to bolster his argument; where he introduces (or alludes to)
quotations from them without actually naming them, he probably expects his
readers or listeners to recognize them and admire the orator ’s adeptness in
fitting them in. This may even work on several levels: An ‘ordinarily’ educated
reader should probably have been able to recognize the Homeric allusions in
§§1, 11, 35, 38 and the Herodotean one in §39, but a more advanced
pepaideumenos would have been required to detect Libanius’ nods towards
Aelius Aristides. What he probably could not expect is that his audience might
have caught any reference to Hellenistic poets, and this is one more reason for
assuming that Libanius did not refer to those parts of earlier Greek literature
that would have brought him no recognition.
Whether Libanius also intended to draw additional meaning for his text from
the contexts out of which he took his quotations or allusions is hard to say, but
it might be the case at the very beginning and the very end of this speech,
where the humans saved by a divinity in the original Homeric passages are
Hector and Odysseus, i.e. very important heroes – perhaps Libanius wanted to
place himself in line with these mythical VIPs, when he repeatedly stressed how
he himself too was saved by Artemis?

11.6 Libanius’ use of earlier authors II: the Monody

on Julian
Our second case study will be the Monody on Julian (Oration 17), the
rhetorical use of suffering in which was already discussed in Chapter 2.98 It
starts in §1 with a clever adaptation of Iliad 1.254 (‘Alas, great grief indeed
comes to the land of Achaea’, ὦ πόποι ἦ μέγα πένθος Ἀχαιΐδα γαῖαν ἱκάνει).
In its original context, this verse was uttered by Nestor in a moment of deep
crisis of the Greek army before Troy (Achilles and Agamemnon having just
started their ill-fated quarrel), and the death of Julian has thrown the whole of
the Roman Empire into a similar crisis.99
 In §2, we find the expression ‘laws, the preventers of evil deeds’ (νόμοι …
κωλυταὶ κακουργημάτων), a combination of words that have a quite
interesting literary pedigree: the word κωλυτής is used by Libanius several
times elsewhere.100 It is a ‘historians’ word’, first used by Thucydides (five
times), but also by Dionysius of Halicarnassus (again five times, of which two
passages101 combine the word with νόμος, just as Libanius does); it is also
found in other historians (once in Arrian, twice in Josephus, once in Nicolaus
of Damascus), once in Demosthenes, once in Aeneas Tacticus, once in Plato,
but three times in Aelius Aristides. The word κακούργημα, on the other hand,
is rather an ‘orators’ word’: it is first found in Antiphon (twice), then in
Isocrates (once), six times in Demosthenes (and once in Aeschines), but also
four times in Plato (Republic and Laws), twice in Aristides, three times in
Cassius Dio, twice in Pausanias, seven in Josephus and eleven times in
Libanius himself. Of these two words, then, Libanius has coined the
memorable phrase νόμοι … κωλυταὶ κακουργημάτων, which has then been
taken up by Pseudo-Aristides, Against Leptines, where we find ‘and you have
no right to listen to the laws at all, as they happen to be the preventers of evil
deeds’ (οὐδὲ νόμων ὅλως ἀκροᾶσθαι δίκαιος εἶ, τῷ τοὺς μὲν κωλυτὰς
κακουργημάτων τυγχάνειν ὄντας …).102 This is just one instance that well
shows how popular Libanius became in Byzantine times.
In the description of the disastrous consequences of Julian’s death (still in
§2) Libanius fits in a Herodotean reminiscence: ‘Open lies now … to those
who do evil a broad path and wide entrances’ (ἀνέῳκται … τοῖς ἀνόσια
δρῶσιν ὁδὸς εὐρεῖα καὶ κλισιάδες μεγάλαι) recalls Herodotus 9.9.2, which
reads ‘wide entrances have been thrown open … to the Persian’ (μεγάλαι
κλισιάδες ἀναπεπτέαται … τῷ Πέρσῃ). Just like the Homeric quotation in §1
refers to a moment of great crisis in the Iliad, so does the Herodotean one in
its original context: it is uttered after the Athenians have threatened that they
might still go over to the Persian side and thus throw the whole of Greece into
disaster. The implications Libanius wanted to get out of this quotation were
certainly very clear for every educated member of his audience.
In §3, Julian is compared to the Trojan hero Hector, whom Pindar called
‘Troy’s steadfast pillar ’ (Olympian 2.89f.), and Libanius applies this to the
fallen emperor, whose death has now put not just a single city but the whole
civilized world on a most precarious footing. Thus, for his introductory
description (in §§1–3) of the dangerous situation into which Julian’s death has
put the empire, Libanius has already enlisted the literary powers of two famous
poets and one important prose author.
In §§4–12, Libanius discusses the role and involvement – one might even
say guilt – of the gods in this disastrous event. To show how undeserving
Julian was of his death, he contrasts his always correct religious behaviour
with the guilt of the Homeric Oeneus, who was rightly punished for his
criminal neglect of the honour of Artemis (Iliad 9.529ff.). When describing
the impious actions of Julian’s predecessor Constantius against the old religion
in §7, Libanius employs an Aeschylean expression to mark his overturning of
the altars;103 by this, Constantius’ turning against the old religion is presented
as a crime against the world order itself. For further characterization of
Constantius’ combination of blasphemy and stupidity, Libanius in §8 evokes
famous mythical enemies of the gods like Salmoneus and Lycurgus, together
with the proverbial Aristophanean simpleton Melitides (Aristophanes, Frogs
991). All this is set in stark contrast to the pious and intelligent Julian.
In §10, Julian’s all too brief appearance on earth is compared to that of the
Phoenix, clearly alluding to Herodotus’ characterization of this wondrous bird
(Herodotus 2.73.1), while the expression ‘only faint … the view of the bird’
(ἀμυδρὰ … τοῦ ὄρνιθος ὄψις) within this sentence may well have been
inspired by ‘with only faint view’ (κατ’ ἀμυδρὰν ὄψιν) in the (Pseudo-
)Platonic Epinomis 985b.
In §17, Libanius alludes to Julian’s desire to emulate Alexander the Great
with regard to the planned war against the Persians, and when he remarks that
‘Alexander did not let him sleep, like one Athenian strategos the other ’, he
surely has in mind an anecdote related twice by Plutarch about Themistocles,
who said that the victory of Miltiades did not let Themistocles sleep (Life of
Themistocles 3.4; Sayings of Kings and Emperors 184F).
In §§23–24, the visualization of Julian’s death prompts Libanius to evoke
famous episodes in Homer, in which gods actually did rescue heroes from
imminent death: thus he wonders why neither Aphrodite nor Athena protected
Julian from the deadly spear, although Aphrodite saved Paris from being slain
(Iliad 3.373–82) – despite the fact that he was a rather worthless fellow – and
although Athena protected Menelaus from being killed by Pandarus’ arrow
(Iliad 4.127–47). Libanius also wonders why no god arose as prosecutor of
Ares, the God of War, for killing Julian, although Poseidon once had brought
Ares to trial for killing his son, an allusion to the famous trial which
established the Athenian Areopagus.104 And Libanius even manages to bring in
a reminiscence of a famous passage of the Odyssey: seeing their emperor
dying, Julian’s soldiers were just as stunned as Odysseus’ companions had
been when they first experienced the sight and sound of dreadful Charybdis
(Odyssey 12.201–3): thus Julian’s passing takes on the character of a truly
apocalyptic phenomenon. And still this is not enough: In §25, Libanius evokes
the grieving of the Muses over the dead Julian, a clear allusion to the general
mourning over the dead Achilles described by Agamemnon in the first section
of Odyssey book 24, when not only Thetis and her Nereids come to the Greek
camp before Troy but also all nine Muses (Odyssey 24.60–1): by this the dead
emperor receives all the glory of the dead Achilles as well.
When in §27 Libanius remarks that the laws, which he sees in danger of
being trampled down after Julian’s death, may justly be held to originate with
Apollo, he may allude to the Herodotean passage in which the famous laws of
the Spartan Lycurgus are derived from the utterances of Apollo’s Pythia at
Delphi (Herodotus 1.65.2–4). With his outcry ‘O ruin of the whole inhabited
world’ (ὦ πτῶμα τῆς οἰκουμένης κοινόν), Libanius takes up and amplifies
phrases that Aristides had uttered on two occasions of great disaster: when he
lamented the destruction by earthquake of Smyrna in 177 (Oration 18.7: ὦ
πτῶμα τῆς Ἀσίας), and when he mourned the destruction of Eleusis in 170 by
a barbarian invasion (Oration 22.1: τὸ κοινὸν πτῶμα, τὸ κοινὸν τῆς γῆς). In
§28, Libanius continues in this strain and compares the disaster brought about
by Julian’s death to the universal flood of myth or the ravaging of the world by
fire as brought about by Phaëthon;105 this combination of universal flood,
universal fire and Phaëthon is clearly taken out of Plato’s Timaeus (22a–c),
while the expression ‘onslaught of fire’ (προσβολὴ πυρός) can be found in
Plato’s Laws (865b).106
In §29, the state of the world after Julian’s death is compared to ‘a man
ailing in his soul and full of bad desires’ (ἀνθρώπῳ νοσοῦντι τὴν ψυχὴν
γέμοντί τε πονηρῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν); the wording is reminiscent of Isocrates
(Oration 8.39: ‘the souls which … are full of bad desires’, ταῖς … ψυχαῖς ταῖς
… γεμούσαις πονηρῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν) and of the passages in Plato’s Republic, in
which the souls of degenerate human beings (the analogues of degenerate
constitutions like democracy and tyranny) are described (559c: ‘the man who
is full of such lusts and desires’, τὸν τῶν τοιούτων ἡδονῶν καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν
γέμοντα; cf. 773a107). Again the implications are clear: with Julian gone, both
the world in general and individual human beings are in severe danger of
degenerating into a catastrophic state.
In §30, Libanius designates the fire that destroyed the temple of Apollo at
Daphne and recent earthquakes as ‘heralds of the coming unrest and chaos’
(μελλούσης ἄγγελοι ταραχῆς τε καὶ ἀκοσμίας); a similar combination of
ταραχή and ἀκοσμία is earlier found only in Dionysius of Halicarnassus’
essay On Isocrates (9: ‘the chaos and unrest besetting the cities’, τὴν
κατέχουσαν ἀκοσμίαν καὶ ταραχὴν τὰς πόλεις). The list (in §32) of earlier
(both mythical and historical) kings (Agamemnon, Cresphontes, Codrus, Aias,
Achilles, Cyrus, Cambyses, Alexander) who fell victim to a fatal blow of
fortune and who were all inferior to the virtues of Julian cannot be traced back
to specific authors,108 but exhibits Libanius’ encyclopaedic knowledge of
classical myth and history.
When in §33 Libanius relates that he expected Zeus to let fall bloody
raindrops as a reaction to Julian’s death, as he did in the case of his son
Sarpedon at Troy, he refers, of course, to the famous passage in Iliad 16.459–
61, and Julian is thus endowed with the glory of yet another great Homeric
hero, who was moreover beloved by the highest god. Another Iliad passage
(19.229 109) comes in, when Libanius, in §34, states that people will lament
Julian not only ‘for a day’ (ἐπ’ ἤματι), but ‘as long as water keeps running and
big trees growing’ (ὄφρ’ ἂν ὕδωρ τε νάῃ καὶ δένδρεα μακρὰ τεθήλῃ), this
hexameter being a part of an epigram (Palatine Anthology 7.153.2) that is
already quoted by Plato (Phaedrus 264d110), and Libanius quotes it exactly in
Plato’s wording,111 so he has probably taken it from the Phaedrus.
As this Lament began with a reference to Aristides, its final sentence seems
to have been inspired by this author – one of Libanius’ great favourites, as we
have seen – as well: Aristides closed his Lament for Smyrna with a reference to
the daughters of Helios who, grieving for their brother Phaëthon, were turned
into trees (Aristides, Oration 18.10): Libanius apparently takes this up and
(once again) amplifies it (§36): ‘None of the gods changes a mourning man
any more, not into a stone, not into a tree, not into a bird.’ Thus not even this
possibility of having one’s misery ended by being turned into a different being
remains. Might Libanius even want to imply that after Julian’s death the pagan
gods have no more power to perform metamorphoses like they did in good
old times?
The range of authors that Libanius puts to use in his Lament for Julian is
conspicuously wider than in his Hymn to Artemis: again Homer (with both Iliad
and Odyssey) holds pride of place,112 but Plato, Herodotus and Aristides have
several appearances, while Pindar, Aeschylus, Plutarch, Isocrates and (perhaps)
Dionysius of Halicarnassus come in at least once. We may also observe that
passages of these authors are much more purposefully employed to endow the
sections where they appear with an added layer of gloom and apocalyptic
foreboding. Libanius has really done his best here to signify to the reader or
listener of this lament that with Julian’s death all good and gracious things
have passed from the world and only degeneration, disaster and destruction
remain.

11.7 Conclusions: literary heritage and Hellenic

identity
A first conclusion from our survey of the two speeches is that literary
reminiscences in Libanius are spread rather unevenly: even though both
speeches are of more or less equal length, the Lament for Julian contains
considerably more reminiscences than the Hymn to Artemis. A short look at
other speeches may confirm this.113 The so-called ‘Julianic orations’ are rather
full of literary allusions, and this for easily understandable reasons: for
Orations 12, 13, 14 and 15, the highly literate Julian was the primary
addressee, so Libanius had to demonstrate all his rhetorical skills.114 In the
more ‘political’ speeches, we find a much less frequent presence of earlier
literature: this is the case, for example, for the speeches that Libanius wrote in
connection with the riot of the statues in Antioch (Orations 19–23),115 and also
the speeches that are connected with the governor Icarius (Orations 26–9). So
Libanius apparently makes conscious choices as to how much of the literary
heritage he wants to (re-)appear in his writings.
A second observation is even more interesting: in the Hymn to Artemis, we
find a few reminiscences of earlier literature introduced by the explicit
mention of their authors (Homer, Xenophon), but they are largely
outnumbered by those the authors of which are not cited; in the Lament for
Julian we find no explicit naming of earlier authors at all. Elsewhere, the
picture is quite similar: as Norman has shown,116 the introductory part of the
Autobiography (Oration 1.1–7) rather intricately combines allusions to Homer
(Iliad and Odyssey), Isocrates (Antidosis speech), Euripides and Plutarch, and
yet none of this is even in the slightest way made explicit; apparently the
readers (or hearers) of the Autobiography have to work all of this out by
themselves. We should not forget, however, that the number of authors that
Libanius really uses is rather restricted: educated people became acquainted
with them in the lessons they received from the grammatikos, so Libanius
could expect people to recognize them when he used them (and if they could
not, Libanius would probably not have regarded them as a worthy audience).
Libanius proceeds not much differently in his letters, at least to those
addressees whom he considers knowledgeable enough for this kind of game:
when he writes to Olympius (Letter 439.1, of 355): ‘I am expecting – with my
mouth wide open – not Aeschylus, but your letters … ’, he obviously expects
that his addressee will know that this sentence is an adaptation from the
beginning of Aristophanes’ Acharnians (v. 10). Interestingly enough, vis-à-vis
another addressee, the apparently far less familiar Hierax, Libanius also brings
the Acharnians passage into play, but now adds the explicit reference (Letter
527.1, of 356).117 Libanius proceeds similarly in many of the letters to his
intimate acquaintance Aristaenetus of Bithynian Nicaea: in Letter 364 we get
offhand references to Homer (Odyssey 4.269; §2), Plato (Phaedo 101c,
Republic 361b), Homer again (Iliad 9.313; all these in §5) and Plato again
(Republic 588d; §6); in Letter 374 to Aristophanes (Lysistrata 300) and Plato
(Laws 713e and Critias 120e); in Letter 405 to Aristides (Oration 31.2), Plato
(Phaedo 59b), Homer (Iliad 11.724), Aeschines (Oration 3.215), Pseudo-
Demosthenes (In Response to the Letter of Philip 7); and this list could easily
be expanded.
Thus Libanius can often use implicit references to earlier authors like a
form of code, vis-à-vis either single recipients of his letters or select audiences
– such as we may assume for example for his Lament on Julian and the first
part of his Autobiography – whom he may reasonably expect to be able to
decipher his allusions. This learned interplay between author and recipients is
surely not just meant for fun: it establishes a common bond between both sides
and assures them that they share in a common literary heritage which also
forms a large part of their cultural identity – especially in times when this
identity came increasingly under threat from outside (e.g. Christian) forces to
whom such cultural bonds meant much less, if anything at all.
These concluding remarks may also indicate future areas of research on
Libanius: the examples cited above (especially in Sections 11.5 and 11.6) may
have shown that further investigations into the relationship between the cultural
level of Libanius’ addressees and the number or kind or origin of the
quotations he uses (and into the added layers of meaning achieved through
these quotations) should be worthwhile and fruitful undertakings. Just as
interesting might be to investigate how Libanius’ use of the literary tradition
compares to that of, say, Themistius. Thus it may be hoped that this chapter
may lead to other intertextual studies that will further elucidate the rich texts
left to us by Libanius.

1 See e.g. Schmitz (1997), Whitmarsh (2001), Whitmarsh (2005).

2 Cf. Schmitz (1997), 27: ‘Politische Macht und Rhetorik existieren im

römischen Kaiserreich nicht in Isolation voneinander ’.

3 See e.g. Brown (1992), esp. 35–40. For the continued use of Greek rhetoric
as a locus for constructing Hellenic identity, see Chapter 12.

4 For a more extensive discussion of the educational system in Libanius’ days,

see above, Chapter 3, Section 3.2.

5 For an analysis of Libanius’ career and his moves in view of it, see now Van
Hoof (2011).

6 See most of all Oration 1.5–28, but also passages like Oration 1.148–150
and Oration 1.237 (to be discussed below).

7 Identified with Ulpianus (PLRE, 973): Norman (1965), 149; Martin and Petit
(1979), 211.

8 According to Cribiore (2007a, 30 and 2007c, 80 n. 28), average attendance

at a rhetorical school lasted about two years.

9 According to Norman (1965, xiv), this passage belongs to the fifth addition,
which may have been written in 386; for doubts regarding the chronology of
the later parts of the Autobiography, see Chapter 1 in this volume.

10 Foerster (1877), 86: ‘Libanius omnium non solum aetatis suae, sed etiam
saeculorum subsequentium scriptorum in operibus auctorum graecorum
versatissimus’.

11 Foerster (1877), 86–8. In the first volume of his edition, he gives a similar,
but somewhat shorter list, with, moreover, an attempt to structure it according
to the importance of the single authors for Libanius (Foerster (1903a), 74):
‘primo loco Demosthenes …, secundo loco Isocrates, Aeschines, Thucydides,
Plato, Herodotus, Aristides, Lucianus, poetae comici, tertio tragici, Homerus,
Pindarus’.

12 Norman (1964).

13 Norman (1964), 161.

14 Norman (1964), 161.

15 Norman (1964), 162.

16 Norman (1964), 162.

17 Norman (1964), 163–4.

18 Norman (1964), 165.

19 Norman (1964), 166.

20 Norman (1964), 168.

21 Norman (1964), 168–9, against Foerster (1911), 370 n. 4.

22 On these, see Gibson (1999). A full translation, also by Gibson, is now

available at www.stoa.org/projects/demos/article_libanius?page=1.
23 Norman (1964), 169.

24 Norman (1964), 170.

25 On Libanius and Philostratus see also Pack (1947) and Norman (1953).

26 Norman (1964), 171. Regarding Libanius and Lucian, see also Mesk (1932)
on Libanian borrowing from Lucian’s Timon. I myself (Nesselrath (1985), 120
n. 398) have tried to show that Declamation 28 exhibits some traits that
Libanius might plausibly have got from Lucian’s Parasite. Interestingly, a
more certain case can be built (Nesselrath ibid.) for Declamation 29, which,
however, is probably inauthentic.

27 Norman (1964), 171–2.

28 Norman (1964), 171: Longinus (Letter 1078), Favorinus (Letter 1178),

Hadrian of Tyre (Letter 631.3).

29 Norman (1964), 172.

30 Norman (1964), 172, with n. 72.

31 Norman (1964) 172–3. For Libanius’ interest in these and other

contemporary authors, see below Section 11.4.

32 Schouler (1984), 442–572. Schouler ’s survey, however, does not go much

beyond the philosophers of the later fourth century BC and excludes all the
Imperial and Second Sophistic authors treated by Norman.

33 Schouler (1984), 442–76. Homer is present in Libanius’ progymnasmata

(two of the three Γνῶμαι, 1 and 2, are built around the same Homeric verse;
both the Ἀνασκευαί and the Κατασκευαί deal either with Trojan or downright
Homeric material), in the declamations (about half of which show at least some
Homeric influence, and Declamation 5 is directly keyed to the famous Presbeia
in Iliad 9), in the speeches (46 of which contain at least some references to
Homer) and in the letters (282 of 1,544 letters contain at least one Homeric
reminiscence). The Iliad is twice as much used as the Odyssey, and of the Iliad,
books 1, 2 and 9 are especially prominent.

34 Schouler (1984), 482–9: the Works and Days are more frequently used than
the Theogony. Of the latter almost only the introductory part is referred to.

35 Schouler (1984), 490–3. Schouler wonders (p. 491) whether Libanius

might have seen a performance of Acharnians, but this I find rather doubtful;
see also Norman (1965), 149 (on Oration 1.9).

36 Schouler (1984), 494–7.

37 Schouler (1984), 497–502. According to Schouler (1984, 502), Libanius

did at least read the texts of Orestes and Andromache directly.

38 Schouler (1984), 503–4. Like Norman, Schouler considers much imitation

of Menander by Libanius to have been indirect.

39 Schouler (1984), 505–9. Schouler confirms Libanius’ focus (cf. Norman)

on the Olympian Odes.

40 Schouler (1984), 510. Sappho has only a very slight presence in Libanius.

41 Schouler (1984), 511–13. Most Libanian reminiscences are from the Ajax.

42 Schouler (1984), 520–2. Libanius, like other ancient authors of school

rhetoric, uses most frequently Herodotus books 1, 2 and 3. Interestingly,
Libanius himself notes in the protheōria of Declamation 3 that he has
incorporated Herodotean material into this ‘Homeric’ declamation.
43 Schouler (1984), 522–35. For Libanius, Thucydides is almost as important
as Homer and Demosthenes.

44 Schouler (1984), 542–61. Demosthenes is present in many declamations;

he provides a wealth of lexical material; most prominent in Libanius’ oeuvre
are On the False Embassy and On the Crown (547–9); ‘la prose de Libanios est
… imprégnée de Démosthène’ (549).

45 Schouler (1984), 536–8. Interestingly, most mentions of Aeschines are

found in the declamations and progymnasmata, which shows that his speeches
were especially useful for school purposes.

46 Schouler (1984), 540–2. Schouler has not detected any overt references
from the famous Antidosis speech, yet Norman (1965, xv–xvi and 193) has
pointed out that both the prooemium and the end of the original part of the
Autobiography contain echoes of this Isocratean work.

47 Schouler (1984), 539.

48 Schouler (1984), 563–9.

49 Schouler (1984), 570–1.

50 Schouler (1984), 571–2.

51 On Homer in Libanius see also Cribiore (2007a), 144–5 and 149.

52 On Plato’s role in Libanius’ rhetoric see also Cribiore (2007a), 151.

53 Interestingly, this list does not in every respect correspond to the number of
explicit mentions of these authors in Libanius: Herodotus is mentioned only
seven and Thucydides only sixteen times, while passages of their works which
Libanius refers or alludes to are much more frequent.
54 Martin (1988) 135; see also Cribiore (2007a), 159.

55 On this, see also Chapter 2 in this volume.

56 See Molloy (1996), 86–9; Swain (2004), 362–73; Cribiore (2008). Already
Pack (1947) contains much relevant material regarding the relationship
between Libanius and Aristides.

57 In many cases, their ‘publicness’ was of a more restrained character: see

Section 4.3 of Chapter 4 in this volume.

58 Cribiore (2008), 271–7.

59 Martin (1988), 133–5. More on Oration 5 below, in Section 11.5.

60 See Cribiore (2008), 268.

61 ‘If I were given the choice of either surpassing Midas in wealth or coming
at least a little bit close to the art of this man [i.e. Aristides], I would
immediately choose the second possibility … that whenever I make speeches I
keep to the tracks of Aristides and try to make my productions similar to his as
far as possible and to regard it as a prize in my life, if someone in the audience
remarks that we are alike, (all this) is a great sign that I consider this orator to
belong to the top class’ (Oration 64.4).

62 ‘He who does vis-à-vis Aristides what has been done by him vis-à-vis his
predecessors [i.e. argue against them] presents this zeal as praise for his works
by following his examples’ (Oration 64.5).

63 Pack (1947), 19–20. Cribiore (2008, 269) points to interesting parallels

between Sacred Tales 5.30–34 (=Oration 51.30–34) and Libanius Oration
1.86–89.
64 See Cribiore (2008), 265 and Letter 631.2 (of 361), in which Libanius
promises to his addressee Palladius that he will take a critical look at Palladius’
declamation responding to Aristides’ Thersites.

65 This could, but need not necessarily, be Oration 64 (In Defence of the
Pantomimes); see Cribiore (2008), 264 against Foerster.

66 In Letter 1243.2 (also of 364) he reacts to the exhortation of a friend who

had apparently cited the example of Aristides to spur Libanius into writing
another speech on the Antiochene Olympia.

67 For this letter, see Chapter 2 in this volume.

68 For this, cf. Norman (1992b), 294.

69 Aristides Orations 47.16 and 50.19.

70 See, e.g., Rochette (1997), 9.

71 For Libanius’ abiding and unflagging dislike for Latin see, e.g., Nesselrath
(2008), 37 and (2012), 52–3.

72 See above, n. 31.

73 See Letter 742.1 and cf. Letter 715.2. I am therefore highly doubtful of
Norman’s (1964), 172 claim to detect an echo of Himerius (Oration 8.7) in the
last chapter of the Autobiography (Oration 1.285).

74 There may have been more, which are, however, not preserved. Themistius
is also mentioned by Libanius in 12 other letters.

75 Themistius’ claim to be not ‘only’ a rhetor but also a philosopher may have
grated on Libanius’ self-esteem; even more annoying may have been the fact
that Themistius at least temporarily eclipsed Libanius in his relationship with
Julian. Letters like Letter 62 show that Themistius was often regarded by
Libanius with a mixture of admiration and envy.

76 Letter 1477.2–3.

77 See Letters 368.3 (of 358), 434.2 (of 355), 1495.6 (of 365). A remarkable
case is Letter 818 (of 363): In it, Libanius complains that Themistius –
apparently out of anger – has not sent him a speech which various other people
at Antioch have received; but he hopes that Themistius will yet relent and send
it to him, too.

78 Letter 1430.3.

79 For Libanius’ use of Themistius’ speeches see also Cribiore (2007a), 152.

80 For this, see once again Norman (1964), 172.

81 See Oration 18.13–15 (Julian was even a better pupil than those who
regularly attended Libanius’ lessons); Orations 15.6–7; 16.16.

82 Letter 369.1–2.

83 See Norman (1964), 173; Petit (1950).

84 Interestingly, the reverse case happened only a few decades after Libanius’
death, when his own Epitaphius on Julian was used by church historians (for
instance, Socrates of Constantinople), when they had to write about the apostate
emperor.

85 On Tatianus 5, see PLRE, 876–8.

86 Letter 990.2–3 (of 390).

87 In 361 Palladius 7 (on him, see PLRE, 659) sent Libanius a declamation on
Thersites, which Libanius promised to compare with that by Aelius Aristides;
see above n. 64. Exchange of other speeches with Libanius is attested by Letters
615, 616 and 619.

88 The following conspectus of literary loci used by Libanius owes most (but
not all) of its items to Foerster (1903a), 305–20 and Martin (1988), 142–52
and 296–310.

89 Interestingly, Libanius’ exact wording (ἐρρύσατο καὶ διέσωσεν) is already

found in Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 5.39.3 – a mere
coincidence? Why Libanius replaced the Homeric ἐσάωσεν (no variant seems
to be attested) by διέσωσεν, is not clear.

90 They are also found in Achilles Tatius’ romance (5.9.3), where Clitopho’s
friend Clinias relates how he was rescued – quite against his expectation –
from a death in the sea.

91 This Iliadic reference is given by Foerster ad loc.; cf. Iliad 9.312, 23.71,
Odyssey 14.156, but also Aristides’ own verses cited in Oration 49.4: Πολλοὺς
δ’ ἐκ θανάτοιο ἐρύσατο δερκομένοιο / ἀστραφέεσσι πύλῃσιν ἐπ’ αὐτῇσιν
βεβαῶτας / Ἀΐδεω. Interestingly, the expression θανάτου πύλαι is very often
found in Christian writers of the 3 rd and 4 th century AD (Origen, Eusebius,
Athanasius, Basilius, Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom), who probably
took it from the Septuagint (see there Psalms 9.14, 106.18, Job 38.17).

92 There it is not Artemis who helps Leto give birth to Apollo (as in
Apollodorus and Libanius), but Athena who helps Leto give birth to both
Artemis and Apollo.

93 In Hyginus, Astronomy 2.34, where Callimachus is cited as source, Artemis

kills Orion by shooting him, not by unleashing a scorpion against him, as
Libanius claims; Callimachus in his Hymn to Artemis (vv. 264–5) only briefly
mentions Orion’s unsuccessful wooing of Artemis and not how she killed him;
Nicander has the same story as Libanius in his Theriaca (vv. 13–18), but does
this make him Libanius’ source? The story is also known by Servius (ad
Aeneidem 1.535), who refers to Lucan, who in 9.835–6, however, only briefly
mentions Orion’s death by the scorpion without giving further details.

94 To be found in Iliad 6.289; Odyssey 7.97, but also in Hesiod, Theogony 603.

95 Martin (1988, 299) has well pointed out this connection.

96 For Heracles, see Polemo, Declamation 2.41, 62 and Pausanias 1.15.3; for
Pan, see Herodotus 6.105, Polemo, Declamation 1.35 (as well as 2.41, 62
again) and Pausanias 1.28.4.

97 Eidothea saves Odysseus and his companions from suffering too much
from the awful smell of sealskins, in which they had to hide in order to be able
to ambush Proteus. Foerster and Martin cite other passages, in which, however,
only the word ἐσάωσεν can be found: Iliad 11.752 (used of Poseidon) and
Odyssey 4.513 (used of Hera).

98 The following conspectus of literary reminiscences employed by Libanius

in this speech owes most (but again not all) of its items to Foerster (1904),
206–21 and Norman (1969), 252–75; Fatouros and Krischer and Portmann
(2002, 135–45) do not add anything substantial to their predecessors.

99 Libanius uses a similar technique in Oration 15.1; for this, see Van Hoof
and Van Nuffelen (2011), 181.

100 Orations 1.142, 12.43, 18.140, 48.18 and 47.26 in a context very similar to
our passage: ‘the preventers of these unjust deeds … the laws’, τοὺς κωλυτὰς
τῶν ἀδίκων τούτων … νόμους; Letter 72.3; Declamations 26.26 and 33.19.

101 Roman Antiquities 4.9.9: ‘I will establish laws as preventers of violence

and guardians of justice’ (νόμους θήσομαι κωλυτὰς μὲν τῆς βίας, φύλακας
δὲ τῆς δικαιοσύνης) and 11.41.5: ‘having neither a law as preventer nor fear ’,
(μήτε νόμον ἔχουσαι κωλυτὴν μήτε φόβον).
102 Volume Two, 657 Dindorf. The speech Against Leptines was not written by
Aristides (as was thought for a very long time) but well more than a thousand
years later by the Byzantine scholar Thomas Magister; see Lenz (1964), 256–
71.

103 ‘He abandoned the altars to be trampled on and overturned’, βωμοὺς δὲ

ἐφῆκε λακτίζουσιν ἀνατρέπειν. Cf. Aeschylus, Agamemnon 384: ‘trampling
on Dike’s great altar ’, λακτίσαντι μέγαν Δίκας βωμὸν.

104 See Euripides, Electra 1258–63; Demosthenes, Oration 23.66; Pausanias

1.21.4, 28.5. Libanius himself made the episode the theme for his Declamations
7 and 8. One may wonder, though, whether the allusion to it here is wholly
appropriate, because its context is rather different from the circumstances of
Julian’s death, and maybe this is the reason why neither Foerster nor Norman
gives any reference to it.

105 The same combination of fire and flood (but without the mention of
Phaëthon) is found in Oration 12.11.

106 It is also found once in Plotinus, Enneads 4.5.2.

107 Plotinus (Enneads 1.6.5) also describes a bad soul, ‘full of very many …
desires’ (πλείστων … ἐπιθυμιῶν γέμουσα).

108 Except perhaps for Cambyses, whose madness is graphically described in

Herodotus 3.30–6.

109 It is also quoted in Pseudo-Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Rhetoric 9.16,

Pseudo-Plutarch, On Homer l. 1554 and 2344 Kindstrand.

110 It is also quoted by Pseudo-Longinus, On the Sublime 36.2, Dio of Prusa,

Oration 37.38, Diogenes Laertius 1.89, Sextus Empiricus, Outlines of
Pyrrhonism 2.37 and Against the Mathematicians 8.184.
111 He begins, in others words, with ὄφρ’ ἂν, while in Pseudo-Longinus, Dio
of Prusa, Diogenes Laertius and Sextus Empiricus its beginning is ἔστ’ ἂν.

112 For the pervasive presence of Homer in Libanius’ oeuvre, see above n. 33.
The Lament for Julian shows especially well, how Homer is used in every
conceivable way by Libanius: as moral and pedagogical authority, but also as
means (and sometimes as target) for practising criticism and refutation.

113 The following remarks are mainly based on the apparatus fontium in the
respective volumes of Foerster ’s edition.

114 Oration 16, which was addressed to the citizens of Antioch on Julian’s
behalf, already exhibits fewer allusions and quotations of earlier authors, and
this is also the case with Oration 18, the long Epitaphios for Julian.

115 This is shown very clearly by both the apparatus fontium in Foerster
(1904), 385–414, 421–44, 449–66, 471–93, 496–507 and the notes in Norman
(1977), 246–407.

116 Norman (1964), 160.

117 Libanius seems to have proceeeded similarly in his speeches: Already

Liebeschuetz (1972, 31, drawing on Petit (1956a), who again drew on Rother
(1915), 104) pointed out that Libanius adjusts the rhetorical adornment of his
speeches to his respective target audience.
 Chapter 12 Libanius and the ‘game’ of
Hellenism
Jan R. Stenger

12.1 Introduction
The fourth century witnessed tremendous changes and upheavals in the fields
of religion, politics and society. The most striking of these changes was the
astonishing advance of Christianity from a persecuted minority to the official
state religion, destined in turn to suppress other kinds of religious worship.
Supported by political and social developments such as the Christianization of
the imperial aristocracy, the penetration of Christianity into the heart of the
Roman Empire was bound to have a profound impact on both individual and
collective identities. For political and other reasons, individuals and groups
shifted their religious allegiances and sought to shape their self-image by
distancing themselves from and marginalizing competing belief systems.
Stable, or seemingly stable, identities became blurred or even contested.
Individuals and communities were forced to rethink their position towards
religious or social issues, which gave rise to an intense discourse on identities.
As part of this discourse, many traditional aspects of their lives such as
ethnicity, culture, ethics and religious adherence intermingled in a new fashion
and gained new relevance.
Of particular interest in these controversial debates is one type of identity
which underwent a significant change in meaning and evaluation. Hellenism,
the condition of being Greek, once more came to the fore as a result of
religious struggles since the Fathers of the Church had taken up the term for
labelling non-believers.1 Once the adherents of the pagan gods had adopted
this policy for their self-definition, Hellenism developed into an ambivalent
expression with either positive or negative overtones, depending on who made
use of it and for what purposes. The issue became even more complex as
Christians who were brought up in the classical tradition refused to break with
the values of Greek culture, advocating instead a harmony of Christian belief
and Hellenic tradition. While the last pagan emperor Julian made strenuous
efforts to ban Christians from the benefits of a purportedly pagan Greek
education, his former Christian fellow student, Gregory of Nazianzus,
aggressively resisted such endeavours to create a divide between faith and
‘Greekness’, even though only after the emperor ’s death. Apart from these two
protagonists, other writers also engaged in the debate, though not with the
same zeal.2 One of them was the sophist Libanius, whose stance on the issue
exhibits considerable commonality with Julian’s conception, yet differs in
important respects.
Libanius offers an extremely promising path to exploring the discourse on
Greek identity, a topic that repeatedly re-emerged across the centuries, from
the classical era over the Second Sophistic to the Byzantine period and the
modern rebirth of a Greek nation. Within this history, Libanius occupies a key
position: as Hellenism figured prominently as a divisive issue in the pagan and
Christian circles of the fourth century, Libanius, who consciously imitated
classical writers and placed himself in line with authors of the Second
Sophistic (cf. Chapter 11), but who was also a key figure among the
intellectuals of his own time and one that would be imitated for centuries to
come (cf. Chapter 8), gives us a fascinating glimpse into the mindset of the
cultivated upper class and their attempts at self-definition in dialogue with
tradition. As a result, Libanius should be on the reading list of anybody
interested in discourses of identity in classical antiquity and Byzantium. What
makes the study of his stance on the issue so rewarding is the extremely rich
documentation of reflections on Hellenism throughout his oeuvre, which
enables us to assess the relevance of the matter in different times and situations.
Apart from the sheer bulk of evidence, it is the social dimension that makes his
musings on Hellenism such an attractive object to investigate. For the most
part, Libanius voices his feelings and concerns about Greekness in
relationships with others, be it emperors, high officials, fellow citizens or
colleagues. Thus, we can understand how the idea of Hellenism influenced
various issues and shaped social interactions. Given that, his enormous
collection of writings lends us unique insights into the different layers and
numerous occasions of the Hellenic discourse at his time.
Although Libanius’ concept of Greek identity has received some attention, it
still deserves a closer look since novel approaches to examining constructions
of identity may enable us to modify the accepted picture. In recent years, with
the rise of studies of identity in general and Hellenism in particular, both terms
have been subject to reconsideration.3 The older view that collective identities
represent well-defined, stable entities with a fixed set of features has been
abandoned in favour of a flexible, constructionist model, according to which
personal and collective identities are understood as cultural constructions,
constantly being projected, negotiated, called into question and remodelled.4
Moreover, it has been claimed that identity, in particular in a period of
transition, has to be seen as a dynamic process of constructing boundaries
depending on the various contextual exigencies.5 When dealing with an ancient
author ’s concept of Hellenism we should, however, bear in mind that we face
the problem of whether to apply the idea of ‘identity’ to a remote past and
culture at all. While such concepts hold considerable relevance to some
modern societies, their applicability to the Greek world must be questioned. A
concept like identity is both regionally and culturally specific, dependent on
social and environmental conditions and perceptions.
In reconsidering this problem, this chapter does not intend to establish a
unified and accessible definition of what being Greek meant for Libanius.
Instead, it seeks to analyze the ways in which Libanius employed the idea of
Hellenism in both his orations and letters to achieve specific communicative
objectives. Therefore, after an overview of the range of categories which
defined the affiliation to Greekness in respect to content, I will investigate how
the conditions and factors of the given context of discourse affected the fashion
in which Libanius conveyed the idea of being Greek. In accordance with this
focus I shall address linguistic and historical issues as well since the reference
to Hellenism never occurs as an independent expression without context but is,
as a linguistic representation of a mental concept, used in a process of
communication between two or more participants. This context-sensitive,
multifaceted approach will hopefully pave the way for a more accurate
understanding of Libanius’ relationship to Greeks and being Greek and of the
construction of his self.

