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Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity 350 450 Maijastina Kahlos Full Chapter PDF
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RELIGIOUS DISSENT IN LATE
ANTIQUITY, 350–450
OXFORD STUDIES IN LATE ANTIQUITY
Series Editor
Ralph Mathisen
Late Antiquity has unified what in the past were disparate disciplinary,
chronological, and geographical areas of study. Welcoming a wide array of
methodological approaches, this book series provides a venue for the finest new
scholarship on the period, ranging from the later Roman Empire to the Byzantine,
Sasanid, early Islamic, and early Carolingian worlds.
Two Romes
Rome and Constantinople in Late Antiquity
Edited by Lucy Grig and Gavin Kelly
Disciplining Christians
Correction and Community in Augustine’s Letters
Jennifer V. Ebbeler
Maijastina Kahlos
1
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Acknowledgements xi
Abbreviations xiii
vii
viii Contents
Bibliography 221
Index locorum 261
General Index 269
Acknowledgements
xi
xii Acknowledgements
Sari Kivistö for steady steering at the Collegium, and Risto Saarinen and Virpi
Mäkinen for real recognition at the Centre of Excellence. My thanks are also due
to the Ancient Team at the Centre, the leaders of the team, Ismo Dunderberg
and Outi Lehtipuu, and the team members, Vilja Alanko, Raimo Hakola, Niko
Huttunen, Ivan Miroshnikov, Marika Rauhala, Joona Salminen, Ulla Tervahauta,
Siiri Toiviainen, Anna-Liisa Rafael, Miira Tuominen, and Sami Ylikarjanmaa, for
their advice over these years. My warmest thanks also go to other members at
the Centre—to name just a few of them, Hanne Appelqvist, Sara Gehlin, Heikki
Haara, Heikki J. Koskinen, Ritva Palmén, Mikko Posti, and Panu-Matti Pöykkö—
for cooperation in the serious sense and community full of laughter, coffee, spin-
ning, and boxing.
I wish to thank my university colleagues Juliette Day, Alexandra Grigorieva,
Marja- Leena Hänninen, Mari Isoaho, Tua Korhonen, Mia Korpiola, Antti
Lampinen, Ilkka Lindstedt, Petri Luomanen, Nina Nikki, Katja Ritari, and Ville
Vuolanto for their collaboration and inspiration. And what would a human be
without her dear friends? Thanks for sharing and supporting, Johanna, Helena,
Katja, Marja-Leena, Mia, Ritva, Pia, Tuula, and Ulla! This book was in the making
for quite a while. This led my spouse, Jarkko Tontti, unfaltering in his encourage-
ment, to make remarks in a manner similar to those which Dorothea uttered to
Casaubon in George Eliot’s Middlemarch:
‘And all your notes’, said Dorothea . . . ‘All the rows of volumes—will
you not now do what you used to speak of?—will you not make up your
mind what part of them you will use, and begin to write the book which
will make your vast knowledge useful to the world? . . .’ (George Eliot,
Middlemarch, Edinburgh: Blackwood, 1895, p. 147)
Jarkko comforted me that this will be my last book on the last pagans. Well, per-
haps not, but it may be time to ‘take it as an opportunity’ and do something else
for a change.
Abbreviations
xiii
xiv Abbreviations
1. E.g., Nixey 2017, 247: ‘The “triumph” of Christianity was complete.’ Nixey repeats the oft-told story of
Christian triumph since Edward Gibbon, and before Gibbon, of the Christian church historians.
2. Athanassiadi 2006 and Athanassiadi 2010, 14 interpret the intellectual and spiritual development of Late
Antiquity as the change from the ‘zenith of acceptance’ (polydoxie) to the trend towards one-sided thought (mono-
doxie); for criticism see Papaconstantinou 2011.
Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450. Maijastina Kahlos. Oxford University Press (2020).
© Oxford University Press.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190067250.001.0001
2 Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450
Later generations have outlined the world of Late Antiquity in more nuanced
ways than the interpretations put forward immediately during and after World
War II. The traditional interpretation of conflict has been challenged since the
1960s by Alan Cameron, among others.3 The ‘new radical’ view refutes the idea
of the last pagan resistance as a romantic myth and contends that there was nei-
ther a pagan reaction in a military sense nor a pagan revival in a cultural sense.
The fact that there are now more abundant and multifarious sources available for
late antique studies than ever before has also led to further reinterpretations of
the religious changes of Late Antiquity (the so-called Christianization) of the late
Roman world.
However, the traditional view of conflict tends to live on in modern schol-
arship. It pops up in different forms, especially in non-specialist books, such as
Nixey’s The Darkening Age. Why does the dichotomous and conflictual image of
the pagan reaction continue to attract scholars (not to mention the general audi-
ence)? It seems that the melodrama of a last resistance with discernible heroes is
both dramatic and simple enough to captivate more attention than the mundane,
everyday nuances of economic and social issues.4 In Christian literary sources,
the more committed or rigorist writers made a lot of noise, and it is this noise
that has influenced the tendency to see the religious history of Late Antiquity
primarily in antagonistic terms. The problems with these melodramatic grand
narratives—either Christian triumphalism (often, but not always, connected
with the Christian confessional agenda) or a gloomy decline of classical civili-
zation (often, but not always, connected with a secularist worldview)—is that, in
both cases, interpreters fall into the trap of taking the late antique, highly rhetor-
ical sources at face value.
This is why in Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity I address two aspects: rhet-
oric and realities. Both are necessary for understanding the religious history of
the late Roman Empire, particularly the shifting position of dissenting religious
groups. In terms of the first, the research focuses on the analysis of discourse used
in late antique sources, moving principally in the textual world of the writers. The
second aspect involves social and historical research, which surveys the prac-
tical circumstances of religious minorities in late Roman society. This approach
does not entail an epistemologically naïve distinction between the ‘text world’
and ‘historical reality’. These are not separable. Thus, this research delves into
the interplay between the manifest ideologies and daily life found in our sources.
The hundred years under scrutiny, from c. 350 to c. 450 CE, stretch approxi-
mately from Constantius II’s reign until the end of Theodosius II’s reign. The time
span covers the most crucial years of Christianization after the Constantinian
turn and, consequently, the shifts in relative power between religious majorities
Religious dissenters
The religious groups under consideration are pagans and heretics. These terms
are only shorthand: ‘pagans’ for non-Christians or polytheists; ‘heretics’ for
Christians marked as deviants. Furthermore, these terms are relational. Pagans
were a creation of Christian writers, of course; there would have been no pagans
without the viewpoint of Christians. Likewise, the question of who is a heretic
naturally depends on the perceiver.6 I am inclined to call the religious groups
under scrutiny religious dissenters or dissidents, as well as deviant groups or reli-
gious deviants.
In late Roman society, relations between the religious majorities and minori-
ties fluctuated. Over the course of the fourth century, Christianity shifted from
a minority position to the majority one, or at least a strong minority, while the
Graeco-Roman religions gradually fell to a minority position, or a silent and
weakened majority.7 It is impossible to precisely define the relative proportions
5. The Christian Roman Empire here means the empire governed by Christian emperors, as in many regions
it may have remained non-Christian in other aspects.
6. For discussions on the term ‘polytheist’, see Cribiore 2013, 7. The use of the terms ‘pagan’ and ‘heretic’ is
covered in more detail in chapters 7 and 8.
7. For the majorities and minorities in Late Antiquity, see Brown 1961; Kaegi 1966, 249; Haehling 1978;
Barnes 1989, 308–309; Barnes 1995; MacMullen 2009, 102–103; Alan Cameron 2011, 178–182; and Salzman 2002
on Roman aristocracy; except for Barnes, scholars usually estimate that the majority of the elite remained pagan up
to c. 400.
4 Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450
of the religious groups in the Roman Empire. At best, we can make guesstimates.
Moreover, the proportions of religious groups varied by area. Therefore, it is
problematic to speak of religious minorities, because we cannot specify which
groups—for example, pagans or Christians—were in the majority or minority in
a specific place at a specific time.
The same applies to the power relations between the Nicene and other
Christian groups (e.g., Homoians, or ‘Arians’, as they were called by the Nicene
Christians). In certain areas and spheres of politics at specific times, as in the
imperial court during the reigns of Constantius II and Valens, the Homoians
held the upper hand while the Nicenes (or pro-Nicenes) were at risk of being
marginalized as deviants.8 Consequently, for most of the fourth century, the
boundaries for the normative orthodoxy were in flux. Thus, what was ‘orthodox’
and what was ‘heretical’ were under continuous negotiation and struggle. Nicene
Christianity eventually became the imperially supported church and the main-
stream institution as late as the end of the fourth century, calling itself the
Catholic Church.9 Nonetheless, in terms of the proportions and power relations
that were significant, one cannot overemphasize the regional differences within
the Roman Empire.10 What constituted the dominant group in one area did not
hold true in another region.