12.2 What is Greek?

When dealing with identities we usually point to some recognizable features as
essential for identifying an individual or a group. It is this approach which is
typical for the scholarly discussion of the matter under consideration. The
most comprehensive paper written so far on Libanius’ conception of
Hellenism attempts to define what Greekness means for the sophist by
investigating a number of definite notions that are likely to relate to his view of
identity.6 Not surprisingly, being Greek is connected with ideas that had a long
tradition in reflections on this subject. Like numerous thinkers before him,
Libanius thinks of Greekness in terms of ethnicity, geography and history.
Ethnicity,7 the construction of similarities and differences between different
groups of people, is a feature that Libanius frequently mentions in his letters
and orations. Recurring expressions like ‘the sons of the Hellenes’ imply that
he perceives the Greeks as marked by shared descent and kinship.8 As regards
geography, it is quite natural that Libanius, as a classicizing author, focuses on
mainland Greece and those cities that were of high relevance for its history,
first and foremost Athens, then Corinth and Sparta.9 What makes these sites
landmarks of Hellenic identity is their cultural value and historical
significance. Consequently, Greece is a space of memories. Following the
intellectuals of the Second Sophistic, Libanius displays a lively interest above
all in the classical period, while events of the nearer past occur only
sparingly.10 Hence, when he mentions the Hellenes, he often refers to the fifth
and fourth centuries BC, focusing on canonical events of vital importance for
the collective memory.11 Altogether, the network of ethnicity, geography and
historical memories defines Greek identity, representing ‘objective’ properties
which – as a shared, collective heritage – integrate individuals into a larger
group. Although positively evaluated, these characteristics are merely ‘passive’
attributes that one possesses, or not, by birth.
On the other hand, we have personal accomplishments which distinguish an
individual from another. Being an outstanding representative of eloquence,
Libanius never ceases to celebrate Hellenic paideia and its advantages (Oration
11.270). The relevance of culture for identity construction is stated in a letter to
the Roman noble Postumianus in which Libanius discusses at length what it
means to be Greek (Letter 1036). Above all, one has to master the Greek
language in its broadest sense. In particular, learning Greek means immersing
oneself in the works of Homer, Hesiod, Demosthenes, Thucydides and other
authors. This canon of classical authors was already held in the highest esteem
by the key players of the Second Sophistic movement in imperial times when
they sought to recreate the great past and exploit it for their self-representation.
In this attitude to Greek culture and its core, language, Libanius followed in the
footsteps of the intellectuals of the first and second centuries AD; in particular,
in the same way as his prime model, Aelius Aristides, he strove to write in the
purest Attic style and diction. Every page of Libanius’ writings bears witness to
his effort to attain the linguistic perfection of the ancients.12 Likewise, his
contemporaries, led by the emperor Julian, acknowledged his close interest in
a linguistic revival, as is clearly brought out in Eunapius’ Lives of the
Philosophers and Sophists (16.2.3–6, 496 Giangrande (1956), 84). More
importantly, it was not just a matter of stylistics and aesthetics. Rather, the Attic
register was deemed testament to an excellent education and, concomitantly, a
high social status. Apart from social identity, it displayed that you were at
home in the centre of Hellenic culture. We may note here, incidentally, that
Libanius’ search for recherché Attic expressions did not meet with everyone’s
approval, as Eunapius ironically compared it to an old mistress of recent
wealth who tries to polish away the signs of her age.
Culture, though, is not conceived of as an independent domain but is firmly
linked to the worship of the gods, to the extent that both are almost identical.
This opinion is prominently brought forward in a defence against those who
slandered his education, delivered in 382 (Oration 62). In this oration Libanius
denounces the reign of Constantius as a period of overall decline, especially
on account of the measures taken against the pagan cults. Significantly, the
sophist aligns this decay with the emperor ’s contempt for education. And this
criticism follows naturally from his basic tenets: ‘In my opinion, these two
domains, religion (hiera) and literary culture (logoi) belong together and are
akin.’13 Worship of the gods is further the origin of a particular ethical
behaviour. While rude barbarians and beasts are on the one end of the
spectrum, the positive role models for worthy conduct are, on the other end,
the gods. The imitation of those examples of leniency, justice and prevention
of conflicts, and the exhibition of those virtues reveal the true Greek.14
Generally speaking, being Greek is a behaviour which encapsulates all virtues
of a civilized man with clemency at the top; hence Libanius’ identification of
Greeks with mankind, defining humanity as the key feature (Letter 75,
Orations 5.33, 15.22 and 25–9). In contrast to ethnicity, geography and history,
the cultural, ethical and religious Greek identities depend on individual actions
and merits. It requires constant effort and courage to acquire and maintain this
distinguished status.
Libanius’ Hellenism is deeply embedded in the discourse of identity as
conducted since the fifth century BC. Isocrates had already dismissed ethnicity
as the pre-eminent identity marker in favour of a particular form of education,
the Athenian (Isocrates, Oration 4.47–50). Likewise in the imperial age, when
during the Second Sophistic discussions on identity intensified, greater
emphasis than at any other time was placed on Greekness and the cultural
heritage.15 This observation has invited the conclusion that religion, though
not insignificant, has to be considered as only a minor factor in Libanius’
representation of Greekness.16 According to this view, the interconnectedness
between paganism and culture that he occasionally propagates ought to be
assessed in the light of his loyalty to Julian and his ‘programme’ but has little
to say about Libanius’ own preferences.17 Consequently, his definition of self
in terms of being Greek is seen as essentially shaped by the cultural tradition,
making but minor adjustments to the transformations of the fourth century. His
indebtedness to the classical heritage betrays a fundamentally conservative
attitude, recognizable in his reservations against all that is ‘new’ – in particular
Christianity, Latin and the capital Constantinople.18
Notwithstanding, we should question whether defining and describing
attributes is sufficient to understand the significance of the concept of
Hellenism in Libanius’ thought. The dominant, ‘essentialist’ approach aims to
recover what Hellenism ‘was’ for him essentially, consequently searching for a
criterial framework. On account of the variety of categories, it seems,
however, questionable whether an identity is based on properties of which none
belongs exclusively to a single group. After all, neither ethnicity, nor
geography, nor religion, nor culture is regarded by Libanius as the unique
identity marker. Apart from this problem, one could argue that easy switches
and smooth transitions between the categories point to the fact that for
Libanius, Hellenism was not to be divided into discrete attributes. Finally, it
might be misleading to surmise that being Greek is something with an
objective existence that, as if it were a material object, Libanius could possess
on his own. The following paragraphs will therefore concentrate on the
communicative dimension and the strategic use of Hellenism, discussing how
and to what ends he exploits Greekness rather than what it means to him.

12.3 Rhetorical adaptation

The observation that the various threads of Greekness often cannot easily be
disentangled because they are tightly coupled is valid for both Libanius’ letters
and orations. An example is Oration 14 which in 362 pleaded the case for his
old friend Aristophanes, who under Constantius had fallen into disgrace and,
accused of laesa maiestas or treason, had been sentenced to relegation.19 Now,
under the reign of Julian, the sophist sent this address of recommendation to
the young emperor, in the hope of clearing Aristophanes, a noble citizen of
Corinth, of the charges and, in addition, obtaining for him a profitable office.
To achieve this ambitious goal, Libanius combined an apology with a
panegyric to the effect that his friend was in reality a martyr to his beliefs: even
under the pressure of Constantius’ reign, he had remained loyal to the ancient
gods and to the ideals now promoted by Julian. According to Libanius, the
main reason for the emperor to respond favourably to his plea was the
following: ‘First of all, my emperor, he is a Greek, that is, one of your
favourites. There has never been a man such a lover of his country as you are
of the soil of Greece, considering religious cults, laws, eloquence, wisdom,
initiations and trophies won from the barbarians. While this advantage of
Aristophanes would be considerable even if he were a citizen of Megara,
Melus or Lemnus, his city commands even more respect, since he is from
Corinth.’ (Oration 14.27) In this key passage Libanius advocates a Hellenism
that obviously cannot be reduced to a single aspect. By listing defining
characteristics, he evokes the impression that it covers a whole range of
subject areas, including paganism, education and historical memory. Similarly,
several letters (e.g. Letters 982, 1036) unfold a broad spectrum of
achievements, thus implicitly attributing everything that Greeks have ever
accomplished to their being Greek. With Hellenism being almost identical with
culture in general, we may wonder whether one of its elements is more
relevant to the concept than others. The placement of religion at the top of his
enumeration and the repetition of this idea throughout might point in this
direction.
The quoted sentences and Oration 14 as a whole are remarkable not only for
the clustering of a patchwork of ideas that deliver a variegated picture of
Greekness. They also offer a most striking rhetorical deployment of the
catchword ‘Greek’ within the communicative setting. On the one hand,
Libanius employs the accumulation of Greek virtues in order to provide
sufficient reasons for rehabilitating Aristophanes. On the other hand, the
formulation of the crucial sentences deliberately inserts the cluster of Julian’s
Hellenic attributes into the praise of Aristophanes’ Greek origin. Since it is
essential when making an appeal of this kind to gain the favour of the recipient,
Libanius exploits Hellenism as a common bond linking his friend and the
emperor to make his case that Aristophanes deserves more lenient treatment.
This implies that, in contrast to Constantius, who is subjected to harsh
criticism, Julian makes being Greek with all its ingredients the guiding
principle for his rule. Thus, apart from representing a whole culture,
Greekness operates as a political programme that gives to Julian’s reign a
particular form. Moreover, with his encomiastic oration Libanius not only
characterizes Aristophanes’ Greek virtues, but also draws a panegyrical
portrait of the emperor himself. When he discusses at length why his friend
deserves rehabilitation, placing the adherence to the pagan cults at the top, the
sophist simultaneously explains what he considers the essential virtues of his
beloved emperor. As a result, Julian himself is portrayed along with
Aristophanes as an outstanding embodiment of Hellenism. It is no wonder that
the emperor, flattered as he was, in turn praised his encomiastic orator in a
letter, thereby ensuring the publication of the speech.20 This mutually
beneficial interaction between emperor and sophist had the effect that the latter
never desisted from extolling Julian as a paragon of Hellenism. What Libanius
deemed to be typical of a Greek he attributed to the emperor throughout the
speeches he delivered during his reign and afterwards to propagate the
emperor ’s fame. For instance, in his Oration 24, On Avenging Julian, he
highlights the emperor ’s bold endeavours to promote the pagan cults as the
major virtue in which he had surpassed all other Greeks, even outdoing the
Homeric heroes (Oration 24.35). The intention of this praise is to present
Julian as a model which ought to be emulated by all Greeks. Consequently, all
who consider themselves to be Greek should be deeply saddened by the
premature loss of this ideal (Oration 17.1).
It is worth noting that the speech on behalf of Aristophanes, although sent as
a petition, that is as a piece of writing, to the emperor, was no doubt intended
for wider publication, and this is what happened after its favourable reception
by Julian. When planning his argumentation Libanius must have had a certain
degree of publicity in mind; otherwise he would certainly not have explained
the concept of Hellenism so extensively. This assumption is confirmed by the
observation that Libanius in his other orations concerning the emperor time
and again develops what it means – in Julian’s view – to be Greek. The notions
are by no means specific or novel. As noted in the case of Aristophanes,
ethnicity, geography, history, culture and religion go hand in hand, firmly
joined together, yet with varying accentuation. Hence, at first sight, Julian’s
Hellenism as conceived by Libanius might appear essentially traditional. But
due to the specific circumstances the concept is reformulated to considerable
effect. Instead of merely clustering the inherited ingredients, Libanius – in
accordance with Julian’s own thought21 – occasionally stresses one single
feature, thereby hinting at a hierarchy of values. This intention is obvious in a
speech that has never been delivered, the embassy address to Julian. To obtain
the emperor ’s forgiveness for the insubordinate Antiochenes, Libanius dwells
at length on Julian’s virtues with the granting of imperial clemency as the
focus (Oration 15.25–29). As one might expect in an appeal for mercy on
behalf of a city, Libanius draws on the familiar concept of a monarch’s
clemency towards his subjects (philanthrōpia). What attracts attention is where
this virtue is derived from. While, generally speaking, the imperial clemency
results from the political status of the ruler as a ‘living law’ and follower of
God’s exemplar, in the case of Julian it is first and foremost his Greek identity
that lies behind his usual indulgence, to which the city appeals in this situation.
This statement introduces reflections on what characteristics make Julian a
humane ruler, which are further elaborated by comments on other aspects of
his Greek philanthrōpia. First, Libanius clarifies, being Greek is the opposite
of being barbarian or of being a wild beast. In contrast to the barbarian, the
Greek differs from animals by virtue of his clemency or rather his civilization.
Second, Julian from childhood has been imbued with the whole paideia,
including the knowledge of poetry, philosophy, eloquence and prose literature.
What has made him inclined towards mildness is, however, his friendship and
companionship with the Olympic gods. In other words, it is the adherence to
paganism that forms the fundamental principle from which perfect clemency
comes, and this compassion is inextricably linked to being truly Greek. In
harmony with the emperor, Libanius argues that the various parts of Hellenism
can be subsumed under the master virtue of loyalty to the ancient gods.
This particular orientation of Hellenism, which we have already observed in
the speech on behalf of Aristophanes, is characteristic of the way in which
Libanius presents Greek selfhood in the Julianic orations and in his other
comments on the emperor ’s qualities. Interestingly, both passages discussed
here explicitly state that this notion of Hellenic identity is shared by the
emperor and his subjects, at least his followers. Obviously, the audience should
infer that being Greek proper depends on the commitment to Julian’s
programme. To claim Hellenism as one’s identity, one needs to subscribe to
the emperor ’s doctrines, in particular to the interconnectedness of culture and
religion (Orations 14.69, 17.1–2). It was this narrower definition of Greekness,
namely the process of charging it with religious undertones that provoked the
indignation of Christian intellectuals such as Gregory of Nazianzus.22 They
understood that, in the end, this conception would lead to their exclusion from
the cultural tradition in which they felt at home. For Libanius, however, at least
in his Julianic speeches, religious Hellenism offered itself as a practical tool
for shaping a unique group identity.
Having said that, we should nevertheless take into account that elsewhere he
leaves Julian’s ideal aside to underline different aspects. Though an oration
addressed to Theodosius after the riot of the statues at first glance advocates
the same genuine Greek clemency as found in Oration 15, a closer look
reveals that the idea is used to serve a different purpose. Again, the emperor ’s
mercy, to which Libanius appeals on behalf of his fellow citizens, features
prominently, setting the Greeks apart from barbarians and beasts (Oration
19.12–13). Concomitantly, this virtue is ascribed to the imitation of the gods;
the follower of the gods takes greater pleasure from abandoning wrath and
practising mercy than from exacting punishment. The notion of Hellenic
clemency Libanius puts forward in 387 AD thus closely resembles the virtue
previously associated with Julian, but the context had changed significantly:
although purporting to be a plea presented to Theodosius at the time of the
riots, Oration 19 was in fact composed a considerable time after the events in
view of disseminating the fiction that Libanius as an ambassador had rescued
Antioch from severe treatment by the emperor. Under these circumstances, it
enhanced the view that, although the current emperor, as a devout Christian,
made no secret of his religious partiality, Hellenic virtues and classical culture
as promoted by Julian still remained valid and were responsible for the
welfare of the cities and the whole empire.23 In addition, Libanius boasts that he
has not refrained from espousing this ideal even at court.
Yet another picture emerges from several further speeches in Libanius’
public career. While in the imperial orations he concentrates on the political
dimension of Hellenism, in his famous encomium to Antioch he puts civic
culture centre stage. The core of this cultural Hellenism is, not surprisingly,
eloquence, with its potential to manage all civic affairs – a characteristic
whereby Antioch surpasses other cities and rivals even classical Athens.24 We
cannot fail to notice that the sophist here simultaneously promotes his
profession and publicly formulates the basis of the city’s identity. These two
aspects are closely intertwined in his emotional adherence to, and pride of,
both Greek culture and his native town. Yet, elsewhere his confidence in the
status and the survival of Hellenic eloquence is shattered. In his Autobiography,
he is forced to admit that eloquence, challenged by its rivals (Latin and
jurisprudence), has decreased in status and influence (Oration 1.214, 234, 255).
Similarly, in speeches delivered before his disciples Libanius laments their
indifference to Greek oratory and the disappearance of the cultural tradition in
spite of being near to the gods’ hearts (Oration 3.11–4, 35). Leaving aside the
question of whether he exaggerates the dangers facing Greek culture, the
comparison of different orations allows for the conclusion that Libanius adapts
his multi-faceted concept of Hellenism carefully to the situation. At one time,
he accentuates the undiminished relevance of Greek oratory before a festive
community; at another time, he stresses the menace to Greekness to shape his
self-image of a lonely defender against the adverse cultural trends. The point
to be made here is that these selections or emphases are shaped by the sophist’s
personal concerns and the specific circumstances. It is therefore safe to say that
Hellenism is not anchored to a single aspect throughout. Rather, the concept
offers Libanius a choice between different shades of meaning, depending on
his relationship to addressees and audience, the circumstances of delivery and
publication, and, finally, his communicative aims.
Consequently, Hellenism emerges not as a fixed entity to be applied
regardless of the situational requirements, but, quite the contrary, as a
communicative device to be employed in accordance with the demands of the
given circumstances. As a result, the idea of Greekness is modified by Libanius
to fit the situation and achieve the best possible effects. In other words, its
specific shaping is determined fundamentally by the constituents of rhetorical
communication and Libanius’ intentions. Accordingly, we should abandon the
search for a consistent set of necessary and sufficient attributes and posit
instead a rhetorical, rather flexible definition of the nature of Hellenism. While
the traditional approach brings with it the difficulty of distinguishing between
personal conception and ‘propaganda’, it is, from this perspective, useful to
employ a context-sensitive analysis, which has the advantage of shedding light
on the discursive qualities of Hellenism in the hands of the sophist.

12.4 The discourse of Hellenism

The same considerations apply to the other genres in which Libanius wrote
prolifically. Until now, scholars have quite naturally focused on his
correspondence to trace his personal opinion about identity. It should,
however, be recalled that his activities throughout his lifetime centred to a
large extent on teaching the sons of well-off families classical rhetoric.
Accordingly, a great deal of his writings consists of texts related to schooling:
progymnasmata and declamations. It is in these exercises and showpieces that
we come across the largest number of references to Greeks and being Greek.
There is, admittedly, one major obstacle to reconstructing Libanius’ thinking
from these texts: one cannot fail to recognize that declamations and
progymnasmata at first glance represent what we would label ‘fiction’, devoted
to a vague classical past, or rather a creative invention of the past, and to
timeless, stereotypical characters of daily life. On the surface, then, we
encounter a world of far remote history, thus detached from late antique
conditions. Notwithstanding, these exercises had further implications with
direct bearing on reality. The reason for this is that by attending to declamatory
performances or practising them, the pupils subtly became acquainted with
role models taken from the classical past and, moreover, with the significance
of being Greek. Odysseus’ embassy speech to the Trojans, for instance, is
opened by an extended reflection on what it means to be Greek in comparison
with being a barbarian (Declamation 4.5–12). To persuade his audience,
Odysseus, after having introduced this distinction, aligns the Trojans with all
essential features that characterize Greek civic culture, including orators,
assemblies, ethical values and not least sacrifices and divination. Libanius
develops, even though under the mask of a mythical hero, his own concept of
Hellenism in its entire scope. In addition to learning rhetorical technique,
pupils thus become accustomed to adopting a particular, notably pagan, view
of Greek selfhood.
Considering the relevance of role-playing and training in the school
exercises, we can carry our examination a step further, turning to the
impressive corpus of letters. There, the notion of Hellenism likewise figures
prominently, albeit in a significantly different context. While orations and
declamations are designed for social interaction between an orator and a wider
public, the letters, generally speaking, provide opportunities for contact
between two individuals separated by physical distance. The particular
conditions of letter communication, among other aspects the one-to-one-
relationship and the social hierarchy between writer and addressee, profoundly
affect the manner in which Hellenism is presented. When we take Letter 1120
as an example, we observe that Libanius, in writing to his friend Helpidius,
evokes a picture of Hellenism that is familiar from other writings. Giving
advice in a conflict between the addressee and a common friend, Seleucus, the
author refers to the idea of Greek forgiveness to exhort Helpidius to support
their friend. Being Greek, in contrast to the behaviour of barbarians and
animals, is to serve as a motivation for treating Seleucus in a humane manner.
Moreover, the addressee will belong to the Athenians, the paragons of
Greekness, if he complies with Libanius’ request. In addition, the sophist
summons him to imitate somebody upon whose death Helpidius had shed tears
and who has given sufficient grounds for acting benevolently. The name of this
prime model of Hellenic values is, however, left unstated. We can nevertheless
infer that Libanius is alluding to the emperor Julian, whose fervent adherent
Helpidius was.25 This reasonable assumption sheds light on Libanius’ remark
that the course of mercy is followed by persons who resemble the gods. In all
likelihood, he once again takes the position that even after Julian’s death there
is still a group of loyal followers who seek to live up to the emperor ’s ideals
of pagan Hellenism. That is, the concept carries certain undertones which the
letter hints at, thus carefully adjusting it to Helpidius’ convictions and to the
affection for the late Julian shared by him, Seleucus and Libanius himself.
What we can learn from a close examination of Libanius’ correspondence in
general is that being Greek can take a variety of forms, depending on the
respective communicative situation. To assess the shape of Hellenism in each
case adequately requires paying attention to the different social roles played by
writer and recipient, the particular context, and the communicative aims. Since
the epistolary situation is, however, often difficult to appraise, there can be
some uncertainty regarding the precise notion.
Furthermore, the conditions of letter writing involve a typical mode in
which being Greek is presented to the addressee. Frequently, Libanius merely
uses the label ‘Hellenic’ without making explicit what it exactly means.26 A
first reason for this is that it was not always required to provide further details,
due to the degree of familiarity between writer and reader. When Libanius
recommended one of his pupils to a close friend, as was often the case, it
seemed sufficient to introduce the carrier of the letter as a true Hellene,
considering that the receiver could conjecture what Libanius intended to
communicate with this phrase. The closer the relationship between Libanius
and his addressee the more he could rely on their shared knowledge, thus
employing the idea of Hellenism with communicative economy. A more
fundamental reason is the nature of concepts and conceptualization.27 With
Hellenism being a complex and structured mental representation, a concept
integrating various components, it is neither necessary nor even possible to
enumerate all its properties without risking a communicative failure. The
linguistic representation of a concept is by nature underdetermined; it cannot
achieve the same degree of specificity as the mental image. Viewed in a more
positive fashion, the lexical item is capable of evoking the entire concept by
simply employing its conventional term. It is then left to the addressee’s
knowledge to infer which specific aspects are focused upon in a given
situation. This process of inferring is based upon the shared background
knowledge of speaker and addressee, a common basis enabling the latter to
interpret, or rather construct, the context-dependent meaning of a phrase. Of
great importance in the processing of incoming information are knowledge
structures, technically speaking frames, scenes and scripts, by which terms
linguistics highlights that a concept comprises typical objects and
characteristic actions.28 For example, when a reader encounters the combined
expressions ‘Hellenic’ and ‘friendship’ in a letter 29 he automatically has
recourse to information that, although not expressed, is connected to these
ideas in his mind, including among others events from the Greek past and
obligations towards close friends. In the context of our examination of
Libanius’ Hellenism, this phenomenon raises the question of how to
reconstruct which specific aspects of the general concept the addressee might
have understood and focused upon in a particular context.
While Libanius frequently leaves the facets of Hellenism unspecified, on
other occasions he follows the opposite line, clustering an entire spectrum of
constituent elements. More than once we witness how he develops step by step
which attitudes or customs constitute being Greek.30 This strategy of explicit
definition is used to great effect when the elaboration of several qualities
culminates in the label of Hellenism, which nicely encapsulates all that had
been briefly stated earlier in the letter (Letters 192.6, 1016.6). As a result, the
reader participates, as it were, in the thought process until he finally gains
insight into the nature of Greekness. When he employs this technique, Libanius
imposes a certain view on his reader or his audience, drawing their attention to
essential features to be taken as guidelines. According to his communicative
intention – be it reproach, request, recommendation, or a combination thereof
– he details the abstract concept by elaborating and elucidating it through more
concrete explanations. Since in the epistolary communication he is often
concerned with recurring issues, it is hardly surprising that certain
collocations occur regularly. Due to the nature of ancient letter communication
it is first and foremost friendship (philia) that is paired with Greek identity,
true Greekness being related to the fulfilment of the mutual obligations
between friends. Concomitantly, ethical values play a major role, especially
humanity, to which Libanius appeals in the event of a conflict.31 Frequently,
however, he does not specify which particular virtue he regards as typically
Greek, characterizing instead the person he is speaking of simply as a virtuous
or useful man. Apart from ethics, it is culture that figures prominently within
the framework of Hellenism. With letters as an extremely useful instrument for
recommendation, it is quite natural that Libanius associates being Greek with
paideia and eloquence to ensure that the receiver lends an ear to his request for
aid.32 In a letter of recommendation sent to Modestus, an admirer of sophistic
pursuits in general and of Libanius in particular, Hellenism, after being
introduced at the very beginning, is unfolded in the following sentences, until
the concluding appeal focuses on literary culture.33 This strategy of orienting
Hellenism proves to be related to the fact that Eudaemon, in aid of whose
kinsmen Libanius acts, as a grammarian and poet deserves support from
erudite Greeks. What is worth mentioning with regard to such collocations and
enumerations is that Libanius not only explains what is Greek but likewise what
is not. Especially when appealing to the forbearance of a friend he stresses that
to exhibit relentless wrath violates the nature of Greekness.34 The rhetorical
devices of definition, elaboration, collocation and contrast have a similar
effect in that they are applied as a means of foregrounding. They throw into
sharp relief the aspect of Hellenism that is crucial for Libanius’ argumentation
in a given situation, directing attention to a single feature or a limited range of
elements. By investigating the linguistic dimension of Hellenism we can
therefore observe a hierarchy of defining attributes, yet a hierarchy that
depends on context. The various properties of a concept, consequently, do not
all have the same relevance; rather, there are some which are more salient than
others, depending on the rhetorical context.
A similar result is achieved when Libanius refers to an individual to
demonstrate the advantages of being Greek, thus exemplifying selected aspects
of the concept. This is illustrated by the letter to Helpidius mentioned above,
where the writer introduces the example of the late emperor Julian to make his
point that the addressee should settle his differences with Seleucus. Thereby
Helpidius is reminded that his beloved emperor ’s clemency towards assassins
stands out as a major case of Hellenic virtue to be closely emulated. Likewise,
in other letters and orations Libanius presents individuals who embody
Hellenic qualities, occasionally exhibiting the entire range of attributes from
eloquence to religious allegiance (Letter 192). On the one hand, this technique
allows him to single out some features; on the other hand, it serves as an
effective tool for persuasion. By linking Greek identity to an individual instead
of arguing for an abstract concept, Libanius increases clarity and impact. When
Julian or a friend is depicted as an exemplar of Hellenism, the reader is
thereby enabled to generate a vivid image of what a true Greek should look
like or, more precisely, to watch Greek habits in action. This effect is of vital
importance for Libanius’ aims as he often makes use of Hellenism in
encouraging desirable forms of behaviour or attitudes. Since the addressee
should adopt a Greek mode of conduct, it is preferable to provide, as Libanius
does towards Helpidius, a concrete model to emulate.
The principle of mimēsis, in other words the imitation of role models,
becomes even more apparent when he not only calls someone a Greek but
specifies his praise in a more than conspicuous manner. Interestingly, with
regard to devoted adherents of Julian’s ideals or to the emperor himself,
Libanius occasionally enhances the quality of being Greek by emphasizing that
he recognizes the person as a ‘useful’ or ‘true’ Hellene (Letter 1431.5).
Elsewhere, as though this praise were not sufficient, he coins the phrase ‘the
core of Greeks’ or ‘the summit of Greeks’ to indicate that someone exceeds all
others in Greek identity.35 Although parallels occur in contemporary writers,36
it is still striking how often and, in addition, how consciously Libanius applies
this remarkable expression. Here we encounter what linguists call hedges,
namely intensifying expressions such as ‘really’ and ‘strictly speaking’, which
indicate an essential membership of somebody or something in a group.37
When hedging, and thus modifying, the concept, the speaker underlines that the
person or the matter at hand, as an excellent representative of a class, has more
legitimate grounds for claiming to be a member of the category than others.
Being the core of Greekness, in consequence, emerges as a kind of honour
bestowed by Libanius for special merits concerning the Greeks. By way of
contrast, it is to be understood that not everyone is entitled to lay claim to the
highest degree of Hellenism, since it requires exceptional qualities and effort
to reach the peak. In the light of this phrase, Hellenism is conceived as a kind
of competition, a contest, which reveals the finest qualities a man can possess.
Our sketch of the rhetorical strategies applied by Libanius to the concept of
Hellenism throws light on its discursive nature, thus highlighting the
interconnectedness between content and linguistic form. If we take Hellenism
as a complex mental concept, which manifests itself on the linguistic level, we
observe that the semantics of ‘Greek’ is not a unified, fixed meaning. Instead, it
exhibits an internal structure with different degrees, and this hierarchical
organization allows Libanius to call someone a true Greek in comparison with
another. The reason for this use of the label is that there is a division between a
kernel or core and a periphery, with various layers between the centre of
Hellenism proper and the fringes of the field, where it may be difficult to
distinguish a lukewarm Greek from a barbarian. This observation is confirmed
by the fact that Libanius bestows the honour according to a wide range of
criteria. Rather than narrowing the concept to one single element, he chooses
one or several aspects that best suit his aims. Thus, what characterizes the
discourse of Hellenism is a family resemblance, involving a relational
structure of the semantic field.38 This is why being Greek cannot be defined
through one essential, salient feature that all members of the class have in
common. Rather, there is a spectrum of overlapping similarities between them
so that one need not possess all features to belong to the category. Yet, there
are members who, because they exhibit Greek qualities in a more substantial
form or to a higher degree than others, represent – to use a term of Cognitive
Linguistics – prototypes.39 They serve as the best examples of the class, which
first come to mind when thinking about Hellenism. As a result, the term in the
strict sense is not applicable to all Greeks alike whereas in a broader sense –
regarding ethnicity, geography or history – a larger number of people can
expect to count as Greeks. In addition, the internal structure of the concept
makes it possible, depending on context and accentuation, to evoke different
opposites – Romans, barbarians, Christians, the uneducated, or others.
Therefore it is a matter of communicative circumstances and aims or,
generally speaking, of discourse which determines the aspects that are selected
and put to the forefront.

12.5 Hellenism as social practice

Given the discursive, flexible nature of Hellenism, it seems indispensable to
have a closer look at the pragmatics of discourse or, to put it another way, the
potential to act with expression in a particular situation. The pragmatic
dimension is illuminated especially by Libanius’ letters because, in most cases,
this genre fulfils practical functions. This becomes evident when one considers
that the bulk of his correspondence consists of letters of recommendation,
written to gain support for friends and former or current pupils, in particular
to furnish them with a profitable position in the administration or the education
system. Since it is essential to laud the qualities of the letter carrier and at the
same time to appeal to the influential receiver, these letters are filled with
expressions of appreciation and with compliments. As a means of
recommending a person as deserving practical aid, Hellenism could be an
obvious choice due to its broad spectrum of connotations. Time and again
Libanius, when drawing a picture as favourable as possible, refers to Hellenic
identity, frequently combining skill in eloquence with ethical values. What this
at times exuberant praise implies, is that the receiver of the letter, as someone
who displays these virtues himself, will appreciate a fellow Greek without
reserve, thus certainly granting the requested favour. Recently, scholars have
started to explore how epistolary communication in late antiquity contributed
to creating and maintaining social networks among elites.40 In this respect,
Libanius’ body of letters is no exception, placing the writer at the heart of an
intellectual network.4 1 Within this context, Hellenism can be used to great
effect as it is a versatile tool for establishing, designing, renewing and
restoring social relations. It signals that Libanius, his addressee and the person
who delivers the epistle, because of their shared values, belong to a group tied
together by mutual recognition. The function of a unifying bond is even more
marked in letters that seem to have the sole purpose of enhancing friendship
with the receiver. There, Hellenism is part of an urbane exchange among
learned men who attempt to surpass each other in making compliments for
education, skills in rhetoric and literary style (Letter 316). It operates, then, as
a shorter way of recognizing in the friend the qualities which the writer
allegedly possesses himself. Thus, the employment of the concept of Hellenism
is revealed as depending to a large extent on the specific pragmatic aspects, in
that it paves the way for effective communication in varying social
relationships.
Whilst frequently assuring the addressee of appreciation and affection,
Hellenism, in contrast, can also have a rather negative, inhibiting effect. This
ambivalence is reflected in the distribution of praise and blame in the letters
concerning Greek identity. As we already noticed, Libanius often discusses the
Greek ideal by commending the accomplishments and behaviour of an
individual. This technique of exemplification occasionally amounts to a
veritable panegyric. A case in point is found in a letter written as an appeal to
the governor of Phoenicia, Andronicus, imploring him to intervene in an
inheritance case in which a certain Sebon is involved (Letter 192). Sebon is
praised throughout this extensive letter as a paragon of Greekness, having
merited this position through lineage, immense erudition, eloquence,
impeccable character, virtuous deeds and hospitality. This encomiastic portrait,
no doubt, is meant to justify why he deserves support and Libanius takes his
side, but likewise Andronicus is reminded how a true Greek ought to act.
Commending a person on Hellenic qualities can therefore operate as a subtle
form of admonition. On other occasions, Libanius openly disapproves of
someone’s failure to live up to the ideals. In another letter, the writer – acting
as a mediator in a dispute between the addressee, Proclus, and Aristophanes42 –
reproaches the former for his severe allegations, letting his criticism
culminate in the admonition not to show himself implacable despite being
Greek and even the essence of Greekness (Letter 823). Elsewhere, as
mentioned above, Libanius explicitly posits that a particular behaviour is quite
contrary to being Greek, which is why the addressee should regain his Hellenic
nature.43 In all these cases, the reason why the sophist describes Greek and
non-Greek qualities is not just that he aims to define Hellenism. Rather, he
makes strategic use of the concept so that it elicits from his addressees certain
actions or forms of behaviour: the evaluative discussion is designed to
reinforce the true Hellenic virtues and, simultaneously, to compel others to
comply with them. Far from being merely a descriptive term, Hellenism, as a
normative expression, implies obligation, even coercion or severe reprimand
(Letter 357). It exerts indirect pressure on the addressee to act in conformity
with standards to which the social group subscribes. So, for example, in a letter
to Jovianus4 4 the writer sharply admonishes the recipient to give up his wrath
and be instead Greek-minded (Letter 411). From this disciplining effect we can
infer that in Libanius’ view, being Greek is a matter of decision since it
requires the will to follow its ideals and therefore presupposes the possibility
of violating the shared values. Thus, the volitional nature of Hellenism is the
reason why some can by effort reach its peak while others are on the verge of
losing membership.
Lying behind the distribution of praise and blame is Libanius’ strong wish
for promoting concord among the members of the community. If a person
fails to practise Hellenic virtue he separates himself from the group and can no
longer be regarded as a Greek in the strict sense. It is, as we can deduce from
Libanius’ assertions, vital for those involved in his network that they are
recognized as belonging to the Greek community.45 Repeatedly, the sophist
speaks of the Hellenes in the plural or uses a metaphor such as the ‘chorus’ of
the Greeks to indicate that they constitute a coherent social group, being a
member of which is considered a great honour.46 From these findings we can
draw the conclusion that the concept functions as a social mechanism of
inclusion and exclusion, drawing a boundary between insiders and outsiders. A
major point to be made here is that this social function involves a dependence
of the individual on others: since there is no visible indicator for identifying a
Greek it is crucial to be accepted as affiliated with the community through the
consensus of fellow Greeks or by public opinion. To use a term of social
analysis, I would like to put forward that Hellenism is a kind of ‘face’,
something not so much possessed independently by the individual since it
requires recognition by others: it is, so to speak, only borrowed.47 As a
consequence, one has to constantly renew this status in social interaction to
ensure that the others are willing to ascribe to one the features of Hellenism.
Furthermore, the social aspects of Hellenism tend to operate as a mechanism
for setting oneself apart from the average people. Given that the term applies
only to members of a defined community who exhibit particular virtues, it
gives its owners an air of exclusivity.48 Libanius and his fellows seek to give
the impression that not everyone will gain admission to this distinguished
circle or chorus, thus turning Hellenism into a sign of special distinction. Seen
from this perspective, Greek identity, as a part of an individual’s social capital,
functions as a restrictive policy, either permitting or denying access to a group
within the elite of late antique society, more precisely to its allegedly inner
circle. As a result, anyone seeking membership must earn this distinction
through actions and behaviour that meet the requirements established by
general agreement. In the light of this dependence on others, the question arises
as to who is entitled to award that honour.
To answer this question we have to take a brief look at the social network. In
such a group we generally find a centre surrounded by spheres of closeness
and increasing distance. This structure can also be discerned in the social
relationships of Libanius as they are reflected in his orations and letters. Apart
from other purposes, these texts always attempt to clarify the author ’s status in
relation to others; we observe a wide range of strategies for creating and
enhancing authority and influence, as for example in the case of the combined
publication of Oration 14 and the enthusiastic imperial letter responding to it.
Concerning Hellenism in particular, Libanius tries to establish himself as the
one who has the competence and the position to declare what is, and who
therefore qualifies as, a Greek. Not surprisingly, his authority as a self-
appointed arbiter of Hellenism results from his expertise in eloquence and
literary taste. Several letters evoke the image of the rhetorician as an expert
who is able to assess accurately the literary abilities of others as well as their
morals, which go hand in hand with education and culture. In addition to
himself, close friends can also lay claim to the rank of an authoritative Greek,
provided that they likewise live by rhetoric and literature. This is illustrated by
the urbane, albeit serious, competition between Libanius and Acacius of
mutually bestowing the honour of utmost Greekness (Letter 316). An even
more striking example is a letter where the writer affirms that it will be the
god’s and his own concern to initiate Letoius ‘into the Hellenes’. This
metaphor ascribes a sacred aura to Hellenism and, moreover, assigns to
Libanius the position of the high priest, who decides whom to receive into the
congregation (Letter 285.2). Although we are prevented from reading the
responses of his addressees, it is conceivable that they acknowledged his
authority in the Hellenic discourse and recognized his judgements as sound.
What is worth noting is that the concept of Hellenism, in the context of
epistolary correspondence, not only characterizes other persons, whether the
addressee or someone else, but functions equally as a versatile tool for
establishing the writer ’s own authority. Without underestimating the declarative
function of the utterance, expressing Greek identity should therefore be seen as
a social or discursive practice, through which Libanius determines his status in
relation to friends, acquaintances, or officials.
The observations presented in this section suggest that we cannot fully grasp
the meaning of Hellenism for the sophist unless we take into consideration the
social aspects. As long as we concentrate on identifying the defining properties
according to content, regardless of the communicative circumstances, we will
fail to notice the important practical dimension of being Greek in Libanius’
hands. It is advisable to conceive of the semantics of Hellenism not so much as
an independent, fixed meaning; rather, we should understand it as a context-
dependent, varying notion, which serves a variety of social and rhetorical
purposes. In this regard, it might be useful to adopt the approach of speech act
theory, which draws attention to the performative nature of utterances, an idea
that can be paraphrased by emphasizing that ‘by saying something we do
something’.49 Central to this theory, as devised by John L. Austin and John R.
Searle, is the thesis that utterances, besides their surface or locutionary
meaning, can have a ‘real’, intended meaning, the illocutionary act. What is
relevant here is that, in addition, there are perlocutionary acts, which means
that utterances may have psychological effects, such as persuading, convincing
or otherwise making someone do or realize something. This is precisely what
is frequently to be read between the lines when Libanius makes use of the
concept of Hellenism. Applying the categories of speech acts might, it can be
argued, enable us to assess more accurately the use(s) and relevance of
Greekness not only for the sophist himself but also for his network. It provides
us with an insight into how Libanius engages and acts with the term, thus
spotlighting the performative quality of Hellenism. Consequently, we will be
able to discern the motives behind his utterances. When examined within this
theoretical framework, being Greek is understood as a multifunctional device
for managing social interactions in different contexts. The concept of
Hellenism helps Libanius to define his position within different segments of
his network and to interact with the other members, for instance by thanking,
requesting, exhorting or correcting them.