In this book, I examine the ways in which dissident religious groups were
construed as religious outsiders in late Roman society. The question of outsiders,
or ‘aliens’ (alieni, allotrioi) in relation to ‘our’ religion and society, is a matter of
who is outside, but also who is within; accordingly, it requires a formation of a
mode of thinking about insiders (nostri, oikeioi).11 Imperial legislation followed
the logic that those who were ‘aliens’ or ‘foreigners’ in matters of religion were
also aliens or foreigners in the eyes of Roman law.12 Another question is how fre-
quently this judicial infamia was handed down as a penalty and how significantly
it influenced dissidents’ everyday lives in practice. Citizenship was only one as-
pect of social status and practical circumstances.
It is unavoidable that humans divide the world into ‘us’ and ‘them’. Both indi-
viduals and groups distinguish themselves from the other and, by construing dif-
ferences, make sense of themselves. There is no self or collective identity without
8. According to McLynn 2005, 86, in the 380s–390s, the Nicenes did not necessarily enjoy an overall ascend-
ancy; Barnes 1997, 1–16, however, regards Homoians as already defeated by that point. Positions of power are not,
of course, the same as the number of adherents.
9. The status of the creed settled in the Council of Nicaea (in 325) came to be recognized only gradually as the
divinely inspired and unalterable standard of faith. For the complexities of the fourth-century doctrinal disputes,
see Ayres 2004, 139–239; Gwynn 2007; Gwynn 2010; Wiles 1996.
10. Fredriksen 2008, 99 estimates that the groups outside the Nicene church constituted the majority of the
total population in the fourth century and perhaps later.
11. The issue of oikeioi and allotrioi in the fourth century is highlighted by Elm 2012, 432.
12. Gaudemet 1984, 7–37. See c hapter 2.
Introduction 5
13. For a general introduction to theories of otherness, see Kahlos 2011a. For a theoretical discussion, see
Stuart Hall 1997, 234–238; Green 1985, 49–50; Judith Lieu 2004, 269; Shusterman 1998, 107–112; Gruenwald 1994,
9–10; Woolf 1998; Woolf 2011; Jonathan Hall 1997.
14. For useful discussions on the use of identity in modern scholarship and on the criticism of its use in pre-
modern texts, see Iricinschi and Zellentin 2008b, 2, 11–12 n. 40; Judith Lieu 2004, 11–17; Cribiore 2013, 138.
15. Buell 2005, 4; see also Buell 2005, 14, remarking that ‘the question of the viability of using these [modern]
categories . . . is partly about how to formulate an interpretive framework that accounts for historical difference
while still being intelligible to the interpreter. . . . We can place modern categories into conversation with ancient
ones without effacing their differences.’
16. Headland, Pike, and Harris 1990—esp. Harris 1990, 48–61 and Pike 1990, 62–74. See also Stratton 2007,
14–16 on emic and etic perspectives in the research of ancient ‘magic’.
6 Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450
and inferiors morally, existentially, and/or socially. Very seldom can we speak of
groups or communities being held as equals. The representation of a group or in-
dividual as inferior, subordinate, alien, foreign, or abnormal—as compared to the
self—is called ‘othering’.17 In Late Antiquity, we observe othering discourses and
othering patterns of thinking that diminish or entirely ignore common features
between the other and the self. The other always includes the repressed aspects of
the self. Othering signifies subordination or segregation.
‘Imperial power’ is here understood as the emperors in both the East and the
West, the imperial courts, and the administration, as well as the elites closely
connected to the courts and in a position to influence imperial decision-making.
The most important sources for the imperial discourse of power are imperial
proclamations, letters, and legislation. Panegyrics addressed to emperors reveal
themes and attitudes important to the elites close to the imperial establishment.
In the fourth century, the Roman emperors adopted an increasingly autocratic
style of government, and this is apparent in the imperial rhetoric. As we will see
in chapter 2, imperial power (like any other form of power) was not self-evidently
fixed, but constantly negotiated at every level of law-making and government.
The authoritative language of legislation was used not only to manifest imperial
power, but also to create and reinforce it.
‘Ecclesiastical power’ refers here to church leaders—mainly bishops, whose
authority was increasing during the fourth and fifth centuries. There was no
uniform church, and Christian congregations were miscellaneous assemblages
of adherents. Therefore, we should speak of Christian churches in the plural
rather than the Church in the singular.18 The mainstream church or mainstream
Christianity is understood in this case as the Christian inclination that in this pe-
riod gradually became the dominant church supported by the emperors, usually
called the Catholic Church in scholarship. I prefer to avoid the term ‘Catholic
Church’, which is problematic because most churches of the period regarded
themselves as catholic, meaning ‘universal’. For example, the North African
Christian group—called Donatists by their rivals and subsequent generations of
scholars—considered itself the catholic church. It regarded its opponents merely
as traditores or Caeciliani, basing the name on the rival bishop of Carthage,
Caecilianus.19 The terms ‘mainstream church’ or ‘mainstream Christianity’ are
also problematic, because it is far from clear which church was prevailing in a
17. ‘Othering’ refers here to the representation of a person or group of people as fundamentally alien from
another, frequently more powerful, group. See Stuart Hall 1997, 258–259; J. Z. Smith 1985, 5; Klostergaard Petersen
2011, 19–50.
18. Regarding the problems of speaking of one Christianity, see Salzman 2008, 189 and Hopkins 1998, 90–94.
19. Shaw 1992, 7–14, esp. 8 on the hegemonic domination of the labelling process of Donatists.
Introduction 7
specific region at a specific time. The ‘Donatist’ church was dominant in North
Africa for most of the fourth century. Furthermore, it was not the same church
that enjoyed imperial backing all the time. As is well known, the emperors
Constantius II and Valens were sympathetic to the Homoian (‘Arian’) inclination
and supported Homoian bishops, while other emperors, especially Theodosius
I, showed their support to the Nicene (‘catholic’) inclination—the future main-
stream church.
The period under scrutiny saw the Christianization of imperial and eccle-
siastical discourses of control. I analyse the ways in which these differed from
the earlier discourses of power in regard to religious dissenters. We can observe
divergences from earlier rhetoric legitimating Roman and imperial power, but
also remarkable continuity.20 Furthermore, when studying the relationship be-
tween imperial and ecclesiastical powers, we can see both collaboration and ri-
valry. The rhetoric of both the imperial government and the leading bishops often
argued for a correlation between the unity of the empire and that of the church.
In the ecclesiastical discourses of power, we recognize rhetoric of conviction and
persuasion as well as that of control and discipline. Averil Cameron’s Christianity
and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse (1991) char-
acterized Christian rhetoric as a ‘totalising discourse’ in the sense that it aimed
at a comprehensive interpretation of reality, subsuming or excluding other inter-
pretations. The Christian message thereby became a complete worldview.21
Late antique writers often conveyed a simplified and codified perception of their
lived world. This work studies the interplay between the manifest ideologies and
daily realities. My analysis of imperial and ecclesiastical rhetoric draws attention
to their attempts to eliminate ambiguity or dissent, as well as to ways in which re-
ligious dissenters and outsiders were represented in rhetoric. In Graeco-Roman
Antiquity, harsh slander was a ubiquitous element in the discursive warfare of
political disputes, law courts, conflicts between religious groups, and debates be-
tween philosophical schools. Christian writers’ invectives against their theolog-
ical adversaries, or bishops’ denunciation of pagans, followed well-established
conventions of polemic. In the analysis of polemical sources, we should focus
on what their rhetoric reveals about their aims and ambitions and how the
writers constructed a reality of their own through text. This is a step away from
thinking about late antique ecclesiastical writing (for example, heresiological and
20. Discourse here is not simply a collection of sentences. It is not merely a form of knowledge but also a prac-
tice, since it confers and regulates power. Discourse and discursive practices are specific to each culture at a given
period, and they are thus the historically situated frames of reference that validate what counts as knowledge in a
certain historical context. Foucault 1971; Lincoln 1992, 3–5; Perkins 2009, 6–7; Stratton 2007, 18.
21. Averil Cameron 1991, esp. 220–221. See also Hargis 1999, 7–8 and de Bruyn 1993, 406.
8 Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450
22. Garnsey and Humfress 2001, 165. See, for example, Goodman 2011, 165–193 on iconoclasm in texts (tri-
umphalism) versus archaeological evidence, and Sears 2011, 231 on a model of inexorable Christianization versus
archaeology.
23. Isid. Pelus. ep. 1.270 (PG 78, 344). Trans. Kaegi 1966, 243, modified. For Isidore’s correspondence and
discussions with pagans, see Jones 2014, 83–84.