12.6 The negotiation of Hellenism

What is, in sum, the peculiar stance Libanius takes on Hellenism? Arguably the
most striking characteristic is that when considering Greek identity, he nearly
always voices a strong personal interest and involvement, a strong
commitment to the values implicit in the concept. Being Greek hence plays a
vital role in his self-definition and management of private affairs. For this
reason, his employment of this idea usually puts cultural features into the
foreground, notably eloquence and literature, either by explicit treatment or by
implication. This is not to say that Hellenism in his writings is a matter
belonging to him alone. On the contrary, it has to be considered part and parcel
of the various social interactions between author, addressees and audiences.
Already his attempts to determine his own position by reference to Greekness
are always related to others, whether to the emperor, magistrates, colleagues,
friends, or pupils. The social dimension becomes even more obvious when
Libanius assigns to others a particular role, frequently striving to impose a
certain mode of behaviour on his addressee. In this context, we hear repeatedly
of someone’s obligation to do a favour to the community of all Greeks. This
expression points to the fact that being Greek and everything that comes with it
is deemed to be the link between an individual and an entire group.50 On
account of these findings it seems reasonable to understand Libanius’
Hellenism not as a solitary or monological concept but, on the contrary, as
dialogical in nature.
In view of this fact, the discursive production or the process of creating
Greekness in and through communication has to be seen as one of the most
striking features of Hellenism in Libanius’ orations and correspondence. Being
Greek is revealed as a dynamic concept, subject to variegated strategies of
defining, rephrasing, ascribing or even challenging. This is why Libanius can
speak of ‘calling’ someone a Greek, hence hinting that Greek identity, as
something that needs to be recognized, is constantly being constructed and
reworked.51 This being so, what Hellenism means and which role it fulfils
unceasingly needs to be reconsidered and adapted to the requirements of the
communicative conditions. Thus, the concept is deeply affected by the
pragmatic factors of discourse and hence should not be seen as an independent,
invariable entity. Hellenism, in this light, emerges from complex negotiations
between individuals or within a community so that it reflects these social
processes in its meaning, orientation and employment. This thesis is supported
in particular by letters sent to close friends such as Acacius and Demetrius
which, mirroring an intellectual exchange concerning identity, bear witness to
the relational, negotiable nature of Hellenism (Letters 316, 606).
As those letters document, the notion of negotiation cannot be simply
dismissed as a skewed, anachronistic interpretation, which would have no
bearing on Libanius’ own conception of identity. Quite the contrary, they
clearly show traits of a full awareness of this social mechanism on the part of
their writer: when the sophist, even with humorous overtones, enters a debate
with his friend on which of them deserves the crown of Hellenism more
justifiably, it is safe to say that he possesses insight into the functioning of the
Hellenic discourse and knows how to apply it with considerable skill. Similar
to the phrase of calling someone a Greek, the prospect that the receiver of the
letter, if complying with Libanius’ requests, will be inscribed into the
community of Hellenes unmistakably indicates that the sophist has realized the
conditions and rules of discourse and, moreover, feels competent to employ
them (Letter 312). He frequently exploits the instrument of ‘creating’
Hellenism in order to maintain his network, establish his own authority, and
enhance his social and political influence. Due to this skilful performance in
the discursive field, Libanius’ Hellenism is a multifaceted identity, closely
depending on the particular frames of reference in his social encounters. As a
result, instead of a monolithic image we are faced with manifold roles of the
‘Greek’ Libanius, with masks easy to be put on and switched.
These observations suggest that the traditional, ‘essentialist’ approach to
Libanius’ conception of Hellenism should be modified because it fails to
explain how, in an age of contested identities, the sophist deals with his
selfhood in various interpersonal relationships. What the traditional approach
tries to recover, namely what Hellenism in Libanius’ view actually meant, thus
dissolves into a broad spectrum of notions to be carefully adapted to the
factors of the communicative context. In actual fact, Libanius’ Greek identity is
being reworked during the continual negotiation of self-images and images of
others, a dynamic process that requires an assessment of the particular
situation, a number of ad hoc adjustments, and reformulations of the concept.
To assess Libanius’ engagement with Hellenic identity accurately, it is
therefore essential to scrutinize the pragmatic flexibility, so that one is able to
discern the multiple identities the sophist creates and plays in different social
scenarios. This being said, we should bear in mind the limitation of the
available sources, which prevents us from a complete reconstruction of the
discourse of Hellenism: since we only hear one side of the dialogue, namely
that of Libanius, we will never come to know precisely how his addressees
took part in the discursive production of Greekness.
Despite this obstacle the approach advocated in this chapter might provide
new insights into the nature of Libanius’ Hellenism as it encompasses both the
linguistic and the social aspects of the question. Only if we consider the
semantics and the pragmatics of Libanius’ utterances will we be able to
recognize why the idea was so crucial to him in dealing with his
contemporaries and with the issues of his time. To this end, it is extremely
important to explore each individual communicative act and its participants
using a context-sensitive analytical framework. As a result, Libanius’
Hellenism emerges as a flexible rhetorical device, deployed for and in social
relations in a strategic, creative and at times playful manner.

1 Cf. Bowersock (1990), Sandwell (2007a), 148–53 and Stenger (2009).

2 Cf. Stenger (2009), 21–34.

3 Cf. Alcoff (2006), Mole (2007). On Greek identity Hall (1997) and (2002).

4 Cf. Sandwell (2007a), 149–50.

5 Cf. Johnson (2006), 27–9.

6 Cf. Schouler (1991).

7 On ethnicity and its discursive dimension in Greek antiquity, see Hall (1997)
and (2002).

8 Letter 572.3 and 758.4 and Oration 49.33.

9 e.g. Letters 278.2, 469.1 and 1120.2, Orations 11.58, 184 and 14.69.

10 Cf. Schouler (1984).

11 Letter 1402.1 and Oration 15.40, 19.13 and 30.32.

12 Cf. Swain (2004), 355–73.

13 Oration 62.8. The gods, in particular Hermes, are seen by Libanius as the
patrons of eloquence: Letters 140.4, 226.5 and 469.2, Oration 62.9. He also
speaks of ‘Hellenic gods’: Letter 469.4 and Oration 40.9.

14 Letters 823.3 and 1120.2.

15 Cf. Swain (1996).

16 See Sandwell (2007a), 176–80. But see Chapter 13 in this volume.

17 Cf. Kaldellis (2007), 71.

18 Orations 1.214, 234, 255, 279, 2.43–6 and 30.6, 8–9.

19 Cf. Wiemer (1995a), 125–50.

20 Julian, Letter 97 Bidez.

21 Cf. Van Hoof and Van Nuffelen (2011), 180.

22 Elm (2012), 387–93.

23 The same argument recurs in Oration 30, as argued in Sections 13.3 and
13.4 of Chapter 13 of this volume.

24 Oration 11.181–185, 193 and 270.

25 On Helpidius see Seeck (1906), 170.

26 Letters 306.1, 441.4, 758.4 and 859.3.

27 Cf. Murphy (2002).

28 See Fillmore (1985).

29 Letters 75, 357, 441 and 810.

30 Letters 108.1–4, 278.2–3 and 469.1–4; Oration 15.25–9.

31 Letters 411.4, 823 and 1120.

32 Letters 108, 192, 1085 and 1478.

33 Letters 108 (on which, see Bradbury (2004a), 107), 188 and 255–7.

34 Letters 217.6, 347.2 and 357.1.

35 Letters 192.6, 316.3, 606.2 and 1085.1.

36 Themistius, Oration 20.237b, 23.299a, Julian, Oration 4.252a, Eunapius,

Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists 7.3.12, 477 Giangrande (1956), 47 and
10.6.3, 490 Giangrande (1956), 74. Cf. Stenger (2009), 28.

37 Lakoff (1972). According to Lakoff (1972, 195), hedges are ‘words whose
job is to make things fuzzier or less fuzzy’. They include, for example sort of,
very, really, a true, a regular, a typical, technically, loosely speaking, strictly
speaking. The purpose of hedging is either to weaken the writer ’s commitment
to a proposition or, by way of contrast, to intensify his commitment.

38 The concept of family resemblance was introduced by Wittgenstein (1953),

§§65–9.

39 For prototype theory see Murphy (2002), 28–38 and Taylor (2011).
40 Cf. Bradbury (2004b), Sandwell (2007b). See also Chapter 10 in this
volume.

41 See Cribiore (2007a), Sandwell (2007b).

42 This is the Aristophanes we met above in Oration 14.

43 Letter 217. Festugière (1959), 220–3.

44 Not the future emperor, but a senior notarius, who at the time of the letter
(355) was influential at court. Cf. Seeck (1906), 185 (Jovianus 1) and
Bradbury (2004a), 54.

45 Letters 75, 306.1 and 572.3.

46 Letters 312.1, 316.3, 810.2 and 982.1.

47 Cf. Goffman (1959).

48 It should be mentioned that the politics of identity always involves

demarcating an inside and an outside as spheres of ‘us’ and ‘them’.

49 See Austin (1962), Searle (1969).

50 Letters 312.1, 469.1, 982.1 and 1211.2.

51 Letter 316 and Orations 11.184, 14.12 and 32.23.

 Chapter 13 Not the last pagan: Libanius
between elite rhetoric and religion
Peter Van Nuffelen

13.1 Introduction
The religious history of the fourth century used to be understood in terms of a
conflict between paganism and Christianity, with the former resisting the
irresistible progress of the latter.1 As one of the major representatives of
Greek culture in the fourth century, Libanius has often been interpreted in this
light. Indeed, several of his works seem to substantiate such a view. His thirtieth
oration To the Emperor Theodosius for the Temples has helped to shape the
modern perception of the destruction of temples as the paradigmatic act of the
supersession of paganism by Christianity – a perception that, notwithstanding
continued scholarly interest in temple destruction,2 has recently been called a
historiographical myth.3 Libanius also consciously associated himself with the
emperor Julian, writing a Monody (Oration 17, early 364),4 a Funeral Oration
(Oration 18, the so-called Epitaphios, written after 11/10/368 5), and an appeal
to Theodosius I to avenge the (in his view) murdered Julian (Oration 24,
379).6 With these orations, Libanius intervened in the debate that was raging
about Julian’s legacy – a debate that was clearly marked by religious
oppositions.7 All these speeches explicitly and implicitly argue for the
superiority of pagan religion and engage in what has been called
Gegenapologetik, that is, implicit attacks on Christian tenets.8 Libanius thus
assumes a much more explicit anti-Christian position than his most famous
contemporary colleague among fourth-century orators, Themistius, who,
around the same time, seeks to depict paganism and Christianity as ultimately
converging on the same truths.9 Most recently, Jan Stenger has argued that
religion is integral to Libanius’ conception of Hellenic identity and that he was
consciously anti-Christian.10
Current scholarship has turned away from seeing the encounter between
paganism and Christianity only in terms of conflict,11 and it is difficult anyway
to consider Libanius as a hard-headed pagan activist like his younger
contemporary Eunapius or some Athenian and Alexandrian Neoplatonists.12
The first studies on Libanius’ religion found it hard to detect in his oeuvre the
coherence of thought and the strong religious convictions associated with the
Neoplatonists, who are often seen as the front line of late ancient paganism.
They concluded that Libanius was a traditionalist, for whom Greco-Roman
religion was part and parcel of the transmitted culture but only part of it.13
Such an attitude has been interpreted in quite diverging ways: A. F. Norman
thinks Libanius moderate and emphasizes his ‘fundamental decency and the full
weight of the Hellenic principle’14 , and Raffaella Cribiore calls Libanius a
‘gray pagan’ who lacked the zeal of Julian.15 Such approaches assume we can
grasp Libanius’ personal beliefs. Proposing a more sociological
interpretation, Johannes Hahn has Libanius standing ‘for the religious
indifference among pagan members of his class in Antioch’,16 thus joining
André-Jean Festugière.17 In her comparison of Libanius and John Chrysostom,
in turn, Isabella Sandwell interprets Libanius as the paradigm for the strategic
use of religion in Late Antiquity.18 She argues that religion is or is not put to
use depending on the specific context in which he is writing. His apparent
moderation reflects the game of paideia that Libanius is playing and in which it
was crucial to know when it was proper to refer to religion and when not. She
contrasts this practical attitude with John Chrysostom, who, taken as a
paradigm of Christianity’s attitude towards religious allegiance, wishes
religious identity to trump all other identities.
There are, thus, three factors that come into play when assessing Libanius’
attitude towards religion: his social position as a member of the Antiochene
elite, which made him speak from a dominant position; the precise rhetorical
situation of each text, possibly generating uses of religion that may seem
incompatible at first sight; and particular religious convictions that he may
have held, similar to or different from those of other fourth-century pagans.
This chapter argues that we must take all three into consideration at the same
time and that we cannot exclude any of them. The overarching methodological
problem is that of drawing conclusions about social and individual views on
religion from rhetorical practices and texts. Whilst rhetorical texts are rooted
in reality, they only provide a distorted mirror of reality. In addition, it would
be mistaken to take a rhetorical argument as directly expressing the orator ’s
view: arguments were tailored for the situation in which they were to exert
their influence.
 The present chapter discusses the three factors in turn. In Section 13.2, I take
a closer look at Libanius’ social position. Writing from a position of cultural
and social power, he incarnates, as it were, the elite culture of his age. That
status is, for him, self-evident and phenomena that challenge it (such as
Christianity and shorthand) are met with social depreciation. Precisely because
his cultural stance is self-evident, there is no need for him to emphasize all its
aspects, including its religious side, in every piece of writing. Such an attitude
is not a sign of indifference or moderation, but a token of cultural superiority.
As such, his oeuvre is a striking testimony to the self-confidence of the so-
called last pagans. Sections 13.3 and 13.4 focus on the rhetorical argument of
Libanius’ most famous ‘religious’ speech: Oration 30 To the Emperor
Theodosius for the Temples. Often read as a principled defence of traditional
cult and as an expression of Libanius’ deep commitment to Graeco-Roman
religion, the oration actually is concerned with a specific problem: the threat of
confiscation of estates and the loss of revenue on the grounds that sacrifice had
been practised there. Defending the temples is a rhetorical diversion tactic to
draw attention away from this real legal problem that some members of the
Antiochene elite seem to have faced. If we therefore cannot take the oration as
direct proof of Libanius’ religious convictions, the construction of his
argument helps to shed light on a crucial connection that recurs again and
again: Libanius stresses the role played by traditional cult in maintaining the
stability and welfare of the empire. As set out in the final section, this public
role of religion was one of the key issues in disputes between paganism and
Christianity, and Libanius clearly participates in that debate. Far from being
indifferent in religious matters, then, Libanius was rather self-confident,
writing, as he did, from a position of social power. As such, religion was not a
private matter: it surfaces most prominently in Libanius’ orations when public
salvation is at stake.

13.2 Not the last pagan

Religious affiliation is less prominent a theme in Libanius than it is in the bulk
of fourth-century literature, be it Christian or Neoplatonist in inspiration. This
fact, which is likely to strike anybody reading the author ’s oeuvre, has been
explained in various ways, as stated in the introduction: scholars have linked it
with Libanius’ decent character, his religious indifference, or his indebtedness
to the values of Hellenic culture and to its traditional tolerance of religious
diversity. Most recently, Sandwell has argued that Libanius’ strategic,
gentleman-like use of religion was paradigmatic for ancient society at large,
until it was progressively challenged in Late Antiquity by pagan and Christian
identity politicians, such as the emperor Julian and Christian bishops.19 In
particular, she has opposed the rigidity of John Chrysostom’s view on
religious identity to Libanius’ flexibility: ‘Libanius did not see religious
interaction in terms of interaction between well-defined religious identities.
Rather he allows people a more flexible approach to religious interaction
…’20 At the same time, Sandwell has drawn attention to the rhetorical use
which Libanius makes of religion21: he suppresses or highlights references to
his own religious allegiance and that of his correspondents depending on the
situation he finds himself in and the aims he is pursuing.
Whilst Isabella Sandwell’s book has been very important in emphasizing the
rhetorical nature of Libanius’ remarks about religion, the crucial question is
the degree to which one can draw conclusions about religious views from such
a rhetorical practice. In Sandwell’s view, the fact that Libanius uses religion
rhetorically demonstrates that he puts religion at the service of rhetoric, and
thus that he was flexible in religious matters: it did not matter to him what the
religion of his addressees or interlocutors was.22 A different interpretation is
possible, though. Indeed, the strategic use of religion, for example the
highlighting of paganism when establishing a relationship with Richomer 23
and the downplaying of Christianity when defending Thalassius and Orion,24
presupposes an accurate knowledge of, and thus an active interest in, the
religious position of the addressee as well as the wider audience: Libanius
identified his interlocutor as well as his audience as being Christian, Hellene,
or Jew, and consciously decided to use that knowledge or not.25 As such, he
was very much a child of his times: he was conscious of other people’s
religious convictions and sought to respond to these. This is not a matter of
principled flexibility, but rather a case of treading sensitively but decidedly in
matters of religion.
Yet if, as will be shown more extensively below, this is indeed the case, why
is religion not more prominent in his works? In order to understand this, we
must shift the focus away from religion and rhetoric, and take into account the
social context. Indeed, a lack of emphasis on religion similar to that of
Libanius can be found in the writings of representatives of the Latin fourth-
century elite. The pagan Symmachus, for example, hardly draws attention to
religious allegiance in his letters, but neither does the Christian Ausonius, to
the extent that for a while scholars doubted his Christian allegiance.26 As Alan
Cameron has noted, this shows that in fourth-century Rome, the classical
tradition was the normative culture for pagans and Christians alike, and that it
is thus very difficult to distinguish pagans and Christians on the basis of their
literary output and, for example, references to pagan deities therein.27 The elite
all shared in a single culture, founded on the classical past. Contrary to the still
common perception that Libanius formed a fast receding island of traditional
culture in a rapidly swelling sea of Christianity,28 he must be understood in
this context of shared elite culture.29 Much like his Latin peers, it is striking
how self-evident traditional culture is in his writings:30 there is no need to
justify traditional values, culture and gods – to the point that scholars, who tend
to think of the fourth century as an age of deep religious feelings, are
disappointed at what seems to be a merely literary deployment of deities and a
Gelehrtenreligion. We need to understand this attitude not as an absence of
feelings (we are dealing, after all, with rhetorical texts), but as an indication of
the social power of traditional culture. Libanius’ cultural code is normative and
does not need justification or explication. Others conform to it or are supposed
at least to understand his language and allusions. He was thus able to
accommodate religious differences to the extent that others subscribed to the
overriding cultural code that he and his peers incarnated.
Against this background we can also understand why Christian bishops, such
as John Chrysostom, emphasized religious identity much more strongly than
Libanius: besides the obvious fact that John was a religious leader whilst
Libanius was not, some Christians could not but reject one aspect of traditional
culture for religious reasons. This hardly ever led to a full rejection of
classical culture, but it questioned its self-evident nature. As such, it raised
awareness of the fact that one situated oneself partially outside the elite
consensus.31 In contrast with John Chrysostom, Libanius fully identified with
traditional culture and put himself forward as the standard to which others had
to conform. Indeed, he often assigns himself the authority to express
judgements on religious matters: he criticizes innovations in traditional
religious practices, socially deprecates new religious groups such as the
Christians, and links virtue to traditional religion.32 Even if Libanius did not
talk about religion all the time, it is clear that he did not sever the link between
elite culture and traditional cult, as some Christians, such as Gregory of
Nazianzus, would do.33 It is telling, in this respect, that whereas Libanius often
looks down upon Christianity as a lower-class phenomenon,34 John’s writings
convey the persistent impression of writing from a cultural and social
opposition to a dominant culture.35
Libanius’ strategic use of religion, then, is rooted in fourth-century elite
culture, in which traditional culture, including pagan religion, and social
power went hand in hand.36 This socio-cultural superiority made that he did not
experience the need to emphasize traditional religion at all times, let alone
defend it continuously:37 his addressees and audiences are supposed to already
share that world or to enter into it. This world, it should be emphasized, is not
a social world in which religious differences are absent or systematically
obscured: Libanius knew very well the religious allegiances of his
correspondents, as much as they knew his. Even if he did not always feel the
need to draw attention to them, there can be little doubt that for Libanius
traditional religion was an integral part of his social self-understanding. It
would therefore be misguided to think of Libanius as indifferent or
uncommitted.
In so far as Libanius’ utterances (or lack thereof) about religion are not only
steeped in rhetorical practice, but also deeply rooted in the social world of the
fourth-century elite, both these elements need to be taken into account if we
wish to assess what role he saw for religion in society. In Section 13.3, I wish
to illustrate what such an approach can bring by presenting an analysis of
Oration 30 To the Emperor Theodosius for the Temples. My choice of this
oration has two grounds. First, as is already clear from its title, religion
occupies a major role within Oration 30, which is therefore considered a text
of central importance for defining Libanius’ religious views. As such, it
provides an excellent test-case to explore what we can learn about Libanius’
real convictions through his rhetoric. And second, Oration 30 dates from the
reign of Theodosius, when the numerical and social importance of Christianity
had greatly increased and religious legislation became more strict. Libanius
explicitly acknowledges the fact that Theodosius thinks his religion better than
others, and thus at times sounds very much as Christian apologists did in the
second and third centuries, pleading for a benevolent attitude of the powers that
be. Yet the fact that even at this late point in time, he still asserts that this does
not exclude the emperor from employing pagans as officials (§53) and, what is
more, depicts pagan temples as the incarnations of Greek culture and
civilization, provides perhaps the clearest possible illustration of the majority
stance that characterizes most of his oeuvre.

13.3 To the Emperor Theodosius for the Temples:

rhetoric for the elites
The oration To the Emperor Theodosius for the Temples, probably written
between 381 and 392,38 presents itself as advice to Theodosius I to stop the
destruction of temples, even though it is considered unlikely that the text was
ever actually presented to the emperor. It may seem an obvious expression of
the fundamental pagan beliefs of the orator and a last-ditch plea for toleration
against a victorious Christianity.39 Even within such a framework, however, the
oration has been read in diametrically opposed ways. Sandwell finds in the
oration proof for the tendency of Libanius (and late antique paganism in
general) to identify religious beliefs as private affairs, so as ‘to leave the civic
and the political as an autonomous, neutral public space that would not
constantly be the site of religious conflict’.40 By contrast, Thomas Sizgorich
has argued that the oration exemplifies how communal religious identities are
shaped by narratives: in this case, for Libanius the whole history of Hellenism
is, as it were, incarnated in the temple. Sizgorich also draws attention to the fact
that Libanius depicts the anonymous official who destroys the temples as a
counter-image of the emperor: morally depraved, he lets his private interests
take precedence over public interests. In Sizgorich’s view, then, the oration
sees religion as an essential ingredient of public life.4 1
In recent scholarship, then, the oration has become a test-case to understand
the role Libanius would attribute to religion in social life. Pursuing the
suggestions from the preceding section, I shall analyze the rhetorical argument
as well as the social context to show that the oration is only at the surface about
religion and seeks, in fact, to defend elite interests. If religion is then mainly
rhetorically used, some of the arguments deployed shall nevertheless allow us,
in the next section, to draw some conclusions about how Libanius envisaged
the role of religion in society.
First of all, we need to understand the rhetorical strategy and aim that
Libanius is pursuing in the oration. Indeed, as Jean-Michel Carrié has shown
for Libanius’ oration against military patronage (Oration 47, also addressed to
Theodosius I), the ‘rhetorical’ subject of a speech can differ substantially from
its ‘real’ subject. Thus Oration 47 is, in fact, concerned with the extension of
land possession by the military, drawing tenants away from land owned by
curiales, whereas its surface argument is targeted against illegal forms of
patronage. The aim of such a rhetorical strategy is easy to understand: Libanius
could not contest the legally valid acquisitions by the military. In order to have
a chance of success with the emperor, he therefore needed to claim that an
illegal practice was taking place.4 2 As any orator, Libanius develops a
rhetorical strategy that maximizes his chances of success.
Most studies of To the Emperor Theodosius for the Temples still take the
oration at face value and consider that Libanius seeks to defend the
maintenance of the key monuments of paganism against their illegal
destruction by Christian fanatics. It is thus seen as the principled stance of a
pagan against Christian intolerance.4 3 If such readings accept Libanius’
presentation of the destructions as illegal acts, I shall argue, in contrast, that he
is in fact concerned with a real legal issue and its legal and paralegal
enforcement. He accuses the monks and other Christians of bringing up false
accusations of blood sacrifice as an excuse to expropriate the land with the
temple where the sacrifice supposedly happened. This points, in turn, to a real
legal worry: Libanius never disputes that if sacrifice had really taken place, the
authorities would have had the right of confiscation. The destruction of
temples is put forward as the central topic, not only because it can function
well as a symbol of monastic zeal, but mainly because it was an indisputable
illegal act and thus provided Libanius with firm legal ground from which to
accuse his opponents.
Indeed, there are sufficient indications in the oration to think that Libanius
pursues a more precise goal than the defence of the religious value of temples.
Two key passages render this clear. First, Libanius laments, towards the end of
the narration (§§10–12),44 that accusations of the violation of legislation in
religious matters have led to peasants being robbed of their possessions and
land owners of their land. Two tactics have been used to this aim: on the one
hand, the claim that the land being cultivated is actually temple land (§11), all
of which legally belonged to the imperial treasury;4 5 on the other, the
accusation that sacrifice had been performed on the land, leading to
confiscation (§§12, 15). What is at stake, therefore, is the legal title to land. If
the narratio leaves studiously unspecified to what social class the land owners
actually belong, the peroratio (§§54–5), which is the second key passage,
clearly points to elite land owners. There Libanius exclaims: ‘How do they
grasp in anger the estates that belong to others?’4 6 The speech concludes
ominously on the warning that the ‘lords of the estates’ may ‘help themselves
and the law’ against such actions.4 7 The reference to the ‘lords of the estates’ in
the very last sentence is revealing: whereas most of the oration has tended to
highlight the trouble caused to the cultivators of the land,4 8 it now becomes
clear that Libanius is speaking as a land owner defending his estates (or, at
least, those of his class).4 9
These key passages suggest that a specific legal issue is at stake: the
confiscation of land on the grounds of violation of legislation about sacrifice
or because it was temple land. Indeed, whilst the oration presents itself as a
speech of advice (symbouleutikos) to the emperor, it has many aspects of a
forensic oration (dikanikos).50 In effect, a substantial part of the oration is
taken up with a definition of the grounds on which the accusations rest on the
one hand, and a rejection of the way the law has been enforced on the other. In
the case of the grounds of the accusations, Libanius claims that there are no
legal grounds for confiscation as no illicit sacrifice took place. The focus here
is on the definition of what constitutes a sacrifice; the confiscation of temple
land receives little attention, probably because it was an unambiguous legal
issue that was hard to dispute. The second point, about law enforcement, is
argued by highlighting the paralegal actions of monks and by morally
discrediting the official who had the legal authority to enforce the law. The
following discussion of these two argumentative strategies will confirm the
initial assessment that the oration is only at the surface about the destruction of
temples, which is highlighted in order to transfer the accusation of illegal
practice to his opponents.
The first strategy, regarding the legal grounds, falls into two parts, the first
of which is the definition of the legal situation regarding sacrifice in §7. Even
if scholars sometimes take Libanius’ sketch as a factual account,51 his account
is distorted by rhetorical imperatives.52 According to Libanius, Constantine did
not ban sacrifice, but his son Constantius II did. The ban was then reversed by
Julian and only partially reinstated by Valens and Valentinian, who, according
to Libanius, forbade blood sacrifice but allowed the burning of incense. This
was, in Libanius’ presentation, confirmed by Theodosius I. This account cannot
be easily matched onto the extant legal evidence. If the attitude of Constantine
remains disputed in scholarship,53 a law of Constantius II indeed gave orders
to close all temples and to abstain from sacrifice, on the punishment of
execution and confiscation (CTh 16.10.4, 1/12/356). It seems, however, that
temples were generally kept open but not for sacrificial purposes.54 So much
is indeed confirmed in a law from 30/11/382 (CTh 16.10.8). If Libanius’
account of Constantine and Constantius II could be made to fit the legal
evidence, there is no evidence for the distinction between blood sacrifice and
the offering of incense in the extant legal record of Valens and Valentinian, nor
among the laws of Theodosius. CTh 16.10.7 (21/12/381) and 16.10.9
(25/5/385) are sometimes seen as validating Libanius’ account, for these laws
prohibit blood sacrifice for divinatory purposes, whereas incense is only
explicitly prohibited by CTh 16.10.12 (8/11/392).55 Yet the specific anti-
divinatory scope of the first two laws explains their focus on blood sacrifice
(one needs an animal in order to predict the future by reading its entrails), and
they do not legislate about the offering of incense in any way. Moreover, had
these laws constituted the legal basis for the prosecutions, Libanius would have
had a much easier case to plead, for he only would have had to argue that no
divination had taken place. Most probably, then, some general prohibition of
sacrifice was in place, possibly going back to Constantius’ law, and in making
the distinction between blood sacrifice and incense Libanius is performing a
rhetorical trick known from other sources: the absence of explicit prohibition
is interpreted as evidence for non-prohibition.56 So much is indeed admitted to
in §18: ‘By banning the performance of one specific action you automatically
permit everything else’.57 The law of 392 can be possibly understood as a
response to this kind of argument: its long catalogue of specific actions that
are outlawed seeks to close off the loopholes that people like Libanius
exploited in court cases.
Besides claiming that the offering of incense is allowed, Libanius also
disputes that what his opponents claim to be sacrifice is only a festal meal. In
fact, he claims, the peasants did ‘sacrifice’, but not near the altar and without
the intention to sacrifice.58 Implicitly, he accepts that an act of butchery took
place near a temple.59 Libanius’ argument shows that a fine line ran between a
proper sacrifice and a mere common meal. It needs little elaboration that
pagans could use the distinction to obscure their sacrificial acts, whereas
Christians might wilfully misinterpret a shared meal close to a temple as a
sacrifice. Again Libanius’ argument is not isolated: the legislator acted on this
contentious issue, first allowing festal meals (CTh 16.10.17, 20/8/399), then
outlawing them in temples (CTh 16.10.19.3, 15/11/408).
The frequent references to legal enactments in Oration 30 hence do not
provide a factual exposé of the actual legal situation regarding sacrifice in the
fourth century. Libanius is rather exploring the possible room for
interpretation that would put the incriminated acts in a different, innocent light.
It is significant that later laws precisely seek to close off these loopholes.
These laws were obviously not direct responses to Libanius, but they indicate
that he used arguments that others too are likely to have put forward in similar
circumstances. Libanius’ rhetorical reading of the legal record is in line with
general practice in Late Antiquity, when accused and defendant alike engaged
in biased reinterpretations of extant laws.60 There is little reason to doubt that
his selection of laws is biased too and does not seek to be comprehensive or
representative: it cannot be excluded that Valens and Valentinian did enact a
constitution on sacrifice which Theodosius confirmed, but it is unlikely that
they actually made the clear distinction between blood sacrifice and incense
that Libanius ascribes to them.
We should note in passing that the preceding argument raises some
questions about the traditional establishment of the terminus ante quem of
24/2/391. Oration 30.33 and 35 states that sacrifice is not prohibited in Rome
and Alexandria, whereas CTh 16.10.10 (24/2/391), addressed to the Prefect of
Rome, and CTh 16.10.11 (16/6/391), addressed to the praefectus augustalis and
comes Aegypti explicitly forbid the entry into temples and sacrifice. This
apparent matching of Libanius’ claims and later decrees may be mere
coincidence. Libanius can hardly be taken to mean that all types of sacrifice
were allowed in these two cities, as this would contradict his earlier statement
that Theodosius forbade blood sacrifice but allowed the burning of incense
(§§8, 18). Nor do extant constitutions on sacrifice allow for exceptions in
Rome and Alexandria: CTh 16.10.7 (21/12/381) and 16.10.9 (25/5/385) are,
for example, both addressed to Prefects of the Orient and can thus reasonably
be surmised to apply in Alexandria too. In fact, Libanius’ argument is again
more rhetoric than reality. Starting out from the fact that Christians claim that
sacrifice to the gods is a dangerous aberration, Libanius suggests that they
should have forbidden sacrifice altogether if their attitude was fully logical.
But the Christians actually allow sacrifice to happen in the major cities of
Rome and Alexandria because, so he alleges, they secretly fear that the end of
the practice there might mean the end of the empire. Christian legal reticence is
thus taken as proof of the fact that even they still believe in the power of the
gods. For this argument to work, it suffices that the burning of incense is still
permitted across the empire (as Libanius assumes); it does not presuppose a
specific legal status for Alexandria and Rome. This admittedly forced
interpretation on Libanius’ part can still be reconciled with CTh 16.10.10 and
11. They confirm the ban on sacrifice but add two elements in comparison with
earlier laws: the description of what is prohibited is specified to include all acts
of worship in a temple, and specific fines are decreed for officials who engage
in such acts. It seems that these constitutions should be interpreted as targeting
high officials that exploited their status to get away scot-free. Neither text
mentions explicitly incense and could thus, conceivably, still be interpreted
according to Libanius’ blood sacrifice vs. incense dichotomy. The legal text
that provides the most secure terminus ante quem is thus CTh 16.10.12
(8/11/392), in which incense is explicitly outlawed. The general terminus ante
quem is the destruction of the Serapeion, which happened in 391 or before
April 392.61
Crucially, Libanius never disputes that the confiscations of land rested on a
firm legal basis: if the land being cultivated was temple land, it had to be
transferred to the treasury, and if one was found to sacrifice, the land on which
this happened was to be confiscated. Instead, Libanius accuses his opponents of
falsely claiming that land used to be temple land, of inventing accusations,62
and of misinterpreting the festal meals as sacrifice. He does not claim,
however, that the act of sacrifice should not lead to confiscation nor that temple
land should not be handed over to the treasury. As we have seen, the
confiscation of temple land is well-attested in fourth-century legislation.
Interestingly, the former surfaces for the first time in CTh 16.10.12 (8/11/392),
a law that must post-date the composition of the oration. Constantius II had
decreed confiscation before, but this happened after the execution of the person
who had sacrificed (CTh 16.10.4;1/12/356); Libanius does not envisage
execution. What part of the estate would be confiscated is unclear, but one
would presume the property on which the sacrifice took place. An earlier
constitution fixes this punishment for the construction of Arian churches on
private estates,63 and so much is also set out in CTh 16.10.12: the estate on
which someone has sacrificed has to be confiscated if he is the owner. If one
performs sacrifice on the property of someone else, without the owner
knowing, the person who has sacrificed will be fined 25 pounds of gold.
Officials can be fined 30 pounds of gold if they decide to look away and not
enforce the law.64 The situation envisaged by Libanius is similar but not
identical to the one laid out in this law. As we have seen, he insists that the
burning of incense is legitimate, an act that the constitution of 392 outlaws
specifically. Libanius also does not mention fines as a punishment. If we are
allowed to take this as implying that fines were not foreseen in the legal
situation he presupposes, we could speculate that at the moment of his writing
estates were to be confiscated if sacrifice had taken place there, even if this was
done by the peasants without the landowner knowing. The landowner would
thus have been responsible for the acts of his peasants.65 If such speculation is
justified, the law of 392 can be seen as responding to the difficulties generated
by the situation Libanius describes, for it allows landowners to avoid
confiscation by claiming ignorance of the acts of their peasants.
 In the light of his acceptance of the legal principle that sacrifice would entail
confiscation, it should not come as a surprise that Libanius is very concerned
about the enforcement of law, to which we now turn. Early on, the oration
introduces the famous image of vagrant bands of monks coming down as
locusts on temples (§8). This may seem an illegal act, but later the oration
makes clear that the attackers claim to be acting according to the law (§§15–26,
49). What Libanius is depicting, then, are acts of paralegal law enforcement. It
did indeed happen that Christians enforced religious laws themselves because
they thought the officials were too slack – a practice that would be condemned
by law but also by bishops such as Augustine.66 Paralegal enforcement was
therefore not undisputed even in Christian circles. Focusing on the monks as
perpetrators added to the negative colouring of the act, as they were rather
negatively perceived by a wider, also Christian, public.67 The focus on
paralegal law enforcement is confirmed by later accusations of Libanius that
his opponents bypass the courts, an act that is due, so he suggests, to sheer lack
of evidence (§§19–20): knowing that their case would not hold in a proper
court of law, the perpetrators chose to take the law into their own hands.
Nevertheless, Libanius also seems to be worried by the possibility of legal
enforcement. Both victims (§11) and perpetrators (§19) seem to have presented
themselves to bishop Flavian. It is hard to tell if a bishop would have been
allowed to judge such cases,68 and it is doubtful if he would have been able to
enforce his decisions. At any rate, it suggests a desire for, at least, a semblance
of legality on the side of the perpetrators, which is more than Libanius allows
for at the beginning of his oration. If the early part of the oration seems
concerned with people who clearly had no right to enforce the law,
commentators have often remarked upon the fact that the monks disappear
towards its end, when an anonymous official who closes down temples takes
pride of place. In fact, the image of rapacious and vicious monks discredits in
advance this official, who is indeed depicted as a similarly greedy and nasty
individual.69 This official clearly is more of a threat to Libanius, for he had the
authority to punish contravention of the law (§49). The initial focus on
paralegal enforcement by a despised group in society thus serves to predispose
the reader to see the actions of that official in the same light as theirs, that is, as
the pursuit of private greed in blatant disrespect of the law. But Libanius’ own
rhetoric betrays that this man claimed to be backed up by imperial decrees and
we should be careful not to take Libanius’ depiction as an accurate
representation of events.
 The anonymous official in §§46–50 is usually identified with Maternus
Cynegius, who was Praetorian Prefect of the East between 384 and 388, and to
whom the widespread closing of temples across the East is usually attributed.
Neil McLynn has, however, shown that this view of Cynegius is based on the
uncritical conflation of different accounts by modern scholars. He also argues
persuasively that if Cynegius engaged in anti-pagan activities, it must have
been in Egypt and not in Syria.70 As a consequence, he sheds serious doubts on
the traditional identification of Libanius’ anonymous official, suggesting that
this may have been a lower ranking provincial official. In addition to
McLynn’s arguments, one can note that the oration is, as argued, really
concerned with confiscations on accusation of sacrifice, which is different
from the attacks on temples out of fanaticism that scholarship attributes to
Cynegius.71
The discussion of the legal argument in Oration 30 allows us to draw three
important conclusions. First, Libanius’ legal account does not aspire to be
complete nor accurate: it is a rhetorically constructed argument that seeks to
exploit loopholes and proposes highly tendentious interpretations. Second,
Libanius’ account of the legal basis for the prosecutions cannot be exactly
matched to the extant contemporaneous record of the Codex Theodosianus
(CTh). This suggests that the Codex is not an accurate reflection of the legal
situation at the end of the fourth century. For legal historians this is stating the
obvious,72 but the point is worth emphasizing given that traditional readings of
Oration 30 often try to explain Libanius’ account with reference to the extant
legal record. It seems, in fact, that religious legislation postdating the oration
seeks to ward off the kind of interpretations that Libanius puts forward. Finally,
the oration To the Emperor Theodosius for the Temples is only at its rhetorical
surface an argument for the preservation of cult buildings: the focus on
temples is a diversion strategy, as their destruction was an indisputable
transgression of the law.73 Libanius used the theme to divert attention away
from unproven offences committed by pagans to the undisputable crimes of
Christians – a depiction that is tendentious at best. What is at stake is a much
more specific situation: members of the Antiochene elite see part of their
properties disturbed or even confiscated and transferred to the imperial
treasury because sacrifice is practised in the shrines on their estates or because
they own temple land (or at least the accusation is levelled against them to
usurp their possessions). The enforcement of the law may also have been the
act of Christian zealots, as Libanius wishes us to believe (even if one is entitled
to doubt the extent that he suggests). More worrying, however, was the
involvement of state officials, who actually had the authority to enforce the law
and the power to protect those who had paralegally enforced the law. To the
Emperor Theodosius for the Temples is, thus, not the principled stance of a
pagan, but the defence of specific class (and maybe even personal) interests.74