Introduction 9
festivities. In addition to these pagans existing and acting in factual social con-
texts, it is possible to see that they were also used as a theological construction,
which functioned as a mirror image in which one’s own theological views and
moral conduct could be tested, and defended. Thus, there are pagans and ‘pagans’
in the same way as there are Jews and ‘Jews’ in early Christian literature: theolog-
ical Jews were vital for the construction of Christian identity.24 The complexity of
different levels can be observed in testimonies in which researchers have found
local forms of religiosity in Late Antiquity, construed by ecclesiastical writers and
councils as ‘magical’, ‘pagan’, or ‘heretical’, according to the literary conventions
of the time. We will see, especially in chapter 10, how religious diversity persisted
despite the ideals outlined by ecclesiastical leaders and despite the manifestations
promulgated by the imperial administration.
Historical sources tend to highlight the dramatic, violent, and spectacular at
the expense of repeated routines and undisturbed everyday life. They are also
wont to focus on specific and exceptional incidents. They do not make comments
on peaceful conditions when everything goes as expected. Therefore, realities
here also refer to the compromises made by emperors who tried to manage the
diversity that persisted in their empire. Furthermore, the realities of life included
daily economic concerns. Dissident groups could be marginalized by directing
sanctions against their economic relations and juridical status. It was no minor
issue which of the churches (e.g., either the Caecilian or Donatist church in
North Africa) enjoyed imperial privileges. Obviously, the social life filled with
negotiations and compromises was more complex than church leaders wished.
The day-to-day realities lead us to the problematic concept of Christianization,
as the term ‘Christianization’ may refer to both the process and its results.25 As Jitse
Dijkstra remarks, it is useful to ask from whose angle we look at Christianization—
from our perspective or an ancient perceiver’s. Furthermore, we should consider
whether Christianization was the process of a person, a group, a region, or Roman
society in general.26 Christianization has as many definitions as there were defin-
ers. Each late antique writer, Christian leader, Roman administrator, and indi-
vidual had a notion of his or her own of what becoming Christian and making
the empire, region, or household Christian implied. Each modern scholar also
has her or his own views of what constituted Christianization in the late Roman
Empire—depending on the scholar’s perspective—be it classics, social history,
the history of ideas, systematic theology, biblical studies, church history, religious
studies, archaeology, or art history, among other things—not to mention her or
his age, gender, nationality, and religious/non-religious inclination. For my part,
27. For the religious koine of the Mediterranean world, see Stroumsa 2008, 30.
Introduction 11
against practices, feasting, and places was balanced by the realities of everyday
life. Many traditional rituals and local communal practices went through a series
of metamorphoses in the fourth and fifth centuries, and this section explores the
transformations of such practices as sacrificial rituals, as well as their economics
and the competition over and sharing of holy places and sacred times. Section
III ends with a discussion of how the label of ‘magic’ functioned as a boundary
marker between what was understood as the proper religion and the deviant one.
SECTION I
1. ‘Totalizing discourse’ refers to a comprehensive interpretation of reality, such as the Christian one in Late
Antiquity. Averil Cameron 1991, esp. 220–221; de Bruyn 1993, 406.
2. This Weberian outlining of authority is discussed, for example, in Kangas, Korpiola, and Ainonen
2013, ix–xi.
13
14 Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450
the late Roman Empire by Peter Brown.3 Roman imperial power was typically es-
tablished on the basis of, and maintained by, both physical domination and per-
suasion. One cannot play down the fact that Roman supremacy throughout the
provinces (and beyond) was based on the use and threat of violence. Neither the
threat of violence nor its use can be ignored in the research of Christianization.
Nonetheless, violence is not the whole picture. The religious rivalries of Late
Antiquity involved authority and persuasion, power and physical violence, dom-
ination, and economic pressures. The term ‘coercive turn’ illustrates this change.
Coercion here implies not only physical force and violence, but also hegemony
in economic relations, such as those between landowners and tenants.4 The
Foucauldian notion that power not only entails the exercise of physical force,
but also language that shapes and constructs reality, explains the attempts of the
imperial government and ecclesiastical leaders to constrain and control practices
and sources of knowledge. For example, since the early principate, the contin-
uous concern of emperors for divination, to gain knowledge of the future, was re-
lated to the maintenance of authority. Emperors sought to restrain unsanctioned
private soothsaying, which they believed to be connected with conspiracy and
treason. This was associated with the concept of ‘magic’, which was one of the
gravest crimes in Roman law. Consequently, magic was the most dangerous label
for religious dissenters to be associated with in imperial legislation.5
Religion and power/authority were intrinsically intertwined in late Roman
society. Religion had a central role in forming collective identities and defining
relations with other groups in the Graeco-Roman world. In Late Antiquity, the
role of religion may have even become more significant than previously. In their
refashioning of the authoritative metanarrative of society, Christian leaders suc-
cessfully combined the Christian rhetoric of persuasion and conviction with the
Graeco-Roman elite discourse and the Roman imperial language of control and
discipline. However, these discourses were not static but prone to change. In the
early imperial period, as Judith Perkins shows, Christians as a cultural movement
had challenged the totalizing elite discourse, employing universalizing language
to create a cosmopolitan trans-empire identity for themselves, thus disrupting
the imperial elite’s monopoly on authority. Ultimately, the imperial elite was
transformed into a Christian elite, and its rhetoric was replaced by new forms of
Christian totalizing discourses.6
By its nature, discourse is about power. In achieving enduring social control, it
is even more effective than the brute exercise of force. In Late Antiquity, emper-
ors and church leaders sought to determine the right behaviour and correct be-
lief, and to control what could be said (and imagined). Since discourse constructs
social meanings, it is a means by which power is distributed in the matrix of the
power relations of a society. In imperial and ecclesiastical rhetoric—for example,
in legislative texts and the sermons of bishops—certain religious groups were
argued to be alien to the Roman order. Roman power and order were believed to
be divine in origin. Consequently, appropriate forms of worship and conceptions
of the divine were thought to be crucial for the successful government of the em-
pire and even for the maintenance of the cosmic order. As one imperial decree
stated, religion was the foundation of the empire: ‘We are aware that our state is
sustained more by religious practices (religionibus) than through offices, physical
labour, and sweat.’7
In imperial legislation and ecclesiastical polemic, religious dissenters were
labelled as belonging outside the Roman state, Graeco-Roman civilization, and
oikoumene—and also, in the crudest cases, outside humankind. Thus, at issue
was who was inside and who was outside, or who was Roman and who was alien
(alienus, allotrios). This is what Ambrose of Milan hinted at when refuting the
appeal made by the Roman senator Symmachus (345–c. 402) for the continua-
tion of imperial support for the traditional Roman cults. For Ambrose, Christian
was identical with ‘Roman’, and pagan with ‘non-Roman’, or even barbarian. He
asserts that the only thing that pagan Rome had in common with barbarians was
idolatry, and he portrays the personification of Rome by saying ‘I did not know
God is the one thing I once had in common with barbarians.’ The implication
is that Rome has now become Christian, and it finally has nothing in common
with barbarians. Consequently, those who still remain pagans are barbarians, not
proper Romans.8
6. Perkins 2009, 28–32, 177–180. See Jacobs 2003, 9, 22–23 on postcolonial analyses of imperial and colonial
discourses.
7. CTh 16.2.16 (in 361): magis religionibus quam officiis et labore corporis vel sudore nostram rem publicam
contineri. Pharr 1952, 443 translates religiones as ‘religion’.
8. Ambr. ep. 73.7 (=ep. 18 Maur.) (CSEL 82.3). Trans. Liebeschuetz 2005, 83. Ambrose’s aim was to embarrass
the aristocratic Roman pagans (such as Symmachus himself) by connecting them with barbarians.
1
Imperial authority was reinforced with the rhetoric of public welfare. The order
and welfare of the empire, and even the whole of humankind, was based, it
was claimed, on the maintenance of good relations with the divine (pax deo-
rum, pax Dei). The emperors represented themselves as the guardians of these
Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450. Maijastina Kahlos. Oxford University Press (2020).
© Oxford University Press.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190067250.001.0001
18 Imperial and ecclesiastical authority
4. ‘National security’ is the term used in Drake 2008, 460; Drake 2011, 198.
5. Theodosius, Sacra ad Cyrillum et ad singulos metropolitas 3 (ACO 1.1.1, 114–115); Festugière 1982, 173.
6. Theodosius, Sacra ad Symeonem Stylitam (ACO 1.1.4, 5); Festugière 1982, 471.
The emperor and the dissenters 19
7. See Van Dam 2007b, 226–227, 251–267, 346–347 on how the making of Christian theology overlapped
with the making of new political philosophy. Theodosius I, for example, supported the Nicene doctrine, according
to which the Father and the Son were coordinate, while at the same time, he and his son Arcadius were represented
as co-equal senior emperors.
8. Price 1984, 247.
9. Elm 2012, 480–481. For example, concern for the appropriate comprehension of the divine connected with
the welfare of the empire was shared by Gregory of Nazianzus and Emperor Julian: see Elm 2012, 11, 265, 300.
10. The divine indignation towards deviant religious groups was used by the pagan Tetrarchs as well as the late
fourth-and early fifth-century Christian emperors; see Digeser 2006, 73–74.
11. For citing the good of the community as a justification of religious oppression, see Kahlos 2009, 34–35,
121–123. In particular, medical analogies were used to validate religious coercion: the community had to be cured
of the diseases of undesirable religious inclinations.
20 Imperial and ecclesiastical authority
In the Christian Empire, Christianity was considered the instrument that pro-
tected and saved the oikoumene. It was the responsibility of the emperor as the
vice-regent of God on earth to guarantee the correct interpretation of the nature
of God.12 Thus, the fate of the imperial power and the empire was intrinsically
linked with the unity and harmony of Christianity. This is why the definition of
the doctrine became so imperative in the fourth and fifth centuries. This connec-
tion between the welfare of the state and correct Christian doctrine is highlighted
in the sixth-century legislation of Justinian. He declared that the security of the
empire was guaranteed not by arms, soldiers, military leaders, or imperial intel-
lect, but only by the providence of the supreme Trinity.13
The concern of the Christian emperors and their entourage was as a con-
tinuation of the age-old Roman tradition in which it was precisely the public
religion (religio) that was dutifully performed to maintain the security and pros-
perity of the empire. Correspondingly, divine anger could be provoked by reli-
gious misbehaviour or neglect (religio neglecta), and natural catastrophes and all
kinds of disasters resulted from the indignation of divine forces. Religious mis-
behaviour involved impiety towards the gods (asebeia, impietas), but it was also
regarded as a transgression against the state.14 In the second and third centuries,
the Christians had occasionally been accused of bringing misfortunes down on
the community.15 Christian replies relied on the same mental framework as the
accusations. Christian writers usually flipped the charges back on pagans, argu-
ing that it was the pagans who drew the divine indignation. As the connection
between religious misbehaviour and divine retribution in the form of calamities
had been raised vis-à-vis deviant groups, such as Christians and Manichaeans
in the reign of the Tetrarchs, the thought pattern was shared by pagans and
Christians alike.16 The correlation between the welfare of the empire and divine
favour achieved by the proper conduct of religion was still central in the procla-
mations of Constantine and his successors. The letter of Licinius and Constantine
(the so-called Edict of Milan) set as the aim of the emperors the well-being and
public security of the empire and the profit of humans, and it spoke of the di-
vinity ‘in the seat of heaven’ who is ‘appeased and made propitious’. The ‘habitual
favour and benevolence’ of the divinity were said to be maintained when no one
is denied freedom of religion.17
A similar connection was postulated in fourth-and fifth-century imperial
legislation, specifically in terms of the contamination that incorrect religious
behaviour was thought to bring upon the community and the entire empire. In a
law instituted by Theodosius II in 425, the presence of religious dissidents is sup-
posed to cause pollution in the cities where they live:
In another law from 438, the traditional cycle of cause and effect is turned against
pagans. Theodosius II attributes abnormalities in nature—the succession of the
seasons has been disturbed—to pagan perfidy. Thus, spring is not as lovely as
usual, summer is barren of its harvest, and winter is unexceptionally harsh and
has doomed the land with disastrous sterility. The conclusion is that nature must
be punishing impiety in its own manner, and the emperor states that the revered
majesty of the supreme deity must be placated.19 In a number of laws, public wel-
fare and the unity of the church were identified with each other. For example, in a
decree from 409, the public well-being (salus communis), meaning the well-being
of the empire, is linked with the benefit of the church (pro utilitatibus catholicae
sacrosanctae ecclesiae).20
The emperors were also reminded of the connection between public wel-
fare and the correct interpretation of religion. The leaders of divergent inclina-
tions stressed this connection for their own purposes. In his campaign against
Homoian Christianity (Arianism), Ambrose adopted the idea of divine retribu-
tion. In On Faith, he explained military defeats, especially the one at Adrianople
in 378, as God’s punishment for Emperor Valens’s ‘Arianism’. He stated that the
‘reason for the divine indignation’ is evident: faith (fides) in the Roman power
has been broken where faith in God has been broken. Furthermore, Ambrose
linked religious dissidence and barbarian attacks, associating the ‘sacrilegious
voices’ [of ‘heretics’] with the ‘barbarian attacks’ (sacrilegis pariter vocibus et bar-
baricis motibus). He exclaimed, ‘How can the Roman state be secure with such
17. See Lact. mort. 48.2; see also Eus. eccl. 10.5. Kahlos 2009, 56–58 with further bibliography.
18. Sirm. 6 (in 425). Trans. Pharr 1952, 480. Here the legislator links Manichaeans, heretics, and schismatics
together with the mathematici (astrologers).
19. Novellae of Theodosius II, 3.8 (in 438). Noethlichs 1998, 17; Millar 2006, 121, 224–225.
20. CTh 16.5.47 (in 409). On heresy as linked with the issue of public welfare, see Humfress 2000, 129–131.
22 Imperial and ecclesiastical authority
custodians?’21 Here Ambrose articulates the familiar idea of the emperor as the
guardian not only of the commonwealth, but also of the correct religion.
During the Nestorian controversy, Cyril of Alexandria, when urging
Theodosius II to turn against Nestorius, associated imperial power with the cor-
rect doctrine. Cyril insisted that those rulers who did not take care of the true
faith would perish. Consequently, disagreement within the church was perceived
as a threat to the stability of imperial power.22 The logic of retribution and reward
is also apparent in Cyril’s rhetoric in his letters to the imperial ladies, the Empress
Aelia Eudocia and the emperor’s sister Pulcheria, respectively. He assures them
if they confess the correct doctrine (Cyril’s version, obviously), they will enjoy
strong blessings: ‘For if Christ thus finds that your faith is steadfast and pure,
he will honour you abundantly with good things from above, and you will be
fully blessed.’23 Cyril was not alone in linking the unity of the church with impe-
rial success in accordance with the logic of divine reward and retribution. It was
rumoured that his rival Nestorius had promised to Theodosius II that if the em-
peror gave him ‘the earth cleansed of heretics’, he would give the emperor ‘heaven
in return’. Nestorius was alleged to have declared, ‘Help me in destroying heretics
and I will help you in defeating the Persians.’24
As previously mentioned, the idea of divine favour and anger was common-
place among both Christians and non-Christians. In his famous appeal for the
continuation of public support for the old Roman religion, Symmachus based his
argumentation on the utility of the traditional Roman religion in guaranteeing
the public welfare. Correspondingly, he argued, the neglect of Roman religion
by Christians led to drought, failure of crops, and famine.25 In a similar vein,
Libanius, in his speech for the temples, attributed the success and security of the
empire to the favour of the old gods, which was maintained by the traditional
cults.26 The question was, which religion—Christianity or the traditional Roman
religion—could guarantee divine support for the well-being of Rome. Similar
21. Ambr. fid. 2.16.139–140. Cf. Oros. hist. 7.33.9, 7.33.19: iusto iudicio Dei; Theodoret. eccl. 4.30–31. For the
circumstances concerning Ambrose’s De fide, see McLynn 1994, 102–105, 120–121; Lenski 1997, 149–150; Lenski
2002, 213; and Alan Cameron 2011, 35–36.
22. Cyr. Alex. or. ad Theod. imp. (ACO 1.1.1, 43–44). For the contest for imperial support during the Nestorian
controversy, see Wessel 2004, 90; Millar 2006, 36; Kahlos 2014, 1–32.
23. Cyr. Alex. or. ad Augustas 48 (ACO 1.1.5, 61). For Cyril’s letters to the imperial women, see Millar 2006, 36;
Wessel 2004, 98–99; Graumann 2002, 323–333; Holum 1982, 159–161.
24. The rumours are found in Socr. eccl. 7.29. A similar combination of promise and threat is reported by
Sozomen (eccl. 6.40.1): the monk Isaac asserted to Valens, who was the keen supporter of Homoian Christians, ‘But
you will not return [from Adrianople] if you do not restore the [Nicene] churches.’
25. Utility: Symm. rel. 3.2–3, 3.8, 3.11 (in 384). On the failure of crops, see Symm. rel. 3.15–17. Ambrose, who
in his own attack against ‘Arians’ had applied the idea of divine retribution, in his reply to Symmachus (Ambr.
ep. 73.7 =ep. 17 Maur.) refuted Symmachus’s charges by attributing the successes and failures to humans, not to
the divine sphere (i.e., it was the strength of the Roman soldiers that made the empire successful, not the gods),
as well as by attributing the failure of crops to the natural sphere (Ambr. ep. 72.20–21, 72.30 =ep. 18 Maur.). For
Symmachus’s relatio and the responses to it, see Klein 1971; Klein 1972; Demandt 1972; Döpp 2009; Alan Cameron
2011, 337–343.