13.4 To the Emperor Theodosius for the Temples: the

public and the private between rhetoric and religion
That this primarily legal argument has gone unnoticed for so long is a tribute
to Libanius’ rhetoric. Indeed, in addition to the tendentious presentation of the
absence of sufficient legal grounds and of the overzealous law enforcement,
Libanius consciously seeks to conjure up the sympathy of his audience by
emphasizing the hardship that hits the land: the peasants get discouraged by the
removal of the gods, and yields and tax revenues go down (§10). He obscures
his class interests by another two-pronged rhetorical strategy: on the one hand,
the emphasis on the public benefit of (private) temples, and, on the other, the
privatization of the motives of the law enforcers.75
Let us look at the first strategy first. On a quick reading, Oration 30 does not
seem to be concerned with private interests but with the general preservation of
the temples: the narratio opens with an emphasis on the importance of temples
in the rise of civilization, a theme that recurs again in §§30–36 where the
importance of traditional cult for the welfare of the empire is emphasized.
Libanius thus operates a double refocusing in relation to the real issue at stake.
First, the issue is no longer the practice of sacrifice but the destruction of
temples. As said, this gives him a much stronger legal position, as the
destruction of temples had never been ordered:76 those who pretended to
enforce the law can hence be depicted as the actual offenders (see §§20–26 and
50). A second refocusing concerns the relationship between countryside and
city. In his detailed analysis, Hans-Ulrich Wiemer has noted the paradox that
Libanius seems mainly concerned with attacks on temples in the countryside
(§9), whereas the only concrete examples given relate to civic sanctuaries (see
§§22–23, 45). Wiemer explains this by the fact that Libanius, as a city-dweller,
had little feeling for the countryside.77 In fact, this shift in focus rather seems
to be part of the conscious rhetorical strategy to decriminalize private sacrifice
through reference to the usefulness of public temples78 and to shift attention
away from the countryside to the city: crucially, the attention is transferred
from temples on private estates to temples in civic space. In doing so, the
private interests of the landowners are turned into an issue of public welfare,
for traditionally the benefit of pagan cult for society at large was enacted
through public cult. The first part of Libanius’ rhetorical strategy thus seeks to
draw attention away from possible illegal sacrifice on elite estates (what
Libanius or the people he defends are accused of) and refocuses the issue on
the public usefulness of pagan temples and cult. The argument becomes at once
legal and moral: it is illegal to destroy temples and detrimental to the common
good. That Libanius can only rhetorically suggest the massive destruction of
temples is evident in the fact that he discusses a single specific (but
nevertheless unnamed) example (§§44–45),79 a temple that was moreover
situated on the margins of the empire. Arguably, he had little other evidence to
marshal his contention of destruction on a grand scale.80
The second part of the rhetorical strategy seeks to depict those who enforce
the law as flawed individuals who pursue their own particular interests. The
depiction of monks as parasitic dangers to society at the start of the oration is
part of that strategy, as is the scathing attack on the anonymous official in
§§46–50, who is accused of associating with them. Symbol for his depravity is
that he is supposedly egged on by his wife, a classical stereotype.81 The couple
tries to impose their private religious views on the rest of society and are
driven by greed: ‘He ought not to have put his private pleasures before your
interests’.82 As T. Sizgorich has demonstrated, they are implicitly contrasted
with the attitude the emperor is supposed to take, as the defender of the
commonwealth.83 Not only does he have to abide by strict legality (§§6–7),84
he is also to think of the importance of these cults for the stability of the
empire. In this light, the choice to highlight the destruction of a temple close to
the Persian border at the very end of the oration (§45) cannot be accidental: it
symbolizes the dangers the empire exposes itself to by abandoning the
protection of the gods. That temple, Libanius suggests, protects Rome against
its arch-enemy. Again the argument plays on legal and moral sensibilities at the
same time: it is illegal to privately enforce the law and, in doing so, the law
enforcers only pursue their private interests.
Libanius’ rhetorical transformation of the enforcement of the law into a
pursuit of private interests is summed up in the ominous threat at the very end
of the oration: if Theodosius does not restore legality, the estate owners will
have to stoop to the level of those who attack their possessions and use private
force to restore public order. In other words, they will have to resort to
paralegal violence too. It is obvious that in comparison with the real situation,
in which Libanius defends private interests and the official applies public law,
he succeeds in construing an argument in which he stands for public interest
and abiding by the law whereas his opponents pursue private profit and
disregard the law.85 It is testimony to Libanius’ persuasiveness that his
rhetorical reconfiguration of reality has often been taken for fact.
At the end of this analysis of Oration 30, the reader may be entitled to
wonder if one can find any views on religion in its rhetorical fireworks for
elite interests: it clearly is not a principled defence of paganism, but a cleverly
constructed argument to ward off possible confiscations by refocusing the
issue on indisputable wrongs. The oration is therefore in the first place a
testimony for late antique elite interests. Indeed, it vividly illustrates the self-
confident nature of Libanius’ allegiance to traditional culture: in a plea to an
openly Christian emperor, Libanius develops the classic pagan argument that
public welfare depends on traditional cult. Even though he also plays on
Christian sensibilities, for example in depicting temples as a place of social
care in the image of Christian churches,86 he does not abandon his conviction
that the traditional gods need to be worshipped to ensure the stability of the
empire. Admittedly, this can also be interpreted as part of Libanius’ self-
presentation as a free-speaking orator: in this case, little danger was associated
with such a pose, as it is unlikely that the oration was ever publicly proclaimed
or reached the emperor.87 Nevertheless, as Section 13.5 argues, the argument
for the public usefulness of pagan cult may actually be the closest we can get to
Libanius’ convictions.

13.5 The need for a public religion

In several of his orations, Libanius argues for the public utility of traditional
cult. It is hinted at in Oration 7 (§§10–11), which states that those who destroy
temples, as an immoral way of acquiring fortune, will be punished by the gods,
as will be their children. More explicitly, it is the theme of Oration 24, a plea to
the emperor (AD 378–9) to punish the murderers of Julian.88 Most of the
oration is concerned with demonstrating how the empire and the individual
emperors have suffered for not seeking out the person who killed Julian – even
though Libanius inserts also the more practical argument that punishing the
killers of one’s predecessor is a good way of scaring off possible attackers
(§28). The scenes of cosmic grief at Julian’s death in Orations 17 (§30) and 18
(§292) are based on the same thought. Obviously, the target audience and
Libanius’ desire for self-presentation explain much about these orations,89 but
the choice to write them and to present such an argument is revealing.
Especially the connection made between Julian’s death, his restoration of
paganism, and divine wrath is telling. Even if the Julianic orations pursue a
specific rhetorical purpose within the context of elite factionalism in Antioch,
the way Libanius goes about defending Julian is probably not fortuitous. His
choice to write Oration 24 and to link the military defeat of imperial troops
with the death of Julian and anti-pagan measures, hints at the conviction that
traditional worship was important for the general welfare. Indeed, such
utterances cannot be mere rhetorical strategy: one can think of better ways of
persuading the Christian Theodosius to spare the temples or to avenge Julian.
Even if one imagines these orations to have been addressed to a small circle of
like-minded friends, we have to draw the same conclusion: the choice to
present such orations for such an audience reveals something about choices
and options taken by Libanius.
The emphasis on the public importance of traditional cult is, in fact, a
ubiquitous argument in pagan apologetics of the period. It returns in
Symmachus’ plea for the restoration of the altar of Victory,90 whilst Augustine
(and in his wake Orosius) seek to rebut the anti-Christian argument that the
decline of paganism was the cause of the sack of Rome in 410.91 Indeed,
Christians often produced the exactly opposite argument that only Christianity
can help to maintain the empire.92 The persistence of this argument in
Christian and pagan circles shows that there was little ‘neutralization of public
space’ in ideological terms: pagans and Christians might agree on practical
cohabitation, but both sides held quite different conceptions on which divine
power ultimately assured the survival of society. Religion could not be
privatized to render public space ‘neutral’, as the divine assured the survival of
the public.93
It must now be clear that Libanius does not reduce Greco-Roman religion to
a private affair: on the contrary, it is of eminent importance and use for the
common good. This is an expression of the self-confident stance which, as
shown in Section 13.2, Libanius adopted. This dominant elite perspective made
it impossible for him to conceive of the traditional gods as other than crucial
for the common good. In such a conception, the new religion, Christianity, can
only represent private motives, or worse, moral depravity. The elite culture to
which Libanius adheres generates, therefore, both inclusion and exclusion of
religious ‘others’. On the one hand, it makes the day-to-day cohabitation of
individuals with different religious faiths possible by providing a shared
cultural code. Whilst Libanius can thus give a place to Christians as
individuals, his understanding of his tradition, on the other hand, makes it
impossible for him to attribute a meaningful public place to Christianity as a
religion: the decline of the traditional public cult implies a decline of the
empire, its Greek culture, and the social position that Libanius derives from it.
It is therefore misleading to understand Oration 30 (or Libanius in general) as
propounding religious toleration or freedom of religion:94 Libanius is not a
Themistius who conceives of Christianity and Graeco-Roman religion as two
ways of worshipping the divine and thus ensuring its protection of the
empire.95

13.6 Conclusion
Libanius’ attitude towards religion may seem variable, even contradictory at
times: the downplaying of religion in personal exchanges sits side by side with
its instrumentalization in rhetoric and the belief in Graeco-Roman religion as
the basis for a stable empire. This chapter has emphasized that one should first
study the rhetorical argument as well as the social context of each text of
Libanius and that one cannot take his utterances as straightforward
commitments to certain views about the position of religion in society. In
different contexts, different arguments can be produced. Whilst this makes it
more difficult to talk about Libanius’ convictions, I have suggested that his
choice for certain topics and certain arguments may allow us to situate him
within the religious spectrum of his age.
This chapter has confirmed a conclusion already drawn in the first
scholarship on Libanius: his religious views are strongly influenced by his
elite cultural outlook. Against the tendency to see Libanius as one of the last
representatives of that culture and to project that consciousness onto him, I
have argued that his attitude is best explained as expressing self-confidence in
the social position of the cultural tradition which Libanius stood for. This
confident position allowed for the bridging of differences to the extent that
Libanius’ correspondents accepted to play the game on his terms. At the same
time, however, it also reconfirmed religious differences: Libanius clearly
could not abandon the religious aspect of traditional culture and continuously
emphasized the public importance of traditional cult. Christians could be
accepted as individuals but not as a group.
The writing of this chapter was supported by the DFG in the framework of the
Lichtenberg-Kolleg der Georg-August-Universität Göttingen.

1 A classic statement of such a view is Momigliano (1963). In relation to

Libanius, Gibbon (1781=1994, 917) stated that ‘Libanius experienced the
peculiar misfortune of surviving the religion and the sciences, to which he had
consecrated his genius. The friend of Julian was an indignant spectator of the
triumph of Christianity’.

2 Cf. Van Loy (1933), 10, Fowden (1978), Hahn (2002), (2004) and (ed.)
(2011) and Hahn, Emmel and Gotter (2008). For the reception of the oration,
see Nesselrath (2011a), 40.

3 Lavan (2011).

4 See Chapter 2 in this volume.

5 Van Nuffelen (2006), reinstating the traditional dating against Wiemer

(1995a), 260–8 and Felgentreu (2004).

6 Cf. Benedetti Martig (1990), 111–50.

7 Cf. Penella (1993), Nesselrath (2001) and Elm (2012), 336–478. Libanius,
Letter 1264.6 states that he has withheld publication of Oration 17 as the
enemies of Julian are in power. From the tabulation in Cribiore (2013), 152–
63, one can calculate that Libanius often refers to religion in his letters in the
period 361–5: under Julian, half of the letters have references to religion,
during the aftermath of his reign, a third of them. In each case, there is a high
proportion of what Cribiore calls ‘significant’, more extensive references
(45% under Julian, 32% during the aftermath of the reign).

8 Cf. Fatouros (1996), Rosen (2006), 292. See Sandwell (2007a), 167 and
Graf (2012), 185 for the argument that Oration 9 On the Calends (dated to the
early 390s) responds to John Chrysostom’s attacks on the Calends festival
shortly before. This is possible, but the date of Oration 9 is less firmly fixed
than commonly assumed. The end of the oration refers to the fact that the altars
of the gods ‘do not nowadays have everything they had before, because the law
forbids it’ (Oration 9.18: βωμοὶ τε θεῶν νῦν μὲν οὐ πάντα ἔχουσι τὰ
πρόσθεν νόμου κεκωλυκότος; Tr. Wright (2012), 209). This is usually
understood as a reference to the Theodosian laws enacted against pagan
sacrifice, in particular CTh 16.10.10 (24/2/391), 16.10.11 (16/6/391) and
16.10.12 (8/11/392). But the phrase can also be understood as referring to
earlier prohibitions of blood sacrifice: the altars do not receive ‘everything’
any more, so they might still receive libations or other forms of sacrifice. As
we shall see below, Oration 30, usually dated to the mid 380s, precisely
assumes such a distinction to exist.

9 Cf. Heather and Moncur (2001), 24.

10 See Stenger (2009), 78 and 384–8. See also Chapter 12 of this volume.

11 Cf. Brown and Lizzi Testa (2011), revisiting Momigliano (1963).

12 Soler (2009) argues that Libanius had contacts with Neopythagorean, anti-
Christian circles. The argument remains very speculative. Quiroga Puertas
(2005a, 148–157) argues for a cultural monotheism. For monotheism in
Libanius, see Sandwell (2010) and Cribiore (2013), 213–16.

13 Cf. Misson (1914), 155 and Geffcken (1920), 8. See also Petit (1956a),
191, Liebeschuetz (1972), 225–41, Wöhrle (1995) and Quiroga Puertas
(2007c).

14 Norman (1983), 161.

15 Cribiore (2013), 168–73.

16 Hahn (2011), 119. Cf. Petit (1956a), 191 and Pack (1986), 296–8.
17 See Festugière (1959), 234.

18 Sandwell (2007a).

19 Sandwell (2007a), 239.

20 Sandwell (2007a), 7.

21 Sandwell (2007a). Cribiore (2013), 137–9 suggests Sandwell sees Libanius

as an ‘opportunist’ (139), but this is not an accurate characterization of
Sandwell’s position. In fact, Sandwell’s view of Libanius is rather close to
Cribiore’s of a pagan scholar displaying flexible but moderate attitudes in a
complex religious world.

22 Sandwell (2007a), 277–8: in contrast with Neoplatonists and Christians,

Libanius did not feel he had ‘to define himself and those he knew as either
Greek or Christian at every moment’ and sidestepped ‘the whole religious
issue by playing down the importance of religion to other areas of life’.

23 Libanius, Letters 972 and 1024.

24 Libanius, Letters 819, 763 and 1364. For further cases, see Cribiore
(2013), 175–80 and 184–5.

25 See Jan Stenger ’s considerations on utterances of Greek identity as a

discursive and social practice (Chapter 12), as well as his discussion in Stenger
(2009), 70–8.

26 Langlois (1991), Coskun (2002), 216–37 and Salzmann and Roberts

(2012), xlvii–xlviii.

27 See Alan Cameron (2011), 176–7 for a taxonomy of different positions.

28 Graf (2012), 185: ‘the last pagan’.

29 See Liebeschuetz (1972), 225–7.

30 Cf. Schouler (1984).

31 This generates an extensive Christian reflection on the relationship between

Christianity and traditional education: cf. Gemeinhardt (2007).

32 e.g. Libanius, Orations 10.14, 11.150–5, 20.3, 45.20–1 and 50.11.

33 Cf. Elm (2012), 389–93.

34 Libanius, Orations 20.3 and 45.20–21.

35 Cf. Tloka (2005); Maxwell (2006).

36 Cf. Brown (1992).

37 Cf. Limberis (2000), 398.

38 Nesselrath (2011a), 33–8 provides a clear overview of the discussions

about the date and settles for the solution proposed by Wiemer (1995b), 128:
the writing is situated in 385–7 under Cynegius as Praetorian Prefect of the
East but publication in 388, when the pagan Tatianus became Prefect. For
earlier discussions, see Van Loy (1933), Pack (1935), 45, Petit (1951) and
Liebeschuetz (1972), 30. Meyer-Zwiffelhoffer (2011, 111) also dates the
oration to 385–7. For the terminus ante quem of 392 and the identification of
the anonymous official with Cynegius, see below.

39 See, e.g., Wiemer (1995b), 128 and (2011a), 163 and Stenger (2009), 388.
40 Sandwell (2007a), 157. She later (p. 180) links the privatization of religion
to religious toleration.

41 Sizgorich (2007), 84–91 and (2009), 86–106. See also Stenger (2009),
377–89.

42 Carrié (1976). See also Grey (2011), 219–20. For a similar analysis of
Oration 31, see Van Hoof (2014b).

43 e.g. Norman (1977), 92–3, Wiemer (2011a), 163 (‘Grundsatzrede’), Kahlos

(2009), 92–5, Cribiore (2013), 158 (‘the official spokesman of paganism’).

44 For the structure, see Nesselrath (2011a), 31–2.

45 Delmaire (1989), 641–4. See Libanius, Oration 30.43 and CJ 11.66.4

(18/1/383?).

46 Libanius, Oration 30.54: Πῶς δ᾿ἀλλοτρίων ἅπτονται μετ᾿ὀργῆς ἀγρῶν.

47 Libanius, Oration 30.55: ἴσθι τοὺς τῶν ἀγρῶν δεσπότας καὶ αὑτοῖς καὶ
τῷ νόμῳ βοηθήσοντας.

48 Libanius, Oration 30.20: ἀλλ’ ἐν οἷς ἐξηλάσατε τοὺς ταῖς αὑτῶν

ἐπιμελείαις πενίᾳ βοηθοῦντας … (‘but your expulsion of people who by their
personal care provided relief for poverty … ’ transl. Norman (1977), 119) can
be understood as a reference to the expulsion of benevolent landowners.

49 Cf. Libanius, Oration 47.11 and 22, for the use of agros and despotes with
the meaning of ‘estate’ and ‘lord’.

50 Stenger (2009), 378 and Nesselrath (2011a), 32.

51 Wytzes (1978), 1336–7, Nesselrath (2011a), 33, Nesselrath (ed.) (2011), 80

n. 34 and Cribiore (2013), 224–6.

52 Cf. Behrends (2011), 123–4.

53 Barnes (1984), Bradbury (1994) and Behrends (2011, 117–26) argue that
Constantine did ban sacrifice. Doubts expressed by Belayche (2005), 352 with
further references.

54 Bonamente (2011), 70 and Meyer-Zwiffelhoffer (2011), 111.

55 Nesselrath (ed.)(2011), 80 n. 34. Belayche (2005) argues that no

prohibition of sacrifice, including blood sacrifice, existed before the laws of
391 and 392. Libanius’ argumentative strategy would make no sense if by the
380s no such prohibition existed.

56 The Novatian historian Socrates (Church History 5.10.27–8) interprets CTh

16.5.12 (3/12/383) as granting the Novatians the right to have churches in
Constantinople. In fact, the law grants the Nicenes this right and excludes a
number of heresies. The Novatians were a schism that claimed to follow the
same faith of Nicea (without officially having accepted the council). Sozomen,
Church History 7.12.11 corrects Socrates. See Van Nuffelen (2004). Many of
the claims made by Eusebius for Constantine’s religious legislation (Life of
Constantine 2.45 and 4.25) are based on such overinterpretations: see
Behrends (2011), 115.

57 Libanius, Oration 30.18: ἓν εἰπὼν δεῖν μὴ ποιεῖν τἄλλα πάντα ἀφῆκας

(transl. Norman (1977), 117).

58 Libanius, Oration 30.17: ‘οὐκ ἔθυσαν οὖν;’ ἐρήσεται τις. ‘Πάνυ γε, ἀλλ᾿
ἐπὶ θοίνῃ καὶ ἀρίστῳ καὶ εὐωχίᾳ τῶν βοῶν ἀλλαχοῦ σφαττομένων …’.
‘Did they not sacrifice, then?’ one may ask. ‘Of course they did, but for a
shared meal and dinner and good cheer with the cattle being slaughtered
somewhere else …’ (transl. Norman (1977), 117).
59 Libanius, Oration 30.18.

60 Cf. Harries (1999), Humfress (2007).

61 Cf. Hahn (2006). Cf. Libanius, Oration 30.44.

62 It was possible for delatores to claim part of the estate themselves:

Delmaire (1989), 626–31.

63 CTh 16.5.8 (19/7/381).

64 CTh 16.10.12 (8/11/392): Bonamente (2011), 78; Meyer-Zwiffelhoffer

(2011), 105. For similar stipulations regarding the Donatists, see CTh 16.6.4
(12/2/405).

65 This can be related to the injunction that landowners should actively pursue
the conversion of their estates, a well-attested plea by bishops: for references,
see MacMullen (1984), 100–1.

66 CTh 16.11.1 (20.8.399); Augustine, Sermon 62.17–18. For the problem of

paralegal enforcement, see Fowden (1978).

67 For negative opinions about monks, see e.g. Consultationes Zacchariae et

Apollonii 3.3.1–2, 6; Hieronymus, Letter 22.28; Augustine, Retractationes 2.21
and Letter 262; Cassianus, Collationes 18.7; Ambrose, Epistulae extra
collectionem 1.27; CTh 16.3.1 (2/9/390); Rutilius Namatianus 1.439–52, 7.515–
26. See Brown (1992), 51, Jiménez Sánchez (2010), Nesselrath (2011b) and
Wallraff (2011).

68 On the episcopalis audientia, see Humfress (2007), 170–3 and (2011).

69 Libanius, Oration 30.49.

70 McLynn (2005), 33–6.

71 Cynegius is said by Zosimus to have closed temples on demand of the

emperor (4.37.3). If one wishes to identify Cynegius with Libanius’ official,
then one can understand Libanius’ argument in 30.49–50 as saying that he had
overstepped his instructions by allowing the destruction of temples instead of
their closure. But as I have argued throughout, this is not Libanius’ principal
worry. The distinction between closing and destroying is sometimes not
noticed in scholarship: Behrends (2011), 96.

72 Delmaire (2005), 35–6. On the code and its compilation, see Matthews
(2000).

73 No destruction is demanded in fourth-century legislation and sometimes

explicit preservation is requested: CTh 16.10.3 (1/11/342), 16.10.15
(29/8/399).

74 For the elite interests of Libanius, see Pack (1935), 9 and Petit (1956a), 35–
6 and 62. Libanius usually covers up elite interests with more general
considerations: see, e.g., Orations 19.44, 21.20, 22.12, 47.7–8, 47.34 and
47.56–9.

75 This corresponds to the two rhetorical heads identified by Berry and Heath
(1997), 415–18: usefulness and legality.

76 Meyer-Zwiffelhoffer (2011), 111.

77 Wiemer (2011a), 168.

78 See already Libanius, Oration 30.11.

79 See also Oration 30.22, the destruction of a statue in Beroia.

80 On the relative paucity of temple destruction, see Lavan (2011).

81 Cooper (1992), 161.

82 Libanius, Oration 30.48: Ἔδει δὲ αὐτὸν <μὴ> μετὰ τὰς οἰκείας ἡδονὰς
τὰ σαυτοῦ θεραπεύειν …

83 Sizgorich (2007), 89. The emperors preceding Theodosius are also

depicted as not imposing their private views on society (Oration 30.6, 30.53–
4). This is a classical rhetorical trick: the emperor is depicted as already
subscribing to the argument proposed (cf. Oration 1.262).

84 Unsurprisingly given the legal nature of many of his orations, Libanius

often refers to laws as the basis for his arguments: Oration 33.15 refers to CTh
15.9.1; Oration 9.18 refers to CTh 16.10.10. The references in Orations 39.13,
45.32 and 47.35 are harder to identify, as are the references in Oration 30.

85 One therefore need not be surprised that Libanius’ class, the curiales,
hardly play a role in the oration: they are absent because highlighting their role
would suggest private interests: pace Wiemer (2011a), 172–8.

86 Van Nuffelen (2011), 52.

87 Wiemer (2011a), 172.

88 On the date, see Wiemer (1995a), 362–3.

89 Sandwell (2007a), 219–24. For the complexities of Libanius’ relationship

with Julian, see Wiemer (1995a).

90 Symmachus, Relatio 3.

91 Augustine, The City of God 1.1–2.

92 Cf. Straub (1972), Marcone (2002).

93 The idea of the creation of a neutral, secular space in Late Antiquity is

expounded in Markus (1990).

94 As is implied in the title of Nesselrath (ed.) (2011). See the different

argument of Limberis (2000), 398 and Stenger (2009), 386–7.

95 Themistius, Oration 5.68cd.

 Epilogue Libanius at the centre
Lieve Van Hoof

For a long time, Libanius has remained a dark horse: difficult to access, his
texts have largely been mined for extratextual data such as prosopographical
information, administrative structures or the chronology of fourth-century
events. This book hopes to have shown that he deserves much better: the author
of the largest surviving corpora of letters and progymnasmata from classical
antiquity, of one of the most extensive corpora of ancient declamations, and of
a wide variety of orations spanning the whole fourth century, he has much to
offer to anybody interested not just in ancient rhetoric and epistolography, but
also in Late Antiquity, social, cultural and religious history, and the reception
of antiquity in Byzantium and beyond. Even more than the exceptional quantity
of Libanius’ conserved output, though, it is its extraordinary quality which this
book hopes to have brought out: the rhetorical creativity displayed in it, the
socio-cultural, religious and geographical range of people appearing in it, the
variety of topics discussed in it, and the self-presentation played out in it make
that Libanius’ oeuvre, from the humblest one-paragraph letter or progymnastic
exercise to the most elaborate declamation or imperial speech, has much to
offer for an understanding of the most exciting aspects of his age and of
antiquity more generally.
In order to do justice to these rich and intense texts, taking them at face
value, as a straightforward source of information, is not enough: as shown
throughout this volume, a more sophisticated approach, combining a literary
and a historical perspective, having attention for text and context, and taking
into account production, publication and reception, is necessary in order to
bring out their full potential. Attentively studied in this way, Libanius’ texts
yield unique insights and provide important corrections to established views
on a wide variety of topics. Through his Autobiography, Orations and Letters,
for example, Libanius allows us to catch an exceptionally elaborate glimpse
not just of the life of a fourth-century Greek gentleman, but also, and above all,
of how such people positioned and presented themselves to their peers and
posterity (Chapters 1, 2, 4, 8 and 9). Again, whereas scholars of ancient
epistolography have often focused on Latin letters or else on either fictional or
Christian Greek ones, Libanius presents a rare opportunity for studying not
only pagan Greek letters that were held in the highest esteem by subsequent
generations of Byzantine readers, but also an entire and widely diverse social
network in action (Chapters 7 and 10). Furthermore, Libanius forces us to
correct traditional opinions on the fourth century: by showing the proud self-
consciousness of pagan Greek culture within the changing environment of Late
Antiquity, he demonstrates that conservative voices could be heard longer, and
may well have sounded much stronger, than is usually assumed (Chapters 12
and 13). The continuing performativity of rhetoric in particular invites us also
to rethink existing periodizations of ancient Greek rhetoric, whereby the
Second Sophistic is taken to stop at around AD 250 (Chapters 3, 5 and 6). At the
same time, Libanius stands like a Janus-figure at the crossroads between
Antiquity and Byzantium: looking back as well as forward, he emulates the
whole of the Greek tradition in order to enter into dialogue with his
contemporaries and ensure his place amongst posterity (Chapter 11). This
place amongst posterity is, finally, nothing less than astounding. Generations
of readers from Late Antiquity through Byzantium, the Middle Ages and the
Renaissance well into the twentieth century forged and imitated, despised and
glorified Libanius (Chapter 8). But whatever their view of him, these readers
implicitly or explicitly acknowledged Libanius’ importance as a key author
and influential intellectual. As this book hopes to have shown, they were right.
He, and their reactions to him, therefore merit to be studied.
Appendices: survey of Libanius’ works
and of available translations
Whenever possible, the English titles of Libanius’ works appearing in Tables
2, 3 and 4 below were taken over from existing English translations. Where
more than one translation is available, English translations are listed first,
followed by French, German, Dutch and other ones. I thank Craig Gibson,
Pierre-Louis Malosse and Robert Penella for their kind advice and generous
help when composing Appendices A, B, C and D as well as Tables 2, 3 and 4.
 A Hypotheses

A full translation by Gibson 2003 of Libanius’ summaries (Hypotheses) of the

speeches of Demosthenes is available online at
ww.stoa.org/projects/demos/article_libanius?page=1.
 B Progymnasmata

Although not widely known or often studied, the Progymnasmata are now the
best accessible part of Libanius’ output: a complete English translation is
available in Gibson 2008, where further bibliography on previous, partial
translations can be found. I thank Craig Gibson for his permission to reprint
his translations of the titles of Libanius’ progymnasmata here.

Table 2: Survey of Libanius’ Progymnasmata

Number Exercise Title

1 Fable 1 The Wolves and the Sheep

2 Fable 2 The Horse and the Tortoise

3 Fable 3 The Jackdaw and the Beauty Contest

4 Narration 1 On Deianira

5 Narration 2 On Hyacinthus

6 Narration 3 On Alpheus

7 Narration 4 On Pitys

8 Narration 5 On Agamemnon

9 Narration 6 On Danaus and Aegyptus

10 Narration 7 On Hephaestus

11 Narration 8 On Acalanthis
12 Narration 9 On Capanaus

13 Narration 10 On Adrasteia

14 Narration 11 On Polycrates

15 Narration 12 On Callisto

16 Narration 13 On Simonides

17 Narration 14 On Neoptolemus

18 Narration 15 On Alcestis

19 Narration 16 On Candaules

20 Narration 17 On Daphne

21 Narration 18 On Procne and Philomela

22 Narration 19 Another Version

23 Narration 20 On Marsyas and the Flute

24 Narration 21 On Pasiphae

25 Narration 22 Another Version

26 Narration 23 On Heracles

27 Narration 24 Another Version

28 Narration 25 On Leto

29 Narration 26 On Alectryon

30 Narration 27 On the Rape of Paris

31 Narration 28 On Icarius
32 Narration 29 On Arion

33 Narration 30 On Alpheus

34 Narration 31 On Deianira

35 Narration 32 On Pitys

36 Narration 33 On Atalanta

37 Narration 34 Another Version

38 Narration 35 On Cepheus and Perseus

39 Narration 36 Another Version

40 Narration 37 On the Rhine

41 Narration 38 On the Aloads and on Elate

42 Narration 39 On Enipeus

43 Narration 40 On the Horn of Amalthea

44 Narration 41 On Danae

45 Anecdote 1 Alexander, upon being asked by someone

where he kept his treasures, pointed to
his friends

46 Anecdote 2 Diogenes, upon seeing a child

misbehaving, struck his pedagogue,
adding, ‘Why do you teach such things?’

47 Anecdote 3 Isocrates said that the root of education

is bitter, but that its fruits are sweet

48 Anecdote 4 Theophrastus, upon being asked what

love is, said, ‘the passion of an idle soul’
49 Maxim 1 ‘A man who is a counselor should not
sleep all night’

50 Maxim 2 The same maxim in a different way

51 Maxim 3 ‘There is need of money, and without it

none of our necessities can exist’

52 Refutation 1 That it is not plausible that Chryses went

to the harbour of the Greeks

53 Refutation 2 That the accusations against Locrian

Ajax are not plausible

54 Confirmation That the account of the judgement of the

1 arms of Achilles is plausible

55 Confirmation That the account of the wrath of Achilles

2 is plausible

56 Confirmation That the accusations against Locrian

3 Ajax are plausible

57 Common Against a Murderer

Topics 1

58 Common Against a Traitor

Topics 2

59 Common Against a Physician-Poisoner

Topics 3

60 Common Against a Tyrant

Topics 4

61 Common For a Tyrannicide

Topics 5

62 Encomium 1 Diomedes
63 Encomium 2 Odysseus

64 Encomium 3 Achilles

65 Encomium 4 Thersites

66 Encomium 5 Demosthenes

67 Encomium 6 Righteousness

68 Encomium 7 Farming

69 Encomium 8 The Ox, in a Less Formal Style

70 Encomium 9 The Date Palm and the Apple Tree

71 Invective 1 Achilles

72 Invective 2 Hector

73 Invective 3 Philip

74 Invective 4 Aeschines

75 Invective 5 Wealth

76 Invective 6 Poverty

77 Invective 7 Anger

78 Invective 8 The Grapevine

79 Comparison Achilles and Diomedes

1

80 Comparison Ajax and Achilles

2
81 Comparison Demosthenes and Aeschines
3

82 Comparison Seafaring and Farming

4

83 Comparison Country and City

5

84 Speech in What words would Medea say when she

Character 1 is about to murder her children?

85 Speech in What words would Andromache say over

Character 2 the dead Hector?

86 Speech in What words would Achilles say over the

Character 3 dead Patroclus?

87 Speech in What words would Achilles say when the

Character 4 Greeks are being beaten?

88 Speech in What words would Ajax say when he is

Character 5 about to kill himself?

89 Speech in What words would Ajax say after his

Character 6 madness?

90 Speech in What words would Ajax say upon being

Character 7 deprived of the arms?

91 Speech in What words would Niobe say when her

Character 8 children lie dead?

92 Speech in The Same Theme

Character 9

93 Speech in What words would Bellerophon say when

Character 10 he is about to fight the Chimaera?
94 Speech in What words would a painter say when, as
Character 11 he is trying to paint a picture of Apollo
on laurel wood, the wood will not absorb
the paint?

95 Speech in What words would Achilles say when he

Character 12 falls in love with Penthesilea after her
death?

96 Speech in The Same Theme

Character 13

97 Speech in What words would Chiron say when he

Character 14 hears that Achilles is living in the girls’
quarters?

98 Speech in What words would Achilles say when he

Character 15 is being deprived of Briseis?

99 Speech in What words would Polyxena say when

Character 16 the order is given for her to be taken by
the Greeks as they tell her that she is to
become the bride of Achilles?

100 Speech in What words would Medea say when

Character 17 Jason is marrying another woman?

101 Speech in What words would a prostitute say upon

Character 18 gaining self-control?

102 Speech in What words would a coward say upon

Character 19 seeing that a picture of a war has been
painted in his house?

103 Speech in What words would a money-loving

Character 20 coward say upon finding a golden sword?

104 Speech in What words would Menelaus say upon

 Character 21 learning of the death of Agamemnon?

105 Speech in What words would Menoeceus say when

Character 22 he wishes to commit suicide on behalf of
a victory for his homeland?

106 Speech in What words would Odysseus say upon

Character 23 being trapped in the cave of the Cyclops?

107 Speech in What words would Odysseus say to the

Character 24 Cyclops when he sees him eating his
comrades?

108 Speech in What words would Odysseus say after

Character 25 killing the suitors?

109 Speech in What words would a eunuch say when he

Character 26 falls in love?

110 Speech in What words would a painter say upon

Character 27 painting a picture of a girl and falling in
love with her?