26. Liban. or. 30.31, 30.34, also 30.4–5. For Libanius’ speech, see Criscuolo 1995; Sizgorich 2007, 75–101.
The emperor and the dissenters 23
27. The sixth-century pagan historian Zosimus (5.40–41) and the fifth-century church historian Sozomen
(eccl. 9.6–7) refer to the demands that were made for the revival of traditional cult practices during the Gothic inva-
sion of Italy in 408. Both writers seem to follow Olympiodorus’s lost account. O’Daly 1994, 65–75; Burgarella 1995,
190; Salzman 2010, 260; Alan Cameron 2011, 190–191.
28. Aug. civ. 5.23. By means of the barbarian assaults, God flogged (flagellavit) Romans and demonstrated that
sacrifices to the old gods were useless, even in securing earthly well-being.
29. Pseudo-Justin, Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos 126 (PG 6). This work was earlier falsely assigned
to Justin the Martyr, but later it was attributed either to Diodore of Tarsus or Theodoret of Cyrrhus. Papadoyannakis
2008, 115–127 sets the provenance of the work in early fifth-century Syria. The bitter voices of pagans are heard
as late as the sixth century in the complaints of Zosimus (4.59, also 1.57.1, 2.33.4, 3.32.1, 4.21.3), who blamed the
calamities of the empire on neglect of the traditional cults.
30. This concern is echoed in the narrative of Life of Porphyry: as soon as the bishop Porphyry arrives in Gaza,
the people begin to blame the drought at that time on his presence: Marc. Diac. v. Porph. 19 Kugener. Even though
the work most likely does not date from the period it purports to depict, it reflects the contemporary ways of attrib-
uting natural calamities to the incorrect religion of rivals. For a discussion on the dating, see Grégoire and Kugener
1930, vii–xxix; Barnes 2010, 260–283.
24 Imperial and ecclesiastical authority
have significant impact, if misunderstood by those who ruled the empire, the
emperor and the elites’. In the fourth century, it was the nature of the divinity
that was at the centre of disputes.31 When security and order were disturbed by
natural disasters, disease, war, and upheavals, divine forces needed to be placated
to restore normality. Wielded by the majority, the idea became a powerful form
of ammunition against the dissident minorities. Many Christian writers, such as
Orosius and Salvian of Marseilles, nonetheless also ascribed misfortunes and the
divine anger behind them to the sinfulness of the whole community, not only the
deviants of the community. Calamities were argued as being divine retribution
meant for chastisement and the cure of sins.32
The old Roman idea of pax deorum and its late antique variant, the Christian
logic of divine reward and retribution, were usually connected with the demand
of correct religious behaviour and/or belief within the community. The idea
of religious misconduct drawing divine anger down on the whole community
could be wielded against religious dissidents. As Michael Gaddis suggests, this
worldview created the preconditions for official intolerance.33 For example, in his
Cunctos populos edict, Theodosius I threatened heretics (in this case, Homoians
were the principal target) with both divine vengeance and ‘the retribution of our
own initiative, which we shall assume in accordance with divine judgment’.34 The
connection of religious deviance with divine wrath indeed was a powerful argu-
ment in imperial legislation against pagans and heretics.
In the context of divine anger and favour, the requirement for unity—not only
in what we call the political sphere, but also the religious one—becomes under-
standable. The unity of correct religious behaviour, cult, and belief was neces-
sary for maintaining balance, both on the cosmic level and in mundane affairs.
It was argued that good governance safeguarded this unity. Even during the
early imperial period, which was well known for its diversity of religions—or
the ‘market-place of religions’, as it has been called—the emperors attempted to
control religious life with various restrictions. The imperial government was es-
pecially concerned with private practices, such as private divination. With their
regulations and restrictions, the fourth-century Christian emperors followed the
models of policy established by their predecessors in the early imperial period
31. Elm 2012, 2. Furthermore, cosmic, communal, and individual salvation and public order were intertwined;
see Lyman 2000, 151.
32. E.g., Oros. hist. 2.1.1, 7.15.5; Salv. gub. 6.2, 6.6, 6.11, 8.2. Basil. Caes. Quod deus non est auctor malorum 5
(PG 21, 377C) argued that disease, droughts, and dearth were the testing of Christians. For further discussion, see
Kahlos 2013a, 177–193; for Salvian, see Lambert 1999, 115–130.
33. Gaddis 2005, 34.
34. CTh 16.1.2.1 (in 380). Trans. Pharr 1952, 440.
The emperor and the dissenters 25
(for example, by regulating private practices).35 In the third and fourth centuries,
there was an increasing tendency in the imperial policies to control religious ac-
tivities. This striving for harmony in matters of religion was often linked with
concurrent attempts to enhance the unity of the empire.36 In the recent research,
this imperial emphasis on universalizing religion has been interpreted as a re-
sponse to ideas that had already changed rather than as top-down impulses of in-
dividual emperors. Thus, imperial policies are now understood more as reflecting
shifts in religion and society in general.37
In the fourth century, Christianity and the Roman Empire were both trans-
formed and developed side by side as competing but also overlapping universal-
isms.38 The unity of the empire was thought to be reinforced by the unity of cult
and belief. In addition to control of rituals and practices, this meant attempts to
regulate beliefs—namely, striving for ‘the imperial monopoly on knowledge’.39
This can be seen in the proclamations in which Constantine acknowledged re-
ligious unity as his principal goals (for example, his wish ‘to unite all the opin-
ions of the divine of the nations in a single consistent view’). This is justified
with the concord (homonoia) among God’s servants that brings tranquillity and
well-being. Thus, religious unity, ‘one united judgment about the divine’, was pos-
tulated to provide welfare to the empire.40 Unity and the correct doctrine (ortho-
doxy) became a matter of public safety. Constantine highlighted public safety in
the heat of the controversy between the mainstream (Caecilianist) church and
the Donatists, stating that ‘the legally adopted and observed religion guaran-
tees the welfare of the state and brings happiness to all human undertakings’.
Correspondingly, he inferred, if religion is neglected, the state is in great danger.41
35. On continuities in the attitudes of the Roman elite towards private practices, see Hunt 1993, 143–158;
Martroye 1930, 669–701; Kahlos 2013b, 313–344.
36. In the third century, this striving for unity is apparent in the attempts to unify the empire by Emperors
Decius, Valerius, and Diocletian and his co-rulers. For the third-and fourth-century attempts at unity by imperial
governments, see Rives 1999, 135–154; Kahlos 2009, 28–38, 56–66; and Van Dam 2007b, 272, 281 on Constantine’s
obsession with political and religious unity. Athanassiadi 2010, 15–16 sees Decius’s policy, as well as Julian’s, as an
important phase in the development towards theocracy and monodoxy. There were similar attempts to enhance
politico-religious unity in the Persian Empire during the same period: Fowden 1993, 80–168.
37. Salzman 2008, 186, 189–190 calls the traditional narrative, in which the emperor is seen as the initiator of
(political, social, or religious) change, a ‘top-down political conflict model’. For the criticism of the top-down model,
see also Salzman 2002, xi–xii, 5; Salzman 2007, 210; Elizabeth A. Clark 2004, 183.
38. On Christianity and the Roman Empire as ‘two powerful, enduring and competing visions of universalism
in the fourth century’, see Elm 2012, 1–10.
39. Fögen 1993, 254–321; also Baudy 2006, 112; Humfress 2000, 130–131.
40. Constantine’s letter to Bishop Alexander of Alexandria and Arius in 324 in Eus. v. Const. 2.64–72,
esp. 2.65.1–2. Trans. Averil Cameron and S. G. Hall 1999, 43–44. Constantine also stressed religious unity in his
inaugural speech in the Council of Nicaea: in Eus. v. Const. 3.12. Constantine appealed to religious unity mainly
in his dealings with Christian dissident groups (rather than with non-Christians), in his decree against Christian
dissidents, prohibiting their meetings and confiscating the property and churches for the ‘catholic’ church, in Eus.
v. Const. 3.64–65. Barnes 1981, 224; Norderval 1995, 95–115; Drake 1996, 30 n. 51; Drake 2000, 346–348; S. G. Hall
1986, 5–7.
41. Constantine’s letter to Anulinus in Eus. eccl. 10.7.1–2. For Constantine’s policies in the Donatist strife, see
Drake 2000, 212–231; Lenski 2016, 102–135; Tilley 1996, xi–xvi; and Frend 1952, 159–163.
26 Imperial and ecclesiastical authority
42. CTh 16.5.41 (in 407): catholicam fidem et ritum, quem per omnes homines cupimus observari. This law
announced the annulment of punishments if heretics, especially Donatists and Manichaeans, embraced ‘catholic’
Christianity. Hunt 1993, 148.
2
Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity, 350–450. Maijastina Kahlos. Oxford University Press (2020).
© Oxford University Press.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190067250.001.0001
28 Imperial and ecclesiastical authority
Legislation in Roman society had a different function than legislation has today: it
represented ideology and served as propaganda; it was full of moral proclama-
tions; and its language was strong, moralizing, and highly rhetorical. In the fourth
century, legislation reflected the increasingly autocratic governmental style that
the emperors had adopted. Late antique legislation, which not only concerned
cult activities and religious groups, but also other issues, was articulated in un-
compromising and moralizing language. Religious groups were condemned with
harsh, insulting terms such as superstitio, error, perfidia, perversitas, and vesania.5
Laws described the ‘pagan criminal mind’ (sceleratae mentis paganae); damnable,
accursed, and abominable sacrifices; and the insanity of sacrifices.6 To give one
example, in a decree from 348 against pagans, the legislator uses such phrases as
‘their heathen enormities’, ‘their natural insanity and stubborn insolence’, ‘the ne-
farious rites of their sacrifices and the false doctrines of their deadly superstition’,
‘their crimes’, ‘their mass of crimes’, ‘the corruption of their sacrifices’, ‘audacious
madness’, ‘these impious persons’, ‘their pagan madness’, and ‘any person of pol-
luted and contaminated mind’.7
Not sounding politically correct to the ears of a modern observer, this reprov-
ing language reminds us more of contemporary hate speech on the Internet than
the neutral tone of legislative texts that people today are accustomed to. However,
as David Moncur and Peter Heather point out, we need to make a distinction
between how things were articulated and what was actually ordered. Emperors
tried to strike a balance between gratifying rigoristic Christians and maintain-
ing social equilibrium between different interest groups. Despite their severely
worded directives and threats, laws were not necessarily always meant for uni-
versal application.8
The highly coloured, morally charged language of the legislation implies an
efficient autocracy and severe imperial authority. It was used not only to describe
imperial power, but also—first and foremost—to create it. Emperors needed to
send an authoritative message to their subjects on the maintenance of morality,
social order, and discipline, as well as state security. The same applied to impe-
rial legislation in general, not only to the laws that disciplined religious dissident
groups. Emperors needed to convince rigorist Christian circles that Christian
unity was intensely pursued by means of strict laws, and to reassure them with
5. CTh 16.5.51 (in 410): haereticae superstitionis. CTh 16.8.19 (in 409) calls Judaism superstitio, perversitas, and
incredulitas; cf. 16.8.24 (in 418): superstitio and perversitas; 16.9.4 (in 417): superstitio. CTh 16.5.63 (in 425): Omnes
haereses omnesque perfidias, omnia schismata superstitionesque gentilium, omnes catholicae legi inimicos insectamur
errores; 16.10.20 (in 415): pagana superstitio; 16.10.7 (in 381): vesanus ac sacrilegus.
6. E.g. CTh 16.10.25 (in 435), 16.10.23 (in 423), 16.10.13 (in 395), 16.10.2 (in 341).
7. Novellae of Theodosius II, 3.8 (in 348).
8. On paying lip service to rigorist circles, see Heather and Moncur 2001, 48–60. On emperors balancing be-
tween different religious interests, see Lee 2000, 94; O’Donnell 1979, 59–60.
The realities of legislation 29
9. CTh 16.10.22 (in 423), 16.10.25 (in 435), 16.10.19 (in 407). Veyne 1981, 355; Bradbury 1994, 134–137; and
Drake 2011, 211 draw attention to the disciplinary nature of the late antique legislation meant to educate people by
exhortation, condemnation, and threats.
10. CTh 16.10.10 (in 391) on iudices. Hunt 1993, 157 points out that the Theodosian laws against paganism ap-
pear comprehensive in terms of their prohibition of pagan practices, but they were actually directed at the provincial
administration.
11. For a discussion of the changes, see Humfress 2007b, 234–235; Humfress 2016, 160–176. This shift in the
legal thinking was possible only after Constantine had integrated Christianity into the legal framework.
12. CTh 16.10.7 (in 381). Similarly, CTh 16.10.9 (in 385) forbade the performance of sacrifices for divination.
Salzman 1987, 177–183.
30 Imperial and ecclesiastical authority
From the discussion above, it becomes clear that the existence of harsh leg-
islation does not necessarily imply that laws were widely obeyed. The prohibi-
tions were renewed again and again, and punishments became more severe. It
must also be remembered that enforcement of laws often depended on regional
circumstances and the initiatives of local leaders such as bishops. It has been
surmised that the repetition of laws (e.g., banning sacrifices) implies widespread
disobedience at the local level.13 This is certainly true in many cases, although we
must bear in mind that the repetition was also part of imperial procedures. When
assuming the throne, a new emperor had to proclaim his power and either renew
or cancel the legislation of his predecessors.
Christian orthodoxy and Roman citizenship were equated in late antique leg-
islation. This pattern of thought, in which being a good citizen or loyal subject
was delineated in terms of correct religion, had a long tradition and from time
to time showed up in imperial announcements. Communities in Graeco-Roman
antiquity had habitually defined themselves through religion and its correct per-
formance. During the Republican and early imperial periods, a proper Roman
was suitably pious, performing rituals and worshipping the gods in the correct
manner, such as through participation in sacrificial rituals (as performers or
spectators).14 Defining Romanness in religious terms became an even more im-
portant part of political debate from the early third century onwards.15
This tendency to delineate a proper Roman in terms of religion continued in
the Christian Empire. The criteria for being a good Roman gradually changed,
but the principle persisted. In the imperial proclamations of the late fourth and
fifth centuries, a Roman was redefined as being a Christian and, moreover, the
right kind of Christian. In the legislation from Gratian and Theodosius I onwards,
that meant being a Nicene Christian. Practising devotions other than imperial
Christianity (now Nicene) was argued to be one of the gravest transgressions
against the state and the emperor, and according to some texts it led to falling
out of civilized—Christian and Roman—society. However, as already noted,
imperial decrees need to be taken more as moral proclamations than practical
instructions. Furthermore, imperial announcements such as the famous Cunctos
populos by Theodosius I in 380 were made in response to local circumstances.16
13. E.g., in CTh 16.10.12 (in 392). On reiteration, see Fowden 1998, 540; Bradbury 1994, 133; Hunt 1993,
143–144; O’Donnell 1979, 59–60.
14. Beard, North, and Price 1998, 239–240; Gordon 1990, 253–255.
15. The connection between the suitable way of performing religious duties and being Roman was accentuated
by Caracalla in 212, Decius in 249–250, Valerian in 257–258, and the Tetrarchs in 304. On the developments in the
third century, see Inglebert 2002, 241–260; Digeser 2000; Digeser 2006, 69–71; Rives 1999, 135–154.
16. CTh 16.1.2. See also CTh 16.5.5 (in 379) and 16.5.4 (in 376/378).
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genteel to be a Tory; but under the patronage of a great Whig lord, it
was a matter of course that he should regard the Whig aristocracy
with reverence and approbation.
We should not have said so much of Mr Pringle, had it not been
that he had once seen Penelope Primrose and greatly admired her,
and had it not also been that the return of Mr Primrose to England
rendered it a very promising speculation for the young gentleman to
think seriously of paying his addresses to her.
When Mr Primrose first called at the rectory the reverend divine
was not visible, for he had not finished the duties of the toilet. But
hearing that Mr Primrose was in England and at Smatterton, he felt
most happy in an opportunity of paying his respects. And such was
the candour of Mr Primrose, that he thought the new rector a very
agreeable sensible man. The two gentlemen at dinner-time talked
with great fluency on a variety of topics which neither of them
understood or cared about. Now Mr Primrose was at this time in that
state of mind which prepared and disposed him to be easily pleased,
and therefore the efforts of Mr Pringle to make himself agreeable
succeeded to admiration. Quite delighted was the rector of
Smatterton to hear the father of Penelope express himself so well
pleased with that village as to be desirous of taking up his residence
there. Very politely did the reverend gentleman remark that there
was no house in the village fit for Mr Primrose’s reception. Mr
Primrose however observed that he was by no means particular, and
that a mere cottage would answer his purpose. Mr Pringle thought
that he should have no objection to giving up the parsonage and
finding a residence for himself, and there was some little talk to that
purpose, but nothing was definitely agreed upon.