111 Description 1 An Infantry Battle

112 Description 2 Painting in the Council Chambers

113 Description 3 A Race of the Heroes

114 Description 4 Another Painting in the Council

Chambers

115 Description 5 New Year

116 Description 6 Drunkenness

117 Description 7 Spring, in a Less Formal Style

118 Description 8 A Harbour

119 Description 9 A Garden

120 Description A Hunt

10

121 Description A Naval Battle

11

122 Description A Lion Subduing a Deer

12

123 Description Heracles and Antaeus

13

124 Description Another of the Same

14

125 Description Heracles Standing in the Lion’s Skin (sic)

15

126 Description Hera

16

127 Description A Trojan Woman Turned Aside

17

128 Description Polyxena Being Slaughtered by

18 Neoptolemus

129 Description Prometheus

19

130 Description Medea

20

131 Description The Chimaera

21
132 Description Pallas (Athena)
22

133 Description Ajax

23

134 Description A Peacock

24

135 Description The Tychaion

25

136 Description Heracles Lifting Up the Erymanthian

26 Boar

137 Description Alexander the Founder

27

138 Description Eteocles and Polynices

28

139 Description A Festal Assembly

29

140 Description Beauty

30

141 Thesis 1 Whether One Should Marry

142 Thesis 2 Whether One Should Build a Wall

143 Thesis 3 Whether One Should Sail

144 Introduction In support of a law bidding men not to

of a Law 1 marry their deceased brothers’ wives
 C Declamations

As pointed out by Penella in Chapter 5, only nineteen of the fifty-one

declamations have been translated, all into English. The largest collection can
be found in Russell 1996 (Declamations 1–2, 6, 12, 22, 25–8, 31–3, 39, 42),
but additional pieces can be found in Heath 1995 (Declamations 36 and 44),
Ogden 2002 (Declamation 41) and Johansson 2006 (Declamations 9 and 10).
Declamation 1 was again translated into English by Calder et al. 2002, and is
furthermore also available in German (Apelt 1922). Declamation 2 was
already translated into English by Crosby and Calder 1960. Declamation 26
has also been translated into Danish (Heiberg 1918), French (Lucassen 1955)
and Swedish (Johansson 2012). Hephaistos, an online, open and collaborative
translation project, has now started to translate all of Libanius’ declamations:
www.hephaistos-text.org/libanius/.

Table 3: Survey of Libanius’ Declamations and available translations

Number Title Translations

1 Defence of Socrates Russell

1996; Calder
et al. 2002;
Apelt 1922

(2) They forbid Socrates to converse in Russell 1996

prison, and someone argues against this Crosby and
(The Silence of Socrates) Calder 1960

3 Embassy Speech of Menelaus to the

Trojans concerning Helen

4 Embassy Speech of Odysseus to the

Trojans concerning Helen
5 Answer of Achilles to Odysseus’ Entreaty
(Achilles’ Response to Odysseus)

(6) Orestes (Orestes’ Defence) Russell 1996

7 Alcippe was the daughter of Ares, and

Poseidon’s son Hallirothius was in love
with her. When Ares heard this, he killed
him. Poseidon brings a suit against Ares
over his murder of Hallirothius (The
Trial of Neptune)

8 Ares’ Counter-Argument (The Defence of

Ares)

9 After the events at Salamis, Neocles Johansson

demands to receive Themistocles back, 2006
but the latter opposes it (Neocles’
Speech)

10 Themistocles from the contrary position Johansson

(Themistocles’ Speech) 2006

11 Cimon asks to be imprisoned instead of

his father (Cimon’s Speech)

(12) Timon, in love with Alcibiades, Russell 1996

denounces himself (Timon’s Speech)

13 The Potidaeans have engaged in

cannibalism whilst beleaguered by the
Athenians. The Corinthians accuse the
Athenians of Impiety and the Athenians
respond (The Speech of the Corinthians)

14 It is the law that a tyrant not be buried

and that the tyrant-killer receive a gift.
Having killed his tyrant son Critias,
Callaeschrus asks to bury him
 (Callaeschrus’ Speech)

(15) The law provides that there be a gift for a

life lived well. Cephalus and Aristophon
compete (Cephalus’ Speech)

(16) Aristophon’s Counter-Argument

(Aristophon’s Response)

17 Aeschines, who had been sent as the only

delegate, did not object to Philip
becoming a member of the Amphictyonic
Council. Upon his return to Athens, he is
accused of harming the state (Invective
against Aeschines)

[18] The law provides that the alien who

usurps civic rights be sold. Demosthenes
usurped civic rights as an alien. Philip
sends a letter to buy him. Demades
pleads to sell him, Hyperides to keep him
as a public slave (Hyperides’ Speech)

19 After Chaeronea, Philip demands

Demosthenes. The people have asked for
five days to consult. During this period,
Demosthenes asks to be executed (Speech
of Demosthenes asking to be executed)

[20] After Chaeronea, Philip demands

Demosthenes. The people have asked for
five days to consult. During this period,
Demosthenes asks for execution (Speech
of Demosthenes Accusing himself)

21 After Chaeronea, Philip sent a letter

promising to return the 2,000 prisoners if
he got Demosthenes. Demosthenes
 demands to be handed over
(Demosthenes’ Demand to Be
Surrendered)

22 Philip demanded the surrender of Russell 1996

Demosthenes, who took refuge on the
Altar of Mercy. He was forcibly dragged
from there and surrendered. Released by
Philip, he now proposes at Athens the
removal of the altar (Demosthenes’
Speech on the Altar of Mercy)

[23] Having been handed over to Philip and

then released, Demosthenes is publicly
accused of not taking part in politics
(The Defence of Demosthenes)

(24) The law provides in Sparta that those less

than thirty years old cannot participate
in public meetings. After their victory in
Leuctra, the Thebans have sent
messengers to Sparta and threaten war if
the Spartans don’t allow Messene to be
autonomous. After some pleaded to allow
this, Archidamus, who is still young,
encourages them to accept war. He
persuades them. The enemy is routed.
Someone accuses Archidamus of going
against the law. We take the part of
Archidamus (The Defence of Archidamus)

(25) At Corinth, there was a beautiful Russell 1996

courtesan called Lais, whose charms
attracted many lovers. Many of the youth
of the town fell to her seductions, and a
proposal was made to banish Lais from
the city. This was successful.
Subsequently, there were many cases of
adultery in the city. The law provided
 that an adulterer caught in the act should
be killed, and many suffered the penalty
of the law. Someone now proposes the
recall of Lais, and another opposes. We
play the part of the opponent (Against the
Recall of Lais)

26 A morose man married to a talkative wife Russell

denounces himself (Complaint of a 1996;
Morose Man about his Talkative Wife) Lucassen
1955;
Johansson
2012;
Heiberg
1918

27 The morose man has had a fall: his son, Russell 1996
who was with him, laughed. He now
disowns the son (Speech of a Morose
Man Renouncing his Son)

(28) The Parasite was invited to dinner. Russell 1996

Wishing to arrive early, he took a horse
from the racecourse and rode to his host’s
house. There was an altar in front of the
street door; and the horse, taking this to
be the turning-post, rounded it and
carried the Parasite away. He got no
dinner, and next day ‘denounced’ himself
(Speech of a Parasite Deprived of his
Dinner)

(29) The Parasite denounces himself because

the one who is feeding him has turned to
philosophy (Complaint of a Parasite
about His Philosophizing Patron)

30 An envious man denounces himself after

 his neighbour has suddenly become rich
(Speech of an Envious Man Denouncing
Himself)

31 The law provides that the discoverer of a Russell 1996

treasure shall pay the city 1,000
drachmae. A miser finds a treasure of 500
drachmae. Faced by a demand for 1,000,
he seeks to die (A Miser’s Demand for
Execution)

32 A miser, in love with a prostitute, is faced Russell 1996

with a demand for her fee: he denounces
himself (Complaint of a Miser in Love
with a Courtesan)

33 The miser’s son, having won the war- Russell 1996

hero’s prize for bravery, asks for a crown
of wild olive as his reward; he is
disowned by his father (The Disowning of
the Son who Asked for an Olive Crown)

[34] When a miser was ailing, his son

promised to give a talent to Asclepius if
his father recovered. Healthy again, his
father disowns him (The Disowning of a
Miser because of the Talent Promised to
Asclepius)

35 A rich man promises to feed his city in a

time of famine on condition that his
personal enemy be handed over to him.
The city refuses, but he asks to be
executed according to the law that allows
this (Speech of a Poor Man Ready to Die
for his Country)

36 It is a capital offence to cause riot and Heath 1995

civil strife. A poor orator was the
 political enemy of a rich man. During a
famine under siege the rich man
promised victory if the poor man’s tongue
was cut out; this was granted. He went
out at night and drove off the enemy. The
next day the poor man was present as he
made a speech, and wept. The people
stoned the rich man. The poor man is
accused under the law.

37 A rich man has become a war-hero and

asks as a reward that the exiles can
return. When he becomes a war-hero
again, he asks that those who have been
deprived of civic rights be granted them
again. When he becomes a war-hero for
the third time, he asks for the release of
the prisoners too, and is accused by an
orator of an attempt at tyranny (Defence
of a Strong and Rich Young Man)

38 There was a rumour that the rich man

was having an affair with the poor man’s
wife. The poor man proposes a law
ordering adulterers to be executed
without trial. The rich man indicts him.
The poor man convicts and condemns him
of adultery (Accusation of the Rich
Adulterer)

39 There was a rumour that a father was Russell 1996

seducing his son’s wife. The father
proposed a law that it should be
permitted to kill one’s son without trial.
The son now proposes a law to allow
adulterers to be killed without a trial
(Exhortation for a Law against
Adulterers)
[40] The law provides that the husband is
entitled to the dowry of a wife who has
committed adultery. Someone enticed his
own wife to commit adultery, as if
unconnected with her, and then
apprehended her in the act. Smitten with
shame, her father gives her another
dowry. The wife’s husband gets hold of
that one on top of what he got the
previous time, and her father gives her
yet another one. As he kept doing this
often, and she kept being deceived, the
father finally kills both of them and is
accused (Defence of a Father Having
Killed his Daughter and Son-in-Law)

41 Plague attacked the city. The god Ogden 2002

prophesied the cessation of the plague if
the people would sacrifice a child of one
of the citizens. The lot fell upon the son
of the mage. The mage promises to stop
the plague, if they leave his son alone.
The question is debated (Refutation of
the Mage)

42 A tyrant demanded a handsome boy from Russell 1996

a neighbouring city, threatening war if he
did not get him. The city chose war. The
tyrant attacked. During the siege, the
boy’s father killed him and threw him
from the wall. The tyrant departed, and
the father is now charged with murder
(Defence of a Father Having Killed his
Child)

[43] The law provided that the children of a

tyrant too be executed together with him,
and another law that the tyrant-killer can
 ask whatever he wants. A wife
slaughtered her husband who was a
tyrant and asks for her children as a
reward. Let us take the part of the orator
who speaks up for the woman who killed
the tyrant (Plea for the Woman who
Killed a Tyrant)

44 There is a law that any foreigner seen in Heath 1995

the assembly is to be executed by the
general. A foreigner was seen in the
assembly; when placed under arrest he
claimed to have a secret to disclose; the
general executed him. Subsequently a
tyranny was established in the city. After
the tyrant’s overthrow the general is
charged with complicity.

[45] The law commands that the majority of

votes decide the issue. Of the seven
judges, two condemn someone to death,
two to loss of civic rights, three to exile.
The convict demands to go into exile (A
Convict’s Demand for Exile)

46 Someone has a wife and is subject to his

father. He goes abroad and falls victim to
robbers. He wrote to his father asking to
be bought free, but his father refused. His
wife sold what she had and sailed away
to get him free. She was shipwrecked. She
is cast onshore at the place where her
husband is. He sees the body, recognizes
it and weeps. When the robbers learn the
cause, they release him. Upon his return,
he is forced by his father to take another
wife, and as he does not want to, he is
disowned (Defence of the Disowned Son)
47 Someone has two children and falls out
with one of them in enmity. He falls ill
and orders his child to inscribe only
himself in the will as heir. But this child
also includes his brother. The father
recovers, finds that the other son has also
been included, and disowns the son who
included him (Rejection of the Brother-
Loving Son who Was Disowned)

48 Someone has two children and disowns

one of them. The one remaining at home
becomes a war-hero and demands as his
reward that his brother be welcomed
back. His father is against this, and he
does not convince him. This son asks to
be disowned too (Brother-Loving Son’s
Demand to Be Disowned)

[49] Someone has rescued his father from a

fire. When he tries to save his mother too,
he not only does not succeed, but also
loses his eyes. His father brings in a
stepmother. The latter inserts poison into
the clothes of the child and shows them to
his father. When the father asks where the
poison came from, he gives no answer.
After this, the father writes his will and
leaves his estate to his wife, whilst
leaving his son out of his will. During the
night, there is great commotion in the
house, many people gather together, and
the father is found dead, with the son’s
sword lying nearby, the stepmother
sleeping next to him, the blind son
standing in the entrance of the house in
which he has remained by himself. The
blind son and the stepmother accuse one
 another (Defence of the Blind Son)

50 Someone accuses his own son of

conspiracy. The son asks that he be
executed without trial, in accordance
with the law on untried cases (Demand of
a Son Charged with Conspiracy to Be
Executed)

(51) Declamation of Libanius (Lament of the

Miser Deprived of a Treasure)
 D Orations

To date, no complete translation of Libanius’ Orations is available. Thirty-

eight out of sixty-four orations have thus far been translated into English
(Orations 1–3, 5, 10–24, 30–1, 33–4, 36–7, 42–3, 45, 47–50, 58–62, 64). Of
the remaining twenty-six orations, fourteen are available in other modern
languages (Orations 4, 6, 7–9, 25, 35, 40, 46, 51–2, 55–7), whilst twelve
others (Orations 26–9, 32, 38–9, 41, 44, 53–4, 63) have never been translated.
English: Duncombe 1784 (Oration 61 and the fragments of Oration 60);
Pack 1935 (Oration 45); Downey 1959 (Oration 11); Downey 1961 (Orations
5 and 10); Norman 1965 (Oration 1); Norman 1969 (Orations 12–18, 24);
Norman 1977 (Orations 2, 19–23, 30, 33, 45, 47–50); Meeks and Wilken 1978
(Oration 47); Norman 1992a (Oration 1); Dodgeon 1996 (Oration 59); Molloy
1996 (Oration 64); Norman 2000 (Orations 2, 3, 11, 31, 34, 36, 42, 43, 58,
62); Cribiore 2011 (Oration 37, partim). Cribiore is currently preparing a
translation of twelve orations.
French: Génin 1826 (Orations 19 and 20); Van Loy 1933 (Oration 30);
Harmand 1955 (Oration 47); Festugière 1959 (Orations 3, 11, 25, 34–6, 43,
55 (partim), 58); Schouler 1973 (Orations 6–8, 25); Martin and Petit 1979
(Oration 1); Martin 1988 (Orations 2–10); Schatkin 1990 (the fragments of
Oration 60). In 2006, Sophie Kauffmann made a French translation of Orations
45 and 50–2 as part of her [unpublished] PhD dissertation. Several French
translations are currently in preparation for the Collection des Universités de
France (‘Budé’): Casevitz, Lagacherie and Saliou (Oration 11); Lagacherie
(Orations 12–16); Martin and Lagacherie (Orations 17–18); Malosse (Orations
19–25); Martin and Malosse (Orations 26–33).
German: Apelt 1922 (Oration 1); Wolf 1967 (Orations 1–5); Fatouros and
Krischer 1992 (Oration 11); Fatouros, Krischer and Portmann 2002 (Orations
17–18, 24, 59); Nesselrath (ed.) 2011 (Oration 30).
Spanish: González Gálvez 2001a (Orations 2–3, 7, 11, 19, 30, 45, 47) and
2001b (Orations 12–18, 24, and the fragments of Oration 60); Melero 2001
(Oration 1).
Italian: Romano 1982 (Oration 30); Criscuolo 1994a (Oration 24);
Criscuolo 1996 (Oration 13); Angiolani 2000 (Oration 18); Certo 2009
(Oration 18); Casella 2010 (Orations 46, 56, 57).

Table 4: Survey of Libanius’ Orations and available translations

Number Title Translations

1 Life, or: On His Norman 1965 and 1992a; Martin &

Own Fortune Petit 1979; Apelt 1922, Wolf 1967;
Melero 2001

2 Against Those Who Norman 1977 and 2000; Martin

Call Him Tiresome 1988; Wolf 1967; González Gálvez
2001a

3 To his Students Norman 2000; Martin 1988,

about his Speech Festugière 1959, 446–52; Wolf
1967; González Gálvez 2001a

4 That I Do Not Martin 1988; Wolf 1967

Speak Foolishly

5 Hymn to Artemis Downey 1961; Martin 1988; Wolf

1967

6 On Insatiability Schouler 1973, Martin 1988

7 That Unjust Wealth Schouler 1973, Martin 1988;

is Worse than González Gálvez 2001a
Poverty

8 That Enriching Schouler 1973, Martin 1988

Oneself Injustly is
Worse than
Poverty

9 For the Calends Martin 1988

10 On the Plēthron Downey 1961; Martin 1988

11 Antiochicus Downey 1959, Norman 2000;

Festugière 1959, 23–37(§§196–
271); Fatouros & Krischer 1992;
González Gálvez 2001a

12 An Address to the Norman 1969; González Gálvez

Emperor Julian as 2001b
Consul

13 Welcome Speech to Norman 1969; González Gálvez

Julian 2001b; Criscuolo 1996

14 To Julian on behalf Norman 1969; González Gálvez

of Aristophanes 2001b

15 Embassy to Julian Norman 1969; González Gálvez

2001b

16 To the Antiochenes Norman 1969; González Gálvez

on the Emperor’s 2001b
Anger

17 Monody on Julian Norman 1969; Fatouros, Krischer

& Portmann 2002; González
Gálvez 2001b

18 Funeral Oration in Norman 1969; Fatouros, Krischer

Honour of Julian & Portmann 2002; González
Gálvez 2001b; Angiolani 2000,
Certo 2009

19 To the Emperor Norman 1977; Génin 1826;

Theodosius on the González Gálvez 2001a
Riot

20 To the Emperor Norman 1977; Génin 1826

Theodosius after
 the Reconciliation

21 To the Master of Norman 1977

the Offices
Caesarius

22 To Ellebichus Norman 1977

23 Against the Norman 1977

Fugitives

24 On Avenging Norman 1969; Fatouros, Krischer

Julian & Portmann 2002; González
Gálvez 2001b; Criscuolo 1994a

25 On Slavery Schouler 1973, Festugière 1959,

442–3 (§§46–51)

26 To Icarius

27 Against Icarius
(First speech)

28 Against Icarius
(Second speech)

29 For Himself
because of his Plea
for Antiochus

30 To the Emperor Norman 1977; Van Loy 1933;

Theodosius for the Nesselrath (ed.) 2011; González
Temples Gálvez 2001a; Romano 1982

31 To the Antiochenes Norman 2000

for the Teachers

32 To Nicocles On
Thrasydaeus
33 To the Emperor Norman 1977
Theodosius against
Tisamenus

34 Against the Norman 2000; Festugière 1959,

Slanders of the 476–83
Pedagogue

35 To Those Who Do Festugière 1959, 484–91

Not Speak

36 On the Magical Norman 2000; Festugière 1959,

Practices 453–8

37 Against Polycles Cribiore 2011, partim

38 Against Silvanus

39 Consolation to
Antiochus

40 To Eumolpius Malosse & Schouler 2009, 190–7

41 To Timocrates

42 For Thalassius Norman 2000

43 On the Agreement Norman 2000; Festugière 1959,

459–66

44 To Eustathius of
Caria

45 To the Emperor on Pack 1935, Norman 1977,

the Prisoners [Kauffmann 2006]; González
Gálvez 2001a

46 Against Florentius Casella 2010

47 On Protection Norman 1977; Meeks and Wilken
Systems 1978; Harmand 1955; González
Gálvez 2001a

48 To the City Council Norman 1977

49 To the Emperor on Norman 1977

the City Councils

50 For the Farmers Norman 1977; [Kauffmann 2006]

on Forced Labour

51 To the Emperor [Kauffmann 2006]

against Those Who
Besiege the
Magistrates

52 To the Emperor [Kauffmann 2006]

against Those Who
Enter the Houses
of Magistrates

53 On the Invitations
to Festivals

54 To Eustathius on
the Offices

55 To Anaxentius Festugière 1959, 434–41 (leaving

out §§16–19)

56 Against Lucian Casella 2010

57 Against Severus Casella 2010

58 To the Young Men Norman 2000; Festugière 1959,

on the Carpeting 467–75
59 Panegyric of Dodgeon 1996; Malosse 2003;
Constans and Fatouros, Krischer & Portmann
Constantius 2002

60 Monody on the Duncombe 1784; Schatkin 1990;

Temple of Apollo González Gálvez 2001b
at Daphne

61 Monody on Duncombe 1784

Nicomedia

62 Against the Critics Norman 2000

of his Educational
System

63 For Olympius

64 To Aristides for the Molloy 1996

Dancers
 E Letters

Of the 1,544 genuine letters, 886 have thus far been translated (fully, or, in a
very limited number of cases, partially) into a modern language. The only
systematic translation, which presents Letters 1–493 in the manuscript order, is
the Spanish translation of González Gálvez 2005. All other translations are
selections which more often than not print the letters in an order that is
different from the manuscript order.
English: Norman 1992a and 1992b (193 letters in chronological order);
Trapp 2003 (1 letter); Bradbury 2004a (183 letters ordered
prosopographically per addressee); Cribiore 2007a (206 letters arranged in
dossiers dedicated to a student). Bradbury and Moncur are currently preparing
a translation of Letters 840–1112, i.e. all the letters dating from 388 to 393.
French: Festugière 1959 (c. 140 letters, some of which are only partially
translated); Cabouret 2000 (98 letters in chronological order); like Bradbury
and Moncur, Cabouret and her team are currently preparing a translation of
Letters 840–1112, i.e. all the letters dating from 388 to 393.
German: Fatouros and Krischer 1980 (84 letters, ordered thematically and
prosopographically)
Spanish: González Gálvez 2005 (systematic translation of Letters 1–493);
translations of the remainder of the corpus are in preparation.
Note: The Spanish translation of letters 1–493 by González Gálvez 2005
does not appear Table 5.

Table 5: Survey of available translations of Libanius’ Letters

Number in Foerster Translation(s)

12 N145

13 B23
15 N1

16 N2, C1

19 N40, C24

20 FK8

21 N34, C22

23 B144, F122

24 R48, F122

25 N36

26 R191, F170

28 N65

32 R17, F109 (§§1, 3)

33 N37

34 N48

35 N38, C25

37 N49, C31, F117 (§5)

40 B82

41 R18, F109 (§§1, 3)

43 R161, F122–3

44 R192, F170–1

45 R193, F171
48 B38

49 N41, C27

59 R194, F171–2

60 R195, F172

61 B39

62 N51

63 R7, F154–5

64 B40

66 N52, FK56

70 N43

72 B41

74 B8

75 B119

76 B171

80 N46, C30

81 N47

82 R15

83 B121

85 C28

86 N44, C29
87 R175

88 N45

89 R162, F123

93 R44

95 B120

96 N50

97 N53

98 B9

99 B83

101 N54

104 R127

107 C13

108 B69

112 N55, C32

114 C33

115 N56

117 R156

119 B132

121 R197, F172–3

123 B150
126 N57

127 N58

128 N59

129 R19

131 R163, F108

135 R137

137 R105

139 R2, F108 (§2)

140 R8, F155 (§§1–3), FK83

142 B123

143 N60

144 R92

145 R135

147 R198, F173

148 R196, F173

149 N61

150 N62, C34

154 B70, C35

155 R31

156 B88
158 B89

159 B90

163 N63, C36

166 B91

170 R203

172 R177, F123–4

175 B92

178 FK84

185 B42

187 R178, F124

190 R199, F173–4 (§§3–4)

192 N66

195 N67

196 N68, C38, FK30

197 N69

199 R176, F124

201 R179, F111 (§1)

205 N70

210 N33

211 R21, F124–5

215 B122

217 N71, C39, F222 (§6), FK41

218 B3, FK42

219 B4

220 B71

224 R108, F144–5

231 R32

233 R20

239 R109, F145–6

241 N42

242 B68

248 R35, F125 (§§1–2)

249 R36, F125

250 R37, F125–6

251 B66

252 B84, C40

253 B78

254 R38, F126

255 B151, FK10

258 B145
259 R165, F126

260 R166, F126 (§§1–2)

261 R70

262 R99

263 N72, FK26

265 B67

270 R154

273 R71

274 FK70

275 N73

277 N74

281 C23

283 N64, C37, FK25

285 R128, F220–1 (§2), FK18

287 R9, F114 (§2)

293 B72, C41

294 R6

298 B99, F146 (§§3–5)

300 R103, F162–3

304 R22
305 R73, R126–7 (§§1–3)

308 N75

310 R104, F163 (§§1–4)

311 R106, F143

315 B115

316 F164–5

317 R171

318 R172

319 R53

324 R97

326 N26

330 B11, C12

331 N35, C17

332 B116, C18

333 B6

336 B131

337 FK19

338 F165–6

339 B62, C19

345 N27, F166

346 R187, F167

347 F222–3 (§2)

348 B63

350 FK35

351 B37

352 B7

354 B117

355 R1, F121–2

358 R102

359 N28, F118 (§§1–2) and 161 (§§3–9)

361 B118

362 B64, C14, FK37

364 N29

365 B5, F161 (§4)

366 B35, F118 (§1) and 162 (§§3–5)

368 C15

369 N30, C16, FK45

370 N31

371 R188, F167–8

373 R189, F169–70

374 B177, C20, FK7

376 R49

377 B12, C21

379 N32, F168–9

380 R190, F169 (§2)

381 B178

382 B34

385 B20

386 B65

388 N39, C26, FK9

390 N3, FK4

391 N4, F427–8 (§§7–17)

393 N5, F430

397 C2

399 B86, FK79

405 N6, F428–30 (§§3–14)

406 R149, FK28

409 N7

413 R150

414 N8
419 R68, F120

423 C3

426 R52

427 N9

428 N10, F107

430 N11

433 B162

434 N12, C4, FK57

435 B25

436 B29

437 R72

438 B55

440 B26

441 N13, F431 (§§1–7)

444 F153

454 N14

456 R14

458 B113

459 B114

462 F153
465 R60, F120

467 R41, F118 (§1)

469 N15, C5

472 R146

473 F116, FK6

474 R147, F116–17 (§§1–4)

475 R148, F115–16 (§§2–4)

476 N16

477 N17

482 B52

493 B24

497 N18

501 N19, FK68

503 B53

506 B54

509 N20, C6

510 B36

512 B56

514 B27

515 N21
529 B28

532 B172

533 B163, R28

534 R151, C7

535 B57

536 F154

539 R152

540 R27

542 R65

544 B1

545 B2

547 R181, F119

549 B58

550 F107 (§1)

552 N22, F107 (§12)

556 B30

557 N23

558 B32, C8

559 B31

560 B87
561 B173, FK23

562 B174

563 B59, C9

569 R186, F167 (§2)

570 R107, F143–4

571 N24

574 B19, C10

578 B60

579 R182, F120–1

580 N25

582 B175, C11

583 B61

584 R69, F121

586 B176

600 R61, F121

601 R62, F114 (§1), 119–20 (§2) and 121 (§3)

604 B33

610 N93

617 B73

620 B13
625 B124

629 B125

630 B10

631 N76, FK24

632 B128, C42

634 R16, F127

636 N77, C43, FK39

645 R39

646 R40

647 N78, C44

650 B152

651 B100

653 B164, R101

656 B106

658 R110, F146–7 (§§3–7)

660 F127–8

661 B153, C45

664 C46

666 B77, R82

667 R117
668 B79

671 F127

679 N79

681 R164, F128

685 F174 (§§4–5)

693 R34

694 N80, C47, FK46

695 B147, F174–5 (§§1–7)

696 N81

697 B129, F232–3

701 N82, C48

704 B179, R112, F149, FK20

710 N83, C49, F231

712 B181, F232

715 B126, R200, F176, FK16

716 N84

719 R201, F176

720 R144

721 R145

722 N85, F431–2, FK17

723 C50

724 B182, C51

725 N86

727 B146, FK12

728 R4, F128

730 F155–6

731 N87, C52, F147–8, FK75

732 B101

734 B155

735 B127, F176–8

736 N88, C53, FK47

737 R74, F129 (§§4–5)

739 B43

740 N89

742 FK3

743 R157

745 R204

754 N90, FK27

757 N91

758 N95
760 N94

762 FK52

763 B130, C54

766 R63, F129

767 R3

768 R168, F129

770 N92, F233 (§§1–3)

777 R111, F148

779 B107

781 R85

782 R86

785 N96

790 R169, F129

791 B108

792 B180

793 B85, FK58

794 R10, F156

796 B156

797 N97, C55, FK49

799 B133
800 B134

801 B21

802 N98, C56

804 B74

805 F149–50

806 R23

810 N99

811 N100, C57

812 R113

815 N101, F178

818 N102

819 N103, FK51

820 R29

826 B158

831 R184

832 R185

833 R11, F156–7

834 R12, F157

835 R120

837 R54
838 B94, F96–7 (§§5–9)

840 N146, C79

843 N147

846 N148, C80, FK34

852 N149, C81, FK36

857 R50

858 R51

866 N150

867 N151

868 N152

871 C82

875 R140

876 R141

884 R78

885 R79

886 R80

887 R81

892 R90

894 R93, F134–5

895 R125
898 C83, FK31

901 N153

904 N154

905 N155

906 N156

907 N157, C84

908 N158

909 N159

910 R64

911 R43

914 N160, C85

922 N161

923 N162

925 N163

926 N164, C86

938 N165

947 N166, C87, FK69

951 N167, C88

957 N168

959 N169, C89, FK13

960 N170

962 FK1

964 N171

972 N172, C90, FK71

978 R89

990 N173

994 N174, C91

996 R159

998 R180

1001 N175

1002 N176

1003 R142

1004 N177, C92, FK63

1005 F114, F136

1009 R160

1011 R129, F136

1012 R130, F136–7

1013 R131, F137

1014 R132, F137–8

1020 R133
1021 N178

1023 N179, C93

1024 N180

1034 R134

1036 N181, C94, FK67

1038 R124

1042 FK81

1048 N182, C95, FK73

1050 N183

1051 N184, F119 (§§3–5)

1052 FK77

1053 N185

1057 N186

1058 N187, FK14

1060 FK72

1061 FK76

1063 N188, C96, FK62

1064 N189

1066 N190

1071 R136
1075 N191, FK15

1082 F138 (§2)

1090 R94, F138 (§1)

1093 N192, F138

1095 R126

1098 R206, F138–9

1101 R143

1102 R122

1105 R83

1106 N193, C97, FK66

1110 C98

1113 B47

1114 B48

1116 R114

1119 N122

1120 N113

1124 B137

1128 N123

1130 R121

1131 B165
1135 B138

1141 R42, F119

1148 B49

1154 N124, FK54

1155 B143

1156 B18

1164 R47, F111

1165 B160, R5, F131

1168 R55

1169 R56, F114 (§4), FK38

1170 B139, R25

1171 B166, R26

1173 B50

1174 B102, F131 (§5)

1180 N125, C69, FK43

1182 FK44

1183 B142

1184 N126, FK29

1185 N127

1186 N128, C70, 243

1187 N129, C71

1188 B80, R183, F111–12 (§§3–4)

1189 C73, FK32

1196 B161

1198 R153

1203 B167

1208 B140, R45

1210 N130

1217 B141

1218 B136

1220 N120, C68, FK53

1221 N121, FK78

1222 B103, R139, F131–2 (§§1–3)

1223 B104

1224 B168, C72, FK64

1230 B112

1233 B169

1237 R58

1238 R57

1240 R75, F158–9

1241 R76, F159 (§1)

1242 R77

1245 R205

1250 R167, F132

1251 N131

1253 N132, C74

1259 B51

1260 F117–18 (§4)

1261 R119, F132–3 (§§1–6)

1264 N133, C75

1265 N134

1266 B81

1267 F159 (§4)

1268 R116, F152–3 (§1)

1273 R46

1287 N135

1293 R33

1296 R118

1298 N136

1300 N137
1301 N138 (§§1–2)

1307 FK21

1309 R173, F133 (§1)

1330 N139, F112

1335 R123

1336 B170

1338 B183

1342 B148

1345 R170, F129–30

1350 B109

1351 N104

1352 B157, F107 (§§1–2)

1353 B149

1354 B110

1357 B95

1359 F150

1360 B96

1364 N105

1365 N106

1367 B75, C58, FK48

1368 B76

1371 R87

1375 F115 (§§5–6)

1376 N107

1379 C59

1380 B15

1381 B111

1391 R88

1392 B97, C60

1394 R158

1395 R98, F130

1399 B44, FK40

1400 N108, C61

1402 N109, C62

1403 R95, F130–1

1404 B14

1406 N110

1408 R30, FK82

1409 B17, FK80

1410 B16
1411 B98, FK50

1416 R84, F233

1419 F150 (§§2–3)

1420 F151

1422 B135

1424 N111, C63

1425 B154

1426 N112

1428 FK65

1429 C64

1430 N116, C65, FK60

1431 N114, C66, FK55

1434 N115

1441 N117, F151–2

1443 B45, F152 (§§3–7)

1444 R13, F158

1446 N118, C67

1449 B46

1454 R115, F142–3 (§§2–4)

1458 B159, FK2

1459 N119

1460 B93

1464 R174

1466 B22

1467 C76

1470 R59

1471 R91, F134

1473 N140

1475 R100

1477 N141, FK59

1480 FK22

1500 R66, F134

1501 R67

1508 N142, Trapp 47, C77, F221–2 (§§3–5)

1511 R138

1514 B105, FK33

1517 C78

1518 FK5

1534 N143, FK11

1538 R202
 1539 R96

1541 R24

1543 N144, FK74

1544 R155 (§§1–6)

Legend: N=Norman 1992a and 1992b; B=Bradbury 2004a; R=Cribiore

2007a; C=Cabouret 2000; F=Festugière 1959; FK=Fatouros and Krischer
1980
 References

Adler A. (1928–1938) Suidae Lexicon. Five volumes. Leipzig.