As the two gentlemen were engaged in chat about everything and
nothing, a very unexpected interruption was given to their
conversation by the entrance of Robert Darnley. He had arrived at
Neverden much sooner than he had been expected, and hearing
that Mr Primrose had been there on the preceding day, and was now
in all probability at Smatterton, he determined, notwithstanding all
persuasions to the contrary, to ride over and see the father of
Penelope. The young gentleman’s sisters were unanimous in
expressing their disapprobation of such a step; and Mr Darnley the
elder would have interfered with the pompousness of authority to
prevent it, had he not been sagacious enough to know that such
interference would be ineffectual, and wise enough to consider that it
is very impolitic to endanger one’s dignity by uttering commands
which will with impunity be disobeyed. He could not however help
giving his opinion. He was surprised, he said, that a young man of
such good sense and independent spirit as Robert Darnley should
let himself down so far as to turn suppliant. The young lady, he
observed, had already given abundant manifestation of the change
of her mind and the indifferency of her feelings on the subject, it
would therefore be worse than useless to attempt to renew the
acquaintance, it would be absolutely humiliating, and there never
could subsist a right feeling of cordiality between them.
All this talk, however, had no influence on Robert Darnley: he was
not sure that there had been so pointed a manifestation of change of
mind; he had too good an opinion of Penelope’s understanding to
believe that she should have capriciously changed her mind; he
thought it very probable that there might have been some
miscarriage of letters; and he resolved that he would not suffer the
matter to rest in the present dubious and mysterious twilight of
information. For he very thoughtfully remarked, that it was possible
there might be, through the irregular transmission of letters, some
errors which might lead Miss Primrose to consider him as the person
dropping the acquaintance. At all events, as he had never had any
difference with Mr Primrose, but, on the contrary, had been very
civilly and politely treated when they met at St Helena on their
voyage home, it would be but an act of common civility to pay his
respects to the father of Penelope now that he was in the immediate
neighbourhood.
There is something pleasant and refreshing in the contemplation
of that wholesome state of mind in which Robert Darnley shewed
himself to be on the present occasion. People sometimes make a
great blustering and a noisy parade about demanding an
explanation; but they generally set about this demanding an
explanation in such a hot-headed, bullying style, as to render
explanation almost impossible, and make that which is perplexed still
more perplexed. It was not so with the younger Darnley. He was no
miracle either of wisdom or virtue; but he had good sense and good
feeling; and he also had a tolerable good opinion of his own
discernment, and he could not easily bring himself to believe,
notwithstanding all that had been said by his father and his sisters,
that he had misapprehended or overrated the character of Penelope
Primrose.
These feelings, which were habitual and constitutional to Robert
Darnley, gave him a natural and easy cheerfulness of look and
manner. When therefore he was announced at the rectory of
Smatterton as enquiring for Mr Primrose, the announcement was
received with great satisfaction.
“My good friend,” exclaimed Mr Primrose, with much cordiality, “I
am most happy to see you. So you are just arrived in England. But
you must have made very great haste to arrive here from the Downs
in little more than four and twenty hours.”
“I have not travelled quite so rapidly as that, sir,” replied Mr Robert
Darnley, “but you may suppose I lost no time: and I am happy that I
am here soon enough to pay my respects to you before your return.
It would also have given me pleasure could I have met Miss
Primrose.”
“Would it indeed? What! after she has jilted you? You are a young
man of very forgiving disposition.”
“I must first of all know for a certainty that the lady has, as you say,
jilted me, before I feel resentment. The correspondence was
interrupted, but that might be accidental. I must have an explanation,
then it will be time enough to be angry.”
“Well said, young man; I like your notions. But from what I hear,
both at Neverden and Smatterton, I fear that my young lady has
been fascinated by a sounding title. I hear a great deal that I cannot
well understand. If travellers see strange things abroad, they also
hear strange things when they come home again.”
Mr Primrose ceased speaking. Robert Darnley looked thoughtful;
and the parties looked at each other with some feeling of perplexity.
The father of Penelope, as being the most impetuous, though by far
the oldest of the two, after a short interval continued: “But what do
you propose to do? Or what must I say or do for you? Will you set off
with me to London tomorrow morning?”
Robert Darnley looked serious at that proposal, and replied: “So
early as tomorrow morning, under present circumstances, I think
hardly praticable. I do not know what would be the consequence to
my poor mother, if, after so long an absence from home, I should
omit, just at my return, to eat my Christmas dinner with her.”
“Well, I shall go to town,” said Mr Primrose, “and I will endeavour
to ascertain the truth of the matter; and if there has been any
accidental loss of letters, it will be a great pity to make that the cause
of breaking off an old acquaintance.”
“I simply wish it, sir, to be understood by Miss Primrose, that the
cessation of the correspondence has not been my act and deed. But
that I wrote three letters to her from Calcutta, to none of which I have
ever received any answer. If the acquaintance is to be discontinued,
it shall not rest on me, as arising from any fickleness on my part.”
“Good, sir, very good. You are a comparative stranger to me, it is
true; but I commend your spirit, that you are not hasty in resentment
before you know for what. And this I can tell you,” continued he, in a
more slow and serious tone, “such was my thorough confidence in
the good sense and discernment of my poor brother Greendale, that
I cannot but feel respect for any one whom he respected; and I know
that he respected you most sincerely.”
Thereupon the two gentlemen, with cordial grasp and tearful eyes,
shook each other by the hand most heartily, and parted very well
pleased with each other.
CHAPTER XIX.
Mr Primrose on the following morning set off for London in a post-
chaise, being unwilling to risk his neck a second time in a stage-
coach; for he had taken it into his head that a stage-coach must be
overturned at the bottom of a steep hill. He travelled alone; and we
will for the present leave him alone; though it might be very
entertaining to observe how pettishly he brooked the tediousness of
that mode of travelling, and how teasing he was to the post-boys,
sometimes urging them to drive fast, and then rebuking them for
using their horses so cruelly. What the poor man could find to amuse
himself with for the long journey, which occupied him nearly three
days, we cannot tell. In the meantime, we find it necessary to return
to that part of our narrative in which we related that the partial
exhibition to which Penelope had been exposed at the Countess of
Smatterton’s select little party, had produced an almost serious
illness.
Nothing could exceed the kind attentions of the Countess. Every
hour was she making enquiries, and all that could possibly be said or
done by way of alleviation or consolation did her ladyship say and do
for her heart-broken patient. It never for one single moment entered
the mind of Lady Smatterton that Miss Primrose could feel the
slightest repugnance in the world to the profession which had been
chosen for her; nor could her ladyship think that any sorrow or deep
feeling was on the mind of Penelope for the death of her uncle, or
that there was any harassing anxiety on her spirits at the thought of
her father’s probable arrival in England. The Countess of Smatterton
might have been a woman of very great feeling; but, from difference
of situation, she could not by any means sympathize with Penelope.
There is an infinite difference between five hundred acquaintances
and an only dear friend. The pleasures of Penelope were not of the
same nature as those of the Countess of Smatterton, nor was there
much similarity in their pains.
There were also other considerations by which it may be
accounted for, that the sympathy of her ladyship was not exactly
adapted to the feelings of Penelope. The Countess was a patron,
Penelope a dependent. The Countess had but the mere vanity of
rank, Penelope a natural and essential pride of spirit; and it not
unfrequently happens, that persons in the higher walks of society
regard the rest of the world as made to be subservient to their
caprices and the instruments of their will. This last consideration,
however, is not altogether the fault of the higher classes; much of it,
perhaps most of it, is owing to the hungry venal sycophancy of their
inferiors,—but there never will be an act of parliament passed
against servility, and therefore we need not waste our time in
declaiming against it, for nothing but an act of parliament can
thoroughly cure it.
Penelope was not sufficiently ill to keep her apartment for any
great length of time. The medical attendant thought it desirable that
the patient should be amused as much as possible; the air also was
recommended, and, if possible, a little change of scene. To all these
suggestions prompt and immediate attention was paid. It was
fortunate that the Earl of Smatterton had a residence in the
immediate vicinity of London, and it was the intention of the family to
spend the Christmas holidays there. It would therefore be very
opportune to afford the young lady a change of air and scene: for
from her childhood Penelope had never wandered beyond the two
villages of Smatterton and Neverden. The proposal was made to her
to accompany the family, and the proposal was made so kindly, she
could not possibly refuse it, even had it not been agreeable.
There was something perplexing to the inartificial and
unsophisticated mind of Penelope Primrose, in the wonderful
difference between fashionable manners under different
circumstances. She had not the slightest doubt that Lord Smatterton
and her ladyship were people of high fashion, nor could she have the
least hesitation in concluding that the Duchess of Steeple Bumstead
was also a woman of high fashion; but she recollected how rudely
the Duchess had stared at her, and she had also a general feeling
that many more persons of fashion at the select party had appeared,
both in their manner towards her, and their deportment towards each
other, absolutely disagreeable, unfeeling, and insolent. There also
occurred to her recollection, amidst other thoughts of a similar
nature, the impertinent and conceited airs which Lord Spoonbill had
exhibited when she had formerly met him by accident; and she
compared, with some degree of astonishment, his present very
agreeable with his past very disagreeable manners.