Alcoff L. M. (2006) Visible Identities: Race, Gender and the Self. Oxford.
Amande C. (1993–1994) ‘Tradizione e attualità nella figura del tiranno nelle
orazioni di Libanio’, Rendiconti della Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere, e
Belle Arti, Società Nazionale di Scienze, Lettere, ed Arti 64: 535–67.
Amato E. (2006) ‘L’autore dell’ εὐνοῦχος ἐρῶν (Ps.-Lib., ethop. 26 Foerster)
ed il più antico frammento in prosa di etopea d’autore’, in E. Amato (ed.):
363–75.
Amato E. (ed.) (2006) Approches de la Troisième Sophistique: Hommages à
Jacques Schamp. Brussels.
Amato E. (2009a) Severus Sophista Alexandrinus Progymnasmata quae exstant
omnia. Berlin and New York.
Amato E. (2009b) ‘Epilogue: The Fortune and Reception of Choricius and of
his Works’, in R. Penella (ed.): 261–302.
Amato E. and Schamp J. (eds.) (2005) Ethopoiia: La représentation de
caractères entre fiction scolaire et réalité vivante à l’époque impériale et
tardive (Cardo 3). Salerno.
Amato E. and Ventrella G. (2005) ‘L’éthopée dans la pratique scolaire et
littéraire’, in E. Amato and J. Schamp (eds.): 213–31.
Amato E. and Ventrella G. (2009) I Progimnasmi di Severo di Alessandria
(Severo di Antiochia?). Berlin and New York.
Angiolani S. (2000) Epitafio per Giuliano: Orazione 18. Naples.
Apelt O. (1922) Libanios: Die Apologie des Sokrates. Leipzig.
Austin J. L. (1962) How to Do Things With Words. Oxford.
Bánhegyi G. (1943) Kinnamos: Ethopoiiája. Budapest.
Barnes T. D. (1984) ‘Constantine’s Prohibition of Pagan Sacrifice’, American
Journal of Philology 105: 69–72.
Barnes T. D. (1995) ‘Statistics and the Conversion of the Roman Aristocracy’,
Journal of Roman Studies 85: 135–47.
Barnes T. D. (2010) Constantine: Dynasty, Religion and Power in the Later
Roman Empire. Oxford.
Barthes R. (1966) ‘Introduction à l’analyse structurale des récits’,
Communications 8: 1–27.
Baur C. (1929/1930) Johannes Chrysostomus und seine Zeit. Two Volumes.
Munich.
Beard M. (1993) ‘Looking (Harder) for Roman Myth: Dumézil, Declamation
and the Problems of Definition’, in F. Graf (ed.) Mythos in mythenloser
Gesellschaft: Das Paradigma Roms, (Colloquium Rauricum 3). Stuttgart and
Leipzig: 44–64.
Beard M. (2002) ‘Ciceronian Correspondences: Making a Book out of
Letters’, in T. P. Wiseman (ed.) Classics in Progress. Oxford: 103–44.
Becker M. (ed.) (2013) Eunapios aus Sardes, Biographien über Philosophen
und Sophisten: Einleitung, Übersetzung, Kommentar. Stuttgart.
Behr C. A. (1981) P. Aelius Aristides: The Complete Works. Volume II: Orations
XVII–LIII. Leiden.
Behr C. A. (1986) P. Aelius Aristides: The Complete Works. Volume I: Orations
I–XVI. Leiden.
Behrends O. (2011) ‘Libanios’ Rede Pro Templis in rechtshistorischer Sicht’, in
H.-G. Nesselrath (ed.): 95–126.
Bekker I. (1836) Michael Glycas: Annales. Bonn.
Bekker I. (1838) Symeon Logothetes: Chronographia. Bonn.
Bekker I. (1838–1839) Georgius Cedrenus: Compendium Historiarum. Bonn.
Bekker-Nielsen T. (2008) Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia.
Aarhus.
Belayche N. (2005) ‘Realia versus leges? Les sacrifices de la religion d’état au
IVe siècle’, in S. Georgoudi, R. Koch Piettre, R. and F. Schmidt (eds.) La
cuisine et l’autel: Les sacrifices en question dans les sociétés Méditerranée
ancienne. Turnhout: 343–70.
Benedetti-Martig I. (1981) ‘Giuliano in Antiochia nell’orazione funebre per
Giuliano di Libanio’, Atheneum 59: 166–79.
Benedetti-Martig I. (1990) Studi sulla guerra persiana nell’Orazione funebre
per Giuliano di Libanio. Florence.
Béranger J. (1953) Recherches sur l’aspect idéologique du principat
(Schweizerische Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft 6). Basel.
Bernard J.-E. (2013) La sociabilité épistolaire chez Cicéron. Paris.
Berry D. H. and Heath M. (1997) ‘Oratory and Declamation’, in S. Porter (ed.)
Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period. 330 BC – AD 400.
Leiden: 393–420.
Bidez J. (1924) L’Empereur Julien: Oeuvres complètes. Tome I, deuxième
partie: Lettres et Fragments (Collection des Universités de France). Paris.
Bidez J. (1930) L’empereur Julien. Paris.
Bidez J. and Cumont F. (1922) Imperatoris Caesaris Flavii Claudii Iuliani
Epistulae Leges Poematia Fragmenta Varia. Paris.
Bielski J. (1914) De aetatis Demosthenicae studiis Libanianis. Breslau.
Bleckmann B. (2008) ‘Constantius Gallus’, Jahrbuch für Antike und
Christentum 54: 231–7.
Bliembach E. (1976) Libanius oratio. 18 (Epitaphios): Kommentar (par. 111–
308). Würzburg.
Blockley R. C. (1981 and 1983) The Fragmentary Classicizing Historians of
the Later Roman Empire. Two volumes. Liverpool.
Bloomer W. M. (1997) ‘Schooling in Persona: Imagination and Subordination
in Roman Education’, Classical Antiquity 16: 57–78.
Bonamente G. (2011) ‘Einziehung und Nutzung von Tempelgut durch Staat und
Stadt in der Spätantike’ in J. Hahn (ed.) (2011): 55–92.
Bonner C. (1932) ‘Witchcraft in the Lecture Room of Libanius’, Transactions
of the American Philological Association 63: 34–44.
Bonner S. F. (1949) Roman Declamation in the Late Republic and Early
Empire. Liverpool.
Bouchery H. F. (1936) Themistius in Libanius’ brieven: Critische uitgave van
52 Brieven, voorzien van een historisch commentaar en tekstverklarende
nota’s met een voorrede van Joseph Bidez. Antwerp and Paris.
Boulanger A. (1923) Aelius Aristide et la sophistique dans la province d’Asie
au IIe siècle de notre ère. Paris.
Bowersock G. W. (1978) Julian the Apostate. Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Bowersock G. W. (1990) Hellenism in Late Antiquity. Ann Arbor.
Bowie E. L. (1970) ‘Greeks and their Past in the Second Sophistic’, Past &
Present 46: 3–41.
Bradbury S. (1994) ‘Constantine and the Problem of Anti-Pagan Legislation in
the Fourth Century’, Classical Philology 89: 120–39.
Bradbury S. (2000) ‘A Sophistic Prefect. Anatolius of Berytus in the Letters of
Libanius’, Classical Philology 95: 172–86.
Bradbury S. (2004a) Selected Letters of Libanius from the Age of Constantius
and Julian. Liverpool.
Bradbury S. (2004b) ‘Libanius’ Letters as Evidence for Travel and Epistolary
Networks among Greek Elites in the Fourth Century’, in L. Ellis and F.
Kidner (eds.) Travel, Communication and Geography in Late Antiquity:
Sacred and Profane. Aldershot: 73–80.
Bradbury S. (2006) ‘Reflections on Friendship in Libanius’ Letters’, in Á.
González Gálvez and P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 243–61.
Brandt H. (2006) Konstantin der Große: Der erste christliche Kaiser. Munich.
Breen Q. (1964) ‘Francesco Zambeccari: His Translations and Fabricated
Translations of Libanian Letters’, Studies in the Renaissance 11: 46–75.
Brennecke H. C. (1988) Studien zur Geschichte der Homöer: Der Osten bis zum
Ende der homöischen Reichskirche (Beiträge zur historischen Theologie 73).
 Tübingen.
Brescia G. and Lentano M. (2009) Le ragioni del sangue: Storie di incesto e
fratricidio nella declamazione latina (Studi latini 71). Naples.
Bringmann K. (2004) Kaiser Julian. Darmstadt.
Brown P. (1972) ‘Sorcery, Demons and the Rise of Christianity: From Late
Antiquity to the Middle Ages’, in P. Brown (ed.) Religion and Society in the
Age of Saint Augustine. London: 119–46.
Brown P. (1992) Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian
Roman Empire. Madison.
Brown P. and Lizzi Testa R. T. (eds.) (2011) Pagans and Christians in the
Roman Empire: The breaking of a dialogue (IVth-VIth century AD). Berlin.
Bruggisser P. (1990) ‘Libanios, Symmaque et son père Avianius: Culture
littéraire dans les cercles paiens tardifs’, Ancient Society 21: 17–31.
Brugisser P. (1993) Symmaque ou le rituel de l’amitié épistolaire: Recherches
sur le premier livre de la correspondance. Fribourg.
Brzoska J. (1884) ‘Aphthonius (1)’, RE 1: 2797–800.
Butts J. R. (1986) The Progymnasmata of Theon: A New Text with Translation
and Commentary. Diss. Claremont.
Cabouret B. (2000) Libanios: Lettres aux hommes de son temps (Collection La
roue à livres). Paris.
Cabouret B. (2001) ‘Correspondance et société dans l’empire romain tardif:
Libanios au service de ses proches’, in A.-M. Sohn (ed.) La correspondance,
un document pour l’histoire (Cahiers du GRHIS 12). Rouen: 15–27.
Cabouret B. (2002) ‘Le gouverneur au temps de Libanios: Image et réalité’,
Pallas 60: 191–204.
Cabouret B. (2004) ‘Pouvoir municipal, pouvoir impérial au IVe siècle’, in B.
Cabouret, P.-L. Gatier and C. Saliou (eds.): 117–42.
Cabouret B. (2009) ‘La correspondance fait-elle peur au pouvoir? Réflexions
sur la transmission de la correspondance de Libanios’, in R. Delmaire, J.
Desmulliez and P.-L. Gatier (eds.): 259–79.
Cabouret B. (2010) ‘Art, technique et fonctions de la lettre de recommandation
chez Libanios’, in J. Desmulliez, C. Hoët-van Cauwenberghe and J.-C.
Jolivet (eds.) L’Étude des correspondances dans le monde romain de
l’Antiquité classique à l’Antiquité tardive: Permanences et mutations. Actes
du colloque de Lille, 20-21-22 novembre 2008. Lille: 191–208.
Cabouret B. (2011) ‘Variations sur une recommandation’, in O. Lagacherie and
P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 121–32.
Cabouret B. (2013) ‘L’art épistolaire de Libanios au service de ses élèves’,
Kairos.
Cabouret B. (ed.) (2014) La société de l’Empire romain d’Orient tardif, du IVe
au VIe siècle (Antiquité Synthèse). Paris.
Cabouret B., Gatier P.-L. and Saliou C. (eds.) (2004) Antioche de Syrie:
Histoire, images et traces de la ville antique. Actes du colloque de Lyon
(octobre 2001) (Topoi. Orient-Occident, Supplement 5). Lyon.
Calboli Montefusco L. (1986) La dottrina degli status nella retorica greca e
romana. Hildesheim.
Calder W. M., Huss B., Mastrangelo M., Smith R. S. and Trzaskoma S. M.
(2002) The Unknown Socrates: Translations, with Introductions and Notes,
of Four Important Documents in the Late Antique Reception of Socrates the
Athenian. Wauconda, Illinois.
Callu J.-P. (1987) ‘Un Miroir des princes: Le Basilikos libanien de 348’,
Gerion 5: 133–52.
Cameron Alan (1965) ‘Wandering Poets: A Literary Movement in Byzantine
Egypt’, Historia 14: 470–509.
Cameron Alan (2004) ‘Poetry and Literary Culture in Late Antiquity’, in S.
Swain and M. Edwards (eds.): 327–54.
Cameron Alan (2011) The Last Pagans of Rome. Oxford.
Cameron Averil (1998) ‘Education and Literary Culture’, in Averil Cameron
and P. Garnsey (eds.): 665–707.
Cameron Averil and Garnsey P. (eds.) (1998) The Cambridge Ancient History.
Volume Thirteen: The Late Empire, AD 337–425. Cambridge.
Carrié J.-M. (1976) ‘Patronage et propriété militaires au IVe siècle: Objet
rhétorique et objet réel du discours sur les patronages de Libanios’, Bulletin
de Correspondance Hellénique 100: 159–76.
Casella M. (2010) Storie di ordinaria corruzione: Libanio, orazioni LVI, LVII,
XLVI. Messina.
Casevitz M., Lagacherie O. and Saliou C. (forthcoming) Libanios: Discours.
Tome III: Discours XI (Collection des Universités de France). Paris.
Certo M. (2009) Libanio, L’Epitaffio per Giuliano: Una stele di gloria per un
eroe. Trento.
Chantraine H. (1992) ‘Konstantinopel – vom zweiten Rom zum neuen Rom’,
Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 43: 3–15.
Civiletti M. (2007) Eunapio di Sardi, Vite di filosofi e sofisti: Introduzione,
traduzione, note e apparati. Milan.
Cohn D. (1990) ‘Signposts of Fictionality: A Narratological Perspective’,
Poetics Today 11: 775–801.
Colonna A. (1951) Himerii Declamationes et Orationes cum deperditarum
fragmentis. Rome.
Combefis Fr. (1644) SS. PP. Amphilochii Iconiensis, Methodii Patarensis, et
Andreæ Cretensis opera omnia quae reperiri potuerunt. Paris.
Connolly J. (1998) ‘Mastering Corruption: Constructions of Identity in Roman
Oratory’, in S. R. Joshel and S. Murnaghan (eds.) Women and Slaves in
Greco-Roman Culture: Differential Equations. London and New York: 130–
51.
Cooper K. (1992) ‘Insinuations of Womanly Influence: An Aspect of the
Christianisation of the Roman Aristocracy’, Journal of Roman Studies 82:
150–64.
Corbeill A. (2007) ‘Rhetorical Education and Social Reproduction in the
Republic and Early Empire’, in W. Dominik and J. Hall (eds.) A Companion
to Roman Rhetoric. Malden, Massachusetts: 69–82.
Coskun A. (2002) Die gens Ausoniana an der Macht: Untersuchungen zu
Decimius Magnus Ausonius und seiner Familie (Prosopographica et
genealogica 8). Oxford.
Courcelle P. (1957) ‘Antécédents autobiographiques des Confessions de Saint
Augustin’, Revue de Philologie, de Littérature et d’Histoire Anciennes 31:
23–51.
Courtonne Y. (1957–1966) Saint Basile: Lettres. Three Volumes. Paris.
Cramer J. A. (1841) Anecdota Graeca e codicibus manuscriptis Bibliothecae
regiae Parisiensis. Volumen IV: Appendix ad excerpta poetica: Codex 352
suppl. Oxford (= Hildesheim, 1967): 265–352.
Cribiore R. (2001) Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and
Roman Egypt. Princeton.
Cribiore R. (2007a) The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch. Princeton.
Cribiore R. (2007b) ‘Spaces for Teaching in Late Antiquity’, in T. Derda, T.
Markiewicz, E. Wipszycka (eds.) Alexandria: Auditoria of Kom el-Dikka and
Late Antique Education (Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement 8).
Warsaw: 143–50.
Cribiore R. (2007c) ‘Lucian, Libanius, and the Short Road to Rhetoric’, Greek,
Roman and Byzantine Studies 47: 71–86.
Cribiore R. (2008) ‘Vying with Aristides in the Fourth Century: Libanius and
His Friends,’ in W. Harris and B. Holmes (eds.) Aelius Aristides Between
Greece, Rome and the Gods. Leiden: 263–78.
Cribiore R. (2009) ‘The Value of a Good Education: Libanius and Public
Authority’, in P. Rousseau (ed.): 233–45.
Cribiore R. (2011) ‘Defending Julian: Libanius and Oration 37’, in O.
Lagacherie and P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 167–76.
Cribiore R. (2013) Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality and Religion in the
Fourth Century. Ithaca, New York.
Criscuolo U. (1982) ‘Libanio e Giuliano’, Vichiana 11: 70–87.
Criscuolo U. (1990) ‘La difesa dell’ellenismo dopo Giuliano: Libanio e
Teodosio’, Koinonia 14: 5–28.
Criscuolo U. (1993) ‘Libanio, i latini e l’impero: Politica, cultura e religione
nell’impero romano (secoli IV-VI) tra oriente e occidente’, in F. Conca (ed.)
Politica, cultural e religione nell’impero romano (secolo IV-VI) tra oriente e
 occidente. Atti del secondo convegno dell’associazione di studi tardoantichi.
Naples: 153–69.
Criscuolo U. (1994a) Libanio, Sulla vendetta di Giuliano: Testo, introduzione,
traduzione, commentario e appendice. Naples.
Criscuolo U. (1994b) ‘L’Orazione 13 Förster di Libanio per Giuliano’,
Koinonia 18: 117–40.
Criscuolo U. (1996) Libanio, Allocuzione a Giuliano per l’arrivo in
Antiochia: Testo, introduzione, traduzione e commentario. Naples.
Criscuolo U. (1998) ‘Giuliano nell’Epitafio di Libanio’, in A. Filippo and R.
Guido (eds.) Giuliano Imperatore: Le sue idee, i suoi amici, i suoi avversari.
Atti del Convegno, Lecce 1998 (Rudiae 10). Lecce: 267–91.
Crosby M. and Calder W. M. (1960) ‘Libanius, On the Silence of Socrates: A
First Translation and an Interpretation’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies
3: 185–202.
Dagron G. (1968) L’empire romain d’Orient au IV siècle et les traditions
politiques de l’hellénisme: Le témoignage de Thémistius (Travaux et
mémoires 3). Paris.
Dagron G. (1974) Naissance d’une capitale: Constantinople et ses institutions
de 330 à 451. Paris.
Dareggi G. (1983–1984) ‘A proposito dell’ urbanistica della “città nuova” di
Antiochia di Siria nella testimonianza di Libanio (Or. XI)’, Annali della
Facoltà di Lettere e Filosofia 21: 133–42.
De Boor C. (1883–85) Theophanis Chronographia. Two volumes. Leipzig.
De Boor C. and Wirth P. (1904–78) Georgius Monachus: Chronicon. Leipzig
and Stuttgart.
Delmaire R. (1989) Largesses sacrées et res privata: L’aerarium impérial et
son administration du IVe au Vie siècle (Collection de l’Ecole française de
Rome 121). Rome.
Delmaire R. (2004) ‘La législation sur les sacrifices au IVe siècle’, Revue
historique du droit français et étranger 82: 319–32.
Delmaire R. (2005) Les lois religieuses des empereurs romains de Constantin à
 Théodose II (312–438). Tome I (Sources chrétiennes 497). Paris.
Delmaire R, Desmulliez J. and Gatier P.-L. (eds.) (2009) Correspondances:
Documents pour l’histoire de l’Antiquité tardive. Actes du XXVIe colloque
international, Lille, 20–22 novembre 2003 (Publications de la Maison de
l’Orient et de la Méditerranée). Lyon.
De Salvo L. (1996) ‘Giudici e giustizia ad Antiochia: La testimonianza di
Libanio’, in G. Crifo and S. Giglio (eds.) Atti dell’Academia romanistica
costantiniana in onore di F.B.J. Wubbe. Naples: 485–507.
De Salvo L. (2001) ‘Libanio e i tiranni: A proposito di Libanio, Orazione
57.51 ss.’, Mediterraneo Antico 4: 631–54.
Dindorf W. (1829) Aristides: Opera. Three volumes. Leipzig (= Hildesheim,
1964).
Dodgeon M. H. (1996) ‘Libanius: Oratio LIX’, in S. Lieu and D. Montserrat
(eds.) From Constantine to Julian: Pagan and Byzantine Views. London:
164–209.
Downey G. (1957) ‘Nikolaos Mesarites, Description of the Church of the Holy
Apostles at Constantinople. Greek Text edited with Translation,
Commentary, and Introduction’, Transactions of the American Philosophical
Society 47: 855–922.
Downey G. (1959) ‘Libanius’ Oration in Praise of Antioch’, Proceedings of the
American Philosophical Society 103: 652–86.
Downey G. (1961) A History of Antioch in Syria: From Seleucus to the Arab
Conquest. Princeton.
Downie J. (2008) ‘Professing Illness: Healing Narrative and Rhetorical Self-
Presentation in Aelius Aristides’ Hieroi logoi’. Diss. Chicago.
Drake H. A. (1976) In Praise of Constantine: A Historical Study and New
Translation of Eusebius’ Tricennial Orations. Berkeley.
Duff T. (1999) Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice. Oxford.
Dugan J. (2007) ‘Modern Critical Approaches to Roman Rhetoric’, in W.
Dominik and J. Hall (eds.) A Companion to Roman Rhetoric. Malden,
Massachusetts: 9–22.
Duncombe J. (1784) Select Works of the Emperor Julian and Some Pieces of the
Sophist Libanius. Volume II. London.
Eakin P. J. (1985) Fictions in Autobiography: Studies in the Art of Self-
Invention. Princeton.
Ellis L. and Kidner F. L. (2004) (eds.) Travel, Communication and Geography
in Late Antiquity. Burlington.
Elm S. (2012) Sons of Hellenism, Fathers of the Church: Emperor Julian,
Gregory of Nazianzus, and the Vision of Rome (Transformations of the
Classical Heritage 49). Berkeley.
Ernesti J. (1998) Princeps christianus und Kaiser aller Römer: Theodosius der
Große im Spiegel zeitgenössischer Quellen (Paderborner Theologische
Studien 25). Paderborn.
Errington R. M. (1997) ‘Church and State in the First Years of Theodosius the
Great’, Chiron 27: 21–72.
Errington R. M. (2006) Roman Imperial Policy from Julian to Theodosius.
Chapel Hill.
Fatouros G. (1996) ‘Julian und Christus: Gegenapologetik bei Libanios?’,
Historia 45: 114–22.
Fatouros G. and Krischer T. (1980) Libanios: Briefe. Munich.
Fatouros G. and Krischer T. (eds.) (1983) Libanios. Darmstadt.
Fatouros G. and Krischer T. (1992) Antiochikos: Zur heidnischen Renaissance
in der Spätantike. Vienna.
Fatouros G., Krischer T. and Najock D. (1987a) Concordantiae in Libanium.
Pars Prima: Epistulae. Volumen Primum: A-K. Hildesheim, Zürich and New
York.
Fatouros G., Krischer T. and Najock D. (1987b) Concordantiae in Libanium.
Pars Prima: Epistulae. Volumen Alterum: Λ-Ω. Hildesheim, Zürich and New
York.
Fatouros G., Krischer T. and Najock D. (1989a) Concordantiae in Libanium.
Pars Altera: Orationes. Volumen Primum: A-Δ. Hildesheim, Zürich and New
York.
Fatouros G., Krischer T. and Najock D. (1989b) Concordantiae in Libanium.
Pars Altera: Orationes. Volumen Alterum: Ε-Ο. Hildesheim, Zürich and New
York.
Fatouros G., Krischer T. and Najock D. (1989c) Concordantiae in Libanium.
Pars Altera: Orationes. Volumen Tertium: Π-Ω. Hildesheim, Zürich and New
York.
Fatouros G., Krischer T. and Portmann W. (2002) Libanios: Kaiserreden (Orr.
59, 17, 18 and 24). Stuttgart.
Feldherr C A. (ed.) (2009) The Cambridge Companion to the Roman
Historians. Cambridge.
Feldherr C A. (ed.) (2011) The Oxford History of Historical Writing. Oxford.
Felgentreu F. (2004) ‘Zur Datierung der 18. Rede des Libanios’, Klio 86: 206–
217.
Felgentreu F. (2007) ‘Aufbau und Erzähltechnik im Epitaphios auf Kaiser
Julian: Zur Kompositionskunst des Libanios’, in M. Grünbart (ed.): 53–68.
Felten J. (1913) Nicolai Progymnasmata. Leipzig.
Festugière A. J. (1959) Antioche païenne et chrétienne: Libanius, Chrysostome
et les moines de Syrie (Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de
Rome 194). Paris.
Fillmore C. J. (1985) ‘Frames and the Semantics of Understanding’, Quaderni
di Semantica 6: 222–54.
Fitzgerald W. (1981) ‘Notes on the Iconography of Saint Basil the Great’, in
P. J. Fedwick (ed.) Basil of Caesarea: Christian, Humanist, Ascetic. A
Sixteen-Hundredth Anniversary Symposium. Toronto: 533–63.
Foerster R. (1876a) ‘Zur Schriftstellerei des Libanios I’, Neue Jahrbücher für
Philologie und Paedagogik – Jahrbücher für Classische Philologie 113:
209–25.
Foerster R. (1876b) ‘Zur Schriftstellerei des Libanios II’, Neue Jahrbücher für
Philologie und Paedagogik – Jahrbücher für Classische Philologie 113:
491–504.
Foerster R. (1877) ‘Libaniana’, Rheinisches Museum 32: 86–96.
Foerster R. (1878) Francesco Zambeccari und die Briefe des Libanios: Ein
Betrag zur Kritik des Libanios und zur Geschichte der Philologie. Stuttgart.
Foerster R. (ed.)(1897) Johann Jakob Reiske’s Briefe. Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1903a) Libanii Opera. Volumen I, Fasciculum I: Orationes I–V
(Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1903b) Libanii Opera. Volumen I, Fasciculum II: Orationes VI–XI
(Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1904) Libanii Opera. Volumen II: Orationes XII–XXV (Bibliotheca
Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1905) ‘Kaiser Julian in der Dichtung alter und neuer Zeit’, in M.
Koch (ed.) Studien zur Vergleichenden Literaturgeschichte. Fünfter Band.
Berlin: 1–120.
Foerster R. (1906) Libanii Opera. Volumen III: Orationes XXVI–L (Bibliotheca
Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1908) Libanii Opera. Volumen IV: Orationes LI–LXIV (Bibliotheca
Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1909) Libanii Opera. Volumen V: Declamationes I–XII
(Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1911) Libanii Opera. Volumen VI: Declamationes XIII–XXX.
Accedit Gregorii Cyprii Adversus Corinthiorum Declamationem Libanianam
Antilogia (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana).
Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1913) Libanii Opera. Volumen VII: Declamationes XXXI–LI.
Accedit Gregorii Cyprii Adversus Avari Declamationem Libanianam
Antilogia (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana).
Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1915) Libanii Opera. Volumen VIII: Progymnasmata. Argumenta
Orationum Demosthenicarum (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et
Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1921) Libanii Opera. Volumen X: Epistulae 1–839 (Bibliotheca
Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. (1922) Libanii Opera. Volumen XI: Epistulae 840–1544 una cum
pseudepigraphicis et Basilii cum Libanio commercio epistolico. Fragmenta
(Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. and Münscher K. (1925) ‘Libanios’, in RE 12.2: 2485–551.
Foerster R. and Richtsteig E. (1923) Libanii Opera. Volumen XII: Index
nominum propriorum (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum
Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. and Richtsteig E. (1927) Libanii Opera. Volumen IX: Libanii qui
feruntur Characteres Epistolici. Prolegomena ad Epistulas (Bibliotheca
Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Foerster R. and Richtsteig E. (1929) Choricii Gazaei Opera (Bibliotheca
Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana). Leipzig.
Fowden G. (1978) ‘Bishops and Temples in the Eastern Roman Empire AD
320–435’, Journal of Theological Studies 29: 53–78.
Fowden G. (1982) ‘The Pagan Holy Man in Late Antique Society’, Journal of
Hellenic Studies 102: 33–59.
French D. (1998) ‘Rhetoric and the Rebellion of AD 387 in Antioch’, Historia
47: 468–84.
García Soler M. J. (1990) ‘Reflejos de la comedia Ática en la Declamación
XXVI de Libanio’, Veleia 7: 265–91.
García Soler M. J. (1991–1992) ‘El tipo cómico del ΔΥΣΚΟΛΟΣ en la
Declamación XXVII de Libanio’, Veleia 8–9: 379–95.
Garnsey P. (2010) ‘Roman Patronage’, in S. McGill, C. Sogno and E. Watts
(eds.) From the Tetrarchs to the Theodosians: Essays on Later Roman History
and Culture, 284–450 CE (Yale Classical Studies 34). New York: 33–54.
Gatier P-L. (1982) ‘Un témoignage de Libanios sur Bostra’, Journal des
savants 2: 163–7.
Geffcken J. (1920) Der Ausgang des griechisch-romischen Heidentums.
Heidelberg.
Gemeinhardt P. (2007) Das lateinische Christentum und die antike pagane
Bildung (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 41). Tübingen.
Genette G. (1972) Figures, III. Paris.
Génin F.-L. (1826) Discours de Flavien et de Libanius à l’Empereur Théodose
en faveur de la ville d’Antioche. Paris.
Gerth K. (1956) ‘Severos von Alexandreia’, RE Supplement 8: 715–18.
Giangrande G. (1953–1954) ‘On the recensio Lacapeniana of Eunapius’ Vitae
Sophistarum’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 36: 386–94.
Giangrande G. (1956) Eunapii Vitae Sophistarum. Rome.
Gibbon E. (1781) The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
Volume IV. London (= Womersley D. (ed.) (1994) Gibbon: The History of the
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Volume I. New York).
Gibson C. A. (1999) ‘The Agenda of Libanius’ Hypotheses to Demosthenes’,
Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 40: 171–202.
Gibson C. A. (2003) ‘Libanius’ Hypotheses to the Orations of Demosthenes’, at
www.stoa.org/projects/demos/article_libanius?page=1 <accessed
06/07/2013>.
Gibson C. A. (2008) Libanius’s Progymnasmata: Model Exercises in Greek
Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Writings from the Greco-Roman World
27). Atlanta.
Gibson C. A. (2009a) ‘The Alexandrian Tychaion and the date of Ps.-Nicolaus
Progymnasmata’, Classical Quarterly 59: 608–23.
Gibson C. A. (2009b) ‘Two Technical Terms in Greek Progymnasmata
Treatises’, Rheinisches Museum 152: 141–9.
Gibson C. A. (2011) ‘Portraits of Paideia in Libanius’ Progymnasmata’, in O.
Lagacherie and P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 69–78.
Gibson C. A. (2013) ‘Doctors in Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetorical
Education’, Journal for the History of Medicine 68: 529–50.
Gibson C. A. (2014) ‘Better Living through Prose Composition? Moral and
Compositional Pedagogy in Ancient Greek and Roman Progymnasmata’,
Rhetorica 32: 1–30.
Gibson R. (2012) ‘On the Nature of Ancient Letter Collections’, Journal of
Roman Studies 102: 56–78.
Girardet K. M. (2010) Der Kaiser und sein Gott: Das Christentum im Denken
und in der Religionspolitik Konstantins des Großen (Millennium-Studien 27).
Berlin and New York.
Gleason M. (1986) ‘Festive Satire: Julian’s Misopogon and the New Year at
Antioch’, Journal of Roman Studies 76: 106–19.
Goffman E. (1959) The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Garden City,
New York.
González Gálvez Á. (1999) ‘Paganos en Antioquía bajo el emperador
Teodosio: El discurso II de Libanio’, in J. González (ed.) El Mundo
Mediterráneo (siglos III–VII). Madrid: 75–80.
González Gálvez A. (2001a) Libanio: Discursos, II (Or. 2, 3, 7, 11, 19, 30, 45,
47). Madrid.
González Gálvez A. (2001b) Libanio: Discursos, III (Or. 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,
18, 24, 60). Madrid.
González Gálvez A. (2005) Libanio: Cartas. Libros I–V. Madrid.
González Gálvez Á. and Malosse P.-L. (eds.) (2006) Gens de culture en un âge
de violence: Les intellectuels païens face à l’Empire romain tardif. Mélanges
A. F. Norman (Topoi. Orient–Occident, Supplement 7). Paris.
Graf F. (2012) ‘Fights about Festivals: Libanius and John Chrysostom on the
Kalendae Ianuariae in Antioch’, Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 12: 167–86.
Grey C. (2011) Constructing Communities in the Late Roman Countryside.
Cambridge.
Groß J. (2012) ‘Richard Foerster (1843–1922)’, in J. Bahlcke (ed.) Schlesische
Lebensbilder. Band XI. Insingen: 399–415.
Gruber H. W. (2010) ‘Enduring Stereotypes: Rhetorical Education and the
“Problem” of Marriage’, Journal of Late Antiquity 3: 286–99.
Grünbart M. (ed.) (2007) Theatron: Rhetorische Kultur in Spätantike und
Mittelalter / Rhetorical Culture in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages
(Millennium Studies 13). Berlin and New York.
Gualandi G. (1959) ‘Privilegi imperiali e dualità legislativa nel Basso Impero
alla luce di alcuni testi di Libanio’, Archivio giuridico 156: 5–34.
Guillaumont F. and Laurence P. (eds.) (2012) La présence de l’histoire dans
l’épistolaire. Tours.
Gunderson E. (2000) Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the
Roman World. Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Gunderson E. (2003) Declamation, Paternity, and Roman Identity: Authority
and the Rhetorical Self. Cambridge.
Gwynn D. M. (ed.) (2008) A. H. M. Jones and the History of the Later Roman
Empire (Brill’s Series on the Early Middle Ages 15). Leiden and Boston.
Habinek T. (2005) Ancient Rhetoric and Oratory. Malden, Massachusetts.
Haehling R. von (1978) Die Religionszugehörigkeit der hohen Amtsträger des
Römischen Reiches seit Constantins I. Alleinherrschaft bis zum Ende der
Theodosianischen Dynastie (324–450 bzw. 455 n. Chr.) (Antiquitas Reihe 3,
Band 23). Bonn.
Hahn J. (ed.) (2002) Zerstörungen des Jerusalemer Tempels: Geschehen –
Wahrnehmung – Bewältigung. Tübingen.
Hahn J. (2004) Gewalt und religiöser Konflikt: Studien zu den
Auseinandersetzungen zwischen Christen, Heiden und Juden im Osten des
Römischen Reiches (von Konstantin bis Theodosius II.) (Klio N.F. 8). Berlin.
Hahn J. (2006) ‘“Vetustus error extinctus est”: Wann wurde das Sarapeion von
Alexandria zerstört?’, Historia 55: 368–83.
Hahn J. (ed.) (2011) Spätantiker Staat und religöser Konflikt: Imperiale und
lokale Verwaltung und die Gewalt gegen Heiligtümer (Millennium-Studien
34). Berlin and New York.
Hahn J. (2011) ‘Julian and his Partisans: Supporters or Critics?’, in P. Brown
and R. Lizzi Testa (eds.): 109–120.
Hahn J., Emmel S., Gotter U. (eds.) (2008) From Temple to Church: Destruction
and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity. Leiden.
Hall J. M. (1997) Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity. Cambridge.
Hall J. M. (2002) Hellenicity: Between Ethnicity and Culture. Chicago and
London.
Harmand L. (1955) Libanios: Discours sur les patronages. Paris.
Harries J. (1999) Law and Empire in Late Antiquity. Cambridge.
Harris M. (2011) Sacred Folly: A New History of the Feast of Fools. Ithaca,
New York.
Heath M. (1995) Hermogenes on Issues: Strategies of Argument in Later Greek
Rhetoric. Oxford.
Heath M. (2002–2003) ‘Theon and the History of the Progymnasmata’, Greek,
Roman and Byzantine Studies 43: 129–60.
Heath M. (2004a) Menander: A Rhetor in Context. Oxford.
Heath M. (2004b) ‘John Chrysostom, Rhetoric and Galatians’, Biblical
Interpretation 12: 369–400.
Heather P. (1994) ‘New Men for New Constantines? Creating an Imperial Elite
in the Eastern Mediterranean’, in P. Magdalino (ed.) New Constantines: The
Rhythms of Imperial Renewal in Byzantium, 4th–13th Centuries (Society for
the Promotion of Byzantine Studies 2). Aldershot: 11–33.
Heather P. (2008) ‘Senators and Senate,’ in Averil Cameron and P. Garnsey
(eds.): 184–210.
Heather P. and Moncur D. (2001) Politics, Philosophy and Empire in the Fourth
Century: Select Orations of Themistius (Translated Texts for Historians 36).
Liverpool.
Hebert B. D. (1983) Spätantike Beschreibung von Kunstwerken:
Archäologischer Kommentar zu den Ekphraseis des Libanios und Nikolaos.
Diss. Graz.
Heiberg J. L. (1918) Den gnavne Mand og den snakkesalige Kone: En
øvelsestale af Libanios. Copenhagen.
Heitmann M. (1912) De clausulis Libanianis. Diss. Münster.
Henry M. (1985) ‘Le témoignage de Libanius et les phénomènes sismiques du
IV siècle de notre ère: Essai d’interprétation’, Phoenix 39: 36–61.
Henry R. (1959–1977) Photius: Bibliothèque. Eight volumes. Paris.
Hermann G. (ed.) (1801) Fragmentum Lexici Graeci. Leipzig.
Hock R. F. and O’Neil E. N. (1986) The Chreia in Ancient Rhetoric: The
 Progymnasmata. Atlanta.
Hock R. F. and O’Neil E. N. (2002) The Chreia and Ancient Rhetoric:
Classroom Exercises. Atlanta.
Humfress C. (2007) Orthodoxy and the Courts in Late Antiquity. Oxford.
Humfress C. (2011) ‘Bishops and Law Courts in Late Antiquity: How (Not) to
Make Sense of the Legal Evidence’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 19:
375–400.
Hunger H. (1978) Die Hochsprachliche Profane Literatur der Byzantiner
(Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft 12.5.1). Munich.
Imber M. (2001) ‘Practised Speech: Oral and Written Conventions in Roman
Declamation’, in J. Watson (ed.) Speaking Volumes: Orality and Literacy in
the Greek and Roman World (Mnemosyne Supplements 218). Leiden: 201–
16.
Jiménez Sánchez J. A. (2010) ‘La crítica intelectual pagana al monacato
primitivo’, Sacris Erudiri 49: 5–35.
Johansson M. (2006) Libanius’ Declamations 9 and 10 (Studia Graeca et Latina
Gothoburgensia 67). Göteborg.
Johansson M. (2011) ‘Non modo nostris temporibus, sed iam apud veteres
Herodotus magna fructus est auctoritate: Libanius’ Historical Declamations
and the Sources’, in O. Lagacherie and P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 35–44.
Johansson M. (2012) ‘Libanios, Deklamation 26: En surkart som gift sig med
en snacksalig kvinna begår att få ta livet av sig’, Rhetorica Scandinavica 61:
7–24.
Johnson A. P. (2006) Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’ Praeparatio
Evangelica. Oxford.
Johnson D. (2011) ‘Libanius’s Monody for Daphne (Oration 60) and the
Eleusinios Logos of Aelius Aristides’, in T. Schmidt and P. Fleury (eds.)
Perceptions of the Second Sophistic and Its Times/ Regards sur la Seconde
Sophistique et son époque. Toronto: 199–215.
Jones A. H. M. (1964) The Later Roman Empire (284–602): A Social Economic
and Administrative Survey. Four volumes. Oxford.
Jones A. H. M. (1966) The Greek City from Alexander to Justinian. Oxford.
Jones A. H. M., Martindale C. and Morris J. (1971) Prosopography of the Later
Roman Empire. Volume I: AD 260 to 395. Cambridge.
Kabiersch J. (1960) Untersuchungen zum Begriff der Philanthropia bei dem
Kaiser Julian (Klassisch-philologische Studien 21). Wiesbaden.
Kahlos M. (2009) Forbearance and Compulsion: The Rhetoric of Religious
Tolerance and Intolerance in Late Antiquity. London.
Kaldellis A. (2007) Hellenism in Byzantium: The Transformations of Greek
Identity and the Reception of the Classical Tradition. Cambridge.
Karla G. (2007) ‘Die Klage über die zerstörte Stadt Nikomedeia bei Libanios
im Spiegel der Mimesis’, in M. Grünbart (ed.): 141–56.
Kaster R. (1983) ‘The Salaries of Libanius’, Chiron 13: 37–59.
Kaster R. (1988) Guardians of Language: The Grammarian and Society in Late
Antiquity. Berkeley.
Kaster R. (2001) ‘Controlling Reason: Declamation in Rhetorical Education at
Rome’, in Y. L. Too (ed.) Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity. Leiden:
317–37.
Kauffmann S. (2006) Discours 45, 50, 51 et 52 de Libanios : Édition,
traduction et commentaire. Diss. Paris.
Kelly C. (2004) Ruling the Later Roman Empire. Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Kelly C. (2008) ‘Emperors, Government and Bureaucracy,’ in Averil Cameron
and P. Garnsey (eds.): 138–83.
Kennedy G. A. (1957) ‘The Ancient Dispute over Rhetoric in Homer ’,
American Journal of Philology 78: 23–35.
Kennedy G. A. (1983) Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors. Princeton.
Kennedy G. A. (2003) Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition
and Rhetoric (Society of Biblical Literature, Writings from the Greco-
Roman World 10). Atlanta.
Kohl R. (1915) De scholasticarum declamationum argumentis ex historia
petitis. Paderborn.
Kolb A. (2000) Transport und Nachrichtentransfer im Römischen Reich. Berlin.
Konstan D. (1996) ‘Greek Friendship’, American Journal of Philology 117: 71–
94.
Konstan D. (1997) Friendship in the Classical World. Cambridge and New
York.
Kraus M. (2009) ‘Exercises for Text Composition (Exercitationes,
Progymnasmata) / Übungen zur Textgestaltung (exercitationes,
progymnasmata)’, in U. Fix, A. Gardt and J. Knape (eds.) Rhetorik und
Stilistik / Rhetoric and Stylistics: Ein internationales Handbuch historischer
und systematischer Forschung / An International Handbook of Historical and
Systematic Research. Volume II. Berlin and New York: 1396–1405.
Krause J.-U. (1987) Spätantike Patronatsformen im Westen des Römischen
Reiches (Vestigia 38). Munich.
Kruse B. (1915) De Libanio Demosthenis imitatore. Diss. Breslau.
Külzer A. (2003) ‘Konstantinos Manasses und Johannes Phokas: Zwei
byzantinische Orientreisende des 12. Jahrhunderts’, in X. von Ertzdorff-
Kupffer and G. Giesemann (eds.) Erkundung und Beschreibung der Welt: Zur
Poetik der Reise- und Länderberichte. Vorträge eines Interdisziplinären
Symposiums vom 19.-24. Juni 2000 an der Justus-Liebig-Universität
Gießen. Amsterdam and New York: 185–209.
Lada-Richards I. (2007) Silent Eloquence: Lucian and Pantomime Dancing.
London.
Laes C. (2011) Children in the Roman Empire: Outsiders Within. Cambridge.
Lagacherie O. (2006) ‘Libanios, rhétorique et politique: À propos des
Discours 50 et 45’, in E. Amato (ed.): 460–8.
Lagacherie O. and Malosse P.-L. (eds.) (2011) Libanios, le premier humaniste:
Études en hommage à Bernard Schouler. Actes du colloque de Montpellier,
18–20 mars 2010 (Cardo 9). Alessandria
Lakoff G. (1972) ‘Hedges: A Study in Meaning Criteria and the Logic of Fuzzy
Concepts’, in P. M. Peranteau, J. L. Levi and G. C. Phares (eds.) The Eighth
Regional Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society. Chicago: 183–228.
Langlois P. (1991) ‘Die christliche Gedichte und das Christentum des
 Ausonius’, in J. J. Lossau (ed.) Ausonius (Wege der Forschung 652).
Darmstadt: 55–80.
Lavan L. (2011) ‘Introduction’, in L. Lavan and M. Mulryan (eds.) The
Archaeology of Late Antique Paganism (Late Antique Archaeology 7).
Leiden: xv–lxv.
Lejeune P. (1975) Le pacte autobiographique. Paris.
Lenski N. (2002) Failure of Empire: Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth
Century AD. Berkeley.
Lenski N. (ed.) (2007) The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Constantine
(Second edition). Cambridge.
Lenz F. W. (1964) Aristeidesstudien. Berlin.
Lenz F. W. and Behr C. A. (1976–80) P. Aelii Aristidis opera quae exstant
omnia. Four volumes. Leiden.
Lepelley C. (1983) ‘Quot curiales, tot tyranni: L’image du décurion
oppresseur au Bas-Empire’, in E. Frézouls (ed.) Crise et redressement dans
les provinces européennes de l’Empire. Strasbourg: 143–56.
Leppin H. (1999a) ‘Constantius und die Heiden’, Athenaeum n.s. 87: 457–80.
Leppin H. (1999b) ‘Steuern, Aufstand und Rhetoren: Der Antiochener
Steueraufstand von 387 in christlicher und heidnischer Deutung’, in H.
Brandt (ed.) Gedeutete Realität: Krisen, Wirklichkeiten, Interpretationen (3.
– 6. Jh. n. Chr.). Stuttgart: 103–23.
Leppin H. (2003) Theodosius der Große: Auf dem Weg zum christlichen
Imperium. Darmstadt.
Leppin H. (2011a) ‘The late Empire’, in G. Marasco (ed.) Political
Autobiographies and Memoirs in Antiquity. Leiden and Boston: 417–53.
Leppin H. (2011b) ‘Das Bild des Gallus bei Philostorg: Überlegungen zur
Traditionsgeschichte’, in D. Meyer (ed.) Philostorge et l’historiographie de
l’Antiquité tardive. Stuttgart: 185–202.
Lewis R. G. (1993) ‘Imperial Autobiography, Augustus to Hadrian’, Aufstieg
und Niedergang der römischen Welt 2.34.1: 629–706.
Liebeschuetz J. H. W. G. (1972) Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in
 the Later Roman Empire. Oxford.
Liebeschuetz J. H. W. G. (2006) ‘Libanius and late antique autobiography’, in
Á. González Gálvez and P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 263–76.
Liebeschuetz J. H. W. G. (2011) Ambrose and John Chrysostom: Clerics
between Desert and Empire. Oxford.
Limberis V. (2000) ‘Religion as the Cipher for Identity: The Cases of Emperor
Julian, Libanius, and Gregory Nazianzus’, Harvard Theological Review 93:
373–400.
Lizzi Testa R. (1996) ‘La politica religiosa di Teodosio I: Miti storiografici e
realtà storica’, Rendiconti della classe di scienze morali, storiche e
filologiche dell’ Accademia dei Lincei 9.7: 323–61.
Löschnigg M. (2010) ‘Postclassical Narratology and the Theory of
Autobiography’, in J. Alber and M. Fludernik (eds.) Postclassical
Narratology: Approaches and Analyses. Columbus, Ohio: 255–74.
López Eire A. (1991) ‘Reflexiones sobre los discursos de Libanio al
emperador Teodosio’, Fortunatae 1: 27–66.
López Eire A. (1992) ‘Retórica frente a cristianismo en la Autobiografia de
Libanio’, Fortunatae 3: 85–98.
López Eire A. (1996) Semblanza de Libanio. Mexico.
Lucassen L. (1955) ‘La Déclamation XXVI de Libanius’, Bulletin semestriel de
l’Association des classiques de l’Université de Liège, 80–95.
McGing B. and Mossman J. (eds.) (2007) The Limits of Ancient Biography.
Swansea.
McLynn N. (2005) ‘Genere Hispanus: Theodosius, Spain and Nicene
Orthodoxy’, in K. Bowes and M. Kulikowski (eds.) Hispania in Late
Antiquity: Current Perspectives. Leiden: 77–120 (= chapter III in McLynn
(2009) Christian Politics and Religious Culture in Late Antiquity.
Aldershot.)
MacMullen R. (1984) Christianising the Roman Empire (AD 100–400). New
Haven.
MacMullen R. (1988) Corruption and the Decline of Rome. New Haven.
Mal-Maeder D. van (2007) La fiction des déclamations (Mnemosyne
Supplements 290). Leiden and Boston.
Malosse P.-L. (1995a) ‘Rhétorique et psychologie antiques: Le portrait de
Julien dans l’Œuvre de Libanios’, KTEMA 20: 319–38.
Malosse P.-L. (1995b) ‘Les alternances de l’amitié: Julien et Libanios (349–
363 et au-delà)’, Revue de Philologie 69: 249–62.
Malosse P.-L. (2000a) ‘Sans mentir (ou presque). La dissimulation des faits
gênants dans la rhétorique de l’éloge, d’après l’exemple des discours
royaux de Libanios’, Rhetorica 18: 243–63.
Malosse P.-L. (2000b) ‘Libanios, ses “témoins oculaires”, Eusèbe et
Praxagoras: Le travail préparatoire du sophiste et la question des sources
dans l’Éloge de Constance et de Constant’, Revue des Études Grecques 113:
172–87.
Malosse P.-L. (2001a) ‘Enquête sur la date du discours 59 de Libanios’,
Antiquité Tardive 9: 297–306.
Malosse P.-L. (2001b) ‘Antioche et le Kappa’, in B. Cabouret, P.-L. Gatier and
C. Saliou (eds.): 77–96.
Malosse P.-L. (2002) ‘Le modèle du mauvais empereur chez Libanios’, Pallas