The day on which Lord Smatterton and his family removed to their
suburban villa was the very day that saw Mr Primrose depart from
Smatterton on his way to London. And if on this occasion we should,
by way of being very sentimental and pathetic, say, “Little did they
think, the one that the father was coming to town, and the other that
the daughter was leaving it,”—we should be only saying what our
readers might very readily conjecture to be the case without any
assistance from us: but we should not be perhaps exceeding the
limits of truth. For, in truth, it was a thought which actually did enter
the mind of Mr Primrose just as he set out on his journey: feeling
somewhat angry at the disappointment which he had experienced,
he actually said to himself at the very moment that he entered the
chaise: “Now I suppose, when I get to town, Lord Smatterton and his
family will be gone out of town again.”
It was all very well for the medical attendant to talk about change
of air and change of scene: men of science know very well that
persons in a certain rank will do what they will, and so it is not amiss
that they should be told how very suitable and right it is. Change of
scene is pretty enough and wholesome enough for baby minds that
want new playthings; but no local changes can reach the affliction
and sorrow of heart which sits brooding within. Penelope found that
his lordship’s suburban villa, though built in the present taste,
furnished with the greatest magnificence, and situated in one of the
most delightful of those ten thousand beauteous pieces of scenery
which surround the metropolis, was still unable to disperse the gloom
that hung upon her mind, and to reconcile her to that profession
which the imperious kindness of the Countess of Smatterton had
destined for her.
Lord Spoonbill took infinite pains to render the change of scene
agreeable to the young lady. The weather was, for the time of year,
cheerful and bright, and though cold, not intensely so: and in spite of
the numerous hints which the Earl gave him of the impropriety of
such excessive condescension, the heir of Smatterton would
accompany the plebeian dependent in the chariot, and point out to
her the various beauties of the surrounding scenery. A person who
can see has a great advantage over one that is blind. Such
advantage had Lord Spoonbill over Penelope Primrose. In her mind
there did not exist the slightest or most distant apprehension
whatever of the design which his lordship had in these attentions.
Had there been such apprehension, or such suspicion, vain would
have been all his lordship’s endeavours to render himself agreeable
to the young lady. As it was, however, Penelope certainly began to
entertain a much higher opinion of his lordship’s good qualities than
she had before. He did not indeed talk like a philosopher, or utter
oracles, but he manifested kind feelings and generous sentiments.
On many subjects he talked fluently, though his talk was common-
place; and he perhaps might adapt himself to the supposed limited
information of his companion. The young lady was also pleased with
the apparent indifference which in his conversation he manifested to
the distinctions of rank. And as Penelope was pleased with the
young nobleman’s attentions, and grateful for the considerate and
almost unexpected kindness which she experienced from the
Smatterton family, her manner became less constrained, and, even
though unwell, she was cheerful, and the gracefulness of gratitude
gave to her natural beauty a charm which heightened and
embellished it. Thus, the beauty by which Lord Spoonbill’s attention
had been first attracted, appeared to him infinitely more fascinating
when connected with such mental and moral charms: so that, to use
an expression which has no meaning, but which is generally
understood, his lordship had fairly lost his heart.
The day after the family had departed from town, the letter which
Mr Primrose had sent to his daughter was, with several others, put
into the magnificent hands of the Right Honorable the Earl of
Smatterton. His lordship did everything with a grace peculiar to
himself; even the opening of letters was to him a matter of
importance; and his friends have often smiled at the serious and self-
satisfied air with which he was accustomed to take up the letters one
by one, reading aloud the address before he broke the seal. There
seemed to be something pleasant to his ear in the sound of the
words, “The Right Honorable the Earl of Smatterton.” His lordship
used generally to open his letters in the presence of his family; and
as it frequently happened that, under cover to his lordship, there
came letters addressed to members of his establishment, he used to
make a great ceremony in reading aloud their address also. It was
curious, we have been told, to hear the different intonation with
which his lordship uttered the names of his domestics from that
which he used when speaking of his own great self.
On the present occasion there was only Lord Spoonbill present
when the letters were opened. And when his lordship had first
pompously read aloud “The Right Honorable the Earl of Smatterton,”
he afterwards, in a lower and quicker tone, read—“Miss Primrose.”
His lordship then handed the letter to his son, saying, “Charles, this
letter, I perceive, is addressed to Miss Primrose; cause it
immediately to be delivered to the young woman. At the same time
let me give you a caution. Condescension to our inferiors is very
becoming, and is one of the brightest jewels in a nobleman’s
coronet: but, Charles, while we condescend to our inferiors, we
should always recollect, and let them also know, that they are our
inferiors. We should always treat our inferiors with kindness, and we
may behave to them, when we admit them to our table, with
courteous politeness. But we must not, and ought not, by way of
shewing our condescension, to let down and forget our dignity.”
Lord Spoonbill thought more of Miss Primrose’s pretty face than
he did of his own dignity, and was therefore beginning to grow weary
of this right honorable prosing, and to shew symptoms of
fidgettiness. But when the Earl of Smatterton had once taken it into
his head to administer the word of exhortation to any of his family, he
was not easily diverted from his purpose by any expressions or
indications of uneasiness on the part of the patient: therefore he
proceeded.
“Now, Spoonbill, let me as a friend advise you. I waive my
authority and speak to you purely and simply as a friend. Our title is
a mere empty sound, unless the dignity of it is properly kept up. You
are disposed to be very condescending, and at home it is all well
enough; but what I disapprove of is your condescension in public.
Yesterday you accompanied this young woman in the chariot, and it
is impossible to say who may have seen you thus familiarly
associating with a person of inferior rank. There are too many
encroachments already upon the higher classes, and we ought not
to invite and encourage more. I have done.”
Lord Spoonbill was glad to hear that. But the disobedient one, as if
his only object in listening to a sermon had been that he might act
directly contrary to its advice, forthwith, instead of causing the letter
to be delivered, did himself, with his own right honorable hands, in
person present the letter to Penelope.
“Who should write to me?” thought the dependent, as she received
the letter with a smile of gratitude and gracefulness from the
condescending son of the dignified Earl of Smatterton. Lord
Spoonbill thought that Penelope had never before looked so graceful
and so beautiful as at that moment. There are some countenances in
which peculiar and transient emotions light up a most fascinating
expression of loveliness. This peculiarity belonged to Penelope; and
that look of loveliness rewarded Lord Spoonbill for his
condescension, and made a much deeper impression on his heart
than the discourse of the Earl had made on his understanding. So
impressive was it that it almost enchained him to the spot, so as to
prevent Penelope from immediately gratifying her curiosity by
perusing the letter. His lordship, as if to find reason, or to make
cause for prolonging his stay, said:
“If this letter requires an answer by return of post, my father will be
happy to give you a frank; but the post closes at three, and it is now
past twelve.”
“I thank you, my lord,” replied the young lady, looking at the letter
and half opening it; “I do not know from whence it comes.”
In a few seconds the letter was opened, and the quick glancing
eye of Penelope saw the name of Primrose, and the whole truth
rushed into her mind with overpowering violence; and the intense
feeling of delight at the thought of being saved from dependence and
rescued from a dreaded profession, was too much for her weakened
spirits to bear composedly, and exclaiming, with hysteric shriek, “My
father, my father!” she would have sunk on the floor had not Lord
Spoonbill caught her in his arms and placed her on a sofa. His
lordship rang violently for assistance, which was promptly and
successfully rendered; and as his presence was no farther
necessary, he thought it best to inform the Countess of the situation
of Miss Primrose, and of the event which had produced this sudden
burst of feeling.
Now, generally speaking, the Countess of Smatterton was a lady
of great humanity and considerateness; but when anything occurred
to interfere with or interrupt a favourite scheme, her natural
tenderness was much abated. It presently came into her mind that
the arrival of Mr Primrose in England would prevent the purposed
exhibition of Penelope’s musical talents, and this thought afflicted
her and made her almost angry. Nevertheless, her ladyship
immediately went to Miss Primrose and offered her congratulations
on the happy event. These congratulations the young lady, in the
simplicity of her heart, believed to be sincere, and she made her
acknowledgments accordingly; but she was very much surprised at
the manner in which the Countess received these acknowledgments.
Penelope, when left alone, read over her father’s letter with more
composed and settled delight, and it was an unspeakable relief to
her mind that now, from the language of this communication, she
had reason to be satisfied that there was no danger that she should
be urged into that dreaded publicity from which she had so timidly
but so vainly shrunk. This letter produced a much more powerful and
healing effect than any change of air or variation of scenery could
accomplish. Now was she full of joy and full of hope, and almost
forgot the tears she had shed for her uncle, and the sighs she had
heaved for her lover.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN
SQUARE.
Transcriber’s Notes
Page 63: “divers discusssions” changed to “divers discussions”
Page 212: “be isappointed” changed to “be disappointed”
Page 353: “shew symtoms” changed to “shew symptoms”
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