60: 165–74.
Malosse P.-L. (2003) Libanios: Discours. Tome IV: Discours LIX. Paris.
Malosse P.-L. (2004) Lettres pour toutes circonstances: Les traités épistolaires
du Pseudo-Libanios et du Pseudo-Démétrios de Phalère (Collection La roue
à livres). Paris.
Malosse P.-L. (2006a) ‘Libanios contre Antioche: Le discours Contre les
fugitifs (Disc. XXIII)’, in Á. González Gálvez and P-L. Malosse (eds.): 215–
30.
Malosse P.-L. (2006b) ‘Sophistiques et tyrannies’, in E. Amato (ed.): 157–78.
Malosse P.-L. (2007) ‘Comment arrêter un massacre: Une leçon de rhétorique
appliquée (Libanios, Discours XIX)’, Revue des Études Grecques 120: 107–
41.
Malosse P.-L. (2008) ‘Jean Chrysostome a-t-il été l’élève de Libanios?’,
 Phoenix 62: 273–80.
Malosse P.-L. (2009a) ‘Actualité et perspectives de la recherche sur Libanios’,
in U. Criscuolo and L. De Giovanni (eds.) Trent’ anni di studi sulla Tarda
Antichità: Bilanci e prospettive. Naples: 229–44.
Malosse P.-L. (2009b) ‘La femme du boulanger, le fonctionnaire corrompu et
le sophiste (Libanios, Disc. 29)’, Koinonia 33: 121–33.
Malosse P.-L. (2010) ‘Proposition mystique pour arrêter les invasions barbares
ou plaidoyer pour que les païens aient leur place dans l’Empire chrétien? Le
Discours XXIV de Libanios’, Revue des Études Grecques 123: 113–35.
Malosse P.-L. and Schouler, B. (2009) ‘Qu’est-ce que la troisième
sophistique?’, Lalies: Actes des sessions de linguistique et de littérature 29:
161–224.
Malzacher K. (1918) Die Tyche bei Libanios. Strassburg.
Mango C. (1985) Le développement urbain de Constantinople (IVe – VIIe
siècles) (Travaux et mémoires du Centre de Recherche d’histoire et
civilisation de Byzance, Collège de France. Monographies 2). Paris.
Marasco G. (2002) ‘Libanio, il camaleonte e la magia’, Quaderni catanesi di
cultura classica e medievale 1: 209–40.
Maraval P. (2001) Eusèbe de Césarée, La théologie politique de l’empire
chrétien: Louanges de Constantin. Paris.
Marcone A. (2002) ‘Il sacco di Roma del 410 nella riflessione di Agostino e di
Orosio’, Rivista Storica Italiana 114: 851–67.
Marincola J. (ed.) (2007) A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography.
Oxford and Malden, Massachusetts.
Markowski H. (1910) De Libanio Socratis defensore. Breslau (= Hildesheim,
1970).
Markowski H. (1913) ‘Zum Briefwechsel zwischen Basileios und Libanios’,
Berliner Philologische Wochenschrift 33: 1150–2.
Markus R. (1990) The End of Ancient Christianity. Cambridge.
Marrou H. I. (1975) Histoire de l’éducation dans l’antiquité (Seventh edition).
Paris.
Martin J. (1988) Libanios: Discours. Tome II: Discours 2–10 (Collection des
Universités de France). Paris.
Martin J. and de Budé, G. (1952) Eschine: Discours. Two volumes (Second
edition). Paris.
Martin J. and Petit P. (1979) Libanios: Discours. Tome I: Autobiographie
(Discours 1) (Collection des Universités de France). Paris.
Martin V. (1974) Antike Rhetorik: Technik und Methode (Handbuch der
Altertumswissenschaft 2.3). Munich.
Massa Positano L. and Arco Magrì M. (eds.) (s.a.) Lessico sintattico
Laurenziano. Naples.
Matter M. (2004) ‘Libanios et les prisons d’Antioche’, in C. Bertrand-
Dagenbach et al. (eds.) Carcer II: Prison et privation de liberté dans l’empire
romain et l’occident médiéval. Paris: 55–63.
Matthews J. F. (1989) The Roman Empire of Ammianus. London.
Matthews J. F. (1994) ‘The Origin of Ammianus’, Classical Quarterly n.s. 44:
252–69.
Matthews J. F. (2000) Laying down the Law: A Study of the Theodosian Code.
New Haven.
Matthews J. F. (2010) ‘The Letters of Symmachus’, in J. F. Matthews (ed.)
Roman Perspectives: Studies in the Social, Political and Cultural History of
the First to Fifth Centuries. London: 215–53.
Mause M. (1994) Die Darstellung des Kaisers in der lateinischen Panegyrik
(Palingenesia 50). Stuttgart.
Maxwell J. L. (2006) Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity:
John Chrysostom and His Congregation in Antioch. Cambridge.
Meeks W. and Wilken R. L. (1978) Jews and Christians in Antioch in the First
Four Centuries of the Common Era. Missoula, Montana.
Melero A. (2001) Libanio: Discursos. Volumen I: Autobiografía. Madrid.
Mesk J. (1932) ‘Libanios und der Timon Lukians’, Philologische
Wochenschrift 52: 1107–10.
Meyer-Zwiffelhoffer E. (2011) ‘Mala desidia iudicum? Zur Rolle der
Provinzstatthalter bei der Unterdrückung paganer Kulte (von Constantin bis
Theodosius II.)’, in J. Hahn (ed.): 93–132.
Millar F. B. (1992) The Emperor in the Roman World (Second edition). London.
Millar F. B. (1993) The Roman Near East: 31 BC – AD 337. Cambridge, Mass.
Millar F. B. (2007) ‘Libanius and the Near East’, Scripta Classica Israelica 26:
155–80.
Misch G. (1907) Geschichte der Autobiographie. Band I: Das Altertum. Leipzig
and Berlin.
Misson J. (1914) Recherches sur le paganisme de Libanius. Louvain.
Misson J. (1920) ‘Libanios et le christianisme’, Musée Belge 24: 73–89.
Mole R. C. M. (ed.) (2007) Discursive Constructions of Identity in European
Politics. Basingstoke.
Molloy M. E. (1996) Libanius and the Dancers. Hildesheim and Zürich.
Momigliano A. (ed.) (1963) The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity in
the Fourth Century. Oxford.
Momigliano A. (1971) The Development of Greek Biography. Cambridge,
Mass.
Morgan T. (1998) Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds.
Cambridge.
Most G. W. (1989) ‘The Stranger ’s Stratagem: Self-Disclosure and Self-
Sufficiency in Greek Culture’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 109: 114–33.
Most G. W. (2008) ‘Das Kind ist Vater des Mannes: Von Rushdie zu Homer und
zurück’, Gymnasium 115: 209–36.
Mullett M. (1997) Theophylact of Ochrid: Reading the Letters of a Byzantine
Archbishop (Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Monographs 2).
Aldershot.
Murphy G. L. (2002) The Big Book of Concepts. Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Najock D. (1996) Concordantiae in Libanium. Pars Quarta: Tabulae. Volumen
 Primum: Tabulae in Epistulas et Orationes. Hildesheim, Zürich and New
York.
Najock D. (2000a) Concordantiae in Libanium. Supplementum:
Sprachstatistische Untersuchungen zu den Briefen und Reden des Libanios. 1.
Teil: Untersuchungen. Hildesheim, Zürich and New York.
Najock D. (2000b) Concordantiae in Libanium. Supplementum:
Sprachstatistische Untersuchungen zu den Briefen und Reden des Libanios. 2.
Teil: Anhänge. Hildesheim, Zürich and New York.
Najock D. (2007) ‘Unechtes und Zweifelhaftes unter den Deklamationen des
Libanios: Die statistische Evidenz’, in M. Grünbart (ed.): 305–55.
Nauck A. (1867) Lexicon Vindobonense. Saint-Petersburg and Leipzig.
Nesselrath H.-G. (1985) Lukians Parasitendialog: Untersuchungen und
Kommentar. Berlin and New York.
Nesselrath H.-G.(2001) ‘Kaiserlicher Held und Christenfeind: Julian Apostata
im Urteil des späteren 4. und des 5. Jahrhunderts n. Chr.’, in B. Bäbler and
H.-G. Nesselrath (eds.) Die Welt des Sokrates von Konstantinopel: Studien zu
Politik, Religion und Kultur im späten 4. und frühen 5. Jh. n. Chr. Munich
and Leipzig: 15–43.
Nesselrath H.-G.(2008) ‘Libanios’, Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 23:
29–61.
Nesselrath H.-G.(2009) ‘Der heidnische Rhetor und der christliche Bischof:
Libanios und Basileios der Große in einer spätantiken Basileios-Vita’,
Jahresheft der Göttinger Freunde der antiken Literatur 8: 11–25.
Nesselrath H.-G.(2010) ‘Libanio e Basilio di Cesarea: Un dialogo
interreligioso?’, Adamantius 16: 338–52.
Nesselrath H.-G.(ed.) (2011) Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht und Toleranz:
Libanios’ Rede Für den Erhalt der heidnischen Tempel eingeleitet, übersetzt
und mit interpretierenden Essays versehen von H.-G. Nesselrath, O.
Behrends, K. S. Freyberger, J. Hahn, M. Wallraff, and H.-U. Wiemer
(SAPERE 18). Tübingen.
Nesselrath H.-G.(2011a) ‘Einführung in die Schrift’, in H.-G. Nesselrath (ed.):
3–40.
Nesselrath H.-G.(2011b) ‘Libanios und die Mönche’, in B. R. Suchla (ed.) Von
Homer bis Landino: Beiträge zur Antike und Spätantike sowie zu deren
Rezeptions- und Wirkungsgeschichte. Festgabe für Antonie Wlosok zum 80.
Geburtstag. Berlin: 243–67.
Nesselrath H.-G.(2012) Libanios: Zeuge einer schwindenden Welt (Historische
Studien der Universität Würzburg 2). Stuttgart.
Nesselrath H. -G. (forthcoming) ‘Der Heide Libanios und der Christ Johannes
Chrysostomos: Lehrer und Schüler?’ in J. Scheiner and I. Tanaseanu-Döbler
(eds.) ‘Die Lehre des Weisen ist eine Quelle des Lebens’: Bedeutende Lehrer
in der Tradition der Antike und der monotheistischen Religionen.
Niggl G. (2005) ‘Zur Theorie der Autobiographie’. In Reichel, M. (ed.): 1–13.
Nock A. D. (1954) ‘The Praises of Antioch’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology
40: 76–82.
Nock A. D.(1957) ‘Deification and Julian’, Journal of Roman Studies 47: 115–
23 (= Nock A.D. (1972) Essays on Religion and the Ancient World. Volume II.
Oxford: 833–46).
Noethlichs K.-L. (1981) Beamtentum und Dienstvergehen: Zur
Staatsverwaltung in der Spätantike. Stuttgart.
Noethlichs K.-L.(1986) ‘Heidenverfolgung’, in Reallexikon für Antike und
Christentum 13: 1149–90.
Norman A. F. (1953) ‘Philostratus and Libanius’, Classical Philology 48: 20–3.
Norman A. F. (1960) ‘The Book Trade in Fourth-century Antioch’, Journal of
Hellenic Studies 80: 122–6.
Norman A. F. (1964) ‘The Library of Libanius’, Rheinisches Museum 107:
158–75.
Norman A. F. (1965) Libanius’ Autobiography (Oration 1): The Greek Text,
Edited with Introduction, Translation and Notes. London, New York and
Toronto.
Norman A. F. (1969) Libanius: Selected Works. Volume I (The Loeb Classical
Library). Cambridge, Massachusetts and London.
Norman A. F. (1977) Libanius: Selected Works. Volume II (The Loeb Classical
 Library). Cambridge, Massachusetts and London.
Norman A. F. (1983) ‘Libanius: The Teacher in an Age of Violence’, in
Fatouros and Krischer (eds.): 150–69.
Norman A. F. (1992a) Libanius: Autobiography and Selected Letters. Volume I
(The Loeb Classical Library). Cambridge, Massachusetts and London.
Norman A. F. (1992b) Libanius: Autobiography and Selected Letters. Volume II
(The Loeb Classical Library). Cambridge, Massachusetts and London.
Norman A. F. (2000) Antioch as a Centre of Hellenic Culture as Observed by
Libanius (Translated Texts for Historians 34). Liverpool.
North H. (1966) Sophrosyne: Self-Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek
Literature. Ithaca, New York.
Ogden D. (2002) Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts in the Greek and Roman
Worlds. Oxford.
Oliensis E. (1998) Horace and the Rhetoric of Authority. Cambridge.
Olney J. (1972) Metaphors of Self: The Meaning of Autobiography. Princeton.
O’Meara D. (2003) Platonopolis: Platonic Political Philosophy in Late
Antiquity. Oxford.
Pack R. A. (1935) Studies in Libanius and Antiochene Society under
Theodosius. Diss. Michigan.
Pack R. A. (1947) ‘Two Sophists and Two Emperors’, Classical Philology 42:
17–20.
Pack R. A. (1948) ‘Note on a Progymnasma of Libanius’, American Journal of
Philology 69: 299–304.
Pack R. A. (1951) ‘“Curiales” in the Correspondence of Libanius’,
Transactions of the American Philological Association 81: 176–92.
Pack R. A. (1986) Städte und Steuern in der Politik Julians: Untersuchungen zu
den Quellen eines Kaiserbildes (Collection Latomus 194). Brussels.
Paris G. and Robert U. (1877) Miracles de Nostre Dame. Tome II. Paris.
Patillon M. (2008) Corpus rhetoricum: Préambule à la rhétorique, Anonyme;
Progymnasmata, Apththonios. En annexe: Progymnasmata, Pseudo-
 Hermogène (Collection des universitiés de France. Série grecque 460). Paris.
Patillon M. (2009) Corpus rhetoricum. Tome II: Hermogène, Les états de cause.
Paris.
Patillon M. and Bolognesi G. (1997) Aelius Théon: Progymnasmata. Paris.
Pelling C. (1990) ‘Childhood and Personality in Greek Biography’, in C.
Pelling (ed.) Characterization and Individuality in Greek Literature. Oxford:
213–44.
Pelling C. (2009) ‘Was there an Ancient Genre of “Autobiography”? Or, Did
Augustus Know What He Was Doing?’, in C. Smith and A. Powell (eds.) The
Lost Memoirs of Augustus and the Development of Roman Autobiography.
Swansea: 41–64.
Pellizzari A. (2011) ‘Salvare le città’: Lessico e ideologia nell’opera di
Libanio’, Koinonia 35: 45–62.
Penella R. J. (1990) Greek Philosophers and Sophists in the Fourth Century AD:
Studies in Eunapius of Sardis. Leeds.
Penella R. J. (1993) ‘Julian the Persecutor in Fifth-Century Church Historians’,
Ancient World 24: 31–43.
Penella R. J. (2007) Man and the Word: The Orations of Himerius. Berkeley.
Penella R. J. (ed.) (2009) Rhetorical Exercises from Late Antiquity: A
Translation of Choricius of Gaza’s Preliminary Talks and Declamations.
Cambridge.
Penella R. J. (2011a) ‘The Progymnasmata in Imperial Greek Education’,
Classical World 105: 77–90.
Penella R. J. (2011b) ‘Menelaus, Odysseus, and the Limits of Eloquence in
Libanius, Declamations 3 and 4’, in O. Lagacherie and P.-L. Malosse (eds.):
93–105.
Penella R. J. (2012) ‘Libanius the Flatterer ’, Classical Quarterly 62: 892–5.
Pernot L. (2007) ‘Il non-detto della declamazione greco-romana: Discorso
figurato, sottintesi e allusioni politiche’, in L. Calboli Montefusco (ed.)
Papers on Rhetoric VIII: Declamation. Rome: 209–34.
Petit L. (1866) Essai sur la vie et la correspondence du sophiste Libanius. Paris.
Petit P. (1950) ‘Libanius et la Vita Constantini’, Historia 1: 562–82.
Petit P. (1951) ‘Sur la date du Pro Templis de Libanius’, Byzantion 21: 285–
309.
Petit P. (1955) Libanius et la vie municipale à Antioche au IVe siècle apr. J.-C.
Paris.
Petit P. (1956a) Les étudiants de Libanius: Un professeur de faculté et ses
élèves au Bas-Empire. Paris.
Petit P. (1956b) ‘Recherches sur la publication et la diffusion des discours de
Libanius’, Historia 5: 479–509.
Petit P. (1957) ‘Les sénateurs de Constantinople dans l’oeuvre de Libanius’,
L’Antiquité Classique 26: 347–82.
Petit P. (1994) Les fonctionnaires dans l’œuvre de Libanius: Analyse
prosopographique. Avec une préface d’André Chastagnol. Besançon.
Pettine E. (1983) Plutarco: L’autoelogio. Salerno.
Pfeiffer R. (1949) Callimachus. Volume I: Fragmenta. Oxford.
Quiroga Puertas A. (2003) ‘La fiesta de las calendas de Enero en la obra de
Libanio’, Florentia Iliberritana 14: 265–80.
Quiroga Puertas A. (2005a) Relación Retórica-Historia-Mitología en los
discursos XIX–XXIII de Libanio de Antioquía. Diss. Granada.
Quiroga Puertas A. (2005b) ‘Juan Crisostomo De Statuis XVIII, 2 y Libanio
Or. XXII, 22: Variaciones sobre un mismo hecho’, Florentia Iliberritana 16:
285–95.
Quiroga Puertas A. (2007a) La Retorica de Libanio y de Juna Crisostomo en la
revuelta de las estatuas (Cardo 7). Salerno.
Quiroga Puertas A. (2007b) ‘From Sophistopolis to Episcopolis: The Case for
a Third Sophistic’, Journal for Late Ancient Religion and Culture 1: 31–42.
Quiroga Puertas A. (2007c) ‘La magia y lo sobrenatural como elementos
literarios en los discursos de Libanio de Antioquía’, Mene 7: 269–81.
Rabe H. (1907a) ‘Aus Rhetoren Handschriften, 1: Nachrichten über das Leben
des Hermogenes’, Rheinisches Museum 62: 247–62.
Rabe H. (1907b) ‘Aus Rhetoren Handschriften, 2: Aphthonios der Schüler des
Libanios’, Rheinisches Museum 62: 262–4.
Radermacher L. (1912) ‘Hermogenes (22)’, RE 8: 865–77.
Radt S. (1999) Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Volume Four: Sophocles
(Editio correctior et addendis aucta). Göttingen.
Rebenich S. (1989) ‘Beobachtungen zum Sturz des Tatianus und des Proculus’,
Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 76: 153–65.
Reichel M. (ed.) (2005) Antike Autobiographien: Werke, Epochen, Gattungen.
Cologne.
Reiske J. J. and E. C. (1784–1797). Libanii Sophistae Orationes et
Declamationes. Four volumes. Altenburg.
Riggsby A. M. (2007) ‘Memoir and Autobiography in Republican Rome’, in J.
Marincola (ed.): 266–74.
Rimmon-Kenan S. (1983) Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London
and New York.
Rivolta P. (1985) ‘Miti letterari e programmi politici nelle orazioni
“giulianee” di Libanio’, Clio 21: 525–46.
Rivolta P. (1987) ‘Una digressione romana in Libanio, Or. 12, 8–21’, Koinonia
11: 27–42.
Robert L. (1948) Hellenica: Recueil d’epigraphie, de numismatique et
d’antiquitès grecques. Tome IV: Epigrammes du Bas-Empire. Limoges.
Rochette B. (1997) Le latin dans le monde grec: Recherches sur la diffusion de
la langue et des lettres latines dans les provinces hellénophones de l’Empire
romain. Brussels.
Roda S. (1986) ‘Polifunzionalità della lettera commendaticia: Teoria e prassi
nell’epistolorio simmachiano’, in F. Paschoud (ed.) Colloque genevois sur
Symmaque. Paris: 225–54.
Rolfe J. C. (1935) Ammianus Marcellinus. Volume I: Books XIV–XIX (The Loeb
Classical Library). Cambridge, Massachusetts and London.
Romaniello M. (2008) ‘La presenza di Iperide nella XVIII declamazione
 libaniana’, Quaderni di storia 68: 123–30.
Romano R. (1982) Libanio: In difesa dei templi. Naples.
Ronning C. (2007) Herrscherpanegyrik unter Trajan und Konstantin: Studien
zur symbolischen Kommunikation in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Studien und
Texte zu Antike und Christentum 42). Tübingen.
Rosen K. (2006) Julian: Kaiser, Gott und Christenhasser. Stuttgart.
Rother C. (1912) De Choricii studiis Libanianis. Breslau.
Rother C. (1915) De Libanii arte rhetorica quaestiones selectae. Diss. Breslau.
Rousseau P. (1994) Basil of Caesarea (The Transformation of the Classical
Heritage 20). Berkeley, Los Angeles and London.
Rousseau P. (ed.) (2009) A Companion to Late Antiquity. Oxford.
Ruffini G. (2008) Social Networks in Byzantine Egypt. Cambridge and New
York.
Russell D. A. (1983) Greek Declamation. Cambridge.
Russell D. A. (1996) Libanius: Imaginary Speeches. London.
Russell D. A. (2001) Quintilian: The Orator’s Education. Five volumes.
Cambridge, Massachusetts and London.
Saliou C. (1989) ‘Patronage and Friendship in Early Imperial Rome’, in A.
Wallace-Hadrill (ed.) Patronage in Ancient Society. London: 49–62.
Saliou C.(2006a) ‘Antioche décrite par Libanios. La rhétorique de l’espace
urbain et ses enjeux au milieu du quatrième siècle’, in E. Amato (ed.): 273–
85.
Saliou C. (2006b) ‘Rhétorique et réalités: L’eau dans l’Éloge d’Antioche
(Libanios, Or. XI)’, Chronos 13: 7–27.
Saliou C. (2011) ‘Jouir sans entraves? La notion de τρυφή dans l’Éloge
d’Antioche de Libanios’, in O. Lagacherie and P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 153–65.
Salzmann M. R. and Roberts M. (2012) The Letters of Symmachus, Book 1
(Society of Biblical Literature, Writings from the Greco-Roman World 30).
Atlanta.
Sandwell I. (2005) ‘Outlawing Magic or Outlawing Religion?: Libanius and
the Theodosian Code as Evidence for Legislation against Pagan Practices in
the Fourth Century A.D.’, in W. V. Harris (ed.) Understanding the Spread of
Christianity in the First Four Centuries. Leiden: 87–123.
Sandwell I. (2007a) Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Greeks, Jews and
Christians in Antioch. Cambridge.
Sandwell I. (2007b) ‘Libanius’ Social Networks: Understanding the Social
Structure of the Later Roman Empire’, Mediterranean Historical Review 22:
133–47.
Sandwell I. (2010) ‘Pagan Conceptions of Monotheism in the Fourth Century:
The Example of Libanius and Themistius’, in S. Mitchell and P. Van Nuffelen
(eds.) Monotheism between Pagans and Christians in Late Antiquity
(Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Culture and Religion 12). Louvain:
101–26.
Savarese N. (2003) ‘L’orazione di Libanio in difesa della pantomima’,
Dioniso. Annale della Fondazione INDA 2: 84–106.
Schatkin M. A. (1990) Jean Chrysostome: Sur Babylas (Sources Chrétiennes
362). Paris.
Schissel O. (1929–30) ‘Severus von Alexandreia: Ein verschollener
griechischer Schriftsteller des IV. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. (I)’, The British
Numismatic Journal 8: 1–13.
Schissel O. (1934) ‘Rhetorische Progymnastik der Byzantiner ’, The British
Numismatic Journal 11: 1–10.
Schlange-Schöningen H. (1995) Kaisertum und Bildungswesen im spätantiken
Konstantinopel (Historia Einzelschriften 94). Stuttgart.
Schmid W. (1924) ‘Libanios’, in W. Schmid and O. Stählin (eds.) Geschichte
der griechischen Literatur. Band II: Die nachklassische Periode der
griechischen Literatur. Teil 2: Von 100 bis 530 nach Christus (Sixth edition).
Munich: 996–9.
Schmidt-Hofner S. (2008) Reagieren und Gestalten: Der Regierungsstil des
spätrömischen Kaisers am Beispiel der Gesetzgebung Valentinians I.
(Vestigia 58). Munich.
Schmitz T. (1997) Bildung und Macht: Zur sozialen und politischen Funktion
der zweiten Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit (Zetemata 97).
Munich.
Schmitz T. (1999) ‘Performing History in the Second Sophistic’, in M.
Zimmermann (ed.) Geschichtsschreibung und politischer Wandel im 3. Jh. n.
Chr. (Historia Einzelschriften 127). Stuttgart: 71–92.
Scholl R. (1994) Historische Beiträge zu den julianischen Reden des Libanios.
Stuttgart.
Schor A. M. (2011) Theodoret’s People: Social Networks and Religious Conflict
in Late Roman Syria. Berkeley.
Schouler B. (1973) Libanios: Discours moraux. Paris.
Schouler B. (1984) La tradition hellénique chez Libanios. Two volumes. Paris.
Schouler B. (1991) ‘Hellénisme et humanisme chez Libanios’, in S. Saïd (ed.)
Ἑλληνισμός: Quelques jalons pour une histoire de l’identité grecque. Leiden:
267–85.
Schouler B. (1993) ‘Libanios et l’autobiographie tragique’, in M.-F. Baslez, Ph.
Hoffman and L. Pernot (eds.) L’invention de l’autobiographie d’Hésiode à
Augustin. Actes du deuxième colloque de l’Equipe de recherche sur
l’hellénisme post-classique. Paris: 305–23.
Schouler B. (1999) ‘Libanios, Discours 23 (Contre les fugitifs), 20–22’, in
J. A. López Férez (ed.) Desde los poemas homéricos hasta la prosa griega
del siglo IV d.C.: Veintiséis estudios filológicos. Madrid.
Schouler B. (2001) ‘La défense de la pantomime par Libanios’, Cahiers du
Gita 14: 240–80.
Schouler B. (2002) ‘Introduction: Libanios en son temps, Libanios
aujourd’hui’, Pallas 60: 151–64.
Schouler B. (2005) ‘L’éthopée chez Libanios ou l’évasion esthétique’, in E.
Amato and J. Schamp (eds.): 79–92.
Schouler B. (2006) ‘Le retour de Miltiade’, in E. Amato (ed.): 339–59.
Schouler B. (2010) ‘Que cherchait Libanios en défendant Socrate?’ in L.
Brisson and P. Chiron (eds.) Rhetorica philosophans: Mélanges offerts à
 Michel Patillon. Paris: 189–204.
Searle J. R. (1969) Speech Acts: An Essay in the Philosophy of Language.
Cambridge.
Seeck O. (1906) Die Briefe des Libanius zeitlich geordnet. Leipzig.
Segal A. (1997) From Function to Monument: Urban Landscapes of Roman
Palestine, Syria, and Provincia Arabia. Oxford.
Segal J. B. (1970) Edessa: The Blessed City. Oxford.
Shen D. and Xu D. (2007) ‘Intratextuality, Extratextuality, Intertextuality:
Unreliability in Autobiography versus Fiction’, Poetics Today 28: 43–87.
Sievers G. R. (1868) Das Leben des Libanius. Berlin.
Silomon H. (1909) De Libanii Epistularum Libris I–VI. Göttingen
Sizgorich T. (2007) ‘“Not Easily Were Stones Joined by the Strongest Bonds
Pulled Asunder”: Religious Violence and Imperial Order in the Later Roman
world’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 15: 75–101.
Sizgorich T. (2009) Violence and Belief in Late Antiquity: Militant Devotion in
Christianity and Islam. Philadelphia.
Skinner A. (2008) ‘The Early Development of the Senate of Constantinople’,
Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 32: 128–48.
Slootjes D. (2006) The Governor and His Subjects in the Later Roman Empire.
Leiden and Boston.
Smith C. and Powell A. (eds.) (2008) The Lost Memoirs of Augustus and the
Development of Roman Autobiography. Swansea.
Sogno C. (2006) Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography. Ann Arbor.
Soler E. (2009) ‘La correspondance de Libanios et les hétairies
pythagoriciennes et néoplatoniciennes en Orient au IVe siècle’, in R.
Delmaire, J. Desmulliez and P.-L. Gatier (eds.): 485–506.
Stegemann W. (1934) ‘Theon (5)’, RE 5A: 2037–54.
Stegemann W. (1936) ‘Nikolaos (21)’, RE 17.1: 424–57.
Stenger J. (2009) Hellenische Identität in der Spätantike: Pagane Autoren und
 ihr Unbehagen an der eigenen Zeit (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur
und Geschichte 97). Berlin and New York.
Stern M. (1980) Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism: Edited with
Introductions, Translations and Commentary. Volume II: From Tacitus to
Simplicius. Jerusalem.
Straub J. (1972) ‘Christliche Geschichtspologetik in der Krisis des römischen
Reiches’, in Straub, J. (ed.) Regeneratio imperii. Darmstadt: 240–71.
Swain S. (1996) Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in
the Greek World AD 50–250. Oxford.
Swain S. (2004) ‘Sophists and Emperors: The Case of Libanius’, in: S. Swain
and M. Edwards (eds.): 355–400.
Swain S. and Edwards M. (eds.) (2004) Approaching Late Antiquity: The
Transformation from Early to Late Empire. Oxford.
Taylor J. R. (2011) ‘Prototype Theory’, in C. Maienborn et al. (eds.) Semantics:
An International Handbook of Natural Language Meaning. Berlin and
Boston: 643–64.
Tloka J. (2005) Griechische Christen, christliche Griechen:
Plausibilisierungsstrategien des antiken Christentums bei Origenes und
Johannes Chrysostomos (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 30).
Tübingen.
Trapp M. B. (2003) Greek and Latin Letters: An Anthology, with Translation.
Cambridge and New York.
Trombley F. (2004) ‘Christian Demography in the Territorium of Antioch (4th
– 5th c.): Observations on the Epigraphy’, in I. Sandwell and J. Huskinson
(eds.) Culture and Society in Later Roman Antioch. Oxford: 59–85.
Ureña Bracero J. (2005) ‘El uso de fuentes literarias, recursos retóricos y
técnicas de composición en etopeyas sobre un mismo tema’, in E. Amato
and J. Schamp (eds.): 93–111.
Valk M. van der (1971–87) Eustathii archiepiscopi Thessalonicensis
commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem pertinentes. Four volumes. Leiden.
Van Dam R. (2002) Kingdom of Snow: Roman Rule and Greek Culture in
Cappadocia. Philadelphia.
Van Dam R. (2007) The Roman Revolution of Constantine. Cambridge.
Vanderspoel J. (1995) Themistius and the Imperial Court: Oratory, Civic Duty,
and Paideia from Constantius to Theodosius. Ann Arbor.
Van Hoof L. (2010) ‘Greek Rhetoric and the Later Roman Empire: The Bubble
of the Third Sophistic’, Antiquité Tardive 18: 211–24.
Van Hoof L. (2011) ‘Libanius and the EU Presidency: Career Moves in the
Autobiography’, in P.-L. Malosse and O. Lagacherie (eds.): 193–206.
Van Hoof L. (2013) ‘Performing Paideia: Greek Culture as an Instrument for
Social Promotion in the Fourth Century AD’, Classical Quarterly 63: 387–
406.
Van Hoof L. (2014a) ‘(Self-)Censorship or Self-Fashioning? Gaps in Libanius’
Letter Collection’, Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire 92.
Van Hoof L. (2014b) ‘Lobbying through Literature: Libanius, For the Teachers
(Oration 31)’, in Van Hoof, L. and Van Nuffelen, P. (eds.) Literature and
Society in the Fourth Century AD. Leiden.
Van Hoof L. (2015) ‘Falsification as a Protreptic to Truth: The Force of the
Forged Epistolary Exchange between Basil and Libanius’, in P.
Gemeinhardt, L. Van Hoof and P. Van Nuffelen (eds.) Education and Religion
in Late Antiquity. Aldershot.
Van Hoof L. and Van Nuffelen P. (2011) ‘Monarchy and Mass Communication:
Antioch AD 362/3 Revisited’, Journal of Roman Studies 101: 166–84.
Van Loy R. (1933) ‘Le Pro templis de Libanius’, Byzantion 9: 7–39 and 384–
404.
Van Nuffelen P. (2004) Un héritage de paix et de piété: Étude sur les Histoires
ecclésiastiques de Socrate et de Sozomène (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta
142). Louvain.
Van Nuffelen P. (2006) ‘Earthquakes in AD 363–368 and the Date of Libanius,
Oratio 18’, Classical Quarterly 56: 657–61.
Van Nuffelen P. (2011) ‘Social Ethics and Moral Discourse in Late Antiquity’,
in B. Matz, J. Leemans and J. Verstraeten (eds.) Reading Patristic Texts on
Social Ethics: Issues and Challenges for 21st-Century Christian Social
Thought. Washington: 45–63.
Ventrella G. (2005) ‘Libanio e l’etopea “pragmatica”: La dolorosa auto-
esortazione di Medea’, in E. Amato and J. Schamp (eds.): 112–22.
Ventura Da Silva G. (2011) ‘Qualche riflessione sull’ idea di città nell’Oratio
XI di Libanio’, in O. Lagacherie, P.-L. Malosse (eds.): 133–40.
Vessey M. (2005) ‘History, Fiction, and Figuralism in Book 8 of Augustine’s
Confessions’, in D. B. Martin and P. Cox Miller (eds.) Gender, Asceticism,
and Historiography. Duke: 237–57.
Vidal G. (1972) Julian. St. Albans (= New York, 1964).
Walden J. W. H. (1909) The Universities of Ancient Greece. New York.
Wallace-Hadrill A. (1986) ‘Introduction’, in W. Hamilton (ed.) Ammianus
Marcellinus: The Later Roman Empire (AD 354–378). London: 13–39.
Wallace-Hadrill A. (1989) ‘Patronage in Roman Society: From Republic to
Empire,’ in A. Wallace-Hadrill (ed.) Patronage in Ancient Society. London:
63–87.
Wallraff M. (2011) ‘Rabiate Diener Gottes? Das spätantike Mönchtum und
seine Rolle bei der Zurückdrangung paganer Kulte’, in H.-G. Nesselrath
(ed.): 159–78.
Walz C. (ed.) (1832–36). Rhetores graeci. Nine volumes. Stuttgart and
Tübingen.
Watts E. J. (2006). City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria.
Berkeley.
Watts E. J. (2015). The Final Pagan Generation. Berkeley and Los Angeles.
Webb R. (2001) ‘The Progymnasmata as Practice’, in Y. Lee Too (ed.)
Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity. Leiden: 289–316.
Webb R. (2006) ‘Rhetorical and Theatrical Fictions in the Works of Chorikios
of Gaza’, in S. F. Johnson (ed.) Greek Literature in Late Antiquity:
Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism. Aldershot and Burlington, Vermont:
107–24.
Webb R. (2009) Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical
Theory and Practice. Aldershot.
Webb R. (2010) ‘Between Poetry and Rhetoric: Libanios’ Use of Homeric
Subjects in His Progymnasmata’, Quaderni urbinati di cultura classica 95:
131–52.
Weissenberger M. (2010) Sopatri Quaestionum divisio. Würzburg.
Whitby M. (ed.) (1998) The Propaganda of Power: The Role of Panegyric in
Late Antiquity (Mnemosyne Supplements 183). Leiden.
White H. (1974) ‘The Historical Text as Literary Artifact’, Clio 3, 277–305.
(Reprinted in B. Richardson (ed.) (2002) Narrative Dynamics: Essays on
Time, Plot, Closure, and Frames. Columbus, Ohio: 191–210.)
Whitmarsh T. (2001) Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of
Imitation. Oxford
Whitmarsh T. (2005) The Second Sophistic (Greece and Rome. New Surveys in
the Classics 35). Oxford.
Wickert L. (1954) ‘Princeps (civitatis)’, in RE 22: 1998–2296.
Wiebe F. J. (1995) Kaiser Valens und die heidnische Opposition. Bonn.
Wiemer H.-U. (1994) ‘Libanius on Constantine’, Classical Quarterly 44: 511–
24.
Wiemer H.-U.(1995a) Libanius und Julian: Studien zum Verhältnis von
Rhetorik und Politik im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr. Munich.
Wiemer H.-U.(1995b) ‘Die Rangstellung des Sophisten Libanius unter den
Kaisern Julian, Valens und Theodosius. Mit einem Anhang über Abfassung
und Verbreitung von Libanios’ Rede Für die Tempel’, Chiron 25: 89–130.
Wiemer H.-U.(1996a) ‘War der 13. Brief des Libanios an den späteren Kaiser
Julian gerichtet?’, Rheinisches Museum 139: 83–95.
Wiemer H.-U.(1996b) ‘Der Sophist Libanios und die Bäcker von Antiocheia’,
Athenaeum n.s. 84: 527–48.
Wiemer H.-U.(1998) ‘Ein Kaiser verspottet sich selbst: Literarische Form und
historische Bedeutung von Kaiser Julians Misopogon’, in P. Kneissl and V.
Losemann (eds.) Imperium Romanum: Studien zu Geschichte und Rezeption.
Festschrift für Karl Christ zum 75. Geburtstag. Stuttgart: 733–55.
Wiemer H.-U.(2003) ‘Vergangenheit und Gegenwart im Antiochikos des
Libanios’, Klio 85: 442–68.
Wiemer H.-U.(2006) ‘Konkurrierende Geschlechterdiskurse in der Spätantike:
Der Lehrer Libanios und der Prediger Johannes Chrysostomos’, in R.
Rollinger and C. Ulf (eds.) Frauen und Geschlechter: Bilder – Rollen –
Realitäten in den Texten antiker Autoren der römischen Kaiserzeit. Cologne:
379–403.
Wiemer H.-U.(2011a) ‘Für die Tempel? Die Gewalt gegen heidnische
Heiligtümer aus der Sicht städtischer Eliten des spätrömischen Ostens’, in J.
Hahn (ed.): 159–85.
Wiemer H.-U.(2011b) ‘Kaiser und Kaisertum bei Libanios’, in H.-G. Nesselrath
(ed.): 127–58.
Wiemer H.-U. (2013) ‘Late Antiquity 1971–2011: Positionen der
angloamerikanischen Forschung’, Historische Zeitschrift 296: 114–30.
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff U. von (1912) Die griechische und lateinische
Literatur und Sprache (Die Kultur der Gegenwart) (Third edition). Berlin
and Leipzig.
Wilkinson K. W. (2009) ‘Palladas and the Age of Constantine’, Journal of
Roman Studies 99: 36–60.
Wilkinson K. W. (2010) ‘Palladas and the Foundation of Constantinople’,
Journal of Roman Studies 100: 179–94.
Wilson N. G. (1975) Saint Basil on the Value of Greek Literature. London.
Wintjes J. (2005) Das Leben des Libanius (Historische Studien der Universität
Würzburg 2). Rahden.
Wintjes J. (2006) ‘Libanius and Himerius’, in Á. González Gálvez and P.-L.
Malosse (eds.): 231–41.
Wittgenstein L. (1953) Philosophical Investigations. Oxford.
Wöhrle G. (1995) ‘Libanios’ Religion’, Publications du centre universitaire de
Luxembourg. Département des lettres et sciences humaines. Etudes
classiques 7: 71–89.
Wolf J. C. (1738) Libanius: Epistulae. Amsterdam.
Wolf P. (1952) Vom Schulwesen der Spätantike: Studien zu Libanius. Baden-
Baden.
Wolf P. (1967) Libanios: Autobiographische Schriften. Zürich and Stuttgart.
Wright M. J. B. (2012) ‘Libanios, Oration IX: On the Kalends’, Archiv für
Religionsgeschichte 12: 205–9.
Wright W. C. (1921) Philostratus: Lives of the Sophists. Eunapius: Lives of
Philosophers (The Loeb Classical Library). Cambridge, Massachusetts and
London.
Wytzes J. (1978) ‘Libanios et les lois’, in M. B. de Boer and T. A. Edrige (eds.)
Hommages à Maarten Vermaseren. Volume III. Leiden: 1334–40.
Yacobi T. (2005) ‘Authorial Rhetoric, Narratorial (Un)Reliability, Divergent
Readings: Tolstoy’s Kreutzer Sonata’, in J. Phelan and P. J. Rabinowitz (eds.)
A Companion to Narrative Theory. Oxford: 108–23.
Ziegler K. (1951) ‘Plutarchos von Chaironeia’, RE 41: 636–962.
 Index locorum
Declamations 107–27, 323–30
Declamation (2) 116, 117, 125
Declamation (6) 117, 119, 121, 123
Declamation (12) 114, 116, 120, 123
Declamation (15) 116
Declamation (16) 116
Declamation [18] 115
Declamation [20] 115
Declamation [23] 115
Declamation (24) 116, 121, 127
Declamation (25) 114, 116, 120
Declamation (28) 112
Declamation (29) 112
Declamation [34] 112, 114, 164
Declamation [40] 114, 120, 123
Declamation [43] 113, 123, 127
Declamation [45] 120, 121
Declamation [49] 114, 127
Declamation 1 82, 115, 116, 117, 119, 125
Declamation 3 114, 117, 120, 125, 173
Declamation 4 117, 119, 120, 125, 164, 279
Declamation 5 115, 117, 252
Declamation 7 117, 118
Declamation 8 117, 118
Declamation 9 113, 116, 119, 120
Declamation 10 113, 116, 119, 120
Declamation 11 116, 164
Declamation 13 116, 164
Declamation 14 116
Declamation 17 115
Declamation 19 115
Declamation 21 115
Declamation 22 115, 120
 Declamation 26 112, 114, 121, 124, 164, 173, 174
Declamation 27 112, 114, 174
Declamation 30 112, 114, 121
Declamation 31 112, 114, 121, 165
Declamation 32 112, 121
Declamation 33 112, 113, 114, 119, 121, 165
Declamation 35 112, 113
Declamation 36 113, 119, 127
Declamation 37 119, 121
Declamation 38 114, 127
Declamation 39 114, 127
Declamation 42 165
Declamation 44 119
Declamation 46 109, 112, 120, 127, 165
Declamation 47 112, 127
Declamation 48 112, 113, 127
Declamation 50 112
Declamation 51 114
Hypotheses to Demosthenes 116, 173, 182, 248, 317
Letters 144–59, 335–50
Letter 19 148, 155
Letter 25 44,
Letter 33 44, 45
Letter 34 229
Letter 35 44, 45
Letter 48 236
Letter 61 236
Letter 75 272
Letter 83 225
Letter 97 234
Letter 114 236
Letter 192 281, 283, 286
Letter 218 236
Letter 219 236
Letter 240 237
Letter 249 224
Letter 252 229
Letter 280 226
Letter 285 288
Letter 298 225
Letter 309 224
Letter 312 291
Letter 316 286, 288, 290
Letter 355 226
Letter 357 286
Letter 362 237
Letter 364 267
Letter 365 234, 238
Letter 374 267
Letter 382 236
Letter 388 44, 46
Letter 395 227
Letter 396 227
Letter 405 99, 250, 267
Letter 411 287
Letter 413 227
Letter 435 233
Letter 439 266
Letter 482 231
Letter 490 236
Letter 510 236
Letter 527 267
Letter 545 237
Letter 551 254
Letter 552 237
Letter 559 158, 236
Letter 562 231
Letter 606 290
Letter 615 252
Letter 617 237
Letter 651 237
Letter 732 225
Letter 742 64, 109
Letter 758 161
Letter 779 226,
Letter 791 226
Letter 808 226
Letter 823 286
 Letter 834 226
Letter 839 147
Letter 840 147, 149
Letter 910 250
Letter 914 146, 147
Letter 915 146, 147
Letter 982 274
Letter 1016 281
Letter 1036 251, 271, 274
Letter 1048 57
Letter 1080 62
Letter 1113 234, 238,
Letter 1120 280
Letter 1142 234
Letter 1148 238
Letter 1154 238
Letter 1220 53
Letter 1262 252
Letter 1267 226
Letter 1277 229
Letter 1310 234
Letter 1350 226
Letter 1424 51
Letter 1431 283
Letter 1434 53
Letter 1443 231
Letter 1459 238
Letter 1508 250
Letter 1534 39, 252
Letters 430-452 235
Letters 550-559 235
Orations 81–106, 331–4
Autobiography (Oration 1) 7–38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 49, 50, 59–60, 61, 62,
63, 65, 67, 81, 92, 149, 160, 182, 190, 192, 193, 196, 197, 198, 200,
236, 239, 243, 244, 245, 246, 249, 252, 266, 267, 278, 315, 331,
Oration 2 32, 68, 149, 198, 251
Oration 3 93, 161, 251, 278
Oration 4 95, 252
Oration 5 68, 70, 75, 97, 251, 256–60, 272
Oration 6 98
Oration 7 98, 312
Oration 8 98, 264
Oration 9 97, 139
Oration 10 91, 100
Oration 11 67, 96, 163, 212, 213, 251, 271, 277
Oration 12 84, 100, 194, 204, 211, 215, 266
Oration 13 83, 84, 100, 203, 215, 266
Oration 14 20, 84, 161, 194, 266, 274, 277, 288
Oration 15 84, 195, 255, 266, 272, 276, 277
Oration 16 62, 84, 195, 252
Oration 17 52, 54–5, 84, 164, 173, 196, 260–5, 275, 277, 293, 312
Oration 18 52, 56, 84, 125, 166, 204, 205, 210, 215, 229, 231, 255, 263,
293
Oration 19 85, 101, 104, 201, 277
Oration 20 85, 104
Oration 21 85
Oration 22 70, 85, 104, 263
Oration 23 83, 85, 102, 104, 105, 201
Oration 24 83, 86, 100, 201, 206, 275, 293, 312,
Oration 25 74, 98, 104
Oration 26 88, 89, 266
Oration 27 89, 266
Oration 28 89, 201, 266
Oration 29 95, 100, 266
Oration 30 86, 201, 207, 212, 295, 299–312, 313
Oration 31 70, 90, 101
Oration 32 95
Oration 33 89, 201, 251
Oration 34 75, 94
Oration 35 90, 157
Oration 36 94
Oration 37 96, 251, 257, 258
Oration 38 75, 91
Oration 39 96
Oration 40 89
Oration 42 96
Oration 43 93, 256
Oration 44 96
 Oration 45 86, 201, 208, 258
Oration 46 89, 201
Oration 47 87, 201, 229, 300
Oration 48 91, 216, 229
Oration 49 87, 201
Oration 50 86, 105, 201, 214
Oration 51 87, 88, 201, 207, 239
Oration 52 87, 88, 201, 239
Oration 53 91
Oration 54 90
Oration 55 65, 93
Oration 56 90
Oration 57 90
Oration 58 93
Oration 59 87, 100, 104, 190, 203, 215, 255
Oration 60 98, 251
Oration 61 41, 47, 48, 54, 98, 251
Oration 62 23, 94, 223, 272
Oration 63 91
Oration 64 97, 251
Panegyric for Valens 23, 34, 197
Progymnasmata 128–43, 318–22
Anecdote (chreia) 128, 132, 133, 141
Common topics (koinos topos) 128, 133–4
Common topics (topoi) 139
Comparison (synkrisis) 128, 136
Confirmation (kataskeuē) 128, 133
Description (ekphrasis) 128, 136–7, 138, 139
Encomium (enkōmion) 128, 135–6
Fable (mythos) 128, 131–2,
Introduction of a law (eisphora tou nomou) 128, 138
Invective (psogos) 128, 135–6
Maxim (gnōmē) 128, 132–3,
Narration (diēgēma) 128, 132,
Refutation (anaskeuē) 128, 133,
Speech in character (ēthopoiia) 117, 120, 128, 136, 138
Thesis (thesis) 128, 137–8, 140
 General index
Except in the cases of famous people such as emperors or writers, the names
of late antique people are followed by two numbers, separated by a slash:
Arabic numbers refer to their numbering in the PLRE, Roman numerals to that
in Seeck (1906). A hyphen (-) indicates that the person has no number in the
relevant prosopography, as he is the only person with that name included in it;
a zero (0) indicates that a person is not mentioned in a prosopography.
Acacius 7/iii 288, 290
Acacius 8/i 225, 226
Achilles 115, 117, 126, 133, 135, 136, 140, 141, 143, 227, 252, 260, 263, 264
Achilles Tatius 259
Actaeon 258
Aelian 248
Aelius Aristides 39, 47, 56, 76, 96, 97, 107, 115, 155, 246, 248, 251, 252, 253,
256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 263, 265, 267, 272
Aelius Aristides, pseudo- 261
Aeneas 258
Aeneas Tacticus 261
Aeschines 66, 95, 110, 115, 135, 136, 246, 250, 261, 267
Aeschylus 246, 247, 249, 262, 265, 266
Aesop 246, 247
Aesticampianus, Johannes 172
Aetherius 1/0 27
Agamemnon 141, 211, 236, 260, 263, 264
Ajax of Locris 133, 142
Ajax, son of Telamon 136, 256, 264
Alcaeus 247
Alcibiades 116
Alciphron 248
Alexander the Great 97, 139, 211, 262, 264
Alexandria 305,
Ammianus Marcellinus 24, 27, 42, 43, 215, 230, 235
Amphilochius of Iconium, pseudo- 168, 169, 174
Amphitryon 258
Anacreon 247
Anatolia 62
Anatolius 3/i 148, 156, 192, 230, 237
Anatolius 4/ii 225
Anatolius 5/iv 239
Anaxentius 0/0 65, 93
Andromache 136
Andronicus 3/ii 233, 286
Ankara 226, 234, 235
Antenor 164
Anthius 0/- 227
Antioch 83, 89, 93, 96, 102, 145, 178, 179, 180, 189, 196, 201, 204, 212, 213,
214, 217, 223, 226, 228, 233, 234, 235, 253, 254, 277, 295, 312
Council 70, 82, 90, 139, 216, 229
Emperors in 16, 23, 25, 27, 48, 55, 84, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197
Governors 82, 88, 106, 199, 200
Libanius 7, 14, 16, 18, 19, 32, 51, 61, 69, 76, 103, 146, 153, 168, 169, 190,
191, 193, 220, 225, 235, 236, 239, 243, 244
Schools 44, 63, 64, 65, 168, 223
Antiochus 0/0 95
Antiochus 9/x 96
Antiphon 261
Anytus 116
Apellio -/- 227
Aphrodite 142, 257, 263
Aphthonius 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137
Apollo 48, 49, 64, 132, 133, 142, 194, 258, 263, 264
Apollodorus 257
Apollonius Rhodius 257, 259
Arabia 215, 233
Aratus 246, 247, 257, 259
Araxius -/- 231
Arcadius 200
Archidamus 116, 121
Archilochus 247
Ares 117, 118, 263
Arethusa 132
Arion 132
Aristaenetus 1/i 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 98, 267
Aristides 258, 352, 356, 357, 363
Aristophanes 244, 246, 247, 249, 262, 266, 267
Aristophanes -/- of Corinth 20, 84, 161, 194, 274, 275, 276, 286
Aristophon of Azenia 116
Aristotle 156, 248
Armenia 223, 224, 226, 233
Arrian 261
Artemis 97, 251, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260
Asclepius 23, 112
Athena 142, 263
Athens 7, 16, 18, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68, 85, 97, 105, 115, 121, 125, 179,
190, 211, 214, 218, 223, 236, 244, 245, 271, 278
Augustine 92, 313
Aurispa, Giovanni 171, 172
Ausonius 297
Austin, John L. 289
Autobiography 9, 10, 17, 21, 33, 162
see also Libanius; Orations: Autobiography (Oration 1)
Auxentius 0/ii 25

Bacchylides 247
Barbaro, Francesco 171
Basil of Caesarea 64, 72, 167, 168, 170, 179, 181, 218, 221
Beirut 89, 253
Bellerophon 136, 142, 143
Beros 0/0 52
Bessarion 164
Bithynia 39, 64, 223, 252
Bostra 93, 214
Bradbury, Scott 145
Brown, Peter 157
Buondelmonti, Cristoforo 171
Bursa, Benedetto 173

Cabouret, Bernadette 106

Caesarea 65
Caesarius 1/iv 238
Caesarius 6/0 85, 101, 200
Callimachus 247, 257, 258, 259,
Callisthenes 257
Calpurnius Flaccus 113
Cambyses 264
Cameron, Alan 77, 297
Candidus 95
Candidus 0/0 95
Cappadocia 169, 223,
Capsalis, Soterianos 105
Carrié, Jean-Michel 300
Cassandra 133, 142
Cassius Dio 261
Celsus 3/i 238
Cephalus of Colyttus 116
Chaeronea 115
Characterization 15, 31, 123, 124,
Charis 152, 231
Chierigato, Lionello 173
Chiron 136
Choricius of Gaza 107, 124, 131, 164, 173
Christianity 3, 168, 180, 189, 195, 202, 205, 206, 215, 232, 267, 268, 269,
273, 293, 294, 295, 296, 298, 299, 300, 313,
Libanius 60, 91, 125, 165, 166, 168, 169, 170, 174, 178, 181, 218, 255, 298
Chryses 133
Cicero 9, 33, 113, 150, 178
Cilicia 223, 224, 233
Cimon 76, 116, 164
Cimon -/ii Arabius 8, 20, 23, 24, 57, 90, 196, 198, 202
Clematius 2/ii 233, 235,
Codex Theodosianus 23, 220, 303, 304, 305, 306, 308
Codrus 264
Cognizant reader 27, 28, 32, 37
Cohn, Dorrit 10
Constans 28, 87
Constantine I 61, 187, 189, 190, 191, 202, 303
Constantinople 32, 95, 96, 164, 168, 171, 196, 200, 202, 204, 211, 213, 217,
223, 228, 229, 230, 231, 234, 239, 273
Libanius 7, 14, 16, 18, 19, 28, 29, 30, 31, 35, 38, 41, 43, 69, 190, 191, 223,
234, 245, 254
Schools 62, 63, 64
Constantius II 28, 84, 87, 94, 99, 187, 190–3, 194, 202, 203, 205, 210, 211,
230, 231, 232, 235, 236, 238, 239, 240, 262, 272, 274, 275, 303, 306
Libanius 7, 19, 28, 31, 191, 192, 193
Corax 117
Corinth 116, 271, 274,
Cresphontes 264
Cribiore, Raffaella 2, 106, 145, 182, 251, 294
Criscuolo, Ugo 106,
Cursus publicus 151
Cyrus 211, 264

Daphne (Nymph) 133, 142

Daphne (Suburb) 48, 91, 97, 98, 194, 201, 264
Datianus 1/i 236
De Salvo, Lietta 106,
Delphi 263
Demades 115
Demeter 42
Demetrius 2/i 45, 290
Demetrius of Phalerum 110
Demetrius of Phalerum, pseudo- 154
Demosthenes 60, 64, 66, 67, 68, 69, 75, 76, 85, 92, 95, 115, 116, 126, 135,
136, 139, 141, 155, 211, 245, 246, 248, 250, 253, 261, 271
Demosthenes, pseudo- 267
Didymus 248
Dio Chrysostom 248
Diocletian 253
Diodorus Siculus 259
Diogenes 132, 139, 141, 248
Diomedes 135, 136, 140
Dionysius 6/ii 71
Dionysius of Halicarnassus 68, 162, 246, 248, 259, 261, 264, 265
Diophantus 1/i 7, 65, 121
Dius 0/0 238
Downey, Glanville 178
Drexel, Jeremias 174
Duration 15, 22, 31, 37

Ecdicius -/i 225

Egypt 75, 77, 308
Ellebichus -/- 85, 101, 200
Ellipsis 13
Emesa 61, 214
Emplotment 9, 21
Entrechius 1/- 51
Epiphanius 1/i 65
Erasmus of Rotterdam 173
Eudaemon 3/i 282
Eugenius 6/0 104
Eugnomonius -/- 158, 236
Eumolpius -/- 89
Eunapius of Sardis 8, 10, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 29, 32, 36, 37, 60, 61, 63, 64, 67,
68, 72, 101, 105, 119, 121, 162, 163, 165, 199, 221, 245, 272, 294
Euphratensis 223, 233,
Euripides 77, 108, 246, 247, 249, 250, 258, 259, 266
Eusebius 0/ix 43
Eusebius 0/x 224
Eusebius 24/xxii 150
Eusebius of Caesarea 218, 255,
Eustathius 6/v 90
Eutropius 0/0 95

Face 287
Festugière, André-Jean 106, 295
Festus 3/0 12, 25, 27
Filelfo, Francesco 171
Firminus 3/ii 56, 57
Flashback 13,
Flavian (bishop of Antioch) 307
Flavius Josephus 92, 246, 261,
Florentius 3/i 234, 236
Florentius 9/ix 89
Foerster, Richard 8, 11, 82, 83, 88, 92, 96, 105, 110, 111, 122, 123, 130, 131,
132, 133, 145, 148, 163, 172, 177, 178, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251
Fortunatianus 1?/i 252
Fortune. See Tychē
Frankness of speech. See Parrhēsia
Friendship 151–2, 154, 224, 226–7, 228, 236, 281, 282, 285
Fronto 16

Gaianus 6/- 52
Galatia 62, 223, 224, 225, 226, 233
Gallus 19, 81, 187, 191
Garnsey, Peter 232
Gaza 65, 93, 131, 164
Genethlius -/0 64
Gesture of authority 36
Gesture of deference 36
Gibbon, Edward 59, 67, 176, 183
Gibson, Craig 140
Grammarians 62, 72, 76, 77, 108, 109, 244, 266, 282
Gregory II of Cyprus 164
Gregory of Nazianzus 63, 64, 72, 81, 167, 168, 182, 218, 221, 269, 277, 298
Gregory of Nyssa 167, 168
Gunderson, Erik 127

Hahn, Johannes 295

Halirrhothius 117
Harris, Max 139
Heath, Malcolm 119
Hector 135, 256, 260, 262
Heitmann, Maximilianus 106
Helen of Troy 117, 125
Helena 2/0, wife of Julian 96
Heliodorus 249
Hellenism 125, 268–92
Helpidius 4/i 232
Helpidius 6/ii 45, 280, 283
Henry, Martine 106
Hephaestion 61
Heracles 132, 227
Hermagoras of Temnos 118
Hermes 131
Hermogenes 3/iv 193
Hermogenes of Tarsus 75, 118, 119, 164
Hermogenes of Tarsus, pseudo- 129, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137
Herodotus 132, 246, 247, 249, 250, 251, 259, 261, 262, 263, 265
Hesiod 64, 108, 139, 246, 247, 249, 250, 271
Hestia 257
Hierax -/- 267
Himerius 64, 105, 107, 109, 253
Homer 67, 75, 76, 77, 108, 117, 121, 133, 136, 139, 211, 218, 246, 249, 250,
256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267, 271
Hyacinthus 132
Hygieinus -/- 44, 51
Hyperechius -/i 225
Hyperides 115

Ibsen, Henrik 179, 181

Icarius 2/0 89, 95, 266
Imperial administration 88, 212–16, 230,
Io 97
Irenaeus 0/0 25
Isauria 233
Isidore of Pelusium 163
Isocrates 155, 246, 250, 261, 264, 265, 266, 273
Italicianus -/- 39

Jason 142
Jews 178, 214, 297
Johannes Geometres 163
Johansson 120
Johansson, Mikael 119
John Chrysostom 60, 85, 98, 161, 163, 168, 178, 180, 218, 295, 296, 298,
John Cinnamus 165
John Doxapatres 164
John of Ragusa 171
John Phocas 164
Jones, A.H.M. 1, 228
See also PLRE
Jonson, Ben 174
Jovian 51, 187, 195–6, 205, 235
Jovianus 1/i 287
Julian 44, 53, 96, 99, 121, 180, 187, 192, 193–5, 202, 203, 210, 231, 232,
235, 249, 262, 272, 273, 275, 277, 280, 283,
Accession 44
 Aristophanes 161, 274, 275
As an author 81, 100, 147, 254, 255
Death 40, 48–55, 56, 170, 195, 201, 204, 238, 254, 260–5, 312
Libanius 7, 20, 45, 49, 55, 64, 76, 83–4, 106, 161, 162, 169, 174, 178, 181,
194, 195, 239, 248, 293
Religious policy 101, 125, 165, 166, 205, 218, 269, 294, 296, 303
Julianus 5/0 of Cappadocia 64

Kapsalis, Soterianos 173

Kelly, Christopher 230
Kernel 14, 36
Kock, Theodor 123
Kruse, Bernardus 106

Lacapenus, Georgius 8
Lagacherie, Odile 182
Lais 116
Latin 3, 59, 61, 63, 66, 72, 78, 90, 91, 94, 209, 215, 232, 250, 253, 273, 278
Law studies 3, 59, 63, 66, 72, 78, 90, 94, 209, 215, 232, 253, 278
Leontius 9/iv 225, 226
Leppin, Hartmut 18, 25, 32
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 175
Leto 258
Letoius 0/i 235, 288
Leuctra 116
Libanius
Declamations
Authenticity 111–12
Divination 24, 25
Flattery 20–1, 68, 101, 195
Forged correspondence with Basil of Caesarea 124, 167, 168, 171, 173, 176
Health 23, 24, 45, 56, 57, 60, 154, 192, 252
Income 62, 71, 93, 190, 191, 193, 194, 243
Letters
Chronological gap 150
Manuscript tradition 146–8
Magic 20, 25, 29, 30, 31, 149, 190, 193
Orations
Bibliographical survey 105–6
 Pederasty 8, 29, 31, 32, 33, 37, 162, 190
Reception 60, 66, 82, 98, 107, 121, 138, 144, 160–83
Supposed honorary Praetorian Prefecture 19, 198
Treason 192, 193, 197
Liebeschuetz, Wolfgang 1, 162, 178, 229
López Eire, Antonio 106, 155
Lübker, Friedrich 178
Lucian 68, 72, 107, 171, 246, 248
Lucianus 6/0 90
Lupicinus 6/0 25
Lycurgus (mythical figure) 262
Lycurgus of Athens 119
Lycurgus of Sparta 263
Lypē 45
Lysias 246, 250, 251

Magnentius (usurper) 190

Malchus 1/0 231
Mal-Maeder, Danielle van 123
Malosse, Pierre-Louis 2, 106, 125, 182
Manuel II Palaeologus 164
Manutius, Aldus 171, 173
Marathon 259
Marcellus 2/0 237
Marcus Aurelius 16
Martin, Jean 11, 97, 251, 257, 258, 259,
Martindale, John Robert. See PLRE
Martyrius 0/0 24, 25, 26
Maternus Cynegius 3/0 200, 216, 308
Maximus (usurper) 200,
Maximus 19/vi 225, 226,
Maximus 21/x of Ephesus 125, 179, 182
McLynn, Neil 308
Medea 136, 138, 143
Medici, Cosimo de’ 171
Meletai. See Libanius: Declamations
Meletius (bishop of Antioch) 178, 180
Menander 108, 246, 247, 249
Menelaus 117, 121, 125, 136, 263
Mesopotamia 223
Milan 192, 235
Millar, Fergus 219
Miltiades 76, 116, 262
Mimēsis 21, 283
Miracles de Nostre Dame par personnages 169, 171
Mixidemus 0/0 96
Modestus 2/- Domitius 282
Morel, F(r)édéric 82, 105, 173
Morris, John. See PLRE
Münscher, Karl 111, 130, 131, 132, 133
Muses 64, 69, 223, 263

Najmájer, Marie von 179

Najock, Dietmar 111,
Nausicaa 257
Neocles (father of Themistocles) 116
Nesselrath, Heinz-Günther 2
Nestor 236
Nicaea 7, 16, 30, 31, 42, 190, 223, 267
Nicander 259
Nicolaus Mesarites 164
Nicolaus of Damascus 261
Nicolaus of Myra 129, 130, 133, 137
Nicolaus of Myra, pseudo- 130
Nicomedia 7, 16, 18, 28, 29, 31, 35, 40, 41–8, 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 98, 109,
190, 191, 192, 223, 234, 251
Niobe 136, 258
Nomos empsychos 207, 276
Norman, A.F. 11, 21, 25, 53, 83, 131, 132, 133, 148, 178, 182, 222, 246, 247,
248, 249, 251, 253, 266, 294

Odysseus 115, 117, 120, 121, 125, 135, 136, 252, 259, 260, 279
Oeneus 258, 262
Olympic Games at Antioch 22, 90, 91, 96, 235
Olympius [3/ii] 25
Olympius 3/ii 91, 222, 225, 229
Olympius 4/i 227, 266
Order (narrative) 31, 37
Orestes 117, 121, 123
Orion 0/0 297
Orosius 313

Pack, Roger 139

Paideia 23, 26, 125, 167, 227, 230, 231, 271, 276, 282, 295
Palestine 61, 62, 215, 223, 226, 233,
Palmyra 214
Pandarus 263
Panolbius 1/0 232
Paris of Troy 263
Parrhēsia 20, 60, 148, 211
Patroclus 227
Patronage 154, 157, 188, 193, 201, 208, 214, 220, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232,
236, 237, 300
Pausanias 261
Pedagogues 71, 73, 75, 93, 94, 102, 132, 141, 143,
Pelagius 1/i 231
Peleus 143
Penella, Robert 21, 29
Penelope 257,
Pergamius 0/0 25
Pericles 76
Perotti, Niccolò 173
Petit, Paul 11, 13, 86, 106, 145, 148, 178, 222,
Petra 214
Phaëthon 263, 265
Phasganius 0/- (Libanius’ uncle) 18, 20, 43, 44, 81, 232
Philagrius 2/iv 52, 53,
Philip II of Macedon 115, 135, 142
Philostratus 99, 110, 246, 248
Philumenus 0/0 24, 25
Phocylides 247
Phoenicia 52, 215, 223, 233, 286
Phoenix 262
Photius 8, 109, 163, 166
Pindar 64, 116, 246, 247, 249, 250, 262, 265
Pirithous 227
Plato 76, 139, 161, 179, 246, 248, 250, 261, 264, 265, 267
Plato, pseudo- 262
Plotinus 181
PLRE 1, 167, 178, 220, 222
Plutarch 21, 34, 247, 259, 265, 266
Poiēsis 17, 21
Polybius 247
Polycles -/0 96
Polycrates of Athens 115
Pompeianus 3/iii 109
Porphyry 246, 248
Poseidon 117, 263
Postumianus 3/iii 250, 271
Potidaea 116
Praxilla 247
Pricus 5/i 51
Priscianus 1/i 233, 236
Priscus 5/i (philosopher) 180
Proclus 0/ii 286
Proclus 6/iii 88, 91, 96
Procopius (usurper) 24, 25, 26
Prohaeresius 0/0 (sophist) 8, 61, 64, 66, 67, 122, 162
Protasius 1/0 25
Proteus 69
Protheōria 112, 117, 120, 121, 123,
Prototypes 284
Pythagoras 248

Quintilian 77, 110, 112, 119

Quintilian, pseudo- 112, 113
Quirinus -/i 222, 238
Quiroga Puertas, Alberto 106,

Reiske, Johann Jacob and Ernestine Christine 82, 105, 175, 176, 177
Richomeres -/- 200, 297
Riot of the statues 16, 20, 35, 85, 94, 95, 101, 104, 106, 160, 266, 277
Rivolta, Paola 106,
Rome 28, 68, 72, 190, 211, 213, 217, 230, 235, 297, 305, 311, 313
Rother, Carolus 106
Rufinus 18/xii 200
Russell, Donald A. 108, 112, 119, 120, 121, 124

Sabinus 5/i 225, 237

Salamis 116
Saller, Richard 228
Salmoneus 262
Salvius 0/0 53
Salza, Wigand von 173
Samosata 214
Sandwell, Isabella 2, 238, 295, 296, 297, 300
Sappho 247, 249
Sarpedon 256, 264
Saturninius Secundus 3/- Salutius 51
Schatkin, Margaret A. 105
Schmid, Wilhelm 177
Schmitz, Thomas 125
Scholl, Reinhold 106
School curriculum 71–2, 75–7, 107, 108–9, 110, 128, 139, 140, 243,
Schouler, Bernard 1, 10, 106, 119, 125, 138, 178, 249, 250, 251
Scylacius 2/ii 53,
Searle, John R. 289
Sebon 0/0 286
Second Sophistic 1, 97, 99, 110, 122, 125, 241, 242, 243, 248, 253, 269, 271,
272, 273, 316
Seeck, Otto 145, 148, 177, 222
Seleucus 1/- 250, 280, 283
Seleucus I Nicator 97
Severus 14/xii 90
Severus of Alexandria 130
Sievers, Gottlob Reinhold 8, 176, 182
Silvanus 3/0 75, 91
Simonides 247, 250
Sirmium 192
Sizgorich, Thomas 300, 310
Socrates 115, 116, 117, 125, 248,
Socrates of Constantinople 166, 168
Sommerfeldt, Johann 172
Sopater 1 or 3/0 64
Sopater of Athens (rhetor) 119
Sophocles 133, 246, 247, 249, 259
Sosicrates (converted Jew) 178
Sozomen 166, 168
Sparta 271
Spectatus 1/- 232, 233, 235, 237,
Speculum historiale 169, 171
Speech act theory 289
Stasis 75, 118–19, 128
Stenger, Jan 294
Stenography 59, 61, 90, 94, 210, 215, 231, 232, 295
Stesichorus 247
Stojković, Ivan 171
Strategius Musonianus -/i 43, 46, 237, 239
Suda 8, 64, 107
Symmachus, Quintus Aurelius 215, 217, 297, 313
Synesius of Cyrene 63, 221
Syria 75, 88, 89, 212, 220, 223, 225, 228, 233, 308

Tacitus 9, 33, 34
Tarsus 234
Tatianus 5/i 77, 149, 200, 255,
Telemachus 257
Thalassius 1/i 232, 297
Thalassius 4/iv 90, 96, 150, 202
Themistius 25, 63, 105, 156, 158, 196, 197, 205, 207, 213, 217, 249, 254, 255,
267, 294, 314
Themistocles 116, 126, 262
Theodorus 11/iii 39, 252
Theodorus 13/viii 24, 25, 26,
Theodorus of Mopsuestia 168
Theodosius I 7, 16, 20, 60, 85, 86, 89, 101, 104, 105, 149, 161, 180, 187, 189,
197–202, 205, 206, 207, 210, 211, 216, 218, 277, 299, 300, 301, 303,
304, 305, 311, 312
Theognis 246, 247
Theon Aelius of Alexandria 129, 133
Theophrastus 248
Thersites 135, 141, 252
Theseus 227
Thetis 143, 263
Thrasydaeus 95
Thucydides 23, 59, 60, 64, 66, 67, 69, 103, 245, 246, 247, 250, 251, 261, 271
Timocrates -/0 89
Timon 116, 123
Tisamenus -/0 89
Tisias 117
Tlepolemus 256
Tychē 14, 35, 36, 37, 43, 50, 59, 92
Tyrtaeus 247

Ulpianus 1/0 61, 62, 64

Ureña Bracero, Jesús 138

Valens 7, 16, 20, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 34, 38, 49, 50, 81, 149, 187, 195, 196–7,
200, 205, 232, 235, 303, 304
Valentinian I 72, 197, 198, 235, 303, 304
Van Hoof, Lieve 149, 150
Van Nuffelen, Peter 106
Ventrella, Gianluca 138
Vidal, Gore 180, 181, 182
Vincent of Beauvais 169

Waddell Gruber, Heather 140

Wallace-Hadrill, Andrew 228, 237
Webb, Ruth 124, 138, 139
White, Hayden 9, 10
Wiemer, Hans-Ulrich 2, 16, 19, 106, 182, 310
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Ulrich von 176
Wintjes, Jorit 2, 8, 12, 106, 182
Wolf, Johann Christoph 175
Wolf, Peter 106

Xenophon 246, 247, 248, 250, 258, 259, 260, 266

Zambeccari, Francesco 172, 175, 177

Zenobius -/i 62, 69, 70, 191, 192
Zeus 131, 143, 256, 257, 264